Chapter 1

"What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology."

Romeo and Juliet.

The fine estuary which penetrates the American coast, between the fortieth
and forty-first degrees of latitude, is formed by the confluence of the
Hudson, the Hackensack, the Passaic, the Raritan, and a multitude of
smaller streams; all of which pour their tribute into the ocean, within
the space named. The islands of Nassau and Staten are happily placed to
exclude the tempests of the open sea, while the deep and broad arms of the
latter offer every desirable facility for foreign trade and internal
intercourse. To this fortunate disposition of land and water, with a
temperate climate, a central position, and an immense interior, that is
now penetrated, in every direction, either by artificial or by natural
streams, the city of New-York is indebted for its extraordinary
prosperity. Though not wanting in beauty, there are many bays that surpass
this in the charms of scenery; but it may be questioned if the world
possesses another site that unites so many natural advantages for the
growth and support of a widely extended commerce. As if never wearied with
her kindness, Nature has placed the island of Manhattan at the precise
point that is most desirable for the position of a town. Millions might
inhabit the spot, and yet a ship should load near every door; and while
the surface of the land just possesses the inequalities that are required
for health and cleanliness, its bosom is filled with the material most
needed in construction.

The consequences of so unusual a concurrence of favorable circumstances,
are well known. A vigorous, healthful, and continued growth, that has no
parallel even in the history of this extraordinary and fortunate country,
has already raised the insignificant provincial town of the last century
to the level of the second-rate cities of the other hemisphere. The
New-Amsterdam of this continent already rivals its parent of the other;
and, so far as human powers may pretend to predict, a few fleeting years
will place her on a level with the proudest capitals of Europe.

It would seem that, as Nature has given its periods to the stages of
animal life, it has also set limits to all moral and political ascendency.
While the city of the Medici is receding from its crumbling walls, like
the human form shrinking into "the lean and slipper'd pantaloon," the
Queen of the Adriatic sleeping on her muddy isles, and Rome itself is only
to be traced by fallen temples and buried columns, the youthful vigor of
America is fast covering the wilds of the West with the happiest fruits of
human industry.

By the Manhattanese, who is familiar with the forest of masts,