University of Virginia Library

ALBANY.

Leaving Coxsackie, the traveller gradually approaches
those rich little islands and flats, beloved by
the honest Dutchmen of all parts of the world, and
elsewhere, in the midst of which are seen the long comfortable
brick mansions of the Cuylers, the Schuylers,
the Van Rensselaers, and others of the patroons of ancient
times. “I never see one of these,” quoth
Alderman Janson, “without picturing to myself the
plentiful breakfasts, solid dinners, and manifold evening
repasts, which have been and still are discussed in
these comfortable old halls, guiltless of folding doors
and marble mantel pieces, and all that modern trumpery
which starves the kitchen to decorate the parlour,
and robs the stranger of his hospitable welcome to bestow

upon superfluous trumpery. I never think of
the picture so delightfully drawn by Mrs Grant, in the
`Memoirs of an American Lady,' of the noble patriarchal
state of `Uncle Schuyler' and his amiable wife,
without contrasting it with the empty, vapid, mean, and
selfish pageantry of the present time, which satiates
itself with the paltry vanity of display, and stoops to all
the dirty drudgery of brokerage and speculation, to gather
wealth, only to excite the gaping wonder, or secret
envy of vulgar rivals. By St. Nicholas, the patron of
good fellows, but the march of the human intellect is
sometimes like a crab, backwards!”

“The city of Albany,” continues the worthy alderman,
“was founded, not by Mars, Neptune, Minerva,
or Vulcan, nor any of the wandering vagabond gods of
ancient times. Neither does it owe its origin to a runaway
hero like æneas, nor a runaway debtor, like a
place that shall be nameless. Its first settlers were a
race of portly burghers from old Holland, who sailing
up the river in search of a resting place, and observing
how the rich flats invited them as it were to their fat and
fruitful bowers, landed thereabouts, lighted their pipes,
and began to build their tabernacles without saying one
word. Tradition also imports, that they were somewhat
incited to this, by seeing divers large and stately
sturgeons jumping up out of the river as they are wont
to do, most incontinently in these parts. These sturgeons
are, when properly disguised by cookery, so that
you cannot tell what they are, most savoury and excellent
food, although there is no truth in the story hatched
by the pestilent descendants of Philo Longfellow, that

the flesh of the sturgeon is called Albany beef, and that
it is sometimes served up at Rockwell's, Cruttenden's,
and other favourite resorts of tourists, as veal cutlets.
Out upon such slanders! By St. Nicholas, the Longfellows
lie most immoderately. The worthy burghers
of Albany never deceived a Christian in their lives. As
their old proverb says:

“The indians according to the learned Knickerbocker,
perceiving that the new comers, were like themselves
great smokers, took a vast liking to them, and
sat down and smoked with them, without saying a word,
and presently a cloud of smoke overspread the land,
like the haze of the indian summer. An old chief at
length looked at Mynheer Van Wezel, the leader of the
party, and gave a significant grunt. Mynheer Van Wezel
looked at the old indian and gave another grunt equally
significant. Thus they came to a mutual good understanding,
and a treaty was concluded without exchanging
a single word, or any other ceremony than a good sociable
smoking party. Some of the descendants of
Philo Longfellow, insinuate that Mynheer Van Wezel
took an opportunity of presenting his pistol, well charged
with Schiedam, to the old chief and his followers, and that it
operated marvellously in bringing about the treaty. But
there is not a word of truth in the story. This good
understanding was produced by the magic virtues of silence
and tobacco. This example shows how easy it
is to be good friends, if people will only hold their

tongues; and it moreover forever rescues the excellent
practice of smoking from the dull jests of effeminate
puppies, who affect to call it vulgar. If modern
negotiators would only sit down and smoke a sociable
pipe together every day for five or six months, my life
upon it there would be less ink shed, and blood shed too
in this world. By St. Nicholas! the saint of smokers,
there is nothing comparable to the pipe, for soothing
anger, softening down irritation, solacing disappointment,
and disposing the mind to balmy contemplation,
poetical flights, and lofty soarings of the fancy; insomuch
that any young bard, who will tie his shirt with a
black ribbon and take to smoking and drinking gin and
water like my Lord Byron, will in a short time write
equal to his lordship, allowing for accidents.”

