A Frenchman in America Part 29
If such was not the case, do you believe for a moment that the Americans would submit to the rule of the "Rings," the "Leaders," and the "Bosses"?
I like Philadelphia, with its magnificent park, its beautiful houses that look like homes. It is not brand new, like the rest of America.
My friend, Mr. J. M. Stoddart, editor of _Lippincott's Magazine_, has kindly chaperoned me all the day.
I visited in detail the State House, Independence Square. These words evoke sentiments of patriotism in the hearts of the Americans. Here was the bell that "proclaimed liberty throughout the Colonies" so loudly that it split. It was on the 8th of July, 1776, that the bell was rung, as the public reading of the Declaration of Independence took place in the State House on that day, and there were great rejoicings. John Adams, writing to Samuel Chase on the 9th of July, said: "The bell rang all day, and almost all night."
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OLD LIBERTY BELL.]
It is recorded by one writer that, on the 4th of July, when the motion to adopt the declaration pa.s.sed the majority of the a.s.sembly, although not signed by all the delegates, the old bell-ringer awaited anxiously, with trembling hope, the signing. He kept saying: "They'll never do it, they'll never do it!" but his eyes expanded, and his grasp grew firm when the voice of a blue-eyed youth reached his ears in shouts of triumph as he flew up the stairs of the tower, shouting: "Ring, grandpa, ring; they've signed!"
What a day this old "Liberty Bell" reminds you of!
There, in the Independence Hall, the delegates were gathered. Benjamin Harrison, the ancestor of the present occupier of the White House, seized John Hanc.o.c.k, upon whose head a price was set, in his arms, and placing him in the presidential chair, said: "We will show Mother Britain how little we care for her, by making our president a Ma.s.sachusetts man, whom she has excluded from pardon by public proclamation," and, says Mr. Chauncey M. Depew in one of his beautiful orations, when they were signing the Declaration, and the slender Elbridge Gerry uttered the grim pleasantry, "We must hang together, or surely we will hang separately," the portly Harrison responded with more daring humor, "It will be all over with me in a moment, but you will be kicking in the air half an hour after I am gone."
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE INKSTAND.]
The National Museum is the auxiliary chamber to Independence Hall, and there you find many most interesting relics of Colonial and Revolutionary days: the silver inkstand used in signing the famous Declaration; Hanc.o.c.k's chair; the little table upon which the doc.u.ment was signed, and hundreds of souvenirs piously preserved by generations of grateful Americans.
It is said that Philadelphia has produced only two successful men, Mr.
Wanamaker, the great dry-goods-store man, now a member of President Benjamin Harrison's Cabinet, and Mr. George W. Childs, proprietor of the Philadelphia _Public Ledger_, one of the most important and successful newspapers in the United States.
I went to Mr. Wanamaker's dry-goods-store, an establishment strongly reminding you of the Paris _Bon Marche_, or Mr. Whiteley's warehouses in London.
By far the most interesting visit was that which I paid to Mr. George W.
Childs in his study at the _Public Ledger's_ offices. It would require a whole volume to describe in detail all the treasures that Mr. Childs has acc.u.mulated: curios of all kinds, rare books, ma.n.u.scripts and autographs, portraits, china, relics from the celebrities of the world, etc. Mr. Childs, like the Prussians during their unwelcome visit to France in 1870, has a strong _penchant_ for clocks. Indeed his collection is the most remarkable in existence. His study is a beautiful _sanctum sanctorum_; it is also a museum that not only the richest lover of art would be proud to possess, but that any nation would be too glad to acquire, if it could be acquired; but Mr. Childs is a very wealthy man, and he means to keep it, and, I understand, to hand it over to his successor in the ownership of the _Public Ledger_.
Mr. George W. Childs is a man of about fifty years of age, short and plump, with a most kind and amiable face. His munificence and philanthropy are well known and, as I understand his character, I believe he would not think much of my grat.i.tude to him for the kindness he showed me if I dwelt on them in these pages.
Thanks to my kind friends, every minute has been occupied visiting some interesting place, or meeting some interesting people. I shall lecture here next month, and shall look forward to the pleasure of being in Philadelphia again.
[Ill.u.s.tration: WHEN IRELAND IS FREE.]
At the Union League Club I met Mr. Rufus E. Shapley, who kindly gave me a copy of his clever and witty political satire, "Solid for Mulhooly,"
ill.u.s.trated by Mr. Thomas Nast. I should advise any one who would understand how Jonathan is ruled munic.i.p.ally, to peruse this little book. It gives the history of Pat's rise from the Irish cabin in Connaught to the City Hall of the large American cities.
"When one man," says Mr. Shapley, "owns and dominates four wards or counties, he becomes a leader. Half a dozen such leaders combined const.i.tute what is called a Ring. When one leader is powerful enough to bring three or four such leaders under his yoke, he becomes a Boss; and a Boss wields a power almost as absolute, while it lasts, as that of the Czar of Russia or the King of Zululand."
Extracts from this book would not do it justice. It should be read in its entirety. I read it with all the more pleasure that, in "Jonathan and His Continent," I ventured to say: "The English are always wondering why Americans all seem to be in favor of Home Rule, and ready to back up the cause with their dollars. Why? I will tell you. Because they are in hopes that, when the Irish recover the possession of Ireland, they will all go home."
A foreigner who criticises a nation is happy to see his opinions shared by the natives.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
MY IDEAS OF THE STATE OF TEXAS--WHY I WILL NOT GO THERE--THE STORY OF A FRONTIER MAN.
_New York, March 5._
Have had cold audiences in Maine and Connecticut; and indifferent ones in several cities, while I have been warmly received in many others. It seems that, if I went to Texas, I might get it hot.
I have received to-day a Texas paper containing a short editorial marked at the four corners in blue pencil. Impossible not to see it. The editorial abuses me from the first line to the last. When there appears in a paper an article, or even only a short paragraph, abusing you, you never run the risk of not seeing it. There always is, somewhere, a kind friend who will post it to you. He thinks you may be getting a little conceited, and he forwards the article to you, that you may use it as wholesome physic. It does him good, and does you no harm.
The article in question begins by charging me with having turned America and the Americans into ridicule, goes on wondering that the Americans can receive me so well everywhere, and, after pitching into me right and left, winds up by warning me that, if I should go to Texas, I might for a change meet with a hot reception.
A shot, perhaps.
A shot in Texas! No, no, no.
I won't go to Texas. I should strongly object to being shot anywhere, but especially in Texas, where the event would attract so little public attention.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "A SHOT IN TEXAS."]
Yet, I should have liked to go to Texas, for was it not from that State that, after the publication of "Jonathan and His Continent," I received the two following letters, which I have kept among my treasures?
DEAR SIR:
I have read your book on America and greatly enjoyed it. Please to send me your autograph. I enclose a ten-cent piece. The postage will cost you five cents. Don't trouble about the change.
MY DEAR SIR:
I have an alb.u.m containing the photographs of many well-known people from Europe as well as from America. I should much like to add yours to the number. If you will send it to me, I will send you mine and that of my wife in return.
And I also imagine that there must be in Texas a delightful primitiveness of manners and good-fellowship.
A friend once related to me the following reminiscence:
I arrived one evening in a little Texas town, and asked for a bedroom at the hotel.
There was no bedroom to be had, but only a bed in a double-bedded room.
"Will that suit you?" said the clerk.