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GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY

XHI

. • . OF* CANADA, • • •
ST. CLAIR XUIMNEL ROUXI

C«eneral Offices, Montreal, Canada.

LomloH Office, JMinhii-ood Jloitui', It Xeir lifoud Strvrt, JmuiIou, KnyluixJ.

• o

ICERS.

^Ir HENRY W. TYLER, President, London, England.

L. J. SEARGEANT, General Managfer.
W. WAIMWRIGHT, Ass't Gen'l Manager.
C. PERCY, Assistant to Gen'l Manager.
H, J. POWER, General Passenger Agent.
G. T. BELL, Assistant Gen. Pass. Agent.
J. BURTON, General Freight Agent.
J. J. CtlWNIHGHAM, Ass't Gen'l Freight Agt.
H. WALLIS, Mechanical Sopt.

ROBERT WRIGHT, Treasurer.
H. W. WALKER, Accountant.
J. FRED WALKER, Traffic Auditor.
W. H. ROSEVEAR, Car Accountant.
J. BROUGHTON, Freight Claim Agent.
H. K. RITCHIE, Stationery Agent.
JOHN TAYLOR, General Storekeeper.
S. SYMONS, General Baggage Agent.

OFFICES : MONTREAL, P. Q.

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E. P. HANNAFORD, Chief Engineer ( except G. W. and N. & N. W. Div. ) Montreal, P. Q.

JOSEPH HOBSON, Chief Engineer i G. W. and N. & N. W. Div. i HamUton, Ont.

JOHN EARLS, Western District Freight Agent Hamilton, Ont.

ARTHUR WHITE, Central District Freight Agent Toronto, Ont.

R. QUINN, European Traffic Agent Liverpool, Eng.

A. H. HARRIS, Eastern District Freight Agent Montreal, P. Q.

AGEIIMOt

IXC.

P. DWYER, Eastern Pass. Agent C. & G. T. Ry, 271 Broadway Hew York, N. Y.

A. HOWE, General Agent i Freight > , Room 57, Home Insurance Building Chicago, lU .

S. WAGSTAFF, Michigan and South Western Passenger Agent, comer

Jefferson nnd Woodward Avenues Detroit, Mich.

J. GRACE, New England Passenger Agent, 260 Washington St Boston, Mass.

H. PETERS, Freight Agent, 260 Waslilngton St Boston, Mass.

B. OSWELL, Central Passenger Agent, 62< j Ford St Ogdensbnrg, If. Y.

T. D. SHERIDAN, Northern Passenger Agent, 177 Washington St Buffalo, N. Y.

R. F. ARMSTRONG, General Agent Maritime Provinces Ji^ Hollis St Halifax, N. S.

M. C. DICKSON, District Passenger Agent, Union Station Toronto, Ont.

R. QUINN, European Traffic Agent, 25 Water St Liverpool, Eng.

D. 0. ?EASE, District Passenger Agent, Bonaventure S Ratios Montreal, P. Q.

J. QUINLAN, Traveling Passenger Agent, Bonaventure Sti.tio". Montreal, P. Q.

Mrs. L. BARBER, Ticket Agent, ^ International Block Niagara Falls, N. Y.

D. ISAACS, Ticket Agent iProspec, House i Niagara Falls, N. Y.

G. M. COLBURN, Ticket Agent (Clifton House) Niagara Falls, Ont.

E. DELAHOOKE, City Ticket Agent, 3 Masonic Temple. . . .' London, Ont.

G. E. MORGAN, City Ticket Agent, II James St. North Hamilton, Ont.

P. J. SLATTER, City and District Passenger Agent, 20 York St., and comer

King and Yonge Streets Toronto, Oni.

T. HAIfLEY, City Ticket Agent Kingston, Ont.

W. D. O'BRIEN, City Ticket Agent, 143 St. James Street Montreal, P. Q.

A. H. TAYLOR, City Passenger and Freight Agent, RusseU House Block Ottawa, Ont.

T. D. SHIPMAN, City Ticket Agt, oppos. S^ Louis Hotel and 17 Sous-le-Fort St., Quebec, P. Q.

L. GLEN, City Ticket Agent, 175 St. Vincent Street Glasgow, Scot.

H. C. FLOCKTON, City Ticket Agent, 36 and 37 Leadenhall Street London, Eng.

T. F. WAINWRIGHT, City Ticket Agent, 2 PaU MaU Manchester, Eng.

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THOMAS JV. DOUTiNEV:

HIS LIFE-STEUGGLK AND TKK MPHS

AI.HO

n mvib ipcn^ipicture of Bew iporft,

TouEirfEH wmr

A HISTOEY OF THE WOPv mt- i, . „

^Jr,J^ "^ ^'^ ACCOMrLISHED AS

TEMPERANCE KEFORMER.

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

Profiwclg f Iiu8tratc&.

BATTLE CREEK, MICH •

WM. O. GAGS & SON8,PBINTBB8 ANPHINDBBS.

1893.

Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1898,
By THOMAS N. DOUTNEY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

Seventh Edition, March, 1898.

THE BEST PART OP MY LIFE,

Mu miu,

THIJ STORY OF MY "LIFE"
IS TENDERLY DEDICATED
BV THE MAi: 8HK HAS BLEH8ED FOR LIFB.
HER HUSBAND.

j^i!

blKAMER OK K. & O. NAVIGATION CO., RUNNING THE LACMINE RAl'IDS.

Near Montreal,

INTRODUCTION.

Whoever wishes to know the life that is lived in New York and
the other large cities of America, by thousands upon thousands of
human beings, let him read this book.

Whoever wishes to peruse the simple, truthful narrative of the
sms, suflferings, struggles, yet, by the grace of God, the ultimate
reformation and triumph, of an average human being, — such as
Thomas N. Doutney, — let him read this book.

Whoever wishes to learn the history of temperance work in this
country, let him read this book.

And whoever sincerely desires to know the true nature of the
demon Alcohol, and the real character of that hell. Intemperance,
— from which only the blessing of God on his own exertions can
rescue the rum-drinker and the rum-seller, — let him read this book.

:l i

CONTENTS.

I I r

CHAPTER I.

My Birthplace and my Parentage. — My Fatlier's Career. — My Mother
and my Family. — "Just as I am" 1

CHAPTER il.

Early Impressions. — Music and Flowers. — The Joys of Summer and of
a Canadian Winter. — Myself, my Schooldays, and "Home, Gweet
Home." — The Beginning of Sorrows. — The Downward Path. — My
First "Drink." — One Point in which "The Lower Animals" set
an Example to Man. — Two True Stories with a Moral ... 7

CHAPTER m.

A Boy Drunkard. — Two Weeks in a Bar-room as Ainateur Bar-tender. —
A Love-story with a Doubly Disastrous Termination. — The Depths
of Youthful Degradation 17

CHAPTER IV.

A Bad Boy's Dream. — A Drunkard's Nightmare, — " Bar-room Friend-
ships," their Worth and Worthlessness. — A Youthful Sinner and his
Sorrows. — How a Boy Drunkai'd was saved 24

CHAPTER V.

The Turning of the Tide. — The Trip to " The Hub." — " Dime Novel "-
ism. — The Two Bold Boston Buccaneers, and what became of them.

— The Boy is the Father of the Man U

CHAPTER VI.

My Collegiate Career. — Does a " College Education " educate ? — A Lady
Graduate. — A Typical Irishman. — A Question of Ice-cream and
Influence. —The Hash-hater, and why he hated it . . . . 60

CHAPTER VII.

I commence my Mercantile Career. — Modern Trade as it really is. — Its
"Seamy" and its "Starry" Sides. — Model Firms and Millionnaires.

— Centennial Excursions. — A New View of A. T. Stewart. — Jordan,
Marsh, & Co 68

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VIII.

PAO>

How I fell from Grace, and lost my Place. — Railroad Life. — On to New
York 82

CHAPTER IX.

New York in General. — Who come to New York, and what becomes of
them. — William E. Dodge, and James Fisk, juu. — Which of the Two
Men will you imitate ? 88

CHAPTER X.

Life in New York, Sensational and Realistic. — The Population of the
Great Metropolis, and its Characteristic Features. — German, Irish,
and American New York. — Fifth Avenue, Broadway, and the Bowery,

CHAPTER XI.

A Pen-panorama of New York. — The Poor of the Great Metropolis. — '
Castle Garden and the Emigrants. — "Les Mis^rables." — "Old
Mother Hurley's." — The Black Hen's. —The Black Hole of Cherry
Street. — The Mysteries of Donovan's Lane. — Tenement-house Life
and "Rotten Row. "—The Summer Poor 101

CHAPTER XII.

The Pen-panorama of New York {continued). — Crime and Criminals.—
The Male and Female Thieves of the Metropolis. — Meeting Mur-
derers on Broadway. — The Social Evil. — Gambling, Square and
Skin. —The Gambler's Christmas Eve 120

CHAPTER XIII.

The Pen-panorama of New York {continued). — The Metropolitan Police
as they are. — The Detectives. — Thief -takers in Petticoats. — How
Capt. John S. Young caught a Thief by Instinct. — The Tombs
Prison, and " Murderer's Row " ..;...... 149

CHAPTER XIV.

A Sunday in New York. — Religions and Irreligious Gotham. — The Big
Funerals of New York. — Sunday Evenings in the Great Metropolis.
— The History of One Memorable Sabbath Day 169

CHAPTER XV.

The Wealth of the Great Metropolis. — Trade, Speculation, Wall Street,
and the Professions. — The Adventures of Two Brothers who tried to
succeed in New York by being Honest. — "Fashionable Society,"
and what it amounts to. — The Bright Side of New York. — New
York, after all, the Best as well as Greatest City . . . ...

178

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XVT.

PAOK

Seeking and Plu^.Ing Employment. — New York at Night. — " The Sleep-
less City. "—The Demon Rum 203

CHAPTER XVII.

Drifting and Shifting. — A Memorable Sunday. —My Adventures in Cin-
cinnati. — Life on the River-steamboats. — Its Tragedy and Comedy
illustrated. — Steamboat Races, Fires, and Explosions. -River-gani-
blerj. — Mock Courts and a Bk'ssed Practical Joke. — My Curse con-
quers me again

200

CHAPTER XVIII.

Life in St. Louis. — One of the Minor Disadvantages of Drinking. — The
Smell of Liquor. — Serio-comic Illustrations and Anecdotes. — "A
Hotel Runner." — How an Irishman outbawled me, and how I out-
generalled him. — "A Railroad-man" once more. — My F.ather'8
Grave 22.'i

CHAPTER XIX.

My Newspaper-life in New York. — Authors, Critics, Writers, and Jour-
nalists as Drinking-men. — IIow Horace Greeley began a Dinner-
speech. — Smart Men who put an Enemy into their Mouths to steal
away their Brains. — Alcoholic Stimulants a Curse to Talent. — Fast
Balls, and their Surroundings. — Business and Drink. — A Blessing
that proved a Bane 2.S:^>

CHAPTER XX.

A Silly and Sinful Vow realized. — I become a Rum-seller. — " The Mer-
chants' Union Cigar-store and Sample-room." — I dispense Poison to
Men and Boys. — Selling Liquor to Minors. — " Pool for Drinks "

252

CHAPTER XXI.

Selling Liquor to Women. — Feminine Intemperance. — The Growing
Fondness for Strong Drink among Females. — The Temptations of
Women to Intemperance. — Public and Private Balls and Parties.—
The Supper after the Theatre, the Fashionable Restaurant, the Excur-
sion, etc. — The Abuses of Drug-stores exposed. — The Threefold
Horror of Intemperance in Women « • 861

CHAPTER XXII.

A Rum-seller's Responsibility. — What I did, and what I have ever since
been sorry for having done. — " A Drunkard's Bible " . . . .276

xii

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXIII.

PASB

Further Details of my Iniquities as a Rum-seller. — " Free Lunches " de-
nounced and exposed. — Tlie "Cordial" Humbug. — The Decoy-
bottle. —The Story of a Del)auch. — " The New- York House," —
Rum and Ruin. — The Fate of Rum-sellers 290

CHAPTER XXIV.

A Broken Promise ami a Broken-hearted Brother. — Liquor brings its
Revenge. — The Horrors of Mania it Potu, or Delirium Tremens. —
Some Curious and Startling Facts. — How I felt and what I suffered,
— My Adventures and Follies. — I became "a Tramp." — Station-
house Lodgers and Revolvers 301

CHAPTER XXV.

"On the Island." — The Penitentiary, — The Almshouse and the House
of Refuge, — "Rum does it." — Lights and Shades of the Lunatic
Asylum, — "Island" Notorieties, — A Vain Attempt to cure the
Drinking-habit, — New York and Rum once more .... 81d

CHAPTER XXVI,

Drunkards and Drinking in New York. —The City of Saloons. — The
Glory and the Shame of the Metropolis, — Palatial hum-parlors, Cosey
Bar-rooms, and Corner Groceries 332

CHAPTER XXVn.

The Haunts of the Rum-demon. — The Concert-saloons of New York.
— The Dance-houses. — How a New- York Journalist saved a Gennan
Girl. — The Efforts which have been made by Temperance and Reli-
gion to coml)at Intemperance and Vice. — The Wickedest Man in New
York, and Kit Burns. — " Awful " Gardner and Jerry McAuley . . 338

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The Rum-dens of New York To-day. — Harry Hill and "Harry Hill's.—
The Truth about the Man and his Place. — The "Mabille" and
McGlory's Den. — " The Haymarket " and " The Dives," — The Real
Trouble with the Temperance Movement S&8

CHAPTER XXIX,

Still Another Opportunity Won and Lost. —The Young Men's Christian
Association. — Its History and Good Work. — I am seized with an
Idea. —And I prepare to carry it out

385

CONTENTS.

• ••

CHAPTER XXX.

The Stage in Its Relation to tlie Bottle. — The "Stars " and Drunkards of
the Past. — Estimable Men and Women who have been mastered by
Bad Habits. — And Estimable Men and Women who Imve resisted
these Bad Habits. — The Three Booths. —New Light on the Assassi-
nation of Abraham Lincoln. — The Drama and the Dram .

PAOB

377

CHAPTER XXXL

My First Lecture, — " Great Expectations." —A Bitter Disappointment.

— What I saw and what I did not see on Tremont Street. — Two In-
telligent and Well-dressed Htrangera, and what they wanted with me.

— A Lecture under Difficulties. — A Temperance Lecturer Falien . 38;i

CHAPTER XXXn.

Tlie Darlcest Hour is just before the Dawn." — My Lowest Point, —
Mania ft Potii in its most Fearful Form. — My Experience as a Cavalry
Recruit. —Army Life. — My First Prayer. —My Reformation .

392

CHAPTER XXXin.

A Converted Man's Trials, — Fear as an Encouraging Sign. — Yes and
No, or a Scene at Midnight. —Tlie Lightning-rod Man. — The Life-
insurance Agent. — The "Drummer" and his " Samples," — Book-
canvassing, — A True Friend and Second Father 403

CHAPTER XXXIV,

I Join the Temperance Bands. — Remarks as to the Great Usefulness of
"Temperance Societies." — I lecture under Favorable Auspices. —
My Triumph and my Troubles. — My Book and my Printers. — I lec-
ture in Washington. — Temperance and Intemperance among our
Public Men. — Sumner and Wilson compared with Saulsbury and
McDougail

417

CHAPTER XXXV.

My Second Lecture In the Tremont Temple. —I vindicate my Cause, and
redeem my Failure. — I lecture at Steinway Hall, New York. —And
I peddle my own Tickets for my Lecture. — Extracts from my First
Book and my Earlier Lectures. — Words of Advice, Warning, and
Consolation 4.32

CHAPTER XXXVL

My Leciure-tour through the Pine-tree State. —The First Temperance

Camp-meeting. — "A Happy Thought " happily carried out. — Prohi-

hition in Theory and Practice. — How I crossed the Kennebec

through the Ice. — A Seventy-mile Sleigh-ride to Augusta. — Two

. Exciting Episodes . . . . . .. . . . . . 446

xiv

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

pAsa

The Women's Cnisade. — Its Effects in Bangor, Me., and Elsewhere. —
The Origin iinil Progress of the Good Work. — Scenes and Incidents.
— The Ciirecr of the Crusaders in Clncinnuli, Chicago, and New
York 4(W

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Temperance Work. — Its History and Progress. — The Methods and'
Achievements of my Predecessors and Colleagues in the Good Cause.
— The Ut'v. Drs. Lyman Beecher and Theodore L. Cuyler. — The
Washinglonians. — John B. Gough. — Father Mathew and Francis
Murphy, etc 479

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A Tribute of Gratitude. — In Memoriam of those who have befriended
me. — A Long List of Good Men and Women

487

CHAPTER XL.

My Best Friend. — How I wooed and won my Wife. — I obey an Irre-
sistible Impnlse, and meet my Fate. — A Short, Sweet Love-story. — I
link my Life with a Good Woman

CHAPTER XLI.

My Professional Temperance Work.*— Its General Aspects. — Its Details
and Narrative. — My Success at Watertown, N.Y. — My Struggles and
Triumphs at St. Paul, Minn. — My Campaign along the Hudsoii,
Newburg, Yonkers, Nyack, etc. — " The Temperance-tent " at
Rochester. — The Good Cause in New Jersey. — Temperance Matinies
at Albany. — Blue Ribbons and Practical Philanthropy. — Enthusiasm
at Saratoga. — South and West. — Richmond, Va., and Richmond,
Ind

CHAPTER XLII.

My Wanderings, and Warfare with the Demon Alcohol. — North, South,
East, and West. — In Villages and In Cities. — My Visit to Brooklyn.
— My Adventures in Providence. — "Was I not Right ?"— Scenes,
Incidents, and Episodes. — Some J.isunderstandlngs. — A Summary
of my Work. —The Brute of a Rum-seller. — The Cripple and her
Mother. —A Baby as the best Temperance Lecturer of them all

CHAPTER XLIII.

500

620

The Temperance Campaign in New York. — How the Metropolis Forgives.
— Some Striking Illustrations. — Why not Woman as well as Man ? —
The Masonic Temple, the Church, and the Indian Wigwam. — Dan
Rice, Happy Jack Smith, and Pop Whittaker. —The Search for John
▲. Tobin. — The New-York Press and People . . . . ..68S

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RAPIDS OF THE MAGOG, AT SHERBROOKE, QUE.

Oil the Lino of the (ir;uul Trunk UalKvay.

LIFE-STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPHS

— OF-

THOMAS N. DOUTNEY.

CHAPTER I.

MY BIBTHPLACB AND MY PARENTAGE. — MY FATHER'S CAREER.
MOTHER AND MY FAMILY. — " JUST AS I AM."

■MT

There is a certain good or ill fortune, as the case may be,
that is derived by each one of us, not only from the circum-
stances connected with our birth, but from our birthplace. To
my mind, it is a positive misfortune to be born amid local sur-
roundings that have no beauty ; while it is a direct happiness
in itself to be ushered into existence, and to grow up, amid
beautiful scenery, amid delightful valleys, or vast green woods,
cr beneath the grand mountains, or beside the yet grander sea.

I therefore really feel grateful that I was born in one of the
finest portions of Canada, on the right-hand bank of that mighty
river, the St. Lawrence, which is year by year growing in the
esteem of tourists* and which, though not so vast as the Mis-
sissippi, nor so romantically beautiful as the Hudson, still pos-
sesses characteristic attractions of its own which will always
render it an object of deserved admiration and interest.

I was born in the village o^ Laprairie, in Canada East, nearly
opposite Montreal, to which city my parents removed shortly
after my birth. Now, there are few cities which, in point of
picturesque beauty, surpass Montreal. With its houses built
of the gray limestone from the adjacent qutoies, with its

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2 MONTREAL AND ITS CATHEDRAL.

numerous tall spires, its many glittering roofs and domes, with
its scores of beautiful villas studding its lofty background, the
city presents as charming a panorama as is to be seen on
the entire continent.

It was in this beautiful city that my early youth was passed,
and my first, and therefore most indelible, impressions of life
were formed. My father's home was in the immediate vicinity
of the great Roman-Catholic cathedral, confessedly the largest
and finest cathedral in America, surmounted by a tower, the
view from which almost defies description. It may seem a
little thing, this Irving near so grand and beautiful a building
as this cathedral ; but in reality, in its imperceptible but all-
pervading effect upon the heart and mind of the constant bo-
holder, it was a very important thing indeed. It became, as
it were, part and parcel, and a very important portion, of my
daily life. It was the first object I saw from my room-window
in the morning, the last object I saw from my window at night
ere I went to bed. It was with me in its might and beauty all
the time. It stole into my soul unawares. Its quiet might
and majesty were deeply impressed upon me, — far more deeply
than I at the time myself imagined. In fact, boylike, I thought
nothing about it, I suppose ; but, notwithstanding my careless-
ness of the effect, the effect was there, and has remained there
ever since. In all ny wanderings and adventures, in my
darkest hours as in my brightest, the grand yet beautiful pro-
portions and outlines of that cathedral have been carried with
me in my mind's eye, proving once more the positive truth of
those oft-quoted words, " A thing of beauty is a joy forever."

My father's name was Thomas L. Doutney, and he was both
a gentleman and a scholar. He came of a good old family;
and he had been educated at La Salle University, in the famed
old city of Quebec, the most celebrated and the most pictur-
esque of American cities.

" It was the first object I saw from my window in tlic morning" [p. 2].

THE OLD TOWN OF QUEBEC.

Just as my heart has ever fondly turned to Montreal; so
my father's heart always tenderly turned, in memory, to Que-
bec. My father was never wearied of telling me about the
dear, quaint old city of his college days. He would graph-
ically describe the fine Upper Town, the semi-aristocratic, semi-
religious city which stretched within the walls, devoted part
to dwellings, and part to religious edifices, — a city which, even
in this nineteenth century, when the days of chivalry are re-
called only in the novels of James or Scott, still resembles a
mediaeval town, such as the Crusaders might have lived in.

Having been educated in Quebec, mj' father settled in Mon-
treal, and, on attaining the age of twenty-one, became the
editor and proprietor of a journal — a daily journal — entitled
"L'Aurore des Canadas." My father had always evinced an
inclination towards political literature and press-writing, and
had taken the trouble (in which respect he differed for the
better from most press-writers) to familiarize himself thoroughly
with all the practical departments connected with a newspaper.
He had literally served " an apprenticeship " to " the newspaper
business," and understood all the duties concerned therein,
from printer's devil to managing editor and proprietor. He
began at the very bottom of the ladder, and by his tact, ability,
industry, and character worked his way to the top ; and, had
the administration to whose cause he devoted his talents and
his paper remained in power, he would have become himself a
power in the province. But the usual ministerial crisis came
(it comes in Canada just as inevitably as it comes in the
mother country) ; and, the ministry resigning, my father's
paper's fate was sealed. Like the sensible and dignified dog
in the story, who, when he saw preparations made to kick him
out of the window, walked down stairs ; my father, seeing that
all the patronage would be withdrawn from his paper, did not
wait to postpone the evil day, but suspended publication at

1 i

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♦

4 ifT FATHER.

once. It was his wisest course ; for, being now relieved from
the necessity of supporting what could only be a burden and a
failure, he was now free to take advantage of any outside
opportunities which might arise. And they soon arose. Aware
of my father's practical newspaper training, as well as news-
paper abilities, various publishers made him offers of employ-
ment in responsible though not very lucrative capacities ; and
at different times he became connected with three of the
prominent journals of Canada, — "La Pays," "La Minerve,"
and "The Montreal Gazette."

I may here remark, that, while on the staff of " The Montreal
Gazette," my father visited the United States, and received
marked attention in several of the leading cities of the Union.
Carrying with him letters of indorsement from his Honor
Charles Rodier, Esq., mayor of Montreal in 1868, he was-
received with the utmost courtesy by Hon. Daniel F. Tieman,
mayor of New York, and other political magnates of the
metropolis. Making a somewhat extended stay in New York,,
he connected himself with the business department of "The
Army and Navy Journal " of New York, and wrote for several
metropolitan journals. He afterwards located himself in Boston,
becoming connected with one of the leading papers there, —
"The Boston Post." But in the prime of life, at forty-five
years of age, and in the midst of his useful career, he died
suddenly, having experienced more than the usual vicissitudes-
of a newspaper career, and never having had an opportunity
to do full justice to his abilities.

In this latter respect he was like thousands of other men ;
but as a loving father, ever struggling for the best interests and
advancement of his children, and truly devoted to his family,
he has had few equals and no superiors, so far as my knowl-
edge and observation of life extends. His pride and delight
were in us his children. Tears fill my eyes now when I think oi

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GRAND ALLEE AND ST. LOUIS GATE, QUEBEC, P. O.

Oil lliu I.iiic ut'lhc CiiiUiil Trunk Kailuay.

FABRIQUE STREET, LOOKING TOWARD BEAUPORT, QUEBEC, P. O.

Un the Line of the CraiiJ Tr"nk Kailway.

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thi the l.iiKj uf the (Jraiid i'riink Railway.

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THE CITADEL AND GLACIS, QUEBEC, P. Q.

Ou the Uiie of the Grand Trunk Railway*.

Mr MOTHER AND MT FAMILY. 6

my dear departed father. He was much attached to a brother,
who is still living, then doing business in Montreal as a whole-
sale merchant, highly respected, — William L. Doutney. He
had also a favorite sister, who resides in Montreal: but his
chief affection and pride were centred in his children ; and for
their sakes he toiled and struggled, for their advancement he
planned and labored, with a self-denial worthy of all praise, and
(what is more than any praise) worthy of all the love that can
be given to — alas I all that remains of him now — his memory.

My mot. er — God bless her — was, like my father, a Cana-
dian by birth and education. Her maiden name was Jane Smith,
and she was in all respects a lovely woman. I can see now, as
I write these lines, that I was more favored than I at the time
appreciated in my parents. They loved each other, and they
loved their children, — simple facts, which cannot be truthfully
recorded of all parents nowadays.

I had six brothers and two sisters ; and, take us for all in all,
we were a happy family. Three brothers and one sister have
since died, and the survivors are scattered ; but still my thoughts
often revert to the pleasant time when we were all alive and all
together. I do not at all agree with the poet who says, —

" Sorrow's crown of sorrow

Is remembering happier things."

On the contrary, I have cause to believe that the " pleasures
of memory " are very real, and that their essential part is this
very remembrance of " once happy days," even though, as the
old song has it, they may " be gone now forever." And in my
own case I can testify, that, to this hour, the recollection of
some quiet, domestic evening in our humble but comfortable
home in Montreal, under the wing, as it were, of the grand
cathedral, with my father and mother and brothers and sisters,
all gathered lovingly and harmoniously together, affects me like

3iY JiROTUERS AND SISTER.

the strain of once-familiur music, and thrills me with a sensii-
tion of pleasure which more than neutralizes the pathos insepa-
rable from my recollections.

Perhaps I have special reason for fondly remembering my
brothers and sisters, for they have been specially kind and
loving to me in the various crises of my wandering life. My
brothers, William B., Joseph F., and George P., Doutney, and
my sister, Sarah Jane Doutney, have ever evinced a practical
solicitude for my welfare. They were all loving brothers and
a kind sister to me in my darkest hours of misfortune ; and,
although unworthy of such exalted love by pursuing the course
I did, they never forsook me, but plead with me earnestly to
amend my ways : and by the grace of God, and such constant
intercessions to the throne of grace, I believe I stand where I
do to-day, on praying-ground. God was truly kind in giving
me such good parents and such loving brothers and sisters ; and
how can I repay them ? Let it be my constant endeavor to be
worthy of such devotion, and prove to them I api not unmind-
ful of their attentions ; and may I keep steadfast to the end !
By so doing I shall make atonement for past errors and follies,
and I know that their hearts will be gladdened at the joyful
news. They all occupy good and responsible positions in the
city of New York ; and I mention their names and these facts
so minutely, in relation to ny connections, to show my sincerity
in this narrative. The vholo truth shall be told in a plain and
simple way ; and though some parts may be bitter to divulge,
yet it must be set down just as I am, — or, rather, just as I have
been, — and the reader will see that none can be so hardened
and lost to shame but that they may return to the paths of
virtue and rectitude. And, in the pages to come, I wish to give
all the glory to the Lord Jesus Christ who has saved me ; for
without him I am weaker than a bruised reed, and in him alnne
is my trust.

CHAPTER II.

BABLT IMPRESSIONS. — UUSIO AND FLOWERS. — THE JOYS OP BUMMER AND
OF A CANADIAN WINTER. — MT8ELF, MT SCHOOLDAYS, AND "HOME,
SWEET HOME."— THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS. — THE DOWNWARD PATH.
— MY FIRST "DRINK." — ONE POINT IN WHICH "THE LOWER ANIMALS"
BET AN EXAMPLE TO MAN. — TWO TRUE STORIES WITH A MORAL.

I WAS sent to school at an early age, and was considered an
apt scholar. I possessed a fair memory, and, if I once read a
book carefully, could always remember its main points. But,
although I do not think it advisable in this work to discuss the"
" vexed questions " appertaining to the system of modern edu-
cation, I must say that my experience and observation have
convinced me that too much stress is laid in our schools upon
the exercise of mere memory. And I must insist, that the mere
accumulation of facts, mere " cramming," is not education in
the true sense of the term. A so-called " smart " child, who
can repeat by rote, or, as it is miscalled, " by heart," or without
book, the contents of a text-book, may yet be, to all intents and
purposes, a fool, and be utterly ignorant of the meaning of the
great truths which the mere words (which he or she, parrot-like,
repeats) only imperfectly symbolize and convey. Instances are
numerous in which the dunces of schools have become the
great men and women of the world, while the examples are
equally plentiful of the " crack scholar " of a class never being
heard of after he or she left school.

Experience and observation have also convinced me, that c'lil-
dren at schools are often overworked, with the best intentions

>lff^

MT LOVE OF MUSIC.

t I

generally, alike on the part of parents and teachers, but on a
mistaken notion that the more facts a child can repeat the more
information that child is likely to retain, — an idea that is wholly
unfounded. An overloaded mind, like an overloaded stomach,
leads, not to health, but indigeetion. Still, as a mere matter of
fact, I must here record, that, judged by the ordinary standard,
I was "a good scholar," a child who always "knew his les-
sons."

I was an impressionable child, too, rather imaginative, while
at the same time of a social temperament, — a dangerous combi-
nation of qualities, as I have since found it. I was passionately
fond of music, and on Sundays would revel in the sublime
melody afforded at the grand cathedral.

While the notes of the organ pealed through the majestic
temple, I would feel that ecstatic thrill which perhaps, of all hu-
man sensations, approaches nearest to the bliss of heaven. And
I am sure that the religious element in my nature was deep-
ened, not deteriorated or lessened, by the glorious music with
which it was thus associated.

Music and religion should be like man and wife, never sepa-
rated. It is to the practical application of this truth that the
Roman Catholic and the Protestant Episcopal churches owe
much of their success.

Father Cummings, who was, when living, the favorite pastor
of St. Stephen's Roman-Catholic Church in New- York City, —
a church so crowded twice every Sunday as to force the sexton
often to close the church-doors upon late comers, — once re-
marked in his pleasant, shrewd way, " I trust to ray organist
and my choir to bring the people in : the church and I will
attend to them after they are once brought in."

And it is recorded of a venerable bishop of the Episcopal
Church, who was " as wise as a serpent, though harmless as a
dove," that, when a pious old lady once remarked, holding up

I I

SUMMER AND WINTER.

iicr Lands in hon-or, that she had heard the organist play, upon
his sacred insti-ument, a selection from what she was told was
the opera, — or, as she phrased it, "the Devil's music," — mildly
yet forcibly replied by asking the old lady the unanswerable
question, "Well, my dear madam, why should the Devil be
allowed to have all the best music ? " Why, indeed?

Why, indeed, should vice in general be rendered as attractive
as possible, while virtue is allowed to seem wwattractive ? Why
should the concert-saloon and the beer-hall resound with sweet
or lively music, while the Sunday school or the temperance
platform should be either deprived of music, or echo only with
lugubrious strains ? Why, indeed ?

But music was not my only delight as a child : I was passion-
ately fond of flowers and of the works of nature, as I think all
healthy children are. I loved to wander in the fields ; I loved
to stroll by the river-side ; I loved, in my unconscious yet heart-
felt way, " to look up from nature unto nature's God."

I enjoyed the short but sweet Canadian summer greatly
but I equally delighted in the bracing though sometimes severe
Canadian winter.

After all, I am inclined to think that poets and novelists
have descanted too enthusiastically upon the charms of sum-
mer. These are exquisite, doubtless, but they are also ener
vuting. To lie all day vmder a leafy tree ; to sleep, soothed in
your slumbers by the rippling murmurs of a babbling brook ;
to chase the brilliant butterfly ; to plunge into the bath ; to
sentimentalize in the soft moonlight; to pluck the roses in
June ; to enjoy the greenness of July ; or to lazily swing in
a hammock in the dog-days of August, — this is sweet in mod-
eration : this is refreshing if it forms but part of a holiday, a
vacation, a needed rest from labor. But to walk miles in cold,
bracing air on snow ; to " sled," or to " coast," or to skate ; to
brace yourself up, and venture out into a temperature appro x;i-

UOME LIFE'' AND THE '' BliEAKING-UP."

i' !

;

raatiiig zero ; to feel the keen air blowing against your cheeks,,
and to be impelled to the necessity of active physical exercise^
— this is better than the summer siesta; better because it is
braver. And there is a hardy happiness about a Canadian,
winter, which I thoroughly appreciated myself as a boy, and
which, I am glad to find, is gradually growing into favor witli-
the American public ; as witness the Sclat which attended the
recent ice-carnival at Montreal, — an occasion which brought,
visitors from all parts of the United States.

For several years, what with my school, my school-com-
panions, my cathedral music on Sundays and holidays, my
happy summers, my still more delightful winters, and, bo
all, with my father and mother and brothers and sistei^, :uy
"home, sweet home," I was indeed happy, — happier than I
have ever been since, happier, probably, than I will ever be-
again : for true happiness is like the plant that only blooms
once in a lifetime ; and, alas I alas ! how many live and die-
without ever having found it bloom at all I

Then the " break " came. My father was obliged to leave-
Montreal on his business. My mother was taken sick, became-
a confirmed invalid, and was removed to a hospital. Pecuniary
difficulties increased our other troubles, and my " home life "
ended.

Sorrows seldom come singly, and in my case they over-
whelmed me in whole troops. Financial and family troubles
increased, till our once happy and united house uold was en-
tirely broken up, like thousands of households before and
since ; while we poor children were thrown upon the mercy of
a cold world.

For a while I could not fully appreciate the change in my
position and prospects. I felt, and, alas I I acted, like one La a.
dream, who was sure he would soon somehow awaken to a more
agreeable reality.

! !

" My coinpanions, and the bar-keeper, and the men around, only laughed"
[p. 11].

MT FIBST GLASS OF LIQUOR.

yy/

:hed"

I was always of a social nature, and rather what is called
" popular " among my companions ; and I paid the full price
of this curse of " popularity," for such mere " personal popu-
larity " often is.

I was not forced to feel at once our changed pecuniary posi-
tion. Although I was taken from school, I still had for a while
a roof to shelter me, and even a little pocket-money ; and my
pocket-money and my popularity together ruined me. I wa»
induced to drink, and soon formed a habit of drinking. I have
recorded the fatal bane of my life in this short sentence.

Well do I remember — oh! shall I ever forget? — my first
drink. I met a boy, a schoolmate, who asked me to accompany
him into a gilded bar-room we were passing. I accepted the
invitation, and I followed my youthful companion to the bar.
We could scarcely yet reach up to the counter ; but we regarded
ourselves as men, and men we really were so far as having one
of the worst appetites of men could constitute a man.

My companion was evidently accustomed to the place. He
nodded carelessly to the bar-keeper, who nodded familiarly to
him, and placed a bottle of whiskey before him on the counter.
My companion poured the fiery liquid from the bottle into his
glass, and I followed his example. My companion poured the
fiery liquid from his glass down his throat, and I followed his
example. Never shall I forget my sensations as I swallowed
this my first glass of liquor. It seemed as if a fire were rushing
through my veins. It seemed as if my brain and my body
were dilating under the draught. I imagined myself for a
moment a giant : and then the re-action came, and I only knew
that I was deathly sick ; that I — I, the child of a fond father's
and mother's and brothers' and sisters' love and prayers — was
drunk in a bar-room. Alasl I must then and there have been
a sight to make the angels weep^ though my companion and the
bar-keeper and the men around only laughed. I must here

■Il!ljl'

■I I

ill

INSTINCT VERSUS SEASON.

remark, that of course I did not at one bound become
a whiskey-drinker: I did not, "at one fell swoop," become a
drunkard. No : I had, previous to the sad scene just related,
been for some time in the habit of drinking beer and ale and
malt liquors ; and I had contracted the habit of frequenting the
public-houses and the beer-saloons. In nine cases out of ten,
boys, like men, become drinkers and drunkards gradually, by
a slow but sure progression, or, rather, retrogression. The
famous ancient saying holds good (or bad) in these modern
days : " Facilia descensus averni " (" Easy and imperceptible is
the descent into evil "). It was thus in my case. I began first
to sip, when a small boy, small-beer ; then it was but a step,
and a natural one, to cider ; then but another natural step to
ale; and then the ordinary and almost inevitable result fol-
lowed, and I took my first drink of spirituous liquors under
the .circumstances and with the result already described.
This first drink caused me, in its results upon my youthful
system, a physical agony, which one would think would have
had a permanently beneficial effect upon me in leading me
ever aftei to dread and avoid the cause of such suffering.
But, unfortunately, the suffering was but transitory ; and the
sin was soon repeated, with less suffering at the time.

There seems to be this characteristic difference between man,
said to be endowed with reason, and the lower animals, which
are endowed only with what is called " instinct." The latter
will seldom repeat any experiment which has once been proved
by tliem to be pernicious upon themselves. Whereas man, the
lord of creation, so self-styled, — man, made in the image of his
Maker, — will repeat, and will keep on repeating, an action, or a
course of conduct, which he has proved, which he knows, to be
injurious.

A monkey on board a ship some years ago was given some
rum by the sailors, and for a while enjoyed himself hugely with

I I I

MAN AND THE MONKEY.

his liquor. He drank freely, swallowed glass after glass of
the fiery liquid, and became hilariously drunk, to the intense
delight of the crew in general, and of the captain in particular,
who was a heavy drinker.

For a while Master Monkey was as happy as a king, or, as the
phrase goes, as " drunk as a lord." Then " a change came o'er
the spirit of his dream," and Master Monkey did not feel quite
so kinglike or so lordly. Then he ceased his antics altogether,
huddled himself up in a corner, and looked as he felt, intensely
wretched and deathly sick. Master Monkey was paying the
penalty of his intoxication.

In a few days he recovered from his sickness completely, and
was as well as ever. So far the analogy between him and an
ordinary " drinking " man was complete. So far the man and
the monkey were precisely similar. But at this point all re-
semblance ended.

For when, a few days later, the sailors again offered Master
Monkey some more rum, the monkey, instead of accepting the
offer, — and the liquor, — resented the one, and fled from the
other. He snapped at the sailor who offered him the rum, and
then ran away, and climbed up the rigging, where he remained
for hours. And never again, during that voyage, could the
monkey be induced to taste one drop of that rum. Once the
captain tried to force some of the liquor down his throat ; but
the brute (?) (was he a brute, after all ? or, rather, which of the
two creatures was the real brute, the monkey or the captain ?)
fought fiercely, and finally compelled the captain to desist.

A year later that vessel went down at sea, with all hands on
board. A severe. gale arose, and possibly it could have been
safely struggled through with (for the vessel was stanch ; and
the captain, when sober, was really a skilful seaman) ; but the
captain and crew alike were more or less under the influence of
liquor — and the ship went down.

TUE ELEPUANT AND TOBACCO.

Now, in this instance, was not the order of nature clearly and
directly reversed ? Did not the monkey act like a man, or as
a man should act ? And did not the men act in a way that
would disgrace a monkey ?

Many similar anecdotes illustrating this point could here be
given did space permit. Experiments have been tried with
intoxicating liquors upon dogs and cats ; and, in the majority of
•cases, the animal would never voluntarily repeat its intoxication.

True, there have been exceptional cases. I knew of a cat
once that had formed an acquired taste for liquor, and whose
antics, it must be confessed, while under the influence of
whiskey punch, were very amusing, to the spectators at least ;
though I cannot answer positively for the cat. But, in the great
majority of instances, the point I have made holds good. And
it certainly is a good point — in favor of mere instinct and
the lower animals.

The same point holds with regard to the use of tobacco.
Animals which have once been made sick with tobacco, never,
or " hardly ever," can be induced to give " the weed " a second
trial.

A striking and terrible illustration of this fact was afforded
some years ago, in the career of a Western circus, recorded by
the well-known actress and authoress, Olive Logan, in her book
upon the stage, and show-people generally.

An elephant had once been offered a piece of tobacco, which
he had greedily taken up in his trunk, and eagerly swallowed.
It made him sick and disgusted; and, elephants having long
memories, he did not forget his experience.

Some months afterwards a man visiting the show "fooled"
the elephant by substituting a quid of tobacco for a cracker, and
causing the monster to swallow the former in haste in mistake
for the latter. The elephant at once became infuriated, broke
loose, and carried confusion and dismay with him in his course

THE WRECKING OF A CIRCUS.

•of destruction, bringing the performances to an unexpectedly
iibrupt end. Having vented his wrath on the cirous-tent and
its surroundings, the now thoroughly maddened brute rushed
to the railroad-track, on which a freight-train was rapidly ap-
proaching round a curve. Ere the collision could be averted,
the elephant and the locomotive " collided," the beast was
killed, and the locomotive was thrown off the track, and the
engineer and fireman were seriously injured. But this was
not all. In the crash caused by the elephant's escapade, the
cage of the tiger belonging to the show had been upset ; and
the tiger had escaped. It can readily be understood what ex-
citement was created by this fact, and how the farmers at once
combined, and patrolled the country, for their protection from
the tiger. After attacking and killing several valuable horses,
and giving chase to several men, the tiger was finally killed,
chiefly through the nerve of a " wild Irish girl," a servant at a
farmhouse, who had never seen a tiger in her life, and who,
regarding it as a mere " curiosity," led her master and his sons
to the spot where she had seen the beast basking in the sun.

And all this wrecking of a railroad-train, this destruction of
property, and this danger to life and limb, simply because an
elephant, who had been made once sick by chewing tobacco,
resented the attempt to make him chew it again.

Rut boys and men will smoke or chew or drink, be taken
horribly sick from the effects of tobacco or liquor, and yet
will persist in smoking, chewing, or drinking (or all three)
till the very indulgence which once made them sick becomes
a very necessity of their lives from habit. It was thus in my
case ; and, ere I was sixteen years of age, I was both a smoker
and a drinker, and sometimes, alas! a profane swearer also.
And I had drifted into being a " hanger round " bar-rooms and
beer-saloons, and had become quite a frequenter of the thea-
tre, when I could get a " free " ticket, or could obtain what is

ON THE DOWNWABD ROAD.

known as a '^ bill-board " admission ; i.e., a ticket given in re-
turn for distributing dodgers, circulars, or other printed matter
connected with a theatre, or for V posting bills."

I have nothing to say here against the theatre properly con-
ducted, and I have certainly nothing to say for it in general ;
but this I must and will say, that it is a dangerous place for a
boy, such as I then was, to form the habit of attending, especially
without the restraint of the presence of some older member of
his family. I suppose that the majority of actors, actresses, and
theatre-goers will confess this much at least. The theatre is
assuredly not the proper place for the child, the lad ; and it was
one of the worst phases of my downward career at this time,
that my evenings were passed, not around the domestic fireside
(alas ! I had then no fireside to sit around), but under the glare
of the gaslights, and under the spell of the footlights, and in
the midst of companions of my own age, whose choice delights
were drinking and smoking, and whose highest joy was to at-
tend a theatre.

I was thus fairly (or foully) started on the road to perdition,
and yet I knew it not. The terrible serpent that was encircling
me in his folds gave no warning. I heard not his awful hiss ;
I felt not the deadly venom of his fangs ; but all unconscious I
wooed him, like the poor bird which stands entranced, and flies
helpless to its own destruction. And it is ever thus with crime.

" Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace. *

CHAPTER III.

A BOY DRUNKARD. —TWO WEEKS IN A BAR-ROOM A8 AMATEUR BAR*
TENDER. — A LOVE-STORY WITH A DOUBLY DISASTROUS TERMINATION. '-
THE DEPTHS OF YOUTHFUL DEGRADATION.

Among the "friends" (Heaven forgive me for using this
sacred word in this connection !) — among the acquaintances I
had formed at this time, was a young man who was a bar-tender
at one of the saloons which I frequented, and who had taken
quite a fancy to me for some reason or other, or perhaps with-
out any reason at all. This young man was, I suppose, quite
as honest, as honesty goes, as the average bar-keeper : he did
not, I presume, abstract any more than the usual percentage
from the " till " of the proprietor of the place ; he did not exact
any more than the bar-keeper's ordinary "commission" on
" sales," and returned as large a proportion of the liquor-money
to his " boss " as the rest of his class and occupation. But he
was " courting " a young woman who lived in the vicinity of
the saloon, and who was herself quite in demand among the
swains of Montreal. The young bar-keeper had several rivals,
and among them a young mechanic who came to see the young
lady regularly every evening after his day's wort, was done,
and whose addresses were received with favor by the young
lady's mother ; though the girl herself, girl-like, rather affected
the young bar-tender, who was decidedly good-looking. Find-
ing the young mechanic at the house every night, and seeing
the mother's preference for him, the young bar-keeper made it
a point, as much as possible, to call upon the daughter during
« IT

WORSUIPPINQ A JiAIi-TENDER.

I 1

the clay, when he had the fiekl all to himself; the mother beiiif^
engaged in household duties, and the mechanic being hard at
work at his shop. Ihit, to do this courting by daylight, he was
obliged to neglect his duties by day, such as they were, at the
saloon at which he was employed. Although this neglect of
duty sat lightly on his conscience, still he was glad when the
idea occurred to him one day to get me to tend bar during hi>*
absences. He saw that I had nothing to do, — which was un-
fortunately the case ; that I had a neat, quick way with my
hands, — which was also the case ; that I was popular among
a certain set of drinking boys and men, and might induce a
certain amount of custom, — which was the case, most unfortu-
nately of all. But his chief dependence was my affection and
respect and admiration for himself, — feelings which really ex-
isted for him in my breast. All boys are hero-worshipr at
heart. They detest sham instinctively; but, down at t at-
torn of his being, every boy cherishes some ideal, good or bad,
and gives it the tangible shape of some man or woman, or per-
haps some boy or girl, whom he knows and worships. The
idol luay be unworthy of its shrine, and disgrace its worship-
per ; but it is adored nevertheless, with a zeal seldom given to
the idols of later life. And I worshipped just then, I idealized
and idolized, a bar-keeper. I moulded myself after his fashion.
I took him for my pattern as far as I could, in style of dress
and in manner. He was fond, I remember, of wearing his col-
lar loose around his neck, — a turn-down collar, rather wide ;
I wore a similar collar, after a similar fashion : he affected
colored handkerchiefs; I invested a considerable proportion
of my " petty cash " in colored handkerchiefs : he had a rather
free and easy sailor-like gait; I tried to compass a similar
variety of locomotion, though I only indifferently succeeded :
he was fond of "slang," and possessed a copious- vocabulary
thereof; I absolutely devoted myself assiduously to acquiring

J I ;»

"A GENTLEMAN'S SON."

ivll the " slang " words I could hear or remember, and becnme
sufficiently versed in "■arffot'* to have pleased in that respect
a Victor Hugo. Ilud my iilol been a great and a good man,
and had I imitated him with a like sincerity, I would have
been the pattern boy of my time ; but, as ray model was onl;'
a bar-tender, I became what I was. But, such as I was, I suited
the young bar-tender's purposes exactly ; and I was installed
as locum tenens while he was "courting." I received strict
instructions not to " give away any " liquor, to allow no " free "
drinks. I was told on no account to permit anybody behind
the bar, or to allow anybody to help himself, except in the
regular way, from a bottle placed before him on the counter,
in exchange for currency. I was cautioned not to be "too
thick " or intimate with my boy companions, to ever preserve
in my intercourse with them a certain olBcial dignity (?) ; save
the mark, and to keep an eye to business. Above all, I was
warned, not to trifle with the receipts, not to " knock down ''
any, but to return faithfully to the bar-keeper every coin that J
received from customers.

These were rather strange cautions and instructions to be
given by a bar-tender to a gentleman's son : but degradation,
like misery, makes strange companions ; and I received my
orders with submissive complacency, and at first sincerely
endeavored to obey them. It may seem strange ; but I really
felt a certain pride in my position, and endeavored, boy as I
was, to make a model bar-keeper. Had I been " the head boy
of my class," or the prize scholar of a Sunday scuool, I could
not have felt more the " dignity " of my position. I was puffed
out with a sense of my own importance, — almost weighed down
with a realization of my responsibilities. I strutted around the
bar-room as though I were the proprietor thereof. The real
proprietor, by the by, was therx absent from the city, and little
"tlrearaed of what was transpiring in his absence.

20 ONE OF THE "BEST FELLOWS IN THE WORLD.''

For a while all went smoothly; and I seemed to give gene al
satisfaction, — to all but my boy cronies. They certainly ex-
pected, when they saw me assume the position of bar-keeper,
that they would have " the free run " of the bar-room ; and,
when they found that they were mistaken in this idea, they
called me names, and tried to make fun of me, and then got
downrigh*- angry, and sent me, in their boyish way, to Coventry,
withdrew their companionship from me, and at last patronized
an opposition saloon across the way.

I saw this was going too far, and relaxed my dignity ; and,
availing myself of my privilege as bar-keeper to invite the boys
occasionally to a drink, I managed to prevent the entire with-
drawal of their patronage.

On the whole, for the first week, I discharged my rather per-
plexing duties with a conscience and a tact worthy of some-
thing far better, and received the approval of my idol, the young
bar-keeper ; who, seeing that I was doing well, and becoming
himself more and more absorbed in his courtship, relaxed in
his watchfulness over me, and let me do pretty much as I
pleased. And then I followed suit, tand relaxed my own Watch-
fulness over myself. Hitherto, oddly enough, my very freedom
to drink now all that I wanted had led me to rather less indul-
gence than usual ; but, after the first week, I yielded to my pro-
pensity for stimulants, and became one of the " best customers "
of my own bar. I blush to write it, even now, after all thes&
years ; but I became habitually and constantly under the influ-
ence of liquor, and, during the second week of my bar-tending,
hardly ever drew a sober breath.

And my conviviality increased with my intemperance. I
" treated " my boy companions more frequently, and " trusted '*
them for drinks more and more, till at last I had more than
regained my original popularity with them, and was known a»
one of " the best fellows " in the world, — a sure sign that I wa»

•1 If

TRAINING FOB A FIRST-CLASS RASCAL

becoming one of " the worst." It now became c^^ Uar thing
to find some dozen or more lads at the saloon evc^y morning,
drinking and making merry at the expense of the " bar," — iiii
assemblage of youthful sots, with myself as head toper. I
stationed a boy at the door of the saloon to keep watch, in case
the bar-tender should suddenly return ; and, meanwhile, the
stock of liquors, cigars, and small-beer was suffering depletion
at an alarming rate.

Once, while in the midst of our orgies, tlie boy outside rushed
in with the news that the bar-tender was coming. I managed
to get some of my companions out by a side-door, and I con-
cealed some others in a closet ; while I stepped behind the bar,
and pretended to be busily engaged in serving drinks to two of
the oldest lads, who I made it a point to see paid for their
liquor.

The bar-tender then suspected nothing, and did not remain
long. But, during the ten minutes of his stay, I contrived to
add the sins of lying and dishonesty to my other transgressions.
For I deliberately falsified the receipts of the bar, and lied
wholesale about every thing connected with the management
of the saloon. And, as soon as the bar-tender left, our orgies
were resumed. I was in rapid course of training for a first-class
rascal.

So far no contretemps had occurred ; but I noticed that my
idol, the bar-tender, began to be less spruce and jovial than his
wont, and to neglect the fit of his coijir, — a sure sign that
something was the matter. As I afterv, ards ascertained, his suit
with the >oung lady was, spite of all his exertions, and outlay
of time and " taflFy," not progressing favorably ; and the me-
chanic was gaining ground, not only with the mother, but the
daughter.

This rendered him moody, irritable, and suspicious ; and ab
last the " flare-up " came.

wmmm

22 .

KICKED OUT INTO TUE STREET.

One morning he summoned up courage to propose direct to
his young lady, was refused point-blank, and was told by the
mother not to enter the house of his charmer again. This
rendered him wild with rage and chagrin ; and in this mood he
rushed back to the saloon, to drown his sorrows in spirits.

At that precise moment I was surrounded by some ten lads,
all drinking freely at my (or, rather, the establishment's)
expense. And, as luck would have it, I had forgotten this
morning to station my usual " lookout " at the main door.

In walked the angry bar-keeper, in stalked upon us the dis-
comfited lover; and, although the shock sobered me for a
moment, I was at my wit's end. I saw that my time had come.

In vain I flew around, or tried, with my unsteady legs, to
seem to do so. In vain I tried to convince the bar-tender that
I was working for his interest. The room was filled with my
companions, all more or less intoxicated. The vile stuff which
formed the only stock in trade of the accursed place was con-
siderably reduced, while the money-drawer made no corre-
sponding exhibit. An investigation ensued, — short, searching,
and decisive. The bar-keeper's eyes were opened now ; and he
took in the presc; t situation and the recent past, in a glance.

Cursing his folly, his love, his mechanic-rival, and himself,
he began to curse me and my companions. And then — I blush
to say it — he kicked us boys all out into the street, commen-
cing with me as the principal offender.

It had come to this. I, the son of a gentleman, well born
and carefully reared, the child of hopes and prayers, was called
"a young loafer," — and deserved to be called it, — and was
kicked out into the streets, — and deserved to be kicked, — by
a bar-tender.

For a moment I was too dazed and too drunk to fully real-
ize my indignities. I only felt the physical pain inflicted by
my chastisement. Then I began to feel a positive mental or

! I ^:r

"•So you aro K«ttinK to he a tlninkanl, and stfialing my rum,' tliu bar-
keeper had said to me, as he gave me his last kick into the street " [p. 23],

A DliUNKABD AND A LOAFER.

--^//'

sentimental pain, in thus having broken the bond that had
linked me to my boyish idol, the bar-keeper, whose kicks still
smarted. And at last I experienced a sense of my own degra-
dation, — a bitter sense of the depths to which I had fallen.

" So you are getting to be a drunkard, and stealing my rum,"
the bartender liad said to me as he gave me his last kick into
the sidewalk. And the words rang in my ears, — a loafer and
a drunkard — a drunkard and a loafer. A mere boy, and yet
both.

With these awful, because true, words sounding in my ears,
I staggered (I would have rushed, but I was too drunk to
" rush ") away from my companions, and burst into tears, —
tears of shame, tears of real though unavailing penitence, —
which, could I have shed them under a father's eye, or with a
head buried on a mother's lap, might have been such tears as
the Peri in the poem would have gladly presented to the Most
High as the most acceptable of all offerings.

But, alas ! practically fatherless, motherless, and homeless as
I was, the tears soon subsided into a moodiness of shame, in
which I remembered only the degradation of the kick, but
forgot the still greater degradation of its cause.

And all that day I wandered aimless through the streets of
Montreal, utterly wretched; and the night closed upon me
as far from real reformation as when the day began.

What could be more truly terrible than my position ? I was
a gentleman's son, and had been kicked out of a low drinking*
saloon. I was a mere boy; yet I had been called a diunkard
and a loafer, and had deserved my titles.

\ui bar-
23].

CHAPTER IV.

" I

A. BAD boy's DBEAM. — a DBUNKARD'S NIGHTMARE. — " BAR-ROOM FRIEND-
SHIPS," THEIB WORTH AND WOBTHLE88NE9S. — A YOUTHFUL SINNER
AND HIS SORROWS. —HOW A BOY DRUNKARD WAS SAVED.

If it were not for the duty I owe my readers, I would pass
over very briefly this dark period of my early life. But I wish
others to derive benefit from my experiences ; and, therefore,
my first evident paramount duty is, to record my experiences
just as they really were, not as I would prefer now to represent
them.

I was " a bad boy," with the curse of an already acquired
desire for stimulating drinks daily fastening itself more firmly
upon me. If any fact more deplorably pitiable than this can be
stated, I have not yet found out this fact, nor would I know
how to state it.

I went down hill rapidly, suffering step by step as I went
down. After my experiences in the saloon where I " tended
bar," I carefully avoided entering that place : but there were
other saloons ; and I patronized these, so far as my daily de-
creasing means would allow. I got into the habit of picking
up little stray jobs, any thing to get a little money, but not to
buy clothes with, though I was " seedy " and " shabby ; " not
to purchase even food with, though I was occasionally com-
pelled now to " go hungry ; " not to relieve the necessities of
my scattered family, — but to gratify my accursed thirst for
strong drink. As fast as I earned in any way a little money,

M FltlEXD-
li SINNER

uld pass
1 1 wish
lerefore,
eriences
spresent

cquired

( firmly

can be

[ know

I went
tended
e were
ilj de-
)icking
not to
;" not
J com-
ities of
'st for
noney,

" One night I luul fallen asleep drunk in a cart near a stable. I awoke with
a terrible headache, to tind the rain pouring down upon me " [p. 25].

AN OUTCAST'S DEE AM.

I would hie me to some saloon, some gilded or not gilded " rum-

hole," and spend it.

Often the shades of evening would creep over the earth, find-
ing me at my unholy revels, with all sorts and conditions of
low companions. And then, finding that I was unfit to appear
in the presence of any decent man or woman, I would slink
away, supperless, about nine or ten o'clock at night, to some
•out-house or cellar or empty wagon, and sleep away my de-
bauch.

One night I had fallen asleep drunk in a cart near a stable.
I awoke with a terrible headache, to find the rain pouring
■down upon me. Dripping wet, I arose, and walked to and fro,
from one place of temporary shelter to another, an object which
■even the horses and the cattle in the stables could have pitied.
But yet I never repented of the fault and folly which was thus
rendering me a fit object for even a brute beast's pity. No :
-all the time I stood and watched the ceaseless rain, or tried
vainly to sleep in my wet rags, — for they were scarcely more, —
I was consumed with the cursed thirst that had caused all my
troubles. I was eagerly craving a chance for " a drink." My
morbid fancy was conjuring up, in my lonely desolation, vis-
ions of a warm, comfortably elegant room, with mirrors and
•chandeliers and tables and a fine " counter," and an array of
bottles, full of wine and spirits, with a plentiful supply of
•cigars, — a room in which I was the central figure, the lord and
the proprietor thereof, enjoying myself with and enriching
myself by my customers. In my fancy I saw myself mixing
■drinks: in my fancy I felt myself drinking them. I could
almost taste the liquor as it poured down ray parched throat.
And in my temporary delirium I cried aloud, although there
were none to hear but the all-hearing spirits of good and evil,
" Yes, I will some day somehow realize this dream : somehow,
sometime, somewhere, I will keep a bar-room, — my own bar->

A TERRIBLE VOW.

room." Thus, in the irtorm and the night, I made a vow tO"
become some day, sooner or later, a rumseller, with a "gin-
mill " of my own. It was a singularly sad vow for a mere boy
to register. It evinced what may be termed an ambitious
depth of depravity, but I am recording the simple truth ; and
I really made the vow, under the circumstances I have de-
scribed. And, as the course of this narrative will show, I after-
wards fulfilled it.

It seems almost incredible, that in so short a time I should
have been brought to this condition ; but thus I was, and I
saw not the doom that awaited me. I look back now on this-
period of my life, and wonder why I was spared ; but a mer-
ciful Providence spared me. And, thank God 1 the same kind
hand has plucked me as a brand from the burning ; and I have-
lived to warn my fellow sinners and sufferers, both by my voicfr
and my pen, and to denounce that terrible tyrant, alcohol, a*
the most malignant of all the fiends that hell, with all its in-
finite spite and fury, can belch forth upon the earth.

My situation at this period of my career was wretched ia
the extreme, and became more miserable every day. Indepen-
dent of my terrible faults, my woes were terrible: my poor
mother in the hospital, my father a bankrupt, my sister out in
the world, and the rest of us wretched ones with only the
humblest, barest shelter, and often deprived of fire and of
food.

And now I began to feel one of the bitterest pangs of pov-
erty, — the scorn of those who had known me in better days.

Hitherto I had contrived, by hook or by crook, to have a
little money to spend, even though I spent it in rum, and
although I had in every way misapplied it ; but now the hour
came when I was literally penniless. I had been shabby iiii
clothes for a considerable period, and had become, as it were*
used to it. I had grown accustomed to cold and to scanty

BAR-BOOM FBIENDSUIPS.

food; I had even become accustomed to omitting the custom of
taking my regular meals, because there were no regular meals
for me to take ; but I had always been able, no matter at what
risk or sacrifice, to have enough money to pay for an occasional
drink for myself and a few boon companions, whose society^
such as it was, I courted, and with whom I was still, to a
certain degree, popular.

But now, face to face with absolute penury, I had no means
to cater to bar-room popularity. Without a shilling, I was
compelled to be without a drink and without a friend. True»
for a day or so I was able to " drink," and even to " treat," on
credit. But when I tried to solicit new favors, without settling
the old score, my doom was sealed. I was then stamped as a
"beat" and a "pauper," and I was driven out of the very bar-
rooms in which I had spent my money freely when I had it.
I was forbidden to enter the very places whose coffers I had
helped to fill.

To my depraved mind and vicious habits, these bar-rooms
represented all I knew and cared of comfort. The tavern, God
help me ! had taken the place of the home ; and, when I was
turned out of the drinking-saloons, it seemed to me as if I had
been expelled from life and happiness. I felt like Adam when
driven out of Eden.

I experienced then what hundreds and thousands have ex-
jjerienced before me, and will, alas! I fear, experience after
me, — the utter worthlessness of bar-room friendships. Had I
been wise, this lesson, impressed so forcibly upon me at so early
an age, would have had a beneficial effect upon me ; but alas,
alas! I was doomed to sin and suffer on, perhaps that my
career might have a more beneficial effect upon others.

It is often urged, in extenuation of drinking, that it is a so-
cial habit, and that through it valuable acquaintances are often
formed. Alas I there is no ipore pernicious falsehood than this

" DRINKING-A CQ UA IN TANCES. ' '

for it is one of those glitteriiigly dangerous lies that are partly
— and only a small part — true.

Acquaintances are formed through drinking-habits, doubt-
less, but not acquaintances worth the risk of drinking, not
acquaintances really valuable, honestly worth the having — oh,
no, no ! a thousand times no ! In a thousand drinks the
drinker cannot hope to gain one friend.

It could not be otherwise ; for certainly, if drinking-habits
Avere honestly calculated to pijmote sincere friendships, then
would intemperance be excusable, — almost a wisdom, not a
folly ; almost a duty, not a vice. So great a believer, for one,
am I in the moral beauty and practical value of true friendship,
that, if I honestly believed that I'wtemperance fostered friend-
ship, I would cease to advocate temperance.

But, thank God 1 the truth is just the other w.y. Intemper-
ance, like all vice, is unfavorable to virtue, and, among other
virtues, to true friendship. Bar-room friendships, the intima-
cies of intemperance, are merely superficial. They last only as
long as the liquor lasts : they are bounded by the limits of the
bar-room. I met a commercial drummer once out West, and
he had a favorite phrase to designate such people as he only
casually or slightly knew. Speaking of a man of this sort, the
drummer would allude to him as "only a drinking-acquaint-
ance ; " and the phrase struck me as a very suggestive and ap-
posite one. Believe me, O my reader I the men you drink with
are not " friends," they are only " drinking-acquaintances."

I was, at this period of my life, forced to learn this truth.
Not only did the proprietors and employees of the bar-rooms
where I had spent my money, when I had it, ruthlessly expel
me from them when I had no more to spend, but my more
intimate companions, lads of my own age, my fellow-boys, to
use a most common and expressive phrase, "went back "jm
tne," turned me the cold shoulder, and abandoned me.

BOY-GRIEFS.

In the slang of boys nowadays they regarded me as " N. G. : '*
I was " played out."

Among my companions had been, for several months, a
young lad, whose father was in tiomfortable circumstances, and
allowed him a good deal (and a good deal too much) pocket-
money, which never remained long in his pocket, but found
its way to the pockets of the men who dealt in cigars, liquors,
or dime novels, — three commodities which, with boys of a.
certain class, generally go together; and all go one way, —
to the Devil.

I had taken a sincere liking to this particular lad, and we
had been a good deal together. I had even done him now and
then little favors ; but now, when in my poverty I solicited a
favor, — a loan of a little money, — it was refused on some
specious plea, such as boys, in an emergency, are quite as ready
with as men ; and from that moment the boy avoided me, as if
I had been stricken with the small-pox : he would leave a
saloon if he saw me entering it ; he would turn round the street-
corner if he saw me approaching. I felt this keenly, although
I was too proud to show it. But, though I preserved a certain
amount of boyish dignity (there is such a thing, as every boy
or man who remembers his boyhood cai^ testify) in the presence
of others, I wept many a bitter tear in secret, more over the
loss of the once delightful companionship and the destruction
of my cherished dreams, than over the more material depriva-
tions to which it subjected me. Boy-griefs are as hard to bear
for boys, as after-sorrows are for men ; and my grief just then
was bitter.

Another lad with whom I had become intimate was a trades-
man's son, of a less literary turn in the line of dime novels
than the boy just mentioned. The former might be classed
among lads of a somewhat "sentimental" turn of mind, but
the tradesman's son was ef>sentially "practical." He prided

\l*]

I 'i

A *'KNOWiyG" CUAP.

himself, even at his early age, on " knowing the world " (that
is, such parts or phases of the world as were not worth know-
ing) ; and he had been looked up to by other boys, and by
myself, as quite an " oracle."

This " knowing " chap soon taught me that he " knew " me, —
knew how utterly hopeless and moneyless was my condition ;
for when I came to him and asked him, in my extremity, for a
little pecuniary aid. he told me, with " a brutal frankness " which
would liave pleased Bismarck, that he had all he could do to take
care of himself, and that he didn't propose to do any thing for
anybod}'^ for nothing. " If I wanted some money, why didn't
I pick it up for myself, as he did? "

Now, as I wasn't as " posted " on horse-flesh and cards as this
jockey and gamester of fifteen years, and as I had not yet made
as many disreputable acquaintances as he had done, and could
not therefore do as many " odd " dirty jobs for them as he was
constantly doing, I was not able to " pick up money for myself
as he did ; " although, alas 1 I fear that I was quite as willing
to " pick it " up this or any other way just then, had I been
able.

Thank Heaven ! though bad enough, I never then, or at any
other time in my life, was tempted to steal. I had no scruples
of conscience against vice. I had become familiarized, child as
I still was, with many kinds of low iniquity. I had soiled my
hands and soul at various times with petty swindling and
cheating, — as in my episode as amateur bar-tender, already de-
scribed. But I had never directly stolen. And now, in my
utterly penniless condition, even now, I was not induced to
steal, to become wimt is even one step lower than a drunkard,
— a thief. I thank Heaven for this.

But I was indescribably miserable. Perhaps in all my after-
life I never suffered more than I suffered now as a boy, — a
boy without parents — practically so ; a boy without home ; a boy

THE HAD nor.

without money ; and a boy without friends. God help the boy
who feels Jis I felt then '

Hungry and cold, and ''h.ibby to the last stage of shabbiness,
thirsting with a young drunkard's ever unsatisfied and fiery
thirst, without a dcjUar, and, what was even worse to me then,
without a companion in the world, I brooded solitary over my
sorrows.

Though I had lived but a few short years, yet I wjis uu rady
weary of life. Mere boy as I was, existence seemed to me a
conundrum, — a terrible conundrum; and like Smith, in Broug-
Imnrs " Pocahontas," I felt inclined to "lie down and give it up."

Though but a boy, I now for a moment felt all that mad
desire for self-annihilation which oftentimes possesses the
world-wearied, life-exhausted man. True, I thought with a
little regret of the dear father and mother whom I was never
to see again. True, I looked back fondly in memory to the
dear home under the wing of the grand cathedral. True, I
ri'inembered fcjudly some pleasant sports in summers and in
winters past. 15 ut I also felt vividly my present loneliness, my
poverty, my broken home, my desolation, my lost, false, heart-
less companions. And I thought, in my moody, boyish way,
that if I was once dead, — once but dead, — all my hungering
and thirsting and shivering, and being laughed at and sneered
at, and shunned and snubbed, would be over and ended , a. id I
would be out of the way, and life would be out of the way, for-
ever.

While standing o'le dark night at a street-corner, terribly
desp.tndent, I heard a voice — a cheery, heart}' voice — cry out,
" Why, Doutney, what are you doing here?"

What was I doing, indeed ? I looked round, and saw a
young lad of my ac(iuaintance approaching. He was not one
of my " drinking acquaintances," — oh, no ! The unsophisticated
lad who was now approaching me had never, prob ibly, been in-

THE GOOD BOY.

side a bar-room in his dull, uneventful, humdrum life. He»
quiet chap, wfis not in the habit of attending the theatre, and
I suppose would not have known what " a bill-board ticket '*
meant. He knew so little of the world, this mere boy, that I
do not suppose he could distinguish by taste the difference be*
tween whiskey and brandy. He was what boys of my class,
had been wont to call a " muff," or " a milksop," — a boy who-
attended Sunday school, didn't know how to play cards, didn't
smoke, didn't swear, didn't do any thing that was done by boys-
of spirit, and spirits like myself. But still, there he was, ad-
vancing towards me, happy, healthy, hearty, well-clad, going
home, I supposed, to family prayers maybe, but still to a family
and a home. Wliile I — I, who a few weeks ago would have
despised this happy milksop and " good boy " — was —

But, before I could fully realize the contrast between us two,
the boy had come up to the corner where I stood with despair
in my soul. And then — to this hour I cannot distinctly re-
member how it all came about — but in a moment more I
found myself telling my companion all about myself, my faults,
my folly. I found myself crying, with my head on his shoulder,.
— crying like a child, indeed, — crj'ing as if my heart would
break. The boy liad asked a few childish questions, said a few
childishly kind words; and the flood-gates of my heart had
been opened. His utterly unexpected kindness had healed the
wounds inflicted upon my heart by the as utterly unexpected
desertion of my former companions. His soothing sympathy
had brought me back from desperate, moody despair to healthy,
human sorrow, which, shared by another, was lessened, almost
sweetened.

In a few minutes I, the boy-drunkard, who had naturally,
step by step, become tlie boy-outcast, was walking almost hap-
pily side by side with a boy — a pious. God-fearing boy — whom
I had previously only sneered at and despised. And, in a^few*

A BOY SAVED BY A BOY.

the

Icted

ithy

lost

illy,
lap-
lom
Ifew

minutes more, I, the homeless wanderer of the streets, was in
the midst of a happy home-circle, seated beside a cheerful fire^
eating with a relish, and drinking, not vile whiskey or beer, but
harmless, healthful tea ; while my boy-preserver bustled about,
doing all he could, in company with his little sister, to make
me as comfortable as possible.

His father and mother had known my father and mother
years before ; and for their sakes and mine, and, above all, in-
duced by their own goodness and kindness, they were that
night and the next day very good and kind to me, a waif
and a stray.

That night, instead of lying in a gutter, perhaps passing from
insensibility into eternity, I was snugly tucked up in a com-
fortable bed, with my boy-preserver as my room-mate. And
bad boy as I was, degraded drunkard, and almost desperate
and reckless as I had been that night, I felt grateful to a God
in whom I had that night learned to believe, by the irresistible
argument of being brought into contact with those who believed
in and loved and served Him.

And when my boy-preserver, just before going to bed, knelt
down at his bedside, and said the Lord's Prayer, I did not
then think or call him a cad or a muff or a milksop : I did not
then sneer or laugh at the pious Sunday-school boy. No : I
felt then and there, in my inmost heart of hearts, that he was
wiser in his innocence, on his knees, with his prayers, than a
thousand such as I of bar-room loafers and loungers.

And, feeling this, I humbly crept to his side, fell on my
knees with him, and for the first time, alas I for yeara, prayed
to " Our Father who art in Heaven."

' : : i

The tide had turned. My evil fortunes had reached their
lowest ebb at the moment of my deepest despair and my provi-
dential preservation. From that moment good luck, or, shall
I not more reverently say, a kind Providence, continued to
smile upon me.

Just as the kind, truly Christian father and mother of my
boy-preserver took me in hand, to see if they could not procure
me a situation in some store or office, to keep me independent,
and to keep me out of mischief, I received a letter from my
dear father, informing me that good fortune had befallen him
also, and that now he had arranged for me to come to Boston,
where I could live and be educated at the House of the Angel
Guardian in Roxbury.

This was far from being a brilliant future, but it was cer-
tainly far better than the life I had been leading of late ; and
it was preferable, I thought, to working hard in some office or
place of business : so I immediately obeyed my father's sum-
mons ; and, bidding a grateful good-by to my benefactors, I
started on the train from Montreal to Boston. I had an-
nounced my departure for Boston to a number of my compan-
ions, and had made the most of my good luck in narrating to
them, and unconsciously exaggerating, the " good luck '* which
bad happened to my father. I had enough of ** human nature "

'!l if

HUMAN NATURE IN BOYS.

in me to make a point of dilating upon my rose-colored pros-
pects to those who had snubbed me and been cold to me in my
recent misfortunes. I was particularly eloquent upon my
future prospects (?) in the presence of my former companions,
the dime-novel reader and tlie young lad of a " practical " turn
of mind, who had treated my misfortunes with such indiffer-
ence. I must have led them to imagine that my father had
been left a large fortune, and that I was rich for life ; and I
heartily enjoyed the changed manner of these and. my other
companions towards me. I noticed how much more cordial
and even respectful they were to me now than before ; and I
Iieartily enjoyed the change, though I cordially despised them
for changing. It is a mistake to suppose that boys are not as
selfish and as politic as men. " The boy is the father of the
man ; " and just as " the world " and worldly ideas and inter-
•ests control the man, so they modify, if they do not positively
control, the boy. The boy whose father is " in luck " will be
held, among most other boys, to be in luck himself, and will
receive a share of attention and admiration much greater th&n
will generally be awarded to the son of a poor or unfortunate
father.

So I, a boy about to be sent on to the great city of Boston,
where I was to live comfortably and be educated (that was the
idea I gave out, in fact that was the idea I entertained myself,
not exactly knowing what the peculiar character of "The
House of the Angel Guardian " might be), was considered and
treated very differently from the way I had been treated but
recently, when I had been regarded as an almost pauper boy,
the son of a ruined man, who had not a dollar in the world.

Under ordinary circumstances I would have commemorated
my " good luck," such as it was, by drinking, and by inviting
my companions to drink; but I am glad to be able to state
that I did nothing of the kind jut»t then. I had had enough

A COLD- WATER HOUSEHOLD.

•' \\

of drinking for a while. I had not yet become the constant,
confirmed, inveterate slave of intoxicating drink. I was but a
young fool, and therefore not quite so persistently foolish as an
old fool. I had my lucid intervals, and this was one of them.

Besides, I have always been of a very impressionable nature,
— a temperament which has alike its great advantages and
disadvantages, but of which I reaped one of the advantages
now.

I was completely at this period under the blessed influence
of the temperate and Christian family which had rescued me
from despair and possibly from death. The head of this
happy houL'jhold, the husband and father, was a sincere and
sensible temperance advocate, both in theory and practice ;
and I had been forcibly impressed, and, under the circum-
stances, most favorably. I was too young, perhaps, to have
fully understood all the " total-abstinence " arguments ; but I
could already understand, ay, better than most grown men,
the inestimable advantages of "total-abstinence" practices.
I could not help being led to contrast the health, the steady
happiness, the industry and peace and order, of this "cold-
water" household, with the heated life and disorder and
racket and dissipation of the bar-rooms and saloons which had
for so long now stood to me in the place of a home. Nor could
I help contrasting my boy-preserver, the only son and pride
and hope of this temperance household, with his ruddy cheeks,
his bright eyes, his sturdy frame, his well-regulated nerves, his
excellent digestion, his regular sleep, and his love for out-door
exercise, with the sunken cheeks, the wasted frame, the wild
or dulled eyes, the "shaky" nerves, the ruined health, lost
appetite, and inert indigestion, which characterized so many
of the boys and men whom I knew as addicted to drink.

I was no fool, except when directly under the influence of
my curse : and I saw how infinitely preferable was temperance

MY UNEXPECTED COMPANIONS.

uence
jd me
P this
•e and
ictice ;.
ircum-
( have
but I
men»
iCtices.
teady
cold-
and
1 had
could
pride
leeks,
es, hi»
t-door
! wild
1, lost
many

- to intemperance ; and therefore, while under the influence and
in the bosom of this well-regulated household, I was perfectly
sober and temperate myself, and began to regain my health,
which had been severely shattered by my recent course of life,
and to even enjoy life once more in a healthy, rational fashion,
as a boy should.

I became greatly attached to my boy-preserver and to his
'nteresting family, and they became sincerely fond of me. But
it was thought best all round, that I should follow my father's
wishes, and, going to Boston, avail myself of whatever he
had prepared for me there.

So, as I stated some pages previously, I took the train from
Montreal to Boston ; but I did not start alone. I had two un-
asked for, unexpected companions, — two lads considerably
younger even than myself, who insisted on accompanying me,
and in a rather peculiar fashion. Among my Montreal com-
panions had been two boys, cousins and chums, the children of
two respectable tradesmen of my father's acquaintance. There
was nothing remarkable or striking about tho characters of
those two lads ; they were not specially bright or provokingly
dull ; they were neither abnormally good nor bad ; but they had
cultivated a taste for " light literature " in the story-paper and
" dime-novel " form, until this taste had grown into a positive
mania.

They had read all sorts of " boys' books " (which, by the by,
are often the very worst possible kind of books for boys), and
were perfect walking libraries of juvenile "flash-literature."
They spent all their pocket-money, not for vile spirits, as I had
been doing, but for almost equally pernicious printed stuff,
which demoralized their little minds as my liquid "stuff" had
demoralized my youthful nerves. They were regular readers
of the "police" papers, and the flash "story-papers," and
books of wild — very wild — " adventure " in the Far — very,

DIME-NOVEL LUNATICS.

li ■■

■i !l

very far — West. Most boys are prone to what may be styled
" dime novel "-ism. I had met other lads with this tendency,
as I have previously mentioned ; but these two boys were the
two most confirmed dime-novel lunatics I ever remember coming
across. Pirates were as familiar to them as pies, possibly more
so. Buccaneers of the Spanish (it generally is the Spanish)
Main were as common as their daily bread and butter. The
big, bloody Indian, with his waistband full of recking scalps,
was their pocket-companion; and they were experts in all
varieties of the war-whoop. The Italian bandit, with his
beautiful captive hidden in a cave in the dense forests, and a
stiletto carried in his hand, was an every-day affair ; and mur-
der, suicide, poisoning, scuttling of ships, cutting of throats,
etc., were as much in their line as playing marbles or hockey,
— if any thing, more in it.

Jack Sheppard was their idol, their hero : Dick Turpin was
the very god of their idolatry. They knew ten times more
about the history of Jonathan Wild than they did about the
history of England. And from reading books of adventure,
and believing in them, to becoming adventurers themselves,
was but a step. From dreaming of highwaymen and bucca-
neers and wild Indians, to endeavoring to imitate their bloody
and exciting excellences, was only a natural progression.

So when these two bloody minded, blood-and-thunder literary
lads heard that I was going to "see life," and "begin the
world " at Boston, — the great Boston, — they determined to go
with me, in search of adventure and glory and gore, and hidden
treasure and scalps. " The young rovers of Montreal," or " the
two bold buccaneers of Boston," would be about their " size "
of manliness ; and they made their preparations on this basis.

They raked and scraped all the money they could get to-
gether, by selling out their stock of tops and marbles, and
borrowing right and left under all sorts of lying pretences, — for

THE PIRATES OF THE FUTURE.

m was
more
ut the
inture,
selves,
bucca-
loody
n.

terary
11 the
to go
iddeii
"the
size
asis.
et to-
i, and
— for

lying, of course, was a mere bagatelle to amateur pirates and
prospective murderers, — and even stealing from their mothers
and fathers, just by way of preparation for future burglaries.
With the money thus surreptitiously acquired, — some shillings,
— the would-be scoundrels oi the deepest dye purchased an
outfit of deliberate viliany, comprising two big clasp-knives,
coming as near to the bowie-knife of Western civilization as
their limited means would allow ; two fifth or sixth hand pistols,
which were warranted to kill, and which certainly, if they ever
had gone off, tcould have killed those who fired them off;
powder, etc. ; and, of course, a deck of cards, some tobacco, and
a " pocket-pistol " of whiskey, without which last three articles
they never could have undertaken to be cut-throats or pirates
of any pretence to criminal standing. Having thus provided
for all the possibilities of piracy and rapine, the two incipient
villains of the deepest hue stole from their homes by the back-
door, gliding off as quietly and speedily as possible, lest their
mothers might see them, and call them back. Imagine two
pirates of the future being called back home, and, it may be,
spanked, by their mothers ! Having effected their escape, the
two juvenile murderers, breathing the exhilarating air of
liberty, emancipated from the thraldom of the parental roof,
clutching their clasp-knives, and feeling fondly the pistols in
their pockets, and their pocket-pistols, strode hastily toward
the railroad-depot i the younger and more desperate ruffian
of the two stopping on his way, however, to invest five cents
in " taffy," — a sort of candy of which the youthful monster,
notwithstanding his depravity, was very fond. Imagine a
bloody-minded pirate sucking candy!

The two desperate ruffians readied the train for the States
a few minutes before the time for departure, and contrived to
enter the hind-car, then empty, unobserved, and concealed
themselves under the seats.

illtH!

•4

TWO MEMENTOS OF MONTREAL.

All this was utterly unknown to me at the time ; the plan of
the two desperadoes being, to wait till the train had started,
with me on board, and then to reveal their presence to me,
and to throw themselves on my generosity, friendship, and
influence with the conductor. Two pirates, they imagined, in
their innocence (?) of the world, that, because I had my fare
paid for me to Boston, I must be a very rich and important
boy indeed !

But, as chance arranged it, they did not have to wait till the
train started to discover me ; or, rather, 1 discovered tliem. I
took my place in the rear car, and sat me down right over one
of the crouching pirates j talked to the kind lad who had been
such a blessing to me, and who had ncompanied me to the
train ; bade him good-by with tears ot real affection and grati-
tude in my eyes, and just as I was reseating myself, after
waving my hand to him from the window, saw a foot under my
seat — started — then started still more, as I saw a head peer
out, and recognized the head as belonging to one of my former
companions, — one of those whom I was just then thinking I
was leaving, perhaps, forever.

To say that I was surprised, and then glad, is to use very
mild language indeed. Luckily there was, just then, no one
in the car to observe, either my wonder or my di^light.

In a few hurried words I got from the two budding bucca-
neers the general idea of their position and their intentions,
and entered myself heartily into the situation. I had felt terri-
bly lonely leaving my birthplace, my only home for so many
years, Montreal. And here was a link supplied me by chance,
a tie still connecting me with the dear old town, a memento of
Montreal, — two mementos, — sent on, as it were, with me. I
did not feel at all lonely now, with these two abandoned vil-
lains lying at my feet.

Of course, I smiled at their plans of plunder and piracy. I

A PROTECTOB OF niGHWAY liOYfi.

vil-

laughed at their schemes of unbridled license and adventure.
I was several years older than either of the bloody-minded
rascals, and liad never been so impressed with dime novels as
to lose my head. That was not mt/ special weakness. I fully
realized that Boston, from what little I had heard of it, was
scarcely likely to prove the place for successful plunder, save
by grown-up lawyers, politicians, and tradesmen, in the regular
way ; I surmised that there was a very slim chance indeed f<jr
boy-buccaneers in the city of baked beans, and that the Yan-
kees would not tremble, even at the clasp-kni"es and pistols
of my two child-companions : still, there was something in the
" romance of the thing " that appealed to my boyish imagina-
tion strongly; there was something in the "running away" of
the precious pair, and their hiding away, which fascinated me.
Above all, I was glad of their company on my way to a strange
•city: it relieved greatly the home-sickness that was already
beginning to steal over me, and I felt flattered at their appeals
for my protection. The amateur cut-throats evidently Id 'ked
up to me as to a superior boy, almost a man, — a boy who was
" travelling " open and above board, a boy who knew the world,
a boy who had his ticket paid to Boston ; and they evidently
■depended on this highly favored and enlightened boy to aid
them in their distress, and to carry them to Boston with him,
or, rather, under him : need I say that their trust was not in
vain ? Need I say that I would, just then, rather have died —
nay, rather have lost my trip to Boston myself — than have be-
trayed the two defenceless pirates and highway men — I mean
highway boys — who thus trusted in and to me ? Need I say that
I at once assumed an air of stupendous wisdom and magnifi-
cent condescension, and promised them the full benefit alike
of my extensive experience, and acquaintance with the world
and the conductor, in case of emergency ? Need I say that I
gently soothed their fears, calmed their agitation, and assured

.. I

IN niDINQ.

(!!

them, in a benignant way, that I, even I, would see them
through ; smiling, as I said so, in a sort of superior, far-off way,
as though I had, years ago, been a pirate once myself, and
scuttled ships upon the Spanish Main, had been a bold Boston
buccaneer, and had forgotten or almost forgotten, all about it.

My assurances satisfied my two pirates, who thereupon cud-
dled themselves under the two seats, — the seat I occupied and
the seat behind, — and kept quiet for a while ; the younger, and,
as I have before described him, the more desperate, ruffian of
the two, who was stretched out, or, rather, stretched in, under
the seat behind me, even betaking himself in his momentary
peace and security to sucking at his five-cents' worth of " taffy."

But it was now my turn to think and worry. I had assumed
the responsibility of protecting these two wandering villains.
I had contracted, as it were, to see them through to Boston at
least ; but had I not undertaken too big a contract ? As I began
to think of the risks they had to run, my head began to swim ,
and I almost wished that the two monsters of iniquity were
safe back at home in their mothers' arms, or, for that matter,
even on their mothers' knees, stretched out heads downwards,.
— at any rate, somewhere else than right under me.

I knew very little about railroad-travelling myself; but I
knew that their only chance was to dodge the conductor, for
that nothing I could say or do would be of any avail. I would
now have willingly paid their fare out of my own pocket if I
had had it in my pocket ; but, that not being feasible, the only
thing for them was to hide and to keep hiding : although I did
not see how it would be possible for the two wanderers to be
hidden long, as people would be entering and passing through
the car, in addition to the vigilance of the conductor.

For a while, though, accident favored the fugitives. Only
two or three passengers entered the car ; and they seated them-
selves at the rear of the car, while I and my party were-

LEO AND HEAD.

4ft

near the front entrance. And, when the conductor made his
first appearance, my two pirates, being warned by me, kept as
still as death, and condensed themselves into the smallest pos-
sible space that I guess two buccaneers were ever compressed
into. So all passed serenely, and I began to hope that all
would so continue.

As for my pair of criminals, now that they were really started
on their wild career, really stealiiig, — stealing a ride, — their
spirits rose, although their bodies couldn't; and they exchanged
kicks of congratulation, and pinches of sympathy, — about their
only methods of communication. They even began to exchange
ideas with each other and with me by whispers ; but I was fear-
ful they would be overheard, and enjoined strict silence.

One of my ruffians, the elder one, was of a rather phlegmatic
temperament for a pirate, and could have kept still for an
indefinite period : but, unfortunately, his legs were very long
for his body ; and, getting cramped every now and ther, one
or other of his limbs would protrude beyond the line of seats^
whereupon the owner of the protruding limb would be severely
reprimanded by me, while his fellow-pirate would warn him
against similar future indiscretions by sundry kicks (not of
congratulation) and pinches (not of sympathy), and would
curse him for an awkward lubber and a daddy longlegs. The
younger pirate, however, though he did not transgress with his
leg, was of a nervous, restless temperament, and was all the
time desirous of bobbing up with his head. Now, a head ex-
tending above a seat supposed to be unoccupied was as likely
to attract attention as a leg extending under it ; so I was con-
stantly obliged to call the restless little rascal to task, much to
the delight of his more quiet, though longer-legged, companion.

In fact, what with the two, the leg of the one and the head
of the other, I was kept in a state of constant nervous anxiety,
in the midst of which my cares were brought to a climax by

"CONDENSING A PIRATE."

\ii

!!!'!i

the entrance, at a way-station, of a fat woman, who coolly and
calmly seated herself right on ihe seat behind me, and directly
over — on top of. in fiict — the younger of the wild adven-
turers.

Here was a situation for me, and for him. I fairly perspired
with perplexity, which, of course, I was compelled to conceal.
What to do I could not guess, but that fat woman must be
removed at all hazards. But how? This was the question I
asked myself in despair. I opened ti.o window facing my 3eat.
The fat woman seemed rather to like the fresh air. I closed
the window quickly, with a bang ; but, after looking at me with
mingled curiosity and adipose amiability, she subsided into her
seat, content. Suddenly she moved slightly: something seemed
to trouble her feet. I could readily guess what it was. The
restless young pirate underneath, feeling himself cramped, had
stirred slightly, and disturbed her. Oh, if she should take it
into her fat head to investigate the cause of the disturbance!
I was on nettles. But she was too ^it and too lazy. She didn't
investigate, and the pirates were saved.

For just then she did for herself what we never could have
done with her, — she moved her seat. Looking back, she rec-
ognized one of the persons in the rear of the car, and got up,
and joined her friend. I felt, for all the world, like a criminal
who liad received a respite But then the conductor came
along once more ; and there was more agony of anxiety, more
cramping and condensing of pirate and small boy, till the
man of tickets passed on, and there was anotlier breathing-
spell.

Before a great while my amateur rascals had become thor-
oughly disgusted with this style of rascality. They had not
calculated on it. Pistols and clasp-knives were here of no
avail, and I would not permit them to touch the whiskey they
had brought with them. I was firm in my temperance princi-

AN IDEA.

lor-
not
no
ihey
inci-

ples still, and threatened, if they drank a drop, to abandon thenu
— a dire threat, which made my pirates shudder.

Still, it was an adventure after all ; and they were getting^
nearer to Boston every minute.

But, at the next station, the doom of my buccaneers seemed
sealed. A gentleman and a lady, evidently luisband and wife,
middle-aged and well to do, entered the car, and seated them-
selves right behind me, right uver one of my stowaways. They
brought plenty of traps and wraps with them, some of wliich
they disposed of in the rack above them, the balance of which
they laid upon the seat directly behind them, which was then
unoccupied. Then they threw themselves back upon their
seat with the air of people who had come to stay, — or rather,
under the circumstances, to go, — and to go all the way ta
Boston probably. Two of them, and one of them a num.
There was no sort of help for my pirates now.

And, to cap the climax, in a little while a new batch of pas-
sengers came in : and, the seat behind being in demand, the
middle-aged gentleman, who had put some of his things on it,
now began to remove them, with the idea of putting thenx
inider his own seat ; but one of my pirates was under tlip seat
at that identical moment : and, as I knew enough about natural
philosophy to know that two things cannot occupy the same
place at the same time, I made up my mind that " the game
was up."

Then, in my desperation, an idea seized me, — an idea that
was really bold and clever, if I say it myself. I resolved to
grasp the situation, and turn it to my own purposes, to aid fato
in bringing about a dinodment^ but to change the dSnoAment
into such a one as I wanted. I resolved to confess all in ad-
vance, — the confession couldn't be more than a minute "in
advance" of discovery anyway now, — and to throw myself,
that is to say, my fugitives, upon the mercy of the gentleman

'-':i^

I' ! > I

I i!.

I; I SB

t 'I;

FICTION MINGLED WITH FACT.

and his wife, — perhaps the other passengers in the car, but the
middle-aged gentleman and his wife particularly.

These two looked like kind-hearted people : the lady, espe-
cially, had gentle eyes. I felt sure, with a boy's instinct, that
I could appeal to her sympathy ; but the same instinct told me
that there would be little if any sympathy in their orthodox
and well-regulated souls for two scamps, like my two juvenile
pirates, running away from home, to make real fools and would-
be rogues of themselves in a strange city. No : I would have
to mingle a considerable amount of fiction with the factK of my
<jonfe9sion. I saw that at once, and I had my story ready.

" Please, ma'am," I said, turning round to the middle-aged
lady, — who was receiving some of their traps from her hus-
band's hand, preparatory to arranging them under the seat, —
and touching her with my hand on her arm.

The lady turned to me, and said kindly, " Well, please what,
my little boy ? "

" Her voice was soft and low." Shakspeare says, that " is
an excellent thing in woman;" and it confirmed the impres-
sion of her gentle eyes. I took courage, and said, ''Please,
ma'am, don't put your things under there," pointing under the
seat.

The lady was evidently surprised, and no wonder, at my
request, as was her husband. " What's that yon say, my boy?"
asked the latter ; and his voice was cheery and kindly, though
manly. He had only spoken six words to me in his life ; and
yet my boy's heart warmed towards him, as a good, fatherly
sort of a man, — the kind of man boys like.

I repeated my request, and accompanied it by its explana-
tion, which was the simple truth. ** Please, ma'am," I said,
♦'don't put your things down there; because there is a boy
down there already."

The worthy couple gave a start. *' A boy ! " ejaculated the

".V

" ' IMfiW(>, ma'am,' \ said, 'don't, put ymir things clown thero ; because
tlicn's a l«>y down tlicro already ' " [p. 4(>].

A STORY.

gentleman. " A little boy under my seat all this time ! " said
the lady.

" Yes, ma'am," I continued ; " and there is another little boy
right under my seat, right in front of your feet."

" Two boys : this is wonderful ! " said the gentleman. But
the lady with the gentle eyes and the soft, low voice only said,
"Poor little fellows!"

Naturally, the lady and gentleman were going to step out of
their seats, and to stoop d. wn under them, to look at the two
boys ; but I begged them not to do so, as their doing so would,
of course, attract general attention among the other passengers.

So far no one had observed this little scene. The words
spoken, both on my side and on theirs, had been uttered in a
low tone. And the lady and gentleman at once, at my request,
refrained from yielding to their natural impulse of looking for
the stowaways, and bringing them out, but instead looked to
me, as if demanding from me a full explanation of the strange
episode.

I gave them an explanation, — and such an explanation ! It
did credit to my inventive powers. I made up, on the spot,
at a minute's notice, a story " out of whole cloth," which was
just the kind of story to enlist my hearers' sympathies.

