16 New York, from its position, population, influence, and commerce, is worthy to be considered the metropolis of the New World. The situation of it is very advantageous. It is built upon Manhattan Island, which is about thirteen miles in length by two in breadth. It has the narrowest portion of Long Island Sound, called East River on its east side, the Hudson, called the North River, environs it in another direction, while these two are connected by a narrow straight, principally artificial, denominated the Harlem River. This insular position of the city is by no means intelligible to the stranger, but it is obvious from the top of any elevated building. The dense part of New York already covers a large portion of the island, and as it daily extends northward, the whole extent of insulated ground is divided into lots, and mapped out into streets. But not content with covering the island, which when Hendrick Hudson first discovered it, abounded with wet men, who fished along its banks and guided their bark canoes over the surrounding waters, New York, under the names of Brooklyn, Williamsboro, and four or five others, has spread itself on Long Island, Staten Island, and the banks of the Hudson. Brooklyn, on Long Island, occupies the same position with regard to New York that Lambeth and Southick, due to London, contains a population of one hundred thousand souls. Brooklyn, Williamsboro, Hoboken, and Jersey City are the residences of a very large portion of the merchants of New York, who have deserted the old or Dutch parts of the town, which is consequently merely an aggregate of offices. Floating platforms moved by steam, with space in the middle part for twelve or fourteen carriages and horses, and luxurious covered apartments, heated with steam pipes on either side, ply to and fro every five minutes at the small charge of one half penny a passenger, and the time occupied in crossing the ferries is often less than that of the detention on Westminster Bridge. Besides these large places, Staten Island and Long Island are covered with villa residences. Including these towns, which are in reality part of this vast city, New York contains a population of very nearly a million. Broadway, which is one of the most remarkable streets in the world, being at once the Corso, Toledo, Regent Street, and Princess Street of New York, runs along the center of the city, and is crossed at right angles by innumerable streets, which run down to the water at each side. It would appear as if the inventive genius of the people had been exhausted, for after borrowing designations for their streets from every part of the world, among which some of the old Dutch names figure most refreshingly, they have adopted the novel plan of numbering them. Thus there are ten avenues, which run from north to south, and these are crossed by streets numbered first street, second street, and so on. I believe that the skeletons of one hundred and fifty numbered streets are in existence. The southern part of the town still contains a few of the old Dutch houses, and there are some substantial red brick villas in the vicinity, inhabited by the descendants of the old Dutch families, who are remarkably exclusive in their habits. New York is decidedly a very handsome city. The wooden houses have nearly all disappeared, together with those of an antiquated or incongruous appearance, and the new streets are very regularly and substantially built of brown stone or dark brick. The brick building in New York is remarkably beautiful. The windows are large, and of plate glass, and the whole external finish of the houses is in a splendid but chaste style, never to be met with in street architecture in England. As the houses in the city are almost universally heated by air warmed by a subterranean stove, very few chimneys are required, and these are seldom visible above the stone parapets which conceal the roots. Anthracite coal is almost universally used, so there is an absence of that murky, yellow canopy which disfigures English towns. The atmosphere is remarkably dry, so that even white marble edifices, of which there are several in the town, suffer but little from the effects of climate. Broadway is well paved, and many of the numbered streets are not to be complained of in this respect, but a great part of the city is indescribably dirty, though it is stated that the expense of cleaning it exceeds two hundred and fifty thousand dollars per annum. Its immense length necessitates an enormous number of conveyances, and in order to obviate the obstruction to traffic which would have been caused by providing omnibus accommodation equal to the demand, the authorities have consented to a most alarming in-road upon several of the principal streets. The stranger sees with surprise that double lines of rail are laid along the roadways, and while driving quietly in a carriage he hears the sound of a warning bell, and presently a railway car holding thirty persons and drawn by two or four horses comes thundering down the street. These rail cars run every few minutes, and the fares are very low. For very sufficient reasons Broadway is not thus encroached upon, and a journey from one end to the other of this marvellous street is a work of time and difficulty. Pack the traffic of the strand and cheap side into Oxford Street, and still you will not have an idea of the crush in Broadway. There are streams of scarlet and yellow omnibuses racing in the more open parts, and locking each other's wheels in the narrower. There are helpless females deposited in the middle of a sea of slippery mud, condemned to run a gauntlet between cart-wheels and horses-hooves. There are loaded stages hastening to and fro from the huge hotels, carts and wagons laden with merchandise, and young Americans driving fast trotting horses edging in and out among the crowd. Wheels are locked, horses tumble down, and persons pressed for time are distracted. Occasionally the whole traffic of the street comes to a deadlock, in consequence of some obstruction or crowd. There being no policeman at hand with his incessant command, move on. The hackney carriages of New York are very handsome, and being drawn by two horses have the appearance of private equipages. But woe to the stranger who trust to the inviting announcement that the fare is a dollar within a certain circle. Bad as London cabmen are, one would welcome the sight of one of them. The New York hackmen are licensed plunderers, against whose extortions there is neither remedy nor appeal. They are generally Irish and cheat people with unblushing audacity. The omnibus or stage accommodation is plentiful and excellent. A person soon becomes accustomed to and enjoys the occasional excitement of locked wheels or a race, and these vehicles are roomy and clean. There are sixteen inches wider than our own omnibuses and carry a number of passengers certainly within their capabilities, and the fares are fixed in very low, six and one-half cents for any distance. They have windows to the sides and front, and the spaces between are painted with very tolerably executed landscapes. There is no conductor, the driver opens and closes the door with a strap, and the money is handed to him through a little hole in the roof. The lady passengers invariably give the money to a gentleman for this purpose, and no rule of etiquette is more rigidly enforced than for him to obey the request to do so, generally consisting in a haughty wave of the hand. The thousand acts of attention which gentlemen, by rigid usage, are compelled to tender to ladies, are received by them without the slightest acknowledgement, either by word or gesture. To so great an extent is this nonchalance carried on the part of the females that two or three newspapers have seriously taken up the subject, and advised the gentleman to withdraw from the performance of such unrequited attentions. Strangers frequently doubt whether New York possesses a police. The doubt is very justifiable, for these guardians of the public peace are seldom forthcoming when they are wanted. They are accessible to bribes and will investigate into crime when liberally rewarded, but probably in no city in the civilized world is life so fearfully insecure. The practice of carrying concealed arms in the shape of stilettos for attack and sword-sticks for defense, if illegal, is perfectly common. Desperate reprobates, called rowdies, infest the lower part of the town, and terrible outrages and murderous assaults are matters of such nightly occurrence as to be thought hardly worthy of notice, even in those prints which minister to man's depraved taste for the horrible. No language can be too strongly expressive of censure upon the disgraceful condition of New York. The evil may be distinctly traced to the wretched system of politics which prevails at the election of the municipal officers, who are often literally chosen from the lowest of the people and are venal and corrupt in the highest degree. During my visit to New York a candidate for one of these offices stabbed a policeman who died of the wound. If I may judge from the tone of the public prince and from conversations on the subject, the public feeling was not so much outraged by the act itself, but was a convenient stalking-horse for the other side, and the policeman's funeral procession, which went down Broadway, was nearly a mile in length. The principal stores are situated on Broadway, and although they attempt very little in the way of window display, the interiors are spacious and arranged with the greatest taste. An American store is generally a very extensive apartment, handsomely decorated, the roof frequently supported on marble pillars. The owner or clerk is seated by his goods, absorbed in the morning paper, probably balancing himself on one leg of his chair with a spittoon by his side. He deans to answer your inquiries, but in place of the pertinacious perseverance with which an English shopman displays his wares, it seems a matter of perfect difference to the American whether you purchase or know. The drapers and mercers shops, which go by the name of dry goods stores, are filled with the costliest productions of the world. The silks from the looms of France are to be seen side by side with the productions of Persia and India, and all at an advance of fully two-thirds on English prices. The fancy goods stores are among the most attractive lounges of the city. Here Paris figures to such an extent that it was said at the time when difficulties with France were apprehended in consequence of the Zule affair that Louis-Napoleon might as well fire cannonballs into the Palais Royal as to clear war with America. Some of the bronzes in these stores are of exquisite workmanship, and costly china from Sevres and Dresden feast the eyes of the lovers of beauty in this branch of art. The American ladies wear very costly jewelry, but I was perfectly amazed at the prices of some of the articles displayed. I saw a diamond bracelet containing one brilliant of prodigious size and luster. The price was twenty-five thousand dollars, or five thousand pounds. On inquiring who would purchase such a thing, the clerk replied, I guess some Southerner will buy it for his wife. One of the sites with which the New York people astonish English visitors is Stewart's Dry Good Store in Broadway, an immense square building of white marble, six stories high with a frontage of three hundred feet. The business done in it is stated to be above one million five hundred thousand pounds per annum. There are four hundred people employed at this establishment, which has even a telegraph office on the premises, where a clerk is forever flashing dollars and cents along the trembling wires. There were lace collars forty guineas each, and flounces of Valencian's lace, half a yard deep, at one hundred and twenty guineas of flounce. The damasts and brocades for curtains and chairs were at almost fabulous prices. Few gentlemen, the clerk observed, give less than three pounds per yard for these articles. The most costly are purchased by the hotels. I saw some brocade embroidered in gold to the thickness of half an inch, some of which had been supplied to the St. Nicholas Hotel at nine pounds per yard. There were stockings from a penny to a guinea pair, and carpetings from one shilling eight pence to twenty-two shillings a yard. Besides six stories above ground, there were large light rooms under the building and under Broadway itself, echoing with the role of its ten thousand vehicles. The hotels are among the sights of New York. The principal are the Astor House, which has a worldwide reputation, the Metropolitan and the St. Nicholas, all in Broadway. Prescott House and Irving House also afford accommodations on a very large scale. The entrances to these hotels invariably attract the eye of the stranger. Groups of extraordinary-looking human beings are always lounging on the doorsteps, smoking, whittling and reading newspapers. There are Southerners sighing for their sunny homes, smoking Havana cigars, Western men with that dashing, free and easy air which renders them unmistakable. Englishmen shrouded in an exclusiveness who look on all their neighbors as so many barbarian intruders on their privacy, and peoples of all nations whom business has drawn to the American metropolis. The Metropolitan Hotel is the most imposing in appearance. It is a block of building with a frontage of three hundred feet, and is six storeys high. I believe that it can accommodate thirteen hundred people. The St. Nicholas is the most superb in its decorations. It is a magnificent building of white marble, and can accommodate one thousand visitors. Everything in this edifice is on a style of princely magnificence. The grand entrance opens into a very fine hall with a marble floor, and this is surrounded with settees covered with the skins of wild animals. The parlours are gorgeous in the extreme, and there are two superb dining rooms to contain six hundred people each. The curtains and sofa covers in some of the parlours cost five pounds per yard, and, as