Lights and Shadows of New York Life or, the Sights and Sensations of the Great City (part 2 of 4)

II. PERSONNEL OF THE RING

Generally speaking, the Ring may be said to include every office-holder in the city, and it is very certain that of late every official has come in for a share of the suspicion with which the people regard the transactions of the Ring. It would be impossible to give an accurate and complete list of the members of that body, for many of them are not yet known to the public; but the recent investigations have shown that it is not composed exclusively of Democrats. A number of Republicans, while openly acting with their party, have been found to be allied with and in the pay of the Ring.

The men who are supposed to have played the most conspicuous parts in the doings of the Ring, and who are believed by the public to be chiefly responsible for its acts, are Mayor A. O. Hall, Richard B. Connolly, William M. Tweed, Peter B. Sweeny, J. H. Ingersoll, Andrew J. Garvey, and E. A. Woodward.

A. OAKEY HALL, Mayor of the city, was born in New York, is of American parentage, and is about forty-six years old. He received a good education, and at an early age began the study of the law. He removed to New Orleans soon after, and was for a while in the office of the Hon. John Slidell. He subsequently returned to New York, where he became associated with the late Mr. Nathaniel Blunt, as Assistant District-Attorney. Upon the death of Mr. Blunt, he was elected District-Attorney by the Whig party, and held that position for about twelve years. At the end of that time, he was elected Mayor of New York, to succeed John T. Hoffman, now Governor of the State. For some years he has been a member of the law firm of Brown, Hall & Vanderpoel, which firm enjoys a large and lucrative practice. He is said to be a lawyer of considerable ability, and has undoubtedly had great experience in criminal practice. As a politician, his experience has also been extensive and varied. He began life as a Whig, but became a prominent Know-Nothing in the palmy days of that party. Finding Know-Nothingism a failure, however, he became a Republican, from which party, about nine or ten years ago, he passed over to the Democrats.

A writer in Every Saturday thus speaks of him:

"His Honor has some facility as a writer, and for twenty years has maintained a quasi or direct connection with the press. He is not lacking in the culture of desultory reading, and when he chooses to do so can bear himself like a gentleman. Of such a thing as dignity of character, he appears to have but a faint conception. Pedantry is more to him than profundity, and to tickle the ear of the town with a cheap witticism, he deems a greater thing than to command it with a forcible presentation of grave issues. The essential type of the man was presented to public gaze about two years ago, when he stood on the City Hall steps dressed from head to foot in a suit of green to review a St. Patrick's procession. He is a harlequin with the literary ambition of a Richelieu. He affects an intimacy with the stage, and has done something in the way of producing plays. He can write clearly and concisely when he will, but prefers to provoke with odd quips and far-fetched conceits. He patronizes journalists and magazine writers with a sort of grotesque familiarity, and readily makes himself at home among the Bohemians of Literature."

Since his union with the Democracy, Mr. Hall has been the constant and intimate associate of the men who have brought disgrace and loss upon the city, and of late years he has been regarded as one of the leading members of the Ring. It is said openly in New York that he owes his election to the Mayoralty entirely to William M. Tweed. As Mayor of the city, he has been officially connected with many of the transactions by which the city has been defrauded of large sums of money. Some of the most prominent newspapers of the city have denounced him as a thief and a sharer of the stolen money. His friends, on the other hand, have declared their belief that his worst fault was his official approval of the fraudulent warrants. They state that he has never in his manner of living, or in any other way, given evidence of possessing large sums of money, and his legal partner made oath before the Grand Jury that Mr. Hall was not worth over $60,000 or $70,000. It is certain that when the proprietor of the New York Times, which journal had been loud in denouncing Hall as a thief, was called on by the Grand Jury to furnish them with the evidence upon which this charge was based, he was unable to do so, and the Grand Jury was unable to obtain any evidence criminating Mr. Hall personally. His friends declare that his signing the fraudulent warrants was a purely ministerial act, and that having many thousands of them to sign in a year, he was compelled to rely upon the endorsements of the Comptroller and auditing officers.

In the present state of affairs, there is no evidence showing that Mr. Hall derived any personal pecuniary benefit from the frauds upon the treasury. Public sentiment is divided respecting him; many persons believing that he is a sharer in the plunder of the Ring, and others holding the opposite opinion. The most serious charges that have been made against him, have been brought by Mr. John Foley, and Mr. Samuel J. Tilden. The former is the President of the Nineteenth Ward Citizens' Association, and the latter the leader of the Reform Democracy. Mr. Tilden, in his speech at the Cooper Institute, November 2d, 1871, thus spoke of Mayor Hall:

"These three Auditors met but once. They then passed a resolution which now stands on the records of the city in the handwriting of Mayor Hall. It was passed on his motion, and what was its effect? Did it audit anything? Did it perform the functions? Did it fulfil the trust committed to the Board? Not a bit of it. It provided that all claims certified by Mr. Tweed and Mr. Young, Secretary of the old Board of Supervisors, should be received, and, on sufficient evidence, paid. Mayor Hall is the responsible man for all this. He knew it was a fraudulent violation of duty on the part of every member of that Board of Audit to pass claims in the way they did.

* * * * *

"Fellow-citizens, let me call your attention for a moment to the after-piece of these transactions. Our friend, Mayor Hall, is a very distinguished dramatist, and he would consider it a very serious offence to the drama to have the after-piece left out. Now, what was that after-piece? When the statements were published in regard to these frauds, Mayor Hall published a card, wherein he said that these accounts were audited by the old Board of Supervisors, and that neither he nor Mr. Connolly was at all responsible for them. A little later--about August 16th--Mayor Hall said it was true they were audited by the Board of Audit, and, in doing so, they performed a ministerial function, and would have been compelled by mandamus to do it, if they hadn't done it willingly. I do not deem it necessary in the presence of an intelligent audience and the lawyers sitting around me on this stage, to present any observations upon the idea that 'to audit and to pay the amount found due' was a ministerial function. . . . . . .

"So we pass to Mr. Hall's fourth defence. On the burning of the vouchers he made a raid on Mr. Connolly. He wrote him a public letter, demanding his resignation in the name of the public because he had lost the public confidence; and at the same time he was writing to Mr. Tweed touching and tender epistles of sympathy and regret. You might at that time, if you were a member of the Club, have heard Mr. Hall in his jaunty and somewhat defiant manner; you might have seen Mr. Tweed, riding in the midnight hour, with countenance vacant and locks awry, and have heard dropping from his lips, 'The public demands a victim.' And so he proposed to charge upon Connolly, who had legal custody of the vouchers, the stealing and burning of them. He proposed to put some one else in the office of the Comptroller when Connolly should be crushed out of it, and so reconstruct the Ring and impose it a few years longer upon the people of this city. . . . . . .

"The sequel showed that the vouchers were taken by Haggerty, whom Mr. Connolly sought out and found, and prosecuted. Then, again, a little later, when it happened that Mr. Keyser swore that indorsements for $900,000 on warrants made in his name were forgeries, there was another raid made on the Comptroller's office. It was then filled by Mr. Green. The object was not to get rid of Mr. Connolly but of Mr. Green, and the men who caused the raid were Mayor Hall and Peter B. Sweeny. Now, what was the result of that? And I will say to this meeting that the sense of alarm that I had that morning lest the movement should mislead the public, was the motive that induced me to lay aside my business, go to the Broadway Bank and make a personal examination.

"What was the result of that? Why, that every one of these forged warrants were deposited, except one, to Woodward's account, and only one to Ingersoll, and that the proceeds were divided with Tweed.

"Now, gentlemen, these revelations throw a light upon what? Upon three false pretences in regard to these transactions, made by Mayor Hall under his own signature before the public, and two attempts to mislead the public judgment as to the real authors of the crime. I do not wish to do injustice to Mayor Hall. He is a man experienced in criminal law. (Laughter.) He is a man who is educated both in the drama and in the stirring scenes that are recorded in the actual crimes of mankind in this country and in England, for I understand this has composed the greatest part of his business. Now I say that there is nothing in the melo-dramatic history of crime more remarkable than these two successive attempts of his to lay the crime to innocent men, if the object was not to screen men whom he knew to be guilty. And while I would not do any wrong or the slightest injustice to Mayor Hall, I say to him, as I do to you, that the history of these transactions puts him on his explanation, and draws upon him a strong suspicion that he knew whereof he was acting. Did he mistake when he got the City Charter? Did he mistake when he acted in the Board of Audit? Did he mistake when he accused Connolly of burning the vouchers? Has he been subject to a misfortune of mistakes at all times? Why does he stand to-day endeavoring to preserve that power? I will only say that if he was mistaken on these occasions he is a very unfortunate man, and has not acquired by the six years of practice in the District-Attorney's office that amount of sagacity in the pursuit of crime which we would naturally ascribe to him."

RICHARD B. CONNOLLY was born in the county of Cork, in Ireland. His father was a village schoolmaster, and gave him a good common school education. He was brought over to this country by an elder brother who had been here for several years. He embarked in politics at an early day, and was elected County Clerk before he could legally cast his vote. He soon made himself noted for his facility in making and breaking political promises, in consequence of which he was popularly called "Slippery Dick." He gave considerable dissatisfaction to his party as County Clerk, and soon dropped out of politics. A few years later, taking advantage of the divisions of the Democratic party, he put himself forward as a candidate for the post of State Senator, and was elected, as is charged by the newspaper press, by the liberal use of bribery and ballot-box stuffing. He was charged with using his position to make money, and during his term at Albany was fiercely denounced for his course in this and other respects.

[Picture: RICHARD B. CONNOLLY.]

About three years ago, he was appointed Comptroller of the Finance Department of the City of New York. At that time the real heads of the Finance Department were Peter B. Sweeny, City Chamberlain, and the late County Auditor Watson, the latter of whom has been shown by the recent investigations to have been a wholesale plunderer of the public funds. The Comptroller was then a mere ornamental figure-head to the department. In a short while, however, Watson was accidentally killed; and Sweeny resigned, leaving Connolly master of the situation. He was suspected by Tweed, and in his turn distrusted the "Boss." It is said that he resolved, however, to imitate his colleagues, and enrich himself at the cost of the public. He did well. In the short period of three years, this man, who had entered upon his office poor, became a millionaire. He made his son Auditor in the City Bureau, and gave the positions of Surrogate and Deputy Receiver of Taxes to his two sons-in-law. All these three were men of the lowest intellectual capacity, and all three share in the suspicion which attaches to Connolly's administration of the office. The New York Tribune, of October 25th, 1871, stated that a short time before he became Comptroller, Connolly was sued for debt by Henry Felter, now a liquor merchant on Broadway, and swore in court that he owned no property at all. Under this statement the Tribune publishes a list of a part of Connolly's transactions in property since he became Comptroller, covering the sum of $2,300,691.

PETER B. SWEENY is the "modest man" of the Ring, and is popularly believed to carry the brains of that body in his head. He is regarded by the public as the real leader of the Ring, and the originator of, and prime, though secret mover in all its acts.

[Picture: PETER B. SWEENY.]

Mr. Sweeny is of Irish parentage, though born in New York. His father kept a drinking saloon in Park Row, near the old Park Theatre, and it was in this choice retreat that the youth of Sweeny was passed. He began his career as an errand boy in a law office. He subsequently studied law, and, in due time, was admitted to the bar.

A writer in Every Saturday thus sums up his career: "He never obtained, and perhaps never sought, much business in his profession; but very soon after reaching manhood turned his attention to politics. The first office he held was that of Counsel to the Corporation, to which position he was elected by a handsome majority. This station did not so much require in its occupant legal skill and legal ability, as an apt faculty for political manipulation; and in the work he had to do, Mr. Sweeny was eminently successful. From the Corporation office he went into the District Attorneyship, obtained leave of absence for some time, treated himself to a term of European travel, came home, and resigned the post to which he had been chosen, and soon became City Chamberlain by the Mayor's appointment.

"It was in this office that he did what gave him a national standing, and led many people into the notion that some good had come from the Tammany Nazareth. The Chamberlain was custodian, under the old charter, of all city moneys. Such portions of these funds as were not required for immediate use, this official deposited in some of the banks, and the banks allowed interest, as is customary, on the weekly or monthly balance to his credit. Previous to Sweeny's time the Chamberlain had put this interest money into his own pocket--and a very handsome thing Mr. Devlin and his predecessors made out of the transaction. But Sweeny startled the political world, and caused a great sensation, by announcing that he should turn these interest receipts into the City Treasury. Tammany made a notable parade of his honesty and public spirit, and the capital he gained in this way has been his chief stock-in-trade for the last two or three years.

"But in the light of recent developments, Mr. Sweeny's course does not seem so purely disinterested as it once did. He was in full control of the city funds on the memorable Black Friday of two years ago last summer, and sworn testimony taken by a committee of Congress shows that he had a share in the doings of that eventful day. To what extent the money in his official charge was put at the service of the Wall street Ring, the country probably never will know; but the common belief of New York is that Mr. Sweeny made a good deal of money out of his speculations on that occasion. That he has been more or less concerned with Fisk and Gould in various Erie Railway stock operations, is matter of general notoriety; as it is also that most of the lately-exposed fraudulent transactions in connection with the so-called new Court-House and other public buildings occurred during his incumbency of the Chamberlain's office. The greater part of those transactions yet brought into daylight refer to county affairs, it is true; but city and county are one except in name, and we have only just begun to get at what are designated the city accounts.

"As has been already stated, he values himself on his brains, and the Ring adherents take him at that valuation. They believe him capable of finding a way out of the closest corner, and we suppose it is not to be doubted that he is a man of considerable ability. He has not many of the qualities of a popular politician; years ago he cut loose from his early engine-company associations; he is reserved and reticent at all times, and rarely seeks contact with the Democratic masses; he covets seclusion and respectability; apparently he has sought to be Warwick rather than King, and his followers credit him with a masterly performance of the part. One of his earliest acts as President of the Park Commission was to oust Fred. Law Olmstead, and shelve Andrew H. Green, the actual creators of Central Park; but the whirligig of time has now put him into such a position that he cannot get a dollar of public money without the signature of Andrew H. Green."

Since the disastrous defeat of Tammany and the Ring in the November elections, Mr. Sweeny has resigned his Presidency of the Department of Public Parks, and has retired to private life. He is a man of considerable wealth, and, though there is no evidence to convict him of complicity with Tweed and Connolly in their frauds, the public suspect and distrust him, so that altogether, his retirement was a very wise and politic act.

The "head devil" of the Ring is WILLIAM M. TWEED, or, as he is commonly called, "Boss Tweed." He is of Irish descent, and was born in the City of New York. He was apprenticed to a chair-maker, to learn the trade, but never engaged legitimately in it after he became his own master. He finally became a member of Fire Company No. 6--known as "Big Six," and "Old Tiger"--the roughest and worst company in the city. He soon became its foreman. His attention was now turned to politics, and as he possessed considerable influence over the "roughs," he became a valuable man to the city politicians. As a compensation for his services, they allowed him to receive a small office, from which he pushed his way into the old Board of Supervisors, and eventually into the State Senate. Upon the inauguration of the New Charter, he became President of the Board of Public Works, and the most prominent leader of the Ring. He is a man of considerable executive ability, and has known how to use his gifts for his own gain. In March, 1870, the New York World spoke of him as follows:

"Mr. Tweed was worth less than nothing when he took to the trade of politics. Now he has great possessions, estimated all the way from $5,000,000 to twice as much. We are sorry not to be able to give his own estimate, but, unluckily, he returns no income. But at least he is rich enough to own a gorgeous house in town and a sumptuous seat in the country, a stud of horses, and a set of palatial stables. His native modesty shrinks from blazoning abroad the exact extent of his present wealth, or the exact means by which it was acquired. His sensitive soul revolts even at the partial publicity of the income list. We are tossed upon the boundless ocean of conjecture. But we do know from his own reluctant lips that this public servant, who entered the public service a bankrupt, has become, by an entire abandonment of himself to the public good, 'one of the largest tax-payers in New York.' His influence is co-extensive with his cash. The docile Legislature sits at his feet, as Saul at the feet of Gamaliel, and waits, in reverent inactivity, for his signal before proceeding to action. He thrives on percentages of pilfering, grows rich on the distributed dividends of rascality. His extortions are as boundless in their sum as in their ingenuity. Streets unopened profit him--streets opened put money in his purse. Paving an avenue with poultice enriches him--taking off the poultice increases his wealth. His rapacity, like the trunk of an elephant, with equal skill twists a fortune out of the Broadway widening, and picks up dishonest pennies in the Bowery."

In 1861, Mr. Tweed appeared in the courts of the city as a bankrupt. In 1871, his wealth is estimated at from $15,000,000, to $20,000,000. The manner in which he is popularly believed to have amassed this immense sum is thus described in a pamphlet recently issued in New York:

"While holding the position of State Senator he also held the position of Supervisor--was the leading spirit and President of the old Board of Supervisors, that has been denounced as the most scandalously corrupt body that ever disgraced a civilized community--and also the position of Deputy Street Commissioner. The first two be used to put money in his pocket, but the last was used mainly to enable him to keep a set of ruffians about him, who were paid out of the city treasury, and to afford lucrative positions to men who might be of service in promoting his political and pecuniary interests. By employing the same agencies that he had used to secure his own election, he gradually worked his particular friends into positions where he could use them, and then commenced a scheme for surrounding every department in the government of the city and county with a perfect network, which would enable himself and his confederates to appropriate to their own use the greater part of the city and county revenues. The new Court-House has been a mine of wealth to these thieves from its very inception. The quarry from which the marble was supplied was bought by the gang for a mere nominal price, and has since netted them millions of dollars. The old fire engine-houses were turned over to 'Andy' Garvey and other cronies of Tweed's at rents ranging from $50 to $150 a year, and some of them have been let by these fellows as high as $5000 a year. The public schools, the different departments of the government, and the public institutions under the control of the city authorities, all needed furniture, and Tweed started a furniture manufactory in connection with James H. Ingersoll, who has since achieved a notoriety as the most shameless thief among the fraternity of scoundrels whom we are now describing. Tweed's next step was to get control of a worthless little newspaper called The Transcript, and then to introduce a bill into the Legislature making this miserable little sheet the official organ of the City Government. This sheet receives over a $1,000,000 a year for printing the proceedings of the Common Council, but the proceedings of the corrupt Board of Supervisors are studiously concealed from the public.

"Tweed's next step was to establish 'The New York Printing Company.' This gives Tweed a pretext for rendering enormous bills for printing for the different departments of the City Government; and although the amount of work actually performed is only trifling, and consists mainly in printing blank forms and vouchers, still the amount annually paid out of the treasury to this company is something enormous--amounting during the year 1870 to over $2,800,000. Nor is this all. When this company was first started, a portion of a building on Centre street was found sufficient for its accommodation. Since then it has absorbed three of the largest printing establishments in the city, and also three or four smaller ones, and a lithographing establishment. Why have these extensive establishments been secured? Simply this: Insurance Companies, Steamboat Companies, Ferry Companies, and other corporations require an enormous amount of printing. Each of these associations may be subjected to serious loss and inconvenience, by the passage of legislative enactments abridging the privileges they now enjoy, or requiring them to submit to some vexatious and expensive regulation. Hence, when they receive notice that 'The New York Printing Company' is ready to do their printing, they know that they must consent, and pay the most exorbitant rate for the work done, or submit to Tweed's exactions during the next session of the Legislature.

"In addition to the Printing Company, Tweed has a 'Manufacturing Stationers' Company,' which furnishes all the stationery used in the public schools, the public institutions, and the several departments of the City Government. This concern receives not less than $3,000,000 a year out of the city treasury. As an illustration of the way they do things, we will cite one instance: During the month of April of the present year, an order was sent to this company for stationery for the County Bureau. In due time it was delivered, and consisted of about six reams of cap paper, and an equal quantity of letter paper, with a couple of reams of note paper. There were, also, about two dozen penholders, four small ink bottles, such as could be bought at retail for thirty-five or forty cents, a dozen small sponges for pen-wipers, half a dozen office rulers, and three dozen boxes of rubber bands of various sizes--the entire amount worth about fifty dollars at retail. For this stationery, a bill of ten thousand dollars was rendered soon after, and was duly paid; and similar claims are presented for stationery for every bureau and department of the government, almost every month throughout the year--and are always promptly paid, although persons having legitimate claims against the same appropriation could not obtain a dollar. But not content with the enormous amounts that are thus obtained under false pretences, Tweed even charges the city with the wages of the different persons employed in these several establishments, and makes a large percentage on the amounts thus drawn from the Treasury. For instance: Charles E. Wilbour is President of the Printing Company and also of the Stationers' Company, while Cornelius Corson is the Secretary of both companies. Wilbour receives $3000 a year as Stenographer to the Bureau of Elections, $2500 as Stenographer in the Superior Court, and $3500 a year for 'examining accounts' that he has never seen. These several sums are drawn out of the County Bureau alone, and he holds an equal number of sinecure positions in the City Bureau. Corson is Chief of the Bureau of Elections, for which he receives $6000 a year; and he also receives $3500 for 'examining' the same accounts, for which Wilbour receives a similar sum; while, like Wilbour, he has never seen the accounts."

In order to carry on his immense operations, Tweed has had to avail himself from time to time of the assistance of his partners. He has always found them willing accomplices. These were J. H. Ingersoll, Andrew J. Garvey, and E. A. Woodward, all of whom have sought safety in flight.

J. H. Ingersoll is the son of a chair-dealer in the Bowery, and was Tweed's principal tool in defrauding the citizens. He in his turn "operated" through sub-firms, and was paid in 1869 and 1870 the enormous sum of $5,691,144.26 for furniture and repairs to the new Court House and the militia armories of the city. Much of this work was never done. For the work actually done only the legitimate price was paid; the rest of the enormous sum was divided between Tweed and Ingersoll.

Andrew J. Garvey is a plasterer by trade, and had a shop in the Third avenue. He is also an Irishman, and was a "bunker" of the old fire department. During the years 1869 and 1870 he was paid $2,905,464.06 for repairing, plastering, painting and decorating the militia armories and the new Court-House. But a small part of this sum represents work honestly done. The rest is stolen money, of which Tweed received his share. At the very first discovery of the frauds, Garvey fled from the city, and it is believed sailed for Europe to escape the punishment he dreaded.

E. A. Woodward was a deputy clerk to the Board of Supervisors, and as such received a moderate salary. As far as is known, he had no other means of acquiring money. He was at the beginning of the investigations the owner of a magnificent estate near Norwalk, Connecticut, a partner in the firm of Vanderhoef & Beatty, to the extent of $75,000; and the owner of property variously estimated at from $500,000 to $1,000,000. It was charged by the New York papers that the endorsements of the name of Keyser & Co. on warrants amounting to over $817,000, and which endorsements Mr. Keyser pronounced forgeries, were mainly the work of Woodward. The money drawn on the fraudulent warrants was divided between Woodward and Tweed. Conclusive evidence of this was afforded by Mr. Samuel J. Tilden, who, by a happy inspiration, made a personal examination of Tweed's bank account at the Broadway Bank, and there discovered that Tweed, Garvey, Ingersoll, and Woodward had divided $6,095,319.17 of the public funds between them.

Commenting upon this discovery, the New York Tribune remarks: "Of the total amount of these warrants, $6,312,541.37, three dependents and tools of Mr. William M. Tweed deposited $5,710,913.38, and the New York Printing Company deposited $384,395.19, making $6,095,319.17. Further, $103,648.68 is believed to have been deposited by Ingersoll in a different bank, so that the whole amount of the audit, except $113,583.52, was really collected by persons in connection with or in collusion with Tweed. Ingersoll collected $3,501,584.50 of the warrants, and he received from Garvey, out of his collections, $47,744.68. Of that aggregate he paid over to Woodward $1,817,467.49, or a little more than half of his whole receipts.

"Garvey deposited warrants amounting to $1,177,413.72. He, Garvey, paid to Woodward $731,871.01, or over two-thirds of the whole amount of his receipts. Woodward deposited $1,032,715.76, and he received in checks from Ingersoll and Garvey enough of these collections to make a total of $3,582,054.26. Of this amount he paid over $923,858.50 to Tweed.

"Woodward was then, and is now, a deputy clerk to Young of the Board of Supervisors, on whose certification, according to Mayor Hall's resolution, as well as on that of Mr. Tweed, the bills were to be paid. It is unknown to whom Woodward made other payments, but those he made to Tweed are established beyond doubt. The tickets accompanying the deposits are in the handwriting of Woodward, and the teller in the Broadway Bank swore that they were generally made by Woodward in person.

"Including $104,333.64, Tweed received a handsome aggregate of $1,037,192.14.

"The manner in which the city warrants were identified is explained in the affidavit of Mr. Tilden. The first table is headed, 'County Liabilities.' That is made up from the records in the Comptroller's office and the warrants. The last contains all that there is (memoranda and endorsements) on the back of the warrants. Nearly all the vouchers of these bills were among those stolen on Sunday, September 10th, but the warrants were kept in a different place, and are now in the Comptroller's office. The next table headed, 'Identification of Parties who received the Proceeds of the Warrants,' is made up, as to the description of the warrants, from the books of the Comptroller's office, and from the warrants themselves, and the identification of the persons who deposited the warrants is made out from accounts of the entries, in the National Broadway Bank. The asterisks against the amounts of the warrants in the fifth column indicate those of the Keyser warrants on which John H. Keyser alleges the endorsements were forged.

"All those warrants which fell within the period of this account were collected by Woodward, except one, and that one by Ingersoll.

"Undoubtedly the transactions, taken together, were in the opinion of the Acting Attorney-General, a conspiracy to defraud the county by means of bills exaggerated many times, for work or services received, or for work and services already paid for, or for accounts that were fictitious.

"The result throws great light both on the stealing and burning of the vouchers by Haggerty, the janitor of the building, appointed by the Chamberlain, and also upon the Keyser forgeries."

Woodward did not wait for the accumulation of evidence against him. He followed the example of Ingersoll and Garvey, and took flight, and at present his whereabouts is unknown.

Mr. Tilden's affidavit relating the facts of his discovery furnished evidence sufficient to justify the arrest of Mr. Tweed. The Sheriff performed the farce of arresting the "Boss" in his office at the Department of Public Works. Bail was offered and accepted. The Sheriff treated the great defaulter with the utmost courtesy and deference, appearing before him, hat in hand, with a profusion of servile bows. No absolute monarch could have been treated with greater reverence. The moral sense of the community was outraged. On the same day a poor wretch who had stolen a loaf of bread to keep his sick wife from starving was sentenced for theft.

Mr. Tweed attempted to explain away Mr. Tilden's discovery, but was met at once by that gentleman, who more than fastened his guilt upon him. Said Mr. Tilden:

"The fourth act in the conspiracy was the collection of the money and its division. (Laughter.) Who collected that money? We found upon investigation that every time Garvey collected $100,000 he paid 66 per cent. to Woodward, who paid Tweed 24 per cent. of it. (Laughter.) Sometimes Woodward paid a fraction above 24 per cent. to Tweed, sometimes a fraction below, but it never reached 25 per cent. nor fell to 23 per cent. (Laughter.)

"Every time Woodward collected money he paid over 24 per cent. to Tweed. The investigations in the Broadway Bank having begun without knowledge of the specific transactions to which they would relate, extend back through the whole of the year 1870, and it appears that about the same transactions were going on in the four months of that year, and about the same division was made. Something like $200,000 or $240,000 was paid over to Tweed during those four months.

"Now I have heard it said in some of the public presses that a gentleman who had an interview with Mr. Tweed had received the explanation that Mr. Woodward owed him large sums of borrowed money, and that when, in the course of his business arrangements with the city, he received these sums of money from the city, he simply paid it over to Mr. Tweed in satisfaction of his debts. That is a very fine theory. There is only one difficulty about it, and that is, these loans are not entered on the bank account. Examine Mr. Tweed's bank account, and there is not $1000 in it except in city transactions. His whole private business during this time when he was depositing it--checks drawn upon city warrants amounted to $3,500,000--did not amount to $3000; therefore it results inevitably that whatever is taken from that account is city money, for there was nothing but city or county money in that bank. There were no private funds there. Where his 42 per cent. went I am unable to find out. It was probably transferred to some other bank in large checks for subdivision among the parties entitled thereto; but about that we know not. Now, gentlemen, that disposes of the fourth act in the conspiracy, and the events justify me in saying that at the time the City Charter was passed I had no suspicion that the principal object in passing it was not to preserve political power, with the ordinary average benefits that usually accrue to its possessors. I had no suspicion that affairs were going on in this way. But it seems that these transactions were about one-half through; that there was about as much to be done after the new charter as had been done for sixteen months previous under the old law; and that therefore the motive and object of the new charter was not only to secure political power with its ordinary average advantages, but also to conceal the immense amounts that had been already stolen, and to secure the opportunity of stealing an immense amount that was in prospect before its passage. I say, then, that by the ordinary rules and principles of evidence, looking back to the beginning of the transactions, no man can doubt that all this series of acts were parts of one grand conspiracy, not only for power, but for personal plunder."

We have not the space to dwell further upon the villainies from which the city has suffered, but in parting with the Ring we cannot but regret, in the forcible language of the Committee of Seventy, that, "Not an official implicated in these infamies has had the virtue to commit suicide."

V. BROADWAY.

I. HISTORICAL.

To write the history of Broadway would require a volume, for it would be the history of New York itself. The street was laid out in the days of the Dutch, and then, as now, began at the Bowling Green. By them it was called the "Heere Straas," or High street. They built it up as far as Wall street, but in those days only the lower end was of importance. The site of the Bowling Green was occupied by the Dutch fort and the church, and on the west side of it was the parade and the market place. Ere long several well-to-do merchants erected substantial dwellings on the same side, one of these belonging to no less a personage than the Schout-Fiscal Van Dyck. The east side of Broadway, during the rule of the Dutch, was thickly built up with dwellings of but one room, little better than hovels. Eventually, however, some of the better class mechanics came there to reside, and erected better houses. Their gardens extended down to the marsh on Broad street, and they cultivated their cabbages and onions with great success, where now the bulls and bears of the stock and gold markets rage and roar.

Under the English rule Broadway improved rapidly. Substantial dwellings clustered around the Bowling Green. The first, and by far the most elegant of these, was the edifice still known as "No. 1, Broadway," at present used as a hotel. It was built by Archibald Kennedy, then Collector of the Port of New York, and afterwards Earl of Cassilis, in the Scotch Peerage. In the colonial times it was frequented by the highest fashion of the city, and during the Revolution was the headquarters of the British General, Sir Henry Clinton. Other noted personages afterwards resided in it. This portion of Broadway escaped the destruction caused by the great fire of 1776, and until about forty years ago preserved its ante-colonial appearance.

This fire destroyed all that part of the street that had been built above Morris street. After the Revolution it was rebuilt more substantially, and many of the most elegant residences in the city were to be found here, between Wall street and the Bowling Green. General Washington resided on the west side of Broadway, just below Trinity Church, during a portion of his Presidential term.

In 1653, the Dutch built a wall across the island at the present Wall street. One of the main gates of this wall was on Broadway, just in front of the present Trinity Church. From this gate a public road, called the "Highway," continued up the present line of the street to the "Commons," now the City Hall Park, where it diverged into what is now Chatham street. In 1696 Trinity Church was erected. The churchyard north of the edifice had for some time previous been used as a burying ground.

Along the east side of Broadway, from Maiden lane to a point about 117 feet north of Fulton street, was a pasture known as the "Shoemaker's Pasture." It covered an area of sixteen acres, and was used in common by the shoemakers of the city for the manufacture of leather, their tannery being located in a swampy section, near the junction of Maiden lane and William street. About 1720 the pasture was sold in lots, and Fulton and John streets were extended through it. That part of the tract bounded by the present Broadway, Nassau, Fulton and Ann streets, was for many years occupied by a pleasure resort, known as "Spring Garden." The tavern occupied the site of the present Herald office. It was here, during the excitement preceding the Revolution, that the "Sons of Liberty" had their head-quarters. They purchased the building, and named it "Hampden Hall." It was the scene of many a riot and public disturbance during those stirring times. It was occupied as a dwelling house from the close of the Revolution until 1830, when it was converted into a Museum by John Scudder. In 1840 Phineas T. Barnum became the owner of the building and Museum. After the destruction of the Museum by fire in 1864, Mr. James Gordon Bennett purchased the site, and erected upon it the magnificent office of The Herald.

Trinity Church Farm lay along the west side of Broadway, north of Fulton street. It was divided into lots in 1760, and between that time and 1765, the present St. Paul's Church was erected on the lower end of it. The street forming the northern boundary of the churchyard was named Vesey, in honor of a former pastor of Trinity.

In 1738 a public market, 156 feet long, and 20 feet 3.5 inches wide, was erected in the middle of Broadway, opposite the present Liberty, then Crown street. It remained there until 1771, when it was removed as a public nuisance.

By the opening of the present century, Broadway had extended above the present City Hall Park, which had been enclosed as a pleasure ground in 1785. It was taken up along its upper portion mainly with cottages, and buildings of a decidedly rustic character. In 1805 the street was paved in front of the Park, and in 1803 the present City Hall was begun on the site of the old Poor House. It was completed in 1812. The principal hotels, and many of the most elegant residences, were to be found at this time on both sides of Broadway between Chambers street and Wall street. In 1810-12 Washington Hall was erected on the southeast corner of Reade street. It was the head-quarters of the old Federal Party, and was subsequently used as a hotel. It was afterwards purchased by Mr. A. T. Stewart, who erected on its site his palatial wholesale store, which extends along Broadway to Chambers street. About the year 1820, the dry goods merchants began to locate themselves on the west side of Broadway near Reade street.

On the west side of Broadway, above Duane street, was the celebrated Rutgers' estate, consisting of a fine mansion and large and elaborately laid out grounds. The house was built by Anthony Rutgers in 1730, and occupied by him until his death in 1750. After his death the property was converted into a pleasure garden, known as "The Ranelagh." It was kept by a Mr. John Jones until a few years before the Revolution. It was a famous resort for the better classes. A complete band was in attendance every Monday and Thursday evening during the summer, and dancing was carried on in a large hall which had been erected in the garden. In 1770, the estate was sold. Five acres, embracing the orchard, were purchased by an association, and in 1773, the New York Hospital was begun on this site. In 1869 the hospital was removed higher up town, the land was sold, and Pearl street was extended through the hospital grounds.

Between 1774 and 1776 a reservoir for supplying the city with water was erected on the east side of Broadway, near the southeast corner of White street. The water was pumped into the reservoir from wells, and was distributed through the city in wooden pipes. At this time the streets were not opened in this vicinity, and the reservoir is described as standing on an "elevated hill." In 1810 the reservoir property was sold in lots, the highest price paid per lot being $3000.

By 1818 Broadway was built up to above Duane street, and in 1826 the Free Masons erected a handsome Gothic Hall, on the east side, between Duane and Pearl streets. The street continued to grow, and about 1830 extended above Canal street. In 1836-39, the Society Library erected a handsome building on the west side, between Howard and Grand streets. In 1853, they sold the building, which fronts sixty feet on Broadway, to D. Appleton & Co., Publishers. By the year 1825, when gas was introduced into the city south of Canal street, the west side of Broadway above Chambers street was the fashionable shopping mart. The cross streets were used mainly for residences, and these daily poured a throng of pedestrians into Broadway, making it the fashionable promenade. At this time long rows of poplar trees lined the sidewalks. The principal hotels and theatres, restaurants, and pleasure resorts were to be found along the street, and Broadway became what it has since been, a miniature of the great city of which it is the chief artery.

After passing Canal street, along which, in the early part of the present century, a considerable stream, spanned at Broadway by a stone bridge, flowed across the island to the Hudson, Broadway grew rapidly. In 1820 the site of the St. Nicholas Hotel was occupied by a store, four dwelling houses, and a coach factory, the last of which was sunk below the level of the street. Back of the present hotel was a hill on which were the remains of an earthwork, thrown up during the Revolution. The hotel was erected in 1852. In 1823 the site of the Metropolitan Hotel was vacant. The block between Prince and Houston streets, on the west side, was occupied by two large houses, a garden, and several shanties.

On the east side of Broadway, above Bleecker street, was a fine pleasure resort, called "Vauxhall Garden." It was opened by a Frenchman named Delacroix, about the beginning of this century. The location was then beyond the city limits. The Bible House and Cooper Institute mark its eastern boundary. Lafayette Place was cut through it in 1837. Astor Place was its northern boundary, and the site of the Astor Library was within its limits. The entrance to the grounds was on Broadway.

From Astor Place, originally known as Art street, the progress of Broadway was rapid. By the year 1832, it was almost entirely built up to Union Square. In 1846, Grace Church was erected, the original edifice, built about 1800, having stood at the corner of Broadway and Rector streets, just below Trinity Church. In 1850, the Union Place Hotel, corner of Broadway and Fourteenth street, and in 1852, the St. Denis Hotel, corner of Broadway and Eleventh street, were built. Union Square was laid off originally in 1815, and in its present shape in 1832.

Above Union Square, Broadway was originally known as the Bloomingdale road, and was lined with farms and country seats. Madison Square was laid off about 1841. The Fifth Avenue Hotel was built about fifteen years later, and the remainder of the street is of very recent growth, possessing but little local interest.

Broadway has grown with the extension of the city northward. The upper blocks of buildings have always been dwelling houses or shanties, and these have given way steadily to the pressure of business below them. In a few years the entire street, from the Central Park to the Bowling Green, will be taken up with substantial and elegant structures suited to the growing needs of the great city. From the imperfect sketch of its history here presented, the reader will see that the growth of the street is divided into distinct periods. Under the Dutch it was built as far as Wall street. The next 100 years carried it to the Park, from which it extended to Duane street, reaching that point about the close of the Revolution. By the opening of the present century it had reached Canal street. Its next advance was to Astor Place. Thence it passed on to a point above Union Square, and thence by a rapid growth to the neighborhood of the Central Park.

II. DESCRIPTIVE.

The most wonderful street in the universe is Broadway. It is a world within itself. It extends throughout the entire length of the island, and is about sixty feet in width. Its chief attractions, however, lie between the Bowling Green and Thirty-fourth street.

[Picture: BROADWAY, AT THE CORNER OF ANN STREET.]

It 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 centring here. Opposite Wall street, and on the west side of Broadway, is Trinity Church and its graveyard. From Wall street to Ann street, Insurance Companies, Real Estate Agents, Banks, Bankers and Brokers predominate. At the southeast corner of Ann street is the magnificent Herald office, and adjoining it the Park Bank. Both buildings are of white marble, and the latter is one of the grandest in the Union. Immediately opposite are St. Paul's Church and graveyard, just above which is the massive granite front of the Astor House, occupying an entire block, from Vesey to Barclay streets. On the right hand side of the street, at the lower end of the Park, is the unfinished structure of the new Post Office, which will be one of the principal ornaments of the city. In the rear of this are the Park, and the City Hall. Back of the City Hall, and fronting on Chambers street, is the new County Court-House, which proved such a gold mine to the "Ring." Across the Park you may see Park Row and Printing-House Square, in which are located the offices of nearly all the great "dailies," and of many of the weekly papers. Old Tammany Hall once stood on this square at the corner of Frankfort street, but its site is now occupied by the offices of The Sun and Brick Pomeroy's Democrat--Arcades ambo.

[Picture: A. T. STEWART'S WHOLESALE STORE.]

Beyond the City Hall, at the northeast corner of Chambers street and Broadway, is "Stewart's marble dry goods palace," as it is called. This is the wholesale department of the great house of A. T. Stewart & Co., and extends from Chambers to Reade street. The retail department of this firm is nearly two miles higher up town. Passing along, one sees in glancing up and down the cross streets, long rows of marble, iron, and brown stone warehouses, stretching away for many blocks on either hand, and affording proof positive of the vastness and success of the business transacted in this locality. To the right we catch a distant view of the squalor and misery of the Five Points. On the right hand side of the street, between Leonard street and Catharine lane, is the imposing edifice of the New York Life Insurance Company, one of the noblest buildings ever erected by private enterprise. It is constructed of white marble.

Crossing Canal street, the widest and most conspicuous we have yet reached, we notice, on the west side, at the corner of Grand street, the beautiful marble building occupied by the wholesale department of Lord & Taylor, rivals of Stewart in the dry-goods trade. The immense brown stone building immediately opposite, is also a wholesale dry-goods house. Between Broome and Spring streets, on the west side, are the marble and brown stone buildings of the St. Nicholas Hotel. Immediately opposite is the Theatre Comique. On the northwest corner of Spring street is the Prescott House. On the southwest corner of Prince street is Ball & Black's palatial jewelry store. Diagonally opposite is the Metropolitan Hotel, in the rear of which is the theatre known as Niblo's Garden. In the block above the Metropolitan is the Olympic Theatre. On the west side, between Bleecker and Amity streets, is the huge Grand Central Hotel, one of the most conspicuous objects on the street. Two blocks above, on the same side, is the New York Hotel, immediately opposite which are Lina Edwin's and the Globe Theatres. On the east side of the street, and covering the entire block bounded by Broadway and Fourth avenue, and Ninth and Tenth streets, is an immense iron structure painted white. This is Stewart's retail store. It is always filled with ladies engaged in "shopping," and the streets around it are blocked with carriages. Throngs of elegantly and plainly dressed buyers pass in and out, and the whole scene is animated and interesting. Just above "Stewart's," on the same side, is Grace Church, attached to which is the parsonage. At the southwest corner of Eleventh street, is the St. Denis Hotel, and on the northwest corner is the magnificent iron building of the "Methodist Book Concern," the street floor of which is occupied by McCreery, one of the great dry-goods dealers of the city. At the northeast corner of Thirteenth street, is Wallack's Theatre. The upper end of the same block is occupied by the Union Square Theatre and a small hotel.

[Picture: NEW YORK LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY'S BUILDING.]

At Fourteenth street we enter Union Square, once a fashionable place of residence, but now giving way to business houses and hotels. Broadway passes around it in a northwesterly direction. On the west side of Union Square, at the southwest corner of Fifteenth street, is the famous establishment of Tiffany & Co., an iron building, erected at an immense cost, and filled with the largest and finest collection of jewelry, articles of vertu, and works of art in America. In the middle of the block above, occupying the ground floor of Decker's Piano Building, is Brentano's, the "great literary headquarters" of New York.

Leaving Union Square behind us, we pass into Broadway again at Seventeenth street. On the west side, occupying the entire block from Eighteenth to Nineteenth streets, is a magnificent building of white marble used by a number of retail merchants. The upper end, comprising nearly one half of the block, is occupied by Arnold, Constable & Co., one of the most fashionable retail dry-goods houses. At the southwest corner of Twentieth street, is the magnificent iron retail dry-goods store of Lord & Taylor--perhaps the most popular house in the city with residents. The "show windows" of this house are always filled with a magnificent display of the finest goods, and attract crowds of gazers.

At Twenty-third street, Broadway crosses Fifth avenue obliquely, going toward the northwest. At the northwest corner of Twenty-third street, and extending to Twenty-fourth street, is the Fifth Avenue Hotel, built of white marble, one of the finest and handsomest buildings of its kind in the world. Just opposite is Madison Square, extending from Fifth to Madison avenues. The block from Twenty-fourth to Twenty-fifth streets is occupied by the Albemarle and Hoffman Houses, in the order named, both of white marble. Just opposite, at the junction of Broadway and Fifth avenue, is a handsome granite obelisk, with appropriate ornaments in bronze, erected to the memory of General W. J. Worth. Immediately beyond this is the Worth House, fronting on Broadway and Fifth avenue. The vicinity of Madison Square is the brightest, prettiest, and liveliest portion of the great city. At the southwest corner of Twenty-sixth street is the St. James' Hotel, also of white marble, and just opposite is the "Stevens' House," an immense building constructed on the French plan of "flats," and rented in suites of apartments. Between Twenty-seventh and Twenty-eighth streets, on the west side, is the Coleman House. At the southeast corner of Twenty-ninth street is the Sturtevant House. At the northeast corner of Twenty-ninth street is the Gilsey House, a magnificent structure of iron, painted white. Diagonally opposite is Wood's Museum. At the southeast corner of Thirty-first street is the Grand Hotel, a handsome marble building. The only hotel of importance above this is the St. Cloud, at the southeast corner of Forty-second street.

At Thirty-fourth street, Broadway crosses Sixth avenue, and at Forty-fourth street it crosses Seventh avenue, still going in a northwesterly direction. It is but little improved above Thirty-fourth street, though it is believed the next few years will witness important changes in this quarter.

There are no street car tracks on Broadway below Fourteenth street, and in that section "stages," or omnibuses, monopolize the public travel. Several hundreds of these traverse the street from the lower ferries as far as Twenty-third street, turning off at various points into the side streets and avenues.

[Picture: BROADWAY, AS SEEN FROM THE ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL.]

Below Twenty-ninth street, and especially below Union Square, the street is built up magnificently. From Union Square to the Bowling Green, a distance of three miles, it is lined on each side with magnificent structures of marble, brown, Portland, and Ohio stones, granite, and iron. No street in the world surpasses it in the grandeur and variety of its architectural display. Some of the European cities contain short streets of greater beauty, and some of our American cities contain limited vistas as fine, but the great charm, the chief claim of Broadway to its fame, is the extent of its grand display. For three miles it presents an unbroken vista, and the surface is sufficiently undulating to enable one to command a view of the entire street from any point between Tenth street and the Bowling Green. Seen from one of the hotel balconies, the effect is very fine. The long line of the magnificent thoroughfare stretches away into the far distance. The street is thronged with a dense and rapidly moving mass of men, animals, and vehicles of every description. The effect is unbroken, but the different colors of the buildings give to it a variety that is startling and pleasing. In the morning the throng is all pouring one way--down town; and in the afternoon the tide flows in the opposite direction. Everybody is in a hurry at such times. Towards afternoon the crowd is more leisurely, for the promenaders and loungers are out. Then Broadway is in its glory.

Oftentimes the throng of vehicles is so dense that the streets are quickly "jammed." Carriages, wagons, carts, omnibuses, and trucks are packed together in the most helpless confusion. At such times the police are quickly on hand, and take possession of the street. The scene is thrilling. A stranger feels sure that this struggling mass of horses and vehicles can never be made to resume their course in good order, without loss of life or limb to man or beast, or to both, and the shouts and oaths of the drivers fairly bewilder him. In a few minutes, however, he sees a squad of gigantic policemen dash into the throng of vehicles. They are masters of the situation, and wo to the driver who dares disobey their sharp and decisive commands. The shouts and curses cease, the vehicles move on one at a time in the routes assigned them, and soon the street is clear again, to be "blocked" afresh, perhaps, in a similar manner in less than an hour. Upwards of 20,000 vehicles daily traverse this great thoroughfare.

It is always a difficult matter for a pedestrian to cross the lower part of 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 passage for them through the crowd of vehicles. A bridge was erected in 1866 at the corner of Fulton street, for the purpose of enabling pedestrians to pass over the heads of the throng in the streets. Few persons used it, however, except to witness the magnificent panorama of the street, and it was taken down.

Seen from the lofty spire of Trinity Church, the street presents a singular appearance. The perspective is closed by Grace Church, at Tenth street. The long lines of passers and carriages take distinct shapes, and seem like immense black bands moving slowly in opposite directions. The men seem like pigmies, and the horses like dogs. There is no confusion, however. The eye readily masses into one line all going in the same direction. Each one is hurrying on at the top of his speed, but from this lofty perch they all seem to be crawling at a snail's pace.

The display in the windows of the Broadway stores is rich, beautiful, and tempting. Jewels, silks, satins, laces, ribbons, household goods, silverware, toys, paintings, in short, rare, costly, and beautiful objects of every description greet the gazer on every hand. All that is necessary for the comfort of life, all that ministers to luxury and taste, can be found here in the great thoroughfare. And it is a mistake to suppose, as many persons do, that "Broadway prices" are higher than those of other localities. The best goods in the city are to be found here, and they bring only what they are worth, and no more. Yet it must not be supposed that all Broadway dealers are models of honesty. Everything has its price in the great street--even virtue and honesty. By the side of merchants whose names are synonymous for integrity are to be found some of the most cunning and successful scoundrels. Broadway is an eminently cheerful street. On every hand one sees evidences of prosperity and wealth. No unsuccessful man can remain in the street. Poverty and failure have no place there. Even sin shows its most attractive guise in Broadway.

[Picture: SATURDAY AFTERNOON CONCERT AT CENTRAL PARK.]

The side-walks are always crowded, even in the summer, when "everybody is out of town," and this throng of passers-by constitutes one of the most attractive features of the scene. Every class, every shade of nationality and character, is represented here. America, Europe, Asia, Africa, and even Oceanica, each has its representatives. High and low, rich and poor, pass along at a rate of speed peculiar to New York, and positively bewildering to a stranger. No one seems to think of any one but himself, and each one jostles his neighbor or brushes by him with an indifference amusing to behold. Fine gentlemen in broadcloth, ladies in silks and jewels, and beggars in squalid rags, are mingled in true Republican confusion. The bustle and uproar are very great, generally making it impossible to converse in an ordinary tone. From early morn till after midnight the throng pours on.

At night the scene is different, but still brilliant. The vehicles in the street consist almost entirely of carriages and omnibuses, each with its lamps of different colors. They go dancing down the long vista like so many fire-flies. The shop-windows are brightly lighted, and the monster hotels pour out a flood of radiance from their myriads of lamps. Here and there a brilliant reflector at the door of some theatre, sends its dazzling white rays streaming along the street for several blocks. Below Canal street Broadway is dark and silent, but above that point it is as bright as day, and fairly alive with people. Those who are out now are mostly bent on pleasure, and the street resounds with cheerful voices and merry laughter, over which occasionally rises a drunken howl. Strains of music or bursts of applause float out on the night air from places of amusement, not all of which are reputable. Here and there a crowd has collected to listen to the music and songs of some of the wandering minstrels with which the city abounds. Gaudily painted transparencies allure the unwary to the vile concert saloons in the cellars below the street. The restaurants and cafes are ablaze with light, and are liberally patronized by the lovers of good living. Here and there, sometimes alone, and sometimes in couples, you see women, mainly young, and all flashily dressed, walking rapidly, with a peculiar gait, and glancing quickly but searchingly at every man they pass. You can single them out at a glance from the respectable women who happen to be out alone at this time. They are the "street walkers," seeking companions from among the passers-by. Some of them are mere children, and the heart aches to see the poor creatures at their fearful work. The police do not allow these women to stop and converse with men on Broadway, and when they find a companion they turn off promptly into a side street, and disappear with him in the darkness.

Towards eleven o'clock the theatres pour out their throngs of spectators, who come to swell the crowd on Broadway, and for a little while the noise and confusion are almost as great as in the day. Then the restaurants will close, and the street will gradually become deserted and dark, tenanted only by the giant policemen; and for a few hours the great city will be wrapped in silence and slumber.

VI. SOCIETY.

I. ANALYTICAL.

All the world over, poverty is a misfortune. In New York it is a crime. Here, as in no other place in the country, men struggle for wealth. They toil, they suffer privations, they plan and scheme, and execute with a persistency that often wins the success they covet. The chief effort of every man and woman in the great city is to secure wealth. Man is a social being--woman much more so--and here wealth is an absolute necessity to the enjoyment of social pleasures. Society here is organized upon a pecuniary basis, and stands not as it should upon the personal merits of those who compose it, but upon a pile of bank-books. In other cities, poor men, who are members of families which command respect for their talents or other admirable qualities, or who have merit of their own sufficient to entitle them to such recognition, are welcomed into what are called the "Select Circles" with as much cordiality 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 the door of fashion open to him, while St. Peter himself, if he came "without purse or scrip," would see it closed in his face.

Society in New York is made up of many elements, the principal of which it is proposed to examine, but, unfortunately, wealth is the one thing needful in most of the classes into which it is divided. 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."

Those who claim precedence base their demand upon their descent from the original Dutch settlers, and style themselves "the old Knickerbockers." The majority of these are very wealthy, and have inherited their fortunes from their ancestors. They are owners of valuable real estate, much of which is located in the very heart of the city. The incomes derived from such property are large and certain. They are frequently persons of cultivation, and were it not for their affectation of superiority, would, as a class, be decidedly clever people, even if many of them are stupid. They make an effort to have their surroundings as clumsy and as old-fashioned as possible, as a mark of their Dutch descent. They sport crests and coats of arms such as the simple old Dutchmen of New Amsterdam never dreamed of; and rely more upon the merits of their forefathers than upon their own. They are extremely exclusive, and rarely associate with any but those who can "show as pure a pedigree." Their disdain of those whose families are not as "old" as their own is oftentimes amusing, and subjects them to ridicule, which they bear with true Dutch stolidity. They improve in their peculiar qualities with each generation, and the present pompous Knickerbocker who drives in the Park in solemn state in his heavy chariot, and looks down with disdain upon all whose blood is not as Dutch as his own, is a very different personage from his great ancestor, the original Knickerbocker, who hawked fish about the streets of New Amsterdam, or tanned leather down in "the swamp."

