University of Virginia Library

COLONEL CULPEPER TO MAJOR BRANDE.

Dear Major,—I have been so occupied of late in
seeing sights, eating huge dinners, and going to evening
parties to matronize Lucia, that I had no time
to write to you. The people here are very hospitable,
thought not exactly after the manner of the high hills of
Santee. They give you a great dinner or evening party,
and then, as the sage Master Stephen Griffen is pleased
to observe, “let you run.” These dinners seem to be
in the nature of a spasmodic effort, which exhausts the
purse or the hospitality of the entertainer, and is followed
by a collapse of retrenchment. You recollect
—, who staid at my house, during a fit of illness, for
six weeks, the year before last. He has a fine house,
the inside of which looks like an upholsterer's shop, and
lives in style. He gave me an invitation to dinner, at
a fortnight's notice, where I ate out of a set of China,
my lady assured me cost seven hundred dollars, and
drank out of glasses that cost a guinea a piece. In
short, there was nothing on the table of which I did not
learn the value, most especially the wine, some of which
mine entertainer gave the company his word of honour,
stood him in eight dollars a bottle, besides the interest,
and was half a century old. I observed very
gravely, that it bore its age so remarkably well, that I
really took it to be in the full vigour of youth. Upon
which all the company set me down as a bore.

In place of the pleasant chit-chat and honest jollity of

better times, there was nothing talked of but the quality
of the gentleman's wines, which I observed were estimated
entirely by their age and prices. One boasted
of his Bingham, another of his Marston; a third of his
Nabob, and a fourth of his Billy Ludlow. All this was
Greek to me, who was obliged to sit stupidly silent, having
neither Bingham, nor Marston, nor Nabob, nor
Billy Ludlow; nor indeed any other wine of name or
pedigree: for the fact is, as you very well know, my
wine goes so fast, it has no time to grow old.

But there was one pursy, pompous little man at table,
a foreigner, I think, who my lady whispered me was
worth a million and a half of dollars, who beat the others
all hollow. He actually had in his garret a dozen of
wine seventy years old, last grass, that had been in his
family fifty years—which by the way, as a sly neighbour
on my right assured me, was farther back than he could
carry his own pedigree. This seemed to raise him
high above all competition, and gave great effect to several
of the very worst jokes I ever heard. It occurred to
me, however, that his friends had been little the better
for the wine thus hoarded to brag about. For my part,
I never yet met a real honest, liberal, hospitable fellow
that had much old wine. Occasionally the conversation
varied into discussions as to who was the best
judge of wine, and there was a serious contest about a
bottle of Bingham and a bottle of Marston, which I was
afraid would end in a duel. All, however, bowed to the
supremacy of one particular old gentleman, who made
a bet that he would shut his eyes, hold his nose, and
distinguish between six different kinds of Madeira. I

did not think much of this, as a man dont drink wine
either with his eyes or nose; but politely expressed my
wonder, and smacked my lips, and cried, “Ah!” in
unison with this Winckelman of wine bibbers, like a
veritable connoisseur.

There can be no doubt these dinners are genteel and
splendid, because every body here says so. But between
ourselves, major, I was ennui in spite of Bingham
and Marston, and the Nabob. There wanted the
zest, the ease, the loose gown and slippers, the elbow
room for the buoyant, frisky spirits to curvet and gambol
a little; without which your Bingham and canvass
backs, are naught. In the midst of all this display, I
sighed for bacon and greens and merry faces.[3] As I
am a Christian gentleman, there was not the tithe of a
good thing said at the table, and to my mind, eating and
drinking good things is nothing without a little accompanying
wit and humour as sauce. The little pursy,
important man of a million, it is true succeeded several
times in raising a laugh, by the weight of his purse
rather than the point of his joke. The dinner lasted
six hours, at the end of which, the company was more
silent than at the beginning, a sure sign of something
being wanting. For my part, I may truly affirm, I
never was at a more splendid dinner, or one more mortally
dull. However my friend paid his debt of hospitality
by it, for I have not seen the inside of his house
since. He apologizes for not paying me any more

attention, by saying his house is all topsy-turvy, with
new papering and painting, but assures me that by the
time we return in autumn madam will be in a condition
to give us a little party. I believe he holds me cheap
because I have no dear wine that stands me in eight
dollars a bottle.