According to my account, the two stowaways, instead of
being bloody-minded pirates, were the gentlest and the best of
juvenile creations, and, instead of having fathers and mothers
from whom they had run away, had been left orphans at an
early age, and had been consigned to perfect brutes of an undo
and aunt, who treated them cruelly, beating them, and refusing
them to be allowed the privileges of schooling, keeping them
even from attending Sunday school, — an institution to which,
according to my version, my bold Boston buccaneers had ever
been devotedly attached.

This account completely won over the lady. The idea of

UE DIDN'T REALLY SEE WHY.'

h ^1 'H

two good boys running away from their relatives because they
were not allowed to go to Sunday school was decidedly origi-
nal, and from its very novelty was entitled to favor. And by
judiciously describing the imaginary uncle of these two lamb-
like little brothers as just the very opposite of the middle-aged
gentleman himself, and inferring flatteringly though delicately
in my narrative that I fully recognized the difference between
the two men, I won over the middle-aged gentleman as well
us his wife.

Had they only guessed that their supposed innocent, lamb-
like, Sunday-school-loving fugitives carried about with them at
that precise moment whiskey-flasks, cards, and tobacco, and
were going to Boston with an eye to burglary — Ah ! it is well
that we do not all of us always know every thing.

By my highly imaginative narrative I completely enlisted
the sympathies of my two hearers, and impressed them warmly
in favor of the stowaways. They would at once have changed
their seat, so as to give the " dear, good little boys " more room ;
but I represented to them, that, by so doing, they would increase
the difficulties and risks of the fugitives, as the seat could not
be retained, and might at any moment be occupied by new, and
possibly unfriendly, parties, — parties to whom I would have
to retell my yarn, and who possibly might not believe it.

The lady also at first proposed to get the boys out, and to
pay their fare for them in the regular way; that is, to have
her husband do so. But the middle-aged gentleman did not see
it in this light. Men seldom do " see " the paying money out
for other men's boys as forcibly and as favorably as their wives,
sisters, daughters, or sweethejjrts see it. No : the middle-aged
gentleman didn't really see why he and his wife should inter-
fere at all. He wished the boys well ; he certainly would not
betray them to the conductor; he would do all he could to
shield them from observation and detection ; but, as for i)a}n)g

1 = r,-«l

TUE ''BOLD, BAD BOY" AND "SUNDAY SCHOOL." 49

id to
lave
►t see
out
ives,
aged
nter-
not
Id to

their passage, that '^as another matter. All that he could be
induced to promise, was to give the good little boys a little
money when they parted at the end of the trip, and to " make
it all right with the conductor " if that official pounced on the
fugitives before they reached Boston.

But he did not pounce upon them. Thanks to the consider-
ate care of the lady with the gentle eyes., who never left her
seat all the trip through, though she sat very uncomfortably,
trying to make as much room as possible for the stowaways ;
and thanks to the interest taken in the fugitives by the middle-
aged gentleman, who got the good little boys some refreshments
at one of the way-stations, and contrived to feed them on
apples and sandwiches surreptitiously, — the disguised pirates
and bogus buccaneers managed to reach the Boston depot,
almost bent double with being cramped, and worn out with
being jolted, but safe and sound.

Reaching the depot, the kind-hearted lady and gentleman
lingered in their car for some time, so as to give the stowa-
ways a chance to creep out from their concealment unobserved.
The lady, of course, was curious to see the " good little boys,"
and took an especial fancy to the younger one, who was decid-
edly the worst boy of the two. She said a few kind words to
him, and asked him a few questions. During this talk I stood
by very nervous; for I was afraid that something my young
rascal might say might betray him, and show up the falsity of
my story.

I was specially afraid lest the lady should ask my juvenile
pirate any question about the Sunday school, which I had made
him love so dearly. Now, if there was any one place which
this particular "bold, bad boy" hated worse than he did
another, it was a Sunday school; and his amount of religious
knowledge may be inferred from the fact that I once had over-
beard him telling another boy how "some traitor called Judas

THE PIRATES REACH BOSTON.

Scareit had gone back on another person called Abraham, and
sold him to a leader, called Julius Caesar, for thirty dollars."
This being so, you can readily imagine how I dreaded any
"catechizing" now. But, luckily, time was pressing; and so,
having kissed the two monsters of youthful depravity, whom
she took to be such dear, good little boys, the lady with the
gentle eyes departed with her husband, who, ere his departure,
gave us three boys each fifty cents apiece, — a gift which, I am
ashamed to say, we valued more than the kiss or the kind
words.

The first thing my two pirates did on reaching Boston and
freedom was to swear, — swear like troopers. The next thing
they did was to drink — drink like fishes — from their pocket-
pistols ; then they took a " chaw of tobaccy " apiece ; and then
we all three stalked into the nearest eating-house, and ate the
greater part of our fifty cents up, like famished wolves.

I began to be myself infected by the spirit of " adventure : "
and I would willingly have lingered longer with my incipient
cut-throats, though we did not have seventy cents among us ;
but I expected a party from the " House of the Angel Guard-
ian " to meet me at the depot, and came across him as I left
the eating-house with my companions. I was forthwith taken
in charge of; and bidding my prospective ruffians, ex-charges,
and former companions, " good-by," never saw them again, and
commenced a new phase of my checkered life at the " House
of the Angel Guardian."

I have been minute in the detail of my boy-life, and in the
statement of my juvenile adventures hitherto, for two reasons :
First, the boy is the beginning of the man ; and, to understand
and appreciate the man, you must first " get at " the boy. If
my readers are to be, as I trust they will be, interested in the
man Thomas N. Dontney, they must first be introduced to,
and become well lUMjuainted with, the lad Tom Doutney.

DEMORALIZING JUVENILE LITEBATUBE.

n the
isons :
stand

y- «

n the
d to*

Second, I have been led to be minute in my details of boy-
life because I find that these details have previously been too
much neglected by previous writers. Thus, v/hile there have
been any number of books devoted to the evils of intemperance,
in scarcely any of these books is reference made to the forming
of intemperate habits in early boyhood ; and yet in a largo per-
centage of cases, as in mine, the men became drunkards when
they were boys.

As has been already shown, I became a drunkard when
*^ only a boy." I formed the bad habits, which cursed me as a
man, when " only a boy." For good or for evil I cannot too
strongly insist upon tht truth of the saying I have already
quoted, " The boy is the father of the man."

And this applies, not only to intemperance, but other evils, —
to the love of sensational and demoralizing literature, for
example. The instances of my two bold Boston buccaneers
arc cases in point. True, tliese two young rascals were dis-
covered by the Boston police before they liad opportunity to
commit any overt breach of the peace, or break the laws of
the land and the Ten Commandments, and were sent back to
their homes. But the poison of " dime novel " -ism had done its
work : and to-day both of those boys are social outlaws, — pro-
fessional criminals ; and their cases are but two out of two
thousand.

While on this point, — the pernicious effect of sensational
literature on the young, — I would cull attention to the sub-
joined article on this subject, published in tlie bright and newsy
« New- York Morning Journnl"' of Feb. 9, 1883: —

MISSING CHILDREN.

MISSING CIIILDREX.

THE PERNICIOUS EKFECT OK 8KN8ATIO.NAI. FICTION UPON SCHOLARS. —
IN8TANCK8 OF SEVERAL SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCES OF CHILDREN FROM
MOTIVES OF EXCITEMENT. —OFFICIAL INTERVIEWS UPON THE SUBJECT.

The epidemic of sudden disappearances develoiied early last fall,
and at first conlined to bank-cashiers and municipal defaulters, has
now broken out among children. Scarcely a week passes but that
some distracted parent reports her i)etted, golden-haired child to be
missing. In some cases the little one remains away days, — nay,
even weeks ; in others the absence is merely transient, lasting not
longer than a few hours.

With the object of tracing this peculiar phase of New- York life,
a *^ Morning- Journal " reporter has investigated a number of cases
of missing children.

On Thursday last Dr. A. Kettembeil, residing at One Hundred
and Sixty-flrat Street, reiiorted at half-past seven o'clock at the
Thirty- thiixl Precinct Station, that his little daughter Mary, aged
eleven years, was missing. The child was supix)sed to have been
accompanied by a schoolfellow of the same age, Maggie O'Rourke
by name.

Maggie is the daughter of Mr. O'Rourke, employed at Ebling's
brewery. Both children had attended the school of the Catholic
institution on One Hundred and Sixty-third Street, and had been to
school that day.

DR. KETTES^EIL INTERVIEWED.

Yesterday a '* Journal" reporter called upon the doctor, and learaed
that the missing ones had been found. He said, '^ She, in company
with Maggie O'Rourke, who has run away from home half a dozen
times, had walked from the schoolhouse to a friend's house on
Seventy-first Street. The only motive I can find out from question-
ing her was the wish to have a good time. She is usually an obedient
little girl, and I have no doubt was persuaded by her companion."

JUVENILE VAGRANTS.

*' Have you any theory for those disappenrances, doctor? "

♦' No, beyond a desire for change. She had visited my friend

before, wlio naturally supiwsed we Itnew wlierc tlie cliild was."
The 0'l{ourl<e family, uiK)n being questioned, were very reticent,

and declined to have any thing to say, beyond the fact that the girl

bad been found.

A POLICE-SEIlOEANT'a EXPERIENCE.

Acting-sergeant Dennerlain, ui)on being asked whether the absences
of children were frequent, replied, " Yes : we are continually asked
by frightened parents to discover their lost children ; but, as a rule,
they do not stay away longer than a few hours at a time. We
recently had a case of two boys disappearing for three weeks.
They were thirteen and flfteeu years of age respectively. They hod
saved up their iX)cket-money, and wanted to > see life ' as described
in the dime-novel order of literature. Two dollars, I think, comprised
their stock of money ; and finally they were discovered by the police
in Jersey City.

''Another case within my recollection was that of a young girl of
seventeen, who staid away three days, and has ever since refused to
give an account of where she had been, beyond saying that ' she bad
been staying with some friends.' Her parents are most respectable
people, and that is wiiy I would not care to mention their names."

OTHER INSTANCES.

Mrs. Gordon, laundress, 1011 Third Avenue, has also experienced
repeated anxiety from the same cause. In this instance a bright boy,
fourteen years of age, has frequently disappeared from home, through
the fascinating experiences of pernicious literature. A few days
after '^'lietmas, in company with a companion named Morgan, they
start* d fur '^be Far West, upon a capital of a dollar and forty-five
cents. As 90on as the novelty of adventure began to pall upon
their yourlif ul minds, the twain were arrested in Newark for vagrancy,
and sent home.

John Spielenhoffer, baker, of East Eighty-second Street, has the

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DEFECTIVE HOME-TRAINING.

misfortune to be the parent of three children, two girls and a boy,
whose ages vary from twelve to fifteen, and who seem to have a
chronic disposition for running away. The father is a widower, and
consequently often away from home. The children, it seems, have
formed a gang of amateur "bandits," whose sanguinary raids are
frequently prolonged for twenty-four hours at a time, causing endless
anxiety and consternation to their relatives.

DETECTIVE PINKEUTON's OPINIONS.

Mr. Robert Pinkerton, in discussing the subject of missing chil-
dren with the writer, said, " We used to have frequent inquiries of
this kind, but latterly we have had no cases of the nature you refer
to. I have no doubt that the cause is mainly due to the craze for
excitement produced by morbid tales of adventure. No, I do not
think there is any deliberately immoral object in view, nor do I
believe that professional abductors of children ply their trade very
successfully in this city. Usually the cause will be found to be
purely local, due in most instances to defective home-training, and
being allowed to run the streets."

MR. JULIUS BUNNER SPEAKS.

This gentleman is a member of the board of education. His
district comprises Wards Nos. One to Plight (excepting No. Seven).
" I think the teachers in our city schools throw as great a safeguard
over their pupils as it is possible for them to do. From my own obser-
vation I can safely say, that I have found the schools during hours to
be securely locked, and no children are allowed to leave during those
hours. I have also frequently seen policemen stationed outside when
the hours of study expire.

"My owa opinion is, that disappearances are largely owing to
pernicious literature, for the perusal of which parents are as much
to blame as children. I really think that the subject should receive
the attention of our legislature."

A WOMAN'S PROTEST.

A protest against " sensational literature " for the young —
a protest far stronger than any of the points stated in the arti-
cle just quoted — has recently appeared, under the signature
of a woman, — Mrs. Louis T. Lull.

Mrs. Lull was the wife of a man who had attained considera-
ble eminence as a member of the detective police in the West.
He was quick, keen, honest, determined, brave ; and, in the dis-
charge of his duties, he attempted the arrest of the notorious
outlaws, the James brothers, who had made the South-West
the scene of their robberies and murders.

In this attempt, for which he deserved honorable recognition,
he received wounds which proved to be ultimately fatal. He
died, therefore, literally in the path of duty, and had a claim
upon the respect and sympathy of the community. But, instead
of receiving his poor meed of t raise, the dying detective was
held up to popular " scorn " in " popular literature."

Stories and plays were written about the bandits, in which
they were the heroes and the detectives were the fools, the
clowns, as it were, the materials to furnish the laughter, by
being constantly held up to ridicule as the dupes or victims of
the outlaws. The robbers and the murdei-ers were depicted as
gallant, brave, aspiring men, to be imitated ; while the honest,
energetic upholders of law and order, tlie officers of justice,
were held up to execration or contempt, men to be hated in
real life, and despised in print, or on the stage.

Burning with a sense of this outrage, — a sense all the
warmer because her own husband was one of the examples of
this outrage, — Mrs. Lull wrote from her o'er-fraught heart, with
all the eloquence of righteous wrath, a letter to "The New-
York Herald," which I here reprint, as a masterpiece of its kind,
as a bitter protest against the sensational juvenile literature of
the day, — not of a past day, bear in mind, bu+ of the present
day, 1883.

B ORDER-R UFFIAN DRAMA S.

True, the letter alludes chiefly to "sensation dramas" for
boys and for young men ; but its words are equally applicable
to sensation stories and " dime novels " generally.

And in the particular instance to which the lady particularly
alludes, — the career of Jesse James, — this has been the theme
of many " books " as well as " dramas : " and " book " and
"drama" alike make the .outlaw, the ruffian, the murderer,
their hero ; while they have only scorn and laughter for the
faithful officers of the law, who risked their lives — and lost
them — in their line of duty.

I here quote, verbatim et literatim^ the letter in " The New-
York Herald" of Feb. 10, 1883, to which allusion has been
made: —

' BORDER RUFFIAN DRAMAS.

THE WIDOW OP A MURDERED OFFICER ASKS WHO WAS THE HERO, THE
OUTLAW OR THE DETECTIVE 7— DEBASING PLAYS.

New York, Feb. 9, 1883.
To the Editor of the " Herald."

Most people will recall the particulars of the Gadshill robbery, and
the crimes which precccl^d and followed its ending in the tragic events
which finally destroyed that murderous band of outlaws of which the
James brothers and the Younger brothers were the chief miscreants.
They will recall the fact, that these desperadoes, armed to the teeth,
and prepared alike for plunder or for human butchery, became a
terror to peaceable and orderly people living in considerable sections
of two great States, and how they committed crime after crime, and
broke the laws of God and man, until every honest* hand was against
them, and the outcry was loud and deep that such brutality should not
go unpunished. They will remember how at last the bravest and
best officers of the detective force of the country — incorruptible
men, with brain and nerve and energy — were chosen to face these
banded outcasts, and bring them to justice. And they will remember
how these officers grappled with the practised ruffians, and at last
fought them down, though succeeding in their object only i iter giv-

A "REAL HERO."

ing their blood, and too often their lives, to aid in holding up the
hands of justice. But perhaps the people of your city were not
prepared to find that the cruel, boastful, blood-stained bandits of yes-
terday have become the godlike heroes of to-day ; that these men,
whose heart-sickening crimes brought death and destruction to happy
homes, are now represented upon the dramatic stage as brandishing
their r^^apons, making famous rides, and again committing their
infamous* crimes to loud applause. But so it is ; and the young men
and women who are now witnessing and approving, in the name of
romance, of these dark and cruel deeds of blood, are planting seed
which will, sooner or later, ripen into bitter fruit. These are fearful
heroes whom they worship.

And what of the real heroes? What of the men who sacrificed
their lives for duty's sake? Bandied about the stage, cast into con-
tempt, caused to be foolishly deceived, handcuffed by the " bandit
kings," and laughed at by the people in whose name and for whose
cause they died.

I have not witnessed the horrible play that thus disgraces your
stage. But the flaming posters which I fain would not see, but
which confront me at every step, tell only too well of the awful
crimes which your people encourage nightly ; and from one and
another I learn, though I would gladly close my ears to f.U of i«,
about the memory of bi-ave men outrage-l, and their deeds despised.
I hear of James's famous ride from Kansas City, and see upon the
walls the pictures of " the detectiver riao to death," — a death made
to appear senseless and ignominious.

Let me tell the true story of a single on . of these detectives' rides
to death, that thosi who cheer tales of crime at the theatres may
have a glimpse of the other side of the picture. The story is simple.
In 1874 Capt. Louis J. Lull, late of the Chicago police force, was
employed by Allen Pinkerton to take charge of the little bui of
brave men who were to bring these rufBans to account. It was after
the Gadshill robbery; and Capt. Lull, an Eastern man, honest of
puriK)se, of high character and indomitable courage, rode out upon
« pre-arranged route of search, having St. Clair County, Mo., as

■

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in'

C^Pr. LULL AND JIM YOUNGER.

its objective point. One of his associates, Mr. W. J. Whicher,.
took a road leading to tlie borders of Clay County ; and they were to
act in unison. Capt. Lull was accompanied by Mr. "Wright and by
Sheriff Daniels of St. Clair County. The party rode into the
Monogaw woods, near Roscoe, Mo., and were there suddenly sur-
prised by the Younger brothers, who were also mounted, and who
instantly covered the party with their rifles. Tl e terrible battle com-
menced at once. The Youngers called upon the detectives to give
up their weapons. They had been surprised ; the chances were all
against them, and they dropped the navy revolvers which were in
their belts. After they had done so, John Younger fired, and shot
Daniels dead. Wright spurred up his horse, and fled. Capt. Lull
was then alone with these outlaws. He had surrendered ; yet he
was fired upon, and his bridle-arm was shattered before he could
strike a blow. He succeeded, however, in extricating a small Smith
& Wesson revolver from an inside pocket, — he had dropped his navy
revolver in response to the call to surrender, — and he shot and killed
John Younger. Then commenced a desperate encounter between
Capt. Lull and Jim Younger. Riding furiously side by side, they
shot at each other again and again. But Capt. Lull's horse was
high-spirited and restless, and disarranged his rider's aim. Capt.
Lull fell, — fell, shot three times by a murderous hand after he had
surrendered. Capt. Lull was my husband.

Is it surprising that I grow restless at the sight of these flaming
posters, which show James, the hero villain, in his glorious ride from
Kansas City, while they represent with contemptuous pity the detec-
tives' ride to death ? Is it not, indeed, an outrage, not only on myself,
but upon every good person in your city, that these walls should be
placarded with such pictures, and the stage given over to teachings
which make crime godlike and heroism infamous ?

My husband lingered in agony at Roscoe. He sent for me. Two
days before I heard from him, I read in a newspaper, while on a
sick-bed in Chicago, of the death of Mr. Whicher, who, after leav-
ing his valuables in the hands of the sheriff of Clay County, went
to the house of Mrs. Samuels, mother of the James brothers, where

"Riding furiously side by side, tliey shot at oacli otlier again and again'
fp. 68].

1; -i

HOW A GOOD MAN DIED.

5»

he was the same night captured, strapped to the back of a horse, and
taken to an adjoining county, where he was murdered in cold blood.
He, too, has met a fate hardly worse than the unsanctified horror of
his death in being impei-sonated and held up nightly upon the stage
as a dishonored man ; though he died in the path of duty.

I hastened to Capt. Lull, hardly knowing what to believe of his
fate ; for Pinkerton's agency in Chicago had received contradictory
reports of the tragedy in the Monogaw woods. As I passed the
office of Adams' EApress Company under the Planters' House in St.
Louis, I saw a sight which made my heart sick within me. It was
a long, plain deal box, directed to Pinkerton's agency at Chicago.
I passed some dreadful moments in the street before I dared ask
what the contents were of this rough coffin. It contained the remains
of Mr. Whicher. My own hero was perhaps yet alive. With un-
speakable dread I hurried foi-ward to my husband. I was in time.
I was with him when his great heart broke. I saw the true picture
of the appalling tragedy of the Monogaw woods, and now I call upon
every mother and sister in the land to frown upon the horrible repre-
sentation placed upon the stage before their sons and their brothers.

MRS. LOUIS J. LULL.

CHAPTER VI.

MY COLLROIATE CAItKER. — DOES A " COLLEGE EDUCATION " EDUCATE 7—
A LADY GKADUATE. — A TYPICAL IRISHMAN. — A QUESTION OF ICE-CKEAH
AND INFLUENCE. —TUE UASH-HATEB, AND WHY HE HATED IT.

My life at the " House of the Angel Guardian " was com-
paratively uneventful. I was strictly guarded from temptation,
and therefore have nothing special to record concerning this
period of my life. After all, looking back upon our lives, do
not most of us find, that what at the time seemed the "dull-
est " periods of our careers, were generally the best, the safest,

? soundest, the most sensible ?

From the " House of the Angel Guardian," I was sent, by
my father (after a little experience in " business-life," to which
I shall refer more at length in the next chapter), to "Holy
Cross College " at Worcester, Mass.

Of course, my dear father thought that he was doing the
very best thing he could possibly do for me in thus affording
me an opportunity for a collegiate education ; but experience
and observation have combined to convince me, that the advan-
tages of a so-called " college education " are in this country
vastly overrated, not because education in itself is not a most
blessed thing, — next to morality, religion, and health, the great-
est of all blessings, — but because the species of education
taught at the majority of colleges and collegiate schools is of
no practical value in the great battle of life.

Education for the mind is fully as valuable and essential as
clothing to the body ; but the education should be adapted to

TRUE AND FALSE ED U CAT ION.

the nature and probable needs of tlie scholar, just as clutliiiig
should be adapted to the climate under wliich tlie wearer lives.

How absurd it would be to present the child about to depart
for India, say, with thick flannels, and a tremendously heavy
ulster overcoat ! Yet it would be really not one whit more
ridiculous than to take a child whose parents are poor or liard-
working people, dependent upon their daily labor for their daily
bread, — the child who must soon be himself thrust upon the
world, to battle with it as best he may, — and teach tliis cliild
chiefly the "higher mathematics," as some colleges make a
specialty of doing, or the " dead " or " classic " languages, as
other colleges make a feature of. ;

Can an average boy, even if he can master "the higher
mathematics," make a living by or on them ? No. Not in one
case in ten thousand can a young man, even if he can translate
and scan the Latin and Greek classics, secure an independence
by them. No : not in one case in ten thousand.

In the vast majority of instances, not only is the course of
study, the curriculum, of our collegiate institutions, of such a
character that the great majority of its scholars can never
hope to do it justice, but to even the exceptional few who can
and do, by patient study and with infinite difficulty, master it,
it proves of no practical avail. It amounts to but a realiza-
tion of the old, old story of the unfortunates who were doomed
to pour water forever into buckets that had no bottom, or
of those wretches who were forced by fate to roll up stones,
Qnly to see the stones roll down again.

Ninety per cent of the men who succeed in life have never
received " a college education." They have known " little
Latin and less Greek," and nothing whatever, probably, of
"the higher mathematics." But they have known how to
work, day and vight ; how to make money, and how — a still
harder task — to save it ; how to labor, " in season and out of

THE FEMALE " OBADUATE."

season ; " how to think and act for themselves ; and this sort^
of knowledge is not taught at college.

Of course, collegiate learning is a good thing — a very good
thing — in combination with the truly "higher education," which
teaches a young man what he is fit for in this world, and fits
him for it. With this it is truly admirable and desirable ; but
without this, or in the place of this, it is worthless, — worse
than worthless even, — positively and personally injurious.
The same remarks apply, in a modified degree, to fashionable
feminine schools and education.

A smattering of French, — and, generally, such a smattering
as makes a Frenchman smile when he is too polite to laugh
outright or sneer. A .aperficial knowledge of science, — so
superficial that a real scientist would be unable to detect it
at all, save as one sees animalculse in a drop of water through
a microscope. A knowledge of history, — so vague and uncer-
tain as to confound the Massacre of St. Bartholomew with the
Guy Fawkes Plot, as a lady "graduate" did recently; and to
locate the English Reformation, with Cranmer and Ridley, in
Germany, under Charles IX. of France, an historical feat
recently achieved by a young girl whose "diploma" at that
moment was suspended in a conspicuous place in her mother's
parlor. An acquaintance with belleS'lettreSy — so slight as to
attribute the authorship of "Tristram Shandy" to Disraeli,
and to credit Shakspeare with the comedy of " Money," — as
was done in the writer's hearing lately by a young woman
whose education was regarded as " finished." All this knowl-
edge (?), which would be worth but little in itself if full and
accurate, combined with utter and confessed ignorance about
housekeeping matters and cookery, — two matters of the very
utmQst practical importance, — such is the intellectual ^Hout
enumhW^ of the average female graduate of the period, — a
creature who is indeed " fearfully and wonderfully made " up,

-A?.

■^*

<:.!'

" He put tlie lads wlio annoyed her to fliglit, nn«l kept guani aronnil her
8tair'[p. (»]

THE OLD WOMAN AND YOUNG IRISHMAN.

without the slightest regard to common wear and tear, or com-
mon sense.

No wonder, in such a condition of things, that the Frencli
savant who visited the United States recently, summed up his
observations in the now famous sentence : " Mon Dieu ! what a
people ! one hundred religions, and only one gravy ! "

Still, I learned something — and something even useful — at
the College of the Holy Cross. At any rate, I formed habits of
application, and systematic employment of time, which kept
me out of mischief.

I also formed some friendships which have been of some
practical advantage to me since. Among my classmates was
a young Irish gentleman named Martin, of the best blood
of Dublin. This Martin was a character who would have
delighted th? soul of Charles Lever. He was the very incar-
nation of the typical Irishman, — brave, reckless yet shrewd,
careless, generous, hot-tempered, extravagant, the very soul of
gallantry and joviality.

I remember his once taking the part of an old apple-woman
who had been played tricks on by some of the college-boys.
The woman was a grandmother, ugly as " Meg Merrilies,"
toothless, almost palsied. Her voice was cracked with age.
She was surly, — most decidedly unpleasant. All that could be
said of her by her best friend, if she had any, — which she
didn't, — would have been that she was old, respectable, and a
woman. But these thre^ points, especially the last, sufficed for
the ybung Irishman.

He espoused the old woman's quarrel with oil the ardor of
his nature. Had he been her son, he could not have defended
her more earnestly : had he been her lover, he could not have
been more tender and gentle with her. He put the lads who
annoyed her to flight : he kept guard around her stall. Nay,
he did what was far more difficult than either: he absolutely

THE IRISHMAN AND ICE-CREAM.

coaxed, persuaded, and bullied the boys who owed her money
to pay their debts. This may stagger some ; for I know it is
rather a novel situation in which to place an Irishman, this
making him make other people pay their debts. But I am not
writing a romance, but telling the truth.

It really wa« an unselfish act in this Martin, — particularly
so, for the unpleasant old woman for whom he battled was as
deficient in the grace of gratitude as she was in the graces of
person. She did not even thank her champion, — even so muc>i
as by a blessing or an apple. In fact, if I remember rightly,
she tried to get ahead, in a little pecuniary transaction after-
wards, of her gallant Irishman, and, I presume, probably suc-
ceeded — as she was a Yankee.

Martin, in addition to his general characteristics as an Irish-
man, had two special personal peculiarities as an individual.
One of these was a decidedly unconquerable aversion to ice-
cream.

Thi-s for an Irishman, — a young Irishman, — and a rather
good-looking young Irishman, — was a very inconvenient aver-
sion, — not so much in itself as in its consequences: for, as
is well known, all Irishmen are fond of the ladies ; and, as
is equally well known, all ladies are fond of ice-cream. Now,
to love the sex, and yet to hate what the sex loves, is a rather
contradictory state of affairs ; and it perplexed even the Irish-
man.

First, it led him to avoid the ice-cream saloon altogether,,
even when with the girls (the pupils of the college were allowed
mce a week to receive or visit friends, and they generally con-
trived to have one or more friends of the opposite sex). But
this naturally led to the girls considering him "economical"
or " mean ; " and an " economical " or " mean " Irishman is an
impossible absurdity. As for Martin, he was rendered almost
"wild" at the bare idea of being thought "stingy," and sO'

ICE-CREAM AND INFLUENCE.

rushed to the other extreme, of asking every girl he knew to
take ice-cream.

But then, as he did not take any cream for himself, he would
be compelled to explain to each of his fair companions why he
did not. And then, woman-like, each of his fair companions
would either laugh at him, or try to talk him out of his notion,
and into ice-cream. Now, no Irishman can bear to be laughed'
at. You may laugh with him all you like ; and, the more you
laugh, the better for both: but you must not ridicule his Irish
gentlemanship. And no woman who ever lived can endure the
idea of a man resisting her talk. When a woman " talks at "
a man, she expects him to surrender to her tongue, — else why
have a tongue at all? And each one of his female companions
expected to coax and persuade her escort into doing what he
did not want to do ; i.e., partake of the ice-crer.m. Her amour
propre was involved in the talk. It became a question, not of
ice-cream, but of influence. Which of the young ladies of " the
students' quarter " should show her power over the Irishman
by influencing him to ice-cream ? This was the question ; and
it became a test-question among the female population of
Worcester, — at least among that lovely (though limited) por-
tion of it which came within the sphere of the student's
acquaintance.

Various were the blandishments, various were the stratagems,
resorted to, — smiles and persuasion were mingled, — by the
fair in this their extraordinary " siege of Martin," as it may be
called. But for the first time, probably, in the history of the
world, an Irishman resisted the ladies, — was obdurate and
obstinate, and refused ice-cream.

Another peculiarity of our young Irishman was his hatred of
frogs. This aversion to frogs was even greater than his antipa-
thy to ice-cream. It was such an instinctive aversion as I have
known the most accomplished and intelligent women to enter-

THE INVOLUNTARY FROG-EATER.

tain towards a mouse, — a harmless, and certainly not unhand-
some, mouse. He regarded the frog as a species of snake,
and he hated a snake with all the ardor of a descendant of
St. Patrick. The idea of tasting a frog to him would have
been an impious sacrilege as well as a physical impossibility.
" This view of the frog-question " effectually prevented Martin
^rom joining in one of the students' favorite amusements ; i.e.,
frog-catching. Ponds abounded in the vicinity of our college
building, and to those ponds it was a custom of the students
to proceed in what we called "frog-parties." Armed with
sticks and stones, we would skin the ponds of their frogs, and
skin the frogs afterwards, d la Frangaise. But Martin, though
a very social creature, would stay at the college on these
occasions, and amuse himself any way he could, solus.

One day at dinner I tried a little joke on Martin, which was
attended with a good deal more success than I myself antici-
pated, and was followed by an effect that I had not desired.
Martin was very fond of hash. In this point, I know, he differs
m.aterially from the ordinary New- York boarder ; but then, our
hash very materially differed from the hash of the ordinary
New- York boarding-house. Ours was genuine hash. There
were no hairs in our hash, nor buttons, nor an olla podrida of
stale stuff. It was hash, — not refuse. It was really very
palatable, as well as nutritious; and Martin liked it —

Till the day I played my joke on him. From that day he
tasted hash no more : he would as soon have eaten frog. In
fact, that was my little joke. I said to him, pointing to a dish
of hash he was devouring with relish, "Do you know what
that is?" — "Or course I do," replied Martin, with a look of
wonder at my question. "What is it?" said I. "Why,
hash," said he. "But what is the hash made of?" said I.
" Of meat, to be sure," said he. " Not a bit of meat in that
hash," said I. " Then, what on earth is there in it ? " said he.

IIOLY-CKOSS COLLEGE.

*' Frogs' legs boiled down," said I. But not a word said he ;
but he left the table hurriedly, looking very "sea-sick," —
and he never ate hash again. In vain I subsequently explained
to him that I had been joking, and begged his pardon for my
ill-timed jest. The kind-hearted fellow cordially forgave me,
and never harbored malice, — but never swallowed hash either.
From that hour on till probably his dying day, if poor Martin
is dead, or till he dies, he never has relished, and never can
enjoy, hash. The idea of the legs of frogs will always be asso-
ciated with the hash. It would be an awful thing for New-
York landladies if there were m..ny Irishmen like Martin.

Well, I have not seen Martin for many a year, — probably
will never see him again in this world, — and all our merry set
of students are scattered ; and many of them are dead, doubt-
less : but I still love to recall the memory of the comparatively
happy, and certainly harmless, days and nights which I passed
in Holy-Cross College.

CHAPTER VII.

I COMMENCE MY MERCANTILE CAREER. -> MODERN TRADE AS IT RKALLY
IS. —ITS "seamy" and ITS " STARRY " SIDES. — MODEL FIRMS AND
MILLIONNAIRES. — CENTENNIAL EXCURSIONS. — A NEW VIEW OF A. T.
STEWART. —JORDAN, MARSH, & CO.

It was not in the nature of things that I should remain long
at college. My father's pecuniary position was such that he
could not long afford to support me in idleness, — for compara-
tive idleness it was, — especially so far ps contributing any thing^
to my own expenses was concerned. I was not born, luckily
or unluckily, with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was not the
son of a rich man, and bread-and-butter necessities were with
me paramount. I therefore was compelled to abandon, at an
early period, school, for " real life," which is by far the best
school after all. As before remarked, I tried " business " a brief
period after leaving the " House of the Angel Guardian " and
before entering Holy-Cross College : and now, after a year at
college ; after a year of study, and some little success, I am glad
to say, as a student ; after passing creditably an examination,
and being awarded a silver medal as a college prize, the
medal being handed me by no less a personage than Gov.
Andrew himself, — John A. Andrew, one of the most illus-
trious governors of the illustrious State of Massachusetts;
after bidding an affectionate good-by to my student compan-
ions, — I took a little vacation, and then left college-life forever,
and entered the world. In other phrase, I was placed in a store*
and commenced a mercantile career.

nOYS AND BUSINESS.

This last phrase sums up the history of most boys in this
country. They are " placed in a store to commence a mercan-
tile career." Of course, there are a certain number of boys
who ultimately study for the *' professions," and a smaller
number who either "do nothing at all," as it is called, i.e.,
live upon their relatives' money, or do even worse, and go to
the bad outright. But these are the exceptions to the general
rule of a mercantile career. Fngland has been styled " a nation
of shop-keepers," and " the United States " is the land of trade
and traders as well as of the trade-dollars.

How important it is, therefore, that, whenever possible, the
average American lad should be trained for the average Ameri-
can career. My first " place," as the saying goes, was with the
firm of G. W. Warren & Co., now known all over the conti-
nent as Jordan, Marsh, & Co. In this place, I hope it is not
vain for me to state that I was frequently complimented by
William H. O'Brien, Esq, one of the firm (since deceased),
and by John J. Stevens, Esq., the superintendent of the estab-
lishment.

I was naturally quick at grasping the main points of any
subject presented to me ; and, now brought face to face with
trade, I appreciated at once the importance of two things, —
keeping my eyes open, and my legs and arms busy in the inter-
ests of my employers, which was my own interest.

I liked " business," too, what little I knew of it. It brought
me into constant contact with other boys and men. It gave
me a chance to read in the big book of humanity, which, in
the estimation of most boys, surpasses in interest any other big
book written. It was a " sociable " study, with living beings
for printed words. Most boys possess the "trading" spirit,
as witness their fondness for " swapping." Boys are often as
keen at bargains as men ; and I must confess that there was
something in the very air of " business " that seemed, as it were.

MODERN TRADE.

to agree with my constitution." I suppose, that having been
born in Canada, and Canada not lying far from New England»
may have had something to do with it. They do say that a
genuine Kanuck is not far behind, in cuteness, a genuine
Yankee. However this may be, I really liked business and its
wjiys, and was somewhat sorry when it was thought by my
father best to send me to school again, or rather, this time,
to college.

While I was at college my brothers remained in trade in the
employ of the firm of C. C. Holbrook & Co., No. 12 Summer
Street, Boston ; and, when I left college " for good," I likewise
obtained a place in this establishment.

My brothers and myself were fortunate in thus, at the very
outset of our careers, obtaining positions, however humble»
in such well-known houses as Warren & Co. and Holbrook &
Co. These firms represented " business " at its best, not only
its enterprise, its shrewdness, its keenness of calculation, its
grasping ambition, its far-reaching desire for gain, — all of which
are very well, indispensable in their way, — but also in its
nobler and higher aspects, in its liberality, its large-heartedness,
its honesty, and conscientiousness. Thank Heaven, there are
such things in modern trade !

We hear and read a great deal, and sometimes a great
deal too much, about the petty dishonesties of trade and the
gigantic swindles of business. The papers are full of accounts
of wild speculations, debasing peculations, little, very little
and belittling dodges and tricks for gain, and brutal heart-
lessness. We read every day of frauds attempted, committed,
or detected. Every one is familiar with the wrongs inflicted
upon employees by soulless employers. The over-worked and
under-paid clerk or shop-girl is a common — far too common
— spectacle.

But we do not hear and do not read, as often as we

JORDAN, MARSH, dk CO.

should, of the honest and upright men who do business in our
midst. We are not made as familiar as we ought to be with
the history of firms which combine worldly shrewdness with
Christian principle, and the managers of which practise that
true godliness which, we are told, has the promise of this life»
and of the life that is to come. Yet there are hundreds,
thousands of such firms doing business, and doing it thor-
oughly, successfully, and satisfactorily, in all our large cities.
The two firms under which my earliest business life was passed
were cases in point.

Take Jordan, Marsh, <fe Co. (the firm into which G. W.
Warren & Co. was merged) for example : this firm transacts
an enormous business on the most intelligently liberal, as well
as economical, principles. Its operations and receipts are
simply enormous. It is shrewdness itself; yet it has a soul, a
system with a soul in it, — a system which, while it regards its
numerous employees as money-makers for its interests, also
regards them as human beings, with souls and bodies of their
own, which claim a certain share of consideration at its hands.
In pursuance of this soulful and therefore truly sensible system,
this celebrated firm has sent, at its expense, excursion parties
of its employees to Europe. In pursuance of this system, this
firm treats all its employees like men, women, or children, as
the case may be, not as mere machines. In pursuance of this
blessed, truly Christian system of doing business, this firm, as
far as possible, looks after the individual welfare of its em-
ployees, and thereby best promotes its own welfare ; for it goes
without saying, that such a firm as Jordan, Marsh, & Co. is
well served.

Boston has many things to be proud of, alike in the line of
political history and literary achievement. But, to my mind,
the success of such a firm as Jordan, Marsh, & Co., in its
midst, is as good a thing to be proud of as any other.

A CHRIHTMAS GIFT.

It proves, that spite of their well-known, their proverbial,
dhrewdness, "Yankee traders'" have hearts as well as brains,
and that they have respect for the law of Love as well as
the laws of Business. For years the firm of Jordan, Marsh,
& Co. have been a household word in Boston, synonymous
with liberality, fair dealing, and courtesy, as well as far-reach-
ing enterprise. For years upon years the firm of Jordan,
Marsh, & Co. have been identical, as it were, with humanity,
as well as with mercantile honor ; with charity, as well as
integrity ; with Christianity, as well as trade.

I would also take this opportunity of speaking a kind word
in memoriam concerning the late Mr. Holbrook, the senior
member of the firm of C. C. Holbrook & Co. Like the mem-
bers of the firm of Jordan, Marsh, & Co., this gentleman's
system 6f doing business had a soul in it. He was always
willing to help the industrious, the humble, and the poor, in
their times of distress and trouble. His employees always
found in him, not only an employer, but a friend. He was
always striving to advance the true interests of all in any
way connected with him. The world would be the better
for more such generous hearts. Sorrow is alleviated by kind
deeds.

But it was not merely my luck or the luck of my brothers
to meet such model employers as these. The business world is
full of them, and their numbers are increasing every day.

Last Christmas, for example, an illustration was given to the
world. A firm doing business in Jersey City, — a firm whose
name I do not now recall, — a firm which had never made any
great pretensions to superior humanity or philanthropy or
Christianity, — made its hundreds of employees an unexpected
Christmas present, and made the present in such a way and by
such a system as to greatly enhance the value of the gift.

Each employee of this firm, from the porter or the humblest

INVESTING IN HUMAN NATURE.

cash-boy up to the confidential book-keeper and the treasurer of
the concern, received a letter from the firm, expressing its
interest in his welfare, wishing him the compliments of the
season, and requesting his acceptance of an enclosed gift,
amounting to just one fifty-second part of his yearly salary, or
one week's wages.

The boy at three dollars a week received as a holiday gift
just three dollars in cash ; and the gentleman in a responsible
position, at a salary of ten thousand a year, received two hun-
dred dollars in cash, or thereabouts, pro rata.

Such a gift as this was received with respect and with grati-
fication by all parties, and bore in its value a direct relation
to the social and personal status of the recipient, and his
business importance to the firm. There could be no invidious
distinctions in gifts distributed on such a basis as this. Such
tokens of good will could by no chance give rise to ill will.
.Such giving as this very closely approximated absolute perfec-
tion.

Such Christmas gifts were double blessings, — blessings to
those who received and to those who gave. And, whatever
expenditures this firm may hereafter have cause to regret, it
never can by any possibility have reason to regret this holiday
■expenditure.

I venture to state, that every man and boy in the employ of
this firm will work harder and more conscientiously this year
in its interests than would have been the case if he had not
teen thus kindly and delicately "remembered." And I have
no doubt at all, that whatever sum of money was laid out in
these Christmas gifts will, during the year, be " made up," in
half a hundred ways, tenfold.

It was an investment in human nature which will pay big
interest, and repay the principal.

During the CentennipJ Exhibition at Philadelphia, several

advertising:

leading firms displayed u wise because kindly liberality and
public spirit towards their employees. The Singer Sewing-
Machine Company, for example, " treated," at a heavy expense,
its army of employees to a trip to the Centennial Fair. Sev-
' eral thousand working men and women were thus enabled to
have a holiday, and to devote it to mingled improvement and
enjoyment. This ojjportunity was hugely relished by the em-
ployees, and is not to this day forgotten.

It may be said, that the Singer Comi)any received for this
good work a goodly share of advertising. So it did, and so it
deserved. But I am in a situation to know that this " adver-
tising " was entirely an after-thought. The affair originated hi
a sincere desire on the part of the officers of the company to
please and benefit their hard-worked underlings, and they did
not at first calculate upon the matter receiving the public at-
tention which was awarded it. This public attention was sub-
sequently utilized, and cleverly, it is true , but the advertising
idea was the suggestion of an experienced journalist, uncon-
nected in any way with the company : and the affair, so far as
the Singer Company was concerned, was one of pure philan-
thropy. The same remarks apply to the excursion of the'
Steinway employees to the Centennial. This was the pet pro-
ject of Mr. William Steinway himself, and was carried out in
every respect upon the most liberal scale.

Apropos of the Centennial, a gentleman of the city of New
York — a manufacturer largely interested in American goods,
— expended over ten thousand dollars in sending parties of
workingmen, at his expense, to visit the exhibition ; although
his name has never been published in connection with this
matter. Certainly, the point about " advertising " does not
apply in this case ; as the gentleman's name never transpired.
In fact, I only know of the fact myself, but could not give the-
individuars name if I wanted to ; as I do not know it.

A. T. STEWAHT.

76.

The late A. T. Stewart was a man wIjo believed in a bond
of sympathy, and something better than mere sympathy, unit-
ing employer and employee. This may be news to the public,
but it is the simple truth. Perhaps no man as widely known
as A. T. Stewart was ever so little known, and so generally
misunderstood. He lived and died among a community which
knew all about him as a rich man, but knew nothing about him
as a man.

He was considered a hard, cold, unsympathetic individual ^
yet his life and acts prove that he was the very reverse. His
manner was unfortunate for himself. He was repellant rather-
than magnetic, reserved in demeanor, chary of speech. But he
was constantly doing good, and trying to do more than he ever
accomi)lished.

His faults were those of his system, which, as he described
it once (in an interview with Mr. David G. Croly, the editor
of " The World "), was " simply business." In all matters of
" business " he was guided solely by " business," and he never
allowed sentiment or friendship or philanthropy a place in his
" business " at all. " If I did, I would have no business at all,"
he said.

When "business" demanded that he should "break down"
a rival house, or a firm which aspired to compete with him in
any line of goods, why, he simply bent all his energies to work,.
and " broke down " that house, — " wiped out " that firm.

When his contractor signed an agreement to erect his marble
palace on Fifth Avenue for a certain sum, Stewart held hia
contractor to that agreement. ' If he lost his all in complying
with the terms of his contract, that was the contractor's mis-
fortune, not Stewart's fault. So Stewart reasoned from a
" business " stand-point ; and, from a purely " business " stand-
point, he was right.

Undoubtedly, it must be conceded, that, like all men with

" THE WOMAN'S HOTEL."

*' a system," Mr. Stewart sometimes carried his system too far.
He was only human after all ; and, to avail myself of a colle-
giate quotation, " humanum est errare."

But, outside of his " system," A. T. Stewai-t possessed many
<idmirable qualities of heart, and was constantly demonstrating
their possession.

He was not only a liberal patron of the arts, but a developer
of nature. He bought an unattractive stretch of laud, and
by care and outlay rendered it "a garden city." And, when
Ireland was famishing, he sent it relief. And, wherever great
distress was found, A. T. Stewart was found to relieve it.

In his treatment of his employees he observed certain rules.
He exacted entire obedience to a certain routine, any violation
of which was always and severely punished. But, on the
other hand, he paid always in full and promptly, was quick to
recognize merit, and ready, nay, anxious, to encourage it. As
an employee of eighteen years' standing once remarked, " Only
the shiftless, the stupid, or the lazy find fault with A. T.
Stewart."

During his life, Stewart paid out more money to men and
women than any other one man of his time ; and no one in his
employ ever had to wait for his or her money. He was enter-
prising and honest. His most bitter rivals, his worst enemies,
had to concede those facts.

But he was more than honest and enterprising and charitable
on great occasions: he was positively kind-hearted, as was
shown by liis favorite scheme of a home for working-women,
known as " The Woman's Hotel." True, this scheme came to
grief. " The Woman's Hotel " fizzled into " The Park-avenue
Hotel ; " but that was the fault of circumstances and other men
and of the women, but not of A. T. Stewart.

The real history of " The Woman's Hotel " has yet to be
written : perliaps it never will be written. From the first, Mr.

WOEKING-LADY."

Stewart's plans were misunderstood ; and to this day they are
not clearly comprehended, and yet they were very practicalble.

The gentleman who has most clearly stated the views of the
late Mr. Stewart in this connection, is Mr. Clair, the manager
of the Metropolitan and the Park-avenue Hotels. According
to Mr. Clair, Mr. Stewart never designed the structure on
Fourth Avenue for the lower and poorer class of "working-
women : " these were not the parties whom the millionnaire
employer meant to benefit by this particular charity. These
needed sympathy and material aid, it is true, but not a really
elegant home in the heart of the city. No : this establishment
was designed by Mr. Stewart to benefit the higher class of
female operatives, and especially that large and ever-increasing^
class of women who, though compelled to support themselves,
as the sadly familiar phrase goes, " have seen better days."

It was for this class of women, accustomed to all the elegan-
cies of life, but suddenly deprived of them, that the million-
naire felt, and whom he wished to aid, without offending their
individual delicacy, wounding their womanly pride, or making
them feel as if they were " objects of charity." Certainly, this
class of females is heartily worthy of all aid and sympathy;
and it was surely a gentle, and almost chivalrously tender,
thought in the successful millionnaire, to heed them and their
needs.

The very poor women have their hospitals and almshouses
and charitable institutions; the ordinary run of seamstresses
and shop-girls have their haunts and compensations ; but what
is the fate of the lady, delicately reared, but compelled to earn
her living now, by catering to the very class among which she
was wont to live herself?

She has not lost her taste for art and for books; she has
not ceased to desire a neat room and cleanly served food ; but
how is she to live decently and dress decently on from seven

STEWART'S " WILL."

to ten dollars a week ? It was to answer this question satis-
factorily, that, according to Mr. Clair, Mr. Stewart conceived
the idea of the Woman's Hotel, — a hotel in which a working-
woman of the higher grade — "a working-lady," say — could
have " a room and board " for from five to seven dollars a week,
with privilege of bath and library and parlor; every thing
being furnished her at the lowest cash cost price.

True, the idea was never carried out, owing to the death of
Mr. Stewart, and owing, perhaps, to some misunderstandings,
among men and among women, which arose subsequent to that
event. But I hold, that, assuming Mr. Clair's view of Mf.
Stewart's view to be correct (and Mr. Clair is not only a reli-
able man, but enjoyed the fullest personal confidence of Mr.
Stewart), it is highly creditable to Mr. Stewart's heart that he
entertained such an idea.

It proves that he had a higher delicacy and gallantry of
thought than has been popularly supposed, and entitles him
to the gratitude of women in general, and " working-ladies " in
especial.

Let us trust, that erelong some living millionnaire will adopt
the late lamented Stewart's idea, and carry it out into its fair
fulfilment. There is a Big Blessing (a Blessing with a very
big B) waiting for that millionnaire. But it was in the last and
the most unselfish act of his life that A. T. Stewart demon-
strated his real nobility of soul, and his genuine kindly sym-
pathy with those in his employ. He was one of the very few
men who ever remembered their employees after death, who
thought about his working-people when dying, and remembered
them in his will.

To my mind, — and I know of many who are of like think-
ing, — the will of A. T. Stewart was a model one, especially as
regards thnt portion of it in which he bequeaths certain sums
of money, ranging from five hundred dollars to ten thousand

BLESSED AND BLESSING AFTER DEATH.

dollars, — perhaps from less to more : I am not certain as to the
exact amounts, — to those in his employ who have been in his
service certain specified lengths of time.

These bequests were very numerous, as his list of employees
was very large, and not only formed respectable sums each, but
amounted in the total to hundreds of thousands of dollars, —
a fortune in themselves.

There never was a more graceful and more generous recog-
nition on the part of an employer of the claims of his faithful
employees. And there could not have been a more thoroughly
unselfish manifestation thereof. His earthly career would be
over when these bequests were bestowed ; the parties to whom
they would be given could benefit him no more ; their faithful
or dishonest service would be alike to him ; besides, he really
owed them nothing, — not a dollar. He had paid them fairly,
fully, in many cases very liberally, for many years. To many
of them his business had been their sole and sufficient support
for nearly a quarter of a century, — yet he remembered them
all.

Of course, minor exceptions can be taken, even to this part
of the Stewart will. Flaws can be readily found in any docu-
ment: but the two facts remain, — first, that it was a generous
provision in itself, second, that it recognized a duty towards,
and evinced a feeling for, employees too seldom recognized or
evinced by employers.

And, like all good, unselfish deeds, it has brought a blessing
with it. Not only has the will of A. T. Stewart given the world
in general a higher and truer estimation of the man who made
it, but it has kept his memory green in the hearts and homes
of hundreds.

It was only the other morning that the writer heard a man
say, "God bless A. T. Stewart!" taking off his hat as he said
so. Now, it is something rare to hear one man bless another,

EMPLOYERS AND EMPLOYEES.

still rarer to hear a poor man bless a rich man, rarest of all to
hear a living man bless the dead.

It was at the stage-entrance of Daly's Theatre; and the
speaker was the janitor, or stage-door-man, of that establishment.
This individual had been one of the old employees of Stewart,,
and had received one thousand dollars from the estate, accord-
ing to the terms of the will. This bequest, utterly unex-
pected, wholly unearned, a pure gift, enabled the hard-working
recipient to " put in bank " at one time more money than he
had been able to save in all his lifetime ; and that one thousand
dollars remains in the savings-bank still. And the dead and
gone, the almost forgotten, the, in a business point of view,
" obliterated " millionnaire, is never alluded to by his grateful
employee but with respect and blessing.

It is something to be thus remembered by hundreds. If there
are millionnaires yearning for true fame, for a memory worth
keeping, let them go and make a will like A. T. Stewart's.

I have dwelt somewhat at length upon this theme, because it
has forcibly struck me of late that gross injustice has been
rendered to Mr. Stewart in many quarters, but chiefly because
the facts which I have stated serve to show that there is a
kindly recognition nowadays, even among the most successful
and shrewd traders of the time, of the humanitarian claims
of their employees.

Mr. ClaflQiu, the head of the great firm of H. B. Clafiflin & Co.,
the only successful rival of A. T. Stewart & Co. in the whole«
sale line, is another of the millionnaire employers who entertain,
and prove that they entertain, kindly feelings towards the
"million " who are not employers. Mr. Clafflin's personal inter-
course with his army of clerks has ever been of the friendliest
description ; and although a disciplinarian in theory, and a keen
business man in practice, he is the soul of good fellowship and
the incarnation of good feeling.

THE TWO SIDES OF TRADE.

Scores of similar instances could be cited, did space permit.
Alike in this country and in Europe employers are to be found
who are " human " men as well as " business " men, and who,
while they exact work of the men to whom they pay wage, yet
ever feel, and show that they feel, that their relations with their
employees does not end with work and wage.

Some firms have even erected libraries and lyceums for the
benefit of their work-people, and have furnished them (thougli
at a loss, or at least with no interest on their investment) with
comfortable homes within their means.

These facts are encouraging, and show, that, if there is " a
seamy side " to modern trade, there is also a " stariy " side. Let
us pray for more " stars."

CHAPTER VIII.

HOW I FELL FROM GRACE, AND LOST MY PLACE. —RAILROAD LIFE. — OX

TO NEW YORK.

For a while I was steady in my attention to business, and
had every reason to continue so. As I have previously men-
tioned, I was complimented by the praise of my employers, or
their representatives ; and I stood well among my fellow clerks
and employees. I developed an aptitude for trade, and a
bright future opened itself before me ; but, alas ! it was not to
be realized.

I have before remarked that I was of a social disposition,
and what is called "popular" among my associates. This
quality has its curse as well as its blessing ; and to me, at this
period of my life, it was a positive misfortune. For it is one
of the necessities of popularity to "follow the multitude,"
even " if to do evil : " to be popular with others, you must do
what others do, and be what others are ; and, if they be foolish
and do wrong, you must repeat the folly and the wrong. Now,
boys, like men, have their vicious tendencies and indulgences ;
and among the lads and young men with who n I was now
brought into constant intercourse were some who were addicted
to smoking, and more to drinking.

I was left more to myself now, too, than when at the " House
of the Angel Guardian," or at the College of the Holy Cross.
In our system of modern trade, every boy, as well as man, is
left "master of himself," if of nothing or nobody else: he is
•'left to himself" and by himself. The homely but striking

sia

A DISSIPATED BOY.

remark here truthfully applies, " Every tub must stand upon
its own bottom." So when I now met smokers and tobacco-
chewers, and frequenters of bar-rooms " on the sly," there was
no father to guard me, no mother to tenderly watch over me,
no teacher even to prevent me ; but, following the lead of my
thoughtless or evil companions, I gave ^ay to my lately
restrained appetites, and became once more a drinker and a
drunkard.

At first I felt some shame at yielding to my grosser appe-
tites, and the me»^iiory of my past sufferings arose before me
■as a warning. But, alas ! the curse was on me and in me. It
was in my very nature, — mixed, as it were, with my very blood.
It had been restrained by circumstances a while ; it had, so to
speak, fallen asleep ; but now it came to the surface as active
as ever.

I became gradually — ay, and rapidly — a " dissipated " boy,
which is, if possible, a shade worse and more disgusting than a
•dissipated man ; because it is more precociously and unex-
pectedly silly and shameful. I smoked, I chewed, I used slang.
I swore occasionally, to demonstrate — Heaven save the mark !
— my growing manhood. I frequented music-halls and variety
theatres whenever I got the money or the chance ; and I
became a " good " (?) customer of certain beer and bar rooms,
and renewed my thirst for malt and spirituous liquors, the latter
especially.

My appetites, for a while in leash, had broke their bonds.
Circumstances had mastered them for a time : now they mas-
tered me.

Of course, I neglected my duties ; of course, I became care-
less ; of course, the change was noticed in me ; and I was re-
proved for it, first kindly, then severely ; but, of course, neither
kind remonstrances nor rebuke had any effect. " I was joined
to my idols ; " or, to quote another and even more appropriate

ANOTHER CHANCE.

scriptural simile, " the hog that had been wasj^ed returned to
the wallowing in the mire." I said to Evil, " Be thou my
Good ; " and soon the inevitable result followed.

After various reproofs,- after various expressions of contri-
tion, after spasmodic efforts at reform, followed by even more
flagrant falls than before, I was discharged from my place.

This shock sobered me, but only for a brief period. The
lesson taught me by the losing of my situation was neutralized
by the having nothing more to do, and so having plenty of idle
time, which, to a boy like me, meant mischief; while the
healtliy shame I felt at having lost the esteem of my employers,
and of my industrious young associates, and my hard-working
and sober brothers, was soon lost in the feeling of freedom I
possessed, — a dangerous freedom from work and restraint, —
and in the worthless society of a few lads as foolish and as evil
as myself.

In short, I got to be what is familiarly and forcibly called
"a loafer." I spent my days and nights in "loafing" about the
city ; and this is, perhaps, the most terrible position in which
a boy or young man can be placed. It is the " loafer " that
generally matures into the " criminal." It is the " loafer " who
ultimately helps to fill the almshouse or the prison.

" Satan finds some mischief still
For idle bands to do."

But at this juncture — this crisis of my life — Providence,
kind Providence, interposed, and gave me another chance for
employment and reform. Through the kindness of William
H. Morrill, Esq., general freight agent of the Boston and Provi-
dence Railroad, I obtained a situation in the freight-department
of that flourishing road.

At first I really endeavored to repay Mr. Morrill for his kind-
ness by proving myself worthy of it. I honestly resolved ta

' Here was the tt'inptation brought right to mo " [p. 85].

SLAVERY TO SELF.

surrender my bad habits and companions, and to settle down
to liard work. lUit a bad habit or an unlawful appetite once
held iu check, and then let loose again, is more difficult to re-
strain or control than before ; just as a relapse is more fatal,
oftentimes, than the first attack of a disease.

My thirst, my drunkard's thirst, had returned to me with
more than its original fierceness. That desire for strong drink
which I had contracted when a mere child, which had cursed
my entrance into life, which had then been restrained by my
school and college discipline, and which had broken out afresh
amid the temptations of trade, had now become a raging fever.
It was my tyrant as well sis my curse : it ruled me completely.

Talk about slavery, there is no slavery, no absolute slavery,
save that of a human being, young or old, to his or her own
appetites. The galley-slave, chained to the oar ; the prisoner,
working under the eye of the keeper, and within reach of the
lash ; the poor heathen African, laboring under a broiling sun,
at the sole mercy of his cannibal despot, — all these are slaves.
But none of these are so truly and verily a slave as the man
or boy who carries his master, his cruel, merciless master,
inside of himself constantly, who bears with him everywhere
and always that cursed, ceaseless craving for drink, which must
at all hazards be gratified, which demands obedience spite of
prudence, principle, God, man, or himself. The slave of drink
is the only real slave on earth, and such a slave I was now
becoming. Unfortunately, the very business, or occupation, I
was now engaged in, was peculiarly susceptible to the very
temptations which I found it so difficult to resist. The " rail-
road " line of life, so to speak, runs through all kinds of moral
dangers. It is in itself as useful, as honorable, and as " moral,"
as any other employment ; but the constant meeting with all
sorts and conditions of people which it necessitates ; the physi-
cal strain which it sometimes produces ; the wear and tear upon

MOUE TEMPTATION.

the nerves ; the constant " worries " which accompany it ; the
irregular hours, which, as it were, go with the business, espe-
cially with the freight-handling department of it ; the alterna-
tions from hours of excessive work to liours of no work at all,
only waiting for the next train, — all these lead, unless con-
stant care is exercised, to what are styled ^* drinking-habits/'

In my case the matter was made still worse by the fact that
it was part of my regular duty now to superintend the han-
dling, forwarding, or delivering of freight, which often consisted
of spirituous liquor or beer.

Barrels upon barrels of liquor would pass over the railroad,
and would be for a shorter or longer period of time under my
care. Here was the temptation brought right to me. What
a situation for a human being already dominated by the love
of liquor! The seeds sown in my early childhood began to
develop themselves with alarming rapidity : my thirst grew at
times almost intolerable. As the barrels of beer would pass
slowly over the road, entering into or leaving the depot, I
would watch them with hungry, that is, thirsty, eye: and I
learned soon to avail myself of every chance to get at their
contents; and there were always chances, — there were nu-
merous "damaged" barrels. I became a confirmed drinker;
though, having learned a little worldly wisdom from experi-
ence, I always kept sufficiently sober to attend to my absolutely
necessary duties. But having caught the desire for travel,
probably from seeing so mr.ch travel taking place all around
me, I became dissatisfied with my position, and longed to make
my entry into the metropolis. Just as all France turns its
eyes to Paris ; just as every ambitious boy in England hopes
some day, like Whittington, to become lord mayor of London :
so every man or boy on the American continent, from Canada
to Mexico, has dreams of some day or other, being some-
body or other, in New York; and these dreams seized me

',1'

' I caiiii! t(. New York " [p. 87J.

I LEAVE FOB NEW YOliK.

now: and although Mr. Morrill was kind to me as ever;
although I understood my present duties, and, spite of my
drinking, contrived to, after a fashion, discharge them ; although
I was advised, even by the officials of the road requested, to
remain, — I resigned my position, and determined to seek New
York, therein to find my promised land.

I was but doing what thousands have done before : I was
but doing what thousands will do again, till time — or New
York — shall be no more.

i I

CHAPTER IX.

NEW YORK IN GENERAL. —WHO COME TO NEW YORK, AND WHAT BECOMES
OF TIIEM. — WILLIAM E. DODGE AND JAMES FISK, JUN. — WHICH OF THE
TWO MEN WILL YOU IMITATE?

I CAME to New York. Of how many thousands, tens of
tltbusands, hundred of thousands, have these words been ^; Id.
" He came to New York ! "

" He came to New York " from the farm where he had been
reared, on which he toiled for years, where he had worked
summer and winter, spring and fall, from morning to night, for
a mere scanty wage, — it may be, only for board and clothes.

" He came to New York " from the home where he had been
carefully trained, where he had enjoyed every comfort and
luxury, where a father's and mother's love had watched over
him, and anticipated his every want, where sisters had petted
him, and brothers had been his admiring companions, where
love had been the atmosphere of life.

" He came to New York " from the forge where he had earned
his frugal living by incessant labor, where he had seen nothing
of life but its hard work.

" He came to New York " from the factory, where he had
been a slave — nominally free, but really a slave — white, but
only a white slave — free to work fourteen hours a day, or
starve ; free to grind his life out for his employers' benefit, or
go to the poorhouse, or be carried to the cemetery.

" He came to New York " from the college where he had
burned the midnight oil, poring over the works of sages ; where

I 'T

CAME AND BE-CAME.

f '■;

lie had read Homer and Horace, Virgil and Sophocles, and
liad stored his mind with the intellectual wealth of antiquity.

"He came to New York" from the little country town
where he had been a doctor, with a small practice, scattered
over a vast area of territory ; or an attorney, in a village where
the wealthiest possible client did not own ten thousand dol-
lars in the world, and where a fifty-dollar retainer was a year\-«
Avonder ; or a country clergyman, where his scanty salary was
paid chiefly in prayers and potatoes.

" He came to New York " from ship-board, having roved
round the world, and, like "a rolling stone," "gathered no
moss."

" He came to New York " from the hamlet where he had
lived all his uneventful life, never having gone farther from
home than the nearest market-town.

"He canie to New York" from the vast London, whicli had
only proved a vast wilderness to him ; or from the gay Paris,
which had proved but a delusion or a snare ; or from frugal
Gennany ; or from down-trodden Poland, or mysterious Russia.
From all parts of the world, and from all ranks of life, "Ae
came to New York."

But what became of him in New York? Ah! that is the
question ; and how diverse are the answers !

He became a successful man, he made money and friends,
acquired fiime and influence, became an honor to himself and
his family, made his old folks at home proud of him.

Or he became a scourge, a criminal, and an outcast ; violated
the law, and was condemned to pay the penalty in prison-cell ;
or sunk into the lowest depths of pauperism; haunted the
streets a beggar ; haunted the parks in summer nights, and the
station-houses in winter nights, a bummer and a vagrant.

Or he became any one of the hundreds of means that lie
between these two extremes of fate ; or it may even be, that

THE CITY OF OPPORTUNITIES.

to this day no one knows what has become of him ; all trace of
him may have been lost ; all that is definitely known of him
being, that " he came to New York."

New York is at once the best known and the least known
of all great American cities. Everybody almost knows, or
thinks he knows, something about it ; and yet no one, not even
"the oldest inhabitant," knows every thing. Each man is
familiar with his side of New- York life : no man is equally
familiar with all sides. And each man's view of New York is^
of coms"?, greatly dependent upon that side of it with which —
and wlii ne — he is acquainted.

Only one hing is certain, and known to and conceded by
all. New York is pre-eminently the city of opportunities.
Everybody has a chance in New York. Rich or poor, high or
low, country born or city bred, smart or plodding, industrious
or speculative, good or bad. New York has " an opening " for
every man. It affords him any amount of material to build
upon.; but he must decide what the building shall be, and it
must be erected by the builder's toil and at the builder's risk.
There is only one kind of man for whom New York has no
chance to offer, no place to fill, — the fool. It is the worst
place for fools of any town in the world. It taxes even the
highest grades of talent, but it absolutely grinds the fool to
powder.

And there is one truth which is just as certain as the fact
just stated: and this latter truth cannot be too often or too
thoroughly impressed upon the youthful — or, for that matter^
upon the mature — mind ; and this truth is, that, while New
York will perforce yield its treasures of opportunity to the
smart man, yet — and herein lies the point — yet it yields its
highest chances, its worthiest prizes, only to the honest as well
as smart, the good as well as great.

It pays best, even in New York, to be religious, moral, honest :

GOD'S LAWS IN NEW YORK.

believe me, it does. God's laws hold good in the metropolis
of America, just as they hold good everywhere else in God's
world. Two men " came to New York " in our time. Both
men were of humble origin ; both men were ambitious ; both
men were gifted with energy, sagacity, with the power to see
and the power to do ; both men " came to New York " deter-
mined to make the very most of its chances, to avail themselves
to the utmost of its opportunities ; and both men fulfilled this
determination, but in very different, in opposite, ways.

James Fisk, jun., came to New York believing only in money
and in himself, caring naught for God, or man or law, human
or divine, save the laws of his own impulses. He was very
active and very able and very unscrupulous, so he succeeded.
He gained notoriety, influence, and wealth ; he drove his four-
in-hand, had his theatre and his regiment and his mistress ; he
had the world at his feet — so he thought.

But only for a while, — a brief while, — a few years. Then
he died as the fool dieth ; died, shot by his former friend ; died
in a scandal ; died with all the world feasting on the prurient
details of his troubles ; died suddenly, without warning ; died
in the prime of life ; died with all his sins upon his head ; died,
to be soon forgotten ; and died, too, after all the money he had
made and squandered, a comparatively poor man ; died, to live
in the history of his time only as an erratic character, chiefly
valuable as a warning, as a terrible example, to be studied so
as to be shunned.

William E. Dodge " came to New York " a poor boy, shrewd,
eager for money, but also upright, God-fearing, and man-loving.
He made money, — more money than James Fisk ; but he made
it honestly, and spent it wisely and grandly. He did not
drink, like Fisk, or give fast suppers ; but, instead, he founded
missions and Young Men's Christian Associations, and contrib-
uted liberally to churches, Sunday-schools, and temperance

WILLIAM E. BODGE AND JAMES FISK, JUN.

organizations. He did not steal from corporations, and then
give spasmodically some of his ill-got gains to the poor ; but he
devoted a regular portion of his regular, immense, legitimately
earned income to the poor and needy abroad and at liome. He
was a good citizen, a sabbath-keeping citizen, a law-abiding
citizen, an inestimable citizen. He was a moral man, a domes-
tic man, a devoted husband and father.

And he lived to be old and honored; he lived to see seven
sons growing up to respectable manhood all around him ; he
lived to be looked up to by the city which he had entered as a
poor boy. And, when he died, " he died the death of the
righteous." May our " last end be like his " !

James Fisk, jun., passed along the horizon of New York like
a brilliant but baleful comet, vanishing swiftly into utter dark-
ness ; but William E. Dodge shone for nearly half a century
in New York as a star of constantly increasing magnitude and
radiance, — a star which still shines, though his earthly career
has closed. Now, reader, which of those two men, think you,
Avill you imitate ?

if i

CHAPTER X.

LIFE IN NEW YORK, SENSATIONAL AND REALISTIC. — THE POPULATION OK"
THE GREAT METROPOLIS, AND ITS CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES. — GERMAN,
IRISH, AND AMERICAN NEW YORK. — FIFTH AVENUE, BROADWAY, AND
THE BOWERY.

Having thus glanced at New York in general, it will be well
to take this opportunity of describing New York in detail.
Nothing can be of more interest to the average American than
an accurate pen-picture of the great metropolis, and yet nothing
can be more rare. Books on New York, and life in the great
metropolis, abound ; and yet I know of none that can be regarded
as altogether truthful. Many are avowedly "sensational ; " and
even those which do not make this claim, or disdain it, err in
this direction of " sensationalism." Of course, any description,
with any pretence to truth, of life in New York, must have
much that is startling and sensational in it. New York, being
the largest, greatest, richest, most crowded, portion of the New
World, must be " a sensation " in itself. But, in addition ta
all its " sensational " elements, there are to be found in New
York practical, common-sense, moral elements, which constitute-
a large — nay, the larger — portion of metropolitan life, and
which need to be insisted and dwelt upon in every truthful,,
truly " realistic " book or article on New- York City.

In the pages which follow, I have endeavored to do justice ta
this fact, which has by previous writers too often been ignored ;
and while many of the points, facts, and scenes presented will
be found " sensational " enough in all conscience, the better and

-94

THE POPULATION OF NEW YORK.

brighter side of New York will likewise be described ; and, from
all the details of the pen-picture I shall paint, an accurate idea
of the great American metropolis as a whole will be obtained.
The real population of New York to-day exceeds two millions
•of souls, and almost equals that of Paris. By the " real popu-
lation " I mean simply what the words imply, — the human
beings who help to populate New York by day and by night
constantly, who fill its streets, who do business there, who trade
or tramp there, who sin or enjoy there, even though they may
sleep or have a nominal residence elsewhere. Among the " real
population " of New York I include the dwellers in Brooklyn,
Williamsburg, etc. Brooklyn has been justly styled only "a
sleeping -place for New-Yorkers ;" and now that the bridge at
last is nearly finished, and a man will soon be able to walk or
ride from any point in Brooklyn to -any point in New York, it
is certainly safe to predict, that in a few years the two cities —
the city of charities and the city of churches — will be one in
3iame as in fact. But even if the actual population of New
York is thrown out of consider.ition', and only the nominal, the
technical, population be regarded, — that population which not
only " lives," but " resides," in New York, — this population
thus reduced still amounts to an immense figure, — over one
million and a quarter of bodies and souls, — figures large enough
to render the American proud and the moralist thoughtful.

This latter estimate does not include the immense throngs of
visitors for business and pleasure, of whom from sixty thou-
sand to eighty thousand arrive and depart daily. On extraor-
dinary occasions this transient population, this throng of
visitors, swells to a hundred and fifty thousand, or even two
hundred thousand.

The most striking, the characteristic, feature of the popula-
tion of New York is its variety of nationality, its cosmopolitan
character. New-Yorkers are composed of all nations. Every

THE COSMOPOLITE METROPOLIS.

country under heaven sends its natives to New York; and
every State of the Union, and almost every hamlet in every
State, has its representatives in the metropolis.

New York is to-day the third largest German city in the
world ; that is to say, no cities in Germany, save Vienna and
Berlin, contain as many German citizens as New York.

New York is to-day the largest Irish city, save only Dublin.
It likewise embraces a larger English and French population
than is generally supposed. There is also a considerable pro-
portion of Italians, Spaniards, South Americans, etc. New
York likewise contains a very large and constantly increasing
number of Jews, as well as their inveterate enemies, the Rus-
sians, and the sworn foes of these latter, the Poles. Greeks,
Turks, Portuguese, Swedes, Scotch, Chinese, etc., every
nationality under the blue canopy of the infinite, are to be
found. Sometimes the different nationalities are inextricably
blended, and sometimes they are herded together in their own
quarters.

Thus there are certain sections of the city which are as
distinctively Irish as any part of Ireland itself: there are other
sections where the German language is spoken exclusively.
A story is told of a well-known journalist of this city, — the
late Isaac C. Pray, — who, in a fit of absent-mindedness, one
afternoon took the wrong car from " The Daily-News " office,
and, at last, awaking from his day-dream, and not recognizing
his localities, left the car. Every thing to him, although he
was an old New-Yorker, was new ; nothing was familiar ; the
signs over the stores were either in Hebrew or in German ;
the people he met had all a foreign look ; their manners and
customs were strange ; and, when he asked for information as
to his whereabouts, he could find no one to afford him the
desired knowledge. He was ignorant of the language of the
people amongst whom he found himself: they were ignorant of

A NEW-YOIiKER LOST IX JVEW YORK.

his language. He was absolutely a stranger in a strange land ;
he was actually a New-Yorker lost in New York. He wan-
dered about for some time before he was able to discover that
he had been conveyed by the car into the heart of the great
East Side, — along Avenues A and B, — in the midst of the
" Germany " of New York.

Then, there is the distinctively and exclusively Hebrev/
quarter of New York, where all the ordinances of Moses are as
strictly observed as they were in Palestine three thousand year**
ago; and there is the distinctively and exclusively Chinese
quarter, with its joss-houses and its opiuni-dens.

And yet, after all, there is such a thing as an American New
York, though satirists have occasionally asserted otherwise.
With all its cosmopolite character, New York is still — and let
us devoutly trust it always will be — a truly, thoroughly
American city. The native New- York element to-day is con-
siderable in numbers, paramount in wealth, and supreme in
influence and importance. Let not Americans mistake this,
for it is the truth ; and it is a truth which should lead them,
like the warrior of old, " to thank God, and to take courage.*'

Another great feature of New York is the immense value
of its land, its real estate. This feature, while it enables the
few to live in princely luxury, compels the majority of New-
Yorkers, especially the poorer classes, to live herded together
in discomfort. Perhaps the poor of New York are the poorest
people in the civilized world, as will be shown when I come to
glance at the tenement-house population.

A third great feature of New- York life is its inevitable ten-
dency to render the New-Yorker alike self-reliant and humble.
I know that New-Yorkers are sometimes said to be "con-
ceited ; " and so they are, but not of their individual selves,
but of their city. No man can live in New York for years and
have much individual conceit. New- York life " knocks it all

WUAT NEW YORK CABES FOB.

out " of him. No matter how smart and how rich he may be, ho
meets every day people who are smarter and richer. The man
who, in a smaller town, with his one hundred thousand dollars,
would be vain of his wealth, meets in New York a dozen mil-
lionnaires a day ; and that makes him feel himself a compara-
tively poor man. The lawyer who has fame rubs against a
dozen lawyers who are far more famous ; and so the lesson of
humility is taught, as well as the lesson of self-reliance. For
of all places in the world, the homely adage is most applicable
to New York, that " every tub must stand on its own bottom."
In the great American metropcii a man is gauged by himself,
not by his ancestors nor their achievements. No one cares
much for the past: that is "ancient history." Nor is much
regard paid to a possible though distant future : that is " im-
agination." What New York cares for is the present. What
the man or woman is, or is doing, or is capable of doing to-day, —
that is New-York's idea of reality ; and New York is right.
What says the poet in his " Psalm of Life " ?

" Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ; ,

Let the dead past bury its dead ;
Act, act in the living present,
Heart within, and God o'erhead."

Still another characteristic, and the most dramatic of all
the characteristics of New York, is its contrasts, its extremes.
New York is, par excellence, the city of extremes and con-
trasts. It is at once the very worst a ' 1. the very best of all
American cities, alike the very darkest and the very brightest.
It is the city of crimes and the city of charities, the city of
infidelity and irreligion, the city of the Sunday-school and
the church, the city of the public rum-shop, and the city of the
public school.

It has been the misfortune of New York, that its newspapers

THE CONTRASTS OF NEW YORK.

find it to their pecuniary interest to dwell more upon the evil
than the good in it ; to devote more space to the sensational,
dark side of city-life, than to the unsensational, steadily
shining bright side thereof ; but both sides, nevertheless, exist
side by side.

The contrasts of New York are perhaps in no instances
more forcibly presented than in its three great thoroughfares,
— Broadway, the Bowery, and Fifth Avenue. These world-
famous streets are New York in Jniniature, if the term " minia-
ture " can be applied to miles of houses, and hundreds of
thousands of human beings.

Broadway is the finest sti-eet on the American continent.
Beginning at the Battery, it extends through banks, stores,
hotels, churches, public buildings, till it, as it were, loses itself,
and dies of its own length, among the boulevards. It is tr -
ersed along the lower portion by omnibuses, and along
upper portion by the street-cars. It is the favorite promenade
for business or pleasure : it is the exercise-ground of the down-
town merchant or broker, the shopping-ground of the uj)-town
belle, the street for adventurers. A history of Broadway
would be a history alike of New York and of human nature.
It is the thoroughfare of average New York, of miscellaneous
metropolitan humanity.

Fifth Avenue is the most fashionable street in America, an
avenue which is lined (from Washington Square to Central
Park) with palaces. From the substantial residence of Ex-
Mayor Cooper at one end, to the superb Vanderbilt mansions
at the other, Fifth Avenue is a boulevard of brown stone. It
comprises and represents more wealth than any other one street
in the whole world. Three hundred millions of money are
represented in two short blocks of this celebrated street.
And all the leading clubs of New York — the Manhattan (the
controlling Democratic club), the Union League (the repre-

BROADWAY, ''THE AVENUE," AND THE llOWKliY. 99

sentative Republican organization), tlie Union Club (the niau-
about-towu and society club) — have their buildings fronting
on this wonderful thoroughfare. The most fashionable liotels
and churches are likewise located here ; aiid Belmont, A. T.
Stewart, Astor, Jay Gould, and other world-famous names, are
literally household words. A million of dollars has been ex-
pended on several single residences on Fifth Avenue ; and the
finest picture-galleries in the New World are here, attached
to the palaces of Vanderbilt, Stewart, Belmont, Marshall
O. Roberts, and others.

One of the vilest dens in the world also stood upon Fifth
Avenue till lately. In fact, it still stands there, though de-
voted to other uses. I allude to the magnificent mansion of
the abortionist Restell, w liich lies within the very shadow
of the magnificent cathedral, and directly opposite to the
Vanderbilt palaces.

There are gaming-dens also on the Fifth Avenue, and houses
of splendid infamy ; and some of the most unscrupulous ras-
cals that ever escaped State prison reside here in state ; but,
taken as a rule, a house on Fifth Avenue symbolizes legitimate
worldly success.

As for the Bowery, it is decidedly the most picturesquely
miscellaneous street in the city or the country. To the lover
of human nature, and to the student thereof, it is by far the
most interesting thoroughfare in New York. Beginning from
Chatham Street, the favored locality of the dealers in "old
clo'," it passes along museums (some genuine, and more bogus),
concert saloons (a few attractive, and all vile), German beer-
gardens (some of them mammoth establishments, where well-
selected orchestras perform), mock-auction shops (less common
now than formerly), pawnbroking shops (constantly increas-
ing, constantly thronged, and many of them merely receptacles
for stolen goods), cheap-jewellery stores, mammoth tailor stores.

100

" WAITING TILL THE CROWDS ROLL BY:

cheap dry-goods stores, cheap millinery establishments (where
ladies often purchase for five dollars what they tell their friends
afterwards they paid fifteen for on Broadway), " flash " restau-
rants," " all-night " dives, countless "saloons," "cigar fronts"
(which are simply lottery-policy shops behind), "skin" gam-
bling-houses, dance-houses, all sorts of places, till at last, after
winding and enlarging, it contracts again, and terminates in
the almost interminable Third Avenue.

Such are the three characteristic streets or thoroughfares of
New York ; and as such they are crowded, — Fifth Avenue on
Sunday mornings and afternoons, and on fine afternoons and
mornings generally ; Broadway, from morning till midnight ;.
and the Bowery, all the time.

After all, and before all, it is this ceaseless crowding of th&
streets of New York which is New York's most expressive
feature. A countryman once stood patiently waiting, in front
of the St. Nicholas Hotel, as the multitudes passed along.
After some fifteen minutes or so, a friend asked the gentleman
from the rural districts what he was waiting for. "For the
crowd to get by," he replied. Dear, good old man, he fancied
that there must be some unusual temporary excitement in the
street at that time, which would soon subside. He did not yet
know that this crowd was chronic.

CHAPTER XI.

A PEN-PANOKAMA OF NEW YORK. —THE POOR OF THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
— CASTLE GARDEN AND THE EMIGRANTS. — " LES MIStRABLES." — " OLD
MOTHER hurley's." — THE BLACK HEN'S. — THE BLACK HOLE OF CHERRY
STREET. — THE MYSTERIES OF DONOVAN'S LANE. — TENEMENT-HOUSE LIFE
AND "rotten ROW." — THE SUMMER POOR.

One of the most interesting places in New York is really
Castle Garden. Formerly this was the resort of fashionable and
pleasure-seeking New York, and Jenny Lind and Jullien gave
their concerts there. Now it is appropriated, or abandoned to
the emigrant, and is the first place he or she sees in the New
World.

Time was when the emigrant, once landed in New York,
was virtually surrendered a prey to land-sharks and swindlers.
But now the emigrant system has been brought to a state
closely approximating perfection ; and a man or woman can be
shipped as safely from Sweden to Minnesota, passing through
New York in transitu, as if he or she were a bale of goods or
a package per express.

In fact, more care is taken of the emigrant, who merely

passes through New York, than of the poor man or woman

who settles down in the miilst of the metropolis. Would the

reader really form an idea of how some of the very poor in

New York "live," — if I am allowed to use the word "live"

in such connection, — let him read the following truthful sketch,

which appeared in the columns of "The New- York Sunday

Dispatch," written by a journalist who saw all the horrors he

so vividly describes.

101

..yiiTiiiTrnFiTi"' — T;i|BWBBaBBWi

102

PICTURES OF POVERTY.

" LES MISERABLES."

There is a house, or structure, in New York, known by its number
and street as " Cherry." The first floor thereof is known by the
appellation of the woman wlio rents it, as "Old Mother Hurley's."
This first floor is inhabited by human beings, such as they are ; and
this is the way in which these human beings, or

"THE HONEST POOB,"

" live " at " Motiier Hurley's."

The surrounding neighborhood is filthy, and the exterior of the
building is barn-like and disgusting. Opening the rickety door, au
indescribable odor overpowers your nostrils ; and unless you are
accustomed to this sort of thing, — unless you are a journalist or a
policeman, — you instiuctively put your fingers around your nose,
close them, and keep them closed. The odor arises, as you will see
presently, from decaying and rotten meat and vegetables, from
human breaths, and foul linen, and human sores, and imperfect
ventilation, and human filth, and stagnant water, mingled together
into a villanous compound, for which the expressive Saxon has no
fitting name. Having exercised the power of smell sufficiently, and
using your p<>vyer of sight, you look around and see, by an unsnuflfed
tallow candle burning on a three-legged greasy table, leaning against
a bare, paperless, cracked, tumble-down wall, a lot of soiled, stained,
stinking linen and straw lying in a disordered mixture on the top of
an old mattress, which was washed ashore originally from a yellow-
fever ship down near quarantine; the whole "combination" being
supported on a low truckle-bed, and affording a place of rest such
as no respectable family, not even a first-class Broadway hotel, would
insult a dog with, and yet which forms the "post of honor" and
chief luxury of "Mother Hurley's." For this bed the landlady
charges extra; and it is sometimes occupied by as many as three
people at a time, who divide the honors and the filth.

At the foot of this bed, on the night of our visit, there lay on the
dirty boards, without any pretence of a bed at all, a bundle of straw.

MOTHER HURLEY.

103

on which an old woman about seventy years of age was lying, with-
out any covering whatever. The old woman was a hag, indescribably
dark and indescribably dirty, blear-eyed, rheumatic, almost putrid,
lying down with all her rags on, and vainly trying to sleep.

Near this creature was a small stove, with the least bit in the
world of a fire ; and opposite her was an attempt at a bar and grocery-
store combined, where Mother Hurley dispensed rum at three cents
a glass, or eggs at five cents apiece. She evidently valued her eggs
at a much higher rate than her rum ; and lest her hungry lodgers
might some day, in a fit of stomachic despair, kill her hen, and make
a meal of it, she kept the fowl under lock and key, in a sort of coop
directly adjoining the bar, where she could always keep her eye on it.
To our notion, we had rather been the hen at Mother Hurley's than
the humanity.

God knows the front part of this first floor, containing what we
have already described, was bad enough ; but the front part was para-
dise itself to the scene disclosed in the middle portion of the lodging-
den. Here there was no light at all, save by the " darkness visible "
from the candle already mentioned ; there •wan no attempt at ventila-
tion from front or rear • there was no carpet ; there was nd floor,
except a few Ijoards lai(. ■ ami there over the ground at intervals ;
there were no beds, save only ■> rr.w i,f shelves made ' r unplaned
boards ranged along the cracking. aiwul(lin<;, dami^ walls ; there was
no linen, save a few foul rags ; there waa no bedding, save here and
there a handful of shavings or ytraw ; there were no win 'ows ; there
was no furniture, save a backless chair, with some rotten fish scat-
tered disgustingly over it; there was nothing "ut filth and foulness,
and closeness and heat, and discomfort and bareness luid horror ; and
yet in this " middle passage," this

BLACK. HOLE OF CHEURY 8TREE1,

there were, on the night of our visit, twelve human beings, — five
men, four women, and three children,- — huddled together in rags and
misery in a space not fit for one well dog.

The children v ere two little girls and a boy ; the little girls being

104

NOTHING TO WEAR:

literally stark naked, and lying on each side of the little boy, who had
n man's old, torn, and stained flannel shirt on. The boy had a stupid,
startled look, and moved uneasily in his slumbers ; but the little
girls stared at us with all their eyes, — and fine eyes they were.
Their mother, an old woman who was lying on a board beneath the
shelf on which lay her children, and who, though ragged and shoe-
less, was not dirty, and seemed quite a decent sort of person, told us
simply enough, in the unvarnished language of the utterly wretched,
that slie '' did not have luck enough lately to earn or beg clothes for
her girls, and so she had to let them go naked all day long, and stay
in bed until she could get some rags for tiiem." Here, indeed, were
females who had "nothing to wear," — young females, very young
females, who had to stay in a pest-hole, hungry and dirty and stark
naked, all day long, — not because their mother was lazy, for the
policeman told us she was an industrious woman when she had a chance
to work ; not because slie drank, for she never touched a drop ; not
because she was immoral, — but because she was unfortunate, because
she was poor. And yet there are churches and missions and dry-
goods palaces in this Christian city. Of course, there was

NOT THE SLIGHTEST PKETEXCE AT DECENCY,

let alone delicacy, among the men and women congregated in this
black hole, where the sexes are huddled together in dark dens like
this. Men and women are like Adam and Eve in paradise, in this
one respect, at least, — tiiey are not ashamed of their nakedness, nor
of any thing else. A iiumbor of dirty and partj'-colored cloths and
towels, suspended from a striny in front of the slielves, were the only
concealments attempted : and what undressing, or, rather, unragging,
was done, was done full in sight of all tiie other denizens of the
den, big or little, male or female, white or black ; for not only were
both sexes, but all colors, on a free equality of filth at Mother
Hurley's.

But "on horror's head, horrors accumulate:" and, terrible as
was this "middle passage" of Mother Hurley's den, there was a
more terrible place still ; and that was the rear portion of it. We

A POOR DEVIL OF A IVOMAN.

105

could not believe, at first, there was a rear to such a hell as this ; we
thought that we had reached the end and the worst ; but the police-
man who accompanied us — John Musgrave, detailed to bear escort
by Capt. UUman and Sergt. Thompson of the Fourth Precinct —
sliowed us our mistake ; for he led the way, tumbling over old bar-
rels and broken crockery and dung-heaps — literally dung-heaps —
in the dark, till we came to an open space, a back-yard roofed over,
and terminated by a dead wall, — a back-yard, too, full of all manner
■of foulness, garbage, and abomination ; a back-yard full of dirty
water oozing fi'om the ground ; a back-yard literally piled with
human excrement; a back-yard without any windows or doors, or
fresh air or light, save from a piece of tallow candle, and yet a back-
yard with nine beds, or boards, with straw and soiled rags on them,
and ten people, — men, women, and children, — supposed to sleep on
said beds, or boards, in this indescribably horrible back-yard.

In the centre of this back-yard stood a table, at which, on a
stool, sat a man, who, with filthy hands and a ravenous appetite, ate
a piece of raw, rotten fish — absolutely raw and absolutely rotten —
with relish. Ay ; and he told us, and made no secret of it, that he
was very thankful to get a chance to eat it. He had picked it up,
and, having had nothing else to eat, made the most he could out of it.

Think of this, ye diners at Delmonico's, and midnight banqueters
at the Maison Dor6e ! a man, and not a bad man either, nor a
fool, — for Musgrave told us that his character was good, and his lan-
guage was well chosen, — thankful, in this enterprising city, for being
able to pick up some raw and rotten fish for his midnight supper, and
his only meal in twenty hours ! But we saw, ere we quitted this
back -yard,

A SADDER SIGHT

than even this poor devil of a man ; i.e., a poor devil of a consump-
tive woman, who had once been pretty (for hunger and care, and sick-
ness and sorrow, had not rendered her hideous yet) , — a poor devil
of a woman, who, though herself still virtuous, still unmarried, was
■compelled to sleep in the next bed, or the next board, to a man,

106

CONGRATULATING A BABY ON DYING,

whose head lay among the rags ; while right at the head of her bcd^^
or board, was a cesspool, emitting the vilest of all possibly inhalable
stenches ; while the walls around her oozed damp and filth in equal
proportions. Does Dante's "Inferno," or the veritable infernal
regions themselves, contain aught more terribly, truly repulsive than
this ? And yet this is what we saw or peered at in the damp and
darkness that night at Mother Hurley's.

We also saw in this back-yard den a broken-hearted mother
crying over her dying baby, who had caught cold from sleeping in
such a damp place as this, and was fast coughing its little self to
death. We could not help inwardly congratulating the baby ; but
neither could we help sympathizing with the poor woman, who hung
fondly over her suffering infant, calling it every pet name that a
mother's, and an Irish mother's, affection could suggest. But long
experience in scenes of misery had rendered her companions callous,
and the people around her cared no more for a dying baby than they
would have cared for a living one.

Now, the majority of people in this lodging-den this night were
not roughs or reprobates. They were as decent as such horribly
impecunious people could beJ They w6re only poor, poorer, poorest;
and for their poverty they were punished as no criminals were ever
punished in Sing Sing. For their poverty they were treated as no
dogs are treated ; for their poverty they were compelled to go naked,
to eat raw and rotten fish, and to sleep in defiance of decency, and
in proximity to cesspools. And yet people tell us that poverty is no-
crime, and talk of honest poverty. How in God's name can poverty^
such as this, be honest ? But, if you wish to see how

THE CRIMINAL POOR

^ve and move and have their being, go to No. Water Street,

vhere there is a basement "den " kept by a woman who has beett
on "The Island," and whose "husbands" have all been to State
prison, and who is called, from her dark hair, "The Black Hen."
Here, in a close, stifling little room, carpetless, cheerless beyond
words, on the night of our visit, was a broken-down sofa with two

BILKER'S HALL.

107

hags on it ; and on the other side was a bench with four other hags on
it, with one hag squatted on the floor ; each of the seven women
being ugly, coarse, and foul, — uglier, coarser, fouler than can be
readily conceived of until seen.

Back of this "reception-room" — Heaven save the mark! — ex-
tends a series of dark, dismal, dirty I; jxes, in which all species of
depravity and robbery were practised as a busmess ; while in the rear
of these " boxes " was a big bed, or mattress, stretched on the floor,
— foul beyond the power of the English language to express, — on
which the wantons slept after their sins ; while adjoining the bed was.
a cooking-stove, — the rear apartment serving alike as kitchen, bed-
room, and dining-room, — the wantons and their mistress eating their
garbage on the floor ; while, accoi*ding to the eternal fitness of things,
the master of the den, and the present husband of its mistress^
served as cook for what infernal cooking there was to do.

But, vile as the den of

"THE BLACK HEN "

might be, there was a hell on earth, filthier and viler and more

wretched still, in a basement, directly across the street, at No.

Water Street, known, in the expressive slang of the district, as " Bilk-
er's Hall." This place is kept by a Kitty de Fish, cdias (everybody
has an alias in those parts) Annie Winkle, who is a woman of vio-
lent temper, as was proved by the spectacle presented on the occasion
of our visit by one of her " girls," an old woman nearly seventy years,
of age, whose right eye, already nearly half eaten out of the eye-ball
by secret disease, — which was very public indeed, — was likewise cut,
torn, and disfigured by a plate thrown at her by the proprietress of
the den. If on the face of the earth there was a fouler or more dis-
gustingly wretched being than this old, battered harridan, then the
face of the earth deserves to be pitied ; and, as for tiie place itself,
there was nothing viler in the world, for the simple reason there
could be nothing viler. The front of the basement contained a pre-
tence of a " bar," with a few glasses that had not been washed since
they were originally stolen, and a few bottles of adulterated liquors

mmam

108

FOURTH-WARD MISERY.

of the cheapest and the nastiest description, and with a few stale
eggs, and staler oysters. Behind this " bar " stood a ragged, sullen,
blear-eyed thief, the "man" of the "woman" of the place, who,
when not drunk, or getting others druuk on his villanous swill,
played the rdle of "a badger," and "went through the clothes" of
•his unsuspecting and intoxicated victims, robbing them of whatever
moneys their pockets might contain. Back of this bar, to the rear
of the basement, directly behind the only sofa of the place, extended a

LIQUID PANDEMONIUM.