[Picture: A FASHIONABLE PROMENADE ON FIFTH AVENUE.]

Strange to say, the Knickerbocker class receives fresh additions every year. Each new comer has a Van to his name, and can show a string of portraits of yellow-faced worthies, in leather breeches, and ruffles, and wigs, which he points to with pride as his "ancestors." The statistician would be sorely perplexed in attempting to ascertain the number of Dutch settlers in New Amsterdam were he to trace back the pedigrees of the present Knickerbockers, for if the claims of the present generation be admitted, one of two things is sure--either the departed Dutchmen must have been more "numerous fathers" than they cared to admit at the time, or the original population has been underestimated.

The next in order are those who, while making no boast of family, are persons who have inherited large wealth from several generations of ancestors. Freed from the necessity of earning their livings, they have an abundance of leisure in which to cultivate the "small sweet courtesies of life." They are neither shoddyites nor snobs, and while there are many who do no credit to their class, they constitute one of the pleasantest portions of metropolitan society. They furnish some of the most agreeable men, and some of the most beautiful and charming women in the city. Their homes are elegant, and abound in evidences of the taste of their owners, who spend their money liberally in support of literature and the arts. Here are to be found some of the rarest works of European and American masters. Unfortunately this class of New Yorkers is not very large. It is destined to increase, however, with the growth of wealth in the city. Good men, who have begun where the forefathers of these people started, will constantly contribute their children to swell this class, in which will always be collected those who unite true merit to great wealth, those who are proud of their country and its institutions, contented with its customs, and possessed of too much good sense to try to add to their importance by a ridiculous assumption of "aristocratic birth," or a pitiful imitation of the manners of the great of other lands.

The third class may be said to consist of those who value culture and personal excellence above riches. There is not much individual wealth in this class, but its members may be regarded as "persons in comfortable circumstances." They are better educated, have more correct tastes, and do the most to give to New York society its best and most attractive features. It is a class to which merit is a sure passport. It is modest and unassuming, free from ostentatious parade, and, fortunately, is growing rapidly. It is made up of professional men of all kinds, clergymen, lawyers, poets, authors, physicians, painters, sculptors, journalists, scientific men, and actors, and their families. Its tone is vigorous and healthy, and it is sufficiently free from forms to make it independent, and possessed of means enough to enable it to pursue its objects without hindrance.

The remainder of those who constitute what is called society are the "New Rich," or as they are sometimes termed, the "Shoddyites." They constitute the majority of the fashionables, and their influence is felt in every department of domestic life. They are ridiculed by every satirist, yet they increase. Every year makes fresh accessions to their ranks, and their follies and extravagances multiply in proportion. They occupy the majority of the mansions in the fashionable streets, crowd the public thoroughfares and the Park with their costly and showy equipages, and flaunt their wealth so coarsely and offensively in the faces of their neighbors, that many good people have come to believe that riches and vulgarity are inseparable. They make themselves the most conspicuous, and are at once accepted by strangers as the "best society" of the metropolis.

They are almost without exception persons who have risen from the ranks. This is not to their discredit. On the contrary, every American is proud to boast that this is emphatically the land of self-made men, that here it is within the power of any one to rise as high in the social or political scale 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 a shopkeeper.

Some of the "fashionables" appear very unexpectedly before the world. But a short while ago a family may have been living in the humbler quarter of the city, or even 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 humble abode to a mansion on Fifth or Madison avenue. The newly acquired wealth is liberally expended in "fitting up," and the lucky possessors of it boldly burst upon the world of fashion as stars of the first magnitude. They are courted by all the newly rich, and invitations to the houses of other "stars" are showered upon them. They may be rude, ignorant, uncouth in manner, but they have wealth, and that is all that is required. They are lucky indeed, if they hold their positions long. A few manage to retain the wealth which comes to them thus suddenly, but as a 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 the same fate.

During the oil speculations, and during the war, the shoddy class was largely increased by those who were made suddenly and unexpectedly rich by lucky ventures in petroleum lands and stocks, and by army contracts. Now other speculations provide recruits for this class, to which Wall street is constantly sending fresh "stars" to blaze awhile in the firmament of society, and then to make way for others. The shoddy element is not, however, confined to those who acquire wealth with rapidity or by speculations. There are many who rise very slowly and painfully in the world, 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, making up in display what they lack in taste. They cover themselves with jewels, and their diamonds, worn on ordinary occasions, might in some instances rival the state gems of European sovereigns. Their rough, hard hands, coarse faces, loud voices, bad English, and vulgar manners contrast strikingly with the splendors with which they surround themselves. They wear their honors uneasily, showing how little they are accustomed to such things. They look down with disdain upon all less fortunate in wealth than themselves, and worship as demi-gods those whose bank accounts are larger than their own. They are utterly lacking in personal dignity, and substitute for that quality a supercilious hauteur.

II. FASHIONABLE EXTRAVAGANCE.

Extravagance is the besetting sin of New York society. Money is absolutely thrown away. Fortunes are spent every year in dress and in all sorts of follies. Houses are fitted up and furnished in the most sumptuous style, the building and its contents being sometimes worth a million of dollars. 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 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 his or her acquaintances. Those who have studied the matter find no slight cause for alarm in the rapid spread of extravagance among all classes of the city people, for the evil is not confined to the wealthy. They might afford it, but people of moderate means, who cannot properly make such a heavy outlay, are among those most guilty of the fault.

In no other city of the land is there to be seen such magnificent dressing on the part of the ladies as in New York. The amount of money and time expended here on dress is amazing. There are two objects in view in all this--the best dressed woman at a ball or party is not only sure to outshine her sisters there present, but is certain to have the satisfaction next day of seeing her magnificence celebrated in some of the city journals. Her vanity and love of distinction are both gratified in this way, and such a triumph is held to be worth any expense. There is not an evening gathering but is graced by the presence of ladies clad in a style of magnificence which reminds one of the princesses in the fairy tales. Says a recent writer:

"It is almost impossible to estimate the number of dresses a very fashionable woman will have. Most women in society can afford to dress as it pleases them, since they have unlimited amounts of money at their disposal. Among females dress is the principal part of society. What would Madam Mountain be without her laces and diamonds, or Madam Blanche without her silks and satins? Simply commonplace old women, past their prime, destined to be wall-flowers. A fashionable woman has just as many new dresses as the different times she goes into society. The elite do not wear the same dresses twice. If you can tell us how many receptions she has in a year, how many weddings she attends, how many balls she participates in, how many dinners she gives, how many parties she goes to, how many operas and theatres she patronizes, we can approximate somewhat to the size and cost of her wardrobe. It is not unreasonable to suppose that she has two new dresses of some sort for every day in the year, or 720. Now to purchase all these, to order them made, and to put them on afterward, consumes a vast amount of time. Indeed, the woman of society does little but don and doff dry-goods. For a few brief hours she flutters the latest tint and mode in the glare of the gas-light, and then repeats the same operation the next night. She must have one or two velvet dresses which cannot cost less than $500 each; she must possess thousands of dollars' worth of laces, in the shape of flounces, to loop up over the skirts of dresses, as occasion shall require. Walking-dresses cost from $50 to $300; ball-dresses are frequently imported from Paris at a cost of from $500 to a $1000; while wedding-dresses may cost from $1000 to $5000. Nice white Llama jackets can be had for $60; robes princesse, or overskirts of lace, are worth from $60 to $200. Then there are travelling-dresses in black silk, in pongee, velour, in pique, which range in price from $75 to $175. Then there are evening robes in Swiss muslin, robes in linen for the garden and croquet-playing, dresses for horse-races and for yacht-races, robes de nuit and robes de chambre, dresses for breakfast and for dinner, dresses for receptions and for parties, dresses for watering-places, and dresses for all possible occasions. A lady going to the Springs takes from twenty to sixty dresses, and fills an enormous number of Saratoga trunks. They are of every possible fabric--from Hindoo muslin, 'gaze de soie,' crape maretz, to the heavy silks of Lyons.

"We know the wife of the editor of one of the great morning newspapers of New York, now travelling in Europe, whose dress-making bill in one year was $10,000! What her dry-goods bill amounted to heaven and her husband only know. She was once stopping at a summer hotel, and such was her anxiety to always appear in a new dress that she would frequently come down to dinner with a dress basted together just strong enough to last while she disposed of a little turtle-soup, a little Charlotte de Russe, and a little ice cream.

"Mrs. Judge ---, of New York, is considered one of the 'queens of fashion.' She is a goodly-sized lady--not quite so tall as Miss Anna Swan, of Nova Scotia--and she has the happy faculty of piling more dry-goods upon her person than any other lady in the city; and what is more, she keeps on doing it. To give the reader a taste of her quality, it is only necessary to describe a dress she wore at the Dramatic Fund Ball, not many years ago. There was a rich blue satin skirt, en train. Over this there was looped up a magnificent brocade silk, white, with bouquets of flowers woven in all the natural colors. This overskirt was deeply flounced with costly white lace, caught up with bunches of feathers of bright colors. About her shoulders was thrown a fifteen-hundred dollar shawl. She had a head-dress of white ostrich feathers, white lace, gold pendants, and purple velvet. Add to all this a fan, a bouquet of rare flowers, a lace handkerchief, and jewelry almost beyond estimate, and you see Mrs. Judge --- as she appears when full blown.

"Mrs. General --- is a lady who goes into society a great deal. She has a new dress for every occasion. The following costume appeared at the Charity Ball, which is the great ball of the year in New York. It was imported from Paris for the occasion, and was made of white satin, point lace, and a profusion of flowers. The skirt had heavy flutings of satin around the bottom, and the lace flounces were looped up at the sides with bands of the most beautiful pinks, roses, lilies, forget-me-nots, and other flowers.

"It is nothing uncommon to meet in New York society ladies who have on dry-goods and jewelry to the value of from thirty to fifty thousand dollars. Dress patterns of twilled satin, the ground pale green, pearl, melon color, or white, scattered with sprays of flowers in raised velvet, sell for $300 dollars each; violet poult de soie will sell for $12 dollars a yard; a figured moire will sell for $200 the pattern; a pearl-colored silk, trimmed with point applique lace, sells for $1000; and so we might go on to an almost indefinite length."

Those who think this an exaggerated picture have only to apply to the proprietor of any first-class city dry-goods store, and he will confirm its truthfulness. These gentlemen will tell you that while their sales of staple goods are heavy, they are proportionately lighter than the sales of articles of pure luxury. At Stewart's the average sales of silks, laces, velvets, shawls, gloves, furs, and embroideries is about $24,500 per diem. The sales of silks alone average about $15,000 per diem.

A few years ago the dwelling of a wealthy citizen of New York was consumed by fire. The owner of the mansion soon after applied to a prominent Insurance Company for the payment of the sum of $21,000, the amount of the risk they had taken on the wearing apparel of his daughter, a young lady well known in society for the splendor of her attire. The company refused to pay so large a sum, and protested that the lady in question could not have possessed so costly a wardrobe. Suit was brought by the claimant, and, as a matter of course, an enumeration of the articles destroyed and their value was made to the court. The list was as follows, and is interesting as showing the mysteries of a fashionable lady's wardrobe:

6 silk robes--red, enamelled, $950 green, blue, yellow, pink, black--with fringes, ruches, velvets, lace trimmings, etc. 1 blue Marie Louise 300 gros-de-Naples, brocaded with silver taken from the looms of Lyons; cost, without a stitch in it Silver bullion fringe tassels and 200 real lace to match 1 rose-colored satin, brocaded in $400 white velvet, with deep flounce of real blonde lace, half-yard wide; sleeves and bertha richly trimmed with the same rose-colored satin ribbon; satin on each side, with silk cord and tassel; lined throughout body, skirt and sleeves with white silk 1 white satin of exceedingly rich 2500 quality, trimmed with blonde and bugles; two flounces of very deep point d'Alencon, sleeves of the same, reaching down to the elbows, and bertha to match, with white bugles and blonde to match 1 royal blue satin dress, 1500 trimmed, apron-shape, with black Brussels lace and gold and bugle trimmings, with one flounce, going all around the skirt, of black Brussels lace; body and sleeves to match; sleeves looped up with blue velvet roses set in lace, to imitate a bouquet 1 dove-colored satin dress, 425 trimmed with velvet, half-yard deep; a long trail with the velvet going all around, with llama fringe and dove-colored acorns, forming a heading to the velvet, and going all up the skirt and around the long Greek sleeves; the sleeves lined with white satin and quills of silver ribbon going around the throat; lined throughout with white silk, having belonging to it a cloak and hood, lined and trimmed to match; made in Paris 1 black Mantua velvet robe, long 500 train, sleeves hanging down as far as the knees, open, lined with white satin, and trimmed all round with seed-pearls, as well as all round the top of low body--the seed-pearls forming clusters of leaves going down front of skirt and all round the skirt and train 1 rich moire-antique dress, 400 embroidered in gold from the body to the skirt and sleeves and all round, taken up and fastened up with gold embroidery to imitate the folds and wrinkles of the dress, trimmed round the edge with white Brussels lace, having an underskirt of amber satin trimmed with Brussels lace, to show underneath; lined throughout with silk 1 large Brussels shawl, of 700 exquisite fineness and elegance of design, to go with it 1 crimson velvet dress, lined 400 throughout with rose-colored silk; train very long, trimmed with rich silk, blonde lace covering the entire train, being carried around and brought up the front of the dress and body, forming the bertha; and sleeves looped up with white roses; turquoise fan and slippers to match 1 blue mercantique (lined), low 200 body, trimmed with Honiton lace, body and sleeves; one piece of silk to match, unmade, intended for high body, and bons; sleeves slashed open and lined with white satin 1 rose-colored robe, with $250 flounces; high and low body, having fringe and trimming woven to imitate Russian fur; both bodies trimmed with fringe ribbons and narrow lace 1 mauve-colored glace silk, 180 braided and bugled all around the bottom of skirt, on the front of body, around the band of Garibaldi body, down the sleeves and round the cuffs of Garibaldi body; the low body, with bertha deeply braided and bugled, with sleeves to match; long sash, with end and bows and belts, all richly braided and bugled with thread lace 1 vraie couleur de rose 300 gros-de-Naples, with flounces richly brocaded with bouquet in natural size and color, made to represent the same in panels, trimmed with gimp and fringe to match; also, high and low body, with bertha and trimmings to match 1 pink morning robe, very superb, 250 trimmed down the side with white satin a quarter of a yard wide, sleeves trimmed to match, satin-stitched, with flounces in pink silk on edge of satin, passementerie cord and tassels 1 gold-colored silk aersphane, 100 with three skirts, each skirt trimmed with quillings of yellow satin ribbon, looped up with pink roses: body to match, trimmed with silk blonde; white blonde round the neck; satin quillings; silk blonde on the sleeves, and lace and yellow satin; rich underskirt to match 2 very richly embroidered French 100 cambric morning-dresses, with bullion and heavy satin ribbons running through; one lined throughout with pink, the other with blue silk 1 rich black silk glace, trimmed 200 with bugles and black velvet 1 blue-black Irish silk poplin, 125 made in Gabrielle style, trimmed with scarlet velvet all round the skirt; sleeves and body-belt and buckle to match 1 Cashmere, shawl pattern, 100 morning-dress, lined; sleeves and flies lined with red silk, cord and tassels to match; not twice on 1 white Swiss muslin, with double 90 skirt and ribbon running through the upper and lower hems of each skirt, of pink satin; body with Greek sleeves to match 1 straw-colored silk dress, 80 trimmed with black velvet, and body of the same 1 white Swiss muslin robe, with 95 one plain skirt and one above, graduated by larger and smaller tucks to imitate three flounces; the sleeves with puffs, and long sleeves with tucks, down and across to match skirts, and Garibaldi body made to match; one pink satin under-body to go with it 1 white Swiss muslin dress, with 90 three flounces, quilled and tucked, graduated one above the other, with headings of lace on the top of each flounce; low body, with tuck, bretelles and broad colored sarsnet ribbon 1 India muslin dress, very full, $110 embroidered to imitate three flounces; and Greek body and sleeves, also embroidered to match sky-blue skirt and body to go underneath 1 India muslin dress, double 90 skirt, richly embroidered, with high jacket and long sleeves embroidered to match 1 pink satin skirt and bodice, to 25 go underneath 1 white long morning dress, 60 embroidered round the skirt and up the front, in two flounces, one hanging over the other; sleeves and cuffs to match 1 white muslin, with white spots, 80 skirt and bodice trimmed with bullion and narrow real Valenciennes lace 2 white cambric morning-dresses, 275 one very richly embroidered, in wheels and flounces; and jacket to match 1 white Swiss muslin jacket, very 100 richly embroidered; skirt and bodice to match 3 cambric tight-fitting jackets, 120 with collar and sleeves very richly embroidered, to imitate old Spanish point 5 Marie Antoinettes, made 300 entirely of French muslin, with triple bullion and double face; pink satin ribbon running through. Cost $60 each 1 pique morning dress and jacket, 75 richly embroidered 1 pique skirt, richly embroidered 50 6 fine Swiss muslin skirts, four 55 yards in each, trimmed with two rows of real lace, to set in full, finely finished 2 very rich bastistes, for 120 morning-dresses 2 very fine cambric skirts, 60 delicately embroidered, to wear with open morning-dresses 2 fine linen skirts, embroidered 40 in open work 2 silk grenadine dresses, trimmed 200 with Maltese lace and velvet; two bodices to match, blue and green 2 silk bareges, trimmed with 200 velvet and fringe, and bodice to match 1 Scotch catlin silk full dress, 100 Stewart, trimmed with black velvet and fringe, made to match colors of dress 3 Balmoral skirts, very elegant, 90 embroidered in silk 1 ponceau silk dress, trimmed 250 with llama fringe and gold balls; body and sleeves very richly trimmed to match 1 blue silk to match, trimmed 250 with steel fringe and bugles; body and sleeves richly trimmed 1 French muslin jacket, with 40 lapels and sleeves to turn back, very heavily embroidered 1 set point d'Alencon, consisting 120 of shirt sleeves, handkerchief, and collar 1 point d'Alencon extra large 100 handkerchief 1 set Honiton lace, consisting of $80 handkerchief, collar, and sleeves 1 set Maltese lace, consisting of 300 handkerchief, collar, velvet cape 1 set Irish point lace, very 80 rich, consisting of wide, deep sleeves, handkerchief and collar 1 cape of ditto, going up to the 35 neck and shut at the back 2 black lace mantillas 40 1 black lace jacket 15 1 cape, composed of Valenciennes 75 lace 2 dozen very rich embroidered 120 cambric chemises, with lace 6 ditto, with puffed bullions in 100 front 18 Irish linen chemises, with 200 very rich fronts 7 Irish linen, embroidered 40 1 dozen night-dresses, very rich 216 fronts 3 linen ditto, very rich 75 1 dozen embroidered drawers 72 2 very rich ditto 50 11 new pairs silk stockings, in 40 box 1 dozen Lisle thread stockings 20 9 pairs boots and shoes 45 3 pairs embroidered slippers, 40 very rich, in gold 1 pair Irish point lace sleeves 30 (extra) 1 black velvet embroidered 450 mantilla, imported 1 ditto, silk, embroidered with 100 bugles, imported 1 glace silk, tight-fitting 65 basque, with black zeplore lace cape; trimmed in every width with narrow lace to match 1 black silk Arab, with two 25 tassels 1 dust-wrapper, from Cashmere 18 4 magnificent opera-cloaks 175 1 red scarlet cloth cloak, 12 trimmed with yellow cord 1 cloth, drab-color cloak 8 1 cloak, with hood lined with 10 silk 2 dozen cambric, embroidered, 24 with name Fanny 1 set Russian sable muffs, cape 100 and boa 1 tortoise shell comb, made in 50 one piece and very rich 6 fancy combs 30 1 very rich mother-of-pearl, gold 85 inlaid, and vol. feathers beautifully painted by hand 1 fan of mother-of pearl, inlaid 45 in gold, with silk and white and Job's spangles 1 blue mother-of-pearl, with 35 looking-glass; imitation ruby and emeralds 6 other fans, of various kinds 25 1 parasol, all ivory handle 100 throughout, engraved with name in full, covering of silk and Irish point lace, very fine, covering the entire parasol Several other parasols $25 1 real gold head-ornament, 100 representing the comet and eclipse appearing About twenty hair-nets, silver, 40 gold, and all colors and pearls 4 ladies' bonnets, some 100 exceedingly elegant 1 box marabout feathers, for 50 dressing the hair 1 box artificial flowers l5 1 lot new ribbon, for sashes; 35 velvet, silk, and satin 1 small miniature model piano, 50 played by mechanism, from Vienna 1 lady's writing-desk, inlaid 200 with tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl, lined with silk velvet, with compartments and secretary; carved mother-of-pearl paper-knife, gold seal, gold pencil, case full of fancy writing paper; made in Paris 1 bula work-box, elegant; inlaid 125 with silver and lined with ci-satin, fitted with gold thimble, needle, scissors, pen-knife, gold bodkin, cotton winders; outside to match French piano 1 long knitting-case to match the 40 above, fitted with needles, beads and silk of every description 1 papier-mache work-box, and 5 fitted up 1 morocco work-bag, ornamented 3 with bright steel; fitted up with scissors, thimble, etc 1 lady's Russia leather 15 shopping-bag, with silver and gilt clasps for chain and key 1 18-karat gold filigree 20 card-case 1 set gold whist-markers, in 50 hands on little box, a present unto her 1 lady's small work-bag, silk 5 fittings 1 solid silver porte-monnaie 19 1 little blue porte-monnaie; 3 velvet, and cords and tassel 1 ladies' companion, with fixings 45 in silver; a present 1 hair-pin stand; a small 14 book-case, with small drawers and mirror 1 basket of mother-of-pearl, and 35 gilt and red satin, full of wax-flowers 1 elegant Bible in gilt, edge 30 mounted in gold 43 volumes various miniature 100 books, bound most elegantly in morocco, and brought as a present from Europe 1 silver pin-cushion and sewer 23 for fastening on the table 1 elegant, richly carved ivory 400 work-table, brought from Mexico, inside fitted up with silk and different compartments, standing three feet high 1 lady's solid silver rutler, 25 from Mexico 1 gilt head-ornament, 3 representing a dagger 1 lady's English dressing-case, $250 solid silver fittings, English make and stamp, rosewood, bound with brass and gilt, fitted and lined with silver 1 pair rich carved ivory hair 155 brushes, engraved with name and crest 1 ditto engraved and crest 55 1 small ivory hair-brush 12 1 ebony hair-brush, inlaid with 20 mother-of-pearl 1 Berlin-wool worked cushion 50 1 sewing-chair, elegantly 75 embroidered seat and back 1 Berlin-wool Affghan 100 1 fire-screen, Berlin work, 125 beads, representing Charles II. hunting 1 large sole-leather trunk, about 250 four feet long and three feet deep, lined with red morocco, handsomely ornamented in gold, embossed on the red morocco, with seven compartments; very scientifically constructed for the necessities of a lady's wardrobe, with springs to hold open each compartment; and the lace compartment could, at pleasure, be rested on two steel legs, covered with gilt embossed morocco, representing a writing table, with a portfolio, containing writing materials; it had two large French patent locks 1 lady's travelling trunk, with 73 cover, containing a quantity of worn dresses, zouave cloth and gold, druided jacket cloaks, woollen ditto, opera cloak, etc Total $21,000

Such lavish expenditure is a natural consequence of a state of society where wealth is the main distinction. Mrs. John Smith's position as a leader of the ton is due exclusively to her great riches and her elaborate displays. Mrs. Richard Roe will naturally try to outshine her, and thus rise above her in the social scale. Many persons seeking admission into such society, and finding wealth the only requisite, will make any sacrifice to accomplish their end. If they have not wealth they will affect to have it. They could not counterfeit good birth, or high breeding, but they can assume the appearance of being wealthy. They can conduct themselves, for a while at least, in a manner utterly disproportioned to their means, and so they go on, until their funds and credit being exhausted, they are forced to drop out of the circles in which they have moved, and the so-called friends who valued them only for their supposed wealth, instantly forget that they ever knew them. No more invitations are left for them, they are not even tolerated in "good society," and are "cut" on the street as a matter of course.

Not a year passes but records the failure of some prominent business man in New York. His friends are sorry for him, and admit that he was prudent and industrious in his business. "His family did it," they tell you, shaking their heads. "They lived too fast. Took too much money to run the house, to dress, and to keep up in society." Only the All Seeing Eye can tell how many men who stand well in the mercantile community are tortured continually by the thought that their extravagance or that of their families is bringing them to sure and certain ruin; for not even in New York can a man live beyond his actual means. They have not the moral courage to live within their legitimate incomes. To do so would be to lose their positions in society, and they go on straining every nerve to meet the demands upon them, and then the crash comes, and they are ruined.

Those who dwell in the great city, and watch its ways with observant eyes, see many evils directly attributable to the sin of extravagance. These evils are not entirely of a pecuniary nature. There are others of a more terrible character. Keen observers see every day women whose husbands and fathers are in receipt of limited incomes, dressing as if their means were unlimited. All this magnificence is not purchased out of the lawful income of the husband or father. The excess is made up in other ways--often by the sacrifice of the woman's virtue. She finds a man willing to pay liberally for her favors, and carries on an intrigue with him, keeping her confiding husband in ignorance of it all the while. She may have more than one lover--perhaps a dozen. When a woman sins from motives such as these, she does not stop to count the cost. Her sole object is to get money, and she gets it. It is this class of nominally virtuous married and unmarried women that support the infamous houses of assignation to be found in the city.

The curse of extravagance does not manifest itself in dress alone. One cannot enter the residence of a single well-to-do person in the city without seeing evidences of it. The house is loaded with the richest and rarest of articles, all intended for show, and which are oftentimes arranged without the least regard to taste. The object is to make the house indicate as much wealth on the part of its owner as possible. It makes but little difference whether the articles are worth what was paid for them, or whether they are arranged artistically--if the sum total is great, the owner is satisfied. It is a common thing to see the walls of some elegant mansion disfigured with frescoes, which, though executed at an enormous cost, are utterly without merit or taste. Again one sees dozens of paintings, bought for works of the old masters, lining the walls of the richest mansions of the city, which are the merest daubs, and the works of the most unscrupulous Bohemians. Not long since, a collection of paintings was offered for sale in New York, the owner being dead. They had been collected at great expense, and were the pride of their former owner. With a few exceptions they were wretched copies, and in the whole lot, over five hundred in number, there were not six genuine "old masters," or "masters" of any age.

Entertainments are given in the most costly style. From ten to twenty thousand dollars are spent in a single evening in this way. At a fashionable party from twelve to fifteen hundred dollars' worth of champagne is consumed, besides other wines and liquors. Breakfasts are given at a cost of from one to three thousand dollars; suppers at a still higher cost. This represents the expense to the host of the entertainment; but does not cover the cost of the toilettes to be provided for the family, which make up several thousand dollars more.

Suppers or dinners are favorite entertainments, and the outlay required for them is oftentimes very heavy. The host frequently provides nothing but viands imported from foreign lands. Sets of china of great cost, or of silver equally expensive, or even of gold, are displayed ostentatiously. Sometimes the supper-room is entirely refitted in red, blue, or gold, everything, even the lights and flowers, being of one color, in order that the affair may be known as Mrs. A---'s red, blue, or gold supper. Some of the most extravagant entertainers will place at the side of each cover an exquisite bouquet inside of which is a costly present of jewelry.

All this reckless expenditure in the midst of so much sorrow and suffering in the great city! "The bitter cold of winter," says the Manager of the 'Children's Aid Society,' in his appeal for help, "and the freezing storms have come upon thousands of the poor children of this city, unprepared. They are sleeping in boxes, or skulking in doorways, or shivering in cellars without proper clothing, or shoes, and but half-fed. Many come bare-footed through the snow to our industrial schools. Children have been known to fall fainting on the floor of these schools through want of food. Hundreds enter our lodging-houses every night, who have no home. Hundreds apply to our office for a place in the country, who are ragged, half-starved, and utterly unbefriended."

III. FASHIONABLE FOLLIES.

We have spoken of the women of fashion. What shall we say of the men? They are neither refined nor intellectual. They have a certain shrewdness coupled, perhaps, with the capacity for making money. Their conversation is coarse, ignorant, and sometimes indecent. They have not the tact which enables women to adapt themselves at once to their surroundings, and they enjoy their splendors with an awkwardness which they seek to hide beneath an air of worldly wisdom. They patronize the drama liberally, but their preference is for what Olive Logan calls "the leg business." In person they are coarse-looking. Without taste of their own, they are totally dependent upon their tailors for their "style," and are nearly all gotten up on the same model. They are capital hands at staring ladies out of countenance, and are masters of all the arts of insolence. Society cannot make gentlemen out of them do what it will. As John Hibbs would say, "they were not brought up to it young." They learn to love excitement, and finding even the reckless whirl of fashion too stale for them, seek gratification out of their own homes. They become constant visitors at the great gaming-houses, and are the best customers of the bagnios of the city.

If men have their dissipations, the women have theirs also. Your fashionable woman generally displays more tact than her husband. She has greater opportunities for display, and makes better use of them. If the ball, or party, or sociable at her residence is a success, the credit is hers exclusively, for the husband does little more than pay the bills. Many of these women are "from the ranks." They have risen with their husbands, and are coarse and vulgar in appearance, and without refinement. But the women of fashion are not all vulgar or unrefined. Few of them are well educated, but the New York woman of fashion, as a rule, is not only very attractive in appearance, but capable of creating a decided impression upon the society in which she moves. She is thoroughly mistress of all its arts, she knows just when and where to exercise them to the best advantage, she dresses in a style the magnificence of which is indescribable, and she has tact enough to carry her through any situation. Yet, in judging her, one must view her as a butterfly, as a mere creature of magnificence and frivolity. Don't seek to analyze her character as a wife or mother. You may find that the marriage vow is broken on her part as well as on her husband's; and you will most probably find that she has sacrificed her soul to the demands of fashion, and "prevented the increase of her family" by staining her hands in the blood of her unborn children. Or, if she be guiltless of this crime, she is a mother in but one sense--that of bearing children. Fashion does not allow her to nurse them. She cannot give to her own flesh and blood the time demanded of her by her "duties in society;" so from their very birth the little innocents are committed to the care of hirelings, and they grow up without her care, removed from the ennobling effect of a mother's constant watchful presence, and they add to the number of idle, dissolute men and women of fashion, who are a curse to the city.

Your fashionable woman is all art. She is indeed "fearfully and wonderfully made." She is a compound frequently of false hair, false teeth, padding of various kinds, paint, powder and enamel. Her face is "touched up," or painted and lined by a professional adorner of women, and she utterly destroys the health of her skin by her foolish use of cosmetics. A prominent Broadway dealer in such articles sells thirteen varieties of powder for the skin, eight kinds of paste, and twenty-three different washes. Every physical defect is skilfully remedied by "artists;" each of whom has his specialty. So common has the habit of resorting to these things become, that it is hard to say whether the average woman of fashion is a work of nature or a work of art. Men marry such women with a kind of "taking the chances" feeling, and if they get a natural woman think themselves lucky.

IV. FASHIONABLE CHILDREN.

As it is the custom in fashionable society in New York to prevent the increase of families, it is natural no doubt to try to destroy childhood in those who are permitted to see the light.

The fashionable child of New York is made a miniature man or woman at the earliest possible period of its life. It does not need much labor, however, to develop "Young America" in the great metropolis. He is generally ready to go out into the world at a very tender age. Our system of society offers him every facility in his downward career. When but a child he has his own latch-key; he can come and go when he pleases; he attends parties, balls, dancing-school, the theatre and other evening amusements as regularly and independently as his elders, and is rarely called upon by "the Governor," as he patronizingly terms his father, to give any account of himself. He has an abundance of pocket-money, and is encouraged in the lavish expenditure of it. He cultivates all the vices of his grown-up friends; and thinks church going a punishment and religion a bore. He engages in his dissipations with a recklessness that makes old sinners envious of his "nerve." His friends are hardly such as he could introduce into his home. He is a famous "hunter of the tiger," and laughs at his losses. He has a mistress, or perhaps several; sneers at marriage, and gives it as his opinion that there is not a virtuous woman in the land. When he is fairly of age he has lost his freshness, and is tired of life. His great object now is to render his existence supportable.

Girls are forced into womanhood by fashion even more rapidly than boys into manhood. They are dressed in the most expensive manner from their infancy, and without much regard to their health. Bare arms and necks, and short skirts are the rule, even in the bleakest weather, for children's parties, or for dancing-school, and so the tender frames of the little ones are subjected to an exposure that often sows the seeds of consumption and other disease. The first thing the child learns is that it is its duty to be pretty--to look its best. It is taught to value dress and show as the great necessities of existence, and is trained in the most extravagant habits. As the girl advances towards maidenhood, she is forced forward, and made to look as much like a woman as possible. Her education is cared for after a fashion, but amounts to very little. She learns to play a little on some musical instrument, to sing a little, to paint a little--in short she acquires but a smattering of everything she undertakes. She is left in ignorance of the real duties of a woman's life--the higher and nobler part of her existence. She marries young, and one of her own set, and her married life is in keeping with her girlhood. She is a creature in which nothing has been fully developed but the passions and the nerves. Her physical constitution amounts to nothing, and soon gives way. Her beauty goes with her health, and she is forced to resort to all manner of devices to preserve her attractions.

It is a habit in New York to allow children to give large entertainments at fashionable resorts, without the restraining presence of their elders. Here crowds of boys and girls of a susceptible age assemble under the intoxicating influence of music, gas-light, full dress, late suppers, wines and liquors. Sometimes this juvenile dissipation has been carried so far that it has been sharply rebuked by the public press.

V. A FASHIONABLE BELLE.

An English writer gives the following clever sketch of a fashionable young lady of New York, whom he offers as a type of the "Girl of the Period:"

"Permit me to present you to Miss Flora Van Duysen Briggs. Forget Shakspeare's dictum about a name; there is a story attached to this name which I shall tell you by and by. Miss Flora is a typical New York girl of the period; between sixteen and seventeen years old; a little under the medium height; hair a golden brown; eyes a violet blue; cheeks and lips rosy; teeth whiter and brighter than pearls; hands and feet extremely small and well-shaped; figure petite but exquisitely proportioned; toilette in the latest mode de Paris; but observe, above all, that marvellous bloom upon her face, which American girls share with the butterfly, the rose, the peach and the grape, and in which they are unequalled by any other women in the world.

"Miss Flora's biography is by no means singular. Her father is Ezra Briggs, Esq., a provision merchant in the city. Twenty-five years ago, Mr. Briggs came to New York from one the Eastern States, with a common-school education, sharp sense, and no money. He borrowed a newspaper, found an advertisement for a light porter, applied for and obtained the situation, rose to be clerk, head-clerk, and small partner, and fagged along very comfortably until the Civil War broke out, and made his fortune. His firm secured a government contract, for which they paid dearly, and for which they made the Government pay dearer. Their pork was bought for a song, and sold for its weight in greenbacks. Their profits averaged 300 per cent. They were more fatal to the soldiers than the bullets of the enemy. One consignment of their provisions bred a cholera at Fortress Monroe, and robbed the Union of 15,000 brave men. Their enemies declared that the final defeat of the Southerners was owing to the capture of 1000 barrels of Briggs's mess beef by General Lee. But Briggs was rolling in wealth, and could afford to smile at such taunts.

"Flora's mother had been a Miss Van Duysen. She was a little, weak, useless woman, very proud of her name, which seemed to connect her in some way with the old Dutch aristocracy. In point of fact, Briggs married her on this account; for, like most democrats, he is very fond of anything aristocratic. Mrs. Briggs, nee Van Duysen, has nothing Dutch about her but her name. The Knickerbockers of New York were famous for their thrift, their economy, their neatness, and, above all, their housewifely virtues. Mrs. Briggs is thriftless, extravagant, dowdy in her old age, although she had been a beauty in her youth, and knows as little about keeping a house as she does about keeping a horse. During the war, at a fair given for the benefit of the Sanitary Commission, in Union Square, several Knickerbocker ladies organized a kitchen upon the old Dutch model, and presided there in the costumes of their grandmothers. Mrs. Briggs was placed upon the committee of management, but declined to serve, on account of the unbecoming costume she was invited to wear, and because she considered it unladylike to sit in a kitchen. But Mrs. Briggs preserved her caste, and benefited the Sanitary Commission much more than she would have done by her presence, by sending a cheque for $500 instead.

"Do we linger too long upon these family matters? No; to appreciate Miss Flora, you must understand her surroundings. She has never had a home. Born in a boarding-house, when her parents were not rich, she lives at a hotel now that her father is a millionaire. Mr. Briggs married the name of Van Duysen, in order to get into society. Miss Van Duysen married Briggs's money, in order to spend it. Miss Flora Van Duysen Briggs combines her mother's name and her father's money; her Mother's early beauty and her father's shrewdness; her mother's extravagance and her father's weakness for the aristocracy. She has good taste, as her toilette shows; but she does not believe that anything can be tasteful that is not expensive. Her aim is to run ahead of the fashions, instead of following them; but she is clever enough to so adapt them to her face and figure, that she always looks well-dressed, and yet always attracts attention. Her little handsome head is full of native wit, and of nothing else. Her education has been shamefully neglected. She has had the best masters, who have taught her nothing. Like all other American girls, she plays on the piano, but does not play the piano--you will please notice this subtle but suggestive distinction. She has picked up a smattering of French, partly because it is a fashionable accomplishment, and partly because she intends to marry; but I will not yet break your heart by announcing her matrimonial intentions. Compared with an English or French girl of the same age, she has many and grave deficiencies; but she atones for them by a wonderful tact and cleverness, which blind you to all her faults and lend a new grace to all her virtues.

"Truth to say, the admirers of Miss Flora, whose name is Legion, give her the credit for all her own virtues, and blame her father and mother, and the system, for all her faults. Born, as we have said, in a boarding-house, left entirely in charge of the nurse-maid, educated at a fashionable day-school, brought into society before fifteen, living in the whirl, the bustle, the luxury, and the unhomeliness of a hotel, what could you expect of Miss Flora but that she should be, at seventeen years of age, a butterfly in her habits, a clever dunce as regards solid knowledge, and a premature woman of the world in her tastes and manners? The apartments which the Briggs family occupy at the Fifth Avenue Hotel are magnificently decorated and furnished, but they do not constitute a home. Several times Mr. Briggs has offered to purchase a house in a fashionable thoroughfare; but his wife objects to the trouble of managing unruly servants, and terrifies Mr. Briggs out of the notion by stories of burglars admitted, and plate stolen, and families murdered in their beds, through the connivance of the domestics. What more can any one desire than the Briggs family obtain at the hotel for a fixed sum per week, and a liberal margin for extras? The apartments are ample and comfortable; the cuisine and the wines are irreproachable; there is a small table reserved for them, to which they can invite whom they choose; an immense staff of servants obey their slightest wish; their carriages, kept at a neighboring livery stable, can be sent for at any moment; they are as secluded in their own rooms as if they lived in another street, so far as the family in the next suite is concerned; they are certain to meet everybody, and can choose their own company; the spacious hotel parlors are at their disposal whenever they wish to give an evening party, reception, or the dansant. What more could they gain by setting up a private house? Mr. Briggs, having never tried the experiment, does not know. Mrs. Briggs, whose only reminiscence of a private residence is the one in which her mother let lodgings, does not know. Miss Flora Van Duysen Briggs, having never been used to any other way of life than the present, neither knows nor cares, and 'does not want to be bothered.'

"The Briggs family spend their winters in town, their summers at Newport, Saratoga, or some other watering-place, at which nobody cares anything about the water. The frequenters of these rural or seaside retreats are presumed to come for their health, but really come to show their dresses. Thus Miss Flora's life varies very little all the year round; she rises late, and is dressed for breakfast; after breakfast she practises upon the piano, shops with her mamma, and returns to be dressed for luncheon; after luncheon she usually takes a brief nap, or lies down to read a novel, and is then dressed for the afternoon promenade, as you have just seen her; after the promenade she is dressed for a drive with mamma in the Central Park; after the drive she is dressed for dinner, or dines in her out-of-door costume, preparatory to being dressed for the opera, the theatre, a ball, or a party. Every Tuesday she receives calls; every Thursday she calls upon her acquaintances. Whenever she has a spare moment, it is bestowed upon her dressmaker. If she thinks, it is to design new trimmings; if she dreams, it is of a heavenly soiree dansante, with an eternal waltz to everlasting music, and a tireless partner in paradisiacal Paris.

"As all the best and--in a double sense--the dearest things of Miss Flora's life come from Paris, it is quite natural that she should look to Paris for her future. The best of all authorities declares that 'where the treasure is there will the heart be also.' Miss Flora's treasures are in the Parisian magasins, and her heart is with them. Although scores of young men kneel at her feet, press her hands, and deride the stars in comparison with her eyes, she cares for none of her worshippers. She smiles upon them, but the smile is no deeper than the lips; she flirts with them, but stops at that sharp, invisible line which separates a flirtation from a compromising earnestness; she is a coquette, but not a jilt. If she encourages all, it is because she prefers none. Her heart has never been touched, and she knows that none of her admirers in her own country can hope to touch it. Her rivals scornfully assert that she has no heart; but as she is, after all, a woman, this assertion must be incorrect. She is in love with an ideal, but that ideal has a title. So soon as Mr. Briggs can dispose of his business, Miss Flora is to be taken to Paris. Within two years afterwards she will be led to the altar by a French duke, marquis, or count, who will fall in love with her father's bank-book, and then she will figure as an ornament of the French Court, or the salons of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. This is her ambition, and she will certainly accomplish it. The blood of the Van Duysens and the money of Briggs can accomplish anything when united in Miss Flora. With this end in view, the little lady is as inaccessible to ordinary admirers as a princess. She is a duchess by anticipation, and feels the pride of station in advance. There is no danger that she will falter in the race through any womanly weakness, nor through any lack of knowledge of the wiles of men. With the beauty of Venus and the chastity of Diana, she also possesses qualities derived directly from Mother Eve. An English matron would blush to know, and a French mere would be astonished to learn, secrets which Miss Flora has at her pretty finger-ends. She has acquired her knowledge innocently, and she will use it judiciously. Nothing escapes her quick eyes and keen ears, and under that demure forehead is a faculty which enables her to 'put this and that together,' and arrive at conclusions which would amaze her less acute foreign sisters. You may not envy her this faculty, but do not accuse her of employing it improperly. She will never disgrace herself nor the coronet which she already feels pressing lightly upon her head. As she trips out of sight, it may give any man a heart-pang to think that there is at least one lovely woman who is impenetrable to love; but then, if she were like those dear, soft, fond, impressible, confiding beauties of a former age, she would not be herself--a Girl of the Period."

VI. FASHIONABLE ENTERTAINMENTS.

New York has long been celebrated for its magnificent social entertainments. Its balls, dinner parties, receptions, private theatricals, pic-nics, croquet parties, and similar gatherings are unsurpassed in respect to show in any city in the world. Every year some new species of entertainment is devised by some leader in society, and repeated throughout the season by every one who can raise the money to pay for it. The variety, however, is chiefly in the name, for all parties, breakfasts, dinners, suppers, or receptions are alike.

Of late years it is becoming common not to give entertainments at one's residence, but to hire public rooms set apart for that purpose. There is a large house in the upper part of Fifth avenue, which is fitted up exclusively for the use of persons giving balls, suppers, or receptions. It is so large that several entertainments can be held at the same time on its different floors, without either annoying or inconveniencing the others. The proprietor of the establishment provides everything down to the minutest detail, the wishes and tastes of the giver of the entertainment being scrupulously respected in everything. The host and hostess, in consequence, have no trouble, but have simply to be on hand at the proper time to receive their guests. This is a very expensive mode of entertaining, and costs from 5000 to 15,000 dollars, for the caterer expects a liberal profit on everything he provides; but to those who can afford it, it is a very sensible plan. It saves an immense amount of trouble at home, and preserves one's carpets and furniture from the damage invariably done to them on such occasions, and averts all possibility of robbery by the strange servants one is forced to employ. Still, many who possess large and elegant mansions of their own prefer to entertain at their own homes.

On such occasions, the lady giving the entertainment issues her invitations, and usually summons the famous Brown, the Sexton of Grace Church, to assist her in deciding who shall be asked beyond her immediate circle of friends. Mr. Brown is a very tyrant in such matters, and makes out the list to suit himself rather than to please the hostess. He has full authority from her to invite any distinguished strangers who may be in the city.

Upon the evening appointed a carpet is spread from the curbstone to the front door, and over this is placed a temporary awning. A policeman is engaged to keep off the crowd and regulate the movements of the carriages. About nine o'clock magnificent equipages, with drivers and footmen in livery, commence to arrive, and from these gorgeous vehicles richly dressed ladies and gentlemen alight, and pass up the carpeted steps to the entrance door. On such occasions gentlemen are excluded from the carriage if possible, as all the space within the vehicle is needed for the lady's skirts. The lady is accompanied by a maid whose business it is to adjust her toilette in the dressing room, and see that everything is in its proper place.

At the door stands some one, generally the inevitable Brown, to receive the cards of invitation. Once admitted, the ladies and gentlemen pass into the dressing rooms set apart for them. Here they put the last touches to their dress and hair, and, the ladies having joined their escorts, enter the drawing room and pay their respects to the host and hostess. When from one to two thousand guests are to be received, the reader may imagine that the labors of the host and hostess are not slight.

Every arrangement is made for dancing. A fine orchestra is provided, and is placed so that it may consume as little space as possible. A row of chairs placed around the room, and tied in couples with pocket-handkerchiefs, denotes that "The German" is to be danced during the course of the evening. There is very little dancing, however, of any kind, before midnight, the intervening time being taken up with the arrivals of guests and promenading.

About midnight the supper room is thrown open, and there is a rush for the tables, which are loaded with every delicacy that money can buy. The New York physicians ought to be devoutly thankful for these suppers. They bring them many a fee. The servants are all French, and are clad in black swallow-tail coats and pants, with immaculate white vests, cravats and gloves. They are as active as a set of monkeys, and are capital hands at anticipating your wants. Sometimes the refreshments are served in the parlors, and are handed to the guests by the servants.

The richest and costliest of wines flow freely. At a certain entertainment given not long since, 500 bottles of champagne, worth over four dollars each, were drunk. Some young men make a habit of abstaining carefully during the day, in order to be the better prepared to drink at night. The ladies drink almost as heavily as the men, and some of them could easily drink their partners under the table.

After supper the dancing begins in earnest. If The German is danced it generally consumes the greater part of the evening. I shall not undertake to describe it here. It is a great mystery, and those who understand it appear to have exhausted in mastering it their capacity for understanding anything else. It is a dance in which the greatest freedom is permitted, and in which liberties are taken and encouraged, which would be resented under other circumstances. The figures really depend upon the leader of the dance, who can set such as he chooses, or devise them, if he has wit enough. All the rest are compelled to follow his example. The dance is thoroughly suited to the society we are considering, and owes its popularity to the liberties, to use no stronger term, it permits.

[Picture: THE GERMAN]

The toilettes of the persons present are magnificent. The ladies are very queens in their gorgeousness. They make their trails so long that half the men are in mortal dread of breaking their necks over them; and having gone to such expense for dry goods in this quarter, they display the greatest economy about the neck and bust. They may be in "full dress" as to the lower parts of their bodies, but they are fearfully undressed from the head to the waist.

Towards morning the ball breaks up. The guests, worn out with fatigue, and not unfrequently confused with liquor, take leave of their hosts and go home. Many of them repeat the same performance almost nightly during the season. No wonder that when the summer comes they are so much in need of recuperation.

VII. MARRIAGE AND DEATH.

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 at least. Marriages for money are directly encouraged. It is not uncommon for a man who has won a fortune to make the marriage of his daughter the means of getting his 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 demanded of the aforesaid young man is that he shall do what may lie within his power to get the family of the bride within the charmed circle. If the girl is good looking, or agreeable, the offer is rarely refused.

When a marriage is decided upon, the engagement is announced through one of the "society newspapers," of which there are several. It is the bounden duty of the happy pair to be married in a fashionable church. To be married in or buried from Grace or St. Thomas's Church, is the desire of every fashionable heart. Invitations are issued to the friends of the two families, and no one is admitted into the church without 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 to view the ceremony. Two clergymen are usually engaged to tie the knot, in order that a Divorce Court may find it the easier to undo. A reporter is on hand, who furnishes the city papers with a full description of the grand affair. The dresses, the jewels, the appearance of the bride and groom, and the company generally, are described with all the eloquence Jenkins is master of.

If the wedding be at Grace Church, Brown, "the great sexton" is in charge. A wedding over which he presides is sure to be a great success. A wonderful man is Brown. No account of New York society would be complete without a few words about Brown. He has been sexton of Grace Church ever since the oldest inhabitant can remember, and those familiar with the matter are sorely puzzled to know what the church will do when Brown is gathered to his fathers. The congregation would sooner part with the best Rector they have ever had than give up Brown. A certain Rector did once try to compel him to resign his post because he, the Rector, did not fancy Brown's ways, which he said were hardly consistent with the reverence due the house of God. The congregation, however, were aghast at the prospect of losing Brown, and plainly gave the Rector to understand that he must not interfere with the sexton. Never mind about his want of reverence. The Rector's business was to look after the religious part of the congregation, while Brown superintended the secular affairs of that fashionable corporation. They had use for the Rector only on Sunday; but Brown they looked up to every day in the week. The Rector meekly subsided, and Brown forgave him.

A very lucky man is Brown, and very far from being a fool. There is no sharper, shrewder man in New York, and no one who estimates his customers more correctly. He puts a high price on his services, and is said to have accumulated a handsome fortune, popularly estimated at about $300,000. Fat and sleek, and smooth of tongue, he can be a very despot when he chooses. He keeps a list of the fashionable young men of the city, who find it to their interest to be on good terms with him, since they are mainly dependent upon him for their invitations. Report says that, like a certain great statesman, Brown is not averse to receiving a small present now and then as a reminder of the gratitude of the recipients of his favors.

Brown is sixty years old, but time has dealt lightly with him, and he is still hale and hearty. He knows all the gossip of New York for thirty years back, but also knows how to hold his tongue. To see him in his glory, one should wait until the breaking up of some great party. Then he takes his stand on the steps of the mansion, and in the most pompous manner calls the carriages of the guests. There is no chance for sleep in the neighborhood when the great voice of the "great sexton" is roaring down the avenue. He takes care that the whole neighborhood shall know who have honored the entertainment with their presence.

He has a sharp tongue, too, this Brown, when he chooses to use it, and a good story is told of this quality of his. He was once calling the carriages at a brilliant party. Among the guests was Harry X---, a young gentleman of fortune, concerning whose morals some hard things were said. It was hinted that Mr. X--- was rather too fond of faro. The young gentleman and the great sexton were not on good terms, and when Brown, having summoned Mr. X---'s carriage, asked, as usual, "Where to, sir?" he received the short and sharp reply, "To where he brought me from." "All right, sir," said Brown, calmly, and turning to the driver he exclaimed in a loud tone, "Drive Mr. X--- to John Chamberlain's faro-bank." A roar of laughter greeted this sally, and Brown smiled serenely as his discomfited enemy was driven away.

Fashionable weddings are very costly affairs. The outfits of the bride and groom cost thousands of dollars, the extravagance of the man being fully equal to that of his bride. A wedding is attended with numerous entertainments, all of which are costly, and the expenses attendant upon the affair itself are enormous. The outlay is not confined to the parties immediately concerned, the friends of the happy pair must go to great expense to give to the bride elegant and appropriate presents. One, two, or three rooms, as may be required, are set apart at every fashionable wedding, for the display of the presents. These are visited and commented upon by the friends of the bride and groom, such being the prescribed custom. The presents are frequently worth a handsome fortune. At the marriage of the daughter of a notorious politician not long since, the wedding presents were valued at more than $250,000. Efforts have been repeatedly made to put a stop to the giving of such costly presents, but the custom still continues.

As it is the ambition of every one of the class we are discussing to live fashionably, so it is their chief wish to be laid in the grave in the same style. The undertaker at a fashionable funeral is generally the sexton of some fashionable church, perhaps of the church the deceased was in the habit of attending. This individual prescribes the manner in which the funeral ceremonies shall be conducted, and advises certain styles of mourning for the family. Sometimes the blinds of the house are closed, and the gas lighted in the hall and parlors. The lights in such cases are arranged in the most artistic manner, and everything 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 horribly vulgar to see a lot of women crying about a corpse; and, besides, they're always in the way."

The funeral over, the bereaved ones must remain in the house for a certain length of time, the period being regulated by a set decree. To be seen on the street within the prescribed time, would be to lose caste. Many of the days of their seclusion are passed in consultations with their modiste, in preparing the most fashionable mourning that can be thought of. They no doubt agree fully with a certain famous modiste of the city, who once declared to a widow, but recently bereaved, that "fashionable and becoming mourning is so comforting to persons in affliction."

