The Truth About America Part 10

Those who were visitors to, or residents of New York city during 1867 will remember the advent of Walter Montgomery, the English actor. He came almost unheralded, but in the brief period of his sojourn

ACHIEVED A DRAMATIC TRIUMPH

unparalleled in the history of the American stage.

In form and appearance he was a magnificent creation. A trifle larger than Edwin Booth, with a physique modelled by the master-hand of nature, a physiognomy of cla.s.sic outlines, and a genius for his art, that is said to have rivalled that displayed by the most noted histrions of the English stage. In all respects he is said to have been as ravishingly perfect as the forms Angelo hewed from blocks of marble, or Guido traced on canvas, which to-day haunt the memory as a vanished gleam of sunlight, that kissed life's rippling river--and then was gone. In addition to the qualities mentioned there was entire absence of the shilly-shallying practices many actors delight to indulge, in their efforts to secure applause or attract the admiration of susceptible females. He was esteemed, an accomplished artist and true man. He opened at Niblo's in "Ruy Blas,"

making his headquarters at the Metropolitan, and frequenting a theatrical club-house on Houston street, known as the "House of Lords." Socially, he was never received by the Knickerbockers of the Empire city, his relations with men of letters and the professions were extremely cordial. How Mrs.

R. and himself became acquainted is not clearly defined. But that acquaintance on her part was resolved into an infatuation irresistible and indescribable, and she succeeded in inspiring him with

A RECIPROCITY OF FEELING

that was not to be misunderstood. Wherever he went professionally, she was constantly included in the list of his admirers. Upon the Eastern circuit, throughout the West, from Pittsburg to the Pacific slope, the susceptible Madeline was first and foremost among those who worshipped at the shrine of this gifted exponent of Melpomene.

Upon his return to New York from San Francisco, he concluded his engagements and sailed for Liverpool by the Cunard steamship Scotia. By this time the attentions bestowed upon Montgomery by Mrs. R. had become more than a topic of comment with observers beyond the pale of the social set of which she had been a prime factor. It was reported that they were engaged to be married, and that his return to England was for the purpose of completing arrangements in that behalf. At all events she accompanied him as a fellow-pa.s.senger on the Scotia but reached England alone, for during the voyage Montgomery suicided by cutting his throat.

No cause was ever a.s.signed for the deed, but the fact that he had a wife, living in London impressed his friends with the belief that remorse at the lengths to which he had permitted his

FLIRTATION WITH MRS. R.

to proceed, prompted the deed. He was buried in Kensal Green, within sight of St. Paul's, and after the completion of the ceremonies at the grave his whilom admirer disappeared, to come to the surface at Paris as the promised wife of Sir St. George Gore, a landed proprietor of Tasmania, off the coast of Australia, and a man of wealth and prominence in the British possessions of the South Pacific. But it is not believed this alliance was perfected by a priestly benediction.

Since then she has been a wanderer. Possessed of wealth, beauty, accomplishments, and much that would command esteem, she seeks to find in the excitement of travel a solace for her wasted life, and in intercourse with strangers forgetfulness of her woes. She is said to have come hither from San Francisco via Cheyenne, and that during her stay here she was known as Mrs. F.

One more example of the same kind. The President is about to be married. The following is from a London paper, and though not so stated, it is, I trust, only inserted as a picture of the American system of lionizing any celebrity. The name of the bride that is to be is given in full. I subst.i.tute an initial. I conceive the article is taken from a New York paper, but this is not clearly stated, only that the source is American.

President Cleveland's approaching marriage is now regarded as a certainty. It is understood that the engagement took place during Miss F.'s last visit to Washington. If Mr. Cleveland is married at the White House, in June, it will be the second marriage of a President during his term of office.

