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CHAPTER II.

In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade,
Which shows a distant prospect far away
Of busy cities, now in vain display'd,
For they can lure no further; and the ray
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday.

BYRON.

I WAS now at length in America. The steamboat, which brought the passengers from the packet, landed us near a fashionable promenade, called the Battery, formerly a fortified place. Even during the Dutch occupation, this was considered a favourite spot, although surrounded by walls: in later times, when New York, by an increasing trade and wealth, and an easy communication with an extensive and cultivated back country, has become the first city in the United States, the Battery has less of a warlike appearance. Pleasant walks between rows of trees have been substituted for walls. From the extremity of the city, where the North and East Rivers form a junction, the most agree

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able allées are laid out, commanding one of the most extensive and beautiful views that can well be imagined. Towards the north end is a kind of bastion, formerly known by the name of Castle Clinton, now called Castle Garden, being no more used as a military post, but merely as a place of recreation. On Sundays this public walk is filled with people of all classes, particularly those of the sable cast, making a profuse exhibition of their finery. To the negroes, this place of resort is, something like Hyde Park, near London, a place for show. Their dress, in general, borders on extravagance: the women wear bonnets decorated with ribbons, plumes, and flowers, of a thousand different colours, and their dresses are of the most showy description: the men are attired like real French petits-maîtres manqués, the coats so open that the shirt sticks out under the arm-pits; the waistcoats are of all colours of the rainbow; the hat is carelessly put on one side; the gloves are yellow, and every sable dandy carries a smart cane. At first, it was with difficulty I could refrain from laughing, on seeing these black beaux (the name by which they generally go) doing homage to the black housemaids or cooks, known as belles. One

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group in particular attracted my notice their conversation appeared very animated, and the dark gentlemen, as well as the dark ladies, indulged in it with a liveliness and amiability which would not have disgraced even the first saloons in Paris. The former had chains round their necks (I will not vouch they were of gold) and canes in their hands-two indispensable things. The ladies made a fine exhibition of parasols, although no sun had been perceptible since the preceding day. A great deal of flirtation and display of wit seemed to be among the gentlemen, for the ladies were delighted and showed continually their white teeth. One of the beaux-a flat-nosed individual, with curly hair, extending at least four inches on each side his hat-excelled in civility and bonsmots. Whenever he uttered a sentence, the ladies were so convulsed with laughter that the plumes and other ornamental parts of their bonnets were actually displaced. His eyes, if I mistake not, were invariably fixed upon a lusty, ordinary, Donna, a great admirer of his repeated witticisms. Sometimes he addressed to her a word or two privately, and, when this occurred, she looked down abashed, and had recourse to her pocket

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handkerchief. These symptoms of modesty threw the lover in raptures, and his eloquence became as flowing as the North River. His gestures partook of the theatrical, and his feet followed the action of the hands. I expected every moment to see an attitude à la Taglioni, and anticipated the pleasure of witnessing a love-declaration from this African, as the result of so many tender looks, such classic effusion of wit, so many fatiguing evolutions. In the midst of these expectations, however, I felt a drop or two of rain, and, looking up, perceived a dark cloud which threatened us with a heavy shower. The speaker began also to be uneasy, having already seen the effect on his straw-coloured gloves; and, abruptly concluding his harangue, prosaically addressed the fair: "Had we not better retreat?- we shall be

deluged with rain.” He then politely offered his arm to the object of his affection, and, followed by the rest of the company, they all wandered up Broadway in the midst of one of those sudden and drenching showers so frequent in America.

Broadway is the principal street in New York: it runs through the City in a parallel direction, about three miles in length, bordered

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by hotels, houses, and churches, and embellished with shops of every description, tastefully arranged. The street is neatly paved with wide side-walks, filled with carriages, omnibuses, and pedestrians without number, and patronised by the all-powerful goddess, Fashion. This thoroughfare is, without exception, one of the finest that can be seen, and deserves the honour of comparison with Regent's Street in London, the Corso in Rome, and the Strado Toledo at Naples. It commences at the Battery, or more properly runs from a small square called the Bowling Green; in the middle of this place was formerly a statue erected to the honour of one of the kings of England (George III.): but during the revolution it was demolished, and the metal of which it was composed converted into cannon. The spot is now only surrounded by an iron railing and a few scattered trees. Further up in Broadway is another square or opening called the Park, in which is City Hall - an edifice appropriated to public offices. It is of white marble, and produces a fine effect at a distance. The defects in the architecture, which is rather upon a confined scale, cannot then be perceived: it is only upon closer inspection that they become striking.

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