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52 affair, no more to be compared to Boston than a wigwam to a palace.

As Rugg's horse turned into Pearl Street, I looked him as full in the face as good manners would allow, and said, "sir, if this is Boston, I acknowledge New York is not worthy to to be one of its suburbs." Before we had proceeded far, Rugg's countenance changed, he began to twitter under the ears, his eyes trembled in their sockets, he was evidently bewildered. "What is the matter, Mr. Rugg? you seem disturbed." "This surpasses all human comprehension. If you know, sir, where we are, I beseech you to tell me." "If this place," I replied, "is not Boston, it must be New York." "No, sir, it is not Boston; nor can it be New York. How could I be in New York which is nearly two hundred miles from Boston?" By this time we had passed into Broadway, and then Rugg, in truth, discovered a chaotic mind. "There is no such place as this in North America, this is all the effect of enchantment; this is a grand delusion, nothing real; here is seemingly a great city, magnificient houses, shops and goods, men and women innumerable,