University of Virginia Library

7. CHAP. VII.
NEW-YORK.

One may truly say, with the Quarterly,[1] “the
scum of all the earth is drifted into New-York,”
notwithstanding what Miss Wright and Captain
Hall may affirm to the contrary, in their flippant
farragoes and “prostitute rhapsodies, and of impiety,
malevolence, and radical trash,” as the
Quarterly says. “Godless reprobates, brutal and
ferocious tyrants, thieves, swindlers, and murderers,”
as the Quarterly says, “make up the mass
of the population.” “Robberies, burglaries, and
attempts at murder, disgrace the city every day;
and one cannot walk the streets in the daylight,
without seeing fellows lay in the gutters, with
broken legs, arms, &c. who continue, day after day,
without being noticed by the nightly watch, or
the open day of humanity, to roast in the sun, and

be devoured by the flies,” as the Quarterly says.
Indeed, I can safely, and from experience, affirm
the Quarterly is perfectly justified in asserting
that, “Insolence of demeanour is mistaken for
high-minded independence.” No reputable English
traveller ever saw man, woman, or child, blush
here, except a few English people, not yet properly
acclimated—that the speeches of lawyers and
members of congress are all jargon and nonsense—
that the preachers of the gospel all bellow out their
sermons in their shirt sleeves—that the judges are,
for the most part, worse criminals than those they
try—that dogs are trained to hunt young negroes,
instead of to point game—that men, women,
children, negroes, strangers, all congregate together
at night, in one room—that not one in ten
of the slaves die a natural death, being, for the
most part, whipped till they mortify, and the flies
eat them—that the moral air is putrid—that the
land is all hung up in the air to dry—that the air
is one animated region of flies, moschetoes, and
other noxious insects; and that such is the influence
of the turbulent spirit of democracy, not only upon
the moral and physical qualities of the people, but
upon the very elements themselves, that the one
is not less perverted than the other. All this I
am ready to swear to, and so is the Quarterly Review.
Respect for the precept of our pure English
orthodoxy, which inculcates charity and good
will to all men, prevents my indulging any further
upon this topic. For the present, I will content
myself with summing up the characters of these
patent republicans, in the words of the Quarterly.

“Fools must not come here, for the Americans
are naturally cold, jealous, suspicious, and knavish
—without any sense of honour. They believe
every man a rogue until they see the contrary—
and there is no other way of managing them except
by bullying. They have nothing original;
all that is good or new is done by foreigners, and
yet they boast eternally.”[2] In proof of this I may
add, that they claim every thing, and have even
attempted, as I before observed, to rob poor Dr.
Watts of the credit of having invented the steam-boat.
I have little doubt but they will lay claim
to his psalm book before long. There is every day
some invention trumped up here, which has been
exploded and forgotten in England, and for which
a patent is procured without any difficulty. It is
only to swear to its originality, and that is a ceremony,
which no genuine republican will hesitate
a moment in going through. This city is full of
foreigners; but what can possibly induce them to
come here, I cannot conceive. I have not met
with a single Englishman that was not grumbling
at his situation, and discontented with every thing
around him. The inns are filthy—the boarding
houses not fit to live in—the waiters negligent and
saucy—the wines poison—and the cooking execrable.
Yet they remain here with an unwarrantable
pertinacity, in spite not only of the Quarterly,

but of the bitter lessons of experience they receive
every hour.

One morning as I was walking up Chestnut-street,
the principal promenade in New-York, I saw a
poor drunken fellow wallowing in the gutter, and
talking to himself about Old England. This circumstance,
together with his dialect, which partook
somewhat of the Yorkshire purity, excited my
curiosity and commiseration. I helped him up,
conducted him to my lodgings, and put him to bed
to sleep himself sober. After waking, and refreshing
himself with a dozen stewed oysters, I inquired
his history. His tale so happily illustrates the common
fate of English emigrants, to this El Dorado,
(as the Quarterly calls it,) that I shall give it in
his own words, as nearly as possible. The poor
man could neither read or write, and had been, as
will be perceived, the dupe of those interested
speculators and agents of this government, who
write books to deceive the ignorant and unwary
English.

“I was very comfortably situated in Old England,
the land of liberty, religion, and roast beef,
except that one-fourth of my earnings went to the
tax-gatherer, another to the poor rates, and another
to the parson and landlord. But still, as I
said before, I was happy and contented; when I
happened to read Mr. Birkbeck's “radical trash,”
as the Quarterly says, which turned my head,
and put me quite out of conceit with the blessings
of English roast beef and English liberty.

