University of Virginia Library

17. CHAP. XVII.

“Every thing is morally and physically mean
at Washington,” as the Quarterly says.[1] The
breezes are perfumed by nuisances of all sorts—
the flies die and mortify in the oily butter, and
are eaten by the people as a great luxury[2] —drinking,
dirking, and gouging, are the ordinary amusements—profanity
and cheating the order of the
day—the fire-flies and frogs furnish the lights and
the music—the men are boisterous and rude—the
children intolerable—the women all as ugly as sin
—and to sum up all in one word, I was assured
by Doctor Thornton, who saved the capital from
being burnt last war—that “the whole country,
like ancient Rome, is peopled by thieves and rob

bers.”[3] The Doctor told me in confidence that
although, like many other deluded Englishmen,
he had been induced to leave his country, yet he
was determined not one of his posterity should
take root after him in this detestable district.[4] The
Doctor presides over a department, where models
of machinery are deposited, and it furnishes another
proof of the total ignorance of these immaculate
republicans, that they were obliged to select
an Englishman for this station, because there was
not a single native in the whole country, that was
qualified for the place. The Doctor did not exactly
say this, but he intimated as much. He
also further assured me that there was not a single
invention patented here, that he himself had not
previously anticipated. Yet these people pretend
to original genius.

To exemplify the state of manners and morals,
as well as the ferocious, intemperate passions engendered
and fostered by the turbulent spirit of
democracy, the Doctor related to me the follow

ing ancedote. The affair took place a few days before
my arrival.

It seems a fellow by the name of Ramsbottom,[5]
a man-milliner by trade, and a roaring republican,
had taken offence at a neighbour whose name
was Higginbottom, because his wife had attempted
to cheapen a crimped tucker at his shop, and
afterwards reported that he sold his things much
dearer than his rival man-milliner who lived over
the way, whose name was Winterbottom, and
whose next door neighbour on the right hand was
named Leatherbottom, and on the left Oddy. In
the pure spirit of democracy, Ramsbottom, who
was reckoned rather a good natured fellow for a
republican, determined to dirk not only Higginbottom,
Winterbottom, Leatherbottom, and Oddy,
but likewise their wives, together with all
the little Higginbottoms, Winterbottoms, Leatherbottoms,
Oddys, and Oddities. It was several
years before Ramsbottom could get them all together,
so as to make one job of it. At last, however,
he collected the whole party at his own house,
which was next door to the Doctor's, to keep
their Christmas-eve, and determined to execute
his diabolical purpose. It appears, however, that
he had previously changed his purpose of dirking,
on account of the trouble, probably, as he

was a lazy dog. Be this as it may, just as the whole
party were up to their eyes in a Christmas pie, a
horrible explosion took place—the house blew up,
and every soul, Ramsbottom, Higginbottom, Winterbottom,
Leatherbottom, their wives, and all the
little innocent Ramsbottoms, Higginbottoms, Winterbottoms,
Leatherbottoms, Oddys, and Oddities;
were scattered in such minute and indivisible
atoms, that not a vestige of them could be found
the next day, except a little bit of Mrs. Higginbottom's
fore finger, that was known by the length
of the nail; it being the custom of the ladies of
Washington to let that particular nail grow, for
the purpose of protecting themselves against gouging
at tea-parties and elsewhere. Such is the ferocity
and deadly spirit of vengeance generated in
the hotbed of polluted democracy, that the desperado,
Ramsbottom, it appears, like another republican
Samson of old, hesitated not to involve himself
and all his family in destruction, only to be
revenged upon a poor woman for cheapening a
crimped tucker.

The first thing in Washington that excites the
notice of a stranger who has been used to living
under a monarchical, or what is the same thing, a
christian dispensation, is, that there is not a single
church in the whole city. This however is the
case with every town and city in this country,
founded since the revolution, when the turbulent
spirit of democracy getting the upper hand, as

might be expected, the building of churches was
dispensed with, as highly aristocratic. So much,
indeed, did the British troops feel the want of
some place of religious worship, when they entered
the city during the late war, that as I was assured
by Dr. T—, the gallant Cockburn, actually delayed
setting fire to the President's house a whole
hour, to afford them a decent place to say their
prayers. The Doctor, solemnly declared to me,
it was the most edifying sight he ever witnessed,
and that he looked upon the gallant Cockburn,
as one of the genuine representatives of the
pious crusaders of yore, for he never went on a
burning or plundering expedition without saying
his prayers beforehand.