has been previously named, one room is furnished with gold brocade purchased at nine pounds per yard. About one hundred married couples reside permanently at the St. Nicholas. It does not, however, bear the very best reputation, as it is said to be the resort of a large number of professed gamblers. Large as these hotels are, they are nothing to a monster establishment at Cape May, a fashionable summer resort in New Jersey. The capacities of this building, the Mount Vernon Hotel, though stated on the best authority, can scarcely be credited, it is said to make up three thousand beds. Owing to the high rates of house rent and the difficulty of procuring servants, together with the exorbitant wages which they require, many married couples and even families reside permanently at the hotels, living constantly in public, without opportunity for holding family intercourse, and being without either home cares or home pleasures. Nomad, restless, pleasure-seeking habits are induced, which have led strangers to charge the Americans with being destitute of home life. That such is the case to some extent is not to be denied, but this want is by no means generally observed. I have met with family circles in the New World as united and affected as those in the old, not only in country districts but in the metropolis itself, and in New England there is probably as much of what may be termed patriarchal life as anywhere in Europe. The public charities of New York are on a gigantic scale. The New York Hospital, a fine stone building with some large trees in front, situated in broad way, was one which pleased me as much as any. Two of the physicians kindly took me over the whole building and explained all the arrangements. I believe that the hospital contains six hundred and fifty beds, and it is generally full, being not only the receptacle for the numerous accident cases which are of daily occurrence in New York, but for those of a large district besides which are conveniently brought in by railroad. We first went into the recent accident room where the unhappy beings who were recently heard or operated upon were lying. Some of them were the most piteous objects I ever witnessed, and the medical men, under the impression that I was deeply interested in surgery, took pains to exhibit all the horrors. There were a good many of the usual classes of accidents, broken limbs and mangled frames.  One of them had been amputated on the previous day, and while the medical men displayed the stump, they remarked that the other must be taken off on the next day. The poor boy groaned with a more than childish expression of agony on his pale features, probably at the thought of life of helplessness before him. A young Irishman had been crushed by a railway car, and one of his legs had been amputated a few hours previously. As the surgeon altered the bandages he was laughing and joking, and had been singing ever since the operation, a remarkable instance of Patty's unfailing light-heartedness. But besides these ordinary accidents there were some very characteristic of a New York and of a New York election. In one ward there were several men who had been stabbed the night before, two of whom were mortally wounded. There were two men, scarcely retaining the appearance of human beings, who had been fearfully burned and injured by the explosion of an infernal machine. All trace of human features had departed. It seemed hardly creditable that such blackened, distorted and mangled frames could contain human souls. There were others who had received musket-shot wounds during the election and numbers of broken heads and wounds from knives. It was sad to know that so much of the suffering to be seen in that hospital was the result of furious religious animosities and of the unrestrained lawlessness of human violence. There was one man who had been so nearly crushed to pieces that it seemed marvellous that the mangled frame could still retain its vitality. One leg was broken in three places, and the flesh torn off from the knee to the foot. Both arms and several ribs were also broken. We went into one of the female wards, where sixteen broken legs were being successfully treated, and I could not but admire a very simple contrivance which remedies the contraction which often succeeds broken limbs and produces permanent lameness. Two long straps of plaster were glued from above the knee to the ankle, and were then fixed to a wooden bar with a screw and handle so that the tension can be regulated at pleasure. The medical men in remarking upon this observed that in England we were very slow to adopt any American improvements in surgery or medicine. There were many things in this hospital which might be imitated in England with great advantage to the patients. Each ward was clean, sweet, and airy, and the system of heating and ventilation is very superior. The heating and ventilating apparatus, instead of sending forth alternate blasts of hot and cold air, keeps up a uniform and easily regulated temperature. A draft of cold air is continually forced through a large apparatus of steam pipes, and as it becomes vitiated in the rooms above, passes out through ventilators placed just below the ceiling. Our next visit was to the laundry, where two men, three women, and last but not least, a steam engine of forty-five horsepower, were perpetually engaged in washing the soiled linen of the hospital. The large and rapidly moving cylinder which churns the linen is a common part of steam laundry, but the ringing machine is one of the most beautiful, practical applications of a principle and natural philosophy that I ever saw. It consists of a large, perforated cylinder open at the top with a case in the center. This cylinder performs from four hundred to seven hundred revolutions in a minute, and by the power of the centrifugal force thus produced, the linen is impelled so violently against the sides that the moisture is forced through the perforations when the linen is left nearly dry. Strange as it may appear to those who associate America with plenty in comfort, there is a large class of persons at New York living in a state of squall and an abject poverty, and in order that the children belonging to it may receive some education, it has been found necessary by the benevolent to supplement the common school system with ragged or industrial schools. In order not to wound the pride of parents who are not too proud to receive a gratuitous education for their offspring, these establishments are not called ragged schools, but boys' meetings and girls' meetings. I visited two of these, the first in Tompkins Square. There were about one hundred children in the school, and nearly all of them were Irish, Roman Catholics. They received a good elementary education and answered the questions addressed to them with correctness and alacrity. The Bible, of course, is not read, but the pupils learn a scripture catechism and paraphrased versions of scripture incidents. One day, during the absence of the teacher, one of the pupils was looking into an English Bible, and another addressed her with the words, You wicked girl, you know the priest says that you are never to open that bad book. I will never walk with you again. The child on going home told her mother, and she said that she did not think it could be such a bad book, as the ladies who were so kind to them read it.  She read it and became a Protestant. These children earned their clothing by a certain number of good marks, but most of them were shoeless. Each child is obliged to take a bath on the establishment once a week. Their answers in geography and history were extremely good. In the afternoon the elder girls are employed in tailoring and dress-making and receive so much work that this branch of the school is self-supporting. I visited another industrial school in a very bad part of the town, adjoining the Bowery, where the parents are of the very worst description, and their offspring are vicious and unmanageable. I think that I never saw vies and crimes so legibly stamped upon the countenances of children as upon those in this school. The teachers find it extremely difficult to preserve discipline at all, and the pilfering habits of the pupils are almost incorrigible. They each receive a pint of excellent soup and an unlimited quantity of bread for dinner, but they are discontented and unthankful. The common school system will be enlarged upon in his succeeding chapter, but I cannot forbear noticing one school which I visited. It was a lofty, four-storied building of red brick, with considerable architectural pretensions. It was faced with brown stone and had a very handsome entrance hall and staircase. The people of New York vie with each other in their hospitality to strangers, and in showing them the objects of interest within their city in the very best manner, and it was under the auspices of Dr. Wells, one of the commissioners of education, that I saw this admirable school, or rather, educational institution. On inquiring the reason of the extraordinary height of the value-straits, I was told that some weeks previously, as the boys were hurriedly leaving school, forty of them had been pushed over the staircase, out of which number nearly the whole were killed. In the girls' room about nine hundred girls between the ages of eight and eighteen were assembled. They were the children of persons in every class in the city except the very wealthiest and the very poorest. All these girls were well-dressed, some of them tasteful, others fantastic in their appearance. There was a great deal of beauty among the elder pupils. I only regretted that the bright bloom which many possessed should be so evanescent. The rich, luxuriant hair, often of a beautiful auburn hue, was a peculiarity which could not be overlooked. There were about ten female teachers, the principal of whom played some liveliers upon the piano, during which time the pupils marched subtly in from various classrooms, and took their seats at handsome mahogany desks, which accommodated two each. No expense had been spared in the fittings of the apartment. The commissioners of education are evidently of opinion that the young do not acquire knowledge the more speedily from being placed on comfortless benches without any means of resting their weak and tired frames. Each desk contained a drawer or cupboard, and who encouraged those habits of order and self-reliance to which so much weight is attached in the United States, each pupil is made responsible for the preservation and security of her books and all implements of education. The business of the day commenced by the whole number of girls reverently repeating the Lord's Prayer, which, in addressing God as our Father, proclaims the common bond of brotherhood which unites the whole human race. The sound of nine hundred youthful voices solemnly addressing their creator was beautiful and impressive. A chapter from the Bible, read aloud by the teacher, followed, and a hymn beautifully sung when the pupils filed off as before to the sound of music. We next went into the elementary room, appropriated to infants, who are not sent to the higher school, till their proficiency reaches the standard required. The infant system does not appear to differ materially from ours, except that it is of a more intellectual nature. In this room, thirteen hundred children joined in singing a hymn. In the boys' rooms, about one thousand boys were receiving instruction under about twelve specimens of young America. The restless, the almost fearful energy of the teacher surprised me, and the alacrity of the boys in answering questions. In the algebra room, questions involving most difficult calculation on the part of the pupils were answered sometimes even before the teacher had worked them out himself. Altogether I was delighted with this school and with the earnestness displayed by both teachers and pupils. I was not so well pleased with the manners of the instructors, particularly in the boys' school. There was a boastfulness, an exaggeration, and a pedantry, which are by no means necessary accomplishments of superior attainments. The pupils have a disrespectful, familiar, and independent air, though I understood that the punishments are more severe than are generally approved of in English schools. The course of instruction is very complete. History is especially attended to with its bearing upon modern politics. The teachers receive from eighty pounds to three hundred pounds a year, and a very high attainments are required. Besides the common in industrial schools, there are means of education provided for the juvenile portion of the very large foreign population of New York, principally German. There are several schools held under the basements of the churches without any paid teachers. The ladies of New York, to their honor be it said, undertake unassisted the education of these children, a certain number being attached to every school. Each of these ladies takes some hours of a day, and youth and beauty may be seen perseveringly engaged in this arduous but useful task. The spirit of practical benevolence which appears to permeate New York society is one of its most pleasing features. It is not only that the wealthy contribute large sums of money to charitable objects, but they personally superintend their rightful distribution. No class is left untouched by their benevolent affairs, wherever suffering and poverty are found, the hand of Christianity or philanthropy is stretched out to relieve them. The gulf which in most cities separates the rich from the poor has, to some extent, lessened in New York, for numbers of ladies and gentlemen of education and affluence visit among the poor and vicious, seeking to raise them to a better position. If there are schools, immigrant hospitals, orphan asylums, and nursing institutions, to mark the good sense and philanthropy of the people of New York, so their love of amusement and recreation is strongly evidenced by the numerous places where both may be procured. There is perhaps as much pleasure