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Upon the banks of the St. Lawrence Montreal lifts her thousand roofs toward the faint blue of the Canadian sky, and her sons speak with many tongues of the young nation to whose tniterprise and daring she is a living, a growing testament. To-day Montreal ranks as the largest and most important of Canadian cities. She has a population of two hundred thousand souls — including her suburbs — composed mainly of English and French Canadians. To these add German, Italian, Spanish, Russian, and Chinese, and it will be seen that Montreal's inhabitants are from every clime and of many tongues. Not ^one ^s to numbers does Montreal NOT AS WB 8BX1L 1 claim pre-eminence over her neighbors. Her commerce is far-reaching, and for its accommo- dation she has built the finest wharf-frontage in the world. Come with me to the northern approach of the Victoria Bridge — that monu- ment of engineering skill — and look toward the east. Far almost as the eye can reach are to be seen the ships of many nations freighted with the products of distant lands. The Grand Trunk and Canadian Pacific railways here find their headquarters, and Montreal is thus the centre and distributing point of two of the greatest railway systems in the world. Within the city the traveller meets every evidence of nineteenth-century progress. Let him drive along St. Paul Street, and its solid warehouses must impress him with the wealth and commerce of the city. Escort him to Sher- brooke Street, and he will see on either side the evidences of the good taste and refinement of the Montrealer. vShould he be lucky enough to visit Montreal during her Winter Carnival, let him mafk well the fair and smiling faces of her daughters, the stalwart forms of her sons. If, after this, 1 NOT AS WB 8SB1C 5 . he would deny to Montreal her many beauties he must indeed be as prejudiced as a Bostonian or as ignorant as a Londoner. But you, the resident of Montreal, what do you know of your own city ? The Parisian prides himself upon his native city, and for hours he can discourse upon her loveliness. ** See Paris and die," he says with an air of superiority truly French. Even the Neapoli- tan — down-trodden, priest-ridden, dirty, and un- happy- was impelled to reply, " See Naples and live." To the New-Yorker there is no street like Broadway; to the Londoner, no park like Hyde Park. Boston, the butt of small wits who prate incessantly of " baked beans" and call her the home of sluggers, still boasts of her culture, and the Bostonian, according to W. D. Howells, is loud in praise of the beauty and refinement of Beacon Street and Common- wealth Avenue. What hav^e you, dear Montrealer, to say of your native city ? Nothing. It is certain as night follows day that the ignorance of the Montrealer, as regards Mon- s- NOT A& W£ SKEM. treal, is as dense as it is remarkable. A witty king of France once said, after hearing a ser- mon by tiie Abbd Maury, "If he knew a little about religion he would know a little about everything. It might well be said of the Montrealcr that all he requires to be a well- informed man is an acquaintance with his native city. It is certain that he is lacking in knowl- edge and appreciation of his own city. Upon other subjects he is at least the equal of his American cousins. Would indeed that it was the object of this short sketch to open the eyes of the dweller in the Canadian metropolis to the beauties of his native city, or to lead the stranger to visit there and enjoy its hospitality ! Fain would we dwell longer upon its public buildings, its parks, its railways, and its people. Another and a less pleasant task is before us. To Montreal, as to every great city, flows each year the ceaseless tide of immigration. It brings with it the young man and maiden upon the threshold of independent life, — recruits for the great army of wage-earners and breadwinners. Driven perhaps by desperation from the shores ■Jill JNOT AS WJ£ Li££M. of unhappy Ireland, or, it may be, leaving the quiet of the simple Cawadian village, they enter within the city's walls and begin a life to whose hardships they are unaccustomed, against whose temptations, alas ! they may not be proof. Does it not become a duty to warn them ? If aught written here should bo the means of guiding aright one stumbler's feet, this book has not been written in vain. •' But," say resident and visitor alike, " Mon- treal is a fairly moral city. It is not like Lon- don or Paris; it 's different from New York and Chicago. You would not compare it with Boston, where Si i with painted face and gaudy dress nightly walks the cfowded streets. It is not St. Louis, where the Lord's Day is forgot- ten, nor New Orleans, where gambling is car- ried on with open doors. In short, Montrealers do not seem to be strugglers in that insane race for inordinate wealth which is the moral ruin of so many cities of the New World." No ; Montreal at least wears not its scars upon its face that all may see them. The Pharisaical Montrealer ofttlmes is thankful that his city is not as other cities are. !• "{J -. - 8 NOT AS WB 8EKM. The Canadian who judges of New York life through the medium of Lawyer Hummel's book "Danger" or Talmage's sermons on *'The Night Side of New York," and whose ideas of Chicago are derived from one of " Pinkerton's Detective Series," who reads i ' the pages of Gautier, wSylvcster, or Zola of th^ awful vices and shameless profligacy of modern Paris, is justified in believing that Montreal, with all her sins upon her head, is no sink of iniquity like these. But for all her modest face, her moral ways, and her countless churches, the Canadian metropolis is not only to be seen on a sunny September afternoon. There is a reverse to the medal. Montreal has indeed its seamy side ; and the young and inexperienced will do well to read and profit by another's knowledge, else their ignorance may cost them dear. Back of the well-lighted streets and the open, honest faces are other streets whose lights burn not so brightly, and other faces not so fair. Come with me, dear reader, and you will see where Sin and Misery dwell together, — where i.-JigiW^'.V^yf^^^ij' ^^ g ? ^. KOT AS WK BBE1C the gambler behind close-drawn curtains and locked doors is winning the money his victim can ill alTord to lose; where gilded \ ice in its every form holds high holiday, ande very shred of modesty and virtue lies torn and bleeding ; to houses of quiet looks and sombre appear- ance, where is nightly told "The same sad, wretc. . 1 story that for ages bards have sung, Of a woman weal .nd villinc: :ind a villain'^ t^'mpt- ing tongue" — where Virtue at hA surrenders, and insane de- sire with burning eye- seizes upon its prey; where wretched men in stiliiiig j>est-holes drink madly their ruin here and hereafter, while near at hand, perhaps, their family, with hunger faint, cry for bread in accents which would melt a statue. Walk with me through factories which know neither air nor sunlight, where children of tender years are forced by cruel parents to work from chili morning to dewy night for wages such as are supposed to be paid only in London or New York. It may be then that the Canadian will recog- nize that London is not alone "the modern 10 NOT AS WIS SEEK. Babylon," but that the Minotaur of brutal lust and the blind worshipper o^ Mammon live in their midst. He will see then tha* because « Montr ;al has no Hay market, no Chelsea Gar- dens, it is not therefore a very citadel of virtue, but that the scarlet woman is our neighbor and flaunts her sin in our faces. Upon the streets of Montreal are daily seen the cheery faces and ofttimes is heard the merry laughter of the young toilers in the ranks of labor. But behind the smiling lips is there not often the sad heart, and is not the laughter forced and hollow ? Last and greatest of all, think you that the modern plague of London is not known to us ? Are we not infected ? In the thirteen hundred places where strong drink is sold, one liquor store to every one hundred and fifty inhabitants, can you not find food for reflection — aye, and a field for labor ? Let the Canadian think these things over. Let him come with me, and he will find more things in Montreal than are dreamt of in his philosophy. What say you ? THE YBNE-MENT-BOUSS. 11 CHAPTER II. THE TENEMENT-HOUSE. Of late years, the fashionable world of Lon- don, wearied in its pursuit of pleasure, its sated senses sleeping from excess of excitement, its every conceivable source of enjoyment failing, betook itself to scenes of which it until then had but a shadowy idea. The Park and Rot- ten Row, Lord's, Hurlinghame, Richmond, the theatre and the opera-house, had all been done to death. The parade in the Park, the shooting at Hurlinghame, the sports at Lord's, and the drives and suppers at Richmond no longer supplied the devotees of pleasure with their needed stimulant. The stage-manage- ment of an Irving, the graces of a Terry, the music of Patti's voi* c, or the harmonies of Hans Richter's orchestra at the Albert Hall were seen, heard, and admired. But this was not sensation, to stir the feeble pulse and send the patrician blood coursing through shrivelled B,J.3U\--'J. ■ - ■ > j^..-. »<-*%Q.- t Fit ^^nfciTJi— Lj -■V*' afj - "f 12 THE TENEMENT-HOUSE. veins with new life. Where could the nobility find a relief from the monotony of fashionable London life ? Every sight and every scene in society was familiar and wearisome. The per- son who could find for these — the salt of the earth — a new diversion, one which would prove a pleasure, not a penalty, might claim from them I he ransom of a king. He would be honored, paragraphed, interviewed, and his name would be known and famous wherever the English newspapers were read. He might even be given an entire paragraph in the columns of the Morning Post. Surely, with such iiiduccments before them, the wise and the witty of London town would find this water of life, this long-sought diversion. The man who could once more supply the bluest blood in England with " one crowded hour of glorious life" must be found. One fine day he appeared. Who was he, this benefactor, this Moses who was to prove a leader for the chosen people ? Was he already known to fame, noble and rich, or was he only some obscure public-house keeper who had Invented a new drink, some THE TENEMENT-HOUBE. 