desire like a fever seized me to see the North again and I cast my lot
with those bound for New York.




VI


We steamed up into New York Harbor late one afternoon in spring. The
last efforts of the sun were being put forth in turning the waters of
the bay to glistening gold; the green islands on either side, in spite
of their warlike mountings, looked calm and peaceful; the buildings of
the town shone out in a reflected light which gave the city an air of
enchantment; and, truly, it is an enchanted spot. New York City is the
most fatally fascinating thing in America. She sits like a great witch
at the gate of the country, showing her alluring white face and
hiding her crooked hands and feet under the folds of her wide
garments--constantly enticing thousands from far within, and tempting
those who come from across the seas to go no farther. And all these
become the victims of her caprice. Some she at once crushes beneath
her cruel feet; others she condemns to a fate like that of galley
slaves; a few she favors and fondles, riding them high on the bubbles
of fortune; then with a sudden breath she blows the bubbles out and
laughs mockingly as she watches them fall.

Twice I had passed through it, but this was really my first visit to
New York; and as I walked about that evening, I began to feel the
dread power of the city; the crowds, the lights, the excitement, the
gaiety, and all its subtler stimulating influences began to take