seeking in Paris. The search after amusement is characterized by the same restless energy which marks the pursuit after wealth. And if the Americans have little time for enjoying themselves, they are resolved that the opportunities for doing so shall be neither distant nor few. Thus Broadway, in its neighborhood, contain more places of amusement than perhaps any district of equal size in the world. These present varieties sufficient to embrace the taste of the very heterogeneous population of New York. There are three large theaters, an opera house of gigantic proportions, which is annually graced by the highest vocal talent of Europe, Woods minstrels and Christie's minstrels, where blacks perform an un-exceptionable style to unwearied audiences, and comic operas. There are al fresco entertainments, masquerades, concerts, restaurants and oyster saloons. Besides all these and many more, New York contained in 1853 the amazing number of 5,980 taverns. The number of places where amusement is combined with intellectual improvement is small when compared with other cities of the same population. There are, however, some very magnificent reading rooms and libraries. The amount of oysters eaten in New York surprised me, although there was an idea at the time of my visit that produced the cholera, which rather checked any extraordinary excesses in this curious fish. In the business streets of New York the eyes are greeted continually with the words oyster saloon, painted in large letters on the basement story. If the stranger's curiosity is sufficient to induce him to dive down a flight of steps into a subterranean abode, at the first glance rather suggestive of robbery, one favorite amusement of the people may be seen in perfection. There is a counter at one side where two or three persons, frequently blacks, are busily engaged in opening oysters for their customers who swallow them with astonishing relish and rapidity. In a room beyond, brightly lighted by gas, family groups are to be seen, seated at round tables and larger parties of friends, enjoying basins of stewed oysters, while from some mysterious recesses the process of cookery makes itself distinctly audible. Some of these saloons are highly respectable, while many are just the reverse. But the consumption of oysters is by no means confined to the saloons. In private families an oyster supper is frequently a nightly occurrence. The oysters are dressed in the parlor by an ingenious and not inelegant apparatus. So great is the passion for this luxury that the consumption of it during the season is estimated at thirty-five hundred pounds a day. There are several restaurants in the city, on the model of those in the Palais Royale. The most superb of these, but not by any means the most respectable, is Taylor's in Broadway. It combines eastern magnificence with Parisian taste, and strangers are always expected to visit it. It is a room about one hundred feet in length by twenty-two in height, the roof and cornices richly carved and gilded, the walls ornamented by superb mirrors separated by white marble. The floor is of marble, and a row of fluted and polished marble pillars runs down each side. It is a perfect blaze of decoration. There is an alcove at one end of the apartment, filled with orange trees, and the air is kept refreshingly cool by a crystal fountain. Any meal can be obtained here at any hour. On the day on which I visited it, the one hundred marble tables which it contains were nearly all occupied. A double row of equipages lined the street at the door, and two or three hundred people, many of them without bonnets and fantastically dressed, were regaling themselves upon ices and other elegancies in an atmosphere redolent with the perfume of orange flowers, and musical with the sound of trickling water, and the melody of musical snuff boxes. There was a complete maze of frescoes, mirrors, carvings, gilding, and marble. A dinner can be procured here at any hour of the day or night, from one shilling of six pence up to half a guinea, and other meals in light proportion. As we merely went to see the restaurant we ordered ices, which were served from large reservoirs, shining like polished silver. These were paid for at the time, and we received tickets in return, which were taken by the doorkeeper on coming out. It might be supposed that republican simplicity would scorn so much external display, but the palace is a public entertainment by and their splendor with the palaces of kings. It is almost impossible for a stranger to leave New York without visiting the American Museum, the property of Phineas Taylor Barnum. The history of this very remarkable man is now well known, even in England, where the publication of his autobiography has been a nine days wonder. It is said that sixty thousand copies were sold at New York in one day, so successful has he been in keeping himself forever before the public eye. It is painful to see how far a man whose life has been spent in total disregard for the principles of truth and integrity should have earned for himself popularity and fame. His museum is situated in Broadway, near to the City Hall, and is a gaudy building, denoted by huge paintings, multitudes of flags, and a very noisy band. The museum contains many objects of real interest, particularly to the naturalist and geologist, intermingled with a great deal that is spurious and contemptible. But this museum is by no means the attraction to this palace of humbug. There is a collection of horrors or monstrosities attached, which appears to fascinate the vulgar gays.  But while persons of the highest station in education in England patronized an artful and miserable dwarf, cleverly exhibited by a showman totally destitute of principle, it is not surprising that the American people should delight in yet more hideous exhibitions under the same auspices. The magnificence of the private dwellings of New York must not escape mention, though I am compelled to withhold many details that would be interesting from a fear of violating the rights of hospitality. The squares and many of the numbered streets contain very superb houses of a most pleanting uniformity of style. They are built either of brownstone or of dark red brick, durably pointed and faced with stone. This style of brick masonry is extremely tasteful and beautiful. Every house has an entrance porch with windows of stained glass and double doors, the outer one being only closed at night. The upper part of the inner door is made of stained glass. The door handles and bell pulls are made of lightly polished electroplate, and a handsome flight of stone steps with elegant bronze value strides leads up to the porch. The entrance halls are seldom large, but the staircases which are of stone are invariably very handsome. These houses are six stories high and usually contain three reception rooms, a dining room, small and not striking in appearance in any way, as dinner parties are seldom given in New York, a small, elegantly furnished drawing room used as a family sitting room, and for the reception of morning visitors, and a magnificent reception room furnished in the height of taste and elegance for dancing, music and evening parties. In London the bedrooms are generally inconvenient and uncomfortable, being sacrificed to the reception rooms. In New York this is not the case. The bedrooms are large, lofty and airy, and are furnished with all the aperturances with modern luxury has been able to devise. The profusion of marble gives a very handsome and chaste appearance to these apartments. There are bathrooms generally on three floors, and hot and cold water are laid on every story. The houses are warmed by air heated from a furnace at the basement, and though in addition open fires are sometimes adopted, they are made of anthracite coal, which emits no smoke, and has rather the appearance of heated metal than a fuel. Ornamental articles of Parisian taste and Italian workmanship abound in these houses, and the moldings, cornices and woodwork are all beautifully executed. The doorways and windows are very frequently of an arched form, which contributes to the tasteful appearance of the houses. Every species of gaudy decoration is strictly avoided. The paint is generally white, with gilt moldings, and the lofty rooms are either painted in panels or hung with paper of a very simple pattern. The curtains and chair covers are always a very rich damask, frequently worth from two to three guineas a yard, but the richness of this and of the gold embroidery is toned down by the dark hue of the walnut wood furniture. The carpets of the reception rooms are generally of rich kiddermenster or velvet pile, and air of elegance and cleanliness pervades these superb dwellings. They look the height of comfort. It must be remembered that the foregoing is not a description of a dwelling here and there, but of fifty or sixty streets, or of four thousand or five thousand houses. Those inhabited by merchants of average incomes, storekeepers, not of the wealthiest class and lawyers. The number of servants kept in such mansions as these would sound disproportionately small to an English ear. Two or three female servants only are required. Breakfast is very early, frequently at seven, seldom later than eight. The families of merchants in business in the lower part of the city often dine at one, and the gentlemen return to a combination of dinner with tea at six. It does not appear that at home luxury and eating is much studied. It is not customary, even among some of the wealthier inhabitants of New York, to indulge in sumptuous equipages. Hacks, with respectable-looking drivers and pairs of horses, fill the place of private carriages, and look equally well. Coachmen require high wages, and carriages are frequently injured by collision with omnibuses. These are among the reasons given for the very general use of hired vehicles. The private equipages to be seen in New York, though roomy and comfortable, are not elegant. They are almost invariably closed, with glass sides in front, and are constructed with a view to keep out the intense heat of the summer sun. The coachmen are generally blacks, and the horses are stout animals with cropped tails. The majority have broken knees, owing to the great slipperiness of the pavements. Altogether, the occupants of stages are the most secure of the numerous travelers down Broadway. The driver on his lofty box has more control over his horses, and in case of collision, the weight of his vehicle gives him an advantage, and there is general inclination on the part of the conductors of carriages to give these swiftly moving vehicles ample room and verge enough. While threading the way through the intricate labyrinth of wagons, stages, falling horses, and locked wheels, it is highly unpleasant for the denizens of private carriages to find the end of a pole through the back of his equipage, or to be addressed by the coachmen, Massa, that big wagon is pulling off my wheel. Having given a brief description of the style of the ordinary dwellings of the affluent, I will just glance at those of the very wealthy, of which there are several in Fifth Avenue and some of the squares, surpassing anything I had hitherto witnessed in Royal or Ducal Palaces at home. The externals of some of these mansions in Fifth Avenue are like Apsley House and Stafford House, St. James's, being substantially built of brown stone. At one house which I visited in, Street, about the largest private residence in the city, and one which is considered to combine the greatest splendor with the greatest taste, we entered a spacious marble hall, leading to a circular stone staircase of great width, the value strates being figures elaborately cast in bronze. Above this staircase was a lofty dome, decorated with paintings and fresco of eastern scenes. There were niches in the walls, some containing Italian statuary, and others small jets of water pouring over artificial moss. There were six or eight magnificent reception rooms, furnished in various styles, the medieval, the Elizabethan, the Italian, the Persian, the modern English, etc. There were fountains of fairy workmanship, pictures from the old masters, statues from Italy, chef d'oeuvre of art, porcelain from China and Sevres, damas, cloth of gold, and bijoux from the east, goblin tapestry, tables of malachite and agate, and knickknacks of every description. In the medieval and Elizabethan apartments it did not appear to me that any anachronisms had been committed with respect to the furniture and decorations. The light was subdued by passing through windows of rich stained glass. I saw one table, the value of which might be about two thousand guineas. The ground was black marble, with a wreath of flowers inlaid with very costly gems upon it. There were flowers or bunches of fruit of turquoise, carbuncles, rubies, topazes, and emeralds, while the leaves were of malachite, cornelian, or agate. The effect produced by this lavish employment of wealth was not very good. The bedrooms were scarcely less magnificently furnished than the reception rooms, with chairs formed of stag horns, tables inlaid with agates, and hangings of Damascus cashmere, richly embossed with gold. There was nothing gaudy profusor prominent in the decorations of furniture. Everything had evidently been selected and arranged by a person of very refined taste. Among the very beautiful works of art was a collection of cameos, including some of selenies from the antique, which were really entrancing to look upon. Another mansion, which N. P. Willis justly describes as a fairy palace of taste in art, though not so extensive, was equally beautiful, and possessed a large winter garden. This was approached by passing through a secession of very beautiful rooms, the walls of which were hung with paintings which would have delighted a connoisseur. It was a glass building with a high dome, a fine fountain was playing in the center, and round its marble basin were orange, palm, and myrtle-trees, with others from the tropics, some of them