Well, after all, only the rich can afford to die and be buried in style in the great city. A lot in Greenwood is worth more than many comfortable dwellings in Brooklyn. A fashionable funeral entails heavy expenses upon the family of the deceased. The coffin must be of rosewood, or some other costly material, and must be lined with satin. A profusion of white flowers must be had to cover it and to deck the room in which the corpse is laid out. The body must be dressed in a suit of the latest style and finest quality, and the cost of the hearse and carriages, the expenses at the church and cemetery, and the fees of the undertaker, are very heavy. The average expense of such an occasion may be set down at from $1500 to $2000.

VII. THE MUNICIPAL POLICE.

Until the passage of the new Charter in 1870, the Police Department was independent of the control of the city officials, and consequently independent of local political influences. There was a "Metropolitan Police District," embracing the cities of New York and Brooklyn, and the counties of New York, Kings, Richmond and Westchester, and a part of Queen's county, in all a circuit of about thirty miles. The control of this district was committed to a commission of five citizens, who were subject to the supervision of the Legislature of the State. The Mayors of New York and Brooklyn were ex-officio members of this board.

The Charter of 1870 changed all this. It broke up the Metropolitan District, and placed the police of New York and Brooklyn under the control of their respective municipal governments. To the credit of the force be it said, the police of New York were less under the influence of the Ring than any other portion of the municipality, and improved rather than depreciated in efficiency.

As at present constituted, the force is under the control and supervision of four Commissioners appointed by the Mayor. The force consists of a Superintendent, four Inspectors, thirty-two Captains, one hundred and twenty-eight Sergeants, sixty-four Roundsmen and 2085 Patrolmen, Detectives, Doorkeepers, etc.

The present Superintendent of Police is Mr. James J. Kelso. He is the Commander-in-chief of the force, and it is through him that all orders are issued. His subordinates are responsible to him for the proper discharge of their duties, and he in his turn to the Commissioners. He was promoted to his present position on the death of Superintendent Jourdan, and has rendered himself popular with men of all parties by his conscientious discharge of his important duties. Mr. Kelso is eminently fitted for his position. His long service in the force, and great experience as a detective officer, have thoroughly familiarized him with the criminals with whom he has to deal, and the crimes against which he has to contend. He has maintained the discipline of the force at a high point, and has been rigorous in dealing with the offenders against the law. His sudden and sweeping descents upon the gambling hells, and other disreputable places of the city, have stricken terror to the frequenters thereof. They are constantly alarmed, for they know not at what moment they may be captured by Kelso in one of his characteristic raids.

In person Mr. Kelso is a fine-looking, and rather handsome man. He shows well at the head of the force. It is said that he was overwhelmed with mortification last July, when the Mayor compelled him to forbid the "Orange Parade," and thus make a cowardly surrender to the mob. When Governor Hoffman revoked Mayor Hall's order, at the demand of the indignant citizens, Kelso was perhaps the happiest man in New York. He had a chance to vindicate his own manhood and the honor of the force, and he and his men did nobly on that memorable day.

The city is divided into two Inspection Districts, each of which is in charge of two Inspectors. Each Inspector is held responsible for the general good conduct and order of his District. It is expected that he will visit portions of it at uncertain hours of the night, in order that the Patrolmen may be made more vigilant by their ignorance of the hour of his appearance on their "beats." The Inspectors keep a constant watch over the rank and file of the force. They examine the Police Stations, and everything connected with them, at pleasure, and receive and investigate complaints made by citizens against members of the force. The creation of this useful grade is due to John A. Kennedy, the first Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police.

The Inspection Districts are sub-divided into thirty-two precincts, in each of which there is a Police Station. Each Station is in charge of a Captain, who is held to a strict accountability for the preservation of the peace and good order of his precinct. He has authority to post the men under his command in such parts of his precinct, and to assign them to such duties as he deems expedient, under the supervision of the Superintendent. He is required to divide his force into two equal parts, called the First and Second Platoons. Each Platoon consists of two Sections. Each of the four Sections is in charge of a Sergeant.

In the illness or absence of the Captain, the Station and Precinct are commanded by one of the Sergeants, who is named for that purpose by the Superintendent. The special duties of the Sergeants are to patrol their precincts, and see that the Roundsmen and Patrolmen are at their posts and performing their duties properly. They are severally responsible for the condition of their Sections. One of the Sergeants is required to remain at the Station House at all times.

Two Roundsmen are selected by the Commissioners from the Patrolmen of each precinct, and one of them is assigned to each platoon. They have the immediate supervision of the Patrolmen, and are required to exercise a vigilant watch over them at all times.

The Patrolmen are the privates of the force. They are assigned certain "beats" or districts to watch. Many of these beats are too large for the care of one man, and more is expected of the Patrolman than he is capable of performing. He is required to exercise the utmost vigilance to prevent the occurrence of any crime within his beat, and to render the commission of it difficult, at the least. The occurrence of a crime on the streets is always regarded as presumptive evidence of negligence on his part, and he is obliged to show that he was strictly attending to his duties at the time. He is required to watch vigilantly every person passing him while on duty, to examine frequently the doors, lower windows, and gates of the houses on his beat, and warn the occupants if any are open or unlocked; to have a general knowledge of the persons residing in his beat; to report to his commanding officer "all persons known or suspected of being policy dealers, gamblers, receivers of stolen property, thieves, burglars, or offenders of any kind;" to watch all disorderly houses or houses of ill-fame, and observe "and report to his commanding officer all persons by whom they are frequented;" to do certain other things for the preservation of the public peace; and to arrest for certain offences, all of which are laid down in the volume of Regulations, of which each member of the force is obliged to have a copy. Patrolmen are not allowed to converse with each other, except to ask or impart information, upon meeting at the confines of their posts; "and they must not engage in conversation with any person on any part of their post, except in regard to matters concerning the immediate discharge of their duties."

The uniform of the force is a frock coat and pants of dark blue navy cloth, and a glazed cap. In the summer the dress is a sack and pants of dark blue navy flannel. The officers are distinguished by appropriate badges. Each member of the force is provided with a shield of a peculiar pattern, on which is his number. This is his badge of office, and he is obliged to show it when required. The men are armed with batons or short clubs of hard wood, and revolvers. The latter they are forbidden to use except in grave emergencies.

The general misdemeanors of which the police are bound to take notice, are: Attempts to pick a pocket, especially where the thief is a known pickpocket; cruel usage of animals in public places; interfering with the telegraph wires; selling or carrying a slingshot; aiding in any way in a prize fight, dog fight, or cock fight; destroying fences, trees, or lamps, or defacing property; aiding in theatrical entertainments on Sunday; disorderly conduct; participating in or inciting to riots; assaults; drunkenness on the streets; gambling; discharging fire-arms on the streets; and other stated offences. The officer must be careful to arrest the true offender, and not to interfere with any innocent person, and is forbidden to use violence unless the resistance of his prisoner is such as to render violence absolutely necessary, and even then he is held responsible for the particular degree of force exerted. If he is himself unable to make the arrest, or if he has good reason to fear an attempt at a rescue of the prisoner, it is his duty to call upon the bystanders for assistance; and any person who refuses him when so called on, is guilty of a misdemeanor, for which he may be arrested and punished.

Promotions are made in the force as follows: Inspectors are chosen from the Captains, Captains from Sergeants, Sergeants from Roundsmen, and Roundsmen from the most efficient Patrolmen.

The duties of a policeman are hard, and the salaries are moderate in every grade. The hours for duty of the Patrolmen are divided in the following manner: from six to eight o'clock in the morning; from eight o'clock in the morning to one in the afternoon; from one in the afternoon to six; from six to twelve midnight; from twelve midnight to six in the morning. These "tours" of duty are so distributed that no one man shall be called on duty at the same hour on two successive days. One-third of the entire force, about 700 in all, is on duty in the daytime, and two-thirds, about 1400 men, at night. Sickness and casualties bring down this estimate somewhat, but the men are such fine physical specimens that sick leaves are now comparatively rare.

Besides the Patrolmen there are several divisions of the force. Forty men, called the Court Squad, are on duty at the various Courts of Justice. Four have charge of the House of Detention for Witnesses, No. 203 Mulberry street. The Sanitary Squad consists of a captain, four sergeants, and fifty-seven patrolmen. Some of these are on duty at the ferries and steamboat landings. Others are detailed to examine the steam boilers in use in the city. Others execute the orders of the Board of Health. Another detachment, nine in number, look after truant children. Others are detailed for duty at banks and other places. The Detectives will be referred to hereafter.

[Picture: FEMALE PRISONERS IN THE FOURTH POLICE STATION]

The qualifications demanded of an applicant for admission into the force are thus set down in the book of Regulations: "No person will be appointed a Patrolman of the Metropolitan Police Force unless, he

"First, is able to read and write the English language understandingly.

"Second, is a citizen of the United States.

"Third, has been a resident of this State for a term of one year next prior to his application for the office.

"Fourth, has never been convicted of a crime.

"Fifth, is at least five feet eight inches in height.

"Sixth, is less than thirty-five years of age.

"Seventh, is in good health, and of sound body and mind.

"Eighth, is of good moral character and habits.

"Applicants for the office must present to the Board of Commissioners a petition signed by not less than five citizens of good character and habits, and verified by the affidavit of one of them."

As none but "sound" men are wanted, the applicant is then subjected to a rigid medical examination; and the writer is informed by one of the most efficient surgeons of the force, that scarcely one applicant in ten can stand this test. The applicant must also give, under oath, an exact statement as to his parentage, nationality, education, personal condition in every respect, business or employment, and physical condition.

The strictest discipline is maintained in the force, and offences are rigidly reported and punished. All members are required at once to communicate intelligence of importance to their superior officers. The men are regularly drilled in military exercises, to fit them for dealing efficiently with serious disturbances. The writer can testify, that during their parade in the Spring of 1871, they presented as fine an appearance, and executed their manoeuvres as correctly as any body of regular troops.

The finest looking and largest men are detailed for service on Broadway. One of their principal duties is to keep the street free from obstructions, no slight task when one considers the usual jam in the great thoroughfare. It is a common habit to denounce the "Broadway Squad" as more ornamental than useful, but the habitues of that street can testify to the arduous labor performed by the "giants," and the amount of protection afforded by them to the merchants and promenaders. Scarcely a day passes that they do not prevent robberies and cut short the operations of pickpockets.

The number of arrests made by the force is fair evidence of their efficiency. Since 1862 the annual number has been as follows:

Total arrests in New York 1862 82,072 1863 61,888 1864 54,751 1865 68,873 1866 75,630 1867 80,532 1868 78,451 1869 72,984

During the year 1869, the arrests were divided as follows:

Males 51,446 Females 21,538

The principal causes for which these arrests were made were as follows:

Males Females

Assault and Battery 5,638 1,161 Disorderly conduct 9,376 5,559 Intoxication 15,918 8,105 Intoxication and 5,232 3,466 disorderly conduct Petty larceny 3,700 1,209 Grand larceny 1,623 499 Malicious mischief 1,081 32 Vagrancy 1,065 701

During the past nine years over 73,000 lost children have been restored to their parents by the police. More than 40,000 houses have been found open at night, owing to the carelessness of the inmates, who have been warned of their danger by the police in time to prevent robbery. There is scarcely a fire but is marked by the individual heroism of some member of the force, and the daily papers abound in instances of rescues from drowning by the policemen stationed along the docks. In times of riot and other public danger, the police force have never been found lacking, and they have fairly won the "flag of honor" which the citizens of New York are about to present to them in recognition of their gallant and efficient services on the 12th of July, 1871. That there are individuals whose conduct reflects discredit upon the force is but natural; but as a whole, there does not exist a more devoted, gallant, and efficient body of men than those composing the police of New York.

The Station Houses of the city are so arranged as to be central to their respective precincts. The new buildings are models of their kind, and the old ones are being improved as rapidly as possible. Perhaps the best arranged, the handsomest, and most convenient, is that of the Fourth Precinct, located at No. 9 Oak street. The locality is one of the worst in the city, and it is necessary that the police accommodations should be perfect. The building is of red brick, with a fine white granite facade, with massive stone steps leading from the street to the main entrance. The entrance leads directly to the main room, or office. On the right of the entrance is the Sergeant's desk, of black walnut, massive and handsomely carved. Back of this is a fine book-case of the same material, for the record books and papers of the station. The telegraph instrument is at the side farthest from the windows--a precaution looking to its safety in case of a riot or attack on the station. Speaking-tubes, and boxes for papers, communicate with the other apartments. The walls are adorned with fine photographs of the late Superintendent Jourdan, the present Superintendent Kelso, and the Police Commissioners. Back of the office is the Surgeon's Room, with every convenience for the performance of the Surgeon's duties. The office of the Captain in command of the station is to the left of the entrance, and is fitted up with a Brussels carpet, and black walnut furniture. The walls are covered with fine engravings and photographs of prominent men. The Captain is also provided with a bed-room, bathroom, etc., which are elegantly furnished. The Sergeants' bedrooms are large, airy, and well furnished. Bathrooms for the Sergeants and Patrolmen are located in the basement. The sleeping rooms of the Sergeants and Roundsmen, and four large dormitories for the Patrolmen, are situated on the second and third floors. Each Patrolman has a private closet for his clothing, etc., and each bedstead is stamped with the occupant's section number. The fourth story is used for store-rooms. On the first floor there is also a large sitting-room for the Patrolmen.

Attached to the Station House, and connected with it by a bridge, is the prison, a brick building three stories in height. It is entered through the Patrolmen's sitting-room, and is the largest in any city station house. It contains fifty-two cells, all of which are of a good size and are well ventilated. Four of these (Nos. 1, 16, 17, 32) are somewhat larger than the others, and are humorously called by the force "Bridal chambers." They are reserved for the more respectable prisoners. Over the prison are two large rooms designed for the unfortunates who seek a night's shelter at the station--one for men and the other for women. They are provided with board platforms to sleep on. These platforms can be removed, and the whole place drenched with water from hydrants conveniently located.

As a matter of course, this model station is in charge of one of the most efficient, experienced, and reliable officers of the force. It is at present commanded by Captain A. J. Allaire, whose personal and official record fairly entitles him to the high and honorable position he holds in the force.

The station houses are kept scrupulously clean. Neatness is required in every department of the police service. The Inspector may enter them at any hour, and he is almost sure to find them in perfect order.

[Picture: A WINTER NIGHT SCENE IN A POLICE STATION]

These stations afford a temporary shelter to the outdoor poor. In all of them accommodations are provided for giving a night's lodging to the poor wretches who seek it. When the snow lies white over the ground, or the frosts have driven them out of the streets, these poor creatures come in crowds to the station houses, and beg for a shelter for the night. You may see them huddling eagerly around the stove, spreading their thin hands to catch the warmth, or holding some half-frozen child to be thawed by the heat, silent, submissive, and grateful, yet even half afraid that the kind-hearted Sergeant, who tries to hide his sympathy for them by a show of gruffness, will turn them into the freezing streets again. When the rooms devoted to their use are all filled, others still come, begging, ah, so piteously, to be taken in for the night. I think there is no part of the Sergeant's duties so hard, so painful to him, as to be forced to turn a deaf ear to these appeals. Let us thank God, however, he does not do so often, and even at the risk of being "overhauled" for exceeding his duty, the Sergeant finds, or makes, a place for those who seek his assistance in this way. Many of those who seek shelter here are constant tramps, who have nowhere else to go. Others are strangers in the city--poor people who have come here in search of employment. Failing to find it, and what little money they brought with them being exhausted, they have only the alternative of the station house or the pavement. Many who are simply unfortunate, suffer almost to perishing before seeking the station house, mistakenly supposing that in so doing they place themselves on a par with those who are brought there for offences against the law. But at last the cold and the snow drive them there, and they meet with kindness and consideration. I could not here present a description of the quiet and practical way in which the members of the "Force" relieve such sufferers. No record is kept of such good deeds by the force, and the Sergeant's book is modestly silent on this subject; but we may be sure it is written in letters of living light on the great book that shall be opened at the last day.

The stations are connected with each other and with the headquarters by telegraph. The telegraph system has been so perfected that by means of a set of numbers struck on a bell, each of which refers to a corresponding number in the book of signals, questions are asked and answered, and messages sent from station to station with the greatest rapidity.

The Headquarters of the Police Force are located in a handsome building, five stories high, known as No. 300 Mulberry street. The building extends through to Mott street, in the rear. It is situated on the easterly side of Mulberry street, between Bleecker and Houston streets. It is ninety feet in width. The Mulberry street front is of white marble, and the Mott street front is of pressed brick, with white marble trimmings. It is fitted up with great taste, and every convenience and comfort is provided for the members of the force on duty here. The greatest order is manifest. Everything and every man has a place, and must be in it at the proper times. There is no confusion. Each department has its separate quarters.

The Superintendent's office is connected by telegraph with every precinct in the city. By means of this wonderful invention, the Superintendent can communicate instantly with any point in the city. The news of a robbery or burglary is flashed all over New York and the adjoining country before a man has fairly secured his plunder. If a child is lost, all the precincts are furnished immediately with an accurate description of it, and the whole force is on the lookout for the little wanderer, and in a marvellously quick time it is restored to its mother's arms. By means of his telegraph, the Superintendent can track a criminal, not only all over the city, but all over the civilized world, and that without leaving his office. One of the most interesting rooms in the headquarters is that for the trial of complaints against members of the force. Every charge must be sworn to. It is then brought before the Commissioners, or rather before one who is appointed by the Board to hear such complaints. He notifies the accused to appear before him to answer to the charge. 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 the 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 time, and the proceeds are paid to the Police Life Insurance Fund.

The pay of a policeman is small, being only about $1200 per annum. In order to make some compensation for this deficiency, the Police Law contains the following provisions:

"If any member of the Municipal 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 ten years of membership, a sum of not exceeding $150, as an annuity, to be paid such member, shall be chargeable upon the Municipal Police Life Insurance Fund. If any member of the Municipal 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 to 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. In every case the Board of Municipal Police shall determine the circumstances thereof, and order payment of the annuity to be made by draft, signed by each trustee of the said fund. But nothing herein contained shall render any payment of said annuity obligatory upon the said Board, or the said trustees, or chargeable as a matter of legal right. The Board of Municipal Police, in its discretion, may at any time order such annuity to cease."

VIII. THE BOWERY.

Next to Broadway, the most thoroughly characteristic street in the city is the Bowery. Passing out of Printing House Square, through Chatham street, one suddenly emerges from the dark, narrow lane, into a broad square, with streets radiating from it to all parts of the city. It is not over clean, and has an air of sharpness and repulsiveness that at once attracts attention. This is Chatham Square, the great promenade of the old time denizens of the Bowery, and still largely frequented by the class generally known as "the fancy."

At the upper end of the square begins a broad, flashy-looking street, stretching away to the northward, crowded with pedestrians, street cars, and wheeled vehicles of all kinds. This is The Bowery. It begins at Chatham Square, and extends as far as the Cooper Institute, on Eighth street, where the Third and Fourth avenues--the first on the east, and the other on the west side of the Institute--continue the thoroughfare to the Harlem River.

The Bowery first appears in the history of New York under the following circumstances. About the year 1642 or 1643, it was set apart by the Dutch for 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 street derives its present name. They were held by men of mark, in those simple and honest days. To the north of Chatham Square lay the broad lands of the De Lanceys, and above them the fine estates of the Dyckmans, and Brevoorts, all on the west of the present street. On the east side lay the lands of the Rutgers, Bayards, Minthornes, Van Cortlandts and others. Above all these lay the "Bouwerie" and other possessions of the strong-headed and hard-handed Governor Peter Stuyvesant, of whom many traces still exist in the city. His house stood about where St. Mark's (Episcopal) Church is now 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, from the Highway, as the portion of Broadway beyond the line of Wall street was called, to Governor Stuyvesant's farm. To this was given the distinctive name of the "Bowery lane." Some years later this lane was continued up the island under the name of the "Boston Road." 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 in its place the "stars and stripes" of the new Republic.

After the city began to extend up the island, the Bowery commenced to lose caste. Decent people forsook it, and the poorer and more disreputable classes took possession. Finally, it became notorious. It was known all over the country for its roughs or "Bowery B'hoys," as they were called, its rowdy firemen, and its doubtful women. In short, it was the paradise of the worst element of New York. On this street the Bowery boy was in his glory. You might see him "strutting along like a king" with his breeches stuck in his boots, his coat on his arm, his flaming red shirt tied at the collar with a cravat such as could be seen nowhere else; with crape on his hat, the hat set deftly on the side of his head, his hair evenly plastered down to his skull, and a cigar in his mouth. If he condescended to adorn his manly breast with any ornament it was generally a large gold or brass figure representing the number of "der mersheen" with which he ran. None so ready as he for a fight, none so quick to resent the intrusion of a respectable man into his haunts. So he had money enough to procure his peculiar garb, a "mersheen" to run with and fight for, a girl to console him, the "Old Bowery Theatre" to beguile him from his ennui, and the Bowery itself to disport his glory in, he was content. Rows were numerous in this quarter, and they afforded him all the other relaxation he desired. If there be any truth in the theories of Spiritualism, let us be sure his ghost still haunts the Bowery.

And the Bowery girl--who shall describe her? She was a "Bowery b'hoy" in petticoats; unlike him in this, however, that she loved the greatest combination of bright colors, while he clung religiously to red and black. Her bonnet was a perfect museum of ribbons and ornaments, and it sat jauntily on the side of her head. Her skirts came to the shoe top and displayed her pretty feet and well-turned ankle, equipped with irreproachable gaiters and the most stunning of stockings. One arm swung loosely to the motion of her body as she passed along with a quick, lithe step, and the other held just over her nose her parasol, which was sometimes swung over the right shoulder. Even the Bowery boy was overcome by her stunning appearance, and he forgot his own glory in his genuine admiration of his girl.

Well! they have passed away. The street cars, the new police, and the rapid advance of trade up the island, have made great changes here, but there are still left those who could tell many a wondrous tale of the old time glories of the Bowery.

The street runs parallel with Broadway, is about double the width of that thoroughfare, and is about one mile in length. It is tolerably well built, and is improving in this respect every year. In connection with Chatham Square it is the great route from the lower end of the island to Harlem Bridge. Nearly all the east side street car lines touch it at some point, and the Third avenue line traverses its entire length. It lies within a stone's throw of Broadway, but is entirely different from it in every respect. Were Broadway a street in another city the difference could not be greater.

[Picture: THE BOWERY]

The Bowery is devoted mainly to the cheap trade. The children of Israel abound here. The display of goods in the shops flashy, and not often attractive. 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 in the street. If one were to believe the assertions of the Bowery merchants as set forth in their posters and hand bills, with which they cover the fronts of their shops, they are always on the verge of ruin, and are constantly throwing their goods away for the benefit of their customers. They always sell at a "ruinous sacrifice;" yet snug fortunes are realized here, and many a Fifth avenue family can look back to days passed in the dingy back room of a Bowery shop, while papa "sacrificed" his wares in front. Sharp practice rules in the Bowery, and if beating an unwilling customer into buying what he does not want is the highest art of the merchant, then there are no such salesmen in the great city as those of this street. Strangers from the country, servant girls, and those who, for the want of means, are forced to put up with an inferior article, trade here. As a general rule, the goods sold here are of an inferior, and often worthless quality, and the prices asked are high, though seemingly cheap.

Pawnbrokers' shops, "Cheap Johns," third-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 is a dead letter in the Bowery. Here, on the Sabbath, one may see shops of all kinds--the vilest especially--open for trade. Cheap clothing stores, 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. Roughs, thieves, fallen women, and even little children throng them. Indeed it is sad to see how many children are to be found in these 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 way. The amusement afforded at these places ranges from indelicate hints and allusions to the grossest indecency.

Along the line of almost the entire street are shooting galleries, some of which open immediately upon the street. They are decorated in the most fanciful style, and the targets represent nearly every variety of man and beast. Here is a lion, who, if hit in the proper place, will utter a truly royal roar. Here is a trumpeter. Strike his heart with your shot, and he will raise his trumpet to his lips and send forth a blast sufficient to wake every Bowery baby in existence. "Only five cents a shot," cries the proprietor to the surrounding crowd of barefoot, penniless boys, and half-grown lads, "and a knife to be given to the man that hits the bull's eye." Many a penny do these urchins spend here in the vain hope of winning the knife, and many are the seeds of evil sown among them by these "chances." In another gallery the proprietor offers twenty dollars to any one who will hit a certain bull's eye three times in succession. Here men contend for the prize, and as a rule the proprietor wins all the money in their pockets before the mark is struck as required.

The carnival of the Bowery is held on Saturday night. The down-town stores, the factories, and other business places close about five o'clock, and the street is thronged at an early hour. Crowds are going to market, but the majority are bent on pleasure. As soon as the darkness falls over the city the street blazes with light. Away up towards Prince street you may see the flashy sign of Tony Pastor's Opera House, while from below Canal street the Old Bowery Theatre stands white and glittering in the glare of gas and transparencies. Just over the way are the lights of the great German Stadt Theatre. The Atlantic Garden stands by the side of the older theatre, rivalling it in brilliancy and attractiveness. Scores of restaurants, with tempting bills of fare and prices astonishingly low, greet you at every step. "Lager Bier," and "Grosses Concert; Eintritt frei," are the signs which adorn nearly every other house. The lamps of the street venders dot the side-walk at intervals, and the many colored lights of the street cars stretch away as far as the eye can reach. The scene is as interesting and as brilliant as that to be witnessed in Broadway at the same hour; but very different.

As different as the scene, is the crowd thronging this street from that which is rushing along Broadway. Like that, it represents all nationalities, but it is a crowd peculiar to the Bowery. The "rich Irish brogue" is well represented, it is true; but the "sweet German accent" predominates. The Germans are everywhere here. The street signs are more than one-half in German, and one might step fresh from the Fatherland into the Bowery and never know the difference, so far as the prevailing language is concerned. Every tongue is spoken here. You see the piratical looking Spaniard and Portuguese, the gypsy-like Italian, the chattering Frenchman with an irresistible smack of the Commune about him, the brutish looking Mexican, the sad and silent "Heathen Chinee," men from all quarters of the globe, nearly all retaining their native manner and habits, all very little Americanized. They are all "of the people." There is no aristocracy in the Bowery. The Latin Quarter itself is not more free from restraint.

Among the many signs which line the street the word "Exchange" is to be seen very often. The "Exchanges" are the lowest class lottery offices, and they are doing a good business to-night, as you may see by the number of people passing in and out. The working people have just been paid off, and many of them are here now to squander their earnings in the swindles of the rascals who preside over the "Exchanges." These deluded creatures represent but a small part of the working class however. The Savings Banks are open to-night, many of them the best and most respectable buildings on the Bowery, and thousands of dollars in very small sums are left here for safe keeping.

Many of the Bowery people, alas, have no money for either the banks or the lottery offices. You may see them coming and going if you will stand by one of the many doors adorned with the three gilt balls. The pawnbrokers are reaping a fine harvest to-night. The windows of these shops are full of unredeemed pledges, and are a sad commentary on the hope of the poor creature who feels so sure she will soon be able to redeem the treasure she has just pawned for a mere pittance.

Down in the cellars the Concert Saloons are in full blast, and the hot foul air comes rushing up the narrow openings as you pass them, laden with the sound of the fearful revelry that is going on below. Occasionally a dog fight, or a struggle between some half drunken men, draws a crowd on the street and brings the police to the spot. At other times there is a rush of human beings and a wild cry of "stop thief," and the throng sweeps rapidly down the side-walk overturning street stands, and knocking the unwary passer-by off his feet, in its mad chase after some unseen thief. Beggars line the side-walk, many of them professing the most hopeless blindness, but with eyes keen enough to tell the difference between the coins tossed into their hats. The "Bowery Bands," as the little street musicians are called, are out in force, and you can hear their discordant strains every few squares.

Until long after midnight the scene is the same, and even all through the night the street preserves its air of unrest. Some hopeful vender of Lager Beer is almost always to be found at his post, seek him at what hour you will; and the cheap lodging houses and hotels seem never to close.

Respectable people avoid the Bowery as far as possible at night. Every species of crime and vice is abroad at this time watching for its victims. Those who do not wish to fall into trouble should keep out of the way.

IX. PUBLIC SQUARES.

I. THE BATTERY.

The lowest and one of the largest of the pleasure grounds of the city, is the park lying at the extreme end of the island, at the junction of the Hudson and East rivers, and known as the Battery. At the first settlement of the Dutch, the fort, for the protection of the little colony, was built at some distance from the extreme edge of the island, which was then rocky and swampy, but near enough to it to sweep the point with a raking fire. This fort occupied the site of the present Bowling Green. In 1658 Governor Stuyvesant erected a fine mansion, afterwards known as "The Whitehall," in the street now called by that name, but "Capsey Rocks," as the southern point of the island was called, remained unoccupied. In 1693, the Kingdom of Great Britain being at war with France, the Governor ordered the erection of a battery "on the point of rocks under the fort," and after considerable trouble, succeeded in obtaining from the Common Council, who were very reluctant to pay out the public money for any purpose not specified in the charter--a virtue which seems to have died with them--the sum necessary for that purpose. In 1734 a bill was passed by the General Assembly of the Province, ordering the erection of a battery on Capsey Rocks, and forbidding the erection of houses which would interfere with the fire of its guns, "on the river, or on parts which overflow with water, between the west part of the Battery, or Capsey Rocks, to Ells Corner on the Hudson River," (the present Marketfield street).

During the years preceding the Revolution, and throughout that struggle, the Battery was used exclusively for military purposes. About the year 1792 measures were taken for filling up, enclosing, and ornamenting the place as a public park, to which use it has since been devoted.

During the first half of the present century the Battery was the favorite park of the New Yorkers, and was indeed the handsomest. The march of trade, however, proved too much for it. The fashion and respectability of the city which had clustered near it were driven up town. Castle Garden, which had been a favorite Opera House, was converted into an emigrant depot, and the Battery was left to the emigrants and to the bummers. Dirt was carted and dumped here by the load, all sorts of trash was thrown here, and loafers and drunken wretches laid themselves out on the benches and on the grass to sleep in the sun, when the weather was mild enough. It became a plague spot, retaining as the only vestige of its former beauty, its grand old trees, which were once the pride of the city.

In 1869, however, the spot was redeemed. The sea-wall which the General Government had been building for the protection of the land was finished, and the Battery was extended out to meet it. The old rookeries and street-stands that had clustered about Castle Garden were removed, the rubbish which had accumulated here was carted away, and the Battery was again transformed into one of the handsomest of the city parks.

It now covers an area of about twelve acres, and is tastefully and regularly laid off. Broad stone paved walks traverse it in various directions, and the shrubbery and flowers are arranged with the best possible effect. A tall flag-staff rises from the centre of the park, and close by is a stand from which the city band give their concerts at stated times in the summer. A massive stone wall protects the harbor side from the washing of the waves, and at certain points granite stairs lead to the water.

The view from the Battery embraces a part of Brooklyn and the East River, Governor's and Staten islands, the Inner Bay, the Jersey shore, North River and Jersey City. The eye ranges clear down to the Narrows, and almost out to sea, and commands a view which cannot be surpassed in beauty. Here the sea breeze is always pure and fresh, here one may come for a few moments' rest from the turmoil of the great city, and delight himself with the lovely picture spread out before him.

II. THE BOWLING GREEN.

At the lower end of Broadway there is a small circular public square, enclosed with an iron railing, and ornamented with a fountain in the centre. This is known as the Bowling Green, and is the first public park ever laid out in the city.

The first fort built by the Dutch on Manhattan island covered a good part of the site of this square. In 1733 the Common Council passed a resolution ordering that "the piece of land lying at the lower end of Broadway fronting the fort, be leased to some of the inhabitants of Broadway, in order to be inclosed to make a Bowling Green, with walks therein, for the beauty and ornament of the said street, as well as for the recreation and delight of the inhabitants of this city, leaving the street on each side fifty feet wide." In October, 1734, the Bowling Green was leased to Frederick Philipse, John Chambers, and John Roosevelt, a trio of public spirited gentlemen, for ten years, for a Bowling Green only, and they agreed to keep it in repair at their own expense. In 1741 a fire swept away the fort, and afforded a chance of improving the park, which was done. A change for the better was brought about in the neighborhood by the establishment of the grounds, and substantial houses began to cluster about it.

A few years before the Revolution, the Colonial Assembly purchased in England a leaden statue of King George the Third, and set it up in the centre of the Bowling Green, in May 1771. The grounds at this time had no fence around them, as we learn from a resolution of the Common Council, and were made the receptacle of filth and dirt, thrown there, doubtless, by the patriots as an insult to the royalists. As the troubles thickened, the people became more hostile to the statue of King George, and heaped many indignities upon it, and after the breaking out of the war, the unlucky monarch was taken down and run into bullets for the guns of the Continental army.

After the close of the Revolution, Chancellor Livingston enclosed the grounds with the iron fence which still surrounds them, and subsequently a fountain was erected on the site of the statue.

III. THE PARK.

"THE PARK" is the title given by New Yorkers to the enclosure containing the City Hall and County Buildings. It originally embraced an area of eleven acres, but within the past year and a half the lower end has been ceded to the General Government by the city, and upon this portion the Federal authorities are erecting a magnificent edifice to be used as a City Post Office. This building covers the extreme southern end of the old Park, and the northern portion is occupied by the City Hall, the new County Court-House and the Department of Finance of the city and county.

In the days of the Dutch in New Amsterdam, the site of the Park, which was far outside the village limits, was set apart as a common, and was known as the "Vlachte," or "Flat," and subsequently as the "Second Plains," "Commons," and "Fields." It was the common grazing ground of the Knickerbocker cows, and was by universal consent made public property--the first ever owned by the city. It is believed that previous to this it was the site of the village of the Manhattan Indians, a belief which is strengthened by the frequent finding of Indian relics in digging up the soil on this spot. It was connected with the Dutch village by a road which ran through a beautiful valley now known as Maiden lane.

[Picture: THE CITY HALL PARK]

Every morning the village cowherd, who was a most important personage, would walk the streets of New Amsterdam and sound his horn at each burgher's door. The cows were immediately turned out to him, and when he had collected his herd he would drive them by the pretty valley road to the commons, and there by his vigilance prevent them from straying into the unsettled part beyond. At a later period the mighty Dutch warriors whose prowess the immortal Deiderich Knickerbocker has celebrated, made the commons their training ground, and here was also marshalled the force which wrested the city from the Dutch. Under the English it became a place of popular resort, and was used for public celebrations, the town having reached the lower limit of the commons. Here were celebrated his Majesty's birth-day, the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, and other loyal holidays, and here were held the tumultuous assemblies, the meetings of the Liberty Boys, and other demonstrations which preceded the Revolution.

In 1736 the first building, a Poor-House, was erected on the site of the present City Hall. In 1747 a powder-house was erected by the city within the limit of the commons, near the site of the present City Hall. The gallows stood on the site of the new Post-office, and in 1756 was removed to the vicinity of the present Five Points. In 1757 the new jail, more recently known as the Hall of Records, was erected. In the same year, the old French war being in progress, wooden barracks were erected along the Chambers street front of the Park.

In 1757 a part of the site of the City Hall was laid out as a burying ground for the inmates of the Alms-House. In 1764 a whipping-post, stocks, cage, and pillory were erected in front of the new jail. In 1755 a Bridewell was built on that portion lying between the City Hall and Broadway. After the Revolution, in 1785, the Park was first enclosed in its present form, by a post-and-rail fence, and a few years later this was replaced by wooden palings, and Broadway along the Park began to be noted as a fashionable place of residence. In 1816, the wooden fence gave way to an iron railing, which was set with due ceremonies by the city authorities. In 1795 a new Alms-House was built along the Chambers street front, but in 1812, Bellevue Hospital having been finished, the paupers were transferred thither, and the old building was refitted as a Museum. In 1802 the corner-stone of the present City Hall was laid. The building was finished in 1810. Some years later the old buildings were removed or converted into offices for the city and county officials.

In 1870, the southern portion having been ceded to the Federal Government for the erection of a new Post-office thereon, the Park was laid out on a new plan, and handsomely adorned with walks, shrubbery, fountains, etc. It is now an ornament to the city.

IV. OTHER PARKS.

WASHINGTON SQUARE is located between Fourth and Seventh streets, at the lower end of Fifth avenue. The site was originally a Potter's Field, and it is said that over one hundred thousand persons were buried here in days gone by. The square contains a little over nine acres, and is handsomely laid out, and adorned with a fountain, around which passes the main carriage drive, flowers, shrubbery, etc. The trees are among the finest in the city, and are kept with great care. An iron railing formerly surrounded the grounds, but in 1870-71 this was removed, and Fifth avenue was extended through the square to Laurens street. This street was widened and called South Fifth avenue, thus practically extending the avenue to West Broadway at Canal street. The square is surrounded by handsome residences. On the east side are the University of New York and a Lutheran Church.

TOMPKINS SQUARE is one of the largest in the city, and is laid off without ornament, being designed for a drill ground for the police and military. It occupies the area formed by avenues A and B, and Seventh and Tenth streets.

UNION SQUARE, lying between Broadway and Fourth avenue, and Fourteenth and Seventeenth streets, was originally a portion of the estate of Elias Brevoort. In 1762 he sold twenty acres lying west of the "Bowery Road" to John Smith, whose executors sold it to Henry Spingler for the sum of 950 pounds, or about $4750. The original farm-house is believed to have stood within the limits of the present Union Square. About the year 1807 Broadway was laid off to the vicinity of Twenty-second street, and in 1815 Union Square was made a "public place," and in 1832 it was laid off as it now exists. The square is regular in shape, and the central portion is laid off as a park, and ornamented with shrubbery, flowers, walks, and a fountain. It is one of the prettiest parks in the city, and covers an area of several acres. It is oval in form, and is without an enclosure.

[Picture: THE WASHINGTON STATUE IN UNION SQUARE.]

Near the fountain is a thriving colony of English sparrows, imported and cared for by the city for the purpose of protecting the trees from the ravages of worms, etc. The birds have a regular village of quaint little houses built for them in the trees. They frequent all the parks of the city, but seem to regard this one as their headquarters. Some of the houses are quite extensive and are labelled with curious little signs, such as the following: "Sparrows' Chinese Pagoda," "Sparrows' Doctor Shop," "Sparrows' Restaurant," "Sparrows' Station House," etc. At the southeast angle of the square stands Hablot K. Browne's equestrian statue of Washington, a fine work in bronze, and at the southwest angle is his statue of Lincoln, of the same metal. The houses surrounding the square are large and handsome. They were once the most elegant residences in New York, but are now, with a few exceptions, used for business. Several hotels, the principal of which are the Everett and Spingler Houses, front on the Square. On the south side, east of Broadway, is the Union Square Theatre, and on the west side, at the corner of Fifteenth street, Tiffany's magnificent iron building. In a few years the square will doubtless be entirely surrounded with similar structures. It is here that the monster mass meetings are held.

STUYVESANT SQUARE lies to the east of Union Square, and is bisected by the line of the Second avenue. Its upper and lower boundaries are Fifteenth and Seventeenth streets. It consists of two beautiful parks of equal size, surrounded by a handsome iron railing, and filled with choice flowers and shrubbery. In the centre of each is a fountain. These parks are the property of St. George's Church (Episcopal), which stands on the west side of the square at the corner, and were given to the corporation of that church by the late Peter G. Stuyvesant, Esq.

GRAMMERCY PARK lies midway between the Fourth and Third avenues, and separates Lexington avenue on the north from Irving Place, really a part of the same avenue, on the south. Its northern and southern boundaries are Twentieth and Twenty-first streets. It is tastefully laid out, is enclosed with an iron fence, and is kept locked against the public, as it is the private property of the persons living around it. On the east side the entire block is taken up by the Grammercy Park Hotel--a first-class boarding house--the other three sides are occupied by the residences of some of the wealthiest capitalists in America. Here dwell Peter Cooper, Moses Taylor, Cyrus W. Field, James Harper (of Harper & Bros.), and others equally well known in the financial world.

MADISON SQUARE comprises about ten acres, and lies at the junction of Broadway and the Fifth avenue. The latter street bounds it on the west, Madison avenue on the east, Twenty-third street on the south, and Twenty-sixth street on the north. It is nearly square in form, and is beautifully laid off. It has no fence, and this adds to the appearance of space which the neighboring open area gives to it. The Fifth Avenue Hotel, the Hoffman, Albemarle, and Worth Houses face it on the west, the Hotel Brunswick is on the north side, and the Union League Club House and a handsome Presbyterian Church are on the east side along the line of Madison avenue. The land now included in Madison Square was owned by the city from a very early period, and was used as a Potter's Field. In 1806 it was ceded to the United States for the erection of an Arsenal, for which purpose it was occupied for several years. In 1824 the "Society for the Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents" obtained possession of the Arsenal grounds, on which they erected a House of Refuge, which was opened January 1st, 1825. This establishment consisted of two large stone buildings, and the grounds were enclosed with a stone wall seventeen feet high. In 1838 the House of Refuge was destroyed by fire, and a few years later Madison Square was laid out. It is now one of the most fashionable localities in the city, and the favorite promenade of the up-town people, who are drawn here in great numbers by the summer afternoon concerts of the Central Park Band.

RESERVOIR SQUARE occupies the site of the old Crystal Palace, and lies between Sixth avenue and the Croton Reservoir on Fifth avenue, and Fortieth and Forty-second streets. It has recently undergone great changes. It is a very pretty park, and is much frequented by the nurses and children of the adjacent neighborhoods.

X. THE FIFTH AVENUE.

The Fifth avenue, commencing at Washington Square, or Seventh street, and extending to the Harlem River, is said by the residents of New York to be the finest street in the world. It is about six miles in length, and is built up continuously from Washington Square to the Central Park, a distance of nearly three miles. From Fifty-ninth street to the upper end of the Central Park, One-hundred-and-tenth street, it is laid with the Nicholson or wooden pavement. It is being rapidly built up along its eastern side, the Park bounding the opposite side of the street, and this portion bids fair to be one of the most delightful and desirable neighborhoods in the city. In the vicinity of One-hundred-and-eighteenth street, the line of the avenue is broken by Mount Morris, an abrupt rocky height, which has been laid off as a pleasure ground. Around this the street sweeps in a half circle, and from here to the Harlem River, One-hundred-and-thirty-fifth street, it is lined with pretty villas, and paved with asphaltum.

From Madison Square to its lower end, the avenue is rapidly giving way to business, and its palatial residences are being converted into equally fine stores. Hotels and fashionable boarding-houses are thick in this quarter. Above Madison Square the street is devoted to private residences, and this part is par excellence "The Avenue."

[Picture: FIFTH AVENUE, NEAR TWENTY-FIRST STREET.]

The principal buildings, apart from the residences, are the Brevoort House, at the corner of Clinton Place, an ultra fashionable hostelrie. On the opposite side of the street, at the northwest corner of Tenth street, is the handsome brown stone Episcopal Church of the Ascension, and on the southwest corner of Eleventh street is the equally handsome First Presbyterian Church, constructed of the same material. At the northeast corner of Fourteenth street is Delmonico's famous restaurant, fronting on both streets; and diagonally opposite, on the southwest corner of Fifteenth street, the magnificent house of the Manhattan Club. Not far from Delmonico's, and on the same side, is a brick mansion, adorned with a sign bearing a coat of arms, and the announcement that the ground floor is occupied by the eighth wonder of the world, "A Happy Tailor." At the southeast corner of Nineteenth street is the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, in charge of the eloquent Dr. John Hall. Two blocks above, on the southwest corner of Twenty-first street, is the South Dutch Reformed Church, a handsome brown stone edifice, and diagonally opposite is the Glenham House. At the southwest corner of Twenty-second street, is the famous art gallery of Gonpil & Co., and immediately opposite the St. Germains Hotel. At Twenty-third street, Broadway crosses the avenue obliquely from northwest to southeast. On the left hand, going north, is the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and on the left Madison Square. The open space is very broad here, and is always thronged with a busy, lively crowd. At the northeast corner of Twenty-sixth street is the Hotel Brunswick, and on the southwest corner of Twenty-seventh street the Stevens House, both monster buildings rented in flats to families of wealth. At the northwest corner of Twenty-ninth street, is a handsome church of white granite, belonging to the Dutch Reformed faith, and familiarly known as the "Church of the Holy Rooster," from the large gilt cock on the spire. At the northwest corner of Thirty-fourth street is the new marble residence of Mr. A. T. Stewart, the most magnificent dwelling house in the land. Immediately opposite is a fine brown stone mansion, occupied at present by Mr. Stewart. On the southeast corner of Thirty-fifth street, is Christ Church (Episcopal), and on the northwest corner of Thirty-seventh street the Brick Church (Presbyterian), of which Dr. Gardiner Spring is the pastor. At Fortieth street, and extending to Forty-second, the west side of the avenue is taken up with the old distributing reservoir, a massive structure of stone, and immediately opposite is the Rutgers Female College. At the southeast corner of Forty-third street is the city residence of the notorious Boss Tweed, and at the northeast corner of the same street, the splendid Jewish synagogue known as the Temple E-manu-el. At the southwest corner of Forty-fifth street is the Church of the Divine Paternity (Universalist), of which Dr. Chapin is the pastor, and on the opposite side of the street in the block above, the Church of the Heavenly Rest (Episcopal). At the northwest corner of Forty-eighth street is the massive but unfinished structure of the Collegiate Dutch Reformed Church. On the east side of the avenue, and occupying the block between Fiftieth and Fifty-first streets, is the new St. Patrick's Cathedral, unfinished, but destined to be the most elaborate church edifice in America. The block above the Cathedral is occupied by the Male Orphan Asylum of the same church, next door to which is the mansion of Madame Restelle, one of the most noted abortionists of New York. On the northwest corner of Fifty-third street is the new St. Thomas' Church (Episcopal), a fine edifice, and owned by one of the wealthiest congregations in the city. Between Fifty-fourth and Fifty-fifth streets, and on the same side of the street, is St. Luke's Hospital, with its pretty grounds. On the east side, between Fifty-eighth and Fifty-ninth streets, and now in course of erection, will be located the Central Park Hotel, which is to be one of the most imposing structures in New York; and just opposite is the main entrance to the Central Park.

From Seventh to Fifty-ninth streets, the avenue presents a continuous line of magnificent mansions. There are a few marble, yellow stone, and brick buildings, but the prevailing material is brown stone. The general appearance of the street is magnificent, but sombre, owing to the dark color of the stone. Nearly all the houses are built on the same design, which gives to it an air of sameness and tameness that is not pleasing. But it is a magnificent street, nevertheless, and has not its equal in the great and unbroken extent of its splendor in the world. It is a street of palaces. Madison and Park avenues, and portions of Lexington avenue, are nearly as handsome, as are the cross streets connecting them with the Fifth avenue, and many of the streets leading to the Sixth avenue are similarly built. The great defect of the avenue is the poverty of resource in the designs of the buildings, but this is the only species of poverty present here.

If the houses are palatial without, they are even more so within. Some of them are models of elegance and taste; others are miracles of flashy and reckless adornment. The walls and ceilings are covered with exquisite frescoes. The floors are rich in the finest and thickest of carpets, on whose luxurious pile no footfall ever sounds. The light of the sun comes struggling in through the richest of curtains, and at night the brilliancy of the gas is softened by the warmest tinted porcelain shades, or heightened by the dazzling reflection of crystal chandeliers. The drawing rooms are filled with the costliest and the richest furniture which is the perfection of comfort, and with works of art worth a fortune in themselves. Back of these, or across the hall, through the half opened doors, you see the sumptuously furnished library, with its long rows of daintily bound books in their rosewood shelves. The library is a "feature" in most houses of the very wealthy, and in the majority of instances is more for ornament than for use. In the rear of all is the conservatory with its wealth of flowers and rare plants, which send their odors through the rooms beyond. The upper and lower stories are furnished on a corresponding scale of magnificence. Everything that money can procure for the comfort or luxury of the inmates is at hand. Nor are such residences few in number. They may be counted by the hundred, each with its contents worth a large fortune. The style of living is in keeping with the house, and, as a matter of course, only the very wealthy can afford such homes.

As for the occupants, they represent all classes--the good and the bad, the cultivated and the illiterate, the refined and the vulgar, the well-born and those who have risen from the gutters. If shoddy finds a home here, genuine merit is his neighbor. Those who have large and assured incomes can afford such a style of life; but they do not comprise all the dwellers on the Avenue. Many are here who have strained every nerve to "get into the Avenue," and who would sell body and soul to stay there, yet who feel that the crash is coming before which they must give way. Others there are who would give half their possessions to move in the society in which their neighbors live. They reside on the Avenue, but they are ignored by one class of its occupants, because of their lack of refinement and cultivation, and by another because of their inferiority in wealth. Great wealth covers a multitude of defects in the Avenue.

Perhaps the most restless, care-worn faces in the city are to be seen on this street. Women clad in the richest attire pass you with unquiet face and wistful eyes, and men who are envied by their fellows for their "good luck," startle you by the stern, hard set look their features wear. The first find little real happiness in the riches they have sold themselves for, and the latter find that the costly pleasures they courted have been gained at too dear a price.

[Picture: THE NEW RESIDENCE OF A. T. STEWART, ESQ.]

Families are small in the Avenue, and Madame Restelle boasts, that her wealth has been earned in a large degree by keeping them so. Fashion has its requirements, and before them maternity must give way. Your fashionable lady has no time to give to children, but pets lap-dogs and parrots.

Well, the Avenue mansions have their skeletons, as well as the east side tenement houses. The sin of the fashionable lady is covered up, however, and the poor girl must face the world. That is the difference. Madame married her husband for his money, and her love is given to one who has no right to claim it; and what between her loathing for her liege lord and her dread of detection, she leads a life not to be envied in spite of the luxury which surrounds her. The liege lord in his turn, never suspecting his wife, but disheartened by her coldness to him, seeks his "affinity" elsewhere; and, by and by, the divorce court tells some unpleasant truths about the Avenue.

Contemplating these things, I have thought that the most wretched quarter of the city hardly holds more unhappy hearts than dwell along the three miles of this grand street; and I have thanked God that the Avenue does not fairly represent the better and higher phases of social and domestic life in the great city.

XI. STREET TRAVEL.

I. THE STREET CARS.

The peculiar shape of the island of Manhattan allows the city to grow in one direction only. The pressure of business is steadily bringing the mercantile district higher up the island, and compelling the residence sections to go farther to the northward. Persons in passing from their homes to their business go down town in the morning, and in returning come up town in the evening. Those who live in the better quarters of the city, or in the upper portion of the island, cannot think of walking between their homes and their business. 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. In consequence of this, street railways and omnibuses are more necessary, and better patronized in New York than in any city in the Union.

The street cars are the most popular, as they constitute the quickest and most direct means of reaching the most of the city localities. There are about twenty-two lines in operation within the city limits. The majority of these run from north to south, and a few pass "across town" and connect points on the North and East Rivers. A number centre in Park Row at the new Post-office, and at the Astor House. The fare is usually five cents below Sixty-fifth street, and from six to eight cents to points above that street.

The Street Railway Companies are close corporations. Their stock is very rarely in the market, and when it is offered at all sells readily at high prices. The actual dividends of these companies are large, often reaching as high as thirty-five per cent. This, however, is carefully concealed from the public, and the companies unite in declaring that the expenses of operating their roads are too heavy to admit of even a moderate profit. This they do, no doubt, to excuse in some degree the meanness with which they conduct their enterprises; for it is a striking fact that the heavier such a company's business grows, and the more its profits increase, the more parsimonious it becomes towards its employees and the public.

There is not a line in the city that has a sufficient number of cars to accommodate its patrons. More than one-half of those who ride on the cars are obliged to stand during their journey. As a rule, the cars are dirty and filled with vermin. The conductors and drivers are often appointed for political reasons alone, and are simply brutal ruffians. They treat the passengers with insolence, and often with brutality.

One meets all sorts of people on the street cars, and sometimes the contact is closer than is agreeable, and keeps sensitive people in constant dread of an attack of the itch or some kindred disease. Crowded cars are much frequented by pick-pockets, who are said to be frequently in league with the conductors, and many valuable articles and much money are annually stolen by the light-fingered in these vehicles.

[Picture: NEW PALACE-CAR IN USE ON THE THIRD AVENUE LINE.]

