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 cities—­cities as large in name as New York—­there 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 art—­there 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 none—­none, 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 fork—­or sometimes with a steel knife—­as 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