13 low sporting man who had devised some species of contest more exciting than fox- \hunting, more brutal than coursing, more de- grading than prize-fighting ? It was nothing of this kind. The (Edipus who had solved this riddle, or, more properly speaking, had suggested the solution, was only a simple paragraph in a London daily. What did it say, what secret had it revealed, to so shake fashionable London to its very heart ? Only this and nothing more : " On Thursday night last. Sir Charles Gran- dison, accompanied by his wife, Sir Paul Parra- vicin his cousin, and his two nieces the Honor- able Misses Herbert of Herbert House, xvent, went through some of the lowest districts of Whitechapel and Billingsgate. Their visit was the subject of much discussion at the reception at Buckingham Palace last night." This, then, vas the long-sought amusement — the pleasure which could never pall, which age could not wither, nor custom stale. The parade and pomp of the fashionable world, its glitter ^1 14 THE TgNEMBin'-UOUbi:. and its show, so tiresome and so enervating, must pale its ineffectual fires before this latest and best diversion. The poor, the wretched, the downtrodden, and the starving, with hunger in their eyes and misery written in indelible marks upon their features, could supply an inexhaust- ible source of pleasure ; and perhaps out of it all some good might come. Maybe some patri- cian heart, less flinty than the other, would hear the song of sorrow and lend a willing hand to smooth the path of poverty and sin. Like a storm, the new craze spread over the tight little island. Nothing was heard but "The Bitter Cry of Outcast London," The reviews and the dailies teemed with news from the foulest quarters of the vilest city in the world. Photographs of professional beauties and notorious actresses for a time were at a discount, and in their places shop-windows held ** Interior of a Whitechapel Lodging-house," " View of a Tenement near the Docks," and " Group of Men and Women in Little Crooked Street, off Mile-End Road/' Night after night the best biood in England thronged to the dis- tricts where Comfort and Honesty are un- \ THE TENKMENT-HOUSE. 15 known, and where Abject Poverty and Brutal Vice hold high carnival. Like absinthe to the dram-drinker, like free- dom to the convict, the latest amusement came with a novelty and a charm simply irresistible. It gave the pleasure-sated Englishman a new and curious feeling, not perhaps entirely agree- able, but fascinating: it compelled him to think, to ponder awhile upon the sin and sor row which lay scarce concealed below the sur- face of Merry England, and which smouldered with a threatening light. The amusement travelled. New York, English as she would be, was not to be outdone in the eager pursuit of pleasure. Hardly had the news crossed the water that "The Prince of Wales formed one of a slumming party last Monday," than every would-be chappie in the fashionable clubs and restaurants of the city decided that he too must see those sights and hear those sounds in imi- tation of "the First Gentleman in Europe." And so it came about that the beings who prowl about the narrow, dark, and crooked streets surrpunding Chatham Square and the I .'jjaaLja^feigMji; 16 THE TENKMENT-HOUSE. hi lower end of the Bowery, the unfortunates who live in sky-scraping tenements, stifling al- ley-ways, and dark, damp cellars on Pell and Baxter and Mulberry streets, were nightly astonished by visits from strangers who peered about, laughed and jested, and departed. The craze never reached Montreal. It might be that the inhabitants of the metropolis of Canada were not sufficiently loyal to follow in the footsteps of the most distinguished admirer of the sport, or perhaps they read of the mis- ery and poverty of London and New York, and forgot the slums within their own ci'/'s walls, and the starving poor at their own doors. The latter is the true cause. Montreal tenement-life has its dark and seamy side, for all that it boasts of no nine- story rookeries whose condition is a folly and a shame unto New York. Come with me into the poorer quarters of the city, and you will hear the voice of hunger in accents not less eloquent than would greet you in Mulberry Bend or Mile-End Road. Walk in the streets running up from the St. Lawrence River, and you will see faces which tell of sorrow and privation THE TENEMENT-HOUSK. 17 not less plainly than if you encounter them on Elizabeth Street or the Old Bow Road. Some years ago, the Montreal Star^ as a cheerful subject for Christmas-time, published a series of articles upon the slums of Montreal. Well-written and clever, they excited much at- tention at the time, and to this day the " Little Windsor" and the " Piggery" are not forgotten. Upon a much-frequented street in the vicinity of St. Ann's Market on McGill Street is a four- story stone building whose walls seem to have come apart, not for the purpose of ad- mitting heaven's fresh air, but to allow the noxious exhalations from within to escape. Formerly used as a hotel, it is now a low lodg- ing-house, and within its four walls and upon its four stories lived at one time no less than twenty-eight families. In the direst poverty, in abject want, without air, with no appliances for health and decency, in dirt and filth appal- ling, over one hundred and ten human beings herded like rats in a pit, barely existing from day to day. Small wonder was it that when the awful small-pox epidemic of 1885 visited and devastated the city, it found fair fuel in this 18 THE TENEMENT-HOUSE. den. From morning to night could be seen the burial-carts of the city standing in front of the door, as if waiting until the pestilence should claim another victim. They seldom waited in vain. Dying of this foul and filthy disease, the child of dirt and uncleanness, the unfortunate lay with others scarcely human in this pest-house in the heart of the city. Slowly upon him would steal the deep stupor, the sure precursor of death ; fainter and fainter still the heart would — beat a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, and another soul had left the house of death. Thrown into a box of unplaned boards, the corpse would be carried down and pitched into the burial-cart, and the slums of Montreal, aided and abetted by dirt and unsanitary condi- tions, had claimed another victim. When the plague had stayed its Hand, the officers of the law investigated this sink-hole. It was reported unfit for habitation, and the occu^ pants were compelled to move. A few trilling alterations were made to the place, but it still remains, a disgrace to Montreal, but surely taking high rank as a "A Slum." Upon a narrow and unfrequented street in ^ TUB TENKMKNT-H0US15. 19 the vicinity of McCord Street, and adjoining the Lachine Canal, stands a row of tenement- houses. To the passer-by, their neat and clean appearance without would attract attention in so squalid and poor a district. One thing in- deed was more than noticeable : even in sum- mer no open blinds gave the inquiring eyes of outsiders the satisfaction they craved. In winter thick curtains behind the double windows shut out the occupants of the outside world. What secret is hidden behind those brick walls? What scenes are enacted on the other side of the curtains ? Come with me and see. Upon the ground-floor of No. 127, the first in the row% live in three rooms two families. Eleven human beings — created in the image of their Maker — eat, drink, sleep, and perhaps wash in these three rooms. In a Christian city is this right ? Upon a bed in the smallest room of all, covered with dirty and tattered blankets, lies the form of a man. The pale face, sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks need no interpreter^ Here sorrow, poverty, and hunger speak ■'■mm'ifm&mii^ 20 THE TENEMENT-HOUSE. in tongue that all may hear and understand. This man, until lately a stonemason upon the works for the new Canal, was seriously injured by the falling upon him of some heavy stones. At first he deemed his injuries trifling, and was glad to accept a paltry hundred dollars from his employer in full of all claims for injuries received while in his employ. But the days moved on, the obstinate flesh refused to heal, days became months, and he was compelled to sell his furniture and move to his present dwel- ling. His wife earns an occasional dollar, which always goes the way of the corner saloon, and his three young sons sell papers. In this way they exist. The second family who occupy this tene- ment are in even a worse plight. They are husband and wife with no children, but they are always drunk. When they cannot buy the liquor they steal it. In the third room, which is used for bed- room, kitchen, and occasionally as a wash- room, four unfortunates sleep as best they can. They are the young children of a man who deserted his family, and of a woman driven to tnt tfiKBlfBNT-HOUSle. il death by drink. The kind-hearted neighbors once in a while give them food and drink, and the eldest boy makes enough from odd jobs to pay two dollars a month for rent of his den. Here is squalor and misery ; in a room reeking with vile odors and foul with dirt, he and three sisters lie out upon the floor and sleep as best they can. Do you still doubt Montreal has no tene- ments where cleanliness and health are un- known? Come with me to the second story, and read another lesson from the Book of Sorrow. In three rooms whose condition is fouler, if possible, than the apartments downstairs live a husband and wife and nine children. Again eleven persons, where there should be but five. The w^ater turned off, the sink long ago choked up, the floors thick with dir*,, and a swarm of children almost naked roll upon the floor, gathering more dirt as they play. Upon a bed in the corner, a drunken man ; in a broken chair, a woman sobbing. It is enough. Upon the top floor tho partitions dividing the rooms have been torn down, and the floor I I 22 TtIK TENEyEXT-HOUSK. is pile 1 with rags — foul-looking and ill-smell- ing. The holes in the roof have been patched up with paper and anything handy. But th'j room is deserted. Does no one occupy this flat } is it untenanted ? Go there at night, when the horrors of the place are made more horrible by shadows dark md forbidding. Upon this floor, scarce twenty-four feet long and nine broad, are stretched fourteen men and boys. Fourteen, did you say ? Aye, fourteen and sometimes more, for this room is let to a harpy in humnn form, who in turn sublets it to any man willing to pay ten cents a night. The lowest in this poverty- stricken district congregate there : disease-rid- den, loathsome, and drunken lie down side by side, and snatch as best they can a few hours of heavy and unrefreshing sleep. What need to go farther ? Why visit No. 129 or No. 131, and hear again with silent tongue this sad, sad tale of woe? We would but listen to the same story told in other words; we would but feel the same tugging s ii i iauJJJtJfc TUB TBNBMBlTT-nOUBB. M ■x at our heart-strings and be saddened. We can do no good. There is no need to visit the tumble-down dwellings in the East End — dwellings, which lie in rows between such streets as Visita- tion and Beaudry, or Wolfe, or Montcalm. It is not necessary to see the interior of the mean and dirty tenements on the Ruelle Pcr- rault or the Rue Labelle. The crumbling houses on Barrack and old St. Paul streets near the river would repeat to us what we have already heard. Farther east, again, in Hochelaga, in dwell- ings not fit for human habitation, live the countless workers in mill and machine-shop, in factory and in foundry ; their wages re- duced year by year by grinding competition and tariff-fattened monopoly, or ofttimes driven out of employment entirely by the arms of fast-toiling, never-wearying machinery. In these districts, not thickly populated like New York, or Paris, or London, the misery is scat- tered. The tenement-houses do not raise their hideous heads to heaven in endless rows, far as the eye can reach. Often they are semi-de- mmmmmm. u THE FACTORY. tached, or in groups of two or three ; but the misery, the poverty, the sorrow are there. We will not take the visitor to the dense and stifling lodging-houses of the East End on St. Constant or Jacques Cartier streets, where wretched men and sinful women lease rooms, and live concealed from the public eye. They are there. To describe them all would be a Herculean task. Some day, it may be, organized charity will see fit to look with searching eyes into this evil so widespread and serious. Individual effort is almost useless. The sad facts must be accepted and sorrowed over. CHAPTER HI. THE FACTORY. It may truthfully be said that as most fac- tories are run in daytime except at very Dusy times, when they are kept running at night, the heading of this chapter is rather at variance with the title of the book. The THE FACtOEY. 