“Thus,” continues the alderman, “was the city of
Albany founded, and originally called All-bonny, as the
Dutch people still pronounce it, from the bonny river,
the bonny woods, bonny pastures, and bonny landscapes
by which it was environed. But blessed St.
Nicholas! how is it sophisticated, since, by the posterity
of Philo Longfellow, by politicians, tourists, lobby
members, widening streets, building basins, and digging
canals! The old Dutch church, where the followers
of Mynheer Van Wezel, first offered up their simple
orisons, is pulled down, and in its room a non-descript
with two tin steeples erected, wherein they preach nothing
but English. The young men who descend from the
founders, are Dutchmen no more, and the damsels are
nought. Not one in a hundred can read a Dutch Bible!
In a little while the children of that roving Ishmaelite,

Philo Longfellow, will sweep them from their inheritance,
and the land shall know them no more. The
very houses have changed their position, and it is written,
that an old mansion of Dutch brick which whilom
projected its end in front, on Pearl Street, did one night
incontinently turn its broadside to the street, as if resolved
like its master to be in the fashion, and follow the
march of public improvement.” As the prize poet sings
—corroborating the sentiments of the worthy alderman—

As Albany is a sort of depot, where the commodities
of the fashionable world are warehoused as it were a
night or two, for exportation to Saratoga, Niagara,
Montreal, Quebec, and Boston, we shall here present
to our readers a short system of rules and regulations,
for detecting good inns, and generally for travelling with

dignity and refinement. And first, as to smelling out
a comfortable inn.

Never go where the stage drivers or steam boat men
advise you.

Never go to a newly painted house. Trap for the
green horns. A butcher's cart, with a good fat butcher,
handing out turkeys, venison, ducks, marbled beef,
celery, and cauliflowers, is the best sign for a public
house.

Never go to a hotel, that has a fine gilt framed picture
of itself hung up in the steam boat. Good wine
needs no bush—a good hotel speaks for itself, and will
be found out without a picture.

Always yield implicit obedience to a puff in the newspapers
in praise of any hotel. It is a proof that the
landlord has been over civil to one guest at the expense
of all the others. No man is ever particularly pleased
any where, or with any body, unless he has received
more attention than he deserves. Perhaps you may be
equally favoured, particularly if you hint that you mean
to publish your travels. Even publicans sigh for immortality.

Never seem anxious to get lodgings at any particular
place. The landlord will put you in the garret if
you do, unless you come in your own carriage.

If you have no servant of your own, always hire one
of the smartest dressed fellows of the steam boat to carry
your baggage, and pass him off if possible till you are
snugly housed at the hotel, as your own. Your accommodations
will be the better for it; and when the mistake

is discovered, they cant turn you out of your room
you know.

Grumble at your accommodations every morning, it
will make you appear of consequence, and if there are
better in the house, in time you will get them.

Take the first opportunity to insinuate to the waiters,
one at a time, that if they remember you, you will remember
them when you go away. You will have every
soul of them at your command. N. B. You need not
keep your promise.

Respecting the best public houses in Albany, there
are conflicting opinions. Some think Rockwell's,
some Cruttenden's the best. We dont know much of
Rockwell, but Cruttenden, thrice jolly Cruttenden, we
pronounce worthy to be landlord to the whole universe.
Fate intended him to keep open house, and if she had
only furnished him with money enough, he would have
done it at his own expense, instead of that of other
people. He is the Falstaff of hosts, for he not only
drinks himself, but causes others to drink, by virtue of
his excellent wines, excellent jokes, and excellent example.
However, as we profess the most rigorous impartiality,
we give no opinion whatever on the relative
merits of the two houses, having—for which we hope to
be forgiven—more than once got royally fuddled at
both. If, however, the traveller is particular, as he
ought to be in these matters, he has only to inquire
where a certain worthy member from New York puts
up during the session. He will be morally certain of
finding good fare and good lodgings there.