The words are used advisedly, for it was a "pandemonium," and it
"was " liquid; " being composed of four or five tumble-down stalls,
worse than any pig-pen ever seen, in which "stalls" there were
bundles of straw and old mattresses stretched out upon the earth,
and which oozed out slime and filth, and were damp, and stunk. abomi-
nably ; while the walls were crumbled and mouldy, and gave forth
filth from a neighboring cessix)ol. It was a sight and a smell
sufflcient to strike terror to any nose and eye, and heart and soul :
>even the policeman had enough of it in five minutes, and left the hell-
liole with unusual rapidity. And yet it was the scene of the " sinful
pleasures " (!) and the "home, sweet home" of six or seven
feirales and one man.

But time would fail did we attempt to describe one-half of all the
misery that is to be seen among the poor, good and bad, of the
Fourth Ward. Although this district is not now what it used to be ;
though Kit Burns and John Allen are dead ; though many of " the
basements ' ' have been closed ; and though many a den of thieves
have, through business and industry, been converted into hives of
labor, while, at the same time, the commerce of New York having
■declined, the sailors no longer congregate in such ungodly quantities
as in times past ; though the police have done their duty, and
thereby diminished misery and crime within the district, — yet still.
Heaven knows, the place is unutterably horrible, viewed from a
liumanitarian point.

While such " dens " as the " velvet room " (so called because no

THE HEATHEN CHINEE.

lOd

velvet was ever seen within it, nothing but rags and sawdust) , at
the corner of Rosevelt and Water Streets, where men aud women
nightly get drunk together, drinking vile liquor from the bung-holes
of barrels, and then lying down senseless on top of the barrels ;
and the distilleries of Flannigan and Branigan in James Street aud
Cherry Street, — are among the most demoralizing haunts of degraded
humanity upon the top of the earth, there is not in the city of New
York, nor the city of London, nor the city of Paris, nor any other
city in Christian lands, or heathen, a viler, fouler, more repulsive^
more wretched, more God-forsaken hole, than what is known as

Donovan's lane.

The majority of our readers have, doubtless, never heard of this
locality, and they should thank Providence for their ignorance ; aud
3'et within its limits are two most striking companion examples of
poor life among the professedly pagans, and the, by courtesy, Chris-
tians, of New York.

THE "heathen" poor.

Donovan's Lane begins with a Chinese opium-den of the lowest
class, and terminates with an Irish shanty. It runs from Baxter
Street to Pearl Street, and is soon to be closed, thanks be to God,
Capt. Kennedy, and the street-commissioner. There are two opium-
dens within its limits. The larger one fronts on Baxter Street, and
comprises a Chinese club-room and temple combined, where the celes-
tials play cards, drink tea, and worship their gods ; while to the rear
is a room about twelve feet by ten, caipetless, chairless, pictureless,
cheerless, full of bunks or boards, full of dirty linen, which serve aa
the l)ed8 for some dozen Chinamen cooks, stewards, cigar-sellers,
etc., honest people enough, but oh, so very poor ! living together like
pigs in a pen, in a stifling atmosphere, without the slightest pretence
to comfort or decency. On the top bunk lay stretched out, when we
visited the place, a dying Chinaman, who was sinking with a low
fever ; while in the lower bunks lay, in their dirty linen, three or four
Chinamen, huddled together in a space hardly big enough, and cer*

! I

110

DONOVAN'S LANE.

tainly not clean oiiougli, for a pet i)ooiUe, and smoking themselves
into au opium stiii)oi'.

But tliis place was a palace compared with another opium-den, to
the rear, riglit in the centre of Donovan's Lane. Here, surrounded
by mud-heaps and pest-heaps, and breathing in the foul exhalations
from them, and from the poison garbage lying all around them, in a
room small, mean, low studded, without any chairs at all, only the
greasy tables, a bunk in one corner, and an indescribably filthy bed
in another corner, lay sprawling some ten men, emitting smoke from
their pipes, and filthy stench from themselves. A pot full of filth
was in the centre of the den, rendering the air still fouler ; some dirty
linen stunk in a pile just beyond it, and altogether a nastier place
■could not be conceived of ; and yet this was the evening haunt, the
bedroom, the breakfast-room, the home, of poor wretches of pagans,
who, when they could do no lietter, the impecunious heathens, as
•officer Francis Caddell told us, had been known to kill rats which
infested their den, and eat them for want of any other food, in this
most charitable ( ?) city. But the condition of the

CHKISTIAN POOU,

the poor who were not heathens, residing in Donovan's Lane, was
worse than that of the pagans themselves. Miscegenation held high
•carnival in Donovan's Lane ; black men and white women curaed
4ind stunk and loafed and brawled and suffered there ; the " base-
ments " of some of the old houses in the lane were so vile, that we
^approached their broken-down doors with our fingere to our nostrils ;
and yet they swarmed with wretched humanity and fat vermin : and,
4imid all the other odors, that of the stables was not wanting ; for,
toward the end of the lane, there were a pair of cart-horses kept,
who were kept much more comfortably than any of the human beings,
white or black, little or big, male or female, Christian or heathen, in
Donovan's Lane. ■

This is how the wretchedly, abominably poor " live " in the
^eat metropolis, — the wretches who cannot afford to rent
Tooms or exist in tenement-houses.

TENEMENT-HOUSE LIFE.

Ill

And this is the way tlie poor live wlio can " afford " tenement-
house life. This description is taken from the elaborate expose
of tenement-house life which appeared originally in the columns
of " The Sunday Telegram : " —

No. Water Street is ironically called "The Gem," because

in all re8i)ect8 it is an utterly worthless structure. It consists of a
frarae-building in the front and a brick building in the rear ; the latter
being reached by an alley-way, full of fllth, worm-eaten, full of holes,
ricketty, full of pitfalls for the unwai^. The yard between the front
and rear houses is very small and very foul, oflfeusive with garbage
and filth. The cellar is wet, and the closets are simply damnable.
The rear house is vile and filthy enough, but it is a very palace com-
pared with the front building. Here civilization is on a par with
ventilation, there being no pretence at either.

There are no sinks in the house ; there is no sewer connection ;
the walls look as if they had never known of whitewash ; the floors
are filthy ; and, of course, there are no ventilation-pipes. And yet
there ought to be air enough through the house, for almost every
other window-pane in it is broken. The front-hall window has eight
panes broken out of twelve.

But even the bitter breath of winter cannot clean this Augean
stable of a tenement, for the smells from the filthy floors and the
filthier yard raise day and night their protest against the carelessness
of agents and landlords.

The odor of decaying garbage mingles with the odor of food
(such as the food is), and the odor from the closets mingles with
these two previously mentioned smells ; the three forming a terrible
perfume, worthy of the infernal regions.

And this triply foul atmosphere is the only air which twenty-five
^lildren and young people of both sexes breathe this blessed holiday
season. In the second-story rear room of the front house the
"Telegram" representative found, at the time of his visit, a spec-
tacle of human misery to which he is wholly unable to do justice.
Conceive Meg Merrilies (as played by Charlotte Cushman) lying in

112

MEG MERRILIES IN NEW YORK.

I I ill!

( '

In.

her rags, — and very few rags at that, — stretched out full length
upon the floor, — and a floor full of holes, without any carpet, and
black with dirt, — holding upward and outward her skinny arms and
long hands toward the merest pretence of a Are, which merely illu-
minated faintly, but did not warm at all. Conceive, if you can, that
this Meg Merrilies has not been able to move for several weeks, and
that she has no bed to move to if she could move at all. Remember,
that, during all the recent cold snap, this Meg Merrilies has been lying
shivering on the floor, with the wind howling in through the shutterless
and broken window. Above all, do not forget that this Meg Merrilies
has not tasted for weeks any food worth mentioning, save some soup
a poor neighbor brought her, and of which her cat has taken the majoi
portion ; as Tabby is strong, and the old woman is not. To this add
that Meg Merrilies has a bad cough, and has to pay four dollars a
month for her bare walls and floor, and that every cent given her by
her poor neighbors is swallowed up for this rent. Above all, bear in
mind that this poor creature never draws a pure breath, and that the
only air which reaches her is the horrible atmosphere already men-
tioned, flavored with the odors of foul food, fouler garbage, and the
foulest closets in the city, which are situate directly under her broken
window. Remember all this ; and now think that this is no fancy
sketch, but a faithful report of the coudicion of Mrs. Mary Cofldn,
aged eighty years.

In the hole back of the floor occupied by this old woman sleep, on
rags on the floor, Mary Douglas, and her daughter, eight years old,
who says she would like to know what a good square meal was, but,
above all things else, desires a place where she can get rid of the
smells which persistently haunt this cursed place.

To odd to the discomforts of this hole, there are garbage-boxes
in the balls ; dogs sleep around the house ; there are dangerous holes
in the floors ; the steps are broken ; there are no lights in any of the
hallways ; and on wet days the rains soak in through the rotten roof,
and flood the lower floors.

To sum up, there is not a single room in this large house rhich is
fit for a beast to live in ; and perhaps the worst-looking woman in the

ROTTEN ROW.

113

whole tenement is a widow Harrison, aged sixty-two, who resides in
the dirtiest uud luulest room iu the building, and who owns the whole
house.

Let me strenglnen and conclude this fearfully accurate
pen-picture of tenement-house life (?) in New York by re-
publishing the subjoined " realistic " description of " Rotten
Row."

In Greenwich Street, between Spring Street and Canal Street,
on tlie North-river side, there extends a block of houses, known to
the neighborhood under the generic, yet at the same time specific,
name of " Rotten Row."

Now, there is a Rotten Row in London very well known to very
fashionable people ; but this Rotten Row of ours here in New York is
not yet known to fashionable [>eople at all. Yet it is worth seeing,
this New- York Rotten Row, for it is very suggestive, very realistic,
very terrible ; and this is what you see in Rotten Row : — •

Enter No. Greenwich Street, for instance, Mrs. , agent.

You will see the narrowest yard you probably ever saw, full of
all sorts of refuse, containing a huge puddle of stagnant water, a
small, tumble-down, foul closet, heaps of wt>od and shavings, and a
pile of dirty rags. This yard, such as it is, winds and curves, like
a dog's hind-legs, and serves no useful purpose whatever. It is merely
a " crooked hole." From this yard leads a dark, narrow entry, — as
dirty as dark, — with the sootiest, grimiest walls one ever set eyes on,
— walls full of holes, full of filth; walls bulging, cracked, repulsive
looking. Having traversed the entry, you ascend, if you are an
expert climber, a flight of stairs, winding, rickety, dirty, worn, — a
flight of stairs which grows darker as you climb ; as, while leaving
the light in the entry below you, you do not gain any light from
above you, as the only light on the whole staircase comes from a
very small window on the very top floor.

Reaching the top, you find you have reached a rat-hole, a deserted
garret, a plasterless, chilly, filthy old rat-hole of a garret — of course,
deserted by humanity. Y'ou are about to descend, when you hear

114

HUMANITY IN A RAT-HO .E.

voices and soudcIs above you ; and you suddenly become unpleasantly
aware that you have made a mistake, that your deserted garret is
really

AN INHABITED RAT-HOLE,

— thickly inhabited, — too, for three families live all the year round
in this garret, and pay a high rent for the privilege of so living.

Climbing up cautiously to the garret, you find it com^wsed oi* a
species of central space, or hallway, into which open three rooms, or
square boles, inhabited each by a family. The situation here is as
picturesque as it is uncomfortable.

In winter the snow and the sleet enter here without aught to hinder ;
in summer the heat here is stifling ; in rainy weather the whole
garret is aleak ; in windy weather the garret might as well be out of
doors. But here, alike in rain, in wind, in summer, and in winter,
live and shiver and scorch and moisten a number ot human beings, —
four old women and t\^o children, — who pay four dollars a month
for their " privileges."

Right below and to the side of this garret you see a square door,
like the entrance to a loft. Opening it you find yourself in a long,
narrow room, a sort of extension, a prolonged hole, likewise inhabited
by a family. The family being above the average of its class, the
room is clean ; but a more cheerless and dilapidated assemblage of
boards was never put together. The ceiling tumbles down in instal-
ments, the roof leaks, the walls are full of holes : there is not the
slightest pretence at convenience, or aught required by health or
comfort. The only cheerful-looking object in the room is a two-
months-old baby, lying, tied up, sleeping on the pile of rags which
serves for a bed, Icoking for all the world like an Indian pappoose.

The whole house is substantially built, but as diiiy as desolate,
as bare as it is substantial. It is utterly unfitted to be lived in five
minutes, yet there are several ix)or devils who have lived in it for five
years.

Another house. No. Greenwich Street, owned by a Mr.

of a Flre-lLSurance Company, is very similar in all material points

TWENTY-TWO YEARS IN A IIOG-PEN.

115

lie
3r

and aspects. Its entry and its yard are even dirtier than that
of tlie house just described. Tiie entry, particularly, is so full of
decayed vegetiibLa that it would be readily mistaken for a muck-
garden.

No. Greenwich Street is a third component part of the tene-
ment-house horror known as "Rotten Row." It has a very small
yard, not over four feet in width, — an alley of dirt, terminating in a
foul closet. Here is where the children play i; acl *he women wash.
The walls of this house are black with age and dirt, and full of holes.
The doors are decayed and dirty ; so are the floors, so are the ceil-
ings. There is a dirt-heap under the stairs, and the staircase is in
A terrible condition. All the entries are dirty, narrow, and dark.

On the second floor of this house, in the front-room, live five
families, separated by a curtain. This way of dividing a room is a
very common occurrence in tenement-houses ; and the discomforts, to
say nothing of the indecencies, it implies, will suggest themselves at
once. The curtain, or screen, is generally of the thinnest ; nor is it
by any means always in its place. The herding together after this
fashion of young and old people of both sexes is a terrible evil.
The top floor of this house is an alwminable place, fit only for cats,
dogs, and rats, who inhabit in about equal proiX)rtions ; but, unfor-
tunately, it is also inhabited by several families of human beings,
who pay rent for their dens.

One old woman has lived in this garret-hell for twenty-two yeara,
paying rent for it all the time. Just think of it 1

TWENTY-TWO YEARS IN A HOO-PEN,

for it is nothing more nor loss. During the greater iwrtion of this
time she has paid ten dollars a month for her share of the dirt and
darkness of the garfet, — sometimes as high as twelve dollare a
month. At present she is paying "only" two doUara a week.
Altogether she has paid the various landlords of this house over
twenty-five hundred dollars, — a small fortune, taken out in filth and
misery.
There are big holes in the walls of this ^jiarret, there is a lack of

samaas

ii !

116

PANDEMONIUM IN A LOFT.

I''

plaster, the ceiling is giving way in various places, the floor is full of
holes, the spot is as cheerless as a graveyard, there are no conven-
iences of any kind ; but here for nearly a quarter of a century
has lived this old woman, and here are living at this moment a num-
ber of men and women in certain divisions of dirt and despair which
they call and pay rent for as their " rooms."

But would you believe it ? Even on top of this top floor, overhead
of this garret, there is a viler place still, which is the home of six
human beings. You have to climb up to this loft on a rickety ladder,
at the risk of breaking your neck ; and, when you reach the loft, yoa
have to bend your Ixnly to avoid striking with your head the sides.
The only light and air that can reach this loft must reach it through
the smallest species of a square window, an aperture of about one
foot square : and it is always dark and damp ; as, of course, the old
roof leaks here, there, and everywhere. In winter this loft receives-
through the chinks in the shingles of the roof the snow ; in storms-
this loft receives the rain ; one-half the year it is as hot as Tartarus ;
the other half of the year it is as cold as Greenland. And it is
always night there, though God's blessed sunlight is but an inch or-
so outside. Damp, dirty, full of holes, full of rags, full of garbage,,
full of rats, this

PANDEMONIUM OF A LOFT

is the home of three men, two women, and a little baby, who live
together in misery, squalor, and indecency, — ay, and pay four dollars
a month to be able to do so. There are only two artists who would
even attempt to do adequate justice to the " situation " in this loft^
— Charles Dickens and Guatave Dor6.

!!r

And, while on this subject of the poor, I cannot refrain from
quoting the following article from " The New- York Era," which
presents a peculiar view of the metropolitan poor, taken from
a " summer " stand-point : —

" God help the poor ! " This is a pet phrase of philanthropy in
winter, when the snow is on the ground, when the bleak wind wbis-^

live

lars

ouUl

oft,.

Ii//'ji' it':;:.'t-:»icri

-s^-m

mkf '^'v^

I ■

.^!Jt

In DinKixan's Luin^ " [i». IKjJ.

THE POOR OF NEW YORK IX SUMMER.

117

ties : but philanthropy ignores the poor in summer ; it does not think
of them when the grass is green, wlien the flowere are fragrant,
when fashion goes "out of town." Yet the poor must live, even in
the summer.

But how do the poor live in summer? That is the question. And
we propose to answer it, so far as the answer can be furnished, by
a description of the way the poor live during " the heated term " in
the city of New York.

First, who do we mean by "the poor"? Why, not only the
pauper and the tramp, but the man or woman of straitened circum-
stances, the man or woman who obtains his or her daily bread by his
or her daily toil, and whose daily toil does not always suffice to
obtain their daily bread.

How do these live in summer? Well, we will show by examples.

Do you see that man eating peaches there at the corner, — that
man with an old straw hat, and still older coat, and far older pants ;
that shabby man, who munches peaches as if he were really hungry,
which he is? Well, that man has a history. He was, two years
ago, a book-keeper for a wholesale house, at a salary of two thousand
dollars a year. His firm failed, and he has been out of work ever
4since. There is a plethora of book-keepers in the market. For a
while he lived on expectations, and a little money that he had saved.
Then he lived on a little money that he was able to borrow. Then
he lived on trust. And then he did not live at all. He and his
family (he had a family, of course : men out of employment always
have) merely existed. They sank lower and lower. Now they oc-
cupy a room on a top floor of an Essex-street tenement-house, and
the whole family eat nothing but fruit. The family of three live on
peaches, bananas, and apples, — cheap, because somewhat decayed
fruit.

This is an actual fact. The writer of this article has talked with
this man, and had heard his story from his own lips. About forty
cents' worth of fruit a day suffices to keep soul and body together, in
the person of himself, his wife, and his child. Small apples, peaches,
€tc., can be purchased at a cent apiece, sometimes six or seven for

118

MIDNIGHT IN MADISON SQUARE.

Ave cents ; and Ave cents' worth can make a meal, such as it is, an.l
keep a human being from starvation. At this hour there are hun-
dreda of men and women in the city of New York who exist wholly
upon fruit, and who thank God that the summer affords them the
opportunity to get this fruit. Their dining-rooms are the street-
cornera ; their restaurateurs are the old apple- women ; their menu
consists wholly of dessert.

How do the poor sleep in summer ? Do they sleep at all ? We
propose to show.

The other night the writer of this article strolled, after midnight,^
through Madison-square Park. He found himself in the midst of
a colony of tramps, — of tramps who were not tramping, but sleep-
ing. The benches in the park were half full with slumbering va-
grants. The seats had been extemporized into beds. The writer
made a tour of the park, and counted sixty-four sleepers, and thir-
teen who were preparing to sleep.

It was a picturesque spectacle. Nothing could be more so. The
pale moon looked through fleecy clouds ujwn the ix)or devils as they
slept ; but even the moon followed the example of the rest of the
world, and looked down upon them. Around them was the green
grass, over the heads of some of them waved the leafy trees ; and
there they slept, in all manner of positions.

One man slept bolt upright. He was an "old stager," and could
sleep under any circumstances. Another leaned his head uiion his
cane, and snored — yes, absolutely snored — as comfortably and as
thoroughly as though he were reiwsing on a feather-bed. A third
old veteran slept with his head on the iron side of a seat, with one
leg on the ground, and the other thrown loosely over the back of the
seat, — a position which we defy any mortal but an experienced tramp
to sleep in.

One wearied mortal reposed at full length on the ground, and we
were glad to see him do so. It seemed more according to the fitness
of things. Siuely the turf was a more appropriate bed than tiie
bench. He was a young nan ; but, young as he was, he already
looked like one who had seen better days — and nights.

SLEEPERS IN TUE PARKS.

119

■ I ,

Among the crowd of sleepers there was one wonmn, — a rather
pretty, though faded, woman, — decent too ; for she slept upright, all
by herself, in the corner of the park facing the junction of Twenty-
third Street and Madison Avenue.

There was also one scholar among these tramps, one wide-awake
scholar, who sat bolt upright, and, under the full light of a lamp, was
reading a book, — not only reading it, but evidently studying it care-
fully. Who knows but this tramp may some day be a secretary of
state, — aye, may be a President himself?

Thousands of men, and not a few women, sleep in the Central
Park. This fact is, of couree, denied by the Central-park police ;
but it is a fact, nevertheless. How on earth can it be prevented?
or, to put the matter on its merits, why should it be prevented if it
could? Letter to sleep all night in the park than in the station-
houses, or out on the street, as they sleep in Donovan's Alley, and
other choice localities, or in carts, or on cellar-doors.

A policeman of a statistical turn of mind calculated, in a talk
with the winter, that, on a fair night in August, over five hundred
people slept in the various public parks, and that fully that number
slept in the street, or on piles of boards, in wagons, etc. About six
or seven hundred more " bummed " in the various station-houses,
while one or two hundred wandered from place to place, or walked
the streets sleeplessly all night. Altogether, the bedless population
of New York in summer may l>e safely estimated to reach at least
two thousand, — more than the entire i^opulation of many a thriving
country town ! Just think of it, — a bedless village in our midst !

If those who peruse this book will but read and re-read the
articles I have just quoted, they will be cHubled to form a cor-
rect as well as vivid idea of " the poor of New York."

CHAPTER XII.

THE PEN-PANOBAMA OF NEW YORK {continued). — CHIMK AND CRIMINALS.—
THE MALE AND FEMALE THIEVES OF THE METROPOLIS. —MEETING MUR-
DERERS ON BROADWAY.- '1 HE SOCIAL EVIL. — GAMBLING, SQUARE A'nD
SKIN. —THE gambler's CHRISTMAS EVE.

I It
If

Crime in New York, like every thing else in New York,
flourishes extensively, and is generally misstated and misun-
derstood. It is underrated by many, and overestimated by
many more. The really good and innocent have very faint
ideas of how many really rascally and professedly criminal men
and women there are in New York ; while, on the other hand,
the man of the world, or the average New-Yorker, is apt to
exaggerate the facts of the case, and to credit (?) the great and
greatly bad metropolis with a much greater percentage of
villany than really belongs to it.

Some years ago a writer in " The New- York World " pub-
lished an elaborate article on "The Thieves of New York,"
which contained a great deal of reliable information concern-
ing its subject. Taken as a whole, this article may be re-
garded as one of the most extended, philosophical, and accurate
of its class; and I canuot do better than by here giving ex-
tracts from it.

The major portion of the thieves of New York is composed of
the sons and daughters of Irish parents, either born in this country,
or having emigrated to it at an early age. Next in numerical pro-
portion comes the native population itself. Then rank the English,

who supply the metropolis with some of its most skilful and success-
120

:!li

DIVISIONS OF TUIEVES.

121

ful "operators." Next rank the German i)opuIation, who supply a
large percentage of the meanest kind of thieves, known as receivers
of stolen goods ; also a considerable proportion of the shoplifters oi
the metropolis. Then come the aliens, who rank among them, mau^
vagrant thieves, and the lowest ix)88ible characters ; and, after thcn\
the refuse of the Spaniards, who devote their leisure to intrigue, the
confidence game, aiiU to general thieving. There are very few
Scotch, and very few Welsh, and not a very large proportion of
French, thieves. There is also a considerable percentage of thieves
of color.

Thieves arc divided and suMivided into distinct classes, each
class devoting itself to a separate branch of the "profession."
These varieties of operation may be enumerated as follows : The
burglar, or cracksman, embracing two different species, — the scien-
tific burglar, or first class, who exercises a great deal of intellectual,
as well as mechanical, skill in his profession, — as in breaking opck.
the safe or strong-lxjx of some bank or banker, — and the common
burglar, or second class, who merely uses his jimmy, skeleton key,
and kindred tools; the highway robber, or Toby-man, who attacks
one in the public streets, esiMjcially iate at night, or in the less peril-
ous districts ; the garroter, a species of highway robljer, too fathil-
iar to need any description ; the pickpocket, or knucksman, male or
female ; the snatcher, who grasps his prey suddenly at unawares,
and runs for it ; the sneak thief, who justifies his name by sneaking
into houses, and stealing whatever apparel, or odds and ends, he can ;
the car-thief, or car-frisker, and his companion, the stage-thief, or
stage-buzzer ; the counterfeiter, or kogniacker, or maker and shover
of the "queer;" till-thieves, or till-tappers, who devote themselves
to the robbeiy of the exchequer ; forgei-s, or scratchers, who are, in a
criminal point of view, regarded as very dangerous sort of thieves ;
" pocket-lx)ok droppere," or heelers, whose peculiar business will be
explained hereafter; "confidence" men, who are also to be prop-
erly counted as thieves; "receivers," or " fences," who are cer-
tainly robbers, and the very worst variety thereof, though they are
too cowardly to do the business themselves ; the hotel-thief, among

122

THE "HEELERS.''

the most genteel and dangerous of all variety of robber ; the train-
ers of thieves, jnale and female, who keep in this Christian city of
New York, and in this nineteenth century of Christianity, regular
schools of stealing ; the river-thieves, or dock-rats, who " follow
the rivei;; " the panel-thieves, or badgers; the shoplifters, or holst-
ers, a variety of thieves with whom metropolitan store-keepei's are
only too familiar ; domestic thieves, who are the pests of private
families, and the dread of housewives ; and a few minor varieties,
which are known only by the thieves themselves.

The class of men and women denominated " blackmailers," as
likewise the class known as " fraudulent buyers," may also Im} con-
sidered as "outside," " indirect," though very dangerous thieves.

It sometimes happens that a thief will combine two or more
"varieties" we have just mentioned, turning his hand to whatever
branch may pay him the best, or for which the most favorable oppor-
tunities are afforded : but, as a i ale, each professional has his own
favorite line of business, to which he devotes his energies ; just as
lawyers are criminal lawyers, civil lawyers, divorce lawyers, etc.

The pocket-book i >bbers, or heelers, are a peculiar variety of
thieves. They drop a pocket-book at a countryman's feet, touch
him on the heel to direct his attention, then, pointing to the pocket-
book, suggest that it may have been lost by some one in the city ;
that they are not able to take any steps to return it to its rightful
owner, as they are obliged to leave town ; but they will intrust the
duty of so doing to the countryman himself, suggesting that the
latter can entitle himself to a liberal reward by restoring the wallet,
which appears to be well filled, to the owner. The excited rustio^
who intends to keep it for bis own use, and who thmks his compan*
ions to be consummate fools, accepts the pocket-book (and the im-
posed duties), and is about to leave, when the " droppera " suggest,
that, as he will receive a heavy reward for the wallet, they themselves
deserve some compensation for giving it to his care. The country-
man bands them some bank-notes, and, five minutes later, discovers
that he has given good money for bad, that the pocket-book is
"stuffed," and that he himself is a sadder and wiser man. Confi-

POLWrs ABOUT TUIEVES.

12a

dcnce-racn often plixy a lucrative but a difficult part. They pretend
to have money themselves, or eliecks, or stocks, or e<iuivaleut8, obtain
money or goods on these " frauds," and tlius earn, or at least obtain,
a 'ivelihowl. Their doilgcs are almost infinite and often ingenious.
They will form an acquaintance with a man, spend money lil)erally
on him, and at the last moment discover that they are forced at once
to liquidate a heavy pecuniary obligation ; they have only a check
for a thousand, which is dated a few days ahead ; will their friend
be kind enough to advance the money on it ? which the friend does
to his cost. At least twenty other swindles could be mentione<l, did
space allow. The receivers of stolen gootls, or " fences," are a
variety of pawnbrokers or stolen colhterals, keeping nominal dry-
gootls stores, tailor-shops, etc. They pay alwut one-fourtli of the
value of the stolen article, then hide it in their cellars, or send it off
to some confederate in another city. They are in constant communi-
cation with the thieves, and "assist" them in various ways, fur-
nishing them with bail, or lawyers, or convenient witnesses.

As for the trainers of thiews in this city, they are simply compan-
ion pictures to the great Dickens's pen-picture of " Fagan the Jew."

The blackmailers and fraudulent buyers have so many methods of
operation that it would be needless to attempt, in our limited space,
to describe them, especially as these classes are outside of the regu-
lar " organizations," to which we have reference.

As a rule, thieves dress well and not flasiiily : we allude to the
better and more successful class of " operators."" They do not, as a
general statement, affect jewellery ; endeavoring, of course, to avoid
any and every mark of their identity personally. Thieves are also,
as a class, skilful in imitation and disguise, — two very essential
qualifications in their profession. It is also stated on good authority,
that, in point of cleanliness, thieves are motlels as a rule ; also tiiey
are rarely drunkards. They iiave vices enough, but intemperance is
not one of them. The latter is too careless and incautious a failing.
A thief seldom commits himself by " outside " talk. lie never betrays,
himself by the hasty or imprudent word. His motto in this respect
is that of King Solomon, "The fool speaketh all his mind, but the

124

IVIIAT TUIEVES DO.

wise man keepcth It till afterwards." Rut, on the other hand, he
is unreservedly confidential to his *'pals." In their relation with
women, thieves are more '* moral " and '^ constant " than is generally
imagined. In fact, the hazards of a life of crime often develop a
degree of truth and affection between man and woman, united only by
the slenderest tics, which is seldom equalled (because selduin called
for) in a career of respectability. A thief will not hesitate to lie in
an outrageous manner to an "outsider." He considers this lie as a
justifiable weapon of defence or defiance, but to his confederates he
will invariably si)eak the truth. The great vice of the thief is
gaml)ling. This is the chief amusement and pernicious folly of his
life. All thieves gamble, from the most renowned burglar to the
most obscure sneak-thief. As fast as they make a "haul," they
rush to faro or keno, and " lose their pile " almost as rapidly as they
acquire it. Late every night, after the professional duties of the day
are over, the " crossumn " of every grade can he seen going from
gambling-hoU to hell, seeking not " whom he may devour," but where
he may be pecuniarily devoured. If it were not for the gambling-
table, all thieves miglit be rich. As it is, the gambling-table keeps
them all poor.

Men who steal are not, as a class, educated men ; but it has lately
been observed that their increasing numl)er8, and their contact with
tijc world, have rendered the tribe more refined and " clever," super-
ficially at least : while not a few of modem thieves are among the
most gifted men in the country. In the matter of pleasures it has
been remarked that they are not much addicted to the average run of
iimusements, as theatrical exliibitious and the like, perhaps from their
acquired habit of rcgaixling these " affairs " with an eye to business.
Tlieir chief gratification seems to be "idling" when "off duty,"
and gossiping with their "pals." They are decidedly fond of the
pleasures of the table.

Thieves seldom go alone, and still more seldom work alone. They
oi^erate in what is styled "mobs," embracing from three to seven
persons, under the leadership of some skilful and bold "hand."
Till-tappers, confidence-men, and heelers generally work in pairs ;

A THIEF'S GUATITUDE.

125

wliile any ijuitiIkt of pnrtu's inny be concerncil in a burglury. A
Blioplifter soinetimos works without asHistuiioe.

The "mobs" often UHSocitite together, and form n " Imnk," to
which a certain portion of tlieir " Hteulings " is appropriated, to be
used during u bad season, or when one of tiieir nuniU'r falls into
the clutches of the law. That is calletl "laying for a fall."

It
the

" IIONOIl AMUNO TIIIEVKS."

This oft-quoted expression has a meaning, a real and noteworthy
signification. There is a practical "honor" among "professional
thieves," which non-professionals would, in some respects, do well
to imitate. This honor includes the following " points : " —

First, A thief does not consider his fellow as an enemy, but,
rather, as a friend. Thus : if A, a thief, meets H, whom, though a
jjerfect stranger to him, he recognizes also to In? a tliii'f, A will not
endeavor to divert business from B, or interfere with his prospects,
but contents himself with his own line of trade, and, if he does aught
in the premises, will directly assist the stranger B. This is honor
"reversed" indeed.

Second, Thieves are strictly upright in the payment of their debts
to one another. Thus: Dutch Hendricks borrowed twenty dollars
of a fellow-prisoner, who was a perfect stranger to him personally,
and promised to return it as soon as possible. Shortly after, Hen-
dricks was liberated ; while the man who loaned him the money was
sent to Sing Sing. But Hendricks's first " earnings " after his return
to freedom were devoted to the payment of his loan, which was
handed over by him to a party designated by the original lender;
thus cancelling an obligation which nothing but a sense of honor
could have com()elled him to satisfy.

Thv-d, Thieves are, as a class, grateful for favors rendered,
and, like an Indian, never forget a kindness. A man by the name
of Clarke, in Lispenard Street, once assisted a poor thief during his
sickness by bringing to the room where the fellow lay some medicines
and invalid luxuries. He was in the room but ten minutes ; but the
thief, though apparently dying, took in at a glance his benefactor's

it'''

126

lloyOR AMONG THIEVES.

countenance, and inquired his name. The thief's first step after
his recovery was to discover the locule of Mr. C'hirke : and, though
4iauglit transpired at th, time, two years afterwards, when Clarke
himself liad forgotten the occurrence, and was pressed greatly for
the want of five hundred dollars, the money was mysteriously forth-
coming; iHjing sent to hi-', us was afterwards discovered, by the
grateful thief. Such instances are by no means rare.

Fourth, Thieves are seldom mean in their money transactions
outside of the necessities of their profession. Thus : it has beeu
remarked, at the drinking-bar ( ' a large hotel near N'blo's Garden,
that, while many men of apparent respectability would "forget*' in
the crowd to "settle for their drinks," the unsuspected pickix>ckct
would invariably pay his reckonings.

Fifth, Thieves seldom or never betray each other. They will
bear the odium of the punishment alone, rather than force a comrade
to share it. Occasionally they will even bear the brunt of mieidecds
committed by others of the fraternity. Sometimes they will aid an
otHcer indirectly in restoring stolen property, provided that no persons
are compromised. In regard to the betrayal of confidence, thieves
are very severe as concerns their dealings with each other ; and a
" dishonorable " thief will Ijc entirely taltooed and ostracized by his
companions. Thieves, however, have ])een known to attempt to lay
the burden of their guilt on the shoulders of innocent "outside"
parties. Thus: a car-thief recently stole a pocket-book, "weeded
it," and then placed it in the iXK-ket of an unsuspecting by-stander,
who was accused of the robbery. This is called, we believe, "Tail-
ing a dead-leather," and is an unutterably mean i)roceeding.

After all, this " honor among thieves " is only remarkable l)ecausc of
its contrast with the usual baseness and turpitude of their general life.

Another writer in " Fr.ink Leslie's Illustrated Paper " ha»
given the world the following interesting facts regarding female
thieves : —

That steal iiig has l)ecoine in modern times " a fine art," and that
it is never likely to become one of " the lost arts," is generally con-

FEMALE THIEVES.

127

ceded; but it is one of those many "arts" or professions in which
the women will never be able, in all probability, to rival the men.
Somehow or other there are fewer female thieves than male thieves ;
and, as a class, the former arc less expert at their wit-ked work than
the latter.

Account for it as you may, the fact is undoubted. Every detec-
tive, every i)ol ice-officer , every magistrate, every humanitarian, will
tell you that a comparatively small percentage of women are thieves ;
that male thieves, ic i'ioix)rtion to female, are as three to one ; while
they are not only far less numerous, but far less skilful and daring,
fur less plucky, far less clever.

Some theorists may account for the fact just stated on the ground
of the superior virtue of the female sex. They may assume, and
pei'haps with some show of truth, that women are unately more
honest than men.

Othei-s, again, less complimentary to the sex, may account for the
comparative paucity of female thieves on the theory that women are
more cowardly than men, less prone to take the risks of personal
pimishment and State prison ; while a tliird set of philosophers may
argue that women are really less clever "at taking things," less
expert with their handu, less skilful in the use of burglars' tools, than
men.

Trobably all three of these theories are to a certain extent correct,
and together will serve to account for the fact that female thieves are
comparatively few.

Ibit only "comparatively" few, after all; for in reality, consid-
ered by itself, without any reference to the men, the number of female
thieves in the country in general, and in the city of New York in
special, is large, — quite too large.

And one fact should hen? be noted : —

Tiie pvoportion of female thieves is on the increase, and Ims been
steadily increasing for some time. Thcrf arc more women who steal
profcssioiiuHy now than there were ten years ago.

Kmigration, and the social and pecuniary changes brought about by
the war, together with the "labor" strikes and troubles which have

UlL

il,i .1;

l'?: I

128

STEALING IN ''SOCIETY.

agitated the community for some time past, will serve partly to account
for this very undesirable increase.

FEMALE TIIIEKDOM : ITS II'PEK AND LOWER TENDOM.

Female thieves, as found in the metropolis, where they are in a
higher (?) degree of perfection (?) than cIscwIktc, maybe divided
into eight classes, three of wiiich may l>e churacterized as "indirect"
thieves, while the latter live classes are thieves " direct." The
" indirect " thieves do not style themselves " thieves," and are called
by more euphonious titles. They "operate" mysteriously and in
secret ; while the other classes ply their nefarious trade, wherever
they can get a chance, by onlinary methods, among ordinary people.

The " indirect," or, if the term is not an absurdity in such a con-
nection, the " higher," classes of female thieves sometimes embrace
women of some education, and even pretensions to refinement ; while
the lower ranks are comjwsed almost wholly of the most ignorant,
vulgar, and degraded of the sex.

The three "higher" (?) classes of female thieves comprise what
are called, in common parlance, " blackmailere " and "adven-
turesses ; " and to the list should be added the class known as " hotel-
thieves." Strictly speaking, these adventuresses, blackmailers, con-
fidence-women, etc., are thieves, just as truly as the pickpocket. In
fact, they are thieves of the most dangerous description, — ten times
more dangerous than any mere pocket-pickers.

In strictly "social" or non-professional circles, too, there have
been occasionally (but very rarely) found ladies of standmg and
position who have forgotten themselves and the eighth commandment.

STEALING IN "SOCIETY."

One lady of middle age, a wife and mother, highly coimected, but
whose family are "decayed," — reduced somewhat in pecuniary cir-
cumstances, though still what is called "comfortable," — has been
more than suspected of having taken the well-filled iK)cket-lx)ok of a
lady-friend with whom she went out one morning "shopping." It

FEMININE UOTEL-TUIEVES.

129

has 80 happened at cliflferent times tluriug the hist five or six years,
that tliis lady has " matronized " several heiresses making their Mbut
m New-York society ; and it has also so happened that each one of
these heiresses has met with some mysterious pecuniary loss — the
loss of some pocket.-book, etc. — while in the company of this most
resi>ectable cAo7)erone ; so that, putting these facts together, "people"
in society have begun to talk al)out the matter ; and it is not at all
probable that this " iwor but highly respectaljle " matron will ever
have the chance to matronize any more heiresses.

It is a well-known fact, that certain well-to-do men and women —
women and men who have no pecuniary inducements to steal — are
yet diseased with an inclination to take things which do not belong to
them ; but these maniacs are known as kleptomaniacs, and do not
fall under the head proper (or improper) of thieves.

But until recently our leading hotels and watering-places were
infested with a number of

rhat
ven-
oU'l-
con-
lu
Limes

luve

and

iient.

, but

cir-

Ijeon

of a

IIOTEL-TIIIEVES,

often women of considerable personal attractions, who wou'i become
acquainted with the wealthy residents of the hotels, obtain a social
footing with their families, and rob their victims, sometimes entering
their rooms with false keys, etc., or they would "beat" the hotel-
proprietors, deceive them by false representations, or by "stuffed "
trunks filled with bricks or other worthlessness. This class of pests
llu'ove for a while extensively; but the hotel-keepers o>^ranized a
force of special " hotel-detectives," a few of the leading hott thieves

— Mrs. M , Mrs. W , etc. — were sent to State prison, and

at |)resent hotel-thieving is decidedly on the decline ; the detective
already alluded to — Mr. George Elder — computing the number in
this city as not exceeding al)OUt thirty.

So much for what has been called the " swell " female thieves.

Tlie lower orders of female thiefdom embrace five classes, — the
shopiifU'rH, the stage-thieves, the doni'.'stic thieves, or dishonest house-
hold-servants, and the pickpockets.

180

imV-GOOJJS STOIIES AXD THEIR THIEVES.

\m\

rt i

SIIOPMKTKKS.

The shoplifters, or woinen who steal goods — generally dry-goods
— from stores, are on the increase however. It is calculated that
there are alK>ut three hundred and lifty shoplifters in the metropolis,
the majority of whom are Germans. These shoplifters generally
carry a large shawl or a big cloak, and their dresses have huge,
deep pockets : sometimes one dress will have as many as four pock-
ets. Tliey dress plainly, so as not to attract attention, but neatly,
so as to be mistaken for lady customers.

They move about our large dry-goods stores, especially on "open-
ing" days, examine goods on tlie counters, and then, when the clerk
is not looking at her, — for even dry-goods clerks camiot have their
eyes everywhere at once, — the shoj>lifter transfers a piece of delicate
lace into her capacious pocket, or hides a s|)lendid piece of d js-
goods under her shawl or cloak, and dei)arts, sometimes inimolested,
and sometimes not: for, tauglit by experience, most of our large dry-
goods stores now employ keen-eyed men as detectives ; and so, occa-
sionally, the shoplifter comes to grief.

A woman was recently arrested at a dry-goods store, and brought
into the private olllce, where she was searched. Iler person was a
perfect museum of stolen «lress-goods. Iler three pockets, being
turned inside out, "■emitted" pieces of the most costly lace; and
under a capacious shawl was displayed enough silk to make two
dresses. Three pairs of stolen gloves also rolled from her pocket on
the floor, followed by two richly embroi'lered lace handkerchiefs.

The scene of the "exposure" was rather striking, and eminently
*' suggestive." Terhaps the most suggestive feature of all was the
indignant "attitude" struck by the woman, ^vho persisted, spite of
the elo<iuent " articles " all aroimd, in insisting on her " innocence,"
she failing to convince the members of the firm.

The numlier of stage-thieves, or wonu-a who "work" the stages
for the purposes of stealing, is decidedly on the decrease. Time wa^
when our Hroadway busses were the favorite haunts of wll-dressed
female tliic vi-s. wlio would pick the pockets of the unwary, or, some-

! Ji

' SonrrliiiiR the slii.|>-lirt{.r " [p i;«)].

*ln i

•' EMOTIONAL " TIIIEVKS.

131

times, even cut their pockets out hy a knife or scissora. So adroit
were these thieves, tliat they have Ix-en known to take the money
from a stolen poeket-ljook riglit before the rightful owner's eyes,
and then to replace tiie iM)cket-l)ook l)cfore the victim missed it. At
one time these stage-moils, " stage-buzzers," or "knucks," as they
were called, numk'red over one hundred ; but it is now claimed that
tiieir numl)er has Ikjcu reduced to less than Hfteen known profes-
sionals.

OUK IIOfSEIlOI.I) THIKVE3. — Sl>ME STAKTLIXO FACTS.

The greatest increase in the number of our female thieves has
been found to Imj among oiir female servants, — our '' domestios."
The increase in these, and in the ntimber of blackmailers and adven-
turesses, has over-balanced the decrease in the other lines of profes-
sional female thieves.

The majority of these dishonest domestics are of (Jerman birth ;
and it has been ascertained by the efforts of detective Tilly, secondccl
by the skill of C'apt. Irving, that, in certain cases, these servant-
thieves combine t<»gcther, and, under the leadership of a man, hin>-
self a German, rob their enjployers systenmtically, taking refuge with
the " man " when '* out of a situation " Iwtween " robberies."

A more dangerous state of things for the conmumity could scarcely
ha imagined; and " intelligenee-olllces," as at present conducted,
are doing, by their loose way of transacting business, all they can to
play into the hands of these domestic thieves, one of whom has, how-
ever, recently been consigned to the tentler mercies of Sing-.Sing
prison.

EMOTIONAL TIIIF.VIX(}. — OIMEVINO AND 9TEAI-INO.

Of late years a new and simple, yet clever, style of stealing has
become jwpuhir with the female thieves of the ntetropolis.

For want of a better name, it may In? styled " emotional thieving ; "
as it depends ujxtn the exhibition of joy, grief, friendship, etc., on
llie part of its victims. AVcdiliugs and funerals have of late l)ecoine
great centres for clever female thieves in which to operate, and they
have made the most of their opportuiiilies. Grief see:::? to admit

182

FEMALE VILLAyy.

I if i!

flM

of more stealing than joy ; or, at least, there are more thieves to he
found at funerals than at wccUliugs.

Sometimes the thief will "operate" at the church; sometimes at
the house of mourning or of feasting ; sometimes the female robber
will go, clad gayly, as a friend of the bride ; or sometimes, attired
in deeiiest black, as a heart-broken mourner.

But in either case her eyes and fingers are busy all the time. One
woman has a large handkerchief bordered with black, with which she
wipes her eyes constantly. She attends every possible funeral, and
uses this handkerchief, like charity, to cover a " multitude of sins ; "
for she manages to use it to hide some article, some knick-knack of
value, some book, or article of virtu, some costly trifle, which she
may hapi)en to see and clutch. And, as she ^^ steals away," she
" wipes her weeping eyes."

The number of these " emotional thieves " is estimated at about a
hundred and fifty. Then, of late there has arisen a class of thieves
who haunt the docks, and mingle with the crowd of people who
gather on the piere to see the last of their Europe-going friends.
While the "wild adieus are waved from shore," these cunnmg.
female thieves "wave " and steal botli.

A woman was recently arrested, who, while waving her handker-
chief with one hand to an imaginary somebo<ly on the departing shipf.
with the other hand was busy in the ix>ckct8 of her neighbor.

THE SUM OF FEMALE VILLANY.

Of course, accurate statistics of the number of female thieves in
New York are utterly unattainable ; but the approximate statistics
have already been given, and may be thus summed up. They will
be found sulHciently correct for all puriwses. They have l)een fur-
nished by the police officials of the city of New York, and are as
follows : —

Professional blackmailers, about
Adventuresses (of the upper grades)
Hotel-thieves, only ....

160

200

FIVE MVnUEUEltS OS UliOADWAY.

133

[150

1 200

Panel-thieves, only

Shoplifters, at least

Duniustic household-thieves, estimated by the iK>lice at about
Miscellaneous female thieves and pickpockets

20
805

4(N)
IfK)

Total

1,255

As yet New York lias escaped the presence and the opera-
tions of professional assassins, analogous to the bravoes of
Venice or the Thugs of India. But that there are hundreds
of men "lying around loose," or "tight," ready to commit
murder for a consideration, or without any consideration,
cannot be denied.

Nor can New York claim any high regard for the sanctity of
human life. Not only have there been hosts of "mysterious
murders" comaiitted in the metropolis, — of which the Nathan
murder is only one, though the most celebrated, — not only
have there been hundreds of New- York murderers either ex-
ecuted or imprisoned, but there are in New York to-daj' a
number of men, each of whom has killed his man, but all of
whom are free as air, and all prosperous, and apparently
res[)ected, — f-ome quite " popular."

In a recent stroll along Broadway, from Clinton Place to
Thirty-fourth Street, a New-Yorker met five murderers, one
after the other, on the promenade, — five men who had shot
other men (loud. Two of these literally "free shooters" were
rich, and Avere surrounded by their fawning satellites: a third
was a great man among the sporting fraternity. 'J'he other
two were living a retired life, but all five seemed to be in the
best of healtli and spirits ; and it is safe to say, that, in either
London or Paris, all five would either have been hung, or
would be in State prison for life.

"The social evil," so called, is one of the prime evils, the
great curses, of New York. There are at least, to use Eliza-
beth Barrett Browning's words, while altering her figures, —

Ilf

111,

«f|M

s- i f

n,- i

t^'

!'i

134 '*GA.VnLIS(i l\ (IOTIIAM:'

"Tt'ii (liotisainl women in one sinili-,
Wliu only Hiuilc at niglit, licncalli the HM."

And till' si};lits int'st'iiteil, by bioiiil diiyliglit, in tim (lircct rcai"
of tho Ihimilway hotels, tVoni tlio (imnil Central to the St.
Nii'holuH; unil the scones visible every niyht on any of the
leading avenues and thoronghl'ares, — are alike <lreadi'ul ami dis-
gusting. "Up town" is lined with houses ol' gilded inlaniy,
and assignation houses; and some of tho "hotels" hav*; a
eharaeter that is more or less than "doubtful." Hroadway
is "alive" with showily dressed and sometimes beautiful Tra-
viatas; and prominent dry -goods stores, restaurants, ay, and
even churches, are turned into cruising-grountls for " adven-
turers," and places for " meeting by appointuient." The
"personals" and "matriiiicunals" in tlie papers, even the
"housekeepers" and the "medical " advertisements, are used
as "baits" for the lascivious, or traps for the unwary. Sixth
Avenue exhibits whole blocks of depravity. And even on
Kifth Avenue and Madison Avenue, right in the heart of the
fashionable (puuter, pest-houses of tliis sort abound.

And gambling keeps pace with prostitution. Although the
laws are very severe against gambling, and although tho
authorities institute spasmodic j^olice-raids against the gam-
blers, there is always "j)lay," "high" and "low" alike, and
plenty of it, day and night in the metropolis. New York is,
par excellence, tho favorite resort, both of stock and card
gamblers.

Some years ago a well-known sensational writer publishetl
in "The Sunilay Mercury" an article on "(tand)ling in
(lotham," which has been accepted as "authority" ever since.
I cannot present to my readers the facts about gambling nioro
fully or accurately than they have been stated in this article*
from which I accordingly (juote: —

i I

,1 ciry or <;ami!I.i:i:s.

186

(iimiltliii}i-li(nis»'H limy Ih! (UvhIimI into live cliiHHt's, — tin jirniiiijt!-
iiu'iil \v!iiT!iiit('<|, not only for convt'iiiciicc of il('Hci-i|itioii, but also an
liaviiij^ II mil cxiHtciift', 'riicHc llv«' cIiishch fiiiliriicf, Firnl, Tlif low
or iM'^ro ^tiinr-lions«'s, or (h-nn, wlu'i'e tin- n'fiisi' of (lie city nici't, to
wuHtu tliit trilli> wliicli U tlicii- all in all, iiiid wlicrc the play Ih aH
lici'cc in intensity as tlu* Htak(> is of an iiiHiirnirtiiint anioiint. Scroiid,
'V\\v corner j^roeericH, where, in [hv l)aek-Nho|), <faiiil»linjf is ficnerally
earrieti on aiiion<;; the servantH, laborers, and hacKnien of onr eity.
T/tirtJ, The Hctwery or eross-Nlreet jfaniliiiny-estaltliNhineiit, where the
clerks and iiiid<ll(t classes, and a s|)rinkliii<r of the thievcK and coiin-
terfeiters of the metropolis, eoiijfrej^iite. Faitiih, The fashioiialtle
!{ainiiii;-liouseM on Hroadway, and the cross-streets np-towii, where
onr professional •i;aiiil>lers, men ahont town, and Wall-Street Hpeciilu-
tors, resort; and Fijtii and last, the cliilt-houses on the avenn<>, where
a (piiet Kiiine is nightly carried on, an<l where the hant ton play, aud
los(» In'iivily.

The amati'iir pnmltlers, l»ettin<j fientlenion, the nienilM-rs of our first
society, who ainnse their Ieisnr(> hours l»y fl<ihtin<; the tij^er, are a
very larjje and ihlliiential class of the community. It may safely lie
slated, that the majority of rmr leading citizens in New York» either
pultliely or privately, gamble. New York, in fact, is a city of gam-
blers. AVe iK't, we wager, we stake, we lia/an] : in short, we all
gamble. Some of us venture onr pile in W.'dl Street, in daytime;
others in Twenty-fourth Street, at night ; and not a few of ns do
lK)th. Men, like a well-known d«»wn-town speculator and up-lown
8iK>rt, who "operates" t«'rrin<'ally, spends frci-ly what he niagnili-
cently acquires, and stakes on the turn of a card as readily as on the
rise of a sttK'k ; men, like a prominent banker and [lolitician, — also
venture freely, and hazard the money they can well afford to lose.
The " Old Man," and those of kindred stamp, men of gigairtic ideas,
gamble like giants. Soeiety-im'ii, physicians, lawyers, judges, and
newspaper-men devote a portion of their s|mre time to play ; while
!\t least two-thirds of our politicians are, to a greater or less degree,
^^amblers.

Gamblers may be divided into two great classes, of amateurs aud

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136

GAMBLERS AND THEIR CLASSES:

professionals, — men who gamble for excitement and amusement, and
men who gamble for a livelihood. Of the latter class we would here
say a few words.

Professional gamblei-s, like all classes of men, may be indefinitely
divided and subdivided into various grades, more or less clearly de-
fined. First, There are the proprietors of the fashionable gambling-
houses on Twenty- fourth to Twenty-seventh Streets — the Wall Street
of gamblers, the Fifth Avenue of farodom — and the vicinity. /Sec-
ond come the proprietors of the Broadway houses. Then there are
the proprietors of tlie smaller establishments, located on ihe Bowery
and the cross-streets. Then there are a class of people, who, like
the late John C. Heenan, keep what is called a gambler's bank, an
institution whose character is explained in another part of the article.
And last comes the herd of gamblers who haunt these various estab-
lishments, some of whom play the role of roper-in or general agent
for an establishment ; others, that of capper, a term elsewhere ex-
plained ; others, who are dealers, a very important post given only
to men who can be trusted, etc., who never talk; others, who look
out, or watch the dealer, preventing any mistake on his part ; otliers,
who keep the cue-board, — croupiers generally, — blacklegs, et id
omne genus. We must not forget, \n our enumeration, to mention
the inevitable contraband, who, in this connection, is generally a
sleek, well-bred fellow, who guards the entrance, sees that supper
is served, and performs kindred offices. Lowest and meanest of
all come the "strippers," a class of blackmailers and loafers who
infest gambling-houses, and, too cowardly to risk aught on their own
account, claim a portion of the gamblers' spoils under penalty of a
"row" or an '■'^expos^" if refused.

Those who object to losing money at games of chance should not
play at all ; and it is the height of meanness to — as has of late
been too frequently done — first illegally venture money at hazard,
and then, by process of law, to recover it if the venture has gone
adversely. The true wisdom is, to shun all such places as one would
a roaring lion. It has, however, been stated often, that all gam-
bling-games are unfairly conducted ; that uo amateur is safe with

TH^ " CAPPER.

137

*' patents "or professionals; in other words, that all gamblere are
sharpers. These statements, like all other general statements,
though generally true, are occasionally, though rarely, false, correct
under certain circumstances, and unfounded in others. A few, very,
very few absolutely gamblers are beyond reproach as gamblers, and
gentlemen can stake money at their establishments with a perfect
assurance of good faith, so far as the mere gambling is concerned ;
the best proof of which fact is, that these houses, and others of a
similar character, sometimes, though very, very seldom, lose heavily
with apparent amateurs, or sometimes with absolute strangers. But
to by far the most of the minor houses of New York, and to not a
few of the fashionable establishments, these statements are not at
ail applicable, but, as they say in the comedy, precisely the reverse.
These latter dens are the resorts of blacklegs and dupes ; and, of
course, the former carry the day, or, rather, the night. We propose
here, briefly, to unveil a few of the laore prominent mysteries of
these establishments.

Gambling-houses of the kind last alluded to employ a very useful
personage, known as the capper. The capper is generally a genteel-
looking individual, apparently forty or fortj'-five years of age, con-
veying the idea of a retired merchant, or a gentleman living upon his
income. It often happens that a party of amateurs, or greens, may
be gathered together in a gaming-house, disposed for sport, and yet
-each of the assemblage being unwilling to open the game on his own
individual account. In this case the capper is needed. A bell gives
him the signal. He hastens down stairs from his inner chamber,
opens the street-door, enters the gambling-room, as though a visitor
just arrived. He is welcomed by tiie proprietor with empressement^
saluted as "Colonel," is asked where he has been lately, — he has
not been visible for some time, etc., — and will he not have a glass
of wine or a cigar. The capper, or colonel, blandly accepts all the
courtesies shown him, and then, looking around in his polite and
dignified way upon the assembled company, impressing them with
a feeling oi respect and confidence by his unblemished integrity,
■suggests pleasantly, " What say you, gentlemen, to enjoying a social

138

" UK IN "-GAM EH.

game with our frieud, the proprietor?" etc. He sits down to the
table accordingly, and the rest follow their leader ; and the great
object is accomplished, — of commencing play, —out of the proceeds,
of which the very respectable capper takes his very respectable per-
centage. The capper is generally an expert, sometimes keeps the
cues, and is altogether a most important personage.

Another pt the chief features of ordinary gambling, in all cities,
and a feature upon which much of its pecuniary success depends, i»
the institution known to the initiated as "roping-in." This system
affords the means of an elegant and easy livelihood to many, and
is worthy an expos4. A roper-in is simply an outside agent for a
gambling-house, who supplies it with its victims, receiving, in con-
sideration of his services, a per cent of sometimes one-half of the
pluckings. The roper-in is generally a man of the world, polished
in manners, full of savoir faire, a good judge of human nature, and
keen in perception. His field lies within the compass' of the fashion-
able hotels. He haunts the reading-rooms, gentlemen's parlors, and
offices of the St. Nicholas, Metropolitan, New York, Wmdsor, and
Fifth- Avenue Hotels, and his usual mode of operation is as follows :
He watches closely all the arrivals, and ascertains from the inspec-
tion of the books, or casual observatipns, the names and business of
such guests as he deen.;^ will best suit his purpose, then devotes his
energies to the study of the personnel and morale of the latter class.
Having satisfied his scrutiny, he contrives in some cunning way to-
form the acquaintance of one of their number, and, by plausil^ly con-
ceived and well-executed lies, diverts all suspicion, and soon ripens-
an acquaintance to almost friendship. Having made his points thus-
far, the roper-in invites his friend to accompany him to the theatre^
and insists on paying all the expenses, on the ground that it is his
duty, as a citizen, to extend the hospitality of New York to the
stranger. After the theatre, the roper-in suggests a cigar, and
then, amid the puffs of a Havana, hits on a visit to a friend's house
in the neighborhood, where he knows they would be welcome, and
could enjoy a game-supper and a bottle. The stranger, fascinated
by this new idea, flattering himself that he is indeed seeing the

THE ROPER-IN.

139

elephant, and doing Nfew York, assents, and is accordingly ushered
into luxuriously furnished apartments, where all that can please the
eye, or gratify the taste, awaits him. He is introduced to a number
of gentlemen of distinguished bearing and exalted name ; and, after
a liberal course of conversation and refreshments, it is proposed to
join in a little social game ; and, to make the play more interesting,
it is also proposed to wager small amounts of money upoi^ the result,
— merely f ' amusement, — pour passer le temps, of course. The
victim assents : to refuse now would be ungeutlemanly. He may
plead ignorance ; " but the principle of the game is so simple," and
the roper-in will show him all the details. He plays, aud wins, —
the victim generally wins at first: he is elated and good-humored
with his luck. Higher stakes are proposed : still he ascends, and
still he wins. At last the tide of fortune begins to turn. He loses ;
but the roper-in at his elbow says, " Try your luck once more: j'ou
will come all right again." He resumes his game, and loses all self-
control. Inflamed by wine, and frenzied by excitement, watched by
men who have long since learned to stifle all human emotion in the
terrible machinery of play, he falls an easy spoil. In a few hours
he is stripped. All his available fundd are diverted from his own
pocket to the coffers of the bank. Sometimes the victim even pledges
his rings or watch, to retrieve his loss, but to no avail. And then
the roper-in, having fulfilled his mission, will be seen no more in
that quarter for a while.

The ropers-in number many hundred in >Tf w York, and are among
the chief pests in our public places. Tliey k'unge on the street-
corners, haunt the entrances of theatres, stivd at the doors of
gaming-houses ; and, though known to the hotel-keepers and police,
are allo^yed to proceed unuiolested in their ways.

Again. In the third place, in short card-games, blacklegs gull the
unwai-y by means of their thorough knowledge of the appearances or
the various cards of a pack. Occasionally a card manufacturer and
gambler will act in concert ; the former suggesting certain figures to be
marked upon the backs or corners of the cards, which, though not to
be perceived by the uninitiated, will, to those in the ring, be as clear

140

" CARD-SHARPERS."

aud full of meaning as a telegraphic signal to an operator. For the
manufacture of these cards, the gambler will contribute a large sum,
•so as to enable the manufacturer to sell them at a low rate, and force
them on the market. Of course, wherever these cards are used, the
gamblers are masters of the situation. Even the ordinary playing-
cards can be readily distinguished one from the other, and their
•suit and value ascertained by the sharper by their backs as well as
the general public by their faces. Thus, for instance, the star-backed
<!ards present occasionally a star at some given corner, divided into two
portions, which serve as indications. The calico, or check-backed,
cards are also distinguishable by the recurrence of some especial
«tripe or check at a corner which will serve to designate the suit
and the card. P>en in a pack of plain-backed cards, presenting no
marks whatever, the sharper can easily know all he needs. In one
suit of these cards, the grain of the paper may chance to ruL longi-
tudinallv ; in another suit it may run transversely ; in another, diago-
nally ; and in the last, bias. An expert gambler can read the cards
as rapidly from one side as from another. We have seen the fact
■demonstrated.

In the fourth place, the sharper, or blackleg, acquires, by care,
study, and long practice, a wonderfut mechanical sleight-of-hand in
his manipulation of cards. We have met blacklegs who can outdo
Hermann in card-tricks. They can deal a certain number of cards
to their opponents, and as many as they choose to themselves, with-
out exciting suspicion. They can cause two or three cards to pass
as readily as one. They can produce any desired card precisely
when it is wanted, and no one save themselves be the whit the wiser.
Cards can be shuffled by them, and cut ad libitum; but, provided the
sharper has the deal, he can control his own hand, and that of his
adversary, at will.

In the fifth place, the mechanical appliances of the sharper,
utterly unsuspected by the unwary, enable him to defraud without
detection. This is especially the case with faro and the faro-box.
This latter appliance is often a marvel of ill-applied ingenuity, full
of hidden springs and contrivances which are absolutely invisible to

BLACKLEGS AND THEIR TRICKS.

141

the unpractised eye. The box is made of silver, and presents a very
beautiful appearance : it is seemingly simple, but really complex.
Into the faro-box the usual variety of cards will occasionally not
pass without being "reduced." There is a plate or knife prepared
for that purpose, through the agency of which the edges of the card
can be made concave or converse, and by which means, also, a num-
ber of marks and variations can be produced, sufficient to distinguish
each and every card in the pack.

"Braces," or two card-boxes, are also used by dishonest gam-
blers. Cards are sand-papered, and so arranged as to cling lovingly
together; and numerous contrivances of similar character are in

But, taken as a whole, it is a very difficult thing to cheat success-
fully at faro. There must be in all cases a collusion between the
dealer and the cue-keeper, and great carelessness on the part of the.
player.

Sixthly, among blacklegs there sometimes prevails a system of
signals, which answers all their purposes, but defies the observation
of outsiders. And sometimes a regular telegraph (a "gambler'a
telegraph ") is put into operation. A confederate placed in a room
above, or some supposed stranger looking on, can see the cards of
the players, and then, by the means of some mechanical communica-
tion, and a series of agreed-upon signs, can telegraph his knowledge
to his pals. ;^ut instances of this kind are comparatively rare.
Besides all this, the professional blackleg possesses the immense
advantage over his opponent of a memory rendered almost miracu-
lous by constant practice, a sense of touch educated to a capacity
rendered almost equal to that possessed by the blind, and a coolness
which is derived from long familiarity with scenes of excitement, —
a coolness which is in itself half of the game.

From this resume of the tricks practised, and the advantages
possessed by the blacklegs, or swindling gamblers, it is evident that
the " patent " man, or sharper, by his marked cards, his sleight-of-
hand, his " paling," stealing cards, false shuffling, dealing from the
bottom, slipping the cut on top, " stocking " the cards, signals, tele-

lUi

142

A MEMOEABLE GAME.

graplis, arrangf^'.l boxes aud tables, his agents and cappers and
ropers-in, combined with his wonderful memory, touch, and coolness,
is an adversary against whom all amateur-playing and strokes of luck
are unavailing : in other words, to use an expressive phrase, he is a
man who plays to win.

As regard the interior of gambling-houses, much description is
not needed. Hketch-writers and personal experience have rendered
to most information on this matter superfluous. They are, as a rule
(we speak of the better class of houses), handsomely furnished,
with costly tables, elegant machinery, table-attendance, and well
supplied with cigars, wine, and edibles generally.

It was at Mr. Morrissey's establishment, No. 5 West Twenty-
fourth Street, that the celebrated game, one of the most stupendous
on record, between the Hon. John Morrissey on the one side, and the
Hon. Den Wood on the other, was played. This play, alike from
the prominent positions of the principal personages engaged, and
the enormous sums staked, has acquired almost a world-wide noto-
riety. The game was a combination game, and six or seven persons
were eng.aged in it, — Tom Merritt, who bears the reputation of being
the sharpest dealer in the United States; "Jim Stuart," a noted
gambler; old "Scribner," who ha& been a successful professional
for over a third of a century ; a gambler rejoicing in tlie unusual
appellation of John Smith; and a noted player called "Barclay"
from California. In addition to the two distinguished congressmen,
a noted city judge was also present at the play ; and it is said the
Hon. Ben Wood happened to be "short" at the commencement of
the evening ; the judge loaned him three thousand dollars to start
with. The game was continued until morning ; both principals
waxed more and more excited as the stakes grew higher and higher ;
and both, it is averred, drinking freely. During the latter part of
the game, over thirty-one thousand dollars was staked on the turn
of a single card. The play, which proved a serious earnest for Mr.
Morrissey, resulted in Mr. Ben Wood winning from the bank a hun-
dred and twenty-four thousand dollars. Of this sum INIr. Morrissey
is said to have lost only seventy thousand dollars, the balance being

GAMBLING AT THE CLUIiS.

143

shared among his associates. At any rate, tlie game was, accord-
ing to tlie professional gambler's ideas, squarely played, and evinced
a degree of skill on one side, and pluck on the other, which has
seldom been equalled. Certainly, it was a game worthy, in its mag-
nitude at least, of the Empire City. Such a game could have been "
played nowhere outside of the metropolis.

Among the many establishments in which, though not gaming-
houses, gambling is excessively carried on, may be enumerated those
popular institutions known as clubs, embracing the Travellers', Union,
Manhattan, New York, and other fashionable resorts. Poker and
whist, with other varieties, are among the favorite games at these
places ; and heavy stakes are not unfrequently wagered on the results.
We have been told of one week in wliich over a hundred thousand
dollars changed hands at the Union Club on a game of cards. Of
course, at the clubs, the parties playing being all gentlemen of birth,
education, and position, the utmost honor is observed ; and the best
feeling prevails. Occasionally, however, a sharper will manage to
obtain the entry ; or (such cases have been known of, though very
rarely) one of the members, who has learned the tricks of gamblers,
will avail himself of his nefarious experience, — and, of course, the
gentlemen who wager their money will be defrauded. But these
cases are exceptions to the rule ; and, whatever may be the moral
aspects of club-gambling, it is. at least, a fairly conducted amuse-
ment, patronized by those who can afford it.

As regards the statistics of gambling, we would say a few words.
This branch of the subject is replete with difficulty ; and all data given
must, of couise, be considered as only approximate ; but still some
general figures can be stated whicli will afford some suggestive ideas.

Exclusive of tlie groceries, which are countless, and the very
vilest of the low dens of the metropolis, there are about two hundred
gambling-houses, — public, and recognized as such, — about fifty of
which belong to what may be styled the first-class and fashionable
houses. The expenses of a fashionable gambling-house are enor-
mous ; amounting, for wines, cigars, suppers, and other expenses,
from twenty-five thousand to forty thousand dollars per annum. The

144

A MAN WITH A PASSION FOR GAMBLING.

I :!

;;iii i|i!

liiiii

hi;

!: hH

value of the furniture often exceeds twenty thousand dollars in one of
these establishments, while the amount of capital required to start
with varies from fifteeu thousand to fifty thousand dollars, while
some establishments can command twice the sum last mentioned.
The amount of capital invested in the gambling-houses of the
metropolis must exceed, in all probability, over a million and a
quarter of dollars. The amount of money lost or won at gambling
must amount throughout the year, on an average, to about forty
thousand dollars nightly. The number of professional gamblers in
New York has been variously computed from five thousand to ten
thousand, or about one-fourth the number of professional courtesans.
A proprietor of a gambling-house generally makes money, lives well,
dines as an epicure, drinks like a temperate Bacchus, dresses like a
lord, and enjoys life generally ; but his tenure of prosperity is, gen-
erally, short-lived in the majority of the cases. As for the profes-
sional gambler, he simply makes his expenses, which may be averaged
at two thousand dollars per annum ; is generally as poor at the end
"f the year as he was at the beginning ; and, taken altogether, earns
money with as much expenditure of time and talent as though,
joring in some regular trade or profession.

^«., , iM .

The passion for gambling, like the passion for drinking, often
obtains a terrible hold upon its victim. One of the most forci-
ble illustrations of this awful truth is afforded by the powerful,
realistic sketch entitled " The Gambler's Christmas Eve," writ-
ten by Mr. Isaac G. Reed, jun., the author of the celebrated
series of sketches, "Thirty Years in Gotham," in which the
story first made its appearance. This sketch is founded upon
fact, and was as follows : —

A man with a passion for gambling — and with a wild idea,
common to many gamblers, that he will some day " think out "
a " system " which will enable him to beat chance, burst a faro-
bank, and always win — marries a deserving woman, and finally,
through her influence, promises to abstain from gambling, and

THE GAMBLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE.

145

often

forci-

rerful,

writ-

brated

3b tbe

upon

idea,
out"

I a faro-
inally*

Ig, and

never to enter a gaming-den again. He kept his promise, but
still brooded over his possible infallible " system."

This was the status one Christmas Eve. We give the rest of
the story literally.

Cliristraas Eve came : and it had been intended for all the Watson
family to take a stroll along Broadway, t-id finish the holiday pur-
chases, flUin' the family stockings ; but his wife's only sister, livin'
in Harlem, was taken quite sick ; and the wife was compelled to pay
her a visit of mercy, while the home was to be looked after by tbe
husband and father. The wife would fain have taken him with her ;
but, one of the children being too unwell, he was left behind to
superintend the nursin'. Christmas Eve came ; and a lonely, dismal
eve it was, — the wife and mother away from home, at the bedside of
her sick sister ; the husband and father seated in his room alone, with
no company but the hired girl and his sleeping or sick children.
Hours passed on: and suddenly an idea flashed across George
Watson's mind; a point about his "infallible system," that had
hitherto escaped him, now occurred to him. Suddenly, all that had
been unfortunate to him, or mysterious in the system, seemed to be
explained away, as if by magic or inspiration. He saw a way to
infallibly beat and break the faro-bank at last. A fortune lay
within his grasp, if he could get an opportunity to try his newly
discovered, almost divinely inspired, " point." He had one hundred
dollars in his pocket: it was enough to lay the foundation of a
fortune, if he could buck against the tiger with it that night. But
there was his sick child : he could not leave her in the sole care of
the hired girl. But just then. a kindly, motherly neighbor dropped
in, — a friend of his wife's. It was his golden opportunity, and he
seized it. He left his household and his child in her experienced
care, and went into the streets in a fever of excitement and anticipa-
tion. With one hundred dollars in his pocket, he walked hastily to
818 Broadway, then the great "Gamblers' game" of the city of
New York, and rang the bell. The colored man in waiting admitted
him. He knew him of old, "^.nd welcomed him with a smile ; and ip

146

"818 BROADWAY."

I'pM

a few minutes he was buckin' against the tiger and tlie new point in
his infallible system. His one hundred dollars became several thou-
sands, and he was wild with joy. His system worked at last; he
would be a rich man erelong ; it was a glorious Christmas Eve
indeed ! Meanwhile, with a presentiment of evil, the wife and
mother had suddenly left her sister's bedside, and had returned
home. Her worst fears were realized : her husband was gone ; and
a terrible instinct told her where he had gone to, and what he had
gone for. She had in tviies past learned by sad experience all his
gamin' haunts, and she knew that of 'em all, his chief favorite,
the first place he would strike would be No. 818. She was sick
herself, — footsore, heartsore. She had been troubled with several
attacks lately of heart disease, which she had kept quiet about
for fear of alarming her husband. It was a bitter cold night, and it
was beginning to snow : .« would be a stormy night and a wild
Christmas morning, but she did not hesitate one moment.

Kissing her unconscious children, leavin' them in the charge of
her kind-hearted neighbor, who vainly endeavored to dissuade her
from going out, she again started out in the snow-storm, and trudged
wearily along until she reached the door of No. 818. She was still
a pretty woman, though faded and .jaded ; and men looked at her
curiously "ud impertinently, as she walked along through dark,
though whitening, streets ; the young men even turned, followed her,
and accosted her with an impudent leer ; but she took no heed what-
ever. She reached the door of the gamblin'-hell, the best-known
place of its kind in the United States, and stopped there, just as if
any thin' could be accomplished by her stopping out there in the
dark and in the cold.

It may have been, that had she pulled the bell of 818 just then, and
asked for her husband while her husband was winning thousands,
she might have had some chance given her to get at him, and to get
him away ; but she did not have the nerve to do that then ; all her
strength seemed to have deserted her at the gamblin'-hell's portal.
All she did was to wring her hands, and moan, and walk up and
down Broadway, and wait, wait, wait, in the snow and cold, as if

UEOUGS WATSON'S " SYSTEM:

147

nt in
thou-
t; be

Eve
\ and
uined
; and
le had
all his
vorite,
IS sick
several

about

, and it

a wild

large of

ade ber

trudged

vas still
at ber

h dark,
ed ber,
id wbat-
i-knovirn
ist as if
in tbe

[len, and
l)U8ands,
to get
all ber
portal,
up and
Id, as if

waiting could do any earthly good. At last, chilled to the bone, she
grew desperate, and ascended tbe steps, pulled the bell of No. 818,
but so feebly that it could not be beard at first ; though the few
passers-by, knowin' the character of the house, wondered at seeing
a woman there, at the entrance of a "hell:" — finally, mustering
courage, she gave a stronger pull at the bell ; and the sleek colored
man answered the summons in surprise. Feebly she stammered out
the name of her husband, and asked to see him if he was inside.
The colored man took in the "situation" at once; experience of
life had made him keen : he caught the name upon her lips, recog-
nized it at once, and saw that the wito ;vns after her husband. But
it would never do to interrupt the game or to have a scene. So the
colored man denied all knowledge of lier husband, and, tellin' her to
go somewhere else, shut the door In her fact. And there, upon the
snowed-upon steps, she sat that Christmas Eve, waitin' in front of
the gilded hell for her husband to come out, and who did not come.
Somehow, she was not interfered with by any policeman. I'he blue
coats and brass buttons did not see her sitting on the steps ; their
business was " not " to see any thing that was goin' on in or around
818 ; they had their reasons. But the sports passin' to and fro, and
going out and in, removed her from the steps. Then she took her
station near by, and watched and waited, gettin' colder, and burning
hot with fever and excitement and pain within, the snow falling
around and upon her, — this was the faithful, loving, true wife's
Christmas Eve! Meanwhile George Watson's "system " had gone
back on him ; his new point had played him false ; he lost all that he
had at first won ; and about midnight he had lost every dollar of his
original hundred dollars, and had given an I. O. U. for one hundred
dollars besides, with an oath, and drainin' a glass of brandy to the
dregs. "With despair in his soul, and not one cent in his pocket, he
left No. 818, and walked into the street at midnight, at the legal
beginning of Christmas Day. He saw a woman crouchin' in a
corner. He stepped toward her curiously, sympathetically, as
towards a human being as wretched as himself. He stooped down
to lift the cloak which the poor woman- had clasped around her,

iCit

'IF

143

FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH.

found her unconscious with the cold, and, gazing on the freezings
dying woman, saw that he was gazing at his own wife. A yell that
might have issued from a lost spirit rang through the street, and
startled even the policemen into action. The woman was taken
hastily into a drug-store ; and restoratives were applied, but in vain.
She had been faithful unto death ; for in the vain attempt, somehow,
some way, to get at her poor, tempted husband, the man she loved
better than life, she had frozen to death. That Christmas morning
dawned drearily on a dead woman in a drug-store, and a played-out
gambler who had gone mad.

— -=>=

'- *^^ - -^■na—^;

I'FKf?
'"1

"And gazinp; on the freezing, dying woman, saw tliat he was gazing at.
liisown wife" [p. 148].

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PEN-PANOBAMA OF NEW YORK (cohtinued). — THE HETBOPOLITAN
POLICE AS THEY ABE. — THE DETECTIVES. — THIEF-TAKEB8 IN PETTI<
COATS. — HOW CAPT. JOHN S. YOUNG CAUGHT A THIEF BY INSTINCT.—
THE TOMBS PBISON, AND " MUBDEBEB'S BOW."

Intricate, elaborate, and varied as is crime in New York,
the machinery of the police-system is even more so. It is not
saying too much to assert that New York, with all its faults,
is the best-governed and the best-regulated city in America.
Being the largest city and the principal seaport, ix, i<» neces-
sarily the favorite resort of abandoned and dissolute characters,
male and female; but I do not hesitate to assert, and I am
sustained by facts, and fortified with the opinions of thoso most
qualified to form an opinion, that, considering its population,
notwithstanding its enormous criminal class, New York is one
of the most orderly cities in the world, and its police among
the most efficient.

True, ever and anon, as in the memorable Forrest-Macready
and the draft riots, the roughs will, for an hour or a day, get
the upper hand of the authorities ; and scenes of bloodshed and
horror will ensue. But, as a rule, the city is peaceful, orderly,
well-behaved, as a cityi though it contains thousands of in-
habitants who are otherwise.

The police, too, as a rule, and as a body of men, are skilled
and trusty: with all his human faults, the New- York police-
man, like the New-York fireman, is trained, active, and reliable.
But still, in many — too many — individual cases, he is unworthy

149

150

CRIME AND POLITICS,

of his position, — is either the creature of politicians, or the
friend, associate, and stipendiary of " the criminal class " itself.

It is not saying too much to assert, that, if the New- York
police were absolutely and entirely honest and determined, the-
New- York criminals would, as a class, cease to exist. So thor-
ough is the police-system, so accurate and so varied are their
sources of information, so many are their opportunities, and
so great are their powers, that, if so disposed, the New-York
police could not merely diminish New- York crime, — they
could wipe it out.

Every professional criminal is known to the police authori-
ties: every haunt of crime is known to them. The police
have a list of every gambling-house, every assignation-house^
every den of vice, every policy-shop, etc. If they want a rogue,,
they know just when and where to put the finger on him.

And yet "policy" is played by tens of thousands in this,
city, in deriance of the law ; dens of vice are in full blast, in
defiance of the law; hundreds of houses are devoted, almost
openly, to immoral purposes, in defiance of the law ; men daily
and nightly gamble, and are fleeced by gamblers, in defiance of
th3 law; and an army of thieves prowl through the city, in
defiance of the law.

Certainly, under such circumstances, while giving the New-
York police the credit for what it really does, it should be held
censurable for what it really and deliberately leaves undone.
One of the great faults, the glaring evils, in the practical
workings of the police-system of New York, is the connection
— the shameful connection — that is allowed to exist between
crime and politics. A well-known thief in this city is, and has
been for years, a prominent politician , and his " den *' receives,
police protection. For years a New- York law-maker and con-
gressman was a New- York law-breaker and gambler. And
other cases in point could be cited.

MONEY AND THE POLICE.

151

The intimate connection between money and police favor is
another kindred and crying evil. Rich vice is seldom inter-
fered with : crime that pays its way has a N»ay made for it, and
kept open, by the police ; while poverty is regarded as, in itself,
a crime.

•Even in the workings of New York's latest patent improve-
ment, the new Dudley Field et al. penal code, the distinction
between rich and poor is plainly observed. Some Sundays ago
a hard-working woman, a widow, with three children to sup-
port, was arrested for selling some trifles on the sabbath ; while
two well-to-do theatrical managers were permitted to make
hundreds of dollars by giving Sunday concerts, — concerts in
which no part of the programme was "sacred," — and some
twenty rich music-hall and saloon keepers fairly coined
"money" in exchange for music and liquor.

Men, rich men, brokers, and bankers, or prominent politi-
cians, can be seen any night, reeling from " swell " bar-rooms ;
and the police either look on, laughing, or kindly assist the
well-dressed "reeler." But when a poor man is found, in the
streets of New York, under the influence j1 liquor, then there
is an arrest, a cell, a flne, or the island.

Ay, not unfrequently some stranger, when seized with a fit,
is taken, not to a doctor, but to a magistrate ; not to a hospital,
but to a station-house ; and is clubbed, instead of cared for.

And in the system of the police-courts, in their practical
administration, gross evils exist, — official outrages are perpe-
trated every day, — and police blackmail is levied upon all
who will or must endure it.

Fines are often levied which have no warrant in law : bogus
or straw-bail is often offered, and received, for a considera-
tion. Police-court lawyers are not seldom simply police-court
sharpers, and the administration of "justice" is sometimes
notoriously unjust.

111 ''5'=

152

THE POLICEMAN'S CLUB.

But, with all its faults, the Metropolitan Police-System is one
of the most deserving and beneficial of metropolitan institu-
tions ; and the metropolitan police are justly the pride of New
York. The old police-system was a failure, — it failed to pro-
tect; but, from the time when the State Legislature created
"a Metropolitan District" (consisting of the cities of New
York and Brooklyn, the counties of New York, Kings, Rich-
mond, and Westchester, embracing a circuit of about thirty
miles, controlled by a commission of five, the mayors of New
York and Brooklyn being members of the board), the police-
service has steadily improved.

As a practical working-force, the metropolitan police may
date its efficiency from the days of the celebrated John A.
Kennedy, who, though he was something of a despot, was the
best police-officer, the very best police-superintendent, New-
York City has ever seen.

With its officials, inspectors, captains, sergeants, patrolmen,
doormen, special policemen, etc., the New- York police comprises
an army of considerably over two thousand men, neatly uni-
formed, armed with clubs and revolvers, and thoroughly drilled.
The discipline is perfect.

The policeman's club is a terrible weapon : the " roughs "
dread its certainty of crushing or maiming more than they
fear the chancing of a pistol-shot. And it is sometimes terribly
abused. Awful to state, men — peaceable, though silly, sick
or intoxicated, comparatively or actually innocent men — have
been clubbed to death in the streets of New York by the New-
York police. While, at the same time, the handsome features,
splendid physique, and gallant politeness, of "the Broadway
Squad," who escort, or even carry on occasion, ladies over the
principal crossings, has become proverbial.

But probably the most interesting department of the police-
force (to the general reader) is the " detective " branch there-

PETTICOATED DETECTIVES.

153

of. The modern detective figures largely in the modern play
and novel, and the " story-papers " are full of him. Yet few
Are familiar with the /act* about detectives.

Time was when the whole detective force in New- York City
was comprised in the person of one man, — old Jacob Hays.
Gradually, as the city increased in size and crime, a separate
organization of detectives was formed : then organizations
were multiplied, till to-day there are some fifteen or sixteen
■distinct, and sometimes conflicting, varieties of detectives.
There are the central-office detectives, the local-ward detec-
tives, private detectives, hotel detectives, insurance detectives,
divorce detectives, United-States detectives, and female de-
tectives.

As regards petticoated detectives, a volume, and a very
entertaining though not edifying volume, could be written.
Men suspect men ; they watch each other as closely as two
strange dogs, and in as unfriendly a manner; but they are
generally off their guard with women. Besides, women know
the weak points of men better than men do themselves. And,
for both these reasons, they make capital detectives. In France
they have long been found useful ; and, from the days of
Richelieu, the most successful spies have ever been females.
But, in our sober country, the idea of ever employing women
in secret service has all the force of a novelty. In two vari-
eties of cases females are peculiarly valuable : the first of these
is in the event of bank-robberies, especially when suspicion
falls upon the clerk of the institution. Male detectives are
set to work at the outset : but sometimes the suspected clerk
has skilfully covered up his tracks, and defies investigation ; or
else he watches every man who approaches him, in whatever
guise, like a hawk ; and all efforts to win the knowledge of his
secrets are in vain. At this stage of the game a woman is
sent for, generally a pretty, smart, well-dressed woman, who is

154

TBE PEliSOl'iALS.'

not over-scrupulous ; and the matter is placed in her hands^
Sometimes she proceeds directly to the point, but generally
finesse is resorted to ; and it is so contrived that the acquaint-
anceship of the fair detective and her intended victim shall be
brought about in some romantic manner, removed from the
usual beaten track of common life, and invested at the outset
with some of the charm of adventure or romance, so as to
utterly divert suspicion of her real design. Ascertaining from
general inquiry the character of the bank-clerk whom she is to
track, she resorts to the "Personals" of the newspapers, to
arrange an interview with him. Thus, if this clerk be, as the
majority of such clerks are, an admirer of the sex, a gay boy,
the fair detective contrives one day to meet him, in the stage
for instance, attracts his attention, and, at the same time, notes
his person and attire. A day or two after, in one of the morn-
ing journals, an item appears, somewhat to this effect : " If the
tall young gentleman, with dark hair, heavy side-whiskers,
dressed in such-and-such a suit, or with such-and-such a dia-
mond ring or pin (as the case may be), who got into the stage

at Street, and noticed the young lady in red who sat

opposite, will write to Street, or call at , he may hear

something that may please him (or hear of the lady, or form an
agreeable acquaintance, or whatever other wording may be
given to the concluding paragraph of the personal). Of
course, "the tall gentleman with dark hair," etc., sees this
item, or it is so arranged that his attention is called to it at
once. Of course, also, he regards the affair as a good joke, —
a capital love-adventure. Of course, he answers or calls, as
directed, and either at once, or step by step, forms the ac-
quaintance of the fair deceiver. Having now put her party
under the most favorable auspices, the game is at her disposal.
By her art, or her beauty, or probably by both, — for females
of her profession are not apt to stick at trifles, — she obtains-

THE "STATION D" DODGE.

165.

sooner or later his confidence ; she surrenders, perhaps, herself :
he surrenders more than himself, — his secret, — and is at her
mercy. Having made her points, and gotten her man " dead
to rights," she places the matter in the hands of her male asso-
ciates ; and the affair is settled by rrrest or by a compromise-
In nine cases out of ten, by the latter.

A recent case occurred in a Broadway bank, where the sus-
pected clerk was a scion of a noble family. A pretty girl was
put on his track, managed to form his friendship through the
"Station D" dodge, infatuated her "man" with her charms-
and obtained, not only possession of his guilty secret, but also
eight thousand dollars of the money taken from the bank.
The matter was finally hushed up by a settlement; and the
pretty detective netted for her services, in seven weeks, the-
handsome sura of fifteen hundred dollars.

Women are also used as car-detectives on the city passenger-
railways with advantage. It sometimes happens that the
thieves and the conductors are in partnership ; and, in course
of time, they become cognizant of the personnel of the regular
male detectives, whose influence is hereby neutralized. In
these cases the services of the softer sex becomes desiderata.

One of the most quiet, and therefore most valuable, of the
female detectives, is a young woman called " Mary Gilsey," or
" White Mary," from the fairness of her complexion. Mary is
tall and slender, and has the most dovelike, not to say stupid»
expression of countenance. She is the last woman in the world
whom nine out of ten would select for her profession, and yet
she is a superb detective. Keen, quick, possessed of a memory
exceedingly retentive, she never forgets a face, a place, or a
name, and has the faculty of seeing through a stone wall
farther than any woman of her age. She is but twenty-one,
and was born in the city of New York. In Paris she would
make a fortune in a year. In point of character, also, Mary is

166

THJ: DlVOliCE DETECTIVE.

superior to tlie average of her profession ; being, as far as per-
sonal purity is concerned, irreproachable.

The divorce detective has become, of late, " a social evil " in
New York. He or she is simply disgusting, disgraceful ; but
the fact that such a creature is in demand — in constantly
increasing demand — in our greatest city, is in itself a sign of
the times.

The modus operandi in the case of a divorce detective is
somewhat after this fashion : a wife suspects her husband, or
vice versa. Husband or wife, however, is careful to cover up
his or her tracks, and keeps shady as to "the little outside
arrangement." Wife or husband sends for a detective, and
the matter is arranged. The first question with the detective
is, of necessity, the pay. Some of them are in the habit of
undertaking the job at, say, fifty or a hundred dollars , others
oharge five dollars per night, or ten dollars per day, during
the continuance of the investigations ; others, again, refuse to
bind themselves to any specific sum, but will be guided by
circumstances. But all agree on insisting upon two cardinal
points, — a certain amount of money, cash down, to bind the
bargain, and the payment of all incidental or contingent ex-
penses. In this latter item lies the great placer. The detec-
tive who draws but ten dollars a day salary may obtain from
his principal twenty dollars a day for his hotel expenses, and
outlays for wines and et cceteras, necessary by his pursuit of
knowledge under difficulties, especially if the party he is
■dodging be at all luxuriously or fashionably inclined. And
there is no way by which the principal can help being " bled,"
if his agent or detective chooses to bleed him, which he usually
does. One detective obtained from his employer, a wealthy
merchant down town, thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars in
four months, part as salary, and part as " contingent expenses,"
in the tracking of the merchant's suspected wife,: and, after

PECULIAR " BUSiy£SS.

15T

fingering the money, the detective one day coolly advised the
merchant to abandon the undertaking ; as his " investigations "
had convinced him — the detective — that either the lady was
as innocent as an angel, or else as cunning as the Devil, —
which oracular opinion was all the value received by the mer-
chant for his thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars. Very often
the detective does nothing whatever but draw his money, and
hold his tongue ; and, quite as frequently, he will make himself
known to the other party, and thus make a good thing of it
from both sides. But, even when legitimately employed, the
divorce-detective's style of doing business is, to say the least,
peculiar. At all hours of the day and night he is at all kinds
of places, in all sorts of disguises, under all varieties of pre-
tences, and with all classes of persons.

Detectives are some of them misnamed. Some of them
never "detect" any thing or anybody: they are really too
lazy or too stupid. Others are really too " smart " to detect :
they find it pays them better to protect and to blackmail. But
among the detective force are to be found to-day some of the
keenest and most upright men in the metropolis ; and the his-
tory of the detectives of New York presents prominently the
names of two men equal in ability to Vidocq himself, — the
late Chief Matsell and Capt. John S. Young.

As an illustration of the cleverness of Young, and as convey-
ing an idea of the life and experience of New- York detectives,
let me narrate the following interesting and characteristic
episode.

One fine March day, when Kennedy was superintendent of
police, and John S. Young was one of the controlling spirits
of the police detectives, the latter individual was walking down
Broadway, when he suddenly bethought him that a certain fine
French clock which he had at home required repairing. He
also bethought him thai he had been recommended by a friend

'■

I'll

I ! HI

158 AN EPISODE IN THE CAREER OF CAPT. YOUNG.

to employ the services of an experienced watch and clock
maker, who did business on a side street, near Broadway, in
the precise neighborhood where, at this moment, he happened
to be.

Turning down this side street, forthwith Young soon found
himself at the clockmaker's, who occupied a shop in the rear
of a loan-office ; the proprietor of which latter establishment
constantly required the watchmaker's services in repairing the
watches and clocks which were constantly, in the way of busi-
ness, deposited either temporarily or permanently at his office.

The door between the loan-office and the clockmaker's hap-
pened to be open at the time of Young's visit ; and, while the
latter Avas chatting with the mechanic, he saw, through tlie
•open door, a man enter the loan-office, and commence a conver-
sation with the proprietor.

The man was of medium height, dark in complexion, swarthy,
strongly built, with restless black eyes, which were small, sharp,
^nd furtive in their glances; and his whole appearance was
rather unprepossessing.

He wore what are called "store-clothes," — a frock-coat, a
badly fitting vest, and large pantaloons, and seemed to be un-
easy in his apparel, — just as uncomfortable as a sailor would
be in a suit of civilian's clothes on shore. His age seemed to
be about thirty-eight years, and his face was as clean shaven
as a lad's.

The moment Joljn Young set his experienced eyes on the
luan, he said to himself, " That fallow is crooked : he has been
doing time." Which means, translated into ordinary parlance,
" That fellow is a professional rogue, and has been serving a
term in State prison."

Just as sailors can tell a ^-eafaring man at a glance ; just as
soldiers recognize military men in a moment ; just as journal-
ists understand one another in an instant ; just as women, by

A DETECTIVE'S ''INSTINCT."

159

instinct, comprehend the mysteries of other women, — so do
detectives and thieves recognize instinctively each other.

But in this case the rpgue did not see the detective ; thougli
the detective, from his post of observation in the clockmaker's
shop, keenly watched the rogue, and heard him say, finally,
to the proprietor of the loan-office, —

" To-night, then, at half-past six."

He then took his departure.

'* Do you know that man ? " asked Young of the keeper of
the loan-office.

" No," was the reply ; " but he has been making some inqui-
ries about our way of doing business, and says he will call again
<it half-past six to-night."

Young said nothing more, but, as he left the loan-shop, made
up his mind that he would follow up this case, commencing his
operations at " half-past six to-night."

He had no charge whatever to make, and he knew of none
whatever that had been made, against this man; he had no
well-grounded cause for suspicion of him ; there was no accu-
sation pending against him, so there could be no warrant pro-
cured for his arrest. He was a perfect stranger. Yet John S.
Young at once made up his mind that he was a rogue, that he
was even new engaged in a rogue's work, and that he (Young)
would at once penetrate the mystery of this rogue's work, pre-
vent its accomplishment, and arrest the rogue.

Detectives have often to act in this way with just as little
apparent reason and authority, — taking their chance of being
sanctioned by the results, — acting on the principle that " the
end justifies the means."

About six o'clock that evening three detectives — Young, in
company with detectives Elder and McCord — were hanging
■around a store in the vicinity of the loan-office.

About six and a half o'clock the mysterious stranger, in the

160

THE ''MYSTERIOUS STBANGER.

"store-clothes," entered the loan-office with a small bundle*
He remained within a little while, and then came out without
the bundle.

Young went into the loan-office after the other had departed,,
and had a few minutes' talk with the proprietor.

The mysterious stranger had merely pledged some rather
ordinary articles of clothing which he had no further use for, —
" Merely," he said, " to get used to the way of doing business
here, preparatory to some large operation in this line."

Having obtained this much, which was very little, Young fol
lowed his two associates, who had quietly turned, and followed
the mysterious stranger down the side street into the Bowery.

Having gained this popular thoroughfare, — the Broadway of
the east side, — the mysterious stranger slowly sauntered along,
stopping in at several bar-rooms to enjoy a solitary drink.