25 reader may thus be reminded of the book by a forgotten author who in beginning a chapter on '* The Snakes of Ireland " prefaced it by say- ing "there are no snakes in Ireland," and he may complain thereat. Should these objections be carried out to their legitimate conclusion, the title of this sketch would not apply to sundry other chap- ters. We could make a rcductio ad absurdum and find that the main streets of Montreal for many years have been lighted by electric light, and much of our edifice so patiently con- structed would thus be demolished almost at a word. The objection would have no foundation in sober ear.iest. In using the title " Montreal by Gaslij.;ht" the endeavor was made to at- tract attention to the darker side of our city life, to expose its sin, its shame, and its sorrow as with a limelight, and to stir up our citizens to seek a ^emedy for each particular evil. Had we the spear of Iihuriel that we might illumine with cekstial fire each subject we touched, the heavenly light would be none too bright, none too strong. 26 THE FACTOKY. The stranger standing upon Mount Royal, and seeing the fair city sleeping at its slope, could not fail to notice the number of tall chimneys rising heavenward in the clear blue of the Canadian sky. Were he a man of ob- servation and thought, he would say to him- self: " Here is a city where Vulcan forges in many places, where Commerce centres and distributes tiie wares of weary toil. In its thousands of factories and workshops, its mills and its foundries, are crowded the poor of every class, of many nations, and of all ages. Their condition, social, mental, moral, aaid physical, will be of interest to me. I will visit them." It is no subject for congratulation to Mon- treal that in some respects the state of its la- boring population is better than in the larger cities of the world. There are not in Mon- treal any 5uch human beehives as in the cigar factories and clothing houses of lower New York, but there is a depth of ignorance, of un- progressiveness, in the ranks of the toilers of the East End of London, which would open the eyes of iie cultured West-Ender. THK FACTORY. 27 It may sound unfair and biassed to speak against the state of the French Canadian popu- lation of the Faubourg de Quebec, but the facts are there. By some their condition has been charged to account of the mother church, whose poHcy of repression in reHgious thought has caused a positive stagnation in matters secular. It may be that the wishes of the priesthood with regard to the advisability of early marriages has caused this arrest of physi- cal progress. Certain it is that, with few ex- ceptions, the advanced workers, the promoters, the pioneers in lower Canada have been the English, and the classes who compose the manufacturing woikers of the East End of Montreal have been left far behind in the race for progress. Living in the latter part of the nineteenth century as he does, the French Canadian worker of Montreal is still indeed "lenfant de I'ancien r^^gime." He walks with us and works for us, but his thoughts, his habits, and his ideas are two centuries behind. Living in a land where religious, literary, and moral and mental progress arc nt rly at the highest point 28 tllE FACTORt". of development, he does not take advantage of his position, but remains stationary. Far in the East End of Montreal, an enor- mous five-story brick building spreads its hid- eous length along the shores of old St. Law- rence. The hideous noises proceeding there- from attract at once the attention of the passer by. It is a cotton-mill, created by a protective tariff, and fostered by the care of the capitalist. Within its bare walls the busy toilers sit in stifling air, and work until nightfall. If it be true that man must work, then work under these conditions is not so hateful. Upon the faces of its many workers can seldom be read the sign of starvation : it is fair at the surface. But let us look deeper. Here sits a man a shade paler perhaps than his fellows, but not otherwise noticeable. His face, essentially French, marks him a descendant of the original invaders of the land, and it bears the imprint of care. He knows that a reduction of hands is threatened, and, if it comes, he must go. Over-competition has spoilt the business of late years, and the periodical reduction will THE FACTORT. 29 likely come around. He .vill be unprepared. At home a wife and six children wait for him. Upon the wages paid him, his family and him- self barely exist ; saving is out of the ques- tion. Now and again the question enters his mind : Why is there trouble ahead? If he had not married young, life would be comparatively easy for him. Well, he married early because his father did, and his grandfather before him, and '!ie Church encouraged him. True, his ancestors did not work in a stifling factory, but were tillers of the soil ; but he forgot that when he married. Is it the fault of the fac- tory for not paying better wages? Be it as it may, the outlook is far from cheering. But his case is indeed insignificant when we look deeper and further. One of the most profitable industries in Montreal is the business of cigar-making. There is little or no tenement-house work done at this date, but what of the factories ? Let us visit them. The attempt, if success- ful, will not be without interest. On this head let justice be done first, that no fm 30 THK FACTORY. J ■■ I V ' M '*'-:> man may suffer undeserved loss, even in the estimation of humanity. There is one factory in Montreal, — the largest in Canada, — situ- ated not far from the Theatre Royal, where injustice and misery are not known, where cleanliness is as marked a feature of the estab- lishment as its opposite at the majority of sim- ilar factories. Its owner is to-dav rich and respected, and his money has not been made through the tears and privations of his fellows. Ouitc recentlv a labor commission was ap- pointed to sit in Montreal and sift the evi- dences of unfairness, injustice, uncleanness, immorality, and unhealthiness of the various labor-employing establishments of Montreal. First upon the black-list of dishonor stood the cigar factories. Commission was appointed to sit in Mon- treal and sift the evidences of unfairness, in- justice, uncleanness, immorality, and unhealthi- ness of the various labor-employing establish- ments of Montreal. First upon the Black List of Di;:honor stood the cigar factories. What four revelations came as a result of that commission, — what heartrending stories I- ,* ,4 * -J. THE FACTOKi:. 81 of unfair wa^cs, unjust fines, inhuman over- seers, and unhealthy factories ! What man can read the sad story of wrong done by employer to employed without realizing the truth of the lines that "Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn." Aye ! did they read of the child-labor and its sad results in Montreal's cigar factories they would weep their eyes dry. Did they know of the danger to body and mind, to the health and morals of the employees of these Canadian galleys, ground down by grasping employers and abused by brutal ov^erscers, they would have realized that within their own city was a white slavery worse than the darkest hours in the South befor" the war. The Labor Commission has done much to improve the condition of the toilers in the many cigar factories of the city. The Cigar Makers' Union has lent a helping hand, and yet, while much has been done, more remains. If we can pass the Argus-eyed guardian who watches the factory door, and effectually pro- .'J£ A*--*^ 32 THE FACTORY. vides against violation of the notice which so boldly stares us in the face, " Positively no ad- mittance," we will form ourselves into a com- mission of two and investigate for ourselves. Past the door, up two flights of dark and narrow stairs, v/e hear the sound of machinery and the hum of voices. Ere we have time to fully appreciate the consequences to the em- ployers of a fire in such a death-trap, we see before us one of the work-rooms. Here, in stifling air foul with odors of to- bacco, machine-oil, perspiration, and a thousand other evil-smelling substances, are seated the slaves of the leaf. Young and old, women and men, boys and girls, from seven o'clock in the morning until six o'clock at night, with one short hour for dinner, they toil for three dollars a week and sometimes two. There are no toilet appliances, no fire escapes, no facilities for ventilation : there is nothing but work and a brutal foreman to enforce it. Of the facts brought to light by the Labor Committee, we must take but passing notice. The brutal beatings, the want of privacy be- tween the sexes, and the unjust finings and THE FACiORr. 