Just about this time, the man came round, to
tax my house, my land, my horses, oxen, cattle,
servants, windows, and a dozen or two more
small matters. A little while after the parson sent
for his tithes, the landlord for his rent, and the
overseers of the poor for the poor rates. All these
coming just upon the back of Mr. Birkbeck's mischievous
book, put me quite out of patience, so I
made up my mind to emigrate to America.

“I sold off all that I had, turned it into English
guineas, and went down to Liverpool, where I
took passage. Supposing I should have no use for
money in the States, after paying my passage,
I spent the rest in treating my fellow passengers
at the tavern, and set sail with empty pockets, yet
full of spirits. The Captain was a full-blooded Yankee
democrat, and the greatest little tyrant in the
world. He held that it was much better to steal
than to labour,[3] and by way of illustrating his theory,
robbed me of twenty guineas on the passage.
On my remonstrating with him, he told me that it
was the universal custom of his country, and I
might make it up on my arrival in New-York, by
robbing the first man I met with.

“Our passage was long, and as the Captain had
not laid in half provisions enough, we were obliged
to cast lots, at the end of a fortnight, who
should be killed and eaten. The first lot fell upon
me, but I bribed a poor simple fellow with a

guinea, to take my place. Our Captain insisted
upon the privilege of knocking the man on the
head, it being one of his greatest delights; there
was nothing he preferred to it, except hunting little
people of colour with bloodhounds. Out of ten
passengers in the steerage, I was the only one that
got to New-York alive, the rest being all killed
and eaten. When I stepped ashore, I was so hungry,
and had got such an inveterate habit of eating
human flesh, that I immediately laid hold of a fat
fellow, and bit a piece out of his cheek. Unluckily
he turned out to be an alderman, and I was
forthwith taken to the Bridewell, where I made
acquaintance with several of the most fashionable
people of the city, who generally spend a part of
their time there. I had read of this in the Quarterly,
but did not believe it till now; and when I
get home to Old England, I intend to publish it all
in a book of travels. I shall make a good round
sum by it, if I can only get one of the Reviewers
to write it down for me, and say a good word in
the way of criticism.

“The Bridewell is a pleasant place enough. Once
a week they have an assembly; on Sunday they
play at all fours, and every day in the week they
tipple delightfully, in company with the judges of
the court, the corporation, and a select number of
the clergy. For my part, I should not have minded
spending the rest of my days there; but this
was too great a luxury. So I was turned out at
the end of a fortnight, to make room for a lady of

fashion, who was caught stealing a pig in Broadway.
From the Bridewell I went sauntering
down the street, expecting every moment some
one would call out to me to come and do some little
job, and pay me a dollar for it. But I might
have saved myself the trouble for not a soul took the
least notice of me, until at last an honest fellow
slapped me on the shoulder, called me countryman,
and asked me into a tavern to take a swipes.

“Having been somewhat corrupted by the fashionable
society in Bridewell, I suffered myself to
be seduced, and went in with him. Here, while
we sat drinking, I told him my situation, and the
difficulty I had in getting employment. He asked
me if I was a sober man, and on my assuring him
I never drank any thing stronger than water, exclaimed,
`By my soul, brother, but that is the
very reason. Nobody ever thinks of employing
a sober man here, and if you look for work till
doomsday, you will never find it, unless you qualify
yourself by seeing double, by which means
you'll get two jobs for one.' I told him I had no
money, and if I had, nothing should tempt me to
drink. `O, ho!' cried he, `You've no money
to pay your shot, have you?' So he fell upon me,
and gouged out both my eyes, besides biting off a
good part of my nose, under pretence that I had
spunged upon him, as he called it; but the landlord
afterwards assured me, it was only because I would
not drink, it being the custom here to beat people

to death, or roast them alive, if they won't get
drunk.

“Finding it was the custom of the country, and
that there was no getting along without it, and that
drink I must or starve, I took to the bottle, and
soon got employment, in sweeping the streets and
other miscellaneous matters. Agreeably to the
good old maxims of English prudence, I determined,
in my own mind, only to drink up three-fourths
of my wages, and save the rest, to buy a farm in
the western country, where I intended to go and
set up for a member of congress, when I had
qualified myself by being able to walk a crack after
swallowing half a gallon of whiskey. But my
prudential resolves were of no avail, for the gentlemen
sweepers told me it was against the law to
save our wages. On my demurring to this, they
took me before the judge, who decreed me a beating,
besides taking away the money I had saved,
which he laid out in liquor, and we got merry together.

