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ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS.
Portrait
of an Emigrant.
Extracted from a Letter.
I CALLED, as you desired, on
Mrs. K——. We had consi-
derable conversation. Knowing,
as you do, my character and her's,
you may be somewhat inquisitive
as to the subject of our conversa-
tion. You may readily suppose
that my inquiries were limited to
domestic and every-day incidents.
The state of her own family, and
her servants and children being dis-
cussed, I proceeded to inquire into
the condition of her neighbours.
It is not in large cities as it is in
villages. Those whose education
does not enable and accustom them
to look abroad, to investigate the
character and actions of beings of a
distant age and country, are gene-
rally attentive to what is passing
under their own eye. Mrs. K—
never reads, not even a newspaper.
She is unacquainted with what hap-
pened before she was born. She is
equally a stranger to the events that
are passing in distant nations, and
to those which ingross the atten-
tion and shake the passions of the
statesmen and politicians of her
own country; but her mind, ne-
vertheless, is far from being torpid
or inactive. She speculates curi-
ously and even justly on the objects
that occur within her narrow sphere.
Were she the inhabitant of a vil-
lage, she would be mistress of the
history and character of every family
within its precincts; but being in a
large city,* her knowledge is con-
fined chiefly to her immediate neigh-
bours; to those who occupy the
house on each side and opposite. I
will not stop to inquire into the
reason of this difference in the man-
ners of villagers and citizens. The
fact has often been remarked, though
seldom satisfactorily explained. I
shall merely repeat the dialogue
which took place on my inquiry
into the state of the family inhabit-
ing the house on the right hand and
next to her's.
“McCuley,” said she, “who
used to live there, is gone.”
“Indeed! and who has taken his
place?”
“A Frenchman and his wife.
His wife, I suppose her to be,
though he is a man of fair complex-
* Philadelphia.
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ion, well formed, and of genteel ap-
pearance; and the woman is half
negro. I suppose they would call
her a mestee. They came last
winter from the West-Indies, and
miserably poor I believe; for when
they came into this house they had
scarcely any furniture besides a bed,
and a chair or two, and a pine table.
They shut up the lower rooms, and
lived altogether in the two rooms
in the second story.”
“Of whom does the family con-
sist?”
“The man and woman, and a
young girl, whom I first took for
their daughter, but I afterwards
found she was an orphan child,
whom, shortly after their coming
here, they found wandering in the
streets; and, though poor enough
themselves, took her under their
care.”
“How do they support them-
selves?”
“The man is employed in the
compting-house of a French mer-
chant of this city. What is the ex-
act sort of employment, I do not
know, but it allows him to spend
a great deal of his time at home.
The woman is an actress in Lail-
son's pantomimes. In the winter
she scarcely ever went out in the
day-time, but now that the weather
is mild and good she walks out a
great deal.”
“Can you describe their mode of
life, what they eat and drink, and
how they spend their time?”
“I believe I can. Most that
they do can be seen from our win-
dows and yard, and all that they say
can be heard. In the morning
every thing is still till about ten
o'clock. Till that hour they lie
a-bed. The first sign that they exist,
is given by the man, who comes half
dressed, to the back window; and
lolling out of it, smokes two or
three segars, and sometimes talks
to a dog that lies on the out-side of
the kitchen door. After sometime
passed in this manner he goes into
the room over the kitchen, takes a
loaf of bread from the closet, and
pours out a tumbler of wine; with
these he returns to the front room,
but begins as soon as he has hold of
them, to gnaw at one and sip from
the other. This constitutes their
breakfast. In half an hour they
both re-appear at the window.
They throw out crums of bread to
the dog, who stands below with
open mouth to receive it; and talk
sometimes to him and sometimes to
each other. Their tongues run in-
cessantly; frequently they talk to-
gether in the loudest and shrillest
tone imaginable. I thought, at first,
they were quarrelsome; but every
now and then they burst into
laughter, and it was plain that they
were in perfect good humour with
each other.
“About twelve o'clock the man
is dressed, and goes out upon his
business. He returns at three.
In the mean time the lady employs
herself in washing every part of her
body, and putting on a muslin dress,
perfectly brilliant and clean. Then
she either lolls at the window, and
sings without intermission, or plays
on a guitar. She is certainly a capi-
tal performer and singer. No at-
tention is paid to house or furni-
ture. As to rubbing tables, and
sweeping and washing floors, these
are never thought of. Their house
is in a sad condition, but she spares
no pains to make her person and
dress clean.
“The man has scarcely entered
the house, when he is followed by
a black fellow, with bare head and
shirt tucked up at his elbows, car-
rying on his head a tray covered
with a white napkin. This is their
dinner, and is brought from Simo-
net's. After dinner the man takes
his flute, on which he is very skil-
ful; and the woman either sings or
plays in concert till evening ap-
proaches: some visitants then ar-
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rive, and they all go out together
to walk. We hear no more of
them till next morning.”
