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THE
GlEA/T'ETOP OLIS;
A
i__R0O 0 iE2- r!OR.
A COMPLETE IIISTORY OF METROPOLITAN LIFE AND SOCIETY, WITH SKETCIHES
OF PROMINENT PLACES, PERSONS AND THINGS IN THE CITY,
AS THEY ACTUALLY EXIST.
BY
JUNIUS HENRiI BROWNE.
[Su,d by Sub1eptho  ~nly andl not for sale in the Book  Stores.   Residents of any State in the Ution  desirin g a  opy should
address the Publishers, and an agent will call upon them.
HARTFORD:
AMERICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY.
R. W. BLISS & CO., TOLEDO, OHIO.  BLISS & CO., NEWARK, N. J.
H. H. BANCROFT & CO., SAN FRANCISCO, CALI
1 8 6 9.
I:: -:
I ~ 
F
/.I   I  f
I. 
EwEREmD according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
AMERICAN PUBLISHING CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecliut.
Electrotyped by
LOCKW O(1OD  MANDE'ILLE,
1H AXTFOXD, DCO NN
41 .. 
: -: I.., 
AND SCATTER
TO THE
GOOD MEN AND THE GOOD WOMEN
WHO WALK WITH CHARITY~
THE SUNSHINE OF THEIR PRESENCE
WAYS OF THE GREAT CITY,
HIS UNASSUMING RECORD OF ITS LIFE
EARNESTLY INSCRIBED.
IN THE DARK  
V..
..;.;
c:;
PREFA CE.
THE sketches in this volume, begun more than two years
ago, have been continued from time to time iii the midst of
journalistic duties, as  personal  observation  and  inquiry
furnished new facts and illustrations of the Great City.
These chapters have been written to represent the outer and
inner life that makes up thie beauty and deformity, the good
and evil, tlhe happiness and misery,  which lie around us
here so closely interwoven, that only charity can judge them
wisely and well.
In Faith and Hope the world will disagree,
But all mankind's concern is Charity.
All must be false that thwart this one great end,
And all of God, that bless mankind or inend.
NEW-YORK, December, 1868.
J. H. B.
i
0 
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
CHURCHES IN NEW YORK,
ILLUSTRATED TITLE PAGE,
ARCHITECTURAL CONTRASTS,.
BUSINESS CONTRASTS, 
STOCK EXCHANGE, BROAD STREET,.
6. BLACKWELL'S ISLAND,
7. STREET VENDERS,.
8.' UMBRELLAS,".
9. CHINESE CANDY DEALERS,
10. FORT LAFAYETTE,
11. THE MALL. CENTRAL PARK
12. UNION SQUARE,
13. PILOT BOAT.
14. BARNUM'S MUSEUM, 1860, 
15. THE BATTERY,                                        2
16. PRINTING HOUSE SQUARE,
17. PARK BANK, BROADWAY,
18. WASHINGTON MARKET, 
19. STREET ARABS,                                       4
20. STREET BEGGARS,                                     4
21. MACKERELVILLE TURN-OUT,
22. HOWARD MISSION, 
23. ROOM IN HOWARD MISSION,
24. CITY MISSIONARY,                                    5
25. LOW GROGGERY,                                       6
26. THE FIRST SNOW, 
44W 0
Frontispiece.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
23
2.3
48
77
92
98
109
121
128
176
176
242
310
344
408
427
457
465
526
526
547
659
696
I
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CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE RICH AND POOR.
Fashion and Famine.-Ctharms and Counter-Charms of the Metropolis.   Lights and Shadows Everywhere. -Life at its Best and Worst. -Marble
Palaces and Squalid Tenement Houses.-What They Contain.          23
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK SOCIETY.
Its Divisions and Characteristics.-The Old Knicker-ocker Families.
The Cultivatedly Comnfortable.-The New Rich.-The Mere Adven   turers.-Social Shams and Snobs.-The American Gentleman  and
Lady.......                   31
CHAPTER III.
WALL STREET.
The Banking-House of the Continent. —Money-Getting and Mammon-WVor   ship.-The Mania for Stock and Gold Operations. —The Exchange and
Gold Room.-Great Wealth of the Quarter.-Its Redeeming Virtues. 40
CHAPTER IV.
TIIE POLICE.
The Force in the City.-Its Strength and Effectiveness.-The Best and
Worst Class.-Their Habits and Operations.-The Station House and
Prisoners.-Scenes and Characters. —Detectives and their Varieties. 50
CHLIAPTER V.
TIE SHIPPING.
Sea-Ports and Sea-Thoughts.-Corninierce of the Great City.-Its Trade
all over the Globe.-Vessels and Sailors.-Scenes at the Dock and on
Shipboard.-The People who Arrive and Depart...    59
CHIAPTER  VI.
THIE ROUGHS.
Their Physiology and Psychology.-Haunts and Habits of the Class.   Their Education and Associations. —Defeated Justice and Dangerous
Elements.-The Wild Beasts in an Unseen Lair...       67 
8
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VII.
BLACKWELL'S ISLAND.
The Abode of Paupers and Criminals.- The Different Buildings and their
Inmates.-Mysterious Babies and Notorious Thieves.-Curious Luna   tics and Peculiar Characters.-A Fancied Napoleon Bonaparte.-An
Imaginary Prophet....                   76
CHAPTER VIII.
TIlE FIRST OF MAY.
Moving in Manhattan.-Origin of the Custom.-House-Hunting and
House Hunters.-Among the Rich and Poor.-May-Scenes and Ex   periences.-Change and Chaos firom the Battery to the Park.     86
CHAPTER IX.
THE STREET-VENDERS.
The Bohemians of Trade and Bedouins of Traffic.-News and Flower
Dealers.-Dog-Fanciers and Toy-Peddlers.-Retail Shams and Small
Swindles.-Bowery Breakfasts and Park-Row Dinners.- Old Clothes
Hawkers and Chinese Candy-Sellers...             92
CHAPTER X.
TIIE FERRIES.
Their Number, Location and Business. Different Classes of Passengers.
-Occupation and Toil, Hope and Success on the Waters.-The Refluent
Wave of Humanity.-The All-Night Boats.-Journalists and Printers
on their Way Home..                                     100
CHAPTER XI.
GREENWOOD.
Picturesqueness of the Cemetery.-Its  Extent and Range of View.   Activity of Funerals.-Sentiment and Pathos.-Burial of a Prosperous
Merchant. —The T ab-yss WAidowr.-The Last of the True Wife and
Mother.-The Poor ()Outcast at the Tomb.-Epitaphs and their Hollow  ness.-A Romantic Maiden who Would Not Die...      110
CHAPTER XII.
TIUE PARKS.
Decay and Abandonment of the Old Plazas.-The Central Park, its
People and Prospects.-The Resort of the AVealthy and Indigent.   The Two Carriages and their Occupants.-A Pair of Nobodies.-Glit  tcring Discontent.....       121 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BOWERY.
The Quarter and its Habitu6s.-Tricks and Tradesnen There.-The
Bowery Merchant's Manner of Dealing with Customers.-A Sailor
and Land-Shark.-After Night-fall.-The Bowery Boy Extinct.   129
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FORTUNE-TELLERS.
The Mystic Tribe and its Patrons.-Dowdy Priestesses and Common   Place Oracles.-Scenes of Sorcery.-Interior of a Temple of Fate.   Revelations about Wives. -A Tawdry Witch of Mysterious Pretension.
-Superstitions of Business Men.-The Calling not Profitable.    138
CHAPTER XV.
THE BOtIEMIANS.
Popular Idea of the Class.-TThe True and False Guild.-What They are and
Believe.-The Original Tribe in New York.-Sketches  of the Promi   nent Members.-Disreputable Specimens.-The Earnest Disciples. 150
CHATETR XVI.
TIIE LAGER BEER GARDENS.
Their Numbers and Variety.-Peculiarities of the Manhattan Beverage.   German  Characteristics  and  Customs.-Teutonic  Simplicity and
Enjoyment.-The Atlantic Garden.-Music, Tobacco, Talk and Til)p   pling.......       159
CHAPTER XVII.
TIIE CIIURCItHES.
Their Number and Wealth-Their Liberality and Beauty.-Religion as a
Form-A Fashionable Temple.-Repulsion of Humble Strangers.   An Elegant Congregation.-Characters.-Pulpit Oratory.-Genuine
Christianity.....                            167
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE THEATERS.
Dramatic Assumptions of the Metropolis.- Character of its Audiences.   Dramatic  Temples.-Thleir  Different  Patrons.-Wallack's,  Niblo's
Garden, the Olympic, Pike's Opera House, the Academy of Music, the
New York, the Theatre Frangais, the Broadway, Wood's, Booth's and
the'Bowery......                    175
9
I 
10
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DEAD BEATS.
The Higher and Lower Sort.-Requirements and Peculiarities of the
Calling.-Variety and  Contrast of the Life.-Photograph of the
Creature.-Sketch of his Career.-Reclaiming a Prodigal.-Freedom
from Debt the Sole Independence.....       186
CHAPTER XX.
THiE ADVENTURESSES.
Man's Vanity and Woman's Cunning.-Origin of the Strange Women.   Their Ample Field in the City.  Their Mental and Moral Code.  Operations at the Hotels.-War Widows.-Examples of Interesting
Poverty.-Advertising  Tricks.-Emigrants.-The  Traveling Sister  hlood.-A Remnant of tl-e Woman Left...            194
CHAPTER XXI.
THE BOARDING HOUSES.
The Fashionable Establishments and their Noticeable Features.-Mrs.
Dobbs and her Patrons.-The Landlady from Life.-Weal and Woe of
her Happy Family.-Comfortless Comfort of a Home.-The Salesman,
Law Student and Reporter.-Dreary Dinners.-Evening Entertain  ments.......            205
CHAPTER XXII.
HIORACE GREELEY.
Prevalent Ideas of Him.-His Early Years.-Establishment of the Tri   bune.-His Indefatigable Industry and Great Popularity.-His Fancy
Farm at Chappaqua- His Family and Charities-His Eccentricities.
-The Verdict of his Countrymen...              214
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE FIFTHI AVENUE.
Architecture of the Street.-Its Exclusiveness and Wealth.-Inner Life and
Outward Show.-Pretension and Refinemient.  Oppressive Monotony.
-Gorgeous Interiors.-The Queen of the Drawing Room.-The Devotee
of Fashion.-Blazing Hearths and Ashen Hearts.-Fate of the Un  recognized.-Untold Histories.                                    219
CHAPTER XXIV.
HENRY J. RAYMOND.
The Beginning of his Career.-Entry into Journalism and Politics.-The
Times Office.-The Elbows-of-the Mincio Article.-Personal Appear  ance and Private Affairs.-Temnperamental Peculiarity..         230 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE BATTERY.
11
What it was and is.-TIts Historic Associations.-Its Lingering Attractions.
-The Emigrant Dep6t at Castle Garden.-Idiosyncrasiesof Foreigners.
-How   They  are  Fleeced.-Germians,  Scotch,  Irish, French and
Italians....               236
CHAPTER XXVI.
TlE GAMBLING HIOUSES.
Twenty-Five Hundred in the City.-The Fashionable Faro Banks.   Description of their Habitue6s.-Vulgar Haunts and Common Black   legs.-Princely Proprietors and Plebeian  Plunderers.-Phenomerna
of Faro.-Varieties of Gaming....       243
CHAPTER XXVII.
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
School Days and Theological Training.-Eccentricities of Character.-His
Power and Influence in his Pulpit.-Journalistic, Political and Literary
Career.-" Norwood" and the Forthcoming "Life of Jesus."-Popu   larity as a Lecturer.-His Domestic Affairs...       22
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE RESTAURANTS.
Up-Town and Down-Town.-Eating-Houses.-Their Great Variety.-Over
Five Thousand in Town.-The Guerilla System of Dining.-People You
Have Met.-Lunching Makes Strange Companions.-Late Suppers.   Elegant Dissipation.....      260
CHAPTER XXIX.
MANTON MARBLE.
The "Man of the World."-His Early Love of Journalism.-His Experi   ence in Boston.-The Great Democratic Organ.-Its Antecedents and
Progress.-Shrewd Management of the Editor-in-Chief.-The  Man   hattan Club......                  267
CHAPTER XXX.
TIlE FIVE POINTS.
The Notorious Locality.-Poverty, Misery and Vice.-Baxter Street Life
and Morals.-The Swarm of Children.-Etchings from Nature.-Rep   resentative Races.-The Callings of the Place.-The Dance-Houses.   What One Sees There....                     271 
12
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXXF.
THIE MORGUE.
Its Growing Need ill Gotham.-Its Appearance and Regulations.-Fascina  tion of the Horrible.-Scenes Within and Withliout.-Apoplexy, Murder,
Homicide and Suicide.-The Ilumorous Side of Ghastliness.        2S8D
CHAPTER XXXII
ALEXANDER T. STEWAKRT.
The Man of Money and Embodiment of Busincss.-IHis Past History.-A
Merchant by Accident. —His Erection of the First Marble Building
in Broadway.-His Up-Town Store.-His Fifth-Avenue Palace.-His
Reputation for Generosity.-His  Immense  Wealth.-Htis Private
Life.                                                        289
CHAITER XXXIII.
TIlE DAILY PRESS.
The Herald, Tribune, Timnes, WAorld, Jourinal of Comnmerce and Sun.   Defects of the  Metropolitan  Ncwspapers.-Their  Circulation  and 
Characteristics.-Thcir Antecedents and Profits.-The Evening Journ   als.-A-What They Are and Do....       295
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE WEEKLY PRESS.
Their Great Number. -The Illustrated Papers.-Rcmarkable Success of
the Ledger.-The Sunday Journals and their Character.-Journalism
as a Profession in New York.-Slenderness of the Compensation.
Needs of the Calling.-Its Overcrowding....       311
CHAPTER XXXV.
WILLIAM B. ASTOR.
An Exception to Most Rich Men's Sons. —His Great Care of his Father's
Estate. —His Industry, Energy and Sagacity.-His Freedom from
Pretension or Extravagance. —His Daily Duties and Domestic Life.   The Wealthiest Man in America.                                     319
CHIAPTER XXXVI.
TItE CONCERT SALOONS.
Their Rise and Sudden Popularity.-Various Grades of Music-Halls.   Danger of Frequenting Thtem.-The "Pretty Waiter Girls."-The
Night Haunts.-The Vision of Dissipation.-Demoralizing Influence of
Such Places.                                                      326 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
13
CORNELIUS VANDERBILT.
The Beginning of his Fortunes.-The Staten Island Perriauger. -A Purely
Self-Made Man. —His Control of Steam Lines.-The Great Railway
King.-Passion for Whist and Horses-Ilis Extraordinary Wall Street
Operationrs. —His Vast Income.-His Remarkable Vigor in Old Age. 333
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
BROADWVAY.
The Street Cosmopolitan and Cosmoramic.-Its Architecture and Constant
Throng.-Poetry and Philosophy of the Thoroughfare.-Its Resources
and Suggestiveness.-Romance and Reality.-Love and Friendship.   Changes of Fortune.-All the World Flowing through that Channel. 339
CHAPTER XXXIX.
TIIE TIIIEVES.
Crime and Crimninals.-Scoundrels Actual and Ideal.-Burglars, Hotel  Robbers, Shop-Lifters, Pickpockets and Sneaks.-Their Number and
Mode of Operating.-The Art of Stealing and Science of Being
Undiscovered..... 346
CHAPTER XL.
SUNDAY IN NEW YORK.
The Change of the Week.-Silence of the Sabbath.-The Sacredness of
Rest.-Different  Modes of Enjoying the Day.-Excursions out of
Town.-God in the Town and Country.                            355
CHAPTER XLI.
THIURLOW WEED.
The Cabin Boy Becomes a Political Warwick-His Extraordinary Tact
and Insight.-His Long Control of New York Politics.-The  Whig
Triumviate.-The Commercial Advertiser. —His Adroit Management
of an Obstinate Assemblyman.-His Income and Good-Heartedness. 365
CHAPTER XLII.
BLEECKER STREET.
Its Past and Present.-Its Variety and Oddity.-Its Strange Occupants.
-Deception and Intrigue.-Dissipation and Death.-The Quarter of
Artists and Bohemians.-Disturbance of Lodgers.-Great Freedom of
the Neighborhood...       372 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XLIII.
NASSAU STREET.
Its Uniqueness and Symbolism.-Curious People and Phenomena.-Love
and Loans.-Lager  and Literature.-Confusion of Humanity.-The
Old Book Stores.-Rambles Up and Down Dusty Stairways.-Back  Office Secrets.-Prolific Material for Novels... 381
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE HOTELS.
Americans not Domestic.-The Astor, St. Nicholas, Metropolitan, Fifth
Avenue, New York, Brevoort and Barcelona.-Second Class Houses.   Gossip, Flirtation and Intrigue. -Hotel Life in Various Phases. 390
CHAPTER XLV.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
Fame in the Metropolis.-His Poetry and Travels.-The Evening Post.   His Labors' and Influence as a Journalist.-IHis Domestic Tastes.-A
Hale and Hearty Patriarch.-A Congenial Companion and Clever
Talker......             399
CHAPTER XLVI.
THIIE MARKETS.
American Extravagance in Living-Disagreeableness of Market Going.   Liberal  Supplies of Everything.-The  Different Customers.-The
Penurious-Wealthy. - Blushing Brides and Cheap Boarding House
Keepers.-The Scale of Prices.-The Evening Market..       405
CHAPTER XLVIL
THIE POST OFFICE.
The Old Dutch Church the Most Popular in Town.-Immense Business of
the Metropolitan Office.-Anxious Inquirers and Insolent Clerks.  Letter-Writers and Letter-Getters.-The General Delivery.-The Dif ferent Stations.-Their Illegitimate Use....       415
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE GAMINS.
Their Antecedents and Training.-Their Favorite Callings and Pleasures.
-Persevering Boot-Blacks and Energetic Newsboys.-The Bowery
Theatre Resort.-Decline and Development of the Urchins.-Natural
Results of Bad Education......       424
14 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE DEMI-MONDE
15
The Relation of the Sexes.-Man's Iijulstice and Woman's Wrongs.   Courtesans in the Metropolis.-Their Character and Calling.-Their
Life, Love and Redeeming Traits.-Sad Pictures of Fallen Women. 434
CHAPTER L.
TIIE CLUBS.
Their Number in Manhattan.-The Most Famous Club-Houses.-Their
Management and Membership.-How Women Regard Them.-The
Century, Manhattan, Union-League, Travelers', City, New York, and
Eclectic.-The Deceased Athenveum.-Journalistic Clubs.-Club Life
in the Great City.....  442
CHAPTER LI.
THIE BEGGARS.
Their Nationality.-The Throng Increasing.-The Four Great Classes.   The Notorious Mendicants.-A New Order.-The Broadway Blindman.
-The Old Hag near Fulton Ferry.-The Armless Frenchman.-The
Canal  Street Humpback.-The  Noseless Pole.-The Mackerelville
Dwarf.-Fortunes of the Vagabond Tribe....       456
CHAPTER LII.
STREET RAILWAYS.
Their Supposed Origin.-Their Suprem.e Independence.-New York Made
for them.-Magnanimity of the  Managers.-The Charmed Life of
Passengers. —Wonders of the Roads.-Haps and Mishaps of Travel.   The Hero of a Thousand Cars.-Every-Day Miracles..       466
CHAPTER LIII.
THE PAWNBROKERS.
What They Represent and What They Are.-Under the Shadow of the
Three Balls.-.Messrs. Abrahams and Moses in their Glory.-The
Watch, the Diamond Bracelets, the Keepsake.-Strange History of
Pledges.......                  473
CHAPTER LIV.
CHILDREN'S AID SOCIETY.
The Boys and Girls' Lodging House. —How they are Managed and Sup   ported.-Receipts and Expenditures.-The Emigration and Restoring
System.-Industrial Schools.  Refuge for Homeless Children.-Ad   vatange of the Charity....                   483 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER LV.
JAMES GORDON BENNETT.
The Child, Boy and Man. -His Education for the Church.-Struggles in
America.-Choice of Journalism for a Profession.-Frequent Failures.
-Establishment of the Herald.-Its first Success.-Peculiarities of the
Man.-His sole Ambition and its Realization.-His private Life.   491
CHAPTER LVI.
THIE CHINESE EMBASSY IN NEW YORK.
What One of the Number Thinks of the Mctropolis.-His Experiences of
American  Life.-Puppies  for Supper.-Peculiar  Rats.-The City
Directory as a Guide.-The Cause of Fires.-" Ghin Sling" in Various
Trying Situations......       499
CHAPTER LVII.
JENKINSISM IN TIHE METROPOLIS.
The Peculiar Tribe.-Elaborate Description of a Wedding by one of the
Fraternity.-The Bride and Bridegroomr.-The Invited Guests.-Who
they were, and how they Appeared.-Extraordinary Scenes at the
Altar.-New Sensations at the Reception...        509
CHAPTER LYIII.
FASHIONABLE WEDDINGS.
Wvhat they Mean, and How they are Managed.-Ambitious Mammas and
Submissive Daughters.- Mr. and Mrs. Fleetfast and their Connubial
Career.-The Three Essentials.-Grace Churchl Brown.-Mockeries of
Love.......             516
CHAPTER LIX.
THIE CITY MISSIONS.
The Five-Points Mission.-The Howard Mission.-The House of Industry.
-Their Regulations and Advantages.-Attendance, Donations and
Expenses.-Intemrperance the Cause of the Evils..            523
CHAPTER LX.
TIE TOM1BS.
Origin of the Name.-The  Inner Quadrangle.-The Tiers of Gloomy
Cells.-Character of the Prisoners.-A  House of  Detention.-The
Three Departments.-The Police Court and Court of Sessions.-Sunday
Morning's Tribunal.-Notorious Criminals who Have been There.  The Gallows and its Victims.-Religious Exercises.               528
16 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER LXI.
THE MIDNIGHT MISSION.
The First Movement for the Reclamation of Fallen Women.-The Desti   tution of the Charity in New York.-The Asylum in Amity St. —Plan
of Procedure.-Success of the Enterprise.-The Receptions.-Touching
Scenes.-Repentant and Reformed Courtesans.-What the Charity
Teaches.....             535
CHAPTER LXII.
ASSOCIATIONS FOR THE POOR.
Effectiveness of the Charity.-Its Origin and Progress.-How it is Con   ducted.-Visits to the Tenement-Houses.-What is Undertaken and
Accomplished.-The Spirit of Humanity at Work.-Beautiful Ex   amples.......            542
CHAPTER LXIII.
WORKING WOMEN'S HOME.
An Excellent Organization.-Mode of its Management.-Weeping Eyes
Dried, and Wounded Hearts Healed.-Direction of the Institution.
Benefits Conferred upon the Poor.-Reaching the Source of Suf   fering........      548
CHAPTER LXIV.
THE MILITARY.
Fondness for Parade.-The National State Guard.-The First Division.   The Armories.-The Crack Regiments. —The Seventh.-Its Departure
for the War.-The  Great Sensation in Broadway.-Holiday Sol   diers.......                    554
CHAPTER LXV.
THE FIRE DEPARTMENT.
The Old System and its Evils.-The Engine Houses in Times Past.-The
Present Departmnent.-The Steam Engines and Ilorses.-Their Advant   age and Efficacy.-The Dead Rabbit and Decent Fire-Boy.        561
CHAPTER LXVI.
RACING AND FAST HORSES.
The Union, Long Island and Fashion Courses.-The Jerome Park —Fond   ness for Horse Flesh.-The Passion Growing.-Gentlemen's Stables.   Millionaires on the Road.-Vanderbilt, Bonner, Jerome and Fellows.
Money Invested in Blooded Stock.-Pleasures of the T-rf.         568
17 
18
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER LXVII.
GIFT ENTERPRISES AND SWINDLES.
The Many S-witndles upon Countrymen.-Policy Shops.-Lottery Offices.
-Infamous Devices.-The Rural Regions Flooded with Circulars.   Inability of the Law to Reach the Rogues.-How Mr. Greenhorn is
Victimized....      575
CHAPTER LXVIII.
THE WICKEDEST WOMAN IN THE CITY.
Madame Restell the Abortionist.-Her Long and Shuddering Career.  Her Notorious Trial and Acquittal. -Her Dreadful Secrets and Practices.
-Her Palace in Fifth Avenue.-Her Antecedents and Appearance. 582
CHAPTER LXIX.
MATRIMONIAL BROKERAGE.
The Brokers in the City, and their Manner of Operating.-Strange
Revelations of Human Weakness.-Foolish Women and Hoary Sim   pletons.-Snares Laid for Feminine Innocence...       588
CHAPTER LXX.
IHERALDRY ON THE HUDSON.
The Metropolitan Passion for Titles.-The Heraldry Offce.-Manner of
Conducting it.-Smithers in search of his Family.-Peculiar Mode of
Making Genealogical Trees.-The Plebeian Magennises and the Nor   man-Descent.  Absurdity of Patrician Assumption..         596
CHAPTER LXXI.
THE CHILD-ADOPTING SYSTEM.
How it is Carried On.-The Women Professionally Engaged in It.  Singular Disclosures.-Infants of all Kinds Furnished.-The Baby
Market and its Fluctuations....                   603
CHAPTER LXXII.
BANKERS AND WALT,-STREET OPERATORS.
Daniel Drew, Brown Brothers, Leonard W. Jerome, James G. King's Sons,
Jay Cooke, David Groesbeck, August Belmont, and Fisk & Hatch, 611
CHAPTER LXXIII.
CHARLES O'CONOR.
His Early Poverty and Industry.-His Inclination to the Law.-His Em   inence at the Bar.-His Singular Political Opinions.-His Large In   come and Forensic Capacity.-His Present Status..        618 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER LXXIV.
JAMES T. BRADY.
His Legal Studies and Success.-His Enthusiasm for Ireland, and Popu   larity with the Irish. —His Deep Interest in his Clients.-His Perpetual
L  Speech-Makinrg.-His After-Dinner Ardor...             622
CHAPTER LXXV.
FERNANDO WOOD.
His Past Life.-His First Election to the Mayoralty.-Double Disappoint   ment of the Committee.-His Conduct and Character.-Personal Ap   pearance and Influence...        625
CHAPTER LXXVI.
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN.
An Exaggerated American.-His Excentricities at Home and Abroad.   Book-making, Speech-making, and Money-making.-His Declaration
that he is in no Danger.-Called a Fool.-His Supreme Egotism and
Loquacity.-His Real Character..         629
CHAPTER LXXVII.
FANNY FERN.
Parentage.-Girlhood.-Marriage.-Husbands both Struggle with Pover   ty.-First Literary Earnings.-Connection with the Ledger.-" Fern
Leaves" and "Ruth Hall."-Second Marriage.-Present Position. 633
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
TWO STRONG-MINDED WOMEN.
Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton.-The Revolution.-What
the Woman's Rights Women Are and Demand.-Their  Pen-Photo  graphs.......                   636
CHAPTER LXXIX.
PETER COOPER.
History of a Self-Made Man.-His various Pursuits.-His Benevolence and
Sympathy with the People.-The Cooper Institute.-His Honesty and
Sterling Worth......             640
CHAPTER LXXX.
GEORGE LAW.
His Early Struggles.-Contracts the Beginning of his Fortune.-The
George Law Markets.-His Personal Unpopularity and Common-Place
Appearance.-His Day Gone By...             642
19 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER LXXXI.
PETER B. SWEENEY.
His Political Power and Excessive Tact.-The Championship of the Ring.
-His Large Wealth and Devotion to the Democracy.-The Manner of
Man he is........        645
CHAPTER LXXXII.
DISTINGUISED CLERGYMEN.
Revs. Edwin H. Chapin, Henry  C. Potter,  Wm.  Adams,  Henry W.
Bellows, Stephen H. Tyng, junior, Morgan Dix, F. C. Ewer, C. W.
Morrill, Thomas Armitage, O. B. Frothingham, Archbishop McCloskey.
-Samuel Osgood.-H. B. Ridgaway.-Rabbi Adler..        647
CHAPTER LXXXIII.
JOHN ALLEN, "THE WICKEDEST MAN.-'
The Religious Excitement.-John  Allen's Dance-House.-The Prayer
Meetings inWater-Street.-Their Good Effect.-TThe Insincerity of
Ruffians no Reason for Censure.....       659
CHAPTER LXXXIV.
MARK M. POMEROY.
His Nativity and Wanderings.-His Career in the West.-La Cross Demo   crat.-His Establishment of a Daily in New York. —His Violent Politi   cal Course.-What he is and How he Looks...        663
CHAPTER LXXXV.
EMINENT BUSINESS MEN.
Grinnell, Minturn & Co., Horace B. Claflin, Howland, Aspinwall & Co., A.
A. Law &  Bros., E. S. Jaffray & Co., Harper & Bros., D. Appleton &
Co., Jackson S. Schultz, Charles A. Stetson, the Lelands, R. L. & A.
Stuart.......        666
CHAPTER LXXXVI.
OUNG MEN'S CHRISTIAN ASSOCIATION.
Its Origin and Conductors.-Excellence and Influence of the Society.   What its Members have Accomplished.-Their Work During the War.
-Their Hospitality to Strangers.-Result of their Labors.         677
CHAPTER LXXXVII.
PUBLIC SCHOOLS.
The Day and Evening Schools.-Girls' Normal Schools.-Evening High
School.-Free Academy-Attendance and Aptitude of Pupils.-The
System of Instruction and its Success.-WVomtnen Superseding Men as
Teachers.......            680
2D 
CONTENTS.
CH-IAPTER LXXXVIII.
DISTINGUISHIIED WOMEN.
Alice and Phoebe Cary. Ma ry   Clemmer Ames.-Kate Field.-Lucia Gil   bert  Calhoun.-Octavia Walton  Levert.-Jennie  June.-Mary  E.
Dodge.-Sarah F. Ames......        684
* ~.CHAPTER LXXXIX.
CITY CIIARITIES.
Divers  Institutions.-Ward's  Island.-Hospitals.-Orphan,  Deaf  and
Dutb and Insane Asylums.-The Buildings and Inmates.-Mode of
Treating Patients.-Liberality and Benevolence of New Yorkers. 690
CHAPTER XC.
TIIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Its Advantages and Disadvantages.-Improvements  Everywhere.-Up   Town Splendors.-The Future of Manhattan.-The City Destined to
be the Largest in the World...                    697
21  
; )'
~
A. RCHITECTURPAL, CONTPAST.
i1! I? I
' PUSIETS'\S  CONTPA ST.
) )
l — N 
e 
CHAPTER I.
RICH AND POOR.
IN the Metropolis, more than in any other American
city, there are two great and distinct classes of people
those who pass their days in trying to make money
enough to live; and those who, having more than
enough, are troubled about the manner of spending
it. The former suffer from actual ills; the latter from
imaginary ones.   Those lead a hard life; these an
empty one.   Those suffer from penury; these from
ennui. Each envies the other; and both find existence wearisome, and difficult to endure. But the poor
have the advantage in necessary honesty and earnestness; while the prosperous dwell in anl atmosphere of
insincerity and sham.
It is the custom to prate of the discontents of the
rich. Yet we are all ambitious to share them, and to
learn by experience the weight of purple robes and
the sharpness of gilded thorns.
Our citizens who figure in the income list have no
season of repose. When not engrossed in their business pursuits, (it is the misfortune of this Republic that
few of its inhabitants ever learn to enjoy their wealth
calmly until it is too late,) they are either planning
campaigns at the watering-places and tours in Europe,
or perplexing themselves with the most approved and 
RIcH AND POOR.
distinguished manner of entertaining their fashionable
friends in town.
They endeavor to leave such complicated affairs
to women.    But the women  seek counsel of, and
ever lean on, their masculine companions, and compel
them, whether Fey will or not, to bear the burthen of
leading a glittering, though hollow life, which rarely
palls upon the feminine mind, occupied with externals,
and reveling in appearances. So the Adams, even to
the present day, pay the penalty of the temptation of
Eve, and eat more sour apples than they do sweet ones,
in the society of their irresistible charmers.
New-York is unquestionably the paradise of women.
It is to the United-States what Paris is to Europe;
and the fairer portion of creation, who dwell out of
this vast and crowded City, remember their promenade
in Broadway, their suppers at Delmonico's, their evenings at the Academy, and their drives in the Park,
with a longing for their repetition that is almost akin
to pain.
No where else, they fondly imagine, are such dresses,
and bonnets, and shawls, and jewelry to be purchased;
no where else can they be so generally admired;
no where else can pleasure be found in such varied
form.
Even Greenwood has its mortuary fascinations. The
monuments look whiter there, the grass greener, the
graves more genteel, the trees more droopingly sympathetic than in other cemeteries. And then the subterranean sleepers must have pleasant dreams of the
excitements and sensations they enjoyed in the flesh
on the island of Manhattan.   When  they die, they
hope, in a sentimentally pious way, to take their last
2-1. 
RICH AND POOR.
rest in such goodly company, and have winter roses
strewn above them, that grew in hot-houses, and were
clipped with silver shears.
Fifth, Madison and Lexington avenues, Fourteenth,
Twenty-third and Thirty-fourth streets, Madison, Stuyvesant and Grammercy squares are among the chosen
abodes of the fashionable and wealthy, who ever tend
up town, and will soon make the Central Park the nucleus of their exclusive homes.
During the season, Saratoga, Newport, Paris and
Florence are, for the time, dismissed, and home pleasures are alone considered.
Receptions, sociables and "Germans" are the social
events of those modish quarters; and milliners, mantua-makers, hair-dressers, flower-venders, confectioners,
and musicians, are busy from morning to night in lending their expensive assistance to the devotees of fashion in the arduous art of killing time elegantly.
Weddings, and their subsequent assemblies are at
their height then.   Hymen consorts with Cytherea,
Juno and Bacchus, and supplies his torch with loveletters of the past, and capers nimbly upon hearts
whence Mammon has expelled romance and the ideals
of other days.
All New-York is in the midst of gayety and dissipation, and judging by surfaces, Eden is not far from the
banks of the Hudson. Brilliant carriages, with liveried
coachmen and footmen and sleek horses, dash up and
down the avenues, depositing their perfumed inmates
before brilliantly-lighted, high-stooped, brown-stone
fronts, whence the sound of merry voices and voluptuous music comes wooingly out, through frequentlyopened doors, into the chilly night.
25 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
One catches a glimpse of fair faces, and the odor of
elaborate toilettes as pretty women hurry up the broad
steps with kindling eyes and rosy lips, and disappear
like beautiful visions amid the bewildering delights
that are more seductive to, because they can only be
conjectured by, the less fortunate wayfarers who are
trudging to their humble homes, anxious and fatigued,
and uncertain of the morrow.
Oh, the inequality of Fortune! It must be hard for
the poor and distressed to believe that God is good,
and Life a blessing, when they see every hour that
thousands, in no way worthier, lie softly and fare
daintily, while they go hungry and cold, and have no
expectations of the better times that are always coming
and never come.
Life at its best is seen in this splendid mansion,
where all is warmth, and color, and richness, and perfume. The gilded drawing-rooms are crowded with a
confusion of silks, and velvets, and laces, and broadcloth, and flowers, and jewels; and from the seeminghappy crowd arises a pleasant hum of low-toned voices,
as if passion would never lift them, or pain make them
discordant, from the cradle to the grave.
One meets there no shadows, no frowns, no haunting cares.   All individuality is lost.  Everything is
toned down to a level of conventional similarity.  All
are maskers; and the maskers deceive themselves, as
well as others, respecting their true character, and go
through life, as through the revel, dully and dreamily,-believing they are happy because they are not
sad, and that they are useful members of society because they attend church, and envy their neighbors,
and pay their taxes punctually.
26 
RICH AND POOR.
Probably there are hearts in the crowd distrustful
if that be joy; but the wine is offered, and the music
swells, and beauty beckons, and they float down the
stream of pleasure, careless where it glides, and of the
dark and fatal eddies that whirl below. The influence of the hour is to drown thought and stifle feeling;
and he who can accomplish that will not suffer.
Dancing, and feasting, andc flirting, and gossip bind
the hours with fragrant chaplets, and the duties and
purposes of life sink into a soft oblivion; while that is
remembered only which is pleasant to bear in mind;
and yields fruitage for self-love.
The night reels, like a drunken Bacchant, away;
and the stars grow pale as the revelers depart with
bounding blood and dazed senses to the embroidered
chambers that hold sweet sleep in silken chains.
Life at its worst is visible not a hundred rods away.
Yet to enter that wretched tenement-house, where the
air is close and impure, who would suppose he was in
the same city in which so much splendor and gayety
are revealed?
A family in every room here, and sickness, and debauch, and poverty, and pain on every floor. Groans,
and curses, and riotous laughter, and reckless boisterousness echo through those dingy halls, and steal up
and down those greasy stairways, every desolate hour
of the unwholesome day. Poison is in the atmosphere,
and' new-born babes breathe it before they suck their
sickly mothers' sickly milk. Half a million of souls
live in these pest-places.   Vice, and crime, and death
are their product, year after year; and, amid constant
vaporings about Reform, Christianity, Progress and
27 
THE GnREAT METROPOLIS.
Enlightenment, the yield is steady and the dark har rest growing.
Have any of those bright eyes that swim in self satisfaction at the brilliant receptions looked within
these dreary walls?   Do the kind hearts that must
throb warmly and sympathetically beneath the flowing
robe and embroidered vest, hold knowledge of these
silent tragedies that the poor of this Great City are
actors in?   The prosperous are not unfeeling;  but
they do not know what incalculable good they might
do if they would rightly set themselves to work to relieve the wretched of their race. They have their
round of pleasures, and they are full. They little think
what responsibilities their wealth has placed upon
them; what gods mere vulgar money might make
them in potentiality of blessing..
Clouds and sunshine, corpse lights and bridal lamps,
joy-anthems and funeral-dirges, contrast and min'gle
in New- York! Every ripple of light-hearted laughter
is lost in its faintest echoes in a wail of distress.
Every happy smile is reflected from a dark background
of despair.
The Metropolis is a symbol, an intensification of the
country. Broadway represents the national life,-the
energy, the anxiety, the bustle, and the life of the republic at large.
Take your stamd there, and Maine, and Louisiana,
the Carolinas, and California, Boston, and Chicago, pass
before you.
So the Bowery, and Wall street, and Fifth avenue,
with their different figures and types,-each manifestiig many, and many one. Beggars and millionaires,
shoulder-hitters and thinkers, burglars and scholars,
28
i 
R ICH AND POOR.
fine women and fortune-tellers, journalists and pawnbrokers, gamblers and mechanics, here, as everywhere
else, crowd and jostle each other, and all hold and fill
their places in some mysterious way. w
Out of the motley million, each, however blindly,
tries to better his condition; seeks his happiness, as
he conceives it; and arrives at ruin or prosperity,
ignorance or culture, health or disease, long life or
early death.
Sympathy is the weight that drags us down in our
struggle with the devouring sea. Cast it off, and we
swim freely.
Selfishness is the friendly plank we grasp for safety.
Holding it, we may reach the land, and then return
with charity to help our shipwrecked fellows, and
preserve them from the dangers from which we have
escaped.
Alas, that those who reach the shore so rarely venture to sea again!
Tears and woe will come.   Let us not go far to
meet them. Take care of to-day, and the morrow will
provide for itself.
Expect the best, and the worst will be less likely
to happen. Believe yourself fortunate, and you have
already robbed Fate of half its power to harm. What
we mainly suffer from is the things that never occur;
for the shadows of anticipation are more formidable
than the substance of the actual.
The carriage is at the door, my friend. Shut up the
shadow-book, and step into the light of the outer
world. We will ride along rapidly while we can, and
walk when we cannot ride; for we will go into the
29 
THE  GREAT. METROPOLIS.
under-ground haunts, as well as the upper abodes of
amusement and pleasure.
Through and into New York we will look with calm,
yea, philosophic-eye; see its open and hidden mysteries at every angle; observe the places we enter,
and analyze the people we encounter.
Regard all men and women as brothers and sisters,
never to be hated, but only to be pitied in that they
are less fortunate than we.   Become great and universal democrats; and think nothing mean that is human; nothing wholly ill; no sin so enormous that
sympathy may not reach and charity cover it truly
and tenderly.
Leave Neroea to admire her beautiful eyes in the
mirror; for it will be more flattering to her than her
fondest lover.   If she weep, she will soon dry her
eyes; for tears she is aware dim their lustre.  She is
fair, and shapely, and elegant; but is no better in
spirit and at heart, than the rude and homely Janette,
who was born out of parallel with Nature. Janette
went astray, since the path that lay before her was
hard and crooked, as are so many ways of this World
that we knownot whether to love or hate it, but which,
after all, is the best we have seen.
30 
CHAPTER II.
SOCIETY IN THE METROPOLIS.
NEW-YORK is quite as much the fashionable, as it is
the commercial metropolis; for here are the age, the
wealth, the caste-feeling and the social lines of demarkation that so largely aid in forming and sustaining
what is known as Society. In the United States generally the duties we owe to society sit rather loosely
upon "free-born Americans." But in New York they
are such obligations as we feel called upon conscientiously to discharge, and do discharge upon pain of
modish ostracism.
Fashion upon Manhattan Island will admit of no
compromise with Reason, and refuses to listen to the
voice of Common-Sense.   She demands  her fullest
rights, and her devotees yield them with a zeal that
savors of social superstition.
Fully half a million of our population are absorbed
in a perpetual struggle to avoid physical suffering;
while a hundred thousand, probably pass their lives
either in being, or trying to be fashionable.   That
hundred thousand are very gay. and seem positively
happy. Yet their woes and throes are innumerable;
and their struggles with conventionality and gentility,
though less severe, are as numerous as those of the
half million with penury and want. 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
What our best society is will never be determined
to the satisfaction of more than one of the cliques, or
coteries, or sets that assume to represent it.  Each and
all of them claim they are it par excellence; and each
and all go on in their own specific way, saturated with
the conviction that they are the conservers and pre servers of the finenesses, and courtesies, and elegan cies of the fashionable elect.
No society in the world has more divisions and sub divisions than ours-more ramifications and inter-rami fications,-more circles within circles —more segments
and parts of segments.   They begin in assumption
and end in absurdity. They are as fanciful as mathe matical lines; and yet so strong that they can hardly
be broken, and can rarely be crossed.
The grand divisions may be stated, though the sub divisions may not; for they depend on religious creeds,
on community of avocation, on contiguity of residence, and a hundred nameless things. The grand
divisions, like all that appertains to society, are purely
conventional, wholly without foundation in reason or
propriety. They depend upon what is called family,
-on profession, wealth and culture,-the  last considered least, because it alone is of importance, and
deserving of distinction. Family, inasmuch as few
persons in this country know who were their great
grandfathers, puts forth the strongest claim and makes
the loftiest pretension.
The old Knickerbockers, as they style themselves,
insist upon it that they should have the first place in
society; and, as most of them inherited real estate
from their ancestors, that they were too conservative
to sell, and too parsimonious to mortgage, they can
32 
SOCIETY IN THE METROPOLIS.
support their pretensions by assured incomes  and
large bank accounts, without which gentility is an
empty word, and fashion a mockery and a torment.
All the Vans and those bearing names suggestive of
Holland, vow they are of the Knickerbocker stock,
albeit it is said, some who were Smiths and Joneses
two or three generations ago have since become Van
Smythes and Van Johannes.
Be this as it may, the actual or would be Knickerbockers, are often the narrowest and dullest people on
the Island, and have done much to induce the belief that
stupidity and gentility are synonymous terms. They
have fine houses generally, in town and country; have
carriages and furniture with crests, though their forefathers sold rum near Hanover Square, or cast nets in
East river; live expensively and pompously; display
conspicuously in their private galleries their plebeian
ancestors in patrician wigs and ruffles, that the thrifty
old Dutchmen never dreamed of among their barrels
of old Jamaica, or their spacious and awkward seines.
They do all those showy things; yet are they
degenerate sons of worthier sires, because they have
one virtue less than they, —honesty,-and a defect,pretension,-that puts the bar sinister upon all truly
distinguished lineage. The Knickerbockers incline to
entertainments and receptions where dreary platitudes
pass for conversation, and well-intending men and
women, whom nature would not bless with wit, fall
asleep, and dream of a heaven in which they seem
clever forevermore.
The livers upon others' means form the second class
of our best society, without special regard to their
genealogy. They sometimes boast that they do not
3
33 
TEE GREAT METROPOLIS.
work themselves, and reveal their vulgarity by the
vulgar boast; but fancy that they have inherited gen tleness of blood with the fortunes that came unearned
into their possession.
Not a few of these have three or four generations of
ease and luxury behind them; and consequently the
men and women are comely, and have good manners
and correct instincts; are quite agreeable as companions, and capable of friendship. To this division of
the community, art and literature are largely indebted
for encouragement, and Broadway and Fifth-avenue
to many of their attractions.
These people patronize the opera, Wallack's, the
classical concerts; furnish the most elegant equipages
to the Park, and the most welcome guests to Saratoga,
Newport and Long Branch. They wear genuine diamonds, and laces and India shawls; speak pure French
and elegant English, —many of them at least; and are,
on the whole, very endurable when they are thrown
into contact with persons who value them for what
they are, and not for what they are worth.
They are most injured by too much association with
each other, and by lack of some earnest and noble
purpose in a life they find it difficult to fill with aught
beside frivolity.
The cultivatedly comfortable, who are the third and
best representatives of our society, give it its best and
highest tone from the fact that they are independent,
broad and sensible.  Successful authors and artists
belong to this class, and all the families who have
ideas beyond money, and consider culture quite equal
to five-twenties. They lend a helping hand to those
who are struggling in the sphere of Art, whether the
34 
SOCIETY IN THE METROPOLIS.
form be marble, colors, sounds, or words; and believe
that refinement and generosity are the best evidences
of developed character. They give the most agreeable receptions in the city,-quiet gatherings of poets,
authors, painters, sculptors, journalists, and actors occasionally,-without vulgar parade, or cumbersome form
or wearisome routine. This class exercises a strong and
marked influence, and is rapidly increasing; for, though
really democratic, it is aristocratic in the true sense.
The new rich are at present stronger and more numerous than ever in New York. They profited by
contracts and speculations during the War, and are
now a power in the Metropolis,-a power that is satirized and ridiculed, but a power nevertheless. They
are exceedingly. p)rononce', bizarre, and generally manage to render themselves very absurd; but, inasmuch
as they annoy and worry the Knickerbockers, who
have less money and are more stupid than they, I presume they have their place and achieve a purpose in
the social life of Gotham.
These are the people who flare and flash so at the
places of amusements, on the public promenades and
in the principal thoroughfares, and whom strangers
regard as the exponents of our best society, when
they really represent the worst. They outdress and
outshine the old families, the cultivatedly comfortable,
the inheritors of fortunes, and everybody else, in
whatever money can purchase and bad taste can suggest.
They have the most imposing edifices on the Avenue,
the most striking liveries, the most expensive jewelry,
the most gorgeous furniture, the worst manners, and
the most barbarous English.  They prejudice plain
35 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
persons against wealth, inducing them to believe that
its accumulation is associated with indelicacy, pretense
and tawdriness, and that they who are materially
prosperous are so at the price of much of their native
judgment and original good sense. After two or three
generations, even the new rich will become tolerable;
will learn to use their forks instead of their knives in
transferring their food to their mouths; will fathom
the subtle secret that impudence is not ease, and that
assumption and good breeding are diametrically op posed.
The mere adventurers are an itinerant class of NewYork society, which flashes and makes a noise for a
few months, or years, possibly, and then goes out, and
is heard no more. They are of the new rich sort in
appearance and manners, but more reckless, more tinseled and more vulgar, —because they are aware their
day is brief, and the total eclipse of their glory nigh.
In the Spring we see their mansions resplendent and
their carriages glittering oppressively through the
drives of the Park and along the Bloomingdale road.
In the Autumn, the red flag is displayed friom the satin-damasked windows, and placards, on which are inscribed "Sheriff's sale," are posted on the handsome
stables, where blooded horses stand ungroomed in
rosewood stalls.
The adventurers live upon the top of a bubble
which they know will burst soon, but which they design to enjoy while they can. They come here with
some means or some credit, and go largely into an
operation,-whether in advertising a patent medicine
or "bearing" a leading stock, it matters little,-talk
largely and coolly of their ability to lose hundreds of
96
1) 
SOCIETY IN  HIIE MIETROPOLIS.
thousands -without hurting them, but subsequently declare they have made as much; and on this plane of
assurance contract enormous debts, and drive four-inhand to the devil.
How many of these failures do I remember! IHow
like a volcano they blazed, and at last hid their fires in
smouldering ashes and unsightly cinders! They had a
good time no doubt, in their own estimation, and relished the joke of cajoling the unfortunate tradesmen
who played the sycophant for custom. They teach
lessons, these adventurers, but give more expensive
ones than they take, or are willing to pay for.
The sham and snobbery of our society are in the
main indisputable, and far beyond those of any city in
the Union; for there is a constant inroad upon the
Metropolis of wealthy vulgarity and prosperous coarseness, from every part of the country, giving us more
sinners against good breeding than we can conveniently bear, or should be charged with on our own account.   Indeed, we  have too much  of the native
article to require importation, and could better afford
to part with what grows spontaneously here for the
disadvantage of other less pretentious, but more deserving cities.
New-York society furnishes such themes for the
satirist as no other place can, since its assumption and
hollowness are greater, and its pretensions to superiority more insolent.
Wealth is good; but refinement, and culture, and purity, and nobleness are better. Everything not dishonest
nor dishonorable merits a certain degree of respect and
esteem, so long as it does not assume to be other than
it is. But, when wealth claims to be virtue, or culture
37 
THiE GREAT METROPOLIS.
lineage, or purity elegance, or impudence genius, they
all become vulgarized.
When will our American citizens cease to imitate
Europe,-copying the vices of the titled, and omitting
their virtues? When will they learn that thorough
good breeding, as well as entire honesty, consists in
daring to seem what they are, and in valuing manhood
and womanhood above their accidental surroundings?
Remember, oh worshippers of Sham, that you never
impose upon others as you do upon yourselves, and
that simplicity and truth are the bravest quarterings
on the shield of genuine nobility!
The American gentleman and lady, strictly such are
not to be excelled by the titled of any land; for they
are the crownless kings and queens whose spiritual
sceptres rule with a power of gentleness further and
wider than the eye can see.
Even in our most artificial circles, the best and loyalest are to be found. Beneath the glitter of jewels
and the costliest laces are bosoms full of sympathy and
tenderness, and souls whose aspirations are after an
ideal goodness.
There are fastidious men and dainty women who
are better and gentler for their carpets of velvet and
couches of down; who do good in unknown ways; who
stand by beds of suffering and at the hearth of poverrty, and make them easier and lighter for their coming
and their comfort.
Fifth avenue and Grammercy Park are not so far
from the Five Points and the Fourth ward as is generally supposed.
Out of carved doorways, and down stately staircases,
go elaborately dressed messengers of charity, and silk
38 
SOCIETY IN THE METROPOLIS.
en purses are unloosed by jeweled fingers to bestow
alms to the needy and succor to the distressed.
Aye, even in the most heartless-seeming circles of
Fashion there are saints in satin and angels in robes
of the latest mode, that hide noble qualities no less than
beauty of form, and yet suppress those qualitie snot
at all.
39 
CHAPTER III.
WALL STREET.
WAliTT. STREET is the banking-house of the continent.
It is insignificant looking enough, with its crookedness and dinginess-its half-dozen blocks of grim,
gloomy buildings. Yet its power is felt from Bangor
to San Francisco, from Oregon to Florida; even
across the sea, and round the sphere. Like the Hiindoo deity, we see that it is homely, but we know that
it is great.
We cannot afford to despise Wall street, strong as
our will may be; for it holds the lever that moves the
American world. We may despise its Mammon-worship; we may censure its corruption; we may decry
its morals.  But, unless fortune has filled our purse
with ducats-and often not then-we are unable to
escape its influence, or exorcise its spell. It is a great,
established, far-reaching fact; and in its keeping are
the curses and blessings that make up the weal and
woe of life.
Upon that financial quarter rest the pillars of the
money market, that mysterious something which no
one sees and every one feels-strong as Alcides, and
yet sensitive as the Mimosa.
All the cities, and towns, and villages of the country
pay tribute to Wall street. All offer incense at its 
WALL STREET.
exacting shrine. All seek to propitiate it, that it may
make a golden return. It is keen-eyed, broad-breasted,
strong-armed, with a mighty brain and no heart a
Briareus without sympathy-a Samson without sentiment.
A stately church at one end, and a deep, broad
stream at the other, are not without significance; for
Wall street prays and looks devout on Sunday, and
every other day of the week yields to its secular nature as the river to the ocean-tides.
All day and all night the stately spire of Trinity
looks down upon the feverish, anxious street. All
day and all night the East river floats softly to the
sea. Humanity chafes, and frets, and suffers; but
the shadows come and go upon the lofty pile, and
fall upon the deep-green waters, and leave them all
unchanged.
HIow many a worn and haggard face has looked up
from the troubled thoroughfare for hope, yet found it
not, in the direction of the heaven-pointing steeple,
and thought of rest, but sought it not, in the bosom of
the river!
Look at Wall street now, while the stars are shining
down into its silence. You would not suppose it was
turbulent and tremulous a few hours ago. It is still
and placid as the battle-field after the battle. The
strong houses are barred and bolted, and slumbering
deeply for the struggle of the morrow. The great
banks, whose names are known over all the land, and
whose credit is firmer than their vaults, look like tombs
at this hour. Their buried wealth no one guesses. It
is supposed to be enormous; and yet it may have been
long exhausted. The banks maybe merely bubbles;
41 
THE GREAT NILTROPOLI
but they will float high and airily until panic pricks
them, and they burst, spreading new panic in their
breaking.
Oh, the mystery and uncertainty of Credit! Hard
to create, the smallest circumstance destroys it. A mo ment of distrust shatters the work of years. An un founded rumor unsettles what half a century was need ed to establish. Breathe against it, and what seemed
a monument of marble melts like a snow-wreath before
the southern wind.
When the stars pale in the light of the morning,
and the sun shimmers over the church and the river,
Wall street still lies like a stolid sleeper-stirs not, nor
appears to breathe.
Trinity's solemn clock tells the hours slowly and
measuredly,-tells them remorsely, think they who
have engagements to meet, and, lacking collaterals, are
driven to financial desperation.
Nine strikes from the brown tower, and all along
the streets the heavy doors open almost at once, and
brawny porters look lazily out into the still, quiet
quarter.
The capitalists, and stock operators, and gold speculators have not yet come down town.   They are
probably lounging over their luxurious breakfasts
somewhere above Fourteenth street, though cashiers,
and tellers, and book-keepers are at their desks, prepared for the business of the day.
The steps on the narrow sidewalks begin to thicken.
Carriages set down handsomely-dressed men, young
and old, opposite the sign-crowded structures.
The bulls and bears, fresh-looking and comely, with
dainty-fitting gloves, artistic garments, and flowers in
42 
'ALL  STREET.
their button-holes, wheel into the street and hurriedly
exchange greetings as they pass.   The expression of
their faces is changing. The regular fever of the time
and place is rising. They are entering upon the financial arena, prepared to give and take every advantage
that the Board of Brokers allows.
The tide of Wall street swells faster than the tide
of the adjacent sea. The hum of voices grows into a
war. Men hurry to and fro, and jostle, and drive, and
rush in all directions, with eyes glittering and nerves
a-strain, as if their soul were in pawn, and they had
but forty seconds to redeem it. Doors slam and bang.
Messengers, with piles of bank-notes and bags of coin,
hasten up and down and across the thronged thoroughfares.
Short, quick, fragmentary phrases slip sharply out
of compressed lips. You hear "Erie, Central, Gold,
Forty, Three-quarters, Sell, Buy, Take it, Thirty days,
Less dividend, All right, Done"; and these cabalistic
words make a difference of tens of thousands of dollars
to those who utter them.
Business is transacted largely and speedily, as
though each day were the day before the final judg ment and "margins" must be paid and "settlements"
made before the next World opened a new stock ex change for the bulls that were blessed, or expelled
from the Board the bears that had failed of salvation.
Every operator endeavors to outstrip his fellow.
Device and deception, rumor and innuendo, ingenious
invention and base fabrication, are resorted to. The
greatest gambling in the Republic is going on, and the
deepest dishonesty is concealed by the garb of com mercial honor. No one asks nor expects favors. All
43 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
stratagems are deemed fair in Wall street. The only
crime there is to be "short" or "crippled."  " Here are
my stakes," says Bull to Bear.   "Shake the dice-box
of your judgment, and throw for what you like. My
luck against yours; my power to misrepresent, and
hide truth with cunning for the next thirty days."
"Dare you agree to deliver Reading, ten or a hun dred thousand, on the first, at a hundred and three?"
challenges Jerome, or Vanderbilt, or Drew.
"Have you the nerve to hold Hudson River next
week at a hundred and twenty-five? Agree to deliver
all you want."
A nod, and a note as a memorandum, and the trade
is made.
The elegantly-dressed gamblers play largely, and
hundreds of thousands are staked upon chances that
shift like the wind. They live upon the excitement,
as worn-out debauchees upon the stimulants that have
grown necessary.  Wall street is food and drink to
them.   They cannot spend their princely incomes;
but neither can they perish of the ennui of honesty,
of the inanity of repose. They can operate to what
extent they choose.  Wall street neither buys nor
sells, as we should suppose. It merely pays "differences" when the day for delivery arrives.  Two, ten,
twenty thousand dollars make good the "differences,"
and the shares or gold are left untouched.  "Corners"
are the ambition and the dread of all. Originally designed for the uninitiated, the shrewder are often
manoeuvred into them; and now and then the heaviest operators are obliged to disgorge a million of
their profits. -
A "corner" is thus managed.  A heavy capitalist or
44 
WVALL STREET.
a number of capitalists conclude to operate for a rise
in Erie or Pacific Mail. They go into the street, and
wish to buy a large amount of the stock which may
be then quoted, say at 85 cents on the dollar. They
find persons who agree to deliver it in thirty days at
86. Then the capitalists begin to purchase through
brokers at the ruling price, and soon get all there is
in the market, though so secretly that no one suspects
they are the buyers. When the thirty days have expired the stock they have purchased is to be delivered.
The parties who have agreed to deliver it say they
will pay the curent rate; but the capitalists declare
they must have the stock, and that they won't be satisfied with anything else. Then the parties try to buy
it, and the demand sends up the stock rapidly. They
send brokers throughout the banking quarter, and the
scarcity with the pressing demand causes the shares to
advance 10 or 15, often 20 and 30 per cent. in a
single day. When it is at such a figure as the capitalists wish, they put their stock in the market, and sell
it at the great advance from the old rate; thus
realizing 15 to 20 per cent. on $5,000,000 or
$6,000,000, perhaps $10,000,000, which will be between $1,000,000 and $2,000,000 profit by a single
transaction.
The shrewdest of operators, like Daniel Drew and
Leonard W. Jerome are reputed to have been made
the victims of "corners," and to have lost fortunes in
a day. But such as they are not often caught; the
"corners" being formed for the less crafty and experienced.  Often the capitalists consent to receive the
difference between the price the stock was to be delivered for and its advance, and then sell the stock at
t
45 
46
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
the advance to persons who believe it will go still
higher; thus making an enormous double profit.
Another favorite operation in Wall street is for the
bears (the bears are those who want to pull down
prices, and the bulls those who wish to push them up,)
to withdraw a large amount of legal-tenders from circulation by borrowing money from the banks on certain securities, either railway shares or government
bonds. The legal-tenders are not wanted, of course,
but the bears lock them up, and the money market
growing tight, the banks call in their loans. Persons
who have borrowed on the securities are obliged to
sell them to pay what they have borrowed, and forcing
the sale of the securities, causes them to decline.
That is what the bears seek; for they have agreed to
deliver certain securities at a certain price and time.
Say they have agreed to deliver New-York Central
Railway at 105.  The scarcity of money and the
panic created thereby send Central down to 90. The
bear who is to deliver $1,000,000 of the shares, thus
makes $150,000 clear by his unscrupulous management. Every few weeks this locking up of bonds is
resorted to by a few rich men who cause immense loss
to others for the sake of increasing their own gains.
Nothing could be more dishonest than this operation
or getting up a "corner." It is as disreputable as
picking a man's pocket; yet Wall street not only allows, but admires and applauds it.
People who buy stocks or gold in the banking
quarter usually put up "margins," that is one-tenth of
the amount of stock bought. If a man wishes to purchase $10,000 worth of Hudson River or Harlem Railway shares he leaves $1,000 with his broker, who holds 
WALL STREET.
the stock. and charges his customer 7 per cent. per annum in ordinary times for the use of the money. If
the shares fall 5 per cent. the broker notifies the
buyer to make his margin good. If he don't do so,
the broker sells the stock, takes out his interest and
commissions, and returns the balance to the purchaser.
If the shares go up the buyer makes $100 every
time they advance 1 per cent. The reason so many
men lose money is, that they put up all the money
they have as margins; and if the stock they purchase
declines, though confident it will advance again, they
have no more means, and their broker sells them out.
Every day the margin men are obliged to let their
stocks go when, if they could hold, on they would be
certain to make something. But they are little fish,
and in Wall street the big fish swallow the small ones
all the year round.
The Stock Exchange and Gold Room are the scenes
of such tumult and confusion that only members can
comprehend the mysterious transactions.   Excited,
anxious faces, nervous fingers writing hurriedly with
pencils in little books, clamor of voices, lifting of
hands, becks and nods, are all the spectator sees and
hears. He cannot even learn the rate of shares or
coin amid the flurry and the noise. It appears to him
like the struggle of overgrown children for tempting
fruit that one alone can have.  IHe is amazed  and
dazed, and cannot guess who has been bold, and who
has held aloof from the avaricious scramble.
Three times every day stocks are called at the Exchange, and the members measure their brain and
nerve, their capital and credit, one against the other.
Shares are put up and put down, irrespective of
I
47 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
values. Bulls and bears toss the prices as they would
shuttlecocks upon the battledoors of their interest or
caprice;  and it is not uncommon for a non-paying
railway to be fifty or a hundred above par, when a
highly remunerative road is in the eighties or nineties.
Stocks are what the brokers make them, and their
varying rate is determined by a "ring."
Wall street grows every day richer and more commanding, though fortunes are made and lost there
every year that would buy the broadest dukedoms of
Europe. Capital from abroad is constantly flowing to
that great monetary centre; while private means are
swelling to a degree that is not wholesome, financially.
Operators can draw their checks for millions, and can
"carry" such an amount of stocks as astounds  the
weaker ones of the street. The rich wax richer and
richer, albleit, ever and anon, a monetary Nemesis
pursues them to ruin, and brands "bankrupt" upon
the brow that has braved the severest financial fates.
What a long and painfully interesting history might
be given of the fluctuations of fortune that have
marked the strange history of the street! What gigantic operators have ruled the quarter for years, and
gone down at last,-gone down to poverty, to madness, to shattered health and self-inflicted death!
Pale ghosts, if Plato's theory be true, must stalk by
night in the silent places. of the banking bureaus, and
long,, with a longing that is their torment, for the pursuits they followed on this whirling planet.
Over non-success the pall of oblivion is thrown; for
Wall street is too busy to hate, and too anxious to
despise.
48 
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S TOC  K   E XC0HA N GE, —],,OAD  STI,'EET.
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J 
WALL  STREET.
Whatever of energy and enterprise, financial daring
and reckless speculation, lust of commercial power
and mania for money-getting there is in the land,
seems compressed into Wall street for half-a-dozen
hours of the twenty-four. Out of it all grow advantages beyond the thought of those who lay wagers
against circumstance. Wall street capital develops
the country bounteously. The north, the south, the
east and west go there for aid to hew, and build, and
mine. If the bloated toad look ugly, its invisible
jewel is precious. If Wall street have faults,-and
they are many and grievous,-it has virtues not a few,
and, outside of business, permits its heart to beat, and
its hands to give, and its sympathy to heal.
Its great power is not always used unworthily; and
the spire looking down upon it, and the river flowing
by it, all day and all night, must have recollections of
its goodness that would show the preciousness and
poetry which are hidden in the hard environment of
molney.
4
49 
CHAPTER IV.
THE POLICE.
NEW YORK is growing more and more like Paris in
respect to the police. It is literally governed by
them. They have almost everything in their own
hands, and are prone to make the law a terror to all
but evil doers.  That they have entirely too much
power is beyond question; and that they abuse it is a
matter of hourly observation. But, like the World,
they are improving; are much better now than they
have ever been, and are likely to continue to develop
upward.
It is common and easy to censure the police, who
are neither estimable nor lovable, as a class; but, on
the whole, they are about as good, or as little ill, rath  er, as can be expected considering their calling, char  acter, and circumstances. We have no right to look
for saintliness in blue uniforms and pewter badges,
particularly when their wearers receive but $25 to
$30 a week, and are necessarily demoralized by the
very air they breathe.
The reputation of the tribe is bad; and men are
rarely better than their reputation. They are com. pelled to associate with vulgarians and scoundrels of
all grades; are exposed to every species of tempta tion; act unfavorably on each other, and have no 
THiE POLICE.
restraining influences beyond their own intelligence,
which is not very great, and their fear of exposure,
which is not pr'obable.
Like every other body, they have bad as well as
good men; and I am inclined to believe the former
are very much in the majority. Why should they not
be?  Who wouldn't deteriorate as a policeman?  Six
months on the force is enough to make Bayard a
bully and Howard a blackguard. Therefore, all who
resist the strong tendency of their vocation are deserving of extreme credit.
Some of the greatest rogues in town can be found
among the so-called guardians of the public peace,
and, on the other hand, a number of men who, in
spite of temptation, association, and misrepresentation,
have quick sympathies, generous impulses, and kindly
hearts. The character of a metropolitan policeman
can generally be determined from his physiognomy.
Peter Smith you would trust instinctively; for his mild
eye, broad forehead, and clear-cut chin will not lie.
Dennis O'Grady you would avoid after dark; for you
read treachery, brutality, cruelty, in the flat nose, the
restless glance, the heavy jaw, the bull-like neck.
The police of New York number about 2,100, independent of the detectives, and are for the most part
very comely physical specimens of the race.  The
force of the entire Metropolitan District, which includes the City, Brooklyn, Richmond, King's, part of
Queen's and Westchester counties, has 2,566 men At
their head is Superintendent Kennedy who has under
him four inspectors, eighteen surgeons, forty-five captains, ninety-three doormen,  ninety-one roundsmen,
one hundred and seventy-seven sergeants, and twenty
51 
THIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
one hundred and thirty-seven patrolmen. They are
tall, erect, well-formed, able-bodied, chosen more for
their muscle than their morals, for their pluck than
their purity.   They  are regularly drilled, especial
pains being taken with the Broadway squad, and form
a very effective force for good or evil. They are
capable of doing excellent service, as has been shown
on numerous occasions, and with weapons in their
hands, which they know how to use, make quite a little army of defense. During the August riots of
1863, they proved themselves men of determination
and courage; fought the furious mob like veteran
soldiers, and gave their lives to the preservation of
public order and the restoration of the law of the
land.
The Broadway squad, composed of about one hundred picked policemen, are noticeably good-looking.
They are very neatly attired, and, though they have
light duty, are very serviceable in assisting women
and children across the crowded thoroughfares, directing strangers to different parts of the city, arresting
pickpockets, and preventing street fights. They are
the real autocrats of the highway, and the position is
sought by all the members of the force; only the
most intelligent and best-behaved being eligible to the
place.
They have charge of street-incumbrances, and sign
nuisances, and can regulate all such things as they
choose. As Broadway is always blocked up and almost impassable from the causes named, it is fair to
suppose the policemen are paid for their purblindness.
Indeed, it is generally understood that bank-notes of
any sort have a singular effect upon policemen's eyes.
52
t 
THE POLICE.
They can't see beyond a ten or twenty-dollar note in
the broadest light of day; and, after dusk, a bill of
much smaller denomination not only obscures their vision, but affects their memory. They receive, doubtless,
very liberal douceurs in that great avenue, and their
perquisites must be far beyond their salaries.
The best class are usually Americans,'men who
originally entered the force because they could get
nothing better to do, and who from long service have
become attached to it from its alternately indolent anti
exciting character.  They may not preserve their garments unstained, nor their hands unsoiled, -that is
above policial power, perhaps-but their sins, if venal,
are venial also. They do not lose their' instincts of humanity nor their sympathy with suffering. They keep
many an honest fellow from the hands of sharpers,
many a virtuous country girl from the wiles of procuresses and the arts of debauchees.
They have abundant opportunities to do good, and
when temptation the other way is not too strong, or
nature too weak, they obey their better selves. Not
unfrequently they prove themselves heroes in guarding honesty and innocence, and have yielded their lives
to protect the defenseless and succor the distressed.
They have time and again saved children and women
from the flames at imminent peril to themselves; have
snatched men from death and their sisters from worse
than death, and been entitled by their deeds to the
highest fame.  Rarely has the chronicle been made;
and, when it has, it has been forgotten a moment
after.
The worst class, which is two, perhaps three, to one
of the other, are generally foreigners, ignorant, brutal
53 
THE GREIT METROPOLIS.
fellows, whom any elevation renders tyrants and bullies.
They first obtained their place by partisan favor, th6ugh
the present police are appointed by the Commissioners
regardless of politics. They are in full sympathy and
communion with all the rogues within sound of the City
hall bell, and follow their calling purely to make money.
They are fond of arresting innocent ruralists, charging
them with some heinous offence, and frightening them
out of'their wits and pocket books at the same time.
They are approachable by bribes, and prone to
serve those who pay the most. They release pickpockets and burglars who divide; persecute unfortunate cyprians who refuse gratuitous favors; steal from
drunken men;  swear to anything;  levy black-mail,
and are guilty of any mean act their low minds can
conceive of They are usually on the scent of any
misbehavior with which reputable persons are connected, using their knowledge to extort money by
threat of exposure.
Glaring as their misconduct is, they are cunning
knaves, and contrive to keep in office when decent
men are removed. I have heard of scoundrels who
are veterans in the force, and who won't quit it while
there is a dirty thing to do, or a dollar to steal. They
are strangely long-lived, too, on the hypothesis that
Satan stands by sinners, and rarely have their brains
blown out, or their throats cut, as they deserve, by
the desperate characters with whom they come in contact. Such mishaps befall only the better class, who
are more ready to expose themselves to real dangers.
The police-stations are 32 in number, in as many
precincts, and are generally as clean and wholesome  as such places can be.   Their  atmosphere,
54 
THE  POLICE.
however, is repulsive at best, and a sensitive nature
avoids them as it does painful scenes or horrid sights.
Their patronage varies with the season and the occasion. In certain times of quiet not more than 200
arrests are made in the entire 24 hours; while at others the arrests will reach 600 or 800, or even 1,000.
During the severe weather, lodgers, men and women
who  have no  place to sleep, are very numerous.
They huddle into the stations, ragged, dirty, shivering, either bloated or emaciated, and convey some
idea of the poverty and wretchedness of the Great
City.
Those who are committed to the stations are guilty
of various crimes, among  which  drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and petit larceny are the commonest.
When a first-class burglar, or a real incendiary, or an
actual murderer is thrust into the lock-up, his presence
creates a momentary sensation. The meaner prisoners want to catch sight of the rare monster, and peer
at him through the iron bars. The policemen hurl
rude jests at him, or curse him; while he either curses
them in return, or sinks down on the rude bench in
sullen indifference to his fate.
Now and then a bird of higher game is taken,-a
bank-teller or book-keeper who has been embezzling
or forging; a gentleman of position who has shot his
sister's seducer or his wife's lover; a fashionable rowdy,
who has undertaken to break windows and watch melln's heads, with a charming indifference whether it
is one or the other; a well-dressed man about whom
strict orders are given, but whose offense is not stated.
Such persons are usually treated with courtesy and
distinction, for they have means and can pay for civil
55 
THtE GREAT METROPOLIS.
ity, and have a faculty of getting out that is impossi ble to vulgar sinners and law-breakers.
It is a sad and revolting sight to see the station
houses emptying themselves in the morning. The
prisoners are a few of the unwholesome and painful
things the night hides, and the day keeps beyond
vision. Bleared and blackened eyes, bloody faces,
festering rags, horrid countenances, demonized brutes,
hideous hags, guarded by policemen, and going to
court, soon to be sent to the Tombs or Blackwell's island for the fifth, or tenth, or twentieth time.
How mechanically the policemen swear (half of
them have no idea of the solemnity of an oath, so
accustomed  are they to that form of statement),
and how indifferent they are to the scenes and
characters before them!  They are insensible, stolid,
brutal, very many of the class, and laugh where others
would weep. They consider crime and its punishment
something of course, part of their business, and to be
encouraged, inasmuch as their livelihood depends upon it.
Unfortunate the sensitive being who from some
stress of circumstance falls into their hands. They
will lacerate with looks, and stab with jeers, and never
dream of giving pain. They have walked so much
among thorn bushes and strong hedges they do not
suspect the existence of the violets or daisies they are
crushing under their feet.
The gross injustices of a police court, every week of
the year, would fill a small volume if enumerated in
detail; but they are usually practised upon paupers
and outcasts, and no one cares for them. That they
are unfortunate and friendless, is proof of their guilt,
56 
THE POLICE.
and their liberty is sworn away and their sentences
fixed, without reflection or conscience.   It is the
policeman's duty to swear and the judge's to punish,
and the sooner the duty is discharged the better, at
least for themselves.
The detectives are a peculiar and distinct part of
the police force. There are no less than 14 or 15
organizations (including about 400 men, with a few
women) in the Metropolis, and its members are the
shrewdest and most dishonest of the entire body.
The organizations are divided into the central detective police, detectives of the separate wards or
precincts, car-detectives, insurance and bankers' detectives police, national police agency, North-American detective agency, merchants' detective police,
bureau of information, Matsell's police-detectives, hotel-detectives, divorce-detectives, United-States detectives, internal revenue detectives.
Their regular pay varies from three to eight dollars
a day for "piping," "shadowing," "working-up,"
etc.; but they have such latitude in "contingent expenses," "special arrangements," and "individual enterprises" that no limit can be fixed to their profits.
The chief detectives have a salary of $2,500 a year,
but they make five or ten times that sum often,
and  frequently  acquire  a  large property.   Bank
officers and persons having responsible positions in
stores are watched, the moment the least suspicion is
excited by  their conduct;  and,  if they  are using
money not their own, they are always found out and
reported, unless they happen to pay the detective
better than his employer does.
There is a good deal of excitement and no little 
67 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
romance in the profession of the detective. He must
be very shrewd, understand human nature, be prolific
of resources and inventions, cool, self-reliant, courageous, and resolute. He goes everywhere; adopts all
disguises; plays many parts; combines, analyzes, manipulates, manages,  and does work often that is a
credit to his brain and a discredit to his principle.
Dickens, it is said, is very fond of consulting the
detectives, who have helped him to many of his plots,
at least in parts; and other novel-writers would do
well to imitate the great master of fiction.   The
detective sees life and nature in its most peculiar and
often interesting phases, and he has the capacity to
unravel out of the tangled skein of his experiences
threads of narratives as startling as truthful.   Half
they say would not be believed (they are fond of telling sensational stories); but, if they merely related
the facts that come under their daily observation, the
public would be incredulous.
They behold strange things unquestionably; see
demons as angels, and angels as devils, and naturally
learn to believe that what we call good and evil is
merely a refraction of moral light passing through
different mediums.
58 
CHAPTER V.
THE SHIPPING.
THE bay of New-York is not surpassed. by any in the
world for excellence and beauty. The bay of Naples
is far more famous, because there have been more
poets to sing its praises; but ours is quite equal, if not
superior to the emerald crescent which has been set at
the head of the jewels of the sea.
To appreciate fully the bay of New-York, one should
go abroad, and remain a year or more. After wan dering over Europe and Asia, he will return with the
love of home and freedom strengthened in his bosom;
and, sailing back to the great cenltre of the western
world, he will catch sight of the spires looming up,
like those of Venice, from the watery distance, and
take in the picturesqueness of the bay, and  all its
varied charms, as he never did before.
There is a satisfaction, a sense of largeness and
liberty, in a sea-port that no interior city can impart.
By the side of the ocean one feels in communication
with the rest of the World; on the outer surface of the
Globe; at the pole of civilization. Inland, one seems'
out of immediate relation with the Universe; thrust
aside from the current of events; washed up from the
billows of busy being.
The chief advantage of New-York is its location.
4 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
A complete island, swept by every breeze, touched by
ships from every clime, the great focus of wealth and
trade, to live in it is to become attached to it, and
grow broad by liberal influences from within and
without.
One of the lasting attractions of the Metropolis is
its shipping. I have always enjoyed wandering, or
lounging, in West or Water streets, or on the Battery,
watching the sailing of the ships, their riding at anchor,
their lying idle at the busy piers. Nearly two hundred piers gird the island; and the vessels, receiving
freight therefrom, and lying off in the rivers and bay,
often number from fifteen hundred to two thousand.
From the south point of the Battery to the Harlem
river, on both sides, and all round the island, in fact is
one unbroken forest of masts. From them, the flags
of every nation under the sun are flying; and many
of the colors would not be recognized save by persons
familiar with the ensigns of the world.
The cross of Great Britain, the tri-color of France,
the eagles of Austria, Prussia, and Russia, the complicated arms of Spain, the crowned lions of Holland, the
cross of Sweden, Norway, and Switzerland, the bars of
Bremen, the crescent of Turkey, the checkered field
of China, and even the crossed swords of Japan, may
be seen floating in the air. Greece, Prussia, and
Egypt are'represented by the white cross, the lioncentred star and the stellar moons.
All tongues mingle on the piers and vessels as in
olden Babel, but they are not confused. Every foreign ship has its interpreter, if he be needed, though
many of the sailors, who have passed their lives on the
sea, can speak enough of a dozen languages to make
60 
THE  SHIPPING.
themselves understood. Every hour some craft is coming in from, or going out upon its long voyage. This
for Liverpool, for Havre, for Marseilles, for Naples, for
Constantinople, for Palermo; that for Hong-Kong, for
Calcutta, for San-Francisco, for Yokohama.
With their immense and valuable cargoes, with their
thousands of human souls, the ships trust themselves
calmly to the treacherous deep, and, through countless
storms and dangers, come back undaunted and unharmed.   Men who have, all their lives, braved the
perils of the ocean, die at last in their hammocks or
upon the land they have so little trodden.
There is a species of fascination in watching the sea
and the ships, in tracing them as they come slowly
into sight; rise, as it appears, gradually out of the
waves; or go down on the slope of the sphere, and fade
away.  We all say we believe the World round; but
we do not practically. WVe can hardly conceive that
those who left us a few months since are on the other
side of the Planet, laughing or weeping directly under
our feet. Even when we visit China, and reason and
science assure us we have been with our antipodes, we
do not realize it any more than that we have been beyond the grave in sleep.
The sailors are an interesting class. Their life is a
hard and dangerous one, but they cannot be induced
to quit it.  They are the true cosmopolitans.  Their
home is everywhere and nowhere.   They preserve
their freshness of feeling, their relish of pleasure, their
love of adventure always.   They are children, and
never grow old. They have sailed in all seas and
dwelt in all cities; have pulled the pig-tails of Chinamen in Nanking; smoked with the Turks outside the
61 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
mosques of Smyrna; drank tea with the Russians at
Cronstadt, and whisky with the Irish at Cork.
Unsuspecting, unselfish, careless, they fall an easy
prey to sharpers and swindlers.   The moment they
touch the shore, they are resolved upon a "lark." Their
money burns in their pockets, and when it is spent
they are as cheerful as before, and vastly more resigned to work. Always in trouble on shore, yet always
in superabundant spirits, they know no medium between hard service and perfect self-indulgence. Half
the duty of policemen in the Fourth and Sixth wards
is to keep the sea-rovers out of mischief, and then they
rarely succeed.
Liquor and loose women are all too much for poor
Jack, and, after being robbed and beaten, he is carried
off to the station-house, cursing his eyes, which deserve
condemnation, since they are of little use to him in
avoiding open pits. Often the master of the vessel is
compelled to redeem Jack from bondage, and the unfortunate sailor can hardly see the receding shore
through the clouds dissipation has spread before his
eyes. Unlike the land-lubber, he does not promise
reformation, and, unlike the same individual, he does
not break his promise. He keeps sober on board because he can't get liquor. But he renews his NewYork experience in the first port.   The same tricks
are played upon him; the same mishaps befall him,
and with the same result. He goes rolling and blundering through life; regarding the whole World as a
quarter-deck, and resting only when he is sewed up in
his hammock, and cast to the fishes.
The emigrant vessels are curious studies.   How
strangely and puzzled the emigrants look as they come
62 
THE  SHIPPING.
out of the depot at the Battery! They are entering,
indeed, upon a new life, and America must seem to
them like another world. The Irish are excited and
nervous generally, an odd compound of timidity and
boldness; but the air of freedom and even licentiousness they soon breathe, renders them defiant and aggressive.
The trouble with the natives of Erin is that there is
no Purgatory between the Inferno of their own country and the Paradise of this, that would fit them for entering upon a broader and higher mode of existence.
The change is too sudden, and they and those brought
in contact with them suffer from it. They rarely understand their own interest. They are made the dupes
of others, and their impulsiveness overrides their
reason, and keeps them at constant disadvantage.
Having reached our hospitable shores, they stick,
much against their interest, to the large cities, preferring menial offices to a prospect of independence in
the country. No pestilence would drive them out of
New-York.   They would rather stay here, starve and
die, than prosper in the territories. There are nearly
as many of their fellow-countrymen here as in Dublin,
and here they will stay, until Potter's field or the City
HalI receives them.
The Germans are quiet, self-contained, half stolid,
half wondering, when they land. They are more frequently imposed upon than the Irish; for the latter
find adherents and protectors in their own countrymen,
who have become American citizens, by the blessing
of God and the ease of the naturalization laws. Usually they make brief sojourn in the Metropolis.  They
are agriculturally inclined, and wander off to the West
63 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
to buy land and till their own soil. While their Milesian brothers are driving hacks, and digging cellars,
and waiting on tables, the Germans are putting money
in their purses and independence in their future.
The emigrant vessels are often torture chambers for
the poor creatures who take passage in them.  The
officers neglect and abuse them shamefully, and one
tithe of the injustice and cruelty practiced upon the
strangers will never be known.    Now and  then
there is an arrest, and a fine imposed upon a captain
or a mate, or bail required. But there the matter ends,
and the wrong continues.
The ill-treatment of emigrants is one of the most
serious evils of this abounding-in-evil city; and few
know the horrors of a passage across the Atlantic. The
emigrants are not only deprived of proper food and
air, but the men are robbed, the women debauched
and not unfrequently beaten by scoundrels from whom
no penalty is ever exacted.
The foreign steamers are well worth visiting on sail.
ing days. You can see much of life among the better
kinds of people there, particularly on the French and
English vessels. Friends always flock to the steamers
to see those departing.   Excitement is a common
ingredient in the adieux, and sorrow, by no means insincere, a concomitant of such leave-takings.
Step on board one of the Cunarders with me. Some
prominent personage must be going abroad, for forty
or fifty well-dressed women and a score of men are
crowded around a mild, self-satisfied-looking individual
who smiles patronizingly, and wears a white cravat.
The women simper, and press close to him, and give
him thousands of good wishes, and beg him to take
61 
'THE SHIPPING.
excellent care of his health, and assure him they will
pray for him while he is gone.
From the conversation, we learn that he is the Rev.
Clarence Edmund Fitzdoodle.   He has been worn
down by labors of two hours a day, with a threemonths' vacation each Summer, and has been prevailed
upon to go abroad to heal his shattered constitution,
and save his precious life. No one would suspect his
ill-health. He looks round and rosy, and his rhetoric
on Sunday is too weak to require any serious effort.
He has an admirable appetite and digestion, and has
never shown any particular weakness, except for worked slippers, and other pretty presents from his pretty
parishioners. But they have declared he must go, and
with the air of a well-fed and well-dressed martyr he
resigns himself to their solicitations.   He declares,
however, he would sooner die in the pulpit (the cause
of eloquence would improve if he should) than abandon any part of his duty. At this, his feminine worshipers vow he is a saint, and beg him to depart, with
tears in their beautiful eyes. 
Fitzdoodle goes, and has, you may be assured, a
good time. He returns in six months, having drank
more wine than was beneficial to him, and threatened
with gout, which he ascribes to his severe studies of
theological works while on the Continent.
Not far from this clergyman is a pretty brunette,
who is parting with the "only man she ever loved."
She tells Paul, while she leans on his arm, that her
heart is almost breaking, and that she would'nt go,
but that pa won't listen to her remaining behind.
Paul is deeply touched, and so is Ida; and they look
at each other through tear-dimmed eyes as the steamer
5
,(
65 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
moves off.  The third day out Ida flirts with a young
Englishman, and on the sixth forgets all about Paul,
who is consoling himself with half-a-dozen other women,
telling each one he doesn't care a straw for his departed dear.
On the French steamer a pair are devoting themselves to one another, and are really very fond. They
are engaged, and on their way to visit all the wonders
and beauties of Europe together, under the proper
surveillance of their elders. James will kiss Mollie on
deck by the star-light for the first three evenings, and,
on the fourth, will hold her over the side while she is
sick. A change in the situation, certainly; but they
are to be married, and they might as well have some
of the unavoidable prose before as after wedlock.
Here is a pale, but singularly sweet-looking woman,
with her husband, and their friend-more hers than
his, I fear. She is going away to break off her relation with the man she cannot wed, but must always
love.  He has advised her to the course, and hopes
they may have a future yet. Perhaps they will. But
while he waits for-her letter, which is to tell him of
her return, he gets the husband's note, and, opening it,
discovers their future is beyond this World. She is
dead; and hope comes not to the lover's heart-for
three months at least.
Such is the shipping.  We all send our little vessels
out, and, to many of us, they never return.
66 
CHAPTER VI.
THE ROUGHS.
A MORE despicable, dangerous, and detestable character than the New-York rough does not exist. He
is an epitome of all the meannesses and vices of humanity, and capable, under pressure, of a courage desperate and deadly. He is Parolles, Bobadil, and Hotspur all at once, —a creature without conscience, a
savage without the virtues of nature. He is not totally
depraved, for total depravity is impossible; but his
redeeming traits are so few, only the microscope of a
broad charity can detect them. He is a social hyena,
a rational jackal, utterly devoid of reverence or respect, whom education does not reach, and society cannot tame.
The metropolitan rough is usually American born,
but of foreign parentage, surrounded by, and reared
from his childhood under the worst influences,-all
his brutal instincts stimulated, and his moral being
suffocated, for want of wholesome air. Training he
cannot get; education he will not have. He generally
learns to read, however, by accident, and enjoys the
knowledge in poring over obscene books, the Clipper,
and the Police Gazette.   He manages, too,'by some
mysterious means, to write a coarse kind of scrawl,
which enables him to convey his plans to his brother 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
scoundrels when he is in the Tombs, or they are at
Blackwell's Island.
Without education, he acquires a certain degree of
intelligence that is almost unavoidable in the atmosphere of a great city; and his experience of the worst
phases of life makes him cunning as a fox and cruel as
a tiger. Long before maturity, he has developed all
the instincts of a beast of prey, and, in the midst of
a civilized community, he roams like a wolf among a
herd of sheep.
The facial and cranial appearance of the rough goes
far to establish the truth of physiognomy and phrenology. All the animal is in the shape of his features and
head; but the semblance of the thinking, cultivated,
self-disciplined man is very nearly lost. The cheek
bones are high; the nose is flat; the lips are thick and
coarse; the forehead low and receding; the jaws massive and protuberant; the neck thick and thewy; the
head mostly behind the huge, prehensile ears. Hle is
the exact species of animal from which a sensitive, intuitive organization would shrink, without knowing
why. His approach in the dark would be felt as some thing dangerous. Dogs and children would avoid him,
and detectives watch him on instinct.
How many of this class the Metropolis contains, will
never be known. The rough, though gregarious, is
mysterious.  He is very vain, but he d es not court
popularity, nor seek to attract attention.  Outside of
his own degraded circle, he is not ambitious of dis tinction;. for distinction increases the liability to arrest,
and interferes with future operations.
Probably New-York can count its roughs by thou sands, though they so burrow in the slums and dens of
68 
THE ROUGHS.
the town, that nothing but an earthquake will ever
upheave them all. They delight in darkness; and yet
they are so numerous and varied in character that
many woo the day; brave the public eye; defy public justice.   The  Fourth,  Sixth, and part of the
Eighteenth wards are their favorite haunts, albeit no
portion of the island confines them.  They are waterrats and land-rats, river thieves and land thieves, pimps,
confidence men, brawlers, burglars and assassins, as
circumstance shapes and occasion demands.
They are reared in and trained to idleness and dissipation from their first years. They are fed on tobacco and gin from childhood. Ribald songs and the
roar of swinish carousals, in place of maternal lullabies,
echo in their infant ears. Living much in the open
air, and fond of rude physical sports, they grow up
stout and hardy, in spite of bad habits and pernicious
nurture.
In their early teens, they find themselves lewd and
lusty, thoroughly selfish and sensual, principled against
work, predetermined to dishonesty and tyranny, all
their worst passions in full play, and their sympathies
and sensibilities latent, if not extinguished. In the
midst of a great and wealthy city, they consider its inhabitants objects of prey, and discover on every hand
the abundant means of knavish livelihood. 
To bar-rooms and brothels they tend by a natural
law, and soon come to regard ruffians, thieves and
prize-fighters worthy examples of imitation and objects
of envy.  Any part of their brutal education that may
have been neglected, is readily supplied in such places
and by such companions.   The  more  precociously
shameful they are, the more they are flattered and
6-9 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
coddled. Their first fight and first debauch are like
the first honors of a college; and they mount higher
and higher by sinking deeper and deeper into the
slough of degradation.
Their earliest, as it is their latest, shame, is their connection with courtesans, upon the wages of whose
prostitution they live, not only unblushingly, but boastfully. To those poor creatures they give the little affection they are capable of-paying for pecuniary support by abuse and outrage. To rob and beat in the
morning, the woman whose arms they seek at night, is
their idea of gallantry and chivalry; and they religiously believe that any departure from such conduct
would result in the extinction of her love. Though
they maltreat her themselves, they do not allow others
the precious privilege. They are her champions indeed, when foreign foes invade or civil discords rise.
And she, with the instinct of her sex, which neither
neglect nor wrong can suppress, leans on, looks up to,
and loves the brutal fellow who strikes her thrice for
every kiss. Not a cyprian in the town but has her
"lover" and protector in the shape of a rough, who,
through laxity of law, has escaped the penitentiary,
and, perhaps, the gallows. She cannot do without
him, nor can he without her; though she is noble compared to him-aye, a saint by contrast. She is branded
as an outcast; she could not return to purity if she
would. He might reform and be accepted to-morrow;
but he would not be honest if he could.
A popular recreation with the roughs of  Manhattan
is to attend picnics unbidden, and excursions which
quiet and orderly people originate for rational enjoyment.   They make their arrangements beforehand;
70 
THE ROUGHS.
appoint a rendezvous upon the cars or boat, (they prefer the water journeys,) and keep peaceful until the
place of destination has been reached. They either
take liquor with them, or get it along the route; and,
arrived on the spot, they proceed systematically to create a disturbance, which no amount of patience or forbearance can prevent.  The more amiable the objects
of persecution, the more resolved the roughs to make
a row. In this country seekers of quarrel can always
find it. Endurance ceases to be a virtue. Blows follow words, and the rowdies are in their natural element. They are on the spot in numbers, organized
and armed, and carry things their own way by aid of
superior strength.
The quiet men are brutally beaten and robbed. The
women are terrified, but their screams are silenced by
threats. They are extremely fortunate if they escape
outrage, which part of the programme is generally
followed.
Sometimes such entertainments are deferred until
the return of the excursion. Then the train or boat
is seized, and the rowdies do as they please; eluding
or defying the police, between whom and themselves
there seems often to be a perfect understanding.
One would not believe such things could happen,
much less be repeated. But they do and are, season
after season, and have grown so common as to cease to
attract particular attention. That they would be possible anywhere else, now that the days of Baltimore
plug- uglyism are over, I have not the remotest idea.
New-York is the great centre of disorder and lawlessness, and her roughs the protected powers in her community.
71 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The rough is not a regular or professional thief; nor
does he generally consort with thieves. His chief affinities are bar-keepers, prize-fighters, harlots and ward
politicians.   He steals only when occasion requires,
and commits crime when his ordinary means of revenue fail. He enjoys fighting when he is confident of
victory, and relishes the beating of an inoffensive and
unmuscular citizen as he does his morning cocktail.
Hie is a trained and practised bruiser, and his youthful
memories are of battles with boys for a drink of whisky.
He knows all about "the ring" and its champions, and
Bell's Life has for him all the charm of a romance.
But for the accounts of prize-fights, it is doubtful if he
would ever have learned to read; but, with such perpetual promise of pleasure, he nerves himself to the
task, and accomplishes it.
All forms of combat please him.   He would have
enjoyed the ancient gladiatorial exhibitions like a true
Roman, and would find as much happiness in a bullfight as a born Spaniard. Cock and rat pits are his
delight, and the fistic ropes the summit of his ambition.
A severe, bloody dog-fight, where one savage brute
literally chews the other to pieces, fills him with enthusiasm; and that there are no battles to the death
with bowie-knives, he considers the broadest mark of
the degeneracy of the times.
No marvel he gloats over those inspiring accounts
and cuts of the Police Gazette, wherein Lindley Murray is butchered in colder blood than the victims of
burglars and midnight marauders.   What  pleasant
dreams must be his, (does he ever dream?) and how
vweet his reflections in tranquil hours!
An undetermined status is that of the rough; for
72 
TiE RouGIIs.
he is emphatically the creature of circumstance, so far
as his degree of evil and crime is concerned. If fortune be kind, and courtesans liberal, he may never be
more than an amateur thief, an enthusiastic bruiser, or
member of the City Council.  But if fate and women
frown, he will become a professional burglar and a
murderer, and, unless the gallows interfere, end his
days among the Aldermen or in Sing-Sing.  The sole
objection lie has to the greater crimes is, that they expose him to punishment and sometimes compel him to
quit New-York, which he ever cleaves to, knowing
that nowhere else in the World is there such security
for villains of the deepest dye. Municipal office is the
half-way house between the rum-shop and the prison;
and, if the rough can lodge there, he is plucked from
dangerous precipices. Once chosen a servant of the
people, or plunderer of the treasury, which is the synonym in New-York, his avarice is so aroused that he
becomes conservative.   The love of money clashes
with the love of other evil, and his greed waxes so
rapacious that prize-fights and petticoat-pensioning are
gradually neglected.
All our roughs are eligible to municipal office by
reason of peculiar training and moral character; and
yet most of them miss their political destiny, and strike
their penal one-or would if they got their deserts.
Strange, how few of our roughs, who are among the
rarest scoundrels under the sun, are brought to justice!
They lead the most infamous lives, and die quietly in
their beds, and have obituaries written about them as
"old and esteemed citizens." With age they grow
cautious, even timid, and, instead of knocking down
unsophisticated gentlemen from the country, at un
73
Al 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
seemly hours of the morning, they thrust their hands
into the City exchequer, and are envied and applauded
for their skill in stealing.
Hundreds of outrages are committed daily in this
City, by notorious roughs; and yet the arrests are so
very few as scarcely to deserve mention. True, the
papers say the offenders are "known to the police;"
and that may be the reason they are not disturbed in
their career of iniquity.
Men are robbed in broad daylight; women are vio lated in the street cars; stores and dwellings are set
on fire; houses are entered by burglars; corpses are
thrown into the river; mysteriously murdered persons
are sent to the Morgue. The roughs are the authors
of those misdeeds, and are likely to be for years to
come, without serious hindrance.   Occasionally, for
the sake of effect, one of them, like Brierly or Jerry
O'Brien, is hanged, and the journals contain ghastly
elaborate accounts of his execution. But others, even
more guilty, are permitted to escape, and the saturnalia of crime go on unchecked.
No New-Yorker who goes his accustomed rounds,
who frequents Broadway and the Avenue, the business
and fashionable haunts, has any conception of the volcanic elements of vice that are smouldering in unvisited and unseen places.
The great, fierce beast pursues and finds his prey
night after night; and yet he slays so silently that few
are aware of his dangerous presence.   But in that
dreary garret, in that noisome cellar, in that gilded
lazar-house, the beast lies, half serpent, half tiger,
coiled, crouching, ready for the deadly spring. Go
you there, and you will start before the cruel glitter
74 
THE ROUGHS.
of his eyes, and the savage growl that seems to tear
mercy to pieces. But you need have no new cause
of alarm. He has been there for years, as fierce, as
hungry, as potent as ever. He is constantly unsheathing his claws, and striking his victim, but noiselessly
as death. Only at long intervals does he dare to
emerge into the open day, and roar defiance to the
general peace and public security. Until we kill him
outright, until the Metropolis is purified, he may awake
us at midnight with his mingled hiss and roar, and
strike and strangle us in the arms of Love, and on the
very breast of Peace.
t
75
0 
CHAPTER Vii.
BLACKWELL'S ISLAND.
THOUSANDS of people who live in New York have
never seen Blackwell's Island; and quite as many, I
venture to assert, cannot tell where it is. They hear
it mentioned day after day; they know it is devoted
to penal institutions, and somewhere in the vicinity of
the Metropolis. But whether it is in the Sound, or
East or North river, or in the Bay, they are wholly
ignorant.
Time and again I have heard my fellow-passengers,
residents of this city, inquire, while steaming to Provi     dence or Boston through the East river, "What place
is that?" as they passed the pleasant-looking spot.
4     And they were much surprised when informed that it
was the notorious Blackwell's island.
To the poor loafers, vagrants, and small rogues of
the Metropolis,the Island, as it is called by way of dis     tinction, is better known. They have learned its ex     act location and peculiarities by sad experience; and
they are continually refreshing their memories by re     peated incarcerations.   I say the poor loafers and
small rogues, for the prosperous and great ones are
clad in purple and fine linen, instead of striped uni     forms, and go to Long Branch and Europe instead of
Blackwell's island.
Men not one-tenth as guilty as the dwellers amid 
BLACIKWELL'S ISLAND.
Fifth-Avenue luxury or Grammercy-Park splendors
have passed half their lives on
the island, at Sing Sing, and
Auburn;  and the wealthy and
, superior scoundrels have won                      dered meanwhile at the depravi                      ty of the poor.
The island, the lower end of
which  is  opposite  Sixty-first
A BLACKWELL'S ISLANDER. street in the East river, is one
of the pleasantest spots, to the outward eye, in the
vicinity of the Metropolis.   During seven or eight
months of the year it is as green, and cool, and pic-turesque a place as one could desire to linger in. The
skies are so fair and spotless; the air is so soft and
fresh; the water so smooth and clear around it, that
it appears quite the ideal of a Summer resort.  Few
pass it on steamers without admiring it, and declaring
what a charming abode those villains have; forgetting
their own, perhaps, greater sins, and that the crime of
the villains is only misfortune by another name.
The early history of the island is involved in mystery and tradition.  It was a favorite pleasure ground
with the Indians, it is said, and the early Dutch settlers celebrated their festal days there with a simplicity
characteristic of their fatherland.  In 1823 it passed
into the hands of James Blackwell, an Englishman,
who occupied it with his family as a farm for a number of years, and from whom it received its present
name. About thirty-five years ago it was purchased
by the City, and has since been employed as a prison
for the violators of municipal ordinances.
The buildings are of gray granite, with a few frame
77 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
outhouses, well constructed, spacious, airy,  and as
comfortable as such places can be. They seem decidedly desirable at a distance, vastly preferable to the
over-crowded tenement houses of the Fourth, Sixth,
and Eighteenth wards, and induce one to believe that
therein mercy tempers justice. But prisons are never
handsome to persons confined in them; and he who
imagines the island attractive can have his illusion dispelled by a short confinement.
The buildings are the hospital, workhouse, lunatic
asylum, almshouse, and penitentiary.   The indigent
and the criminal have different quarters, but are treated
in much the same manner. There is a species of
worldly justice in this; for poverty is the only crime
society cannot forgive.
The men and women are kept apart in all the buildings, though they contrive to elude vigilance and get
together often, as is shown by the fact that children are
born there whose mothers have been on the island for
more than a year.
The paupers, and criminals, and lunatics vary in
number from three to five thousand all told; and they
increase every year, so that some of the departments
are greatly crowded and unhealthy in consequence.
The care of the paupers and criminals is as good as
could be expected; but it is anything but what it
ought to be; and flagrant acts of injustice, oppression,
and even cruelty are not uncommon.
It is usual, in writing about'superintendents, overseers, wardens, and turnkeys of charitable and penal
institutions, to speak of them as humane and sympathetic, which they very rarely are. I have seen a
good deal of this class, and I have often found them
78 
BLACKWELL S ISLAND.
hard, unfeeling and tyrannical, and not unfrequently
brutal and cruel to the last degree. Their position is
not calculated to develop the sensibilities or refine the
sentiments, and they do not enter upon their duties
with any surplus of charity or tenderness. To expect
the cardinal virtues of them is unreasonable. If they
were fine or gentle natures, they would not be there;
for saints do not gravitate to the custodianship of prisons and poor-houses, any more than vestals do to
stews.
I seldom see men or women in such a place, particularly the former, without an instinctive shrinking from
them. Their faces, their manner, their voices betray
them generally for what they are.  I cannot but pity
the unfortunate committed to their keeping, subjected
to their power.
The attaches of Blackwell's island are not exceptions. I have read their praises in the papers, from
the pens of partial reporters; but those praises were
for the most part either the blunders of ignoranr,e or
the result of premeditated misrepresentation.
The hospital is a stone building, 400 by 50 feet, and
usually contains 200 to 400 patients suffering from
every form of disease. They are fairly cared for; their
beds clean; their diet wholesome, and medical atten.
tion good. They are ranged on little iron bedsteads
in long rows, and are melancholy-looking enough; for
little intelligence or moral culture illumines their pale
and wasted faces.
The mortality among them is large, because they
have abused themselves or been abused sadly by severity of circumstance. Many of them have been
drunkards and outcasts from their birth; others have
79 
THE GREAT AIETROPOLIS.
inherited broken constitutions and ancestral disease;
and all have come into being out of parallel with na ture-organization and destiny against them.
Death can have few terrors for them (it is always
less fearful when near than at a distance); and I do not
marvel they breathe their last with perfect resignation,
or that they pass out of life cursing all that has been
and is to come.
Sickness is ever painful. But sickness there, with out hope, without means, without sympathy, without
future, without friends, must be agony unrelieved.
Their logic must be this: What have they to dread
from change? What other sphere can be worse than
this to them? If God,be powerful, Hie must gradually
lift their burthens.  If He be good, He will not punish
them; for they have already suffered beyond their sin.
And if He be not, then they will not be either. What
then have they to fear?
The workhouse much resembles the other buildings.
It is gray, granite, grim. Its inmates vary from 600
to 800, fully half of whom are women; though females would be the fitter word, inasmuch as woman
suggests gentleness, tenderness, and lovableness,qualities in which the island is deplorably deficient.
Persons are sent there for minor offenses, such as
drunkenness, disorderly conduct, carrying concealed
weapons, vagrancy, and the like. Very few of the inmates that have not been there again and again. They
are sentenced for 30, 60, or 90 days, and at the end of
this term they are discharged only to be brought back
for a similar offense before the week is fairly gone.
A number of the men are employed at trades.
They make clothes, or shoes or brooms; but most of
80 
BLACKWELL'S ISLAND.
them are engaged in quarrying or farming upon the
island. They assist in repairing the different structures
and raise vegetables for home consumption.
The women make hoop-skirts and braid straw; do
the necessary cleaning, and wash and iron for the other
prisoners and paupers. Many seem quite contented,
and are very different creatures from what they are
when intoxicated; intoxication usually being the cause
of their commitment. Some of the men and women
have been sent to the island 30, 40, even 50 times, and
are doomed to die there. They have no restraining,
no reforming influences; and they return to their old
ways and habits by the same law that impels the tides
of the sea.
The almshouse includes forty acres, almost a third of
the entire island, and has 800 to 1,000 inhabitants; the
men generally being in the majority.  Both sexes are
worthless creatures, and their surroundings remind one
of the perpetual palaver of Mrs. Gummidge, whose
constant apprehension was, that she would be "sent to
the House." Their advanced age is particularly noticeable, and you wonder how such poverty and distress can have sustained life so long. They are with
rare exceptions extremely ignorant; have been born
to the fate they follow; have always had for familiar
companions stupidity, squalor and sin.
Nineteen-twentieths of them are foreigners, the Irish
being the most largely represented. And at least half
of them came paupers to our shores. Not a few, however, were once industrious and honest, and have been
prevented from earning a livelihood by loss of health
or some accident that has maimed them.
The baby department attached to the alms-house has
6
81 
TUIE GREAT MIETROPOLIS.
usually about 200 little children who have either been
taken there with their mothers, or found without parents. They are generally from a few months to two
or three years old, and are great favorites with and
pets of the aged, and even the younger women.   Such
is the maternal instinct of the sex that no deprivation,
nor suffering, nor adversity, nor degradation can suppress it wholly.
Ill-natured stories are afloat that some of the infants
are, strictly speaking, home productions; but those
who are acquainted with the purity and continence of
the attaches will not be slow to pronounce such stories
vile slanders.
The penitentiary is an enormous building, and contains at present about 600 inmates all masculine.
They are employed very much as their companions in
the workhouse, though they are more closely watched,
and the discipline is more severe. They rise at 6 in
the morning, and after breakfast, they begin their tasks
and labor until nearly 6 in the evening. When they
have taken their not very savory supper, they are
locked up in their cells over night. They are attired
in striped uniforms, and for refractory conduct they are
put on bread and water diet and confined in dark dungeons.  Most of the criminals are ruffians and thieves
who have been committed for serious assaults, stabbing, shooting and stealing. They are a hopeless and
graceless set, the greater part at least, and are usually
fitted there for the higher honors of Sing-Sing.
Very many of them are quite young, and the generality in good health and of excellent physique. But
their faces, especially their eyes, indicate their character, and strengthen faith in the truth of physiognomy.
82 
BLACKWELL'S ISTAND.
You can see now and then, a strange mixture of cunning and boldness, of restlessness and desperation in
their repulsive countenances, and you feel those men
are capable of any crime under temptation or opportunity.
A strange, sad place. is Blackwell's island. After
going there you are relieved when you return on the
ferry and feel the breeze from the sea blowing through
your hair as if to purify you from the unwholesome
atmosphere you have just breathed. You look back at
the island, and all its beauty is gone. Never again
does it seem picturesque; for you see through its outside down to its black and cankered heart.
E3 
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FIRST OF MAY.
TEE first of May, generally associated in this country with all the sweetness, and beauty, and gladness
of spring, is in New York associated only with change
of residence, and the countless vexations and disagreeablenesses of moving.
Elsewhere, children hail the day with delight, and
mature persons look back to it with pleasure as a coronation of youth and a celebration of the heart.
Here, we consider ourselves merely May Day's victims,
despoiled of the flowers, and deem  the occasion so
ungrateful, that we expel it from the memory as far as
possible, until its unavoidable return forces itself upon
our attention.
Of all the days of the year, the first of May is the
most hateful in the Metropolis. This City will never
be-quite happy until that date is either obliterated
from the calendar, or the custom that deforms it be
abolished.   While the country goes Maying with
floral chaplets and winged steps, and airy laughter,
the Metropolis turns itself upside down; exchanges
houses; is disheveled and disgusted, for at least a
week of the month of beauty and of blossoms.
By what malignant and mysterious agency the custom of moving on the first of May was ever established in this unfortunate city, has never been accu. 
FIRST OF MAY.
rately ascertained. - It is supposed,- however, to have
originated, as did many other things, good and evil,
with the early Dutch settlers here, who must have
borrowed it from Satan or the demon of discord, for
the especial affliction of unregenerate mankind. That
such an inconvenient, unreasonable and expensive
habit should have been continued to this day, in the
face of perpetual complaint and annual protest, is
singular enough, and can only be regarded as one of
the phenomena of life in Manhattan. The constant
advance, however, in real estate and house-rents on
this Island for five-and-twenty, particularly the last
ten years, has had much to do with the perpetuation
of the annoyance in all probability. Tenants have
been unwilling to take a house, whose rent they deem
exorbitant, and which, they are convinced, must be
lower the subsequent year-for a longer period than
a twelve-month.  Every May they discover their mistake; but hope springs immortal in the human breast
of house-renters, and every May they repeat their
blunder, under the delusion that prices must sometime
be reasonable,  and that landlords must have  consciences. When rents do fall, if that metropolitan
milennium should ever be, then tenants will expect a
continuous decline, and will be unwilling to occupy
their dwellings beyond a single year. So until the
end of this generation at least, New York is likely to
be annually cursed with its May moving.
If Othello had lived in Gotham his reference to
-"moving accidents by flood and field
would have been more significant and impressive than
it possibly could be in the romantic city by the sounding sea.
*       *       e       *       *       e
85 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
A privileged class, if not one absolutely blessed, is
that which owns its houses. But, in New-York, to
own a house is, to a man of ordinary means or ordinary prospects, much like the possession of Alladdin's
palace. Few can hope for it; fewer still can realize
that comfortable dream.
A good, convenient dwelling, with modern improvements, is worth a small fortune on this Island.
Few can be had less than $20,000, and from that the
price rises to the region of financial fable. Nineteentwentieths of the people here might therefore as
rationally expect to have Stewart's income, or be
genuine heirs of Aneke Jans, as to find themselves
holders in fee-simple of a private dwelling in any
"respectable" quarter of the town.
The owner of a home anywhere within a radius of
twenty-five miles of the City Hall is to be, and is,
deeply and excusably envied, less perhaps for his
material means than for the ever-present consolation
which must be his, that he is not compelled to move
on the first of May.  That is one of the dearest and
sweetest privileges of wealth near the confluence of
the East and North rivers; and they who do not
deem it such cannot long have dwelt in this American
babel.
During the three months between what is known
here as quarter-day-Feb. 1-and moving time, I
have seen amiable and self-disciplined persons, engaged in house-hunting, look sullen and angry as they
passed the stately mansions of the prosperous,-wondering, no doubt, and indignant, that unequal Fortune
had permitted those to live in New-York without
exacting the usual penalty. "If I only had a house,"
q
86 
THE FIRST OF MAY.
is thle burthen of a Gothamite's prayer, "that I could
call mine, Wall street might fluctuate, and the World
come to an end as soon as it pleases."
It must not be supposed that all prosperous citizens
of New York own houses; for it is quite the contrary.