'Tis the fashion of the times, so let it pass. But
fashion or not, nothing in the range of common sense,
can rescue this habit of cumbrous display, and clumsy
ostentation, from the reproach of bad taste and vulgarity.
This loading of the table with costly finery and
challenging our admiration by giving us the price of each
article; this boasting of the age, the goodness, and
above all the cost of the wine, is little better than telling
the guests, they are neither judges of what is valuable in
furniture, nor commendable in wines. Why not let
them find these things out themselves; or remain in
most happy ignorance of the value of a set of China, and
the age of a bottle of wine. It is for the tradesman to
brag of his wares, and the wine merchant of his wines,
because they wish to sell them; but the giver of good
things should never overwhelm the receiver with the
weight of gratitude by telling him their value.

From the dinner party, which broke up at nine, I
accompanied the young people to a tea party, being desirous
of shaking off the heaviness of that modern merry
making. We arrived about a quarter before ten, and found
the servant just lighting the lamps. There was not a soul
in the room but him. He assured me the lady would be
down to receive us in half an hour, being then under the
hands of Monsieur Manuel, the hair dresser, who was engaged

till nine o'clock with other ladies. You must know
this Manuel is the fashionable hair dresser of the city,
and it is not uncommon for ladies to get their heads
dressed the day before they are wanted, and sit up all
night to preserve them in their proper buckram rigidity.
Monsieur Manuel, as I hear, has two dollars per head,
besides a dollar for coach hire, it being utterly impossible
for monsieur to walk. His time is too precious.

We had plenty of leisure to admire the rooms and decorations,
for Monsieur Manuel was in no hurry. I
took a nap on the sopha, under a superb lustre which
shed a quantity of its honours upon my best merino
coat, sprinkling it handsomely with spermaceti. About
half past ten the lady entered in all the colours of the
rainbow, and all the extravagance of vulgar finery. I
took particular notice of her head, which beyond doubt,
was the master piece of Monsieur Manuel. It was
divested of all its natural features, which I suppose is
the perfection of art. There was nothing about it
which looked like hair, except it was petrified hair. All
the graceful waving lightness of this most beautiful gift
of woman, was lost in curls stiff and ungraceful as deformity
could make them, and hair plastered to the head
till it glistened like an overheated “gentleman of colour.”
She made something like an apology for not being ready
to receive us, which turned however pretty much on not
expecting any company at such an early hour. Between
ten and eleven the company began to drop in; but the
real fashionables did not arrive till about half past eleven,
by which time the room was pretty well filled. It was
what they call a conversation party, one at which there

was neither cards nor dancing; of course I expected to
enjoy some agreeable chit-chat. Old bachelor as I am,
and for ladies' love unfit, still I delight in the smiles of
beauty, and the music of a sweet voice speaking intelligence
is to me sweeter than the harmony of the spheres,
or the Italian opera.

Accordingly, I made interest for introductions to two
or three of the most promising faces, and attempted a
little small talk. The first of these commenced by
asking me in a voice that almost made me jump out of
my seat, if I had been at Mrs. Somebody's party last
week? To the which I replied in the negative. After
a moment's pause, she asked me if I was going to Mrs.
Somebody's party the next evening? To the which, in
like manner, I replied in the negative. Another pause,
and another question, whether I was acquainted with
another Mrs. Somebody, who was going to give a party?
To this I was obliged to give another negation;
when the young lady espying a vacant seat in a corner
on the opposite side, took flight without ceremony, and
by a puss-in-the-corner movement, seated herself beside
another young lady, with whom she entered into
conversation with a most interesting volubility.

