great,' he exclaims, is the contrast between this individual-a man of knowledge and 'information, without pomp, parade, or vicious and expensive establishments, as compared with the costly trappings, the depraved characters and the profligate ex-penditure of' (Carleton) House' and (Windsor).

We meddle not with the table of Mr. Adams-who may, if it suits his taste, or his appetite, have two puddings—we wish not to inquire in what capacity, or with what property, his father first crossed the Atlantic; still less are we solicitous to learn the extent of his present fortune-but we know (and feel it our duty to make Mr. Fearon know) that the sovereign, at whose 'establishment' he is scandalized, the descendant of a long line of princes, is the lawful inheritor of the vast possessions of those who for more than a thousand years have swayed the sceptre of this country. Is Mr. Fearon so hopelessly stupid as to imagine that the early monarchs of this country were without property -that the great and powerful races of Kent and York and Lancaster came beggars to the contest for empire! or that they flung away their boundless possessions as soon as they had mounted the throne! No family on earth can boast of a longer established right to its paternal estates, than the king of Great Britain to the possessions which devolved on him at the moment of his accession : and had not his present majesty resigned his hereditary property to the nation for a stipulated sum, he would at this moment have been the richest sovereign in Europe. The resignation was frank; and we should have felt that it was wise, had it not furnished a pretext for the selfish and the malicious to turn upon the generous monarch, and reproach him with the effects of his own sacrifice. What was compromise is now considered as bounty. Investigations of no very delicate nature are made by: other inquisitors than Mr. Fearon into every article of expense, and the basest of the rabble are daily invited to calculate how much is wrested from their earnings to support an arrangement by which the nation is widely profiting.

Leaving this, however, we have still to ask Mr. Fearon on what authority he presumes to talk of the depraved character of as compared with that of Mr. Adams? That a life of exemplary worth and goodness should, in these monster-breeding times, be no protection from obloquy, is matter of little surprize; and we shall not therefore affect any at the language which we have just heard: but we will still assert-without intending to offer the least disrespect to Mr. Adams-that the sovereign thus rudely dragged forward to set off the superiority of his character, might that might!-compete with him, not only in 'knowledge and informa

tion,' but in every virtue that confers grace and dignity on the human character.

It may possibly have escaped Mr. Fearon's recollection, in the midst of his eagerness to calumniate his sovereign, that he has described this very Mr. Adams, who is so frugal, so moderate, so philosophical in all his views, as a person (to use his own words)

whose fourteen years naturalization law, whose frequent public prosecutions, whose plans for a standing army, and above allwhose aim to obtain the state and style of royalty, no friend of liberty can advocate'!-p. 363. To live without expensive establishments with due respect to the natural sagacity of Mr. Fearon-is a merit of no very extraordinary kind in a private gentleman, and needed not therefore to be invidiously contrasted with the situation of one who has public duties to perform, and who is invested with the concentrated state and dignity of a mighty nation for purposes essential to its stability and glory.

Mr. Fearon finds the state of society in Boston preferable to that of New York, though the leaven of aristocracy seems to be very prevalent.' By degrees, however, he cools in his admiration. In New York (he says) English Tory writers are neither unknown nor unpopular; but here the people are decided aristocrats. 'Distinctions exist to an extent rather ludicrous under a free and popular government. There are the first class, second class, third class, and the old families.' Titles, too, are profusely distributed.-These things are grievously against the poor Bostonians; but what appears to have injured them more than all the rest, in the good opinion of Mr. Fearon, is the discovery that they evince some respect for religion. A man (he says) who values his good name in Boston hardly dare be seen out of church at the appointed hours.'-This is so serious a charge, that we trust Mr. Fearon took special care to be well informed before he ventured to bring it forward:- nay (continues he) this would be considered as a heinous crime, by men who would consider the same individual cheating his creditors as of small import'—these remarks, he adds, are applicable to all the religious bodies of this place.' (p. 115.) Few appear to have any regard for the general extension of liberty to the whole human family,' (as in the slave states); for these reasons, and because the Bostonians approach nearest to Englishmen, he quits them with an avowal that his feelings are those of disappointment.'

Our readers must have frequently heard of the rude inquisitiveness of the American people. An amusing instance of it (and, to say the truth, we have rarely seen so amusing a book as this of Mr. Fearon) occurred on his entrance into Boston. • In proceeding along the street with his baggage, a gentleman ran out

and

and accosted him- Where are you from? When did you arrive?—Any thing new in York?-What is your name?—Any thing special?' And he has scarcely got into the Albany stage, certainly not out of the city, when he is assailed in the very same manner. Our traveller is no sooner pumped dry, than his unwearied inquisitor turns to the next man, and nothing can be more divertingly characteristic than the following dialogue which passes between' them. It is by no means necessary in America to advertize for agreeable companions in a post-chaise.'

'Q. Where are you going, middle on ?-A. Yes.

Q. Do you keep at Boston?-A. No.

Q. Where do you keep?-A. Fairfield.

Q. Have you been a lengthy time in Boston, e'h, say?—A. Seven days.

Q. Where did you sleep last night?-A.

Q. What number?-A. Seven.
Q. That is Thomas Adonis

street.

's house?-A. No; it is my son's.

Q. What, have you a son?—A. Yes; and daughters.
Q. What is your name?-A. William Henry

I guess.

Q. Is your wife alive?-A. No, she is dead, I guess.
Q. Did she die slick right away?-A. No; not by any manner of

means.

Q. How long have you been married ;-A. Thirty years, I guess. Q. What age were you when you were married?—A. I guess mighty near thirty-three.