88 Imprisoriment in the Mack holes are almost done a\v^;- with ; bul liie abuses of improper ventilation, the want of fire appliances, and the like, remain unto tliis clay. It is not alone of cotton-mills and cigar fac- tories that we might write. Hardly any class of manufacturing in Montreal but has its abuses. Walk thrc gh the boot and shoe factories, the house . where ready-made clothing work is farmed out, the type-foundries and printing- houses, and the thousand other industries of the city, and everywhere can be learnt the same lesson. From e ery branch of toil comes the sad story of long hours, unsteady work, low wages, and improper treatment — in a word, the slavery of labor and ignorance to capital and enterprise. It does not come within the province of such a book at this to advocate or even suggest a remedy for this sad state of affairs. It should be sufficient that we draw attention to the facts. But a few words ere closing this subject, Montreal to-day is growing fast. Within her boundaries are livincr nearly two hundred di d4 THK FACTOBT. thousand souls. Situated as she is, at the head of navigation, and being, as she is, the head- quarters of two of tiie largest railway corpora- tions in the world, Montreal's rranufacturing interests must grow apace. The number of her toilers in the vineyard is increasing daily. But is their condition improving? Will labor in Montreal throughout the coming years be happy, or will it follow in the footsteps of labor in the United States. In New York, Boston, and Chicago, the condition of the poor is indeed sad. Crowded by pauper immigration, ground down by the powers of combined capital, and too often aiding in his own downfall by supporting the corner saloon, there are many pitiful tales to be read in the factories over the border. And yet signs are not wanting that com- bined labor iS beginning to feel that it has rights which even capital must respect. It pleads for them now with hunger-faint voice and plaintive, toil-worn faces. It may be that some day labor will raise and demand that for which it now pleads. That ■M i THB HOtTSB OF ASSIOKATIOK. i0 demand will mean riot, strike, and even civil war. America is slowly drifting thither. Why not Canada ? And if Canada, where will the trouble begin but in Montreal ? Think over this. CHAPTER IV. ■w] THE HOUSE OF ASSIGNATION. It would be idle, if not criminal, to suppose that any city of the size of Montreal would be free from the cardinal sin in its darkest as- pect. There are, it is true, no Harpies of the kind read of in American papers as living out their shame in New York or Chicago. In Montreal there are no dens where innocence is sold to evil by guilty and shameless parents, and the sad tragedies of modern London are seldom witnessed in our midst. We have no Minotaurs, like modern Babylon, to be printed :^^\¥' certain it is that, had the police cast their nets there any night in the week during her sove- reignty, they would have made a rare catch. Fast bank clerks, prominent young lawyers, and well-known French merchants formed the retinue, and drank night into day. How sad a tale could be told of this house! How many foolish young women could point to it with a look that spoke everything ! How many faithless wives played a part herein 1 "The same sad, wretched story that for ages bards have sunrave displeasure. Again tlie wine-ghisses are filled. A younpf Englishman, whose whist playing had set the tcnvn talking, rose to his feet, and as his cleat baritone began, "'Pis all I ask to be with thee," the clink of glasses and the whispering of voices died away, fie was receivnig the high- est compliiTRnt paid by any audience -worth more tlian the loudest applause— deep silence. He finished, and his health was drunk with three times three. Still further along the passage two men sit together in a gas-h(\ated room atid talkial earnestly. The grave, earnest face, the keen, black eyes, and the hair worn longer than cus- tomary could hv recognized at a glance. He was one of the country's political leaders; a seli-made man, risen from the ranksb\ sheer force of ability and. the powers of a silver tongue, lie was indied I'orateur ptU" excel- lence, the representative I'rench-Canadian poli- tician of the day. But who is this ill-dressed and insignificant man who listens as the other persuades ? What It^ 66 THTC NIGHT KESTAUBANT. has this mean and ignoranl-Iooking person, whose looks bespeak poverty of ideas as of purse, to give for wliieh the other asks? It is hut the old story of a deeeitful appear- ance Behind the shallow, uninteresting coun- tenance is ability and brains; in the ill-iitting and unfashionable clothing of the minor per- sonage is the man whose clever political arti- cles are read throughout Lower Canada as a second Gospel. His bitterness of invective, his biting sarcasm, are feared and detested. It is he who sup|)lies eitlier party, as it suits him, with their weapons during the session. He is the Vulcan who forges the thunderbolts for the political chieftains of Canarja. 'ihe man before him may be the head of a party, luit he can become the neck. For him the ijame of politics has few secrets, and lo-moriow morn- ing the columns of L' litcnJard or L.a Minervc will contain some unsigned article to becoTie a power for good or ill. For riches, position, or political power this man cares no^hir \, Had they been his goal, he would long before have arrived there. In I THE NIGHT RESTAITUANT. 67 vain the astute chieftain before him seeks a re- sp on sive chord. Surelv there must be one. Suddenly his face ilhimini-s. He leans for- ward and whispers in the other's ear, so U)W that liad the walls ears thev could know noth- iiiir. A smile like that of Sat m wi th V .lUst in his arms shines upon his face, like the sun upon new-li;)len snow. Wc jumps to his feet. Both men flon their overcoat'; and hats, and without another word they descend the stairs and vanish into the night. What shameful plot has here been hatched ? what conlinence betrayed? Ali ! for the man who scorns money and power there can be but one inducement which others may offer — re- venoe 'I o-morrow morning some enemy s na.ne will be [)illoried forever in disgrace, and the price will have been paid. We need go no furthei. It is the same scene, and it will be to-morrow night —only the actors will be ilifTereiit. There are other niglit restaurants in Mon- treal, some fair, but most of them unwortbx the name. Nt)t far from the Occidental is an eating-house for the lower classes, open all 68 THE SALOOX, niL;l^^ whtre suspiciously cold and frothy tea is served after twelve o'clock. There is the I^alais Royal, on Dorciiester Street ; l.ouis, on St. Catlurine Street ; and the Delmonico — save the niaik. Bui of them little can now be recortled hui ihe commonplace. Their pairo!is are not liic l)(.tt(M' classes, and about them th<^ romance takes on the ci^arments of po\ erty, and an occasional odor of onions and s>arlic. CM VPTER VI. THE SALUOX. To manv of the readers the heiidini!^ of this ch.iptn" iiiav sound offt^nsivc. It will brin^i^ wHh 11 till' odors of the corner gm-mill and the low grog-shop. To ihcm only this can be said : The head- ing goes — popular or ot Iic-wise. it is the onlv wo'd c(Mned whijh i'l'lly exf)resses the contents of the ch;ipter. if the word sab ton offends, whv then insert gin-mill or grog-shoj). It matter^ not. The article itself retnains unaltered. TUE SALOON. (39 But if inclined to pay deference to the views of these ol)jectO)N, there is indeed another heudinor, rnore brutal hut not less true, nul less descriptive. How would "The Curse of Montreal" do? Inio what deptlis of specu.ation v/ould that title lead us ! What intricate j)rol)lerns of po- litical economy nri«j;hi we not discuss I Back of the sin. tin: misery, the poverty, the- ruin — social and moral— (jf flie mass of the fallen stands the h^-ure of stronf>- drink. True, the Oueen allows tiie trafhc. It is licensed at so mucli per shop or saloon, and in many cases the venders are honc;st. law-ahidintr men. But what of the majorii) (j[ the saloons in N[ontreal and elsewhert^ ? They are hut j^laces where the adulterated and injurious li(puds are retailed wholesale to men, women, and children ; where the drurd<- ard is niu-ie dumker. and (he ruin of the indi- vidual i-> he^un and ended. Men prate ol llu- niillcimium. li will come on the dav when slronii" think is banished for- ever. Labor complains of insulTicient wages — of the 10 THE bALOOU. daily increasing price of the necessaries of life and the daily decreasing return for the day's work. Let them all abandon theii support of the saloon. Capital complains that it can no longer find investment which will return it fair interest. Let it refuse to employ otlier than total ab- stainers ; let it organize and establish coiTee- houses, where thirst may be assuaged at a nom- inal piici\ The day the saloon-keeper leaves the city — nay, more : the day that the maimfacturer of strong drink is {>rohibited, except under gov- ernncnt supervision and for medicinal pur- poses — that day prosperity will shine upon our Canada with undying lustre. A clever Frenchman summed the matter up thus : " [n earlier years there were two evils, wai and pestilence. Wc are better off in this nine- teenth century : we have only one evil — liquor." And such an evil ! The mind shrinks from its contemplation. There is no need to look farther for the sin, the poverty, and the misery of civilization. It t THE fiALOON. 71 is here, and here only. From tliis parent source all other evils spring. With the one possible exception of Chicago, no city in America suffers in this respect like Montreal. She is sore stricken, and maybe will never recover. The cursed traffic has its grip upon the city's throat and is stilling it. Its energy is being sapjied away, and the cure must be used ere it is too late. The po})ulation of Montreal and adjoining municipalities is al>out two hundred thousand souls. It has therefore a larger jKjpulation than Buffalo, Cleveland. Detroit, Louisville, Milwaukee, Pittsburg, or Washington, l^ut what an admirable tliirsl its inhabitants can boast of ! In 1887 there were nearly fourteen hundred places —hotels, restaurants, grocery stores, and saloons — where the retailing of li(iuor was licensed. Think of it ! Fourteen hundred . The figures stagger us. This would mean that there is one saloon to every one hundred and fifty inhabitants. De- duct from this numbei \\\v women and chil- 12 THE K/VL(»OX. drcn who may be claimed as non-supporters of this noble institution, and what remains? These fiirures stare us in the face. The y speak with an elo(|uenee whicli no man can fail to unrlerstand. They tell us of man's daily disobedience and his daily fall — of his progress toward failure, poverty, and crime. Some day Mcjiitrcal will awake and see this cancer c-atinir her life awav. Mav that awaken- inir not come too late ! There is no- saloon better known to the sportifiii; friUernity throu,oisoned with bad liquor, nor 'ostled by thii ves, nor can Ik* here ]>rocure li(ju )r alier hours. If ihe »>roprietor cannot gu a ran tie the morals of liis patrons, he at least guarantees their conduct while there. One of the most familiar figures here is sit- ting to-nigiit watchinga game of billiards. I lis neat clothing, dark and quiet, his wliile and H THE SALOOJT. tasteful linen, the absence of jewelry or dis- play of anykind, and his modest, gentknianlv hearin^^, to the casual observer would suggest the eonhdential ckrk or junior partner in a law- tirm. He would be entirely wrong. The calm, repressed young man is a gambler, and one of the best known in the country. Sometimes called " Little Johnny" and sometimes " Jaok," he is familiar to most Montrealers, and his pop- ularity is very great. It was rumored that last summer he had played the Saratoga races in more than ordinary luck, and that in '* going up against the bank" his luck had not forsaken him. Be that true or not, he is always in funds, and seemingly always ha{)py. Should matters run against him, his name is good to any amount with the fraternity. "Jack" is one of the characters of Montreal. Next him stands a round-faced Englishman with a hearty laugh and rough clothes. Ue is the proprietor of an eating-house far away, and has sporting asj)irations. So far he has been lucky, and it has not cost him much. On the right two prominent horse-dealers talk and laugh loudly, and against the wall 1 TUB RALOOK. 