Though somewhat discouraged, I tried my fortune a
second time, with a pale, delicate, and interesting looking
little girl, who I had fancied to myself was of
ethereal race and lived upon air, she looked so light and
graceful. By way of entering wedge, I asked her the
name of a lady, who, by the bye, had nothing very particular
about her, except her dress, which was extravagantly
fine. My imaginary sylph began to expatiate

upon its beauty and taste in a most eloquent manner,
and concluded by saying: “But its a pity she wears it
so often.” Why so? “O why—because.” Is it the
worse for wear? “O dear no; but then one sees it so
often.” But if 'tis handsome, the oftener the better, I
should think; beauty cannot be too often contemplated,
said I, looking in her face rather significantly. What
effect this might have had upon her I cant say, for just
then, I observed a mysterious agitation among the company,
which was immediately followed by the appearance
of a number of little tables wheeled into the room
by servants in great force, and covered with splendid services
of China, filled with pickled oysters, oyster soup,
celery, dressed lobsters, ducks, turkeys, pastry, confectionary,
and the Lord knows what besides. My little
ethereal upon this started up, and seated herself at
a little round marble table, which was placed in the middle
of the room, and commenced her supper, by the aid
of two obsequious swains, who waited on her with the
spoils of the grand table. I never could bear to see a
young woman eat when I was a young man, and I have
never seen above half a dozen ladies, who knew how to
eat with a proper degree of sentimental indifference.
It is at the best but a vulgar, earthly, matter of fact business,
and brings all people on a level, belles and beaux,
refined and not refined. It is in fact, a sheer animal
gratification, and a young damsel should never, if possible,
let her lover see her eat, until after marriage.

Now, major, let me premise, that I am not going to
romance one tittle when I tell you I was astounded at
the trencher feats of my little sylph like ethereal. It

was not in the spirit of ill natured espionage, I assure
you, that I happened to look at her as she took her seat
at the little round table; but having once looked, I was
fascinated to the spot. Here follows a bill of fare which
she discussed, and I am willing to swear to every item.

Imprimis—Pickled oysters.

Item—Oyster soup.

Item—Dressed lobster and celery.

Item—Two jellies.

Item—Macaronies.

Item—Kisses.

Item—Whip syllabub.

Item—Blanc mange.

Item—Ice creams.

Item—Floating island.

Item—Alamode beef.

Item—Cold turkey.

Item—A partridge wing.

Item—Roast duck and onions.

Item—Three glasses of brown stout, &c. &c.

Do you remember the fairy tale where a man eats as
much bread in a quarter of an hour as served a whole
city? I never believed a word of it till now. But all this
is vulgar you will say. Even so; but the vulgarity consists
in eating so horrifically, not in noticing it. The thing
is intrinsically ill bred, and should this practice continue to
gain ground, there is not the least doubt that the number
of old bachelors and maidens will continue to increase
and multiply in a manner quite contrary to Scripture. To
conclude this heart rending subject, I venture to affirm,
that assemblages of this kind, ought to be called eating,

instead of tea drinking, or conversation parties. Their
relative excellence and attraction is always estimated
among the really fashionable, refined people, by the
quality and quantity of the eatables and drinkables. One
great requisite, is plenty of oysters; but the sine qua non,
is oceans of champagne. Master Stephen, who is high
authority in a case of this sort, pronounced this party quite
unexceptionable, for there was little conversation, a great
deal of eating, and the champagne so plenty, that nine
first rate dandies including himself, got so merry, that
they fell fast asleep on the benches of the supper table
up stairs. I can answer for king Stephen, who was discovered,
in this situation at three in the morning when
the fashionables began to think of going home.

For my part, major, I honestly confess, I was again
ennui, even unto yawning desperately in the very teeth of
beauty. But I dont lay it altogether to the charge of
the party, being somewhat inclined to suspect the jokes
of the little man of a million, and the Bingham wine were
partly at the bottom of the business. I wonder how it
came into the heads of people of a moderate common
sense, that old wine, could ever make people feel young
and consequently merry. There is gout, past, present
and future—gout personal, real and hereditary, lurking
at the bottom of old wine; and nothing can possibly
prevent this universal consequence of drinking it, but a
natural and incurable vulgarity of constitution, which
cannot assimilate itself to a disease of such genteel
origin.

