Squalid it is without doubt, this particular aspect of New York; but
what is the squalor of West-street to that of Limehouse or Poplar? Are
our own dock thoroughfares always paved to perfection? And if we had a
blizzard like that of three weeks ago, how long would its vestiges
linger in the side-streets of Millwall? Even as I mark the grimness of
the scene, I am conscious of a sort of hyperaesthesia against which one
ought to be on guard. The note-taking traveller is very apt to forget
that the mere act of note-taking upsets his normal perceptivity. He
becomes feverishly observant, morbidly critical. He compares
incommensurables, and flies to ideal standpoints. He is so eager to
descry differences, that he overlooks similarities--nay, identities.
Thus only can I account for many statements about New York, occurring in
the pages of recent and reputable travellers, both French and English,
which I find to be exaggerated almost to the point of monstrosity. What
should we say of an American who should criticise the Commercial Road
from the point of view of Fifth Avenue? After a week's experience of New
York, I cannot but fancy that certain travellers I could mention have
been guilty of similar errors of proportion.
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