a saloon shindy they might prove themselves my superiors. (I was told in New York, and by the best people in New York, that Tammany was a blot on the social system of the city.  But I would not have it so.  I would call it a part of the social system, just as much a part of the social system, and just as expressive of the national character, as the fine schools, the fine hospitals, the superlative business organizations, or Mr. George M. Cohan’s Theater.  A civilization is indivisibly responsible for itself.  It may not, on the Day of Judgment, or any other day, lessen its collective responsibility by baptizing certain portions of its organism as extraneous “blots” dropped thereon from without.) To continue—­after Seventh Avenue the declension was frank.  In the purlieus of the Five Towns themselves—­compared with which Pittsburg is seemingly Paradise—­I have never trod such horrific sidewalks.  I discovered huge freight-trains shunting all over Tenth and Eleventh Avenues, and frail flying bridges erected from sidewalk to sidewalk, for the convenience of a brave and hardy populace.  I was surrounded in the street by menacing locomotives and crowds of Italians, and in front of me was a great Italian steamer.  I felt as though Fifth Avenue was a three days’ journey away, through a hostile country.  And yet I had been walking only twenty minutes!  I regained Fifth with relief, and had learned a lesson.  In future, if asked how many avenues there are in New York I would insist that there are three:  Lexington, Madison, and Fifth.

* * * * *

The chief characteristic of Broadway is its interminability.  Everybody knows, roughly, where it begins, but I doubt if even the topographical experts of Albany know just where it ends.  It is a street that inspires respect rather than enthusiasm.  In the daytime all the uptown portion of it—­and as far down-town as Ninth Street—­has a provincial aspect.  If Fifth Avenue is metropolitan and exclusive, Broadway is not.  Broadway lacks distinction, it lacks any sort of impressiveness, save in its first two miles, which do—­especially the southern mile—­strike you with a vague and uneasy awe.  And it was here that I experienced my keenest disappointment in the United States.

[Illustration:  A busy day on the Curb market]

I went through sundry disappointments.  I had expected to be often asked how much I earned.  I never was asked.  I had expected to be often informed by casual acquaintances of their exact income.  Nobody, save an interviewer or so and the president of a great trust, ever passed me even a hint as to the amount of his income.  I had expected to find an inordinate amount of tippling in clubs and hotels.  I found, on the contrary, a very marked sobriety.  I had expected to receive many hard words and some insolence from paid servants, such as train-men, tram-men, lift-boys, and policemen.  From this class, as