I have since been at several of these first rate fashionable
conversationes, where there was almost the same

company, the same eatables and drinkables, and the same
lack of pleasing and vivacious chit-chat. I sidled up
to several little groups, whose loud laugh and promising
gestures, induced me to believe, there was something
pleasant going on. But I assure you nothing could
equal the vapid insignificance of their talk. There
was nothing in it, but “La, were you at the ball last
night?”—and then an obstreperous roar of ill bred,
noisy laughter. There is no harm in people talking in
this way, but it is a cruel deceit upon the unwary, to
allure a man into listening. In making my observations,
it struck me, that many of the young ladies looked
sleepy, and the elderly ones did certainly yawn most
unmercifully. There was at one of these polite stuffings,
an elderly lady, between whose jaws and mine a
most desperate sympathy grew up and flourished. Our
mouths if not our eyes, may truly be said to have met in
this accord of inanity, and twenty times in the course of
the evening did we involuntarily exchange these tokens
of mutual good understanding. The next party we happened
to meet at, I determined to practise the most resolute
self denial; but it would not do; there was an
awful and irresistible attraction about the maelstrom of
her mouth, that drew me toward its vortex, and we have
continued to yawn at each other whenever we have met
since. Wherever I turn my eyes, the cavern opes before
me, and my old habit of yawning has become ten
times more rife than ever.

But seriously speaking, it is not to be wondered at,
that the indefatigable votaries of fashion should look
sleepy at these parties. Some of them have sat up all

the night before perhaps, in order not to discompose the
awful curls of Monsieur Manuel. Others, and I am
told the major part of them, have been at parties five
nights in the week, for two or three months past. You
will recollect, that owing to the absurd and ridiculous
aping of foreign whims and fashions, these evening parties
do not commence till the evening is past, nor end
till the morning is come. Hence it is impossible to go
to one of them, without losing a whole night's rest,
which is to be made up, by lying in bed the greater part
of the next day. Such a course for a whole season,
must wither the physical and moral strength, and convert
a young woman into a mere machine, to be wound
up for a few hours by the artificial excitements of the
splendours of wealth, the vain gratification of temporary
admiration, or the more substantial stimulus of the
bill of fare, of the sylph ethereal aforesaid. It is no
wonder their persons are jaded, their eyes sunk, their
chests flattened, their sprightliness repressed by midnight
revels, night after night, and that they supply the
absence of all these, by artificial allurements of dress,
and artificial pulmonic vivacity. You will wonder to
hear a chivalrous old bachelor rail at this ill natured
rate. But the truth is, I admire the last best work so
fervently, that I cant endure to see it spoiled and sophisticated,
by a preposterous imitation of what is called
the fashion; and so love the native charms of our
native beauties, that it grieves my heart and rouses my
ire to see them thus blighted, withered and destroyed
in the midnight chase of a phantom miscalled pleasure.

Not three years ago, I am told, it was the custom to
go to a party at eight, and come away at twelve, or
sooner. By this sober and rational arrangement, a
young lady might indulge in the very excess of fashionable
dissipation, without absolutely withering the roses
of her cheeks, and dying at thirty of premature old age.
But in an evil hour, some puppy, who, like my Master
Stephen, had seen the world, or some silly woman, that
had been three months abroad, came home, and turned
up the nose at these early vulgarities—told how the
fashionable parties began at midnight, and ended at sunrise—and
that they all laughed at the vulgar hours of
the vulgar parties of the vulgar republicans. This was
enough; Mistress Somebody, the wife of Mr. Such a
one, who had a fine house in a certain street, “with
folding doors and marble mantel pieces,” and all that
sort of thing, set the fashion, and now the gentility of
a party is estimated in no small degree by the hour. If
you want to be tolerably genteel, you must not go till
half past nine—if very genteel, at ten—if exceedingly
genteel, at eleven;—but if you want to be superlatively
genteel, you must not make your appearance
till twelve.

The crying absurdity of this arrangement, in a society
where almost every person at these parties, has
business or duties of some kind to attend to by nine
o'clock the next day, must be apparent. The whole
thing is at war with the state of society here, and incompatible
with the system of domestic arrangements,
and out door business. It is a pitiful aping of people
abroad, whose sole pursuit is pleasure, and who can

turn day into night, and night into day, without paying
any other penalty but the loss of health, and the abandonment
of all pretensions to usefulness. If our travelled
gentry cannot bring home something more valuable
than these mischievous absurdities, they had better
stay at home. They remind me of our good friend
Sloper, who spent seven years travelling in the east, and
brought nothing home with him but an excellent mode
of spoiling rice and chickens, by cooking them after the
Arabian fashion.

