profligate guardians, traitorous servants, and hags, not excelled by those of Lapland itself. It ought not be omitted, that in this sequestered region the fields, and gardens, are all second-hand copies of paradise. On them whenever it is conveneint, the morning beams with every tint of elegance, and every ray of glory: and, when Aurora has no further use for these fine things, her sister Evening, puts them on herself, and appears scarcely less splendid, or less delightful.

With this ideal world the unfortunate girl corresponds so much, and so long, that she ultimately considers it as her own proper residence. With its inhabitants she converses so frequently, and so habitually, that they become almost her only familiar acquaintance.

With these views, how disappointed must she be by the rugged course of nature? How untoward must be the progress of facts? How coarsely must the voice of truth grate upon her ear? How disgusted must she be to find herself surrounded not by trusty Johns, and faithful Chloes, but by ordinary domestics, chilling her, with rusticity, provoking her by their negligence, insulting her with their impudence, and leaving her service without even giving her warning. Must she not feel, that it is a kind of impertinence in the days to be cloudy, and wet; in the nights to be dark and chilly; in the streets to encumber her with mud, or choke her with dust; and in the prospects, to present nothing but the mere vulgar scenes of this vulgar world.

. . . In a word, the world will become to her a solitude; and its inhabitants, strangers; because her taste for living has become too refined, too dainty, to relish any thing, found in real life.

If she is at all pleasing, and amiable, she will be addressed. But by whom? Not by a Corydon, a Strephon, or even a Grandison. At the best, her suitor will be a being formed of flesh and blood; who intends to live by business, and to acquire reputation by diligence, integrity, and good sense. He is in pursuit of a wife; and, therefore, can hardly wish for an angel. It will be difficult for him to believe, that a being so exalted would assume the marriage vow; do the honours of his table; direct the business of his family; or preside over the education of his children. He has hitherto spent his life, perhaps, in acting vigorously in the counting-room, contending strenuously at the bar, or pursuing with diligence some other business merely human. How can such a being frame his mouth to lisp the pretty things, which alone can be in unison with so delicate an ear? Figure to yourself the disgust, the pain, the surprise, of this silken existence even at the most refined

language of honesty, and at the most honourable sentiments of affection, obtruded on her by such a suitor.

I know, that this education is expressly attempted with a view to superiour refinement: but it is not a refinement of the taste, the understanding, or the heart. It is merely a refinement of the imagination; of an imagination, already soft, and sickly; of a sensibility, already excessive; of a relish, already fastidious. To a genuine perfection of taste it bears no more resemblance, than the delicate white of decay to the native fairness of complexion; or than the blush of a hectic to the bloom of health.

It is not here intended, that this mode of education prevails more in Boston, than in other populous places on this continent. Perhaps it prevails less. That it actually exists in such places, that it is fashionable, and that this town has a share in the evil, will not, I believe, be questioned....

Timothy Dwight, Travels; in New-England and New-York (New Haven, 1821), 1, 512-519 passim.

Percival was educated as a physician, but he was an eminent scholar in many departments, especially in natural science. His poetry is noted for its spontaneity. - For Percival, see Julius H. Ward, Life and Letters of James Gates Percival. — Bibliography as in No. 151 above.

With hearts unbent, high, steady, brave, They sternly bore

Such toils, as meaner souls had quell'd; But souls like these, such toils impell'd To soar.

Hail to the morn, when first they stood On Bunker's height;

And fearless stemm'd the invading flood,
And wrote our dearest rights in blood,
And mow'd in ranks the hireling brood,
In desperate fight:

O! 'twas a proud, exulting day,
For ev'n our fallen fortunes lay
In light.

There is no other land like thee,
No dearer shore;

Thou art the shelter of the free;
The home, the port of liberty
Thou hast been, and shalt ever be,
Till time is o'er.

Ere I forget to think upon

My land, shall mother curse the son
She bore.

Thou art the firm, unshaken rock,
On which we rest;

And rising from thy hardy stock,
Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock,
And slavery's galling chains unlock,
And free the oppress'd:

All, who the wreath of freedom twine,
Beneath the shadow of their vine
Are blest.