On Sunday morning (as it was, for the reason
before stated, impossible for me to attend church,)
it being excessively hot, I took my umbrella, and
strolled out into the solitudes of this immense
city. I had not proceeded far, when I was assailed
by a mob of some two or three hundred negroes
and boys, who began pelting me with various
unseemly missiles. Not knowing what offence
I had committed, I was in considerable perplexity,
when a sober respectable person came up and
explained the whole matter. “It is the custom
here,” said he, “where but few persons enjoy
the luxury of hats, to put them on the top of their
umbrellas instead of their heads, in order to make
them the more conspicuous. Your omitting to do
this, has caused a suspicion of your being an Englishman,

and that you have not already lost both
eyes, a piece of your nose, and been roasted at a
log fire, is a great piece of good luck.” By his
advice, I immediately did homage to the genius
of democracy, by placing my hat on the top of
my umbrella, and hoisting both over my head.
This appeased the mob, who gave three cheers,
under cover of which I retreated accompanied by
the stranger, who I at first took it for granted,
had a design to rob me, if not something worse.

Upon further intercourse and examination, however,
I had a shrewd suspicion of his being one of
my own countrymen. He was a stout, square
built man, with a broad ruddy face, redolent of
small beer; all which appearances were in perfect
contrast with the rawboned, cadaverous figures of
the natives. Instead of the light loose pantaloons,
short gingham coats, and detestable straw hats, which
constitute the summer dress of the Yankee gentlemen,
he wore a frock of genuine British broad-cloth,
a pair of corderoy breeches, and woollen
stockings, all which gave him a respectable and responsible
appearance, although rather warm for the
season. These peculiarities, together with a certain
politeness of manner, and purity of language, almost
persuaded me that he was a true Englishman, and
presently afterwards, seeing him wipe his nose on
the sleeve of his coat, I became satisfied my conjectures
were well founded. We soon became sociable,
and continued our walk together some
time. I found him, like all the Englishmen I

have met with here, out of humour and discontented
with every thing, the people, the country,
the government, the air, the water, and most especially,
the system of farming, and the obstinate
ignorance of the American farmers.

“I brought with me to this country,” said he,
“rising of two thousand guineas, with part of
which I bought a farm in Pennsylvania. Being
determined to show them something in the way
of farming, which they never saw before, for the
honour of Old England, I sent home for iron
ploughs, iron harrows, iron rakes, in short I had
every thing of iron, even to my hog-trough. I
also imported an English bull, English cows, English
sheep, English hogs, an English dairy-woman,
an English ploughman, English ploughs,
and all sorts of English farming instruments. All
this cost me a great deal of money—but I was determined
to show the Yankee farmers something
for the honour of Old England.

“As I expected huge crops owing to my improved
system of English farming, I built large
barns for my wheat and hay, large stables for my
horses, oxen, cows, sheep, and other stock, for I
was determined they should be well lodged. I
spent a vast deal in hedging, ditching, and other
improvements, the labour of which was rather expensive,
and made another great hole in my guineas.
However, I was resolved to show these
bumpkins something in the way of farming, for the
honour of Old England.

“I was so much taken up with these preparatory
arrangements, that the season passed away before I
had time to put in my crops, so that I was under the
necessity of purchasing food and fodder for myself,
and my English stock, which made another hole
in my guineas. However, the spring came on,
and I set to work, to show the Yankees something
in the way of farming for the honour of Old England.
My bull had been stuffed and curry combed
till he had grown a perfect monster, so that when I
turned him into the field, the neighbours came
from ten miles round to see him. An old quaker,
whose farm joined mine, said to me, `Friend, I
fear our earth is not strong enough for thy bull,'
but I paid no attention to his slang.

