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by Edward Winslow Martin

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Title: The Secrets Of The Great City

Author: Edward Winslow Martin

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[This file was first posted on August 14, 2003]

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THE SECRETS OF THE GREAT CITY

A Work Descriptive of the Virtues and the Vices,
the Mysteries, Miseries and Crimes of New York City

BY

EDWARD WINSLOW MARTIN








                               CHAPTER I.


                         THE CITY OF NEW YORK.

The City of New York is the largest and most important in America. Its
corporate limits embrace the whole of Manhattan Island, on which it is
situated, and which is bounded by the Hudson, the East and Harlem
rivers, and by Spuyten Duyvil creek, which last connects the Harlem
with the Hudson. Being almost entirely surrounded by deep water, and
lying within sight of the ocean, and only sixteen miles from it, the
city is naturally the greatest commercial centre of the country. The
extreme length of the island is fifteen miles, and its average breadth
a mile and a half. The city lies at the head of New York Bay, which
stretches away for miles until the Narrows, the main entrance to the
harbor, are reached, presenting a panorama unsurpassed for natural and
artificial beauty. The people of New York are very proud of their bay,
and justly regard it as one of the most magnificent in the world.

The city was originally settled by the Dutch, toward the close of the
year 1614, and called by them New Amsterdam. In 1664, it passed into
the hands of the English, and was named New York, which name was also
given to the whole province. The first settlement was made at the
extreme lower part of the island, on the spot now known as the Battery.
A fort was erected, and the little hamlet surrounded by a strong
stockade as a protection against the savages. The first settlers were
eminently just in their dealings with the red men, and purchased the
island from them, giving them what was considered by all parties a fair
price for it. They felt sure that their new home was destined to become
a place of importance in the course of time. Its commercial advantages
were evident at a glance; the climate was delightful, being neither so
rigorous as that of the Eastern colonies, nor so enervating as that of
the Southern. The hopes of the founders of New York are more than
realized in the metropolis of to-day.

The city grew very slowly at the beginning. In 1686, it was regularly
incorporated by a charter. In 1693, the first printing press was set up
in the city by William Bradford. In 1690, New York contained five
hundred and ninety-four houses and six thousand inhabitants. In 1790,
one hundred years later, the city had a population of thirty-three
thousand. It was not until the beginning of the present century that it
commenced that wonderful growth which has given it its present
importance. At first it spread more rapidly on the east side than on
the west. As late as the close of the Revolution, what is now Chambers
street was the extreme upper limit, and its line was marked by a strong
stockade, built across from river to river, with gates leading to the
various country roads which traversed the upper part of the island.

The City of New York now extends from the Battery to the Harlem river
and Spuyten Duyvil creek, and is built up with great regularity as far
as One-hundred and Thirtieth street. Harlem, Yorkville, Manhattanville,
Bloomingdale, Carmansville, and Washington Heights or Fort Washington,
were all originally separate villages, but are now parts of the great
city. The island comes to a point at the Battery, and from this
extremity stretches away northward like a fan. It attains its greatest
width at Fourteenth and Eighty-seventh streets. Broadway is the longest
street, running from, the Battery to Spuyten Duyvil creek, a distance
of fifteen miles. It is lighted with gas along the entire line. Street
railways and omnibus lines connect the various parts of the city,
affording cheap and rapid transportation within its limits. Ferry boats
ply constantly between the island and the neighboring shores, and
railroads and steamboats connect it with all parts of the world.


                             THE POPULATION.

The population of New York is over one million of inhabitants. This
does not include the immense throng of visitors for business and
pleasure. It is estimated that forty thousand of these arrive and
depart daily. During times of more than ordinary interest--such as a
national convention of some political party, the meeting of some great
religious body, the world's fair, or some such special attraction--
these arrivals are greatly increased. During the recent session of the
Democratic National Convention, in July, 1868, the number of strangers
present in the city was estimated at two hundred thousand. The amount
of money brought into the city by these strangers is astonishing.
Millions are spent by them annually during their visits to the
metropolis.

The population is made up from every nation under Heaven. The natives
are in the minority. The foreign element predominates. Irishmen,
Germans, Jews, Turks, Greeks, Russians, Italians, Spaniards, Mexicans,
Portuguese, Scotch, French, Chinese--in short, representatives of every
nationality--abound. These frequently herd together, each class by
itself, in distinct parts of the city, which they seem to regard as
their own.

Land is very scarce and valuable in New York, and this fact compels the
poorer classes to live in greater distress than in most cities of the
world. The whole number of buildings in the city in 1860 was fifty-five
thousand, which includes churches, stores, etc. In the same year the
population was eight hundred and five thousand, or one hundred and
sixty-one thousand families. Of these fifteen thousand only occupied
entire houses; nine thousand one hundred and twenty dwellings contained
two families, and six thousand one hundred contained three families. As
we shall have to recur to this subject again, we pass on now, merely
remarking that these "tenement sections" of the city, as they are
called, are more crowded now than ever, the increase in buildings
having fallen far behind the increase of the population in the last
eight years.

This mixed population makes New York a thorough cosmopolitan city; yet
at the same time it is eminently American. Although the native New York
element is small in numbers, its influence is very great. Besides this,
numbers flock to the city from all parts of the Union, and this
constant influx of fresh American vitality does much to keep the city
true to the general character of the country.

It has been well said, that "New York is the best place in the world to
take the conceit out of a man." This is true. No matter how great or
flattering is the local reputation of an individual, he finds upon
reaching New York that he is entirely unknown. He must at once set to
work to build up a reputation here, where he will be taken for just
what he is worth, and no more. The city is a great school for studying
human nature, and its people are proficients in the art of discerning
character.

In point of morality, the people of New York, in spite of all that has
been said of them, compare favorably with those of any other city. If
the darkest side of life is to be seen here, one may also witness the
best. The greatest scoundrels and the purest Christians are to be found
here. It is but natural that this, being the great centre of wealth,
should also be the great centre of all that is good and beautiful in
life. It is true that the Devil's work is done here on a gigantic
scale, but the will of the Lord is done on an equally great, if not a
greater, scale. In its charities New York stands at the head of
American communities--the great heart of the city throbs warmly for
suffering humanity. The municipal authorities expend annually seven
hundred thousand dollars in public charities. The various religious
denominations spend annually three millions more, and besides this the
city is constantly sending out princely sums to relieve want and
suffering in all parts of our broad land.

The people of New York are the most liberal of any in America in
matters of opinion. Here, as a general rule, no man seeks to influence
the belief of another, except so far as all men are privileged to do
so. Every religious faith, every shade of political opinion, is
tolerated and protected. Men concern themselves with their own affairs
only. Indeed, this feeling is carried to such an extreme that it has
engendered a decided indifference between man and man. People live for
years as next door neighbors, without ever knowing each other by sight.
A gentleman once happened to notice the name of his next door neighbor
on the door-plate. To his surprise he found it the same as his own.
Accosting the owner of the door-plate one day, for the first time, he
remarked that it was singular that two people bearing the same name
should live side by side for years without knowing each other. This
remark led to mutual inquiries and statements, and to their surprise
the two men found they were brothers--sons of the same parents. They
had not met for many years, and for fully twelve years had lived side
by side as neighbors, without knowing each other. This incident may be
overdrawn, but it will illustrate a peculiar feature of New York life.

Strangers coming to New York are struck with the fact that there are
but two classes in the city--the poor and the rich. The middle class,
which is so numerous in other cities, hardly exists at all here. The
reason of this is plain to the initiated. Living in New York is so
expensive that persons of moderate means reside in the suburbs, some of
them as far as forty miles in the country. They come into the city, to
their business, in crowds, between the hours of seven and nine in the
morning, and literally pour out of it between four and seven in the
evening. In fair weather the inconvenience of such a life is trifling,
but in the winter it is absolutely fearful. A deep snow will sometimes
obstruct the railroad tracks, and persons living outside of the city
are either unable to leave New York, or are forced to spend the night
on the cars. Again, the rivers will be so full of floating ice as to
render it very dangerous, if not impossible, for the ferry boats to
cross. At such times the railroad depots and ferry houses are crowded
with persons anxiously awaiting transportation to their homes. The
detention in New York, however, is not the greatest inconvenience
caused by such mishaps. Many persons are frequently unable to reach the
city, and thus lose several days from their business, at times when
they can ill afford it.

We have already referred to the scarcity of houses. The population of
the city increases so rapidly that house-room cannot be provided for
all. House rent is very high in New York. A house for a family of six
persons, in a moderately respectable neighborhood, will rent for from
sixteen hundred to twenty-five hundred dollars, the rate increasing as
the neighborhood improves. On the fashionable streets, houses rent for
from six thousand to fifteen thousand dollars per annum. These, it must
be remembered, are palatial. Many persons owning these houses, live in
Europe, or in other parts of the country, and pay all their expenses
with the rent thus secured.

In consequence of this scarcity of dwellings, and the enormous rents
asked for them, few families have residences of their own. People of
moderate means generally rent a house, and sub-let a part of it to
another family, take boarders, or rent furnished or unfurnished rooms
to lodgers.

Furniture is expensive, and many persons prefer to rent furnished
houses. These are always in demand, and in good localities command
enormous prices. Heavy security has to be given by the lessee in such
cases, as, without this, the tenant might make away with the furniture.
Many persons owning houses for rent, furnish them at their own expense,
and let them, the heavy rent soon paying a handsome profit on the
furniture.

Persons living in a rented house are constantly apprehensive. Except in
cases of long leases, no one knows how much his rent may be increased
the next year. This causes a constant shifting of quarters, and is
expensive and vexatious in the highest degree. It is partly due to the
unsettled condition of the currency, but mainly to the scarcity of
houses.

Many--indeed; the majority of the better class of inhabitants--prefer
to board. Hotels and boarding houses pay well in New York. They are
always full, and their prosperity has given rise to the remark that,
"New York is a vast boarding house." We shall discuss this portion of
our subject more fully in another chapter.

To persons of means, New York offers more advantages as a place of
residence than any city in the land. Its delightful climate, its
cosmopolitan and metropolitan character, and the endless variety of its
attractions, render it the most delightful home in America. That this
is true is shown by the fact that few persons who have lived in New
York for twelve months ever care to leave it. Even those who could do
better else where are powerless to resist its fascinations.

[Illustration: Broadway, as seen from The St. Nicholas Hotel.]




                               CHAPTER II.


                        THE STREETS OF NEW YORK.

The City of New York has been regularly laid out and surveyed for a
distance of twelve miles from the Battery. It has over two hundred
miles of paved streets. Most of the streets in the old Dutch city are
crooked and narrow, but above that they are broader, and better laid
on; and after passing Fulton street, they become quite regular. Above
Fourteenth street, the city is laid off in regular squares. First
street is located about a mile and four fifths above the Battery. From
this the cross streets extend to Two hundred and twenty-eighth street.

The lengths of the blocks, between First and One-hundred and twenty-
first streets, vary from one hundred and eighty-one to two hundred and
eleven feet eleven inches.

Those between the avenues (which run at right angles to the streets),
vary from four hundred and five to nine hundred and twenty feet.

The avenues are all one hundred feet wide, excepting Lexington and
Madison, which are seventy-five, and Fourth Avenue, above Thirty-fourth
street, which is one hundred and forty feet wide.

The numerical streets are all sixty feet wide, excepting Fourteenth,
Twenty-third, Thirty-fourth, Forty-second, and eleven others, north of
these, which are one hundred feet wide.

There are twelve fine avenues at parallel distances apart of about
eight hundred feet. They begin about First or Fourth street, and run to
the end of the island. Second and Eighth are the longest, and Fifth and
Madison the most fashionable.


                                BROADWAY.

The most wonderful street in the world is Broadway. It extends, as we
have said, the whole length of the island. But its most attractive
features are between the Bowling Green and Thirty-fourth street--the
chief part of these being below Fourteenth street. The street is about
sixty feet wide, and is thronged with vehicles of every description.
Often times these vehicles crowd the streets to such an extent that
they become "jammed," and the police are forced to interfere and compel
the drivers to take the routes assigned them. The scene at such a time
is thrilling. A stranger feels sure that the vehicles cannot be
extricated without loss of life or limb to man or beast, and the shouts
and oaths of the drivers fairly bewilder him. In a few moments,
however, he sees a squad of policemen approach, and plunge boldly into
the throng of vehicles. The shouts and oaths of the drivers cease, the
vehicles move on, one at a time, according to the orders of the police,
and soon the street is clear again, to be blocked, perhaps, in a
similar manner, in less than an hour. Twenty thousand vehicles daily
traverse this great thoroughfare.

It is always a difficult matter to cross Broadway in the busy season.
Ladies, old persons, and children, find it impossible to do so without
the aid of the police, whose duty it is to make a way for them through
the crowds of vehicles. A bridge was erected at the corner of Broadway
and Fulton street, which is the most crowded part of the city, for the
purpose of allowing pedestrians to cross over the heads of the throng
in the street. It proved a failure, however. Few persons used it,
except to see from it the magnificent panorama of Broadway, and the
city authorities have ordered it to be taken down. It disfigures the
street very much, and its removal will be hailed with delight by the
native population.

Broadway properly begins at the Bowling Green. From this point it
extends in a straight line to Fourteenth street and Union Square. Below
Wall street, it is mainly devoted to the "Express" business, the
headquarters and branch offices of nearly all the lines in the country
centering here. Opposite Wall street, on the west side of Broadway, is
Trinity Church and its grave-yard. From Wall street to Ann street,
Insurance Companies, Real Estate Agents, Bankers and Brokers
predominate. At the corner of Ann street, is the magnificent "Herald
Office," adjoining which is the "Park Bank," one of the grandest
structures in the country. Opposite these are the Astor House and St.
Paul's Church. Passing the Astor House, the visitor finds the Park,
containing the City Hall, on his right. Across the Park are Park Row
and Printing House Square, containing all the principal newspaper
offices of the city. Old Tammany Hall once stood on this Square, but
the site is now occupied by the "The Sun," and "Brick Pomeroy's
Democrat"--_Arcades Ambo_.

Beyond the City Hall, at the north-east corner of Chambers street and
Broadway, is "Stewart's marble dry goods palace," as it is called. This
is the _wholesale_ warehouse of A. T. Stewart & Co., and occupies the
entire block. The _retail_ department of this great firm, is higher up
town. Passing along, one sees, in glancing up and down the cross
streets, long rows of marble and brown stone warehouses, stretching
away for many blocks on either hand, and affording proof positive of
the immensity and success of the business transacted in this locality.

Opposite Pearl street is the New York Hospital, standing back amidst
its noble old trees; the yard is cut off from the street by an iron
railing. Crossing Canal street, the widest and most conspicuous we have
yet passed over, we see the handsome establishment of Lord & Taylor.
rivals to Stewart, in the retail dry goods trade; on the corner of
Grand street. The brown stone building opposite, is Brooks' clothing
house, the largest and finest in the country. Between Broome and Spring
streets, are the marble and brown stone buildings of the famous St.
Nicholas Hotel. On the block above, and opposite, is Tiffany's, too
well known to need a description. On the corner of Prince street, is
Ball & Black's, a visit to which palace is worth a trip to the city.
Diagonally opposite is the Metropolitan Hotel, in the rear of which is
the theatre known as Niblo's Garden. Above this we pass the Olympic
Theatre, the great Dollar store, the Southern Hotel, the New York
Hotel, the New York Theatre, and Goupil's famous art gallery. On the
corner of Tenth street, is a magnificent iron building, painted white.
This is Stewards up town, or retail store. It is always filled with
ladies "shopping," and the streets around it are blocked with
carriages. Throngs of elegantly dressed ladies pass in and out, the
whole scene being animated and interesting. Above this is Grace Church,
one of the most beautiful religious structures in the city. On the
corner of Thirteenth street, is Wallack's Theatre. At Fourteenth
street, we find a handsome square, formerly a fashionable place of
residence, but now giving way to business houses and hotels. This is
Union Square. Passing around it, Broadway runs in a north-westerly
direction, and at the intersection of the great thoroughfare with Fifth
Avenue, at Twenty-third street, we see the magnificent front of the
Fifth Avenue Hotel. On the block beyond are the Albemarle and Hoffman
Houses, with the St. James a little above. Opposite are the Worth
Monument and Madison Square. Above this are several minor hotels, and
Wood's Theatre. The street is but little improved above Thirty-fourth
street.

Below Twenty-third street, and especially below Union Square, Broadway
is built up magnificently. Marble, brown stone, and iron warehouses,
extend in long rows on each side of the street. There are some old
shanties still standing on the great thoroughfare, but they are rapidly
disappearing, and in a few years will be entirely gone. The view from
any point below Fourteenth street, ranges from Union Square to the
Bowling Green, and is grand and exhilarating beyond description. The
windows of the stores are filled with the gayest and most showy goods.
Jewels, silks, satins, laces, ribbons, household goods, silver ware,
toys, paintings; in short, rare, costly, and beautiful objects, greet
the gazer on every hand.

There are no railroad tracks on Broadway below Fourteenth street; the
public travel is done by means of omnibusses, or stages, as they are
called. Several hundred of these traverse the street from the lower
ferries as far up as Twenty-third street, turning off at various points
into the side streets and avenues. At night the many colored lamps of
these vehicles add a striking and picturesque feature to the scene.
They are filled with all sorts of people.

The Broadway side walks are always crowded, and this throng of passers-
by is, to our mind, the most attractive feature of the busy scene.
Every class and shade of nationality and character is represented here.
America, Europe, Asia, Africa, and even Oceanica, has each its
representatives here. High and low, rich and poor, pass along these
side-walks, at a speed peculiar to New York, and positively bewildering
to a stranger. No one seems to think of any person but himself, and
each one jostles his neighbor or brushes by him with an indifference
amusing to behold. Fine gentlemen in broad cloth, ladies in silks and
jewels, and beggars in squalidness and rags, are mingled here in true
Republican confusion. The bustle and uproar are very great, generally
making it impossible to converse in an ordinary tone. From early
morning till near midnight this scene goes on.

A gentleman from the remote interior, once put up at the St. Nicholas
Hotel. He came to the City on urgent business, and told a friend who
was with him, that he intended to start out early the next morning.
This friend saw him, about noon the next day, waiting at the door of
the St. Nicholas Hotel, surveying the passing crowd with an air of
impatience.

"Have you finished your business?" he asked.

"No," said the gentleman, "I have not yet started out. I've been
waiting here for three hours for this crowd to pass by, and I see no
signs of it doing so."

The friend, pitying him, put him in a stage, and started him off,
telling him that crowd usually took twenty-four hours to pass that
point.

At night the scene changes. The crowd of vehicles on the street is not
so dense, and the "foot passengers" are somewhat thinned put. The lower
part of the city, which is devoted exclusively to business, is
deserted. For blocks the only persons to be seen are the policemen on
their beats. Above Canal street, however, all is life and bustle. The
street is brilliantly lighted. The windows of the stores and
restaurants, and the lamps of the theatres and concert saloons, add
greatly to the general illumination, while the long lines of the red,
green, and blue lights of the stages, rising and falling with the
motion of the vehicles, add a novelty and beauty to the picture.
Strains of music or bursts of applause, float out on the night air from
the places of amusement, not all of which are reputable. The street is
full of all kinds of people, all of whom seem to be in high spirits,
for Broadway is a sure cure for the "blues." One feature mars the
scene. At every step, almost, one passes women and girls, and even mere
children, seeking for company, and soliciting passers by with their
looks and manner, and sometimes by open words. The police do not allow
these women to stop and converse with men on the street, and when they
find a companion, they dart with him down a side street. This goes on
until midnight. Then the street gradually becomes deserted, and for a
few hours silence reigns in Broadway.


                               THE BOWERY.

Leaving the City Hall, and passing through Chatham street, one suddenly
emerges from the dark, narrow lane, into a broad square, with streets
leading from it to all parts of the city. It is not overclean, and has
an air of sharpness and repulsiveness that at once attract attention.
This is Chatham Square, the great promenade of that class generally
known as "the fancy."

At the upper end of the Square is a broad, well paved, flashy looking
street, stretching away to the northward, crowded with street cars,
vehicles of all kinds, and pedestrians. This is the Bowery. It begins
at Chatham Square, and extends as far as the Cooper Institute on Eighth
street, where Third and Fourth Avenues, the first on the right hand,
the other on the left, continue the thoroughfare to the Harlem river.

The Bowery first appears in the history of New York under the following
circumstances. About 1642 or 1643, it was set apart by the Dutch as the
residence of superannuated slaves, who, having served the Government
faithfully from the earliest period of the settlement of the island,
were at last allowed to devote their labors to the support of their
dependent families, and were granted parcels of land embracing from
eight to twenty acres each. The Dutch were influenced by other motives
than charity in this matter. The district thus granted was well out of
the limits of New Amsterdam, and they were anxious to make this negro
settlement a sort of breakwater against the attacks of the Indians, who
were beginning to be troublesome. At this time the Bowery was covered
with a dense forest. A year or two later, farms were laid out along its
extent. These were called "Boweries," from which the present street
derives its name. Bowery No. I. was bought by Governor Stuyvesant. His
house stood about where the present St. Mark's (Episcopal) Church is
located. In 1660, or near about that year, a road or lane was laid off,
through what are now Chatham street, Chatham Square, and the Bowery, to
the farm of Governor Stuyvesant, beyond which there was no road. To
this was given the distinctive name of the "Bowery Lane." In 1783, the
Bowery again came into prominent notice. On the 25th of November of
that year, the American army, under General Washington, marched into
the Bowery early in the morning, and remained until noon, when the
British troops evacuated the city and its defences. This done, the
Americans marched down the Bowery, through Chatham and Pearl streets,
to the Battery, where they lowered the British flag, which had been
left flying by the enemy, and hoisted the "Stars and Stripes" of the
new Republic.

[Illustration: Broadway, looking up from Exchange Place.]

After the city began to extend up the island, the Bowery, which had
been eminently respectable in its earlier history, lost caste. Decent
people left it, and the poorer and more disreputable classes took
possession. Finally, it became notorious. It was noted for its roughs,
its rowdy firemen, its courtezans--in short, it was the paradise of the
worst elements of New York. The march of trade and improvement along
the east side of the city has effected a partial reformation, but still
the Bowery is generally regarded as one of the doubtful localities of
the city.

The street runs parallel with Broadway, and is about a mile in length.
It is much wider than the latter thoroughfare. It is tolerably well
built up; and is improving in this respect every year. In connection
with Chatham Square, it is the great route from the lower part of the
island to the Harlem river on the east side. It is devoted principally
to the cheap trade. The Jews abound here. The display of goods in the
shops is attractive, but flashy. Few persons who have the means to buy
elsewhere, care to purchase an article in the Bowery, as those familiar
with it know there are but few reliable dealers along the street.
Strangers from the country, servant girls, and those who are forced to
put up with an inferior article from the want of a few dollars, and
often a few cents, to buy a better one, trade here. As a general rule,
the goods sold are of an inferior, and often worthless, quality, and
the prices asked are high, though seemingly cheap. Large fortunes are
made by the Bowery merchants, who, with but few exceptions, are adepts
in the art of swindling their customers.

Pawnbrokers' shops, "Cheap Johns," second class hotels, dance houses,
fifth rate lodging houses, low class theatres, and concert saloons,
abound in the lower part of the street.

The Sunday law, which, seems to be so rigidly enforced in other parts
of the city, is a dead letter in the Bowery. Here on Sunday, one may
see shops of all kinds--the vilest especially--open for trade. Cheap
clothing-stores, etc., concert saloons, and the most infamous dens of
vice, are in full blast. The street, and the cars traversing it, are
thronged with the lower classes, in search of what they call enjoyment.
At night all the places of amusement are open, and are crowded to
excess. Boughs, thieves, fallen women, and even little children, throng
them. Indeed, it is sad to see how many children are to be found in
these vile places. The price of admission is low, and, strange as it
may sound, almost any beggar can raise it. People have no idea how much
of the charity they lavish on street beggars goes in this direction.
The amusement afforded at these places ranges from indelicate hints and
allusions to the grossest indecency.

Another feature of the Bowery is the immense beer-gardens with which it
abounds. We refer to those of the better class, which are patronized
chiefly by the German element of the city. These are immense buildings,
fitted up in imitation of a garden. Some are very handsomely frescoed,
and otherwise adorned. They will accommodate from four hundred to
twelve hundred guests. Germans carry their families there to spend a
day, or an evening. Clubs, parties of friends, and public societies,
often pay such visits to these places. Some carry their own provisions;
others purchase them from the proprietor. There is no admittance fee:
the entrance is free. Beer and other liquids are served out at a small
cost. Guests are coming and going all the time. Sometimes as many as
five thousand people will visit one of these places in the course of an
evening. The music is a great attraction to the Germans. It is
exquisite in some places, especially in the Atlantic Garden, which is
situated in the Bowery, near Canal street.

[Illustration: City Hall]

The profits are enormous; the proprietors frequently realize handsome
fortunes in the course of a few years. Were these places all the
Germans claim for them; they would be unobjectionable; but there is no
disguising the fact that they encourage excess in drinking, and offer
every inducement for a systematic violation of the Sabbath.

Besides these, there are saloons and gardens where none but the
abandoned are to be seen. These will be noticed further on.

Respectable people avoid the Bowery, as far as possible, at night; but
on Sunday night, few but those absolutely compelled to visit it, are to
be seen within its limits. Every species of vice and crime is abroad at
this time, watching for its victims. Those who do not wish to fall into
trouble should keep out of the way.


                              THE AVENUES.

The Avenues of New York commence with First Avenue, which is the second
east of the Bowery. They are numbered regularly to the westward until
Twelfth Avenue is reached. This street forms the western shore of the
island in the extreme upper part of New York. East of First Avenue,
above Houston street, there are five short avenues, called A, B, C, D,
E,--the first being the most westerly. There are also other shorter
avenues in the city, viz.: Lexington, commencing at Fourteenth street,
lying between Third and Fourth Avenues, and extending to Sixty-sixth
street; and Madison, commencing at Twenty-third street, lying between
Fourth and Fifth Avenues, and running to Eighty-sixth street. Second
and Eighth are the longest. Third Avenue is the main street of the east
side, above Eighth street Eighth Avenue is the great thoroughfare on
the west side Hudson street, of which Eighth Avenue is a continuation
is rapidly becoming the West-side Bowery. Fifth and Madison are the
most fashionable, and are magnificently built up with private
residences, along almost their entire length. The cross streets
connecting them, in the upper part of the city, are also handsomely
laid off, and are filled with long rows of fine brown-stone and marble
mansions.

The streets of New York are well laid off, and are paved with an
excellent quality of stone. The side-walks generally consist of immense
stone "flags." In the lower part of the city, in the poorer and
business sections, they are dirty, and always out of order. In the
upper part they are clean, and are often kept so by private
contributions.

The avenues on the eastern and western extremities of the city are the
abodes of poverty, want, and often of vice, hemming in the wealthy and
cleanly sections on both sides. Poverty and wealth are close neighbors
in New York. Only a block and a half back of the most sumptuous parts
of Broadway and Fifth Avenue, want and suffering, vice and crime, hold
their court. Fine ladies can look down from their high casements upon
the squalid dens of their unhappy sisters.




                              CHAPTER III.


                          THE CITY GOVERNMENT.

The City of New York is governed by a Mayor, a Board of Aldermen and a
Board of Common Councilmen. The Mayor has been stripped by the
Legislature of the State of almost every power or attribute of power,
and is to-day merely an ornamental figure-head to the City government.
The real power lies in the Boards named above, and in the various
"Commissioners" appointed by the Legislature. These are the
Commissioners in charge of the streets, the Croton Aqueduct, Public
Charities and Corrections, the Police and Fire Departments.

We do not seek to lay the blame for the mismanagement and infamy of the
government of this City on any party or parties. It is a fact that
affairs here are sadly mismanaged, whoever may be at fault.

In place of any statements of our own concerning this branch of our
subject, we ask the reader's attention to the following extracts from a
pamphlet recently published by Mr. James Parton. He says:

The twenty-four Councilmen who have provided themselves with such ample
assistance at such costly accommodation are mostly very young men,--the
majority appear to be under thirty. Does the reader remember the
pleasant description given by Mr. Hawthorne of the sprightly young bar-
keeper who rainbows the glittering drink so dexterously from one
tumbler to another? That sprightly young barkeeper might stand as the
type of the young men composing this board. There are respectable men
in the body. There are six who have never knowingly cast an improper
vote. There is one respectable physician, three lawyers, ten mechanics,
and only four who acknowledge to be dealers in liquors. But there is a
certain air about most of these young Councilmen which, in the eyes of
a New-Yorker, stamps them as belonging to what has been styled of late
years "our ruling class,"--butcher-boys who have got into politics,
bar-keepers who have taken a leading part in primary ward meetings, and
young fellows who hang about engine-houses and billiard-rooms. A
stranger would naturally expect to find in such a board men who have
shown ability and acquired distinction in private business. We say,
again, that there are honest and estimable men in the body; but we also
assert, that there is not an individual in it who has attained any
considerable rank in the vocation which he professes. If we were to
print the list here, not a name would be generally recognized. Honest
Christopher Pullman, for example, who leads the honest minority of six
that vainly oppose every scheme of plunder, is a young man of twenty-
seven, just beginning business as a cabinet maker. Honest William B.
White, another of the six, is the manager of a printing office. Honest
Stephen Roberts is a sturdy smith, who has a shop near a wharf for
repairing the iron work of ships. Morris A. Tyng, another of the honest
six, is a young lawyer getting into practice. We make no remark upon
these facts, being only desirous to show the business standing of the
men to whom the citizens of New York have confided the spending of
sundry millions per annum. The majority of this board are about equal,
in point of experience and ability, to the management of an oyster
stand in a market. Such expressions as 'them laws,' 'sot the table,'
'71st rigiment,' and 'them arguments is played out,' may be heard on
almost any Monday or Thursday afternoon, between two and three o'clock,
in this sumptuous chamber.

But what most strikes and puzzles the stranger is the crowd of
spectators outside the railing. It is the rogues' gallery come to life,
with here and there an honest looking laborer wearing the garments of
his calling. We attended six sessions of this 'honorable body,' and on
every occasion there was the same kind of crowd looking on, who sat the
session out. Frequently we observed looks and words of recognition pass
between the members and this curious audience; and, once, we saw a
member gayly toss a paper of tobacco to one of them, who caught it with
pleasing dexterity. We are unable to explain the regular presence of
this great number of the unornamental portion of our fellow-beings,
since we could never see any indications that any of the crowd had an
_interest_ in the proceedings. As the debates are never reported by any
one of the seventeen reporters who are paid two hundred dollars a year
for not doing it, and as the educated portion of the community never
attend the sessions, this board sits, practically, with closed doors.
Their schemes are both conceived and executed in secresy, though the
door is open to all who wish to enter. This is the more surprising,
because almost every session of the board furnishes the material for a
report, which an able and public-spirited journalist would gladly buy
at the highest price paid for such work in any city.

_Debates_ is a ludicrous word to apply to the proceedings of the
Councilmen. Most of the business done by them is pushed through without
the slightest discussion, and is of such a nature that members cannot
be prepared to discuss it. The most reckless haste marks every part of
the performance. A member proposes that certain lots be provided with
curbstones; another, that a free drinking hydrant be placed on a
certain corner five miles up town; and another, that certain blocks of
a distant street be paved with Belgian pavement. Respecting the utility
of these works, members generally know nothing and can say nothing; nor
are they proper objects of legislation. The resolutions are adopted,
usually, without a word of explanation, and at a speed that must be
seen to be appreciated.

       *       *       *       *       *

At almost every session we witnessed scenes like the following: A
member proposed to lease a certain building for a city court at two
thousand dollars a year for ten years. Honest Christopher Pullman, a
faithful and laborious public servant, objected, on one or two grounds;
first, rents being unnaturally high, owing to several well known and
temporary causes, it would be unjust to the city to fix the rent at
present rates for so long a period; secondly, he had been himself to
see the building, had taken pains to inform himself as to its value,
and was prepared to prove that twelve hundred dollars a year was a
proper rent for it even at the inflated rates. He made this statement
with excellent brevity, moderation, and good temper, and concluded by
moving that the term be two instead of ten years. A robust young man,
with a bull neck and of ungrammatical habits, said, in a tone of
impatient disdain, that the landlord of the building had 'refused'
fifteen hundred dollars a year for it. 'Question!' 'Question!' shouted
half a dozen angry voices, the question was instantly put, when a
perfect war of _noes_ voted down Mr. Pullman's amendment. Another
hearty chorus of _ayes_ consummated the iniquity. In all such affairs,
the visitor notices a kind of 'ungovernable propensity to vote for
spending money, and a prompt disgust at any obstacle raised or
objection made. The bull-necked Councilman of uncertain grammar
evidently felt that Mr. Pullman's modest interference on behalf of the
tax-payer was a most gross impertinence. He felt himself an injured
being, and his companions shared his indignation.

We proceed to another and better specimen. A resolution was introduced,
appropriating four thousand dollars for the purpose of presenting
stands of colors to five regiments of city militia, which were named,
each stand to cost eight hundred dollars. Mr. Pullman, as usual,
objected, and we beg the reader to mark his objections. He said that he
was a member of the committee which had reported the resolution, but he
had never heard of it till that moment; the scheme had been 'sprung'
upon him. The chairman of the committee replied to this, that, since
the other regiments had had colors given them by the city, he did not
suppose that any one could object to these remaining five receiving the
same compliment, and therefore he had not thought it worth while to
summon the gentleman. 'Besides,' said he, 'it is a small matter
anyhow';--by which he evidently meant to intimate that the objector was
a very small person. To this last remark, a member replied, that he did
not consider four thousand dollars so very small a matter. 'Anyhow,' he
added, 'we oughter save the city every dollar we kin.' Mr. Pullman
resumed. He stated that the Legislature of the State, several months
before, had voted a stand of colors to each infantry regiment in the
State; that the distribution of these colors had already begun; that
the five regiments would soon receive them; and that, consequently,
there was no need of their having the colors which it was now proposed
to give them. A member roughly replied, that the colors voted by the
State Legislature were mere painted banners, 'of no account.' Mr.
Pullman denied this. 'I am,' said he, 'captain in one of our city
regiments. Two weeks ago we received our colors. I have seen, felt,
examined, and marched under them; and I can testify that they are of
great beauty, and excellent quality, made by Tiffany and Company, a
firm of the first standing in the city.' He proceeded to describe the
colors as being made of the best silk, and decorated in the most
elegant manner. He further objected to the price proposed to be given
for the colors. He declared that, from his connection with the militia,
he had become acquainted with the value of such articles, and he could
procure colors of the best kind ever used in the service for three
hundred and seventy five dollars. The price named in the resolution
was, therefore, most excessive. Upon this, another member rose and
said, in a peculiarly offensive manner, that it would be two years
before Tiffany and Company had made all the colors, and some of the
regiments would have to wait all that time. 'The other regiments,' said
he, 'have had colors presented by the City, and I don't see why we
should show partiality.' Whereupon Mr. Pullman informed the board that
the _City_ regiments would all be supplied in a few weeks; and, even if
they did have to wait awhile, it was of no consequence, for they all
had very good colors already. Honest Stephen Roberts then rose, and
said that this was a subject with which he was not acquainted, but that
if no one could refute what Mr. Pullman had said, he should be obliged
to vote against the resolution.

Then there was a pause. The cry of 'Question!' was heard. The ayes and
noes were called. The resolution was carried by eighteen to five. The
learned suppose that one half of this stolen four thousand dollars was
expended upon the colors, and the other half divided among about forty
persons. It is conjectured that each member of the Councilmen's Ring,
which consists of thirteen, received about forty dollars for his vote
on this occasion. This sum, added to his pay, which is twenty dollars
per session, made a tolerable afternoon's work.

Any one witnessing this scene would certainly have supposed that _now_
the militia regiments of the City of New York were provided with
colors. What was our surprise to hear, a few days after, a member
gravely propose to appropriate eight hundred dollars for the purpose of
presenting the Ninth Regiment of New York Infantry with a stand of
colors. Mr. Pullman repeated his objections, and recounted anew the
generosity of the State Legislature. The eighteen, without a word of
reply, voted for the grant as before. It so chanced that, on our way up
Broadway, an hour after, we met that very regiment marching down with
its colors flying; and we observed that those colors were nearly new.
Indeed, there is such a propensity in the public to present colors to
popular regiments, that some of them have as many as five stands, of
various degrees of splendor. There is nothing about which Councilmen
need feel so little anxiety as a deficiency in the supply of regimental
colors. When, at last, these extravagant banners voted by the
Corporation are presented to the regiments, a new scene of plunder is
exhibited. The officers of the favored regiment are invited to a room
in the basement of the City Hall, where City officials assist them to
consume three hundred dollars' worth of champagne, sandwiches, and cold
chicken--paid for out of the City treasury--while the privates of the
regiment await the return of their officers in the unshaded portion of
the adjacent park.

It is a favorite trick with these Councilmen, as of all politicians, to
devise measures, the passage of which will gratify large _bodies_ of
voters. This is one of the advantages proposed to be gained by the
presentation of colors to regiments; and the same system is pursued
with regard to churches and societies. At every one of the six sessions
of the Councilmen which we attended; resolutions were introduced to
give away the people's money to wealthy organizations. A church, for
example, is assessed a thousand dollars for the construction of a
sewer, which enhances the value of the church property by at least the
amount of the assessment. Straightway, a member from that neighborhood
proposes to console the stricken church with a "donation" of a thousand
dollars, to enable it to pay the assessment; and as this is a
proposition to vote money, it is carried as a matter of course. We
select from our notes only one of these donating scenes. A member
proposed to give two thousand dollars to a certain industrial school,--
the favorite charity of the present time, to which all the benevolent
most willingly subscribe. Vigilant Christopher Pullman reminded the
board that it was now unlawful for the Corporation to vote money for
any object not specified in the tax levy as finally sanctioned by the
Legislature. He read the section of the Act which forbade it. He
further showed, from a statement by the Comptroller, that there was no
money left at their disposal for any _miscellaneous_ objects, since the
appropriation for 'City contingencies' was exhausted. The only reply to
his remarks, was the instant passage of the resolution by eighteen to
five. By what artifice the law is likely to be evaded in such cases, we
may show further on. In all probability, the industrial school, in the
course of the year, will receive a fraction of this money--perhaps even
so large, a fraction as one half. It may be that, ere now, some
obliging person about the City Hall has offered to buy the claim for a
thousand dollars, and take the risk of the hocus-pocus necessary for
getting it--which to _him_ is no risk at all.

It was proposed, on another occasion, to raise the fees of the
Inspectors of weights and measures--who received fifty cents for
inspecting a pair of platform scales, and smaller sums for scales and
measures of less importance. Here was a subject upon which honest
Stephen Roberts, whose shop is in a street where scales and measures
abound, was entirely at home. He showed, in his sturdy and strenuous
manner, that, at the rates then established, an active man could make
two hundred dollars a day. 'Why,' said he, 'a man can inspect, and does
inspect, fifty platform scales in an hour,' The cry of 'Question!'
arose. The question was put, and the usual loud chorus of _ayes_
followed.

As it requires a three-fourths vote to grant money--that is, eighteen
members--it is sometimes impossible for the King to get that number
together. There is a mode of preventing the absence, or the opposition
of members, from defeating favorite schemes. It is by way of
"reconsideration." The time was, when a measure distinctly voted down
by a lawful majority, was dead. But, by this expedient, the voting down
of a measure is only equivalent to its postponement to a more favorable
occasion. The moment the chairman pronounces a resolution lost, the
member who has it in charge moves a reconsideration; and, as a
reconsideration only requires the vote of a majority, _this_ is
invariably carried. By a rule of the Board, a reconsideration carries a
measure over to a future meeting--to any future meeting which may
afford a prospect of its passage. The member who is engineering it
watches his chance, labors with faltering members out of doors, and, as
often as he thinks he can carry it, calls it up again--until, at last,
the requisite eighteen are obtained. It has frequently happened, that a
member has kept a measure in a state of reconsideration for months at a
time, waiting for the happy moment to arrive. There was a robust young
Councilman, who had a benevolent project in charge of paying nine
hundred dollars for a hackney-coach and two horses, which a drunken
driver drove over the dock into the river, one cold night last winter.
There was some disagreement in the Ring on this measure, and the robust
youth was compelled to move for many reconsiderations. So, also, it was
long before the wires could be all arranged to admit of the appointment
of a 'messenger' to the City Librarian, who has perhaps less to do than
any man in New York who is paid eighteen hundred dollars a year; but
perseverance meets its reward. We hear that this messenger is now
smoking in the City Hall at a salary of fifteen hundred dollars.

There is a manoeuvre, also, for preventing the attendance of obnoxious,
obstructive members, like the honest six, which is ingenious and
effective. A 'special meeting' is called. The law declares that notice
of a special meeting must be left at the residence _or_ the place of
business of every member. Mr. Roberts's residence and Mr. Roberts's
place of business are eight miles apart, and he leaves his home for the
day before nine in the morning. If Mr. Roberts's presence at a special
meeting, at 2 P. M., is desired, the notice is left at his shop in the
morning. If it is not desired, the notice is sent to his house in
Harlem, after he has left it. Mr. Pullman, cabinet-maker, leaves his
shop at noon, goes home to dinner, and returns soon after one. If his
presence at the special meeting at 2 P. M. is desired, the notice is
left at his house the evening before, or at his shop in the morning. If
his presence is not desired, the notice is left at his shop a few
minutes after twelve, or at his house a few minutes past one. In either
case, he receives the notice too late to reach the City Hall in time.
We were present in the Councilman's Chamber when Mr. Pullman stated
this _inconvenience_, assuming that it was accidental, and offered an
amendment to the rule, requiring notice to be left five hours before
the time named for the meeting. Mr. Roberts also gave his experience in
the matter of notices, and both gentlemen spoke with perfect moderation
and good temper. We wish we could convey to our readers an idea of the
brutal insolence with which Mr. Pullman, on this occasion, was snubbed
and defrauded by a young bar-keeper who chanced to be in the chair. But
this would be impossible without relating the scene at very great
length. The amendment proposed was voted down, with that peculiar roar
of _noes_ which is always heard in that chamber when some honest man
attempts to put an obstacle in the way of the free plunder of his
fellow-citizens.

These half-fledged legislators are acquainted with the device known by
the name of the 'previous question.' We witnessed a striking proof of
this. One of the most audacious and insolent of the Ring introduced a
resolution, vaguely worded, the object of which was to annul an old
paving contract, that would not pay at the present cost of labor and
materials, and to authorize a new contract at higher rates. Before the
clerk had finished reading the resolution, honest Stephen Roberts
sprang to his feet, and, unrolling a remonstrance with several yards of
signatures appended to it, stood, with his eye upon the chairman, ready
to present it the moment the reading was concluded. This remonstrance,
be it observed, was signed by a majority of the property-owners
interested, the men who would be assessed to pay for one half of the
proposed pavement. Fancy the impetuous Roberts, with the document held
aloft, the yards of signatures streaming down to his feet and flowing
far under his desk, awaiting the time when it would be in order for him
to cry out, 'Mr. President.' The reading ceased. Two voices were heard,
shouting 'Mr. President.' It was not to Mr. Roberts that an impartial
chairman could assign the floor. The member 'who introduced the
resolution was the one who 'caught the speaker's eye,' and that member,
forewarned of Mr. Roberts's intention, moved the previous question. It
was in vain that Mr. Roberts shouted 'Mr. President.' It was in vain
that he fluttered and rattled his streaming ribbon of blotted paper.
The President could not hear a word of any kind until a vote had been
taken upon the question whether the main question should be now put.
That question was carried in the affirmative, by a chorus of _ayes_, so
exactly timed that it was like the voice of one man. Then the main
question _was_ put, and it was carried by another emphatic and
simultaneous shout.


                          POLITICAL BLACK MAIL.

Mr. Parton thus briefly exposes the system of political black mail
practiced in the City government:

The plunder of the persons who are so unfortunate as to serve the
public, and of those who aspire to serve the public, is systematic, and
nearly universal. Our inquiries into this branch of the subject lead us
to conclude that there are very few salaries paid from the city or
county treasury which do not yield an annual per centage to some one of
the 'head-centres' of corruption. The manner in which this kind of
spoliation is sometimes effected may be gathered from a narrative which
we received from the lips of one of the few learned and estimable men
whom the system of electing judges by the people has left upon the
bench in the City of New York. Four years ago, when the inflation of
the currency had so enhanced the price of all commodities that there
was, of necessity, a general increase of salaries, public and private,
there was talk of raising the salaries of the fourteen judges, who were
most absurdly underpaid even when a dollar in paper and a dollar in
gold were the same thing. Some of the judges were severely pinched in
attempting to make six thousand half-dollars do the work which six
thousand whole ones had accomplished with difficulty; and none,
perhaps, more severely than the excellent and hospitable judge whose
experience we are about to relate. A person known by him to be in the
confidence of leading men about the City Hall called, upon him one day,
and informed him that it was in contemplation to raise the salaries of
all the judges $2,000 per annum. The judge observed that he was much
relieved to hear it, for he had gone so deeply into the Sanitary
Commission and other projects for promoting the war, and had made so
many expensive journeys to Washington in furtherance of such projects,
that he did not see how he could get through the year if the inflation
continued. 'Well, judge,' said the person, 'if the judges are disposed
to be reasonable, the thing can be done.' 'What do you mean by
_reasonable_?' asked the judge. The reply was brief and to the point:
'Twenty-five per cent, of the increase for one year.' The judge said
No. If his salary could not be raised without that, he must rub on, as
best he could, on his present income. The person was evidently much
surprised, and said: 'I am sorry you have such old-fashioned notions.
Why, judge, everybody does it here.' Nothing more was heard of
increasing the judges' salaries for a whole year, during which the
inflation itself had become inflated, and every door-keeper and copyist
had had his stipend increased. At length, the spoilers deemed it best,
for purposes of their own, to consent the salaries of the judges should
be increased $1,000; and, a year after that, the other $1,000 was
permitted to be added.

It was recently proved, in the presence of the Governor of the State,
that the appointment of the office of Corporation Attorney was sold to
one incumbent for the round sum of $10,000. This is bad enough, but
worse remains to be told Sworn testimony, from thirty-six witnesses,
taken by a committee of investigation, establishes the appalling fact,
that appointments to places in the public schools are systematically
sold in some of the wards--the wards where the public schools are
almost the sole civilizing power, and where it is of unspeakable
importance that the schools should be in the hands of the best men and
women. One young lady; who had just buried her father and had a
helpless mother to support, applied for a situation as teacher, and was
told, as usual, that she must pay for it. She replied that she could
not raise the sum demanded, the funeral expenses having exhausted the
family store. She was then informed that she could pay 'the tax' in
instalments. Another poor girl came on the witness-stand on crutches,
and testified that she had paid $75 for a situation of $300 a year.
Another lady went to a member of the Ring, and told him, with tears,
that she saw no way of procuring the sum required, nor even of saving
it from the slender salary of the place. The man was moved by her
anguish, took compassion upon her, and said he would remit _his share_
of 'the tax.' It was shown, too, that the agent of all this foul
iniquity was no other than the principal of one of the schools. It was
he who received and paid over the money wrung from the terror and
necessities of underpaid and overworked teachers. We learn from the
report of the committee that the Ring in this ward was originally
formed for the express purpose of giving the situations in a new and
handsome school 'to the highest bidder'; and, as the opening of the new
school involved the discharge of a small number of teachers employed in
the old schools, the Ring had both, the fear and the ambition of the
teachers to work upon. 'There was a perfect reign of terror in the
ward,' says the report of the investigating committee. 'The agent
performed his duty with alacrity and with a heartlessness worthy of the
employers. It appears that he not only summoned the teachers to come to
him, but that he called on their parents and friends as to the amount
they should pay for their appointments--the sums varying from $50 to
$600, according to the position sought.'

And who were the Ring that perpetrated this infamy? They were a
majority of the trustees elected by the people, and the School
Commissioner elected by the people--six poor creatures, selected from
the grog-shop and the wharf, and intrusted with the most sacred
interest of a republic, the education of its children.


                               THE RESULT.

"The result of all this plunder," continues Mr. Parton, "is, that in
thirty-six years the rate of taxation in the city and county of New
York has increased from two dollars and a half to forty dollars per
inhabitant! In 1830, the city was governed for half a million dollars.
In 1865, the entire government of the island, including assessments on
private property for public improvements, cost more than forty millions
of dollars. In 1830, the population of the city was a little more than
two hundred thousand. It is now about one million. Thus, while the
population of the county is five times greater than it was in 1830, the
cost of governing it is sixteen times greater. And yet such is the
value of the productive property owned by the city,--so numerous are
the sources of revenue from that property,--that able men of business
are of the deliberate opinion that a private company could govern,
clean, sprinkle, and teach the City by contract, taking as compensation
only the fair revenue to be derived from its property. Take one item as
an illustration: under the old excise system, the liquor licenses
yielded twelve thousand dollars per annum; under the new, they yield
one million and a quarter. Take another: the corporation own more than
twenty miles of wharves and water-front, the revenue from which does
not keep the wharves in repair; under a proper system, they would yield
a million dollars above the cost of repairs."




                              CHAPTER IV.


                        THE METROPOLITAN POLICE.

The Metropolitan Police are justly the pride of New York, for the City
is chiefly indebted to the force for its quiet and security. The old
police system needs no description here. It was a failure in every
respect. It failed to protect either life or property. Criminals
performed their exploits with impunity, and were either encouraged or
aided by the police in many instances. The members of the old force
were too often taken from the ranks of the criminal classes, and made
to serve the ends of unprincipled politicians. Finally the system
became so worthless and corrupt that the best men of the City and
State, without distinction of party, resolved to take the control of
the police out of the hands of the Mayor and Council, and place them
under the direction of a Commissioner appointed by the Legislature.


                             THE NEW SYSTEM.

The resolution to make the police independent of the politicians in the
City government, was the last resort left to the better class of
citizens, and the Legislature, appreciating the necessity for prompt
action, at once complied with the demand made for a change. A
"Metropolitan District,", consisting of the cities of New York and
Brooklyn, the counties of New York, Kings, Richmond, and Westchester,
and a part of Queens county, embracing a circuit of about thirty miles,
was created by law. The control of this district was given to a
commission of five citizens, subject to the supervision of the
Legislature. The Mayors of New York and Brooklyn were made ex-officio
members of this board.