Q. If you were young again I guess you would marry earlier?A. No; I guess thirty-three is a mighty grand age for marrying. Q. How old is your daughter?-A. Twenty-five.

Q. I guess she would like a husband?-A. No; she is mighty care

less about that.

Q. She is not awful (ugly), I guess?-A. No, I guess she is not.
Q. Is she sick? A. Yes.

Q. What is her sickness?-A. Consumption.

Q. I had an item of that. You have got a doctor, I guess?-A. Guess I have.

Q. Is your son a trader?-A. Yes.

Q. Is he his own boss?-A. Yes.

Q. Are his spirits kedge (brisk)?—A. Yes; I expect they were yesterday.

his

Q. How did he get in business?-A. I planted him there. I was sponsor for a thousand dallars. I guess he paid me within time; and he is now progressing slick.'-p. 123.

The Fourth Report introduces us to Philadelphia, of which it offers but a meagre account. Mr. Fearon says his first impressions of this city were decidedly favourable-it gave him ideas of a substantial cast; its character being essentially different from that of New York it has not so much business, not so much gaiety,

not

not so much life.' Mr. Fearon took up his lodging at a boarding house; and here he soon made what he calls an unpleasant discovery' an affectation of splendour, or what may be called style, in those things which are intended to meet the public eye; with a lamentable want even of cleanliness in such matters as are removed from that ordeal.' And he gives an instance of that appearance of uncomfortable extravagance' at a 'genteel private house' where he drank tea. The furniture was splendid, the table profusely supplied, the bread and butter was roughly cut in huge hunks piled zig-zag. The children's faces were dirty, their hair uncombed, their dispositions evidently untaught, and all the members of the family, from the boy of ten years of age, up to the owner (I was going to say master) of the house, appeared independent of each other.'-(p. 138.) All this is lamentable to be told; but as the people are not so offensively religious as at Boston, Mr. Fearon tempers his impatience, and continues to drink tea with the inhabitants, in spite of the bad taste in which they cut their bread and butter.

The extremes of heat and cold characterize the climate of Philadelphia, and its effects (aggravated probably by other causes, such as the general use of close stoves, on the part of the females, and the excessive abuse of spirituous liquors and tobacco on that of the males) are visible in the appearance of the inhabitants.

A Philadelphian (particularly a female) is as old at 27 as a Londoner at 40. Neither sex possesses the English standard of health-a rosy cheek. The young females indeed are genteel; but their colour is produced by art, but for which disgusting practice, many of them might pass for beautiful. You will be surprised to hear, that in the practice of rougeing, the junior branches of the society of Friends are not at all deficient! Englishmen are said to improve in appearance for the first 12 months of their residence, but after that time the face becomes sallow and flabby.'

6

The gentlemen in their dress ape the fashions of England; the ladies those of France; both of whom modestly declare that they combine the excellencies of the French and English character, without possessing the defects of either :'-but, adds our author, for myself I can trace no resemblance to the former, unless it lie in kid gloves, and artificial flowers; nor to the latter, except in a fondness for Lady Morgan's writings, and an admiration of Lord Wellington's achievements.'-We would fain persuade ourselves that Mr. Fearon is as much mistaken in the literary taste of the ladies of America, as he certainly is in that of his fair countrywomen, whom he grossly libels in representing them fond of the writings of Lady Morgan. We have reason to know that from Ida of Athens, the first (we believe) of her mon

strous

strous progeny, to that last sooterkin of dullness and immorality Florence Macarthy, they view them all with equal disgust. If this woman has any readers, they are not among the ladies of England. Be this, however, as it may, we must positively attempt to rescue the American fair from the sarcastic sneer of Mr. Fearon on their rejoicing in the victory of Waterloo. That victory gave repose to the world, and, with Mr. Fearon's leave, was not gained over their own countrymen. We have yet to learn therefore why the ladies of America may not take an interest in the heroic achievements of a Wellington, quite as decorously as Mr. Fearon in the capture of an English frigate, and in the exploits of the celebrated Commodore Rogers!'

Mr. Fearon reached Philadelphia at a busy moment. The election of a governor for the state of Pennsylvania was about to commence, and our traveller was 'fortunate enough (he says) to have letters of introduction to the leading man of one of the great political parties which divide the state, and which afforded him an opportunity of witnessing all the novel machinery then in such active operation.'-p. 138. After the election, he sat down to take, what he calls, a calm review of the whole, for the information of his friends. Any thing more loathsome than this highly interesting scene' cannot well be imagined. It is all bruise and wound and putrifying sore. The addresses of the different parties exceed in vulgarity and senseless abuse all that ever emanated from the Borough or Covent Garden. Corruption is neither concealed, nor sought to be concealed. Few, if any,' Mr. Fearon says, 'cared one straw about principle, but all were eager and intent upon betting.'—A sample follows.

""I'll bet you fifty on Hiester in Chesnut ward." "What majority will you give him?”

"One-fourth."

"Give old Sour Kraut a hundred and thirty, and I'll take you." "Done."

"What will you give Finlay in Lower Delaware ward?”

"One hundred."

"Give Bill three and half, and I'll take you for five hundred."
No; I'll give him three and half for a pair of boots."
"'Guess I'll take you for a pair and a hat."

"What for Dock ward?"

"I won't bet on Dock: they're all a set of d-d Tories." "Will you give Joe four hundred in South Mulberry?"

"I won't take Joe, I guess, in that ward ?"

"What will you give Billy in South Mulberry?"
"A couple of hundred."
"Done for five hundred."

« All.