Many whose incomes are as great as fifty and a hundred thousand dollars, rent and submit to the periodical nuisance of moving. Why they do this, is
among the enigmas of humanity, since common sense
and reason are against it. But they do: they often
rent furnished dwellings at so extravagant a rate that
they pay, every two or three years, a sufficient extra
sum to buy their own furniture. Economy is not a
virtue of the Metropolis, and thousands of its denizens
live as if their chief purpose were to see how much
money they could needlessly squander.
As a consequence, May moving is miscellaneous
and democratic, confined to no class, restricted.to
no quarter. The whole island moves, from the Battery to Harlem, from Hanover square to Carmansville.
On the first of that month, the Metropolis plays a
colossal game of what children call "Pussy-wants-thlecorner"; and the poor pussy who is left out after that
day is compelled to move from town or into a hotel,
until another opportunity is offered.
For two months, especially for a few weeks previous to the appalling first, New-York is searched for
houses. Brooklyn, Jersey City, Weehawken, Hobo ken, Hudson City, and all the suburbs for miles
around, are explored by anxious and restless renters.
Women, having more leisure, more patience, and
more energy often, are generally the Iphigenias on
whom house-hunting falls.
87 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Poor creatures, their days and weeks, and no small
part of their lives, are consumed in the endless seek ing.  They rise early and retire late.  They visit
real-estate agencies every hour.   They  pore over
advertisements. They have visions of houses by day.
They dream of houses by night. They walk, talk,
eat, sleep and wake with houses. Houses, houses
everywhere, and not a house to rent;
"Is it not pitiful,
In a whole city full,"
that shelter can not be had for love or money,at least for any sum they can command?
Nearer and nearer comes the dreaded day, and no
roof for the family long notified to vacate. What can
its members do?  What will they?  Where shall they
go?  Time waits for no m!n.  Houses present themselves for no woman. Each April our citizens and
the newspapers declare a large number of New-Yorkers will have to go into the street, sleep in the parks,
or move to the Catskills. But they do not somehow, and hence an increased faith in an overruling
Providence. 
"Everything will be got along with," is a colloquial consolation that all experience of life confirms.
When the pressure or strain is too great, Nature
yields, and a space is made in the World by another
grave. Come weal or woe, tragedy or comedy, birth
or death, our Common Mother regards it not. It is
all the same to her. She looks calmly, unchangingly
on, whether her children weep or smile, love or hate,
rejoice or despair.
For weeks before the first every sort of vehicle
capable of carrying furniture or household goods is
88 
THE FIRST OF MAY.
engaged to move the unlucky wights of the Metropolis. That day is the carmen's harvest, and they profit
by it by advancing their rates to a point to which
nothing but necessity would submit.
People often begin for days before, and continue
for days after, the first, to transfer their goods and
chattels to each other's houses. Jones moves into
Brown's house, and Brown into Jones', and both are
dissatisfied.  Smith and Robinson exchange dwellings,
and anathematize landlords and wonder what they
were foolish enough to do so for.  They vow they
never will be guilty of such an absurdity again, and
they are not-until next year.
Go into any street and you will find cars before
most of the houses, where carmen and servants are
quarreling in choice Celtic about the proper quantity
of a load, or the careless manner of arranging furniture, while the mistress of the household stands on the
stoop, or in the window, looking soiled and frowsy,
anxiety in her face and a dust-cloth in her. hand.
Windows and doors are open all along the block;
tables, carpets, chairs, bedsteads, pier-glasses, pictures,
are standing in the halls, on the steps, on the sidewalks, waiting for the next load. The houses have a
generally dismantled,  deserted, forlorn appearance,
that is melancholy and oppressive. Domestics are
visible taking down curtains, or rolling up carpets;
while the feminine members of the household direct,
and often lend a helping hand.
In the tenement quarters, the process of moving is
conducted more speedily, because less carefully and
methodically, and the poor have slender appliances
either for happiness or comfort. Here, all is con
89 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
fusion. The carmen swear, and the movers reply in
kind, and not infrequently a miscellaneous fight arises,
in which most of the furniture is broken by its conversion into weapons, offensive and defensive. The
corner grocery is periodically visited, and the stimulants used to assist in the task of moving not seldom
prevent the need of moving, and necessitate the services of the surgeon and apothecary.
How poor and suffering humanity swarms in those
tenement-houses! One sees dozens of families dripping darkly out of dwellings into which he would not
suppose so many could possibly crowd. No wonder
they want to go out of those unwholesome places.
But they are going into others equally unwholesome.
They pass from dirt to dirt, from poison to poison,
from disease to disease, until at last Death, like a
good angel, takes them away, and hides them forever
in the garden of God.
The genius loci is evidently not the genius of Amer
ica. We descendants and mixtures of Saxons and
Normans, like the Romans described by Livy, carry
our fortunes and destinies with us. We have no
attachment to place.  To us, locality has no interest
or sacredness.
In this City, where all life is intensified, perhaps
there is a fitness in this annual vacation of abode,representing in excess the American restlessness and
fondness for change. The blood of the old Norse
sea-kings that is in our veins, makes the broad World
our home, all lands and scenes our highways and pasture-fields.
Yet is there something sad in this cleaving to nothing, this tearing up of the heart, so to speak, before it
90
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46 
THE FIRST OF MAY.
has taken root anywhere.  Every place must have
associations; every dwelling its experiences and memories, often sweet, oftener bitter, yet seeming sacred
through the light and darkness of gathered years
In this moving from the spot we have called even
for a year our home, where, perchance, the loved
have died, or more painful still, love itself has perished; where the heart has throbbed with new joys,
and the eyes been blinded with old griefs, there is a
sorrow that cannot be all repressed. And when we
pass the familiar house, now filled with strangers, it is
not strange a vision of the past gleams like the light
out of the windows, and makes us too sad for tears.
91
I 
CHAPTER IX.
STREET-VENDERS.
THE wag who informed t
the object of his visit to t
liked the City, he intended 
been serious.  He could ea
whole island and all it cont
money enough.
The first impression one
U i!Lil;LA
gets of cities, but partic - ularly of New York, is,
that everything in them
is for sale. All the per  sons you meet seem
bent  on  bargaining.
All signs, all faces, all
,advertisements, all voic  es, all outward aspects
of things, urge you to
buy.  The old woman
in cheap and faded rai  ment, who spreads her
gewgaws at the corner,
- is no more in the mar- ket than  her smugly- dressed sister who rolls
by in a carriage, with
her  daughter  at her 
STREET VENDERS.
side. "Pay me my price," says every vender, "and
you shall have my wares, whether they be happiness
or houses, love or locomotives, wives or wallets."
One would think the miles and miles of stores and
shops of every kind would preclude the need or possibility of street-venders in the Metropolis. But those
commercial skirmishers whose mart is the sidewalk,
and who cover their heads with the sky, increase in
numbers every month. They are the Bohemians of
trade, the' Bedouins of traffic.  Like ZEneas after the
downfall of Troy, they carry their fates with them.
All they ask of Fortune is clear weather and a crowded thoroughfare. They do not advertise, nor manage,
nor manceuvre. They plant themselves on their instincts, according to Emerson's counsel, and the World
comes round to them every twenty-four hours.  No
one would imagine the hundreds of street-venders
could live here, and it is a perpetual marvel how they
do. Many of them rarely seem to sell anything; and
yet the fact of their remaining in their calling proves
that it is remunerative.
The Broadway venders are the most noticeable and
numerous. The curb-stone merchants and lamp-post
dealers border the great thoroughfare from Morris
street to Thirtieth, where the throng lessens into a
line.  Their wares are light, such as they can pack up
at the earliest rain-fall, and retire with into unseen
haunts.  Their stock is perishable, and the native
elements are its enemies.
Among the most conspicuous are the news dealers,
who have all the daily and weekly journals published
in the City that are supposed to have any general interest. Newspapers are an American necessity. A
93 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
true American can dispense with his breakfast and dinner, or regular sleep, but not with his newspaper. If
he go to business without having read the morning
journal, he feels at a loss. Conscious of being behind
his fellows, he avoids them until he can get into a
corner and devour the main features of the news. Then
he is armed with the latest intelligence; has his opinions, his prejudices, his sympathies; is prepared for
the strife of the day.
The news-dealer knows how to arrange his supplies.
A single glance takes in the contents of his stand.
The more flashy his literature, the greater its display.
The regular issues-Herald, Tribune, Times, World,
Sun, and the rest'-are folded modestly in a corner;
so are the Nation, Round-Table, Independent, Ledger,
Harpers' Frank Leslie's, and the better class of weeklies.  But the Days' Doings, Clipper, Sunday News,
Mfercury and Police Gazette are flamingly arrayed, with
their sensational contents cunningly revealed.
As the human tide descends, the heaps of papers
rapidly diminish. There is no conversation between
buyer and seller. The money is laid down, the journal taken up, and the change given, without a word.
You might tell from the appearance of the purchaser
what paper he wanted.   This is a JHerald, this a Tribune, that a Worldreader.   You can see each one's
particular need in his face. That affected person, with
a slightly finical air, wishes the Home Journal of course.
That crimson, sensual face is searching for the Day's
Doings and its cheap sensations.   This low brow and
hard, cruel eye are in quest of the Clipper. This neatly-dressed, jockey-looking individual, seizes on the
Spirit of the Times; and that dull, heavy fellow will
94 
STREET-VENDERS.
have nothing but the Police Gazette and its hideous
array of revolting crimes.
Flower merchants, usually girls and women, are the
neighbors of all the hotels seven or eight months in
the year. Their bouquets are pretty and cheap, but illarranged; and that they sell so many shows a love of
the poetic and beautiful which money-getting cannot
suppress. No city in the World has so many flowerbuyers as New-York. Half Broadway wears them in
its button-hole, and the other half gets them to illustrate the relation between women and flowers; for
men who purchase often, purchase for a feminine market, you may be sure.
Here is the new-made husband. Every afternoon
he carries a bouquet to his young wife, whose heart is
in her ear while she waits for his coming. But it will
not last long. When the honeymoon is over,-and it
is sadly brief in most cases,-no more flowers, no more
watching eyes, no more bounding hearts.
Here is the husband of ten years, the father of a
little family.  He buys flowers still, and for one he
loves, but not his spouse.   Passion, not sympathy,
united him and his wife. Passion sated, the bond was
severed, and a new affinity was found. The wife sleeps
soundly while he lies in a rival's arms. She suffers not
from jealousy or neglect; for she also is cured, and
smiles at disloyalty which may one day be hers as
well.
If we could trace the course of the flowers, it would
be interesting.  They go to sweet faces and soft bowers, are kissed by warm lips, and breathed upon by
balmy breaths. They stand to many women for the
love they feel, and which prompted their giving. They
95 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
are treasured while they last, and regretfully thrown
away. They are talked to in the silence of the night,
and told dear secrets their bestowers do not share.
The history of flowers is the history of hearts. Beautiful in their freshness and blossoming, they wither all
too soon, and when withered are forgotten and thrust
aside. i
The flower-merchants are no more like their wares
than musicians are like music. They see no special
beauty in the blossoms.   Neither color nor fragrance
appeals to them.   The flowers represent food and
shelter only.   The hard necessities of life leave no
space for the culture of the ideal.
The toy-sellers are objects alike of contempt and
wonder. There they stand, stalwart, healthy men, all
the day long, blowing whistles or trumpets, handling
scarlet balloons, jerking wooden figures, spinning tops
on plates, twirling paper wheels, and crying in a deep,
guttural tone, "All alive, all alive; only ten cents;
beautiful invention; who would be without one?"
They must know New-Yorkers to be the children that
they are.   How otherwise could they expect to sell
such gimcracks to adults?   The crowd sweeps up and
sweeps down. No one seems to heed the peddlers of
trifles, much less to buy. And yet they must have customers; for they are there to-morrow, and next week,
and next year, neither emaciated, nor despondent, nor
doubtful of their dignity.
It is marvelous they can rest content with such a
life. They do not blush, nor stammer, nor apologize.
They look boldly at the open day, and bellow like
giants over their baubles. One would think it harder
than cracking stone on the highway, drearier than con
96 
STREET-VENDERS.
filement on Blackwell's island, darker than the shadow
of the Morgue. But perhaps it is their place in the
World. Some men are born to shape events, and others to sell toys.
Dog and bird-fanciers are common in Broadway and
elsewhere.   They are foreigners usually, as are most
of the street-venders, and have a patient, stolid and
unexpectant look. They ask no one to purchase; but
they stand in the sunshine, with puppies in their arms,
and cages in their hands, as if trusting to the instincts
of the dumb creatures for appeal. I have seen kindhearted men glance at thegentle eyes of the dogs and
the hard faces of their keepers, and buy out of sympathy and pity. The birds appear happier than their
holders. They flit about and sing, and yet seem
grateful when they are sold, as southern slaves were
wont to do when they passed from the ownership of a
hard master.
Women are usually the customers of that class.
They are always wanting pets, and they will get them
with money if they come not of themselves. The
feathered bipeds are quicker of sale than the stouter
quadrupeds, and often exchange the open street for
dingy rooms and upper attics, where they forget their
song and perish from neglect.
The Chinese, who deal in candy and cigars, are
conspicuous among the street-venders. They have a
strangely lonely, forlorn, dejected air.  They rarely
smile. They are the embodiments of painful resignation, and the types of a civilization that never moves.
Their dark, hopeless eyes, their sad faces, high cheekbones, square, protuberant foreheads, remind you of
melancholy visages cut in stone.   They sell cheaply,
7
97 
TTHE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and their profit is in pennies. They live by what an
American would starve upon; for they are the most
saving and economical of their kind. The closest Germans are spendthrifts to them. They have no care for
comforts, or cleanliness even. They occupy garrets or
cellars in Park or Baxter streets, and dawdle their way
through meanness, and filth, and isolation, to an unbought grave.
Miscellaneous wares, such as cravats, suspenders, tobacco, nuts, fruits, cheap jewelry, are disposed of by
the peripatetic school. Its members have no stand. They
roam up and down Broadway, and, with an instinct of
physiognomy, detect the appetites and requirements
of passers-by. Men, women and children lead that
life.  There are scores of them; and they all subsist
somehow, though their entire stock, sold at the maximum rate, would not pay for a day's board at a Broadway hotel. They are satisfied with their slender gains,
apparently. They look calm and contented, compared
to the prosperous ones who hurry anxiously and nervously along. They adapt themselves to their conditions, and, expecting little, get it, and are not disappointed.
The old-clothes hawkers do not frequent the better
portions of the town. They go where their cast-off
garments will find a sale. They carry sacks, and cry
in an unintelligible way their second and third-hand
wares.  They are ever ready for a trade.  They will
exchange an old hat for a broken pair of boots, a onearmed coat for threadbare pantaloons, and see a bargain where there are merely rags. Whether they have
hats, or shoes, or gowns, or bonnets, for they vend the
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STREET-VENDERS.
attire of both sexes, they announce their goods in the
same tone, and in the same unintelligible syllables.
Who are their customers? Thompson, Greene, Mulberry, James and Cherry streets, much of the Fourth
and Sixth wards, part of the Eighteenth, Mackerelville,
Corlear's Hook,-three-quarters, perhaps, of the whole
Metropolis.
Park Row and the Bowery are favorite localities for
street-venders of the cheapest sort. They offer every
kind of low-priced article, from a dog-eared volume to
a decayed peanut.   They furnish impromptu dinners
and breakfasts for a shilling; prepare oyster-stews
while you take out your pocket-book, and bake waffles
while you determine the time of day. They dispose
of frozen custards and sour milk, sweetened, for icecream; soda-water without gas; lemonade without
lemons; songs without sentiment; jokes without point;
cigars innocent of tobacco, and all manner of shams,
making sales profitable by niggardliness.
Indeed, those quarters are the best adapted for
street-venders, who in Broadway rarely find purchasers
except among strangers and the transient class that
believe they must buy something when they come to
the Babel of Manhattan.
* e
99 
CHAPTER X.
THE FERRIES.
ABOUT twenty-five ferries connect New York with
its surrounding cities and towns, which are divisions
of the Metropolis as much as Harlem, Yorkville, or
Carmansville. Nearly half a million of people whom
Manhattan holds, and makes  life and fortune for,
dwell within a radius of five miles from Printing
House Square as a center.  The fifteen or sixteen
towns clustering along the Bay and around the North
and East rivers, are merely the human overflow of
New York's inundation.
Brooklyn, never thought of here, apart from the
Metropolis, has a population of 300,000, and is the
third city in the United States. Jersey City, Hoboken, Hudson City, Bergen, are good-sized towns; but
they hgave no distinct existence. They are absorbed
by the great Centripetal power of Gotham.
Of the ferries nine are to Brooklyn, from Catharine
Slip, foot of Fulton, Wall, Jackson, Whitehall, New
Chambers, Roosevelt, East Houston and Grand streets;
two to Hoboken, foot of Barclay and Christopher
streets; two to Jersey City, foot of Courtlandt and
Desbrasses streets; two to Hunter's Point, from James
slip and foot of East Thirty-fourth street; two to
Staten Island, foot of Whitehall and Dey streets; two
to Green Point, foot of East Tenth and East Twenty
e':: 
THIE FERRIES.
third streets; Hamilton avenue ferry, foot of White hall street; Bull's Ferry and Fort Lee, pier 51 North
river; Mott Haven, pier 24 East river;  Pavonia, foot
of Chambers street, and Weehawken, foot of West
Forty-second street.
The most crowded are the Fulton, Wall and South
ferries to Brooklyn, and the Courtlandt street to Jer sey-City; though all of them do a very profitable busi ness, and consider their privilege, or right, better than
exclusive ownership in a mine of gold. They do not
say so openly; for all corporations that make large
sums of money put forward the assumption of benefit ing the public for a very small consideration.
It is singular how disinterested monopolies are. In stead of confessing that they have no souls, they de clare they are all soul. They are the embodiment of
generosity, chivalry, self-sacrifice.   Their controllers
exist only for the people.   They suffer to serve the
masses. They shed tears of blood when the dear
public is not pleased with their magnanimous labors.
They sympathize with it, with full stomachs and fuller
purses.
Half a million of people living outside of, and most
of them doing or having business in, New-York, make
the ferries the sole means of communication with the
island.  It is not difficult to perceive that the different
companies must realize handsomely from their invest ments.  It is calculated that 250,000 to 300,000 per
sons come and go upon the ferries every 24 hours, and
that they make a clear profit of about $1,000,000 per
annum,
The fare to Brooklyn is two cents; to Jersey-City,
Hoboken and Weehawken, three; to Staten-Island, ten
101 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and twelve cents; and to other points, in proportion
to distance. The rate is low, but the aggregate receipts swell to tempting sums in the course of a season.
About 4 o'clock the ferries begin their regular trips,
though some of them, as the Fulton and Courtlandt
and Barclay streets, run all night, and their passengers
increase until 9 or 10 o'clock in the morning. Then they
fall off until 3, or 4, or 5 in the afternoon, when the
refluent tide sets in.
People generally rise according to their necessities.
The poorer the man the earlier he gets up. To lie in
bed is one of the privileges of wealth. The operator
who haunters leisurely into Broad street at noon is believeed to have been fortunate in his speculations, and
can borrow money at a lower figure than if he became
visible at 10. But the wight that hustles about Exchange place at 9 o'clock is regarded with distrust,
and his broker calls in the loans made to him unhesitatingly the week before.
When the coming dawn drops her gray mantle over
the mists of the rivers, the gardeners and farmers, from
Long-Island and New-Jersey, drive their carts and
wagons, loaded with fruits and vegetables and farm
products, upon the ferries, and wend their way to
Fulton, Washington, Catharine, Essex, Jefferson and
Tompkins markets. Many of them are Germans, particularly the gardeners,-patient, thrifty, plodding,
ever on the alert to catch the worm that creeps where
pennies are to be gathered. They are accompanied
by their wives, or mothers, or sisters, or daughters.
Women from fatherland work side by side with the
men, and look anxiously at the sky to see if the
weather promises fair, for storms seriously affect sales,
102 
TiE FERRIES.         -
and therefore disturb the Teutonic heart. In two hours
the ferries are freighted with market wares. Then
they carry over a few belated venders, who look vexed
and sour because of their own delay, and are inclined
to vent their feelings upon others, while the odor of
fruits and vegetables is blown away by the sea breeze.
Farmers and hucksters are succeeded by a throng
of mechanics with their flannel and check shirts, with
buckets and begrimed appearance-many  of them
going from their tenement-house homes in the Great
City to the grim factories trembling and throbbing
along the half-awakened rivers.
Occupation is healthful, but toil is unwholesome;
and the daily hard tasks that cannot be lessened or
deferred leave their marks upon those overworked
men. They are not satisfied with their lot. Why
should they be? Why should they be enslaved for a
mere livelihood, for the privilege of continuing an
existence they have neither the leisure nor the means
to enjoy?
Six days in every week it is the same-ten hours
of toil, engrossing and consuming toil, when they in
no sense belong to themselves,-the dragging home
of their tired bodies, heavy and often unrefreshing sleep, and the compulsory return to the hateful
labor which yields them only bread. Even their
wives and children are sources of anxiety as much as
of comfort; for they can see no period, however remote, when freedom and ease will be theirs.
They are honest and industrious, and ought to be
happy, no doubt. But I question if they are. I
know I could not be, if I were they. They do not
give the impression of supreme felicity, but rather of
103 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
men who have duties to perform for others, and who
would be glad when they could lie down and sleep
forever.
Until 7 o'clock the stream to the factories in the
great and small cities flows turbidly. Then it stops,
and the shirts of passengers begin to whiten and rai ment to improve.
The mechanics are followed by salesmen, account ants, clerks, most of whom are young and seem hope ful. Life is before them yet, and this World has not
been shorn of its illusions. They have views of finan cial success, of partnership, of high reputation on
'Change, of princely incomes. They talk glibly of
"our firm," its prospects, its trade, its profits, and deem
themselves f)ortunate in their positions.   They are
learned in their vocation, and business is the spirit of
their being.
Occasionally you observe among them an older and
a wiser head.  He is alert, but listens and looks, and
smiles half sadly, half satirically. He once had ambitious expectations; fed himself on the sweet fruit of
his own imagining, and wrought at the shadows until
they seemed substance. His ambition was filled; his
expectations deceived him.
At five and fifty he is a clerk still, with a.large
family, and $1,200 a year. A perpetual struggle his
life has been, with little compensation in it. He has
beefi told by clergymen, and journalists, and authors,
since he could understand English, that honest industry is always ultimately rewarded. His reward is
two sick children, an invalid wife and debts that
torture him because he cannot discharge them.  He
has found that integrity brings curses more than
104 
t
THE FRP.IES.
blessings. He might have been wealthy but for devotion to principle. Successful merchants deem him a
simpleton. He does not share their opinion; but he
knows he is wretched.
When  the expectant underlings have been transferred to the Babylon which is now rattling, and
smoking, and steaming, and roaring, their superiors
come upon the scene.   They are rather grave, but
they have a self-satisfied air, like men  who  have
striven and won.   They are middle-aged, mostly.
They have incipient crow's-feet about their eyes, wrinkles at the corners of their mouth, flecks of grayness
in their hair. They are confidential clerks, with salaries of five or six, perhaps ten thousand a year, in the
great houses in Church street or West Broadway, or
special partners or leading salesmen, with a percentage
on profits.   They are in comfortable circumstances.
They have incomes independent of their positions.
They can afford to think of others, and grinding poverty does not compel them to be mean.  Externals
appear well to them. They feel the sunshine, even if
the heavens be overcast, and the air is sweet, though
it comes from New-York.
The masters rarely flash upon the sphere before 11
or 12; but they tread almost on the heels of those
only a little less than themselves.  They are truly of
the fortunate  in the worldly sense.   They are.the
senior members of the prosperous firms; the men who
have much to get and little to do;  who walk or ride
over to their counting-room; superintend and give
council for an hour or two; lunch at Delmonico's,
and over a bottle of Chambertin, or Cot4 d'Or, discuss
with their wealthy rivals the effect of the trade of
105 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Japan upon the United-States. They should be contented and satisfied, at least in money matters. But
they are not.   They are more anxious to increase
their fortune, though their present income is far be- m
yond their largest expenditures, than they were when
it was below a hundred thousand. They have physical ailments and domestic infelicities which they would
get rid of at the price of all their 5.20s.  When the
gout twinges, and their brain reels with presaging
apoplexy, they wonder why their riches can't preserve
them from such attacks, and fancy they would surrender fortune for youth and health. But they would
not. The loss of what they would never need would
drive them half mad; for the masters are the slaves of
Mammon and servants of self-interest.
If they poured out their secret sorrows, perhaps we
.would not exchange our poverty for their great gains.
But we all have secret sorrows, and they are easier to
bear with plethoric purses than empty ones; for, say
what we may, the heart aches less on a satin sofa than on
a pallet of straw. And Araminta's arms are fairer when
luxuriously indolent and spanned with diamonds than
when bared to the drudgery of the kitchen. And Amy's
kisses sweeter from her poetry-pronouncing lips than
if they were drawn down habitually from lowness of
spirit and abject circumstance.
David Ducat, Sr., president of the Sapphire bank,
and founder of the great importing house of Ducat,
Doubloon & Co., is sorely distressed because David, Jr.,
is drinking himself to death, and his dearest daughter
Julia will meet that profligate verse-maker clandestinely. But he need not be inconsolable. He has a
family lot in Greenwood, and, if harm come to Julia,
106 
TIE FERRIES.
the scamp will marry her, for she is one of only three
children.   On the whole, things might be worse; and
the credit of the house never stood better.
One tribe goes early to the ferries from this side, and
lingers until the solid men have descended to the
piers-the tribe of newsboys. They rush frantically
down to the ferry-houses before the first arrow of light
is shot across the sky, and fill the fresh morning with
clamor about the Times, Tribune, Herald, World and
Sun.
The first comers generally want the "Staats Zeitung"
or "Journal" or " Demokrat," though a number buy
the Sun; some the Herald and World. The secondclass have no eye for any other paper than the Sun,
laud the quartos as the urchins may. But when the
original sun flames up the east, and burns down upon
the waters, the neglected large dailies grow into favor.
Even the Times and Tribune, which were dull stock at
first, find ready purchasers from well-dressed and
thoughtful-looking men. One division of the newsboys keeps guard upon the boats, permitting no one
to pass without yelling in his ears the news of the
morning. Other divisions deploy as skirmishers, and
dash through Brooklyn, Jersey-City, Hoboken, Astoria, Ravenswood, East New-York; board the morning
trains; hurry into every nook and corner and lonely
street of the surrounding towns and villages, and sell
out before the leisurely part of the Metropolis has stirred in its bed.
The refluent wave rises about 3 P.M., and it washes
and surges for four or five hours far more than the
advancing swell of the morning.  One would suppose,
if he took his stand at the different ferry-houses, that
107 
TEE GREAT METROPOLIS.
New-York was emptying itself before a devastating
plague.   Down  Broadway  to Wall and Fulton, to
Whitehall and Courtlandt streets, sweeps the mob of
home-seekers, reckless of vehicles, careless of each
other, driven by one idea-that of reaching their des tination in the shortest possible time.
In that rush all classes are mingled, lawyers and la dies, physicians and clergymen, merchants and beg gars, pickpockets and philanthropists, authors and prize fighters, bar-keepers and artists, courtesans and prudes,
zealots and atheists, side by side, intertwisted, inter locked, brushing each other's garments, breathing each
other's breaths. The ferries are black with people,
and ultra professional reporters in the throng think
what a magnificent sensation they might write out if
the boats would blow up or sink suddenly.
. Long before the vessel touches the pier boys and
men measure the distance with their eyes, and leap
off at serious risk to themselves. When the chain is
thrown down half the masculine passengers are out of
sight, and no one is hurt. We Americans are an agile
and carefully calculating people, after all.  If any
other nation were as reckless as we, it would have distressing accidents by the dozen every day in the year.
We seem to know what we can do, and do it. We
are born to narrow escapes, but we rarely fail.
In the evening we have from over the river the
amusement-goers, and later, their return; and the
boats are full until 11 or 12 o'clock. At the latter hour
the ferries stop generally, though, as I have said, the
Fulton, Courtlandt and Barclay street boats run at
stated intervals all night.   The passengers are few
after the nocturnal noon, and at the weird hours that
103 
TIE FERRIES.
prece(de the dawn  the few who cross the rivers regard
each other with suspicion.  Journalists imagine exhausted printers firom the same office to be highwaymen;
and printers fancy the man whose  "copy" they have
set a thousand times a moon-struck fellow, waiting for
a favorable moment to leap overboard.
The ferries furnish good studies of hluman nature.
Ile who likes to read character, and trace personal history from outlines of suggestion may find occupation
and interest on the rivers and the bay at all hours and
all seasons. Every kind of people will sit before his
mentatl pallet, and unconsciously resign themselves to
his rambling brush.
FORT LAFAYETTE.-BURNED DEC. 1868.
109 
CTAPTER XI.
GRE EN WOOD.
GREENWOOD is one of the first places strangers visit.
New Yorkers are more indifferent about the famous
cemetery, because, perhaps, they know they are certain
to go there soon or late. They have reason to be
proud of it, however; for it deserves its reputation,
and is a charming place in which to sleep eternity
away.
It is both poetic and philosophic to make pleasant
the last resting-place; to rob death of its thousand
nameless terrors and give it the appearance of an
unbroken calm of the emancipated spirit,-the taking
home to the bosom of Nature and her silent sympathy
the souls that have been o'er wearied in the struggle
with life.
Graveyards may be sad; but there is a sweetness in
their sadness, and the deep suggestions of infinite rest,
which the lightest heart, in the midst of its highest
happiness, forever craves. There is balm for many
wounds in the strolling among low mounds, and the
listening to the airy voices that are ever whispering
of peace.
A gay Gaul who made a visit to New York some
years ago, thought it singular enough that the hackman he asked to drive to the pleasantest places in the
vicinity should carry him to what he called the Pare
'k 
GREENWOOD.
la Chaise of America.   "Strange people, these Americans," he reflected; "they think death delightful."
The hackman's nature was deeper than the Frenchman's. The one was a worldling, the other a philosopher, and a man of taste as well; for Greenwood is,
excepting the Park, the pleasantest place in the neighborhood of the Metropolis.
Just about a quarter of a century ago, Greenwood,
containing over 500 acres of beautiful, rolling and varied land, was opened for burial purposes; and since
then it has been steadily increasing in attractiveness
and picturesqueness of effect.   During that period,
nearly 140,000 persons have been interred there, and
many of the finest specimens of art which the country
can show, have been erected as monuments to the
memory of the dead. Vanity, the strongest passion
of humanity, not only lives beyond, but rears itself in
fantastic marble above, the tomb. Many of the monuments have cost from $10,000 to $100,000; and
marble and truth have been tortured to transform the
vices of the living into the virtues of the dead.
A ramble or a ride through Greenwood is delightful, especially in Spring, when the earth has put on its
fresh greenness, and the flowers are in their first blossoming, or late in Autumn, when vegetation is dying
in prismatic beauty, and the brown and crimson leaves
are floating off to the calling of the sea. Its walks
and drives, and lakes and groves, with the distant
view of the Island City, the beautiful Bay, and the
ocean stretching away into cloud and shy, form a panorama hardly equaled on the Continent.
No wonder it is a popular place of resort. No one
sensible to beauty or the charms of Nature, can fail to
III
I::-...: 1..
I 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
experience a joy of vision as his eye sweeps for miles
around, over land and river, over sound and sea;
catches the far-off spires, the highlands of Staten
Island, the Palisades of the Hudson, the forests of
masts among which Manhattan is buried, and the count less water-craft steaming and sailing in every direction
from the vast centre of commerce to every port and
clime beneath the sun.
No other cemetery at home or abroad-and Europe
boasts much of some of hers-has such advantages of
position, such variety of prospect, such richness of
ocular effect.
I am not surprised so many sentimentalists go to
Greenwood to idealize Love, and Life, and Death, and
seek the realization of all poetry in their own hearts.
I rarely visit the place that I do not meet the loving,
and the loved wandering pensively and sympathetically
through the pleasant walks, or sitting magnetically
together, discoursing in low voices of the mystic
thing which makes the World go round. The quietness and pensiveness of the place suggest the fiercelytender passion, which is always sad, and render the
heart dangerously susceptible to its mysterious promptings.
If you seek, good reader, the love of a fine woman,
who has thus far been unwon, invite her to Greenwood,
and, in the presence of the dead, and while the hand
of Autumn is shaking down the variegated leaves, tell
her you are wretched; that only through the light of
her eyes comes hope; that you have longed for years
to be at rest in the grave, but that love for her has
given you new life; that the World cannot be hollow
which contains her-with other kindred sentimental
112
z::: 
GREENWOOD.
isms-and, trust me, you will find her hand stealing to
yours, the tears to her eyes, and her head to your
heart.
That will open the door to her hard bosom, and you
can enter it unchallenged, and sit thereafter, long as
you please, upon the throne of her self-love, in the high
court of her self-admiration.
"Carry not your melancholy and your wooing too
far," says a cynic at my elbow. "I knew a persevering gentleman who did so, and the result was, his
charmer became his wife, and charmed no more."
If Wall street owned Greenwood, it would daily
quote graves in demand, funerals active and death
easy. It rarely happens the cemetery is without a
funeral cortege, and at least a score of laborers are ever
6pening graves.
The tears of affliction are always falling; the sob of
bereavement is always heard; the wail of stricken
hearts is always rising there. And yet, nowhere does
the sunlight fall more softly; the birds sing more
sweetly; the flowers smell more fragrantly. They are
wiser than we purblind mortals: they see beyond, and
know the whole.
From 15 to 20 interments are daily made in Greenwood; and already a number nearly equaling the entire population of some of our largest cities lies under
the soil, sacred forevermore in at least 1,000,000 mourners' eyes,-eyes which may be dry to-day, but will be
wet again to-morrow.
A dark train is always passing over those green undulations;  and the laughing sight-seers are hushed
when, at the sudden turn of the walk, they come upon
weeping friends about a new-dug grave.
8
113 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Many a pair of the wandering sentimentalists I have
named have forgotten for the moment their fancied
woe while they heard the earth fall hollowly upon the
coffin-lid which shuts out forever and forever the face
that was dearest in all the World.
Hlow use doth breed a habit in a man!  The gatekeepers, grave-diggers, undertakers, hearse-drivers, see
in the agony of the bereaved only a phase of nature,
as they do the clouds in the sky, or withering leaves
on trees.   They have had their own woes, and will
have them again, and cannot afford to sympathize with
those external to themselves; for the sympathetic are
ever bearing burthens that do not belong to them.
The great gates which seem to say, "Abandon love,
all ye who enter here," are not less sympathetic than
their keepers; and both look stonily upon the funeral
pageants as they pass, and have no heart to answer to
that low, stifled wail which is the note of despair.
Observe the funerals. They are many and different;
some pompous and pretentious; some plain and unassuming, with more freightage of grief than the loftier
ones;  for prosperity hardens, and splendor, which
hides, also lessens pain.
This is an ambitiouscortege. The coffin is rosewood
and mounted with silver, for the dead man was very
rich and little loved.' The weeds of his widow and
nearest relatives are very deep and costly; and those
kinsfolk look as if they deemed it their duty to mourn,
which, like many other duties, is most difficult to discharge.
Are they thinking of what they have lost; of 
gentle smile forever withdrawn; of a loving heart forever still?  They are thinking less of what has gone
114 
~
GREENWOOD.
than what has been left,-of bequests and legacies, of
pleasures they will purchase and vanities they will
gratify. In their secret hearts, they rejoice that he is
dead. HIis death was the kindest thing he ever did
for them;  and, were he conscious once more, they
would thank him for quitting a life he was too selfish
to make useful and too sordid to beautify.
Another comes.   The deceased was an old man
but the widow is young, and fair, and fashionable, for
she loved her husband not. She tried long and hard;
but who can compel the heart?  And, when esteem
was half mistaken for affection, the one great love
which woman never feels but once, often as it may be
repeated, andcounterfeited, swept like a consuming
fire through every fibre of her long-starving soul.
Prudence, duty, loyalty, were reduced to ashes by the
intense flame, and blown to every wind by the gusts
of passion. And yet it burned on, burned when the
lamp of the other's life went out; burns when he is
lowered into the earth.   Conscience pricks; remorse
stings; but, looking up, the widow meets the tender
eye of the living and loving man for whom all this deception and perfidy have been, and the whole Universe
has-nothing for her but that one tender gaze.
Few carriages make up this train, and few mourners
are in them.  But the tears they shed are genuine,
and the grief they show comes from their inmost souls.
Wife and mother was she to the fullest; and, when she
died, a place was made vacant that cannot be supplied.
Years hence, he and his children will entwine herdear
name with their prayers, and Heaven will seem near
when her spirit is invoked.
In that coffin lies a girl, of eighteen, so young in
115 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
years, so old in sin; and her funeral is the contribution
of her riches in shame. How old the story, but as sad
this hour as when the first woman fell! No natural
protectors; with beauty that tempted and passion that
deceived, it was as natural she should err as the o'erripe fruit should drop or the breezes blow. After two
years of wantonness, she still could love, and deserted
by a common creature whom the poor courtesan had
made a god in the profane temple of her heart, she
lifted her hand against her lifer and slew it.
What made Romeo and Juliet immortal, and set
Werther to the music of his kind will not hallow a
nameless grave. Yet love is love, throbbing below
the coronet or trembling in pariah's garb; and the
Eternal Love will always recognize it, and bless it for
its being, and see that no part of it shall ever perish.
In that little group mourns one who has no social
privilege to mourn, whose love would be reckoned
sin (as if to love could ever be a sin) in books of
creed and canons of the Church. But he loved her
better than a brother, a father or husband, and yet
was none of those.  It is pity it is so; that circumstance, and destiny will not flow in the channels of inclination, or bubble up in the springs of sympathy.
Does the next, or any succeeding sphere set right
the wrongs and cross-purposes of this? Ask the ocean
of its tides, and the stars of their occupants; but they
will not answer any more than that question can be
answered. Yet it is good to believe all is for the best;
for belief is consolation, and consolation strength.
A bachelor friend, who has seen a good deal of the
World, and of that peculiar portion known as women,
116 
GREENWOOD.       I
once told me one of his sentimental experiences while
we were lounging in Greenwood.
"Five years ago about this time," he said, "I was
sitting near this spot with a very pretty and romantic
girl, who had long declared she loved me, and who,
though blessed with a wealthy father, would have
married me and my poverty, and defied all her relatives, if I had permitted her to make such a sacrifice.
"I was quite fond of her, as men of sensibility and
gallantry usually are of women who love them devotedly, and the fact that I could not make her my wife
rendered our relation more poetic than it would have
been had we been engaged. She was rather delicate,
and her friends feared she had a pulmonary affection.
She thought she would not live long, and the day we
sat together here she looked pale, and more lovely
than ever. The Autumn leaves were falling round us,
and with her head leaning on my breast, she said, with
tears in her eyes:'I feel, darling, that I am dying.  I
believe that the next year's leaves will strew my grave.
But I shall rest sweetly if I can dream in Heaven that
you still love me.'
"My heart was touched as it never was before," my
friend added. "I fancied at that moment that I loved
her devotedly. I was tempted to say,'Be mine, darlilng, before the World.   If we love each other, we
shall have wealth enough, and contentment that fortune cannot buy.' But I remembered the day would
come when neither of us would feel so; that no passion, however ardent, can survive meager breakfasts,
and cold potatoes at dinner. So I kissed her tenderly;
dried the dew of her tears on the rose leaves of my
lips (I was sentimental then); and told her she would
117 
TIHE GREAT METROPOLIS.
be some man's lovely wife when I was at supper after
Poloniis's fashion.
"She looked a sad rebuke at this, and shed more
tears, which I kissed away again, and we wandered
into less lugubrious themes.
"We retained our sentimental attachment until the
War broke out.  I went to the field,- and after a few
letters our correspondence ended.
"When the struggle was over, I came home, and
one of the first carriages I noticed in the Park contained my quondam inamorata, a middle-aged man, rather
vulgar, though very prosperous - looking,  and two
bouncing children in charge of a French-Irish bonne.
"One glance told the whole story.  I perceived that
the sentimental drama had ended as a comedy, with
marriage; and I laughed, as I had often done before
under similar circumstances, at the prose denouement
of the rose-colored episode. I learned a few days after
that my sweet Saloma had accepted a husband, of her
parents' election, who had made a fortune by a Government contract, and who.did not know whether
Dante was a Dane or a Dutchman, and certainly did
not care.
"I -was glad she had done so well, and gladder I had
not been unwise enough'to make her matrimonially
miserable.  I drank a glass of wine at dinner every
day for a week to her connubial happiness-it was
barely necessary to toast her health then-and, meeting her at the opera a fortnight after, she remembered
my face, but had forgotten my name-the nameof the
man she had vowed she loved better than her own soul,
and who was all the World to her, and something
more.
118 
GREENWOOD.
"Women are fine rhetoricians," remarked my friend,
"but I think they place a small estimate upon the
World and their own souls."
Another story about the cemetery.  A merchant of
wealth lost his wife, of whom he had seemed to be very
fond, and who had borne him several children.  He
followed her coffin to the grave in tears, and showed
more violent grief than it is usual for men, even in the
greatest affliction. His friends pitied him, and declared him a model of domestic devotion; some even
doubting if he would long survive the partner of his
bosom. Their surprise and indignation may be imagined when he married the governess of his children,
the third day after the funeral.
Those who claimed to know, said he proposed to
her on the way home-they rode together in the same
carriage-and that she, after a fit of weeping and a
tumultuous protest against the haste and indelicacy of
the proceeding, under the circumstances, accepted
him, and had a clear understanding about the amount
of the settlement he would make upon her.
Many members of his set cut him directly, and his
premature marriage excited so much feeling in his
circle that he found it convenient to go abroad and
stay for two years. When he returned, his dead wife's
friends had grown indifferent to, or forgotten her
wrongs, and received the second wife with welcome, as
if nothing had occurred to disturb the old social relations.
The merchant understood human nature. Go away
for two years, and people will forget almost anything,
their dearest friends not excepted.
When you read all the inscriptions and epitaphs,
119 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
believe them true, and wonder not how it happens
that the grave is the great saint-maker. You may
think, when the predicted resurrection comes, that
most of the risen, on reading their tombstones, will be
convinced they were put into the wrong graves.   But
do not say so, lest you be deemed a cynic, or a truthspeaker, which is much the same.
Console yourself with the reflection that whatever
life you lead, your virtues will blossom in the dust;
that men who carve in marble are privileged to lie;
and that, being fairly out of everybody's way, and
incapable of coming back, your worst enemies will
hardly take the pains to remember they hated you.
But as for those who loved me? ask you. Never
mind them, Sir Egotist, and they will not disturb
themselves about you.   Love has often done men
more harm than good in this World; but in the tomb
it will do you neither one nor the other; for the gravegrass heals the deepest wounds that love has ever
made.
120 
THE )IALL, CENTRAL PARK.
,'4 
I 
CHAPTER  XTl.
THE PARKS.
IF New-York has its festering tenement-houses, it
has also its wholesome parks, and these are, in some
sort, its redemption.   No  city in the Union has so
many breathing-places, and the Metropolis, in spite of
its crowded population, its municipal mismanagement,
its poverty, its vice and its squalor, is probably one of
the healthiest great centres of civilization in the World.
It is not a little remarkable, in a City where every
square inch of ground is prized as gold, that so much
real estate in the most valuable part of the island
should have been appropriated to the public use.  We
owe much to the early moulders of Manhattan for
their liberality, and much to the good sense and judgment of those who first suggested the purchase of the
Central Park.
Altogether, we have as many as twenty squares or
parks; but a number of these are private, and others
are being converted to business uses, which is not
greatly to be regretted, since we have the Central, including and overshadowing all. The best-known, exclusive of the Central, are the City Hall, Union, Madison, Stuyvesant, Washington, Tompkins, Gramercy
and Manhattamn.
The time-honored, once famous plaza, the Battery, has
4 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
long been employed as an emigrant depAt; St. John's
is now used as a station by the Hudson River railway;
Tompkins' square has been allowed to run to waste;
Grammercy has become private property, and is kept
carefully locked up the greater part of the time.
City Hall, Washington, Union, and Madison are really
the only public grounds, and they have been so much
neglected that they have lost most of their attractions.
Since they have been placed in charge of the Central
Park commissioners, however, it is believed they will
soon be made to resume something of their old freshness and beauty.
The down-town enclosures have of late years, especially since the opening of the Central, been given up
to disreputable loungers, children and nurses-those
of out citizens who needed recreation and fresh air
going to the Park to find them.  The smaller open
spaces add to the pleasantness and picturesqueness of
the Metropolis; but they are more for ornament than
for use, and so completely swallowed up by the Fiftyninth street rus in urbe as to be undeserving of special
mention.
Many of New-York's pretensions  are absurd, as
every sensible person knows; but it has a right to
boast of the Central Park, (and it does, too,) for it is
indeed an honor and a glory. It is hardly surpassed
by any in the old world, and will in time surpass the
celebrated Hyde Park of London and the Bois de Boulogne of Paris. Every year adds to its attractiveness,
and when its groves have grown and its countless projected improvements been completed, it will well de serve the name delightful.
With nearly a thousand acres of elaborately laid out
122 
THE PARKS.
grounds, with its charming walks and drives, its lakes
and grottoes, its caves and casino, its mall and bridges,
its rocks and rustic arbors, it would be a temptation
and a pleasure to any one, but most of all to the busy
million who inhabit this busy island, and who are shut
away from fresh breezes and green fields by the presence of poverty or the demands of interest.
The great advantage of the Park is, that it is open
to all, and that the poor enjoy it more than the rich,
who can go where they like, and purchase what the
Central gives gratis.
No sight is more pleasant there than the laborer or
mechanic, on Saturday afternoon or Sunday, with his
wife and children, luxuriating in the mere absence of
toil, and'drinking in the breezes from the sea which
cannot find their way into the close tenement quarters
he calls his home. He gains new health, new hope,
new heart there, and dares to believe, while Nature is
whispering to him on every side, that he may yet
emancipate himself and those he loves from the meanness and hardness  that environ him.  His good resolutions are strengthened there; and who shall say that
men who have dissipated their earnings, and robbed
those dependent on them of such comforts as were
needed, have not, under the clear canopy of the sky,
away from dust, and tumult, and distraction, felt the
better and truer life, and turned to it with earnestness
and laudable ambition? No doubt the Park does moral
as well as physical good; for there is closer connection
between what is known as sense and soul than philosophers have discovered, or theologians have dared to
believe.
The Park is noticeable in one respect: It is the only
well-governed part of the entire island. The corrup
123 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
tion, the political trading, and the malfeasance in of
fice that characterize the "authorities" of New-York,
seem kept out of that particular territory by honest
cherubim, imported from some other locality, who
guard the gates with unseen swords. Of the commissioners, wonderful to relate, no one complains. They
have never been accused of, much less discovered in,
appropriating the public funds, or defrauding the municipal treasury in any way. Yet they are mortal and
live in New-York. So the age of miracles is not over,
and the millenium may yet be hoped for.
On pleasant afternoons the Park presents a brilliant
appearance, and reveals not only the worth and wealth,
but the pretension and parvenuism of this aristocraticdemocratic city. One would hardly believe he was in
a republican country to see the escutcheoned panels of
the carriages, the liveried coachmen, and the supercilious air of the occupants of the vehicles, as they go
pompously and flaringly by. Some of these persons
are so conspicuously emblazoned and tawdrily attired
that one may well doubt if meanness and vulgarity do
not lie behind their elaborate tinseling. And, if he
inquire, he will discover his doubts are confirmed. He
will learn that the nouveaux riches, the people who
are from not only humble, but vulgar origin, who lack
culture and generosity of character, are most anxious
to hide their past with purple, and veneer their lacking
with pretense.
Those two carriages following one after another are
singularly alike, and so are the occupants. The women
are fleshy, gross, and very showily dressed. They
imagine they resemble duchesses, (some of the most
vulgar-appearing ladies in Europe are elderly titlebearers;) but they look more like the devil, as he is
124 
THE PARKS.
popularly supposed to look, with unrefinement oozing
out of their every pore, and good breeding blushing
behind their backs.
One carriage contains the wife and sister of a con tractor who made a fortune during the war by defraud ing the government, and who ten years ago played
"friendly games" with marked cards.  They now envy
the wind that comes between them and their new no bility, and believe they are "genteel" because they are
rich.'
The other carriage bears a brace of unfortunates
whose mode of livelihood is no mystery in Mercer
street, and whose pigment cannot hide the secret of
their shame. The newly rich women imagine those
fallen sisters leaders of fashion, and privately long for
an introduction and an invitation to what must be very
exclusive receptions. If told of their mistake, how in  dignant they would be, and how ungrammatically they
would deny that they supposed "those horrid crea  tures" to be ladies.
Here comes a plain carriage, with a plainly dressed
pair. Neither the man nor woman is handsome, if
regularity of features mean that; but their faces are
intellectual and spiritual, and their eyes seem to mirror
truth, which is beauty as well. Their coachman has
no livery.  They wear no diamonds.  They are free
from all appearance of affectation. They.are of the
kind which parvenuism would consider nobodies at
first sight,-persons who wanted to be something and
could not succeed.
Deeply deluded they who judge so. That man and
woman are husband and wife in the true sense.
Though wealthy and moving in the very best circles
of society, they wedded for love, and lost not caste by
125 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
it, for they themselves make the genuine caste.  If
there be such a thing as gentle blood in this confused
democracy of ours, they have it. But they do not
talk of it. They do not tell you, unless by accident,
who their grandfather and great-grandfather were;
for they know that true refinement and breeding need
no trumpets.
As an offset to that contented and single couple is
another, who are their friends, and'drive by them in a
turn-out putting theirs to shame. The second couple
are fond of display, but are educated, good-hearted,
highminded.  They are far from satisfied, however.
The childless wife loved a poor man, whom she could
not therefore wed; and so, with characteristic perversity, wedded a man she could not love.
She has paid the penalty, as all do who violate nature, which is, if rightly understood, the only sin.
Year after year she represses every loving impulse of
her heart, and starves her tender soul in the midst of
material plenty.
Her partner rather than her husband, has an ample
fortune, but a broken constitution and feeble health.
There is no enjoyment for him. He knows the woman
who sits opposite with vacant eyes has no sympathy
with him. He has sought pleasure in society, in travel,
in the excitements of business; but it came not. The
old pain, the feeling of exhaustion, is with him always;
and he waits with such patience as he can command
for the end. "Oh, yes, that will be a relief," he thinks,
"for the dead do not suffer and to be comfortably
dead is a blessing after all."
The hard-working mechanic that looks up at the pale
face, and sees the handsome carriage, cnvies him who
126
a 
THE PARKS.
has such abundant wealth. And the man of means
looks down at the toiler with the ruddy flush in his
face, and the stalwart form, and envies what he him  self has lost.
Ever thus with life. We envy the seeming, igno  rant of the actual. We murmur at our own lot, and
yet would shrink from exchanging destinies with those
standing apparently above us, and wrapped in self  content.
To him who pines for pecuniary success, who has
been rudely buffeted by fortune, there is, if he be
generous, satisfaction in knowing while he stands or
walks in the Park, that there are so many more blessed
than he.  He can count by the hour the line of car   riages that dash by him, radiant with smiles of the in   mates and emitting odors of prosperity; and rejoice
that they have gained what he.has missed.  If he be
ungenerous, he can think of the skeletons in perfumed
closets at home; of the one desire longed for above
all others, and never to be gratified; of the vacuity of
the heart that will not be filled, put into it what chink   ing coin we may; of the absence of the sympathy we
all need, since gold will not buy nor adversity destroy
it; of the sweet hope of to-morrow, without which life
is only breathing beneath a pall.
Let him think of those things, surely sad enough,
and consolation will be born of thought,-a little con   solation, which will not be lost, but which will be suc   ceeded by a broader feeling. A higher philosophy
will come, that each human creature must work out
his own destiny as best he may, and with such forces
as are his; that Envy is more than useless; that Duty
as we conceive it, alone is precious; and that, within
127 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
less than a century, nothing in the present can yield
us pleasure or give us pain.
The Park has its lessons; and, though envy may be
the first feeling of him who  goes there poor and unsuccessful, a certain content will come after he lingers
and reflects on what passes before himn. Hie will see
in due time that all that glitters is not gold; that
while health and self-respect remain he has no reason
to complain of fortune or despair of the future.
MASS MEETING, UNION SQUARE.
128 
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BOWERY.
THE Bowery is one of the most peculiar and striking
quarters of the Metropolis. It is a city in itself; and
a walk from Chatham square to Seventh street reveals
a variety of life second only to Broadway itself It is
the Cheapside of New-York; the place of the People;
the resort of mechanics and the laboring classes; the
home and the haunt of a great social democracy.
Within a single block of Broadway, it is sufficiently
unlike that great thoroughfare to be in another State
or section of the country. The buildings are different;
the people are different; the atmosphere, the manners,
the customs are different. The few blocks separate it
from Broadway as a Chinese wall; and opposing Tartary rages but disturbs not, within reach of the human
voice.
When one turns off from Broadway at Park Row,
struggles through Chatham street, and toils into the
Bowery, he cannot be so absorbed as not to be unaware of the change.   Every place and step remind
him of his wanderings.
The human sea on which he floats is more noisy
and tumultuous.   The waters are less clear.  More
drift and sea-weed are on the surface. The dash of the
waves is more irregular; their murmur hoarser; their
swell more unbroken.
9 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The Bowery is more cosmopolitan than Broadway
even. It contains more types of persons; more nationalities; a greater variety, though less contrast, of
characters.
The vast Globe seems to have emptied itself into
that broad curve, lined with buildings of every kind,
new and old, marble and brick, high and low, stone
and wood.
Germans are so numerous there, one might fancy
himself in Frankfort or Hamburg.  Irish so abound
that Cork and Dublin appear to have come over in the
vast ships lying at the not distant piers.  Italians prattle, in Ariosto's language, of the beauty of bananas and
the importance of pennies. Frenchmen jabber; Spaniards look grave; Chinamen stand sad and silent; colored men stare vacantly, or laugh unctiously, in that
singular hub-bub of humanity.
Order, and form, and caste, and deference, shaken
and confused in Broadway, are broken into fragments
in the Bowery, and trampled under foot.
"Who are you?  "I am as good as anybody;" "The
devil take you;" "We are for ourselves; Look out
for your own," are written in every passing face, and
flaunting sign, and tawdry advertisement this side of
Cooper Institute and Tompkins market.
No respect for persons in the surging Bowery.  You
may be the President, or a Major-General, or be Governor, or be Mlayor, and you will be jostled and crowded
off the sidewalk just the same as if you drew beer at
the Atlantic Garden, or played supernumerary at the
Stadt theatre.
Broadway has some idea of what is known as behav ior. Perhaps the Bowery has too. But it does not
1,I)IO 
THE BOWERY.
carry the idea into practice. It treads on your heels;
turns molasses, or milk, or liquor over your clothes;
tears your garments, or whirls you into the gutter;
yet never asks your pardon, or explains in the least.
If you want manners, you should not be there. You
must submit to the customs of the quarter, or fight, if
you are aggrieved. In America, fighting is always a
proposal to be received, and is generally welcome to
some one within sound of your challenge.
When the denizens of Broadway straggle into the
Bowery, they are easily recognized as Greeks inConstantinople. They are evidently not at home. Elbowed
and run against, they look up in surprise, and seem to
expect some kind of apology.   If they murmur, an
oath is thrown back at them, or a withering contempt
for their conventionalism and consequence.
"If you disapprove of our ways," says the Bowery,
with defiant chin and arms akimbo, "go over to Broadway. They make you pay for manners there. Here
you can have plainness and naturalness for nothing.
We'll drink or fight with you. But we won't feign or
flatter.  It isn't our style."
The Bowery is practical as well as blunt. It is a
great retail mart. Every block is filled with tradesmen, and showmen, and tricksters.  It has its own
theatres, and hotels, and literature, and business, and
pleasures.
Its object is not to sell to the public what the public
wants, but what it does not want. Hence unfortunate
dealers, and aggressive clerks, and flaming advertisements and posters, that assure you in many ways you
are a fool if you neglect the golden opportunity for the
first and last time presented.
131 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
To believe a tithe of what huge cards, and oppressive signs declare is to feel your fortune secured, and
the kindest gods struggling to crown you with their
choicest blessings.
You can buy anything in the Bowery-buy it cheap,
and find it very dear. Brass watches, warranted to be
gold; frail goods, made strong by oaths; spurious jewelry, shining with affidavits; old clothes, scoured to
brightness with much care and more promises,-all
these are to be had there in profusion, and confusion
withal.
In what ruin all Bowery dealers are determined to
involve themselves! What sacrifices they are resolved
to make! What religious consecration is theirs to the
pleasure and the benefit of the deeply-adored public!
How solicitous are they to secure to the needy community bargains at all hazards!
Externally, they live only for others.   Really, they
live only upon others.   They measure their shrewdness against the meanness of their customers. They
practically believe honesty is the worst policy and that
he who cannot cheat deserves to be cheated.
The Bowery knows its patrons.   What would insult a Broadway habitue', and drive him off in indignation, holds and wins the frequenter of the more democratic thoroughfare.
The Bowery takes the ground that no man or woman
knows what he or she wants, and that it is the mission
and the province of the shopkeeper to enlighten such
ignorance. Desire must be created; articles must be
urged.   Given the customer, the tradesman is a simpleton who cannot manage the sale.
I have often wondered, and at last smiled at the
132 
THE BOWERY.
method of the Bowery merchant, which is much in this
fashion.
Woman-Have you got any calico like this (showing a piece)?
Tradesman-Any quantity; but you don't want it.
I'll show you  Woman-I want something to match.   I've  Tra(lesman-You're mistaken, madam. You don't
want such old-fashioned goods as that.  Of course you
don't.   No woman does.  It's absurd to s'pose so.
Look at that piece, madam. A regular beauty, and
cheap as dirt. Sold that yesterday for a dollar. Will
let you have it for six shillings. Not another such bargain in New-York.
Woman-But it isn't like what  Tradesman -It's just what  you want,  my dear
madam. Why, I can see in your pretty face that it is.
Suits your style'xactly.   When you put it on, your
husband will declare you never was so lovely.
Woman-I haven't got any husband.
Tradesman-Of course you haven't. But you will
have when you buy this dress. That's what I meant.
See that, now. Why, those colors would catch any
chap. They're elegant, and so very low, madam. Remember, I said six shillings. They cost five and six,
pence at the manufactory; can show you the bills.
You've too much sense and taste to refuse that at the
money. Don't hesitate. It's your last chance. Hiow
many yards? Nine?  Better take eleven.  That'sright.
Boy, bring the yardstick.   What kind of trimmins?
Perfect beauty made up. You're a lucky woman this
day. Only six shillins. What a splendid bargain!
Scene, a boot-store. Enter a modest-looking me
133 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
chanic; made humble by oppression and over-labor
doubtless.
Mechanic (with timid air)-Want to look at pair of
cheap boots, if it isn't too much trouble.
Dealer-Trouble, indeed? We don't intend to be
troubled. We'xpect to make people buy who come
in here. Don't we, Jake (to a rough-featured salesman
a few yards off)? Yes, sir; we'll fit you, sure."
Mechanic-I just wanted to look to-day. I'll call
again  Dealer-No, you won't.  Set down.  On that stool
there.  Try these.   They don't fit?  The devil they
don't? Never was better fit; was there, Jake? You
don't know anything about it.  Come, come, old boy.
Pull out your pocket-book. Let her bleed for $7.
Can't wear'em out. You must have'em. Not money
enough now?   Then leave $3, and drop in  ag'in.
That's right. Name? Robert Murray. All right.
Keep'em for you, my man. Good mornin'.
The descendants of Abraham are abundant in the
Bowery.  They deal in old and new clothes, in watches
and jewelry, and advance money upon pledges,-the
three vocations to which Jerusalem ever tends in
America. They are ever on the alert. They detect a
good customer as a pointer does a bird. They especially covet the men whom the ocean-breezes bear to
the port of New-York, and the winds of Fate drive
into the Bowery on stormy days.
The dark-eyed, dark-visaged fellow behind the glass
case perceives a sailor rolling towards him, and fastens
the mariner with his eye and then by the sleeve.
Shark-Vant to buy a goot vatch, mein fren'?
134
0 
THE BOWERY.
Sailor-Dun no, messmate. What ye got to sell?
Might buy, p'raps.
Shark-Ah, dare's te nichest vatch vat ever vas.
Sheep as you ever saw.  Take it for dirty tollars. All
gold; full sheweled; sholid as a rock. Isn't it a peauty?
Misther Ishaacs, de broker, round de corner, lends
feefty tollar on it, but must have de moneys. He veel
give you more as tat any times. You have a barg'in,
my fren'. Dat vatch all gold, full-sheweled, for dirty
tollar. 0, 0, how sheep!
While the sailor looks into the case, the Hebrew
slips the gold watch into a drawer, and takes out another, galvanized. The latter he hands to the unsuspecting seaman, who puts his treasure in his pocket,
and rolls off.  He will never know the fraud, for he is
bent on a cruise through the Fourth ward. He will
get drunk in a dance-house and be robbed of his valuables, the galvanized chronometer among the rest.
Perhaps Mr. Simons so reasons, and justifies himself
accordingly; though Mr. Simons' conscience is not one
of the things that trouble him often.
After nightfall, the Bowery is more crowded in the
vicinity of Canal street than during the day.
When the tide has run out in lower Broadway, it is
rising in the Bowery. Then its theatres, and concert
saloons, and beer-gardens, and cock-pits, and rat dens
are in full flame.
Rude bands torture melody; great lamps glare;
sidewalk venders cry  "Hot-corn,"  "Roasted chestnuts," "Nice oranges." Dishonest auctioneers bellow
from smoky rooms about cheap wares and low prices
to the crowd that goes swaying by the door. The
famous "Red House" is at the top of its tumultuous
i,,5 
THiE GREAT MIETROPOLIS.
trade, with its mountebanks in harlequins' attire and
shrill voices wooing the Bowery to buy.
People of both sexes are streaming in and out of
the beer gardens,-often consisting only of a few
benches and withered boughs,-and the soft music of
a Lanner waltz or a Rossini overture comes rippling
out over the turmoil of the street, like the light of the
moon over a dreadful deed.
The theatres-German and English-are drawing
their respective audiences. American newsboys and
mature mechanics are discussing the dramatic horrors
they expect to witness, and laughing in anticipation of
the dreary drolleries of Tony Pastor's opera-house,
where the mob is tickled and good taste disgusted for
soiled postal currency in small amounts.
The Bowery habitues enjoy themselves, somewhat
coarsely, but thoroughly I suspect.   They laugh uproariously at the theatre and in the minstrel-halls and
concert-saloons, and show their appreciation of the
frequently indelicate humor by punches in the side of
their neighbors, or mashing down of well-worn hats
over perspiring brows. They work hard by day;
laugh loudly and sleep soundly at night, and let the
morrow provide for itself with true philosophy.
They have not much to live for, but they have less
to leave behind when life is over; and so anxiety for
what is not concerns them little. They have good appetite and digestion, and they so fill their hours with
work that conscience cannot keep them awake; and,
moreover, they whose toil is constant are not troubled
Dy that invisible and uncertain monitor.
Conscience is somewhat of a luxury; and he who
can keep it has means to silence it when clamorous.
136 
THE BOWERY.
The type of the quarter, known as the Bowery boy,
is nearly extinct. Hie is seen sometimes, in degenerate
form and with shorn glory, about the famous theatre,
and in the cock and rat-pits near Houston and Grand
streets.  But his crimson shirt, and his oiled locks, and
his peculiar slang, and his freedom of pugnacity, and
his devotion to the fire-engine are things gone by.
The places that knew him know him no more.  iHe
was a provincial product, the growth of a period. The
increase of the city, the inroad of foreigners, the change
in customs, and especially the disbanding of the volunteer fire department, swept the Bowery boy from his
fastenings; and he is a waif now under many namesa thief at the Five Points, a blacklleg in Houston street,
a politician in the Fourth or Sixth ward, a sober-settler
in the great West, or a broker in Wall street.
The Bowery boy proper has passed away. But the
Bowery frets and cheats, and does good and ill, and
has its wheat and chaff, and is a curious study still.
137 
CHIIAPTER XIV.
FORTUNE-TELLERS.
THE  age of superstition has not passed, nor will it
ever pass altogether.
The proof of this is in the fact that hundreds of
persons, usually women, are supported here by the
pretended possession of supernatural powers. Those
pretenders call themselves spiritual physicians, clairvoyants, seers, astrologers, wizards, oracles. But they
may all be classed under the head of fortune-tellers;
for their attraction is in their claim to divine the
future, and anticipate destiny.
The fortune-tellers of the Metropolis reside mostly
in Division street or the Bowery, though they are
scattered over the town in every direction-advertising their location and their special powers in the
morning issues of the  Herald.  These revealers of
fate, as I have said, are generally women, albeit there
are men who find it profitable to play the charlatan in
that way-coining a livelihood out of the credulity of
the million.
To read the absurd advertisements of the fortunetellers, one might imagine he had slipped back two or
three centuries in time. One marvels how persons can
be found capable of believing the transparent and 
FORTUNE-TELLERS.
worn-out nonsense about seventh daughters and seventh sons, the influence of Mars and Venus, and the
strange signs in the house o f life-taking the mind
back to the days of Paracelsus and Caliogstro, before
Positivism had overthrown the theories of dreamers
and the delusions of madmen. One cannot understand
with what interest and curiosity such advertisements
are read; how the poor and the distressed grasp at
the smallest straws, hoping for the far-off shore of
peace and comfort, even while the death-waters are
gurgling in their ears.
Men long for wealth and power; women for love
and beauty. Facts and reason influence those; feeling and imagination these.  Hence women can never
quite divest themselves of superstition. Their hearts
make them believe in miracles, and they are never
entirely sure the handsome prince they read of in the
fairy tale, or the hero they worshiped in the delightful
romance may not come to them some day, and claim
them for his own.
The would-be witch or gipsy who says she can tell
a woman, if unwedded, who her husband will be-or,
if a wife, when she will be a widow, and when married again-appeals to her sex as no argument and no
philosophy can. Consequently the patrons of fortunetellers are naturally feminine, and are to be found in
all grades of life-in servant-girls, in seamstresses, in
shop-girls, and in the daughters of wealth and fortune.
They are all alike in their affections-all dreamers
and idealists; sympathetic through their sentiment,
and sentimental through their sympathy; clutching at
the rainbow of happiness as if its mistiness were matter.
139 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Strange to an unprejudiced mind, that the wonder
working creatures who know where treasures are
buried, where prizes may be drawn, and how fortunes
are to be made, should not convert their knowledge to
their own advantage. But they will not; at least they
do not.
While living in dingy rooms in unwholesome neighborhoods, scant of food and raiment, they inform
others of the royal road to wealth, but decline to journey that way themselves. They are devoted to their
divine science. They are directors to the goods of the
World, of which they must not partake. Their souls
are very rich with wisdom. Their hands must not be
full of lucre.
This is Division street, where architecture and cleanliness are despised. The houses are old, and soiled,
and unwholesome.  Many families live in each dwelling. Retail shops abound in the quarter; and all look
dusty, stinted and starved.
Second-hand furniture establishments, porter-houses,
quack-doctors, green-groceries stare with rheumy eyes
at each other across the narrow thoroughfares. Rags
and rickety signs flutter and flap in the unsavory wind.
Poverty, and trickery, and misfortune abide there
evidently.
Division street is one of the walls to which the weak
and woe-begone are driven in life's hard battle, fought
over again every day.
At many  grim doorways are smoky,  besmeared
signs, such as "Fortunes Told;"  "Madame  Belle,
Astrologer;" "Ida May, Clairvoyant;"  "Temple of
the Unknown; "  "The New  Oracle;"  "The Great
Arabian Physician;" "Signora Saviltari, Italian Conjurer;" and others of a still more striking character.
140 
FORTUNE-TELLERS.
Perhaps at the entrance of these abodes of the mystagogues, stands an uncombed, unwashed boy-as unweird and unmysterious as can be imagined with
misspelled circulars inviting the public, especially you,
to learn the secrets of the future-whom you will
marry; when you will die; how you will grow rich
and whatever your restless spirit hungers to know.
You go up the uncarpeted staircase, and pause
before a begrimed door, behind which a tin or painted
sign informs you, the oracles of the gods are dispensed.
You are ordered to knock or ring; and you do so,
with no other shrinking than that which is inspired by
bad air, and an unmistakable hatred on the premises
of soap and water.
You are ushered in by a colored woman, who requests
you to be seated, and says her mistress will soon be
disengaged. You place yourself upon a hard, wooden
chair, whose back has the lumbago, and whose legs are
infirm, and look around while you are waiting.
Nothing but bare walls and a strip of rag carpet in
the little ante-room. You hear a murmur of voices on
the other side of the thin partition, perhaps a monotonous shout, and soon the sound of a bell, and the sable
portress appears, and you are invited to enter the
presence of the priestess, who unfolds your destiny
for a dollar in currency, whatever the fluctuation of
gold.
Disappointment greets you as you enter. You see
no paraphernalia of the occult art.  No skulls, nor
bones, nor crucifixes, nor black hangings with triangles
or circles wrought thereon in crimson or in white; no
retorts, nor strange vessels with amber-hued philtres;
no large, dark volumes with iron clasps; no owls, living or stuffed; no wand or instrument of magic.
141 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Even the sorceress is artistically a failure.  Neither
Ayesha nor Kefitah is she. The tall, lithe figure, the
dark, piercing eye, the deep, solemn voice, you look
and listen for in vain.
The priestess is only a gross, fleshy slattern; and
she gives out-must I confess it?-such an odor of
onions and gin that you are convinced she is more
mortal than mystic. Perhaps she is an Assyrian or an
Arabian, for she speaks very imperfect English, and
with a nasal accent that was never born of Delphos.
She looks at you with blood-shot eyes, and says with
energy, "One dollar, sir, for gintlemen;" takes up a
greasy pack of cards, and proceeds to tell your fortune.
"Here's a black-haired woman and a light-haired
woman. Both of'em is in love with you very bad.
Both of'em wants to marry you. The light-haired
woman's jealous like; but t'other'll be yer wife sure."
"I'm already married, madam, and to a second
wife."
"Then the black hair'll be your third. Yis, yis, I
see.   Here's a fun'ral.   Somebody's  goin' to die.
That must be your present wife. Yis, she won't live
many months, I see in these here cards."
(I've known some men to look elated over this dismal intelligence, and depart, after giving the fortuneteller an extra dollar, without waiting to hear more.)
"You're goin' to travel, and git a letter from a darlkhaired man who seems drunk; for he's upside down
in the pack. Some of the men you've knowed, take
too much wunst in a while, don't they?"
"I did not come here to impart confidences, madam."
"Oh, well, you needn't be snappish. It's so, any
1 4.2 
FORTUNE-TELLERS.
how; for the cards tells it, and they isn't mistak'n never.
Let me see.  Here's trouble for you-great trouble
about money. You or your friends is goin' to lose
somethin'. Some of'em's goin' to be rich, too, though
you don't believe it. There'll be a death, too, in your
family. Yis, here's a coffin and a hearse."
"Is my wife to die twice?"
"No; it will probably be one of your children."
"I haven't any children."
"Not born in wedlock, perhaps, but a love-child
you mayn't know nothin' about.   You know those
kind of things happens." 
"Confound it, madam, I'm a member of the church."
"Church-members is mortal like the rest of us."
"Well, I've heard enough for my dollar."'
"If you'll pay another, I'll tell you how to get rich.
Just dip your finger in that ere tumbler on the shelf,
and you'll    "
The remainder of her sentence is lost by the closing
of the door; which you slam behind you, disgusted as
you descend to the unpleasant street.
On your way down, you meet two servant girls,
with a kind of awe-struck appearance, and at the front
door, a pale seamstress who is taking her last dollarshe was two whole days earning it-to the gross impostor up stairs.
In the Bowery, above Prince street, a more pretentious type of the fortune-teller may be seen.   Her
surroundings are better, and her charges higher.
"Consultations five dollars, and strictly confidential," her advertisements read.  "Patronized by the
most fashionable people in New-York," too. That is
something; for one's future is likely to be better when
told with that of the prosperous.
143 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Handsome carriages often stop a few blocks off, and
the liveried coachmen wait while their mistresses, under
pretence of visiting the poor, run into the fortune teller's abode.
Much ceremony there, and an effort made to be
impressive. The rooms are clean and spacious. The
principal one is fitted up like a cabinet, and dimly
lighted. What was wanting in Division street is procured in the Bowery.
Necromantic symbols are abundant. The sorceress
was formerly an actress, and understands stage arrangements and the effect of character-costuming.   She
dispenses with cards. She asks her patrons their age,
their place of nativity, the complexion of parents, the
number of children; inquires about moles and marks
upon the body; looks into eyes, and examines palms;
speaks enigmatically, and assumes the profoundly mysterious, until most of her feminine visitors are convinced she is a perfect witch, and prepared to believe
all she tells them.
In a symbol-covered black or crimson robe, which
she first wore in some spectacular drama, with a stuffed
serpent about her neck and a crown of tinsel on her
head, she talks of the natal planets, of Ormuzd and
Ahrimanes, of the powers of darkness and the angels
of light, of the influence of the stars, and the destiny
of mortals; turns a sort of planetarium; handles a
skull; burns a powder in a lamp until the cabinet is
filled with white and crimson lustre; assumes to
consult a horoscope; buries her face in her hands;
mutters gibberish, and reveals what the "supernal
agencies" have whispered to the "daughter of the
inexorable Destinies."
144 
FORTUNE-TELLERS.
A dozen of these impostors ply a prosperous trade
by their mummery. Feminine residents of Fifth avenue and Twventy-third street go to the theatrical
magicians with full faith, and have their lives shaped
not seldom by what is told them amid stage surroundings.
Singular as it may seem, men of business, men who
deal with facts and figures, who despise imagination
and laugh at romance, visit such fortune-tellers, at
times, to be told of the future.
Wall street operators invest five dollars to determine
if they shall buy gold for a rise, or sell Pacific Mlail
short. 
Ship-owners inquire the fate of vessels over-due,
before they obtain extra insurance.
Church dignitaries, who pretend to believe in nothing the Bible does not teach, question the oracles of
the Bowery, touching the lucky number in the April
lottery.
Our Gradgrinds are often more superstitious than
novel-reading school-girls; and the men who despise
the fancies of poets, are deluded with the shallowest
tricks.
The trite and homely proverb which says, " Cheating luck never thrives," seems to be verified in the
persons of our fortune-tellers.  They make meoney in
various ways. They are purchasable for any purpose
almost. They act as accoucheuses and abortionists on
occasion. They will consent to be procuresses, if sufficient inducement be offered; will assist in crime, and
hide criminals, whenever their palms are crossed with
silver.  Yet they are generally very poor.
They are most ascetic in assumption; talk of fasting
10
1 4 I'D' 
THE GREAT AIETROPOLIS.
and abstemiousness and spirituality as needful to their
solution of mysteries and penetration of the future.
Practically they lead loose and sensual lives; have
coarse appetites and coarse pleasures, until age sets in
and avarice suppresses other passions.
As a class, fortune-tellers are unprincipled, improvident and profligate. Wickedness is rated by what it
can pay, and a full purse makes atonement for the
commission of sin. Like gamblers and cyprians, what
they gain they do not keep. Ill come, soon gone.
It is darkly whispered that fashionable women often
seek the fortune-tellers, not to learn what will be, but
,to consult them upon what has been; that the determiners of the future interfere with the results of the past,
and array themselves against Nature, instead of allying
themselves with her to the fullest.
The life of the fortune-teller is hard. If she sins,
she atones by penury, and ostracism, and isolation.
She subsists by her wits, and subsists poorly. She
shuffles through her meagre and cheerless years, an
object alike of suspicion and of contempt. All her
pretended gifts avail her nothing. Her calling is a
satire on herself. Advertising her power of blessing,
no blessing comes to her; and she exchanges her
draggled gown at last for the coarse shroud that covers her with charity, and shuts her away from woe and
want forever.
Many of the seers and clairvoyants are not only
abortionists, but they are procuresses and the agents
of bagnios.   They are often directly employed by
blacklegs and debauchees to secure for them some
pretty and unsophisticated girl-one from the country
generally preferred-and liberally paid in the event
of success.
146 
FORTUNE-TELLERS. 
The scoundrels visit the fortune-tellers, and leave
several of their photographs, informing the hags what
they want, much in this wise:
"Can't you get me a nice girl, madam  [all of their
kind are madams]-a really plump creature that has
lately come to town?"
"Well, I don't know. It's a very difficult and dangerous job. The police might find it out. We're all
watched, you know; and if    "
"I'll make it worth your while, I've got money
enough. You must know I'run a bank.' Here's $10
to begin with. Get a girl that suits me, and you shall
have five times as much."
"Well, since you're such good pay, I'll try it; but
I won't promise positive. I'm afraid you're partic'lar.
What kind of eyes and hair, light or dark?"
"I don't care so much about that. I'd rather have
a black-eyed woman; but it doesn't make much difference, so she's nice and young. You know a pretty
girl, I'll warrant. I'll trust you. Shall we call it a
bargain?"
"Yes; but mind, mister, I don't promise positive;
and then you must promise that you won't do anything
to make a row, and get the police after me; for you
know I'm a hard-working woman, and get a living
honestly."
"Of course you do, madame; so do I.  When shall
I call? to-morrow?"
"0 Lord, no! You don't suppose we can find willin'
beauties every minute, do you?   Come in'bout a
week.  Or, give me your number, and I'll drop a line
to you. I'll do my best; but I won't promise; and
remember, I won't have any fuss.  Soon as I get on
the scent, I'll tell you."
147 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
After this dialogue, which I refrain from making as
vulgar and brutal as the speakers do, the faro-dealer
goes away; feeling assured, to use his elegant language, that "he's got a good thing of it."
The very moment a young woman appears who can
boast of any comeliness, and who seems friendless or
ingenuous, the seer plies her so adroitly with questions
as to discover all she wishes to know. She perceives
that the desire to be loved is in her heart (in what
woman's is it not?); so she talks to her of her prettiness, and of handsome gentlemen who would be very
fond of her, if they only knew her, etc. Then the
girl's fortune is told, and the man who is to love her is
described according to the photograph. The lover is
praised to the skies, and the girl is told to come again
to have everything revealed that can't be revealed
then on account of the position of the planets, or some
such fummery.
Meantime the seer sends for the lecher, and he continues to meet the victim, who finds the prediction fulfilled, and considers it her destiny to adore the scoundrel. He flatters her; declares his passion; makes an
appointment with her; prevails upon her by his arts;
uses wine or opiates, and makes her wholly his before
she has fullly recovered from her bewilderment. In a
few weeks the villain abandons her, and she either
destroys herself, or seeks to drown memory and conscience in a life of shame.
Few persons are aware to what an extent this species of debauchery is practiced. Many of the proprietresses of houses of prostitution are in league with
the fortune-tellers, and pay them for every poor creature that falls into their clutches through the super
148 
FORTUNE-TELLERS.
natural agents. The police understand this, as they do
most of the villainies of the city; but they are often
made blind and deaf.
God help the poor woman who comes to this sinful
City penniless and unbefriended!  He may temper the
wind to the shorn lamb; but He protects her not from
the villains who beset her path on every side.
149 
tCHAPTER XV.
,THE BOHEMIANS.
THE term Bohemian, in its modern sense, has been
erroneously applied to gipsies-the wandering, vagabond, aimless, homeless class, who, coming originally
from India, it is believed, entered Europe in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and scattered themselves
through Russia, Hungary, Spain and England.
In Paris, more than a quarter of a century ago, the
name was given to the literary and artistic people, who
were as clever as careless; who lived in to-day, and
despised to-morrow; who preferred the pleasure and
the triumph of the hour to the ease of prosperity and
the assurance of abiding fame. Henri Murger, in his
Vie de Boheme, first gave a succinct and clear account
of the peculiarities, habits and opinions of the true
Zingara; lived the life, and died the death, he had so
eloquently described as the disposition and destiny of
his class. 
Since then, all persons of literary or artistic proclivities, regardless of conventionality, believing in the
sovereignty of the individual, and indifferent to the
most solemn tone of Mrs. Grundy, have received the
Bohemian baptism. Journalists generally, especially
since the War correspondents during the Rebellion received the title, have been called Bohemians all the 
THE BOHEMIAX\NS.
country over, anacl will be, no doubt, until the encl of
the century.
Bohemian, particularly in New-York, has indeed
come to be a sort of synonym for a newspaper writer,
and not without reason, as he is usually no favorite of
fortune, and his gifts, whatever they may be, rarely
include that of practicality. His profession, enabling
him to see the shams of the World and the hollowness
of reputation, renders him indifferent to fame, distrustful of appearances, and skeptical of humanity.   He
sinks into a drudge, relieved by spasms of brilliancy
and cynicism; rails at his condition, and clings to it tenaciously. Bohemians, however, are older than Henri
Murger, or the fourteenth century, or the Christian era.
Alexander of Macedon, Alcibiades, Aspasia, Hypatia,
Cleopatra, Markl Antony and Julius Caesar, were all
Bohemians —splendid and dazzling Bohemians, the
best of their kind, the highest exponents of the antique
school, of magnificent powers, and melancholy, but
picturesque endings.
The Bohemian now-a-days is popularly supposed to
be a man of some culture and capacity, who ignores
law and order; who is entirely indifferent to public
opinion; who disregards clean linen, his word or his
debts; who would borrow the last dollar of his best
friend, never intending to repay it, and glory in dishonoring his friend's wife or sister.
That is the common idea; but I am glad no such
class exists, however many individuals there may be
of the kind. It certainly is not true of journalists,
who are quite as honest and honorable as members of
any other profession, and who continue poor enough
to prevent any suspicion to the contrary.
151 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The Metropolis does contain a number of wretched
men, ill-paid-mostly foreigners-who act occasionally
as reporters for the daily and weekly papers, and who
are driven to every shift, and out of every shirt, by
press of poverty and the exigency of circumstance.
They are not journalists, however, any more than
stage-sweepers are dramatic artists. They are to be
pitied, though, in spite of their faults, for which society
and temperament are in the main responsible.
The original Bohemians, in this City and country
were fifteen or twenty journalists, the greater part of
them young men of ability and culture, who desired,
particularly in regard to musical and dramatic criticism, to give tone and color to, if not to control, the
public press, not from any mercenary consideration,
but from an earnest intellectual egotism.  They had
their rise and association about twelve years ago, and
flourished up to the commencement of the War, which
broke up the Bohemian fraternity, not only here, but
in other cities.
At their head, as well by age as experience and a
certain kind of domineering dogmatism, was Henry
Clapp, Jr., who had been connected with a dozen papers, and who was one of the first to introduce the
personal style of Paris feuilleton into the literary
weekllies. He was nearly twice as old as most of his
companions; was witty, skeptical, cynical, daring, and
had a certain kind of magnetism that drew and held
men, though he was neither in person nor manner,
what would be e;-lled attractive.
Soon after the inception of the informal society, he
established the Saturday Press, to which the brotherhood contributed for money when they could get it,
152 
THE BOHEMIANS.
and for love when money could not be had. The
Saturday Press was really the raciest and brightest
weekly ever published here. It often sparkled with
wit, and always shocked the orthodox with its irreverence and "dangerous" opinions.
Clapp kept up the paper for a year, when it was
suspended. After its death he twice revived it; but
its brilliancy would not keep it alive without business
management, and it was too independent and iconoclastic to incur the favor of any large portion of the
community.
The third attempt to establish the Press failed about
three years since; and Clapp, bitter from his many
failures, now lives a careless life; writes epigramatic
paragraphs and does the dramatic for one of the weeklies. He is stated to be over fifty; but his mind is
vigorous as ever, his tongue as fluent, and his pen as
sharp.
E. G. P. ("Ned") Wilkins, of the Herald, was another prominent member of the fraternity, and one of
the few attaches of that journal who have ever gained
much individual reputation. He was a pungent and
strong writer, at the same time correct and graceful,
and had the requisite amount of dogmatism and selfconsciousness to render him acceptable to his guild and
satisfactory to himself. When he promised far better
things than he had ever performed, he died, leaving
no other record than the file of newspapers-the silent
history of countless unremembered men of genius.
William Winter, who came here from Boston, after
graduating at Harvard, because he believed New-York
offered the best field for writers, was a contributor to the
Saturday Press and other weeklies; composed many
clever poems, and did whatever literary work he could
153 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
find at hand; supporting himself comfortably by his
pen, and gaining considerable reputation, particularly
as a poet. A few years ago he married a literary woman and has not since been much of a Bohemian; for
Hymen is an enemy to the character, and domesticity
its ultimate destroyer. He is now dramatic critic of
the Tribune, and a very hard worker; deeming it a
duty to perform whatever labor comes to him without seeking.
Edward H. House, for years connected with the
Tribune, was a fourth friend of Clapp and also a
Saturday Press contributor. He has quitted journalism, at least for the time, and made a good deal of
money, it is said, by sharing the authorship of some,
and being the agent in this country of all of Boucicault's plays. House is a good fellow, handsome, wellbred, winning in manners; is still a bachelor; does
little work and gets a good deal for it; and enjoys
himself as a man of the World ought
Fitz James O'Brien, who made his debut in the literary world, as the author of  Diamond Lens in the
Atlantic Monthly ten years ago, and who was a generous, gifted, rollicking Irishman, was one of the cardinals in the high church of Bohemia, until the breaking
out of the War.  He entered the field and distinguished
himself for desperate courage until he was killed in
Virginia and forgotten. O'Brien had a warm heart, a
fine mind and a liberal hand; but he was impulsive to
excess and too careless of his future for his own good.
Charles F. Browne, having been made famous
through his "Artemus Ward" articles while local editor
of the Cleveland (0.) Plaindealer, and come to the Me
154 
THE BOHEMIANS.
tropolis, where clever men naturally tend, worked to
advantage his droll vein for the Saturday Press, Vanity
Fair and Mrs. Grundy. He was a pure Bohemian,
thoroughly good-natured, incapable of malice toward
any one, with a capacity for gentleness and tenderness,
like a woman's, open-handed, imprudent, seeing everything at a queer angle, and always wondering at his
own success. He drew about him in New-York a
number of the knights of the quill; gained their esteem and affection, and left a vacancy in the circle and
their sympathies when his kindly soul went out across
the sea.
George Arnold was a very clever writer in prose
and verse, a regular contributor to the Saturday Press,
and remarkable for his versatility. He had many
gifts; was good-looking, graceful, brilliant. His easy,
almost impromptu poems, full of sweetness and suggestive sadness, have been published since his death,
which took place three years ago, and been widely
admired. He sang in a careless way the pleasures and
the pains of love, the joys of wine, the charm of indolence, the gayety and worthlessness of existence in
the true Anacreontic vein. From such a temperament as his, earnest and continued exertion was not to
be expected.   Like Voiture he trifled life away in
pointed phrases and tuneful numbers; but gained a
large circle of devoted friends. At three and thirty
he slipped out of the World which had been much
and little to him, and left behind him many sincere
mourners who speak of him still with words of love
and moistened eyes.
William North, a young Englishman,-he had quarreled with his parents who were wealthy, and come
155 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
to this country to live by his pen,-was also of'the
Bohemian tribe. He found the struggle harder than
he had anticipated; for, though a man of talent and
culture, he lacked directness of purpose and capacity
for continuous work. His disappointment soured him,
and poverty so embittered his sensitive nature that he
destroyed himself, leaving a sixpence, all the money
he had, and'the "Slave of the Lamp," a manuscript
novel, which he had not been able to sell, but for
which the notoriety of the mournful tragedy secured
a publisher.
Mortimer Thompson, who had become a popular
humorist under the sobriquet of "Doesticks," and who
was at the hight of his popularity, was a Bohemian in
those days, and consorted with the clever crew. He
was then a member of the Tribune staff. Since that
time he has been a war correspondent; had various
changes of fortune, and no longer enjoys his old fame.
He still lives in New-York, however, and does the
drollery for some of the weekly papers over his old nom
de plume.
Charles Dawson Shanly, a well-known litterateur,
Harry Neal (deceased), Frank Wood (deceased), contributors to Vanity Fair and other publications of
the time, Charles B. Seymour, now dramatic critic of
the Times, Franklin J. Ottarson, for five and twenty
years a city journalist, nearly all of which he has
spent in the servive of the Tribune; Charles Gayler, a playwright; John S. Dusolle of the Sunday Times,
and others were members of the fraternity. They met
frequently at Pfaff's restaurant, No. 653 Broadway;
had late suppers, and were brilliant with talk over
beer and pipes for,. several years. Those were merry
156 
THE BOHEMIANS.
and famous nights, and many bright conceits and witticisms were discharged over the festive board.
The Bohemians had feminine companions at Pfafi's
frequently. There was Ada Clare, known as here then
as the queen of Bohemia, and of course a writer for
the Saturday Press. She was of Irish extraction; a
large-hearted eccentric woman who had property in
the South, but lost it during the War. She afterward
published a novel, "Only a Woman's Heart," said to
have been a transcript of some of her own experiences,
and went upon the stage. The last heard of her she
was playing in a Galveston (Texas) theatre, and had
been married to the manager. There was a pretty
little creature, known as Getty Gay, probably an assumed name, and Mary Fox, both actresses; Jennie
Danforth, a writer for the weekly journals; Annie
Deland, still on the boards, and Dora Shaw, who was the
best Camille on the American stage. The ill-fated
Adah Menken, also went to Pfafs occasionally; and
altogether the coterie enjoyed itself intellectually and
socially as no coterie has since. But all that has passed
now.
The War, as I have said, interfered with Bohemian
progress.   Many  have become apostates now,  and
others deny all connection with the fraternity. The
order in its old form is practically extinct; but without the distinguishing name or any organization, but
better, and higher, and freer, and purer, it exists, and
does good, though it may be invisible, work.
I might give a long list of city writers and journalists well known throughout the country, who are Bohemians in the best sense, but who dislike the title
because so many unworthy persons have made the
name repulsive by claiming it as theirs.
157 
TiE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Certain reporters are largely of the pseudo-Bohemian class, and do more to degrade journalism than all
the worthy members of the profession to elevate and
purify it. And for the reason that the former are impudent, sycophantic and unprincipled, while the latter
are modest, independent and honorable. If newspaper proprietors would adopt the wise policy of employing good men at good salaries, the disreputable class
would find their level and cease to be a nuisance, at
least in the vicinity of Printing-Itouse Square.
The true disciples are men and women who are
charitable where the World condemns; who protect
where society attacks; who have the capacity and
courage to think for themselves; the earnestness and
truthfulness to unmask shams; the faith to believe sin
the result of ignorance, and love and culture eternal
undoers of evil and of wrong. They honestly discharge every duty and every debt. Their ways are
pleasant and their manners sweet. They are misunderstood because they are in advance of the time, and
have comprehensive views the great mass cannot take.
Such Bohemians are found in the pulpit, on the
bench, on the tripod; and every day they are increasing the area of Thought, the breadth of Charity, the
depth of Love.  Children of Nature, they go not about
with solem faces, declaring after the common fashion,
the degeneracy of the age and the wickedness of humanity. They have a hope and creed born of reason
and spiritual insight; believing that God and Good
are identically the same; that Progress is onward and
upward forever and ever.
158 
CHAPTER XVI.
THIE LAGER-BEER GARDENS.
THE difference between a lager-beer saloon and a
lager-beer garden among our German fellow-citizens is
very slight; the garden, for the most part, being a
creation of the brain. To the Teutonic fancy, a hole
in a roof, a fir-tree in a tub, and a sickly vine or two
in a box, creeping feebly upward unto death, constitute a garden. Perhaps their imagination is assisted
by their potations, more copious than powerful, which
enable it to conjure up groves and grottoes, and walks,
and fountains that are not there in reality. Be this as
it may, the Germans accept what is called a garden as
such, and neither criticise nor complain of its striking
inadequacies.                               e
New-York, probably, has a German population of
one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand; and
it is a part of the social duty of every one of these, if
not a point in his worldly religion, to drink beer,-the
quantity varying with the intensity of his nationality.
Germans and beer are related to each other as cause
and effect; and, one given, the other must follow of necessity.
Manhattan, from the battery to Hiarlem bridge, is
covered with beer-saloons and gardens. They are in
longitudinal and lateral directions, in the broad thor 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
oughfares of Broadway and Third avenue, and in the
out-of-the-way and narrow quarters of Ann and Thames
streets. The whole island literally foams and froths
with the national beverage of Rhineland; and, from
sunrise until midnight, (Sunday excepted, if you have
faith in the Excise Law), the amber hued liquid flows
constantly from more than ten thousand kegs, and is
poured into twenty times as many thirsty throats, and
highly-eupeptic and capacious stomachs.
There must be in New-York three or four thousand
lager-beer establishments, kept and patronized almost
exclusively by Germans, who tend to beer-selling in
this country as naturally as Italians to image-making
and organ-grinding. These establishments are of all
sizes and kinds, from the little hole in the corner, with
one table and two chairs, to such extensive concerns
as the Atlantic garden, in the Bowery, and Hamilton
and Lyon parks, in the vicinity of Harlem, not to mention their superabundance in Jersey-City, HIoboken,
Brooklyn, Hudson-City, Weehawken and every other
point witln easy striking distance of the Metropolis
by rail and steam.
Of course, Sunday is the day of all the week for
patronage of such places, for Teutonic recreation and
bibulous enjoyment; and hence the bitter opposition
to the Excise Law on the part of the Germans, the
greater part of whom are Republicans, but who are not
less hostile on that account to the Republican measure.
They are determined to have beer on Sundays, and
are making every possible effort to render the odious
law inoperative by declaring it unconstitutional. They
have opened their purses wide, which they rarely do
unless terribly in earnest, to regain what they believe
160 
THE LAGER-BEER GARDENS
to be their rights; and they will never cease agitating
the question until permitted to absorb beer when,
where, and to what extent they please.
The question, Will lager-beer intoxicate? first arose,
I believe, on this island, and, very naturally too, considering the quality of the manufactured article. I have
sometimes wondered, however, there could be any
question about it, so inferior in every respect is the
beer made and sold in the Metropolis. It is undoubtedly the worst in the United-States-weak, insipid,
unwholesome, and unpalatable; but incapable of intoxication, I should judge, even if a man could hold
enough to float the Dunderberg. It is impossible'to
get a good glass of beer in New-York, and persons
who have not drank it in the West have no idea what
poor stuff is here called by the name.
One would suppose the vast body of Germans in
this City would insist upon having excellent lager; but
they do not.  They seem quite satisfied with the thin,
semi-nauseating liquid that tastes generally as if it were
the product of aloes, brown-soap and long-standing
Croton; and are not nauseated over its excessive absorption.
Pe'radventure they regard it as they do their "gardens,"-idealize it completely. Their palate tells them
it is a wretched cheat; an insult to the German sense
of appreciation; an indignity offered to their digestion.
But their imagination makes it what they like; and
they drain their glasses with the flavor of their fancy
moistening their lips.
The Germans are an eminently gregarious and social
people, and all their leisure is combined with and comprehends lager. They never dispense with it. They
11
161 
THE. GREAT METROPOLIS.
drink it in the morning, at nlaoon, in the evening and
late at night; during their labors and their rest; alone
and with their friends; and yet we never hear of their
floating away upon the swollen stream of their own imbibitions, or of their ribs cracking and falling.'off, like
the hoops of barrels, from over-expansion.   The chief
end of man has long been a theme of discussion among
theologians and philosophers. The chief end of thatportion who emigrate from Fatherland is to drink lager,
'under all circumstances and on all occasions; and the
end is faithfully and perseveringly carried out.
The drinking of the Germans, however, is free from
the vices of the Americans. The Germans indulge in
their lager rationally, even when they seem to carry
indulgence to excess. They do not squander their
means; they do not waste their time; they do not
quarrel; they do not fight; they do not ruin their own
hopes and the happiness of those who love them, as
do we of hotter blood, finer fibre, and intenser organism. They take lager as we do oxygen into our lungs,appearing to live and thrive upon it. Beer is one of
the social virtues; Gambrinus a patron saint of every
family,-the protecting deity of every well-regulated
household.
The Germans combine domesticity with their dissipation,-it is that to them literally,-taking with them
to the saloon or garden their wives and sisters and
sweethearts, often their children, who are a check to
any excess or impropriety, and with whom they depart
at a seemly hour, overflowing with beer andl bonhomm'ie, possessed of those two indispensables of peacean easy mind and a perfect digestion.
Look at them as they once were, and will be again,
162 
THE LAGER-BEER GARDENS.
in Lyon or Hamilton park, on a Sunday afternoon or
evening. They are assembled at the popular resort to
the number of four or five thousand,-men, women and
children, persons of every grade and calling, but all
speaking the same language and liking the same drink,
which perhaps, more than aught else, makes them a
homogeneous and sympathetic people. How entirely
contented, and even joyous, are they! The humblest
and hardest toilers are radiant with self-satisfaction, as
if there were neither labor nor care to-morrow. They
drink, and laugh and chat energetically and boisterously, as if they really relished it, and smoke, and sing
and dance, and listen appreciatively to music, dayafter
day, and night after night, never tiring of their pleasures, never seeking for a change.
Their life is simple, and included within a little
round. Dyspepsia and nervous disorders trouble them
not.   Every day they labor;  every night they rest,
laying a solid bar of sleep between the days; each
year adding something to their worldly store; always
living below their means; thrilled by no rapturous
glow; disturbed by no divine ideals; speculative, but
calm; thoughtful, but healthy; comfortable, but thrifty;
resolved to have and own something, if years are given
to them, and making their resolution good in real estate, brick houses, and government securities.
How can they enjoy themselves so? think the pale,
taciturn, eager-looking Americans at the table opposite. What do they find to talk about so volubly, and
laugh at so loudly? How eloquent and witty they
must be!
Neither the one nor the other, you will discover, if
you listen. They are simple as Arcadians. Little things
163 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
amuse, trifles interest thlem. The commonest circum-'
stances, the mere mention of which would weary you,
my American friend, are subjects of protracted discussion; and they roar over what would seem to you the
merest insipidities. You may be as witty as Voltaire
and sparkling as Rochefoucault to your companions.
They only smile and look bored again. The most
expensive wines stand untasted before you. The great
glory of the night, and the beauties of Beethoven and
Mozart fall upon you and your friends unmoved; while
your German neighbors drink them' all in with their
lager, and burst into rapturous applause
Subtle influences those of race and temperament,
which nothing can change!   Ours is a melancholy
brotherhood over whom the Starry Banner waves, and
we have purchased our freedom and progress at the
price of much of our content.   Lager delights you
not, nor Limberger either; and the centuries-distant
blood of CEdipus is in your veins.
It is a goodly sight to see the Germans, who eat and
drink, but eat as they do everything else, with a purpose. No elaborate dainties, no recherche' viands, no
delicate entremets for them. Brown-bread and caraway seed, sweitzerkase and Lirmberger, which no nostril or stomach out of Germany can endure, solid ham,
Bologna sausage and blood-puddings appease their
vigorous appetites, and preserve their ruddy health;
while pipes of strong and by no means choice tobacco
yield them all the repose they require.
What a racket they keep up in the pauses of the
music, even while it is being played. Food, and drink,
and talk, and laughter, hour after hour.  They raise
their voices; they grow red in the face; they gesticu
164 
THE LAGER-BEER GARDENS.
-late; they strike the tables; they seem on the point of
mortal conflict; and an American who knew them not
would believe murder was about to be committed.
But it is only their way. They are merely discussing the last masquerade, or the claims of Sigel to military reputation.  Another round of lager-each person pays for his own glass-will mollify any asperity
that may have arisen. Another plate of sweitzer will
change the theme, if it be an unpleasant one, and a
cabbage-leaf cigar will dissolve into thin air the last
traces of ill-temper.
The Atlantic Garden is a favorite resort of the Germans, and one of the noticeable places of New-York.
It is all under cover, and capable of accommodating
twenty-five hundred or three thousand people. It has
a large bar-room in front, and smaller ones inside; a
shooting gallery, billiard and bowling saloons, a huge
orchestrion, which performs during the day, and a fine
band that gives selections from celebrated composers
during the evening. The entire place is filled with
small tables and benches, which are crowded every
evening with drinkers and smokers. A confusion of
ringing glasses, of loud voices speaking German in
high key, of laughter and strains of soft music, float up
through tobacco smoke to the arched roof until midnight, when the musicians put away their instruments,
the lights are turned out, and the vast place is locked
up.
The Atlantic is the most cosmopolitan place of entertainment in the City; for, though the greater part
of its patrons are Germans, every other nationality is
represented there. French, Irish, Spaniards, English,
Italians, Portuguese, even Chinamen and Indians, may
165 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
be seen through the violet atmosphere of the famous
Atlantic; while Americans, who have learned to like
lager-even that made in Gotham-and who- are fond
of music, sit at the little tables, and look like doomed
spirits beside their round-faced, square-browed, jolly
neighbors. Much may be had there for little, which
is less recommendation to the Americans than to the
Germans; and they who desire cheap concerts-one
may sit there all the evening without a single glass of
beer, if he is so minded-can have them every evening
in the year.
With all their industry, and economy, and thrift, the
Germans find ample leisure to enjoy themselves, and
at little cost. Their pleasures are never expensive.
They can obtain more for $1 than an American for
$10, and can, and Cdo, grow rich upon what our people
throw away. They are odd compounds of sentiment
and materialism, of poetry and prose, of generous
emotion and narrow life, of affection and selfishness, of
dullness and shrewdness, of romance and practicality,
of opposites of many kinds, but altogether blending
into praiseworthy prudence, honesty, industry and enterprise.   They are always endeavoring to improve
their condition;.and, from their constant self-seeking,
they soon acquire property, carefully educate their
children, ally their descendants to those of AngloSaxon blood, and in a few generations become as thoroughly American as the Americans themselves.
166
'k 
CHAPTER XV11I.
THE CHURCHES.
THE churches are a power in New-York.  They are
excellent in themselves, and but for them the City
would be much worse than it is; for they have a restraining influence upon the community, and compel
Vice to pay a certain deference to Virtue.
The Metropolis has about five hundred churches,
of almost every denomination under the sun, and the
value of the entire church property on the island is
estimated at $300,000,000. Much of the most desirable real estate here is owned by ecclesiastical societies,
and additions to it are constantly being made. Trinity corporation alone is said to be worth $60,000,000,
and yet its members feel so very poor that they frequently solicit charity, and never ring the chimes on
secular festal days without compelling the City to pay
for the discordant and painfully monotonous tintinnabulation.
The architecture of the churches is an ornament to
New-York, and the grounds surrounding them are among
the handsomest here. Few private churches can afford to
occupy so much space as the religious edifices do,perhaps because the orthodox who are truly charitable
reverse the expression, believing they lend to the poor
by giving to the Lord. It is certainly creditable to 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
the churches that they are willing to retain such ample
inclosures, even in the heart of the Metropolis, instead
of selling them, as is so often done elsewhere. There
must be some faith in and some reverence for religion
when it is superior to pecuniary interests; for the
purse-strings are often drawn so tight as to strangle
the soul.
Broadway, Fifth avenue, Twenty-third, and other
principal streets can boast of the finest and most expensive churches in the country.  Their elaborateness
and elegance are hot confined to sect either; for the
Presbyterians, the Episcopalians, the Baptists, the
Methodists and Catholics vie with each other in rearing showy temples in honor of their God. They evidently think His sense of beauty equal to His sense of
mercy, and that prayers from gilded altars will be
more likely to propitiate Him than if they ascended
from homely pulpits.    The early Christians believed
otherwise, and the groves were the first temples of the
Deity; but theology, like other things, must advance
and change, and the most sacred creed can not be
wholly conservative.
No reasoning mind can doubt the excellent influence of churches, whatever their denomination, upon
most natures; and though there may be, and doubtless
are, those who are a law and religion to themselves,
requiring neither form nor restraint, confirmation, discipline and example are of vast importance and benefit
to the mass of believers. That religion is often employed as the cloak of sin proves nothing against religion, but merely the disposition of humanity to hypocrisy. It is to be regretted, however, that religion
has grown so much a matter of fashion and respecta
168 
THE CHURCHES.
bility as to furnish targets for the satirical arrows of
skeptics and of scoffers.
Especially is this the case in New York, and it is
becoming more and more so every year. Hundreds
of persons of both sexes deem themselves privileged
to sin all the week, if they attend Divine service on
Sunday.  They seem to imagine Jehovah attracted by
glare, and pomp, and lavishness; and IHis eyes so dazzled by material splendor that He cannot, or will not,
perceive their most palpable defects.   They imitate
the French nobleman of the ancient regime, who declared the Lord would think twice before HIe concluded to damn a personage of his quality.
"Purchase or rent a pew," the church fashionable
appears to say, "and you shall be absolved from wrongdoing."
"Be rich and much shall be forgiven you."
"The way of the transgressor is hard; but the way
of the poor man is harder."
" It is easy to obtain a pardon of heaven when you
get it in a Bible with gold clasps."
Look into the stately granite edifice.  But before
you do so, see if you are ill proper guise. You wear
a suit of fashionably cut black; your boots fit neatly;
your groves are fresh, and of Courooisier's make; you
have the odor of jasmine on your person;  you can
enter unquestioned and sanctified, particularly-if you
are cldstingue in appearance, and look like a person of
substantial means.   The  portly,  oleaginous, rather
pompous sexton will beam upon you, and show you to
a seat with alacrity. There is a species of gentleness
and courtesy engendered by Christianity, you think,
as you receive the honors of the temple.   While you
169 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
are so occupied, a pale, quiet-looking man enters, in a
threadbare suit, though "gentleman" is written in his
face, and over all his form. The above sexton scowls
at him a moment, and turns away. He walks nervously
and blunderingly up the aisle. No one opens a pew door for hiim. He glances around uneasily, and his
color deepens as he turns and walks out. He is not a
man.  He is of the peculiar class styled "persons" by
upper servants in the fashionable avenue.
HIe certainly must have been a stranger; otherwise
he would have known better than to obtrude upon a
fashionable congregation in Broadway. He probably
mistook it for Sixth avenue, where the Creator listens
to invocations from His creatures regardless of their
apparel.
This church with its congregation is a pleasant vision.
No wonder the people repeat the litany so gently, and
after the manner prescribed by Mrs. General. They
are too prosperous to feel the need of worship. They
give the idea of patronizing the Deity, as if they said,
"Good Lord, we approve of Thee while Thou assurest
us steady and liberal incomes.  Be careful and watch
over our interests. Make the society of Heaven exclusive if Thou would'st have us come there. Don't
permit the vulgar to profane it. If they do, we must
withhold our presence, and that would grieve Thee,
poor God, who wert made for us alone, as Thou
knowest in Thy wisdom."
How precise and elegant is everything and everybody in the church! The music is executed faultlessly,
and after the style of the Academy.  You forget the
words and place in the skillful execution of the trills
and bravuras.
-170 
THE CHURcHEs.
"The members of the choir sing well," you whisper
to your neighbor.
"Why should they not?" he answers.  "They are
paid very liberally for it," as if he designed intimating
to Providence that He should appreciate the favor done
Him.
The pastor is daintily dressed, and reads the prayers
with arduous affectation and an almost total omission
of the R sound. He shows his delicate hand to advantage, and uses his perfumed handkerchief gracefully, and exactly at the right periods.
The worshipers are costumed as carefully as if they
were at the opera.  The building is thoroughly ventilated, and redolent of the soft, almost voluptuous,
odor which emanates from the toilets of refined women.
They look devout with a mathematical uniformity and
precision.   They fare sumptuously; they pay their
minister $10,000 a year, and are acceptable in the
sight of Delmonico and the Deity.
How pious appears that elderly man! Well he
might; for his remaining years are few, and the most
profligate can give to the service of Heaven the little
period in which sin is a physical impossibility. And
yet he is a Sabbatarian merely. To-morrow he will
falsify and cheat his best friend in an operation in
Broad street.   His colossal fortune has been  built
upon misrepresentations-upon the adroit tricks which
plain people would call stealing.
Yonder handsome woman is earnest in her orisons.
The tears are under her eye-lids; her white forehead
is wrinkled with intensity of emotion. She is praying
that her love, who is across the sea, may return to her
safely, and kiss her fashionable anxieties away.  Of
171 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
her disloyalty to her husband-who, with head resting
devoutly on his hands, is reflecting on the last fall in
"domestics"- she thinks not; for long custom and
much passion have reconciled her to her sin.
This sweet-faced girl is peering through her open
fingers in envy at the bonnet of her next-pew neigh bor, which is twice as pretty as her own, and which,
to employ her own phrase, she is dying to possess.
She forgets her Bible and her prayer-book in her
absorption upon that "sweet hat," and all her religion
would not enable her to forgive the "creature" for her
good fortune in securing the dainty pattern.
One of the pillars of the church, as he is called,
should be called one of the sleepers; for, with his head
resting on his hand, he has for the past half-hour been
unconscious of his whereabout.   Casuists have said,
"Man cannot sin in sleep."  Perhaps that is the reason
so many virtuous souls slumber through Sunday service.
Let us go further up town, to even a more liberal
church, to which, a cynical wit has said, "No man who
loves his wife, or a woman who loves her husband is
admissible." Without aught that can be termed a
creed, many of the bravest and truest spirits gather
there every Sabbath, and gain strength and consolation from the teachings of their skeptically Christian
clergyman. Most of his congregation believe more in
good works than in faith; and yet the best of them
are weak, and fail of their intent, as all of us must do,
strive as we may.
The organ peals through this crowded temple, where
many are kneeling, even into the street. The robes
are rich; the incense is aromatic; the music is choice.
172 
THE CHURcHES.
I-ow entirely devout do these humble worshippers appear? They bend almost to the marble pavement;
they seem to agonize with repentance. Unquestionably they are contrite. They resolve to sin no more;
and to-morrow they violate half the commandments.
The spirit may be strong; but the flesh is weak. Is
it not so with all of us, whatever our belief? What
is life but misdeed and repentance, and repentance and
misdeed?  It may be true that we do what we must,
and call it by the best name we can.
The Metropolis is not favored, according to its size
and pretensions, with particularly able or eloquent
divines; though if you take the word of each congregation, there are as many men of genius in the pulpit
as there are churches.
Ministers in the City, thought to be as gifted as
Chrysostom or Thomas Aquinas, have power to put
persons troubled with nervous disorders more profoundly to sleep than a dormouse in mid-winter. Some
have good thoughts and much learning; but they spoil
all by their manner, and they would, though they had
the thought of Shakspeare and the style of Plato.
Pulpit oratory has long been peculiar, not to say
vicious, mainly from the fact that clergymen have
feared to become theatrical.
So far as I liave observed, there is no imminent
danger of the clerical profession falling into that fault.