Mr. Wood, who was Mayor of New York at the time of the passage of this
law, resolved to resist it, and to continue the old police in power.
His conduct came near creating a terrible riot, but he was at length
induced to submit to the law. The new system worked badly for some
years, owing to the incompetency of the persons appointed as
superintendent; but in 1860 a change was made. Mr. John A. Kennedy was
appointed Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, and the number of
the commissioners was cut down to three. The law was remodeled, and
besides other important changes, the duties of each member of the force
were clearly defined.

The new superintendent set to work with a will, and it was not long
before the benefits of his administration became manifest. He had been
informed that the force was almost as incompetent and inefficient as
its old time predecessor, and he resolved to stop this. He caused the
creation of the grade of inspector, and the appointment of energetic
and reliable men. These inspectors are required to keep a constant
watch over the rank and file of the force. They report every breach of
discipline, examine the station houses and every thing connected with
them, at pleasure. No member or officer of the force has the right to
refuse to allow such examination or to refuse to answer any question
put to him concerning his duty. The effect of this new rank was most
happy. The men became conscious that the eyes of their superiors were
on them at all times, and that the slightest breach of discipline on
their part was sure to be detected and reported. The force became
attentive and efficient, as if by magic. Incompetent and insubordinate
members were thrown out, and good men put in their places. Matters
continued to improve, until now, after a lapse of nearly eight years,
the city has the best police force in the world.


                            "KING KENNEDY."

Mr. Kennedy is not a popular man in New York. To say that he has made
mistakes in his present position, is but to say he is human. He has had
a hard task before him, but he has succeeded in accomplishing it. He
has given order, security, and a sense of security to the city, and it
is not strange that in so doing he has made numerous enemies. He has
often exceeded his power, and has committed acts that smack strongly of
petty tyranny; but there can be no doubt of the fact that he has
earnestly and faithfully labored for the cause of law and order. He
makes the best chief of police this country has ever seen, and when he
is gone, his place will be hard to fill.

Mr. Kennedy has Scotch-Irish blood in his veins, which may be the
reason of his success. He is small in size, and quiet and unobtrusive
in his demeanor. He has executive ability of a high order, but inclines
rather strongly to the side of arbitrary power, which trait has earned
him, amongst the masses, the title of "King Kennedy." He has infused
his energy into the force, and is entitled to the greater part, if not
all of the credit for the success of the new system.


                               THE FORCE.

The police force on duty in the city, consists of one super intendent,
four inspectors, thirty-four captains, one hundred and thirty-one
sergeants, one thousand eight hundred and six patrolmen, sixty-nine
doormen, and fifty special policemen, making a total of two thousand
and ninety-five officers and men. The men are clothed in a neat uniform
of dark blue cloth, with caps of hard polished leather. They are armed
with clubs and revolvers, and are regularly drilled in military
tactics. In case of a riot, this enables them to act together, and with
greater efficiency against a mob. The most rigid discipline prevails,
and the slightest error on the part of officers or men is reported at
headquarters.

There are thirty-three precincts, including the detective squad. The
force is charged with the duty of guarding about three hundred day and
four hundred night posts, about four hundred and twenty-five miles of
streets in the patrol districts, and fourteen miles of piers. There are
twenty-five station houses fitted up as lodging rooms for the men, and
having room also for accommodating wandering or destitute persons,
large numbers of whom thus receive temporary shelter.

During the year ending October 31, 1865, (which may be taken as a fair
specimen of the work of the force,) 68,873 arrests were made. Of these
48,754 were males, 20,119 females; 53,911 arrests were for offences
against the person; 14,962; for offences against property. The
following table will show the status of New York criminal society.

                                             Total
 Charge                       Males Females Arrests
 Assault and Battery          6,077  1,667   7,744
 Assault with intent to kill    197      1     198
 Attempt at rape                 40   ----      40
 Abortion                         2      2       4
 Bastardy                       141   ----     141
 Bigamy                          14      5      19
 Disorderly conduct           8,542  5,412  13,954
 Intoxication                11,482  4,936  16,418
 Juvenile delinquents           154     25     179
 Kidnapping                      20      5      25
 Suspicious persons           1,617    440   2,057
 Vagrancy                       978    838   1,816
 Arson                           35   ----      35
 Attempts to steal              236      9     245
 Burglary                       291      3     294
 Forgery                        151      3     154
 Fraud                          104     17     121
 Grand Larceny                1,675    946   2,621
 Gambling                       249      3     252
 Highway robbery                199      6     205
 Keeping disorderly house       177    165     342
 Picking pockets                225     20     275
 Petit larceny                3,380  1,860   5,240
 Passing counterfeit money      414     46     460
 Receiving stolen goods         166     51     217
 Swindling                        5      3       8
 Violations of the Sunday laws  183     20     203


                                ON DUTY.

The police are mustered at a certain hour in the morning by their
officers, and are marched from the station house to their "beats." The
day patrol is relieved by that appointed for night duty. The men are
required to be neat in their persons and dress, and to be polite and
respectful to citizens. They are required to give information to
strangers and citizens concerning localities, etc., and to render
prompt assistance in suppressing any kind of violence or disorder. They
are instructed to direct persons not to lounge or loiter on the main
thoroughfares, which are always too much crowded to permit such
obstructions. Details are made for places of amusement and public
resort. If the patrolman on duty at one of these places sees a known
thief or pickpocket enter, he orders him to leave the premises. If the
fellow refuses to obey, he is arrested and locked up in the station
house for the night. By this means respectable persons, at public
resorts, are saved heavy losses at the hands of the "light-fingered
gentry."

The largest and finest looking men are detailed for the. Broadway
Squad. The duties of this Squad are heavy, and often require not only
considerable patience, but great physical endurance.


                              HEADQUARTERS.

The Police Headquarters of the Metropolitan District are located in a
handsome marble building, five stories high, situated on Mulberry
Street, between Houston and Bleecker Streets. The building is fitted up
with great taste for the express accommodation of the business of the
force. The greatest order prevails. Every thing is in its place, and
every man in his. There is no confusion. Each department has its
separate room.

The Superintendent's office is connected by telegraph with every
precinct in the entire district. By means of this wonderful invention a
few seconds only are required to dispatch the orders of "King Kennedy"
to any part of the district. News of a robbery and description of the
burglar are flashed all over the city and adjoining country before the
man has fairly secured his plunder. If a child is lost a description is
sent in the same way to each precinct, and in a marvellously quick time
the little one is restored to its mother's arms. By means of his little
instrument, "King Kennedy" can track a criminal not only all over his
own district, but all over the Union. He is firm in the exercise of his
authority--often harsh and too impulsive, but on the whole as just as
human nature will allow a man to be.

[Illustration: A Model Policeman.]


                             THE TRIAL ROOM.

One of the most interesting rooms in the headquarters is that for the
trial of complaints against members of the force. Every sworn charge is
brought before Commissioner Acton? who notifies the accused to appear
before him to answer to it. Except in very grave cases, the men employ
no counsel. The charge is read, the Commissioner hears the statements
of the accused, and the evidence on both sides, and renders his
decision, which must be ratified by the full "Board". The majority of
the charges are for breaches of discipline. A patrolman leaves his beat
for a cup of coffee on a cold morning, or night, or reads a newspaper,
or smokes, or stops to converse while on duty. The punishment for these
offences is a stoppage of pay for a day or two. First offences are
usually forgiven. Many well-meaning but officious citizens enter
complaints against the men. They are generally frivolous, but are heard
patiently, and are dismissed with a warning to the accused to avoid
giving cause for complaint. Thieves and disreputable characters
sometimes enter complaints against the men, with the hope of getting
them into trouble. The Commissioner's experience enables him to settle
these cases at once, generally to the dismay and grief of the accuser.
Any real offence on the part of the men is punished promptly and
severely, but the Commissioners endeavor by every means to protect them
in the discharge of their duty, and against impositions of any kind.

Another room in the headquarters is called

                           THE PROPERTY ROOM.

This is a genuine "curiosity shop". It is filled with unclaimed
property of every description, found by or delivered to the police, by
other parties finding the same, or taken from criminals at the time of
their arrest. The room is in charge of a property, clerk, who enters
each article, and the facts connected with it, in a book kept for that
purpose. Property once placed in this room is not allowed to be taken
away, except upon certain specified conditions. Unclaimed articles are
sold, after being kept a certain length of time, and the proceeds are
paid to the Police Life Insurance Fund.


                             MISCELLANEOUS.

When a man applies for a position in the police force, he has to show
proofs of his good character and capacity before he can be employed. As
soon as he is appointed, he is provided with a uniform, assigned to a
precinct, and put on duty. For one month after his appointment he is
required to study the book of laws for the government of the force, and
to be examined daily in these studies by Inspector James Leonard; who
is in charge of the "Class of Instruction." These examinations are
continued until the recruit is found proficient in the theoretical
knowledge of his duties.

The following extract from the Metropolitan Police Law will show the
care taken of the men:--

If any member of the Metropolitan Police Force, whilst in the actual
performance of duty, shall become permanently disabled, so as to render
his dismissal from membership proper, or if any such member shall
become superannuated after a ten years' membership, a sum of not
exceeding one hundred and fifty dollars, as an annuity, to be paid such
member, shall become chargeable upon the Metropolitan Police Life
Insurance Fund. If any member of the Metropolitan Police Force whilst
in the actual discharge of his duty, shall be killed, or shall die from
the immediate effect of any injury received by him, whilst in such
discharge of duty, or shall die after ten years' service in the force,
and shall leave a widow, and if no widow, any child or children under
the age of sixteen years, a like sum, by way of annuity, shall become
chargeable upon the said fund, to be paid such widow so long only as
she remains unmarried, or to such child or children so long as said
child, or the youngest of said children, continues under the age of
sixteen years.

We do not claim, in what we have written, that the police of this city
are perfect, but we do maintain that they are better than those of any
other American city.




                               CHAPTER V.


                                SOCIETY.

In New York, poverty is a great crime, and the chief effort of every
man and woman's life, is to secure wealth. Society in this city is much
like that of other large American cities, except? that money is the
chief requisite here. In other cities poor men, who can boast of being
members of a family which commands respect for its talents or other
good qualities, or who have merit of their own, are welcomed into what
are called "select circles" with as much warmth as though they were
millionaires. In New York, however, men and women are judged by their
bank accounts. The most illiterate boor, the most unprincipled knave,
finds every fashionable door open to him without reserve, while St.
Peter himself, if he came "without purse or scrip," would see it closed
in his face. Money makes up for every deficiency in morals, intellect,
or demeanor.

Nor is this strange. The majority of fashionable people have never
known any of the arts and refinements of civilization except those
which mere wealth can purchase. Money raised them from the dregs of
life, and they are firm believers in it. Without education, without
social polish, they see themselves courted and fawned upon for their
wealth, and they naturally suppose that there is nothing else "good
under the sun."


                        WHO ARE THE FASHIONABLES.

The majority of the dwellers in the palaces of the great city, are
persons who have risen from the ranks. This is not said to their
discredit. On the contrary, every intelligent person takes pride in the
fact that in this country it is in the power of any one to rise as high
as his abilities will carry him. The persons to whom we refer, however,
affect to despise this. They take no pride in the institutions which
have been so beneficial to them, but look down with supreme disdain
upon those who are working their way up. They are ashamed of their
origin, and you cannot offend one of them more than to hint that you
knew him a few years ago as a mechanic, or shop-keeper.

Some of the "fashionables" appear very suddenly before the world. A
week ago, a family may have been living in a tenement house. A sudden
fortunate speculation on the part of the husband, or father, may have
brought them enormous wealth in the course of a few days. A change is
instantly made from the tenement house to a mansion on Fifth or Madison
Avenue. The newly acquired wealth is liberally expended in "fitting
up," and the lucky owners of it suddenly burst upon the world of
fashion as stars of the first magnitude. They are courted by all, and
invitations to the houses of other "stars" are showered upon them. They
may be rude, ignorant, uncouth in their manners, but they have wealth,
and that is all New York society requires. They are lucky if they
retain their positions very long. A few manage to hold on to the wealth
which comes to them thus suddenly, but as a general rule those who are
simply "lucky" at the outset find Dame Fortune a very capricious
goddess, and at the next turn of her wheel, pass off the stage to make
room for others who are soon to share their fate.

This element is known in the city as "The Shoddy Society." During the
time of the oil speculations, many persons were suddenly and
unexpectedly made rich by lucky ventures in petroleum lands and stocks,
and the shoddy element was in its glory; but now other speculations are
found to recruit the ranks of this class. Wall street is constantly
sending fresh "stars" to blaze on Fifth Avenue, and ruthlessly sweeping
away others to make room for them.

The "Shoddy" element is by no means confined to those who make fortunes
rapidly, or by speculations. There are many who rise very slowly in the
world, and who when blessed with fortune throw themselves headlong into
the arms of "Shoddy."

It is not difficult to recognize these persons. They dress not only
handsomely, but magnificently. Indeed they make up in display what they
lack in taste. They cover themselves with jewels, and their diamonds,
worn on ordinary occasions, might, in some cases, fairly rival the
state gems of European potentates. Their red, hard hands, coarse faces,
vulgar manners, and loud, rude voices, contrast strikingly with the
splendor with which they surround themselves. They wear their honors
uneasily, showing plainly how little accustomed they are to such
things. They look down with disdain upon all less fortunate in wealth
than themselves, and worship as demi-gods those whose bank account is
larger than their own. They have little or no personal dignity, but
substitute a supercilious hauteur for it.


                        A DEFEAT AND A TRIUMPH.

The following incident will show how money is worshipped in New York: A
gentleman, now one of the wealthiest men of the city, some years ago
found himself well off in worldly goods. He was the possessor of one
million of dollars. He was living at that time in a modest house, in a
modest street, and was anxious to get into society. In order to do
this, he resolved to give a ball, and invite the wealthiest and oldest
families in New York. These people were his customers in business; and
he supposed they would not object to receiving his hospitality. He was,
unlike most of those who worship society, a man of real merit. His
invitations were issued, and at the appointed time his mansion was made
ready for a magnificent entertainment, but, though the family waited,
and the rooms were kept lighted until the "wee hours of the morning,"
not a single one of those, to whom the invitations were sent, put in an
appearance during the evening. The mortification of the would-be host
and family, was intense, and it is said that he swore a mighty oath
that he would acquire wealth and luxury, sufficient to _compel_ the
intimacy of those who had scorned him because he was less fortunate
than themselves. He kept his word, and today he stands at the head of
that class to which he once aspired in vain.


                          WHAT THEY TALK ABOUT.

A work recently published in Paris gives the following account of the
topics discussed at a "shoddy" ball:

Following the advice of my companion, I listened to the gentlemen who
were idling through the rooms. Everywhere that word 'dollar,'
constantly repeated, struck upon my ear. All conversation had for its
subject mercantile and financial transactions; profits, either
realized, or to be realized, by the speakers, or the general prospect
of the market. Literature, art, science, the drama, those topics which
are discussed in polite European society, were not even alluded to.
Another peculiarity I noticed--namely, the practice of self-
commendation and praise. Egotism seemed to permeate the mind of
everybody--the word 'I' was constantly on the lips of the speakers.


                        FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION.

A ball or a party is the place to bring out the votaries of fashion.
They crowd the _salons_ of the host or hostess. Frequently they pay
little attention to their entertainers, except to ridicule their
awkwardness and oddities, conscious all the while that similar remarks
will be made about them when they throw open their own houses to their
friends.

The opera draws them out in crowds, especially the _Bouffe_. Few
understand the French or Italian languages, few are proficients in
music, but they go because "it is the thing, you know." Opera bouffe is
very popular, for those who cannot understand the language are
generally quick enough to catch or appreciate the indecency of the plot
or situations. The more indecent the piece, the more certain it is of a
long run.

Few fashionable women have time to attend to their families. These are
left to the mercy of hirelings. The titles of wife and mother are
becoming merely complimentary. They are ceasing to suggest the best and
purest types of womanhood. That of mother is becoming decidedly old
fogyish, and to-day your fine lady takes care that her maternal
instincts shall be smothered, and that her family shall not increase
beyond a convenient number. Children grow up in idleness and
extravagance, and are unfitted for any of the great duties of life.
They are taught to regard wealth as the only thing to be desired, and
they are forced up as rapidly as possible to join the ranks of the fast
young men and women of New York, who disgrace what are called our
"upper circles."


                              EXTRAVAGANCE.

Extravagance is the besetting sin of New York society. Money is thrown
away. Fortunes are spent every year in dress, and in all sorts of
follies. Houses are furnished and fitted up in the most sumptuous
style, the building and its contents often being worth over a million
of dollars.

[Illustration: A Fashionable Thief--Shoplifting.]

People live up to every cent of their incomes, and often beyond them.
It is no uncommon occurrence for a fine mansion, its furniture,
pictures, and even the jewels and clothes of its occupants, to be
pledged to some usurer for the means with which to carry on this life
of luxury. Each person strives to outdo the rest of his or her
acquaintances. The rage for fine houses and fine clothes is carried to
an amazing extent, and to acquire them, persons of supposed
respectability will stoop to almost any thing. Of late years, a number
of fashionable ladies have been detected in dry-goods stores in the act
of purloining fine laces, embroideries, and other goods, and concealing
them under their skirts.


                             A LADY'S GLOVE.

Two or three years ago the fashionable world was thrown into a state of
excitement by the marriage of a Fifth Avenue belle to a gentleman of
great wealth. The night before the wedding the bride's presents,
amounting to a small fortune in value, were exhibited to a select
circle of friends. Amongst the various articles was a magnificent
diamond necklace, the gift of the groom, which attracted universal
attention. After the guests departed, the bride-elect, before retiring
for the night, returned to take a parting glance at her diamonds. To
her horror, they were missing. The alarm was given, and a search was
made. The jewels could not be found, however, but a small kid glove--a
lady's--was discovered lying on the table. The bride's father was a
sensible banker, and he at once "hushed up" the affair, and put the
glove and the case in the hands of an experienced detective. In a few
weeks the thief was discovered. She proved to be the wife of a wealthy
merchant. She had stolen the diamonds with the intention of taking them
to Europe to have them reset. In consequence of the return of the
jewels, and the social position of the thief, the matter was dropped.


                               MARRIAGES.

Only wealthy marriages are tolerated in New York society. For men or
women to marry "beneath" them is a crime society cannot forgive. There
must be fortune on one side. Marriages for money are directly
encouraged. It is not uncommon for a man who has made money to make the
marriage of his daughter the means of getting the family into society.
He will go to some young man within the pale of good society, and offer
him the hand of his daughter and a fortune. The condition on the part
of the person to whom the offer is made is, that he shall use his
influence to get the bride's family within the "charmed circle." Such
proposals are seldom refused.

When a marriage is decided upon, it is the bounden duty of the happy
pair to be married in a fashionable church. To be married in or buried
from Grace Church is the desire of every fashionable heart. Invitations
are issued to the friends and acquaintances of the two families, and no
one is admitted into the church without such a card. Often "no cards"
are issued, and the church is jammed by the outside throng, who profane
the holy temple by their unmannerly struggles to secure places from
which the ceremony can be viewed. Two clergymen are engaged to tie the
knot, a single minister being insufficient for such grand affairs. A
reporter is on hand, who furnishes the city papers with the full
particulars of the affair. The dresses, the jewels, the appearance of
the bride and groom, and the company generally, are described with a
slavishness that is disgraceful.

If the wedding is at Grace Church, Brown, the "great sexton," is in
charge of all the arrangements. He understands every detail connected
with such an affair, and will not allow any one to interfere with him.
A wedding over which he presides is sure to be a success. It is
needless to say he has his time well taken up with such engagements. At
weddings and at parties, Brown makes out the list of persons to be
invited. He allows no interference. He knows his invitations will be
accepted, and as he knows who is in town, both stranger and resident,
he can always make out a full list. He directs every thing, and carries
his arrangements out with the decision and authority of an autocrat.
The Lenten Season is his bugbear. It is fashionable to observe Lent in
New York, and funerals are then the only opportunities for the display
of his peculiar talents. These he makes as interesting as possible. He
charges a liberal price for his services, and is said to have amassed
considerable money.


                           FASHIONABLE DEATH.

As it is the ambition of every one to live fashionable, it is their
chief wish to be laid in the grave in the same style. Undertakers at
fashionable funerals are generally the sexton of some fashionable
church, that, perhaps, of the church the deceased was in the habit of
attending. This individual prescribes the manner in which the ceremony
shall be carried out, and advises certain styles of family mourning.
Sometimes the blinds are closed and the gas lighted. The lights in such
cases are arranged in the most artistic manner, and every thing is made
to look as "interesting" as possible.

A certain fashionable sexton always refuses to allow the female members
of the family to follow their dead to the grave. He will not let them
be seen at the funeral at all, as he says "it's horridly vulgar to see
a lot of women crying about a corpse; and, besides, they're always in
the way."

After the funeral is over, none of the bereaved ones can be seen for a
certain length of time, the period being regulated by a set decree.
They spend the days of their seclusion in consultations with their
_modiste_, in preparing the most fashionable mourning that can be
thought of; in this they seem to agree fully with a certain famous
_modiste_, who declared to a widow, but recently bereaved, that
"fashionable and becoming mourning is _so_ comforting to a person in
affliction."


                       A ROMANCE OF FIFTH AVENUE.

Hollow as it is, Shoddy in New York has its romances. One of the most
striking of those which occur to us is the story of a family which we
shall designate by the name of Swigg. There will, doubtless, be those
who will recognize them.

If Mr. and Mrs. Ephraim Swigg had a weakness for any thing it was for
being considered amongst that "select and happy few," known to the
outside world as "the upper ten." Mr. Swigg had wealth, and Mrs. Swigg
meant to spend it. She could not see the use of having money if one was
not to use it as a means of "getting into society;" and though she
contented herself with being thus modest in her public expressions, she
was, in her own mind, determined to make her money the power which
should enable her to _lead_ society. She meant to shine as a star of
the first magnitude, before whose glories all the fashionable world
should fall. She would no longer be plain Mrs. Ephraim Swigg, but the
great and wealthy Mrs. Swigg, whose brilliancy should eclipse any thing
yet seen in Gotham. Oh! she would make Fifth Avenue turn green with
jealousy. There was only one difficulty in the way--Mr. Swigg might not
be willing to furnish the sum necessary for the accomplishment of this
grand purpose: still she would attempt it, trusting that when he had
fairly entered upon the joys of fashionable life, he would be too much
charmed with them to begrudge "the paltry sums" necessary to continue
them.

Mr. and Mrs. Swigg had not always enjoyed such advantages. There was a
time when the lady might have been seen in a market stall, where her
robust beauty drew to her crowds of admirers of doubtful character. She
had made a wise choice, however, and after looking coldly upon these
swains, had bestowed her hand upon Ephraim Swigg, a rising young
butcher, who sold his wares in the same market. To be sure, Mr. Swigg
was not a beauty, nor even as handsome as the plainest of the admirers
she had cast aside; but he had a more substantial recommendation than
any of them. He was the owner of a lucrative business, and had several
thousands laid by in hard cash. So, influenced by these considerations,
Miss Polly Dawkins became Mrs. Ephraim Swigg. In justice to her, be it
said, she made a good wife. He was equally devoted, and they were
genuinely happy. They had one child, a daughter, who, as she grew up,
bade fair to ripen into a very pretty woman.

They prospered steadily, and matters went on smoothly with them until
the rebellion startled the men of means with a vague fear for the
safety of their worldly possessions; then Mr. Swigg, reckoning over his
property, found himself possessed of a handsome fortune. He watched the
course of affairs anxiously until the great disaster at Bull Run, and
then, like a good patriot, set to work to see how he could help the
country out of its difficulties. Mr. Swigg's patriotism was of the
substantial kind--he derived the chief benefit from it. He bethought
himself of taking out a contract for supplying the Army of the Potomac
with cattle and other necessaries. He put his scheme into execution,
and, like every thing he attempted, it was successful. The army was
fed, and towards the close of the year 1864 Mr. Swigg found himself
worth three millions of dollars.

Of course, with all this to "back" them, the Swiggs at once became
people of note. Their entrance into society was easy enough, and no one
was sufficiently impolite to remember their past lives against them.
Mr. Swigg's coarse red face was attributed to his fine health, his
rudeness of manner was called eccentricity, and his frequent breaches
of etiquette were passed over in polite silence. Mrs. and Miss Swigg
got on better. The mamma was naturally a shrewd woman, and she quickly
adopted herself to the requirements of New York society, which are very
few and simple to one who has two or three millions at command. The
daughter had enjoyed greater advantages than her parents; she had been
trained in the best schools, and as far as her naturally weak mind was
capable of doing so, had profited by the efforts of her teachers. She
was a weak and silly girl, and was indulged in every whim and caprice
by her parents. She was nineteen years old, and having fulfilled the
promise of her youth, was indeed a handsome girl. Of course she was a
belle, the sole heiress of three millions could be nothing else, were
she as ugly as Hecate.

Mrs. Swigg had reasoned correctly. With all his shrewdness and good
sense, her liege lord shared her own weakness for high life, and
readily complied with all her requests for money. He was not a stingy
man at heart, and he was really glad to see his wife and daughter doing
so well. Indeed they were all very good people--only their sudden rise
in the world had turned their heads.

Mr. Swigg purchased an elegant mansion on Fifth Avenue, which some
broken down patrician offered for sale, and the family commenced their
fashionable career in a blaze of glory. They had one of the finest
establishments in the city; they gave splendid entertainments, and the
young bloods soon found that they could enjoy themselves at the Swigg
levees very much as they pleased, as their host and hostess were too
glad to see them, to criticize their conduct very closely. The worthy
couple counted many celebrities amongst their guests. There were
generals, both major and brigadier, colonels and captains in abundance,
and occasionally some dark-skinned, bewhiskered foreigner, who rejoiced
in the title of count, marquis, or lord, and who looked more like he
had passed his days in the galleys, than in the courts of the old
world. The warmest welcome of the host and hostess, especially the
latter, was reserved for these gentlemen. Between the man in the blue
and gold of his country's livery, who had daily perilled his life for
the perpetuity of the institutions that had made the fortunes of the
Swiggs, and the titled, suspicious-looking foreigner, of whom they knew
nothing with certainty, the good people never hesitated. The preference
was given to the latter.

One of these gentlemen was especially welcome. This was the Baron Von
Storck, who claimed to be an Austrian nobleman of great wealth. In
support of his assertion, when he appeared at fashionable
entertainments, he covered the front of his coat with ribbons of every
hue in the rainbow. He made his appearance in New York society almost
simultaneously with the Swiggs, and from the first, devoted himself
particularly to them or to Miss Arabella, the heiress of the three
millions.

As might have been expected, in the course of a few months the Baron
proposed for the hand of Miss Arabella, to the great delight of papa
and mamma, and the 'young people' were formally engaged. After this the
young lady and her mother constantly amused themselves with writing the
future title of the former, 'just to see how it looked.' Such a piece
of good fortune could not be kept secret; and Miss Arabella was the
object of the envy of scores of damsels who had been trying in vain to
ensnare the elegant foreigner in their own nets, which were not so
heavily baited.

One morning the Baron waited upon Mrs. Swigg, and producing an enormous
document, written in German, and furnished with a huge red seal stamped
with an eagle, informed her that the paper was a peremptory order from
his Government, which he had just received, commanding him to return
home at once, as his services were needed. He added that he could not
disobey the command of his sovereign, and asked that his marriage with
Arabella might take place at once, so that they might sail for the old
world in the next Bremen steamer.

Mr. Swigg was summoned, and the matter laid before him. At first he
hesitated, for he did not like so much haste; but his wife and daughter
at last wrung a reluctant consent from him, and the marriage was
solemnized with great splendor at Grace Church, the inevitable Brown
declaring, as usual, he had never experienced so much satisfaction in
his life.

Mr. Swigg, like a good father, settled half a million of dollars upon
his daughter. The Baron had expected more, but the old man's shrewdness
came to his aid in this instance, and he declared to his wife that this
was money enough to risk at one time. His suspicions were very vague,
and they were roundly denounced by his better half. He held his tongue,
and after the marriage handed the Baron bills of exchange on Paris and
Vienna for the five hundred thousand. Herr Von Storck, on his part,
formally delivered to his father-in-law a deed, drawn up in German,
(and which bore a wonderful likeness to the letter of recall he had
shown Mrs. Swigg,) in which he said he settled a handsome estate near
Vienna upon his bride. He apologized for not making her the usual
present of diamonds, by saying that his family jewels were more
magnificent than any thing that could be found in New York, and that he
was afraid to risk their being sent across the ocean. They awaited his
bride in his ancestral home. The parents expressed their entire
satisfaction, and begged that he would not mention "such trifles."

The "young couple" were to sail on the second day after their marriage;
and, at the appointed time, the new baroness awaited her husband, with
packed trunks. He had gone out early in the morning to wind up his
business at the Austrian Consulate. The steamer was to sail at noon,
and as the hour drew near, and the Baron did not appear, the fears of
Papa Swigg began to be aroused. Two, three, four o'clock, and yet no
Baron Von Storck. Terror and dread reigned in the hearts of the Swigg
family.

Towards five o'clock, a policeman, accompanied by a coarse-looking
German woman, arrived at the mansion. He informed Mr. Swigg that he had
orders to arrest Conrad Kreutzer, alias the Baron Von Storck. The
_denouement_ had come at last. The policeman informed the old gentleman
that the supposed Baron was simply a German barber, who had been
released from the penitentiary but a short time, where he had served a
term for bigamy, and that the woman who accompanied him was Kreutzer's
lawful wife.

Poor Papa Swigg! Poor Mamma Swigg! Poor Arabella, "Baroness Von
Storck!" It was a fearful blow to them, but it was not altogether
undeserved.

The successful scoundrel had sailed at noon on the steamer, under his
assumed name, carrying with him the bills of exchange, which were paid
on presentation in Europe, there being then no Atlantic telegraph to
expose his villainy before his arrival in the old world. He has never
been heard of since.

His victims were not so fortunate. All New York rang with the story,
and those who had tried hardest to bring this fate upon themselves were
loudest in ridiculing the Swiggs for their "stupidity;" so that, at
last, parents and daughter were glad to withdraw from fashionable life,
to a more retired existence, where they still remain, sadder, and
decidedly wiser than when their career began. Mr. Swigg takes the
matter philosophically, consoling himself with the determination to
vote against every foreigner who may 'run for office' in his district.
His wife and Arabella, however, still suffer sorely from their
mortification, and are firmly convinced that of all classes of European
society, the German nobility is the most utterly corrupt.


                          ETIQUETTE OF CARDS.

From the following article, which appeared recently in the _Evening
Mail_, the reader will obtain a clear insight into some of the outside
customs of society:

Even the cut of the pasteboard upon which a man announces his name is
regulated by fashion. The man who wishes to have his note-paper,
envelopes and cards, 'on the square' must know what the mode is.
Visiting cards for the present season will be rather larger than
formerly, and of the finest unglazed Bristol board. The new sizes will
tend rather to the square than otherwise. The shape of the card may be
varied, according to taste, the proper adaptation to the size of the
lettering being maintained.

[Illustration: Fifth Avenue, near Thirty-Fourth Street.]

Among the various texts in use, nothing will supercede the English
script, and those inimitable styles of old English text; the most novel
being those with dropped capitals, and the extremely neat, extra-
shaded. Visiting cards, with the familiar words denoting the object of
the call, will remain in use, to some extent, especially for calls of
congratulation or condolence. The word _visite_, on the left hand upper
corner, will be engraved on the reverse side. The corner containing the
desired word will be turned down, so as to denote the object of the
call. The word on the right-hand corner, _Felicitation_, will be used
for visits of congratulation on some happy event, as, for instance, a
marriage, or a birth; on the left lower corner, the word _Conge_, used
for a visit previous to leaving town; the other corner is to be marked
_Condolence_. Cards sent to friends before leaving for a long journey,
are issued with the addition of P. P. C. in the left hand corner. These
cards are inclosed in heavy and elegant, though plain, envelopes,
ornamented with a tasteful monogram or initial.

In wedding invitations, all abbreviations, like eve. for evening, will
be avoided, as well as P. M.; the word afternoon being preferable.
Invitations to ceremonious weddings consist of a square note-sheet,
embellished with a large monogram in relief, entwining the combined
initials of the bride and groom. The individual cards of both bride and
groom must be also inclosed, united with a neat white satin tie; and,
in some cases, another card, with reception days for the following
month.

A very neat style of card has the customary 'at home' on a note-sheet,
a ceremony card, (at fixed hour,) and the united cards of bride and
groom, all enclosed in a splendid large envelope, of the very finest
texture, with an elaborate monogram, or ornamental initial. Among the
neater forms for a quiet wedding at home is the following:

                            MR. AND MRS.--

Request the pleasure of M.---'s company at breakfast, on Wednesday,
December 16, at one o'clock.
                                           '--_Hamilton Square_.'

Cards of bride and groom must be inclosed for general invitations. Very
simple forms are in the best taste. They may be varied to suit the
occasion, either of _dejeuner_, dinner reception or evening parties.
For example:

                           MRS. WILSON.
                             AT HOME,

Wednesday evening, January 7.
                                               '--_Fifth Avenue_.
  'Cotillion at 9.'

Or; Soiree Dansante.

                       MR. AND MRS. E. DAY

Request the pleasure of your company on Monday evening, at 9 o'clock.
R.S.V.P.

An afternoon wedding reception may be announced in terms like the
following:

                  MR. AND MRS. HENRY ROBINSON

Request the pleasure of your company at the wedding reception of their
daughter, on Thursday, October 15, from 2 until 4 o'clock.

                                                '--_Maple Grove_.'
Or again:
                  MR. AND MRS. RICHARD WILSON

Request the pleasure of your presence at the marriage ceremony of
their daughter Adelaide to Mr. Jones, at Trinity Chapel, on Wednesday
evening, October 5, at 8 o'clock.
   Reception from 9 until 11 o'clock.
                                          '--_West Hamilton street_.'

The mode for private dinners may claim a paragraph. Of late, private
dinners have been conducted with great ceremony. The menu, or bill of
fare, is laid at each plate, an illuminated monogram embellishing the
top of the menu. The list of dishes, tastefully written, and a
beautifully adorned illuminated card are laid on each plate, to
designate the seat of the particular guest. Another style of these
cards is plain white, bound with a crimson or blue edge, and has the
words _Bon Appetit,_ in handsome letters, above the name of the guest,
which is also beautifully written in the same original style, or,
perhaps, in fancy colored ink.

Acceptance and regret notes are found very useful and convenient on
some occasions. The best forms are:

                   MR. AND MRS. C. WHITE'S

Compliments to Mrs.----, accepting, with, pleasure, her kind invitation
for Wednesday evening, January 14, 1869.
                                                '----Clinton Place.'

If the note be one of regret, 'regretting the necessity to decline,' is
substituted. These blanks are neatly put up in small packages, with
proper envelopes.

For billet or note-paper, some new styles of fine Parisian papers have
just been introduced, and, for the extreme neatness of the design, or
figure, in the paper, have become very fashionable. The different
styles in paper and envelopes could scarcely be enumerated. The forms
are small, square, and rather large, oblong shape; both folding in a
square envelope, with pointed flap. A novelty has just been introduced,
in a sheet of paper, so cut as to combine note sheet with envelope.

Monograms will, this season, tend to an enlarged size, besides being
more complicated than usual. In many cases, the monograms spell pet
names, and sometimes names of several syllables. Illuminated monograms,
especially for heading of party or ball invitations, will be greatly
sought after. For usual letter writing, monograms in one delicate
color, or in white embossed, will be in vogue. These are very stylish,
when used on thick English cream laid paper. Names of country
residences, in rustic design, are also used at the top of the note
sheet. Jockey monograms are formed of riding equipments. Some novelties
in this way have recently made their appearance. For those fond of the
game of croquet, monograms are formed of the implements of the game;
and smokers may have their articles of smoking so arranged as to
represent their initials.


                         AN ECONOMICAL WEDDING.

New York has long been celebrated for its magnificent entertainments,
and especially for its weddings, and wedding breakfasts. On such
occasions the guests, unwilling to be outdone by the host in
liberality, sometimes vie with each other in presenting the bride elect
with costly gifts of every description. One, two, or three rooms, as
the case may be, are set apart at every "fashionable wedding," where
the presents are displayed and commented upon by the invited guests. It
has been frequently suggested by the more prudent members of society
that these offerings be entirely suppressed, and that none but the
immediate relations should commemorate the day in this wise; but the
idea has met with no favor, till of late, when one of our fashionable
"Murray Hill princes," took a most determined step toward reform. As it
is the only case of the kind on record, a description of the wedding
may not be uninteresting. Several hundred invitations were given, and
at the appointed hour the parlors were crowded almost to suffocation.
The bride was attired in a white marceline silk of most scant
proportions; her veil consisted of one breadth of tulle caught in her
comb, at the back of her hair; no flowers were worn except a very
minute bunch in front of her dress. The groom was attired with like
simplicity, thereby attracting considerable attention.

No refreshments were offered to the wearied guests, who gladly bade
adieu, and returned to their homes. There was a false hope, raised in
the minds of a few, on seeing a large bride cake in one corner, that a
glass of wine and a piece of cake might be served; but the illusion was
dispelled on questioning the waiter (one only being in attendance), who
informed them he had instructions not to cut it! The presents were
spread upon a small table, and created not a little astonishment. One
five dollar gold piece was laid upon a card, bearing the inscription,
"From your affectionate grandfather." A coin of half this value was
presented by the "affectionate grandmother," while devoted brothers and
sisters testified their affection by the presentation of a gold dollar
each. As might be expected, the guests departed early. One lady was
unfortunate enough to have ordered her carriage to call for her at
midnight. She saw all depart, and then seated herself to await
patiently its coming. After awhile a savory smell of oysters, coffee,
etc., came floating on the air. With some confusion of manner the
members of the family one by one disappeared, and after some delay, the
host hesitatingly invited her to partake of some refreshments. She
declined, and the family retired to discuss the supper; leaving her to
await her carriage alone in the parlor.


                            THE BEST SOCIETY.

If New York has a profusion of gilt and glitter in its high life, it
has also the real gold. The best society of the city is not to be found
in what are known as "fashionable circles." It consists of persons of
education and refinement, who are amongst the most polished and
cultivated of the American people. To this class belonged Fennimore
Cooper and Washington Irving. It is small, very exclusive, and careful
as to whom it admits to its honors. Shoddy and its votaries cannot
enter it, and therefore it is decidedly unfashionable.




                               CHAPTER VI.


                               THE TOMBS.

Leaving Broadway at Leonard or Franklin streets, one finds himself,
after a walk of two blocks in an easterly direction, in a wide
thoroughfare, called Centre street. His attention is at once attracted
by a large, heavy granite building, constructed in the style of an
Egyptian temple. This is the Tombs. The proper name of the building is
"The Halls of Justice," but it is now by common consent spoken of
simply as the Tombs. It occupies an entire square, and is bounded by
Centre, Elm, Franklin, and Leonard streets. The main entrance is on
Centre street, through a vast and gloomy corridor, the sternness of
which is enough to strike terror to the soul of a criminal. Within the
walls which face the street, is a large quadrangle. In this there are
three prisons, several stories high. One of these is for men, the other
for boys, and the third for women. The gallows stands in the prison
yard, when there is need for it, all executions of criminals in this
city being conducted as privately as possible.

The prison is one of the smallest in America, and is utterly inadequate
to the necessities of the city. It was built at a time when New York
was hardly half as large as the metropolis of to-day, and is now almost
always overcrowded to an extent which renders it fearful. It is kept
perfectly clean, its sanitary regulations being very rigid. It is very
gloomy in its interior, and is one of the strongest and securest
prisons in the world.

[Illustration: The Tombs--City Prison.]

No lights are allowed in the cells, which are very small, but a narrow
aperture cut obliquely in the wall, near the ceiling, admits the
sunshine, and at the same time cuts off the inmates from a view of what
is passing without. Besides these, there are six comfortable cells
located just over the main entrance. These are for the use of criminals
of the wealthier class, who can afford to pay for such comforts.
Forgers, fraudulent merchants, and the like, pass the hours of their
detention in these rooms, while their humbler, but no more guilty
brothers in crime are shut up in the close, narrow cells we have
described. These rooms command a view of the street, so that their
occupants are not entirely cut off from the outer world.


                            THE BUMMER'S CELL.

The main cell in the prison is a large room, with a capacity for
holding about two hundred persons. It is known as the "Bummer's Cell."
It is generally full on Saturday night, which is always a busy time for
the police. The working classes are paid their weekly wages on
Saturday, and having no labor to perform on the Sabbath, take Saturday
night for their periodical dissipation, comforting themselves with the
reflection that if they carry their revels to too great an excess, they
can sleep off the bad effects on Sunday.

From sunset until long after midnight on Saturday, the police are busy
ridding the streets of drunken and disorderly persons. As soon as a
person is arrested, he is taken to the Toombs, or one of the station
houses. It is the duty of the captain in charge of the precinct to lock
up every person thus brought in. He has no discretion, and he is often
compelled to throw those of whose innocence he is satisfied, into the
company of the most abandoned wretches for an entire night.
Drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and fighting are the principal charges
brought against the Saturday night inmates of the Bummer's Cell. Many
visitors to the city, by yielding to the temptation to drink too much
liquor, pay for their folly by an acquaintance with the Bummer's Cell.
They lose their self control in the splendid gin palaces of the city,
and when they recover their consciousness find themselves in a hot,
close room, filled with the vilest and most depraved wretches. The
noise, profanity, and obscenity, are fearful. All classes, all ages,
are represented there. Even little children are lost forever by being
immured for a single night in such horrible company. The females are
confined in a separate part of the prison. No entreaties or
explanations are of the least avail. All must await with as much
patience as possible, the opening of the court the next morning.


                         THE TOMBS POLICE COURT.

The Court opens at six o'clock on Sunday morning. It is presided over
by Justice Joseph Bowling, a short, thick-set man, with a handsome
face, and a full, well-shaped head, indicating both ability and
determination. Judge Dowling is still a young man, and is one of the
most efficient magistrates in the city. His decisions are quickly
rendered, and are generally just. He has a hard class of people to deal
with, and this has made him not a little sharp in his manner. A
stranger is at once struck with the quick, penetrating power of his
glance. He seems to look right through a criminal, and persons brought
before him generally find it impossible to deceive him. This has made
him the terror of criminals, who have come to regard an arraignment
before him as equivalent to a conviction, as the one is tolerably sure
to follow the other. At the same time he is kind and considerate to
those who are simply unfortunate. Vice finds him an unrelenting foe,
and virtue a fearless defender. So much for the man.

As soon as the Court is opened, the prisoners are called up in the
order of their arrival during the previous night. Here drunkenness
without disorder, and first offences of a minor character, are punished
with a reprimand, and the prisoners are discharged. These cases
constitute a majority of the arrests, and the number of persons in the
dock is soon reduced to a mere handfull. The more serious cases are
either held for further examination or sent on trial before a higher
court.

All classes of people come to the Justice with complaints of every
description. Women come to complain of their husbands, and men of their
wives. The Justice listens to them all, and if a remedy is needed,
applies the proper one without delay. In most instances, he dismisses
the parties with good advice, as their cases are not provided for by
the law.


                               A SAD CASE.

Some of the cases which are brought up before the Tombs Court are
deeply interesting. We take the following from the report of the
General Agent of the New York Prison Association:

The case referred to is that of a woman indicted for burglary and grand
larceny. She was guilty, and she felt and acknowledged it. She had
lived in a neighboring city for the last six years, and for the last
three years on the same floor with the complainant, and the consequence
was they were very friendly and intimate. Her husband sustained a
severe injury from a fall, and has since been in declining health,
earning nothing for the last eighteen months. At length his mind gave
way and his friends advised his removal to the Lunatic Asylum. He had
been an inmate for six months, and his wife frequently visited him,
always contributing to his wants and comforts. He improved so rapidly
that the doctor informed his wife that on the following week, if the
weather proved clear and fine, he should discharge him. The wife felt
anxious to make her home more than ever cheerful and her husband happy,
but she had no means. She thought of the abundance of clothing her
neighbor possessed, and that some articles could be spared for a short
time, probably without detection; and if she should be detected before
she could redeem them, her friend would excuse her. She devised means
to enter, and conveyed to the pawnbroker's two parcels of clothing,
upon which she realized nine dollars; she made some purchases for the
house, redeemed a coat for her husband, and then started for the asylum
for the purpose of fetching him to her home. But on her arrival there,
the physician told her that he had left a few hours before, that he was
well and happy, and that she must keep him so. On her return home the
larceny had been discovered, and the property found at the
pawnbroker's; it had been pledged in her own name, and where she was
well and favorably known. An officer was waiting, and she was taxed
with the crime; she had destroyed the duplicate. The complainant gave
her into the custody of the officer, but promised to forgive her if all
the property was recovered. The husband went to his friends, and they
advanced funds to redeem the property. It was returned, and also a hat
paid for which had been taken. I carefully examined into this case and
all its surroundings. The woman had sustained the reputation of being a
sober, industrious, honest person; her state of mind was truly
distressing, her greatest fear was that her husband would relapse, and
she would be the cause of all his future misery. I submitted all these
facts to the district attorney; he could not consent to any compromise,
and again referred me to the county judge, who would not yield a
tittle. Counsel having been assigned, a plea of guilty of grand larceny
was put in by him, and she was remanded for sentence until Saturday. I
felt very unhappy at her condition. On Friday evening I endeavored to
find the district attorney, but failed; on Saturday morning I wrote him
and asked him to concede that she could not be convicted of burglary,
and then, was it not very doubtful whether she could be convicted of
any thing more than petit larceny? If so, I urged him to consent to the
withdrawal of the plea put in by her counsel, and then permit it to be
substituted by one of petit larceny. My proposition met with favor; its
suggestions were adopted, and the prisoner, instead of ignominy in the
State Prison, was sent to the Penitentiary for three months. The woman
is now in a situation at work, but her mind is ill at ease, as her
husband has not been heard of since her imprisonment.


                             SAVED IN TIME.

"A member of an eminent firm in this city," says the gentleman from
whose report the above case is taken, "called upon me with a request
that I would visit a youth, aged seventeen years, now in the Tombs,
charged upon his complaint with embezzling various sums of money whilst
in their employ as collecting clerk. He felt anxious I should see him,
and then advise what should be done. The next morning I repaired to the
prison, and had the youth brought from his cell, when he made the
following statement: That he lived and boarded with his widowed mother
and sisters in a neighboring city, where also he had taken an active
part in all their religious meetings and enterprises. He thinks he
experienced a great moral change when first he became a member, and
until of late had made religious duties his greatest delight. He had
regarded his family as one of the happiest that could be found. Some
seven or eight months since he was introduced to the firm referred to,
and they engaged his services, agreeing to give him five dollars per
week. He was soon appreciated by his employers, and they advanced his
salary to seven dollars a week, out of which he paid his mother for
board five dollars, and one dollar for his weekly fare on the railroad.
This left him but one dollar for his own use. He soon became acquainted
with other collecting clerks, with whom he took lunch, first a sandwich
and a cup of coffee, and then dinners and dessert. _In this way the
money of his employers disappeared._ He could not charge himself with
any one special act of extravagance. He felt, he said, ashamed of
himself, and deeply pained before God, and wondered that he could not
see and feel before that he has sinned greviously. I now urged him to
conceal nothing, but tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, and to
pause and consider before he answered the next question I should put to
him, as it was a very serious one. 'How long would it take to induce
him, with solemn purpose of heart, to resolve, unalterably resolve,
never to be guilty of a repetition of crime, never to spend a cent
belonging to another?' The penalty for his offence was from one year to
five in a State prison. I then begged him to inform me how I should
approach his honor the judge, before whom he must be brought if
prosecuted. Should I ask the court to show him mercy, and send him but
for two years? or would it require a longer sentence to effect a
permanent change in his life? He wept distressingly, and said: 'Oh,
save me from such a fate, if not for mine, for my mother's sake. Beg
and pray of the firm to show me mercy, and I will be careful and honest
for the future.' One of the gentlemen called upon me and inquired if I
had seen this youth."

[Illustration: Scene in the Tombs Police Court]

I replied that I had. 'Then what do you advise?' I asked if it
was known in the house that the lad was a defaulter. 'To none but my
partner' he replied. Then, said I, the best advice I am capable of
giving is, _forgive him, ask the court to discharge him, and take him
back again into your office_. I am happy to say that my advice was
adopted. The youth was discharged, forgiven, and taken back again into
the house, and is now performing his duties with alacrity, very
grateful to the Association, and more especially to the firm for their
noble conduct in this matter. That young man has no doubt been saved
from a career of crime.


                           RELIGIOUS SERVICES.

The prisoners confined in the Tombs are provided with the means of
hearing divine service every Sunday. The Roman Catholic clergy have the
exclusive privilege of ministering to the spiritual wants of the women
and children, and for this purpose have quite a nice little chapel
fitted up in the female department of the prison. The Sisters of
Charity preside over this part of the prison at all times, and no one
is permitted to interfere with them.

The Protestant clergy are permitted to preach to the male prisoners in
the main corridor of the prison. The preacher stands on the platform at
the upper end of the passage, and the prisoners in their cells can hear
him without seeing him. They pay little or no attention to him, but
receive their friends in their cells, or employ themselves according to
their own fancies during the preaching. The bummers are grouped in the
corridor just below the preacher, and are called out from time to time
by the keepers, as they are wanted in the court room. The minister is
frequently annoyed and embarrassed by the shouts; jeers, and imitations
of the prisoners in their cells.




                              CHAPTER VII.


                       REFORMATORY ESTABLISHMENTS.

The principal reformatory establishments of New York city are the
Penitentiary, on Blackwell's Island, and the House of Refuge, devoted
to juvenile criminals, on Randall's Island.


                            THE PENITENTIARY.

The large pile of buildings which forms such a prominent object on
Blackwell's Island, known as the Penitentiary, is familiar to most of
the residents of New York City, though the every day life of its
inmates is practically known only to that class to which they
immediately belong.

The Penitentiary, which is under the wardenship of Mr. Fitch, is
capable of accommodating about seven hundred and fifty prisoners, but
at present their numbers are slightly under five hundred--about three
hundred men, and ninety women. The prisoners are divided into classes,
the particular dress of each indicating the nature and gravity of their
offences, and though amenable to the same laws as to labor and
discipline, they work in separate gangs and mess by themselves. They
are under the control of twenty-four keepers, each keeper, who is
heavily armed, having fifteen men in his charge, whose roll he calls,
and for whose absence he is responsible. At six o'clock the prisoners
are all paraded to call the roll, at half-past six they have breakfast,
consisting of dry bread and a bowl of coffee, and at seven, those who
are skilled workmen are told off to the blacksmiths', carpenters',
tailors', and weavers' shops, where all necessary repairs to the
building and its fittings are done, and the clothing for the prisoners
is made; others to labor in the gardens and fields, while the remainder
are marched off in two divisions, one to work in the stone quarries at
home, the others to be conveyed by the Commissioners' steam vessel
Bellevue to the quarries on Ward's Island. The female prisoners are
principally occupied in the sewing-room, in the brush-manufactory, in
washing clothes, and scrubbing out the cells.

