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tunate　man　become　more　liable　to　these　anti…feminine　atrocities　than　in　the　center　of　one　of　these　vehicles。　　The　woman；　as　she　enters；　drags　after　her　a　misshapen；　dirty　mass　of　battered　wirework；　which　she　calls　her　crinoline；　and　which　adds　as　much　to　her　grace　and　comfort　as　a　log　of　wood　does　to　a　donkey　when　tied　to　the　animal's　leg　in　a　paddock。　　Of　this　she　takes　much　heed；　not　managing　it　so　that　it　may　be　conveyed　up　the　carriage　with　some　decency；　but　striking　it　about　against　men's　legs；　and　heaving　it　with　violence　over　people's　knees。　　The　touch　of　a　real　woman's　dress　is　in　itself　delicate；　but　these　blows　from　a　harpy's　fins　are　as　loathsome　as　a　snake's　slime。　　If　there　be　two　of　them　they　talk　loudly　together；　having　a　theory　that　modesty　has　been　put　out　of　court　by　women's　rights。　　But；　though　not　modest；　the　woman　I　describe　is　ferocious　in　her　propriety。　　She　ignores　the　whole　world　around　her　as　she　sits；　with　a　raised　chin　and　face　flattened　by　affectation；　she　pretends　to　declare　aloud　that　she　is　positively　not　aware　that　any　man　is　even　near　her。　　She　speaks　as　though　to　her；　in　her　womanhood；　the　neighborhood　of　men　was　the　same　as　that　of　dogs　or　cats。　　They　are　there；　but　she　does　not　hear　them；　see　them；　or　even　acknowledge　them　by　any　courtesy　of　motion。　　But　her　own　face　always　gives　her　the　lie。　　In　her　assumption　of　indifference　she　displays　her　nasty　consciousness；　and　in　each　attempt　at　a　would…be　propriety　is　guilty　of　an　immodesty。　　Who　does　not　know　the　timid　retiring　face　of　the　young　girl　who　when　alone　among　men　unknown　to　her　feels　that　it　becomes　her　to　keep　herself　secluded？　　As　many　men　as　there　are　around　her；　so　many　knights　has　such　a　one；　ready　bucklered　for　her　service；　should　occasion　require　such　services。　Should　it　not；　she　passes　on　unmolestedbut　not；　as　she　herself　will　wrongly　think；　unheeded。　　But　as　to　her　of　whom　I　am　speaking；　we　may　say　that　every　twist　of　her　body　and　every　tone　of　her　voice　is　an　unsuccessful　falsehood。　　She　looks　square　at　you　in　the　face；　and　you　rise　to　give　her　your　seat。　　You　rise　from　a　deference　to　your　own　old　convictions；　and　from　that　courtesy　which　you　have　ever　paid　to　a　woman's　dress；　let　it　be　worn　with　ever　such　hideous　deformities。　　She　takes　the　place　from　which　you　have　moved　without　a　word　or　a　bow。　　She　twists　herself　round；　banging　your　shins　with　her　wires；　while　her　chin　is　still　raised；　and　her　face　is　still　flattened；　and　she　directs　her　friend's　attention　to　another　seated　man；　as　though　that　place　were　also　vacant；　and　necessarily　at　her　disposure。　　Perhaps　the　man　opposite　has　his　own　ideas　about　chivalry。　　I　have　seen　such　a　thing；　and　have　rejoiced　to　see　it。　You　will　meet　these　women　daily；　hourly；　everywhere　in　the　streets。　Now　and　again　you　will　find　them　in　society；　making　themselves　even　more　odious　there　than　elsewhere。　　Who　they　are；　whence　they　come；　and　why　they　are　so　unlike　that　other　race　of　women　of　which　I　have　spoken；　you　will　settle　for　yourself。　　Do　we　not　all　say　of　our　chance　acquaintances；　after　half　an　hour's　conversation；　nay；　after　half　an　hour　spent　in　the　same　room　without　conversation；　that　this　woman　is　a　lady；　and　that　that　other　woman　is　not？　　They　jostle　each　other　even　among　us；　but　never　seem　to　mix。　　They　are　closely　allied；　but　neither　imbues　the　other　with　her　attributes。　　