Let them not be alarmed. They can change their
style greatly, and yet never be suspected of dramatic
tendencies. Let them be convinced without a revela tion from Heaven, that strained pronunciation, and
drawling, and the twisting of syllables out of their
recognition, are no more agreeable to the Eternal
173 
iTHE GREAT MIETROPOLIS.
Father than naturalness and the common graces of
elocution.
If we have so much fashionable religion in NewYork, we have more that is earnest, true, devoted.
We have men and women whose lives are a long sacrifice and offering of their highest and best for the
good and happiness of their fellows.
There are humble and wayside temples of God,
where elegance is not the price of virtue, but where
charity is so regarded still.
We have men and women devoid of all sentimental
and sensational sensibilities, who, in silent ways, bind
up wounded hearts, minister to the needy, (and they
are of many and different creeds,) and quarrel not
with those seeking their own way to Heaven-believing all true Christianity consists in doing unto others
as ye would that they should do unto you.
If great hypocrisy, and untruth, and insincerity be
masked with religion, there are virtues hidden in it
so deeply that only he who seeks for good in all, with
a sympathetic spirit, can find them, and all the purer
and meeker for their concealment and unsuspected
being.
174 
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE THEATERS.
WHAT is known in dramatic circles as a metropolitan
reputation or success, and the need that an artiste
should be indorsed here before acceptance by the
"provinces," seems to have become positively indispensable. There is incalculable advantage in making a
first appearance and gaining favor here; and the advantage is not merely apparent, it is actual. It enables
agents and managers to make engagements elsewhere;
and the country is always anxious to know the character
and extent of the reception in New-York.
New-York almost always includes fifty to a hundred
thousand strangers from every quarter of the Union;
and these compose the great body of our playgoers
and amusement-seekers. Even when cultivated and
fastidious, they are in no mood or mind for criticism
on such occasions.  They rush to the theater to get
rid of themselves,-to kill an evening; and their satisfaction is a foregone conclusion. It matters little to
them whether it be Wallack's, Tony Pastor's, the
Academy, or the San Francisco Minstrels,-an elegant
comedy, a new opera, a leering ballet-girl, or a Virginia break-down  They go to enjoy themselves, and
they do, without regarding the entertainment artistically, or analyzing the source of their gratification.
New-York has usually about twelve theaters, or 
TIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
places where lyric and dramatic entertainments are
given; and they are so well patronized generally, that if
their managers do not become rich, it must be because
of their improvidence. Four of our theaters, not to
speak of Barnum's Museum, were burned within a year.
Barnum's museums, both the old and the new, were
serious losses to the country people, who regarded them
as the loudest-roaring lions of the town. The famous
establishment at the corner of Ann street and Broadway, where the Herald now stands, was for years the
center of attraction for our rural cousins, who felt after
they had looked on the "one hundred thousand curiosities" the great showman advertised, and had visited
"the lecture room," that the best of the City had been
seen. When it was burned, and the daily journals
printed burlesque accounts of the conflicts of the
stuffed beasts and the thrilling achievements of the
wax figures, many of our rustic friends believed the
narratives sincere; throbbed with intense sympathy,
and mourned over the irreparable loss.
The Academy has been rebuilt, and new and better
dramatic temples will supply the place of the others.
New theatres are now either in process of erection or
projected; so there is slender prospect of any diminution of histrionic entertainments in the City.
The Academy, though incomplete in its interior arrangement, is much of an improvement on the old
opera house, and may be considered a graceful and
elegant cage for our Tuscan birds of song. Taste for
the opera, like that for olives, is generally acquiredthe result of culture; and, during the past ten years it
has grown popular, not only in New-York, but in other
cities.
176 
NEW Y ORK PILOT BOAT.
BAI3 \IT  I'S M I?Il'U;M, 1860.
o, N,
O.r c  
THE THEATERS.
The early embarkers in lyric enterprises had hard
fortunes and grievous failures here; and Max. Maretzek's recent success has not been very brilliant.  He
came to America very poor, and according to his account he has been losing money ever since. How a
man who had nothing to begin with can constantly be
declining in means, and yet have a comfortable income
can be determined only by the musical scale peculiar
to the Continent.
The opera in New-York though thoroughly appreciated, and enjoyed, is supported as much for fashion
as for art's sake. At least one-third, if not one-half,
of the boxes are nightly filled by persons who would
not go there if it were not the mode, and if it did not
give them an opportunity to indulge their love of
dress.
To have a box at the opera is considered as essential by pretenders to the haut ton as to have a house on
Fifth avenue, or a pew in Grace church. Consequently
one sees men and women in full dress boring themselves mercilessly in Irving Place or Pike's Opera
House night after night, and declaring they are delighted, when they cannot distinguish a cavatina from
a recitative. Those indifferent to the opera at first
come to like it after a while, if they have any ear for
time or tune, and even to have a passion for it at last;
so that fashion may finally create what it originally affected.
Operas have been better and more effectively presented during the past few seasons, and this community has become sufficiently cultivated and discrimi
nating to demand a certain degree of excellence in
the lyric drama.
12
177 
THE GREAT METROPOLIs.
Pike's Opera House has been called the handsomest
theater in the world, though a little more simplicity in
its interior would be desirable. Its vestibule is beautiful and imposing, and the auditorium, when lighted,
is brilliant in the extreme. The Opera House somewhat resembles the Grand Opera at Paris, and is much
finer than the famous La Scala at Milan or the San Carlo
at Naples, which are great, dreary, dingy, uncomfortable houses that few persons admire after having visited them. It is very remarkable that Samuel N. Pike,
a comparative stranger, should have built with his individual means an opera house at an expense of nearly
$1,000,000, when a crowd of wealthy New-Yorkers
were with difficulty induced to put up the Academy
of Music, even with the privilege of occupying the
best seats by virtue of being stockholders.
Pike is certainly enterprising and generous to the
verge of audacity; for he is the only man in the City
capable of expending a great fortune on what at the
time of its expenditure gave little hope of return. He
has lately sold his Opera House to the Erie Railway
Company for an advance on its cost; but the theater
will be retained, it is said. I fear it won't be, unless
it is found to be a good investment, which is not probable, so far is its location-Eighth avenue and Twentythird street-removed from the fashionable quarter. I
sincerely hope the Opera House won't be disturbed, for
New-York cannot afford to be deprived of so elegant a
temple of art.
For Booth's new theater, Fifth avenue and Twentythird street, large promises have been made. It is not
yet finished; but it will be superior, no doubt, to any
other theater in the United States. Edwin Booth has
178 
THIE THEATERS.
.
built it, little regarding the expense, with all the improvements that the older theaters lack. It is designed
by the young tragedian for his home of the legitimate,
especially the Shakspearean drama, and will, it is expected, do much to resist the tendency of the time to
merely sensational plays.
Wallack's is, and has been for years, the best theater
in the United States, and is quite as good as any in
Europe outside of Paris. It is devoted almost entirely
to comedy, and has no "stars," as that term is usually
employed, but the most capable and best-trained company that can be selected at home or abroad.
Plays without any particular merit succeed, because
they are so carefully put upon the stage, so fitly costumed and so conscientiously enacted. It is more after
the style of the French theaters than any other in the
country. The old stage traditions and time-honored
conventionalisms are given up there. Mouthing, ranting, and attitudinizing are not in vogue; and men and
women appear and act as such, and represent art instead of artificiality.
It is commonly said that New-York goes to Wallack's; and so it does more than to any other place of
amusement. But lovers of good acting from every
section usually avail themselves of a sojourn in the
city to witness the artistic representations at that
theater.
The Winter Garden, burned more than a year and a
half ago, has not been, nor will it be rebuilt. It has occupied a very prominent place in the drama of NewYork. For its absurd name (given, perhaps, because
there was nothing in or about the house to suggest
either a garden or Winter,) it is indebted to Dion Bou
179 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
cicault, who translated the title from the well-known
Jardin d' fiver in Paris. It was formerly Tripler hall;
then Boucicault's theater; then Burton's; then Laura
Keene's; and some years ago passed into the hands of
William Stuart, a clever Irishman, at one time on the
editorial staff of the Tribune, and author of the famous
but violent critiques on Forrest which appeared in that
journal many years ago.
At the time of its destruction, the theater was mainly
owned by Edwin Booth, who, with some of the most
famous artistes of the day, such as Forrest, Brooke, Anderson, Carlotte Cushman, and Jean Marie Davenport,
made the place historic.  After Wallack's, it was the
best conducted theater in town, which seriously feels
its loss. The star system was generally adopted
and followed there; and the extreme popularity of
Booth caused his engagements to extend through the
greater part of the regular season.
Niblo's Garden, another of the inaptly named, is
probably the oldest of the Broadway theaters. It was
once a garden; but it, as well as Niblo himself, disappeared so long ago that the time when they were is forgotten. It has had numerous managers, but none more
prosperous than the present, Jarrett and Palmer. Their
engagement of the Parisian ballet was particularly fortunate for their exchequer; for its success far exceeded
the most  sanguine  expectations.    For  seventeen
months it crowded the theatre, the largest in Broadway, every night, and realized to each of the managers about $100,000.
Classic tragedy and sparkling comedy are very well
in their way; but, when brought into competition with
voluptuously-formed dancing girls, who seem to wear
I
180 
THIE THEATERS.
little else than satin slippers, with a few rose-buds in
their hair, the legitimate drama dwindles into insignificance. What appeals to our intellect is entitled to
our esteem. What appeals to our passions carries us
by assault.
Niblo's is the coolest and handsomest theater, the
Academy excepted, in the City, and, during the lavish
display of saltatory nudity, was by long odds the most
popular.
The Olympic was built by Laura Keene; was afterward very successful under Mrs. John Wood, and has
done well since, under varied management. It ranks
fourth among New-York theaters, but is not at present
distinguished for anything in particular.
The New-York has catered to the lighter tastes
of the public, and with a remunerative result. This
theater is very small, was formerly Dr. Osgood's
church, a,d was opened by Lucy Rushton, who had
an ample phys8ique, but no discernible dramatic talent.
and failed because mere avoirdupois was not monetarily magnetic in Manhattan.
The Theatre Frangais, in Fourteenth street, was, as
its name implies, designed for Juignet & Drivet's
French comedians; but it was not prosperous with
them. It was opened year before last with an English
opera company, who did so well that its members fell
to quarreling, and disbanded in the midst of a season.
Ristori made her triumphs there; and of late devoted
to opera bouffe, it has been very successful.
The Broadway is Wallack's old theater, and is one
of the most inconvenient in the city. Maggie Mitchell,
Heckett, John E. Owens, and Barney Williams and
his wife often play very successful engagements there.
181 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
George Wood disposed of the Broadway some time
ago to Barney Williams, its present lessee and
manager.
The notorious old Bowery, once the temple of the
legitimate has long been surrendered to the blue fire
and bowl and dagger drama. The New Bowery was
burned a year ago, and will not be rebuilt. The
Stadt is a large, barn-like house, where the Germans
applaud Schiller and Kotzebue over lager and Limberger.
It is needless to refer to the Bowery, for its reputation and peculiar school of acting have become national. It still preserves its fame; and sanguinary
bandits and desperate assassins die to fast poison and
slow music over and over again, to the delectation of
newsboys and the enthusiastic peanut-lovers of the
East side.
Dawison played his remarkable parts at the Stadt,
and drew such audiences as the theater very rarely attracts.  It has all the appearance of a continental
theater, and it is with difficulty, when inside of it, that
one resists the impression that he is in Berlin or Vienna once more.
Wood's Museum and Metropolitan Theater is further up town than any other, being at the corner of
Broadway and Thirtieth street. When it first opened
with a ballet troupe it did well, but was ill managed,
and failed. George Wood, formerly of the Broadway,
leased it, and with a burlesque English singing company, in which Lydia Thompson and other actresses,
more comely than modest, are conspicuous,-he is filling
the house nightly.
There are other theaters and numerous halls in the
a
182 
THE THEATERS.
city where theatrical entertainments are given; but
those named are the principal, and convey an idea of the
drama as represented and supported in the Metropolis.
The defects of the City theaters are their general
discomfort and lack of ventilation. Nearly all of them
are so close and hot, when crowded, that enjoyment
of the performance is marred, if not destroyed, by
difficulty of wholesome respiration. Especially is this
so when the weather is at all warm; and that a hundred women do not faint nightly, suggests that feminine swooning, is to a certain extent a matter of election and predetermination.
The nominal price of admission is seventy-five cents;
but for secured seats, or in other words any seats at all,
you pay a dollar and a dollar and a half; and are fortunate, should there be any special attraction, if you
are not compelled to buy tickets of speculators at a
very considerable advance on the regular rate. The
speculators are a nuisance, which the manager assumes
to oppose; but he is often suspected of being in
league with them, and dividing the profits of extra
charges.
Theatrical people are peculiar and much misunderstood. Their life is very laborious; and yet it has
fascinations few members of the profession are able to
withstand. They are strangely misrepresented, and to
their disadvantage, by those who know nothing of them
but by the excesses or dissipations of a few and the
scandalous stories told of dead celebrities. They
work very hard generally, but are much better paid
than they used to be. Subordinate actors and actresses receive $20 and $25 a week; the leading men and
women $75; soubrettes $50, and the ballet girls, as
183 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
they are called, $8 to $10   Many of them support
aged and infirm parents and relatives; make daily
sacrifices for love and duty; are heroic in a humble
way as few outside of the profession are capable of
believing. They live two lives. The life of the stage
is quite apart from the practical one, and often as real
as that which demands food and raiment. They forget many of their troubles and hardships before the
footlights, which are to them the radiance of their
ideal world.  They are made peculiar by their mimic
being; but once entered upon a theatrical career, they
follow it through every variation of circumstance, and
cleave to it with an earnest interest and perfect sympathy that ought to insure them the independence they
seldom gain. Their trials are many, their temptations
strong; and yet there is often such beauty in the lives
of the humblest, that a narrative of facts would sound
like a romance. They are very migratory except at
two or three of our City theaters; playing here this season
and next season in New-Orleans, San-Francisco, or
Montreal. Good actors are always in demand; but
there is such a difference of opinion respecting merit,
so much in circumstance, that they who strive hardest
and are most deserving not seldom subsist from
hand to mouth, and become such wanderers they
never know the sense of rest, the satisfaction of independence, or the sweetness of home. He who casts
stones at them knows them not, and forgets what
pleasure they have given him when life looked fair and
the heart was young.
The narrowness of the managers is shown in their
unwillingness to engage actors or actresses who have
not made their reputation in New-York, pretending
184 
THE THEATERS.
that their success in "the provinces" is not based upon
ability, and that they would fail when exposed to the
severe test of metropolitan criticism.   Some of the
artists who cannot get engagements are better than
those who have won laurels in New-York; and not a
few who have struggled for years to make an appearance
in the City have, when the opportunity was afforded,
taken the town by storm.
Eliza Logan, Matilda Heron and John E. Owens are
instances of this. James E. Murdoch, for years the
best genteel comedian in the country, could never, if
my memory serve, obtain an engagement here, because
he was deemed a western actor.
The people of New-York generally know about as
much of the great West as they do of the Siberian
steppes, and are somewhat surprised when they hear
that the citizens of Chicago and Cincinnati wear
gloves, and use napkins at table. It is not improbable
that the Gothamites will increase their knowledge before the century is over and learn that the "provincial ists" in some things are equal to the self-sufficient
"metropolitans."
185 
CHAPTER XTX.
THE "DEAD-BEATS:'."
"DEAD-BEAT," though by no means elegant, is rath er an expressive'term, probably of English origin,
meaning entirely spent, exhausted, broken down,
bankrupt, and finds its synonym in our slang Americanism,  "played out."    "Dead-beats" are hardly
natural to the soil and surroundings of the Republic,
and must have been primarily an importation.  But,
once transplanted, they flourish and multiply here as
they could not abroad; for nowhere else could or
would they receive such sustenance and encouragement.
New-York abounds in dead-beats. They are found
in every profession and calling, in every kind of society, in all manner of disguises. No set is so exclusive, no vocation so earnest, that the dead-beat does
not enter it.  He is irreverent, obstinate, audacious.
He rushes in where angels fear to tread. While Capacity, combined with Modesty, holds back and blushes with diffidence, Self-Assertion and Impudence,
which are the heart and brain of dead-beatism, crowd
forward and steal the prize.
The eminent dead-beat is he who is not found out;
who half imposes upon himself as well as others; who
has come to believe, at least partially that he is what
.0 
THE "DEAD BEATS." 
he has so long pretended. The pulpit, the bar, journalism, art, the medical profession are full of such.
But only the keen-eyed few perceive them. To the
great mass they are the appointed oracles and the
ministers of Fate.
The Rev. Ambrose Arrowroot has an extended
reputation for learning and for eloquence. Men laud
and women languish for him. But he is only a plausible hypocrite and fair-faced muff, that his biased congregation have dyed gorgeously with the crimson
splash of their praise.
Peter Pettifogger, Esq., brandishes green boughs
of language, devoid of strength and sap, before judges and juries, until fatigue disarms criticism.  tie harrangues crowds with noise and egotism, and they
accept him as a new Chrysostom.
George Washington Jones writes columns of presumptuous verbiage year after year, until he proves
the public a great ass, and is enrolled on the list of
cotemporaneous fame.
Angelo Smith, designed for a sign-painter, executes
marvels of bad taste on canvas, and calls them art.
Sciolists echo him; fill his purse with sequins, and his
little soul with conceit.
Dr. Machaon Mercury kills people in the dark, and
prates of science.  A  quack and charlatan, he looks
solemn and sapient, and his patients gain confidence.
Nature heals them, and they praise and pay the pompous trickster.
Such dead-beats require elaborate treatment.  To
expose them would be to shatter our idols, to transfix
many of our dearest friends. We prefer those of a
lower grade, who know what they are; who have
187 
TEE GREAT METROPOLIS
developed backward; who, having ceased to cheat
themselves have resolved to cheat the World.
The adventurers, the Jeremy Diddlers, the fellows
who live by their wits, are the ordinary representatives of the class whose highest career is on the island
of Manhattan. These are the ultra Bohemians, in the
worst sense of the word; the men of defective organization; the preyers upon the good nature and faith
of their own kind; the persons who hold that the
World owes them a living, whether they strive to earn
it or not. Work is vulgar to them; deceit, and falsehood, and knavery commendable, or at least excusable
on the ground of the inequality of fortune. All men
deserve alike in their creed; and they who are defrauded of their birthright are privileged to get from
others what has been denied to them.
No doubt there are thousands of people here who
rise in the morning without knowing where or how
they will get their breakfast or dinner, or where they
will lay their heads at night.  Most of those would
work if they had the chance; but a large proportion
would not so demean themselves while a livelihood is
tq be obtained by social stratagem or unblushing imposture.
- The genuine dead-beat exists by falsehood and by
borrowing. He is an artist in his way; intelligent,
observing, with a knowledge of human nature and an
insight into character. At the first glance, after he
has had sufficient experience, he knows his victim;
determines how much victim can spare; understands
the mode of reaching victim's sympathies.  As success after success crowns the adventurer's efforts, he
feels a pride in his power and tact, and regards get
iss 
THE " DEAD-BEATS."
ting money out of a man very much as a general does
an advantage over the enemy, or a libertine the conquest of a woman. He comes to consider his calling
as legitimate as any other. He earns his fee by his
adroitness, as a lawyer by his argument, a physician by
his diagnosis, an author by his last volume.
Dull, plodding men are disposed to be honest. They
have not the temperament or the resources needful to
an adventurer's status.  If unprincipled enough to
adopt the profession, they could not prosper in it.
They lack the appliances, the expedients-are incapable of making the combination and arranging the
plan of attack.
Something akin to genius is required for the avocation-a union of valuable qualities that would yield
profit if properly directed. The dead-beat is almost
always a person of decided capacity, with something
omitted in his mental or moral composition, or against
whom the tide of circumstances has too strongly set.
Beau Brummel was a clever specimen of an accomplished dead-beat; Beau Hickman is a poor example
of the lowest form. Capt. Wragge, in Wilkie Collins's "No Name," united the talents and the virtues
of his profession.
The dead-beat cannot complain of monotony in his
life. His variations and contrasts are like those of a
woman's temper.   In the morning he flushes with
hope; in the evening he pales with disappointment.
But he never surrenders hope, which is his spiritual
pabulum.   His exterior undergoes striking changes.
You meet him smartly dressed to-day. Next week he
looks shabby as a resident of Mackerelville. At this
moment he is lavish of money. When next you meet
189 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
him, he is penniless as the old-time printer used to be
on Monday morning.   At times he is unpleasantly
tipsy; at others he is somberly sober. All conditions
and moods join in him. The August sun and December frost dwell together in his being.
The dead-beat is usually the embodiment of good
nature, polite, and desirous to conciliate every one.
He cannot afford to offend the humblest member of
the community on which he subsists. His list of
acquaintances is interminable.   He  recognizes and
remembers you at once. He thinks he has met you
at a great many places where you have never been;
but at last fixes upon some fact of your life, and pursues you with it.
He has the highest opinion of you, and so informs
you. He flatters you grossly or delicately, according
to your appetite. He discovers your foibles, your
particularly weak spot, in a few minutes' talk. If you
have lectured at Cooper Institute, or Chicago, or San
Francisco, he recalls the occasion; for it made a distinct impression upon his mind. He was delighted,
and he wonders, great as your reputation is, that you
are not more fully appreciated.
If you have written anything, he considers it, on
the whole, the best thing of the kind he ever read.
lie is so observant that he bears in memory the young
woman you last drove with in the Park. And, though
tastes differ, he hazards the opinion she has more
beauty, and elegance, and style than one usually finds,
even in the best circles of society.  He has often wondered, with your capacity, and culture, and opportunity, you don't push your fortune.   He scorns to
flatter anybody; he is a person of candor, even though
190 
THE " DEAD-BEATS."
it give pain. But he shall always consider you a man
of great capacity, different from others-too original
and sensitive, perhaps, to succeed, but with a deal of
power-more deserving of fame than nine-tenths of the
fellows who have schemed themselves into a name.
After all that, you are more than human if you don't
begin to believe there's something in D. B., though he
does talk a great deal. And when he intimates a desire for a small loan, you grant it with alacrity, and
feel the obligation is on your side.
If you are a merchant, or a politician, or a muscular
Christian, he will tell you of your skill in buying and
selling, your understanding of the people, or your
dexterity in the brutal art of bruising. He will fit his
color to your sample, however rare the shade.
The dead-beat, though you think you have seen
him every day for a month, has always just been, or
is just going, somewhere. A number of people are
anxious for him to do this or that; but he is in grave
doubt. Jones has not money enough, and Robinson
is hardly as liberal as he might be.  And then what's
the use of a fellow who is in demand constantly taking
the first offer?
He invites you to drink, and discovers he has left
his portemonnaie in his other coat. He asks you to call
on families of position, but defers the visit if you
accept.  He relates his flirtations with the youngest
daughter of the wealthy banker in Exchange-place;
and informs you confidentially of the row he had with
old Sturgeon, because his young wife was so devoted
to-he won't say who or what, but "you understand,
old boy."
The dead-beat haunts the hotels, the places of amuse
191 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
ment, and the principal streets. He is ever on the
alert for some dear friend-he has more friends than
all the Veneerings-but will walk with you if you're
not in haste. He has a singular faculty of meeting
you about dinner or lunch time, and is forever leaving
something at home.  He is a regular barnacle.  He
won't be disturbed or shaken off. He sticketh closer
than a brother, though you abuse him like a brotherin-law. His friendship for you is greater than that of
Nisus for Euryalus, or Alexander for Hiephestion. He
will talk, and drink, and eat, and sleep with you until
he has borrowed your last dollar, and then advise you
to be more careful of your means.
These strange creatures are usually made what they
are by evil passions, by indulgence in some vice. If
they kept sober and didn't gamble, their pride would
come to their aid, and give them strength to lead true
lives. Their course is all downward. They frequently
become bar-keepers, low blacklegs, runners for gambling houses, and even for bagnios. What we call sin,
perpetually goes backward, tends below. Their career
is brief and melancholy. If they do not die suddenly,
they slip away and disappear in space. Probably they
fly off from the great centre of the Metropolis, and
revolve in the orbits of the country towns.
I have known men of fine talents, with excellent
opportunities and beginnings, fall to the under plane
of dead-beatism; and their career was thenceforth
downward, until the coroner's inquest told all that was
left of their history.
Their first mistake was in endeavoring to obtain
something for nothing; in cherishing the delusion that
the race of life was to be gained by standing still.
192 
THE "DEAD-BEATS."
They spent more than they earned. They borrowed,
and borrowed, until they grew used to borrowing,
and careless of payment. That was the dangerous
step; for they lost confidence in, and respect for, themselves the moment they surrendered conscientiousness
about debt.
I remember a reformed beat who unfolded his experience, which extended through five years.  He
"got behind" at faro, and borrowed to make up his
loss. In a few weeks he had borrowed three thousand
dollars; pawned his watch and jewelry; overdrawn
his account in the office, with not a farthing in prospect. Then he began to drink to excess; lost his situation; grew desperate; borrowed of every one he
saw; gambled more; prospered pecuniarily for a
while, but discharged no old obligations. At that
time, he was boarding at a first-class hotel; could not
pay his bill, running through six months; was invited
to leave; stole off one night with his baggage; went
to another hotel, with same result; then to private
boarding-houses-fashionable ones at first; mackereleating and coatless people at table, with soiled hands
and unsavory odors, at the last.
All his old acquaintances cut him; father refused to
help him; besought strangers for small means; got
into the gutter; the days and nights were hideous and
confused like nightmare dreams. He gravitated to a
gin-cellar in Water street, and received lodging and
food to drug the liquor of predestined victims; took
money from the drawer; was beaten half to death by
the proprietor of the vile place;  sent to hospital,
where delirium, added to his wounds, laid him at the
door of death. For weeks he knew nothing; but, as
13.
193 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
he recovered partially, familiar faces stole through his
feverish dreams; familiar voices sounded in his ear.
Better and better by degrees; and one morning, waking stronger than ever, he felt her kiss-the kiss of his
mother-on his forehead; and the face of the World
was changed before that good, sweet, sympathetic face
of man's first, and last, and best, and dearest friend.
His fight with the ruffian had found its way into the
newspapers. His mother, in a distant city, having
seen the account, came to New-York, saved him, and
returned him to a new life.
To-day he is prosperous;  a happy husband and
father; and, better still, charitable to all who err or
walk in the downward way. His advice never to
borrow money, without paying it, is good, for debt is
the beginning of dishonor.
Money may be vulgar, but it is needful. So long
as men are conscientious in the payment of the money
they owe, they will be in the discharge of social and
spiritual obligations. Who would be free, independent, contented, shoul'avoid debt. The debtor is enslaved. Debt imposes a burthen upon him that prevents his walking upright and wholly honest in the
light in which Peace is found.
194 
CHAPTER XX.
THE ADVENTURESSES.
To KNOW an adventuress, and to find her out, is always a wound to the masculine self-love that is slow in
healing.' All men of the World who have traveled
have met adventuresses, and have sometimes been deceived by the clever creatures, though their vanity
may disincline them to such confession.
What American that has lived abroad, or wandered
there, but has met, in Paris, or Berlin, or St. Petersburgh, at Biarritz, or Ems, or Wiesbaden, some artful
and interesting woman, with a romantic history and a
sentimental soul, who has drawn him into sympathy
and love with her for at least a season! Perhaps circumstance has intervened between her and discovery,
and her gallant has come home to think of the darkeyed Countess or the blonde baroness, who was imprudent tp be sure, but imprudent because she so wholly
loved.
"Ah!" sighs my bachelor friend, "Mina was a charming creature; and I have often thought it unwise not
to have thrown her stupid Saxon husband overboard,
that delightful night on the Adriatic. That might
have changed my destiny. Poor, dear Mina! I wonder
where she is now. How devotedly she loved me! I 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
should be inhuman if I did not remember her with
fondness."
It is well for my friend's vanity he does not know
where and how Mina is. Since he knew her, she has
had many husbands and lovers,-the terms are synonymous with her,-and, if she could recall him, she
would laugh at his folly, and declare, in her pretty
German-French way, that men are very easily deceived.
Most of our sex who know anything about women
think they know all, and are disposed to believe themselves interesting to any she they deem worthy of attention.   Upon this knowledge of men, upon their
weakness respecting women, adventuresses found their
career. They attack men's purses through their vanity
or passion, and are usually successful because of the
feebleness of the point of attack. Very skillful spiritual anatomists are the members of the deceptious sisterhood. They soon find the available place, and carry
the assault, less from strength without than weakness
within.
The larger the city, and the more cosmopolitan, the
-broader and better the field for feminine operations.
And New-York, with its vast variety of people, its
easy freedom and indifference to country conventionalisms, is a proper pasture for women of this sort. - They
are more numerous than is supposed in the Metropolis,
which is their centre and radiating-point. They are
drawn here by the attraction of numbers and wealth.
They migrate to "the provinces" in times of dullness and adversity, and return when fortune promises
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~..
fairer.
The number of adventuresses in New-York can be
196 
THE ADVENTURESSES.
reckoned no more than the number of dishonest men;
but they can be counted by hundreds if not thousands, for they are often seen where no one would
suspect.
The unfortunate creatures who pace Broadway after
nightfall, anxious to sell themselves to whoever has the
means of purchase, are adventuresses in their worst
and most obnoxious form.  But they are not of the
class I mean; for they are driven by a terrible necessity, and lost thereby to every sense of shame. They
are in the very shambles of the senses, and hold no
masks before their wretched infamy.
The adventuress, strictly such, earns all her success
by seeming to be what she is not; by an adroit assumption of virtue she can hardly remember to have
had.
- A walk up Broadway or Fifth avenue, a visit to the
Academy during the opera season, a drive in the Park,
a sojourn at the watering-places, during the Summer,
will always reveal to the discriminating a number of
full-blown, perfectly-developed adventuresses, who, to
the many, are fine ladies and leaders of fashion.
Theophrastus failed to mention the adventuress
among his "Characters," for the reason that she belongs more to the romantic than the classic, the modern
than the ancient school. She is peculiar, and not discernible except to the practiced and below-the-surfaceseeing eye. She is usually either young, or capable
of making herself Appear so-often near the middle
age, but so fresh in semblance and agreeable in manners that she loses her years in proportion to one's acquaintance with her. If not positively pretty, she has
a noticeable face, a graceful figure, excessive tact, and
197 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
knows how to use her tongue. What more, especially
when it is remembered she has surrendered the inconvenient thing we call conscience, could or would a
woman need to measure herself against the World she
is resolved to cheat and profit by? 
The moral faculties are very essential to a well-balanced organization; but they are sadly in the way of
achievement sometimes, and the person that throws
them overboard is the first to reach the port of prosperity.
Our heroine is self-poised, self-disciplined, incapable
of being taken unawares or at disadvantage. She has
strength and resources: she understands the power
and efficiency of impudence and of inflexible determination never to be put down.
Some of her ethical and social tenets are:
Believe every man a fool until he has proved himself otherwise; and even then distrust his wisdom
more than your power to deceive him in the end.
Tell half-truths when there is fear of discovery; for
half-truths disarm those that are whole.
Always remember that a falsehood well adhered to
is better than a truth poorly defended.
Never trust a woman with what you would not have
repeated.
Bear constantly in mind that men are to be won and
held through their senses and their vanity. When
one is satisfied, stimulate the other.
Never make confession. It is glorious to die at the
stake, if you can perish with a lie on your lips.
The adventuress seems to prosper. She is usually
well and expensively dressed; has jewels and money;
though in straitened circumstances, she seeks the
198 
THE ADVENTURESSES.
pawnbroker, and secures advances from her mercenary
uncle,-the last relative from whom we can obtain a
loan. Her fortune varies like that of a gamester; and
she is as improvident.  A true epicurean, she lives in
to-day, and trusts Mercury for to-morrow.   She thinks
Destiny will care for those who care not for themselves, and that the fabled Devil never abandons his
own. No doubt she suffers dreadfully at times; but
she looks cheerful; and, when anxiety wears her
pale, she lays on the rouge, and devises new schemes
to ensnare.
Our large hotels furnish the best sojourning-places
for adventuresses, who can always be seen there.
Those women do not stay long in one house usually;
for they are unwilling to be too conspicuous or well
known. They go from the Astor to the St. Nicholas,
from the St. Nicholas to the Metropolitan, from the
Metropolitan to the Fifth Avenue, and in turn to the
Clarendon, Brevoort, Everett, Union-Place and Westminster-wherever men and money are to be found.
By way of episode, they enter the fashionable boarding-houses; but the field is narrow there, and the espionage and gossip of their own sex is not to their
liking.
They are often the most attractive women at 
public houses.    They know how to dress, and they
have good manners. There is nothing rustic, or awkward, or disagreeably bashful about them, albeit they
appear too easy sometimes for good-breeding and too
free for entire modesty. They elicit your attention at
breakfast and dinner; assume graceful and picturesque
positions in the drawing-room; let you overhear a
piquant phrase as if by accident; and make you be
199 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
lieve, if you are vain, that they feel an interest in you,
by certain half-averted glances and stealthy looks.
The adventuress is almost always alone, unless she
is accompanied by a child, too small to be troublesome
and too young to be observant, which gives her an
air of respectability, and surrounds her with the sanctity of maternity. She is ever waiting for somebody,
or going somewhere, or expecting something. She
has expectations from the future, which the future is
slow to redeem. She never lives in New-York, nor
do any of her relatives. They dwell hundreds of miles
distant, for some mysterious reason; sometimes in NewEngland, sometimes in the West, sometimes in the
South; and are very difficult to hear from. They are
persons of culture and position, and particularly attached to their kinswoman,-rather narrow and puritanical, perhaps, but amiable and affectionate to her
broader self.
The adventuress is generally a widow, but sometimes a wife, (never a maid, either actually or by assumption), the history of whose husband, living or
dead, is circumstantially narrated. When her husband
is with her, he is said to be a very jealous and excitable, even dangerous man, who displays extraordinary
: cities for being absent when he is not wanted,quite unusual, I have heard, in husbands of a less dubious character. It is recorded, however, that he does
make his appearance most inopportunely, and that his
wrath is so great at unavoidable discoveries that it can
be mollified only by liberal disbursements of private
exchequer. He insists on blood at first; but finally
compromises on lucre, informing the wounder of his
honor that such a thing must not happen again.
200 
THE ADVENTURESSES.
Since the War, widows have been more abundant
than ever.  They have lost their husbands in the struggle, sometimes on the side of the North, but usually on
the side of the South. They hail from Charleston, and
Savannah, and Mobile, and New-Orleans, frequently
from the interior, and they are waiting for the release
of their estates. They have been to Washington, and
have friends there looking after their interests. They
have suffered a great deal in various ways, especially
from poverty; but they will soon be in affluent circumstances again.
War-widows are to be regarded with suspicion, particularly when from the South, and possessed of confiscated plantations; for their kisses sting like adders,
and their hands are greedy of gold. Victims of such
may be reckoned by the hundreds. Hotel-proprietors,
as well as hotel-guests, have discovered that investments through sympathy are unproductive, and that
cotton is not king, but the queen of deception ofttimes.
Year before last the crop of Southern widows was
superabundant; and mine host was so often cajoled by
them that, if they failed to pay their board promptly
at the end of the week, he gave them full perm'
to go elsewhere.  They went from the Stevens i
to the St. James, pausing at all intermediate place
cause of the lamentable condition of public confidence.
Their baggage and wardrobes were seized, and they
would have been turned into the street had not men
been found who had faith and folly.
Examples of interesting poverty are not unfrequent
among adventuresses. They make the acquaintance
of some kind-hearted man, and inform him of their
201 
THE GRE.,T M[ETPROPOLIS.
straitened circumstances. They have failed to receive
remittances, and can not pay necessary bills. If he
can lend them a certain sum, they will return it in a
few days. They show letters to substantiate their statements.  He lends and obtains payment, if at all, in
coin more tender than legal, and the loan is increased,
and a liberal relation of debtor and creditor established.
Sometimes the woman declines to receive money
unless the lender will take her watch and jewelry as
pledges for payment. But what man of gallantry in
America can do that? He naturally grows indignant,
and inquires if he looks like a pawnbroker. She has
made no blunder.   She was as well assured by her
knowledge of character that he would not receive her
trinkets as that she would receive his money.   She
converts herself into a charming fountain at this juncture; and the more he seeks to turn off the water, the
more brilliantly it plays.
Those eloquent tears have quite overcome him. He
consoles her sentimentally, and her debts are his-until he finds her out.
When lovers and money become scarce, the adventuress frequently sends suggestive advertisements to
th rald, or answers some she finds there, in which
and  handsome,"  "comforts of  a home,"
eable companion," "with a view to matrimony,"
are the alluring baits.   She often rents houses, and
takes lodgers or boarders, and lays siege to one
after the other, until their purses are no longer available. She agrees to accept a situation in a private
family as teacher; to do copying; to transcribe accounts; to assist in literary labors; soliciting or granting
interviews that terminate in almost anything else.
202 
THE ADvENT URESSEL.
Adventuresses travel on the cars and steamers running out of New-York in the capacity of "unprotected
females," and soon make friends whom they convert
into remunerative lovers.  They tell marvelous stories
(what man could ever tell a story like a woman, so
plausible, so interesting, so delicately flattering, so deliciously alse?) veined with seeming ingenuousness
and bued with sentiment.
Men listen, an" believe, and succumb; for their vanity prompts them to believe, and passion dulls their
reason.
The loudest logic is unheard before the small voice
of desire, and the strongest resolution melts beneath
the softest kiss.
Not a few o' our adventuresses make annual pilgrimag,es to the watering-places and Washington, where
they reap a better harvest even than in New-York.
At the national capital they have always been a
power; for there intrigue is at a premium, and wellmanaged incontinence in women more potent than
principle, more effective than zeal.
What men will not do for truth, for patriotism, for
justice, for plighted word, they will for the fascinations
of a petticoat and the follies of a night.
At the Suminmer resorts, the adventuresses gito the commonplace flirtations, and lend a dash i
monotony of life there, that is long remembered by
coxcombs-who plume themselves upon the prodigious
conquests they have made. Such fellows would be
mortified, indeed, if they knew of their predecessors
in pleasure.  But they don't; and it is well they are
less wicked and more foolish than they suppose.
Unnatural, unwomanly, repulsive as is the life of an
203 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
adventuress, she appears to enjoy it; and she does (for
we all justify, soon or late, our conduct to ourselves;)
but she has days and experiences that are dark Ed
bitter to bear, and the storms of her being break upon
her unseen heart.  Hardened and selfish as her caree.r
renders her, she retains possibilities of good, and dread
of evil when  it takes new form; is capable, after all
her miserable make-believes and hideous deceptions,
of generosity and sacrifice, even of disinterested affection and beautiful devotion.
With all her wanderings, and weaknesses, and errors,
she has something of the angel left, and above the
crumbled ruin, written in colors of light, may be read
the word, Woman, still.
204 
CHIAPTER XXT.
THE B OARDI. N G-HO USE S.
LIFE in boarding-houses, especially in New-York, is
as different from life in hotels as residence in the
Fourth and Eighteenth wards. The better class of
hotels are generally comfortable, often luxurious; but
boarding-houses, of any sort, call them by what enticing name you may, are never more than endurable,
and rarely that.
People seldom go to boarding-houses save from necessity. Poverty, not choice, directs them thither;
and they stay there for the same reason so many men
have remained in the territories-because they have
not the means to come away. Boarding-house existence is a doom and distress here. Men are born to it,
and, through narrow circumstances, compelled to con
tinue it when every instinct and taste revolt at it.
Woe to the mortal obliged to drudge in the         4
City through all the months of the year, and una-e,
toil as he may, to emancipate himself from the tyranny
of boarding-houses. Like Ixion, he is bound to the
ever-revolving wheel. Like Tantalus, he is promised
satisfaction that never comes. Work at his business;
annoyance in his home-the only one he has-he vegetates through existence, and dies at last consoled by
the hope that in the next world boarding-houses are
impossible.
14 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Boarding-houses here include so many varieties that
no social Agassiz could enumerate them. They extend
all the way from the extensive establishment in Union
square, where boarders must be specially recommended,
to the sailors' staying-place, where robbery is a system
and murder a variation.   Generally, however, they
may be divided into two great classes-those that aspire to be genteel or fashionable, and those that do
not. Having gone through the former, few persons
would have energy or curiosity enough to continue
their experience. They would conclude that the upper strata contained all that is worth knowing, or that
humanity is capable of bearing.
The fashionable boarding-house is the characteristic,
and, phenomenally considered, the interesting class
which chiefly claims consideration.   The boardinghouse of such pretension is of fair and of promising
exterior and in the best quarters of the City. But it
is of the Dead Sea apple complexion; and they who
would not find ashes and bitterness must not go beneath the surface. Fourth, Eighth, Tenth, Fourteenth
and nearly all the cross streets, with such neighborhoods as Union, Madison and Stuyvesant squares,
bl    with fashionable boarding-houses, to which men
w   work with their hands, and are incapable of paying at least $12 or $15 a week, are inadmissible.
They are usually kept by women who have made
the business a study and an economy; who have, by
long experience, learned the expansive power of
every dollar, and the fullest value of every fraction of
postal currency, with the rare cheapness and advantage of pretension.
Widows for the most part preside over the desti
2 Ot 
THE BoARDING-IHOUSES.
nies of boarding houses, having been driven to that occupation by stress of fortune. Whatever their original
gentleness, generosity and womanliness, their perpetual struggle with life and the countless perplexi~ts
and anxieties of their situation, make them hard, setsh,
sour and narrow. They see the sphere at only one
angle, and that the most acute one. Their whole
thought, and feeling, and aspiration is embraced in
making both ends meet,-in solving the ignoble problem, "How shall I live?"
Any cosmopolite knows a boarding-house proprietress at a single glance. She has emanations that reveal her at once, much as she varies in form. She is
generally very thin and haggard, in worn and threadbare attire, with a cold, yet nervous and anxious manner, as if all her blood and sympathy had gone out of
her with the last payment of rent. Or she is large
and fleshy, tawdry in dress, with high cheek-bones and
high color, sharp, gimlet eyes, staring at every man as
if he were a delinquent boarder, and at every woman
as if she suspected her of an intrigue, and were determined to get at her secret. She is always looking
for bargains in furniture, millinery and provisions, and
vaguely expects that, when the World comes to an end,
she will be able to buy it cheap, and have the ly
genteel boarding-house in either hemisphere.
When you enter a tall, handsome brown-stone front,
exactly like its next door neighbor, where the Wall
street banker or Beaver street merchant resides in the
midst of velvet carpets, ormolu clocks and classic
bronzes, you cannot help but be surprised. The drawing rooms look dismal; the furniture worn and scanty;
the stairways treacherous and untidy; the walls soiled
,-ZO7 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and of marvelous acoustic property.   Nothing like
comfort or content anywhere, but the opposite of what
you mean when you talk of home.
Probably you see a table set in the back parlor, and,
if it be Winter, a feeble semblance of a fire, that must
be dreadfully skeptical at times of its own existence;
for, like the lodger in the fourth story, it is always going
out. Everything that meets your eye is thin and unreal, save the landlady, who weighs two hundred, and
stands in hourly dread of her own appetite. Though
by no means lovable, you cannot but admire the extreme shrewdness she manifests when you talk of becoming a boarder.  She drives you into every financial corner, and gives you to understand you can obtain no advantage over her.  You might as well try to
buy treasury notes at a discount of Simon Israels in
Chatham square, as make anything out of her.  Her
-whole expression says, "Ive seen men like you before.
I'm an unprotected woman; but you can't impose
upon me.
She shows you through the rooms, and informs you
of the genteel character of her boarders. She never
takes any one that she doesn't know all about. She
prefers nice people to common people, even if the
latter have money. She has been well reared herself,
and would have been wealthy still, if poor, dear Mr.
Dobbs hadn't  gone  on the paper of his friends,
and lost his entire fortune. (Dobbs I know personally.
The only fortune he had was the ill-fortune of marrying the present Mrs. Dobbs. She led him such a
crooked life that he took to brandy straight, and
walked off the dock one night in preference to walking into his wife's bed-chamber.)
2M 
THE BOARDING-HOUSES.
She gives you a biographical account of all her
boarders; declares you ought to know them; that
you would be delighted with them; that her house is
like a home; that she has frequently thought of giving up the business, but that her boarders wouldn't let
her. Her young men, she believes really love her,
(no accounting for tastes, you remember, though your
incredulity isn't great enough for that,) and would be
quite inconsolable if she ever should give up. She
ventures the opinion that they would marry if they
couldn't board with her.
You reflect which of the two evils will be the
greater; conclude to enlist underthe petticoat-banner
of Mrs. Dobbs; and disregard matrimony and fresh
butter forevermore.
At the table, all the boarders meet.  They are very
punctual, having learned'by familiar hunger that to
him who has an appetite delays are dangerous, and, if
often repeated, will be fatal. Boarding-house life enforces punctuality, though it does not satisfy the palate.
But what are the senses to the social virtues,?
The boarding-house is fashionable. Pray bear that
in mind, and let the fact console you for any shortcomings in the larder or any peculiarities of the landlady.
You have all the courses at dinner-soup, fish, pastry and dessert-but scantily served, ill-cooked and
uninviting, though on unexceptionable crockery and
well-washed tablecloths. The meals are long drawn
out, not because there is much to eat, but because the
waiters are few and slow of motion.  Dinner especially
is a prolonged agony, in which a deal of commonplace
talk is made to supply the precepts of Blot and the
dainty abundance of Delmonico.
14
-z
209 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
If a new comer, you are introduced to Mr. Wiggle,
salesman in Franklin street; to Mr. Newcomb, a law
student at Columbia college; to Mr. Pritchard, a reporter on a morning paper; Mr. and Mrs. Humdrum,
newly married, who came from Hartford, and who still
deem it necessary to make love to each other in public, because their instinct tells them they will soon cease
to do so in private. Miss Ridgway, who gives musiclessons and sings sentimental songs over the tuneless
piano in the front parlor, but who believes she must
find a husband ere long, is presented and seeks to captivate you with her milk-anld-water eyes. Several
others are there, but they are too insignificant to remember, and too much occupied with getting something to eat to waste opportunities in conversation.
During the entire week-dinner is reserved for the
flow of soul- you are interested to perceive how
many words can be spoken without ideas, and what
amount of giggle is required for every silly speech.
The theaters, the opera, the newspapers, the gossip
and the scandal of the town, interspersed with the report of the alarming price of provisions from Mrs.
Dobbs, and wonderings how she shall get along, (evidently intended, from her oblique looks at Wiggle and
Newcomb, to be understood personally,) are diluted
and distilled through an hour or two of hunger waiting
on appetite.
Several of the masculine boarders tell their singular
experiences of last night or last year, albeit you cannot see wherein they are singular, and are consequently considered stupid by the narrators from your
bland expression of  face.  Miss Ridgway  declares
men are such deceivers; that they now love every
0
210
f, 
THE BOARDING-IIOUSES.
woman they meet; that they have n't a particle of
heart; and that no girl can believe them now-a-days.
By way of rejoinder, a Mr. Luffy, who is rejoicing over
an incipient pair of mutton-chop whiskers, and who
fancies he is like Don Giovanni because he has found
favor in the eyes of the chamber-maid and the cook
asserts with a loud laugh that life is played out; that
love's a nice thing to talk about in the country, but
that it won't go down in New-York.
Everything has an end and the dreary dinner is no
exception.  The boarders go to the parlor and talk
more nonsense than at the table. Miss Ridgway asks
Norma to hear her, and tells Robert she loves him, at
the piano, though it is very doubtful whether Norma
or Robert care anything about her. Some members
of the company stroll out; some fall asleep, and others
seem to feel a real interest in each other.
Humdrum sighs for billiards and departs in search of
them; while Luffy, profiting by the husband's absence,
tries to be gallant to the wife, who draws away her
hand, and tells the youth to his whiskers he is a fool.
The disappointed Faublas blushes very red, and is so
crestfallen that he seizes his hat, and, going down
Broadway, consoles himself with a "pretty waiter girl"
in the Louvre.  He returns home at two in the morning, with a bad hiccough-a general impression that
"those d-d houses" are trying to crowd him off the
sidewalk, and with a particular conviction that he'll
break Mrs. Humdrum's heart for the rebuff she gave
him. "Yes (hic)," he says to the unsympathetic
lamp-post, with a wave of the hand, "when she longs
(hic) for the shelter of these arms, I'll (hic) cast her off
forever."
211 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.;
Mrs. Humdrum, after the exodus of Luffy, retires to
her room in a high state of indignation; but opens
her door to  Mr. Hicks, her  husband's employer,
who has called to see her lord and master on particular business; and, by way of showing her confidence in the gentleman, puts her head on his shoulder,
and asks him if he thinks a woman can love two men
at the same time.
At 9 o'clock Mrs. Dobbs is left alone in the parlor
with a Mr. Jones, one of the silent men at the table,
who now finds his tongue, and vows he adores her with
his whole soul. She leans upon his paletot, and says
she likes him for his delicacy of feeling, (perhaps she
would be glad to say the same of his appetite), and
hopes he won't come home drunk any more.
Jones' private history is, that he has no money, and
is too dissipated to keep a situation. Largely in arrears for board, he pays court to the landlady, (at
her age and weight, she considers the love-making complimentary, and as a kind of off-set to his indebtedness;) occasionally borrowing five dollars of her, returnable in kisses savoring of tobacco and lager-bier.
Miss Ridgway has two devoted admirers.  One she
receives in the afternoon, and the other in the evening;
giving them good reason to believe she worships both
of them. Neither of them has proposed as yet; but it
is quite time they did. She would accept both, if she
had no fear of the law against bigamy; for she has
solved the problem that seems to trouble Mrs. Hlumdrum.
Certain it is that Miss Ridgway, and Mrs. Dobbs, and
Mrs. Humdrum are not prudent women; but they make
up for any lack in that direction by saying extremel.y
212 
THE BOARDING-HOUSES.
ill-natured things of their feminine acquaintances, who
do not act half so badly as they. That is a woman's
compensation, and should be accepted from the injustice with which'it is made.
Mrs. Dobbs has a great many boarding-houses on
this island, and Miss Ridgway and Mrs. Humdrum are
generally to be found there, though they are called by
different names.
Cloelia and Pulcheria board there too; but they do
not like it a whit. How can they help themselves?
They are pretty, and good, and discreet; but Plutus
answers not their prayers; and he above all other
deities emanicipates mortals on the island of Manhattan.
The refined, and generous. and hungry souls who
are, from want of money, obliged to dwell in boardinghouses, are to be profoundly pitied; for your boarding-houses, even the best of them, are a wretched
make-believe, and a social evil only the sufferers can
completely understand. Persons who keep them, and
through whom they are kept, deserve sympathy.
Boarding-houses are unnatural, and the result of an
over-crowded civilization. Every one must pity the
man born with a soul above a boarding-house, who is
still compelled to keep his body there, with an appetite he cannot appease, and through circumstances he
cannot control
213 
CHAPTER XXII.
HIORACE GREELEY.
HORACE GREELEY is, in all probablity, the best known
man in America.  No remote corner of the Republic
that has not heard of the editor-in-chief of the NewYork Tribune. His name is repeated in Arkansas as
an exorcism to mosquitoes, and even New Zealand is
not unmindful of his fame.
He has been written about more than any American
of his time, and is a standing theme for gossips
who indite letters from New-York.   James Parton
made his first fame by his biography of Greeley, which
he has recently completed to the present time, and
which, in revised form, has recently been issued from
the press.
Much as is known of Horace Greeley as a journalist,
politician and reformer, he is little understood as a man.
All sorts of tales are told of him, and, as he is extremely eccentric, many of the most extravagant stories are widely believed.   His absent-mindedness is
largely insisted on, and I have often heard it stated
with gravity, that he keeps a boy in the Tribune, es
pecially to inform him, at a stated hour, whether he
has eaten his dinner, and what his name was when he
entered the office.
0 
HIORACE GREELEY.
Those personally acquainted with Greeley are as
much amused as he no doubt is, by the absurd gossip
respecting him; for they know that shrewdness and
uncommon sense are among his most marked characteristics.
Horace Greeley was born on the 3d of February,
1811, in Amherst, N. IH., of very poor, and, necessarily, therefore, very honest parents.   Of his hard
work on his father's sterile farm; of his early precocity;
of his devouring of books when he was obliged to
read by the light of pine knots; of his apprenticeship
-very unlike Wilhelm  Meister's-to the printing
business; his severe struggle with fortune; his wandering from one village paper to another, both his
biographer and himself have told at length.
lie came to New-York in August, 1831, a pale, thin,
awkward country boy, looking like Smike, and though
over twenty, he seemed at least five years younger.
I have often heard him described as he wandered up
and down Nassau, William and Chatham streets, in his
worn shoes and short trousers, his flimsy hat and thin,
flaxen hair, all his worldly goods in a handkerchief at
the end of a stick, thrown over his shoulder, seeking
for work, work at any price, and determined to get it;
believing then, as now, that in work and by work all
things are accomplished.   He had only $10 in his
pocket; but he had faith in his industry, his patience,
his energy, and that faith was a fortune beyond calculation.
For ten years he set type and wrote, connecting
himself with various newspaper enterprises, and always
failing, but never losing hope, until, on the 10th of
April, 1841, he issued the first number of the New
215 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
York Tribune, himself selecting the name that has
grown famous, and which, as a mere name for a truly
democratic paper, has no equal in the World. The
Tribune was something new, and far in advance of any
daily paper of that time in tone, breadth and force; its
key-note fiom the start being humanity, a fair chance
for all men. I never realized how excellent a paper it
was in the beginning until I looked over its early files;
and I can't help thinking that it was, considering the
great advance in journalism since, much abler and
more interesting in its first years than it is now.
From the day he started the Tribune-the darling
of his journalistic heart, to which no other darling is
comparable-to the present time, its editor's career
has been one of unflagging labor. One may well say
of him what Clarendon said of Sir Walter Raleighhe can toil dreadfully. He has a mania for work that
persons of luxurious temperament can hardly comprehend.   I have often fancied that by such constant
occupation men like him either work out any discontent and bitterness they may have, or so revenge themselves upon themselves for the dissatisfactions of life.
The amount of work Greeley accomplishes every year
is something incredible.' He finds his chief happiness
in work, as other men do in recreation.
Every day that he is in the City-and he never
leaves it except on urgent business, or to keep an engagement to speak or lecture-he writes at least two
columns for the Tribune, not to speak of his contributions to various other publications, which, I presume,
average six columns' space of his paper each week.
He speaks and lectures fifty or sixty times a year, and
makes, every month, a trip to Albany or Washington,
216 
HORACE GREELEY.
to regulate, according to his own views, the affairs of
the State or Nation.  He writes, with his own hand,
fifteen to twenty-five private letters a day; pores over
the papers like a man who is paid for it; reads-all the
books of any note that come out, whether of philosophy, history, poetry or romance; and sees more people
on every conceivable and inconceivable business than
any man on the island of Manhattan.
When he was writing his "American Conflict," he
found it necessary to conceal himself somewhere to
prevent constant interruption. He accordingly took
a room in the Bible House, where he worked from ten
in the morning until five in the afternoon, and then
appeared in the sanctum, seemingly as fresh and as
anxious to write as if he had been on one of his theoretical fishing expeditions for a number of weeks.
When people use the stereotyped phrase "I want
to see a man," I am sure the anonymous individual is
Horace Greeley, who is certainly the most sought and
inquired-after person in New-York.
Beggars of all kinds, politicians of all schools, reformers of all types, counsel-seekers of all degrees of
weakness, are in perpetual pursuit of Horace Greeley.
So much is this the case that, some months ago, his
sanctum on the editorial floor was demolished, and a
den prepared for him in the impenetrable recesses in
the vicinity of the counting-room. Some thousands
have attempted to find him there; but as the last
heard from them was a mingled groan and malediction, amid the howling darkness of the press-room,
it is believed they paid the penalty of their rash curiosity.
Horace Greeley's home, to which he goes every
217 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Saturday, and where he spends twenty-four hours, is
at Chappaqua, on the Harlcm Railway, about twenty five or thirty miles from the City. He has a pleasant
and highly cultivated farm there, of some forty acres,
in which the eminent journalist has spent most of his
earnings, and which will not pay him on the invest ment, more than one cent on each one hundred dollars.
With the return he is entirely satisfied, as he considers
that his money has been devoted to the cause of agri culture, one of H. G.'s favorite hobbies, and in which
he has always taken the deepest interest. His farm is
a fancy farm in the completest sense; and those who
ought to know say that every beet and turnip he raises
is worth, so far as his- outlay is concerned, twice its
weight in gold.
At Chappaqua he amuses himself by chopping wood
-that is what he conceives to be recreation-and
playing at digging ditches, with kindred light pleasures, while the daylight lasts.   Sunday morning he
returns to town, attends Dr. E. IH. Chapin's (Universalist) Church, of which he is a member, and after the
service bursts into his den down town, and for the
next six hours makes diagrams of Boston in ink, and
calls them editorials.
Horace Greeley married in his youth a pretty and
intelligent New-England girl, whom he found teaching
school in North-Carolina, and by whom he has had
three children. His boy, of whom he was passionately
fond, and who was an extremely precocious and promising child, died years ago, and has ever since been
mourned by his father, with a grief that has hardly
yet been comforted.   His two daughters, Gabrielle
and Ida, aged respectively nine and eighteen, are said
218 
HORACE GREELEY.
to inherit much of their father's intellect and their
mother's strength of character.
The editor-in-chief of the Tribune has always been
very charitable, and, until within a few years, was in
the habit of giving money to whoever asked for it.
It is said he has, as a miscellaneous alms-giver, parted
with $50,000 to $60,000 since he started the journal
of which he is naturally ambitious to be known as the
founder.
His personal appearance, carelessness of dress, (he
is always neat, and has a Beethoven-like fondness for
the bath,) passion for politics, vagaries of conduct,
frequent irritability and alleged injustice to his friends,
require no chronicling. He has all through life shown
an unswerving devotion to principle, and, though by
no means free from faults, this generation, and generations to come, will do him the justice to say that no
man of his time has done more for humanity, or to
educate the people to a sense of right, than Horace
Greeley.   Like the naughty woman  mentioned by
Aretino, he is (according to his political opponents)
always ruining himself; but each ruin seems to establish him more firmly in the confidence of the people. They believe in his earnest endeavor to do right,
and to lead where his understanding of truth directs
him. Whatever his defects, he could not wisely exchange his prospects for immortality with those of any
man in America.
219 
CHAPTER XXllI.
FIFTH AVENUE.
OF the fifteen or sixteen avenues of the City, Fifth
is known as the Avenue by way of distinction. It is,
by all odds, the most handsome and exclusive street
of the Metropolis-the only one that has thus far resisted the encroachments of trade and railways, and
defied the peculiar regulations of our municipal government.   Every few months an innovation is attempted upon the fashionable thoroughfare, which has
too much strength, through its wealth, to submit to
any vulgar alteration in its settled courses.
Fifth avenue exclusiveness must be purchased at
large prices; for it always offers temptations to private
speculators and corrupt legislators. It even prefers
fashion to fortune, for the reason that it has more of
the latter than the former, and it would rather be
over-generous than under-genteel.
"Let me alone; let me be as I want to," says the
Avenue to outside barbarians, in nervous anxiety, its
hand upon its purse, "and I will pay without stint the
most exorbitant of demands."
Street railways are the periodic terror of the Avenue.   Though loud threats are made to put them
there, there is little danger of their establishment; for
the prosperous quarter knows better than Walpole that
few men fail to be convinced by monetary arguments. 
FIFTH AVENUE:
Who has the most money wins in New-York, where the
long as well as the short race is to the fullest purse.
Whenever a house is for sale or rent in the Avenue,
its residents feel a profound interest in the character of
the inmates that are to be. They dread lest the mansion may be converted to unworthy uses; lest they
may be hourly shocked by a plebeian neighbor who
is what they themselves were twenty, or five years, or
perhaps a few months before. Their vigilance is sleepless in this regard, still they have often heen compelled to buy out common tradesmen, and ambitious
courtesans, and enterprising blacklegs, who had purchased an abiding place in the socially sacred vicinage.
There have been those whom bank accounts and bank
checks could not persuade. Madame Restell, the notorious abortionist, and gamblers by the score, and
cyprians by the dozen, have penetrated into the street,
and cannot be gotten rid of for largess or for logic.
Yet the energy and munificence of the Avenue,
in the endeavor to keep out the unanointed, is commendable from its stand-point, and in another direction,
would be productive of no little good.
It is a defect of our perception that we expend our
strength against the current of events.
It is the habit of New-Yorkers to style Fifth avenue
the first street in America. So far as wealth, and extent and uniformity and buildings go, it probably is.
But in situation it is far inferior to many thoroughfares I might name. Beginning at Washington square,
it extends above Harlem; and, far as Fifty-ninth street,
it is almost an unbroken line of brown-stone palaces.
The architecture is not only impressive, it is oppressive.
Its great defect is in its monotony, which soon grows
221
10 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
tiresome.  A variation, a contrast-something much
less ornate or elaborate-would be a relief. Its lack
of enclosures, of ground, of grass plats, of gardens is a
visual vice.
Block after block, mile upon mile, of the same lofty
brown-stone, high-stoop, broad-staired fronts wearies
the eye. It is like the perpetual red brick, with white
steps and white door and window facings for which
Philadelphia has become proverbial.
One longs in the Avenue for more marble, more
brick, more iron, more wood even-some change in
the style and aspects of the sombre-seeming houses,
whose occupants, one fancies from the exterior, look,
think, dress and act alike. One might go, it appears,
into any drawing-room between the Park and old Parade-ground, and he would be greeted with the same
forms; see the same gestures; hear the same speeches.
The stately mansions give the impression that they
have all dreamed the same dream of beauty the same
night, and in the morning have found. it realized; so
they frown sternly upon one another, for each has what
the other wished, and should have had alone.
The slavish spirit of imitation, with poverty of invention, has spoiled the broad thoroughfare where we
should have had the Moorish and Gothic, Ionic and Doric
order, Egyptian weight with Italian lightness, Tudor
strength with Elizabethan picturesqueness.
It is a grievous pity that where there is - so much
money there is so little taste
The sum of Fifth avenue wealth is unquestionably
far beyond that of any street in the country. The
dwellings cost more; the furniture and works of art are
more expensive; the incomes of the inmates are larger
222 
FIFTH AVE-NU.E.
and more prodigally spent than they are anywhere else
on the Continent.
The interior of the houses is often gorgeous. Nothing within money's purchase, but much that perfect
taste would have suggested, seems omitted. Few of
the mansions that do not reveal something like tawdriness in the excess of display. The outward eye is too
much addressed. The profusion is a trifle barbaric.
The subtle suggestions of complete elegance are not
there.
Still, to those who have suffered from the absence of
material comfort, or to those whose temperaments are
voluptuous and indolent, as most poetic ones are, a
feeling akin to happiness must be born of the splendid
surroundings that belong to the homes of the Fifth
avenue rich.
What soft velvet carpets are theirs; what handsome
pictures; what rich curtains; what charming frescoes;
what marbles of grace; what bronzes of beauty; what
prodigality of prettiness! The soft, warm, yet fresh
odor of luxury comes from every angle; fills the corridors, and the delightful chambers, where sleep seems
to be hidden beneath the spotless pillows of lace, steals
out of the half-open library, where hundreds of mo~occo volumes stand silent with the treasures of time
and mind in their keeping; creeps up and down the
stairways, like the breath of flowers blown by the
gentle wind.
Whatever the senses could ask, or culture require,
or fancy crave, might be had in the walled paradise
of those splendid homes.   Dishes so delicate as to
tempt the most surfeited appetite; wines rich enough
to woo an anchorite to their tasting; music   Mozart,
223 
ITHE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and Mendelssohn, and Beethoven to cheer and soften,
to strengthen and console; tomes of bards and sages
to lift the thoughts to ideal possibilities-all these are
to be found there. Fair harvests may be gathered
every minute of the day or night; and he who takes
not up the golden sickle in the fragrant field, is more
to be pitied than he who sighs for flowers in a sterile
waste.
Too sad for tears is the bitter fact that everything
palls; that the highest and best satisfies only for a
time. They who live in the midst of such splendor
grow so familiar with it that they value it not. They
are spared a certain number of wants, but others are
felt that may not be supplied.  The spirit is not satisfied with junketings; the vacuities of the heart may
not be filled with shows of pleasure or the tinsel of
display.
It is good to be rich; but it is better to be contented.
"Remove the banquet where Sympathy will not
come," says every starving soul some time in its progress, "and spread the humblest board where Love
may sit."
See that fair woman, robed like a queen-beauty in
face and form, and grace in every motion.
What has she to sigh for? What can she need,
with wealth, and position, and friends, and a generous
heart?
Nothing that she has; everything that she has not.
Iler generous heart, that should have been her blessing,
has proved her bane. Her husband is not her love,
and never was. She is Wife in name merely; and to
be such is to be accursed with seeming. She is mar
224 
THE FIFTH AVENUE.
22,
ried, not wedded; bound in law, though not in affection.
She obeyed Fashion's dictates, and Nature exacts
the penalty.
How she longs, in her splendid desolation, for the
love of children that do not come for all her longing!
How she thrills in sleep with the kisses of the babe
that kindly dreams send to her, and presses the airy
cherub to her unnursed bosom!   The tender eyes
open, and the happiness has gone. He sleeps heavily
at her side, and she shrinks away from the dreaded
touch that always wakes her like a shock.
0, the woe of those whom Man has joined together,
and God does not put asunder!
Tall and dignified is the handsome-looking man who
sits abstracted at breakfast, over the morning paper,
and whom the money-article does not even attract.
His spouse seems cold, and his children distant, grouped
at the oval table amid the silence of unsympathy that
tells what words cannot.   He  has speculated, and
traveled, and gratified such ambitions as most men
have. But they are empty in this hour-the still, introspective, conscientious hour, which none of us can
wholly escape.
He remembers the landscape that he loved to look
upon fifteen years before-the creeping river, and the
distant village, whose spires winked through the twilight; and the lithe form that slipped away from his
arms until it rested on the grass, and the little head
lay still in sleep upon his lap.
Hie remembers the coming out of the stars, and the
bending down of kissing lips to the brown hair, and
the walk homeward, when the milestones would not
15 
THE GREA~T MIETROPOLIS.
stay apart, and the struggle between the fascinations
of the great city and the narrow life in the humble
town, and the surrender of love to stronger lures.
Alas, he left his happiness behind, and learned the
truth too late!
It is with all of us as it is with him and her. We
miss the way of life because human destiny is dark.
We discover where our peace was when we can no
longer grasp it. We ask for the beautiful vase we
dashed to pieces in our petulant mood. We yearn for
the impossible, and think it dearest because it is impossible.
Our hearts will not bear examination.   Our experiences may not be told, for they are bitter, and teach
nothing even to ourselves.
Let the World spin down its grooves, and let usvpin
with it, and cry amen to others' prayers, and praise
the shams that are put upon us every day of the
year.
Come out of the houses that are not homes.   Come
into the street-the crowded Avenue where life overflows, and drowns disturbing thought.
What a glitter of carriages! How the well-groomed
horses beat the pavement, hour after hour, all the
way to the Park!  Those  men and those women
daintily dressed, wreathed in smiles, are not like him
and her we saw within those handsome walls.
Oh! no; they have no skeletons in their gilded cabinets. The festering wound is not behind those clustering gems. We none of us have woes to speak of
to the many. But the stern angel who bears about
the key of sympathy, unlocks velvet doors that lead to
haunted chambers and to charnel vaults.
2 ".) 6 
THE FIFTH AVENUE.
The brown-stone fronts, with all their likeness, admit
very different guests.
The people who live side by side in the pretentious
Avenue, know each other not. Knickerbocker and
parvenu, the inheritor of wealth and the architect of
his own fortune, the genuine gentleman and the vulgar
snob, reside in the same block.
One house is visited by the best and most distinguished; the house adjoining, by men who talk loud
in suicidal syntax, and women who wear holyhocks in
their hair, and yellow dresses with pink trimmings.
Here dwells an author whose works give him a large
income; over the way, a fellow who has a genius for
money-getting, but who cannot solve the mysteries of
spelling.
Into this plain carriage steps a self-poised, lowvoiced, sweet-faced woman, while, just opposite, a
momentous "female" throws herself into a new landau, and orders the coachman in showy livery, to drive
to "Tiff'ny's right straight before all them  di'monds
is gone."
On the sidewalk, Mrs. Merrit passes quietly; and
her perfect air of good-breeding is not altered by the
high tones of "Mrs. Colonel Tufthunter," who says to
the bonne at the door, "Prend garde du ma infante
jusque je revins."
At this the bonne, who chanced to be born in Paris
instead of Dublin, looks blank, and replies in good
French, which her mistress no more understands than
did the maid her mistress' barbarisms.
Some of the most spacious and expensive mansions
in the Avenue always have a deserted look. Only the
occupants and servants appear on the high, carved
227 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
stoop; only the carriages the master of the establishment owns, stop before the door.
That family purchased a house in the Avenue, but
Society has not accepted its members.   They have
nothing but a new fortune to recommend them. They
must bide their time.
The first generation of the unrecognized fares hard.
The second is educated, and the third claims lineage;
prates of "gentility," and frowns upon what its grandparents were.
To get into the Avenue,  and into its Society, are
different things.
They who -struggle to enter certain circles are not
wanted. Those who are indifferent to mere fashion are
in request; for not to seek, socially, is usually to be
sought. Destiny appears willing always to grant what
we do not waut, and determined to withhold what we
do.
Very many of these houses have histories that would
furnish abundant themes for the old-fashioned, threevolume English novel. Every day that passes within
them would supply comedy and tragedy, one or both,
if they who know would tell. One meets there, any
time, women looking so pure their faces would almost
contradict facts, yet part of their lives, if revealed,
would repel their dearest friends.  Those women are
good and bad, as we understand the terms. Their
faults would shock, and their virtues win us. With
our foot we might spurn; with our hand we should
caress.
Men we encounter in the Avenue have the angel
and devil commingled in their being.   They are
neither so faulty nor so faultless as is believed. They
228 
THE FIFTH AVENUE.
are half divine, yet wholly human. They represent
the World. Circumstance drives, Temperament binds
them.
Fifth avenue has its shams, and follies, and evils.
But go there or elsewhere, and, when we have pondered deeply enough, we shall see that Charity ends
what Sympathy begins.
229 
CHAPTER XXIV.
HENRY J. RAYMOND.
/ HENRY JARVIs RAYMOND was born in this State, in
the little town of Lima, on the 24th of January, 1820;
his father being a small farmer, whom Henry assisted
in the field while a mere boy.  He is said to have
been a very hard worker for a little fellow. He hoed
potatoes and planted corn like a veteran, and riding
horses and driving cows were his favorite recreations.
He very early manifested a fondness for reading, and
before he was eleven years of age had consumed all
the books within a radius of ten miles of his father's
home.   Henry attended the Academy of his native
village, and in his fifteenth year taught in the District
school. After continuing in that capacity for eighteen
or twenty months, he went to the University of Ver mont, and graduated in 1840.   Very soon after, he
came to this City and began the study of law, support ing himself in the meantime by teaching a select school
for young ladies, and by writing for a weekly literary
paper known as the Yew- Yorker.  In his first teens he
had shown an aptitude and passion for writing; and while
at the Academy and while teaching school in the coun try he composed verses and plays of a very superior
order for one of his years. A remarkable versatility
was his even then; and it was observed that he could
I 
HIIENRY J. RAYMOND.
take almost any view of a subject and write on it with
facility and apparent earnestness.   In the debating
societies, too, to which he belonged, he could espouse
the affirmative or negative of a question, and support
one as ably as the other.   Sometimes.-so runs the
rumor-he would become confused in his arguments,
and leave his hearers at the end of his speeches very
much in doubt which side he was on.
The more Raymond learned of law,the less he seemed to like it, and the more he wrote for publication the
fonder he became of it. A few years in a law office
made him conclude journalism was his forte, and when
Horace Greeley established the Tribune, Raymond went
into the office as associate editor at the princely price
of $8 a week, working on an average about thirteen or
fourteen hours a day. H. G., who is a perfect fanatic
concerning labor, and who thinks that a man only ordinarily industrious is a mere drone, actually urged
Raymond not to work so much; and he is the only
person the editor-in-chief of the Tribune has ever found
it necessary to remonstrate with on that account.
Raymond was a capital reporter, and distinguished
himself in that branch of journalism, at a time, too,
when reporting was a rare art.
He served two years on the Tribune, and then connected himself with the Courier and Enquirer, where
he continued for several years.  In 1847 he became a
book-reader for the Harpers, doing also different kinds
of literary work, and remained with them ten or twelve
years.   During his connection with the Courier and
Enquirer he had a controversy on socialism with
Horace Greeley (the latter defending, and Raymond
attacking, it) which was carried on with zeal and abil
231 
THIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
ity on both sides, and attracted a great deal of public
attention.
In 1849 he was elected to the State Legislature by
the Whigs, and was very conspicuous in debate, for
which he had unquestionable talent. The peculiarity
of his school days was repeated in public life.  He
seemed by the force of his own argument, to convince
himself of the truth of the opposite side from that he
espoused. He was re-elected after his term had expired, and having twice served the State he went
abroad for his health, which had become delicate, and
remained a year. In 1854 he was chosen Lieutenant
-Governor of the State, and was very recently sent to
Congress. He is now out of politics so far as the filling of offices is concerned, and he is reported to have
said that he will keep out, having learned at last that
a newspaper requires all a man's time, and that the
profession of a journalist is the highest and most influential of any in the land.
September 8, 1851, the first number of the Times,
which had been for a long while in contemplation, was
issued-Raymond upon it as editor-in-chief-and it is
said he had over twelve columns of his matter in the
initial issue. The Times was published at first for a
cent and afterwards increased to two cents. It was
well received from the start, though $90,000 were sunk
in the concern before it began to make any return. Of
late years it has grown quite profitable, and though its
circulation varies considerably its regular profits are
about $80,000 per annum.
Raymond is a very fluent and easy writer, and it
has often been stated in the office that if the days were
a little longer he would write up the whole paper.
232 
HENRY J. RAYMOND.
Paragraphs, reviews, dramatic and musical criticisms,
sketches, general editorials, political leaders, all are
alike to him. (Hie is, no doubt, the most versatile
writer on the New-York press. One of his most remarkable performances was his article on the death of
Daniel Webster. It filled nearly fifteen columns of the
Times; was written at one sitting, and in the incredibly short space of twelve hours. 1
Almost every one remembers.the article which appeared in the Times, some years ago, in which "the
elbows of the Mincio," "the sweet sympathies of youth"
and other incoherent phrases were strangely blended,
making a mass of ridiculous confusion that gave it the
title of "the drunken editorial." As it was printed
while Raymond was in Europe, and after he had figured prominently as an energetic fugitive at Solferino,
the Herald and other papers charged its authorship
upon him. He never knew anything about it until he
came home; and then learned the entire history of the
article, which is as follows:
One of the staff, a clever but erratic fellow, now on
the World, was in the habit of dining out, and drinking so freely at times that when he came to the office
at a late hour his MS. was very uncertain. Consequently the foreman had orders to look closely at Mr.
's copy, and see if it were safe. If not, to leave
it out. On the eventful night the eccentric personage
came in, flushed with wine, but sat down and wrote a
few "takes" very clearly and intelligibly. The regular foreman examined the first part, pronounced it "all
right," told his foreman to follow copy, and went
home.
The heat of the room very soon acted upon the
233 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
journalist, who mixed up his rhetoric alarmingly. The
assistant obeyed orders literally, no doubt relishing the
heterogeneous editorial, through that passion for waggery so characteristic of printers. In the morning the
article appeared, a very rhapsody of nonsense, to the
great amusement of the readers and the horror of the
editors.
Raymond is small in stature and slight, has dark hair,
gray or light hazel eyes, a thin, nervous face, with dark
side-whiskers, and is quick and energetic in movement.
HIe dresses neatly, but not extravagantly; has pleasant
manners; talks fluently and rapidly, and has quite the
appearance of a busy man of the world. Hie would
be thought a merchant, by strangers, or, perhaps, a
stock-broker, rather than a literary man or a journalist.
He was married while quite young; has five or six
children, the eldest a son in his eighteenth year. He
has made journalism profitable; his income being probably$20,000 to $25,000.  He lives very comfortably,
having a house in town and one in the country. His
wife spends much of the time in Europe, and he himself has made four or five tours of the Continent. He
is the author of several books that have had a large
sale, and will probably write a dozen before he has
surrendered active duties.
Raymond is very sociable; likes company exceedingly, and when he has nothing to do, which is seldom,
enjoys conversation and story-telling as well as a?lly
journalist in New-York. He has a great fund of anecdotes, knows exactly where the point of a story lies
and when it is reached. Ie is fond of theatrical entertainments; has a keen relish of the good things of
life; is in no sense an ascetic or a puritan, but much
234 
HENRY J. RAYMOND.
of a practical optimist, who thinks the World was made
for our enjoyment, and that work is necessary to pleasure no less than to health.   He is very well liked by
his brother journalists, and has a large circle of friends.
A great deal has been said of Raymond's inconsistency and trimming. He certainly varies his political
course a good deal, but he is sincere in his variations.
In conversation with a friend he once spoke of his
ability to see two sides of everything. "I always try,"
he said, "when one side is presented to look at tire
other, and in turning it round, I am instinctively inclined to favor the reverse of the side I have first examined." This is the true key, no doubt, to Raymond's
vagaries, as they are called. They belong to his temperament, and are part of himself as much as the color
of his eyes or the curve of his spine.
235
0
0
.1 
CHAPTER XXV.
THE BATTERY.
THE Battery is a kind of connecting line between
New-York past and present. No other place in the
City, probably, has so many associations, or is so prolific of historic and personal memories. Yet no one
can visit the extreme southern point of the island of
Manhattan without feeling something like pain at the
departed glory of the Battery, the shorn beauty of
that once delightful look-out to the picturesque bay
and the ever-suggestive sea.
The Battery was laid out nearly a century ago, and
is associated with many stirring scenes of the Revolution. The early heroes and fathers of the country trod
its ground, when  Washington's headquarters were
within a stone's throw of the spot; and there the
enemies of the then unborn Republic at one time
pressed their victorious feet. After our independence
was secured, the Battery was converted into a public
promenade, and was, for half a century, what the Central Park has since become to the metropolis.  Ft)r
years there was no other lounging or bathing place;
and there the fashion and wealth of the City disported
themselves in pleasant weather, and drank in the ocean
breezes which swept our scanty commerce to and from
our thinly settled shores. 
THE BATTERY.
There walked, and talked, and laughed our mothers
and grandmothers, and even our great-grandmothers,
who had seen Washington review his little army on
the Battery; who had waved their handkerchiefs when
Lafayette was received there; who had looked with
patriotic and admiring eyes upon Montgomery when
he lifted his hat to them, and the salt sea-breeze stirred
his clustering hair.
What foreigner of note who has ever paid us a visit,
what American of celebrity, has not walked on the
Battery, and watched the sails of the receding ships
flashing in the distance, as the sunlight caught them,
like the wings of great gulls that seem to live gracefully upon the troubled deep?   Benjamin Franklin
has reflected there, and observed the gathering tempest
which spoke to him in thunder, that was then an unrevealed law of science. Bryant, in his youth, may
have caught the idea of Thanato~pss and the Hymn to
the North Star, while listening to the wash of the
waves, and the faint calling of the far-off sea. Emerson has gazed with his calm eyes across the broad bay,
and gone home to his quiet Concord study, and written
with the Atlantic's murmur in his ear, and reproduced
it in his dreams of destiny and visions of the future.
Long after the City Hall Park and Union Square
were popular places of resort, the Battery kept its hold
upon the affections of the citizens and strangers; and
to-day, dismantled and deformed as it is with unsightly
objects, it is the most pleasant resort in New-York.
It is a pity it has been converted to common uses, and
permitted to run to waste; for its delightful view is
unimpaired; the vessels and water-craft of every kind
come and go, and the bay laughs with its green
237 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
dimples, as they did when Bowling Green, surrendered
completely now to shipping offices, was the Belgravia
of the town.
When Jenny Lind came to America, so adroitly advertised and bepraised that many of the credulous
believed her half an angel, she filled Castle Garden
with her first notes. And when the florid and selfconscious Jullien gave his initial monster concert in the
United States, the crash of his hundred instruments
grew mellow as it fell from Castle Garden over the
waters that curled about the walls of the Battery.
After that, Castle Garden lost its prestige. Artists
no longer honored it with their efforts, and enthusiastic audiences no more awoke its echoes with their
applause.
New-York had retreated too far from the Battery,
which was then made an emigrant depot; and now
only lovers of nature and a few strangers wander in
its neglected walks, watching the ships, and listening
to the sea, as of yore, conscious that the ocean and
the sky must be ever fresh and fair.
The Battery is the first glimpse seven-eighths of the
emigrants from Europe catch of the New World; and
they must remember it always, therefore, with its bleak
and barren appearance, looking bleaker and barrener
to them for their expectation of finding this country a
perfect Paradise.   It is interesting to watch these
strangers as they step for the first time upon free soil,
and breathe for the first time the atmosphere of the
model republic.
They must have deemed it singular, a few years
ago, to behold on the grounds of the Battery, all the
appearance of the oppressed lands they had left be
238 
THE BATTERY.
hind-barracks of soldiers, armed men, the movement
.of artillery. But that, fortunately, was only a pause
in the giant's growth, a convulsion of the elements
that cleared the air.
Every week about a thousand Europeans arrive at
the Battery, and are distributed throughout the wonderful country where they have hoped to find happiness and wealth growing on every tree.  Mostly Germans and Irish, who have rarely seen large cities, save
in passing through on their trans-Atlantic journey,
they seem lost in surprise and pleasure, while they go
gaping and staring up roaring Broadway, jostled and
bewildered by thousands of well-dressed men, bent,
apparently, on missions of life and death.
Not strange that they are confused when the great
thoroughfare bursts upon them. It must be a revelation, a sensation, an era, the realization of some fantastic dream; and as they stand at the corners, or are
shouted at by hackmen and truckmen, no doubt they
are endeavoring to determine to their own satisfaction
if they are really awake.
We Americans, all more or less cosmopolitan, can
hardly comprehend how great and sudden must be the
change to the poor, oppressed Irishman, or patient,
plodding German, who has lived all his life so hard
and narrowly that comfort and liberty, as we understand them, are almost unknown. To take us out of
our sleep, and drop us down in Jeddo, or Cantor., or
Damascus, or Alexandria, would be little compared to
the removal of a half-intelligent foreigner from a rural
village of the continent to the heart of New-York.
. When the emigrants first set foot on the Battery
they are compelled to run the gauntlet of sharpers and
239 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
rogues, generally foreigners like themselves, whom too
much and too sudden liberty has demoralized beyond
hope of reformation. The graceless scamps lie in wait
like beasts of prey for the unsuspecting and ignorant
strangers, and, whenever the police do not prevent,
pounce upon and plunder them recklessly of their
slender savings. The knaves assume to be officers of
the Government; charge them a sum for their initiation to the country; a price for their luggage, and
then steal it; carry them off to wretched boardinghouses, where they are robbed again, and beaten if
they protest; play all manner of dishonest tricks upon
them, until they often pray in their hearts, I suspect,
that they were comfortably back in their humble
homes.
Poor creatures! it is the fiery ordeal they are compelled to pass. But they soon find those willing and
glad to deliver them from the knaves into whose hands
they have fallen; and from that hour the star of fortune
rises above their new horizon.
How many times I have watched the groups of
emigrants wandering about the Battery, and fancied
their ideas and feelings in the new land to which they
have come.
Men, women and children, how oddly they look;
but not half so oddly as we to them, I suspect.
An intelligent foreigner once told me the first impression he received of the country was, that every
man here wore a clean shirt; which was only another
way of speaking of the neatness, and wholesomeness,
and prosperity of the people at large. I presume the
extensive scale upon which everything is done by, and
the apparent comfort and wealth of, the Americans,
240 
THE BATTER-.'.
must be the first idea that the emigrants receive, particularly when they pass up the main aisles of the
City. If they were to walk through the Fourth, or
Sixth, or Tenth wards,-many parts of them, at least,they would suppose they had not improved their prospects by crossing the ocean.  For there the squalor,
and poverty to which they have been accustomed, if
they have lived in European cities, must strike them as
familiar sights.
The different nationalities represent their different
traits of character on their arrival. The Irish are excited, sanguine, merry and belligerent on the smallest
provocation; indeed, the atmosphere of the Republic
seems to generate bellicose qualities.   Our Hibernian
brothers are the only people under the sun who fight
for the pure love of the thing, and who seem to like a
man the better after a few knock-downs, either given or
received.
The German is staid, quiet, sober, when he lands,
and remains so to the end.   lie is fond of company,
capable of great self-enjoyment; but he is moderate
in his pleasures, and thrifty to the last degree.   He
does not make much money, but he rarely spends it,
and grows wealthy after a while by a rigid economy.
The S- otch are somewhat like the discreet Teutons,
with more tact and perspicacity. They prosper nmaterially if any avenue be opened. If there be not, they
probably open one themselves.   They are canny as
the proverb makes them,-resembling the Germans in
their fondness for companionship and social pleasures.
The French are still French.   They adhere to each
other, and sigh for Paris. When they can, they return
to France, and wonder what is the use of any other
place but its gay capital
16
241 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The Italians run to plaster casts, and organs, and
monkeys and fruit, for the most part,-congregating
in the same quarter, and dragging Italy across the sea
as best they may.
Yet America affects them all insensibly; enlarges
them; deepens them; elevates them. They rarely-I
never heard of a single instance-regret the day they
come, or the hour they arrive here, and they usually
remember the Battery with a tender affection.
THE BATTERY IN 1861.
242 
CHAPTER XVI.
THE GAMBLING-HOUSES.
THE instinct to gamble is strong in humanity.  It
needs development only, in the shape of circumstance,
to convert hermits into hazarders, and gownsment into
gamesters.
Every man is conscious of this, and avoids the opportunity and its temptations. However, they find
him often when he avoids them too sedulously, and he
yields, as women yield when passion masters their
hearts.
Such gambling is gambling in the restricted and
proscribed sense the hazarding of money  against
cards or dice.  With a larger and truer meaning, all
men are gamblers. All life is a great game. Power,
love, wealth, reputation, are the stakes we play for,
and Death wins all.
Trade and business of every species are gambling
under another name.   The successful merchant and
banker are esteemed and honored in life, and epitaphs,
false or fulsome, written over their graves. They who
deal with paste-board and ivory are christened " blacklegs," and "virtuous society" places them beyond its
pale. The Wall street gambler is crowned with laurels, and the no more dishonest gamester of Houston
street with the cypress of reputation. One wears the
t 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Brahmin's sacred robes; the other the Pariah's garb;
and yet their spiritual caste is the same.
The character of America and Americans generates
a spirit of recklessness and adventure which is the parent of gambling.  We  feverish Anglo;Saxon-Normans, or whatever we may be, lay wagers of our
peace, and hope, and life itself against destiny and
death, and accept the result with the indifference of
philosophy or the calmness of despair.
iHere in New-York, where all life is concentrated,
and a year crowded into a month, the prompting to
gamble comes in with the breeze from the sea. The
pulses of expectation and ambition rise and fall with
the tides that wash this crowded strip of a million
struggling souls.
Fifth, and Lexington, and Madison avenues gamble
as well as Wall, and Broad, and New streets. There
socially; here financially; but all with dice they fancy
loaded.
In the Metropolis, it is estimated there are nearly
2,500 gambling places, (as gambling is generally understood,) from the gorgeous saloon, where tens of
thousands are gained and lost, in single nights, to unhealthy and dingy cellars, where besotted beggars
play for pennies, and are satisfied to win the purchase
of the poison that maddens, but is slow to kill.
The "respectable" and fashionable establishments
are mostly in Broadway, though Fifth Avenue, and
Houston, and Grand and Pine streets, and the Bowery
exhibit the pugnacious tiger with show and pretension
to those inclined to war with him.
The fierce animal, never averse to combat, and
never to be slain, roars all over town; seeks his vic
244
0 
THE GAMBLING-HEIOUSES.'
tim under the shadow of churches, and in the full
glitter of fashionable display. He lies in cosy and
luxurious jumbles of satinwood and velvet, and they
who do not seek him rarely suspect his presence. Yet
they who search can always find; and guides are not
lacking to direct strangers to the favorite haunts of
the striped beast. He looks handsome at first. H.is
claws are sheathed, and he lies supine in drowsy symmetry, and rubs his yellow head in playful softness
against the caressing hand. But he is treacherous as
savage, and the unwary who woo him most he rends'
the? cruelest.
A11 the way from the battery to Thirtieth street,
gambling saloons are thrust carefully out of sight in
the upper stories of buildings of stone and marble,
which thousands pass every day without dreaming of
their existence. They have no outward sign to the
many; but to men about town they are known at a
glance. They usually have large gilt numbers on
glass over doors leading through small vestibules to
another door with a bell handle at the side, and a
faithful porter behind. Any one can step into the first
door from the crowded street, and no one will know
where or how he has disappeared.
The faintest sound of the bell brings a peering face
through a lattice, and after a moment's scanning, unless the visitor or visitors have something suspicious
in their seeming, the inner door opens, and a hall and
stairway lead to the apartment'where every man's
money is as good as another's until it is lost, and then
it is a great deal worse.
If the weather be cold or inclement without, the
new scene to which you have been introduced is a
245 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
pleasant contrast. It gives, suddenly or completely,
shelter, warmth, and comfort; pervades the mind with
a sense of ease and pleasure, and luxury; prompts you
to stay longer than you had intended
The rooms —there are usually two or three, sometimes more-are brilliantly lighted and expensively
furnished.  Curtains of satin and lace, sofas of velvet
or silk, mirrors from ceiling to floor, carpets of crimson and white, carved sideboards sparkling with decanters and goblets, and swimming with liquors and
wines, tables spread with china and silver, and dishes
of appetizing odor are there.
You can recline. on lounges, or smoke, or drink, or
read the papers or magazines, or examine the pictures
on the walls as long as you will without expense.
Everything is free to habitues of the saloon, though
the proprietors expect you to show your appreciation
of their hospitality by a little patronage now and then.
But they do not ask you. In the adjoining room fortune holds high carnival, and promises fairly to be
kind.
Forget she is feminine, and not to be trusted overmuch. Go to her boldly, for boldness wins her as it
does all her sex, and see if she repay you not with
golden favors.
That is not counsel. It is the whisper of avarice in
the heart, the greed of gain, the seductive voice that
tells of wealth without labor, and pleasure without
pain.
The adjoining room is open. It is closed to none.
Enter; and, if you do not play, perhaps the game
will interest you. Such your thought and prompting,
and you go in.
246 
THE GAMBLING-HOUSES.
This department is more quiet than the others,
where men were talking, and smoking, and laughing.
The men are young and old; b)ut all are welldressed, rather overdressed, as they are generally in
New-York. They stand about a cloth-covered table,
on which cards are fastened, and put down circular
pieces of ivory, known as "chips," while a hard-faced
fellow draws the cards corresponding to those on the
cloth from a silver box, and throws them to the right
and left.
One pile is the banker's, the other the better's; the
game being faro, of course.   If you have put your
"chips" on the card whose corresponding one falls on
your pile, you have won; if on the banker's, you have
lost.
The game is very simple and seems fair; and it is
the fairest of gambling games. Yet the advantages in
favor of the banker are such that he must always win
in the long run. Faro banks are broken sometimes.
But hundreds of betters must be broken before one
bank can be. The temptation, even to gamblers, to
bet against the bank, is so strong that they often make
affidavit before notaries and witnesses to abstain from
staking their money on that side of the table, as they
say, for six months, or a year, or a lifetime even.
The difference between the professional and amateur gambler is very marked. The latter is anxious,
pale, nervous; his voice is unsteady and hoarse; and
he calls often for wine or liquor. His whole soul is in
the game'. His eye watches it with a quivering glow.
He smiles with a sickly smile sometimes, especially
when he loses largely; but the counterfeit would not
deceive a child.
247 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The professional's face is cold and fixed as marble.
The closest scrutiny could not determine if he was
winning or losing.  With the same stolid indifference
he takes in and pays out the money, even if he owns
the bank. He is often a dealer only, on a regular
salary; but, whether dealer or banker, no one would
conjecture from his countenance.
I have seen bankers lose their last stake, and the
puff of their cigar was as regular as'when they had
gained $20,000 in half an hour.
A gambler at Baden Baden lost immense sums to a
dark-browed Spaniard, whom the superstitious fancied
in league with the Evil One, and, when he passed over
the last rouleau of gold, he quietly said, ",The bank is
broken," stepped aside, and blew out his brains.
The patrons of the bank are, as I have said, of different ages. The beardless youth, the man in middle
life, the gray-haired, wrinkled man are there, drawn
baythe same fascination.   The majority of those present are past middle age; for love of money survives
the love of pleasure.
No  one can enter a fashionable gambling-house in
New-York, unless he has learned the World thoroughly, (the knowledge is not sweet, though it be profitable) without being surprised at those be meets there,
without some disturbance of his faith.
That young man, known to be dissipated, spoiled
by the over-indulgence of a wealthy but unprincipled
father, you expected to see at such a place. It is natural enough a badly-reared youth, with a bad example
before him, should seek to gain the means for a still
more lavish expenditure. Any one can read his destiny. A few more years of waste and riot; probably
248 
THE GAMBLING-HOUSES.
a conventional marriage, without abandonment of mistresses; death from delirium tremrens,-printed, in the
morning paper, congestion of the brain-a funeral sermon in a Fifth avenue church extolling the virtues he
laughed at in life; a hearse and mourning carriages
trailing to Greenwood; a comely widow and few
tears.
But that sleek, venerable-looking man you did not
think to encounter. You say you have'seen him with
gold-clasped hymn-book, bending low and repeating
audibly at Trinity.  No doubt.   That was Sunday.
This is Thursday; and the best of fashionable Church
members may be wicked one day of the week.
Flushed and pale by tqrns is the person opposite.
He has been there regularly for three months past;
and he has lost of late thousands of dollars, though
-fortune favored him at first. His salary is but $1,500
in the Petroleum bank. He is assistant teller, and he
makes his account good with memorandum-checks that
never can be paid. Possibly he will pay the debt by
paying the one he owes to nature.   Desperation is
upon him, and discovery imminent; but the Hudson is
deep, and flows not far away.
The silence is impressive about the table, save when
a short quick oath is breathed by a loser, or the voice
of laughter comes from the supper-room, where the
jingling of glasses is heard. Men come and go, and
until long after midnight the game continues-betting
often growing heavier with the advancing hours.
Th.ose entering are usually hot with drink, and bet
carelessly and blindly, and are lucky not seldom.
Those departing look wan and wretched, for they have
lost everything. They dash down a glass of liquor, as
249 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
they go out, to drown memory, and Broadway greets
them as before; but all is changed.
Hundreds of these faro banks, splendid, fascinating
dangerous, are in every fashionable and frequented
quarter, particularly near the hotels and theatres. They
have regular attaches, who are either salaried or receive
a certain per centage for the strangers they induce to
enter the gilded hells.  Those decoys are very ener getic and persevering. They frequent the hotels, res taurants, bar-rooms and places of amusement; make
acquaintances by pretending to have met the strangers
somewhere before; inviting them to drink, to take a
walk, to step in and see a friend, and all the wellknown rest.
Strange, men can be so easily duped.  But they can.
The oldest tricks seem to become new every day.
The pretending-to-be world-wise walk into open pitfalls with open eyes. Many of the gambling-saloons
are conducted as honestly as such places can be.  But
more are mere pretexts for plunder.  Strangers are
drugged, and, when consciousness returns, they have
been robbed. At many, professional bullies manufacture quarrels, and steal under appearance of fighting.
In the First, Fourth and Fifth wards, desperate
characters are to be found, with dirty cards and bloated
faces, prepared for burglary and murder, but preferring the easier task of swindling.
In the low bagnios of Greene, and Mercer, and
Thompson streets, cards, and dice, and "sweat-cloths"
can be had for less than the asking.
In the William street and Bowery concert saloons,
monte, and vingt-un, and roulette, and rouge-et-noir,
and, of recent months, coulo and keno, have been played, and are still.
250 
THE GAMBLING-HOUSES.
Sailors' boarding-houses in Water, and Pearl, and
West streets, employ runners to seize mariners, who
are robbed and beaten, and have no redress.
All over the island, gambling goes oln.   But the
most dangerous places are the fashionable saloons in
Broadway and in the vicinity of Union and Madison
squares. Where champagne sparkles, and gamblers
are elegantly dressed and have good manners, the first
temptation is offered, and the first steps downward are
covered with velvet, so soft that the falling footstep
awakes not the most timid fear.
The proprietors of the fashionable gambling-saloons
in New-York live like princes, but usually spend as
they go.   They have incomes reckoned by tens of
thousands; but their mistresses, and horses, and luxurious establishments, and hazards leave them but little
at the close of the year.  Some of them are men of
education and family; but generally they are of vulgar
origin, and have learned those characteristics of gentlemen-coolness and self-possession-only as a necessary accompaniment of their perfidious calling. They
appear well often. But, taken beyond their depth,
.they betray the coarseness of their nature, and the
meanness of their associations.
251 
CHAPTER XXVII.
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
IF the country contains any. man in or out of the
pulpit more popular, in the strict sense of the term,
than Henry Ward Beecher, I do not know him. That
he is regarded more as a man than a clergyman, is
shown by the fact that, in speaking of him, the prefix
of " reverend " is rarely applied to his name. Indeed,
there seems to be something inappropriate in the title,
intimately as Beecher has been associated with the
clerical profession all his life. He is the representative
of the liberal American mind rather than of the Congregational church; of humanity rather than of a
creed: hence his reputation and influence.
Henry Ward Beecher was born June 27, 1813, at
Litchfield, Conn., graduated at Amherst, Mass., in his
twenty-first year; studied theology under his father,
the celebrated Lyman Beecher, at Lane Seminary, near
Cincinnati, Ohio, and in 1837 was placed in charge of a
Presbyterian church in Lawrenceburg, Ind. He remained there only two'ears, having been called to
Indianapolis, where he continued until 1847.  iHis sermons were from the beginning marked by freshness,
boldness and originality, and attracted so much attention that he was induced, after spending ten years in 
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
the West, to accept the pulpit of Plymouth Church,
Brooklyn, of which he has ever since been the pastor.
Though he lives in Brooklyn, he is so identified with
New-York that he could not, with fitness, be omitted
from this volume.
The Beechers are unquestionably a gifted family,
and some of them have shown something very like
genius and an inclination, if not determination, to follow their own thoughts and express their own judgment. Common traits are visible in Lyman, the father,
and in the children, Edward, Henry, Harriet and
Catherine. They are all strong-minded, brave-hearted,
firm-souled; and their peculiarities have reproduced a
new form of the old epigram, that mankind is composed of the human family and the Beechers.
At school Beecher was not remarkable for application or diligence. He was bright, but, on the whole,
rather indolent, so far as routine studies were concerned. He was a perpetual reader, and exceedingly
fond of Nature.   Often, when he should have been
conninig his lessons, he was wandering in the woods,
or lying beside streams, devouring some one of the
numerous volumes he was more ready to borrow than
return. Several of his professors predicted he would
never amount to anything, and others that he would
come to some bad end. They were false prophets, as
they generally are; for their knowledge is of books,
not of men. They are prone to believe any youth
who does not put his soul into Greek hexameters and
conic sections, and fails of punctuality at chapel service, is tending to irremediable evil.  Beecher did
not, I am glad to say, graduate with the highest honors of his class, as the stereotyped expression is.  On
253 
TITHE GREAT METROPOLIS.
the contrary, he barely got through; and if he had
not gotten through, he would have been little grieved,
for he always held the deepest wisdom to be in communion with Man and Nature, through whom God is
revealed.
Lyman Beecher had, from ITenry's childhood, designed him for the church. He was not alarmed by
the eccentricity of the youth, for he had deep faith in
the boy's good sense, stability of character, and disposition to do right. He was proud of him, too; believed him a genius because he was a Beecher, and
the son of his father, and preordained, therefore, to
walk in -the true ways of the righteous.
Henry Ward had no natural appetite for theology;
thought seriously of being a sailor, a traveler, a physician, a public speaker.  But his fial affection and
the earnest wishes of his father determined his course,
and sent him to Lane Seminary. iHe showed there
many of the eccentricities of Amherst.  He roamed
over the beautiful hills about Cincinnati, sometimes
even on Sunday; and it is rumored that he  "profaned" the sacred day by reading poetry and novels.
He was heterodox, too, in his liking for feminine society-girls, especially those of a superior age (clever
and precocious boys are usually attracted to women
of twice their years) having always interested him,
and drawn him even from the books he read with the
sweetness of conscious interdiction. In spite of the
rather stiff and sombre character of Lane Seminary,
Beecher seems to have had quite a good time there,
and he still preserves very happy memories of the
days spent at Walnut Hills. Many of the residents of
the neighborhood recollect him as a merry, light
254 
HENP; WARD  BEECHER.
hearted youth, as unlike his fellow-students, and as
free from formality and seriousness as if he had
dropped down at the Seminary from thQ planet Mercury or Venus.
There has always been something a trifle grotesque,
to my mind, in Beecher's being a Congregational minister, not because Beecher is so peculiar, but because
he is so unliko all other divines of that church. For
more than twenty years he has filled the Plymouth
church pulpit, and has constantly advanced what, in
any other man, would have been deemed the most
startling and pernicious heresies.   He has escaped
condemnation and expulsion by his honesty and audacity. His boldness of utterance has frightened the
timid into silence, and the thoughtful into admiration.
Every one has deemed him sincere and zealous, and
has accepted his breadth and toleration as the advanced conditions of a higher Christianity.
Beecher must have startled his flock at first; for its
members were very different when he took charge of
their spiritual direction from what they have since
become under his teachings. But he has shown supreme tact and admirable discretion; his fine instincts
revealing to him what he could and what he could not
say, and when the opportunity was ripe for a theologic
coup d' e'tat.
I can imagine with what an uncomfortable feeling
many of his spiritual brothers and sisters must have
heard his first invitation to all who believed in Jesus
Christ to take the sacrament.  They have grown used
to him now. He has educated them up to a height
from which they would once have looked down dizzily.
He has led them along unconsciously until they hardly
255
It 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
know over what an immense space they have traveled.
The floods they feared, and the precipices they dreaded,
were found tp be flowing by picturesque banks, and
commanding  beautiful views, whose existence they
had been unconscious of
I. do not wonder many people say Beecher does not
and cannot believe in his creed. He is too broad for
it; but he does an immense deal of good in an ortho dox' pulpit that he could not do in any other. He
knows that; he is dimly conscious of a pious fraud;
but he thinks the end justifies the means.  He satisfies
his conscience by the conviction that he is broadening
all theology, and by degrees making it and Christianity
one and the same thing.
They who hold such opinions are mistaken. Beecher
is sincere and earnest beyond question. He is broader
than his church is usually regarded, but not broader
than his interpretation of its dogmas.   He expounds
the truths of the Bible for himself instead of being
bound by the explanations of others; and no one
will say Humanity and Christianity are not on his
side.   He is a natural man, in perfect health, and
therefore cheerful, buoyant, hopeful.   He does not
fancy himself pious because he is bilious, or devoted
because suffering from dyspepsia.
Beecher has been compared to Spurgeon; but one
suggests the other only by contrast. Beecher seems odd,
for he is what few men in the pulpit are, an individual.
He is eccentric without affecting eccentricity, and his
peculiar oratory is so different from the starched common-places and narrow theology of some divines that I
do not marvel it is captivating alike to the ordinary
and the cultivated. He does not believe his office is
256 
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
sacred unless he fills it with living work and vital
faith in humanity; and he does not claim for his position what he, the man, fails to yield to it. Other
preachers lose the man in the profession.  Beecher
loses the profession in the man; and this, I suspect, is
more than all else the secret of his clerical success.
Beecher was one of the founders of the Independent,
the most lucrative religious paper in the country. -He
was for years its de facto editor, and contributed to it
a series of fresh, racy and vigorous articles signed with
an asterisk, which were afterwards published in book
form under the title of the "Star Papers," and had a
wide sale. Several years since he dissolvod his connection with the Independent on account of his numerous employments, sacerdotal and secular.
iHardly any man dwelling in the metropolian district is more industrious than he. He has an appe
tite for work that is hardly appeasable.   However
much he does he is dissatisfied because he does not do
more. Between his sermons and church duties, his
correspondence and lectures, his general literary work
and his travels hither and thither, he has little time
he can call his own.
He has written and completed a number of able and
eloquent volumes, and is now engaged upon a "Life of
Jesus," which will be his most elaborate and finished
work. He will not complete it probably for several
years, but when he does, it will necessarily attract
great attention, be sharply criticised and generally
read. The opinions of such a man as Beecher on
Christ are worth hearing, especially as he has said that
he can only understand God through his Divine Son;
that Eternal Goodness, Justice and Mercy are made
17
257 
THE GREAT METROPOLMS.
clear and certain through the suffering and atonement
of the Savior of Mankind.
"Norwood" has done much to popularize Beecher's
mode of thought and his views on religion. Though
not a novel according to the rules of art, it is very interesting as a record of the author's opinions and sympathies. The fact that he was about to write a novel,
troubled a part of his congregation at first; but he
is always troubling its most orthodox members, and
they soon reconciled themselves to what they have
come to believe his inevitable waywardness. The publication of "Norwood" in the Ledger increased the
circulation one hundred thousand, so that Robert Bonner could well afford to pay $30,000 to its author.
With the exception of John B. Gough, Beecher is
probably the most popular lecturer in the country.
He did not lecture last season, nor will he this, albeit
he can make $10,000 every Winter he consents to appear before lyceums.
He took a deep interest in politics after the question
of slavery entered into them. In 1856 he addressed
mass meetings in favor of the Republican candidates,
and continues to be a stump speaker whenever he believes he can benefit the cause. He was untiring in
his efforts to strengthen the North during the rebellion,
and it is said, after Sumter was fired on, he was with
difficulty prevented from taking up a musket in defence
of the country. He was only kept out of the ranks
by his friends proving to him logically that he could be
of infinitely greater service in influencing public opinion with his voice and pen than in acting as a private
soldier.
Beecher has a good income, much of which he is
258 
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
reputed to expend in charity. Last year he returned
about $40,000, the greater part of which was, no doubt,
from "Norwood." His salary as pastor of Plymouth
Church is $10,000 or $12,000, and he earns quite as
much in other ways. He has an amiable and devoted
wife and several children, one of whom, his eldest son,
served as a captain of artillery during the War, and
another who is now entering Yale college.  He has a
very pleasant and comfortable home in Brooklyn, full
of pictures, books, Scripture mottoes and sunshine.
Everyone knows how he looks; that his face is quite
as physical as spiritual; that he is always in robust
health, and that in his fifty-fifth year he appears like a
great, fresh-hearted boy released from the school of
tradition for a Summer holiday of good-fellowship and
common sense.
259 
I
CHAPTER XXVIn.
THE RESTAURANTS.
To A STRANGER, New-York must seem to be perpetually engaged in eating. Go where you will between
the hours of 8 in the morning and 6 in the evening,
and you are reminded that man is a cooking animal.
Tables are always spread; knives and forks are always
rattling against dishes; the odors of the kitchen are
always rising. Is the appetite of the Metropolis ever
appeased? you think. Whence come all the people
to devour all the food that is displayed in every shop
between Whitehall slip and Central Park.
In West and Water streets, as well as in Broadway
and Fourteenth, the appetite is tempted, though in
more or less delicate ways.  The whole island appears
covered with oysters and clams, and the destiny of its
inhabitants to eat is clear. We are forced to believe
no one can be hungry in New-York, which seems to
contain food enough to supply the entire nation. This
must impress the emigrant as the land of plenty, the
great store-house of the World. And yet hundreds
daily pass the richly-furnished restaurants and heaps
of prepared provisions, without the means of gratifying their hunger.
One advantage of New-York is that a man can live
here very muchfas he chooses. He can live fashiona 
THE RESTAURANTS.
bly and luxuriously for from one to five hundred dollars, or meanly and poorly for six to eight dollars a
week. The latter method very few Americans adopt
unless compelled by absolute necessity; and not then
very long, for laudanum is not dear, and the rivers
are very deep.
The City contains five or six thousand restaurants
and eating-houses of different kinds. Nearly all of
them do a successful business, and many make their
proprietors rich in a very few years. They vary as
greatly in their appearance and prices as in the character of their patrons. They range from the elegance
and costliness of Delmonico's and Taylor's to the subterranean sties where men are fed like swine, and dirt
is served gratis in unhomceopathic doses.   There, are
silver, and porcelain, and crystal, and fine linen, and
dainty service.   Here, are  broken  earthen-ware,
soiled table-cloths, and coarse dishes. In Fourteenth
street, you pay for a single meal what would keep
you for a week below Chambers street, and give you
dyspepsia withal unless you have the stomach of an
ostrich.
One wonders how even this great City can support
so many eating-houses. It could not but for the great
distance between the business and residence quarters,
and the consequent necessity of the commercial classes
dining or lunching down town. Nearly three-quarters
of the restaurants below Canal street owe their support
to that fact; for as soon as the mercantile tide sets
northward, their trade is over for the day.
Nowhere else in this country do men live so largely
at restaurants as in New-York.   Nowhere else are
lodging and eating so completely and strictly divided.
261 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Probably 150,000 of our population rent rooms up
town, and get their meals down town. They adopt
that mode of existence because they are not able to
live at hotels, and they are unwilling to put up with
what is termed, by an ingenious figure of speech,
boarding-house accommodations.
Eating is done in the Metropolis with the haste of
Americans intensified. From 12 o'clock to 3 of the
afternoon, the down-town eating-houses are in one continuous roar. The clatter of plates and knives, the
slamming of doors, the talking and giving of orders
by the customers, the bellowing of waiters, are mingled in a wild chaos. The sole wonder is how any
one gets anything; how the waiters understand anything; how anything is paid for, or expected to be
paid for. Everybody talks at once; everybody orders
at once; everybody eats at once; and everybody seems
anxious to pay at once.
The waiters must be endowed with extraordinary,
and the cooks with miraculous, power of hearing. How
could any one expect them to comprehend, "11Hameggs-for-two-oyster-stew-coff and-ap-pie-for-three-porkbeans-ale-cigars-for-four-beef- steak-onions-porter-cigarfor-five-mut-'n-chop-mince - pie - black - tea - for - one," all
pronounced in one word, in various keys and tones,
with the peculiar recitative of eating-houses?
It is a curious sight to witness the skirmishing, as it
is termed, in Park row, Nassau or Fulton streets, about
the hours named.