Among the most disgusting of these importations is,
the fashion of waltzing, which is becoming common
here of late. It was introduced as I understand, by a
party of would be fashionables, that saw it practised at
the operas, with such enchanting langour, grace and
lasciviousness, that they fell in love with it, and determined
to bless their country by transplanting the precious
exotic. I would not be understood to censure
those nations among whom the waltz is, as it were, indigenous—a
national dance. Habit, example and practice
from their earliest youth, accustom the women of
these countries to the exhibition, and excuse it. But
for an American woman, with all her habits and opinions
already formed, accustomed to certain restraints,
and brought up with certain notions of propriety, to rush
at once into a waltz, to brave the just sentiment of the
delicate of her own and the other sex, with whom she
has been brought up, and continues to associate, is little
creditable to her good sense, her delicacy or her morals.
Every woman does, or ought to know, that she cannot
exhibit herself in the whirling and lascivious windings

of a waltz, without calling up in the minds of men,
feelings and associations unworthy the dignity and purity
of a delicate female. The lascivious motions—the
up turned eyes—the die away languors—the dizzy circlings—the
twining arms—and projecting front—all
combine to waken in the bosom of the spectators analogies,
associations, and passions, which no woman,
who values the respect of the world, ought ever wilfully
challenge or excite.

I must not forget one thing that amused me, amid all
this aping and ostentation. I was at first struck with
the profusion of servants, lamps, and China, and silver
forks at these parties, and could not help admiring the
magnificence of the entertainer, as well as his wealth.
But by degrees, it began to strike me, that I had seen
these things before; and at last I fairly detected a splendid
tureen, together with divers elegant chandeliers and
lamps, which I had actually admired the night before at
a party in another part of the town. As to my old
friend Simon, and his squires of the body, he and I are
hand and glove. I see him and his people, and the tureen,
and the China, and the lamps, every where. They
are all hired, in imitation of the fashionable people
abroad. They undertake for every thing here, from
furnishing a party, to burying a Christian. I cant help
thinking it is a paltry attempt at style. But adieu, for
the present. I am tired—are not you?

If ever the pure and perfect system of equality was
completely exemplified upon earth, it will be found in
New York, where it is the fashion to dress without any

regard to time, place, or purse. There is no place
where the absurd, antiquated maxim of “cutting your
coat according to your cloth,” is so properly and consummately
cut, as here, where a full dress is indispensable
on all occasions, particularly in walking Broadway
or going to church. Whoever wishes to see beauty in all
its glory, must walk Broadway of a morning, or visit a
fashionable church—for there is a fashion in churches—
on a fine Sunday. On these occasions it is delightfully
refreshing to see a fashionable, looking like a ship on a
gala day, dressed in the flags of all nations. Many
cynical blockheads, who are at least a hundred years
behind the march of mind and the progress of public
improvements, affect to say this beautiful and florid
style of dressing in the streets or at church is vulgar;
but we denounce such flagrant fopperies of opinion,
maintaining that so far from being reprehensible, it is
perfectly natural, and therefore perfectly proper. The
love of finery is inherent in our nature; it is appetitus
innatus—and all experience indicates that the more
ignorant, unsophisticated people are, the more fond are
they of finery. The negro, (meaning no offence, as it
is an illustration, not a comparison,) the African negro,
adores a painted gourd, decked with feathers of all
colours; the Nooaheevians affect the splendours of a
great whale's tooth; the Esquimaux will starve themselves
to purchase a clam shell of red paint; the Indians
sell their lands for red leggins and tin medals;
and the whites run in debt for birds of Paradise, French
hats, travelling chains, and Cashmere shawls. All this is
as it should be, and so far from betokening effeminacy
or undue refinement, is an infallible indication of an
approach to the primitive simplicity of nature.

This barbarous, or more properly natural taste or
passion for finery pervades all classes of people in this
delightful city, and if there is any superiority of dress
observable, it is among the most vulgar and ignorant;
in other words those who are nearest to a state of nature.
The maid is, if possible, finer than the mistress;
displays as many feathers, and flowers, and exhibits the
same rigidity of baked curls, so that in walking the
streets, were it not for that infallible private mark of a
gentlewoman, the foot and ancle, nobody but their
friends could tell the difference. There are, as we have
been credibly informed, Lombard and Banking Companies
incorporated by the legislature, on purpose to maintain
this beautiful equality in dress, every article of which
from a worked muslin to a lace veil, may be hired “at
prices to accommodate customers,” and a fine lady fitted
out for a cruise, at a minute's warning.