The majority of the prisoners are committed for assault and battery or
larceny, for terms varying from one month to four years and a half;
those committed for graver offences are confined at Sing Sing; all
drunkards, vagrants, and disorderly characters at the workhouse. During
the past year two thousand three hundred and fifteen persons were
incarcerated for different periods--two thousand one hundred and
thirty-nine whites, one hundred and seventy-six blacks. Of these about
one third were native Americans, one third Irish, one tenth German, and
the remainder of various nationalities. The visitor to the Penitentiary
cannot but be struck by the youth of the male prisoners compared with
that of the females, the bulk of the males being between fourteen and
thirty years of age, the females between twenty-five and fifty. Few
young girls find their way here, as in their earlier career they are
able to gain enough by a life of prostitution, without committing
larceny, and consequently do not resort to it till their charms begin
to wear, and the consequent diminution of their means of subsistence
from such a source compels them to resort to some other. There is
another fact which appears in these statistics of crime, one highly
suggestive to the housekeeper. Of the four hundred and eleven female
prisoners committed during the past year, no less than three hundred
and two were domestic servants, and of these two hundred and forty-one
were Irish girls and women.

At twelve o'clock the prison bell rings for dinner. It is a sad sight
to stand on the terrace and see the various gangs of men and lads march
home from their work, the greater proportion of them fine, sturdy
looking young fellows; it is sadder still to see some of them carrying
a heavy iron ball and chain slung over the shoulder and attached to a
strong iron band locked round the leg immediately above the ankle.
These men have tried to escape. Necessary as it may be to adopt such
measures to prevent them from repeating the attempt, surely it is
unnecessarily cruel to compel these poor creatures to wear their irons
at night. Their dinner consists of a can of soup, a plate of meat, and
ten ounces of bread. They are allowed one hour, and are then marched
back again to their work in the quarries; they have supper, bread and
coffee, at five o'clock, and at half-past five they are all locked in
their cells, which, though scrupulously clean, are certainly too small
(about the size of an ordinary clothes closet), considering that the
prisoners have to pass twelve hours out of the twenty-four in them.

On Sunday the sewing-room of the female prisoners is used as a Chapel,
the men attending services in the morning, the women in the afternoon;
once a month there is service for the Roman Catholic prisoners. The
convicts have no privileges; a sharp, intelligent lad may become a hall
boy or get employed in the mess room; or a mechanic may be appointed to
one of the workshops and so gain some slight relief from the monotony
of their lives; but they get no reward, beyond a little tobacco once a
week for chewing; smoking is strictly prohibited; once a month they are
allowed to be visited by their friends. On entering the building the
visitor is forcibly struck by the following inscription over the
doorway.

                'The way of the transgressor is hard.'

'Such is the greeting to the unfortunate criminal as he puts his foot,
often for the first time, within the prison walls. If an inscription be
necessary, surely the Department of Public Charities and Correction
might have chosen one less harsh in character; one that breathes a
larger amount of Christian charity to a poor fellow creature, one that
may offer him some small portion of that encouragement which is so
essential to his reformation. Some such epigram as 'it is never too
late to mend' would be altogether more suitable and far more
encouraging.


                          THE HOUSE OF REFUGE.

The Commissioners of Public Charities and Correction, in their last
report, made the startling announcement that there are no less than
thirty-nine thousand children in the City of New York, growing up in
ignorance and idleness. These children, influenced from their cradles
by the most terrible surroundings, have no alternative but to become
beggars and thieves almost as soon as they can run alone. Thousands of
them are orphans, or perhaps worse, for they are often the children of
parents who, ignoring the laws of nature, use them for the purpose of
furthering their own vicious ends. They live principally in a
neighborhood which abounds in lodging-houses for sailors, the lowest
class of liquor stores, dancing and concert rooms, and various other
low places of amusement; a neighborhood swarming with brothels, whose
wretched inmates are permitted to flaunt their sin and finery, and ply
their hateful trade openly, by day and night; where at midnight the
quarrels, fights, and disturbances, are so noisy and so frequent that
none can hope for a night's rest until they are inured by habit; where,
night after night, they witness the most desperate encounters between
drunken men and women, kicking, biting, and tearing one another's hair
out, as they roll together in the gutter, or, as is too often the case,
using deadly weapons, and where the crowd, instead of interfering to
stop these awful scenes, stand by in a brutal enjoyment of them,
abetting and encouraging the principal actors therein. And their homes,
what are they? Their fathers, often out of work, are unable to support
their families; their clothes, their bedding, their furniture, all gone
to the pawn-shop; father, mother, and children, are often compelled to
sleep on the bare boards, huddling close together for warmth in one
ill-built, ill-ventilated room. Amid their misery, this neglect of the
common decencies of life, this unblushing effrontery of reckless vice
and crime, what chance have these poor unhappy little children of
becoming decent members of society. They are sickly from the want of
proper nourishment, vicious from example, ignorant because they do not
care to learn, and their parents take no trouble to compel them to do
so, and must inevitably grow up only to swell the already fearful sum
total of our criminal population. At ten the boys are thieves, at
fifteen the girls are all prostitutes.

A system of State reformatories and State apprenticeships on an
extensive scale is the only way of grappling with this terrible state
of things. Such institutions as the House of Refuge on Randall's Island
have done and are doing much, but a dozen such institutions might be
established with advantage in the State of New York alone. On Randall's
Island the young criminal has the opportunity of acquiring regular
habits and learning a useful trade. They are subject to a humane,
though strict discipline, and a very large per centage, especially of
the boys, do undoubtedly become reformed. This reformatory, a wise
combination of school and prison, can accommodate one thousand inmates.
There are at present about eight hundred boys, and one hundred and
fifty girls on the register. The boys' building is divided into two
compartments, the first division, in the one, is thus entirely
separated from the second division, in the other compartment. The
second division is composed of those whose characters are decidedly
bad, or whose offence was great. A boy may, by good conduct, however,
get promoted from the second into the first division. As a rule the
second division are much older than the first. Each division is divided
into four grades. Every boy on entering the Reformatory is placed in
the third grade; if he behaves well he is placed in the second in a
week, and a month after to the first grade; if he continues in a
satisfactory course for three months, he is placed in the grade of
honor, and wears a badge on his breast. Every boy in the first division
must remain six months, in the second division twelve months in the
first grade, before he can be indentured to any trade. These two
divisions are under the charge of twenty-five teachers and twenty-five
guards. At half-past six o'clock the cells are all unlocked, every one
reports himself to the overseer, and then goes to the lavatories; at
seven, after parading, they are marched to the school rooms to join in
religious exercises for half an hour; at half-past seven they have
breakfast, and at eight are told off to the work-shops, where they
remain till twelve, when they again parade, previous to going to
dinner. For dinner they have a large plate of excellent soup, a small
portion of meat, a small loaf of bread, and a mug of water. At one
o'clock they return to their work. When they have completed their
allotted task they are allowed to play till four, when they have
supper. At half-past four they go to school, where they remain till
eight o'clock, the time for going to bed. Each boy has a separate cell,
which is locked and barred at night. The cells are in long, lofty, well
ventilated corridors, each corridor containing one hundred cells. The
doors of the cells are all grated, in order that the boys may have
light and air, and also be under the direct supervision of the
officers, who, though very strict, apparently know well how to temper
strictness with kindness. Before going to bed, half an hour is again
devoted to religious exercises, singing hymns, reading the Bible, etc.
There is a large chapel, where the services are conducted on Sunday,
the girls having the gallery to themselves. There is, however, no
Catholic service. This, surely, is not right. At the Penitentiary on
Blackwell's Island they have service once a month for the Catholics. Of
the six hundred and eighty-two children committed from the Courts
during the year 1867, no less than four hundred and fourteen were
Irish, and in all probability a large proportion of these are Roman
Catholics. Institutions of this character should certainly be made as
unsectarian as possible.

One of the most interesting, and at the same time, one of the most
important features of the Refuge, is the workshop. On entering the
shop, the visitor is amused by finding a lot of little urchins occupied
in making ladies' hoopskirts of the latest fashionable design; nearly
100 are engaged in the crinoline department. In the same long room,
about 50 are weaving wire for sifting cotton, making wire sieves, rat
traps, gridirons, flower baskets, cattle noses, etc. The principal
work, however, is carried on in the boot and shoe department. The labor
of the boys is let out to contractors, who supply their own foremen to
teach the boys and superintend the work, but the society have their own
men to keep order and correct the boys when necessary, the contractors'
men not being allowed to interfere with them in any way whatever. There
are 590 boys in this department. They manage on an average to turn out
about 2,500 pairs of boots and shoes daily, which are mostly shipped to
the Southern States. Each one has a certain amount of work allotted to
him in the morning, which he is bound to complete before four o'clock
in the afternoon. Some are quicker and more industrious than others,
and will get their work done by two o'clock; this gives two hours' play
to those in the first division, the second division have to go to
school when they have finished till three o'clock, they only being
allowed one hour for recreation. The authorities are very anxious to
make arrangements to have a Government vessel stationed off the island,
to be used as a training-ship for the most adventurous spirits. If this
design is carried out it will be a very valuable adjunct to the working
of the institution, and will enable the Directors to take in many more
boys, without incurring the expense of extending the present buildings.
The girls are also employed in making hoop skirts, in making clothes
for themselves and the boys, in all sorts of repairing, in washing
linen, and in general housework. The girls are generally less tractable
than the boys; perhaps this is accounted for by their being older, some
of them being as much as five or six and twenty. The boys average about
13 or 14, the girls 17 or 18 years of age. Nearly two thirds of the
boys have been boot-blacks, the remainder mostly what are technically
known as 'wharf rats.' Some of them are now in the house for the third
time; one, a lad only 15 years of age, has passed one year in a
juvenile asylum, four years in a reformatory, and is now at Randall's
Island. Another has been three times convicted of horse stealing; he
would, late at night, ask permission to sleep in a stable; he is a
complete cripple, and by attracting sympathy his request was often
granted; when every one had left the place he would quietly open the
door and lead out the horses. On each occasion that he was convicted he
managed to get off with three horses. Another little fellow, only six
years old, with a chum, broke into a pipe store, and stole 150
meerschaum pipes; he was however detected while trying to dispose of
them. There is a colored lad, about eighteen, who is very amusing; he
is a great orator, and addresses the others on all subjects, both
general and political. On one occasion, when the Principal ventured to
ask him whom he had adopted as his model for speaking, he grandly
replied, 'I will have you to know, sir, that I am no servile imitator.'
Some of the boys cannot overcome their thieving propensities, but will,
even in the Refuge, purloin things that can be of no earthly use to
them, if they get the chance. They are very quick and expert. Only a
few days ago one of the boys fell down in a fit in the schoolroom; some
of the others assisted the teacher to carry him into the open air. The
poor fellow had a collection of nick-nacks in one pocket, and about 20
penny pieces in the other, but during the moment that passed in
carrying him out both pockets were emptied. The Directors of the house
of Refuge, while having a due regard for the well-being of its inmates,
very properly take care that they are not so comfortable or so well fed
as to lead them to remain longer in the reformatory than necessary. As
soon as the boys appear to be really reformed they are indentured out
to farmers and different trades. In the year 1867 no less than 633 boys
and 146 girls were started in life in this way. Any person wishing to
have a child indentured to him, has to make a formal application to the
Committee to that effect, at the same time giving references as to
character, etc. Inquiries are made, and if satisfactorily answered, the
child is handed over to his custody, the applicant engaging to feed,
clothe, and educate his young apprentice. The boy's new master has to
forward a written report to the officer, as to his health and general
behavior from time to time. If the boy does not do well, he is sent
back to the Refuge, and remains there till he is 21 years of age. Most
of the children, however, get on, and many of them have made for
themselves respectable positions in society. The annals of the Society
in this respect are very gratifying and interesting. Many young men
never lose sight of a Refuge which rescued them in time from a criminal
life, and to which they owe almost their very existence. Instead of
alternating between the purlieus of Water street and Sing Sing, they
are many of them in a fair way to make a fortune. One young man who was
brought up there, and is now thriving, lately called at the office to
make arrangements for placing his two younger brothers in the House,
they having got into bad company since their father's death. A very
remarkable occurrence took place at the institution not long ago. A
gentleman and his wife, apparently occupying a good position in
society, called at the Refuge and asked to be allowed to go over it.
Having inspected the various departments, just before leaving, the
gentleman said to his wife, 'Now I will tell you a great secret. I was
brought up in this place.' The lady seemed much surprised, and
astounded all by quietly observing 'And so was I.' So strange are the
coincidences of human life.

"The last financial report issued by the Managers is certainly
encouraging, and might be studied with advantage by the Directors of
other public institutions. The total expenditures for the year 1867,
for an average of nine hundred and ninety inmates, was $115,036; but
the earnings of the work-shops amounted to $55,090, making the net
expenditures $59,946. In 1864, the net cost of each child was $83; in
1865, $80; in 1866, $74, and in 1867, $61. In 1864, the net earnings of
each child were $39; in 1865, $42; in 1866, $49, and in 1867, $56,
showing every successive year a better result. At the Red Hill
Reformatory in England, the net cost of each child for the year 1867,
was $135, and the net earnings of each child $30. The total expenditure
of the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island for last year was $93,966 for
an average of five hundred and thirty three-inmates; deducting $15,175,
the value of convict labor, the net expenditure was $77,791, making the
net annual cost of each convict $146. After making all allowances for
difference of age, etc., there is a very wide margin between $146 and
$61. The Principal of the Refuge, Mr. Israel C. Jones, has been
occupied for seventeen years in Reformatory work, and no doubt the
successful results attending the operations of this society are mainly
due to his great experience. Mr. Jones takes great pleasure in
receiving visitors who are desirous of seeing the practical workings
of his system."




                              CHAPTER VIII.


                            LINES OF TRAVEL.

In a city so vast as New York, one of the greatest considerations is to
provide ample means for rapid and sure passage from one part of the
corporate limits to another. Persons who live at the upper end of the
island cannot think of walking to their places of business or labor. To
say nothing of the loss of time they would incur, the fatigue of such a
walk would unfit nine out of ten for the duties of the day. For this
reason all the lines of travel in the City are more or less crowded
every day. The means of transportation now at the command of the people
are the street railways and the omnibusses, or stages; as they are
called.


                            THE STREET CARS.

The majority of the street railways centre at the Astor House and City
Hall. From these points one can always find a car to almost any place
in the city. The fare is six cents to any part of the City below 62nd
Street, and seven to any point above that and below 130th Street. The
cars are all more or less crowded. With the exception of a few lines,
they are dirty. An insufficient number are provided, and one half of
the passengers are compelled to stand. The conductors and drivers are
often rude and sometimes brutal in their treatment of passengers. One
meets all sorts of people in these cars. The majority of them are rough
and dirty and contact with them keeps a person in constant dread of an
attack of the itch, or some kindred disease. Crowded cars are a great
resort for pickpockets, and many valuable articles and much money are
annually stolen by the light-fingered gentry in these vehicles.

The wages paid to employees by the various companies are not large, and
the drivers and conductors make up the deficiency by appropriating a
part of the fares to their own use. Some are very expert at this, but
many are detected, discharged from the service of the company, and
handed over to the police. The companies exert themselves vigorously to
stop such practices, but thus far they have not been successful. Spies,
or "Spotters," as the road men term them, are kept constantly
travelling over the lines to watch the conductors. These note the
number of passengers transported during the trip, and when the
conductors' reports are handed in at the receiver's office, they
examine them, and point out any inaccuracies in them. They soon become
known to the men. They are cordially hated, and sometimes fare badly at
the hands of parties whose evil doings they have exposed. As all the
money paid for fares is received by the conductor, he alone can
abstract the "plunder." He is compelled to share it with the driver,
however, in order to purchase his silence. In this way, the companies
lose large sums of money annually.

There is either a car or stage route on all the principal streets
running North and South. There are, besides these, several "cross town"
lines, or lines running across the City. East and West, from river to
river. The fare on these is five cents. They cross all the other
railways, and their termini are at certain ferries on the North and
East Rivers.


                               THE STAGES.

The stages of New York are a feature of the great city which must be
seen to be appreciated. They are fine, handsome coaches, with seats
running lengthways, and capable of seating from twelve to fourteen
persons. They are drawn by two horses, and have all the lightness and
comfort of a fine spring wagon. Their routes begin at the various
ferries on the East river, from which they reach Broadway by the
nearest ways. They pass up Broadway for over a mile, and turn off from
it to other sections of the city at various points between Bleecker and
Twenty-third streets. The fare in these vehicles is ten cents, and is
paid to the driver, who communicates with the passenger by means of a
hole in the upper and front end of the coach. The checkstring passes
from the door through this hole, and is fastened to the driver's foot.
By means of this, a passenger can at any moment stop the stage. In
order that the driver may distinguish between a signal to stop the
coach and one to receive the passenger's fare, a small gong, worked by
means of a spring, is fastened at the side of the hole. By striking
this the passenger at once commands the driver's attention.

The stage drivers are entirely exposed to the weather, and suffer
greatly from the extremes of heat and cold. They can not leave their
seats, and are oftentimes terribly frozen in the winter, before
reaching the ends of their routes. They are constantly on the watch for
passengers, and it is amusing to watch the means to which they resort
to fill their coaches. In the early morning, and towards the close of
the day, they have no need to solicit custom, for then both stages and
cars are crowded to their utmost capacity. During the rest of the day,
however, they exert themselves to fill their coaches. They are called
upon to exercise no little skill in driving. Broadway, and the cross
streets along their routes, are always crowded with vehicles, and it
requires more dexterity than one would at first suppose, to avoid
accidents.

Good drivers are always in demand. Their wages are fair, and they are
allowed the greater part of Saturday, or some other day in the week,
and as the stages do not run on Sunday, they are always sure of two
"off-days" out of the seven. Like the street railway men, they consider
it perfectly legitimate to fill their own pockets at the expense of the
owners of the vehicles. The writer of these pages once had a long
conversation upon this subject with the driver of a stage. Jehu
endeavored to justify the practice of robbing his employers by a number
of very ingenious arguments, and finally closed with the remark:

"Well, you see, Mr. Martin, where the boss is a sensible man, he don't
object to a driver's making a few dollars for himself, for he knows
that a man who can make a plenty of stamps for himself will always make
a plenty for the boss, to keep from being found out; and it is a fact,
sir, that them as makes most for themselves always makes the biggest
returns to the office."

The drivers are frequently in trouble with the police. They have a holy
horror of falling into the hands of these limbs of the law, and this
feeling renders them more careful in their driving, and general conduct
while on duty.

Owing to the high rate of fare demanded by the stages, the rougher and
dirtier portion of the community are seldom met in them. The passengers
are generally of the better class, and one meets with more courtesy and
good breeding here than in the street cars. Ladies, unaccompanied by
gentlemen, prefer the stages to the cars. They are cleaner, and females
are less liable to annoyance.

[Illustration: Scene on Broadway--Dangers of crossing]

Like the cars, however, they are the favorite resorts of pickpockets.
At night they are patronized to such an extent by streetwalkers seeking
custom, that the city press has styled them "perambulating assignation
houses."


                              THE FERRIES.

Including the Harlem and Staten Island lines, there are twenty-three
lines of ferries plying between New York and the adjacent shores. Of
these, nine are in the North or Hudson river, and fourteen in the East
river. The boats are large side-wheel vessels, capable of carrying both
foot-passengers, horses, and vehicles. Early in the morning they are
crowded with persons and teams coming into the city, and in the
afternoon the travel is equally great away from the city. On some of
the lines the boats ply every five minutes; on others the intervals are
longer. The Harlem and Staten Island boats start hourly--the fare on
these lines is ten cents. On the East river lines it is two cents, on
the North river three cents.

The boats are large and handsome. Nearly all of them are lighted with
gas, and at least a score of them are seen in the stream at the same
moment. At night, with their many colored lights, they give to the
river quite a gala appearance. The travel on them is immense. Over
fifty millions of persons are annually transported by them. Many often
carry from 800 to 1000 passengers at a single trip.

During the summer it is pleasant enough to cross either of the rivers
which encircle the island; but in the winter such travelling is very
dangerous. Storms of snow, fogs, and floating ice interfere greatly
with the running of the boats, and render accidents imminent.
Collisions are frequent during rough or thick weather, and the ice
sometimes carries the boats for miles out of their course. The East
river is always more or less crowded with vessels of all kinds, either
in motion or at anchor, and even in fair weather it is only by the
exercise of the greatest skill on the part of the pilot that collisions
can be avoided. The following incident from one of the city journals
for November 14, 1868, will show how terrible these accidents are:

"Early this morning, when the Brooklyn boats are most crowded, chiefly
with workmen and girls coming to the city just before working hours, a
frightful collision took place as one of the Fulton ferry boats was
entering the New York slip, resulting in the wounding of probably
twenty persons, many of them fatally. At that hour four boats are run
on the Fulton ferry, the Union and Columbia running on a line, as also
the Hamilton and Clinton. The Clinton being slightly detained on the
New York side, the Hamilton, waiting for her, remained longer than
usual at the Brooklyn slip, and received therefore an immense load of
passengers, probably over a thousand. At this time in the morning, it
being flood tide, a strong current sets up the East river from
Governor's Island, which is just now further strengthened by the
freshet on the Hudson. The Hamilton, therefore, after being carried up
on the Brooklyn side, and turning in the centre of the river, steamed
down some distance below the New York slip, as usual, in order not to
be carried beyond by the upward tide. Turning, she then came up to the
slip, where the Union was laying, chained up, at the southern or lower
ferry-way. Close in by the piers an eddy from the main current which
strikes New York about Beekman street, sets strongly down stream. As
the Hamilton came into the slip from below, aiming at the upper ferry-
way, her bow was caught by this eddy and swung around with great force
toward the end of the Union. The Hamilton having a full load and the
Union having just discharged hers, the former was much the lower in the
water. The projecting guard of the Union therefore entered the front
part of the ladies' cabin at about the height of the seats, and also
smashed the rails on the outer deck. This particular part of the boat
was, of course, the most densely crowded, and the consequences of the
shock were frightful. One boy, George Brewer, who was said to have been
outside the chain, was caught by the foot and instantly killed, his
head and a good part of the body being mashed to a jelly. Several had
their feet cut off below the knee, and a dozen others were seriously
injured. The following is the list of those known to be hurt. It is
probable that several cases have not yet been discovered, and one or
two may have fallen overboard and not yet been missed. People looking
anxiously for missing friends, supposed to have been on the fated boat,
have been calling in great numbers during the morning at the ferry-
house and the police station."

Efforts have been made to span the East river with a bridge, for the
purpose of affording sure and safe communication between this city and
Brooklyn, but the plan has always met with the sternest and most
uncompromising hostility from the ferry companies, who wish to retain
their present enormous business.




                               CHAPTER IX.


                            STREET MUSICIANS.

Street musicians in New York are as plentiful as the leaves in
Vallambrosa. One cannot walk two blocks in the entire City, without
hearing from one to half a dozen street instruments in full blast. A
few of the instruments are good and in perfect tune, but the majority
emit only the most horrible discord.


                           THE ORGAN GRINDERS.

Only a few of the organ grinders own their organs. The majority hire
them from parties who make a business of letting them. The rent varies
from two to twenty dollars per month, according to the quality of the
instrument; the French flute-organ commanding the best price. The
owners of the organs generally manage to inspire the "grinders" with a
wholesome terror of them, so that few instruments are carried off
unlawfully, and after all, the organ grinders are generally more
unfortunate than dishonest.

The men are generally Italians. Occasionally a German or Swiss is seen,
but Italy contributes the great majority. Women are not often seen on
the streets in such capacities, except in company with their relatives
or lovers, and then they accompany the organ with the tambourine.

In good weather, a man with a good flute-organ can generally make from
two to five dollars a day. Those who have the best instruments seek the
best neighborhoods in the upper part of the city. There they are always
sure of an audience of children, whose parents pay well, and some of
these seemingly poor fellows have made as much as from ten to fifteen
dollars in a day and evening. In bad weather, however, they are forced
to be idle, as a good organ cannot be exposed with impunity at such
times. The "grinders" pay from five to eight dollars per month for
their rooms, and sustain their families entirely upon maccaroni. They
use but a single room for all the purposes of the family, and, no
matter how many are to be accommodated with sleeping arrangements,
manage to get along in some way. They are very exclusive, and herd by
themselves in a section of Five Points. Baxter and Park and the
adjoining streets are taken up, to a great extent, with Italians.

The better class of Italians keep their apartments as neat as possible.
Children of a genial clime, they are fond of heat, and the temperature
of their rooms stands at a stage which would suffocate an American.

As a general rule, the organ grinders are better off in this country
than in their own. Their wants are simple, and they can live with
comfort on an amazingly small sum.

There are, however, many who are not so fortunate as those to whom we
have referred. These are the great majority of the organ grinders, the
owners, or renters of the vile, discordant instruments which are the
bane of city people. They earn comparatively little but kicks and
curses. They are ordered off by irate householders, and receive but
little or no consideration from the police. They live in wretchedness
and want. Their homes are vile and filthy, and they are the
perpetrators of a great many of the crimes that disgrace the city. They
are frequent visitors at the Tombs, and are ready to be employed for
any dirty job for which unscrupulous men may wish to engage them.


                        THE WANDERING MINSTRELS.

Any one who can turn a crank can manage a street organ. The arrangement
of the instrument being entirely automatic, no knowledge of music on
the part of the grinder is necessary. Another class of street minstrels
are required to possess a certain amount of musical skill in order to
perform creditably. These are the strolling harpers and violinists.
Like the organ grinders they are chiefly Italians, but they are not so
fortunate in a pecuniary sense. Their earnings are very slender, and
they live lives of want and misery. A very few are excellent
performers, but the great mass have not the faintest idea of music.


                            CHILD MINSTRELS.

It is said that there are several hundred child minstrels in the City
of New York, by which we mean children below the age of sixteen or
seventeen years. They are chiefly Italians, but there are a few Swiss
and some Germans amongst them. They are generally to be found in the
streets in pairs; but sometimes three "travel" together, and sometimes
only one is to be found.

Mr. Nathan D. Urner, of the _Tribune_, whose experience of city life
has made him a valuable authority in such matters, has recently
contributed an article on this subject to _Packard's Monthly_ for
November, 1868, from which we make the following interesting
quotations:

"As a general rule, the little ones have parents or relatives--mostly
engaged in the same business--to whose support they contribute; but
there are both men and women in the city--and most heartless, worthless
wretches they are--who import orphan children from Naples and Tuscany,
for the purpose of turning their childish talents, both as musicians
and beggars, to practical account. Indeed, a number of years ago, there
was a villain, living in Baxter street, who employed at one time
fourteen children, mostly girls, in this manner. His name, if my memory
serves me correctly, was Antonelli. At any rate, by a cruel system of
punishment and semi-starvation, he reaped considerable profit from the
unfortunates--compelling them to steal as well as beg, and converting
the girls into outcasts at the earliest possible age--until his arrest
and imprisonment in the penitentiary of a neighboring State released
them from their bondage, though only, it is to be feared, to fall into
hands quite as bad. But they are seldom much better off, even if they
have parents. A detective police officer told me that he knew of half-
a-dozen cases where Italian fathers of this class had made a regular
business of hiring out their children for the purposes of prostitution;
and the precocity of development and expression frequently betrayed by
the girls, still young in years, is mournful evidence of the truth of
his statement."

It is astonishing to see how little musical talent is exhibited by
these little ones, whose natures are drawn from the land of music. We
have repeatedly seen them sawing away patiently at a violin, or jerking
the strings of a harp, but could detect no semblance of melody in the
noise they made. Not a few of the little ones endeavor to make up in
dancing what they lack in musical skill. Their parents or proprietors
are harsh and stern with them, and endeavor to beat some slight
knowledge of their art into them, but it is a long time before they
succeed. Sometimes death steps in to end the troubles of the child
before success has crowned the efforts of the parent. Let us hope the
little voices will be more melodious in the unseen world.

Sometimes these children will be found in pairs on the streets,
consisting of a boy with a small harp, and a girl with a violin; or
sometimes two girls; one with an old, broken guitar, and the other with
a tambourine; or, again, of two boys, with harp and violin. Their
music, at the best, is but worthless, and their voices have a cracked,
harsh, monotonous cadence, but they also possess a sadness which rarely
fails to bring a penny or two into the outstretched hat. They are
dirty, ragged, and more like monkeys than children, but they have a
wistfulness and weariness about their gaze and manner that make one's
heart ache. It is so sad to see young children condemned to such lives.
They are very young, the average age being eight years, but they do not
seem like children. You think they are little old men and women.

At all hours of the day, and until late at night, you may hear their
music along the streets, and listen to their sad, young voices going up
to the ear that is always open to them. They are half fed and half
clothed, and their filthiness is painful to behold. They sleep in fair
weather under a door step, in some passage-way or cellar, or in a box
or hogshead on the street, and in the winter huddle together in the
cold and darkness of their sleeping places, for we cannot call them
homes, and long for the morning to come. The cold weather is very hard
upon them. They love the warm sun, and during the season of ice and
snow are in a constant state of semi-torpor. You see them on the
street, in their thin, ragged garments, so much overpowered by the cold
that they can scarcely strike or utter a note. Sometimes they are
permitted by the keeper of some saloon to approach his stove for a
moment or two. These are the bright periods of their dark lives, for as
a general rule, they are forced to remain in the streets, plying their
avocations until late in the night, for blows and curses are their
reward should they fail to carry to those who own them a fair day's
earnings. Give them a penny or two, should they ask it, reader. You
will not miss it. It is more to them than to you, and it will do you no
harm for the recording angel to write opposite the follies and sins of
your life that you cast one gleam of sunshine into the heart of one of
these little minstrels.


                              AN INCIDENT.

During one of the heavy snows of the last winter, one of these child
harpers was trudging wearily down Fifth Avenue, on his way to the vile
quarter in which he was to spend the night. It was intensely cold, and
the little fellows strength was so much exhausted by the bleak night
wind that he staggered under the weight of his harp. At length he sat
down on the steps of a splendid mansion to rest. The house was
brilliantly lighted, and he looked around timidly as he seated himself,
expecting the usual command to move off. No one noticed him, however,
and he leaned wearily against the balustrade, and gazed at the handsome
windows through which the rich, warm light streamed out into the wintry
air. As he sat there, strains of exquisite music, and the sounds of
dancing, floated out into the night. The little fellow clasped his
hands in ecstacy and listened. He had never heard such melody, and it
made his heart ache to think how poor and mean was his own minstrelsy
compared with that with which his ears were now ravished. The wind blew
fierce and keen down the grand street, whirling the snow about in
blinding clouds, but the boy neither saw nor heard the strife of the
elements. He heard only the exquisite melody that came floating out to
him from the warm, luxurious mansion, and which grew sweeter and richer
every moment. The cold, hard street became more and more indistinct to
him, and he sat very still with his hands clasped, and his eyes closed.

The ball ended towards the small hours of the morning, and the clatter
of carriages dashing up to the door of the mansion, gave the signal to
the guests that it was time to depart. No one had seen the odd-looking
bundle that lay on the street steps, half buried in the snow, and which
might have lain there until the morning had not some one stumbled over
it in descending to the carriages. With a half curse, one of the men
stooped down to examine the strange object, and found that the bundle
of rags and filth contained the unconscious form of a child. The harp,
which lay beside him, told his story. He was one of the little outcasts
of the streets. Scorning to handle such an object, the man touched him
with his foot to arouse him, thinking he had fallen asleep. Alas! it
was the eternal sleep.


                              A SAD STORY.

Mr. Nathan D. Urner, from whose interesting paper in _Packard's
Monthly_ we have already quoted, draws the following touching picture
of minstrel life:

A horrible murder had been committed. All engaged in it, including the
victim, were foreigners. There was not a redeeming feature, not even
the rather equivocal one of passion's frenzy, connected with the deed.
It was deliberate, long-concerted, mercenary, atrocious, and bloody.
The murderers--there were two--were shortly afterwards arrested; tried,
convicted, and sentenced to death, with a dispatch and inexorableness
which--probably owing to their friendlessness--was somewhat unusual
under the statutes of this State. The most affecting incident connected
with the condemned--both of them desperate villains--was the parting
scene between the Italian criminal (his comrade was a Spaniard) and his
child. This was a little girl, scarcely ten years of age; I doubt if
she numbered so many. The man was low-browed, narrow-templed, and of a
generally brutal, repulsive aspect. They were about to lead him into
the dungeon of the condemned, the studded door of which would not open
again save to admit his passage to the gallows-tree; and his poor child
was beside him. Hardened, sin-stained as he was, the father was himself
visibly affected; but the tempest of wild, passionate grief that
agitated the little girl, so soon to be left an orphan, was something
remarkable in one of her years.

She was evidently a child of the streets. Her dress was ragged and
foul, and even her face so unclean as to be barely redeemed by the
large, beautiful black eyes which would alone have betrayed the sunny
clime of her origin. While the wretched criminal stood, shame-facedly
and with drooping crest, before her, she fell upon his manacled hands,
kissing them wildly, and betraying in her childish grief all the deep,
sensitive, despairing sorrow of a woman. The villain before her might
have often beaten her, debased her immeasurably, but the mysterious
cord that linked their beating hearts was unbroken, though it sang like
a bowstring in the gusty horror that swept between, and stretched to
attenuation as the elder spirit sank, groaning, into the abyss of its
own wickedness. Hot tears gushed from her eyes, her little throat was
swollen with the choking sobs, and her narrow, rag-covered chest heaved
with tumultuous agony. But after he was taken away, when the iron door
which to her was, indeed, the door of the tomb, had closed between them
forever, she became quickly calm, and her face soon wore an air of
quiet resignation.

As she was about leaving the court-room she stooped and picked up a
weather-stained guitar. I guessed her vocation, and was resolved to
speak to her.

'What is your name, little one?'

'Angela, sir.' It was a sad voice, but very sweet.

'And do you play on this for a living?'

'I play and sing also, sir.'

The court had been dismissed, and the crowd were confusedly
dispersing.

'I say, little gal, can't you give us a song 'afore you go?' said an
inconsiderate policeman, meaning to be good-natured.

'I shall not sing to-day, sir!' said the little girl, decisively; and
then, with a dignity of grief which sat well upon her, despite her
rags, she passed out of the room with her dingy guitar, while the large
man who had accosted her so rudely shrank back, abashed, before the
glance with which the black eyes reproached him to the heart, ere they
vanished in the crowd.

Here was a chance for me. I happened to be the only reporter present at
the scene--'sensation' was my forte--a 'beat' upon all the other
dailies had come directly to my hand. It was late in the week, and I
was also afforded the chance of cooking the thing up remuneratively for
two or three weekly papers. But the whole thing stood before me like a
picture which it seemed a sacrilege to copy. So I cheated the _Tribune_
with the rest, and, for the first time in my life, let the opportunity
for a sensation slip my hand. No credit to either heart or head,
however, for a relapse into my chronic state of impecuniosity, on the
following week, caused me to curse a squeamishness whose absence might
have earned a score of dollars.

But I soon forgot the incidents in the court-room in the manifold and
hum-drum duties of my profession.

Several months afterward, however, I was passing down Park Row, when my
attention was attracted to a little girl playing a guitar and singing
an Italian song in a plaintive, monotonous air. Her dress and voice
attracted my attention on the instant, and, when I saw her face, I
recognized Angela, the girl of the trial-scene. It was her father whom,
at that very moment, I was going to see hanged. I stood stock-still
with amazement, the coincidence was so startling.

When she had finished her song, and had garnered up the few coppers
placed in her hand by the careless and uncritical crowd, I stepped up
to her and said:

'Angela, do you remember me?'

'Yes, sir,' she replied, her dark face lighting up with a gleam of
recognition.

'Do you know what day this is?'

'It is the morning of my father's death--how should I forget it?'

'You refused to sing on the day of his sentence--can you find heart,
then, to do so in this dreadful hour?'

The dirty little fingers fluttered nervously over the music-strings--as
the creative hand might do with a human heart of whose destiny there
was a doubt. For an instant a pang of agony wreathed the young face to
the depth of its expressions, but she resumed her sorrowful complacency
immediately.

'I am singing to my mother across the sea,' she said, quietly.

"Then, resuming her guitar, she swept out a yet more plaintive air, and
lifted her young, shrill voice in song. The crowd around her did not
increase, the interest was not enhanced, and the chary pennies of
approbation were as few as before. But to me there was a wild, desolate
melancholy in the melody that fell so unheedingly upon the ears of the
crowd. They did not see nor hear what I did. They merely saw a dusky
foreign girl using her voice for a scanty livelihood. I saw a patient,
suffering, religious spirit, singing out its agony to a kindred spirit
beyond the eight hundred leagues of heaving brine (I would wager my
life that the mother heard that song, were she buried in the bosom of
the Appenines); and the deep melancholy of those large, dark eyes,
uplifted so plaintively, the saintly refinement of sorrow that lingered
in the soft, olive face which spoke of far Italy, the 'divine despair'
of the mellow voice, haunted me strangely and unpleasantly as I hurried
away to the scene of death."


                     WHAT BECOMES OF THESE CHILDREN.

It is very sad to think of the future of these little ones. Without
education, with an early familiarity with want, misery, brutality, and
crime, the little minstrels rarely "come to any good." The girls grow
up to lives of shame, and fortunately die young. The boys become
vagrants, thieves, and often assassins. They soon find their way to the
reformatory establishments and prisons of the city. The police watch
them closely, and never overlook one of their offences. Everybody
condemns them, and no one reflects that they are irresponsible for
their sins. "As the twig is bent the tree is inclined."




                               CHAPTER X.


                               THE PRESS.

The press of New York is a subject which requires more time and space
in its treatment than can be given to it in this volume, and we must
therefore confine ourselves to a brief glance at it. It is divided into
two branches, the secular and religious, and in the former we include
all the political and literary journals of the City.


                           THE MORNING PAPERS.

The daily journals of New York are the ablest and best conducted in
America, and among the most brilliant in the world. Their power is
immense, and they generally shape and direct the tone of the provincial
journals. They are conducted upon a most excellent system as far as
their internal arrangements are concerned, and the persons employed
upon them are men of ability and experience. As pecuniary investments,
they pay handsomely. The stock is very valuable, and it is impossible
to purchase it at any price, the present owners being unwilling to
sell. Nearly all the principal journals have handsome printing houses
of their own. The new Herald office is one of the most magnificent
edifices in the City, and in its internal arrangement is the most
convenient in the world.

The morning papers are the _Herald, Tribune, Times, World, Sun,
Democrat, Journal of Commerce, Staats Zeitung_, and _Commercial
Advertiser_.


                               THE HERALD

The Herald is regarded as the model newspaper of the United States. Its
office is located at the corner of Broadway and Ann Streets, and is
built of white marble, in the modern French style. Below the sidewalk
are two immense cellars, or vaults, one below the other, in which are
two steam engines of thirty-five horse power each. Three immense Hoe
presses are kept running constantly from midnight until seven in the
morning, printing the daily edition. The rooms and machinery are kept
in the most perfect order. Nothing is allowed to be out of place, and
the slightest speck of dirt visible in any part, calls forth a sharp
rebuke from Mr. Bennett, who makes frequent visits to every department
of the paper.

On the street floor, the main room is the public office of the journal.
Its entrances are on Broadway and Ann street. It is paved with marble
tiles, and the desks, counters, racks, etc., are of solid black walnut,
ornamented with plate glass. Every thing is scrupulously clean, and the
room presents the appearance of some wealthy banking office.

On the third floor are the editorial rooms. The principal apartment is
the "Council Room," which overlooks Broadway. Every other branch of the
editorial department has its separate room, and all are furnished with
every convenience necessary for doing their work with the utmost
precision and dispatch.

Each day, at noon, the editors of the _Herald_, twelve in number,
assemble in the "Council Room." Mr. Bennett, if he is in the City,
takes his seat at the head of the table, and the others assume the
places assigned. If Mr. Bennett is not present, his son, James Gordon
Bennett, Jr., presides at the council, and, in the absence of both
father and son, the managing editor takes the head of the table.

The council is opened by Mr. Bennett, or his representative, who
presents a list of subjects. These are taken up, seriatim, and
discussed by all present. The topics to be presented, in the editorial
columns of the _Herald_ the next day, are determined upon, and each
editor is assigned the subject he is to "write up." All this is
determined in a short while. Then Mr. Bennett asks the gentlemen
present for suggestions. He listens attentively to each one, and
decides quickly whether they shall be presented in the _Herald_, and at
what time; and if he desires any subject to be written upon, he states
his wish, and "sketches," in his peculiar and decisive manner, the
various headings and the style of treatment.

There are twelve editors and thirty-five reporters employed on the
_Herald_. They are liberally paid for their services. Any one bringing
in news is well rewarded for his trouble.

The composing rooms are located on the top floor, and are spacious,
airy, and excellently lighted. A "dumb waiter," or vertical railway,
communicates with the press room; and speaking tubes, and a smaller
"railway," afford the means of conversation and transmitting small
parcels between this room and the various parts of the building. Five
hundred men are employed in the various departments of the paper.


                           THE OTHER JOURNALS.

The _World, Tribune, Times_, and other journals, have fine
establishments of their own, that of the _Times_ ranking next to the
one just described. The advantages of the _Herald_ system are so
manifest that the other City dailies are adopting it as rapidly as
possible.


                           THE EVENING PAPERS.

The evening papers are a noticeable feature of the great city. They are
the _Evening Post_, the _Evening Mail_, the _Express_, the _Telegram_,
the _News_, and the _Star_. These issue their first editions at one
o'clock in the afternoon, and their latest at five or six o'clock. On
occasions of more than usual interest, extras are issued hourly as late
into the night as eleven or twelve o'clock. The evening papers contain
the latest news, gossip, and a variety of light and entertaining
matter, and are bought chiefly by persons who wish to read them at
home, after the cares and fatigues of the day are over.


                              THE WEEKLIES.

The weeklies are too numerous to mention. The principal are the _Round
Table_, the _Nation_, the _Ledger_, the _Mercury_, the _New York
Weekly_, the _Sunday Mercury_, the _News_, the _Dispatch_, the
_Leader_, the _Examiner and Chronicle_, the _Courier_, the _Clipper_,
_Wilkes' Spirit_, the _Turf, Field and Farm_, _Harper's Weekly_, _Frank
Leslie's Newspaper_, the _Bazaar_, the _Albion_, the _Citizen_, the
_Irish Citizen_, _Irish American_, etc., etc. All of these journals
display more or less ability, and each one has its specialty. Some are
devoted to politics, some to literature alone, some to sporting
matters, some to police items, and some to general news.


                          THE RELIGIOUS PAPERS.

The principal religious papers are, the _Observer_, the _Independent_,
the _Protestant Churchman_, the _Church Journal_, the _Methodist_,
etc., etc. They are devoted principally to denominational and sectarian
matters, but too frequently dabble in politics to an extent that
renders them more partisan than laymen care to see religious sheets.


                         PRINTING HOUSE SQUARE.

Opposite the City Hall, at the junction of Nassau and Spruce streets
and Park Row, is a large open space, known as "Printing House Square,"
so called because the offices of the leading journals of the city are
either immediately on this square, or within a couple of blocks of it.
Standing in the Park at this point, one may count the signs of at least
thirty first-class journals of various kinds.


                           A PRESS CURIOSITY.

One of the curiosities of Printing-House Square is the huge engine
which runs so many presses. This is owned by a firm in Spruce street
between William and Nassau, and occupies the basement of their
building. There is a large one hundred and fifty horse-power engine
which runs during the day, and a seventy-five horse-power which
relieves it at night. From this shafting and belting distribute the
power in every direction. One shaft runs to and across Frankfort
street, supplying THE MAIL and other offices, another crosses William
street and runs the six cylinder presses which pile the three hundred
thousand copies of the _Ledger_ in its beautiful press-room. Another
shaft crosses Spruce street, runs through and across Beekman, and even
supplies presses in Ann street.

Altogether these engines supply over one hundred and twenty-five
presses--each being estimated and charged so much per horse-power
according to this estimate. It runs three quarters of a mile of main
shafting, beside a mile or more connecting shafts and as much belting.
One of these belts, an india-rubber one, one hundred and twenty feet
long, connects a fifth-story press on Nassau street with the main
shafting on Spruce, across the intervening yards, and another leather
one on Beekman street, one hundred and forty feet long, perfectly
perpendicular, connects the sub-cellar and attic.

"This engine prints all McLaughlin's toy books, runs the immense
establishments of Bradstreet and J. W. Oliver, besides many other job
printers, a hoop-skirt manufactory and several binderies, and prints
nearly fifty papers, besides magazines and books innumerable; among
them, the '_Mail_,' the '_Independent_,' '_Dispatch_,' '_Leader_,'
'_Star_,' '_Examiner and Chronicle_,' '_Observer_,' '_Courier_,'
'_Clipper_,' '_Wilkes' Spirit_,' '_Turf, Field and Farm_,' '_Police
Gazette_,' '_La Crosse Democrat_,' '_Ledger_,' '_New York Weekly_,'
'_Literary Album_,' '_Sunday Times_,' '_New Yorker Democrat_,'
'_Commonwealth_,' '_Scottish American_,' '_Freeman's Journal_,'
'_Tablet_,' '_Emerald_,' '_Irish American_,' '_Irish People_,' etc.,
etc. Truly a power in the world."

[Illustration: View of Wall Street.]




                               CHAPTER XI.


                              WALL STREET.

If you pass down Broadway to the main entrance to Trinity Church, and
then turn abruptly to your left and cross the street, you will find
yourself at the head of Wall street, the great financial centre of
America. It is a narrow street, extending from Broadway to East river,
and lined with handsome brown stone, marble, and granite buildings.
Scarcely a house has less than a score of offices within its walls, and
some have very near three times that number. Space is very valuable in
Wall street, and some of the leading firms in it have to content
themselves with a narrow, small, dark hole, which a conscientious man
would hardly call an office. The rent demanded for these "offices" is
enormous, and the buildings bring their owners princely fortunes every
year. The houses are all covered with signs, the names on which one
will immediately recognize as famous in the financial world. The
streets running into Wall street, for the distance of one or two
blocks, on the right hand and the left, are also occupied with the
offices of bankers and brokers, and are included in the general term,
"Wall street," or "the street."


                              ITS HISTORY.

Wall street has always been famous in the history of New York. It was
originally used as a sheep pasture. Its natural condition being partly
rolling upland and partly meadow of a swampy character. The name of the
street originated thus: In 1653, the Dutch settlers, being threatened
with an attack by their New England neighbors, resolved to fortify the
town by constructing a wall or stockade across the island just beyond
the northern limits of the settlement. The line selected was drawn
across the old sheep pasture. In the course of a few years, the
anticipated hostilities having passed over, the settlers began to build
houses along the line of the city wall, and the new street, when laid
off, received by common consent the name of "the Wall street," which it
has since borne. The wall, having fallen into decay, was demolished
about the year 1699, and the stones were used in building the first
City Hall, which stood at what is now the corner of Nassau and Wall
streets, the site of the Sub-Treasury of to-day. This building was used
for the various purposes of the city government until the close of the
Revolution. It contained, besides the council and court rooms, a fire
engine room, a jail for the detention and punishment of criminals, and
a debtors' prison, which was located in the attic, a cage, and a
pillory. A pair of stocks were set up on the opposite side of the
street, wherein criminals were exposed to the indignant gaze of a
virtuous public.

After the close of the Revolution, the building was enlarged and
improved for the use of the Federal Government. The first Congress of
the United States assembled within its walls in the year 1789, and upon
its spacious portico George Washington took the oath to support and
defend the Constitution, as President of the United States.

The street was originally taken up with private residences, but at
length monetary institutions commenced to find their way into it. The
Bank of New York was located here in 1791, at the corner of William
street. Other institutions, and private bankers, soon followed it, and
the work of improvement went on until the street of to-day is the
result. Famous lawyers have also had their offices in this street.
Alexander Hamilton's sign might once have been seen here, not far from
where his humble monument now stands in Trinity churchyard, and the
name of Caleb Cushing is now to be found just a little below Broadway.

The street fairly began its present career in the days of Jacob Little,
"the great bear of Wall street." He opened an office here in 1822, and,
in twelve years, by dint of such labor as few men are capable of
performing, placed himself at the head of American operators. His
credit was good for any amount, for his integrity was unimpeachable. He
could sway the market as he pleased, and his contracts were met with a
punctuality and fidelity which made "his word as good as his bond."
Efforts were made to ruin him, but his genius and far-sightedness
enabled him to defeat all his enemies with their own weapons. His gains
were enormous, and so were his losses. He met the latter cheerfully.
The late war, however, brought his reverses so rapidly upon him that he
had not the time to meet one before another stared him in the face.
Still, he was calm and undismayed. He gave up his last dollar without
repining, saying that he would willingly sacrifice even life itself for
the perpetuity of the Union and the Constitution. He died early in the
year 1861, honored by all, and leaving his life an example to those of
us who are left behind him. He was a devout member of the Episcopal
Church, but he extended his charities, which, though quiet, were
unusually large, to all denominations.


                            THE SUB-TREASURY.

The Sub-Treasury is a handsome white marble building, located at the
corner of Wall and Nassau streets. The Treasury is built in the Doric
style of architecture; and its massive flight of steps and handsome
portico present a striking appearance. It is built in the most
substantial manner, and has an entrance at the rear on Pine street. The
interior is tastefully arranged, and massive iron gratings protect the
employees from surprise and robbery. The vaults are burglar-proof. This
is the principal depository of the Government, and millions of dollars
are always in its vaults.


                            THE CUSTOM HOUSE.

The Custom House was built for and formerly used as the Merchants'
Exchange. It is situated at the corner of Wall and William streets, and
is a large, handsome, granite edifice. The colonade at the front
entrance and the rotunda are well worth seeing.


                             BANKING HOUSES.

