But in New York you come to be glad of anything that will suggest a sweeter and a gentler life than that which you mostly see. The life of the poor here seemed to me symbolized in a waste and ruined field that I came upon the other day in one of the westward avenues, which had once been the grounds about a pleasant home. Till I saw this I did not think any piece of our mother earth could have been made to look so brutal and desolate amidst the habitations of men. But every spear of grass had been torn from it; the hardened and barren soil was furrowed like a haggard face, and it was all strewn with clubs and stones, as if it had been a savage battleground. A few trees stood aloof from the borders next the streets, where some courses of an ancient stone wall rose in places above the pavement. I found the sight of it actually depraving; it made me feel ruffianly, and I mused upon it in helpless wonder as to the influence its ugliness must have had amidst the structural ugliness all about it, if some wretch had turned to it in hopes of respite. But probably none ever does. Probably the people on the shabby streets and avenues are no more sensible of their hideousness than the people in the finer streets and avenues are aware of their dulness or their frantic disproportion. I have never heard a New-Yorker speak of these things, and I have no doubt that if my words could come to the eyes of the average New-Yorker he would be honestly surprised that any one should find his city so ugly as it is. As for that first lesson of civilization which my words implicate, a civic control of the private architecture of the place, he would shrink from it with about as much horror as from civic control of the liquor trade. If he did not he would still be unable to understand how the individual liberty that suffers a man to build offensively to his neighbor or to the public at large is not liberty, but is a barbarous tyranny, which puts an end instantly to beauty, and extinguishes the common and the personal rights of every one who lives near the offender or passes by his edifice. We Americans are yet so far lost in the dark ages as to suppose that there is freedom where the caprice of one citizen can interfere with the comfort or pleasure of the rest. THE END. HARPER’S AMERICAN ESSAYISTS OTHER TIMES AND OTHER SEASONS. By LAURENCE HUTTON. A LITTLE ENGLISH GALLERY. By LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY. LITERARY AND SOCIAL SILHOUETTES. By HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN. STUDIES OF THE STAGE. By BRANDER MATTHEWS. AMERICANISMS AND BRITICISMS, with Other Essays on Other Isms. By BRANDER MATTHEWS. AS WE GO. By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. With Illustrations. AS WE WERE SAYING. By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. With Illustrations. FROM THE EASY CHAIR. By GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. FROM THE EASY CHAIR. _Second Series._ By GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. FROM THE EASY CHAIR. _Third Series._ By GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS.