society in New York was quiet and pleasant enough; but doubtless I
did not climb into that circle in which Mrs. Potiphar held so
distinguished a position. It may be true that gentlemen habitually
throw fragments of their supper and remnants of their wine on to
their host's carpets; but if so I did not see it.

As I progress in my work I feel that duty will call upon me to
write a separate chapter on hotels in general, and I will not,
therefore, here say much about those in New York. I am inclined to
think that few towns in the world, if any, afford on the whole
better accommodation, but there are many in which the accommodation
is cheaper. Of the railways also I ought to say something. The
fact respecting them, which is most remarkable, is that of their
being continued into the center of the town through the streets.
The cars are not dragged through the city by locomotive engines,
but by horses; the pace therefore is slow, but the convenience to
travelers in being brought nearer to the center of trade must be
much felt. It is as though passengers from Liverpool and
passengers from Bristol were carried on from Euston Square and
Paddington along the New Road, Portland Place, and Regent Street to
Pall Mall, or up the City Road to the Bank. As a general rule,
however, the railways, railway cars, and all about them are ill
managed. They are monopolies, and the public, through the press,
has no restraining power upon them as it has in England. A parcel
sent by express over a distance of forty miles will not be
delivered within twenty-four hours. I once made my plaint on this
subject at the bar or office of a hotel, and was told that no
remonstrance was of avail. "It is a monopoly," the man told me,
"and if we say anything, we are told that if we do not like it we
need not use it." In railway matters and postal matters time and