This beautiful exemplification of a perfect equality,
extends to the male class also. He that brushes his
master's coat, often wears a better coat than his master;
and Cuffee himself, the free gentleman of colour, struts
up and down Broadway, arm in arm, four abreast,
elbowing the fine ladies, clothed from head to foot in
regent's cloth of fourteen dollars a yard. All this redounds
unutterably to the renown of the city, and causes
it to be the delight of sojourners and travellers, who instead
of having their eyes offended and their feelings
outraged by exhibitions of inglorious linsey woolsey,
and vulgar calico, see nothing all around them but a

universal diffusion of happiness. What is it to us tourists
where the money comes from, or who pays for all this?
The records of bankruptcy, and the annals of the police,
are not the polite studies of us men of pleasure, nor
have we any concern with the insides of houses, or the
secrets of domestic life, so long as the streets look gay,
and every body in them seems happy. What is it
to us, if the husband or the father of the gay butterfly
we admire, as she flutters along, clothed in the spoils of
the four quarters of the globe, is at that very moment
shivering in the jaws of bankruptcy, perspiring out his
harassed soul in inward anxieties to weather another day
of miserable splendours, and resorting to all the mean,
degrading expedients of the times to deceive the world
a little longer. The city is charming—the theatres and
churches full of splendours; the hotels and boarding
houses abound in all that can pamper the appetite; the
habitations all splendidly furnished; all that we see is
delightful; and as to what we dont see, it exists not to
us. We travellers belong to the world, and the world
with the exception of its cares and troubles, belongs
to us.

But as there is a highly meritorious class of travellers,
who are almost continually in motion, and never
stay long in one place, if they can help it, to whom it
may be important to know the secrets of the art of
living, as the butterflies do, without toiling or spinning,
and tasting all the fruits of the field, without having
any fields themselves, we commend them to the records
of bankruptcy, the police, and the quarter sessions. It
is there they will become adepts in this most important

of all branches of human knowledge. Any fool may
live by working and saving—but to live, and live well
too, by idleness and unthrift—to enjoy the luxuries of
taverns, fine clothes, canvass backs, turtle soup, and
Bingham wine, without money, and without credit, is
the summum bonum, and can only be attained by long
experience, and a close attendance upon the police. If
High Constable Hays, would only give to the world,
agreeably to the fashion of the times, his “Reminiscences,”
what a treasure they would be to the class of
tourists we are addressing! There they might behold
the grand drama of life behind the scenes, and under
the stage; there they might learn how to dress elegantly
at the expense of those stupid blockheads who
prefer living by the sweat of their own brows, to living
by the sweat of those of other people; there they
would be taught by a thousand examples, not how to
cut their coats according to their own cloth, but that of
their neighbours, and learn how easy it is to be a fine
gentleman—that is to say, to live at a hotel, get credit
with a tailor, diddle the landlord and the doctor, pick a
few pockets and a few locks, by way of furnishing himself
with a watch and a diamond breast pin. There too
he would learn how a little staining of the whiskers, a
new wig, and an alias, enables a man to come forth,
from the state prison, “redeemed, regenerated, and
disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of universal”
philanthropy. Seriously therefore do we hope the high
constable will employ his otium cum dignitate, in a work
of this kind, for the benefit of the inexperienced in the
art of raising the wind.

But to return from this digression, which we have indulged
in from motives of pure philanthropy. And
we shall frequently in the course of this work, encourage
these little excursive irregularities of the pen, being
firmly of opinion that no person ought to make the
grand northern tour who has any better use for his money
than buying, or for his time, than in reading this
book.

