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not uncharacteristically likened to the cloud-compelling Jove, it is pronounced to be an engine of state, wise, salutary and powerful; to the individual not burthensome, and contributing essentially to the security and glory and happiness of the empire. But though thus dazzled with the splendour, and intoxicated with the fancied felicity of France, Charlemont and Pharamond (for such are the names of Inchiquin's Gallic correspondents) are not so entirely absorbed in transatlantic visions of bliss as to render them insensible to the supposed unhappy and degraded condition of America. Accordingly, with a want of courtesy scarcely characteristic of a well bred Frenchman, one of these Savans (for such he evidently deems himself) speaks rather sneeringly of the “education, manners, faces, figures, costume, and curiously heterogeneous” criscross origin of the “females" (not ladies) of the United States. He presumes that the breed of all of them is "infinitely mixed," participating of the English, the Indian, the Mulatto, the Creole, the African, and other crosses, and that therefore they must be most lamentably “streaked” and marked by no "predominant complexion." He is persuaded that “few of them can be fair, and none ruddythat a torrid Sun has gilded them with his cadaverous hues, driving the roses from their cheeks, with the verdure from their fields.” He has further understood that “they marry early, breed fast, fade soon, and die young." Having thus, not indeed, in the genuine spirit of an ancient French cavalier, or a modern French gallant, hurried them rather rapidly and uncourteously under the sod, here ends his creed respecting the American fair.
After stating his supposition that nothing which deserves the name of “society,” exists at present in the United States, or indeed in any part of the new world, he closes his letter with a philippic on the men, which for ignorance, illiberality, and ill nature, is a counterpart to that he had previously bestowed on the women of America.
The other wise man of France, not concealing, nor even attempting to conceal, the emotions of pity, scorn, and regret, which divide between them the empire of his bosom, declares that “at the close of our revolution, we were a prudent and a
warlikema characterized people. But that now we are become ignoble and rapacious—that commerce is our national bond of union, and knavery our predominant national characteristic. That consisting as we do, of a population composed of heterogeneous and militant materials, it is absurd to count on our continuance as a nation. He quotes an opinion of Aristotle unfavourable to the permanent existence of a mixed people in a national compact, and declares that this, “ when applied to the American States, is prophecy in the full train of verification."
This enlightened philosopher and tender hearted philanthropist, deeply deploring the condition of a people fated to groan under the scorpion lash of that brace of evils, pestilential fever and political faction, takes his leave under a full concurrence in belief with that amiable vision-monger, the Abbé Raynal, that the population of America can never exceed ten millions o souls.
Inchiquin's third correspondent is his brother Clanrickard, who writes from London, though, like our author himself, he is one of the unfortunate sons, and might almost be regarded as an exile, of Erin. This writer, in common with those who had preceded him in the correspondence, is a mere composition of errors and prejudices, national attachments and national antipathies. What appears most remarkable in his history is, that though an Irishman, beggared in his fortune and ruined in his prospects, by an unlooked for and disastrous event, bearing cvidently some relation to politics, he is still enthusiastically attached to the British government. Though we have ground to believe this to be by no means a common, perhaps scarcely a natural, trait in the character of a hot blooded Hibernian, under such circumstances, yet we are far from pronouncing its occurrence impracticable. But we ought probably to be the less surprized atit here, considering that it takes place in so neara kinsman of Inchiquin. That gentleman, with a host of good qualities, has evidently in his composition certain whims and eccentricities not a little remarkable-whims and eccentricities, the want of which would be no detraction from his worth. Perhaps he is descended from a family distinguished by some obliquity of disposition. And if so, this may show itself in his brother
Clanrickard, by making him retain his attachment to a government that has oppressed and ruined him.