If the drivers and conductors are often deserving of censure, they have their grievances also. Their employers are merciless in their treatment of them. They lead a hard life, working about fifteen hours out of every twenty-four, with no holidays. The conductors receive from $2.00 to $2.50 per day, and the drivers from $2.25 to $2.75. In order to make up the deficiency between their actual wages and their necessities, the conductors and drivers have fallen into the habit of appropriating a part of the money received from passengers to their own use. Many of them are very expert at this, but some are detected, discharged from the service of the company, and handed over to the police. The companies of course endeavor to put a stop to such practices, but thus far have not been successful, and plead as their excuse for the low wages they give, that this system of stealing prevents them from giving higher pay. Spies, or "spotters," as the conductors term them, are kept constantly travelling over the roads to watch the employees. They note the number of passengers carried during the trip, and when the conductors' reports are handed in, examine them and point out such inaccuracies as may exist. They soon become known to the men. They are cordially hated, and sometimes fare badly at the hands of those whose evil doings they have exposed. This practice of "knocking down," or appropriating money, begins with the conductor, as he alone receives the money paid for fares. Those interested in it defend it on various grounds. The President of the Third Avenue Railway Company, the principal horse-car line in the city, once said to a reporter for a morning paper:

"We try and get all honest men. We discharge a man immediately if he is found to be dishonest. You see, conductors are sometimes made more dishonest by the drivers, who demand so much a day from them. You have no idea how much a driver can worry a conductor if he wants to. For instance, he can drive a little past the corner every time when he ought to stop. He can be looking the other way when the conductor sees a passenger coming. He can run too fast, or let the car behind beat his, and so on, annoying the conductor continually. The only way the conductor can keep friends with him is to divide every night. . . . The conductors 'knock down' on an average about thirty-five or fifty cents per day. . . . I don't think the practice can be entirely stopped. We try all we can. Some will do it, and others think they have the same right. We can't stop it, but discharge a man mighty quick if he is detected." The Third Avenue line runs 200 cars, so that the loss of the company by the "knock-down" system is from $70 to $100 per day, or from $25,500 to $36,500 per annum.

A conductor gave his explanation of the system as follows:

"Well, I'll tell ye. When a conductor is put on a road he has to wait his turn before getting a car; it may be a month or six weeks before he is regularly on. He'll have to know the ropes or he'll be shelved before he knows it. He'll have to be a thief from the start or leave the road. His pay is $2 to $2.25 per day. Out of that sum he must pay the driver from $1 to $2 a day; the starter he has to conciliate in various ways. A lump of stamps is better than drinks and cigars, though drinks and cigars have a good deal of influence on the roads; and then the 'spotter' has to get $5 every week."

"Why do the conductors allow themselves to be imposed on in this way?"

"Why? Because they can't help it. If they don't pay the driver, the driver will not stop for passengers, and the conductor is short in his returns; if they don't have a 'deal' with the starter, the starter will fix him somehow. You see the driver can stop behind time, or go beyond it if he likes. The latest car in the street, you understand, gets the most passengers. So it is that the drivers who are feed by the conductors stay from two to five minutes behind time, to the inconvenience of passengers, but to the profit of the driver, the conductor, the starter, the spotter, and for all I know, the superintendent and president of the company. It is a fine system from beginning to end. The amount of drink disposed of by some of the fellows in authority is perfectly amazing. I know a starter to boast of taking fifteen cocktails (with any number of lagers between drinks) in a day, and all paid for by the 'road;' for, of course, the conductors saved themselves from loss. Oh, yes, you bet they did! The conductor's actual expenses a day average $5; his pay is $2.25, which leaves a fine tail-end margin of profit. How the expenses are incurred I have told you. What ken a man do? Honesty? No man can be honest and remain a conductor. Conductors must help themselves, an' they do! Why, even the driver who profits by the conductor's operations, has to fee the stablemen, else how could he get good horses? Stablemen get from $1 to $2 per week from each driver."

"Then the system of horse railroad management is entirely corrupt?"

"You bet. 'Knocking down' is a fine art, as they say: but it is not confined to the conductors. The worst thing about the car business though, and what disgusted me while I was in it, was the thieves."

"The thieves?"

"Ay, the thieves. The pick-pockets, a lot of roughs get on your car, refuse to pay their fares, insult ladies, and rob right and left. If you object you are likely to get knocked on the head; if you are armed and show fight you are attacked in another way. The thieves are (or rather they were until lately) influential politicians, and tell you to your face that they'll have you dismissed. Ten to one they do what they say. I tell ye a man ought to have leave to knock down lively to stand all this."

II. THE STAGES.

The stages of New York are a feature of the great city, which must be seen to be appreciated. They are the best to be found on this continent, but are far inferior to the elegant vehicles for the same purpose which are to be seen in London and Paris. The stages of New York are stiff, awkward looking affairs, very difficult to enter or leave, a fact which is sometimes attended with considerable danger on the part of ladies. To ride in one is to incur considerable fatigue, for they are as rough as an old-fashioned country wagon. Unlike the European omnibuses, they have no seats on top, but an adventurous passenger may, if he chooses, clamber up over the side and seat himself by the Jehu in charge. From this lofty perch he can enjoy the best view of the streets along the route of the vehicle, and if the driver be inclined to loquacity, he may hear many a curious tale to repay him for his extra exertion.

The stages, however, as inconvenient as they are, constitute the favorite mode of conveyance for the better class of New Yorkers. The fare on these lines is ten cents, and is sufficiently high to exclude from them the rougher and dirtier portion of the community, and one meets with more courtesy and good breeding here than in the street cars. They are cleaner than the cars, and ladies are less liable to annoyance in them. Like the cars, however, they are well patronized by the pickpockets.

The driver also acts as conductor. The fares are passed up to him through a hole in the roof in the rear of his seat. The check-string passes from the door through this hole, and rests under the driver's foot. By pulling this string the passenger gives the signal to stop the stage, and in order to distinguish between this and a signal 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 attracts the driver's attention. A vigorous ringing of this gong by the driver is a signal for passengers to hand up their fares.

All the stage routes lie along Broadway below Twenty-third street. They begin at some of the various East River ferries, reach the great thoroughfare as directly as possible, and leave it to the right and left between Bleecker and Twenty-third streets, and pass thence to their destinations in the upper part of the city. The principal lines pass from Broadway into Madison, Fourth and Fifth avenues, and along their upper portions traverse the best quarter of the city. As the stages furnish the only conveyances on Broadway, they generally do well. The flow and ebb of the great tide down and up the island in the morning and evening crowd every vehicle, and during the remainder of the day, they manage by the exertions of the drivers to keep comfortably full.

The stage drivers constitute a distinct class in the metropolis, and though they lead a hard and laborious life, their lot, as a general thing, is much better than that of the car drivers. They suffer much from exposure to the weather. In the summer they frequently fall victims to sunstroke, and in the bitter winter weather they are sometimes terribly frozen before reaching the end of their route, as they cannot leave their boxes. In the summer they protect themselves from the rays of the sun by means of huge umbrellas fastened to the roof of the coach, and in the winter they encase themselves in a multitude of wraps and comforters, and present a rather ludicrous appearance. They are obliged to exercise considerable skill in driving along Broadway, for the dense throng in the street renders the occurrence of an accident always probable, and Jehu has a holy horror of falling into the hands of the police. Riding with one of them one day, I asked if he could tell me why it was that the policemen on duty on the street were never run over or injured in trying to clear the thoroughfare of its frequent "blocks" of vehicles?

"There'll never be one of them hurt by a driver accustomed to the street, sir," said he, dryly; "I'd rather run over the richest man in New York. Why, the police would fix you quick enough if you'd run a-foul of them. It would be a month or two on the Island, and that's what none of us fancy."

It requires more skill to carry a stage safely through Broadway than to drive a horse car, and consequently good stage-drivers are always in demand, and can command better wages and more privileges than the latter. They are allowed the greater part of Saturday, or some other day in the week, and as the stages are not run on Sunday, that day is a season of rest with them.

Like the street car conductors, they are given to the practice of "knocking down," and it is said appropriate very much more of their employers' money than the former. They defend the practice with a variety of arguments, and assert that it is really to their employers' interests for them to keep back a part of the earnings of the day, since in order to cover up their peculations, they must exert themselves to pick up as many fares as possible. "It's a fact, sir," said one of them to the writer, "that them as makes the most for themselves, makes the biggest returns to the office."

Many of the drivers are very communicative on the subjects of their profession, and not a few tell some good stories of "slouches," "bums," and "beats," the names given to those gentlemen whose principal object in this world is to sponge upon poor humanity to as great an extent as the latter will permit. One of the cheapest ways of "getting a ride" is to present a five or ten dollar bill; very few drivers carry so much money, as they hardly ever have that amount on their morning trips; the bill cannot be changed, and the owner of it gets "down town" free.

Apropos of this method, a talkative Jehu said to me one morning, "When I was a drivin' on the Knickerbocker," a line that ran some twenty years ago from South Ferry through Broadway, Bleecker, and Eighth avenue, to Twenty-third street, "there was a middle-aged man that used to ride reg'lar; all the fellows got to knowin' him. Well, he'd get in and hand up a ten dollar note--you know the fare was only six cents then--and we never had so much 'bout us, so, of course, he'd ride for nothin'; well, that fellow stuck me five mornin's straight, and I sort o' got tired of it; so on the six' day I went to the office and says to the Boss, 'There's a man ridin' free on this line. All the fellows knows him; he gives 'em all a ten dollar note and they can't break it. He's rid with me these last five mornin's, an' I'm goin' for him to-day, I want ten dollars in pennies, an' six fares out. If he rides I'll git square with him.' So the Boss he gives me nine dollars and sixty-four cents all in pennies--you know they was all big ones then--an' they weighed some, I tell you. When I got down to Fourteenth street he hailed me. Then the fares used to pay when they got out. So he hands up his note; I looked at it--it was on the "Dry Dock"--an' I hands him down the pennies. Well, how he did blow about it an' said how he wouldn't take 'em. Well, says I, then I'll keep it all. Well, he was the maddest fellow you ever seen; he was hoppin'! But he got out an' some one inside hollers out, 'Put some one on the other side or you'll capsize,' an' he thought it was me. He jumped on the sidewalk an' he called me everything he could lay his tongue to, an' I a la'ffin' like blazes. Says he, 'I'll report you, you old thief,' an' I drove off. Well, I told the Boss, an' he says, 'Let him come, I'll talk to him,' but he never made no complaint there."

Said another: "A lady got in with me one day an' handed up a fifty cent stamp. I put down forty cents. I don't never look gen'rally, but this time I see a man take the change an' put it in his pocket. Pretty soon a man rings the bell an' says, 'Where's the lady's change?' Well, I thinks here's a go, an' I points to the man and says, 'That there gentleman put it in his pocket.' Well, that fellow looked like a sheet, an' a thunder-cloud an' all through the rainbow. He never said nothing but pulled out the change, gave it up, an' then he got out an' went 'round a corner like mad. Some don't wait like he did tho', but gits out right off. One day a chap got out an' another follered him, an they had it out on the street there, an' we all was a looking on."

Sometimes the drivers make "a haul" in a curious way. Said one: "A man handed me up a fifty dollar bill one night. I handed it back four times, and got mad because he wouldn't give me a small bill. He said he hadn't anything else, and I could take that or nothing, so, I gave him change for a dollar bill, and kept forty-nine dollars and ten cents for his fare. He didn't say anything, and after a while he got out. Why, the other day a lady gave me a hundred dollar note, and when I told her I thought she'd faint. 'My goodness!' said she, 'I didn't know it was more than one.' Such people ought to be beat; they'd be more careful when they lose a few thousand."

"Some fellows," said another driver, "give you ten or fifteen cents, an' swear they give you a fifty cent stamp, an' you have to give them change for fifty cents, or they'll may be go to the office an' make a fuss, an' the bosses will sooner take their word than yours, an' you'll get sacked."

One of the most laborious ways of "turning an honest penny" was brought to my notice by one of these knights of the whip. Said he: "Has you been a watchin' of my business this morning? P'r'aps you aint took notice of the money I'm takin' in? No, I guess not." The latter remark was followed by a rough laugh, in which I thought there was distinguishable a little more than mere merriment, especially when I heard a mumbled imprecation. He continued aloud: "I aint seen any yet myself." Soon the bell rang, and a ticket was passed up. "Well," said he, "he's goin' it strong, to be sure; this here's the fourteenth ticket I've had on this trip." An explanation being solicited, the fact was revealed that there was a man inside who made a practice of buying twelve tickets for a dollar, then seating himself near the bell, he would take the fares of every one and give the driver a ticket for each, that is, receive ten cents and give the driver the equivalent of eight and one-third cents, thereby making ten cents on every six passengers. "You see," said the driver, "what a blessin' those sort of fellers is. Here I don't have no trouble whatsomever; he makes all the change for me, and 'spose my box should blow over, nothen's lost." From time to time as the tickets were handed up he would cheer the toiler inside with such expressions as "Go it boots," "How's the cash?" "How does the old thing work?" always loud enough to attract the attention of the "insides."

This strange individual interested me so much that I made some inquiries about him, at first supposing him to be crazy or otherwise terribly afflicted; but he is considered sound, is the third in a well-to-do firm, and is far beyond the need of having recourse to any such means for increasing his capital.

III. STEAM RAILWAYS.

The great necessity of New York is some sure means of rapid transit between the upper and lower parts of the island. The average New Yorker spends about an hour or an hour and a half each day in going to and from his business, and an immense amount of valuable time is thus lost, which loss is often increased by delays. For the past few years the citizens of the metropolis have been seeking to procure the construction of a road from the Battery to Harlem to be operated by steam, and it seems probable now that a few years more will witness the completion of such a road. Public opinion is divided between two plans, and it is probable that both will be tried, and that the city will soon contain a steam railway elevated above the street and a similar road under the ground.

The elevated railway has already been tried to a limited extent, but is not regarded with much favor by the citizens. This line extends along Greenwich street and Ninth avenue, from the Battery to Thirtieth street. The track of this road is laid on iron posts, at an elevation of about sixteen feet above the street. The cars are so constructed that it would be impossible for one of them to fall from the track. Dummy engines furnish the motive power. The running time from the present southern terminus at Courtlandt street to Thirtieth street, a distance of about three miles, is fifteen minutes. The road is pronounced perfectly safe by competent engineers, but the structure appears so light to the unscientific public that nine out of ten view it with distrust, and it is doubtful whether it will ever meet with the success the company hope for.

The only other elevated road at present contemplated, and for which a liberal charter has been obtained, is known as the Viaduct Road. It is proposed to build this on a series of arches of solid masonry, the streets to be spanned by light bridges. The line of the road is to be in the centre of the blocks along its route. The estimated cost of the road, including the sum to be paid for the right of way, is about $80,000,000; and it seems certain that this immense cost will necessitate radical changes in the original plan.

[Picture: TUNNEL UNDER BROADWAY.]

The underground plan has many supporters in the city, these basing their hopes upon the success achieved by the underground railway of London. There are several plans proposed for an underground road. The first is known as the Arcade Railway. It is proposed by the friends of this plan to excavate the streets along which it passes to a depth of about twenty feet, or in other words, to make a new street twenty feet below the level of those already in existence. This new street is to be provided with sidewalks, gas-lamps, telegraph lines, hydrants, etc., and upon the sidewalks the basements of the present buildings will open, thus adding an additional and valuable story to the existing edifices. The lower street is to be arched over with solid masonry, rendered water-tight, and supported by heavy iron columns. Large glass plates, similar to those now used for lighting the cellars of stores, will be placed in the sidewalks of the street above, and will furnish light to the lower street during the day. The roadway of the lower street will be entirely devoted to the use of railway trains. The proposed route of the Arcade line is from the Battery, under Broadway, to Union Square. Thence the eastern branch is to extend along Fourth avenue to the Harlem River, while the western is to continue along Broadway to the junction of Ninth avenue, whence it will be prolonged to the northern end of the island.

The Underground Railway proper is to extend from the lower to the upper end of the island, and is to pass through one or more tunnels, after the manner of the Underground Railway of London.

The third plan for an underground road, is the only one that has yet been attempted. It is known as the "Beach Pneumatic Tunnel." A small section, several hundred yards in length, has been constructed under Broadway, and the company owning it claim that they have thus demonstrated their ability to construct and work successfully a road extending from the Battery to the upper end of the island.

The tunnel is eight feet in diameter. It commences in the cellar of the marble building of Messrs. Develin & Co., at the southwest corner of Broadway and Warren street, and extends under the great thoroughfare to a point a little below Murray street. It is dry and clean, is painted white, and is lighted with gas. It passes under all the gas and water pipes and sewers. The cars are made to fit the tunnel, and are propelled by means of atmospheric pressure. A strong blast of air, thrown out by means of an immense blowing machine, is forced against the rear end of a car, and sends it along the track like a sail-boat before the wind. This current of course secures perfect ventilation within the car. The company claim that they will be able, when their road is completed, to transport more than 20,000 passengers per hour, each way.

XII. HORACE GREELEY.

The best known man in New York, in one sense, and the least known in others, is Horace Greeley. If there is a man, woman, or child in all this broad land who has not heard of him, let that person apply to Barnum for an engagement as a natural curiosity. And yet how few know the man as he really is. The most absurd stories are told of him, and the likeness most familiar to the public is a ridiculous caricature.

He was born in Amherst, New Hampshire, on the 3d of February, 1811, and is consequently 61 years old. His parents were poor, and Horace received but a very plain education at the common schools of the vicinity. The natural talent of the boy made up for this, however, for he read everything he could lay his hands on. He was a rapid reader, too, and had the faculty of retaining the information thus acquired. He was kept too busy at work on his father's sterile farm to be able to read during the day, and he was too poor to afford to use candles at night, and so his early studies were carried on by the light of pine knots. He served a severe apprenticeship at the printing business, commencing it at a very early age, and finding employment first on one country paper, and then on another, working at his trade, and occasionally writing for the journals he put in type.

In 1831 he came to New York, convinced that the great city offered him a better opportunity for success than any other place, and resolved to win that success. He was very boyish in appearance, frail, delicate-looking, but hopeful and resolved. For ten years he worked hard in the various offices of the city, sometimes setting type and sometimes writing editorials. Sometimes he published his own journal, but generally found this a "losing business." Failure did not discourage him, and he kept on, acquiring greater experience and becoming better known every year. He has himself told so well the story of his early struggles to so large an audience that I need not repeat it here.

In 1841, ten years from the time he wandered along Nassau street, without money or friends, and with all his worldly possessions tied up in a handkerchief, he began the publication of the New York Tribune, having succeeded in obtaining the necessary capital. It was a venture, and a bold one, but it proved a great success. He chose the name of the journal himself, and became its responsible editor. Though others have assisted him in his efforts, the success of the paper is his work. He has made it a great power in the land, and he is naturally proud of his work. Those who know him best say that the title dearest to his heart is that of "Founder of the New York Tribune."

Mr. Greeley's career has been one of incessant labor. His friends say he was never known to rest as other men do. When he goes to his farm in Westchester County for recreation, he rests by chopping wood and digging ditches. His editorial labors make up a daily average of about two columns of the Tribune, and he contributes the equivalent of about six Tribune columns per week to other journals. He writes from fifteen to twenty-five letters per day; he has published several large works; he goes thoroughly through his exchanges every day, and keeps himself well posted in the current literature of the times; he speaks or lectures about five or six times a month, and makes monthly visits to Albany and Washington, to see what is going on behind the scenes in the capitals of the State and Nation. He is constantly receiving people who come on business or from curiosity, and yet he never seems tired, though he is not always even-tempered.

He is somewhat peculiar in his personal appearance. Most people in thinking of him picture to themselves a slouchy looking man, with a white hat, a white overcoat, with one leg of his breeches caught over the top of his boot, his whole dress shabby and not overclean, and his pockets stuffed full of newspapers, and many have imagined that he "gets himself up" so, in order to attract attention on the streets. The true Horace Greeley, however, though careless as to outward appearances, is immaculately neat in his dress. No one ever saw him with dirty linen or soiled clothes except in muddy weather, when, in New York, even a Brummel must be content to be splashed with mud. Mr. Greeley's usual dress is a black frock coat, a white vest, and a pair of black pantaloons which come down to the ankle. His black cravat alone betrays his carelessness, and that only when it slips off the collar, and works its way around to the side. Mr. Greeley is five feet ten inches in height, and is stout in proportion. He is partly bald, and his hair is white. He has a light, pinkish complexion, and his eyes are blue, small, and sunken. His mouth is well-shaped, and his features are regular. His beard is worn around the throat and under the chin, and is perfectly white. His hands are small and soft; but his feet and legs are awkward and clumsy, and this gives to him a peculiar shuffling motion in walking. He is abstracted in manner, and when accosted suddenly replies abruptly, and as some think rudely.

One of his acquaintances thus describes him in his editorial office:

"We walk through the little gate in the counter, turn within the open doorway on our left, climb a short, narrow flight of stairs, and find ourselves in a small room, ten by fifteen, furnished with a green carpet, a bed lounge, an open book-rack, a high desk, a writing-desk, three arm-chairs, a short-legged table, and a small marble sink.

"Mr. Greeley's back is toward us. He is seated at his desk. His head is bent over his writing, and his round shoulders are quite prominent. He is scribbling rapidly. A quire of foolscap, occupying the only clear space on his desk, is melting rapidly beneath his pen. The desk itself is a heap of confusion. Here is Mr. Greeley's straw hat; there is his handkerchief. In front of him is a peck of newspaper clippings, not neatly rolled up, but loosely sprawled over the desk. At his left a rickety pair of scissors catches a hurried nap, and at his right a paste-pot and a half-broken box of wafers appear to have had a rough-and-tumble fight. An odd-looking paper-holder is just ready to tumble on the floor. An old-fashioned sand-box, looking like a dilapidated hour-glass, is half-hidden under a slashed copy of The New York World. Mr. Greeley still sticks to wafers and sand, instead of using mucilage and blotting-paper. A small drawer, filled with postage stamps and bright steel pens, has crawled out on the desk. Packages of folded missives are tucked in the pigeon-holes, winking at us from the back of the desk, and scores of half-opened letters, mixed with seedy brown envelopes, flop lazily about the table. Old papers lie gashed and mangled about his chair, the debris of a literary battle field. A clean towel hangs on a rack to his right. A bound copy of The Tribune Almanac, from 1838 to 1868, swings from a small chain fastened to a staple screwed in the side of his desk; two other bound volumes stand on their feet in front of his nose, and two more of the same kind are fast asleep on the book-rack in the corner. Stray numbers of the almanac peep from every nook. The man who would carry off Greeley's bound pile of almanacs would deserve capital punishment. The Philosopher could better afford to lose one of his legs than to lose his almanacs. The room is kept scrupulously clean and neat. A waste paper basket squats between Mr. Greeley's legs, but one half the torn envelopes and boshy communications flutter to the floor instead of being tossed into the basket. The table at his side is covered with a stray copy of The New York Ledger, and a dozen magazines lie thereon. Here is an iron garden rake wrapped up in an Independent. There hangs a pair of handcuffs once worn by old John Brown, and sent Mr. Greeley by an enthusiastic admirer of both Horace and John. A champagne basket, filled with old scrap-books and pamphlets, occupies one corner. A dirty bust of Lincoln, half hidden in dusty piles of paper, struggles to be seen on the top of his desk. A pile of election tables, dirty, ragged and torn, clipped from some unknown newspaper, looks as if they had half a mind to jump down on the 'Old Man's' bald head. A certificate of life membership in some tract or abolition society, and maps of the World, New York, and New Jersey hang on the wall. A rare geological specimen of quartz rock, weighing about ten pounds, is ready to roll down a high desk to the floor on the first alarm. Dirty pamphlets are as plentiful as cockroaches. His office library consists of 150 volumes.

"Pen, ink, paper, scissors, and envelopes are in unfailing demand. The cry, 'Mr. Greeley wants writing paper!' creates a commotion in the counting-room, and Mr. Greeley gets paper quicker than a hungry fisherman could skin an eel.

"Mr. Greeley can lay Virginia worm fences in ink faster than any other editor in New York City. He uses a fountain-pen, a present from some friend. He thinks a great deal of it, but during an experience of three years has failed to learn the simple principle of suction without getting his mouth full of ink, and he generally uses it with an empty receiver. He makes a dash at the ink-bottle every twenty seconds, places the third finger and thumb of his left hand on his paper, and scratches away at his worm fence like one possessed. He writes marvellously fast. Frequently the point of his pen pricks through his sheet, for he writes a heavy hand, and a snap follows, spreading inky spots over the paper, resembling a woodcut portraying the sparks from a blacksmith's hammer. Blots like mashed spiders, or crushed huckleberries, occasionally intervene, but the old veteran dashes them with sand, leaving a swearing compositor to scratch off the soil, and dig out the words underneath.

"Mr. Greeley's manuscript, when seen for the first time, resembles an intricate mass of lunatic hieroglyphics, or the tracks of a spider suffering from delirium tremens. But, by those accustomed to his writing, a remarkable exactness is observed. The spelling, punctuation, accented letters, and capitalizing are perfect. The old type-setters of the office prefer his manuscript above that of any other editor, for the simple reason that he writes his article as he wishes it to appear, and rarely, if ever, cuts or slashes a proof-sheet. And this punctuality is, in a great measure, a feature of his life. He is always in time, and never waits for anybody. He employs no private secretary, and when he receives a letter, answers it on the instant. No matter how trivial the request, the next outward-bound mail will carry away one of his autographs, if he thinks an answer necessary.

"He knows we have entered his room, yet he continues his writing. The only sound we hear within the sanctum is the scratch of his pen. He has the power of concentrating all the strength of his mind on the subject of his editorial, and will pay no attention to any question, however important, until he finishes his sentence. If the cry of 'Fire!' should resound through the building, Greeley would finish his sentence and ring his bell before he would leave his room. The sentence complete, he places the forefinger of his right hand at the end of the word last written, seizes the handle of his pen in his teeth, and looks his tormentor full in the face. It is a glance of inquiry, and the questioner, intuitively conscious of this fact, repeats his interrogation. Mr. Greeley divines the question before it is finished, and answers it pithily and quickly. The pen is then snatched from his mouth, dexterously dipped into his inkstand, and his fingers again travel across his transverse sheet of foolscap like a 'daddy-long-legs' caught in a storm. If his questioner is importunate, and insists on wasting his time, he continues his writing, never looking up, and either answers absent-mindedly, or in a low, impatient tone, tinged with a peculiar boyish nervousness. If his visitor is ungentlemanly enough to still continue his teasing importunities, a storm breaks forth, and the uncourteous person will trot out of the sanctum with an answer ringing in his ears that should bring a flush to his cheek.

"To Mr. Greeley time is more valuable than money or even friendship. When busy, he is no respecter of persons. President or hod-carrier, general or boot-black, clergyman or express-driver, authoress or apple-woman--all are treated alike. Eminent men have left his room under the impression that they have been deliberately slighted, while Horace still slashed away at his inky pickets, totally unconscious of any neglect."

Mr. Greeley's home is at Chappaqua, in Westchester County, New York, about thirty miles from the city. He owns a fine farm of about forty acres, which has cost him more money than he would care to tell. Agriculture is one of his great hobbies, and he tests here all the theories that are presented to him. His friends say that his turnips cost him about ten dollars apiece to produce, and bring about fifty cents per bushel in the market, and that all his farming operations are conducted on the same principle.

[Picture: HORACE GREELEY.]

Mr. Greeley married when quite young, and has had three children. Two daughters, aged about twenty and twelve, are living, but his son, a bright and unusually promising child, died some years ago. Mr. Greeley is one of the principal stockholders in the Tribune, and is a rich man. He is liberal and generous to those in need, and is a warm friend to benevolent enterprises of all kinds.

The chief reason of his popularity is the general confidence of the people in his personal integrity. Not even his political enemies question his honesty--and surely in these days of corruption and crime in public life, an honest man is one that can not well be spared.

XIII. THE TOMBS.

Turn out of Printing House Square, leaving the City Hall on your left, and pass up Centre street for about a quarter of a mile, and you will come to a massive granite edifice in the Egyptian style of architecture. It occupies an entire square, and is bounded by Centre and Elm, and Leonard and Franklin streets. The main entrance is on Centre street, and is approached by a broad flight of granite steps, which lead to a portico supported by massive Egyptian columns. The proper name of the edifice is The Halls of Justice, but it is popularly known all over the Union as The Tombs, which name was given to it in consequence of its gloomy appearance. It occupies the site of the old Collect Pond which once supplied the citizens of New York with drinking water, was begun in 1835 and completed in 1838.

The outer building occupies four sides of a hollow square, and is 253 by 200 feet in size. It was built at a time when New York contained scarcely half its present population, and has long since ceased to be equal to the necessities of the city. The site is low and damp, and the building is badly ventilated. The warden does all in his power to counteract these evils, and keeps the place remarkably neat, but it is still a terribly sickly and dreary abode. It was designed to accommodate about 200 prisoners, but for some years past the number of prisoners confined here at one time has averaged 400, and has sometimes exceeded that average. The Grand Jury of the County have recently condemned the place as a nuisance, and it is believed that the city will ere long possess a larger, cleaner, and more suitable prison.

[Picture: THE TOMBS.]

When the prison was built the Five Points, on the western verge of which it lies, was a much worse section than it is now. It is bad enough at present, but then the Tombs constituted a solitary island in a sea of crime and suffering. A terrible island it was, too.

Entering through the gloomy portal upon which the sunlight never falls, the visitor is chilled with the dampness which greets him as soon as he passes into the shadow of the heavy columns. Upon reaching the inner side of the enclosure, he finds that the portion of the prison seen from the street encloses a large courtyard, in the centre of which stands a second prison, 142 feet long by 45 feet deep, and containing 148 cells. This is the male prison, and is connected with the outer building by a bridge known as the Bridge of Sighs, since it is by means of it that condemned criminals pass from their cells to the scaffold at the time of their execution.

The gallows is taken down and kept in the prison until there is need for it. Then it is set up in the courtyard near the Bridge of Sighs. All executions are conducted here in private, that is, they are witnessed only by such persons as the officers of the law may see fit to admit. But on such days the neighboring buildings are black with people, seeking to look down over the prison walls and witness the death agonies of the poor wretch who is paying the penalty of the law.

[Picture: THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.]

The interior of the male prison consists of a narrow and lofty hall, upon which open four tiers of cells, one above another; those above the ground floor being reached by light iron galleries. Each gallery is guarded by two keepers. The cells are narrow, and each is lighted by a small iron-barred window at the farther end. Light and air are also admitted by the barred door of iron opening upon the corridor. There are eleven cells of especial strength, in which convicts condemned to death or to the State Prison are confined. There are six other cells, which are used for the confinement of persons charged with offences less grave, and six more, which are used for sick prisoners. The cells are generally full of criminals. Some of them are well furnished, and are provided with carpets, chairs, a table, and books and paper, which are bought at the expense of the prisoner or his friends. Some of the inmates shrink from the observation of visitors, but others are hardened to crime and shame, and not unfrequently cause the visitor's ears to tingle with the remarks they address to them. No lights are allowed in the cells, and the aspect of the place is very gloomy, the whole prison is kept scrupulously clean, the sanitary regulations being very strict, but the lack of room necessitates the crowding of the prisoners to a fearfully demoralizing extent.

[Picture: INTERIOR OF MALE PRISON.]

The outer building contains the female prison, which lies along the Leonard street side, the boys' prison, and the halls of justice, or rooms occupied by the Tombs Police Court and the Court of Special Sessions. Over the main entrance on the Centre street side, are six comfortable cells. 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 not more guilty brothers in crime are shut in the close cells of the male prison. These rooms command a view of the street, so that their occupants are not entirely cut off from the outer world.

The female prison is in charge of an excellent matron, who has held her position for more than twenty years. Men are never confined here, and male visitors are subject to certain restrictions. In this portion is located the room used as a chapel. Religious services of some kind are held in the Tombs every day in the week except Saturday, and the effort is made to give all the denominations an opportunity of doing good. Sunday morning and Tuesday until noon are devoted to the Roman Catholics; Sunday and Tuesday afternoons to the Episcopalians; Monday to the Methodists, and Wednesday, Thursday and Friday to the other Protestant denominations. Some of the Protestant clergy sometimes attempt to hold religious services in the main hall of the male prison, so that the prisoners in their cells may hear what is going on. The latter pay little or no attention to the preacher, and frequently interrupt and annoy him by their shouts, jeers and imitations in their cells. The Sisters of Charity are in charge of the female and boys' prisons, and do a vast amount of good by their quiet ministrations. The boys are kept in a large room during the day, and are locked up in separate cells at night.

[Picture: THE PRISON CHAPEL.]

One of the principal rooms in the Tombs is "The Bummers' Cell." It is a large apartment, shut off from one of the main halls by an iron railing. It is always tolerably well filled, and on Saturday nights it is overflowing. Here are confined those against whom there is no serious charge; persons arrested for drunkenness, or for simple disorder on the streets. On Sunday morning the visitor will sometimes find a large crowd of men collected in it, not all of whom are unfortunates or criminals. Some are well-dressed, well-to-do persons, who have had the misfortune to be drunk and noisy on Saturday night. Some are strangers, residents of other cities, who have started out from their hotels to see the sights and have a merry time, and who have fallen at length--and fortunately for them--into the hands of the police. A few are persons who have been wrongfully or maliciously accused of crime.

From sunset until long after midnight on Saturday, the police are busy with ridding the streets of drunken and disorderly persons. As soon as a person is arrested, he is taken to the Tombs or to one of the station-houses. It is the duty of the officer in charge of the precinct to lock up every one against whom a definite charge is brought. Even though satisfied that the person is wrongfully accused, or is simply unfortunate, he has no discretion. He must hold for trial all charged with offences, and at the Tombs the officer is obliged to throw persons who command his sympathy into the company of the most abandoned wretches for an entire night. Drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and fighting, are the principal charges brought against the occupants of the Bummers' Cell. The noise, profanity, and obscenity are fearful. All classes and ages are represented there.

During the year 1870, 49,423 persons were confined for various periods of time in the Tombs.

The Tombs Police Court offers some interesting and instructive spectacles. It is opened at six o'clock on Sunday morning. It is presided over by Justice Joseph Dowling, a short, thickset 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 usually just. His long experience with criminals has given him an intimate knowledge of the men with whom he has to deal, and their ways. This often helps him to a conclusion which is really true, although the evidence in the case does not confirm it, and he frequently startles criminals by boldly declaring that they did thus and so at such a time. The criminal overwhelmed with astonishment and confusion generally admits the charge, and is sentenced accordingly. A stranger is at once struck with the quick and penetrating power of Judge Dowling's 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, which is generally the case. At the same time he is kind and considerate to those who are simply unfortunate. As a man, he is kind-hearted, and inclined to lean toward the side of mercy.

As soon as the court is opened, the prisoners are called up in the order of their arrival during the previous night. Drunkenness and disorder, and first offences of a minor character, are punished with a reprimand, and the prisoner is dismissed. These cases constitute a majority of the charges, and the judge disposes of them with a rapidity which astonishes a stranger. The more serious cases are held for further examination, or are sent on for trial before the Court of Special Sessions.

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. Judge Dowling 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.

The Court of Special Sessions sits in a large hall on the right of the main entrance to the prison. It is strictly a criminal court, and is for the trial of charges which are too serious to be disposed of in the Police Court. Two judges are supposed to sit during the sessions of this court, but Judge Dowling frequently conducts its business alone. The prisoner is allowed to employ counsel and introduce witnesses in his own behalf.

The following is an example of the way in which Judge Dowling transacts business in this court:

"The first case of importance was that of the People vs. James Day, alias 'Big-mouthed Scotty,' and William Jones, alias 'Billy Clews,' on the complaint of Captain Ira S. Garland, of the Twelfth precinct. Probably there are not two other men in this city who could fairly be compared with these. They are both of the most dissolute, desperate habits, and have been what they now are, thieves, since the date of their entry into this city. The first, who is truthfully styled 'big-mouthed'--that hole in his face being almost large enough to run in one of the cars on the elevated railroad in Greenwich street--was born in the Hielands o' Bonnie Scotland; but, be it said, he appears not to have become inoculated with the same spirit of honesty and perseverance that characterizes the greater portion of his countrymen. He arrived here nearly twenty years ago, and since that time he has been a lazy, contemptible thief, a shocking contrast with Caledonians in general.

[Picture: COURT OF SPECIAL SESSIONS.]

"His companion, 'Billy Clews,' has been known in different circles of the same profession, and could usually be found in the neighborhood of Five Points. On Thursday there was what is usually termed a 'large' funeral, from a church at the corner of One-hundred-and-twenty-sixth street and Fourth avenue. Outside was a long line of coaches, and inside the church was full of mourners and the friends of the departed, whose remains were about to be consigned to that 'bourn whence no traveller returns.' The crowd inside was so great that the police were called in to put the people in the seats, as far as could be done, and remained there during the service to keep order. While Captain Garland was standing at the top of the centre aisle he saw 'Big-Mouth' elbowing his way from the altar towards the door, and making various efforts to pick pockets as he came along. Presently he came close up behind a lady who was standing with her face to the altar, and, reaching his hands in the folds of her dress, quietly withdrew her pocket-book from its hiding place. The pocket-book vanished very quickly, however, so that the captain could not see which way it went or what, for the time, had become of it. At first the thieves did not observe the captain, but the instant Day caught a glance of him he turned quietly to his accomplice and said 'Look out, Billy; there's a big cop.' Billy took the 'cue,' began to move off, and attempted to get out of the church. But as they were both in the doorway, and seeing the captain making for them, they made a rush out from the sacred edifice, passed the carriages and ran down the avenue as fast as 'shank's pony' could carry them. The captain gave chase, and, with the aid of an officer on duty at the church, succeeded in arresting the individuals who were thus trading on the mourners over a dead body. On returning to the church Garland was informed of the loss of the lady's pocketbook, but he failed to discover her among the crowd, and consequently could not produce her in evidence against the prisoners at the bar. He had seen them previously walking towards the church, and knowing Day to be a general thief, he gave orders to look out for them, but somehow for a long time the thieves escaped the vigilance of the officers. They allowed it was 'all wrong' to be in the church at the time, but they told the captain he ought to allow them to go, for he knew 'how it was' with them.

"'What have you to say, Scotty?' asked the Judge.

"'Oh, well,' replied Big-Mouth, 'I don't thenk a've got much to say, only to ask your Honor to deal mercifully with us. The captain at the police station didn't say he was to breng this prosecution agen us noo; he only told us he wud tak us out o' harum's way, and didn't make no charge.'

"Judge Dowling.--'It is no use my saying anything to you, Day; in fact, all that could be said is that you have never been anything else than what you are now, a thief, and that, too, of a most contemptible type. You go about to the various graveyards and rob the poor persons who are too absorbed in interring the dead and in grieving for their lost friends to notice that you are there for the purpose of plunder; you also visit the churches wherever there is a crowd of this sort paying their last respects to the remains of a friend, and never leave without robbing some poor persons of their money or jewelry. Scotchy, you have done that business for the past eighteen years to my own knowledge. I do not know so much about your accomplice, or how long he has been travelling with you. I will, however, rid the people of your presence, and do my best to stay your heartless proceedings for some time to come. One year each in the Penitentiary and a fine of $200 each, and both to stand committed until the amounts be paid.'

"'I told you how it 'oud be, Scotty,' yelled his partner, and with a deplorable attitude the pair were marched over the 'Bridge of Sighs.'"

The Tombs is merely a prison of detention, and as soon as prisoners are sentenced to the institutions on Blackwell's Island, or the State Prison, they are conveyed to those establishments with as little delay as possible. The vehicle used for transporting them through the city is a close wagon, with wooden blinds for light and ventilation, around the upper part of the sides. This is known as "Black Maria," and may be daily seen rumbling through the city on its way from the Police Courts to the ferry to Blackwell's Island.

Closely connected with the penal system of the city is the "Prison Association of New York." This society was organized in 1844. Its constitution declares that its objects are: "I. A humane attention to persons arrested and held for examination or trial, including inquiry into the circumstances of their arrest, and the crimes charged against them; securing to the friendless an impartial trial, and protection from the depredations of unprincipled persons, whether professional sharpers or fellow-prisoners. II. Encouragement and aid to discharged convicts in their efforts to reform and earn an honest living. This is done by assisting them to situations, providing them with tools, and otherwise counselling them and helping them to business. III. To study the question of prison discipline generally, the government of the State, County, and City prisons, to obtain statistics of crime, to disseminate information on this subject, to evolve the true principles of science, and impress a more reformatory character on our penitentiary system."

[Picture: "BLACK MARIA."]

Between 1844 and 1869, the members and agents of the Association visited in the prisons of New York and Brooklyn 93,560 persons confined there. These were poor and friendless prisoners, and they received from the Association such advice and aid as their cases demanded. During the same period, 25,290 additional cases were examined by the officers of the Society. They succeeded in obtaining the withdrawal of 6148 complaints, as being trivial, or based upon prejudice or passion. Upon their recommendation, the courts discharged 7922 persons guilty of first offences, and who were penitent, or who had committed the offence under mitigating circumstances. They also provided 4130 discharged convicts with permanent situations, and furnished 18,307 other discharged convicts with board, money, railroad tickets, or clothing, to help them to better their condition. In the twenty-five years embraced in the above period, they thus extended their good offices to 156,368 persons. A noble record, truly.

XIV. THE PRESS.

I. THE DAILY JOURNALS.

The Metropolitan Press is the model after which the journals of the entire country are shaped, and, taken as a whole, it is the best institution of its kind in existence. The leading New York journals have but one superior in the whole world--the London Times--and they frequently equal, though they do not surpass the "Thunderer" itself in the extent and importance of their news, and the ability and value of their editorials. They are the best managed, employ the greatest talent, and are the most influential upon the country at large of any American newspapers.

The leading journals are the morning papers. Five of these, the Herald, Tribune, Times, World, and Staats Zeitung, are huge eight-page sheets, and frequently issue supplements of from four to eight pages additional. The others consist of four large, old-fashioned pages.

The expense and labor of issuing a first-class morning journal are very great. The cost of publication ranges from $800,000 to $1,000,000 per annum; and the force employed, including editors, reporters, proof-readers, newsmen, pressmen, feeders, clerks and compositors, is over four hundred persons. The profits vary according to the paper and the times.

The Herald is private property, as are some of the others. The Tribune, Times, and Sun, are owned by stock companies. Under Mr. Raymond the Times was subject to his sole direction, but the Tribune has always suffered from the interference of the stockholders.

Each newspaper has its editor in chief, who controls the general tone and policy of the paper. He decides all matters relating to its editorial conduct, and is known to the public as the responsible editor. His principal assistant is the managing editor. In the absence of the chief editor he is the controlling power of the journal. His legitimate duties are to oversee the details of the paper, to see that its publication is not delayed, to engage and dismiss sub-editors and correspondents, to prescribe the character of the service required of these gentlemen, and to regulate the salaries paid to them. All the writers on the paper are directly responsible to him, and he, in his turn, to the chief editor. There is also a night editor, whose duties are heavy and responsible. He is charged with the duty of "making up" the paper, and decides what shall and what shall not go in--a delicate duty sometimes. He is at his post at 7 o'clock in the evening, and remains there until the paper goes to press in the morning, which is generally between 2 and 3 o'clock, though sometimes it is held back by important news until daylight. The foreign editor is usually a foreigner, and one well acquainted with the leading languages of Europe. He controls the foreign correspondence, and writes editorials upon European topics. The financial editor writes the money article, and is quite an important personage. He is obliged to be well informed concerning all the financial transactions of the day; he is courted by bankers and capitalists, as he to a certain extent controls public opinion in money matters, and he has ample facilities for making money outside of his position. The post is considered one of the most lucrative on the paper, and the salary is regarded as a minor consideration. The city editor has charge of the city news, and is the chief of the reporters. The leading dailies have from twelve to thirty reporters. These are assigned to duty each day by the city editor, who enters his directions to them in a large book. They are sometimes required to go to certain places to obtain news, and are expected to furnish so much matter concerning it. Some of the reporters have special lines of duty, and report nothing but law cases, police matters, etc., and some limit their operations to Brooklyn, Jersey City, and the other suburban towns. Some of the reporters are stenographers also. At times there will be scarcely any work to be done, and again the powers of the whole staff of reporters will be severely taxed. There are also a literary editor, whose duties are to review and notice books and other publications; and art, dramatic and musical critics. Some of these are, as they should be, gentlemen of the highest culture, and impartial in their opinions. Others are quite the reverse. The best of them, however, are but men, though they too often assume to be something superior, and their judgments are not infallible. The leading journals also employ translators, who put into English such extracts as it may be necessary to use from the foreign papers.

[Picture: PRINTING HOUSE SQUARE.]

The amount of labor thus expended upon a morning newspaper is immense. It is followed by an almost equal outlay of mechanical work in putting the paper in type and printing it. The principal papers are stereotyped, and are printed from plates. Formerly the Eight and Ten Cylinder Hoe Presses were used, but of late years the Bullock Press has become very popular. It works quite as rapidly as the Hoe press, prints on both sides at once, and is said to spoil fewer sheets. The paper is put in in a large roll, and is cut by the machine into the proper sizes and printed. Only one feeder is necessary.

Nearly all the city newspapers are located in or around Printing House Square, immediately opposite and east of the City Hall. One of the greatest curiosities of this square is a huge engine, which runs a large number of presses. It is situated in Spruce street, between William and Nassau streets, and occupies the basement of the building in which it is located. There are two engines here--one of 150 horse power, which is used during the day, and a smaller one of 75 horse power, which relieves it at night. Shafting and belting carry the power in every direction from the engine. One hundred and twenty-five presses are worked by these engines--each being estimated at so much horse power, and charged accordingly. They turn three-quarters of a mile of main shafting, besides a mile or more of connecting shafts, and as much belting. One of these belts, an India rubber one, 120 feet long, connects a fifth story press on Nassau street with the main shafting on Spruce street, across the intervening yards, and another of leather, on Beekman street, 140 feet, perfectly perpendicular, connects the sub-cellar and the attic. Some of the shafting passes under and across the streets. Over fifty newspapers and literary papers, besides magazines and books innumerable, are printed by this monster engine.

The salaries paid by the newspapers are not large. Those who receive what is seemingly high pay do an amount of work out of proportion to their compensation. Mr. Greeley receives $10,000 per annum. Mr. Reid, the managing editor of the Tribune, receives $5000. Mr. Sinclair, the publisher, receives $10,000. These are considered good salaries. Any one familiar with the cost of living in New York will not think them very much in excess of the wants of their recipients, who are men with families.

As a newspaper, the New York Herald stands at the head of the city dailies. It aims to be a vehicle for imparting the latest news of the day, and as such it is a great success. Nobody cares for its opinions editorially expressed, for it is the general belief that the Herald has no fixed opinions. It is valued here simply as a newspaper. It is beyond a doubt the most energetic, and the best managed newspaper in the city. Mr. James Gordon Bennett, the elder, has no rival in the art of conducting a popular journal, but his son, Mr. J. G. Bennett, jr., does not seem to inherit his father's ability. Young Mr. Bennett is now the managing editor, and since his accession to that post there has been a marked decline in the ability of the paper, which, under the rule of Mr. Hudson, was unquestioned. Nobody expects consistency in the Herald, and its course to-day is no guarantee that it will hold the same tone to-morrow. Mr. Bennett aims to float with the popular current, to be always on the winning side, and he succeeds. The advertising patronage of the paper is immense.

The Herald office is one of the most conspicuous buildings in the city. It is located at the corner of Broadway and Ann street, and is built of white marble, in the modern French style. Below the sidewalk are two immense cellars or vaults, one below the other, in which are two steam engines of thirty-five horse power each. Three immense Hoe presses are kept running constantly from midnight until seven in the morning, printing the daily edition. The rooms and machinery are kept in the most perfect order. Nothing is allowed to be out of place, and the slightest speck of dirt visible in any part, calls forth a sharp rebuke from Mr. Bennett, who makes frequent visits to every department of the paper. On the street floor, the main room is the public office of the journal. Its entrances are on Broadway and Ann street. It is paved with marble tiles, and the desks, counters, racks, etc., are of solid black walnut, ornamented with plate glass. Every thing is scrupulously clean, and the room presents the appearance of some wealthy banking office.

[Picture: THE HERALD OFFICE.]

On the third floor are the editorial rooms. The principal apartment is the "Council Room," which overlooks Broadway. Every other branch of the editorial department has its separate room, and all are furnished with every convenience necessary for doing their work with the utmost precision and dispatch. Each day, at noon, the editors of the Herald, twelve in number, assemble in the "Council Room." Mr. Bennett, if he is in the city, takes his seat at the head of the table, and the others assume the places assigned. If Mr. Bennett is not present, his son, James Gordon Bennett, jr., presides at the council, and in the absence of both father and son, the managing editor takes the head of the table. The council is opened by Mr. Bennett, or his representative, who presents a list of subjects. These are taken up, seriatim, and discussed by all present. The topics to be presented in the editorial columns of the Herald the next day are determined upon, and each editor is assigned the subject he is to "write up." All this is determined in a short while. Then Mr. Bennett asks the gentlemen present for suggestions. He listens attentively to each one, and decides quickly whether they shall be presented in the Herald, and at what time; and if he desires any subject to be written upon, he states his wish, and "sketches," in his peculiar and decisive manner, the various headings and the style of treatment. There are twelve editors and thirty-five reporters employed on the Herald. They are liberally paid for their services. Any one bringing in news is well rewarded for his trouble. The composing rooms are located on the top floor, and are spacious, airy, and excellently lighted. A "dumb waiter," or vertical railway, communicates with the press room; and speaking tubes, and a smaller "railway," afford the means of conversation and transmitting small parcels between this room and the various parts of the building. Five hundred men are employed in the various departments of the paper.

The circulation of the daily edition of the Herald is estimated by competent judges at from 65,000 to 70,000 copies. In times of great public excitement, all the dailies overrun their usual number by many thousands.

The Tribune has a daily circulation of about 43,000 copies. It is, in point of ability, the best of the city dailies. It long ago surmounted its early difficulties, and has been for many years one of the most profitable enterprises in the city. It is owned by a joint stock company. It was begun by Mr. Greeley on $1000 of borrowed money. At the formation of the company the stock was divided into 100 shares at $1000 each. The number is still the same, but the shares could not now be bought for many times their original value. In 1870 the dividend declared amounted to $163,000; or, $1630 on each share. At present the shares are owned as follows:

Shares. Samuel Sinclair, publisher 21 Horace Greeley, chief editor 12 Estate of Stephen Clark, 14 (formerly money editor) Dr. J. C. Ayer (of Lowell) 16 Estate of A. D. Richardson 5 Bayard Taylor 5 T. N. Rooker, foreman in 5 composing room Mr. Runkle (husband of Mrs. L. G. 2 Calhoun) Oliver Johnson (of the 1 Independent) Mr. Cleveland (brother-in-law of 1 Horace Greeley) G. W. Smalley (London 2 correspondent) Solon Robinson (agricultural 2 editor) Two printers in the office 2 Solomon A. Cheeney 3 John Hooper 2 B. F. Camp 2

The Tribune property is valued at over $1,000,000, which includes nearly $300,000 in real estate. The stockholders, it is said, contemplate, at no distant day, erecting a large and handsome printing office on the site of the present unpretending building now occupied. The profits of the paper do not depend upon the daily edition. The semi-weekly circulates about 35,000 or 40,000 copies, and the weekly about 130,000 copies. The last is sent all over the United States, and has beyond a doubt the largest number of readers of any paper in the world.

The Tribune is the leading organ of the Republican party in the United States, and its influence is tremendous. It is a well written, well conducted paper, and is every year becoming more independent of party control. The chief editor is Horace Greeley, who imparts his strong personality to the whole journal. Many of the country people believe that the Philosopher writes every line on the editorial page. The managing editor is Whitelaw Reid, and the publisher Samuel Sinclair. Mr. Reid succeeded Mr. John Russell Young, and the paper has profited by the change. Mr. Sinclair is one of the most efficient publishers in the land, and the Tribune owes not a little of its success to his genius--for that is the only name to give it. The editorial staff comprises more ability than that of any other city journal, though some of the others make a better use of the talent at their disposal. Its correspondence, both domestic and foreign, is the best of all the city papers--perhaps the best in the Union--and the list of its correspondents contains some of the brightest names in literature.

The Times is also a Republican journal, and aims to represent the Administration of General Grant. Under the management of the late Henry J. Raymond, a born journalist, it was a power in the land. Since Mr. Raymond's death there has been a falling off in the ability, the manliness, and the influence of the paper. It is owned by a stock company, and is a profitable enterprise. The chief editor is Mr. Louis Jennings, an Englishman, and formerly the New York correspondent of the London Times. Mr. Jennings is a gentleman of ability and culture, and a journalist of considerable experience. His chief needs are a decided infusion of American ideas and sentiment, and a recognition of the dissimilarity between the London and New York mode of viewing matters. The publisher is Mr. George Jones.

The Times, under Mr. Raymond, was one of the freshest and most thoroughly up to the times journals on the continent. Its correspondence, especially that from Europe, was exceptionally good. There has been a falling off in this respect of late. The circulation of the paper is not known with certainty, but is believed to be about 30,000 or 35,000 copies.