Just below the Custom House is the handsome marble building of Brown
Brothers, bankers, one of the model houses of New York, as regards both
the firm and the edifice. The Messrs. Brown are regarded as the most
reliable and accomplished operators in the street. Across the way, in a
dingy granite building, is the office of August Belmont & Co., the
American agents of the Rothschilds, and bankers on their own account.
Jay Cooke & Co. occupy the fine marble building at the corner of Wall
and Nassau streets, opposite the Treasury, and there conduct the New
York branch of their enormous business. Fisk & Hatch, the financial
agents of the great Pacific Railway, are a few steps higher up Nassau
street. Henry Clews & Co. are in the building occupied by the United
States Assay Office. Other firms, of more or less eminence, fill the
street. Some have fine, showy offices, others operate in dark, dingy
holes.


                           THE STOCK EXCHANGE.

The Stock Exchange is located on Broad street, to the south of Wall
street. It is a fine white marble edifice, extending back to New
street, which is also taken up with brokers' offices. There is an
entrance on Wall street, but the main building is on Broad street. It
contains the "Long Room," the "The New York Stock Exchange," the
"Mining Board," the now obsolete "Petroleum Board," and the "Government
Board." All sorts of stocks are bought and sold in this building.
"Erie" and "Pacific Mail" are the most attractive to the initiated, and
the most disastrous as well.

The Chamber of the Board of Stock Brokers is a large, handsomely
furnished apartment, somewhat like a lecture room in appearance. Each
broker has a seat assigned to him. Outsiders are not admitted to the
sessions of the board, but any one may communicate with a member by
handing his card to the doorkeeper, who will at once call out the
gentleman. The sessions of the Board are presided over by a President,
but the work is done by a Vice-President, who from ten o'clock until
one, calls over the list of stocks, and declares the sales. Each day a
list of stocks to be put in the market is made out, and no others can
be sold during the sessions. The Board has the right to refuse to offer
any stocks for sale, and a guarantee is required of the party making
the sale. The members of the Board are men of character, and their
transactions are fair and open. They are required to fulfil all
contracts in good faith, however great the loss to themselves, on pain
of expulsion from the Board, and an expelled member cannot be
reinstated. The entrance fee is three thousand dollars. Persons wishing
to become members are required to make their applications at certain
times. This is publicly announced, and if any one can bring and sustain
an accusation affecting the integrity of the applicant, he is not
admitted.

Ordinarily the sale of the stocks offered, proceeds in a monotonous,
humdrum manner, but when "Erie," or "Pacific Mail," or any other
favorite stock is called, each man springs to his feet. Bids come fast
and furious, hands, arms, hats, and canes are waved frantically
overhead to attract the attention of the presiding officer. The most
intense excitement prevails throughout the room, and the shouts and
cries are deafening. Sales are made with the utmost rapidity, and the
excitement is kept up at the highest point as long as any thing of
interest is offered. If a sale is contested, the president names the
purchaser, and his decision is final, unless revoked by an
instantaneous vote of the Board.


                             THE OPEN BOARD.

The Open Board of Stock Brokers meet in the second story of a handsome
brown stone building adjoining the Stock Exchange. Their sessions are
from ten until one. The business of the Board is similar to that of the
Stock Exchange, and is dispatched with as much precision, quickness,
and clamor.


                             THE GOLD ROOM.

Descending from Broad street to the basement of the building used by
the "Open Board," we find ourselves in a long, dimly lighted passage-
way, which leads us into a small courtyard. As we emerge into this
yard, we hear a confused hum above our heads, which grows louder as we
ascend the steep stairway before us. Passing through a narrow, dirty
entry, we open a side door, and our ears fairly ache with the yells and
shrieks with which we are startled. For a moment we think we are about
to enter a company of lunatics, but we pass on reassured, and the next
instant stand in the Gold Room.

This is a handsome apartment, in the style of an amphitheatre, with a
fountain in the centre. A gallery runs around the upper part, and
several telegraph offices are connected with the room. There are but
few benches. The members of the Board are always too much excited to
sit, and seats are only in the way. Though the main entrance is on
Broadway, the Gold Room really fronts on New street. During the
sessions of the Board, it is filled with an excited, yelling crowd,
rushing about wildly, and, to a stranger, without any apparent aim. The
men stamp, yell, shake their arms, heads, and bodies violently, and
almost trample each other to death in the violent struggle. Men, who in
private life excite the admiration of their friends and acquaintances
by the repose and dignity of their manner, here lose their self-
possession entirely, and are more like maniacs than sensible beings.

Few members of either the Stock or Gold Boards operate for themselves.
They generally buy and sell for outside parties, from whom they require
a guarantee at the outset, and charge a fair commission on the sale for
their services. Members have confidence in each other, for they know
that no one can afford to be dishonest. Expulsion and financial ruin
and disgrace are the swift and inflexible punishments of bad faith.

There are many persons, whose transactions in the stock and gold
markets amount to millions of dollars each year, who cannot enter these
boards as members. They are regarded as unsafe, and their petitions are
invariably rejected. They usually operate through regular members.


                           CURBSTONE BROKERS.

Any one who can pay one hundred dollars a year for the privilege, is
allowed to operate in the "Long Room," as the lower floor of the Stock
Exchange is called. His capital may be one, one hundred, or one
thousand dollars, but if he pays his dues regularly, no one is allowed
to molest him. No rules or regulations bind these operators. The honest
man and the rogue mingle freely together. Persons dealing with them
have no guarantee of their good faith, and must look out for rough
treatment at their hands. They overflow the hall, crowd the steps and
sidewalks, and extend out into the street. From this circumstance they
are termed "curbstone brokers," a name which will probably cling to
them. A few of these operators are men of integrity, who being unable
to enter the regular boards, are compelled to conduct their business in
this way. They have regular places of business in some of the
neighboring streets, and are as fair and upright in their dealings as
any member of either of the boards; but the great majority are simply
sharpers, men who will not meet their losses, and who will fleece any
one, who falls into their hands, out of his last cent.


                             STOCK GAMBLING.

It has been remarked that the men who do business in Wall street have a
prematurely old look, and that they die at a comparatively early age.
This is not strange. They live too fast. Their bodies and minds are
taxed too severely to last long. They pass their days in a state of
great excitement. Every little fluctuation of the market elates or
depresses them to a fearful extent, even though they may not be
conscious of it at the time. At night they are either planning the next
day's campaign, or hard at work at the hotels.

[Illustration: United States Sub-Treasury.]

On Sunday their minds are still on their business, and some are to be
seen hard at work in their offices, where they think they are safe from
observation. Body and mind are worked too hard, and are given no rest.

The chief cause of all this intense excitement, is the uncertainty
which attends such operations. No man can tell one week whether he will
be a beggar or a millionaire the next, the chances being decidedly in
favor of the former. Nine out of ten who speculate in stocks or gold,
lose. Like all gamblers, they are undismayed by their first reverse,
and venture a second time. They lose again, and to make their loss good
venture a third time, risking in the end their last dollar. The
fascination of stock gambling is equal to that of the card table, and
holds its victims with an iron hand. The only safe rule for those who
wish to grow rich, is to keep out of Wall street. While one man makes a
fortune by a sudden rise in stocks or gold, one thousand are ruined.
Even the soundest and best established firms fall with a crash under
these sudden reverses. The safest are those who buy and sell on
commission. If the profits go to other parties, in such cases, the
losses fall upon outsiders also, so that under all circumstances a
legitimate commission business is the safest, as well as the most
profitable in the end. This is proved by the fact that there are very
few old firms in "the street." Houses supposed to be well established
are failing every day, and new ones springing up to take their places.
Nothing is certain in Wall street, and we repeat it, it is best to
avoid it. Invest your money in something more stable than speculations
in stocks.


                              A KEEN GAME.

Some years ago, the famous Jacob Little resolved to bring down the
market value of Erie stock, which was then selling readily at par. He
contracted with certain parties to deliver to them an unusually large
amount of this stock on a certain day. A combination was immediately
formed in the street to ruin him. The parties concerned in this league
took his contracts as fast as they were offered, and bought up all the
stock in the market. In doing this, they firmly believed they were
placing all this paper to be had out of the reach of Mr. Little, who
would be ruined by being unable to deliver the stock at the time, and
in the quantities agreed upon. His friends shook their heads ominously,
and declared that his enemies had been "one too many" for him this
time; but the "Great Bear," as he was called, kept his own counsel.
When the day for the delivery of the stock arrived, his enemies were
jubilant, and all Wall street was in a fever of excitement; but he was
as calm and as smiling as ever. Repairing to the office of the Erie
Railway Company he laid before the astonished officers of the road a
number of certificates of indebtedness. The faith of the Company was
pledged to redeem these certificates with stock, upon presentation. Mr.
Little demanded a compliance with this contract. The Company could not
refuse him, and the stock was issued to him. With it he met his
contracts promptly. The result was fearful to his enemies. This sudden
and unexpected issue of new stock brought "Erie" down with a rush, and
the sharp witted operators who had bought either at par or at a
premium, solely to ruin their great rival, were ruined themselves,
almost to a man.


                             A "DEAR" SALE.

But a short while ago, a house in Wall Street, which had ventured too
far in its speculations, failed. It settled its liabilities honestly,
but had not a penny left. One of the partners had used U.S. bonds to
the amount of fifteen thousand dollars, belonging to a relative, and
these had been swept away. Whether for the purpose of replacing this
amount, or for his own benefit, the broker resolved to get possession
of a similar amount in bonds at once. The failure of his house had not
become generally known, and he determined to lose no time in his
operations.

Proceeding to the office of a well known house, one morning just as
business hours opened, he asked for fifteen thousand dollars worth of
Government bonds, and offered the cheque of his firm in payment for
them. Being well and favorably known to the parties, his request (which
was based upon the falsehood that he wished the bonds to fill an order
for a countryman who was in a hurry to leave town, and that he had not
the amount in his own safe), was complied with. The bonds were
delivered to him, and his cheque taken in payment. He at once departed,
and the banker, feeling no uneasiness at the transaction, did not send
the cheque to bank at once. Several hours passed away, and he heard
rumors of the failure of the house to which he had sold the bonds. The
cheque was at once sent to the bank; payment was refused, on the ground
that the house had failed, and had no funds in the bank. The fraud was
plain now, and the banker, repairing to the office of the unfortunate
firm, was informed by the partner of his friend that the transaction
was a swindle. The detectives were at once set on the track of the
swindler, who had made his escape immediately after getting possession
of the bonds.


                     HOW FORTUNES ARE MADE AND LOST.

Fortunes are made quicker and lost more easily in New York than in any
other place in the world. A sudden rise in stock, or a lucky
speculation in some other venture, often places a comparatively poor
man in possession of great wealth. Watch the carriages as they whirl
through Fifth Avenue, going and returning from the Park. They are as
elegant and sumptuous as wealth can make them. The owners, lying back
amongst the soft cushions, are clad in the height of fashion. By their
dresses they might be princes and princesses. This much is due to art.
Now mark the coarse, rough features, the ill-bred stare, the haughty
rudeness which they endeavor to palm off for dignity. Do you see any
difference between them and the footman in livery on the carriage-box?
Both master and man belong to the same class--only one is wealthy and
the other is not. But that footman may take the place of the master in
a couple of years, or in less time. Such changes may seem remarkable,
but they are very common in New York.

See that gentleman driving that splendid pair of sorrels. He is a fine
specimen of mere animal beauty. How well he drives. The ease and
carelessness with which he manages his splendid steeds, excites the
admiration of every one on the road. He is used to it. Five years ago
he was the driver of a public hack. He amassed a small sum of money,
and being naturally a sharp, shrewd man, went into Wall street, and
joined the "Curbstone Brokers." His transactions were not always open
to a rigid scrutiny, but they were profitable to him. He invested in
oil stocks, and with his usual good luck made a fortune. Now he
operates through his broker. His transactions are heavy, his
speculations bold and daring, but he is usually successful. He lives in
great splendor in one of the finest mansions in the city, and his
carriages and horses are superb. His wife and daughters are completely
carried away by their good fortune, and look with disdain upon all who
are not their equals or superiors in wealth. They are vulgar and ill
bred, but they are wealthy, and society worships them. There will come
a change some day. The husband and father will venture once too often
in his speculations, and his magnificent fortune will go with a crash,
and the family will return to their former state, or perhaps sink
lower, for there are very few men who have the moral courage to try to
rise again after such a fall, and this man is not one of them.

In watching the crowd on Broadway, one will frequently see, in some
shabbily dressed individual, who, with his hat drawn down close over
his eyes, is evidently shrinking from the possibility of being
recognized, the man who but a few weeks ago was one of the wealthiest
in the city. Then he was surrounded with splendor. Now he hardly knows
where to get bread for his family. Then he lived in an elegant mansion.
Now one or two rooms on the upper floor of some tenement house
constitute his habitation. He shrinks from meeting his old friends,
well knowing that not one of them will recognize him, except to insult
him with a scornful stare. Families are constantly disappearing from
the social circles in which they have shone for a greater or less time.
They vanish almost in an instant, and are never seen again. You may
meet them at some brilliant ball in the evening. Pass their residence
the next day, and you will see a bill announcing the early sale of the
mansion and furniture. The worldly effects of the family are all in the
hands of the creditors of the "head," and the family themselves are
either in a more modest home in the country, or in a tenement house.
You can scarcely walk twenty blocks on Fifth Avenue, without seeing one
of these bills, telling its mournful story of fallen greatness.

The best and safest way to be rich in New York, as elsewhere, is for a
man to confine himself to his legitimate business. Few men acquire
wealth suddenly. Ninety-nine fail where one succeeds. The bane of New
York commercial life, however, is that people have not the patience to
wait for fortune. Every one wants to be rich in a hurry, and as no
regular business will accomplish this, here or elsewhere, speculation
is resorted to. The sharpers and tricksters who infest Wall Street,
know this weakness of New York merchants. They take the pains to inform
themselves as to the character, means, and credulity of merchants, and
then use every art to draw them into speculations, in which the tempter
is enriched and the tempted ruined. In nine cases out of ten a merchant
is utterly ignorant of the nature of the speculation he engages in. He
is not capable of forming a reasonable opinion as to its propriety, or
chance of success, because the whole transaction is so rapid that he
has no chance to study it. He leaves a business in which he has
acquired valuable knowledge and experience, and trusts himself to the
mercy of a man he knows little or nothing of, and undertakes an
operation that he does not know how to manage. Dabbling in speculations
unfits men for their regular pursuits. They come to like the excitement
of such ventures, and rush on madly in their mistaken course, hoping to
make up their losses by one lucky speculation, and at length utter ruin
rouses them from their dreams.

Although New York is the chief business centre of the country, fortunes
are made here slowly and steadily. Great wealth is the accumulation of
years. Such wealth brings with it honor and prosperity. One who attains
it honestly, has fairly won the proud title of "merchant;" but few are
willing to pursue the long life of toil necessary to attain it. They
make fifty thousand dollars legitimately, and then the insane desire
seizes them to double this amount in a day. Nine lose every thing where
one makes his fortune.

The reason is plain. The speculation in stocks is controlled by men
without principle, whose only object is to enrich themselves at the
expense of their victims. The _Herald_ recently presented the following
picture of the transactions in the stock market:

Within the past few days we have seen the most gigantic swindling
operations carried on in Wall street that have as yet disgraced our
financial centre. A great railway--one of the two that connect the West
with the Atlantic seaboard, has been tossed about like a football, its
real stockholders have seen their property abused by men to whom they
have entrusted its interests, and who, in the betrayal of that trust,
have committed crimes which in parallel cases on a smaller scale would
have deservedly sent them to Sing Sing. If these parties go unwhipped
of justice, then are we doing injustice in confining criminals in our
State prisons for smaller crimes.

To such a disgusting degree of depravity do we see those stock
operations carried that members of the Church of high standing offer,
when 'cornered,' to betray their brother 'pals,' and, in their
forgetfulness of the morality to which they sanctimoniously listen
every Sunday, state that 'all they care about is to look out for number
one.' A manager of a great corporation is requested to issue bonds of
his company without authority, offering 'to buy the bonds if you are
caught, or buy the bonds with the understanding not to pay for them
unless you are caught.' This attempted fiscal operation, however, did
not work, and resulted in a good proof of the old adage that it
requires 'a rogue to catch a rogue.'

A railroad treasurer boldly states that he has without authority over-
issued stock of the company to a large amount. He offers it to a broker
for sale, with the understanding that all received over a fixed value
is to go into his (the treasurer's) pocket. From the fact that this man
is not arrested for mal-administration of the company's property we
judge this to be a legitimate operation, and that this may hereafter
serve as a model or standard of morals to all presidents, directors,
treasurers and managers of railway and other great corporations. It is
evident that the world has made a great mistake on the question of
morals, and that as we progress in civilization with our modern Wall
street system of ethics we shall be able to have a new and more exact
translation of the Bible--Wall street edition--for the benefit of stock
gamblers and stock thieves of all descriptions. Upon the great banking
house facing Wall street we will have in letters of gold upon a green
back-ground the following commandments:

1. Steal largely or not all; for is it not preached in Gotham that he
who steals largely and gives donations to the Church shall enter the
kingdom of heaven, while to him who confines his stealings to modest
peculations shall be opened the doors of Sing Sing?

2. Steal largely! for in proportion to the magnitude of thy stealings
shalt thou prosper and wax respectable throughout Gotham.

3. Steal largely! for as ye steal so shall ye show your fitness for the
high places in the land; so shall ye be invited to exercise your
talents in the numerous positions of trust and profit thereby; so shall
ye add honor and glory to the government of your fathers, and your days
shall be long in the land.

4. Steal largely! for by thy stealings shalt thou create a new
morality; and so shalt thou build up a great people who shall prosper
beyond all other nations.

This is the new code we offer--a code taught to us by the times and by
the facts that assail us. When we see an 'honest' Judge 'Iago' rise
from his bed at midnight to pander to the contemptible rascality of
stock thieves we have but little hope for even what we dignify by the
name of law. When we see our churches allowing a host of gamblers to
gather for false worship at their shrines and pander to them, that they
may share their plunder for the 'benefit of the Lord,' we have still
less hope in our future. When we see great criminals respected and
lesser criminals imprisoned we believe that the American mind is sadly
out of a proper moral pathway.

"The operations now carried on in Wall street, be they of any stock, or
of gold, call for the interference of some power sufficient to crush
them. If the City or the State is powerless, let the general government
take the matter in hand for the general good. Take gold, for example.
There are not over two millions of the solid coin used as a basis for
the operations which in a single month represent a sum twice the amount
of our national debt. The harpies who gather around the Gold Rooms in
their mad shoutings are at the same time shouting 'Death to the
republic!' They unsettle all values, and are, as a mass, a public
calamity, and should be dealt with as such. As with gold, so with
stocks, and no nation can long afford to let its future hang upon the
will of a mass of unprincipled men who daily bleed its prosperity
beyond all calculation."

These things are well known in New York, but no one heeds them. Each
one thinks he is shrewd enough to avoid the dangers which have ruined
others, and only discovers his mistake when it is too late to repair
it. Men of all classes, even ministers of the Gospel, and frequently
women, rush into Wall street in pursuit of sudden wealth, where, to use
an old adage, "if they are not gored to death by the Bulls, they are
sure to be devoured by the Bears."

Persons who wish to succeed in New York, or elsewhere, should shun
speculation. Legitimate business offers brilliant rewards here, but
speculation means ruin. If you wish this assertion enforced, go into
Stewart's or Claflin's stores, and see how many salesmen on small
salaries you will find there who were once wealthy merchants doing
business on their own account. They succeeded in their legitimate
pursuits, but were not satisfied with their success. They wanted more,
commenced speculating, and lost every thing. Men to succeed here must
be energetic, cautious, enterprising, and economical.


                         BOGUS STOCK COMPANIES.

On fine afternoons visitors to the Park do not fail to notice a
handsome equipage driven by a stylish young man, with rosy cheeks and
light curly hair. His face is the perfect picture of happy innocence.
He is very wealthy, and owns a great deal of real estate in the city.
The manner in which he made his money will show how other persons
enrich themselves.

A few years ago he, in company with several others, organized a scheme
for working certain gold mines said to be located in a distant
territory. A company was made up, the country was flooded with flaming
descriptions of the valuable mine, and stock was issued which sold
readily. The bonds were soon taken up, and in a month or two the so-
called company commenced paying handsome dividends. A number of gold
bars, bearing the stamp of the mint, were on exhibition in the
company's office, and were triumphantly exhibited as amongst the first
yields of the valuable mine. For several months the dividends were paid
regularly, and the company's stock rose to a splendid premium. It could
hardly be bought at any price. No one doubted for an instant the
genuineness of the affair, and the lucky company was the envy of all
Wall street.

In a few months, all the stock being disposed of, the company ceased
paying dividends. This excited the suspicion of some of the shrewdest
holders of the stock, and the affair was investigated. It was found
that the wonderful mine had no real existence. The gold bars were
simply gold coins melted into that form at the Mint, and stamped by the
Government as so much bullion. The dividends had been paid out of money
advanced by the company, who were simply half a dozen unprincipled
sharpers. The stockholders were ruined, but the company made a profit
of a clear half million of dollars out of the infamous transaction.
Legal proceedings are expensive and tedious when instituted against
such parties, and the stockholders, rather than increase their losses
by the outlay necessary for a lawsuit, suffered the swindlers to go
unmolested.

A certain stockbroker, anxious to increase his wealth, purchased twenty
acres of land a few years ago in one of the Western States, and
commenced boring for oil. After a few weeks spent in this work, he
discovered to his dismay that there was not the slightest trace of oil
on his land. He kept his own counsel, however, and paid the workmen to
hold their tongues. About the same time it became rumored throughout
New York that he had struck oil. He at once organized a company, and
had a committee appointed to go West and examine the well. In a few
weeks the committee returned in high glee, and reported that the well
contained oil of the very best quality, and only needed capital and
improved machinery to develop its capacity. In support of this
assertion they brought home numerous bottles containing specimens of
the oil. This report settled the matter in Wall street, and the stock
issued by the company was all sold at a handsome premium. When the
sales ceased, it was rumored that the well had ceased flowing. This was
true. There was no oil anywhere on the land. That in the well had been
bought in Pennsylvania and poured into the well by the agents of the
owner, and the examining committee had been paid large sums for their
favorable report. The owner of the well was enriched, as were his
confederates of the bogus company, and the holders of the stock were
swindled, many of them being ruined.


                           A PETROLEUM PRINCE.

We take the following from a work recently published in Paris. It
contains the observations of an intelligent French gentleman during a
residence in New York:

An Irishman, thirty years ago, arrived in Philadelphia. He was a mason
by trade, industrious and sober, which is not often the case with
natives of the Emerald Isle. He managed to save a few hundred dollars,
and then married.

He had enjoyed the blessings of matrimony over ten years, when, on
going to his work, early one morning, he found, a short distance from
his house, a basket covered with a linen cloth. He carried it home,
opened it, and a handsome baby appeared before his view. To the child's
clothes was pinned a paper bearing a few lines, asking, in the name of
the Almighty, the person into whose hands the basket might fall, to
take charge of the new-born infant, for the sake of a poor fellow-
creature. The Irishman and his wife, not having any children, at once
adopted the little one, regarding it as a gift sent by Providence. A
few years later, the Irishman, who had by his savings amassed quite a
handsome sum of money, purchased a small farm in a thinly settled
county of Pennsylvania, and there lived quietly and contentedly, until,
one day, in cutting down a tree, it fell upon him, and he was crushed
to death beneath its weight. After this sad occurrence, his widow, with
the help of the adopted child, carried on the business of the farm,
often regretting she could not give the boy an education; but they were
so far from any school, she could not think of sending her son such a
distance from home.

One day a rumor circulated throughout Pennsylvania that, by boring into
the earth to a moderate depth, in some parts of the State, oil was
found to spring forth. Startling as this rumor was, many persons were
forced to believe it, when they saw, with their own eyes, a black
liquid, giving a bright light, issuing from certain holes bored for
experiment. After this, all persons began experimenting on their own
property. The Irish widow imitated her neighbors, and with the help of
her adopted son, bored a hole in her garden. After a few day's work,
they struck oil--a flowing well rewarded their enterprise!

Meanwhile speculators, wild with the excitement of this discovery,
besieged Pennsylvania, and that State soon swarmed with them. The
desire to possess a portion of those marvellous lands took possession
of every mind. Throughout the States every one was affected with the
new disease, denominated 'oil on the brain;' and soon the value of the
oleaginous districts went up to wonderful figures. In many instances,
as much as fifty thousand dollars were paid for an acre of land. And,
availing herself of the general infatuation, the Irish widow sold her
farm, for two millions of dollars, to a Boston company, which thought
it was very cheap to give not quite seven thousand dollars per acre for
petroleum land. The three hundred acres of the widow's farm had cost
three hundred dollars a few years before, that is to say, one dollar an
acre! Besides the two millions of dollars, the Irish widow had
stipulated that one half of the flowing well in her garden should
belong to her. That well yielded from five to six hundred barrels of
oil per day. You may be sure the old lady doted on it. She visited it a
hundred times a day, always surveying it with amazement, and
ascertaining whether it was as productive as ever. Even at night she
left her bed to go and view the marvellous spring. During one of these
nocturnal excursions, she imprudently drew too near the well with a
light--the spring fired up with lightning-like rapidity, and the poor
woman, becoming wrapped in the flames, was burned to death. The coroner
was summoned to hold an inquest. When it was over, the widow's
neighbors, desiring to ascertain whether she had sold her farm for as
large an amount as was rumored, prevailed upon the coroner to open her
safe. It contained two hundred thousand dollars in gold, which, no
doubt, represented the widow's profits for her reserved rights in the
well; and also bonds of the United States to the amount of two millions
of dollars, the said bonds registered in the name of Peter Crazy, the
widow's adopted son, and only heir and legatee, according to her will,
that was also found in the strong-box.

Now, the young man, whose large stakes a few minutes ago caused such a
sensation, is the same Peter Crazy, the widow's adopted son; and he
came here to-night to complete his ruin. But I must now relate what
became of him after becoming possessed of a princely fortune.

At the time he came into possession of this fortune, Crazy did not know
the difference between one thousand and one hundred thousand dollars.
He could hardly write his name; and, unfortunately, he had nobody to
warn him against the dangers that beset the youth of this world, and to
make of him, instead of a spendthrift, a man useful to society.

Suppose a philanthropist, a good-hearted, high-minded man, should
suddenly come into possession of two millions of dollars, what a
benefactor he might prove to his fellow-creatures! What useful and
benevolent institutions he might found! What improvement might every
branch of human labor receive if he chose to apply to it a portion of
his wealth.

As soon as it became known that Crazy had inherited a large fortune,
many adventurers, with whom the new Eldorado swarmed, pounced upon him
like birds of prey upon a carcass; and then commenced for Crazy a life
of prodigality and vice, the end of which is near at hand.

In Philadelphia, he stopped with his cronies at one of the most elegant
and spacious hotels of the city, stipulating for the exclusive use of
it during their stay. He bought fine horses, carriages of the most
approved pattern, and furnished a _maison de joie_, where he reveled
every night. Many Philadelphians will long remember his daily freaks of
extravagance. I will relate one as a sample of the others. One day, as
a regiment stopped in the city on its way to the West, he presented it
with one thousand baskets of champagne--one basket to each man--a piece
of liberality that cost him twenty-five thousand dollars. After
spending half a million dollars in the Quaker City, he came to New York
in search of new excitements.

Here he met with persons who aroused a new feeling in his mind--that of
pride. Those capitalists and speculators who drive their fancy teams in
Central Park, who keep racehorses, who do their best to resuscitate the
fine old times of France under the Regency, were not, he was told, as
wealthy as himself. He was bound to live in style, lest he should be
taken for a shoddy contractor, who does not know how to spend his
money. Crazy, therefore, imitated the leaders of fashion--but in the
same way European wood-cutters are imitated by Australasian savages,
who, when they cut down a tree, wait for its fall until they are
crushed by its weight. He kept as many as forty horses; bet heavily at
the races, and lost every time; and hired a theatrical troupe, whom he
provided with costly costumes, and who played only for himself and a
few friends. One night he was so delighted with the saltatory skill and
_pirouettes_ of the dancing-girls of his troupe, that he presented each
of them, with a gracefulness of manner that Buckingham himself would
have envied, pearls and diamonds worth over one hundred thousand
dollars. In short, for a year, he indulged in all conceivable
dissipations. But Providence has in store for him one of those
visitations that, from time to time, startle and instruct the world.

"Crazy believes his main income can never be impaired. Besides the one
hundred thousand dollars he has in his pocket--the last of the money
found in the Irish widow's strong-box--he fancies he possesses
inexhaustible means in the oil well. On returning, he will learn that
that source of wealth is dried up, and his only fortune consists of the
fifty-two coats he has purchased inside of the past month."




                              CHAPTER XII.


                          BUSINESS IN NEW YORK.

The legitimate business of New York is greater than that of any other
place in America. The city being the chief centre of our commerce,
offers the greatest advantages of any in the land to persons engaged in
trade. Merchants at a distance buy whatever they can here, because they
like to visit the place, and can thus unite business with pleasure. Two
or three millions of strangers annually visit New York, and while here
expend large amounts in purchases. People in other parts of the country
attach an additional value to an article because it was purchased in
the great city. Besides this, one is apt to find the best article in
the market here, as it is but natural that the chief centre of wealth
should draw to it the best talent in the arts and trades.

Merchants from the provinces like the liberal and enterprising spirit
which characterizes the dealings of New York merchants. They can buy
here on better terms than elsewhere, and their relations with the
merchants of this city are generally satisfactory and pleasant.

Every thing in New York gives way to business. Private neighborhoods
disappear every year, and long lines of magnificent warehouses take the
places of the comfortable old mansions of other days. There is now
scarcely a respectable neighborhood for residences below Fourth street.
The business of the community is steadily advancing up the island. The
lower part of the city is being taken up with wholesale and commission
houses and manufacturers. The retail men are constantly going up
higher. Broadway now has scarcely a residence along its entire length;
Washington Square, Waverley and Clinton Places, and even Fifth Avenue
below Twenty-third street, are being rapidly invaded by business
houses.

Enterprise, energy, and talent, distinguish the business of this city.
A man capable of acquiring a fortune can acquire it here more readily
than elsewhere, but he must have patience. The world was not made in a
day, and fortune comes slowly, but it comes surely to the man who will
work faithfully and patiently for it.


                                EXAMPLES.

The Harpers and Appletons, who stand at the head of the book trade in
New York, began as poor boys, and worked their way up to fortune slowly
and patiently. Cornelius Vanderbilt was a poor boatman. Daniel Drew was
a drover. A. T. Stewart an humble, struggling shop-keeper. One of the
most noted bank presidents of the city began by blacking a pair of
boots. He did his work well. These are noted instances, but there are
thousands of merchants in the city doing comfortable businesses, some
of whom will be millionaires, who began poor and friendless. They have
worked faithfully and patiently, and their lives are examples to all
beginners.


                         REAL ESTATE OPERATIONS.

Many capitalists have made their fortunes by successful operations in
real estate. This must not be classed with speculations in bonds or
stocks. Of course, one may be cheated in buying real estate, as well as
in any other purchase; but as a general rule, he who invests his money
in houses or lands, gets the full value of it. The rapid growth of the
city has increased the value of property in the upper sections at an
amazing rate, and has made the fortune of every one who held land in
those sections. The Astors, A. T. Stewart, Claflin, Vanderbilt, Drew,
and hundreds of others who were wise enough to foresee and believe in
the future of New York, have made handsome fortunes on the investments
made by them a few years ago.

In 1860 a gentleman purchased a handsome house in a fashionable
neighborhood. It was a corner house, and fronted on Fifth Avenue. He
paid fifty thousand dollars for it. He spent twenty-five thousand more
in furnishing and fitting up. His friends shook their heads at his
extravagance. Since then he has resided in the house, and each year his
property has increased in value. A few months ago he was offered nearly
three hundred thousand dollars for the house and furniture, and refused
it, declaring his belief, that in ten years more the property will be
worth over half a million.

A farm near the Central Park that could not find a purchaser seven
years ago at a few thousands, sold six months since, in building lots,
for as many millions.

We might multiply these instances, but the above are sufficient to
illustrate this branch of our subject.

Rented property pays handsomely. As much as twenty per cent. on the
value, is often received as the rent of a dwelling, and some of the
best Broadway stores bring their owners one or two hundred thousand
dollars annually. As all rents are paid in advance, and security
required for the larger ones, the owner is comparatively safe in his
investment.




                              CHAPTER XIII.


                          FASHIONABLE SHOPPING.

The fashionable shopping points are along Broadway, from Canal street
to Twenty-third street, and in some of the cross streets between these
thoroughfares. The principal are Stewart's, Lord & Taylor's, and Arnold
& Constable's.


                               STEWART'S.

The up-town or retail store of A. T. Stewart & Co., is located on
Broadway, between Ninth and Tenth streets. It extends back to Fourth
Avenue, and covers the entire block, with the exception of the corner
of Broadway and Ninth street, which is occupied by the famous picture
dealers, Groupil & Co. This break in the building of Mr. Stewart, gives
the whole edifice, as seen from Broadway, an awkward appearance. It is
said that the great merchant is anxious to buy the corner, but will not
pay the price asked, as he regards it as extortionate. The building is
a handsome iron structure, in the style of arcade upon arcade, and is
painted white, which causes some persons to call it a "marble palace."
It contains in its various departments everything pertaining to the dry
goods trade. It has also a department for ready-made clothing for
women and children, and persons can here purchase at a moment's warning
a complete outfit in any style their means will allow. The articles
range from simplicity to magnificence in style and quality.

The rooms are always full of purchasers. The city trade proper is
immense, and the majority of the strangers coming to the city do their
shopping here.

[Illustration: A. T. Stewart's Wholesale Store.]

No one cares to come to New York without seeing Stewart's, and all go
away satisfied that the immense establishment is one of the sights of
the metropolis.


                            LORD & TAYLOR'S.

The store of this well-known firm is located at the corner of Broadway
and Grand streets. It is one of the most beautiful in the city, is
built of white marble, and is handsomely ornamented. Its ample windows
contain the finest display of goods to be seen in America. The
interior, though not so large as Stewart's, is quite as handsome, and
the various departments are managed with as much skill and system. The
ready-made department is a feature worth examining. The establishment
has not so large a trade as Stewart's, but rivals it in the excellence
of its goods, and in the taste displayed in selecting them. Many
persons prefer this store to any in the city.


                          ARNOLD & CONSTABLE'S.

Arnold & Constable are now located at the corner of Canal and Mercer
streets, but will soon move into their elegant marble store, now in
process of erection at the corner of Broadway and Nineteenth street.
This is one of the favorite houses of New York. Its trade is large and
fashionable, and it divides the honors of the city with those already
mentioned.


                    INTERIOR OF A FIRST-CLASS STORE.

A stranger, in entering a first-class dry goods store in this city, is
at once struck with the order and system which prevail throughout the
establishment. The door is opened for him by a small boy in entering
and departing. As he enters, he is politely accosted by a gentleman,
who inquires what he wishes to purchase. Upon stating his business, he
is shown to the department where the article he is in search of is to
be found, and the eye of his conductor is never off of him until he is
safe under the observation of the clerk from whom he makes his
purchase. This is necessary to guard against robbery. So many small
articles lie exposed in the store that a thief might easily make off
with something of value but for this watchfulness. Private detectives
are employed by the principal houses, and as soon as a professional
shop-lifter enters, he or she is warned off the premises by the
detective, whose experience enables him to recognize such persons at a
glance. A refusal to take this warning is followed by a summary arrest.

In paying for his goods, the purchaser notices that the salesman makes
a memorandum of the articles and sends it with the money to the cashier
by a small boy. If any change is due the purchaser, the boy brings it
back. The articles are also taken at the same time and are examined and
remeasured to see that the sale is correct. The purchase is then either
delivered to the buyer or sent to his residence, as he may desire.

The boys to which we have referred are called "cash boys," and are now
a necessity in any well regulated establishment. Stewart employs nearly
three hundred of these boys in his upper store, and one hundred in his
lower store. Good, steady cash boys are in demand. Intelligence is at a
premium in this department. Let a boy take a proper recommendation from
his public school, or Sunday school teacher, and if he is intelligent,
healthy, and cleanly, he will be at once taken on trial. He starts out
with a salary of $3 per week. If he shows capacity he is promoted as
rapidly as possible. The highest salary paid is $8 per week, but he may
rise to be a salesman if he will work steadily and intelligently. These
boys generally have a lively and bright look. They act as cash boys,
carry parcels out to customers, attend the doors, and do sundry other
useful acts. They are strictly watched, and any improper conduct is
punished with an instantaneous dismissal. They generally belong to
respectable families, and live at home with their parents. Many of them
attend the night schools after business hours, and thus prepare for the
great life struggle which is before them. Such boys are apt to do well
in the world. Many however, after being released from the stores,
imitate the ways of the clerks and salesmen. They affect a fastness
which is painful to see in boys so young. They sport an abundance of
flashy jewelry, patronize the cheap places of amusement, and are seen
in the low concert saloons, and other vile dens of the city. It is not
difficult to predict the future of these boys.




                              CHAPTER XIV.


                               IMPOSTORS.

New York is the paradise of impostors. They thrive here. They practice
all manner of tricks upon the unwary, and are off before one can lay
hands on them. Sometimes they are caught, tried, and sentenced to the
penitentiary.


                          A FOREIGN SWINDLER.

Several months ago, a foreigner, calling himself a Russian Count, and
pretending to be Colonel of Engineers in the Russian Imperial service,
made his appearance in this city, and announced himself as the agent of
his Government to make contracts with certain engineering firms in this
country. He hired an office down town, and would occasionally show, to
those whose acquaintance he had made, plans of the work that was being
executed under his supervision. He brought with him letters of
introduction from many of the leading men of Europe, and these, united
to an easy bearing and good address, sufficed to gain him admittance
into the most refined and exclusive society in this and neighboring
cities. At Washington, he was treated with marked consideration, was
shown through the public buildings, and was allowed to inspect the Navy
Yards at Washington and Brooklyn, and the fortifications in this city
and elsewhere. Unfortunately, the expected remittance from Russia
failed, from some unknown reason, to arrive, and the Baron was forced
to appeal to his American friends for loans, and he borrowed, from
various persons, sums ranging from $500 to $2,000, and amounting in the
aggregate to $25,000 or $30,000. To one gentleman, who had loaned him
at various times $1,500, the Baron said, recently, that his long-
expected remittance had arrived, and he made an appointment with his
creditor to meet him on a certain day and go with him to a broker's to
procure currency for his Russian gold. In calling at the office of the
Baron on the day named, the gentleman found him busily engaged in
explaining some of the plans to a stranger, and as it would be
impossible for him to go to the broker's on that day he begged the
indulgence of his friend and named another day. Before that day arrived
the Baron had disappeared, and the police, on being informed of the
circumstance, made inquiry, and ascertained that a man answering the
description of him sought for had taken passage in a steamer for
Europe.


                          CHARITABLE IMPOSTORS

Men and women are always to be found in the City, seeking aid for some
charitable institution. They carry books and pencils, in which each
donor is requested to inscribe his name and the amount given. Small
favors are thankfully received, and they depart, assuring you in the
most humble and sanctified manner that "the Lord loveth a cheerful
giver." If you cannot give to-day, they are willing to call to-morrow,
next week--any time that may suit your convenience. You cannot insult
them, for like Uriah Heep, they are always "so 'umble." You find it
hard to suspect them, but in truth, they are the most genuine impostors
to be met with in the City. They are soliciting money for themselves
alone, and have no connection with any charitable institution whatever.


                            OTHER IMPOSTORS.

One-armed, or one-legged beggars, whose missing member, sound as your
own, is strapped to their bodies so as to be safely out of sight, women
wishing to bury their husbands or children, women with borrowed or
hired babies, and sundry other objects calculated to excite your pity,
meet you at every step. They are vagabonds. God knows there is misery
enough in this great City, but nine out of ten of these people are
impostors. If you give them money it will go for drink.


                         A FASHIONABLE IMPOSTOR.

A well known banker, who acted as agent for one of the numerous
charitable associations of this city, was called upon one day by a lady
of great elegance, who said she had come at the instance of Mrs.----,
naming one of the lady managers of the association, to ask for one
hundred dollars, for which she had immediate need. As the lady referred
to had never drawn on him for money, except by means of a regular
cheque, the banker suspected that something was wrong, and informed his
visitor that it would not be convenient for him to let her have the
amount just then, and asked her to call the next day. She departed, and
the next morning was punctual to her engagement. Meanwhile, the banker
had ascertained from the lady manager that the request made of him was
an imposture. He was not in when his visitor called the second time,
but his son met the lady, and, as he knew her, expressed his surprise
at seeing her there. Overwhelmed with confusion, she took her
departure, saying she would come back when the banker returned. She did
not make her appearance, and the son, in mentioning her visit to his
father, was informed of its object. It was agreed to pass the matter
over in silence, and a note to that effect was dispatched by the young
man to the lady--she replied, thanking him for his silence, she said
she was in need of money, and did not wish her husband to know it, and
hoped to raise it in such a manner, and return it before the imposture
should be discovered. She was a woman of good social position, and the
wife of a wealthy citizen.




                               CHAPTER XV.


                           SUNDAY IN NEW YORK.

Strangers have observed with surprise the quietness which reigns within
the city limits on the Sabbath day. The streets have a cleaner, fresher
look, and with the exception of the Bowery and Chatham street, are
closed to trade. The wharves are hushed and still, and the river and
bay lie calm and subdued in the light of the Sabbath sun. Everybody
seems trying to look as neat and as clean as possible. The cars run on
Sunday, as in the week. This is necessary in so large a city, as
without them many persons would be unable to attend church, their
houses being miles away from their places of worship.


                              CHURCH GOING.

In the morning, the various churches are well filled, for New Yorkers
consider it a matter of principle to attend morning service. The
streets are filled with persons hastening to church, the cars are
crowded, and handsome carriages dash by, conveying their wealthy owners
to their only hour of prayer.

The churches are nearly all above Bleecker street. Trinity, St. Paul's,
the old Dutch Church in Fulton street, and a few seamen's bethels along
the river, are the only places of worship left to the dwellers in the
lower part of the city, who are chiefly the poor and needy. Little or
no care is taken of this part of the population, and yet it would seem
good missionary ground. Trinity tries hard to draw them into its fold,
but no one else seems to care for them.

The up-town churches are well filled in the morning. The music, the
fame of the preacher, the rank of the church in the fashionable world,
all these things help to swell the congregation. They are generally
magnificent edifices, erected with great taste, and at a great cost.
They crowd into fashionable neighborhoods, being often located so close
to each other that the music of one will disturb the prayers of the
congregation of the other. The plea for this is that the old down town
locations were out of the way for the majority of the congregations.
Many of the new sites, however, are quite as hard to reach. The pews
rent for sums far beyond the purses of persons of moderate means, so
that the majority of New Yorkers are compelled to roam about, from
church to church, in order to hear the gospel at all. At the majority
of the churches, strangers are welcome, and are received with courtesy,
but at others they are treated with the utmost rudeness if they happen
to get into some upstart's pew, and are not unfrequently asked to give
up their seats.

There are intellectual giants in the New York pulpit, but they are very
few. The majority of the clergy are men of little intellect, and less
oratorical power. They are popular, though, with their own cures, and
the most of them are well provided for. They doubtless understand how
to

    "Preach to please the sinners,
     And fill the vacant pews."


                            SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

Morning service over, an early dinner follows. Then everybody thinks of
enjoying himself if the weather is fine, or of sleeping the afternoon
away if the day is too wet to go out. The cars are filled with persons
_en route_ for the Park to pass a pleasant afternoon--the drives of
that beautiful resort are filled with the elegant equipages of the
fashionables, and the churches are comparatively deserted. Almost every
livery hack, buggy, or other vehicle in the city, is engaged for
Sunday, several days beforehand, and the poor horses have no mercy
shown them on that day.

The low class theatres and places of amusement in the Bowery and
adjacent streets are opened toward sunset, and vice reigns there
triumphant. The Bowery beer gardens sell lemonade and soda water, and
such beverages as are not prohibited by the excise law, and the
orchestra and orchestrions play music from the ritual of the Roman
Catholic church.

The excise law forbids the sale of spirituous or malt liquors on the
Sabbath, and the bar rooms are closed from midnight on Saturday until
Monday morning. The police have orders to arrest all persons violating
this law. There is no doubt, however, that liquor can be obtained by
those who are willing to incur the risk necessary to get it; but as the
majority do not care to take this trouble, the North river ferries are
thronged on Sunday, by persons going over to New Jersey for their beer,
wine, and stronger drinks. There is no Sunday law in that State, and
Jersey City and Hoboken are only five minutes distant from New York.

At night the churches are better attended than in the afternoon, but
not so well as in the morning. Many ministers will not open their
churches for afternoon service, because they know they cannot fill a
dozen pews at that time. Their congregations are driving in the Park--
the young men, perhaps, in Hoboken, after lager.

Sunday concerts are now becoming a feature in New York life. These are
given at the principal halls of the city, and the music consists of
selections of sacred gems from the master pieces of the great
composers. The performers are known all over the land for their musical
skill, and the audiences are large and fashionable. No one seems to
think it sinful thus to desecrate God's holy day, and it must be
confessed that these concerts are the least objectionable Sunday
amusements known to our people.

The reason of all this dissipation on the Sabbath is plain. People are
so much engrossed in the pursuit of wealth, that they take no time in
the week for rest or amusement. They wait for Sunday to do this, and
grudge the few hours in the morning that decency requires them to pass
in church.


                           THE EXCISE TRIALS.

Scarcely a Sunday passes without numerous arrests being made for
violations of the excise law. These cases are tried before the Board of
Excise Commissioners, who, if the offence be sufficiently gross, take
away the license of the accused party, or punish him according to the
terms of the law. Some queer pictures of humanity are exhibited at
these trials.




                              CHAPTER XVI.


                             THE DETECTIVES.

The Detective Corps of New York consists of twenty-five men, in change
of Captain Young. They are men of experience, intelligence, and energy.
They are well skilled in the art of ferreting out crimes, and generally
succeed in the objects which engage their attention. They have a
distinct organization from the Metropolitan Police, though they are
subject to the orders of the Commissioners.

It requires an unusual amount of intelligence to make a good detective.
The man must be honest, determined, brave, and complete master over
every feeling of his nature. He must also be capable of great
endurance, of great fertility of resource, and possessed of no little
ingenuity. He has to adopt all kinds of disguises, and is often subject
to temptations which only an honest man can resist. Any act, savoring
in the least of dishonesty, is punished by immediate expulsion from the
force.


                         BUSINESS OF THE FORCE.

The men are always to be found at the police headquarters in Mulberry
street, where they have a separate apartment, when not on duty. They
are constantly engaged. Strangers coming to the city get drunk
overnight in places of bad repute and are robbed. Next morning they
come to ask the aid of the police in discovering their property. If
their statement of the circumstances of the case is true, they can
generally recover the lost articles through the aid of the detectives,
if they can be recovered at all. The force is in constant telegraphic
communication with other cities, and is always giving or receiving
intelligence of criminal matters and movements, so that if a crime is
committed in any city, the police force of the whole Union is on the
alert for the apprehension of the criminal.

The individuality of crime is remarkable. Each burglar has a distinct
method of conducting his operations, and the experience of the
detective enables him to recognize these marks or characteristics, in
an instant. Thanks to this experience, which is the result of long and
patient study, he is rarely at a loss to name the perpetrator of a
crime, if that person is a "professional." Appearances which have no
significance for the mere outsider are pregnant with meaning to him. He
can determine with absolute certainty whether the mischief has been
done by skilled or unskilled hands; whether it has been done hurriedly
or leisurely; and can in a few minutes decide upon the course which
ought to be pursued for the apprehension of the thief and the recovery
of the property.

"A man came into the Fourth Police Precinct, some time ago, and
complained that his house had been robbed. The thief had been pursued
without effect, but while running, he was observed to drop a chisel,
and to tear up a piece of paper, which he also threw away. Captain
Thorn, and a detective who was present, carefully examined the man
respecting the mode by which the entrance had been effected, the marks
left by the tools, the kind of property taken, and the action and
bearing of the thief while running away. After eliciting all the facts
that they could obtain, they both agreed that it had been done by a
certain gang. When this had been ascertained to their satisfaction, the
next thing to be done was to identify the individual or individuals
belonging to the said gang, who had committed the robbery. Captain
Thorn proceeded to gum over a piece of paper, on which he fitted
together the small bits of paper which the thief had thrown away. This
at once disclosed the name of the robber, who was well known to the
police as a member of the gang which Captain Thorn and the detective
had, from the indications afforded, judged to be the depredators. The
detective then said that the thief would certainly be found at one of
three places which he named. Three policemen were accordingly sent
after him, one to each of the places named; and the captain assured us
that the sun was not more certain to rise the next morning, than that
the man would be at the station-house. Now, how were the police enabled
to fix so readily on the depredators in this case? Simply by their
intimate knowledge of their style of working. They knew their marks
just as a man knows the handwriting of his correspondent. When they had
fixed upon the man who committed the robbery, their knowledge of all
his habits enabled them to predict with certainty where he would be
found, and to give such exact description of his person as would enable
any one who had never seen him to recognize him at a glance."


                             A COSTLY CASE.

The necessary expenses of the detection of crime are often
considerable. Information must be obtained, even if it has to be paid
for liberally. Officers must be in concealment for weeks, and sometimes
for months. Long journeys must not unfrequently be made; and in a
hundred ways large expenditures will be called for. We were told of a
case where a treasury note of the government was counterfeited with
consummate skill, and it became a matter of vital importance to obtain
the plate from which the counterfeit was printed. One of the most
successful detectives was employed to work up the case, who soon found
that the cost of securing it would be so great that there was little
probability that the treasurer would audit his accounts. He therefore
told the government that the cost would be so great that he declined to
undertake it; but the possession of the plate, and the information that
its capture would give, were so exceedingly important, that the
detective was authorized to go on with it. He did so; the plate was
obtained; all the information sought for was procured, and the
counterfeiters and their abettors were captured. But it cost the
government one hundred and twenty thousand dollars to accomplish this
result. There were regular vouchers for every payment, and each was
carefully scrutinized and verified. There was no doubt whatever that
all the expenditures had been made in good faith, and with the utmost
economy. Doubtless the government felt that the possession of that
plate, and the knowledge gained, were worth all they had cost.


                          TRACKING A MURDERER.

