Not only is Dickens pointing out the layer of conspicuous dust that covers New York but not Boston, he is also hypnotized by the coexistence of different economic classes that intermingle, so much so that he brings up the pigs thrice in the one excerpt.  If Dickens’ travel log indeed doubles as an allegory for New York life in the 1800s, I find it incredible that it still holds true.  New York is covered in dust (I was on the subway earlier so I know this for a fact), but we also pride ourselves in being the home of people of different cultures and economic backgrounds.  The concept of New York has not changed much since Dickens’ time, or at least not as much as nearly two centuries could have allowed.