The World is the principal Democratic journal of the city, and aspires to be the organ of the party throughout the country. It was begun about the year 1859 as a religious paper, and is said to have sunk about $300,000 for its projectors. It then became the organ of the Democracy of the city, and has for some time paid well. It is the property of its editor, Mr. Manton G. Marble. It is unquestionably one of the ablest journals in the country. Its editorials are well written, indicative of deep thought on the subjects treated of, and gentlemanly in tone. In literary excellence, it is not surpassed by any city journal. It aims to be in the front rank of the march of ideas, and makes a feature of discussions of the leading scientific and social questions of the day. It is lightened by a brilliant display of wit, and the "Funny Man of the World" is well known in the city. The chief editor is Manton G. Marble. He is the author of the majority of the leaders. In this he is ably seconded by Mr. Chamberlain, one of the most forcible and successful writers on the city press. Mr. Marble is not seen much in the office. The World rooms are connected with his residence in the upper part of the city, by a private telegraph, by means of which he exercises a constant supervision over the paper. The managing editor is Mr. David G. Croly (the husband of "Jennie June"). He is a genius in his way. He does not write much, but gives the greater part of the time to superintending the work of the office. He is said to be extremely fertile in suggesting themes for treatment to his brother editors. The great faults of the World are its devotion to sensation journalism, its thick and thin Roman Catholic partizanism, and, strange to say, a little too much looseness in the tone of its Sunday edition. Its circulation is variously estimated at from 15,000 to 30,000. The exact number is known only to the publisher.

The Sun assumes to be the organ of the working classes, and claims a circulation of 85,000 copies. It is a bright, sparkling journal, issued at a cost of two cents. It is four pages in size, and has a fine list of advertisements. It is owned by a stock company, who bought it from the late Moses Y. Beach, its founder. The chief editor is Mr. Charles A. Dana, a journalist of long experience, and one of the most thoroughly cultivated men in the profession. He has made it a great success. It is piquant, forcible, and good-natured. Mr. Dana is assisted by a corps of able editorial writers and reporters, who are thoroughly impressed with the wisdom of his policy. He is very sanguine of making a still greater success of the Sun, and claims that he will yet run its circulation up to 200,000 copies.

The Standard is the property of Mr. John Russell Young, formerly the managing editor of the Tribune. It is a Republican organ, and is struggling to reach an established and prosperous position. It is well managed, and is conducted with considerable editorial ability.

The Journal of Commerce is one of the few old-style papers left in New York. It is a ponderous four-page sheet, depending more upon its advertising than upon its circulation for its profits. It is edited with ability, and as it employs but few editors and reporters, and cares but little for general news, its publication is inexpensive. It is supplied by a regular carrier, and is not sold on the news-stands. It is taken by the leading hotels and by the down-town merchants, to whom it is valuable because of its commercial reports. The general reader would find it dull reading. It is one of the best paying papers in the city.

The Star is a two cent paper, and was started at the time of the sale of the Sun to Mr. Dana and his associates, with the hope of securing the patronage of the working classes. Its managing editor is Mr. Joseph Howard. It is a sprightly paper, intensely Democratic in tone, and is said to be prosperous.

The evening papers are much less influential than the morning journals, but the best of them are very successful.

The Evening Post heads the list. It is owned by William Cullen Bryant & Co., and Mr. Bryant is the principal editor. It is the ablest and the most influential of all the evening papers, and is one of the purest in its tone of any of the American journals. It is taken chiefly in the families of cultivated and professional men. Its book notices are considered the most reliable. Its circulation and advertising patronage are large, and it is a very profitable investment.

The Commercial Advertiser is now under the control of the venerable Thurlow Weed, and is a good paper.

The Evening Express is the property of the brothers James and Erastus Brooks. It is well managed, and well edited, and is regarded as ranking next to the Post in ability and general excellence. It is said to be worth $40,000 per annum above expenses to its proprietors.

The Evening Mail is younger than either of the others, but not far behind the best of them in ability and interest. It has a decided literary tone, and is one of the most enterprising news purveyors in the city. It is now a thoroughly successful enterprise, and it deserves its good fortune.

The Telegram is little more than an evening edition of the Herald. It is owned by James Gordon Bennett, jr., and is a lively sheet, full of news and gossip. It sells for two cents, and has a large circulation. Its first page always contains a rough, but sometimes spirited cartoon, caricaturing some notable event of the day. It is a paying paper.

The Evening News is a penny paper. It claims to have the largest circulation in the city, and is said to be very profitable. It is devoted almost exclusively to police news, and descriptions of crime, and finds its readers chiefly among the lower and rougher portion of the community. It is owned and conducted by Mr. Benjamin Wood.

The evening papers are generally issued in four editions, at one, two, four and five o'clock in the afternoon. On occasions of unusual interest, they often issue extras every hour until late in the night. The evening papers contain the latest news and gossip, and a variety of light and entertaining reading matter, and are bought chiefly by persons who wish to read them at home after the cares and fatigues of the day are over, or to kill time in the cars on their way home.

There are three daily morning papers published in the German language, the State Gazette, the Democrat, and the Journal, and one evening paper, the Times. The Courier of the United States, and Franco-American Messenger, are issued in the French language. They are also daily morning papers. All are well supported by the citizens speaking the language they use.

II. WEEKLY PRESS.

Exclusive of the weekly editions of the daily journals, there are about 133 weekly papers published in the city of New York. Some of these are literary journals, some political, some the organs of the various religious bodies, and some devoted to the interests of trade and manufactures.

The best known weeklies are the literary, religious, and political papers, and of these the most noted are, Harper's Weekly, Harper's Bazaar, Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, the Nation, the Chimney Corner, the Ledger, Home Journal, Weekly Review, Sunday Mercury, New York Weekly, Hearth and Home, the_ Sunday News_, the_ Albion_, Dispatch, Sunday Times, Citizen, Revolution, Spirit of the Times, and Police Gazette, among the secular papers. The most prominent religious journals are the Independent, Examiner, Evangelist, Methodist, Observer, Tablet, Liberal Christian, Christian Advocate, Christian Union, Christian Inquirer, and Church Journal.

The Ledger has the largest circulation, having an actual sale of 300,000 copies per week. It is so well known throughout the country that it would be superfluous to describe it here. It is the property of Mr. Robert Bonner, who has reaped a large fortune from it. Next in popularity is the New York Weekly, which is much inferior to the Ledger, but which claims a circulation of over 200,000 copies. There are about a dozen illustrated papers of various degrees of merit, Harper's Weekly, the Bazaar, and Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper head the list in popularity and worth. The first and second claim a circulation of over one hundred thousand, and Frank Leslie claims about seventy-five thousand for his paper. Some of the other illustrated journals are simply indecent sheets, and should be suppressed. The Nation is regarded as the highest critical authority in the country, and holds here very much the position of the Saturday Review in London.

The literary journals are well conducted, and one will often find articles of genuine merit in some of the most unpretending. The reason is that journalists are unable to live on their salaries, as a rule, if they be married men, and are forced to make up the deficiency by contributing to the magazines and weekly papers. As a matter of course, they must dispose of their wares wherever there is a market, and where they are sure of being paid, even at starvation rates, for their labors. From $2.50 to $5.00 per column is the rate of payment with the most of the weeklies, and many men and women with whose names and labors the literary world is familiar, are glad to write for them at this beggarly price as a means of increasing their legitimate incomes. The number of writers is very much in excess of the demand, and literature offers a thorny road to the majority of its followers in the metropolis.

The Sunday papers are generally high priced and nasty. They are entirely sensational in character, and are devoted to a class of news and literature which can hardly be termed healthy. They revel in detailed descriptions of subjects which are rigorously excluded from the daily papers, and abound in questionable advertisements. All of which they offer for Sabbath reading; and the reader would be startled to see into how many reputable households these dirty sheets find their way.

XV. WALL STREET.

I. THE STREET.

WALL STREET begins on the east side of Broadway, opposite Trinity Church, and terminates at the East River. It is about half a mile from the extreme southern end of the island, and about the same distance from the City Hall. It is a narrow street, about fifty feet in width, and slopes gradually from Broadway to the river. It is lined on both sides with handsome brown stone, yellow stone, granite, marble, iron, and brick buildings, and the Treasury and Custom-House rear their magnificent fronts about midway between the termini of the street. They are diagonally opposite each other. The buildings are covered with a multiplicity of signs, rivalling the edifices of Nassau street, in this respect. Scarcely a house has less than a score of offices within its walls, and some contain at least three times as many. Space is valuable, and rents are high in Wall street, and many of the leading firms in it have to content themselves with small, dark apartments, which a conscientious man would hesitate to call an "office." The rents paid for such quarters are enormous, and the buildings yield their owners large incomes every year. The streets running into Wall street, on the right and left, are also occupied for several blocks with the offices of bankers and brokers, and are all included in the general term "Wall street," or "The Street."

[Picture: WALL STREET.]

Wall street first appears in the history of the city as a portion of a sheep pasture which was used in common by the inhabitants of New Amsterdam. Its natural condition was partly rolling upland and partly meadow of a swampy character. The name of the street originated thus: About the middle of the seventeenth century, the English in the New England colonies began to press heavily upon the Dutch in New Netherlands, and kept the worthy burghers of New Amsterdam in a constant dread of an invasion. Influenced by this feeling, the city authorities resolved to fortify the place, and in 1653 constructed a wall or stockade across the island, from river to river just beyond the line of the village. This wall passed directly across the old sheep pasture. Citizens were forbidden to build within 100 feet of the stockade, this open space being reserved for the movements of troops. It soon became a prominent highway, and the eastern portion has since remained so. The anticipated attack on the city was not made, but the wall was kept in good condition. Houses crept up close to the wall on the city side, and began to appear on the opposite side just under the wall. Thus a new street was formed, through which ran the old stockade. The open space along the wall was originally called The Cingel, signifying "the ramparts." Soon after the town reached the limit of the military reservation, persons residing here were spoken of as living "long de Wal," and from this the street came to be called "the Wall street," which name it has ever since borne. The wall having fallen into decay, was demolished about the year 1699, and its stones were used in the construction of the old City Hall, which stood at the intersection of Wall and Nassau streets, the site now occupied by the Sub-Treasury of the United States. The old building was used for the various purposes of the city government until the close of the Revolution. It contained, besides the council and court rooms, a jail for the detention and punishment of criminals, a debtors' prison, which was located in the attic, a fire-engine-room, a cage and a pillory. A pair of stocks was set up on the opposite side of the street, wherein criminals were exposed to the indignant gaze of the virtuous public.

At the close of the Revolution, the City Hall was enlarged and improved for the use of the General Government. It thus became the first capitol of the new Republic, and was known as Federal Hall. The first Congress of the United States assembled within its walls in the year 1789, and upon its spacious portico, in the presence of an immense multitude, George Washington took the oath to support and defend the constitution as first President of the United States.

Wall street was originally taken up with private residences, and the old views represent it as well shaded with trees. Even as late as 1830 it presented a very rural appearance between Broadway and William street. Prior to the Revolution, the lower part of the street had been built up with stores as far as Front street, and had become the centre of mercantile affairs in the city, the row of stores on Wall street being the first erected beyond Water street. About the year 1792, the old Tontine Coffee House was erected on the northwest corner of Wall and Water streets, and this became the favorite rendezvous for the city merchants, by whom, indeed, it was erected and controlled. In 1791 the Bank of New York was located at the corner of William street, and marked the first encroachment upon the strictly private portion of the street. It was also the first effort to make this locality the centre of the financial operations of the city. Other institutions and private bankers soon followed, and the character and architecture of the street began to undergo a change. The work of improvement went on steadily, and the Wall street of to-day is the result. Famous lawyers have also had their offices in this street. Alexander Hamilton's sign might once have been seen here, not far from where his humble monument now stands in Trinity Churchyard, and the name of Caleb Cushing is still to be found near a doorway just below Broadway.

[Picture: UNITED STATES SUB-TREASURY.]

"In 1700 a house and lot on the southeast corner of Wall and Broad streets, 16 x 30, sold for 163 pounds. In 1706 a house and lot on the north of Wall street, 25 x 116, sold for 116 pounds. In 1737 a house and lot on the north of Wall street, 62 x 102, sold for 110 pounds. In 1793, the dwelling and lot of General Alexander Hamilton, on the south of Wall street, 42 x 108, sold for 2400 pounds. In 1794 a house and lot, 44 x 51, sold for 2510 pounds." At present the ground included in these sites is held at hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The street fairly began its present career in the days of Jacob Little, "the great bear of Wall street." He opened an office here in 1822, and by dint of such labor as few men are capable of performing, placed himself at the head of American operators. His credit was good for any amount, and his integrity was unimpeachable. He could sway the market as he pleased, and his contracts were met with a punctuality and fidelity which made "his word as good as his bond." Efforts were made to ruin him, but his genius and far-sightedness enabled him to defeat all his enemies with their own weapons. His gains were enormous, and so were his losses. The civil war brought upon him disasters which he could not surmount, and he died poor in the early part of 1861, leaving behind him one of the names of which New York is proud.

At the corner of Nassau street, and looking down into Broad street, is the Sub-Treasury of the United States, a handsome white marble edifice. It is built in the Doric style of architecture, and its massive flight of steps and imposing portico give to it a striking appearance. It is constructed in the most substantial manner, and has a rear entrance on Pine street. The interior is handsomely arranged, and tasteful but secure iron gratings protect the employees from surprise and robbery. The vaults are burglar proof. This is the principal depository of the Federal Government, and millions of dollars are always in its vaults. The building was erected for, and was used for some years as, a Custom House.

From the steps of the Treasury one may enjoy a fine view of the entire street, and of Broad street also. About the hour of noon the scene is busy and exciting. The roadway in Wall street is full of struggling vehicles, and long rows of cabs stand in waiting in Broad street for the busy operators within the Exchanges. The side walks are crowded with an eager, hurrying throng. The steps and street around the Stock Exchange, in Broad street, are black with men who are shouting, pushing, and struggling in the effort to turn the transactions of the day to their advantage. Overhead is an intricate maze of telegraph wires, along which flow the quick and feverish pulsations of the great financial heart of the country. The sunlight falls brightly and cheerily over it all, and at intervals the clear, sweet chimes of old Trinity come floating down the street high above the noise and strife below them.

Diagonally opposite the Treasury, and at the corner of William street, is the Custom House, which occupies the irregular square bounded by Wall street, Exchange Place, William street, and Hanover street. It is one of the finest and best arranged edifices in the city.

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

II. THE STOCK EXCHANGE.

The Stock Exchange is located on the west side of Broad street, just out of Wall street. It is a fine white marble edifice, with a portico of iron, painted flashily in black and gold. It extends back to New street, with an entrance on that street. There is also an entrance on Wall street. It contains the "New York Stock Exchange," "The Mining Board," and the "Government Board."

During the spring and summer of 1871 the internal arrangements of the building were very much improved. The refitting cost the brokers $60,000, but they now have the handsomest establishment of its kind in the world.

The main entrance is on Broad street, and from this the visitor passes into a room, the larger portion of which is separated from the Broad street end by an iron railing. This is "The Long Room," and during the day it is almost always filled with a noisy and not over-nice crowd. It is the scene of the irregular sales of stocks. Any one who can raise $50 can purchase a season ticket to this hall, and once admitted can sell and purchase stocks without being a member of the Regular Board. This arrangement has nearly put an end to the sales of stocks on the side walks, and has given a tinge of respectability to the class known as "Curb-stone Brokers." A dozen or more different stocks may be sold here at once, and the sale may be continued as long as the seller sees fit. There is no regular organization of the brokers operating here, though these men control the bulk of the sales made in the street. They are noisy and seem half demented in their frantic efforts to make sales.

The "Stock Exchange" occupies the main hall, which is on the floor above the Long Room. This hall is one of the most beautiful apartments in the city. It is seventy-four feet long, fifty-four feet wide, and fifty-two feet four inches high. Its lofty ceiling is arched and decorated with bright red and buff penciling upon a sky blue ground, while the walls are relieved by broad square pilasters, painted in brilliant bronze, with tall windows and arched tops rising between, and other spaces between the columns covered with drapery in more subdued colors. Up to a few feet from the floor the painting is in a dark-hued bronze. The coloring is in the Moorish style throughout, and the effect of the whole is very fine. At the north end is the platform for the desks of the Vice-President and Secretary, and on each side of this is a black board for recording the quotations of the session. On the same platform is the desk and instrument of the stock telegraph operator. At the south end of the hall is a light gallery capable of holding 200 persons, for the use of visitors. In connection with the hall are several committee, cloak and ante-rooms. In the centre of the ceiling is a huge ventilator, beneath which is suspended the lighting apparatus, containing 100 burners. A chamber five feet in depth underlies the hall and the adjoining lobby, and in it are laid pipes for conducting warm air.

[Picture: THE STOCK EXCHANGE.]

At the base of the walls is an open iron grating covering the apertures of a shaft leading from the engine-room. Through this shaft warm air is forced into the hall in winter, and cool air in summer, thus securing perfect ventilation.

The Stock Exchange Board is an incorporated company, and is the only lawful association in the city for the transaction of business connected with stocks. It consists of 1050 members, but the control of its affairs is vested in a council of forty members, together with the President, Secretary and Treasurer in their unofficial capacity. The admission fee is $5000, and a seat in the Board becomes the absolute personal property of the broker, who can sell or otherwise dispose of it as he would of his watch or his coat. Candidates are admitted by ballot and with great care, the object being to secure the exclusion of all but men of known integrity, for the Board requires the most scrupulous good faith in the transactions of all its members. Four black balls will prevent the admission of a candidate whether he wishes to enter by purchase or otherwise. Candidates must submit to a close scrutiny of their previous lives, and must show a clear record.

There are two daily sessions of the Board, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon. The securities offered at these meetings are divided into two classes, the Regular and the Free List. No stock or bond can be dealt in until it has been rigidly examined by a committee, and found to be a bona fide security.

At half-past ten o'clock in the morning, the Morning Board is called to order by the First Vice-President. The Regular List, which is made up in advance of the meeting, must always be called, and called first. The Free List may be called or not at the option of the Board. The Regular List consists of 1st. Miscellaneous Stocks. 2d. Railroad Stocks. 3d. State Bonds. 4th. City Stocks. 5th. Railroad Bonds.

The session opens with the reading of the minutes of the previous day. Then comes the call of the Regular List. The call of Miscellaneous Stocks awakens but little excitement. Bids follow quickly upon the announcement of the stocks, and the transactions, as they are announced by the cries of the brokers are repeated by the Vice-President to the Assistant Secretary, who records them in the journal, and they are also recorded by a clerk on a black board in full view of the members. Where there is a doubt respecting a sale or purchase the Vice-President decides, and his decision is final, unless reversed by the votes of a majority of the members present.

[Picture: THE NEW YORK STOCK EXCHANGE BOARD IN SESSION.]

The call of railroad securities brings the brokers to their feet, and the real business of the day begins. Offers and bids, shouted in deep bass, high treble, or shrill falsetto, resound through the hall, and in a few minutes the jovial-looking brokers seem to be on the verge of madness. How they yell and shout, and stamp, and gesticulate. The roar and confusion are bewildering to a stranger, but the keen, practised ears of the Vice-President at once recognize the various transactions, and down they go in the Secretary's book, and on the black board, while the solemn-vizaged telegraph operator sends them clicking into every broker's office in the city. High over all rings the voice of Peter, the keeper of the gate, calling out members for whom telegrams or visitors have arrived.

The other stocks awaken more or less excitement, and when the Regular List is completed, the Free List is in order, and the Vice-President calls such stocks as the members express a desire to deal in. Then, unless there is a wish to call up some stock hastily passed over on the call of the Regular List, the session closes.

At one o'clock, the afternoon session is held, and the routine of the morning is gone over again. The transactions of both sessions are carefully recorded in the Secretary's books.

The Vice-President receives a salary of $7000 per annum for his services, which are not light. The Secretary and Assistant Secretary, and Roll-keeper do the rest of the work of the Board. The last named keeps a record of the fines, which yield an exceedingly large revenue to the Board. The brokers are not the most dignified of mortals in their meetings, but are very much given to disorderly conduct and practical jokes. The annual dues of the Exchange are but fifty dollars, but the average broker pays at least ten times as much in fines. To interrupt the presiding officer during a call of the stocks subjects the offender to a fine of not less than twenty-five cents for each offence; to smoke a cigar within the Exchange costs five dollars; to be absent from special meetings is to incur a fine of not more than five dollars; to stand on a table or chair is punishable with a fine of one dollar; to throw a paper dart or ball at a member during the session of the Board costs ten dollars; and other offences may be punished with fines assessed by the Vice-President at any sum between twenty-five cents and five dollars.

Each day a list of stocks to be put in the market is made out, and no others can be sold during the sessions. The Board can refuse to offer any particular stock for sale, and a guarantee is required of the party making the sale. The members of the Board are men of character, and their transactions are fair and open. They are required to fulfil all contracts in good faith, however great the loss to themselves, on pain of expulsion from the Board, and it is very rare that an expelled member can be reinstated.

III. THE GOVERNMENT BOARD.

The room used by the Government Board, in which all transactions in the bonds and securities of the United States take place, is located on the second floor of the Exchange building. It is handsomely frescoed and furnished in green rep. The basement beneath this room is an immense vault, containing 618 safes, arranged in three tiers, and guarded by four policemen detailed for that purpose. These safes are a foot and a half square, and are rented by the brokers who deposit in them overnight small tin boxes containing their bonds and other securities. It is estimated that the value of the securities nightly deposited here is over two hundred millions of dollars.

The seats of the brokers in the Government Room are arranged in tiers, rising one above the other, from the floor to the wall. The officers occupy a platform at the head of the chamber. The order of business is very much like that of the Stock Board.

"The Vice-President begins:

"'6s '81 registered--'81 coupon. 5.20s '62 registered--coupon. What's bid?'

"Here and there from flanking chairs come sputtering bids or offers:

"'Ten thousand at 3/8, buyer 3.'

"'I'll give an 1/8, seller 3, for the lot.'

"'0.25, buyer 30, for fifty thousand.'

"'0.25, regular, for any part of five thousand.'

"First Voice. 'Sold,--five hundred.'

"The presiding officer repeats the sale and terms, the secretary makes his registry, and a new bond is started.

"Sometimes when 5.20s are called, there is at first only one voice which rings the changes on 'I'll give 115. I'll give '15 for a thousand,--'15 for a thousand.' Presently, however, before any response follows the offer, a member in a distant corner, either carelessly or maliciously, shouts out, 'I'll give '14 for a thousand,--'14 for a thousand.'

"The Vice-President plies his hammer: 'Fine Irving--fine Irving fifty cents.' The Roll keeper proceeds to make his little note of it, and Irving, who has violated the rule, founded on common sense, which forbids a member from making a bid below or an offer above the one which has the floor immediately subsides amid the laughter of his neighbors.

"Occasionally an interruption of a grosser character occurs, a member leaping from his seat on some slight provocation, and striking off the hat of the man who has offended. Fine Harrison, fine Harrison again, fine, FINE him again,--FINE Harrison,' cries the Vice-President, repeating the word without cessation until the broker's wrath has been appeased, and he returns to his chair with the disagreeable reflection that a heavy score is against him for the semi-annual settlement-day. Every repetition of that fatal monosyllable was a fresh mark of fifty cents or a dollar against his name. Generally, however, the Government brokers are more orderly than their neighbors in the Regular Board. Indeed, the whole proceedings are more decorous and respectful, the bidding, half the time, being carried on in a low conversational tone. At second call there is a brief excitement, but when 'things are dull' throughout the street, this room peculiarly reflects the external influences.

"Very different it is, however, on days when some special cause provokes great fluctuations. Then the members spring from their seats, arms, hands, excitable faces, rapid vociferations, all come in play, and the element of pantomime performs its part in assisting the human voice as naturally as among the Italians of Syracuse. To the uninitiated the biddings here are as unintelligible as elsewhere, sounding to ordinary ears like the gibberish of Victor Hugo's Compachinos. But the comparative quietude of this Board renders it easier to follow the course of the market, to detect the shades of difference in the running offers, and generally to get a clearer conception of this part of the machinery of stock brokerage."

In former times brokers were subjected to great expense in keeping a host of runners and messengers to bring them news of the transactions at the Exchanges. The introduction of the Stock Telegraph has made a great and beneficial change in this respect. In every broker's office, and in the principal hotels and restaurants of the city, there is an automatic recording instrument connected by telegraphic wires with an instrument in the Stock and Gold Exchanges. The operator in these exchanges indicates the quotations of stocks and gold on his own instrument, and these quotations are repeated by the instruments in the offices throughout the city. These office instruments print the quotations in plain Roman letters and figures on a ribbon of paper, so that any one can read and understand them. Thus one man does the work formerly required of several hundred, and no time is lost in conveying the information. The broker in his office is informed of the transactions at the Exchange at the very instant they are made.

IV. THE GOLD EXCHANGE.

You pass from Broad street into the basement of a brown stone building just below the Stock Exchange, and find yourself in a long, dimly-lighted passage way, which leads into a small courtyard. Before you is a steep stairway leading to a narrow and dirty entry. At the end of this entry is a gloomy looking door. Pass through it, and you are in the famous Gold Exchange.

This is a showy apartment in the style of an amphitheatre, with an ugly fountain in the centre of the floor. An iron railing encloses the fountain. Against the New street end is the platform occupied by the President and Secretary, and on the right of this is the telegraph office. There are two galleries connected with the room, one for the use of visitors provided with tickets, and the other free to all comers. There is an indicator on the outer wall of the building on New street, from which the price of gold is announced to the crowd without. It is a common habit with sporting men of the lower class to frequent New street and bet on the indicator.

There are but few benches in the Gold Room. The members of the Board are too nervous and excitable to sit still, and seats would soon be broken to pieces in their wild rushing up and down the floor.

The business of the day begins about ten o'clock. The rap of the President's gavel opens the session, and as there is but one thing dealt in--gold--the bids follow the sound of the mallet. The noise and confusion are greater here than in the Stock Board or the Long Room, and it seems impossible to a stranger that the President should be able to follow the various transactions. When the excitement is at its height, the scene resembles "pandemonium broken loose." The members rush wildly about, without any apparent aim. They stamp, yell, shake their arms, heads, and bodies violently, and almost trample each other to death in their frenzied struggles. Men who in private life excite the admiration of their friends by the repose and dignity of their manner, here join in the furious whirl, and seem more like maniacs than sensible human beings. And yet every yell, every gesture, is fraught with the most momentous consequences. These seeming maniacs have a method in their madness, and are changing at every breath the value of the currency upon which the whole business of the country rests. When the fluctuations are very great, fortunes are made and lost here every hour.

Connected with the business of the Gold Room are the Gold Exchange Bank and the Clearing House. The method of settlement with these institutions, which are indispensable where gold passes so rapidly from hand to hand in the Exchange, is as follows: "On or before half past twelve o'clock, a statement of all the purchases or sales made by each broker on the preceding day must be rendered to the bank. If the gold bought be in excess of that sold, a check for the difference must accompany the statement. If deposits in gold or currency are not kept in the bank, the coin must be delivered at every deficiency. The Board adjourns at twelve, in order to enable tardy dealers to complete their accounts. Provided all contracts are honored, the bank must settle by two P.M. In case of default, the amount in abeyance is debited or credited to the broker who suffers by the failure."

The Clearing House Association was created in 1853, and represents the sum of the financial business of the city. "The Association is located in the third story of the building of the Bank of New York. The centre of the room is occupied by a bank counter, extending on four sides, with a passage inside and out. Fifty-nine desks are placed on the counter for the use of the fifty-nine banks represented in the Association. Each desk bears the name of the bank to which it belongs. Fitted up in each desk are fifty-nine pigeon holes for the checks of the various banks. Two clerks represent each bank. One remains at the desk and receives all the checks on his bank. He signs the name of the bank to the sheet which each outside clerk holds in his hand. These outside clerks go from desk to desk and leave the checks received the day before, with the banks on which they are drawn. Banks do not begin public business till ten; but clerks have to be on hand at eight, when all checks are assorted and arranged for delivery at the Clearing House.

"At ten minutes before ten the bank messengers begin to assemble and take their places. As they enter they leave with the messenger a slip containing an exact account of the bank they represent. These statements are put on a sheet prepared for that purpose, and must conform precisely to the checks received inside, before the Clearing House closes its duties. If there is any error or discrepancy, the bank is immediately notified by telegraph, and the clerks kept until the matter is satisfactorily adjusted. At ten, promptly, business begins. Clerks come rushing in with small trunks, tin boxes, or with bundles in their arms, and take their seats at the desks. On the side of the room entered only from the manager's office is a desk, not unlike a pulpit. Precisely at ten the bell rings, the manager steps into his box, brings down his gavel, and the work of the day begins. Quiet prevails. No loud talking is allowed, and no confusion. A bank late is fined two dollars; a party violating the rules, or guilty of insubordination, is fined two dollars and reported to the hank. On repetition, he is expelled the Clearing House. The daily transactions of the Clearing House varies from ninety-eight to one hundred millions. The system is so nicely balanced that three millions daily settle the difference. Each bank indebted to the Clearing House must send in its check before half after one. Creditors get the Clearing House check at the same hour. Daily business is squared and all accounts closed at half after three. Every bank in the city is connected with the Clearing House by telegraph. The morning work of clearing one hundred millions, occupies ten minutes. Long before the clerks can reach the bank, its officers are acquainted with the exact state of their account, and know what loans to grant or refuse. Through the Clearing House each bank is connected with every other in the city. If a doubtful check is presented, if paper to be negotiated is not exactly clear, while the party offering the paper or check is entertained by some member of the bank, the telegraph is making minute inquiries about his financial standing. Before the conference closes, the bank knows the exact facts of the case."

V. CURB-STONE BROKERS.

The members of the Stock and Gold Exchange, as has been stated, are men of character. Their transactions are governed by certain fixed rules, and they are required, on pain of expulsion from the Exchange, to observe the strictest good faith in their dealings with each other and with their customers. If the operations of the street were entirely confined to them, business in Wall street might be regarded as in safe hands. But there is another class, even more numerous and quite as well skilled in the ways of the street, who transact a vast part of its business. They are not members of the Exchange, and in former times used to assemble around its doors in Broad and New streets, and carry on their operations on the sidewalk. Hence their designation, "Curb-stone brokers." They no longer assemble on the pavement, for the Exchange has thrown open to them its Long Room. Any one who can pay $50 a year for a ticket of admission, and who has brains and nerve enough to enter upon the struggle, can sell or buy in the Long Room. This is better than standing in the street, exposed to the weather, and moreover gives a certain respectability to the "operator," although he may carry his sole capital in his head, and his office in his breeches-pocket.

No rules or regulations apply to the Long Room. The honest man and the rogue mingle together here, and the broker must be sure of his man. Many of the members of the Exchange buy and sell here, either in person or through their representatives, and many good men who are unable to enter the Exchange conduct their business here. Others again prefer the freedom and the wider field of the Long Room. Still, there are many sharpers here, who would fleece a victim out of his last cent.

The daily transactions of the Long Room are said to average about $70,000,000, or ten times the business done in the Regular Board. Fortune is much more uncertain here than in the room up stairs. Men buy and sell here with the recklessness of gamblers. The noise and excitement are almost as great as in the Gold Room. The absence of the fixed laws of the Regular Boards puts every one on his own resources, and men are compelled to use all their ingenuity, all their determination to guard against a surprise or unfair dealing. It is every one for himself here. A dozen or more small or new operators are ruined and swept away daily, and in times of great financial excitement the Long Room shakes the foundations of even some of the strongest houses in the street.

VI. THE BUSINESS OF THE STREET.

It is a common habit to speak of Wall street as the financial centre of the Republic; but only those who are acquainted with its transactions can know how true this is. Regarding Wall street and New York as synonymous terms, we find that the street is not only a great power in this country, but that it is one of the great controlling powers of the financial world. Indeed, if the prosperity of the country is as marked in the future as it has been in the past, there is good reason to believe that Wall street will control the whole world of finance. Its geographical location is in its favor. By noon the New York broker has full information of the same day's transactions in London, Frankfort, and Paris, and can shape his course in accordance with this knowledge, while the European broker cannot profit by his knowledge of matters in New York until the next day.

The Stock Exchange of New York numbers over 1000 members, and its aggregate wealth is greater than that of any similar association in the world. The par value of the annual sales made at the regular Boards and "over the counter" is estimated at over $22,000,000,000 annually. The par value of the authorized stocks, bonds, and Governments dealt in by the regular Boards is more than $3,000,000,000, and this vast sum is turned over and over many times during the year. The aggregate of the brokers' commissions on the sales and purchases made by them is estimated by competent authority at $43,750,000 annually. The bulk of this enormous business is in the hands of about 400 houses.

"Out of all the incorporated banks in the United States, there are thirty situated in Wall street and its neighborhood, whose office is not unlike that of the heart in the economy of animal life. Although less than half the full number of banks in the metropolis, these thirty have two-thirds of the capital, and quite two-thirds of the circulation. By a provision of statutory law, all outside National banks, numbering some 1600, are allowed to keep one-half, and many three-fifths, of their reserve balances in New York. In this way our great financial centre is rapidly acquiring the function of a National clearing-house. These temporary deposits bear a small interest, and are subject to be called for at a day's notice. They can only be used, therefore, by the employing banks on the same conditions. The stock market supplies these conditions. Bonds and shares bought to-day and sold to-morrow, endowed with all the properties of swift conversion, and held by men whose training has been one of incessant grappling with the new and unexpected, are the only class of property upon which money can safely be borrowed without a protection against sudden demands. On these securities, therefore, the down-town banks make call loans. The name implies the nature. The money which the thirty receive from without, together with their own reserves, is lent freely to stock-brokers, with the simple provision that it must be returned immediately upon notice, if financial exigencies require it. This vast volume of what may well be styled fluid wealth is difficult of estimate in figures. The published statements of loans made by city banks make no distinction between discounts of commercial paper and what is advanced on securities. In sum total, the thirty banks lend weekly about $165,000,000. Indeed, including all New York banks, the average is nearly $255,000,000. During the week ending September 18, 1868, these banks lent $266,496,024. The real meaning of these last figures will be better understood when it is known that they exceed the entire average loans and discounts of all the national banks of New England and New York State, with the exception, of course, of the city itself. Or, to take a more sweeping view, they surpass the total weekly loans of national banks in Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, West Virginia, Georgia, Alabama, Texas, Arkansas, Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio, Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, Minnesota, Iowa, Wisconsin, Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, Delaware, and New Jersey. Nigh $180,000,000 of the amount cited above were advanced by the down-town banks. What proportion of this was lent on stocks? Probably much over one-third. As many of the other banks also make call loans, we may, perhaps, estimate that from $70,000,000 to $100,000,000 are furnished daily to the brokers and operators of New York.

[Picture: THE PARK BANK, BROADWAY.]

"This, however, is but one element in the lending force of the city. There are five Trust Companies, with capitals amounting in the aggregate to $5,500,000, which lend, at times, $60,000,000 a week. There are also a large number of private banking houses, of which Jay Cooke & Co. may be selected as representatives, that daily loan vast sums of money on security. The foreign houses alone, which, like Belmont & Co., Brown Brothers, Drexel, Winthrop & Co., operate in Wall street, employ not much less than $200,000,000 of capital."

VII. STOCK GAMBLING.

In the good old days gone by Wall street did business on principles very different from those which prevail there now. Then there was a holy horror in all hearts of speculation. Irresponsible men might indulge in it, and so incur the censure of the more respectable, but established houses confined themselves to a legitimate and regular business. They bought and sold on commission, and were satisfied with their earnings. Even now, indeed, the best houses profess to do simply a commission business, leaving the risk to the customer, but those who know the hidden ways of the street hint that there is not a house in it but has its secrets of large or small operations undertaken on account of the firm. The practice of buying and selling on commission is unquestionably the safest, but the mania for wealth leads many clear, cool-headed men into the feverish whirl of speculation, and keeps them there until they have realized their wildest hopes, or are ruined.

It has been remarked that the men who do business in Wall street have a prematurely old look, and that they die at a comparatively early age. This is not strange. They live too fast. Their bodies and brains are taxed too severely to last long. They pass their days in a state of great excitement. Every little fluctuation of the market elates or depresses them to an extent greater than they think. At night they are either planning the next day's campaign, or are hard at work at the hotels. On Sundays their minds are still on their business, and some are laboring in their offices, screened from public observation. Body and mind are worked too hard, and are given no rest.

The chief cause of this intense strain is the uncertainty attending the operations of Wall street. The chances there are not dependent upon the skill or the exertions of the operator. Some powerful clique may almost destroy the securities upon which he relies for success, or may make him wealthy by suddenly running up their value; so that no man who does not confine himself to a strictly legitimate or commission business--and but few do so--can say one week whether he will be a millionaire or a beggar the next. The chances are in favor of the latter result. Nine out of ten who speculate in gold or stocks, lose, especially persons unaccustomed to such operations. Like all gamblers, they are undismayed by their losses, and venture a second time, and a third, and so on. The fascination of stock gambling is equal to that of card gambling, and holds its victims with an iron hand. The only safe rule for those who wish to grow rich is to keep out of Wall street. While one man makes a fortune by a sudden rise in stocks or gold, hundreds lose by an equally sudden fall in the same commodities. Even old and established firms sometimes give way with a crash under these sudden changes.

The legitimate operations of the street and the speculative ventures are becoming more and more concentrated every year in the hands of a few operators and capitalists. These move the market as they please, and fill their coffers, and sweep away younger or weaker men with a remorseless hand. It is useless to oppose them. They are masters of the field in every respect, and when they combine for a common object, their resources are inexhaustible and their power beyond computation. A dozen, or even half a dozen of the great capitalists could ruin the whole street were they so disposed, and once they came near doing so. This is the secret of the cordial hatred that is felt by the majority of Wall street men for Vanderbilt, Drew, and other great operators. They know and dread the power of these men, and would readily combine to destroy them singly.

The mania for stock gambling which now sways such masses of people, may be said to date from the war and the petroleum discoveries. Since then it has rolled over the country in a vast flood. The telegraph is kept busy all day and all night in sending orders for speculations from people in other States and cities to New York brokers. Everybody who can raise the funds, wishes to try his or her hand at a venture in stocks. Merchants, clergymen, women, professional men, clerks, come here to tempt fortune. Many win; more lose.

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

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

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

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

Not only do men squander their own money in this way, but they risk and often lose the funds of others committed to their charge. Bank officers, having the use of the deposits in their institutions, take them for speculation, intending of course to return them. Sometimes they are successful, and are able to replace the money in the bank, so that no one hears of their dishonesty. Again, and most commonly, they fail, and they are ruined. Guardians thus misappropriate the funds of their wards. Even the funds of churches are thus used by their trustees. The amount of speculation engaged in by clergymen with their own money would astonish a novice. Some prominent divines in the city are well known in Wall street. Their brokers keep their secrets, but the habitues of the street are adepts at putting this and that together, and these reverend gentlemen, some of whom preach eloquently against the sins of speculation and gambling, become known as regular customers. The street is full of gossip concerning them, and if the stories told of them be true, some of them have made large fortunes in this way, while others have literally "gone to the bad."

It is not necessary that a person speculating in stocks should be master of the entire value of the stocks. If he be known to the broker operating for him as a responsible person, he may employ only ten per cent., or some other proportion, of the stock to be dealt in. By depositing $1000 with his broker, he can speculate to the extent of $10,000. This per centage is called a margin, and the deposit is designed to protect the broker from loss in case the stock should fall in value. As the stock depreciates, the customer must either sell out and bear the loss which is inevitable, or he must increase his margin to an extent sufficient to protect his broker. If he fails to increase his margin, the broker sells the stock and uses the money to save himself.

VIII. THE WAYS OF THE STREET.

Like Brette Harte's Heathen Chinee,

"For ways that are dark And tricks that are vain, Wall Street is peculiar."

It takes a clear, cool head, a large amount of brains, and unaltering nerve, to thread one's way through the intricacies of the business of finance as carried on there. It would be interesting to know how many come out of the ordeal untouched by the taint of corruption. Members of the Exchanges are held by a rigid code of laws, but in questions of morality Wall street has a code of its own. Expediency is a prominent consideration in the dealings of the street, and men have come to regard as honest and correct almost anything short of a regular breach of contract. They do not spare their own flesh and blood. Friendships are sacrificed, the ties of kinship are disregarded, if they stand in the way of some bold operation. Every thing must give way to the desire for gain. The great operators plunder and destroy their lesser rivals without a feeling of remorse, and by combinations which they know cannot be resisted blast the prospects and ruin the lives of scores whose greatest fault is an inability to oppose them successfully. Tricks so mean and contemptible that their perpetrator would not be tolerated in social life, are resorted to, and if successful are applauded as evidences of smartness. Every man's hand is against his neighbor. Clerks are bribed to betray the secrets of their employers. The baser their treachery, the larger their reward. We do not propose, however, to discuss the morality of Wall street transactions, and so we drop the subject.

It is said by the gossips of the street that the great Railroad King, Commodore Vanderbilt, is not above using any means at hand to secure the success of his schemes. It is said that he once tried to use his son William in this way. He came to him one day, and advised him that he had better sell his Hudson River stock, as 110 was too high for it. William thanked him, and made inquiries in the market, and found that his father was buying quietly all he could lay his hands upon.

William determined to follow suit. Up jumped the stock to 137. It was a clear twenty-six per cent. in pocket.

When the operation was concluded, the Commodore rode round to the son's office.

"Well, William, how much did you lose?"

"I went in at 110 on 10,000 shares. That ought to make me two hundred and sixty thousand dollars--"

"Very bad luck, William," quoth the father, trying to look extremely troubled,--"very bad luck, this time."

"But then I bought, and so made."

"Hey? What sent you doing that, sir?"

"O, I heard that was your line, and so concluded that you meant long instead of short."

"Ahem!" croaked Vanderbilt pere, as he buttoned up his fur overcoat, and stalked out of the open door. He has always had a high opinion of William since that event!

Some years ago Vanderbilt wanted to consolidate the Hudson River and Harlem Railroads, and when the scheme was presented before the Legislature of New York, secured a sufficient number of votes in that body to insure the passage of the bill authorizing the consolidation. Before the bill was called upon its final passage, however, he learned from a trustworthy source that the members of the Legislature who had promised to vote for the bill, were determined to vote against it, with the hope of ruining him. The stock of the Harlem road was then selling very high, in consequence of the expected consolidation. The defeat of the bill would, of course, cause it to fall immediately. The unprincipled legislators at once began a shrewd game. They sold Harlem right and left, to be delivered at a future day, and found plenty of purchasers, every one but those in the plot expecting the consolidation of the roads and a consequent advance in the value of the stock. They let their friends into the secret, and there was soon a great deal of "selling short" in this stock. Commodore Vanderbilt managed to acquaint himself with the whole plot; but he held his peace, and resolved upon revenge. He went into the market quietly, with all the funds he could raise, and bought every certificate of Harlem stock that he could find. These certificates he locked up in his safe. When the bill came before the Legislature on its final passage, it was defeated.

The conspirators were jubilant. They were sure that the defeat of the bill would bring "Harlem" down with a rush. To their astonishment, however, "Harlem" did not fall. It remained stationary the first day, and then to their dismay rose steadily. Those to whom they had sold demanded the delivery of the stock, but the speculators found it impossible to buy it. There was none in the market at any price. In many of these instances Vanderbilt was the real claimant, the brokers acting in the transactions being merely his agents. Being unable to deliver the stock, the conspirators were forced to settle the demands against them in money, and the result was that they were ruined. One of the shrewdest operators in New York lost over $200,000. He refused to pay, and his name was stricken from the list of stockholders. This brought him to his senses, and he made good his contracts. Vanderbilt made money enough out of this transaction to pay for all the stock he owned in the Harlem Road.

Daniel Drew is a great operator. His gains are immense, as are also his losses. He is not popular in the street, and the brokers are fond of abusing him. He has handled too many of them mercilessly to have many friends. They say that he does not hesitate to sacrifice a friend to gain his ends, and that he is utterly without sympathy for those who go down before his heavy blows.

Bogus stock companies appear from time to time in Wall street. An office is rented and fitted up in magnificent style, a flaring programme is issued, and seemingly substantial evidences of the stability and prosperity of the company are exhibited to inquirers. The stock offered is readily taken up by the eager to be rich crowd. A dividend, most hopefully large, is declared and paid, to stimulate investments, and then, when the market has been drained dry, the bubble bursts, the directors disappear, the office is closed, and the shareholders lose their money.

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

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

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

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

Said the New York Herald, at a period when speculation was rampant:

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

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

"A railroad treasurer boldly states that he has without authority over-issued stock of the company to a large amount. He offers it to a broker for sale, with the understanding that all received over a fixed value is to go into his (the treasurer's) pocket. From the fact that this man is not arrested for maladministration of the company's property, we judge this to be a legitimate operation, and that this may hereafter serve as a model or standard of morals to all presidents, directors, treasurers and managers of railway and other great corporations."

IX. BLACK FRIDAY.

In the month of September, 1869, one of the most gigantic attempts to run up the value of gold ever made was attempted by a powerful combination of Bulls, consisting of a set of unprincipled men whose only object was to make money. Their scheme came near attaining a success which would have broken the market utterly, have unsettled values of all kinds, and have precipitated upon the whole country a financial crisis of the most terrible proportions. Nothing but the interference of the Secretary of the Treasury at a critical moment averted this disaster. As it was, the losses were fearful. Men in Wall street were ruined by the score, and for several days the best houses in the street were uncertain as to their exact condition.

An account of this formidable transaction is interesting as revealing the method of conducting the great operations of the street.

[Picture: SCENE IN THE GOLD ROOM--BLACK FRIDAY.]

"On the 22d of September, 1869, gold stood at 137.5 when Trinity bells rang out the hour of twelve. By two it was at 139. Before night its lowest quotation was 141. . . . An advance of three and a half per cent. in five hours. At the same time the Stock Market exhibited tokens of excessive febrility, New York Central dropping twenty-three per cent. and Harlem thirteen. Loans had become extremely difficult to negotiate. The most usurious prices for a twenty-four hours' turn were freely paid. The storm was palpably reaching the proportions of a tempest.

"Nevertheless, the brokers on the Bear side strove manfully under their burden. The character and purposes of the clique were fully known. Whatever of mystery had heretofore enfolded them was now boldly thrown aside, and the men of Erie, with the sublime Fisk in the forefront of the assailing column, assured the shorts that they could not settle too quickly, since it remained with the ring, now holding calls for one hundred millions, either to kindly compromise at 150 or to carry the metal to 200 and nail it there. This threat was accompanied by consequences in which the mailed hand revealed itself under the silken glove. The movement had intertwisted itself deep into the affairs of every dealer in the street, and entangled in its meshes vast numbers of outside speculators. In borrowing or in margins the entire capital of the former had been nearly absorbed, while some five millions had been deposited by the latter with their brokers in answer to repeated calls. When Thursday morning rose, gold started at 141-5/8, and soon shot up to 144. Then the clique began to tighten the screws. The shorts received peremptory orders to increase their borrowing margins. At the same moment the terms of loans overnight were raised beyond the pitch of ordinary human endurance. Stories were insidiously circulated exciting suspicion of the integrity of the Administration, and strengthening the belief that the National Treasury would bring no help to the wounded Bears. Whispers of an impending lock-up of money were prevalent; and the fact, then shrewdly suspected, and now known, of certifications of checks to the amount of twenty-five millions by one bank alone on that day, lent color to the rumor. Many brokers lost courage, and settled instantly. The Gold Room shook with the conflict, and the battle prolonged itself into a midnight session at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. The din of the tumult had penetrated to the upper chambers of journalism. Reporters were on the alert. The great dailies magnified the struggle, and the Associated Press spread intelligence of the excitement to remote sections. When Friday opened clear and calm, the pavement of Broad and New streets soon filled up with unwonted visitors. All the idle population of the city and its neighborhood crowded into the financial quarter to witness the throes of the tortured shorts. Blended with the merely curious were hundreds of outside speculators who had ventured their all in the great stake, and trembled in doubt of the honor of their dealers. Long before 9 A.M. these men, intensely interested in the day's encounter, poured through the alley-way from Broad street, and between the narrow walls of New street, surging up around the doorways, and piling themselves densely and painfully within the cramped galleries of the Room itself. They had made good the fresh calls for margins up to 143, the closing figure of the night before. The paramount question now was, How would gold open? They had not many minutes to wait. Pressing up to the fountain, around which some fifty brokers had already congregated, a Bull operator with resonant voice bid 145 for twenty thousand. The shout startled the galleries. Their margins were once more in jeopardy. Would their brokers remain firm? It was a terrible moment. The Bears closed round the aggressors. Yells and shrieks filled the air. A confused and baffling whirl of sounds ensued, in which all sorts of fractional bids and offers mingled, till '46 emerged from the chaos. The crowd within the arena increased rapidly in numbers. The clique agents became vociferous. Gold steadily pushed forward in its perilous upward movement from '46 to '47, thence to '49, and, pausing for a brief twenty minutes, dashed on to 150.5. It was now considerably past the hour of regular session. The President was in the chair. The Secretary's pen was bounding over his registry book. The floor of the Gold Room was covered with 300 agitated dealers and operators, shouting, heaving in masses against and around the iron railing of the fountain, falling back upon the approaches of the committee-rooms and the outer entrance, guarded with rigorous care by sturdy door-keepers. Many of the principal brokers of the street were there,--Kimber, who had turned traitor to the ring; Colgate, the Baptist; Clews, a veteran government broker; one of the Marvins; James Brown; Albert Speyer, and dozens of others hardly less famous. Every individual of all that seething throng had a personal stake beyond, and, in natural human estimate, a thousand-fold more dear than that of any outside patron, no matter how deeply or ruinously that patron might be involved. At 11 of the dial gold was 150.5; in six minutes it jumped to 155. Then the pent-up tiger spirit burst from control. The arena rocked as the Coliseum may have rocked when the gates of the wild beasts were thrown open, and with wails and shrieks the captives of the empire sprang to merciless encounter with the ravenous demons of the desert. The storm of voices lost human semblance. Clenched hands, livid faces, pallid foreheads on which beads of cold sweat told of the interior anguish, lurid, passion-fired eyes,--all the symptoms of a fever which at any moment might become frenzy were there. The shouts of golden millions upon millions hurtled in all ears. The labor of years was disappearing and reappearing in the wave line of advancing and receding prices. With fortunes melting away in a second, with five hundred millions of gold in process of sale or purchase, with the terror of yet higher prices, and the exultation which came and went with the whispers of fresh men entering from Broad street bearing confused rumors of the probable interposition of the Government, it is not hard to understand how reason faltered on its throne, and operators became reckless, buying or selling without thought of the morrow or consciousness of the present. Then came the terrific bid of Albert Speyer for any number of millions at 160. William Parks sold instantly two millions and a half in one lot. Yet the bids so far from yielding rose to 161, 162, 162.5. For five minutes the Board reeled under the ferocity of the attack. Seconds became hours. The agony of Wellington awaiting Blucher was in the souls of the Bears. Then a broker, reported to be acting for Baring & Brothers, at London, sold five millions to the clique at the top price of the day. Hallgarten followed; and as the shorts were gathering courage, the certain news that the Secretary of the Treasury had come to the rescue swept through the chamber, gold fell from 160 to 140, and thence, with hardly the interval of one quotation, to 133. The end had come, and the exhausted operators streamed out of the stifling hall into the fresh air of the street. To them, however, came no peace. In some offices customers by dozens, whose margins were irrevocably burnt away in the smelting-furnace of the Gold Board, confronted their dealers with taunts and threats of violence for their treachery. In others the nucleus of mobs began to form, and, as the day wore off, Broad street had the aspect of a riot. Huge masses of men gathered before the doorway of Smith, Gould, Martin & Co., and Heath & Co. Fisk was assaulted, and his life threatened. Deputy-sheriffs and police officers appeared on the scene. In Brooklyn a company of troops were held in readiness to march upon Wall street.

"When night came, Broad street and its vicinity saw an unwonted sight. The silence and the darkness which ever rests over the lower city after seven of the evening, was broken by the blaze of gas-light from a hundred windows, and the footfall of clerks hurrying from a hasty repast back to their desks. Until long after Trinity bells pealed out the dawn of a new day, men bent over their books, scrutinized the Clearing-House statement for the morrow, took what thought was possible for the future. At the Gold Exchange Bank the weary accountants were making ineffective efforts to complete Thursday's business. That toilful midnight, at the close of the last great passion-day of the bullion-worshippers, will be ever memorable for its anxieties and unsatisfying anguish.

[Picture: BROAD STREET ON BLACK FRIDAY.]