The following case, which occurred a few years ago, in a sister city,
will show how the detectives track and secure their game:

A terrible murder had been committed. The sods were scarcely heaped
upon the coffin of the murdered man when one of his murderers was
securely confined in the cells of the central station. The arrest was
one of unusual difficulty. When the detectives visited the scene of the
murder, the only clue to the perpetrators was a blood stained
handkerchief and the gag used in strangling their victim. With these
faint traces there was little hope of ferreting out the murderer, but
Detective Joshua Taggart assumed the task. Returning to the store, he
reconnoitered the premises with new diligence. A new trace was then
discovered. A new mortise chisel, wrapped in a piece of brown paper,
lay on a shelf in the room. The chisel was not the property of the
proprietors of the dental depot. It had plainly been brought there by
the burglars. To trace it then became the task of the detective. Upon
it depended his only hope of tracing the murder from the dead porter to
the burglars who had killed the unoffending warden.

There were none of the usual evidences of crime in the robbery of the
store. A skilled detective knows every thief within his jurisdiction,
and their operations are to him familiar and easily recognized. The
appearance of a forced door will indicate the man who burst it open. An
experienced detective will trace a burglar by the manner of opening a
door as readily as a bank teller will recognize the hand writing of one
of his depositors. The size of the jemmy used, the manner in which it
is applied, the place at which a house is entered, whether at the door,
the window, the roof, or the cellar grating, are all so many unerring
indications to the detectives of the burglars whose operations he
traces. But in this case there was no burglary committed. It was simply
murder and robbery. The murdered man had either opened the door of the
wareroom, or the murderers opened the door with the keys taken from the
gagged or insensible porter. The removal of the goods betokened the
robbery. Gold, silver and platina to the value of three thousand
dollars were taken away, but there were no traces or evidence of the
burglars. A murdered man lay dead in the entry, a number of shelves
stood empty against the wall, but neither clue nor trace, footprint nor
finger mark, existed to aid or direct the detective's sagacity in his
search. Detective Taggart knew this. He felt the difficulty of his
situation, and he preserved the chisel as the first link of the
evidence he was to forge and fasten into a chain of convicting proof.
He took the chisel home. The trade mark could not guide him. Hundreds
of the firm's chisels were weekly sold in the city, and the clue seemed
losing its power, when a few figures on the back of the wrapping paper
inclosing the chisel arrested Taggart's attention. These figures were
evidently a calculation by a hardware dealer of the price of the tool,
the reduction by a slow hand of the business trade mark into the simple
value of the digits. To find the man who had made the memorandum on the
back of the paper was the first step in detecting the murderer.

Mr. Taggart visited the hardware dealers one by one until he despaired
of finding the one who sold the chisel. There was no evidence that the
tool had been purchased in Philadelphia. New York, Pittsburg, Baltimore
and Boston retail such chisels, and the probability of its purchase in
St. Louis was as strong as the idea of its purchase here. But Taggart
found the man who sold the chisel. A hardware dealer recognized the
calculation on the wrapper, and remembered the man who had bought it.
Two men, he said, came to the store. One was slender and tall, the
other was short and stout, with a heavy black moustache and black hair.
The latter bought the chisel. The pal stood in the background and said
nothing.

This was the commencement of the case. Who the stout man was Taggart
could not surmise. It might be one of a score of thieves, and for four
days he could form no conception of the murderer's identity, until one
night, waking from a restless slumber, Huey Donnelly flashed like
thought across his mind, and running his memory back for the past few
weeks, he remembered that at the time the murder was committed Donnelly
was in the city. The great difficulty in tracing the case was passed.

Donnelly was at once watched. Who the second man was Taggart well
surmised. He followed Huey to every quarter of the city to see if he
communicated with his pal, who was with him when the chisel was
purchased--who was with him when the porter was murdered. But the
second murderer had fled. Taggart himself followed Donnelly night after
night, dogged him into every rum-mill and thieves' brothel, where he
tarried briefly or long, watching him at night until he went to bed,
but never found his pal, who is the associate criminal in the tragedy.
A week after Donnelly was spotted, Taggart found his pal had left the
city, and unless Donnelly was arrested he would also leave. Following
up the trail, he met Huey in Washington Square. Donnelly was leisurely
crossing when a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder. He turned and
faced the detective, who simply said:

'I want you, Donnelly.'

'What for?'

'Murder.'

"When at the station, the salesman was sent for. Donnelly's black
moustache was gone. His face was shaved clean. He was placed in the
rogue's gallery. A number of men of similar build, both moustached and
clean face, were placed in the same room. The salesman was conducted to
the gallery. 'Point out the man who purchased the chisel,' was the
detective's command. Without hesitation or doubt, the salesman placed
his hand on Donnelly's shoulder. Then Taggart followed the second
murderer. He went to Baltimore, but he could get no further. All clue
was lost in that city, and the present lurking place of the confederate
of Donnelly is undiscovered. The necessity for keeping the arrest quiet
was removed, and now the detective calls to his aid the far reaching
influence of the press and the telegraph, that police authorities of
other cities may complete the work begun here, and render to justice
the other murderer, who is at liberty in spite of her laws."

It would require a volume to narrate all of the exploits of the
detectives, and so we shall content ourselves with the incidents
already given.

If, as we have said, persons seeking the aid of the police, would tell
the truth in their statements, the aid rendered them would be much more
efficacious and speedy; and, after all, it is useless to try to deceive
these keen students of human nature. The detective can tell from the
nature of the loss whether the statement of the circumstances is true
or false, for he knows that certain robberies take place only in
certain localities.

Persons are often indignant that those who have robbed them are not
arrested and held for trial. Undoubtedly this would be a very desirable
thing, but it is not always possible. Frequently no evidence can be
obtained against the guilty party, whose arrest would be a useless
expense to the city, and the detective in such cases is compelled to
content himself with the recovery of the property. The stolen goods
thus recovered and restored to their owners is stated on good authority
at two millions annually. [Footnote: Prison Association Report. 1866.]

In many cases the detective is very loth to arrest the culprit. It may
be the first offence of some youth, or the victim may have been forced
on by circumstances which an experienced officer can understand and
appreciate. In such cases he generally leans to the side of mercy, for
the men of the New York force are kind and humane. Their advice to the
party against whom the offence has been committed, is not to resort to
the law, but to try the offender again. In this way they have saved
many a soul from the ruin which an exposure and punishment would have
caused, and have brought back many an erring one to the paths of virtue
and integrity. There are men of tried honesty in this city to-day, men
holding responsible positions, whose lives,

    "Could their story but be told,"

would verify this assertion.




                              CHAPTER XVII.


                              FIVE POINTS.

Leave Broadway opposite the New York Hospital, and pass down Pearl
street in an easterly direction. Five minutes walking will bring you to
the abode of poverty and suffering, a locality which contrasts
strangely with the elegant thoroughfare we have just left. Cross Centre
street, and continue your eastward course, and a few minutes will bring
you to Park street. Turn short to the left, follow the line of Park
street, and in a few minutes you will see that blessed beacon light in
this great sea of human misery and sin, the "Five Points Mission." You
are now fairly in the heart of the Five Points district. It is a
horrible place, and you shudder as you look at it. The streets are dark
and narrow, the dwellings are foul and gloomy, and seem filled with
mystery and crime. It is the worst quarter of the city, and from here,
over to East River, you will scarcely find it any better.

Yet, bad as it is, it is infinitely better than the Five Points of
fifteen or even ten years ago. Then the place was notorious for its
crimes. Murders, robberies, outrages of all kinds, were of daily
occurrence. The officers of the law dared not enter the district for
the purpose of suppressing crime, and fugitives from justice found a
safe refuge here. A man who entered the district carried his life in
his hand, and unless he was either in secret or open league with the
denizens of the quarter, was tolerably sure of losing it. Now there is
vice and crime enough there, Heaven knows, but the neighborhood has
vastly improved. The steady advance of business and trade up the island
has broken up many of the vilest dens of the quarter, and has made
travel through its streets more constant. Besides this, the new police
system has made the neighborhood safe, except at certain hours of the
night, by thoroughly patrolling it, and promptly punishing disorder and
violence. The character of the inhabitants has also improved, and the
district now contains thousands who are poor without being criminal.
The disreputable classes have been scattered, too, and no longer herd
together around the "Old Brewery," which was once the chosen
headquarters of crime. The Mission now occupies that locality, and the
work of the Lord is going on where the Devil once reigned supreme.


                             THE POPULATION.

Still, as we have said, crime and want are plentiful at the Five
Points. The Fourth, and Sixth wards, which constitute this district,
are known as the most wretched and criminal in the City. They are also
the most densely populated--one of them containing more people than the
entire State of Delaware.

The streets of this section of the city are generally narrow and
crooked, and the intense squalor and filth which disfigure them, cause
them to seem much darker than they really are. Every house is packed to
its utmost capacity. In some of these houses are to be found merely the
poor. In others the character of the inmates is such, that no policeman
will enter them alone, and not even in parties unless well armed.

These buildings seem overflowing with human beings. Half a million of
people are crowded into this and the adjacent quarters of the City. One
block of this district is said to contain three hundred and eighty-two
families. Dirt and filth of all kinds prevail.

[Illustration: A den in Baxter street.]

Few of the people can read or write, and the only education the
children receive is in crime. The houses are almost all entirely out of
repair. The stairways are ricketty, and seem on the point of giving way
beneath one's feet. The entries are dark and foul. As many as a dozen
people are crowded into a single room. Morality and decency are never
heard of. The cellars, so dark that one unaccustomed to them cannot see
a foot before him, without a bright light, are filled with wretched
inmates. Some of these have secret passages connecting them with other
buildings, and are used for purposes of crime, or they have hiding
places known only to the initiated, where the offender against the law
may hide from the police, or where a ruffian may conceal or imprison
his victim, without fear of detection. Rum, gin, whisky, and other
liquors of the vilest kind, are used in profusion here. Some of these
wretches never leave their dens, but remain in them "the year round,"
stupefied with liquor, to procure which their wives, children, or
husbands, will beg or steal. Thousands of children are born in these
foul places every year. They never see the light of day, until they are
able to crawl into the streets. They die at a fearful, but happy rate,
for they draw in with the air they breathe, disease of every
description.

It is said that there are forty thousand vagrant and destitute children
in this section of the great city. These are chiefly of foreign
parentage. They do not attend the public schools, for they have not the
clothes necessary to enable them to do so, and are too dirty and full
of vermin to render them safe companions for the other children. The
poor little wretches have no friends, but the pious and hard-working
_attachés_ of the Missions which have been located in their midst. In
the morning those who have charge of them drive them out of their
dreadful homes to pick rags, bones, cinders, or any thing that can be
used or sold, or to beg, or steal, for they are carefully trained in
dishonesty. They are disgustingly dirty, and all but the missionaries
shrink from contact with them. Some of them have the fatal gift of
beauty, but the majority are old looking and ugly. From the time they
are capable of noticing any thing they are familiar with vice and crime,
for they see them all around them. They grow up surely and steadily to
acquire the ways of their elders. The boys recruit the ranks of the
pick-pockets, thieves, murderers, and "thugs" of the City; the girls
become waiters in the concert saloons, or street walkers, and sink
thence down to the lowest depths of infamy. Water street alone can show
a thousand proofs of this assertion.


                            THE LITTLE THIEF.

A few years ago, there lived in the great city a little girl, so small
that no one would ever have thought her nine years old. Yet she had
passed nine sad years on earth. She lived with a couple who had a
cellar of their own at the Five Points. They were coarse, brutal
people, and spent the greater part of their time in drinking and
fighting. Little Nellie, for so we shall call her, went in rags, and
was frequently beaten with severity by those who called themselves her
parents, though no one knew whether she was their child or not. In the
long winters she almost perished with the cold, and was nearly half
famished with hunger. It was a wonder how she managed to live; for in
the coldest weather she was sent back and forth, through the freezing
streets, by her so-called parents, her only protection being a ragged
shawl, which she wrapped tightly around her head. Her little feet and
legs were bare and frost-bitten, and often left red tracks on the pure
white snow. At night her bed was a piece of old carpeting in a dark
corner of the cellar, where she cried herself to sleep, and wished she
could die. Young as she was, death was not terrible to her, for she
regarded it as a release from her sufferings. Had she known how to
pray, she would have prayed for it; but, in her ignorance she merely
wished to die.

Do not be shocked, reader, when we say she never prayed. The truth is
that, with the exception of the constant blasphemy of the people with
whom she lived, and of this she heard too much, she rarely heard of
God. Once she went into a church, and heard a man talk about Him in a
way she could not understand. When she heard the organ it sounded so
sweet that she thought God must be up there, and tried to see him; but
a great rough man put her out of the church, and told her it was no
place for such as her, (alas! God's house no place for the poor!) and
that if she ever came there again he would hand her over to the police.
She went away feeling shocked and hurt, and fully convinced that God
did not like beggars. Then she remembered how nice and warm the church
was, and how fine the people were dressed, and she began to wonder why
she had been made so poor and helpless.

"Ah! me," she sighed, "I'm not God's child. He wouldn't notice me, I'm
so poor, and dirty, and my feet are so frost-bitten."

She had no one to tell her how much God cares for the poor, how he
watches over them, and notes every good and bad deed done to them. She
thought he was careless of her; and when some one told her he could do
every thing, she wondered why he did not make her more comfortable, and
give her nice warm clothes to wear. Finally, little Nellie began to
think him a cruel, harsh God, and at last she came to hate him.
Terribly depraved, you will say, dear reader; but, alack, was she to
blame? God help us! there are many more like her in the great city.

When Nellie was eight years old, the husband of the woman with whom she
lived died, and the woman took to drinking harder than ever. This made
Nellie's lot worse than before the man's death. Then she had had some
brief respite from persecution; for, though the man had often beaten
her, he had sometimes saved her from the fury of his drunken wife. Now
there was no one to befriend her. The woman was rarely free from the
influence of liquor, and blows were showered upon the child more
frequently than ever. Poor little Nellie! her troubles increased every
day, and her desire to die became more eager. Sometimes she would go
down to the piers, and gaze on the dark waters that swept beneath them,
and would wonder if she would be at peace if she drowned herself. But,
though not afraid of death, the waters looked so fierce and angry that
they frightened her, and she would go away shuddering with a dread that
she could not understand. But for this, she would have sought in the
cool waves the rest for which she longed.

Matters went on from bad to worse, but at last they came to an end, but
not in the way Nellie wished. The woman with whom she lived began to
think that the child was old enough to be of some use to her, for she
was now nine years old. Alas! the use she made of her. There was
nothing honest which so young a child could do, so she resolved to try
her at dishonesty. It was a fearfully cold winter, and the woman's
intemperate habits had prevented her from earning a living. To remedy
this, she sent Nellie out with a basket, and told her to go to a
certain street where she had seen a number of bales of cotton, partly
opened, lying before a store. She bade the child watch her opportunity,
and, when no one was looking, to fill the basket, and run away with it
to her as rapidly as possible. Nellie did not like the undertaking, and
begged that she might not be sent; but the woman brutally told her if
she did not go and return in an hour, she would kill her.

Nellie started out with a heavy heart, for she had a vague foreboding
that something terrible was about to happen to her. She reached the
place, found the cotton, and, as no one was looking, soon filled her
basket. She was turning away, when a heavy hand was laid upon her
shoulder, and a rough voice exclaimed:

"You little thief! I've caught you, have I?"

Nellie glanced up in terror. A richly dressed man had hold of her, and
was shaking her roughly.

"Please, sir, let me go, and I'll put the cotton back."

"No you will not," he said coldly. "I'll teach you a lesson."

As he spoke, he beckoned a policeman from across the street, and told
him to arrest the child for stealing a dollar's worth of cotton. Nellie
was taken before a magistrate, and, the theft being proved, was sent on
for trial at the next term of the Court, and the merchant went away
satisfied. There was no one to "go bail" for her, and she was remanded
to the Tombs until the session of the court.

It made the jailer's heart ache to see that little child enter the cell
in which his duty compelled him to place her. He wondered why she had
not been sent to one of the numerous reformatory establishments, where
she might be saved from a life of crime. But no, the child had been
charged with theft, and the law required her to be tried for the crime,
and if convicted, to be sent to prison, to share the company of felons,
and sink, perhaps into infamy. God Help us, if this is always to be the
character of New York justice.

Nellie's life in prison was both pleasant and terrible. It was
pleasant, inasmuch as it freed her from the brutal woman with whom she
had lived, and terrible, because it left her alone all night in a cold,
dark cell.

At last, however, the end came. It was a terribly cold night, and the
prisoners in their cells suffered intensely. Some heard low sobs in
little Nellie's cell, but no attention was paid to them. The next
morning the turnkey went to visit her on his morning rounds, and he
found her lying stiff and cold. She had frozen to death during the
night, and her wish had been granted. The little thief had gone to the
bar of a judge who tempers justice with mercy, and who cares for those
who are helpless and oppressed.

There are some in the great city who will remember this incident, as it
has not been very long since its occurrence.


                            THE HOME MISSION.

Seventeen years ago the "Old Brewery," on Park street, was the centre
of crime in New York. The attention of the humane had been frequently
called to the amount of suffering and vice surrounding it, but all
seemed agreed that nothing could be done with the Five Points. Few had
the courage to venture there, and those who knew the place smiled
incredulously at the idea of reforming it. The "Old Brewery" was used
as a tenement house, and contained one thousand inmates, and a viler,
and more wretched set of people was not to be found in the great city.

A number of Christian women of position and means, who knew the
locality only by reputation, determined, with a courage peculiar to
their sex, to break up this den, and make it a stronghold of religion
and virtue. Their plan was regarded as chimerical; but undismayed by
the difficulties against them, they went to work, trusting in the help
of Him in whose cause they were laboring. A school was opened in Park
street, immediately facing the "Old Brewery," and placed in charge of
the Rev. Mr. L. M. Pease, of the Methodist Church. This school at once
gathered in the ragged, dirty children of the neighborhood, and at
first it seemed up-hill work to do any thing with them. Patience and
energy triumphed at last, however. The school became a success. Then
the ladies who had projected it, resolved to enlarge it. They purchased
the "Old Brewery," pulled it down, and built the present "Mission,"
which is now in charge of the Rev. Mr. Shaffer.

The Mission is dependent upon voluntary contributions for its support.
Food, clothing, money, and every thing that can be useful in such an
establishment, are given to it. They come in from all parts of the
country, for the Mission is widely known, and thousands of Christians
are working for it. The railroad and express companies send all
packages for it over their lines without charge.

Children are the chief care of the Mission. Those in charge of it
believe that first impressions are the strongest and most lasting. They
take young children away from the haunts of vice and crime, and clothe
and care for them. They are regularly and carefully instructed in the
rudiments of an English education, and are trained to serve the Lord,
who has raised up such kind friends to them. At a proper age they are
provided, with homes, or respectable employment, and placed in the way
to become Christian men and women. Hundreds, nay, thousands of good and
useful men and women have been reared by the institution since its
establishment. They were snatched from the haunts of crime when
children, and owe their present positions to the Mission. Year after
year the work goes on. Children are taken in every day as far as the
accommodations will permit, and are carefully trained in virtue and
intelligence, and every year the "Home," as its inmates love to call
it, sends out a band of bright, brave, useful young hearts into the
world, which but for its blessed aid would have been so many more
wretches added to the criminal class of the country.

Reader, if you can do any thing for this noble institution, do not hold
back your hand, but do it. Your help is needed.


                             OTHER MISSIONS.

Besides the "Home" to which we have referred, the "City Mission Home
for Little Wanderers," and the "Five Points House of Industry," are all
working hard for the purpose of bettering the condition of the poor and
wretched of the City. They are employing a band of energetic, hard-
working Christian men and women, and are doing good daily. There is no
doubt, however, that they succeed best with children. After the devil
has set his mark on men and women, it is very difficult to efface it;
but with children the case is different. They are too young to be
utterly abandoned or depraved, and they can, by care and patience, in
nine cases out of ten, be won over to the side of right.

Not only are persons drawn away from crime and vice by the active
efforts of the missionaries, but the Missions themselves do good. They
are well known, and they are constant reminders to the fallen that they
have a chance to rise. Some few avail themselves of the chance. Men and
women, especially young ones, frequently come in and appeal to the
missionaries to help them to reform. They want advice, assistance, or
protection. Whatever is needed is given, if it be within the means of
the institution. If it is not, the missionary seeks it elsewhere, and
rarely fails to find it. Few who are ignorant of the workings of these
institutions, can rightly estimate the amount of good done by them.
They are indeed "Cities of Refuge," to which no one ever goes in vain.

A part of the work of the "City Mission" is to distribute tracts and
simple religious instruction. These are simple little documents, but
they do a deal of good. They have reformed drunkards, converted the
irreligious, shut the mouth of the swearer, and have brought peace to
more than one heart. The work is done so silently and unpretendingly
that few but those engaged in it know how great are its effects. They
are encouraged by the evidences which they have, and continue their
work gladly.

Again, these Missionaries are constantly going into sections of the
City, from which the "popular preachers" shrink in dismay, and but for
their devotion there are thousands of our poor who would never have the
Gospel preached to them. They watch beside the bedside of the sick and
dying, administer the last rites of religion to the repentant pauper,
and offer to the Great Judge the only appeal for mercy that is ever
made in behalf of many a soul that departs in its sins. They shrink
from no trouble, no sacrifice. They are a hard-working, self-denying,
noble band.


                     THE HOME FOR LITTLE WANDERERS.

This institution is situated on the Bowery, near Pearl street, and is
in charge of the Rev. Mr. Van Meter. It is also called the "Howard
Mission." While striving to relieve all who call upon it for aid, its
care is chiefly given to children. Its object is to rescue the little
ones from want and suffering, and make them comfortable. They are
educated, and taught their duty as children of the Lord, and at a
certain age are provided with homes or trades. Little ones, starving or
freezing in the streets, are picked up constantly and brought in here.
The police often bring in such guests. All are welcomed and made as
comfortable as possible. You may see them warmly and neatly clad, or
tucked away in a snug bed, little children, even babies, who but the
night before were almost dying with cold in the streets.

Like the "Ladies' Home," the "Little Wanderers' Home" is entirely
dependent on voluntary contributions for its support.

[Illustration: Fifth Avenue Hotel.]




                             CHAPTER XVIII.


                               HOTEL LIFE.

As we have said before, the majority of the better classes of New York
prefer to board rather than keep house. Of these, a large number board
at the hotels, the rest in private boarding-houses.

The principal hotels of the City are the Astor, St. Nicholas,
Metropolitan, New York, Fifth Avenue, and the Hoffman, Albemarle,
Clarendon, Everett, and Coleman Houses. These head the list, but there
are scores of first class houses, some of which are elegant in every
respect. The transient custom of the hotels of the City is enormous,
but the permanent boarders of these establishments are very profitable.
The rates are high, and the majority of these houses pay their
proprietors well. There are two classes known in the City--those which
are conducted on the old American style, or those known as "European
houses." The former provide the guests with lodgings and full board at
so much per day, or week, while the others furnish merely the room and
attendance, and are either without the means of supplying meals to
their guests, or charge for each article of food separately. It is hard
to say which system is the more popular, though it would seem that the
European is growing in favor.


                               THE GUESTS.

The proprietors of the city hotels are very active in their efforts to
exclude improper characters from their houses, but with all their
vigilance do not succeed in doing so. One is ever certain as to the
respectability of his neighbor at the table, and it is well never to be
in a hurry to form acquaintanceships at such places. Fallen women of
the higher classes, and gamblers, abound at the hotels. The proprietor
cannot turn them out until they commit some overt act, for fear of
getting himself into trouble. As soon, however, as his attention is
called to any improper conduct on their part, they are turned into the
street, no matter at what hour of the day or night, and left to shift
for themselves.


                            HOTEL SWINDLERS.

Quite a number of persons in this city make a regular business of
staying at hotels, and absconding without paying their board. This
class consists of both males and females, and is much larger than most
people suppose. We take the following descriptions of some of the best
known from the daily journals of the City. They will show also their
mode of operations:

A man by the name of D----, or R----, purporting to hail from St.
Louis, has enjoyed many years' experience as a hotel 'beat.' He is a
tall, not ill-looking fellow, of tolerable address, and generally
travels accompanied by his wife and three children, and by a large
trunk; his wife sometimes contrives to smuggle in the third child
secretly, and to hide it in the room allotted to them, so that only two
children appear on the bill. At any rate the bill is never paid
whenever settlement is demanded. Mr. D--, or R--, is always found in
his apartment seated at the table, busy with an elaborate assortment of
manuscripts, and so busy that really at present he cannot be disturbed.
To-morrow he will attend to every thing. But to-morrow the birds have
flown, or walked out, one by one, from the hotel, and when the trunk,
is opened, there is a beggarly array of brickbats, old boxes, old rags,
and carpets, the former having served to render the trunk weighty, the
latter to prevent any noise or rolling that might excite suspicion.

Another adventurer, a bachelor, by the name of M----, affects the
eccentric, and, as the day approaches for the handing in of his bill,
his eccentricity verges upon madness, till at last, when the document
is really tendered, he becomes absolutely crazy--shouts, sings,
performs in an antic manner, and declares himself to be the king of the
Jews, the President of the United States, or something of that sort. He
has sufficient method in his madness, however, to gain the advantage of
the hotel proprietors, having on one occasion beaten the Fifth Avenue
Hotel out of one hundred and seventy-one dollars in board and lodging.
He sometimes is to be seen on Broadway in the guise of a military
officer.

One of the most cunning and successful of adventurers is known by the
name of W----, _alias_ Jones, _alias_ several other titles. This fellow
is an undersized man, blind of one eye, but of very genteel and
prepossessing address, and is generally accompanied by his wife. The
two practice the bundle game, which is a very adroit performance. Their
_modus operandi_ is as follows: They travel with a large Saratoga
trunk, which is really well stocked with linen and clothing. Of this
fact they contrive to render the detective and officials of the house
aware, so as to quiet any suspicion. Having thus tolerably opened the
ball they keep it rolling as long as possible, till within two days or
so of the period of final settlement. Suddenly Mrs. W----, or Jones,
appears to be seized with a mania for going up and down stairs, and in
and out of the hotel, carrying little parcels in her hand to and fro to
the milliners and dressmakers, etc. Her husband also discovers that his
clothes need revision, and sends them to tailors. Messengers also come
to their rooms for bundles, etc., and at last Mr. Jones, or W----,
announces at the office that he is about to leave the next day, and
would like his bill made out up 'till to-morrow night.' Meanwhile he
goes on to state as his trunk requires some repairs he has removed his
wardrobe into the bureau drawers, etc., and has sent for a trunkman to
convey it to the nearest establishment, will they allow him a servant
to assist the trunkman with it down stairs. The servant is sent to the
room, sees that nothing is taken away but the empty trunk, and all is
well. The adventurer and his female confederate eat with gusto, walk
out arm in arm from the hotel, and are seen no more, neither their
trunk, neither their wardrobe, which examination shows has not been
removed into the bureau drawers; in short, the clothes of the worthy
pair have been taken away bundle by bundle, parcel by parcel, and left
at convenient places in the neighborhood, to be called for, while the
trunk has been deposited at a friend's till further notice.

By this system of operations the St. Nicholas, Lafarge New York, and
Howard Hotels were victimized. Their triumphant career was checked,
however, at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, by efforts of the special detective
of the house, who discovered one day a piece of paper containing W----
Jones' private memorandum of the places at which he and his wife had
left their different bundles. By confronting Jones, accusing him of his
dishonesty, presenting the paper and accompanying him _nolens volens_
to these various places, the detective contrived to recover the bill
due to his hotel.

There are many adventurers hanging round a hotel, who are not enrolled,
however, among its regular lodgers. There are numerous 'beats' who
merely direct their energies to obtaining meals gratis, taking
advantage of the rush to the tables during meal hours. As many as
thirty-four of this class were detected at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in a
single month. These adventurers often practice the hat game,
depositing, when they enter the dining-room, a worthless chapeau, and
taking up, when they pass out, a valuable one--by inadvertence, of
course. The Metropolitan Hotel has a colored man in its employ
stationed at the door of the dining-rooms, who has proved thus far too
much for the efforts of any of these gentry, consequently this hotel
has been, in this respect, peculiarly fortunate.

A man named W----, lately gained the advantage of a hotel detective in
a rather amusing manner. He was in the habit of stealing his meals, and
was detected so doing, but as he was one day also seen to draw from his
pocket a gold watch, attached to a heavy chain, it was determined to
give him a little longer indulgence. At last his time was up, and the
officer, advancing to him, told him that he had been waited for; that
he had taken just so many meals, and must just pay so much money. "But
I have no money." "Then I will seize your watch." When, lo! the watch
had disappeared, and all the detective could find, in its place was but
a bunch of keys--the watch itself having been originally borrowed for a
purpose which it had fulfilled.


                             HOTEL THIEVES.

All the first-class hotels employ private detectives and watchmen. The
business of these men is to keep a watch over the upper part of the
house, to prevent thieves from entering and robbing the rooms of the
guests. Suspicious persons are at once apprehended, and required to
give account of themselves.

A friend of the writer once called on an acquaintance at the St.
Nicholas, and, being on intimate terms with the gentleman, went
immediately to his room, without making the customary inquiries at the
office. Although he knew the house very well, he missed his way in the
long corridor, and failed to find the stairway. While endeavoring to
"get his bearing," he was accosted by a quiet-looking individual, who
told him he must go with him to the office and give an account of
himself. The man was the private detective of the house, and seeing
that the gentleman had lost his way, supposed at once that he was a
hotel thief who had become bewildered in trying to make off from the
house. Fortunately, the gentleman was well known at the office, where
the mistake was at once discovered and apologized for.


                             AN AGILE THIEF.

Some time ago, a man entered the St. Nicholas and robbed the occupant
of one of the rooms, during his sleep, of a gold watch and chain, worth
about one hundred and fifty dollars, a small amount of money, and a
gold shirt-stud, with which he escaped to the hall-way. Succeeding so
well, he concluded to try again, and proceeded to room 175, occupied by
the cashier of the hotel, lifted that gentleman's clothing from a
table, and stole some money from the pockets. As the thief was in the
act of leaving the room, the cashier awoke, and, seeing a stranger,
asked, "Who's there?" To which the robber replied, "I beg your pardon,
sir; I have made a slight mistake." Upon which he hastily left,
followed by the cashier, who cried, "Stop thief!" At that moment,
detective Golden, employed in the hotel, appeared on the scene of
action, and pursued the fugitive. The latter, in his haste, leaped down
a whole flight of stairs, when detective Golden cried out to the men
below to stop him; and accordingly he was seized and held till the
detective ran down and took charge of the prisoner. On searching him,
the gold watch and chain were found in his possession; also five
different parcels of moneys, doubtless stolen from as many different
rooms.

[Illustration: St. Nicholas Hotel.]




                              CHAPTER XIX.


                              RESTAURANTS.

Thousands of persons, sometimes entire families, live in rooms, and
either take their meals at restaurants, or have them sent to them. This
has become so common now that it ceases to attract attention in the
city, but strangers are struck with it, and are quick to notice the bad
effects of it.

Living at restaurants begets irregularity in the meal hours, and thus
promotes bad health; and the absence of the restraints which the table
of a family at home, or even the public board of a hotel, imposes, is
the beginning of a looseness of manners, which is generally sure to be
followed by a similar defect in morals. The cooking, at the majority of
restaurants, is unhealthy, and intoxicating liquors are sold, to an
extraordinary extent, as a part of the bill of fare.

The principal up-town restaurants are largely patronized by the
disreputable classes. Women of the town go there to pick up custom, and
men to find such companions. Women of good social position do not
hesitate to meet their lovers at such places, for there is a great deal
of truth in the old adage which tells us "there's no place so private
as a crowded hall." A quiet, but close observer will frequently see a
nod, or a smile, or a meaning glance pass between most respectable-
looking persons of opposite sexes, and will sometimes see a note slyly
sent by a waiter, or dropped adroitly into the hand of the woman as the
man passes out. Some of these nominally respectable places are so
largely patronized by this class, that a virtuous woman is in constant
danger of being insulted should she chance to enter one of them.


                            THE BITER BITTEN.

Restaurants, like hotels, are the object of the constant attention of
swindlers, though the operations are conducted on a smaller scale. Some
of these persons are nominally respectable.

A bank clerk, with a fair salary and respectable connections, was in
the habit of patronizing a fashionable restaurant, partaking of
sumptuous lunches and dinners, and evading _full_ payment, under
pretence that he had forgotten his pocket-book, or had omitted, in the
hurry of business, to provide himself with small change, etc. Thus, if
his check called for one dollar he would pay sixty cents, but
invariably forgot upon the next, or any succeeding day, to 'settle' the
balance due of forty cents. This 'little game,' so profitable to
himself, was carried on for some time triumphantly, but retribution
came at last, and unexpectedly and very cleverly. The clerk, seeing how
matters stood, commenced to keep an account on a piece of paper of the
sums due and sums _paid_ on each successive day at his establishment by
this ingenious customer, and on one occasion, when the bank clerk had
deposited his check for one dollar and a quarter and a ten dollar note
in payment upon the counter (as he wished on this particular occasion
to procure some small change for his own purposes), the clerk quietly
took the note and then handed out two dollars and twenty cents in
change. 'There must be some mistake,' said the bank clerk. 'Oh! none at
all.' said the cashier. 'Did I not hand you a ten dollar note?' 'You
did, sir.' 'And did not my check call for one dollar and a quarter?'
'It did, sir.' 'Then where is my change?' asked the bank clerk. 'It is
_there_, sir' replied the cashier, pointing to a piece of paper which
he handed to the astonished bank clerk. 'What is this paper?' 'It is
your account.' '_My_ account!' 'Yes, sir, you will find it correct in
every particular,' said the cashier; 'I will go over the items with
you. On such and such a day your check called for such and such a sum;
you paid only so and so, leaving such and such balance. The next day
you ordered so and so, only paid so much, and left, of course, you see,
this balance. Altogether, sir, you owe the establishment, as back
balances due for food and liquors, up to date, just seven dollars and a
half. I have taken out this amount, and you will find the change
correct.'

"Words were useless--the bank clerk was outwitted, and left in disgust,
and from that day to this has never set foot inside of that restaurant
again."




                               CHAPTER XX.


                            BOARDING HOUSES.

As we have said elsewhere, it has been remarked that New York is a vast
boarding-house. If any one doubts this, he has only to turn to the
columns of the _Herald_, and see the long rows of advertisements on the
subject. The better class houses of the city are equal to any in the
world, but there are scores here within the pale of respectability
which are a trial to the fortitude and philosophy of any man. A really
desirable house is a rarity here, as elsewhere, and very hard to find.
He who is so lucky as to be domesticated in one of these is wise if he
remains there.


                        FINDING A BOARDING HOUSE.

Some years ago there appeared a work on the subject of boarding houses,
from which we extract the following description of the experience of a
person looking for board in New York.

He either inserts in the _Herald_, _Tribune_, or _Times_, an
advertisement specifying his particular requirements, or consults those
addressed to humanity in general through the medium of their columns--
perhaps adopts both measures. In the former case, the next morning puts
him in possession of a vast amount of correspondence, from the
daintily-penned and delicately-enveloped _billets_ of up-towndom to the
ill-spelled, pencil-scrawled, uncovered notes of Greenwich and Hudson
streets. It matters not that he has indicated any definite locality;
sanguine householders in remote Brooklyn districts clutch at him,
Hoboken residents yearn toward him, and the writer of a stray
Williamsburg epistle is 'confident that an arrangement can be made,' if
he will favor _her_ with a visit. After laying aside as ineligible as
many letters as there are _Smiths_ in a New York Directory, he devotes
a morning to the purposes of inspection and selection.

He becomes acquainted with strange localities and bell-handles. He
scrutinizes informatory scraps of paper wafered up beside doorways. He
endures tedious waiting at thresholds--it being a curious fact in
connection with boarding-houses that a single application for
admission through the usual medium never procures it. And according as
his quest be high or low, so will his experience vary.

If the former, he may expect to be ushered into spacious and
luxuriously-furnished parlors, where, seated in comfortably-padded
rocking-chairs, and contemplating marble tables, on which gorgeously-
bound volumes are artistically arranged; thousand-dollar piano-fortes,
and mirrors capable of abashing a modest man to utter speechlessness,
he will tarry the advent of stately dames, whose dresses rustle as with
conscious opulence. He will precede them--they being scrupulous as to
exposure of ankles--up broad staircases to handsome apartments, and
listen with bland satisfaction to the enumeration of 'all the modern
improvements' which their mansions comprise; nor, perhaps, be startled
at the 'figure' for which they may be enjoyed. If 'money be no object,'
he will not have to seek far, or fare badly.

"But the researches of him whose aspirations are circumscribed by a
shallow purse will produce different results. By Irish girls, with
unkempt hair and uncleanly physiognomy, he will be inducted into
sitting-rooms where the Venetian blinds are kept scrupulously closed,
for the double purpose of excluding flies and preventing a too close
scrutiny of the upholstery. He will have interviews with landladies of
various appearances, ages and characteristics--landladies dubious and
dingy, landladies severe and suspicious, (inflexible as to 'references
or payments in advance,') landladies calm and confiding, landladies
chatty and conciliatory,--the majority being widows. He will survey
innumerable rooms--generally under that peculiarly cheerful aspect
attendant on unmade beds and unemptied washing-basins--and, if of
sanatory principles, examine the construction of windows in order to
ascertain whether they be asphyxiative or moveable. He will find
occasion to admire how apartments may be indifferently ventilated by
half-windows, and attics constructed so that standing erect within them
is only practicable in one spot. How a three-feet-by-sixteen inches
strip of threadbare carpet, a twelve-and-a-half-cents-Chatham-square
mirror, and a disjointed chair may, in the lively imagination of
boardinghouse proprietresses, be considered _furniture_. How double,
triple, and even quintuple beds in single rooms, and closets into which
he only succeeds in effecting entrance by dint of violent compression
between the 'cot' and wall, are esteemed highly eligible accommodations
for single gentlemen. How partitions (of a purely nominal character)
may in no wise prevent the occupants of adjoining rooms from holding
conversation one with the other, becoming cognizant of neighboring
snores, or turnings in bed. He will observe that lavatory arrangements
are mostly of an imperfect description, generally comprising a frail
and rickety washing-stand--which has apparently existed for ages in a
Niagara of soapsuds, a ewer and basin of limited capacity, and a
cottony, weblike towel, about as well calculated for its purpose as a
similar sized sheet of blotting paper would be. In rooms which have not
recently submitted to the purifying brush of the white-washer, he will
notice the mortal remains of mosquitoes (not to mention more
odoriferous and objectionable insects) ornamenting ceilings and walls,
where they have encountered Destiny in the shape of slippers or boot-
soles of former occupants."


                               EXPERIENCE.

All boarding houses begin to fill up for the winter about the first of
October. Few of the proprietors have any trouble in filling their
establishments, as there is generally a rush of strangers to the City
during the winter season. A few of the best houses retain their guests
for years, but the occupants of the majority change their quarters
every fall. At the first, the table is bountifully supplied with the
best the markets afford, the attendance is excellent, and the
proprietor is as obliging and pleasant as one could wish. This
continues for a month or two until good board becomes scarcer in the
City. Then the attendance becomes inferior. The proprietor cannot
afford to keep so many servants, and the very best in the house are
discharged. The fare becomes poor and scanty, and the proprietor, sure
that few will care to change quarters so late in the season, answers
all complaints with a gruff intimation that you can leave the house if
you are dissatisfied. You feel like taking his advice, and would do so
but for the knowledge that you will fare as bad or worse if you do so.
You make up your mind to submit, and endure all the discomforts of the
house until May with her smiling face calls you into the country, or
offers you an opportunity to better your condition.

All houses are more liberal to their boarders in the summer than in the
winter--the City is then comparatively deserted, and most of the
"highly respectable establishments" are very much in want of guests.
They then offer unusual inducements, and are forced by their
necessities to atone in some measure for their winter barbarity.


                       BOARDING-HOUSE CHARACTERS.

Persons seeking board in New York frequently complain of being annoyed
by a demand on the part of the landlady (for the proprietor, is, in
most cases, a woman) for reference. This may not be pleasant to the
over-sensitive, but it is absolutely necessary. Nearly every boarder is
at first a stranger to his landlady. She does not know whether a man is
a gentleman or a thief, or whether a female is a saint or a fallen
woman. She naturally desires to keep her house free from improper
characters, and to secure as guests those who will pay her promptly and
regularly.

In spite of these efforts, however, it may be safely affirmed that
there are not ten boarding houses in the city, which do not contain
improper characters. Observers have been struck with the number of
handsome young widows who frequent these places. Sometimes these women
claim to be the wives of men absent in the distant Territories, or in
Europe, and pretend to receive letters and remittances from them. In
nine cases out of ten such women make their living in a manner they do
not care to have known. They conduct themselves with the utmost
propriety towards all persons living in the house with them, and are
considered ladies by even acute judges. These same judges are sometimes
a little startled to meet these virtuous dames in places where _ladies_
are never seen. Of course the secret is kept, and the woman continues
to deceive her other companions.

Landladies are the object of the especial attentions of swindlers, and
suffer very much from them. All sorts of expedients are resorted to by
the unprincipled to live without paying their board.


                         A FASHIONABLE SWINDLER.

Last winter a "gentleman" called upon a lady who presides over a
fashionable boarding-house in Lexington avenue, and introducing himself
as William Aspinwall, of the "Howland and Aspinwall branch," obtained a
room on the second floor. This apartment he occupied for three weeks,
constantly "promising" the lady of the house money, but as constantly
"being disappointed in his remittances from his friends, but if the
lady would wait but a day or two longer he would apply, if his
remittances did not arrive, in person to Mr. Aspinwall and obtain a
thousand or two." At last, one day this pretended scion of the
Aspinwalls vanished, leaving his trunk behind him, which, upon
examination, was found to be very full and very heavy indeed, but with
bricks and rags only. All Mr. Aspinwall's wardrobe being carried on his
precious person. A letter was found, however, which proved that his
real name was Charles H, or at least that he had been known at times by
that title.


                              A SHARP GAME.

A man calling himself Doctor Thorne is frequently seen in the city
boarding houses. He is a married man, which fact, of course, makes him
all the more dangerous to his victims, as he contrives to support at
their expense not only himself, but his wife and children. The Doctor
is a burly, heavily-bearded gentleman (at least in manner); his wife, a
more accomplished Jeremy Diddler than himself, is one of the softest-
spoken and most amiably-seeming of her sex. The Doctor plays his little
game as follows: He obtains first-class rooms at first class prices,
pledging as security for the payment of these prices a large assortment
of really valuable baggage in the line of clothes and linens. Having
taken possession of his rooms he is, after a week's time, suddenly
called by business to Chicago or St. Louis; he will settle the little
balance due on his return. He accordingly departs, but not to St.
Louis, or Chicago--oh, dear, no. He understands a trick worth two of
that. He simply hires a little room in a retired street at the lowest
possible rent, and there resides. His wife and children--two boys, one
aged ten, the other twelve, and both very "smart"--take him his meals
daily, in a basket, in their pocket, or by other means, as the case may
be, the meals being furnished unwittingly by the victimized landlady
with whom his family are sojourning. But more than meals are taken from
the boarding house. The baggage is also taken away, piece after piece,
secretly, and conveyed to the little room where the "head and father"
of this interesting family resides. So one day, after an unaccountable
absence of Dr. Thorne from home, and after the receipt by his wife of
daily letters from her husband, but no money, though money is always
expected by the next mail, the whole family disappear, one by one, and
never return. The landlady congratulates herself upon the fact that she
retains at least the baggage--but alas, upon an examination she finds
that nothing is left her in lieu of the month's board for three people
and a week's board for the fourth, saving some empty trunks. For a few
days subsequent to this denouement, Dr. Thorne and family live in
retirement. Then they boldly emerge and repeat the same series of
operations in other localities of this much beswindled city.


                       A TRIO OF FEMALE SWINDLERS.

About twelve-month since, an old widow lady opened a boarding-house on
University place, investing in the establishment and furniture all her
capital. She experienced no difficulty in obtaining boarders, and among
her guests she numbered a small-sized, full-faced, but keen-eyed woman
by the name of Agnes S. who rented a large room on the second floor.
This Mrs. S. exhausted all her wiles to gain the friendship of the
landlady, and succeeded in so doing. In a short time, she became the
inseparable companion and intimate of the old widow, who never took any
step of importance without first consulting her dear Agnes. The "dear
Agnes" improved her intimacy and played her cards so well, that
although she never paid her board, she was never requested to do so,
and thus enjoyed the unenviable advantage of being enabled to live rent
free. Having accomplished her first object, she now undertook to
achieve her second. One day she sought the widow, and in a fit of
gushingly-tender confidence revealed to her sympathizing friend her
heart history; she told the widow that although passing for a maiden,
she was in reality a married woman--but that her husband had been
obliged to conceal himself from the gaze of the public owing to some
'unfortunate' business transactions in which he had been involved,
solely for the sake of his brother out West.

Would she (the widow) not receive that husband, for her sake into the
house? Would she not consent to harbor the poor unfortunate partner of
her bosom beneath her roof until the matter had blown over? The doting
widow agreed to this proposal, and thus Agnes S. and her 'husband' (who
was in reality no more her husband than any man who reads this) were
united, and lived for several weeks in luxury at the widow's expense;
although great scandal arose among her boarders concerning the matter,
and several of her 'best paying lodgers' left in consequence of these
'developments.' At last the widow was taken sick, and then 'having cast
her bread upon the waters, she found it after many days,' and found it
'toasted.' From the hour of her taking to her bed, 'Agnes S. and
husband' ruled the house. The worthy pair run the establishment, hired
and discharged the servants, acted as steward and stewardess, and not
only so, but absolutely made out the weekly bills and collected them;
and not only collected them, but put the money into their own pockets.

"Last Thursday week the matter culminated by the sudden departure of
Agnes S. and husband from the house in University place to unknown
localities. Their 'little game' was effectually 'played out,' and the
landlady at last recovered her health and common sense. But the
adventurous birds had feathered their nests, and have only subsided for
a while, to resume, in all probability, their 'genteel swindles' in
some other city, or perhaps only in another portion of this very
metropolis."

"The second of these worthies we shall call Mrs. Adelle Garnier. She is
a stout creature, but endowed with a large share of good looks and
dignity of manner. She has for years past resided in fashionable
hotels, and has contrived to live on her 'face' in more senses than
one. She is specially noticeable for three facts which have been
abundantly exemplified in her career. First, she is a remarkably well
educated woman, an accomplished linguist, speaking fluently, French,
German and Italian, a skilled performer on the piano, and thoroughly
versed in the literature of the day. Second, she has always exhibited a
dislike, amounting almost to horror, of matrimony; and although she
has, during her eventful history, received several advantageous offers
of marriage, has declined them all, objecting decidedly to having her
personal movements restrained in any degree by the will of any being on
earth, not even a husband. Third, and last, and most remarkable of all,
spite of her education and talent, spite of her matrimonial chances,
she has steadily persisted in a course of life which has subjected her
constantly to a long series of indignities, apparently preferring a
wild, careless, lawless and scandalous Bohemianism to the sober routine
and conventional demands of a modern lady's _ordinary_ existence. Her
last 'adventure' occurred some few weeks since at a Broadway hotel,
from which she was expelled at a very short notice by the proprietors
in presence of a number of the guests. It is presumed that at present
she is almost penniless, though no one can safely predicate at what
place or in what guise she may appear hereafter. For an adventurer,
like a cat, has nine lives."

"The third, Miss Alice Mauley, is a petite blonde of fascinating
manners, with large blue eyes, and a luxuriant wealth of hair. Alice
has been a 'pilgrim and a stranger' in the cities of Philadelphia,
Boston, Baltimore and St. Louis, since her sixteenth year, and has
'enjoyed' the privilege of a large circle of acquaintance--the police
of these cities included. Her mode of life verges on the 'sentimental,'
and her peculiar _forte_ is entrapping the affections of 'young
bloods.' She cares not for 'love,' so-called, and is, in herself,
chaste and irreproachable in _morale_; but she devotes her energies to
procuring all the money, jewelry, diamonds and presents she can obtain
from her 'enamored ones' prior to their 'proposals for her hand.' She,
then, 'astonished at their mistaken presumption,' leaves them to regret
their folly, but never by any chance returns their presents. She
recently and seriously 'compromised' the prospects of the only son and
heir of a wealthy merchant of the metropolis, from whom she obtained
some ten thousand dollars worth of 'tokens' and 'souvenirs.' But, owing
to the exertions and worldly acumen of the young fool's papa, she has
been obliged to leave New York, and has within the last few days been
heard of from Cincinnati."




                              CHAPTER XXI.


                             TRINITY PARISH.

Trinity Parish was laid off in 1697. The first church was a plain,
square edifice, with an ugly steeple, in which were conducted the first
services of the Church of England in New York. The site is now occupied
by a magnificent Cathedral, the most beautiful church edifice in the
city.

The parish extends over a large part of New York. It includes the
following churches, or chapels, as they are called: St. Paul's, St.
John's, Trinity Chapel, and Trinity Church. It is in charge of a
Rector, who is a sort of small bishop in this little diocese. He has
eight assistants. Each church or chapel has its pastor, who is subject
to the supervision of the Rector. The Rev. Morgan Dix, D. D., a son of
the American Minister to France, is the present Rector.

Trinity takes good care of its clergy. The salaries are amply
sufficient to insure a comfortable support, and a well-furnished house
is provided for each one who has a family. Should a clergyman become
superannuated in the service of the Parish, he is liberally maintained
during his life; and should he die in his ministry, provision is made
for his family.

The wealth of the parish is immense. It is variously stated at from
sixty to one hundred millions of dollars. It is chiefly in real estate,
the leases of which yield an immense revenue.


                             TRINITY CHURCH.


[Illustration: Trinity Church.]

Trinity Church, the Cathedral, is situated on Broadway, at
the head of Wall street. It is built of brown stone, and is the most
beautiful and magnificent church building in America. It is very large,
and is capable of containing an immense throng. Its services are very
beautiful and attractive. They resemble those of the Church of England,
as they are almost entirely choral. The music is the best in the city,
and hundreds are drawn into the church by it. At Christmas and Easter
it is grand. On Christmas Eve, at midnight, the chimes of the church
ring in the blessed morning, thus continuing an old custom which is
observed now only in some parts of Europe.

The church is kept open from early morning until sunset. In the winter
season it is always well heated, and hundreds of the poor find warmth
and shelter within its holy walls. It is the only church in New York in
which there is no distinction made between the rich and the poor. The
writer has frequently seen beggars in tatters conducted, by the sexton
and his assistants, to the best seats in the church.