In New York there is an inexhaustible round of
amusements, for every hour of the day as well as the
night. There is the Academy of Arts, where the amateur
of painting may see pictures which cost more than
Domenichino received for his Communion of St. Jerome,
or Raphael for his master piece; and which,
strange to say, are not worth above half as much. Nothing
is more easy than to kill an hour or two of a dull
morning at the academy, from whence we would advise
the intelligent tourist, if of the male species, to adjourn
to the far famed gastronomium, vernacular, oyster
stand of Jerry Duncan, who certainly opens an oyster
with more grace and tournure than any man living. But
alas! how few—how very few in this degenerate age
understand the glorious mysteries of eating. Some fry
their oysters in batter—infamous custom! Some sophisticate
them with pepper and salt—that ought to be
a state prison offence! Some with vinegar and butter—
away with them to the tread mill! Others stew, broil,
roast, or make them into villanous pies—hard labour
for life, or solitary imprisonment, ought to be the lot of
these! And others, O murder most foul! cut them in
two before they eat them; a practice held in utter abhorrence

by all persons of common humanity—this
ought to be death by the law. As our reader loves oysters—as
he aspires to become an adept in the great
science—as he hopes to be saved—let him never cut
his oyster in two pieces, or eat it otherwise than raw.
If his mouth is not large enough to swallow it whole,
let him leave it with a sigh to the lips of some more
fortunate being, to whom nature has been more bountiful.
A reasonable sojourn at Jerry's, will bring round
the hour to one o'clock, when it is proper to take the
field in Broadway, or at least to go home and prepare
for that solemn occasion. From this till dinner, the intelligent
tourist can employ his time to great advantage,
in walking back and forth from the Battery to the south
corner of Chamber Street. Beyond this he must not
stir a step, as all besides is vulgar, terra incognita to the
fashionable world. People will think you are going to
Cheapside, or Bond Street, or Hudson Square, or some
other haberdashery place, to buy bargains, if you are
found beyond the north corner of the Park. At three,
return to your lodgings to dress for dinner:—these must
positively be in Broadway, in one of those majestic old
houses, which the piety of young heirs consecrates to
the god of eating, in honour of their fathers. We are
not ignorant that some ill natured people affirm this is
not their motive—but that they are actuated by the filthy
lucre of gain, in thus turning their father's home into a
den of tourists; but we ourselves are fully convinced
they are impelled by sheer public spirit, warmed by the
irresistible effervescence of universal philanthropy, the
warmth of which pervades this whole city, insomuch
that there is scarcely a place extant where people are
more cordially taken in. Let no one blame these pious
young heirs, since in the east, nobody but kings and
saints built caravanseraes for the accommodation of
travellers; and in the west, none but people of a pious
and royal spirit erect taverns. The only difference is,
and it is not very material, the caravanseraes charge
nothing for lodging travellers, and the taverns make
them pay double.

And now comes the hour—the most important hour,
between the cradle and the grave—THE DINNER HOUR!
On this head it is necessary to be particular. Look out
for the sheep's head, the venison, the canvass backs.
Dont let your eyes any more than your mouth be idle a
moment; but be careful not to waste your energies on
common-place dishes. First eat your soup as quick as
possible without burning your mouth. Then your fish—
then your venison—then your miscellaneous delights
—and conclude with game. At the climax comes
the immortal canvass back, whose peculiar location to
the south,[4] in our opinion gives a decided superiority to
that favoured portion of the universe; and entitles it to
furnish the less favoured parts of the United States with
presidents, so long as it furnishes us with canvass backs.
From our souls, which according to some good authorities
are seated in the palate—from our souls we pity the
wretched inhabitants of the old world—wretched in the
absence of any tolerable oysters, and wretched beyond

all wretchedness in the utter destitution of canvass
backs, and Newtown pippins.

Respecting wines there is some diversity of opinion.
Some prefer French wines, such as Burgundy, Chateau,
Margaux, La Fitte, Latour, Sauterne, and Sillery.
Others affect the purple and amber juices of the Rhine,
affirming that in HOC signo vinces; and that the real
Johannisberg is inimitable. Others again prefer the
more substantial product of Spain, Portugal, and the
veritable Hesperides—the group of the Madeiras—
maintaining that the existence of the people of this
world, before the discovery of these last, is one of those
miracles not to be accounted for, like that of a toad in
a block of marble. As there is no such thing as accounting
for tastes, or reconciling them, we would propose
an amicable medium, that of sipping a little of each,
in the course of the afternoon, thus reconciling the conflicting
claims of these most exquisite competitors. A
bottle of each would be rather too much for the head or
pocket of a single amateur, wherefore we would recommend
some half a dozen to club their wines, by which
means this objection would be obviated. By the time
these ceremonies are got through, the company will be
in a condition to adjourn to the theatres, with a proper
zest for the Flying Dutchman, Peter Wilkins, and “I've
been roaming.” After sitting or sleeping out these elegant
spectacles, it is reasonable to suppose our traveller
will be hungry, and being hungry, it is reasonable that
he should eat. Wherefore it is our serious advice that
he adjourn forthwith to the Goose and Gridiron, where
after partaking of a good supper, he may go any where

