No Men Love Money With More Eager Love Than
These Western Men, But They Bear The Loss Of It As An Indian Bears
His Torture At The Stake.
They are energetic in trade, speculating
deeply whenever speculation is possible; but nevertheless they are
slow in motion, loving to loaf about.
They are slow in speech,
preferring to sit in silence, with the tobacco between their teeth.
They drink, but are seldom drunk to the eye; they begin at it early
in the morning, and take it in a solemn, sullen, ugly manner,
standing always at a bar; swallowing their spirits, and saying
nothing as they swallow it. They drink often, and to great excess;
but they carry it off without noise, sitting down and ruminating
over it with the everlasting cud within their jaws. I believe that
a stranger might go into the West, and passing from hotel to hotel
through a dozen of them, might sit for hours at each in the large
everlasting public hall, and never have a word addressed to him. No
stranger should travel in the Western States, or indeed in any of
the States, without letters of introduction. It is the custom of
the country, and they are easily procured. Without them everything
is barren; for men do not travel in the States of America as they do
in Europe, to see scenery and visit the marvels of old cities which
are open to all the world. The social and political life of the
American must constitute the interest of the traveler, and to these
he can hardly make his way without introductions.
I cannot part with the West without saying, in its favor, that there
is a certain manliness about its men which gives them a dignity of
their own. It is shown in that very indifference of which I have
spoken. Whatever turns up, the man is still there; still
unsophisticated and still unbroken. It has seemed to me that no
race of men requires less outward assistance than these pioneers of
civilization. They rarely amuse themselves. Food, newspapers, and
brandy smashes suffice for life; and while these last, whatever may
occur, the man is still there in his manhood. The fury of the mob
does not shake him, nor the stern countenance of his present martial
tyrant. Alas! I cannot stick to my text by calling him a just man.
Intelligence, energy, and endurance are his virtues. Dirt,
dishonesty, and morning drinks are his vices.
All native American women are intelligent. It seems to be their
birthright. In the Eastern cities they have, in their upper
classes, superadded womanly grace to this intelligence, and
consequently they are charming as companions. They are beautiful
also, and, as I believe, lack nothing that a lover can desire in his
love. But I cannot fancy myself much in love with a Western lady,
or rather with a lady in the West. They are as sharp as nails, but
then they are also as hard.
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