Finally he turned into a first-class country tavern, or third-
class hotel, near Chatham Street, and, walking up to the office,
asked for the key of room No. 40, which was handed to him.

The three detectives — who had ere this separated, McCord
and Elder keeping together, and Young waddling along alone
after his own fashion, but who had never for a moment lost
sight of their man — were now at his heels, and ascended the
stairs after him.

At last, just as the mysterious stranger had unlocked the
door of his room, and had entered it, three persons came upon
him, and entered the room with him.

He looked surprised at this intrusion, as well he might.

" What do you want," he cried, " and who are you ? "

" You will find that out before we leave you," said Young,
acting as spokesman. " What's your name ? "

" What the D ^1 is that your business ? " replied the man

thus unceremoniously interrogated.

" Ah I you know what our business is with you well enough,

" WHAT'S YOUJt MONNIKERf

161

"Come, let's
(the thieves'

my friend," said Young, in the most familiar manner in the
world, as if he and the mysterious stranger had been acquainted
since their infancy. " You have quite a nice trunk there, of
its kind," continued he, pointing to a large black packing-
trunk in the corner of the room near the bed. This trunk was
a four-foot, covered with black canvas, and bound with sheet-
iron straps, — such a trunk as merchants use in shipping cer-
tain kinds of merchandise to the West.

" Well, what of it ? " growled the mysterious stranger.

" Nothing," replied Young, " only I want to see what you
have in that trunk."

" That's my affair," replied the man.

"I will invoice it then," replied the officer,
have no nonsense. What's your monniker?"
slang for name).

" What's your racket ? " asked Elder (" racket " is slang for
line of business).

" You don't look like a bolster " (a detective's phrase for shop-
lifter), chimed in McCord.

The stranger tried to assume a puzzled look, as if to con-
vey the idea that all this slang was unfamiliar to his ears ; but
the attempt was a failure. Evidently the fellow understood
every word, and Young told him so.

"How long have you been home?" continued Young (i.e.,
how long since you have come back from State prison).

"i\bout five months," remarked the man reluctantly, but
with the manner of one who had made up his mind that there
was no further use in trying to hide his real character.

" How long have you been in this house ? " asked Young.

The man remembered that his interrogator could readily

obtain the facts on this point from the clerks in the office ; so

he made a virtue of necessity, and told the exact truth.

" Two weeks," he replied.
11

162

DETECTIVE'S "BLUFF:'

" Where do you come from ? " asked Elder.

"From — from Baltimore," he answered.

He lied ; and Elder and the rest knew it, and he knew that
they kiiew it.

" Let's see the inside of that trunk," said McCord.

Now, an ordinary man, an innocent man, would at once have
demanded to see the warrant, if any, upon which these three
men who had forced themselves into his presence acted.

Such a man would have demanded to know of what he was
charged, and by whom.

In this case the three detectives could have done nothing
whatever, for they had not the slightest shadow of legal au-
thority for what they were undertaking.

But it is a peculiarity of a " queer " or " crooked " man, a
professional rogue, that he recognizes the officers of the law by
some undefined instinct, and seldom insists upon their "pro-
ducing their papers." He will avoid, defy, or dodge them as
long and as well as he can ; but, when finally brought to bay,
he seldom avails himself of merely legal or formal technicalities
with the officers of justice, though, of course, he will fight the
judge, lawyers, or juries, the machinery of the courts, with all
his might and skill.

Knowing this, the three detectives calculated, that, once hav-
ing impressed themselves upon the mind of " the man " in their
true characters, he would demand no papers; and they had
calculated correctly.

The mysterious stranger (who was gradually becoming less
" mysterious ") made no point about their having no warrant,
but merely tried to "bluff" his unwelcome visitors, telling
them that he had no key to his trunk ; he had lost it ; the
trunk only contained his own clothes, etc.

Finally he produced the key from his side-pocket, and opened
the trunk.

THIEVES' SLANG.

168

On top, sure enough, were some clothes and some dirty linen ;
but the greater portion of the trunk underneath was occupied
with silks of the richest quality and choicest pattern.

" This is ' swag silk ' " (stolen silk), said Young.

" No, it ain't," said the man curtly.

But he looked as if he did not expect his companions to
believe him. And they didn't.

" Where did you get these silks?" asked McCord.

" I bought them at auction in Baltimore," replied the stran-
ger.

" Got 'em cheap, didn't you ? " asked Elder significantly.

"Yes, I did: I got 'em at a bargain," answered the man;
*' and I have brought them on here, hoping to sell them at a
fair profit."

"To a 'fence'" (a receiver of stolen goods), "eh?" chimed
in McCord. " Let me tell you, my friend," continued the
detective, " you came near making a great mistake. Our friend
&t the loan-office, whom you met at half-past six to-night, is not
the man for your purpose: he is not a 'fence.' You might
spare yourself any further trouble in that quarter."

" In fact, you needn't take any more trouble in any quarter,"
said Young ; " for we will take charge of these goods for you
from this minute."

" Devilish kind in you, to be sure," growled the man ; " but
I always Hke to handle my own property."

" Or the property of other people," added Young. " Come,
no nonsense, now. Where did you get these silks? You
have no 'stiffs'" (papers or bills) "to show for them, I sup-
pose ? "

" No : I lost the bills and receipts," answered the stranger.

" Oh ! I thought so," said Young, " but it don't matter to us.
We will try to find out the real owner of these silks. Come
now, no nonsense, I tell you " (as the man began to look ugly).

164

♦• CORNERED AT LAST:

" We are officers from police headquarters. You know us by
this time, and we want you and this trunk. So don't make
any fuss, or it will be the worse for you."

Young, as he spoke, stood between the man and the door of
the room. Elder stood by the one window, and McCord was
sentry over the trunk. Each one of the three looked like a
man who understood what he was about, and meant business.
There was no escape for the hunted-down man, and he sur-
rendered sullenly.

" Do as you d d please ! " he muttered, and they fulfilled

his instructions. In a few minutes a carriage, containing the
three officers and their prey inside, and the big black trunk on
the rumble outside, was driven to police headquarters.

At that time there were a few rooms, or cells, for the deten-
tion of suspected persons, — parties strongly suspected, though
not positively charged with crime, — located on the same floor
of the police headquarters' building as the detective office, and
to the rear of the latter.

These rooms were as secure as the. cells down-stairs, but
more comfortable ; and into one of these the " man with the
trunk," as he was now styled, was placed.

He preserved a sullen reticence, and seemed to regret that
he had not made at least a show of resistance before allowing
himself to be taken.

Meanwhile a consultation was held in the detective office
concerning the new prisoner, and especially concerning the
silks which had been found in his trunk. That they had been
stolen, there was no manner of doubt ; but when and where, —
that was the question : all the newspapers and documents were
carefully conned which in any way related to past robberies
in New York of stores and silks, but nothing was found which
in any way corresponded with the facts of this case. At last,
after many pshaws, and not a few muttered ** condemnations^

A TWO-AND-A-HALF STRETCH.'

165

spelled with a d ," John Young lighted on a robbery of

silks in a store in Philadelphia in which some fifteen thousand
dollars' worth of goods had been stolen, and in which no clew
had been obtained, either of the goods or the robbers, though
over six weeks had elapsed since the affair.

Young made up his mind at once that this Philadelphia rob-
bery was the one in which his " man " was concerned, and he
at once acted on this idea. He went into the room where his
" man " was confined, and entered into conversation with him
about robberies in general. Then he brought the subject to
robberies in Philadelphia in particular. At the mention of the
word Philadelphia " the man " started slightly, — very slightly,
— but enough to convince John Young that he had touched
the right chord. So he kept harping on Philadelphia — Phila-
delphia — Philadelphia — till, finally, " the man" said, "Look
here: you mean something by this * Philadelphia,' — spit it
out ! " and John Young accordingly " spatted out," and told
him in plain English that he suspected his companion of " be-
ing in " this silk-robbery in Philadelphia. *

" Look here," said the man, surveying the ample proportions
of the adipose Young with an eager glance, and speaking this
time earnestly, and from his soul, — " Look here : I will trust
you. Promise me, on your honor, that you will do all you
can to get me a two-and-a-half stretch instead of a fiver "
(a sentence for two and a half years instead of a five-years'
term), "so that I can get out just a little while before my
wife, who is in for a three-years' stretch, so that I can
have a chance to turn round and provide for her when |he
comes out of the grand quay " (State prison). " Promise me
this, and I will ' open,' I will ' split ' " (or toll). " I won't tell
you who my pals were, — I would not ' squeal ' on them if you
were to give me twenty years ; but I will not bother you : I
will waive my rights about warrants and States, and all that,

166

A NOBLE CRIMINAL.

and go with you to Philadelphia, and plead guilty, and tell you
where the balance of the swag is planted " (where the balance
of the stolen silks are concealed), " so that you can raise the
plant" (recover the goods). "You couldn't do it without me,
for the swag is planted where nobody could get at it unless
somebody dies " (an expression at which Young wondered at
the time, though he comprehended it afterward). "Now, is it
a bargain ? I want to get out before my wife. She was very
kind to me. I love her. She would not have been a thief had
it not been for me. She nursed me when I was sick. She has
been true to me, and I want to show her when she comes out
that I am not ungrateful. Promise me that you will fix it so
that I will get out for this a month or so before my wife, and I
will keep my word, and save you a heap of trouble."

The man was really in earnest, self-confessed thief as he was :
his whole anxiety now in this matter was one which would
have done honor to the noblest and best man on earth, — an
anxiety to provide for the future of the woman who loved him,

— a woman who, however bad to others, had always been good
to him.

The three detectives had surprised tliis man by swooping
upon him without charge or warrant ; but now this man, in his
turn, surprised the three detectives by exhibiting a phase of
the manliness which was utterly unexpected, and which caused
Young to shake him by the hand heartily, and led Elder to
say to McCord, " It's a pity such a fellow as that should be
crooked ! "

The man's petition was granted. A bargain was struck
between him and the officers. He waived his rights to an
examination, was taken the next day to Philadelphia to plead
guilty to participation in the robbery of the silk-store, and
revealed where the balance of the stolen goods was concealed,

— in an old tomb in a cemetery in the upper part of the city»

mLi

THE ROGUE'S WIFE.

167

where they never would have been discovered unless somebody-
had been brought to that particular tomb to be buried in it
(which explained what the man meant when he said "nobody
could get at it unless somebody dies "). The recovered silks
were restored to their owner, who rewarded the detectives
handsomely.

As for " the man," in consideration of the peculiar circum-
stances of the case, his action in the matter, and the bargain
made by him with the detectives, he received less than one-half
the ordinary sentence for his crime. He was doomed to only
two and a quarter ;y ea,rb in Cherry-hill Prison, and was set free,
on account of good behavior, even before the expiration of that
term.

On coming out of prison, he resumed his trade, — he was a
plasterer when he was not a thief, — and was earning good
wages when his wife re-appeared in the world.

He took the woman to his home ; and, when last heard from,
" the man " was still a hard-working laborer, while the wife
was a laundress.

Hundreds of equally interesting sketches of detective life
and experience could be related did space permit, but it does
not.

All that I can here add in concluding this chapter is, that,
in the vast majority of cases, the police, in one way or other,
prove too much for the criminals, and that, sooner or later,
crime comes to punishment.

In Centre Street, in the heart of " down town," rises a large,
heavy granite building, in the style of an Egyptian temple,
known throughout New York as the Tombs. Within the
walls, which face the street, is a large square, in which are
three prisons, for boys, men, and women respectively ; and in
the centre of the prison-yard stands, ever and anon, when
needed, the awful gallows.

168 "BUMMERS' CELL" AND "MURDERERS' ROW."

The main cell of the prison is a large room (holding, or able
to hold, about two hundred persons ; holding even more some-
times on a Saturday night), called " the Bummers' Cell." The
Tombs' police-court is always a terribly interesting and in-
structive place, especially on a Sunday morning. And cer-
tainly the most saddening place in the whole metropolis is the
tier of cells devoted to the temporary occupancy of the wretches
condemned to be hung, called " Murderers' Row."

And either to the prison or the gallows, the detectives and
the police bring, sooner or later, the fools, knaves, and criminals
of New York. " The way of the transgressor is hard."

CHAPTER XIV.

A SUNDAY IN NEW YORK. — BELIGIOUS AND IRRELIGIOUS GOTHAM. — TUB
BIO FUNERALS OP NEW YORK. — SUNDAY EVENINGS IN THE GREAT
UETROPOLIS. — THE HISTORY OF ONE MEMORABLE SABBATH DAY.

New York, being the city of contrasts, abounds, not only in
police, but priests ; not only in crimes, but churches.

The churches of New York are among the finest in the
country ; and the clergymen connected therewith are, as a
class, alike devout and intellectual. A dull minister has as
little chance in New York as any other dull man.

Trinity Church, New York, at the head of "Wall Street, is
the richest ecclesiastical corporation in America. It really does
some good with its money. Services are held within its walls
constantly , and all well-behaved persons are admitted freely,
and receive the most polite attention. Trinity is so well es-
tablished, that it can afford to be democratic. In Trinity
churchyard repose the remains of Gallatin, the Revolutionary
financier ; George Frederick Cooke, the actor ; the unfortunate
and beautiful Charlotte Temple, and other persons of note.
The right of Trinity corporation to its revenues has been dis-
puted from time to time, but so far wholly unsuccessfully.

Grace Church (Episcopal) stands next to Trinity in its fash-
ionable importance. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful, archi-
tecturally, of any church in the city. It forms, with its grounds
and rectory, a prominent object of what may be termed " mid-
dle Broadway," directly adjoining '* Stewart's store."
. Ol^'. St. Patrick's Roman-Catholic Cathedral stands on the

169

i':;!

,':

170

THE ''SUNDAY LAWS."

east side, and is hallowed by memories. The new cathedral
rises on Fifth Avenue by the Park, and is a grand pile. The
new church of the Jesuits on Sixteenth Street, and St. Ste-
plien's Church on Twenty-eighth Street, are famous for the
high quality of the music of their choirs. The Roman-Catholic
churches are crowded every Sunday, not only by worshippers,
but visitors.

There are many superb Presbyterian, and not a few very
el.aborate Methodist and Baptist and Dutch Reformed, churches.
Protestantism in the metropolis has gained in elegance, per-
haps, what it has lost in primitive simplicity.

There is a Roman or Greek Church chapel, and a Chinese
joss-house ; and a temple of free thinkers, or a society devoted
to ethical culture ; and there are also a number of fine Jewish
synagogues.

And, while there are many temples for the rich, there are
likewise many churches for the poor. While Rev. Dr. Hall
preaches every Sunday to representatives of over four hun-
dred millions of dollars, there are not a few clergymen whose
humble chapel-worshippers could not' raise perhaps a thousand
dollars among them, all told. As in other respects, so New-
York presents great and startling contrasts in the difference
between the working of its Sunday laws and their enforcement.

The " Sunday laws," so called, of New York, are very rigid,
yet their administration is very lax ; and it must be confessed
that these laws are only enforced on and against the poor and
obscure. The pedler must "observe the sabbath;" but the
rich hotel-keeper or rum-seller, or the fashionable and luxuri-
ous, can do as they think best, and no one dreams of interfering.

In point of fact, and as a mere matter of fact, all religions,
no religion, and irreligion, stand equally in the eyes of New-
York law, and are equally unmolested by New- York custom.
Excursions and devotional exercises are patronized. Sunday

A CHARACTERISTIC SUNDAY.

171

schools and sample-rooms are open. Church-goers and concert-
goers consult their inclinations freely every and any Sunday.
One characteristic feature of a New- York Sunday is the num-
ber of its funerals, especially the funeral-pageants of the poorer
classes. Sunday, being the only " spare day " of the poor man, is
availed of by him and his family to combine the paying of his
last respects to a departed friend with the enjoying of " a car-
riage-ride," even though it be only to and from a grave-yard.

Another characteristic feature of a New- York Sunday, of late
years especially, is the number and popiUarity of its concerts^
alike on the Bowery and on Broadway.

Probably the most characteristic Sunday, the most thoroughly
dramatic, cosmopolitan, contrasted, and thoroughly New- York
Sunday ever known to New York, was the Sunday of March
11, 1883, — the Sunday when the great Wiggins storm did
not come off, but when the funerals of " Jimmy " Elliott the
thief, and McGloin the murderer, did.

Of course, this Sunday was years later than was the date of
my first appearance in New York; but I allude to it here,
as giving my readers the most forcible idea, not only of the
possibilities, but of the actualities, of a New- York Sunday.

On this particular Sunday over five hundred places of wor-
ship were open ; and from two to four congregations assembled
during the day and evening at each place of worship, embra-
cing, say, over a hundred thousand men and women. An even
larger number of Sunday-schools, mission-schools, etc., were
attended by an even larger number of children. Thousands
of sermons were earnestly preached, and respectfully listened
to. Many thousands of prayers were publicly, as Well as
privately, offered up to Him who heareth prayer.

Though, alas ! the public libraries and reading-rooms and art-
galleries were closed, some six thousand saloons were open, by
the side-doors at least.

172

ELLIOTT'S FUNERAL,

And on the very day that a hundred thousand adults attended
divine worship, and more than a hundred thousand children
went to Sunday-school, in that very city a tremendous stir
took place in the streets ; and public honors were paid to a
murdered burglar and an executed murderer. Far be it from
me to deny or cavil at the right, the privilege, of the afflicted
ones to whom the dead were denr, to pay the last sad tribute
of affection to all that is left of tliem, — their coffins. But,
■certainly, there was nothing in either the manner of the lives
or the manner of the deaths of James Elliott, the professional
pugilist and burglar, and McGloin, " the tough " and the assas-
sin, to warrant or to sanction such a wonderful " ovation " as
their funerals amounted to.

The terrible taking ofif of Elliott in the midst of his sins,
by a fellow and professional sinner, had an awful lesson some-
where in it. And so had the execution of McGloin. But
both lessons were completely neutralized by this public demon-
stration in their honor.

Read how Elliott was buried.

The casket was a gorgeous affair. The hearse was a marvel
of magnificence. The plumes were ample and orthodox. Be-
sides, there were no less than four horses, all dapple-gray, to
<lraw the mortuary vehicle through the streets. Such a display
the Sixth Ward had not looked upon since the exodus of the
good old days of the Bowery boys and " Dead Rabbits." That
€very thing should be in keeping, fifty gentlemen of admitted
standing in the sporting world, with ample breadth of chest,
clean collars, and high silk hats, were held in waiting to take
up their position behind the hearse. Sixty carriages containing
relatives, friends, and gentlemen about town, who believed they
would be insufficiently " game " were they to absent themselves,
were to follow the pedestrians. Altogether it was a very im-
posing and a very formidable gathering. But, satisfactory as

A SCENE ON HARRY HOWARD sqUARE.

17ft

the cortige appeared to the critical eye of the onlookers, it did
not come up to the intentions of Mr. Jack Stiles and his col-
leagues. They had determined that no well-regulated funeral
of this description could be complete without the presence of
Mr. J. L. Sullivan. They also deemed it inadvisable to proceed
with the final arrangements till other " knockers out " of repute
had been communicated with, and their attendance had been
politely requested. A flood of invitations was accordingly
Issued, but not all of them met with response.

The redoubtable Sullivan flatly refused to make a show of
himself behind the bier of his quondam challenger, and some
other representatives of the first sporting society of other cities,
had the ill-taste to utterly ignore the communications. All
were not so unmindful of these little mortuary courtesies.
Parson Davis of Chicago, who was responsible for Elliott's,
appearance there, sent word that he was busy. Others pleaded
urgent engagements. Many responded in person. What remote
cities failed in, New York, Brooklyn, and Jersey City amply
supplied. Every youth of "spirit," who had a consuming^
ambition to be regarded as a "slugger," paid his respects in
person. Any "chicken," "mouse," or "clipper," who had
donned the mittens, and boxed in the cheap variety shows of
any of the three cities, was bound to be there. Rat-fighters,
dog-fighters, cock-fighters, horse-jockeys, turf-loungers, and pool-
room watchers, — every one who had a drop of sporting blood
in his veins, or thought he had, made his way to Harry Howard
Square. Another feature of the gathering was the representa-
tion of the criminal classes that appeared. Flyers of the bit
and jimmy, cunning sneak-thieves, wily pickpockets, — men
who usually skulk along in the crowd, and slip by in the dark
unnoticed, and wishing to remain so, — stood yesterday in the
full glare of the sunlight in the immense concourse before the
crowded house. Of course, the police were there. So were

174

HOYV "A TOUGH" WAS INTEEREB.

kmm

It!!!

their clubs, as some of the onlookers later experienced. But
they seemed to have their attention too much occupied with
the movement of the multitude to spare it for any casual
wrongdoer who chanced to appear.

Canal, between Centre Strr-et and the Bowery, was almost
blockaded with the dense crowd of men, women, and children.
The pressing throngs came crowding in from all sections of the
city. Chatham Square was made nearly impassable by the
presence of the vast multitude, which continued to grow larger
and more compact. Along the Bowery, as far up as Seventh
Street, it soon became difficult for pedestrians to move. Such
a spectacle has not been seen here in a long time. All seemed
intent on one point, at least; and this evidently was what the
most came for, — to catch a glimpse of the funeral cortSge.
Beyond this few had any expectations ; and, if they might at
tin earlier hour have anticipated an opportunity to gaze upon
the face of the dead pugilist, they soon must have abandoned
any such hope. At all events, whatever may have been the
desire of the most of them in this regard, they quickly per-
ceived, the utter impossibility of doing more than remain in
the street, and content themselves with seeing what passed
before them. In front of Mr. McDavitt's house Capt. Petty
iind a large force of policemen aevoted their attention — and
it was with no little difficulty they succeeded in doing so —
to keeping the sidewalk clear of everybody except the pall-
bearers.

Read how murderer McGloin was interred amid scenes of
ribaldry and rowdyism. Read how curses and prayers were
commingled in a church.

A noisy multitude, numbering at least five thousand per-
sons, filled West Twenty-ninth Street, and surged in front of
the tenement where the body of Michael McGloin the murderer
lay. The housetops, windows, and stoops for a block each way

A DISGRACEFUL SCENE.

176

so —
pall-

\es of
were

per-
l)nt of
i^derer

way

were black with spectators ; and Eighth Avenue in the near
neighborhood was impassable. On every side were the typical
corner loafers ; and scores of faces seemed to reflect the defiant
words of the strangled assassin, "I'm a tough." Swaggering
young men in tight trousers cursed and struggled with swagger-
ing young women to get an advantageous position, and even
mothers with children in their arms endured the crushing and
pushing rather than lose a glimpse of the expected scene. A
platoon of policemen, headed by a roundsman, struggled and
fought with the mob to keep a clear space in front of the door,
on which the streamer of white and black crape was hanging.
At first the policemen were persuasive in their manner ; but at
last they were forced to draw their clubs, and charge. Men,
women, and children were prodded aud rapped. Again and
again they were charged, and the air was filled with curses
and ribaldry. A more disgraceful scene can hardly be ima-
gined. Roars of laughter went up from those who were far
enough away from the policemen's clubs to safely indulge their
feelings. In the midst of all this terrible scene stood the hearse,
with its nodding plumes.

When the procession arrived at Calvary Cemetery, it was
re-enforced by a large detachment of hard-looking citizens of
the rowdy type. The hearse drove through the waiting crowd
to the little wooden chapei ; and the casket was carried up the
wide aisle, and laid in front of the altar under the polished tre-
foil arch. The father of the dead murderer, accompanied by
his wife and daughter, pushed their way into a pew; and a
host of " toughs " went upon their knees as Father Brophy,
the chaplain, and an altar-boy, advanced to the flower-covered
bier, and began the service.

Just as the priest had raised the asperges to sprinkle the
casket with holy water, there was a loud sound of strife at the
door. Then the chapel-walls echoed with curses, and a crow I

176

THE LAST OF " A TOUGH."

of rowdies was seen struggling with two men who were guard-
ing the door.

" Silence," cried the priest, in a warning voice.

But the struggle went on, and the men at the door were
hurled f^om side to side in the fight. In the clamor which
came from the desperadoes, there seemed to be a kinship to
the dead man's boast, —

" I'm a tough."

The impressive service was completely stopped ; and many
of the people in the chapel, becoming alarmed, ran toward the
side-door, as if in fear of the roughs who were trying to force
their way in.

"Let no one leave his seat," cried the priest. "Do not i> ■•,
and remain where you are, I command you."

At that instant the band of ruflBans at the main entrance
burst into the chapel, fell on their knees, and the service was
resumed. But, all through it, there were sounds of fighting
outside at the entrance ; and the chaplain's eyes were fixed on
the door, while his lips repeated the supplication for grace to
the murderer's soul. Finally the priest and his assistant retired
behind the altar : the remains were raised upon the shoulders
of several young men, and carried to the hearse, which was
driven to Section No. 7, where a large crowd had already
formed around an open grave, hidden among tall tombstones.
It was a very small grave; and, as the casket was lowered to
the bottom, it rattled against the sides of coffins ■ hich pro-
truded from the adjoining lots. McGloin's father, mother,
and sister stood on a mound of freshly dug earth, and calmly
watched the casket disappear from sight. Then the trench
was quickly filled up, the sod was packed down tightly, and
the flowers were arranged artistically over the grave. Then
the crowd left, and the sorrowing relatives re-entered their
carriages. Then there was a loud shout, a scramble over the

ONE NEW-YORK SUNDAY.

177

graves, as Elliott's hearse came in sight; and the multitude
had forgotten, in the presence of the new attraction, the man
whose ambition was realized, when he said, —

*' I've knocked my man out, and now I'm a tough."

Such was the sabbath day : and, when Sunday night came,
there was a grand concert given at one theatre on Broadway,
and another opposition and fashionable concert given across the
street at a rival theatre ; both concerts being fully attended,
and neither concert even so much as pretending to be " sacred."

Then the fashionable beer-halls on Twenty-third and Four-
teenth Streets held concerts likewise, and were crowded, as
were the beer-gardens along the Bowery. And the games of
poker at the Fifth-avenue clubs, and the games of faro at the
club-houses, or gaming-dens, near Broadway, progressed pleas-
antly and uninterruptedly. And the saloons generally were in
full blast, and two terrible murders were committed.

All within the compass of one New- York Sunday.

CHAPTER XV.

THE WEALTH OF THE GREAT METBOPOLIS. — TRADE, SPECULATION, WALL
STREET, AND THE PROFESSIONS. — THE ADVENTURES OF TWO BROTHERS
WHO TRIED TO SUCCEED IN NEW YORK BY BEINO HONEST, — " FASH-
IONABLE SOCIETY," AND WHAT IT AMOUNTS TO. — THE BRIGHT SIDE OP
NEW YOR. - F^ ■ YORK, AFTER ALL, THE BEST AS WELL AS GREATEST
CITY.

^;'",

We have already considered, and considerably in detail, the
poor of New York, the criminals of New York, and the police
of New York. But the predominating element in New York
is not steeped, either in poverty or crime : it has little to do
with prisons or police. It is chiefly concerned in buying, sell-
ing, investing, speculating, and spending. It is engaged in
trade : it dabbles in stocks or securities or real estate. It
practises law or medicine, or is concerned in and with politics.

The wealth of New York is not fully appreciated, even by
New-Yoikers. Some idea of this wealth will be formed when
I state that it is estimated that there are over one hundred men
in this city worth over twenty millions of dollars each, and
over a thousand men worth over a million of dollars each. A
paper of New York published, some time since, a list of men
who pay taxes on a hundred thousand dollars and over; and
the mere list of names occupied so many columns in one issue,
with so many columns of names yet to come, that it was found
to be injudicious to complete the publication.

One manifest tendency of trade is to " section "-alize itself,
to localize itself, eacli separate trade occupying one section, or
locality. Thus, the leather-dealers occupy "the swamp," the

178

" speculation:

179

«teamship-offices cluster round Bowling Green, the real-estate
offices lire found in and around Pine Street, the jewellers con-
gregate in Maiden Lane, the newspaper-offices are thick around
the Park, and the retail dry-goods stores have their up-town
centres.

Another manifest tendency of trade is to work its way
toward the Central Park. " Business " has invaded succes-
sively and successfully Clinton Place, Fourteenth Street, and
Twenty-third Street, and is now encroaching upon Madison and
Fifth Avenues, — thoroughfares hitherto sacred to " fashion."

And " speculation," which was once confined to Wall Street,
is now, by the telegraph and the telephone, diffused, as it were,
all over the city. Brokers' offices are located now in up-town
hotels ; and the leading speculator of New York, Jay Gould,
has his private wires connected with his private office in his
private house, near the Windsor Hotel.

Speculation is at once the blessing and the bane of New
York, — the blessing of the lucky few, the bane of the unlucky
many. New York is the gambling (stock gambling) centre of
the world ; surpassing in the magnitude of its operations, com-
pared to its capital, either London or Paris.

Fortunes are made sooner and lost morvT easily in New York
than in any otln r place on the face of the earth. A rise in
a stock has made almost penniless men millionnaires in a
week, and a fall in securities has rendered millionnaires bank-
rupt in a day.

As Edward Winslow Martin remarks in his celebrated book,
which all should read, " The Secrets of the Great City : " —

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 add princesses. This much is due to art. Now

180

" CURBSTONE BROKERS.'

mark the coarse, rough features, the ill-bred stare, the haughty rude«
ness, 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
excite the admiration of every one on the road. He is used to it.
Five years ago he was the driver of a public hack. He amassed a
small sum of money, and being naturally a sharp, shrewd man, went,
into Wall Street, and joined the " Curbstone Brokers." His trans-
actions 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. Hia
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 for-
tune, and look witu 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 rec-
ognized, 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

now TO BE mCH IN NEW YORK.

181

mansion. Now one or two rooms on the upper floor of some tene-
ment-house constitute his habitation. He shrinks from meeting his
old friends, well knowing that not one of them will recognize him,
<?xcept 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 scarce / walk
twenty blocks on Fifth Avenue without seeing one of these bills, tell-
ing 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
tlie patience to wait for fortune. Every one wants to be rich in a
hurry ; and as no regular business will accomplish this, here or else-
where, speculation is resorted to. The sharpers and tricksters who
infest Wall Street kTiow this weakness of New- York merchants.
They take the pains to inform themselves as to the character, means,
and crdulity of merchants, t.nd then use every art to draw them into
speculations, in which the tempter is enriched, and the tempted
ruined. In nine cases out of ten a merchant is utterly ignorant of
the nature of the speculation he engages in. He is not capable of
forming a reasonable opinion as to its propriety, or chance of success,
because the whole transaction is so rapid that he has no chance to
study it. He leaves a business in which he has acquired valuable
knowledge and experience, and trusts himself to the mercy of a man
he knows little or nothing of, and undertakes an operation that he
does not know how to manage. Dabbling in speculations unfits men
for their regular pursuits. They come to like the excitement of such
ventures, and rush on madly in their mistaken course, hoping to

182

PROFESSIONAL LIFE IN NEW YORK.

make up their losses by one lucky speculation ; and at length utter
ruin rouses them from their dreams.

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

The reason is plain. The speculation in stocks is controlled by
men without principle, whose only object is to enrich themselves at
the expense of their victims.

Professional life in New York, like mercantile and specula-
tive, is heated full of bitter rivalry and intense competition.
The higher class of New- York lawyers charges enormous fees ;
while the lower class embraces the sharks, — the lawyers who
take cases on "spec," — and "the Tombs shysters," or jail-bird
lawyers ; and then there is a fouler class yet, — the divorce-law-
yers. The physicians of the metropolis bear, as a body, a de-
servedly high reputation i while the journalists and journals of
New York are conceded to be at the head of journalism. New-
York has also produced its poets, its painters, its authors, and
artists, and is disputing with Boston itself the claim to be the
literary centre.

With lawyers like Brady, O'Connor, Field, and Evarts ; with
physicians like Francis, Hosack, Mott, Sayres, Jacobi, Sims, and
Hammond ; with journalists like Bennett, Greeley, Raymond^
Dana, Whitelaw Ried, et al. ; with poets like Bryant ; and with
its long array of men distinguished in science, art, and litera-
ture, — the Union in general, and New-Yorkers in particular,
may well be proud of New York. With regard to the percen-
tage of honesty that is to be found in the ordinary commercial

WALL-STREET BROKERS.

183

and professional transactions of New- York life, as compared to
the percentage of dishonesty, observers differ according to their
stand-point : some hold that honesty is the rare exception,
while dishonesty is the almost universal rule.

Such is the view taken by Mr. Isaac G. Reed, jun., in his
brochure entitled, "From Heaven to New York" (publislied
by the Murray-Hill Publishing Company). In this remark-
able, and in many points remarkably pointed, because truthful,
satire, the adventures and misadventures of the brothers Good-
heart, who came to New York, and tried to succeed honestlj', are
recorded as follows : —

Having a little capital and a somewhat speculative turn of mind,
Robert Goodheart naturally sought Wall and Broad Streets, and
became " a broker." He conceived a great respect for brokers as a
class, — on theory. "Brokers," "bankers," "financiers," Wall-
street operators, thought he, must be high-toned and honest men,
par excellence; for they not only are amongst the wealthiest, but
our most influential, citizens ; they occupy a social, as well as a
pecuniary, position ; they are highly respected, therefore they are
highly respectable. (Poor fellow! he was very young.) Many of
them are church-members in good standing. Some support clergymen,
others support churches ; some have endowed theological seminaries ;
they are professedly Christians, therefore they must be practically
honest men. Therefore I will join their number, and be an honest
man and a broker. (Poor fellow ! he was very, very young. ) In a
little while he had mastered the " slang of the street." He fathomed
the mysteries of puts and calls, and margins and dividends, coupons,
bullion, specie, legal tenders, certificates, call-loans, funded debt, pre-
ferred and common stock, etc. ; and, at last, he entered into opera-
tions on his own account. His first transaction was with one of the
most successful and most celebrated of the money-kings, — a little,
dark-browed man, who was worth millions, and was president of a
railroad. The little man swallowed up in a day every dollar which
our hero, or fool, had invested in the enterprise, and then refused

184

TUE MILLIONNAIRE " OPERATORS."

even to see the little minnow, who never even so mnch as set eyes
upon the mighty whale again.

His next operation was with another railroad-king, — a fine-looking,
magnificently preserved, stately old man, with a clerical look, who
controlled untold millions. Of course, our hero did not deal with this
superb Croesus directly, but only dabbled in his "stocks" at the
advice of his "agents." He lost every dollar he invested, and never
so much as saw the great Mogul, into whose pockets his money had
all gone, save once, when walking one afternoon, footsore and tired,
up town, he met the Croesus returning to his palace behind some of
the finest and fastest horse-flesh in the world. His third venture was
in a " pool " engineered by an old and pious millionnaire, whose good
morals were supposed to make ample amends for his bad English.
Goodheart never saw the millionnaire, nor his own money either.
The latter was at once "gobbled" up by the former, who never
could be found, or gotten at in any way, not even by a lawyer, so
cunningly had the millionnaire covered his tracks: Then Goodheart
invested a portion of his remaining capital in a stupendous railroad
scheme, which was to benefit the world, and which was controlled
by an eminently Christian philanthropist who loved clergymen. This
" lover of clergymen" went to the wall, and all the poor fellow's
investment went with hir^.

He never realized enough from the wreck, even to pay his travelling
expenses to a neighboring city, where he might have had a chance to
catch a passing glimpse of the eminently " Christian philanthropist "
who loved clergymen. Still hoping for the best, still believing in the
existence of mercantile honesty, Robert Goodheart invested a little
of what he had left in the stock of a steamship company controlled
by men of social pretensions, whose names were always in the news-
papers. He lost every dollar ; but, in this case, he had the satisfac-
tion of being allowed to " see " one of the " principals," who kindly
shook hands with him, and invited him to " take a drink."

Meanwhile our poor Robert mixed with the average herd of brokers.
Wall-street operators, etc., and found them, with but few exceptions,
to be yelling, lying, nervous, idle, immoral, reckless, unscrupulous,

FliOM "SPECULATION" TO '"TRADE."

185

selfish, improviden* -^amblci-s, utterly shattered, alike in physique and
fortune. He found them to be men who were as bitter in their enmi-
ties as they were brittle in their friendships. Tlieir word was a
mockery, and their "honor" was a sham. They were thieves
wliom the law could not touch. They robbed tlieir victims, and often
robbed each other. They were stock and gold gamblers, who prac-
tised openly down town tricks which would have been scorned by
the faro and keno gamblers up town. They were rogues wlio were
also hypocrites. They were humbugs as well as criminals. They
were a curse to the city and to the country. They wei'e foul-mouthed
libertines and drunkards, double-faced and double tongued, without
faith in God, man, or woman, and without fear of Die Devil, — men
who met in dark corners to conspire against humanity, their country,
and each other ; and yet, withal, they were men who were husbands,
fathers, brothers, and lovers of our best "society." They were the
men, too, who controlled the railroads and the railroad stocks, who
manipulated and watered the stock, and who made an American rail-
road alike a danger to the public and a disgrace to tlie world. They
were the men who regarded public trusts as private tools for selfish
ends, and who made the very name of an official report synonymous
with a deliberate lie.

Robert Goodheart's eyes were opened at the last. He saw that
an honest broker had precisely the same chance for success on Wall
and Broad Street that a lamb has for life among prairie wolves ; so
he abandoned the street forever, a wiser and a poorer man. But he
did not abandon business altogether : he could not, he must live.
So he took heart once more, and embarked what little he now pos-
sessed in "trade." He was successful at the start; but, just as he
began to realize the fact, one of the giants in hip line of business, a
Christian merchant, worth half a hundred millions or so, who owned
palaces and churches and theatres, and had more money than he
could ever spend in a thousand years, and to whom a temporary loss
was, of course, of no consequence, marked down the prices of all his
line of goods, and did business at a loss for a time, — for just long
enough to ruin Robert Goodheart, and bring him to the hammer.

186

A LAM It AMONQ WOLVES.

Then our poor liero, like a phwnix, arose from his ashes, and tried
a new line of business on a humbler scale, and was prospering in a
modest way, when, lo ! one of the great houses in his vicinity con-
ceived the idea of letting their patrons have certain articles in
Goodheart's line at cost price, so as to induce the public to purchase
more freely of their goods at a profit. Of course, those who had,
before this, bought their articles of Gootlheart now deserted him,
procured what they wanted at the great house (by doing which,
they could save even Goodheart's moderate profit) ; and so for the
second time his business was ruined. But what cared the great
house for that? For the third time Robert Goodheart tried his for-
tune, and attempted to manufacture a certain article, — to deserve
success by procuring the best materials, and engaging skilled labor
at a fair rate of compensation. But how could he thus compete with
the monster factories which only paid "starvation wages," and which
did not hesitate to defraud the public with inferior material and work-
manship ? So for the third time Robert Goodheart, in his checkerc
career, found himself a ruined man. Meanwhile he war cheated
the petty tradesmen with whom he dealt. His tailor swindled him,
and his shoemaker ; his butcher and his baker swindled him ; in every
thing he ate, drank, or wore, he was swindled. His agents were all
rogues : his insurance agents were all liars. He found himself in a
world and whirl of falsehoods. In sheer despair he bought a ticket
in a lottery highly indorsed, and he found the lottery and indorse-
ment a swindle.

A friend borrowed money from him, under a promise of immediate
payment : he never saw his friend or money again. Another bor-
rowed money on worthless securities. A man to whom he had lent
money on real estate "failed," and then it was ascertained that the
estate was in his wife's name : another obtained large sums of money
by false representations. A confidential friend drew on him at sight
for some money, pleading urgent necessity, but never redeemed the
draft. A confidential clerk forged his signature to a check, and tlien
alJ&conded : and, lastly, a small sum of money, on which he had de-
pended, was swallowed up by the failure of the savings-bank ; and

MEDICINE. AND LAW.

187

wlmt little furniture he had was seized by his Inndiord, who turned
him out in tiie streets witliout a dollar. And all this time Robert
(Joodheart had never eheated a man out of a penny. He had been,
what he promised to be, an honest man of business, and had received
the inevitable reward of his honesty. So it came to puss, that, in the
year of our Lord 18 — , in this Christian city of New York, a man
failed in life, utterly, hopelessly, irretrievably, and yet he was an
honest, hnrd-working man. Meanwhile the other meml>ers of the
Gootlheart family had been pursuing their own life-paths, and each
had been striving to be " honest " in his own way.

Thus Francis Goodheart, the second of the brothers (while Robert
bad been giving himself up to speculation and to trade), had been
devoting himself to study and a medical career. He found the theory
of medicine absolutely glorious, but he found its practice absolutely
disgraceful. As a science, medicine is sublime : as a pursuit, it ia
sublimely ridiculous. The art of ho ling in modern times is simply
too often the art of humbug, — a mixture in equal proportions of eunt
and imposture. The allopaths quarrel with the homoeopaths. The
eclectics ignore both, and the hydropaths all three. He soon discov-
ered that the modern author is the incarnation of modern conceit.
He is simply a word-juggler, who plays his tricks with language to
astonish or amuse, not to benefit. Out of sixty-two professional
doctors of whom Francis Goodheart made the acquaintance, he
ascertained eight were boors, twenty-three either l)eats or beggars,
twenty-five were libertines ; while, of the whole number, forty-one,
were either avowedly or in reality sceptics, — mockers of God and
immortality, — and fifty-three were" drunkards. Francis Goodheart
soon ascertained, by practical experience, that doctors are charlatans
with diplomas. Sickened of medicine, Francis* Goodheart rushed to
its antithesis, — the law. Law is justice, and justice is an attribute
of divinity : therefore law is divine. It may be so ; but one famous
New- York lawyer is a living, moving, money-making bundle of tech-
nicalities. Another has made a world-wide fame by his mastery of
legal forms : another has done every thing by not doing it. Ife
succeeds in putting every thing off: he is the apostle of delay*

188

AN " OPENING " IN POLITICS.

Another, who is sleek and fat, with country-house, big diamonds,
Ims achieved pre-eminence by two simple processes, — fleecing clients
And bribing courts; another, by a high "religious" character, look-
ing at these bright and shining lights, mindful ox the characteristic
truth that James Fisk, jun., was the highly successful man of his
<lay, and Jay Gould is his highly envied successor; while, a few
weeks ago, a man was sentenced to prison because he " stole " a
loaf of bread to keep his wife and child from starving. Seeing
and remembering all this, Francis Goodheart, just as he had pre-
viously abandoned medicine, now abandoned the law.

But at this juncture, according to Mr. Reed, somebody sug-
gested to Mr. Goodheart that there was a great opening for an
honest man in New- York politics (!) ; and, accordingly, Mr.
Goodheart availed himself of this "opening."

Francis Goodheart commenced his political career by becoming an
nsslstant alderman. In this capacity he honestly endeavored to do his
duty. But one of his colleagues was an i<rnorant man, — a grossly
ignorant man, — who, instead of attending "primary" meetings,
sb.oukl have been sent to a primary school ; another assistant alder-
man traded in his " influence " precisely as he traded in his soap and
candles ; a third was a toper, who did not draw a sober breath from
JMonday morning till Saturday night ; a fourth sold the whiskey on
which the third got drunk ; while a fifth never performed a single
<luty required by his office, — and, to do him justice, he was, no
hypocrite, for he never even pretended to perform it.

Among Francis Goodhcart's political associates there was a rascal
whose "influence" was five times that of Goodheart. Then, there
was a " shoulder-hitter " and a " plug-ugly," whose " influence " was
five times greater than that of the rascal again, and of course, there-
fore, twenty-five times greater than Francis Gootlheart's. Then,
there was a notorious " 'mllot-box stuflfer," very expert in his branch
of the profession, very much in demand at elections, whose prestige
was greater than that of the rascal and the rowdy combined, and who
■was, therefore, more influential than fifty Goodhearta.

A ''MODEL" I'OLITICIAN.

180

And then there was one man, one prominent politi, an, whose
weiglit in the counsels of the metropolis of the uati< ; *\v surpassed
the combined influence of the rascal, the rowdy, and ae ballot-box
stuflfer, with Francis Goodheart's "thrown in."

This mighty man made and unmade mayors and congressmen : he
had been a congressman himself. He controlled the police and the
police-commissioners. He filled up political " slates," and rubbed
them out at his own sweet will. He dictated the nominees of his
party. He was a Saul and a Samuel combined, as well as a Goliath,
in the political Israel.

Assuredly, thought Francis Goodheart, this great man must be a
giant of mind. But he was not: he was only a giant of muscle.
Assuredly, thought Francis Goodheart, this ruler must be a model
man. But he was not : he was only a model prize-Jighter and a
model gambler, — a prize-fighter who boasted that he had always hit
from the shoulder ; a gambler who prided himself that his " game "
was "square," not "skin," — a man who was too cautious to get
drunk, and too politic to lie ; whose word was his bond ; and that
was all that his warmest friend or partisan could claim in his behalf.

Francis Goodheart also found that what are called ballots are
just as purchasable as what are called bullets, — just as easily pro-
curable to order, and even more dangerous.

The votes of the poor were controlled by their employers. Mill-
ownei-s directed factory operatives. Railroad presidents swayed
railroad employees. Merchants directed clerks. Even the govern-
ment itself went into the business of "influencing elections," and
gave work to thousands of men for a few weeks or days in order
that it might receive the l)eneflt of the V' tes for which it had stained
its record with " bribery and corruption,"

Voters were traded in, traflBcked for, — transferred precisely as
cattle, hogs, or other live-stock ; and, like live-stock, hogs, and cat-
tle, they were disposed of to the highest bidder. It was a matt«;r of
price, — no less, no more.

The votes of the rich, too, were also for sale, and were sold regu-
larly. Merchants were shown certain favors nt the Custom House ;

190 AN "INSIDE VIEiV" OF NEW-YORK POLITICS.

they were permitted to cheat Uncle Sam ; thej' were allowed to
"smusgle." Real-estat3 millionnaires were " assessed " at less than
•one-third of tlie true value of their real estate. Railroad-kings had
their "taxes" arranged. And in return for these unlawful favors
these rich men cast their votes and their influence on the side of their
interest, and even lent their names publicly to "whitewash" the
men who bribed them.

Goodheart also found that the system of sinecures, or merely
nominal offices, drawing, however, real and liberal pay for needless
work, and oftentimes for no work at all, was in full blast, and
much favored by rich men for their relatives. He became per-
sonally acquainted with one wealthy politician, whose two nephews
were thus fattened on the public crib, drawing large salaries, but
never going near the City Hall, saving once every two or three
months to sign the warrants for their pay. He was also cognizant
•of an official, high in place and prestige, who had inscribed no less
than seven names on the city pay-roll, he himself drawing the pay
for all the seven, which were merely so many aliases for himself.

Francis Goodheart also found in a very short time (the discovery
was forced upon him: any fool would, have found it out) that the
political many are completely at the mercy and in the power of the
political few ; tii.it the men rule about ten million (the millions mean-
while insisting loutlly and proudly that they rule themselves). He
<liscovered that there was no machinery in the world so effective as
iwlitical machinery ; and that, by a simple series of " combinations "
and " primaries " and " caucuses " and " conventions," a very few
designing rogues could do whatever they saw best — or worst —
with a world of self-deluded calves who called themselves " free and
enlightened citizens." Francis Goodheart saw all this, discovered
all this ; and his heart grew sick within him. Still he hoped on,
worked on, aspired on, and determined to penetrate even yet deeper
into the mysteries of politics, trusting that he would find erelong a
better and a brighter side, " the silver lining of the cloud."

By Herculean efforts Francis Goodheart contrived, without posi-
tive trickery or dishonesty, to be elected an assemblyman, and, in

AT ALBANY.

191

the discharge of his official duties, went to Albany. To Francis
iioodljeart's sensitive soul it was like going to — hell. To hira tlie
capital of the State of New York was indeed a pandemonium. His
colleagues of the Legislature, of both branches, were drunkards and
gamblers, where they were not libertines, and were bought and sold
once (or in a good season twice) every twenty-four hours. Everybody
wlio had any business with the Legislature commenced operations by
bribing the members, — "influencing" them it was euphoniously
styled. A number of men, and every now and then a woman, made
a handsome living by serving as "go-betweens" the Legislature
(wliicli was ready to grind any axes) and those wlio had axes to be
ground ; seeing that the legislatoi-s were duly bribed, and that tlie
private axes were ground fine on the public grindstone. These use-
ful go-betweens were known as " lobbyists ; " and among them were
to be found "venerable" and "respectable" men, — men who were
" powers behind the throne," and who, tliough not members of tlie
legislative Ixxly, were the " breeches- pocket " of the Legislature.

Albany was tlie city of jobbery. Every measure started or intro-
duced there became, sooner or later. — generally sooner, — a job,
from the necessity of the case. It was in the air.

Disgusted and disheartenetl ' his Albany experiences, Francis
Goodheart abandoned all furtlui aspirations at the State Capitol
(which was alxtut the liest thing he could do. as he had not the <;ho8t
of a chance at any further advancement in Hint fiuarter), and, return-
ing to New York, managed, by the influence of a ward politician
(who thought he could "use" him), not by any merit of his )wn,
to l)ecome connected with one of the city departments

Here, as a New- York politician, a New- York official, living, mov-
ing, and exercising his functions in the metropolis, he became per-
sonally and officially cognizant of the existence of an niganized
system of political rascality which far surpassed anytl. ._, of which
he had any previous conception.

He was forced, in his own despite, to flounder about in a pool of
political pollution, in which were wallowing, steeped up to the very lips
with mud and money, all his fellow-officials, of low and high degree.

192

OUR "JUDGES.

He found the courts corrupt. " Judges " were " elected " through
the direct "influence" of certain notorious "politicians;" and,
being grateful and wise, these "judges" played into the hands of
those who elected them and did their bidding, using the machinery
of their respective (though not respectable) courts for " political pur-
poses : " otiier " judges " bought their offices, and made them " pay "
an enormous profit, selling their "decisions" to the highest bidder.

One judge was "identified" with certain "railroad interests;"
and his "decisions" were, of course, in the "interests" of the
railroad. Another judge, though immensely rich, owning, among
other real estate, various houses of ill-fame, which yielded an enor-
mous revenue, still was so covetous of money that any litigant with
a long purse could buy him as certainly, though not as cheaply, as
any article at the dollar-store. A third judge " truckled " for ix>pu-
larity, and, while sentencing a criminal who had no "influence" to
the full extent of the law, inflicted uix)n another criminal, equally
guilty, but with influence, the minimum penalty. A fourth judge was
a notorious libertine and drunkard, who never spared man in his
wrath, or woman in his lust.

There were certain lawyers who "had the ears" of certain
" judges," and could do with them what they pleased. These law-
yers, of course, were in great demand, and received large fees for
their "influence," and "divided" with the judges. Neix)tism was
unblushingly practised, and the relative of a judge was almost as
great and almost as rich as a judge himself. The latter would
appoint (in any case with money in it) the former as a " referee ; "
and the referee would "remember" the judge, and both would get
rich together.

The police-courts were as corrupt as the courts of a higher grade.
Police- justices were incompetent or idle, or dissolute or venal ; while
their clerks "run the machine" for the "benefit of those it might
concern," being " concerned," of course, chiefly for themselves.

The police were as corrupt as the courts. The executioners of
the laws were as venal aa the expounders of the laws. The superin-
tendent of the police was the bosom friend, the public and private

TUE NEW-YORK "GOLDEN" RULE.

193

associate, of the very men whom it was his official duty to arrest and
punish. The police detective system was an abomination : bribery
and compounding a felony were of every-day occurrence ; the detec-
tives " divided " with the thieves they protected, and bought diamond
rings and houses and lots on twelve hundred dollai-s a year. Gam-
blers waliied up Broadway on the arm of magistrates, and every
night tlie magistrate took supper at the faro-bank of the gambler.
The mistresses of prominent officials were as well known as, and
more sought after, than their wives; the influence of the former
being ten to one that of the latter. Judges supped witli actresses
nightly, and on Sunday nights participated, with those free-and-easy
creatures, in a drunken orgie held at a public building erected for
political purposes. Railroad magnates, fearing neither God nor
man, trusting to money and technicalities to keep them out of State
prison (the only hell they believed in), used laws, legislatures, and
judges as their bought and paid-for tools, and with the proceeds
of their rascalities bedecked and bedizened their pet courtesans,
who flaunted t^eir busts and diamonds in the faces of wives and
daughters at our fashionable balls ; while fathers and husbands ko-
to-oed before them in the profoundest adoration.

Official "position" was only another name for official "pecula-
tion." The only standard of duty was "the golden rule." Every-
body wanted a " fat" office. The sheriff, and the register, and the
county clerk, and a dozen more offices, were fortunes yearly.

Meanwhile prison discipline was a farce to the prisoner who had
money, and a piece of barbarity to the poor devil who had none.
Murderers were lionized, and were never hung unless tliey were
poor : unless they wished it, tliey were seldom even arrested. Swift
and sure justice might do well enough for " the effete barbarisms"
of Europe; but it was far behind this "enlightened" age, and
unworthy of the land of the spread-eagle.

Under such a condition of things, it is no wonder that the
honest Francis Good heart, like his honest brother Robert,
failed as a New- York politician.

194

TUB BROWNSTONEFRONTS.

This picture of life and struggle in the great metropolis is
highly colored; but in too many respects its outlines are truth-
ful, and its scenes are realistic : just as are the maiuT points in
the satirist's companion picture of an average rich and fash-
ionable New- York family, whom he describes under the sug-
gestive name of " the Brownstonefronts."

Young Brownstonefront, "the son of his father," is thus
introduced : —

He was a crack shot, a capital horseman ; always won at cards and
billiards ; could talk French like a native ; could sing an Italian
love-song with Brignoli himself ; was in demand for " the German ; "
had read every lewd book ever written, either in the original or in
the translation ; was a favorite with yacht-owners for their summer
cruises ; was an habitue of all the French balls ; had no faith in man
or woman ; cared for neither Go<l nor Devil ; was a connoisseur in
wines ; owned half a million in real estate, yet owed everybody, his
washerwoman included ; had a different pair of pants for every day
in the week; doted on "fancy" neckties and perfumes, and curled
his hair ; told a lie with a coolness which truth itself might envy ;
ate five times a day ; never gave away a dollar in his life ; was l)or-
rowing money all the time, and was a member of the leading clubs.

The " Brownstonefront " mansion on Fifth Avenue is thus
pen-painted : —

They called it " home," but " home " it was none. It may have
been a "mansion," or a "palace," or a "residence;" but it was
not a "home."
'It was costly, but not comfortable; " deucedly " expensive,
"stunningly" fashionable, the "swell thing," and all that, but any
thing but homelike.

There is no place for mere "homes" on "the Avenue:" space
there is far too valuable to be devoted to what a satirist has called
*' our domestic affectations."

A FIFTU-AVENUE "HOME."

195

The " Brownstonefront Mansion" was a brownstone front, of
courae, suggestive in equal proportions of gold and gloom. Its exte-
rior was marked by elalx)rate, expensive, but tasteless stone-work ;
a prominent carriage-step; and two entrances, distinctively appro-
priated, the one to the family, the other to the menials ; and large
windows, in which real lace curtains of alrrojt fabulous cost were
always displayed to create Envy in the boijm of Vulgarity, and
Disgust in the mind of Taste. Witliin, the rooms were large and
cheerless, despite their gaudy furniture, which had cost some forty
thousand dollars. And although the walls were filled with " paint-
ings" whose gilt frames were worth "a round thousand," yet tiie
pictures in themselves were worthless ; and the tout ensemble of the
household ornamentation was repulsive. The house was dark (it
was too big for sunlight) ; and, like many modern palaces, it was
imperfectly ventilated. It saddened first, and then stifled. The
ground on which it stood was worth several dollara an inch, but there
was not twenty-five cents' worth of genuine comfort in it. As often
hapi)ens in these gew-gaw shells, the plumbing-work was defective,
and the splendora were marred by smells. The chairs in the dining-
room cost 81,325.50, — we love to be precise, — and the mirrors in
the parlors had been paid for at the rate of $5,500.00. The lam-
brequins had cost $700.00 ; and the exact bill for the fresco-work,
such as it was, had been $5,853.27 ; but the total cost of all
the books in the house was less than three hundred dollars, and
the major portion of even this expenditure had been for the
" covei-s."

To this Fifth-avenue " home" hied Mr. Richard Brownstonefront,
jun. ; and he reached it just at dinner-time. The menu of that day
(or rather night) was sumptuous, embracing soup k la reine de Hol-
lande, boiled halibut, egg sauce, with iX)tatoes il la duchesse, turkey
stuffed, cranberry sauce, ham glac6, champagne sauce, ribs of beef,
lobster salad, pate with truffles, pigeons en compote a la Fran9aise,
six vegetables, three varieties of pastry, Madeira wine, jelly, maca-
roons de Nancy, with fruits, etc. ; and yet that very night the
"help" of the Brownstonefront mansion sat down, after a hai"d

ill

i'!'

196

TUB " GIRLS OF THE PERIOD:'

day's work, to pork aucl beans, potatoes, and a pic ; and a poor
woman who had applied with her sick child in her arms, at the
basement-door, " for some cold victuals or bread, for the love of
God," had been driven away empty-handed and hungry-mouthed.

Mrs. Brovvnstonefront, the wife and mother, was tall and
slender, and had been originally good-looking. She still looked
well, — thanks to powder and paint and enamel, and Madame
Jumel, and glove-fitting corsets, and the hairdresser, and bella-
donna, and pencilling with India ink, and rouge, and cosraet*
ics, and French paste, and chalk, and avsenic, and her dentist,
and cotton, and padded sleeves, and padded arms, and tinted
nails, and tight lacing, and false hips, and bustles, and French
boots.

The mother and her two daughters, the Misses Brownstone-
front, are characterized as follows : —

All three ladies were, in the American sense of the tenn, " fash-
ionable" (i.e., money-and-time-wasting) women. They promenaded
Broadway, shopped at Stewart's, had bills at Tiffany's, had their
dresses made by Worth, had a box at the opera, a villa at New-
port, kept their carriage, and footman in livery, had been to Paris,
talked French execrably, waltzed divinely, flirted d, I'outrance, rel-
ished double-entendres, wore the lowest of low necks and the short-
est of short sleeves, were encyclopaedias of gossip and tittle-tattle,
were dictionaries of small-talk, lived high, loved French novels
(translated), and doted on French plays (adapted), copied the tricks
of actresses and the styles of the demi-monde, could and did drink
a good deal of wine at parties, receptions. New- Year's Days, and the
like, kept late hours, indulged in artiflcial compliments and friend-
ships, and ''knew" more men than ever visited them at their
residence.

The mother had been in her day " a belle," and her name had
been bandied about in connection with a certain noted roue of aa
Italian tenor ; Miss Cleopatra had been at one time seriously '' com-^

FASHIONABLE" FAMILY.

197

promised " with a German count, wliom she had picked up on the
Ilhine ; while Miss Angelina's " deucedly neat " foot and ankle were
the admiration of any number of "young men about town," for
whose benefit said charms were " artlessly " displayed two or three
times a week on Broadway, and every Sunday morning and after-
noon on Fifth Avenue.

"Fashion" was the especial hobby of Mrs. Sophia Brownstone-
f ront, nie Von Diamondeer. She asked not what fashion was, or ivho
was fashionable : that they were fashionable was all she demanded of
her "set." Had Madame Restell herself suddenly become "fash-
ionable," she would have found a warm friend and admirer in
Mrs. Sophia Brownstonefront, nh Von Diamondeer. Like all true
native Americans, she prostrated herself in abject adoration before
the glory of a "position;" and she never cared a whit how the
" position " was obtained. Had Satan himself been an " old Knick-
erbocker" or a "distinguished foreigner," she would have bowed
blandly to the Devil. Practical woman that she was, she never
questioned an accepted fact.

"Dress" was the deity of her daughters. They were the true
Catholics of the mode, and their Virgin Mary was the goddess of
the toilet. Their whole souls "went out" in silks and satins, and
they dated the creation of the world from "opening-day." They
would never have betrayed their Master, like Judas, for thirty pieces
of silver : it would, in their case, have cost some thirty or forty yards
of velvet. Modest creatures that they were, they were all the time
thinking how to cover their nakedness.

All their "dear" friends and female intimates dressed superbl}'.
True, one of those " friends " had, by her extravagance, driven her
husband into dishonorable bankruptcy; another "intimate," whose
dress far exceeded her father's purse, was openly " talked about; "
while a third neglected her family to adorn the promenade. But
what of that? they all did "dress;" and people, you know, will
talk.

And so the Misses Brownstonefront were very " dressy . " They
possessed between ^hem forty-two silk dresses (twenty party and

198

DRESS" AND "SOCIETY.'

i{4

evening dreases), twelve cloaks (embracing two seal-skin sacks,
worth five hundred dolhirs each) , four velvet cloaks (costing about
twenty-five hundred dollars for the four), two camel's-hair shawls
(woi'th four thousand dollara the pair), and twenty-five thousand
dollars' worth of laces, — point-lace, point applique, Valenciennes ;
then, they wore during the year some twenty bonnets (averaging
forty dollars apiece), some eighty pairs of gloves, some hundreds
of handkerchiefs. But, really, life is short.

As for New- York " society," it is " summed up " by the satirist
in this one piquant paragraph : —

The "old lady, Mrs. Brownstouefront," called about five hundred
men and women whom she knew more or less intimately, — a hun-
dred of whom were swindlers (undetected), a hundred more of whom
were bankrupts (as yet undiscovered), a hundred more of whom were
rouis, libertines, and gamblers (known as such), a hundred more of
whom were old ladies who were trying to sell their daughters to the
highest bidder, while the last hundred were young ladies who were
displaying their matrimonial points wherever and however they could
to the aforesaid three hundred swindlers, bankrupts, and roues, — alie
called these five hundred ^^ society."

And there are five thousand more like her in New York.

But it must be carefully borne in mind by the reader, that
there are two sides to every question, and generally more than
two sides to every question or point connected with New- York
City.

While the experiences and observations of the brothers
Goodheart, and while the pictures of the Brownstonefronts,
are truthful and realistic as far as they extend, — they do not
extend far enough, — they only apply to a part of New Yoi*k,
not to New York as a whole.

New York, as a whole, is, with all its evils, a good, as well as
a great, city. This fact, this comforting and consoling fact,
this better and brighter fact, is too often forgotten by New-

A POINT TUAT SHOULD BE REMEMliERED.

199

Yorkers themselves, and is steadily ignored by the New- York
press, and writers on New York.

The New- York papers are full of murders, suicides, thefts,
scandals, and horrors. But why are the^ full of them? Sim-
ply because these are the remarkable exceptions to the ordinary
state of order, decency, honesty, peace, and security. If they were
normal occurrences, — these murders, thefts, scandals, and hor-
rors, — the papers would not record them ; they would not be
able to ; but they simply record them now as exceptional occur-
rences.

If people would but bear this simple, self-evident point in
mind, they would carry about with them much more accurate
notions of New- York life than generally prevail.

The writer once met a dear, good old lady, who loved God,
the Bible, and her fellow men and women, and found this
blessed Christian lady terribly exercised in spirit, having just
finished the perusal of a morning New- York paper, in which
she had read graphic, — too graphic, — elaborately detailed, —
far too elaborately detailed, — accounts of all varieties of crimes
and horrors. The old lady put down her paper with a sigh
and a shudder, and exclaimed to the writer, " What a wicked
city we live in ! "

" No, madam," I replied. " Say, rather, what a good city we
live in." And then I explained to the dear, good old soul
how really the prominence and space given in the paper to the
crimes and horrors proved how extraordinary and exceptional
they were.

" No paper prints," said I, " the numberless good words said
and good deeds done yesterday in New York and elsewhere,
simpl" because they are numberless, and of constant, ordinary
occurrence: they are, fortunately, matters of course, and, as
such, need no account or comment. But thank God, madam,"
I devoutly and gratefully, as well as truthfully, remarked,

200

lUE GOOD SIDE OF NEW YORK.

** murder, theft, licentiousness, blasphemy, and the like, are un-
usual enough yet to challenge attention."

The old lady seized the point of my observations at once,
and appreciated its truth : she smiled, and from that day has
regarded New- York papers and New- York City very differently
from the light in which she formerly considered them.

The facts are, — and let us thank God for them, — that there
are vastly more good and honest men, and vastly more good
and virtuous women, in New York, than there are men and
women who are not honest or virt ous.

If the great metropolis leads in evil, it also more than excels
in good. Every now and then there may occur a " carnival of
crime ; " but purity, charity, honesty, industry, and religion are
" always with us."

New York is a religious city, as already hinted at. There is
one place of worship, on the average, to every fcur hundred
people in the metropolis ; and many of these churches, chapels,
etc., are crowded, not only on Sundays, but during the week.

New York contains twenty-two public libraries, and over a
hundred large first-class private libraries, as well as hundreds
of book-stores.

New York likewise contains a hundred and thirty-five public
schools of all grades, for all classes, and for all colors, and
employs over three thousand teachers. The metropolis can
justly boast of its Columbia College, the university of the city
of New York; the famous Cooper Institute free schools of
art, where hundreds of young women have laid the foundation
of a useful, profitable, honorable career; its Free Academy and
its Normal College ; while its private schools — such as Rut-
gers Institute, the Charlier Institute, etc. — are justly cele-
brated.

The metropolis has also twenty-one public squares and parks,
including the finest pleasure-park in Amei'ica, the Central Park,

80METUIN0 TO THANK QOD FOB.

201

as free to the tramp as to the millionnaire. There are numerous
public and private galleries of art; some of the private gal-
leries, such as Belmoiit's, being occasionally thrown open to
the public.

There are numerous pul Uc and several "free" baths. There
are over two hundred general societies, all flourishing, and all
instituted for worthy objects. There are sixty-three trade
societies, all doing good, and, on the whole, well managed ;
while the charities of New York are literally "too numerous
to mention." A mere list of the charitable societies and enter-
prises of the metropolis would occupy pages of this book.
From twenty-five thousand to thirty thousand people are
relieved by them annually. May it not, then, be said of the
great metropolis to-day, as it was said over eighteen hundred
years ago of Mary Magdalene, "Her sins, which are many,
are forgiven her ; for she loved much " (if philanthropy is love,
which it is) : for " inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these,
ye did it unto me."

And, good as New York is, it is growing better every year.
Just as the old Five Points, the most terrible spot on the
American continent, is now " wiped out," and the old Brewery,
the scene of misery and murder, is supplanted by a public
mission-house; so other evil localities in the great city are
gradually, slowly but surely, being purified. The American
poet, Lowell, is right, — "Humanity moves onward" — and
upward. " Excelsior " is the motto, not only of Longfellow's
immortal poem, but of the city of New York.

This being so, — and this is so, as any careful student of the
metropolis is prepared to testify, — let us "thank God, and
take courage."

Let us confess the errors, concede the vices, regret the
crimes, of New York. Let us picture, if we will, the dark
jside of metropolitan life. . But let us ever do justice to the

202

BOTH SIDES.

enterprise, and to the virtue, morality, and religion, upon
which, after all and more than all, the metropolis is based.

If, like a famous New- York divine. Rev. Dr. Crosby, we
must confess "the shame of New York," let us not refuse
to concede to the greatest and best city on the American con-
tinent its meed of " glory."

■ '1
' If

i .

I ^^^mBf

i
t

i! : i

CHAPTER XVI.

SEEKING AND FINDING EMPLOYMENT. — NEW YORK AT NIGHT. — '*THB
SLEEPLESS CITY." — THE DEMON BUM.

Into the great city which I have just described (from the
experience and observation of later years), I now came, a
friendless lad, dependent on his work for his bread. But
where to get the work? That was the problem which pre-
sented itself to me, as it has presented itself to thousands of
others before and since.

Oh ! the difficulty of obtaining work in New York. That is,

obtaining your first work, — getting your start. That start once

obtained, the rest is comparatively easy ; as the French say,

" C^est le premier pas qui coUte " (" It is the first step that

costs "). Some have suffered all the agonies that mind and

body can endure ere they have conquered that first step ; and

some

" Have by wayHide xell and perished,

Weary with the march of life,"

before they even gained that " start."

But I was more favored than the majority ; although I had
to pass through a certain share of torture, although I had to
walk and worrv and wait till I was weary and worn out, yet,
just before I was completely exhausted, I obtained my chance,
I conquered my start.

I procured employment in the freight-department of the far-
famed Erie Railroad, under M. A. A. Gaddis, one of the local

freight-agents of the road. My former experience in railroad-

ao3

204

NE)V YORK AT NIGHT.

ing gave me favor, and within a few weeks I had my place
And work and wages among the struggling myriads of the
motropolis.

I was busily employed all day, and gave satisfaction. But
I had my nights to myself. I congratulated myself on this
fact, but in reality it was my great misfortune. Had I been
compelled to toil at night, I would doubtless have felt more
tired ; but I would doubtless have been more temperate, and
•equally as happy.

Working men and women need little care and compassion
while "on duty ;" but they need the former, and call oftentimes
for the latter, when " off duty." When the eye of the super-
intendent or employer is upon them, they are " all right : " it
is only when there is none to see them but the All-seeing that
they are in danger of being "all wrong."

Especially is this the case in the metropolis. Other cities rest
at night, and the working-classes rest in and with them. But
New York is as restless by night as by day. New York never
sleeps : it has been truthfully styled " the sleepless city."

It has been calculated that over seventy-five thousand people
are busy or bustling, at work or at play, every night in the
great metropolis. The night-population of New York includes
an army of men and women, in diflFerent walks of life, — the
attachda of theatres and minstrel-halls, of concert-saloons, of
the newspapers, of the restaurants, etc., the hackmen, the
car conductors and drivers, the police, the thieves, the gam-
blers, the courtesans, the firemen, the bill-posters, the butchers,
tiie bakers, the vagrants, the hotel attaches, — these, and other
•classes too numerous to mention, render the streets of New
York, or some of them at least, almost as lively at midnight
«s at noon. One need never be lonely in New York at night
if he is not particular as to his company. And the temptations
to dissipation and intemperance in a crowd like this at night

"ON THE DOWN GRADE."

205

are endless. And they were too mighty for one of my tem-
perament to resist. Homeless, I haunted the taverns and the
theatres: friendless, I made companions of the dissolute. I
soon fell into my former drinking-habits, and acquired, if possi-
ble, the curse of intemperance still stronger. Many a morning,
after many a night passed in bar-rooms till almost daylight, I
would go to my work with a fevered brow and a trembling
hand. But still, under all these disadvantages, I somehow kept
along. For a whole year I kept my situation ; and during that
time I familiarized myself with the haunts of vice and intern-
perance, and was falling lower and lower in the scale of hu-
manity. I became entangled in several " scrapes ; " and although
I was never arrested by the police, never imprisoned in a
police-station cell, and never brought before a magistrate in
a police-court, it was due to the restraining hand of Providence,
not to any restraint that I placed upon myself. This period I
regard as one of the darkest of my life. And, under the influ-
ence of the demon of rum, I committed indiscretions, which,
when reported to my father in the course of time, nearly drove
him to distraction, and which distressed my dear mother more
than all her pangs of sickness. Friends remonstrated with me
in vain. I was mad indeed.

Finally I lost my position on the railroad, but that did not
sober me ; for I obtained an even better situation in its place
with H. B. Clafflin & Co., in the entry-room, under Mr.
Henshaw as superintendent: and I drank harder than ever.

But I only held this latter situation for a month : then rum,
my greatest enemy, dislodged me ; and again I was roaming
the streets of New York without employment.

I was not utterly destitute as yet ; and, as long as my money
lasted, I haunted bar-rooms, and drank rum. Liquor-saloons
were my only resorts ; and I finally sank so low, that, under
the influence of my potations, I would frequently sleep in these

206

A DEVILISU DEBAUCH.

places till they closed, and then would walk the streets by night,
trying to quiet my nerves (for sleep I could not), until they
opened again.

I recall to memory one night in particular, when, after a
devilish debauch (I can use no milder term), the thought of my
once innocent past, my dear brothers and sisters, my honored
father and mother, and my pure and happy home, in dear old
Montreal, came across my mind with such overpowering force,
that, in sheer despair and desperation, I purchased a soda-
bottle full of whiskey, and, rushing out of a saloon, took my
position at midnight on the steps of 618 Broadway, — the
Museum of Anatomy, — and swallowed almost the entire con-
tents of the bottle.

I was wild with grief and shame, and I knew not what I did.
I presume I meant to take my chances of death or delirium
tremens ; and T deserved either, or both, but escaped : perhaps
the very quantity of liquor that I swallowed saved me ; but,
however that may be, I merely suffered more than usual, and
was more sick and nervous than usual for some forty-eight
liours, and then proceeded downward as before. And here I
must pause, and warn my readers of the terrible state to
which poor mortals may bring themselves. With tears in my
eyes I make this confession. But my case is not exceptional.
Thousands have been in the same condition, and only those
that have suffered car appreciate the same. I wish I could
show to every young man and woman in the country what
intemperance is sure to lead to. Reformation is hard — oh, so
hard! Intemperance destroys self-respect; and, when that is
gone, manhood departs. It dries up the sacred fountains of
love ; and, when they are dry, hope turns sadly away. It
estranges tliose who should be dearest to each other. It turns
the father from the child, and the child from the father; and
all that is contained in the word "awful" it surely possesses.

TUE MONSTER INTEMPERANCE.

207

I have seen the ocean asleep, when scarcely a ripple disturbed
its placid breast. The smallest craft could venture out on its
tranquil bosom in safety, and the sunbeams dallied with its
surface, and peace and contentment seemed to have an abiding-
place within it. Anon the winds would rise, the hurricane
would rage, and the scene would be changed. Arising from
its lethargy, the mad waves would roll, threatening to over-
whelm every thing in their fury ; and night and darkness would
combine to augment the horrors of the scene. Intemperance
is like that ocean : it seems fair and lovely to gaze upon ; and
the poor mariner upon its bosom looks listlessly in the tide, nor
sees the frightful monsters that inhabit it. But now they
come, slimy, filthy creatures, who wind themselves around his
better feelings ; and the fierce storms of passion, lust, and all
tliat is unholy and debased, sweep him from mortal view. The
fell demon spares none. He allures the noblest of the earth,
and beneath him they become the most debased. No position
in society is secure from liis attacks. He even invades the
sanctity of the pulpit, and the priest of God becomes his satel-
lite. He glories in destruction, and gloats over the shrieks of
his helpless victims. O young men ! if you are yielding to the
power of the monster in any degree, repel him before it is too
late. " Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it
giveth its color in the cup : at the last, it bitctli like a serpent,
and stingeth like an adder." Point me to a case where, used
as a beverage, it ever did mortal man any good. Graves that
have been watered with burning, bitter tears, proclaim the con-
trary ; families severed speak its desolation ; the groans of
orphans and the shrieks of the dying, over the land, bear fear-
ful testimony to its destruction ; and yet the curse survives, and
human law appears powerless to crush it from existence. Were
a mad dog turned loose in our street to bite and maim the
passers-by, what a cry would ascend to the skies if prompt

208

TO THE FOOT OF THE CROSS.

action were not taken to stop his ravages ! Yet, worse than
the most rabid canine, intemperance is allowed to strike his
victims again and again, and almost without hinderance. I
have felt his deadly fangs, and feel that I have a right to lift
up my voice against him, to combat my greatest enemy with
all my power, and to show him and his emissaries as the
greatest enemies of the human race. Had I then gone to the
foot of the cross in faith, and trusted in Him who alone can
sustain us, I might have been spared the years to come of
sorrow that passed over me ; and not until I did so did I find
deliverance from my bondage: but, thanks be to Him, my
deliverance came ; and I am now ransomed by his precious
blood from the galling shackles of intemperance. All things
are possible with God.

" Would you lose your life, you find it ;
And in giving love you bind it
Like an amulet of safety
Round your heart forevermore."

CHAPTER XVII.

DRIFTING AND SIIIFTINO. — A MEMORABLE SUNDAY. — MY ADVENTURES IN
CINCINNATI. — LIFE ON THE BIVBR-STEAMBOATS. — ITS TRAGEDY AND
COMEDY ILLUSTRATED. — STEAMBOAT RACES, FIRES, AND EXPLOSIONS. —
RIVER-GAMBLEBS. — MOCK COURTS AND A BLESSED PRACTICAL JOKE. —
MY CURSE CONQUERS ME AGAIN.

In my last chapter I moralized somewhat ; now let me turn
to my own vicissitt-.des of fortune, and sp'^ak of myself. Being
almost literally driven out of New York by my own misconduct,
finding it now impossible to procure a situation, and being on
the very verge of abject destitution and positive starvation, I
turned my thoughts to Albany, where I had been told there
was a chance for employment. Through the kindness of Mr.
Caulfield, a steamboat-man, agent of a line of steamers plying
on the Hudson, I obtained a pa'^s to Albany, in which city I
landed literally penniless.

My first experience of New York had been brief and shame-
ful. I left it now, as I thought, forever; but I was destined to
return to the great metropolis again, and yet again, as the
reader of this life-narrative will see.

I found Albany just like New York in one most important
particular. You must have money, or starve, in either place.
As I had no money, I came near starving, and might have per-
ished, had I not been in this extremity befriended by S. R.
Gray, a true Christian gentleman, who interested himself prac-
tically in my welfare. But there was no opening for me in
Albany at that time ; and so I went on still farther, looking for
14 aoo .

210

A TBAMP AND A JiEGGAR.

something to do. I called upon E. D. Worcester, Esq., the
jiiecretary of the New- York Central Railroad, and, on the rec-
ommendation of Mr. Gray, obtained from this most practical,
yet kind and most genial and polished man, official, and gentle-
man, a pass to Buffalo. I arrived in Buffalo in precisely the
same penniless condition in which I had reached Albany, but
found no duplicate of the great-hearted Mr. Gray. Having
neither money nor friends, only a little — a very little — " hand-
baggage," I was at once compelled to pawn the latter, to procure
a few days' board.

I spent my few days trying hard to obtain employment, but
in vain, and, at the expiration of a week, found myself
reduced to my last dollar, — poorer than I was when I came to
Buffalo, by the amount of the value of my little hand-baggage,
now unredeemed at the pawn-shop. I was not only desperately
poor and "hard up," but I began to suffer from the cold. I
was thinly clad, and had no change of raiment with me ; my
clothing, such as it was, being all at that " interesting " rela-
tive's, "my uncle's." But I must keep moving. If I could
not find work at Albany or at Buffalo, I must push on farther
West, and try Cleveland. So I begged a pass, on the strength
of my former connection with railroads, from Otis Kimball,
Esq., and one cold, dreary Saturday night first set foot in
Cleveland. I am told that Cleveland is a very pretty city.
Its citizens are justly proud thereof. But God knows I was
in no mood in my visit to the place to appreciate its beau-
ties. I was reduced to the mere animal, the wholly brutal,
condition, of needing only just then, and caring only just then,
for food, warmth, and drink, and of not being able to obtain
any one of the three.

I reached Cleveland a pauper; and I resided in it (Heaven
pardon the mockery of the use of that word "resided") for
nearly forty-eight hours, — two nights and nearly two days,—

SUCH A SUNDAY!

211

a tramp and a beggar. Yes, through folly and rum I had
reached those two extremities at last. I was a homeless tramp,
a penniless beggar ; sleeping, when I slept at all, in sheds or
out-houses, shivering in my scanty seediness, gnawing away for
life at stray crusts, " at the very husks the swine did eat," —
those husks which were for a while the envy of the prodigal
son in the parable, whom, in not a few respects, I closely
resembled, although '3ven yet I had not attained unto his peni-
tence. I was wretched, of course. I grieved over my condi-
tion. But mere grief and wretchedness do not constitute true
penitence. I was in no sense of the term repentant. I was
only reckless, desperate, despairing, only a tramp and a beggar,
whom only the mercy of the Most High kept from being a
criminal and a thief.

Of all the Sundays in my life, I shall never forget that
wretched, homeless, churchless, friendless, shelterless, joyless,
prayerless, dreary, weary, hungry, thirsty, cold Sunday which
I passed in Cleveland. It was a living death. Towards noon
I was constrained to beg in the public streets for a few pennies
to buy a meal, — my first meal for nearly thirty-six hours;
and at night I begged a shelter from the storm, — slept by per-
mission in a hall-way. Great God I what a Lord's Day that
was I How terribly it contrasted with my sweet home Sun-
days in dear Montreal ! It is a wonder and a mercy that I did
not go mad, — memory mad.

It is more than a wonder, too, that such a fearful experience
as this, brought on directly by my cursed appetite for liquor,
did not lead me at once, then and there, to determine to forsake
rum, and to sunder myself forever from the cause of my misery.
But no such blessed result took place; and I was not only
in reality a tramp and a beggar, but at heart, as before, a
drunk<ard. I would have been a drunkard if I had had the
chance.

212

A MODERN WANDERiyO JEW.

Monday morning dawned bright and beautiful and balmy,
after the most horrible Sunday I had ever experienced ; and,
utterly disgusted with Cleveland, I braced myself up, tried
to assume a jaunty air, tried to forget I was a tramp and a
beggar, and, applying at the railroad-depot as an ex-railroad-
man, secured from the officials there a pass to Columbus, O.

Arriving at this thriving place about midnight, I slept in the
cars till morning, and then made some inquiries for work.
Finding no immediate opportunity in Columbus, and having no
time to wait, being full of a bitter restlessness which drove me
on, like the wandering Jew, knowing and caring not whither, I
applied to Mr. Doherty, then the depot-agent, and procured,
through his kindness, a pass to Cincinnati, where I arrived
with precisely five cents in my pockrt, the remnants of forty-
five cents I had begged, — my worki. . all.

True, on no larger a capital than this, men have raised them-
selves to influence and affluence. But then, these men were
not habitual drunkards.

I was now in Cincinnati, — the Qufeen City of the West, a»
it is called ; the Paris of America, as it has been also styled ;
the leading city of the great State of Ohio, one of the leading
communities of the world.

There is much in Cincinnati to interest the thoughtful,
and to impress favorably the travelled observer. Tliere is a
mingled air of enterprise and stability pervading the city, which
strikes one forcibly. Every thing seems established on a solid
basis, yet all is bustle and energy. But there is no " flash in
the pan " business, no mere wild, feverish, unsubstantial specu-
lation : every thing is a reality, like the pork itself.

The streets of Cincinnati are well laid out, the public
buildings are imposing, the hotels are excellent ; and it pos-
sesses one peculiar charm and beauty which can be claimed by
no other city in America, — those hills, or mountains, or elevated

CINCINNATI.

218

lands, known as the Highlands, and Mount Lookout, which
rise lioin and connnand the city. Tlie peculiar vertical rail-
ways by which these mountains are traversed are among the
curiosities of the West.

Cincinnati is justly proud of its superb music-hall — the finest
in the country — and of its musical societies, — the largest and
best conducted in the West. True, it has its darker aspects,
— its "over the Rhine," and its Sunday theatres; but, as a
whole, Ohio can well afford to boaat of Cincinnati.

And perhaps of all places in Cincinnati the most really in-
teresting to the greatest number is the river-front. There is
always a fascination about the water and the water-ways.
Even a brook suggests a river ; and the river still more elo-
quently suggests the sea, while the sea itself suggests infinity
and the universe. Then, there is an abuiftlance of life and
motion and change upon the surface of a river: boats and
passengers are constantly adding animation to the scene. Al-
together, the Ohio Kiver forms the most interesting portion of
Cincinnati ; and to the river I now turned in my need to look
for work.

I was not as completely wretched and destitute here in Cin-
cinnati as I had been in Cleveland. I had stumbled across
an old acquaintance, emj)loyed at the United-States Hotel,
Cincinnati ; and through his kindness I had at least a place to
sleep for a while. I need not walk the streets all night, nor
sleep and shiver on the pavement; and that was something.
But all day long I hunted — ay, absolutely hunted — for work,
trudging up and down the levee, tramping from boat to boat,
seeking a job, — seeking but not finding; though, like Esau,
" I sought carefully and with tears."

Nothing presented itself. No opportunity " turned up." I
became discouraged ; and finally through very shame I would
not return to my kind friend at the hotel, but determined to

214

A SCULLION.

stay around the levee day and night till I had obtained a job.
There was a good deal of "stuff" in this determination, and I
feel glad now that I made it and kept it then. It showed to my-
self, that, spite of my fall from grace and good, I was not wholly
lost. I was not utterly debased, and I had my reward.

By dint of repeated, persistent, urgent solicitation on ray
part, of the steward of one of the transient boats from Cin-
cinnati to Louisville, I obtained from him a job at last.

True, it was not a very responsible position, — it did not
require any great physical or mental strength, — it was only
the post of dish-washer an*l knife-cleaner ; but it was some-
thing, — it was better than nothing, — it was a job.

As such I gratefully regarded it ; and perhaps my fallen con-
dition at this period cannot be illustrated more forcibly than
by the fact that I, who had formerly occupied positions of some
little responsibility in railroad offices and stores, now con-
gratulated myself on securing the position of a scullion.

But it was only for a while. Within forty-eight hours after
commencing my menial duties, "the iron entered into my
soul." I saw myself as others saw me, — literally " a hewer of
wood and a drawer of water ; " and I realized at last to what
rum had brought me.

Still, — and this fact I record now with satisfaction, — I did
not give up my place because disgusted with myself. No : I
remained a scullion, and tried to discharge my menial duties ;
but as a servant I was not a success, and soon there was an-
other scullion in my stead.

But by this time I had made the acquaintance of a river-
captain, Capt. Daniel Conway of the steamer " Alice Dean,"
to whom I had imparted the outlines of my history, and who
conceived a sincere liking for me. Capt. Conway's vessel was
being put in running order for the season of navigation, and
the kind captain promised me employment on his boat as soon

A STEAMEJi-CLEliK.

216

US it commenced its regular trips. He also kindly suggested
to me that I could tuke up my (quarters on the boat at once ;
that is, I cuuld sleep on board of it at nights. I eagerly availed
myself of tiiis permission, and now begun a new and peculiar
era of my ever-changing life.

Every night I enjoyed to the fullest extent my roomy quar-
ters on the steamer, which at that time I had almost to my-
self. And all day I did nothing but wait, and look at the men
getting the vessel ready, occasionally taking a hand myself
for sheer lack of any thing else to do, and to oblige my kind
friend, the captain. The balance of my time I "loafed," talked
with the deck-hands, or the laborers on the levee, smoked when
anybody offered me a cigar, hung around bar-rooms for " the
free lunches," for which the West is famous, and, alas I took
every opportunity to drink, — and my opportunities were only
too many. There are, unfortunately, always chances to get a
drink. I had also availed myself of my abundant leisure to
write a letter to my brother William, who answered it lovingly,
and sent in his letter a small sum of money for my immediate
wants, a large portion of which small sum went at once to
supply my then most pressing want, — liquor. Finally, "The
Alice Dean" being ready, I was, according to promise, in-
stalled as steamer-clerk, at a fair rate of compensation. And
now began my experiences of life upon a Western river-steam--
boat. Before the great civil war, life on an Ohio or a Missis-
sippi-river steamboat was a very different and more exciting
existence than it has ever been since, or will ever be likely to
be again : still, even in my time, it was bustling and exciting
enough. It brought one into contact with all sorts and con-
ditions of men, and, especially to the young and impressiona-
ble, was ceaselessly and vividly interesting.

Each trip of each steamboat up or down the river was a story
in itself. Then there was the racing with rival boats. Then

■ .

216

THE EXPLOSION OF " THE MOSELLE."

there were the peculiarities of the passengers, the characteris-
tics of the captain and the pilot, the eccentricities of the crew.

Volumes could be written — books Iiave been written, I
believe — on Western steamboat life ; and stories of steamboat
adventure have from time to time appeared in magazines and
newspapers. Thrilling descriptions of steam boat race < have
been published, — terrific, because terrifically true, narratives
of horrible steamboat explosions. Instances have been known
in which the cargo itself of a vess' ' has been used as fuel in
a life or death race. The old story of a negro fastened to the
safety-valve to keep it down during a race is literally true,
lioats have time and time again caught fire while madly ra-
cing, and been, with cargo, crew, and passengers, consumed.

Steamboat explosions were of constant occurrence. One of
the most fearful was the explosion of the steamboat " Moselle "
near Cincinnati. " The Moselle " was a splendid new boat,
sailing between Cincinnati and St. Louis, and was "a crack
boat," a "fast" boat, — one of the very "fastest" on the river.

One pleasant afternoon, just as " The Moselle " was leaving
Cincinnati with an unusual number of passengers, the catas-
trophe occurred. The vessel had been delayed some fifteen
minutes to accommodate the rush of passengers, and was now
starting, under a tremendous force of steam, to overtake an
opposition boat that liad left Cincinnati "on time," and there-
fore with some quarter of an hour's start of "Tlie Moselle."

Just as the bow of the boat was shoved from shore, an explo-
sion took place, by which the whole fore jnirt of the vessel was
l>lown up, and torn into fragments. All the boilers, four in
number, burst at oncp. The power of the explosion was un-
precedented in the Instory of steam. Its efi'ect was like that
of a mine of powder, or of dynamite.

The deck was blown into the air, and all on it were hurled
into eternity. Fragments of boilers and of bodies were thrown

I!!-,

TUE WRECK OF " THE TENNESSEE."

217

upon both the Kentucky and the Ohio shores. One unfortit
nate was hurled with such force, that his head, with one-half oi
his body attached thereto, penetrated the roof of a house over
one hundred and fifty yards distant from the vessel. A few
in the rear of the boat dashed into the water, and swam ashore,
or were rescued by boats ; but the majority of the two hun-
dred and sixty human beings on board were either drowned,
scalded, or mangled. Th"i actual number of lives lost in this
one explosion exceeded oiio hundred and fifty ; and all because
the captain, encouraged by liis passengers, had determined to
overtake and pass an " opposition boat."

The scenery of the Mississippi River has neither beauty nor
sublimity in the ordinary sense of the words, but it pr sesses
the solemn characteristic of "vastness" to a grander and
gloomier degree than any river on the face of the cartli.

The navigation of the river is very dangerous, alike from the
instability of its banks, the impetuosity of its currents, and the
obstacles in the river, — the snugs, planters, or sawyers, as they
are called. Collision with these is certain destruction to a
steamboat, yet such collisions are of frecjuent occurrence.

Tlie steamboat "Tennessee," one dark and sultry night,
struck a snag just above Natchez. She filled with water ra])-
idly, and all was consternation and despair. Then came out
some of the meannesses of human nature. One wn-tch of a
passenger seized a skitT, and pacMh'd round the sinking steamer,
calling out to those on board to throw him a bag, which con-
tained his money. The wretch might have saved, with his
skiflF, a dozen or more passengers ; but lie kept aloof, and oidy
clamored (and, of course, vaitdy) for his money.

Hut, thank God I some of the glorious (jua)ities of human
nature also c.ime to the front in tins dark hour. A yawl was
finally lnunched ; aiul in it there was a place kept for the engi-
neer of "The Tennessee," a young man very popular alike with

218

THE liUJiNiyG OF " THE BEN snEIlROD.

I !

Y ''.i

I I . I.iif

1 i*

crt'W and passengers. But the engineer refused to leave the-
steamlxiat. "Who will work my engine if I quit?" he said.
" I must stay here, and do my duty." And he staid on board,
at his boiler, and did his duty till he died. They tried in
vain to run the vessel on u bar, but she sank in mid-stream ;
and ihe heroic young engineer was drowned in his own

engine-room.

The officer of " The Prairie Belle," who, in the poem, kept his
place througli fire and smoke "till the last galoot was asiiore,"
was a fancy founded on a fact. Let us thank God for such
facts as tliese.

"Hard drinking" among the crew, the passengers, and the
officers of the steamboats, used to be the rule, the prevailing
custom, on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. And several of
the most terrible river-catastrophes occurred directly from the
carelessness and recklessness produced by intemperance. The
burning of the steamer " Ben Sherrod" was a case in point.
One iine evening in May "The Ben Slierrod," one of the finest
and fastest steamers on tlie Mississii)j)i, was trying to get to
Natchez ahead of the steamer " Prairie." Steam was kept at
the highest ^jressure all night, and the energies of the firemen
and crew were taxed to the utmost. In order to encourage
the deck-hands, a barrel of whiskey had been turned over to
them ; and they drank freely, — too fredy, — officers and men
alike.

As "The Sherrod " passed on above Fort Adams, tlie wood
piled up in front of the furnaces several times cauglit fire, bu'
was each time extinguished, so it was thought. Had the men
been sober, the fire would have been altogether extinguished;
as it was, it smouldered, oidy to break out at last furiously.

d its a from 1

i-iety

ipani

order, prevailed, all might have been well ; but, witli a drunken
crew, what could be ex[)ected but what took place, — a scene of

THE n I VER- GAMBLER.

219

unutterable horror ? Two liundreU precious human lives were
lo8t by carelessness and whiskey.

But the dangers on the river-boats were not confined to
fires, explosions, snags, races, or collisions. There was a human
danger on board the boats as formidable as any material terror.
I mean the river-gambler.

Day and night, during the voyage, the card-tables on the
vessels were surrounded by the votaries of chance : sometimes
six and seven tables could be seen scattered along the deck,
from the ladies' cabin to the social hall, or parlor, of the boat, a
game in progress at each table.

The games which were played mostly on the river-steamers
were poker, brag, whist, lioston, and old sledge. Sometimes
regular "banking-games," so called, were "set up " in the "social
hall," or parlor, such as vintft-et-un or faro. According to the
printed rules of these steamers, all gambling was prohibited
after ten o'clock in the evening ; but these rules were seen only
in print, not in practice : and the morning sun dawning on *he
Mississippi rose on many an all-night card-party. The steamboat
officers mingled with the passengers in these games, and the crew
mingled with the officers. Gambling is a great leveller ; and
pilots, deck-hands, and millionnaires used to play cards together.

Life on a Western river-steamer in one respect resembled
closely life in the great metropolis. It was fidl of conti. sts.
At one and the same moment four separate and totally o})])o^v'd
scenes have been taking place on the one steaniboat-dct k. In
the ladies' cabin a group of pious men and womc!? were engaged
in prayer; in the dining-saloon, from which the tables had hcen
removed, a party of young people were dancing merrily to tin-
sound of the fiddle; in the "social hall " a game of faro was
being played, amid the rattle of money and checks; while
beyond was a group of carousers, getting drunk at the gor-
geous " bar."

520

1 REFUSE A PROPOSITION.

I , . .;

R 1 ■ .' •¥■

The river-gamblers, or professional sharpers, who infested
the boats, travelled in small companies, or gangs, but, Avhile on
board a steamer, pretended to be strangers to each other, the
better to avoid suspicion, and the more readily to fleece the
unwary. Their number was always sufficient to make up a
card-party whenever they could induce two or three "gulls"
"to join them in a small game, merely for amusement," as the
phrase was. All sorts of tricks were played upon their victims,
— " stocking the cards," all varieties of cheating, trickery, and
sleight of hand; and, even when a fairly conducted game was
played, the confederates of the sharpers would " look on " as
spectators, and meanwhile communicate i7iformation, or "item-
ize " the cards, to their " pals " by agreed-upon signs. Canes
were twirled in certain ways, cigars were pufled according to
a system, fingers were employed to telegraph the cards, etc.