A long counter is crowded with men, either standing elbow to elbow, or perched on stools, using knives,
and forks, and spoons; talking with their mouths full;
gesticulating with their heads, and arms, and bodies;
262 
THE RESTAURANTS.
eating as if they were on the eve of a journey round
the World, and never expected to obtain another meal
this side of the antipodes. The hungry are constantly
satiated,-constantly going; but others, as hungry, as
feverish, as garrulous, as energetic as they, are always
coming to supply their places, and continue the chaos
of confusion as before.
If misery makes strange bed-fellows, restaurants in
New-York create singular companions.    Men  meet
there who never meet anywhere else. Faces become
familiar at a table that are never thought of at any
other time.   You  know the face, as that of your
brother, or father, or partner; but, when it turns away
into the crowd, you never suspect, or care, or conjecture where it goes, or to whom it belongs.
I heard an old habitue' of restaurants say the other
day, " There's a man I've been seeing for twenty years
at Crook's. Yet who he is, or what he does, or how
he lives, I have not the remotest idea. I wonder who
the devil the old fellow is? But I suppose he has the
same curiosity about me."
It is interesting to enter the restaurants now and
then, and observe the faces, the manners, the general
bearing of the frequenters. How full they are of oppJosites and variations!  They are very different from
what I often take or mistake them.
I remember thinking that that milk-faced, pale-eyed
man, in such plain and well-worn attire, with such a
humble air, was a poor clergyman who was probably
compelled to work for a pittance during the week for
one of the religious journals, and was firm in this idea
until, coming down-town one evening, I observed my
old friend in the hands of the police, who were drag
263 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
ging him to the Tombs.  He was one of the most desperatq burglars in the City, and had for years escaped
detection. The day after his commitment he was found
in his cell, hanging by the neck, one of his suspenders
about his neck, stone dead,-glaring defiance out of
his glazed eyes at defeated justice.
There was the hard-visaged, cruel-chinned person,
who ate like a cormorant.  A sinister expression was
in his eye, which would not meet yours, strive as you
might to catch it. I was convinced he was a scoundrel
-a sneak-thief, perhaps; that he beat his children unmercifully, and ruled his poor, frightened wife with a
rod of iron. He subsequently proved to be a Williamsburg clergyman, and was esteemed a saint by his
congregation.
The slovenly, abstracted, care-worn looking mortal
whom I fancied a carman or a porter, and whom I was
often tempted to give a dollar to, so woe-begone and
overworked did he seem, revealed himself to me as
one of the- richest men in New-York. His daily income was more than all I was worth, including my
lands along the Guadalquivir and my castles in the
Pyrenees.
Strange, all this. Is physiognomy at fault; or is it
truer than we think?
Seated on that stool is the editor of an ultra republican paper; and, as he cuts his slice of roast beef,
his elbow touches the arm of the democratic highpriest, who claims to dictate the course of the party
in New-York.  They have abused each other for years
in print; and now they nod to each other, and drink
a glass of ale together, and separate, each to tell his
readers how unprincipled the other is.
2 6-1 
THE RESTAURANTS.
Opposite one another at the small table, are two literary men whose names are familiar as household
words all the country over.   They recognize each
other's faces, but neither has the most latent suspicion
that his neighbor is the famous poet, or the author of
half a dozen of the best known books in America.
That handsome, carefully dressed man of fashion
lights his cigar by the cigar of the pensive artist.
They have not met before, and yet their warm friendship for the same metropolitan beauty who has just
come back from Paris, ought at least to make them
acquainted. At the door they pass her husband, and
the artist is unconscious who he is. But the other
grasps his hand, and presses it as if the husband were
very near his heart. Do men ever really like the husbands of the wives they love?
When evening comes and the business of the day
is ended, the down-town restaurants are closed, and
those up-town have their active season. Then Curet's,
and the Cafe de l'Universite, and Taylor's, and Delmonico's thrive, particularly toward midnight, after
the theatres and the concerts and the operas are over.
The up-town restaurants frnish quite a contrast to
those in the lower quarter of the City. They have no
confusion, no bustle, no jostling, no door-slamming.
Ladies elegantly and elaborately dressed go with their
escorts to upper Broadway and Fourteenth street; go
in handsome equipages, amid flower and toilette odors,
and with all the suggestive poetry that night lends to
a fine woman, intoxicated with her own sweetness, and
the consciousness that she is lovable to every sense.
Late suppers, and rich wines, and low voices, and
delicious flattery are dangerous, dear madam, even if
0
265 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
you think it not. And he who is so gallant and so
refined, so tender and so generous-such a contrast to
him you vowed to love when your heart revoked the
vow-may be more to you than you dream.
It is hard for a man to be a married woman's friend,
and only that. Yet every woman declares he shall
never be aught else; and, while she declares, is deceived, and learns nothing by her deception.
-How few of the fashionable wives that sup up town
after the play or the opera, sup with their husbands!
Their husbands may be there; but they are with other
women. Etiquette is opposed to the consorting of the
married in public; and one might be excused for bee
lieving the custom founded on nature, so liberally and
gladly is the custom followed
It is an old fashion, but good, nevertheless, that
persons doomed to live together should love each
other. Society has changed that, I am aware; but
society makes dreadful mistakes sometimes, and, for its
own convenience and interest, wrecks the happiness
of individuals not seldom.
" Do not moralize.  The World is well enough as it
is, We must take it aswe find it.,"
So says my married friend who smokes his cigar
contentedly at home, while his pretty wife flirts at a
brilliant reception, with "one of the best fellows in
the World."
Well, I won't moralize.   If he is satisfied, why
should I complain?
263
N 
CHAPTER XXIX.
MANTON MARBLE.
THOUGH Henry Mackenzie is known in literature as
the author of "The Man of the World," he is not, so
far as is ascertained, a progenitor of Manton Marble,
called here by the Fame title.
Marble is the youngest of the editors-in-chief of the
Metropolis, and compared to the rest, is rather a new
man. He was, I believe, attached to the staff of the
Evening Post for a number of months, but first emerged
from his obscurity when the World newspaper was established, if my memory serve, in 1860 as a one-cent
religious paper, so painfully pious that it would not
publish theatrical advertisements.
Marble was born, I am informed, in Rhode Island,
and graduated from Rochester University in his nineteenth year. It is presumed that he inherited little
more than a good classical education, and that he early
sought to earn his own livelihood. He had at first
some ambition to become a lawyer, but discovered in
himself so strong a bias for writing that after contributing for a while to the Providence papers, he concluded, though unheralded and unknown, to remove
to the metropolis of New England and seek his fortune there.  He had written enough to awake the admiration of his youthful friends and to gain confidence
in himself Long before he quitted college he was 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
accounted unusually clever with his pen, and is said
to have written the theses of his less capable fellowstudents, and to have shown as much variety as activity in compositions of his own.
Arrived in Boston, where the citizens are so much
engrossed with Greek and Latin that they rarely have
leisure to study English, Marble went into the office
of the Traveller and asked for an engagement.
"What can you do?" inquired the editor.
"Almost anything."
"Have n't you any specialty?'
"No. I'll try my hand at any kind of writing."
"Have you brought letters of recommendation?"
"No. I think a man's work is his best recommendation. Al I want is a chance. I have determined
to adopt journalism as a profession, and I have concluded to begin here."
"You are confident, at least, my young friend; and
I like your manner and directness. Have you ever
tried dramatic criticism?"
"I shall try it when you have assigned me to some
duty. I feel quite at home in theatricals."
"Very well.  Forrest plays'Lear' at the Boston
Theater this evening. Go there, and let us see what
you can do."
I Marble attended the performance, and wrote at the
close two columns of very able and exhaustive criticism
upon the play, its historic character and its representation by the American tragedian." For so young and
inexperienced a writer the critique was remarkable,
delighted the editor, and pleased the City of Notions.
Marble was engaged the next evening upon the regular
staff, and continued * the office for two years. He
268 
MANTON MARBLE.
subsequently connected himself with other papers at
the "-Hub;" but finally out-growing Bunker Hill and
Boston Common, he came to Broadway and the Central
Park.
He went upon the World as a general writer at a
salary, I have been told, of $30 a week, and rapidly
rose in the establishment until he was made editor-inchief. The paper changed hands, character and politics, was revolutionized half a dozen times; from religious became secular and then political; was mildly
Conservative; grew Republican; waxed Democraticfeebly at first, ferociously at last; and amid all those
changes Marble held on, and developed with them
into the latest form and freshest shape.
What his politics were originally, no one seems to
know. It is said that at college he cherished few convictions, but left his mind free to embrace what at any
time appeared best. The Republicans declare he is,
or ought to be, with them; but that he has temporized, and followed where his interests led.   Such
statements are gratuitous. It is fair to presume that
Marble -knows, at least, on what side he wants to be,
and he certainly has a right to choose his party and
his principles among the variety prevalent at the
present time.
If Marble is individually what he is professionally, a
man of the world, he is a shrewd and successful one;
and it is nobody's affair what he privately thinks or believes. He says daily through his columns that he is
an ultra Democrat, and as such the public is bound to
accept him and his paper.
When Marble went into the World he was not supposed to possess anything, and he now has a large
269 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
interest in the journal he controls, report making him
owner of more than one-half of all the shares, which
can hardly be worth less, for his portion, than $150,000. He has manifested:tact and energy in getting
hold of the stock, and lifting himself from a mere salaried subordinate to the chief-editorship. He receives
a salary for his services of $6,000 a year, and his present income from his shares ought to be at least $10,000
to $12,000 more.
The financial history of the World has been varied.
It sank money with persevering liberality for several
years; $300,000 to $350,000 having been swallowed
up in its fluctuations between theologic sanctity and
pugnacious partisanship of the most confirmed character. The paper is on a paying basis now, and its
profits last year are stated to have been about $25,000,
with a prospect of a material increase during the current year.
Marble, though still young, is not a hard worker in
the sense in which Greeley and Raymond are hard
workers. He manages and directs the fourth or editorial page alone, leaving the other departments to the
care of subordinates. He writes most of his editorials,
not long nor frequent usually, in his own library up
town, where he lives very comfortably, ifnot luxuriously,
sending his manuscript to the office, and receiving
proofl at home. He was married four or five years
ago to a lady of fortune, whose death he has recently
been called upon to mourn.
Marble is a man of fine culture, being well versed
in intellectual philosophy and transcendental metaphysics. He has read Hume and Hamilton, Buckle
and Mill, Spencer and Comte, and has dallied with
270 
MANTON MARBLE.
Kant and Schelling, Fichte and Hegel, as much as an
active journalist conveniently can unassisted by mental
cobwebs and vats of lager beer.  He is about forty,
and though he looks materially older than he did at
the beginning of the War, he would generally be considered handsome. Indeed he may lay more claim to
personal comeliness than any New-York editor of prominence, and his manners and presence are very good and
prepossessing. He is under the medium size, rather
too heavy for his stature, has dark eyes,black hair and
deep olive complexion.
Marble is, it is said, a descendant of the Puritans,
his ancestors having been residents of New England
for three generations. He is quite picturesque in appearance. If he were attired in a velvet doublet with
slashed sleeves, a conical ribbon-crossed hat put upon
his head, a guitar slung to his back, a carbine placed
in his hand, and he himself set down in the midst of
the Roman campagna, he would be mistaken for an
Italian bandit of the romantic school.
Marble is an active politician, a prominent member
of the Manhattan Club, and, for a journalist, a man
of elegant leisure, cultivating the graces, more than
most of his guild, and believing that continual toil
does not include all the virtues, or make compensation
for every sharp annoyance and feverish trouble of existence. He is something of an epicurean withal, and
wisely holds that while the uses of labor are sweet
they need the acid of repose to give them the relish
that does not pall.
271 
CHAPTER XXX.
THE FIVE POINTS
NOTMNG indicates the moral improvement of NewYork more than the change the notorious locality, the
Five Points, has undergone during the past ten years.
It is bad enough now-bad as it can be, one who saw
it for the first time would think; but, compared to
what it was fifteen years ago, it is as a white-sanded
floor to the Augean stable.
The Five Points, formed by the intersection of
Worth, Park and Baxter streets, is within a stone's
throw of Broadway; and yet there are thousands of
persons born and reared here who have never visited
the famous and infamous quarter. Though the place
has strangely changed, its reputation is nearly as vile
as ever-showing how much easier it is to keep a bad
name than to obtain a good one. The notoriety of
the Five Points is not only national; it is trans-Atlantic. Londoners know it as well as St. Giles; and
strangers ask to be shown to it before they visit Fifth
avenue or the Central Park.
Deformities, after all, seem more interesting than
beauties to-the masses. Most men would rather look
at a great criminal than a distinguished reformer; 
.j 
THE FIVE POIN'RS.
would prefer the head of Probst the murderer, at the
Museum of Anatomy, to the childlike face of Horace
Greeley, in Printing-house square.
The Five Points is the festering nucleus of the Sixth
ward, which, for nearly half a century, was much the
worst in the City; though the Fourth now successfully
disputes with it the palm of vice.
The moral suppuration extends far beyond the
Points, into Mulberry and Mott, Elm and Centre, Pell
and Dover, James and Roosevelt streets. Within half
to three-quarters of a mile to the north and south-east
of the Points, poverty and depravity, ignorance and
all uncleanliness, walk hand in hand, with drunken
gait and draggled skirts.  Wherever one turns, his
gaze is offended, his sensibility shocked, his pity and
disgust excited at once.
The Five Points presents the other side of life, the
unpleasant and painful side, which we think to banish
by ignoring. Going there, we are brought face to
face with the sternest and most revolting facts of civilization, and compelled to admit, much as we may
wish it otherwise, that education and advancement can
never be more than partial.
How vice always creeps under the hedge where
virtue blossoms fragrantly! The Five Points is merely
a background to Broadway and Fifth avenue-a background most of us are unwilling to see, but which exists, nevertheless, in all its hideousness.
The Points does not peer out at us in its polluted
ugliness, as we walk or ride self-satisfied up town; and
we take good care to shun such haunts in our everyday life of 1"hdifference, interest or pleasure.
Turning out of glittering and crowded Broadway
18
273
f
I 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
through Worth street, nearly opposite the New-York
hospital, two minutes' walk brings us to the Five
Points, with its narrow, crooked, filthy streets; its
low, foul, rickety frames; its ancient, worn-down, unsavory tenements; its dark, mephitic green-groceries;
its noxious liquor dens; its unsightly cellars; its dingy
old clothes and old furniture establishments; its muck,
and mire, and slime, reeking, rotting, oozing out at
every pore of the pestiferous place.
The worst parts of London, and Constantinople, and
Lisbon are concentrated there.   Your senses ache,
and your gorge rises, at the scenes and objects before
you.   Involuntarily your handkerchief goes to your
nostrils, and your feet carry you away from the social
carrion into which you have stepped. But if, like a
young student in the dissecting-room, you have come
to see andl learn, you will stay your flying feet.
The first thing that impresses you, is the swarm of
children in every street, before every house and shop,
and at every corner; children of all ages and color,
though the general hue inclines to dirt. The offspring
of vice is prolific as the offspring of poverty, and both
are there. From the coarse or cadaverous infant in
its hard-featured mother's arms, to the half-grown girl
or boy, unkempt, unwashed, unrestrained, the period
of early youth is represented.   Even maternity is not
sacred or tender there. No soft light in the mother's
face, as she gives nourishment from the gross, all-ex
posed bosom to the already infected babe.
What should be the innocence of childhood is banished from those purlieus of impurity.   Those boys
and girls have no childhood, no youth, no freshness,
no sweetness, no innocence. They have never eaten
274 
THE FIVE POINTS.
a mouthful of wholesome food; inhaled a breath of
untainted air; heard the tones of a pure affection.
They are accursed from their birth; formed to evil by
association; bound to vice by a chain of necessary
events they cannot break. Pity them, then; but hate
them not; and rejoice that to you fortune has been
less unkind.
All along the sidewalk, unless it be cold, lounge, sit
and stand men and women, out of whom all the gentleness of humanity seems pressed. You cannot see
anywhere a face that woos or holds you. You do not
hear a voice that touches you with its tone. Hardness,
and grimness, and filthiness are in the people and the
places, spread up, and down, and across every visible
thing.
How can any mortal live there? you think.   It
seems a physical impossibility in such an atmosphere,
with such surroundings.
See the group near the corner. That gray-haired
crone, clad so slatternly that you shrink from passing
her, talks in a hoarse, harsh voice to the young mulatto
woman who leans against the broken door-way with a
dirty pipe in her mouth, and leers at you as you go
by.
A stalwart, cruel-looking negro sits on the dirty
door-step, and calls to a white child to get him a dram
from the opposite grocery- offering a penny for the
service.
A young man, not nineteen, perhaps, but looking
far older from the deep lines in his face, and the scowling expression about his brows, curses a boy who peers
out of the window above, and calls him by names that
one may not print. The boy answers in kind. The
275 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
twain seem anxious to outdo each other in profanity
and obscenity. You fancy murder may be there until
you hear, rather than see, their horrid laugh. They
are really friends,-such friends as the Points alone
can create. They are indulging in pleasantry. They
are in their most amiable mood; and soon they join
each other for a hideous debauch.
Old and young of both sexes, are mingled everywhere.   You would hardly know the men from the
women but from their beards and dress. In the women
the distinction of sex is merely physiological. They
swear, and drink, and fight like the most brutal men,
often exceed them in coarseness and cruelty; for
women who have once violated their nature have the
redeeming virtues of neither sex.
Germans are not rare in the quarter; but they are
usually thrifty. They are buying and selling for profit; and after a short time they move to Letter neighborhoods to set up bar-rooms and groceries.
Italians are numerous; for they are indolent, sensual
and reckless of the future. They have no bias against
dirt or vice. They love mendicancy, and monkeys,
and musical instruments when they can be turned to
practical account. Give them pennies, and garlic, and
liquor-those of the lazzarone class who dwell thereand they will not ask for other comforts.
Some of the most brutal and desperate men of the
locality are English.   They are generally thieves,
shoulder-hitters, or burglars,-sometimes murderers,
and end their lives in prison or in the gutter. They
would die on the scaffold had not New-York a prejudice against hanging its greatest scoundrels.  When
they have done something that deserves hanging, they
276 
THE FIVE POINTS.
are chosen members of the City Council or Board of
Aldermen.
Negroes are scattered through the Points, though
most of them, from a long bleaching process, have become more Caucasian than African in their lineage.
From this constant intermixture with other races, they
have nearly died out, and are far less numerous than
they were a few years ago.
One rarely sees a genuine black man or woman in
the quarters; mulattoes and quadroons have supplied
their place.
Before the War, some of the most desperate characters were negroes. A number of them were shot and
stabbed to death; others, strange to say, were hanged,
and more, not understanding the peculiarity of Metropolitan justice, were seized with needless- alarm, and
ran away; foolishly believing other places might be
as safe for notorious criminals as our own dear NewYork. Had they been more intelligent, they would
have known the folly of their flight.
Rum-selling is the principal business at the Five
Points; and it is said there is a groggery for every
hundred adult male inhabitants.   Everybody drinks,
even the children. If they did not, they would not
stay there. They have to keep themselves down to
that unnatural level by increasing their bestiality
through artificial means.
"Fences," or places for buying stolen goods, are
very common. There are generally second-hand stores
and pawnbrokers' shops combined, where a little
money is lent on a good deal, and where anything
is purchased without the asking of impertinent ques tions.
277 
TFTHE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Retail groceries, where poor provisions are sold
dear, and liquor vended by license or in secret, emit
noisome odors at every corner.
Beyond these three branches of trade, commerce
has few representatives.   One wonders how so'many
shops can be supported. They could not if they had
honest dealings with their customers. But honesty is
not even assumed in Baxter street neighborhoods.
All classes steal; and they who are cheated last and
most, steal anew to right themselves,-a simple code
of mercantile ethics that should commend itself to the
more complicated one, Wall street.
The dance-houses, though they no longer share the
glory of the past, are still a feature of Five Points society, and nowhere else can so vivid an idea of them
be obtained.   Strangers and New-Yorkers often visit
dance-houses for curiosity; but they take the precaution to go armed, and under the direction and guidance of a policeman.  Even then they sometimes get
into trouble, and have been attacked and hurt before
they could be rescued from the thieves, and harlots,
and desperadoes among whom they have gone.
The dance-houses are kept by the lowest and vilest
of the-Five Points residents, and the dancing is usually
in cellars, or in back rooms, or on ground floors.
Black and white, males and females, of all ages are ad.
mitted free.
A cracked fiddle or two are supplied; and whoever
will accept a partner steps upon the floor, and goes
through the figures of a rude quadrille or waltz, until
the musicians stop to drink, and the dancers to get
breath.
If a man dance with one of these unfortunate crea
278 
THE  FIVE-POINTS.
tures who calls herself a woman, he is expected to buy
her a glass of liquor. The bar has its profit thereby,
and the proprietor is paid for keeping up his establishment.
Hour after hour the grim and grinning cyprians
dance and drink, and drink and dance, with thieves
and burglars, sailors and bar-tenders, cracksmen and
murderers, until they are overpowered with liquor,
and sink down into brutal oblivion; or, on the alert
for stealing, they wait for their companion's unconsciousness, and plunder him of his valuables.
,Such orgies are revolting to the last degree; for
there is no assumption of decorum, -no pretense of the
commonest decency.;
There you see vice laid naked in all its deformity;
and consequently, to all but those bred in its bosom,
it is too repulsive to be dangerous, and too loathsome
to be attractive.
Few of the curious care to witness Five Points life,
or any of its phases, a second time. And they who
have seen it once must doubt when they have gone
away, that such shameless sin, such unrelieved gross ness can be daily and hourly indulged in and enjoyed
by those whose race and kind claim kindred with their
own.
279 
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE MORGUE.
THE morgue in Paris has long been one of the objects of mournful interest that strangers and sight-seers
visit. The morgue in New-York, since its establishment, little more than two years ago, has been one of
the lions, though a dead lion, of the City, and attracts
alike the curious and the sympathetic to its shadows.
The Metropolis alone has a morgue, though all the
-great American cities need, and will doubtless have
one ere long.  The cases of " Found Drowned," "Mysterious Death," "Nameless Tragedy" and the like are
constantly increasing in this country, particularly in
this City, and the want of a morgue was felt here years
before it was instituted. Suicide has grown so alarnmingly prevalent in the IUnited States within a few
years that our people threaten in undue season to
equal, if not surpass, the Japanese in self-destruction.
The English and French no longer enjoy a monopoly
of throat-cutting, drowning and suffocation by charcoal. We Americans kill ourselves for all manner and
no manner of reasons; and we seem to find many more
pretexts for leaping off the precipice of time than
the people of other lands.
Everything is in extremes here-the people, the clinate, the conditions.  We are the most nervous and in 
THE MORGUE.
tense the most eager and earnest, the most sanguine and
sensitive, at once the most hopeful and melancholy nation on the Globe. We are constantly staking our future and our destiny on the cast of a die; and, when
we lose, no wonder the thought of self slaughter rises
in our minds.  We  are ever inclined to measure ourselves against Fate; and when Fate wins, the click of
the pistol, or the stroke of the razor, or the leap into
the water, settles all scores.
Moreover, our heterogeneous population, our gathering to our republican bosom the refuse and outcast
of every soil and zone, naturalizes here each variety of
crime, and makes murder the chronicle of the hour.
For such a peculiar condition of a peculiar society,
where all races, rude and cultivated, toil and weep and
strive, the morgue is needed-the sad epilogue after
the dark curtain has fallen upon the tragedy.
M-o-R-G-U-E you read in prominent letters over the
lowest door of the Bellevue hospital on the upper side
of Twenty-sixth street, near the East river. The let.
ters are gilt; but they seem set in deep shadows as
you look at them, like lights burning in vaults of
the dead. One might imagine the morgue had been
located so near the broad, deep stream that the mys terious dead in its keeping might float to the door of
the sombre place. In the still night the murmurs of
the river, and the flow of the tide, sound strangely
and mournfully in that quiet neighborhood.   They
seem calling for the unknown corpses under the waves
to come to the morgue and be recognized.
The morgue will disappoint you when you enter it.
It will remind you of a subterranean vault from its
smallness, quietness and dampness. The room devoted
281 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
to the purpose is not more than twenty feet square,
divided by a glass partition, an exact imitation of the
famous dead house in Paris.
One compartment, that to which the public is ad mitted, is entirely bare. Nothing on the checkered
brick floor, nothing on the hard, strong walls but the
rules of the morgue.
In the other compartment beyond the glass partition
are four marble slabs, supported upon iron frames.
Upon those slabs are exposed the bodies, entirely nude,
except a slight wrapping about the lower part of the
abdomen, of the unfortunates who have been found
dead. Gutta percha tubes, suspended from the ceiling
and connected with a reservoir, drop water steadily
upon the foreheads of the corpses as they lie there, to
keep them cool and fresh, and prevent decomposition
until they are either recognized or removed for burial.
The bodies are usually kept for twenty-four hours. - If
claimed by friends or acquaintances, in that time, they
are delivered up with the clothing they wore, and such
articles as they may have had on their person. After
that period they are interred at the expense of the
City, the usual absurd coroner's inquest having been
held-rather to show, it would appear, how stupid the
living are than how mysterious the dead-and their
raiment and effects kept for six months in the event of
their possible identification.
The number of bodies at the dead-house varies
greatly, but increases steadily every season. Sometimes the four slabs have each a lifeless occupant,
though that is seldom; and at others two or three days
pass without the entrance of a corpse into the morgue.
The average number of bodies is, about two hundred
282 
THE MORU GE.
a year; and ten years hence, I doubt not they will be
twice as many. Many of the bodies, perhaps the
greater part, are never identified; nor is it singular
when it is remembered how many hundreds there are
in this vast City who have neither abiding place nor
friend.
The majority of the corpses bear marks of violence
and are discovered in the water. Probably one half
of the persons found have been murdered, and one
quarter of them have committed suicide. The other
quarter includes accidental drowning, falling dead in
the street, run over by street-cars, and other vehicles
and the natural casualties of city life.
Strange histories and startling tragedies lie within
the life and death of those brought to the morgue. If
all they thought, and felt, and endured, and suffered,
could be known and written, romancers would not
iieed to tax their invention and ingenuity for plots,
S~ituations and catastrophes.  Truth is stranger than
fiction; for that is original, and this only a copy. If
those cold, mute lips could only speak from the still
heart, still as the white marble beneath it, every liv
img heart would thrill to the utterance as it never has
over Shakspeare, or Poe, or Dickens.
A visit to the morgue is attended with something of
the fascination the -horrible has for even the finest of
us. We like to linger there in spite of the repulsion
of such a place. We are held, as when in the presence
of the dead, by an indefinable magnetism, more painful than pleasurable; and yet we stay. What a flood
of suggestions pours in upon us as we contemplate the
naked figures through the glass! Who were they?
What were they? Who loved them? How did they die?
283 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
What were their antecedents? Where are they now?
-are the questions every mind asks, and no mind can
answer.
That is the figure of an old and genteel-looking man.
His hair is gray, but soft and fine. His flesh is white,
and firm, and smooth, as if he had lived comfortably
and been well cared for. His clothes are fashionable
and expensive. A valuable watch and $500 in money
were found on his person. He could not have been
murdered. He could hardly have killed himself. How
came he there? He was a wealthy gentleman from
the West.
He was staying at the Fifth Avenue hotel, where his
daughters are still expecting him. While walking
through Twenty-third-street, in perfect health, he
reeled beneath a stroke of apoplexy, fell on the sidewalk and died in three minutes. Habits of indolence
and luxurious living have exacted their penalty. No
one knew him. He was carried to the morgue.
To-morrow morning's papers will chronicle the
" sudden death." His daughters will read the description, hasten to the morgue, pale and frightened, weeping and trembling; go home with his remains, and
forget him in a month.
The blood still oozes from the gash in this head.
The face of the man lying on the slat is bronzed and
scarred with hard lines, as if he had led a life of toil;
had had strong passions, and indulged them. Nothing
was found on his person. His pockets were turned inside out. The body was picked up on one of the East
river piers, as if it had been dropped there by one
who intended to hurl it into the water, but had been
frightened and hurried away.
284 
THE MORGUE.
The suspicion is correct. The dead man was a
sailor. He had come from Liverpool, and with his
wages in his pocket entered a low den and dancehouse in Water street, was gotten drunk and an attempt
made  to rob him.  He  was powerful and resisted
bravely. He struck the ruffian fiercely in the face,
until anger added to avarice made a demon of the
robber, who seized a hatchet and buried it in the victim's skull. No further struggle then. All still as
death, for it was death.  Then the fear of detection,
the effort to hide the murder in the river, and the
failure through sudden alarm.
But the murderer goes unpunished. A dozen murders have been committed on his premises, and no one
has yet been convicted. There have been arrests, but
nothing has been proved. The law is lax, and in
New-York justice is represented only in marble upon
the cupola of the City Hall.
It is folly to say " Murder will out."  It will do
nothing of the sort. More murders are unknown than
revealed. Without reward there is little hope of recovery, and after a few days no one thinks of the most
horrid crimes. The community demands a victim today, but to-morrow its sympathies are excited as its
indignation has been.  "He has not harmed me," says
each one; "let him go for all me."
"Found dead, with a bullet through the brain,"
reads the item in the Tribune, and adds that no clue to
the murder or murderer has yet been discovered.
The body remains at the morgue for twenty-four hours
without recognition.   He is a foreigner, apparently
French; looks like a mechanic; silver watch in his
vest pocket; few dollars in his wallet; money evi
285 
THE GREAT METROPOLTS.
dently not the object of the deed. Two weeks pass.
A wretched, hollow-eyed, half-starved man is picked
up drunk in the Bowery. He is incoherent, raves,
dreams terrible dreams.
Suspicion is awakened.   The police look up the
antecedents of the unfortunate, and it is shown he
is the murderer of the Frenchman. When accused,
he makes confession; says he does not want to live.
His story is, that he is English, a resident of Birmingham.  He saw the Frenchman first five years before,
and the two became friends. The Gaul was poor,
penniless indeed, and the Englishman took him to his
home; gave him shelter, money, procured him a situation. The ungrateful scoundrel seduced his friend's
wife; eloped with her; deserted her eventually, and
came to America.
The husband vowed revenge; had no other purpose; followed the villain to these shores.  Three
months after arrival in New-York he met the Frenchman in a concert saloon; invited him to walk out, and
shot him dead in the street.
Imprisonment  and trial follow.   The culprit has
neither friends nor money, and should not, therefore,
have indulged in the luxury of taking life. He is
convicted and hanged in the Tombs yard.  Another
legal murder, far worse than the crime, is added to the
disgraceful list.
In America we rarely execute men who take life for
domestic honor. No man occupying the rank of gentleman can be hanged in the United States, outside of
New-England. But with poor fellows and foreigners
it is quite different. Ropes run smoothly about plebeian necks.
286 
THE MORGUE.
Suicide. Her features are regular, her limbs well
formed. The gentleness and calmness of death have
come to the worn and dissipated face turned upward
to the ceiling of the narrow room. She must have
been young, not more than twenty, I should judge;
and yet dead by her own hand!  The faint, peculiar
odor of laudanum is about those full but colorless lips.
She was found lifeless in a garret she had rented the
day before, in a miserable tenement house in Rivington street.  She had given no name.  She had paid
for the room a month in advance; had gone out but
ont e, and then they had found her as she now lies.
She left a rude scrawl, misspelled and scarcely legible:
" Tel George I done it at laste. I coudent liv without
him. I knowd-I couldent. Lov is the caus."
It is the old story-old  before  Cheop's time.
Even in the heart of that uneducated, untrained,
friendless, abandoned girl, Love, after years of prostitution, had found lodgement and consecration.  She
would have led, at that late day, a true life, had it
been possible to —her;  for love means purity and
loyalty, even to the vilest. But he, the unworthy object of a sacred passion, deserted her; and she rubbed
her dark memory from the face of Nature. Who says
the-age of romance and poetry is over, when common
courtesans die every day for the love their loathsome
calling would seem to make them incapable of feeling?
The ghastly morgue has, like everything else, its
humorous side.
Out of this elegant carriage steps a pretty girl, in
elaborate toilette, with pale, tear-stained cheek.   She
looks eagerly through the glass, and sees not a single
287 
THEE GREAT METROPOLIS.
body.   She inquires if a young man, describing him as
an Apollo, has been brought in; and the person in
charge replies: "No, Miss, we haven't had nothin'
this two days. Bizness is gettin' mighty dull." So
the girl goes back to the carriage; tells the liveried
coachman not to mention where she has been, and is
driven off.
Poor sentimental child!  She has just had her first
lover. He didn't come to see her last night, and they had
had a little quarrel the evening previous, and she fondly
believed he had destroyed himself on that account.
Charles is really drinking champagne furiously at Curet's with a college chum, and has quite forgotten all
about the quarrel, and "darling Dora" beside.
It is not uncommon for women to seek their lovers
at the morgue, though that is the last place they are
likely to find them. But men rarely suspect their
mistresses of self-destruction, perhaps because there is
such a close connection in feminine minds between
love and laudanum.
Wives who have dissipated and eccentric husbands
visit the morgue frequently in search of their dead
lords. Is their visit prompted by their wishes, or
their fears?
-The morgue is melancholy, but has its uses. You
and I may meet there, reader, and no more recognize
each other dead than living.
288 
CHAPTER XXXII.
ALEXANDER T. STEWART.
MORE than any one else in America probably Alexander T. Stewart is the embodiment of business. He
is emphatically a man of'money-thinks money; makes
money; lives money. Money is the aim and end of
his existence, and now, at sixty-five, he seems as anxious to increase his immense wealth as he was when he
sought his fortune in this country, forty years ago.
Riches with him, ho doubt, have become ambition,
which is to be the wealthiest man in the United-States.
For ten or twelve years William B. Astor has been his
only rival, and it is now uncertain which of the two is
the greater capitalist. Astor owns more real estate;
but Stewart has the larger income.
Stewart has never been communicative about his
early life, and those curious in respect to it are generally rebuffed in their inquiries. It is known that he
is a native of Ireland, having been born near Belfast,
though he claims to be descended from a Scotch family. He is of Scotch-Irish extraction, with the determination, perseverance and energy that marks such
stock, and must of necessity have sprung from the
heroic defenders of Londonderry, as all the ScotchIrish, risen to any eminence, have done before and
since his time.
19 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
In his eighth year Stewart lost his parents,. and was
reared by his maternal grandfather, who intended to
educate him for the Methodist Church, of which he
himself was a devout member. The boy is reported
to have shown very early a resolution to be first in
whatever he undertook, and to have been foremost in
his class at Trinity College, Dublin, where, like every
true son of Erin, he graduated with honor. He was
then in his eighteenth year, and his grandfather being
dead he was placed under the guardianship of a Quaker. Not liking Ireland he concluded to seek his fortune in the New World, and came here in 1823 with
letters of recommendation to some of the best families
of Friends in the City. He was a teacher at first, and
persons now living remember when they sat under his
instruction.
He either did not succeed in his calling, or did not
relish it; for after ten or twelve months of teaching he
entered a mercantile establishment, though without
any natural bias for trade, his friends say-a statement
to be received with liberal allowance. He had an interest of some kind in the house, and accident, it is
said, made him a merchant; for his partner died
suddenly and left the entire responsibility of the business upon the young man of two-and-twenty. He then
determined to devote himself to trade, and returning
to Ireland sold the little property he had there; bought
a lot of laces with the money, and came back to NewYork.
His store was a very small, dismal one in Broadway,
opposite the City Hall Park-it is torn down nowbut by close application, skill and taste in buying, and by
fair dealing with his customers, he soon secured a very
290 
ALEXANDER T, STEWART.
good trade. His judgment of goods was excellent,
particularly of fine laces, and he made a practice of
buying at auction and retailing to much advantage.
He soon gained the patronage of a number of wealthy
and fashionable families, and so established a prestige
that he has never lost. His terms were reasonable;
his word could always be depended on, and four or
five years after setting up for himself he was on the
high road to independence.
His small store had by this time become inadequate
to the accommodation of his numerous customers, and
he accordingly purchased the lot in Broadway between
Reade and Chambers, then occupied by the old Washington Hall, at about one-fifth of what it is now worth.
He erected upon the site his present store, the first
marble building in the great thoroughfare. Stewart's
"marble palace," as it was long called, was the admiration of the town and wonder of the country, and so
distinctive that the proprietor has never put up a
sign.
In the new store Stewart secured a large wholesale
trade, and soon grew to be one of the heaviest importers and jobbers in the City.   For the past fifteen
years he has done'the largest business in this or probably in any other country, and it is still increasing
monthly.
,his other up-town establishment, corner of Tenth
street and Broadway, is his retail store.   He built it
seven or eight years ago, and has just extended it to
embrace almost the whole square. It is two hundred
feet front on Broadway and Fourth avenue, and three
hundred an.d twenty-five on Tenth street, includes
"I
291 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
nearly two acres, and the structure, six stories in height,
is the largest dry goods store in the World.
The third architectural achievement of Stewart is
his private residence, or what is designed to be such,
in Fifth avenue, corner of Thirty-fourth street.  It is
a huge white marble pile; has been four or five years
in process of erection, and has already cost $2,000,000.
It is very elaborate and pretentious, but exceedingly
dismal, reminding one of a vast tomb. Stewart's finan.
cial ability is extraordinary, but his architectural taste
cannot be commended.
Numerous stories are told of the merchant prince,
some to his credit, and more to his discredit; but it is
doubtful if any of them are quite true.  He is said to
be very generous on one hand, and extremely mean
on the other.  He has often given munificently to public charities, but of his private contributions little is
heard; whether because they are not made, or because
he does good by stealth, I shall not undertake to say.
During the famine in Ireland he purchased a ship,
loaded it with provisions and sent them there. On the
return voyage he filled it with young men and women,
and obtained situations for them. before they had
reached this shore.
During the War he gave at one time to the Sanitary
Commission a check for $100,000, which was obtained
in this way: Some one having asked him to contribute,
he said he would give as much as Vanderbilt. Vanderbilt, on being approached, agreed to give as much as
Stewart.   Stewart then sent the applicant back to
Vanderbilt, who, in a fit of annoyance, drew on his
banker for $100,000.  Stewart kept his word, and the
Commission was $200,000 richer by the operation.
292 
ALEXANDER T. STEWART.
Respecting his wealth, it is difficult to estimate it.
It is set down at $30,000,000, and even as high as
$60,000,000.  His incomevariesgreatly.  It has been
less than $1,000,000 and as much as $4,000,000 a year;
the amount depending upon the activity of trade and
the fluctuations of the market. Every once in a while
it is reported in the country that Stewart has failed;
but in the City his failure is known to be impossible,
as he has always made it a rule to buy for cash.
He has the reputation of being strictly truthful. He
has but one price, and all his goods are what he represents them to be; and to those two things he is understood to attribute his success. * He has three partners,
William Libby here, Francis Warden in Paris, and G.
Fox in Manchester, England, and foreign depots in
Manchester, Belfast, Glasgow, Paris, Berlin and Lyons.
He supervises and conducts his whole business, and
works eight or ten hours a day, not unfrequently toiling over his private ledger on Sunday. He is a member of the Episcopalian Church-St. Mark's, corner of
Tenth street and Second avenue-and regular in his
attendance. He is a slave to business, rarely allowing
himself any recreation. His happiness is in his accounts and profits, and to be the great merchant of
New-York is his comfort and his pride. He lives in a
plain house in the Avenue opposite his unfinished marble mausoleum; sees little company; has a wife, but
no children; and must on the whole have a cheerless
old age.
Stewart is a commonplace man in appearance, of
medium height, slight in figure, thin-visaged, sharp
features, sandy-grayish hair and whiskers; enjoys good
health, and on close inspection has a shrewd, searching
I
293 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
look which reveals his true character.   He is well
preserved and very vigorous for his age. He makes
calculations for twenty years more of life, and clings
to his immense fortune as if he should draw compound
interest on it after death. Without children, with no
future beyond the few years that yet remain, all his
existence is an unbroken round of anxious toil, not
many who may covet his wealth would, if they knew
them, envy his surroundings.
294 
CHAPTER xxxm.
THE DAILY PRESS.
GREAT newspaper establishments are interesting to
everybody but the persons connected with them.
The New-York offices, from their central and commanding position, have long been subjects of gossip
and objects of curiosity.   Ou't-of-town people who
make visits to the large establishments in Printing
House Square; penetrating the mysteries of the press,
composing and editorial rooms, and, possibly, catching
a glimpse of Greeley, Bennett, Raymond or Bryant,
think themselves fortunate, and speak of the fact, for
years after, as a memorable event.
Though all Americans read newspapers, not many
have any clear notion how they are made. They have
no idea of the amount of labor and capital required
for the publication of a leading daily in the Metropolis. Indeed, its interior management and economy is
a sealed book to them, which they are very glad to
open whenever opportunity offers.
The expense of a great morning daily here is much
larger than is usually supposed. The Herald has been
the most liberal in the getting of news, though of late
it has grown more economical, regarding some of its 
TFTHE GREAT METROPOLIS.
past expenditure as wasteful and superfluous. Still,
whenever important intelligence is to be had, the
Herald is more willing than any other journal in the
country to pay for it. Its daily expenses have been
estimated at $20,000 a week, sometimes more, sometimes less; and that is not far from the cost of the
other quarto morning papers. The Tribune spent
$969,000 year before last, and cleared only $11,000.
It would be a fair estimate to reckon the cost of publishing one of these journals at $800,000 to $1,000,000 per annum.
The force employed upon one of the quartos is from
four to five hundred persons, including clerks, compositors, pressmen, feeders, newsmen, proof-readers,
reporters and editors.
Each paper has an editor-in-chief, who dictates the
course and policy of the paper, and who decides all
questions having reference to its editorial conduct.
The next to him in rank is the managing editor,
who, in the absence of the chief, is supreme, and who
attends to all the details, the engagement and dismissal of sub-editors and correspondents, with power
to regulate salaries, and determine character of service. He is responsible to the chief, and his subordinates are responsible to him.
The night editor is a very important person. His
position is arduous and responsible, as he has charge
of the making-up of the paper, determining what
matter shall go in and what stay out. He remains at
his post until the journal is ready to go to press, between 2 and 3 o'clock in the morning, generally,
though he sometimes stays till daylight. Hle goes
upon duty at 7 in the evening, so that his hours of
labor are commonly seven or eight.
296 
TiHE DMATTY  PRESI1S.
The foreign editor deals with the foreign news and
correspondence; writes editorials upon European politics, and is authority upon all matters belonging to
his department. He is usually a foreigner himself, and
conversant with several languages.
The financial editor is usually independent in his
place, being, in most cases, a stockholder, or having
some proprietary interest in the concern. This position is the most sought after of any on a paper, and
is consequently filled by a man who can command influence; who has means, and is well known in banking
circles. Financial editors generally name their successors before death or resignation-either of which
events is improbable-and believe the place too good
to be permitted to go out of the family. They write
the daily money articles, and have facilities for pecumiary success that no other journalist in the office has.
Nearly all of them make money, the amount of their
salary being of secondary importance. Most of them
grow rich through certain interests they are allowed
to cultivate in Wall street. I recall the financial editor
of a leading daily, who retired after a few years of
service, with $250,000, all made by- his position, and
another, not long dead, who left a fortune of $300,000.
To be a money-writer is considered to be on the direct
road to wealth; and the road is seldom missed.
The city editor controls the city news. All the reporters are under him. iHe directs their movements,
making out every day, in a large bobk, the places for
them to go, and the amount of matter they are expected to- furnish. The managing editor holds him
responsible - for the city department, and he sees that
the reporters discharge their duty on pain of dismissal.
297 
THE: GREAT METROPOLIS.
The principal dailies have day editors, who have
charge of the office during the day; see visitors in the
absence of the manager; receive or decline communications, and direct the affairs of the office from 9 or 10
o'clock in the morning, to 5 or 6 in the afternoon.
The literary editor or reviewer writes the literary
criticisms; receives all the new books that are sent to
the office, and notices them according to their merit or
demerit. He is an autocrat in his department, and is
a man of many and varied acquirements, and correct
and scholarly tastes. George Ripley, of the Tribune
stands at the head of the reviewers of the City and
country, by seniority, culture and experience.
The art, dramatic and musical critics are indispensable to a newspaper. Their title implies their office.
They are supposed to understand thoroughly what
they write of, and to be in every way competent,
though between them and the persons criticised, there
is usually a remarkable difference of opinion.   Some
of them are very accomplished gentlemen, and others
much less able than they would like to have it supposed.
Then there are translators, of course, who speak and
write French, German,  Italian and Spanish.   One
translator I know, is master of twenty different tongues,
and speaks correctly every language but his own.
Each large daily has from twelve to thirty reporters.
Some of tlaem report law cases, police matters and
fires exclusively;while others devote themselves to
Brooklyn, Jersey-City, Hoboken, Weehawken, and
other adjacent towns. The city editor has a number
of general -reporters, some of them stenographers, who
are assigned by him to duty. Their labors vary from
298 
THE DAILY PRESS.
two to eight hours a day. At times they have very
light work, and again they toil like beavers. When
occasion demands, extra reporters, who are always
numerous, are employed, and are paid for their special
work.
The editor-in-chief of the Tribune is, as every one
knows, Horace Greeley; and the managing editorhe has been less than -wo years in the position-is
John Russell Young, formerly of Philadelphia. The
editor-in-chief of the Herald is, of course, James Gordon Bennett, and the managing editor, James Gordon
Bennett, jr., when he is in the office; several of the
other editors supplying his place if absent. Of the
Times, Henry J. Raymond is chief, and Stillman S.
Conant manager; of the World, Manton Marble chief
and David G. Croley manager; of the Sun, Charles
A. Dana chief, and Isaac W. England manager; of
the Journal of Commerce, David M. Stone chief, and
J. W. Bouton manager; of the Evening Post, William
Cullen Bryant chief, and Augustus Maverick manager;
of the Commercial Advertiser, Thurlow Weed chief,
and Chester P. Dewey manager; of the Evening Express, James Brooks chief, and Erastus Brooks manager.
Those are all the old papers; and of the new ones,
Evening Telegram, Evening Mail, Evening News, Evening Commonwealth, Democrat and Star, the chief and
managing editor is generally the same person.   They
are small papers, and their departments less numerous
and complete than those of the long-established journals.
The press-room of the morning dailies is a great
curiosity to many persons. They like to see the huge
299 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
ten-cylinder Hoe press throwing off sheets at the rate
of 16,000 an hour, but printing them on only one side
at a time. The Hoe press, it was supposed, was the
highest reach of mechanical skill; but recently a new
press, the Bullock, has been invented, and threatens to
displace its rival. The Bullock is very small and compact; prints on both sides; requires but one feeder,
and saves much expense. The paper is put in in one
long roll, and the wonderful machine cuts the sheet
of the right size, and throws it out a perfectly printed
journal. The Bullock works quite as rapidly as the
Hoe, and is said to spoil fewer papers. It has so many
advantages over Hoe's, that it ere long promises to
take its place in most newspaper establishments in this
country and Europe.
Ten or twelve years ago, the New-York papers began to stereotype their forms, thereby saving the wear
of the type, and in other ways, fully 20 per cent. upon
the old plan. Each office has a stereotyping room,
and the process is as follows.  The forms are made up
on curved plates. When the type is all set, a pulpy
preparation of paper is pressed upon them, and it is
of such consistency as to keep the mold of the type
exactly. Into this mold liquid type metal is poured
(it does not burn the paper because of its moisture);
and a solid plate formed as if the original type were
all welded together.  -This plate is put upon the press,
and the impressions of the journal made. The forms
of the Trtbune, Herald, Times, and recently the World,
are all stereotyped.
The metropolitan journals, considering the natural
and acquired advantages they enjoy, are not all they
ought to be. And yet, they are as a class, superior to
0
300 
THE DAILY PRESS.
those of any city in Europe. In fact, outside of London, and the Times, they have no rivals there; for the
Paris, Berlin and other Continental journals, though
able in some particulars, amount to little as a journalistic whole.
The London Times has obtained a power and influence in Europe that no one journal could obtain in the
United States. It stands almost entirely alone; and
its opinions and predictions are looked to with an interest, and carry a weight, which we Americans, accustomed to think for ourselves, can hardly understand.
Its editorials from first to last, are the strongest, clearest, and best written on either side of the Atlantic.
Those in New-York are often as good, sometimes superior; but, on an average, fall below the standard of
-the " Thunderer."
The leaders of the Times, with its correspondence
and parliamentary reports, make up its excellence.
With all its ability, it is heavy and unenterprising and
would not be successful in this country, where we demand more variety and lightness, more humor and
much more news.
A defect of the metropolitan dailies is, that they too
closely imitate the English papers in excess of foreign
news and overfulness of reports-giving matters really
of little general interest, to the exclusion of what is
more important. Americans naturally care far less
about European affairs than the Europeans themselves;
but our daily journals do not seem yet to have dis covered the fact. The result is that we have long
letters from abroad, often with little mention of the
condition of things in our home cities and territories
Condensation is not one of the journalistic virtues
301 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
of New-York, especially in telegrams, which every
day fill several columns, when all they contain might
better be expressed in one-fourth of the space.
The use of the telegraph originally was to transmit
news of importance; but of late it seems to be to give
unimportant news significance. That is sent over the
wires which, but for such sending, would not be printed
at all.
It is very common for our night editors to omit an
-item of city news to give space to something much
less interesting that has been received by telegraph.
They appear to think it of no consequence that a
New-Yorker has broken his neck, but of the greatest
that a laborer on a Western railway or a freedman in
Texas has been killed by a locomotive or a ruffian
When our dailies comprehend that what Americans
are most interested in is America,we shall be, journalistically, much better off.
Newspapers seem to imagine themselves as much
privileged to misrepresent their circulation as fops their
follies or cowards their courage. Hence it is very
difficult, if not impossible, to give the exact circulation
of any'daily; though, inasmuch as I have made diligent inquiry, and have what should be trustworthy
sources of information, the figures I give in round numbers ought to be nearly correct. The circulation of
the best known morning and evening papers I estimate as follows:
Herald.          70,000   Evening Post          9,000
Sun..        50,000   Evening Express       7,000
Tribune..   - 40,000   Evening Mail.. 6,000
Times..   35,000   Commercial Adv..   3,500
World.. 25,000   Journial of Commerce e 2,500
02 
THE DAILY PRESS.
Of the new papers I have no means of judging.
The Star (morning), Democrat (morning and evening),
and the Telegram and News (evening), claim to count
their circulation by tens of thousands; while the figures of the Commonwealth, also evening, I have not
heard stated.
The circulation of the dailies has greatly decreased
since the close of the War. The leading quartos ran up
on some days of the Rebellion, when accounts of battles were received, to over a hundred thousand, the
sales even reaching one hundred and fifty thousand in
twenty-four hours.
During the present year, the circulation of the Trib~n'e, Sun and World has gone up more rapidly than
that of their cotemporaries.  The Herald, increases
steadily, with occasional fluctuations.
The Herald much as it is condemned and abused is,
on the whole, the most enterprising and best managed
newspaper in the City.  James Gordon Bennett unquestionably understands the philosophy of journalism
and the secret of popularity. Without any particular
convictions or fixedness of principle himself, he gives
no one else credit for them; and therefore thinks the
best thing is to render his paper acceptable to the
largest class of people possible.
That he does without regard to consistency for
which he has no respect; and thus freed from the ordinary restraints that develop, but often hinder mortals,
it is not strange he has achieved great material success.
Something over thirty-three years ago Bennett, in
a dingy, subterranean office in Ann street, issued the
first number of the Herald, a small, inferior-looking
sheet, doing all the editorial work with his own hand;
303 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and to-day he has the most wealthy daily in the United
States.
The great fire in December, 1835, was fully and
graphically reported in the Heralcd, the first time
such a thing had ever been done or even attempted,
in the country; and the remarkable enterprise of the
journal on that occasion brought it into general notice,
and gave it a reputation for news that it has never
lost.
Bennett says he publishes the EIerald to make money
(he might have added for his own glorification), not for
the benefit of philosophers, which is a hit at the Tribune.
Privately he does not assume to control or mold public
opinion, but to follow it; and he generally manages to be
about twenty-four hours behind it, that he may publicly
declare he has anticipated and created it.  The rnerald
is consistent only in its inconsistency, and its determination to be on the strong or popular side of every
question. By miscalculation or misunderstanding, it
sometimes gets on the unpopular side; but, the moment
it discovers its mistake, it leaps to the other with noticeable alacrity.
Bennett understands that a daily newspaper is emphatically a thing of to-day, and that the mass of people
care very little for what it has said yesterday, or may
say to-morrow. Consequently, he issues every number as if there never had been, and never would be
another, and so prospers. Its rivals declare the success of the Herald a libel upon the general intelligence.
Perhaps it is; but its success, great and growing, is an
undeniable fact, from which any one may draw his own
inferences.
The Ilerald makes a feature of sensation of some part
304 
THE  DATILY PRESS.
of its news every morning; and, if there be no important news, creates its appearance by typographical
display. Its matter is carelessly prepared, for the
most part, but altogether acceptable to its readers, and
therefore what Bennett approves.
The Sun is the oldest morning paper in town except
the Journal. It made a good deal of money for its
original proprietor, Moses Y. Beach. He disposed of
it eight or ten years ago, and the purchasing parties
unable to manage it, lost heavily, and were glad to
sell it to Beach again. The Sun during the Beach
period was the organ of the workingmen, and the advocate of their interests.  It was a penny paper until
the depreciation of the currency made it necessary to
advance it to two cents. For many years it had the
largest circulation of any daily in New-York, and may
have again.
Last January the Sun was revolutionized by its sale
to Charles A. Dana, representing a number of wealthy
stockholders, of whom he is one.  It was removed
from Fulton and Nassau to the reconstructed buildings
corner of Nassau and Frankfort streets, formerly occupied as Tammany Hall. The Sun deserves its name;
for it has the reputation of the brightest daily in the
City. Itisindependent, high-toned, liberal and perfectly
good-natured. Its editorial corps consists of a number of highly cultivated gentlemen and in its freedom
from bitterness, party rancor and one-sided judgment
is an example the larger papers might imitate to advantage. The Sun abounds in graceful and vigorous
articles, and is characterized by a playftil irony so subtle
often as to escape detection by many of its readers.
It adheres to its ancient motto, and "shines for all."
20
305 
THEE GREAT METROPOLIS.
It is said to be very prosperous, and it certainly de
serves all its prosperity.
The Tribune, in spite of its crotchets and occasional
violence, has wielded and still wields a greater influence than any other daily in New-York. An antislavery paper twenty years ago-the cause was most
unpopular then-it has lived to see the "peculiar institution" abolished, and its own principles trium'phant.
The Tribune is so identified with Horace Greeley,
that it is difficult to tell what it would be without him.
He is so intensely personal, and capricious often, that
he is constantly furnishing clubs to his antagonists to
strike the causes he defends with such ability and
earnestness.
The original stock of the Tribune was a hundred
shares of a thousand dollars each (Greeley began the
paper with a thousand dollars of borrowed money)
and the shares are now worth more than six thousand
dollars.  It has made money, but not nearly so much
as it ought to have done, the consequence mainly of
being under the control of a board of free-voiced
stockholders, who always interfere with the government of a journal. A newspaper should be an autocracy, and to the fact that the Herald is such, much of its
success is owing.
The Tribune is able, probably the ablest daily in the
City, for it has always had more capacity and culture
on its staff than any other paper, though it has not always used its means or strength wisely. It aims to be
more a vehicle of opinion than of news, and its editorials are allowed to crowd out interesting intelligence.
almost every day; albeit most of its readers would, I
suspect, prefer facts, which are universal, to leaders
306 
THE DAILY PRESS.       -
which are, after all, only the expression of an individual. There is no good reason why the Tribune should
not be the most interesting newspaper as well as the
ablest journal in the City. Until good old Horace
Greeley is gathered to his fathers, and some man succeeds him who can be made to believe his daily opinions are not vital to the salvation of the Republic, I
look for little change in the great radical organ of the
New World.
The Times, which has been accused of political instability, has shown decided improvement recently,
and is a very readable paper. Its editorials generally
are well written, though not so vigorous as those of
the Tribune. Its correspondence, its news, and its literary department are very creditable. It was started
as a penny paper by the Harpers, and sank $80,000 or
$90,000 before it began to pay for itself. Since then
it has been pecuniarily successful; has been for years a
stock company, though its shareholders have no voice in
its direction, which is entirely under the control of
Raymond, one of the best journalists in the country.
The World, for the money it spends and the force
it employs, is probably the best conducted paper here.
Its political editor and director, Manton Marble, is a
very forcible and graceful writer, and a shrewd and
energetic manager. Ultra-democratic in its politics, it
is a formidable and tireless enemy of the Tribune and
Times, and its editorials are not excelled in strength
and plausibility by any in New-York. It is unquestionably the best made-up daily in town; and, though frequently positive, even to bitterness, it is never weak
and rarely inconsistent.
The World was begun as a religious journal, and
307 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS,
after various changes, during which it is said to heave
sunk $300,000 or $400,000, it became the organ of
the democracy in the Metropolis, especially of the
Manhattan club, and has long been on a paying basis.
It imitates the Herald too closely in its news and
correspondence to be in quite good taste. It is determined to make the most of what it has, and is so
wedded to sensation that its chief fault is overdoing.
The Journal of Commerce is one of the old Wall
street journals, has retained some of its influence and
all of its prosperity.  It is eminently respectable, and
well edited, though it does not enter into competition
with the morning quartos as a newspaper.  It is the
organ of the wholesale merchants and importers, and
has made a fortune for half a dozen of its proprietors.
It is the oldest journal in the City, and was, twenty
years ago, one of the most enterprising. It long ago
retired into comparative obscurity, contented to receive its ample dividends, and leave the strife of journalism to younger heads and more ambitious hearts.
The Star is an offshoot of the old Sun, and assumes
to be its legitimate successor. It was started by several attaches'of the Beach journal, and is very much
what that was in appearance, tone and character. It
has not yet completed its first year. It began as a
penny paper, and is now sold for two cents. It does
not belong to the Associated Press, nor do any of the
evening journals except those heretofore named. The
Star is vigilant and persevering in watching the rights
of labor and laborers, and its future prospects are reported to be good.
The Democrat is the new ultra-democratic journal set
up here a few months since by Mark M. Pomeroy of
308 
TI1E DAILY PRESS.
the famous La Crosse -Democrat. First it was an evening, now it is a morning paper. Its editor and proprietor claims to have met with remarkable success,
and to be firmly established in the good will of the
toiling millions.
The influence of the evening is naturally much less
than that of the morning journals; the Post being
the ablest and most influential of the entire number.
It is carefully edited, though its elder and best-known
conductors spend much of their time in Europe. Its
columns are fastidiously free from indelicacy or pruriency, and it well deserves to be considered a family
newspaper.
The Commercial Advertiser is interesting and new
life has been given it by Thurlow Weed. Its proprietors have not shown much disposition to make money.
The Evening Express is managed with tact and economy by the Brooks Brothers, who make an excellent
newspaper and $40,000 a year.
The Telegram, a kind of evening edition of the
Herald, is owned by James Gordon Bennett, jr., is
lively and full of news, and sold for two cents.
The Evenzing News is the property'f Benjamin
Wood, and the only penny paper in town. It seems
to have a very large circulation, and those who ought
to know declare it profitable. It is given over to police news and every variety of crime, and no doubt
suits its readers exactly.
The  Evening Commonwealth is but five or six months
old, a Republican two-cent paper, very dignified and
conscientious, though not so vivacious or forcible as it
might be. It is said to be gradually but steadily creeping into favor.
309 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
There are three German morning dailies; State
Gazette, Democrat, and Journal, and one German evening paper, the Times. There are two French morning
journals, the Courier of the  United States and the
Franco-Americanffessenger; and these end the list of
the dailies in the Metropolis.
There never has been a time when the City had so
many evening papers; and it is probable they will interfere with each other so strongly that some of them
must yield to the struggle for existence before long,
and go down to early, though not unlamented graves.
310 
Con.
fIL')J
0Z
PRINII NG li()T'S ]QU, PI.  
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE WEEKLY PRESS.
FEW persons who live out of, or even in, New-York
are aware of the number of weekly papers published
in the City: indeed, I venture to say no journalist
here can name half of them. They are devoted not
only to news, literature, agriculture, amusements, art,
music and crime, but to various interests and kinds of
business, and, all told, amount to about one hundred
and fifty. Among the secular weeklies, the best known
are Harpers' Weekly, Harpers' Bazaar, Frank Leslie's
Illustrated News, Round Table, Nation, Ledger, Citizen,
Home Journal, Leader, Weekly Review, Sunday Mercury, Sunday:News, Dispatch, Sunday Times, Literary
Album, Anti-Slavery Standard, Revolution, Clipper,
Spirit of the Times, and Police Gazette. Of the religious press, the Independent, Examiner, Evangelist,
Methodist, Observer, Tablet, Liberal Christian, Christian Advocate, Christian Inquirer, and Church Journal
are most prominent.
The Ledger is the most popular of the weeklies,
having at present a circulation of over three hundred
thousand. Robert Bonner, the proprietor, was at one
time a poor printer-boy, who made his journal famous,
and the source of a large fortune, by extremely lib 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
eral advertising. It is a story-paper, and one of the
very best of its kind.  Bonner employs the best talent
he can command, particularly the celebrities, at munificent rates.  Almost every writer in the country has
either contributed, or thought of contributing, to the
Ledger, at his own prices.   Henry Ward  Beecher's
"Norwood" was a good acquisition to the Ledger, increasing its circulation fully one hundred thousand.
Bonner may sometime engage Louis Napoleon, Garibaldi, the Tycoon of Japan and Pio Nono, for his
thought by day, his dream by night is whom he shall
next secure as a contributor to the Ledger.
The majority of the paper's readers are women and
young people-it is intended for a family journal,
though many men of culture con its columns regularly.
All newspaper publishers owe a debt of gratitude
to Bonner, inasmuch as his eminent success is the
strongest evidence of the advantage of advertising.
The illustrated papers number a dozen, probably;
the best being Harpers' Weekly, the Bazaar and Frank
Leslie's. Harpers' publications rank highest, especially
in the literary department, and have the largest circulation. The Weekly and Bazaar claim a circulation of
over one hundred thousand each, while Leslie's is
about sixty or seventy thousand. Both have made a
great deal of money, and every -year adds to their
profits.
The Round Table and Nation are, as literary and
critical journals, the ablest in the country; in fact,
almost the only ones that hold any rank or deserve
any reputation. The Round Table has more piquancy
and variety, the Nation more force and solidity. Both
312
0 
THE  WEEKLY  PliESS.
have had a hard struggle, but are now said to be on a
sound and paying basis. They employ some of the
ablest pens in the Metropolis and New-England, and
are edited with conscientious tact and zeal.
The Revolution, published and edited by Susan B.
Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, is an able and
energetic exponent of women's rights, and radical on
all subjects. It is too ultra for most people; but it is,
no doubt, doing a needful work by elevating the character and stimulating the independence of women.
The religious papers are published in the interest
of the different sects, and, very naturally, each is the
favorite of the church it represents.  The ]?dependent
is the most independent in character as well as in name,
and the most profitable. It is published by Henry
C. Bowen, formerly a Broadway merchant, and is said
to yield him $50,000 to $60,000 a year.  Theodore
Tilton is its principal editor, at a salary of $7,000 a
year-one of the highest paid in New-York. The
lethodist, Observer, Examiner and Liberal Christian
are the ablest, and make the largest returns to the
proprietors.
The Citizen gained considerable reputation through
its late editor, General  Charles G. Halpine, better
known as "Miles O'Reilly."  He was a clever, rollicking, careless, good-hearted Irishman, a kind of scribbling Dugald Dalgetty, who had the knack of flattering people into good humor with themselves and
good feeling for him. He obtained his first notoriety
by a series of adroit and ludicrous tricks, and was
elected to a municipal office, worth $40,000 a year,
which he held at the time of his sudden death.
The Citizen is often aromatic and generally read
313 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
able. Its circulation is not large, but, as it has the
City printing, it is, no doubt on a firm financial foundation. It is half political, half literary, and seems to
flourish.
The Home Journal has manifested more signs of
life since the death of N. P. Willis, with whom it was
for many years identified. It claims to be an elegant
journal of polite society, and has recently wrought
the Jenkins vein to advantage. The latest follies of
Fifth avenue are always chronicled with fervor and
fidelity in its columns.
The Sunday papers, such as the Mercury, News and
Police Gazette, are sensation journals of a curious sort,
to which a murder is a benison, and an intrigue a
godsend.   They deal with what the dailies will not
mention, or print in brief, enlarging with keen relish
and elaborate pruriency upon'details that delicacy
would eschew.
They reprint all the sensational facts and gossip they
can find in the country press, or exhume from the
licentious haunts of the City. They are widely read,
of course, and are, for the most part, profitable. The
better class of the community do not read them, unless
they happen to contain something extraordinary racy
and wanton, when curiosity overcomes the scruples of
conscience and the dictates of decorum.
Another class of weeklies are those styled literary,
which publish highly-colored stories, with absurd inci
dents and impossible characters of the Rinaldo Rinaldini, and Alonzo and Melissa class.   No  educated
person would believe a market for such matter could
be found; and yet publications like the Literary Album  and New  York Weekly have a circulation of.
314 
THE WEEKLY PRESS.
seventy or eighty thousand, and make their proprietors
rich. It costs little to print them; the original stories
being written by some impecunious hack, at the rate
of one or two dollars a column, and the slender editorial compounded with paste and scissors. Such journals are circulated almost entirely in the country, few
persons in the City being aware of their existence.
The worst class of weeklies are the Police Gazette
and the publications devoted to prize-fighting, criminal
news and flash intelligence.   They are abominably
written, and illustrated with hideous cuts, enough to
frighten Ajax or Diomede, and are read with avidity
in Greene, Mercer, Water and  Houston streets.  Barrooms and bagnios, gambling saloons and rat-pits patronize them, and consider them the most entertaining
and instructive journals in the World.
The profession of journalism, though possessed of a
strange species of fascination, which holds those once
embarked in it, and draws back to it the men who
have endeavored to escape, is, considering the culture,
training and devotion it requires, the least remunerative of callings.
Journalists who follow their profession zealously for
years, find, after they have worn themselves out in its
arduous service, that their prospects are no better than
when they began.   They have not saved more than
enough to meet their daily expenses, and, when they
can no longer work, they are set aside as of no further
use, and fresh and younger put in their place. Republics may be ungrateful, but they are far less so than
newspaper publishers, for the most part men of money
rather than culture, without sympathy with those who
toil their lives out for a salary hardly equal to that of
a good mechanic or an accomplished cook.
315 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Any other business, faithfully followed, gains in
value with years; and he who retires from it can sell
its good will for a bonus. The bonus of not a few improvident journalists has been  a legacy of unpaid
debts, and a funeral at the expense of their friends.
Journalists in the Metropolis are more poorly paid,
strange to say, than in many of the other and smaller
cities.  The best of them, those of large experience
and long service, rarely receive more than $30 or $40
a week; while the price for reporters is $15 to $25seldom the latter.
A few men are compensated liberally; but they are
well known, and are generally paid for their reputation, or because they have proprietary interests in the
concern to which they belong. Frederick Hudson, formerly managing editor of the Herald, received $10,000 a year; but he had grown up with the concern,
and he broke his constitution by his ceaseless toil.
Horace Greeley's salary is $7,500 as editor-in-chief of
the Tribune; but he is its founder and a large stockholder, and has a national and trans-Atlantic reputation. The managing editor of the Tribune has $5,000;
but it is not two years since the salary was raised to
that figure; and those who know anything of the mode
in which a man in such a position in a stock concern is
badgered and bedeviled, will willingly testify that
the price is not extraordinary.
Most of the New-York sub-journalists are compelled,
so great is the price of living, and such the smallness of
their pay here, to do outside work to make both ends
meet. When one has to pay $2,000 for a respectable
house to live in, and gets but $1,400 to $1,500 for his
services, the need of increased exertion, especially if
316 
THE WEEKLY PRESS.
he has a large family, is not altogether undiscernable.
In consequence, if he is clever, he makes a sort of
galley-slave of himself, and does the labor of three or
four ordinary men. He contributes to the magazines
or weeklies; corresponds for the country press; reads
for the book-publishers; translates from the German or
French the noticeable works in those languages, and
fills up his leisure hours by writing a comedy or a
novel, for which he receives a few hundred dollars and
all kinds of abuse.
The New-York journalist is fortunate if he has the
ability and industry to do all this, and more fortunate
if he has the opportunity; for the Metropolis is overcrowded with writers of every description, impecunious lite'rateurs, broken-down scribblers, and unsuccessful authors.
You can engage men here to compose an epic, a
tragedy, or a romance; indite an ode, a sonnet, or a
madrigal; waste ink and paper on any subject, for
much less than you could an attorney's clerk to copy
the same things.  Talent, learning, and even genius,
if you will permit the great unappreciated to place
their own estimate upon themselves, are more common
here than scandal in boarding-houses, or bad morals in
French novels.
At any rate, the supply of writers of ability and
culture, is much greater here than the demand; and
there is no commoner mistake than for young men who
have a suspicion, shared by few others, that they are
among the intellectually elect, to imagine New-York
needs them, and is suffering from their absence. If any
such are doing well where they are, there let them
remain.
317 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
This great City is overcrowded, overburthened,
over-supplied. There are vain and egotistic dullards
enough here now, ill-fated fellows who live by wits
none too bright before they were overstrained, and
who will go down to their graves with the conviction
that the World would not recognize their gifts. Do
not increase the number, my self-sufficient brothers of
the quill. Stay at home, and go to Heaven in your
own quiet way; and remember that he who tells you
so speaks by the card, and styles himself, with the characteristic egotism of his egotistic class, sometimes Sir
Oracle, and sometimes yours truly.
318 
CHAPTER XXXV.
WILLIAMI B. ASTOR.
WILLIAM B. ASTOR is a very noticeable exception to
the rule that the sons of rich men squander what their
fathers spent their lives in earning. Economy and
thrift are hereditary virtues in the Astors, and the
immense wealth that old John Jacob accumulated is
likely to remain in the family for generations.
William B.'Astor's life is little, but his property is
great. His chief distinction is that he is John Jacob
Astor's son. As such he is known; as such he will
be remembered. If it require, as has been claimed, as
much capacity to take care of money as to make it,
then the son is equal to the father. William B. has
been preserved by his temperament from all extravagances and excesses. He has the cool head and calm
blood of his German ancestors, to whom irregularity
was unknown and temptation impossible.
Associated in business with his father from his early
years, he learned his habits and followed his example.
The power and benefit of money being one of the first
things he was taught, it is not strange he has remembered his early lesson through all his years. Instead
of diminishing the wealth he inherited, he has largely
increased it, and has been for years the richest citizen
of the United States. He is as careful of his vast 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
property as if he were not worth a hundred dollars;
and to-day, in his seventy-sixth year, he takes more
note of a trifling expenditure than a clerk whose annual salary is not much beyond his hourly income.
Every one knows how John Jacob Astor, at the age
of twenty, left his village home in Baden, so poor that
he walked to the nearest seaport, with a small bundle,
containing all his worldly goods; spent his last penny
for a passage in the steerage; sailed for New-Yorkl
and would have arrived here with nothing but youth
and health, had he not sold on the voyage half a dozen
flutes given him by his brother in London.  For the
flutes he received twelve dollars, and having made the
acquaintance of a furrier on board the ship, and talked
with him about the trade, he invested his small capital,
on debarking, in furs. From that small beginning he
steadily and rapidly rose, until he founded the American Fur Company, sent his ships to every sea, and
died worth $50,000,000.
But few know  how William, the son, has, during
the twenty years since his father's death, devoted himself constantly to swell the fortune, whose income is
more than any one man should have. He has little
life outside of his mortgages and investments, and at
an age when most good citizens are sleeping quietly in
their graves, indifferent to securities or titles, he is
hard at work in his back office closing every crevice
through which a dollar might slip.
Many persons wonder why men of great fortune
continue to labor, instead of resting and enjoying themselves, and attribute it to mere love of gain. They do
not remember that long habit becomes second nature;
that such men find rest in constant occupation, and
320 
WILLIAM B. AstoR.
that the enjoyment prescribed for them would be the
severest punishment that could be inflicted.
For more than fifty years William B. Astor has been
a daily worker at his desk. Sentence him to idleness
to-morrow, and before the Christmas chimes were rung
from Trinity, the family lot in Greenwood would have
another occupant.
Astor was born in a small brick house, built by his
father, and occupied as a fur store, but long since torn
down, at the corner of Broadway and Vesey-the site
of the present Astor House.  He has seen wonderful
changes in the City and the World. When he was a
babe New-York had a population of not more than
thirty thousand souls; our Revolution had just ended;
George Washington was still alive; Thomas Jefferson
was President of the United States; Bonaparte was unknown; Frederic the Great had very recently died; the
French Revolution was thrilling the time with horror;
Vesey street was in the country; Bowling Green the
centre of trade; Wall street and its vicinity the quarter for fashionable residences, and the Republic itself
a handful of feeble States that were still suffering from
the struggle that had given them their independence.
Astor was carefully educated by his father, and after
leaving college, traveled in Europe, where, it is said,
he spent less than a quarter of what his parent had allowed him. After his return he went into business
with John Jacob, and became more watchful of his interests and his money than the old man himself, who
was never accused of any extraordinary carelessness
in that respect. Though presumptive heir to a great
estate he lost no opportunity to look out for himself,
and, at his father's decease, was individually worth
21
321 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
$6,000,000. He is declared, by those who ought to
know, to be less liberal than his father —no spendthrift
by any means-and a man of less kindly feeling and
less generous sympathy. He is reported to be very
charitable on occasions; but he rarely gives to those
who solicit charity, and his brusque refusal of the constant petitioners for assistance of all kinds through a
series of years has earned for him the reputation of extreme closeness, if not penuriousness.  To common
beggars and seekers for subscriptions he turns a deaf
ear, and the fact is now so well known that he escapes
much of the annoyance to which accessible rich men
are perpetually subjected. He makes it a rule, I have
been told, never to give anything during the hours of
business, and always to investigate any and every
case earnestly brought to his notice. If he finds it
worthy, he is reasonably liberal, but privately so, having no ambition to gain a reputation that would prove
troublesome, not to say expensive.
I have no reason to doubt this; indeed I am inclined
to believe it; for many persons give from their vanity,
while others who are silently charitable pass for the
very opposite in public opinion.
Still Astor cannot be regarded as a liberal man,
considering his immense wealth and the superabundant opportunities it gives him for doing good in his
native city, where the Greeks are ever at his own door.
Of course he has a perfect right to do as he chooses
with his own.  He knows that, too, and follows his
humor.
The public is very exacting of the wealthy, who
are roundly abused when they decline to open their
purses as it directs They are so besieged and bad
322 
WILLTAM B. ASTOR.
gered with applicants and applications, so imposed on
and cajoled, that it is not strange they grow callous.
Even Astor and Stewart, if they responded to all the
calls upon them for aid, would be beggared in a
twelvemonth. But there is so little probability of
their responding that it is not needful to expend any
sympathy in anticipation.
Astor's office is in Prince street near Broadway, a
one-story brick, with heavy shutters, reminding you of
a village bank. The office has two rooms, and he oc.
cupies the rear one, very plainly, even meagerly, furnished, which he enters punctually every morning at
ten o'clock, rarely leaving his desk before four in the
afternoon.  He is not shut away as Stewart is.  His
back can be seen by any one entering the office, and
any one can step in and see his face also, if he be so
minded. To those who pay him a visit he is so chary
of words as to seem impolite.
He usually waits to be addressed, but if he is not, he
turns a cold face upon the visitor, and says, "Your
business, sir.
If it be an application for charity, in nine cases out
of ten he cuts off the story before it is half told, with
"I can do nothing for you, sir," and resumes his work.
If it is an application for reduction of rent or for
the sale of property, he generally answers "No, sir,"
and relapses into silence, from which it is difficult to
arouse him.
If he is annoyed by further speech, he says curtly:
"I am busy: I have no time to talk;" and there the
interview ends. Few persons feel encouraged to stay
in his presence, which to strangers, is no more inviting than the Morgue at midnight, or a tombstone on a
Winter's day.
323 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Astor has none of his father's liking for trade. He
deals altogether in real estate and in leases of property
owned by Trinity Church. He has a wonderful memory. He can tell every square foot of property he
owns, the exact date at which each lease expires, and
the amount due on it to a penny. He very rarely sells
any of his property; but he is buying constantly, and
will be to his dying day, though it cannot be many
years before he will be obliged to exchange all his
valuable sites and acres for a three-by-seven lot in a
corner of Long Island.. He scarcely ever improves
any of his real estate. He buys it for an advance, and
lets it go only when he thinks it has reached its maximum rate.
Astor lives at No. 32 Lafayette place, in a handsome
though somewhat old-fashioned, brick house, adjoining
the Astor Library. His residence was built for and
given to him by his father. Most fashionable and
wealthy people have moved up town, but he is conservative, averse to change, and will breathe his last
under that roof. He is temperate in all things, and has
always taken excellent care of his health. He likes a
good dinner however, and a bottle of wine, and sits
long at table.  His is not a very sociable or gregarious
nature, but he gives elaborate dinner parties, and often
has company at his house. As an entertainer few surpass him. On a social occasion his plate is the most
massive, his viands the costliest, and his wmines the
richest to be found in New-York.
HIe is very fond of walking, going from his home to
his office and back almost invariably on foot. Ie is
a tall man, fully six feet, of heavy frame, large and
rather coarse features, small eyes, cold and sluggish
324 
WILLIAM B. ASTOR.
looking, much more German than American, nothing
distinguished or noticeable about him, whom no one
would suppose as old as he is by at least fifteen years.
He has a strong constitution and is in vigorous health,
and  may  see  his  hundredth  birthday.   He  has
two sons, John Jacob and William B. Astor, Jr.,
both of whom are as close applicants to business as
their father, and several daughters, all married to
wealthy gentlemen. Mrs. Astor who is the daughter
of General Armstrong, James Madison's Secretary of
War, is a woman of culture and accomplishments, and
lends grace and dignity to her husband's hospitality.
William B. Astor's wealth cannot be accurately determined. He does not know himself; but it is
probably $65,000,000, or $70,000,000, perhaps $80,000,000 or $90,000,000. It increases largely every
year by reason of the advance in property, and may
nearly double in value before his death. His income
is greatly disproportioned to his fortune, because he
owns such a large amount of unproductive real estate.
Hie has much property that even his sons know nothing
of, and, like his father, seems unwilling to have any one
understand the immensity of his riches.  It is said
he is very anxious to live to see hor many of his investments will turn out; but at seventy-six that
rare pleasure can not be much longer enjoyed.
325 
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE CONCERT-SALOONS.
CONCERT-SALOONS, with pretty "waiter-girl" attachments, which have of late years become so discreditably
popular in the various cities of the Union, had their
origin and earliest impetus here. They are particularly adapted to the large, loose, fluctuating, cosmopolitan life of New-York, and represent in a strikingly
unfavorable light some of the worst elements in the
great commercial and social centre of the Republic.
During the present year, the concert-saloons have
perceptibly diminished in the City, though there are
yet many more than any one would suppose the idle
and profligate among the million and a half of people
in this vicinity would or could support. It is but a
few years since the first concert-saloons were opened
in-Broadway and the Bowery, and they at once found
patrons innumerable.   Their illuminated transparencies, their tawdry display, their jangling music, their
painted and bedizened wantons-such is public taste
-made them immediate pecuniary successes. Their
bad example was contagious.   They sprang up, immoral mushroons, all over town; and, in less than twelve
months from the time the first one showed its hydra
head, four or five hundred of the establishments assist 
THE CONCERT-SALOONS.
ed to corrupt the most frequenrted quarters of the Metropolis.
Their number has been as high as six hundred, and
they have given degraded and degrading employment
to three or four thousand young women.
Since the passage of the Excise Law, many of the
concert-saloons have closed; but a large number remain open, pretending to sell nothing but "temperance drinks,"-thereby escaping the clause that forbids
the granting of license to dispose of spirituous or malt
liquors. Even this assumed restriction is one of the
moral spasms with which New-York is periodically
visited, and which usually react for the worse. It has
no other effect than to draw the curtain before evils
that will not be repressed, and to add to other vices
the compulsory one of hypocrisy.
The patrons of concert-saloons are mainly strangers,
-country people, as it is the fashion here to call all
persons living outside of New-York,-though not a few
of our resident citizens contribute to their support in
more ways than one. One would suppose that the
customers of the saloons were very young men, mere
boys, whose follies and foibles are to be leniently regarded on account of their immaturity and inexperience.
It is not so, however. Men of middle and old age are
often found among the regular attendants, and the
most devoted admirers of the unchaste nymphs who
pour libations to Venus and Bacchus from the same
satyr-shaped chalice.
Men from every grade of life visit the concert~saloons: many from curiosity, and more from a relish of
what they find there. The laborer and mechanic, the
salesman and accountant, the bank-clerk and merchant,
327 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
all meet in the subterranean dens, and guzzle in secret
lager-beer and poisonous liquors, and philander with
the libidinous Hebes with a zest that is surprising.
The concert-saloons differ-in their size and appoint ments, as much as they do in the appearance of the
attendants and the character of the habitues.  Some of
them, like the Louvre and Oriental, are handsomely
fitted up and furnished, and have a certain kind of
order and decorum.   The waiter-girls are gaudily at tired, and have some pretensions to comeliness and
propriety of conduct.  The masculine visitors are of
the best species of patrons of such places-generally
sober, well-dressed, and tolerably well-behaved. The
first-class saloonis are in Broadway, albeit many of them
in that great thoroughfare are of a very degraded
kind; but the worst are in William street, Chatham
street and the Bowery.
The latter description discard the form of decency
to a great extent.  The men swear and talk obscenely
in loud voices; drink to excess; leer, and roar, and
stagger, and bestow rude caresses on the women, and
are thrust violently into the street when they have lost
their senses and spent their money. The women are
coarse and sensual in form and feature, lascivious in
conduct, rude and harsh of speech, degraded in feeling,
outcast in society. The proprietors are generally besotted ruffians, doomed to die in a drunken fit or a
drunken brawl,-fellows conceived in sin, reared in
iniquity, and predestined to the penitentiaries.
The concert-soloons do little, and expect to do little,
during the day. At night is their harvest; and all the
poetry of the night is needed to relieve the excessive
prose of such haunts and habits.  When the gas flares,
328 
THE CONCERTSALOONS.
and the tinsel glitters, and the paint hides, and the
chemical decoctions sensualize and stupefy, vice is
robbed of half its grossness, and delicacy and reason
of all their instincts.
Soon after the great stores of Broadway are closed
and bolted; when down-town is partially deserted;
when New-York has dined, and is determining how to
pass the evening most pleasantly, the concert-saloons
reveal their fascinations for the idle and unwary. Then
the transparencies blaze, and large black and red letters inform promenaders and loungers where fine musical entertainments may be had gratis; where the
prettiest waiter-girls in the City may be seen; where
the greatest and cheapest pleasure may be enjoyed.
Up from basements that have been quiet and unobserved all day long come the sound of boisterous
music, and the noise of many voices, too loud for
gayety and too discordant for sobriety. If you have
nothing to do-for leisure is the parent of mischiefor if you are a stranger, you feel an idle curiosity to
look into the underground abode; and you do, probably.
You descend the steps, and are in a vast hall filled
with small tables, at which men and women are seated,
chattering like monkeys and drinking like doves. On
one side of the room is a bar, behind which half a
dozen or more bar-keepers are filling the orders of the
waiter-girls with careless celerity. On a raised platform at the lower end of the hall is a group of musicians, playing vociferously out of tune, and fortifying
their wasted powers with frequent fluids.
Throughout the place is a rattling of glasses, a chaos
of voices, a cloud of tobacco smoke, an odor of bad
329 
THE GR_AT METROPOLIS.
beer, a discord of instruments, with a sense of heat,
impurity and debauchery, that repels and shocks you
at first.
If this do not drive you out at once, you gradually
become accustomed to it. One of the waiter-girlswhat bitter irony it is to call most of them "pretty!"approaches, and proffers her services. She tells you
that so good-looking and nice a gentleman ought not
to be alone, or go without a drink; informs you she
will take something with you, and keep you company.
Without more words, she brings from the bar a glass
of beer or liquor, and places herself at your side; asks
you if you like women; invites you to visit her when
she is at home; perhaps grants you permission to escort her from the saloon-though, if she do this, you
may conclude you have a verdant and rustic air, and
do not seem a bit like a New-Yorker.
If the experience be new, you may wish to see what
will come of it all. You drink the contents of the
glass before you, and call for a cigar. Then you have
another drink, and another, and another. The nepenthe that the wife of Thone gave to Jove-born Helena
seems in the glass. Everything is metamorphosed as
if you had been reading Ovid. The scene of repulsion is replaced by one of attraction, almost of fascination.
The music is no longer strident and odious. The
tones of your attendant Circe change. They appear
soft, and low, and sweet; and her once harsh face
grows lovely in the glamour before your eyes. The
tawdry hall becomes a place of enchantment. You
wonder you did not visit long before such a palace of
delights. You call for more liquor. You sing; you
330 
THE CONCERT SALOONS.
dance; you are happy.  You whisper tenderly to the
nymph at your side, as if she were Urania and you
Strephon, in the midst of a new Arcadia. Then objects and sounds grow confused. There is a floating,
swimming motion before your eyes, a feeling of irresistible drowsiness and languor, and soon complete
oblivion.
Your consciousness is restored; and there is a violent pain in your head, and a burning heat in your
throat. You have no idea where you are, or what has
passed, or how much time has sped since you lost your
reason and your senses. You may lie in the stationhouse, or in your own room, or in a strange one, of
which I will not tell, because I know you would not
like to tell yourself.
When you rise, and look about you, you find you
have no money. Your foolish experience has cost you
something; but you have learned your lesson cheaply
if you will only profit by it.  You are repentant, as
punished men always are; and you walk confusedly
into the street, if you happen to be at liberty, with all
your future compassed by a bottle of Seltzer water.
At some of the saloons-the very lowest —customners
are systematically robbed, and beaten if they resist.
But generally, at such places, their drink is drugged,
and they are non-combative victims.  At the best of
the saloons, you are defrauded of your change, unless
you be on the alert, and every effort is made by the
waiter-girls to render you intemperate in passion as
well as thirst. You cannot go often to the best conducted music-halls without a diminution of your selfesteem which makes temptation strong and seduction
easy.
331 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The waiter-girls are more to be pitied than despised.
They are frequently drawn to this vocation by lack of
employment, and the impossibility of obtaining it elsewhere. They come mostly from the country, and are
often virtuous when they enter the saloons. But they
cannot continue so.  The strongest of our sex, and the
purest of theirs cannot resist temptation and circumstance beyond a certain point. And how can they,
with nothing to restrain and everything to compel
them?
Yet the waiter-girls have virtues, if not the (considered) cardinal one. Strange anomaly to those who do
not understand what a mixture of good and evil human nature is, waiter-girls not seldom support aged
mothers, and educate younger brothers and sisters, by
the wages of sin and the saloons.
They have aspirations, doubtless, for a better life,for a higher sphere. But the World frowns, and Society rejects them.  They could not do otherwise if
they would. So they must wait until the grave makes
all things even by making all things forgotten.
332 
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CORNELIUS VANDERBILT.
MEN like Stewart, Astor and Vanderbilt, who either
make or manage great fortunes, are little inclined to
sentiment, and, therefore, rarely popular. Such men
are doers, not sayers, and speech attracts more than
conduct. They are so practical of necessity, so absorbed in their own affairs, that they have little time
or sympathy to give to the great mass that does not in
any way affect their interests.
Cornelius Vanderbilt is a man of power, unquestionably. Many fear, but few love him; nor has his
course been such as to endear him to any very largo
number of people. Through nearly half a century he
has employed his extraordinary energy, tact and managing force to the advancement of his own pecuniary
interests, never slacking exertion or sparing toil in th3
accumulation of a colossal fortune, whose income he
cannot and will not use.
Cornelius Vanderbilt is, as his name indicates, a descendant of the early Dutch settlers,' and inherits from
them the industry and thrift that have been largely instrumental in securing him his superabundant
riches. He is altogether a self-made man, his origin
being humble and his education neglected. He was 
THE GRFAT METROPOLIS.
born in 1794, on Staten Island, his father being a
farmer, who tilled a lot of ground for the purpose of
supplying the New-York market-an undertaking in
which he thrived.  The elder Vanderbilt, in carrying
his products to the City, began to take passengers who
had no boats of their own, and in due season became
a regular ferrymnan.  His perriauger made one round
trip a day, and he prospered more by it than by his
farming.
To the ferry between the island and New-York,
Cornelius succeeded at the age of sixteen, having
shown such a marked and unconquerable dislike of
books and the restraints of school, that his parents despaired of his education.   He  was ignorant of the
common rudiments, and was unable to determine, in
his twentieth year, whether his name should be spelled
with a W  or a V.   He had an instinct, however, for
arithmetic and calculation, and knew what a dollar
stood for as well as any boy in the country. He was
soon the owner of a perriauger himself, and developed
a remarkable capacity to make money, which has
grown with his growth and strengthened with his
strength. He proved himself an excellent judge of
human nature, too, so far as trades and bargains were
concerned, and beyond that he cared nothing for it.
In his eighteenth year he was the owner of one of the
largest perriaugers about New-York, and during the
war of 1812 he was active in furnishing, at night, the
forts near the City with supplies. He was resolute and
courageous, rarely failing, it is said, to keep his given
word, or to execute any commission, however hazardous, he had agreed to perform.
In his nineteenth year he married Sophia Johnson
-334 
CORNELIUS VANDERBILT.
-his wife died very recently-of Port Richmond,
Staten island, and removed a few months after to this
City.
At the age of twenty-three he had saved $10,000,
considered a handsome sum in those days, but which
he regarded merely as a basis for future operations.
Perceiving the great advantage that must result to
commerce from steam power, which had been recently
applied to navigation, he entered the service of Thomas
Gibbons, a wealthy New-York capitalist, then engaged
in transporting passengers between here and Philadelphia.  He remained with Gibbons twelve years, and
manifested such shrewdness and energy-successfully
evading the act of the Legislature forbidding any vessel to enter the waters of the State without license, on
the pain of forfeiture-that the capitalist was unwilling
to dispense with his invaluable assistance. Vanderbilt
wished to be his own master again, especially as he
had obtained a practical knowledge of steam navigation, which he was confident he could turn to most
profitable account. For the next twenty-five years he
did little else than build steamboats and steamships,
and always succeeded by having better and faster and
cheaper lines than his competitors. The accommodation of the public was always made subservient to the
interest of Vanderbilt, and always will be; for he
makes no secret of the fact that he is his own-I will
not say only-best friend.
In 1850 he established a rival line of steamships to
California, by way of Nicaragua; sold it out to advantage three years afterwards, to the Transit Company,
and became the president of the company in 1856.
In 1855 he went to Europe with his family, in his
335 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
own steamship, the North Star-the first fitted with a
beam engine that ever crossed the Atlantic-and attracted much attention by the novelty of the expedition. After his return he built a number of ocean
steamers to run between New-York and Liverpool,
having received a contract to carry the mails between
the two countries.   One of the vessels, the Vanderbilt, made the fastest time ever made, and, during the
War, he presented it-it cost $800,000-to the Government as an addition to the navy. The act was officially recognized by Congress, and is very noticeable
as something the "Commodore" was not expected to
do. He has been in the habit of supervising all the
work he orders, even to the minutest details, and never
accepting anything that does not suit him.   He has
built and owned more than a hundred vessels, and not
one of them has been lost by accident, it is said, which
may be the reason of his constant unwillingness to insure his property.
For the past few years Vanderbilt has turned his attention to railways, and has shown himself as admirable a manager on land as on water. He obtained
possession of the Harlem in 1864, and from a merely
fancy stock, paying no dividends, it has been made
very profitable. He gained control of the Hudson
River and of the New-York Central also, and has for
months been striving to get hold of the Erie. No
doubt it would be for the interest of the stockholders
that he should; but the public, who have no reason to
like him, are opposed to his monopolizing all the railways leading out of the City, which is evidently his
ambition. He will be master of the Erie ere long,
though, and his numerous enemies can console them
336 
CORNELIUS VANDERBILT.
selves with the utterance of the Congressman who
thanked God that men couldn't live more than a hundred years; that if they could, such fellows as Vanderbilt would own the whole World. Before another
twelve months he will, probably, control railway lines
representing an invested capital of $100,000,000.
No one knows how much Vanderbilt is worth, but
his fortune is probably not less than $122000,000 to
$15,000,000, some rating it as high as $20,000,000.
He is the railway king of America, and the great
power of Wall street. Among the shrewd he is the
shrewdest; among the bears, the most bearish; among
the bulls, the most bullish. He always plays to win,
and he is so accurate a judge of men, so clear-sighted,
so fertile of resource, so skillful an organizer of combinations, and the wielder of such an immense capital,
that failure is next to impossible. A man of great
nerve and determination, entirely self-confident andself-sufficient, with half a century of training in the
school of financial selfishness, able to draw his check
at any moment for millions, he is a foe even Wall
street stands in awe of.
Vanderbilt has an office in Fourth Street, and conducts his immense business as easily as if it embraced
only a few hundreds. He goes to Wall street every
day, but his work is usually done in four or five hours.
He is a passionate lover of horses, has half a dozen of
the fastest trotters in the country in his stables, and
would give $25,000 to $50,000 any time for any of the
famous animals he has long coveted.   The way to
the Commodore's heart lies through the stable, and
two or three of his favorites have reached it by that
road.
22
337 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS
Every pleasant afternoon he can be seen driving in
the Park, and he enjoys it as a youth with his first
horse might. He is a good liver; but is too discreet,
too careful of his health to become the victim of the
larder or the wine cellar.  He enjoys a woodcock  or
Spanish mackerel, a pate' de foie gras or saddle of velnison, a rare old bottle of Burgundy or Veuve Clicquot;
but he has never suffered from the dyspepsia or the
gout.  He is hale, hearty, and, though nearly an octogenarian, younger than many men with half his years,
so ruddy, erect and vigorous that few would believe
him beyond the prime of life.
He has a strong, expressive face, and his clear comlexion, aquiline nose, strong frame and clear-cut stature of six feet, entitle him to the reputation of a handsome old man.  He certainly enjoys himself.  His life
is divided between railways, horses and whist, of which
last'ie is a devotee, playing almost every evening
with a zest that never tires. Talleyrand said to a
young man who did not know whist, "Alas! my friend,
what an unhappy old age is before you!"  Vanderbilt has provided against that, and when his partner returns his lead, and isn't afraid of trumps, his evenings
are blessed.
Seventy-four, and worth millions, Cornelius Vanderbilt, at least, has a large family to leave them to, and
when the thin gentleman who is supposed to ride on a
pale horse, calls upon him, he will ask what time the
steed can make, and go along satisfied if he can do a
mile inside of Dexter's best.
338 
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
BROADW-AY.
BROADWAY is New-York intensified,-the reflex of
the Republic,-hustling, feverish, crowded, ever changing.
Broadway is hardly surpassed by any street in the
World.  It is cosmoramic and cosmopolitan.  In its
vast throng, individuality is lost, and the race only is
remembered. All nations, all conditions, all phases of
life are represented  there.  Like nature, it never
cloys; for it is always varying, always new.
A walk through Broadway is like a voyage round
the Globe; and to the student of humanity it is interesting every day and every hour of the seasons. For
years I have floated up and down its regular tides, and
yet it is fresh today as it was in early childhood. Its
gaudiness and frippery no longer attract, but its human
interest grows and expands.
No thoroughfare in the country so completely represents its wealth, its enterprise, its fluctuations, and its
progress.  Broadway is always being built, but it is
never finished.  The structures that were  deemed
stately and magnificent a few years ago are constantly
disappearing, and new and more splendid ones are
rising in their places.
Wood has yielded to brick, brick to stone, and stone 
TiHE GRIEAT METROPOLIS.
to marble. Before the next decade has passed, Broadway is likely to glitter in continuous marble from the
Battery to Madison Square; and, ere the century is
ended, it promises to be the most splendid street, architecturally, on either side of the Atlantic.
The rent of one of its ordinary stores is a princely
income, and its cost exhausts a liberal fortune. Poverty is rigorously excluded from its imposing confines,
and pecuniary success alone is recognized by its stately piles. Trade must of necessity thrive there. If it
be crippled never so little, rude Prosperity crowds it
into humbler quarters.  "Come  not here," say its
showy structures, "if you'have not money; for only
lengthy purses can buy you welcome!"
Whatever is purchasable can be had in Broadway.
Virtue and honesty may be bought there like tropical
fruits and diamond bracelets. All the markets of the
Earth contribute to its supplies, and its goods are furnished from every port whence vessels sail.
You need never go out of Broadway for the obtainment of every luxury and the indulgence of every
pleasure. Stay there contentedly, and Paris, and
London, and Berlin, and Florence will come to you.
The wares and productkof Europe and of Asia are
within your daily promenade. Open your purse., and
all your desires shall be gratified.
Lucullus, and Sardanapalus, and Apicius might have
delighted every sense with the last refinements of voluptuousness between Canal and Twenty-sixth street,
and found new joys as fast as the old were sated.
Banquets as rich as theirs, music as sweetly seductive,
women as fair and frail, would come at their pecuniary bidding, in this as in the centuries long past.
340 
BROADWAY.
Vice wears a fair mask at every corner, and Art
smiles in a thousand bewitching forms. Hotels, and
playhouses, and bazaars, and music-halls, and bagnios,
and gambling hells are radiantly mingled together;
and any of them will give what you seek, and more
sometimes.
Be it India shawls or Italian singers; Mechlin laces,
or mementoes of the Orient; Persian silks, or poems
that every age makes newly immortal; lore of the
ancients, or love-adventures; flowers of the tropics, or
fleeces from Thibet,-anything rare, or ripe, or dangerous, or dainty,-each and all are within your reach,
if you can pay the price morally and materially.
But to the philosopher, no less than the pleasureseeker, Broadway has its charms; for he can find there
stimulant for thought and food for feeling.  He can
meet at every turn his brothers from other climes, his
sisters in other spheres. Their blood has flown in'such
divergent streams that he knows his kindred not.
Yet, if he tarried with them long, he would see how
they are related.
How the ranks and antagonisms of life jostle each
other on that crowded pave! Saints and sinners, mendicants and millionaires, priests and poets, courtesans
and chiffoniers, burglars and bootblacks, move side by
side in the multiform throng. They touch at the elbows, with all the World between them. They breathe
the same breath, and yet they are entire strangers.
The same bodies and the same souls, something lies
between them they shall never cross, unless fickle Fortune makes them golden equals.  But in this broad,
free air there is hope for all.
They may change positions in a few years. The
341
0 
THE GREAT MIETROPOLIS
lowly strive to climb, and the lofty are like to fall.
Let the kaleidoscope of destiny turna and the same
elements assume new and shining forms; and still they
are only bits of gaudy glass.
You and I, reader, can see all our friends, if we are
so fortunate as to have them, and our acquaintances
of other days in Broadway.
The men we met up the Nile, and climbed Mont
Blanc with, and dined opposite at the Trois Freres and
gossiped about at the bull-fight in Madrid, will bow at
the corner of Houston or Warren street. Or, itthey
do not, they will come by and by.
The dark-eyed gipsy who won such rolls of coin at
HIombourg; the olive-cheeked beauty we captivated
with our slender Italian at Rome; the fair and spfrituelle American to whom we made love on the deck of
the vessel that sailed so dreamily down the Danube
under the star-studded sky,-they will pass us, if we
wait and walk often in Broadway.
With how many companions have I strolled and ridden
through Broadway during the past twenty years! As
a child, I remember being borne along by the hand,
when Canal street was up town, and Union Square the
terminus of the promenade. Those companions, like
the buildings of the street, have disappeared in the
grave or in the spaces of the Globe, and were forgotten
until some incident or association brought them to
memory again.
Every day one meets those he saw last on the other
side of the ocean or existence, or under circumstances
directly opposed to the present time or place.
A walk through Broadway revives recollection;
makes life flow backward for the hour; lifts the cur
342 
BROADWAY.
tain from scenes of the past; recreates feelings often
pleasant, oftener painful,-all ghosts of the dead years
that shimmer through our darkened memory.
Come with me, you who have traveled and seen the
World at strange angles, and had loves, and hates, and
ambitions, and expectations; and Broadway will show
you how hollow they all are; how experience repeats
itself, and the divinest passions pall and pale.
In the midst of this bustle, and fret, and hurry,
Poetry gleams out fitfully, and Philosophy looks steadily with calm, sad eyes.
There dashes by in the handsome carriage the woman
who vowed she worshiped you once, though she was
another's; who called you her lord, her master, and
her king; and all whose peace, she declared, lay in the
little words, "I love you!" Perhaps you believed it
then. But she and you mutually forgot. Circumstance
strangled sentiment, and Destiny passion.  And now
she knows not your face; and what then seemed to
you tragedy proves a droll comedy after all.
You are wiser in the present. You have concluded
that what we call Love is merely sweet cordial. It
intoxicates for the time, and we see not things as they
are.  But soberness returns, and the purple phantasy
vanishes, and Love proves to be a dream, which has
its attractions, though we are aware it is only a dream.
That face looks familiar as it goes by. Reflection
tells you it belongs to your nearest friend, of a few
years ago. You and he quarreled about a trife-perhaps a pretty face, perhaps over a warm argument.
You wonder you could have liked him ever. He is
hard and selfish whom you believed the soul of generosity and chivalry.  But so it always proves when
separation mars idealization.
343
0 
TRE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Who would suppose that large, ruddy creature, the
mother of half a dozen children, was the sentimental
school-girl whose blue eyes you kissed, and whose
golden hair you caressed, in the New-England town,
or in the sunny South, ten or fifteen years ago? You
are not conscious of it. But it is so. The inexorable
facts of life have hidden her identity, and changed her
inwardly and outwardly.
The well-to-do person who pushes past was your
comnpanion-in-arms during our great War.  The last
time you saw him, he was bleeding in the hospital-tent,
amid the roar of the fierce battle. You left him dying
as you thought, and hurried to the front line. Since
then you have not met him, and now he is a successful
merchant in Murray street.
What a badge of prosperity wears he who steps into
his coupe' and drives off with the air of a nabob. You
remember you lent him, in Chicago or New-Orleans,
the means to buy his breakfast at the convention some
years before the civil struggle. Since that period he
has made a million in Wall street, and is director in
one of the largest of the Broadway banks.
In the next block you encounter a haggard, povertystricken man, whom you knew in the South as a planter
that reckoned his estate by hundreds of thousands.
Fortune went ill with him, and he lives now by the
charity of a few, and lives hard, Heaven knows, though
he has given away what would make him rich again.
Brawny and muscular is the man with the dark eyes
and coal black hair across the way. Hie was a blackleg and prize-fighter ten years since. He is now a
blackleg and a companion of bulls and bears, and a
member of Congress, who is not wholly out of place in
O,
344 
So0 j
C
'a1
PI
~ 
-! 
BROADWAY.
Washington either; for far worse men than he have
been there,-are there at this moment, the more's the
pity.
But who is not in Broadway? All who are not
dead are, or have been, or will be. Aid the dead may
be, too, in another form. Stay there, and the World
will come round to you in its own season.
Expect the Emperor of the French, and the Czar of
Russia, and the Pope, and the Sultan; for Broadway
draws the streams of the World into its strong currents
more and more every year.
6
345 
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE THIEVES.
CRIME has a strange fascination for the best of us;
and a deep interest in its details belongs to human nature. After fairy tales and wonder-books little people
are drawn to the horrors of vice as babes to the maternal bosom. And children of a larger growth rarely
lose their taste for the terrible save through the purification of discipline and culture.  The  "Pirate's Own
Book" and the confessions of murderers the precocious
boy soon loses his relish for; but even in mature years
he finds highly-seasoned food for his mind in the career
of burglars and the adventures of assassins.
This is not singular either; for every phase of humanity concerns us, though unconsciously, as a possible
experience of our own. If we are broad and philosophic, we read of shuddering vices as something we
escaped by favor of circumstance. If we are narrow
and commonplace, we find satisfaction in the thought
that others are so much worse than we, forgetful that
organization and surroundings determine fate.
But, however interesting crime may be, criminals
are not, unless set in illusion and encircled with romance. Stripped of the raiment with which fancy
invests them, they are like the tinseled kings of the
stage when the curtain has fallen upon their mimic 
THE THIEVES.
sway. They are personally and mentally what they
are morally-common characters without the smallest
poetic pegs to hang idealization on.
Jerry O'Brien may glimmer for a moment like a
hero, as he stands young and sober, penitent and calm
on the scaffold. Bob Lefferts may seem daring and
desperate as he appears in a flash print leaping with a
dark lantern from one roof to another while policemen
follow the burglar with flashing pistols.   But examination proves them to be vulgar villains, whose manners
are quite as repulsive as their morals.
Robbers and thieves have long been made the creations of romance by men of genius as well as by common scribblers pandering to vitiated tastes.  Schiller
made Charles de Moor a model of romantic scoundrelism, and Walter Scott painted the cattle-thieves and
coarse freebooters of the Highlands as magnificent fellows devoted to a sacred cause. So the poor brains
of writers for the New-York weeklies strive to invest
the thieves of the Metropolis with high redeeming virtues, and partially succeed with such readers as know
nothing of the plundering class.  They are petty and
sorry rogues, however, when you see them as they are,
and won't admit of sentimental or sympathetic treatment.
The professional thieves of the Metropolis, independ- 
ent of those in the City Hall, number 6,000 or 7,000.
They are rapidly increasing, and are said to be nearly
double what they were fifteen years ago. Their calling is as distinct, their business as systematic, as that
of their more honest neighbors.  They form a part of
our great centre of civilization, and perhaps regard
themselves as essential to its continuance.   No dou-abt
347 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
they perform certain functions which result indirectly
to the advantage of the commniunity, though their im mediate effect can hardly be considered beneficial.
The thieves of New-York are of various kinds, though
they may be divided into five classes, each of which is
separate from the other, and demands the exercise of
particular capacities or qualities. The classes are burglars, hotel-robbers, shop-lifters, pickpockets, and
sneak-thieves. They never interfere or associate with
each other, and the lines of demarkation are as firmly
drawn between them as between lawyers, physicians,
and merchants.
Burg,lars are at the head of the profession; are looked up to and admired as congressmen by ward politicians, or full-fledged authors by novices in composition.
They have necessarily more brain and nerve than com
mon pillagers, and they believe that for eminent success they must be born to their vocation as poets and
orators are.  Pure American burglars are scarce, but,
when found, are shrewder and more dangerous and
reckless than those of foreign birth.
Most of the tribe are English, with a considerable
intermixture of Irish and Germans.   Now and then
you discover a Scotchman, Frenchman, or Spaniard
among them, but very seldom; for those nationalities
show little genius for the peculiar calling. They are
rarely if ever men of education,-few of them can write
indeed,-but they are constitutionally cunning and
bold, with all their animal instincts strongly developed.
They closely resemble prize-fighters in character and
habit, and occasionally sink to the grade of fistic champions by force of circumstances.   They are usually
indolent, and operate only at considerable intervals;
348 
TEE THIEVES.
prudence as well as temperament requiring that their
labors should be succeeded by long intermissions. After
varied experience, how,ver, they attain a love of adventure and danger that sometimes prompts them to
misdeeds when necessities do not.' One or two burglaries a month satisfy their avarice and ambition; and,
if they are well rewarded in an enterprise, they often
lie idle for a whole season.
Burglars proceed cautiously and systematically always; doing their work by prescribed degrees and
after a thorough maturing of their plans.   They first
select a house or store into which they intend to break;
watch it generally for several days, perhaps weeks, to
determine the habits of its inmates, when they come
and go, how many there are, where they secrete their
valuables, what precautions against thieves are adopted
or omitted, and aught else needful to be learned.
.The robber always has a confederate, sometimes two
or more; the confederate keeping vigil to give due
warnings of the approach of danger, or to draw attention away from his chief while the crime is accomplished
or escape secured.
False keys are largely employed by the burglar, who
manages to obtain an impression of the key-hole in wax
when unobserved, and so supplies himself with the
means of ingress.
The key procured, and the habits of the inmates and
the construction of the building having beent ascertained,-this branch of the art is technically called "planting,-the burglar  and his confederate, thoroughly
armed, either to terrify others or defend themselves,
and provided with gunpowder, dark-lantern, jimmy
349 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and outsider, go to the place selected, and proceed to
business.
When everything is quiet-about 2 or 3 o'clock in
the morning is the time generally selected, as persons
sleep most soundly then-the confederate takes his
stand outside, while the burglar applies the key; uses
his jimmy, if necessary, to pry off bolts; and enters,
carefully closing the door after him. He knows where
he is going, and exactly what he seeks. If a safe is
to be entered, he accomplishes his purpose; abstracts
the contents, and departs noiselessly in his soft slippers
provided for the occasion. If a silver closet is to be
ransacked, he has a bag with him; carries off his plunder, rejoins his confederate, and they go cautiously to
their abode or an appointed rendezvous.  In the event
of a surprise by policemen, the confederate gives an
understood signal, commonly a peculiar whistle, and
the insider escapes as best he can. If the occupants
of a dwelling are awakened, the burglar, too closely
followed, will often attempt to frighten his pursuer,
and sometimes take life to avoid arrest.   Generally,
however, it is his interest to hurt no one, and he will
abstain from the use of weapons while it is possible to
get away. Many robbers are cowardly when confronted; but others are courageous and even desperate, and will not long hesitate between shooting
and escaping.
The first-class burglar universally prefers stores or
warehouses to dwellings, for the former offer greater
inducement, and can be entered with less peril. Private houses are most likely to be entered in the Summer, when families are absent from the City, and robberies in that quarter are mainly confined to the outof-town season.
350 
THE THIEVES.
Hotel robbers, as their name implies, frequent hotels,
generally boarding at them, and passing for strangers.
They dress well; have quiet manners; assume to have
business with various firmns, the location of whose
stores they inquire at the office; go out and come in
at stated hours; read and write spurious letters, and
play the country merchant like the trained artists that
they are.   The members of this class are generally
educated, partially at least, and bear nothing suspicious about them.
They are ever on the alert, and soon learn what
boarders are worth stealing from.  When the occupants of certain rooms are out, they slip in with false
keys, and possess themselves of such valuables and
garments as they can lay hands on.   They remove
the screws of bolts, and leave the bolts in their
places by means of putty or wax, so that they can
obtain entrance after the guest or guests have retired
for the night. Nearly every public house in town has
some of these thieves among its boarders; and yet the
special detectives employed by landlords do not know
the scoundrels.   The rogues operate very adroitly,
and generally so securely that years elapse before they
are found out. They do not stay long in one house,
or in one town, but make tours of the large cities, remaining long enough away from New York to recruit
any unhealthiness of reputation.   Once detected, their
usefulness to themselves is seriously impaired, as they
are marked characters ever afterward, and expelled
the moment they enter a public house, unless they are
very carefully disguised. Even if suspected they fare
badly; for to be suspected is nearly as bad as to be
proved guilty.