of considerable growth. Every part of the floor that was not of polished white marble was thickly carpeted with small green ferns. The gleam of white marble statues, from among the clumps of orange trees and other shrubs, was particularly pretty. Indeed, the whole had a fairy-like appearance about it. Such mansions as these were rather at variance with my ideas of republican simplicity. They contained apartments which would have thrown into shade the finest rooms in Windsor Castle or Buckingham Palace. It is not the custom for Americans to leave large fortunes to their children. Their wealth is spent in great measure in surrounding themselves with the beautiful and the elegant in their splendid mansions, and it is probable that the adornments which have been collected with so much expense and trouble will be dispersed at the death of their present possessors. I have often asked, how do the American ladies dress? Have they nice figures? Do they wear much elegant? What are their manners like? Are they highly educated? Are they domestic? I will answer these questions as far as I am capable of doing so. In bygone times, the good old days of America, perhaps, large patterns, brilliant colors, exaggerated fashions, and redundant ornament were all adopted by the American ladies, and without just regard to the severity of the climate, they patronized thin dresses and yet thinner shoes, both being, as has been since discovered, very prolific sources of ill health. Frequent intercourse with Europe and the gradual progress of good taste have altered this absurd style, and America, like England, is now content to submit to the dictation of Paris in all manners of fashion. But though Paris might dictate it, it was found that American milleners had stubborn wills of their own, so Parisian modests were imported along with Parisian silks, ribbons, and gloves. No dressmaker is now considered orthodox who cannot show a prefix of madame, and the rage for foreign materials and workmanship of every kind is as ludicrous as in England. Although the deception practice is very blameable, there is some comfort in knowing that large numbers of the caps, bonnets, mantles, and other articles of dress, which are marked ostentatiously with the name of some roux in Paris, have never incurred the risks of an Atlantic voyage. But, however unworthy, a devotion to fashion may be, it is very certain that the ladies of New York dress beautifully and in very good taste. Although it is rather repugnant to one's feelings to behold costly silks and rich brocades sweeping the pavements of Broadway, with more effect than is produced by the dustmen, it is very certain that more beautiful toilettes are to be seen in the celebrated thoroughfare in one afternoon than in Hyde Park in a week. As it is impossible to display the productions of the millenary art in a closed carriage in a crowd, Broadway is the fashionable promenade, and the lightest French bonnets, the handsomeness mantles, and the richest flound silk dresses, with jupons, ribbons, and laces to correspond, are there to be seen in the afternoon. Evening attire is very much the same as in England, only that richer materials are worn by the young. The harmony of colors appears to be a subject studied to some purpose, and the style of dress is generally adapted to the height, complexion, and figure of the wearer. The figures of the American ladies and youth are very silk-like and elegant, and this appearance is obtained without the use of those artificial constraints so justly to be condemned. They are almost too slight for beauty, though this does not signify while they retain the luxuriant wavy hair, brilliant complexion, elastic step, and gracefulness of very early youth. But unfortunately a girl of twenty is too apt to look faded and haggard, and a woman who with us would be in her bloom at thirty looks passe, wrinkled and old. It is then that the silk-like form assumes an unpleasant angularity, suggestive of weariness and care. It is remarkable, however, that ladies of recent English extraction, under exactly the same circumstances, retain their good looks into middle life, and advancing years produce embom-pon instead of angularity. I was very agreeably surprised with the beauty of the young ladies of New York. There is something peculiarly graceful and fascinating in their personal appearance. To judge from the costly articles of jewelry displayed in the stores, I should have supposed that there was a great rage for ornament. But from the reply I once received from a jeweler on asking him who would purchase a five-thousand-ginny diamond bracelet, I guessed some southerner would buy it for his wife. I believe that most of these articles find their way to the south and west, where a less cultivated taste may be supposed to prevail. I saw very little jewelry worn, and that was generally of a valuable but plain description. The young ladies appear to have adopted the maxim, beauty when unadorned is adorned the most. They study variety in ornament rather than perfusion. What are their manners like, is a difficult question to answer. That there is a great difference between the manners of the English and American ladies may be inferred from some remarks made to be by the most superior woman whom I met in America, and one who had been in English society in London. In naming a lady with whom she was acquainted, and one who could scarcely be expected to be deficient in affection towards herself, she said her manners were perfectly ladylike, but she seemed to talk merely because conversation was a conventional requirement of society, and I cannot believe that she had any heart. She added, I did not blame her for this. It was merely the result of an English education which studiously banishes every appearance of interest or emotion. Emotion is condemned as romantic and vulgar sensibility, just as enthusiasm. The system which she reprehended is not followed at New York, and the result is not that the ladies wear their hearts and their sleeves for doze to peck at, but that they are unaffected, lively, and agreeable. The repose so studiously cultivated in England, and which is considered perfect when it has become listlessness, apathy, and indifference, finds no favour with our lively transatlantic neighbours. Consequently the ladies are very naïve and lively, and their manners have the vivacity without the frivolity of the French. They say themselves that they are not so highly educated as the ladies of England. Admirable as the common schools are, the seminaries for ladies, with one or two exceptions, are very inferior to ours, and the early age at which the young ladies go into society precludes them from completing a superior education. For it is scarcely to be expected that, when their minds are filled with the desire for conquest and the love of admiration, they will apply systematically to remedy their deficiencies. And again, some of their own sex in the States have so far stepped out of women's proper sphere that high attainments are rather avoided by many from the ridicule which has been attached to the unsuitable display of them in public. The young ladies are too apt to consider their education completed when they are emancipated from school restraints, while in fact only the basis of it has been laid. Music and drawing are not much cultivated in the higher branches, and though many speak the modern languages with fluency, natural philosophy and arithmetic which strengthen the mental powers are rather neglected. Yet who has ever missed the higher education which English ladies receive while in the society of the lively attractive ladies of New York? Of course there are exceptions where active and superior minds become highly cultivated by their own persevering exertions, but the aids offered by ladies' schools are comparatively insignificant. The ladies in the United States appeared to me to be extremely domestic. However fond they may be of admiration as girls after their early marriages they become dutiful wives and affectionate devoted mothers, and in a country where there are few faithful attached servants far more devolves upon the mother than English ladies have any idea of. Those amusements which would withdraw her from home must be abandoned. However fond she may be of traveling she must abide in the nursery, and all these little attentions which in England are turned over to the nurse must be performed by herself or under her superintending eye. She must be the nurse of her children alike by day and by night, in sickness and in health, and with the attention which American ladies pay to their husbands their married life is by no means an idle one. Under these circumstances the early fading of their bloom is not to be wondered at, and I cannot but admire the manner in which many of them cheerfully conform to years of anxiety and comparative seclusion after the homage and gaiety which seemed their natural atmosphere in their early youth. Of the gentlemen it is less easy to speak. They are immersed in a whirl of business, often of that speculative kind which demands a constant exercise of intense thought. The short period which they can spend in the bosom of their families must be an enjoyment and relaxation to them. Therefore, in the absence of any statements to the contrary, it is but right to suppose that they are affectionate husbands and fathers. However actively the gentlemen of New York are engaged in business pursuits. They travel, read the papers, and often devote some time to general literature. They look rather more pale and care-worn than the English, as the uncertainties of business are greater in a country where speculative transactions are carried to such an exaggerated extent. They also indulge in eccentricities of appearance in the shape of beards and imperials, not to speak of the goatee and mustaches of various forms. With these exceptions there is nothing in appearance, manner, or phraseology to distinguish them from gentlemen in the best English society, except perhaps that they evince more interest and animation in their conversation. The peculiar expressions which go under the name of Americanisms are never heard in good society, and those disagreeable habits connected with tobacco are equally unknown. I thought that the gentlemen were remarkably free for mannerisms of any kind. I have frequently heard Americans speak of the descriptions given by Dickens and Mrs. Trollop of the slaying and disagreeable practices to be met with in the States, and they never, on a single occasion, denied their truthfulness, but said that these writers mistook the perpetrations of these vulgarities for gentlemen. The gentlemen are extremely deferential and attentive in their manners to ladies, and are hardly, I think, treated with sufficient graciousness in return. At New York a great many are actively engaged in philanthropic pursuits. The questions of manner, attained by English gentlemen, which frequently approaches inanity, is seldom to be met with in America. The exhilarating influences of the climate and the excitement of business have a tendency to produce animation of manner, and force and earnestness of expression. A great difference in these respect is apparent in gentlemen from the southern states, who live in an innervating climate, and whose pursuits are of a more tranquil nature. The dry elastic atmosphere of the northern states produces arrestlessness which must either expend itself in bodily or mental exertion or force of expression, from this probably arise the frequent use of superlatives and the exaggeration of language which the more flimetic English attribute to the Americans. Since my return to England I have frequently been asked the question, what is society like in America? This word, society, is one of very ambiguous meaning. It is used in England by the titled aristocracy to distinguish themselves, their connections, and those whose wealth or genius has gained them admission to their circles. But every circle, every city, and even every country neighborhood, has what it pleases to term society, and when the members of it say of an individual, I never met him in society, it ostracizes him, no matter how agreeable or estimable he may be. In England, to society in each of its grades, wealth is a sure passport, as it has been evidenced of late years by several very notorious instances. Thus it is extremely difficult to answer the question, what is New York society like? It certainly is not like that which is associated in our minds with the localities Mayfair and Belgravia. Neither can it be compared to the circles which form parasitically around the millionaire. Still less it is like the dullness of country neighborhoods. New York has its charmed circles also, a republic admits of the greatest exclusiveness, and in the highest circles of the city, to say that a man is not in society, is to ostracize him as in England. It must be stated that some of the most agreeable salons of New York are almost closed to foreigners. French, Germans, and Italians with imposing titles have proved how unworthily they bear them, and this feeling against strangers, I will not call it prejudice, for there are sufficient grounds for it, is extended to the English, some of whom I regret to say, have violated the right of hospitality in many different ways. I have heard of such conduct on the part of my countrymen as left me no room for surprise that many families, whose acquaintance would be most agreeable, strictly guard their drawing room from English intrusion. And besides this there are those who have entered houses merely to caricature their inmates, and have received hospitality only to ridicule the manner in which it was exercised, while they have indulged in unnameable personalities, and have not respected the sanctity of private life. It was through an introduction given me by a valued English friend that I, as an English stranger, was received with the kindest hospitality by some of those who have been rendered thus exclusive by the bad taste and worse conduct of foreigners. I feel as