uncomfortable nations of the Old World. The philosopher accustomed to draw
consolation from the sufferings of his richer fellow-men, and to infer an
overruling Providence from their disgraces, might well bless Heaven for
the spectacle of such degradation, if his thanksgiving were not prevented
by his knowledge that this is quite voluntary. And now consider that on
every car leaving the city at this time the scene is much the same;
reflect that the horror is enacting, not only in Boston, but in New York,
Philadelphia, Baltimore, St. Louis, Chicago, Cincinnati,--wherever the
horse-car, that tinkles well-nigh round the Continent, is known; remember
that the same victims are thus daily sacrificed, without an effort to
right themselves: and then you will begin to realize--dimly and
imperfectly, of course--the unfathomable meekness of the American
character. The "full" horse-car is a prodigy whose likeness is absolutely
unknown elsewhere, since the Neapolitan gig went out; and I suppose it
will be incredible to the future in our own country. When I see such a
horse-car as I have sketched move away from its station, I feel that it is
something not only emblematic and interpretative, but monumental; and I
know that when art becomes truly national, the overloaded horse-car will
be celebrated in painting and sculpture. And in after ages, when the
oblique-eyed, swarthy American of that time, pausing before some
commemorative bronze or historical picture of our epoch, contemplates this
stupendous spectacle of human endurance, I hope he will be able to
philosophize more satisfactorily than we can now, concerning the mystery
of our strength as a nation and our weakness as a public.




A DAY'S PLEASURE