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enough, and may almost be held unexampled; but now, in the yet darker condition he has got into, they will needs become dreadfuller and ever dreadfuller. Truly, it seems a frightful outlook on the times now just ahead of us; and yet withal there is hope in it. While there is life there is hope; and whilst poor Bull keeps tumbling and rumbling, though never so wildly, absurdly, it is at least a sure sign there is life in him. Do but keep tumbling about sufficiently, finding yourself in a dark place, were it even the belly of a sea-beast, and there is chance you may get your way out. And this leads us to little point of prophecy, number two. It is clear to me, as the sun at noon, that poor Bull will not be digested; that in the fulness of time he will be vomited. For his mad plungings and tumblings will be such as the interior of no creature, sea, or other, could very long suffer to go on in it. The sea-beast, I well foresee, will have its own sad ado with Bull; assiduously seeking to digest him, will find the funds of tough life in him too much for it, and finally, giving him up as a clearly unmanageable morsel, will belch him forth to the light again, glad to be rid of him on any terms. That Bull, too lively-tough to be digested, in the fulness of time will be vomited and once more see the sun, may be held, I think, as sure, certain. That he will be vomited on dry land," as the prophet had the luck to be; that, improved by his dark experiences, he will cease his wretched "fleeing from the face of the Lord," hie him with haste to Nineveh, and there, with holy fear in the heart of him, with pious, persistent valour, work the Lord's work as Jonah did, sedulous to do it, or to die! I wish I were as sure of all this, my friends, as I am of his mere being vomited. But of all this also there is hope-this-which is what we accurately mean by a new heavens, and a new earth-is, one hopes, to be the haven of poor Bull, after all his weary, noisy tumblings in the dark, and sojourn in the bellies of the sea-monsters.
Of the detail of this remarkable deliverance of his being vomited, which one confidently predicts for Bull; of the precise hows and methods of it; above all, of the times and the seasons, nothing here to be said: clearly it would be nothing short of frantic in one to try to write in any detail of this. Some loose hints, guesses-too probably of the wide kind-suggestions, ditto ditto, are all that on such a matter the wisest can have to offer. Hints which had best be of the briefest, as this of "Reformed Parliament." Sure enough, Parliament swaying us as it does, till in some wise manner it be reformed, the outlooks for us are much the reverse of hopeful. And the manner of reforming it
now in vogue, by "enfranchisement" of ever new legions of merc human swine and hippopotami, creatures of the mud and the sty, and the beer-trough-this, my friends, is a palpably mad, other than quite wise manner, and it is well seen whither it is taking us-direct into the bad abysses, and the belly of Leviathan, the huge sea-monster. My poor Parliamentary friends, I see well you will never reform yourselves, save in some express image of the mud-gods, or-to phrase it otherwise-the devil. For any adequate reform of you, as I perceive, there will be needed some beneficent "pressure from without." Pressure which, it really is my hope, and almost now, alas! my sole one, may one of these days be brought to bear on you. Hero-Oliver-had we but some hour or so of him back-he, as I think, would be the right one to reform you; he. Parliament once well clutched by the throat, and tumbled right out into the river, the poor country would clearly be much the better for it, and the Thames eels no worse, I think. This, of flinging it out bodily for the eels, and the whitebait down about Greenwich to fat themselves cheerily withal, more and more gets to seem to me the one Reform urgently needed for a thing called British Parliament. And to this our Hero-Oliver, if we had him, with his old experience of Parliaments, would promptly prove himself adequate. How to get him-how to get him-jeeringly asks of me this poor idiot and the other-supposing him really the man to do the necessary turn for us? My friends, I have no patent for the finding or the making of Olivers. To the making of a Hero-Oliver there goes faculty quite other than mine. Hero-Oliver is made elsewhere; and is of the nature of a thing sent us, mainly by the upper powers. How to get himhow to get him? My friends, were he once well sent us, I will trust in him to get you, and to know what to do with you when gotten. It is not "emancipation" of any kind that some of you are like to obtain at the hands of him. And if no Hero-Oliver gets you within reasonable time-unspecified-then the devil will get you, my poor friends, and he, too, will know what to do with you; grill you very terribly, I rather fear. Some Hero-Oliver for us, or else the devil, the dark foul belly of the sea-beast, and mere tumbling and rumbling about in it through the long dark ages and cons—this, I get more and more to see conclusively, is the alternative before our poor England now. Heaven send us some Hero-Oliver, or some dozen or so, who, rolled into one, might be about equal to an Oliver! Thus only can we hope to escape from this reign of Dizzy and the devil, which I clearly see to be upon us.
