At last, with my brain in a whirl, I alighted at Putnam’s hotel, where my kind friend, Mr. W. Duncan, had prepared rooms for our party; nor did his zeal in our behalf stop here, for he claimed the privilege of being the first to offer hospitality, and had already prepared a most excellent spread for us at the far-famed Cafe Delmonico, where we found everything of the best:  oysters, varying from the “native” size up to the large American oyster, the size of a small leg of Welsh mutton—­mind, I say a small leg—­the latter wonderful to look at, and pleasant to the taste, though far inferior to the sweet little “native.”

Here I saw for the first time a fish called “the sheep’s head,” which is unknown, I believe, on our side of the Atlantic.  It derives its name from having teeth exactly like those of a sheep, and is a most excellent fish wherewith to console themselves for the want of the turbot, which is never seen in the American waters.  Reader, I am not going to inflict upon you a bill of fare; I merely mention the giant oyster and the sheep’s head, because they are peculiar to the country; and if nearly my first observations on America are gastronomic, it is not because I idolize my little interior, though I confess to having a strong predilection in favour of its being well supplied; but it is because during the whole time I was in the United States,—­from my friend D., who thus welcomed me on my arrival, to Mr. R. Phelps, in whose house I lived like a tame cat previous to re-embarking for old England,—­wherever I went I found hospitality a prominent feature in the American character.

Having enjoyed a very pleasant evening, and employed the night in sleeping off the fumes of sociability, I awoke, for the first time, in one of the splendid American hotels; and here, perhaps, it may be as well to say a few words about them, as their enormous size makes them almost a national peculiarity.

The largest hotel in New York, when I arrived, was the Metropolitan, in the centre of which is a theatre; since then, the St. Nicholas has been built, which is about a hundred yards square, five stories high, and will accommodate, when completed, about a thousand people.  Generally speaking, a large hotel has a ladies’ entrance on one side, which is quite indispensable, as the hall entrance is invariably filled with smokers; all the ground floor front, except this hall and a reading-room, is let out as shops:  there are two dining-saloons, one of which is set apart for ladies and their friends, and to this the vagrant bachelor is not admitted, except he be acquainted with some of the ladies, or receive permission from the master of the house.  The great entrance is liberally supplied with an abundance of chairs, benches, &c., and decorated with capacious spittoons, and a stove which glows red-hot in the winter.  Newspapers, of the thinnest substance and the most microscopic type, and from every part of the Union, are scattered