he pleases, except home, it being proper that a rational
and enlightened traveller should make the most of his
time.

To the young female tourist, whose time and papa's
money are an incumbrance, New-York affords inexhaustible
resources. The mere amusement of dressing
for breakfast, for Broadway, and for dinner, and undressing
for evening parties, is a never failing refuge from
ennui. In the intervals between dressing, shopping,
visiting and receiving visits, it is advisable for her, if
she is fond of retirement and literary pursuits, to seat
herself at one of the front windows, on the ground floor
of the hotel, with a Waverley or a Cooper, where she
can do as we have seen people do in divers old fashioned
pictures, hold her book open, and at the same time complacently
contemplate the spectators. The following
list of “Resources,” is confidently recommended to
our female travelling readers.

Lying in bed till ten.

Dressing for breakfast. N. B. If there is nobody in
the hotel worth dressing for, any thing will do—or better
take breakfast in bed, and another nap.

Breakfast till eleven. N. B. It is not advisable to
eat canvass backs, oysters, or lobsters at breakfast. A
little smoked salmon, a little frizzled beef, or a little bit
of chicken about as big as a bee's wing, is all that can
safely be indulged. N. B. Beef steaks and mutton
chops are wholly inadmissible except for married ladies.

Twelve to one. Dress for shopping. N. B. The
female tourist must put on her best, it being the fashion
in New York, for ladies and their maids to dress for
walking as if they were going to church or a ball. Care

must be taken to guard against damp pavements, by
putting on prunelle shoes. If the weather is dry, white
satin is preferable.

One till three. Sauntering up and down Broadway,
and diversifying the pleasure by a little miscellaneous
shopping—looking in at the milliners, the jewellers, &c.
N. B. No lady should hesitate to buy any thing because
she dont want it, since this dealing in superfluities is
the very essence of every thing genteel. Above all,
never return home but with an empty purse.

At three, the brokers, who set the fashion in New
York, go home to their canvass backs, and Bingham
wine, and it becomes vulgar to be seen in Broadway.

Dinner at four, the earliest hour permitted among
people of pretensions. Owing to the barbarous practice
of banishing ladies from all participation in the
learned discussions of wines, the period between dinner,
and dressing for the evening party, is the most trying
portion of female existence. If they walk in Broadway,
they will see nobody worth seeing; of course, there is
no use in walking. A nap, or a Waverley, or perhaps
both, is the only resource.

It will be expedient to wake up at eight, for the purpose
of dressing for a party, else there is no earthly reason
why you may not sleep till half past ten or eleven,
when it is time to think of going, or you may possibly
miss some of the refreshments. N. B. A lady may eat
as much as she pleases at a ball, or a conversatione.

Should there be no party for the evening, the theatres
are a never failing resource of intellectual enjoyment.
The sublime actions of the Flying Dutchman, and
Peter Wilkins, and the sublime displays in “I've been

roaming,” cannot fail to enlighten the understanding,
refine the taste, and improve the morals of all the rising
generation, in an equal if not greater degree, than
bridewell or the penitentiary. N. B. The bashful
ladies generally shut both their eyes, at “I've been
roaming.” Those who retain a fragment of the faculty
of blushing, only open one eye; but such as are afraid
of nothing, use a quizzing glass that nothing may escape
them.

But after all there is nobody that can do full justice to
the ever changing shadows and lights of fashionable
dress, manners and amusements, but a young female,
just come out with all her soaring anticipations unclipt
by experience, and all her capacities of enjoyment, fresh
and unsoiled. We will therefore take occasion to insert
in this place two letters, written by a young lady of the
party, from whose correspondence, we have already
made such liberal selections.