Mr. Tyler was married while he was President, but his marriage took place in New York. The best portrait of Miss F. now in Washington is a large one, which hangs in the President's bedroom. Miss F. was very averse to giving a sitting to the photographers when she was here, and has a great horror of publicity. When she was in Washington last, a number of paragraphs were printed about her school life, which she traced to one or two of her school friends. She quarrelled with them for it. It is said that she went away to Europe so as to be out of the range of possible gossip and criticism during the engagement period. Miss F.'s hair (says a correspondent) is soft and brown, of a shade between light and dark. It is combed well back from her full forehead and loose wave tendrils fall away from their confinement against the ivory whiteness of her face. She has violet blue eyes, a well-shaped nose and mouth, and a full, round chin. The warm pallor of her complexion contrasts with the deep red of her full lips, in which all her colour concentrates itself.

Her shoulders are broad, and her bust and waist of cla.s.sic proportions. She has finely moulded hands and feet; not small, but well suited to her height. With one other pupil at Aurora she shared the palm of being "the beauty of the school," the other being Miss Katherine Willard, of Illinois, who was her intimate friend, though not a fellow-senior, and she is now in Germany cultivating her voice. Miss F. has been with her there during much of the past winter. Many of the young ladies have flowers pressed in their alb.u.ms, labelled "From the White House," these being mementoes given by her from the boxes of flowers weekly sent her by the President from his conservatories here. For her graduation, last June, he forwarded a particularly lavish supply.

On that occasion she wore white satin, and, as one of her schoolmates describes her, "looked more like a G.o.ddess than a woman." Her student life has been marked by seriousness and deep religious feeling. She is a member of the First Presbyterian Church of Buffalo. She was deeply loved by her teachers, more for her solidity of character and amiability of disposition than for exceptionally brilliant intellectual traits, though her average of scholarship was good.

The postal arrangements are good in the States. Postage is cheap, and letters are carried and delivered as safely there as in England. The street post-boxes though are not equal to English ones--they are small in size and fastened against the walls, instead of being prominent objects like ours. In some few towns, owing to the scarcity of labour, letters are not delivered at all. Each resident has a number a.s.signed, and a corresponding pigeon-hole at the post-office, where his or her letters are placed. The letters have to be called or sent for. This was the case at Colorado Springs.

Why I know not, but the rule of the road is different in the States to ours. On meeting we take the left side, on pa.s.sing the right; there they do just the opposite, as in France.

As a rule the Americans are not good drivers. A very common, not universal, habit is to hold a rein in each hand, and it goes without saying that a person doing so cannot drive well.

Their trotting-horses in the trotting-carriages (very light, four-wheeled vehicles, models of good workmanship, with fore and hind wheels of the same size) perform wonders. I speak under correction, but believe fifteen or sixteen miles in the hour is not an unusual feat. Anyhow, I am sure they can trot much faster than any horses we have.

As foolish as we are in that way, the bearing-rein is used in the States. But it is taken over the top of the head between the ears. I know not if this is better or worse than our plan, but this I do know, bearing-reins, like blinkers, are hurtful, cruel appendages to harness, and in India, where I owned horses, I used neither. Had I horses in England I would do the same.

The roads in the States are far behind ours. Perhaps to this is due the fact that there are not many bicycles and tricycles to be seen.

In the first days of November, 1885, I left the ranch on my way home.

It was a trial parting with my sons. Let them even do well, it is pretty certain they will not return to England under fifteen years. I am not young, and I could not help feeling, as I said good-bye, that it was very doubtful if I should ever see them again. Still we parted cheerfully, for they were happy with their possessions and the sanguine hope that they were on the high road to fortune.

I had taken my pa.s.sage home across the Atlantic in one of the Monarch line of steamers, and not caring to halt _en route_, or linger in New York, I timed my departure from Colorado with no day to spare. At Denver I took a rail-ticket through to New York, and did the distance, about 1700 miles, in eighty-four hours, halting nowhere except the necessary time to make connection at the princ.i.p.al stations between the incoming and outgoing trains. I have not much to say as to this my last journey in the States, still I will briefly describe the country pa.s.sed through. Nebraska was the first state after leaving Colorado. This, again, like Texas and Wyoming, is a vast country of gra.s.sy plains, on which many thousands of cattle are reared. The endless plains, though rich in gra.s.s, look desolate, owing to the total absence of trees, except in the vicinity of towns, where some attempt has been made to remedy the want. It is a very thinly inhabited state; for miles and miles, as we swiftly pa.s.sed on, not a soul could be seen. The rail line through it, from west to east, is about 480 miles long.