I write that any remarks I make on New York society cannot be perfectly free from bias, owing to the overwhelming kindness and glowing hospitality which I met with in that city. I found so much to enjoy in society and so much to interest and please, everywhere, that when I left New York it was with the wish that the few weeks which I was able to spend there could have been prolonged into as many months. But to answer the question, the best society in New York would not suffer by comparison in any way with the best society in England. It is not in the upper classes of any nation that we must look for national characteristics or peculiarities. Society throughout the civilized world is, to a certain extent, cast in the same mold. The same laws of etiquette prevail, and the same conventionalisms restrict, in the greatest measure, the display of any individual characteristics. Balls are doubtless the same in society all over the world. A certain amount of black cloth, kid gloves, white muslin, epaulettes if they can be procured, dancing, music, and ices. Everyone acknowledges that dinner parties are equally dull in London and Paris, in Calcutta and in New York, unless the next neighbor happens to be peculiarly agreeable. Therefore it is most probable that balls and dinner parties in New York are exactly the same as in other places, except that the latter are less numerous and are principally confined to gentlemen. It is not in fact convenient to give dinner parties in New York. There are not sufficient domestics to bear the pressure of an emergency, and the pleasure is not considered worth the trouble. If two or three people have sufficient value for the society of the host and hostess to come in to an ordinary dinner at an ordinary hour, they are welcome. If turtle and venison were offered on such an occasion it would have the effect of repelling rather than attracting the guests, and it would not have the effect of making them believe that their host and hostess always lived on such luxurious veyons. As dinner parties are neither deemed agreeable nor convenient, and as many sensible people object to the late hours and general dissipation of mind produced by balls and large dancing parties, a happy innovation upon old customs has been made, and early evening receptions have been introduced. Some of the most splendid mansions of New York, as well as the most agreeable, are now thrown open weekly for the reception of visitors in a social manner. These receptions differ from what are known by the same name in London. The crowd in which people become wedged in a vain attempt to speak to the hostess is as much as possible avoided. Late hours are abandoned, the guests who usually arrive about eight are careful to disappear shortly after eleven, lest Cinderella-like the hostess should vanish. Then again all the guests feel themselves on a perfect equality, as people always ought to do who meet in the same room on the invitation of the same hostess. The Lady of the House adopts the old but very sensible fashion of introducing people to each other which helps to prevent a good deal of stiffness. As the rooms in the New York houses are generally large, people sit, stand, or walk about as they feel inclined, or group themselves round someone gifted with peculiar conversational powers. At all of these reunions there was a great deal of conversation worth listening to or joining in, and as a stranger I had the advantage of being introduced to everyone who was considered worth knowing. Poets, historians, and men of science are to be met with frequently at these receptions, but they do not go as lions, but to please and be pleased, and such men as Longfellow, Prescott, or Washington Irving may be seen mixing with the general throng with so much bonomy and simplicity that none would fancy that in their own land they are the envy of their age and sustain world-wide reputations. The way in which literary lions are exhibited in England, as essential to the eclat of fashionable parties, is considered by the Americans highly repugnant to good taste. I was very agreeably surprised with the unaffected manners and extreme simplicity of men eminent in the scientific and literary world. These evening receptions are a very happy idea, for people whose business or inclinations would not permit them to meet in any other way, are thus brought together without formality or expense. The conversations generally turned on Europe, general literature, art, science, or the events of the day. I must say that I never heard one remark that could be painful to an English earmaid, even in jest. There was none of that vulgar boastfulness and attraction which is to be met with in less educated society. Most of the gentlemen whom I met, and many of the ladies, had traveled in Europe, and had brought back highly cultivated tastes in art and cosmopolitan ideas, which insensibly affect the circles in which they move. All appeared to take a deep interest in the war, and in our success. I heard our military movements in the crime yet criticized with some severity my military men, some of whom have since left for the seat of war, to watch our operations. The conclusion of the Vienna negotiations appeared to excite some surprise. I had no idea, an officer observed to me, that public opinion was so strong in England as to be able to compel a minister of such strong Russian plicivities as Lord Aberdeen to go to war with his old friend Nicholas. The arrangements at Balaklava excited very general condemnation. People were fond of quoting the saying attributed to a Russian officer, you have an army of lions led by asses. The Americans are always anxious to know what opinion a stranger has formed of their country, and I would be asked thirty times in one evening, how do you like America? Fortunately the kindness which I met with rendered it impossible for me to give any but a satisfactory reply. English literature was a very general topic of conversation, and it is most gratifying to find how our best English works are familiar in their mouths as household words. Some of the conversation on literature was of a very brilliant order. I heard very little approximation to either wit or humour, and badinage is not cultivated or excelled in to the same extent as in England. On one occasion I was asked to exhibit a collection of autographs, and the knowledge of English literature possessed by the Americans was shown by the information they had respecting not only our well-known authors, but those whose names who have not an extended reputation even with us. Thus the works of Matland, Richie, Sewell, Browning, Hoet and others seemed perfectly familiar to them. The trembling signature of George III excited general interest from his connection with their own history, and I was not a little amused to see how these Republicans dwelt with respectful attention on the decided characters of Queen Victoria. A very characteristic letter of Lord Byron's was read aloud, and in return for the pleasure they had experienced several kind individuals gave me valuable autographs of their own literary and statesmen. Letters written by Washington descend as precious heirlooms in families, and so great is the estimation in which this venerated patriot is held that with all the desire to oblige a stranger which the Americans' events I believe that I could not have purchased a few lines in his handwriting with my whole collection. It would be difficult to give any idea of the extremely agreeable character of these receptions. They seemed to me to be the most sensible way of seeing society that I had ever met with, and might well be worthy of general imitation in England. When I saw how sixty or a hundred people could be brought together without the inducements of dancing, music, refreshments or display of any kind, when I saw also how thoroughly they enjoyed themselves, how some were introduced, and those who were not entered into sprightly conversation without fear of lessening and imaginary dignity, I more than ever regretted the icy coldness in which we wrap ourselves. And yet, though we take such trouble to clothe ourselves in this glacial dignity, nothing pleases us better than to go to other countries and throw it off, and mix with our fellow men and women as rational beings should, not as if we feared either to compromise ourselves or to be repulsed by them. This national stiffness renders us the laughing stock of foreigners, and in a certain city in America no play was ever more successful than the Buckrum Englishmen, which ridiculed and caricatured our social peculiarities. The usages of etiquette are much the same as in England, but people appear to be assisted in the enjoyment of society by them rather than trampled. Morning visiting is carried to a great extent, but people call literally in the morning, before two o'clock, oftener than after. On New Year's Day, in observance of an old Dutch custom, the ladies remain at home, and all the gentlemen of their acquaintance make a point of calling upon them. Of course time only will allow the interchange of the compliments of the season, where so much social duty has to be performed in one brief day, but this pleasant custom tends to keep up old acquaintanceships and annihilate old feuds. It is gratifying to observe that any known deviation from the rules of morality is punished, with exclusion from the houses of those who are considered the leaders of New York society. It is also very pleasing to see that to the best circles in New York wealth alone is not a passport. I have heard cards of invitation to these receptions refuse to foreigners bearing illustrious titles and to persons who have the reputation of being millionaires. At the same time I have met those of humble position and scanty means, who are treated with distinction because of their talents or intellectual powers. Yet I have never seen such a one patronized or treated as a lion. He is not expected to do any homage or pay any penalty for his admission into society. In these circles in New York we are spared the humiliating spectacle of men of genius or intellect cringing and uneasy in the presence of their patronizing inferiors, whom birth or wealth may have placed socially above them. Of course there is society in New York where the vulgar influence of money is omnipotent and extravagant display is fashionable. It is of the best that I have been speaking. CHAPTER XVII It may seen a sudden transition from society to a cemetery, and yet it is not an unnatural one, for many of the citizens of New York carry their magnificence as far as possible to the grave with them, and pile their wealth above their heads in a superb mausoleum or costly statue. The Père Lachaise of the city is the Greenwood Cemetery near Brooklyn on Long Island. I saw it on the finest and coldest of November days, when a piercing east wind was denuding the trees of their last scarlet honors. After encountering more than the usual crush in Broadway, for we were rather more than an hour and driving three miles in a stage, we crossed the Brooklyn Ferry in one of those palace ferry-boats where the spacious rooms for passengers are heated by steam-pipes and the charge is only one cent, or a fraction less than half-penny. It was a beautiful day, there was not a cloud upon the sky, the waves of the sound and of the North River were crisped and foam-tipped, and dashed noisily upon the white, pebbly beach. Brooklyn, Jersey, and Hoboken rose from the water, with their green fields and avenues of villas, white, smokeless steamers were passing and repassing, large anchored ships tossed upon the waves, and New York, that compound of trees, buildings, masts, and spires, rose in the rear without so much as a single cloud of smoke covering over it. A railway runs from Brooklyn to the cemetery, with the cars drawn by horses, and the dead of New York are conveniently carried to this last resting place. The entrances handsome and the numerous walls and carriage-drivers are laid with fine gravel and beautifully swept. We drove to see the most interesting objects, and the coachmen seemed to take a peculiar pride in pointing them out. This noble-burying ground has some pretty diversified hill and dale scenery, and is six miles round. The timber is very fine, and throughout art has only been required as an assistance to nature. To this cemetery most of the dead of New York are carried, and after life's fitful fever in its most exaggerated form sleep in appropriate silence. Already several thousand dead have been placed here in places of sepulcher varying in appearance from the most splendid and ornate to the most simplest and obscure. There are family mausoleums, gloomy and sepulcher looking, in the Grecian style, family burying grounds neatly enclosed by iron or bronze railings where white marble crosses mark the graves. There are tombs with epitaphs and tombs with statues. There are simple cenotaphs and monumental slabs and nameless graves marked by numbers only. One very remarkable feature of this cemetery is the Potter's Field, a plot containing several acres of ground where strangers are buried. This is already occupied to a great extent. The graves are placed in rows close together with numbers on a small iron plate to denote each. Here the shipwrecked, the pestilence stricken, the penniless and friendless are buried, and though such a spot cannot fail to provoke sad musings, the people of New York do not suffer any appearance of neglect to accumulate round the last resting place of those who died unfriended and alone. Another feature not to be met with in England strikes the stranger at first with ludicrous images, though in reality it has more of the pathetic. In one part of this cemetery there are several hundred graves of children and these, with most others of children, of the poorer classes, have toys in glass cases placed upon them. There are playthings of many kinds, woolly dogs and lambs, and little wooden houses, toys which must be associated in the parent's mind with those who made their homes glad, but who have gone into the grave