Then, if I go to the sea-shore, in summer, I can’t take my comfort, as rich people do, in gingham dresses, loose shoes and cambric sun-bonnets. No! I have to be done up by ten o’clock in a Swiss-muslin dress, and a French cap; and my Napoleon Bonaparte and Donna Maria can’t go off the piazza, because the big rocks and little pebbles cut their toes so badly through their patent kid slippers.
Then, if Zebedee goes a fishing, he dare not put on a linen coat, for the price of his reputation. No, indeed! Why, he never goes to the barn-yard without drawing on his white kids. Then he orders the most ruinous wines at dinner, and fees those white jackets, till his purse is as empty as an egg-shell. I declare, it is abominably expensive. I don’t believe rich people have the least idea how much it costs poor people to live!
OPENING OF THE CRYSTAL PALACE.
Such a crowd, such a rush, such a confusion I never expect to see again. Equestrians and pedestrians; omnibuses and carriages; soldiers, civilians and uncivil-ians; carts and curricles; city exquisites, and country nondescripts; men on the run; women tiptoe-ing, with all sails spread; papas in a putter; fat men sweltering; lean men, with tempers as sharp as their bones, ruthlessly pushing through the crowd; musicians perspiring in tuneful agony; thermometer evidently on a spree; shirt-collars prostrate; dust everywhere; police nowhere; everybody in somebody’s way;—whizz—buzz—rattle—bang—crash—smash; “Oh dear! where’s Pa?”—“Sarah Maria, take care of your flounces.”—“Get out of the way, can’t you?”—“Take your cane out of my eye, will you?”—“Mr. Jones, just see the way that baby’s best bonnet is jammed!”—“Hurry!”—“I can’t hurry; somebody has trod on my skirt, and burst off the hooks; so much for not letting me wear Bloomers! What a figure I cut, to appear before the President, and no chance to apologize, Mr. Jones!”
—Well; it’s eleven o’clock, and after several abortive attempts, we succeed in arresting an omnibus, labelled “for the Hippodrome and Crystal Palace.” Away we go—dashing through the crowd, regardless of limbs, vehicular or human. Broadway is lined, on either side, with a dense throng of questionable looking expectants, waiting “to see the procession.” Short people are at a discount; no chance for the poor wretches, strain and tiptoe it as they will. One tall man, who evidently knew the worth of his inches, seemed to think himself too valuable to be let out all at once; so, he elevated himself, jack-screw fashion, letting out one link of his vertebral column after another, until he towered above his neighbors like a pine tree among scrub oaks. What altitude he finally reached, I am unable to say, as he was still on his way up (like Jack’s bean-stalk) when our omnibus passed him.
“Everything comes in use once in seven years,” says the old proverb. I had often wondered of what earthly use could be the tottering brick-piles, which disfigure every block in Broadway. To-day, I was enlightened; they served admirably as points of observation for the more adventurous spectators, and each pile was covered with eager gazers. The windows overlooking Broadway were all filled with neatly dressed ladies, and as the eye swept through this magnificent thoroughfare, the rushing vehicles, the swaying, motley multitudes, the gaily dressed ladies, the waving flags and banners which floated over the more public and prominent edifices, presented an ever varying panorama, that was far from being the least attractive and impressive feature of the day. I have often thought when the people come out “to see a sight,” that they themselves are far more imposing than what they came to see.
On entering the Palace, we (my companion and I) found that all the most eligible seats were already occupied, and that what were left were reserved for some man of straw and his wife. It was no use to show one’s ticket. “You mustn’t sit here!”—“You mustn’t sit there!”—“You can’t stand in that place!”—“You can’t go there!”—“You can’t come here!”—and so the throng went forlornly about and around—old men and maidens—heads of families—clergymen—elegant ladies—all sorts of people—seeking places whereon they might rest, and finding none. We finally resolved on action, seized a couple of boxes of workmen’s tools, emptied the contents on the floor, and converted the boxes into comfortable seats, in the most commanding position in the eastern gallery, notwithstanding the impertinent expostulations of the rosetted officers.