New York in Slices: By an Experienced Carver, Being the Original Slices Published in the N. Y. Tribune; Revised, Enlarged, and Corrected (Classic Reprint) - Tapa blanda

Excerpt from New York in Slices: By an Experienced Carver, Being the Original Slices Published in the N. Y. Tribune; Revised, Enlarged, and Corrected

But let us watch an opening between the thronging procession of spacious and gayly painted carriages, whose accommodating drivers beckon you at every cor ner to a ride upon their crimson cushions, and darting adroitly through, as none but a well-practised citizen can do, regain the fashionable side of Broadway - 401 you must remember that nothing could more effectually stamp you as vulgar than to be seen stumbling over the crockeiy-crates and second hand furniture of the shilling pavement. Let us hurry by this other dusty old graveyard - for the dead have nothing to say for us - and past this palatial refectory cooled by a julep fountain in the basement and a jet de Croton in the court, and so pursue our walk. Here on the right, stooping gracefully in her dazzling bath, and drawing her scarf of rainbows coquettishly about her shoulders, stands the fair Maid of the Mist, cooling the air with her dewy breath; and yonder, embowered amid these Shady vistas, another palace rea1s its marble front. Glorious City! Happy peo ple! Nothing but palaces and carriages and hostelries - fountains and shady walks, splendor, refinement, luxury, and ease! And see here - whole miles of plate glass, interspersed with the most exquisite, rare, and costly fabrics, amid which and courteously waited upon by handsome and happy men, sit enthroned in silk beautiful ladies, selecting with the deliberation worthy so momentous a subject, the robes in which to enshrine their lovely forms. One can almost imagine he sees the houris selecting each a rosy cloud to waft her to the happy soul to whom she is to minister. Can these splendid creatures know trouble or sorrow - and are not their homes the abode of peace and love and every joy! We cannot penetrate the sacred mysteries of the fireside but could we read the secret history of fash, ionable life and fashionable folly, we should encounter such a record of broken hearts, broken faith, broken vows, and violated honor, as would make the soul xc coil ln horror and amazement to find that all this brilliant and dazzling display of wealth and beauty and taste and refinement was but the fantastic and mocking mask of a wide-yawning domestic hell. Yes - not the beggar' S den nor the mur derer' 3 cell could vomit forth ghastlier agonies than stalk through the magnificent saloons, and hide behind the silken curtains where gather Fashion's sparkling throng.

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Excerpt from New York in Slices: By an Experienced Carver, Being the Original Slices Published in the N. Y. Tribune; Revised, Enlarged, and Corrected

A great city is the highest results of human civilization. Here the Soul, that most perfect and godlike of all created things, the essence and spirit of the visible world, has put forth all its most wonderful energies - energies developed to their utmost power, and excited to their highest slate of activity by constant cont with countless other souls, each emulating, impelling, stimulating, rivalling, o doing the others. What a world of thought and wisdom and imagination and benevolence and friendship and love ought we not to expect from this mighty concentration of so many immortalities, so many heavenly faculties! The very atmosphere should be purified and brightened by the incessant flashing of the electricity of intellect, and a boundless horizon of sympathies and affections, rising from all these noble hearts, should spread above the dwelling-place of so many glorious spirits, reminding them always of their heavenly origin, and keeping ever in view their lofty destiny on earth - to sanctify this material life and this all beautiful world to God and to each other. Yes - man in isolation, or thinly gathered in feeble neighborhoods and scattered villages, is powerless to accomplish great works, or to fulfil the mission of his race. It is only in a large city, where some hundreds of thousands combine their various powers, that the human mind can efficiently stamp itself on every thing by which it is surrounded - can transmute the insensible earth to a fit temple and dwelling-place for immortal spirits. What do we see!

Reluctantly we turn our gaze from the broad Bay, in whose musical undulations sleeps the sweet spirit of Peace and Beauty, fanned by the sphere-wandering winds. The silken rustle of the leaves overhead, hushing the pale-blue chamelion in his noontide dream of air, sheds a slumberous shower upon us. But we are not here for slumber. Let us on through this broad gravelled walk, arched by shady old trees, and hasten to emerge into the street, where our dream will be ion enough broken by the ceaseless noises that roll in sea-like waves down from the clamorous city. What a grand avenue, mounting the subdued hill that like a gigantic camel patiently stoops to bear its huge burden! Look, how beautiful the prospect! The eye, sinking beneath this pressure of imposing forms, loses itself in the far-reaching sweep of the street, terminated by a confused cloud of moving wheels, fronts of houses, and thickened air, pierced here and there with a tall spire or swelling dome. Here at our very feet springs up into the air a lofty steeple, stately as a palm and graceful as an exhalation. Within this Gothic porch - but of that anon. Look away to the right, down this immense granite artery, whence pours the turbid flood of trade and money, gain and traffic. Hark! a doll, sullen growl comes up from its lowest depths, as of the groans of the victims hourly choked and thrust down beneath the wave, mingled with the low chuckle and the hollow laugh of the victors - themselves, it may be, doomed to be vanquished in the next moment, and sent to join their victims on "the night's Plutonian shore," where limp the ghosts of lame ducks which no man can number.

But all this is underground, or hidden behind the massive gray columns. To our eye nothing appears but a panorama of palaces, variegated with eager groups of men apparently engaged in the discussion of lofty themes, upon which hang most momentous issues. And so they do - the "settlement" of weekly balances and the "issues" of country banks. 'Tis a magnificent avenue of architectural beauty - the Acropolis of this modern Athens - only all these splendid temples are erected to one divinity, all these crowds of devotees worship the same god, - Mammon.