The rector and his assistants are alive to the fact that this is one of
the few churches now left to the lower part of the city, and they
strive to make it a great missionary centre. Their best efforts are for
the poor. Those who sneer at the wealth of the parish, would do well to
trouble themselves to see what a good use is made of it.

The ultra fashionable element of the congregation attend Trinity
Chapel, or "Up-town Trinity," in Twenty-fifth street, near Broadway.
This is a handsome church, and has a large and wealthy congregation.


                             THE CHURCHYARD.

A long iron railing separates the churchyard of Old Trinity from
Broadway, and the thick rows of old gravestones, all crumbling and
stained with age, present a strange contrast to the bustle, vitality,
and splendor with, which, they are surrounded. They stare solemnly down
into Wall street, and offer a bitter commentary upon the struggles and
anxiety of the money kings.

The place has an air of peace that is pleasant in the midst of so much
noise and confusion, and is well worth visiting.

Near the south door of the church, you will see a plain brownstone
slab, bearing this inscription: _"The vault of Walter and Robert O.
Livingston, sons of Robert Livingston, of the Manor of Livingston"_
This is one of the Meccas of the world of science, for the mortal part
of _Robert Fulton_ sleeps in the vault below, in sight of the mighty
steam fleets which his genius has called forth. A plain obelisk at the
extreme southern end of the church yard marks the grave of Alexander
Hamilton; and James Lawrence, the heroic commander of the Chesapeake,
sleeps by the south door, his sarcophagus being the most prominent
object in that part of the churchyard.

At the northern extremity of the yard, and facing Pine street, is the
handsome monument erected to the memory of those patriotic men who died
from the effects of British cruelty in the "Old Sugar-house," and in
the prison ships in Wallabout Bay, the site of the present Brooklyn
Navy Yard.




                              CHAPTER XXII.


                       THE HOLIDAYS IN THE CITY.

New York is very careful to observe the holidays, of the year. The
mixture of the old Dutch, the orthodox English, and the Puritan
elements has tended to preserve, in all its purity, each of the
festivals which were so dear to our fathers. The New Yorker celebrates
his Thanksgiving with all the fervor of a New Englander, and at the
same time keeps his Christmas feast as heartily as his forefathers did,
while the New Year is honored by a special observance.


                             NEW YEAR'S DAY.

New Year's day is one of the institutions of New York. Its observance
was instituted by the Dutch, who made it a point never to enter upon
the new season with any but the most cheerful spirits. They made it a
time for renewing old friendships, and for wishing each other well.
Each family was then sure to be at home, and social mirth and enjoyment
ruled the hour. Old feuds were forgotten, family breaches were healed,
and no one thought of harboring any but kindly feelings for his
relatives or friends. The jolly old Knickerbocker sat in the warm light
of his huge hearth, and smoked his long pipe in happiness and peace,
while his children and children's children made merry round about him.

Subsequent generations have continued to observe the custom, and to-day
it is as vigorous and fresh as it was when New Amsterdam was in its
primitive glory.


                             GETTING READY.

For weeks before the New Year dawns, nearly every house in the city is
in a state of confusion. The whole establishment is thoroughly
overhauled and cleaned, and neither mistress nor maid have any rest
from their labors. The men folks are nuisances at such times, and
gradually keep themselves out of the way, lest they should interfere
with the cleaning. Persons who contemplate refurnishing their houses,
generally wait until near the close of the year before doing so, in
order that everything may be new on the great day. Those who cannot
refurnish, endeavor to make their establishments look as fresh and new
as possible. A general baking, brewing, stewing, broiling, and frying
is begun, and the pantries are loaded with good things to eat and to
drink.

All the family must have new outfits for the occasion, and tailors and
_modistes_ find this a profitable season. To be seen in a dress that
has ever been worn before, is considered the height of vulgarity.

The table is set in magnificent style. Elegant china and glassware, and
splendid plate, adorn it. It is loaded down with dainties of every
description. Wines, lemonades, coffee, brandy, whiskey and punch, are
in abundance. Punch is seen in all its glory on this day, and each
householder strives to have the best of this article. There are regular
punch-makers in the city, who reap a harvest at this time. Their
services are engaged long beforehand, and they are kept busy all the
morning going from house to house, to make this beverage which is
nowhere so palatable as in this city.

Hairdressers, or "artistes in hair," as they call themselves, are also
in demand at New Year, for each lady then wishes to have her _coiffure_
as magnificent as possible. This is a day of hard work to these
_artistes_, and in order to meet all their engagements, they begin
their rounds at midnight. They are punctual to the moment, and from
that time until noon on New Year's day are busily engaged. Of course
those whose heads are dressed at such unseasonable hours cannot think
of lying down to sleep, as their "head gear" would be ruined by such a
procedure. They are compelled to rest sitting bolt upright, or with
their heads resting on a table or the back of a chair.

Sometimes a family desiring to "shine" on such occasions find
themselves unable, after meeting the other expenses, to provide the
clothing and jewels necessary. These are then hired from _modistes_ and
jewelers, proper security being given for their return.


                            NEW YEAR'S CALLS.

All New York is stirring by eight o'clock. By nine, the streets are
filled with gayly dressed persons on their way to make their annual
calls. Private carriages, hacks and other vehicles soon appear, filled
with persons bent upon similar expeditions. Business is entirely
suspended in the city, the day is a legal holiday, and is faithfully
observed by all classes. Hack hire is enormous--forty or fifty dollars
being the price of a carriage for the day. The cars are crowded, and,
if the weather is fine, everybody is in the highest spirits. A stranger
is struck with the fact that the crowd in the streets consists almost
entirely of men. Women rarely venture out on this day. It is not
considered respectable, and, the truth is, it is not safe to do so.

The earliest hour at which a call can be paid, is ten o'clock. The
ultra fashionables do not begin to "receive" until twelve. At the
proper time, the lady of the house, attended by her daughters, if she
has any, takes her stand in the drawing room by the hospitable board.
In a little while, the door bell rings, and the first visitor is
introduced. He salutes his hostess, and after a few pleasant words, is
invited to partake of the refreshments. A few eatables are swallowed in
haste--the visitor talking away all the while with his mouth full--a
glass of wine or of punch is "gulped" down, and the gentleman bows
himself out. He has no time to lose, for he has dozens of similar calls
to make. This goes on until late at night.

A gentleman in starting out, provides himself with a written list of
the calls he intends making, and "checks" each one off with his pencil,
when made. This list is necessary, as few sober men can remember all
their friends on such occasions, and after the first dozen visits are
over, such a list is greatly needed. Each man tries to make as many
calls as possible, so that he may boast of the feat afterwards. At the
outset, of course, everything is conducted with the utmost propriety,
but, as the day wears on, the generous liquors they have imbibed begin
to "tell" upon the callers, and many eccentricities, to use no harsher
term, are the result. Towards the close of the day, everything is in
confusion--the door bell is never silent. Crowds of young men in
various stages of intoxication rush into the lighted parlors, leer at
the hostess in the vain effort to offer their respects, call for
liquor, drink it, and stagger out, to repeat the scene at some other
house. Frequently, they are unable to recognize the residences of their
friends, and stagger into the wrong house. Some fall early in the day,
and are put to bed by their friends; others sink down helpless at the
feet of their hostess, and are sent home; and a few manage to get
through the day. Strange as it may seem, it is no disgrace to get drunk
on New Year's day. These indiscretions are expected at such times; and
it not unfrequently happens that the ladies, themselves, succumb to the
seductive influences of "punch" towards the close of the evening, and
are put to bed by the servants. Those who do retire sober, are
thoroughly worn out.


                              THE NEXT DAY.

The next day one half of New York is sick. Doctors are in demand.
Headaches and various other ailments caused by "punch" are frequent.
Business men have a weary, sleepless look, and it requires one or two
nights' rest to restore mind and body to their proper condition. Should
you call on a lady friend, you will probably find her indisposed--the
cause of her sickness you can easily imagine. The Police Courts are
busy on the Second of January. Disorder, drunkenness, and fighting are
frequent on New Year's night.


                            INDEPENDENCE DAY.

The Fourth of July is simply a nuisance in New York. The weather is
generally very warm. There is an early parade of the First Division of
the National Guard, and at night there are fine displays of fireworks
in various parts of the city. The greater part of the day, however, is
devoted to drinking and acts of lawlessness. Fire-crackers, Roman
candles, pin-wheels, and the like, abound. The police try to stop them,
but without success. The city resounds with the discharges, the air is
filled with sulphurous vapors, which irritate the throat and eyes, and
the ears are stunned with the explosions. Young America is in his
glory, and quiet, orderly people are driven nearly frantic.


                             EVACUATION DAY.

On the 25th of November, 1783, the British troops evacuated the City of
New York, and embarked on board their ships, and the American army,
under the personal command of General Washington, occupied the city and
its defences. This was a proud day for the city, and the whole country,
and the people of New York have always commemorated it by a grand
military display. It is honored by a parade of the First Division, and
the troops are reviewed upon this occasion by the Governor of the
State. The parade is the finest to be seen in America, twelve or
thirteen thousand men, with cavalry and artillery, being under arms at
the time.


                            THANKSGIVING DAY.

This is a "home festival," and the observance of it was introduced by
the New England element of the population. It is commemorated by
morning service in all the churches. The rest of the day is given to
rest and social enjoyment, and a bountiful dinner, for which all the
members of a family assemble at some particular house, affords the
occasion for many a friendly and domestic reunion. In the evening the
theatres and places of amusement offer additional attractions to
pleasure-seekers.


                             CHRISTMAS DAY.

When the bell of old Trinity ceases to strike the hour of midnight, on
the 24th of December, there is a brief pause, and then the full, rich
chimes of the old church strike up a joyous peal. The sweet tones echo
and re-echo through the dark and silent streets, bidding the great city
rejoice, for the merry Christmas time has come.

For weeks before the holiday you will see a brighter, smarter look
about the markets and the shops. The toy shops, especially, do a brisk
trade, as well as those in which articles intended for presents are
sold. Residents of the city are busy laying in dainties for the season,
and purchasing gifts for their children, relatives and friends.

On Christmas day the festivities are much the same as those in other
places. They are hearty and merry here, as elsewhere, and the season is
one of happiness. The poor are not forgotten. Those who give nothing at
other times, will subscribe for dinners or clothing for the unfortunate
at Christmas. The various charitable institutions are kept busy
receiving and delivering the presents sent them. Their inmates are
provided with plentiful, substantial dinners, and have abundant means
of sharing in the happiness which seems to pervade the whole city.




                             CHAPTER XXIII.


                            THE CENTRAL PARK.

For many years the rapid growth of the city has made it desirable that
the people should be provided with public grounds, within easy reach;
to which they could resort for rest and recreation. The natural
features of the island made it plain that such a place of resort would
have to be constructed by artificial means, and it was for some time
doubted whether any site within the city limits could be made to serve
the purpose.

On the 5th of April, 1851, Mayor Kingsland, in a special message to the
Common Council, called attention to the importance of a public park,
sufficiently ample to meet the growing wants of the city population.
The message was referred to a select committee, who reported in favor
of purchasing a tract of one hundred and fifty acres, known as Jones'
Wood, lying between Sixty-sixth and Seventy-fifth streets, and Third
Avenue and East River. This location came near being decided upon and
purchased, but a quarrel with reference to it, between two members of
the Legislature from New York City, called the attention of the public
and the State authorities to it, and happily defeated the whole scheme.
On the 5th of August, 1851, a Committee was appointed to examine
whether another more suitable site for a park could not be found, and
the result of the inquiry was the selection of the site known as
Central Park.


                            A WONDERFUL WORK.

The Central Park, so called because it is situated almost in the centre
of the island, is a parallelogram, and lies between Fifth and Eighth
Avenues, and Fifty-ninth and One-hundred-and-tenth streets. It covers
an area of eight hundred and forty three acres, and is about two and a
half miles long by half a mile in width.

When the site was selected and the work commenced, the whole area, with
the exception of the Croton Reservoirs in the upper part, was a barren
waste. It was a succession of rocky elevations, stagnant pools, and
sandy plains. It was covered with a coarse undergrowth, which simply
disfigured it, and was occupied by the miserable shanties of a number
of Irish families, known as "squatters." By looking at the character of
the land surrounding it, the reader can easily form a correct idea of
the primitive character of the Park, and of the immense labor which has
been performed in transforming that barren waste into the magnificent
grounds of to-day.

As it was morally certain that the authorities of the city of New York
would not carry on the work as honestly and as promptly as was
desirable, the Legislature placed the management of affairs in the
hands of a Commission, composed of prominent citizens of all parties.
Under the auspices of this Commission, the work was begun in 1858, and
pushed forward as rapidly as possible, to its present state. These
Commissioners still have charge of it, and conduct its affairs with the
same skill and vigor which have accomplished so much in the past.

The Park now contains a parade ground of fifty acres, for the
manoeuvering of large bodies of troops, play grounds, base ball
grounds, rides, drives, walks, etc. There are nine miles of carriage
roads in it, four miles of bridle roads, and twenty-five miles of
walks. It is larger than any city park in the world, except the Bois de
Boulogne at Paris, the Prater at Vienna, and the Phenix Park at Dublin.
A rocky ridge, which traverses the whole island, passes through almost
the exact centre of the grounds; and has afforded a means of rendering
the scenery most beautiful and diversified. A part of the grounds form
a miniature Alpine region; another part is the perfection of water
scenery; and still another stretches away in one of the loveliest lawns
in the world. The soil will nurture almost any kind of tree, shrub, or
plant; and more than one hundred and sixty thousand trees and shrubs of
all kinds have been planted, and the work is still going on. Any of the
principal walks will conduct the visitor all over the grounds, and
afford him a fine view of the principal objects of interest.

All the entrances on Fifty-ninth street lead to the handsome marble
arch near the eastern side. Passing through this archway, and ascending
a broad flight of stairs, the visitor finds himself in the great mall,
which, beginning near the principal entrance on Fifth Avenue, leads to
the terrace, which is one of the chief attractions. The terrace is
handsomely constructed of a soft yellow stone, carved elaborately and
tastefully. Three broad flights of stairs, one on each side, and one
covered stairway in the centre, lead to the esplanade below, in which
is the main fountain, and at the end of which is the lake.


                                THE LAKE.

[Illustration: View in Central Park.]

To our mind, this is the chief attraction of the Park. It covers an
area of one hundred acres, and serves as one of the receiving
reservoirs of the city. It was formerly an unsightly swamp, but it
would be hard to find now a lovelier sheet of water than this. It is
spanned by several handsome bridges, and the scenery along its banks is
both beautiful and varied. Here the eye ranges over a low shore,
covered with a rich greensward, which stretches away far in the
distance; there a bold waterfall leaps over its rocky barrier, and
plunges into the lake from a height of fifty or sixty feet. On one hand
the banks rise up bold and rugged, with an air of sternness, and on the
other the ascent is gradual and beautiful. Row-boats are constantly
plying on the lake in the mild season, and in these the visitor can
enjoy, for a small sum, the pleasure of a row over the lake. No one can
properly appreciate the beauty and variety of the scenery of this
beautiful sheet of water, without taking this little voyage.

There is another and a smaller lake near the Fifth Avenue entrance. It
is near the wall on Fifty-ninth street, and lies down in a deep hollow,
formed by high, rocky sides, which give it a wild, mountainous
appearance.


                            PLEASURE SEEKERS.

In fair weather the Park Commissioners cause free concerts to be given
on the mall every Saturday afternoon, by one of the best bands in the
city. The music is of a high character, and thousands flock there to
hear it. The Park is full of visitors on fine afternoons, and the boats
on the lake are crowded. The horses and equipages of the wealthier
classes form one of its greatest attractions on such occasions. They
come in great numbers. All the celebrities of the city, and many from
other parts of the world, are to be seen here, and the horses now
compare favorably with those of any other American city. Previous to
the opening of the Park, there were no drives around or in New York,
and the horse-flesh of the Metropolis was the laughing-stock of the
country. Now the case is different.

In the winter season, when the lake and ponds are frozen over, the
skating is the great attraction. Large sheds are erected at the
principal points, containing private apartments for the sexes,
restaurants, cloak-rooms, and places for warming and putting on or
removing skates. The ice is carefully examined, and the dangerous
localities are plainly marked. Every precaution is taken to prevent
accidents, and means of assistance are always at hand. When the ice is
in good condition, a large ball is hoisted on the Arsenal, and little
flags are fastened to the various street cars running to the Park. In
this way the news is soon scattered through the city, and crowds of
persons flock to the Park to enjoy the sport. The scene is both
brilliant and exhilarating. The Commissioners prepare a code of liberal
rules for the government of skaters, and place them at conspicuous
points. All persons going on the ice are required to comply with them,
on pain of exclusion from the sport.

Good sleighing is rare in the Metropolis, but when it is to be had, the
best is always in the Park.


                              THE ARSENAL.

This building is situated on Fifth Avenue, just within the Park
enclosure. It was originally used for the purpose designated by the
name it bears, but is now a free museum of natural history and art. It
contains the nucleus of the Zoological Garden, which is now in course
of construction near the centre of the Park, on the line of Eighth
Avenue, and though the collection of animals, birds, etc., is small, it
is very interesting. In the upper part of the building are the models
of the sculptor Crawford, presented to the city by his widow, and many
other interesting specimens of art.


                         THE CROTON RESERVOIRS.

These are located in the upper Park, and cover a considerable area.
From the hill on which they are situated, a fine view can be had of the
lower Park, stretching away in its beauty for over a mile. These
reservoirs receive the water direct from the aqueduct, which brings it
from Croton Lake, and pass it into the distributing reservoir on Forty-
second street.

The scenery of this part of the Park is wild and romantic. It is said
that "the deep gorge, called McGowan's Pass, dividing this northern
portion, is the valley which, by means of its darkly wooded hillsides,
sheltered the secret messengers passing between the scattered parties
of the American troops who, during the few days intervening between
their disheartening rout on Long Island and the battle of Harlem
Plains, rallied about the range of hills extending from Fort Washington
to Bloomingdale." A small part of the "Old Boston Road" is still to be
seen in this portion of the Park, and in the distance a view is
obtained of the High Bridge and Westchester county, while Washington
Heights rise beautifully to the northward. To the eastward we see the
white sails of the vessels in Long Island Sound, and get a faint
glimpse of the town of Flushing on Long Island, and New Rochelle on the
mainland.


                            TRANSVERSE ROADS.

It was foreseen when the Park was laid off, that as it would extend for
so long a distance right through the centre of the island, it would be
necessary to provide means of communication between the eastern and
western sides of the island, without forcing persons to pass around the
upper or lower ends of the enclosure. At the same time it was felt to
be desirable to make these roads as private as possible, so that the
beauty of the Park should not be marred by them, or by the long trains
of wagons, carts, and such other vehicles as would pass over them. The
genius of the constructing engineers soon settled this difficulty. A
system of _transverse roads_ was adopted and carried out. There are
four of them, and they cross the Park at Sixty-fifth, Seventy-ninth,
Eighty-fifth, and Ninety-seventh streets. They are sunken considerably
below the general level of the Park, and are securely walled in with
masonry. Vines, trees and shrubbery are planted and carefully trained
along the edges of these walls, which conceal the roads from view. The
visitors, by means of archways or bridges, pass over these roads,
catching but a momentary glimpse of them in some places, and in utter
ignorance of them in others.


                         THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDEN.

This, when completed, will be one of the principal attractions of the
Park. It is located between the Lake and Eighth Avenue, and work is now
going forward upon it to prepare it for the reception of the animals.
It is very rocky and wild, and has many natural advantages for the
purpose to which it is to be applied. It lies just outside of the main
enclosure, and will be connected with it by means of a tunnel under the
avenue.


                        INTERNAL ADMINISTRATION.

The original cost of the Park was nearly five millions of dollars. The
total cost to the present time has been nearly nine millions. About
half a million of dollars are annually spent in improvements and in
keeping the grounds in order.

The control of affairs is vested in a board of eight commissioners, but
the general administration is conducted by the Comptroller, Mr. Andrew
H. Green.

The discipline is very rigid. A force of special policemen, who may be
recognized by their gray uniforms, has been placed on duty in the Park,
with the same powers and duties as the Metropolitan Police. One of
these is always on duty at each gateway, to direct visitors and furnish
information, as well as to prevent vehicles from entering the grounds
at too rapid a rate. Others of the force are scattered through the
grounds at such convenient distances, that one of them is always within
call. None of the employés are allowed to ask or to receive pay for
their services. Their wages are liberal. When an article is found by
any of the employés of the Park, it is his duty to carry it to the
property clerk at the Arsenal, where it can be identified and recovered
by the rightful owner.

Improper conduct of all kinds is forbidden, and promptly checked.
Visitors are requested not to walk on the grass, except in those places
where the word _Common_ is posted; not to pick flowers, leaves, or
shrubs, or in any way deface the foliage; not to throw stones or other
missiles; not to scratch or deface the masonry or carving; and not harm
or feed the birds. No one is allowed to offer anything for sale within
the limits of the enclosure, without a special license from the
Commissioners. There are several hotels, or restaurants, in the
grounds. These are conducted in first-class style by persons of
responsibility and character. Private closets for men, which may be
distinguished by the sign, _"For Gentlemen only"_ are located at
convenient points throughout the Park, and cottages for ladies and
children are as numerous. These latter are in charge of a female
attendant, whose business it is to wait upon visitors, and care for
them in case of sudden illness, until medical aid can be procured.

Carriages for hire will be found at all the principal entrances to the
Park. The Commissioners have no control over these vehicles, and the
visitor must make his own bargain with the driver; a matter to which he
had better attend before entering the vehicle, for these Jehus know how
to drive a hard bargain.

The effect of this magnificent pleasure ground has been most salutary.
The thousands of poor persons in the great city have the means of
breathing the pure fresh air, and enjoying the beauties of nature, on
all their holiday occasions. The health of this part of the population
has improved very greatly, and the people of all classes have been
correspondingly benefited. Every inhabitant of the great city has an
especial pride in the Park, and, thanks to this feeling, the
Commissioners have little or no trouble in enforcing their regulations.
There have been no acts of rowdyism or lawlessness within the
enclosure, for even the most depraved feel themselves compelled to
respect the rules of the place. In a few years the streets facing the
walls will be occupied with magnificent residences and public
buildings, and the neighborhood will be the most delightful on the
island.




                              CHAPTER XXIV.


                           THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS.

New York stands at the head of all American cities in the excellence
and extent of its system of public education. It has one free college,
fifty-five ward or grammar schools, forty primary schools, and ten
colored schools. The ward schools are divided into three departments,
primary, male, and female, and the others into two, one for each sex.
The buildings are generally of brick, tastefully trimmed with freestone
or granite, and are amongst the handsomest in the city. They are
commodious, and in every respect equal to the demand upon them. The
rooms are large, airy, and neat. The building is well warmed and
ventilated, and every care is taken to render the teachers and pupils
as comfortable as possible. The number of teachers is between two
thousand five hundred and three thousand, and the number of children is
near three hundred thousand. A janitor resides in each building, and is
responsible for its cleanliness and healthfulness.

The course of study is most thorough. Pupils enter the primary classes,
and pass through the various grades of the primary and grammar schools,
until the course is finished. Then the college of the City of New York
is opened to all who desire to enter it, who have passed regularly and
honorably through the lower schools. In this institution all the
branches of a thorough and complete collegiate course are taught.
Horace Webster, L. L. D., is the president of the college, and the
faculty embraces some of the most learned men in the city. The
institution grants diplomas, confers degrees, and is entitled to and
exercises all the privileges of a first-class college.

The whole system is free to all the children of the city, whose parents
choose to avail themselves of it. Books and everything needed are
furnished without charge, and no pains are spared to render the course
as thorough and beneficial as possible. The pupil is put to no expense,
whatever, but is required to maintain habits of cleanliness and
neatness. The sexes are provided with separate apartments, and enter
the building by different doors. In some localities night schools are
provided, for those who cannot be present at the day sessions, and are
well attended. Many cash and errand boys and clerks, porters, drivers,
and others gladly avail themselves of this means of acquiring
knowledge.

The cost to the city of this magnificent system, is between two and a
half and three millions of dollars annually. It is a heavy tax upon the
municipal treasury, but it is gladly borne, for it saves the metropolis
from those hordes of idle, ignorant men and women which are the curse
of all great cities. The very poorest men or women can thus give to
their children the priceless boon of knowledge, of which their youth
was deprived. Profiting by the advantage thus acquired, these little
ones, in after years, may rise to fame and fortune. Thus not only the
metropolis but the whole country reaps the blessings of this
magnificent system of free education.

The best proof of its excellence lies in the fact that, a short time
since, a Committee, appointed by the authorities of the city of Boston,
for the purpose of inquiring into the public school systems of other
American cities, with a view to improving that of the "Hub," stated in
their report, that they regarded the system in practice in the city of
New York, as the best in the world, and recommended that the school
system of Boston be modeled upon the same plan.

Ample as are our means of diffusing knowledge, however, they must still
be increased. They must be made to reach those lower portions of
humanity, in behalf of which the Mission Schools of the great city are
doing such noble work. Not until this is done, will the system be
perfect.




                              CHAPTER XXV.


                         THE POOR OF NEW YORK.

As we have said before, land for building purposes is very high and
scarce in New York. In consequence of this, dwellings rent here for
more than in other American cities. The laying off of the Central Park
was a decided benefit to the city and its inhabitants, but the blessing
had also its accompanying evil. It reduced the "house room" of the
island by eight hundred acres, which would have afforded comfortable
accommodations for seventy-two thousand persons, and naturally crowded
the lower quarters of the city to a still greater extent. A careful
estimate has been made by the Sanitary Association of New York, and
they report that with three fourths of the population there is an
average of six families to every house.

The poorer classes are to be met with in all parts of the city, but
they are most numerous along the East and North rivers, and between
Fourteenth and Canal streets. The majority of them are, beyond a doubt,
honest, and willing to work, and in times of great commercial activity
nearly all can find some means of employment; but in dull seasons, when
merchants and manufacturers are forced to discharge their employés,
thousands are thrown out of work, and the greatest suffering and
distress prevail in the poor districts. Besides these there are
thousands of vagrants, drunkards, and disreputable persons, who would
rather steal, or beg, than work, and whose misery is frightful.

We must not be understood as intimating that all who desire employment
can procure it in New York. Indeed the contrary is the case. Labor and
skill of almost every kind are in excess here. For every position of
regular labor there are at least five applicants, so that four fifths
of the poor have to resort to any and all means to maintain an honest
existence. Some of these means it is our purpose to notice separately.


                           THE LOWEST DEPTHS.

You will see the extremes of poverty and want in and about the Five
Points district. In the day time half-clad, filthy, emaciated creatures
pass you on the gloomy streets, and startle you with the air of misery
which they carry about them. At night these poor creatures huddle into
cellars, so damp, foul, and pestilential that it seems impossible for a
human being to exist in them. The walls are lined with "bunks," or
"berths," and the woodwork and bedding is alive with vermin; the floors
are covered with wretched beds in a similar condition. The place is
either as dark as midnight, or dimly lighted with a tallow dip.
Sometimes a stove, which only helps to poison the atmosphere, is found
in the place, sometimes a pan of coals, and often there is no means of
warmth at hand. Men, women, and children crowd into these holes, as
many as thirty being found in some of them. They pay a small sum to the
wretch who acts as landlord, for the privilege of receiving this
shelter from the cold night. The sexes are mingled carelessly, and the
grossest indecency prevails. The air is loaded with blasphemy and
curses, and is heavy with such foul odors that one unaccustomed to it
cannot remain five minutes in the place.

The attics of the lowest class of tenement houses are no better than
these cellars. They are colder, and more exposed to the elements, but
the suffering in them is no greater.


                            TENEMENT HOUSES.

The scarcity of land in the city has led to the construction of numbers
of buildings known as "Tenement Houses." These are large edifices,
containing many rooms and, often, as many families. They abound chiefly
in the Tenth, Eleventh, and Seventeenth Wards. The majority of persons
living in these houses are foreigners. "It is not to be inferred,
however, that it is poverty only that causes such dense settlement,
since a spirit of economy and frugality manifests itself among these
people, which forbids too much expenditure for the high rents charged,
or for much riding on the railroads." Still, whatever may be the causes
which lead persons to herd together in such buildings, the effect is
the same in all cases. The neighborhood becomes dirty and unhealthy,
and the buildings themselves perfect pest-houses. Some of them are neat
and tasteful in their exteriors, others are vile and filthy all over.

They are now generally built for this purpose. As pecuniary investments
they pay well, the rents sometimes yielding thirty-five per cent. on
the investment. The following description will convey a fair idea of
them to the reader. One of the houses stands on a lot with a front of
fifty feet, and a depth of two hundred and fifty feet. It has an alley
running the whole depth on each side of it. These alley-ways are
excavated to the depth of the cellars, arched over, and covered with
flag stones, in which, at intervals, are open gratings to give light
below; the whole length of which space is occupied by water closets,
without doors, and under which are open drains communicating with the
street sewers. The building is five stories high, and has a flat roof.
The only ventilation is by a window, which opens against a dead wall
eight feet distant, and to which rises the vapor from the vault below.
There is water on each floor, and gas pipes are laid through the
building, so that those who desire it can use gas. The building
contains one hundred and twenty-six families, or about seven hundred
inhabitants. Each family has a narrow sitting-room, which is used also
for working and eating, and a closet called a bed room. But few of the
rooms are properly ventilated. The sun never shines in at the windows,
and if the sky is overcast the rooms are so dark as to need artificial
light. The whole house is dirty, and is filled with the mingled odors
from the cooking-stoves and the sinks. In the winter the rooms are kept
too close by the stoves, and in the summer the natural heat is made
tenfold greater by the fires for cooking and washing. Pass these houses
on a hot night, and you will see the streets in front of them filled
with the occupants, and every window choked up with human heads, all
panting and praying for relief and fresh air. Sometimes the families
living in the close rooms we have described, take "boarders," who pay a
part of the expenses of the "establishment." Formerly the occupants of
these buildings emptied their filth and refuse matter into the public
streets, which in these quarters were simply horrible to behold; but of
late years, the police, by compelling a rigid observance of the
sanitary laws, have greatly improved the condition of the houses and
streets, and consequently the health of the people. The reader must not
suppose the house we have described is a solitary instance. There are
many single blocks of dwellings containing twice the number of families
residing on Fifth Avenue, on both sides of that street, from Washington
Square to the Park, or than a continuous row of dwellings similar to
those on Fifth Avenue, three or four miles in length. There is a
multitude of these squares, any of which contains a larger population
than the whole city of Hartford, Connecticut which covers an area of
seven miles. [Footnote: Annual Encyclopaedia, 1861] There is one single
house in the city which contains twelve hundred inhabitants.


                            FALLEN FORTUNES.

You will see all classes of people in these tenement houses, and,
amongst others, persons who have known wealth and comfort. Alas! that
it should be so. You will see them stealing along quickly and
noiselessly, avoiding the other inmates with an aversion they cannot
conceal, and as if they fear to be recognized by some one who knew them
in their better days. They live entirely to themselves, suffering more
than those who have been used to poverty. If they can get work, they
take it gladly and labor faithfully. If unable to procure it, they
suffer, and often starve in silence. Only when driven by the direst
necessity do they seek aid from charitable persons or associations.
There are many of these men and women, persons of worth and refinement,
in the great city, whose poverty and sufferings are known only to the
eye that sees all things.


                         A ROMANCE OF A CHIGNON.

Many a fine lady, as she pauses in her toilette to admire the effect of
the beautiful locks, for which she is indebted to her wealth rather
than to nature, would shrink in horror from the glittering coils, could
she know their whole story. We will tell it.

A poor sewing girl, whose only riches consisted of a "wealth of hair,"
died in a tenement house in one of the most wretched quarters of the
city. Her life had been a fearful struggle against want and temptation,
and death was a relief to her. She died alone, in her miserable home,
with no one to minister to her last wants. Her death became known to
the inmates of the house, who notified the city authorities.
Preparations were made to lay the body in the "Potter's field," and
until these were completed it was left in the silence and loneliness of
the chamber which had witnessed its mortal sufferings. While it lay
there, the door was noiselessly opened, and a man, roughly dressed,
with his face partly concealed, entered, glancing around carefully to
see if he was noticed. Then closing the door quickly, he approached the
body, and produced a pair of large shears; lifting the lifeless form
roughly with one hand, with the other he severed the long tresses
quickly from the cold head, and gathering them up, departed as
noiselessly as he had come, taking with him the only source of
happiness the dead woman had ever possessed. The braid was sold for a
mere trifle to a fashionable hair-dresser, who asked no questions
concerning it, and when it was seen next, it was worn by some fine
lady, who, in, her thoughtless vanity, never paused to consider its
history.




                              CHAPTER XXVI.


                               POOR GIRLS.

We cannot hope to do justice to this branch of our subject. To treat it
properly would require a volume, for it is full of the saddest,
sternest, and most truthful romance. A writer in _Putnam's Magazine_
for April, 1868, presented an able and authentic paper on this subject,
which is so full and interesting that we have decided to quote a few
extracts from it here, in place of any statement of our own.

Where the Bowery runs into Chatham street, we pause, and from within
our close-buttoned overcoats look out over our mufflers at the passing
throng. There are many novel features in it, but let them pass. Note
these thinly-clad creatures who hurry shivering past, while the keen
wind searches, with icy fingers, through their scanty garments, and
whirls the blinding snow in their pitiful, wearied faces. We count them
by tens, by scores, by hundreds, as we stand patiently here--all
bearing the same general aspect of countenance, all hurrying anxiously
forward, as if this morning's journey were the most momentous one of
their whole lives. But they take the same journey every morning, year
in and year out, whether the sun shines or the rain falls, or the bleak
winds whistle and the snow sweeps in their faces, with a pain like the
cutting of knives. The same faces go past in this dreary procession
month after month. Occasionally one will be missing--she is dead.
Another: she is worse than dead--_her_ face had beauty in it. Thus one
by one I have seen them drop away--caught by disease, born of their
work and their want, bringing speedy end to the weary, empty life;
caught by temptation and drawn into the giddy maelstrom of sin, to come
out no more forever.

To-morrow morning take your stand at Fulton or Catharine ferry, and
you shall see much such another procession go shivering by. The next
day station yourself somewhere on the west side, say in Canal street, a
few blocks from Broadway; here it is again. If Asmodeus-like, you could
hover in the air above the roofs of the town, and look down upon its
myriad streets at this hour, you would see such processions in every
quarter of the metropolis. The spectacle would help you to form some
idea of the vastness of the theme now on our hands.

Let us define the poor girls as those who are forced to earn whatever
food they eat, whatever clothing they wear, by hard toil; girls who do
not receive one cent, one crumb, from the dead, helpless, or recreant
parents who brought them into the world. It is, of course, impossible
to give their number accurately; but there is a result attainable by
persistent observation, day by day and week by week, at all hours, and
in all sorts of places, which is quite as reliable and satisfactory as
any that is obtainable through blundering census-takers; and I know
this army of poor girls to be one of great magnitude. The sewing girls
alone I have heard estimated at thirty thousand, by one whose life is
in every day contact with them, and has been for years. This is but a
single class among the poor girls, reflect. The estimate may be deemed
an exaggerated one. Then we will disarm criticism by taking it at half
its word. If, accordingly, we say thirty thousand for _the whole_--for
all classes--it is still a vague figure.... Few persons ever saw thirty
thousand people gathered together. But we all comprehend distances. _If
this army of poor girls were to form in a procession together, it would
be more than ten miles long_.


                            THE SEWING GIRLS.

There are two classes of sewing girls in New York. Those who work at
home, and those who go out to work at places provided by their
employers. Those who work at home are comparatively few. They stay
there not from choice, but from necessity. Bodily deformity, or
infirmity, or sickness, or invalid parents, or relatives, whom they are
unable to leave, keeps them there.

The writer in _Putnam_, to whose deeply interesting statement we refer
the reader for further information on this point, found a poor girl of
this class, who was kept at home by the sickness of her consumptive
father, living and working in a miserable tenement house in the upper
part of Mulberry street. After a brief conversation with her, he asked:

'What rent do you pay for this room, Mary?'

'Four dollars a month, sir.'

"That," he continues, "is little more than thirteen cents a day, you
will observe."

'What do you get for making such a shirt as that?'

'Six cents, sir.'

'What! You make a shirt for six cents?'

'Yes, sir, and furnish the thread.'

If my reader is incredulous, I can assure him that Mary does not tell a
falsehood; for I know that this price is paid by some of the most
'respectable' firms in New York. 'Can't you get work to do at higher
prices?'

'Sometimes, sir. But these folks are better than many others; they pay
regularly. Some who offer better prices will cheat, or they won't pay
when the work is carried home These folks give me plenty of work, and I
never have to wait; so I don't look around for better. I can't afford
to take the risk, sir; so many will cheat us.'

Respectability is a good thing, you see. Let me whisper a few other
prices to you, which respectability pays its poor girls. Fifteen or
twenty cents for making a linen coat, complete; sixty-two cents _per
dozen_ for making men's heavy overalls; one dollar a dozen for making
flannel shirts. Figures are usually very humdrum affairs, but what a
story they tell here! These last prices I did not get from Mary. I got
them in the first place, from a benevolent lady who works with heart
and hand, day after day, all her time, in endeavoring to better the
condition of the poor girls of New York. But I got them, in the second
place, from the employers themselves. By going to them, pencil in hand,
and desiring the cheerful little particulars for publication? Hardly! I
sent my office-boy out in search of work for an imaginary 'sister,' and
to inquire what would be paid her. Having inquired, and got his answer,
it is needless to say that James concluded his sister could live
without taking in sewing.

So, you see, that in order merely to pay her rent, Mary must make two
shirts a day. That being done, she must make more to meet her other
expenses. She has fuel to buy--and a pail of coal costs her fifteen
cents. She has food to buy--but she eats very little, her father still
less. She has not tasted meat of any kind for over a year, she tells
us. What then does she eat? Bread and potatoes, principally; she drinks
a cup of cheap tea, without milk or sugar, at night--provided she has
any, which she frequently has not. She has also to buy (I am not
painting fancy pictures, I am stating facts, which are not regulated by
any rules known to our experience) 'a trifle of whiskey.' Mary's father
was not reared a teetotaller, and though I was, and have no taste for
liquor, I am able to see how a little whiskey may be the last physical
solace possible to this miserable man, whose feet press the edge of a
consumptive's grave.

"Perhaps you think it cannot be any of our first and wealthiest firms
that pay poor girls starvation prices for their work. But you are
mistaken. If my publishers did not deem it unwise to do so, I should
give the names of some of our best Broadway houses as among the
offenders against the poor girls."


                            A LIFE-STRUGGLE.

"Let us follow one of these poor girls," says the writer we have
quoted, "as she comes out of the den of this beast of prey, and moves
off, wringing her hands in an agony of distress. Day and night, with
wearying industry, she had been working upon the dozen shirts he had
given her to make. She had been looking forward--with what eagerness
you can hardly realize--to the hour when she could carry him her work
and get her pay, and recover her deposit money or receive more shirts
to do. Now she is turned into the street with nothing! She dares not
return to her miserable boarding-place in Delancey street, for her
Irish landlady is clamorous for the two weeks' board now due. Six
dollars! The sum is enormous to her. She had expected that to-night she
could hand the Irish woman the money she had earned, and that it, with
a promise of more soon, might appease her. But now she has nothing for
her--nothing. Despair settles down upon her. Hunger is its companion,
for she has had no supper. Where shall she go?"

Night has come down since she left Delancey street, carrying the heavy
bundle of new-made shirts. The streets are lighted up, and are alive
with bustle. Heedless what course she takes, unnoticed, uncared-for by
any in the great ocean of humanity whose waves surge about her, she
wanders on, and by-and-by turns into Broadway. Broadway, ever
brilliant--with shop windows where wealth gleams in a thousand rare
and beautiful shapes; Broadway, with its crowding omnibuses and
on-pouring current of life, its Niagara roar, its dazzle--is utter
loneliness to her. The fiery letters over the theatre entrances are
glowing in all the colors of the rainbow. Gayly-attired ladies, girls
of her own age, blest with lovers or brothers, are streaming in at the
portal, beyond which she imagines every delight--music, and beauty, and
perfume of flowers, and _warmth_. She looks in longingly, hugging her
shivering shoulders under her sleazy shawl, till a policeman bids her
'move on.' Out of the restaurants there float delicious odors of
cooking meats, making her hungrier still. Her eyes rest, with a look
half wild and desperate, on the painted women who pass, in rustling
silks, and wearing the _semblance_ of happiness. At least they are
fed--they are clothed--they can sit in bright parlors, though they sit
with sin. It is easy to yield to temptation. So many do! You little
know how many. In Paris, she might perhaps go and throw herself into
the Seine. In New York, such suicides are not common; but there is a
moral suicide, which is common. Thousands on thousands of poor girls
have thrown themselves into this stream, in the last agony of
desperation; sinking down in the dark current of sin, to be heard of no
more.

But this poor wanderer has memories of a home, and a mother, under
whose protection she had been taught to shudder at sin. She cannot
plunge into this ghastly river with wide-open eyes--at least, not yet.
She walks on.

Her ear is caught by sounds of music and laughter, songs and bursts of
applause, that come up out of these basement-haunting concert saloons.
She has heard of the 'pretty waiter girls'--the fine clothes they wear,
the gay lives they lead, their only labor to wait upon the patrons of
the saloon, and chat with them as they sit about the tables listening
to the music. 'It is a life of Paradise,' she murmurs, 'to this life I
lead!' At least, she thinks, there is no actual sin in being a waiter
girl. She perceives a wide distance between the descent of these
basement stairs to solicit employment, and that other dreadful
resource.

The poor girls who work in these underground hells do not get good pay,
and their work is not light. They are confined in these noisome places,
thick with tobacco smoke and foul with poisonous odors, till two
o'clock in the morning; in some places till five o'clock. Their pay is
four dollars to six dollars a week; higher figures, certainly, than
thousands of working-girls get, but, for two reasons, lower, in effect.
The first of these two reasons is, that the waiter girl must dress with
some degree of attractiveness. The second, and the most weighty, is,
that she must pay a high price for board. Going home long after
midnight, she must live somewhere in the vicinity of the saloon. Then
the woman who, having taken a girl to board, finds that she comes home
after two o'clock every night, draws her own conclusions at once. That
girl must pay _well_ for her board, if, indeed, she be not turned out
of the house without a word. It will scarcely help the matter, if the
girl explains that she is employed at a concert saloon. The woman knows
very well what 'pretty waiter girls' are. 'Those creatures' must pay
for what they have, and pay roundly. The result is, that the waiter
girl's occupation will not support her. The next result is, that there
are no virtuous girls in the concert saloons of Broadway--unless they
be such girls as this we are following tonight, as she wanders the
streets, pausing to look down into this fancied half-Paradise, only to
enter it at last, in search of 'good pay.'

Let us go down with her. She pushes open the green-baize door, and
walks timidly to the bar. A girl who is passably pretty can almost
always get a situation here. The big-armed prize-fighter-looking brute
behind the bar reads our wanderer's history at once. 'Fresh' girls are
rare in that quarter. She is assisted to improve her dress a little--
in some cases these girls are provided with a fancy costume, _à la
Turque_, which they don at coming, and doff at leaving each night--and
she commences her work. A crowd of half-drunk rowdies enter, and call
on her to serve them, attracted by her sweet face. The grossest insults
are put upon her, her character being taken for granted; infamous
liberties are taken with her person, and her confusion laughed at. She
would fly from the place at once, if she dared; but she does not dare--
she is afraid of the man behind the bar. Her experience with men has
taught her to expect nothing but brutality from them, if she offend
them in any way. When the weary hours have dragged along to the end,
and the place is closed, she goes out into the street again, with a
bevy of other girls. The street is still and lonely; the long lines of
lamps twinkle in silence; the shop windows are all shrouded in
darkness; there are no rumbling wheels, save when an occasional hack
passes with slow-trotting horses.

Now she must decide upon her course. This is the critical moment. Will
she adhere to her new-found employment? If she do, one of her
companions will volunteer to take her to a boarding-place--and from
that hour she is lost. But perhaps she breaks away: a policeman
saunters by, and she appeals to him, begging to be taken to a station-
house to sleep--a common resource with the homeless poor girl--and on
the morrow resumes her deathly struggle for existence. How long it will
last--how long she will fight her almost inevitable fate--no one can
tell.

"But the poor girls who work in shops provided by their employers, fare
better, you think. At least, they find shelter and warmth in the cold
winter, while at work? At least, they are permitted to breathe and
live."


                    THE WORKSHOPS OF THE POOR GIRLS.

There are hoop-skirt manufactories where, in the incessant din of
machinery, girls stand upon weary feet all day long for fifty cents.
There are photograph galleries--you pass them in Broadway admiringly--
where girls 'mount' photographs in dark rooms, which are hot in summer
and cold in winter, for the same money. There are girls who make fans,
who work in feathers, who pick over and assort rags for paper
warehouses, who act as 'strippers' in tobacco shops, who make caps, and
paper boxes, and toys, and almost all imaginable things. There are
milliners' girls, and bindery girls, and printers' girls--press-
feeders, bookfolders, hat-trimmers. It is not to be supposed that all
these places are objectionable; it is not to be supposed that all the
places where sewing-girls work are objectionable; but among each class
there are very many--far _too_ many--where evils of the gravest
character exist, where the poor girls are wronged, the innocents
suffer. There are places where there are not sufficient fires kept, in
cold weather, and where the poor girl, coming in wet and shivering from
the storm, must go immediately to work, wet as she is, and so continue
all day. There are places where the 'silent system' of prisons is
rigidly enforced, where there are severe penalties for whispering to
one's neighbor, and where the windows are closely curtained, so that no
girl can look out upon the street; thus, in advance, inuring the girls
to the hardships of prison discipline, in view of the possibility that
they may some day become criminals! There are places where the employer
treats his girls like slaves, in every sense of the word. Pause a
moment, and reflect on _all_ that signifies. As in the South 'as it
was,' some of these girls are given curses, and even blows, and even
_kicks_; while others are special favorites either of 'the boss,' or of
some of his male subordinates, and dress well, pay four dollars a week
for board, and fare well generally--on a salary of three dollars a
week.


                              TEMPTATIONS.

Until you have lived the life of the working girl, lady, reading this
page, you cannot know what their temptation is--how hard it is to keep
away sin and shame. By all the doors at which temptation can enter to
you, it enters to them; and by many other doors of which you know
nothing by experience. It comes in the guise of friendship to them, who
are utterly friendless in the world. It comes in the guise of love--and
do you think the poor girl never yearns for the caressing touch of
love's palm on her aching brow? never longs to be folded in the
comforting embrace of love's strong arms? Ah, _she_ knows the worth of
love! It comes, too, through womanly vanity, as it does to her happier
sisters, who sit higher in the social scale. But in addition to these,
temptation comes to the poor girl through the tortures of a hunger
which gnaws upon the vitals--of a cold which chills the young blood
with its ice--of a weariness under which the limbs tremble, the head
reels, the whole frame sinks prostrate.

"If you were starving, and could not otherwise get food, possibly you
would steal it. I would. If hunger will rouse strong men to active
crime, how easy must it be for it to lead the poor girl to a merely
passive sin! Yet she struggles with a bravery which few would give her
credit for--with this, as with all her temptations. There was Agnes--,
a beautiful girl of seventeen, who resisted the temptation that came
to her through her own employer. He discharged her. Unable to pay her
board, she was turned into the streets. It was a bitter day in January.
For _four days_ she wandered the streets, looking for work--only for
work. 'I envied the boys who shoveled snow from the sidewalks. I would
gladly have done their work for half they got.' Hungry, she pawned her
shawl. When that was gone, she went twenty-four hours without a crumb,
shivering through the streets. At night, she slept in the station-
house--without a bed, thankful for mere shelter. Again and again she
was tempted; but she did not yield. She found work at last, and leads
her cruel life still, patiently and uncomplaining. There was Caroline
G---, who came from the West to New York, fancying the great city would
have plenty of work to give her. She, too, wandered the streets, and
slept at night in the station-house. On the third day--which was the
Christian Sabbath--mercy seemed to have found her. A gentlemanly
appearing person spoke to her, and learning her want, offered to give
her a place as seamstress in his family. He lived a short distance in
the country, he said, and took her to a hotel to stay till next day,
when they would take the cars for his home. The hotel was an elegant
one; the room given her was hung with silk and lace; but she preferred
the hard floor of the station-house, that night, to its luxurious
state--for her 'protector' was a wolf in sheep's clothing."




                             CHAPTER XXVII.


                            THE STREET BOYS.

You can scarcely walk a single block without your attention being drawn
to one or more of the class called "street boys." We have already
devoted a separate chapter to the musicians, and we must now endeavor
to give the reader an idea of the rest of this class.


                              THE NEWSBOYS.

Every morning, by times, and every afternoon between one o'clock and
dark, if you chance to be in the neighborhood of Printing House Square,
you will see throngs of boys rushing frantically out of the cellars of
the printing houses of the daily journals. They have barely passed the
portals, when they set up their morning cry, in a shrill, sharp tone,
"'Ere's your ''Erald,' 'Mornin' Times,' 'Buy a Tribune?'" etc. In the
afternoon, they scream into your ears the names of the "News," "Mail,"
"Express," "Telegram," "Post," and other evening journals, flavoring
their announcements with shouts such as these: "'Nuther murder!"
"Tremendous sensation!" "Orful shootin' scrape!" "'Orrible haccident!"
and so on. They climb up on the steps of the stage, thrust their grim
little faces in the windows, and almost bring nervous passengers to
their feet by their yells; or, scrambling into a street car, they will
offer you their papers in such an earnest, appealing way, that, nine
times out of ten, you will buy them out of sheer pity for the boys.

The boys who sell the morning papers are very few in number. The
newspaper stands seem to have the whole monopoly of this branch of the
trade, and the efforts of the newsboys are confined to the afternoon
journals--especially the cheap ones--some of which, however, are dear
bargains at a penny. They swarm around the City Hall, and in the
eastern section of the city, below Canal street; and in the former
locality, half a dozen will sometimes surround a luckless pedestrian,
thrusting their wares in his face, and literally forcing him to buy one
to get rid of them. The moment he shows the least disposition to yield,
they commence fighting amongst themselves for the "honor" of serving
him. They are ragged and dirty. Some have no coats, no shoes, and no
hat. Some are simply stupid, others are bright, intelligent little
fellows, who would make good and useful men if they could have a
chance.