15 •d couple of well-known " amateur" lacrosse players discuss in an undertone the chances for to-morrow's gri-at match. " The Suburban" is in truth the rendezvous for the Bohemians. Of hardly less prominence in Montreal is "The Oxford" on University Street. Situated as it is in the immediate vicinity of the armory of a fashionable volunieer regiment, it has many times assuaged the thirst of the amateur soldiers, and its place in Montreal is unique. Founded a few years ago by its j)resent pro- pi iet or with the inmicdiate help of a then j)rom- inent litjuor merchant, it illustrates the whirli- gig of time. To-day its owner, from being a poor nran, is comparativi ly wealthy, the man througli whose money the saloon was estab- lished has failed and walks the streets of Mon- treal under a cloud. Hard!)' less famous than "The Oxford " is "The ('aprains." Upon tlw.' corntM of two small and comjuu'atively unfrctjuented streets, its location would not usually be coiisidined of the best, and yet, in sporting pari mce, "it is a good and strong game." It has often been I 76 IIIR BALOON. rumored that " Tlic L/aplain's" was open year in and year out, and that the earlier in the morning you ealied the earlier you would get served. This was a l)ase slander. Here the homeward-l)ound elerk, aftt;r a night of extra work, stops for a so(3tliing nightcaj) ; and iiere, with a fuitive glance around, the hushand stops on his morning trip into town for "a steadier.' No description of Montreal would be com- plete without a mention ol the "Turf f louse" on St. Lawrence Main Street. Its genial and handsome pioprictor is known to ev'Tyl)ody, and has given his tiuK; and money to 'ho fur- therance of the trotting interests of Montreal. One of the principal supporteis of the race- track at ilk' toot of Jacipies Ca tier Square, and a lover of racing in every form, his name is a guarantee of fair trottitig and no favor. So fiu. it iiiust. i)f confessed tiie S(M\my side of Montreal's saloons has not been shown. So far, we ha\'c dealt t)nlv with those places wliere not only the letter l)ut tht: spirit of the law is fieely followed, — where the vice has lost soirie- thinf^ of its evil. W'c have dealt only with the saloon evil in its minor form, with places whose THE SALOON. ( / [)roprictors are in every wnv hiw-iiltiilinfj and consisteiit citi/cns, and we luive seen only the best siile of the case. There is another pietnre to Se drawn. Some of the vilest, lowest, and most infa- mous eorner frin-niills, low ,L!:rr)oi::f<'ries, and sliehecns in the wc-rld are lieensi-d hy licr Maj(.'Sty's government to ruin their fellow-men, body and soul. In these places the diuukard's money is never refused — the child is as wel- come as the man. These dens Mot the city's face. They aie a shanii' and a dise Nij^liL Side of New N'ork." "Low London Liie," iUid a thousand other names to catch tlie eye of unexperienced youtii. These hooks have a re id\' sale. They circulate |)\- lens (>f thousands, and many a younfj uiil has dated her hrst step in sin from the day when she lirst n.-ad tlie lecheious and glatin<:ly unliue [)ages of "The (}ay Ciirls of Nevv ^'ork.'" or some similar mc^s of <;ar- bage. '1 lu;<(' otlVcnurinus of deceased inind.s, — paintino, as Ihev do, a lii^ht side lo c\'\ livinjj, have enticed manv weak ones from the j)ath of virtue to wa'.k th'^ slipp( i\- road t ruin. Of the dark and seamv sid<\ I he jio^'ert\ inevit- able, the health sure failing, and the mental and bodily destruction ilit y aie sileiii The social e\ il always bus bf t-n. and aKvavs will l)e, ; problem who-e solution in theory i casv, but whose solution in piaeticc is impo.- sible. Men are burn with certain trails of the TnK noURE OP MESSAI.IXA. 81 animal in tlicm. Mr. Ed^ar Saltus calls it " The beast thai is in us all. lashed down and cowering, but waifinj^ for the inadvertent mo- ment when it shall spring to li^ht and claim its own," Since earliest dawn, it ha> been a check to man's upward, spiritual, and mental progress. The law and tlie prophets denounced it; the Messiah preached aractice, and to- day in Montreal the vile t-afl'ic is jMcsented in twenty different dins, and has been " doing business at the samr *t ? No! decidedly no ! Sliould this unlicensed, unlawful traffic be permitted ? No ! The middle grc und taken by the authorities of Montreal with regard to this (juestion is il- logical and indefensible in law, in reason, and in mora lit It is admittedly an evil. Then it should not be permit ted. It should be driven from with- out the cii\ walls, and the scarlet woman should no longer air her shame and her in lam v upon our streets, noi destroy the (juiet of res()ectable neighl)orhoods. Gran: -hI it is aji evil, say some, but it is a necessary evil : it must exist ; and as it must, it is better that its headqua»*ter*^ should be known tt> the local ()olice, for in that way alone can it be kept under control." If this be true, then it is better to license the THE HOrSK OF MESSALINA. Rn ,1^ traffic : better to suy, as President Cleveland did upon the ()uesli()n of tiusts, "It is a condi- tion \hieh confronts us, not a theory." It can- not be denied that in puie tlieory the lieensin<; of any immorality is coniiary to law. reason, and of course, moralitv ; l)Lit when our youn^ men are driftinj^ toward ruin, it is no time for theory- -action is necessary. 'Ihe lieeusinjj;^ cf the "Ciros Numeros" in Paris has not dimin. ishcd the immoialiiy. but it has ver)' materially fiiitigated its evil consv qu«'nees from a plrv -^i- cal, and therefore from a political j)oint of view. Tlu' Parisian has btcome healthier, aelongs to a 'titer and ir.ore moral city. Nay. fimniest of all. lie is called upon from the puijMt to subscribe h> the Chine'-e or Hin- ■ ■«m:-mmf:^''m 86 lUE IlOUSii OF MESSALINA. doo missionary fund, when an immorality so flagrant is at his door, and a depth of ignorance and vice as profound as is conceivable is in his own city. In the words of Mark Antony, ** Men have lost their reason." Oh for time and opportunity to press this subject and to suggest a remedy ! If we can even stir the stagnant waters of Montreal thought for one short tiny, this book has not been written in vain. A few facts in this case. Upon the corner of St. Catherine and one of its most notorious cross streets stands a three-story stone building. The corner l)asement is occupied as a restaurant, but two doors of the cross street give entrance to the house, and a wooden door leads from a yard in rear into St. C-atherine Street. The appearance of the house is entirely respectalde, and in justice it must l)e said that the esLab- lishnu'ut is run honestly, and no svvintUing uf any kind is permitted. Almost sine*' "the recollection of the oldest inhabitant" the occui)atioii of this notorious spot has been the same I' or years in this THE IIOUHU OF ME8.SA.LINA. 87 ! house Messalina and IMiryne have i»licd their shameful trade. It is true that on several occasions the local j)olice have lined its land- lady the sum of ninety-five dcjliars and costs for selling liciiior without a license, and the fine has been cheerfully paid. This sort of "hush-money" transaction seems popula? in official circles, and whenever the civic treasury is low a raid is made up(jn some of the best known houses, and they are called upon to pay toll. It IS pay up or close up. The former course is invariably followed. T'oi many years this house was owned and run by a notorious woman alleged to be the wife of a more or less promii\ent gambler, whose es- tablishment, not a hundred miles from Craig Stieet, will be noticed later. The house> furni- ture, and good-will of the business are now sub- let to another wonuin. at the trilling rental of seventy-five dollars per week. Wfien an estab- lishmcJit of this kind can pay a rent of thirty- six hundrt;d dollars j>er .inuuni and have the lessee wear diamonds, tlu: business must indeeil be valuable. Scarcely less notorious than the preceding 88 TlIK nOFSE OF MFSSAMKA. is the estabHslimcnt situated near the rear of ' St. Lawrence Market. It is ostensibly owned by a namesake of th(i owner of the house above described, and, while not as hirge, is still consid- ered "a valuable property." Its red curtains, and the line of cabs which nightly draw up in front of the door after ten o'clock, are familiar to policeman and citi/en alike ; but it has reigned undisturbed for years past, and there seems no imm(Kliate prospect of any change. Immediately around the corner, on a dirty and narrow lane, stands another establishment of a similar profession. A few years ago this place started with four rooms : it now occupies a large house. Under immunity from police intcrferiMice such dives (lourish. Threading our way along this Little Queer Street, and turning the first corner, a large porch, a colored globe, and startling (^cru cur- tains meet the eye, and sound'- of singing and piano-playing strike the ear in unharmonious power. " Surely," says the stranger, " I am dreaming, or have been, and 1 am back in Thirty-first Street." TTIE IIOUSB OP MRSSALINA. 80 Nothing is wanting to complete the picture. The garish lights, the open porch, the music, all unhlushingly invite the wanderer out of the cold dark, streets into the light. Within the usual sights and sounds —they need no telling. To investigate further we need not go far. Next door has no open porch, no colored lights, but instead a darkness and quiet not at all re- assuring. A ring at thr hell, and tlic usual wicket is opened and the same catechism is gone thrctugh. Upon St. Elizabeth Street, not far from St. Catherine Street, is another such spot —viler than its fellows. Of the unspeakable infamies of this place, prudence commands to silence. Up St. Constant Street the temf)les of sin are in rows. One hardly less unfavorably known than any above described staiids in a yard l)ack from the street. It is approached by a narrow board walk, and its ervironments arc. not cal- culated to cheer the seeker after illicit pleasure. There is neither space nor necessity to pursue our investigations farther. It would serve no good purpose to lead the stranger along the narrow and ill-smelling streets in this (juaiter. 