“Being perfectly satisfied, from the analysis of
Sir Humphrey Davy, that wheat, rye, corn, and
the other grains cultivated in this country, contained
little or no nourishment, compared with
other products, I determined to put my whole
force upon a field of four acres, which I devoted
to the cultivation of ruta baga. With my iron
plough, my iron harrow, and my English ploughman,
assisted by two Yankee labourers, in the
course of two months, I put my four acres into
such order as never had been seen before. It was
a perfect garden. The rows were as straight as
arrows, and there was not a clod of earth above
ground as large as an egg to be seen. Every
body came to admire, but as yet nobody imitated
me,—such is the ignorant and insolent obstinacy

of the Yankee farmers. “Friend,” said my neighbour,
the old quaker—“friend Shortridge, what
art thou going to put into thy field here?”

“Ruta baga.”

“Ruta baga!—what is that, friend John?”

“Turnips,” replied I.

“Well, why didn't thee call them so at first?
If thou talkest Latin here, nobody will understand
thee, friend John. But what art thou going to do
with thy turnips?”

“I shall feed my cattle, sheep, and hogs with
some, and sell the rest to my neighbours.”

“But thy neighbours will raise their own turnips,
and will not buy.”

“Then I will send them to market.”

“What, sixty miles, over a turnpike? That
will be a bad speculation, friend John. Thee had
best put in a few acres of wheat and corn, they
will pay the expense of taking to market. Thy
turnips will cost more than they will come to.”

“Not I, indeed, friend Underhill,” said I.
“Sir Humphrey Davy says there is little or no
nourishment in wheat and corn.”

“No!” quoth the old quaker, with a sly glance
at his round portly figure; “I have lived upon them
all my life, and never made the discovery, friend
John.”

“My ruta baga flourished to the admiration of
the whole neighbourhood, and when I came to
gather my crop in the fall, there was a heap as high
as a hay-stack. Some of them measured eighteen

inches in diameter. I was as proud as a peacock,
for I had now done something for the honour of
old England. I determined to give my cattle,
sheep, and hogs, a great feast, and invited my
good neighbour, the quaker, to see how they would
eat ruta baga. A quantity was nicely cut up and
thrown to them one morning, but to my astonishment
and mortification, not one would touch a
morsel. Whether it was that they had become
spoiled by a fine season of grass, I cannot tell;
but the bull turned up his nose—the cows turned
their backs, and so did the sheep, while the
pigs ran away screaming mightily. `Thee should
set them to reading Sir Humphrey Davy, friend
John,' quoth my neighbour—`they hav'n't learning
enough to relish thy Latin turnips.'

“The autumn was now come, and there was a
long winter before me, for which, I confess, I was
but illy provided. Relying on my ruta baga, I
had neglected my grass, or rather had pastured it
the whole season, depending on my turnips, as I
said before, for winter food for my stock. I sent
a load of them to market, but the tolls and other
expenses swallowed up the price of the whole, and
brought me a little in debt. I then offered to exchange
ruta baga with my neighhours for hay and
other products, but they shook their heads and declined
to a man.

“On the back of this, came the loss of my famous
bull, who one night got into a piece of low
ground, where he sunk in, and perished before

morning. `I am sorry for thy loss friend John,'
said the old quaker, `but I told thee our earth was
not strong enough for a beast with such little short
legs, and such a huge body.' To mend the matter,
my plump, rosy-faced, English dairy-maid
got married to a young fellow of the neighbourhood,
whose father was a rich farmer, and my imported
ploughman being told that a dram in the
morning was good for keeping off the ague and
fever, seemed to think he couldn't have too much
of a good thing, and was fuddled from morning
till night.