Iowa was the next, and beyond that Illinois. They are much alike, so I will describe them together. They are very rich pastoral countries, with large towns, and abound in farms. The scenery in many parts is beautiful, and the general outlook very English. Iowa, by the rail, is about 320 miles across, Illinois about 180 miles.

On the western boundary of Illinois, joining Indiana, and on the southern sh.o.r.e of Lake Michigan, stands the wonderful city of Chicago: wonderful in its quick growth, and wonderful in the way the ravages of the great fire there have been replaced. I was necessarily, by the time-table of the trains, delayed there some six hours, so I walked through the town. It is a beautiful one, not equal in that respect to San Francisco, but still far ahead of New York.

Like both the said cities, Chicago is overrun with tram-cars, and like them also other wheel-vehicles are in the minority. Its position on the sh.o.r.e of that vast lake, and on the direct line of rail, is a commanding one for all purposes of trade and commerce, and doubtless to this, in a great measure, may its quick growth be attributed.

Formerly, before the fire, it was, I believe, nearly all wood, now the greater part is brick and stone. It is built on the plan of all American towns, in square blocks, so that the streets, which are wide, all run at right angles to each other. It boasts many very handsome buildings, and the display in the shop windows of huge plate gla.s.s quite equals London, or Paris either. I was very glad of the six hours' delay, which enabled me to see this magnificent city. Lake Michigan was the first sight I had of those five vast sheets of fresh water, all joining together, which is such a unique feature in North America. As I stood on the sh.o.r.e and saw the boundless waters before me, it was difficult to realize that I gazed on a lake and not on the ocean.

I saw a number of pretty faces at Chicago, and I then first began to think what I should say in this book about the beauty of women in the States. In no country on earth, my experience teaches me, is beauty as common as in Great Britain. Every fourth young girl you meet here, be it in Ireland, England, Scotland, or Wales, has some pretensions to good looks. Perhaps, anyway in my opinion, the claim for beauty as regards the four countries follows in the order in which I have named them. In America, on the contrary, beauty is not sown broadcast through the land, but then to make up for this, when it is found it is very perfect. Some American girls and women are extremely handsome, but in America, far more than in Europe, beauty clings to the upper cla.s.ses. One point further; I doubt if beauty is as _lasting_ on the other side of the Atlantic as it is here. I believe the high temperature the rooms are kept at with stoves during the severe cold of winter is, to some extent, answerable for this, and the extremes of temperature in summer and winter are doubtless another cause.

While perambulating Chicago, being a stranger, I had to ask my way, and I was then struck, as I had been both in New York and San Francisco, how much better the place desired is pointed out in London. Say you want to find Bond Street and ask the way. If anywhere in the vicinity, the answer is, "Second to the right, first to the left, and first again to the left," or as it may be, and following such a direction is not difficult. Having found Bond Street, the houses are all numbered, and so you easily get to the one you want.

Say in any American city there is a street called Montgomery Street and you ask your way there. The answer is, "On Tenth, between Market and Cheese," and the interrogated pa.s.ses on. You think the man is laughing at you, are angry, and ask again. A woman this time, the men all seem in such a woful hurry. Again the same answer, "On Tenth, between Market and Cheese." You are bewildered. Can this be a stereotyped joke? You essay a third time, result the same. But the third person you ask is perhaps more considerate, and, seeing your look of astonishment, and divining you are a Britisher, he deigns to explain. After listening a few minutes, you find that the said answer should read, "Out of Tenth Street, between Market Street and Cheese Street;" and adds the interrogated, "But, you see, we've no time to spare in this city, and so answer as short as we can; besides every one knows 'Cheese' means Cheese Street."

