human
Mr. Kingsland, the Mayor, came early to invite me to a grand day, being the inauguration of the Croton Waterworks. Went off with him at 10 from the City Hall in a carriage and four followed by forty new omnibuses and four, some with six horses, and caparisoned with coloured feathers and little flags, besides a number of private carriages; a gay procession, nearly a mile long, containing all the legislature and magnates of New York State and of the city--several hundreds. They visited in turn divers public institutions, and at most of them I had to speak or to recite my ballads, especially at a Blind Asylum, where, after an address from a blind lady (the name was Crosby),
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&c. &c. And so on for other institutions, and to the opening of the Croton Aqueduct. But there is no end to this sort of vainglorious recording. As Willis says in his _Home Journal_ at the time,
human
Mr. Tupper is among us, feeling his way through the wilderness of his laurels, and realising his share of Emerson's 'banyan' similitude,--the roots that have passed under the sea and come up on this side of the Atlantic rather smothering him with their thriftiness in republican soil.
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Proverbial Philosophy, believing that book to be an obscure survival of the Shakespearean era, and that its author had been dead some three centuries. When he came to town, I called upon him at his lodging near Golden Square, walking in plainly