"Holding out" was a trick much practised by sharpers.
Extra cards would be secreted in laps, or behind necks, and
" rung in " or slipped into the pack secretly, as needed. Sonic
sharpers also played with marked cards. And in some instances
the bar-tenders of the boats were in league with their nefarious
schemes, and shared their plunder. This fact I have most
pi^sitive means of knowing. For while I was clerk on "The
Alice Dean," one oi the bar-keepers of the boat being taken
sick, I acted in his place for a few hours ono day, and, while
thus engaged, was a}>proached by a very gentlemanly-looking
young man, who, mysteriously calling me aside, made a proiu)-
«ition to me that I should be his confederate in cheating the
passengers with marked cards. Of course, he did not say all
tills ill so many, or rather so few, words as I have said it ; but
this is what his proposition amounted to. I listened patiently,
and conimaiided my temper, till the "skin-gunibler," or "rivir-
sliarper," had unbosomed himself freely, and had handed mo
his skilfully marked cards. Then I haiidid him over to Capt.

FUN IN A CROWD.

221

Conway, wlio, after cursing him and kicking him, put him t)ff
the vessel at the next hinding.

Terrible scenes have been enacted on board the river-
steam buats, in whicli the gamblers and their victims have
figured as murderers or murdered. Men, despoiled of all their
wealth at the accursed gaming-table, have committed suicide,
or shot the cheats who robbed them. And in several instances
detected shari»ers have been put oflf the boats, and left at unin-
habited islands to perish slowly and horribly.

But the comedy as we'^ as the tragedy of life has been rep-
resented on the river-boats. There is always a good deal of
"fun" in "a crowd," to those who care to study the latter,
and are capable of appreciating the former. And some of the
customs on the boats were specially amusing. To while away
the time during the voyages, it has been a habit to establish
niock courts of justice, styled " Courts of Un-Common Pleas."
The mandates of these courts are generally obeyed with alac-
rity , but every now and then some contumacious passenger is
found who will not " stand " a practical joke, and who, by his
very " obstinacy," and " standing on his dignity," causes more
fun than anybody else. There was once a strolling actor
called " Tom," " River Tom," who passed most of his time on
the boats going up and down the river, and wlio was always in
demand as " sheriff's officer " in these mock courts. " Tom "
took his r6le in dead earnest, and woe be to the unlucky wight
who dared to resist the mandates of the mock court; he
would be taught that he was dealing with a genuine "shcrilTs
officer," at least. *♦ Tom " was a big, burly chap, and • as
always ready for "a rough and tumble," in the way of "fi.i;,"
of course. He would arrest his man, and bring him before
the mock judge first, at all hazards, fight or no fight : but,
when all was over, " Tom " and his man would take a drink
together ; or, if they didn't, i^ was no fault of " Tom's."

222

A COURT OF UN-COMMON PLEAS.

ii3

On one occasion " a Court of Un-coramon Pleas " was turned
to beneficial account, and the best results were accomplished
through a little "fun." Tlie steamboat was "The White
Cloucl,*' on her way from St. Louis to Louisville; and a mock-
court had been formed. There was a bogus judge, clerk, prose-
cuting attorney, jury, etc. ; and " Tom " was acting-sherilT. On
board the boat was a well-to-do countryman, wlio had been
drinking heavily. It was resolved to try him fur intemperance.
The man's name was Green, and very •' green " he was, — so
verdant and so drunk that he took the whole affair for earnest,
and was frightened out of his little wits. He was brought
before " the honorable court " by " Tom," who had to support
the culprit, who shook with fear. He was tried, and found
guilty, and was asked if he had any thing to say before the
sentence of the court should be pronounced against him.

Then he found his tongue, and stammered forth, "Mister
Judge," he said, "and gintlemen of the jury, I want to say
this much : I am guilty. I don't justify the drinkers of whis-
key. I don't, though I do drink. I drank too much whiskey,
— I know I did. But I didn't feel well ; and I took the whis-
key to make me feel better, but it made me feel worse."
(Poor fellow, he talked good sense just then.) "I know I've
done wrong," he continued, "very wrong, and I deserve pun-
ishment; but I beg and pray this honorable court to have pity
on my wife."

" Ifast thou a wife?" interrupted the judge.

" I have," said the prisoner.

'• And children also ? "

"No, not yet — that is — but I expect to," said the pris-
oner solemnly.

Hern the court was convulsed with laughter. Hut the pris-
oner proceeded still more solemnly, " My wife will become the
mother of a fathorliuMi orphan \f you throw me overboard,^*

A BLESSED JOKE.

"Throw you overboard I Who put that into your head,
prisoner?" asked the judge.

"That mau said I was to be thrown overboard if found
guilty," cried the prisoner, pointing to " Tom." " He said that
I shuiild be punished by being cunipcUed to swallow more
water than I had whiskey."

Here the court and company were convulsed again. When
order was restored, the case proceeded. The judge gave a
charge to the jury, lull of nice, wonderfully nice, points of law,
80 minute that not even a Philadelphia lawyer would have
thought of them, but leaning to mercy's side so far as the
prisoner was concerned. Without leaving their seats, the jury
returned the following verdict : " We find the defendant guilty,
but recommend him strongly to mercy." ,

And then the judge pronounced the prisoner pardoned, but
only on condition that he would at once sign a cast-iron tem-
perance i)ledge. The priaoner, now completely sobered, and
full of gratitude, at once signed the pledge.

Ay, and kept it faithfully. He never drank a drop of liquor
again., and lived happy and respected for twenty years after.
This mock-court juke had been the most blessed reality of all
liis life. Would to Heaven that there could be perpetrated
every day just a thousand such jokes.

Governor Cleveland of New York, in his recent course in
pardoning a man who had been brought to crime by intemper-
ance, on the condition of his pledging himself to drink no more,
has acted on the idea suggested by this blessed "practical joke ;"
and I would that all the rest of the governors would follow his
example.

lint to return to myself. Amid the varied and exciting
scenes of river-steamboat life, I enjoyed myself heartily for
some time, meanwhile discharging my duties as clerk. Hut
soon my social nature, and my popularity with the passengers

224

DRIFTING AGAIN.

and my fellow-officials, proved my bane ; and I took to drinking
at the bar, of which in u few weeks I became one of the best,
or worst, customers.

Drinking constantly, I soon began to neglect my duties ; and,
although the captain remonstrated with me in a friendly way,
I did not heed his expostulations. My curse was once more
upon me, and overcame me at the last. Tired of his vain
expostulations, the captain discharged me from his employ. I
reformed once, was taken back once, fell again, and was then
discharged permanently.

Finally, again workless, hopeless, and penniless, I drifted to
St. Louis.

i (

■ lib

CHAPTER XVIII.

LIFiS IN ST. LOUI^. — ONE OF THB MINOIt DIBADVANTAOEB OF DRIWKINO. —
THE SMELL OK LIQUOK. — SKRIO-COMIC ILLUBTKATIONS AND ANUCDOTES.
— "A UOTEL UUNNBB." — HOW AN IKISUHAN OUTBAWLED MK, AND HOW
I OUTGENEUALI.ED UIH. — " A RAILBOAD-M AN " ONCE MOKK. — MY FA-
THER'S GRAVE.

Arriving in St. Loias, the first thing I did was a thing I
had done already, alas I too often, — take a drink. This I did
from choice. The next tiling I did was also a thing I had
already done too often, — look for work. This I did from sheer
necessity. I was almost literally penniless. For several days
I trudged through St. Louis, seeking employment, but not find-
ing it. On two or three occasions I seemed to impress those I
called upon favorably at first. But, after a talk with me, they
dismissed me in, it seemed to me, disgust. I believe now that
it really was in disgust, — disgust arising from the opportunity I
unwittingly gave them, during my talk with them, of smelling
my breath. The reader may be inclined to smile at this, but
I found it was no smiling matter.

Really, among the many evils that rum-drinking brings with
it, not the least is its pollution of the mouth and breath. This
may be a minor point ; but it has its importance, and its impor-
tant disadvantages. Rum-drinkers unconsciously confess this
themselves by the pains they take to counteract it. There are
at least a half a dozen preparations in vogue among drinking-
men, having for their avowed object the purification of the
breath after its deliberate defouling with the fumes of alcohol.

16 225

226

THE POOR OLD LADY AT THE PLAY.

In Itcatcd rooms, crowded asHeiiiblugcs, mid theatres, tliis
rmu-polluted breath-iiuisanec hecoines quite serious. A case
recently transjiired in which an oUl hidy at a theatre was ren-
dered deathly sick from the vile breath of a strange gentleman
who sat next to lier, and who " went out" to "see a man " be-
tween each act of a live-act play. I'oor old lady, she deserved
sympathy. She had come to the theatre to witness one tra-
gedy. She was compelled to be a spectator of two tragedies,
or a spectator and involuntary actor in an unpaid-for, unex-
pected, and utterly undesired, serio-comedy. The tragedy on
the stage, and the serio-comedy at her side, kept on culminat-
ing together. During each act the tragedy of the actors on
the stage increased in intensity, and after each intermission
the serio-comedy of the man on the seat beside her with the
bad breath deepened in disgust. The play became more liar-
rowing, and the man*s breath grew more horrible simulta-
neously, till at last, between the nervousness caused by what
she saw on the stage, and the imusea caused by what she
smelt off ttf it, the poor old lady ftiihted, and no wonder.

The story of the young lady at a play, who when her escort
told her, during the intermission, tlmt he must "go out for a
moment to see the manager," assured him, taking some canla-
mom-seeds out of her pocket, that she had "brought a manager
with her," contains " a moral."

My experience in St. Louis likewise contains "a moral ;" for
I feel assured, that on several occasions I lost a chance at a
good situation, simply and solely because the parties to whom
I ajjplied for employment smelt my breath.

Hut at last I came across a hotel-man who did not regard my
breath as a disadvantage. It would really be the height of
impudence and unfairness for an average hotel-man (and rum-
seller) to object to a man's smelling of rum. And this partic-
ular hotel-man was so favorably impressed with my general

A GAME OF Ji A HE-BAWL.

227

appenraiico and " talk," that ho engaged me on the spot as a
*' runner," or " tooter," for his liotel.

A bargain between us was soon struck. I was in no condi-
tion to parley long, liesides, the terms oflered me were really
liberal enough. I was to have no wages. I was to receive no
money direct, except what I might " pick up " in odd jobs.
lUit I was to have a room or a bed, and my three meals a day,
at the hotel. And "board and lodging" both mean a good
ileal to a man who is not sure of either. So I became " a hotel
runner."

It was my duty to be at the depots at the arrival of trains,
4vnd to cry out my hotel, and induce i)a88engers to give it a trial.
It was a post requiring activity and lung-power, with assurance.
And I possessed all three qualities in about equal proportions.

Of course, there were other " runners " for other liotcls ; and
■we tried, in the way of business, to out-bawl each otlier. To
make a base pun, it was between us a sort of game of base
"bawl." (N.H. — This joke has been copyrighted, and any in-
fringement upon it will be dealt with according to law.)

For a few days I found myself the most successful "runner,"
because undoubtedly the loudest " bawler." Then " my nose
was put out of joint," or at least my *'jaw"Ava8, by a rival
hotel engaging the services of a big, strapping Irishman, who
had the biggest fist and the biggest mouth I ever remember
seeing, and certainly the very loudest voice I ever remember
hearing. From the moment 1 heard the "high notes" of this
Irishman, I felt my doom as a bawlor was sealed. For two
days, however, I contende<l, though from the start vainly, with
the possessor of this stupendous vocal organ. I yelled myself
houvrtp I nearly burst ii blood-vessel, and cracked my lungs.
' I utterly exhausted my wind-power, while the Irishman se-
re»i"ly screamed an octave higher. It was of no use. I ac-
cepted the inevitable, and I bawled no more.

e>.

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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1.0

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1.25

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Hiotographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WESirBR.N.Y. 14SM

(716) 872-4503

228

CUNNING VERSUS LUNG-POWER.

But I did not abandon my business as a " runner," — no. I
had too much nerve for that, and, I flatter myself, too much wit.
Richelieu is said to have adopted Lysander's motto : " When
the lion's skin falls short, eke it out with the fox's ; " that is to
say, when force fails, try cunning. And I copied from Riche-
lieu, without then thinking either of Richelieu or Lysander.
Poinding I could not out-bawl my Irishman, I tried to out-
general him, and succeeded.

I saved my lungs. I let the Irishman shout away, while I
put on my most winning smiles, and, watching like a hawk all
strangers at the depots, gently approached them, and insinu-
ated myself into their confidence. I did not yell out the name
of my hotel : I merely smilingly and softly suggested it to the
stray passenger. Approaching him or her, I would bow politely
and deferentially, and, as if I were a humble friend and a sin-
cere well-wisher, would insinuate rather than state, that the ho-
tel I had the honor to represent was confessedly the very finest
in St. Louis, — at least the very finest for such a gentleman or
laOv as the passenger. And just as, according to Solomon, "a
soft answer turneth away wrath ; " so, according to Thomas N.
Doutney, my readers m^y rest assured that " a soft, insinuating-
suggestion often turneth the stranger into the hotel to which
he or she should go." I found it so in a score of cases, and
have here the proud satisfaction of recording that I completely
conquered at last my loud-voiced conqueror, and succeeded in
sending more passengers to my hotel than he sent to his.

For a while I enjoyed my victory, and my life as " a hotel
runner." By the by, while on this subject, I have recently
discovered that " hotel running " or " tooting " is not un-
known at Northern fashionable watering-places. At Long
Branch, for instance, last summer a big, burly man (in winter-
time a ticket-speculator in New York) was refrularly employed
as a "runner" for a prominent hotel near the pier, and, by his.

LIFE IN ST. LOUIS.

229

energies and lungs, materially contributed to the prosperity of
his hotel. -

After all, I suppose the business is legitimate enough ; but it
is certainly not of a very intellectual or elevating nature, and
erelong I wearied of it. My associations as a " runner " had
by this time brought me into contact with many railroad-men
around the depots ; and^ having been a " railroad-man " myself,
I gradually drifted back into my old life : and finally, abandon-
ing my career as a " runner," I obtained the more congenial and
botter-paid position of a clerk in the freight-department of the
then North Missouri Railroad. For some time I discharged the
duties of my new position with satisfaction to myself and my
employers, and lived, on the whole, pleasantly and not dishon-
orably in St. Louis.

There is much in St. Louis, as a city, f o attract the stranger,
as well as to charm the resident. It has points and charac-
teristics of its own quite as marked as any that distinguish its
riv.ils, Cincinnati or Chicago. It has a mingled flavor of South-
ern as well as of Western life about it, and, while thoroughly
American, is to a large degree German.

Its " upper classes " are highly cultured. It possesses great
wealth and wonderful resources ; while its " average " citizens,
its middle classes, are honest, law-abiding, and industrious.

But, like all great cities, it is cursed with the vice of intem-
perance. It is a city of drinking-saloons and beer-gardens,
and in these places I was far too frequently to be found. In
short, I kept on drinking as well as working ; and although I
had once more, in my ever-changing life, mastered my business,
and gained a situation, I had not mastered myself, or gained a
victory over my great enemy, — liquor.

But I was not wholly depraved. I did not sink quite so low
in St. Louis as I had sunk elsewhere ; and among a few desira-
ble and respectable acquaintances, I had won, to a certain

-i

230

TBE FATAL LETTER.

fl,'!

t-H

degree at least, the esteem and friendship of a good man, — a
clergyman, — who took an interest in my welfare, temporal and
spiritual, and upon whom I began to look in my comparative
loneliness almost as a second father. My letters came in his
care ; and one ever sadly memorable Sunday evening, when I
called at his house, he handed me a black-bordered letter,
which, from the handwriting, I recognized as being from my
brother William. With a trembling hand, dreading I knew
not what, I broke the seal ; and my worst possible fears were
realized. Death had invaded our family circle , and my father,
my true, real, only, much-loved father, was no more. Two
weeks before I received the letter he had departed this life, and
had gone to receive the reward of the just and the good. The
hot tears coursed down my cheeks as I thought how many pangs
I had caused him by my dissolute conduct, and he so patient,
loving, and hopeful of his erring son. He never gave me up,
nor abandoned me ; and my emotions overcame me. I should
have fallen to the floor had not the venerable clergyman sup-
ported me, and led me to a room, where my long-pent-up agony
could no longer be controlled. Naturally sensitive, I now felt
keener than ever the loss of my father, and my own ingratitude.
I realized what a wretch I had been. I could stand it no
longer; but, rushing out on the streets of St. Louis, I knew
^ot nor cared not what I did. Alas ! in my grief and despair
I sought a temporary relief in my old curse, — rum. I drank
and drank until my brain was doubly maddened; and then,
oh, strange inconsistency ! with my brain on fire with liquor, I
tried to pray. My father was dead ! These words were ring-
ing in my ears with a fearful meaning. I, a wanderer from
home, in my dark hours had heard the sad tidings ; and I knew
I should never see him more. All night I paced the streets,
and wished I was dead. I besought God to take me out
of the world. I felt I was in one sense a murderer,— the

>i' ;?-» <

'^>^ ..^^ i*

My long-piMit-np agony louUI no longer be controllfd" [p. 2;$0],

A FATHER BEAD.

231

murderer of a loving parent; for my conduct had been the
means of hurrying my poor father to the grave. I feel even
now, that, if he could only have been spared to see me a
reformed man, I would willingly have suffered ten thousand
times the amount I have ; but he was not permitted to do so,
and with sad misgivings for his eldest son he must have passed
away. The first glass was the occasion of all my trouble and
much of his. For God's sake beware of the first glass. But,
thank God ! my dear father is not even now wholly lost to me.

" Not lost forever, whilst around me springing

The violets weep, the roses blush and bloom,
And summer birds, in summer woodlands singing.

Flood with soft rapture all the tranquil gloom ;
Not lost forever, though on earth we've parted ;

Not lost forever, though we meet no more : ,

They do not wander sad and broken-hearted

Who see heaven's radiance from this mortal shore. !
There shall be meaning in the stars and flowers,

The deep and solemn voices of the sea.
Telling of happy dreams, of happy hours.

Of life and sunshine which it caught from thee."

How I got through that terrible Sunday I scarcely know, but
it passed ; and early Monday morning I went to the railroad
oflRce where I was employed, and saw personally the president
of the road, Mr. Isaac Sturgeon. He had already heard, casu-
ally, from the clerks of my father's death; and when, with
faltering voice, I told him that I desired to return East to pay
my last and only tribute to his memory by looking on all that
was visible of him, — his grave, — he at once kindly furnished
me with a ticket to Boston.

Sc I left St. Louis, and turned my face northward and
eastward, starting on a sadly solemn journey, terminating in
a father's grave.

232

AT MY FATIIEIVS GRAVE.

While en route^ sad and penitential thoughts possessed me.
But, reaching New York, 1 met, unfortunately, with some of
my " old cronies," my former dissolute companions in the great
metropolis. Temporarily oblivious of my grief, I once more
sought distraction in drink. Alas, alas ! the awful shadows
from a dear one's grave cannot stand successfully to bar the
path that leads the drunkard to his rum and ruin ! On the
way to my father's tomb I " went on a spree " (as the fearful
and fearfully familiar slang phrase goes), and yet I loved my
father. Finally I arrived in Boston with saddened heart, but
also with shattered nerves and an aching head.

,At the depot I met my brothers, who were anxiously await-
ing me. Our meeting was affecting ; for we sincerely loved
each other, and had all loved the one we had just lost. With
tears I heard the full particulars of my dear father's death.
He had died, as he had lived, in the fear and love of God. He
had died, as every true man would wish to die, at peace with
God and the world. The prayer in his case had been fulfilled :
" Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end
be like his;" and "we sorrowed, but not as those without
hope.'* )

And then we brothers went to our father's grave in the
small cemetery near Forest Hills.

" Only this, only this,

All this love and all this trust ;
Only this, only this.

Only a handful of quiet dust,
And a grave beneath the daisies."

And, kneeling down beside it, I humbly prayed, and asked
the Divine forgiveness, and the forgiveness of that father whom
I trusted was now a saint in heaven. Sinner that I was, I was
sincere in this prayer; and I arose feeling that my cry had
been heard, and that my father now ".ooked smiling from above.

CHAPTER XIX.

MY NEWSPAPER-LIFE IN NEW YORK. — AUTHOHS, CRITICS, WRITERS, AND
JOURNALISTS AS DRINKING-MEN. — HOW HORACE GREELEY BEGAN A niN-
NER-SPEECH. — SMART MEN vhO PUT AN ENEMY INTO THEIR MOUTHS
TO STEAL AWAY THEIR BRAINS. — ALCOHOLIC STIMULANTS A CURSE TO
TALENT. — FAST BALLS, AND THEIR SURROUNDINGS. — BUSINESS AND
DRINK. — A BLESSING THAT PROVED A BANE.

Having performed the last sad offices in memory of the dear
departed, I had now to return to tlie world, and face realities.
My situation was practically this: here I was in Boston again,
with little money and no situation. M}- place in St. Louis had
been filled, and I had small prospects of procuring a place
in Boston. I again resumed the by this time to me familiar
occupation of looking for occupation ; but I was not, as usual,
successful. After spending a few days with my poor, discon-
solate brothers, as their guest, not wishing to tax their resources
further, I bade them an affectionate and sorrowful adieu, not
knowing when, if ever, we should meet again, and went to New
York, the great city which has alwa3'S exercised on me the
same fascination that it has upon thousands of others. I
turned to New York as the moth turns to flutter around the
candle.

Arriving in New York, I conceived an idea, upon which
I forthwith acted. • It proved " a happy thought." I believe I
have previously mentioned the fact that my dear, lamented
father had for a while been in the employ of the proprietors of
" The Arm)"- and Navy Journal," the Messrs. Church Broth-
■ers. Upon these gentlemen, the Church Brothers, I at once

233

234

"SPENDING" MONEY

called ; and, availing myself of the respect and kindly remem-
brance they cherished towards my father, I asked them for
work. They granted my request. The kindness tliey had
extended to the father, they continued to the son.

I breathed a hearty sigh of relief when I had obtained this
new situation, for it indeed relieved me of burdening anxieties.
True, I had earned a good salary in St. Louis ; but I had spent
tlie major portion thereof in liquor.

Of how many hundreds, of how many thousands, of salary-
drawing men can these words be trutlifuUy written, they
"spend the major portion of their salai-ies in liquor I " Poor
fools ! and yet they would resent the being called a fool.

I was again in a fairly paid position. I had the opportunity
to honestly and easily earn needful and comfortable board,
lodging, and clothing, and a chance to even save money besides.
I earned my money, but what did I do with it when earned ?
True, I " lived," and lived fairly well in all material points.
Sc ' ' o good ; but what did I do with my spare money, my
OA' ]-above-expenses money ? Did I consider it as " sav-

ing " money, or as (to use that frigh'tfully familiar and expres-
sive phrase) '■'' spending money." Heaven foigive me for my
folly, but I spent it all. I saved nothing ; and, incredibly silly
as it was, I spent most of it in rum.

Having suffered from intemperance as I had suffered, one
would naturally reason that I would hereafter shun indulgence
in liquor. But I did not shun the cup : I sought it.

I was now " a newspaper-man," — at least a man connected
with a newspaper : and " newspaper-men," great and small,
have their own peculiar temptations ; and among their strong-
est temptations is intemperance. There was a public dinner
once given in the Astor House to De Groot, the projector of
the Vanderbilt Bronzes, or monument, near St. John's Park.
To this dinner Horace Greeley was invited, and he accepted the

WRITEIIS AS DHINKEliS.

235

invitiition. The veteran editor, with his shrewdly benevolent
fiice, sat at the head of the table, and ate heartily, bnt drunk
nothing but water ; though all the rest took wine, and took it
freely. After a while Mr. Greeley was called upon for a speech ;
and, rising, he connnenced as t\)llows: "I have already seen
two generations of editors die drunk, and I am expecting tO'
live to see the third generadon follow Hieir example." This
" opening " was gre'^ted with good-natured laughter, everybody
making allowances for what they called the " old man's cold-
water hobby." IJut in these words Horace Greeley uttered a
most lamentable but luuleniable truth. It was hardly polite
for him, under the circumstances, I confess, to say the words
at all: but perhaps he meant them for a warning to his hearers;
and, as a mere matter of fact, they contained as much truth as.
ever was printed in any editorial in the " Tribune."

Newspaper-men (reporters, corres})ondents, critics, editors),
magazine-writers, poets, novelists, dramatists, writers generally
of books and papers, as a class, are hard drinkers. Writincf-
men are drinking-men. It is a sad truth, but a positive fact.
True, Shakspeare, the greatest of modern writers, in some
respects the greatest of all writers, has put into the mouths of
some of his immortal characters immortal words protesting
against intemperance.

" Oh that men will put an enemy into their mouths to steal away
their brains ! "

"O thou invisible Spirit of Wine, if thou hast no other name to
be known by, let us call thee Devil."

And yet Shakspeare, unless persistently belied, was a drink-
ing man himself, and, it is even said, died from the effects of a
drinking " bout."

Before Shakspeare's times, and since, poets have sung the
praises of wine, from Horace to Moore. And in plays and

236

TUE noil EM IAN S OF NEW YORK.

operiis drinking-songs have ever been popular. Tlie most
brilliant operatic nuisic Avhich liolds the lyric stage to-day
ttcconipanies a libretto of wine-bibbing. The literature of in-
temperance is voluminous and fearfully fascinating, and it
pervades prose as well as poetry. The novelists have been
mostly drinking-men, and have never protested in their famous
books against intemperance. Other evils have been wonder-
fully well described, and wonderfully well reprobated; but the
evils of rum-drinking have yet to find their Cliarles Dickens
or their Victor Hugo.

Perhaps the most " original " and exceptionally gifted of
American writers, Edgar A. Poe, fell a victim to the curse of
intemperance. And his fatal vice has found, among his less-
gifted but equally weak lil .ary associates, hundreds of imi-
tators and fellow-victims.

And among that brilliant but erratic class, called, for a lack
of a more distinctive name, "Bohemians," i.e., writers for
magazines and journals, liquor has reigned supreme. Time
was when the Bohemians of New York comprised probably as
brilliant a set of men as were ever congregated in one city at
one time in the world. The old " Leader " newspaper, and the
old " Knickerbocker " magazine, numbered among their con-
tributors some of the brightest spirits that periodical literature
or journalism has ever been able to boast of. They assembled
nightly at Pfaff s famous old restaurant ; and around those plain
tables were uttered "thoughts that breathe, and words that
burn." Literary, dramatic, and musical matters were discussed
with zest and intelligence ; and religion and philosophy were
treated of in a truly catholic and philosophical spirit. But,
unfortunately, these high matters Avere discussed over beer or
ardent spirits ; and the liquors gradually got the better or the
worse of the brilliant men who partook so continually and
copiously of them.

UOW SOME JOUliNALISTS UAVE LIVED A^'D DIED. 237

The brilliant ideas soon passed away, and were forgotten
too often with the convivial occasion that gave them birth;
but the evil effects of the evil spirits endured and increased,
till at last beer obliterated brains, and alcohol destroyed the
writers one by one. Of the IJoheniians of Pfaff's, but two
remain alive in New York to-day. The rest of the brilliant
band have perished wrecks. Que, by far the most brilliant of
the number, lived to become an object of aversion to those
who did not know him, and of charity to those who did ; till
at last he died a pauper. Another of the number wandered
for months around the streets of Mev\ Vork, a homeless tramp,
sleeping in the station-houses in wintei, and in the city-paiks
in summer, till one day he perished of mingled whiskey and
starvation. A third died horribly of deiirnim in his prime.
A fourth perished early of excess. A fifth expired in a hospi-
tal, and so the death-list rolled up. It is not saying too much
to state, that, had it not been for liquor, nine-tenths of those
brilliant Bohemians would have been alive to-day.

And history repeats itself. Just as the writers of the last
generation " died drunk ; " so maiiy of the newsjjaper-writers
of the present generation are going down to their premature
deaths, killing themselves slowly but surely by rum.

One of the ablest writers on one of our leading journals died
two or three years ago, having never been wholly sober for a
day at a time for years. His unfortunate fondness for liquor
was well known, and great allowances were made for it. But
at last the proprietor of the journal which he had so long,
ably, and faithfully served was compelled to discharge him.

Even then he was given what odd jobs of work could
possibly be allotted to him, but even these jobs were not
attended to. He was no't in a fit condition to attend to them.

The unfortunate man had a family to whom he was de-
votedly attached, though not as devotedly as he was to liquor.

288

A POOR YOUNG VICTIM OF INTEMPERANCE.

For a wee!- at a time this family would be forced to live upon
bread, — bare bread without meat, sometimes even without
butter. On one occasion it was ascertained, that, although
the weather was piercing cold, the family had had no fire
in the house for five days and nights. There was no money in
the pockets of the husband and the father to buy coal or food.
This broke the old man's heart ; and he died, leaving his family
Ui,terly destitute.

Another attache of a prominent evening journal, although a
personal favorite of the proprietor, was several times dismissed
for intemperance, and taken back on solemn promises of refor-
mation, which were constantly broken. Finally he was admon-
ished that his next offence would be fatal, a bar to all possible
future employment on that journal. With this warning in his
«ars, he was sent to a fashionable summer resort to report
"the season." This post was a fairly lucrative one, an honor-
able one, an easy one comparatively ; but it necessarily brought
him into social and professional relations with sporting-men,
politicians, and men of the world, all drinking-men. In an
«vil hour he forgot the admonition he had received, and fell.
One night he was seen around the hotels beastly drunk, and,
of course, was not able the liext day to send on his required
*' letter."' Inquiries were made about him, and a statement of
his condition was sent on to the New- York office of the jv^urnal.
One morning, as the poor young victim of intemperance was
in his hotel-room, trying to "brace himself up," and "sober
down," as he sat up in his bed, fevered and nervous, a knock
was heard at his door, and a letter was brought to him by an
attendant. The letter was from the office in New York, curtly
dismissing him forever from his position on the journal with
which hs had been connected for j'ears.

In a fit of unavailing despair, the poor young victim of
intemperance, utterly demoralized, hung himself by his sua*

THE SHADOW OF AN AWFUL DOOM.

239

penders to Ids own bedpost. He was found, in the afternoon,
cold and dead : the woman he loved was a helpless widow, and
"rum did it."

One of the ablest and nios^, experienced editors connected
with the New- York press is subject to periodical " sprees," in
which he disappears, and wanders off from tavern to tavern
till the fit is passed, leaving him for weeks as helpless as a
child. It is confidently expected, among others by the afflicted
editor himself, that sooner or later, in one of these periodical
sprees, the temporary madman will meet Lis death. The
shadow of an awful doom is hanging over him ; and yet he
lacks the nerve, the moral courage, the will, to do the only thing
that will or can save him, — abstain wholly from alcohol.

Perhaps there is a creature connected with this self-doomed
■ec'-'tor even more to be pitied than the editor himself. I mean
his devoted wife, who suffers more than tongue can tell during
these awful absences of her husband, who is, at all other times,
fi mod:l husband.

Many other cases could be cited ; but will not these suffice ?
Suffice it to state, that at least four-fifths of the newspaper-men
of New York are addicted to intemperance, and the same pro-
portion holds in the newspaper-men of other cities.

And yet there is not the slightest necessity for this. The plea
that writers and thinkers require spirituous stimulants is a false
plea, utterly unfounded in either theory or fact.

The true theory is, that the ams and nervous system of
writers, thinkers, and students, being necessarily taxed in an
unusual degree, they should, more than other men, avoid all
dxtra, unnecessary, and artificial stimulation. The real fact of
the matter is, that the leading writers, thinkers, and students do
NOT indulge to any degree, if at all, in stimulants. " Smart "
men often drink, but the very " smartest " men do not.

Mr. A. Arthur Reade has recently compiled a very interest-

240

STUDY AND STIMULANTS.

ing and valuable little volume, entitled " Study and Stimu-
lants ; or, The Use of Intoxicants and Narcotics in Relation to
Intellectual Life," as illustrated by personal communications on
the subject from men of letters and of science.

The editor of this little volume [which has been ably reviewed by
the critic of " The New- York Tribune "] has made a contribution both
interesting and valuable to the study of the effect of stimulants upon
mental activity. He has taken pains to collect personal opinions and
experiences from men distinguislied in literature and science, and has
thereby arrived at conclusions which ought to l)e serviceable to think-
ers. These conclusions are as follows : ( 1 ) That alcohol and tobacco
are of no value to a healthy student. (2) That the most vigorous
thinkers and hardest workers abstain from both stimulants. (3)
That those who have tried both moderation and total abstinence, find
the latter the more healthful practice. (4) Tliat almost every brain-
worker would be the better for abstinence. (5) That the most
abstruse calculations may be made, and the most laborious mental
work performed, without artificial stimulus. (6) That all work done
under the influence of alcohol is unhealthy work. (7) That the only
pure brain stimulants are external ones, ■> — fresh air, cold water, walk-
ing, riding, and other out-door exercises.

Not one of the eminent men whose letters Mr. Reade prints has
resorted to alcohol for inspiration as stimulus to thought, though a
few of them use it moderately as a support under conditions of
mental and physical exhaustion. Mr. Gladstone has always abstained
from the use of very strong and fiery stimulants, and smoking he
detests. When Littr6, the French philosopher, felt the strain upon
his system produced by continuous thought, he repaired his* natural
forces, not with alcohol or tobacco, but with doses of fruit jelly or
jam, pots of which he kept conveniently at hand in his study. Dr.
Henry Maudsley does not consider alcohol or tobacco to be in the
least necessary or beneficial to a person who is in good health. '^ I
am of opinion," he says, " that any supiiosed nee. ssity of one or the
other to the hardest or best mental bodily work, by such a person, is

WHAT GREAT AUTHORS THINK OF ALCOHOL. 241

purely fanciful. He will certainly do harder and sounder work with-
out then^.. I am speaking, of course, of a person in health : by a
person not in health they may be used properly, from time to time, as
any other drug would be used." Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes holds
much the same opinions. He prefers an entirely undisturbed and
unclouded brain for mental work, unstimulated by any thing stronger
than tea or coffee, unaffected by tobacco or othei drugs.

While Professor Tyndall does not think that any general rule can
be laid down, he is of the opinion that that man is happiest who is
so organized as to be able to dispense with the use of both alcohol
and tobacco. Sir William Thomson thinks that neither tobacco nor
alcohol is of the slightest consequence as a stimulus or help to intel-
lectual efforts.

Mr. E. A. Freeman has no liking for the scented weed. " I tried
it once or twice when young," he writes ; " but, finding it nasty, I did
not try again. Why people smoke, I have no notion. If I ain tired
of work, a short sleep sets me up again."

Jules Simon regards the use of tobacco as a practice much to be
deprecated, as its tendency is to separate men from the society of
women. He believes, too, that, when taken in excess, it has a stu-
pefying effect, and that it may act as a poison. A French senator
who departed this life not long ago, assured him repeatedly that he
was dying from the effects of constant smoking.

Mr. Charles Reade does not mention the use of alcohol, but
expresses decided opinions in the matter of tobacco. "I tried to
smoke five or six times, but it always made me heavy and rather sick :
therefore, as it is not a necessary of life, and costs money, and makes
me sick, I spurned it from me. I have never felt the want of it. I
have seen many people the worse for it. I have seen many people
apparently none the worse for it. I never saw anylx)dy perceptibly
the better for it."

Mr. W. D. Howells never uses tobacco, except in a rare self-defen-
sive cigarette, when a great many other people are smoking ; and he
commonly drinks water at dinner. When he takes wine, he thinks it
weakens his work and his working-force. Mr. Thomas Hardy has

242

A SENSIBLE LETTER.

never smoked a pipeful of tobacco in his life, nor a cigar ; and his
impression is, that its use would be very injurious in his case. So far
as he has observed, it is far from beneficial to any literary man. Mr.
Hardy goes on to say, " I have never found alcohol helpful to novel-
writing in any degree. My experience goes to prove, that the effect
of wine, taken as a preliminary to imaginative work, is to blind the
writer to the quality of what he produces rather than to raise its
quality."

Mr. Philip Gilbert Hamerton's letter is one of the most interest-
ing and sensible in the volume : —

"lam quite willing to answer your question about tobacco. I
used to smoke in moderation ; but six years ago some young friends
were staying at my house, and they led me into smoking more in the
evenings tlian I was accustomed to. This brought on disturbed nights
and dull mornings ; so I gave up smoking altogether, as an experi-
ment, for six months. At the end of that time, I found my general
health so much improved, that I determined to make abstinence a
permanent ruic, and have stuck to my determination ever since, with
decided benefit. I shall certainly never resume smoking. I never
use any stimulants whatever when writing, and I believe the use
of them to be most pernicious : indeed, I have seen terrible results
from them. When a writer feels dull, the best stimulant is fresh
air. Victor Hugo makes a good fire before writing, and then opens
the windows. I have often found temporary dulness removed by
taking a turn out of doors, or simply by adopting Victor Hugo's
plan."

The venerable James Martineau (now seventy-seven), who is prac-
tically an abstainer, has untroubled sleep and digestion, and has
retained the power of mental application with only this abatement
perceptible to himself, that a given task requires a somewhat longer
time than in fresher days. Few things, he believes, do more at a
minimum of cost to lighten the spirits, and sweeten the temper of
families and of society, than the repudiation of artificial indulgences.
? . George Augustus Sala says that he has been a constant smokier
for nearly forty years ; but, had he to live his life over again, he would

AUTHORS WHO iVERE NOT DRUNKARDS.

243

■n's

ies.
uld

never touch tobacco in any shape or form. He complains that drink-
ing to excess weakens the eyesight, mpairs the digestion, plaje. havoc
with the nerves, and interferes with the action of the 1 art.

Professor Paul Bert, the well-known savant, sums up his opinions
in the following propositions : —

" (1) Whole populations have attained to a high degree of civil-
ization and prosperity without having known either tobacco or alcohol :
therefore these substances are neither necessary nor even useful to
individuals as well as races. (2) Very considerable quantities of
these drugs, taken at a single dose, may cause death : smaller quanti-
ties stupefy, or kill more slowly. They are, therefore, poisons, against
which we must be on our guard."

William Cullen Bryant, editor and poet, was a very abstemi-
ous man ; Longfellow was extremely temperate in his habits ;
Horace Greeley, the most influential journalist of his time, was
" a teetotaler." Numerous other examples could be cited ; but
certainly the list I have just given proves inconfestably the
point, that artificial stimulants are not in the slightest degree
essential to literary achievement.

Consequently, I would here take the libc ly of urging upon
writers, students, and literary men, the absolute importance of
temperance, and would earnestly and respectfully record my
protest against the drinking-habits of newspaper-men.

But it is, after all, not their professional life, but their social
life, that leads most newspaper-men to drink. They " indulge,"
not from even any fancied idea of nervous necessity, but from
sheer conviviality.

They attend theatres largely, and go to public balls ; and in
these crowded places they meet associates, male and female,
with whom they imbibe wine and alcoholic stimulants.

Of late years the great public balls of New York have be-
come saturnalias of intemperance. I allude, not only to the
*' fast " public balls, " the French balls," so called, but to even

litittmm

244

PUBLIC BALLS.

the balls of the highest grade, — the fashionable " charity ball/*"
and the popular " Liederkranz."

The scenes at the suppers and in the " wine-rooms " of these
public balls are often so gross as almost to be beyond respect-
able description. In plain English, at these balls men and
women, ladies and gentlemen, often get drunk together.

Any ball hahituS will bear me out in my assertion, that not
only married ladies, but their daughters ; not only men, but the
female members of their families, — can be seen at every public
ball held at the Academy of Music, in a state of stimulation
and exhilaration from wine closely bordering upon positive in-
toxication.

The most "profitable" pecuniarily of all the "privileges"
connected with a ball are the " wine " and " bar " privileges.
Some public balls are every season gotten up wholly by wine-
dealers as a vehicle to advertise and dispose of their wares :
they are known among the initiated as " wine-balls." The
statistics of the number of bottles sold at these " wine-balls "
are, to a thoughtful mind, simply frightful. And there can be
no manner of doubt that these public balls have become the
most demoralizing agents among our public amusements.

Attending these balls regularly, and as a matter of " busi-
ness," being of necessity conspicuous parts of these balls,
it is the most natural, though lamentable, thing in the world,
that the reporters should yield to the temptations by which
they are surrounded. I write this more in sorrow than in
censure, for I have ever cherished a tender regard for " news-
paper-men ; " and it is for the sake of this iender regard,
that I would here, in taking leave of this subject, warn thfr
newspaper-writers of the present day against that vice to which
they are so peculiarly exposed, — intemperance. I wish to
Heaven some one had warned me, at the period of my life of
which I am now writing, against the peculiar dangers of a

A DEPOr-MASTEB AND A FOOL — BOTH.

245

newspaper-career, and that I had taken heed of the warning.
But, as it was, I yielded without a struggle to my old enemy,
•drink, and soon became a confirmed sot, with just enough re-
straint over myself not to directly lose my position on my paper
by neglecting my imperative duties. But my employers began
to be dissatisfied with me, and no wonder ; and, having been
brought by my newspaper duties into relations more or less in-
timate with railroad officials, I finally applied for and obtained a
situation on the People's Despatch, a fast freight-line owned by
the then existing Merchants' Union Express Company, of which
Mr. Van Duzen was the general agent. I had ever taken kindly
to " railroad-life ; " and in my new position, spite of my dissolute
habits, I gave such satisfaction, that I was promoted to take
charge of the entire depot business of the company at Boston,
to which city I was now transferred. Here my position was
technically that of " depot-master ; " my superior officer being
Fred. Wilde, Esq., a very capable and efficient railroad-man,
"who was then, as afterwards, general freiglit and ticket agent
for tlie Western Union Railroad at Racine, Wis.

I pleased Mr. Wilde, and my prospects were now flattering.
Had I been wise and self-controlled, had I only left rum alone,
I would doubtless have from this time gone onward and up-
wai'd. I understood thoroughly every department of my busi-
ness. I liked my work, and my associates liked me. I had a
fair salary, with a chance for advancement. How many thou-
sands of young men would have thanked God for my opportu-
nities, and availed themselves of them to the utmost. But I
deliberately threw away my chances for a steady, profitable
career, and, having saved a little money, made up my mind to
spend it in ^^ seeing life ; '^ that is, in drinking rum, for I had
reached that fearful stage when " rum " was " life." I blush
now to record it ; but I absolutely and deliberately resigned my
position as depot-master (spite of the protests of Mr. Wilde,

I I

246

TIIE UPWAliJ) I'A'fU.

who furnished me kindly with letters of indorsement), and
started off on ray travels, or sprees, visiting and drinking — the
two terms with me were synonymous — in New York, Phila-
delphia, Baltimore, and Canada, wasting my time, health,
and money in foolish, fatal dissipation. " Ephraim was joined
to his idols " indeed.

With all the blessings of life showered upon me from above,
I deliberately let the golden shower fall in vain. With all my
business opportunities and business abilities, I became an idler
and a drunkard ; while other young men, no more gifted by na-
ture, and no more favored by fortune, than myself, became, by
steady attention to business, infinitely my superiors. Thei/
took the path that led upward.

And here let me draw the parallel, or the contrast, between
two persons starting with even prospects in life, and show how
sobriety, and attention to duty, must prosper, and intemperance
and its corresponding neglect must fail. When I was in the
freight-department in New York, a young man, C. De Kalb
Townsend, was appointed to a subordinate position in the same
place. He was a gentleman of unexceptionable character, and
soon gained the esteem and respect of his employers. He and
I were transferred the same day, — he to take charge of the
freight-depot at Albany, and I at Boston. His course was up-
ward ; his promptness insured it : and he was soon appointed
head agent in Albany, then superintendent of the western divis-
ion at Cleveland, O., and is to-day, as I write, general freight-
agent for the New-England States, for this same company.
His office is at No. 1 Court Street, corner of Washington, Bos-
ton. I, with advantages equal to his, if not greater, threw
them all away, just for my inordinate desire for strong drink.
I could cite other examples of this contrast, drawn from my
own experience ; but two will speak as eloquently as two hun-
dred, for the two hundred are but repetitions of the two.

STRONG DliINK VERSUS IWSINESS.

247

Strong drink and business cannot go together: one or the
other must be abandoned. I would implore all you young men
who occupy any position in the mercantile world, if you are
addicted to the use of stimulants in any shape, for Heaven's
sake abandon their use before it is too late ! Ninety-nine out
of one hundred who continue in the habit are ruined, and the
hundredth one is scorched. Total abstinence is the only abso-
lute safeguard for the success, happiness, and prosperity of a
business-man.

There are many employers, who, though drinking-men them-
selves, partaking occasionally of champagne, or even something
stronger, will not have any employees who drink. And
although they act inconsistently as regards themselves, and
unfairly as regards their clerks, thej' act wisely as regards their
own mercantile interests. The records show, that, in the major-
ity of cases, defaulting clerks and dishonest cashiers have been
*' drinking-men."

There was a wise old king who held that there was a woman
to every piece of mischief. Undoubtedly, the old king's theory
had much to support it: women have done a deal of evil as
well as of good in the world. But, really, wine has done
more harm and far less good than woman.

Take the statistics of crime to-day, examine the figures in
any country or city, and you will find that by far the larger
proportion of crimes are committed by drinking-men. I
include not only the crimes committed in the heat of passion,
—r murders, — etc., but the cooler and more calculating crimes
of forgery and theft.

So that tliose business-men are prudent, who, even if they
are not temperate men themselves, make it a rule to employ
only temperance men. My only wonder now, looking back,
and writing about the past, is, not that I got along so badly
in my early business-life, but that, under the circumstances,

248

TEE FAMILY THAT DID DRINK.

with my hard drinkmg-habits, I got along so well, or got along
at all. I would not now employ such a young man myself as
I once was. I would be afraid to. I would expect to have my
business neglected, or my trust violated ; and, in nine cases out
of ten, my anticipations would be realized.

Drinking-habits are the worst possible habits for young men
in business ; and, conversely, temperate, totally abstinent, hab-
its are the very best possible habits for young business-men.
Just as a drinking-man generally falls, so a non-drinkiug man
generally rises. Illustrations of this last fact abound on every
side, — conspicuous examples, like Peter Cooper in New York,
G. W. Childs in Philadelphia (the latter " a newspaper-man,"
by the by, and a great one, who has never taken a drink, or
used tobacco, in his life), and literally hundreds of others.
And in humbler, less public, more ordinary, life, the examples
of the benefits of " temperance " in business are numberless.

I met, when a very young man, two families; became intimate
with them. They were both poor; but the head of the one
family was a whiskey -drinker, and the head of the other family
had never taken a drop of ardent spirits in his lifei

The first family was composed of a father and mother and
two sons, all able to do a -day's work and earn a day's wages,
and save part. But the father only worked by fits and starts,
a week now and then, a day now and then, or not at all : the
rest of his non-working time, and all his spare time, he passed
at taverns.

His sons naturally followed his example, were sometimes to
be seen carousing with their own father, and were generally in
low company.

The wife and mother protested and begged in vain : neither
husband, father, nor sons would heed her protests or her prayers ;
so at last she lost heart, and took to drinking herself. At one
time I have seen the whole family, wife and husband, mothei

TUE FAMILY TUAT DID NOT DRINK.

249

tind sons, drunk together, — the most awful sight upon the
earth.

The family are all " gone under " now. The father died of
mania a potu; the eldest son died a tramp, and in a drunken
brawl ; the other son is in Sing-Sing prison, " doing time " for
stealing; and the mother is over on Blackwell's Island.

This was the poor family that did drink.

The second family consisted of a father, mother, and two
young boys, — a family constituted like the first, save that the
members of the first family were all stronger and more robust in
their physical health, and had therefore the decided advantage.

But the head of this second family worked day and night;
and his wife and children worked with him and beside him, —
worked hard and steadily, though they had no " regular work,"
so called. They had no " situations : " all they could get to do
was, for a long while, " odd jobs." But they were always try-
ing to get what jobs they could, and were always doing their
best at any jobs they got.

At last the father got a place, — a place in a store where he
had to work hard for very little ; but he did his best gratefully
and zealously. One day a vacancy occurred among t)ie boys in
the store : the hard-working father recommended his own son
for the place ; and, judging the son by the father, the recommen-
dation was accepted. Then, a woman was needed to look after
the building as a janitress : and the hard-working husband rec-
ommended his wife for the place ; judging the wife and mother
by the husband and son, the recommendation was .accepted:
and in a little while a place was found about the establishment
for the remaining child.

Father, mother, and children were now all on wages together
at one place. All at work together, not all drunk together.

Work, like blood, will tell. And to-day that once poor
iamily are in business for themselves. The mother keeps a

260

•' GOING DOWN."

triinming-store, doing a lively trade, with her youngest son aa
her industrious clerk and honest cashier; the father is in a
shipping-house down town, getting a fair salary, and enjoying
tiie esteem of his employers ; and the eldest son is in the office
of the Erie Railroad, a rising young man.

And this is the once poor family that did not, and does not,
and never will, drink. I have known cases in which the greatest
advantages have been neutralized solely by drink ; and I have
known cases in which the solitary advantage possessed was, that
the party did not drink. And yet this one last solitary point
in his favor has brought many a man to competency and peace,
while all the points in favor of the others have been brought
to naught by rum.

In my own immediate circle of acquaintances, I have known
a man who, while keeping a large family solely on his small
earnings as a clerk in a lace-store, with no prospects in life
ahead worth speaking of, yet found, or rather made, time to
start a little business of his own ; his wife making neckties,
and the children going round peddling them. From the re-
ceipts of this little extra business, h^ managed to accumulate
a little money, which, prudently invested, became the founda-
tion of a fortune. But, if he had been a drinking-man, he
would never have had either the energy, or the time, or the
means, to start this little outside business, which ultimately
proved his salvation. It was because he did not waste his time
and money in drink, that he had time to think out, and the
wherewithal to start, this blessed little business. And his case
is but one of thousands.

But I heeded not. I kept on with my idleness and my waste,
my self-indulgence and my intemperance, till my means were
almost exhausted, and my health almost shattered, going delib-
erately down, and yet hoping rv^oklessly that something would
"turn up."

" TURNING UP."

251

And something did "turn up." "The unexpected always
happens," says the French proverb ; and an utterly unexpected
and undeserved piece of good fortune now fell to my lot. I
met n.n old acquaintance who had in former days been yery
friendly to me, and who was now in the possession of ample
means. In the most generous manner this true friend loaned
me a large sum of money, and thus enabled me, spite of my
worthlessness and dissipation, to realize all the material advan-
tages of industry and sobriety. Dear friend, he was actuated
only by the most generous impulses, and by the most sincere
desire for my success. But I was in such a state, and had
gradually acquired such a character, or, rather, lack of charac-
ter, that his kindness now did me far more harm than good,
as the reader will see in the course of my next chapter.

My doom was sealed. I only wonder that it was not sealed
for eternity.

CHAPTER XX.

■A SILI.Y AND SINFUL VOW KEALIZUD. — I BECOME A RUM-SBLLEB. — "THB
merchants' union CIGAB-STOBE and sample-boom." — I DISPENSE
POISON TO MEN AND BOYS. — SELLING LIQUOB TO MINOB8. — " POOL FOB
DRINKS." •

The reader has not forgotten, that one wretched night in
Montreal, in my rum-heated misery and madness, I had cher-
ished the vision of one day keeping a saloon, — a rum-shop, —
of my own. Years had passed since then. I had forgotten
many things worth remembering ; but I distinctly remembered
that vision, and the vow I had registered with mj'self to realize
it whenever possible. And now the opportunity was presented
to me to realize my fearful dream, to keep my terribly silly and
sinful vow. I was the possessor of quite a large sum of money
in cash. It was mine to do with it as I pleased; and the
depravity in which I was now steeped cannot be more clearly
stated than when I say that my first and only thought about
this money was to start a rum-shop with it. Had I thrown the
money into the street, it would have been better for the world
and me. That young man must be far advanced on the road
to perdition whose only plan on receiving unexpectedly a large
sum of money is to use it all to start a " bar-room."

But I hastened to put my plan into execution. I was im-
patient to behold my gilded palace of iniquity. I was eager
to see myself as the proprietor — not the mere bar-tender, but
the proprietor — of a drinking-saloon.

Strange perversity. Just as the student is anxious to clutch
his diploma, just as the philosopher is eager to solve his prob-

252

MY CIGAR-STOBE AND RUM- SHOP.

25a

lem, just as the philanthropist is longing to relieve the suffer-
ings of humanity, so I, a young man, fairly educated, carefully
reared, the child of many prayers, the youth of many opportu-
nities, the young man now of liberal means, was anxious,
eager, longing, to open and control a place devoted to the
destruction of myself and others. And all this came of my
amateur bar-tending in that saloon in Montreal. And all thi&
sprung from a vision that had flashed across me that night
in which I staid out in the street, a drunken tramp. How
momentous are the little things of life! The seed had ger-
minated, and its fruit was to be bitter.

I made the necessary arrangements for opening my contem-
plated saloon, with an energy and industry worthy of a better
object ; and in a little time I was before the public, in the good
old city of Boston, as the proprietor of one of the showiest
bar-rooms (and cigar-rooms combined) in that city. I fitted
up the shop No. 628 (old number) Washington Street, oppo-
site Common Street, with taste and liberality, and rendered it
attractive, — greatly too attractive for many. Glowing signs,
like banners, were suspended from "the outer walls." And
my place was named " The Merchants' Union Cigar-Store and
Sample-Room." The name was bestowed out of compliment
to an express-company with which I had had dealings, and the
compliment was reciprocated by liberal patronage. Shakspeare
to the contrary notwithstanding, there is something in a name.

The idea of combining the two evils, a cigar-store and a rum-
shop, tobacco and whiskey, under one roof, in one establish-
ment, each poison having, however, its own distinct and
separate place, was then a novel one in Boston. And I took
quite a pride in having been one of the first to introduce this
original novelty, this combination of two evils, either one of
which was, sooner or later, certain death. It is astonishing
what human beings can be proud of.

254

I BECOME A " SPIDEB."

Yes, I had two dens of gilded vice now under my sole
control, — a cigar-store in front and a bar-room in the rear;
•and many were the victims enticed therein.

" ' Won't you walk into my parlor ? *

Said the spider to the fly.
' 'Tis the prettiest little parlor

That ever you did spy.' "

And it really was a very pretty little parlor, or, rather, two
pretty little parlors, if I, the spider, have to say it for myself.
The cigar-store in front, in full view of the crowded street,
was a very tempting, cosey sort of a place, and looked innocent
€nough. All the appointments were really, as the advertise-
ments say, "first-class." Any gentleman might walk in, and
survey the little cigar-store with pleasure. And then, just the
other side of the neat little cigar-store was a still neater and
handsomer bar-room, less exposed to public observation, — so
•cosey, so private ; just the thing for a bar-room, and so genteel,
— so very genteel, you know.

Ay, a genteel charnel-house ; ay, a very cosey and comfort-
able "hell."

I had fairly now, and of my own free will, entered upon the
occupation of a mercantile murderer, a licensed poisoner, a
•dealer in liquid death ; and I gloried in the occupation. Like
the arch-fiend, my master, I had said, " Evil, be thou my good."

I was steeped in iniquity. And nothing about human nature
is more terrible than the facility with which men, once launched
on an evil course, learn to make a boast of thfit which is their
disgrace, a glorj' of that which is their shame.

The man who blushes at himself, and shrinks from humanity,
having committed his first theft, glows with exultation as he
narrates to his "pals" in some "boozing ken" the cunning
with which he has just accomplished his one hundredth. The
Italian bravo in the story, who felt like Cain with the curse

HOW SATAN LOVED ME!

255

as he staggered from the scene of his first crime, felt like a
hero, and was as proud as an Alexander, when, after a long
series of crimes, he was appointed the head of a band of hired
assassins.

And so I, Thomas N. Doutney, who had once been a mem-
ber of a truly Christian family, who had at another period of
my life been the recipient of the greatest favors from a Chris-
tian and temperate family, who had felt and realized in my
own experience the curse of rum, and had time and time again
bitterly reviled myself for my intemperance, was now deliber-
ately engaged in enticing men and boys to purchase of me
their destruction. Ay, and I absolutely enjoyed my devilish
work.

I have just used the expression " men and boys," for I sold
to growing boys as well as to grown men. It was not enough
for me to ruin the husbands and fathers, I must demoralize the
jouth. How Satan must have loved me (query, can the Devil
be ever said to "love," even his own ?) in those days I

Under cover of my innocent-looking cigar-stand in the front,
the boy devotees to Bacchus, the juvenile slaves of drink,
would stealthily glide in, as if half afraid that their employers
or their parents might see them and discharge them, or stop
their pocket-change. And, when once inside, the sample-room
was invariably the chief resort and prime attraction. My
<lrinking-hell, or parlor, the same thing, was really very pleasing
to the eye : my furniture, glass-ware, etc., were of the best,
and quite cleverly arranged, so as to produce a desirable effect.
It looked just like what it was, the very place to drink in.

Hfere in this gilded den, here in this drinking " hell " of a
" parlor," many an unfortunate young man, witliout a doubt,
has, through my instrumentalit3% drained his first glass, and
started, as I had started before him, on the downward path
whose termination was perdition.

256

A SAMPLE-ROOM BY DAY AND NIGHT.

Here in this "cosey" "sample-room " of mine, in the strange-
democracy of drink, the rich customer and the poor have met
on the common level of appetite ; and the comparatively intelli-^
gent man and the positive fool have been each as wise — and
foolish — as the other.

Many a man has wasted his day in my place, passing the
long, bright hours, afforded him by a bountiful Providence
for honest work, in senseless dissipation, the only effect of
which was to transfer slowly but surely his money from his
pocket into mine. Many a man has been led by me, and the
influences of my place, to literally rob his wife and family, —
rob them of his time, his strength, and their support. Many
a boy has been induced to " drop in " my saloon when he
should have been doing his work, and has been compelled to
lie, and to deceive his employers afterwards, to cover up his
folly. Many a lad, at my twin dens of vice, has contracted
habits of self-indulgence and indolence, which, once contracted,
cursed him and cursed his till his dying day.

And, bad as my place was by day, it was worse by night.
Objectionable as it was under the sunlight, it was positively
villanous " under the gaslight." For when the stars began to
" blossom in the infinite meadows of heaven, those forget-me-
nots of the angels," I on earth began to light my gas-jets, and
fix my fire, and burnish . ip things, and make my hell as heav-
enly as possible. All ^'.le arts which a loving woman uses tO'
adorn her home, to render her fireside the most attractive of all
spots to those she loves, — all these little arts and cares I, a full-
grown man, used to render my drinking-den attractive to the
men and boys I did not love, but only intended to use and ruin.

And I succeeded with my drinking-den a good deal better
than many a loving woman succeeds with her home. My place
became " popular ; " that is to say, in plain English it was a
curse to the neighborhood.

llge

met
elli>
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the
nee
of
his
the

he
to
lis.
ed
d,.

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to-
e-
d

IT-

' Oh! my den was very ' gay ' at night " [i>. -'"(T].

>HOW I BECAME A DEVIL.

267

I ought to have been suppressed as a public pest ; but I was
hailed as "a hail fellow well met," a "good fellow." The
women ought to have banded together, and "drummed me
oat " of town. The men ought to have " tarred and feathered "
me, and " ridden me on a rail." The children ought to have
hooted me, and pelted me with stones. But, instead of this, I
was shaken hands with by men, and I was patronized by boys,
and even, as I will dwell more upon later, by women themselves.

Many a man has lost his money and his evenings at my den.;
Many a man has lost his opportunities for domestic recreation,
and lost his health "ind sleep, at my place. Many a man has
deserted his wife and children for the unhallowed attractions of
my cursed saloon.

Many a sister and daughter has been deprived of the cher-
ished companionship of a brother and a father by me and my
den. Many a fond mother has been robbed of the company of
her beloved son by me and my vile place. Many a weeping
wife has sat lonely at nights, waiting for a husband's return,
whom yet she dreaded to see returning, on account of my
damned saloon.

I use strong language, but not stronger than my case and
my place and myself deserved. I see what I was then, and
I do hesitate to say so now. Were I to live a thousand years, I
*ionld not fully atone for the evil I caused in those few months at
" The Merchants' Union Cigar-Store and Sample-Room," No. 628
(old number) Washington Street, opposite Common Street, Bos .
ton. These confessions, these self-condemnations, are but a small
portion of my punishment, my repentance, and, I humbly and
fervently trust, my expiation. Oh I my den was very " gay "
at nights. The sounds of revelry were heard within ; and the
young bloods, just starting on their career, jostled against the
poor, hard-shaking inebriate, who had staggered in for a soothing
dram. All classes and. conditions of society were my patrons.

258

THE EVIL I HAVE DONE.

Many a strong man, rejoicing in his strength, drained his glass,
who has since sunk beneath " the fire-water " I and others sold
him, into a drunkard's grave. Many an old man, rendered pre-
maturely aged by the use of stimulants, hobbled up to my bar,
and with trembling arms "crooked his elbow" for his tem-
porary gratification and my pecuniary gain.

Ah ! I would not like to know the fate of all those who used
to visit me. I would not like to hear the groans that their falls
and my greed have caused. I would not like to see the tears
that I have caused my victims to shed, — the bitter but unavail-
ing tears. I write this sorrowfully and truthfully, but I felt
nothing of the kind when I was selling rum. For then I was
only a rum-seller, only a bar-keeper and a bar-tender ; and such
gentlemen should have no feelings. For, in order to conduct
their business in a proper manner, they should be utterly obliv-
ious to the sufferings of their victims.

All night long I kept my place going, — all through the
night, until the break of day sometimes, if my custom war-
ranted it, and my customers wished it. For although I pro-
fessed to be " law-abiding " and respectable, and although the
law closed all drinking-places at midnight, I found means to
evade that or any other law, human or divine, which inter-
fered with my interests or convenience.

In big cities a little money, properly distributed, can do a
great deal. And there are few things that a liquor-dealer can-
not do with the police. He can evade any law he pleases if he
is willing to pay for the evading. It is so in Boston and New
York, and I have yet to hear from any city where it is not so.
The early-closing law had no terrors for me, neither had the
law against selling liquor to minors. I sold rum to a boy just
on the same terms as I sold rum to a man, — good money for
bad liquor. Son or father were all one fool, one tool, one
customer, one victim, to me. Like death, that death-dealer,

THE BUM-SELLER AND THE SEDUCER.

259

the rum-seller, is no respecter of persons. In this point, and
this only, the liquor-dealer resembles the Almighty.

Here I would pause to solemnly protest against the laxity of
the administration of the law in reference to this selling liquor
to minors. God knows it is bad enough to sell liquor to full-
grown men, but it is simply infernal to sell it to children. I
feel now what I deserved myself, at this fearful period of my
life, for doing this fearful thing ; and I know now what men, or
fiends, merit who persist in committing this atrocity.

What would be thought of, said of, and done to, the druggist
who would sell arsenic or prussic acid to every child who
happened to have ten cents ? What, then, shall be thought of,
said of, and done to, the rum-dealer who sells what is worse
than any poison in the pharmacopoeia, because more delightful,
while equally dangerous, to every and any boy who asks for it ?
Nothing — positively nothing — can ever justify revenge or
violence ; but I sometimes think that a father would be as
excusable in wreaking his vengeance on a man who sold his
son rum as on the man who betrayed his daughter's honor. In
both cases it is the object of the bad man to ruin the child.
Only in the one case it is an object of passion ; in the other
case, of sheer calculation, and deliberate greed of gain. From
this aspect of the case, is not the rum-seller viler than even the
seducer?

Let me not be misunderstood. I would not be wilfully un-
just. I would not exaggerate. I am fully aware that this sell-
ing liquor to minors is not, happily, a " universal " custom among
rum-sellers. There are not a few liquor-dealers who would
scorn to defy alike nature, law, and decency by selling rum to
children. The larger saloons in our great cities do not permit
this cursed custom. Even some of the better class, if there
is such a class, of " dance-houses," do not sanction this atrocity.
Thus, at Harry Hill's " dive " a conspicuous sign is posted on

260

POOL FOR DRINKS.

the walls, — " No children allowed here." " Positively no liquor
sold to boys ; " and the spirit of those signs is carried out to the
letter. But then, I am also thoroughly aware that these cases
are exceptional, and that, take the country through, ninety
drinking-saloons out of one hundred are not " particular " as to
the age of their customers ; or, as a liquor-dealer once phrased
it, " Business looks to a customer's dollars, not his years." Per-
haps the liquor-dealer was correct in his remark about business.
But how about that Judge before whom even "a business"
rum-seller must stand sooner or later ?

And I cannot too loudly, sternly, bitterly reprobate thfr
utterly damnable custom of " pool for drinks " which prevails.
Surely Satan must have held high carnival in hell when this
custom was originally introduced on earth. To the credit of
the press of America, especially the paper called "Truth,"
when controlled by Mr. Josh Hart, be it said, that " pool for
drinks " has been persistently denounced by the public press.
But based, as it is, upon depraved appetites, appealing, as it
does, to the lowest, and therefore most generally diffused, attri-
butes of humanity, this " institution " is not dependent upon
the approval, is, in fact, quite independent of the c^isapproval,
of the public press. What do the boys who " pool for drinks "
care for " what the papers say " ? Most of them, perhaps, could
not " read " the papers if they tried.

There is but one way of dealing with this much-denounced
but growing evil. " Pool for drinks " should be a penal offence,,
and the penalty should be rigidly enforced. Every decent citi-
zen should see that the offenders should be prosecuted, and
punished to the full extent of the law.

I never see the sign " Pool for Drinks " in a bar-room but I
shudder. The letters become confused before my eyes; and
I see in blood-red characters, " Gates of Hell " instead of " Pool
for Drinks."

CHAPTER XXI.

«ELI,ING LIQUOR TO WOMEN. —FKMININE IMTEHPEBANOB. — THE OROWINO
FONDNESS FOR STRONG DRINK AMONG FEMALES. — THE TEMPTATIONS OF
WOMEN TO INTEMPERANCE. —PUBLIC AND PRIVATE BALLS AND PAR-
TIES. —THE SUPPER AFTER THE THEATRE, THE FASHIONABLE RESTAU-
RANT, THE EXCURSION, ETC. — THE ABUSES OF DRUG-STORES EXPOSED.
THE THREEFOLD HORROR OF INTEMPERANCE IN WOMEN.

There is another evil which is quite as pernicious as the
love for drinks, or the selling of liquors to minors, — an evil
which cannot be directly forbidden by law, and yet which
should be forbidden by every man's very instincts and his
human nature. I allude to the selling of liquor to females.

True, I sold liquor to females myself. To my shame I re-
cord it. But I have bitterly repented ; and I would not offer
a glass of liquor to a woman now, not for my life. Nay, I
would rather offer her my life itself. The latter might possibly
do her some good : the liquor could not.

But though I, thank God ! no longer sell liquor to women,
there are hundreds of liquor-dealers who do sell it to women as
to men ; and there are, alas ! thousands of women who buy and
drink liquor just like men.

The increasing number of women who drink, moderately or
immoderately, privately and publicly, is one of the signs, and
one of the very worst signs, of the times. It is a sign of the
times which cannot be ignored by the thinker and observer,
nor passed over by the moralist. I am sorry to say, not only
that women drink, but that women of all classes and condi-
tions drink ; not only the lowest class, but the highest class ;

261

262

rUE "FAMILY ENTRANCE."

and, worst of all, that most nuinerous class of all, the middle
class.

The woman of " society " drinks her champagne ; the woman
not in " society " drinks her brandy ; and the " respectable
married (or single) woman " drinks her beer ; the fashionable
lady drinks at her receptions, parties, and balls ; the adventuress
or Traviata drinks freely at home or abroad, in the parlor, the
wine-room, or the restaurant ; while the women of the middle
class drink in their " beer-gardens," or in those " family-rooms,"
so-called, which are now connected with the "side-door'*
arrangements of so many drinking-saloons.

Time was when none but the most depraved of the female
sex would be seen entering a " saloon," either by the main or by
"the side" doors; but now, through those "family-room'*
dodges, "decent" women, in the ordinary sense of the term,
*nter a saloon with their male escorts, and on the same terms.

The other night at an entertainment I noticed a party of
three, — a handsome woman, an elderly lady, and their young
male escort, a youth not over seventeen years of age at the
oldest, — who attracted my attention by their good looks, and
apparent gentility of deportment. But what was my surprise,
when the entertainment was over, to see the party enter a
drinking-saloon around the corner, through a side-door, over
which was inscribed the words " family entrance." I know the
place the party entered to be simply and solely " a rum-shop ; "
and yet these three respectable people, two ladies and a youth,
had entered it, — ay, and remained in it some time, — so long
that I was curious to know exactly what they were doing.

I opened the door of the " family entrance," and looked in.
There were seated the party of three at a table, a thin partition
only separating them from the crowd of drinkers round the
adjoining bar ; and on the table were placed two glasses of beer
and one bottle of spirits. The little "den," or "parlor," op

, ' or

"They were seated — the party of them — at a tabh', a thin iiartition only
sei^arating them from the crowd of dniukards " [p. 2(i2].

A SIGN — BUT OF WIIATf

268

" family-room," or whatever it was, in which the party sat, was
neat, and scrupulously clean. I will say that much for it. The
table, too, was large, and rather elegant ; the chairs were solid
and comfortable ; and there was a neat engraving suspended on
the wall. It would have been quite a comfortable little room
in the " home " of a " family ; " but here, as an attachment, a
supplement, to a bar-room, it looked as much out of place as
these two ladies and this youth looked out of place in it.

This was one of the more elegant of the " family entrances "
connected with the bar-rooms of the day ; but, in the great
majority of instances, these " family entrances " merely consist
of a board partition and a movable slide, through which the
woman hands the bar-keeper her money, and receives in exchange
her liquor, — a fine position for a woman, a sister, daughter,
sweetheart, wife, or mother, truly !

It has been claimed that these " family entrances " to " bar-
rooms" are signs that the "bar-rooms" are becoming more
decent. On the contrary, I hold that they are signs that the
"family " of to-day is becoming less decent, because more inclined
to bar-rooms and intemperance. You cannot touch pitch without
being defiled. If a clean palm handles dirt, the purity of the
palm does not communicate itself to the filth ; but the foulness
of the dirt communicates itself to, and soils, the palm. It may
be unfortunate that it is so, but it is the fact. As Bob IngersoU
remarks, " Health is not catching, but disease is." IngersoU, it
is true, protests indignantly against this fact (in which protest
I think he is unwise, as a little calm reflection will show) ; but
even IngersoU admits the fact that " the bar-room " can never
be improved by "family" influences. But the "family" can
easily be ruined by a " bar-room " and its " family entrance."

The female intemperance of the time is one of the great evils
of the time. It is manifested everywhere. It is exhibited on
holidaj's and at public and prjvate festivals. The Jewess quaffs

264

"LADIES" AT A "BALL."

her wine at Purim, and the Christian maiden quaffs her wine
at Christmas, and they both quaff their wine together on the
New- Year's Day. In regard to the New- Year's holiday, it must
be confessed that there has been some marked improvement.
Time has been when, throughout the country more or less, but in
New- York City especially. New- Year's Day was a carnival of in-
temperance, initiated by the ladies ; a saturnalia, in which women
led the way to intoxication. But there has been a great reform
in this direction ; and now New- Year's Day is observed in a com-
paratively temperate and decorous manner, showing conclusively
the power of public opinion when properly directed. But,
though New- Year's Day observances are growing better, onr
balls and parties, public and private, are growing worse. I ha\e
already alluded to public balls in connection with the news-
paper-men who attend them professionally. The number and
the quality of the women who yield more or less to intemperance
at these balls are strikingly suggestive. The wine-rooms, so-
called, at these balls, are always filled with females, drinking,
and generally, I must say, drinking freely, with their male
escorts, and not a few of the women belonging to the class
designated as " ladies," — ladies by birth, education, and position,
and yet yielding to intemperance in their own persons, and set-
ting an example of intemperance to others.

A young lady last winter had, literally, to be carried to her
carriage from the Academy of Music, New York, about three
o'clock in the morning. Two gentlemen and a policeman carried
her. She was said to be " sick," but she was really " drunk."

A half an hour or so later two ladies (?) reeled — they could
not be said to " walk" — from the Academy ; and, in attempting
to descend the Siieps that led to the sidewalk, one of the young
ladies (?), while boisterously laughing, tuml led down the steps,
and seriously injured herself internally, and has since been
confined to her elegant home, an invalid.

" FASHIONABLE " BALLS.

265

These women were the daughters, sisters, etc., who figure in
"good society;" and I know of a case in which one young
man absolutely came, in the lobby of the Academy of Music,
face to face, at a masked ball, with his own mother drunk.

Mind you, these balls were not the balls called "fast," or
considered "disreputable." They were given under the pat-
ronage of well-known and popular societies. They were not
held at some east-side hall, but in the very hom6 of opera;
and the females to whom I have alluded were not Camilles,
so styled, Traviatas, or "unfortunates." No: they were the
fortunate ones of this world, the lilies of the fashionable field,
who were compelled neither to toil nor to spin ; and yet they
were public drunkards.

Believe me, I do not exaggerate. I understate, not overstate,
the case. A friend of mine, who has for years made a specialty
of peu'painting the great public balls for "The New- York
Sunday Mercury," one of the leading journals of its class, in
which my friend's ball-reports have been a leading feature,
«.ssures me that he has, in the course of his fifteen years of ball-
going, seen the female members of many of the so-called and
self-styled " best families " in the metropolis more or less (and
generally more) under the influence of liquor at balls.

And, if these things are done in the green tree, what must be
done in the dry ? If public intemperance prevails among the
women of "society," what is to be looked for in women who
are not restrained by social obligations ?

At private parties, balls, and receptions a higher degree of
decorum prevails naturally than holds in public entertainments.
But " drinking-habits " unfortunately pervade the whole fabric
of society ; and the wine-cup is as accessible, and, alas ! as
agreeable, to a woman in the houses of her friends, or at her
own home, as in the Academy of Music on a ball-night.

A lady of the highest social position in this country (the

266

TUE VANDERJiILT BALL.

bosom-friend and hostess of one of the leading members of the-
English aristocracy), and herself the wife of one of the richest
young men in New York, America, or the world, recently gave
a fancy-dress party, to which were invited prominent represen-
tatives of the wealth, fashion, beauty, and influence of the
metropolis. An ex-president of the United States attended
the ball. An ex-secretary of State was there. The richest men
in the land were there. And tbeir wives and daughters, sisters
and sweethearts, were there. Over eight hundred millions of
dollars were represented by their owners, and their owners'
wives' diaii r^ Is,

One of tht . finest houses in America was thrown open
to the eight hundred invited guests, who, decked in every gor-
geous variety of fanciful attire, presented, in the magnificent
parlors of the mansion, a scene rivalling fairyland, and far sur-
passing any scene ever presented on the boards of a theatre.

But there was more at the Vanderbilt ball than money or
beauty or fashion or influence. There was "WINE there in
profusion. Thousands of bottles of liquor had been provided,,
at a cost of several thousands of dollars ; and their contents^
were all consumed with gusto. True, there does not seem to
have been any great excess at that particular place on that par-
ticular occasion. But the unfortunate fact remains, undenied
and undeniable, that a prominent society lady, herself a profess-
ing Christian, at an entertainment representing that "best
society" to which the rest of the social world looks for an
example, at an entertainment controlled by her, given by her,
to which the eyes of the world were turned, and to which she
knew they were turned, delibei'ately gave her sanction to wine-
bibbing, — ay, made the quality and quantity of the liquor*
provided for her ball a subject for marked comment.

By so doing, the lady unwittingly, and unthinkingly prob-
ably, east her vote, as it were, in favor of the liquor tr({ffic. What-

WINE-SUPPEBS.

267

ever influence she and her position might have was thrown in
the scale in favor of drink.

The ball, under such auspices, did not leave the world any-
better than it found it, but, in so far as the question of temper-
ance or intemperance is concerned, left it worse.

Far be it from me to censure or criticise unfairly a lady or
a stranger. From all I hear, the lady in this case is one of the
best and brightest specimens of her delightful sex, a truly-
Christian woman ; and, in giving wine at her ball, she did but
follow the almost universal custom of the world in which she
lives, moves, and has her being. But truth is truth ; and the
simple truth is, that it would have been infinitely better for
the world if there had been no liquors offered at that famous
ball. But the evil of feminine intemperance, or at least wine-^
drinking by females, is not confined to balls or receptions, etc.,
public or private. It has become one of the most pernicious
and popular customs of the time, to connect an evening's
amusement with a supper, as a matter of routine and of course.
And of this supper, wine forms part, and a most important
part, "of routine and of course."

It is not enough now-a-nights, for a gentleman to take a lady
to an opera, or a concert, or a theatre. He must, almost per-
force, ask the lady, after the entertainment, to partake of a
supper, and a bottle, or bottles, of wine, at some fashionable
restaurant. If he omits this invitation to supper and wine, he
is considered by the ladies a very undesirable cavalier, is
regarded " mean " or " stingy," is sneered at as " prudent "
or "economical," or is slightingly and slangily designated as
«N. G."

This evil of " supper after the theatre " or opera is a four-
fold ill.

First, It is an unnecessary expense, and a considerable and
therefore lamentable waste of money, benefiting nobody but

268

A FOURFOLD EVIL.

the rich hotel or restaurant keeper, who does not need it. True,
to many this item of expense is but a trifle ; they can afford
it: but to many — many more men — it is a serious thing, and
they cannot afford it ; but they must stand it all the same.

Second^ It is a positive injury to the physical systems of both
parties to the supper It is considered to be injurious to the
digestion in the majority of cases.

Then, it is certSinly an evil to the nervous systems of the
parties, encroaching upon the hours that ought to be devoted
to sleep. '

And, lastly, it is a moral evil ; as the wine-drinking thereat
tends directly to intemperance.

Many a young girl, and many a mature woman, goes to bed
with disordered stomach, excited nerves, and wine-heated brain,
instead of a clear head, a cool head, a sound digestion, and a
oalm mind, "all on account of an after-the-theatre wine-sup-
per."

And many a young man, finding himself in the streets of
New York, or some other great city, after midnight, with his
nerves inflamed by the wine he has just partaken of with a
lady, determines to " make a night of it," and winds up with
a disreputable debauch, " all on account of an after-the-theatre
wine-supper."

Thirty-five hundred dollars have been received by one Fifth-
avenue restaurant in one week from "suppers" ordered by
parties after eleven o'clock at night. Of this expenditure, all of
which was unnecessary, the majority was for wine, all of which
was positively injurious.

Even those blessed institutions known as "excursions,"
which have become the poor man's greatest and only luxuries,
and the average citizen's delight, are getting to be associated
almost inseparably with drink and drinking-habits in some
form or other.

THE CURSE OF " EXCURSIONS.**

269

The best and worst proof of this fact is, that a heavy profit is
annually realized off of "the bar-privileges" of "excursion-
boats ; " although a tremendous price is charged for these " privi-
leges," or curses.

Every "excursion-house" depends chiefly, if not solely, on
its bar. And there are more "bars" than "hotels" at every
excursion-place.

And as women and children form the majority of excursion-
ists, as the male of the human species is generally accompanied
on an excursion by his female and his young, it necessarily
follows, that v/omen and children are in the habit of " drinking "^
on "excursions," — a statement which every excursic?ist is in
a condition to corroborate.

I do not mean to say (for it would not be the truth) that
hard drinking is the rule on excursions: it is, happily, the
exception. But, nevertheless, wine or beer drinking is not
the exception, but the rule.

The writer one Saturday afternoon took a trip to Coney
Island. He counted during the course of his trip, extending
from four in the afternoon till nine in the evening, one hundred
and eighteen women and seventeen children whom he saw
drinking : true, most were drinking beer, which is one degree
less injurious and reprehensible than drinking alcoholic spirits ;
but they were all on the road to ruin, and more than half
the number were evidently "the worse for" their potations.
The benefit derived from the fresh air and change of scene
had been almost neutralized by the beer. The "excursion"
had been changed from a blessing into a bane by "the drink."

But bad as is the drinking female excursionist, or the woman
who drinks in company, the female solitary drinker, or the
woman who drinks alone, is worse. The condition of the
latter is much more dangerous than that of the former, though
both are in imminent peril. And yet the number of solitary

270

SOLITARY DRINEEIiS " AMONG WOMEN.

drinkers amcng women is large, and is yearly increasing.
There are so many women nowadays who live alone, who are
<leserted by their husbands, or wlio have no husbands or male
protectors; there are so many women who have to live by
themselves, in both senses of the word " by , " and to these
lonely ones the temptation is so strong to seek solace in the
stimulation, or temporary oblivion, produced by alcohol.

One of the saddest sights, possibly, to be seen by mortal eyes,
is one of the commonest, — I see it almost every day, — some
little girl, from six years old to ten or twelve, sent to a saloon
with a pitcher in her little hand, to be filled with beer for iier
mother, or, at any rate, some older woman. Such a spectacle
is too familiar in tenement-house districts, and in some locali-
ties that have naught to do with tenement-houses, to attract
4itteution. And yet there can be to the thoughtful observer
really no sadder sight than an old ^r.'oman sending a young
woman for drink.

When a woman reaches the solitary-drinking stage she is
•generally " done for," lost beyond redemption, or as nearly so
as any human being can ever be. Yet there are thousands of
women, some of them brilliant, in this very stage this very hour.

I know of one once glorious woman who is, in the literal and
fullest meaning of the term, drinking herself to death. She
is still fine-looking, is accomplished and clever, but has become
a slave to alcohol, and, alas ! loves her slavery. She is ruining
her health and her morals, ay, even what to many a v/oman is
more than morals or health, — her looks ; but she persists, and
probably will persist unto the end, which cannot be far off.

The papers recently reported the case in which the relatives
of a wealthy widow were compelled to apply to law to have a
guardian appointed for the lady, who had become an habitual
drunkard, and was squandering her property in drunken orgies
with " fast " acquaintances, male and female.

A WOMAN " CHRONICALLY DRUNK:*

271

There lives to-day in the city of Brooklyn a woman who
has not drawn a sober breath for the last ten years. She keeps
hereelf chronically drunk, and, what is even worse, has taught
her nieces — two little girls — to drink with her. The younger
girl, a miss of fifteen years of age, has repeatedly been seen
reeling through the streets, carrying sometimes beer and some-
times brandy.

Not long ago there died on Blackwell's Island a woman
called "old Sal Coon." This woman's real name was Sarah
Kuhn ; and she had been at one time a belle of New York, and
the fiancSe of a wealthy man. But she took to drink ; and drink
took from her, one by one, lover and position, and property and
beauty, and health and self-respect : till at last she became a
" station-house lodger " and " a vagrant," and as such served six
or seven terms "on the Island." Yet she clung to drink as
though it had been her own flesh and blood, or her heart's love,
or her only hope, instead of her only curse and her worst enemy.

The once society queen lived a tramp, and died a pauper, for
the sake of — rum. I could cite a score of similar cases did time
and space permit. The cases would only differ in details : the
main points would be terribly the same.

Of late years the facilities for feminine intemperance have
been individually increased in a quarter which would not be at
first suspected. The " drug-stores " of the period have entered
into a species of competition with " the family entrances " of
saloons, and with the " fashionable restaurants," for supplying
the woman of the period with stimulants, alcoholic or otherwise.
Cases are not infrequent in which the lady-drinker obtains her
liquor from her drug-store, on the plea of "for medicinal pur-
poses." The druggists do not hesitate to furnish the liquor,
although they do not hesitate to laugh slyly at the plea.
Money has as much influence over druggists as over any other
class in the community.

I. t

272 DBUGGISTS, DOCTORS, AND INTEMPERANCE.

And, in some cases, even physicians are induced to lend their
aid to intemperance. At least, cases have been known in which
female drinkers have produced physicians' prescriptions for
intoxicating liquors. I apply these remarks in this connection,
not merely to druggists' in States or towns where "prohibi-
tory " laws prevail, but to druggists in cities like New York
and Philadelphia, who can have no possible excuse for the
sale of liquor, except strictly in limited quantities, under
peculiar circumstances, as medicine.

I may here add, that druggists do not confine themselves to
the sale of alcoholic stimulants. They have encouraged and
fostered a trade in other stimulating preparations among women.

Thus, I am informed that bromide of potassium is now largely
sold to ladies for its stimulating properties. Bromide of potas-
sium is a splendid medicine, — a nerve-soother and a peace-
producer, properly taken. But, improperly used, it produces a
species of intoxication which ultimately results in idiocy.

Codeine is another nerve-agent used and abused for its stimu-
lating properties. Codeine seems to have no direct action on
the brain, but confines itself to the nerves. Taken in six-grain
doses, it will completely revolutionize the nervous system. But
its exhilarating effects are followed by a very disagreeable tin-
gling and itching, succeeded by an intense period of depression,
or " horrors." Quinine, as is well known, has highly stimulat-
ing properties ; and advantage is frequently taken of this fact.
Of course, nothing is easier than to get quinine, under pretence
of suffering under malarial disease, or without any pretence at
all ; and in a little while, at a very little expense, a species of
exhilaration can be produced. A prominent resident of Staten
Island, a widow-lady, is a victim to the habitual use of quinine
as a stimulant. So is a wealthy widow-lady, one of the princi-
pal real-estate owners in New York.

Many of the minor remedies and medicines on the druggist's

MINOR STIMULANTS.

278

calendar are likewise growing in demand ivs Btimuli. Thus,
the essence oi ginger is much employed by clergymen. It is a
mild stimulant, " so they say." How truthfully may be judged
from the statement of a druggist to the writer, that essence of
ginger is only another name for alcohol, being eighty-five per
cent alcohol, — a " mild stimulant " indeed. Two tablespoonf uls
of this ♦' mild stimulant " will produce a state of semi-intoxica-
tion, which, though not followed by such re-action as in the case
of alcohol pure and simple, is succeeded by stomachic trouble,
and general derangement of system.

Spirits of lavender, or red lavender, is another " mild stimu-
lant." Much in vogue among ol -^ maids, it seems to go with
cats and parrots and corkscrew curls.

The aromatic spirits of ammonia, or eau sedative, is a very
popular preparation with French women and actresses. It is a
pretty powerful stimulant, though neither its exhilarating nor
depressing effects last long ; while among the poorer classes of
women, — servant-girls and laundresses, — "essence of pepper-
mint " is decidedlv in demand as a stimulant.

None of these stimulants may, perhaps, be styled " danger-
ous" in themselves. Certainly, none of them are to be com-
pared with alcohol. But they foster a pernicious tendency to
stimulation, which insensibly but almost inevitably leads the
way for more dangerous and deleterious preparations.

I have not alluded here to the growing use of opium and
hashish (cannabis indica, or Indian hemp) among women,
because " the opium habit " is an evil altogether apart from the
evil I am considering (though quite as ter !ble).

But, taken as a class of establishments, it may be truthfully
stated, that much of the evil upon which I have been dilating
— intemperance among females — is due directly to the facili-
ties afforded for intemperance by drug-stores.

What with private balls, public balls, suppers after theatres

[1 '

I i

274

A TRIPLE CURSE.

at fashionable restaurants, drinking on rides and excursions,
" family entrances " to rum-saloons, solitary drinking, and the
drug-store of the period, the female sex is almost as likely to
fall a victim to the demon of drink as the male.

And, oh ! if woman could only realize what a horrible thing
intemperance is in her^ — how much more horrible than in a
man, — she would never drink.

Intemperance, though morally as great a crime in one sex as
in the other, is socially and physically, and from a physiological
point of view, more fearful and more criminal in a woman than
a man, for three reasons : —

First, Every true man cherishes a high ideal of the sex which
furnished him a mother ; and, when this ideal is rudely shat-
tered (and nothing on earth is so calculated to utterly destroy
this ideal as seeing a woman under the influence, not of senti-
ment, but spirits, not of love, but liquor), he receives a shock
much greater than any man could cause him to endure.

Second, A woman's nerves being more delicate than a mai- .,
the injurious effect of liquor upon her sensitive organization is
increased. Men can work or walk off some of their foul spirits ;
but a woman merely suffers when she drinks, and can do noth-
ing. If women were only wise, and knew themselves, no man
living could ever successfully tempt them to drink ; and they
would ask for poison as soon as ask for liquor.

Third, A woman, in her capacity as a mother, is doubly
guilty if she drinks ; for she drinks for two. She poisons the
blood, she shatters the nerves, of her child as well as herself.

This is a point which has vastly more importance than is
generally attached to it. There is such a thing as hereditary
intemperance, — inherited tendency to drink. Every physiologist
is aware of this fact. I have practically discovered it, and have
acted on my discovery, as I will narrate hereafter.

The milk of a nursing-mother, who is of intemperate habits.

DOUBLY TERRIBLE AND CRIMINAL.

276

becomes charged with the alcohol she imbibes, and is, in its
turn, imbibed by the poor, helpless infant, who becomes, as it
were, an infant-drunkard, cursed for life by its own mother.

Whether, therefore, looked at as a wife or a mother, whether
regarded as a human being or a member of society, whether
looked at from a man's point of view, a woman's or a child's,
«, woman who is intemperate is doubly terrible and criminal.

CHAPTER XXII.

A RUM-SEI.LEB'S responsibility. — WHAT I DID, AND WHAT I HAVE EVtR
SINCE BEEN SOBRY FOR HAVING DONE. — " A DRUNKARD'S BIBLE."

And yet I did my devilish shave, in the days of which I now
write, to make women intemperate by selling them the cursed
wherewithal. Not a few women came to my bar-room, — "The
Merchants' Union Cigar-Store and Sample-Room ; " and I took
their money just as I took men's money, and gave them beer
or wine or whiskey, brandy, rum, or gin, just as I would give
to men. Some of the poor women who came to ray gilded den,
with their thin, pinched faces, showed signs of poverty, and
even positive hunger ; but I heeded not their faded looks : all
I heeded then was what they carried in their faded pocket-
books, if they had any. Some of the poor, degraded wretches
of faithless mothers left their helpless children at their wretched
rooms, or room, uncared for while they stole, or staggered, to
my den for drink. But I sold them the drink ; though I felt,
though I knew, that the coin they held tremblingly out to me
should have bought their children food or clothes. God for-
give me I but I was a brute and a rascal then. God forgive
me ! for I can never fully forgive myself.

One poor woman crept into my gilded den one night, and
asked for gin. I poured out the vile stuff she asked for into the
bottle she brought with her ; and then she handed slowly, and,
as it were, painfully, a quarter of a dollar, and placed it in my
opened palm. As I was about to put the money into the

276

CAIN '8 OLD QUESTION.

277

drawer, I heard 1 er sigh, and shake her he ', and say, "The
hist, the very hist."

Something about the woman stirred mj o'^A*^iv nature, — I still
had such an article hidden somewhere about me, — and I got
into a talk with her about herself. It was about the only sub-
ject on which she now could talk, misery is so egotistical.

I learned that she had a sick child at her room, and that
tlie quarter of a dollar she had just given me for gin was all the
money she had left in the world, — " the last, the very last." I
did not take that quarter, — I returned it to her ; but, alas ! I let
her take the gin away with her. And the next day she died
in a drunken debauch.

Alas, alas ! I have the destruction, I fear, of many a woman and
man to answer for, — at least my share thereof. True, I did not
think of this at the time ; or, if I did, I lulled my conscience to
sleep with Cain's old question, " Am I my brother's or my sister's
keeper ? " But, wittingly or unwittingly, I assumed my portion
of responsibility ; and I must bear it.

Oh ! if every rum-seller would but for one hour regard this
matter of responsibility in its true light, as I see it clearly
now, there would not be a glass of liquor sold as a beverage
throughout Christendom to-morrow, or ever after.

Mrs. S. C. Hall, some thirty years ago, published in that
most admirable publication, " Harper's Magazine," — a magazine
always devoted to temperance, religion, and morality, — a pow-
erful sketch entitled " A Drunkard's Bible," which very forcibly
illustrates this point of a run; eller's responsibility.

This sketch opens with a conversation between an English
village inn-keeper, Mathew Hownley, and his sister Martha.

" There is more money made in the public line than in any other,
unless it be pawnbroking," said Martha Hownley to her brother;
" and I do not see why you sliould feel uncomfortable. Yon arc a
sober man : since I have kept your house, I never remember seeing

278

" MARTHA, WE MUST LIVE."

you beside yourself ; indeed, I know that weeks pass without your
touching beer, much less wine or spirits. If you did not sell them,
somebody else would. And, were you to leave ' The Grapes '
to-morrow, it might be taken by those who would not have your
scruples. All the gentry say your house is the best conducted in the
parish" —

"I wish I really deserved the compliment," interrupted Mathew,
looking up from his day-book. " I ought not to content myself with
avoiding beer, wine, and spirits : if I believe, as I do, that they are
injurious, alike to the character and health of man, I should, by
every means in my power, lead others to avoid them."

" But we must live, Mathew ; and your good education would not
keep you — we must live ! "

♦' Yes, Martha, we must live, — but not the lives of vampires; "
and he turned rapidly over the accounts, noting and comparing, and
seemingly absorbed in calculation.

Martha's eyes became enlarged by curiosity, — the small, low curi-
osity which has nothing in common with the noble spirit of inquiry.
She believed her brother wise in most things ; but, in her heart of
hearts, she thought him foolish in worldly matters. Still, she was
curious ; and, yielding to what is considered a feminine infirmity, she
said, " Mathew, what is vampires? "

Mathew madi! ao reply; so Martha — who had been "brought up
to the bar" by her uncle, while her brother was dreaming over an
unproductive farm, troubled as usual about "much serving," and
troubling all within her sphere by worn-out and shrivelled-up anxie-
ties, as much as by the necessary duties of active life — looked at
Mathew as if speculating on his sanity. Could he be thinking of
giving up his business, because of that which did not concern him ?
— but she would "manage him." It is strange how low and cun-
ning persons do often manage higher and better natures than their
own.

" Martha," he called at last in a loud voice, " I cannot afford to
give longer credit to Peter Croft."

" I thought he was one of your best customers : he is an excellent

INFlliMlTY OF PlltPOSE.

279

workman ; bis wife has much to do as a clear-starcher ; aud I am sure
he spends every penny he earns here," — such was Martha's answer.

"And more!" replied Mathew, "more! Why, last week the
score was eighteen shillings — besides what he paid for."

