Excerpt from New York in Slices: By an Experienced Carver, Being the Original Slices Published in the N. Y. Tribune; Revised, Enlarged, and Corrected

But let us watch an opening between the thronging procession of spacious and gayly painted carriages, whose accommodating drivers beckon you at every cor ner to a ride upon their crimson cushions, and darting adroitly through, as none but a well-practised citizen can do, regain the fashionable side of Broadway - 401 you must remember that nothing could more effectually stamp you as vulgar than to be seen stumbling over the crockeiy-crates and second hand furniture of the shilling pavement. Let us hurry by this other dusty old graveyard - for the dead have nothing to say for us - and past this palatial refectory cooled by a julep fountain in the basement and a jet de Croton in the court, and so pursue our walk. Here on the right, stooping gracefully in her dazzling bath, and drawing her scarf of rainbows coquettishly about her shoulders, stands the fair Maid of the Mist, cooling the air with her dewy breath; and yonder, embowered amid these Shady vistas, another palace rea1s its marble front. Glorious City! Happy peo ple! Nothing but palaces and carriages and hostelries - fountains and shady walks, splendor, refinement, luxury, and ease! And see here - whole miles of plate glass, interspersed with the most exquisite, rare, and costly fabrics, amid which and courteously waited upon by handsome and happy men, sit enthroned in silk beautiful ladies, selecting with the deliberation worthy so momentous a subject, the robes in which to enshrine their lovely forms. One can almost imagine he sees the houris selecting each a rosy cloud to waft her to the happy soul to whom she is to minister. Can these splendid creatures know trouble or sorrow - and are not their homes the abode of peace and love and every joy! We cannot penetrate the sacred mysteries of the fireside but could we read the secret history of fash, ionable life and fashionable folly, we should encounter such a record of broken hearts, broken faith, broken vows, and violated honor, as would make the soul xc coil ln horror and amazement to find that all this brilliant and dazzling display of wealth and beauty and taste and refinement was but the fantastic and mocking mask of a wide-yawning domestic hell. Yes - not the beggar' S den nor the mur derer' 3 cell could vomit forth ghastlier agonies than stalk through the magnificent saloons, and hide behind the silken curtains where gather Fashion's sparkling throng.

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