at most thronged mart of the populous town,
the street of the D---- Hotel, it presented an appearance of human
bustle and activity scarcely inferior to what I had seen on the
evening before. And here, long, amid the momently increasing
confusion, did I persist in the pursuit of the stranger. But, as
usual, he walked to and fro, and during the day did not pass out of
the turmoil of that street. And, as the shades of the second evening
came on, I grew wearied unto death, and stopping fully in front of the
wanderer, gazed at him steadfastly in the face. He noticed me not, but
resumed his solemn walk, while I, ceasing to follow, remained absorbed
in contemplation. 'This old man,' I said at length, 'is the type and
the genius of deep crime. He refuses to be alone. _He is the man of
the crowd._ It will be in vain to follow, for I shall learn no more of
him, nor of his deeds.'"

In this description it would be difficult to recognise the topography
of London, or the manners of its inhabitants. That _Square_
brilliantly illuminated and thronged with promenaders, the oldest
inhabitant would scarcely find. He closes his gin-palace at the hour
when, we believe, it would be about to re-open; and ejects his
multitude from the bazaar and the theatre about the same time. When he
lays his scene at Paris there is the same disregard to accuracy. There
is no want of names of streets and passages, but no Parisian would
find them, or find them in the juxtaposition he has placed them. This
is a matter hardly worth remarking; to his American readers an ideal
topography is as good as any other; we ourselves should be very little
disturbed by a novel which, laying its scene in New York, should
misname half the streets of that city. We are led to notice it chiefly
from a feeling of surprise, that one so partial to detail should not
have more frequently profited by the help which a common guide-book,
with its map, might have given him.

Still less should we raise an objection on the manifest improbability
of this vigilant observer, a convalescent too, being able to keep upon
his legs, running or walking, the whole of the night and of the next
day, (to say nothing of the pedestrian powers of the old man.) In a
picture of this kind, a moral idea is sought to be portrayed by
imaginary incidents purposely exaggerated. The mind passing
immediately from these incidents to the idea they convey, regards them
as little more than a mode of expression of t