“Winter came on, and a terrible long hard winter
was it. For some time I purchased what I
wanted for my family and stock of the neighbours,
but the spring turning out very backward, and the
frost continuing till late in April, all kinds of food
for cattle and stock became so searce that there
was none to be had for love or money. As a last
resort, I resolved again to try the ruta baga. Accordingly,
after preparing my cattle and pigs by a
long fast, I offered some to their acceptance. It was
Hopson's choice, and they nibbled a little, making
divers wry faces withal. By degrees they took
to it more kindly and ate freely. But somehow
or other, so far from thriving or growing fat upon
this fare, they dwindled away, so that many of them
gave up the ghost, and those that were turned to
pasture in the spring, looked like skeletons. The
old quaker came to look at them one day. `Thy
cattle are rather lean, friend John,' said he, `but

there is one comfort, they will not sink into the
marshes and perish, like thy fat Teeswater bull.'

“Thus ended my first season of farming. It
had not realized my expectations to be sure, but I
had now grown somewhat wiser by experience,
and was resolved this year to do something handsome
for the honour of old England. About this
time my brother, a capital Norfolk farmer, wrote
me word Sir Humphrey Davy had just announced
to the world an analysis of carrots, by which it appeared
they contained a greater quantity of saccharine
matter than any other common vegetable, and
consequently more nourishment. Seizing this hint,
I turned my attention immediately to the cultivation
of carrots, being resolved to reap the benefit
at once, before any body else entered into competition.
I selected a field of sixteen acres, which
I employed six labourers to prepare and cultivate
under my direction. `John,' said the old quaker,
`what art thou about this season? Art thou in love
with thy Latin turnips still?'

“Pshaw!” replied I, “carrots have twice as
much saccharine matter. I am going to cultivate
carrots.”

“Friend John, thou wilt never prosper till thou
callest things by their honest christian names. But
what dost thou expect to do with thy sixteen acres
of carrots?”

“I shall feed my cattle with part, and send the
rest to market.”

“Ah! John, John,” exclaimed the old quaker,
“remember thy turnips with the Latin name.”

“My crop of carrots was amazing. I had such
a quantity I did not know what to do with them,
for my neighbours had enough of their own, and
they were not worth taking to market. My
cattle, to be sure, having little else, sometimes
tried to eat them, but they some how or other,
didn't thrive, and besides this, I and my family
could not live upon carrots. This winter, therefore,
I was again obliged to buy almost every
thing I wanted, and the remainder of my guineas
all vanished. Not only this, but I was compelled
to take up money from the old quaker to a considerable
amount, to buy stock to replace several of
my horses, cows, and sheep, that died during the
winter; for some how or other the saccharine
matter of the carrots did not seem to agree with
them. Every time I went to the quaker to borrow
money, he would say, after letting me have it,—
`Friend John, thee hadst better plant corn and sow
wheat and rye, as we do, though they don't contain
quite so much of the saccharine matter.' My reply
usually was—`Friend Underhill, thy money
is better than thy advice. I didn't come all the
way from old England, to learn farming of you
Yankees.

“But, although I put in practice regularly the
most approved methods, recommended by Arthur
Young, and other great English farmers, and adopted

every improvement I saw published, by the English
agricultural societies, I as regularly went behindhand
every year, and was obliged to borrow money,
every now and then, of the old quaker, who
never failed to repeat his advice, which I always
treated in the same manner. Whoever heard of a
thorough-bred English farmer, demeaning himself
by imitating these ignorant Yankees?

“I had forgot to mention, among other instances,
of the obstinacy with which these republicans
adhere to their barbarous notions, that they resisted
all my persuasions to adopt the wholesome
English custom of wearing woollen garments
during the summer. They stuck to their straw
hats and linen shirts and trowsers, and laughed at
my corduroy breeches and woollen stockings,
though I proved to them they were much the most
healthy and comfortable. To be sure I used to
perspire a little in the dog-days; but what of that?
I was resolved not to sacrifice the honour of old
England to the ignorance of these raw republicans.
The old quaker came to me one day, when the
thermometer was at ninety, and said in his sly
way—`Friend John, if thee is cold, I will lend
thee my great coat, for verily it is a bitter day,
for the season.' I took no notice of what he said,
for though I really did feel a little uncomfortable,
it would have been too great a triumph to these
people, to see me adopting any of their notions.

