patience of any but an American, who naturally loves excitement, being made the object of comment, and being raised, though but temporarily, to some social eminence. To the visitor, if he be a man, the process is most trying; he is begged to sit down, one lovely bridesmaid offers him cake, another wine: all of these he must accept, and in the midst of his struggles to hold them, must balance his hat on his knees and make flattering speeches to the newly-married, a large piece of wedding-cake, tied up in white paper with satin ribbon, is brought to him, and he is begged to carry it off in memory of the happy occasion. Such a trying position is more than even British courage could face more than once in a lifetime. Excitement seems to be a necessary of life in the States. Every circumstance is made conducive to it, even a death is an occasion for a display of promiscuous sympathy, as annoying to the English as soothing to the American mind. From morning till evening a succession of visitors call to console, and on the day of the funeral the house is often so crowded that the near relations are unable to enter the “salons,” but are compelled to remain up-stairs. Everyone, however slightly acquainted with the family, may enter the house, and see the locked coffin laid in state on the dining-room table, and look at the once familiar features through the oval glass put for that purpose in the lid of the coffin. Sometimes in the case of children the funeral is long delayed, and a loving mother will ask you months after her child’s death, to look at her sweet Sally? and on your look of surprise and astonishment, will add quietly: “We take in an extra dime of ice and charcoal every day, and she is quite beautiful.”
The Americans are by no means a devout nation; during church-service there is a constant going to and fro, and, coming out of church, the ladies have to run the gauntlet of the remarks of the men drawn up in double file from the church-porch to some considerable distance down the street. A confirmation is a most unseemly display of national character. It often takes place in the evening. The entrance of the church is crowded like that of a theatre; young men lounging, chewing, smoking and spitting, discuss the appearance of the candidates for the holy rite, as if they were actresses and ballet-dancers.
Of course, the next morning’s papers contain full and particular accounts of the whole proceeding, with the most personal remarks about the confirmed.
The press is truly a nuisance in the States. The vulgarity of its tone, the coarse strictures in which it indulges on the most private affairs of life, the publicity it gives to every family detail of any exalted personage, are truly revolting. It is a matter of surprise to me that the sensible citizens who lamented over the pernicious effects of such a state of things, should have been too indolent to dispossess from the editorship of newspapers, the low Irish blackguards who brought such discredit on the nation, and fomented its worst traits—love of excitement and mean curiosity as to their neighbours’ affairs.
The advertisements in the “Washington Star,” and other daily papers, are often as amusing as original. The first thing that catches the eye, are the small, dusky-figures heading so many paragraphs, which duly describe the personal appearance of run-away slaves. Then, in immense type, you read:
Some muff sends ten dollars, and gets back twenty genuine ones. Encouraged by success he tries a larger venture, and is rewarded with a double or treble amount in false specie; being in the wrong himself he cannot hope to obtain redress from justice, so the inventor of the dodge lines his pockets comfortably, thanks to the credulity of his neighbour.
You are also informed of the momentous fact that
“Mr. Hazard Wigg declines housekeeping, and will dispose of a likely table-boy.”
“A young lady wishes a situation as cook.”
You answer the latter advertisement, having, unlike Mr. Hazard Wigg, “gone in for housekeeping,” and a rough Irish girl answers your application in person; who, having readily adapted herself to the Yankee notions of liberty and equality, plumps herself down in the most comfortable-looking easy-chair, to interrogate you as to whether you will suit her as master or “boss,” as she calls it. This word has evidently been handed down from the old Dutch settlers, who introduced many of their own customs and manners, and certainly influenced not a little the style of house-architecture. The plan of having no sunk story, but giving up the “basement” to the servants, and either passing through the offices or else ascending a steep outside flight of steps to the first flat, is the same as that still practised in Holland. The drawing-rooms are most dreary places, no books, work, or any evidences of daily occupation are to be seen,—it is a mere talking-room. Crimson silk curtains, a gaudy carpet with an immense flowery medallion in the centre, rows of chairs placed with stiff primness down either side, and a few rocking-chairs—such is the stereotyped drawing-room all over the States. live in a snuggery up-stairs, or in their bed-rooms, surrounded by their children, who are fastened into baby-jumpers, while they tread everlastingly at sewing-machines. Another reason for the dreariness of the salon is the absence of crackling logs, or blazing coals, which are superseded by the stifling but invisible heat of a calorifère.
The great heat in summer, which renders it desirable to have deep houses, is another reason for their exceeding ugliness; the rooms are always badly proportioned, long and narrow, with windows at one end, and often the plan is so defective that there is a dark room on every floor, merely lighted from the passage. Four years ago there were but few houses which had water led into them in pipes—every drop of water had to be fetched from the neighbouring pump.
In spring the houses undergo a complete trans-