But whether it proceeds from habit, whim, a disposition formed to play at cross purposes, an orthodox christian temper which delights in returning good for evil, or some other latent spring of sentiment and action which it would puzzle even suistry itself to develop-from whatever source it may arise, this honest Hibernian, steeped as he is in poverty and wretchedness even to the eyes, is a most passionate lover of every thing British, and an implacable enemy of all that is Gallic. Nothing can be a counterpoise to his attachment on the one hand, except it is his ponderous detestation on the other. But notwithstanding the cumbersome dimensions of these two master passions of his soul, he still finds in his bosom sufficient room to cultivate no inconsiderable share of commiseration and contempt for the hopeless condition of degenerate America. Hence he laments most piteously over the hard and deplorable lot of his brother Inchiquin, whom he considers as wandering forlorn " in the wilds” of the new world, where access to the solace of friendship is denied him, and where, on account of the ignorance and savage disposition of the inhabitants, he is necessarily deprived of “those social recreations” which among the enlightened and refined Europeans, had contributed to sweeten the chalice of his happiness; at least to dilute the bitterness of misfortune's cup. Poor and wretched, and hopeless as he is, he notwithstanding blesses his stars that he is at liberty to emerge once a week from the gloom and foulair of his miserable habitation, to gaze on the magnificent dwellings and spacious parks, the cheerful countenances and splendid pageantry of London opulence. Elate at the recollection of this high-prized privilege, he addresses his brother in the following tone of triumphant superiority. “How different," says he, “is the scene that must strike your observation among the demi-savages of America, where a weak and ignorant government is idly engaged in framing laws for an uncivilized and heterogeneous population!. The American federation," continues he, “I suppose cannot maintain itself much longer. According to the best judgment I can form of the prospects of that distracted country, the crisis is
not very distant, when it will implore once more the protection
The next letter which claims our attention, exhibits a character peculiar to itself, and is totally dissimilar to the rest of the work. By common readers it will be sought after with more avidity, and perused with a higher zest than any other part the performance. And truly, in its kind, it possesses great merit. But this merit it derives from its style and manner, rather than from the importance of the matter it contains. It is neither written to Inchiquin nor by him. It is the production of a young modern Greek, born at Athens, educated in Smyrna, and who, in pursuit of wealth, through commercial adventure, had found his way to the city of Washington. This lively and volatile, but amiable Athenian, though ignorant, as Inchiquin declares, both of " mankind and every thing else, except half a dozen different languages that were equally familiar to him,” had, like too many of our own countrymen, and like the ancient Greeks in their days of democracy, an uncontrolable propensity to speculate in politics. He accordingly commences his letter, which is dated at the “ Federal City," with a comparative view of the Turkish and American forms of government. Here, as was naturally to be expected, he is led by his early associations and national prejudices, to give to the former a decided preference. Indeed, in his estimation, so palpably and proudly pre-eminent is Turkey over America, in every thing relating to comfort and happiness, that he very feelingly declarcs, he “sighs once more for the cheerful crowds and fragrant environs, the beautiful bay and beloved scenes of Smyrna.”
But the principal, and by far the most amusing part of his letter, consists of a ludicrous yet not incorrect representation of the city of Washington, and a narrative of a day's ramble
through the “sylvan suburbs” of that metropolis, together with a very diverting catalogue of the adventures in which he was engaged, and the many mishaps that befel him during his memorable excursion.
The style of narration throughout this whole letter, is truly excellent. It is simple, clear, animated, interesting and picturesque. It renders visible, as if sketched on canvass, every scene and transaction the writer describes. And the occasional strokes of wit and dashes of sarcasm with which it is interspersed, strengthen its character and heighten its effect.
A few extracts from it, besides doing more justice to the author than any description can possibly effect, will, we are confident, be acceptable to the reader.
“Of a fine morning, says the writer of the Epistle, three days ago, I sallied out for a ramble before breakfast, thinking, perhaps, to see something worthy of observation; and as adventures were my object, I left the highway, or avenue, as it is called, and struck into the moor, that composes a great part of the city. I had not walked a mile, when I heard a gun go off, and saw the smoke rising at a little distance. Not caring to encounter firearms in so wild a place, I was turning back, when I saw a dog hunting about among the bushes, and close after him a young man, who came running towards me, not to plunder, as I for an instant apprehended, but merely to inquire if I had seen a covey of quails flying that way. He had a powder-horn and shot-bag over his shoulders, a liquor-flask hanging on one side, and a pouch full of dead quails on the other, was altogether rather coarsely caparisoned, and seemed to be intent on his game. Just after he accosted me, an officer, in a rich habit and laced hat, but unarmed, came riding very fast over the heath, leading a horse ready saddled and bridled, and drawing up close to where we stood, pulled off his hat, and said to the hunter, “Sir, there are despatches just arrived.” “When?” cried the hunter. “ Within this half hour-eby express-two sets,* Sir.” 66 Give
* This accidental exposition, from a disinterested quarter, of a point that has been so unfortunately contested between the United States and Great Bâtain, must place the fact beyond all fiture controversy,