Well, anyhow, you now know that Montgomery Street, which you seek, leads out of Tenth Street, and is between Market Street and Cheese Street. The first thing, of course, is to find Tenth Street. You ask your way there. The same answer in kind, though not in words, "On Lawrence, between Nine and Eleven." You do not now think it is a joke, and though confused, determined to see where it will end, you ask again for Lawrence Street. This time you are lucky, Lawrence Street abuts on the street you are in, which is Eighth Street, and the answer is, "Three blocks on." You have learnt before this that all American towns are built in blocks, the streets running between.

So "three blocks on" is tantamout to "four turnings on," and thus you easily find Lawrence Street. If you have not forgotten, which you likely enough have, the previous directions, you have now to seek Tenth, which leads out of Lawrence Street. Walking down Lawrence Street, you come to Ninth Street, running off at right angles, so Tenth Street is the next turning, and down that, between Market Street and Cheese Street, as told, you find the street you want, viz.

Montgomery Street.

The above, to read, sounds puzzling, but, believe me, it is no exaggeration. You soon get accustomed to the word "street" being omitted, but as you don't know the town at all, to be told the street you ask for leads out of another, with the names of the streets on either side, does not help you much. Why such a roundabout mode of direction is adopted, and it holds all over the States, I never could understand. It may answer for those who know the town more or less, but an outsider it helps but little.

Having attained the street you seek, your troubles are not at an end.

Houses are supposed to be numbered; but, unfortunately, only in some instances are the numbers marked on them, and if you ask for a number, no one knows it. You have to explain to any one you inquire of what kind of shop it is, and the name of the shopkeeper; or, if a private house, the name of the dweller. If he knows it, you are then told, either, "Six blocks down," or "Between Eleven and Twelve"

which, of course, you now understand; and after some trouble you find it in the block between Eleventh Street and Twelfth Street.

Enough on this. Now as to a point in which the Americans excel us. As I have said, all their cities and towns are laid out in square blocks, the streets running between, and thus always at right angles to one another. The streets running, say from north to south (I'm not sure if I am right as to the points of the compa.s.s), are all _numbered_ in succession, thus, first, second, third, and so on for the whole number. The streets running the other way (say from east to west) are all _named_. Numbering the first is convenient, for if it is one of the numbered streets you seek there is no more difficulty in finding it than a house where all are numbered. But strange that, perceiving the advantage of this, as they of course do, the Americans have not gone a step further, which, if done, would have enabled a stranger to find _any_ street he sought without inquiry. If the _named_ streets were given names, with the first letter of each in alphabetical succession, as Alpha Street, Bishop Street, Canary Street, right through, beginning from one end, the great desideratum detailed above would be accomplished. In other words, whereas now you can find any one of the numbered streets without inquiry, you could then do just the same with the streets which are named.

Another peculiarity in American towns are strong wire ropes, running high up across the street, from which, in the centre, depends, generally in ornamental wire-scroll letters, the name of the shopkeeper on one side and a _resume_ of the articles he sells. In some cases these are illuminated at night, and then have a pleasing effect, besides helping to light the street. I could see no possible objection to the plan, and if allowed in London, on the condition that the owners illuminated them properly at their own cost, the sad darkness our capital lies in, as compared with most others, would, in a great measure, be done away with. Are we never going to light up London with electricity? The Americans, on this point, are far ahead of us. In every large town there the electric light is nearly universal; and on the Continent, too, much more has been achieved in that way than in England.

While on American peculiarities I must mention another, though it is a little thing, and is only universal far out west. The cups have no handles. This is certainly not an advantage when you are drinking hot tea or coffee, for you simply can't lift the cup! I have mentioned before that most of the crockery used in the States comes from England, and in the case of cups for despatch long distances by rail, I presume the handles are omitted to enable them to pack better, one in the other, which of course they do.