Lastly, never go away from a place without paying
your bill, unless you have nothing to pay it with. Necessitas
non habet, &c.—A man must travel now a
days, or he is absolutely nobody; and if he has no
money, it must be at the expense of other people. In
case you set out on a foray of this kind, it is advisable
to have two trunks, one a small one for your own
clothes, and those of other people, the other a strong,
well braced, well rivetted, large sized one, filled with
brickbats. Be sure to talk “big” about having married
a rich wife as ugly as sin, for the sake of her money;
about your great relations; and if your modesty wont
permit you to pass for a lord, dont abate a hair's breadth
of being second cousin to one. When the landlord becomes
troublesome, or inattentive, and begins to throw
out hints about the colour of a man's money, hire a gig,
take your little trunk, give out you are going to visit
some well known gentleman in the neighbourhood, for
a day or two, and leave the great trunk behind for the
benefit of mine host. It is not expected you will send
back the gig.

“Albany,”—we again quote from the ana of Alderman
Janson, the prince of city magistrates—“Albany
is the capital of the state of New York, having been the
seat of government for almost half a century. Formerly
the legislature met in New York; but in process of
time it was found that the members, being seduced into
huge feeding, by the attractions of oysters, turtle, and
calves head soup, did incontinently fall asleep at their
afternoon session, and enact divers mischievous laws,

to the great detriment of the community. Thereupon
they resolved to remove to Albany; but alas! luxury
and dissipation followed in their train, so that in process
of time they fell asleep oftener than ever, and passed
other laws, which nothing but their being fast asleep
could excuse. In my opinion, it would tend greatly to
the happiness of the community, and go far to prevent
this practice of legislating with the eyes shut, if these
bodies were to meet in council like the indians, under
the trees in the open air, and be obliged to legislate
standing. This would prevent one man from talking
all the rest to sleep, unless they slept like geese standing
on one leg, and thereby arrest the passage of many
mischievous laws for mending rivers, mending manners,
mending charters, mending codes, making roads, making
beasts of burden of the people and fools of themselves.
Truly saith the wise man, `Too much of a
good thing is good for nothing;' and too much legislation
is a species of sly, insidious oppression, the more
mischievous as coming in the disguise of powers exercised
by the servants, instead of the masters of the
people. Commend me to King Log, rather than King
Stork. Every legislative body in my opinion, should
have a majority of good honest, sleepy, patriotic members,
whose pleasure it is to do nothing a good portion
of the time during the session. Your active men are
highly mischievous in a government; they must always
be doing something; meddling with every one's concerns,
and so busy in keeping the wheels of government
going, that they dont care how many people they run
over. They are millstones in motion, and when they
have no grist to grind, will set one another on fire. In
my opinion the most useful member that ever sat in congress,
was one who never in his life made any motion
except for an adjournment, which he repeated every day
just before dinner time. Truly the energy and activity
of a blockhead is awful.”

“Once upon a time,” (so says the fable, according
to Alderman Janson,) “the empire of the geese was
under the government of an old king Gander, who
though he exercised an absolute sway, was so idle,
pampered, and phlegmatic, that he slept three fourths of
his time, during which the subject geese did pretty much
as they pleased. But for all this he was a prodigious
tyrant, who consumed more corn than half of his subjects,
and morever obliged them to duck their heads
to him whenever they passed. But the chief complaint
against him was, that though he could do just as he
pleased, it was his pleasure to sit still and do nothing.

“Whereupon it came to pass one day, his subjects
held a town meeting, or it might be a convention, and
dethroned him, placing the government in the hands of
the wise geese. Feeling themselves called upon to
justify the choice of the nation, by bettering its condition,
the wise geese set to work, and passed so many excellent
laws, that in a little time the wisest goose of the community
could hardly tell whether it was lawful to say boe
to a goose, or hiss at a puppy dog, or kick up a dust in
a mill pond of a warm summer morning. When the time
of these wise geese expired, other geese still wiser were
chosen to govern in their stead, for such was the prodigious
march of mind among them, that there was not a

goose in the whole empire, but believed himself ten
times wiser than his father before him. Each succeeding
council of wise geese of course thought it incumbent
upon it, to give a push to the march of mind, until at
length the mind marched so fast that it was in great
danger of falling on its nose, and continually ran against
posts, or fell into ditches.