1 90 lilK UwmK OV M£8frilLINA« Saiigainet StPjct.VitiL^ Street, Mignonnc Street, and twenty other St ret;ts in lliis KuMlity eoiil.rib- ute their sihire to the calendai ui crime. It is not the East Rml alone which suiters. For four years a h^ Photographic Sciences Corporation (V V % V ^ \ \ >> A o"^ ^^ % V ^ \^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^ &? WJ- ^. ^ 92 THE HOUSE OF MES8AXINA. one with feelings or culture. It holds out no attraction to the hetter class of young men. But the middle class must be considered. Only rarely would they enter such places, ex- cept when under the influence of the enemy which steals away men's brains ; but even to enter once is once too many. These houses are a meeting-ground and a refuge for the low, the idle, the vicious, and the drunken. They have existed too long, aid should be done away with now and forever. VV^e have refrained from writing of the lower end of the city and the awful vice which exists there. We would fain ask the inquiring ^ lon- trealer to come with us down Wolfe or Jacques Cartier Street even on a Sunday afternoon. The denizens of this district do not ask the mantle of night to shelter them. In broad daylight they ply their hideous calling. With painted faces they beckon from ground-floor windows, and with liquor-hoarse voices they at- tract the attention of the passer-by. Old Greene Street, in New York, at its worst pre- sented no viler sight than these streets in Mon- treal to-day. liiiiiiiiiii^ THE HOUSE OP MESSALTNA. 93 Horrible, horrible, most horrible ! This is no overdrawn picture to be read by the evil- minded and the evil hearted. It is a sad state- ment of facts. The localities are given. Seek for yourselves, and you will receive a lesson upon " the sinfulness of sin" as powerful as a Spurgeon sermon. We might write of the low hotels and lodg- ing-houses on St. Paul Street near the Bonse- cours Market and around the two great sta- tions. Such hotels have time and again been raided as "disorderly houses" by the city po- lice. Fancy a hotel licensed by the city, and then raided, and then resuming business ! If we have drawn the attention of one ener- getic, honest citizen to this sad state of affairs, good must follow as the night the day. If we have warned some headstrong youth from the sin which kills, good has been done. We ask no higher reward than this. The facts and figures given here speak for themselves. Our city rulers should be up and doing to purge our city from this moral and physical grossness. What say you ? m 04 THE HOBS SHOE. CHAPTER VIII. "THE HORSESHOE. » The New York of ten years ago held no stranger sight, no spot more interesting in cer- tain respects than the quaint old building which stood at the corner of Houston and Crosby Streets. Its interior has seen many dramas. In many ways, and for divers reasons, *' Harry Hill's" was a land-mark. The visitor to the city, before being taken out to " see the sights," was always asked " Shall we go to Harry Hill's?" Within its walls, from early afternoon until early morning, was gathered as motley a crew as ever the eye of man rested upon. The most dangerous and desperate criminals met here and planned new villainies. The scum of the female sex of lower New York assembled themselves together in this place. Men and women who had done time, who were wanted by the police of London, Paris, and V^ienna, swaggered about and aired their rough ways jiiitiiiiliiiyii^^ n THE HOBSESHOE. 95 before the visitor. Upon the walls, the famous verse beginning " Gentlemen, sit at your ease ;" at the tables, women who were beyond suspicion ; at the bar and in the billiard-room, men of every class. It indeed deserved the name of " Free and Easy." But alas ! one fine day a cruel-hearted and inflexible mayor issued his famous proclama- tion : "The dives must go." And Harry Hill's went the way which the Cremorne, the Empire, and other shady resorts had trodden before. They will be more or less lamented but not forgotten, and they can well be spared. To-day the space formerly occupied by Har- ry Hill's is a scene of busiest toil, and ere long a massive warehouse will rise upon its site. Montreal as yet boasts no ** Free and Easy " of the Harry Hill class. There are no concert halls where immoral women lie in wait for vicious men, — little better than houses of as- signation. Montreal will allow vice to any ex- tent, but it must not offend the public eye. It may ply its sad vocation in dark streets and behind closed doors, but it must not walk in the light of publicity. The festering slums of 96 TOE HORSESHOE. mW' the Faubourg in Quebec may exist, but the man who would try to run a well-ordered beer- garden in a respectable quarter of the city would have a thorny road to travel. The nearest approach to the American " Free and Easy" in Montreal is Tommy Boyle's fa- mous Horseshoe on St. Sulpice Street, It is, however, but a feeble imitation. True, there is " beer and music," which Puritan New York has prohibited ; the sound of song and dance is heard within its walls, and some of the at- tendants are in female attire: but here the re- semblance ends. At " The Horseshoe" there are no women patrons, no female performers upon the stage, and few, if any, crooks In the audience. Upon a dimly-lighted street, and within the shadow of the noble parish church of Notre Dame de Montreal, stands the Horseshoe. St. Sulpice Street runs from Notre Dame Street for a quarter of a mile down to the river front, and its buildings are devoted to commerce and the pursuits which enrich sailing-men. Tommy Boyle's is the exception. Leaving the Windsor we stroll along Dor- •^^.^mm^^^m^-' mmmmmmmmmmm TUB HORSESHOE. 07 Chester Street, and the eye is arrested by the magnificent dome of St. Peter's Cathedral ris- ing heavenward in the soft summer moonlight. Truly it is even now, in its uncompleted state, a noble and a picturesque sight. Still following Dorchester Street, past the St. James' Club and the fine residences on either side, we find ourselves at» the head of Beaver Hall Hill. Glancing downward, the lights of the lov/er city gleam and twinkle like a thousand stars, and speak to us of a busy, ever-toiling world. Descending the hill, we pass through Vic- toria Square with its massive warehouses, and the electric lights oi St. James Street gleam before us. It is nine o'clock, and but few per- sons walk its quiet length, and we reach Place d'Armcs Square. Upon the magnificent edifice which arrests and holds our attention we cannot devote much space. Had we a volume to spare, it would give no idea of its imposing entrance. Its solid walls, and its heaven -kissing towers. We long for the deep tones of its famous bell, 08 THS UOBSESUOS. and we seek to imagine its appearance when illuminated upon a festival night. Regretfully we turn down the dark and nar- row street which sleeps in its shadow, and follow its quiet length until the sound of the slowly-gliding St. Lawrence River reaches our ears, and we breathe with deep draughts the fresh and health-laden breezes which pene- trate even here. Before an open door, which reveals a flight of steps, stands a huge colored gaslight. Upon its colored glass can be traced in many different styles the words : THE HORSESHOE Tommy Boyle. And upon it are colored horseshoes such as Joe Murphy surely never made in any performance of " The Kerry Gow " on record. Before entering through this hospitably open, if uninviting, door we pause. Down the stairs stagger two men, whose garb proclaims the seafaring man, and they are standing alter- nately to starboard and to port. This irregular course occasions us some misgivings as to the • i THE H0B9ESH0B. 90 > point to be taken by ourselves. - It is worse than two steamboats in a canal. - Bill." "Aye, lad." " Canst tell the way to the ship ? " " Naw, lad ; can thou ?" " Maybe if 'twas daylight; but this gas, it 'urt's in' eyes." " Naw, lad, 'tis the hoose which troubles thee." A muttered oath, and the two men clinch and roll to the bottom of the steps. The fall sobers them a trifle, and they **make " for the riverside. Thanking our stars for our caution in waiting till the track was clear before ascending, we set foot upon the lowest step. The sound of a voice roaring out a song to the monotonous thumping of a piano which, at this distance, sounds like the combination of a fog-horn and the noise of a ships screw, greets our ears. Floating down the stairway, in occasional gusts, like driving snow, comes an odor which once smelt is never forgotten : it is beer. il 100 TOE HORSESIIOE. It may be this latest odor, or the thought that having gone thus far we should push on to the bitter end, that compels us to ascend the short flight of steps; a turn to the right, and the bar is before us. Before us stands a long counter, and behind it a strongly-built but agile-looking man at- tends to what seems a rushing business. The man is an ex-prize-Iighter of no little ability and undoubted courage, who, had he attended to the job for vvhicii i.ature seems to have built him, would surelv have risen to eminence in the ranks of the middle-weights. P'rom the air of secrecy which surrounds the manners of the two flashily-dressed men who whisper to him during his every spare minute, it would appear that there is mischief in the air. The feud between the ex-Ouebccker and another pugilist now in the city is at its heiiSi:iMV-^.V. - -'■'» WAIUN^^W^HH^ ' THE THKATRES, 123 more loveable, has wept as the erring Froti' Frou, and Montreal's fairest daughters wept with her; and Ellen Terry has flooded over the stage and tried the keen encounter of her wits with Benedict. Here, too, Marie Prescott, with fierce strength, has cursed her lying husband in '• The Wages of Sin " and shrunk from Othello s stormy caresses. Margaret Mather's untrained ability lias shown us dimly the sorrows of ** Leah the Forsaken," and charming Rose Coghlan has fascinate ^ us with her exquisite comedy, as she joked at poor 6^/^ Peter Teazle. Janauschek, grandly tragic, has cursed Dick Hattei'ick; and we have here seen Ristori, voiceless almost and in her wane. Patti and Gerster have sung here ; and the last notes of their music still floats around us. Salvini, grandest of tragedians, has pleaded his cause before the Senate and lifted his won- drous voice in barbaric rage. The skill and stagecraft of an Irving has reproduced " Louis XI." and thrilled us with the abject terror of Mathias in "The Bells." We have laughed with Colonel Mnlberry Sellers and sorrowed with Mantell. The unctuous humor of W. J. .Htkeit^ immmmmWmmmmmmm. 