I left Chicago when the six hours were up. It was then dark, and as I slept through the state of Indiana I can say nothing about it. Next morning we were in Ohio, and skirting the southern sh.o.r.e of Lake Erie for some hours. I have nowhere seen more beautiful pastoral scenery than I saw there, or a richer country. There were many perfect country seats on the borders of that vast and superb lake, and clean-looking pretty towns and villages. There is no want of rain in this part of America, and the pasture-fields vied in their bright green with those in Ireland, which so richly deserves the name of the Emerald Isle.

In the evening we reached Buffalo, at the eastern extremity of Lake Erie, and had an hour's halt there. That second wonderful sight in the world (I hold the Himalayan snowy range to be the first), the Niagara Falls, lay only twenty miles off, and I could not go and see it! I had only just allowed myself time to catch the steamer from New York, in which I had taken and paid for my pa.s.sage, and I could not afford to lose the money. I almost cried with vexation at my stupidity, but the fact was I had not realized the line ran so near the Falls. "Don't you tell any one," said an American to me in the train, when we started again, "that you were so near, and yet missed seeing _the_ great sight of our glorious country, because, you see, it's neither creditable or credible, though to miss your pa.s.sage to Europe, I allow, would be a serious loss. Why didn't you fix it otherwise?" I told him. "Well, keep it quiet," he added, "for your own sake, as it's not a thing to boast of." I have not followed his advice. Would you have done so, reader?

We were close to New York, or rather Jersey City, when I awoke next morning. The terminus of the rail is in the latter. I steamed across the Hudson river in one of the grand ferries, and at ten o'clock breakfasted once more in the American capital.

The _cuisine_ is different in the States to ours. Many small dishes are served in succession, something on the French plan, but the order of succession is not so good, nor are the edibles themselves.

In all but the first and expensive hotels, bathing-towels there are none, and those they give are wofully small and thin. They look and feel more like pocket-handkerchiefs.

The blinds to the windows go up with a spring, but the said spring, owing to the stuff of which the blinds are made being thick, harsh, and stiff, seldom seems able to do more than pull the blind up three-quarters of the way.

There is one great advantage in American hotels. The daily charge is strictly an inclusive one, comprising meals, attendance, and everything but alcoholic drinks. There are positively no extras, and you depart in peace, not having to "remember" waiter, chambermaid, or others.

Turning over my memoranda, I find one very peculiar habit which I ought to have mentioned when out west, for I have not seen it elsewhere. Suppose a man has a box of matches in his hand, and you ask him for a light for your pipe. He takes out a match, lifts up the right leg, bent at the knee to draw the trousers tight, and ignites it on the lower part of the thigh. The effect is peculiar; he seems to be drawing fire from that part of his body! No one there ever lights matches any other way, and doubtless it is easier done so than on any other object, as I learnt by experience. But the posture is most inelegant and grotesque, and had any one prophesied, when I first saw the feat, that I should ever do it, I should have laughed scornfully. But habits, you see continually, take a strange hold of you; my sons never lighted matches any other way, and I, trying it once or twice, found it so convenient, I am almost ashamed to say I was fast acquiring the practice when I left the ranch. Of course, since my return to civilization, I have not been so naughty! I once, in Colorado, saw a girl, and a very nice one, a lady's daughter of ten years old, essay the feat, quite unconscious of doing anything strange. Odd to relate, she succeeded, for petticoats are naturally inferior to trousers as match illuminating surfaces. But the performance convulsed me with laughter, while I pointed out to her mother and her that in her case it was highly dangerous withal.

The _Monarch_ steamer left next morning early, so I slept on board.

She was a tiny boat as compared with the _City of Rome_, in which I had come out, but a good one all the same. Except a twenty-four hours' gale of wind, during which she behaved well, we had a smooth pa.s.sage. The pa.s.sengers were not many. We were bound to London, so came up the Channel and river, arriving in thirteen days. After the bright skies I had revelled in, the foggy November weather we encountered, after pa.s.sing the Scilly Islands, was very gloomy in comparison, and the dingy old Thames, when I recalled the Hudson river, showed out painfully. Still England is _dear_ England to the "Britisher," and as I landed at Blackwall I felt that, with all her faults, I loved her still.

FINISH.