"He's an honorable man, Mathew," persisted Marthf. "It is
not long since he brought me six teaspoons and a sugar-tongs when
I refused him brandy (he will have brandy). They must have be-
longed to his wife ; for they had not P. C. on them, but E. — some-
thing: I forget what."

Mathew waxed wroth. " Have I not told you," he said, — " have
I not told you that we must be content with the flesh and blood, with-
out the bones and marrow, of these poor drunkards? I am not a
pawnbroker to lend money upon a man's ruin. I sell, to be sure,
what leads to it ; but that is his fault, not mine."

" You said just now it was yours," said his sister sulkily.

"Is it a devil, or an angel, that prompts your words, Martha? "
exclaimed Mathew impatiently; then, leaning his pale, thoughtful
brow on his clasped hands, he added, "But, however much I some-
times try to get rid of them, it must be for my good to see facts as
they are."

Martha would talk : sho looked upon a last word as a victoi-y.
"He must have sold the hether or not, as he has done all his
little household comforts, to pay tor what he has hom*i-fl ilunk;
and I might as well have them as aii}^^ tie else. My money paid for
them, and in the course of the evening wet into youi ill. It's very
hard if, with all my labor, I can't turn an honest penny in i bargain
sometimes, without being chid as if I were a baby "

"I am sorely beset," murmured Mathew, clo ,ug the book with
hasty violence, — " sorely beset ; the gain on one side, the sin on the
other; and she goads me, and puts things in the worst 'ight: never
was man so beset," he repeated helplessly; ami ^aid truly he
was " beset," — by infii'mity ofjmrpose, — that mean, feeble, pitiful
frustrator of so many good and glorious intentions.

It is at once a blessed and a wonderful thing how the little grain of
"good seed" will spring up and increase: If the soil be at ail pro-

280

THE GOOD SEED.

I !i

E I

ductive, how it will fructify 1 A great stone may be placed right over
it, and yet the shoot will forth, — sideways, perhaps, after a long,
noiseless struggle amidst the weight of earth, — a white, slender
thing, like a bit of thread that falls from the clipping-scissors of
a little heedless maid — creeps up, twists itself round the stone, a
little, pale, meek thing, tending xipward — becoming a delicate green
in the wooing sunlight — strengthening in the morning, when birds
are singing — at mid-day when man is toiling — at night, while men
are sleeping, until it pushes away the stone, and overshadows its
inauspicious birthplace with strength and beauty.

Yes : where good seed has been sown, there is always hope, that,
one day or other, it will, despite snares and pitfalls, despite scorn
and bitterness, despite evil report, despite temptations, despite those
wearying backslidings which give the wicked and the idle scoffers
ground for rejoicing, — sooner or later it will fi'uctify.

All homage to the good seed ! — all homage to the good sower !

And who sowed the good seed in the heart of Mathew Hownley ?
Truly, it would be hard to tell. Perhaps some sower intent on doing
his Master's business ; porliaps some hand unconscious of the wealth
it dropped ; perhaps a young child, brimful of love, and faith, and
trust in tlie bright world around ; perhaps some gentle woman,
whose knowledge was an inspiration rather than an acquirement;
perhaps a bold, true preacher of the Word, stripping the sinner of
the robe that covered his deformity, and holding up his cherished
sins as warnings to the world ; perhaps it was one of Watts's hymns,
learned at his nurse's knee (for Mathew and Martha had endured
the unsympathizing neglect of a iiiotlierless childhood) , a little line,
never to be forgotten, — a whisper, soft, low, enduring, — a comfort
in trouble, a stronghold in danger, a refuge from despair. Oh, what
a world's wealth is there in a simple line of childhood's poetry !
Martha herself often quoted the " Busy Bee : " but her bee had no
wings ; it could muck in the wax, but not fly for the honey. As to
Mathew, wherever the seed had come from, there, at all events, it
was, struggling, but existing — biding its time to burst forth, to bud,
and to blossom, and to bear fruit.

'IN DUE time:'

281

The exposure concerning the spoons and sugar-tongs made Mathew
so angry, that Martha wished she had never had any thing to do with
them ; but, instead of avoiding the fault, she simply resolved in her
own mind never again to let Mathew know any of her little transac-
tions in the way of buying or barter : that was all.

Mathew, all that day, continued more thoughtful and silent than
usual, which his sister considered a bad sign : he was reserved to his
customers, — nay, worse : he told a woman she should not give gin to
her infant at his bar, and positively refused, the following Sunday,
to open his house at all. Martha asked him if he were mad. He
replied, "No:" he was "regaining his senses." Then Martha
thought it best to let him alone : he had been "worse" — that is,
according to her reading of the word " worse " — before, — taken the
"dumps" in the same way, but recovered, and gone back to his
business "like a man."

Peter Croft, unable to pay up his score, managed, nevertheless,
to pay for what he drank. For a whole week Martha would not
listen to his proposals for payment " in kind : " even his wife's last
shawl could not tempt her, though Martha confessed it was a beauty ;
and what possible use could Mrs. Peter have for it now, it was so
out of character with her destitution. She heard no more of it, so
probably the wretched husband dis^wsed of it elsewhere : this disap-
pointed her. She might as well have had it ; she would not be such
a fool again ; Mathew was so seldom in the bar, that he could not
know what she did. Time passed on : Martha thought she saw one
or two symptoms of what she considered amendment in her brother.
"Of course," she argued, "he will come to himself in due time."

In the twilight which followed that day, Peter Croft, pale, bent,
and dirty, the drunkard's redness in his eyes, the drunkard's fever
on his lips, tapped at the door of the room off the bar, which was
more particularly Martha's room, — it was, in fact, her watch-tower,
— the door half glazed, and the green curtain about an inch from
the middle division : over this the sharp, observant woman might
see whatever occurred, and no one could go in or out without her
Jcnowledge.

282

A DRUNKARD'S BIBLE.

She did not say "Come in" at once: she longed to know what
new temptation he had brought her, for she felt assured he had
neither money nor credit left.

And yet she feared, "Mathew made such a worry out of every
little thing." The next time he tapped at the window of the door,
her eyes met his over the curtain ; and then she said, " Come in," in
a penetrating, sharp voice, which was an}' thing but an invitation.

"I have brought you something now, Miss Hownley, that I know
you won't refuse to lend me a trifle on," said the ruined tradesman :
"I am sure you won't refuse, Miss Hownley. Bad as I want the
money, I could not take it to a pawnbroker; and, if the woman
asks for it, I can say I lent it, Miss Hownley: you know I can
say that."

Peter Croft laid a Bible on the table, and, folding back the pages
with his trembling fingers, showed that it was abundantly illustrated
by fine engravings. Martha loved "pictures;" she had taken to
pieces a "Pilgrim's Progress," and varying the devotional engrav-
ings it had contained with abundant cuttings out from illustrated
newspapers, and a few colored caricatures, had covered one side of a
screen, which, when finished, she considered would be at once the
comfort and amusement of her old age. After the drunkard had
partially exhibited its contents, he stood by with stolid indifference ;
while she measured the engravings with her eye, looking ever and
anon toward the screen. "Very well," she said, uttering a delib-
erate untruth with her lips, while her mind was made up what to do,
— " very well : what did you say you wanted for it? " He repeated
the sum : she took out exactly half, and laid the shining temptation
on the table before him.

"Have you the heart. Miss Hownley," be said, while fingering,
rather than counting, the money, — " have you the heart to offer me
such a little for such a great deal ? "

"if you have the heart to sell it, I may have the heart to offer
such a price," she answered, with a light laugh ; " and it is only a.
drunkard's bible ! "

Peter Croft dashed the money from him with a bitter oath.

WHAT THE GOOD BOOK SAYS.

283

" Oh, very well ! " she said ; " take it, — or leave it."

She resumed her work.

The only purpose to which a drunkard is firm is to his own ruin.
Peter went to the door, returned, took up the money. "Another
shilling, miss? // will be in the till again before morning."

Martha gave him the other shilling, and, after he was fairly out of
the room, grappled the book, commenced lc-.!*'.ng at the pictures in
right earnest, and congratulated herself on her good bargain. In
due time the house was cleared ; and she went to bed, placing the
Bible on the top of her table, among a miscellaneous collection of
worn-out dusters and tattered glass-cloths, " waiting to be mended."

That night the master of "The Grapes" could not sleep. More
than once be fancied he smelt fire ; and after going into the unoccu-
pied rooms, and peeping through the keyholes and under the doors
of those that were occupied, he descended to the bar, and finally,
entering tlie little bar-parlor, took his day-book from a shelf, and,
placing the candle, sat down, listlessly turning over its leaves. But
the top of the table would not shut ; and, raising it to remove the
obstruction, Mathew saw a large family Bible. Pushing away the
day-book, he opened the sacred volume.

It opened at the 23d chapter of Proverbs : and, as if guided by a
sacred light, his eyes fell upon the 29th verse ; and he read, —

"Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who
hath babbling ? who hath wounds without cause ? wlio hath redness of
eyes?

"They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed
wine.

" Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his
color in the cup, when it rooveth itself aright.

"At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder."

He dashed over the leaves in fierce displeasure ; and, as if of
themselves, they folded back at the 5th chapter of Galatians:
"Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the
which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that
they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.'*

284

THE BAY THAT MUST COME.

"New and Old, New and Old," murmured Matbew to himself.
" I am condemned alike by the Old and the New Testament." He
had regarded intoxication and its consequences heretofore as a great
social evil. The fluttering rags and the fleshless bones of the drunk-
ard and his family; the broils, the contentions, the ill-feeling, the
violence, the murders, wrought by the dread spirit of alcohol, — had
stood in array before him as social crimes, as social dangers ; but he
<lid not call to mind, if he really knew, that the word of God exposed
alike its destruction and its sinfulness. He was one of the many
wlio, however good and moral in themselves, shut their ears against
tlie voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely ; and, though he
often found wisdom and consolation in a line of Watts's hymns, he
rarely went to the fountain of living waters for the strengthening and
refreshing of his soul. He turned over the chapter, and found on
the next page a collection of texts, written upon a strip of paper in
the careful hand of one to whom writing was evidently not a frequent
occupation.

Proverbs, the 23d chapter: "For the drunkard and the glutton
shall come to poverty : and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags."
1 Corinthians, 6th chapter, 10th verge : " Nor thieves, nor covetous,
nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the king-
dom of God."

"Again that awful threat!" murmured Mathew; "and have I
been the means of bringing so many of my fellow-creatures under
its ban?"

1 Samuel, the 1st chapter: "And Eli said unto her. How long
wilt thou be drunken? put away thy wine from thee." Luke 21:
*' And take heed to yourselves, lest at any time your hearts be over-
charged with surfeiting, and drunkenness, and cares of this life, and
so that day come upon you unawares."

"Ay, THAT DAY," repeated the landlord, ^- " </ta< day, — the day
that must come."

Ephesians, 5th chapter: "And be not drunk with wine, wherein
is excess; but be filled with the Spirit." Proverbs, 20th chapter:
*'\Vine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is de-

TAKE HEED TO THE THING THAT IS BIGHT.

28&

ceived thereby is not wise." "TToe to thee who selleth wine to thy
neighbor, and mingleth strong drink to his destruction."

He rose from the table, and paced up and down tlie little room : no
eye but His who seeth all things looked upon the " earnestness and
agitation of that man ; no ear but the AH- hearing beard his sighs,
liis half-muttered prayers to be strengthened for good. He said
within himself, "TKAo will counsel me in this matter? To whom
shall I fly for sympathy? Who will tell me what I ought to do?
How remedy the evils I have brought on others while in this busi-
ness, even when my heart was alive to its wickedness?" He had no
friend to advise with, — none who would do aught but laugh at and
ridicule the idea of giving up a good business for conscience' sake :
but so it was that it occurred to him, " You have an immortal Friend ;
take counsel of Him, pray to Him, learn of him, trust Him ; make
His book your guide." And, opening the Bible, he read one other
passage: "Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right;
for that shall bring a man peace at the last."

Pondering on this blessed rule of life, so simple and so compre-
hensive, he turned back the pages, repeating it over and over again,
until he came to the first fly-leaf, wherein were written the births,
maiTiages, and deaths of the humble family to whom the Bible had
belonged ; and therein, second on the list, he saw in a stiff, half-
printed hand, the name, Emma Hanby, only daughter of James and
Mary Jane Hanby, born so-and-so, married at such a date to Peter
Croft !

"Emma Hanby," born in his native village, — the little Emma
Hanby whom he had loved to carry over the brook to school ; by
whose side in boy-love he had sat in the meadows ; for whom he had
gathered flowers ; whose milk-pail he bad so often lifted over the
church-stile ; whom he had loved as he never could or did love woman
since ; whom he would have married, if she, light-hearted girl that
she was, could have loved the tall, yellow, awkwai*d youth whom it
was her pastime to laugh at, and her delight to call " Daddy," — was
she, then, the wife — the torn, soiled, tattered, worn-out, insulted,
broken-spirited wife — of the drunkard, t»eter Croft? It seemed im-

286

THE RUM-SELLER ON HIS KNEES.

possible, her memory had been such a sunbeam from boyhood up,
the refluer of his nature, the dream that often came to him by day
and uigiit. While passing the parochial school, when the full tide
of girls rushed from its beat into the thick city-air, his heart bad
often beat if the ringing laugh of a merry child sounded like the
laugh he once thought music ; and he would watch to see if the girl
resembled the voice that recalled his early love.

"And I have helped to bring her to this," he repeated over and
over to himself ; " even I have done this ; this has been ray doing."
He might have consoled himself by the argument, that, if Peter Croft
had not drunk at "The Grapes," he would have drunk somewhere
else ; but liis seared conscience neither admitted nor sought an
excuse : and after an hour or more of earnest prayer with sealed lips,
but a soul bowed down, at one moment by contempt for his infirmity
of purpose, and at another elevated by strong resolves of great sacri-
fice, ]Mathew, carrying with him the drunkard's Bible, sought his
bed. He slept the feverish, unrefreshing sleep which so frequently
succeeds strong emotion. He saw troops of drunkards, — blear-
eyed, trembling, ghastly spectres, pointing at him with their shaking
fingers, while, with pestilential breath, they demanded " who had
sold them poison." Women, too, — drimkards, or drunkards' wives,
in either case, starved, wretched creatures, with scores of ghastly
children, — hooted him as he passed through caverns reeking of gin,
and hot with the steam of all poisonous drinks ! He awoke just as
the dawn was crowning the bills of his childhood with glory, and
while its munificent beams were penetrating the thick atmosphere
•which hung as a veil before his bedroom window.

To Mathew the sunbeams came like heavenly messengers, winging
their way through the darkness and chaos of the world for the world's
light and life. He had never thought of that before, but he thought
of and felt it then; and much good it did him, strengthening his
good intent. A positive flood of light poured in through a pane of
glass which had been cleaned the previous morning, and played upon
the cover of the poor drunkard's Bible. Mathew bent his knees
to the ground, his heart full of emotions, — the emotions of his early

now " THE GRAPES" LAY IN THE KENNEL.

287

and better nature ; and be bowed bis bead uix)U bis bauds, and
prayed in bonest resolve and earnest zeal. Tbe burden of tbut
prayer, wbiob escaped from between bis lips in murmurs sweet as tbe
murmurs of living waters, was, tbat God would bave mercy \x\wn
bim, and keep bim in tbe rigbt patb, and niuke bim, unwortby as be
was, tbe means of grace to otbers, — to be God's instrument for good
to bis fellow-creatures ; to minister to tbe prosperity, tbe regenera-
tion, of bis own kind. Ob, if God would but mend tbe broken vessel,
if be would but beal tbe bruised reed, if be would but receive bim
into bis flock ! Ob, bow often be repeated, " God give me strengtb !
Lord strengtben me ! "

And be arose, as all arise after steadfast prayer, strengtbened, and
prepared to set about bis work. I now quote bis own account of
wbat followed : —

'' I bad," be said, '' fixed in my mind tbe duty I was called upon
to perform : I saw it brigbt before me. It was now clear to me,
whetber I turned to tbe right or to tbe left : tbere it was, written in
letters of light. I went down-staira, I unlocked tbe street-door, I
brought a ladder from tbe back of my bouse to tbe front ; and with
my own bands, in the gray, soft haze of morning, I tore down the
sign of my disloyalty to a good cause. 'The Grapes' lay in tbe
kennel, and my first triumph was achieved. I then descended to my
cellar, locked myself in, turned all tbe taps, and broke the bottles
into tbe torrents of pale ale and brown stout which foamed around
me. Never once did my determination even waver. I vowed to
devote the remainder of my life to the destruction of alcohol, and
to give my power and my means to reclaim and succor those who had
wasted their substance and debased their characters beneath my roof.
I felt as a freed man, from whom fetters had been suddenly struck
off. A sense of manly independence thrilled through my frame.
Through tbe black and reeking arch of tbe beer-vault, I looked up to
heaven. I asked God again and again for the strength of purjiose
and perseverance which I had hitherto wanted all my latter life.
While called a 'respectable man,' and an 'honest publican,' I knew
tbat I was acting a falsehood, and dealing in the moral — perhai)8

288

"AWAY THEY 00."

§ )

\ I

the eternal — deaths of many of those careless drinkers, who had
'sorrow and torment, and quarrels and wounds without cause,' even
while I, who sold the incentives to sorrow and torment, and quarrels
and wounds without cause, knew that they ' bit like serpents, and
stung like adders.' What a knave I had been ! erecting a temple to
my own respectability on the ruins of respectability in my fellow-
creatures ; talking of honesty, when I was inducing sinners to aug-
ment their sin by every temptation that the fragrant rum, the
white-faced gin, the brown, bouncing brandy could offer, all adulter-
ated, all untrue as myself, all made even worse than their original
natures by downright and positiv .' fraud ; talking of honesty, as if I
had been honest ; going to church, as if I were a practical Christian,
and passing by those I had helped to make sinners with contempt
upon my lip, and a ' Stand by, I am holier than thou ! ' in my proud
heart, even at the time I was inducing men to become accessories to
their own shame and sin, and the ruin of their families.

"Bitter but happy tears of penitence gushed from my eyes as the
ocean of intoxicating and baneful drinks swelled and rolled and
seethed around me. I opened the drain, and they rushed forth to add
to the impurity of the Thames. ' Away they go ! ' I said : ' their
power is past. They will never more turn the staggering workman
into the streets, or nerve his arm to strike down the wife or child he
is bound by the law of God and man to protect ; never more send
the self-inflicted fever of delirium tremens through the swelling veins ;
never drag the last shilling from the drunkard's hand ; never more
quench the fire on the cottage hearth, or send the pale, overworked
artisan's children to a supperless bed ; never more blister the lips of
woman, or poison the blood of childhood; never again inflict the
Saturday's headache which induced the prayerless Sunday. Away,
away ! Would that I had the power to so set adrift all the so perverted
produce of the malt, the barley, and the grape, of the world ! ' As
my excitement subsided, I felt still more resolved. The more I
calmed down, the firmer I became. I was as a paralytic recovering
the use of his limbs, as a blind man restored to sight. The regrets
and doubts that had so often disturbed my mind gathered themselves

REFOliMED AND A REFORMER.

289

into a mighty power, not to be subdued by earthly motives or earthly
reasoning. I felt the dignity of a mission. I would be a temper-
ance missionary to the end of my days ! "

And he kept his vow. He did all he could to repair the evil
he had helped to encourage in poor Peter Croft's case, and
lived and died reformed and a reformer.

The story is a noble one, and should be republished in full
by the conductors of " Harper's Magazine." It will amply
repay perusal.

I cannot be too thankful to Almighty God, that I have had
the good fortune and the grace, in a humble way, to imitate the
good example (if, alas ! also the bad) of Mathew Hownley.

And I beg, I earnestly implore, the many really good-hearted
but criminally careless men who are to-day in the ranks of the
rum-sellers, to follow my example, just as I have followed
Mathew Hownley's, and as we both have followed the teach-
ings of true wisdom, practical morality, and the Holy Bible.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FURTHER DETAILS OF MY INIQUITIES AS A RUM-8EI,LER. — " FREE LUNCHES"
DENOUNCED ANi> EXPOSED. — THE " CORDIAL " HUMBUG. — THE T^ECulT-
BOTTLE. — THE 8TOBY OF A DEBAUCH. — "THK NEW-YORK HOUSE." —
RUM AND RUIN. —THE FATE OF RUM-SBLLERS.

But, alas ! I am not now writing of my reformation, but of
my fall ; not of the days in which I have been striving to do
good, but of the days and nights in which I did evil, and that
continually.

I was very wicked, and very cunning in my wickedness, in a
low, small way. I did all I could to decoy my victims, and
succeeded only too completely. I patronized all the latest de-
Vices to lead my customers into drinking. I had the latest
novelties in the way of patent dice-boxes, "to throw for
drinks." And I prided myself on the quality and quantity of
the viands I displayed to tempt my customers at my "free
lunch."

A few words here as to "free lunches." These are among
the most dangerous devices of the arch-ffend of intemperance.
They utilize one appetite to produce and assist the develop-
ment of another. They give the glamour of a spurious liber-
ality to the mercenary arts of the rum-seller. They delude the
unthinking and the unwary. They are misnomers. They are
styled " free," but there is nothing " free " about them. They
are intended to be paid for — and dearly paid for — by the par-
takers thereof. They are either of a very common and cheap
sort, — salted provisions, which incite to the thirst, which it is

THE DOUBLE PROFIT OF "A FREE LUNCU."

291

designed to appease subsequently by liquor, — or, if they are
of a higher grade, they are so served and hedged round with
social etiquette and observances, as to cause the " free luncher "
to feel under obligations to pay an exorbitant price for his
drinks.

In some places, such as the far-famed Hoffman-house bar,
the lunch consists of sugar-cured hams, potato or other salads,
even chicken occasionally, etc. These are served on plates
by a waiter, and are partaken of on finely polished tables.
This lunch, thus served, is " free :" but at the luucher's side
stands an attendant, who expects, and gives you to understand
that he expects, your order for some drink, and this drink
is charged to you at a tariff considerably in excess of the regu-
lar price of your drink. Whiskey which is sold to you at
the bar, without the " free " lunch, for fifteen cents, is served
to you with the "free" lunch, at twenty cents. The "free-
dom" of your lunch amounts, therefore, to just five cents, which
in itself much more than covers the actual cost of your " free "
lunch, in addition to absolutely forcing you to spend fifteen
cents besides for the drink, on which the profit is again tremen-
dous. Your " free " lunch, therefore, pays a double profit to
the bar.

But, even in the cases where no direct advance is charged for
the lunch, it leads directly to the purchasing of drinks which
would not otherwise be purchased, and is thus very, though
indirectly, profitable.

Some of the largest and most popular saloons in the large
cities set quite an elaborate "free" lunch of soups and meats,
and only charge ten cents for their drinks. And yet their
proprietors make fortunes, showing conclusively how much
" money " there is in the cursed " business."

I have calculated, that, on an average, ten " free lunches "
will not consume over twenty-five cents' worth of provbions at

292

THE ''CORDIAL" DODGE.

I Ml

1 iiiiiii.

t i

! ii

actual cost, an item which bears a very small proportion indeed
to the money they expend in liquors and cigars.

I have also calculated, and I think I am correct in my calcu-
lations, that at least twice as many people are induced to drink
by a " free " lunch as would otherwise be led to partake. So
that, taken altogether, a free lunch is one of the most profitable,
as it is popular, of rum-sellers' dodges.

Let a poor devil who really needs a lunch, try to get a really
" free " lunch at one of these saloons, and see how he will fare.
Let him eat and not drink, and see how he will be treated —
or maltreated.

This whole "free-lunch" business is a delusion, a sham, and
a snare ; and, as " one who knows," I expose and protest against
it.

And quite as pernicious a snare, and quite as thorough and
paltry a shame, is the " cordial " dodge. " Bitters " so called,
" tonics " and " cordials " so styled, are kept " in stock " in all
the rum-shops ; and men, who ought to know better, ease their
consciences by partaking of these compounds, thinking, or pre-
tending to think, that they are not, thereby, " drinking," — in
the intoxicating or intemperate sense of that term.

And not a few men, and some women, partake freely of these
cordials at their offices or homes, who claim to be "temperance"
men and women. And yet all these "bitters," "cordials,"'
tonics, and the like, contain a very large per cent of alcohol,
and will as assuredly intoxicate as alcohol itself.

The imbiber of " bitters," etc., does but deceive himself, — if
he does even that; he certainly does not deceive the world at
large, which by this time has found out what these "bitters,"
etc., really are; he does but add the vice of hypocrisy or
deceit to the vice of intemperance.

But, of course, I was not burdened with these reflections at
the time, of which I write : and I displayed a fine assortment

TUE ''DECOY-BOTTLE" TRICK.

293

of " bitters," cordials, and the like, to my customers ; though
I seldom partook of them myself, preferring " to take my whis-
key straight." All this time I drank heavily, of course ; but,
even in my drinking, I resorted to stratagem, — the usual rum-
sellers' stratagem. I was asked, during an average day and
night, to drink so often with my customers (invitations which,
of course, I could not disregard in the way of "business"),
that I would assuredly have been drunk all the time, and un-
able to attend to business, had I not resorted to the familiar
" decoy-bottle " trick. I had a bottle of cider, or very diluted
spirits, sometimes of colored lemonade, constantly on hand;
which bottle was labelled whiskey or brandy, and passed as
such. When invited to "drink," I would help myself from
this bottle, helping my friend and patron from another bottle,
and charging both d4nks to him ; thus combining pleasure,
profit, and humbug.

I still retained, and, in fact, gained in, the personal " popu-
larity" to which I have already alluded; and, even making
allowances for the times when I resorted to my " decoy " bottle,
I was one of the best, or worst, customers of my own bar. I
paid my victims at least the poor compliment of often partaking
with them the poison I offered to them. And occasionally I
would neglect my saloon and its interests altogether for days
at a time, trusting my business to my subordinates, and con-
centrating my energies on having a wild debauch with some
boon companions.

Returning from one of these debauches, in the course of
which I had visited the metropolis, and had not drawn a sober
breath between New York and Boston, I found that several of
my regular customers had, as it were, taken possession of my
saloon ; having, in friendly fashion, overpowered the bar-keeper
I had left in charge, and literally " helped themselves."

I found bar-keeper and patrons alike in a state of intoxi-

294

SATAN'S CARNIVAL.

cation ; high carnival being in progress, — Satan's carnival.
Some men were sleeping their liquor off on ray sofas : others
were stretched, rolling, upon the floor. At first I was in-
clined to be enraged with my bar-keeper, and cross with my
customers, who had thus violated all the " customs " of saloon-
life, "running the saloon themselves." But I was too "far
gone " myself to find fault with others for being in a similar
condition. So, after the first emotions of surprise and anger
had passed, I entered into the spirit and spirits of the scene,
and intensified the debauch and disorder instead of ending it.

I invited all hands to "make a night of it," a proposal which
was hailed with yells of delight by all those who were still
capable of comprehending it; and I must confess that I was
myself somewhat surprised to find how many of thoso present
did " comprehend " it thoroughly.

One man, whom I thought was buried in a drunken sleep
upon the floor, heard my proposition, and awoke with amazing
alacrity. I don't suppose that any other possible proposition
would have awoke him then, but a proposition to drink more
at somebody else's expense.

Another man, who had been tossing about on a lounge in
a corner, and who, I thought, was in the last stage of debauch,
immediately ceased tossing, and arose, and walked to the bar
with alacrity, calling for a " free " drink, in practical indorse-
ment of my proposition. ^

My suggestion was carried, as they say, viva voce, nem. con.
So we did "have a night of it" indeed. Pouring out my
best, and worst, for the delectation and destruction of my com-
pany, I led the way into the streets with a wild "hurrah,"
which was echoed by the crowd. We perpetrated all sorts of
pranks, terrified decent people out of their wits, and had what is
styled "a high old time " generally. One of our number con
ceived a deep, desperate attachment to a lamp-post, clung to it

GIVING A LAMP-POST TAFFY.

295

closely and tenderly, and could not be torn from it. He kissed
it with drunken fervor, called it " pet names," and, what I have
never seen or heard done before or since, " gave the lamp-post
taffy" — talked to the lamp-post just as a young man would to
the girl he was courting on a Sunday night.

Longfellow says somewhere, "Affection never was wasted ,"
but then, Longfellow, poor fellow! had never seen a fellow
making love to a lamp-post.

What became of us all that night I cannot, to this day,
distinctly remember i but I do distinctly remember, to this
hour, what a terrible headache I had next day, and how
fearfully I paid for that debauch by shattered nerves and
disordered system for days afterward.

From the date of this debauch I became demoralized ; spree
succeeded spree ; I neglected my business, not only occasion-
ally, but altogether, and soon was "ruined," not only as a
man, but as a rum-seller.

I had no longer any saloon to keep, or rum to sell. On
account of my excesses, I was compelled to give up business ;
or, rather, my business gave up me. And after a campaign of
about six months against the pocket-books, health, and mor-
als of my fellow-men, "Othello's occupation was gone," and
I was a bankrupt, and once more without a business.

Had I now received my deserts, I would have been per-
mitted, through my own wickedness and recklessness, to go
from one excess into another, and to go down at last into a
drunkard's grave ; but, through the mercy of Providence, my
evil career did not produce upon me a fatal result.

In this dark hour kind friends, far kinder than I deserved,
gathered round me, taking pity upon one who had no pity
for himself or others. My brothers still clung to me : a good
home was even now placed at my disposal. Nay, my excep-
tional good luck went still farther : and although I had wasted,

296

ONE MORE CHANCE.

W '

\i f

as has been seen, one large sum of money placed at my com-
mand unexpectedly by one friend; yet I now came across
still another party, who had faith in my business capacity,
and who once more offered to start me in business. Other
parties sustained my new, or, rather, my old, fiiend and well-
wisher in his offer ; and I found, that, with all my dissipations,
I yet retained the confidence of a certain number of my fel-
low-men, who were willing to aid me by every means in their
power. And, really, I could have been a good manager, and
a successful business-man, had not that terrible blight of in-
temperance settled over me ; but that destroyed all.

My kind friends determined to give me one more chance ;
and, more money being placed at my disposal, I opened a
hotel. I leased the estate of the late Samuel Piper, Esq.,
the extensive coal-dealer of Boston, at 21 South Street in
that city, and, fitting up the establishment as a hotel and
restaurant, called it "The New- York House." The house
was of only moderate size ; but I made my calculations for
profit upon my dining-room and restaurant, and my " meals "
would have paid me had I properly attended to them and
to business. But I opened a " sideboard " (another name
for a "bar"), and soon became the most constant customer
of that portion of the establishment.

At first my trade more than equalled the expectations of
my friends: business was " rushing," and I employed a num-
ber of colored waiters. I made money from the very start,
but, alas ! my money did me more harm than good. I became
careless, reckless, dissipated once more, and more than ever.
Not only was my business " rushing," but I was " rushing "
to perdition. I gave no attention to the affairs of the house*
and frequently would stagger into the dining-room, at meal-
times, in a maudlin condition. This misbehavior naturally
offended my guests, and their number began to diminish ,

A DEBAUCH.

297

while all discipline and comfort in the house were at an
end.

Then I began to absent myself from the place, — took to
"spreeing around," as it is termed, and made myself locally
conspicuous by my excesses. Frequently I would start ofif
from my house to do my daily marketing, leaving word with
the steward or head-waiter that I would return in, say, an
hour; as I then would really intend. But meeting, on the way
to or from market, with some "boon" companion, whose so-
ciety was the very reverse of a " boon " to me, we would begin
to drink at the nearest bar-room, and would keep drinking, at
bar-room after bar-room, all that day maybe, — all that day
and night maybe, — and maybe for days and nights together.

Once, starting for market early one morning, I did not return
to my place for nearly two weeks. I met some foolish friends,
with time and money to waste ; and we started on a debauch,
which, beginning in Boston, was carried all the way to New
York, where we remained the greater portion of the time.

What a fearful fortnight that was I With what regret and
shame I look back upon it now 1 We were none of us sober all
those long two weeks, and passed our time in sin of all descrip-
tions. Within the two weeks we broke, either directly or indi-
rectly, every one of the Ten Commandments. Beasts — self-
made human beasts — that we were, we wallowed in the mire.
And yet we were all full-grown men, — some even married
men, with sons and daughters, — men whose wives spent the
two weeks in sadly wondering and fearing what had become
of their husbands.

At last we returned, but in what a condition ! One of our
party was suffering from an attack of delirium tremens. I my-
self was bordering on the same. It had been a debauch, and
we had to pay the penalty. A debauch like this is one of tlie
most expensive things on earth, for it costs more than any man

298

BEGINNING THE DAY WITH lUlANDY.

•. 1

i i

MMI

can afford to pay. From that debauch matters grew steadily,
swiftly, worse and worse. I was going down hill now at rail-
road speed. My business decreased, and my dissipation in-
creased. I was completely the slave of alcoholic liquor. My
colored porter (Allen W. Sawyer, afterwards employed by Dr.
Lighthill of Boston) was instructed to bring me brandy every
morning before I arose from bed. I began the day, not with
prayer, but brandy. What good could possibly come of a day
thus horribly begun ?

One morning my porter forgot to bring my liquor. I
remained in bed for two hours, calling and cursing the delin-
quent. I was completely the slave of my depraved desire for
strong drink. When at last the porter appeared, I met him
with a volley of abuse. In fact, I abused everybody connected
with me, as is generally the case with drinking-men. There ia
no such a creature as a " genial " hard-drinker.

Hard, constant drinking of alcoholic liquors so upsets the
nervous system as to render the drinker, if not mad, morose ;
he becomes unduly, unnaturally irritable ; he becomes, not only
a pest to society, but a terror to his family and servants.
Though, when in my normal condition, a really kind-hearted
man, I became in my cups (and I was now always in my cups)'
almost a fiend in my ill-temper, as, I fear, my poor porter,
Allen, who in his way was an honest, obliging fellow enough,
could testify.

Meanwhile, as my health declined, and my temper grew
worse, my pecuniary matters became more and more entangled.-
My creditors were numerous by this time, and waxed impatient.
They put their claims into constables' hands to collect. Th&
State police made my acquaintance as an hnpecunious debtor,
— but a shade better than a defaulter. I could not meet my
obligations. At last the end came, as could have been expected
from such a beginning. The grand finale of my once prosper-

R UM-SELLER ' S MONE Y.

299

0U8 hotel was an auction-sale of the chattels contained therein.
I was now literally houseless. I was turned out into the street.
Nay, let me write the simple truth. I had turned myself out
into the street. I had rendered myself homeless. Providence
had given me opportunity after opportunity. Friend after
friend had given me chance after chance, but in vain, — all
in vain. Rum had proved stronger than Providence or
friends.

Once more I began to realize that the way of the trans-
gressor and rum-seller and rum-drinker is hard. I became a
complete beggar. From comparative affluence I had sunk to
extreme poverty, and in less than two years. All the money I
had made by my cursed traffic in rum had done me no lasting
good. It had gone, as it came, with a curse.

And here let me remark, that experience and observation
have taught me that rum-sellers' money never comes to good.
It curses too many to be blessed itself. I have yet to learn of
a case in which a man who sold rum has reaped and kept a
fortune under such circumstances as to benefit himself.

True, he often makes a fortune, but it is sooner or later
wasted or lost. It never results in solid, lasting advantages to
its possessor or his family. Even in the very, very few cases
which serve as exceptions to prove this rule, it will be found
that some terrible misfortune has accompanied the pecuniary
benefits realized.

Of the five men, who are all the rum-sellers I have ever
known or heard of who have kept the money they made, four
have been cursed in ways unconnected with money, it is true,
but in such ways as to render their money worthless. One of
the five is a raving maniac in an asylum. Another is an im-
becile. A third is afflicted with a terrible and incurable ner-
vous disease, and the fourth has experienced every possible
variety of domestic misfortune.

I !!

800 DISGRACED IN BOSTON.

" There's a Divinity which shai^es our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will."

I was now another example of the truth I have just been
stating and illustrating. Spite of all the money I had made
by sin, I was now not only a sinner, but a pauper.

I had been poor before this, when, on my Western trip, I
had scarcely managed to keep soul and body together ; and it
was rum had ruined me then. I had returned to the East
once more, and had prospered, in a worldly point of view, for
a season ; but I was now again prostrated, and rum had ruined
me again. Disgraced in Boston, I turned my rum-reddened
eyes in the direction of New York. The railroad-pass business
Avas now at an end with me. I had exhausted all my influence
in that direction. But I managed t^- borrow ten dollars from
A friend (the last of the friends I hau left in Boston), and with
that money purchased a ticket for New York.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A BROKEN PROMISE AND A RROKEN-HRARTED BROTHER. — LIQUOR BRINfi!*
ITS REVENGE. —THE HORRORS OF MANIA A POTU, OB DELIRIUM TllE-
MENS. — SOME CURIOUS AND STARTLING FACTS. — HOW I FELT AND WHAT
I SUFFERED.
— STATION-HOUSE LODGERS AND REVOLVERS.

New York once more. The wheel of fortune had turned
around ; and again I was a castaway in a great city, alone, —
a wanderer over the face of the earth. But I did not rei)ent
me of my folly : my time for true repentance had not yet come.
I only drank. I did not think. And will it be believed? I
absolutely spent the greater part of the balance of the ten dol-
lars loaned me to come to New York on, — the only money I
had in the world just then, — in rum.

Then, with only two dollars between me and starvation, I
went round, in a mechanical sort of a way, seeking employment.
But by this time being well known to be a confirmed drunk-
ard, and bearing the evidences of my bad habits with me in
my general appearance, and my breath, I failed, and was re-
duced to literally my last dollar, soon to my last half-dollar ;
and a half-dollar does not go very far in New York.

Had I been punished as I richly deserved, I would have
been, at this crisis of my fate, abandoned by the kind Provi-
dence that had hitherto watched over me, and allowed to drain
the cup of misery and starvation to its dregs. But yet another
chance was to be offered to me, and abused by me.

At this time, when every penny was valuable to me, nay,

802

A BROKEN PROMISE.

vital, I received, in the most unexpected manner, from a party
I most unexpectedly met, a hundred dollars. And then my
dear, good brother William, at my urgent solicitation, know-
ing that I understood thoroughly the restaurant business, and
having faith in the promises I now made to attend to it, loaned
me some money himself, and borrowed some more money for
my use from others ; and thus once more I had a start in life.
My brother had solemnly exacted from me a pledge, before he
let me have the money, that under no circumstances would I
hereafter touch liquor, or sell it. I gave the required pledge,
and, to do myself but justice, gave it in good faith. At the
time I really never intended — just then — ever to taste or
deal in rum again.

My brother had faith in my word, and joyfully assisted me to
start on a new career of industry and sobriety. What with
some cash and some credit, I obtained quite a stock of goods
and furniture, and opened a restaurant at 144 Bleecker Street,
This restaurant I christened " The St. Lawrence," in honor of
the noble river on whose banks I first saw the light of day.
And for a time the establishment did well, and promised to do
better. Alas ! it probably would have fulfilled its promise
better than I kept mine.

For in an evil, ill-omened hour, I deceived my noble, gener-
ous, confiding brother. I listened to the bad advice of a dis-
solute companion, and introduced liquor on my premises, first
secretly, then openly, as an article of traffic. In short, my
restaurant became, what too many restaurants already are, a
drinking-saloon, a cursed rum-shop.

The fatal consequences of this foolish and vile course of
procedure soon became apparent, chiefly in my own person.
As usual, I became the most frequent and steady customer of
my own bar ; and the same evil results followed that had at-
tended me before. I took to hard drinking. My place became

SPECIAL CURSE" OF INTEMPERANCE.

303

a reHort for hard drinkers. I was seen, in business hours and
in business places, drunk.

The news reached the ears, and was brought before the very
eyes, of my creditors, — of the parties who, on my own and my
brotlier's representations of my sobriety, had let me have goods
or furniture. Finding themselves deceived, the parties who
still owned the goods (as I had not paid for them), and the
furniture-dealers, came, and took their property away. In less
than three weeks after its opening, my restaurant, or saloon,
was closed. Such was the end of my third, and, as it proved,
my last, rum-shop. And I now thank Heaven that it ended
«o. It was fitting that all such undertakings should terminate
in bringing upon themselves, what they bring upon others,
— disaster.

But, alas ! my kind, my trusting, my deceived, brother, he
suffered through my folly and sin, he was blamed by those to
Whom he had made pledges for me ; and, worst of all, he was
grieved to the heart, alike at my intemperance and my deceit.
Poor fellow ! he had trusted me so, and had hoped in me so.
And now —

Poor, dear, kind-hearted, truly Christian brother! he was
brought to his bed by combined chagrin, anxiety, and disappoint-
ment. He had not been in robust health for some time, and
his trouble intensified his physical complaints. He was taken
with a severe attack of low typhoid fever, and for a while
serious consequences were anticipated. A very serious conse-
quence, indeed, did follow. Being, through grief and sickness,
unable to attend to his business, another person was employed
to do his necessary work ; and thus my ever temperate brother,
through his devotion to a drunkard, lost his place.

It is one of the special curses of intemperance, to bring sor-
row upon the innocent as well as guilty. Those who do not
drink must suffer with those who do. The drunkard's wife and

804

A DRUNJ.iRD'S nOM(EOPATHY.

t mm

';i

the drunkard's children are punished even more than the drunk-
ard : they have the shame and poverty and care to bear, without
experiencing the temporary exhilaration and excitement. My
poor brother was paying the penalty of my sins.

But he was avenged. For ihe sight of his sickness, and the
reflection that his misfortunes wp'-s caused by my worthlessness,
and the dark thoughts which now crowded upon me. as I saw
now what a rogue and fool alike I had been, under the damning
influence of drink, drove me, alas, alas! to drink the more.

Strange, and terrible as strar "^, that drunkards should be
unconsciously such confirmed homoeopaths. It is the cardinal
doctrine of homoeopathy, that like cures like, that what causes
a disease can cure it ; and, with liquor, the drinking-man seems
to act upon this principle. Kum leads him to sorrow, and
sorrow leads him back to rum, in a species of endless chain of
luckless destiny. In his case this homoeopathy of rum is a
horrible mistake. I found it so ; for now the liquor, which had
time and time again brought me to poverty and disgrace,
brought me at last to that horror of horrors, called mania a potUt
or delirium tremens.

This term is of unfortunately frequent occurrence. It is seen
constantly in print nowadays. But few, save those who have
suffered from it, ever even faintly realize all that it implies.

I would to Heaven that I had the genius of a Dickens or
a Victor Hugo. For in that case I would pen-paint, as only a
Dickens or a Hugo could, the terrors of delirium tremens;
although I firmly believe, that even those great men, or mea
equally great, would fail to adequately describe its fearful
agonies, unless they themselves had previously suffered them in
their own persons.

In many things, in most things, in this life, exaggeration is
possible, and in most cases does more harm than good. But
believe me, dear reader, in the case of mania a potu exagger«i<

IP'!:!.

A MAN WHO UAD " BEEN IN HELL " ALREADY

805

tion is simply impossible, and entirely out of the question. I
have read various descriptions of it in romances, temperance
books, and medical journals; but I have never yet read any
thing that conveys faithfully its horrors. I have even witnessed
an attempt to depict its agonies on the stage, — an attempt
made by a very clever actor; but it fell far short of the reality.

Oh! if this book of mine should fail of every other effect
upon every other man, woman, or child, save the one effect
of keeping one human bei.)[> free of delirium tremens, I would
gladly feel that it had not been written in vain.

It is recorded of a certain man, that he had been for years
an infidel, and had been particularly merry at the expense of the
orthodox idea of a place of torment. He had scoffed at the pos-
sibility of a hell, and had regarded his half-dozen or so argu-
ments against its existence as unanswerable. But one time he
suffered from an attack of delirium tremens ; and, from the date
of his recovery from this attack, he became a firm advocate of
Calvinism, and was one of the stanchest believers in the possi-
bility, nay, the actuality, of a hell. And he used to say, on the
subject being alluded to, that he had the strongest possiljle rea-
son for his change of belief; for he was wont to remark, allud-
ing to his sufferings in delirium tremens, "I have been in hell
already."

True, this tremens is "only a nervous" disorder: true, its
horrors exist only in the "imagination" of the sufferer. But
all this is merely a verbal descrii)tion, a definition of a fact :
it does not alter or affect the fact itself in the slightest. The
mere explanation, that the tortures of mania a jtotu are self-
caused, are created by the very creature's acts who suffers from
them, does not change the quality or the quantity of these
tortures.

As a rule, the delirium tremens is immediately preceded by
an attack of what is familiarly and forcibly styled " the hor-

li'

, !:1li(:!l|'

806

TUE nORRORS:'

rors." There never was a more appropriate name, — horrors
unutterable, the horror of horrors. There is no pain, no physi-
cal pain, accompanying these " horrors." They nre only a de-
pression of all the vital forces at once, — a depression of all
the nervous, intellectual, and spiritual forces, an intense feeble-
ness and hopelessness and helplessness, a shrinking at, a loath-
ing of, every thing and everybody, especially one's own self.
A most "horrible" state indeed, which often impels the sin-
ning sufferer to suicide.

But these " horrors " are but the prelude to the terrors of
delirium. Had as they are, they are only a negative state ;
whereas, in delirium itself, the terrors are active, abnormally,
awfully positive.

The stomach of the sufferer has become by this time coated
with, or, rather, the coat of the stomach lias been burned away
by, alcohol ; he cannot eat ; he has lost all desire for food ; he
cannot retain food in his stomach ; while his poor, heated brain
becomes abnormally, awfully active.

The poor victim of alcoholic dr.ink cannot find rest, even in
sleep ; he cannot sleep ; he is as wide awake at midnight as
at mid-day; he is restless, — abnormally, awfully restless; be
cannot keep still ; his muscles are twitching ceaselessly ; his
body is as wildly active in a diseased way as his rnind; he
talks incessantly.

And at last he goes alcohol-mad, licjuor-insane. Tliis alco-
hol-madness, this liquor-insanity, constitutes deliiium tremens.

During this madness the appearance of the sufferer is fright-
ful. His eyes <jlare wildly, his body quivers, his hands trem-
ble, his legs writlie. He is in a constant state of agitation, or
shaking : hence the vulgar but expressive term applied to the
fearful phenomenon, " the shakes."

lint his inward state is far more fearful than its outward
manifestations. He literally suffers the agonies of the dammed.

<■: •• i

m^i\ ■

A PEN-PICTUSE OF DELIRIUM TliEMENii.

807

That phrase sums up the situation. I could say no more if I
used words for a week.

Some years ago an artist died in the city of Philadelphia
from an attack of mania a potu. In the earlier stage of his
attack, before he became utterly unmanageable, he seized his
brush and canvas, and depicted some of the awful objects
which filled his sphere of vision. That canvas is now in the
possession of a physician in Philadelphia, and far surpasses in
sublimity of agony and terror any illustration of Dante's "In-
ferno " or " Paradise Lost " by Gustave Dor6.

A writer for the public press, a New- York journalist, was
once self-driven to delirium tremens. After his recovery he
wrote an article descriptive of the vagaries of his imagination
<luring his delirium. In his article he says, " When I stretched
myself on my bed, and closed my eyes, and willed, with all my
power of will, to sleep, lo ! I would feel myself dragged down
— down — down — to infinite depths of utter darkness at in-
finite speed. Then, when I raised myself on my bed, and sat
wide awake, lo ! I would feel myself lifted upwards, carried
up — up — up — into space, as it were, by the hands of fiends,
with devilish rapidity; and, whether I was rising or falling,
I would see, — I would be compelled to see, — ever rising or
falling witli me, and ever hissing in my ears, and ever darting
before my eyes, a hideous snake, which never left me k^ three
days cud nights, which seemed three eternides of toiaire."
After such an experience as this, is it any wonder that the
journalist, when he came to his senses, abjured liquor, as a
cursed V ing, forever. And would to God that all who have
sinned and soflTered like him would, like him, abjure forever
after the cursed pause of tlieir sins and sufferings !

But — and perhaps this is the most terrible fact about delir-
ium tremens — men have been known to recover from the effects
of an attack of mania a potu, and yet deliberately set to work —

808

A VISIONARY MENAGERIE.

or to drink — to invite and bring on another attack. Is this
sheer deviltry, or absolute insanity, or both ?

Alas! I have been in my own person an example of thi*
" sheer deviltry " and "absolute insanity" combined; for, as the
reader will see, I have at different periods of my career been
a self-devoted victim to the unutterable horrors of delirium
tremens.

This, my first attack, was very severe. As I lay in my bed
I saw horrid, scowling faces of lions, tigers, and bears on the
walls of my room. I was surrounded da}"- and night by a vis-
ionary menagerie more extensive and more varied and more
fierce than Barnum's ; for, in my case, the wild beasts were loose^
and had no keepers.

And ever and anon, amid the howling, raging beasts, would
appear the form of some blood-red devil, crying out, — I heard
the Words distinctly : I can hear them in my memory yet, —
"Drink rum, and die, you scoundrel!" Then the blood-red
demon would gaze at me with an infernal sneer, that would
have made the fame and fortune of any Mephistopheles upon
the stage. And then he would vanish, only to be succeeded
by some other more infernal monster. And I, poor I ! would
shrink and shudder with an anguish that can never be told
before their burnii g gaze. Yes, there was a hell. Hell wa*
around me, and I was in it. The cold sweat would start from
every pore, and I would vainly but fervt jtly pray for death.
And yet I lived, ay, lived to deliberately resufifer these horrors,
and re-create them.

God have mercy on us I We are indeed fearfully and won-
derfully made.

At last I recovered from my delirium, though with broken
health and shattered nervous system, and cnce more faced the
material necessities of life and poverty.

And once more the ever-bountiful Providence, which had

..iJlli,;::

ANOTHER CHANCE SPOILED.

809

80 generously given me opportunity after opportunity which
I had wasted, allowed me one opportunity the more.

A kind friend, who had aided me pecuniarily in Boston, now
came to my help here in New York, and loaned nie money
wherewith to sublet a furnished house at 27 West Fourth Street,
next door to the private office of the famous Commodore
Vanderbilt, whom I occasionally saw entering or leaving his
office. I envied the sturdy old commodore his wealth, but even
more I envied him his health; forgetting that the health, as
well as the wealth, was but the natural result of tlie veteran's
constant and undeviating attention, alike to the laws of busi-
ness and the body. Whatever else he was or was not, it will
not be denied that Commodore Vanderbilt was always " good
to himself." All the Vanderbilts are famous for being " good
to themselves." But a drunkard never can be " good to him-
self " or to anybody else.

For a period, while the awful experience of my delirium
was still fresh upon me, I refrained from drink, and really tried
to attend to business. But the scheme of subletting the fur-
nished house in Fourth Street did not prove remunerative.
So I changed my locality, and with the aid of the kind friend,
who still adhered to me, hired another furnished house at 180
Adams Street, Brooklyn.

Would you believe it? Alas! wh^ would believe it, except-
ing those who know what intemperance is, and human nature ?
By this time I had forced myself to forget temporarily the
horrors of mania a potu, and had taken to drinking heavily
again.

The inevitable result followed. Tlie lionse in Brookly Imd
to be given up in less than a month ; and I was literally "in
the street " again, having lost all my chances and all my friends.
A man cannot go on having chances and spoiling them, having
friends and abusing their friendship, forever. This was my

810

IN A " STATION-HOUSE" FOR SHELTER.

\ ■ I

last speculation. I hud no further chances or friends or cash
or credit to speculate with now. To use the common expres-
sion, " I had come to the end of my rope." Perhaps the horrors
of the extreme poverty I now experienced saved me from the
even worse horrors of another attack of mania a potu, a second
case of which I would probably have experienced if I had
had money or credit enough now to get at the liquor. But»
although perforce saved from the terrors of delirium, I came
very near to undergoing the terrors of absolute starvation. I
passed many a day without casting food, save a stray bite now
and then, such as a wandering dog might procure prowling
around the streets. Indeed, just at this time I was more like a
dog than a human being. I had acted like a beast, and it was
but just that I should be treated as a beast.

Oh the agonies and oh the shame of this terrible peiiod
of my life ! This homeless, friendless, moneyless, hopeless^
period of my career I All day long I tramped, tramped, tramped,
without a purpose in tramping ; and all night long I tramped^
tramped, tramped, because I had nowhere to go except the
station-houses ; and even my tramp's soul revolted at sleeping
in them with the wretches that used them as a night's resort.

I had applied once co a station-house for shelter : but, after
undergoing a terribly humiliating questioning by the police-
official, I found myself horded with such a set of foul and
filthy wretches, — as foul in mind as filthy in body, — that I got
up from the floor on which I had thrown myself for a short
sleep, necessitated by the fatigues I had experienced (it was
my first sleep for forty-eight hours), and walked away, out
into the wet night; preferring the inclement weather to the
human race, or such a portion of it as slept in the station-
houses.

Night-life in a station-hnuHo nr police-station is a prominent,
or at least striking, feature of city existence, especiuil)' of New-

' #!

Il:;i:'i;

STATION-UOUSE LODOEIiS.'

811

York city-life. As a journalist remarked in an elaborate article
on this subject, " This variety of existence illustrates some of
the most tragic and some of the most comic features imagina-
ble i " and he is correct. I have subsequently examined curi-
ously the records of some of the station-houses, and have
found the particulars, among others, of the following cases.
They will fully illustrate the subject, and will point the moral, —
the ever volJ, the ever new, moral, — that the love of liquor,
even more than the love of money, is the root of all evil.

An old woman by the name of Carson, seventy-two ycRi-s of age,
with gray hair, but comparatively liale and hearty, hiis been fre-
quently arrcsted at the request of her own son, and brought to the
station. She was constantly roaming the streets as a vagraitt, obtain-
ing money, getting drunk with it, and then coming home, and beating
her husband, who was partially insane. Tiic old woman resisted the
officers of the law with all her might, and was obliged to be carried
to her cell by the main force and joint efforts of three ix)licemen ;
her son standing by and looking on all the wliile. This unfortunate
was tlie mother of ten children, and was, when sober, a respectable
l)ersouage ; but then, she was seldom solier.

Another sad case was that of Susan Antliony (no connection what-
ever of, or relation to, the distinguislkcd Susan B. Anthony) , a young
and rather pretty female, who is in the habit of indulging in periodical
spells of vagrancy. During these " attacks " she invariably becomes
gi'ossly intoxicated, and then goes home to her mother, a quiet, timid
old lady, abuses her dreadfully, and even threatening her life. She
has been taken to the station-house repeatedly, and at last was sent
to the Island.

Among the " funny " cases recorded is that of a notorious female
beggar and vagrant, who was arrested for drunkenness, and taken to
the station-house. She remained there for several djtys and nights ;
and though she was thoroughly searched, and no bottle with liquor
of any description found in her possession, and although no spirits
were allowed to reach her from any outside source whatever, still the

812

THE " VAGRANT" DOCTOR.

woman remained as chunk as when she was flrst arrested : or, if there
was any ciiange in her condition, it was tliat she was druulcer tlian
ever. Wtio could explain the mystery ? Ceitainly, the police could
not. Was this a new and inexplicable spiritual phenomenon ? Who
could tell ? A dozen hyix)thesi8 wei-e stai-ted ; but there was only
one thing certain, and that was the fact of the woman's seemingly
endless drunkenness. At lost a light dawned : a brilliant idea
flashed across the brain of the sergeant of the ward. lie called a
woman to his aid, and suggested his idea. The female friend as-
sumed the task projiosed. She proceeded, not only to search thor-
oughly the clothes of the drunken creature (which had been previously
attempted), but to strip her entirely, and examine her person; and
then, and not till then, was the mysteiy explained. A gin-l)ottle,
now nearly empty, was found susiK>nded from her waist by a string,
which had been, during the search by the ofHcera, concealed between
her limbs, and had thus escaped detection. The bottle being re-
moved, its owner soon recovered.

Another case to which we can but briefly allude is, that one of the
most eminent physicians of this city, who, though enjoying a lucra-
tive practice, indulges in liquor to excess, and has often been found
lying in the street-guttei's late at night, and been arrested as a
vagrant. One morning, after passing a night in the station-house,
the doctor, who was then unknown to the oflicers, having been taken
in his torn and muddy clothes to tiie magistrate, fined and repri-
manded, was discharged. Going from the court-room, he saw a
carriage with a coachman in livery, and two fashionably dressed ladies
within it. Without more ado, the doctor walked to the carriage, and
endeavored to get into it. The policeman, astonished, endeavored to
prevent him, when lo and behold ! to the i)olicems>n's unutterable
surprise, the ladies sweetly smiled ujwn the supiwsed vagrant ; and
the liveried coachman informed the oflBcer "that it was all right."
This was the doctor's carriage, and that was the doctor.

A great number of the beggare are vagrants, and lodge regularly
in the station-houses. When asked for their names, they generally
give fictitious ones ; and, when requested to state where they live,

A HUMAN " REVOLVEB."

813

they do not say, what is the truth, that they have no home (for in
this cose they would be liable to arrest as vagrants, and would be
sent to the Island) , but answer that they live in Bi-ooklyn, or Ilobo-
ken, or some kindred locality, which is Ux) distant to reach that night,
and so foith. They are searched before being taken to the sleeping
Apartments, but they often contrive to secrete spirits or tobacco ; and,
as they are almost without exception dirty and diseased, they are
A very disagreeable addition to any house whatever, even though it
be but a station-house. Committing them as vagrants docs no good
whatever ; for the Island and the Almshouse are so full tliat they
cannot be there accommotlated, and so they retmn after a few days'
commitment to their old round of the stations. But tin re is one
matter I would respectfully suggest to the proper city authorities ;
and this is, the erection of suitable buildings for the accommodation
of vagrants outside of thv^ limits of the station-houses ; so that the
regular members of the police-force — a respectable class of men —
shall not be compelled to live in such unpleasant proximity to the
very vilest of the refuse of New York.

There are depths even in absolute degradation and wretch-
edness ; and I feel grateful, that, even amid all the shames and
sorrows of the time of which I write, I never sunk so low as
to become a regular station-house lodger, a " revolver " as it
is called, — a human " revolver," — a so-called human being
"revolving" at nights from one station-house to another.

But Heaven knows I was low enough ; my only hope being,
to watch for a chance to do some " chores " for a bite of cold
meat or bread, or, alas ! to sweep out some cheap groggery for
a glasa of rum.

This sort of thing could not have lasted much longer with
me. Fatigue, famine, and exposure would, in a few days and
nights more, have finished me, when I stumbled across some
men who had known me in my prosperity ; and the contrast
between my appearance now and my appearance then struck

814

TUE INEHUIATE ASi'LUAf.

them 80 forcibly, that, taking caro of me temporarily, and con>
suiting with my relatives, it was finally determined to send m&
to the Inebriate Asylum on Ward's Island, a plun to which
I heartily assented. I did not expect to be really cured of my
desire for liquor. I did not even, so degraded had I become,
desire to be cured of my desire. But at least I would have
food and shelter. I would not be a vagrant and u tramp any
longer. So I gladly accepted the kind offer of my former
friends and associates, and pretended the necessary contrition
for the past, and the expected determination to reform in the
future. And having been applied for under n fictitious name, —
the only time I ever accepted a fictitious name, save when I
visited pawn-shops, — and a month's pay having been handed
over for my board in advance, I found myself an inmate of
the Inebriate Asylum *'on the Island."

CHAPTER XXV.

"on the island."— the penitentiahy. — the almshouhb and the

HOUSE OF KEFUOB. — " HUM DOES IT.'

■LIOHTH AND SHADKS UP THE

LUNATIC ASYLUM. — " ISLAND " NOTOUIETIEH. — A VAIN ArrK.MI'T TO
CURB THE DRINKINO-HAUIT. — NEW YOKK AND BUM ONCE HOKE.

" The Islands," used in the New-York-municipiility's menninjf
of the words, embrace some of the finest portions of thiit vast
collection and aggregation of land, buildings, and humanity
known as New York. Had the original owners of " the
Islands," Ward, Randall, etc., after whom they are named,
been gifted with what the Germans style "far sight," they
never would have parted with their lands at the comparatively
small prices which they did. And, had the city of New York
been truly wise, it would never have surrendered its fairest
possessions to the exclusive use of paupers, criminals, inebriates,
and lunatics. Think what those islands would have been
worth, cash down, to the Wards and Randalls to-day. Think
what a magnificent series of public parks these islands would
have formed. And yet perhaps it is a fortunate dispensation
of Providence, that the " poor devils " of the New- York com-
munity are permitted, under the existing order of things, to
enjoy the unrivalled location of these islands ; for it is about
the only thing left them to enjoy.

The three islands, Blackwell's, Ward's and Randall's, in the
East Tli^'er, are among the most justly noticeable features of
the meti< polls, and offer many attractions to the visitor, as
well :s pr isent much material for the thoughtful observer.

815

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Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBJER.N.Y. MSSO

(716) •72-4503

516

THE NEW-YORK PENITENTIARY.

One of the buildings on Blaekwell's Island is the most be-
neficently terrible place in America. I allude to the small-pox
hospital. While the charity hospital is one of the largest and
best-conducted institutions in the world, one of the many
charities which constitute the true boast of New York. And
back of this magnificent charity hospital stands that gloomy
and massive structure, the New- York Penitentiary, where, alas !
although there are many sinners and sufferers, I fear there are
but few " penitents."

The prisoners in the penitentiary are divided into classes,
according to their offences, and, though amenable to the same
laws and discipline, work in separate gangs, and mess sep-
arately. They are under the control of heavily armed keepers,
whose will is indeed law. At six o'clock the prisoners are
paraded to roll-call. At half-past six they have their " break-
fast" of dry bread and a bowl of coffee; and then they are
portioned off to a day's hard toil, — some to the blacksmith's,
•carpenter's, tailor's, and weaver's shops ; some to labor in the
gardens and fields, and the rest. to the quarries; the female
prisoners being occupied in the sewing-room, in the brush-
manufactory, in washing clothes, or in scrubbing and chamber-
work. The majority of the prisoners are committed for assault
and battery or for larceny, for terms varying from one month
to four years. The drunkards, vagrants, and disorderly charac-
ters, are sent to the workhouse ; while those committed for
graver offences are destined for Sing-Sing prison. About
one-third of the prisoners at the penitentiary are of Irish
extraction ; not over one-tenth are German ; and all, almost
without exception, are drinking, heavily drinking men. There
are vastly more male than female prisoners, and most of the male
prisoners are young. There is one fact, in this connection, highly
suggestive to the housekeepers of New York, — three-fourths of
the female prisoners are, or were, domestics, house-servants.

THE PUBLIC INSTITUTIONS.

BIT

At twelve o'clock the prisoners " dine " on a can of soup, a
plate of meat, and ten ounces of bread. At five they have
what serves for supper; and at six — or five-thirty — they are
locked in their narrow cells for the night. These cells are
comparatively clean, but positively small, — too small for any
human being, even if a prisoner, to pass half his time in them.

On Sundays the men and women are confined in their cells,
all day, save when led to chapel. Their Sundays are the only
idle and the most lonely and dismal days of the week, and
they consequently hate the ver}^ name of Sunday. Is there not
somethiag wnng in a system like this?

The convicts have absolutely no privileges whatever. Their
lives have but three elements, — hard work ; harder loneliness ;
and, hardest of all, monotony.

One text is practically carried out in th's institution : " The
way of the transgressor is hard." But is there not a better
motto than this, which should be likewise practically illus-
trated? — "/f is never too late to mendJ"

Beyond the penitentiary stretch the almshouses. They are
highly spoken of, officially at least. No such horrors have
ever been perpetrated in them as Gov. Gen. Butler has un-
earthed at Tewksbury.

Attached to the almshouses are the hospitals for incurables,,
fine institutions pf their peculiar kind.

Connected with the almshouse management is the bureau
for the relief of the outdoor poor, which conducts its truly
benevolent and well-organized operations through the entire
city of New York.

In the rear of the almshouse is the workhouse, about as
nearly perfect of its sort as can well be attained to in this
world. But the statistics connected with it are simply fright-
ful. Think of it. About twenty thousand persons are com-
mitted to this workhouse every year, ten days being the aver-

818

BUM DOES IT.

I H;

h ^n

Si )

age term of commitment. Comparatively few committed are of
American birth. The majority are Irish and German, and
drunkenness is by far the chief cause of their commitment.

Yes, rum does it. Rum sends over eighteen thousand of
the twenty thousand to the workhouse. And it is rum that
chiefly serves to keep the penitentiary full. As in New York,
so in London, so in Paris, so in Boston, so in Philadelphia, so
everywhere else. It is rum, rum, rum, that fills the almshouses,
asylums, jails. It is rum, rum, rum, that makes men fools and
knaves. It is rum, rum, rum, that renders them idle, dissolute,
worthless, vicious, criminal, wretched. It is rum that has
always done it, it is rum that is doing it. And it is rum that
will continue to do it till there are no more rum-drinkers and
rum-sellers.

On Randall's Island stands the House of Refuge, — a very
handsome series of edifices, in the Italian style of architecture.

-. - •.-■<■'■-

The comraissiouers of public charities and correction, in one of
their recent reports, made the startling announcement, that there are
no less tlian sixty thousand children in the city of New York grow-
ing up in ignorance and idleness. These children, influenced from
their cradles by the most terrible surroundings, have no alternative
but to become beggars and thieves almost as soon as they can run
alone. Thousands of them are orphans, or perhaps worse ; for they
are often the children of parents, who, ignoring the laws of nature,
use them for the purpose of furthering their own vicious ends. They
live principally in a neighborhood which abounds in lodging-houses
for sailors, the lowest class of liquor-stores, dancing and concert
rooms, and various other low places of amusement, — a neighborhood
swarming with brothels, whose wretched inmates are permitted to
flaunt their sin and finery, and ply their hateful trade openly, by day
and night ; where at midnight the quarrels, fights, and disturbances
are so noisy and so frequent that none can hope for a night's rQst
until they are inured by habit ; where, night after night, they witness

THE HOUSE OF REFUGE.

319

the most desperate encounters between drunken men and women,
kicking, biting, and tearing one another's hair out, as they I'oll
together in tlie gutter, or, as is too often the case, using deadly weap-
ons ; and where the crowd, instead of interfering to stop these awful
scenes, stand by in a brutal enjoyment of them, abetting and encour-
aging the principal actors therein. And their homes, what are they?
Their fathers, often out of work, are unable to support their fami-
lies ; their clothe^, their bedding, their furniture, all gone to the
pawn-shop ; father, mother, and children are often compelled to
sleep on the bare boards, huddling close together for warmth in one
ill-built, ill-ventilated room. Amid their misery, this neglect of the
common decencies of life, this unblushing effrontery of reckless vice
and crime, what chance have these poor, unhappy little children of
becoming decent members of society ? They are sickly from the want
of proper nourishment, vicious from example, ignorant because they
do not care to learn, and their parents take no trouble to compel
them to do so, and must inevitably grow up, only to swell the
already fearful sum-total of our criminal population. At ten the
boys are said to be thieves : at fifteen the girls are said to be all
prostitutes.

A system of State reformatories and State apprenticeships on an
extensive scale is the only way of grappling with this terrible state
of things. Such institutions as the House of Refuge on Randall's
Island have done and are doing much, but a dozen such institutions
might be established with advantage in the St <,tc of New York alone.
On Randall's Island the young criminal has the opportunity of ac-
quiring regular habits, and learning a useful ti-ade. They are subject
to a humane, though strict 'discipline ; and a very large percentage,
especially of the boys, do undoubtedly become reformed. This
reformatory, a wise combination ol school and prison, can accom-
modate one thousand inmates. There are at present about eight
hundred boys and one hundred and fifty girls on the register. The
boys' building is divided into two compartments : the first division, in
the one, is thus entirely separated from the second division, in the
other compartment. The second division is composed of those whose

I" M

i'>

320

DETAILS OF "REFORMATORY" LIFE.

characters are decidedly bad, or whose offence was great. A boy-
may, by good conduct, however, get promoted from the second inta
the first division. As a rule, the second division are much older than
the first. Each division is divided into four grades. Every boy on
entering the Reformatory is placed in the third grade ; if he behaves
well, he is placed in the second in a week, and a month after in the
first grade ; if he continues in a satisfactory course for three months,
he is placed in the grade of honor, and wears a badge on his breast.
Every boy in the first division must remain six months, in the second
division twelve months in the first grade, before he can be indentured
to any trade. These two divisions are under the charge of twenty-
five teachers and twenty-five guards. At half-past six o'clock the
cells are all unlocked; every one reports himself to the overseer,
and then goes to the lavatories ; at seven, after parading, they are
marched to the schoolrooms, to join in religious exercises for half an
hour ; at half-past seven they have breakfast, and at eight are told
off to the work-shops, where they remain till twelve, when they again
parade, previous to going to dinner. For dinner they have a large
plate of excellent soup, a small portion of meat, a small loaf of biead,
and a mug of water. At one o'clock they return to their work.
When they have completed their allotted task they are allowed to
play till four, when they have supper. At half-past four they go to
school, where they remain till eight o'clock, the time for going to bed.
Each boy has a separate cell, which is locked and barred at night.
The cells are in long, lofty, well- ventilated corridors ; each corridor
containing one hundred cells. The doors of the cells are all grated,
in order that the boys may have light and air, and also be under the
direct supervision of the oflBcers, who, though very strict, apparently
know well how to temper strictness with kindness. Before going tO'
bed, half an hour is again devoted to religious exercises, singing
hymns, reading the Bible, etc. There is a large chapel, where the
services are conducted on Sunday; the girls having the gallery to
themselves. There is, however, no Catholic service. This, surely,
is not right. At the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island they have
service once a month for the Catholics. Of the six hundred and

TUE BEFUGE " WORKSHOP.'*

321

eighty-two children commit«'ed from the courts during the year 1867,
no less than four hundred and fourteen were Irish ; and, in all proba-
bility, a large proportion of these were Roman Catholics. Institutions
of this character should certainly be made as unsectarian as possible.
One of the most interesting, and, at the same time, one of the
most important, features of the Refuge, is the workshop. On enter-
ing the shop, the visitor is amused by finding a lot of little urchins
occupied in making ladies' hoop-skirts of the latest fashionable
design. Nearly a hundred are engaged in the crinoline department.
In the same long room, about fifty are weaving wire for sifting
cotton, making wire sieves, rat-traps, gridirons, flower-baskets, cattle-
noses, etc. The principal work, however, is carried on in the boot
and shoe department. The labor of the boys is let out to contract-
ors, who supply their own foremen to teach the boys and superintend
the work : but the society have their own men to keep order, and
correct the boys when necessary ; the contractors' men not being
allowed to interfere with them in any way whatever. There are five
hundred and ninety boys in this department. They manage, on an
average, to turn out about twenty-five hundred pairs of boots and
shoes daily, which are mostly shipped to the Southern States. Each
one has a certain amount of work allotted to him in the morning,
which he is bound to complete before four o'clock in the afternoon.
Some are quicker and more industrious than others, and will get their
work done by two o'clock ; this gives two hours' play to those in the
fii-st division : the second division have to go to school, when they
have finished, till three o'clock ; they being allowed one hour only for
recreation. The authorities are very anxious to make arrangements
to have a government vessel stationed off the island, to be used as a
training-ship for the most adventurous spirits. If this design is
carried out, it will be a very valuable adjunct to the working of the
institution, and will enable the directors to take in many more boys,
without incun-ing the expense of extending the present buildings.
The girls are also employed in making hoop-skirts, in making clothes
for themselves and the boys, in all sorts of repairing, in washing
linen, and in general housework. The girls are generally less tracta-
ti

d22

"BAD BOYS."

ble than the boys : perhaps this is accounted for by their being older,
some of them being as much as five or six and twenty. The boj's
average about tliirteeu or fourteen, the girls seventeen or eighteen,
years of age. Nearly two-thirds of the boys have been boot-blacks,
the remainder mostly what are technically knowp as "wharf-rats."
Some of them are now in the house for the third time. One, a lad
only fifteen years of age, has passed one year in a juvenile asylum,
four years in a reformatory, and is now at Randall's Island. Another
lias been three times convicted of horse-stealing. He would, late at
night, ask permission to sleep in a stable. He is a complete cripple,
and by attracting sympathy his request was often granted. When
every one had left the place he would quietly open the door, and lead
out the horses. On each occasion that he was convicted he managed
to get off with three horses. Another little fellow, only six years
old, with a chum, broke into a pipe-store, and stole a hundred and
fifty meerschaum pipes : he was, however, detected while trying to dis-
pose of them. There is a colored lad, about eighteen, who is very
amusing. He is a great orator, and addresses the others on all
subjects, both general and political. On one occasion, when the
principal ventured to ask him whom he had adopted as his model for
speaking, he grandly replied, " I will have you to know, sir, that I
am no servile imitator." Some of the boys cannot overcome their
thieving propensities, but will, even in the Refuge, purloin things that
can be of no earthly use to them, if they get the chnnce. They are
vei-y quick and expert. Only a few days ago one of the boys fell
down in a fit in the schoolroom. Some of the others assisted the
teacher to carry him into the open air. The poor fellow had a collec-
tion of knick-knacks in one pocket, and about twenty penny-pieces in
the other ; but, during the moment that passed in carrying him out,
both pockets were emptied. The directors of the House of Refuge,
while having a due regard for the well-being of its inmates, very
properly take care that they are not so comfortable or so well fed as
to lead them to remain longer in the reformatory than necessary. As
soon as the boys appear to be raally reformed, tiiey are indentured
out to farmers and different trades. In the year 1867 no less than

A DOUBLE " secret:'

323

«ix hundred and thirty-three boys and a hundred and forty-six girls
were started in hfe in this way. Any person wishing to liave a child
intlentured to him, has to make a formal application to the committee
to that effect, at tlie same time giving references as to character, etc.
Inquiries are made ; and, if satisfactorily answered, the child is handed
over to his custody ; the applicant engaging to feed, clothe, and edu-
cate his young apprentice. The boy's new master has to forward a
written report to the officer, as to his health and general behavior
from time to time. If the bov does not do well, he is sent back to
the Refuge, and remains there till he is twenty-one years of age.
Most of the children, however, get on ; and many of them have
made for themselves respectable positions in society. The annals of
the society in this respect are very gratifying and interesting. Many
young men never lose sight of a refuge which rescued them in time
from a criminal Ufe, and to which they owe almost their very exist-
ence. Instead of alternating between the purlieus of Water Street
and Sing Sing, they are, many of them, in a fair way to make a
fortune. One young man who was brought up there, and is now
thriving, lately called at the office to make arrangements for placing
his two younger brothers in the house ; they having got into bad com-
pany since their father's death. A very remarkable occurrence took
place at the institution not long ago. A gentleman and his wife,
apparently occupying a good position in society, called at the Refuge,
and asked to be allowed to go over it. Having inspected the various
departments, just before leaving, the gentleman said to his wife,
" Now I will tell you a great secret. I was brought up in this place."
The lady seemed much surprised, and astounded all by quietly
•observing, "And so was I." So strange are the coincidences of
human life !

Among the other public institutions on RandaH's Island
are the "Nurseries," the "Infant Hospital," and the "Idiot
Asylum," admirably conducted institutions all, reflecting credit
upon New York, and illustrating practical Christianity. And
then there is the insane asylum, located on Blackwell's Island,

824 A MUCII-MARRIED WIDOW AND GINGER-TEA.

back of the workhouse, and occupying the extreme upper por-
tion of the island, connected with the new lunatic asylum on
Ward's Island.

There have been some curious creatures confined in this,
city lunatic asylum. One of the most curious was a woman
who always fancied herself the wife of the present President
of these United States, and the widow of all the preceding
Presidents. She has passed away now, — gone to ynn her many
illustrious husbands. In most points this old lady was as sane:
as most old ladies ; but, on the subject of the presidency, she
was as mad as a March hare (though why a hare should be
regarded as particularly " mad " in March, I never have beeni
able for the life of me to discover ; nor have I ever met any-
body else who had). Another well-known inmate of the lunatic
asylum in his day took it into his crazy head that he was called
V " ""n to defend the island from invasion ; and so he passed his
■jtherwise valuable time in erecting the most amazing forti-
i> ..tions, — defences which mocked at all the laws of military
engineering, and yet which answered the purposes for which
they were designed completely, — a remark which applies to veryr
few military fortifications, except, perhaps, Gibraltar.

A third lunatic imagined that he had a plan to cure all the
ills that humanity is heir to. But, in this respect, he was only
like a hundred — or shall I not say a hundred thousand? — other
self-constituted " reformers " who go around, making life really
not worth the living with their wild schemes of reformation.
His plan had at least the merit of simplicity and cheapness.*
His panacea for every human ill was ginger-tea. This, taken in
sufficient quantities, — mark that not at all insane proviso, —
would infallibly heal, in due time, — mark, likewise, that not at
all crazy qualification, — every person ill in mind, body, or spirit.
All possible misfortunes yielded to ginger-tea. All possible
crimes would be prevented by ginger-tea taken in sufficiently

OFFICIAL OUTRAGES ON THE HANE.

325

large closes in time. Delightful idea! And, unlike many
reformers I have met, the ginger-tea philanthropist and re-
former practised what he preached, and was so fond of ginger-
tea that the rules of the insane asylum were strained a little
in his behalf; and he was supplied night and morning with
copious draughts of his own panacea.

And in his own case, at least, his prescription worked well.
Outside of a general flightiness, — harmless to everybody but
himself, — and his craze for ginger-tea, he was one of the best
creatures imaginable, a moral and religious man, who really
loved his fellows, and tried — though in his own peculiar way
— to benefit them. I really wonder if, after all, tliere is not
something good in — ginger-tea?

In some points the lunatic asylums on the islands are well
spoken of by common report, and every now and then the
papers contain an account of some entertainment being given
to amuse the lunatics, and to add to the scanty pleasures of
their lives. Some prominent musical and theatrical artists have
on different occasions appeared and performed at these enter-
tainments.

But, on the other hand, the papers have occasionally (of late
•quite frequently) published accounts of official outrages on
private citizens, perpetrated within the walls of the city in-
sane asylum. -It has been alleged, that not only have sane
men — men known to be sane — been, through the instrumen-
tality of their relatives and the connivance of officials, confined
liere under the mistake of lunacy, but that perfectly sane men
have been compelled to labor — and labor more severely than
if they had been held to be " sane " — " for nothing " (without
having committed any offence, and without receiving any com-
pensation), for the private pecuniary benefit of the officials of
the lunatic asylum. Cases of this sort are not unfamiliar to the
reading public ; and o' e young lawyer of New- York City,

826

" THE BOSS " AND " THE SHEPlIEliD."

Mr. Aaron Kahn, has acquired some local reputation by making-
a specialty of ferretting out such cases, and legally protecting
their victims.

As a rule, of course the very great proportion of men and
women who are confined or housed in any of the public insti-
tutions on the islands, are of a low — generally of the lowest —
social grade ; that is, if they can be said to have any social
grade at all. But ever and anon, though very, very rarely,
some distinguished or educated man sinks so low as to become
an involuntary inmate of institutions on the islands. William
M. Tweed was a case in poirit. Perhaps no fall in history
was deeper than that of the great Tammany boss, and modern
lord of misrule. Bclisaii. ^s, as a beggar, was at least not
criminally disgraced: the shame was on the side of an un-
grateful people, not of the neglected hero. Joan of Arc at the
stake was a heroine and a martyr, in the very midst of the
pusillanimous canaille she had for a while commanded, and
had striven to render free. But William M. Tweed lived to
"do time "as a "convict" in a striped suit, a duly tried and
legally sentenced felon, in the very institution of which he had
been for many years one of the official magnates, and in the-
very midst of a city which he had once absolutely ruled with
almost despotic power. Tweed in his cell presented one of the
most dramatic, striking, and instructive pictures that could pos*
sibly be exhibited to the world.

Another man, of a very different class and stamp from
Tweed, yet socially his equal, and in point of education his.
superior, has been enrolled among the prisoners on the island.
I allude to the Rev. Dr. Cowley of the " Shepherd's Fold," who-
was imprisoned here for cruelty to children. And it is some-
what strange to remember, that, although William M. Tweed wa*
always, in his autocratic way, a liberal-handed, genial-minded
man, he never found as many sincere sympathizers among the

*'OLD SAL coon:

82T

politicians, as did the reverend doctor, who was never suspected
of liberality or geniality, among the clergymen. Perhaps it is
a rule, that the greater the height from which a man falls, the
more complete and utter is his fall. The clergyman being but
an ordinary man, his fall was soon forgotten ; but the politician
being the head of his tribe, his downfall was immortal.

And among the few socially notable people who have ulti-
mately found their way to the island was a woman who at one
time was a belle of old New York, the wife of a prosperous
merchant, and a leader of the ton at Saratoga, — a woman who
could converse fluently in French, (tli . man, Italian, and Spanish,
as well as English ; a woman who hud at one time numbered
among her admirers a mayor of Mew York; a woman who iu
her younger days had attracted the notlcn of Charles Dickens
when he visited this country ; a woman who had stirred a ten-
der sentiment in the breast of that great adventurer, Louis
Napoleon, during the short period of his stay in New York,
and yet a woman who ere she died, a few years ago, had served
seventeen terms on the island for vagrancy and drunkenness ;
a woman who at the date of her death was simply the head
chambermaid of one of the institutions on the island. I allude
to the TToman known to all regular habltu4s of " the Island "
as " old Sal Coon."

I dare say other illustrations could be cited, did I but know
the real inside history and romance of " the islands " and their
inhabitants. But enough has been stated to show that it is
not only the " lower class " who sooner or later drift into dis-
grace and imprisonment upon " the islands."

It was on Ward's Island that I found, in this my period
of self-inflicted disgrace and self-deserved despair, a temporary
refuge. The Inebriate Asylum on Ward's Island, of which I
now became an inmate, lies near the emigrant hospital and
the new lunatic asylum, and is a fine, large building, with ample

328

MY NEW QUARTERS.

accommodation for four hundred and fifty patients. Many
of the patients were, like myself, placed here by their friends,
who defray the expenses of their confinement, and ultimate
restoration to health and society.

As a whole, the institution is ably and intelligently con-
ducted ; and every material and moral appliance is employed
by those in charge to redeem the poor .victims of intemperance
who are intrusted to their care.

In many cases the treatment is successful; and hundreds of
men who would otherwise have descended into a drunkard's
grave have been rescued from their awful fate.

At first I was pleased with my new quarters in the Inebriate
Asylum. It was a welcome change for me to sleep upon a
comfortable cot, instead of vainly striving to repose in a ten-
cent lodging-house when I had ten cents to spare, or tramping
the streets all night when I had not. It was a welcome
improvement, too, on my daily routine, to get three fair meals
a day, instead of picking up, say, one poor meal or so in two or
three days.

But, alas ! poor human nature will be poor human nature ;
and I soon wearied of confinement, and of my monotonous life
at the asylum. True, I was not a prisoner, only a patient ; but
I was not at all " patient," and I was obliged to submit to an
unyielding discipline : trne, I knew that this severe discipline
would all result in my permanent good if I would only heartily
and in good faith submit to it. But there is an old saw in
verse, with much more truth to the line than in most verses of
a much higher character : —

" No rogue e'er saw the halter draw,
With good opinion of the law."

And it requires a good deal of philosophy for a man who is
afQicted with a vice, to wholly and heartily submit himself to

MY PLAN FOR ESCAPE.

329

the severe measures necessary to conquer the vicious habit,
unless he is compelled to submit by force. In short, before I
had been many days and nights at the asylum, at which my true
friends had so kindly placed me, I began to think upon the
chances of escape from it. Although some degraded wretches
absolutely learn, by time and trouble, to look upon " the islands "
as their " winter home," and consider a commitment thereto a
piece of good luck ; yet the great majority of the involuntary
inmates of the island institutions regard themselves in their
true light of prisoners, and, like prisoners, often attempt to
escape.

Men have been killed ere now in endeavoring to reach " the
lights o' New York " which gleamed temptingly before them,
across the East River. Only a little distance from their island
pi;son, men have boen shot down like dogs by the prison-
guards, as they were trying to regain their freedom ; men have
been drowned in their efforts to escape ; while not a few have
ultimately escaped^ having by pluck or by stratagem evaded
or defied the prison-guards, crossed the little strip of water
which separated them from life, and regained their fellow-men
and freedom. The longer I remained at the asylum, the more
I thought about the best means to leave it ; and finally I hit
upon a practical plan. I became so desperate in my new quar-
ters, from sheer monotony and ennui, and the restraints of a
necessarj' discipline, that, although fairly fed and well housed
and well treated, I would rathex Auve taken to a swim, and my
chances at a shot, than be confined, though for my own good,
longer. But it was not necessary to resort to such extreme
measures. I effected my escape in a very simple yet satisfac-
tory way, by a simple little stratagem.

Newspaper-men are furnished with passes to the islands by
the authorities, to facilitate their professional duties; anu on
this fact I based my plan. I watched my opportunity and my

830

FROM WABD'S ISLAND TO NEW YORK.

man, made the acquaintance of a journalist who seemed likely-
to serve my turn, and obtained from him one of those passes-
without which no man can enter or leave the islands, but
armed with which he is free to come or go.

Carefully arranging all the details of my plans, so as not to
attract suspicion, and not to disturb the official routine of the
asylum, I slipped out from the asylum-walls, within which, of
course, I was known, and stepped out into the little world out-
side, where I was unknown. Presenting my pass, I stepped
from the island into the boat, and soon, in the regular way,,
reached New York undisturbed.

How my heart beat as I approached New York! How I
exulted as I set my free foot once . more within the metrop-
olis !

And yet I was not free, nor was I regaining freedom. On
the contrary, I was really coming deliberately back into the
very worst captivity, — that which renders a man the slave of
his appetites. My true freedom and wisdom would have been,,
to have remained in the asylum till I had been completely
cured: then^ when I left the place healed, and in my right
mind, I would indeed have been " a free man," — free from a
slavery the most terrible of all. But I reasoned differently
just then ; or, rather, I did not reason at all : I merely escaped
from confinement, and exulted in my escape. Reaching the
New- York dock, I landed cautiously, and then went rapidly on,,
on, on, till beyond the reach of possible pursuit.

And then what do you think I did ? Thank Heaven for the-
success that had crowned my efforts at escape? Oh, no! I
never thought of Heaven in the matter at all. Determine to
live more wisely in the new life now opening to me than I had
lived in the past? Oh, no! I made no resolutions at all, —
certainly, no good or wise ones. '

All I did was simple enough, — about the most "simple'*'

keljr

sses-
but

t to
the
li, of
out-
Dped
way,.

)w r

trop-

• the

re of

etely
right
om a
ently
;aped
r the-
y oiv

)T the-
tio! I
ue to
I had
ill,—

ople'*

"The 8alo()ii-k('op( r df whom I implored a drink pyed irif furiously,
listened to my stor.y, ami then, with a laugh and an oath, handed lue a
rum-bottle" [p. 331].

FREE" DRUNKARD.

881

and silly, as well as sad, thing I could have done. I went into
the first rum-shop I could find, and begged for a drink.

That was all there was about it, and that was about all the
good that my experience in the Inebriate Asylum had brought,
me. Poor victim of rum that I was ! All that my " freedom "
meant to me was liquor. I eyed hungrily, or rather thirstily,,
all the saloons I passed ; and at last my thirst overcame me.
I knew I had no money, and that it would be some hours, per-
haps a day, before I could meet any of the few acquaintance*
from whom I could by any chance obtain a dollar. I felt hun-
gry too.' It was late in the afternoon, and I had not tasted
food since early in the morning. But I kept my hunger down
a while. I could master that, but not my thirst : that mastered
me. It was for drink, and not for food, I begged.

The saloon-keeper of whom I implored a drink eyed me
curiously, listened to my story, and then, with a laugh and an
oath, handed me a rum-bottle. I poured out a glassful, and
then eagerly drained the contents of the glass. The fiery
liquor gurgled as it went down my throat. I rejoiced in the
now for some time unaccustomed sensatic and I heartily
thanked the man who had enabled me to partake once more of
my old curse. Probably in the whole course of my life I never
evinced a more degraded, besotted, hopeless condition, than at
this particular period of my career , having thus deliberately
and desperately removed myself from the restraining influences,
of that asylum which would have been my salvation, and hav-
ing thus eagerly surrendered myself to the fatal influences of
that appetite which had been my destruction.

And now I was once more roaming the streets of New York
a '•''free " " drunkard."

CHAPTER XXVI.

DllUNKARDS AND DRINKING IN NEW YORK. — THE CITV OF S ALOON8, — f HE
GLORY AND THE SHAME OF THE METROPOLIS. — PALATIAL RUM-PARLORS,
COSEY BAR-ROOMS, AND CORNER GROCERIES.

There are a vast number of " free " drunkards in New York.
Drunkenness is altogether too free in every sense, excepting in
a pecuniary sense. New York is a hard-drinking, as well as
hard-working, metropolis, — a liquor-cursed city.

New York might be briefly described as a city of drinking-
saloons, — some of them of the very highest and most artistic
grade, some of them palaces of luxury, others vile and low
and mean and dirty beyond the power of a reputable pen to
paint ; some far better than others, -some far worse than others ;
but all of them alike in their one main object, — the selling of
liquor with or without a license. "The New-York Herald"
states, —

There are over 10,000 rum-shops in the city of New York, — one
to every 125 inhabitants, one to every 25 families. There are only
1,100 bakers, 2,000 butchers, 4,000 grocers; more rum-sellers than
there are butchers, bakers, and grocers together. Of these 10,000
rum-shops, 9,000 are licensed ; and a moderate estimate gives the illicit
shops and places where rum — which is the comprehensive term for
drinks of all kinds — is sold at 1,000. The statistics show that there
are 4,319 hotels of all grades ; that there are 3,722 places where ale
and beer only are sold ; that there are 534 shops, drug-stores, and
others where liquor can be had, — which, with the estimaied illicit
1,000, gives a total of 10,075. Various shops and stores where bread,
332

THE GS0G-SB0P8 OF NEW YORK.

88$

meat, and groceries can be procured foot up 7,326. In other words,
there are more rum-shops than food-shops in this great city of New
York by 2,749.

The Act under which the excise commissioners worli provides that
no license shall be granted unless the applicant is of good moral
character, and has sufficient ability to keep an inn. A glance at the
statistics of crime, brought down to October, 1881, reveals rather an
extraordinary comment upon the moral influence, at all events, ex-
erted in, from, and about the liquor-shops. The total numb(# of
arrests for crime in one year was 67,135. Of these, 20,228 were for
intoxication per se; and 22,384 were for disorderly conduct, the nor-
mal outcome of drinking, giving a total of 42,612 rum-arrests, or
sixty-three per cent of the entire number.

The facts show that that part of the population which least needs
temptation is most multitudinously supplied with it in its worst and
lowest form. Thus, that section of the city bounded by Broome,
Division, Norfolk, and the Bowery, contains a hundred and seventy-
five lager-beer saloons and seventy-six rum-shops. On one block,,
between East Houston and Stanton Streets, there are seventeen
houses (May, 1883), of which eleven are gin-mills. On the block
between Bayard and Division Streets, there are fourteen houses, in
eight of which liquor is sold. On Cherry Street, between James and
Oliver, there are ten houses, in nine of which are saloons. On the
block between Catherine and Oliver there are eight houses, six of
which are devoted to the sale of whiskey. On James Street, between
Batavia and North Chambers, of the eight houses four are rum-shops ;
and on Chatham Street, between Roosevelt and James, there are
eight houses, in four of which liquor is sold. These facts certainly
are extremely suggestive. And this state of things, which has been
gradually growing worse and worse during the past twenty years, has
finally reached a plane where sober-minded people think it is well to
call a halt.

One of the ablest and most influential of New- York clergy-
men, the Rev. Dr. Crosby, has openly declared that "the lowest

334

THE SHAME OF NEW YORK.

grog-shop influence rules the town." In a lecture lately deliv-
ered at Steinway Hall for the Association of Master Plumbers,
on " The Glory and Shame of New York," the reverend doctor
stated that there was much in New York to make its residents
proud. No city in the world had made such rapid progress in
■every tiling that pertained to beauty and utility. The Central
P?vk, the Croton Aqueduct, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the ele-
vated railroads, were monuments of utility which did honor to
the city. Its public schools were superior to those in any city
in the world. Its men were energetic and persevering, and
possessed of strong common sense. It was a harmonious com-
munity, although made up of people of many races. That
intermingling of races had broadened the views of all the
people, and rubbed out the provincialism which was the dis-
tinguishing characteristic of New York's sister cities.

But, unless the good citizens awake to a sense of their duty,
there was danger that the glory of New York might be over-
shadowed by her shame. " The chief sources of this shame,"
the lecturer said, " are rum and .the power of the rumseller.
The city has been burdened with a debt of more than $100,-
000,000, solely by the plunderings of politicians. Tweed was
not the only plundejer. There were as great scoundrels in
politics before Tweed, and we have had plenty of them since
his time. These rascals avoid punishment by ingenious con-
trivances, and by a knowledge of each other's misdeeds. Men
are elected aldermen, county clerk, and sheriff, because they
have kept liquor-saloons. Bruisers and gamblers are made
protectors of the city's morals. The people often elect a good
man for mayor. But, no matter how good are his intentions,
when he goes into office he is compelled, either to yield to the
city-hall rowdyism, or to make a futile effort against it. If
these mayors would tell their experience, and speak truly, they
would all confess that the lowest form of grog-shop influence

STOKES'S BAR-ROOM.

885

rules the government, — men who enjoy prize-fights, and fre-
•quent disreputable places; dirty, vulgar men, whom respecta-
ble persons would shun as they do small-pox. The primaries
were run largely by the rum-shop influence. The district and
•central committees dare not go back on the primaries ; and the
•citizens are called upon to vote the regular ticket, which is
the result of these primaries.

"There are in this city," Dr. Crosby continued, "about twelve
thousand drinking-saloons, one to every thirty-three persons, if
the women and children are left out of the calculation ; and
one to every eighteen, if the number of men who do not
frequent the saloons is taken as fifteen in every thirty-three.
These saloons are chiefly sustained by the citizens of Irish
and German extraction. Eight thousand saloons are kept by
foreign-born citizens. The cure is in the foreign-born citizens'
hands. If they wish their adopted city to retain its glory, they
should unite with other good citizens, and check the power of
rum and the groggeries."

Dr. Crosby then spoke of the social shame caused by rum,
^nd added that men were to blame for its influence, because
they voted for partisans regardless of their fitness ; newspapers
were to blame, because they did not boldly proclaim against it ;
and the city's law-officers were to blame, because they treated
the liquor-seller too lightly.