351 
TIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The hotel-thieves are the "gentlemanly" thieves par
excellence, and are more likely to impose upon the
community than any others.  They are apt to begin
by genteel swindling, and end as forgers.   I have
known them to be men of quite respectable family
and considerable culture, who, from living beyond
their means and borrowing money recklessly, so lost
all credit and self-respect that they were finally compelled to steal to sustain their extravagance.
Shop-lifters are composed of both sexes, the women
being quite as numerous as the men. They confine
their depredations entirely to stores, and adopt many
ingenious devices to plunder. They are compelled to
resort to new shifts, as the old ones are discovered
after a brief while. They have confederates generally,
that the attention of merchants may be engaged while
the purloining takes place. They steal from the front
of stores-the Bowery is a favorite field of operations
-while their associates are examining goods inside.
They acquire special skill, and can pick up a ring or a
bracelet, a pair of shoes, a piece of silk or lace, and
conceal it before the very eyes of a clerk, in a manner
that would do credit to a professional necromancer.
Sometimes they have capacious bags into which
they sweep articles when the salesman's back is turned;
then purchase a trifle and depart. Both sexes wear
sleeves that favor concealment, and have a knack of
hiding things about their persons that only long practice could have perfected. They frequently purchase
a box of goods, conceal it somewhere and carry it off,
leaving another much like it, prepared beforehand, in
its place; say they will return and pay for it, and get
off undiscovered. Children are trained to the art, and
352 
THuE THIEvES.
prosper in it, because, from their tender age, they are
not suspected. Little boys and girls of nine and ten,
and even six and seven, are taught to steal by their
parents, and do it so well as to prove that certain
kinds of genius are hereditary.
Pickpockets seldom enter upon their profession until
they have been educated, by learned professors, to the
needful sleight of hand and delicacy of manipulation.
There are places in the Fourth, Sixth and Eighteenth
wards where schools like those of Fagin, and disciples
like the Artful Dodger may be found.   Pickpockets
are well, but modestly, attired, and ply their trade at
the places of amusement, in Broadway, in the stages
and street-cars, at fires and the ferries, where there is
a crowd, with its attendant jostle and confusion.
Their dexterity is marvelous. If the opportunity be
favorable, they can get your watch and pocket-book
every day in the week; and yet each time you will
wonder how they did it.
Recently some of them have become ticket-speculators in front of the theaters, where they have admirable facilities for robbery, and avail themselves
thereof to the utmost.
A favorite plan of theirs is to excite, or assume to
excite, a disturbance of some kind, and under the apparent endeavor to extricate themselves from the
crowd, to reap a digital harvest.   Not infrequently
they charge an honest man with taking their pocketbook, and, during the temporary excitement, steal his,
and make off Aith it.
New-York is the best place in the World for pocketpicking, in consequence of the carelessness of the
people, their haste, and habit of carrying considerable
23
353 
THE GREAT MIETROPOLIS.
sums of money upon their persons.   Traveled gentry
of light-fingered proclivities testify they can do better
in the Metropolis than anywhere else.
Sneak-thieves have no regular method. They get
their name from sneaking into entry ways and shops
and hotel rooms, carrying off hats, boots, coats and
small articles generally.   Sometimes they make a
bolder flight; sneak into bank-vaults, and steal bonds
and securities; but this is more properly the business
of ingenious robbers who make their calling a study
and an art.
The sneaks are a most contemptible class, and are
despised by all others whose profession it is to steal.
They have a hang-dog look, and cannot meet the gaze
of a passerby. Without courage, skill or tact, they are
stragglers from the army of common scoundrels; robbing children, old women, and drunken men. They
are the fellows who sell brass watches to country
people; play the ball-game and the little joker; plunder poor emigrants at the Battery; pass the night
with wretched courtesans, and steal their clothes in.the
morning.
They run so few risks; are so timid and unambitious that they are not very often arrested, and when
they are, are merely sent to Blackwell's island for a
few months, and released to continue their small villainies.
"Cheating luck never thrives" is a homely proverb,
but true. Nor does stealing, either. Few of any of
the hundreds of thieves that infest the City ever accumulate anything. They are all prodigal, wasteful, dissipated-gamblers, debauchees, lechers; work harder
and suffer more to be dishonest than they need to be
honest and prosper..
t
354 
THE THIEVES.
But, like all the rest of us, their destiny is determined for them by circumstances, and they move in
the direction their organization propels them. If they
are thieves, they are in good company; for tens of
thousands of more fortunate New-Yorkers steal with,
but not like them.
Their conscience need not trouble them sorely-nor
does it, I suspect, for those we call the worst are prone
to justify their conduct to themselves-because they
can walk down the fashionable avenues and the business streets, point to the brown-stone and marble palaces and say, "Here are our brothers in misdoing;
but they rob more freely and securely, and we are
punished for all!"
355
I
t 
CHAPTER XL.
SUNDAY IN THE METROPOLIS.
THE difference between Sunday and what is known
as week days is more distinctively marked in the
Metropolis than in any American city outside of New
England. Paris and Palmyra are hardly more unlike
than New-York on Sunday and New-York on other
days.
The mighty machine with all its wheels, and cranks,
and levers, and cylinders, stops on Saturday night
like a clock that has run down, and does not move
again until Monday morning. Broadway and Wall
street, the Bowery and Nassau street, Fifth avenue and
Twenty-third street, lose their characteristic features
on Sunday, and hundreds of thousands of persons and
things suddenly and mysteriously disappear during a
space of twenty four hours. New-York, so noisy, so
feverish, so gay, so bewildering on six days of the week,
waxes quiet and sober on the seventh. The wild
week's spree of Manhattan ends with the midnight of
Saturday, and is followed by repose, if not reflection.
Strangers who dote on the great City for its excitements and sensations abhor its Sabbaths, and depart
if possible before its desolation comes. The hotels,
crowded to suffocation, begin to empty on Friday,
and by Saturday night look as deserted as if the 
SUNDAY IN NEW-YOREK.
plague had stricken them. Gotham is the embodiment of dullness to all but native Metropolitans on
Sunday.  No theaters, no opera, no races, no libraries,
no ever-changing Broadway, no teeming piers, no turbulent Wall street-what can the mere sojourner find
for his profit or amusement? He is caught by a runout tide, and he may hoist signals of distress, never so
many; but he is little likely to be relieved until Monday's returning tide takes him off again.
Time was, before the Excise Law, when strangers
consoled themselves for lack of externals by inward
administerings. They fled to bar-rooms for cocktail
comfort and brandy smash satisfaction.   They got
drunk in self-defense. Sunday was specially distinguished  for its  inebriates.   Bar-keepers  divided
their labors with policemen.  The station-houses were
full, and head-aches, nausea and repentances were the
inseparable accompanient of Monday morning. All
that is changed now. Drinking saloons are closed to
the multitude. They who are stranded in the Metropolis on Sunday must keep sober as their surroundings; cultivate philanthropy; be patient until the little
world along the Hudson revolves again:
Sunday in New-York may not be a day of worship,
but it is a day of rest.  Everything rests but  the
street-cars, and druggists, and journalists. Their toil
is Sisyphian; the wheel to which they are bound Ixionic. Broadway is locked and barred and bolted, all
the way from Bowling Green to its upper terminus.
Exchange place is silent as the tomb of the Ptolemies.
Broadway is hushed as HIerculaneum and Pompeii.
The Stock Exchange and the Gold Room, those temporary asylums for financial maniacs, glare like the
357 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
dead in marble stillness. The hundreds of seething
operators and speculators have dispersed as if nature
had read the riot act to them. The bears have lain
down somewhere with the lambs of peace; and the
bulls have wrapped their horns with the folds of domestie felicity.
The City Hall has forgot its cunning; and councilmen and aldermen steal not until the morrow. The
Fourth and Sixth wards attempt a feeble show of decency; wash half their face, and see some of the filth
they live in. Dover, and Oak, and Cherry streets
draw their sooty children from the reeking gutter, and
greet the soft sunshine with new rags of fetid finery.
The fires of the thousands of subterranean boilers go
out down town, and the powerful engines sleep on their
oily pillows. Only in the neighborhood of PrintingHouse square do keen-eyed men telegraph thought to
the World with the click, click of their falling type,
and bend over paper-heaped desks, and feed fires, and
make steam that starts the thunder of giant presses that
rumbles throughout the Globe.
And yet New-York is neither devout nor prayerful.
It believes more in Sunday than the Sabbath. It
ceases from labor rather than from sin. It obeys nature, not theology. It is not contrite, but its hands
are tired.  The churches do not draw to their sanctuaries one in twenty of the rest-takers   Many have no
faith in them. And those who have cannot afford the
luxury of divine service any more than that of an
opera box. One costs nearly as much as the other,
and the latter is to many more attractive. The world ling reasons thus:
"Wivy should any man fecl obliged to weary him
358 
SUNDAY IN SNEw-YORK.
self with tedious sermons monotonously delivered when
he can remain at home and rest comfortably? It is no
more a duty to go to church than to Europe; and he
who goes merely from sense of duty would better remain away. To be inspired with new and good resolutions, to be truer, juster, purer, more charitablethat is what we should seek. Wherever we become
so is the best place for us, whether at the altar or the
theater, whether in the kneeling congregation or in
the solitude of our own chamber."
Our three or four hundred churches would not begin to hold the million that sheathes its claws of toil
on Sunday. They who are benefited by churches find
them, I suppose, in spite of repellent sextons and
frigid worshipers whose eyes say: "Come not here!
You may be holy, but you are not well-dressed." But
the many seek religion in rest, in communion with
their families, in pleasant books, in the fresh air of the
sea, in the visits of their friends,' in the sweet consciousnless of belonging for one day to themselves.
Those things sing and preach to them better and
more effectively than paid choirs and doctrinal clergymen.  If to labor is to pray, rest is the answer to the
prayer; and we all need leisure and freedom even to
be good.
But for Sunday few of our mechanics or merchants
would become well acquainted with their families.
When they step from the tread-mill in the evening
they are too worn and tired for full appreciation of
their homes. Tasks that cannot wait, engagements
that must be met drag, them away from hasty breakfasts
and unfinished  sentences to the workshop over the
river or down-town.  They know nothing can be done
359 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
on Sunday. So they free their minds as well as their
hands from the week-day slavery, and give their heart
and soul fourteen or fifteen hours out of the hundred
and sixty-eight.
MLonroe the banker, who has talked, thought and
dreamed of nothing but stocks, finds on Sunday he has
some interest in his wife's happiness; that affection pays
dividends larger than New-York Central, or Chicago
and Rock Island. He discovers that a true woman
wants something more than money, and that the most
liberal purchases at Stewart's and Tiffany's will not
quite fill her heart.
Bigelow, the great dry goods jobber, ceases to fig ure for the Fall trade, and, taking his blue-eyed baby
in his arms, becomes indifferent to the decline in woolens or the price of sheetings for all time to come.
The ambitious young book-keeper who has worked
half the night for a month past, hoping to have an interest in the house some day, remembers on Sunday
evening he has not for months seen that gentle girl
who took such angelic care of her sick father until he
died. "Bv Jove, she'd make a capital wife for some
man," he thinks. "Why not for me? I'm not vain;
but I can't help believing she likes me. When I took
her hand the first time in the little parlor, it certainly
trembled, and so did her voice. Strange; I had nearly
forgotten that. I'll go, and see her at once. My prospects are good; I'll propose. Benedict was right. The
World must be peopled."
The salesman on West Broadway who is compelled
to keep his little family out of town for economy, and
live in the City himself on account of the hours he is
occupied, rejoins the loved ones Saturday evening, and
360 
SUNDAY IN NEW-YORK.
Sunday reopens the gates of his domestic Eden shut
all the week to its master and its lord. When his dear
young wife'runs to meet him at the gate with the baby
in her arms, does he not bless Sunday, and Heaven
that gave him such a treasure, with the "prettiest and
smartest child in the world," in one and the same
breath?
During the warm months excursions are abundant
here on Sunday; and, were it not for the frequent
rowdyism that attends them, they would be unalloyed
ple(asure to the poor. Even as they are, they are most
desirable; for they give new health and life to the laborer and mechanic, whose hard labors shut them.up
in New-York as if it were a besieged city.
Boats leave for almost every point on Sunday, to
the East and North rivers, up the sound, down the
bay. Staten island, Coney island, delightful spots on
Long Island, groves, green hills, cool valleys, the sea
side-are all within easy reach. The charge is small.
Far a dollar or two one can have a quiet day beyond
brick walls and burning heat.
It is pleasant to see the crowd of bronzed and muscular men with their wives and children thronging to
the piers on Sunday, and steaming off in quest of
recreation and repose. They are not handsome nor
elegant, nor entirely polite; but they are honest and
industrious and human; and their happiness reflects
itself upcn every soul that is in sympathy with its fellows. If their life is hard, and their circumstances
narrow, they can enjoy themselves more easily than
those whose lot is above theirs. They are far happier
than the more fortunate would suppose. Trifles give
them satisfaction, and the atoms in their little sunbeams dance to pleasant tunes.
361 
THE GREAT MIETROPOLIS.
The City never appears so well or so contented as
on Sunday, which is the whitest day in the seven. It
is the waking from the restoring sleep after the long
delirium, the return to consciousness after the muttering fever. The look of anxiety and restlessness peculiar to American faces in great cities is gone. Something like the old child-like color comes back to them
in gratitude  for the  Sabbath.   New-York  grows
young again on that day; for its cares and concerns
are set aside. The fierce storm of Broadway has lulled.
You can see its pavement clear and clean from Morris
street to Grace church. Along its sidewalks are no
hurrying feet. The lumbering stages have departedwould they were all at the bottom of the East river!
-there is no blockading, even at Fulton or Courtlandt
street. No body of desperate pedestrians are charging
upon the Astor House or St. Paul's; or endeavoring to
surround the City Hall Park, and cut it off from the
main army marching to Whitehall. Park Row and
Nassau street, after 11 o'clock, are innocent of yelling
newsboys, who would have driven Frederic Fairlie,
Esq., to immediate dissolution, and before whom Astrea over the way seems nervous through her marble
robes.
The parks (all this when the weather is pleasant of
course,) are filled with men,  women  and children.
They sit on the benches babbling of their small concerns, quite as important to them as our greater ones,
or stroll or play in the walks, giving out the unmistakable sounds that never come from heavy hearts.  I
wish there were more Sundays in the week.   We
should be better for them. New-York seems like Paris
on Sunday in its contentedness; but we are still far
362 
SUNDAY IN NEW-YORK.
behind that city in our capacity for quiet pleasure
and innocent recreation. In Paris Sunday is enjoyed
rationally by the people at large, and if you have spent
the Sabbath there, you may remember that you
thought the city seemed less wicked then than on any
other day of the week; for it suggested outward and
inwar/d peace.
We have not yet dared to open the theaters and
amusement-places for those who wish to go. We have
musical entertainments like those of any other evening, and call them Sunday concerts.
There must be something very wicked in music not
christened "sacred,"or in any recreation entirely innocent and even desirable on week-days, if it be indulged
in on Sunday. But unilluminated heathen cannot see
the difference the day makes. Heretics and sinners are
inclined to believe that what is lawful and rational on
Monday must be lawful and rational on Wednesday, or
Saturday, or Sunday. But their opinions are not entitled to serious consideration, certainly not to much
respect. When they are converted, they may be listened to; albeit, while they stumble in the darkness,
and declare they are not afraid of pits, the orthodox
lantern must not be hung out for their accommodation.
Our churches and religious societies do much good.
They might do more if they were broader, and did
not insist on every one seeing with their eyes and
speaking with their tongue.   But the secular and
spiritual-minded are agreed upon the beneficence of
Sunday. It is a beautiful and peaceful, a wholesome
and a healing day, whether the church-bells or the
symphonies of Beethoven, or the verse of Shakspeare,
363
0 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
or the laugh of gladness-they are all religious-welcome them in.
Sunday "knits up the raveled sleeve of care," and
lays the aching head upon pillows of down.   It
touches the fevered brow with the cool hand of sympathy, and baptizes with delicious moisture the lips
that have grown dry and hot through the week's work.
Sunday is a blessed and a blessing thing; and before
its fair Aurora the shadows of six days of weariness
fade into light.
364
a 
CHAPTER XLI.
THURLOW WEED.
WITH the single exception of William Cullen Bryant,
Thurlow Weed is the oldest editor in New-York, having been born in Cairo, in Greene County, of this
State, November 15, 1797. Widely known and highly
influential as he is and has been as a journalist, his connection with a metropolitan newspaper is.very recent.
Weed has had quite a varied career, having been a
cabin boy, a wood-chopper, a printer, a soldier, a politician and a journalist, faithfully serving and long working, which last should redeem any sins, physical or
spiritual, he may have committed. After "running"
on the Hudson during his tenth and part of his eleventh
year, he entered a printing office in the village of Catskill in the peculiar capacity of "d<evil."  In his thirteenth year he went to Cincinnatus, Cortlandt county,
then on the frontier, and for some time led a primitive
backwoods life, At the age of fourteen he returned
to the art typographical, working at the case in several newspaper offices.
He volunteered in the War of 1812, serving as private; subsequently established a paper for himself, and
was the editor and assistant editor of some twelve
country journals. He was violently opposed to Masonry, about which there was so much excitement in 
TIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
this State in 1826 and'27, and was twice elected to
the lower house of the State Legislature. While there
he so distinguished himself as a party manager, though
he seldom spoke, that he was regarded as a marvel
ouslyproper man to oppose the body of Democrats
known as the Albany Regency. He contributed very
largely to the election of De Witt Clinton, and in 1830
removed to the capital, where he became the responsible editor of the Evening Journal, which immediately
rose to a power in the State.
Since that time, a period of nearly fifty years, Weed
has been_constantly in politics, and a prominent figure
in public life. He has never, save his brief service in
the Legislature, held public office, though he might
have had any position, from Vice-President and member of the Cabinet to that of Governor or State Senator. And yet he has been more a maker of politicians
than any man in the country, and justly deserves the
name of the political Warwick. In politics he literally
lives, and moves, and has his being. Little has ever
been done by his party-he has always been a Whig
and Republican-without his counsel and co-operation.
He attends every session of the State Legislature and
National Congress, and is styled the greatest wire-puller and lobbyist in the Union. He seems to have more
offices in his gift than the President of the United
States, and the Custom House of this City appears for
many years to have been more under his control than
if he had been the Collector of the port. To obtain
the favor of Weed is to secure office, and his smile and
frown have been for five and thirty years the delight
and terror of all place-seekers along the Hudson.
It used to be said that no man could be sent to the
3 66 
THURLOW WEED.
Legislature whom Weed could not winl over to his side
if he deemed it worth the while. Assemblymen and
State Senators bitterly and ferociously opposed to
Weed, went to Albany-elected by his most violent
enemies-and before they had been there three months
they would undergo a revolution, coming to the conclusion that the great political manager was one of the
most misrepresented' men in the Republic.  He understands human nature thoroughly; has admirable tact
and profound insight into character. He flatters the
vain; supports the weak; softens the bold; encourages
the timid; sympathizes with the strong, and leads men
by seeming to follow them; molds and controls them
through their interest and self-love. Hundreds of instances might be given of his adroit dealing with stubborn spirits, whom, in most cases, he has brought over
to his will. Let one suffice.
A very contumacious fellow was sent to the Assembly who hated Weed, and who had often declared he
would make an expedition to the Bottomless Pit before
he would vote for anything Weed advocated, and that
he took no one's opinion but his own. It happened
that T. W. wanted the man's vote, so he introduced
himself one morning, saying: "I have often heard of
you. I know you don't like me, and I respect your
candor. I always esteem an open enemy. You are
one of the few men who are self-reliant, have wills of
their own, and won't be influenced by others. I like
that, too; I recognize in you a kindred spirit. We
won't and can't agree, but that is no reason we should
quarrel. Drop in and see me. I enjoy original men.
You see I know you. If you won't be influenced by
me, perhaps I can learn something from you."
367 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
In less than a week the resolute Assemblyman was
carefully under the dominion of Weed, and believed
the eminent manager had actually taken his counsel.
The great Whig triumvirate of Seward, Weed and
Greeley, had things pretty much their own way in this
State until the last-mentioned member of the company,
believing he had been very unfairly treated by his
partners, dissolved the firm, and, has since been their
most persistent and uncompromising foe.
Greeley seems to hate Weed as if he were a brotherin-law, and loses his temper whenever he refers to him,
bursting out into such phrases as "the old villain lies,
and knows he lies," with a spontaneous virulence that
does more honor to his love of vigorous Saxon than
his regard for courtesy.
Since T. W. became the editor of the Commercial
Advertiser, he and IH. G., before Weed went abroad, had
controversies almost weekly; and whatever may be the
respective merits of the argument, the advantage of
manners is in favor of Weed. HIe seems to be calm
and gentle compared to the Tribune chief, who raves
like a very drab when contending against the veteran
of the Advertiser. The initials T. W. and H. G. appear
so supremely inharmonious that it is fair to suppose
their owners must have been born under adverse planets.  Those who pretend to know, say Weed enjoys
"stirring up" his adversary very much as a showman
does the lions, for the sake of hearing them roar.
More than a year ago Weed purchased an interest
in the Commercial Advertiser; finding that he could
not be satisfied outside of a newspaper office. I remember, twelve or fourteen years ago he took leave
of the public in the Albany Evening Journal, closing
368 
TIHURLOW WEED.
with the remark that he was mindful of Gil Blas' advice to the Archbishop of Granada. But he has not
failed in power as the vain prelate did, and he has no
need yet of a critical valet to inform him of his decay.
The Advertiser has much improved since Weed took
charge of it, and is far better than the many who never
see it suppose.  He is one of the few leader-writers
who understand that leaders compared to other parts
of a journal are of small consequence, as they are not
generally read.
Weed, now in his 71st year, shows signs of age and
failing health, but is ambitious and resolute as ever.
He devotes only two or three hours a day to his paper,
having purchased anl interest in it more for the purpose
of having a vehicle of expression than with any view
of adding to his fortune. His true throne was at Room
No. 11, in the Astor House (he has just gone to the
Fifth Avenue Hotel) where he held a perpetual levee,
and where, on an average, fully one hundred men
called daily, most of them on political errands. The
ins were to be found there no less than the outs with
every grade of public officer, from United-States Senator to deputy keeper of the Custom House coal-cellar,
seeking interviews between the hours of 12 and 3
o'clock.
Thurlow Weed does not look at all like the man one
would fancy him. Instead of a person of presence and
high-bred air, he is a tall, thin, stooping man, carelessly
dressed, with shambling gait, hurrying about as if he
had a note to *pay in fifteen minutes, and wanted to
borrow the money of the first stranger he encountered.
He gives one no impression of magnetism; a-nd yet he
must be a singularly magnetic man to wield so great
24
369 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
an influence and exercise such unlimited control over
his fellows. He seems to want nothing for himself, but
to spend his life obtaining place for others. His manners are very pleasant. Hie is extremely kind-hearted
and charitable in every way, never rude or inconsiderate, making friends of all who are near him, and doing hundreds of good deeds of which no one hears, and
he never speaks.  Hisambition ispower; butheseems
to use his power mainly for others. His intimates are
greatly attached to him, and say he is a much abused
and thoroughly upright man,-political and crafty in
politics, but honorable and  chivalrous wherever his
word is given, or his faith is plighted.
Hie married early, and had three daughters; has
long been a widower, and lives with his youngest, a
maiden lady of most estimable character, who has preserved all the records of his life. Of these her kind
father promises to make an interesting volume when
his gray-haired youth is over, and he retires from active and engrossing duties.   He will never fulfil his
promise.  He is too busy for such a task.   He will
never have leisure to die, though Death will not be
talked over or put off even by Thurlow Weed, the great
tongue-wagger to some purpose. Hie is rich, his fortune having been set down at $2,000,000 to $3,000,000.
He may not be worth more than $1,000,000; for he
is said to have lost largely of late years. But, whatever the amount of his fortune, it is certain that he has
been very careless in its collection.  If his mind had
been concerned about money-getting he might have
been as wealthy as Vanderbilt; for he has had opportunities to make millions, and, so far as is known, has
surrendered them all to gratify his love of power.
370 
TiauRLOW WEED.
Hle talks of retiring from tne Advertiser, of giving
up work, of living in the country; but he won't, or
can't, I suspect.  He has lately returned from Europe,
and his health is still infirm. He has lived all his life
amid the turmoil and strife of caucuses and political
chambers. Near the bustle of Wall street and in the
roar of Broadway it is fit he should close the busy days,
which, with all their ambitions and contests, have left
the gray-haired Warwick alive to every form of suffering, and tender as the finest of women to the heart
that needs help or healing whenever its need is_made
known.
371 
CHAPTER XLII.
BLEECKER STREET
No street in the Metropolis has changed more than
Bleecker, especially west of Broadway. Twenty-five
years ago it was the abode of wealth and fashion;
and the then grand mansions stand conspicuously in
the thoroughfare, with a semblance of departed greatness, and an acknowledgment of surrendered splendor.
The high stoops before which private carriages stopped,
and emptied loads of feminine fragrance; the broad
halls and airy drawing-rooms that were trodden by
dainty fet, and filled with soft voices and voluptuous
music, are profaned to-day by more common uses.
The old family mansions are restaurants or private
boarding-houses, barrooms or groceries, peculiar physicians' offices or midwives' headquarters.
The day when Broadway above Bleecker was the
quarter of the mode, has long passed, and the neighborhood of the latter street has become a synonym for
singularity, if not mystery. The reputation of Bleecker street is not positively bad, as that of Greene and
Mercer and Houston street is bad; but it is questionable and just a little suspicious. It is like that of a
woman who is much gossiped about. No one knows 
BLEECKER STREET.
anything concerning it; no one says anything direct;
no one  makes accusation.   But everybody  has an
opinion in private, and the presumption is against it.
The denizens of Bleecker street are in the shadow.
If the broad sunlight streamed in upon them, some   thing morally unpleasant might be discovered.  It
more resembles some of the streets in Paris than any
other in New-York. It is the haunt of ultra Bohe   mians of both sexes. In the French Capital it would
be termed the Rue des Maitresses, and the name would
not be inapt. Much of the atmosphere of the Latin
Quarter breathes through the thoroughfare, and its
poverty is frescoed with the colors of art.
No street is more thoroughly cosmopolitan, more
philosophic, more romantic. It is the Great City in
miniature.  Its photograph would be a copy of the
features of the Metropolis, many of which we are
prone to keep hidden from the public view. A walk
through it any day, from Eighth avenue to the Bowery,
will convey to an observer and man of the world,
much of its hidden meaning.   He will see strange
characters and strange places that he does not notice
elsewhere. A certain free and easy air will strike him
as pervading the houses and shops and people.  A
peculiar air fills and surrounds them. They are deco   rous enough, but insouciant and independent.   What
~-Mthey conceal they conceal from an art sense, not from
ethical motives.  They tell you nothing.  You may
. conjecture what you may, and draw inferences to the
end of time, and Bleecker street will smile coldly;
shrug its shoulders, and say: "Perhaps;" "As you
will;" "I confess nothing; I deny nothing;" "Hold
your own opinion, but keep it to yourself!"
373 
THE- TREAT METROPOLIS.
You will meet there the neatly, but not studiously-'
dressed woman, with dark eyes and mouth so freshly
and moistly red that it will suggest carmine more than
health. She is pretty, but has a self-consciousness and
assurance which barely escape boldness, and intimate
hardness somewhere. She meets your gaze steadily,
as if she relished and were accustomed to admiration.
Her glance expresses, " I know I am comely, if that
is what you mean. If you are fond of me, say so;
such declarations' I have heard often. Don't be afraid.
We women are not the coy creatures you think us.
We adore boldness, for boldness wins."
Don't you recognize her? She is the popular actress
whom many of the critics praise far beyond her deserts, because their personal liking for her has biased
them.  No man can coldly judge a woman at night,
when he expects the next morning to be at her feet.
She is a combination of Becky Sharp and Blanche
Amory. She has had a score of lovers; has several
at this moment.  Yet she makes each believe himself
the only one.  She dupes them charmingly; for she
is an artist and a sentimentalist.   She is naturally
affectionate and tender, and has power to delude herself as well as her nearest friends.
She remains on the stage because the stage lends
her a bewitching something that does not belong to her.
She knows meonid,e selfish and sensual; that desire
and vanity bind and hold them more than aught else.
She is generous, but not improvident.' She is aware
the day will come when her charms will fade, and her
seductive'arts will lose'their potency. She is providing for that day, and the Winter will not come with
an ungathered harvest.
.374, 
BLEECKER STREET.
When her lovers desert her, and the World frowns,
she will quit the City; remove to a distant town;
change her name; become a widow; turn devout like
Peg Woffington;  do acts of charity;  die esteemed
and beloved, perhaps a wife and mother, perhaps a
spinster, fill of saintly virtues.
The young fellow who calls a carriage and steps
into it, redolent of perfume, fresh from the bath and
the barber's, you have seen often in Broad street. He
is a stock-broker, shrewd, energetic, rather unscrupulous.  Men cannot deceive him, but women can, without trouble.   He has just come from his mistress'
chamber, in that hotel kept on the European plan.
He believes she is his, sense and soul; and he lavishes
money upon her, which she gives to others of her favored friends.
Not sixty minutes since he quitted her; and yet the
man she really loves, mean, and despicable, and vulgar
as he is, is with her, and kissing away her protector's
kisses. Vanity blinds the victim. Hie is infatuated,
too, and would hardly trust his own senses if they
contradicted his conviction. Hack-drivers and Houston
street panders point him out, and call him a "flat"
as he goes by; but he swears she is so loyal nothing
can alienate her from him. If conscious what common
creatures he supplied with the means of living, he
would be wounded to the core.   He will make the
discovery some time, and then be clamorous concerning woman's frailty.  Because a wanton is not faithful
to a fool, he will vow the whole sex is false.
How many men are either too blindly confiding or
morbidly skeptical! They rarely learn the exact truth,
that between extremes Nature and Truth walk handin-hand.
3ii'5 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The ballet girl trips happily along. She is in the
receipt of a regular salary from Niblo's, and she has
just awakened to the absorbing passion of her life.
She is yet unstained, though she has for four years
been employed at the theaters. She has been assailed
times without number; but she has never loved till
now, and she was strong, therefore, against temptation.
Her heart now pleads against her, and she cannot resist
its pleadings long.
Four weeks ago-how well she remembers the evening-she observed a handsome gentleman at the stage
door; and since then his face has been looking into
hers il dreams by night and dreams by day.  The
second evening he was introduced to her; and ever
since he has accompanied ler to her lodgings, and
kissed her at parting. Each time he has lingered longer and longer, and before another month he will not
go till morning.
This morning she is up two hours earlier than usual
and off to Broadway without breakfast, hoping to see
him before she goes to rehearsal. She does see him in
a carriage, near Canal street, with a proud-looking
lady, who may be his wife; but he does not see her;
at least he does not appear to. When they meet, she
mentions the circumstance, and he, with a confused
manner, tells her the lady is his sister. He is afraid to
acknowledge it is his wife, for he has declared himself
a bachelor.
Six months hence there will be a sudden death in
the stuccoed building where furnished apartments are
rented, and the morning papers will chronicle the distressing suicide of Ada Allen, a ballet girl at Niblo's.
The deceased, they will say, was beautiful and well edu
376 
BLEECKER STREET.
cated, but for some time past she had been suffering
from low spirits, caused, it is thought, by an unfortunate love affair. The Coroner's inquestwas in accordance with the above facts.
Mr. Myrtle, junior partner of the well-known Church
street firm, reads the item at his breakfast table, and
spills his coffee and his face undergoes a change.
"Are you ill, my dear?" asks Mrs. Myrtle.
"0, no; I saw the failure of a house that owed us
largely. I think I would better hurry down town and
write to the West about it."
And the seducer and deserter hurries into the street,
and for fifteen minutes feels like a villain. He loved Ada
all he was capable of loving-far more than he loves
his spouse.  But he couldn't remain with her; for some
of his mercantile friends were talking of his mistress
on'Change, and he is a member of a church, and can't
be scandalized by such stories, which are the worse for
being true.
The young fellow who looks darkly out upon the
fair day, and whom the fresh breeze does not inspire
with hope, is a child of genius and of melancholy. He
has cause for despondency; for he has never had encouragement. He is an artist, and the picture he has
been painting for three years is finished at last, and no
one pays the smallest attention to it.  The subject is
singular, the coloring peculiar, the treatment original.
Hence criticism will be unfavorable; and he has no
money to bring his work into notice. At this moment
he has not money enough for a slender breakfast, but
he has for two cocktails, and he buys them at the first
bar-room.  He walks gloomily over to the East river,
and saunters along the pilers, and wonders what will
377 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
become of him. "If the worst come to the worst,"
he thinks, "I can jump off, and that will be the end.
Ambition, poverty, neglect can't trouble me in the
grave. The river will be the remedy when all else
fails.  But  I won't fail, by.  I'll struggle on.
The World shall recognize me.  I'll keep on.  While
there is life, there is hope."
The resolution, inspired by his double drink, saves
him. He never desponds after that, and he is ultimately born to fame and fortune. Let no one denounce cocktails.  They have some virtues to offset
their many vices; they preserve as well as destroy,
though they slay hundreds where they save a single
soul.
Bleecker street is the place of rendezvous for countless illegitimate lovers. Husbands meet other men's
wives; wives meet other women's husbands.   And
young people who love too little or too much for wedlock find consolation in each other's company in that
peculiar quarter. Bleecker street asks no questions.
Every man and woman who are together it supposes
have a right to be together by a higher, if not enacted
law.  Privacy can always be had for a price, and many
wives are unwedded there.'
The couples who disappear, or are seen in Bleecker
street are presumed to be mutually fond. No one makes
comment on their relation, but few are there who do
not suspect its character. The first thought of many
an intrigue has arisen from a vision in that neighborhood.  But those who detect others are themselves detected, and guilt can keep its own secret.
Many representatives of art of some kind repair to
Bleeckerstreet for the cheapness of its accommodations
378 
BLEECKER STREET.
as well as for the freedom of its life. Poor scribblers
and scholars, painters and engravers, actors and poets
may be found in its lodgings. Some fare sumptuously on second floors; have wine and dainties and servants  But most dwell in rear rooms and garrets, and
lead that careless and reckless, but rather gay career
for which the artist tribe is famous. They enter their
apartments at all hours save those that are early, often
in care of companions less tipsy than they, and often
in charge of policemen who claim to appreciate the
ornamental above the useful class.
The rented apartments are scenes of wild carnival
at times. When their occupants have a "streak of
luck," they invite boon companions of both sexes; and
cards, and chat, and song, and sentiment make wassail
through the night, and the dawn finds dissipation runniang into riot.
"I lodge in Bleecker street" is a biography in brief.
If he who says it be poor, the reason is apparent. If
he be prosperous, his morality is questioned at once.
And yet Bleecker street is respectable enough, if one
have no insight into character and conditions. Indeed,
the thoroughfare is so delicately unique you can hardly
make any positive statement in regard to it.  Many
very staid and amiable and conventional people inhabit it; but it is so much a favorite with those who
are a law and a religion to themselves that it has gained
a reputation for irregularity because of non conformity.
Whatever Bleecker street is or is not, it is extremely broad. That will not be denied. The freedom there of every sort is absolute; and if you seek
to be independent of opinion, above scandal, preserved
from criticism, becomne a dweller in its confines.  You
379 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
can do, or refrain from doing, what you like. You
can come home at sunrise roaring out bacchanalian
songs. You can have half-a-dozen dubious relations.
You can appear half disrobed at noonday, you can
set public opinion and private prejudice at defiance.
You  can keep a trombone,  and play on it at two
o'clock in the morning. You can select a dozen bass
singers, and order them to execute the "Bay of Biscay, O!" to the inspiration of whisky punch, from
midnight to early breakfast time, and not a soul will
complain.
Every lodger in Bleecker street gives and takes.
They believe in the largest possible liberty to each individual. If Mr. Jones disturbs Mr. Smith to-night,
Mr. Smith will endeavor to drive Mr. Jones distracted
the night following. But he won't The residents of
Bleecker street are not to be distracted.  If they are
annoyed, they will either bear it philosophically, or go
somewhere else until the annoyance is over. They
rudely imitate the Platonic republic; and if they fail
of their ideal, they strive to endure the actual with
the best grace and in the best spirit that their own
temperaments and the gods will permit.
380
0 
CHAPTER XLIII.
NASSAU STREET.
THERE could be no mirror of Manhattan that did not
present the image of Nassau street —one of the most
peculiar and striking thoroughfares in New-York.
Only ten blocks long, it probably contains more varieties of architecture, business and character than any
street of its extent. in America. Beginning with the
Treasury and a banking-house, it ends with the Tribune and Tammany hall-though the latter is rapidly
undergoing the process of ultimate extinction.
Crooked, contracted, unclean, with high houses and
low houses, marble palaces and dingy frames, it reminds one more of a street in an old Continental town
than of a popular thoroughfare in the new Republic.
But there the resemblance ends; for in no European
city-unless in London, perhaps-could such a strange
stream of humanity be flowing and overflowing for ten
or twelve hours of every day in the week.
Nassau street is New-York in miniature even more
than Broadway. Its contrasts are more observable,
and its mottled life is more intense. By a singular
blunder, explicable only by the fact that it was made
in Gotham, one of the smallest and most inconvenient
streets in the City has been appropriated to the trans 
TIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
4
action of an immense business, to which the same
space in Canal street would hardly be adequate.
Think of the Post-office, where nearly a million of
letters are mailed and received every twenty-four
hburs, a number of the largest banking-houses, four or
five of the leading newspapers, one or two hotels, a
dozen auction rooms, and hundreds of places of constant ingress and egress, in an irregular, ill-paved lane,
less than half a mile long; and exercise your skepticism touching the wisdom of the three wise men of
Gotham who put to sea in a bowl! My own impression
is, that their notion of sufficient space, as shown in
their nautical expedition, was reflected in Nassau street,
in whose unfitness to do what it is called upon to
perform I am persuaded that trio had some hand. The
truth is, however, Nassau street. is not so much to
blame as is the City for outgrowing it, and turning the
brain of the begrimed little quarter with sights and
sounds it never expected, in its early years, either to
hear or see. The great Metropolis has, like the hungry sea, gone roaring up the arid wastes of the northern part of the island, and left Nassau street whirling
in its eddies, hopelessly and helplessly.
One gets but little impression of what Nassau street
really is by passing through it, even if he go from end
to end a dozen times between breakfast and dinner.
Its unseen life is more curious than that which surges
over its sidewalks. It has more back-offices, and upper
stories and creaking stairways, and cobwebby corners,
and dingy crannies, and undreamed of lofts, and outof-the-way places generally, than could be found in all
of Dickens's novels.
Buildings have grown bronzed and gray in the
382 
NASSAU STREET.
street, and no mortal save the occupants is conscious
who inhabits them. Indeed, the persons on the first
floor are as ignorant of those on the second, and those
on the second of those on the third, as they are of the
appearance of the lackeys in Buckingham paltce.
Down at the street-door one may read a bewildering
number of signs assuming to direct him to B. F. Betts,
counselor at Law; George Bishop, publisher; Henry
Wisch, fruit-seller; Stephen Craig, artist; J. P. Ludlow, dealer in French engravings; Myron Burt, stockbroker;  A. B. Weibel, gold-beater;  Julius Wilson,
manufacturer of jewelry; -A. Alexander Wissop, agent
literary bureau; Thomas Markworth, translator of foreign languages; W. W. Young, Boarding-house broker; George Bridges Brown, matrimonial agent, and
forty other persons and places no one has ever thought
about or suspected the existence of
You begin to have a realizing sense of what the
Egyptian and Cretan labyrinths might have been, if
you undertake to find any one in the upper stories of
Nassau  street.  You  wonder why  felons for whom
great rewards have been offered do not seek sanctuary
there. If Wilkes Booth had only changed his niame
and taken an office anywhere between Spruce and
Liberty streets, he would have been forever safe.
What is the State of Virginia to Nassau street as a
hiding place!
Men there have become bent with years, holloweyed and wrinkled, going in and out of mysterious
passages, leading-who knows whither? And yet no
one is aware of their occupation, or cares either. They
seem not to care themselves. They appear born to
come into and go out of Nassau street all their lives
long, with no destiny beyond.
383 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The being and calling of our fellows are concealed
from us as the animalcule in whatever we eat, or touch,
or breathe.  In the vast workshops of cities we hear
the din and see the smoke; but we never stop to think
what the busy creatures busy themselves about.
I have often penetrated the lofty darknesses of Nassau street, and returned to the lower light with surprised remembrances. I have witnessed strange sights
there that I cannot describe; beheld strange things
I may not name. Curious needs has this planet of
ours, and extraordinary are the demands it makes
upon the rarest ingenuity of vice.
Young and old men toiled in rear rooms and garrets over tasks that taxed the senses and the brain.
Women did offices of trust because their labor could
be had cheaper, and children ran hither and thither
oiling the wheels within wheels that connect Nassau
street with the machinery of the outer world.
No where else in New-York are as many persons in
business crowded together. In a single building are
professions enough to fit out a good-sized town. No
corner into which a cat could crawl is unoccupied.
Every square inch of ground and floor is used to the
best advantage. The rooms grow smaller and reach
higher with each succeeding year. A large part of
New-York seems resolved to wedge itself into the
miscellaneously crowded quarter; and the buildingfronts glare with signs, until all the painters appear to
have set up their specimens there for the admiration
and confusion of passers-by.
Such a hodge-podge of occupations, such an ollapodrida of interests, such a salmagundi of people was there
ever before within such confines? Persons may keep out
.384 
NASSAU STREET.
of Broadway; but they can't out of Nassau street. Due
concern, or desire, or obligation will lead or drive you
there every week or two, however isolated or humble
your life may be.
It is a strong whirlpool of bankers and newsboys,
of journalists and beggars, of government officials and
boot-blacks, of public men and private nobodies, of
policemen and pretty women, of capitalists and barkeepers, of auctioneers and thieves, of shoulder-hitters
and courtesans, of poets and rag-gatherers, of artists
and all sorts of people. And then all nationalities are
represented; for the Post-office draws foreigners of
every tongue to look for letters.  So your ear is
greeted with Italian, and German, and Spanish, and
Dutch, and French, and Portuguese, and even Arabic,
Turkish, Greek and Chinese drop their strange syllables like pebbles into the seething sea.
Everybody is in haste when he enters Nassau street;
for no one goes there without business, and no one
wishes to stay there after he has completed it.  It has
no tide like Broadway. People hurry up and down
the side-walk and in the street, from one side to the
other, apparently without any clear perception of what
they are doing or where they are going. Not so,
however. There are few idlers or loungers in Nassau
street.  They who fill it have a clear purpose.   They
are in earnest, have motive and their cue, and are
shrewdly adapting means to ends.
There each man is emphatically for himself, and
indifferent to his neighbors. No one considers himself
bound by the common laws of politeness. No one
explains or apologizes for mistakes or indecencies.
They are inevitable to the street which, by reason of
25
385 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
its narrowness and inconvenience, bears all the responsibility. If you don't want your hat knocked off, or
your boots trodden on, or your coat torn, or your nose
thumped, or your eyes put out, don't go to Nassau
street. They indulge in those pleasantries there in
self-defense. Hlats, and boots, and garments, and
nloses, and eyes have their natural rights, no doubt,
but you must seek other localities to have them respected. 
Patience under affront and injury is the reigning
and necessary virtue of Nassau street.
I have seen sensitive and impetuous gentlemen who,
in the Avenue, would have knocked the fellow down
that looked displeasure, submit, without a murmur, to
be hurled against a lamp-post until their spine cracked,
in Nassau street.   I have noticed delicate dandies,
with lavender kids, violets in button-hole, breathing
dainty odors, upset by an ash-cart, and smile serenely
in the gutter. I have known nervous capitalists to
have their pockets picked, without ever turning to
look at the rogue who robbed them.   They cared
nothing about it. And if they did, the operation in
which they were engaged was too important to permit
attention to trifles, or even serious affairs involving
delay.
Men who want to borrow millions;  who wish to
mail a letter clandestinely to their mistress; who have
an article for the Tribune or Post on the national
debt, designed to electrify the Republic;  who  are
looking for a cheap cake of soap, or a cool glass of
beer, or are in quest of luncheon, or about to consult
their lawyer, or sell a picture, or search for a blackletter volume, all rush to Nassau street. They can get
386
ir, 
NASSAU STREET.
anything there, from a splashed pair of trowsers to
half the five-twenty loan, from a cutaneous disease to
a seat in Congress.
In consequence of the extreme narrowness of the
streets, peddlers and hawkers of cheap wares are permitted to occupy stands on the sidewalks, and crowd
pedestrians off. Stationers abound there, and so placard their goods that you are induced to believe you
can write all your days, be they as many as Methuselah's, for fifty cents in the currency of the treasury.
Viands of every kind are advertised liberally, alongside of bulletins of the newspaper offices, informing
you of attempts on the life of the Pope and Victoria,
and another revolution in Mexico.
Newsboys play hide-and-seek between your legs
while you are endeavoring to grasp the hand of your
friend, (just returned from Japan,) separated from
you by a box of books thrown from a truck the moment you said " How are you, old boy?" Your companion offers you a cigar he will guarantee to be imported; and, while you are taking your first connoisseur-like whiff, it is dashed into the face of an elderly
man in a white coat, (one of the greatest sharpers in
Wall street, by the by,) who looks benignly at the
sparks, and ventures the opinion that it is a warm
day.
A malignant urchin in the form of a boot-blaclk,, puts
a "shine" upon your white pantaloons as you are
wedged into a corner, and coolly asks for fifteen cents
for "doin' it extray, boss."
One of the features of Nassau streeti is ts- old book —
stores, where more curious and antique volumes can
be unearthed than in all the rest of the: ourtry.  Their
387 
TEE GREAT METROPOLIS.
proprietors look as if they were specially intended for
the business, being usually old, snuff-taking, seedy,
abstracted creatures, with soiled fingers, and spectacles
balanced on the extremities of their nose.   They
occupy dingy quarters, and have a passion for rummaging among worm-eaten, dogs-eared, large-typed
tomes when they have no customers. Those customers
are often like themselves-bibliomaniacs, who talk
erudition to the shop-keepers until they forget what
they wanted.
Not a few of the proprietors of the stores are modern-looking, well-dressed men, who appear literary,
but wide-awake and genial-nothing of the Dominie
Sampson about them. They are of the progressive
school —men who live in the present as well as the
past-who think and write, as well as read and quote.
No single article can do justice to Nassau street; it
is so diversified, and unique, and heterogeneouslyhomogeneous.
Imagine a hundred thousand people going to the
Post-office and coming away; twenty thousand hurrying
to the vast banking quarter that bounds the street on
the south; the busy crowd having business with the
daily press; the concourse that is hungry and thirsty,
and hastening to luncheon and drinks; the multitude
who seek legal counsel, who need boots and shoes,
books andpapers, pictures and pocket-knives, anything
and everything, indeed, between love and liquor, literature and lager-and you will have some faint notion
of the immense gathering between Frankfort  and
Wall streets.
Nassau street has material enough for half a dozen
volumes, if it were written up thoroughly; and Eugene
388 
NASSAU STREET.
Sue, (were he alive,) and Dickens, and Wilkie Collins,
could find better matter for plots there than they have
ever wrought.  How many startling cases at law, how
many mysterious investments, how many dramatic
characters, how many profound intrigues, how many
heroes and heroines full of laughter and tears, would
they reveal!
But the writer, who is too indolent to soar, and too
weary to examine, is kinder than those geniuses. He
makes the outlines, and leaves the rest to the imagination.
.
389 
CIAPTER XLIV.
THE HOTELS.
HOTEL life as it exists in this country is unknown in
Europe, and foreigners have no idea of its extent and
peculiarities.
In Great Britain and on the Continent, hotels are,
for the most part, small and quiet, and much more
home-like than in the United-States. Only strangers
and travelers occupy them, and a few days or weeks
includes their longest stay. No one thinks of remaining in them permanently, least of all with a wife and
family; while, in our cities, a hotel is the only home
that thousands of our citizens know or care to have.
Americans, although they fancy themselves such, are
not a domestic people, those residing in cities and towns
at least. They are strongly attached to their country,
but not to their own firesides, or to fixed localities usually made sacred by associations.
Wherever an American is to be for twenty-four
hours, there is his home.   He is a kind of civilized
Bedouin, who carries his home in his trunk, the law
and the constitution in his revolver, and his religion ini
his disposition to do as he pleases.
Americans like to talk of home-to honor it in prose
and verse; but it is rather a sentimental idea with
them than a living reality. They resemble their coun 
THE HOTELS.
tryman Payne, author of "Home, Sweet HTome." The
man whose song will always touch the heart and moisten the eye never had a home; was a wanderer all his
years, and died at last in a foreign land.
The American is at home on the back of a camel in
the midst of an Arabian desert; smoking his pipe on
the summit of the Himalayas; swinging in the branches
of the bamboo in India, or whistling "Yankee Doodle"
among the ruins of the Coliseum.
In New-York, hotel life has breadth, and variety,
and uniqueness that it has no where else. It is a peculiar form of existence, and its characters vary like
the leaves of Autumn.
There cannot be less than seven or eight hundred
hotels, all told, in the Metropolis, though fifty or sixty
would include those that are very well known. Twenty-five or thirty of them are considered in every respect first-class and fashionable; that is, their patrons
are generally well-dressed, and able and willing to pay
extravagant prices. Nearly every prominent house
has its special customers and characteristics, and furnishes a field.for the study of a different phase of human nature.
A popular fallacy of the day is, that one must go to
the country for comfort. The truth is, that whatever
is good or dainty, or desirable there, of a material
kind, is brought to the city. The country is stripped
to supply the great centers. The farmers and gardeners cannot afford to consume their own products when
the towns will pay so liberally for the gratification of
the senses.
Probably no such luxury can be found anywhere as
at a New-York hotel, if you have the means and dis
391 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
position to pay for it. You can get almost anything
the vegetable or animal kingdom contains. Take your
seat at the table; fee the waiter, call for whatever the
Earth bears, and in less than five minutes it will be
before you.   All climes will ripen, all vessels come
freighted for you from every sea.
Many of our hotels have national reputations; and,
at least once a year, American life from all the other
cities streams through their corridors, chambers, and
ordinaries.
At a New-York hotel, you are likely to meet acquaintances you have not seen for ten or twelve years;
the friend that helped you out of that unpleasant difficulty at San Francisco; the odd-looking personage
who lighted his cigar from yours at the base of the
Matterhorn; the blonde beauty who flirted with you
for a month in Vienna, and disappeared mysteriously
from the steamer on the Danube.
The Astor House is probably the best known, the
most historic hotel in the Republic; and, strange to say,
though 35 years old, it still fully retains its reputation
as a first-class house. Twenty years ago, the Astor
monopolized nearly all good hotel-keeping in the country, and to visit New-York meant to go there of necessity.  Col. Charles A. Stetson, still the ornamental
landlord, though his sons are the proprietors, took it a
few months after its opening.  He says he used to
shake his carpets in Chambers street, and was glad to
obtain full boarders at three dollars a week.
All the distinguished men in the country, from Henry Clay and Daniel Webster down to Gen. Grant and
Secretary Seward, have been guests of the Astor.
Stetson is full of reminiscences and anecdotes of famous
392 
THE HOTELS.
politicians and statesmen, living and dead, and could
compile an interesting volume of his experiences and
recollections. He is a capital talker, and would have
made a most popular stump-speaker,-a vocation for
which he was eminently fitted, and which, for his reputation's sake, he ought to have embraced.
The Astor has always been, and is still, the headquarters for politicians, which may be partially accounted for by the fact that Stetson feels a lively interest in politics, and that Thurlow Weed was for thirty
years a boarder in the house. Meetings and caucuses,
especially of the Republicans, are held there constantly,
and Weed gave audiences from the first of January to
the thirty-first of December.
Many old-fashioned people usually stay at the Astor,
-those who have been "putting up " there for the last
quarter of a century, and could not be induced to sojourn anywhere else.
A score or more of wealthy bachelors, from thirty to
seventy, are generally permanent guests of the Astor,
which seems, too, to be a favorite with journalists at
home and abroad, and of many varieties of the literary
class.
The St. Nicholas is an extremely popular caravansera. Every one goes there; and in its spacious halls
and dining-rooms you can encounter the representatives of every State. Western people have a preference for the St. Nicholas, and southerners used to
have; but they have lately gone further up Broadway.
Fast persons affect it a good deal; and you are likely
to encounter more pinchbeck material there than at
any other house on the great thoroughfare.
The hotel is elaborately furnished, but too much
393 
THE GREAT IMETROPOLIS.
given to show and something nearly resembling tawdriness. After the late dinner, before the places of
amusement are open, the halls, and saloon, and reading-room of the St. Nicholas resemble a human beehive, and the sidewalk in front of the building is so
crowded with loungers that it is difficult to pass.
No hotel in town does a larger or more profitable
business; and it has already made fortunes for half a
dozen different proprietors. When it was first opened,
fifteen or sixteen years ago, it was all the rage; but
new houses were built, and the City grew and expanded, and the tide Mushed by it to Fourteenth street
and Madison square.
The Metropolitan is the resort of Californians and
people from the new States and Territories, of men
engaged in mining and mining interests, in quartzcrushers and Pacific railways.   The patrons of the
Metropolitan are peculiar and individual-looking; are
remarkable for bronzed complexions, the consumption
of tobacco, nervous energy of manner, and liberal display of jewelry. They give you the impression of men
who have made and lost fortunes;  who have had
strange experiences and desperate adventures; who
would spend the last ten dollars they had in the world
for a bottle of wine, play poker with you at a thousand
dollars ante, or fight a duel with you in the dark for
the sake of the sensation.
Such are the people most conspicuous about the
hotel, in the office, on the steps and in the smokingroom; but a great many quiet people from the country
and the large cities fare sumptuously and spend prodigally at the corner of Broadway and Prince street.
The New-York, particularly since the War, has been
394 
THE HOTELS.
the staying-place of southerners and those who sympathize with them,-indeed, of the traveling Democracy
generally, whether for or against the rebels, from every
point of the compass.'Hiram Cranston, the proprietor,
has long been a noted Democratic politician, and is
personally known to and popular with the prominent
memnbers of his party.
The New-York is a sort of offset to the Astor, and
Cranston to Stetson; and its reputation is such that
the politics of a man who registers his name at that
house almost ceases to be a matter of doubt.
The hotel is one of the best kept in the City, and
attracts many persons, independent of politics, by the
excellency of its table and the comfort of its internal
arrangements.
The Fifth Avenue is, par eminence, the great fashionable hotel of New-York, and is the haunt and home
of stock operators and gold speculators, where they
mlay be found after dinner, when the Mammon temples
in Broad street have shut their doors. New-England
and the residents of this State go there a great deal;
and of late, Chicago, Cincinnati and the other Western
cities have sought refuge at that shimmering shrine.
Among the great hotels on the American plan, the
Fifth Avenue is the mode;  and consequently interspersed with really elegant people, one encounters there
some absurd specimens of parvenuism.
Ill-breeding never appears so ill as when it is heavily
gilded; and the well-fed guests of the Fifth Avenue
are often amused, and then disgusted, with the pretentious commonalty they cannot escape.
The corridors of that hotel swarm like those of the
St. Nicholas; but no one down stairs ever talks about
395 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
anything but the closing rate of gold, and the next
contest in Erie. The last bulletins are always on the
walls; and dozens of men are constantly scanning
them, and wondering what turn the market will take
to-morrow.
On the second floor, the scene is different; for there
the other sex hold sway, and the men, weary of talkingbusiness, ascend to the handsome, brilliantly-lighted
parlors, and chat and flirt with the women they may
chance to recognize. The gentle fair are elaborately
attired, look their fairest, and act their sweetest,-frequently failing of interest by their excessive effort to
be engaging,-while tlieir gallants seem delighted,
and tell their fashionable charmers everything but the
truth.
The hours from 8 to 11 and 12 o'clock are devoted
to gossip, gallantry and gayety; and no other hotel in
the country, outside of the watering.places, presents
such a field for fashionable flirtation as the Fifth Avenue
after dinner.
The Brevoort, corner of Fifth avenue and Clinton
place, is on the European plan, and one of the quietest
and most expensive hotels in the City. Foreigners generally go there, though a number of families make their
home within its comfortable walls. It is a small house,
but makes as much pretension to style and elegance as
almost any hotel in town. The names of ministers
from abroad, consuls and diplomats are generally found
on its register, and persons of title are very common
among its patrons.
The Barcelona, in Great Jones street, is no more. It
was a Spanish hotel, and exclusively patronized by the
Cubans and Spanish who visit us. English was rarely
396 
THE HOTELS.
spoken in the house, which had Spanish clerks, chamber-maids and waiters, and staying there reminded you
of your travels in Arragon and Andalusia. If you did
not understand the language of Calderon and Cervantes,
and relish oil and olives, you were wise to keep away
from the Barcelona.
The Barcelona is now the Maltby. It is patronized
by Americans, and is on the European plan.
The fashionable European houses, are the St. James,
Everett, Hoffman, St. Denis, Grammercy-Park, Clarendon, and a dozen others which have no distinctive features. They are well kept and patronized; and they
who live there think their particular hotel the best
in New-York.
The Grammercy- Park, Union-Place, Clarendon,
Spingler and Westminster are little resorted to by the
miscellaneous public, but have their own class of patrons, many of whom are private families.
The second-class houses are far more numerous than
the first-class, and among them French's, Lovejoy's,
the Merchants', Western and Courtlandt-street, are the
most frequented. They are said to be comfortable;
though the class of persons you meet there are not apt
to be as cultivated and agreeable as at the Broadway
houes. You must pay something for your company
as well as your accommodations; and most persons in
this country are willing to do so, if they have the
money, or can borrow it.
New-York generally is a very expensive place, but
you can live cheaply if you are willing to go where
your fastidiousness is not consulted, and cleanliness is
not ranked second to godliness. Thousands of persons
397 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
keep up a certain respectability of appearance here on
a slender income; but they suffer more from their false
pride than they would be willing to in a worthier
cause.
If many a trusting Don Cleofas would take hold of
Asmodeus' cloak, follow him in his flight to the steeple
of Grace Church, and gaze at the unroofed hotels, he
would have his faith shattered and his peace poisoned.
He would see that countless men who wore the bays
of belief concealed beneath them what loved and trusted women had put there.
Hotel life is agreeable and desirable for masculine
celibates; but he is unwise who takes his wife and
family there for a permanent home. How many women can trace their first infidelity to the necessarily
demoralizing influences of public houses,-to loneliness, leisure, need of society, interesting companions,
abundance of opportunity, and potent temptation!
There is a happy medium between everjealous husbands and secure simpletons. Master Ford was made
ridiculous by his suspicions; but I am afraid Falstaff's
story was not fully told.
Women have too much natural craving for mental
excitements, too much fondness for sensational experiences.   They are a thousand times better  and
purer and less selfish than men. But their nearest
friends and protectors have no right to expose their
light garments to the fire, and wonder they are
scorched.
Love and knowledge are the best guardians of every
woman's purity and peace; but we should all remember there are crimes made venial by the occasion, and
temptations that nature cannot master nor forbear.
398 
CHAPTER XLV.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT is the Nestor of the Metropolitan press, and one of the best known men in the
country. His name is familiar to all Europe as a poet,
litterateur and journalist, and well it may be, for he is
one of the best types of the editorial profession in the
New World.
William Cullen Bryant's name is almost a household
word throughout the land. Yet such is the indifference and absorbing nature of New-York life that when
he walks up Broadway, as he often does, not one person out of five thousand who pass would recognize
him. Say, however, "There goes Bryant," and almost
every one would turn to gaze in the direction indicated. No reputation secures to a man in New-York
what Horace considered the assurance of fame: To be
pointed out as you go by, and hear'That is he!'
Giants of celebrity, monsters of notoriety may pace
from Bowling Green to Madison Square, and no quick
whisper, no pointing finger, no hurried comment
wounds their sensibility or flatters their self-love.
Bryant, born November 3, 1794, in Cummington,
Hampshire county, Massachusetts, is the son of Peter
Bryant, a physician of the place, a man of fine literary
and artistic tastes, who taught the boy to love poetry 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
in his earliest years. The affection existing between
William and his father was of very ardent even romantic character, as is shown in some of the first verses
the poet wrote. Like Cowley, Milton and Pope, Bryant
wooed the muses as soon as many boys learn to read.
HIe might well say, with the author of the "Essay on
Man":
"While yet a child, nor yet ankown to fame,
I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came."
In his tenth year he wrote verses, and in his fifteenth
published them. They were so very clever that few
persons would believe they were his. They could not
be convinced such extraordinary productions were the
work of a boy of his age, and a rigid examination was
necessary to satisfy the skeptical.   In precocity he
closely resembled Chatterton; writing "Thanatopsis,"
considered his best poem, and by many critics at home
and abroad, the best of American poems —in his nineteenth year. "Thanatopsis"' remained in MS. for
three or four years, and was printed in the North
American Review, in 1817, when it gained at once a
wide reputation, and has grown so popular since that
many of its polished lines have been worn threadbare
by quotation.
Bryant in his thirtieth year, I think, removed to
New-York, and in 1826 connected himself with the
Evening Post, with which he has remained ever since.
For a number of years he was a very hardworking journalist, writing the leading articles, especially on political
subjects, during two whole decades.   The Post, in
those days, was Federal, but Bryant, always Democratic
(in the true sense of the term) in his views and sympathies, did much to make the paper reflect his opin
400 
WILLIAM3 CULLEN BRYANT.
ions.  Under his administration it grew to be a Demrocratic journal, continuing such until the question of
slavery entering into politics gave birth to the Republican party, of which Bryant became a firm but independent supporter.
During the past twelve or fifteen years, many of
which he has spent abroad, he has rested somewhat
from his labors. Now-a-days he rarely writes an editorial, leaving the management of the Post to Charles
Nordhoff and Augustus Maverick; but indulges his
journalistic habit by writing on minor topics, with a
pertness and vigor not to be expected of a man more
than forty years in the editorial harness.
His literary life is too familiar to speak of at any
length.   In addition to a book of poems published
thirty years ago, which was warmly praised by the
British reviews, he printed a volume, in 1849, entitled
"Letters of a Traveller," made up of his correspondence to the Post. Although a journalist and accustomed to daily writing, he is not fond of literary composition, seldom attempting it unless there is something he particularly wants to say. Poetry, with him,
is not only a labor of love but a love of labor. He
composes with the greatest difficulty, owing to an extreme fastidiousness that refuses to be satisfied. Like
Pope and Campbell, he is always anxious to alter and
revise, and is ever finding what he conceives to be
happier words of expression.   It is said he wrote
"Thanatopsis" a hundred times, and that he now has a
copy of the poem with various changes from the published form. It is often asked why he does not write
more; but those who know him wonder not at his infrequent accomnplishment of verse.  Poetry is a mental
26
401 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
agony with him. He takes as much pains and toils
over his lines as Jean Jacques did over his prose, or
Tennyson over his verse.  He has almost invariably
declined to furnish poems for college commencements,
public occasions and national festivals; his talent not
being of the ready or spontaneous sort. The sole instance I know of his departing from the established
rule of his life was when he furnished two short poems
to the Ledger, for which Robert Bonner paid him the
extraordinary sum of $3,000. He has none of the
curiosafelhcitas that distinguishes many literary men,
particularly those who have been bred to journalism,
or who have long followed it as a profession.
I know a score of clever fellows in the vicinity of
Printing-House square who would write a drama, half
a dozen pieces of verse, a story, two or three columns
of paragraphs, and a score of letters to the country
press while Bryant was inditing a short poem.   I am
bound to say, however, his work would better bear
critical examination than theirs.
His travels have been quite extensive. He has been
abroad five or six times, having visited every part of
the continent, Egypt, Syria, Judea, and other portions
of the East. Like a true journalist he has always corresponded with the Post, making there a record of his
impressions of the people and places he has visited.
His letters are unusually interesting, as they would
naturally be, coming from a man of such refined and
cultivated tastes. He is thoroughly acquainted with
art, a passionate lover of nature, a poet in his life no
less than in his written word. He enjoys travel and
nature more than almost anything else, and finds, like
the melancholy Jacques, sermons in stones, books in
402 
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
the running brooks, and good in everything. He has
been and is the intimate friend of a number of the best
artists at home and abroad, and has all the artistic feeling and sympathy of the plastic tribe.
His domestic tastes are remarkable for such a wanderer. In 1845 he purchased a beautiful piece of
property on Long Island, near Roslyn, and has ever
since been cultivating it with the greatest care. It is
an idyllic poem in nature. His charming home is literally embowered in roses, sheltered in the midst of
the most luxuriant plants of every variety. He spends
much of his time with his flowers, and while he walks
among and watches them with a floral affection, his
youth seems restored, and his years sparkling backward in the morning sunshine. He is a widower now;
but all his life long he has been devoted to his family
4-he has two daughters-and a model of all that is
lovable in the relation of husband and father. Of
late years he passes much of his time in his old home..
stead, making visits to the Post office only once ol
twice a week, and then remaining but a short time.
Personally, Bryant looks like one of the ancient
patriarchs. His hair and beard, which he wears long,
are of silvery white and of silken softness, and he
might well sit for a model of Calchas. Though his
face is deeply wrinkled, he is erect, lithe and vigorous
as a man of thirty and, in his seventy-fourth year, is
probably the best preserved New-Yorker in the neighborhood of Manhattan.
Men usually die here of old age before they are
forty, but Bryant is an exception to those who surround him. Few young men can walk so far, take so
much exercise, or do so much work as he can to-day;
403 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and he attributes his extraordinary strength to the abstemiousness of his life and his passion for nature,
which has caused him to pass much of his time in the
open air. He is inclined to be shy, albeit he enjoys
congenial society, and has spent many happy days
with Washington Irving, Fitz-Greene Halleck, William
Leggett, James K. Paulding and other noble fellows
and beaux esprits whom he has survived. He is a
most entertaining talker, and it is a rare treat to listen
to his reminiscences of the distinguished dead and the
historic spots he has known so well. He is a fine
specimen of the American gentleman of the past generation; and yet he is so hale and hearty there is
good reason to believe he may brighten the next generation with his silvery hairs.
404 
CHAPTER XTVI.
THE MARKETS.
THE domestic markets of New-York are the best,
and the market-houses the worst in the country. The
two are antipodes. They remind one of delicate and
delicious viands served on broken and unwashed
dishes and soiled table-cloths. Who can enter any one
of our dozen market-houses, see their profusion and
excellence and variety of supply, and contrast them
with their surrounding dinginess and squalor, without
a feeling of disappointment approaching disgust?
There is hardly an exception. Fulton and Washington
markets reflect all the rest.  Jefferson is little better
than Catharine, Union than Clinton, Franklin than
Centre; but Tompkins is deserving of consideration.
It is well known that no people under the sun have
so many material comforts as Americans. As a nation,
we are luxurious, self-indulgent, extravagant. We are
the modern Assyrians. We will have what money will
purchase, come what may. No true son Qf the Republic believes he shall ever suffer from deprivation; for
he has faith enough in himself and his country to think
all the necessaries and many of the superfluities of life
will be always furnished. The poorest American often
fares better than the richest of the ancients.   The
salaried clerk and the retail tradesman sit at tables 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
that would have shamed those of Caligula and Cleopatra. The barbaric splendor is less, but the material
comfort is more.  We melt no pearls in vinegar; but
we melt our incomes in dainty superabundance.
In our mode of subsistence there is a wonderful
equality. The salesman with fifteen hundred a year
has the same bill of fare as his employer worth half a
million under the hammer.
Foreigners are surprised at the profusion of our
markets, and still more at the number of people
who purchase at them. What in Europe only a certain class would buy seems here to be within the
means of all. Within the purse would be the apter
expression; for its contents are the measure of our
wants.
Market-going is unpleasant and prosaic. It is the
soberness and seriousness of marriage after the romance and illusion of passion; the standing behind
the scenes after the close of the beguiling play; the
entering the kitchen before the arrangement of the
feast.
I have had much experience as a market-goer; and,
the more I go, the less I like it. There may be those
who relish kissing an eternal farewell to delightful
dreams, leaping from their cosy beds at early dawn,
and trudging off to a confusion of buyers and sellers,
to the inspection and purchase of roasts and birds, of
sirloins and side-pieces, of carrots and cauliflowers, of
lettuce and lobsters. But I am not of them.
I infinitely prefer total ignorance of the price of
marketing, the place of its sale, and the mode of its
preparation. I like to go to breakfast or dinner at
406 
THIE MARKETS.
my entire leisure; look at the bill; call for what I
want; pay for it; and think no more about it.
To be independent of the rate of provisions is to
enjoy a freemani's privilege; to hear no quotations of
the substantials of existence is a blessed immunity.
Ye who think otherwise, consign yourselves to a private boarding-house, and be taught the sagacity of my
opinion by bitter experience.
I have known men who refrained from matrimony
because it brought among its lesser woes the woe of
market-going. They fancied they could bring themselves to endure the great sacrifices and responsibilities it imposed; but the prosaic littleness of bartering
with butchers and hucksters was beyond their bearing.
Unlike many men, they were unwilling their wives
should go to market, and they were right.  If the
larder must be supplied by household devotion, and
the servants be incompetent, as they usually are for
such service, the melancholy duty obviously belongs
to the proper head of the family. Women always endure the greater burthens of wedlock.   They wear
petticoats, and bear children. Let their husbands go
to market.
Let us, you and me, reader, go to market,-ideally
I mean,-and see how they do such things in the Metropolis.
Washington and Fulton markets are the best known
and most frequented; but they are all alike, and one
will answer for all. We can visit any, and see what ever is to be seen.  Call it by the name you prefer.
Here it is, and well attended, though the sun has not
yet risen.
There is little order or regularity in the stalls. The
407 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
buildings are old, rickety, uncleanly, patched  and
added to until they seem like old garrnments made
older and more unsightly by excess of bad mending.
We cannot help thinking of the model market houses of Philadelphia,-so clean, so spacious, so airy,
and so sweet. The City of Brotherly Love may be an
overgrown village; but its market-houses are what
they should be, and its municipal government won't
steal more than fifty cents on the dollar. Would we
could say the same of Gotham!
But, if the houses are poor and paltry, their contents
are rich and superabundant. Nothing is lacking to
gratify the palate,-to delight the most jaded appetite.
The best beef, mutton, veal and lamb the country
affords are displayed upon the stalls.  Those roasts
and steaks, those hind-quarters, those cutlets, those
breasts with luscious sweetbreads, would make an
Englishman hungry as he rose from the table. Those
delicate bits, so suggestive of soups, would moisten
the mouth of a Frenchman. Those piles of rich and
juicy meats would render an Irishman jubilant over
the memory of his determination to emigrate to a
land where potatoes were not the chief article of food.
What an exhibition of shell-fish, too!  Crabs, and
lobsters, and oysters in pyramids, yet dripping with
sea-water, and the memories of their ocean-bowers
fresh about them.   And vegetables, of every kind,
and fruits, foreign and domestic, from the largest to
the smallest, from the rarest to the commonest, from
the melon to the strawberry, from the pine apple to
the plum. Fish from the river and mountain stream,
from the sea and the lake. Fowls and game of all
varieties, from barnyard and marsh, forest and prairie.
408 
x I
o  
WASHINGTON AT IAKET.  
THE MARKETS.
everything that can appeal to and gratify the epicurean
sense.
We think of the consolatory reflection of the newly
landed Milesian, that no man can starve where provisions are so plenty, when we walk through the markets and see the overwhelming contributions.
Everything is exceedingly high, considering the
quantity; but, in a great centre like this, there are so
many mouths to be fed, so many consumers, and so
few producers, it is not strange prices are at the top
of the scale.
People complain of quotations, and declare they
can't live. But they do, and keep buying the best the
market affords; for what it affords they can, or do, at
least. It is easy to show on paper and by figures,
how people can't live if the necessities of existence
go much higher. But the necessities steadily advance,
and the bills of mortality do not increase. Nature
and requirement have a way of answering the question,
How shall I live? that is mysterious, but quite satisfactory.
Rates decline with the hours. You can buy at 9
thirty per cent. less than you could at 5, but not so
excellently; for the market is now stripped of its
choicest and best. The ordinary rule is reversed in
market-going.   They who  are  prosperous  are  the
earliest customers, and the poor are the latest.   It
is the fashion of the fashionable to purchase when the
sun is low and the price is high. They send their
stewards, housekeepers and caterers before the humble in circumstances dare invade the sanctity of
elevated figures.
At this timely hour, we see the caterers of the great
409 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
hotels among the first visitors. They are on the alert
for the choicest beef, the fattest mutton, the freshest
cutlets, the earliest fruits and vegetables; for the reputation and patronage of their houses depend upon
the excellence of their table.   The Fifth Avenue,
St. Nicholas, Brevoort, Metropolitan, Astor, Hoffman,
St. James, and all the others are represented; and the
indefatigable steward of Delmonico is never behind.
Butchers and gardeners have orders in advance to
keep such and such things for the hotels and restaurants; but those establishments deem it necessary to
have an artist on the spot. The rivalry is too sharp
to admit of implicit faith in promises, and marketpeople are vulgarly venal often.
They who purchase for the denizens of Fifth avenue
and other fashionable quarters, are stirring betimes.
They select without regard to price, and are, therefore,
most desirable customers. It is not always so, however. Some of the wealthiest New-Yorkers are economical to niggardness in their dealings; chaffer and
cheapen for half an hour; go from stall to stand; and
lose more time in the endeavor to save a few pennies,
than would serve, if rightly employed, to earn dollars.
Several of our millionaires are notorious at Jefferson
and Fulton markets. They will not even trust their
servants, and buy such provender as is usually sold to
keepers of cheap boarding-houses in East Broadway.
The same persons will spend prodigally for their
vanity; but for their private table, unless there be invited guests, they are sparing of food.
The colored servants (always good, but expensive
market goers) of gambling-houses and bagnios, are
among the generous patrons, and they are the most
410 
THE- MARKETS.
monetarily reckless of all. They do not use their own
means, and their employers stint them not.   The
quality of their purchases, not the quantity of their
outlay, is impressed upon them; and they little care
for complaint on that score.
The late customers, as I have said, are the penurious
or the poor. They go when prices have fallen; when
the best articles have disappeared; when prospects of
bargains have brightened. The middle classes, so far
as circumstances are concerned, attend at medium
hours. The really indigent tarry from obligation, and
the parsimonious from election.
After 7 or 8 o'clock, the delicacies and desirables are
not to be had. Then eggs are suspicious; butter potent; vegetables wilted; meats irresponsible; fish
uncertain; fruits deceptive.
The moral tone of dealers lowers with the advance
of morning. A butcher who is undoubtedly honest at
sunrise, will cheat you without hesitation at 10 o'clock.
The vegetable woman who would keep all the commandments before 6, would break almost any of them
for money after 9.
The latest and hardest customer is the cheap boarding-house keeper. She (for that is her sex generally)
is resolved on buying much for little; and the quantity
of leather steaks, highly perfumed butter, limed eggs,
green fruit and unsavory vegetables she carries off,
awakens sympathy with her boarders, and uneasiness
respecting their digestion.   She is fond of saying she
knows what's what; but I don't believe her patrons
do.  If they are so endowed, they must regard ignorance as bliss.
Occasional visitors are the infatuated strangers who
411
A 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
consider markets among the lions of the Metropolis.
We all like to know how our neighbors live-it is a
subtle as well as interesting problem-and the curious
strangers seem to understand the question in a material
light.   They wander from one end of the market house to the other;  ask prices; handle meats and
vegetables; criticise them; make inquiries of every
kind; wonder and speculate; and return to their
hotels with a better appetite for breakfast, because
they believe they have done their duty.
Other visitors are the young women who appear
leaning heavily on masculine arms, looking fond and
happy and enthusiastic.   They never release their escorts for a moment. They pout and blush, and glance
significantly out of the corners of their bright eyes.
They must be in love with their companions, or they
wouldn't act so.
They are. They are new-made wives. Harry or
Julius gets up like a true gallant, and goes to market,
begging Lucy or Harriet to lie still and sleep until he
returns. But she won't do anything of the sort.
How could she sleep in the absence of her darling
husband? So she accompanies him, and, when they
return, she either prepares or superintends his breakfast, and they sit down like two doves to their morning meal.
In a few weeks a change comes over the spirit of
their dream.  The young wife doesn't go any more.
She lies in bed; sleeps like a dormouse, and is cross
when awakened even with a kiss. At the end of six
months, Harry or Julius holds down the pillow, and
she is compelled to provide for the household.
Fulton market is famous for its oysters, and Dorlan
-0 412 
THE MARKETS.
is the oyster man of all others. For twenty years he
has been here, and his shell-fish are the best on the
Planet. It is strange the saloons there are patronized so
liberally by a class you would never expect to find at
such an uninteresting place. But it is the fashion to
go to Fulton market, and that fact, more than the ex
cellence of what you get, preserves the extraordinary
custom.  The people you meet at Delmonico's, you see
at Dorlan's-men of wealth, and women of society;
fastidious scholars, and authors of renown.
Into those plain and noisy saloons go models of
elegance and extremes of mode-the money king of
Wall, the great importers of Beaver, the famous shipping merchants of South street, the belles of Madison avenue, and the staid clergymen of Brooklyn.
Vanderbilt, Drew, Belmont, Stewart, Bellows and
Vinton, Beecher, Greeley, Tyng, John Morissey, Mrs.
Stanton, Fanny Fern, the venerable Gulian C. Verplanck, Mloses H. Grinnell-every body, high, low and
in middle station, are patrons of the market.
If you wish to see one of the peculiar phases of
New-York life, go to Dorlan's at lunch time, and observe, amid its clatter and confusion, what fair and
expensively attired women, what distinguished and
gifted men, you will meet there. About those little
tables, over those delicious oysters, what strange stories
have been told, what heart-histories revealed, what
secrets of the soul poured into sympathetic ears! Fulton market has a history in itself, and Dorlan is its
central and commanding figure.
The evening markets are almost entirely democratic.
They have no grades, no visitors at different periods.
The humble and common-place patronize them gen
413 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
erally; the wealthy seldom. They are the resort of
blacklegs and courtesans, often, who make assignations
there, and leer, and wink, and act indecently when
they dare. Such markets are a confusion of bad manners, and high voices, and familiar dealers, and vulgar
customers, and over-dressed people.
We won't go there, reader. We'll leave those who
like such places to go in our stead. We'll be exclusive, and touch hands, and part here until to-morrow.
Aye, to-morrow; for to-morrow never comes.
414 
CHAPTER  XLVII.
THE POST-OFFICE.
THE New-York post-office is characteristic of the
City-an indirect way of saying it is as bad as it well
can be. Governmental slowness, added to municipal
carelessness, makes blundering unavoidable and failure
magnificent.
In no other place than the Metropolis could the general post-office have been kept in an old church, a narrow and crowded street, and an out-of-the-way locality,
for a whole generation. Something more than stupidity is required for that; something more than indifference to the public interest; and that something
more, which is dishonesty, turns to fruit on every bush
on the island of Manhattan. The people have complained and clamored year after year.   Everybody
knew and said the post-office was a nuisance. But
nuisances are cherished and perpetuated here, as Broadway, the police system, the City Hall, the street-cars,
the unbridged rivers, the unventilated theaters for instance; and the post-office, having been universally declared a nuisance, was by divine right entitled to remain
such.  Whenever removal has been determined on;
whenever the citizens were likely to be advantaged,
long purses were opened, and before the glitter of coin
the prospect of change was lost. But the World moves. 
*  THE GREuT METROPOLIS.
We now have reason to hope that we shall have a new
post-office during the century; and we are resigned to
continued annoyance out of consideration for our
posterity.
What a human bee-hive is the old Dutch Church in
Nassau street, bounded by Liberty and Cedar! An
entire stranger would think that the big and broad
church to which so many anti-creedists belong. All
the lower part of town runs in and through it, and
overflows with the rising tide that pours out at its
swarming door-ways. Not all the churches in the City
have so many worshipers, such earnest, devout, regular
attendants. Interest preaches in that pulpit, and human nature goes to hear the preacher; for he charms
with the dreariest themes and the shrillest voice. His
is the universal religion that requires no teaching, understood alike in the temples of Boodha and Brahma,
of Jupiter and Jehovah. When he opens his lips to shriek
or thunder, every ear is stretched, and every breast
leaps to listen.
That popular church is the general post-office, which
has fourteen stations or branches in different quarters
of the town; employs nearly five hundred clerks and
managers, about three hundred outside attaches, and
does more business than any other three offices in the
country. It has about six thousand boxes, and yields
to the Government, above all expenses, a million and
a half of dollars per year, an income that is regularly
increasing. All the other offices of the United-States
about pay their expenses; the department depending
for its sole profit upon New-York.
Nearly one million of letters are delivered every
week, and over fifty millions every year; while a hun
416 
THE  POST-OFFICE.
dred tons of mail matter pass through the office each
twenty-four hours.   In 1854 the amount was about
eighteen tons, showing an increase of more than five
hundred per cent. in thirteen years. Of money orders
thirteen or fourteen thousand dollars are sent, and
about sixty thousand cashed per week.   Of stamps
eight thousand dollars are sold per day, or more than
two million six hundred thousand per annum. The
registering department does business enough for an
ordinary office, from seven to fifteen millions worth of
bonds being registered on steamer days.
Forty-five or fifty regular mails leave, and about the
same number are received every day.   Twenty-five
mail steamers sail from here every week; all of them
carrying heavy mails, especially those for foreign
ports.
From these facts and figures some idea may be obtained of the immense business at the New-York office,
and the need of intelligence, system and fidelity in
every department. It is useless to say they are not to
be found; nor will they be while the post-office is
merely part of the political machinery of the Republic.
The department has been but a partial success here
from the beginning, and grave doubts are entertained
of its ever being what it should until it is placed in
the hands of private parties who can be held responsible, as express companies are, for failures or losses.
One of the great defects of our country is its postal
system. Mails are as uncertain as to-morrow's sky,
(give me credit for not making'the time-honored pun,)
and to rely on them is like putting your trust in silver
mines. The City mails here are particularly deranged.
You can send a letter to Boston, or Albany, or Chicago,
27
417 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
with a tolerable certainty of its reaching its destination
some time. But if you mail a missive from your office
in Pine or William street to your friend in Grammercy
park, or Lexington avenue, or direct a note to your
cousin round the corner, the chances of its ever being
heard from are slight. The time usually occupied in
transitu between "down" and "up town" is 24 hours
to 24 days; and men have been known to visit Europe and return before a city letter at a mile's distance
could reach them. Such are the blessings of a republican postal system.
The American people, being the most intelligent,
are naturally the greatest letter-writers on the Globe.
It is often an event in the old World to get or read a
letter. But here children indite epistles, and every
cross-roads has its post-office.  The man who has not
received a letter has not been discovered, though, if he
exists, he lives in the interior of Arkansas or the Eastern part of Louisiana.
If you take your stand at the corner of Liberty and
Nassau streets any day between the hours of 9 and 6,
you will imagine half of the planet has fallen in love
with the other half, and is telling the loved half of the
fact every minute. Stand firmly, hold to something,
or you will be swept off your feet as you are by the
under-current at Long Branch, by the tide of swift
passers-by. Hundreds of people of every sort hurry
by into the vestibule; hurry out, and disappear. Some
seek letters; some are mailing them. Some want stamps;
some want information; but all have urgent business,
and hasten and fret as if they had bought a through
ticket for Heaven, and they had hardly time fer the
last train.
418 
THE POST-OFFICE.
Within you observe the long lines of men and boys
with money in their hands, earnest-faced, yet patient,
waiting for their turn at the stamp-windows.  At one
window any number of stamps can be had; at the
other sums of one dollar and upwards only. The links
of the chain fall off at the head and increase at the tail.
For hours it is about the same length. But as the
hands on the large clock at the end of the Cedar street
hall creep round toward 5 o'clock, the throng becomes
a mere group.
To the north of the Nassau street entrance are boxes
labeled "City," "Eastern States," "Western States
and  territories,"  "Northern  States  and  Canada,"
"Southern States," and into those, letters are thrust so
rapidly that the apertures are almost choked at times.
What a deluge of envelopes of every hue to every
point of the compass? What can they all contain?
What can all those people find to write about? How
industrious Americans are! What a mania they have
for wasting pen, ink and paper! Have they an interest in paper mills or stationers' establishments that they
thus throw themselves into expression?
The boxes are constantly thumped and the clerks
thrust out their hands full of matter, and dart to another number, and empty that, and fly to a third, and
deliver to the messengers who receive and depart
without end. What hosts of correspondence from all
over the habitable Globe! Advice from India, quotations from St. Petersburg, questions from Constantinople,warnings from Frankfort, remittances from Vienna,
information from Berlin, orders from Smyrna, gossip
and love messages from Paris, friendship reaffirmed
from London; business intelligence and sympathy
419 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
from every clime and zone. This is indeed civilization,
enlightenment, when every man in any part of the
World can communicate with his fellows on the other
side of the planet, across deserts and seas, in lands the
belief in whose existence is only a matter of faith.
There are the general delivery and the window for
advertised letters. They are besieged all day long.
No one who is quite indifferent calls for letters; but
the clerks are enough so to make up for the interest of
the outsiders.
Post-office clerks are models of unconcern if not rudeness, all the country over. In that particular they are
in advance of all other government employes, of bank
officers, of railway underlings. I have often believed
they were born only to have their noses pulled; and
it is a great pity they so often miss their destiny.  It
is wonderful how such dull fellows can be so ingeniously offensive. All the capacity they have is directed
to disobligation. The study of their lives seems to be
to offend.   If Caligula's  destructive wish had referred merely to the class I have named, he would
have been a true philanthropist. I would vote for
him to-day for dictator of New-York.
"Letter for Wm. B. Haskins!" The clerk runs over a
pile of letters much as professors of legerdemain do a
pack of cards, and throws them back without reply.
Time was when they would hurl "nothing" at your
head as they would a missile at an enemy; but that is
considered  needless politeness  now.   Perhaps the
question is repeated quietly more than once; and the
clerk, by way of reply, insults the questioner. It was
a wise precaution to make postal windows small, if the
prevention of clerks' heads from much merited punch
420 
THE  POST-OFFICE.
ing were deemed desirable. Few persons who inquire
for letters would be so treated if the insolent behind
the partition understood that insult would meet with
punishment
What becomes of all the advertised letters? Nearly
half that are asked for are either gone or never found.
Is it that names are too much alike, or that clerks
are too lazy to look for them? I have frequently applied for such letters at the New-York Post-office, and
never yet obtained one. Perhaps it is thought enough
to advertise without delivering them.
The general delivery is a study, and a sad one.
They who call there usually have needs of the purse
or needs of the heart. They are for the most part
strangers or in adversity or misfortune of some kind.
No one, unless a clerk, could have failed to notice the
anxious or pale faces that go to the window day after
day, and the expression of disappointment and pain
that follows the turning of the back, the shaking of
the head. The weary waiting, the hoping against
hope, the clinging to the straw of belief in the sea of
improbability are pictured in the eyes and features of
many of the callers for letters that never come. Every
disappointment is an added pain, a new weight laid
upon the throbbing breast. The familiar faces cease
to come at last.  Where have they gone? Perhaps
they might be recognized at the morgue.
But they who get letters often open them with wild
pulses and trembling fingers. Did you ever watch
the faces of those whose eyes devour letters just received? If you be a skilled physiognomyi, you can
]earn the contents By the reflections above them.
There is wealth; here satisfaction; there is hope;
421 
TIIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
here despair; there is love; here hate; there is saintliness; here sin.  What may not a letter convey?
What potent influences, what great changes, what
spiritual revolutions may it not bring? Letters that
make no outward alterations cause inward transformations beyond imagining. The great World goes on
with imperceptible variation; but our world, yours and
mine, which is all the world we care for, may be shattered any hour, and the fragments not worth the
keeping.
How indifferently the clerks in the office rake and
toss and tumble and pack the thousands and thousands
of letters away! Every one of them has a history or a
poem for some one, a wound or balm, a weal or woe,
a rose or thorn. But they are all thrown in a heap,
like the just and the unjust, the pure and coarse, in
the plan of creation.  They are all bound and tied together and jested and sworn over, and carried to the
station or steamer, and nobody cares.
Still, in all that multitude and confusion and chaos of
letters, no two are alike. Each can be distinguished
from its fellow, as can the individuals of the crowd on
Broadway. The observer, he who has seen life, can
guess at their contents; can almost find out the business from the love-letters; those of the wife from
those of the mistress; can determine that this is sentimental, and that practical; this cheerful, that despondent; this sweet and that bitter; for analogies run
through the Universe, and earnest study will enable us
to read them.
The stations are for the accommodation of persons
in all quartets of the City. They are as different in
appearance and their habitues as the locality in which
422 
THE POSt-OFFICE.
they are established. At some of the stations the letters are nearly all neat, even dainty.  The people who
call are well dressed, and have style. At others, the
missives are addressed in coarse and sprawling hands,
and their receivers uncultivated and common-place, if
not vulgar. The stations are the favorites of intriguers
of both sexes, and are frequently made rendezvous for
interdicted communication and illicit pleasures.
Occasionally some unsophisticated citizen complains
of such things through the newspapers, but New-York
cares not for them. It is too busy to attempt to regulate the lives of persons to whom it is indifferent.
Like Paris, it says, "Enjoy yourselves as you like,
if you can do it at your own expense. Your morals
are yours. It is quite as much as I can do to look
after my own."
4 2 "J' 
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE GAMINS.
NEW-YORK is as remarkable for her gamins as Paris
is for hers. They are more peculiar, too, and more
varied in their order. The strange little creatures who
flaunt their rags and make grimaces in the face of the
Hudson, are no imitators of those who gibe at Hu manity and Fortune along  the Seine.   They  are
entirely original.   They have not even heard,  the
most of them, of their tattered brothers over the sea,
and would wage fierce war with them, should those
ever find their way into Broadway or Park Row. No
doubt they would be victorious over the foreigners;
for our gamins have a species of savage energy and
desperate determination, with a sturdiness and muscular power, that would be apt to triumph where hard
blows are given.
Their antecedents are the opposite of favorable.
They are almost always of foreign parentage, generally
Celtic, sometimes German; born in wretched tenement
houses, their earliest memories those of drunken and
brutal parents, of harsh treatment, of errands to the
corner grocery for liquor, of rags and filth, of poverty
and vice.   The gentle and kindly influences that surround and mold other children are unknown to therm 
THIE GAMINS.
They are social barbarians.   They have no conception of what "home," inll its true sense, means.  Beauty
and Love are almost taken out of their lives. They
hear no music; they see no flowers, unless they catch
the strain of the street-musicians, or the vision of the
bouquet-baskets when they wander into Broadway.
All existence to them is a struggle of squalor with
sin, of passion and ignorance with hard materialism
and the established order of things. Almost as soon
as they can walk, they are thrust into the street to beg
or steal, or contribute in some manner to their parents'
miserable support; though it frequently happens that
they never know their parents, and are outcasts from
their earliest consciousness.
Abused and beaten by those who should be their
natural protectors, they soon abandon their "homes,"
and seek their own fortune. Strictly speaking, they
have neither childhood nor boyhood. They pass from
neglected infancy, almost by a bound, to an immature
and unnatural manhood, compelled by a sense of selfprotection to a rugged and semi-savage independence.
Long before their teens, they are fighting against want
and fate, like shaggy veterans, and grappling with circumstances that would appal men who might be their
fathers.
Their number can hardly be ascertained. It is
steadily on the increase, and might to-day be counted
by tens of hundreds. The gamin is to be seen anywhere and everywhere, in any part of the island, at
any hour of the day or night.  There is no mistaking
him. If you did not observe closely, you might imagine the little fellow who wanted to carry your valise
at the Courtlandt street ferry, or black your boots in
425 
ITHE GREAT METROPOLIs.
Fulton street, or sell you the Evening News in the
Third avenue car, the same identical urchin. Hle has
much the same expression of face, much the same
voice and manner. His clothes have the same disregard of fit or wholeness, the same fantastic tatters and
ridiculous disproportion to his figure.
Go where you will, you find him looking shrewdly
from under his unkempt locks and fragmentary cap;
standing in his great and broken boots, which he has
either found in an ash-heap or purchased at a secondhand shop in the Bowery; proffering his services in
some manner, if you indicate any need of them; or
if you don't, staring at you half-curiously, half-critically,
and evidently seeing your every grotesque or peculiar
point.
Their favorite callings are boot-blacking and newspaper-selling, for which they have an original genius.
Often they do both, and carry parcels and valises besides; but generally a boot-black refuses to dishonor
his profession by any fugitive occupation, and a newsboy deems it undignified to embark in less exalted
enterprises.  They are very industrious up to a certain
point; and after they have reached that, they become
indifferent to compensation.
Almost every gamin begins the day with an exact
idea of how much his requirements are, and until he
obtains the sum needful, he is supremely energetic and
active. HIis wants are few, and more likely to be
luxuries than necessities. Tobacco, beer, the Police
Gazette and Herald, an oyster stew, coffee and cakes,
a pit or gallery ticket to the Bowery or Tony Pastor's,
include his common needs.
Of course he has hardly a vestige of a shirt, and if
426 
J   ~           f ~~
<'
H)
fo-Iq /
3-  it~,.. -_
~o  
m1    GINS.
~H-dE G A-,iINs.
the weather be moderate, no shoes-at least none to
speak of-not a garment he could not leap out of, or
which a hard wind would not blow to pieces.   "But
confound it," he thinks; "what does a boy want of
them things?" He can get them any time. He can
pick them up if he is abroad early enough; and he is
no sluggard.
With all his rags and carelessness of appearances,
he is luxurious in some of his tastes. He'll buy early
fruit when it is nearly worth its weight in silver, and
possess flash literature whatever its price. His dinner,
even in Chatham or Nassau street, frequently costs
him a dollar, and he'd gladly pay two dollars for it, if
his appetite craved more. He is generous, too, at
times, and gives to boys just "starting in business,"
enough to "set them going."  He flings coppers at
beggars as dukes would, and buys clothes, which he
would not buy for himself, for his companions, when
the Winter sets in.
One marked peculiarity of the gamin is his perseverance, and a certain kind of independence. He
solicits you sufficiently to inform you of what you
ought to have; and, if you reject his aid, he turns
away from you with an air of mingled pity and contempt. He appeals to you eloquently on the subject
of your boots; bestows a critical and condemnatory
glance on their unpolished condition, and offers, in a
careless way, to "shine'em up, boss, for five cents,"
if you seem to hesitate.  Should you take him at his
offer, he will try hard to get twice as much for his
job, by declaring "that's a ten-cent shine," and informing you that the other boys will whip him, if he
works below the price.
427 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
He does not flatter you.  He does not tell you your
feet are small, or your boots neat, or your pantaloons
handsome, or that you are a nice gentleman, as menials
so often do. On the contrary, he vows your boots are
big and dirty; intimates that it must have been a long
time since they were "polished up," and that you're
not what you pretend to be, if you do not give him an
extra five cents.
He is quick to discover intentions.   Before you
have quite made up your mind about having your
boots blacked, he is down on his knees, with your feet
on his box, brushing away until the perspiration starts
from his unwashed forehead. If he be a leading artist
in his profession, and have an acknowledged reputation, he will have observers and imitators among his
companions. Several of them will group themselves
around him, on their knees, on the sidewalk, and watch
the process closely. They are novices, probably, and
taking  lessons.   When  the master boot-black has
blown his last breath upon the leather, and struck the
toe with his brush to signify completion, cries of "bully,
old fel," are heard from the circle of admirers.
If you want a good polish, you must watch the boy
or he'll shirk his duty. He'll forget to touch the heels,
and neglect the toes, unless he chance to be giving
instructions to his less experienced comrades. Having
secured you, he considers his price secured, and the
sooner he can get the job done, the better he is
pleased. If you complain, he'll do it faithfully, but
give you to understand all the while, he has earned
more than he receives.
The newsboy is not uncommonly a graduate from
street-begging, bundle-carrying and boot-blacking, and
428 
THE G-AmINS.
usually considers himself in the front rank of his fellows.  He is much more intelligent, often more unscrupulous than they; begins to have decided opinions
and theories of life, with hopes, ambitions, expectations. He has learned a great deal by his constant
reading of the' papers, and can astonish you by the
variety of his information.   He has acquired facility,
if not correctness of expression, and gives council, at
times, to those on a lower round of the ladder.
Believing the newspaper the great educator, he is
resolved every one shall read it. He offers inducements through his imagination, when you are averse
to buying; looks into your face and conjectures your
calling or character.   If you impress him as a merchant, he informs you of a sudden movement in dry
goods, an advance in gold, a decline in imports, of
which you have never heard.
If you are pale or pensive or abstracted, he fancies
you literary, and speaks of some new poem, very new
to you and the rest of the World,-or cries out "Serious illness of Carlyle," "Accident to Emerson," "Important about Dickens."  Manifesting no interest, he
concludes you an invalid, and changes his key. Then
you learn something about  "valuable remedies for
consumption, debility and dyspepsia," "new discovery
in medicine," or "blessing to the sick."
If serious and solemn and unhappy, he regards you
as a clergyman, and "Great spread of the Gospel,"
"N'oble work among the missionaries,"  "Revival of
religion in the country," are the phrases he is voluble
upon.
Should you wear a bland and meaningless and hollow smile, and move your right arm as if you intended
429
.0 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
to offer it to every passer-by, he will clamor concern ing "Reconstruction in the South," "inexplicable con duct of the Radicals," "New movement among the
Democracy," presuming you are a politician.
He will probably take you in some of those verbal
nets; and before you have glanced over the paper,
and had an opportunity to discover his deception, he
will have disappeared in the crowd. He does not resort to such shifts unless he has had ill success in his
sales, or the paper is devoid of any intelligence of an
exciting character.  He is a profound believer in the
newspapers, for they have brought him all he knows;
and perhaps he deems any trick which will make you
read them, beneficial in the main, even if you are disappointed in certain particulars.
A common ground for the gamins'is the old Bowery
theater, and of late Tony Pastor's opera-house, as it is
termed. The gamins are excessively fond of amusements such as the Bowery furnishes-sensational dramas founded upon robbery, seduction, elopement and
desperate encounters; tragedies in which ranting, bluefire, bloody villains and horrid murders form the chief
fe(atures.   They don't affect any thing humorous on
the stage unless it be in the shape of burnt cork or
conlic songs.   They would hiss the most sparkling
comedy brilliantly performedfrom the boards; decide
"Much Ado about Nothing" a bore, and Congreve's
liveliest sallies stupid. They delight in horrors, and
banquet upon moral monstrosities.
Of all histrionic heroes Richard the Third, as Shakspeare caricatured him, is their favorite; though if
Gloster play his part as he ought, they'll bellow at him
in indignation. He must writhe and roar and grimace,
430 
THE GAMINS.
and strike fire with his sword, if he expects their
applause.  All fencing scenes they enjoy amazingly,
and all struggles on the stage, from one side to the
other, up and down, to spasmodic orchestra, and
ricochetting on the principal violin are apples to their
eye.
They are exacting and critical, and if the performance does not please them; if there be any abatement
of the murderous or sulphurous element; if the trapdoors fail, or the demons don't appear in crimson
throughout, they resent the defect at once, and cry
out against the decline of the drama. They are the
standards for the manager; and what they approve he
knows will be successful. They are to him what the
professional wits were in Queen Anne's time. Without them he is hopeless. But when they applaud, lie
bids defiance to Wallack's and the latest Broadway
sensation.
How and where does the gamin live? is a natural
question. He can hardly answer, for he does not fully
know himself. He is sure of the past, confident of the
present, indifferent to the fuiture. He exists in harmony with his nature, which is unnatural enough; does
not apologize, nor indulge in make-believe nor sham
of any kind.  He neither regrets nor repents.  He is
on the exact plane of common things;. seeking for
himself, asking no favor, plucking the very beard of
fortune, and grinning at destiny.
He begins very bad, and often ends worse. But
sometimes he is developed into something higher and
better. His very errors and sins make him wise in his
own interest. Intelligence more than moral teaching
shows him that honesty is policy, and rectitude advan
431 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
tage. He begins with reading the Police Gazette and
Clipper; passes to the Ledger and Herald; and rises
at last to the Tribune and Nation.
He blackens himself with a kind of whiteness. The
polish of his boots is gradually transferred to his man ners and understanding. He finds others feel an in terest in him, and that gives him an interest in himself.
Benevolent persons and societies strive to benefit him;
to take care of his earnings; to instruct him in the
value of pecuniary independence. As he accumulates
a little money he grows less reckless, and by degrees
discovers himself somewhat conservative.   He finds
he can do good; that he has influence, and bears responsibility.
The ill-fortune of his companions who have turned
to different paths is a warning and an example. He
perceives that beer and tobacco and dishonesty lead
to the Tombs and Blackwell's island, and they to Sing
Sing and the gallows. He has a small capital before
he is out of his teens.   He changes his calling; becomes a porter or mechanic; studies in his leisure
hours, and having been tried in the fiery furnace, is
not likely to be scorched by common flame. At five
and twenty he is married, and probably has a patch of
ground he can call his own; enters upon a new life,
and thanks his stars that he escaped unhurt from the
dangers of the old.
Such information, improvement and advancement
are rare, however. The gamin would be more than
mortal if he could, save in exceptional cases, rise above
his surroundings; drag his garments through the mire
year after year, and not be soiled. Thrust upon the
World while a child, with no sense of right or justice,
I
432 
THE  GAMINS.
remembering only a drunken father and a virago
mother, cruelty at home and abuse in the street, is it
not natural he should take sides with the mean, the
vicious and the strong? All his best influences, his
affections, his instincts to good are crushed out; and
he falls into the habits of the little tyrants and ruffians
who fight their way to the hardest livelihood.
A bar-room becomes his highest ambition; a prizefighter his hero. As he grows older, he patronizes one
and consorts with the other. Vile habits fasten themselves upon' him, and the poor little wretch whom
sympathy would have transformed, and kindness pre.
served creeps up through poisonous atmospheres into
a pimp or blackleg, a thief or ruffian, a burglar or a
murderer.
The school is too strict, the ordeal too severe.  Society casts him out. The law exacts penalty, but does
not restrain him; and when the unfortunate gamin,
who had never home or friends or education or counsel, commits crime and is punished, the very society
that would not receive or help him, lifts its soft hands
in horror, and declares with modulated utterance that
the times are degenerate, and that the way of the
transgressor is hard.
28
433 
CHAPTER XT,.T3.
THE DEMI-MONDE.
WoMAN's chastity is so delicate a subject that not
only all discussion of, but any allusion to it,is tabooed
in society.   The  mere mention of sexual passion
sounds the alarm for all the proprieties, and he who
proposed to consider it in any mixed company would
be deemed either a mad philosopher or a social
savage.
The relation of the sexes is the problem of the age
more than any other that demands solution, and lies
nearest the hearts of the present generation. Every
one feels there is something wrong in the existing
condition of things; but either the fear of making
bad worse, or the unwillingness to change what law
and custom have sanctioned, prevents any general
attempt at reform. The evils of lewdness are widespread and monstrous; but marriage also has its evils,
and who will deny that a certain moral prostitution is
sometimes common to both?
The only purity is in passion spiritualized by sympathy and sanctified by affection. Neither tradition
nor ceremonies can make any relation virtuous where
love and harmony are not; nor can conventionality
and prejudice prevent Nature from obeying her instincts and obtaining her rights 
THE DEMI-MONDE.
We all deplore the effects of illicit relations; but
few find a voice to denounce the unchastity of discordant wedlock, which has more sins of impurity to answer for than the World dares name. The woman
who gives herself unreservedly where love has gone
before is stained indelibly, while she who lives a wedded leman, and wrongs and degrades herself and Nature by every fresh bestowal, walks in seeming saintliness with society's approval on her unblushing brow.
But poor woman,. why should man, the author of
your wrongs and woes, condemn you? You are not
immaculate, but you are angelic compared to him. If
you are weak, it is a lovable weakness. If you are
wicked he has taught youl wickedness. You are ever
suffering for sins that are not your own; and he
should remember he was placed here for your protection, not your persecution. When you are feeble, it
is his duty to hold you up, not drag you down.
When you are tempted, it is his obligation to make
you strong. Whlien you despair, he should give you
hope, and make the dark future kindle with the radiance of his love.
Yet not many think, and very few act so. Men for
the most part seem to consider woman a proper object of attack wherever found; that the contest is
equal, and victory glorious by whatever means obtained. They have even come to believe, so false
have been their teachings, that she despises the neglecter of any opportunity to do her wrong, and only
crowns him with love who is ungenerous enough to
betray her.
No wonder that woman complains that she is misunderstood; for men explain her mysteries by their
435 
TIE GREAT MiETRoPOLIS.
own sensuality and selfishness, and with their false
key unlock new chambers of unhappiness in the house
of her heart.
The sin, man is constantly committing against her is
almost the only one he will not forgive. He wrongs
her, and calls her wronging a wrong upon himself. He
demands that she shall keep what he is ever urging
her to part with; and what she yields as the highest
expression of her love he declares the evidence of her
dishonor.
Poor woman, I say again, how shall she distinguish
between her friends and foes? They both treat her
alike. They both deceive and betray her. They both
stab her with a kiss, and desert her at last for the very
thing for which they sought her first.
It is estimated by those who ought to know that
there are in New-York about ten thousand women
who live directly and solely upon the wages of prostitution, —professional courtesans in a word,-independent of twice as many more who lead unchaste lives,
but preserve an outside show of respectability. Like
other evils, this is steadily increasing; the increase
being entirely out of proportion to the growth of population.  The War, by throwing many out of employment, by removing their natural protectors, and increasing temptation in various ways, added largely to
the list, and Peace has not yet caused any favorable
reaction.
The great majority of these unfortunates are Americans, and were originally residents of the country. As
a class they are very comely, and I have heard strangers say they were among the prettiest women in NewYork. With very rare exceptions they are uneducated,
436 
THE DEMI-MONDE.
and have little knowledge of the World outside of the
narrow and vicious sphere in which they move. Their
history is very uniform, and that of one would answer
for that of another. Their agreeableness of person is
their first danger without, and their knowledge of its
existence their companion danger within. In their
rural homes they are either seduced by men and their
own vanity, or, with ideas and feelings above their
station and surroundings, they come to the City for expansion, and soon find their undoing. Many, however,
are very pure and honest at home, and seek New-York
for employment. Failing to obtain occupation, or losing it after a certain time, they are thrown into the
way of temptations or necessities they cannot resist.
Having taken the initial false step, all other steps
downward are easy; and, before the poor creatures
are fully aware of it, they are following a course it is
almo4,impossible to retrace.
The remorse and misery which abandoned women
are popularly supposed to experience are much overrated.   They are not happy any more than saints
would be on this planet, nor contented, for their lives
are wholly unnatural; but they are ignorant and insensible, and seldom have a pleasant past to compare
with their reckless present. We all accept what we
deem inevitable, and in some way excuse, if we do
not justify, our own errors to ourselves.
The unfortunate cyprian, while in good health and
materially comfortable, considers her career an accomplished fact, and lives, as all her sex do more or less,
in the dissipation of the hour. She has a good appetite, if not what casucts style a clear conscience, good
digestion and good capacity for sleep; and, with such
437
0 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
physical blessings, spiritual troubles rest lightly on her.
When sickness or adversity comes, she loses all her
strength and cheerfulness; grows superstitious and
desperate without the support that fatalism yields.
Then she flies to the excitement of liquor or the oblivion of suicide. The draught of brandy sinks her
lower; the draught of poison gives her rest.
Prostitution like everything else, has its degrees, its
upper, and lower, and middle class, with miscellaneous
varieties.
The highest grade is composed of women who are
young and desirable, and prosperous so far as their
immediate wants are concerned.   They  live in the
best houses and pay the largest prices for their board;
are the sought rather than the seekers; air their finery
in Broadway and the Park; are often the mistresses of
blacklegs and other members of the "sporting" fraternity, and exercise a certain influence in the community.
They never drink to excess, or use tobacco or obscene
language in company. They lay some claim to taste
as well as decency; can frequently thrum a little on the
piano or guitar, read and write, and talk in a stereotyped way very tolerable English. They learn something from the plays they see, and the novels they
read, and the men of culture they often encounter and
have relations to. They know how to appear well
for a certain time, and are able to palm themselves
off upon the uninitiated as fine ladies and fascinating
vestals.
The second class are the women who abide in inferior places; whose life is more fluctuating than that of
their luckier sisters; who seek patrons when patrons
do not seek them; who get intoxicated occasionally;
438 
THE DEAII-MONDE.
make spectacles of themselves in the streets, and are
carried to the station-house. They are the elaborately
dressed women you meet on Broadway after dark, and
whose names you see in the police news as offenders
against the public peace. Very often they have been
in the upper grade, but have declined to the second,
and will in due season fall even lower. Their position
shifts like sand, and the shadow of sudden death is always above their-head.
The third class are those that pace the street day
and night in search of victims, whom  they debauch
and rob if they can. They have a room or rooms in
some Greene or Mercer street establishment, to which
they introduce their customers, and after their reception
go in quest of more. Such characters are arrested every
once in a while for theft, and sent to Blackwell's
island or the Tombs. They make no pretense of decency; have no regard for person. They drink like
ward politicians, and are nearly as dishonest. They
swear like sailors, and fight like tigers when angry.
They have usually lost their youth and beauty; become careless of appearances, and indifferent to their
fate. The hospital to-day; the prisonto-morrow; the
deadly potion or the dark river the day after.
A fourth or fifth class might be added-the wretch ed females (all the woman seems to have gone out of
them) who haunt the Water street dance-houses and
the dens of Cherry street. They live on mere animal
excitements and liquid fire; are ribald and profane, the very harpies of their kind.
The better class of courtesans pay so much  per
week to the proprietresses of the houses of ill-fames from $25 to $50 according to the accommodations
439 
TH-E GREAT METROPOLIS.
and depend upon their arts or charms, or both, to de fray their expenses. A certain sum they must have,
or the hard-hearted "landlady" will seize their bag gage for debt, and drive them into the street. They
are almost always lavish and improvident, saving
nothing in the event of sickness or adversity, and are
therefore liable to suffer for the want of food or shelter at any time. Some mysterious Providence seems
to watch over them, though, as over everything else,
and enables them to live year after year without crisis
or calamity.