"Saturday brought no relief. The Gold Board met only to adjourn, as the Clearing-House had been incapable of the task of settling its accounts, complicated as they were by ever fresh failures. The small brokers had gone under by scores. The rumors of the impending suspension of some of the largest houses of the street gave fresh grounds for fear. The Stock Exchange was now the centre of attraction. If that yielded, all was lost. To sustain the market was vital. But whence was the saving power to came? All through yesterday shares had been falling headlong. New York Central careened to 148, and then recovered to 185.75. Hudson plunged from 173 to 145. Pittsburgh fell to 68. Northwest reached 62.5. The shrinkage throughout all securities had been not less than thirty millions. Would the impulse downward continue? The throngs which filled the corridors and overhung the stairway from which one can look down upon the Long Room saw only mad tumult, heard only the roar of the biddings. For any certain knowledge they might have been in Alaska. But the financial public in the quiet of their offices, and nervously scrutinizing the prices reeled off from the automaton telegraph, saw that Vanderbilt was supporting the New York stocks, and that the weakness in other shares was not sufficient to shadow forth panic. It soon became known that the capitalists from Philadelphia, Boston, and the great Western cities had thrown themselves into the breach, and were earning fortunes for themselves as well as gratitude from the money-market, by the judicious daring of their purchases. The consciousness of this new element was quieting, but Wall street was still too feverish to be reposed by any ordinary anodyne. A run on the Tenth National Bank had commenced, and all day long a steady line of dealers filed up to the counter of the paying teller demanding their balances. The courage and the ability in withstanding the attack which were shown by the president and his associates deserve something more than praise. The Gold Exchange Bank witnessed a similar scene, angry brokers assaulting the clerks and threatening all possible things unless instantaneous settlements were made. The freedom with which the press had given details of the explosion had been extremely hurtful to the credit of many of the best houses. In a crisis like that of Black Friday the sluice-gates of passion open. Cloaked in the masquerade of genuine distrust, came forth whispers whose only origin was in ancient enmities, long-treasured spites, the soundless depths of unquenchable malignities. Firms of staunchest reputation felt the rapier-stroke of old angers. The knowledge that certain houses were large holders of particular stocks was the signal of attacks upon the shares. Despite of outside orders for vast amounts, these influences had their effect upon securities, and aided to tighten the loan market. One, one and a half, two, and even four per cent. were the compulsory terms on which money could alone be borrowed to carry stocks over Sunday.

"On Monday the 27th the Gold Board met, but only to be informed that the Clearing-House was not yet ready to complete the work of Friday. Important accounts had been kept back, and the dealings, swollen in sum-total to five hundred millions, were beyond the capacity of the clerical force of the Gold Bank to grapple with. A resolution was brought forward proposing the resumption of operations Ex-Clearing-House. The measure took the members by surprise, for a moment quivered between acceptance and rejection, and then was swiftly tabled. It was an immense Bear scheme, for no exchange can transact business where its dealers are under suspicion. All outstanding accounts require immediate fulfilment. Failure to make good deliveries would have insured the instant selling out of defaulters 'under the rule.' As the majority of brokers were inextricably involved in the late difficulty, the only consequence would have been to throw them into bankruptcy, thus bringing some $60,000,000 under the hammer. The market could not have borne up under such an avalanche. It was decided that the Room should be kept open for borrowings and loans, but that all dealings should be suspended. One result of this complication was that gold had no fixed value. It could be bought at one house for 133 and at other offices sold for 139. The Board thus proved its utility at the very juncture when least in favor."

XVI. THE FERRIES.

Including the Harlem, Staten Island, and Elizabethport routes, there are about twenty-five lines of ferries plying between New York and the adjacent shores. Ten of these lines are to Brooklyn, two to Hunter's Point, two to Green Point, one to Mott Haven, and one to Harlem, all in the East River; and five to Jersey City, one to Weehawken, one to Fort Lee, two to Staten Island, and one to Elizabethport, all in the North River. Thus there are sixteen lines in the East River, and ten in the North River. The boats are large side-wheel vessels, capable of carrying pedestrians, horses and vehicles. The fare to the Jersey shore is three cents, to Brooklyn two, and to Harlem and Staten Island ten cents. On some of the lines the boats ply every five minutes; on others the intervals are longer. The Staten Island and Harlem boats start every hour.

The boats are generally handsome, as well as large. Nearly all are lighted with gas, and at least a score of them are to be seen in the stream at any time. At night, with their many colored lamps, they give to the river quite a gala appearance. The Fulton, Barclay, and Courtlandt street lines run their boats all night. The others run from 4 A.M. until midnight. The travel on the various lines is immense. The aggregate is said, by reliable authority, to be upwards of 200,000 persons per day, or about 75,000,000 per annum. Many of the boats 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 very greatly with the running of the boats, and render accidents imminent. Collisions are frequent during rough or thick weather, and the ice sometimes sweeps 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 requires the greatest skill on the part of the pilot to avoid collisions.

Tens of thousands of people enter and leave the great city daily by means of the ferries. The country for twenty miles around the city is built up by persons who earn their bread in New York, and morning and evening they pass between their places of business and their homes. You may recognize them as they come into the city in the morning, or as they leave it at the close of the day. Towards five o'clock vast swarms of working-men pour over the river, followed at six and seven by the factory and shop girls, the clerks and salesmen in the retail houses and offices, and from these the newsboys reap a harvest for the two-penny papers. Every one has his newspaper, and all who can find the necessary space on the ferry-boat economize their time by reading the news as they cross the river. Later still come the clerks in the wholesale houses, and later still the great merchants themselves. Between nine and ten the Wall street men put in an appearance, and later yet the great capitalists, residing out of the city, begin to show themselves. From eight o'clock the great dailies are in demand, and the newsboys have scarcely a call for the cheap papers. Towards noon the idlers and ladies bent on shopping expeditions cross over, and for a few hours the ferries are comparatively dull. Towards four o'clock in the afternoon, however, the tide flows back again, but in reverse order. The richest come first, for their working hours are short, and the poorest extend the crowd into the hours of darkness. Night brings another flow and ebb of pleasure-seekers, theatre-goers, etc., so that the midnight boats go almost as full as those of the early evening. Then a few stragglers avail themselves of the boats that ply between midnight and morning. They are mostly journalists, actors, or printers employed in the newspaper offices.

With the first light of dawn, and frequently long before the darkness has passed away, the market farmers and gardeners of Long Island and New Jersey crowd the boats with their huge wagons heavily loaded with vegetables and fruits for the city markets. They come in throngs, and the approaches to the ferries in Brooklyn and Jersey City are lined for blocks with their wagons. They are mostly Germans, but they show a decidedly American quality in the impatience they manifest at the delays to which they are subjected. On the lower Jersey ferries, they are often followed by droves of cattle, many of which have come from the Far West, all wending their way to the slaughter houses of New York.

The New York approaches to the ferries are always "jammed" with wagons and trucks. The luckless "foot-passenger" must take the chances of reaching the boat in time, and often must incur no little risk in making his way through the crowd of vehicles. The police try hard to keep these approaches free, but the throng is too great for them, and they have all they can do in seeing after the safety of the "foot-passengers." A man on foot has no rights that a New York driver is bound to respect, and Jehu thinks it no harm to run over any one who gets in his way.

The ferries are good places to study human nature, for all classes use them. You see here the poor, pale working girl, whom toil and poverty are making prematurely old, and the blooming lady of fashion; the beggar and the millionaire; the honest laborer and the thief; the virtuous mother and her children, and the brazen courtezan and her poodle dog. You can tell them all by their appearance and aspect, for here they enjoy a few moments of enforced idleness, and during that time they are natural in expression and attitude.

At night, the scene to be witnessed from these boats is very striking. The waters are dark and the current is strong, and the dash of the waves against the side of the boat is like the noise of the great ocean. Through the darkness you may dimly discern the stern outline of the cities on either side, with the forests of masts which line them rising from the dark hulls at the piers. The shadowy forms of vessels at anchor in the stream, each with its warning light, rise up and disappear as if by magic as you dart past them. On the shore the many colored lights mark the various ferry houses, and similar lights are flashing about the stream like fire-flies as the boats pass from shore to shore. Back of the ferry houses the long rows of lights in the cities stretch away into the distance, and high over all gleams the round white face of the illuminated clock on the City Hall in New York. The breeze is fresh and keen, and comes in laden with the sighing of the mighty ocean so near at hand.

The people standing out on the open deck are silent, impressed by the fascination of the scene. Hark! there is a splash at the side of the boat, a white figure gleams one moment on the crest of the waves, and then sinks under the dark waters. The bell strikes sharply, and the boat stops suddenly. Life-preservers are thrown overboard, and lights gleam along the side of the boat. There is no sign of the unfortunate girl who has so rashly sought peace, and the waters will hold her in their cold embrace till the sea gives up its dead. All search is hopeless, and the boat speeds on, a dumb horror holding its occupants mute.

In a fog, the scene is exciting beyond description. The passengers throng the forward end of the boat, and strive with eager eyes to pierce the dense mist which enshrouds the stream and hides the shore from view. From either side the hoarse clangor of the ferry bells, tolling their number, comes floating through the mist, to guide the pilot to his destination, and all around, on every hand, steamers are shrieking their shrill signals to each other. The boat moves slowly and with caution, and the pilot strains both eye and ear to keep her in the right course. One single error of judgment on his part, and the boat might go crashing into a similar steamer, or into one of the vessels lying in the stream. It is a moment of danger, and those who are used to the river know it. You could hear a pin drop in the silent crowd on the deck. If men speak at all, they do so in low, subdued tones. There is a sharp whistle on the right, and the boat suddenly stops. You hear the splashing of paddle wheels, and the next moment a huge steamer dashes past you in the mist. You can hear her, but the fog hides her. Then the boat goes ahead again, and gradually the fog bells on the shore grow louder and clearer, and in a little while the dock bursts suddenly upon you, so spectral and unearthly in its appearance that you hardly recognize it. The boat now glides swiftly into her "slip," and a sigh of relief breaks from the throng on board. The danger is over.

The boats carry such crowds that an accident to any of them is a terrible affair. The collision at the Fulton Ferry in 1868, and the terrible explosion of the Westfield in 1871, were attended with great loss of life. The injuries were none of them slight, and the disasters were of such magnitude as to throw a general gloom over the community.

XVII. THE HOTELS.

New York is the paradise of hotels. In no other city do they flourish in such numbers, and nowhere else do they attain such a degree of excellence. The hotels of New York naturally take the lead of all others in America, and are regarded by all who have visited them as models of their kind.

It is said that there are from six to seven hundred hotels of all kinds in the City of New York. These afford accommodations for persons of every class, and are more or less expensive, according to the means of their guests. Of these, only about fifty are well known, even in the city, and only about twenty-five come under the head of "fashionable." The principal hotels are, beginning down town, the Astor, St. Nicholas, Metropolitan, Grand Central, Brevoort, New York, St. Denis, Spingler, Everett, Clarendon, Westminster, Glenham, Fifth Avenue, Hoffman, Albemarle, St. James, Coleman, Sturtevant, Gilsey, Grand, and St. Cloud. These are the largest, handsomest, and best kept houses in the city. Each has its characteristics and its special customers, and each in its way is worth studying.

The Astor House is one of the oldest hotels in the city. It is built of granite, and occupies an entire block on Broadway, from Vesey to Barclay streets. It is immediately opposite the Herald office, and the new Post-office. It was built by John Jacob Astor, and presented by him to his son William. It was opened for business in 1831, by Colonel Charles A. Stetson, the present proprietor, and for twenty years was the leading hotel of the country. In those days no one had seen New York unless he had "put up at the Astor." People talked of it all over the country, and in all our leading cities monster hotels began to appear, modelled upon the same general plan. Those were the palmy days of the Astor, and if one could write their history in full, it would be a record worth reading. The old registers of the house would be valuable for the autographs they contain, for there was scarcely a great or distinguished man of those days but had written his name in Colonel Stetson's book.

[Picture: THE ASTOR HOUSE.]

The house had from the first a strong flavor of politics about it. The leading statesmen of the country were always there in greater or less force, and their admirers kept up a continuous throng of comers and goers. The house had a decided leaning towards the Whig Party, and finally it became their New York headquarters. For thirty years Thurlow Weed boarded here, and the caucuses, committee meetings, and intrigues of various kinds the old house has witnessed, would fill a volume with their history. The Astor still keeps its political character, and is one of the Republican strongholds of the city. It is safe to assert that very few Democrats now inscribe their names on its register, if they are free to seek quarters elsewhere.

The misfortune of the Astor is that it is too far down town to be a fashionable house. It is admirably located for merchants and others who have business in the lower part of the city, and to whom time is of value. A few old-time folks, who knew the house in its palmy days, still stop there, and many whose political faith is in sympathy with that of the proprietor, make it a matter of conscience to patronize the house, and Colonel Stetson's well-earned popularity brings him other guests. Although its glories have faded, the Astor is still a successful hotel, but in popularity with the general public, it has long since been eclipsed by the up town hotels.

The St. Nicholas is one of the best houses in the city. It shows a handsome marble front on Broadway, with a brown stone extension on the same thoroughfare to Prince street, and extends back to Mercer street. It is handsomely furnished, and is kept on a scale of comfort and magnificence worthy of its fame. Its spacious halls and sitting-rooms, on the street floor, furnish one of the most popular lounging places in the city. Towards nightfall they are full to overflowing. The table is said, by the lovers of good living, to be the best served of any house in the city. The hotel is always full, and is very profitable to its proprietors. It is said to pay better in proportion to its expenses than any of its rivals. It is much liked by the Western people, who come here in crowds. There is also a dashing element about its guests which gives to it its peculiar reputation in the city. It is popularly believed to be the headquarters of "Shoddy," and certain it is that one sees among its habitues an immense number of flashily dressed, loud-voiced, self-asserting people.

The Metropolitan is a handsome brown stone edifice, situated at the northeast corner of Broadway and Prince street. It extends back to Crosby street, and has a frontage of about 300 feet on Broadway. It is one of the most elegant hotels in the city, in every respect. It contains about 400 rooms, and is always full. It is very popular with army officers, with Californians and the people of the mining States and Territories, as well as with the New Englanders. Capitalists and railroad managers also have a fondness for it. "Shoddy" is to be seen here also in great force.

[Picture: ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL.]

The New York Hotel is a plain red brick structure, occupying the entire block bounded by Broadway and Mercer street, and East Washington and Waverley Places. It has recently been refitted and improved, and is one of the most comfortable houses in the city. In one respect, it may be regarded as the counterpart of the Astor, since like that hotel, it is noted for its political complexion. It is the favorite stopping place of the Democratic politicians visiting the city, and is mainly patronized by members of that party. It is very popular with the Southern people, large numbers of whom come here to spend the summer, to escape from the heat of their climate, or to pass the winter to enjoy the delights of the city. The guests of the New York generally stay a long time, and the house is said to do a good business.

The Grand Central, on Broadway, between Bleecker and Amity streets, and extending back to Mercer street, is a new house. It was opened in August, 1870, and is the largest hotel in America. It rises to a height of eight stories, or 127 feet, exclusive of the Mansard roof, above the street. Including the central dome, it is ten stories in height. The fitting up of the house is very handsome and elaborate, the furniture and decorations having cost over half a million of dollars. The dining-room will seat 600 persons at once.

The Fifth Avenue Hotel, at the junction of Broadway and Fifth avenue, and between Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth streets, is generally regarded as the best house in the city. It occupies the most conspicuous location in New York, and is one of the finest buildings of its kind in the world. It is constructed of white marble, is six stories in height, above ground, and fronts on Fifth avenue, Broadway, Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth streets. The land and building are valued at over $1,000,000, and are owned by Mr. Amos R. Eno, by whom the house was built. The proprietors are Messrs. Hitchcock, Darling & Co.

The hotel was begun in 1857, Mr. Eno having more faith in the rapid growth and prosperity of the city than most persons had at that day. The wise heads laughed him to scorn, and called his house "Eno's folly." They said it might make a popular summer resort, but would never take rank as a first class city hotel. It was too high up town. Undismayed by these criticisms, Mr. Eno went on with his work, and in 1860, the marble palace, to which he gave the name of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, was opened to the public. By this time the city had grown so fast as to make the need of this house imperative, but the first years of the war laid a burden upon it which only the most skilful financial management could overcome.

The hotel is the most perfectly appointed in the city. The ground floor along Broadway and Fifth avenue is let out in stores. The main entrance is on Fifth avenue, and is ornamented with a fine marble porch. From this, the visitor enters into the spacious reception hall, tiled with marble and handsomely frescoed. A marble counter at the lower end encloses the offices of the hotel, and on this counter is laid the Visitor's Register, of which several fresh pages are filled daily with the names of new-comers. Opposite the office are the stairs leading to the basement, in which are the billiard-rooms, storerooms, etc., of the house. The hall upon which the office opens extends through to the rear of the building. On the south side of this hall is the reading-room, in which are to be found the daily papers of the leading cities of the Union. Opposite the reading-room is the bar-room, one of the most elegant apartments of the house, and beyond this is the handsome and well-appointed barber-shop. There is a private entrance on Twenty-fourth street, used mainly by gentlemen, another on Twenty-third street, and still another on Broadway. Each is in charge of a door-keeper, whose duty it is to exclude improper personages. Along the Twenty-third street side are suites of private apartments on the ground floor, occupied by permanent boarders.

The various floors are reached by means of an "elevator," the first ever used in this country. Similar arrangements are now in use in all the large hotels. The main stairway commences immediately opposite the office. It is of white marble, and massive in its design. Ascending it the visitor finds himself in a spacious hall, at one end of which is a corridor at right angles to this hall. At the end nearest the stairs is the dining-room, a magnificent apartment. When the tables are filled with a handsomely dressed throng of guests at the dinner hour, this room presents one of the most brilliant sights that can be witnessed on the continent. The bill of fare comprises literally everything that is in season. Back of the dining-room is the kitchen, an immense establishment. Everything connected with it goes on like clock-work, however, so perfect is the system upon which it is managed. Beneath the kitchen are the machines for warming and ventilating the hotel. By means of these a perfectly comfortable temperature is maintained in all parts of the house, and the smells of the kitchen are kept out of the halls and chambers.

[Picture: FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL.]

At the end of the hall upon which the dining-room opens, are the parlors of the house. These are among the most magnificent rooms in the country. They are furnished with great taste and elegance, and their windows look out immediately upon Madison Square. There are also several private parlors adjoining the public rooms. Along the Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth street sides of the house are corridors, not quite so wide, but longer than the main corridor, and leading off from it. The three constitute one of the pleasantest promenades to be found. The floors are covered with the richest carpets, into which the feet sink noiselessly. In the day a half twilight prevails, and at night a rich flood of gaslight streams along their entire length.

The upper floors are occupied with private parlors, rooms for guests, etc. There are in this hotel pleasant quarters for 800 persons, and a greater number can be accommodated in case of necessity. There are 100 suites of rooms, besides the ordinary chambers. Each suite comprises a parlor, chamber, dressing-room, bath-room and water-closet. The number of permanent boarders is about 300. The transient arrivals average about 300 per day, sometimes amounting to about twice that number. The house is expensive, but its accommodations are unsurpassed, and if one can "get his money back" anywhere in the city he can at this hotel.

The house is mainly patronized by people from other parts of the State, from New England, and from the West. It is the most fashionable establishment in the city, and will doubtless hold its present rank as long as its energetic proprietors retain the control of it.

Towards eight o'clock in the evening, the hotel presents its most attractive features. It is full to overflowing. The lower halls, the reading and sitting-rooms are filled with well-dressed men, guests and citizens, who have sauntered here from all parts of the city. Four-fifths are smoking, and the air is hazy with the "vapor of the weed." The hum of conversation is incessant, but the general tone is well-bred and courteous. In the farther end of the great hall a group of stock brokers may be seen comparing notes, and making bargains for the sale and purchase of their fickle wares. The clink of glasses makes music in the bar-room, and beyond this you may see the barbers at work on their customers in the luxurious shaving saloon. Doors are opening and shutting continually, people are coming and going. Porters are pushing their way through the crowd bearing huge trunks on their shoulders. The office bell is sounding incessantly, from a dozen different chambers at once, and the servants are moving about in every direction to execute the orders of the guests.

On the floor above the scene is as animated, but of a different character. Every one here is in full dinner dress, and all are on their good behaviour. The grand dining-room is crowded with guests, who are doing ample justice to the sumptuous viands set before them. The parlors are thronged with ladies and gentlemen, and the corridors are filled with promenaders. The toilettes of the ladies are magnificent, and they can be seen here to better advantage than at any ball or evening party. You may see here some of the loveliest and most refined women, and some of the coarsest and vulgarest, some of the most courtly gentlemen, and some of the most insufferable snobs. If you will join the quiet-looking man moving through the throng as if seeking some one whom he cannot find, he can give you many an interesting bit of gossip about the various persons whom you will encounter in your walk. He is the detective of the house, and is on the watch for improper characters. Well-dressed thieves will make their way into hotels in spite of the precautions of the proprietors. Here a guest is comparatively safe. The detective is argus-eyed, and knows everybody. Let a pick-pocket or thief but show his face in this place, and his arrest is sure. All night the corridors are patrolled by watchmen to make sure of the safety of the sleeping guests. The house is absolutely fire-proof.

The cost of conducting such an establishment is immense, but the profits are in proportion. The average profit of this house is said to be about a quarter of a million of dollars per annum.

The hotels that have been mentioned are all conducted on the American plan of full board, or one charge for every expense. This enables a guest to calculate his expenses exactly, and has many other advantages.

Many of the most fashionable houses are conducted on what is called "the European plan," in which a separate charge is made for room, meals, and every service rendered. It is said that this is more economical than the other plan, and that it is less profitable to the proprietors. It is adopted by the Hoffman, St. Denis, Glenham, Brevoort, Coleman, St. James, Albemarle, Clarendon, Everett, Grand, Gilsey, and several other prominent houses.

The leading hotels of the city lie very close together, the majority of them being in the vicinity of Union and Madison Squares. This is found to be an advantage, as strangers find it pleasant to visit friends who are staying at other houses. The business of hotel keeping in New York is generally very profitable. A large outlay is required at the opening of the house, for furniture, etc., as much as from $200,000 to $500,000 being expended on the fitting up of a first-class house. The furniture, plate, etc., of the Fifth Avenue and Grand Central Hotels are valued at the latter sum for each establishment. If the house meet with success, a moderate sum will suffice to supply its current wants. The business is all cash, and large amounts of money are received daily. The annual profits of the Fifth Avenue Hotel are said to be about $250,000; those of the St. Nicholas about $200,000. Other leading houses, when well managed, are said to clear about twenty per cent. on the sum invested. Large fortunes have been made by not a few keepers of hotels in New York.

The large hotels depend entirely upon transient guests for their success. The city has, perhaps, the largest floating population in America. Thousands come and go daily, even in the summer months, and these are mostly persons who have money to spend. Bridal parties are constantly arriving, and these are not inclined to be the most economical in their expenditures. In the spring and fall, the Southern and Western merchants come to New York in great numbers to buy goods, and are among the best customers of the hotels. Thousands, on business, and for pleasure, come and go daily, and they all pour a constant stream of money into the coffers of the hotels.

The smaller houses, while they compete with their great rivals for transient custom, rely chiefly upon their permanent guests. These are filled with families who have come to them to avoid the trouble of keeping house, and who remain all through the fall, winter, and spring. In the summer they go to the watering places, so that they pass their whole lives in hotels. They are mostly persons of wealth and fashion. As may be supposed, the atmosphere of a hotel is not very favorable to domestic privacy, and such establishments are vast manufactories of scandal. People imagine that they are living privately, but their every action is subject to the inspection and comment of the other inmates of the house. The hotels are not the safest places for the growth of the domestic virtues. Indeed, it may be said that they furnish the best means of destroying them entirely. Neither are they the best place for the training of children. This last, however, may be a minor consideration, for the wives who live at the hotels seem, as a rule, to take care that there shall be no children to need training. Small families are a necessity at such places, and they remain small in that atmosphere. If another Asmodeus could look down into the hotels of New York, he would have some startling revelations to make, which would no doubt go far to corroborate the gossip one hears in the city concerning them.

The proprietors of the city hotels are very active in their efforts to exclude improper characters from their houses, but with all their vigilance do not always succeed in doing so. One is never certain as to the respectability of his neighbor at the table, and it is well to be over-cautious in forming acquaintanceships at such places. Impure women of the "higher," that is the more successful class, and gamblers, abound at the hotels. The proprietor cannot turn them out unless they are notorious, until they commit some overt act, for fear of getting himself into trouble. As soon, however, as his attention is called to any improper conduct on their part, they are turned into the street, no matter at what hour of the day or night.

Hotel proprietors are also the victims of adventurers of both sexes. These people live from house to house, often changing their names as fast as they change their quarters, and they are more numerous than is generally believed. One man who made himself known to the police in this way, used to take his family, consisting of a wife and three children, to the hotels, and engage the best rooms. When his bill was presented, he affected to be extremely busy, and promised to attend to it the next day. By the next day, however, he had disappeared with his family. His trunk, which had been left behind, was found to contain nothing but bricks and rags, or paper.

Another adventurer would put up at the most fashionable hotels, and when requested to pay his bills would feign madness. He would rave, and sing, and dance, call himself Nebuchadnezzar, or George Washington, or some such personage, and completely baffle the detectives, who were for a long time inclined to believe him a bona fide madman. In this way he ran up a bill of one hundred and seventy-one dollars at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, which he never paid.

Others do not seek to obtain lodgings at the hotels, but confine their efforts to securing meals without paying for them. They get into the dining-rooms along with the crowd at the meal hour, and once in and seated at the table are generally safe. Some two years ago as many as thirty-four of this class were detected at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in a single month. These men as they leave the dining-room generally manage to secure a better hat than that they deposited on the stand in entering. Under the regime of the Lelands, the Metropolitan Hotel had a colored man stationed at the door of its dining-room, who proved more than a match for the most expert thief.

All first class hotels keep private detectives and watchmen on duty at all hours. The business of these men is to keep guard over the upper part of the house, to prevent thieves from entering and robbing the rooms of the guests. Suspicious persons are at once apprehended, and required to give an account of themselves. Some queer mishaps often befall guests of the house who are not known to the detectives.

Bold robberies are often effected at the hotels of the city. Some time ago a thief was captured at the St. Nicholas, and upon being searched a gold watch and chain, and five different parcels of money were found upon him, all of which were identified by guests as their property.

XVIII. IMPOSTORS.

There is no city in the Union in which impostors of all kinds flourish so well as in New York. The immense size of the city, the heterogeneous character of its population, and the great variety of the interests and pursuits of the people, are all so many advantages to the cheat and swindler. It would require a volume to detail the tricks of these people, and some of their adventures would equal anything to be found in the annals of romance. All manner of tricks are practised upon the unsuspecting, and generally the perpetrator escapes without punishment. They come here from all parts of the country, and indeed from all parts of the world, in the hope of reaping a rich harvest, and the majority end by eking out a miserable existence in a manner which even the police who watch them so closely are sometimes unable to understand.

They find their way into all classes. One cannot mingle much in society here without meeting some bewhiskered, mysterious individual, who claims to be of noble birth. Sometimes he palms himself off as a political exile, sometimes he is travelling, and is so charmed with New York that he makes it his headquarters, and sometimes he lets a few friends into the secret of his rank, and begs that they will not reveal his true title, as a little unpleasant affair, a mere social scandal in his own country, made it necessary for him to absent himself for a while. He hopes the matter will blow over in a few months, and then he will go home. The fashionable New-Yorker, male or female, is powerless against the charms of aristocracy. The "foreign nobleman" is welcomed everywhere, feted, petted, and allowed almost any privilege he chooses to claim--and he is far from being very modest in this respect; and by and by he is found out to be an impostor, probably the valet of some gentleman of rank in Europe. Then society holds up its hands in holy horror, and vows it always did suspect him. The men in society are weak enough in this respect; but the women are most frequently the victims.

Not long since, a handsome, well got up Englishman came to New York on a brief visit. He called himself Lord Richard X---. Society received him with open arms. Invitations were showered upon him. Brown's hands were always full of cards for his Lordship. The women went wild over him, especially since it was whispered that the young man was heir to a property worth ever so many millions of pounds. In short, his Lordship found himself so popular, and hints of his departure were received with such disfavor by his new found friends, that he concluded to extend his stay in New York indefinitely. He made a fine show, and his toilettes, turnouts, and presents were magnificent. The men did not fancy him. He was too haughty and uncivil, but the ladies found him intensely agreeable. It was whispered by his male acquaintances that he was a good hand at borrowing, and that he was remarkably lucky at cards and at the races. One or two of the large faro banks of the city were certainly the losers by his visits. The ladies, however, were indignant at such stories. His Lordship was divine. All the women were crazy after him, and any of them would have taken him at the first offer.

By and by the newspapers began to take notice of the young man, and boldly asserted that there was no such name as Lord Richard X--- in the British peerage. Society laughed at this, and declared that everybody but ignorant newspaper men was aware that the published lists of titled personages in England were notoriously incomplete.

Meanwhile, his Lordship played his cards well, and it was soon announced that he was "to be married shortly to a well-known belle of Fifth avenue." The women were green with jealousy, and the men, I think, were not a little relieved to find that the lion did not intend devouring all the Fifth avenue belles. The marriage came off in due season; the wedding-presents fairly poured in, and were magnificent. The new Lady X--- was at the summit of her felicity, and was the envied of all who knew her. The happy pair departed on their honeymoon, but his Lordship made no effort to return home to England.

During their absence, it leaked out that Lord X--- was an impostor. Creditors began to pour in upon his father-in-law with anxious inquiries after his Lordship, against whom they held heavy accounts. Proofs of the imposture were numerous and indisputable, and the newspapers declared that Lord X--- would not dare to show his face again in New York. Everybody was laughing at the result of the affair.

What passed between the father-in-law and the young couple is not known; but the bride decided to cling to her husband in spite of the imposture. Father-in-law was a prudent and a sensitive man, and very rich. For his daughter's sake, he accepted the situation. He paid Lord X---'s debts, laughed at the charge of imposture, and spoke warmly to every one he met of the great happiness of his "dear children, Lord and Lady X---." On their return to the city, he received them with a grand party, at which all Fifth avenue was present, and, though he could not silence the comments of society, he succeeded in retaining for his children their places in the world of fashion. He was a nabob, and he knew the power of his wealth. He shook his purse in the face of society, and commanded it to continue to recognize the impostor as Lord X---, and society meekly obeyed him.

Impostures of this kind do not always terminate so fortunately for the parties concerned. New York gossip has many a well-authenticated story of foreign counts and lords, who have set society in a flutter, and have married some foolish, trusting woman, only to be detected when it was too late to prevent the trouble. Some of these scoundrels have been proved to be married men already, and the consequences of their falsehood have, of course, been more serious to the bride. Others again do not enter the matrimonial market at all, but use their arts to secure loans from their new acquaintances. Not long since a foreigner, calling himself a Russian Count, and claiming to be sent here on a mission connected with the Russian navy, succeeded in borrowing from some credulous acquaintances, who were dazzled by his pretended rank, sums ranging from $500 to $2000, and amounting in the aggregate to $30,000. When the time of payment arrived, the Count had disappeared, and it was ascertained that he had escaped to Europe.

Impostors of other kinds are numerous. Men and women are always to be found in the city, seeking aid for some charitable institution, with which they claim to be connected. They carry memorandum books and pencils, in the former of which the donor is requested to inscribe his name and the amount of his gift, in order that it may be acknowledged in due form by the proper officers of the institution. Small favors are thankfully received, and they depart, assuring you in the most humble and sanctimonious manner that "the Lord loveth a cheerful giver." If you cannot give to-day, they are willing to call to-morrow--next week--any time that may suit your convenience. You cannot insult them by a sharp refusal, or in any way, for like Uriah Heep they are always "so 'umble." You find it hard to suspect them, but, in truth, they are the most genuine impostors to be met with in the city. They are soliciting money for themselves alone, and have no connection with any charitable institution whatever.

One-armed, or one-legged beggars, whose missing member, sound as your own, is strapped to their bodies so as to be safely out of sight, women wishing to bury their husbands or children, women with hired babies, and sundry other objects calculated to excite your pity, meet you at every step. They are vagabonds. God knows there is misery enough in this great city, but how to tell it from barefaced imposture, is perplexing and harassing to a charitably disposed person. Nine out of ten street beggars in New York are unworthy objects, and to give to them is simply to encourage vagrancy; and yet to know how to discriminate. That would be valuable knowledge to many people in the great city.

In the fall of 1870, a middle aged woman committed suicide in New York. For some months she had pursued a singular career in the great city, and had literally lived by her wits. While her main object was to live comfortably at other people's expense, she also devoted herself to an attempt to acquire property without paying for it. She arrived in New York in the spring of 1868, and took lodgings at an up-town hotel. She brought no baggage, but assured the clerk that her trunks had been unjustly detained by a boarding house keeper in Boston with whom she had had a difficulty. She succeeded in winning the confidence of the clerk, and told him that she had just come into possession of a fortune of one million dollars, left her by a rich relative, and that she had come to New York to purchase a home. She completely deceived the clerk, who vouched for her respectability and responsibility, and thus satisfied the proprietor of the hotel. She made the acquaintance of nearly all the resident guests of the house, and so won their sympathy and confidence that she was able to borrow from them considerable sums of money. In this way she lived from house to house, making payments on account only when obliged to do so, and when she could no longer remain at the hotels, she took up her quarters at a private boarding house, passing thence to another, and so on. She spent two years in this way, borrowing money continually, and paying very little for her board.

In pursuance of her plan to acquire real estate without paying for it, she made her appearance in the market as a purchaser. In the summer of 1870, she obtained permits of one of the leading real estate agents of the city to examine property in his hands for sale, and finally selected a house on Madison avenue. The price asked was $100,000, but she coolly declared her readiness to pay the full amount in cash as soon as the necessary deeds could be prepared. The real estate dealer was completely deceived by her seeming frankness, and assured her that he would give his personal attention to the details of the transaction, so that her interests would not suffer, and a day was agreed upon for the completion of the purchase.

The woman then assumed a confidential tone, and told the gentleman of her immense fortune. She was absolutely alone in the city, she said, without relatives or friends to whom she could apply for advice in the management of her property, and she urged him to become her trustee and manage the estate for her, offering him a liberal compensation for his services. Her object was to make him her trustee, induce him to act for her in the purchase of the house, and involve him so far as to secure the success of her scheme for getting possession of the property. The dealer, however, thanked her for her preference, but assured her that it was impossible for him to accept her proposition, as he had made it a rule never to act as trustee for any one. He did not in the least suspect her real design, and but for this previous and fixed determination would have acceded to her request. Finding that she could not shake his resolution, the lady took her departure, promising to return on the day appointed for the payment of the purchase money.

At the time designated, the deeds were ready, and the real estate agent and the owner of the Madison avenue mansion awaited the coming of the lady; but she did not appear, and, after a lapse of several days, the two gentlemen concluded they had been victimized, and then the true character of the trusteeship he had been asked to assume broke upon the real estate agent. The audacity and skill of the scheme fairly staggered him.

After the failure of this scheme, the woman tried several others of a similar character, with the same success. In October, 1870, a city newspaper, having obtained information respecting her transactions from some of her victims, published an account of her career. The next day she committed suicide, and was found dead in her bed.

Not long since a city lawyer, whom we shall call Smith, and who is much given to the procuring of patent divorces for dissatisfied husbands and wives, was visited by a richly dressed lady, who informed him that she was Mrs. P---, the wife of Mr. P---, of Fifth avenue, and that she wished to retain his services in procuring a divorce from her husband, on the ground of ill treatment. Mr. P--- was personally a stranger to the lawyer, who knew him, however, as a man of great wealth. Visions of a heavy fee flashed before him, and he encouraged the lady to make a full statement of her grievances, promising to do his best to secure the desired divorce in the shortest possible time. He made full notes of her statement, and assured her that he felt confident that he would be able to obtain not only the divorce, but a very large sum as alimony. In reply to her question as to his charge for his services, he replied:

"Well, I ought to charge you $1000, but out of consideration for your sufferings, I will only take a retainer of $100, and when we have gained our suit, you will pay me $500 additional."

"That is very reasonable," said the lady, "and I accept the terms. Unfortunately, I have nothing with me but a check for $200, given me by my husband this morning to use in shopping. I shall only need half of it, and if you could get it cashed for me--but, no matter, I'll call to-morrow, and make the payment."

Smith, who had seen the millionaire's heavy signature at the bottom of the cheek, thought he had better make sure of his retainer, and offered to accept the check on the spot. He had just $100 in his pocket, and this he gave to the lady who handed him the check, with the urgent entreaty that he would not betray her to her husband.

"He shall know nothing of the matter until it is too late for him to harm you," said the lawyer, gallantly, as he bowed his fair client out of the office.

It was after three o'clock, and Smith was forced to wait until the next morning before presenting his check at the bank on which it was drawn. Then, to his astonishment, the teller informed him that the signature of Mr. P--- was a forgery. Thoroughly incensed, Smith hastened to the office of the millionaire, and, laying the check before him, informed him that his wife had been guilty of forging his name, and that he must make the check good, or the lady would be exposed and punished. The millionaire listened blandly, stroking his whiskers musingly, and when the lawyer paused, overcome with excitement, quietly informed him that he was sorry for him, but that he, Mr. P---, had the misfortune to be without a wife. He had been a widower for five years.

How Smith found his way into the street again, he could never tell, but he went back to his work a sadder and a wiser man, musing upon the trickiness of mankind in general, and of women in particular.

[Picture: THE SOLDIER MINSTREL.]

XIX. STREET MUSICIANS.

It would be interesting to know the number of street musicians to be found in New York. Judging from outward appearances, it must be their most profitable field, for one cannot walk two blocks in any part of the city without hearing one or more musical instruments in full blast. A few are good and in perfect tone, but the majority emit only the most horrible discords.

Prominent among the street musicians are the organ grinders, who in former days monopolized the business. They are mostly Italians, though one sees among them Germans, Frenchmen, Swiss, and even Englishmen and Irishmen. Against these people there seems to be an especial, and a not very reasonable prejudice. A lady, eminent for her good deeds among the poor of the Five Points, once said, "There is no reason why an organ grinder should be regarded as an altogether discreditable member of the community; his vocation is better than that of begging, and he certainly works hard enough for the pennies thrown to him, lugging his big box around the city from morning until night." To this good word for the organ grinder it may be added that he is generally an inoffensive person, who attends closely to his business during the day, and rarely ever falls into the hands of the police. Furthermore, however much grown people with musical tastes may be annoyed, the organ grinders furnish an immense amount of amusement and pleasure to the children; and in some of the more wretched sections provide all the music that the little ones ever hear.

Very few of them own their organs. There are several firms in the city who manufacture or import hand organs, and from these the majority of the grinders rent their instruments. The rent varies from two to twenty dollars per month, the last sum being paid for the French flute organs, which are the best. The owners of the instruments generally manage to inspire the grinders with a profound terror of them, so that few instruments are carried off unlawfully, and, after all, the organ grinders are more unfortunate than dishonest.

Organ grinding in New York was once a very profitable business, and even now pays well in some instances. Some of the grinding fraternity have made money. One of these was Francisco Ferrari, who came to this city ten years ago. He invested the money he brought with him in a hand organ and a monkey, and in about five years made money enough to return to Italy and purchase a small farm. He was not content in his native land, however, and soon returned to New York with his family and resumed his old trade. He is said to be worth about twenty thousand dollars.

At present, in fair weather, a man with a good flute organ can generally make from two to five dollars a day. Those who have the best and sweetest toned instruments seek the better neighborhoods, where they are always sure of an audience of children whose parents pay well. Some of these musicians earn as much as ten and fifteen dollars in a single day. In bad weather, however, they are forced to be idle, as a good organ cannot be exposed to the weather at such times without being injured.

A monkey is a great advantage to the grinder, as the animal, if clever, is sure to draw out a host of pennies from the crowd which never fails to gather around it. The monkey is generally the property of the grinder. It is his pet, and it is interesting to see the amount of affection which exists between the two. If the grinder is a married man, or has a daughter or sister, she generally accompanies him in his rounds. Sometimes girls and women make regular business engagements of this kind with the grinders, and receive for their services in beating the tambourine, or soliciting money from the bystanders, a certain fixed proportion of the earnings of the day.

If the organ grinder be successful in his business, he has every opportunity for saving his money. Apart from the rent of his organ, his expenses are slight. Few, however, save very much, as but few are able to earn the large sums we have mentioned. The grinders pay from five to eight dollars per month for their rooms, and they and their families live principally upon macaroni. They use but a single room for all purposes, and, no matter how many are to be provided with sleeping accommodations, manage to get along in some way. As a general rule, they are better off here than they were in their own country, for poverty has been their lot in both. Their wants are simple, and they can live comfortably on an amazingly small sum. The better class of Italians keep their apartments as neat as possible. Children of a genial clime, they are fond of warmth, and the temperature of their rooms stands at a stage which would suffocate an American. They are very exclusive, and herd by themselves in a section of the Five Points. Baxter and Park and the adjoining streets are taken up to a great extent with Italians.

This is the life of the fortunate members of the class. There are many, however, who are not so lucky. These are the owners or renters of the majority of the street organs, the vile, discordant instruments which set all of one's nerves a tingling. They earn comparatively little, and are not tolerated by the irate householders whose tastes they offend. The police treat them with but small consideration. The poor wretches are nearly always in want, and soon full into vagrancy, and some into vice and crime. Some of them are worthless vagabonds, and nearly all the Italians accused of crime in the city are included in their number. One of these men is to be seen on the Bowery at almost any time. He seats himself on the pavement, with his legs tucked under him, and turns the crank of an instrument which seems to be a doleful compromise between a music box and an accordion. In front of this machine is a tin box for pennies, and by the side of it is a card on which is printed an appeal to the charitable. At night a flickering tallow dip sheds a dismal glare around. The man's head is tied up in a piece of white muslin, his eyes are closed, and his face and posture are expressive of the most intense misery. He turns the crank slowly, and the organ groans and moans in the most ludicrously mournful manner. At one side of the queer instrument sits a woman with a babe at her breast, on the other side sits a little boy, and a second boy squats on the ground in front. Not a sound is uttered by any of the group, who are arranged with genuine skill. Their whole attitude is expressive of the most fearful misery. The groans of the organ cannot fail to attract attention, and there are few kind-hearted persons who can resist the sight. Their pennies and ten-cent stamps are showered into the tin box, which is never allowed to contain more than two or three pennies. The man is an Italian, and is said by the police to be a worthless vagabond. Yet he is one of the most successful musicians of his class in the city.

The arrangements of a street organ being entirely automatic, any one who can turn a crank can manage one of these instruments. Another class of street musicians are required to possess a certain amount of musical skill in order to be successful. These are the strolling harpers and violinists. Like the organ grinders, they are Italians. Very few of them earn much money, and the majority live in want and misery.

Some of these strollers are men, or half-grown youths, and are excellent performers. The best of them frequent Broadway, Wall and Broad streets, and the up-town neighborhoods. At night they haunt the localities of the hotels. They constitute one of the pleasantest features of the street, for their music is good and well worth listening to. They generally reap a harvest of pennies and fractional currency. They form the aristocratic portion of the street minstrel class, and are the envy of their less fortunate rivals.

The vast majority of the strolling harpers and violinists are children; generally boys below the age of sixteen. They are chiefly Italians, though a few Swiss, French and Germans are to be found among them. They are commonly to be found in the streets in pairs; but sometimes three work together, and again only one is to be found. There are several hundreds of these children on the streets. Dirty, wan, shrunken, monkey-faced little creatures they are. Between them and other children lies a deep gulf, across which they gaze wistfully at the sports and joys that may not be theirs. All day long, and late into the night, they must ply their dreary trade.

Although natives of the land of song, they have little or no musical talent, as a class, and the majority of them are furnished with harps and violins from which not even Orpheus himself could bring harmony. Not a few of the little ones endeavor to make up in dancing what they lack in musical skill. They work energetically at their instruments, but they do no more than produce the vilest discord. At the best, their music is worthless, and their voices have a cracked, harsh, monotonous sound; but the sound of them is also very sad, and often brings a penny into the outstretched hand.

At all hours of the day, and until late at night you may hear their music along the street, and listen to their sad young voices going up to the ear that is always open to them. They are half clothed, half fed, and their filthiness is painful to behold. They sleep in fair weather under a door-step or 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 sunshine, 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 a kind-hearted saloon-keeper will permit them to warm themselves at his stove for a moment or two. These are the bright periods in their dark lives, for as a general rule they are forced to remain on the street from early morning until late at night.

A recent writer, well informed on the subject, says: "It is a cruelty to encourage these children with a gift of money, for instead of such gifts inuring to their benefit, they are extracted for the support of cruel and selfish parents and taskmasters." This is true, but the gift is a benefit to the child, nevertheless. These children have parents or relatives engaged in the same business, who require them to bring in a certain sum of money at the end of the day, and if they do not make up the amount they are received with blows and curses, and are refused the meagre suppers of which they are so much in need, or are turned into the streets to pass the night. The poor little wretches come crowding into the Five Points from nine o'clock until midnight, staggering under their heavy harps, those who have not made up the required sum sobbing bitterly in anticipation of the treatment in store for them. Give them a penny or two, should they ask it, reader. You will not miss it. It will go to the brutal parent or taskmaster, it is true, but it will give the little monkey-faced minstrel a supper, and save him from a beating. 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 children.

A number of Italian gentlemen resident in New York have generously devoted themselves to the task of bettering the lot of these little ones, and many of those who formerly lived on the streets are now in attendance upon the Italian schools of the city. Yet great is the suffering amongst those who have not been reached by these efforts. Only one or two years ago there were several wretches living in the city who carried on a regular business of importing children from Tuscany and Naples, and putting them on the streets here as beggars, musicians, and thieves. They half starved the little creatures, and forced them to steal as well as beg, and converted the girls into outcasts at the earliest possible age. The newspapers at length obtained information respecting these practices, and by exposing them, drew the attention of the civil authorities to them. One of the scoundrels, named Antonelli, was arrested, tried, and sentenced to the penitentiary, and the infamous business was broken up. The police authorities are possessed of information which justifies them in asserting that some Italian children fare quite as badly at the hands of their own parents. There have been several instances where Italian fathers have made a practice of hiring out their daughters for purposes of prostitution, while they were yet mere children.

As a rule, the future of these little folks is very sad. The Italian and the Mission schools in the Five Points and similar sections of the city are doing much for them, but the vast majority are growing up in ignorance. Without education, with an early and constant familiarity with want, misery, brutality and crime, the little minstrels rarely "come to any good." The girls grow up to lives of sin and shame, and many fortunately die young. The boys too often become thieves, vagrants, and assassins. Everybody condemns them. They are forced onward in their sad career by all the machinery of modern civilization, and they are helpless to ward off their ruin.

During one of the heavy snows of a recent winter, a child harper trudged wearily down the Fifth avenue, on his way to the Five Points, where he was to pass the night. It was intensely cold, and the little fellow's strength was so exhausted by fatigue and 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 himself. 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 ecstasy 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.

XX. THE CENTRAL PARK.

Though of comparatively recent date, the Central Park, the chief pleasure ground of New York, has reached a degree of perfection in the beauty and variety of its attractions, that has made it an object of pride with the citizens of the metropolis.

For many years previous to its commencement, the want of a park was severely felt in New York. There was literally no place on the island where the people could obtain fresh air and pleasant exercise. Harlem lane and the Bloomingdale road were dusty and disagreeable, and moreover were open only to those who could afford the expense of keeping or hiring a conveyance. People of moderate means, and the laboring classes were obliged to leave the city to obtain such recreation. All classes agreed that a park was a necessity, and all were aware that such a place of resort would have to be constructed by artificial means.

The first step taken in the matter was by Mayor Kingsland, who, on the 5th of April 1851, submitted a message to the Common Council, setting forth the necessity of a park, and urging that measures be taken at once for securing a suitable site, before the island should be covered with streets and buildings. The message was referred to a select committee, who reported in favor of purchasing a tract of 150 acres, known as Jones's Woods, lying between Sixty-sixth and Seventy-fifth streets, and Third avenue and the East River. There was a strong pressure brought to bear upon the City Government to secure the purchase of this tract, although the citizens as a rule ridiculed the idea of providing a park of only 150 acres for a city whose population would soon be 1,000,000. Yet the Jones's Wood tract came very near being decided upon, and the purchase was only prevented by a quarrel between two members of the Legislature from the City of New York, and the city was saved from a mistake which would have been fatal to its hopes. On the 5th of August, 1851, a committee was appointed by the Legislature to examine whether a more suitable location for a park could be found, and the result of the inquiry was the selection and purchase of the site now known as the Central Park, the bill for that purpose passing the Legislature on the 23d of July, 1853.

[Picture: VIEW FROM THE UPPER TERRACE.]

In November, 1853, Commissioners were appointed to assess the value of the land taken for the park, and on the 5th of February, 1856, their report was confirmed by the City Government. In May, 1856, the Common Council appointed the first Board of Commissioners, with power to select and carry out a definite plan for the construction of the park. This Board consisted of the Mayor and Street Commissioner, who were ex officio members, Washington Irving, George Bancroft, James E. Cooley, Charles F. Briggs, James Phalen, Charles A. Dana, Stewart Brown and others. The designs submitted by Messrs. Frederick L. Olmstead and C. Vaux were accepted, and have since been substantially carried out. The surveys had previously been made by a corps of engineers, at the head of which was Mr., now General Egbert L. Viele.

The task before the architects and Commissioners was an arduous one. With the exception of making a few hollows, and throwing up a few rocks and bluffs, nature had done nothing for this part of the island. It was bleak, dreary and sickly. "The southern portion was already a part of the straggling suburbs of the city, and a suburb more filthy, squalid and disgusting can hardly be imagined. A considerable number of its inhabitants were engaged in occupations which are nuisances in the eye of the law; and were consequently followed at night in wretched hovels, half-hidden among the rocks, where also heaps of cinders, brickbats, potsherds, and other rubbish were deposited. The grading of streets through and across it had been commenced, and the rude embankments and ragged rock-excavations thus created added much to the natural irregularities of its surface. Large reaches of stagnant water made the aspect yet more repulsive; and so ubiquitous were the rocks that it is said, not a square rood could be found throughout which a crowbar could be thrust its length into the ground without encountering them. To complete the miseries of the scene, the wretched squatters had, in the process of time, ruthlessly denuded it of all its vegetation except a miserable tangled underbrush."

Looking around now upon the beautiful landscape, with its exquisite lawns and shrubbery, its picturesque hills, and romantic walks and drives, its sparkling lakes, cascades and fountains, it is hard to realize that so much loveliness was preceded by such hideousness.

[Picture: FOOT-BRIDGE IN CENTRAL PARK.]

The Central Park, so called because it is situated almost in the centre of the island of Manhattan, is a parallelogram in shape, and lies between Fifty-ninth street on the south, and One-hundred-and-tenth street on the north, the Fifth avenue on the east, and the Eighth avenue on the west. It covers an area of 843 acres, and is about two and a half miles long, by half a mile wide. There are nine miles of carriage drives, four miles of bridle roads, and twenty-five miles of walks within its limits. It is the second park in the Union in size; the Fairmount Park at Philadelphia being the largest. It is larger than any city park in Europe, with the exception of the Bois de Boulogne at Paris, the Prater at Vienna, and the Phoenix at Dublin. A rocky ridge, which traverses the whole island, passes through almost the exact centre of the grounds, and has afforded a means of rendering the scenery most beautiful and diversified. A part of the grounds forms a miniature Alpine region; another part is the perfection of water scenery; and still another stretches away in one of the loveliest lawns in the world. The soil will nurture almost any kind of tree, shrub, or plant; and more than one hundred and sixty thousand trees and shrubs of all kinds have been planted, and the work is still going on. Any of the principal walks will conduct the visitor all over the grounds, and afford him a fine view of the principal objects of interest.

The park is divided into two main sections, known as the Upper and Lower Parks, the two being separated by the immense Croton Reservoirs, which occupy the central portion of the grounds. Thus far the Lower Park has received the greatest amount of ornamentation. It is a miracle of exquisite landscape gardening. Its principal features are its lawns, the Pond, the Lake, the Mall, the Terrace, the Ramble, and the Museum of Natural History. The main entrances are on Fifty-ninth street, those at the Fifth and Eighth avenues being for vehicles, equestrians, and pedestrians, and those at the Sixth and Seventh avenues for pedestrians only. All these entrances will ultimately be ornamented with magnificent gateways. Paths leading from them converge at the handsome Marble Arch at the lower end of the Mall.

Near the Fifth avenue gate is a fine bronze colossal bust of Alexander Von Humboldt, the work of Professor Blaiser of Berlin, which was presented to the park by the German citizens of New York, and inaugurated on the 14th of September, 1869, the one-hundredth anniversary of the birth of the great man.

Near the Eighth avenue gate is a bronze statue of Commerce, the gift of Mr. Stephen B. Guion.

At the extreme southern end of the park, and between the Fifth and Sixth avenue gates, is a small, irregular sheet of water, lying in a deep hollow. The surrounding hills have been improved with great taste, and the pond and its surroundings constitute one of the prettiest features of the park. The water consists mainly of the natural drainage of the ground.

