Arrived at length and safely debarked, we soon found ourselves installed as inmates of a genteel boarding-house, at the upper end of Beekman-street, near the City Hall. On entering, I was a little surprised at the appearance of the rooms—being much better furnished, and presenting altogether a nobler air than I expected to find assumed by a mere boarding-house, in this far-away country. After we had forwarded our letters and refreshed ourselves, we retired to a comfortable bed room on dry land; rendered doubly grateful, after the tempestuous tossings of the ocean, and the fatigue produced by this day of excitement.
The next morning we all arose early, and with glowing expectations, set forward to perambulate the city. What strange sensations affect the mind of a stranger, on first entering a foreign city—what an air of novelty every thing appears to wear that the eye can rest upon! Every trifle attracts attention, and our desires for information appear as if they could never be satisfied.
This city of New York certainly is a noble place; it is divided into fourteen wards, and contains about three hundred thousand inhabitants. The houses are chiefly of red brick, and altogether its internal appearance fully justified the impressions produced by the outline of the previous night.
Broadway, as the principal street is called, is the leading feature, in point of position and fashionable attraction; it runs in a direct line, from south to north, through the heart of the city; and is, I believe, about five miles and a half in length: its southern extremity communicates with a fine promenade, leading to the south battery. This fort is situated at the southern extremity of the city, just at the termination of Manhatten Island, and at the point of confluence of the East and Hudson Rivers. Its position, as a place of pleasurable resort, is delightful; and from its commanding situation, it must, when required, form an excellent post of defence. Long may it continue to be the resort of the votaries of pleasure, rather than the theatre of military glory.
Broadway is the fashionable lounge for all the black and white belles and beaux of the city; its commodious and extensive pave, completely covered with neat awnings, forms as agreeable a promenade, as is to be found, perhaps, in any city in the world. Many a transatlantic poet has endeavoured to immortalize this noble walk, and its glittering pedestrians; but no one has succeeded in prevailing upon Pegassus to use the trottoir of Broadway.
Nearly parallel with Broadway, are several other streets, and these again are connected with others, which intersect them at right angles. The relative position of the streets in the old, or southern part of the city, is somewhat confused; but nothing can exceed the regularity with which the upper part is disposed, as a reference to the plan will sufficiently testify. Straightness is here the prevailing feature, which, although it preserves the uniformity entire, yet never displays street architecture so advantageously as the fine sweeping curve.
About a mile up Broadway, is the Park. This is a small enclosure of a few acres, encircled with an iron railing, divided into walks, planted with trees, furnished with seats, and made, every way as agreeable as it is possible to make a small oasis of verdure, situated in the centre of a populous city. At the upper end of the Park, stands the pride of New York—the City Hall. It is a fine marble structure certainly, but it did not strike me as possessing that magnificent appearance that I expected, from a building composed entirely of marble. But tastes differ. One of our company on this occasion, related an anecdote of an Irish gentleman, whom he had conducted round the city. After surveying several of the public buildings and many streets presenting architectural attractions, all of which the Irishman had dismissed in succession with this remark, “Very good indeed, but not like Dublin,”—he was suddenly brought within full view of the City Hall. The Hibernian appeared struck with astonishment, and unguardedly exclaimed, “But was this built here?”
There are several buildings of white marble in various parts of the city; some also of brick, handsomely faced with Jersey free-stone, which present a very genteel and substantial appearance. The air of newness pervading the whole city, never fails to arrest the attention of the stranger and excite admiration. Indeed, the whole of the buildings present so clean an exterior, that they seem as if just finished. This is accounted for by the absence of coal smoke, that impartial enemy to architectural beauty, in the “old country,” as they here term England.
Coal is here only burned by the opulent, and although fashion has declared in favour of its use, yet wood is the chief, and indeed, almost the only fuel consumed here; it is certainly much healthier and cleaner, than its sable substitute, but the matter of dollars and cents has its share of influence.
The number of superb houses is very great: though it must be confessed that, like the streets, their uniformity greatly detracts from the effect they would produce under other circumstances. They appear all to be built upon one plan; the chief feature of which is, that the dining and drawing rooms are situated on the lower floor, and so arranged, as by throwing open a large pair of folding doors, to form one splendid apartment. Their furniture is magnificent in the extreme. In this, as well as all other household embellishments, the natives pride themselves; and certainly they succeed to admiration in their attempts to produce a brilliant effect with slender materials.