And yet they rarely live long. Who ever saw an
aged courtesan? They slip off the Planet mysteriously,
or are lost in the hubbub of the World before years
come upon them.  After a certain period they are dis
qualified from success in their vocation by reason of
the failure of their charms. What they do then no
one knows. Vast numbers die from disease engendered by their unnatural lives; and suicide is as natural to them as summer complaint to infants.
Courtesans rarely become quite as depraved as men
who have surrendered all regard for the World's
opinion. They often preserve such virtues as generosity, pity, charity, tenderness, and devotion, to their
dying day.  Even their outlawry and the brand of infamy society has fixed upon them do not drive the
woman wholly out of their being.  In emergencies
they show beautiful traits of character and noble
qualities which would reflect honor upon the noblest
ladies of the land. They prove that a woman may
have almost every virtue but one, as their more fortunate sisters sometimes do that a woman may possess
no virtue but one.
440 
THE DEMI-MONDE.
What is most remarkable in courtesans of every
grade is their inextinguishable affection for some one
of the opposite sex. However unworthy, however mean,
selfish, and brutal the man, they will fix their best love
upon him; make sacrifices for him; give him worship;
cleave to him through all wrong-doing and adversity.
A thousand times deceived, they trust the thousandand-first time still. Their hearts trampled upon like
dust, their souls wrung to agony, they yet have power
to love and idealize the object of their love. They
reveal that woman's whole instinct is to loyalty, to one
affection, to one absorbing devotion; that her natural
disposition is to purity; and that, broken and ruined
as the fair temple may be, there is an inner and a secret fane on which the word Woman is graven with
the point of a diamond in letters of gold.
441
t 
CHAPTER L.
THE CLUBS.
NEW-YORK has more clubs than all the other cities
of the Union combined.  Their number is steadily increasing, and is likely, before many years, to be as
large as that of Paris or London.
Clubs are the late fruit of a high civilization-the
outgrowth of leisure, luxury and cultivated unrestraint.
In new and small towns they are impossible. In old
and large cities they are needful, because they answer
to a positive want in an excessively conventional and
surfeited community. They have their origin in certain superfluity of means, and a kind of inverted satisfaction. They are anti-matrimonial and anti-domestic,
and present the paradox of a longing for society and
a tendency to isolation.
Every club is a blow against marriage, a protest
against domesticity; offering, as it does, the surroundings and comforts of a home without women or the
ties of family. Clubs increase in an inverse ratio with
matrimony, and each new member is an encouragement to celibacy.
There must be more than a hundred regular organized clubs of all kinds here, though comparatively few
of them are well known, and have expensive and luxurious establishments in which to keep up their state. 
THE  CLUBS.
The Metropolis has boat clubs, cricket clubs, chess
clubs, yacht clubs, ball clubs, billiard clubs, press clubs,
as well as art, literary, and merely social clubs. In
fact, almost every game, and pleasure, and circle of
artists and literary men, has its nucleus and focus in
the form of a club, and club life of some sort is growing more and more in favor and fashion.
The social clubs are, however, the fashionable and
famous ones, because of the wealth and character of
their members, and the luxury and elegance of the
mansions they occupy.   The best known  and most
pretentious of these are the Century club, No. 109
East Fifteenth street; Union League club, corner
Madison avenue and Twenty-sixth street; New-York
club, No. 2 East Fifteenth street; Union club, corner
Twenty-first street and Fifth avenue; Manhattan club,
corner Fifteenth street and Fifth avenue; Travelers'
club, No. 222 Fifth Avenue; Eclectic club, corner
Twenty-sixth street and Fifth Avenue; City club, No.
31 East Seventeenth street; the Harmonie club, Fortysecond street, near Fifth Avenue; Allemania, No. 18
East Sixteenth street; American Jockey club; Olympic
club, No. 16 Union Place; and New-York Yacht club,
club house at Hoboken. The Athenueum club was
long a favorite club, but dissolved some months ago.
These clubs, as will be observed, are in the most
fashionable quarter, and the houses they occupy are
among the handsomest and costliest in the City. Many
of them were private dwellings, but required little
alteration for the new purpose to which they were
converted.  The rent of the club-houses is from $8,000
to $20,000 a year; they are furnished in the richest
and most elegant manner, and kept up in princely
443 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
style. The initiation fee and annual dues vary from
$50 to $150 for the former, and $50 to $100 for the
latter.
The club-houses are little more than hotels on the
European plan, where one pays for what he gets. The
members have no rooms, but often take their meals at
the club; while others attend the regular meetings
only, and pay their regular dues. Others, again, do
not go there once a year.
The members vary from 300 to 800, half of whom
are usually absentees in one form or other.   They include almost every class. Merchants, clergymen, lawyers, physicians, authors, journalists, artists, bankers
are eligible, and may be elected if formally proposed
and regularly balloted for. 
In most of the clubs, one negative vote in ten is
sufficient for a "blackball" or defeat of the candidate,
so that it is well for persons of delicate pride and sensibility to learn beforehand, through friends who are
members, what will be their chances of election.
In the London clubs, lodgings are furnished to those
who desire them; but the Union League is the only
club here where members can have rooms for the
night.  Other club-houses will soon imitate the Union
League, it is thought, and the Metropolis of America
will become in that respect like the metropolis of Great
Britain. The charge for meals is high, usually; but
they are excellently served, and dining at one's club
is quite the mode. The ordinary expense of belonging to a club is light, as the privileges of the house in
no instance cost more than $100 a year.
The Century club, originally a sketch club, is the
oldest here, having been established fully thirty years
I, i.
444 
THE  CLUBS.
ago.  It is considered the most aristocratic and exclusive in the City, and the most difficult, therefore, of
entree.  Many months of notification of desire to become a member must be given, that the character and
claims of the candidate may be duly and fully considered. Designed originally for a strictly literary and
artistic association,,it has departed from its first intention, and is now open to any gentleman-any one so
regarded, at least-whom the members may approve.
William Cullen Bryant is president, and A. R. Macdonough secretary. Among its members are Bierstadt,
McEntee, Gifford, Gignoux and Cropsey, the artists;
Bayard Taylor, George Wmn. Curtis, Parke Goodwin
and William Allen Butler, litterateurs; Rev. Dr. Bellows and Dr. Osgood, clergymen; Edwin Booth and
Lester Wallack, actors; John Jacob Astor, Alexander
T. Stewart and August Belmont, millionaires.   Many
other of the prominent merchants, artists and authors
belong to the Century, which has the reputation of
having "blackballed" more candidates than all the
other clubs in town.
The Union League and Manhattan are political clubs
-the former republican and the latter democraticthe most prominent members of the two parties belonging to the social organizations.   Augustus Schell
is president, and Manton Marble secretary of the Manhattan; of the Union League, John Jay is president,
and J. L. Ward secretary.
The Manhattan was begun in opposition to the Union
League.  John Van Buren and Dean Richmond were
leading members of the Manhattan; and August Belmont, Fernando Wood, Manton Marble of the World,
Erastus and James Brooks of the Express, and John
445 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS
T. Hoffman are at present active members.  Horace
Greeley, Wm. E. Dodge, Charles A. Dana, Marshall
0. Roberts, and other well known politicians and journalists are among the Union Leaguers.   Programmes
and platforms are arranged in these clubs, and the
course of either party has been time and again dictated
from Madison and Fifth avenue.
The Travelers', W. B. Duncan, president, F. W. J.
Hurst, treasurer, was primarily intended for the encouragement and entertainment of distinguished travelers,
and Bayard Taylor, George William Curtis, and Herman Melville, and other wandering New-Yorkers, are
honorary members. Most foreigners who have seen
the World are invited there on their arrival in the
City, and frequently lecture before the club. The
Travelers', however, like most of the clubs, has tended
more and more to a social form, and is now little else
than a mere social organization.
The Athenaeum was one of the oldest and most
popular of the City clubs. Literature and art gave it
its rise, and membership was at first confined to persons of those guilds. After two or three years' existence, it was deemed wise to include men of other
callings; and it was placed on a footing with the rest.
More journalists belonged to the Athenaeum than to
any other club; and its quarterly receptions, when
several hundred guests were invited, were very pleasant occasions. The evenings were spent convivially
and conversationally, and as clever a set of fellows,
both in the European and American sense, were there
brought together, as can be found anywhere in Manhattan.   Mismanagement and reckless extravagance
brought the popular club to an untimely end.
446 
THE CLUBS.
The New-York, H. H. Ward, president, J. F. Ruggles, secretary; Union, Moses H. Grinnell, president,
J. Grenville Kane, secretary; City, C. L. Tiffany, president, S. Crocker, secretary, and Eclectic clubs, Henry
J. Scudder, president, A. G. Montgomery, Jr., secretary,
are entirely private and social; and membership is
mainly confined to men of fortune, who live on their
incomes, and are not engaged in active pursuits of any
kind.   The New-York,  Union and  Eclectic have
splendid club-houses, and everything in and about
them is in the most expensive style.   Few, if any,
persons known to fame belong to those organizations,
which hold wealth and fashion above character and
culture.
The members figure conspicuously in the Park drives
and in Fifth avenue Germans, at Saratoga-hops and
morning service in Grace Church, at the Academy and
late Delmonico suppers.   They wear the sleekest of
silk hats, the shortest of sack-coats, the most elegant
of pantaloons, and the daintiest of gloves that are visible of an afternoon promenade in Broadway.
They lounge their lives away luxuriously, if not
profitably, and have clerical falsehoods drawled over
their silver-mounted coffins before they are deposited
in family vaults at Greenwood and fashionably forgotten.
The American Jockey Club, August Belmont president, John B. Irving secretary, were to occupy the
handsome club house of the Union League, but abandoned their intent when it was completed. The members have a pleasant house near the Jerome Park,
Fordham, where they often go; but they have no par.
ticular place of rendezvous in town.
447 
TEE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The Hiarmonie, M. Siegman president, Leopold Cahn
secretary, is a Hebrew club. The members are wealthy,
and have a fine house most elegantly furnished. The
Allemania is a German club composed mainly of importers and retired merchants.  The Yacht club, H.
G. Stebbins commodore, Hamilton Morton secretary,
exhibits itself upon the water more than upon land,
and is famous for its fine marine performances.
The Herald has a club composed of members who
are or have been connected with the paper, and meet
at a dinner once a year. The Tribune has or had a
club which included a number of literary men and
women of distinction,-among them Horace Greeley,
George William Curtis, Bayard Taylor, George Ripley,
Edmund Clarence Stedman, Alice and Phoebe Carey,
Lucia Gilbert Calhoun, Kate Field, and others. It has
not met for a long while, and is in a sleep so profound
as to be an excellent counterfeit of death.
The Press club formed a year ago will flourish, it is
to be hoped, though no one can determine if the representatives of the different dailies will co-operate with
each other in perpetuating such an organization.
The New-York journalists are often very narrow and
envious. They are lacking in esprit de corps and generosity of feeling for each other. The smallest jealousies characterize many of the order of Metropolitan
scribes, so much so that all attempts thus far to create
a catholic and fraternal feeling among them have been
signal failures.
A new bachelors' club, it is said, has recently been
formed in the City, and the members, already numbering several hundreds, have rented a handsome house in
Lexington avenue. Celibacy is required for eligibility.
448 
THE CLUBS.
and no one is admitted who is not 25 years old.  The
members, so reports run, are young men of good family, and fashionable, for the most part, and have entered the organization more to protest against wedlock
than from any inadequacy of means to support wives.
Some of them have incomes of $20,000 to $40,000;
and that sum, with care and economy, will provide, in
Manhattan, for a woman who has no social ambition
and no fondness for parade. They are not bachelors,
I fear, in any true sense; but they have elected to live
with the moral freedom which marks Paris and the
continental cities generally.  Bachelorhood is apt to
be pleasant to men until fifty, at least; but, after that,
they lose much of their passion for adventure; women
grow less fond of them; their days of sentimental experiences are on the wane; they wax conservative,
and begin to want some feminine creature who wildly
worships them, and longs to be enslaved by her own
affections. The instinct of tyrant man asserts itself,
and it is usually obeyed.
Quite a passion seems to have manifested itself in
the City for feminine organizations,-more than half a
dozen having been formed, if rumors may be believed,
within as many months. From every one of them men
are rigorously excluded; and, it is said, this is a kind
of womanly revenge for the establishment of wholly
masculine clubs. An effort has been made in the petticoat fraternities, by some of the sentimental members,
to admit the lords of creation; but the sterner sisters
have frowned down the incipient weakness,-declaring
that the life of their peculiar organizations depended
upon rigid adherence to the rule.
The proceedings of the feminine clubs are kept as
29
449
a 
THE GREAT MIETROPOLIS.
secret as they can be, considering the nature of their
composition.   From floating gossip, I have learned
something of their character.
The Sorosis, or Blue Stocking Club, as it has been
called, is composed chiefly of literary women and feminine artists. It was formed last Spring, and has been
the subject of interminable comment in the City, and particularly in the country press. Some of its members
,Are Alice and Phoebe Carey, Kate Field, Lucia Gilbert
(C albon, Octavia Walton Levert, Mary E. Dodge, Sarah
. Ames, Jennie C. Croley, and Mary Clemmer Ames.
The'$orosis Ac. no special purpose beyond enjoyment
and the -,fomgation of a nucleus for women of liberal
mind and    iaed t2at.  The members meet every
month at a lus'ean at the upper Delmonico's, and
have a pleasant time, They have once accepted the
invitation of the Press Club, between which and their
own there seems a strong bond of affinity.  Thev are
agreeable and accomplished women, and their unpretending organization is deserving of commendation.
Another one of the clubs consists of women who are
spiritualists, but don't want -to be known  as such.
Many of them are mediums, but, fearful of ridicule,
they meet in strict privacy Theyvolaim that the spirits
of their friends and of distinguished persons communicate more freely with women, fully in sympathy with
the supersensual doctrines, than they swould if men,
naturally hard and skeptical, were present, Not a few
of the spiritual sisters belong to fashionable society,
and some of them are known  in literature.  All of
them assume to have advanced much higher, and to
have more thorough acquaintance with affairs in the
other world, than any of -the common spiritualists.
.450 
THiE CLUBS.
Their se'ances are said to be very interesting. They
who attend them are reported to "take on" alarmingly at times,-talking, laughing, and weeping with
the dear departed as they would were the spirits in the
flesh.
Still another club is composed of woman's rights
women who seek to avoid publicity.  They are not so
ultra as the Cady and Anthony school, having no desire to vote; but they demand the same rights in property, society, and morals, that men have. The majority of them are married, and confide to one another
the secrets of their households.   Their woes are relieved by sympathy, and they find much comfort, as
women always do, in pouring out their inner lives to
each other. They give counsel to one another, and
they believe they receive vast benefit from the association. The married say, too, that the perfect freedom
they have in the club renders them more loyal and
secure. The organization prevents them from temptation, and from confiding in some man beside their husband, which they are right in considering the first and
most perilous step a wife can take.
A fourth club is made up of young women, belonging to the same "set," who have banded together for
the purpose of making eligible matches, and to find
out whether the men who pay them marked attention
are really in love with them. By such means, they
are apt to detect deceivers and mere flirts, many of
whom are said to have been surprised at the sudden
repulses received from girls they had fancied desperately enamored.
Emma informs Mary what Charles has said; and
Bessie tells Nellie what Augustus has vowed by the
451 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
light of her eyes.   So, when Charles or Augustus
comes to repeat his gallant speeches to a second or
third fair one, he is confounded by the revelation of
his own perfidy.
No one can doubt this is an excellent society, and
ought to be styled the "Unwedded Woman's Heartprotecting Association."
A fifth club is composed of maids, wives and widows, who meet at such times as a committee may appoint. Their object is, I understand, merely to have
a "good time;" and they have one with chatting,
music, wine, and the discussion of the virtues and vices
of their masculine intimates. I should suppose that
would be the most entertaining of any of the clubs,
and that any Peeping Tom might be paid for his curiosity. I hear the applications for membership to that
society are much more numerous than to any other.
Women are such ardent lovers and pursuers of pleasure that a "good time," with them, must mean something. I opine a fit motto for them would be Pope's
familiar couplet:
Some men to pleasure, some to business take;
But every woman is at heart a rake.
The sixth class is composed of actresses of an inferior grade, including a number of ballet-girls, and
very much resembles a benevolent society.  The members pay so much into the treasury every month; and
when any one of them is out of a situation, she is
assisted to obtain a new one, or receives a certain sum
for her support. Several of the leading actresses have
solicited the privilege of becoming honorary members, and have been very liberal in their donations.
Every theater in the City is represented; and the
Dramatic club may do much good.
452 
THiE CLUBS.
The seventh club consists of the class known as
"unfortunate women."  They seem to recognize prostitution as unavoidable in the present condition of
society. They make no effort toward reform, but aim
to help with money those who are sick, indigent or
aged. They say they have befriended a great many
of their fallen sisters, having, in numerous instances,
preserved them from self-destruction.   Singular and
one-sided as this charity is, it is far better than none,
and may lead to means of prevention among the most
wretched class of beings over whom the heavens
bend.
Club-life is not materially different from life at the
Brevoort, or Hoffman, or St. James', except that it is
more private and exclusive, and passed outside of the
society of women, who are not admitted to the clubhouse in any other capacity than as domestics.
Women are inclined to say, if not to think, that
clubs are the dullest and dreariest places in creation
because they are excluded from them. But candor
compels me to say, although I do not wish to violate
the sanctity of the confessional, that club-houses are
quite as pleasant as many houses which pretend to
include paradise within their limits. They are quiet,
well ordered, properly managed, and bountifully supplied; and what more could a reasonable man ask?
The members lounge, read, smoke, talks play billiards,
cards and chess. They have the leading papers and
magazines, domestic and foreign; and, on the whole,
enjoy themselves very tolerably. Some of the members are at the club twelve or fourteen hours out of
the twenty-four, while others do not go there once a
week. There are as many married as single members,
453 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and the former are often the most regular frequenters;
while those who have pleasant homes and affectionate
wives are rare visitors.  When a home is happy, the
club loses much of its attractiveness.
I fancy a feminine reader interjecting something
about woman's bright smiles and sweet sympathy, the
prattle of little children, and the music of their tiny
feet. That is a very pleasant picture; but it has its
disagreeable reverse.
Women weep as well as smile, and indulge in tantrums as well as sympathies; and children's lungs and
limbs are not always exercised as poetry and parents
would have them.  So men without any particular
inclination to domesticity, live very calmly and contentedly at clubs.
"What do you men do? How do you amuse yourselves without us?" asks Ida, the inquisitive, of a club
member.
And he answers:
"We do well enough.  We find amusement, interest,
instruction-call it what you may-looking at life
through the windows; in reading, smoking, dining
with a few agreeable fellows; hearing the gossip of
Society, without making part of it; lounging the days
and nights away serenely, undisturbed by flirtations,
and unhaunted by visions of sentimental scenes that
may be postponed, but cannot be avoided."
"But what do the husbands and fathers mean by
staying away from their wives and children in that
manner?"
"It has been so long since I was a Benedick and a
paterfamilies that I cannot remember. But I presume
the charming family gets along quite as comfortably
454 
THE  CLUBS.
without the member of the club as he without them;
and I am bound to say he seems beyond the need of
consolation as he watches his smoke-wreaths with a
merry twinkle in his eye, and with a certain air of
indulging in an interdicted and, therefore, delicious
pleasure."
'- But I think it is abominable for men to act that
way; and I wouldn't marry a man who belonged to a
club," declares Inez with temper, which she considers
the sweet sympathy of the sex.
A cynic replies:
"Adhere to that, my dear child, and the membership
of clubs will increase accordingly."
"Now you are hateful. That's the effect of belonging to a club. I guess many of the members of your
club would be only too glad to have me for a wife."
Perhaps they would. There are a good many muffs
in the concern."
"Now, I      I     "
By Jove! I've raised a scene," continues the cynic;
the woman's weeping. What shall I do? While the
tears flow I'll light my cigar, and think whether I had
better kiss the pretty simpleton or run away."
455
lk 
CHAPTER LI.
THE BEGGARS
THRE common remark of foreigners visiting the United
States that  there are so few beggars in this country,
will soon cease to be true if all the American cities de velop public mendicancy like New-York.
The Metropolis, I suspect, has as many professional
beggars as all the other cities of the Republic combined,
and the number seems steadily and apidly increasing.
With very rare exceptions, however, the eleemosynary
tribe is composed of foreigners, who, devoid both of
the pride and energy of the Americans, take to the
pitiable calling very kindly, even if they have not followed it before leaving home.
The number of beggars varies here with years, seasons and business. When times are dull, the tribe increases, and when they are active it increases also, for
then more strangers are in town and the field of operations is larger.  In the Spring and Summer it is more
convenient and comfortable to be abroad, and the warm
sunshine acts upon mendicants as it does upon flowers.
and women,-bringing them out in profusion. During
a period of commercial depression, alms-seekers augment perceptibly, many of them, no doubt, being
forced to solicit charity by stern necessity, and others
expecting to profit by the sympathy created through 
THE BEGGARS.
the Press in behalf of the suffering poor. Each year,
however, owing to the vast immigration and the tendency of foreigners to settle in cities, the list of beggars swells. Twenty years ago beggars were comparatively rare, and even ten years since, there was hardly
one where five may be counted now.
The number of professional mendicants in New-York
is estimated at five or six thousand, with several thousand amateurs and persons of both sexes who embrace
the vocation when the harvest promises an abundant
yield.
The varieties for the most part are four-cripples
,'[ A lpj   1  -'    and the sick, children,
~~ Uimp ostors, an   d pre ten d                  e  familers -  the  thir    d  clas s
have disappearbein          g the   largest   and
''~  ~j~~':~~most characteristic, in                       < teaceluding  man y   of   the
most curi     ous specimens,
humpbac  in Ca~and requiri          ng  abilit y
k   k''!and,  enterprise  above
the  o t hers.
lifeorb' ines~   -The   notorious be gga rs
STREET BEGGAR.         of New-York, who had
become familiar to the public through a series of years,
have disappeared since the War-at least most of them.
The half dozen old blind men who were seen in Broadway every fair day as regularly as Trinity clock sounded, the ancient hag in the vicinity of Fulton ferry, the
armless Frenchman near Hanover square, the hideous
humpback in Canal street, the shriveled witch and legless skeleton in the Bowery, have retired either from
life or business.   The Mackerelville dwarf, the nose
457 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
less Pole, the crippled Italian who pretended to have
fought through all the Napoleonic wars, the wooden limbed sailor who sang ballads in Water street and
swore roundly that he was with Perry on the lakes,
and even the gray-haired fury that frightened the
frowsy children in the Sixth ward, have stepped into
the poor-house or the grave.
But another order of beggars is waxing visible,beggars of larger scope and higher aspirations, more
ambitious and enterprising, more daring, original and
fruitful of resources, more reflective of the country and
the time.   Every ship that reaches Castle Garden is
importing them, and the day may not be remote when
we shall rival London in hordes of alms-seekers.
Of all the cities of the world, New York is the best
for beggars to thrive in; for Americans are more cateless of money and more charitable than any people
under the sun, and Gotham gives, unquestioning, with
open hand.
The fame of Manhattan has doubtless gone abroad,
and every nation will send her beggars to us in increased numbers. They are unpleasant additions; but
there is room for them all, and credulity and alms for
every mother's son and daughter who makes a wry
face,and puts forth an empty hand.
As it is, beggars penetrate every quarter and corner
of the town. You dare not leave your front door open,
lest they enter your library or private chamber with a
face that would curdle milkl<. They steal into every
hotel drawing-room, in spite of porters and servants,
and show you their lacerated forms. They come between you and, your friends in Broadway whom you
have not seen since boyhood, and thrust their sickening
458 
THIE BEGGARS.
rags into your very face. They are under your feet
while you listen to the sentimental confidences of Dora
or Drusalinda, and pluck your gloved hand from A1thea's graceful arm as you offer to assist her to her
carriage in Irving place.
The  first class meet with the quickest sympathy
and receive the readiest assistance; for no man
of feeling can see a blind, or maimed or diseased
person without a touch of pity and a prompting to
charity. Everybody knows there is ample provision
in the public institutions for such, and that they would
be a great deal better off there than exposing themselves to sun and storm, to painful attitudes and excruciating grimaces, for artistic and pecuniary effect.
But, to the credit of humanity be it said, our pity for
suffering and our desire to relieve it are so great we
can hardly help giving a trifle on principle; though'it
often happens that, for the sake of freeing ourselves
from annoyance or the contemplation of pain, we
bestow unwilling alms.
The sick and crippled are attended, of course, by
some one who does the talking and describes the woe.
And this companion of misfortune is either a relative
of the afflicted or an employe who receives a proportion of the receipts for his services.
The most unpleasant thing connected with this class
is, that the cripple or his agent insists upon proving
to you ocularly that there is no deceit or imposition in
the case. To that end, shriveled limbs, unsightly
stumps, ghastly wounds, and festering sores are revealed before you can take your money from your
purse or get out of sight. When you are on your way
to dinner, or to visit your beloved, or have composed
in your mind the last stanza of the new poem that has
459 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
given you such trouble, it is not agreeable to be confronted by some loathsome vision. You would have
paid liberally to have be'en saved such an exhibition,
and do pay promptly to be favored with as little of it
as possible.
Beyond question, this revelation of hideousness is a
trick of the trade; the wretched mendicants know
that sensibility will convert itself into charity rather
than be shocked. They have discovered that preparations for exhibition have a quickening effect on
purse-strings and a certain carelessness respecting
change. I have more than once observed grim smiles
of satisfaction on pallid and repulsive faces when such
words as "Here's something; for Heaven's sake don't
show it to me!" have reached their ears.
Begging one would suppose the hardest of lives,
particularly for the halt or the invalid, and yet, such
is the singularity of temperament, persons without
health, or strength, or perfect limbs, will endure day
after day what no one of vigorous constitution would
for the income of Astor or Stewart.  How they live
through it all is beyond solution. But they do, and
apparently are not harmed by it. Year after year
they sit in the broiling sun, or under the descending
storm, with a'sublime patience worthy the admiration
of the gods. Begging is their destiny, and they seem
so superior to the laws govining the rest of mankind
that I am convinced beggars are the only immortals.
The second class are usually the healthiest and cheerfulest children in the City. They are rosy, but dirty;
robust but ragged; and enjoy begging as they do
sweetmeats.  Many of them are sent by their parents
into the streets to ply their vocation, but more are en
460 
THE BEGGARS.
gaged in it on their own account. They are generally
amusing, and some of their efforts at deception are
very droll. They are too young and natural to be artistic, and consequently they blunder not a little.
As you come round the corner of Fourteenth street
from Broadway you see several of them playing and
laughing merrily; but the moment they espy you they
go apart, assume a most woe-begone expression of
countenance, advance to you with outstretched hands,
muttering, "Please help a poor boy whose father's
dead and mother's twelve small children,"-all in one
word. They follow you the length of half the block
sometimes if they see a penny in your eye, reluctant
to surrender hope. But if you go on without regarding them, they turn away, and laugh and play again
until the next stranger appears.
The juvenile vagabonds are frequently beaten at
night by their unnatural parents if they bring home no
money.  But the children so soon learn to cheat and
lie, and steal, as to prevent such punishment. If they
have one good day, they save over a part of their receipts for a bad one.  If they get too little they steal
something and sell it. And, after a certain amount of
experience, learning' their own efficiency, they run
away from their parents and set up for themselves,
until they find their way to the Tombs or Blackwell's
island.
Not a few of the children are pale and haggard, and
sad-eyed, reminding you of Smike, Oliver Twist, or
Little Nell, with the promise of better things in them.
WTith education and training, they would be intelligent
and worthy men and women. Their little eyes look
appealingly at you, and mayhap you try to do some
461 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
thing for them. But, unless you take them from their
surroundings, they become necessarily corrupt, and sink
below the reach of reform. Poisoned air and poisoned
example are too potent, and they graduate at last
into barkeepers, and burglars, and ward-politicians.
The impostors might be termed the intellectual class,
for they require invention, expedients, originality and
tact. They, more than any of the others, are born to
their calling, and are artists after a certain fashion.
Like their fellows they pay a very high price for the
smallest success; but they enter into and prosecute
their profession with enthusiasm, and rejoice over the
cleverness with which they cheat the public. They
have much of the dramatic element in them, playing
parts often more skillfully than the actors in Broadway.
They represent blind men one day, cripples the next,
wounded soldiers the third, robbed immigrants the
fourth, southern Union refugees the fifth, discharged
laborers the sixth, and victims of a railway accident
the seventh. They make up admirably; hide one eye,
conceal an arm or leg, create a cicatrice, simulate a
sore, counterfeit an agony, imitate a grief, in a manner that would yield them histrionic laurels.
They are jolly fellows in their way. They usually
spend freely at night what they have earned by day.
They drink, gamble, lay wagers on dog and cock
fights, and are splendidly improvident, on a small
scale; for have they not genius that can be converted
into postal currency or national banknotes at twentyfour hours notice?
A large portion of these are the men and women
who have led similar lives in Europe, and who have
462 
THE BEGGARS.
come to America induced by the accounts they have
heard of its excellence as a field for their peculiar talents.   They  are  the  borrowers of children  and
babies, the offerers of certificates of worthiness, of discharge papers from the army, of letters of recommendation from "well-known citizens"; and every other
conceivable fraud of person, manner and document.
They probably get more money than any other class,
as is natural enough, for properly directed and intelligent effort always has an advantage over desultory labors.
In spite of their disguise, they stand in a little awe
of New-Yorkers, and prefer to practice their arts on
strangers and people from the country, being much
surer of appreciation and recognition from that quarter.
Like most persons of originality and individuality, they
have strange episodes and crises in their lives, and
usually die dramatically by knife or revolver, delirium
tremens or suicide.  They hate quiet existences, as
Harry Percy did, and, like the fiery Scot, have a penchant for breathing their last with their boots on.
The fourth class are they who make an assumption
of giving an equivalent for charity. They carry about
or have with them detestable cigars that would not
have smoked in the great New-York fire, cheap ballads, papers of pointless pins, withered bouquets, unreadable books, and the like, accompanied with mumbled utterances concerning extreme poverty or peculiar misfortune. Often they have dyspeptic bagpipes, or broken fiddles, or consumptive accordeons,
which any person of sound hearing is willing to pay to
stop.  As no one ever takes any of their merchandise,
their stock, however small, will last for a season.
463 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
This class congregates mostly about the City Hall
park, where last year an irrepressible fiddler, who
never knew a note, was paid a certain sum by the
newspapers to go elsewhere, and where a veteran bagpiper is now receiving proposals to the same effect.
The pretenders also infest Broadway as far as Union
Square, and show an unwelcome fondness for Fourteenth street, Fifth, Lexington and Madison avenues.
Oh well, let them obey their instincts. They are
human, though unfortunate. They are annoying and
irritating, but they have a hard lot, and perhaps deserve more than they get for their trouble in asking.
Ninety-nine out of every hundred are impostors or
professionals; but the one before you may be the exception and really suffering. What you give will not
harm you, and may serve him much.  It is better to
be deceived all your life than once to withhold from
the truly needy.
When you have come to such conclusion, and act
upon it, you will probably find by the first experiment
that you have been deceived.
The other day an old woman, having a few apples
and a little candy to sell, was set upon in Broadway
by a drunken sailor who knocked her down and hurled
her humble wares into the gutter. The ruffian got
away; but the crowd pitying her, made up a little
purse for her. A curious reporter followed her to the
Bowery; and there the scene was re-enacted exactly
and completely. It was repeated a third- and fourth
time, and the performance was always creditably given,
The fellow who played the drunken sailor was the
woman's husband, and the two made money by their
original performance.
464 
THE BEGGARS.
The fortunes of mendicants are usually the creations
of journalists and letter-writers. Few beggars die with
any considerable sums of money, for they either squander it, even after long hoarding, or it is stolen by their
own class. They adhere, most of them, with a strange
perseverance and perversity, to their calling. Begging must have a species of infatuation, like burglary, war, the stage, and journalism.   The New-York
mendicants usually live in noisome cellars and garrets, in the Fourth, Sixth and Eighteenth wards;
live in a wretched manner, that Crabbe would have
delighted to describe; live away from sunlight and
pure air; live worse than the swine until all the
sweetness of nature is crowded out of their ill-conditioned souls, and they find the only peace possible to
them in the grave, most charitable of all alms-givers
to the wretched and forsaken.
MACKERELVILLE TURN-OUT.
30
465 
CHAPTER LII.
STREET-RAILWAYS.
NEW-YORK is much better shaped for a cucumber
than a city. It is so long and slender that people who
abide here pass a large part of their lives in getting
up and down town. Take the hours in which they
are so engaged out of their existence, and they would
not know what to do with themselves. Such a change
would be like extending their day to forty-eight hours.
But getting up and down town, like everything else,
has its uses.  It helps to kill time, (why shouldn't we
kill, when we can, what kills all of us at last?) and
that was one of the original purposes of the Metropolis.
In that, New-York has been a complete success. A
man, and of necessity a woman, can employ more hours
here with less profit, than in any city of the World,
Paris perhaps excepted. It is always noon in NewYork, and before you think of the hour again it is
midnight. So one can get through with his life very
readily while wondering how he has wasted it.
To prevent Gothamites from being surprised at their
own funerals while going to and from business, with
the unimportant consideration of making large fortunes
.by swindling and incommoding the public, street railways were established. They were, doubtless, designed
by Providence to show mortals the wickedness of hu 
STREET-RIAILWAYS.
man ways, and to plant thorns amid the roses of their
pleasure. But for the railways man might long to
linger forever in Manhattan. Compelled to patronize
them, however, day after day, he sees this World is
hollow, and aspires to another where the railways are
not. Thus (it is the Pantheistic belief that partial evil
is universal good) the railways have theologic virtues
and enforce upon the human family the benison of
wretchedness after the most approved orthodox fashion.
What sybarites and epicureans might we not become,
without the trials and sufferings resulting from the
railways! Through them literally and metaphorically
the iron enters the soul.  Beauty and bouquets, love
and happiness may await us up town. But remembrance of the means of getting there spiritualizes the
senses, abates all transports of the blood.  It is the
skeleton at the feast, the hair shirt against the bounding heart, the sword of Damocles above the luxurious
board.
The Rubicon of the rails divides us from our hopes
and anticipations, and when we have passed it, affliction has tempered us to moderate joys. The rails are
as the purgatory through which we must wander before
ascending to the blessings of paradise.
It is a common error to suppose our street-railways
were made for New-York. New-York was made for
them. The island was formed by nature expressly for
their construction, as a glance at the City map will
instantly show. Without them people might get home
too soon, and the weekly bills of mortality would be
too small. Without them human patience and strength,
fortitude and agility, would be less valued because less
467 
ETHE GREAT METROPOLIS.
needed. New-York would be the very city of delights
-a Sodom and Gomorrah perhaps-would undergo a
revolution of agreeableness, but for the iron bonds
that bind us to a cruel doom and the inexorable destiny
of riding on the cars.
This City is for its sins accursed with at least twenty
street-railways in the worst possible condition, running
wherever one does not want to go, through the most
repulsive quarters.   They make  money beyond  all
proportion to their investment; the public patronizing
them liberally because the roads cheat passengers regularly, and are opposed on principle to granting any
accommodation. The roads have no rights (those of
rendering their customers as uncomfortable as possible
are of course natural and inalienable) that vehicles are
bound to respect; and every vehicle that can interfere
with the progress of a car has won the favor of fortune.
The commerce of the Metropolis is opposed to the railways, and does everything in its power to increase their
odiousness. Every possible box and bale, every truck
and truckman that can be used to obstruct the roads
is brought into requisition.
Wagons bearing huge stones and ponderous machinery lie in wait for cars, and break down across the
track. Brick piles tumble at the precise hour one
selects to go up town, and cover the rails with impassable debris.  Even trees blow down, and old women
are seized with fits, and fall directly across the ironbound way.  External, no less than human  nature,
seems in league against the roads; and yet the passengers alone are the sufferers. Everybody and everything declare the railways nuisances, yet they endure
468 
STREET-RIAILWVAYS.
and continue in the face of all opposition, and before
the serious discountenance of the deities themselves.
The railways are all close corporations. The managers and stockholders always deny their profits. They
secretly divide 15, 20 and 25 per cent., and beg for
new privileges to sustain themselves. They declare
they are merely anxious to accommodate the public,
and the only man who ever was accommodated by
them died the next moment from the unexpectedness
of the sensation.
The more money the roads make, the meaner they
get. The larger their dividend, the greater their curtailment of the starvation-salaries of the drivers and
conductors.   They complain that their employes rob
them. Why should they not? The owners plunder
the public; why deny to their servants the same privilege? If ever men were justified in stealing, the drivers and conductors are. Indeed, I am not sure it is
not a virtue, when they are paid forty or fifty dollars
a month, by those whose income is half as much an
hour.
If the employes woufild only steal the roads and the
right of way at the same time, they would be public
benefactors.   We should honor them with crowns, and
guarantee them against the prosecution of directors.
The wonderful creature who renders street-railways
impossible shall have a monument in Union Square
higher than Washington's, and be represented on two
horses. What is the father of his country compared
to the mother of reform? The former was childless.
The offspring of the latter will be blessed and unnumbered.
Extinguish the street-railways, root and branch, and
lw
469 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
steam-cars, the greatest need of the Metropolis, will
supply their place.
The traveler in the cars has a career of his own.
The experience is peculiar as a life in Japan. One
learns cynicism and feels suffocation in daily rides, socalled for courtesy, through the sinuosities and odors
of the filthiest streets.  There is no monotony, some
romance, much danger and more disgust in the cars.
Certain preparations are desirable, however, for the
performance. The regular passenger should lose his
sense of smell; have the capacity to shut himself up
like.a patent umbrella; be able to hang on a platform
by the lids of his eyes; hold drunken men and fat
women on his lap, eight or nine at a time, without dissatisfaction or inconvenience; put weeping and screaming children in his waistcoat pocket, and deliver them
promptly when wanted; keep his temper and his portmonnaie; be skilled as a pugilist and a crack-shot with
a revolver. Those are the essentials for anything like
resignation in the cars. The desiderata are beyond
enumeration. But the best thing for a man or woman
to do, who deems himself or herself compelled to ride
on the cars, is to take some other conveyance.
A volume might be written on the drolleries and
adventures of the railway victims. He who has ridden
on the cars for a few years, and outlived it, is as interesting as a man who has been through the War, or
thrice married, or half his' life a prisoner with the Indians.  He bears a charmed life.  He could jump over
Niagara without disarranging his hair; or walk up to
the bridal altar without trembling. He could do anything. He could read the morning papers without
falling asleep.
470 
STREET-RAILWAYS.
He has had all sorts of diseases, from the acura
scabies to typhus fever. HIe has been run over in every
part of his body. He has been robbed of his valuables so often that conductors believe him a monomaniac on the subject of pocket-picking. He has been
beaten and cut and shot almost everywhere between
his head and heels by pleasant gentlemen who insisted
upon confounding his watch with theirs, and who held
it as a cardinal article of faith that any one that insisted
on keeping his own property deserved killing for the
first offence, and to be a City Alderman for the second.
The discomforts and perils of car-journeying can
hardly be over-estimated. That our people-will undertake it merely proves the national recklessness. Prudent persons leave their purses and watches inl the safe
deposit company, and carry bowie-knives and derringers before venturing from Barclay to Forty-second
street. I am often lost in admiration at the feats of
postering and corporal convolution I witness on the
cars, and wonder why people will pay to see the Arabs
and Japanese, when they can for nothing have much
more of that exhibition than they want.
Think of a corpulent fellow balancing himself on a
young woman's toes, and stealing his neighbor's breastpin without changing his position!  Imagine a slender
little chap holding himself over the end of the car by
thrusting his h'ead between the conductor's legs, and
gamins in the street,pulling his boots off, unknown to
him, while the car goes round the corner! Fancy a
baby sleeping on the summit of a drunken man's hat
which is waltzing over the top of the vehicle! Picture
a clown making a bootjack of a pretty seamstress' bonnet while his back is endeavoring in vain to accom
471 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
modate itself to the digestion of that timid clericallooking person, who is dozing from exhaustion, and
dreaming his stomach has been made the foundation
of the new post-office, already complete. Could the
gymnasts of the other hemisphere do anything like
that?
Hlow true it is that we never appreciate what lies
before us! The marvels of street-railways impress us
not. Neither their tragedy nor their comedy touches
us. We have no idea what we endure, or what we
escape, when we ride up or down town.  We breathe
,an atmosphere of poison, and do not die. We travel
with thieves and ruffians and murderers, and feel no
alarm. We seize men by the beard or nose, and hang
there, our feet resting only on vicious atmosphere,
until we reach Harlem or Yorkville; and they never
murmur; for they can't surrender the luxuries of the
cars.
Who says the days of miracles have passed?
Our street-railways are still tolerated; and New-York
ye% remains outside of a lunatic asylum-perhaps because it is a paradise of fools.
472 
CHAPTER LIII.
THE PAWNBROKERS.
LovE of money is the root of all evil, according to
the Scriptures; but in these modern days, want of
money is nearly as prolific of ill. In great cities where
almost everything must be bought, poverty is at least
one parent of sin. The prosperous are rarely tempted;
have little excuse for crime. But to those whom indigence presses, the way to wickedness is all down hill.
In vast commercial centers, sin is only another name,
usually, for ignorance or suffering. Where ease and
culture are, the ghastliness of crime is rarely seen.
But material necessity drives men headlong, and urges
them to perdition or to woe.
These truths are constantly exemplified at the pawnbrokers' offices, the sombre half-way houses between
wretchedness and death.   The  pawnbroker's shop
should be under the shadow of the Morgue, for the
distance between them is often shudderingly short.
Pawnbrokers' offices are plague spots upon the fair
forms of cities.   They show deep-seated if not incurable disease. They are the symbols of suffering,
the representatives of misfortune and of want.  They
cannot exist in entirely healthful atmospheres. Like 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
certain noxious plants, they feed on the poisons of the
air.
Pawnbrokers' offices are bad signs for cities. Where
they are most, the places are worst.   The locality that
favors them is sickly and stricken with grief Dirt,
and over-crowding, and rum-selling, and prostitution,
and wretchedness in every form, are fit neighbors for
pawnbrokers' shops; for among, and out of, such surroundings, the three golden balls gleam dismally.
Our best quarters reveal no pawnbrokers.   They
are banished from the light of content and of comfort.
They creep out of Broadway even, away from the
pleasant breathing-places, into the regions where the
air is foul, and the houses look dark.
The east side of the town abounds in them.   Chatham street and the Bowery are devoted to them.
There are several hundreds, probably, in the whole
City. They grow with its growth of poverty, and
strengthen with its strength of misfortune. They may
not impress others as they do me. But I never pass
them on the fairest day, that the sun does not seem a
little obscured, and the freshest breeze touching them
has the sense of taint.
Pawnbrokers are born; they are rarely made.  Like
corporations, they have no souls.   They subsist on
adversity as vultures on carrion.   They are of ill
omen, and riot in ruin. They are of one race, generally, and look like cruel brothers, banded together
in the cause of avarice against humanity.
The phrenologists are fond of giving typical heads,
calling them the thinker, the observer, the bully, the
fool. Why don't they give the pawnbroker? He is
distinctive.  Hie is a lHuman type of inhumanity.  You
47-4 
THE PAWNBROKERS.
would know him among a thousand men.  Hils eye is
keen, but cold and pitiless. His complexion is unwholesome. His atmosphere repels you. His beak is
prominent and sharp. His movements are stealthy.
His air is treacherous. When he passes, if you are
sensitive, you shudder without seeing him, and instinctively feel for your pocket-book. No doubt he
has a heart somewhere, could you but find it; but it
is not in his business. When he enters his shop, he
shuts up the troublesome organ, locks it, and hangs
the key out of reach.
"Come hither, ye that are needy," he says, "and if
ye have aught, it shall be taken from you."
I presume he reasons himself into a certain stern
justice of his calling.  Perhaps he says to himself: "I
am hard; but the World is hard also. I am pitiless,
but destiny is pitiless. I must live. I am against my
kind; but my kind is against me. Am I not wise to
steel myself against my fellows, who would cheat me
if they could?"
The pawnbroker offends not the law-the law that
legislators make. Neither does the smooth destroyer
of human happiness, the quiet treader upon tender
hearts. Alas, that the deepest crimes are those the
law cannot reach!
Pawnbrokers' offices are different in seeming, though
their dealings are all alike. They show the close connection between moral and material purity.  They are
generally dismal and unclean. They are musty, and
savor of foulness. Dust and grime are upon them.
They reek with unwelcome odors.   But sometimes
they affect cheerfulness and pleasantness. They put
flowers on their counters, and birds against their walls.
475 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
But they are the wreaths on tombs. The flowers have
little fragrance; the birds will hardly sing.  Nature
has her own secrets, and she cannot deceive.
Look into yonder shop! A fleet of all wares seems
to have stranded within its walls.  What old jewelry
and old clothes establishments have emptied themselves
there!  What glitter,   and gewgaws,  and rubbish!
What odds and ends of civilized forms are these!
HIas the Nile of creation overflowed, and left these
d~bris upon its banks? One wonders so small a place
can hold such variety.  Here are watches of every
pattern and value,.from the elegant and modern chronometer, to the queer, old-fashioned time-piece George
the First might have carried; from the dainty, enameled trinket that may very naturally have forgotten to
reckon time in some sweet woman's bosom,  to the
pewter monster created to deceive.   Here are diamonds, and rubies, and pearls, and emeralds in gold
forms, that our great-grandmothers wore, and in gold
fresh and bright as from Broadway cases.
Weapons of divers sorts are in the place, as if the
broker had gone with a search-warrant for arms, over
all the World. Guns, and pistols, and knives, and
swords, and daggers.  Curiously wrought, some of
them; such as I seem to have seen in Sicily, Smyrna,
India and Arabia.   A  Colt's revolver lies against a
Revolutionary musket.   A  Spanish stiletto supports
itself upon an American  bowie-knife.   A  delicate
poniard hangs from the same nail with a Scotch broadsword.
What a heap of clothing, too!   The remnant of
Life's masquerade might have ended here.  The last
revelers must have been frightened, slipped out of
w
476 
THE PAWNBROKERS.
their costumes, and fled. The fashions of centuries
seem represented. Gowns that the duchess of Portsmouth might have worn for profligate Charles' admiration, or Maintenon asked Louis to approve, or Agnes
Sorrel put on to find new favor with her royal lover.
That resembles the dress the handsome English woman
danced in that memorable evening at Brighton, and
ran away in, perhaps, the next morning, with her
lover, her husband's best friend.  This delicate, but
now soiled pearl-colored silk, I imagine I waltzed with
last season, at the Academy, in a space five feet square.
But I dare say I am at fault.  My imagination deceives
me as it did about the wearer. She was a darling
while I flattered her; but a devil When I told her the
truth.
We wear the invisible cap, you know.   You and I
will stand aside, reader, and see who patronizes the
broker.  Our Hebrew friend is engaged in filing a
gold coin, and won't perceive us, so intent is he upon
his little fraud.
No grief in this showy, coarse woman's face as she
enters. She is gaily and expensively attired. She is
painted like a new sign-board, and redolent of musk.
Her voice is unpleasant, and her syntax blunders.
"What'll you lend me on this'ere?  (She offers a
large gold miniature, with a sad, feminine face that
looks older from trouble than years.) You see it's
purty."
"Vell, madam,  ve can't shell dese tings.  Osher
beeble's picshers ishn't vorsh much  vid us.   Only
goot for ole golt, dat ish all, madam, I pledges you
mine vort of honor. I geeve you fife tollars.- dash
ish more dan it ish vorsh, I shvear."
477 
YTlie GREAT METROPOLIS.
"0 well, take it along.  I don't want it.  It makes
me feel onpleasant whenever I look at it." 
She delivers the miniature, receives the monley, and
trips out.
"Dat ish a goot bargain," chuckles Mr. Abrahamhs.
" I knows dem kind of vimmen.  Dey'll take anyshing.
I can git twenty-five dollars for dis any time I vant.
I hope I ave more cushtomers like her."
The miniature has a history, as almost everything
else has in a pawnbroker's collection. It belonged to
a poor seamstress who came to the City from New-Jersey, and with whom fortune went ill. She was thrown
out of employment; was almost starving; was driven
to prostitution. For two years she led a life she hourly
revolted at. She fell sick of brain fever. Before a
week was over, the proprietress of the house in which
she sold herself-the coarse woman that has just departed-demanded payment of the girl's board.Mloney the girl had not, nor a friend'in the whole City.
The hard woman searched her trunk; found the miniature of the poor child's mother, and seized it for
debt. Edith pleaded hard for that; but she pleaded
to marble. Forsaken,' wretched, desperate, consumed
with fever, mad with sufferings of body and mind, she
went out that very night; begged money enough to
buy laudanum, and was found dead in the morning.
Old as the story is, it were blessing if age could rob
it of its horror.
This sleek-looking person puffs his cigar calmlyas
he draws a fine watch and chain from his pocket, and
lays them silently on the counter.   "Feefty dollar,"
hesitatingly utters Mr. Abrahams.
"0 you be d    d!  Give me a hundred, and you
shall have it."
478 
THE PAWNBROKER.
" Vell, I'll shust tell you, Misther Munroe.   Dis
vatch     "
" O dry up, you old Jew! Give me the money or
the watch!"
"You'se a sharp shentleman;" and the Israelite
tries to laugh, as he hands over a hundred dollar note.
"Sharp, you old scoundrel? The watch is worth
three times this.  I'll redeem it to-morrow.   But I
had a bad run at faro last night. Better luck tonight."
Soliloquizing he departs.
The watch belonged to a merchant in West Broadway. His son has been gambling lately; and his father refusing to give him money, the young scapegrace carries off the paternal chronometer; places it
before the hungry tiger, and the tiger devours it at a
mouthful.
A low, square forehead thrusts itself into the doorway. A bad eye darts into the shop, and then up the
street and down and across. Then a heavy form with
a light step advances warily.
"Somethin' han'some this mornin' Abrahams. Good
for sore eyes, old cully."
"Come dish way," and the broker beckons the brutal-looking man into a little room in the rear.
A conversation in a low tone; and in a few moments
the cautious animal creeps out; again darts his eye
up and down and across the street, and hurriedly disappears.
The broker returns to the shop, his eyes dancing
over a pair of' bracelets that kindle in the light. In
his gladness he knocks down a musket in the corner. He
starts in terror; conceals his treasure, and tries to look
479 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
bland and innocent, which makes him seem twice a
villain.
The bracelets were stolen two nights before by the
burglar who brought them there, from a house in Twenty-third street, where the inmates sleep sound, and leave
their keys in the doors.
MIr. Abrahams has a number of such customers, but
he does not keep what they leave with him in pledge;
for he fears the police may be looking for the stolen
wares, and knows that they will never be redeemed.
Pale and sad is she who comes so timidly in. She
looks the picture of pity. Any lineament of her face
would melt any heart but a pawnbroker's. Lamartine
would write a poem to it; and an unsentimental American would give it five dollars. She trembles, and is
so nervous she cannot speak while she draws from
her bosom a little gold cross and chain. She turns
partially, and kisses them ere she delivers them to his
unholy hands. She puts her delicate hand to her
slender chest, and coughs hollowly. Her lips move,
but no audible sound escapes.
"Vas ish it, mish? I cannot hear you."
She summons courage and strength, and says, "My
mother is dying, sir.  We have no money in the house.
I can't even buy medicine for her. Give me something for the little cross. But keep it, please. It is
very precious to me. I'll redeem it when my poor
mother is dead; for then I can work again."
Tears choke her, and, putting her head in her hands,
she sobs bitterly.
"Your mutter is dyin'; oh, yes;  mutters die like
everybody elsh.  But is it sholid gold, mish?  I give
two tollars."
480 
THE PAWNBROKERS.
"Two dollars?" and the weeping girl looks up. "It
cost $30."
"But den you see prishes has gone up so dese tings
isn't worsh so much as dey vas.  Two tollar is de full
value. Nopaddy would geeve more."
"I thought you would give me at least $10. But I
must take what I can get. Do not detain me, please.
There's nobody but a little girl who lives down stairs
with mother."
"Dere ish two tollar. I would not geeve so mooch.
But we musht be sharitable to de poor. De Hebrews
always ish."
The girl was gone without hearing this richly-deserved eulogium upon the remnant of the Lost Tribes.
Such are but a few of the scenes that daily, occur at
the pawnbroker's.   He is patronized by gamblers,
courtesans, adventuresses, thieves, and men-about-town.
If they were his only customers, it would be well. But
the honest poor, the suffering needy, the unfortunate, the outcast, the miserable waifs floating between despair and suicide, are taken in his cruel net.
They all pay tribute to his avarice. Every fresh call
makes them wretcheder and more dependent. The
small "advances" they get are wrung out of their
blood and being. Each loan is a new fetter and another stab.   The pawnbroker covers them-with a
shroud-and helps them-to a pauper's grave.  They
never reach him until friends and fortune have deserted
them. When they knock at his door hope has almost
gone out of their heart.   The three balls represent
poverty, misery, abandonment.  When their shadow
has fallen often upon the needy it is rarely lifted.
The shade of the pawnbroker's shop is baleful as
31
481' 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
that of the fabled Upas. Content quits the borrower
at the threshold, and adversity and woe bring him
back. Dissipation and idleness frequently lead to it;
but they who are victims of one or the other, are not
less to be pitied because their temperament binds them
to their courses.   Struggle as we  may, organization
and circumstance are the genii that control our lives.
Every pledge has its secret history. A tender and
tearful'idyl is hidden in that necklace; a strange romance is locked up in this casket; a tragedy of life
and love is in the well-worn cashmere shawl.  The'
pistol ticketed 415 made a death that startled the community.  The musket in the corner killed Albert Sidney Johnson at Shiloh.   The carbine wreathed with
cobwebs made the fatal wound of Stonewall Jackson,
and blew perhaps a whole year out of the War. The
locket with the golden hair nestling in it like a sunbeam might tell a tale so sad that to hear it would be
to weep. The cameo pin was worn on a pagan bosom
that stilled its pangs of passion with poisoned wine.
The garnet ring was worn by one of whom the World
has heard. It passed from him to a leman's finger, and
now burns for the unforgotten shame of a deserted wife
and a base intrigue.
The prose and poetry, the sin and suffering, the romance and reality, the comedy and tragedy of life are
strangely blended at the pawnbroker's; and he who
could unravel all the strange facts from the heterogeneous mass could give new plots to new Cinthios, and
wonderful narratives for Bocaccios yet unconceived.
482 
CHAPTER LIV.
' CHILDREN'S AID SOCIETY.
WHAT is at present known as the Children's Aid Society is one of the most valuable and deserving among
the many charities of the Metropolis.
A prominent feature of the society is the newsboys'
lodging-house, for many years in Fulton street, near
Nassau, but recently removed to 49 and 51 Park place.
The house was established in 1854, by the Rev. Charles
L. Brace, who had been pained to observe the little
vagabonds sleeping in boxes, stairways, and coalholes,
in the vicinity of the newspaper offices. He called
the subject to the attention of a number of benevolent persons; and the first means to defray the expenses of the enterprise were raised in the Rev. Theodore
Cuyler's church.  The  earliest difficulty in the way
was to obtain a place for the newsboys, who were not
then any more than they are now, a very inviting
class to those whose sympathies are wholly of an esthetic character. Various localities were found; but
no one would have the soiled and sinful urchins on
his premises.
At last, Moses Y. Beach, of the old Sun, offered the
loft of his building for the purpose, and said the boys
should be kept there if every tenant left. The quarters were not pleasant by any means.  They were fes 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
tooned with cobwebs and frescoed with dirt; but soap
and water, whitewash and paint, soon rendered them
habitable, and even respectable.
Accommodations for 75 or 80 lodgers were prepared;
notice given in the daily papers, and the leaders of
the boys informed of the fact. For a short time the
superintendent had considerable trouble with some of
the little wanderers; but discipline and order were
soon secured. The boys could not understand what
all this care for them meant. They were naturally
suspicious; thought it was a prelude and disguise to
some kind of house of refiige: they even termed it
a Sunday school trap; but they were so kindly treated
and given so much freedom, that they finally concluded
the intention was to benefit them.
Gambling and useless spending of money were the
most grievous faults of the lodgers. Some of them
earned $4 or $5, and others only 75 cents to $1 a day;
but all their earnings, whether great or small, went for
the theater, cards, dice, betting and lottery tickets;
while they remained ragged and needy as ever.  To
counteract such follies, checkers, backgammon, and
dominoes were introduced with excellent effect; and a
bank was also established.
The bank is a table with a drawer, divided into separate compartments, with a slit in the lid,-each compartment being numbered and reserved for a different
depositor. Into the little boxes the boys put their
money; and at the end of a month, it is returned to
them, to do what they choose with it.  They are generally surprised to find how much they have saved, and
either buy clothes or place their money in a regular
savings bank.  The custom cures most of them of ex
484 
CHILDRENS' AID SOCIETY.
travag,ance. They are paid five per cent. interest per
month, and premiums are given to the lads who save
the most. They save $200 to $250 a year, independent
of what they deposit and invest for their own benefit.
The present house is a vast improvement o n theold
one. It is a; handsome building; three floors are used;
and the rent is $4,500 per annum. It has large, airy
dormitories, bath-rooms, gymnasium, school-room, and
chapel,-$8,000 or $10,000 having been expended
in fitting up the building. The directors hope soon
to erect a house of their own  in the Bowery; and
probably they will have the necessary means before ar-'
other year.
The house now has accommodations for 260 boys.
They pay five cents for their bed and five cents for
their meals;-a small payment rendering them independent, and exercising a good influence that would
not exist if they were treated as paupers. If the
little fellows have no means, they are provided with
food and shelter just the same, and make payment
when they can. Those who are able rarely fail to
meet their obligations; and the training they receive
inspires them with a sense of honesty and honor.
Since the establishment of the house, over 300,000
lodgings have been supplied to homeless boys; and it
is estimated that 40,000 different lads have been the
recipients of the charity.  The lodgers have contributed nearly $3,000 a year to the support of the institution, and the receipts from that source are constantlv
and steadily increasing.
The house is not a home, as many suppose. It is
the special design of the directors that it shall not be.
If it were, the lodgers would lose their self-reliance
and ambition.
%I
485 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Emigration is one of the peculiar and best features
of the house. The lodgers are sent to the country,
and there provided with homes. They are shipped in
companies, and at very considerable expense, to all
parts of the country, but mostly to the West. A single
company, which varies from 15 to 100, sometimes
costs $1,000. During the past year, 1,381 boys emigrated; and 473 girls, 38 men, and 51 women, from
other charitable institutions in the City,-making a
total of 1,943.  The expenditure of this house for the
year was $9,916.31, deducting $3,177.69 paid by the
bog.
bhe effect of the society is shown in the decrease of
street-vagrants and wanderers from 40,000 in former
years to 15,000 to 20,000 at present. Of the whole
number for the year, 147 were restored to their friends.
The Girls' Lodging-house, No. 205 Canal street, is not
designed for the fallen or for mature women, but for
young persons exclusively who have not been tempted
into the one sin society is so loth to forgive in the
other sex, and so prompt to pardon, as if a glory, in ours.
The superintendent's orders are not to admit girls
over 18, unless in cases of emergency or evident suffering. The house has been sorely in need of funds; but
what means it has had it has expended judiciously. It
is economically and plainly conducted; but it is an
improvement on what the poor girls have been accustomed to.   During eight and a half months, nearly
1,000 girls were lodged. During the past year, 1,079
were lodged, and 10,216 lodgings given, of which
3,400 were paid; 29,761 meals furnished, and 6,805
paid. Of the number, 158 girls obtained situations;
19 found employment; 44 returned to friends; 49
1
486 
THE CHILDREN'S AID SOCIETY.
wept to other institutions; 50 went West, and one to
Europe.
The receipts during the year were $1,380.36, and
the expenditures three times as much. Many of the
inmates are girls from the country, who come to the
City with the hope of improving their condition, or
tempted by what they conceive to be its attractions.
Some are driven from their homes by the unhappiness
they experience there, and others by a spirit of desperation.
Girls who go there without money can pay for their
board by work. They perform the household duties, and
some of them learn to sew excellently. The discipline
is very light, and little is required. They can leave
the house when they like; but few, unless they run
away, depart until they have procured good situations
They have pleasant social gatherings and evening parties, when they talk, read, and have quiet games.  It
not unfrequently happens that girls who have been
betrayed into unchastity are reformed at the house.
When quite young, repentant, and anxious to lead a
better life, much success has been had with them.
The Refuge for Homeless Children, corner of Eighth
avenue and Twenty-fourth street, is another lodginghouse for boys.  This charity is maintained at very
small cost, the rent being more than met by sub-letting.
The net cost of last year, with an average of 65 boys
to feed and lodge at.night, was only $1,075 to the public. The total expenses for that time was $5,141.68.
Eight hundred and ninety-seven were received, of
whom 11 were sent West; 18 obtained situations; 36
were restored to friends; 85 sent to friends; 9 to other
institutions. The number of lodgings furnished was
487 
:THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
23,933, of which but 933 were free.   The meals supplied were 39,401, and 3,655 of them free.
Another boys' lodging-house, for the benefit of the
homeless boys of the Eleventh ward, is doing a good
work.   It furnished during the past  year 11,583
lodgings, and 12,810 meals, at the usual price, 5 cents
each, and collected $1,175.54.  It lodged during the
year 635 boys.
Other lodging-houses are open for homeless boys, in
First'avenue, and at Corlear's Hook; and twenty industrial schools, with four night schools and four free
reading-rooms, are included in the Aid Society. The
schools have 47 teachers, and the children in attendance, nearly all of them little girls, numbered in the
aggregate last year almost 6,000.  The average attendance was more than 2,000. One school, No 110 Centre street, exclusively for Italian  children, contains
about 200.   Another, solely for Germans,  No  272
Second street, has some 400 in attendance.  Still another for colored children, No. 185 Spring street, has
nearly 100. A new school, lodging-house and free
reading-room, opened last year, at No. 327 Rivington
street, has some ninety children, and the lodging-house
nightly shelters, on an average, eighty homeless boys.
Some of the best women of the City voluntarily and
gladly devote themselves to the industrial schools.
They feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and enlighten
the ignorant. Many of the little outcasts are unfit to
be seen until they are supplied with garments.
The expenses of the Aid Society last year were
about $115,000, and for fifteen years  $510,243.35.
The number of children who have emigrated was 207
in 1854, and last year 1,943,-a steady increase each
488 
THE CHILDREN'S AID SOCIETY.
year, and swelling in the whole fifteen years to 14,879,
nearly nine-tenths of whom may be said to have been
literally saved.
The inner history of the Society would read like a
romance, and prove conclusively the extent and solidity of its benefits. Dozens of men and women, now
well educated, in prosperous circumstances and honored members of society, were not many years since,
little outcasts and wanderers, and would have come
to a bad end but for the protecting arms of the Aid
Society.
In 1856, a boy of sixteen lost his parents through
excessive intemperance, and, thrown upon the street,
he began to sell newspapers for a livelihood. He was
intelligent, energetic and persevering; but he had inherited a love for liquor that he could not resist. He
squandered his money; was a drunkard in a few
months, and would have died in the gutter but for the
influence of the Society. Some of the benevolent
persons belonging to that organization saw him one
night when he entered the lodging-house intoxicated;
cared for him kindly, and the next morning, when he
was sober, talked to him earnestly and tenderly, painting what would be his future unless he reformed. He
said he could not stop drinking; that he had tried in
vain.  They urged him to abstain for a week, at the
end of that time, to make it a fortnight, and then a
month.
The experiment was entirely successful.  He did
not drink a drop of spirituous liquor for six months,
and has not from that day to this. He was placed in
a large mercantile establishment as a messenger. Hle
was quick-witted, trustworthy, truthful, industrious.
189 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
He lost no opportunity of learning. He attended the
night-schools, and at the end of the second year was
made assistant book-keeper. He was again advanced
and his salary fixed at $2,500. An opportunity for a
good business interest occurred in the West, and the
senior member of the New-York firm lent him the
money to put into the concern. He became a partner;
is there now; happily married;- worth $30,000, with
years of,usefulness before'him. His example is one of
many.
Religious exercises and instructions are given in all
the houses and schools. An effort is made to prevent
the boys from continuing long as newspaper-sellers,
boot-blacks, rag-pickers, messengers, or peddlers, as
the continuance of such callings ism found to be peraicious. A good home in the country is the best place
for the children; and the Aid  Society is doing such
a noble and excellent work in that way, as few persons
who have not examined infito its system and operations
can believe. All who visit the institutions approve
and applaud the charity, which, it is to be hoped, will
be enlarged and perfected more and more as the City
grows and the years go on.
490' 
CHAPTER LV.
JAMES GORDON, BENNETT.
JAMES GORDON BENNETT, the journalist, is known on
both sides of the Atlantic; James Gordon Bennett, the
man, is hardly known outside of the Herald office. Indeed, persons who have been employed in that establishment for years have never set eyes on its famous
editor and proprietor. All his power, reputation and
influence exist in and through the Herald. In it, he is
every thing; out of it, nothing.
Probably the history of journalism in this or any
other country does not show another instance of such
complete absorption by, and identification with, a newspaper as that of Bennett and the Herald. To the Herald he has devoted most of his mature life-his best,
and ripest, and richest years. All that he is and has
been he has poured, with mental and physical prodigality, into the great newspaper which bears his name, and
has yielded him a vast fortune for his purpose and his
pains.
Bennett was born of Catholic parents, in 1797, in
Banffshire, Scotland, and remained at school there until
hle was fourteen or fifteen. He was then sent to a Catholic academy at Aberdeen, wvith the view of taking sacerdotal orders; but after staying there for two or three
years, during which time he devoted himself assiduously 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
to his books, he became dissatisfied, and resolved to
surrender all priestly aspirations. His parents, said to
be wealthy and influential, had set their hearts upon his
leading a clerical life, and were so much opposed to his
abandoning it that a rupture ensued between them and
their boy, and he quitted his native land forever.
Young Bennett, in 1819, with a companion of
about his own age, embarked on a vessel  coming to
America, and arriving at Halifax, without money or
friends, took to teaching for a livelihood.  He did not
succeed to his satisfaction, and in a few months went
to Portland, Me., and then to Boston, where he found
employment as a proof-reader in Wells & Lily's publish.
ing house. At that time he was much addicted to solitary rambles and the exercise of his imagination. He
wrote a number of poelms of rather a cynical, semisentimental kind, suggested by his lonely walks in and
about the metropolis of New-England.
In 1822 he came to New-York and engaged himself
to some of the daily and weekly papers as a reporter
and general writer. But wearying of his journalistic
connections, he went to Charleston, S. C., where he was
employed by the Courier as a translator of French and
Spanish, occasionally contributing sketches and poems
to the paper. In his early years he was singularly restless, though very industrious and of remarkable versatility in composition. After a year or two he returned to
New-York, where he undertook to set up a commercial
school, but either failed or abandoned his design. He
next turned his attention to political economy, and delivered a series of lectures on the subject, in the vestry
of the Old Dutch Church, in Ann Street.
About this time he began to entertain the idea of
492 
JAMES GORDON BENNETT.
adopting journalism as a profession, having come to the
conclusion that it was his vocation.  In 1825 he made
his first effort as a proprietor, in the Sunday Courier;
but not succeeding he became a reporter and writer for
its columns.   He left the paper, however, in a few
months, began the XTational Advocate, a Democratic
journal, and opposed the tariff and the system of banking. In 1827 he became a warm advocate of Martin
Van Buren, at that time in Congress, and, on the decease of the Advocate he associated himself with M.
M. Noah in the editorial management of the Enguirer,
then in the Tammany Hall interest. The year following he went to Washington as correspondent of the paper, and, after serving faithfully and zealously in that
capacity for about twelve months, he became the associate editor of the Courier and Enguirer, the two journals having been merged in one.  Remaining two or
three years in that capacity, he quarreled with James
Watson Webb, the leading editor, went out of the concern, and issued the Daily Globe.  The new paper lived
exactly one month and expired. It did not require
much capital to conduct a paper thirty-five years ago,
even in the Metropolis, but the funds required for such
enterprises were very difficult to raise.
Bennett, then in his thirty-fifth year, had been connected with at least a dozen papers, in different capacities, and had been any thing but prosperous. Those
who knew him declared he had mistaken his calling;
that while he had decided ability and energy, he lacked
tact and managing power. He, however, retained his
faith in himself, and was wont to say he had never got
started right. He continually talked about having a
paper of his own some day, which he felt sure would be
493 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
a great success. It is quite likely he had become some what discouraged by his failures here, for he went to
Philadelphia at the latter part of 1832, raised money
enough to purchase the Penneylvanian, and assumed
editorial charge of it. That city was not large enough
for him, and he still believed New-York to be the best
place for him to fix the lever with which he hoped to
move the American world.
Consequently, after two years' residence on the Dela ware, he came back to the Hudson, and in 1835 issued
the first number of the Herald.
Bennett had very little money-only a few hundred
dollars, it is said, when he set up his last newspaper in
the basement of a building in Ann Street, not far from
where the present marble structure rears its costly head.
Ihis editorial desk was a board on two barrels, and on
that he wrote untiringly, for the first few weeks doing
all the ed.;orial work himself, filling the little sheet
with verses, aromatic gossip, pungent paragraphs, city
sketches, and such light and varied matter as the public
always like to read.
Whatever the character of the contents of the ferald
in those days, Bennett knew what the mass of people
relished, and he catered to them zealously. The paper
was a pecuniary success fromn the beginning. In a few
weeks he was enabled to employ assistance, making a
feature of city news and local events, in which he hadno rivalry? the dailies being heavy, and prosy to the
last degree. The omm-ercial Advertiser, Evening Post
and Journal of Commerce were alive then, but they
seemed scarcely conscious of the fact, and did nothing
to dispute the more modern and novel field the Herald
had opened.
494 
JAMES GORDON BENNETT.
The great fire in this City, soon after the birth of the
new paper, gave Bennett ample opportunity to show
his enterprise, and he embraced it vigorously. The following morning the little daily contained a full account
of the " destructive conflagration,"  as the reporters
would call it, with all the incidents and accidents given
in a vivid and picturesque style.  That was really, as
the Herald is so fond of stating, a new era in journalism;
and from that day to this, merely as a newspaper, it
has probably had no equal anywhere.
Bennett the man is Bennett the journalist. He has
breathed his individuality and al} his idiosyncrasies into
it.  Not many persons believe in the Herald.  Its influence is limited among cultivated people; and yet
hardly any one denies its tact and enterprise. Bennett
makes no pretension, privately, to molding public opinion:
he follows it. He is inconsistent, because it is his interest;
for his avowed object has been from the first to give the
news and make money. Principle he has not, because he
believes in no one. He has no convictions, and does not
think any one has them. Nothing, in his view, deserves
serious treatment. All men and all pursuits are shams.
One thing is no better than another, and we are all selfish
to the core when found out.
He understands the philosophy of journalism; that
a newspaper is entirely a thing of to-day; that few
readers care for the issue of yesterday or to-morrow,
whiffi are as if they had never been. Therefore he
issues every number of the Herald as if there had been
none before, and would be none after it. He believes
with Emerson that " Consistency is the hobgoblin of
little minds," and acts accordingly.
Privately, Bennett is a very honest and strictly moral
495 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
man. He owes no one, and so far as I can learn, never
did owe a dollar; paying his debts having always been
with him the first of obligations. Hie was never other
than industrious and abstemious, and is said to be very
charitable without the least ostentation.  Ever since his
marriage, which was, I think, in 1837, he has been a
pattern of domesticity; is extremely devoted to his
wife, a highly accomplished woman, and his two children,
James Gordon, Jr., the manager of the Herald, and a
daughter Lily, a promising girl of sixteen. He has a
very handsome house at Washington Heights, and a fine
private residence in Fifth Avenue. His income from the
Herald is fully $300,000 per annum, and his fortune is
estimated at $3,000,000 or $4,000,000, every penny of
which he has made by his journal. He is, and has
always been, the opposite of gregarious. He never went
into society, and the sole instance I can remember of
his presence at any festival or public occasion, was at
the Sir Morton Peto dinner at Delmonico's in the Autumn
of 1865. Then he seemed quite lost and ill at ease.
Hie did not appear to know any one, nor any one to know
him.
When sought, he is affable enough, but talks little,
and has no relish for society of any kind.
Personally, he is over six feet in height, but is now
bent with age. He is rather slight, his eye gray, his
hair white, and worn rather long, with a strange, half
cynical, half comical expression, which makes his'coun.
tenance difficult to read. He still speaks with a strong
Scotch accent, which is very marked when he is irritated, and his irritation has increased with his years.
His intellect is clear and vigorous, and his acquirements
numerous. He writes nothing in these days; but
496 
JAMEs GORDON BENNETT.
in his working period he wrote rapidly, nervously, and
gracefully on almost any subject; the skepticism, cynicism, and raillery of his temperament, always cropping
out.
Of late years Bennett has shown signs of declining
health. Hie takes excellent care of himself, however,
going to bed every night at nine o'clock.  Hle visits the
Herald only two or three times a week, but is still in
every respect its editor, and feels as much interest in it
as when he toiled to establish it.
There is little need for his visiting the office often;
for he can direct the establishment by telegraph, a wire
communicating with it from Washington Heights. Whenever any event of consequence occurs his opinion is
obtained in regard to its treatment for the next day's
paper, the name of the required writer being frequently
given by him. All the City and leading country dailies
are taken to his house every morning. He reads them;
marks the articles that strike his attention; makes suggestions as to the editorials; sees proofs often, in fact;
supervises the Herald very much as he used to when
he wrote on the head of a barrel in the Ann Street cellar.
Bennett scarcely ever goes off.the island; seldom
comes to his elegant town-house in the Avenue. He is
methodical, abstemious, industrious, isolated.  He rises
at five; never calls on anybody, but receives courteously
and hospitably all who visit him. Mrs. Bennett and her
daugh'ter are in Europe, where they spend half their
time, and J. G. B., Jr., is fond of rambling, and wedded
to his yacht.
Lonely old man is he; but he has attained his sole
ambition-he has made the Herald a great newspaperand in the midst of its reputation James Gordon Ben       32
497 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
nett, the man, is hardly known, rarely esteemed, never
loved.
Bennett has few friends-he does not want them, I
suspect-no hopes and no ambitions outside of the Herald. He can not live much longer; but while he does, he
will be its autocrat and master mind; and his last hours
will doubtless be comforted with the thought that James
Gordon Bennett was to the very last the editor and proprietor of the New-York Herald.
498 
CHAPTER LVI.
THE CHINESE EMBASSY IN NEW YORK.
THIS chapter shall be devoted to a very liberal translation of a letter written by Ghin Sling, one of the
Chinese embassy, while here, to his friend, Nho Gho, an
estimable citizen of Foo Chow, and which has appeared
in the Yah-ki-li.-yo Tink-kins-ko (the morning bulletin)
of that city. The impression and opinions of the intelligent and observant Celestial are of interest as showing
how many things in the Metropolis appear to the unbiased eyes of a person whose experiences and sympathies have been so widely different from our own.
His letter reads as follows:  Beloved and serene Nho-Gho, Friend of my Soul
and Idol of my Heart: I am filled with amazement in
this new and wonderful country. I admire it very much;
but I can't at all comprehend it. This City, which they
tell me is larger than Peking, and Canton, and Shanghai
combined, delights and surprises me more and more as
I get acquainted with it. I can't resist the temptation
of telling you something about New-York, or Gotham,
or Manhattan, or the Empire.-City, or New-Amsterdam,
or Swindletown (it has all these names); for it is a
puzzle more ingenious than the ones we used to amuse
ourselves with when we were at the imperial university
at Souchong. 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
When we first went to the hotel,-it is named after
some clergyman,-I ordered a stewed puppy for supper;
but the landlord (they call him such because he isn't a
lord and hasn't any land) told me that he was out of
puppies; but that there was one in the room next to his
which barked all night, and that I was welcome to it.
He said I must catch it myself, as it was the custom of
the country for gentlemen of distinction to hunt their
own game.
He advised me to stand in front of the door of the
room, and whistle for a few minutes. I could not
whistle,-though all the Americans whistle,-so I sang
the song of our native land, "Hi, Hi, yah-che.ning," at
the top of my voice.
The door opened in a moment, and a lady with a
singular costume, cut low in the neck and short at the
bottom, hanging loose and entirely plain (I had never
seen any such before, but I have learned since that it is
a full evening dress), made her appearance, holding a
little white woolly dog by a blue ribbon, and crying,
"Burglars, burglars."
I said, "Beautiful lady (she wasn't beautiful at all;
but, unless you call all the women beautiful, you are a
brute),'Burglars is not my name.   I am  Ghin-Sling,
of the Embassy."
"Oh, I have often heard of you," she answered. "You're
an old friend of my husband. He is very fond of you;
but I hate you."
I did not like to dispute what she said; for men who
contradict women are considered monsters here. I
thought I'd merely get the dog. I therefore seized the
blue ribbon, and pulled the little animal along the hall,
his loud yelps much increasing my appetite. Alas, the
500 
THE CHINESE EMBASSY IN NEW YORK.
lady made more noise than the dog.  She cried "Murder,
fire, thieves "; and in a minute the hall was full of persons, many of them servants, who seized me by the pigtail, and asked me where I was going, and what I was
about.
I said I was about stopped.
The lady declared I had stolen her poodle (what a
queer name that, for a dog!) and tried to break into her
chamber.
At this I was dumfounded, or found dumb, I don't
know which, and, with open eyes and mouth, stood
helpless in the hands of my enemies.
I recovered my voice at last, and explained that the
landlord had told me to take the puppy, and have it
cooked.
A burly fellow said he'd cook my goose for me.  I
replied I didn't want a goose, but a puppy.
The landlord was called, and I appealed to him. He
ordered the man to let go of me, and said he didn't
mean I should carry off the lady's dog; that he intended
it as a jest. " It's strange, my friend," he added, "that
you can't take ajest."
"He can't take any thing but poodles," said the lady
sharply from behind the door where she had retreated
because she was too much dressed, I suppose, to receive
common company.
The dog was restored to her, and the landlord asked
me down stairs to try an " eye-opener." I went down
to what they style the bar, because it is so easy to get
into it, and tried the eye-opener, which was something
very hot in a tumbler.
I liked it, for it made me feel as if I were light as a
feather, and a mandarin with three pig-tails. I repeated
501 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
the remedy a number of times, and got lighter and
lighter. I danced the chop-stick dance, and quoted
Confucius, which, I was told, sounded like a speech in
Congress.
I found, however, the eye-opener, like every thing
else here, is 4nisnamed; for my eyes grew so heavy that
I couldn't keep them open. I made an effort to embrace the landlord, and fell through the window-glass.
I didn't remember any thing more until I woke up with
what I thought to be live coals in my mouth, and a feeling as if the yelping puppy had gotten into my brain.
I didn't want any more eye-opener.
My experience at the hotel induced me to go away
from it immediately after breakfast.   I ordered fried
rats. They were strange rats I ate. They had wool
on them; but I suppose they are different in America
from the rats in China.
I hardly knew where to go. So I took a City directory, and concluded to visit the different places of interest in town.' I looked for the Morgue, and, following
the directions of the book, I went up one street and
down another; retraced my steps; crossed forty or fifty
back yards; fell into a number of cellars; was attacked
by dogs because I wanted to take some of them to the
hotel for dinner.   I was really sea-sick;  but, determined to be guided by the book, I walked into the river.
This created an excitement on the dock, and a stalwart fellow pulled me out by the pig-tail. I was asked
my name. I gave it, when the crowd laughed; some
declaring I had taken too much water in my gin-sling,
and others, that I had taken too much gin-sling in my
water. I was a very singular spectacle when I was
pulled out. I had an opportunity to judge; for an en
502 
THE CHINESE EMBASSY IN NEW  YORK.
terprising photographer of Broadway copied me in watercolors before I had been in the river two seconds. He
sent me one of his pictures, which I inclose to you.
He asked me to forward him a portrait of the Emperor of China in return, and an autograph letter recommending his establishment. I did so the next day, and
I have since learned he exhibits my letter as the original
manuscript of the editor of the Tribune, an excellent but
peculiar gentleman, who keeps a private secretary to
decipher his articles for him after they are written, and
to inform him when he gets hungry.
I tried to find Central Park by the directory, and got
into the Communipaw slaughter-house; to reach Greenwood, said to be the most lively place about New-York,
and found myself in a beer-brewery.   They tell me
there is a good deal of beer in both localities. After
that I lost faith in the directory, and, rambling about by
my own instincts, I got along better.
I had heard much of the Chinese in Vesey street, -I
presume it is a misprint for Tea-see street,-and, longing to meet some of my countrymen who had been here
a great while, I went there.
I soon discovered a Chinaman, with a long cue, in our
native costume. I addressed him in our own celestial
tongue.
He replied: "Arrah, now, ye spalpeen, what wud yez
be afther?  Yer' no Chanymon.  Git out wid ye, or I'll
split the ear of ye, by the mim'ry of St. Pathrick."
I could not understand such Chinese as that, and concluded that he must have forgotten his own language,
he'd been so long in America.
I determined to buy some of the tea, and I did. I
drank it the same evening; but didn't recognize it as
503 
THE  GREAT METROPOLIS.
tea. It's a new kind, raised mostly in New-Jersey, a
country the Americans talk of annexing to the United
States if they can buy it of Camden & Amboy, two gentlemen who own the entire region, and compel people to
pay a tax for traveling through it.
I was rather hungry by this time. I walked up
Broadway, the principal street, where thousands of persons perform extraordinary and perilous tricks, such as
leaping on stages, running under horses' feet, and clambering over the heads of carmen. They do it for amusement; not charging any thing for the exhibition. The
police arrest men there often for getting in the way of
wagons, and fine them, when they have their legs broken, for obstructing the progress of commerce.
When I came opposite a large house where many men
were eating, I entered and sat down. I was opposite a
famous juggler, who performed wonderful feats of knifeswallowing, and seemed entirely indifferent to the admiration he excited. A boy came to me and asked me
what I wanted. Having had unpleasant experience in
puppies and rats, I asked for crackers. "Chinese crackers?" he inquired.
"Yes, if you have them."
"Will you have them light?"
Certainly, the lighter the better."
In a few minutes he returned with a plate full of the
little red paper pop-guns we make in our country; and,
before I could remonstrate with him, he lighted them,
saying:-" Look here, old Celestial, this is one of the
matches made in Heaven!"
The crackers went off in fine style, and I did likewise. Before I had gotten far, a boy from the eatinghouse ran after me, and pulling my cue (why in the
504 
THE CHINESE EMBASSY IN NEW YORK.
name of Josh does every one try to take the cue from
me?), inquired:  "Buy  these?   Buy  these?  Good,
good; bow, wow, wow!" So speaking, he held up a long
line of sausages, and again made the bow, wow, wow
sound.
I told him I spoke English. Then he remarked:
"Dog in all of these.  I know-we make'em ourselves.
Don't use any thing but dog. Get dogs in the Pound,
every Summer; make great many sausages out of'em.
Genuine dog-sausages. Buy'em, old fel?"
I declined, and the boy left me, with the remark that I
was an old pudding-head, which no doubt was complimentary, as it signified something to eat, and that I was
a man of desert.
While I continued walking up Broadway, there were
several alarms of fire, and I saw two or three stores
burn up-they say "up" when they mean "down," in
this strange country-in splendid style. I asked where
the roast pig was; but was informed they didn't roast
pigs that way here.
I met a gentleman looking on like myself, and I expressed my surprise at so many fires.
The reason," said he, "is the dullness of trade, which
makes buildings so inflammable, they catch fire when
there isn't a spark near them."
I said I couldn't comprehend how the state of commerce could make houses spontaneously combustible. He
replied that the insurance companies were in my predicament; that they couldn't tell either, though they had
given a deal of attention to the subject. He said the
best way to insure a house against fire was not to insure
it at all; that uninsured buildings, for some mysterious
reason, wouldn't burn.
505 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
As I walked on, I noticed a number of signs above
underground  places, about "pretty waiter-girls."   I
thought I'd like to see them. So I went down into one
of the saloons, as they are called.   The girls carried
waiters, but not prettiness. Indeed, they were excess ively homely. several of them having painted their
noses red, and their eyes black and blue, which didn't
improve their appearance.   Two of them came  up to
me, and sat down in my lap, declaring I was a "hunky
old boy," which I didn't understand. Several placards
stated that no intoxicating liquors were sold; and I was
surprised to see men drink a few glasses of soda-water,
and go out reeling like sailors in a storm. I believe the
soda-water in New-York is vrery strong. The " pretty
waiter-girls" were very kind to me.  They played with
my pig-tail, and induced me to "treat." They urged me
to treat again, and I retreated.
When I got out, I missed my purse, and I suppose the
good girls took it to remember me by. One of them had
wished to borrow my watch to take medicine by, she
said; but I refused to let her have it. I missed that,
too. She had helped herself to it, no doubt.
Dear girl, what a delicate proof of her devotion!
What charming surprises this country has for me!
I had become very tired by this time. I stepped out
of Broadway, where I had difficulty in getting along,
and where everybody seemed to have only a few moments left to do something very important.   I had
noticed several men who hurried by me as if they were
walking for the championship of America,-a patriotic
obligation here,-and, when I had proceeded a little farther, I perceived them lounging on the hotel steps,
yawning from weariness.
506 
THiE CHINESE EMBAnssY IN NEW  YORK.
A street car passed me, and I was about to get on,
but the car was crowded inside and out, a dozen men
holding on by their hands.
"Come on, Johnny," cried the conductor; "plenty of
room for you;" and he reached out, and catching me by
the cue tied me to the platform. I was dragged for
several blocks. When he asked for my fare, I said I
had not ridden, but he swore I had had a preferred seat;
that it was the custom to charge double for dragging a
man in that fashion; but that if any one made a row,
he could pay single fare and walk.
I went inside then, as a hundred or two had got ten
off. I hadn't been there but a few minutes when two
brutal-looking fellows (I imagine they contradicted
women, and called them homely) sprang upon the car;
shook hands with the driver and conductor, and began to
take the passengers' watches and pocketbooks.  When
they demanded mine, I said I had lost them. "Oh,
yes," they replied, "you've been on another car. Here,
Bob," said one to the other, "give this chap a pass."
So " Bob" gave me this slip of stiff paper, on which was
printed: "Let the bearer alone.  We've been through
him. All right. Bummer & Co."
The two fellows remained on the car, and in a short
time began taking the coats of the passengers. Not
liking that, I got off, and walked to the hotel.
I was very tired, and ordering a plate of rice and a
chop-stick, which was a mutton chop when it came, I
ate it, and went to my room.
I lay down and reflected on the beautiful freedom of
the country. In what other land would strange men
and women help themselves to your watch and purse;
pull your pig-tail; and explode crackers in your face?
507 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
0, blessed America, I have never appreciated you half
enough! And, so thinking, I turned over and fell
asleep.
Adoringly and eternally yours,
GHIN-SLING.
Here ends Ghin-Sling's letter, of which I have endeavored to give the true spirit, and whose openness and candor no one can help admiring.
508 
CHAPTER LVII.
JENKINSISM IN THE METROPOLIS.
THE race of Jenkinses is numerous, enterprising, and
gifted. Jenkins, the original, and his numerous imitators, have of late performed many extraordinary feats
in the way of florid description and picturesque detail.
Weddings are their delight.  They revel in weddings;
exhaust metaphor, the dictionary, and patience. I have
secured for this volume a Jenkins, one who will do honor
to his tribe. He comes to me highly recommended.
He can acquit himself more creditably at a dinner, by
reason of his excellent appetite, and can use more words
with fewer ideas, than almost any of his profession. He
has just assisted at a hymeneal union (I employ his expression) in the City, and sends me his account, which
I print with small variation from his eloquent MS.
Thus it reads:
For months past the most elegant and recherche society of the gilded and perfumed Rosemary square has
been in a condition of the genteelest excitement over
the announcement of the engagement of Miss Sophronia
Clarissa Lovelace, youngest daughter of Peter Lovelace,
Esq., an accomplished artist in hides and leather, and
brother of the distinguished William Lovelace, Esq.,
third vice-president of the Boyletown Base Ball club,
and R. Simpson Wiggins, Esq., a gentlemen of means 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
and culture, who at one time presided over the destinies
of a tape establishment in Sixth avenue, and won for
himself fame and fortune by selling short measure with
a grace and urbanity that will long be remembered.
Hundreds  of beautiful creatures who  had vainly
sighed for R. Simpson Wiggins were distressed and made
desolate when they heard the news; so painful to
them, so delightful to Sophronia Clarissa. They forbore to take tea for an hour and a half, and threw out
dark hints of joining the Sorosis.  They yielded, however, to the inevitable, and made congratulatory visits
to  the fiancee.   They  found  her  beauty  changed
sadly; but they kissed her, calling her "dear," with
cherry lips.
The months of fluttering were quieted when the high
wedding came off in the church of Saint Hymen, which
had been newly painted for the occasion, and which
seemed to smile from its richly stained windows upon
the lovely couple who were to be made one, unless incompatibility of temperament, or unwillingness of the bridegroom to disgorge the spondulicks (a modish phrase for
paying bills), interfered with their domesticity.
The scene was imposing and touching to the last degree. It moved the elder Lovelace to transports of delight; and he clutched his pocket-book as if he thought
that instrument of his power would henceforth be in less
demand.
A dozen milliners and mantua-makers, who stood on
the outer rim of the brilliant assembly, smiled blandly
on the bride, and glowered on the bridegroom as though
they meditated revenge upon his swollen purse.
A score of bridesmaids, wearing trains that were
longer and moved slower than those of the Camden and
510 
JENKINSISM IN THE METROPOLIS.
Amboy company, and bearing a sunflower above their
charmingly retrousse noses (the noses were of the newest
pattern, and brought over by the last French steamer),
lent dazzling radiance to the beatitudes of the occasion,
and promised to keep Lent with as much religious rigor
as though they had been umbrellas. Their hair was
splendid, having cost $500 apiece, and every mother's
daughter claimed she wore the identical tresses severed
from the head of Marie Antoinette on the'eve of her
execution. The bridesmaids were as accomplished as
beautiful.   They spoke French so excellently that no
native of Paris could understand them; were magnificent croquet players, and deeply versed in the literature of Madame Demorest's magazine.
As to the bride, how shall we describe her? She
looked like Venus on the half-shell, or Juno before beginning a row with Jupiter, or Hebe with the (hic)cup
of nectar drained by the immortal gods. Heaven was
in her eye; and in her hand a handkerchief trimmed
with lace, wrought in the looms of Hoboken at $50 an
inch, and which the gallant and chivalrous Wiggins was
wont to declare over his Rudesheimer he paid $50.75
an inch for.
The exaggeration must be forgiven to Wiggins, in
consideration of the enthusiasm of love and his fondness
for base-ball, which we have heretofore neglected to
mention, and which was largely instrumental in bringing
to the elder Lovelace's mind his fitness to become a sonin-law.
Miss Lovelace wore a dress of satin damask persiflage,
with trimmings of Bourdaloue baisezmabouche, looped up
with purple pate de foie gras of petroleum wells in miniature. Her gaiters were of white bourgeois silk, coming
511 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
above the classic ankle, and lined with perfumed ailes
de papillon from Astrachan. She also wore an overskirt of demi point and demnition-foine Mantalini lace,
while her imperial veil, covering her from her chignon
to the Castilian arch of her alabaster foot, was a fragment of the original vale of tears, usually donned somewhat later in life. Her gloves were embroidered on the
back with the monogram of her family, S. II. A. M.;
each glove having four fingers and one thumb, and ingeniously arranged with a large hole at the end to facilitate the ingress and  egress of her fairy-like hand,
which is asserted to be so good that it will beat four
aces in the elegant pastime of draw-poker.
The lady's robe was also trimmed with sprigs of mint,
specially ordered by the bridegroom, that during their
bridal tour he might, in the event of reaching an uncivilized place, make juleps from his wife's toilette.  About
her snowy neck hung a strand of diamonds, dug from
the mines of Chatham street, and so remarkable that
three balls were given in their honor when they last
changed hands.
Miss Lovelace was finally attired in a pair of blue
eyes, bordered with a delicate crimson, and a mouth of
so genuine a carmine that the color had been actually
known to rub off. Before the ceremony, she fainted
three times, but was restored'through sympathy with
the bridegroom, who went out to "see a man," and returned looking as if he had found him.
Mr. Wiggins was the embodiment of imperial splendor.
He had traveled. He had sailed up and down the Dead
Sea until some of his intimates called him a dead beat,
— a flattering epithet he modestly rejected. He had
been in the interior of Africa, and had traveled under
512 
JENKINSISM IN THE METROPOLIS.
the guidance of some of the natives farther into New Jersey than any civilized person had ever before pene trated.   He had explored the sources of the Nile, the
Hackensack, and Schiedam Schnapps. He was a man
of nerve and a gymnast. He had wrestled with the
decanter; and had been thrown again and again; but he
had always returned to the charge, though it was often
as' high as fifty cents.
Mr. Wiggins's cosmopolitan experiences had taught
him to disregard the conventional forms of dress.  On
the occasion, he discarded black, except a bllack eye,
which he had contracted the night before, in endeavoring to investigate too closely the kind of wood of which
a policeman's mace w,as made.  He had on a green coat
(bottle green), with copper buttons, a scarlet vest,
blending beautifully with his complexion, and pants of
profound azure, assimilating with his next morning
mioods. He wore a hollyhock in his button-hole, and
his nose was arrayed in deep purple.
Asked by the Rev. Dr. Bumfoozle if he would accept
Sophronia for his wedded wife, Mr. Wiggins exclaimed,
in very musical tones, " You bet;" and invited the
clergyman out to drink.  When  the couple were pronounced man and lady, the organ pealed, which shocked
the sensitive bride, who could not bear tones to such a
degree, that she said,'"Take me to my ma."
The tune was changed at once, and Offenbach's "0,
landlord, fill the flowing bowl!" substituted. That so
exhilarates Mr. Wiggins, that he showed his appreciation of the music by having a first-class attack of delirium tremens, which the elegant company applauded to
the echo.
The bride said, "Dear Wig, do it again!  It's really
33
513 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
splendid, you shake beautifully, and when you cry out,
'Look at the snakes in my boots!' I forget for the
moment you have on pumps."   Mr. Wiggins declined
to respond to the encore, but offered to read one of
Tupper's poems instead, which was not accepted. The
organ then performed a ot-potourri from Belladonna,
while the chief vocalist of the choir saing a solo-so low
no one could hear it-and Herr Lirlberger, a relative
of the Bier family, performed an obligato on the bass
drum.
An affidavit was now made that the ceremony was
over. The bridegroom danced a clog dance, and having
gone to see several more men, he was carried home on a
shutter,-a palpet prepared for the Ihistorical Society
being read over his prostrate form, with such happy effect that he had only two more attacks of del. trem. en
route to the bride's fL,thler's palatial residence.
Among the distinguishled guests present we  noticed
Darius Alexander Jones, Esq., who led the Germai last
winter  off the dock, and hid to pay his fuiieirl expenses.  P. Berwick Dexter, Esq., known to the scientific world' as having assisted in making most of the
artesian wells in the country, and recently engaged in
conducting the operations of the'loosac tunnel.   His
ancestors died at Potter's Field, and he is a direct descendant of the ancient augurs.
Col. Charles Augustus Wishawashy, who was one of
the first gentlemen that ever led a little dog with a ribbon down the Avenue, and who can distinguish guipure
lace from Valenciennes with his eyes shut and his coat
off.
Hon. Paul Jeunechien, who has received the endearing
name of "puppy" from his fashionable lady friends, and
514 
JENKINSISM IN THE METROPOLIS.
who hlas the smallest foot, considering the size of the
boot he wears, of any bezique player in Poodle Pla(,e.
Dr. George Lancet, whose fondness for horses induced
him to abandon the lucrative profession of borrowivlg
money when no one would loan him any more, an(l tui'n
his time and talent to the diseases of equine quadrupeds.
In the choicest circles he is familiarly known as " Old
Vet;" but is in no manner related to the contributor of
the Times.
After the wedding, a reception was given at the mansion of the bride's father. During the evening, a number of the gentlemen ate Sweitzer cheese for the chalmpionship of America, and closed the hospitalities of the
delightful occasion by sleeping in the  station-house.
The affair was one that will long be remembered byr the
persons who furnished the feast and can't collect their
bills, and by the courteous policemen who assiste(l at
the denouement.
Iere Jenkins's account ends.  What could be Sore
magnificent?
515
I 
CHAPTERP LVIII.
FASHIONABLE WEDDINGS.
THE great social sensation of this City is a wedding.
Beyond that, fashion does not look, and society has no
ambition.  In faishionable circles a daughter is merely
something to get married.  From the moment of her
birth until her name is cha,nged, her mother and femi
nine friends give most of their serious thought to her
establishment in life, which means the securing of a
husband whose income is large, and whose allowance
will be prodigal.  A rich and liberal husband is the one
thing needful, the sole object desirable.  Having him,
all is had, and the future loses its significance.
Marriage means much in all cities; but in New-York
it nieans every thing.  A stranger can form no idea of
the overwhelming importance attached to wedlock in
the Metropolis,-not to the fitness or sympathy of the
life-contracting parties, but to the forms and ceremonies
of the occasion, the bridesmaids, the surroundings, the
trousseau, the presents, the gilded entouraye.
In society, no one asks,  Is he good-hearted?  Is
he chivalrous?  Is he intellectual?  Is she fine?  Is
she cultivated?"  Those are foolish, not to say impertinent, questions.
The essential thllings to know are: Has she style?
To what set does she belong? What are her diamonds 
FASHIONABLE WEDDINGS.
worth?  What time can his horse make?   What club
is he a member of? How much money is he worth?
These questions having been answered satisfactorily,
the sacrifice can proceed.'
New-York has its wedding-season as it has its racingseason, its  yachting-season, its  picnic-season.   The
wedding-season is usually from the latter part of October to the close of May, the warm months being deemed
unfavorable for modish nuptials. Love is declared to
be impatient; but love has so little to do with most of
our fashionable weddings, that there is no need of
haste. 
Such weddings are really what the French would call
marriages of convenience, though they are found in
most cases to be the very opposite.  They are entered
upon with all the deliberation with which the demonstration of a theorem is accompanied.   They are coldblooded calculations, determinations for vulgar display,
meretricious shows from beginning to end.  There is
slender opportunity or desire for election in them.
They are often brought about by others, on whom the
responsibility of the inharmonious and unhappy unions
ought to rest; managed, directed, and accomplished by
and through ambitious mothers and their thoroughly
disciplined daughters.
Men, who are presumed to be the seekers and the determiners of their matrimonial destiny3 are seldom consulted. They are drawn into a flirtation, which continues so long that, before they are aware of their
danger, they find themselves engaged to Margaret or
Matilda, who was the last woman  they thought of
taking for a wife.   They are in no peril, unless any
are wealthy or believed to be so.
51.7 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The proverb says, The traveler with an empty purse
laughs at robbers. So here the man of society without
income is safe in the hands of match-makers. For him
no traps are laid; no schemes are formed. He enjoys
the reputation of a not-marrying man, for the reason
that in his set no one wants to marry him.   He is a
fortunate fellow. He sees the spectacle without paying
for it; shares the pleasure, and escapes the pain.
Women of a certain age tend to match-making; and,
when they have daughters, match-making becomes a
religious duty. When mamma's eldest girl has quitted
school, and formally "come out"-an  event usually
celebrated by.a party, to which all eligible young men
are invited-the first thing is to provide her with a
husband. The claims of the men entitled to consideration by reason of their incomes are discussed by mamma
and such other feminine friends as have daughters to
marry, or as have shown proficiency in disposing of
them to the highest bidder.  If the requisite knowledge
be lacking to determine a choice, inquiry is made of competent authorities, and the needed information is at last
obtained.
The means or expectations of the half.-dozen prospective Benedicts having become known with sufficient
accuracy, a programme is arranged for their entertainment. Margaret or Matilda is thrown in their way, and
enjoined to render herself agreeable to any of the
selected victims.  She must humor them;  be coy or
bold; melting or insensible; romantic or reasonable,as any one of them demands.
She must be certain to ascertain the particular vanity
of the predestined husbands, and flatter that to the
fullest.
518 
FASHIONABLE WEDDINGS.
If Charles fancies himself handsome, he must be
adroitly told of his beauty every day.
If William prides himself upon his clothes, his taste
in dress must be commended, and his extravagance
caressingly censured.
If Robert have an ambition to be thofught profligate,
mamma must lecture him on his wicked ways, but so
tenderly that he will feel that bad morals are attractive;
while the daughter must deplore the fact that women
all love rakes, and will to the end of time.
If Joseph plumes himself on his business talent, his
views must be shared and his sagacity applauded.
If George has a passion for horses, all his opinions
about the turf and blooded stock must be listened to
with patience.
Margaret or Matilda experiments upon each of the
sex; and he who reveals most susceptibility is marked
and doomed. One after another is dropped as he shows
resistance or unmanageableness. He who is resolved
upon is' surrounded, attacked on every side, and at last
compelled, from his desperate condition, to surrender.
He may look woeful over his defeat; but while he is
wondering at his novel situation, mamma sweeps in and
congratulates him.upon his acceptance, and the rare good
fortune which he is too dazed to appreciate as he ought.
The happy day is fixed. The invitations are given to
the wedding on Gimbrede's latest style of cards; and for
many weeks Margaret or Matilda's friends, especially
the bridesmaids, are all in a flutter about what they
shall wear, and how they shall look-the poles of anxiety in a fashionable wqman's being. Before the wedding, every effort is made to get paragraphs into one of
the gossiping journals, reading, "A charming Fifth ave.
519 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
nue belle is soon to be led to the altar by a prominent
member of the stock board;" or, "The approaching mar riage of a Twenty-third street beauty, who was greatly
adnired in Paris last season, is- creating a sensation in
fashionable circles."
The wedding takes place in a fashionable church, at
noon  that is the appointed hour  and, the fact having
been advertised in all the papers that will print it, a
vast crowd is assembled to see the carriages with liv eried servants drive up and deliver their human freight
of perfumed satin and orange-flowers, black broadcloth
and white kids, rare diamonds and elaborate hair-dressing, upon the carpeted w,ay leading to the altar.
The service is imposing so far as clothes can make it;
but it is soon over, and the wedded pair, with all their
showy attendants, go back to the carriages, amid congratulations that seem funereal, and return to the bride's
father's house.  There the guests are bidden; delicate
and rich food is eaten; costly wine drank; commonplace observations exchanged; criticisms passed upon
the bride and bridegroom; presents given (it often happens that they are hired, and merely exhibited in the
drawing-room); and every thing done that can be to
rend'er the occasion expensive and vulgarly pretentious.
All.persons are bound to say the bride looks beautiful
and interesting, and that the bridegroom conducts himself admirably, very much as if he had been leading a
forlorn hope to battle.
After the proper amount of inanity, and compliment,
and dissipation, the affair is over, and the couple go off
traveling, as if they had done something they were
ashamed of, and wanted to hide themselves until their
confusion had passed.
520 
FASHIONABLE WEDDINGS.
The day after the wedding, the gossiping journals
give long and fulsome descriptions of "s the event in
fashionable society;" state what all the women wore;
declare that they all looked lovely and were perfectly
fascinating; closing with a minute description of their
wardrobe which no one but a mnantua-maker can understand.
This is the end of Mr. and Mrs. Fleetfast.  No one
cares for them any longer.  Even the council of mammas  congratulates itself upon  havling made  another
match, and turns to new fields of commercial enterprise.
When  the wedded  couple have  passed their honeymoon-sonietimes before-Mr. Fleetfatst returns to his
billiards, his old and his former rapid companions; stays
out until three or four ig the morniing; comes home
with a limber rig,ht-leg and a peculiar tone in his voice.
Mrs. Fleetfaist is anxious and pale for awhile, and her
eyes look red and swollen at breakfast.  But she soon
learns from mammna that all men of the world act like
her husbanl, and that there is no need of a heart-break
over what is to be expected.   So the delicate little lady
puts on rouge; studies the art of flirtation; and soon
learns it so well that her acquaintances believe she does
not care a fig about Mr. Fleetfast's irregularities.
How many Mr. and Mrs. Fleetfasts there are in NejvYork to-day, and will be any (lay in the future!
To a fashionable wedding three things are essentialDelmonico's, cash, and Isaac II. Brown.   The last is
the far-famed sexton of Grace Church, who for twenty
or thirty years has been an authority in society, and
claims to know the antecedents of all the families in the
City that have any pretense to gentility.   How  the
fat old gabbler ever contrived to make himself a power
521 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
in fashionable circles is past finding out; but that he
has done so there is no doubt.  He is deemed indispensable on all grand occasions, and the invitations are
always intrusted to him.  He revels in weddings and
is a necessary evil to the whole tribe of Jenkinses. He
believes no lady of the town can be properly and modishly disposed of without his assistance, and he is officious,
and self-important, and garrulous enough to please an
army of silly women.   To  Brown, Gra(ce Church is
merely an architectural appendag,,e in which he airs his
flesh on Sunday, and punishes his spirit on week-days.
He has presided at thousands of weddings, and has
lived to see many of them result as unhappily as the
bitterest cynic could desire. If he would unfold his'
observations, he would tell Ad stories of diamond wed-dings that proved nothing but paste; of sparkling eyes,
and lips with soft music on them, which lost their
luster through care, and waxed pale through wretchedness untold.
Fashionable weddings are growing more'fashionable,
and meretricious every year in New-York. They are
mockeries of love, satires on marriage, insults to nature.
They who make them assume a responsibility that is
dreadful, and pay the penalty violated sympathies, and
false vows, and starved souls sooner or later exact from
all that give hands without the consecration of hearts.
522 
CHAPTER LIX.
CITY MISSIONS.
ALADDIN'S palace in the place of a muck-heap could
hardly be a greater change than the Five Points Mis.
sion on the site of the Old Brewery, for many years
the purple plague-spot that revealed the fatal moral pestilence of the Sixth Ward.
The Five Points is bad.enough now, Heaven knows,
but compared to what it was twenty years ago, when
Mutrderer's Alley and Cow Bay were shuddering horrors, and when subterranean passages communicated
between pits of debauchery and dens of crime, it is an
abode of purity and peace.
The Mission is a plain brick building in Park street,
near Baxter, the front part of which is rented to tenants.
It contradicts all its surroundings; looks as if it had gotten there by mistake, or would look so, if it were not kept
in countenance by its sober, comfortable companion, the
House of Industry, over the way. It has one or two
offices, several school-rooms, and a chapel, aill plain, but
scrupulously clean.
The Mission was the pioneer of reform in that repulsive Iocality, having been established in 1850. It is
under the direction of the Methodists, but the services
-there, though doctrinal, are not sectarian. Rev. L. M.
Pease was the founder of the Mission, which was at first 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
deemed a quixotic enterprise, and indeed it seemed
such; for philanthropists and reformers had surrendered
all hope of introducing light into that benighted region.
In a few months ain astounding change was apparent,
and such beneficial results were wrought as the most
sanguine had not anticipated.  The noble effort blos somed with good fruit, and richly repaid those who had
made it.  After two years the reverend superintendent
retired, and founded the HIouse of Industry.  Since
then both have continued to flourish, and'produced the
most beneficial results.
The Mission is simply a school. The children there
have parents usually-in that respect they are different
from those of the IHouse of Industry and the Boys' and
Girls' Lodging [louse-and seem on the whole mnore intellig,ent and of a finer organization than in most of the
charitable institutions in the City. The Mission has
eight or ten teachers, all women, paid regular salaries
by the Board of Education, and five orsix hundred pupils
on an average, who, during the Winter, are increased
to eight hundred.   The institution, like most of the
municipal charities, is supported wholly by voluntary
contributions. Rev. J. N. Shaffer is the superintendent,
and gives his entire time to its manaagement.  As usual,
all the children are of foreign parentage, Irish predominating, and Germans next.   Every Tuesday evening
and Sunday, interesting religious exercises are held in the
chapel.  A large infant school is taught in the Mission,
and is one of its most attractive features. Every day
visitors go there, and rarely depart without seeing and
feeling the necessity and advantage of such a charity.
The House of Industry is fifteen years old, and
has long been under the superintendence of S. B.
524 
CITY MISSIONS
IIalliday.  It is a plain building, much like the Mission;
has an office, school-rooms, dormitories, a chapel, washing rooms,  and whatever is needful for the purpose.
About  two  hundred  children  are generally in  the
I-louse, though the number is greater in cold weather.
During the past year  1,07o children were  adinitted;
512  were sent to situations;  179 returned to parents;
58 sent to other institutions; 275 left voluntarily; 17
expelled for misconduct;  19 ran away, and  5 died.
The averagce attend(lance was 413, which is ktrger than
during any previous year.   The teachers  are nine in
nunmber, and very energetic and conscientious in the discharge of their duty.  The SLun.dday-school has twenty
teachers, with an average attendance of 3o0  pupils.
The religious progress hlias not been so great as is desirable, but still it is encouraging,.  The number of meals
given during th}e ye(tr was v   5,502.  It often happens
that two or three hundred men and women apl)ly daily
for food, tand are given an  inexpensive but substantial
dini-ier, which does not cost niore than four cents for
each person.
MaIny thousand garments are made and repaired every
ye(ar, ar)d some ten thousand articles of clothing are
given to the children and out-door poor.  The shoe-shlop
is excellently managed, hundreds of shoes being made
wel(ltble from old ones that seem entirely worthless.
The nursery usually contains twenty to twenty-five little ones, from eig,hteen months to six years of age.  The
difference between  the childlren whlen they  are first
received and after they have been there a short time is
remarkable.   They are converted friomi squalid, ragg,ed,
pallid little wretches  to  clean, well-clad, wholesome
creatures.  Gradually their old, sad, hard look wears
.525 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
away.   The light begins to dawn in their faces, as if
from redeemed souls.
The expenses of the House were, for the year,
$32,114.94, and the donations $33,568.27.
The Howard Mission, or Home for Little Wanderers,
is at No. 40 New Bowery. Over the gateway that leads
to the institution is the name of the Mission, and under
it are the words, "Homes for the homeless, and bread
for the hungry."
The Mission is under the direction of Rev. W. C.
Van Meter; has large and well-ventilated school-rooms
and chapels, and is excellently conducted. It is regularly incorporated; not sectarian; never turns a child
firom its doors, and is entirely sustained by voluntary
contributions, receiving no aid from the Legislature,
City, or School Fund. In six years it received 7,581
children, and the number taught, fed and clothed during
a month is about 500. The day school is from 9 to 2,
and the several exercises from 1~ to 2 o'clock. Prayer
meetings are held every Tuesday evening, and regular
devotional exercises on Sunday.