“Seeing there was no use in laying up money, I
thought it best to follow the custom, and from that
time, regularly spent at night what I earned during
the day. I led a jolly life of it, but it was, like
the Bridewell, too good to last for ever. I fell sick
owing to the unhealthiness of the climate, where a
large portion of the people die off every year.—
They carried me to the hospital, where they would
not give me a mouthful of liquor; kept me upon
soup diet, and cut off my leg by way of experiment,

with a handsaw. How I ever got well, and
got my leg on again, I can not tell; but you
will hardly believe it, when I assure you, that after
keeping me here in perfect idleness for six weeks,
and curing me, they most inhumanly turned me
out into the streets to begin the world again! That
emigrants to this land of promise, should be obliged
to work for a living, was too bad, and I determined
not to submit to such an imposition; so I snapt
my fingers at them, swore I would see them hanged
first, and threatened them with the vengeance
of the Quarterly. `This is a pretty free country, to
be sure,' said I, `where a poor emigrant is obliged
to work for a living.'

“Walking in a melancholy mood down the street,
I all at once thought of what the captain of the
Yankee ship told me about its being the universal
opinion and practice here, that it was much easier
to get a thing by stealing than working for it.
This sophistry of the captain corrupted me on the
spot, and I took the first opportunity of putting
the theory into practice by cabbaging a watch out
of a window, which hung so invitingly that I could
not resist the temptation. I put it into my pocket
till I got to the church, where I pulled it out in
order to set it by the clock. Just at that moment
a fellow with all the characteristic insolence of
democracy, (as the Quarterly says,) laid hold of
me and the watch, and before I could muster presence
of mind to knock the impudent rascal down,
carried me to the police, where I was examined

and committed. Instead of enjoying myself in
jail for a year or two, according to the custom of
old England, before trial, I was brought up the
very next day, tried, sentenced, and accommodated
for three years in the State Prison, before I
could say Jack Robinson. It was in vain I pleaded
the custom of the country, appealed to the sacred
name of liberty, and to the authority of the Yankee
captain. The judge coolly told me that the
custom of the country only applied to native born
citizens, and that not being even naturalized, I deserved
more exemplary punishment for trespassing
upon the peculiar privileges of the free-born sons
of liberty. `By the time you get out of prison,'
said his honour, `you will be qualified for citizenship,
and may then steal as many watches as you
please.' I bowed, thanked his lordship, who, by
the way, neither wore gown nor wig—only think!
and withdrew to go through my initiation into citizenship.

“People may talk of the State Prison, but for
my part, if any thing could tempt me longer to
breathe the pure air of liberty in this land of hog-stealing
judges,[4] and shoe-making magistrates, it
would be the hope of spending three more such
happy years. I had plenty of meat every day,
(which to a hard-working man of the land of roast
beef was enchanting, if only on account of its novelty,)
did not work half so hard as at home, and

as for the loss of liberty, to any person who reads
the Quarterly, that must be considered a great
blessing. They were obliged to turn me out neck
and heels, at the end of my delightful seclusion.
In revenge I picked the turnkey's pocket, got gloriously
fuddled, and was ruminating in delightful
recollections of old England, when your lordship
found, and carried me home with you. By the
way, I should like a few more of those capital oysters.
To make an end, I am now balancing whether
I shall take out my citizenship, and thus qualify
myself for the Yankee mode of sporting; steal
another watch before I become privileged, and so
get into that paradise, the State Prison again; or
apply for a free passage to the land of liberty and
roast beef. They tell me I shall be provided for
if I will give a certificate that it is impossible for
an English emigrant to exist in this country. For
my part, I am not particular, and am ready to say,
or swear to any thing, to be revenged on these
bloody Yankees, who first put a man in jail, and
then turn him out again, against all the rules of
liberty and good government.”

I advised the poor man to go home to England,
and promised to get him a free passage. I also
gave him a letter to the editor of the Quarterly,
requesting him to take down his story, and make
an article of it in his next number, for the purpose
of deterring all his deluded countrymen from
adventuring to this land of bundling gouging,
guessing, and democracy. The fate of this poor

deluded, honest, and industrious emigrant, ought
to be a warning to all those who sigh for the
blessings of pure democracy, and believe in the
impious, radical slang of Miss Wright, Captain
Hall, Birkbeck, and the rest of the polluted, putrid,
pestilent, radical fry, as the Quarterly says.
The best of these English emigrants are actually
obliged to work for a living, and if they are not
lucky enough to get into the Bridewell or State
Prison, more than two-thirds of them actually starve
to death.