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THE SECRETS OF THE GREAT CITY

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

BY

EDWARD WINSLOW MARTIN

CHAPTER I.

THE CITY OF NEW YORK.

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

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

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

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

THE POPULATION.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER II.

THE STREETS OF NEW YORK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

BROADWAY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you finished your business?" he asked.

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

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

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

THE BOWERY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: City Hall]

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

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

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

THE AVENUES.

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

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

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

CHAPTER III.

THE CITY GOVERNMENT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

POLITICAL BLACK MAIL.

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

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

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

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

THE RESULT.

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

CHAPTER IV.

THE METROPOLITAN POLICE.

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

THE NEW SYSTEM.

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

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

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

"KING KENNEDY."

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

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

THE FORCE.

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

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

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

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

ON DUTY.

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

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

HEADQUARTERS.

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

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

[Illustration: A Model Policeman.]

THE TRIAL ROOM.

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

Another room in the headquarters is called

THE PROPERTY ROOM.

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

MISCELLANEOUS.

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER V.

SOCIETY.

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

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

WHO ARE THE FASHIONABLES.

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

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

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

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

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

A DEFEAT AND A TRIUMPH.

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

WHAT THEY TALK ABOUT.

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

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

FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION.

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

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

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

EXTRAVAGANCE.

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

[Illustration: A Fashionable Thief—Shoplifting.]

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

A LADY'S GLOVE.

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

MARRIAGES.

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

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

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

FASHIONABLE DEATH.

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

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

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

A ROMANCE OF FIFTH AVENUE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ETIQUETTE OF CARDS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

MR. AND MRS.—

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

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

MRS. WILSON. AT HOME,

Wednesday evening, January 7.
'—Fifth Avenue.
'Cotillion at 9.'

Or; Soiree Dansante.

MR. AND MRS. E. DAY

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

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

MR. AND MRS. HENRY ROBINSON

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

'—Maple Grove.'
Or again:
MR. AND MRS. RICHARD WILSON

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

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

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

MR. AND MRS. C. WHITE'S

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

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

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

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

AN ECONOMICAL WEDDING.

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

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

THE BEST SOCIETY.

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

CHAPTER VI.

THE TOMBS.

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

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

[Illustration: The Tombs—City Prison.]

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

THE BUMMER'S CELL.

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

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

THE TOMBS POLICE COURT.

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

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

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

A SAD CASE.

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

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

SAVED IN TIME.

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

[Illustration: Scene in the Tombs Police Court]

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

RELIGIOUS SERVICES.

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

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

CHAPTER VII.

REFORMATORY ESTABLISHMENTS.

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

THE PENITENTIARY.

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

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

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

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

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

'The way of the transgressor is hard.'

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

THE HOUSE OF REFUGE.

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII.

LINES OF TRAVEL.

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

THE STREET CARS.

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

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

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

THE STAGES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: Scene on Broadway—Dangers of crossing]

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

THE FERRIES.

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IX.

STREET MUSICIANS.

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

THE ORGAN GRINDERS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE WANDERING MINSTRELS.

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

CHILD MINSTRELS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

AN INCIDENT.

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

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

A SAD STORY.

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

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

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

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

'What is your name, little one?'

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

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

'I play and sing also, sir.'