124 THK THBATBSf. Florence as Captain Cuttle, the solemn and quiet fun of Roland Reed, and the drunken antics of George Knight have amused us. The cunning of Keene's hunchback king, the ghastly terror of Mansfield's Baron Cher- rial, and the humanity and pathos of the Jack Yetibett of Joseph Haworth have all received their due meed of recognition. A first night at the Academy of Music is rarely the best for purposes of observation. The Montrealer — insular as a Briton — does not know what is said or written of the piece in other cities ; he does not care. Deep down in his mind there is a settled conviction that the American theatrical manager is always " trying it on the dog," and he prefers to wait until his friends have gone. He prefers them to stand the brunt of the fray. Ofttimes it is a trying ordeal, for the Academy has seen some "cruel" shows, of which " C. O. D.," "On the Trail," and "Philopene" remain unto this day in their memories. In view of this, Montreal caution is justifiable — even com- mendab'e rilT ;^:,,..-*iird of dramatic performance seems TBSATfifid. w •vT; •J^V' to be the famous "Diplomacy" company of ten years ago. Some members of the cast are still remembered : Henry Beattckrc, . Fred. B. Warde. Julian Beaucierc, . Maurice Barry more. Ba7'on SteiHy . . H. Rees Davies. Count de Carojac, . Signor Majeroni. Dora, Miss Annie Edmondson. Countess Zicka, . . Signora Majeroni. Mr. Barrymore was then an infinitely better actor than he is now, and it is certain that he then wore a hat two sizes smaller. Fred. B. Warde had not been seized with stellar aspira- tions. Mr. H. Rees Davies is now with Roland Reed, and the Majeronis are in Aus- tralia. Of Miss Edmondson, we have lost track. It must, however, be admitted that it was a notable performance. Ten such stock companies are now on the road. The Canadian representative of junior " upper-tendom" does not consume his rival with jealousy by taking his loved one to the theatre and filling her with candy between the acts. Canadian etiquette does not permit the 126 THE THEATRES. former, and Canadian ideas of health and good manners run contrary to the latter action. To the Canadian juvenile "aristocrat," this Amer- icanism seems a relic of barbarism ; so he either goes alone and sits "in the unreserved," or, with a "fellow of his own set," he dons his evening dress and sits solemn and unmoved in the orchestra chairs. There is much to be said in favor of the non- attendance of young people at the theatres. The young man who goes with his fiana^e, — actual or would-be, — and has compelled her to listen to the indecencies of " La Tosca" or " A Wife's Peril," or something equally sultry, is in a position not devoutly to be wished for. There are some first-nighters in Montreal, without whom, it is jestingly said, the Academy would remain unopened. One of these, a prominent politician, portly of form and gray of hair, is known as a devoted ad- mirer of the fair sex, and the sacred lamp of burlesque shines never too brightly for him. From his box, on the left of the stage, his ardent glances fall upon the performers ; but, II THE THEATftES. 127 alas ! the attraction is not mutual, and his at- tentions are seldom rrcinrocated. Another familiar figure on Monday nights is the smooth-faced and slender scion of a leading wealthy French-Canadian family. He has figured more than once hefore the public ; but of late he has withdrawn into temporary, if not enforced ; seclusion. Another regular attendant is one of the sons of a wealthy railroad-speculator. His attire is like unto Jacob's coat, and ev^en Solomon in all his glory was not a circumstance to this local Berry Wall. It is well that his dress is his worst characteristic ; otherwise he is harmless. But the time to see a Montreal audience at its best is during an amateur performance — such as are frequently given in aid of some well- known charity. Here indeed, do youth and beauty meet ; for the dramatic or minstrel talent of Montreal is recruited from its upper ranks, and the entire house is always sold to the friends and acquaintances of the per- formers, and tickets to those outside of the " local 400 " are at a premium. To-night there is an amateur minstrel per- »fifl»»iinpp(*lp 128 TBS TnSATBSd. formance for the benefit of " The Home for Incurable Old Maids," and we are informed that the entire house is sold, and that the merit of the performers and the brilliancy of the audience will mark an event in fashionable Montreal. Our American blood is up. We will see that performance and that audience if we have to bankrupt ourselves to get tickets and leave our trunks " as security " at our hotel. We are saved this sad fate. The "gentle- manly" (always gentlemanly in print) hotel clerk, after superhuman efforts, has got us two. He says that his attempts in our behalf would have done justice to a sporting man on the trail of a prize-fight. We believe him — it is easier than disputing; we dress with extra care, and duly at eight o'clock we present our- selves. The house was not half full yet, and we marvelled greatly thereat. We had not yet learned that in Montreal, as elsewhere, no amateur performance begins at the advertised time. Soon wc hear the rattle of the tambo and THE TllKATRES. 129 bones, and for the first time \vc venture to cast our eyes about us. The house is full Liri we are surrounded by th<3 " youth and beauty " of Montreal. We arc not disappointed. There are pix'tty young girls of from eighteen to twenty two and handsome women of thirty. The men in evening dress are what might be termed " tine young fellows." One thing is especially noticeable — the:"e is an air of distinction about tl;e audience wliich seems to say, " Our refinement and our posi- tion does not date from last generation." The women do not talk loud — that qualii.y of voice so commended by the Sweet Swan of Avon. Their English pronunciation is of the ))est ; and there is no slang, no nasal drawl, no "ain't;" better than all, no blazing of diamonds, so noticeable in the regular anvl parvenu audi- ences of New York. Of this, my American friends shall be duly informed. There is a tinkle ; instantly we settle back in our seats, prepared to be bored and to look happy. There is nothing for the old-timer to object 130 THE THKATRKS. to in the stage setting, revealed as the curtain rolls up. The fifty young men upon the stage are well posed, the end-men look confident, and the scenery and gas-jets fill up a charming pioture. The fun begins. An admirably played over- ture raises in our minds the hope that perhaps the show will not be unendurable, and three times we have caught ourselves laughing at the antics of the young man on the bones end. Then the jokes arc sprung, and we have not rec- ognized a single old friend. We marvel at the easy manner of the-end men and the self- possession of the clear-voiced interlocutor. Once, an end man for an instant only seems shaky, but the interlocutor, with the readiness of a professional, guides him over the rough spot. It is admfrably done, and it passes almost entirely unnoticed. The solos are admirably sung, and the chorus attach with the certainty of veterans. The curtain goes down upon the first part, and we Jonathans are enthusiastic in praise of Mr. Canuck. " Charley," said I, " this show is good enough THE THKATRES. 131 to travel on its own merits, with no charity at- tachment." My friend agreci: with me, and we listen to the favorable comments of the audience around us. The second part is surprisingly good. There is a capital quartette, a banjoist almost up to Billy Carter, and the end-man who was so witty in the first part is screamingly funny in the after-piece. Decidedly, he is an artist. We wait in the lobby as the audience file out. Our good impression is renewed, and we admire the rich, soft furs so much in fashion. The next night we prepare ourselves for a trip to the Theatre Royal, which, we are in- formed, is similar to the Third Avenue Theatre in New York. Its popularity is undoubted ; to that, the en- tering crowds bear witness. With difficulty we squeeze in, and, paying fifty cents apiece, we lord it, over the common herd, in a box seat. " My Partner " is most excellently performed. The man who acts ^oe Saunders is an artist. Gilfeather is his name, if I remember aright, and Miss Mary Brandon is sweet and refined. 132 THE spider's web. In the audience is no silk and satin, but only fustian ; but all seem to be happy and enjoying themselves. Above all, everything is orderly. Again we are favorably impressed. Montreal at present supports but two thea- tres. The Queen's Hall, a fine, roomy, and well- lit hall, has no scenery and is the home of concert proper. Albani, Scalchi, and Cam- panini have sung here. The theatre is only indirectly an educator ; but, if it amuses, its mission is fulfilled. Provided the amusement be pure, education will follow. CHAPTER XI. THE SPIDERS WEB. The passion for gambling seems implanted W'thin the human breast. Ouida, in " Moths," remarks that i: is the passion which outlasts all the others. Nearly every man and woman has at one time or other left the decision of some more or less weighty question to the Blind Goddess. In the dawn of time, had we their '■A ifiiAiai J--. vitruiiiR, •. -aistj-.i 'Tr, while the criminal foi whom he suffers is sleeping at his ease under the same roof as hoiesty and virtue. All unhappy, aii wretched, but some hopeful. A «rgfci filCTe.it. fc Jtf -■ 1.- tm THE STATION-HOUSE. 161 *• Poor children of man, said the pitying spirit, How dearly ye pay for your primal fall !" Surely no one knows it better or feels more keenly this sad truth than he who has seen his fellow-men — brutal and drunken it may be, but still men — driven by stern necessity to the cold and uncharitable walls of " the station." In various cities it is known under different names, and the small wits of the lower classes have outdone themselves in their efforts to ex- tract humor from the subject. But after all, would it not take a Dickens to see the funny side of "the stone jug" — would not Sydney Smith himself forget to joke if "pinched" some night and sent to " the cooler." What impression the first sight of a police station leaves upon its unwelcome and unsatis- fied guest ! Do human hearts beat under those Uniforms ? Does this strange silence which sur- rounds him mean that he is by the world for- got. Are these damp walls weeping for him and for his sad fate ? In sheer despair he remembers that walls have ears, Sind fo them he drones the pitiful Btory ; but they will not hear. Even the echo .:^S MBMUI L 162 THE STATION -HOUSE. of his own voice frightens him, and he sinks in stupor, if not slumber upon the hard floor. Every night in Montreal sees within its sta- tion walls the acts, be they initial or closing, of some sad tragedy. The officers witness such scenes of terror, of shame, and of vice as would melt a heart of stone. It is true that constant repetition has inbred in the police official a cer- tain stolidity : he sees a crime and a criminal — an offence and the offender ; but often he for- gets the sad story back of it all. And yet if he sees only the act and the actor is it not true that the dual life exists which he does not or will not see ? ^las not the criminal before him a sister who will henceforih wilk with lowered head ; a mother whose heart will never seem young again ; a brother whose face will blanch at the disgrace to an honored family? Surely it is so. A visit to any of the smaller police stations in Montreal will not bo devoid of interest. We shall see the drama of humanitv acted as It never was on any stage ; we shall see a piece THE STATION-BOUSE. 