Some of the bar-rooms of New York are simply palatial.
The Hoffman-house bar, owned by Edward S. Stokes of Fisk-
Mansfield notoriety, is confessedly the finest bar-room in the
world. At night it presents to the eye of the moralist a terri-
ble spectacle. All that money and taste can do to make rum-
drinking attractive has here been done. Pictures of nude
nymphs are suspended from the walls, or arranged with lights
•as if in an art-gallery. Statues of naked women are placed on
pedestals at all the entrances or exits. Articles of virtu, brie-

886

" SIREN-SALOONS."

d-brac, etc., lavishly abound. Mirrors meet the eye on every
side. The carpets are luxurious as those of a parlor. The
tables are of the most elegant material and workmanship. The
chairs are of the most luxurious pattern. The attendants are
polite, active, well dressed, and well drilled. Every comfort
and convenience known to modern civilization, from the tele-
phone to the spittoon, is accessible. And all for one object
only, — the destruction of the human race directly and indi-
rectly by the sale of liquor.

One such saloon as this does incalculable harm from its very
charm. Just as a beautiful bad woman is more dangerous
than a bad woman who is not beautiful, so a liquor-saloon
which is elegant will entice more victims than a liquor-saloon
which cannot boast of its elegance.

And, within the wide compass of the metropolis, there are
a hundred saloons of the class of the one just described, — a
hundred sirens which daily and nightly lure men to per-
dition.

There are a score of these siren-saloons within a stone's-
throw of the Fifth-avenue Hotel.

Some of the middle-class saloons are likewise very cosey and
comfortable places of resort, regarded only from a material
point of view. There is a drinking-saloon " down town," for
example, in the Bennett Building, which is a species of museum
of curiosities, cartoons, and reminiscences. Rare old play-bills,
local relics, pictures, caricatures of well-known men of the
past and present, all sorts of oddities, are here to be found ;
and here are also to be found many of the leading journalists
of the metropolis, and its sporting-men, rendering the place a
species of "exchange."

And yet it is only " a rum-shop " after all, — a place where
drinking, and drinking only, goes on " from morn till noon,
from noon to dewy eve," — a rum-shop which is indirectly re-

"NO DIFFERENCE AT ALL."

887

sponsible for the "decline and fall" of many of its patrons^
and for the suicides of several of its best customers.

And just as the Hoffman-house bar is a sample of one class
of saloons ; so is this latter a specimen of another class, even
more numerous, and, in proportion to its expenses, even more
profitably dangerous. And as "one star differs from another
star in glory ; " so one rum-shop differs from another in grade
till we come down to the very lowest social and " spirit "-ual
strata, to the " corner grocery," or the " boozing ken."

But it must ever be carefully borne in mind, that, though the
details and the surroundings of the "business" vary vastly,
the " business " itself, in all the grades of saloons, is precisely
the same. Vice is always nothing but vice, and liquor is always
nothing but liquor.

The drinking palace or parlor is only the ordinary bar-room,
with a little veneer on it ; and the ordinary bar-room is but the
"corner grocery," with a little more ^^ 8ti/le ; " and the "corner
grocery " soon sinks into the policy-den or the thieves' resort.
But in the eyes of the moralist, the temperance man, and
Heaven, there is no difference at all between them.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THK HAUNTS OF THE BUM-DEMON. — THE CONCEBT-SAI.OONS OF NEW YORK.
— THE DANCE-HOUSEf. — HOW A NEW- YORK JOURNALIST BAVED A GER-
MAN GIRI-. — THE EFFORTS WHICH HAVE BEEN MADE BY TEMPERANCE
AND RELIGION TO COMBAT INTEMPERANCE AND VICE. —THE WICKEDEST
MAN IN NEW YORK AND KIT BURNS. — "AWFUL " GARDNER AND JERRY
M"AULEY.

New York has always been a rum-cursed city, and its low-
est dens and dives have been rendered even more hideous by
the quantity and quality of the rum retailed there.

The concert-saloons of New York are among the favorite
haunts of the liquor-demon, — that familiar fiend of the vast
American metropolis.

We find the following faithful description of one of these
saloons in one cf the popular prints of the day: —

On Broadway, near Street, we notice, just above the .entrance

to a cellar, a flaming transparency, with the inscription, "Madame

X., Arcade." Going down a few steps, we find our view of

the interior obstructed by a large screen painted white, with the almost

nude figure of a dancing Venus coarsely painted thereon. The screen

is placed across the entrance, a few feet from the door, obliging us to

flank it, d, la Sherman, and enter the hall by going around it. We

find the floor handsomely covered with matting and oil-cloth. On

the right-hand side, nearest the door, is the bar, over which presides

a genius of the male sex, Wiiose chief attractions consist of a decided

red head, and an immense paste breast-pin stuck into the bosom of a

ruflHed shirt. The bar is well furnished ; and any drink called for,
838

"THE PRETTY WAITER-GIRLS."

839

from ))C(>i' to olmmpagno, can be instantly obtained. A significant
feature is a foi'mi(1al>lc Colt's revolver, a foot in lengtii, suspended
immediately over the 8idel)oard, This weai)on, it may Ikj observed,
is not placed there as an ornament : it is in itself a monitor, warning
those inclined to be disorderly of the danger of carrying their boister-
ousness or rufflanism too far. On the walls are black engravings of
the French school, fit ornaments of the place. But, while wc are
taking this casual survey, one of the attendant nymphs with great
Hcantiness of clothing, affording display for bare shoulders and not
unhandsome ankles, appears, and, with a voice of affected sweetness
wholly at variance with her brazen countenance and impertinent air,
requests us to be seated, and asks what we will have. We modestly
ask for "two ales," which are soon placed before us, and paid for.
While quietly sipping the beverage, we will glance at our surround-
ings. Back of the hall (we are sitting at a table near the centre of
the apartment), on a raised platform, is an asthmatic piano-forte,
uiK)n which an individual with threadbare coat, colorless vest, and
faded nankeen pantaloons, is thrumming away for dear life. Out of
tune himself, he tortures the |)Oor instrument in a way that threatens
its instant dissolution, rending its heart-strings, and causing it to
shriek with agony, wailing out the tune that the old cow died of.
This is the only music the performer is acquainted with, judging
from the persistent manner in which he clings to it. What he lacks
in musical knowledge, however, he makes up with intention, and
thumps away quite manfully, only stopping, now and then, to call
for a drink with which to recruit his exhausted energies. But we
have come to behold the chief attraction of the establishment, — " the
pretty waiter-girls."

Looking around, we see, perhaps, twenty females in various
styles of dress, — some in Turkish costume (supposed to be houris^
no doubt), others attired as Spanish peasants, and others in plain
evening attire. The latter are, for the most part, far from pos-
sessing charms, and, from their looks, have long since outlived their
beauty ; but what they lack in this respect they make up in others.
The girl that waited upon us on our entrance again approaches.

840

SCENE IN PANDEMONIUM.

and, seeing our glasses empty, takes them away to be replonished
She soon re-appears, and, in response to our invitation, takes a seat
Ibeside us while we enter into conversation with her. She is a fair
Sample (excuse the mercantile term) of her class, and her history is^
a, history of a majority of her associates.

Not unprepossessing in appearance, by any means, Ellen

(that she tells us is her name) is twenty-two years of age; was
born in the village of Tarrytown ; resided with her parents until she
was eighteen, when her father died. Leaving her mother, with her
youngest brother she came to New York to seek employment. Oa
arriving in the city, she obtained a situation in a millinery store ;
remained there but a short time ; was out of work, had no friends,
no money [ would not go back to her mother, who was poor ; saw aii

advertisement of Madame for " Pretty Waiter-Girls ; " answered

it ; was engaged in the saloon ; seduced (partly by promises and.
partly by threats) by one of the frequenters of the establishment;^
and has since led the life of a prostitute. Ellen told her story with-
out the least emotion, and, when asked about her mother, carelessly
replied, she supposed the old woman was dead by this time.

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

At a table nearly opposite to our own sat a couple, one of whon»
at least, to even a casual observer, is a stranger to the place and its
surroundings : there is no doubt of it. Wholly enrapt in the beauty
and grace of his female companion, he is totally oblivious to all pass-
ing around. She is exerting all her arts to entice "grreeney" into
her net, and before long will be counting the amount of his cash ;
while he, her dupe, will be, too late, reflecting upon the depravity of
•' pretty waiter-girls." By this time the saloon is crowded with men
and women of all ages, and degrees of social standing. Here is the
man-about- town, the hanger-round of the hotels, in clothes of unex-
ceptionable cut and make, talking earnestly with a female, whose

WHAT "A CONCERT-SALOON" REALLY IS.

341

drawn veil conceals her face, — perbaps some unfortunate victim of
his lust, or probably his mistress come to plead for justice, or for her
week's allowance of money. Yonder is a youth of, as Sylvanus
Cobb, jun., would say, some eighteen summers, young in years, but
old in sin, who supports on his knee a " nymph-du-pave," with whom
he has entered from the street, and upon whom he is spending his
last quarter's salary, or the proceeds of an investigation into the
till of his employer. In that corner is the returned soldier, who has
just been paid off, and who is now expending the hard-earned pittance
of the government upon some bepainted and bedizened courtesan,
while his wife and family are suffering for want of the common
necessaries of life. A cry of pain, followed by a burst of brutal
laughter, causes us to turn our eyes to a corner, just in time to wit-
ness a woman fall to the ground, by a blow from the clmched fist of
the brute with whom she had been quarrelling. A moment there is
silence in the hall, but only for a moment. The girl is picked up by
one of her companions, a few rough jokes at her expense, and all
goes on (.'.s before. Observe that couple descending the steps, — a
handsome, almost noble-looking man, but upon whose countenance
is stamped the mark of a dissolute life — upon his arm a female hid-
den from view by a black veil. They advance to the bar. The gen-
tleman whispers a word in the ear of one of the girls. A meaning
smile flickers over her face as she hands him a key, with which he
opens a door in the end of the room, and disappears with the female.
Reader, you have seen half a dozen similar couples arrive and vanish
through the same door. Do you know the why and wherefore of this
proceeding? This saloon is one of the most '■'■ notorioiis assignation
houses" in New York. We might go on, and notice more fully the
various scenes constantly varying in this house ; but we have not at
present time or space ; and, besides, the task is not an agreeable one.

Tha dance-houses of New York form still another temple of
the metropolitan liquor-demon, — the real Devil of New York.
These " dance-houses " differ from the " concert-saloons," just
described, in two points only, — they are a degree lower and

842

A SAILORS' '' DANCE-IIOUSE."

viler ; and their guests, or victims (the terms are identical and
interchangeable), assemble for the purposes of dancing as well
as dr^'nking.

These dance-houses are generally located in the very worst
quarters of the city, in the streets near the East and North
Rivers, in order to be easy of access to sailors. The buildingti
are generally out of repair, and have a rickety appearance.
The main entrance leads to a long, narrow hall, the floor of
which is well sanded : the walls are ornamented with flashy
prints, and the ceiling with colored tissue papers cut in "fancy""
shapes. There is always a bar, which is well stocked with all
sorts of vile spirits. The place is desolate and horrible in
itself; but the women connected with it, the poor "girls" of
the dance-house, are beyond description pitiable. God help
them ! They constitute the most hideous incarnation of vice
and rum.

They are miserably clad ; they are always more or less wild
with liquor ; they are despised by all decent men and women,.
and know it ; they are cursed at, kicked, and cuffed by the-
brutal owner of the place; they are often terribly beaten in
the drunken quarrels which arise in these abodes of iniquity ;
they are the playthings of the most besotted of mankind ; they
despise themselves. God help them indeed, for rum and the
Devil have brought them to perdition, even in this world !

And they can not, they dare not, even try to escape j for
they are the slaves, yes, the slaves of their master, — the vile-
keeper of this dance-house hell. They have no money of their
own, not a dollar. Their master claims a part of their infa-
mous earnings as his " trade percentage," his business " com-
mission," and then demands the rest for their board and
clothes.

Even in the few cases where the poor " girl " (generally Hh
prematurely aged "girl") has the nerve to fly from one of

*' CHRISTIAN" LAW ON SATAN'S SIDE.

843

these dance-houses, she is brought back, either by force or by
the law (?), or both. Yes, in this Christian (?) city the law in
these cases is on the side of Satan and the dance-house keeper.
The latter, inspired by the former, claims the clothes on the
backs of the runaways as his property, and charges them with
theft.

That able and high-toned writer on low city-life, Oliver Dyer,
in that once popular and always able magazine, "Packard's
Monthly," thus alludes to this fearful blot on humanity and
justice : — '

There is, probably, not a police reporter in the city of much expe-
rience who has not seen one of these girls arraigned at the Tombs,
or at some other police-court, on a charge of theft ; because, in flee-
ing from the intolerable servitude of some den of vice, she had to
wear clothes belonging to the keeper, not having any of her own
wherewith to hide her nakedness. We will give a scene of this
kind : Place, the Tombs ; time, six o'clock in the morning ; present,
police-justice, officers of the court, about thirty prisoners, policemen
attending as witnesses, and parties preferring charges against prison-
ers. The name of the girl against whom complaint has been made
having been called, the following examination took place : —

Justice. What is the charge against this girl?

Policeman. Felony. Stealing wearing-apparel.

Justice. Who is the complainant?

Policeman. This woman here (pointing out the keeper of the
den from which the girl fled, — a most villanous old hag) .

Justice (to the keeper) . What did the girl steal ?

Policeman. Every rag she has on, bad luck to her !

Justice. Mary (to the girl) , who owns the shawl you have on ?

Mauy. She does, sir (pointing to the woman).

Justice. Who owns that hat and dress you have on ?

Mary. She does.

Justice. Haven't you any thing of your own to wear?

Mary. Nothing, sir.

344

"IT IS A HARD CASE, MABY:'

Justice. This woman owns them all, — all the clothes you have on ?

Mary. Yes, sir.

Justice. If they are liers, you should not have taken them.

Makv. Please, sir, I couldn't stay in her house any longer ; and I
couldn't go fiaked into the street.

Justice. It is a hard case, Mary ; but stealing is stealing, and I
shall have to send you up for twenty days. And so Mary is sent to
the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island for twenty days (and sometimes
for a longer period), wearing the " stolen " clothes ; and the wretch of
a keeper goes back to her den, and tells the other girls of Mary's fate,
satisfied to give the shabby garment, in which the victim was attired,
in exchange for the " moral effect " of the girl's conviction and impris-
onment on those who are still in her clutches. Justice Dowling, we
believe, never convicts a girl of theft under such circumstances, but
gives her accuser such a scoring down in open court as sends her
back to her den in rage and shame.

Justice Dowling is dead ; but I would that he had left more
of his like, in this respect at least, behind him.

Those of my readers desirous of perusing more elaborate
pen-pictures of the dens and dives of the great metropolis
than I have power or space to give, and learning their horrors,
are respectfully referred to such works as " The Secrets of the
Great City," by Edwaj d Winslow Martin, — a book replete
with curious and inst:. active information on all phases of met-
ropolitan life. It is not unfrequently the case, though not so
frequently now as in the past, that respectable girls, especially
emigrants, are decoyed into these dens and dance-houses. Once
within these hella, the 1)001" girls seldom come out pure ; once
ingulfed, they are lost : but there is one case, at least, in which
one of these poor, decoyed girls escaped, and escaped through
the kindness of heart and the Christian courage of a well-known
New-Yorker, now connected in an important capacity with
« The New- York Sun."

"A BASEMENT" IN WILLIAM STREET, N.Y.

345

In the month of February, 1852, Isaac W. England, Esq., for-
merly the city editor of " The New- York Tribune," subsequently
the managing editor of " The Chicago Republican," and now
the business manager of " The New- York Sun," was returning

. tQ this city from Liverpool, in the emigrant packet-ship " New
York," in which he had taken a second-cabin passage, for the
purpose of learning practically how emigrants fared in such
vessels. Mr. England did this with a view to exposing the
atrocities then practised upon emigrants, and which he after-
wards did expose, in the columns of " The Tribune," and with
such effect as to be largely instrumental in the fundamental
regeneration of the whole emigrant business, and the creation of
the Castle-Garden commission. Among the passengers in the
second cabin of the packet-ship was a handsome English girl,
«ome nineteen years of age, from near Mr. England's native
town. The fact that the girl came from hear his native town
led Mr. England to feel an interest in her ; and he learned that
she was coming to America to join her brother, then living near
Pottsville in Pennsylvania. On landing in New York, the girl
went to a boarding-house in Greenwich Street, there to await
his arrival; it having been arranged that he should come to
New York for her. Mary (for that was her name) had not
been at the boarding-house many days, when a German woman
called there in search of a bar-maid ; and, seeing Mary, she at
once sought to induce her to accept the situation. It is not un-
common for English girls, of the class to which Mary belonged,
to act as bar-maids in England ; that being there considered a
respectable employment. Deceived by the complaisant man-
ners, and lured by the liberal promises, of the German woman,
the girl accepted her oifer, and went with her to her saloon, a
basement in William Street, near Pearl. After one-day's ser-
vice as bar-maid, Mary was bluntly told by her employer that

' «he had been brought thither to serve in a capacity which we

846

TUB PERILS OF THE POOR.

will not name, and was at once ordered to make ready for enter*
ing upon a life of shame. The horror-stricken girl, frantic with
terror, set about immediately leaving the premises. But shfr
was too valuable a prize to be allowed to escape. The hag into
whose clutches she had fallen locked her up in a back-basement
room, extending under a grate in the yard, and open to the in-^
clemency of the weather, and there kept her for two days and
two nights ; the girl not daring to eat or drink all that time, for
fear of being drugged into insensibility and ruin. The only
sustenance the poor girl had, in eight and forty hours, was thfr
snow that she scraped from the area-grating ; nor did she dare
to close her eyes in sleep for an instant : and, while thus impris-
oned, constant efforts were made to intimidate her, and forcfr
her to submit. With some poor women, threats would have
been sufficient to accomplish the fatal purpose ; but Mary was
prepared to fight for her honor, which was dearer than life. But
lack of food and sleep began to tell upon her. Her strength
failed, her mind weakened, and it seemed as though her doom
was sealed. On the third day of Mary's imprisonment, Mr-
England, who was about to start' for Rhode Island, bethought
himself of his young country-woman, and determined to call at
the boarding-house in Greenwich Street. He did so, and was-
told she had engaged as bar-maid in the William-street saloon^
Having knowledge of such places, Mr. England was troubled,,
and, though pressed for time, determined to call at the saloon-
He went there, and his first glance discovered its character. On
inquiring of the landlady for Mary, he was told she had gone-
to Pennsylvania with her brother two days ago. Something in
the woman's manner excited Mr. England's suspicions ; and he-
told her that he thought she was deceiving him, and that Mary
was still in the house. At this the woman flew into a passion^
and swore volumes in several difPprent languages at Mr. Eng-
land. While he was thus contesting with the landlady, one of

llkJUM

"As soon as the door was opened, Mary came rushing out, and, seeing Mr.
England, flew to him, sobbing hysterically, and clinging to his arm, and cried,
' Take me from this place! Take me from this placel ' " [p. 347].

A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE.

347

the girls in waiting passed near him, and muttered something
which he understood to be a statement that Mary was in the
house. Upon this Mr. England took decided ground, and told
the woman, that, unless she immediately produced the girl, lie
would go for an officer, and have her arrested. This brought
her to terms. She gave one of the girls a key, and an order in
German, in pursuance of which the girl went to the room where
Mary was confined. As soon as the door was opened, Mary
came rushing out, and, seeing Mr. England, flew to him, sob-
bing hysterically, and clinging to his arm, and cried, " Take me
from this place, take me from this place ! " After demanding
Mary's trunk, which was delivered to him with all her things,
Mr. England immediately took the rescued girl to a place of
safety. Mary's brother had died while she was on her voyage
to meet him. But a young New-Yorker, a lawyer, saw lier,.
loved her, wooed her, and married her; and they now liv©
happy and prosperous. But suppose that there had been no
Mr. England in the case. Why, then she would have met her
doom in the wretched William-street den, and been one of
that class about whom this article is written.

But what have the good people of New York been about all
these years (one naturally asks) with all these iniquities all
about them? What have the Christians and the temperance
people been doing to check these devilish evils, to stop thia
work of rum, in these its most degraded aspects?

They have not been idle ; though they have not always, I
fear, been wise : and time after time earnest efforts have been
made to stem the downward current of depravity.

Sometimes public attention has been largely drawn to these
efforts at reformation and salvation ; and much good, even if»
in many cases, only a temporary good, has been accomplished.

Years ago there lived and sinned in New York a dance-house
keeper, upon whom Oliver Dyer, already mentioned, bestowed^

848

THE WICKEDEST MAN IN NEW YORK.

\\\

in an article in " Packard's Monthly," the title, richly deserved,
of " The Wickedest Man in New York."

He and his, and his surroundings, and the attempt made to
reform him, were thus described graphically in the magazine : —

The wickedest man in New York goes by tlie name of Jolin Allen.
He lives at No. 304 Water Street. He keeps a dance-bouse there.
He is about forty-five yeara old. He is reputed to be worth a luui-
tbed thousand dollars, more or less ; and he is knoicn to be worth
seventy thousand dollars. He has three brothers who are clergymen,
two of them being Presbyterians, and one a Baptist, and is reported
to have once been a minister of the gospel himself ; was a good man
originally, and is yet a "good fellow" in many respects. Were it
not for his good qualities, he never could have attained unto the
■eminence of being the wickedest man in New York.

The best bad are always the worst.

Take him for all in all, our wickedest man is a phenomenon. He
reads the Bible to his dance-house girls, and his favorite papera are
"The New York Observer" and "The Independent." He takes
them regularly, and reads them. We have repeatedly seen them
lying on the counters of his bar-room, along with "The Herald"
and "Sun." We have also seen a dozen copies of "The Little
Wanderer's Friend" scattered about his place; for he takes an
interest in mission- work, and "goes in" generally for progress for
other people. This wickedest man is the only entity appertaining
to the shady side of New- York life which we have not been able
to fathom or account for. Why a human being of his education
should continue to live in a Water-street dance-house, and bring up
his children there, is more than we can comprehend.

For the wickedest man loves his children. His little five-year-old
boy is the apple of his eye. He never misses an opportunity to sound
the child's praises, and to show off his accomplishments. All things
considered, the little fellow is truly a wonder. He is crammed full
of Information on all manner of topics, and is ever ready to re-
spond to his doting father's attempts to make his smartness visible to

A WATER-srJtEET DEN.

84&

the naked eye. "We have never visited the wickedest man's dance-
house without having our attention called to his little son's abilitiest
except once, when he took us around to the school the child attends,
to let us see that he ranks with the best, and is a favorite with his
teacher. That was on the twenty-eighth day of May, at te quarter
to twelve in the daytime, when we went to 304 Water Street to tell
Mr. Allen that the fated time had come for serving him up in a
magazine article.

We think we know why this wickedest man persists in living in his
Water-street den, — we have, in fact, penetrated his secret; but, as
we are not absolutely certain as to the matter, we will not set our
suspicions down in print, lest we should do him injustice. We have
said our wickedest man is a phenomenon : we meant this in its appli-
cation to the deepest springs of his character, but it is also applica-
ble to the external manifestations of those deepest springs.

Has the reader any notion of a Water-street dance-house ? Con-
cretely stated, it is a breathing-hole of hell, — a trap-door of the
bottomless pit. You step into a bar-room wherein lousy loafers lurk
on a level with the sidewalk, and in rooms far below it. But usually
there is a '' saloon " in the rear of the bar-room. Passing out of the
bar-room by a door opening in a partition across the rear, you enter
the dancing-saloon, which varies in size from a room fifteen feet
square to a room twenty-five to fifty feet in extent. Along the wall
of this room extends a bench, usually on three sides. In the farther
end of the room is an orchestra, proportioned in numbers and skill
to the prosperity of the establishment. In one of the rear cornera
of the saloon, there is a small bar, where the girls can drink with their
victims without exposing their fascinations to the unthriftful gaze
of a non-paying public. Sitting upon the benches, or grou|)ed upon
the floor, are girls varying in number from four to twenty, but aver-
aging about ten. These girls are not comely to the fastidious eye, but
to a sailor from a long cruise they are not without atti-actions. So,
too, do certain landsmen of a degraded type pay homage. But a
decent man can only regard them with pity and sorrow. The only
girl we ever saw in a dance-house, in whom we could detect any

LITTLE "CHESTER.'

coiucliiicss or rcflncmcnt, wsm a daughter of a former lieutenant-
governor of a New-England State ; and she had been there but a
few hours.

The first time we entered John Allen's dance-house, we found It
in full blast : it was eleven o'clock at night. There were thirteen
girls in the room, three musicians, and seven customers submitting
to the blandishments of an equal number of the sirens who pervaded
the room. Our party consisted of the i)oliceman who accompanied
us, three clergymen on the looliout fcr the "elephant," Mr. Albert
€. Arnold of the Howard Mission, and the writer. The wickedest
man was in his glory. Things were moving briskly ; ordered the
orchestra to do their best, and ordered the girls to " break our
hearts. ' ' A vigorous dance followed, after which the proprietor called
out, —

" Hartford, go up and get ray baby." Hartford turned out to be
one of the girls, and soon returned, bearing in her arms an undressed,
sleepy child. This was the juvenile prodigy. The father took him
in his arms with a glow of pride and affection.

" Now, gentlemen, you are writers, philosophers, and preachers ;
but I'll show you that my baby knows as much as any of you.
He's hell on reading, writing, praying, and fighting." And, without
more ado, he stood the little fellow upon the floor, and began to
<!atechize him in ancient and profane and modern history, geography,
with a result that astonished all. Suddenly he exclaimed, " 'Ches-
ter,' — that's the child's name, — give me a song ! " and " Chester"
gave us a song.

" Nowi ' Chester,' give us a • bicak-down,' the orchestra a ' break-
down ; ' " and " Chester" danc.d it with precision and vigor, and his
mother looked on with delight.

" Now, ' Chester,' give us a ' prayer : ' " and the child recited first
the Lord's Prayer, and then others, mixed with so much ribaldiy
«nd profanity on the father's part as cut us to the heart.

And here we got a glimpse of the pre-eminent wickedness of the
man, — wickedness which is leading him to train up that idolized
boy in a way and in an atmosphere which will yet make him an

BSBi

" GltlT AND GRACE.'

851

object of disgust and loathing, even to his own heart. For that
dance-house cliikl, thore seems to be no spiritual hope. Tlie sacred
and profane are so mingled up, that he will never be able to tell
which is sacred and which is profane. He will grow up in the high-
<?8t possible type of wickedness — if he grows up at all. Of all the
cases we have ever seen, Chester Allen gives us tlie keenest pang.

After the infant phenomenon had been sent back to bed, his
father asked our party if we wouldn't "mix in" and have a dance
with the girls. "It will do you good," said he, "to trip it a little
on the light fantastic. Besides, I like to do the fair thing by dis-
tinguished men. I am fond of literary people, and especially of
clergymen. I have three brothers who adorn the sacred calling, and
grit and grace run tlirough our family like the Tigris and the Jordan
through the Holy Land. Go in, gentlemen : the girls shall not hurt
you. I will watch over you like a hen over her "hickens, and you
shall leave my premises as virtuous as you came in. Ha, ha !
come, what shall it be? " On being assured that we would not "trip
it on the light fantastic," he asked us if ive (that is, our party) would
not favor the girls with a song : whereupon Mr. Arnold suggested
that we should all sing together, and asked the girls what they would
like best. Several of them immediately responded in favor of "There
is rest for the weary." — "Do you know that? " one of the clergy-
men asked. "Yes!" answered at least half a dozen of the girls.
" Where did you learn it?" asked another of the clergymen. "At
sabbath school," was the reply. We all looked at one another.
Here was a revelation. These girls had been brought up to attend
sabbath school. Perhaps they were daughters of Christian parents !
But we had not time to pursue this painful speculation, for the girls
began to sing, —

" In the Christian's home in glory
There remains a land of rest ;
And my Saviour's gone before me,
To fulfil my soul's reqiiest.
Chorus. — There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for you.

352 A QUEER PLACE FOB A ''CHRISTIAN OBSERVER.'*

On the other side of Jordan,
In the sweet fields of Eden,
Where the tree of life is blooming,
There is rest for you."

And oh, with what fervor and pathos they saug ! especially the
chorus, which, at the end of each verse, they sang three times over.
Some of them sat weeping as they saug.

Since that occasion we have repeatedly visited the abode of the
wickedest man in New York, but all our efforts to get any vital hold
on him have been in vain. He is always cordial, always ready ta
let the girls "have a spiritual sing:" he will even permit a little
exhortation in his dancing-saloon, and is free with his "Independ-
ent" and his "Christian Observer."

But he keeps on his way with unyielding pertinacity. On one
occasion a party suggested that he should let us have a prayer-meet-
ing in his saloon. After a little reflection, he replied, "Well, no,
gentlemen : I can't go that. You know that every man must have
regard to his profession, and the opinions of his neighbors. What
with my 'Observer' and 'Independent,' and you fellows coming
here and singing camp-meeting songs, I am already looked upon in
the neighborhood as being rather loose and unsound ; and if, upon
top of all that, I should let you hold a prayeV'Tneeting here, I should
lose the little character that Pve left." But our friend Arnold of the
Howard Mission was determined to achieve the prayer-meeting ; and
during the fourth week in May last, when there were many of his
clerical friends in the city, Mr. Araold thought he would bring a
heavy spiritual cannonade to bear on Allen, and see what would come
of it. So, on Monday night, May 25, afte^ a carefully conducted
preliminary season of prayer, an assaulting party was formed, includ-
ing six clergymen from different parts of the country, to march upon
the citadel of the enemy. When we arrived, it was half-past twelve.
The window-shutters were closed, and we feared we were too late.
But a light shone through the window over the door ; and, on appli-
cation, we were admitted, and received a hearty welcome. Allen just
then was undergoing a shampooing process, for the purpose, as he

A PRAYER IN A DANCE-HOUSE.

353

frankly said, of enabling him to go to bed sober. He added, " You
see, gentlemen, it won't do for a business man, or a literary man
either, to go to bed drunk. So, now, just take my advice, and, when-
ever you find youraelf drunk about bed-time, you just take a good
shampoo, and you will find the investment will pay a big dividend in
the morning. But walk into the saloon, gentlemen, walk in. The
girls are in there, taking a rest and a smoke after the arduous duties
of the evening. Walk in." "We walked in, and found the girls
smoking pipes, and sitting and lounging about the room.

In a few minutes Allen came in, and proposed to have the girls
dance for us; but we declined, "Well, theu, Arnold, let's have a
song! " he exclaimed. Mr. Arnold, as usual, asked the girls what
they would like to have ; and they at once asked for their favorite,
"There is rest for the weary." — "Here, mother, give me my
fiddle," said Allen to his wife, " and bring out the ' books ; '" mean-
ing " The Little Wanderer's Friend," of which he keeps a supply.

The books were got out by one of the girls, the fiddle was handed
him by his wife, and Allen led off on the treble, all hands joining
in. There were eleven girls in the room ; and they sang the chorus
with unusual fervor, even for them. As soon as this song was fin-
ished, a couple of the girls simultaneously asked for " There's a light
in the window for thee, brother," which was sung with emphasis and
feeling. Mr. Arnold, believing that the hour had come, tapping
Allen on the shoulder, said, " Well, John, old boy, give us your
hand. I feel just like praying here with you." Allen took the ex-
tended hand, and gruflSy said, " What ! i?my f Do you mean pray?
No, never! "

" Well, John," said Mr. Arnold, " I am going to pray here, any-
how. If I do not pray loud, I'll pray soft. You sha'n't lose the
prayer, anyhow." — "Well, Arnold, mind now, if you pray, I'll not
hear you ; mind that. I don't know any thing about it. I won't
hear you ; " and backing slowly out of the room, and repeating " I
won't hear you" over and over again, Allen went through the door
leading to the bar, and closed it after him. Mr. Arnold then invited
the girls to join in prayer with him, which they did, — some of thei

854

THESE POOR GIRLS.

kneeling on the floor, others bowing their heads upon their hands, —
while Allen peered through the window of the partition-door upon
the singular scene. Many of the girls arose sobbing ; and several
of them crowded around Mr. Arnold, and begged him, in the name
of God, to take them from that place.

They would work their hands off if honest work could be got for
them : they would submit to any hardship if they could only be re-
stored to opportunities for virtue and a Christian life. Take them
from this place — where could he take them ? In all this Christian
land, there is not a Christian home that would open their doors to
a repentant female sinner, except to turn her out of the house.

On calling on Mr. Arnold the next day, we found him in the room
of the mission, with his head bowed upon the table as thou?>:h in
prayer. " Sir," he exclaimed, " what is to be done about this ? ' - -
"About what?" we asked. "These poor girls," he replied. "I
have been thinking and praying all night, but I can see no light.
Sir" (pressing my hand), "I shall go mad. Tliere are about forty
dance-houses in Mr. Allen's neighborhood. Each one requires a
re-enforcement of eighty girls, amountmg to a trifle of over six a
day for each one of them, — about six fresh girls a day, Sunday
included."

Naturally, the publication of Mr. Dyer's article centred upon
John Allen for a while public attention ; and certain clergy-
men called upon him, and endeavored to convert him.

In a few weeks John Allen's dance-house was closed for the
first time in seventeen years. And the next dnv it wjis an-
nounced that Allen had abandoned forever his intamous voca-
tion. Alas! this announcement did not prove true. The
wickedest man went back to his wickedness once more ; but
still, much benefit had indirectly been done. A great many
sinners, unlike Allen, remained true io their pledges ; and, on
the whole, the effect of the " movement " was for good. A nd
one thing is certain : had the good work been carried on stead-

KIT liURNS.

855

ily^ and as earnestly as it had been commenced; had the parties
concerned on the Lord's side " not been weaiy in well-doing ; "
had they persisted in their efforts "in season and out of season,"
as did "the great apostle of the Gentiles," — Paul, — the result
of their labors of love would have been vastly greater. But
discouraged by the backsliding of the principal sinner, and
sensitive to the remarks of the daily press, and obtaining an
unpleasant notoriety, the Christian and temperance leaders, to
use the expressive language of the prize-ring, "threw up the
sponge," and left Rum and the Devil in possession of the field.

Spasmodic efforts avail little in temperance, religion, or any
thing else. It is the steady, persistent fighters, like Wellington
and Grant, who never know or care when they are defeated,
but who fight right on, who win the fight at last. Another
attempt at what may be called "sensational conversion" was
made years ago at the rat-pit of the dog-fighter Kit Burns,
who was in his time one of the " characters " of New York.

Kit Burns's place was known as " Sportsman's Hall." It was
a plain brick building on Water Street, with the lower portion
painted green, and a small gas-lamp in front of the door.

The " bar " at Kit Burns's was like all other " bars " in Water
Street, only more copiously stocked with liquor ; but the great
"attraction" of the place was the room fitted up as an amphi-
theatre, or " pit." The seats were rough, very rough benches ;
and the pit, or ring, was enclosed by a wooden fence, forming a
circle several feet in height. There the rat-fights and dog-
fights were held and largely attended, ay, and by men some-
times of money, and social or political position.

These dog and rat fights were terrible spectacles of degraded
and drunken humanity witnessing pluck and suffering. But
the dogs and rats were less beastly than the men. During the
Water-street revival at John Allen's, the parties conducting
the movement made an effort to bring Kit Bums under the

856

" A WFUL ■ GARDNER.

influence of temperance and religion. But he resisted their
efforts. Then the revivalist hired Kit's rat-pit, and used it
for daily religious services.

There, as in the case of John Allen, less " sensational " good
was accomplished than the conductors of the movement ex-
pected and desired. And so they became discouraged. But,
in reality, a great deal of good was attained, though in a quiet
way, among the more obscure sinners. The real mistake made
was, not in beginning these revivals, but in ever abandoning
them. 'tjT^pt^rance raids, religious raids, like police raids,
accomplisL less good than steady, moderate, but ceaseless
effort. And ^o must not be forgotten, that although the noto-
rious sinners, John Allen and Kit Burns, persisted in their in-
iquities, spite the revivals at their places, two other sinners
(almost as notorious) have been reformed, and have remained
reformed to-day, and are prominent examples of what temper-
ance and true religion can do, even for the vilest. I allude to
" Awful Gardner " and " Jerry McAuley."

Awful, or Orville, Gardner was for years a notorious drunkard,
pugilist, and gambler, a champion of evil. But he became
converted, and at once proved that his conversion was sincere.
He forsook the prize-ring and the card-tables with their villan-
ous associations, and lived like an honest man, by honest means,
and among honest men and women. He had been for years a
" chum " of John Allen, a constant feature of his dance-house.
And Allen, and the rest of his set, " took no stock," as it is
called, in his conversion. When his reformation was announced,
it was pronounced " a dodge ; " and bets were offered that he
would be " worse than ever " in a month. But the month
passed; and Gardner still was honest, sober, and religious.
Three months passed, and still he manifested those three vir-
tues. A year passed: still he held on to his honesty, to his
temperance, and to his God. He was a man of his word : he

JERRY MCAULEY.

357

had taken a solemn pledge " to serve God as faithfully in th«
future as he had served the Devil in the past," and he kept
his vow. From that day on he has indorsed his oath by a life
of an irreproachable character.

And Jerry McAuley, who was once a "rough" and a "tough,"
is to-day himself a temperance reformer, and conducts a suc-
cessful "mission-house " here in the heart of one of the vilest
sections of the metropolis, directly adjoining one of the most
disgustingly popular of the drinking-haunts of New York, —
" the infamous Cremorne." There is abundant encouragement
to be derived, after all, from the records of the endeavors of
the past. Even the failures made by the good men and women
before us are full of instruction and profit if only read aright.

All that the good people of New York, or of any other and all
other cities, have got to do to reform the bad, is, to be as
earnest and as persistent in good as the bad are in evil. The
rum-seller does not sell rum by " spasms," or for "sensation ; "
he sells it all the time for profit. So the Christian reformer
and the temperance advocate should not seek to do good by
spasmodic " revivals " only, nor to obtain notoriety. No : they
should do their good as the sinner and the rum-seller do their
evil, — regularly, steadily, with a due knowledge of human
nature, with a single desii;e to gain their end, and all the time.

Then they will be sure to succeed, and then only.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE RUH-DENS OF NEW YORK TO-DAY. —HARRY HILL AND " HARRY HILL'S."
— THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MAN AND HIS PLACE. — THE " MABILLE " AND
McGLORY'S den. — "the HAYMARKET" and "the DIVES." — THE REAL
TROUBLE WITH THE TEMPERANCE MOVEMENT.

In a preceding chapter I have endeavored to show how vile
the liquor strongholds of the metropolis have been in the past.
But New York is just as liquor-cursed, just as rum-vile, to-day»
as in the days or nights of Kit Burns and John Allen.

There is " Harry Hill's," for example. This place has been
80 frequently described, that its proprietor has learned to look
upon these descriptions as " advertisements." Consequently, I
do NOT propose to give Mr. Harry Hill an " ad." Suffice it to
say, that none of the printed descriptions of this notorious den
have been truthful. They have either exaggerated its attrac-
tions, or failed to do justice to the singular, the absolutely
unique, character of its proprietor.

"Harry Hill's" is not really an attractive place at all to
those who are accustomed, in any degree, to appreciate attrac-
tions. As a "theatre," the place is absolutely unworthy of
notice i the stage being small, the company being cheap, and
hardly worth their money at that, and the programme being
poor. In fact, the "theatre" serves but as an excuse for the
"beer-hall," the "wine-room," and "the dance-house."

The distinctive feature of this, and the other similar dance-
houses, is, that women from the streets are admitted "free,"
— free from the necessity of a male escort or an admission-fee.

358

TUE ONLY MAN OF HIS KIND.

359

A man must pay, to enter Harry Hill's, his twenty-five cents :
a woman can enter Harry Hill's, as often as she pleases, for
nothing.

True, she must " behave herself " while in the dance-house :
she must preserve outward decorum. But the fact remains,
that she attends the " performances " at Harry Hill's only for
one of two reasons, or for both, — either to swill beer or
" drink wine," if invited to do so, or to solicit indirectly, or to
be solicited directly by, men.

Whatever credit (?), if any, can be attached to keeping the
best possible kind of a very bad house, is due to Harry Hill.
He sees that his women do not outrage decency, as the) do
elsewher? ; and he takes care that the thieves who resort to his
place do not steal while in his house, or from his customers.
There are no " complaints " ever made formally to the police
against " Harry Hill's : " and speaking technically, merely in a
legal police-point of view, it does not deserve to have any
made against it ; for the mere outward form and letter of the
law is never violated by the shrewd proprietor, who finds it to
his interest to be comparatively decent. But still the fact
remains, that the place is, and has been for years, the most
notorious dance-house in the city of New York i that it is
the nightly rendezvous of gamblers, thieves, and prostitutes ;
and that it is, and long lias been, one of the favorite haunts of
the accursed liquor-demon.

As for the proprietor himself, he is sui generis, — the only
man of his kind in New York, or, perhaps, anywliere else. He
bears deservedly a high reputation as a business-man, is kindly
hearted, respected for his probity by those who have dealings
with him, and beloved by those who are employed by him.
He has a very large and miscellaneous acquaintance, and num-
bers among his friends some of the most prominent men of the
day.

860

THE TWO HARRY HILL8.

But, on his dance-house side, Harry Hill is simply a trafficker
in bad rum and bad women, — a man who, by his very popij-
larity, does harm to the unwary. There is no use in mincing
matters; and for once let the truth be written, just as it is,
about Harry Hill.

The writer knows him well, and likes one Harry Hill —
Harry Hill the man — very well indeed; but for Harry Hill
the dance-house keeper and rum-seller, he has, and every true
man can't well help having, an unqualified contempt.

How there can be two men, two Harry Hills, so different,
combined in the one man, the one Harry Hill, is a problem I
cannot solve. But, luckily, I am not called upon to solve it,
but only to describe it, as I have endeavored to do, without
malice, and in the fear of the Lord.

All good men will shun, and all men who wish to remain
good should shun, Harry Hill's just as they would a small-pox
hospital ; for a place where no virtuous woman ever enters
should never be entered by a decent man.

And New York is full of places which are even worse than
Harry Hill's, if worse be possible, — places which are even
lower, less outwardly decorous, more inwardly vile, such as
" The Allen's Mabille," as it is called, and McGlory's den.

At the former place, in the immediate vicinity of Harry
Hill's, thieves and courtesans daily and nightly congregate ;
and, of course, liquor, and very bad liquor, is persistently and
profitably sold. And ever and anon public " balls," " masked "
balls sometimes, are held at the Mabille, and very largely
attended, not only by the "flash" class, but by those who
should know and do better, — the so-called "swells" of the
upper classes of society, " men-about-town," etc., who thus
then and there patronize pandemonium.

As for McGlory's den, it is a vile hole, indescribably disgust-
ing. There is really nothing attractive about it, except its

VILE, VILER, VILEST.

861

very repulsiveness. It makes not the slightest pretence to
beauty or to art. There is not the slightest indication of
refinement. There is really no comfort : the liquor is vile,
the people who drink it are viler, and the man who "runs " the
' beastly rum-hole is the vilest of all.

Here murderous assaults have been committed with impu-
nity ; here people have been robbed unblushingly ; here rivalry,
blasphemy, and obscenity can be heard constantly; here the
worst of men mingle with the vilest of women, both classes of
wretches on the lookout for victims brought here by curiosity,
under the insane idea that they are " seeing life," when really
they are " seeing " the only part of " life " not worth the see-
ing ; here a " rough," who was head bar-keeper of this " hell,"
recently attempted to kill a policeman, and was himself killed ;
and here every crime that can disgrace humanity is represented.

This den of McGlory's has recently been brought into
prominence by the colossal " cheek " of McGlory himself, who,
taking advantage, by a trick, of the representatives of the
proprietors of the Brunswick Hotel, one of the most fashion-
able establishments on Fifth Avenue, absolutely engaged a
parlor at the Brunswick, and gave a post-midnight supper to
. his gang of "girls" and "roughs," Avho made night hideous
with their orgies, and stirred Fifth Avenue down to its very
foundations.

It is now claimed, that the idea of this colossal combined
" sell " and " spree " did not originate with McGlor}- himself, but
was done at the instigation, and with the financial "backing,"
•of certain prominent parties in society, who were unfriendly
to the management of the Brunswick. But, at any rate, the
affair was successfully and skilfully engendered by McGlory,
who spent a large sum of money on it, and received from it
an enormous advertisement, worth ten times the money spent.

Now, it is 7iot my intention to do what the proprietors of the

362 "MCGLOItY'S DEN'' AND "THE IIAYMARKET."

Brunswick unwittingly did, and " advertise " McGlory by
" ubfiising " him. He and his den, and all such men as he, and
all such places as his, are really not worth the elaborate pen-
and-ink descriptions that have been wasted upon them.

Suffice it to say, that all these haunts of vice and rum are
disgustingly similar, and will NOT repay the trouble, expense,
or risk of a personal visit. I am writing of them as they are ;
and I do not intend that any glamour of romance or poetry
shall be thrown around them, for there is not a particle of
romance or charm about them.

Take the Haymarket, for example : what can really be lesa
poetical or attractive than this notorious place ? A floor
almost as dirty as a stable, with vestiges here and there of
tawdry finery, with a bar at one side, and staircases on either
side, leading to a second floor, or gallery, with wine-room, or
platform, to the rear, and a sort of supper-room to one side,
and tables and chairs of the rudest description everywhere,
with a small stage, accommodating a noisy orchestra at one
end ; and a space on the middle of the floor reserved for dan-
cing, where women, foul from the streets, whirl round in the
arms of men, smoking cigars ; while on all sides, around and
above, men and women, thieves and prostitutes, look on, laugh,
sneer, curse, or applaud, as the case may be, amid clouds of
tobacco-smoke and the fumes of villanous whiskey. Such ia
the appearance of the Haymarket any and every night from
ten o'clock till two ; and, certainly, there is nothing very capti-
vating about all this.

" The Cremorne " is even lower and less attractive than the
Haymarket, being only a free-and-easy of the lowest grade;
and the " Lava Beds," so called, on Sixth Avenue, around
Thirtieth Street, are merely localities devoted to drinking-
saloons, like the notorious "Empire," where the appetites of
degraded women are catered to by men even more degraded^

"STRAINING AT GNATS AND SWALLOWING CAMELS." 863

and where boys, gl.-s, men, and women drink and often quarrel,
undisturbed by the police, — the wonderful and wonderfully
inconsistent New- York police, which, while it puts a stop to
what at least claims to be a devout representation of religious
mysteries, does not put a stop to " The French Madame's," or
a score of dens which claim to be and are unblushing and alto-
gether undevout representatives of irreligion and depravity.

Ah! sometimes when I think of the fact, that the police
arrest poor candy-women and little boys for trying to make a
few cents on the first day of the week, and yet permit Irving,
and the rest of his class, to keep the Sixth-avenue " dives "
open day and night all the week through, unmolested, I cannot
help recalling the words of Him who denounced bitterly the
hypocrites who " strained fit n gnat, and swallowed a camel."

For the police, if they chose, could, within forty-eight hours,
close all the places I have just described. Just as Owney
Geoghan's vile den has been brought to at least temporary grief
of late; just as the Buckingham has been stopped, — so all the
dens in New York could be wiped out if the police were only
as earnest in doing their work as they are in getting their pay,
— if, like the Divine Master, they were "no respecter of
persons."

Ah ! the real difficulty is, not to get the necessary machinery
with which to repress the infamous liquor traffic, but to keep
that machinery up to doing its work. The real trouble with
the temperance movements has always been, that the temper-
ance and reform influences, the ministers, the authorities, the
police, have been ever lukewarm in their dutico; while the rum-
sellers have been heart and soul, body and mind, dollars and
cents, earnest and energetic in their profitable sin. Success in
any thing in this world is more a matter of mingled prudence
and pluck than of any thing else, or of all things else com-
bined ; and, alas, alas ! the preponderance of worldly tact and

864

TUE LESSON OF SUCCESS.

persistent energy lias thus far been on the side of the rum-
sellers. Hence their success to date.

But tliis fact carries with it its own lesson ; for it follows,
that, when tlie energy and the prudence of the temperance
advocates sliall equal or exceed for good the zeal and shrewd-
ness displayed by the rum-sellers for evil, then the case will be
reversed, and alcohol will be dethroned. And it may here be
remarked, that the energy and worldly wisdom shown by some
of the converts to temperance, by the reformed drunkards, such
as *' Awful " Gardner and Jerry McAuley, previously alluded
to, and Ben Hogan the reformed pugilist, who has been of
late doing so noble a work in Chicago and the West, puts
to shame the supineness of the regular recognized agents of
reform and good morals, the " orthodox " clergymen, the pro-
fessed temperance people, and the uniformed, disciplined, but
inefficient and half-hearted, police.

CHAPTER XXIX.

STILL ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY WON AND LOST. — THB YOUNG MEN'S CHRIS-
TIAN ASSOCIATION. — ITS HISTORY AND GOOD WORK. — I AM SEIZED WITH
AN IDEA. —AND I PREPARE TO CARRY IT OUT. ^

I WILL now resume the thread of my personal narrative.
Having "loafed" around New York in destitution and dis-
grace, idling, and suffering for lack of the decencies and even
the necessaries of life, a slave to my old foe, rum, I finally,
with the good luck that so const ntly attended me, and which
I as constantly abused, came across an old friend, Avho, taking
pity on my distresses, and having confidence in my business
talent, first exacted from me a pledge that I would cease drink-
ing, and then advanced me a sum of money to invest in the
restaurant business.

I accordingly went on at once to Boston, and opened a place
at No. 21 South Street. Once more an all-merciful Provi-
dence had put me on my feet, and given me a chance, — my
tenth or fifteenth chance. But, alas, alas, alas ! although I had
given my pledge not to drink, I violated it in a few weeks. I
promised in good faith ; but rum had ruined my free will, as it
always does. And I did not keep my vow. My new specu-
lation ended — as my old speculations had all ended — in fail-
ure, brought on by rum, — rum simply, and rum solely, and
rum altogether. •

I was then compelled to seek assistance for the very necessa-
ries of life. And, among other places, I applied in my distress
to the Young Men's Christian Association Rooms. There I met

365

366

THE Y.M.C.A.

Mr. D. Banks McKenzie, who took a true Christian's kindly-
interest in my case. He had been, I understood, a sufferer
once himself from my own dread moral, spiritual, and physical
disease, intemperance, but had reformed and recovered, and
had devoted himself to rescuing unfortunates like me. He
substantially befriended me, even to such a great degree that
I have not yet been able to repay him. I hope, God giving
me health and strength, to show this man, who is doing so
much for humanity at large, that at least I feel grateful for hia
kindness.

And here let me say a few words relative to Young Men's
Christian Associations, which are justly ranked among the
memorable achievements and powerful influences of the times.

These associations are now numbered by the hundreds, and
embrace many thousands of members. And as a writer on this
subject in that truly Christian and altogether admirable peri-
odical, " Harper's Magazine," remarks, —

To bind together such a congeries of societies, and to inform
them with a common life, has required tact, patience, and uncommon
good judgment. The associations are examples of business shrewd-
ness applied to Christian aims. For once worldly wisdom, in the best
sense, has entered into league with Christian simplicity. One cannot
read the instructions for the formation of associations without tracing
the mr.rks of this wisdom. Some of them run in this wise : " Begin
quietly, without mass-meetings." "Avoid debt." "Do not run a
race with a lyceum, or any like institution." " Strike out into new
paths." " Build a house that beats a pubUc-house." " Keep out the
talking, offlce-seeking men, who are ready to seize upon a new move-
ment so long as it adds to their popularity, or gratifies their vanity.
At conventions ' show-men ' are not needed, nor persons simply who
can make a good speech. ' ' "Do not depend upon large and ambitious
meetings to sustain your work." "Put your association-room not
higher than the second floor, and furnish it as a parlor, and not in a

tmmm

mmm

TUE FOUNDER OF TUE Y.M.C.A.

867

formal manner as a publ'c hall." " Do not engage as t association
in measures of political reform." Such instructions reveal a patient
study of the difficulties which are met in the f A\ c' every move-
ment, and the methods by which they are overcoine. There is a
touch of satire in the advice to keep clear of windy, talking men.
What village in our laud does not know them? Carlyle, iu his
"Stump Orator," advises that a bit of his tongue be cut oflE every
time that he talks without doing. The associations have learned,
that all "deep talent is a talent to do, and is intrinsically of silent
nature." They have a short word for the fussy orator: "Much-
talking man, you may go down. Your gift is not wanted here." Let
it not be supposed, however, that worldly prudence is the chief
quality in the management of these associations. It plays a sub-
ordinate part only: underneath it is a fervid zeal for the spiritual
welfare of young men.

The date of the beginning of a Young Men's Christian Associa-
tion was 1844 ; and Mr. George Williams, the founder, lives a hale
and vigorous man, old as years are counted, but still youthful in his
Christian- zeal. The original association iu London has owed much
of its growth to the energy of its long-time secretary, Mr. Shipton,
who, now retired from duty, can look back with pleasure upon the
fruit of his manifold toils. The example of England was quickly
copied on this side of the ocean ; and, in 1857, there \^as one formed
in Montreal. New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and other cities,
rapidly followed. In tracing this history, we find that brain, the
ardor of Christian zeal, and business experience, have worked to-
gether. For instance, in the city of New York, merchants, bankers,
and professional men, such as Cephas Brainard, James Stokes, juu.,
Elliot Monroe, William E. Dodge, jun., have been closely Imked
with others whose entire lives havf- been surrendered to this service.
But to no one can more be ascribed in the developing of the associa-
tions in the United States than to Robert R. McBumey, the New- York
secretary. He wields an unknown power by suggestion, which
reaches to the farthest limits of association interests. He may be
classed as one of the best examples of quiet, persistent energy.

■ip

368

THE ATHEIST IN THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.

Many will remember the modest quarters of the association in the
Bible House of former years. Through the confidence which Mr.
McBurney's executive abilities have inspired, the funds have been
collected for the erection of the Association Building, which is in
every way worthy of the conspicuous position it occupies in the city.
Here, too, the International Committee have their headquarters ; and
from this point, as a centre, radiates the work among railway-men,
the college students, among the Germans, in the South and West,
and among the freedmen. All these branches from the parent-stock
have grown without human provision. Some one has appeared fitted
for a special service: the service 'has called for the man, and the
managers have had the sagacity to heed the call. The life of F. von
Schluemenbach, who has charge of the association among the Ger-
man young men in the United States, has the same romantic interest
as that of William Nast, the founder of the Gemian Methodist-
Episcopal Churches. Nast was a fellow-student with Strauss, was
infected with Straussian scepticism, came to the United States, led
for a time an aimless, unsettled life, was led by the simple-hearted
Christians to doubt his doubt, and to a hearty acceptance of Christian
faith. Von Schluemenbach had adopted an Epicurean, atheistic phi-
losophy, had become a leader among like-minded young men of Ger-
man nationality, but through the earnest expostulation of the late Gen.
Albright of Bt'iuisylvania, and the awakening of the recollections of
early years in the fatherland, was brought to a better mind. Gen. Al-
bright, who was in war a fearless soldier, and all the time a fearless
Christian, introduced the German atheist to his Sunday school in
these terms : " Here is my dear friend, Capt. von Schluemenbach, an
infidel, by the way, who says there is no God ; and he is going to
speak to you, and tell you there is no God, and to prove it to you."
This was a trying position for the German. The songs of the chil-
dren had awakened tender feelings ; and his speech became a confes-
sion, that he could not believe there was a God. But, if the children
knew that better than he, they might as well pray for him as for
others. Led gently, step after step, by the general and his wife into
the truth, he began a new life.

A DOCTOR AND A BIBLE-TEaCHER.

369

It is the characteristic of the association, that they develop lay
activity. Geu. Albright was a lawyer, a bank-president, and a man
of affaire. New York has /given an example of a physician and
professor in a medical school who is also one of the most successful
of Bible-teachers. Dr. "W. H. Thompson for eleven years has bad
before him, every Sunday afternoon in Association Hall, an audience
varying from five hundred to seven hundred persons, who have
listened to his explanations of the meaning of Scripture. His quali-
fications for the work of an expositor are unusually good. He is the
son of Rev. Dr. William M. Thomson, the author of " The Land
and the Book." His early life was spent in Syria ; and, as the East
has for centuries been unchangeable, he can furnish out of the
stores of his memory abundant illustrations of Scripture history.
Seated beside a table, on which his arm carelessly leans ; using collo-
quial tones, which derive no advantage from any power of voice ; not
at all fluent, but, on the contrary, hesitating in utterance, — Dr.
Thomson has, nevertheless, learned the secret of holding his audi-
ences : one of the causes of this success is, that the lecturer has
something to say; another, that he does not "orate." Dr. Thom-
son believes that Bible history may be made as interesting as any
other. " Take," he saj's, " the history of the founding of the Chris-
tian Church, as it is given us in " Acts, and illustrated in the
Epistles, and, if that subject cannot be made more interesting than
the history of Greece or the American Revolmion, it will be owing
solely to the mental vacuity of the teacher hims tf, who ha been
deadened by a liturgical reading of the Bible till his ears are dull of
hearing." Preachers who speak to nearly empty pews Sunday after
Sunday may learn something to their advantage by atten^i ig the lec-
tures of the Rev. Dr. Thomson.

As I was once a railroad-man myself, I may here remark, t it a
great interest has been taken by the Young Men's Chri^ Asso-
ciation in railroad-men. Cleveland is the centre from which work has
sprung ; although tentative efforts have been made in St. Albans, Vt.,
as early as 1854, and in Canada in 1855, its success dates from 1872.
Mr. Lang Sheaff became conspicuous in it at Cleveland. In 1877 Mr.

870

CHRISTIAN ENGINEERS AND BRAKESMEN.

E. D. IngersoU was appointed secretary of the Railway Branch of the
Young Men's Christian Associations. So rapidly has this Christian
enterprise grown, that in 1879 a convention of the Young Men's
Christian Associations was held in Altooua, Penn. There are now
reading-rooms for railroad-men at thirty-three railroad centres, of
each of which a secretary has charge. An aggregate of thirty thou-
sand dollars is annually appropriated by the companies for this truly
Christian labor. "Mr. IngersoU," says a leading railway manager,
" is, indeed, a busy man. Night and day he travels. To-day a rail-
road president wants him here : to-morrow a manager summons him
there. He is going, like a shuttle, back and forth through the
country, weaving the web of the Railway Associations. In Indi-
anapolis twelve railroad companies aid in the support of this work
of benevolence. In Chicago the president of one of the leading
railroads, the general manager of another, the general superintendent
of another, and other officials, have 8er\'ed and are serving, and are
serving actively, on the Railway Committee of the Young Men's
Christian Associations." The stuff these men are made of may be
seen from some of the reports to the Altoona convention. One spoke
thus : "About twelve years ago we organized in Stonington, Conn.,
a midnight prayer-meeting of railroad-men. It was the hour before
the starting of the steamboat night-train. The first night one man
was soundly converted, and continues to-day a living witness of the
truth. After a while the meetings were suspended ; and I beard
nothing more about the railroad-meetings, until Mr. IngersoU, the rail-
road secretary of the International Committee, came down that way.
*' I run a midnight train from I'lovidence," said a conductor, " and
speak almost every Sunday ; and many of our railroad-men attend.
I am forty-six years of age, and have been twenty-seven yeare on
the road, and four yeara at sea. My engineer is a Christian man,
and I feel safe behind him." Are the passengers of the midnight
train the worse off because the engineer and conductor are such men
as these ? A railroad secretary, who represented Indianapolis, said,
*' A member of our association was killed hi t, week, and I was called
upon to bury him : it was a sad, a very sad, duty. He was a Chris-

PIETY AND COMMON SENSE.

371

tian boy, and there are men here who have heard him pray. Going
home from the funeral, one of the boys, not a Christian, said, ^ The
Railroad Christian Association is doing more for our railroad-men than
any thing else in the world.' "

Some may suppose that the books provided in the railroad read-
ing-rooms are wholly of the goody-goody species. Not so. The
Bible is there, and is made the text-book in the Bible-classes ; and
devotional books do their precious office. But these men have active
brains, and are Americans. A secretary saj's of them, " One of the
first things they call for is railroad-works. I am surprised how many
inquire for mechanical works ; and for that reason I am particular to
have the railroad papers — ' The Scientific American,' etc. — on our
tables. These are read more than the dailies. If the men know that
they are going to get something that will help in working up to a
higher position, they will come to our rooms." Among the books
called for, as desirable for the libraries, are Bourne's " Hand-book
of the Steam-Engine," Balfour Stewart's "Conservation of Energy,"
Pope's " Modern Practice of the Telegraph," and along with such
strong meat as Henry's "Commentaries," Conybeare and Howson's
"St. Paul," etc.

It is now time to consider the methods by which these results have
been attained. Enthusiasm alone will not account for them. A brief
outburst of Christian zeal may form an association of young men, but
the cohesive force of the bond is very slight. In point of fact, moral
societies outside of churches fall to pieces very easily: the wonder is,
tliat many of them live from year to year. That the Christian associ-
ations have lived for a generation, and have grown so steadily, is due
to two facts : they meet a permanent want, and they have been brought
into unity with unusual skill. According to their own account, their
history is divisible into three periods. The first is called the period
of confederation, and extends from 1854 to 1861. The former date
marks the first annual convention of the associations of the United
States and the British Provinces, held at Buffalo. This was the time
of infancy. The associations were experiments, and were learning
what could and what could not be done. The second period is that

372

THE GBOWTU OF THE Y. M. C. A.

of the civil war, 1861 to 1864. The war changed at once the labors
of the associations. The army, which absorbed the young men of the
period, became the objective point. Array committees were formed,
first for Christian labors among the recruits encamped about New York,
and then for service in the field. A convention of delegates from the
Young Men's Christian Associations formed the United-States Chris-
tian Commission, which, as has been well said, was one of the most
beneficent agencies ever devised to alleviate the miseries and horrors
of war. "It served as the medium by which the Christian homes,
churches, and communities of the country sent spiritual and material
comfort to the soldiers in the field and hospital." In the four years
of war it expended, for the benefit of the soldiers, two and a half
millions in cash, and nearly three millions in stores. To have origi-
nated this agency is one of the ci'owning glories of the Young Men's
Christian Associations. They modestly disclaim any credit for its
wonderfully wise administration. That belongs to Mr. George H.
Stuart and his associates. But the history confirms what Lord
Bacon says of young men : " that their invention is more lively than
that of old men ; and imaginations stream into their minds better,
and, as it were, more divinely." The third period, from 1865 to the
present time, is the period of development. In 1869 the test of
membership was adopted, which led to a sifting, as well as a closer
unity. But the most capital device which dates from this period was
the formation of an International Executive Committee, as the organ
of the international convention. This committee has its headquarters
in New York, and has the supervision of association work throughout
America. Its circulars describe the field to be covered in this
fashion : —

*' Fifty thousand college students, one hundred thousand commer-
cial travellers, five hundred thousand German-speaking young men,
fivp hundred thousand colored young men, eight hundred thousand
railroad-men, the young men in States west of the Ohio, the young
men of the South, the young men in Canada, the Young Men's Chris-
tian Associations in North America, — a broad field, certainly ; and,
for all its breadth, it is occupied. The young men have entered it

SOME FACTS AND FIGURES.

878

bravely, and intend to hold it, as they i^ommonly say, ' for their Lord
and Master.' Since 1866 the committee has brought up to each
successive international convention a careful report of what has been
accomplished under its superintendence, and has submitted a plan,
with estimates of cost, for the coming year. After deciding on 'he
general features of the work to be undeitakpr . the convention refers
it to the executive committee, with instructiou^ to perfect the plan ia
detail, and to carry out its provisions as far as the necessary fund;}
are furnished by the associations and the friends of the cause." Thus
far the committee have had but one chief secretary, — Mr. Kichard
C. Morse. Mr. Morse is a graduate of Yale, and has the quick, ner-
vous energy of the American young man. He believes it to he possi-
ble to girdle the globe with Young Men's Christian Associations, and,
most likely, expects to live long enough to see it done. But the In-
ternational Executive Committee reaches still farther. In each State
of our Union, and in each of the Provinces of Canada, it has a corre-
sponding member, through whom it reaches State and Provincial as-
sociations. Under its inspirations State and Provincial associations
are held. Each State is urged to employ a secretary, and each local
association a general secretary, both to devote all their time to asso-
-ciation labors. Of course, only the strongest associations can afford
to support paid agencies: still, there are already one hundred and
twenty-one general secretaries and assistants, twelve State secretaries,
and eight international secretaries, making one hundred and forty-one
in all. Sixty associations in America have buildings, and thirty-seven
have building-funds and real estate. When Mr. Morse entered upon
his duties in 1870, there was but one agent employed by the Interna-
tional Committee; it had no more than $4,700 in hand for all ex-
penditures ; it now employs eight special secretaries and three office
assistants, and expended in 1880 the sum of $24,444. This, for
young men who are supposed to be remarkably impulsive, is an ad-
mirable exhibition of executive power. But New York is not the
sole centre from which association enterprises radiate. Chicago
shares this honor. In that city Mr. D. L. Moody began, in the ser-
vice of the Christian Association, the marvellous evangelism which

874

A GLORIOUS SHOWING.

spread over Europe apd America. In all his diversified labors, Mr.
John V. Farwell of Chicago, the president of the association, has
been his counsellor and friend. The gi'eat merchant and the evan-
gelist have been honorably coupled together in the recent religious
history of the North-West. Geneva, too, the historic city of tlie
Protestant reformer, is a great centre still. Here is the seat of the
World's Central Committee, which aims to link together the system
of Christian Associations throughout the world. The secretary of
the committee is Mr. Charles Fermand, who, in order to execute the
duties of the office, has surrendered his brilliant business prospects,
has travelled over the field in Europe and America, and made his first
report to the world's convention of all associations, held in London
in August, 1881. Mr. Fermand spent three years in examining the
associations of French and German Switzerland, America, England,
and Scotland, and Ireland, France, Belgium, etc. Mr. Fermand had
to obey the summons to perform military service for two months, in
accordance with the requirements of Swiss law. These are some of
the outgrowth of the little union of young men, effected by Mr.
George Williams in 1844. We can best show the fruit by coming
back to one association building, — that of New York. Every secular
day more than eight hundred persons enter its open doors ; to the
reading-room and gymnasium one-third as many ; over two thousand
meetings are held yearly ; that is, six each day. In all this activity,
there is but one governing impulse, — that the best service to be ren-
dered to them is, to lead them to revere and love Jesus Christ. This
is the simple creed of the Young Men's Christian Associations. In
this vast complexity of agencies, not one of them is employed with
a malevolent purpose. To every young man they do, in point of
fact, present the appeal, —

" And thy striving, be it with loving,
And thy living, deed on deed."

And now to return to myself.

Having, through the agency of the Y. M. C. A. (initials far
more truly honorable than the famous S. P. Q. R. of the ancient

CHEEKY" YET SOUND.

375

Romans), through the kindness of Mr. D. Banks McKenzie,
and the blessing of Heaven, contrived to remain sober for some
weeks, I got quite elated with my novel sobriety ; and one day
the idea occurred to me, why not give a temperance lecture ?
The idea was rather a "'cheeky " one, I confess, for a drunkard
who was not yet morally certain of his own reform ; yet, after
all, it was not so wild and Utopian as it seemed. Who more
fitted truthfully and vividly to describe the horrors of intem-
perance than the man who has personally experienced them ?
Besides, I had some qualifications for a popular lecturer. I
had self-possession, a gift of language, and a certain power of
telling a story, which would serve me on the platform in good
stead. And then, the novelty of the thing would give it a cer-
tain amount of ^clat ; while the mere fact of coming before the
public as a temperance lecturer would, I thought, compel me
ever afterwards to feel under a more than ordinary obligation
to keep sober. So, for all these reasons, the idea of giving a
temperance lecture seemed just the thing.

I communicated the idea to my friends, and found that they
warmly approved of it. So, as the phrase is, " I put myself
in the hands of my friends," who made the arrangements
about the lecture for me. Tremont Temple was engaged for
Monday evening. May 19, 1873, for the first appearance upon
the lecture-platform of Thomas N. Doutney ; and I set to work
to prepare a lecture, partly based upon my own personal expe-
rience, and partly devoted to a consideration of the causes
and cure of intemperance. I threw my whole stock of energy
into this lecture. I meant, at heart, to reform. I had been
low enough. This lecture was to be the first step towards my
elevation. In the composition of my lecture, I experienced
some of the usual troubles that await a man on his first essay
at literary work ; but, as to the delivery of the lecture itself, I
had no fear : I felt that I could deliver it, and that I would ;

876

AN ASSURANCE THAT FULFILS ITSELF.

and an assurance like this, accompanied by the necessary work
and energy, usually is fulfilled. It fulfils itself.

To a certain extent (to what degree those who have heard
me must judge for themselves, but certainly to a degree),
I have the gift of acting ; that is, of delineating emotion. I
have never, in any way, been connected with the theatrical
profession, either directly or indirectly ; but I have seen now
and then some very artistic acting, and have not been slow in
gathering hints from what I saw and heard. In this respect
my occasional visits to the theatre have not been, as they are
to most, an unmitigated evil.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE 8TAOB IN ITS RELATION TO THE BOTTLE. — THE " STARS" AND DRUNK-
ARDS OF THE PAST. — ESTIMABLE MEN AND WOMEN WHO HAVE BEEN
MASTERED BY BAD HABITS. —AND ESTIMABLE HEN AND WOMEN WHO
HAVE RESISTED THESE BAD HABITS. — THE THREE BOOTHS. —NEW LIGHT
ON THE ASSASSINATION OF ABBAUABt LINCOLN. —THE DRAMA AND THE
DRAM.

And here let me pause a moment in my direct narrative
to write a few words of reminiscence, warning, and advice to
«ctors and actresses, and to " show " people in general.

Each profession has its strong points and its weak ones, — its
•characteristic virtues and vices. The clerical profession is
•elevsAing and self-denying, but it is peculiarly liable to the
besetting sin of " spiritual pride." The law is liberal, but has a
tendency to trickery. Medicine is both liberal and elevating,
but has a tendency to materialism and to infidelity. While the
theatrical profession, though the most " charitable " branch of
occupation known to man, always kindly hearted and open-
handed, has its own peculiar vice, intemperance. One of the
greatest actoj^ the English-speaking stage has seen, Edmund
Kean, was an inveterate drunkard, the abject slave of wine, —
A man who clouded his genius and shortened his life by his
terrible excesses. And the man to whom he, when in this
country, erected a monument, the actor Cooke, was another
genius and another drunkard. One of the greatest actors
known to the American stage, the elder Booth, was the slave
of drink; and many are the serio-comic and almost tragic
iBtories recorded of the drinking bouts of this extraordinary

377

378

GREAT LIGHTS EXTINGVISUKB.

genius. J. R. Scott, in his days the rival of Edwin Forrest,
fell a victim to '• the flowing bowl ; " as did the bright gentle-
man Perry, the leading man, and that incomparable light come-
dian Mortimer, — ay, the very man who for years made fame andi
fortune by acting the r6le of the drunkard in Barnum's Museum
drama of that name, the actor Goodall, whose personation of
George Middleton, the drunkard, was a splendid piece of art,
and itself a sermon, died of mania a potu. Burton, though not
a drunkard, was a hard drinker, and shortened his days by his
drinking-habits. Brougham — genial John Brougham — lived
for years a comparative wreck, previous to his final departure.
He had never even been what is called " a hard drinker ; " but
he had undermined his constitution by his steady, *' moderate
drinking," which, just as " constant dripping will wear a stone,"
will, sooner or later, undermine the most vigorous constitution.
Lucille Western, the greatest actress America Las yet produced,
with the sole exception of Charlotte Cushman, ruined her
health by resorting to the use of stimulants to sustain her
strength, and died in her prime. ■ And the long list of gifted
men and women on the stage who have injured themselves, or
absolutely killed themselves, by drink, could be indefinitely
followed.

All the people I have mentioned were gifted ; and most of
them were good, — good at heart, — and much better in their
lives, perhaps, than the average men and women of the world :
but, unfortunately for themselves, though not all drunkards or
even hard drinkers, they had contracted the habit of resorting
to intoxicating stimulants ; and they paid the penalty of that
folly.

Far be it from us to judge them ; but, certainly, we must
pity them; and we ought all of us to take warning from
them.

And yet there are hundreds of actors to-day, and scores of

A FREE "LIVER" AND EARLY DIE-ER.

879

actresses, who are not taking warning, but are imitating the
folly of their dead and gone companions in art — and alcohol.

It is not saying tto miich to say, that the finest leading man
the present decade has produced, Charles Thome, jun., would
have been alive to-day had he been a total-abstinence man.
But, as he was a " free liver," he was an early die-er.

And there are hosts of "stars" and "leading-men," and
actors of all grades, who are hard drinkers, and who are doing
themselves, and their families if they have any, and the general
public, gross injustice by yielding more or less, generally more,
to their special temptation of intemperance.

And social drinking is far too much of a custom among the
ladies of the profession. Thus two of the members of one
stock-company in New- York City, and three of another, are
steady consumers of beer and wine in any thing but moderate
quantities; and their "little weakness" only serves to excite
the good-natured mirth, the badinage, of their associates, which
is, perhaps, the worst sign about the whole matter.

The fondness of the members of the corps-de-ballet for beer
has become proverbial, equalled only by the predilection of
circus-people for whiskey.

It is a thousand pities it is so ; but we leave it to theatrical
people and circus-people themselves, if we do not state the
simple truth.

I have no ill will towards theatrical and show folk : on the
contrary, I have a kindly feeling ; for they have entertained me
occasionally, and treated me cordially always, when I met
them ; but it is for this very kindly feeling's sake that I would,
in the name of their best interests, protest against their worst
enemy. Nor is there the slightest real necessity for this sad
state of things. There is no more need for an actor or actress
to drink, than there is for a lawyer, or a doctor, or a clergyman
for that matter.

380 THE TEMPERATE SON OF AN INTI'^fPERATE FATHER.

While many of the great theatrical stars have been drunk-
ards, many, fully equal to them in all artistic respects, have
been positively or comparatively sober men and women.

Charlotte Cushman was a model alike of energy, talent, and
temperance. Macready was a temperate man. Forrest was
always careful in his habits as regards the use of intoxicating
stimulants. John Gilbert, honored John Gilbert, the model
" old man " of New York, is a strictly temperate man. MurJock,
the classic Murdock, has been all his life a pattern in this, as in
all other respects. Edwin Booth, to-day the foremost Ameri-
can actor of the world, affords, in his own career, a memorable
example of the fact, that personal intemperance is not an essen-
tial of theatrical greatness. And the history of this illustrious
artist also proves that drinking-habits can be overcome by will-
power, and that even the terrific curse of inherited intemper-
ance, a hereditary tendency to liquor derived from one's own
parents, can be neutralized and conquered by earnest effort.

Edwin Booth was the son of a hard drinking father, who,
training his child in his own profession, seemed also to, unfor-
tunately, initiate him into his own irregular habits. Cases are
still remembered in which it is said father and son have been
«een under the influence of liquor together. Statements are
made, that, at one time of his eventful life, Edwin Booth was
far advanced on the road that leads to a drunkard's grave. It
is also said his trip to Australia with Laura Keene was clouded
by excesses; and the old adage, " Like father, like son," seemed
to be in a fair way to be realized once more.

But Edwin Booth had a hoet of warm wishers, and among
them some true friends, who sincerely regretted the rumors
concerning his drinking-habits, and strove to correct them. It
was his good fortune also to marry a woman who did all in
a true wife's power to counteract the curse that was threaten-
ing to destroy the man she worshipped. Above all, Edwin

EDWIN AND WILKES BOOTH.

38t

Booth himself was, with all his uncommon genius, a man of
common sense; and he saw clearly that to drink was simply
an advance step on the road to ruin, and he paused ere it waa
too late.

He is to-day a temperate man.

His career is very instructive, — full of warning alike and
encouragement.

But thanks to his friends, to his own force of character, to
the prayers of a true wife, and to the blessing of Heaven, he
crossed the Rubicon, and conquered all obstacles, and is to-day
a temperate as well as a famous man.

Compare his career with that of his ill-starred brother, Wilkes
Booth. Wilkes possessed more native ability than any of his
brothers ; he was more like his illustrious father in gifts than
any other of his sons ; but, alas ! he also was exactly like his
illustrious sire in eccentricity and intemperance.

And it was his intemperance which, among other things, led
him to the crime which has forever cast a shadow on the name
of Booth, the actor-assassin.

It is not asserting too much to say, that, had John Wilkes
Booth not been a drinking-man, the assassination of Abraham
Lincoln would not now be a fact of history. Wilkes had been
drinking hard for some weeks previous to the terrible affair ;
and all his associates in the foul enterprise, if the term " enter-
prise " can be applied to such a cowardly folly, we*^ j drinking
men and women.

This is a point which has not been yet dwelt upon with the
force that it leserves. All the assassins, and Mrs. Surratt her-
self, were wine-bibbers, hard drinkers ; and alcohol influenced
them as well ok treason.

Had the conspirators been all sober, they would probably
not have been conspirators. Had they been practised in the
restraints of sobriety, it is safe to assume that the frenzy of

382

AN ACTRESS'S GOOD WORK.

assassination would never have seized them. Men who control
their appetites generally control their passions ; and the assassi-
nation of Abraham Lincoln may be, in part at least, laid to the
charge of alcohol. It is one of the encouraging signs of the
times, that of late years some well-known theatrical people
have become directly or indirectly the advocates of temper-
ance. Miss Minnie Cummings (the real founder of the '
Madison-square Theatre), though not identified directly with
temperance work, not long ago delivered one of the best of
temperance orations, because brief and to the point, in the city
of New York. And the same lady, a short time previous to
her impromptu speech, had come across, accidentally, a poor
drunkard, who, but for her interference, would have been
taken to the station-house, but who, restored to his right
mind and a sober life by her kindly influences, is now doing
well at this moment, in the metropolis, as a writer in a metro-
politan journal.

Other actresses, notably a Mrs. Susie Denver, have joined
the ranks of the reformers, and are proving, alike by precept
and example, that there is no essential connection between the
stage and the bottle, the drama and the dram.

CHAPTER XXXI.

MY FIRST LECTURE. — " GREAT EXPECTATIONS." —A BITTER DISAPPOINT-
MENT. — WHAT I SAW AND WHAT 1 DID NOT SEE ON TBEHONT STREET. —
TWO INTELLIGENT AND WELL-DRESSED STRANGERS, AND WHAT TIIKY
WANTED AVITII ME. — A LECTURE UNDER DIFFICULTIES. —A TEMPER-
ANCE LECTURER FALLEN.

Well, the (to me) ever memorable Monday, May 19, 1873,
arrived in due time ; and I was in a constant state of exaltation
and excitement. A good deal of preparation had really been
made for my lecture that night. Printer's ink was thrown
around everywhere ; and flowing handbills announced that
" The reformed drunkard, Thomas N. Doutney, would lecture
at Tremont Temple. Admission twenty-five cents, reserved
seats fifty cents."

Some of my friends had even gone to the trouble and
expense (more trouble than expense, by the by) to secure the
services, in my behalf, of a band, — a German street-band, — all
uniformed for the occasion, and presenting a strong and noisy
advertisement of my forthcoming lecture. My friends were
determined that I should " make a noise in the world," if only
by proxy. Every thing seemed propitious. Special compli-
mentary tickets had been issued " for the press," and to each of
these tickets my likeness was attished. In short, in this my
first lecture, as in every thing else I have subsequently under-
taken, I did whatever my hand found to do ; and I did it with
all my might.

And meanwhile I cherished high hopes of making a brilliant

884

A DAT AND A NIGHT.

success. I had ever in my mind's eye the pleasing vision of a
crowded house, an audience of well-dressed and intelligent men
and women listening to my words; and this prospect of a
grand house, with a good return at the box-office, cheered me
infinitely. I felt more like a boy than I had felt for years, — a
boy in animal spirits and vivacity, — though more of a man than
ever also, — a full-grown man in ardor and ambition. Nor was
I wholly selfish in my feelings and aspirations. For I hoped
and believed, that among my audience that evening would
be found some poor victims of rum, like myself (or, rather,
my former self), who, I trusted and resolved, should receive
from my words alike warning and encouragement. I was in
high spirits; and acquaintances gathered round me, and in-
creased my confidence and excitement. Hosts of professed
temperance people, who called themselves my friends, all prom-
ised *' to be tb^re " at the Tremont Temple that Monday night.
And as they clasped my hand, and bade me God-speed in my
good work, I felt that a new life and light were beginning to
dawn upon me through this my first lecture. I could reason-
ably hope to pay my debts, and begin existence anew on a
better, sounder basis than ever before.

Ah ! I shall never forget that Monday. It was a day of
anticipation. And, alas ! I shall never forget, either, that Mon-
day night. It was a night of awakening, — and such an awak-
ening! — an awakening to reality.

As the shades of night gathered around the great city, I
began to feel slightly nervous. The re-action to my state of
excitement had commenced already. I bolted my supper
down, and then rushed to the Tremont Temple, towards which
I expected to see (with my bodily eyes) hurrying a crowd of
those *' well-dressed and intelligent men and women " whom I
had seen (in my mind*s eye) during the whole day. But
I was disappointed. As I approached the Tremont Temple, I

AN AWAKENING TO REALITY.

S85

could see no crowd at all : if any thing, the number of people
now in that vicinity seemed to be less than usual.

With a strange, depressing sensation of wondering uneasi*
ness, I took my position on Tremont Street, opposite the Tem-
ple, and waited for that crowd that was to come. I waited,
but the crowd came not. I saw my own name conspicuously
displayed on the outside of the building, but I saw very little
else. There was very little else to see. Certainly, I saw no
eager multitude pressing into the hall. I only beheld now
and then a man or small boy, — generally a small boy, — stop-
ping, and looking carelessly at my " announcements," and then
passing on. In ten minutes or more that I stood there on the
street, not over twenty people entered the hall itself; and
yet it was within a qiiarter of an hour of the advertised
time for my lecture to commence. Perhaps, in all my life, I
was never more wretched and crest-fallen than as I stood there
on Tremont Street, Boston. I felt strongly humiliated, sunken
in my own self-esteem. I felt outraged, humiliated, disgraced.
I began to understand what is meant by the pangs of dis-
appointed ambition.

But I recovered myself, " braced myself up," metaphorically
speaking, and crossed the street to the Temple, not as a chief
advancing to victory, not as a genius advancing to fame, not as
a toiler going to meet his reward, but rather as a victim to mar-
tyrdom, or a child to punishment, or as any thing or anybody
you choose, except as an about-to-be successful lecturer.

Ah I there was no crowd at the door. The box-office was
nearly deserted, — nearly, but not quite. There were two men
— two rather "well-dressed and intelligent men" — in the
entrance, but they were not buying tickets of admission : they
were not at all anxious to hear me, they were only anxious to
tee me.

One of these two men was so very anxious to see me, that

888

"AFFECTIONATE ANXIETY

he barred my passage-way to the staircase, and, placing his
hand upon my arm, stopped me, and asked me, almost in a
tone of aflfectionate inquiry, "If my name was Thomas N.
Doutney?"

I wondered who on earth the man was, and what he wanted ;
but I told him that was my name. And then instantly the
cause of his almost, affectionate anxiety was explained ; for he
produced out of his ample pocket a legal document, — a war-
rant for my arrest for debt. My well-dressed and intelligent
men were two sherifTa officers. And I, the aspiring lecturer,
at the very commencement of my lecture-tour, before I had
begun my " lecture season," in fact, was " in quod." As the
comic-puzzle people phrase it, " I was ended ere I had begun."
A good many lecture enterprises terminate with an arrest for
debt : mine had commenced with it.

I can make light of the situation now ; but, ah ! it was dark,
very dark, with me just then. There was not a more unhappy,
a more deeply humiliated man in all wide Boston then than
the " Thomas N. Doutney," as " per advertisements."

One can hardly imagine — I can hardly describe — my feel-
ings or my position at this moment. Here I was, just out of
the dark valley of intemperance, about to tell my experience,
about to make strenuous efforts at reforming myself and
•others ; and now I was seized by the law for a debt, — a
paltry debt, — one of the very d«bts I had hoped to wipe
out by my lecture. It seemed as though the fates, in the
persons of shcrifiTs officers, had conspired against me. I was
crushed, but not for long. I am, fortunately, one of the men
who do not stay long "crushed." I resemble Grant in one
little particular, and in my humbler way, — I don't know
when I am beaten. I raised my head, and suddenly resolved
to make a test-case now and here against fate and the
sheriff. I resolved to move heaven and earth rather than to

ij'i;(r,Krir__Wiif':;';v,

VI'.'. ' ',/ J ' ■■

" For he |>ro(liirr(l nut of liis uinple pockets a legal dorument, — u '.vurrant
for my arrest fur debt " [i). 38t)J

A WOULD-BE LECTURER AND DEPUTY SHERIFFS. 887

be moved from my lecture. I had been through many trying
scenes before, under different circumstances, as the preceding
pages make plain. And now, on my first step toward reforma-
tion, to be headed off was not only hard, it should be impossible.

I said to the pfficers, ** Gentlemen, I admit the debt. It is
an honest one. I owe it ; and this very bcture I am announced
this hour to give is hitended, among other things, to raise
the money to pay it with. Bear with me : wait, and defer exe-
cuting your warrtnt till I have delivered my lecture. I do
Jiot wish to disappoint my audience."

I said these last words with an attempt at a grand air, as
if I had been a professional lecturer of long standing, and had
been used to entrancing audiences all my life. But the sheriff's
officers winked at each other, — actually winked, — as if to im-
ply that they didn't think my audience would be so very much
"disappointed" at my not giving my lecture after all. The
impudence of sheriff's officers is something colossal.

As for the other arguments and points in my little speech,
they had no effect upon the officers at all. They were proof
by this time against all arguments and points save one, —
money, or good security therefor. They were eminently
" practical " men ; hadn't an ounce of poetry, romance, or faith
in their whole composition ; would not have trusted the apostle
Paul if they held a warrant against him, let alone a temperance
lecturer.

" You must pay the full amount specified in my warrant,"
said officer No. 1 ; "or go with us," said officer No. 2.

I pleaded with the officers. " Even sheriff's officers," I said
to myself, in my ignorance, " must be human. For Heaven's
sake," I cried, " give me a chance. This is my first lecture."
I thought it best, at this stage of affairs, to dismiss all airs and
pretence, and stick to the naked truth. " This is my very first
Appearance as a public speaker. My whole future may depend

888

"SOME" AND "NONE."

upon it. If I fail, the papers will call it a fizzle ; and I will be
laughed at." That didn't move them a bit. *^ Besides, in thi»
case, you will never be able to get your money." This seemed
to impress them a good deal. I saw my advantage, and pur-
sued it. I dilated upon the great difference between having
gome money in their hands, which they would be sure to have
if I was allowed to deliver my lecture, and having no money
at all in their hands, which would be sure to be their case in
case my lecture was not delivered, and the money already paid
for tickets was refunded.

The sheriffs officers stopped winking, and looked at each
other meaningly. Then they conversed a moment apart in a
low tone ; and finally, approaching me, it was arranged that I
should instruct, in their presence, the ticket-agent or treasurer
in the Temple to pay over to tht . i all money received for
tickets, over and above the money due as rent of the hall, and
that I should then proceed, and deliver my lecture, with the
officers sitting on the first row of seats from the platform.
After the lecture, if the receipts from the box-office were not
found sufficient to cancel the debt, I was to furnish bail before a
bail-commissioner, whom they would have ready to act in my case.

I agreed to the terras. What else could I do but agree?
And while one of the two officers started off on some other
business, — to make some other poor wretch more wretched, •—
I walked up to the platform, followed by the other officer, who
was mistaken by the small audience present, I suppose, for
some prominent temperance man, or, perhaps, aifother reformed
drunkard j as it must be confessed his red nose gave him a much
closer resemblance to the latter character than to the former.

I felt mean enough. Still, I had scored )ny first point. I
was to deliver my lecture. About two hundred were present
where I had expected two thousand. Still, somebody was
there, and / was there.

I SPEAK.

889

When the time came, I advanced on the stage ; and a theo-
logical student advanced with me. He offered up a prayer.
While he was praying, I stood wondering where were all the
friends ^vho were so enthusiastic in my behalf that very morn-
ing. I could not see them now; though I had ample time,
during the elaborate prayer, to scan every face in the one-
tenth filled auditorium.

At last the prayer ended ; and I was introduced to the audi-
ence, and received with a faint ripple of welcome. Where were
the thunders of applause which I had been hearing all day in
my dreams ? The contrast between my great expectations and
their paltry realizations abashed me. And then I felt an attack
coming on of what I knew tft be " stage-fright." I had heard
it spoken of by others, but had always laughed at it myself.

" lie jests at scars who never felt a wound."

But now it seized me, and for a moment my tongue refused its
office. The sweat stood upon my brow. But I must speak,
and there is a strange might about a " must." I did speak,
and, after the first moment, spoke as freely and fluently as I
have ever spoken since. I threw every thing else from my
mind, — the officers, the debt, the past, the present, or the
future, — and proceeded with my lecture. Really, although I
state it myself of myself, it was not a bad lecture for a brand-
new lecturer, and was well received. I at least entertained,
and I trust instructed, my audience. I had something to say,
and I said it. I knew what I was talking about, and that is
more than can be said of every lecturer. While delivering
my address, the excitement acted as a delightful stimulus
npon me ; but, when the lecture ceased, my troubles again
began. The sheriffs officer, who had not heard the lecture,
now joined the more (or less) lucky officer who had heard it ;
and the two (the surplus funds in the box-office not being suffi-

890

" POETIC JUSTICE IN PROVIDENCE."

oient) escorted me to a bail-commissioner. Here a kind friend,
to whom I shall refer later, became my bondsman ; and I wan
temporarily discharged.

I was now free, — free to go where I wanted ; and, as I wa*
tired and worn out with the excitements of the day and the
disappointments of the night, I went to my lodgings, and fell
asleep, but only for a brief while. I awoke a little after mid-
night, a prey to that foe of sleep, — reflection ; and with my
thoughts were mingled bitter humiliation, and still more bitter
recrimination. I mentally denounced the friends who had
promised me their countenance and aid that night, and had
afforded me neither. And then I took myself to task for hav-
ing made the mistake of charging'too high an admission-fee, —
I, an utterly unknown temperance lecturer. " I ought to have
known better," I said to myself convincingly^ now that it was
too late for the conviction to do me any good. Is it a wonder,
then, that, with all this passing through my mind, I did not
sleep? All the rest of that livelong night (and it seemed a
livelong night truly) I tossed about my bed, seeking rest, but
not finding it. A hundred times that night I asked myself the
question, "Is this the reward of my struggling to be better?'*
A hundred times that weary night I took Providence to task ;
forgetting, that as I had repeatedly, time and time again, delib*
erately cast away the chances Heaven had already given me,
it was hardly to be expected that the very first chance that I
chose to accept should turn out just as I desired. There i»
a poetic justice in Providence, although this justice seldom
seems poetic to the party most concerned.

I arose the first day after my first lecture feeling indescriba-
bly depressed. The glow of hope, the excitement of action,
had faded. I had now only a disagreeable memory, and a
'Ireadful headache, and a very little money.

And. alas! I had no trust, just then, in a higher power than

■^^,-

I FALL.

891

my poor, weak self. I hud leaned upon my own strength,
and it had proved indeed a broken reed. I had nowhere to go
for consolation. I believed in a God, of course ; but my belief
was only theoretical, not vital. I had not a living faith. And
so — and so —

Ifellf — fell again, — fell a victim to the very enemy I had
denounced, and warned others against. Weary, desperate, and
disgusted with myself, humanity, and fate, I sought a tempo-
rary oblivion in the arras of my old arch-enemy, King Alcohol.
Within twenty-four hours after the delivery of my first tem-
perance lecture, I was seen reeling through the streets of Bos-
ton, drunk. Yes, the new-fledged cliampion of temperance had
fallen ; and the hearts of the rum-sellers grew merry, and the
hosts of hell exulted. Another temperance lecturer fallen I

CHAPTER XXXII.

** THE DARKRST HOUR 19 JUST BEFORE THE DAWN." — »IY LOWEST POINT.
— MANIA A POTU IN ITS MOST FEARFUL FCHM. —MY EXPERIENCE AS A

CAVALRY RECRUIT. — ARMY LIFE. —
NATION.

y FIRST PRAYER. — MV REFOR-

The last cliapter left me fallen from grace, after having
lectured at Tremont Temple the evening previous. My future
life seemed now darker than ever. I made up my mind tliat
I was lost forevermore. I gave myself up to abject despair.
What could the future have in store for me but ruin ? Had
I not fallen again — and again — and yet again ? Had not
helping hands been outstretched to bring me back to virtue,
and outstretched, alas ! in vain ? Had not love and affection
kept guard over me, and had I not proved utterly unworthy ?
Had I not promised to reform, and broken my promise ? Ay,
had I not struggled to reform, and ignominiously failed ? And
now, after a public effort in one of the largest halls in Boston,
was I not reeling in the streets a common drunkard? Yes;
and I only wonder that all that was good and holy did not shun
me altogether as totally depraved and vile. I hated myself.
I was ashamed of my own companionship, and one day I
made up my mind to banish myself. I resolved upon a change
of scene. I determined to go where neither friend nor foe
would ever see me. I forgot, that, go where a man will, he
never can escape from himself. In a fit of despair and despera-
tion I made up my mind to enlist in tlie United-States army,
and on the 27th of June I carried out my resolution.

302

/ JOIN THE ARMY.

898

I presented myself to the recruiting-officer, and was favora-
Wy received. Uncle Sam is not too particular, except as to
physical qualifications; and, spite of all my excesses, I was
sound in body yet.