“Thus each generation of wise geese went on making
excellent laws to assist the march of mind and the
progress of public improvement, until in process of
time, there were no more good laws to pass, and it became
necessary to pass bad ones to keep their hands in,
and themselves in their places. `Gentlemen,' said a
little, busy, bustling, active, managing, talkative young
goose, who was resolved nobody should insinuate that
he could not say boo to a goose—`gentlemen, it does
not signify, we must do something for the march of
mind and the progress of public improvement, or the
citizen geese will call us all to nought, and choose other
wise geese in our stead. They are already the happiest
geese in the world; we must make them a little too
happy, or they will never be satisfied.' Hereupon each
of the wise geese burned to do something to assist the
march of the mind and the progress of public improvement.
One proposed a law to forbid geese to stand
upon one leg at night, and muzzle their bills in their
own feathers, this being a dangerous practice inasmuch
as it exposed them to be surprised the more easily by
foxes. Another offered a resolution to oblige all the geese
to lay their eggs the other end foremost, and hatch them
in half the usual period, whereby much time would be

saved, and there would be a mighty increase of population.
This last motion was made by an old bachelor
goose, who had made the subject of population his chief
study. A third, proposed a law forbidding the young
goslings to paddle in the water till they were old enough
to get out of the way of the great bull frogs and snapping
turtles. A fourth, moved to pick one half the geese
of one half their feathers, and give them to the other
half of the geese, for the encouragement of domestic
industry, and the national independence. After these
laws had been debated about six months, they were
passed without opposition, it being discovered to the
great surprise of the house, that there was no difference
of opinion on the subject.

“Had these edicts been propounded by old king Gander,
there would have been the d—l to pay among the
geese, and such a hissing as was never heard before.
But there is a vast difference between being governed by
a master and a slave. We see the proudest monarchs,
and the most self-willed tyrants, submitting to the will
of a valet, or a gentleman usher, or any other abject
slave, when they would resist the will of their subjects
on all occasions. So with the people, and so it was
with the republic of the geese; they allowed themselves
to be cajoled on all occasions, and laughed at the idea
of the possibility of having their chains rivetted by their
own servants. So the married geese set to work to lay
their eggs according to law. But nature is an obstinate
devil, and there is no legislating her into reason.
The eggs and the goslings came into the world just as
they did before. The little goslings, contrary to law,

would be dabbling in the water, and getting now and
then caught by the snapping turtles, and there was no
such thing as punishing the little rogues after they were
dead. In short, of all these laws, there was but one
which actually went into operation, namely, that for
picking one half of the geese for the benefit of the
other half.

“But it was never yet known that either men or
geese, were content with half a loaf when they could
get the whole. The half of the republic of the geese,
for whose benefit the other half had been picked, in process
of time waxed fat, and strong, and wealthy, while
the other half that had been fleeced of a good half of
their feathers for the encouragement of domestic industry
waxed proportionably poor and meagre, and their
breast bones projected awfully, like unto cut-waters.
The fat geese, now began to grumble that there was a
great want of patriotism in the rules of the geesian
republic in not properly encouraging domestic industry,
since nothing was clearer, than that if half a loaf was
good, the whole loaf was better. So they petitioned—
and the petition of the strong is a demand—they petitioned
that the geese who had lost half their feathers for the
public good, should be called upon to yield the other half
like honest patriotic fellows. The law was passed accordingly.
But public discontent is like a great bell, it
takes a long time in raising, but makes a mighty noise
when once up. The geese which had been picked for
the good of the republic, had chewed the cud of their
poverty in silence, but they spit venom in private among
themselves; and this new law to pluck them quite naked,

brought affairs to a crisis. In matters of legislation,
wealth and influence are every thing. But where
it comes to club law, or a resort to the right of the
strongest, poverty always carries the day. The poor
plucked geese accordingly took back by force what they
had been deprived of by legislation, with interest; and
finding after a little while that it was necessary to have a
head of some kind or other, unanimously recalled old king
Gander to come and sleep over them again. He reigned
long and happily—poised himself so nicely, by doing
nothing, and keeping perfectly still, that he sat upright
while the wheel of fortune turned round under him, and
the occasional rocking of his kingdom only made him
sleep the sounder.”