1(J» Staged with a realism which defies the skill of an Irving or a Daly. And the actors who will take an unwilling part in this performance — who are they ? They are unknown to fiune ; the world has never seen them before — never perhaps heard of them. They are unheralded with gaudy, posters and fraudulent advance notices, and but a few lines in the next morning's paper will reward their performance. But what perfection of detail, what intensity of purposes, what completeness of effect I Tears and grief such as Haworth never gave ; drunken humor which the genius of a Knight in vain attempts to copy ; tricks of manner, in- flations of voice, to baffle the experience and study of a Coquelin. Ah, my friends, it is here that we remember Hamlet's saying that •' The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king." The conscic^ncc of the subject can be caught by the drama, as seen at the police-station. There are no footlights, no applause, and but few ■f't 164 THE 8TATI0X-H0USB. spectators ; but the performance has a sad per- fectioii, not to be found elsewhere. At this minute in one of the branch police- stations one of these scenes is being enacted We cannot see the entire play — the four acts, the prologue, and the epilogue ; but one scene is offered for our instruction, and we will not refuse to grace the occasion by our presence. The rolling and the rattle of wheels is heard, and a carriage drives up to the door of the station-house, and an officer in uniform alights. There are still two occupants remaining in the cab, and the conversation strikes our ears. '• Let me go, will you ?" "Come out." " Let me go — for God's sake let me go, and I'll never-—" " Come out." " Oh, please let me go. I'll give you ten — twenty — " *' Come, now, or I'll make you." " Hit me, would you ? You won't club me, I tell you. There, take that." - Oh— h !— " 1 The sound of what follows is dreadful. The \ ' ■« '(Jl >* •D i--^ f > I THE STATION-nOUSB. 165 f blows of the policeman's baton are falling upon the head and shoulders of the untamable pris- oner. Then the noise becomes faint, and only a low moaning is heard. From the cab another officer alights. The scene has not occupied ten seconds, yet it seemed an age. Two strong policemen issue from the station-house and assist their com- panions to carry the senseless man into the cell. As he is borne within, a stream of blood trickles down from his nerveless hands and leaves a crimson trail. What is his story ? What are the first acts of this sad drama ? This man is no common criminal ; he has a wife and family, money and position, and his present plight will cause his social ruin. He has been found beating a low woman half to death in a common brothel. His shameful passions are costing him dear. But stay! a noise is heard without, and seven young men like Eugene Aram " with gyves upon their wrists." Some with shamefaced air hide themselves behind their companions in misfortune, and look as if a second fate o< 166 THE STATION-HaUSB. Sodom and Gomorrah would be welcomed by them to Montreal. Others put on a bold front ; they laugh and jest in a feeble way, but their laughter has a hollow sound like clods of earth falling upon a coffin. These low classes have not yet served their apprenticeship in wrong- doing, and at this hrst glimpse of justice they falter and tremble. ' mi Not so with some of the others. They have been there before — many a time : they know the penalty and are prepared. They are not common loafers, arrested in some low East End dive and awaiting confine- ment and sentence as " habitual frequenters of the same." Their entire appearance, even with their present surroundings, speaks the gentle- men. This same night they have been strolling through the unclassic regions alnjut St. Law- rence and St. Catherine Street, East. Secure in their numbers, they had made more noise and created a greater ( isturbance than even the St. Lawience Street policemen would allow, and after a short chase they reposed safe in the arms of the posse parading that district. .Si^HadiMSSS^: TBB STATIOK-HorSH* 167 To-morrow morning they will appear before the Magistrate or the Recorder, be accused of creating a disturbance on the public streets, and fined. In triumph they will return and tell their adventures to their own select set. But some of them as yet do not see the bright side of the case. They are thinking of the long night in the cold, dark cell, the hard floor, the bread and water, and, worst of all, the publicity next morning. A shuffle of feet at the doorway attracts attention. A female voice, harsh and unmusi- cal, grates upon the hearing. " I won't go it." More scuffling, a few choice expressions, and a woman, half carried, half dragged in by two constables, comes into view. She is not altogether ill-looking, but there is a brazen stare and an evil look in her eyes which spoils what might otherwise be a pretty face. " Please, mister, do let me go. I tell you how it was. You see it was just this way: I wanted to know how far it was to Johnny Kegan's saloon, so I went up to a nice, kind I. 168 THE STATION- HOCrSB. gentleman and asked him, and the cop came up and pinched me for street-walking." All this is rattled off with a volubility sim- ply amazing ; but the officer in charge is un- impressionable. There is a sort of "old offender" air about the woman which [makes him suspicious. He asks : "Well, and what business had you at Johnny Kegan's saloon at such an hour ?" The assertion misses lire. Either the woman is prepared or she is ready-witted. " Well, you see, mister, the young man as keeps company with me he sometimes goes up there of an evening, and then, your honor — " •* There, there, that last expression makes me suspicious. You can use it to the Recorder in the morning. Some one down there may recognize you." And she also disappears in the depths of dark- ness in the rear. A frightful din assails our ears. It is mon- strous. Over all the noise of sculfling feet, of something being carried along and dropped every yard or two. Once in a while oaths and cursing. I THB STAT10N-HOUSB. 169 Two men, each with a policeman on either side, stagger into the room. Of their condition there is no chance to doubt. They arc drunk on vile whisky, and dangerous at that. An in- describable odor permeates the room into which they enter. It is more nauseous than the exhalations of a corpse. The livid skin and starting eyes, the trem- bling hands and quaking knees, all tell their tale. They are upon the verge of delirium tremens, and ere long the snakes and the blue monkevs will trail over them. One glance at them, and their historv is read. They are of that numerous class who cumber the earth — too lazy to work, too cowardly to steal ; living in foul dens and reeking brothels, and issuing like bats only in the night-time. They have been born vicious, and their early training has not been of the kind to set their feet aright. In face of these criminals, society to-day is powerless. True, it imprisons them, and they are lost to sight and out of harm's way, but they are a burden upon the tax-payers. If they are sent down to do a term, ten others are born to 170 TBS 8TATI0N-H0USS. take their place — born in ignorance, dirt, and the vilest immorality, with no steady means of support, but their wits and their dishonesty. They are the creatures born of crowded tene- ments and hideous and unnatural social condi- tions. The next customer walks in with the ease and grace of a dancing-master. He needed no club to persuade him that the way to the sta- tion-house was the same in which the police- man was directing him. His clothes were neat and quiet, and his general appearance was pre- possessing. Thev; had been a fire that night, and he was caught red-handed with his hand in a gentleman's pocket. Upon the man's face the disciple of Lavater might dwell awhile. There was no look of dissipation, no red eyelids, no unkempt hair ; the man w is neatness personified ; but a nerv- * ous movement of his hands and a restless, hunted look in his eyes spoke against him. He was in all probability one of those whose hand is against every man, and every man's hand against him. Once only he started, when a prominent city r THE STATI0N-U0U8G. 171 detective came into the station just as he was being put into a cab to he driven to Police Headquarteas. But the scrutiny did not re- sult in anything satisfactory to the official. He shook his head slightly and turned away. A gleam of satisfaction shone for an instant in the eves of the handcuffed man, and his lips moved. Even a sigh seemed to escape him. One would have sworn that he had said to himself, '"That was a close shave." But he lias smiled too early. Next morn- ing we read that one of the smoothest and most dangerous crooks in America has been captured and that for a while he will he lost to sigh in the quiet of St. V^incent de Paul. We have seen some of the pluy and a few of its actors, and we can meditate. Right m Montreal is sin and sorrow, pover- ty and crime. The vile purlieus of London or the slums of New York it cannot reproduce in quantity. There is not as much vice, for there is not as much room for it: but vice is vice in Montreal, as in New York ur London. Montreal has no seven-story ruokerics which raise their hideous heads to heaven from Mul- 173 TBX STATION- UOUSB. berry and Baxter streets ; but poverty is cos- mopolitan, and it is just as grinding in the low cellars and dirty tenements of the Faubourg de Quebec. For these unfortunates organized chanty and education are necessary and claim immediate attention. Who will begin this Augean task ? If we have directed the notice, intelligent and charitable, of one man to the faults of his native city, and to the ulcers upon her surface, and underneath, this book has not been written in vain. We av^ait the result with anxiety not un- mixed with hope. THE END.