Both　shall　be　equally　well　born；　or　both　shall　be　equally　ill　born；　but　still　it　is　so。　　The　contrast　exists　in　England；　but　in　America　it　is　much　stronger。　　In　England　women　become　ladylike　or　vulgar。　　In　the　States　they　are　either　charming　or　odious。　See　that　female　walking　down　Broadway。　　She　is　not　exactly　such　a　one　as　her　I　have　attempted　to　describe　on　her　entrance　into　the　street　car；　for　this　lady　is　well　dressed；　if　fine　clothes　will　make　well　dressing。　　The　machinery　of　her　hoops　is　not　battered；　and　altogether　she　is　a　personage　much　more　distinguished　in　all　her　expenditures。　　But　yet　she　is　a　copy　of　the　other　woman。　　Look　at　the　train　which　she　drags　behind　her　over　the　dirty　pavement；　where　dogs　have　been；　and　chewers　of　tobacco；　and　everything　concerned　with　filth　except　a　scavenger。　　At　every　hundred　yards　some　unhappy　man　treads　upon　the　silken　swab　which　she　trails　behind　herloosening　it　dreadfully　at　the　girth　one　would　say；　and　then　see　the　style　of　face　and　the　expression　of　features　with　which　she　accepts　the　sinner's　half　muttered　apology。　　The　world；　she　supposes；　owes　her　everything　because　of　her　silken　train；　even　room　enough　in　a　crowded　thoroughfare　to　drag　it　along　unmolested。　But；　according　to　her　theory；　she　owes　the　world　nothing　in　return。　She　is　a　woman　with　perhaps　a　hundred　dollars　on　her　back；　and　having　done　the　world　the　honor　of　wearing　them　in　the　world's　presence；　expects　to　be　repaid　by　the　world's　homage　and　chivalry。　But　chivalry　owes　her　nothingnothing；　though　she　walk　about　beneath　a　hundred　times　a　hundred　dollarsnothing；　even　though　she　be　a　woman。　　Let　every　woman　learn　this；　that　chivalry　owes　her　nothing　unless　she　also　acknowledges　her　debt　to　chivalry。　　She　must　acknowledge　it　and　pay　it；　and　then　chivalry　will　not　be　backward　in　making　good　her　claims　upon　it。　All　this　has　come　of　the　street　cars。　　But　as　it　was　necessary　that　I　should　say　it　somewhere；　it　is　as　well　said　on　that　subject　as　on　any　other。　　And　now　to　continue　with　the　street　cars。　　They　run；　as　I　have　said；　the　length　of　the　town；　taking　parallel　lines。　　They　will　take　you　from　the　Astor　House；　near　the　bottom　of　the　town；　for　miles　and　miles　northwardhalf　way　up　the　Hudson　Riverfor；　I　believe；　five　pence。　　They　are　very　slow；　averaging　about　five　miles　an　hour；　but　they　are　very　sure。　　For　regular　inhabitants；　who　have　to　travel　five　or　six　miles　perhaps　to　their　daily　work；　they　are　excellent。　　I　have　nothing　really　to　say　against　the　street　cars。　　But　they　do　not　fill　the　place　of　cabs。　There　are；　however；　public　carriagesroomy　vehicles；　dragged　by　two　horses；　clean　and　nice；　and　very　well　suited　to　ladies　visiting　the　city。　　But　they　have　none　of　the　attributes　of　the　cab。　　As　a　rule；　they　are　not　to　be　found　standing　about。　　They　are　very　slow。　They　are　very　dear。　　A　dollar　an　hour　is　the　regular　charge；　but　one　cannot　regulate　one's　motion　by　the　hour。　　Going　out　to　dinner　and　back　costs　two　dollars；　over　a　distance　which　in　London　would　cost　two　shillings。　　As　a　rule；　the　cost　is　four　times　that　of　a　cab；　and　the　rapidity　half　that　of　a　cab。　　Under　these　circumstances；　I　think　I　am　justified　in　saying　that　there　is　no　mode　of　getting　about　in　New　York　to　see　anything。　And　now　as　to　the　other　charge　against　New　York；　of　there　being　nothing　to　see。　　How　should　there　be　anything　there　to　see　of　general　interest？　　In　other　large　citiescities　as　large　in　name　as　New　Yorkthere　are　works　of　art；　fine　buildings；　ruins；　ancient　churches；　picturesque　costumes；　and　the　tombs　of　celebrated　men。　