The Howard Mission is one of the best of our charities, and is an object of curiosity and interest to many
strangers and citizens. The little wanderers are verv
kindly and even tenderly treated, and no one who visits
them often can fail to be concerned in their development-physical, mental, and moral.  They are very sensitive to kindness, and show, as all animated nature
does, that love is the best teacher and the truest religion.
The history of each one of the children is known by
the teachers, and if published would show the source of
most of our social evils.  The little creatures are suffer
526 
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lil a,, _
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CITY MISSIONS.
ing for the sins of their ancestors, and the chief sin is
intemperance. From intemperance come nearly all the
others-idleness, dishonesty, incontinence, selfishness,
and brutality, and with them theft, violence, murder,
and every other species of crime. Hardly one of the
little wanderers and outcasts that has not, or had not,
drunken parents. Generally the father is dissipated;
often both the father and mother.
I have heard the antecedents of the children related.
One had a father and a mother who probably inherited
their thirst for liquor from their parents. The father
died of delirium tremens; the mother fell from the window of a tenement and broke her neck. A second was
found nearly naked in the street, where it had been left
to die of exposure.  A third had a father who murdered
his wife, and was executed for the crime. A fourth was
rescued from the flames of a building fired by a drunken
maniac. A fifth was left an orphan by the death of its
mother from typhus, and the suicide of its father while
mad with delirium treinens. A sixth has parents, but
they are always on Blackwell's Island or at Sing Sing,
and have no more care or thought of their wretched
offspring than if they had never been born. A seventh
hlas a decrepit mother in the hospital, and had a father
who was shot in a Water street brawl.
Everywhere the same story is told. The trail of the
rum shop is over them all. No wonder persons, con scientious and philanthropic, favor compulsory measures
for the abolition of intemperance. It is the crying
curse, the besetting sin of this and every other land.
Destroy intemperance, and the World would be more
than half reformed.
,527
I 
CHAPTER LX.
THE TOMBS
EVERYBODY in the Metropolis has seen the Tombs,
as the City Prison is always called here, but few have
been inside of its gloomy walls; nor would they like to
be, if they knew what wretches and wretchedness it
contained.
The Tombs occupies one square, or block, bounded
on the east and west by Centre and Elm, and north
and south by Leornard and Franklin streets.  It was
built about thirty years ago, of gray granite, in the
Egyptian style of architecture, at a cost of $250 000;
and it is safe to say no such amount of money was ever
expended for a more dolorous purpose. Its gloomy
semblance gave it the name it still bears, and will bear
while one block of the dingy stone stands upon
another.
When the prison was built, it was considered a
remarkable structure,-which, indeed, it is; and, for
years, it was the architectural wonder of the east side
of the town. The vicinity of the Tombs has little to
boast of now in the way either of cleanliness or beauty
but, at the time of its erection, squalor and sin reigned
supreme thereabout, and the prison might well be considered the tomb of purity, order, peace, and law.
The gray, begrimned building one sees in passing 
THE TOMBS.
through the streets is merely the walls of the prison,
inclosing a quadrangle full of narrow, ill-ventilated,
dismal cells, arranged in rows one above another, and
reached by iron steps and galleries. There are three
different departments in the Tombs,-one for boys,
another for men, and a third for women; and the three
classes are kept carefully apart.  They are all miserable enough, Heaven knows! and no sympathetic person
who goes there can withhold his pity from them, however hard, or vicious, or degraded they may be.
The Tombs is a prison of detention, for the most
part; persons being confined there for trial, and sentenced to Blackwell's Island or Sing Sing when
convicted. The prisoners are locked up in their cells
during the night and much of the day, belt are permitted to take exercise, and go through the farce of getting
"fresh air," in the galleries at certain hours.  "Fresh
air," indeed! The atmosphere of the Tombs is as
vicious materially as it is morally. It is foul, even
poisonous, and enough to breed a pestilence. The
Board of Health long ago declared the prison a
nuisance, and all who visit it think it should be abated,
as such. But the voice of justice and reform is seldom
obeyed in large cities, where selfishness is the end and
corruption is the rule.
The inmates vary in number with the season and the
condition of business.  When the weather is cold and
trade is stagnant, there are more than during the warm
months and periods of activity; showing that crime is
the result of temptation and necessity. Usually, the
Tombs has about 400 inmates, three-quarters of whom
are men. Most of them are hardened and degraded
creatures, who have been there, at the Island, and in
84
'529 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
the penitentiary, again and again.   They have lost all
sense of shame; for they feel they are outcasts; that
no one cares for them; that no one will help them to
reform. They come into contact only with their own
fallen kind, and with policemen who are as callous in
their way as the prisoners are in theirs.
If we could but look into the hearts of criminals,
could fathom the mysteries of vice, would we not find
that the divorce of the erring from human charity, their
despair of human forgiveness and love, was the cause
of most of their so-called sins?
Not a few of the prisoners are slight offenders,
novices in vice,-men who have become intoxicated,
perhaps for the first time, and who awake from a mad
delirium to mortification and bitter repentance in the
ghastly cells of the Tombs.
Men of influence, and wealth, and position, have been
there more than once, particularly strangers, who come
to the City to see its sights, and, after drinking and
dissipating, have been borne down by the fiery draughts
they had swallowed. Printers and reporters, I am
sorry to say, are occasionally found at the Tombs,
ending a spree there most gloomily, when they set
out for a night of gayety and pleasure.
The Tombs has a history, and a very sad one. It
has seen tragedies whose horrors thrilled through the
land, and were repeated with pale lips for many
months, and are now remembered only as dim traditions.
Men have spent terrible days and nights there, with
death, for which they were wholly unprepared, staring
them in the face from the gallows' beam. What ghostly
visions of murdered victims have trooped through those
cells!  What agony and terror have wrung their souls!
530 
I
THE Tomes.
Men have destroyed themselves within those pitiless
walls; and eternal farewells have been taken from
friends, and wives, and mistresses, who loved none
the less for the great crimes that had extinguished
the sympathy of outraged society.
Col. Monroe Edwards, the famous forger,-scarcely
remembered by this generation,-occupied one of the
cells.  Cancemi, the assassin; Mrs. Burdell-Cunningham; Baker, the murderer of "Bill" Poole,-were there.
And Colt, who slew Adams the printer, and afterward
stabbed himself to the heart, was found stiff and stark
on the very morning named for his execution. The
story of the mysterious murder-the sending of the
box containing the body to New Orleans, its discovery,
the arrest, the exciting trial, the effort of influential
friends to save him, the romantic attachment of his
mistress, and then the final cheating of the gallowswas long remembered, with all the wild rumors of his
escape by the substitution of another body for his, and
his living in prosperity in Europe.
One might write a volume of the tragedies of the
Tombs, and to-day they would be almost as fresh as when
they first startled the City and the country at large.
The gallows has stood a score of times within the
walls of the Tombs, and the timbers of which it is com
posed are carefully laid by, to be put up whenever the
shuddering spectacle of judicial murder shall again be
presented. Who, that has heard the hollow echoes of
gallows-making, on some sepulchral morning before sunrise, will ever forget the awful sound? What morbid
curiosity is always felt by the depraved to witness
executions! HIow all the house-tops in the gloomy
square have been blackened, and will be blackened once
531 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
more when some trembling wretch is swung off into
eternity!
The courts held in the Tombs are the police court,
presided over by Justice Dowling, an officer worthy of the
revolting place; and the special sessions, where petty
offenses in the eyes of the law are tried, and humanity
held up to merciless judgment.
The atmosphere of police courts is always sickening,
and that of the Tombs unusually so. I feel contaminated whenever I enter Dowling's tribunal. Every thing
seems so hard, so vulgar, so pitiless, that I long for the
sunshine of Broadway, the fresh breeze of the parks, as
if I had been deprived of them for months. The police
strike me as unpleasantly as the criminals; for familiarity has made them callous, and they laugh and jeer at
degradation which is revolting, and at misery which is
too deep for tears.
The tragedies of the wretched creatures that have
fallen into their hands, are broad farces to them.  The
judge sentences the culprits as he would call off a list of
articles at an auction. The officers of the law give evidence under oath as they relate a coarse story at headquarters. Crime is a matter of course-punishment an
inevitable duty. All wickedness and infamy belong to
the daily routine, and are neither to be censured nor
deplored.
Oh, the pain and shame of the police court!  It is a
tribunal without dignity, and a sentence without sympathy. It seems to rob justice of all beauty by its
coarseness, and to strike humanity into the dust with a
brutal hand. It has its uses, I suppose, but they are
the uses of adversity deprived of aspiration, and cut off
from the hope of improvement.
532 
THE TOMBS.
I have gone into the Tombs and talked with the prisoners, and I have known others to do so. If you are
gentle and sympathetic, they respect you at once; and
no wonder, for they have no reason to look for kindness, from their past experience. But even they will
show the better side that every mortal has, if you will
persevere, and prove to them you are their friend.
Charity not only covers a multitude of sins; it turns
them back to the source of good intentions, and enables
us to judge as we would be judged.
The men are not so pitiable as the boys and women;
for these might be reformed by proper treatment.
But, in the atmosphere of the Tombs, reformation seems
impossible. The grim, hard stone of the building appears to mock every effort to change; its dreary echoes
to laugh at every sigh, or moan, or prayer.
The Tombs! It is well named. Who so christened it,
was wiser and bitterer than he knew. In it are swallowed up the best purposes and resolves; and its ponderous architecture crushes any remaining instinct to
good.
When I pass it under the lightness of noon, I feel a
shadow in my way; and even the purity of the moon
seems stained when its beams fall upon such hideous
ugliness.
Sunday, at the Tombs, is the grand gala day of transgression and judgment. On that day the police court
presents a more revolting spectacle than on any other
day of the week; for the crowd is greater, and the
offenses are more repulsive. Saturday has long been
known as the drunkards' night; for then that vast class
of people in great cities who live from hand to mouth,
from the rum-shop to the poor-house, it might be stated
so
533 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
who seek relaxation from exhausting toil in degrading
dissipation,-give loose to their passions, and fall into
the clutches of the police.
Often a hundred and more cases of drunkenness, rowdyism, fighting, and wife-beating, are disposed of on
Sunday morning by Justice Dowling, at the rate pf one
or two per minute. The blackened and bloodshot eyes,
bloody and bloated faces, ragged and quivering forms,
repulsive features, mis-shapen by generations of wrongdoing, will haunt you long after your visit to the court.
Religious exercises are held there, too. Religion in
such a place is like peace in Pandemonium. The exercises are a ghastly satire on the spirit of Christianity;
for, while the form is observed, the soul of humanity is
crushed.   The Sisters of Charity-truly such at all
times-have charge of the boys and women, and, by
their earnestness, lend a little halo to the place; but the
Protestant worship, progressing amid the trials, and
intermingling with clamor  and coarseness, seems  to
deepen the shadow of the ever-shadowed T6mbs.
534 
CHAPTER LXI.
THE MIDNIGHT MISSION.
SOCIETY seems from its organization to have taught
that all sins are pardonable in men, and that all errors
but one may be forgiven in women. Inhuman and baneful as this belief has been, it has been practically held,
and has, generation after generation, removed fallen
women from the possibility of reform.
Whatever else this age may be, it is certainly an age
of humanity, and for it was fitly reserved the dealing
with the great social problem in a thoroughly human
way.   The great reformatory movement for women,
most justly styled unfortunate, was originated by Mrs.
Emma Sheppard, of Frome, England, who began her
great and good work in 1855.  She first visited her
erring sisters in what was known as the "black ward"
of the work-house; afterward in the penitentiaries of
Bath, Cleves and Pentonville, and labored constantly
and conscientiously for the reclamation of those whom
society had cast out, and even the Church would not
receive.
Four years she devoted to the excellent work with
excellent results, and then had the courage to open her
own home to the shelter and protection of the poor
pariahs. Her undertaking produced good fruit, and in
the winter of 1860 the "midnight meeting movement" 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
was begun. It was soon extended to other cities of
Great Britain, and to this country and City in 1867.
The founders of the Midnight Mission here were ten
in number, seven men and three women, representing
commerce, medicine, and the pulpit, and had their first
regular meeting on the first of February, in rooms at the
corner of Twelfth street and Broadway. Public opinion,
always slow and rarely enlightened, was opposed to the
movement, and some of the churches were bitter in their
hostility, repeating the old cant that such a charity
would do more harm than good; that it was not practicable, and that sympathy with lewdness would increase
it by making it attractive.
Money was wanting, too; but the members of the
Mission were so resolute, so active, that the work advanced in spite of drawbacks, and steadily gained the
confidence of the community. At the end of the first
year the members were quadrupled, and the rooms in
Broadway were found too small. The Mission removed
to a large dwelling, No. 23 Amity street, where it still
remains. The new house is plain, but very neat and
comfortable, and under the direction of a kind and entirely sympathetic woman.
Two nights of every week-Thursday and Fridayare devoted to the cause which is advertised by printed
cards that read:
"The Committee of the Midnight Mission will be
happy to see you at tea at 10 o'clock on any Friday
evening at 23 Amity street, between Greene and Mercer.  Rooms open every day, from 2 to 4 P. M., for
private conversation and friendly advice."
The cards are distributed among the unfortunate
women wherever found, in the street, at the dance-houses,
.536 
THE MIDNIGHT MISSION.5
at the bagnios. On the nights named men of years,
benevolence, and high social standing, go out into the
highways and byways of the City, and gently but earnestly invite the poor wanderers to the Mission. They
are not often rebuffed, for the quick instincts of the
women reveals to them at once that the good men are
really their friends. They do not tire of their undertaking. No ill temper, no insult repels them. They
are always gentle, tender, entreating, and prove that to
the expression of genuine sympathy the sternest nature
yields.
The evening receptions are on Friday. The noble
women who belong to the Mission prepare simple refreshments, and receive the unfortunates who come voluntarily, or whom the members find in their search. The
poor girls are usually very shy and timid at first, but
they soon gain confidence from the loving kindness of
the ladies of the committee.  They are encouraged to
unburden their breasts, to tell their sad stories, and to
enter upon a new path of life.  After refreshments come
devotional exercises which close with a hymn and
prayer, in which all are urged to take part. No one,
whatever his religious opinions, can attend the receptions without being touched by what he sees and hears
there. He can not fail to perceive the work is good, and
that such a work is blessed indeed.
The unfortunates who visit the Mission are from sixteen to twenty-five years of age, and the number is divided about equally between foreigners and Americans.
Many of them are pretty, but few are educated.
The greater part of the Americans  are from the
country, having fallen victims to the temptations and
wickedness of the great City.
,537 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Nearly all make the same sad confession. They have
sinned from love-strange paradox!-having been betrayed by the man they trusted, and having taken one
false step, they could not retrace it.  Once fallen, the
brand of shame was fixed upon their brow, and they
were sent forth to the avoidance and the scorn of the
World.   Many of them are afraid to return to their
relatives or friends after their seduction, and many are
spurned as loathsome creatures by those who, in the
crisis of their lives, should stand between them and
their fighting souls. Having placed their foot upon the
plowshare, thev can hardly escape the terrible ordeal.
The way of their downward course is deftly paved.
They steadily descend, as by a winding staircase, and
every year, and month, and week, and day, they look
back to less loathsome heights they never can regain.
"God help us!" they may well say; for Man abandons
them to their remorseless fate.  The houses of prostitution are regularly graded. No sooner does one expel
them than another takes them up. They are in a great
moral maelstrom. In vain they struggle: in vain they
stretch forth their pleading hands. Round, round, down,
down they go until they are swallowed up in death, and
not even Heaven seems to hear their despairing cry.
Nearly every one of the poor girls says she had lost
all hope; that she had no faith in the sympathy or pity
of her kind; that the humanity of the Mission surprises
and bewilders her.
When we remember that there are twenty to twentyfive thousand courtesans in New-York, the capacity
for good there is in such an organization as the Midnight Mission can easily be perceived. If they fail to
reform, it is because they don't know how. They stum
538
I 
THE MIDNIGHT MISSION.
ble in the thick darkness, and beg in vain for the smallest
glimmer of light.
The severe censors who declare that fallen women
can't and won't be lifted up should attend the receptions
of the Mission. During the exercises many a poor girl
lives her sad life over again; becomes an innocent child
once more; and as the hymns and prayers bring back
to her memory the days of happiness and home, her lip
trembles; her eye moistens; and all her soul bursts out
at last in an agony of sacred and repentant tears. Not
long since one of the poor outcasts, who went to the
Mission merely from curiosity, was so overcome by the
sympathy expressed for her that in the midst of a hymn
she broke down completely.'-What a load is lifted
from my bosom!" she sobbed out.  "My heart feels
so light.  It seems as if I could go up.  I haven't been
so happy since I was at home. I'm so happy I wish I
could die now. You're all so good to me. I didn't believe any one could be but my dear mother.  She is dead,
and I've often been glad, for she loved me so, and I
didn't want her to know what a bad girl I was. But now
I wish she was alive to see that I've changed, and won't
do wrong any more."
The repentant girl kept her word. She remained at
the Mission for some weeks and obtained a situation
through the Committee; studied hard, and, being naturally intelligent, is now teaching a village school in NewEngland; is a church member; often writes to the good
women here; says she is happy all the day long, and
shall ever be grateful to them for preserving her from
utter ruin.
Such an example, were it single, should encourage
the good work, and strengthen the hands and hearts of
639 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
those engaged in the enterprise.   But the example is
one of many, and proves that the women who have been
driven to prostitution can be returned to purity, be made
useful, noble, Christian.
The report of the first year shows that during the
twelve months past eight hundred women attended the
Friday evening receptions; that of the number seventyseven were induced to remain (the Mission is now fitted
up for a temporary home), and' that forty-eight of the
seventy-seven have thoroughly reformed. Of those who
remained in the Mission fourteen have found virtuous
homes; seven have been returned to their friends; eight
placed in charitable institutions; nine have been lost
sight of; twenty-two have gone back to their old life of
shame, and seventeen were in the Mission House at the
close of the year.
The expense of the Mission, supported from voluntary
contributions, was $50,000 during the year-about $200
for each woman saved. Surely, salvation is cheap at so
small a price. The Mission has no Utopian ideas; has
no hope of destroying prostitution, or working a general
reform among the unfortunate. It directs all its efforts
toward individuals; opens the way of return to those
who have wandered; is the means of showing to the
miserable class that there are good souls in the World
who will take them by the hand and assist them to live
virtuous lives.
The women who visit the Mission are always invited
to stay. Some remain over night only; others for days
and weeks. Besides assisting in household duties, they
are provided with sewing, and receive half the- proceeds.
Six hours of the day are occupied in reading, talking,
and in innocent recreation, of which music forms a part.
,540 
THE MIDNIGHT MISSION.
Many of the Magdalens are very intelligent, and fitted
for useful positions in life. Though the Mission is intended only as a temporary asylum, no one of the inmates is ever asked to deplart.  On the contrary, all are
encouraged to remain as long as they like.
The charity is most noble, and very effective withal.
While the Mission continues it will be a beacon-light to
those who deem themselves lost. It will be a bridge
connecting virtue with unchastity, over which those who
wish can pass from darkness to light, from wretchedness
and sin to peace and purity.  It is doing what He did
who sat beside the fallen woman at the well of Samaria,
and talked to her lovingly and forgivingly of her duty
and her destiny.
,541 
CHAPTER LXII.
THE ASSOCIATION FOR THE POOR.
ONE of the wisest, best-managed, and most practical
charities in the City is the Association for Improving
the Condition of the Poor, of which James Brown, the
eminent banker, is President, and Robert B. Minturn,
the late distinguished merchant, was Treasurer. Its other
officers, its advisory committees and visitors, are among
our best citizens who have for years been laboring for
the purpose that the name of the organization indicates.
The Association was organized in 1843, and incorporated in 1848, and each year has made it more useful,
and increased the field of its operations. Every person
who becomes an annual subscriber, a member of an
advisory committee, or visitor, shall be a member of the
Society, which is under the control of a Board of
Managers.  Nine members constitute a quorum at any
of the meetings, which are held regularly every month
-July and August excepted-or specially whenever
deemed necessary. The City is divided into twentytwo districts, each ward forming a district, and the
districts are divided into sections.  Each district has
an advisory committee, consisting of five members, and
each section a visitor.
The rules for the government of the Association are
as follows: 
TEE ASSOCIATION FOR TEE POOR.
To regard each applicant for relief as entitled to
charity, until a careful examination proves the contrary.
To give relief only after a personal investigation of
each case, by visitation and inquiry.
To relieve no one except through the Visitor of the
Section in which the applicant lives.
To give necessary articles, and only what is immediately necessary.
To give only in small quantities, and in proportion to
immediate need; and of coarser quality than might be
procured by labor, except in cases of sickness.
To give assistance at the right moment; not to prolong it beyond the duration of the necessity which calls
for it; but to extend, restrict, and modify relief according to that necessity.
To require of each beneficiary abstinence from intoxicating liquors as a drink; of such as have young children
of a proper age, that they may be kept at school, unless
unavoidable circumstances prevent it; and to apprentice
those of suitable years to some trade, or send them to
service. The design being to make the poor a party to
their own improvement and elevation, the willful violation or disregard of these rules shall debar them from
further relief.
To give no reliefto recent immigrants having claims on
the Commissioners of Emigration, except, in urgent cases,
for two or three days, or until that Department can be
informed of such cases, when the responsibility of this
Association toward them shall cease.
To give no aid to persons who, from infirmity, imbecility, old age, or any other cause, are likely to continue
unable to earn their own support, and consequently to
be permanently dependent, except in extreme cases for
543 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
two or three days, or until they can be referred to the
Commissioners of Charity.
To discontinue relief to all who manifest a disposition
to depend on alms, rather than their own exertions, for
support, and whose further maintenance would be incompatible with their good and the objects of the Institution.
The late census shows that the population of the
City consists of forty-one nationalities, representing
every quarter of the Globe, and embracing, necessarily,
corresponding varieties of race, language, color, habits,
temperament, moral character, religions, political proclivities, and occupations. The following is a classification of the inhabitants according to their nativity, as
gathered fromn the census of 1865:
Amierican born........................... 407,314 or
Firomn Ireland.............................. 161,34 or
Fi-iii G(ermnan States..................... 107,267 or
Fromi England......................... 19,699 or
From other foreign countries.............. 30,772 or
Total................................ 726,386
56.85 per cent.
22.21     "
14.77    "
2.71 
3.46     "
100
The foregoing figures show the aggregate of the foreign-born in the City to be 319,074, or 43 15-100 per
cent. of the population.  The statement is accepted,
though difficult of reconciliation with probability or fact;
for, as early as 1855, the ratio of the foreign-born was
51 19-100 per cent., and, as 1,342,965 immigrants landed
at this port during the ensuing decennial period, it
appears questionable that their number, meanwhile,
should have decreased in this City more than 8 per cent.
Again, according to the census of 1865, the native voters
were 51,500, and the naturalized, or foreign-born voters,
77,475, thus giving the latter, though numerically 8
544 
THE ASSOCIATION FOR THE POOR.
per cent. less than the former, 50 per cent. more voters.
As most of the poor here are foreigners, it may be
well to state that the native-born, who comprise rather
more than half the inhabitants, give about twenty-three
per cent. of the City indigence; the foreign-born, including those aided by the Commissioners of Emigration,
amount to seventy-seven per cent., which is nearly four
imported paupers for one American.  Of the 68,873
persons arrested for offenses against person and property, for the year ending October 31st, 1865, 45,837
were foreigners; and of these 32,867 were Irish, and
but 23,036-white and black, all told-were natives.
Of the whole number arrested, 13,576 could neither read
nor write. Many of the native-born paupers and criminals are the offspring of foreigners, who were themselves
paupers and criminals.  Hence much of our indigenous
pauperism and crime is immediately traceable to foreign
parentage.
Twenty-five years of experience have tested the efficacy of the system adopted by the Association in benefiting the poor. Thousands of our wealthy and generous families have found that the cessation of miscellaneous almsgiving at their doors and elsewhere, and the
substitution therefor of the present charity, has not
only been more effective, but has materially reduced
able-bodied vagrancy. The members of the society feel
assured that their plan is the true one, and believe that
by general co-operation professional mendicancy could
soon be suppressed.  The number of members is steadily increasing, and is now over twenty-seven hundred.
The visitorls go to every tenement and place of poverty in their particular section, make personal investigation of the cases of destitution, and report them to the
35
545 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Association. In no ordinary case is money given, for
when it is, it is liable to be expended for liquor.  The
Association distributes nothing but food and fuel, and
that often finds its way to the corner grocery. Tickets
are used for the purpose. Any member hearing of a
case of destitution fills the ticket as follows:
Mr. JOHN JONES, Visitor, No. 48 Stuyvesant street:
Please visit Patrick Murphy, No. 93 James street.
JosEPH SMITH,
Member N. Y. Association
For improving the Condition of the Poor.
Residence, 56 Fifteenth street.
If Mr. Jones finds Patrick Murphy deserving, Murphy gets a ticket like this, to the grocer, specifying by
list No. 1 or No. 2 the articles needed:
Jr. GEORGE JENKINS, 44 Eighteenth street:
Please let Patrick Murphy have the value of $1, of list No. 1.
JJons JoNEs, Visitor.
October 14, 1868.
List number one represents food for persons in health,
number two represents food for persons in sickness.
The number is written in ink so that it can not be
readily altered. In this manner the prospect of being
imposed upon is lessened.
A statement of the labors of the Association shows
that in 1844 there were 244 visitors, 10,082 visits were
made, 1,560 families and 6,240 persons were relieved;
$10,522 were received and $8,704 disbursed. Last
year there were 339 visitors, who made 22,509 visits;
5,141  families  and  19,097 persons  were relieved;
$57,837 were received and $59,058 disbursed.
The Association has rooms at No. 39 Bible House,
546 
CITY MIISSIONARYY.
_
Inr  
THE ASSOCIATION FOR THE POOR.
and from this, as a radiating center, the visitors go forth
upon their mission of charity and mercy. The labor of
the good and humane persons who compose the Society
is constant, indefatigable and beyond all praise.
The members are among the best people in the City.
Fine men and delicate women, in the prosecution of
benevolence go through the filthiest streets and into the
most noisome dens; do every thing in their power to
feed the hungry and clqthe the naked, and ask no
reward  but the precious consciousness of benefiting
their kind; thus proving themselves Christians whatever their creed.
547 
CHAPTER LXIII.
THE WORKING WOMEN'S 1HOME.
THE high price of living in New-York has borne so
heavily upon the poor that it has crowded them into
tenement houses, and compelled them to subsist in the
most unnatural manner. The numerous women, who
rarely earn more than about half the wages of men,
even when they do men's work, are, and always have
been, oppressed by the high prices they have been compelled to pay.
Any and every boarding-house keeper is prejudiced
against women; would much rather have men at the
same rate; and does his or her best to avoid taking
them. One woman is more burdensome, they say, than
half a dozen men; for she is so much in the house, and
gives so much more trouble than the other sex. Unprotected young women are exposed to dangers and temptations in the tenement houses, and yet they have no
other place to go.
To obviate this difficulty, and to provide comfortable
and healthful quarters for them, the Working Women's
Home was established in this City about a year ago.
The idea was borrowed, I believe, from the model lod,ging-houses of Great Britain, which have been of great
benefit to the laboring classes, and have become popular
and been reformatory wherever they have been opened. 
THE WORKING WOMEN'S HOME.
The Home, No. 45 Elizabeth street, near Canal, is a
large six-story building, formerly a superior tenement
house, erected originally by several benevolent NewYorkers for colored families.. For some reason, the colored people got crowded out, and persons of the usual
miscellaneous character obtained possession.  The philanthropic citizens who had the enterprise in charge,
thinking the location favorable, and knowing the superior
character of the building, bought it for $100,000, andl
expended $50,000 more to put it in order. They opened
it as soon as the necessary repairs were made; the house
having been cleansed from top to bottom, painted, and
properly furnished.
Three months were required to advertise the object
of the Home, which was for a long while supposed to be
a charitable institution.  When its character was made
known, it received, in a few weeks, about 100 boarders.
The number increased, and has been increasing slowly
but steadily ever since. At present it has 245 boarders
-many more than it has had at any previous time,and before the Winter is over it will probably have not
far from 500, for whom there are ample accommodations.
As you enter the house, you find yourself in a large
office, presided over by a young woman, who receives
the money, attends to the register, and performs the
duties of a clerk in a hotel. She is always at her post;
is polite and attentive, and might give valuable lessons
to men in the same position. Adjoining the office is a
large parlor and reading-room, divided into three com partments, in the first of which the boarders are privi leged to receive their friends of either sex; while the
others are of a more private character. The reading
549 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
room has files of the daily papers, with a well-selected
but small library, and the parlor contains a piano and
melodeon. The boarders have music; talk, dance, and
enjoy themselves until 10 in the evening, when they
retire. Adjoining the parlor is the dining-room and
laundry, and in the basement is the kitchen, bakery,
and bath-rooms.   On  the  second floor are sleeping
apartments, and also on the third, fourth, fifth, and
sixth, the apartments opening into a broad and airy hall.
The halls have such names as Cooper hall, Aspinwall
and Astor gallery, being christened after the donors of
the establishment. The beds are ranged side by side,
and, separated by white curtains, are models of neatness
and sweetness. Every thing about the house breathes
the air of order, cleanliness, and comfort, and is decidedly attractive. The washing is well done, the cooking
excellent, and the tables look inviting. While every
thing is plain, it is substantial and satisfactory. On
the south side of the building is a promenade, where
the boarders walk and take the air when the weather
is pleasant.
When the Itome was first opened, the charge for board
and washing was $3.25 a week, but since then $1.25 has
been fixed as the rate for lodging and washing, payable in advance, the meals being paid for when they are
had. The $1.25 per week entitles the boarders to all
the privileges of the house, and the meals, received on
the European plan, cost them from $1.75 to $3.25 additional. They live very well, though the price of their
meals does not average 20 cents each.
No restrictions are placed upon the boarders. They
are admitted until 11 o'clock at night. If they come
after that hour, they are still let in, but 25 cents extra
650 
THE WORKING WOMEN's HOME.
is charged for the trouble of rising and unlocking the
door. This is an objectionable regulation that should
be changed. To guard against improper persons, references as to character are required in all cases.  The
trustees, including some of our best citizens, desire to
make it a well-regulated Christian home; but they do
not attempt to interfere with the opinions or liberty of
the boarders. Prayers are made every evening, and
those desirous of assisting at the devotional exercises
can do so, or absent themselves if they choose. Applications for board can be made at any time. It is not
customary to take women for less time than a week;
but the rule is often violated when there is urgent reason.   Sometimes women go there late at night, and,
having neither reference nor money, are directed to the
Hlouse of Industry or St. Barnabas.  The money is in
sisted upon, to preserve the dignity and self-respect of
the boarders, who would not remain if they considered
themselves objects of charity.
The greater portion of the women are foreigners, but
many of them Americans. They are generally between
18 and 35. No restriction is made about their age,
beyond the fact that they must not be children, or feeble
or infirm from years. Any neat, healthy, capable woman
of good character is admissible as a boarder.   Many of
the boarders are not only intelligent, but well educated.
Bookfolders, hoop-skirt-makers, cloak-makers, artists, students, teachers, and printers are among the number.
They rise when they please, and go to their duties; returning as they like.   They can remain in the house if
so disposed. Indeed, there seem to be no more restraints upon them than there would be at any wellregulated hotel. The parlors are always open, and the
551 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
library is always accessible, so they who choose can
spend all the time there. At the hour for going to bed,
ten o'clock, the lights are put out, and the boarders
retire.
Though the boarders at the Home are more numerous
than they have been-there are forty-four more now
than there were on the first of last month-there are not
nearly so many as there should be.
The idea that the Home may be considered a kind of
charity, which is so abhorrent to the American mind,
has prevented many persons from going there, particularly those of native birth. Some abuses, too, have
either crept into the institution, or are believed to have
done so,-and the effect is the same. The Home has
been avoided, without good reason, and the objections
urged against it, even if well-grounded, might easily be
removed.
There ought to be dozens of such homes in New-York,
and there will be, no doubt, in a few years. Compared
to tenement houses, they are a blessing, and offer inducements apart from economy that few working women
can afford to dispense with.
During the year, the receipts have paid the current
expenses, and next year will yield, probably, a small
interest on the investment.
The principal obstacle to its complete success is its
fancied charitable character. But it is no more a charity
than the Fifth Avenue or Metropolitan hotel is a charity.
Its boarders pay all that is asked of them. No obligation is imposed, no favor conferred. Persons there, are,
and should feel, as independent as in their own household. The trustees and incorporators, among whom are
many of our best citizens, are anxious to have the Home
552 
TIHE WORKING WOMEN'S HOME.
filled, and are gratified when it is well patronized.
Most of the boarders are young women.   Not a few of
them have been married, and are still; but their husbands are dissipated, and squander their wives' earnings.
Consequently the wives have come to the Home as to a
kind of asylum, and live there practically divorced until
their husbands die or reform. The Home has not been
patronized by the class one would expect-the poorest;
but by those who are in comparatively comfortable circumstances.
Some of the boarders earn $10 to $12, and even $15
to $16 a week, though the majority have no more than
$6 to $7.  They can live for almost half of that, which
enables them to save $100 or so during the year.
The institution is excellent, and in a great centre like
New-York, very necessary. It will be imitated, no
doubt, in other cities, and certainly deserves to be.
5 O' 3 
CHAPTER LXIV.
THE MILITARY.
THE Metropolis delights in the military, and might
aptly sing the popular song from Offenbach's opera, now
so much in vogue. The parades of its different regiments the City enjoys like a fresh-hearted child. Whenever they turn out the streets are crowded, and busy
Broadway and the fashionable avenues stand and stare
with admiring eyes. Constant displays never seem to
tire the Gothamites, whose appetite for shows and spectacles can not be sated.
Manhattan, from the earliest time, has had a military
force for its protection, and it needs such protection today more than it ever did before. Its military organizations have always been numerous and effective, and
very creditable specimens of citizen-soldiery.   They
have shown themselves worthy of trust and praise in
time of need, and are really essential to the City's
security and well-being. They have been styled holiday-soldiery, and carpet-knights, and taunted with the
epithets; but when good service was wanted the ridiculed regiments rendered it promptly and courageously.
In all great cities the military are, if an evil, a
necessary evil. But for military aid New-York would
have suffered incalculably in times past. The times
when it prevented or suppressed riot and bloodshed are 
THE MILITARY.
memorable, and many of them of recent date. When
the abolition mob raged here, long ago, the City soldiery prevented the houses and stores of many residents from being torn down. During the great fire of
1835, which destroyed the entire business portion of
the town, the military came out after the firemen had
been exhausted, volunteered their services, and worked
day and night until the flames were subdued. The
flour riots that followed in the Spring would have ended
very disastrously if the soldiers had not awed the mob
into quietude, and frightened them into dispersion.
When Mayor Clark, in 1837, was elected, the banks
had concluded to suspend specie payments, and fearing that the movement would cause a riot, he called
out the military. They took their position before Trinity church, planted cannon there, and pointed them
down Wall street. Those iron monitors kept the peace.
The precaution was wise; for the suspension caused
great excitement, which would have burst into fury and
destruction but for the armed preparation.
The famous Astor-Place opera-house riots, in the
spring of 1849, were caused by the adherents of For rest, who resolved to mob Macready, then playing there,
because, as they alleged, the English tragedian had cre ated prejudice against the American when he was in
London. Some of the most notorious rowdies in the
Metropolis were in the mob, and while the tumult was
at its height the Seventh regiment was ordered out. It
was then, as now, composed of young men of standing
and education, and was called in derision the' kid glove" and "dandy" regiment.  The roughs did not
suppose the luxurious Seventh would be of any service,
and shouted defiance when it was ordered to fire. It
555 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
did fire, however, and wounded several persons, and
showed such determination and courage that it put
down the mob.
When the present Metropolitan police were created
by the legislature, during Fernando Wood's first term
of mayoralty, and he, at the head of the City police,
refused to acknowledge their authority, there was as
fine a prospect for municipal war as there ever has been
in the City. Wood was in the City Hall; the Park
was full of his police, armed with revolvers and clubs;
and he had sworn he would not permit the warrant
that had been issued for his arrest to be served upon
him. The Metropolitan police were under the command
of Simneon Draper, and it was that body which was par ticularly offensive to Wood. While there was every
probability of a hostile collision, the Seventh regiment,
on its way to Boston, marched down Broadway, and
General Sanford, who had charge of the militia, halted
them, and ordered them to serve the warrant. The
City police insisted it was their right and duty; but the
General, believing that such an attempt would cause
bloodshed, demanded that the military should perform
the service. They did. An officer entered the Park and
the City Hall, and served  the writ upon Fernando
Wood, who had declared again and again that he would
not surrender alive. The presence of the soldiers either
overawed him, or caused him to change his opinion; for
he made no resistance, no further menaces. The serious
complication was quieted without trouble; but if it had
been left to the two bodies of police, no doubt hundreds
of lives would have been lost.
A few years ago the state militia was converted into
the National State Guard, which is the best organization
5'D' 6 
THiE  MILITARY.
we have yet had. The regiments in the City are called
the First division, and include the following: First,
Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth,
Ninth,  Eleventh,  Twelfth,  Twenty-second,  Thirtyseventh, Fifty-fifth, Sixty-ninth, Seventy-first, Seventyninth, Ninety-sixth, First Artillery, Washington Gray
Cavalry, First Cavalry, Second Cavalry.  They  are
well equipped, well drilled, and well armed, and have a
true soldierly pride in their organization. Of the different regiments and battalions few are complete.
The crack regiments are the Seventh, Ninth,
Twenty-second, and Fifty-seventh, of which the Seventh
is, of course, the most renowned, if not the best.
The whole division numbers about 13,000 men, who
are of a superior order. They include various nationalities, and many  of  the  members  have  seen  an(l
made part of numerous well-fought fields.   When the
War broke out, they proved that they were not soldiers
in time of peace only, by volunteering promptly, and
marching to Washington almost in a body.
The city sent 100,000 men to the field, though, of
course, a large proportion of those enlisted were from
other cities and towns-part of the throng of strangers
who find their way here by a natural law. Of the
entire number enlisted, 9,000 were killed and wounded,
and 37,000 served as officers during the rebellion.
When any of the four crack regiments turn out, particu larly the Seventh, men, women, and children turn out like wise, and stand by the hour on the corners which it is
known they will pass.  It is singular, this curiosity,
this fondness for sightseeing of New-Yorkers, who, in
many things, are so blase'; yet, in others, so excitable.
Waving plumes, gold lace, flashing bayonets, swells of
557
S. 
THIE  GREAT METROPOLIS.
music, seem to have strong magnetic power for the
populace.   Not infrequently the lines of stages are
drawn off, and the whole tide of vehicular travel inter rupted, that the pompous parade may be seen to advan tage. The chief defect of the Metropolis is, that it has
but one good thoroughfare,-Broadway,-and for that
reason any public demonstration here is much more of a
nuisance than of an attraction.  But our citizens forget
all inconveniences when their eye is appealed to and
their love of display gratified.
Considering the immense number of scoundrels and
desperadoes here, New-York needs a stronger body than
her two thousand police to prevent the terrible riots
that might any moment be directed against property
and life. We have had instances, again and again, of
the dangerous element in the midst of us. We know
how formidable and ferocious it is, though it hides from
the sunshine, and many deem it non-existent because
invisible.  We can detect, at any time, if we will go out
of our accustomed paths, the dens of the desperate men
who have neither conscience nor heart; who would rob
for pleasure; burn for malignity; murder for excitement.
There are thousands and tens of thousands of such
wretches within musket-shot of the fashionable promenades and business quarters, and I can not help but think
that their knowledge that the transmission of a message
over the wires would bring 13,000 disciplined, determined, experienced men to confront them with deadly
weapons, exercises a wholesome restraint.
That is a small army, and would be more than a
match for ten times the number of villains and criminals
with no higher courage than brutal strength and desire
for plunder and rapine give.  I fancy nervous people
558
-0 
THE MILITARY.
who have property, parents who have fair daughters,
fine men who have lovely wives, rest more calmly over
this volcano because they remember that the means of
extinguishing its fierce fires, should they burst forth, are
near at hand.
The military have an honorable record in New-York,
and are indispensable to its security. They are not
costly, for each regiment receives but $500 a year from
the City for its armory; all their other expenses being
met by the members themselves. They keep up the
soldierly spirit, and preserve a wholesome feeling of
rivalry among the different corps. They do a deal of
good in various ways, and like sentinels in camp make
it safe for virtue, and wealth, and beauty to sleep while
the enemy is near.
Broadway can not exist without its sensations. I
was recalling the other day the many and different ones
it had had; and it occurred to me that the grandest of
all was the departure of the Seventh regiment for the
War, in the Spring, of 1861.
Broadway was never so thronged before. Every
window, every square foot of space, every doorway,
was crowded. The Seventh, composed of the e'lite and
culture of the town, marched from Eighth street to
Cortlandt; marched, it was believed, to martyrdom;
but marched unflinchingly, determinedly, heroically to
meet their doom for their dear country's welfare.
It was two days after the killing of the Massachu setts soldiers in Baltimore, when the entire North was
in a state of doubt and anxiety about the issues of the
Rebellion.
Such a greeting as the regiment received.   A storm
of handkerchiefs, a deep, earnest, prolonged cheer, and
559
I 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
the tens of thousands of men and women standing there
with wet eyes, and unuttered prayers upon their lips.
The scene was more trying to the gallant soldiers than
any shock of battle could have been. They were like
marble; moved like machines; looked not to the right
or the left, lest the eager face of a loved friend might,
'with its intense sympathy, stir emotions that could not
be controlled. They went on; and before, and behind,
and around them, the deep expression of admiration,
sympathy, and love, roared like a boisterous and melan choly sea.
There were fine natures, generous souls, chivalrous
spirits, marching stoutly, as it was thought, to death,
through the spotless gates of honor.
There Theodore Winthrop, the knightly gentleman
and fearless soldier, walked beside his howitzer, no
more to return alive, but to come home dead upon the
gun, all draped in crape and wrapped with the banner of
stars, the Nation mourning him as heroes are  ever
mourned.
Sad, eventful day, it will never be forgotten. It was
one of the first great impulses, the deep agonies of the
vast struggle which made ambition virtue and courage
patriotism.
Broadway had never seen its like; has never since;
will never see it again.  Those who witnessed it bear
it in mind as an inspiration and an era of painful joy.
The mighty City felt the going of the Seventh regiment to its heart's core.  The event has never been
described as it ought to have been.  It thrilled through
the land. It gave the country five hundred thousand
soldiers; it was the beginning of the War, the nerver of
the struggle, the guarantee of victory.
560 
CHAPTERP LXV.
THE FIRE DEPARTMENT.
THE abandonment of the old system of the Volunteer
Fire Department, and the adoption of the present Paid
Department in New-York has been a very efficient
cause of diminished lawlessness and ruffianism in the
City.
Rowdyism never received two such severe blows as
the establishment of the Metropolitan Police and the
Paid Fire Department gave it, and it will never recover
from them. The old police system encouraged ruffianism and disorder, by insuring to ruffians and criminals
immunity from punishment, and the engine houses
furnished them shelter and rallying points for additional
outrages.  The engine houses were indeed the abiding
places and recruiting offices for the worst class of our
population.
The old police were the aiders and abettors-often
the friends and companions-of the fire-boy roughs;
and between the two, rowdyism had an organization
and a system that made it a power in the municipal
government most formidable for evil.
For years before the City Police and the Volunteer
Department were abolished, every intelligent person
saw that they were the most serious impediments we
had to contend with in the establishment of public
36
I 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
peace and private security. All the clamor against
them, all the earnest effort to get rid of them, were of
no avail until the desperate condition of affairs in the
City transferred the appointment of the police to the
State, in 1857.
The conflict on the 9th of June of that year, for the
possession of the Street Commissioner's office, when
Fernando Wood, as Mayor, refused to surrender the
keys, and the Governor ordered his arrest, is still fresh
in the minds of the public. The Mayor resisted, and
the old police under him sided against the Mletropolitans, causing a fierce fight on the steps of the City Hall,
in which many were wounded.
On the evening of July 4th the trouble, which seemed
to have been settled, broke out anew, and caused what
is known as the Dead Rabbit Riot. The Dead Rabbitsloafers and roughs, thieves and convicts, belonging to
the Fivqe Points —were on the side of the old police, and
attacked the Metropolitan patrolmen in the Bowery.
The Bowery Boys, then a notorious organization of
fighting men, supported the police, and a series of riots
ensued in the Sixth Ward; the women of that locality
hurling bricks, stones, and other missiles, from the
houses, upon the heads of the Metropolitans. The
military were called out, and suppressed the riots, but
not before twelve persons had been killed and more
than two hundred wounded.
The Dead Rabbits were actually dead after that;
but the Bowery Boys lingered on until the adoption of
the Paid Fire Department, four years ago, which put a
quietus upon the Boys, and removed almost every trace
of their noxious existence.
The reformation of the engine houses had the same
562 
THE FIRE DEPARTMENT.
effect on the rowdies who frequented them, that the
breaking of pots of earth has upon the plants they contain.  The roughs lost their rendezvous, their asylums,
and they disappeared as an organization. New-York
still has rowdies in excess, but they are less numerous
and far less dangerous than ever before; and the Paid
Fire Department is the new boundary between past
disorder and present improvement.
The Metropolitan Fire Department is under the control of a Board of Commissioners, five in number, who
have their office in Firemen's Hall, 127 and 129 Mercer
street, where all the affairs of the Department are transacted. The Department has one Chief Engineer, at a
salary of $4,500; one Assistant Engineer, at $2,500;
ten District Engineers, each at $1,800; forty-five Foremen of Companies, each at $1,300; thirty Assistant
Foremen, each at $1,000; thirty-two Engineers of
Steamers, each at $1,200; four hundred and one  privates, each at $1,000; five hundred and nineteen men
in all.
The engine houses, sixty-three in number, have been
materially altered and improved since the abandonmnent of the old system. The volunteer firemen had
done much damage to the houses, and in many cases
had claimed, carried off, and stolen private property.*
The buildings were erected by the City at great cost,
many of them having been elegantly decorated' by private
contributions; and since they have been repaired they
are very comfortable and handsome. The paid firemen
feel a pride in them, and instead of lounging about the
doorways, carousing and fighting, and often insulting
passers-by, as their predecessors did, they occupy wellfurnished sitting rooms while awaiting duty.
5'u' 3 
THlE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The number of hand-engines is nine, of steam-engines
in active service thirty-four, and in reserve eight. The
hose carriages and hook and ladder companies are respectively fifteen and eight. The second class steamers
have been found the best for general and efficient service, and cost about $4,000 apiece.
The cost of the Paid Fire Department the past year
was nearly $900,000, while that of the volunteer system during its last year was less than $600,000, though
it must be remembered that about $700,000 of the former
expense was for the pay of the force. Whatever the
increase in expenditure, there is no doubt the Paid Department is much more serviceable and effective in extinguishing and preventing fires than was the Volunteer.
On an alarm of fire an average of one-sixth of the
entire force goes to the place designated, and if the
alarm be repeated the number is increased to one-third.
The time required for harnessing the horses and leaving
the engine house is twenty-five seconds.
The present force is under almost military discipline,
and furnishes a marked contrast to the volunteers. A
few years ago a fire in New-York was a revolution,
caused much more clamor and excitement than a change
of Government in Mexico or the South American Republics. When the alarm was sounded the town was
turned upside down. A wild mob rushed through the
streets with the engines, bellowing through their trumpets, hallooing at the top of their voices to the terror
and danger of all quiet citizens. A fire then was little
less than a riot. It furnished excitement to the idle,
and an opportunity for the dishonest. Dwellings and
stores, near the fire, were often broken open and plundered under pretense of saving property.  Anybody
534 
J
THE FIRE DEPARTMENT.
could act as a fireman. There was no order, no restriction, no responsibility.
With the new system every thing is different.   Order
and discipline take the.place of numbers. The police
exclude all persons not members of the force, and each
man does his own work. Robberies at fires, once the
rule, have  now  become  a  rare exception.    As an
instance, not long ago, during a fire near Tiffany & Co.'s
great jewelry establishment, in Broadway, the firemen
had access to every part of the building. They could
have stolen and concealed small articles of great value
without any fear of detection, and yet nothing whatever was taken, a fact that the firm gratefully acknowledged at the time.  The members  of the force, as a
class, are sober, intelligent, and exemplary citizens, as
unlike their predecessors as it is easy to imagine.
The whole number of fires during the past year was
873, incurring losses of $5,711,000, being $717,736 less
than the Ioss of the year previous.  It is believed that
the number of fires will steadily decrease as the department is improved and perfected. New-York has long
been famous for fires, and many foreigners religiously
believe there is no hour of the twenty-four that some
building is not burning down here. No wonder they
thought so once.  We  have made a reformation, however, and before many years a fire will be as unusual in
New-York as it is in London.
Many of the fires are incendiary; but such increased
vigilance has been instituted that they must grow rarer
and rarer. It has long been observed that the dullness
of trade in the City acts like a combustible, and that
well-insured stocks of goods when not in active demand
are in the greatest peril of being burned. This phe
565 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
nomenon has never been satisfactorily explained, though
there are doubters of human  integrity who claim to
account for it by natural causes.
The fire-alarm telegraph has greatly improved in its
working, but would be still more effective if the Relay
& Bell magnet, with the Morse key, were introduced
into the engine houses, so that alarms could be sent out
for other stations than their own.   The expense attending the purchase of the best apparatus would be so large
that the Commissioners have refrained from obtaining
it. The fire stations of the City are about 500, and are
indicated by the striking of the bells in the towers according to the numbers.  Thus, 323 is the corner of Twentysixth street and Eighth avenue. Ten strokes give the
general alarm; then follow three strokes in quick osuccession; a pause; two more strokes; a pause, and three
strokes, which, by consulting a little pamphlet distributed throughout the City, shows almost the exact location of the fire.
All the fires, with important particulars, are telegraphed to police head-quarters in Mulberry street,
where the reporters of the daily papers obtain their
information without going to the spot, which, in a city
like New-York, would often'occupy more time than
could be spared between the occurrence of the fire and
the hour of publication.
The bell-towers in different parts of the town are furnished with excellent bells, that can be heard to a great
distance. The bells at the Post-office, City Hall, Union
and Jefferson Markets, are among the most famous and
resonant; three of them are new, and well sustain the
reputation of the old.
The condition of the firemen, morally and physically,
566 
THE FIRE DEPARTMENT.
is very good. They keep their uniforms, their apparatus, and their horses exceedingly neat; showing much
of the care and pride about person and property that
regular soldiers feel.  It used to be said that men who
were hired would not be found to discharge the duties
like volunteers; but the experiment has proved exactly
the opposite.
'The Comminsioners have constant applications for
situations, and whenever vacancies occur, there are at
least ten candidates for each vacancy. The spirit of
rivalry which once resulted in violent quarrels, fights,
and riots, now reveals itself in a spirit of generous emulation, that redounds to the general advantage and efficacy of the Department.
The fire insurance companies, more deeply interested
than any other portion of the community, bear witness
to the great superiority of the new system over the old.
Improvements are being made steadily, and, though
New-York is still behind other and smaller cities in its
Fire Department, it is likely that in a few years it will
be equal to any of them.
No one living out of the Metropolis can realize what
a great relief and advance the Paid Department is.
Instead of being a nuisance and a nest of rowdyism and
vice, it is a protection, an insurer of the public peace,
and a municipal benefaction.
567 
CHAPTER LXVI.
RACING AND FAST HORSES.
THE Metropolis has "developed" in nothing more
rapidly than in the quality of its horses. The last ten
or twelve years have made a revolution in horse-flesh.
Men now drive, and have an enthusiasm about blooded
stock, who, until recently, had no interest in the turf, or
any thing belonging to it. They were satisfied to jog
along behind slow and sober steeds, until, catching
the fetlock fever, they subscribed to The Spirit of the
Times, and spent thousands of dollars in making additions to their stables.
America has been imitating England, the North following the South, in making the turf one of the pleasures
1roper and honorable to the class of gentlemen. The
time when men owning and delighting in horses were
contemptuously spoken of as "jockeys," no longer
exists. No man of the world, who has liberal means
and aspires to fashion, considers his establishment complete without a well-supplied stable. Our first men of
business, and even  memnberis and dignitaries of the
church, possess and enjoy handsome roadsters, and
discuss their "time" and "bottom" over the dinner.
table, in the counting-room, and in ecclesiastical portals.
The opening of the Central Park, with its fine drives,
has, more than any thing else, given a new interest to 
RACING AND FAST HORSES.
fast horses and fine stables. The Park is a magnificent
place to exhibit horses, and men buy them for the
privilege of displaying their good points and high spirit
there. Any pleasant afternoon you can see in the Park
the change it has wrought upon persons who like to
move rapidly on wheels.
The race-courses of New-York have, until recently,
been on Long Island. The Centreville has fallen into
disuse; but the Fashion, Union, and Long Island tracks
are still the scenes of spirited contests between trotters.
They are not so popular as they once were; for they are
out of the way, and the roads leading to them not
desirable. Ten or fifteen years ago, the most remarkable contests were on those tracks, both by running and
trotting horses. Eclipse and Sir Henry had their great
struggle; Fashion made her famous running time; Gray
Eagle and Wagner awoke wild enthusiasm; Lady Suffolk, Flora Temple, George M. Patchen, Dexter, Gen.
Butler, Whalebone, Lantern, Mountain Boy, and other
celebrated trotters have shown their best speed on the
Long Island courses. Of late, only trotters have gone
upon those tracks, which though very good, decrease
each season in public favor.
Tile Jerome Park, the newest and finest course in the
country, at Fordham, Westchester  county, is now
devoted to running races exclusively. It is named after
Leonard W. Jerome, the well-known turfman and Wall
street operator, who  gave the land for the purpose.
The Jerome Park is managed and controlled by the
members of the American Jockey Club, —citizens of
fortune and education, of high social position, and
prominent in business circles.  Their intention has been
to make the turf respectable; to render racing a refined
569 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS
and dignified recreation among gentlemen, and to remove
from it all unfairness and trickery.  This has been
accomplished, and the races at Jerome Park resemble
the Derby in England, and the Longchamps in France.
The best class of people, of both sexes, attend, and the
grand display is well worth witnessing.
The men and women dress for the Jerome Park,
though in different style, as they do for the opera or an
evening reception. They are brave and gallant; look
their prettiest, and behave their best.  You see there
the Broadway fmerchant and Beaver street importer,
the Broad street broker and exchange place banker, the
Nassau street journalist and Fifth avenue dandy, the
club-lounger and Tenth street artist, the belle of
kMadison avenue and the leader of Twenty-third street
fashion, the majestic entertainer of Fifth avenue and
the charmning coquette of Stuyvesant square.  Silks
and laces, velvets and jewels, plumes and perfumes,
flowers and brocades, ravishing beauties and chivalrous
cavaliers, are there in profusion. The Park is an
excellent place to witness the fashion, and wealth, and
culture of the City; and the races there often become
secondary, as an attraction, to the brilliant crowd in
attendance.
Another show-place for fine trotters is Peter Dubois's
track, near McComb's dam, where, on any fair afternoon, most of the fine horses owned by private gentlemen
can be seen. Many a friendly contest is had there;
and speed is reached, not unfrequently, that surprises
the drivers themselves. Dubois's is growing more and
more into favor, and several hundreds of thousands of
dollars' worth of blooded stock is visible there in a few
hours, during the pleasant Spring and Autumn months.
570
I 
RACING AN, FAST HORSES.
571
Harlem lane is still another field for the display of
fine stock. General Grant was invited there when he
visited New-York, after the close of the Rebellion, and
was delighted with the splendid turn-outs that dashed
before and around him, doing honor to the occasion.
It is an excellent trotting-ground, and has a wide reputation with lovers of the turf.
Samuel N. Pike, of opera-house fame, is soon to lay
out a splendid race-course, on the New-Jersey flats. He
has a very liberal way of doing things, and will, no
doubt, give New-York something to be proud of.
Among the many gentlemen who own blooded and
expensive horses, Robert Bonner, of The Ledqer, is the
most conspicuous. In his stables are Dexter (the fastest
trotter in the World-his best time being 2:17), the
Auburn horse, Young Pocahontas, Peerless, Lady Palmer,
Lantern, and Flatbush Maid. Bonner, though willing to
spend any sum for a good horse, is conscientiously
opposed to racing, and will not consent to any contest
for money, under any circumstances. He will not sell
horses, either. He gave $25,000 or $30,000 for Dexter,
and would not part with him for twice the amount. -The
value of his blooded stock is not less than $100,000 to
$150,000. He has an ambition to own the fastest trotters in America; and, no doubt, if some horse were to do a
mile inside of Dexter's best, Bonner would pay $100,000
for him. He has been urged again and again to trot
Dexter against some other fleet animal, but his invaria.
ble reply is, that 2:17-2 must be beaten before the prop.
osition is even entertainable. The only way he will bet
is to put up a certain amount on his horse's capacity to
trot a mile within a certain time. If he don't, Bonner
will give the amount named to a charitable purpose.
f 
THlE GREAT ~ETROPOLIS.
The famous journalist seems to have almost as much
interest in horses as in The Ledger.  He is what might
be called, if there were any such word, an equinarian.
He takes the same care of his beloved steeds that a
parent does of a favorite child. He studies their comfort in every way, and his handsome stables are models
of horse-homes. Every day he visits his elegant stalls;
examines his fleet property; fondles and talks to it
in the tenderest manner. They know him thoroughly,
and will, no doubt, in time, be induced to write for Tlhe
Ledyer. Almost every afternoon he drives in the Park
or Harlem lane, on Dubois's track, or to High Bridge, in a
double team; and his splendid turn-out always attracts
attention on the road.
*    Cornelius Vanderbilt, after Bonner, is probably the
greatest horse-fancier in Manhattan. He has long been
anxious to buy Dexter and some other of the journalist's blooded stock; but he can't, with all his millions.
The Commodore owns a dozen fine horses; but his best
and fastest are Mountain Boy, Post Boy, and Mountain
Girl, which could not be purchased at less than fabulous
figures, as Vanderbilt, like The Ledger proprietor, is a
buyer, not a seller.
William Turnbull3 a prosperous merchant, is a prominent turf-man and lover of horses. He has extensive
and costly stables; and, among other crack trotters,
boasts of Commodore Vanderbilt, Lew Pettee, and Willie Schepper.
William Simmons, the wealthy broker, shows off his
two fast trotters, George Wilkes and Honest Allen, in
the Park drives and along the Bloomingdale road (now
Broadway), when  the weather is favorable, and has
several roadsters beside.
572 
RACING AND FAST HORSES.
Daniel L. Pettee, the South street iron merchant, has
Ella Sherwood. Gardiner G. Howland, the well.known
merchant, owns and drives Lady Irving and mate.
George B. Allen, the Broad street broker; Edward
Matthews, Jerome B. Fellows, Lester Wallack, E. T.
Simmons, and many others, have fine trotters in their
stables.
Among the owners of running horses are August Belmont, the banker; William R. Travers, the William
street broker; John Hunter, M. H. Sanford, Leonard
W. Jerome, Francis and Lewis Morris, James S. Watson, Paul Forbes, and others. They all have fine stables, in which numerous thorough-bred roadsters may
be found, faring almost as daintily as the celebrated
stallion that Caligula made consul.
The number of superb horses that are owned and
driven here, though they may not be called fast in
sporting circles, is very large. It is not uncommon for
men of business and retired merchants to have stables
that have cost from $10,000 to $50,000, and not a few
have expended $100,000 on horse-flesh alone.
Fast stock and betting are like cause and effect.
Owners of good horses always have faith enough in
them to back their performances with money; and, consequently, laying wagers on races is becoming more and
more a custom and a fashion. Whenever a contest is to
take place over the Union, Fashion, or Long Island
courses, or at the Jerome Park, pools are advertised and
sold at some well-known place, like Lafayette Hall, or
the Astor Hlouse, or some club, or rendezvous of the
sporting fraternity.
Pool selling is managed in this way: The man wvho
sells the pools asks those present how much is betted
573 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
on the choice of, say four horses,-Dexter, Mountain
Boy, Lantern, and Bruno. A bets $1,000, and takes
Dexter; B bets $300, and takes Mountain Boy; C
bets $150, and takes Lantern; D bets $50, and takes
Bruno; Of course, Dexter is the favorite; but the
smaller amounts laid on the other horses are thought to
make the chances about even.  The pool is $1,500, and
the better on the winning horse gets the whole amount.
Pool-selling usually draws a crowd, when the race is
an interesting one. All sorts of people attend it,-turfmen of fashion, blacklegs, loafers, merchants, and pickpockets. Betting and racing make strange companions,
and establish a bond of sympathy between persons of
the most different calling and character.
Men who experience a passion for horses are often
more affected by it than by any other passion.   It
seemns to absorb them. They turn to the subject on all
occasions, and their conversation is interlarded with
phrases borrowed from the stable. Horses are a source
of l)rofound pleasure to many of our citizens, as is
evident to one who drives out to the Park or HIarlem
lane, Dubois's track, or High Bridge.  IIe will see, at
any of those places, splendid turn-outs, from the single horse in a light buggy to the pretentious four-inhand.   Long  strides, crimson nostrils, sleek  coats,
whirling wheels, admiring faces, tightened reins, clouds
of dust, with a general rapidity of life and a great
enthusiasm for the road, will be strikingly apparent.
Our fashionable turf-men would be wretched without
their daily drive.  It is meat and drink for them.
Every year it grows more a necessity of their daily
life, and is now the brightest segment in their round of
pleasure.
574 
CIHAPTER LXVII.
GIFT ENTERPRISES AND SWINDLES.
CITIES take the nonsense out of a man, it has been
said. They do more: they take his purse whenever
they have a chance; and the longer it is, the more apt;
he is to lose it. New-York, particularly, is armed against
unsophisticated strangers, and offers the services of its
sons to relieve them of the last dollar they have at the
earliest moment, and with the most imperturbable
audacity.
William Sharp stands in Broadway and the Bowery,
in Chatham and West street, waiting for his good friend,
John Greenhorn; takes John to his bosom, and robs
John according to the code of metropolitan morals.
Hundreds of persons in this City live year after year
by plundering those whose homes are in the country.
Frequently they have an opportunity to swindle the
rustics in town; but so many of the latter fail to visit
Manhattan that it behooves Sharp to communicate with
John upon his native heath.
To do this effectually Gift Enterprises, as they are
called, have been established. They extend throughout
the country; all credulous men, women  and children
are made parties to the liberal scheme. The Enterprises
are' managed thus: the principal office is located in
New-York, with branches in Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Chicago, and all the principal cities. The managers 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
call themselves Boggs, Simpkins & Co., or Thompson,
Jones & Smith, take an office in some prominent quarter
-Broadway is their favorite-and advertise in all the
country papers that they are to have a grand concert at
Irving, Tammany, or Apollo Hall, when a drawing of
handsome prizes will take place. A list of the prizes
then follows, and is of a very tempting character. Gold
watches, diamond pins, pearl bracelets, melodeons,
pianos, emerald rings, horses and carriages, are offered,
with the statement that the prizes will, if required, be
exchanged for money.
The managers of the concert get hold of directories
of various cities, country newspapers, letter lists, subscription lists to newspapers, and obtain from them
thousands of names. To those names, all over the
country, they direct neatly lithographed circulars,
setting forth the advantages in glowing terms of the
proposed concert and drawing.  It is expressly stated
that any one taking a set of tickets, fifteen in number,
will be guaranteed a prize worth at least $100, on condition that the person receiving the prize will show it to
his or her friends, and inform them how and where he or
she got it.
The tickets are $1 each; but, as a special inducement,
it is declared that a set will be sent for $10, if the tickets
are distributed. By such means the cupidity of credulous
people is appealed.to. They fancy they will have a
handsome reward for their pains. They make an effort
to merit the prize, and usually dispose of the entire set
of tickets. They inclose $10 to Boggs, Simpkins & Co.,
dream of what they will secure, very much as children
dream of hung-up stockings on Christmas eve, and never
hear any thing more of their money or the concert.
676 
GIFT ENTERPRISES AND SWINDLES.
Possibly they come to town, and try to find out
something about the firm. They call at the office. It
is handsomely furnished; but Boggs can't be found, nor
Simpkins, nor the Co. Each one of the firm has gone
somewhere.  They may call again and again; but it
will always be with the same result. The truth is there
is no such person as Boggs or Simpkins. The managers
are fictitious; have a nominal existence only to swindle.
If the question is laid before the police nothing can
be done.  The ticket admits the holder to a concert
when it takes place; but the date is never given.
The managers have a right to charge what they choose
to an entertainment, and to offer any prizes they see fit.
These Gift Enterprises have been so often exposed of
late that they don't meet with such success as they
used to.  But still there are persons verdant enough to
be imposed upon, and will be, no doubt, for many
years.
The managersof such swindles often claim to have
drawings; giving as prizes, watches rings, and bracelets, valued at such and such a rate. If the victims have
received a watch for $200, worth $10 or $15, and seek
redress the swindlers say they valued it at $200; but
the worth of it is quite another thing; and so evade the
law again.
A very common mode of operation is for a fictitious
firmn to inclose a lithographed note to some one, whose
name they have obtained in the manner already described, stating that he has drawn a prize valued at
$200; that the rules of the company require payment
of five or ten per cent. upon all prizes drawn; that,
therefore, on receipt of $5 or $10, the prize, usually a
gold watch, will be sent by express.
37
577 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The person into whose hands the note falls knows he
has never bought a ticket, but presumes he has been
mistaken for somebody  else.   His  covetousness is
appealed to.  He is tempted into dishonesty.  He
becomes a party to the fraud; incloses the sum demanded, and of course that is the end of the matter.
He is naturally ashamed to confess his weakness, and
the swindlers in turn profit by his cupidity.
Still another trick is to send a circular to one of the
greenhorns in the country, inclosing a ten-cent note
postal currency (genuine), informing him that if he
wants one hundred of the notes for a dollar, he can get
them by inclosing the amount. The packets are from
$10 to $100. The swindler says the currency will do
for betting or making a show; but does not mention
any thing about passing it as counterfeit money.
Greenhorn sees the postal currency looks well, and after
investigation learns that it is good. He immediately
jumps at the idea of getting ten dollars for one dol.
lar, and writes with inclosure. It is needless to say he
never receives an answer to his letter, and does not
deserve to.
Drawings for money are advertised, prizes $5, $10,
$50, and $100, up to $500 and $1,000. A confidential
circular is sent, and the recipient is told if he will aid
the managers in making their lottery known, that he
shall have a prize of $100. Numerous tickets and
circulars are forwarded for his distribution. Whether
he does any thing with them or not he pretends to, and
writes the firm to that effect.  The swindlers return
answer that they have set aside $100 for his services;
inquire if he will have the money remitted by a draft
or in Treasury notes; and add incidentally that five per
578 
GIFT ENTERPRISES AND SWINDLES.
cent., according to the inflexible rule of the firm, is
always charged for such advances.
The unsophisticated fellow sends $5, and loses it
instead of getting $95 for nothing, as he fondly imagined.
These scoundrels have still another device. They
send a packet of tickets for a lottery to anybody whose
name they have procured, requesting that he will return
the money for them by mail. Of course no man is
foolish enough to do that. The tickets are returned,
left in the Post-office, or destroyed with some indignation.
In two or three weeks another circular is mailed to
the effect that no doubt the person addressed had remitted the money, but that, owing to postal detention
or failure, it had not been received. The lottery dealers
inform him one of the tickets has drawn a prize, and
that it will be forwarded as soon as the percentage, five
per cent., is sent to the address. The prize named is
generally $100 or $200. Verdant hastens to mail $5
or $10, and the firm is silent forever after as the grave,
Sham jewelry establishments and one dollar stores
are the abode of swindlers. Every thing sold there is
manufactured for the purpose. It is not what it appears; and those who patronize the concerns are
wheedled out of their money always. They are sold
fine silver and gold watches that prove pewter and
brass; and yet, by a quibble or some kind of adroitness, no hold is given to the law.
Mock auctions, though not so common as they used
to be, are still carried on in Broadway, the Bower...
Canal street, and Third avenue. The buyers w,ho- re
in the stores are all in league with the auctioneers.
They bid up the goods, praise them, declare them seat
579
,. v- I
-i 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
bargains; offer to give greenhorn twice what he pays if
he will call at their place of business; and he fancies
they are strangers, and honest like himself. The auctioneer exhibits one article; greenhorn buys it, and before he gets it, it is exchanged for something else.
A good gold watch is offered, and knocked down for
$20, though it is evidently worth five times the amount.
The watch handed over to the countryman is pure brass,
its value $2 or $3.  If he attempts to get his money
back, he is outsworn by a dozen audacious fellows, who
protest before high Heaven that he never paid more
than $2 for the watch. They threaten him too, and if
he is not a man of nerve, they intimidate him. Generally he deems himself lucky to escape with an unbroken
crown, and is in no mood for searching after the money
he has been defrauded of.
New-York must have several hundreds of these gift
enterprises and swindling establishments. No one is
responsible for them. No actual legal guilt can be fixed
upon them.  The police have broken them up time after
time; but they arise in another place. They seem perfectly irrepressible. They will continue while some men
are dishonest and others are credulous; and in such a
city as New-York it is not likely they will ever cease
to exist. It is wonderful in this day of general education and universal newspaper circulation, that so many
persons can be defrauded by such shallow tricks as those
that have been described.
One of the most extraordinary frauds since the War
was that of the Gettysburg Asylum, which was to be a
home for invalid and crippled soldiers of the Union
cause. The managers had actually obtained a charter
from Pennsylvania in consideration of $10,000, and 
GIFT ENTERPRISES AND SWINDLES.
several Northern Generals were induced to lend their
names to the scheme. Magnificent prizes were offered,
a brown-stone mansion in Fifth avenue, a farm, a lot of
splendid diamonds, $100,000 in Treasury notes, and
rosewood pianos among the rest. Their complete value,
according to the advertisements, was $700,000, and
they were to be distributed among 1,200,000 ticketholders at $1 apiece.
The papers were full of the lottery; a small ship
used to be drawn up and down Broadway, distributing
circulars; every effort was made to call attention to the
swindle. About one million tickets were sold, when it
was discovered that the managers of the enterprise
were notorious lottery dealers in Baltimore.
Pennsylvania withdrew its charter, and the Generals
their names. The scheme began to look fraudulent, but
the advertisements were kept up; a concert was given
at Irving Hall; the crowd in attendance was assured
all the promises would be redeemed. A fortnight after,
the whole thing fell to pieces.
The public lost a million, and to this day not a single
ticket has been worth the paper it was printed on.
For all who feel tempted to invest money in lotteries
and prize concerts, it would be well to remember that
any man who proposes to give more than dollar for dollar in any way is a designing scoundrel seeking for a
victim.
581 
CHAPTER T,VIII.
THE WICKEDEST WOMAN IN THE CITY.
THE wickedest woman in New York, according to the
popular verdict, is no doubt Madame Restell, the famous
or infamous "female physician and professor of midwifery," as she is styled in her advertisements and in
the City Directory.
Some sixteen or seventeen years ago she was arrested
and tried for abortion; and the death of a young woman,
who had been put under the Madame's treatment to
conceal a story of sin and shame, was laid at the midwife's door.
Restell lived in Chambers street then, and was comparatively obscure. Her trial created intense excitement all over the country. The newspapers teemed
with its details, and editorials upon editorials were
written, reflecting severely and eloquently upon the
crime with which she was charged. Enough evidence
was offered to prove her guilty, not only of the particular offense, but of numerous other offenses equally
heinous.
There seemed to be no escape for her. The penitentiary stared her in the face, and if the law and justice
had been administered she would have been sent to
Sing Sing for the remainder of her natural life. But
she was tried in New-York, where law is one thing and
justice another; where he who has the most money, or 
THE WICKEDEST WOMAN IN THE CITY.
the political influence to bear upon the judge, is sure to
gain his case. The Madame had liberal means, acquired
by her calling, and consequently she escaped. She
bought witnesses, judges, juries, it is alleged, and was
duly acquitted. It was stated at the time that she
purchased "justice" to the extent of $100,000, and that
she considered it one of the best investments she had
ever made. It certainly was, if preservation from life.
long imprisonment has a value in money.
That trial of Madame Restell was a superb advertisement of her business. It made her known everywhere,
and has probably been the means of adding to her fortune twice the sum she expended.
Some years after the trial she removed up town-it
was considered very far up then-having purchased a
lot in the Fifth avenue, corner  Fifty-second street,
and erected a large and comfortable brown-stone front
there. She is said to have made the purchase through
an agent, as the owner of the real estate would have
declined to sell her the property on account of her profession and unenviable notoriety.
The fashionable thoroughfare was more and more
occupied with elegant mansions. Real estate advanced
in price, and as the tide of society went toward the
Park, many and munificent were the offers to the midwife to dispose of her property. She was pressed to
take five times the amount she paid, but she would not.
She said she had bought the place for a home, and that
she intended to end her days there. No importunity,
no display of bank checks or bank notes could change
her resolution.
There she remains, in her tall, tawdry-looking house to
this day. The lots at the side of her dwelling can not
583 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
be sold, even though houses built on them would be too
far from hers to catch contamination. They have been
offered, it is said, at one-quarter of what those on the
next block have brought, but there are no takers. Law suits have been threatened against Restell to dispossess
her; but she has no dread of law. She declares she is
a regular physician; and as much entitled to practice her
profession as Dr. Carnochan or Dr. Dixon. Those who
are anxious to get rid of her, remember her triumph
long ago, and feel that she is too rich to be prose cuted with any hope of success on the Island of Man hattan.
Restell is so notorious that she is more talked of and
written about than even Greeley or Stewart. She is a
godsend to correspondents of the country press, and
they tell such tales of her as are related of Messalina,
Sabina Pompeia, and other notably wicked women of
antiquity, in the interdicted books that have come down
to us.
She does precisely what might be expected from her
calling, and, to those acquainted with her, makes no
secret of it.  She claims, say those who pretend to
know her, to have done a great deal of good by preventing the errors of persons of position from  coming to
light; to have saved many good but unfortunate women
from ruin and self-destruction; to have increased the
sum of human happiness rather than to have diminished
it. IHer logic is peculiar, and the investigation of her
premises would open a series of moral questions that
are too delicate for public discussion.  She declares she
has possession of too many secrets of fashionable families ever to be disturbed in her home; that she is a
power in the Great City, and that if she wished she
584 
THE WICKEDEST WOMAN IN THE CITY.
could open rich and fragrant closets, and show skeletons
whose existence no one suspects.
How much of her statements is true, and how much
mere menace and gasconade, only she and her patrons
know.  There is good reason to believe, however, that
a woman who has spent thirty years in a luxurious and
licentious city like this, and followed her calling perseveringly, must have knowledge that would better be
hidden from those who would keep their faith in human
nature.
Restell advertises her medicines, her offices, her
hours, and her peculiar practice, in the daily newspapers, as do dozens of the same profession. Everybody
is aware of her business and her location.  She can not
be accused of walking in darkness, or shrouding herself
in mystery.
She is reported to be immensely wealthy, but no
doubt her wealth is exaggerated. She has a husbanda genuine husband, they say-to whom she was married
years ago, and a daughter who is herself a wife. He is
a Russian namled Lohman, and is her financier. She is
English, and was once a bar-maid in a London gin-shop.
She came here at eighteen; made the acquaintance of a
physician; obtained a smattering  of  medicine, and
conceived the notion of adopting the calling she
has since so successfully followed. Before she entered
upon her present profession she was for some time a
clairvoyant physician and fortune-teller, and by that
trickery got a start in life. It is said she has much
knowledge and skill, which she might easily have after
twenty-five years of such a specialty.
Once she was handsome, I understand; but now, in
her fiftieth year, she is a gross, coarse, though not
585 
THE  GREAT METROPOLIS.
heartless.looking woman, with black eyes, black hair,
barely touched with gray, and might play Azucena in
the opera with little "making up."  Her face is familiar
to many, for she drives in the Park nearly every
pleasant afternoon, and her turnout is recognized by its
vulgar display. She would be mistaken for the propri
etress of a bagnio, with her flaring colors, her glittering
jewels, her tawdry carriage, for she is the embodiment
of the principle of bad taste in all that belongs to her.
Her house, No. 657 Fifth avenue, might well be her
abode. The curtains are daubs of color, and every
thing about it indicates vulgarity and prosperity.
Those who have been inside of it say gilt and gaudiness
are visible from cellar to garret.  It is not at all the
palace it is proclaimed to be in the country papers.
On the contrary, it is rather a plain house for the
Avenue, and its furniture and appurtenances, probably,
cost less than those of hundreds of fashionable dwellings in that quarter.
The Madame has no society-she is a perfect pariah
in New-York-but she seems to enjoy herself, and grow
as fleshy as if she had the approval of a good conscience,
and lived a life of innocence and good deeds. She is
fond of making money; her practice is worth $30,000 a
year to her; but it is said she gives liberally to those
who are poor and in distress, and always without the
slightest ostentation.  She is reported to have sheltered
many a poor girl from the pursuit of libertines, and to
have restored not a few to the homes from which, in a
moment of weakness an(l passion, they had strayed.
Let us hope this is so, for it is pleasant to believe
that those who are thought the wickedest have redeeming traits.
586 
THE WICKEDEST WOMAN IN THE CITY.
This tall brown-stone dwelling in the Avenue could
tell what would make sensation stories for many years,
if it had the gift of tongues. Whenever I pass it, it
seems to cast a deeper shadow than any other house,
and a sense of chilliness, such as comes from opened
vaults in the graveyard, to steal from its grim doorways
and windows hung with showy curtains, which shut in
what few of us dare believe, and none of us care to see.
587 
CHAPTER LXIX.
THE MATRIMONIAL BROKERS.
MATRIMONIAL brokers are of recent origin in New-York.
They seem to prosper and decline, to flourish and fail
periodically, as if affected by agencies too subtle for
detection. Just at present, the season appears unfavor.
able. They may have an active business; but they do
not advertise it as they often have done. Possibly they
have become so well established that patronage flows in
upon them without publication of their calling.   The
morning papers now contain few advertisements informing the people where they can obtain excellent wives
and husbands, and thus secure their comfort and happiness for life at very small expense. In the Spring,
printers' ink will be used more liberally; for then the
birds choose their mates, and why shouldn't men and
women go to the brokers, pay $5, and be blessed?
The advertisements-we advertise every thing in NewYork,-are usually after the following fashion:
"MARRAGE.-Young ladies and gentlemen desirous
of being wisely and happily married, will consult their
interest by applying to the undersigned, who gives all
his attention to this branch of business, and who has
already been  very  successful  in bringing together
persons adapted to each other by similarity of taste,
temperament, and sympathy. Terms reasonable. All
communications strictly confidential.
"HF.NRY HYMEN, NO.-     Broadway." 
THE MATRIMONIAL BROKERS.
"WEDDED HAPPINESS I)ESIRED.-It iswell known that
nothing conduces so much to happiness in life as a proper
marriage.  To avoid all mistakes in selecting partners,
persons of either sex, who contemplate matrimony,
should call at once on              GEORGE JACOBS,
. Matrimonial Broker, No.    -Bleecker street.
"N. B.-Mr. Jacobs has the best of opportunities and
the amplest facilities for accommodating his patrons.
Hle has had large experience, and can say without
vanity, that he has made matches for which hundreds
of ladies and gentlemen are eternally grateful to him.
They have acknowledged their gratitude in autograph
letters, which will be shown to his patrons if desired."
"MATRIMONIAL BROKERS.-John Johnson & Co., No.
,Bowery, offer their services to ladies wishing
agreeable and wealthy husbands, or to gentlemen
desiring beautiful, rich, and accomplished wives. They
arrange interviews or correspondence between parties,
and leave nothing undone to insure a marriage that will
result to the satisfaction of all. The success that has
heretofore crowned their efforts, induces them to believe
they have a firm hold upon the public confidence. They
respectfully solicit a continuance of patronage."
One would hardly think such advertisements could
attract customers. The idea of seeking marriage before
one has experienced the affection that leads to it seems
unnatural to persons who regard the relation of the sexes
sentimentally. But the majority of mortals-I mean
men —are matter-of-fact, and look upon every thing in a
purely practical way. They marry as they buy a house
or sell a horse, invest in real estate or go abroad.  The
589 
{THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
reason they remain unwedded is because they don't find
time to look for a wife. If any one finds her for them,
and throw her in their way, they take her as they would
any piece of property that seems desirable.
Matrimonial brokerage is merely match-making sys tematized.   The brokers do for money what amateurs
do for excitement and from a passion for managing.
They have an uncertain trade, but yet more business
than would be supposed.  They  don't expect much
custom from home, or from cities generally; but look
for it from the country people, to whom they send
circulars soliciting patronage.   The marriages arranged
by brokers rarely turn out well; but that happens so
frequently under all circumstances that it may be unjust to the profession to make them responsible for it.
There have been instances of what are known as happy
marriages brought about by these gents, whose miode
of procedure is interesting.
Peter Pindar lives in Chenango or Cataraugus county,
and comes to town. HIe has often read Jacobs's or
Johnson & Co.'s circulars and advertisements, and they
have put the notion of a wife into his head.  He has a
small farm; is 35 or 36 years of age; is in ordinarily
comfortable circumstances; likes women; but is shy,afraid of them, indeed; and consequently, he has never
gotten along with them. It has often occurred to Peter
that it would be convenient to have a wife; but the
trouble and difficulty, as he imagines, of procuring one,
have always stood in his way.  "If I could get some
fellow to do the courting," Peter has said to himself,never recalling, because he has never read, the sad story
of Paolo and Francesca,- "I'd been a husband long
ago.  But this popping the question I'm not equal to.
590 
THE MIATRIMONIAL BROKERS.
It requires a chap of more courage than I can muster."
Hle reads over the advertisements until he has themn
all by heart. They impress him deeply. The opportunity he has sought seems to be at hand. He goes to
the broker's, and announces the object of his visit. The
broker is always distrustful of strangers, fearing they
are not sincere.  But, after a few minutes' talk he sees
that Peter is too unsophisticated to be guilty of a ruse.
The broker soon puts his customer at ease; says he
knows a number of elegant and accomplished ladies
who will suit him exactly."
" Perhaps I don't know what an elegant and accomplished lady is," observes Peter, "but I'm afraid it is
not exactly the sort I want. I'd like a kind o' nice,
good wife, that wouldn't put on too much style, and
look down on a fellow because he wasn't quite as good
as her."
" Certainly; you need a good, domestic woman who
loves her own fireside and is bound.up in her children."
"Well, if I had it my  way," hesitatingly remarks
Pindar, "I'd rather she wouldn't have any children that
wasn't mine."
"Precisely.  I mean yours, my dear sir.  I wish to
say, when she had made you the happy father of a beautiful offspring, that she would devote herself to the
family; be an angel in her home;  a presence of love
and peace, filling it with sunshine, and all that sort of
thing."
"Oh, yes, that is it," responds Pindar, caught by the
cheap rhetoric of the broker; "that's what I want, and
will pay for."
"I have a lady in my mind, now-I saw her this
591 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
morning-who will be all you desire.  I shall charge
you $10 for this interview. If we consummate the
marriage, you will of course pay more. Our regular
price is  " I'll do the handsome thing. I'll give $100 cash
down."
"Come day after to-morrow, Mr. Pindar, and I'll tell
you  the result of my  negotiation.   Be here at 11
o'clock."
Soon as Pindar has gone, the broker takes a letter
front a drawer, and reads:
"DEAR SIR-I should be willing to accept a husband
who could come well recommended; who could provide
for me handsomely; who had good habits; was well
educated; and was of a domestic turn.  I have some
reputation for beauty and accomplishment; am young,
although no longer a silly girl, and would, I think, be
an ornament to a well-regulated household.
"Sincerely,            BESSIE BAKER."
The broker drops a line to Miss Baker, soliciting an
interview. She comes, and is not what might be anticipated from her note. She is probably four or five-andthirty; has a thin face, faded blue eyes, high cheekbones; is freckled, and any thing but handsome or elegant. She talks rapidly; and is intelligent, though not
very delicate or sensitive. She has been a teacher and
a seamstress; has had a hard struggle with life; and,
seeing the broker's advertisement one day, was tempted
to write him by way of experiment.
An interview is arranged for her and Pindar in the
private office. They meet, and are both disappointed.
592 
THE MATRIMONIAL BROKERS.
"I would never have him," she thinks.  "I would
not marry her for any thing," he says to himself.
After half an hour's conversation, they find themselves
mistaken. They rather like each other. He proves to
be candid, upright, independent, good-hearted; she,
amiable, affectionate, loyal, truthful. When they have
been acquainted three days, they believe they can get
along together. Pindar pays his $100 to the broker most
willingly; takes Bessie Baker to Chenango as his wife;
and they have lived comfortably, rearing pumpkins and
babies ever since.
Not seldom, men who have mistresses they wish to
get rid of apply to the matrimonial broker, and pay
handsomely for the procurement of husbands.   This
branch of the business, it is claimed, requires unusual
exertion and adroitness, and $500 is asked for the service. The man who is a candidate for marriage has no
suspicion of the woman.   She tells an ingenious story;
proclaims herself a widow-the broker indorsing all her
stories-and, by her tact and shrewdness, completely
deceives him. The marriage is consummated, and strange
to say, is sometimes happy; the wife resolving upon,
and adhering to, a change for the better, after being
invested with the dignity and bearing the responsibility
of wedlock.
The brokers are not men of very high principle.
They are willing to make money in almost any way.
When they have an application for a wife, they are certain to supply the demand. They usually enjoy the
acquaintance of a number of adventuresses-women of
doubtful reputation and uncertain character. The broker makes an appointment for them; and, as they have
city manners, style in dress, and much self-assertion,
38
593 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
they are likely to make an impression upon some honest
countryman's heart. He marries one of them, perhaps;
or, if he does not, he forms a relation that he afterwards
regrets. He is threatened with exposure and punishment, and is compelled to compromise by liberal payments. Sometimes he is surprised by a fictitious husband, who demands blood, but is finally persuaded to
take money instead. The broker makes sure of his
commission, and, after that, he does not concern himself
about the future or the status of the couple he has introduced to each other.
The unions made by the brokers are, as I have said,
unfortunate for the most part.  The parties enter into
them without understanding each other's character or
antecedents. They quarrel and go apart, denouncing
the means used to bring them together. In a number
of divorce cases in the courts, it has been shown that
the couple seeking separation became acquainted through
the matrimonial brokers.
The broker is always a pretender and a trickster;
tells more falsehoods than is needful for his trade; describes fine women he never saw; boasts of his correspondence with the members of the best society; contradicts and condemns himself-or would in dealing
with a man of the world-fifty times an hour. He is
perpetually tempted to become a maker of assignations;
to dupe honest rustics; to palm off demireps and wantons for ladies; to swindle all who trust him; and, I
am sorry to say, he almost invariably yields to the
temptation without a struggle.
Recently, in New-York, matrimonial brokerage has
largely passed into the hands of women, who advertise
themselves as fortune-tellers and clairvoyant physicians.
694 
THE MATRIMONIAL BROKERS.
The brokers are growing less matrimonial, and more and
more mercenary agents for assignation. Therefore they
do not advertise as they did in the public prints; but
depend upon circulars and anonymous communications.
They may change their tactics any time; become less
dishonest and unprincipled; but, just now, the time does
not presage improvement in a calling that can never
have any legitimate success in the United States.
5 (',.?, i) 
ClHAPTER LXX.
HERALDRY ON THE HUDSON.
MANY of our Republican Americans show such a silly
passion for titles and titled persons, both at home and
abroad, that it is not singular they have a secret longing
for lineage of their own. Pretension having always been
a characteristic, indeed a part, of vulgarity, it is very natural that ignorant men who have suddenly grown rich
should wish others to believe they have distinguished
ancestors and patrician blood in their plebeian veins.
Still, it would not seem probable that such persons
would reveal their weakness; though they might pay
liberally for a coat of arms when they remember they
began life in a coat without arms.
New-York furnishes facilities for the good people that
have been so busy in making a fortune that they have
forgotten who their ancestors were. It has, drolly
enough, an office of Heraldry in Broadway, where the
socially ambitious and the pecuniarily prosperous are
informed, for a certain consideration, of the past glories
of the family. You would imagine that any person who
felt an interest in descent, and was anxious to have a
noble lineage, would know more of his ancestors than
entire strangers; but it is not so.
The managers of the Heraldry office are learned and
ingenious gentlemen, who are generous enough to dis 
IHIERALDRY ON THE HUDSON.
cover his forefathers. They have the history of all the
nobility fresh in their memory. They can tell you all
about the Norman line for five centuries; about the
Saxon kings; about the very complicated Welsh nobility, and even the still more mysterious Milesian royalty.
If you have any doubt of their erudition, question them
respecting escutcheons, tinctures, charges, the dexter,
middle and sinister chiefs, the honor, fess and nombril
points, pales, bends, chevrons, crosses, saltires, lines
engrailed, invected, nebuly, raguly, and dancette, and
you will be amazed at their bewildering acquirements.
Gules, azure, sable, vert, purpure, and tenny, color their
fluent talk.
They can convince any man of ordinary vanity that
he has the blood of the Plantagenets and Nevils in his
veins, and that Vandyke and Lely portraits of his progenitors are looking out of costly galleries across the
sea. I have said any man; but any woman would have
been apter, for women are by nature aristocratic, and
care far more for lineage than do the sterner sex.
The longing to be thought distinguished, it is generally observed, is in proportion to the conviction that
distinction is impossible.   People talk most of their
"family" who have none. John Jenkins, who started
as a huckster, and grew rich in spite of stupidity, is persuaded by Mrs. Jenkins to set up for a gentleman with
generations of culture and luxury behind him.
Mrs. Jerusha Murphy served a long and honorable
apprenticeship as a servant girl, but when she married
Murphy she changed her name to Juliette, and discovered that her husband was a direct descendant of one
of the countless kings of Ulster. Murphy, it must be
confessed, had degenerated somewhat, for he made his
597 
THE  GREAT METROPOLIS.
appearance in New-York as a genius who long hesitated
in a choice of callings between prize-fighting and bartending, but- selected the latter, as it was more soothing to his sensibilities. 
The Heraldry office has been established here for
many years, and is a success. It is supported by the
class of absurd people who are aspiring to a recognized position, who have more money than ancestors,
and wish to exchange a little of the former for a good
deal of the latter. The capital invested in the office is
trifling. It requires only two or three men who can
look serious over a farce; a collection of old volumes
full of shields, devices, and mottoes; a lot of genealogical
trees hung up on the walls in antique-looking frames,
and an uncertain number of histories and chronicles,
including  Froissart, Burke's  Peerage,  and  kindred
works.
The business of the establishment is managed in this
wise:  An applicant for a "family" enters and makes known
his errand.   A  bland  and smiling person asks  the
applicant's name.
" Smithers," is the answer.
"Smithers, Smithers!  The  Smithers are an old
family, Gaelic originally, but the line has nearly died
out. It's so with all the very old families. I'm glad
to see one of their lineal descendants. What was your
mother's name, Mr. Smithers?"
"Flurry."
"Flurry?   Ah, yes.   Are  you of the  Scotch or
English Flurrys?"
" Hang me if I know!  It was what I came here to
find out. I don't know nothin' about my ancestors;
598 
HERALDRY ON THE HUDSON.
but my wife says she's got'em, and that I must have
'em too."
"Your wife is correct.   The  Flurrys are  a very
noble family of full Norman descent, De Fleury was the
name before the Conquest, and for nearly a century after.
I shall soon be able to trace your lineage from the
battle of Hastings to the present time."
"Gad, I'm glad of that. Mrs. Smithers'll give me a
little peace now that she can git a crist on her carriage.
She's bullragged me about the darned thing for a hull
year."
"The fee for insuring investigation is $20, Mr.
Smithers. When do you want your tree?"
"What kind o' tree?   There's  no  use o' plantin'
trees'afore our house. The worms allers kills'erm."
"I mean your genealogical tree."
"I never heard of that sort o' tree.  Is it any thing
like hick'ry?"
"My dear sir, I mean the line of your ancestors;
who  they were; what  they did; what reigns  they
flourished -in."
"Oh yes, I understand now. But I shouldn't never
think of callin' that a tree."
"When would- you like to have your lineage, your
ancestors made out?"
"Oh, any time will suit me. I've got the job off my
hands, and the old woman can look after the rest of the
rubbish."
"But it is well to fix a date.  Do you care to have
the papers made out before the end of next week?"
"No; take your time, and do it well."
"Be sure we shall,. The price of the work will be
$100."
5199 
THE  GREAT METROPOLIS.
" Go ahead; I'm willin'. Make us out a good first class tree, and I'll pay you well. If you can find any
pious old duck that only hurried or banged about gen.
erally, put him in; for my wife's mighty fond. of havin'
some of that kind in the family. She caJlls it sufferin'
for opinion's sake; though I can't see why the devil
they didn't change their opinion if they got into any
row about it."
"No doubt the De Fleury's could boast of haughty
prelates after the Reformation, who were earnest in
their creed, even at the stake.  I think I shall have
no difficulty in showing you several illustrious martyrs."
" Well, do so. And if you can get hold of any chaps
that died in war, spot'em. We want a few of that sort
too. At least Sarah Jane says so; and she knows
what's wanted much better than me."
"Come on the 14th, Mr. De Fleury, and you'll know
all about your honorable ancestors."
"Smithers's my name."
"Yes, now; but the old family name was different.
Call on the day named, and you'll find every thing prepared."
Mr. and Mrs. Smithers call on the 14th, and she
learns to her delight, but not to her surprise apparently,
that one of her ancestors lost his life in defending the
Black Prince at Crecy.
Smithers objects to that. Hle says he don't want any
"niggers" in his family, and won't have them.
The man of escutcheons informs him the Prince was
the eldest son of Edward III., and called black from the
color of his armor, not of his complexion, which composes Smithers, who pays his $100, and goes off in excel
600 
HIERALDRY ON THE HUDSON.
lent spirits, having heard there were no darkies among
his ancestors, and because he believes this to be a
white man's government.
Mrs. Nancy Maginnis pays a visit to the office, and
states to the manager that her family's genealogical tree
had been destroyed by fire one month before (she is
from Southern Illinois, and never knew who her grandmother was), and she is anxious to have it made out
again.
"Maginnis!  That is a pure Norman name, running
back to the ninth and tenth centuries. The Maginnises
were of the Latin race, and were called Maginniensis as
late as the battle of Temsford," is the declaration of one
of the clerks after tumbling over half a dozen large and
dusty tomes.
"Yes, that is correct," she responds. "Maginniesenses is the family name. My dear old grandmother
told me of the title of some of our family in the time of
the-I forget the king's name."
"Ethelbert, I presume," is the ready reply.  "He
was one of the Anglo-Saxons and gave your line much
trouble."
"Yes, he did.  He was a very wicked man, that
Ethelbert, and I hate him even now."
"I see you have the true Norman spirit, Madam,
that never forgives an enemy of your house. I detect
your Norman lineage in the peculiar curve of your nose
(her nose is a confirmed pug), and the sparkle of your
eye."
"How skilled you gentlemen are in tracing gentle
blood. Few persons could have told at first glance that
I was of Norman extraction, and yet I am thoroughly
such."'
601 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
"Oh, yes, Madam, we have so much to do with noble
families we recognize them at a glance."
Mrs. Magilnis pays her $100 with exceeding satisfaction, and shows her bill to all her common-place
friends, for the next twelve months, when they visit her
expensive but tawdry new stone-front in the Avenue.
Such are the foolish persons who visit the Heraldry
office. They pay $90 to $25 usually before the work
is begun, and $100 after it is completed. The managers'
labor is little more than a make-believe.   They twist
the name of any of their patrons into some form that
figures in history, or is known in the peerage, and give
lineage therefrom.   Muggins is made De  Mogyns;
Jones is made John or Jean, and derived from King
John of France or England; Thompson is made Temps
fils, the son of Temps, a powerful baron, and so on to
the last limit of absurdity.
Who would believe people claiming to be sensible
could be so cajoled by their vanity? They learn noth'
ing of those who have-gone before them; but they may
be certain there have been and are still fools in the
family.
4s -
602 
CHAPTER LXXI.
THIE CHILD-ADOPTING SYSTEM.
IT seems as a rule that persons who don't want children have many, and that those who want them very
much, have none.
Nature is kind in most things; but like fortune, she
often gives to those who have, and withholds from those
who need.  "A poor man for children," is a proverb
constantly verified. There is Hardtoil, who watches
with anxiety and regret his steadily increasing family;
wishes he had fewer mouths to feed, and more to fill
them.
His neighbor Crabtree is wealthy, but childless. lHe
sees the numerous progeny of Hardtoil, and envies him
their possession. He would give half his property for
one of the rosy-cheeked prattlers, and Hardtoil would
have been happy if his last three babes had been born
to-the rich man over the way.
If we could only exchange what we have and don't
want for what we want and don't have, the sum of content in the World would be largely increased.
Where poverty and licentiousness are so common as in
New-York, there will always be many parents who are
unable to provide for their offspring, or unwilling to acknowledge them.  Hence the baby-market is apt to be
over-supplied, though at times the demand is fully equal
to the supply.  As we have no foundling hospitals here, 
TIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
as they have in Paris, Moscow, and other European
cities, where infants can be left without any one even
knowing who leaves them, parents get rid of them the
best way they can.
Desertion of children is very rare among Americans,
but quite common amnong foreigners, who, first landing
in New-York, make the City responsible for their sins,
as if they were its own.  Ignorant, indolent, reckless,
and vicious often, they are indifferent to their children,
and will abandon them without hesitation, when poverty
presses or self-interest demands. It is they who leave
babies at other people's doors; who expose them in the
street; who abandon them to neglect, or even murder
them, to avoid the expense or trouble of taking care of
them.
When American women abandon their children it is
usually from the shame of their begetting, though the
feeling of maternity not seldom proves stronger than the
sense of dishonor.  Poor girls, without protection or restraining influences, are always being led astray in a
great city like this, and to their weakness is added the
responsibility of their betrayer's sins.
Every year increases the number of child-murders in
New-York. Public attention has been called to it again
and again. Foundling hospitals have been urged as a
remedy for the evil; but many of the timid-good have
holy fears that the establishment will encourage the
vice it is proposed to abate. From this apparently abnormal condition of things the system of child-adoption,
or adopting-out, which is designed to regulate the supply
and demand, has arisen, and is carried on with considerable activity and profit.
The morning papers contain advertisments every day
6J4 
THE CHILD-ADOPTING SYSTEM.
of children wanted for adoption and to be adopted. The
little unknowns are highly favored, if you believe the advertisemenrts; such adjectives as "handsome," " bright,"
"intelligent," "interesting," "healthy," being applied
to them. They are all represented as ideal babies, quite
the kind that new mothers bear every day in the year,
and which are, without exception, wonderful.
When examined, they frequently contradict what has
been said of them. The little beauties become flabby,
blinking, ill-shaped, idiotic-looking creatures, that seem
so self-disgusted that perhaps they would go back to
where they came from, if they were not afraid they
would find there more infants like themselves.
Often, however,  there are exceptions.    The tiny
strangers are evidently of fine lineage. You see the
culture and superiority that preceded them, and in the
delicate features trace the character of their parents.
Very small children can rarely be accused of comeliness;
but there is a certain conventional standard of the quality which serves the purpose. The baby's fate is determiined by that. If it is less homely than the average
of children, it is ten times as apt to be adopted as if it
fell below that average.
The advertisements read something like this:  "Wanted-for adoption a male child of respectable
parentage, not less than six months, nor more than two
years old. It must be healthy, intelligent, and goodlooking.   Address X  Y  Z, station C, with reference,
address, and particulars."
"To be Adopted  Out.-A beautiful, bright female child,
healthy, quiet and interesting, eight months old, and
every way desirable. Any gentleman and lady wishing
605 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
to adopt such a child must address in good faith, box
No. 2,968, General Post-office with name, address, and
circumstances."
"To be Adopted Out.-A fine healthy male child, six
weeks old, of respectable parentage. It can be seen at
No.   - Bowery, between the hours of 2 and 5 P. M.
Any gentleman or lady wishing to adopt such a child
would do well to apply early, as the beauty and winning
qualities of the babe necessarily insure its immediate
adoption."
"Chlildren for Adoption.-Madame Pumpernickel, No.
, Sixth street, has a number of handsome, healthy,
and promising children for adoption. Persons anxious
to add to their families will consult their interests by
calling on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.  Any
lady or gentleman having children for adoption can find
board and accommodations for them at Madame P's., and
can make satisfactory arrangements to that end. All
business communications strictly confidential."
Sometimes an advertisement appears, that sounds
like burlesque, but which is, no doubt, serious. This,
for instance:
"A lady and gentleman of education and position,
but in straitened circumstances, from a sudden reverse
of fortune, would be willing to part with a beautiful and
fascinating female child, of two months old, to respectsable people, who will agree to educate it carefully, and
rear it in accordance with its birth.  Its parents would
not be deprived of their dearly-beloved babe, even in
the midst of their painful poverty, were they not on the
696 
THE CHILD-ADOPTING SYSTEM.
point of leaving the City for the far West, where the
advantages  of education and proper accomplishments
can not be enjoyed."
Or this:
"To be Adopted Out.-A lovely female babe, aged six
weeks and nine days, of highly aristocratic parentage.
It suddenly became an orphan, and was intrusted to a
friend of the family, who has not the means of supporting the child in the manner it has been accustomed to.
Address Fashion, No.-, Oliver street.  N. B.  None
but persons of unquestionable respectability need apply.
The best and strongest of references required."
The infants of whom'the most is said are usually the
least  attractive.  Those  whose  parents  are highly
lauded are apt to prove of Milesian extraction, and to
be in the market on account of the low price of babies
and the high price of whisky.
I have heard of several women who, having gone in'
quest of "beautiful children," returned in a state of
dissatisfaction bordering on disgust, and who afterward
declared that all the claim the infants had to beauty
consisted in bleared eyes, coarse features, and scrofulous
affections.
Madame Pumpernickel, whose genuine name I refrain
from giving, is a professional adopter. There are a
number of her calling in town, and the number is increasing. She keeps a baby's boarding-house and something else.  She knows illegitimate children are very
numerous here; that not infrequently their parents are
persons of position, and that she can make something
by aiding them to get rid of the evidence of their intimacy. She is aware that after leaving the child they
607
I 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
will not inquire for it further. When they or their
agent comes she consents to take the little thing for a
certain consideration, which she regulates according to
the means or position of the parties concerned.  She
sometimes has a dozen or twenty children on hand
at a time; but she keeps the number down as much as
possible.
When any one wants to lease a baby with the madame,
she either charges a fixed sum, or so much, with its
board for a certain number of days added. The customary rate is $100 to $200 for taking the child, and
$50 to $100 for disposing of it. When she can she
advances her rate two or three hundred per cent., and
so drives a good trade.  Her interest is to get rid of the
babies as soon as possible, and she consults her interest,
regardless of humanity.
Children seldom stay more than a week at Madame
Pumpernickel's. If they are not sold they are almost
invariably attacked with some violent illness that
carries them off in a few days. The very disagreeable
infants, whom no one wants, are most exposed to fatal
maladies. The madame says they die of some inherited
ailment; but it is very well known she either starves
them, or permits them to perish through neglect. The
fact is so notorious that complaint has been made to the
police, who have arrested the professional adopters, and
brought them before the so-called courts of justice, with
which New-York is favored. Nothing could be proved
against them. There were no witnesses, none procurable at least, and the child-murderers were released to
continue their traffic in infant life and death.
The homes of the adopters are generally in some
wretched quarter of the town, and in some building
608 
THE CHILD-_ADOPTING SYSTEM.
where fresh air and healthful living are impossible.
The rooms rented are meagerly, not to say meanly
furnished; and in them are six, eight, or twelve infants,
-little specters who look as if they would die at once
and save trouble if they only knew how. Their keeper
teaches them with such success that they soon wheeze out
of their wretched little lives, and are thrust into a
pauper's coffin. They lie in little beds and are tied in
chairs; cry day and night until they are too weak and
hungry to cry any longer, when they fall to sucking
their little soiled fingers, and not finding the dirt very
nourishing, they wink and twitch their little pale eyes
and slender limbs, and then stop winking and twitching
forevermore.
The adopters are ready to act as agents for the getting
of babies if those they leave don't suit.  They go to the
private lying-in hospitals, whose patients are women
that have not been married, and bargain for the babes
that have been born, or advertise for the kind that is
wanted. As the supply is greatly in excess of the
demand, the children are found without difficulty. The
adopters, as I have stated, are opposed to keeping on
hand a supply that is not marketable, and as they
receive none, and part with none, except for what they
think a good price, their business can hardly be a losing
one.
The baby market has its fluctuations, like any other.
In the Winter babies sell higher, because it costs more
to take care of them; they are more liable to die, and
the demand is greater.  During the hot months they
decline; for few citizens are in town, and strangers are
not good customers. Usually the price of an infant is
very variable; for there is hardly any thing that the
39
609 
TTHI GREAT METROPOLIS.
rightful owner would be so disinclined to sell, and any
other person would care so little to buy.
But in New-York, quotations can be depended on to
a large extent. A really good, well-conditioned, firstclass babe will bring $100, when the market is not
overstocked; and a rather inferior but healthy and
promising article, about $50. The infant trade, strange
as it may seem, is growing to be regular here, and
extending every year. It is not impossible, before the
century is over, that we shall have children quoted on
'Change, and prime, first, second, and third-rate ones as
fixed in value as molasses, wheat, or flour.
610 
CHAPTER LXXII.
BANKERS AND FALL STREET OPERATORS.
AFTER Vanderbilt, whose portrait has been given
elsewhere, Daniel Drew is the most prominent figure in
the banking quarter, and perhaps the most reckless.
Though now in his seventy-second year, he is as energetic,  persevering, shrewd  (and  unscrupulous,  his
enemies would add), as he was in the prime of life. He
gives no sign of physical or mental failure, notwithstanding his constant activity and the perpetual strain
upon his brain and nerves.
Drew was born on a small farm in Carmel, Putnam
county, and received a very limited education.   He
learned to read, write, and cypher while working on the
sterile land his father owned; but beyond that cared
very little for books. At fifteen he lost his father, and
at once determined to set up in life for himself a step
he was qualified for by his force of will, strength of
character, and natural astuteness, very remarkable in
one so young.  He began by driving cattle to market
and selling them, first in a small way, but gradually
increasing his trade until it grew to be of considerable
value. For sixteen or seventeen years he was a cattledrover; but, after he had reached thirty-two, he moved
to this City, and established a depot for their sale,
sending agents to the country to purchase stock. He 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
gained money rapidly, and, in 1834, made an invest ment, with others, in a steamboat, which resulted in a
great interest in the transportation of passengers on the
Hudson River.
Drew's line was so ably managed that it became
popular, though it entered into competition with the
lines owned by Vanderbilt and others.  The rivalry
was very sharp for a long while, the steamers, at one
time, carrying passengers from here to Albany at a
shilling apiece.  Drew was a large stockholder in the
company formed by Isaac Newton, in 1840, which was
the origin of the People's Line. He refused to dispose
of his vessels when the Hudson River Railway was
completed, though his friends advised him to, declaring
he would be ruined if he did not. The road increased
the patronage of the boats, as he had foreseen, and to
this day, they are most desirable property. The Drew,
finished year before last, is the finest steamboat that
floats on any interior waters.  She is more elaborate
and gorgeous even than the famed Bristol and Providence, running between New-York and Boston.
For ten or twelve years Drew was a banker and stock
broker, having formed a partnership with Nelson Taylor
and his son-in-law. He has been a daring and active
operator in Wall street ever since, and is the most
formidable opponent Vanderbilt has had. He lost
$500,000 in the famous Harlem corner some years ago;
but he is not likely to be caught so again.  He has
long been a heavy stockholder in Erie and other prominent roads, and he plays bull and bear, and sells short
and long, as his interest demands, quite confounding
those who don't understand his multifarious shifts.
Drew's foes accuse him of numerous "irregular"
612 
BANKERS AND WALL  STREET OPERATORS.
transactions; but he claims that he does nothing that
the Stock Exchange and Wall street morals do not
sanction.  He has a wide reputation for charity having
founded the Drew Theological Seminary at'Morris, N.
J., by giving it half a million of dollars, and having
contributed to various religious and educational institutions.
Drew is in no way noticeable in face or figure. He is
six feet high, slender, with limbs loosely put together,
and rather awkward in his movements. He has a
rustic appearance, is careless in his dress, and unconventional in his manners.
David Groesbeck, of the firm of David Groesbeck &
Co., the well-known bankers in Broad street, is, like
Drew, wholly self-made. He was born in Albany
county; had a hard struggle with fortune; picked up a
slender education, was  apprenticed to a shoemaker,
went to the capital afterward, and was clerk in a policy
office.  Failing to be satisfied there. he came toNewYork, where he soon evinced such remarkable capacity
for business that he attracted the attention of Jacob
Little-so long the great bear of Wall street.  He went
into Little's office, and rose from one position to another,
until he became the eminent banker's confidential clerk.
He showed such remarkable financial ability that his
employer advised him to go into business for himself,
and lent him money for the purpose. For years Groes beck has been a banker, and though he  has failed
several times, he has always preserved his reputation
for honor, and his house is to-day one of the wealthiest
in the City.  He is not a reckless speculator; but he
buys and sells stocks, and lends money on them;. some
of his operations  being immense.   Last year  he  is
613 - 
TIE GREAT METROPOLIS.
reputed to have made $2,000,000, and his private for tune is estimated at $10,000,000. He is about fifty two, tall, dark, and looks like an anxious, overworked
man. Hle is liberal to a fault, and does many generous
acts, of which few ever hear.
Jay Cooke is known everywhere as the agent of the
Government during the issue of the 7-30 and 5-20 bonds.
By that loan he made a vast fortune, and is now one of
great bankers of Wall street. He is a native of Ohio,
having been born in Portland, now Sandusky, in the
Summer of 1821.  His father was a member of Congress
(this is not mentioned to cast any discredit on the
banker, but merely as a fact for which he can not be
held responsible), and having the name of Eleutheros,
which nobody could pronounce or spell properly, he
determined to give his children short names.   So the
future financier was called Jay.
The elder Cooke having suffered some adversity, and
his son finding it out, determined to help himself. So
he went to the store of an acquaintance in town, and
without the consent or knowledge of his parents got a
situation as clerk. He proved himself excellentlyqualified for business, and after acting as book-keeper and
salesman in St. Louis and Philadelphia, he went, in his
seventeenth year, into the banking house of E. W.
Clark & Co. (in the latter city), of which he was afterward a partner. Remaining in the firm twenty years, he
retired, and in the early part of 1861 opened a banking
establishment of his own with his brother-in law, Wm.