We love thy rude and rocky shore,
And here we stand

Let foreign navies hasten o'er,

And on our heads their fury pour,

And peal their cannon's loudest roar,
And storm our land:

They still shall find, our lives are giv'n

To die for home; - and leant on heav'n
Our hand.

James G. Percival, Clio (Charleston, 1822), No. I, 26-28.

155.

"Domestic Manners of the Americans" (1828)

BY MRS. FRANCES MILTON TROLLOPE (1831)

Mrs. Trollope, the English novelist, having failed in an attempt to establish herself in business in Cincinnati, salved her disappointment by writing a book on American manners. In this she laid unjust emphasis upon the rude and grotesque features of American society, especially of that in the West, leaving the impression that these characteristics were typical of the whole country. The work provoked much indignant criticism. Bibliography as in No. 151 above.

WE

E reached Cincinnati on the 10th of February [1828]. It is finely situated on the south side of a hill that rises gently from the water's edge; yet it is by no means a city of striking appearance ; it wants domes, towers, and steeples; but its landing-place is noble, extending for more than a quarter of a mile; it is well paved, and surrounded by neat, though not handsome buildings. I have seen fifteen steam-boats lying there at once, and still half the wharf was unoccupied. . . .

...

We had the good fortune . . . to find a dwelling before long, and we returned to our hotel, having determined upon taking possession of it as soon as it could be got ready. Not wishing to take our evening meal either with the three score and ten gentlemen of the dining-room, nor yet with the half dozen ladies of the bar-room, I ordered tea in my own chamber. A good-humoured Irish woman came forward with a sort of patronising manner, took my hand, and said, "Och, my honey, ye'll be from the old country. I'll see you will have your tay all to yourselves, honey." With this assurance we retired to my room, which was a handsome one as to its size and bed-furniture, but it had no carpet, and was darkened by blinds of paper, such as rooms are hung with, which required to be rolled up, and then fastened with strings very awkwardly attached to the window-frames, whenever light or air were wished for.

I afterwards met with these same uncomfortable blinds in every part of America.

66

Our Irish friend soon reappeared, and brought us tea, together with the never-failing accompaniments of American tea-drinking, hung beef, chipped up" raw, and sundry sweetmeats of brown sugar hue and flavour. We took our tea, and were enjoying our family talk, relative to our future arrangements, when a loud sharp knocking was heard at our door. My come in," was answered by the appearance of a portly personage, who proclaimed himself our landlord.

66

"Are any of you ill?" he began.

"No, thank you, sir; we are all quite well," was my reply.

"Then, madam, I must tell you, that I cannot accommodate you on these terms; we have no family tea-drinkings here, and you must live either with me or my wife, or not at all in my house."

This was said with an air of authority that almost precluded reply, but I ventured a sort of apologistic hint, that we were strangers, and unaccustomed to the manners of the country.

"Our manners are very good manners, and we don't wish any changes from England."

...

We were soon settled in our new dwelling, which looked neat and comfortable enough, but we speedily found that it was devoid of nearly all the accommodation that Europeans conceive necessary to decency and comfort. No pump, no cistern, no drain of any kind, no dustman's cart, or any other visible means of getting rid of the rubbish, which vanishes with such celerity in London, that one has no time to think of its existence; but which accumulated so rapidly at Cincinnati, that I sent for my landlord to know in what manner refuse of all kinds was to be disposed of.

"Your Help will just have to fix [fire?] them all into the middle of the street, but you must mind, old woman, that it is the middle. I expect you don't know as we have got a law what forbids throwing such things at the sides of the streets; they must just all be cast right into the middle, and the pigs soon takes them off."

In truth the pigs are constantly seen doing Herculean service in this way through every quarter of the city; and though it is not very agreeable to live surrounded by herds of these unsavoury animals, it is well they are so numerous, and so active in their capacity of scavengers, for without them the streets would soon be choked up with all sorts of substances, in every stage of decomposition.