Along the Fifth avenue side of the park, near Sixty-fourth street, is a large and peculiar-looking building, not unlike the cadet barracks at West Point. This was formerly used by the State as an arsenal, but was purchased by the city, in 1856, for the sum of $275,000. It has been recently fitted up as a Museum of Natural History, and the first, second, and third floors contain the magnificent collection of the American Museum Association. This collection is in charge of Professor Bickmore, and includes 12,000 birds, 1000 mammals, 3000 reptiles and fishes, and a large number of insects and corals. It is the largest and most perfect collection in the country. The famous collection of the Archduke Maximilian forms the nucleus of this one.

In the top floor of the Museum building is the Meteorological Observatory of the Central Park, under charge of Professor Daniel Draper. Here are ingenious and interesting instruments for measuring the velocity and direction of the wind, the fall of rain and snow, and for ascertaining the variation of the temperature, etc. The establishment is very complete, and a portion of it is open to visitors. The basement floors of the building are occupied by the offices of the Central Park authorities, and a police station.

[Picture: THE MARBLE ARCH.]

The open space surrounding the Museum edifice is taken up with buildings and cages containing the living animals, birds, and reptiles of the collection. They are admirably arranged, and the occupants are all fine specimens of their species. These accommodations are only temporary, as the Commissioners are now engaged in the construction of a Zoological Garden, on Eighth avenue, between Seventy-seventh and Eighty-first streets, immediately opposite the park, with which it will be connected by means of a tunnel under the Eighth avenue.

Just north of the pond, and on the high ground above it, is a pretty gothic structure of stone, known as The Dairy. It is contiguous to the South Transverse Road, and supplies may be taken to it without using the park thoroughfares. Pure milk and refreshments, especially such as are suited to children, may be obtained at a moderate cost.

A short distance from the Dairy is the children's summer house, near which is a cottage with toilette rooms, closets, etc., for the use of ladies and children. Near by are a number of self-acting swings, and a little to the north is the Carrousel, a circular building, containing a number of hobby-horses, which are made to gallop around in a circle by the turning of a crank in the centre of the machine. To the west of this building is the base-ball ground, covering some forty or fifty acres. A commodious brick cottage has been erected here for the accommodation of the ball players.

The paths from the Fifty-ninth street gates converge at the Marble Arch, which lies a little to the northeast of the Dairy. This is one of the most beautiful and costly structures in the park, and consists entirely of marble. Its purpose is to carry the main carriage drive over the foot-path without interrupting the level, and at the same time to furnish a pleasant access from the lower level of the Southwest Park to the Mall. A broad double stairway, to the right and left, leads from the Mall to the interior of the Arch. On either side runs a marble bench, on which, in the summer, the visitor may sit and enjoy the delightful coolness of the place; and opposite the upper end of the Arch, beyond the stairway, is a niche, around which is a marble bench. In the centre is a drinking fountain.

The Mall extends from the Marble Arch to the Terrace. It constitutes the grand promenade of the park, and near its upper end is the handsome music stand, from which concerts are given by the Central Park Band, on Saturday afternoons during the mild season. The Mall is about 1200 feet long by 200 feet wide. In the centre is a promenade, thirty-five feet wide. The remainder is laid out in lawns, and is shaded by four rows of American elms. The Mall terminates on the north in a spacious square or plaza, which is ornamented with two pretty revolving fountains, and a number of bird cages mounted on pedestals. In the spring and summer, numerous vases of flowers are placed here. On concert days, the upper part of the Mall is covered with rustic seats shaded by canvass awnings, where the visitor may sit and listen to the music. At such times, a large programme of the performance is posted on a movable frame placed opposite the music stand. These concerts are very good, and draw large audiences.

To the west of the Mall is a beautiful lawn, called the Green, covering fifteen acres, and terminated on the northwest by a hill, on the summit of which is placed a gaudy building in which artificial mineral waters are sold.

Along the northeastern side of the Mall, and elevated about twenty feet above it, is a rustic bower of iron trellis work, over which are trained wisterias, honeysuckle, and rose vines. This is the Vine-covered Walk, and from it visitors may overlook the Terrace, Lake, Ramble, and Mall.

Adjoining it on the east is an open square, in which carriages only are allowed. Across this square is the Casino, a handsome brick cottage, used as a ladies' restaurant. The fare here is good, and the prices are moderate. The establishment is conducted by private parties under the supervision of the Commissioners.

In the grounds in the rear of the Casino, is a fine group of figures in sandstone, called "Auld Lang Syne," the work of Robert Thomson, the self-taught sculptor, and a little to the southeast of this is a bronze statue of Professor Morse, erected by the Telegraph Operators' Association, and executed by Byron M. Pickett.

[Picture: VINE-COVERED WALK, OVERLOOKING THE MALL.]

At the northern end of the Mall is the Terrace, and between the two is a magnificent screen work of Albert freestone, in which are two openings whereby persons can leave their carriages and enter the Mall, or from it can cross the drive and reach the stairs leading to the Lower Terrace. A flight of massive stairs leads directly from the Mall to the arcade or hall under the drive, through which the visitor may pass to the Lower Terrace, which is on the same level. This hall is paved, and the walls and ceiling are inlaid with beautiful designs in encaustic tiles. It is now used as a refreshment room. The Terrace is constructed almost entirely of Albert freestone, and is very massive and beautiful in design. It is elaborately and exquisitely carved with appropriate figures and emblems, some of which are very quaint. Our engraving will give the reader a fair idea of its appearance from the water. In the summer, the slope adjoining the Terrace is studded with flowers, which give to the scene a very brilliant effect.

In the centre of the Lower Terrace is a large basin from the midst of which rises a fine jet of water. This fountain is to be ornamented with magnificent bronze castings, now on their way from Munich, where they were made.

The Central Lake washes the northern end of the Lower Terrace, and stretches away from it to the east and west. It is without doubt the most beautiful feature of the park. It covers between twenty and thirty acres, and is as pretty a sheet of water as can be found in the country. Upon its upper side are the wooded heights of the Ramble, which in some places slope down gently to the water's edge, and in others jut out into the lake in bold, rocky headlands. The magnificent Terrace, with its fountain and flowers, and carvings, adorns the southeastern portion. To the west of the Terrace the lake narrows very greatly, and is spanned by a light iron structure, called the Bow Bridge, from its peculiar shape. It is used for pedestrians only. Heavy vases filled with trailing flowers adorn its abutments, and from this it is sometimes called the Flower Bridge. The western part of the lake is a lovely sheet of water, and comprises more than two-thirds of the whole lake. Its northwestern end is spanned by a handsome stone bridge, which carries the drive across that part of the lake, and close by is another, picturesquely constructed of wood, which conducts a foot-path across the head of the lake.

At the Terrace there is a boat-house, in which is to be found the manager of the fleet of pleasure boats which dot the surface of the water. The regular fare around the lake in the omnibus or public boats is ten cents. Persons may hire a boat for their private use on the payment of a moderate sum. They may either make the circuit of the lake in these boats, or may leave them at any of the six pretty boat-houses which are arranged at convenient points on the shore. The popularity of these boats may be judged from the fact that in 1869, 126,000 persons used them.

Whole fleets of snow-white swans are constantly sailing through the waters. They are among the finest specimens of their species in existence. At the opening of the park twelve of these birds were presented to the Commissioners by the city of Hamburg in Germany. Nine of these died, and twelve more were presented by the same city. Fifty others were given by some gentlemen in London. Of the original seventy-four, twenty-eight died, and the remaining forty-six with their progeny form one of the pleasantest attractions of the lake. A number of white ducks have been added to the collection. All the birds are quite tame, and come readily to the call.

On a bright moonlight night in the summer, the scene to be witnessed on the lake is brilliant. The clear waters gleam like polished steel in the moonlight, and are dotted in every direction with pleasure boats, each of which carries a red or blue light; the swans sail majestically up and down in groups; on every side is heard the dash of oars, and the sound of laughter and happy voices; and the air is heavily laden with the perfume of the flowers along the shore. No sight or sound of the great city is at hand to disturb you, and you may lie back in your boat with half shut eyes, and think yourself in fairyland.

[Picture: THE TERRACE, AS SEEN FROM THE LAKE.]

In the winter the scene is different. Huge houses are erected on the shores of all the sheets of water in the park, and are provided with sitting-rooms, fires, restaurants, and counters at which skates may be hired for a trifling sum. The water is lowered to a depth sufficient to prevent the occurrence of any serious accident in case the ice should break, and the ice itself is carefully watched, and is scraped smooth after the sports of the day are over. Rotten ice is quickly detected and marked with a sign bearing the word "Danger." When the ice is in suitable condition, a red ball is hoisted on the Arsenal, and little white flags, on which is printed a similar ball, are affixed to the cars running between the park and the lower part of the city. Then the pleasure seekers come out in throngs, and soon the ice is crowded. At night the lakes are lighted by numerous gas jets with powerful reflectors, placed along the shore. The Central Lake at such times is a sight worth seeing. The Commissioners prepare a code of liberal rules for the government of skaters, and post them at conspicuous points. All persons going on the ice are required to comply with them, on pain of exclusion from the sport.

To the east of the Central Lake, and along the Fifth avenue side, is a small pond, on the verge of which a large Conservatory, which is to be one of the principal ornaments of the park, is now in course of erection.

On the heights to the north of the lake lies the Ramble, which covers an area of about thirty-six acres, and is a labyrinth of wooded walks, abounding in the prettiest rustic nooks, with tiny bridges over little brooks, wild flowers and vines, and bits of lawn, and rock work, all so naturally and simply arranged that it is hard to believe it is not the work of nature. It is one of the most beautiful portions of the park.

At the northern end of the Ramble rises a fine gothic stone tower, which forms a prominent feature in almost any view of the park. This is the Belvedere, and is intended to serve as an observatory from which the entire park may be seen at a glance. The rock upon which it stands is the highest point in the park.

[Picture: VIEW ON THE CENTRAL LAKE.]

At the foot of this tower are the Croton Reservoirs. There are two of them. The old or lower one is a parallelogram in form, covering an area of thirty-one acres, and capable of holding 150,000,000 gallons of water. The new reservoir lies to the north of the old, and is separated from it by a transverse road. It is a massive structure of granite, irregular in form, and extends almost entirely across the park. It covers an area of 106 acres, and will hold 1,000,000,000 gallons of water. Thus the two reservoirs take 136 acres from the park. The landscape gardeners have so arranged them that they constitute a very attractive feature of the landscape.

North of the new reservoir is the Upper Park. This has been less improved than the Lower Park, but is naturally very beautiful. A large part of it is taken up with the great ravine formerly known as McGowan's Pass. It was through this wild glen that the beaten and disheartened fragments of the American army escaped from the city of New York after their disastrous rout at the battle of Long Island. Close by they were rallied in time to make a stand at Harlem Plains. On the hills in the extreme northern part of the park are still to be seen the remains of a series of earthworks, which have been carefully turfed over, and on one of these heights, known as The Bluff, is an old stone structure said to have been used as a block-house or magazine during the war of 1812-15. A small part of the "old Boston Road" is still to be seen in this portion of the park, and in the distance a view is to be obtained of the High Bridge, the Heights of Westchester county, and the Palisades, on the New Jersey shore of the Hudson, while Washington Heights rise boldly to the northward. To the eastward one may see the white sails of the vessels in Long Island Sound, and get a faint glimpse of the town of Flushing, on Long Island, and New Rochelle, on the mainland, while nearer are Hell Gate, the picturesque East and Harlem rivers, with their islands and public buildings, and the lovely little village of Astoria.

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

Near the northeastern end of the park is an elevation known as Mount St. Vincent. It is crowned with a large rambling structure principally of wood, to which is attached a fine brick chapel. The building was originally used as a Roman Catholic Seminary for young men. It is now a restaurant, kept by private parties under the control of the Commissioners. The chapel is used as a gallery of sculpture, and contains the models of the works of the sculptor Thomas Crawford. They were presented to the city by his widow in 1860.

Just below this hill is the North Lake, into which flows a stream noted for its beauty.

At the Fifth and Eighth Avenue gates are the stations of the Park Omnibuses. These are controlled by the Commissioners, and transport passengers through the entire park for the sum of twenty-five cents. They are open, and afford every facility for seeing the beauties of the place.

The original cost of the land included within the park was $5,028,884, and up to the close of the year 1869, there had been expended upon it an additional sum of $5,775,387; making the total cost of the park, up to January 1st, 1870, $10,804,271. Since that time it has cost about $1,000,000 additional.

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

Improper conduct of all kinds is forbidden, and promptly checked. Visitors are requested not to walk on the grass, except in those places where the word "Common" is posted; not to pick flowers, leaves, or shrubs, or in any way deface the foliage; not to throw stones or other missiles, not to scratch or deface the masonry or carving; and not to harm or feed the birds.

No one is allowed to offer anything for sale within the limits of the enclosure, without a special licence from the Commissioners. There are several hotels, or restaurants, in the grounds. These are conducted in first-class style by persons of responsibility and character. Private closets for men, which may be distinguished by the sign, "For Gentlemen only," are located at convenient points throughout the park, and cottages for ladies and children are as numerous. These latter are each in charge of a female attendant, whose duty it is to wait upon visitors, and to care for them, in case of sudden illness, until medical aid can be procured.

The establishment of the park has been a great blessing to all classes, but especially to the poor. It places within reach of the latter a great pleasure ground, where they may come and enjoy their holidays, and obtain the fresh air and bodily and mental enjoyment of which they are deprived in their quarters of the city. In mild weather they come here in throngs, with their families, and on Sundays the park is crowded with thousands who formerly passed the day in drunkenness or vice. The Commissioners have no trouble in enforcing their rules. All classes are proud of the park, and all observe the strictest decorum here. No crime or act of lawlessness has ever been committed within the limits of the Central Park since it was thrown open to the public. The popularity of the place is attested by the annual number of visitors. During the year 1870, 3,494,877 pedestrians, 75,511 equestrians, 1,616,935 vehicles, and 234 velocipedes, passed within the park gates. The total number of persons that entered the park during that year, including drivers and the occupants of carriages, was 8,421,427.

XXI. THE DETECTIVES.

I. THE REGULAR FORCE.

The Detective Corps of New York consists of twenty-five men, under the command of a Captain, or Chief. Though they really constitute a part of the Municipal Police Force, and are subject to the control of the Commissioners and higher officers of that body, the detectives have a practically distinct organization. The members of this corps are men of experience, intelligence, and energy. These qualities are indispensable to success in their profession. It requires an unusual amount of intelligence to make a good Detective. The man must be honest, determined, brave, and complete master over every feeling of his nature. He must also be capable of great endurance, of great fertility of resource, and possessed of no little ingenuity. He has to adopt all kinds of disguises, incur great personal risks, and is often subjected to temptations which only an honest man can resist. It is said that the Detective's familiarity with crime is in itself a great temptation, and often leads him from the path of right. However this may be, it is certain that a member of the New York force committing an act savoring of dishonesty is punished by immediate expulsion from his post.

The Detectives have a special department assigned them at the Police Head-quarters in Mulberry street. There they may be found when not on duty, and the Chief, when not in his office, is always represented by some member of the corps. They are kept quite busy. The strangers who visit the city throw an immense amount of work upon the Detectives. These people often get drunk over night, and frequent houses of bad repute, where they are robbed. They naturally invoke the aid of the police in seeking to recover their property. Frequently, by making a plain statement of their cases, they recover their money or valuables, through the assistance of the Detectives. Sometimes the stolen property cannot be regained at all. These people, as a rule, refuse to prosecute the thieves, and declare their determination to submit to the loss rather than endure the publicity which would attend a prosecution. Thus the Detectives are forced to compound felonies. The injured party refuses to prosecute, and the Detective knows that to make an arrest in the case would simply be to take trouble for nothing. Consequently, if the plunder is returned, the thief is allowed to escape without punishment.

None but those whose duty it is to search out and punish crime, can tell how much the administration of justice is embarrassed, how much the officers of the law are hampered, and how greatly their labors are increased by the refusal of respectable persons to prosecute criminals. These refusals are not confined to those who seek to avoid such an exposure as is mentioned above. Merchants and bankers who have been robbed by thieves, seem to care for nothing but the recovery of their money or property. They will even sacrifice a portion of this to regain the remainder. The Detective may fairly work up his case, and fasten the crime upon the perpetrator, but he is not sure of meeting with the cooperation upon the part of the injured person that he has a right to demand. The thief seeing that an arrest is inevitable, may offer to return a part or the whole of the property on condition of his being allowed to escape. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the proposal is accepted. The merchant recovers his property, and immediately exerts himself to secure the escape of the thief. He refuses to prosecute the wretch, or if the prosecution is carried on in spite of him, his evidence amounts to nothing. He has protected his own interests, and he cares nothing for society or justice. He throws his whole influence against both, and aids the thief, in going free, to commit the same crime in another quarter. The Detectives complain, and with justice, that it is of no use for them to arrest a burglar where the stolen property can be recovered. If persons who have been wronged in this way would refuse all proposals for a compromise, and would endeavor to secure the punishment of the offender, the criminal class would be wonderfully thinned out, and the Detectives would not, as now, be obliged to arrest the same person over and over again, only to see him go free every time.

In June, 1870, a gentleman, passing through Bleecker street, on his way home, at two o'clock in the morning, was knocked down and robbed of his watch and money. He was struck with such violence by the highwayman that his jaw was permanently injured. He was very eloquent in his complaints of the inefficiency of a police system which left one of the principal streets of the city so unguarded, and was loud in his demands for the punishment of his assailant, and the recovery of the property stolen from him. The best Detectives in the force were put in charge of the case, and the highwayman was tracked, discovered and arrested. The friends of the culprit at once returned the stolen property to its owner, and promised to reward him liberally if he would not press the prosecution of their comrade, who was one of the leading members of a notorious and dangerous gang of ruffians from whose depredations the city had been suffering for some time. The offer was accepted, and the gentleman flatly refused to prosecute, and when compelled by the authorities to state under oath, whether the prisoner was the man who had robbed him, became so doubtful and hesitating that his identification was worth nothing. This, too, in the face of his previous assertion that he could readily identify the criminal. In spite of his misconduct, however, there was evidence enough submitted to secure the conviction of the prisoner, who was sentenced to an imprisonment of ten years.

The Detectives are in constant telegraphic communication with other cities, and intelligence of crimes committed is being constantly received and transmitted. Criminals arrested for serious offences are photographed, and their pictures placed in the collection known as the "Rogues' Gallery." These likenesses are shown to strangers only under certain restrictions, but they aid the force not a little in their efforts to discover criminals. The amount of crime annually brought to light by the Detectives is startling, but it does not exhibit all the evil doings of the great city. "The Police Commissioners of New York," says Mr. Edward Crapsey, "have never had the courage to inform the public of the number of burglaries and robberies annually committed in the metropolis; but enough is known in a general way for us to be certain that there are hundreds of these crimes committed of which the public is not told. The rule is to keep secret all such affairs when an arrest does not follow the offence, and hardly any police official will venture to claim that the arrest occurs in more than a moiety of the cases. There are hundreds of such crimes every year where the criminal is not detected, and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of property stolen of which the police never find a trace."

The individuality of crime is remarkable. Each burglar has a distinct method of conducting his operations, and the experienced Detective can recognize these marks or characteristics as he would the features of the offender. Thanks to this experience, which comes only with long and patient study, he is rarely at a loss to name the perpetrator of a crime if that person be a "professional." Appearances which have no significance for the mere outsider are pregnant with meaning to him. He can determine with absolute certainty whether the mischief has been done by skilled or unskilled hands, and he can gather up and link together evidences which entirely escape the unpractised eye. He rejects nothing as unimportant until he has tested it, and is able to conduct his search in a systematic manner, which in the majority of cases is crowned with success.

A few years ago a man came into one of the police stations of the city, and complained that his house had been robbed. He had pursued the thief without success, but the latter had dropped a chisel, and had torn up and thrown away a piece of paper in his flight. The captain commanding the station and an experienced Detective were present when the complaint was made. They carefully examined the owner of the house as to the mode by which the entrance had been effected, the marks left by the tools, the kind of property taken, and the action and bearing of the thief while running away. When these facts were laid before them, the two officers, without a moment's hesitation, concluded that the robbery had been committed by a certain gang of thieves well known to them. This settled, it became necessary to identify the individual or individuals belonging to this gang, by whom the robbery had been committed. The chisel was examined, but it could give no clue. The house-owner had fortunately secured the bits of paper which the thief had thrown away. The officers spread a layer of mucilage over a sheet of paper, and on this fitted the scraps which were given them. This at once disclosed the name of the robber, who was well known to the police as a member of the gang to whom the officers attributed the robbery. Their suspicions were at once confirmed, and the next step was to make the arrest. The Detective said that the thief would certainly be at one of three places, which he named. Three policemen were accordingly sent after him, one to each of the places named, and in an hour or two the culprit was safely lodged in the station-house.

It would require a volume to relate the incidents connected with the exploits of the Detective Corps of New York. Sometimes the search for a criminal is swift and short, and the guilty parties are utterly confounded by the suddenness of their detection and apprehension. Sometimes the search is long and toilsome, involving the greatest personal danger, and abounding in romance and adventure. Some of the best established incidents of this kind would be regarded simply as Munchausen stories, were they related without the authority upon which they rest. Such adventures are well known to the reading public, and I pass them by here.

But the Detectives are not always successful in their efforts. If they are ingenious and full of resource, the criminals they seek are equally so, and they find their best efforts foiled and brought to naught by the skill of this class in "covering up their tracks." To my mind the most interesting cases are not those in which the Detective's labors have been crowned with success, but those in which he has been baffled and perplexed at every step, and which to-day remain as deeply shrouded in mystery as at the time of their occurrence.

Inspector James Leonard, in the spring of 1869, related the following case to Mr. Edward Crapsey, in whose words it is presented here:

"One spring morning, during the first year of the war, a barrel of pitch was found to have disappeared from a Jersey City pier, and the porter in charge, when reporting the fact to his employers, took occasion to speak of the river-thieves in no very complimentary terms.

"On the same day, Ada Ricard, a woman of nomadic habits and dubious status, but of marvellous beauty, suddenly left her hotel in New York, without taking the trouble to announce her departure or state her destination. The clerks of the house only remarked that some women had queer ways.

"A few days after these simultaneous events, the same porter who had mourned the lost pitch, happening to look down from the end of his pier when the tide was out, saw a small and shapely human foot protruding above the waters of the North River. It was a singular circumstance, for the bodies of the drowned never float in such fashion; but the porter, not stopping to speculate upon it, procured the necessary assistance, and proceeded to land the body. It came up unusually heavy, and when at last brought to the surface, was found to be made fast by a rope around the waist to the missing barrel of pitch. There was a gag securely fastened in the mouth, and these two circumstances were positive evidence that murder had been done.

"When the body was landed upon the pier, it was found to be in a tolerable state of preservation, although there were conclusive signs that it had been in the water for some time. It was the body of a female, entirely nude, with the exception of an embroidered linen chemise and one lisle-thread stocking, two sizes larger than the foot, but exactly fitting the full-rounded limb. The face and contour of the form were, therefore, fully exposed to examination, and proved to be those of a woman who must have been very handsome. There was the cicatrice of an old wound on a lower limb, but otherwise there was no spot or blemish upon the body.

"In due time the body was buried; but the head was removed, and preserved in the office of the city physician, with the hope that it might be the means of establishing the identity of the dead, and leading to the detection of the murderer.

"The police on both sides of the river were intensely interested in the case; but they found themselves impotent before that head of a woman, who seemed to have never been seen upon earth in life. They could do nothing, therefore, but wait patiently for whatever developments time might bring.

"Chance finally led to the desired identification. A gentleman who had known her intimately for two years, happening to see the head, at once declared it to be that of Ada Ricard. The Detectives eagerly clutched at this thread, and were soon in possession of the coincidence in time of her disappearance and that of the barrel of pitch to which the body was lashed. They further found that, since that time, she had not been seen in the city, nor could any trace of her be discovered in other sections of the country, through correspondence with the police authorities of distant cities. They had thus a woman lost and a body found, and the case was considered to be in a most promising condition.

"The next step was to establish the identity by the testimony of those who had known the missing woman most intimately. The Detectives, therefore, instituted a search, which was finally successful, for Charles Ricard, her putative husband. He had not lived with her for some time, and had not even seen or heard of her for months; but his recollection was perfect, and he gave a very minute statement of her distinguishing marks. He remembered that she had persisted in wearing a pair of very heavy earrings, until their weight had slit one of her ears entirely, and the other nearly so, and that, as a consequence, both ears had been pierced a second time, and unusually high up. He regretted that her splendid array of teeth had been marred by the loss of one upon the left side of the mouth, and told how a wound had been received, whose cicatrice appeared upon one of her limbs, stating exactly its location. He dwelt with some pride upon the fact that she had been forced, by the unusual development, to wear stockings too large for her feet, and gave a general description of hair, cast of face, height, and weight that was valuable, because minute.

"When he gave this statement he was not aware of the death of his wife, or of the finding of her body, and without being informed of either fact he was taken to Jersey City, and suddenly confronted with the head. The instant he saw it he sank into a chair in horror.

"His statement having been compared with the head and the record of the body, the similitude was found to be exact, except as to the teeth. The head had one tooth missing on each side of the mouth, and this fact having been called to his attention, Ricard insisted that she had lost but one when he last saw her, but it was highly probable the other had been forced out in the struggle which robbed her of her life, and the physician, for the first time making a minute examination, found that the tooth upon the right side had been forced from its place, but was still adhering to the gum. He easily pushed it back to its proper position, and there was the head without a discrepancy between it and the description of Ada Ricard.

"The Detectives found other witnesses, and among them the hair-dresser who had acted in that capacity for Ada Ricard during many months, who, in common with all the others, fully confirmed the evidence of Charles Ricard. The identity of the murdered woman was therefore established beyond question.

"Naturally the next step was to solve the mystery of her death. The Detectives went to work with unusual caution, but persisted in the task they had assigned themselves, and were slowly gathering the shreds of her life, to weave from them a thread that would lead to the author of her tragical death, when they were suddenly 'floored,' to use their own energetic expression. Ada Ricard herself appeared at a down-town New York hotel, in perfect health and unscathed in person.

"The explanation was simple. The whim had suddenly seized her to go to New Orleans; and she had gone without leave-taking or warning. It was no unusual incident in her wandering life, and her speedy return was due only to the fact that she found the Southern city only a military camp under the iron rule of General Butler, and therefore an unprofitable field for her.

"The ghastly head became more of a mystery than before. The baffled Detectives could again only look at it helplessly, and send descriptions of it over the country. At last it was seen by a woman named Callahan, living in Boston, who was in search of a daughter who had gone astray. She instantly pronounced it to be that of her child, and she was corroborated by all the members of her family and several of her neighbors. The identification was no less specific than before, and the perplexed authorities, glad at last to know something certainly, gave Mrs. Callahan an order for the body. Before, however, she had completed her arrangements for its transfer to Boston, a message reached her from the daughter, who was lying sick in Bellevue Hospital, and so the head once more became a mystery. And such it has always remained. The body told that a female who had been delicately reared, who had fared sumptuously, and had been arrayed in costly fabrics, had been foully done to death, just as she was stepping into the dawn of womanhood--and that is all that is known. Her name, her station, her history, her virtues, or it may be, her frailties, all went down with her life, and were irrevocably lost. There is every probability that her case will always be classed as unfinished business."

On Friday, July 20th, 1870, Mr. Benjamin Nathan, a wealthy Jewish resident of New York, was foully and mysteriously murdered in his own dwelling by an unknown assassin. All the circumstances of the case were so mysterious, so horribly dramatic, that the public interest was wrought up to the highest pitch.

Mr. Nathan was a millionaire, a banker and citizen of irreproachable character, well known for his benevolence, and highly esteemed for his personal qualities. His residence stood on the south side of Twenty-third street, one door west of Fifth Avenue, and immediately opposite the Fifth Avenue Hotel, in one of the most desirable and fashionable neighborhoods of the city. The mansion itself was palatial, and its owner had not only surrounded himself with every luxury, but had taken every precaution to exclude housebreakers and thieves. But a short time before his death, he remarked to a friend that he believed that his house was as secure as a dwelling could be made.

On the night of the 28th of July, Mr. Nathan slept at his residence, his family, with the exception of two of his sons, being then at their country-seat in New Jersey, where they were passing the summer. One of these sons accompanied his father to his sleeping room towards eleven o'clock, but the other, coming in later, and finding his father asleep, passed to his chamber without saying "good-night," as was his custom.

On the morning of the 29th, at six o'clock, Mr. Washington Nathan descended from his chamber to call his father to a devotional duty of the day. Entering the chamber of the latter, a most appalling spectacle met his view. His father was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, dead, with five ghastly wounds upon his head. The young man at once summoned his brother Frederick, and the two together rushed to the street door and gave the alarm. The police were soon on the spot, and, taking possession of the house, they prepared to investigate the horrid affair. The newspapers spread the intelligence over the city, and the murder created the profoundest interest and uneasiness on the part of the citizens. All classes felt an interest in it, for it had been committed within the sacred precincts of the dead man's home, where he believed himself to be safe. If a murderer could reach him there, men asked, who could tell who would not be the next victim. This feeling of insecurity was widespread, and the whole community demanded of the police extraordinary efforts in tracking and securing the assassin.

The Superintendent of Police at that time was Captain John Jourdan, who was acknowledged to be the most accomplished detective on the Continent, and his principal assistant was Captain James Kelso (the present Superintendent), who was regarded as next to Jourdan in ability. These two officers at once repaired to the Nathan mansion, and took personal charge of the case.

At the first glance Jourdan pronounced the murder to be the work of a thief. The house was carefully searched. The room bore evidences of a struggle between the dead man and his assassin, and three diamond studs, a sum of money, a Perregaux watch, No. 5657, and the key of a small safe, had been stolen from the clothing of the dead man which had been hung on a chair placed at some distance from the bed. The safe stood in the library beside the door opening into the bed room. Jourdan's theory was that the thief, having stolen the watch and other articles from the clothing, had gone to the safe to open it, and had aroused Mr. Nathan by the noise he made in opening it. Alarmed by this noise, Mr. Nathan had sprung from his bed, and at the same moment the thief had raised himself up from his kneeling posture, with his face toward Mr. Nathan, and lighted up by a small gas jet which was burning in the chamber. The two men had met in the doorway between the rooms, and the thief, seeing himself identified, had struck Mr. Nathan a blow with a short iron bar curved at the ends, and known as a ship carpenter's "dog." A struggle ensued, which resulted in the murder, the assassin striking his victim on the head nine times with terrible force. Then, rifling the safe of its valuable contents, he had gone stealthily down the stairs, had unfastened the front door, which had been carefully secured at half an hour after midnight, and, laying the "dog" down on the hall floor, had passed out into the street. His object in carrying the "dog" to the place where it was found by the police had been to be prepared to make sure of his escape by striking down any one whom he might chance to meet in the hall. Once in the street, the assassin had disappeared in safety.

Both Jourdan and Kelso were agreed that this theory of the commission of the crime was correct, and this led to the inevitable conclusion that the murder was the work of an "outsider," that is, of some one not properly belonging to the criminal class. The weapon with which the murder had been committed was one which the Detectives had never before encountered in the annals of crime, and its appearance indicated long use in its legitimate sphere. No burglar or professional thief would have used it, and none of the inmates of the house recognized it as belonging to the mansion. Again, the professional thief would have despatched his victim with more speed and less brutality. There was not the slightest sign of the thief having forced an entrance into the mansion, and the most rigid search failed to reveal the mark of a burglar's tool on any of the doors or windows. This fact warranted the conclusion that the murderer had secreted himself in the house during the day. From the first Jourdan was convinced that the assassin was one of a class who pursue an honest trade during the day, and seek to fill their pockets more rapidly by committing robberies at night. From this conviction he never wavered.

As he stood by the side of the murdered man, Jourdan recognized the difficulty of the task of finding the assassin. The "dog" bewildered him. Had the weapon been any kind of a burglar's tool, or anything that any description of thief had ever been known to use, he would have been able to trace it to some one in the city; but the facts of the case plainly indicated that the assassin was an "outsider," and even Jourdan and Kelso were at a loss to know how to proceed to find him.

At the time of the murder, the only inmates of the house were Washington and Frederick Nathan, sons of the dead man, and Mrs. Kelly, the housekeeper, and her grown son, William Kelly. Had the murder been committed by any of these they must of necessity have stolen the missing articles, and as they had not left the house, must have destroyed or concealed them on the premises. Without the knowledge of these persons, Jourdan caused a rigid and thorough search of the house and lot to be made from cellar to garret. Every crack and crevice, every nook and corner was rigidly and minutely searched by experienced persons. Even the furniture and carpets were examined, the flooring of the stable was taken up, the water-tank was emptied, the basins, closets, and waste-pipes of the house were flushed, and the street-sewers were examined for a long distance from the house, but no trace of the missing articles could be found; nor could any mark of the "dog" be discovered anywhere save on the body of the victim. One by one, the inmates of the house were subjected to the most searching cross-examination, and within six hours after the discovery of the deed, Captain Jourdan was satisfied that the inmates of the mansion were entirely innocent of the crime. The evidence drawn out by the inquest subsequently confirmed the innocence of these parties.

The only clew left by the assassin was the "dog." At the inquest, the policeman on the beat swore that when he passed the house on his rounds at half-past four A.M., he tried both front doors, and that they were fastened, and that when he passed again a little before six o'clock, he noticed that the hall-door was closed. Another witness testified that about five o'clock, a man in a laborer's dress, carrying a dinner-pail, ascended the steps of the Nathan mansion, picked up a paper from the topmost step, and passed on down the street. The introduction of this man in the laborer's dress but deepened the mystery and increased the labors of the Detectives.

The entire police force of the city was set to work watching the pawn-shops and jewelry stores where the thief might try to dispose of the stolen property. Every ship-yard and boat-yard was searched for the identification of the "dog," but without success, and almost every mechanical establishment in the city where the instrument could have been used, was subjected to the same inspection, but without discovering anything. A list of the missing property, and the marks by which it could be identified, was given to the public and telegraphed all over the Union. Captain Jourdan declared that it was well to have as many people as possible looking for these articles. Every known or suspected criminal in the city was waited on by the police, and required to give an account of himself on the night of the murder, and it is said that there was a general exodus of the professional thieves from New York. The ten days immediately succeeding the murder were singularly free from crime, so close was the espionage exercised over the criminals by the police.

It is safe to assert that the police never made such exertions in all their history, to secure a criminal, as in this case. Every sensible suggestion was acted upon, no matter by whom tendered. Neither labor nor expense was spared, and all with the same result. Captain Jourdan literally sank under his extraordinary exertions, his death, which occurred on the 10th of October, 1870, being the result of his severe and exhausting labors in this case. His successor, Superintendent Kelso, has been equally energetic, but thus far--nearly two years after the commission of the deed--no more is known concerning it than was presented to Jourdan and Kelso as they stood in the chamber of death, and nothing has occurred to destroy or shake their original theory respecting the murderer and his mode of committing the deed. The mystery which enshrouded it on that sad July morning still hangs over it unbroken.

II. PRIVATE DETECTIVES.

The Detectives, whose ways we have been considering, are sworn officers of the law, and it is their prime duty to secure the arrest and imprisonment of offenders. There is another class of men in the city who are sometimes confounded with the regular force, but who really make it their business to screen criminals from punishment. These men are called Private Detectives. Their task consists in tracing and recovering stolen property, watching suspected persons when hired to do so, and manufacturing such evidence in suits and private cases as they may be employed to furnish.

There are several "Private Detective Agencies" in the city, all of which are conducted on very much the same principles and plan, and for the same purpose--to make money for the proprietors. Mr. Edward Crapsey, to whom I am indebted for much of the information contained in this chapter, thus describes a well-known Agency of this kind:

"The visitor going up the broad stairs, finds himself in a large room, which is plainly the main office of the concern. There is a desk with the authoritative hedge of an iron railing, behind which sits a furrowed man, who looks an animated cork-screw, and who, the inquiring visitor soon discovers, can't speak above a whisper, or at least don't. This mysterious person is always mistaken for the chief of the establishment, but, in fact, he is nothing but the 'Secretary,' and holds his place by reason of a marvellous capacity for drawing people out of themselves. A mystery, he is surrounded with mysteries. The doors upon his right and left--one of which is occasionally opened just far enough to permit a very diminutive call-boy to be squeezed through--seem to lead to unexplored regions. But stranger than even the clerk, or the undefined but yet perfectly tangible weirdness of the doors is the tinkling of a sepulchral bell, and the responsive tramp of a heavy-heeled boot. And strangest of all is a huge black board whereon are marked the figures from one to twenty, over some of which the word 'Out' is written; and the visitor notices with ever-increasing wonder that the tinkling of the bell and the heavy-heeled tramp are usually followed by the mysterious secretary's scrawling 'Out' over another number, being apparently incited thereto by a whisper of the ghostly call-boy who is squeezed through a crack in the door for that purpose. The door which the call-boy abjures is always slightly ajar, and at the aperture there is generally a wolfish eye glaring so steadily and rapaciously into the office as to raise a suspicion that beasts of prey are crouching behind that forbidding door.

"Nor is the resulting alarm entirely groundless, for that is the room where the ferrets of the house who assume the name of Detectives, but are more significantly called 'shadows,' are hidden from the prying eyes of the world. A 'shadow' here is a mere numeral--No. 1, or something higher--and obeys cabalistic calls conveyed by bells or speaking-tubes, by which devices the stranger patron is convinced of the potency of the Detective Agency which moves in such mysterious ways to perform its wonders. If any doubt were left by all this paraphernalia of marvel, it would be dispelled from the average mind when it came in contact with the chief conjuror, who is seated in the dim seclusion of a retired room, fortified by bell-pulls, speaking-tubes, and an owlish expression intended to be considered as the mirror of taciturn wisdom. From his retreat he moves the outside puppets of secretary, shadows, and call-boys, as the requirements of his patrons, who are admitted singly to his presence, may demand. It is he whose hoarse whispers sound sepulchrally through the tubes, who rings the mysterious bell, and by such complex means despatches his 'shadows' upon their errands. It is he who permits the mildewed men in the other ante-room to be known only by numbers, and who guards them so carefully from the general view.

"By these assumptions of mystery the chief awes the patrons of his peculiar calling, of whom there are pretty sure to be several in waiting during the morning hours. These applicants for detective assistance always sit stolidly silent until their separate summons comes to join the chief, eyeing each other suspiciously and surveying their surroundings with unconcealed and fitting awe. One is of bluff and hearty appearance, but his full face is overcast for the moment with an expression half sad, half whimsical; it is plain that a conjunction of untoward circumstances has raised doubts in his mind of the integrity of a business associate, and he has reluctantly determined to clear or confirm them by means of a 'shadow.' Next to him is a fidgety furrowed man, bristling with suspicion in every line of his face, and showing by his air of indifference to his surroundings that he is a frequenter of the place. He is in fact one of the best customers of the establishment, as he is constantly invoking its aid in the petty concerns of his corroded life. Sometimes it is a wife, daughter, sister, niece, or a mere female acquaintance he wishes watched; sometimes it is a business partner or a rival in trade he desires dogged; and he is never so miserable as when the reports of the agency show his suspicions, whatever they may have been, to be groundless. It is but just, however, to the sagacity of the detectives to remark that he is seldom subjected to such disappointment. Whatever other foolishness they may commit, these adroit operators never kill the goose that lays their golden eggs. Beside this animated monument of distrust is a portly gentleman, his bearing in every way suggestive of plethoric pockets. Paper and pencil in hand, he is nervously figuring. He makes no secret of his figures because of his absorption, and a glance shows that he is correcting the numbers of bonds and making sure of the amounts they represent.

"It is plain that this last is a victim of a sneak robbery, and, the unerring scent of the chief selecting him as the most profitable customer of the morning, he is the first visitor called to an audience. Large affairs are quickly despatched, and it is soon arranged how a part of the property can be recovered and justice cheated of its due. Very soon a handbill will be publicly distributed, offering a reward for the return of the bonds, and it will be signed by the Agency. The thief will know exactly what that means, and the affair being closed to mutual satisfaction, the thief will be at liberty to repeat the operation, which resulted in reasonable profit and was attended with no risk.

"There is also in the room a sallow, vinegary woman of uncertain years, and it seems so natural that a man should run away from her, we are not surprised that, being voluble in her grief, she declares her business to be the discovery of an absconding husband. But near her is another and truer type of outraged womanhood, a wasted young wife, beautiful as ruins are beautiful, whom a rascal spendthrift has made a martyr to his selfishness until, patience and hope being exhausted, she is driven to the last extremity, and seeks by a means at which her nature revolts for a proof of but one of those numerous violations of the marriage vow which she feels certain he has committed. It is a cruel resort, but the law which permits a man to outrage a woman in almost every other way frowns upon that one, and she is driven to it as the sole method of release from an intolerable and degrading bondage. In such cases as this might perhaps be found some justification for the existence of private detectives; but they themselves do not appear to know that they stand in need of extenuation, and so neglect the opportunity thus presented to vindicate their necessity by conducting this class of their business with, even for them, remarkable lack of conscience. Anxious always to furnish exactly what is desired, their reports are often lies, manufactured to suit the occasion, and once furnished they are stoutly adhered to, even to the last extremity. Frequently the same Agency is ready to and does serve both parties to a case with impartial wickedness, and earns its wages by giving to both precisely the sort of evidence each requires. Sometimes it is made to order, with no other foundation than previous experience in like affairs; but sometimes it has a more solid basis in fact. Two men from the same office are often detailed to 'shadow,' one the husband and the other the wife, and it occasionally happens that they have mastered the spirit of their calling so thoroughly that they do a little business on private account by 'giving away' each other. That is to say, the husband's man informs the wife she is watched, and gives her a minute description of her 'shadow,' for which information he of course gets an adequate reward, which the wife's man likewise earns and receives by doing the same kindly office for the husband. In such cases there are generally mutual recriminations between the watched, which end in a discovery of the double dealing of the Agency, and not unfrequently in a reconciliation of the estranged couple. But this rare result, which is not intended by the directing power, is the sole good purpose these agencies were ever known to serve. Lord Mansfield, it must be admitted, once seemed to justify the use of private detectives in divorce suits, but he was careful to cumber the faint praise with which he damned them by making honesty in the discharge of these delicate duties a first essential. Had he lived to see the iniquitous perfection the business has now attained, he would undoubtedly have withheld even that quasi-endorsement of a system naturally at war with the fundamental principles of justice.

"The waiters in the reception-room are never allowed to state their wants, or certainly not to leave the place, without being astonished by the charges made by the detective for attention to their business. Whatever differences there may be in minor matters, all these establishments are invariably true to the great purpose of their existence, and prepare the way for an exorbitant bill by a doleful explanation of the expenses and risks to be incurred in the special affair presented, dilating especially upon the rarity and cost of competent 'shadows.' Now the principal agencies estimate for them at $10 a day, whereas these disreputable fellows are found in multitudes, and are rarely paid more than $3 a day as wages; their expenses, paid in advance by the patron, are allowed them when assigned to duties, as they frequently are, involving outlay. The general truth is that these agencies, being conducted for the avowed purpose of making money, get as much as possible for doing work, and pay as little as possible for having it done. In their general business of espionage they may make perhaps only a moderate profit on each affair they take in hand; but in the more delicate branches of compounding felonies and manufacturing witnesses fancy prices obtain, and the profits are not computable. It is plain, knowing of these patrons and prices, that reasonable profit attends upon the practice of the convenient science of getting without giving, which, notwithstanding its prosperity and antiquity, is yet an infant in the perfection it has attained. Awkward, flimsy, transparent as they ever were, are yet the tricks and devices of the knaves who never want for a dollar, never earn an honest one, but never render themselves amenable to any statute 'in such case made and provided.' To say that the master-workmen in roguery who do this sort of thing are awkward and transparent seems to involve a paradox; but whoever so believes has not been fully informed as to the amazing gullibility of mankind. The average man of business now, as always before, seems to live only to be swindled by the same specious artifices that gulled his ancestors, and which will answer to pluck him again almost before the smart of his first depletion has ceased. Only by a thorough knowledge of this singular adaptation of the masses to the purposes of the birds of prey, can we intelligently account for the vast bevies of the latter which exist, and are outwardly so sleek as to give evidence of a prosperous condition. When we know that the 'pocket-book dropper' yet decoys the money even of the city-bred by his stale device; that the 'gift-enterprises,' 'envelope-game,' and similar thread-bare tricks yet serve to attain the ends of the sharpers, although the public has been warned scores and scores of times through the public press, and the swindlers thoroughly exposed, so that the veriest fool can understand the deception, we need not be amazed at the success which attends the practice of these arts. The truth is, that a large proportion of the victims are perfectly aware that fleecing is intended when they flutter round the bait of the rogues; but they are allured by the glitter of sudden fortune which it offers, and bite eagerly with the hope that may be supposed to sustain any gudgeon of moderate experience of snapping the bait and escaping the barbed hook. Human greed is the reliance of the general sharper, and it has served him to excellent purpose for many years. But some of these operators must depend on actuating motives far different from the desire of gain in money; and chief among them are these private detectives, who draw their sustenance from meaner and equally unfailing fountains.

"It is not upon record who bestowed a name which is more apt than designations usually are. The word detective, taken by itself, implies one who must descend to questionable shifts to attain justifiable ends; but with the prefix of private, it means one using a machine permitted to the exigencies of justice for the purpose of surreptitious personal gain. Thus used, this agency, which even in honest hands and for lawful ends is one of doubtful propriety, becomes essentially dangerous and demoralizing. Originally an individual enterprise, the last resort of plausible rascals driven to desperation to evade honest labor, it has come to be one of associated effort, employing much capital in its establishment and some capacity in its direction. All the large commercial cities are now liberally provided with 'Detective Agencies,' as they are called, each thoroughly organized, and some of them employing a large number of 'shadows' to do the business, which in large part they must first create before it can be done. The system being perfected and worked to its utmost capacity, the details of the tasks assumed and the method of accomplishment are astonishing and alarming to the reflecting citizen, who has the good name and well-being of the community at heart. Employed in the mercantile world as supposed guards against loss by unfaithful associates or employes, and in social life as searchers for domestic laxness, these two items make up the bulk of the business which the private detectives profess to do, and through these their pernicious influence is felt in all the relations of life. Were they however only the instruments of rapacious and unreasoning distrust, they might be suffered to pass without rebuke as evils affecting only those who choose to meddle with them; but as they go further, and the community fares worse because they are ever ready to turn a dishonest penny by recovering stolen property, which they can only do by compounding the crime by which it had been acquired, it is evident that they are a peril to society in general no less than a pest to particular classes."

XXII. WILLIAM B. ASTOR.

MR. WILLIAM B. ASTOR would be unknown to fame were it not for two things. First, he is "the son of his father," the famous John Jacob Astor. Second, he is the richest citizen of the United States. In other respects, he is a plain, unpretending man, who attends closely to his own business, and cares nothing for notoriety.

Mr. Astor is the second son of John Jacob Astor, and is about seventy-three years old. He was born in New York, in an old-fashioned brick house which stood on the southern corner of Broadway and Vesey street, a site at present covered by the Astor House. He received a careful education, and upon leaving college was sent by his father to travel through Europe. Upon his return he went into business with his father, and it is said was even more thrifty and energetic in the management of their affairs than the old gentleman himself. The severe affliction of his elder brother made him the principal heir of his father's vast estate, but he lost no opportunity of bettering his own condition, and at the death of the elder Astor, he was worth about $6,000,000 of his own. About $500,000 of this he had inherited from his uncle Henry Astor, a wealthy butcher of New York. His father left him the bulk of his fortune, which made him the richest man in America, and since then he has devoted himself with great success to increasing the amount of his possessions. His wealth is variously estimated at from $60,000,000, to $100,000,000. No one but the fortunate possessor can tell the exact amount. The greater part of this is invested in real estate, much of which is very profitable. A large part, however, is unimproved, and brings in no immediate return. Mr. Astor, however, can afford to wait, and as there is no better judge of the prospective value of real estate in New York, he rarely makes a mistake in his purchases. He invests cautiously, allows others to improve the neighborhoods in which his property lies, and reaps the benefit of their labors.

In person Mr. Astor is tall and heavily built, with a decided German look, a dull, unintellectual face, and a cold, reserved manner. He is unlike his father in many of his personal traits. He lives very simply. His residence is a plain, but substantial-looking brick mansion in Lafayette Place, adjoining the Astor Library. He is not very sociable, but the entertainments given at his house are said to be among the pleasantest and most elaborate to be met with in the city. Those who know the family, however, give the credit of this to Mrs. Astor, an amiable and accomplished lady, and one eminent for her good deeds.

Mr. Astor attends to his own business. His office is in Prince street, just out of Broadway. It is a plain one-story building, very different from the offices of most of the rich men of the metropolis. At ten o'clock Mr. Astor makes his appearance here. It is no slight task to manage so vast an estate, and to direct all its affairs so that they shall be continually increasing the capital of the owner. There is scarcely a laborer in the city who works harder than the master of this office. He transacts all business connected with his estate, and is as cold and curt in his manner as can well be imagined. He wastes neither words nor time, and few persons find him an agreeable man to deal with. He is perfectly informed respecting every detail of his vast business, and it is impossible to deceive him. No tenant can make the slightest improvement, change, or repair in his property without Mr. Astor's consent, except at his own expense. He is accessible to all who have business with him, but he sees no one else during his working hours. At four o'clock he leaves his office, and sets out for home on foot. He rarely rides, this walk being his principal exercise. He is hale and hearty in constitution, looks much younger than he really is, and will doubtless live to be fully as old as his father was at the time of his death.

Mr. Astor is not regarded as a liberal man by his fellow-citizens, but this reputation is not altogether deserved. His friends say that he gives liberally when he gives at all. They add that he has a horror of subscription lists and solicitors of donations, and that he turns a deaf ear to common beggars. He makes it a rule never to give anything during business hours. If a case interests him, he investigates it thoroughly, and if it is found worthy of aid, he gives generously, but quietly. The truth is, that like all rich men, he is beset by a host of beggars of every class and description. Were he to grant every appeal addressed to him, his vast fortune would melt away in a few years. He must discriminate, and he has his own way of doing it.

Mr. Astor married a daughter of General Armstrong, the Secretary of War in Mr. Madison's cabinet. He has two sons, who are themselves fathers of families. They are John Jacob and William B. Astor, Jr. He has also several daughters, all married. The sons reside on Fifth avenue. They are in active business for themselves. John Jacob, the elder, is a large-framed, heavy-boned man, and resembles his father. William B. Astor, Jr., is a small, slim man, and resembles his mother. They are much more sociable than their father, inheriting much of the genial vivacity of their grandfather, who was very fond of the pleasures of society. They are shrewd, energetic business men, and it is said are very wealthy, independent of their father. Mr. John Jacob Astor entered the United States Army during the civil war, and saw considerable active service on the staff of General McClellan.

XXIII. FASHIONABLE SHOPPING.

The fashionable retail stores of New York lie chiefly along Broadway, between the St. Nicholas Hotel and Thirty-fourth street. A few are to be found in the cross streets leading from the great thoroughfare, and some are in the Sixth avenue, but Broadway almost monopolizes the fashionable retail trade of the city. All the large stores are conducted on the same general plan, the main object of which is to secure the greatest convenience and comfort for the purchaser, and the greatest dispatch and promptness on the part of the employes. The leading stores of the city have an established reputation with the citizens. They furnish a better class of goods than can be found elsewhere, and are the most reasonable in their prices. Furthermore, the purchaser may rely upon the assurances of the salesman concerning the goods. The salesmen in such houses are not allowed to represent anything as better than it really is. This certainty is worth a great deal to the purchaser, who is often incapable of judging intelligently of his purchase. The writer can assert, from actual experience, that for the same amount of money one can buy at the first-class stores a better article than is offered in the so-called "cheap stores."

[Picture: A FEMALE SHOPLIFTER.]

Upon entering a first-class dry-goods store in New York, a stranger is impressed with the order and system which prevail throughout the whole establishment. The heavy plate glass door is opened for him by a small boy in entering and departing. If the weather be stormy and the visitor has a wet umbrella, he may leave it in charge of the aforesaid boy, who gives him a check for it. He can reclaim it at any time by presenting this check. As he enters he is met at the door by a well-dressed gentleman of easy address, who politely inquires what he wishes to purchase. Upon stating his business, he is promptly shown to the department in which the desired articles are kept, and the eye of the conductor is never removed from him until he has attracted the attention of the clerk from whom he makes his purchase. All this is done, however, without allowing him to see that he is watched. This espionage is necessary to guard against robbery. The city merchants are greatly annoyed, and are often subjected to heavy loss, by professional shoplifters, who throng their stores. The shoplifters do not constitute the only thieves, however. Women of respectable position, led on by their mad passion for dress, have been detected in taking small but costly articles, such as laces, handkerchiefs, etc., from some of the principal houses. Such matters have usually been "hushed up" through the influence of the friends of the offender. The opportunities for theft are very great in the city stores. Hundreds of small articles, many of them of considerable value, lie within easy reach of the customers, and all the employes are obliged to exert the greatest watchfulness. Private detectives are employed by the principal houses, and as soon as a professional shoplifter enters, he or she is warned off the premises by the detective, whose experience enables him to recognize such persons at a glance. A refusal to profit by this warning is followed by a summary arrest.