My admirable friends, I have done; from me no word more of
writing on this so horrible topic. Why should I have written at all of it? Ah! why? why? I will leave the courteous Echo to answer, not, I confess, being able to do it, completely to my own satisfaction. Except for a sort of frantic rage and grief over the business, torturing one's poor inwards, and almost compelling—if one was not to fall asunder in the midst some hearty human expression of itself, one sees not with perfect clearness, why one really should at all have written. Almost seems-one's poor bit of writing or speech being no more than we see it-as if silence, of the two, might have been the better and diviner. But of a truth, it is a time this, when for the little remnant of persons, still, with some approach to scientific accuracy, properly to be called men, the grief of life has come to be great. Such is the horrid preponderance of quasi-men, phantasms, and foul hippopotami, dirtily gurgling in the mud-bath. For the Zoological Gardens hippopotamus I have by comparison a kind of respect; with the clumsy movements of him I have at odd times entertained myself, and I have grown to have some kindly feeling for the poor unwieldy brute monster. Him, in some easy disengaged way, I consider, as it were, almost tenderly, as a relative, though far removed. But, alas! they are human hippopotami, these others-good heavens! they are not removed-in some mystic and quite unfathomable way, I am bound to them and they to me; from the easy disengaged point of view I cannot, if I would, regard them they are brothers; hippopotami, alas! and I hate the dirty gurgling ways of them; yet authentic brothers withal, whom at peril of my soul I must love, as I never could the Zoological Gardens specimen. Ach Gott! it is very dreadful this- the inevitable, manifold nameless infections of it are dreadful; so that almost at times, in some access of a depressed mood, I have believed myself—I too like the rest -getting to be a hippopotamus. Positively the fact, my friendsstrange as mayhap it may seem to you-that once, in this kind of hypochondriacal humour, as if horrid transformations were in progress, I had to put up my hand to assure myself that some kind of hideous snout was not actually making its appearance. Seems it not natural enough for an unhappy person thus afflicted, to put forth his bit of protest at a time, against much that he sees going on among his borthers of the hippopotamus variety? Surely, it is natural enough: were it only to reassure himself that he is not yet quite a hippopotamus. Not, as he hopes, yet quite, he-though always, as he well knows, in danger, so constant and manifold are the subtle and nameless infections.
TRAVEL where we may, in the New or in the Old World, we shall not find as long, lively, and rich a street as the famous Broadway of
New York. The Italian Boulevard of Paris, and the Regent Street of London, surpass it in breadth, but the American thoroughfare outstretches its European rivals in length, and leaves them miles in the rear. New York even has many an avenue of greater width, and its main street is consequently not entitled to the distinctive appellation of Broadway. Longway, it should be rather called.
When the city of New York shall have filled up with its various structures the whole island of Manhattan, of which it now occupies so large a part, its Broadway, stretching from one end to the other, will have the length of about twelve miles. It has already reached its sixth, and bids fair, at the present rate of progress of the city, soon to complete its twelfth mile.
The course of Broadway, after leaving the older and more populous portion of the city, becomes somewhat erratic. At its commencement, directed by the surveyor's eye, it was made to divide the town into tolerably equal portions; but stretching in length, it came upon an old country thoroughfare (the Bloomingdale Road), and assumed its more irregular ways for its own. Thus Broadway, after running from south to north for three or four miles through the centre of the island city, turns diagonally to the left, and finally skirts its western border close to the Hudson River. Though Broadway will always, wheresoever it may be, retain no doubt its prestige, it will be forced, in the upper parts of the city, to divide its honours with the newer and more central avenues. For the present, however, it is everywhere facile
The highest number of all the houses of Broadway is 1516, but the street possesses many scattered structures beyond, and, with its pavement and gas-lamps, has the aspect, more or less, for the distance of several miles, of a city thoroughfare.
Broadway has been so called ever since the English took possession of New York in the year 1664. Their Dutch predecessors had already given the road which led into the interior from their little settlement of odd, staircase, gabled structures, grouped about the shore of the southern tip of the island, the name of Heere Strass or Heere Wegh. This, which literally means high street or highway, was freely translated by the English colonists into Broadway. In colonial times a small portion only of the present great thoroughfare was included within the precincts of the city. As late even as the year 1700 the walls stretched across Broadway at Wall Street, and thence its name, only a few hundred yards from its commencement. Within was the