before them. One cannot but think of the bright eyes dim, the merry laugh and infantile prattle silent, the little hands once so active in playful mischief, stiff and cold, all brought so to mind by the sight of those toys. There is a fearful amount of mortality among children at New York, and in several instances four or five buried in one grave told with mournful suggestiveness of the silence and desolation of once happy hearths. There are a few remarkable and somewhat fantastic monuments. There is a beautiful one in white marble to the memory of a sea captain's wife, with an exact likeness of himself in the attitude of taking an observation on the top. An inscription to himself is likewise upon it, leaving only the date of his death to be added. It is said that when this poor man returns from a voyage he spends one whole day in the tomb lamenting his bereavement. There is a superb monument erected by a fireman's company to the memory of one of their brethren, who lost his life while nobly rescuing an infant from a burning dwelling. His statue is on the top, with an infant in his arms, and the implements of his profession lie below. But by far the most extraordinary and certainly one of the lions of New York is to a young lady who was killed in coming home from a ball. The carriage-horses ran away, she jumped out, and was crushed under the wheels. She stands under a marble canopy supported by angels, and is represented in her ball-dress, with a mantle thrown over it. This monument has numerous pillars and representations of celestial beings, and is said to have cost about six thousand pounds. Several of the marble mausoleums cost from four thousand to five thousand pounds. Yet all the powerful, the wealthy, and the poor have descended to the dust from whence they sprung, and here, as everywhere else, nothing can disguise the fact that man, the feeble sport of passion and infirmity, can only claim for his inheritance at last the gloom of a silent grave, where he must sleep with the dust of his fathers. I observed only one verse of scripture on a tombstone, and it contained the appropriate prayer. So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Having seen the immigrants bid adieu to the old world, in the flurry of grief, hope, and excitement, I was curious to see what difference a five-week voyage would have produced in them, and in what condition they would land upon the shores of America. In a city where immigrants land at the rate of a thousand a day, I was not long of finding an opportunity. I witnessed the debarcation upon the shore of the New World of between six hundred and seven hundred English immigrants who had just arrived from Liverpool. If they looked tearful, flurried, and anxious when they left Liverpool, they looked tearful, pallid, dirty, and squalid when they reached New York. The necessary discomforts which such a number of persons must experience when huddled together in a close, damp, and ill-ventilated steerage, with very little change of clothing and an allowance of water insufficient for the purposes of cleanliness, had been increased in this instance by the presence of cholera on board of the ship. The wharves at New York are necessarily dirty and are a scene of indescribable bustle from morning to night, with ships arriving and sailing, ships loading and unloading, and immigrants pouring into the town in an almost incessant stream. They look as if no existing power could bring order out of such a chaos. In this crowd, on the shores of a strange land, the immigrants found themselves. Many were deplorably emaciated, others looked vacant and stupefied. Some were ill, and some were penniless, but poverty and sickness are among the best recommendations which an immigrant can bring with him, for they place him under the immediate notice of those estimable and overworked men, the immigration commissioners, whose humanity is above all praise. These find him an asylum in the immigrant's hospital on Ward's Island and dispatch him from thence in health, with advice and assistance for his future career. If he be in health, and have a few dollars in his pocket, he becomes the instantaneous prey of immigrant runners, sharpers, and keepers of groggeries, but of this more we said hereafter. A great many of these immigrants were evidently from country districts and some from Ireland. There were a few Germans among them, and these appear to be the least affected by the discomforts of the voyage, and by the novel and rather bewildering position in which they found themselves. They probably would feel more at home on first landing at New York than any of the others, for the lower part of the city is to a great extent inhabited by Germans, and at that time there were about two thousand houses where their favorite beverage, lager beer, could be procured. The goods and chattels of the Irish appeared to consist principally of numerous red-haired, unruly children and ragged-looking bundles tied round with rope. The Germans were generally ready in stout and took as much care of their substantial-looking, well-corded, heavy chests as though they contained gold. The English appeared pale and debilitated and sat helpless and weary-looking on their large blue boxes. Here they found themselves in the chaotic confusion of this million peopled city, not knowing whether to but take themselves and bewildered cries of cheap hacks all aboard, come to the cheapest house in all the world, and invitations of a similar description. There were lodging touters of every grade of dishonesty, and men with large placards were hurrying among the crowd, offering palace steamboats and lightning express trains, to whirl them at nominal rates to the elysian fields of the far west. It is stated that six-tenths of these immigrants are attacked by fever soon after their arrival in the New World, but the provision for the sick is commensurate with the wealth and benevolence of New York. Before leaving the city I was desirous to see some of the dwellings of the poor. I was therefore taken to what was termed a poor quarter. One house which I visited was approached from an entry and contained ten rooms which were led to different individuals and families. On the lowest floor was an old Irish widow who had a cataract in one eye, and being without any means of supporting herself, subsisted upon a small allowance made to her by her son, who was a carter. She was clean but poorly dressed, and the room was scantily furnished. Except those who are rendered poor by their idleness and vices, it might have been difficult to find a poorer person in the city, I was told. Much sympathy was expressed for her and for those who, like her, lived in this poor quarter. Yet the room was tolerably large, lofty and airy, and had a window of the ordinary size of those in English dwelling-houses. For this room she paid four dollars or sixteen shillings per month, a very high rent. It was such a room as in London many a respectable clerk, with an income of one hundred and fifty pounds a year, would think himself fortunate in possessing. I could not enter into the feeling of the benevolent people of New York when they sympathized with the denizens of this locality. I only wished that these generous people could have seen the dens in which thousands of our English poor live, with little light and less water huddled together without respect to sex or numbers, in small, ill-ventilated rooms. Yet New York has a district called the Five Points, Fertile in Crime, Fever and Misery, which would scarcely yield the palm for vicent squalor to St. Giles's in London or the Salt Market in Glasgow. A collection of dwellings called the Mud Huts, where many colored people reside, is also an unpleasant feature connected with the city. But with abundant employment, high wages and charities on a princely scale, for those who from accidental circumstance may occasionally require assistance, there is no excuse for the squalid wretchedness in which a considerable number of persons have chosen to sink themselves. It is a fact that no golden age exists on the other side of the water, that vice and crime have their penalties in America as well as in Europe, and that some of the worst features of the old world are reproduced in the new. With all the desire that we may possess to take a sanguine view of things, there is something peculiarly hopeless about the condition of this class at New York, which in such a favorable state of society and at such an early period of American history has sunk so very low. The existence of a dangerous class at New York is now no longer denied. One person in seven of the whole population came under the notice of the authorities, either in the ranks of criminals or paupers in 1852, and it is stated that last year the numbers reached an alarming magnitude, threatening danger to the peace of society. This is scarcely surprising when we take into consideration the numbers of persons who land in the city who have been expatiated for their vices, who are flying from the vengeance of outraged law, or who expect the new world to be able to do evil without fear of punishment. There are the idle and the visionary who expect to eat without working, penniless demagogues, unprincipled adventurers, and the renegade outpourings of all Christendom, together with those who are innervated and demoralized by sickness and evil associates on board ship. I could not help thinking, as I saw many of the newly arrived immigrants saunter helplessly into the groggeries, that after spending their money they would remain at New York, and help to swell the numbers of this class. These people live by their wits, and lose the very little they have in drink. This life is worth very little to them, and in spite of the Bible and tract societies and church missions they know very little of the life to come. Consequently they are ready for any mischief, and will imperil their existence for a small bribe. Many or most of them are Irish Roman Catholics, who having obtained the franchise in many instances by making false avidavits consider themselves at liberty to use the club also. I was at New York at the time of the elections, and those of 1854 were attended with unusual excitement, owing to the red-hot strife between the Irish Roman Catholics and the Know-Nothings. This society, established with the object of changing the naturalization laws and curbing the power of potpourri, had at this time obtained a very large share of the public attention, as much from the mystery which attended it as from the principles which it avowed. To the minds of all there was something attractive in a secret organization, unknown oaths and nocturnal meetings, and the success which had attended the efforts of the Know-Nothings in Massachusetts and others of the States, led many to watch with deep interest the result of the elections for the Empire State. Their candidates were not elected, but the avowed contest between Protestantism and potpourri led to considerable loss of life. Very little notice of the riots on this occasion has been taken by the English journalists, though the local papers varied in their account of the number killed and wounded, from forty-five to seven hundred. It was known that Emut was expected, therefore I was not surprised, one evening early in November, to hear the alarm bells ringing in all directions throughout the city. It was stated that a Know-Nothing assemblage of about ten thousand persons had been held in the park, and that in dispersing they had been fired upon by some Irishman called the Brigade. This was at the commencement of a sanguinary struggle for the preservation of order. For three days a dropping fire of musketry was continually to be heard in New York and Williamsburg, and reports of great loss of life on both sides were circulated. It was stated that the hospital received one hundred and seventy wounded men, and that many more were carried off by their friends. The military were called out, and as it was five days before quiet was restored, it is to be supposed that many lives were lost. I saw two dead bodies myself, and in one street or alley by the five points, both the sidewalks and the roadway were slippery with blood. Yet very little sensation was excited in the upper part of the town. People went out and came in as usual. Business was not interrupted, and to questions upon the subject the reply was frequently made, oh, it's only an election riot, showing how painfully common such disturbances had become. There are many objects of interest in New York and its neighborhood, among others the Croton Aqueduct, a work worthy of a great people. It cost about five million pounds sterling, and by it about sixty million gallons of water are daily conveyed into the city. Then there are the prisons on Blackwells Island, the Lunatic Asylums, the Orphan Asylums, the Docks, and many other things, but I willingly leave these untouched, as they have been described by other riders. In concluding this brief and incomplete account of New York, I may be allowed to refer to the preface of this work, and repeat that any descriptions which I have given of things or society are merely sketches, and, as such, are liable to the errors which always attend upon hasty observation. New York, with its novel varied and ever-changing features, is calculated to leave a very marked impression on a stranger's mind. In one part one can suppose it to be a negro town, in another a German city, while a strange dreamy resemblance to Liverpool pervades the whole. In it there is little repose for the mind and less for the eye, except on the Sabbath Day, which is very well observed, considering the widely differing creeds and nationalities of the inhabitants. The streets are alive with business, retail, and wholesale, and present an aspect of universal bustle. Flags are to be seen in every direction. The tall masts of ships appear above the houses, large square pieces of calico, with names in scarlet or black letters upon them, hang across the streets, to denote the whereabouts of some popular candidate or puffing