G. Moorhead, under the name of Jay Cooke & Co. The
financial ability of the new firm, displayed in negotiating different loans, attracted the attention of the Government.   Secretary Chase  made  Cooke  & Co. the
614 
BANKERS AND WALL STREET OPERATORS.   615
agents in Philadelphia for the three series of 7-30, and
also special agents of the $500,000,000 5.20 loan. The
risk was great, and large capital was required, but when
it is remembered that 8 of one per cent. was paid, on
the whole amount, the profit will be seen to have been
handsome. The firm made several millions, and Cooke
himself, now doing business at the corner of Wall and
Nassau streets, is supposed to be worth $15,000,000 to
$20,000,000. Cooke is very fresh in his feelings, and
remarkable for his cheerful and genial disposition. He
has the reputation of a very charitable man, having given
freely to churches and colleges. Ile has a fine country
seat on one of the islands of Lake Erie, near Sandusky, and dispenses a lavish hospitality.   He has a
bright, sympathetic face, agreeable manners, and a firm
mouth that represents'his character.
Another firm that has made a fortune by acting as
agents of government loans is Fisk & Hatch. Before
the War they were both living on salaries; Hatch being
an officer in a Jersey City bank, at $1,200 a year. Soon
as they began to negotiate the bonds they found them selves on the high road to fortune. They now do avery
large business in Nassau, near Wall street, and have
cleared $1,000,000 a year. They are both young and
born financiers. They are much esteemed; do a strictly
legitimate business; are conscientious members of the
church, and liberal in their charities.
August Belmont came here originally as the agent of
the Rothschilds, and is, perhaps, better known as a poli tician than as a banker. His office is at No. 50 Wall
street, in a great, dingy granite building, where  the
largest transactions are made.   He does most of his
business on foreign account; is very wealthy, and one 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
of the shrewdest of financiers. His wife is the daughter
of Commodore Perry, and his home in Fifth avenue, corner of Eighteenth street, is interiorly one of the most
elegant and luxurious in town. His picture gallery alone
is said to be worth $400,000 or $500,000. He is the
President of the Democratic National Committee, and
has always taken a very prominent part in politics. He
is small, heavy set, with a short, thick nose, not inviting
in appearance, nor conciliating in manner. Though a
man of brain and character, he is not at all popular,
nor does he wish to be-satisfied with his position and
his unquestionable power. He is a German by birth,
though he has French blood, and is often alluded to by
those who like him not, as a "Dutch Jew." He walks
lame, having been wounded in a duel while living on
the Continent; but in the peculiar understanding of
Wall street he is not likely to be crippled. He is too
sagacious and far-seeing to become financially halt.
Brown Brothers& Co., 59 Wall street, is one of the most
eminent houses in America. Their great marble bankinghouse is not surpassed by any similar establishment on
this or the other side of the Atlantic. It cost over a
million, and is an architectural ornament to the monetary quarter.  The founder of the house, James Brown,
is still in it.  He is from the North of Ireland; begau
life as a linen-draper, and having made a fortune, established the banking-house with his brother, who  had
been knighted for his services to the British Governmnent.  James  Brown is regarded as a high type of
business honor; is probably worth $12,000,000 or
$15,000,000; is a devout Presbyterian, and prominent
in numerous charities.   He  is nearly sixty, but in
excellent health, and one of our most useful citizens.
616 
BANKERS AND WALL STREET OPERATORS.
James G. King's Sons have a very quiet, plain establishment at No. 54 William street. James G. King has
been dead for some years, and the business is continued
by his sons. It is one of the oldest firms in the City,
and in the very best standing.   It deals largely in
foreign exchange and grants letters of credit available
in all the principal cities of Europe. The Kings are an
old New-York family, and their commercial honor has
never been tarnished. They are very rich, but wholly
without ostentation.
Leonard W. Jerome is quite a contrast to such men
as the Browns and Kings. He belongs to the present.
day school of bold, often reckless operators; represents
the fast financiers of the street. He was formerly a
newspaper publisher in Rochester, but has for years
been a prominent operator in stocks.  He is shrewd,
resolute, full of expedients and resources; makes and
loses fortunes every twelve months, but manages to
float conspicuous on the financial tide. He is a noted
person; a man of the world and fond of pleasure;
dresses showily; drives fleet horses; has fast friends;
enjoys display; gives expensive entertainments;  is
extravagant and careless; is called good-looking; lives
with a free hand and a liberal heart in the sunshine of
the passing hour.
617 
CHAPTER LXXIII.
CHARLES O'CONOR.
CHARLES O'CONIR is very sensitive about the spelling
of his name with a single n; perhaps because the double
n is the common method. He is, as every one may
know, whether he has one or two n's in his patronymic,
of Irish descent; his father having, in accordance with
the established custom, quitted his native country on
account of his connection with the Irish revolution of
1798.
Charles O'Conor was born here, in 1804, and in such
narrow circumstances that he with difficulty obtained
an education. He did not graduate, though his studious habits and thirst for knowledge more than made up
for the absence of a collegiate course.  In his early
youth he went to Steuben county; but, after living
there for several years, he returned to the City to study
law, for which he had long had a partiality. He was a
messenger-boy at first, and rose step by step to the
position of an attorney. While a stripling in the office
of a well-known firm of that day, he used to read Coke
and Blackstone whenever he had the least leisure; borrowed law books, and pored over them at night. Those
who observed his diligence and determination predicted
success for him at the bar. Before he began to study
regularly he was well-informed on many legal points,
and often surprised his elders by his readiness and 
CHARLES O'CONOR.
knowledge. He was only twenty-oie when admitted to
practice.
Soon after admission he cherished political aspirations, and was anxious to be chosen Alderman for the
Sixth Ward. The doubtful honor was refused him at
the polls, where he was gloriously defeated. His failure of election troubled him sorely at the time, and
impelled him to confine himself in future to his profession. His application was extraordinary. He worked
late and early, and for a period of ten years is said to
have been in the courts or at his office sixteen hours out
of the twenty-four. He had a hard struggle until he
was thirty; but his effective speeches, more remarkable for soundness than eloquence, at last brought him
into notice. He took all the cases that were offered
him, and did his best in every one of them; and to this
he ascribes his professional success.
Having been chosen a member of the Constitutional
Convention for revising the Constitution of the State, in
1846, he showed great capacity, legal and political, and
was much praised by the Democrats for his consistent
course. Two years after he was a candidate for Lieutenant-Governor, and would have been appointed Attorney-General by President Pierce, if General Marcy, of
this State, had not already been in the Cabinet.
For the past twenty years O'Conor has been employed in some of the most important cases in the
country. He set out as a criminal lawyer, but abandoned that practice as soon as he could command one
more lucrative and dignified. The Mason Will, in the
courts for fifteen years, and the Forrest Divorce, are
among the most famous cases in which O'Conor has
been engaged. In the former he made what was called
619 
THE  GREAT  METROPOLIS.
his ablest speech, and gained his cause; the decision
being given in favor of the heirs. In the latter he was
opposed by John Van Buren (on the side of the tragedian), who was more brilliant than his opponent, though
O'Conor was certainly more profound.
O'Conor has a very large practice, but in his sixtyfourth year he is inclined to rest from his labors. His
income is $70,000 or $80,000 a year, and he lives in
elegance at Fort Washington, where his entertainments
are numerous and expensive. His wife, who is fond of
society, is said to be amiable and accomplished, and to
preside with grace over the hospitalities of her husband.
Charles O'Conor's career on the subject of slavery has
been consistent if not admirable. He has from the first
been opposed to the negro in every way. He has been
against his emancipation, against his education, against
his right to the franchise, against every effort for his
advancement. It is said he deeply deplores the abolition of slavery, which he considered a beneficent and
humanizing as well as a peculiar institution.  It is singular a man of O'Conor's learning and intellect can hold
so narrow and irrational a view; but he has been accustomed for years to looking at the subject from one side,
and the indignation his course has excited among the
Republicans and Radicals has, it is presumed, only
strengthened his convictions.
In person, O'Conor is of medium height, erect, and
rather slender. His face is after the Irish pattern, indicating strength and sternness, will, and resolution to a
point of dogged obstinacy.  His eye is dark and penetrating, and his hair and whiskers are very gray. When
speaking in public, he is deliberate and measured at
first; but warming up with his subject, he is fluent and
620
a 
CHARLES O'CONOR.
rapid, and often severely sarcastic. On the whole, lihe
seems of a cold temperament, though he is very agreeable and entertaining in private. He is an intellectual
egotist, and holds his opinions so firmly that, while he
is willing to discuss questions, there is no hope of
inducing a change in the position he once has taken.
621 
CHAPTER LXXIV.
4JAMES T. BRADY.
JAMES T. BRADY.
JAMEs T. BRADY, another prominent lawyer of the
City, is personally better known than O'Conor, because of
his continual appearance before the public of Manhattan.
Like O'Conor, he is native here, having been born in the
lower part of town; though he is so fond of dwelling
on the wrongs of Ireland, and lauding her sons to the
stars on the rostrum, that many suppose him a boy of
Blarney. He is so dear to the Irish heart of this City
for his sympathy with, and the abundant rhetoric addressed to Erin, that he has been chosen President of St.
Patrick's Society, and is always invited to any and
every festive board at which the Green Isle is to be glorified. Between his life and O'Conor's there are many
similarities. They were both poor, both pre-determined
to the bar, both engaged for years in criminal cases,
both successful, and both the architect of their own fortune. While Brady's professional reputation stands
very high, he has gained very few of his cases. It is
said he takes too much personal interest in his clients;
makes too many appeals of a flattering character to
judges and juries; declares too often and too particularly the innocence and miscellaneous virtues of those
he is called upon to defend. That habit, as well as his
subtle distinctions on points of law, excite suspicion and
create confusion, and he therefore fails of success. 
JAMES T. BRADY.
Brady's face and fame are most familiar at dinners,
and suppers, and public meetings of all sorts. His forte
lies in after-dinner speeches.   The presence of boon
companions, the drinking of toasts, and the flow of wine,
act upon him rapidly and favorably. Naturally sensitive, fervidly rhetorical and fond of display, he is in his
element in the midst of the jingling of glasses and popping of champagne.   He needs little provocation to respond to any sentiment, and he always brings applause
from his hearers. If he had a melodious instead of a
harsh voice, he would be more interesting; but his
admirers forget his tones in his glowing periods and
flashes of humor.   He  has the Irish temperamenta passion for verbal floridity and sensational coloring-and never lets a theme suffer for want of representation.
Brady is the most persevering speaker; has the
largest gift of continuance of any orator in Manhattan.
No public occasion is thought to be complete without him.
He figures in all presentations; at all public dinners;
at all private suppers; at all public meetings; at all
formal receptions. He must, on an average, deliver one
hundred addresses a year.  A sarcastic journalist says
a reward of $10,000 has long been offered for the discov.
ery of any public or private occasion, within a radius of
fifty miles of New-York City, taking Union Square as a
center, on which James T. Brady did not speak; and
that up to the present time the reward has never been
claimed.
Brady lays claim to the earliest recognition of "moral
sanity" as-the cause of crime; Huntington, the famous'
"genteel" forger, having been the client in whose
defense he first made that a plea.
623 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
In politics Brady has been a Democrat, though a less
consistent one than O'Conor. During, the Rebellion he
favored the North; supported President Lincoln's policy,
and was appointed to an important commission under
that administration. He feels a deep interest in the
drama; is a regular habitue of the theaters, and has
contributed several minor pieces to the stage that had a
certain local popularity. He was one of the founders of
the Dramatic Fund Association, and is still a prominent
and zealous member. He has written for the press, too,
at various times, and continues to have an inclination to
divert himself as an imp of the ink-bottle.
Brady is eminently social and sociable; has a gregarious and convivial cast; is a member of two or three
clubs; relishes amusements of almost every kind, and
is a good specimen of a jovial bachelor. He is about
five feet eight in height; well built, slight but compact
in frame; has a broad and intellectual forehead, a bright
eye and very mobile features. He is rather graceful,
and, when his face is lighted up, I have known him to
be called handsome.  He is a fluent talker, and would,
as I have said, be a very agreeable one but for the discordant tones of his voice which he has struggled in
vain to correct. He is so well liked by all classes that
he may be called one of the most popular men in NewYork.
624 
CHAPTER LXXV.
FERNANDO WOOD.
FERNANDO WOOD is one Of the shrewdest of New-York
politicians, and they have always been remarkable for
their astuteness. He was born in Philadelphia, in
1812, and is said to have set out in his metropolitan
life as the proprietor of a small drinking saloon in
Greenwich street, though he was by profession a cigarmaker. He afterward became a clerk in a countinghouse, and was for years a ship-owner and merchant,
He is a self-made man, owing little to education, but
naturally intelligent and having an intuitive knowledge
of character. Very early he showed capacity to manage
and control his fellows, and he has improved upon this
with his increasing years.  During the time he was
engaged in mercantile business, his enemies say he did
not deal fairly with his partner; but his admirers, of
whom he has many, proclaim that he has been slandered.
The firm of which he was a member ultimately failed,
and Wood entered into political life.
For years he was very active among the Democrats,
and became a power in the municipal government. IHis
record was not enviable. He was charged with all
manner of corruptions, and when he was nominated for
Mayor, in 1857, a howl of indignation went up from the
Opposition. That did not prevent his election, however,
and, when elected, he disappointed his enemies and
40 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
disgusted his friends. Instead of being the corrupt
official that was expected; instead of being a mere tool
in the hands of the party that placed him in office, he
acted independently and honestly; established various
reforms, and proved himself one of the best and most
popular Mayors the City had ever known. For some
months he continued his excellent course. He had
gained the warmest admirers among his bitterest foes.
The journals that had abused him exhausted eulogy
upon him. Prayers were even offered up for him in
fashionable churches. But he was bent upon disappointing the City in another way.
All of a sudden the improvements he had made were
overridden by the worst corruptions. All that had
been anticipated of his bad government was more than
realized. The City Hall fell into the hands of the
worst men in New-York, and the indignant public
clamored in vain for reform.  The Municipal Police, as
they were called, became so insupportable that the
State determined to supplant them with police of its
own appointment, and did so.   There was serious
trouble; fighting and riots ensued before the Metropolitan Police were firmly installed, and on Mayor Wood
was thrown the entire responsibility of the public disturbances.  He was compelled to submit; but during
the remainder of his term of office, he did all he could
to make himself obnoxious to the Opposition, which,
indeed, he had no cause to love. He went out of the
Mayoralty amid the execrations of those who  at first
were loudest in his praise.  It was thought that he
could never be elected to the office again; but he has been
three times Mayor, and without redeeming his reputation. He was defeated the last time he ran for the
626 
FERNANDO WOOD.
place; but he still boasts that he can get it when he
likes.  Hie has been thrice in Congress, and has just
been elected a fourth time.
He is resolute, energetic, and believes the end
justifies the means in politics, and that the end is
success. His influence with the people, particularly
with the Irish, is very great. They seem to have a
kind of blind worship for him, and they cleave to him
through good and evil report. Even when they are incensed against him, as they are sometimes he has but to
go among them and talk with them to bring them over
to his side.
Whatever his defects, Wood is an extraordinary man;
has abundant faith in himself, and cares nothing for
the abuse that is heaped upon him. Coolness is superabundantly his. In Congress, when torrents of invective
have been poured upon his head, he has sat in his chair
stroking his moustache and looking more indifferent
than any of his fellow-members. From the class of men
he controls many fancy him a rude, coarse fellow of the
Sixth Ward politician type. They are greatly mistaken.
Fernando Wood, with his gray hair and mustache,
sober suit of black, tall, erect, lithe figure, quiet, almost
solemn manner, would be mistaken for a clergyman.
He is perfectly self-possessed under all circumstances;
speaks softly and deliberately; dresses neatly, and would
be prepossessing were it not for a suggestion of coldness
and selfishness that no ease or polish of manner can remove.
Wood lives in good style up town; has a liberal
income-having laid the basis of his wealth while he
was Mayor in 1857 by buying at advantageous rates
real estate sold for taxes. Hle is fifty-six, of rigorous
constitution; seems to grow more cunning with age, and
627 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
deserves the sobriquet of the Fox, which has been fixed
upon him. He was long distinguished as the head and
front of Mozart Hall, which he originated in opposition
to Tammany. But Tammany was too strong for Mozart,
which is now little more than a name.  It fears Wood,
however, and has consented to his going to Congress,
where perhaps he may expiate some of his many political sins.
628 
0
CHAPTER LXXVI.
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN.
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN is as difficult to locate as to
analyze. Hie claims a residence in St. Petersburg,
London, Paris, San Francisco, Omaha, Chicago, NewYork, and Boston; but, as those cities are not conveniently contiguous to each other, it is questionable,
should he declare he had a residence in each and all of
them, if he would be permitted to vote, even on Manhattan Island. Public opinion is much divided respecting Train. Some persons think him a madman; others
a fool.  He is neither.  He knows what he is about
better than most men; but his passion for notoriety is
such that he is constantly misunderstood. He believes
in notoriety, in self-representation, in self-assertion, in
self-appreciation, to the fullest. With him, egotism is,
if not the highest of virtues, the first of domestic charities. Hie holds there is no success without egotism, and
that success in some form is what all are struggling for.
Self-conscious and self-loving as he is, he does not desire
to encroach upon the right of others to be and appear as
vain as they choose. He is convinced that modesty
" does not pay," as he would express it, and that it is
in most cases a sham.  lHe is violently opposed to
shams, and prefers Nature, however disagreeable, to the
most pleasant make-believe. Not long ago, he spoke to 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
a writer of reputation about a literary work he had completed.  "It does not amount to any thing," said the
author; "I did it for lack of something better."
"You don't really think so," replied Train.  "If you
had had that belief, you wouldn't have undertaken the
work. Never decry your own performance anyhow.
Let other people do that. People take you at your own
estimate; and it's good policy to put a high value upon
yourself if you want to sell well in the market."
Train is an American in excess; an American raised
to a higher power, to put it mathematically; an American run mad. He is a highly exaggerated type of our
people and country; and has all the energy, boldness,
independence, irrepressibleness, that are popularly supposed to belong to the Anglo-Saxon race.  For nearly
twenty years he has been before the public in protean
shape, and no doubt for twenty, aye, thirty years more,
he will insist upon not being forgotten while voice and
langs, pen and ink, type and paper, are to be used or
had in the World.
Train was born in Massachusetts, in or near Boston,
and an erratic fellow from childhood. He was thought
very visionary and fantastic in his youth, and, though
unmistakably clever, seemed to have no concentration,
no continuity of purpose. Before he was of age he was
famous in the City of Notions. He had unusual power
of expression, orally and graphically; was constantly
talking, speaking in public, or writing.   He rambled
abroad; returned, and published several volumes, among
which were "Young America in Europe," and "Wall
Street Abroad."  In all of his volumes  he glorified
Young America, which he claimed to represent; criticised and censured the old monarchies, and predicted
630 
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN.
the universal diffusion of republican principles.   his
books were read; sometimes admired; oftener laughed
at. They had cleverness, but were flighty, incoherent,
disconnected, and induced many persons of a different
temperament to believe their author a little cracked.
Then he went abroad again; made extraordinary and
ridiculously extravagant speeches that confirmed the
impression his books had given.
He set to building street railways in London; but
after great boasts of teaching John Bull how to travel,
John Bull got out injunctions, stopping the work; and
to this day there is not a foot of street-railway in the
British. metropolis.
Train has been in every European capital, and
wherever he is, he is bound to be heard from. He
never keeps quiet; but fluctuates between the Baltic
Sea and the Pacific coast. His superlative nervous
'force and activity of brain impel him from one country
to another, from ocean to ocean, like the driving-wheels
of a locomotive.
He has tried almost every thing, and not long ago
became interested, with Thomas C. Durant, the VicePresident, in the Union Pacific Railway. HIe has had
many advantages. there in buying property and locating
towns, and is reputed to have made a great deal of
money. He confesses to have done so, and frequently
says: " I have taken a turn at many things. I wrote
for the newspapers, and people called me  a fool.   I
made speeches, and they called me a fool.  I became
author, and they did the same. I built street-railways,
aid they still called me a fool.  Then I went to making
money, and since then nobody has called me a fool."
I am afraid Train is mistaken. It is so much easier
631 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
to style any one a simpleton than to understand a wise
man, that a great many persons have not changed their
opinion of the erratic New-Englander. Train claims to
have originated the Credit Foncier in this country, which
is a source of great profit to him in the building of the
Pacific Road. No one can imagine all the enterprises
and public movements he assumes to be the parent of,
and with justice, perhaps; for he is more likely than
any man living to project a macadamized road-to the
moon or a pleasure excursion to the Bottomless Pit, for
the notoriety of the thing, if for no other reason.
Train is an amiable, good-hearted, and good-looking
fellow, who would be very interesting if he would confine himself to one subject more than ten seconds at a
time. He overwhelms you with talk on all themes, and
conversation with him is little else than a rambling
monologue, in which you are an entirely superfluous
figure. Hle is of medium height, erect, graceful, has
brown, curly hair, gray eyes; affects blue, brass-buttoned
coats; has an interest in all existences under the stars,
but most in George Francis Train; and is one of the
most remarkable men of the time, with more good and
capacity in him than he will ever get credit for.
632 
CHAPTER LXXVII.
FANNY FERN.
ALMOST every one has heard of Fanny Fern, though
very few know who Mrs. Eldridge or Mrs. Parton is;
and many will be surprised to learn they are all three
one and the same person.
"Fanny Fern" ]Uldridge-Parton was born in Portland,
Maine, July 11, 1811-a fact I have no hesitation in
stating, because she is one of the not numerous women
who have no objection to telling her age. Her father,
Nathaniel Willis, editor for many years of the Boston
Riecorder, removed to that city when she was six years
old. She was educated at Hartford, Conn., being a
pupil of'Catherine E. and Harriet Beecher, now the
famous Mrs. Stowe. Sara Payson Willis-her maiden
name-was a very rollicking, even hoidenish girl; gave
her teachers no little trouble, and teased her schoolfellows most unmercifully.   She was  very popular,
however, from her fine sense of justice and her generosity of heart. Not a few of her companions seemed
to be really in love with her, particularly the younger
and weaker of the class, who went to her for protection
and championship, as if she were a man.
Numerous stories are told of her mad freaks and mischievous tricks, which earned for her the well-deserved
title of a tomboy.   The Beechers have many reminis 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
cences of Sallie Willis as a school-girl. Among other
things, she used to be wishing constantly that she was
a boy; and those who knew her then were often of the
opinion that she nearly had her wish.
Soon after leaving school she was married to Charles
Eldridge, cashier of the Merchants' Bank of Boston.
She lived in comfort and content with him, and twice
bore him children-daughters; but at his death his
affairs were found to be involved, and she was soon
thrown upon her own resources. She tried to obtain a
situation as teacher or saleswoman; offered to do any
thing to put bread into her own and her children's
mouths, but she was unsuccessful, and finally, as a last
resort, concluded to write.
This was in 1851, and Boston was not then a very
good literary market. Having shown cleverness with
her pen while a girl, she composed a number of sketches,
stories, poems and essays.  She offered them to all the
Boston journals, daily and weekly. The editors acknowledged that they had merit, but they would not pay for
them. She wanted money more than fame, and declined
to have them printed for glory. After severe struggles
with poverty, and when she was on the eve of abandoning the literary field, she found an editor who gave
her fifty cents for a sketch.  It attracted attention;
was copied in other journals, and induced the editor to
give her a dollar for the next effusion. She continued
to write over the signature of Fanny Fern, and at the
end of a few months she had gained a decided reputation.
As soon as she became known, she removed to the City,
began writing for the weeklies, and made Fanny Fern
a familiar name all over the country. Robert Bonner
about that time purchased the Ledyer, formerly a corn
634 
FANNY FERN.
mercial weekly, and immediately engaged Fanny to
write regularly, at $100  a column.   Thenceforward
her reputation and independence were assured. Her
writings were  copied  everywhere.  Drinking saloons
and steamboats were named after her, which is indubitable evidence in America of enduring fame. She
made a collection of her sketches, and published them
in a volume, with the title of " Fern Leaves." The
book had a sale of 70,000, and realized to her $8,000
or $10,000. She afterwards published another series
of her contributions to the Ledger, followed by a novel
-" Ruth Hall"-which was really,' though not ostensibly, an autobiography. In it she severely censured
and ridiculed her brother, N. P. Willis, then the wellknown editor of the Htome Journal, under the name of
Hyacinth; showing him to be a vulgar pretender and a
selfish snob. Of the taste of such a performance, whatever her provocation, there can hardly be two opinions.
But the novel sold, and she had no compunctious visitings.
In 1856 she was a second time married to James
Parton, the distinguished biographer. She is still a
contributor to the Ledyer, and in consideration of her
writing for no other publication, Bonner gives her
$5,000 a year. She lives very comfortably in Eighteenth street, and in her fifty-eighth year is as pleasant
and vivacious as a girl of eighteen.   She is round and
plump; has light hair, laughing, blue eyes and a mobile
face.  She is a rapid and interesting talker, a strong,
self-poised, large-hearted woman; and though her
writings are often lacking in delicacy, they are free
from sham, earnest for the truth, often eloquent, always
pointed, and have done much good by their strong
appeals to women and their brave defense of right.
635 
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
TWO STRONG-MINDED WOMEN.
SUsAN B. ANTHONY, especially since the establishment
of the Revolution, has become one of the feminine notabilities of the country. She is a native of South Adams,
Mass., though her parents removed to Monroe county,
near Rochester, while she was a child. She is of Quaker descent, and the Quakers love peace; but she has
departed from the faith of her fathers, and grown enamored of all forms of spiritual warfare. She was a teacher
for many years; afterward a lecturer on temperance and
anti-slavery. Since her girlhood she has been radical
in every thing.  She early burst the trammels of old
forms; became an uncompromising Abolitionist and an
enemy of common and ancient creeds. She was one of
the first advocates of woman's rights in their fullness.
For twenty years she has talked, written, and spoken in
favor of feminine suffrage, and will have little to desire
when that becomes the law of the land. She is the publisher of the Revolution, and in each of its weekly issues
has several vigorous articles on her favorite theme.  She
is a thorough come-outer, in the strictest sense of comeouterism; but she is sincere, liberal, sympathetic, and,
if strong-minded, is tender-hearted.
She has chosen her course from no love of notoriety
or sensation, but from principle and conscientious deter 
Two STRONG-MINDED WOMEN.
mination to do right. Her life is full of practical charities. No one of her sex, however humble, degraded, or
outcast, ever failed to find in her a comforter, helper,
and friend. She is tall and slender; has a good, though
not handsome face; is very energetic; talks a great deal,
but very well. She is unmarried, a vigorous and logical
speaker and writer, and, though she has been mnuch mnisrepresented and ridiculed, as all women are who have
courage to step out of what is called their "sphere," she
is gentle, courageous, and true; has a high purpose in
life, and has done a good work. The World might be
better off if it had a thousand Susan Anthonys; this
City certainly would.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton is even better known than
her co-laborer on the Revolttlion.  She has stumped the
West; lectured and made speeches throughout the
Northern States for woman's rights and woman's suffrage, of which, since Lucy Stone's marriage and retirement to New-Jersey domesticity, she is, perhaps, the
most distinguished advocate in the Union. Her name
is printed in the London Times, the Paris.,[oniteur, and
the Independance Belye.  She has sufficient celebritynotoriety, if you will-to gratify the vanity of any of
her sex; and were it not for the heart she has in her
work, no doubt she would long ago have retired from a
field many have thought uncongenial to her.
Mrs. Stanton (ne'e Elizabeth Cady) is a native of
Johnstown, N.Y., the daughter of Judge Cady, a gentleman of position and ability. She was married to
Henry B. Stanton, a young and rising lawyer, in her
twentieth year; and not long after went to Seneca Falls,
in this State, where she resided for thirteen or fourteen
years. It was there she first felt an interest in the
637 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
cause of woman's rights. She made her earliest speech
there, I think, and was an intimate of Mrs. Bloomer, a
resident of the same town, after whom the short skirt
that has been so much laughed at was christened. Mrs.
Stanton soon became acquainted with Lucy Stone, Abby
Kelly Foster, Ernestine L. Rose, Antoinette L. Brown,
Frances D. Gage, Elizabeth Oakes Smith, and the whole
tribe of feminine agitationists. They received her with
open arms and encouraging tongues. She was taken
into their innermost circle; made their counselor and
confidante; was launched upon a "career," and dis covered  she  had, a "mission."   Her  friends were
alarmed, some of them shocked, that a lady so accomplished and highly-bred should ally herself with women
who violated all the conventionalities and departed from
all the customs of "good society."
Mrs.  Stanton had made  up  her mind, however.
Though naturally very sensitive and shrinkingly modest, she resolved to brave public opinion, and do what
she had convinced herself was her duty. She plunged
into the Rubicon; she crossed, and Rome was-freer
than ever. From that time to this she has been untiring in her exertions for the cause. She firmly believes
every thing will come right when women vote; that
when they go to the polls, and take part in the elections, the country will approach near to Plato's ideal
republic, and More's Utopia.
For some years she has lived in New-York; was the
founder, and is the guiding and ruling spirit of the Revolution. She is the opposite of the popular notion of a
strong-minded woman. Instead of being angular, cadaverous, awkward, shrill-voiced, vinegar-faced, she is buxom, blithe, pleasant.  Her hair, which is prematurely
638 
Two STRONG-MINDED WOMEN.
white, clusters about her well-shaped head in silvery
curls. Her eyes are large, blue, and bright; her features regular, and her complexion fresh. She is a very
agreeable-many call her a fascinating-woman, and
is so full of life and humor that it is difficult to be in
her society without feeling the charm of her presence.
She has several children; is a most exemplary wife and
mother, and is widely and deeply loved by all who know
her. She has a fine mind; is logical and trenchant in
argument; and one of the most persevering and able
advocates her cause has ever had on this side of the
Atlantic.
639 
CHAPTER LXXIX.
PETER COOPER.
PETER COOPER'S name is familiar all over the country
on account of his persevering efforts to educate and ele vate the poor and laboring classes, and from the erection
of the Cooper Institute for the instruction of the workingmen of the country. Cooper was born in this City
in the winter of 1791, and is of Revolutionary stock,
his father and grandfather having served as officers
during the struggle. His father was a hatter at the close
of the struggle, and Peter assisted him in the shop, and
had a hard experience, as his parent was in straitened
circumstances, and had a large family to support. The
boy was very anxious to learn, but he was unable to
attend school more than half of each day  during  a
single year, which was all the regular education he ever
received. When seventeen he was apprenticed to a
coachmaker, and he followed the trade for some years.
He afterwards engaged in the manufacture of patent
machines for shearing cloth; then of cabinet ware, and at
last he entered into the grocery business in Burling
Slip. He conducted the last trade for some years with
profit; but retired from it to embark in the manufacture
of glue and isinglass, which he has carried on ever
since-a period of more than thirty years. I-e has
been interested for a long while in iron manufactures, and 
PETER COOPER.
in his works near Baltimore he built, after, his own
designs, the first locomotive ever constructed'in the
United States. Ire has shown much interest in the
extension of the telegraph, and is a stockholder and an
officer in the Atlantic Cable Companies. He has served
in both branches of our Common Council, and what is
extraordinary, he proved himself a most honest and
honorable me6mber-an example that few have been
tempted to imitate since his time. The difficulty he
had in obtaining an education made him solicitous of
securing advantages for others, when he had become
rich, and Cooper Institute is the fine result of a selfpromise made  forty years before its erection.   The
Institute  embraces  a school of  design  for women,
evening  courses  of instruction  for  mechanics  and
apprentices, especially as respects  the application of
science to the practical affairs of life, a free readingroom, galleries of art, collections of models of inventions
and a polytechnic school. The building cost $500,000,
which is not far from half of Peter Cooper's fortune.
Hle is still healthy and vigorous and no one would
believe he was near his eightieth year. He is a
peculiar-looking and noticeable person, under the
medium size, with a sharp, thin visage, a profusion of
brown hair, very little gray eyes, always wears gold
spectacles, and seems as amiable, kind, and generous as
he really is. No one ever doubted Peter Cooper's
honesty. He is popular with all classes, and is
never seen in public without eliciting applause. He
has lived a true life; is a genuine democrat; an earnest
friend of the people.
41
641 
CHAPTER LXXX.
GEORGE LAW.
A VERY different man from Peter Cooper is George
Law. Once a famous personage, he has so sunk out of
sight, of late years, that the great public has almost
entirely forgotten him. He was born in Washington
county in this State, and his parents being poor, he
came to the Metropolis to seek a livelihood. It is said
he worked for his passage and arrived here penniless.
He was in his first teens then; but being very stout and
hardy he worked on the docks, and in warehouses for
several months. At the end of that time he had saved
a hundred dollars. With that sum he began to barter
and trade, and soon increased it to $1,000-the hardest
amount to get, millionaires tell us, though the statement
is not always true. He had a talent for making money
out of other people; but he remained in obscurity till he
was fully thirty. The first known of him by the public
was his appearance as contractor for building High
Bridge for the Croton Aqueduct. He made the job
profitable, and soon obtained other contracts from the
City that rendered himn prosperous. Hie purchased an
interest in different ferry and street railway companies,
and became an operator in Wall street, where his
shrewdness served him to advantage. He was not a 
GEORGE LAW.
bold speculator, but had the sagacity to buy and sell
at the right time, and rarely lost.
At one time the Herald-in the campaign of 1852, I
think-nominated Law for the Presidency, and gave
him the sobriquet of "Live-Oak George," which long
adhered to him. No one except Law imagined for a
moment the journalistic weathercock in earnest; but he
was greatly flattered by the nomination, and really
cherished aspirations for the White House.
During the Lopez expedition in Cuba he bought a
lot of muskets, and placed them on board the Grapeshot.
The vessel was seized while lying in port, on the charge
that the muskets were intended for the filibusters,
which no doubt was true.  Law made a fierce protest
against the seizure, and appealed to the courts. While
the case was pending the attempted revolution failed,
and Lopez was garroted. The fire-arms afterward proved
of very little value, and if they had been used in Cuba
would have been more destructive to their bearers than
to the enemy. A great deal was said and written at
the time about the George  Law muskets, and their
worthlessness grew to be a proverb. That venture was
one of the very few in which he was not successful.
He has the reputation of having made money out of
whatever he has touched, and he ought to make it, for
he is totally regardless of the feelings or comfort of
others. He is still a large owner in ferries and railways,
conducts them to please himself, and whistles at the
public.
George Law is for himself first, last, and always, and
he is, therefore, one of the most unpopular men in the
Metropolis-a fact he cares nothing about so long as his
coffers are full, and his digestion is perfect. His con
643 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
science is easy, for it lies in his bank account.  The
good he does must be in secret since it rarely becomes
known.
Law has a handsome house in Fifth avenue, and is
probably worth $5,000,000, though it would not be
imagined from his appearance and manner that he would
be admitted to his own house, or that his income was
$1,000 a year. He must be about five and sixty now;
has a strong constitution and muscular frame, and
promises to be active and interest-calculating for thirty
years yet. Ile is very large vertically and horizontally;
dresses shabbily; has coarse features; resembles a carman more than a millionaire, and is personally known
to few. He is frequently to be seen walking and driving
about on his private business; occasionally appears at
Fulton Market in quest of oysters, which he swallows
voraciously as if he were more savage than hungry; and
now and then figures as a vice-president of some public
meeting, which he never attends. Such is Live-Oak
George, who, as has been said, is a self-made man, and
worships his creator.
644 
~
CHAPTER LXXXI.
PETER B. SWEENEY.
PETER B. SWEENEY has recently risen into prominence
as the Great Mogul of Tammany Hall. He is considered
one of the shrewdest of Democratic politicians; makes
politics his trade, and thrives by them.  He is of Irish
extraction, though native here, and seems to be a man
of force more than fineness.  He is a lawyer by profession; but he has quitted law for more lucrative, if not
more disinterested pursuits, within the magic circle of
the City Hall. He is the present City Chamberlain,
and has made himself famous by paying over to the
municipal government certain monthly sums of interest
that have heretofore been kept by the incumbent of the
office. The proceeding is so unprecedented that few
New-Yorkers are willing to believe that any man capable
of such conduct is acting from disinterested motives.
Until recently, a bank President has usually been made
the Chamberlain, and the bank has received the deposits
of the City without interest. The balance to the credit
of New-York is often $20,000,000, and it is estimated
that the interest on the account is not infrequently
$200,000 per annum. It is alleged that Sweeney does
not give more than one-third of the interest to the Treas.
ury; but that he pays any proportion of it voluntarily,
0 
TEE  GREAT METROPOLIS.
and when there is no law to compel him, should certainly
be interpreted to his credit.
As a wire-puller, caucus-controller, and manager of
men, he is said to eclipse his astutest predecessors. He
is the power behind the throne in the City Hall, and
the avowed champion of the Ring. No Democratic
body in this region can get along without Sweeney; and
no Democratic caucus is complete without him. He is
steadily increasing his influence, and in this stronghold
of the party will find it to his advantage to stay. He
is wealthy-probably $1,000,000 would not cover his
fortune-in the prime of life; large, dark-haired, darkeyed, swarthy-complexioned; feels proud of his political
importance,  and may long to have  engraven on his
marble monument in Greenwood, "Here lies the late
leader of Taumany Hall."
646 
OICHAPTER LXXXII.
DISTINGUISHED CLERGYMEN.
NEARLY all of our well-known members of the clerical
profession are doctors of divinity, except two of the
very ablest, —Ilenry Ward Beecher and Octavius B.
Frothingham, who have peremptorily declined to accept
the degree.
After Beecher, Edwin H. Chapin, the Universalist, is
the most popular and famous. Born in Union village,
Washington county, in this State, Dec. 29, 1814, and
receiving his education in a seminary at Burlington, Vt.,
he began preaching, in his twenty-third year, to a congregation of Universalists and Unitarians in Richmond, Va.
Remaining there three years, he went to Massachusetts;
filled a pulpit in Charlestown for six years, and in Boston for two; when he was called to the Fourth Universalist church in this City. Hie soon took high rank as a
ministerial orator, and ever since-a period of twenty
years-his reputation has been increasing.
His church, called the Divine Unity, was for many
years in Broadway, but is now torn down, and a new and
handsome edifice has been built in Fifth avenue. His
congregation is very large, and his reputation attracts
many strangers; so that, long before the hour of service, it is next to impossible to get a place. IHis style of
eloquence is fervid and impassioned, abounding ill orna 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
ment and metaphor. He seems to lay himself out, with
pen and voice on particular passages; and he is often
so theatrical that his audience is prompted to applaud.
He is in great demand as a lecturer, and can easily earn
$8,000 to $10,000 a season by appearing before lyce ums. His salary is $10,000 a year, which, with such
perquisites and presents as all popular clergymen
receive, gives him a large and comfortable income.
Chapin is quite portly, very genial and amiable, but not
at all clerical in appearance. He is very liberal in creed,
and one of the best of our pulpit elocutionists and rhetoricians.  He has published several volumes of sermons
and lectures, and is fond of displaying his scholarship.
He is very agreeable personally, and numbers his
friends by hundreds.
The Rev. Henry W. Bellows, Unitarian, resembles
Chapin somewhat, and is near him in reputation. He
is a native of Boston, and now in his fifty-fifth year.
He graduated at Harvard before he was nineteen, and
completed his theological studies at Cambridge.
During the late Unitarian national convention, he
delivered the opening sermon, which was an elaborate
expression of his beliefs and desires. He severely, even
bitterly, censured many of his brethren; denounced
speculation as dangerous and pernicious; declared his
faith in Jesus Christ, our Saviour, the only firm rock on
which to stand; and, for two hours, spoke as if he had
been a rigid Baptist or Presbyterian. In the convention he attacked the Rev. O. B. Frothingham, without
mentioning his name, and entered upon issues that would
have rent the church asunder, had not oil been ingeniously poured upon the troubled theologic waters.
He became pastor of the First Congregational church
648 
DISTINGUISHED CLERGYMEN.
here in 1838, and now presides over All Souls, irreverently called the Holy Zebra, Fourth avenue and Twentieth street. lHe was for many years the principal
writer of the Christictn Inquirei', which he was largely
instrumental in founding, and now contributes to the
Christian Examiner.  He is a popular lecturer, and an
eloquent, though rather monotonous, speaker, with many
mannerisms. Rhetoric is his forte, as it is Chapin's, and
he makes the most of it.  He represents the orthodox
class of Unitarians, and has for a long while been tending to the usual forms of theologic worship. He has
several times threatened to withdraw from the Unitarians; nor is it strange,-for between himself and those
who claimn to be the most liberal, there is almost as
much difference as between Universalists and Calvinists.
Ten or twelve years ago he created a sensation by
advocating theaters and theatrical amusements. The
broad church applauded, and the orthodox were indignant, and all over the country the theme was earnestly
discussed by religious and secular journals.. lie was
here regarded as the exponent of the broad church; but
since then he has grown very conservative, and it has
been rumored again and again that he was about to disown all connection with the Unitarians.
Bellows is tall, dark-complexioned, bald, rather patriarchal in appearance, and, if not opposed, gracious and
gentle. His salary is $10,000, and his circumstances
all that can be reasonably desired. He has written a
great deal, though most of his writings are pamphlets
on current topics, on which he took a decided stand for
or against the question at issue.
The Rev. William Adams is the best known of the
649 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Presbyterian clergymen in the City. He is the pastor
of Madison Square church, one of the most fashionable
in the Metropolis, and his congregation has the reputation
of the wealthiest in the country. Bankers, politicians,
merchants, and professional men of note, are members
of his church; and it is stated that more prominent
citizens can be found there than in any other place of
worship in Manhattan.   I-e has many  enthusiastic
admirers, who consider him exceedingly eloquent. It
is a pity his eloquence can not induce his hearers who
operate in Wall street, and pull political wires, to be
more honest and upright in their dealings.
Adams is a native of Connecticut; but while a child,
his father-a teacher of distinction-removed to Massachusetts. William was always of a religious turn, and
exhibited an interest in the Bible and theological works
at so tender an age as to awaken surprise and delight
among his father's friends. He was regarded as a
pious prodigy, and frequently entered upon discussions
with ministers of reputation, and confounded them with
his questions and his arguments.
He came to New-York thirty years ago for the benefit
of his health; and, while spending the winter here, was
induced to accept the pulpit of the Broome Street church.
For the last fourteen years, he has been in Madison
square, and he attracts every Sunday a very large
and highly cultivated congregation.
He is very unlike Beecher, Bellows, or Chapin, in the
style of his sermons and delivery. He has a horror of
what is known as sensationalism, and consequently his
sermons are simple and severe, but forcible and
convincing. He is a man of large and varied reading,
but like a man of true culture, he shows it in his
650 
DISTINGUISHED  CLERGYMEN.
thought instead of in display of needless learning. He
has the usual $10,000 salary, and could havethrice
this sum if he would accept it He has written several
volumes, which breathe a spirit of eloquent devotion,
and have large sales.
He is considered a model of what a clergyman should
be in appearance, bearing, and even in costume.  He is
said to exercise a very wholesome influence on young
men, who are much attached to him. lIe has, from his
early years, been interested in foreign missions and in
bible societies and has been intimately acquainted
with eminent men zealous and energetic in the cause
of Christianity.  Though not far from sixty, he is still in
the vigor of health, and has years of earnest and valuable work before him.
The Rev. H. B. Ridgaway presides over St. Paul's, in
Fourtlh avenue,-the most fashionable and the wealthiest
of the Methodist churches in the United States.
The Methodists pay smaller salaries than the other
denominations, and Ridgaway receives but $5,000, which
is the maximum rate. According to the rule of the
church, no minister preaches more than three years to
the same congregation, which prevents it from forming
a strong attachment to its pastor, as it might otherwise
do.  Ridgaway is young,-not yet forty. He is small in
stature; dark and pale; yet looks as if he had studied
hard, and led a very abstemious, if not ascetic life.  He
is neither showy nor brilliant, but is a close reasoner,
and gives entire satisfaction to his flock. He formerly
had charge of a congregation in Baltimore, and is a new,
though by no means unwelcome, citizen and clergyman
in this paradise of preachers.
The Rev. Henry C. Potter is the new pastor of Grace
651
I 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
church. He is the son of the eminent bishop, and has
already obtained a strong hold upon the fashionable
worshipers at that most fashionable temple. He is
about forty, and well qualified to please his fastidious
and critical congregation. He is called handsome by his
feminine parishioners. He has an intellectual, student like  face;  clear, expressive  eyes;  and fine  brown
whiskers, worn after the English style. He has a rich,
well modulated voice, and reads the litany in an impressive and artistic manner, that delights his hearers.
After the death of the Rev. Dr. Taylor, Grace found
much  difficulty in  supplying his place.   It offered
$15,000 as salary, but no one came that was deemed
suitable. It then reduced the sum to the regular rate,
and Potter, having been put upon trial, was pronounced
the man after whom the church had been seeking.
The parsonage is exceedingly pleasant, and it an( all the
surroundings of Grace are so desirable that the bishop's
son may well regard himself as fortunate.
The Rev. Thomas Armitage, among the Baptist
clergy, is, perhaps, the most conspicuous. He holds
divine service in the Fifth avenue Baptist church-a
handsome and imposing edifice, that is always well
attended. He is a prime favorite. His style of composition is more picturesque than that of most ministers
of his creed, and his elocution graceful and winning.
iHe has been called theatric; but that adjective is
rarely applied to men who are not open to the suspicion
of eloquence. He is about forty-five has a heavy frame
and a large face, which looks larger from the entire
absence of whiskers or mustache; wears his hair long;
and reminds you somewhat of Beecher in his personal
appearance. He has a very nervous manner, that
652 
DISTINGUISIIED CLERGYMEN.
shows intensity and earnestness, but does not add to
the effect of his oratory.
Rev. Octavius B. Frothingham is one of the three
Unitarian clergymen, and the most radical, in the City.
He represents the most liberal wing of his church, as
Dr. Bellows does the most orthodox. He is a comeouter, and the most eminent of the kind. Creed and
dogmas are of no importance to him. What a man does,
rather than what he believes, is the essence of his
Christianity. He has faith in culture, in just deeds, in
humanity, in self-sacrifice, in devotion. Where one's
work is honest, earnest, noble, the worker can not be
seriously wrong, whatever his form of belief or disbelief.
Frothingham is a native of Massachusetts, a graduate
of Harvard; studied theology in the divinity school at
Cambridge, and has been regarded as a disciple of
Theodore Parker, many of whose opinions, and all of
whose sympathies, he shares.  Still he can not be justly
called a Parkerite; for he accepts no man's views until
his mental process makes them his own.
He is eminently an individual; does not claim to-day
that he knows what he will think or do to-morrow. He
believes in progress, development, purity, charity, and unselfishness: these are the sum of aU religion. He isentirely democratic in his opinions, and sternly opposed to forms.
For a long while he was unwilling to have a church,
preferring to preach in public halls, on account of what
he conceived to be the greater freedom of such places.
But he was overruled by his congregation, who built a
neat and elegant edifice in Fortieth street known as the
Third Congregational Church, where service is regularly
held. His hearers are not many; but they are among
the most intellectual and cultivated in New-York.
653 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
A number of journalists and artists, authors and professional men go there, and they listen to his discourses
sympathetically but critically.   No  one  who  hears
Frothingham can doubt he is a thinker, however much
he may fail to take the view of the hearer. The minister
is rather a small man, about forty-six, with a nervous,
eager, fine face, excellent manners, and thoroughly well
bred because reposeful air.  He  has long, wavy hair,
sprinkled with gray; dresses neatly, even elegantly,
and gives the impression of fastidiousness and daintiness
in every thing.
He often speaks extemporaneously, and very well.
His written sermons are vigorous, eloquent and polished.
Hie is very quiet, rarely gesticulating, but reads from
his manuscript in a soft, sweet voice the convictions of
his heart, the freshest ideas of his brain, gracefully and
classically expressed. He is thought by many affected,
but he is not, though it is probable that what were
mannerisms at first are natural now. He is a clever
writer;  contributes  to the Radical, the Nation, and
other periodicals. He has been accused of coldness,
but his life is earnest, generous, and beautiful;
and he has warm friendships, that have continued
through years.
Rev. Samuel Osgood is the pastor of the new Church
of the Messiah, one of the most costly in town, in Park
avenue, but not in the best taste. Osgood seems to
stand midway between his two Unitarian brothers, Bellows and Frothingham, neither so conservative as the one,
nor so radical as the other. He is not very individual
in his views, and inclines to form and ceremony almost
as much as an Episcopalian; wearing a black silk gown
654 
DISTINGUISHED CLERGYMEN.
during service, and surrounding himself with all that
can add to his ministerial dignity.
He is from Massachusetts also.  He is the successor
of Dr. Orville Dewey, and has been in the pulpit here
for nearly twenty years. Hle has read a great deal,more than he has digested perhaps; is receptive rather
than creative, and is thought to have modeled himself
somewhat, though unconsciously, upon Dr. Bellows.
His sermons are committed to memory, after being
written with great  care, and abound  in quotations,
learned allusions, studied alliteration, and all the tempting vices of ornamental rhetoric.   He is thoroughly
self-appreciative, and would be more effective and interesting if less self-conscious and apparently affected. He
is very popular with his congregation, and has decided
talent, though no genius. He has written a number of
books, and contributes freely to the magazines. Among
his writings is an autobiography under the title of
"Mile Stones on Life's Journey," which attracted much
attention, and sold largely.
He is very fond of writing and speaking, and has
delivered numerous orations before colleges, societies,
and on public occasions.  He is of the $10,000 salary
number, and has a very handsome property. He owns a
pleasant house in town and a fine country seat at Plainfield, Conn., where he spends the Summer in picturesque
and luxurious retirement. A lucky man is Samuel
Osgood. -He enjoys the material things of life as well
as the spiritual things; is fond of society, and is the
companion of artists and litte'rateurs as often as his
clerical duties, which are numerous, will permit.
Rev. Morgan Dix, of Trinity, is the apostle of High
Churchism; has chants, surpliced singers, and all the
655 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
pomp of ritualism, and would have still more forms if
he had his own way. He is the son of General Dix,
a man of good ability, an agreeable preacher, and dear
to the heart of his congregation.
Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, Jr., is the antipodes of Dix.
Not many months since he drew upon himself the condemnation of a portion of the Episcopal Church for entering
the pulpit of a Methodist clergyman in New Brunswick,
N. J., and his trial elicited the comments of the press
far and wide. That trial was an excellent thing for
Tyng's reputation; for ever since he has been among
the most talked-of clergymen in the City. His congregation believed that he was persecuted; regarded him
as a martyr, and formed a new and deeper affection for
him than they had ever experienced before.
The younger Tyng is an earnest and eloquent advocate of Low Churchism; as thoroughly democratic in
his feelings and sympathies as Dix is aristocratic. He
has of late been preaching to the people in the street, as
a protest no doubt against chants, and choristers, and
the intoned service of Trinity.
His open-air sermons have been largely attended, and
his popularity has greatly increased. He is the rector
of the Church of the Holy Trinity, Madison avenue and
Forty-second street. He is slight, pale, rather emaciated, intense and eager in temperament, speaking with
force and animation, and compelling the attention of his
hearers.
The Episcopalians have various grades and degrees of
creed and ceremony.   Rev. C. W. Morrill, of St. A1bans, in Lexington avenue, is the extremist in his ritualism. At that chapel, incense, miters, croziers, banners,
and all the elaborate forms of Catholicism, are to be
656 
DISTINGUISHED CLERGYMEN.
seen.  MIorrill has the title of Father.   He has established auricular confession, and there is little difference
between his and the Roman service, save that his is in
English.  Many of his fair parishioners are devoted to
him, and never weary in performing any tasks or sacrifices he may intimate as desirable. He is a large, strong
man, the opposite of an ascetic in appearance, positive,
imperious at times, and yet full of soft persuasion, and
very winning in his manners.
Rev. F. C. Ewer, of Christ's Church, Fifth avenue
and Thirty-fifth street, has distinguished himself by declaring Protestantism a failure. He is trying to do what
Pusey did; and yet he does not go half so far in ceremony as "Father" Morrill.  lHe is a large, dark man,
broad forehead, deep-chested; has a vigorous mind, and
seems to hold his congregation by the strings of their
hearts.
Rev. Chauncey Giles, of the New Jerusalem Church,
Thirty-fifth street, between Fourth and Lexington avenues, is a very able man and an effective reasoner.  iHe
is a native of Massachusetts; went West and taught
school; was stationed in Cincinnati for some years, and
is now firmly established here.  His congregation, less
than five hundred in number, is enthusiastic about him,
and would not part with him on any terms. He is of
massive mold, conveying the impression of both physical and mental strength; has profound and varied culture,
and deserves his reputation of a scholar and thinker.
Archbishop McCloskey is much loved by an immense
population of Catholics.   Hie is an earnest but quiet
prelate, appearing particularly so in contrast with his
predecessor, Archbishop Hughes, to whom controversy
was as the bread of life. He is a pleasant, urbane, and
42
6 5.7 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
learned gentleman, and has many warm friends among
all sects. He is a fluent and an interesting talker, and
universally esteemed.
Samuel Adler is the Rabbi of the Jewish Temple, No.
112 East Twelfth street, the handsomest and costliest
synagogue in the country. The Hebrews who worship
there are of the most liberal sort, and he is held in high
repute for his learning. He has all the marked features
of his race, and is a man of fine mind and great force
of character.
658
i-.
.A 
LI,GW GROGGERY.
2 
t 
LXXXIII.
JOHN ALLEN, THILE WICKEDEST MAN.
JOHN ALLEN, the notorious wickedest man, of No.
304 Water street, having had his day, has fallen almost
entirely out of the public eye. It is singular what effect
a superlative will have upon the community. John
Allen's dance-house had been visited and described again
and again by correspondents and magazine-wri'ters; but
they did not give his name or address, nor have the
audacity to apply the superlative to him.  When an
unknown writer told Allen's story in plain language in
a sensational monthly, Allen became notorious, and the
biographer shared his subject's notoriety.  Of course,
every one wanted to know about the wickedest man in
New-York, where there-are thousands of such, each one
of whom thinks he deserves the distinction.  Consequently everybody read the sketch, and a crowd of
people, both residents and strangers, hurried to Water
street, to see and talk to the moral monster.
Allen, a singular compound of conceit and coarseness,
was delighted to find himself a hero, and wishing to
continue the character, declared to the wistful clergy.
men who crowded about him begging him to reform,
that he had experienced a change of heart, and was
determined to lead a new life. Allen had always been
inclined to theological discussion; and considered him. 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
self a sort of preacher because he had brothers in the
pulpit.  He was quite familiar with the Bible; and to
repeat its passages, interlarding them with obscene
stories, to mix religion with his rum, and quote Genesis
over his gin, were his favorite recreations. Allen should
have been a Methodist exhorter-his mind and temperament impelled him in that direction; but the influence
of early associations and something of the unregenerate
evil of his na'ture drove him upon bar-rooms and dancehouses for a livelihood. He was in his element with
the clergymen about him, and when they proposed
prayer-meetings in his establishment he leaped at the
chance of continuing the sensation.
For weeks No. 304 was the scene of fervid religious
exercises. Curiosity filled the place, where there was
abundant opportunity to point a moral and adorn a tale.
Allen was alluded to as a monument of God's mercy,
and as a brand snatched from the burning. Several of
the unfortunate women he had employed became affected
through their unstrung nerves with the spirit of the
hour, and firom tippling wantons became weeping Magdalens. The wickedest man'enjoyed all that excessively.
It appealed to his love of excitement, and he was heard
to say privately that the dance-house was a d-d fool
to the prayer-meeting.
After awhile religion began to cloy upon Allen.   He
craved a new sensation, and concluded to lecture. He
went to Stamford, Conn., with an essay he had paid
some New-York reporter to write for him, and had a
select and sympathetic audience of six. Then he visited
Bridgeport, and was about to make confession of his
past errors and present repentance, when he had a firstclass attack of delirium tremens.
660 
JOHN ALLEN, THE WICKEDEST MAN.
After that Allen retired from the lecture field; returned to this City; proclaiming his intention to resume
his original business. The police.notified him if he
did, that they would arrest him and his girls every
night. He defied them, and opened his dance-house
again. The police kept their word. They arrested
Allen and all his supernumeraries, though he was no
more guilty than dozens of other dance-house keepers
in that neighborhood, who are never molested. But that
is the way the Metropolitan police have of doing things;
and as it is much less mischievous than many other of
their ways, perhaps it is unwise to complain. They had
formed a prejudice against Allen, who, they professed,
had shocked their moral sense by his duplicity, and
they would have locked him up every time he gave his
fandangoes.  That he did not like.  So he offered his
notorious den for sale, and went to Connecticut, where
he could enjoy his delirium tremens without the
interference of the police.
The last has been heard of John Allen. He is an
exploded sensation.  Water street is not likely to see
again his broad forehead and rather intelligent face, his
keen blue eye, light hair, thin jaw, and spare sidewhiskers, above a well-knit, compact frame. He may
turn up aES a preacher or as a prize fighter,-it is about
an even thing,-but his career as a rum-seller and dancehouse keeper is over. He can repose upon his laurels;
for he has made $100,000 by his shameful calling, and
declares he doesn't want to make any more.
What is termed the religious awakening, however
continues in Water street.  No. 304 is shut up; but at
No. 316 daily prayer-meetings are held under the auspices of the Howard Mission, and are productive of
661 - 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
much good. Many of the papers and people ridiculed
the attempt at a great revival, and referred to John
Allen's backsliding as an evidence of its hollowness;
hut the effort, in addition to its praiseworthiness, has
borne excellent fruit. No one will say that prayermeetings, even if their success be limited, are not better
than common prostitution, constant intemperance, and
riots of sensuality. Let the prayer-meetings continue!
They may help to purify the atmosphere of Water
street, and fill its darkest places with rays of hopeful
light.
662 
CHIAPTER LXXXIV.
MIARK M. POMEROY.
MARK M. POMEROY has recently become a citizen of
the Metropolis. The extraordinary success he had with
the La Crosse (Wis.) Democrat convinced him that he
needed a larger field and a more appreciative audience
than a Western town could give him; and therefore he
is here. On this propitious Island he has set up his
new daily, the Democrat, and will soon issue his weekly
from the same office. He says he has prospered beyond
his most sanguine expectations, and that the Democrat
is already firmly established. His non-admirers affirm
that he is losing money rapidly, and that he must fail;
that the notoriety of his paper made it sell for a few
weeks, but that it attracts no attention now. Pomeroy
is a notability. A violent and reckless course, that would
have ruined most men, seems to have helped him to
fortune. His perpetual and violent abuse of President
Lincoln, of the Army, of the War, of the Union cause,
was quite enough.to kill his paper, which has, however,
flourished greatly. If it had not, he would not have
had the boldness to come to New-York and issue a daily,
where there are journals in excess.
Pomeroy was born in Lawrenceville, Penn., on Christmnas Day, in 1833; his father being a New-York merchant, still living, and in California. His mother died 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
when he was an infant, and an uncle adopted him. He
lived on a farm and worked hard till he was seventeen,
being reared according to the severe and somewhat
somber teachings of the Presbyterian church, which his
mature writings seem to have reflected. In his eighteenth
year he went into a printing office in Corning, in this
State, and there mastered the art preservative.   He
afterward went to Waverly, and then to Canada West,
where he remained for several years.   In 1857 he
removed his local habitation to Wisconsin.  He there
embarked in several newspaper enterprises, and was at
one time local reporter of the Milwaukee News.  When
he undertook the Demnocrat, at La Crosse, he found his
place. There, and with that, he became known far and
wide; all his political opponents quoting his opinions and
sentiments to injure his party, and most of his allies
consigning him to perdition for his audacity.
Pomeroy is better known as "Brick" than Mark, the
sobriquet having been given him, it is said, by the
Louisville (Ky.) Journal, because of his clever execution of a local sketch copied into its columns. He is an
energetic and persevering fellow, vindictive and bitter to
the last degree. One of the most earnest and persistent
efforts of his late life has been to prove that Abraham
Lincoln, whom the whole Nation believes to have been
both a great and a good man, and who was one of the foremost characters of the Republic, is irrevocably damned,
or, as the Demnocrat tersely expresses it, has gone to
hell. Pomeroy's opinion may be entitled to weight, for
he speaks like an accredited representative of the place,
and as if he felt sure of finding the noble martyr there.
Another purpose of Pomeroy's existence is to abuse
General Butler, to whom he gave the title of the Beast,
664 
MARK M. POMEROY.
and whose name he has associated with the plunder of
spoons   He has-always declared Butler's father was
hanged for piracy, though Butler himself has no knowledge of the fact. Pomeroy, in his private life, is said to
be amiable, and strongly attached to his friends, which
is probable, as he is certainly attached to his foes. He
is a mild-looking man, bald above the forehead, blue-eyed,
of the medium height, rather heavy and not very prepossessing features.
He is reported to have many of the physical virtues;
to abstain from liquor, profanity, and tobacco; though
I can't help believing that a man who has so much
abuse to heap upon the dead Lincoln and living Butler
can hardly find time to indulge in the smaller vices I
have named. Pomeroy is self-made, a perpetual clamorer for Democracy and the rights of the People, and
on the best of terms with his maker.
665 
CHAPTER LXXXV.
EMINENT BUSINESS MEN.
FEW business men in New-York who have shown
judgment, energy, and prudence have failed of success.
Nearly all of them have accumulated fortunes in a few
years; for in this great center the path of good management soon strikes the road to prosperity. Once to get
a foothold here is to grow rich, because the moment a
house is fairly established trade flows in upon'it from
every part of the country.  The merchants of the Metropolis are truly merchant princes in wealth and their
luxurious style of living. Hundreds who are never
heard of off the Island, and who are little known on it,
reckon their property at $500,000, $600,000, $800,000,
and often by more than $1,000,000; nor is it strange,
for Broadway, Church, White street, and West Broadway, supply the markets of the United States.
One of the oldest and best known firms is Grinnell,
Minturn & Co. This shipping house is located at No.
78 South street, and though the old name is retained,
the business is conducted by the sons of the original
partners. The business of the house is small compared
to what it used to be, for the War gave a blow to our
shipping interests, from which they have not yet
recovered.  Robert B. Minturn, who was universally
esteemed in social and commercial circles died two years 
EMINENT BUSINESS  MEN.
ago, and Moses HI. Grinnell, a most creditable type of
the old school merchant, takes no active part in the
business. He is the President of the Sun Insurance
Company, at $10,000 a year, and his name is mentioned
in connection with a lucrative office during the incoming
administration. The name of Grinnell became widely
known by the expedition Henry, Moses' brother, and
one of the original members of the firm, fitted out ten
or twelve years ag,o, for the search of Sir John Franklin,
and in which laudable undertaking he spent a large sum
of money.  Moses was born in New Bedford, Mass., was
bred a merchant, and was a representative in Congress
from New York from 1839 to 1841. He is sixty-five; has
white hair and whiskers, florid complexion, and is quite
English-looking. He is very affable and courteous; has
been in times past a profuse entertainer, and is still a very
pleasant companion.- He was to South street what Jacob
Little was to Wall street.  He formerly resided in the
house occupied by Delmonico, in Fourteenth street, but
now lives at Irvington, on the Hudson.
Howland, Aspinwall & Co., another famous shipping
house, are at No. 54 South street. It is conducted by
Gardiner G. Howland and Samuel and Wm. H. Aspinwall, and though still doing a large business, it is much
less extended than it has been. The firm formerly
owned numerous vessels in the California and transAtlantic trade; but the War so prostrated our commerce
as to interfere largely with their interests. Gardiner
G. Howland lives in affluence; dispenses elegant hospitalities; drives fast horses; stands high on'Change and
in fashionable circles.
Horace B. Claflin & Co., after Stewart, do the heaviest business in dry-goods in the Union.  Indeed, Claf
667 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
lin's wholesale trade'is larger than that of Stewart, who,
by adding his retail department, swells his aggregate
sales beyond those of his energetic rival.  Claflin's immense house occupies half of the whole block on Church,
Worth, and West Broadway; is, Stewart's up-town bazaar
excepted, the finest and most conspicuous in the whole
City. Claflin employs 600 or 700 persons in his establishment, and pays liberal salaries to all of them, giving
his confidential clerk $25,000 a year. He is a native of
New-Enigland; has a " down-East" appearance; being
thin, angular, smooth-shaven, energetic, prompt,'and
direct in his dealings.  He is much more popular than
Stewart; has the reputation of being liberal in his
relations, both mercantile and private, and is highly
esteemed by  his employes.   He  is probably  worth
$12,000,000 to $15,00,000,  and his trad(le extends to
all the States, the Territories, Canada, and South
America. During the busy season his store looks like
a human bee-hive. The sidewalks on the three sides of
the vast building are covered with boxes, bales, and
cases, directed to every town and village in the United
States.  Every ship that comes to the port, and touches
at our piers, brings merchandise for him; and his name
is written in the ledgers of all the great firms of Manchester, Glasgow, and London, Paris, Hamburg, and
Berlin. His business increases every season, and his
is the one controlling, directing mind that computes
millions as easily as some men's does pennies.
Abiel A. Low has been twice elected President of
the Chamber of Commerce, and his house, A. A. Low &
Brothers, stands at the head of the China trade.  Low
is a native of Salem, Mass., the son of Seth Low, himself an eminent merchant, and in his early manhood
668 
EMINENT BUSINESS MEN.
removed to this City.  His father having been in the
China trade, the young man wished to visit that country to acquire a knowledge of the business. He did so,
and soon after his arrival became a partner in the wellknown house of Russell & Co., of Canton. He remained
in the firm for eight years, until he had become its
head, withdrawing from it in 1841, and returning to the
United States. The same year he established, with his
two brothers, the present house, which is at No. 31 Burling slip, retaining his correspondents in China. Messrs.
Low are very large ship-owners. Their vessels arrive
with teas, silks, crapes, nankeens, and return with what
the Celestials desire in exchange.   They have recently
established a house at Yokahama, and have large interests in the Japan trade. Low's loyalty to the Government during the War was unswerving even in the darkest hours. He gave his money freely to the cause, and
has always been a generous encourager of literature,
education, and art.  He lives in Brooklyn, and in the
midst of his family is said to find his purest enjoyment.
E. S. Jaffray & Co., the well known importers, No.
350 Broadway, do a very heavy and profitable business,
and stand very high in mercantile circles. Their large
brown-stone store is said to be one of the pleasantest in
town to be employed in. Every clerk, and salesman, and
carman, and porter in the establishment is attached to
the firm, and speaks of "our house" with a natural and
praiseworthy pride. Jaffray is of Scotch extraction; a
sandy-haired, sandy-complexioned man, with many of the
qualities of his nationality.   His word is literally as
good as his bond. He is frequently chosen umpire andl
referee by his fellow-merchants, and his decision is
always acquiesced in.
669 
T HE GREAT METROPOLIS.
He has never been known to take any unfair advantage in trade, or in any dealing with his fellows.  When
his store was injured by the burning of Chittenden's
establishment, Winter before last, the underwriters supposed his loss was large, and would gladly have paid
him $150,000 to $200,000 for damages.   He said it
was trifling, however, and made a return of only a few
thousands.  ile is reported to be worth $5,000,000 or
$6,000,000, and to give away a large part of his income
in charity.
Jaffray, judging from his reputation, is a model merchant, after whom dozens that are better known and
much richer might take pattern with advantage to themselves and the community at large.
Jackson  S. Schultz is one of our largest leather
dealers, at No. 96 Cliff street. Ile has been very
successful in business, having begun life as a practical
tanner, and is probably worth $1,500,000 to $2,000,000.
Ile owes his fortune entirely to his own exertions. iHe
attends personally to all the details of his business; but
finds ample leisure to devote to charities and humanities
of every kind. He was for a long while President of the
Board of Health, which owes to him its usefulness if not
its origin. lie is an officer and director in many of' the
charitable institutions, and on an average spends five or
six hours a day in looking after the good and happiness
of others.
Few men are busier than he, or have more to attend
to; but his energy, perseverance, and zeal carry him
through all he undertakes. He is extremely generous,
and hundreds of persons whom he has forgotten, speak
with enthusiastic gratitude of the favors they have received at his hands.
670 
EMINENT BUSINESS MElt.
Shultz is a muscular, shaggy-haired, strong, largelimnbed, large-hearted man, who might have made a prizefighter, if nature had not put into his bosom the soul of
a gentleman, and filled his blood with- currents of tenderness that run quickly to the call of every creature in
sorrow and distress.
Among the numerous publishing houses in the City
the Appletons and Harpers stand at the head on account
of their age, their excellence, and their great wealth.
D. Appleton & Co. is still the style of the firm, though
Daniel Appleton, the founder of the house, has long since
been dead.  The business is conducted by his four sons,
the eldest of whom is over fifty, and the youngest two
or three and thirty.   The story current that Daniel
Appleton was a practical printer, came early to the
Metropolis, and nearly half a century ago had a small
printing office in or near Pearl street, is wholly without
foundation. He was born in Haverhill, Mass.; was a
general storekeeper there; afterward removed to a larger
field in Boston, and subsequently to this City. Here he
began the importation of English books, and from the
small beginning grew up a very considerable business.
He changed his quarters to more commodious ones, and
soon had more than he c6uld do. From that time till
the day of his death his business rapidly and regularly
increased, and at present it is still increasing.
Appleton & Co. have recently removed from their
handsome marble store in Broadway to the new building
corner of Grand and Greene streets, and have their vast
printing and book-binding establishment in Williamsburg instead of Franklin street. They have done less
and less of late in miscellaneous books and in the retail
trade, having turned their attention to the publication of
671 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
school and Spanish works. In the latter they do an im.
mense business with South America, shipping boxes upon
boxes of Don Quixote, Calderon, and Da Vega, and
other classics, by almost every vessel that leaves here
for Montevideo, Buenos Ayres, and Rio Janeiro.   On
various books they have made large sums. On the New
American Cyclopedia, for instance, they have cleared, up
to the present time, not less than $700,000, and the sale
is still steady. No one knows how much they are worth;
perhaps they do not know themselves. The firm must
count its wealth by millions, and their regular business
must bring an income of fully $100,000 to each of the
members. They are still close calculators and shrewd
managers, and look (after the dollars as if they had but
a slender salary to depend on, which is the way of prosperous human nature, and particularly the way of the
Appletons.
Harper & Brothers is the oldest publishing house in the
country. The firnl is composed of James, aged seventythree; John, seventy-one; Joseph NW., sixty-seven;
and Fletcher, sixty-two. They have seven of their sons
in the establishment, so it may well be called a family
concern. The four brothers are sons of a Long Island
farmer, having been born in Newtown. lie was very
industrious and frugal, and his boys have been like him.
James and John were apprenticed by their father to the
printing business in this City. They afterward set up
as printers for booksellers, though they set type and
worked at the press themselves.  Wesley and Fletcher
were subsequently apprenticed to their elder brothers,
and when they had served their time obtained an interest in the business.  Fletcher, though the youngest,
is the real manager and director of the house.  Ile it
672 
EMINENT BUSINESS MEN.
was who originated the idea of the Magazine, to which,
it is said, the other brothers were opposed, fearful that
it would prove an unprofitable enterprise.. He persuaded them at last. to accept his view, and the result
proved the soundness of his judgment.  The Magazine
succeeded at once, and it now has a circulation of more
than 125,000. In 1853, three years after the issuing
of the Monthly, the establishment was burned to the
ground, causing a loss of $1,500,000. The Harpers were
still in comfortable circumstances; but they had no idea
of being driven out of business by a fire. They took
counsel with each other the night after the occurrence,
and determined to go on without delay. In two weeks
they had a plan for a new building, which they resolved
should be fire-proof, to prevent a repetition of the disaster. The result was the immense structure in Franklin square, which has another entrance on Cliff street.
The building is of iron, painted white, seven stories high.
The two main buildings are connected by iron bridges,
as are the different stories by a circular iron staircase
running outside the building. The structure is the
largest and completest in the world. It employs seven
or eight hundred persons, over a hundred of them
women, who read MS., print, electrotype, bind, draw,
and engrave. The Harpers have every facility for
making a perfect book, and turn out excellent work.
Their facilities are so great and their connections so
numerous that they can sell enough copies of almost any
book they accept to avoid loss.   They are practical
men; having no idea of publishing a volume they think
won't pay. Of course, they make mistakes sometimes;
but not half so often as would be supposed. Their
issues include every thing, from sentimental novels to
43
673 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
purely scientific works, from European guide-books to
reprints of the ancient classics. They publish Harpers'
Weekly and the Bazar, both of which have had enormous success.
James was once Mayor of the City, having been
elected when the municipal government was so outrageously administered that the people determined upon
a change.   He  is very quiet and  undemonstrative;
adheres so closely to his duties that if you were to see
him at his desk you would imagine him an old and
faithful book-keeper, to whom method and application
had become second nature. HIe is very young-looking
for his years, and is much taller than John, who is also
a reticent, hard worker.  Joseph, a thin and diffident
seeming man, bears slight resemblance to his brothers;
thinks much and says. little.  He has more culture and
literary taste than any of the others, and is said to write
with force and elegance.   Fletcher is the talker and
humorist of the firm. He is tall, light-haired, blue-eyed,
has a well-shaped head, and is very pleasant and companionable withal. He looks after new books, the Weeklies, and the Monthly, and receives authors and writers
who have dealings with the firm. John Harper supervises the general business, Joseph attends to the literary
correspondence, and James directs the different departments. The four brothers can be found almost any day
in the counting-room, which is separated by an iron railing from the general salesroom, on the second floor.
They go to their desks regularly, and have no patience
with men who fail to do their duty. They enjoy work.
They have been actively engaged so long that they
could not stop if they would.  They are a peculiar old
quartette, and though anxious always to drive a good
674 
EMINENT BUSINESS MEN.
bargain, are among the most liberal publishers in the
City.
Among the well-known landlords of New-York, Col.
Charles A. Stetson is the most conspicuous. Though he no
longer takes an active part in the management of the Astor, he is to be seen daily in its corridors, and is as full of
interesting reminiscence, pleasant anecdote, and dramatic
illustration as ever.  Though over sixty he would pass for
forty, and his smooth, rosy facee, mild eyes, and genial expression, bring back New-York as it was more than thirty
years ago.  He is a pattern Boniface; is thoroughly well
bred, easy, graceful, elegant, a delightful talker, and at
general favorite. A native of Massachusetts, he reveres
New-England, and yet loves New-York.   Unlike many
of his class, he was decided in his political views from
the beginning, of the War;  aided the Northern cause
and  soldiers with voice and  money.  His  hotel was
always open to loyal soldiers whether they had or had(l
not the means of payment.  His reply to a dispatch,
"The Astor House  has no price for Massachusetts sol diers," was a patriotic poenm, and will long be remem bered.
The  Lelands  are famed  among  hotel proprietors.
They now have seven or eight houses; the Metropoli tan here, the Union and Columbian at Saratoga, the
Delavan at Albany, the Occidental at San Francisco,
and several others. They seem born to the business;
for they have always succeeded where others have
failed. Simeon Leland is the principal man here, albeit
no one seems to understand where one Leland fades off
and another rises into light.  They are all energetic,
sharp, tactful, good judges of human nature, and under stand the peculiar line of their calling.
6 - i"O' 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
R. L. & A. Stuart are the famous sugar-refiners.
They began life in the most humble way.   Their
mother, an industrious Irish woman, was so poor that
she made molasses candy, and sent her little boys out
to sell it. From that homely trade she set up a small
candy store in Chambers street, out of which grew the
large establishment and the well-known sugar-refinery
that have made for the firm a vast fortune. Alexander
Stuart still lives a bachelor in Chambers street, but
Robert L. has one of the handsomest houses in Fifth
avenue, at the corner of Twentieth street. The Stuarts
are devout Presbyterians, and are fine examples of what
honesty and industry will accomplish for friendless boys.
676 
CHAPTER LTXXVL
YOUNG MEN'S CHIIRISTIAN ASSOCIATION.
THE Young Men's Christian Association, designed for
the mental and more especially the moral improvement
of young men, is about sixteen years old. The society
was organized here, and held its first meeting at Stuyvesant Institute in Broadway. Since then every large
city and town in the country has formed associations of
the same name, with the same object. Its present quarters are at the corner of Broadway and Twenty-second
street, where they have pleasant rooms.
They expect to remove the coming year to the corner
of Twenty-third street and Fourth avenue, where their
new building, a six-story brick, which, with the ground,
will cost $400,000 or $500,000, is now in process of
erection.  The stores on the first floor will be rented
with other parts of the building, so that the income from
the property will be handsome. The Association is to
have a large library, lecture and reading rooms, parlors,
and a gymnasium, where young men will be invited to
pass their evenings instead of exposing themselves to
the temptations, or indulging in the vices of the City.
Branches have been established down town-one of
them in Wooster street for colored young men-and
more will be.
The Association has done much good in furnishing the 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
means of instruction and rational enjoyment to young
men in town, particularly to strangers.  Its rooms are
always open to such, and a warm welcome is always ex tended.  The members give a standing invitation to the
public to attend their prayer-meetings and devotional
exercises, and if the greater part of the public fail to
seek religion as a source of consolation and happiness,
preferring theaters, concert saloons, billiards and bar rooms to theological discussions and the teachings of
Christ, it must be attributed to the wicked perversity
that marks fallen humanity. The young Christians -do
their part energetically and conscientiously, and the sins
of the unregenerate multitude are not upon their unsullied souls.
The Association claims the credit of originating the
Fulton street prayer-meeting, which has held a protracted
session for the past twelve or thirteen years. Any body
of men, young or old, who could create a spirit ot prayer
that would last through such a period can not be too
highly commended. The Fulton street prayer-meeting
is as actively and enthusiastically conducted as it was
before the War; and from all past and present indications is likely to be perpetual. It must be a great relief
to the merchants and clerks in the vicinity to sink their
trials and cares in noonday devotions, and open their
surcharged bosoms to the confidence of Heaven. The
merchants thereabout often speak, I am told, of the
happy effect of snatching a few minutes from the busiest
hours of the day, and giving them freely to the Lord.
At the breaking out of the War, the Assoiation
interested itself profoundly in the spiritual needs of the
soldiers who had volunteered. The members visited
the camps about the City; distributed hymn-books, and
678 
YOUNG  MEN'S CHRISTIAN ASSOCIATION.
bibles, and tracts of a most elevating character, representing the danger of the wicked and the advantage of
being on the right side, whether the battle was waged
against the South or the devil. After the opening of
hostilities the young Christians visited the hospitals of
the wounded in and about New-York, and were ready
to act as watchers and nurses whenever their services
were needed. They rendered invaluable aid in that
way, and toward the close of 1861 founded the Christian
Commission, whose members visited the armies, and
during and after the battles rendered all possible aid to
the wounded, whether friend or foe. Those who were
in the field can recall, as I do, countless instances of
their generous devotion and Christian charity.
The Association now has about seventeen or eighteen
hundred members, and when they are in their new
building, will have increased facilities for doing good.
They now perform much religious mission work, and, by
example, counsel, and solicitation, seek to turn the attention and thoughts of all they can influence to the beauty
of a purely Christian life. They propose to give a
regular course of free lectures each season, and to offer
such inducements to young men as will make their
rooms attractive and instructive.  The religious community has much interest in the Association, and will,
no doubt, co-operate with it in all it undertakes. Money
has been freely subscribed for the society, and will be
again.  It works with so much zeal, and has such perfect faith in its future and its benefit to humanity, that
it appeals to the generosity and admiration even'of
many who hold very different views, but who reverence
the earnest desire to do good wherever shown.
679 
CHAPTER LXXXVII.
THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS.
OUR Public Schools are among the few public things
in the City that are creditable; though this is truer of
the system than of its application.   The schools are
under the direction of the Board of Education, composed
of Trustees elected from the districts, and of Commissioners from the wards.   When the Trustees and
Commissioners happen to be educated men of character,
the schools they have charge of are well managed; but
when, as very often happens, they are ignorant and unprincipled, the schools suffer thereby.  There is, therefore, a marked difference in the schools.  Some of them
are excellent, and others the opposite.
It is not uncommon for the Trustees to be keepers of
groggeries, who can hardly write their own name, and
who would be last in the lowest spelling-class, if they
were submitted to the mysterious test of orthography.
The pupils are as different as they conveniently can
be, and vary with the district. In the lower wards, and
on the east side of the town, they are mostly of foreign
parentage, and very inferior to those of the schools in
Twelfth, Thirteenth, and Twenty-eighth streets. Nor are
all the pupils, as is often supposed, the children of poor
people, though the majority are. In some of the districts the scholars belong to the best families in the City, 
THE  PUBLIc ScHOOLS.
their parents sending them to prove their democratic
principles.
The school-houses are nearly all handsome buildings of
brick, well arranged, well ventilated, and well furnished.
They number ninety-four in all.  Of these, thirty-five
contain three separate departments —masculine, feminine,
and primary; eight, two departments —masculine and
primary; five, feminine and primary; one, masculine
and feminine; two, two feminine departments and primaries; two, with one department only for both sexes,
and thirty-six separate primary schools, making in all
one hundred and eighty.seven separate and distinct departments or schools, viz.: forty-four grammar schools.
for boys (including colored schools); forty-five grammar
schools for girls (including colored schools); seven grammar schools for both sexes (including colored schools)
fifty-five primary departments (including colored
schools); thirty-six primary schools (including colored
schools).
The attendance at the schools steadily increases. Last
year it was about four thousand more than during the
year previous.   The latest report gives the following:                                         Ave)-ag6   Whole N~o.
SCIIoOLS.                       AtWhoteedance. Taught.
G-rammar Schools and Primary Departments............. 65,139 146,986
Primary Schools............................ 16,459    43,068
Colored Schools...................................   737  2,056
Eveniug Sch ools.................................. 7,479  16,510
Normal Schools..................................  406  1,000
Corporate Schools................................ 6,074  16,567
T o t a l.......................................96,294  226,187
The whole number of teachers employed in the several schools and departments during last year was 2,206,
of whom 176 were men and 2,030 women.  Of this
681 
THE  GREAT METROPOLIS.
number, 241 held certificates of qualification from the
State Superintendent of Public Instruction, twenty-six
were graduates of the State Normal School at Albany,
and the remainder held certificates from this Depart ment. Upward of 1,900 of these teachers have been
engaged in teaching six months and over during the year.
Children can begin with the alphabet in the primary
schools, and end with graduation, if girls, at the gram mar schools; or, if boys, with graduation, at the Free
Academy, now called the College of the City of New York. The girls have no high school coresponding to
the Academy, where Latin, Greek, mathematics, and all
the branches of a regular college are taught; but this
want will probably soon be supplied. Those who
intend to become teachers study for a year or two in
the supplemental classes, in which particular attention is
paid to algebra, geometry and trigonometry, physics,
chemistry, history, and general literature.
The  evening schools, twenty-six in number, with
twelve feminine and fourteen masculine departments,
are in most flourishing condition. Girls under ten,
and boys under twelve years of age are not admitted, and satisfactory evidence as to character deportment, and earnest purpose are always required. The
total number of scholars registered during last year
was 15,279, and those attending the full term 6,165,
only about 40 per cent. of the number registered.
Many of the pupils are regular in attendance and very
studious; but more are so irregular as to defeat the
object of the teachers. Not a few of the scholars are
men and women. Germans over twenty-one are numerous in the Tenth and Seventeenth wards, their object
being to learn English.
682 
THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS.
683
The evening High School in Thirteenth street is one
of the most valuable of the schools. It is intended for
young men in situations who wish to fit themselves for
advanced positions. The school pays particular attention
to book-keeping, the natural sciences, mathematics, and
modern languages, especially French, German, and
Spanish. All of the pupils are young men, the majority
of them over eighteen, and earnest in their effort to
improve. They number 900 or 1,000, and are among
the most diligent and exemplary of the attendants at
the Public Schools. Desire for knowledge with them
is a hunger and a thirst, not a mere routine of study as it
is with many who are educated at the expense of the City.
The pupils of the schools have no outlay whatever,
the City furnishing the necessary books, which are not
the same in all the schools. The Board of Education
selects such books as it.thinks best for the pupils in the
different schools, so that the geographies, arithmetics
and grammars, even in the same classes, vary very much.
Corporal punishment has been practically abolished, and
with excellent effect, and other reforms are in progress.
The teachers' salaries are from  $550 to $2,500, and
even $3,000; the first for women in the primary schools
and the last for men as principals. It is a just ground
for complaint that the men receive nearly one-half more
than the women for performing exactly the same duties,
which may be explained, though it can not be excused,
by the fact that the feminine teachers, in proportion to
the masculine, are as twelve to one.
The annual expense of the schools, in round numbers,
is $3,000,000, which, considering the average attend  ance at 100,000, makes the cost of educating each
pupil about $300 a year. 
ICHAPTER LXXXVIII.
DISTINCGUISHED WOMEN.
ALICE and PHCEBE CARY are so intimately associated
in the public mind, and so well known as the poet sisters,
that one can hardly speak of them apart. Alice is five
years older than Phoebe, and, having written much
more, is far better known. But they have always been
together from early childhood, and their similarity of
taste, and entire sympathy, prove that they are sisters
in spirit as well as in blood. 
The Carys were born at Mount Pleasant, near Cincinnati, Ohio, and remained in that vicinity until they
were young women. They lived in the country most
of the time, and from the woods and streams, the hills
and valleys that abound in the picturesque region about
Cincinnati, acquired the fondness for, and familiarity
with, Nature, which have since shown themselves in
their writings, particularly in Alice's Clovernook stories.
They were accustomed to commit their thoughts and
feelings to paper from their girlhood, contributing verses
and stories, as they grew older, to the newspapers and
magazines that were within their reach. For years
they wrote without pay, because it was a pleasure to
them, and so gained much facility and grace of composition, particularly in verse. Alice was always very
industrious, but Phoebe had comparatively little incli 
DISTINGUISHED WOMEN.
nation to verse or to prose, and had a remarkable fondness for turning the tenderest poems into ridicule.  She
wrote and printed a number of burlesques; while her
elder sister composed sweet and melancholy poems and
interesting stories for the Western publications.
About eighteen years ago the Carys concluded to
leave the West, come East, and make New-York their
place of permanent residence. It was quite a bold
movement for young women who, whatever their reputation at home, were hardly known here at all. But
they had courage and hope, and struggled so bravely
and perseveringly that they won recognition as poets
of excellence.
Alice has published seven or eight books, several of
them novels, and Phoebe but two, both poems. The
latter has shown marked improvement recently. She
has far more power and depth, and seems to have developed new capacities for the gentle art. Some of her
poems are very fine; "The Dead  Love" being pronounced by foreign critics one of the best America has
produced. Alice is indefatigable. She writes for all
the magazines and principal weeklies, and yet it is
doubtful if she averages more than $2,500 a year. Considering her reputation, not to speak of her ability, this
is not very encouraging to literary workers.
The Carys, though they have remained unwedded
(they deserve credit for having courage enough to bear
the reputation of "old maids" without shrinking), are
decidedly domestic in their tastes and habits. They
have no desire to travel; have never wanted to go
abroad; and, excepting a few weeks spent at the White
Mountains during the Summer, seldom leave the City.
They have a pleasant and comfortable house, which
685 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
they own, in Twentieth street, near Fourth avenue.
It is full of books and pictures, and their friends and
all cultivated strangers are always sure of a warm welcome there.
Phoebe is full, round, and vrery vivacious, with none
of the pensiveness or dreaminess popularly associated
with bards of either sex. She has dark eyes, black
hair, and has such a Spanish look that if you were to
meet her in Havana or Seville you would make oath
she was at full-blooded Seniora.   She  has  a nimble
tongue, and fully sustains the reputation of her sex for
liberality in its use. She talks very well, and but for
an irrepressible passion for puns would be a capital
entertainer. She is very popular, and has many enthusiastic friends of both sex.
Alice is very unlike her sister in personal appearance, habit, and temperament. She has long been delicate, while Phoebe is the picture of robust health; but
still she is always cheerful, and shows extraordinary
patience and power of work under the circumstances.
She has a few threads of gray in her abundant hair,
and her dark, deep, tender eyes and swarthy  complexion make one think of a sentimental gipsy. She
is an interesting woman, and though no longer handsome, she has a poetic and decidedly attractive face.
An air of calm resignation and gentle sadness hangs
over her that adds to her agreeableness with persons of
quick sympathy and fine sensibility. She is much esteemned and greatly loved.
The Carys have been for years in the habit of giving
Sunday evening receptions, where many of the literary
men, journalists, and artists of the City meet. It is one
of the few places in New-York where the artistic class
686 
DISTINGUISHED WOMEN.
meet on common and agreeable ground. I know of no
other house, except Mrs. Anne Lynch Botta's, where
such reunions are regularly held. A number of our
literary women visit the Carys on Sunday, where the
tea-table is always set for about twenty persons. No
ceremony is used or is necessary. Any one who wishes
to come is welcome. The gatherings are so entirely
free and unconventional that often persons are not even
introduced.
Among the well-known feminine writers to be seen
at the Carys is Mrs. Sara Willis Parton, whom every
one knows as the redoubtable Fanny Fern.
Mrs. Mary Cleminer Ames, the Washington correspondent of the Independent, and a very clever writer,
is a visitor there when in the City-she has recently
made this her home-and adds to the interest of the
assemblies.  She is a tall, large, ]lue-eyed, brown-haired
woman, very quiet and retiring in manner, whom it is
difficult to draw out. When interested, she speaks
earnestly and eloquently, though a natural shyness pre vents her from revealing, on ordinary occasions her gifts
of mind.
Kate Field, daughter of James M. Field, the actor,
now deceased, and a bright writer for the Atlantic and
other magazines, is rather small in stature, a pleasant
blonde; seems to be in excellent spirits always, and
delights in epigrammatic conversation. She was a friend
of that cultivated and peculiar brute, Walter Savage Lan dor, whom she knew in Italy. She gained considerable
fame here by her elaborate Tribune critiques, or, rather,
eulogies, upon Ristori, when she first appeared in this
country. She is frequently at the receptions.
Mrs. Lucia Gilbert Calhoun, of the Tribune staff,
687
4t 
8THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
declared by Horace Greeley to be the most brilliant
writer on the paper, makes periodical calls at the Carys.
She is tall, lithe, graceful, and particularly elegant, almost
the opposite of what many people fancy a literary
woman to be. She is not handsome, though I have
heard many call her so when her face is animated. She
has abundant chestnut hair, rather a tawny complexion,
hazel eyes that look green often, and are really beautiful. She dresses in exquisite taste, and seems thoroughly a woman of society. She is called charming by
all her friends and by many who have hardly seen her.
She is a fine conversationalist and a most agreeable
entertainer.
Madame Octavia Walton Levert, the well-known
Southern authoress, whose home was in Mobile, Ala.,
until she came here to live, is an habitue' of Twentieth
street. She does not personally give the impression you
might get from her writings.  She is large, and not at
all distinguished; but she is highly cultivated, very
agreeable in conversation, and winning in manners.
Wealthy before the War, she has lost her fortune, but
is cheerful and even happy under  the  shadow of
adversity.
Jenny June (Mrs. Jennie C. Croly), the popular
fashion writer for most of the leading papers, and the
editor of Madame Demorest's magazine, is a very pleasant woman. She is of medium size; has blue eyes and
brown hair, is full of amiability and kindness, and is
much liked for her freedom from pretense or affectation
of any kind. She makes an hour pleasant on Sunday
evening at the Carys, and is an accession to their superior company.
Mrs. Mary E. Dodge, author of the "Irvington Stories,"
688 
DISTINGUISHED WOMEN.
and many other popular books, is a bundle of sunshine;
abounds in lively repartee and pleasant wit. She is
small, has very dark hair, and gray eyes; is always
busy about something; full of feeling and generous sentiments, and makes friends of her slightest acquaintances. Though long a widow, and the mother of boys
taller than herself, she seems like a school-girl in her
fresh-hearted humor that never tires.
Mrs. Sarah F. Ames, the renowned sculptor, is also M
frequenter of the Carys. She is very foreign in appearance. Her eyes and hair are black as night; her mouth
is well shaped and rosy; and she talks with an intensity and eloquence that prove the ardor of her temperament.   She  is a very independent, strong, efficient
woman, entirely in sympathy with every liberal movement and generous purpose. She has no fear of Mrs.
Grundy when convinced of the justice or worthiness of
her intent, and is worth a thousand of the merely common-place fashionable women who dawdle life away in
worse than empty frivolity.
There are other and clever women who visit the
Carys; but those I have named are the most regular
attendants at the weekly receptions, and types of the
cultivated class, who find there sympathy and expression without narrowness, conventionality, or dread of the
frowns of a society that is free from brains and innocent
of heart.
44
689 
CHAPTER LXXXIX.
CITY CHARITIES.
IF it be true that Charity covers a multitude of sins,
New-York's many and grievous ones should always be
veiled.  Our charities are, probably, larger and more
liberal than those  of any  city in the World. How
loud vice is, and  how  quiet  virtue!   The  country
echoes to the iteration of our corruption, extravagance,
and licentiousness; but our greet heart, our generous
alms-giving, our beautiful sacrifice, go voiceless through
the land.
The hospitals of the Metropolis number thirteen, and
the asylums thirty-nine.
St. Luke's (Episcopal), Fifth avenue, between Fiftyfourth and Fifty-fifth streets, was incorporated in 1850,
and owes its origin to the PRev. Wm.  A.  Muhlenberg.
In addition to furnishing medical and surgical aid, it
aims to give instruction in the art of nursing. The
principal front is on Fifty-fourth street, and 280 feet
long. It is an oblong parallelogram, with wings at each
end, and a central chapel flanked with towers. The
wards on either side of the central building in the second
and third stories are 109 feet long, 26 wide, and 14 high.
Th hospital, well ventilated and excellently arranged,
is under the direction of the Superintendent and Sisters,
a body of Protestant Christian women, bound by no
vow, who, after a trial of six months, engage to serve 
CITY- CHARITIES.
for three years, renewing their services if they like.
The spirit of the Sisterhood is very like that of the
Lutheran Deaconesses of Kaiserwerth, who have done
such efficient work in Germany. Their services are wholly
gratuitous, daily food being all they receive from the
institution. Many of the prettiest and most fashionable
young women of the City have from time to time been
Sisters, and the romantic causes that led thereto, if told,
would be very interesting. Such charming nurses have
been rarely seen, and not a few of the patients have
been unwilling to get well when so delightfully administered to.  When patients are able to, they pay $7 a
week, but the great majority have been supported by
charity.  They are admitted regardless of creed, though
the form of worship is always Episcopal.
The New-York Society for the Relief of the Ruptured
and Crippled, at No. 97 Second avenue, is but five years
old. Much good has been done by the society, who
will soon erect a larger and better building in Lexington avenue. There are about one hundred and seventy
applicants a month, few of whom have the means of
payment.
The New-York State Woman's Hospital, twelve years
old, is the offspring of a remarkable discovery in science
made.by an American, Dr. J. Marion Sims, of Alabama,
who was its founder. Previous to his discovery, surgery
was unable to do any thing for the class of affections the
Hospital was designed to care for. Its treatment has
been very successful, thousands of suffering women
having been not only relieved, but permanently cured.
Each county in the State is entitled to one free beAl.
Patients of all denominations are admitted, but only
those afflicted with'some disease peculiar to women.
691 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
The corner-stone of a new and handsome edifice has
been laid at Fourth avenue and Fiftieth street, and the
building will before long be completed. Mrs. William
S. Astor, Mrs. Peter Cooper, Mrs. Robert B. Minturn,
Mrs. Moses H. Grinnell, and other prominent ladies are
among the managers. This invaluable institution has
actually saved the lives of four hundred women during
the past year.
St. Vincent's Hospital, under the direction of the Sisters of Charity, is at No. 195 West Eleventh street. It
was opened in 1849, and for sixteen years the celebrated
Dr. Valentine Mott was its consulting surgeon and
physician. It will accommodate one hundred and fifty
patients, and is mainly supported by what patients pay
for treatment. During the past year it had one hundred
and thirty-five free patients.
The German Hospital and Dispensary is what its name
indicates, and is on the block between Seventy-sixth
and Seventy-seventh streets, and Fourth and Lexington
avenues.   C. Godfrey Gunther is the President, and
prominent German citizens are its other officers and
managers.
The New-York Eye and Ear Infirmary, Second avenue, corner of Thirteenth street, was founded in 1820,
and has met with marked success in treating cases believed before its establishment to be incurable.
The Mount Sinai Hospital, in West Twenty-eighth
street, was founded in 1852, by Sampson Levison, a
wealthy Hebrew, and is devoted to the Jews, though all
denominations are admitted.   During the War many
soldiers were treated there.
The Infirmary for Women and Children, No. 126
Second avenue, was organized fifteen years ago, to af
692 
CITY CHARITIES.
ford poor women the opportunity of consulting physicians
of their own sex; to assist educa.ted women in the practical study of medicine, and to form a school for instruction in nursing and the laws of health. The institution is
entirely under the direction of feminine physicians- Dr.
Elizabeth Blackwell being the regular attendant.
The Homeopathic Infirmary for Women, No. 57 West
Forty-eighth street, has for its object the treatment of
diseases peculiar to women.
The Home for Incurables is at West Farms, Westchester county; was organized three years ago, to provide some place other than the almshouse, where per.
sons suffering from incurable diseases could be properly
cared for.
Bellevue, east of First avenue, between Twenty-sixth
and Twenty.eighth streets, is the great pauper hospital
of the City, and one of its noblest charities. It occu.
pies four and a half acres, and the main building is 350
feet long, four stories high, and is excellently adapted
for its purpose. It was originally the Bellevue Almshouse; but in 1848 the paupers were removed to
Blackwell's Island. It is probably the best adapted for
hospital purposes of any in the World, and can accom modate 1,200 patients. The amount paid for salaries and
wages is nearly $14,000 per annum. The medical
organization consists of twenty consulting physicians
and surgeons, and twenty attending physicians and
surgeons.
The New-York Hospital, in Broadway, opposite
Worth str'eet, was chartered in 1771, and is an old
landmark of the town. It is under the direction of
twenty-six governors; is of gray granite, and in simple
Doric style; will accommodate 250 patients, has six
693 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
physicians and six surgeons, and is considered the best
school of medicine and surgery in the country. Those
admitted are supposed to be only temporary patients,
and they are persons without means of payment, sea men paid for from the hospital money, collected under
the laws of the United States, at the rate of seven dol lars a week, and regular pay patients. The grounds
are large and well laid out, and worth $3,000,000.
The Nursery and Child's Hospital, corner of Fifty first street and Lexington avenue, has been established
fourteen years, and is intended for children whose
mothers have become insane or invalids, or are orphans.
Women obliged to go out to service, who have hereto fore been compelled to leave their children in the almshouse, can have them cared for at the Nursery by paying a small price, always in proportion to the wages
they receive. There are lying-in wards at the hospital,
where unfortunate mothers can give birth to their babes,
and hide their shame from the public. If this department were generally known it is believed many infantmurders would be prevented. Usually there are about
two hundred children and one hundred adults in the
Nursery.
The Bloomingdale, the largest and best known of the
asylums, is in 117th street, between Tenth and Eleventh,
avenues, about a quarter of a mile from the Hiudson, on
what is known as the Harlem Heights, commanding a fine
prospect.  The farm has about forty-five acres, most of
which are under high cultivation.  It was opened in
1821, and its fine brown stone buildings are admirably
adapted to the object they have in view. The patients
are morally and scientifically treated, and with very
happy effect. The asylum is under the care of a special
694 
CITY  CHARITIES.
committee, consisting of six governors elected annually.
It has never been open for the gratuitous reception of
insane persons, as none but pay patients are admitted
unless by express direction of the governors. Indigent
patients from any part of the State are, however, received at the lowest rate, and all others upon such terms
as are agreed upon.
The Deaf and Dumb Asylum at Washington Heights
was founded in 1816, and was the first in the country.
The grounds comprise thirty-seven acres, and with the
buildings, which are of brick, with granite basements
and copings, cost $500,000. In 1831 the pupils numbered eighty-five; now they reach four hundred and
thirty-three. Since its establishment eighteen hundred
have been under instruction.  At first itwas supported
by private benevolence, but was soon taken under the
patronage of the State.  The regular term of instruction
is eight years, and three additional for pupils selected
for good conduct and capacity to pursue higher studies.
The system of instruction is based on the fact that ges tures are the natural language of the deaf and dumb.
The Institution for the Blind, in Ninth avenue, between
Thirty-third and Thirty-fourth streets, is thirty-seven
years old, and is a school of instruction, which is three fold, mechanical, musical, and intellectual. The pupils
advance year by year from one class to another until
the whole course is completed. Many who have been
educated there  now occupy useful and  responsible
positions; are merchants, manufacturers, teachers, and
clergymen.
Leake and Watt's Orphan House, designed as the
home of entire orphans, is between Ninth and Tenth
avenues and 110th and 113th streets, and owes its
695 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
origin to a liberal bequest of Leake, who died without
heirs.
St. Luke's Home for Indigent Christian Women was
organized in 1851; is at No. 481 Hudson street, and
what its title indicates. It is Episcopalian, but not
sectarian.
The Home for the Friendless, No. 29 East Twenty ninth street, was established in 1834, and  has done
much good. It receives all destitute women of good
moral character, of whom good conduct and proper
discipline are expected.
Among the other asylums are the House of Mercy,
Eighty-sixth street, west of Broadway, which offers a
home for fallen women; - the Colored Orphan Asylum,
151st street, near North River, containing two hundred and sixty inmates, and well managed; the Magdalen Society, Eighty-eighth street, which has done
much to restore erring women to a virtuous life; Union
Home,  Fifty-seventh and  Fifty-eighth  streets, near
Eighth avenue, for the maintenance of children of our
soldiers and sailors; Asylum for Lying-in Women, No.
85 Marion street; Women's Prison Association, No. 191
Tenth avenue, for the support and encouragement of
prisoners after their discharge; House of the Good
Shepherd, foot of Ninetieth street; Protective Union,
for aiding women in obtaining situations and money due
from unjust employers;- also, Catholic orphan asylums
and other valuable institutions.
Not less than $10,000,000 or $12,000,000 are probably invested in the city charities, which must be supported at the rate of $1,000,000 per annum.
696 
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.i  
C~APTER XC.
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
As HAS been so often said, New-York is a City of
contrasts.  It has no virtue without its corresponding
sin; no light without its shadow; no beauty without
deformity; for it is a little world in itself, and must
necessarily be made up of all the elements of good and
evil. Its citizens are as sensible of its grievous defects
as strangers can be; but they know of its redeeming,
qualities as others do not. It is the stock-in-trade of
the country press to abuse the Metropolis;  to grow
eloquent over its corruption, its licentiousness, its crime.
The City has sins enough to answer for, Heaven knows;
but it is painted blacker than it deserves, and the bright
hues that belong to it are hidden under the veil of
censure.   New-York  is worse  than other American
cities because it is larger; because it is a point all
foreigners touch, and many of them linger in, bringing
their bad habits, their vices, their pauperism with them.
Here all adventurers and sharpers, and vile characters
tend, because this is the great center, and gives support
and encouragement to all manner of men.
New-York, like the World it represents, is steadily
though slowly growing better. It bears no comparison
for wickedness with what it was fifteen or even ten
years ago. Rowdyism has no such immunity, lawless 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
ness no such power. Even the municipal government
has improved, and will improve. Every thing advances:
it is the eternal law; and the time is coming when a
corrupt judge and a dishonest councilman will be driven
fromI office on this very Island.  New Homers may not
sing in the street; nor new DJlntes write divine comedies;
nor new Shakspeares set the soul of the Universe to
music. But there will be braver men and truer women,
and the spirit of pure Nature will so enter into them
that they will be transformed outwardly and inwardly.
The City, containing a million within its proper limits, and a million and a half within a radius of ten
miles, is destined, doubtless before another century has
ended, to be the Metropolis of the World as well as of
this Continent. Among the centers of civilization, it is
now the third in point of population. In 1790 the City
had less than 30,000 souls. In 1807, Robert Fulton
navigated the Hudson to Albany with the first steamboat.  In eighty or ninety years more what may we not
look for?
I see the day, though I may not with my mortal
eye, when the wretched slums, the vile dens, the loathsome tenements, will be banished from the town; when
all the streets will be clean, and the houses wholesome;
when the parks and squares will be filled with happy
people, and New-York be called the City of the Beautiful. Commerce, and wealth, and intelligence will increase, and ours will become the first of nations as this
will be the first of cities. We shall eclipse London in
population, and Paris in picturesqueness and elegance.
We shall have whole streets of marble, immense libraries and galleries of art.  Our people will have so
advanced in culture, self-discipline, and above all, in
698 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
humanity, that what we not only tolerate but advocate
now, we shall regard ais barbarous then.
Judging by the past, what may not, what will not
New-York be in a hundred years?  If those now living
were to see it after a century, they would not recognize
it any more than Hendrick Hudson or Wouter Von
Twiller would the Great City of the present day. The
future will be as a magnificent dream, but a dream that
will be realized. New-York is the City of the time to
come.  The sea that washes its shores is murmuring of
its greatness; the breezes that fan it are whispering of
its beauty; the stars that shine over it are silently predicting its excellence.  It is now, I repeat, the Great
Metropolis of the Continent, and in the next century
will be the Great Metropolis of the World.   nothing
can resist its progress.  Its course is onward and upward.
Its destiny must be fulfilled in development, in improvemenrit, in. the true democracy that is the basis and builder
of all permanent greatness.
Let those who will, despair of the Republic, of the
principle of self-government, of the intelligence  and
integrity of the people. Would that such might live
for another century, and behold on our shores, and on
this Island, the fruits of our industry, our perseverance,
our independence, our perfect faith in ourselves. I see
the great and glorious future as withl a prophetic eye.
New territories will be developed; new States will be
added; new resources will be at our command.   The
vast commerce of China and Japan will be at our doors.
Cities now sleeping in untilled prairies, and upon the
shores of the far-off Pacific, will awake to. power and
pleasantness. New-York will be the center and sphere
of all the mighty trade, the store.house of the Nation's
699
i 
THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
wealth, the deepot of its commerce, stretching over every
river, lake, and ocean. The wonders of fable will be
outdone; the vision of the poet will be eclipsed. This
City will be a country of itself, a nation in its strength,
its resources, its incalculable riches. Broadway will be
the great thoroughfare of the World; Fifth avenue the
street of luxury and splendor beyond what history has
shown.  Our rivers will be spanned with noble bridges,
and Babylon, Palmyra, Rome, and Athens, in their
palmiest days will be re-created here.  Our grandsons
and granddaughters will turn to the musty records of
the present, and tell their children, and their children's
children of the time when New-York had but a million
souls. And we, slumbering quietly in our graves, will
be glad we lived a century before, that our descendants
might dwell amid fairer and happier days in that other
century which will round to rosy restfulness all our
present pains and carking cares.
700 
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RICHARDSON'S
'3B Tl - THE X SS SS IP.'
THE MOST FASCINATlING BOOK OF THIE YEAR.
A Thrilling Record of Border Life, Hamor and Adventure.
500 Large Octavo Pages —203 Illustrations.
On the Prairies, Mountains, and Pacific Coast-witli more than two hundred illustrations, from
original sketches andl pliotograpi.s, of tihe Prairies. Deserts. Mountains, Rivers, Mines, Cities, Indians,
Trappers, Piotilees, atd Great Natural Curiositiesi t theNew States arid Territories. 1857-1867 -
by ALBERT D). RICHARDSON, author ol' Field. Dungeon and Escape.' Issued by subscription only,
and not Ibr sale In the bookstores.  Residents (I any State in the Uniondesiring a copy should address the Publishers, and an Agent will call upon them.
'BEYOND THE MISSISSIPPI' records years of life, experience  and travel in Kansas
during the Border Ruffian Wars-in Missouri, visiting the Iron Mountains and Lead
Mines-in the Indian Territory, among the civilized Choctaws, Cherokees and Chickasaws-over the Great Staked Plain of Northern Texas, and the famed Desert known
as'The Journev of the Dead  Man'-among  the quaint Oriental scenes of the old
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Pioneer Life, its wild excitements, its enterprise, its terrible affrays and exercise of lynch law-the
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among the gold diggings, hundreds of miles beyond civilization-Mormonism and Polygamy  in
Utah —quartz niillg, which now yields us One Hundred Millions of dollarsper annum in specie,
and fifteen years hence will produce Five Hundred Millions-great Natural Curiosities. of which
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be completed in three years, will make our country the highway of nations, New York the world's
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All these themes are treated by Mr. Richardson's graphic pen, and depicted by the most spirited
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IhIA~LJU,' ~R CI     T EiD
UISITORY OF  TiRE  BiBLh,
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Comprising an account of Patriarchs and Prophets, the scene of their labors, style
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EMBRACING A TERM OF OVER 3000 YEARS.
BY J. E STEBBINS.
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NEW QUARTO PHOTOGRAPH
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A L R U,,I,',,l Vk i3, ill L Y R I R L Et 
THE GREAT REBELLION.
A HISTORY OF THE
eivil War in the United Stat,S
Embracing an authentic account of the whole contest,
BY HON. J. T. HEADLEY,
Author of "Napoleon and his Marshals," "1Washington and his Generals," " Sacred
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IN ENGLISH AND GERMAN.
~1,4 A! ~l ~ -_ 
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THE SECRET SERVICE,
The Field, The Dungeon and The Escape.
By ALBERT D. RICIARDSON, (Tribune Correspondent.)
The above work embraces the entire narrative of
Mr. RICHARDSON'S Unparalled Experience for Four Years.
1. Traveling through the South in the secret service of the Tribune at the outbreak of the War.
L11.    ith our rui,ts an, l fleets bi,th ]  ast'ind West, during the first two years of the Rebellion.
Ill. His thrilling capture while running the batteries on the Mississippi River at Vicksburg,where
more than half his uoinpanii,ns were either killed or wounded.
IV. Ilis c(nfinernent ior twenty months in seven different Rebel Prisons.
V. ISis escape and almost Miraculous Journey by night, of nearly 400 miles, aided by Negroes and
Union Mountaineers of Northl Carolina and Tennessee through the enemy's country to our lines.
it abounds in stirring events never befire given to the public, and contains minute details of
the esca pe, which have not yet appteared(, ncludindg a d(escription of ])AN ELLIS, the famous Union
Pili-t, and the   UNKNOWN  GUIDE," in the person of a Young Lady, who piloted Mr.
RIichardson and his comrades by night out of a Rebel ambush. 
In view of the autior's rich material, his well known trustworthiness, and graphic descriptive
powers, the publishers feel justified in predicting a work of unusual interest, containing  iore of
the FACT, INCIDENT AND ROMANCE OF TIIE WAR, than any other which has yet appeared.
The work  is offered in the best style of typography, on good paper, andcontainsover 500 Octavo
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11