The majority of these boys live at home, but many of them are wanderers
in the streets, selling papers at times, and begging at others. Some
pay their earnings, which rarely amount to more than thirty cents per
day, to their mothers--others spend them in tobacco, strong drink, and
in visiting the low-class theatres and concert halls.

Formerly, these little fellows suffered very much from exposure and
hunger. In the cold nights of winter, they slept on the stairways of
the newspaper offices, in old boxes or barrels, under door steps, and
sometimes sought a "warm bed" on the street gratings of the printing
offices, where the warm steam from the vaults below could pass over
them. The attention of the "Children's Aid Association" was called to
their hardships in 1854, and an effort was made to relieve them by
establishing a newsboys' lodging house.


                        NEWSBOYS' LODGING HOUSE.

This is now situated in Park Place, near Broadway, and is richly worth
visiting. It is always full at night. The boys pay five cents for
supper, and five cents for bed. The whole of the arrangements are under
the superintendence of Mr. and Mrs. O'Conner, who have been most
efficient in their management of the house. It requires a great deal of
tact to keep these boys under proper discipline, without, at the same
time, letting them feel that the restrictions are too severe. Supper is
served for them between six and seven o'clock, and is of plain,
substantial materials. The boys then adjourn to the lecture-room, where
they are supplied with books, and where, in the course of the evening,
they unite in singing various hymns. Occasionally, gentlemen come in
and give lectures. Some of the boys are eager to learn to write, and
are supplied with writing materials. The sitting generally terminates
about nine o'clock, with the recitation of the Lord's Prayer and the
singing of the Doxology. The singing is marked with force, rather than
great accuracy; it sometimes partakes very much of the character of a
bawl. But the lads are amused, and perhaps a little instructed, so
something is gained. After these exercises, the tired ones go to bed,
the lively blades to the gymnasium, the philosophic apply themselves to
draughts or dominoes. The gymnasium is a most amusing place. There is
one little boy, named 'Chris,' a newsboy, aged eleven, who lost his leg
by being rode over by a coal cart, about four years ago, whose agility
is perfectly wonderful. He throws aside the crutch with disdain, hops
across the room with incredible swiftness, seizes the rings of the
swing, and flies through the air like a bird. Some of the newsboys have
considerable savings, and are very well-conducted lads. Last month, one
of them picked up a roll of bills amounting to two hundred dollars. He
brought it immediately to Mr. O'Conner, and asked his advice. It was
decided that the finding should be advertised; but as the owner was not
forthcoming, the boy placed his savings in a bank; and has added
considerably to the original amount.


                            THE BOOTBLACKS.

The bootblacks form a peculiar feature of New York life. They are boys
from ten to sixteen years of age. A few are older, and there are some
men following this avocation on the street. The boys, however, are
always meant when this class is referred to. Some of them are newsboys
early in the morning, and bootblacks for the rest of the day.

They provide themselves with a box, with a sliding lid and a rest for
the feet of their customers, a box of blacking, and a pair of good
brushes. All the articles are kept in the box, when not in use, and the
owner carries this receptacle by means of a leather strap fastened to
it. This he slings across his shoulder, and trudges on with his box on
his back. The headquarters of this class are in or near the Five Points
district. They form a regular confraternity, and have their own laws or
customs. They are generally sharp, shrewd lads, with any number of bad
habits, and little or no principle. They are averse to giving much
information with respect to themselves or their society, admission into
which requires a payment of two dollars. To what purpose the money thus
obtained is devoted, it is hard to say, but the object of the
association seems to be mutual protection. The "Order" establishes a
fixed price for labor, and takes care to protect its members against
the competition of irregular intruders. The established price, for
blacking a pair of boots or shoes, is ten cents. When it is known to a
member that an outsider is blacking for a less sum, the fact is
reported to the society, which appoints a delegation to look after the
presumptuous individual. He is promptly warned that he must work for
the regular price, or "quit work." If he declines to do either, his
head, in the elegant language of the society, is "punched," and he is
driven from the street. The affairs of the society are managed by a
"Captain of the bootblacks," whose word is supreme, and who wields his
power as all arbitrary rulers do.

The price of a new outfit, or "kit," such as we have described, is from
two to three dollars. Second-hand outfits can be bought of the junk-
dealers for much less. When asked how much they earn, the boys give
evasive answers, and it has been said that their society does not
permit them to tell the truth upon this subject. One dollar is supposed
to be the average daily earning of an industrious boy. The writer was
once much amused by a little fellow telling him, with an air of great
importance, that he was going that night to attend the trial of Bill
Simpson, a recreant bootblack, who was to be "brought afore the s'ciety
for blacking boots for five cents." The trial must have been edifying.
Where and when the society meets, and what is the nature of its
transactions, are secrets known only to the initiated.

A large part of the earnings of the bootblacks is spent for tobacco and
drink. They are patrons of the Bowery theatres and concert halls, and
their criticisms of the performances are frequently worth hearing. The
"Children's Aid Society" makes them objects of its especial care, its
great end and aim being "to induce the boys to emigrate to the West."
The course of life which they pursue leads to miserable results. When a
bootblack gets to be seventeen, he finds that his career is at an end--
it does not produce money enough--and he has acquired lazy, listless
habits, which totally unfit him for any kind of work. He becomes a
loafer, a vagrant, and perhaps worse. To save boys from this fate, the
society labors most earnestly to induce them to go to the West; and it
is stated that the desire of the boys to secure western homes increases
year by year. Up to the present time about seven hundred have been sent
out, and many of them are now filling respectable positions in society.




                             CHAPTER XXVIII.


                                BEGGARS.

After living in New York for a few months, you cannot resist the
conclusion that it is a City of Beggars. You meet them at every step,
and they follow you into your residence and place of business. A few
you know to be genuine, and you give them gladly, but cannot resist the
conviction that the majority of those who accost you are simply
impostors, as, indeed, they are. Begging is not allowed on the street-
cars, in the stages, the ferry-boats, or at any place of amusement, but
there is no law against the practice of it on the streets. Broadway is
the favorite resort of this class, as it is the principal promenade of
the city people, and Fourteenth, and Twenty-third streets, and Fifth
Avenue are being made disagreeable in this way.

Besides these street beggars, there are numbers of genteel, and
doubtless well-meaning persons who make it their business to beg for
others. They intrude upon you at the most inconvenient times, and
venture into your private apartments with a freedom and assurance which
positively amaze you. Refuse them, and they are insulting.

Then there are those who approach you by means of letters. They send
you the most pitiful appeals for aid, and assure you that nothing but
the direst necessity induces them to send you such a letter, and that
they would not do so under any circumstances, were not they aware of
your well-known charitable disposition. Some persons of known wealth
receive as many as a dozen letters of this kind each day. They are, in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, from impostors, and are properly
consigned to the waste-basket.

Housekeepers have frequent applications every day for food. These are
generally complied with, as, in all families of moderate size, there is
much that must either be given or thrown away. Children and old people
generally do this kind of begging. They come with long faces and
pitiful voices, and ask for food in the most doleful tones. Grant their
requests, and you will be amused at the cool manner in which they will
produce large baskets, filled with provisions, and deposit your gift
therein. Many Irish families find all their provisions in this way.

A lady desirous of helping a little child who was in the habit of
coming to her on such errands, once asked her what her mother's
occupation was?

"She keeps a boardin' house," was the innocent reply.

"A boarding house!" exclaimed the lady in surprise, "then why does she
send you out to beg?"

"Oh!" said the child naively, "she takes care of the house, and I do
the marketing. She doesn't call it begging."

The cool impudence of street beggars is often amusing. The writer was
sitting a short while since in the office of a friend, when a man
entered and began a most pitiful story. The gentleman gave him a penny
or two, then looking at him for the first time, said:

"How is this, my friend? This is the second time you have been here to-
day. I gave you something this morning."

The man had evidently blundered into the office this time, and he now
glanced at the gentleman and about the room, searchingly. He recognized
them, and bursting into a laugh at his mistake, left the room without
replying.

The majority of the beggars of the City, we are glad to say, are
foreigners and their children. An American mendicant is rarely seen.
Our people will suffer in silence rather than beg, but the foreigners
do not seem to be influenced by any such feelings. They are used to it,
no doubt, in their own country, and bring their pauper habits over here
with them. We make an exception in favor of the Germans. They are a
hard-working people and rarely beg.

The City makes a liberal provision for the poor, and the charitable
associations do much more, but still it is impossible to relieve all
the suffering. The reader will find in one of the engravings of this
work, an instance of the manner in which the poor are provided with
food at the Tombs.




                              CHAPTER XXIX.


                               EMIGRANTS.

Nine tenths of the emigration from Europe to the United States is
through the port of New York. So large is the number of emigrants
arriving here, that the authorities have been compelled to establish a
depot for the especial accommodation of this class. This depot is
located at the Battery.


                              THE BATTERY.

The Battery was formerly one of the most delightful spots in New York.
It occupies the extreme lower end of the island, and commands a fine
view of the bay and harbor. It had formerly a granite sea-wall, along
which was the favorite promenade of the city, and was shaded by a grove
of fine oaks which the Dutch settlers had been wise enough to spare. It
was almost triangular in form, and on two sides was built up with
stately mansions of the old style, which were occupied by the _elite_
of the metropolis. It had an elegant and aristocratic air, which made
it very attractive to both native and visitor.

The houses and trees are still standing, but the dwellers who made the
place so gay, twenty years ago, have flown up the island, and the
buildings are occupied with the offices of the various shipping lines,
that ply between this and other ports; and by cheap hotels, bar-rooms,
and sailors' boarding houses, the grass in the enclosure is trodden
down, and the place is both dirty and repulsive. The railing is lined
with long rows of street-venders' stalls, and the gates have been taken
away. Crowds of emigrants, drunken men, slovenly women and dirty
children are to be seen at all hours of the day in the old park, and
the only beauty still clinging to the scene is in the expanse of blue
water which stretches away from it seaward. At night the Battery is not
a safe place to visit, for its frequenters respect neither life nor
property, and the bay is close at hand to hide all traces of crime.


                             CASTLE GARDEN.

The emigrant ships, both sail vessels and steamers, anchor in the river
after entering the port. They generally lie off their own piers, and
wait for the Custom-House boat to board them. As soon as this is done,
and the necessary forms are gone through with, preparations are made to
land the emigrants, as the ship cannot enter her berth at the pier till
this duty is accomplished. The emigrants and their baggage are placed
on board the Custom-House steamer, and are at once conveyed to Castle
Garden, a round building which juts out into the water at the extreme
end of the Battery.

In the year 1807 work was commenced on this building by the General
Government, the site having been ceded by the city. It was intended to
erect a strong fortification, to be called Castle Clinton, but, in
1820, it was discovered that the foundations were not strong enough to
bear heavy ordnance, and Congress reconveyed the site to the city. The
building was then completed as an opera house, and used for operatic
and theatrical performances, concerts, and public receptions. It was
the largest and most elegant hall of its kind in the country, and was a
favorite resort of pleasure seekers. Jenny Lind sang there, during her
visit to the United States. It was used for this purpose until the year
1855, when, the fashion and wealth of the city having removed too high
up town to make it profitable, it was leased to the Commissioners of
Emigration, as a landing-place for emigrants.

This Commission has the exclusive charge of the Landing Depot and its
inmates. It is composed of six Commissioners, appointed by the Governor
of the State. The Mayors of New York and Brooklyn, and the Presidents
of the Irish and German Emigrant Societies, are members _ex-officio_.
They are responsible to the Legislature for their acts.

The Landing Depot is fitted up with quarters for the emigrants and
their baggage, and with various stores at which they can procure
articles of necessity at moderate prices. As most of them come provided
with some money, there is an exchange office in the enclosure, at which
they can procure American currency for their foreign money. Many of
them come furnished with railroad tickets to their destinations in the
West, which they have purchased in Europe, but the majority buy their
tickets in this city. There is an office for this purpose in the
building, at which the agents of the various lines leading from the
city to the Great West are prepared to sell tickets. No one is
compelled to transact his business in the building, but all are advised
to do so, as they will then be fairly treated; while they are in danger
of falling into the hands of swindlers outside. Attached to the
establishment is an official, whose duty it is to furnish any
information desired by the emigrants, and to advise them as to the
boarding houses of the city which are worthy of their patronage. The
keepers of these houses are held to a strict account of their treatment
of their guests.

The majority of the emigrants go West in a few days after their
arrival. Some have already decided on their place of future abode
before leaving Europe, and others are influenced by the information
they receive after reaching this country. Should they desire to remain
in this city they are frequently able to obtain employment, through the
Labor Exchange connected with the Landing Depot, and by the same means
many obtain work in other parts of the country--the Commissioners
taking care that the contracts thus made are lawful and fair to both
parties.

As we have said, the greater number of the emigrants arriving here have
money when they come. Others, who have been able to raise only enough
to reach this, to them, "land of promise," or who have been swindled
out of their funds by sharpers in European ports, arrive here in the
most destitute condition. These are a burden to the city and, State at
first, and are at once sent to the Emigrant Refuge and Hospital.


                      EMIGRANT REFUGE AND HOSPITAL.

This establishment is located on Ward's Island, in the Harlem River,
and consists of several large buildings for hospitals, nurseries, and
other purposes. It has a farm of one hundred and six acres attached to
it. The destitute emigrants are sent to this establishment, as soon as
their condition is ascertained, and cared for until they either obtain
employment, or are provided for by their friends in this country, or
are sent to their original destinations in the West at the expense of
the Commissioners. Medical attendance is provided at the Landing Depot,
and is free to all needing it. Serious cases are sent to the hospital
on Ward's Island, where good medical skill and attendance are
furnished.

The number of emigrants at the Refuge sometimes amounts to several
hundred of all nationalities. The Irish and German elements
predominate, and these being bitterly hostile to each other, the
authorities are frequently compelled to adopt severe measures to
prevent an open collision between them. In the winter of 1867-68, the
Irish and German residents on the island came to blows, and a bloody
riot immediately began between them, which was only quelled by the
prompt arrival of a strong force of the City Police.


                          PERILS OF EMIGRANTS.

The Commissioners adopt every means in their power to prevent the
inmates of the Landing Depot from falling into the hands of sharpers.
Each emigrant in passing out of the enclosure for any purpose is
required to apply for a permit, without which he cannot return, and no
one is allowed, by the policeman on duty at the gate, to enter without
permission from the proper authorities. In this way sharpers and
swindlers are kept out of the enclosure, inside of which the emigrant
is perfectly safe; and when he ventures out he is warned of the dangers
he will have to encounter the moment he passes the gateway.

The majority of the emigrants are unable to speak our language, and all
are ignorant of the country, its laws, and customs. This makes them an
easy prey to the villains who throng the Battery in wait for them.

Approaching these poor creatures, as they are gazing about them with
the timidity and loneliness of strangers in a strange land, the
scoundrels will accost them in their own language. Glad to hear the
mother-tongue once more, the emigrant readily enters into conversation
with the fellow, and reveals to him his destination, his plans, and the
amount of money he has with him. The sharper, after some pleasantries
meant to lull the suspicions of his victim, offers to show him where he
can purchase his railroad tickets at a lower rate than at the office in
the Landing Depot, and, if the emigrant is willing, conducts him to a
house in Washington, Greenwich, West, or some neighboring street, where
a confederate sells him the so-called railroad tickets and receives his
money. He is then conducted back to the Battery by a different route,
and the sharper leaves him. Upon inquiring at the office, he learns
that his cheap tickets are so much worthless paper, and that he has
been swindled out of his money, which may be his all. Of course he is
unable to find the place where he was robbed, and has no redress for
his loss.

[Illustration: Castle Garden, the place the emigrants land--Sharpers
trying to swindle them.]

Others again are led off, by persons who pretend to be friends, to take
a friendly drink in a neighboring saloon. Their liquor is drugged, and
they are soon rendered unconscious, when they are robbed of their
money, valuables, and even their clothes, and turned out into the
street in this condition, to be picked up by the police.

All sorts of worthless wares are palmed off upon them by unscrupulous
wretches. They are drawn into gaming and are fleeced out of their
money. Dozens of sharpers are on the watch for them, and woe to them if
they fall into the hands of these wretches.

Women are prominent amongst the enemies of the emigrants. The
proprietors of the dance-houses and brothels of the city send their
agents to the Battery, to watch their opportunity to entice the fresh,
healthy emigrant girls to their hells. They draw them away by promises
of profitable employment, and other shams, and carry them off to the
houses of their heartless masters and mistresses. There they are
drugged and ruined, or in other ways literally forced into lives of
shame.




                              CHAPTER XXX.


                              THE BUMMERS.

From a recent number of the _New York Times_, we take the following
excellent description of this class, which is peculiar to the
Metropolis:--

Like the Western Army and Army of the Potomac during the war, the City
of New York possesses its troop of bummers--men who hate the discipline
of life, detest marching in the ranks of workers, and hold industry in
abomination. They consist of two classes, the temporary, made so by
misfortune, or their own fault, and the permanent, who are so from
their own deliberate choice. The first deserve what they seldom
receive--our pity and sympathy, while the second equally rarely obtain
their just deserts of contempt and disgust. The regular bummer is a
mixture of the thief and beggar, usually possessing more of the
characteristics of the latter than the former, as his cowardice and
indolence prevent him from rising high in the ranks of criminals. His
strongest feeling is a horror of all regular employment; his chief
happiness is to lie with a well-filled stomach on the Battery, in the
sun, and sleep; his hell, or 'infinite dread,' is to be arrested by the
police and be sent to the Island as a vagrant.

All that a man, whether rich or poor, can require, is food, clothing,
lodging, and money for amusement or luxury. More than this the
wealthiest can never obtain--less than this the bummer seldom
possesses. His first principle is never to pay for food, even if he has
the money. In a city like this, where plenty of good food is thrown
away every day, it is a shame for any man to go hungry,' remarked one
of this tribe, 'and I won't go with an empty belly; I ask until I have
enough.' This is the feeling of all, and is acted upon by all. He begs
bread from the bakers, and broken victuals from restaurants and private
houses. In summer he strolls around the market to pick up or steal what
he can find. His money he will spend for liquor for himself and
friends, but considers it wasted if used to buy food. He will treat a
brother in distress to five-cent whiskey as long as his money holds
out, but his comrade might starve before he would buy him a loaf of
bread. He has his regular routes and customers whom he visits, and some
of these _chevaliers d'industrie_ keep regular lists of the charitable,
their residences, what is the proper time to call, and the probable
result of such visit. 'Mr.----, No.--street, coffee and bread, 7 and 8
A.M.; Mr.----, No.--street, 9 A.M., bread, cold meat, or cheese; brown
stone house corner of----street, 8 P.M., Irish girl, dinner; bakery,--
street, bread; cracker bakery,----, street; house four doors from----
street, lady, lots to eat and money; sisters in----street, soup;
hotel,----street, soup meat, 12.30 P.M.,' etc., etc. This is a partial
copy of a list seen by the writer. As a rule he does not go to the same
place two days in succession, but having a number, can levy toll at
intervals and still keep supplied. Woe to the charitable restaurant-
keeper who expresses sympathy--he will be overrun. The keeper of a
certain eating-house not far from the City Hall, in reply to the thanks
for the meal that he had given to our cormorant, said: 'You are
heartily welcome. I never send any man hungry from my door.' This
expression was spread, and he was almost overwhelmed. On one day, in
less than a week from this unfortunate remark, he had thirty-two
callers within twenty-four hours, and was compelled to refuse all in
order to obtain peace.

The clothing of a bummer, while, of course, rarely of the latest
fashion, is still generally sound and whole, except when on an
expedition in pursuit of a wardrobe. This he obtains by 'asking,'
though sometimes he will buy cast-off garments in Baxter street, but in
general he prefers to beg for it. Some keep dilapidated clothing
expressly to wear when begging, and even lend it to others to use for
the purpose. Some also make a list of the places where they will be apt
to procure what they require. This list they obtain from the daily
papers. Every morning they examine the obituary notices, and enter the
date of the deaths, of persons of about their own age, on paper; about
a week or two thereafter, they call on the afflicted family, and very
frequently obtain a supply. What they cannot use they exchange at some
of the numerous second-hand dealers for what they can, or sell it
outright.

Their lodging-place is vast, consisting of the whole city. They are
regular nomads, having no fixed abiding place, driven by the police or
weather from one spot to the other. The City Hall Park is their usual
headquarters by day. Many also visit the criminal courts to pass away
the time, but the neighborhood of the City Hall appears to be their
favorite resort. Whenever the sky is clear they can be seen sitting on
the benches, vainly endeavoring to keep awake. If their gyrations
become too violent, or they tumble from their seats, the watchful
police are upon them, and, with sundry pokes of the club, compel them
to banish Morpheus by walking--outside of the Park. Those who have not
rested well during the night, at early dawn wend their way thither,
and, stretching themselves on the benches, endeavor to snatch a nap,
but, if seen, are always bastinadoed; for the only method our
Metropolitans understand of arousing a man is by beating a reveille on
his feet with a club. On the Battery, near the water's edge during the
summer, was a large pile of gravel. This, in dry weather, was a
favorite resort. Here, every night from nine o'clock, eighteen or
twenty figures could be seen stretched out in every shape. Most had old
newspapers under them; some had a brick or stone for a pillow, but all
were hatless. Hats were dangerous pieces of property to possess, as if
one was ever left exposed it was sure to be stolen. The police rarely
disturbed them; their greatest enemies were the mosquitoes. Many of
these night birds sleep in hallways, or on stoops. Some creep into
empty wagons, while others visit the hay barges in the North River. The
farmers who bring their produce to the Washington Market, arrive there
early in the morning, and they and the carriers who assist them to
unload, generally sleep in the doorways opposite their teams. Among
these the bummers frequently creep to rest, and as the police have
neither the time nor inclination to pick them out, the black sheep
remain with the white until the morning breaks, when they crawl away or
skulk around the huckster-stalls to gather refuse fruit. When the
weather is cold or rainy, the station-house is taken as a last resort.
A description of the lodgings there would lead us away from our
subject; it is sufficient to say that only a regular bummer can enjoy a
rest in such a place. The life of such a creature is, necessarily,
merely an animal existence, and, as a rule, he does not care for any
amusement beyond listening to trials in the criminal courts. If with a
full stomach he can doze away his time, he is satisfied, and asks
nothing more. When, however, he desires any recreation, he patronizes
Tony Pastor's Bowery Theatre. At the latter place he is often seen
standing near the door, with the hope of having a check given to him by
some one who leaves early. Some money he requires to try his luck in
policy shops, and especially to pay for his drinks. His methods of
'raising the wind' are only limited by his ingenuity. Simple begging,
without an excuse, he seldom tries, as, being able-bodied, his requests
would be roughly refused. He frequently sells hats, boots, and articles
of clothing that he has begged. When on such a collecting tour, he
carefully hides his hat or gives it to a comrade, and then calls in
some wholesale hat-store. There he tells a pitiable story of having
been compelled to sleep in the street and of having his hat stolen. He
goes from place to place and frequently succeeds in collecting quite a
number. One of these gentry has been heard to brag that he obtained
fifteen different hats, all good, in one day. Boots and shoes he
collects by showing his feet bursting out of the covering he has put on
them for the occasion. The most singular manner of making money is
practiced by a German, who told of it with great pride. Every morning
he examines the obituary notices in the German newspapers. He then
writes a few lines of something he calls poetry concerning each
deceased. This he takes to the afflicted family, and tells them that
seeing the death of a 'dear one' in the paper, the following thoughts
were suggested, and then gives them his manuscript. On being asked if
there is anything to pay, he replies that he is poor and will take
anything they choose to give. Most give ten cents, some twenty-five,
and he has even received a dollar, probably where the sorrow was very
deep. When all other means fail, our subject visits the different
ferries, and there asks the persons about to cross for enough to pay
his ferriage. In this way he collects a small amount during the day,
but as it is tedious and slow work he never undertakes it except as a
last resort. With half the trouble that he takes to beg he could earn a
decent livelihood, but detesting regularity he never undertakes it. One
sense of shame, however, yet remains to him. He hides his begging under
a euphemism; he never says he "begs," but always "asks." The Germans
call it _fechten_, to fight. They are the most successful, for two
reasons--first, because the German nation is peculiarly hospitable and
charitable to their own countrymen. Those speaking the same language
and coming from the same country are always received kindly and are
assisted. A Prussian helps a Prussian, a Saxon a Saxon, etc., etc.;
secondly, they have less hesitancy in asking for what they need, being
accustomed to it from their own country. There, when a mechanic has
learned his trade he goes on his travels, and seldom having money, must
beg his way. He is seldom refused his _reisepfennig_, travelling penny,
and never his food and lodging. When he arrives at a place where there
is a boss in his trade, if there is no work for him, each journeyman
gives him something, and the boss twice as much. This is the custom,
and when he obtains work he must do the same to those who come after
him. Here he has little shame in asking for money, victuals or clothes.
The German druggists have a singular custom of giving two cents to all
beggars of their own nationality. Why they give that exact sum is a
mystery, but it seems to be their habit.

Such are the bummers of New York, hastily sketched. Much more could be
told did the space allow, but it is enough to show the nature of those
excrescences on the body politic; men who, by their indolence and
impudence, curdle the milk of human kindness and dishearten the
charitable, taking the help that would make happy more deserving
objects.




                              CHAPTER XXXI.


                            THE SOCIAL EVIL.

In January, 1866, Bishop Simpson, of the Methodist Church, startled the
country with the declaration, made at a public meeting at Cooper
Institute, that the prostitutes of New York City were as numerous as
the members of the Methodist Church. The following letter of Mr. John
A. Kennedy, Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, furnishes the
most authentic statement of the facts of the case:


          OFFICE OF THE SUPERINTENDENT OF METROPOLITAN POLICE,
                          300 MULBERRY STREET.
                     NEW YORK, _January_ 22, 1866.

'MY DEAR SIR.--Your note of to-day is before me, with the printed sheet
of the '_Great Metropolis Condsened_,' inquiring whether the figures in
the paragraph marked 'Licentiousness' can be verified. I have to say
that I have nothing in my possession to sustain such monstrous
statements. During the past fall I had a careful examination made of
the concert saloons in this city, for the purpose of using the result
in our annual report; which you will find in the leading dailies of
Friday, January 5th, instant. At that time we found eleven hundred and
ninety-one waiter girls employed in two hundred and twenty-three
concert and drinking saloons. Although the greater part of these girls
are already prostitutes, yet we have evidence that they are not all
such; but continuation at the employment is sure to make them all
alike. Previous to that I had not made any census of persons of that
character since January 24th, 1864, when the footing was as follows:

Houses of prostitution, five hundred and ninety-nine. Public
prostitutes, two thousand one hundred and twenty three. Concert saloons
of ill repute, seventy-two. The number of waiting girls was not then
taken.

The newspapers of last week, in reporting Bishop Simpson's speech,
delivered in St. Paul's Church, made him say that there are twenty
thousand prostitutes in New York. I felt it about time to correct the
impressions of such well-meaning men as he, and on Thursday last I sent
out an order, instructing a new census to be made. I have nearly all
the returns in, and I find a much less increase than I expected. A
large number who have been following the army during the war, very
naturally have gravitated to this city. Where else would they go? But
with all that, the increase is below my estimate. On the 22d day of
January, 1866, the report is as follows:

Houses of prostitution, six hundred and twenty-one. Houses of
assignation, ninety-nine. Concert saloons of ill repute, seventy-five.
Public prostitutes, two thousand six hundred and seventy. Waiter girls
in concert and drinking saloons, seven hundred and forty-seven.

You will see that houses of prostitution have increased twenty-two in
two years, and houses of assignation have decreased thirteen. Concert
saloons have increased four. Prostitutes have increased five hundred
and forty-seven. The waiter girls will be increased by the figures to
come in.

As it regards 'other women,' we have no means of knowing anything of
their number. That there are many of them cannot be disputed; the
number of houses for their accommodation tells us that; but there is no
such number as two thousand five hundred, you may depend on it, visit
those places, and of those who do, the waiter girls furnish the larger
portion.

So that, taking all the public prostitutes, and all the waiter girls in
music saloons (and these we have to a unit), there are but three
thousand three hundred.

Medical estimates are humbugs, from Dr. D. M. Reeves down to Dr.
Sanger. According to Dr. Reeves, every female in the city, over
thirteen years of age, was required to fill up his estimate of lewd
women, and Dr. Sanger is but little more reasonable.
Very respectfully, yours,            JOHN A. KENNEDY.

Nearly three years have elapsed since the above letter was written, and
there can be no doubt that the interval has witnessed a very decided
increase of this species of vice. The greatest increase is, perhaps, in
the class termed by Mr. Kennedy "other women," in which are included
the women of nominal respectability, whose crime is known only to
themselves and their lovers. They are the last persons in the world one
would think of accusing, for they are not even suspected of wrong
doing. Many of them seem to be innocent young girls, others wives and
mothers of undoubted purity. Society is corrupt to its very heart in
the great city, and there are thousands of nominally virtuous women who
lead, in secret, lives of shame. The authorities cannot include this
class in their statistics, as they know nothing of them.


                          FIRST-CLASS HOUSES.

There are very few first-class houses of ill-fame in the city, and they
are located in the best neighborhoods. They are generally hired fully
furnished, the annual rent in some cases amounting to ten and twelve
thousand dollars. The neighbors have little or no suspicion as to their
character, which is, in such cases, known only to the police and their
frequenters. The establishment is palatial in its appointments, and is
conducted with the utmost outward propriety.

The proprietress is generally a middle-aged woman of fine personal
appearance. She has a man living with her, who passes as her husband,
in order that she may be able to show a legal protector in case of
trouble with the authorities. This couple usually assume some foreign
name, and pass themselves off upon the unsuspecting as persons of the
highest respectability.

The inmates are usually young women, or women in the prime of life.
They are carefully chosen for their beauty and charms, and are
frequently persons of education and refinement. They are required to
observe the utmost decorum in the parlors of the house, and their
toilettes are exquisite and modest. They never make acquaintances on
the street, and, indeed, have no need to do so. The women who fill
these houses are generally of respectable origin. They are the
daughters, often the wives or widows, of persons of the best social
position. Some have been drawn astray by villains; some have been
drugged and ruined, and have fled to these places to hide their shame
from their friends; some have adopted the life in order to avoid
poverty, their means having been suddenly swept away; some have entered
from motives of extravagance and vanity; some are married women, who
have been unfaithful to their husbands, and who have been deserted in
consequence; some have been ruined by the cruelty and neglect of their
husbands; some, horrible as it may seem, have been forced into such a
life by their parents; and, others, who constitute the smallest class,
have adopted the life from motives of pure licentiousness. But,
whatever may be the cause, the fact is evident to all--these places are
always full of women competent to grace the best circles of social
life.

The visitors to these places are men of means. No others can afford to
patronize them. Besides the money paid to his companion, each man is
expected to spend a considerable amount in wine. The liquors are owned
and sold by the proprietress, her prices being generally double those
of the best Broadway wine stores. Her profits are enormous. The "first
men" of the city and country visit these places. The proportion of
married men amongst the guests is very large. Governors, Congressmen,
lawyers, judges, physicians, and, alas that it should be said, even
ministers of the Gospel, are to be seen there. Men coming to New York
from other parts of the country, seem to think themselves free from all
the restraints of morality and religion, and while here commit acts of
sin and dissipation, such as they would not dream of indulging in, in
their own communities. They fully equal and often surpass the city
population in this respect.

Great care is taken by the proprietors of these houses that the visits
of their guests shall be as private as possible. Upon ringing the bell
the visitor is admitted by a finely dressed servant, and shown into the
parlor. If he desires an interview with any particular person he is
quickly admitted to her presence. If his visit is "general," he awaits
in the parlor the entrance of the inmates of the house, who drop in at
intervals. No other gentleman is admitted to the parlor while he is
there, and in leaving the house no one is allowed to enter or look into
the parlors. If two men enter together they are thrown into the parlor
at the same time.

The earnings of the inmates are very large. They pay an extravagant
rate of board, and are expected to dress handsomely. They rarely save
any thing. They are well cared for by the proprietress as long as they
are profitable to her, but in case of sickness, or the loss of their
beauty, they are turned out of doors without the slightest hesitation.
Generally they are in debt to the proprietress at such times, and their
property is seized by her to satisfy her claims.

In entering these houses, women believe they will always be able to
keep themselves amongst the best classes of such females. They are soon
undeceived, however. The rule is so rigid that there is not more than
one exception in a thousand cases. They rarely remain in first-class
houses more than a few months, or a year at the longest. In leaving
them, they begin to go down the ladder, until they reach the dance-
houses and purlieus of the city, where disease and death in their most
horrible forms await them. All this in a few years, for the life which
such women, even the best of them, lead, is so fearfully destructive of
body and soul that a very few survive it more than five years at the
longest. The police authorities say that the first-class houses change
their inmates every few months.

Let no woman deceive herself, "_The wages of sin is death._" Once
entered upon a life of shame, however glittering it may be in the
outset, her fate is certain--unless she anticipates her final doom by
suicide. She cannot reform if she would. No one will help her back to
the paths of right. Even those who loved her best, in her virtue, will
turn from her in horror in her sin. She will be driven on by an
avenging fate, which she cannot resist if she would, until she is one
of those wretched, lost creatures, whose dens are in the purlieus of
the Five Points and Water street. There is only one means of safety.
Avoid the first step. Once place your foot in the downward path, and
you are lost. "_The Wages of sin is death_"


                          SECOND-CLASS HOUSES.

These establishments are better known to the general public than those
we have just described, as they are open to all persons of moderate
means. They are located in all parts of the town, many of them being in
respectable neighborhoods. They are handsomely furnished, and are
conducted in a flashy style. The inmates are those who, for various
causes, have been turned out of first-class houses, or who have never
been able to enter those establishments. They do not hesitate to
solicit custom on the streets and in the public places, though they are
not, as a general rule, obliged to do so.

This is the second step in the downward career of fallen women. From
this step the descent is rapid. The third and fourth-class houses, and
then the streets, are reached quickly, after which the dance-houses and
the Five Points hells claim their victims.


                    WHERE THE UNFORTUNATES COME FROM.

It is generally very hard to learn the true history of the lost women
of New York, for nearly all wish to make their past lot appear better
than it really was, with the melancholy hope of elevating themselves in
the estimation of their present acquaintances. It may be safely
asserted, however, that the majority of them come from the humbler
walks of life. Women of former position and refinement are the
exceptions. Poverty, and a desire to be able to gratify a love for fine
clothes, are among the chief causes of prostitution in this city. At
the same time the proprietors of houses of all classes spare no pains
to draw into their nets all the victims who will listen to them. They
have their agents scattered all over the country, who use every means
to tempt young girls to come to the great city to engage in this life
of shame. They promise them money, fine clothes, ease, and an elegant
home. The seminaries and rural districts of the land furnish a large
proportion of this class. The hotels in this city are closely watched
by the agents of these infamous establishments, especially hotels of
the plainer and less expensive kind. These harpies watch their chance,
and when they lay siege to a blooming young girl surround her with
every species of enticement. She is taken to church, to places of
amusement, or to the Park, and, in returning, a visit is paid to the
house of a friend of the harpy. Refreshments are offered, and a glass
of drugged wine plunges the victim into a stupor, from which she awakes
a ruined woman.


                            A CASE IN POINT.

Some months ago, two girls, daughters of a respectable man, engaged as
foreman on Prospect Park, Brooklyn, met with an advertisement calling
for girls to learn the trade of dressmaking, in West Broadway, New
York. The two sisters in question, applied for and obtained the
situation. After being engaged there for a few days, at a salary of
three dollars a week, the woman, by whom they were employed, proposed
that during the week they should board with her. In the furtherance of
this idea, the woman visited the parents of the girls in this city, and
made the same proposition to them. Highly pleased with her agreeable
manner, and kind interest in the welfare of their daughters, the
parents acceded to her request, with the understanding that they should
return home every Saturday evening. Saturday night came, and with it
rain, but not with it the daughters. On Monday morning the woman
appeared before the anxious parents, offering as an excuse for the non-
appearance of the girls on Saturday night, that she did not deem it
prudent for them to venture out, owing to the inclemency of the
weather, and assuring the old folks that they should visit them on
Thursday night, which assurance was not fulfilled. Next morning the
father, becoming alarmed for their safety, went over to New York, and
searched for the dressmaker's residence in West Broadway, but was
unable to find it, or indeed to learn any thing of the woman. Now
becoming thoroughly aroused to the danger of their position, he
instituted a thorough search, securing the services of the New York
detective force. After a lapse of five weeks, the younger girl was
discovered in a low house in Baltic street, Brooklyn. The story was
then told the unfortunate father by his wretched daughter. After
entering the service of the woman, the sisters were held against their
will, and were subjected to the most inhuman and debasing treatment.
Finally they were separated from each other's society, and became the
inmates of dens. The woman's whereabouts is unknown to the police, and
the elder sister is still missing. The above facts are vouched for on
the most undoubted authority.


                       RECRUITS FROM NEW ENGLAND.

A very large number of the women engaged in this infamous business are
from New England. That section of the country is so overcrowded, and
the females are so numerous therein, that there is no room for all at
home. As a consequence hundreds come to the city every year. They come
with high hopes, but soon find it as hard, if not harder, to obtain
employment here. The runners for the houses of ill fame are always on
the watch for them, and from various causes, these girls fall victims
to them, and join the lost sisterhood. They are generally the daughters
of farmers, or working men, and when they come are fresh in
constitution and blooming in their young beauty. God pity them! These
blessings soon vanish. They dare not escape from their slavery, for
they have no means of earning a living in the great city, and they know
they would not be received at home, were their story known. Their very
mothers would turn from them with loathing. Without hope, they cling to
their shame, and sink lower and lower, until death mercifully ends
their human sufferings. As long as they are prosperous, they represent
in their letters home that they are engaged in a steady, honest
business, and the parents' fears are lulled. After awhile these letters
are rarer. Finally they cease altogether. Would a father find his child
after this, he must seek her in the foulest hells of the city.


                             SAVED IN TIME.

The police are frequently called upon by persons from other parts of
the country, for aid in seeking a lost daughter, or a sister, or some
female relative. Sometimes these searches, which are always promptly
made, are rewarded with success. Some unfortunates are, in this way,
saved before they have fallen so low as to make efforts in their behalf
vain. Others, overwhelmed with despair, will refuse to leave their
shame. They cannot bear the pity or silent scorn of their former
relatives and friends, and prefer to cling to their present homes. It
is very hard for a fallen woman to retrace her steps, even if her
friends or relatives are willing to help her do so.

Last winter an old gray haired man came to the city from his farm in
New England, accompanied by his son, a manly youth, in search of his
lost daughter. His description enabled the police to recognize the girl
as one who had but recently made her appearance on the streets, and
they at once led the father and brother to the door of the house she
was living in. As they entered the well-filled parlor, the girl
recognized her father. With a cry of joy she sprang into his arms.
Lifting her tenderly, the old man carried her into the street,
exclaiming through, his tears;

"We've saved her, thank God! We've saved our Lizzie."

That night all three left the city for their distant home.

Another instance occurs to us:

A gentleman once found his daughter in one of the first-class houses of
the city, to which she had been tracked by the police. He sought her
there, and she received him with every demonstration of joy and
affection. He urged her to return home with him, promising that all
should be forgiven and forgotten, but she refused to do so, and was
deaf to all his entreaties. He brought her mother to see her, and
though the girl clung to her and wept bitterly in parting, she would
not go home. She felt that it was too late. She was lost.

Many of these poor creatures treasure sacredly the memories of their
childhood and home. They will speak of them with a calmness which shows
how deep and real is their despair. They would flee from their horrible
lives if they could, but they are so enslaved that they are not able to
do so. Their sin crushes them to the earth, and they cannot rise above
it.


                            THE SISTERS' ROW.

This is the name given to a row of first-class houses in West Twenty-
fifth street, all fashionable houses of prostitution. A woman came to
this city from a New England village, and was enticed into one of the
fashionable dens. She paid a visit to her home, dressed up in all her
finery. Her parents believed her a Broadway saleswoman, but to her
sisters, one by one, she confided the life of gayety and pleasure she
led, and one by one the sisters left the peaceful village, until, at
last, the whole seven sisters were domiciled in the crime-gilt palaces
in West Twenty-fifth street. Thus, one sister ruined six in her own
family; how many others in the same place is unknown.

Another instance: A woman, named----, is from Binghamton, in this
State. As a matter of course, she has correspondents in that place; she
knows all the giddy-headed girls of the town; she knows the
dissatisfied wives. The result is her house is a small Binghamton.
Thus, one girl from a village may ruin a dozen; and it is in this way
they so readily find the home they are in search of in a strange city.


                           THE ALBUM BUSINESS.

A peculiarity of the Twenty-ninth Police Precinct of the city, in which
the majority of the better class of houses are located, "is the large
number of lady boarders, who do nothing, apparently, for a living. They
live in furnished rooms, or they may board in respectable families.
They leave their cards with the madame of the house, together with
their photograph. They live within a few minutes' call, and when a
gentleman enters the parlor he has a few minutes' chat with the madame,
who hands him the album. He runs his eye over the pictures, makes his
choice, and a messenger is dispatched for No. 12 or 24. These are what
may be termed the day ladies, or outside boarders. Some of them are
married, living with their husbands, who know nothing of what is going
on, and it may be some of them have shown the readers of the _Sun_ how
cheap they can keep house, dress well, and put money in the bank
beside, on a given weekly income of their husband. Those ladies who
hire furnished rooms all dine at the restaurants, but they are never
found soliciting men in the street. True, in the restaurant they may
accept a recognition, but a man has to be careful what he is about."


                    EFFORTS TO BREAK UP THESE HOUSES.

"Twenty years ago, when Matsell was Chief of Police, he used to try and
break up the most notorious houses by stationing a policeman at the
door, and when any one went in or out, the light from a bull's eye
lantern was thrown in the face of the passer out or in. That has never
been effective. Captain Speight tried it in the case of Mrs.----, who
keeps the most splendidly furnished house in West Twenty-fifth street.
She owns the house, and has a few boarders who pay her fifty dollars a
week for board, and ten dollars a bottle for their wine, and twenty-
five per cent, on the profits of her boarders. The attempt was made to
oust this woman, but she very politely told the captain that he might
honor her as long as he pleased with the policeman and his lantern, but
she could stand it as long as he could; she owned the house, and she
meant to live in it; nothing could be proven against it, and they dare
not arrest her. The consequence was that after a time the bull's eye
was withdrawn."


                           A NEW RUSE ADOPTED.

The latest ruse adopted to obtain fresh country or city girls is to
publish an advertisement in the papers, for 'a young lady of some
accomplishments to act as a companion for a lady about to travel
abroad. The applicant must have some knowledge of French, be a good
reader, have a knowledge and taste for music, and be of a lively
disposition.' Such an advertisement brought a young lady from Newark to
a certain house in Twenty-fifth street. She had not been long in the
parlor until she saw at a glance the character of the house. Both then
spoke in pretty plain terms. The applicant was given a week to think
over it. She returned at the end of a week and voluntarily entered the
house. She remained in it six months. Disgusted with the business, she
returned to her parents--who believe to this day that she was all this
time abroad--and afterwards married a highly respectable gentleman, and
she is now supposed to be a virtuous woman.

"A beautiful young girl of seventeen, from Danbury, Connecticut when
taken from one of these houses by her father, told him, in the station-
house, that he might take her home, but she would run away the first
chance. Her only excuse was: 'Mother is cross, and home is an old,
dull, dead place.'"


                             A SOILED DOVE.

On the 1st of December, 1857, a funeral wended its slow passage along
the crowded Broadway--for a few blocks, at least--challenging a certain
share of the attention of the promenaders of that fashionable
thoroughfare. There were but two carriages following the hearse, and
the hearse itself contained all that remained of a young woman--a girl
who had died in her eighteenth year, and whose name on earth had been
Mary R----.

Mary R----, was the daughter of a poor couple in the interior of the
State of New York. She was a girl of exquisite grace and beauty, but
her life had been one of toil until her sixteenth year, when she
attracted the attention of the son of a city millionaire, whose country
seat was in the neighborhood. He was pleased with her beauty, and she
simple and confiding, gave her heart to him without a struggle. She
trusted him, and fell a victim to his arts. He took her to New York
with him, and placed her in a neat little room in Sixth Avenue.

She was a 'soiled dove,' indeed, but the gentlest and dearest, and most
devoted of 'doves,' 'soiled,' not by herself, but by others--soiled
externally, but not impure within. There are many such doves as she--
poor creatures to be pitied, not to be commended, not at all to be
imitated, but not to be harshly or wholly condemned--more sinned
against than sinning.

For a while Mary R----'s life in New York was a paradise--at least it
was a paradise to her. She lived all day in her cosy little apartment,
did her own little housework, cooked her own little dinner, sung her
own little songs, and was as happy as a bird, thinking all the while of
him, the man she loved--the man whose smile was all in all to her of
earth. At night she would receive her beloved in her best dress and
sweetest smile; and if he deigned to walk with her around the block, or
take her with him to the Central Park, she would be supremely blessed,
and dance around him with delight. She cost nothing, or next to
nothing; her wants were simple, her vanity and love of amusement were
vastly below the average of her sex, she only needed love, and there is
an old saying that 'love is cheap.' But, alas! there is no more
expensive luxury than love--for love requires what few men really
possess, a heart--and this article of a heart was precisely what the
merchant's son did not possess. In time, he wearied of this young girl
and her affection; her tenderness became commonplace; besides he had
discovered attractions elsewhere. And so he determined 'to end with
Mary,' and he ended indeed. Though he knew that she worshipped the very
ground that he trod on, though he knew that every unkind word he
uttered went through her heart as would a stab though he knew that the
very idea of his leaving her would blast her happiness like a lightning
stroke; yet he boldly announced to her that their intimacy must cease,
that 'he must leave her. True, he would see her comfortably provided
for, during a while at least, until she could find another protector,'
etc., etc.

"The agonized Mary could listen to naught more. For the first time in
her life, out of the anguish and true love of her heart, she reproached
the man to whom her every thought had been devoted--she reminded him of
all his promises of affection, all his pledges of passion, she clung to
him, and avowed by all that she considered holy, _himself_, that she
would not let him go. In brief, she raised what 'fast men' style a
scene, and a scene was just one of those things which irritated the
merchant's son beyond his powers of control.

"The scoundrel, for such he was, though by birth, education, and
position a gentleman, irritated at her entreaties, vexed with himself,
despising the meanness of his own soul, and hating her for revealing it
to him, raised his arm, and despite her look of love and sorrow,
absolutely struck her to the earth. The poor girl never shrieked, never
resisted, she even kissed, with an almost divinely tender forgiveness,
his hand--his hand who struck her--and then fell to the floor of her
pleasant, though humble little room, insensible.

"With a curse, half levelled at her and half at himself, the false
'lover' departed. The young millionaire never looked upon Mary R----'s
face again. In three days there was no Mary R----'s face to look at;
for the 'soiled dove' within that time had died--not from the blow, oh,
no--_that_ was a trifle; but from the _unkindness_ of it; not from a
fractured limb, or from a ruptured bloodvessel, but from a broken
heart. She was buried at the expense of the woman of whom her destroyer
had rented the little apartment on Sixth Avenue, where she had passed
her happiest days and her last. The rich merchant's son heard of her
death with a half sigh and then a shrug; but if ever the blood of a
human being lay upon the head of another, that of poor Mary R--lies
upon the head of the rich merchant's son, and will be required of him."

There are several associations in the city, whose object is to rescue
lost women from their lives of shame. Prominent amongst these is the
Midnight Mission.


                         THE MIDNIGHT MISSION.

This institution is located on Amity street, and is open at all hours,
to all who seek its doors voluntarily, or are directed thither. The
managers in a recent report, speak of their success as follows:

"That the managers have reason to believe that more than sixty women
have been benefited through their endeavors recently, many of whom have
abandoned their life of shame, and a large proportion are already
restored to their friends, or have been placed in respectable
situations, where they are earning an honest living. Twenty are now in
charge, in process of industrial, moral, and religious training,
preparatory to taking positions of usefulness and respectability. Could
they be seen by the public, as we see them, after the work of the day
is ended, grouped together in conversation, in innocent recreation, or
in devotion, their faces already beaming with the light of hope for
this life and the life to come, surely we should need no other argument
to induce Christian people, with kind words and abounding gifts, to
speed us in our work of love."

We would not upon any consideration weaken one single effort in behalf
of these poor creatures, but we cannot disguise the fact that but few
of this class are saved. Women who enter the downward path rarely
retrace their steps.




                             CHAPTER XXXII.


                           ASSIGNATION HOUSES.

There are over one hundred houses of assignation in New York, known to
the police. Besides these, there are places, used as such, which the
officials of the law do not and cannot embrace in the general term.
These are cheap hotels, where women hire rooms without meals, and
receive visitors, with whom they make appointments on the streets, or
in the places of amusement. Some really good houses have been ruined in
this way. By tolerating one or two women of this kind, they have drawn
to them others, and have finally become overrun with them to such an
extent that respectable people have avoided them. Even the first-class
hotels are kept busy in purging themselves of the evil.

The best houses are located in respectable, and a few in fashionable
neighborhoods. In various ways they soon acquire a notoriety amongst
persons having use for them. In the majority of them, the proprietress
resides alone. Her visitors are persons of all classes in society.
Married women meet their lovers here, and young girls pass in these
polluted chambers the hours their parents suppose them to be devoting
to healthful and innocent amusements. Hundreds of nominally virtuous
women visit these places one or more times each week. They come
sometimes in the day, but generally at night. A visit to the theatre,
opera, or concert, is too often followed by a visit to one of these
places, to which some women of high, social position possess pass-keys.
Some visit these places because they love other men better than their
husbands; others from mercenary motives. Married women, whose means are
limited, too often adopt such a course to enable them to dress
handsomely.

The rooms are hired from the proprietor at so much per hour, the price
being generally very high. If refreshments are desired, they are
furnished at an enormous rate.

In other houses, women rent rooms and take their meals outside. They
bring their male friends to their rooms at any hour, as they have pass-
keys to the house. These establishments pass in the neighborhood for
reputable lodging-houses.

Men of "respectable" position frequently furnish houses for this
purpose, and either engage women to manage them, or rent them, out at
enormous sums. They live in style, and support their families on the
proceeds of these dens of infamy.

The city papers are full of advertisements of these places. They are
represented as "Rooms to let to quiet persons," or "Rooms in a strictly
private family, where boarders are not annoyed with impertinent
questions," or "A handsome room to let, with board for the lady only,"
or "Handsome apartments to gentlemen, by a widow lady living alone."
These advertisements are at once recognized by those in search of them.
Families from the country frequently stumble across these places by
accident. If the female members are young and handsome, they are
received, and the mistake is not found out, perhaps, until it is too
late.