storekeeper, and hosts of omni buses, hacks, drays, and railway cars at full speed, ringing bells, terrify unaccustomed foot passengers. There are stores of the magnitude of bazaars, daugurian galleries by hundreds, crowded groggeries and subterranean oyster saloons, huge hotels, coffee-houses, and places of amusement, while the pavements present men of every land and color, red, black, yellow, and white, in every variety of costume and beard, and ladies, beautiful and ugly, richly dressed. Then there are mud huts and palatial residences and streets of stately dwelling houses, shaded by avenues of elanthus trees, wagons discharging goods across the pavements, shops above and cellars below, railway whistles and steamboat bells, telegraph wires, eight and ten to a post, all converging towards Wall Street, the Lombard Street of New York, militia regiments in many colored uniforms, marching in and out of the city all day, groups of immigrants bewildered and amazed, emaciated with dysentery and seasickness, looking in at the shop windows, representatives of every nation under heaven, speaking in all earth's babble languages, and as if to render this ceaseless pageant of business, gaiety, and change as far removed from monotony as possible, the quick toll of the fire alarm bells may be daily heard, and the huge engines with their burnished equipments and well-trained companies may be seen to dash at full speed along the streets to the scene of some brilliant conflagration. New York is calculated to present as imposing an appearance to an Englishman, as its antiquated namesake does to an American, with its age, silence, statelyness, and decay. The Indian summer had come and gone, and bright frosty weather had succeeded it, when I left this city, in which I had received kindness and hospitality which I can never forget. Mr. Amy, the kind friend who had first welcomed me to the States, was my traveling companion, and at his house near Boston, in the midst of a happy family circle, I spent the short remnant of my time before returning to England. We left New York just as the sun was setting, frosty and red, and ere we had reached New Haven, it was one of the finest winter evenings that I had ever seen. The moisture upon the windows of the cars froze into innumerable fairy shapes, the crescent moon and a thousand stars shone brilliantly from a deep blue sky, auroras flashed and meteors flamed, and as the fitful light glittered on many rushing gurgling streams, I had but to remember how very beautiful New England was, to give form and distinctness to the numerous shapes which we were hurrying past. I was recalling the sunny south to mind, with its vineyards and magnolia trees, and the many scenes of beauty that I had witnessed in America, with all the genial kindness which I had experienced from many who but a few months ago were strangers, when a tipsy scotch fiddler broke in upon my reveries by an attempt to play Yankee Doodle. It is curious how such a thing can instantly change the nature of the thoughts. I remembered speculations, cute notions, successes and calculations, all aboard and go-ahead and pile on skipper, sharp eager faces, diversities of beards, dualists, pickpockets, and every species of adventurer. Such recollections were not out of place in Connecticut, the center and soul of what we would denominate Yankeeism. This state has one of the most celebrated educational establishments in the state, Yale College at New Haven, or the City of Elms, famous for its toleration of an annual fight between the citizens and the students, at a nocturnal fete in celebration of the burial of Euclid. The phraseology and some of the moral characteristics of Connecticut are quite popular. It is remarkable for learning, the useful arts, successful and energetic merchants and farmers, the mythical Sam Slick, the Prince of Peddlers, and his living equal Barnum, the Prince of Showman. A love of good order and a pervading religious sentiment appear to accompany great simplicity of manners in its rural population, though the Southerners, jealous of the virtues of these New Englanders, charge upon them the manufacturer of wooden nutmegs. This state supplies the world with wooden clocks, for which the inhabitants of our colonies appear to have a peculiar fancy, though at home they are called Yankee clocks what won't go. I have seen peddlers with curiously constructed wagons toiling along even the Canadian clearings, who are stated to belong to a race raised in Connecticut. They are extremely amusing individuals, and it is impossible to resist making an investment in their goods, as their importunities are urged in such a ludicrous phaseology. The peddler can accommodate you with everything from a clock or Bible to a penny worth of pins, and takes rags, rabbit, and squirrel skins at two cents each in payment. His knowledge of soft solder and human nature is as great as that of Sam Slick, his inimitable representative, and many a shoeless Irish girl is induced to change a dollar for some temporary ornament by his artful compliments to her personal attractions. He seems at home everywhere, talks politics, guesses your needs, cracks a joke, or condols with you on your misfortunes with an elongated face. He always contrives to drop in at dinner or tea time, for which he apologizes, but in distant settlements the apologetic formulary might be left alone, for the visit of the cosmopolitan peddler is ever welcome, even though he leaves you a few dollars poorer. There is some fear of the extinction of the race, as railways are now bringing the distant localities within reach of resplendent stores with plate glass windows. It wanted six hours to dawn when we reached Boston, and the ashes of an extinguished fire in the cheerless waiting room at the depot gave an idea of even greater cold than really existed. We drove through the silent streets of Boston and out into the country in an open carriage, with the thermometer many degrees below the freezing point. Yet the dryness of the atmosphere prevented any feeling of cold. The air was pure, still, and perfectly elastic. A fitful aurora lighted our way, and the iron hooves of the fast trotting ponies rattled cheerily along the frozen ground. I almost regretted the termination of the drive, even though the pleasant villa of blank and a room lighted by a blazing wood fire avoided me. The weather was perfectly delightful. Cloudless and golden, the sun set at night. Cloudless and rosy he rose in the morning, sharp and defined in outline the leafless trees rose against the piercing blue of the sky. The frozen ground rang to every footstep. Thin patches of snow diversified the landscape. The healthful air braced even invalid nerves. Boston is a very fine city, and the whole of it, spread out as a panorama, and be seen from several neighboring eminences. The rosy flesh of a winter dawn had scarcely left the sky when I saw the town from Dorchester Heights. Below the city, an aggregate of handsome streets lined with trees, stately public buildings and church spires, with the lofty State House crowning the whole. Bright blue water and forests of mass appeared to intersect the town. Green wooded, swelling elevations dotted over with white villa residences, and vironed it in every direction. Blue hills rose far in the distance, while to the right the bright waters of Massachusetts Bay, and livened by the white sails of ships and pilot boats, completed this attractive panorama. Boston is built on a collection of peninsulas, and as certain ship owners possess wharves far up into the town to which their ships must find their way, the virtue of patience is frequently inculcated by a long detention at drawbridges, while heavily laden vessels are slowly warped through the openings. The equanimity of the American character surprised me here, as it had often done before, for while I was devising various means of saving time by taking various circuitous routes, about one hundred detenues submitted to the delay without evincing any symptom of impatience. Part of Boston is built on ground reclaimed from the sea, and the active inhabitants continually keep encroaching on the water for building purposes. This fine city appeared to greater advantage on my second visit, after seeing New York, Cincinnati, Chicago, and other of the American towns. In them their progress is evidenced by a ceaseless building up, and pulling down, the consequences of which are heaps of rubbish and unsightly hoardings covered with bills and other advertisements, giving to the town thus circumstance an unfinished, mobile, or temporary look. This is still further increased where many of the houses are of wood, and can be moved without being taken to pieces. I was riding through an American town one afternoon, when, to my surprise, I had to turn off up on the sidewalk, to avoid a house which was coming down the street, drawn by ten horses, and assisted by as many men with levers. My horse was so perfectly unconcerned at what was such a novel spectacle to me that I supposed he was used to these migratory dwellings. Boston has none of this. Stately, substantial, and handsome, it looks as if it had been begun and completed in a day. There is a most pleasing air of respectability about the large stone and brick houses, the stores are spacious and very handsome, and the public buildings are durably and tastefully built. Scientific institutions, music halls, and the splendid stores possessed by the booksellers and philosophical instrument-makers proclaimed the literary and refined tastes of the inhabitants which have earned for their city the name of the American Athens. There is an air of repose about Boston. Here, if anywhere, one would suppose that large fortunes were realized and enjoyed. The sleek horses do not appear to be hurried over the pavements. There are few placards and fewer puffs. The very carts are built rather to carry weight than for speed. Yet no place which I visited looked more thriving than Boston. Its streets are literally crammed with vehicles and the sidewalks are thronged with passengers, but these latter are principally New Englanders of respectable appearances. These walks are bordered by acacia and elm trees, which seem to flourish in the most crowded thoroughfares, and besides protecting both men and horses from the intense heat, their greenness, which they retain till the fall, is most refreshing to the eye. There are great many private carriages to be seen, as well as people on horseback. The dwelling houses have plate-glass windows and bright green geluces, the sidewalks are of granite, and the whole has an English air. The common, or rather the park, at Boston is the finest public promenade that I ever saw, about fifty acres in extent and ornamented with avenues of very fine trees. This slope is to the south and the highest part of the slope is crowned by the state house and the handsomest private residences in the city. Boston is very clean and orderly, and smoking is not permitted in the streets. There is a highly aristocratic air about it, and those who look for object of historical interest will not be disappointed. There is the old Fanuel Hall, which once echoed to the stormy arguments and spirit-stirring harangues of the leaders of the revolution. A few antiquated many gabled houses remain in the sabrehood, each associated with some tradition dear to the Americans. Then there is a dark colored stone church, which still in common parlance bears the name of King's Chapel. It is fitted with high pews of dark varnished oak, and the English liturgy, slightly altered, is still used as a form of worship. Then there is the old south meeting-house, where the inhabitants remonstrated with the governor for bringing in the King's troops, and lastly Griffin's Wharf, where under the impulse of the stern, concentrated will of the New England character the sons of liberty boarded the English ships and slowly and deliberately threw the tea which they contained into the water of the harbor. I visited the Bunkers Hill Monument and was content to take on trust the statement of the beauty of the view from the summit as the monument, which is two hundred and twenty-one feet in height, is ascended by a very steep staircase. Neither did I deny the statement made by the patriotic Americans who were with me that the British forces were defeated in that place, not feeling at all sure that the national pride of our historians had not led them to tell a tale more flattering than true. For some say that we won and some say that they won and some say that none won at all, man. We visited the naval yard at Charleston and the Ohio, an old seventy-four, now used as a receiving ship. There was a very manifest difference between the two sides of the main deck of this vessel. One was scrupulously clean, the other by no means so, and on inquiring the reason I was told that the clean side was reserved for strangers. Although this yard scarcely deserves the name of an arsenal, being the smallest of all which America possesses, the numerous guns and the piles of cannonballs shows she is not unprepared for aggressive or defensive war. The Merchant's Exchange, where every change in the weather at New Orleans is known in a few minutes, the Post Office, with its innumerable letter boxes and endless bustle, the Tremont Hall, one of the finest music halls in the world, the waterworks, the Athenaeum, and their libraries are all worthy of a visit. There is a museum which we visited in the evening, but it is not creditable to the taste of the inhabitants of this fine city. There are multitudes of casts and fossils, and stuffed beasts and birds, and monsters, and a steam engine modeled in glass, which works beautifully. But all these things are to hide the real character of this institution, and appear to be passed unnoticed by a large number of respectable-looking people who were thronging into a theatre at the back, a very gloomy-looking edifice with high pews. A placard announced that Dickens's Hard Times, which it appeared from this has been dramatized, was about to be