But　in　New　York　there　are　none　of　these　things。　　Art　has　not　yet　grown　up　there。　　One　or　two　fine　figures　by　Crawford　are　in　the　town；　especially　that　of　the　Sorrowing　Indian；　at　the　rooms　of　the　Historical　Society；　but　art　is　a　luxury　in　a　city　which　follows　but　slowly　on　the　heels　of　wealth　and　civilization。　　Of　fine　buildings　which；　indeed；　are　comprised　in　artthere　are　none　deserving　special　praise　or　remark。　　It　might　well　have　been　that　New　York　should　ere　this　have　graced　herself　with　something　grand　in　architecture；　but　she　has　not　done　so。　　Some　good　architectural　effect　there　is；　and　much　architectural　comfort。　　Of　ruins；　of　course；　there　can　be　nonenone；　at　least；　of　such　ruins　as　travelers　admire；　though　perhaps　some　of　that　sort　which　disgraces　rather　than　decorates。　　Churches　there　are　plenty；　but　none　that　are　ancient。　　The　costume　is　the　same　as　our　own；　and　I　need　hardly　say　that　it　is　not　picturesque。　　And　the　time　for　the　tombs　of　celebrated　men　has　not　yet　come。　　A　great　man's　ashes　are　hardly　of　value　till　they　have　all　but　ceased　to　exist。　The　visitor　to　New　York　must　seek　his　gratification　and　obtain　his　instruction　from　the　habits　and　manners　of　men。　　The　American；　though　he　dresses　like　an　Englishman；　and　eats　roast　beef　with　a　silver　forkor　sometimes　with　a　steel　knifeas　does　an　Englishman；　is　not　like　an　Englishman　in　his　mind；　in　his　aspirations；　in　his　tastes；　or　in　his　politics。　　In　his　mind　he　is　quicker；　more　universally　intelligent；　more　ambitious　of　general　knowledge；　less　indulgent　of　stupidity　and　ignorance　in　others；　harder；　sharper；　brighter　with　the　surface　brightness　of　steel；　than　is　an　Englishman；　but　he　is　more　brittle；　less　enduring；　less　malleable；　and；　I　think；　less　capable　of　impressions。　　The　mind　of　the　Englishman　has　more　imagination；　but　that　of　the　American　more　incision。　　The　American　is　a　great　observer；　but　he　observes　things　material　rather　than　things　social　or　picturesque。　　He　is　a　constant　and　ready　speculator；　but　all　speculations；　even　those　which　come　of　philosophy；　are　with　him　more　or　less　material。　　In　his　aspirations　the　American　is　more　constant　than　an　Englishman　or　I　should　rather　say　he　is　more　constant　in　aspiring。　　Every　citizen　of　the　United　States　intends　to　do　something。　　Every　one　thinks　himself　capable　of　some　effort。　　But　in　his　aspirations　he　is　more　limited　than　an　Englishman。　　The　ambitious　American　never　soars　so　high　as　the　ambitious　Englishman。　　He　does　not　even　see　up　to　so　great　a　height；　and；　when　he　has　raised　himself　somewhat　above　the　crowd；　becomes　sooner　dizzy　with　his　own　altitude。　　An　American　of　mark；　though　always　anxious　to　show　his　mark；　is　always　fearful　of　a　fall。　　In　his　tastes　the　American　imitates　the　Frenchman。　　Who　shall　dare　to　say　that　he　is　wrong；　seeing　that　in　general　matters　of　design　and　luxury　the　French　have　won　for　themselves　the　foremost　name？　　I　will　not　say　that　the　American　is　wrong；　but　I　cannot　avoid　thinking　that　he　is　so。　　I　detest　what　is　called　French　taste；　but　the　world　is　against　me。　　When　I　complained　to　a　landlord　of　a　hotel　out　in　the　West　that　his　furniture　was　useless；　that　I　could　not　write　at　a　marble　table　whose　outside　rim　was　curved　into　fantastic　shapes；　that　a　gold　clock　in　my　bed…room　which　did　not　go　would　give　me　no　aid　in　washing　myself；　that　a　heavy；　immovable　curtain　shut　out　th