“At the end of three years I went one day to the
old quaker to take up some more money. `Friend

John,' said he, `hast thou ever read in Sir Humphrey
Davy, or any of thine oracles, that borrowing
day is always sooner or later followed by payday?
Thou hast been borrowing for the last three
years, without paying either principal or interest.
I cannot advance thee any more, for thy farm will
scarcely sell for what will pay the debt thou already
owest me.' This was a thing that had not struck
me before, as I had never read of it either in Arthur
Young or any other approved agriculturist. As
it was known all over the neighbourhood, that
my farm was mortgaged for its full value to the
quaker, my credit was now gone, and, in order to
raise money for the supply of my increasing wants,
I began to cut down the trees, and sell the timber
to the wheelwrights and others.

“Hearing of this, the old quaker came to me
and said:—`Friend John, if thou goest on in this
way, thy farm will, by-and-by, be without wood,
and will not sell for wherewithal to pay my mortgages.
For thy sake, as well as mine, I shall foreclose.'
He did so; my farm was sold at public
sale by the sheriff, and bought in by the old quaker
to save himself from loss. When I was on the
point of quitting the neighbourhood, he came to me
and said: `Friend John, thou art going away
among strangers without money. Here is fifty
dollars to begin the world again, which thou wilt
pay me when thou art able, and I will give thee a
little advice that will, if thou takest it, be worth
ten times as much. It is, to remember whenever

thou comest into a strange country, there is always
something to learn, as well as to teach. The
same shoe will not fit every body's foot, neither
will the same mode of farming suit every country.
The best farmer is not he that raises the greatest
crops, but he that raises them at the least expense.
In thy country, land is dear and labour cheap—in
ours, labour is dear and land cheap. This must
needs make a difference in the quantity of labour
which it is profitable to put on thy land, so that the
product will pay for thy labour. Moreover, thy
big bull with the little short legs, and thy big fat
sheep and cows, that can scarcely waddle along,
will do for the smooth lawns, close shaven hills,
and cool skies of thy country, but they will not
stand our hot summers, our swampy low grounds
and our rough rocky mountains. Moreover, I do
most specially recommend thee to eschew turnips
with Latin names;—to plant corn and potatoes, sow
wheat and rye, like thy neighbours, and, above
all, abjure Sir Humphrey Davy and his saccharine
matter. Farewell, friend John, I wish thee better
success another time.”'

I have given this story as nearly as possible for
the purpose of exhibiting at full length a warning
example to our English farmers at home, who may
be about to emigrate to this country. In order to
succeed, they must, in the first place, accommodate
themselves to situation and circumstances,
which is contrary to the independent nature and
feelings of a true-born Englishman. Instead of

the soil, climate, products, and seasons accommodating
themselves to their mode of farming, as
they ought to do, considering its immense superiority,
our farmers, forsooth, must pay homage to
the genius of democracy, and degrade themselves
by stooping to learn where they came to teach.
They must consent to grow articles that will pay
for carrying to market, although they don't contain
half the quantity of saccharine matter which
others do—they must plant corn and wheat, instead
of carrots and ruta baga—they must unlearn
their own knowledge, and adopt the ignorance of
others—they must even consult the wayward appetites
of their imported cattle and pigs, who seem
actually to become sophisticated, by breathing the
air of democracy, and occasionally smelling to the
Yankee cattle over a stone wall.

After spending the whole morning together,
strolling along the shady river, we returned to dinner.
The day was so excessively hot, that I almost
caught myself envying the Yankees their
straw hats, gingham short coats, and linen pantaloons.
My poor friend in the woollen stockings,
panted like a tired mastiff, and perspired like an
ox; but still there was something very respectable
in his blue broad-cloth frock, striped swansdown
waistcoat, corduroy breeches, and gray woollen
hose. I forgot to mention that this deluded, though
worthy man, had come to Washington for the purpose
of petitioning the congress to establish a farm
at the public expense, and under his special direction,

in the view of giving a practical illustration
of the benefits of a system of farming adapted to
an old country, when applied to a new one. But
his proposal was treated with the most stupid indifference
by the arrogant, self-sufficient, bundling,
gouging, guessing, drinking, dirking, spitting,
chewing, pig-stealing, impious genius of democracy,
as the Quarterly says.