acted. The plays are said to be highly moral, but in the melodrama religion and buffoonery are often intermingled, and I confess that I did not approve of this mode of solacing the consciousness of those who object to ordinary theatricals, for the principle involved remains the same. The National Theatre is considered so admirably adapted for seeing, hearing, and accommodation that it is frequently visited by European architects. An American friend took me to see it in the evening when none are admitted but those who are going to remain for the performance. This being the rule, the doorkeeper politely opposed our entrance, but on my companion stating that I was a stranger he instantly admitted us, and pointed out the best position for seeing the edifice. The theatre, which has four tiers of boxes, was handsome in the extreme, and brilliantly lighted, but I thought it calculated to produce the same effect of dizziness and headache as those who frequent our house of piers experience from the glare and redundant decoration. This was one among the many instances where the name of stranger produced a magical effect. It appeared as if doors which would not open to anything else yielded at once to a request urged in that sacred name. This was the case at Mount Auburn Cemetery, where the gatekeeper permitted us as strangers to drive round in a carriage, which is contrary to rule, and on no occasion would those who so courteously obliged us except of any gratuity. There is some rivalry on the part of the people of Boston and New York with regard to the beauty of their cemeteries. Many travellers have pronounced the cemetery of Mount Auburn to be the loveliest in the world, but both it and that of Greenwood are so beautiful that it is needless to hint to fault or hesitate to dislike with regard to either. Mount Auburn has verdant slopes and deep wild dells, and lakes shaded by forest trees of great size and beauty, and so silent is it, far removed from the den of cities, that it seems as if a single footstep would disturb the sleep of the dead. Here the neglectfulness and dreariness of the outer aspect of the grave are completely done away with, and the dead lie peacefully underground, carpeted with flowers and shaded by trees. The simplicity of the monuments is very beautiful. That, to Spursheim, has merely his name upon the tablet. Fulton, Channing, and other eminent men are buried here. New York is celebrated for frequent and mysterious conflagrations, so are all the American cities in a less degree. This is very surprising to English people, many of whom scarcely know a fire engine by sight. Boston, though its substantial erections of brick and stone present great obstacles to the progress of the devouring element, frequently displays these unwished-for-illuminations, and has some very well-organized fire companies. These companies, which are voluntary associations, are one of the important features of the States. The Quakers had the credit of originating them. Being men of peace they could not bear arms in defense of their country, and exchanged Melissa's service for the task of extinguishing all the fires caused by the willfulness or carelessness of their fellow-citizens. This has been no easy task in cities built of wood, which in that dry climate, when ignited, burns like pine-knots. Even now fires occur in a very unaccountable manner. At New York my slumbers were frequently disturbed by the quick-tolling bell announcing the number of the district where a fire had broken out. These fire companies have regular organizations, and their members enjoy several immunities, one of which I think is that they are not compelled to service jurymen. They are principally composed of young men, some of them the wilder members of the first families in the city. Their dresses are suitable in picturesque, and with the brilliant painting and highly polished brasses of their large engines they form one of the most imposing parts of the annual pageant of the glorious fourth. The fireman who first reaches the scene of action is captain for the night, and this honor is so much coveted as to lead them often to wait, ready equipped during the winter nights, that they may be able to start forth at the first sound of the bell. There is sufficient dangerous adventure and enough of thrilling incident to give the occupation a charm in the eyes of the eager youth of the cities. They like it far better than playing at soldiers and are popular in every city.  They are generous, courageous, and ever ready in the hour of danger. But there is a dark side to this picture. They are said to be the foci of political encroachments and intrigue, and to be the center of the restless and turbulent spirits of all classes. So powerful and dangerous have they become in many instances that it has been recently stated, in an American paper, that one of the largest and most respectable cities in the Union has found it necessary to suppress them. The Blind Asylum is one of the noblest charitable institutions of Boston. It is in a magnificent situation overlooking all the beauties of Massachusetts Bay. It is principally interesting as being the residence of Laura Bridgeman, the deaf and blind mute, whose history has interested so many in England. I had not an opportunity of visiting this asylum till the morning of the day on which I sailed for Europe, and had no opportunity of conversing with this interesting girl as she was just leaving for the country. I saw her preceptor, Dr. Howe, whose untiring exertions on her behalf she has so wondrously rewarded. He is very lively, energetic man, and is now devoting himself to the improvement of the condition of idiots, in which already he has been extremely successful. Laura is an elegant-looking girl, and her features, formerly so vacant, are now animated and full of varying expression. She dresses herself with great care and neatness, and her fair hair is also braided by herself.  She is about twenty-three and is not so cheerful as she formerly was, perhaps because her health is not good, or possibly that she feels more keenly the deprivations under which she labors. She is very active in her movements, and fabricates numerous useful and ornamental articles, which she disposes of for her mother's benefit. She is very useful among the other pupils, and is well informed with regards to various branches of useful knowledge. She is completely matter-of-fact in all her ideas, as Dr. Howe studiously avoids all imagery and illusions in his instructions, in order not to embarrass her mind by complex images. It is to be regretted that she has very few ideas on the subject of religion. One of the most interesting places to me in the vicinity of Boston was the abode of General Washington. It became his residence in 1775, and here he lived while the struggle for freedom was going on in the neighborhood. It is one of the largest villas in the vicinity of Boston, and has side verandas westing on wooden pillars, and a large garden in front. Some very venerable elms adjoined the house, and the grounds are laid out in the fashion which prevailed at that period. The room where Washington penned his famous dispatches is still held sacred by the Americans. Their veneration for this renowned champion of independence has something almost idolatrous about it. It is very fortunate that the greatest character in American history should be also the best. Christian, patriot, legislator, and soldier, he deserved his mother's proud boast. I know that wherever George Washington is, he is doing his duty. His character needed no lapse of years to shed a glory around it. The envy of contemporary writers left it stainless, and seceding historians, with their pens dipped in gall, have not been able to sully the luster of a name which is one of the greatest which that, or any age, has produced. This mansion has, however, an added interest from being the residence of the poet Long Fellow. In addition to his celebrity as a poet, he is one of the most elegant scholars which America has produced, and until recently held the professorship of modern languages at the neighboring University of Cambridge. It would be out of place here to criticize his poetry. Although it is very unequal and occasionally fantastic, and though in one of his greatest poems the English language appears to dance in chains in the hexameter, many of his shorter pieces well upwards from the heart, in a manner which is likely to ensure durable fame for their author. The truth, energy, and earnestness of his Psalm of life and Goblet of life have urged many forward in the fight, to whom the ponderous sublimity of Milton is a dead language, and the metaphysical lyrics of Tennyson are unintelligible. It appeared to me from what I heard that his fame is even greater in England than in his own country, where it is in some danger of being eclipsed by that of Bryant and Lowell. He is extremely courteous to strangers, and having kindly offered, through a friend, to show me Cambridge University, I had an opportunity of making his acquaintance. I have been frequently asked to describe his personal appearance, and disappointment has frequently been expressed at the portrait which truth compels me to give of him. He is neither tall, black-haired, nor pale. He neither raises his eyes habitually to heaven, nor turns down his shirt-collar. He does not wear a look of melancholy resignation, neither does he live in love-guilded poverty in a cottage embosomed in roses. On the contrary, he is about the middle height, and is by no means thin. He has handsome features, merry blue eyes, and a ruddy complexion. He lives in a large mansion, luxuriously furnished, and, besides having a large fortune, is the father of six blooming children. In short, his appearance might be considered jovial, were it not so extremely gentlemanly. Mr. Longfellow met us at the door, with that urbanity which is so agreeable a feature in his character, and on being shown into a very handsome library, we were introduced to Mrs. Longfellow, a lady of dignified appearance and graceful manner. She is well known as the Mary of Hyperion, and after a due degree of indignation with the author of that graceful and poetical book, she rewarded his constancy and devotion with her hand. The library was paneled in the old style, and a large collection of books was arranged in recesses in the wall. But the apartment evidently served the purposes of a library and boudoir, for there were numerous evidences of female taste and occupation. Those who think that American children are all precocious little men and women would have been surprised to see the door boisterously thrown open by a little blooming boy, who scrambled mirthfully upon his father's knee, as though used to be there, and asked him to whittle a stick for him. It is not often that the conversation of an author is equal in its way to his writings. Therefore I expected in Mr. Longfellow's case the disappointment which I did not meet with. He touched lightly on various subjects, and embellished each with the ease and grace of an accomplished scholar, and doubtless and kindly compliment to an English visitor, related several agreeable reminiscences of acquaintanceships formed with some of our literary, during a brief visit to England. He spoke with much taste and feeling of European antiquities, and of the absence of them in the New World, together with the effect produced by the latter upon the American character. He said that nothing could give him greater pleasure than a second visit to Europe, but that there were six obstacles in the way of its taking place. With him, as a very able Ciceroan, I had the pleasure of visiting Cambridge University, which reminded me more of England than anything I saw in America. Indeed, there are features in which it is not unlike its English namesake. It has no Newtonian or Meltonian shades, but in another century the names of those who fill a living age with luster will have their memorials among its academic groves. There are several halls of dark stone or red brick, of venerable appearance, and there are avenues of stately elms. The library is a fine Gothic edifice, and contains some valuable manuscripts and illuminated editions of old works. There was a small copy of the four evangelists, written in characters resembling print, but so small that it cannot be read without a magnifying glass. This volume was the labour of a lifetime, and the transcriber completed his useless task upon his deathbed. While Mr. Longfellow was showing me some autographs of American patriots, I remarked that as I was showing some in a Canadian city, a gentleman standing by, on seeing the signature of the protector, asked, in the most innocent ignorance, who Oliver Cromwell was. A lady answered that he was a successful rebel in the olden time. If you are asked the question the second time, observed the poet, who doubtless fully appreciates the greatness of Cromwell, say that he was an eminent brewer. Although there is very much both of interest and beauty in Boston and its environs, and I was repeatedly told that I should have found the society more agreeable than that of New York, with the exception of visits paid to the houses of Long fellow and the late Mr. Abbott Lawrence, I did not see any of the inhabitants of Boston, as I only spent three days in the neighborhood. But at Mr. Amy's house I saw what is agreeable in any country, more especially in a land of transition and change, a happy American home. The people of this western Athens pride themselves upon the intellectual society and the number of eminent men which they possess, among whom may be named Long fellow, Emerson, Lowell, Dana, and Summer. One of these, at least, is of the transcendental school. I very much regretted that I had not more time to devote to a city so rich in various objects of interest. But the northern winter had already begun, and howling winds and angry seas warned me that it was time to join my friends at Halifax, who were desirous to cross the vexat Atlantic before the weather became yet more boisterous.