The salesmen are not allowed to receive the pay for their sales. They take the purchaser's money, make a memorandum in duplicate of the sale, and hand both the papers and the money to a small boy who takes it to the cashier. If any change is due the purchaser, the boy brings it back. The articles are also remeasured by the clerks who do them up in parcels, to see if the quantity is correct. The purchase is then delivered to the buyer, or sent to his residence. Thus the house is furnished with a check on all dishonest salesmen, and at the same time acquires accurate knowledge of their labors in their respective departments.

The small boys referred to are called "cash boys," and are now a necessity in a well regulated establishment. Good, steady cash boys are almost always in demand. Intelligence commands a premium in this department, and a bright, well recommended lad will generally be taken on trial. He starts out with a salary of $3 per week. If he shows capacity, he is promoted as rapidly as possible. The highest salary paid to a cash boy is $8 per week, but one who earns this amount does not stay long in this position. He is soon made a salesman, and may then go as high in the house as his abilities will carry him. These boys generally have a bright and lively appearance. Besides acting as cash boys, they are sometimes sent on errands, they attend the doors, and do sundry other useful acts. They are strictly watched, and any improper conduct is punished with an instantaneous dismissal. They generally belong to respectable families, and live at home with their parents. Many of them attend the night schools after business hours, and thus prepare for the great life struggle which is before them. Such boys are apt to do well in the world. Many, however, after being released from the stores, imitate the ways of the clerks and salesmen. They affect a fastness which is painful to see in boys so young. They sport an abundance of flashy jewelry, patronize the cheap places of amusement, and are seen in the low concert saloons, and other vile dens of the city. It is not difficult to predict the future of these boys.

The principal retail dry goods stores of New York are those of A. T. Stewart & Co., Lord & Taylor, Arnold, Constable & Co., and James McCreery & Co.

The house of A. T. Stewart & Co. is the best known to persons visiting the city. Indeed there are very few Americans who have not heard of and longed to visit "Stewart's." It is, besides, the largest and most complete establishment of its kind in the world. It occupies the entire block bounded by Broadway, Fourth avenue, Ninth and Tenth streets. The principal front is on Broadway, and the public entrances are on that street and on the Fourth avenue. The Ninth street entrances are reserved exclusively for the employes of the house. Many persons speak of the edifice as a "marble palace," but this is incorrect. It is constructed of iron, in the style of arcade upon arcade, and its fronts are so thickly studded with windows that they may be said to consist almost entirely of glass. It is five stories in height above the street, and above the fifth story there is an interior attic not visible from the sidewalk. Below the street there is a basement and a sub-cellar, so that the monster building is really eight stories in height. There is no attempt at outward display, the fine effect of the edifice being due to its vast size and its symmetry. The interior is as simple. The floors are uncarpeted, the shelves are plain, as are the counters and the customers' seats. The centre of the building is occupied by a large rotunda extending from the ground floor to the roof. All the upper floors are open around this rotunda. Two flights of massive stairs lead to the upper floors, and there are three handsome elevators for the use of customers who do not care to make the journey on foot. Three other elevators on the Ninth street side are used for carrying goods. Each of the floors covers an area of about two acres, so that the whole establishment, including the cellar, occupies sixteen acres of space.

The cellar contains coal bins with a capacity of 500 tons. Close by are eight Harrison boilers of fifty horse power each, used for operating the steam engines and warming the building with steam. There are in all ten steam engines located in this immense cellar. These are used for running the elevators, for working seven steam pumps, for feeding the boilers, and for forcing water up to the top floor, which is used as a laundry. In a certain part of the cellar is located the electrical battery, by means of which the gas jets in the building are lighted. Here are also rooms for the storage of goods.

The basement is occupied by the Carpet-making and Parcel departments. It is the largest room in the world, and is unbroken save by the light pillars which support the floors above. The Carpet-making department is interesting. The house deals largely in carpets, and one is surprised at the smallness of the force employed down here. The carpets purchased are cut, and the pieces matched as they lie on the floor by women. Then they are placed on a wide table, forty feet long, and are sewn together by a machine worked by steam. This machine moves along the edge of the table, and the man operating it rides on it. His only care is to hold the parts to be sewn perfectly even, and the machine sews a seam of forty feet in from three to five minutes.

In the centre of the basement floor is a space about thirty feet square, enclosed by counters. This is the Parcel department. All purchases to be sent to the buyer pass through this department, and these make up about ninety per cent. of the day's business. The purchases are sent here by the salesmen with a ticket affixed to each, stating the quantity and quality of the article bought, the amount paid, and the address of the buyer. The goods are then remeasured, and if an error has been made either in favor of or against the house, it is rectified. The goods are then made up in secure parcels, each of which is plainly marked with the address of the purchaser. These parcels are then turned over to the drivers of the wagons used by the house for delivering purchases. The drivers are furnished with bills for the amounts to be collected on the parcels, and they are held to a rigid accountability for the delivery of every parcel entrusted to them, and the collection of all moneys due on them.

The ground floor is the principal salesroom. It is a simple, but elegant apartment, and its chief ornaments are the goods for sale, which are displayed in the most attractive and tasteful manner. The room is 300 by 200 feet in size. It contains 100 counters, with an aggregate length of 5000 feet. Behind these counters are low shelves on which the goods are kept. In the centre is the immense rotunda, and at various points are the little wooden pens enclosed with lattice work used by the cashiers. Each article for sale has its separate department, and there are thirty ushers on duty to direct purchasers where to find the articles they seek. The display of goods is magnificent, and includes everything used for the clothing of ladies and children, either in the piece or ready made. There is also a department in which ladies and children may have all their clothing of every description made to order.

The second floor is used for the sale of ready-made clothing, suits, upholstery, etc., and the third floor is the carpet salesroom. The other floors are closed to visitors, and are used as workshops, laundries, etc.

The convenience of having all these things, and in such great variety, under one roof is very great, and saves purchasers many a weary walk through the city. The immense capital employed by Mr. Stewart, and his great facilities of all kinds, enable him to control the markets in which he makes his purchases and to buy on terms which render it easy for him to undersell all his competitors. The smaller houses complain bitterly of this, and declare that he is ruining them. In spite of its immense trade, "Stewart's" is not the most popular place in the city with resident purchasers. The salesmen have the reputation of being rude and often insolent. There can be no doubt that, were specific complaints made, Mr. Stewart would administer the necessary punishment to the offender without delay; but as the offences complained of are chiefly a lack of civility, few care to complain.

The throng of visitors and purchasers is immense. They have been known to reach the enormous number of 50,000 in a single day; but the average is 15,000. Looking down from one of the upper floors, through the rotunda, one can witness as busy and interesting a scene as New York affords. All kinds of people come here, from the poor woman whose scanty garb tells too plainly the story of her poverty, to the wife of the millionaire whose purchases amount to a small fortune, and all classes can be suited.

The sales of the house average about $60,000 per day, and have been known to reach $87,000. The bulk of the purchases is made between noon and five o'clock. The average daily sales of the principal articles are as follows: Silks $15,000; dress goods, $6000; muslins, $3000; laces, $2000; shawls, $2500; suits, $1000; calicoes, $1500; velvets, $2000; gloves, $1000; furs, $1000; hosiery, $600; boys' clothing, $700; Yankee notions, $600; embroideries, $1000; carpets, $5500.

[Picture: A. T. STEWART'S RETAIL STORE.]

As may be supposed, the business of this great house requires an army of employes. The force consists of 1 general superintendent, 19 superintendents of departments, 9 cashiers, 25 book-keepers, 30 ushers, 55 porters, 200 cash boys, 900 seamstresses, working-women, laundresses, etc., 320 salesmen and saleswomen, and 150 salesmen and others in the carpet department, making a total of 1709 persons. There are other persons employed about the establishment in various capacities, and these, with the extra help often employed, make the aggregate frequently as much as 2200 persons. The business of the house opens at seven A.M., and closes at seven P.M. All the employes have thirty minutes allowed them for dinner. One half of all are alternately dismissed at six o'clock each evening. All the employes, when leaving, must pass through a private door on Ninth street. On each side of this door is a detective of great experience, whose business it is to see that none of the employes carry away with them any of the property of the house. The discipline of the establishment is very rigid, and is enforced by a system of fines and other penalties.

The general management of the house is entrusted to Mr. Tellur, the General Superintendent, but Mr. Stewart gives it his personal supervision as well. He comes to the store every morning at ten o'clock precisely, and consults with Mr. Tellur about the business of the previous day, and the wants of that just opening. He goes through the entire establishment, and personally acquaints himself with the exact condition of the business. He knows everything connected with the retail store, and every detail of its management receives his constant supervision, and is conducted in accordance with his instructions. He remains here about an hour and a half in the morning, and returns at five o'clock in the afternoon, and spends half an hour more. The rest of his working day is passed at his lower store.

[Picture: LORD AND TAYLOR'S DRY GOODS STORE.]

Lord & Taylor rank next to Stewart, and are a more popular firm with residents than the latter. They occupy a magnificent iron building at the corner of Broadway and Twentieth street. It is one of the finest and most picturesque edifices in the city, and is filled with a stock of goods equal in costliness and superior in taste to anything that can be bought at Stewart's. On "opening days," or days when the merchants set out their finest goods for the inspection of the public, Lord & Taylor generally carry off the palm, for the handsomest and most tasteful display. The show windows of this house are among the sights of Broadway.

Two blocks below, on the same side of Broadway, is a row of magnificent white marble stores. The upper end, comprising about one-third of the entire block, is occupied by Messrs. Arnold, Constable & Co., a popular and wealthy house. They are noted for the taste and general excellence of their goods.

James McCreery & Co., at the corner of Broadway and Eleventh street, occupy a part of the ground floor of the magnificent edifice of the Methodist Book Concern. They do not make as extensive a display as their competitors, but are well known in the city for their rich and elegant goods. The ball and wedding dresses imported and made by this house are among the richest ever seen in New York.

XXIV. BLEECKER STREET.

Perhaps very few people out of the great city know Bleecker Street at all; perhaps they have passed it a dozen times or more without noticing it, or if they have marked it at all have regarded it only as a passably good-looking street going to decay. But he who does not know Bleecker street does not know New York. It is of all the localities of the metropolis one of the best worth studying.

It was once the abode of wealth and fashion, as its fine old time mansions testify. Then Broadway north of it was the very centre of the aristocracy of the island, and Bond street was a primitive Fifth avenue. Going west from the Bowery, nearly to Sixth avenue, you will find rows of stately mansions on either hand, which speak eloquently of greatness gone, and as eloquently of hard times present. They have a strange aspect too, and one may read their story at a glance. Twenty-five years ago they were homes of wealth and refinement. The most sumptuous hospitality was dispensed here, and the stately drawing rooms often welcomed brilliant assemblages. Now a profusion of signs announce that hospitality is to be had at a stated price, and the old mansions are put to the viler uses of third-rate boarding houses and restaurants.

In many respects Bleecker street is more characteristic of Paris than of New York. It reminds one strongly of the Latin Quarter, and one instinctively turns to look for the Closerie des Lilas. It is the headquarters of Bohemianism, and Mrs. Grundy now shivers with holy horror when she thinks it was once her home. The street has not entirely lost its reputation. No one is prepared to say it is a vile neighborhood; no one would care to class it with Houston, Mercer, Greene, or Water streets; but people shake their heads, look mysterious, and sigh ominously when you ask them about it. It is a suspicious neighborhood, to say the least, and he who frequents it must be prepared for the gossip and surmises of his friends. No one but its denizens, whose discretion can be absolutely trusted, knows anything with certainty about its doings or mode of life, but every one has his own opinion. Walk down it at almost any hour of the day or night, and you will see many things that are new to you. Strange characters meet you at every step; even the shops have a Bohemian aspect, for trade is nowhere so much the victim of chance as here. You see no breach of the public peace, no indecorous act offends you; but the people you meet have a certain air of independence, of scorn, of conventionality, a certain carelessness which mark them as very different from the throng you have just left on Broadway. They puzzle you, and set you to conjecturing who they are and what they are, and you find yourself weaving a romance about nearly every man or woman you meet.

That long-haired, queerly dressed young man, with a parcel under his arm, who passed you just then, is an artist, and his home is in the attic of that tall house from which you saw him pass out. It is a cheerless place, indeed, and hardly the home for a devotee of the Muse; but the artist is a philosopher, and he flatters himself that if the world has not given him a share of its good things, it has at least freed him from its restraints, and so long as he has the necessaries of life and a lot of jolly good fellows to smoke and drink and chat with him in that lofty dwelling place of his, he is content to take life as he finds it.

If you look up to the second floor, you may see a pretty, but not over fresh looking young woman, gazing down into the street. She meets your glance with composure, and with an expression which is a half invitation to "come up." She is used to looking at men, and to having them look at her, and she is not averse to their admiration. Her dress is a little flashy, and the traces of rouge are rather too strong on her face, but it is not a bad face. You may see her to-night at the --- Theatre, where she is the favorite. Not much of an actress, really, but very clever at winning over the dramatic critics of the great dailies who are but men, and not proof against feminine arts. This is her home, and an honest home, too. To be sure it would be better had she a mother or a brother, or husband--some recognized protector, who could save her from the "misfortune of living alone;" but this is Bleecker street, and she may live here according to her own fancy, "and no questions asked."

On the floor above her dwells Betty Mulligan, a pretty little butterfly well known to the lovers of the ballet as Mademoiselle Alexandrine. No one pretends to know her history. She pays her room rent, has hosts of friends, but beyond this no one knows anything. Surmises there are by the score, and people wonder how mademoiselle can live so well on her little salary; but no charges are made. People shrug their shoulders, and hint that ballet girls have resources unknown to the uninitiated. The rule here is that every one must look after himself, and it requires such an effort to do this that there is no time left to watch a neighbor's shortcomings.

In the same house is a fine-looking woman, not young, but not old. Her "husband" has taken lodgings here for her, but he comes to see her only at intervals, and he is not counted in the landlady's bill. Business keeps him away, and he comes when he can. Bleecker street never asks madame for her marriage certificate, nor does it seek to know why her numerous friends are all gentlemen, or why they come only when the "husband" is away.

Honest, hard-working men come here with their families. Their earnings are regular, but small, and they prefer the life of this street to the misery of the tenement house. Others there are who live in the street, and occupy whole dwellings with their families, who stay here from force of habit. They are "slow" people, dull of comprehension, and to them the mysteries of their neighborhood are a sealed book. Yet all are regarded as persons whose characters are "not proven," by the dwellers outside the street.

Money is a power in Bleecker street. It will purchase anything. Much is spent by those who do not dwell here, but come here to hide their secrets. Women come here to meet other men besides their husbands, and men bring women here who are not their wives. Bleecker street asks no questions, but it has come to suspect the men and women who are seen in it.

Indeed, so long as its tenants do not violate the written law of the land to an extent sufficient to warrant the interference of the police, they may do as they please. Thus it has come to pass that the various personages who are a law unto themselves have gradually drifted into Bleecker street, unless they can afford better quarters, and even then the freedom of the locality has for them a fascination hard to be resisted. No one loses caste here for any irregularity. You may dress as you please, live as you please, do as you please in all things, and no comments will be made. There is no "society" here to worry your life with its claims and laws. You are a law unto yourself. Your acts are exclusively your own business. No complaints will be made against you. You are absolutely your own master or mistress here. Life here is based on principles which differ from those which prevail in other parts of the city.

Yet, as I have said, no one dare call the street "bad." Let us say it is "irregular," "free," "above scandal," or "superior to criticism;" but let us not venture to term it "bad," as its neighbors Greene and Mercer are "bad." I cannot say it would be shocked by such a charge, for Bleecker street is never shocked at anything. It would, no doubt, laugh in our faces, and scornfully ask for our proofs of its badness, and proofs of this sort are hard to bring to light in this thoroughfare.

XXV. CEMETERIES.

I. GREENWOOD.

The most beautiful cemetery of the city of New York, and the place where its people most long to sleep when "life's fitful fever" is over, is Greenwood. It is situated on Gowanus Heights, within the limits of the City of Brooklyn, and covers an area of 413 acres of land. It is two and a half miles distant from the South Ferry, and three from the Fulton Ferry, with lines of street cars from both ferries. A portion of the grounds is historic, for along the edge of the heights occurred the hardest fighting in the battle of Long Island, in 1776.

The cemetery is beautifully laid out. The heights have been graded at immense expense, and the grounds are provided with carriage roads built of stone, covered with gravel, and with foot-paths of concrete. The carriage drives are seventeen miles, and the foot-paths fifteen miles in extent. The sewerage is perfect, and the greatest care is exercised in keeping the grounds free from dirt and weeds. The cemetery was laid out under the supervision of a corps of accomplished landscape gardeners, and it abounds in the most exquisite scenery. From the higher portions the bay and the cities which border it, with the blue ocean in the distance, may all be seen. Everything that art could do to add to the attractions of a naturally beautiful spot has been done, and the place has come to be, next to the Central and Prospect Parks, one of the favorite resorts of the people of New York and Brooklyn. The entrances are all adorned with magnificent gateways of stone. The northern gateway is adorned with sculptures representing the burial of the Saviour, and the raising of the widow's son and of Lazarus. Above these are bas-relief figures, representing Faith, Hope, Memory, and Love.

The cemetery was opened for burials about twenty-seven years ago. At the close of the year 1870 the interments had reached 150,000. From fifteen to twenty interments are made here every day. The deep-toned bell of the great gateway is forever tolling its knell, and some mournful train is forever wending its slow way under the beautiful trees. Yet the sunlight falls brightly, the birds sing their sweetest over the new-made graves, the wind sighs its dirge through the tall trees, and the "sad sea waves" blend with it all their solemn undertone from afar.

The tombs and monuments to be seen at Greenwood are very beautiful. Some of them are noted as works of art. Many of them have cost from $10,000 to $100,000. About 2000 of these tombs are scattered through the grounds. In beauty of design and costliness they surpass any similar collection in the New World, but in one respect they are like all others, for they speak nothing but good of the dead. Indeed, were one to believe their inscriptions, the conclusion would be inevitable that none but saints are buried in Greenwood. All classes come here, but the cemetery is characteristic of the living city beyond. Wealth governs everything here as there.

II. CYPRESS HILLS.

North of the Brooklyn and Jamaica Turnpike, is an elevated ridge known as the "backbone of Long Island," and on this ridge, partly in Kings and partly in Queens counties, about five miles from the Catharine Street Ferry, is the Cemetery of Cypress Hills. It comprises an area of 400 acres, one-half of which is still covered with the native forest trees. The other portion is handsomely adorned with shrubbery, and laid off tastefully. The entrance consists of a brick arch, surmounted by a statue of Faith. It rests on two beautiful lodges occupied by the gate-keeper and superintendent of the cemetery.

From the cemetery one may command an extensive view, embracing all the surrounding country, the cities of Brooklyn, New York, Jersey City, and Flushing, the Hudson as far as the Palisades, Long Island Sound, the distant hills of Connecticut, and the Atlantic.

Since the opening of the grounds, in 1848, upwards of 85,000 interments have been made here. Of these 4060 were officers and soldiers of the United States army, who were killed or who died during the Civil War. They are buried in a section set apart for them. The Sons of Temperance, the Odd-Fellows, the Masons, and the Police Forces of New York and Brooklyn have sections of their own here. When the old grave-yards of New York and Brooklyn were broken up, about 35,000 bodies were removed from them to these grounds.

III. WOODLAWN.

WOODLAWN CEMETERY lies in Westchester County, eight miles north of Harlem Bridge, and along the line of the New York, Harlem and Albany Railway. It is easily reached by means of this road. It was incorporated in 1863, and laid out in 1865. It comprises about 325 acres, and is naturally one of the most beautiful cemeteries used by the city. It is easier of access than Greenwood, there being no ferry to cross, and the Harlem Railway Company having instituted a system of funeral trains which convey funeral corteges to the entrance to the grounds. This, together with its natural beauty, is making it a favorite place of burial with the New Yorkers. The grounds are being rapidly improved, and, it is believed, will eventually rival Greenwood. Since its opening, in 1865, there have been nearly 9000 interments in Woodlawn. Admiral Farragut was buried here in 1871. The main avenue or boulevard from the Central Park to White Plains will pass through these grounds, and afford a broad and magnificent drive from the city to the cemetery.

IV. CALVARY, AND THE EVERGREENS.

CALVARY CEMETERY is the property of the Roman Catholic Church, and contains only the graves of those who have died in that faith. It is situated in the town of Newtown, Long Island, about four miles from New York. It comprises about seventy-five acres, and was opened in August, 1848, since which time about 84,000 bodies have been buried in it.

The Cemetery of the Evergreens is situated about three miles and a half to the eastward of Williamsburg. It lies on the western end of a range of hills, and is one of the largest and most picturesque of all the cemeteries of New York. It is being steadily improved, and is growing in favor with the people of the great cities at its feet.

Another burial ground once used by the people of New York, but now abandoned by them, is the New York Bay Cemetery, situated on the shore of the bay in the State of New Jersey, about two and a half miles from the Courtlandt Street Ferry. It comprises about fifty acres of ground, and contains 50,000 graves.

No burials are now permitted on Manhattan Island, except in the Cemetery of Trinity Church, which lies at the intersection of Tenth avenue and One-hundred-and-fifty-fifth street. From Tenth avenue the grounds extend to the river. The new public drive passes through the cemetery, and has greatly injured it. The grounds comprise an area of thirty-six acres, are beautifully laid off, and are shaded by fine trees. Among the persons buried here are Philip Livingston, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, Bishops Wainright and Onderdonk, Madame Jumel, the last wife of Aaron Burr, Audubon, and John Jacob Astor. President Monroe was buried here, but his remains were removed to Richmond, Virginia, in 1859.

XXVI. THE CLUBS.

With respect to the number and attractiveness of its clubs, New York bids fair to rival London. They embrace associations for almost every purpose, and are more or less successful according to their means and the object in view. Those for social enjoyment and intercourse are the most popular, and the best known. They are composed principally of men of fashion and wealth, and occupy some of the most elegant mansions in the city.

The best known are the Century, No. 109 East Fifteenth street; Manhattan, corner of Fifth avenue and Fifteenth street; Union League, corner of Madison avenue and Twenty-sixth street; Union, corner of Twenty-first street and Fifth avenue; Travellers', No. 222 Fifth avenue; Eclectic, corner of Twenty-sixth street and Fifth avenue; City, No. 31 East Seventeenth street; Harmonie, Forty-second street, west of Fifth avenue; Allemania, No. 18 East Sixteenth street; American Jockey Club, corner of Madison avenue and Twenty-seventh street; and New York Yacht Club, club-house on Staten Island.

The location of these clubs is very desirable. They are all in the most fashionable quarter of the city, and their houses are in keeping with their surroundings. They are elegantly furnished, and often contain valuable and beautiful works of art. Some are owned by the associations occupying them; others are rented at prices varying from $8000 to $20,000 per annum. The initiation fees range from $50 to $150, and the annual dues from $50 to $100. The number of members varies from 300 to 800, but in the best organizations the object is to avoid a large membership. Great care is taken in the investigation of the history of applicants for membership, and none but persons of good reputation are admitted. In the most exclusive, one adverse ballot in ten is sufficient to negative an application for membership.

By the payment of the sums named above, members have all the benefits of an elegant private hotel at a moderate cost, and are sure of enjoying the privacy which is so agreeable to cultivated tastes. They have constant opportunities of meeting with friends, and besides have a pleasant lounging place in which to pass their leisure hours.

The Century Club stands at the head of the list. It is considered the most desirable association in the city, and numerous applications for places made vacant in it, are always on file. It occupies a handsome red brick mansion just out of Union Square, on East Fifteenth street. It was organized more than thirty years ago, and was originally a sketch club, and its membership was rigidly confined to literary men and artists. Of late years, however, it has been thrown open to any gentleman who may be accepted by the members. Its President is William Cullen Bryant. Its roll of members includes men of all professions among them: Bayard Taylor, William Allan Butler, George William Curtis, and Parke Goodwin, authors; Rev. Dr. Bellows and Dr. Osgood, clergymen; John Brougham, Lester Wallack, and Edwin Booth, actors; Bierstadt, Gignoux, Cropsey, Church, and Kensett, artists; William H. Appleton, publisher; and A. T. Stewart, John Jacob Astor, and August Belmont, capitalists. This club has no restaurant, and is conducted inexpensively. Its Saturday night gatherings bring together the most talented men in the city, and its receptions are among the events of the season.

The Manhattan Club is a political as well as a social organization. It is the head-quarters of Democrats of the better class. It numbers 600 members, about 100 of these residing out of the city. It includes the leading Democratic politicians of the city and State, and when similar celebrities from other States are in the city they are generally entertained by the club, and have the freedom of the house. The club-house is a splendid brown stone edifice, built originally for a private residence by a man named Parker. It stands on leased ground, and the building only is owned by the club, which paid $110,000 for it. The annual dues are $50. Members are supplied with meals at cost prices. Wines are furnished at similar charges. The restaurant has for its chief cook a Frenchman, who is said to be the most accomplished "artist" in New York. He receives an annual salary of $1800. The house is palatial, but a trifle flashy in its appointments, and a more luxurious resort is not to be found on the island.

The Union League Club is domiciled in a magnificent brick and marble mansion. It is also a political organization, and is not so exclusive as the Manhattan as regards its membership. It is the headquarters of the Republican leaders, and has perhaps the largest membership of any of the city clubs. It possesses a fine restaurant, conducted on club principles, a collection of works of art, a private theatre, and lodging rooms which may be used by the members upon certain conditions.

The Union Club is emphatically a rich man's association. Its members are all men of great wealth, and its windows are always lined with idlers who seem to have nothing to do but to stare ladies passing by out of countenance. The club house is one of the handsomest buildings in the city, and its furniture and decorations are of the most costly description.

The Travellers' Club was originally designed for affording its members an opportunity of meeting with distinguished travellers visiting the city. This object is still kept in view, but the club is becoming more of a social organization than formerly. Travellers of note are invited to partake of its hospitalities upon arriving in the city, and frequently lecture before the club.

Many club members never see the interior of the club houses more than once or twice a year. They pay their dues, and remain on the rolls, but prefer their homes to the clubs. Others again pass a large part of their time in these elegant apartments in the society of congenial friends. Club life is not favorable to a fondness for home, and it is not surprising that the ladies are among the bitterest opponents of the system.

The ladies themselves, however, have their clubs. The most noted of these is the Sorosis, the object of which seems to be to bring together the strong-minded of the sex to enjoy a lunch at Delmonico's. Some of the most talented female writers of the country are members of the organization. It was stated in several of the city newspapers, about a year ago, that at one of the meetings of Sorosis the members became involved in a fierce dispute over some question concerning the management of the club, and that when the excitement became too intense for words, they relieved their overcharged feelings by "a good cry all around."

It is said that there is another club in the city, made up of females of nominal respectability, married and single, whose meetings have but one object--"to have a good time." It is said that the good time embraces not a little hard drinking, and a still greater amount of scandal-monging, and that many of the "leading ladies" of the club make a habit of getting "gloriously drunk" at these meetings. A faithfully written account of the transactions of this club would no doubt furnish a fine article for the Day's Doings.

The Yacht Club consists of a number of wealthy gentlemen who are devoted to salt-water sports. The club house is on Staten Island. The yachts of the members constitute one of the finest fleets of the kind in existence, and their annual regattas, which are held in the lower bay, are sights worth seeing.

XXVII. THE FIVE POINTS.

I. LIFE IN THE SHADOW.

Just back of the City Hall, towards the East River, and within full sight of Broadway, is the terrible and wretched district known as the Five Points. You may stand in the open space at the intersection of Park and Worth streets, the true Five Points, in the midst of a wide sea of sin and suffering, and gaze right into Broadway with its marble palaces of trade, its busy, well-dressed throng, and its roar and bustle so indicative of wealth and prosperity. It is almost within pistol shot, but what a wide gulf lies between the two thoroughfares, a gulf that the wretched, shabby, dirty creatures who go slouching by you may never cross. There everything is bright and cheerful. Here every surrounding is dark and wretched. The streets are narrow and dirty, the dwellings are foul and gloomy, and the very air seems heavy with misery and crime. For many a block the scene is the same. This is the realm of Poverty. Here want and suffering, and vice hold their courts. It is a strange land to you who have known nothing but the upper and better quarters of the great city. It is a very terrible place to those who are forced to dwell in it. For many blocks to the north and south of where we stand in Worth street, and from Elm street back to East River, the Five Points presents a succession of similar scenes of wretchedness.

[Picture: A FIVE POINTS RUM SHOP.]

Yet, bad as it is, it was worse a few years ago. There was not more suffering, it is true, but crime was more frequent here. A respectably dressed man could not pass through this section twelve years ago without risking his safety or his life. Murders, robberies, and crimes of all kinds were numerous. Fugitives from justice found a sure refuge here, and the officers of the law frequently did not dare to seek them in their hiding places. Now, thanks to the march of trade up the island, the work of the missionaries, and the vigilance of the new police, the Five Points quarter is safe enough during the day. But still, there are some sections of it in which it is not prudent to venture at night. The criminal class no longer herd here, but have scattered themselves over the island, so that the quarter now contains really more suffering than crime.

Twenty years ago there stood in Park street, near Worth, a large dilapidated building known as the "Old Brewery." It was almost in ruins, but it was the most densely populated building in the city. It is said to have contained at one time as many as 1200 people. Its passages were long and dark, and it abounded in rooms of all sizes and descriptions, in many of which were secure hiding places for men and stolen goods. The occupants were chiefly the most desperate characters in New York, and the "Old Brewery" was everywhere recognized as the headquarters of crime in the metropolis. The narrow thoroughfare extending around it was known as "Murderers' Alley" and "The Den of Thieves." No respectable person ever ventured near it, and even the officers of the law avoided it except when their duty compelled them to enter it. It was a terrible place.

Nor was the neighborhood in which this building was located any better. The ground was damp and marshy, the old Collect Pond having originally covered the site, and the streets were filthy beyond description. It is said that there were underground passages extending under the streets from some of the houses to others in different blocks, which were kept secret from all but professional criminals. These were used for facilitating the commission of crimes and the escape of criminals. Brothels and rum shops abounded, and from morning until night brawls were going on in a dozen or more of them at once.

The locality is better now. In 1852, the Old Brewery was purchased by the Ladies' Home Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and was pulled down. Its site is now occupied by the neat and comfortable buildings of the Five Points Mission. Just across Worth street is the Five Points House of Industry, and business is creeping in slowly to change the character of this immediate locality forever.

In speaking of the Five Points, I include the Fourth and Sixth Wards, which are generally regarded as constituting that section--probably because they are the most wretched and criminal of all in the city. This description will apply with almost equal force to a large part of the First Ward, lying along the North River side of the island. The Fourth and Sixth Wards are also among the most densely populated, being the smallest wards in extent in the city.

The streets in this section are generally narrow and crooked. The gutters and the roadway are lined with filth, and from the dark, dingy houses comes up the most sickening stench. Every house is packed to its utmost capacity. In some are simply the poor, in others are those whose reputations make the policemen careful in entering them. Some of these buildings are simply dens of thieves. All the streets are wretched enough, but Baxter street has of late years succeeded to the reputation formerly enjoyed by its neighbor, Park street. It is a narrow, crooked thoroughfare. The sidewalk is almost gone in many places, and the street is full of holes. Some of the buildings are of brick, and are lofty enough for a modern Tower of Babel. Others are one and two story wooden shanties. All are hideously dirty. From Canal to Chatham street there is not the slightest sign of cleanliness or comfort. From Franklin to Chatham street there is scarcely a house without a bucket shop or "distillery," as the signs over the door read, on the ground floor. Here the vilest and most poisonous compounds are sold as whiskey, gin, rum, and brandy. Their effects are visible on every hand. Some of these houses are brothels of the lowest description, and, ah, such terrible faces as look out upon you as you pass them by! Surely no more hopeless, crime-stained visages are to be seen this side of the home of the damned. The filth that is thrown into the street lies there and decays until the kindly heavens pour down a drenching shower and wash it away. As a natural consequence, the neighborhood is sickly, and sometimes the infection amounts almost to a plague.

Between Fourteenth street and the Battery, half a million of people are crowded into about one-fifth of the island of Manhattan. Within this section there are about 13,000 tenement houses, fully one-half of which are in bad condition, dirty and unhealthy. One small block of the Five Points district is said to contain 382 families. The most wretched tenement houses are to be found in the Five Points. The stairways are rickety and groan and tremble beneath your tread. The entries are dark and foul. Some of these buildings have secret passages connecting them with others of a similar character. These passages are known only to criminals, and are used by them for their vile purposes. Offenders may safely hide from the police in these wretched abodes. Every room is crowded with people. Sometimes as many as a dozen are packed into a single apartment. Decency and morality soon fade away here. Drunkenness is the general rule. Some of the dwellers here never leave their abodes, but remain in them the year round stupefied with liquor, to procure which their wives, husbands or children will beg or steal. Thousands of children are born here every year, and thousands happily die in the first few months of infancy. Those who survive rarely see the sun until they are able to crawl out into the streets. Both old and young die at a fearful rate. They inhale disease with every breath.

The exact number of vagrant and destitute children to be found in the Five Points is not known. There are thousands, however. Some have placed the estimate as high as 15,000, and some higher. They are chiefly of foreign parentage. They do not attend the public schools, for they are too dirty and ragged. The poor little wretches have no friends but the attaches of the missions. The missionaries do much for them, but they cannot aid all. Indeed, they frequently have great difficulty in inducing the parents of the children to allow them to attend their schools. The parents are mostly of the Roman Catholic faith, and the clergy of that Church have from the first exerted their entire influence to destroy the missions, and put a stop to their work. They feared the effect of these establishments upon the minds of the children, and, strange as it may seem, preferred to let them starve in the street, or come to worse ending, rather than risk the effects of education and Protestant influence. To those who know what a great and blessed work these missions have done, this statement will no doubt be astounding. Yet it is true.

In spite of the missions, however, the lot of the majority of the Five Points children is very sad. Their parents are always poor, and unable to keep them in comfort. Too frequently they are drunken brutes, and then the life of the little one is simply miserable. In the morning the child is thrust out of its terrible home to pick rags, bones, cinders, or anything that can be used or sold, or to beg or steal, for many are carefully trained in dishonesty. They are disgustingly dirty, and all but the missionaries shrink from contact with them. The majority are old looking and ugly, but a few have bright, intelligent faces. From the time they are capable of receiving impressions, they are thrown into constant contact with vice and crime. They grow up to acquire surely and steadily the ways of their elders. The boys recruit the ranks of the pickpockets, thieves, and murderers of the city; the girls become waiters in the concert halls, or street walkers, and thence go down to ruin, greater misery and death.

In winter and summer suffering is the lot of the Five Points. In the summer the heat is intense, and the inmates of the houses pour out into the filthy streets to seek relief from the torture to which they are subjected indoors. In winter they are half frozen with cold. The missionaries and the police tell some dreary stories of this quarter. A writer in a city journal thus describes a visit made in company with the missionary of the Five Points House of Industry to one of these homes of sorrow:

"The next place visited was a perfect hovel. Mr. Shultz, in passing along a narrow dark hall leading towards the head of the stairs, knocked at an old door, through which the faintest ray of light was struggling. 'Come in,' said a voice on the opposite side of the room. The door being opened, a most sickening scene appeared. The room was larger than the last one, and filthier. The thin outside walls were patched with pieces of pasteboard, the floor was covered with dirt, and what straggling pieces of furniture they had were lying about as if they had been shaken up by an earthquake. There was a miserable fire, and the storm outside howled and rattled away at the old roof, threatening to carry it off in every succeeding gust. The tenants were a man, his wife, a boy, and a girl. They had sold their table to pay their rent, and their wretched meal of bones and crusts was set on an old packing box which was drawn close up to the stove. When the visitors entered the man and woman were standing, leaning over the stove. The girl, aged about ten years, and a very bright looking child, having just been off on some errand, had got both feet wet, and now had her stockings off, holding them close to the coals to dry them. The boy seemed to be overgrown for his age, and half idiotic. He sat at one corner of the stove, his back to the visitors, and his legs stretched out under the hearth. His big coat collar was turned up around his neck, and his chin sunk down, so that his face could not be seen. His long, straight hair covered his ears and the sides of his face. He did not look up until he was directly questioned by Mr. Shultz, and then he simply raised his chin far enough to grunt. The girl, when spoken to, looked up slyly and laughed.

"The man, on being asked if he was unable to work, said he would be glad to work if he could get anything to do. He was a painter, and belonged to a painters' protective union. But there were so many out of employment, that it was useless trying to get any help. He pointed to an old basket filled with coke, and said he had just sold their last chair to buy it. He had worked eighteen years at the Metropolitan Hotel, but got out of work, and has been out ever since. Mr. Shultz offered to take the little girl into the House of Industry, and give her board, clothes, and education. He asked the father if he would let her go, saying the place was only a few steps from them, and they could see her often. The man replied that he did not like a separation from his child. The missionary assured him that it would be no separation, and then asked the mother the same question. She stood speechless for several moments, as if thinking over the matter, and when the missionary, after using his best arguments, again asked her whether she would allow him to take care of her child, she simply replied, 'No.' She said they would all hang together as long as they could, and, if necessary, all would starve together.

"This family had evidently seen better times. The man had an honest face, and talked as if he had once been able to earn a respectable living. The woman had some features that would be called noble if they were worn in connection with costlier apparel. The girl was unmistakably smart, and the only thing to mar their appearance as a family, so far as personal looks were concerned, was the thick-lipped, slovenly boy."

II. THE CELLARS.

If the people of whom I have written are sufferers, they at least exist upon the surface of the earth. But what shall we say of those who pass their lives in the cellars of the wretched buildings I have described?

A few of these cellars are dry, but all are dirty. Some are occupied as dwelling-places, and some are divided into a sort of store or groggery and living and sleeping rooms. Others still are kept as lodging-houses, where the poorest of the poor find shelter for the night.

In writing of these cellars, I wish it to be understood that I do not refer to the rooms partly above and partly below the level of the side-walk, with some chance of ventilation, and known to the Health Officers as "basements," but to the cellars pure and simple, all of which are sunk below the level of the street, and all of which are infinitely wretched. There were in April, 1869, about 12,000 of these cellars known to the Board of Health, and containing from 96,000 to 100,000 persons. With the exception of 211, all of these were such as were utterly forbidden, under the health ordinances of the city, to be used or rented as tenements. The Board of Health have frequently considered the advisability of removing this population, and have been prevented only by the magnitude of the task, and the certainty of rendering this large number of persons homeless for a time at least.

The larger portion of these cellars have but one entrance, and that furnishes the only means of ventilation. They have no outlet to the rear, and frequently the filth of the streets comes washing down the walls into the room within. In the brightest day they are dark and gloomy. The air is always foul. The drains of the houses above pass within a few feet of the floor, and as they are generally in bad condition the filth frequently comes oozing up and poisons the air with its foul odors. In some cases there has been found a direct opening from the drain into the cellar, affording a free passage for all the sewer gas into the room. The Board of Health do all they can to remedy this, but the owners and occupants of the cellars are hard to manage, and throw every obstacle in the way of the execution of the health ordinances.

The rents paid for these wretched abodes are exorbitant. Dr. Harris, the Superintendent of the Board of Health, states that as much as twenty dollars per month is often demanded of the occupants by the owners. Half of that sum would secure a clean and decent room in some of the up-town tenements. The poor creatures, in sheer despair, make no effort to better their condition, and live on here in misery, and often in vice, until death comes to their relief.

[Picture: A FIVE POINTS LODGING CELLAR.]

Many of the cellars are used as lodging-houses. These are known to the police as "Bed Houses." In company with Captain Allaire and Detective Finn, the writer once made a tour of inspection through these establishments. One of them shall serve as a specimen. Descending through a rickety door-way, we passed into a room about sixteen feet square and eight feet high. At one end was a stove in which a fire burned feebly, and close by a small kerosene lamp on a table dimly lighted the room. An old hag, who had lost the greater part of her nose, and whose face was half hidden by the huge frill of the cap she wore, sat rocking herself in a rickety chair by the table. The room was more than half in the shadow, and the air was so dense and foul that I could scarcely breathe. By the dim light I could see that a number of filthy straw mattresses were ranged on the floor along the wall. Above these were wooden bunks, like those of a barracks, filled with dirty beds and screened by curtains. The room was capable of accommodating at least twenty persons, and I was told that the hag in the chair, who was the proprietress, was "a good hand at packing her lodgers well together." It was early, but several of the beds were occupied. The curtains were drawn in some cases, and we could not see the occupants. In one, however, was a child, but little more than a baby, as plump and ruddy, and as fair-skinned and pretty as though it had been the child of a lady of wealth. The little one was sleeping soundly, and, by a common instinct, we gathered about its bed, and watched it in silence.

"It is too pretty a child for such a place," said one of the party.

I glanced at Detective Finn. His face wore a troubled expression.

"A man becomes hardened to the sights I see," he said in answer to my glance, "but I can scarcely keep the tears from my eyes when I see a child like this in such a place; for, you see, I know what a life it is growing up to."

This wretched place Mr. Finn told us was one of the best of all the bed houses. He proved his assertion by conducting us to one out of which we beat a hasty retreat. The night air never seemed so pure to me as it did as I came out of the vile den into the clear starlight. I could scarcely breathe in the fearful hole we had just been in, and yet it was rapidly filling up with people who were to pass the night there. There were men, women and children, but they were all huddled together in one room. There was no such thing as privacy. Some of the lodgers were simply unfortunate, some were vagrants, and others were criminals.

I do not believe that all the sanitary measures in the world could ever make these places clean or healthy. The atmosphere is always too foul and dense to be breathed by any but lungs accustomed to it. When the cellars are crowded with lodgers, and the heat of the stove adds to the poison, it must be appalling. The poor wretches who seek shelter here are more than half stupefied by it, and pass the night in this condition instead of in a healthful sleep. They pay from ten to twenty-five cents for their lodgings, and if they desire a supper or breakfast, are given a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, or a bowl of soup for a similar sum.

As a matter of course only vagrants and those who have gone down into the depths of poverty come here. They must choose between the cellars and the streets, and the beds offered them here are warmer and softer than the stones of the street.

"Have we seen the worst?" I asked Mr. Finn, as we came out of the last place.

"No," he replied, "there are worse places yet. But I'll not take you there."

The reader will readily credit this assertion, after reading the following account of a visit of the Health Officers to one of a number of similar cellars in Washington Street, on the west side of the city:

"The place next visited was No. 27 Washington street. This building is also owned by 'Butcher Burke,' and is one of the most filthy and horrible places in the city. We passed under an old tumble-down doorway that seemed to have no earthly excuse for standing there, and into a dismal, dark entry, with a zig-zag wall covered with a leprous slime, our conductor crying out all the time: 'Steady, gentlemen, steady, keep to your left; place is full of holes.'

"Presently we emerged into a yard with a detestable pavement of broken bricks and mud, with high, towering houses surmounting it all around, and a number of broken outhouses and privies covering a large portion of the ground surface of the yard. Turning around, we could see the back of the tenement house from whose entry we had just emerged, with its numberless and wretched windows, shutting out the sky, or the fog, which was the only thing visible above us, and a cloud of clothes-lines stretched hither and thither, like a spider's web.

"There were eight privies in the yard, and we entered them. The night soil was within a foot and a half of the seats, and the odor was terrible. From these privies a drain passed under the surface of the muddy, sloppy yard, to the margin of the building, where a descent of perhaps four feet was obtained, at the bottom of which the basement floor was level with the windows, giving a sickly light, but no air or ventilation whatever, to the inhabitants of the cellar. But the worst is yet to be told. The drain from the privies connecting with the sewer in the street had a man-hole, which was open, at the place where the yard was broken for a descent into this infernal cellar. This man-hole was about four feet wide and three feet deep, forming a small table for a cataract of night soil and other fecal matter, which poured over this artificial table in a miniature and loathsome Niagara and into a cesspool at the bottom, and from thence was conducted under the rotten boards of the cellar through a brick drain, a few inches below the board flooring, to the main sewer in the street. The bottom of the windows in this house are on a dead level with this horrid cesspool, so that a man sitting on a chair at the window would not have only the odor, but also the view of this loathsome matter circulating at his feet in the pool below. We entered the back cellar after knocking at the door a few minutes, and a man, poverty-stricken and wretched in appearance, of the laboring class, came with a candle to let us in. The room was in a filthy condition, ten by twenty-two and a half feet, with a ceiling of six feet three inches elevation from the floor. A woman, wretched and woe-begone as the man, rose suddenly from a dirty bed at the back of the room, and bade us welcome civilly enough, in her night clothing, which was scanty.

"'And are yees the Boord of Helth, sure. Well it isn't much we have to show thin, but yees can see it all without any charge at all, at all.'

"'How much rent do you pay here?' asked the writer of the man with the candle.

"'Is it rint ye mane? Nyah, its $6 a munth, shure, and glad to get it, and if we don't pay it, it's the little time we'll get from Burke, but out on the street wid us, like pigs, and the divil resave the bit of sattysfaction we'll get from him than ye would from the Lord Palmershtown, Nyah!'

"'How do you live?'

"'Shure, I put in coal now and thin, whin I can get it to put, and that's not often, God knows, alanna!'

"'How much do you earn?'

"'Is it earn d'ye say? Sometimes fifty cents a day, sometimes two dollars a week; and thin it's good times wid me.'

"The Woman of the House.--'Don't mind him, man, what he's saying. Shure he niver earns two dollars a week at all. That id be a good week faix for me. Two dollars indade!'

"'Have you any children?'

"'We have one dauther, a girl--a fine, big girl.'

"'How old is she?'

"'Well, I suppose she's twenty-two next Mikilmas.'

"Woman.--'Indade she's not, shure. She's only a slip of a gerrul, fifteen or sixteen years of age, goin' on.'

"While the parents were arguing the age of their daughter, who, it seems, worked as a servant girl in some private residence, and only slept here when out of employment, the Health Officer was testing the condition of the walls by poking his umbrella at the base under the window and directly over the cess-pool. The point of the umbrella, which was tipped with a thin sheet of brass, made ready entrance into the walls, which were so soft and damp that the point of the umbrella when drawn out left each time a deep circular mark behind, as if it had been drawn from a rotten or decomposed cheese in summer.

"'Take up a board from the floor,' said the Health Officer. The man, who informed us that his name was William McNamara, 'from Innis, in the County Clare, siventeen miles beyand Limerick,' readily complied, and taking an axe dug up a board without much trouble, as the boards were decayed, and right underneath we found the top of the brick drain, in a bad state of repair, the fecal matter oozing up with a rank stench. Every one stooped down to look at this proof of sanitary disregard, and while this entire party were on their knees, looking at the broken drain, two large rats ran across the floor, and nestling in a rather familiar manner between the legs of Mr. McNamara for an instant, frisked out of the dreary, dirty room into the luxurious cesspool.

"The physician asked, 'Are those rats?' of Mr. McNamara.

"'Rats is it? endade they were. It's nothing out of the way here to see thim. Shure some of thim are as big as cats. And why wouldn't they--they have no wurrok or nothing else to do.'"

III. THE MISSIONS.

There are now three thriving and much-needed Missions in the district, to which I have applied the general name of the Five Points. These are the Five Points Mission, the Five Points House of Industry, and the Howard Mission, or Home for Little Wanderers.

The Five Points Mission is the oldest. It is conducted by the "Ladies' Home Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church," and as has been stated, occupies the site of the "Old Brewery." I have already described the "Old Brewery" as it existed twenty years ago. Few decent people ever ventured near it at that time, and even the missionaries felt that they were incurring a risk in venturing into it.

A number of Christian women of position and means, who knew the locality only by reputation, determined, with a courage peculiar to their sex, to break up this den, and make it a stronghold of religion and virtue. Their plan was regarded by the public as chimerical, but they persevered in its execution, trusting in the help of Him in whose cause they were laboring. A school was opened in Park street, immediately facing the "Old Brewery," and was placed in charge of the Rev. L. M. Pease, of the Methodist Church. This school at once gathered in the ragged and dirty children of the neighborhood, and at first it seemed impossible to do anything with them. Patience and energy triumphed at last. The school became a success, and the ladies who had projected it resolved to enlarge it. In 1852 the "Old Brewery" building was purchased and pulled down, and in June, 1853, the present commodious and handsome Mission building was opened. Since then constant success has crowned the efforts of the Ladies' Society. Their property is now valued at $100,000.

[Picture: THE LADIES' FIVE POINTS MISSION.]

The Mission is at present in charge of the Rev. James N. Shaffer. It receives a small appropriation from the State for the support of its day-school, but is mainly dependent upon voluntary contributions for its support. Food, clothing, money, in short, everything that can be useful in the establishment, are given it. Donations come to it from all parts of the country, for the Mission is widely known, and thousands of Christian people give it their assistance. The railroad and express companies forward, without charge, all packages designed for it.

Children are the chief care of the Mission. Those in charge of it believe that first impressions are the strongest and most lasting. They take young children away from the haunts of vice and crime, and clothe and care for them. They are regularly and carefully instructed in the rudiments of an English education, and are trained to serve the Lord. At a proper age they are provided with homes, or with respectable employment, and are placed in a way to become useful Christian men and women. Year after year the work goes on. Children are taken in every day, if there is room for them, and are trained in virtue and intelligence, and every year the "Home," as its inmates love to call it, sends out a band of brave, bright, useful young people into the world. But for its blessed aid they would have been so many more vagrants and criminals.

The school averages about 450 pupils. In the twenty years of the career of the Mission thousands have been educated by it. As I passed through the various class-rooms I found children of all ages. In the infant-class were little ones who were simply kept warm and amused. The amusement was instructive, as well, as they were taught to recognize various objects by the young lady in charge of them. They all bore evidences of the greatest poverty, but they were unquestionably happy and contented.

"Do you find harshness necessary?" I asked of the lady principal, who was my guide.

"No," was the reply. "We rely upon kindness. If they do not wish to stay with us, we let them go away in peace. They are mostly good children," she added, "and they really love the school."

A little curly-headed girl came up to her as she was speaking:

"What does Louisa want, now?" she asked, encouraging the child with a kind smile.

"Please, Mrs. Van Aiken," said the child, "Nelly Jackson wants another cake."

Nelly Jackson was one of the tiniest and plumpest of the infant class I had just inspected, and I had found her with a cake in hand at the time of my visit. Mrs. Van Aiken hesitated a moment, and then gave the desired permission.

"Cakes," she added, turning to me, "constitute one of our rewards of merit for the little ones. When they are very good we give them doll-babies at Christmas."

Says the Secretary in her last Report of the work of the Mission: "These children have quick perceptions and warm hearts, and they are not unworthy of the confidence placed in them by their teachers. All their happy moments come to them through the Mission School, and kind hearts and willing hands occasionally prepare for them a little festival or excursion, enjoyed with a zest unknown to more prosperous children. . . . An excursion to Central Park was arranged for them one summer afternoon. The sight of the animals, the run over the soft green grass, so grateful to eye and touch, the sail on the lake, their sweet songs keeping time with the stroke of the oar--all this was a bit of fairy land to a childhood of so few pleasures. Then the evening of the Fourth of July spent on the roof of the Mission House, enjoying the display of fireworks, and singing patriotic songs. One kind friend makes a winter evening marvellous to childish eyes by the varied scenes, historic, scriptural, poetic, of the magic lantern."

If the Mission did no more than give these little ones a warm shelter during the day, and provide for them such pleasures as cakes, doll-babies, excursions, and magic lanterns, it would still be doing a noble work, for these children are dwellers in the Five Points, a locality where pleasure is almost unknown. The Mission does more, however, it educates the children; it provides them with the clothes they wear, and gives each child a lunch at midday. It also gives clothing, bedding and food to the parents of the children where they need it. It is provided with a tasteful chapel, in which religious services are held on Sunday and during the week. The Sunday-school is large, and provides religious instruction for the attendants. A "Free Library and Reading-room" has been opened in the basement, for the use of all who will avail themselves of it. It is open every night, and it is well patronized by the adult population of the vicinity. The homeless and friendless, who are simply unfortunate, are sheltered, as far as the accommodations will permit, and are provided with homes and employment. The work of the Mission, apart from its schools, for the year ending May 1st, 1871, is thus summed up by the Secretary: "The following statistics do not include coal nor medicine, which are very considerable items: 5197 pieces of clothing, including pairs of shoes and bed-quilts, have been distributed from the wardrobes, and 1293 through the office, making a total of 6490; 122,113 rations of food have been given to the needy; 4 infants have been adopted; 66 children have been provided with homes; and 119 adults have been sent to places of employment."

The Treasurer states that during the same period $3004 were given away in "direct charities."

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