“What becomes of the girl all this
time?”
“She eats, sings, dresses, and
walks with them. She often comes
into our house, generally at meal
times; if she spies any thing she
likes, she never conceals her ap-
probation. ‘O my, how good dat
must be! Me wish me had some:
will you gif me some?’ She is a
pretty harmless little thing, and one
cannot refuse what she asks.
“Next day after they came into
this house, the girl, in the morning,
while our servant was preparing
breakfast, entered the kitchen—
‘O my!’ said she to me, ‘what you
call dem tings?’
‘Buckwheat cakes.’
‘Ahah! buckawit cake! O my!
how good dey must be! Me likes
—will you give me one?’
“Next morning she came again,
and we happened to be making muf-
fins. ‘O my!’ cried she, ‘you be
always baking and baking! What
you call dem dere?’
‘Muffins.’
‘Mofeen? O my! me wish for
some, me do.’
“Afterwards she was pretty re-
gular in her visits. She was mo-
dest, notwithstanding; and, seeming
to be half-starved, we gave her enter-
tainment as often as she claimed it.”
“Are not these people very hap-
py?”
“Very happy. When together
they are for ever chattering and
laughing, or playing and singing in
concert. How the man is employed
when separate we do not certainly
know; but the woman, it seems, is
continually singing, and her hands,
if not employed in adorning her
own person, are plying the guitar.
I am apt to think the French are the
only people that know how to live.
These people, though exiles and
strangers, and subsisting on scanty
and precarious funds, move on
smoothly and at ease. Household
cares they know not. They break-
fast upon bread and wine, without
the ceremony of laying table, and
arranging platters and cups. From
the trouble of watching and direct-
ing servants they are equally ex-
empt. Their cookery is performed
abroad. Their clothes are washed
in the same way. The lady knows
no manual employment but the
grateful one of purifying and em-
bellishing her own person. The in-
tervals are consumed in the highest
as well as purest sensual enjoyments,
in music, in which she appears to
be an adept, and of which she is
passionately enamoured. When the
air is serene and bland, she repairs
to the public walks, with muslin
handkerchief in one hand, and par-
ti-coloured parasol in the other. She
is always accompanied by men
anxious to please her, busy in sup-
plying her with amusing topics, and
listening with complacency and ap-
plause to her gay effusions and her
ceaseless volubility.
“I have since taken some pains
to discover the real situation of this
family. I find that the lady was
the heiress of a large estate in St.
Domingo, that she spent her youth
in France, where she received a
polished education, and where she
married her present companion,
who was then in possession of rank
and fortune, but whom the revolu-
tion has reduced to indigence. The
insurrection in St. Domingo de-
stroyed their property in that island.
They escaped with difficulty to these
shores in 1793, and have since sub-
sisted in various modes and places,
frequently pinched by extreme po-
verty, and sometimes obliged to so-
licit public charity; but retaining,
in every fortune, and undiminished,
their propensity to talk, laugh and
sing—their flute and their guitar.”
Nothing is more ambiguous than
the motives that stimulate men to
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action. These people's enjoyments
are unquestionably great. They
are innocent: they are compati-
ble, at least, with probity and wis-
dom, if they are not the immediate
fruits of it. Constitutional gaiety
may account for these appearances;
but as they may flow, in one case,
from the absence of reflection and
foresight, they may likewise, in
another instance, be the product of
justice and benevolence.
It is our duty to make the best
of our condition; to snatch the good
that is within our reach, and to
nourish no repinings on account of
what is unattainable. The gratifi-
cations of sense, of conjugal union,
and of social intercourse, are among
the highest in the scale; and these
are as much in the possession of de
Lisle and his wife, as of the most
opulent and luxuriant members of
the community.
As to mean habitation and scanty
furniture, their temper or their rea-
son enables them to look upon these
things as trifles. They are not
among those who witnessed their
former prosperity, and their friends
and associates are unfortunate like
themselves. Instead of humiliation
and contempt, adversity has proba-
bly given birth to sympathy and
mutual respect.
His profession is not laborious;
and her's, though not respectable
according to our notions, is easy
and amusing. Her life scarcely
produces any intermission of recre-
ation and enjoyment. Few instances
of more unmingled and uninter-
rupted felicity can be found; and
yet these people have endured, and
continue to endure, most of the
evils which the imagination is ac-
customed to regard with most hor-
ror; and which would create cease-
less anguish in beings fashioned on
the model of my character, or of
yours. Let you and I grow wise
by the contemplation of their ex-
ample.