Respectable families are frequently victimized by having dwellings sold
or rented to them which have been formerly used as houses of this kind.
A Mexican Minister to the United States was once caught in this way
rather curiously. Being a stranger in the city, he saw in print the
notice of a splendid house, with the furniture for sale, in West
Twenty-seventh street. He went up and saw it, and was pleased with the
location, the house, the furniture, and even the price. He bought it,
and moved in with his family. He was not located there twenty-four
hours until he found that the house he had bought had been a notorious
house of assignation, and that he was sandwiched in between two equally
notorious houses. Many an oath came from his mouth, when a young or an
old grayheaded Hotspur rang the bell; and many an old patron of the
house has been astonished at being most abruptly told to go further
than the next door for what he wanted. The old Mexican managed to stand
it out six months, and a real estate agent, who had an eye to business,
knowing that he could be tempted to sell out, advertised for a house in
Twenty-seventh street, in the Spanish paper. The bait took--the
diplomatist was happy to sell it for the half of what it was worth;
thinking somebody would get burned, he was glad to get rid of it at any
price. In a few weeks afterward, the house was re-sold for double the
money paid for it, and converted back to its old purposes.




                             CHAPTER XXXIII.


                             STREET-WALKERS.

As soon as the sun sets over the Great City, Broadway, and the streets
running parallel with it, become infested with numbers of young girls
and women, who pass up and down the thoroughfares with a quick,
mysterious air, which rarely fails to draw attention to them. These are
known as street-walkers, and it would seem from outward indications
that their number is steadily increasing. The best looking and the best
dressed are seen on Broadway, and in parts of Fifth and Fourth Avenues.
The others correspond to the localities they frequent. They are chiefly
young girls, seventeen being the average age, but you will see children
of twelve and thirteen amongst them. Very few promenade Broadway below
Canal street. The neighborhoods of the hotels and places of amusement
are the most frequented. Some of the girls are pretty and modest, but
the majority are ugly and brazen. New faces are constantly appearing on
Broadway, to take the places of the old ones which have gone down to
the depths.

The majority of the girls have some regular employment at which they
work in the day. Their regular earnings are small, and they take this
means of increasing them. Some, however, sleep all day, and ply their
infamous trade at night. There are cases in which the girls are driven
to such a life by their parents, who either wish to rid themselves of
their child's support, or to profit by her earnings. We have known
cases where the girls have voluntarily supported their parents by the
wages of their shame. We once heard of two sisters, well known on
Broadway, who devoted their earnings to paying off a heavy debt of
their father, which he was unable to meet. Sometimes these girls
deserve more pity than blame; but a very large proportion of them,
perhaps the majority, act as decoys for garroters and thieves. Hundreds
of strangers, coming to the city, follow them to their rooms only to
find themselves in the power of thieves, who compel them on pain of
instant death to surrender all their valuables. The room taken by the
decoy is vacated immediately after the robbery, the girl and her
confederate disappear, and it is impossible to find them.

The police do not allow these girls to stop and converse with men on
Broadway. If a girl succeeds in finding a companion, she beckons him
into one of the side streets, where the police will not interfere with
her. If he is willing to go with her, she conducts him to her room
which is in one of the numerous bed-houses of the city.


                               BED-HOUSES

These bed-houses are simply large or small dwellings containing many
furnished rooms, which are let to street-walkers by the week, or which
are hired to applicants of any class by the night. They are very
profitable, and are frequently owned by men of good social position,
who rent them out to others, or who retain the ownership, and employ a
manager. The rent, whether weekly or nightly, is invariably paid in
advance, so that the landlord loses nothing.

[Illustration: Robbed by a Friend.]

The girl leads her companion to one of these houses, and if she has a
room already engaged, proceeds directly to it; if not, one is engaged
from a domestic on the spot, the price is paid, and the parties are
shown up stairs. The place is kept dark and quiet, in order to avoid
the attention of the police. The houses are more or less comfortable
and handsome, according to the class by which they are patronized. They
are sometimes preferred by guilty parties in high life, as the risk of
being seen and recognized is less there than in more aristocratic
houses. These houses have a constant run of visitors from, about eight
o'clock until long after midnight.


                       TRAVELLING STREET-WALKERS.

The various night lines of steamers running from New York city, are
literally overrun with abandoned women, seeking companions. The Albany
and the Boston lines are made intensely disagreeable by such persons. A
correspondent of one of the New Jersey papers, thus relates his
experience on board of one of the magnificent vessels of a Boston line.

The grand saloon is filled with a throng of travellers listening to
the sweet music discoursed by a band in the upper gallery, employed for
the season by the company. One cannot but remark, with mingled pain and
indignation, the large number of brazen-faced prostitutes and
professional gamblers who saunter up and down the saloon and galleries,
seeking their prey among the unsuspecting passengers.

       *       *       *       *       *

If a gentleman is seated alone, along comes one of these painted
wretches, boldly addressing him, and to escape her horrible proffers,
he must seek some other part of the boat, or follow the example of
every respectable lady, by occupying his stateroom at an early hour in
the evening. It is really getting to be exceedingly unpleasant and
disagreeable for a lady to travel by this line, even if accompanied by
a gentleman; and let no one permit a female relative or friend to take
this route alone, if they have the slightest regard for the decencies
and proprieties of life. While the band was discoursing sweet strains
of music, shrill screams were heard proceeding from the forward saloon.
The passengers rushed to the scene. A young woman was being carried by
main force, exerted by the servants, below. She struggled fiercely,
biting, striking and cursing! What a horrible sight. One observer, at
least, earnestly trusts he may never behold such an one again. She was
one of the courtesans who had been parading up and down the saloons all
the evening. She had inveigled an unsophisticated countryman into a
stateroom and robbed him. He reported her to the captain, and
threatened public exposure of the transaction before he could procure
assistance! And now her screams can be plainly heard, resounding
through, the gilded saloons, above the run of the machinery and strains
of the musicians.


                             PANEL THIEVING.

This method of robbery is closely connected with street-walking. The
girl in this case acts in concert with a confederate, who is generally
a man. She takes her victim to her room, and directs him to deposit his
clothing on a chair, which is placed but a few inches from the wall at
the end of the room. This wall is false, and generally of wood. It is
built some three or four feet from the real wall of the room, thus
forming a closet. As the whole room is papered and but dimly lighted, a
visitor cannot detect the fact that it is a sham. A panel, which slides
noiselessly and rapidly, is arranged in the false wall, and the chair
with the visitor's clothing upon it is placed just in front of it.
While the visitor's attention is engaged in another quarter, the girl's
confederate, who is concealed in the closet, slides back the panel, and
rifles the pockets of the clothes on the chair. The panel is then
noiselessly closed. When the visitor is about to depart, or sometimes
not until long after his departure, he discovers his loss. He is sure
the girl did not rob him, and he is completely bewildered in his
efforts to account for the robbery. Of course the police could tell him
how his money was taken, and could recover it, too, but in nine cases
out of ten the man is ashamed to seek their assistance, as he does not
wish his visit to such a place to be made public.


                           THE "HUSBAND GAME."

The street-walkers are adepts in deceit. Their chief object is to
procure money, and they do not hesitate to plunder their victims in
order to obtain it. One of their favorite "dodges" is called the
"husband game." This is played as follows. A man is picked up on the
street, after nine o'clock, and carried to the girl's room. He is asked
to pay his money in advance, which he does. The girl then turns the
lights down, and seems about to prepare to retire for the night, when a
loud knocking is heard. The girl, in alarm, informs him that she is a
married woman, and that her husband has returned. She begs him to
escape, or he will be killed. The visitor, terribly frightened, is glad
to get off through a side door. His money is not returned, but the
woman promises to meet him the next night, which engagement, of course,
is never kept. In ten minutes more she is on Broadway in search of a
fresh, victim.




                             CHAPTER XXXIV.


                            CONCERT SALOONS.

There are seventy-five concert saloons in New York, which employ seven
hundred and forty-seven waiter girls. The brothels usually termed
dance-halls, are included in this estimate, but, as we design referring
especially to them in another chapter, we shall pass them by, for the
present, and devote this chapter to the concert saloons proper.

Eight years ago, a Philadelphia manager opened a concert mall which he
called the "Melodeon," at the old Chinese Assembly Rooms on Broadway.
This was the first institution of the kind ever seen in New York, and
imitations of it soon became common.

We find the following faithful description of one of these saloons in
one of the popular-prints of the day.

"On Broadway, near--street, we notice, just above the entrance to a
cellar, a flaming transparency, with the inscription, 'Madame X--'s
Arcade.' Going down a few steps, we find our view of the interior
obstructed by a large screen, painted white, with the almost nude
figure of a dancing Venus coarsely painted thereon. The screen is
placed across the entrance, a few feet from the door, obliging us to
flank it, _a la Sherman_, and enter the hall by going around it. We
find the floor handsomely covered with matting and oil cloth. On the
right-hand side, nearest the door, is the bar, over which presides a
genius of the male sex, whose chief attractions consists of a decided
red head, and an immense paste breastpin, stuck into the bosom of a
ruffled shirt. The bar is well furnished, and any drink called for,
from beer to champagne, can be instantly obtained. A significant
feature, and one that easily arrests the attention, is a formidable
Colt's revolver, a foot in length, suspended immediately over the
sideboard. This weapon, it may be observed, is not placed there as an
ornament; it is in itself a _monitor_, warning those inclined to be
disorderly, of the danger of carrying their boisterousness or
ruffianism too far. On the walls are black engravings of the French
school, fit ornaments for the place. But, while we are taking this
casual survey, one of the attendant nymphs, with great scantiness of
clothing, affording display for bare shoulders and not unhandsome
ankles, appears, and in a voice of affected sweetness wholly at
variance with her brazen countenance and impertinent air, requests us
to be seated, and asks what we'll have. We modestly ask for 'Two ales,'
which are soon placed before us, and paid for. While quietly sipping
the beverage, we will glance at our surroundings. Back of the hall--we
are sitting at a table near the centre of the apartment--on a raised
platform, is an asthmatic pianoforte, upon which an individual with
threadbare coat, colorless vest and faded nankeen pantaloons, is
thrumming away for dear life. Out of tune himself, he tortures the poor
instrument in a way that threatens its instant dissolution, rending its
heartstrings, and causing it to shriek with agony, wailing out the tune
that the old cow died to! This is the only piece of music the performer
is acquainted with, judging from the persistent manner in which he
clings to it. What he lacks in musical knowledge, however, he makes up
with intention, and _thumps_ away quite manfully, only stopping, now
and then to call for a drink, with which to recruit his exhausted
energies.

"But we have come to behold the chief attraction of the
establishment?--the 'pretty waiter girls.'"


                            THE WAITER GIRLS.

"Looking around, we see, perhaps, twenty females, in various styles of
dress--some in Turkish costume (supposed to be _houris_ no doubt);
others attired as Spanish peasants; and others still in plain evening
attire. The latter are for the most part far from possessing charms,
and, from their looks, have long since outlived their beauty; but what
they lack in this respect they make up in others. The girl that waited
upon us on our entrance, again approaches, and seeing our glasses
empty, takes them away to be replenished. She soon reappears, and in
response to our invitation, takes a seat beside us, while we enter into
conversation with her. She is a fair sample (excuse the mercantile
term) of her class, and her history is a history of a majority of her
associates. Not unprepossessing in appearance, by any means, Ellen--
that, she tells us, is her name--is twenty-two years of age; was born
in the village of Tarrytown; resided with her parents until she was
eighteen, when her father died. Leaving her mother with her youngest
brother, she came to New York to seek employment. On arriving in the
city, she obtained a situation in a millinery store. Remained there but
a short time; was out of work; had no friends, no money. Would not go
back to her mother, who was poor. Saw an advertisement of Madame--for
'Pretty waiter girls.' Answered it. Was engaged in the saloon; seduced
(partly by promises, and partly by threats), by one of the frequenters
of the establishment--and has since led the life of a prostitute! Ellen
told her story without the least emotion, and when asked about her
mother, carelessly replied, 'She supposed the old woman was dead by
this time.'

"Such are the effects of vice, and a life of infamy, upon the noble
feelings and natural impulses of the female heart. With an exclamation
of, 'Oh, there's my man!' our attendant suddenly left us, and joined an
individual who had just entered the apartment, and we did not see her
again.

"At a table nearly opposite to our own, are seated a couple, one, at
least, of whom, to even a casual observer, is a stranger to the place
and its surroundings; there is no doubt of it. Wholly enwrapped in the
beauty and grace of his female companion, he is totally oblivious to
all passing around. She is exerting all her arts to entice 'greeny'
into her net, and before long will be counting the amount of his cash--
while he, her dupe, will be, too late, reflecting upon the depravity of
pretty waiter girls. By this time the saloon is crowded with men and
women, of all degrees of social standing. Here is the man about-town,
the hanger-round of the hotels, in clothes of unexceptionable cut and
make, talking earnestly with a female, whose drawn veil conceals her
face--perhaps some unfortunate victim of his lust, or probably his
mistress, come to plead for justice, or for her week's allowance of
money. Yonder is a youth, of, as Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., would say, 'some
eighteen summers,' young in years, but old in sin, who supports on his
knee a _nymph du pave_, with whom he has entered from the street, and
upon whom he is spending his last quarter's salary, or the proceeds of
an investigation into the till of his employer. In that corner, is the
returned soldier, who has just been paid off, and who is now expending
the hard-earned pittance of the government upon some bepainted and
bedizened courtesan, while perhaps his wife and family are suffering
for want of the common necessaries of life. A cry of pain, followed by
a burst of brutal laughter, causes us to turn our eyes to the corner,
just in time to witness a woman fall to the ground, felled by a blow
from the clenched fist of the brute with whom she has been quarrelling.
A moment, there is silence in the hall; but only for a moment. The girl
is picked up by one of her companions--a few rough jokes at her
expense--and all goes on as before. Such scenes are of too frequent
occurrence to provoke comment. Observe that couple descending the
steps; a handsome, almost noble-looking man, but upon whose countenance
is stamped the mark of a dissolute life--upon his arm, a female, her
face hidden from view by a dark veil. They advance to the bar. The
gentleman whispers a word in the ear of one of the girls, a meaning
smile flickers over her face as she hands him a key, with which he
opens a door in the end of the room, and disappears with the female.
Reader, you have seen half a dozen similar couples arrive and vanish
through the same door. Do you know the why and wherefore of this
proceeding? This saloon is one of the most _notorious assignation
houses_ in New York. We might go on and notice more fully the various
personages and scenes, constantly varying, in this house; but we have
neither space or time at present--besides, the task is not an agreeable
one. So, let us leave the murky atmosphere of the 'crib,' and once more
breathe the pure air of heaven."

Bad as they are, the concert saloons of Broadway are the best in the
city. Those of the Bowery, and Chatham street, are mere brothels, in
which no man's life is safe.

Persons entering these places run a fearful risk. They voluntarily
place themselves in the midst of a number of abandoned wretches, who
are ready for any deed of violence or crime. They care for nothing but
money, and will rob or kill for it. Respectable people have no business
in such places. They are sure to have their pockets picked, and are in
danger of violence. Many men, who leave their happy homes in the
morning, visit these places, for amusement or through curiosity, at
night. They are drugged, robbed, murdered, and then the harbor police
may find their lifeless forms floating in the river at daybreak.




                              CHAPTER XXXV.


                              DANCE-HOUSES.

THESE houses differ from the saloons in two things--they are lower and
viler, and their guests assemble for the purpose of dancing as well as
drinking. They are owned chiefly by men, though there are some which
are the property of and are managed by women. They are located in the
worst quarters of the city, generally in the streets near the East and
North Rivers, in order to be easy of access to the sailors.

The buildings are greatly out of repair, and have a rickety, dirty
appearance. The main entrance leads to a long, narrow hall, the floor
of which is well sanded. The walls ornamented with flashy prints, and
the ceiling with colored tissue paper cut in various fantastic shapes.
There is a bar at the farther end of the room, which is well stocked
with the meanest liquors, and chairs and benches are scattered about.

From five to a dozen women, so bloated and horrible to look upon, that
a decent man shudders with disgust as he beholds them, are lounging
about the room. They have reached the last step in the downward career
of fallen women, and will never leave this place until they are carried
from it to their graves, which are not far distant. They are miserably
clad, and are nearly always half crazy with liquor. They are cursed and
kicked about by the brutal owner of the place, and suffer still greater
violence, at times, in the drunken brawls for which these houses are
famous. Their sleeping rooms are above. They are sought by sailors and
by the lowest and most degraded of the city population. They are the
slaves of their masters. They have no money of their own. He claims a
part of their infamous earnings, and demands the rest for board and
clothes. Few have the courage to fly from these hells, and if they make
the attempt, they are forced back by the proprietor, who is frequently
aided in this unholy act by the law of the land. They can not go into
the streets naked, and he claims the clothes on their backs as his
property. If they leave the premises with these clothes on, he charges
them with theft.


                         HOW THE LAW AIDS VICE.

In _Packard's Monthly,_ for September, 1868, the reader will find a
deeply interesting article on this subject, by Mr. Oliver Dyer, from
which we take the following illustration of our remarks.

There is, probably, not a police reporter in the city, of much
experience, who has not seen one of these girls arraigned at the Tombs,
or at some other police court, on a charge of theft; because in fleeing
from the intolerable servitude of some den of vice, she had had to wear
clothes belonging to the keeper--not having any of her own wherewith to
hide her nakedness.

"We will give a scene of this kind. Place, the Tombs, time, six o'clock
in the morning; present, police justice, officers of court, about
thirty prisoners, policemen attending as witnesses, and parties
preferring charges against prisoners. The name of the girl against whom
complaint has been made having been called, the following examination
took place:

"_Justice_.--'What is the charge against this girl?'

"_Policeman_.--'Felony-stealing wearing apparel.'

"_Justice_.--'Who is the complainant?'

"_Policeman_.--'This woman here,' pointing out the keeper of the den
from which the girl had fled--a most villainous old hag.

"_Justice_ (to the keeper).--'What did the girl steal?'

"_Keeper._--'Every rag she's got on; bad luck to her.'

"_Justice_ (to the girl).--'Mary, who owns that shawl you have on?'

"_Mary._--'_She_ does, sir;' pointing to the woman.

"_Justice._--'Who owns that hat and dress you have on?'

"_Mary._--'_She_ does.'

"_Justice._--'Havn't, you any thing of your own to wear?'

"_Mary._--'Nothing, sir.'

"_Justice._--'This woman owns them all--all the clothes you have on,
does she?'

"_Mary._--'Yes, sir.'

"_Justice._--'If they are hers you should not have taken them.'

"_Mary._--'Please, sir, I couldn't stay in her house any longer, and I
couldn't go naked into the street.'

"_Justice._--'It is a hard case, Mary, but stealing is stealing, and I
shall have to send you up for twenty days.'

"And so Mary is sent to the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island for
twenty days (and sometimes for a longer period), wearing the 'stolen'
clothes; and the hag of a keeper goes back to her den and tells the
other girls of Mary's fate, satisfied to give the shabby garment, in
which the victim was attired, in exchange for the 'moral effect' of the
girl's conviction and imprisonment on those who are still in her
clutches.

"Justice Dowling, we believe, never convicts a girl of theft under such
circumstances, but gives her accuser such a scoring down in open court
as sends her back to her den in rage and shame."


                       WHERE THE WOMEN COME FROM.

Let no one suppose that these women entered upon such wretched lives
voluntarily. Many were drugged and forced into them, but the majority
are lost women who have come regularly down the ladder to this depth.
You can find in these hells women who, but a few years ago, were
ornaments of society. No woman who enters upon a life of shame can hope
to avoid coming to these places in the end. As sure as she takes the
first step in sin, she will take this last one also, struggle against
it as she may. This is the last depth. It has but one bright ray in all
its darkness--it does not last over a few months, for death soon ends
it. But, oh! the horrors of such a death. No human being who has not
looked on such a death-bed can imagine the horrible form in which the
Great Destroyer comes. There is no hope. The poor wretch passes from
untold misery in this life to the doom which awaits those who die in
their sins.

O, parents, look well to your children. Guard them as you have never
guarded them before. Make home happy and bright to them. Encircle them
with love and tenderness. Weigh well your every act and word, for you
may learn some day, when it is too late, that your criminal
carelessness has been the cause of your child entering the path which
leads inevitably down to hell.

The keepers of these dens use every means to decoy emigrant girls into
their dens. As we have shown in another chapter, they frequently
succeed. Mr. Oliver Dyer, in the article from which we have just
quoted, relates the following, which will show how this is done. We
merely remark that this is perhaps the only case in which the helpless
victim has been rescued:

"In the month of February, 1852, Isaac W. England, Esq., formerly the
city editor of the _New York Tribune_, subsequently the managing editor
of the _Chicago Republican_, afterwards editor-in-chief of the _Jersey
City Times_, and now the managing editor of the _New York Sun_, was
returning to this city from Liverpool in the emigrant packet ship _New
York_, in which he had taken a second cabin passage, for the purpose of
learning practically how emigrants fared in such vessels.

"Mr. England did this with a view to exposing the atrocities then
practiced upon emigrants, and which he afterwards did expose, in the
columns of the _Tribune_, with such effect as to be largely
instrumental in the fundamental regeneration of the whole emigrant
business, and the creation of the Castle Garden Commission.

"Among the passengers in the second cabin of the packet ship was a
handsome English girl, some nineteen years of age, from near Mr.
England's native town. The fact that the girl came from near his native
town led Mr. England to feel an interest in her, and he learned that
she was coming to America to join her brother, then living near
Pottsville, in Pennsylvania.

"On landing in New York, the girl went to a boarding-house in Greenwich
street, there to await her brother's arrival--it having been arranged
that he should come to New York for her.

"Mary (for that was her name) had not been at the boarding-house many
days when a German woman called there in search of a bar-maid, and
seeing Mary, she at once sought to induce her to accept the situation.
It is not uncommon for English girls, of the class to which Mary
belonged, to act as bar-maids in England, that being there a
respectable employment.

"Deceived by the complaisant manners, and lured by the liberal promises
of the German woman, the unsuspecting English girl accepted her offer
and went with her to her saloon--basement in William street, near
Pearl.

"After one day's service as bar-maid, Mary was bluntly informed by her
employer that she had been brought thither to serve in a capacity which
we will, not name, and was ordered to make ready for at once entering
upon a life of shame.

"The horror-stricken girl, frantic with, terror, set about immediately
leaving the premises. But she was too valuable a prize to be allowed to
escape. The hag into whose clutches she had fallen locked her up in a
back basement room, extending under a grate in the yard, and open to
the inclemency of the weather, and there she kept her for two days and
two nights--the girl not daring to eat or drink any thing during all
that time, for fear of being drugged to insensibility and ruin.

"The only sustenance that passed that girl's lips for eight and forty
hours was the snow that she scraped from the area grating. Nor did she
dare to close her eyes in sleep for an instant.

"And while thus imprisoned, constant efforts were made to intimidate or
force her to the fate to which the keeper of the place was determined
to drive her. For this purpose man after man was sent to her prison.
With some of them a simple statement of the case was sufficient to turn
them from their purpose; but against others she had to fight as if for
life for that which was to her dearer than life.

"But lack of food and lack of sleep began to tell upon her. Her
strength failed, her mind weakened, and it seemed as though her doom
was sealed.

"On the third day of Mary's imprisonment Mr. England, who was about to
start for Rhode Island, bethought himself of his young countrywoman,
and determined to call at the boarding-house in Greenwich street, to
see what had become of her. He did so, and was informed that she had
engaged as bar-maid in the William street saloon.

"Having knowledge of such places, Mr. England was troubled at this
news, and though pressed for time, he determined to call at the saloon
and see what kind of hands Mary had fallen into. He went thither, and
the moment he entered the place he discovered its character.

"On inquiring of the landlady for Mary, he was told that she had gone
to Pennsylvania with her brother, who had come for her two days before.
Something in the woman's manner excited Mr. England's suspicions, and
he told her that he thought she was deceiving him, and that Mary was
still in the house.

"At this the woman flew into a passion, and swore volubly at Mr.
England in several languages. This strengthened his suspicions of foul
play, and he grew more peremptory in his manner of speech. While he was
contesting the matter with the landlady, one of the girls in waiting
passed near him, and muttered something which he understood to be a
statement that Mary was actually in the house.

"Upon this Mr. England took decided ground, and told the woman that
unless she immediately produced the girl, he would go for an officer
and have her arrested. This brought her to terms. She gave one of the
waitresses a key, and an order in German, in pursuance of which the
girl went and unlocked the room in which Mary was confined. As soon as
the door was opened Mary came rushing out, and seeing Mr. England, she
flew to him sobbing hysterically, and clinging to his arm--and cried:

"'Take me from this place, Mr. England; take me from this place!'

"After demanding Mary's trunk, which was delivered to him, with all her
things, Mr. England immediately took the rescued girl to a place of
safety.

"Mary's brother had died, as she soon learned, while she was on her
voyage to meet him. But a young New York lawyer saw her and loved her,
and wooed her, and won her, and married her, and she is now living,
happy and prosperous, in Brooklyn.

"But suppose there had been no Mr. England in the case. Or, suppose Mr.
England had gone to Rhode Island, without stopping to look after this
homeless young stranger!

"Why, then, she would have met her wretched doom in that William street
den, and been one of the class about, whom this article is written."




                              CHAPTER XXXVI.


                     THE WICKEDEST MAN IN NEW YORK

In the July number of _Packard's Monthly_, an able and sprightly
magazine, published in this city, there appeared an article by Mr.
Oliver Dyer, entitled "The Wickedest Man in New York." It was a lengthy
and interesting account of a dance-house, carried on at No. 304 Water
street--one of the vilest sections of the city--by one John Allen, and
of the proprietor himself. As many of our readers may not have seen
this article, we give portions of it, referring them to the magazine
for the rest.

The Wickedest Man in New York goes by the name of John Allen. He lives
at No. 304 Water street. He keeps a dance-house there. He is about
forty-five years old. He is _reputed_ to be worth one hundred thousand
dollars, more or less, and is _known_ to be worth over seventy thousand
dollars. He has three brothers, who are clergymen--two of them being
Presbyterians, and the other a Baptist--and is reported to have once
been a minister of the Gospel himself. He is known formerly to have
been a school teacher, and is a man of education and fine natural
powers; was originally a good man; and is yet a 'good fellow' in many
respects. Were it not for his good qualities he never could have
attained unto the bad eminence of being the Wickedest Man in New York.

The best bad is always the worst.

Take him for all in all, our Wickedest Man is a phenomenon. He reads
the Bible to his dance-house girls, and his favorite papers are the New
York _Observer_ and the _Independent_. He takes them regularly, and
_reads_ them. We have repeatedly seen them lying on the counter of his
bar-room, amid decanters and glasses, along with the daily _Herald_ and
the _Sun_. We have also seen a dozen copies of the _Little Wanderer's
Friend_ at a time scattered about his place, for he takes an interest
in mission work, and 'goes in' generally for progress for other people.

This Wickedest Man is the only entity appertaining to the shady side
of New York life which we have been unable to fathom, analyze, and
account for. But he is too much for us. Why a human being of his
education, natural tastes, force of character, and wealth, should
continue to live in a Water street dance-house, and bring up his
children in a soul-destroying atmosphere of sin and degradation, is
more than we can comprehend.

For the Wickedest Man loves his children. His little five-year-old boy
is the apple of his eye, the core of his heart, and the chief object of
his worship. He never misses an opportunity to sound the child's
praises, and to show off his accomplishments. And all things
considered, the little fellow is truly a wonder. He is crammed full of
information on all manner of topics, and is ever ready to respond to
his doting father's attempts to make his smartness visible to the naked
eye.

We have never visited the Wickedest Man's dance-house without having
our attention called afresh to his little son's abilities, except once,
and then he took us round to the school which the child attends, to let
us see that he ranks with the best, and is a favorite with his teacher.
That was on the 28th day of May last, at about a quarter to twelve in
the day time, when we went to No. 304 Water street, to tell Mr. Allen
that the fated time had come for serving him up in a magazine article.

For be it known to the reader, we have had our pen couched at John
Allen for nearly two years. In the year 1865, the Sabbath after
President Lincoln was assassinated, we began an exploration and sub-
soiling of New York city, as to its crime, poverty, want, woe,
wretchedness, and degradation, which we have pursued ever since, as
other engagements would permit. Of course, it was not long before we
found out John Allen. We at once recognized his genius for wickedness,
and made him an especial study. But, as we have said, he baffles us. We
have told him so, and have frequently asked him to help us out of our
dilemma, but he always comes short of the complete thing.

We _think_ we know why this Wickedest Man persists in living in his
Water street den--that we have, in fact, penetrated his secret; but as
we are not absolutely certain as to the matter, we will not set our
suspicion down in print, lest we should do him injustice.

We have said that our Wickedest Man is a phenomenon. We meant this in
its application to the deepest springs of his character; but it is
also, and perhaps equally, applicable to the external manifestations of
those deepest springs.

Has the reader any notion of a Water street dance-house? Concretely
stated, it is a breathing hole of hell--trap-door of the bottomless
pit. You step from the street into a bar-room, wherein lousy loafers
lurk, and which is, in some cases, on a level with the sidewalk, and in
others far below it; and there you are in the general midst of things,
if it happens to be a dance-house of the very lowest class. But usually
there is a 'saloon' in the rear of the bar-room.

Passing out of the bar-room by a door opening in a partition across
its rear, you enter the dancing-saloon, which varies in size from a
room fifteen feet square to a room twenty-five to fifty feet in extent.
Along the wall of this room a bench extends, usually on three sides. In
the farther end of the room is an orchestra, proportioned in numbers
and skill to the prosperity of the establishment. The number of
musicians is sometimes as high as six, but the average is not more than
three. In one of the rear corners of the saloon there is a small bar,
where the girls can drink with their victims without exposing their
fascinations to the unthriftful gaze of a non-paying and censorious
outside public.

Sitting upon the benches, or grouped upon the floor, or whirling in
the dance, are the girls, varying in number from four to twenty, but
averaging about ten.

These girls are not often comely to the fastidious eye. But to a
sailor, just from a long cruise where nothing lovelier than his
weather-beaten shipmates has for years been seen, they are not without
attractions. So, too, do certain landsmen, of a degraded type, pay
homage to their strenuous charms. But a decent man, in the full
possession and equipoise of his faculties, can only regard them with
sorrow unspeakable, and pity too deep for tears.

The only girl we ever saw in a dance-house, in whom we could detect
the slightest vestige of comeliness or refinement, had been there but a
few hours, and was reputed to be the daughter of a former Lieutenant-
Governor of a New England State.

The first time we entered John Alien's dance-house we found it in full
blast. The hour was eleven in the evening. There were thirteen girls in
the saloon, three musicians in the orchestra, and seven customers
submitting to the blandishments of an equal number of the ballet-
dressed syrens who pervaded the room. Our party consisted of the
policeman who accompanied us, three clergymen on the look out for the
"elephant," Mr. Albert C. Arnold, of the Howard Mission, and the
writer.

The Wickedest Man was in his glory. Things were moving briskly. He
gave us all a hearty welcome, ordered the orchestra to do their best,
and told the girls to 'break our hearts.' A vigorous dance followed,
after which the proprietor called out:

'Hartford, go up stairs and get my baby.' Hartford turned out to be
one of the girls, who immediately disappeared and soon returned,
bearing in her arms an undressed sleepy child, wrapped in a shawl. This
was the juvenile prodigy. His father took him in his arms, with a glow
of pride and affection.

'Now, gentlemen, you are writers, philosophers, and preachers; but
I'll show that my baby knows as much as any of you. He's hell on
reading, writing, praying and fighting.'

And without more ado, he stood the sleepy little fellow upon the floor
and began to catechize him in ancient history, both sacred and profane,
and then in modern history, geography, the political history of the
United States, etc., etc., with a result which astounded all. Suddenly
he exclaimed:

'Chester, give me a song.'

And Chester, for that is the child's name, gave us a song.

'Now, Chester, give us a break-down.' The orchestra played a 'break-
down,' and Chester danced it with precision and vigor, his mother
looking on with delight.

"'Now, Chester, give us a prayer."

And the child recited, first the Lord's Prayer, and then others in
succession mixed with which were so much ribaldry and profanity on the
father's part as cut us to the heart. And here it was that we got a
glimpse of the pre-eminent wickedness of the man-wickedness to him
unknown, and all the worse because of his unconsciousness of it;
wickedness which is leading him to train up that idolized boy in a way
and in an atmosphere which will yet make him an object of loathing,
even to his own heart.

For that dance-house child there seems to be no spiritual hope. The
sacred and the profane are so intermingled in his childish
understanding, that he will never be able to tell which is sacred and
which is profane; and his nature being dogged and combative, he will
grow up into the highest possible type of wickedness, if he grows up at
all. Of the thousand of painful cases wherewith we have met in this
city, that of little Chester Allen gives us about the keenest pang.

After the infant phenomenon had been sent back to bed, his father
asked our party if we wouldn't 'mix in' and have a dance with the
girls.

'It'll do you good,' said he, 'to trip it a little on the light
fantastic. Besides, I like to do the fair thing by distinguished
visitors. I'm fond of literary people, and especially of clergymen.
I've three brothers myself who adorn the sacred calling; and grit and
grace run through our family, like the Tigris and the Jordan through
the Holy Land. Go in, gentlemen; the girls shan't hurt you. I'll watch
over you like a hen over her chickens, and you shall leave my premises
as virtuous as--_you came in!_ Ha, ha! Come, what shall it be?'

On being assured that we would not 'trip it on the light fantastic,'
he asked us if _we_ (that is, our party) would not favor the girls with
a song, whereupon Mr. Arnold suggested that we should all sing
together, and asked the girls what they would like best. Several of
them immediately responded in favor of 'There is Rest for the Weary.'

'Do _you_ know _that?_ one of the clergymen asked.

'Yes;' answered at least half-a-dozen of the girls.

'Where did you learn it?' asked another of the clergymen.

"'At Sabbath-school," was the reply.

We all looked at one another. Here was a revelation. These girls had
been brought up to attend Sabbath-school! Perhaps they were the
daughters of Christian parents! But we had not time to pursue this
painful speculation, for the girls began to sing--

     'In the Christian's home in Glory
     There is a land of rest;
     And my Saviour's gone before me,
     To fulfil my soul's request.

     'CHORUS: There is rest for the weary,
     There is rest for you,
     On the other side of Jordan,
     In the sweet fields of Eden,
     Where the Tree of Life is blooming,
     There is rest for you.'

And oh, with what fervor and pathos they sang--especially the chorus--
which, at the end of each verse they sang three times over; some of
them, at last, weeping as they sang. What girlish memories, those
sweet, simple strains evoked! Memories, perhaps, of once happy homes,
and affectionate Sabbath-school teachers, and beloved companions, so
sweetly contrasting with their dance-house condition. And so, those
soul-weary creatures lingered fondly upon, and repeated over and over
again, the lines:

     'On the other side of Jordan,
     In the sweet fields of Eden,
     Where the Tree of Life is blooming,
     There is rest for you.'


Since that occasion we have repeatedly visited the abode of the
Wickedest Man in New York, for the purpose of 'studying him up,' and of
trying to hit upon some means of inducing him to abandon his course of
life, and of saving his boy. For in truth we not only feel an interest
in, but also rather like him, wicked as he is. And so does nearly
everybody whom we have taken to see him; and we have taken scores--most
of them clergymen.

But all our efforts to get any vital hold upon him have been in vain.
He is always cordial; always ready to let the girls 'have a spiritual
sing;' will even permit a little exhortation to them in his dancing
saloon; and is free with his _Observer_ and _Independent_. But he keeps
on his way with unyielding pertinacity.

On one occasion a party of us suggested that he should let us hold a
prayer-meeting in his saloon. After a little reflection, he replied:

'Well, no, gentlemen, I can't go _that_. You know that every man must
have regard to his profession and the opinion of his neighbors. What
with my _Observer_ and _Independent_, and you fellows coming here and
singing camp-meeting hymns, I am already looked upon in the
neighborhood as being rather loose and unsound; _and if, a-top of all
that, I should let you hold a prayer-meeting here, I should lose what
little character I've left.'_

But our friend Arnold, of the Howard Mission, was determined to
achieve the prayer-meeting. And during the fourth week in May last,
when there were many of his clerical friends in the city, Mr. Arnold
thought he'd bring a heavy spiritual cannonade to bear on Allen, and
see what would come of it. So, on Monday night, May 25th, after a
carefully conducted preliminary season of prayer, an assaulting party
was formed, including six clergymen from different parts of the
country, to march upon the citadel of the enemy. When we arrived, it
was half past twelve; the window-shutters were closed, and we feared we
were too late. But a light shone through the window over the door, and
on application we were admitted, and received a hearty welcome. Allen
was just then undergoing a shampooing process; for the purpose, as he
frankly stated, of enabling him to go to bed sober. He added:

'You see, gentlemen, it won't do for a business man to go to bed
drunk, nor for a literary man either. So now, you just take my advice,
and whenever you find yourself drunk about bedtime, you just take a
good shampoo, and you'll find the investment will pay a big dividend in
the morning. But walk into the saloon, gentlemen; walk in. The girls
are in there taking a rest and a smoke, after the arduous duties of the
evening. Walk in.'

We walked in, and found the girls smoking pipes, and sitting and
lounging about the room. In a few minutes Allen came in and proposed to
have the girls dance for us, but we declined.

'Well then, Arnold, let's have a song,' he exclaimed.

Mr. Arnold, as usual, asked the girls what they would like to hear,
and they at once asked for their favorite--'There is Rest for the
Weary.'

'Here, mother, give me my fiddle,' said Allen to his wife, 'and bring
out the books,' meaning the _Little Wanderer's Friend_, of which he
keeps a supply.

The books were got out by one of the girls, the fiddle was handed him
by his wife, and Allen led off on the treble, all hands joining in.
There were eleven girls in the room, and they sang in the chorus with
unusual fervor, even for them. As soon as this song was finished, a
couple of the girls, simultaneously, asked for 'There's a Light in the
Window for Thee, Brother,' which was sung with emphasis and feeling.

At the conclusion of the last-mentioned song, Mr. Arnold believed that
the appointed hour had come, and, tapping Allen on the shoulder, he
said:

'Well, John, old boy, give us your hand: I feel just like praying here
with you!'

Allen took the extended hand and gruffly said, 'What, _pray?_ Do you
mean pray? No, sir, never!'

'Well, John, responded Mr. Arnold, 'I am going to pray here, anyhow.
If I don't pray loud I'll pray soft. You shan't lose the prayer, at any
rate.'

'Well, Arnold, mind, now, if you pray _I won't hear you;_ mind that. I
don't know any thing about it. I won't hear you.'

And backing slowly out of the room, and repeating, 'I won't hear you,'
over and over again, Allen went through the door leading to the bar,
and closed it after him.

Mr. Arnold then invited the girls to join in prayer with him, which
they did, some of them kneeling on the floor, as did the visitors, and
others bowing their heads upon their hands, while Allen peered through
the window of the partition door upon the singular scene.

Mr. Arnold's heart was almost too full for utterance, but his fervor
soon unloosed his tongue, and he poured out a simple, direct, and
heartfelt prayer, which told powerfully upon the hearers. Many of the
girls arose, sobbing, to their feet, and several of them crowded around
Mr. Arnold, and begged him, in the name of God, to take them from that
place. They would work their hands off, if honest work could be got for
them; they would submit to any hardship if they could only be restored
to opportunities for virtue and a Christian life.

Poor Arnold! He was the picture of despair. It came upon him, all at
once, that there is no help for such, this side the grave. He had at
last conquered his opportunity, and prayed with these children of sin
and shame, and now that they were calling upon him to answer his own
prayer--to give them a chance to eat the bread of life--he had to put
them off with the stone of evasion.

Take them from that place! Where could he take them? In all this
Christian land there is not a Christian home that would open its doors
to a repentant female sinner, except to turn her out of the house.

On calling upon Mr. Arnold the next day, we found him in the room at
the Mission, with his head bowed upon the table, as though in prayer.
Looking up at us with blazing eyes, exclaimed:

'Sir, what is to be done about this?'

'About what?' we asked.

'These poor girls,' he replied. 'I have been thinking and praying, and
praying and thinking over it all night, but I can see no light. Sir,
(pressing his head between his hands,) I shall go mad.'

There are about forty dance-houses in Mr. Allen's neighborhood; that
is to say, within a half mile square, of which No. 304 Water street is
the centre. The average number of girls in each of these houses, the
season through, is ten, making four hundred in them all. So that, to
feed this half mile square of infamy requires eighty fresh girls per
annum. To feed the entire city, requires an average of two thousand one
hundred and ninety-four a year, _which is a trifle over six a day,
Sunday included!_ Six fresh girls a day from the Sabbath-schools and
virtuous homes of the land, to feed the licentious maw of this
metropolis of the western world.


                        THE WATER STREET REVIVAL.

The result of the publication of Mr. Dyer's article, was to centre upon
John Allen an unusual share of public attention. Certain clergymen in
the city, thinking the occasion a proper one for endeavoring to create
a religious awakening amongst the worst classes of the city, determined
to endeavor to induce John Allen to abandon his wicked ways, and lead a
better life, hoping that his conversion would have a powerful influence
upon his class. They went to work. On the 30th of August, 1868, John
Allen's house was closed for the first time in seventeen years. A
handbill posted on the door, contained the following announcement:


                      THIS DANCE-HOUSE IS CLOSED.

"No gentlemen admitted unless accompanied by their wives, who wish to
employ Magdalenes as servants." On the next day it was announced that
Allen had abandoned his infamous vocation, never to resume it.

In order to do justice to all parties, we give the following, which
states the case of the originators of the revivals in their own words.
The paper is signed by J. M. Ward, M.D.; Rev. H. C. Fish, D.D.; Rev. W.
C. Van Meter; A. C. Arnold; Rev. W. H. Boole; Rev. F. Browne; Oliver
Dyer; Rev. Isaac M. Lee; Rev. Mr. Huntington.

The facts are as follows:

_First_.--At midnight on Saturday, the 29th day of August, 1868, JOHN
ALLEN closed his dance-house, No. 304 Water Street, where he had for
nearly seventeen years kept a rum shop and house of prostitution. As
soon after such closing of the dance-house as the rooms could be
arranged for the purpose, a prayer-meeting was held in the dancing
saloon, with the concurrence of Mr. ALLEN and his wife. This meeting
was begun at about half an hour after midnight, and continued until one
o'clock in the morning. It was conducted and participated in by Messrs.
ALBERT C. ARNOLD, Rev. H. C. BEACH and OLIVER DYER; and there were
present Mr. and Mrs. ALLEN, the girls of the establishment, and a
couple of ALLEN's neighbors, one of whom had been a liquor seller in
the Fourth Ward for twenty years.

_Second_.--On the next day, the Sabbath, Mr. ALLEN attended worship,
in the afternoon, at the Howard Mission, and then and there publicly
announced that he had closed his dance-house, never to open it again
for any evil purpose. On the evening of the same day, a public prayer-
meeting was for the first time held in ALLEN's house, hundreds of
persons of all classes crowding the premises, among whom were some of
the most abandoned characters of the neighborhood.

_Third_.--Since these meetings were begun, they have been continued
daily from noon till one o'clock, P. M., in Mr. ALLEN'S house; and on
Sabbath, there have been large outdoor meetings in front of the
premises. On the 11th of September, the house of THOMAS HADDEN, No. 374
Water street, kept as a low groggery and sailor's boarding-house, was
also opened for religious services, at the hour of 12 o'clock; the
rooms being filled to overflowing, multitudes being unable to enter. At
the same hour a prayer-meeting was in progress at Allen's, and another
upon the sidewalk opposite, to accommodate those who could not get
within the doors at either Allen's or Hadden's.

[Illustration: Noon-Day Prayer Meeting at "The Wickedest Man's" Dance-
House.]

_Fourth_.--These meetings have been attended and sustained by
Christians of all denominations, and have uniformly been characterized
by extraordinary fervency and power. The congregations have been, to a
considerable extent, composed of sailors and residents of the Ward,
(the Fourth,) which is known as the worst ward in the city. Some of the
most wretched outcasts of this infamous locality have been present, and
have, in several instances, requested prayer and private religious
instruction; some cases resulting, as it is hoped, in their permanent
reformation and conversion.


                             THE OTHER SIDE.

It is hardly possible that such religious demonstrations as the prayer-
meetings which were held in Water street in September, 1868, could fail
to do good to some one. The friends of the movement, however, made a
grave mistake in announcing and spreading the report of John Allen's
conversion, and even in allowing him to take part in their meetings,
when it was known to them that he was not even a repentant, much less a
converted man. The announcement of his conversion set on foot an
inquiry, on the part of the press of the city, the results of which are
thus stated by the _New York Times_, of September 19th.

The highly sensational stories concerning the 'wickedest man in New
York,' with which the eyes and ears of the public have been regaled of
late, have awakened an interest in John (Van) Allen such as has not
been felt since the ever memorable reformation of 'Awful' (Orville)
Gardner, the notorious pugilist and gambler, who, nearly eleven years
ago, suddenly forsook the prize ring and the card table, with their
vile associations, and began to live like an honest man, and a
respectable member of society. Gardner was for several years a
companion of Allen's in a line of open, shameless sinning, and was
classed with the very lowest strata of humanity. When his 'conversion'
was announced there were few that believed in the man's sincerity,
while fewer still had any faith in the thoroughness or probable
perpetuity of the reformation. Gardner deceived the masses of his
fellows, however, by adhering strictly to his solemn pledge to 'serve
God in the future as zealously as he had served Satan in the past,' and
to this day he has indorsed that oath with a life of the most
irreproachable character.

The same depth of popular interest that was born with the reformation
of the prize-fighter and gambler, in 1857, was brought forth recently,
when the community was startled with the strange news that the King of
Water street dance-house keepers had abandoned his wicked business,
and, like his associate of old, had promised to devote the remainder of
his days to serving the highest interests of mankind. That Gardner was
sincere and earnest, and that his motives were pure and unselfish, when
he promised to be a better man, time has fully vindicated; but that
Allen deserves the same commendation is, to say the least of it, very
questionable, as is shown by the inconsistencies of his brief
probationary career. To speak plainly, it is no more a matter of doubt
that the religious community has been grossly imposed upon, with
reference to the Water street 'revival,' as will be seen by glancing at
a few stubborn facts that cannot be reconciled to a more favorable
theory. Upon whose shoulders the guilt of this deception rests, may not
have been discovered, but, most assuredly, the righteous indignation of
the public will fall, unsparingly, upon whoever may deserve its
infliction.

The facts, negatively stated, are briefly and plainly these: There is
not a religious revival in progress among the wretched dwellers in
Water street dance-halls, and sailors' boarding-houses, nor has there
been of late, as represented to the public. Neither Allen, Tommy
Hadden, Slocum, nor 'Kit' Burns are 'converted' or reformed men, all
accounts to the contrary notwithstanding. The whole movement originated
several months ago, in the efforts of the colporteurs of a certain
mission, to ameliorate the condition of sailors and fallen women of the
Fourth Ward. House-to-house visits were made by the missionaries for a
considerable length of time, but without accomplishing all that was
desired. At length it was decided that an unusual and sensational
method should be taken to arouse Water street, and Water street was
accordingly aroused. Allen was selected as the victim against whom the
shafts of religion should be specially levelled, and they were,
therefore, directed toward him. Two articles appeared in a certain
magazine, calling attention to Allen as the 'wickedest man in New York'
and in a short time he was the most notorious character in the country.
The aim of the article in question was evidently to shame John Allen
into a change of life, and thus to obtain a foothold among his vile
neighbors and companions in sin. The stroke was a bold one, but it
utterly failed in its purpose to soften John's heart. The result,
however, was that thousands of religious persons--clergymen and
others--thronged his house daily, either from a motive of curiosity, or
of inducing John to abandon his wicked life and become a religious man.
This he sternly refused to do, threatening to throw any preaching or
praying people, who might come there, out of doors. The rush of
visitors of the better classes to his house entirely destroyed his
business, and for weeks he did not make a dollar of profit in his usual
way. Finding that Allen could not be coerced into a reformation, and
fearing that the game would be lost, his religious shepherds made a
proposition to him to hire his house for one month, to October 1, for
daily prayer meetings, and such arrangement was, after some discussion,
perfected. For the use of the rooms it is known that a check for three
hundred and fifty dollars was passed to Allen, last week, by a party
controlling the movement, and the house is now in legal possession of
the drawer of the check. Allen's prayers, songs, and exhortations, with
which he interested the praying dupes who gathered to his house, were
assuredly bogus, and, after being continued for two or three days, they
were abandoned, and thereafter, in drunken obliviousness or cunning
reticence, the 'wickedest man' passed his time, avoiding visitors, and
talking only when compelled to do so. What he purposes to do hereafter
will be learned in the course of this article. So much for Alien's
falsely reputed conversion!

As for the other men's reformation, that is as absolutely a piece of
humbuggery as Allen's. Tommy Hadden is playing the pious with the hope
of being secured from trial before the Court of General Sessions for
having recently 'shanghaed' a Brooklynite, and also in consideration of
a handsome moneyed arrangement with his employers--similar to that with
Allen. 'Kit' Burn's rat-pit will also be opened for religious services
on Monday next; but the public need not be deceived in the matter of
his reformation. His motive, like that of the others, is to make money,
and, be it known, that he is to receive at the rate of one hundred and
fifty dollars per month, for the use of his pit an hour every day.
Slocum desired prayers at the Howard Mission, on Sunday last, but it is
understood that he is not to be lionized, because the missionaries are
not willing to pay him a high enough rental for his hall. As for the
general movement carried on in Water street, under the false pretence
that these men have voluntarily, and from purely religious motives,
offered their saloons for public worship, and have, themselves,
determined to reform, very little more need be said. The daily prayer-
meetings are nothing more than assemblages of religious people from
among the higher grades of society, in what were once low dance-halls.
There is an unusual amount of interest displayed at these meetings, and
much good has, doubtless, been accomplished thereby, but it is also a
fact, that there are but a few, and sometimes none, of the wretched
women, or ruffianly, vicious men, of that neighborhood, present. Those
classes are not reached at all, and it is false to say that a revival
is going on among them. The character of the audiences and the
exercises are similar to that of the noon meeting at the Fulton street
Church.

With a view of sounding Allen on various points of public interest,
connected with this exciting affair, the writer, on Thursday, paid a
vis