So I passed the usual medical examination satisfactorily,
.and was duly sworn in, and donned the uniform of a cavalry
recruit. Acting on the ihotto that —

" It is W( 1 1 ^o l>e merry and wise,
It is well to be honest and true,
It is well to be off with the old love
Before you are on with tl'o new," —

I got rid of my old clothes before I put on my new suit. I sold
my civilian's suit to an old Jew. There is always an old Jew
ready to buy old clothes. It is an admirable illustration of
supply and demand. It is a mysterious dispensation of Provi-
dence. The particular " old Jew " in this case was a Semitic
septuagenarian, who " hung around " the " raw recruits " for the
express purpose of buying their old clothes. He paid a dollar
■and a half for mine. He tried to get them for a dollar first :
thea, finding me firm as to the fifty cents, he submitted, and
" forked over." Before night every cent of those one hundred
and fifty cents was expended in rum. It would have probably
been the same if it had been one hundred and fifty dollars.
That same evening, in a state of intoxication, I was sent, with
two fellow-Irish raw recruits, to the cavalry recruiting head-
quarters, 174 Hudson Street. As soon as I arrived there, on a
^Sunday morning, my first act was, to beg the sergeant in charge
to let me out so that I might get a drink ; but I need not say
that this vile request was not complied with. And it was well
for me that the sergeant did his duty in this respect; for, had I
then taken a drop more, no earthly power could have answered
for the consequences. As it was, ere that Sunday terminated, I

394

.1 HORROR OF HORRORS.

fell into one of the most terrible cases of delirium tremeus that
ever a poor mortal passed through and survived. My state of
mind — my despair — my desperation — my disgust — my loatli-
ing of the world and of Thomas N. Doutney, — along with tlie
dissipations I had passed through, combined to bring me to this
fear<'ul state. Mania a potu was once more upon me. It was a
fearful attack. I suffered indescribably, — more, much more
than in my first attack ; although I was infinitely less demonstra-
tive now than previously. Mine was the outwardly silent delir-
ium, — the very worst of all possible varieties.
Shakspeare says, —

" The grief that will not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraaght heart, and bidH it break."

And so with delirium tremens. The delirium that ravea and
rushes and curses is terrible: but the delirium that does not
rave, nor give any outward token of its inward agor.y, is far
more awful — to the sufferer : for, in this latter species, even the
poor relief of muscular activity ai)d excitement is denied ; and
the poor victim of drink is compelled, as it were, to remain
only a spectator of his own indescribable agonies.

The officers in charge of me at this time did not know that
any thing was the matter with me, and probably would not
have cared if they had. They took me to the doctor in charge,
to stand my second and final examination ; and while waiting,
in line with the rest, to be tested and questioned by the phy-
sician, I suffered the torments of the damned.

Methou^t, as I stood waiting my turn with the rest, that I
could hear demons and goblins all around me, shouting, and
making hideous noises, and rushing upon me with yells of
"Shoot him! shoot him!" Then other goblins and demons
would howl, " Cut him to pieces ! " " Burn him !" and the like.
Others, again, would exclaim, " Hang him !" or " Drown Iiim !"

TUE AWFUL POWER OF ALCOHOL.

396

and then they would rush towards me to execute their threats,
looking unutterably awful.

I heard these cries as clearly as ever in my sober moments
I heard the sound of my own voice ; I saw these sights us
plainly as ever I saw my own image in the glass, — and yet I
uttered no cry ; I made no movement whatever ; I was.
apparently quiet, and stobd straight in the ranks.

Oh, what a horror of horrors I was passing through! No
wonder I occasionally thought of suicide. That very day, as I
stood there in the ranks, waiting for the second medical exami-
nation, I would gladly have cut my throat, htfd 1 had any thing-
to cut it with.

But the day rolled on : the night came, and my night was
worse than even my day. I could not sleep. I never closed
my eyes from evening till morning, but dreamed the woful,
waking dreams of wild delirium.

Methought the whole United-States army stood beside my
bed in battle array, ready with cannon, musketry, iiut all the
implements of war, to sweep me from the face of tlie turth.
Then horrid monsters of every description appeared, flying
and crawling ; and the scene was fearful beyond description.
No mortal could pen-paint the scene. The Devil could be its
only accurate artist. The horrors of hell would themselves be
insignificant in comparison. I look back upon this time nowv
and only wonder that I could have looked upon all ♦^lis, i\w\
live. It seems a miracle I did not die of fright and horror.

For, at the time I suffered all this, it was all to me a reality*
— as real as myself. The monsters glaring and hissing aiid
writliing and fighting and rushing all around me were real
monsters. I could hear them, see them, feel them, as they
crawled or sprung against me. 1 heard, saw, felt them, as
plainly as ever I heard, saw, or jelt any thing or anybody in
my sober moments. Truly, the awful power of alcohol i*

;896

MORE TERRIBLE THAN THE SMALL-POX.

■nniazing when one tliinks of the abominable terrors it creates,
ns well as the fearful evils it causes. I was not of a peculiarly
susceptible or poetical temperament ; and yet Dickens, Dante,
Oustave Dord, Bulwer, Victor Hugo, could not have evolved
from their gifted imaginations such stupendous terrors as I was
surrounded with that night. Every intoi^ation of voice and
roar was audible among these hideous monsters that pressed
around me. Every species of distorted shape was visible
among them, and the element of time was itself exaggerated
in njy delirium: every hour seemed a century; that night
seemed everlasting. And yet I did not die. It seemed as if I
Avas undergoing an immortality of agony.

But I shudder to narrate more. Even now, after all these
years, I tremble as I dilate upon the horrors of that unuttera
bly awful attack of delirium tremens. Oh I would to God that
I could imbue, by my words, the minds of men with such a
■dread of the tortures of mania a potu, that they would shun,
4is they would the possibilities of the small-pox, the bare possi-
bility of delirium tremens ; for, reivlly, the small-pox, loathsome
«s it is, does not begin to compare in awful agony with mania a
potu.

I would to-day rather have any disease, or all the diseases to
which humanif;, can be subject, than suffer another attack of
•delirium tremens. I have not exaggerated the terrors of this
latter complaint. Believe me, dear re dder, I have not done
so ; and, for one very sufficient reason, I could not do so if I
would.

And I assure you, dear, dear reader, that there is but one
infallible way of avoiding the unutterable affliction of delirium
from drink ; and that is, not to drink at all For, if you swallow
your first glass of intoxicating liquor, the chances are, you will
soon swallow your second, then, in due time, your hundred and
second, and so on, till finally, some day or some night, the

ARMY-LIFE.

39T

delirium will seize you as it seized me; and then God have
mercy on your soul and body !

Touch not, taste not, handle not, the accursed thing.

Many men, and not a few women, alas ! have met with death
in the midst of delirium ; but I was mercifully spared. I recov-
ered from this attack, and when sober enough, and steady in
nerves enough to write, sent letters to several friends, and
prominent people I had met (among others. Gen., now Gov.,.
Benjamin F. Butler, Rev. J. D. Fulton, who was formerly
of Boston, Rev. W. F. Mallalieu of South Boston, and others),
entreating them to exert their influence with Gen. Belknap,
the then secretary of war, to procure my discharge from th&
army. I also sent in a formal application for my discharge to
the war-department.

I had sickened of army-life, or of what I had seen of it, —
its irksome restraints, its mingled confinement and exposure,
and its low associations among the rank and file. And I had
changed my mind now altogether about wishing to hide myself
from the world, to bury myself in some far-off fort, or to be-
come a mere well-drilled and poorly fed and worse-paid military
machine.

No : I longed to be a free man once more ; and erelong I re-
gained my freedom, — thanks to my friends, and the prominent
people who still kindly remembered me, and my brothers, who
did all in their power to assist me, — and was discharged ; my
discharge being handed me July 28, 1873, dated three days
previously, a special order having been created for my dis-
charge.

And here let me pause a moment to glance at army !if,i in
a general way. I, of course, had not time, in my brief " mili-
tary career " (to use a high-sounding expression), to see much
of the " inside working!* " of our " army system," as it is called ;
but I saw enough to learn that intemperance is one of the cry-

i'l

I i

898 THE ENEMY WHICH STONEWALL JACKSON DREADED.

ing evils, not only among the soldiers, but among the ofUcers,
•of the United-States army.

" Privates " drink, and " officers " drink ; and, from what I
saw, I should be led tu infer that officers drank more than pri-
vates, with far less excuse. The poor soldiers have few pleas-
ures in life, and are driven to drink under the mistaken idea
that it furnishes a resource against the misery and monotony
of their lives. But the officers have much to enjoy in life, and
•do not need the extra stimulus of fiery liquor ; yet the great
majority of army officers, as well as soldiers, are drinking-men.

The notion has gone abroad, that the efficiency of troops in a
•campaign is increased by the use of stimulants, and that only a
halfKlrunken soldier is wholly courageous. This is altogether
a mistake : what is called " Dutch courage," the temporary
" bravery " that comes from whiskey or rum or gin, is only a
.flasli in the pan ; it does not make a steady fighter.

The leading general of the Southern Confederacy remarked
once in reference to this point, that " he dreaded liquor for his
men a good deal more than he .did any other enemy ; " and
Stonewall Jackson spoke the simple truth.

And I know of one Confederate soldier, at least, who frankly
•confesses, that, if the officers on the Southern side had been
more temperate, " the Lost Cause " might have been saved. At
least, so he thinks.

British commanders, alike in the Crimea and in Africa,
under a torrid sun, and under the influences of perpetual cold,
luive tried the experiment of strengthening their soldiers by
supplying them with alcoholic stimulants, and have found thsit
the experiment was a failure.

No, no. It is in military life as it is in civic. There is but
one humanity, and but one law for it, — the law of temperance.
Alcohol has never nuule a man %(ronger^ ami never will ; for
there l» no real «trength in it : it is simply what it is called, —

FREE AND A SLAVE.

899

« "stimulant," — and nothing else. It is not a tonic, but only
4iu excitant ; and, the less the army and the navy have to do
with it, the better for the morale and the physique of those
departments. But to return to myself. My discharge from
the army proved to me that I had still some friends left, which,
under the circumstances, was more than I deserved. It also
showed me the real affection of my brother William, who had
not only worked hard for my discharge, but had taken the
trouble to seek me out, and inform me of my good fortune sev-
eral days before my formal discharge was handed to me in
person. When at last I took my departure from cavalry head-
quarters forever, I experienced a feeling of gladness and relief,
— a sense of freedom which was inexpressibly refreshing.
This feeling amounted to positive exaltation ; and under its
influence (how shall I write it? who shall believe it?) I began
to drink again^ — to drink the very day that I was set free, to
make a slave of myself to rum on the very day that I had
obtained my freedom. Yes : I write but the simple, shameful
truth. Within thirty minutes from the time I was discharged
from the United-States cavalry, I began to drink ; and I was
drunk for thirty days. Such is the fearful power of intemper-
ance when once it has taken firm hold of its victim. I felt all
the time I was acting like a fool, a beast, and a scoundrel, in
fact, disgracing and ruining myself, and causing my kind
friends, who deserved far different conduct at my hands, the
utmost chagrin and anxiety. I do believe that the very demon
of evil had at this time seized me. In the language of Holy
Writ, I was possessed of an evil spirit.

During these thirty days of orgy, this month of shame, I
"wandered from city to city, from hamlet to hamlet, all over
New- York State. I had one companion, a poor victim of drink
like myself. We two drunkards, with just enough money in
our pockets to pay for drinks, with a little food and lodging

400

A DOUBLE " PBOVIDENCE.'

thrown in, made the days foul, and the nights hideous, with our
dissipations ; till at last my companion was, fortunately for me,
called away by urgent business, — which even he, sot as he was,
could not afford to neglect, — to New York ; our parting taking
place in the city of Providence, R.I.

This place was appropriately named; for it was here and
now, under the providence of God, that I came to my senses,,
and that my true and lasting reformation commenced.

Awakening from my debauch, lonely now and sick, having
passed through almost every phase of experience possible to^
humanity, I felt, not only as disgusted with myself as ever,
but I felt now what I had never felt before, a true feeling
of genuine remorse for my transgression, a sorrow for my
sin.

There is a wide difference between remorse and repentance.
I had often experienced the one, but till now I had never mani<
fested the other. Remorse is a sentiment of regret wholly
selfish, — a selfish sorrow for our sins, and for their conse-
quences upon ourselves, or, it may be, on our fellow men and
women. But repentance is a feeling of regret for sin, because
our sin has offended Hearven. Repentance regards God, where-
as remorse looks merely at ourselves or at the world. Remorse
is human, and, therefore, often weak, and comparatively worth-
less ; but repentance is divine.

And it was this divine repentance that here, through Provi-
dence, in Providence, overpowered me. I saw and felt for the
first time how I had offended God as well as man. And for
the first time in my life I knelt down, and called, not only in
word, but in spirit, upon the Lord to help me.

I determined now by God's grace to keep sober, and by
God's grace I have been enabled from that hour to this to
adhere to that determination.

Well do I remember the words of this my first, real, from-

"A NEW LIFE."

401

the-heart prayer. " O Lord and Saviour Jesus Chri»t I " I
cried, '^ thou who didst pardon the thief upon the cross, wilt
thou not pardon me ? " They who come unto the Lord Jesus
Christ shall in no wise be cast out.

And, having prayed, I rose from my knees, and walked out
into the streets of the old New-England towa. I felt a new
life already in me, a new sense of power as well as an inex-
pressible sense of comfort.

I strolled toward the bridge on Market Square ; and, standing
there, under the impulse of the time and the occasion the fol-
lowing simple verses flashed across my mind, — \erses which I
at once transcribed, and have ever since retained as a memento
of that blessed episode in, or, rather, that blessed beginning of,
my life.

Intemperance claimed me as its own,

And reason was well-nigh o'erthrown :

Condemned, I wandered far abroad.

Despised by man, accursed by God.

For me there was no friendly home :

My only portion was to roam.

No children lisped a father's name :

My parents bowed their heads in shame.

The demon rum had full control,

And cast its shadow o'er my soul.

I could not pray, I dared not think :

1 only moaned, " Oh, give me drink I "

The fiends in hell then heard my cry,

Nor pitied, nor would let me die.

And well I knew that I alone

Was guilty, and I must atone ;

For I, when life was fair and young.

When hope's sweet song was all unsung,

Had ta'en a serpent to my breast,

That stung me till I had no rest.

It lured me on ; I thought it fair,

I thought it life ; it was despair. '

402 **MY SHACKLES ARE BROKEN."

For years its slimy folds did bind
My bruisbd form and wearied mind.

Is there no hope ? the billows toss t
I'll bow me humbly 'fore the Cross ;
And he wlio died on Calvary
Perchance will turn the fiend from me.
I bowed ; and, lo I from heaven above
I heard a voice of wondrous love
Say, " Rise, poor soul, you are forgiven :
Who loves the Lord shall enter heaven."

I make no pretensions to being a poet : but these versus, as it
were, rushed irresistibly upon me then and there ; and, as for-
ever identified with tlie happiest moments of my life, I have
recorded them.

And having composed and copied this unpretending and
spontaneous effusion, illustrative alike of my transgressions
and my triumph, my sins and my gratitude, I went home feeling
as though my shackles were broken, and a load had fallen from
my shoulders.

I will here add, that upon this very bridge, in Market Square,
Providence, R.I., I had, but a few hours before, stood (with my
companion now departed to New York), with the determined
purpose to commit suicide by leaping into the water. But
now, instead of destroying soul and body, I had saved both.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A CONVEItTED man's TlilALS. — F£AU AS AN BNOOUUAOINO SIGN. — VK8
AND NO, OH A SCENE AT HIUNIUIIT. — TIIK LItiHTNINO-KOO MAN. — TIIK
LIKE-IN8UHANCK ACIKNT. — TUB "DRUMMBIl" AND HIS "SAMPLES."
— BOOK CANVAS8INO. — A TItUE FBIEND AND SECOND FATUEH.

I WAS now a converted man, reformed drunkard, truly con-
verted, truly reformed. I felt it then, I feel it still. But even
a converted and reformed man must live : he must have food
and clothes ; and, unless he inherits them, he must earn them.
I therefore determined at once to set to work and earn an hon-
est, as well as a sober, living. But how ? No matter. I was
used to that question by this time. I liad answered it before,
when a drunkard : certainly I was prepared to answer it now,
as a non-drinking man. I determined to get employment at
all hazards, and so I began the search.

My fir.-«t great want was a little ready money to live on while
seeking employment. Time is the real lever with which Ar-
chimedes can move his world ; but, to have the advantages of
time, one must be able to control it as well as himself: he must
have money ; for time is money, and money is time. Here my
usual luck did not altogether forsake me : for, meeting a friend,
I procured from him a small amount of ready cash ; and with
this I obtained a room in a lodging-house. It was but a very
small room, — what is known as " a six by nine ; " a hall bed-
t\ii m, an attic; one of those apartments you cannot conven-
ioi dy swing a cat in without hurting the cat; but it was clean,
and had a good bod in it ; and it was not a bar-room, nor near

403

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

1.0

|4£

■ 56 13;

lyi 1114. 11.6

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N r. I4SS0

{:>iy S73-4S03

■1>^

-^X '^'^

404

ON THE VERGE OF PERDITION.

a bar-room. That was something : that was every thing to me
just then. True, for many a day I lived on but one meal a
day, and a scanty meal at that. True, for many a day I walked
about hungry, and many a night I went to bed hungry. But
what of that ? I walked the streets sober every day ; and I
went to bed sober every night, thank God ! I would not take
the world for that reflection now.

And perhaps the most encouraging sign in my state this
time was, that I constantly feared myself. I knew my own
weakness, and constantly dreaded a fall ; and, therefore, b}'' the
grace of God, I fell not. His strength was made perfect
through my weakness. Had I now, or at times past, been
puffe4 up with pride, had I been self-confident, I feel sure I
would have fallen, and probably forever ; for there is an end»
even to divine forbearance. The Holy Spirit will not always
strive with men. But I was constantly on my guard against
my own appetite for drink. I watched myself carefully,
prayerfully. I had cause. Had I not fallen time and time
again- when I had every thing to sustain and encourage me ?
Had I not thrown away for rum all the -comforts and decencies
of life ? Had I not embittered the last hours of my dear, dead
father by my intemperance ? Had I not rendered my brothers'
hearts heavy? Had I not brought sorrow upon my sincere
friends ? Well might I, therefore, fear my own depravity and
weakness now, — now just recovered from a debauch, now just
beginning my new life of self-control, now with the demon
thirst, the drunkard's devil, coursing through my veins. It
really was almost a moral miracle that I did not fall, as I had so
often fallen before. But there is One above (I am thoroughly
convinced of it) who heareth prayer. And he had heard my
supplications, and had bestowed upon me strength, not mine,
but his. One night — never shall I forget that night — I was
upon the very verge of perdition, —upon the very brink of

THE SAFEST PLACE FOB A REFORMED DRUNKARD. 405

falling. I had retired worn and weary with trudging after
work to no purpose, at an early hour, but found myself unable
to get to sleep. At last I resolved to take a little walk to
quiet my nerves ; and, arising, I dressed myself hurriedly, and
went out into the streets. It was only a few minutes past
eleven o'clock, and there were people still in the streets. And,
alas ! there were liquor-saloons all riround me, and in full blast.
From some of these saloons the sounds of merriment were
wafted to my ear. They seemed to imply so much sociality
and humanity to me in my lonely condition, that I was irre-
sistibly attracted towards the places from which they issued.
The saloons were well lighted, too, and looked, as well as
sounded, cheerful. I contrasted the brightness and the life
within them with my dreary loneliness ; and I approached one
of these saloons more closely, and more closely still, till I
entered it.

Yes, I entered it. Yes, I looked around with longing at the
old, familiar bar, with its tempting array of bottles and glasses.
Yes, I looked at and nodded to the bar-keeper, with whom I
was personally acquainted. Yes, I came up to the bar, and
shook hands with him across it. Yes, I got into a little chat
with him about old times. I had known him for several years,
and had not seen him for over eighteen, months. Yes, he
asked me to take something; meaning, of course, by "some-
thing," not something worth taking, — not money or food or
raiment, — but rum. Yes, I said I would.

But, thank God ! no, I did NOT. No, no, no, I did not take
*' something ; " no, at the very last moment I put down the
glass untasted, rushed from the bar-room, rushed to my lodg-
ing-house, rushed to my little den of a room, and rushed upon
my knees.

I tell you, his knees are the safest place for the reformed
drunkard who would stay reformed.

406

THE ''CHEEKY" FOUR.

Rising refreshed from my snpplications, I retired to bed for
the second time that night, and this time thankful and trium-
phant. The same kind Providence that had preserved me that
night provided for me the next morning. I came across an
acquaintance who procured for me a position as a book-can-
vasser.

I see the smile, that, at this statement, makes its appearance
on my reader's face ; and I understand it : my reader has met
before this with a book-canvasser, and smiles at his persistent
"cheek;" or, perchance, he does not smile, he frowns, — frowns
at the recollection of the way that book-agent bored him and
bothered him.

Well, it makes but little difference to the book-canvasser
whether the reader (his victim) smiles or frowns: smile or
frown are all the same to him. He sells books, or tries to sell
them, alike to the smiling and the frowning, to the courteoua
or to the harsh. He is a very practical man, this book-
canvasser. It has always been a disputed point among men
of the world, as well as philosophers, which of the four has the
most " cheek,*' — genuine, urblushing, and persistent "brass,"
— the lightning-rod man, the life-insurance agent, the commer-
cial traveller, or the book-canvasser.

Numberless storiea have been told of each of the four, with
more or less truth ; and I confess that I have never yet been
able to make up my mind satisfactorily on this point.

There was a lightning-rod man once named Eaves, of whom
I heard a story that is worth the telling, as illustrating the
perseverance of his tribe, though in this particular case it
came to grief.

Eaves had struck a little town out West, and, meeting a
worthy citizen, bored him unmercifully with requests to be
allowed to put up his lightning-rods.

At last the worthy citizen stopped, and stood before quite a

A LIGUTNING-BOD MAN'S SIORY.

407

large house, and gazed at it with such a fond, admiring look,
that the lightning-rod man at once took it for granted that it
was the worthy citizen's own residence.

Eagerly he asked for permission to run up his rods on this
structure; and the permission, to his delight, was granted.
Like a cat after a mouse, the lightning-rodist went up and
down and about the outside of that building, absolutely per-
spii"ing with - i gymnastic and other efforts, till his self-
appointed task was done, and done in the quickest time for
lightning-rods on record. Then he asked the worthy citizen,
who had looked on, blandly smiling, for his pay.

" Your what ? " asked the worthy citizen.

"My pay."

"For what?"

" Why, for putting up my lightning-rod on your house there."

"My house there?" said the worthy citizen, smiling still
more blandly. " Why, man, that is not my house ; it belongs
to the corporation ; that is the town-hall."

"But you said I might run up my rod there," said the
enraged rod-man.

" So you can ; in fact, you have : and I am sure the corpora-
tion will thank you for your trouble."

The story does not state whether Eaves get the value of his
rods, or took them down ; but it is safe betting that he got the
value of his rods.

Another man, a life-insurance agent, wa^^ the terror of a
large section of countrv, and for ten years, or so, had con-
tributed, unchecked, his quota to the sum of human misery.
He was a terribly "persistent cuss," as they say out West, and
was in all his life brought to grief only once , but that once
was by a woman, of course.

She was a modest-looking woman, too, so ft- voiced, demure,
eminently respectable. She sat on the porch of her little

408

HASN'T COMPLAINED FOR FIVE YEARS.

cottage-home one evening, when the life-insurance man passed
by. She had a far-away look in her eyes, which rested on the
hills in the distance.

The life-insurance man stepped softly to her side.

" Good-evening, ma'am," he said, almost tenderly.

" Good-evening, sir," she said, very politely.

" Sitting all alone, I see, madam," remarked the life-insurance
man, in his light, airy, familiar way. " Husband stepped out, I
presume."

" My husband is not at home, sir," said the woman simply.

"Ah! sorry for that, ma'am," remarked the life-insurance
man ; " for I am sure that I could have convinced him of the
paramount importance, nay, the absolute duty, of his insuring
his valuable life in my company, for the benefit of his — his
charming wife, ma'am : " here he bowed and smirked to the
lady, who simply said in reply, —

" You are very kind, sir ; but I do not think that you can
induce my husband to insure in your company." And then she
added, with a gentle sigh, soft as the breath of June among its
roses, " I wish you could."

Here was unlooked-for encouragement, indeed. Here was
the wife (the real head of the family : the life-insurance man
knew enough of women to know that, being a married man
himself), wishing that her husband could be insured ; what
could be better? Between the wife and the life-insurance
agent, that husband was as good as insured already.

But first it would be just as well, the life-insurance man said
to himself, to ascertain something about this husband.

" Is your husband healthy, ma'am ? " he asked anxiously, as
if inquiring about the health of a near and dear relative, possi-
bly mother-in-law.

"He has not complained of any thing whatever for these
five years," said the lady.

THE LIFE-INSURANCE AGENT'S STORY.

409

The insurance-man smiled.

*' Are his habits regular ? " continued the life-insurance man.

"Perfectly so," replied the fond wife, proudly adding, "I
always know where to find him."

The insurance-man smiled more broadly. Such a husband
was likely to be a treasure, not only to his family, but to his
compani/.

" Does he never go about any at nights, madam ? " asked he.

" Never," replied she.

" Well, not even hardly ever ? " asked he.

" No, absolutely never," replied she seriously.

" What a jewel of a husband ! " said the life-insurance man.

" My only jewel ! " said the lady ; and again the far-off look
stole into her eyes, as they rested on the outlines of the distant
hills.

"Madam," cried the insurance-man, in a fit of professional
rapture, " I must see your husband."

" You cannot see him," said the lady.

"I must speak to him," persisted the life-insurance man
rather wonderingly.

" You cannot speak to him," said the lady decidedly.

" Why not ? " inquired the perplexed insurance-man.

" Because he i" dead^'' said his widow softly, sadly, sweetly.
But this time the far-away look in her eyes was not half so far
away as that life-insurance man got, and as rapidly as possible.

As for " drummers," or " commercial travellers " as they are
<!alled, their assurance is as proverbial as their enterprise.
These men form a class sui generis^ and their " cheek " is
•colossal.

But their tact and shrewdness is fully equal to their
" cheek : " their brains are equal to their brass. They are cer-
tainly "wise as serpents," if not altogether "harmless as
•doves."

irnlii y,

410

THE "DRUMMER'S" STORY.

A clriiramer some yeai3 ago "struck" a little town in In-
diana, where the principal " merchant " of the place wan bit-
terly opposed to " drummers," making it a rule to insult tliem
whenever they approached him in the way of business.

But this particular drummer had determined to sell this par-
ticular merchant his goods, and went about it in a characteristic
manner. He walked into the store one morning, and the mer-
chant seemed by instinct to penetrate his character. *' You're
one of those chaps they call drummers, ain't you ? " said tlie
merchant with a sneer.

" A drummer ? " said the " drummer " innocently. " Oh,
no! You are laboring under some mistake, sir. True, we
have a man in our organization, — our band, — who does play
the drum, and plays it well ; but I am not that man. I am the
business agent of the troop, not the drummer."

" Band ! troop ! what are you talking about ? " asked the
merchant curiously. " Who are you, anyway ? "

" I am the agent of the so-and-so band of minstrels " (nam-
ing some minstrel-troop he had just seen " posted " on the walls
of the town), replied the young man ; " and I have called to see
if I could not prevail upon you and your family to honor our
entertainment with your presence to-night."

" Humph ! not a ' commercial traveller,' only a ' nigger min-
strel,' " remarked the merchant, sotto voce ; then aloud, " Young
man, neither I nor my family are in the habit of attending
' shows.' "

"Of course not, as a general thing," said the young man
calmly. " I know that. A man in your position cannot do that
sort of thing as a rule. It would be beneath your character
and dignity. But, really, our entertainment is of a very high
order ; and I have called to beg you to accept three of the best
seats in the house, for to-night, as the guests of the entertain-
ment, without any expense on your part, of course. We wish

A MAN WHO MEANT TO KEEP HIS WORD.

411

to prove that we are patronized by the leading people of each
town in which we perform, and so " —

" You have come to secure my presence and that of my
family as one of your indorsements, eh ? " remarked the mer-
chant, now smiling pleasantly. Like a great many men, he
had conscientious objections against paying to attend public
amusements, but his objections did not extend io free tickets.

" Precisely," said the young man. " Permit me to beg your
acceptance of this order foT* — for how many shall I make the
order for seats for this evening, sir ? Three ? "

" Well, you might as well make it for /our, young man,'*
suggested the merchant pleasantly.

The young man said, " Four, certainly ; " and, sitting down,
he wrote on a piece of paper, " Give bearer four of the best
seats nearest the stage," directed it to the " Treasurer of So-
and-so Minstrel Troop," and signed it with his own name.

" There, sir," said the drummer, handing the merchant thia
piece of paper, " present this at the box-office of the hall any
time to-day, the sooner the better, any time after twelve
o'clock (it was now eleven), and you will receive your seats.
Be sure to use them."

" I surely will," said the merchant ; and, if ever man meant
to keep his word, he did.

"And now may I ask, do you not perform yourself?" in-
quired the merchant blandly.

" Oh, yes ! but I would like to bet you will not recognize me
when you see me this evening," answered the young man.

" Don't be so sure of that," laughed the merchant. . " I have
quick eyes. What particular line of character will you assume
this evening ? "

"Oh! that would be giving myself away," said the young
man. " Wait till I have given you a sample of my quality, and
then see if you can recognize me in the performance."

iAi^

412

" I SHALL LIKE YOUR SAMPLE:

" Right, young man," said the merchant. " But I feel sure
that I shall like your sample.'^

" I may remind you of those words to-morrow, sir," said the
young man. And, after a little more " chin-music," lie bowed
himself out of the store, accompanied to the door by the now
affable proprietor.

At that moment the "order" on the box-office for four
seats was, of course, worth no more than the paper it was writ-
ten on. But within fifteen minutes it was worth what it called
for. For the drummer rushed round to the box-office, bought
and paid for four of the best seats, and arranged that they
should be handed at once, without remark, to the party who
presented the order, which was presented within less than an
hour afterwards by no less a person than the merchant himself.

That night the merchant, wife, son, and daughter, were pres-
ent at the minstrel-show, but looked in vain for the young man
who hac' f'iven the order. " It is astonishing how these show-
peopJ disguise themselves," the merchant said to his wife.

" Th , , jLTig man promised to give me a sample of liis qualit)%
but here I have not been able to discover any signs of him all
this evening."

But he " discovered signs of him " early the next morning.
For about ten o'clock the young man put in an appearance,
smiling, and carrying a black box under his arm.

Warm greetings having been exchanged, the young man
said to the merchant, " Well, sir, did you enjoy the show ? "

" Extremely," said the merchant.

*' And did you recognize me ? " asked the young man.

"To tell the truth, I did not," said the merchant, rather
crestfallen.

" Well, to tell the truth, sir," now said the young man in his
turn, "it would have been a wonder if you had; for I did not
perform last night. But I promised to give you a sample of

FOUR V£BY USEFUL Cf^ ASSES OF MEN.

413

my quality, and I shall keep my word. Here is a full sample
of my line of goods,'" continued the young man, opening liis
black box, or sample-case, and exhibiting his wares, spreading
them out in long array before the dumfounded merchant.
"And remember," said the young man meaningly, "you prom-
ised me here yesterday that you should like the sample,""

There was no lielp for it. The merchant had been i^eatly
cornered. For very sliame's sake, and for the four " free "
tickets' sake, he had to " like the sample " aiid to order some
goods.

With all tlieir clieek and eccentricities, the "drummers," or
" commercial travellers," are a very useful set of men, and
play an important part in our modern mercantile civilization.

They have many estimable qualities, and are united by a
bond of more than common brotherhood. And they have or-
ganized a system of mutual-benefit association and life-insur-
ance among themselves which works admirably, and deserves
the highest praise.

Their chief faults are inseparable from their roving, specula-
tive, competitive system of living and doing business, over-
eagerness for gain, and over-indulgence in stimulants. Let us
trust that time, experience, and a higher grade of morality, will
correct these evils.

As for life-insurance canvassers, they are a very useful class
of men, indeed. They deal in a matter of paramount impor-
tance ; and to them, more than to any other one agency, is due
the success of the life-insurance system of to-day.

Even the lightning-rod men have their uses, as many a barn
and many a big building will testify during a thunder-shower.

As for book-canvassers, they are important factors in the
march of progress. Not only do they earn an honest living for
themselves, but they tend directly to disseminate intelligence
among the people. Many a man or woman has been induced^

414

I GAIN A TRUE FRIEND.

first to buy, then to read, good books, solely by the persistent
efforts of the book-canviissers.

And book-oanvassing has this most commendable feature.
It gives woman — working woman — a chance to earn her
bread. This point should not be overlooked. True, this very
feature has Ijeen abused. True, not a few female bouk-can-
vassprs make their ostensible business merely an excuse to*call
upon men at their offices, and T)lace9 of business, and form their
acquaintance in a personal, social, and illegitimate way. This
sort of thing is largely carried on in great cities, especially in
the city of New York ; as almost every rich man can testify
from experience. But every thing, from religion down, has
been abused ; and, as every moralist knows, the abuse of a
thing is no argument whatevei against its legitimate use.

Book-canvassing is as honorable a calling, if honorably pur-
sued, as any other ; and I now went into it with all my heart
and soul. It brought me fair results in the way of money.
But, above all, it gained me, what is far more than money, a
true friend.

The Lord was surely smiling on me now; for among the
very first men upon whom I called in the way of business as
a book-canvasser was Mr. Henry F. Ferrin, an auctioneer
and commission merchant, 74 Weybossett Street, Providence,
— ^^a prominent temperance man, and genuine temperance
worker.

Although I was a stranger to Mr. Ferrin, he asked me some
kindly questions relative to myself; and when I hinted at the
outlines of my history as a reformed, or, rather, trying-to-re-
form, drunkard, his sympathies were instantly aroused. And,
in turn, his warm-hearted sympathy led me to a full confession
of my past errors to this stranger.

I told him all, concluding with my recent lecture at Boston,
and my still more recent fall. In short, I told to him my whole

'/■•' .W/^rrr/^f't

Thoiniis N. Dimtiicy as he appeared, .selling Looks, when he first met
Mr. H. F. Fenin at his place of hnsiness in Providence, R.I. Mr. Ferriii
afterwards beca-.no tlie instrumentality in Mr. Doutney's reformation.
[Sketched by Mrs. Alhertina Carter.]

GOOD ADVICE.

415

history. I wonder that he did not shrink from me when he
heard it ; but in the goodness of his heart he received me with
open arms, and promised me all the assistance in his power to
keep me from falling.

God alone knows what the result might have been had he
turned from me and spurned me. And this day I have no
doubt but that some higher power influenced the heart of that
Christian gentleman to start me aright, and to show me that
all was not lost.

This practical aid was what I least of all deserved, but
what I most of all needed; and it did me a world of good.
To Henry F. Ferrin, Esq., next to Almighty God, I owe my
holding out. He entreated me to join several temperance
orders with which he was connected; viz., "The Temple of
Honor," and "The Sons of Jonadab," assuring me that the
ijifluences I would there meet would help to sustain me in my
good resolutions, which they did.

In regard to my lecturing on temperance, Mr. Ferrin said,
"You have lectured once on temperance, and failed : you must
lecture once more, and succeed. Start again as a speaker by
speaking here in Providence." I replied, " Mr. Ferrin, I hardly
dare attempt it. I am afraid I cannot stand, and that I may
again be the means of hurting the good cause. God knows I
desire to reform ; but I fear, I fear." Was this modesty true
humility ? or was it the arch-tempter whispering specious pre-
texts in my ear at the decisive moment when, perhaps, my fate
stood trembling in the balance .

My best of friends (for so I must ever call Mr. Ferrin) finally
entreated me in so earnest and kindly a manner, that my better,
or bolder, self triumphed, in saying, " You are in the hands of
a true friend ; and sink or swim, fail or succeed, follow his
advjce : " and I forthwith followed it. I felt a solid and most
comforting assurance that my heavenly Father had seni me

416

VITAL CHRISTIANITY.

one to be as an earthly father to me, — a father in whom I
could trust, and by v/hom I could be guided in all things.

Mr. Ferrin not only gave me practical advice in regard to my
contemplated lecture, but entered with lively interest into the
details of my plans. He referred me to different temperance
people in the city who would be most apt to aid me, and
even in some cases accompanied me, and gave me a personal
introduction and warm indorsement.

Ay, my kind friend even put his hands into his own pockets^
and advanced me money to meet my present necessities and
daily expenses.

Ah ! there are men in this world whose Christianity is not a
sham, but a vital C%n«rianity. And men like Henry F. Ferrin
justify the assertion of the sage, that " there is something good
in human nature after all."

dy^ (^/A/uy^'^'^^

tarn

CHAPTER XXXIV.

I JOIN THE TEMPEBANCE BANDS. — REMARKS AS TO THE GREAT USEFUL-
NESS OF "TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES." — X LECTURE UNDER FAVORABLE
AUSPICES. — MV TRIUMPH AND MY TROUBLES. — MY BOOK AND MY
PRINTERS. — I LECTURE IN WASHINGTON. — TEMPERANCE AND INTEM-
PERANCE AMONG OUR PUBLIC MEN. — SUMNER AND WILSON COMPARED
>VITH SAULSBURY AND MCDOUGALL.

One memorable night — shall I ever forget it? — I went with
my kind, true friend and benefactor, Mr. Ferrin, to be enrolled
among the professed defenders of temperance. As I made my
way to the hall, where my new brothers in the good work were
awaiting me, my heart swelled within me with mingled emo-
tions, — joy and gratitude for my present state of mind ; hope for
my future ; and perhaps most really encouraging, though then
depressing, sign of all, shame for my besotted past. The pano-
rama of my evil, foolish, base career was unrolled before me,
and I saw myself as I had been. I was frightened at the spec-
tacle, and filled with fear — fear for myself — that I might even
now fall once more as I had fallen before. I trembled for my-
self; but grace was given me, and I persevered unto the end,

Mr. Ferrin introduced me to the temperance brotherhood,
and I was duly initiated. When I saw the kind brothers
gather around me, felt them press my hand, and heard them
congratulate me on having joined their noble order, my eyes
filled with tears, but my heart grew strong ; for I knew that I
was at last among those who would not tempt and taint me,
but would protect and shield me. No, I never shall forget
that night. I felt buoyant and cheerful, and firm in the good
w . «7

418

TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES.

cause. I have since connected myself with the Sons of Tem-
perance, and the Independent Order of Good Templars.

I would here remark, that I believe in temperance organi-
zations and societies as important agencies in temperance work.
Man is a social being, so constituted by his Creator ; and social
agencies fill a prominent place in the scheme of human destiny.

And as social influences are too often used for evil; so they
should be, whenever possible, employed for good.

The social influences are particularly brought into play by
the drinking and drink-dealing class. Every hotel-keeper, bar-
keeper, ram-seller, is a " social " man. The great majority of
the men who a§k us to drink, and who set us the example, are
*' social " beings, " good fellows," so called. There is a super-
fluity of " drinking " society ; and, to counteract all this, there
should be an abundance of "temperance" society, — the soci-
ety of non-drinking men and women, who would entertain and
smile upon and encourage the man and the woman who do not
drink.

Consequently, under certain conditions, and in their time
and place, organized temperance societies are valuable, nay,
invaluable. True, they can never be depended upon to supply
the place of individual will-power and force of character. No
man can ever be a temperance man if he depends upon any
one society or any number of societies to keep him temperate.
Only the grace of God, and his own strength of soul, can keep
him sober. But as adjuncts to individuality, as means of
grace, temperance societies are most desirable, commendable,
and practically useful. I would advise all my readers to con-
nect themselves with some such organization, or several of
them, — the more the better.

It was soon known among my new brethren, that I had at
one time attempted a temperance lecture ; and, spite of my
failure in this line, it was now suggested that I should renew

BRETHREN INDEED.

419

lew

the attempt under more encouraging auspices. I felt grateful
for the suggestion, and accepted it.

My new-made brethren in the temperance cause did not do
to me as many temperance societies — too many — do unto
others in my condition : they did not put me on probation for
a long period, during which period I was to be regarded with
suspicion, and, although sorely tempted, was to be only spar-
ingly encouraged. They did not wait to see whether I " would
hold out," meanwhile making it as hard as possible for me
to " hold out." They did not keep me without money, or the
chance to make it, doing nothing but feeling hungry, and try-
ing to keep sober on a starving stomach. No : they took it for
granted, — God bless them for it! — that I meant to be honest,
that I was sincere in my desire to reform. They acted on the
glorious plan, that faith begets faith, that trust breeds strength.
And I am glad and proud to say, that their goodness and wis-
dom were not thrown away upon me. Arrangements were im-
mediately made for me to deliver a lecture ; and the streets of
Providence were strewn with handbills and posters announcing
that " Thomas N. Doutney, the reformed drunkard and rum-
seller, would deliver a temperance lecture, relating his sad and
terrible experience with the demon Alcohol, in Harrington's
Opera House, Sunday evening, Oct. 12, 1873." The admission-
fee was placed at ten cents, and my new-found brothers worked
with a previously unheard-of energy. The result was, a full,
even overflowing house on that Sunday evening. Under such
circumstances, with such encouragement, need it be said that
the lecture was, as a lecture, a success, — such a success that
I was requested to repeaj; it ?

I did repeat it, and with the most satisfactory results to all
concerned. My audience was pleased ; my friends were de-
lighted ; my benefactor, Mr. Ferrin, was in ecstasies. I myself
felt happier than ever before in my life ; and the cause of tern-

420

MY SECOND LECTURE.

perance — next to religion the noblest cause on earth (in fact, a
most important part of religion itself) — was, I trust, materially-
advanced. At this second lecture the officers of the various
temperance societies which I had recently joined, and others,
appeared on the platform with me in full regalia. It was a
memorable occasion of my life, — this, my second successful tem-
perance lecture. Somehow it has impressed my memory even
more strongly than my first. The audience, for one thing,
was larger ; and then, I had grown more accustomed to public
speaking, and had more confidence in myself.

When I looked beside me, and saw my new-found friend*
and brethren seated all around me, I felt encouraged by their
presence to stand steadfast ; and I felt myself growing stronger
and stronger to do battle for the right.

And, when I looked at the vast audience in the hall, I felt
assured and confident ; for were we not all united in love and
desire for the greatest earthly good, — temperance, a sound
mind in a sound body?

And though my speech might be lacking in the graces of
polished oratory, though I was keenly alive to my own defi-
ciencies, yet I felt, I knew, that I had the good will and the
sympathy of my audience; and that conviction will impart
energy, and will almost supply the place of oratory, to any
man who has the slightest claim to be regarded as a public
speaker.

And I could not but think of the difference between my
friends here, listening to my words now, and the so-called
" friends " (?) of my former and dissipated days. My temper-
ance friends were really anxious for my spiritual and bodily
prosperity, desirous that I should do my duty to God, man,
and myself. But as for my " fast " friends of the " social
glass," my drinking companions, what cared they for aught but
the general or " social " indulgence of the hour ?

MY LITTLE BOOK.

421

Yes ; for a while I felt satisfied with my new world and new
life, and confident of mj'self, as well as grateful, I trust, to
Heaven. But the re-action inseparable from my excitement
came ; and, although I had pleased my own immediate circle,
I found that I was still regarded with, under the circumstances
not unnatural, suspicion by the tempeiance world at large.

Through the influence of dear, kind brother Ferrin, and
other friends, I obtained, on the prestige of my two successful
lectures, occasional engagements to lecture outside of Provi-
dence, among the small towns of Rhode Island; but these
engagements were few, and far between, and not very lucra-
tive nor satisfactory. Even a "reformed drunkard" has to
live, and needs boots and clothes and food and lodging ; and
every one of these needs costs, and requires cash or credit.

At this juncture, my funds being at ebb-tide, and not being
disposed to be a burden to my friends, or an object of charity,
I determined to fall back upon my recent experience as a book-
canvasser, and with this difference, — which I trusted would be
an improvement, — I determined to canvass for and sell a book
in which I had a proprietary interest myself, instead of a book
the greater part of the profit on which went to others, — in
short, to canvass and sell my own book, — my own biography.

I conceived the idea of writing a book, — the history of my
own life, — and hastily put together a few " notes " of my
career, from which I compiled a book which answered my pur-
poses for a while, and has formed the foundation of the present
volume. I commenced canvassing for this work with moderate
results.

And here I must tell a story, — a story which is creditable
to all parties concerned, though scarcely credible.

Of course, I could do nothing in my book-line till I had got
my printer. But how was I to get my printer ? Printers are
•eminently practical, and demand money for type and paper;

422

MY PRINTERS.

H:-.

and theii" idea of " money " generally takes the form of " cash
down," and I had no "cash" to "down." That's just what
was the matter.

But Heaven tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. After
meeting various rebuffs, an idea seized me, for which I can never
be too grateful for having acted upon.

One day, being in Boston, I entered the office of Messrs.
Rand, Avery, & Co., printers, — one of the oldest printing-
houses in America, — and saw one of the managing-men of the
concern, Mr. Avery L. Rand. Without any preliminaries I told
him v/ho I was, — Thomas N. Doutney, a reformed drunkard,
a converted rum-seller, a temperance advocate, who had writ-
ten his own life, and wanted to have it published, he hoping
to be able to live upon the proceeds of the biography when
published.

I also told him, with equal frankness, that I had no money,
not a dollar that I could spare just then, -not a dollar but
what the book itself might bring in. All that I could do was
to promise, on my word of honor, that, if he did print my MSS.
for me, I would devote myself night and day to canvassing for
the book, and selling it, and would live upon next to nothing^
till I had paid him out of the proceeds.

It was all I had to offer; and this offer from a stranger
would have been, on sound business grounds, regarded as
utterly unworthy of serious consideration. I fully expected
that my proposition and my manuscript would be " declined,"
and mthout " thanks." But to my unbounded surprise, and my
lasting gratitude, my almost desperate and despairing offer was
accepted. Mr. Rand promised to forthwith publish my book ;
and he forthwith published it, — in as good style as if it had
been a first-class paying job.

Ah, reader! there is something good in human nature after
all, and unexpected deeds of kindness are forever making

CANVASSINa FOli MY HOOK.

428

earth better and brighter. I tihall never forget the ahnost
unexampled liberality of Messrs. Rand, Avery, «& Co.

But I am glad to say, that I honestly tried to be not un-
worthy of their generosity. Without going into further details
regarding my little book, I may here state, that, as soon as it
was published, I "took hold of it" — in the canvassing sense —
with vigor, and that, as fast as I sold copies of the book, I hied
me to the office of my noble printers, and handed them the
money, until I had cancelled at least the pecuniary debt ; though
I never expect; nor ever wish, to be able to free myself from
my obligations of gratitude.

After thoroughly canvassing for my book, I made up my
mind, that, as I had previously travelled around for intem-
perance,' I would now change the programme, and travel for
Temperance. Then I visited several places in Connecticut,
meeting with varied and generally indifferent success ; for,
being totally unknown and unheralded, my audiences were
small. Working in this State for several weeks, and meeting
with but poor financial success, I found myself in New Haven
penniless; and I began to grow despondent. Here I again
found a friend in the person of Elder Marvin W. Lutz, who
substantially aided me. He said that some one had spoken of
me to him ; and, seeing that I needed clothing, he supplied me
in this respect, giving me a fine overcoat, underclothing, shirts,
and brought me to the house of Charles F. Hotchkiss, Eoq.,
where he himself resided, treating me, a stranger, as one of the
family. Such kindness needs no comment. This gentleman
who thus befriended me, like all of us poor mortals, has his
friends and his enemies, and has been alike severely assailed
and warmly indorsed ; but, be it as it may, he showed that he
had a heart that could sympathize with distress ; and I from my
heart's innermost depths thank him for his kindness, and feel
that I am under the warmest obligations to him. An oppor-

424

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF WASHINGTON.

tunity now unexpectedly presented itself for me to lecture
before the " Sons of Jonadab," in Washington, D.C. ; and,
money being furnished me to defray my expenses, thither I
went. On my way to that city of "magnificent distances"
(and 'tis distance lends enchantment to the view), before I
came in sight of the dome of the Capitol, my imagination took
wings, and soared away. This, I thought in my simplicity, is
the fountain-head of learning and of wisdom ; here are assem-
bled the patriotic and pure of our country, to enact laws for the
common good ; here no corruption or bribery would dare to
enter ; and here is our tower of strength and our bulwark of
safety. I felt almost as if I were approaching holy ground ; and,
when fairly within the sacred precincts, I took my carpet-bag,
and started for my hotel. But, alas ! here, as elsewhere, I saw
the saloon-doors open, the same old crowd reeling in with the
same blasphemous oaths ; and I wondered if any of this class of
people were our law-makets. I had travelled much previously,
but had never been a Congressman nor a companion of Con-
gressmen ; yet I said to myself. If here, under the very shadow
of our Capitol, intemperance can raise its hydra head, and be
allowed to sting its victims, what hope is there for our holy
cause ? If the intellect and brains of the land do not work to
abolish it, what can a poor reformed drunkard like myself do
towards suppressing it ? It seemed to me then an interminable
task, and I well-nigh lost courage. I did not know then that
God in his wisdom takes the foolish things of this earth to con-
found the wise, and that the humblert worker in the good
cause, resolved to do his best, can accomplish more than " all
that learning, all that wealth, e'er gave." On reaching my
hotel (which, by the way, was a temperance house), I felt
calmer ; and my lecture came off m Jonadab Hall, under the
best of auspices. I remained in this city about a month, during
which time I quite frequently visited the House and Senate,

CHARLES SUMNER.

426

and heard the lions ronr. There I saw Sumner, and little
thought that a few short months would find him moulder-
ing in the grave. But such is life, and death is the great
leveller.

George Alfred Townsend, the famous correspondent '* Gath,"
thus writes of Sumner in his very readable book entitled " Wash-
ington Outside and Inside : " —

No sketch of men of mark in Washington would be complete
without Charles Sumner. He resided there for many years, in a
pleasant new residence, at the corner of H Street and Vermont
Avenue. His dwelling below stairs was a pair of salons, tastefully
and copiously filled with busts, engravings, books, and articles of
virtu.

Many visitors have penetrated into this senatorial labyrinth ; but
few have had opportunities to estimate the pleasantness of his din-
ners, enlivened and made cheerful by a host who long ago accepted
the English mode of living, — to save the day for stint anJ work, aud
to resign the evening to good cheer.

On the second floor, in one very large and nearly square room,
lighted by windows on two sides, Mr. Sumner sits at a large table ;
a drop-light bringing into clear yet soft relief his large and imposing
stature, strong face, great wave of hair ; and, incased in his dressing-
gown and slippers, he looks like Forrest's delineation of Richelieu,
recreating at play-writing.

It has been said of Mr. Sumner, that he has not a patient temper,
that he is uncompromising, and that he is impracticable. The second
of these distinctions does him honor ; he is never disturbed except
upon leading questions ; and, after twenty years in the Senate, he is
still heard to debate at rare times, and is always heard with the
keenest interest by all.

Not a particle of his life has been wasted. As to his want of
practicability, the progress of the nation of which he has been the
ideal leader, in its better elements, for twenty years, disproves the
■shallow assumption. Since he left Harvard College, in 1830, he haa

426

McnoUGAL OF CALIFORNIA.

passed the gamut of all the practical workshops through which a
senator should go. At the age of twenty-two he took charge of the
"American Jurist," and edited it with the keen eye of a natural
lawyer. While pursuing his legal practice in Boston, between the
ages of twenty-two and twenty-six, he was the reporter of the United-
States Circuit Court, and teacher in the Cambridge Law School. In
1837 he went abroad, and enjoyed the confidence of the best and most
experienced in public life. Returning in 1840, he edited "Vesey's
Reports," in twenty volumes; and thenceforward, for eleven years,
until his election, at one bound, from private life to the United-States.
Senate, Mr. Sumner was the beaxi ideal of the State as an orator and
leader ; he rose direct from a private citizen of Massachusetts to be
her senator, ia place of Webster, and at the age of forty. The
people of Washington have known more or less for twenty-one years
of Mr. Sumner.

And as a man pre-eminently of temperate habits, a man who-
kept his appetites in subjection, Charles Sumner deserved special
attention and commendation.

Contrast Sumner's career with that of McDougal of Cali-
fornia ; and yet the latter was, in natilral parts, fully the equal
of, if not superior to, the former. Mr. Townsend, in his book,,
remarks, —

A brilliant man, of evil habits, in his day was James A. McDougal
of California, who died in 1867. He has left many anecdotes of
himself at Washington, where he is regarded as the fallen angel, the
superb ruin, — a sweetly melancholy portrait out of decadence, like
those carousing Romans painted by Couture. His desultory learning
was remarkable ; so was the tenacity of his memory, the stronger
when his brain was most aflame : and he used to quote from the Greek
and Latin poets by the page, steadying himself meantime, a poor
old sot in body, while his luminous intellect kept the bar-rooms in a.
thrill.

There is a restaurant near the Capitol where they still show"

"i^'

trough which a
k charge of the
re of a natural
n, between the
r of the United-
aw School. In
e best and most'
dited "Vesey's
)r eleven years,
le United-States.
,s an orator and
sachusetts to be
of forty. The
venty-one years.

ts, a man who-
^served special

ougal of Cali-
ully the equal
1, in his book,.

s A. McDougal
ly anecdotes of
illen angel, the
decadence, like
sultory learning
y, the stronger
from the Greek
antime, a poor
bar-rooms in a.

hey still show

THE BRIGHTEST INTELLECT IN CONGRESS.

427

McDougal's dog, a milk-white mongrel, with the fawning habits still
left, in which he was humored by its master. Like his memory, it i»
most vivid and familiar with bar-keepei-s and tavern-loiterers ; iind
they say with some vanity, —

"Knows tha' dorg?"

"No."

" That's Senator McDougal's favo-rite purp."

McDougal used to feign great knowledge of the small-sword ; and
an Irishman or Scotchman was in Washington during the war, giving
fencing lessons to the officers. One day McDougal dared him to a
combat with canes. They crossed a while ; and McDougal, half-
drunk, gave the master a violent " dab " on the side of the ear that
nearly knocked him down.

The swordsman said to McDougal, —

" That was foul : now I am going to clear you out."

" Don't you touch that man," cried a vagrant Irishman loitering
near, who had heard, perhaps, through the tavern windows, some of
the drunken senator's didactics. " That man's a good Dimmicratic
senator and a great gaynius : if you hit him, I'll mash your nose."

So the wayward steps of the poor, lost old man were upheld by
invisible attendants, extorted to his service by the charm and com-
mand of his talents; foi', when drunkest, he was most arrogantly
oracular, and did all the talking himself.

They recall, who have ever heard them, Saulsbury and McDougal
together; the latter defining in a wild, illustrated, poetic way the
words "government," "law," and " sovereign," pouring upon them
the wealth of his vagrant readings, making a mere definition gor-
geous by his endowments of color, light, and sentiment. Then Sauls-
bury, shutting one eye to see him fairly, would say with ludicrous
pity, —

" McDougal, you've the brightest intellect in Congress." Clutch-
ing Saulsbury with the grasp of a vise, and speaking to him in a tone
of solemn warning, McDougal would retort, " You, sir, would be the
brightest intellect if you would study."

At this Saulsbury, in a maudlin way, falls to weeping ; and McDou-

428

TWO SENATORS.

gal, imagining himself called upon in this case to utter a mild reproach,
would construct a garment of sanctity for himself : —

"I burn the lamp early and late," said McDougal. "The rising
sun sees me up already, laboring with the Muse of Homer (sob from
Saulsbury) . I reach down the Koran at sunrise, and read myself a
sublime lesson, pilfered, it is true, from the benignant Brahma, but
little altered, except in the vernacular. At eight o'clock, like Socra-
tes, I breakfast upon a fig and a cake of oatmeal : wine never crosses
these lips. Till ten o'clock I roam in my gardens, communing with
the mighty master of the Sadducees " (sob from Saulsbury).

Enter the bar-keeper with the drinks, and the airy castle dissolves.

The wild things done by McDougal would make a comedy fit for
Farquhar. His entire mileage and pay he spent, taking little note
of his family, making about twelve thousand dollars a year. He
died in Albany, near his birthplace, a victim to his temperament ;
for he had no grain of practical executive tact, and his poetic nature
made liim both the stature and the wreck he was. The fire that made
him brilliant made him also ashes.

Can any " temperance lecture " be more powerful than is the
contrast thus depicted between two intemperate great men, like
Saulsbury and McDougal, and the temperate great man, like
Charles Sumner?

How much better would it have been for him, and for his
country, had " Tom " Marshall been a non-drinker, and " Dick "
Yates, and even Daniel Webster himself I

Intemperance is the great curse and danger of our .public
men. It came near being the personal as well as political ruin
of the foremost man of our time. General and President Grant.
And, with all his faults and weakness. President Hayes's memory
will always be held in lasting honor for his firm stand against
intoxication and intemperance in Washington.

Look at the example set by Henry Wilson, the illustrious
shoemaker and senator, who would as readily have stolen as

" HE NEITHER DSINKS NOS SMOKES.''

429

drank, and compare his career and character with tliat of
another member of Congress, the "Hon." John Morrissey,
"sport" and prize-fighter.

Drinking-habits totally unfit a man for public as well as for
private business. This truth is practically acted upon in that
most practical of all the public departments, the Treasury.
The responsible men connected with the Treasury Department
have never been "drinking" men. The country wouldn't,
couldn't stand it.

Col. Whiteley may be taken as a sample of the men who are
connected responsibly with the United-States Treasury. He
was at the head of the United-States Treasury detectives.
"Gath" thus pen-painted him: —

The position which Col. Whiteley maintains is of more import than
any secret police-agent holds in the Union. He is charged with all
the manifold and intricate offences agaiust the currency and the
Treasury, including counterfeiting, defalcations, whiskey and tobacco
frauds. His headquarters are in New York. His force is distributed
through the Union. He is tall, wiry, and rather debilitated ; a long,
pale, youthful face, without any worldliness in it ; and a sober, mod-
est, and nearly clerical, black dress. Whiteley neither drinks nor
smokes. Whiteley is as much a Puritan as Mr. Boutwell himself.
With some youthful confidence, he is still thoughtful and perse-
vering ; and, armed with the enormous power of the Federal state,
he is not subject to the restraints of cross-jurisdictions and State
laws, which impede the pursuit of local criminals. He occupies
the whole field, and is free from the jealous annoyances of police
rivalry.

He "neither drinks nor smokes!" Be sure the country's
interests are safe in the hands of the man of whom these words
can truthfully be said, or at least much safer than in the hands
of one of whom they could not be said.

480

BUTLER AND GRANT.

During my stay in Washington I called upon Gen., now
Oov., Butler, one of the best-abused and most successful pub-
lic men in the country. The career of this noted and notable
man has been varied and unique. Butler is in all respects an
"original." Even his most inveterate personal or political
enemy will confess this much. He is a thorough "man."
There is nothing of the " milksop," nothing of the mere senti-
mentalist, about him. He is as able as he is audacious : his
most bitter foe will concede this. And in private life he is
very pleasant, even amiable when he chooses. I found him,
now as ever, very cordial to me. He had befriended me in my
earlier career : he was friendly to me now. He purchased one
of my books, and, receiving me at his private residence, treated
nie very courteously.

During my stay in Washington I went on Sunday to the
Metropolitan Church, of which the Rev. Dr. Tiffany was pastor.
This church is one of the " institutions " of the capital. One
of the peculiar features of this church is, that, like its name, it
is truly " metropolitan." There is a seat in this church, or
seats, for every State in the Union, from Maine to California.
A stranger visiting in Washington, and entering Dr. Tiffany's
ohurch, has only to tell the usher what State he is from, and he
will find himself placed in t. le pew allotted to his State ; and,
if there are any of his own State people there, he will find
himself at once among them, — literally "at home." This is
«,n " original " idea, and is worthy of imitation. Gen, Grant
and family often Worshipped at this church.

Apropos of Grant : before leaving Washington for Baltimore,
I called .upon the General-President at the White House. I
devised means to have him know that I was a reformed man ;
and on the llth of February, 1874, between the hours of twelve
and two (the " visiting-hours " of the White House), I was
permitted, in my turn, with others, to pay my respects to, and

FROM BOSTON TO NEW YORK.

431

shake hands with, the sovereign ruler of these free, and forever
to be free, United States. Gen. Grant received me kindl}', but,
as usual, said nothing.

I then took the train for Baltimore ; and, on the same even-
ing, I again raised my voice for temperance in the Aisquitli
street Methodist-Episcopal Church in Baltimore, leaving for
Boston via New York the next morninjr.

CHAPTER XXXV.

MY SECOND LECTURE IN THE TREMONT TEMPLE. — I VINDICATE MY CAUSE,
AND BBDEEM MY FAILURE. — I LECTURE AT STEINWAY HALL, NEW
YORK. —AND I PEDDLE MY OWN TICKETS FOB MY LECTURE. — EXTRACTS
FROM MY FIRST BOOK AND MY EARLIER LECTURES. — WORDS OP ADVICE,
WARNING, AND CONSOLATION.

On my arrival in Boston I immediately called on my friend
and benefactor, E. H. Sheafe, Esq., then editor and proprietor
of " The Temperance Album," who arranged for me to lecture
again in Treraont Temple, Sunday evening, March 22, 1874.

I accepted this arrangement gladly, triumphantly; for I
wanted to succeed here, as a lecturer, where I had previously
failed. And I wanted to redeem my fall after my failure. I
wished to show the good people of Boston that I had truly
reformed ; that, through the grace of God, I was strong where
I had been weak. I wished to show, that though, since my last
and first lecture in Tremont Temple, I had inflicted disgrace
upon myself, and shame upon the temperance cause, by my
yielding to Rum, 1 had wiped out the disgrace, and atoned for
the shame, by my recovery and reformation.

My wish was gratified. I delivered this, my second lecture
in the Tremont Temple, on the theme of " my experience," to
an overflowing house, by which I was most kindly, nay, enthu-
siastically, received. Congratulation upon congratulation was
showered upon me; and even those who had predicted my
downfall again, were the first to welcome me. My hand was
shaken till it was nearly powerless, and my heart was full of

432

LECTURING ABOUND NEiV YORK.

488

pride and gratitude. Thus ended my second appearance in
Boston and the Treniont Temple.

Every day now I could feel I was gaining new strength. I
had come back to the very city where I had been widely
known as a rum-seller, and had found a host of friends, who
seemed to have forgotten and forgiven my past, and to hope
and believe in my future. I thanked the great G'ver of all
good for his kindness to me, and inwardly resolved to be still
more worthy of such friendship and such love.

Never shall I forget this loving friendship : the kind deeds
of brother Sheafe and his associates linger tenderly in my heart.

Encouraged by my success in Boston, I departed to New
York upon a lecture-tour, through New- York State and New
Jersey.

Arriving in the metropolis, I met my brothers ; and, thank
God ! this time I met them sober. I could take their hands and
receive their warm greeting as an honest and a temperate man.
They would never again be compelled to blush for my condi-
tion. My brothers were more than ever delighted to see me,
and congratulated me over and over again on my good resolves
and my better reformation.

After the re-union I proceeded to business, and lectured with
tolerable success in some of the suburban towns. I then
naturally asked myself, "Why should I not lecture in the
metropolis itself? "

Seeing no earthly reason why I should not, and seeing
several reasons why I should, I at once entered into arrange-
ments with the New-York branch of the Young Men's Chris-
tian Association, and under their auspices lectured in some
local halls, then in some of the Methodist churches, and finally
in the Church of the Disciples, under Rev. Dr. Hepworth.

After this I fully made up my mind to make "a grand
demonstration " in the very heart of New York ; and for that

434

AT SIEINIVAY HALL.

I ' I

purpose I hired Steiuway Hall, determining to " put in an
appearance " in tlie very finest lecture-hall in the metropolis.
Steinway Hall is a lasting monument of enterprise, liberality,
and success, and is typical of the enterprise, liberality, and
success of the world-renowned firm that erected it, which
embraces the leading piano-makers of the world.

I had but little ready money ; but the Steinways were very
kind, — as they are in all deserving cases, — and put the rent
so low that I could see a chance, under all circumstances, to at
least "get even" with my expenses.

Steinway Hall being thus secured, I was advertised as ex-
tensively — though as cheaply — as possible, in handbills, etc.,
to lecture on " my experience " with intemperance, on Sunday
evening. May 3, 1874.

But here " luck " was against me. It so happened, that a
celebrated temperance lecturer was advertised to speak else-
where in the city that same Sunday evening. And it further
chanced, that there was to be a grand temperance mass-meeting
at Rev. Dr. Hepworth's church that very evening. Either of
these " attractions " would have seriously conflicted with my
lecture, but both together threatened to swamp me altogether.

But, as my readers have probably learned by this time, I am
a man not easily " swamped." I buckled on my armor ; or, less
figuratively speaking, I tackled my work in earnest. I saw at
once that my only hope was in personal exertion. It would
not do to trust to the " public interest " in my lecture. I would
have to create a personal and pecuniary interest in myself. It
would not do to sit still, and trust to having the public come
to me to buy tickets for my lecture. No : I would have to
move about, and go to the public, and sell tickets for myself.
It was not pleasant, certainly ; it was infra dignitatem, perhaps ;
but it was absolutely necessary. So I set to work, and did that
necessary thing.

TICKET-PEDLER AND LECTURER.

485

I took my tickets in my hand, and some of my handbills and
books, and peddle. I my books and tickets in the streets of New
York up to within two hours of my delivering my lecture.
Yes ; and I take pride now in recording the fact. I look back
upon it with satisfaction, — a satisfaction I trust and believe
my worthy readers will share with me.

For this fact proves beyond a peradventure, that there was
some "stuff" in me as a man, after all. I had sinned and
fallen as a man, alas ! but I was willing and anxious to rise
and atone, and work for my atonement and my own honest
living, as a man. And so I record the fact of my being "ticket-
pedler " with quite as much pride as I do the being " lecturer."

I succeeded fairly with my peddling, but still I found the
hall not over one-tenth full when the hour for my lecture ar-
rived. This was discouraging, but it could not be helped. I
had done my best as an agent, a ticket-seller ; let me now do
my best as a speaker ; let me at least try to do justice to my
cause, — the noblest cause, the best subject for a lecture, on the
face of God's green earth, — temperance. I felt sure of at least
one group of sympathizers and indorsers ; for my brothers and
some intimate friends were among my audience, and their dear
hearts were inexpressibly gratified to see and hear me openly
and boldly espouse the temperance cause.

And probably here is the fitting place for me to give my
readers some idea of the sentiments I propounded in my lec-
tures during this the earlier period of my career as a public
speaker. The subjoined extracts will gratify my readers'
natural curiosity on this point, and will also afford them a fair
sample of my first " book," to which I have been alluding, into
which these extracts were incorporated.

Speaking of " moderate drinking," so called, I remarked, "In
the first place, no person ever becomes a drunkard of a sudden.
'1l3 first taste of liquor is generally repulsive, and the person

486

MODERATE DBINKEBS.

taking it almost involuntarily shrinks from it. But by degrees
the terrible appetite is acquired; and, when once fastened
upon its victim, it is almost impossible to shake it off. The
moderate drinker is the embryo drunkard. He may rejoice
in his strength, and boast that he can take it, or let it alone ;
and perhaps at that particular time he can : but the time will
come when the shackles will bind him more closel)^ and he
will see no escape. Oh, what a curse to the world are
these same moderate drinkers ! The youth, just starting in
life, sees them apparently successful, and boasting of their
ability to restrain their appetites, and says, ' Oh I I will drink,
and become a moderate drinker, and then I can enjoy the good-
things of this life without fear or reproach ; ' but, young man,
the thousands of wrecks that are strewn along the sea of life
are but typical of yourself. All started prosperously, and for a
while favoring breezes hied them to their destined port. This
moderate drinker in a short time went down beneath the
waters, and the waves of oblivion closed over him. This other
one, with shattered hulk and tattered sails, may yet float the
waters, ' but none so poor to do him reverence.' They are all
wrecks ! There is no such a thing as moderate drinking. It is
a misnomer. The spell it throws around its victims is only to
destroy. Show me a moderate drinker, and ask me to point
out his future. What are the chances ? Are they in favor of
long life, health, and prosperity? By no irieans! but rather
of the opposite, from bad to worse ; a ruined reputation, and
the loss of all that is good and holy. In the course of my
short life I have one case of many in view, which fully illus-
trates the truth of these remarks. A young man of noble
descent and flue abilities at an early age commenced sipping
his wine, and laughed at the idea that he could become a com-
mon drunkard. It was preposterous : liquor only inspired him,
and did him no harm. A few years passed on ; and, his father

GAY COMPANIONS.

487

meeting with reverses in business, he was thrown out upon the
world to earn his own livelihood ; and the habit acquired in
his affluence still clung to him in his poverty, without the
means of gratifying it. What was the consequence? He
took to stronger drink, and squandered his manhood ; and to-
day a simple gravestone marks the resting-place of one who
in a few short years had sowed the wind, and reaped the whirl-
wind. And yet he trusted in his own strength. Alas ! how
many thousands have done the same, and gone the same way !
In total abstinence alone is safety : there is no half-way ground
between temperance and intemperance. The one is altogether
beneficial, the other damnable. And let the young man, ere
he drinks his first glass, stop and ask, ' Where may this not
lead me?' The silent guardian is whispering in his ear,
' Refrain, refrain ! ' His life hangs trembling in the balance !
What will he do? Does he start on the flowery path, he is
lost in all human probability. Does he dash it down, he is
saved ; for temperance destroys none, its mission is to save."
In regard to " social " drinking, and drinking " friends," I
remarked, " The great danger to the youthful voyager over
life's troubled waters is gay companions. Let me repeat it
again, — gay companions. We are influenced more or less by
our surroundings, and like naturall}"^ attracts like. Imitation
is a great law of human nature. The child delights in imitat-
ing its parents, and children of an older growth delight in the
same. Therefore I say to the young men of this country, be
careful with whom you associate. He who handles filthy
matter will be himself defiled, and there is no escape from it.
By gay companions I mean those who set at naught the princi-
ples of temperance, and rejoice in being called their own mas-
ters ; who acknowledge no parental restraint, and scoff at the
* old woman ' or the ' old man,' and do just about what they
want to. Such young men are already far advanced on the

488

WIIJCII IS THE HKST WAY?

road to infamy. It needs no propliet to predict tlieir future.
Unless some merciful Providence shall interpose, their doom is
sealed. It is an old and trite saying, that ' Hell is paved with
good intentions ; ' and drunkards' graves are filled to-day by
countless thousands whose intentions were, doubtless, good."

Again, on another branch of my subject I recorded myself
as follows : —

" The great question of to-day appears to be. How shall the
liquor traffic be put down in the most effectual manner? The
law is ample enough in New England for its suppression ; but
so many loop-holes of escape are left open for the rum-seller,
that the infamous traffic continues almost without a hinderance.
In various parts of New England, a few cities and towns,
through the exertions of local authorities, have succeeded in
almost totally suppressing the sale of the ardent ; but, in the
majority of places, the law seems powerless for its suppression.
Just as long as there is money to be made in the infamous
business, the sale will continue, and designing men will devise
means to elude the strictest laws. And here the question
comes up concerning the best method of reforming the poor
inebriate from his intemperance. Moral suasion is powerful,
and many have been reclaimed through its soothing influence.
A kindly word spoken at the proper time has saved many
a poor, erring mortal ; and the prayers and labors of faithful
men and women have not be nj without avail. Yet moral
suasion, unaided, can only take exceptional cases. In prohibi-
tion alone, there is absolute safety. Could a law be enacted to
suppress the manufacture of the vile stuff, then there would be
no need of moral suasion, and prohibition would be an estab-
lished fact."

As regards alcohol itself, in one of my addresses I thus expa-
tiated : —

" Alcohol, in its physiological aspect, possesses three distinct

THE I'llYSlCAL DANGERS OF ALCOHOL.

480

properties : it has a nervine property, by which it excites the
nervous system inordinately, and exhihirates tlie brain ; it has a
stiniuhiting property, by which it excites the muscuhir system
and the action of the heart and blood-vessels ; it has a narcotic
property, the operation of which is to suspend tlie nervous
energies, and soothe and stupefy the subject. Says a well-
known writer, ' Now, any article possessing either one or but
two of these i)ropertie8, without the other, is a simple, harm-
less thing, compared with alcohol. It is only because alcohol
possesses this combination of properties by which it operates
on various organs, and aifects several functions in different
ways at one and th(> same time, that its potency is so dreadful,
and its influence so fascinating, when once the appetite is thor-
oughly depraved by its use. It excites and calms, it stimulates
and prostrates, it disturbs and soothes^ it energizes and exhausts,
it exhilarates and stupefies, simultaneously. Now, what rational
man would ever pretend in going through a long course of
fever, when his nerves were impaired, his brain was inflamed,
his blood fermenting, and his strength reduced, that he would
be able, through all the commotion and change of organism, to
govern his tastes, control his morbid cravings, and regulate his
words, thoughts, and actions? Yet these same persons will
accuse, blame, and curse the man who does not control his
appetite for alcohol, while his stomach is influenced, blood
vitiated, brain hardened, nerves exhausted, senses perverted,
and all his feelings changed, by the accursed stuff, with which
he has been poisoning himself to death piecemeal for years,
and which suddenly and all at once manifests its accumuloted
strength over him. A man does not come out of the flames
of alcohol, and heal himself, in a day. It is a struggle, and
conflict, and woe ; but at last, and finally, it is glorious vic-
tory.' Thus saith that ardent worker in the good cause,
Luther Benson, Esq., of Indiana, himself a man that has been

440

" STUMBLING-BLOCKS.

•

through the fiery furnace, and whose burning words have aroused
the people to a realizing sense of the horrors of intemperance.
And could the complete history of any reformed drunkard be
written, could his secret thoughts be exposed to the gaze of
the world, it would be seen that reformation came only after a
most desperate conflict, in which the foe stubbornly disputed
every point, and the ground gained one day was, perhaps, lost
the next. God knows that I myself have had a bitter experi-
ence. Moral suasion appeared to be powerless with me, and
the entreaties and strivings of my best friends only appeared
to make me worse. I was a spoiled child, that needed the rod
fully as miich as good advice ; and I attribute my release, as
before stated, only to some higher power."

On the subject of the stumbling-blocks in the way of the
proselytes to temperance, I once spoke as follows : —

" The obstacles placed in the path of the new proselyte to the
cause of temperance aro many, and those desirous of his fall
surround him on all sides. How bitterly have I experienced
this! There are always those resjdy to help a man on the
downward road, and Satan continually solicits his poor victim.
Stumbling-blocks are placed in the way ; and, for every one that
falls, a yell of triumph is raised by the fiends of darkness. I
am glad to see by the daily papers, that Indiana has passed a
strong license law. If liquor cannot, by any possible means,
be done away with, for Heaven's sake let us have the law as
stringent as possible ! By this law, saloon-keepers are required
to furnish a bond in two thousand dollars, that they will keep
orderly houses, and pay all fines and damages arising from
unlawful sales under the act. Licenses are denied to persons
in the habit of becoming intoxicated. For liberty to sell spirit*
U0U8 liquors, a fee of a hundred dollars is required ; and, to sell
wine and beer, fifty dollars is demanded. These fees are to be
paid to county treasurers, and to them incorporated towns and

BUM HAS NO GRATITUDE.

441

cities are privileged to impose an additional hundred dollars.
Liquor cannot be sold on Sundays, nor on holidays or election
days. Saloons are to be closed at eleven p.m., and forbidden
to be opened until five a.m. The sale of liquor to persons in
the habit of becoming intoxicated, after their friends have pro-
tested against it, is prohibited. Selling to minors is made a
penal offence, and the dispensation of adulterated liquor is for-
bidden. Saloon-keepers are made personally liable for injury
or damage perpetrated on account of the use of the liquor they
may sell. Offenders against the law are punished by fine or
imprisonment. This, as far as it goes, must have a salutary
effect; but let us hope that the time will come when licenses
to destroy the body as well as the soul vv^ill be among the things
of the past. I have never forgotten that I have been a rum-
seller and rum-drinker, and know from my own experience
how callous the hearts of such people become to human want
and suffering. As long as a man has money, how cordially he
is welcomed into the bar-room! how kindly the bar-tender
greets him with a pleasant smile on his face ! and hov,' alert he
is to hear every order, and attend to it ! Then it is, ' Good-
morning, Mr. So-and-So ! ' Fviends crowd around him, and
•congratulate him on bis fine appearance ; and the poor sinner
begins to think that he is, in truth, a person of some conse-
quence. But let adversity come, brought about, in all proba-
bility, by the very man that so flattered and cajoled him, and a
different experience awaits him. His money gone, he is told to
clear out of the place, and not show his face there again. Self-
respect and manly courage have left him ; and he meekly sub-
mits to insult and abuse, provided he can obtain the stimulancs
his stomach so ardently craves. Rum has no gratitude and no
respect. It destroys all that is pure and holy on the earth.
The brightest intellects have felt its power, and have come
down to the level of the brutes. A short time ago I visited a

442

WAR AND INTEMPERANCE.

neighboring city ; and, ascending to the summit of a lofty hilU
I found thereon a monument erected to the memory of those
who lost their lives in the nation's cause. Around its base the
names of the fallen heroes were recorded in the granite, and
the place was sacred to memory. And, as I read, I pondered
and thought. What if a monument could be raised to those
wlio have fallen under the curse of intemperance? What
stone would be large enough to contain the names? Well
might War recoil, and bow his head: well might he say, 'I
have slain my millions, but thou thy tens of millions ! ' The
poor victims of intemperance have passed to their doom ; for
them the tears of pity may fall, and prayers ascend to the.
throne of grace for the erring ones ; but nothing can call them
back again. Could any of those who have thus departed tliis-
life have been permitted to see their future course, and the
darkness and desolation that would gather around it, how they
would have shuddered with affright ! How they would have
dashed the cup to the earth, that was about to ingulf them,
and thanked God for their deliverance ! How they would
have hastened to retrace their steps, and warn their friends of
what the result might have been ! And yet we take no warn-
ing. We see the poor victims falling around us like the leaves,
in autumn, and their places are filled by those who court the
same doom. Is there no remedy to stay this evil? Must the
dark wave of intemperance continue to roll over the land?
Thank God, stout hearts are engaged in the noble lus^ of
reform, and the star of promise gladdens the earth! The
prayer of tlie righteous availeth much; and the seasons of
great revivals that spring up in various sections of our country
are the answers to the prayers of those good people who desire
the salvation of their fellow-men."

Again, I may here quote another passage from one of my
addresses : —

THERE IS A CHANCE FOR ALL.

44S

"I am well aware that the' subject of temperance has for
many years engaged the attention of enlightened, benevolent,
and wise minds, and that it would be presumption in me to
endeavor to state any new facts in regard to its havoc and
desolation. Yet I have suffered from the monster's fangs,
and can speak from experience. Those who have followed me
through this simple recital will see that I have not been spared^
and I desire to add my mite to the abundant testimony against
the tyrant Alcohol. I have been completely under his control ;
and if, by reading my miraculous deliverance from his power^
any poor, struggling, doubting soul should take courage, and
should be led to seek a higher life, I shall feel that my work
has not been in vain. And I would say to all, even the most
degraded and despairing drunkard, that- there is a chance for
reformation. Put forth all your own efforts, and trust in Him
who taketh away the sins of the world. Bow before the crosa
of Christ humbly and contritely, and he will hear your cry.
He will not forsake you. Turn to the good workers in the
temperance cause, and they will not pass you by unheeded.
Tell them your sorrows, your struggles, your resolves, your
failures, and you will find that they will stand by you ever
ready to keep you from falling. Connect yourself with some
temperance organization, and the new associations will be
beneficial. Avoid evil companions, and keep busy at some
useful occupation. 'Satan ever finds work for idle hands to
do,' and idleness and intemperance are boon companions. I
have been a wanderer over the face of the earth ; and were the
chance offered me to go back to my former life of degradation
and shame, or to die, how gladly I would embrace death ! I
would welcome it as the dearest friend that could come, for
intemperance is worse than death. The dead sleep well in the
quiet of the grave. For them the storms and tempests of
, the earth have no terrors ; but a worse than hell rages in the

■

444

TRUTHS.

breast of the drunkard, and there is no escape. In his despair
he calls on the mountains to fall on him, and hide him from
the wrath to come ; but death shuns him, and he lives, a curse
to himself and to the world."

These extracts I have given in this place, not from egotism,
but simply as specimens of my lectures and my writings at
this period of my career, and especially because they are, in
themselves, expressions more or less forcible of truths, —
truths which, as a temperance man, a temperance advocate,
and a sin -re Christian, I would seek to impress upon my
readers.

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CHAPTER XXXVI.

MY LECTUBE-TOUB THROUGH THE PINE-TREE STATE. — THE FIRST TEMPER-
ANCE CAMP-MEETING. — "A HAPPY THOUGHT" HAPPILY CARRIED OUT,

— PBOHriJITION IN THEORY AND PRACTICE. — HOW I CROSSED THE KEN-
NEBEC THROUGH THE ICE. — A SEVENTY-MILE SLEIGH-BIDE TO AUGUSTA.

— TWO EXCITING EPISODES.

Having delivered several lectures in the places immediately
adjacent to New York, with fair success, I took a wider flight,
and, having an opening offered me in Maine, eagerly accepted
it ; as I had always had a strong desire to visit the Pine-tree
State.

My first public appearance as a temperance lecturer in Maine
took place in Portland ; and on Monday evening, July 13, 1874»
I lectured at the Allen Mission, which was under the manage-
ment of Capt. Cyrus Sturdivant, the well-known temperance
reformer. This Allen Mission is a most excellent, as well as
energetic, institution, and has accomplished a grandly praise-
worthy end. It is composed of indefatigable members, who
never tire in the cause of morality, religion, and temperance ;
enthusiastic meetings are held every evening ; and kind hands
and loving hearts are ever willing, nay, unfeignedly anxious, to
attend to the wants of sufferers and sinners in general, and the
intemperate in particular. Many a mother's heart has been
gladdened by the work of this institution, and many a man and
woman has been by it reclaimed from a fate far worse than
death. Night after night the hall in which the Allen-mission
services are held is filled to repletion, nor are " the services "
confined to the " hall " alone. The conductors of this noble

44S

446

THE ALLEN MLSSION.

enterprise, like tlieir divine Master, do not wait to be sought :
they go out and search after the unfortunate and the erring.
The Allen-mission workers go about the streets, and bring the
wanderers in.

Nor do the Allen-mission workers merely pray and teach:
they clothe and feed. Recognizing the fact, which so many
well-meaning people ignore, that man and woman are composed
of flesh and blood, as well as of mind and spirit, they aim to
supply material as well as moral needs : they give food to the
hungry, and clothing to the naked, as well as administer moral
and religious instruction to the depraved and the dissipated.
Following the example of the ever blessed, because ever consid-
erate, Jesus in the wilderness, who fed the multitude before he
tauglit them, they attend to the absolutely needful wants of
the body before appealing to the mind and soul. Would that
in this respect they had more imitators.

Whenever possible, the Allen-mission members afford the
shelter of a respectable home to those who come within the
sphere of their influence ; and they furnish employment to
pay for the privileges of this home, thereby encouraging self-
respect, and stimulating industry.

Let me here add my mite of praise of him who then con-
tlucted these meetings, — Capt. Sturdivant. A true gentleman
in every sense of that word, he devotes his time and ability to
the object dearest to his heart, and goes about doing good, and
speaking good words to down-trodden men. God bless himl
Would there were more such lecturers, more such more ivorkera^
more such men.

It was about this time that a great stir was made in the New-
England States concerning a certain great " temperance " camp-
meeting that was to follow the usual Methodist (religious)
camp-meeting at Old-Orchard Beach. This "temperance"
camp-meeting idea was then a new thing. This was to be the

AXDROSCOGCIX KIVICR, XEAR P.EKLIX.

On tliu Ijiiu- oftV.o C.r.iii.I Triin'K K.iihiav.

Pnrtlainl l)i\ision, liraiul Trunk R.iilwiiy.

ox THE ANDROSCOGGIN RIVER, NEAR GORHAM, N. H.

IJRVANl' S I'DNU, UK.
I'urtland Division, t'.rand Trunl< Railway,

THE TEMPERANCE CAMP-MEETING.

447

first "temperance camp-meeting" on record. Like all new
things, its very novelty created an unwonted excitement. It
became the great topic of talk, thonglit, and newspaper com-
ment, throughout the State. It was to be under the direction,
■chiefly, of Francis Murphy, Esq., the eloquent temperance
lecturer, worker, and orator, himself a reformed rum-seller and
drunkard ; and, through the courtesy of Mr. Murphy, I, among
others, received an invitation to attend and address the meeting.

In regard to the meeting itself, a great diversity of opinion
prevailed. Some were sure it would be a failure : others were
equally sure it would prove a success, and these last were
correct. The hand of God guided tl'^ conductors of the enter-
prise, and all foreboding prophecies came to naught. An
immense concourse of people were on tlie ground all the time,
equalling in numbers those dL the preceding religious gather-
ing. It was a camp-meeting indeed, — an impressive spectacle.
•Sectarianism was unknown, and men and women of all denom-
inations met for worship and mutual good under the blue
canopy of heaven. All present seemed animated with but one
impulse ; all classes of society were represented ; rich and
poor were gathered together on common ground for a common
purpose. Representatives were pi-eseut from every temperance
society, probably, in the country, as well as from the women's
crusade. Temperance and religion walked hand in hand.
Happy men were to be found, drawing, perhaps for the first
time for. years, sober breaths, and enjoying an existence free
from the fever of debauch ; while happy children were to be
seen listening, for the first time perliaps, to Ihe glorious story
of the cross. A general awakening was the result.

That such meetings as this are productive of good, there can
be no question, drawing, as they do, all classes and grades of
society into one common union, and cementing more closely
the tie that binds man to his fellow-men.

448

TUE CAMP-MEETING SEASON.

In tho stately church, alas ! (the " fashionable " church, sup-
posed to be devoted to the worship of Him who had not where
to lay his head) tliere can be no etjuality. Fashion there sits in
queenly state : and the poor, ajul shabbily dressed, feel ashamed
to enter among such finery ; or, if they enter, it is into the gal-
lery, wliere, in some obscure nook, they look down in envy on
their more fortunate fellow-beings. But here in the camp-meet-
ing, full in the presence of the infinite God who made the
woods, the mountains, tho fields, the stars, and the sea, for all
alike, all are on the same equality of infinite nothingness. Here
the wind or the ocean, the hill or the valley, speak the universal
voice of nature, and remind us all that we are in the presence
of a God who heeds not our petty distinctions, and who
acknowledges only two classes, — those who love and serve
him, and those who love and serve him not.

Here we exclaim with the poet, " The groves were God's fi'"''t
temples : " here we repeat softly the beautiful verse, —

" This turf shall be my fragrant shrine ;
]\Iy temple, Lord, this arch of thine ;
My censer's breath the evening airs ;
And silent thoughts my only prayers."

I do not wonder at the popularity of the camp-meeting
season. I only wonder that the season is not longer, that
there are not more camp-meetings, and that they are not more
largely attended. They are among the most humanizing and
beneficent institutions known to the Christian world. They
are fully as Christianizing as the churches themselves. Christ
believed in camp-meetings.

The temperance camp-meeting of which I write, the first
temperance camp-meeting, was a great success. The crowds
were immense and enthusiastic, and the speakers were nu-
merous and eloquent. They seemed inspired by the occasion,
and spoke glowing Avords to convince and to convert. And

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GORIIAM, N., II. THE GATEWAY TO THE W'llITi: MOUNTAINS.

I'll th' I.iiM' I'f t' 'rnvl Tnml; I'.iihv.iv.

, that

; more

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They

Christ

16 first
crowds
re nu"
casion,
And

VILLAGE GKEEX AT GORHAM. X. IL, WHITE MOLXTAINS IX THE BACKGROUND.

itii the Line <>i the (iraiid Trunk Railway.

I ! i

UEVll. S Sl.lliK AND SIAKK. ^■Il.LAC,l;

l'..rtl,iii.l Pn; i..ik r.r.iiiil Trunk K.iihv.iv.

IIKRI.IN lAI.I.S, ON THK ANPROSCOOdlN HIVIU.

I'urtl.Mi.l Hiii'.i'iii, (^r.iiiil Trunk Kiilu.iy.

now A DRUNKEN ROUGH WAS SAVED.

449

the good results of r'.ll this excitement and en i' ,iasm were
manifest. Men wlio had come to curse remained to pray.
Men who had come to revile remained to . oix" t, and to call
to God to save them from the wrath to come. The Spirit
indeed moved upon the troubled waters.

One case came under my own direct observation, which
forcibly illustrates the effects produced upon evil-doers by the
good words uttered during this temperance camp-meeting. A
rough from Boston, an ex-pugilist and gambler, had strayed
within the camp-meeting grounds out of curiosity, and was
jeering and blaspheming at all he saw. To make his scorn of
*' temperance " the more marked, this man had filled a bottle
with whiskey, and held it in his hand, ostentatiously displaying
it, and occasionally "taking a pull" at its contents. Some
remonstrated with him, others reproved him, others again
threatened him Avith expulsion from the camp-meeting grounds;
but he only reviled the more, and drank the more. He seemed
utterly incorrigible. , ,

But, in one group he approached, a speaker was describing
the death-bed scene of a Christian, and contrasting it with the
last moments of a drunkard. The speaker was not very elo-
quent, but deeply in earnest; and his word-painted contrast
between the two death-bed scenes was very realistic. At any
rate, it so deeply affected the drunken rough, that moved by
some irresistible impulse, — inspired, who shall doubt, from
above, — he suddenly raised his bottle of wliiskey, — not to his
lips, but into the air, — and then flung it with all his might to
the ground. Then, rushing to 11 le speaker, he burst into tears,
flung his arms around his neck, and, finally recovering himself,
pledged himself solemnly, in the presence of God and his fel-
low-men, never again to touch a drop of liquor. And this was .
but one out of many instances that could be cited. Yes : this
temperance camp-meeting was a success, and there ought to be,

IBl

460

"A HAPPY, nOLY LIFE.''

yearly camp-meetings like this held in every State in the
Union.

It was a happy, holy life we led in those days. Rising early
from our healthful sleep, we would hie us to the beach, and
there, with the Almighty right before us, in his grandest work,
the ocean, would sing our songs of praise to Him who made the
sea, and us, and all things.

Then would follow an enjoyable meal, followed by entertain-
ing and improving conversation, followed in its turn by religious
and temperance services, and those followed by, perhaps, a re-
freshing bath among the breakers. Then came dinner, and a
stroll, and a talk, and more services of song and prajer ; more
speeches, full of wisdom, instruction, entertainment, consola-
tion ; then supper, and rest and repose, under the protection
of a loving God. Ah ! if all life were only one camp-meeting.
During the progress of this meeting I addressed the assem-
blage, and, under the propitious influences of the time and
scene, spoke, I believe, with unwonted fluency and power.
My speech was well received, and. thus I was enabled to con-
tribute my share to the general good.

From the carjip-meeting at Old-Orchard Beach I extended
my travels through the State of Maine, — a State forever mem-
orable in the annals of the history of the temperance cause, —
the State of Neal Dow, and emphatically of " Prohibition."

Undoubtedly, prohibition in Maine, like every other good
thing in every other part of the earth, has occasionally been
carried too far. Undoubtedly, like all other good things, the
theory of prohibition has not always been illustrated favorably
by its practice. Undoubtedly, there has been some " humbug "
and " cant " about it. Undoubtedly, there has been a good
deal of hypocrisy cloaked under it ; and the prohibitory laws
have been too often ingeniously and successfully evaded. To
confess all this is but to confess, that the author of the pro-

PROniniTION AND NEAL LOW

451

liibitory code was human, that its atlministrators were human,
«nd that the people among whom it took effect were very-
human. But conceding all this, granting nearly all that the
•opponents of prohibition can allege against either its theory or
its practice, its principles or its administration, the great fact
remains undenied and undeniable, that, on the whole, prohibi-
tion in Maine has worked well, and that it has done an amount
•of good that will only be fully known at the Judgment Day,
when ail secrets are laid bare, and every thing will be seen in
its true light.

Maine under prohibition has been infinitely better and
/happier than Maine would have been without prohibition, or
than other States are to-day without it. This is the one all-
important point, compared with which all minor points sink
into insignificance. Thousands of homes in Maine under pro-
hibition are peaceful and prosperous, which in Maine without
l)rohibition would have been wretched, if not utterly wrecked.
Tiiousands of men in Maine under prohibition are honest, in-
dustrious, sober, who in Maine without prohil)ition would have
•been dishonest, idle, and i' niperate. Thousands of women
in Maine under prohibition uk lia|>]iy wives and honored nioth-
-ers, who in Maine without prohibition a ould be the desp.iiring
wives of confirmed drunkards, or the disgraced mothers of
convicted felons.

This is quite enough to prove the utility of pmhibitiou, and
forever to immortalize the name of Neal Dow.

Of course, circumstances alter cases, and men differ in dif-
ferent localities. Prohibition is not possible at once 'i every
State, everywhere. This is a fact that the ovr- ilous ad-
vocate of temperance should always bear in mind. All moral
fruit, like material fruit, needs preparing for; and this prep-
aration takes, not only trouble, but time. Heaven could have
ordered it otherwise perhaps. The Infinite could so have

452

THE GRADUAL SYSTEM."

arranged this world, that crops would spring out of the ground
instantly, without sowing and ploughing and fertilizing, and
constant care, watchfulness, and work, on the part of the hus-
bandman. But it has not pleased the Almighty so to arrange
it. The scheme of the world has been based upon the gradual
system of development. The world was made gradually in
six days or periods, we are told in the Sacred Volume, — not
evolved instantly. And he who would hope to achieve lasting
good in the moral world must submit himself to this unfailing^
law : he must prepare for good ; he must lead up to it gradu-
ally. As with every thing else, so with prohibition. The tem-
perance worker, if wise, will not expect, will not attempt,,
to advocate immediate prohibition in all localities under all
circumstances. But he will sow the good seed, he will fight,
the good fight, he will pave the way, he will educate public
opinion gradually up to the desired point. Step by step he
will march to prohibition, — not leap to it at a single bound,
and, by so leaping, fall and fail.

I have always acted on this gradual system, and intend to-
do so. The Chinese have a proverb, " By time and patience
the mulberry-leaf becomes satin." The Spanish proverb says,
"All things come to him that waits." And Holy Scripture
assures us, that, "en due season " (not at once, but in the course
of time) " we shall reap if we faint not." It is to these assur-
ances that I look for, and confidently believe in («owie time, at
last), general prohibition. But to Neal Dow, more than to any
other one man, will always be duo the praise for the establish-
ing of prohibition in our midst, as " a fixed fact." And to
such men as Francis Murphy, and Dr. Henry A. Reynolds, the
leaders of the Red-ribbon movement, will ever be awarded
a high place in the history of temperance for their support of
the good work.

I met with much encouragement as a temperance lecturer

SIGNING THE PLEDGE.

453

in Maine. It was a refreshing season for me : I trust I accom-
plished some good for others. I know that I derived much
moral benefit myself. I felt stronger in and for the good work
to which I had pledged myself. I felt now that I stood on
firm ground, — firm as the grace of God. And the phantom
fear of again falling — again wallowing in the mire — no
longer haunted me. In union there is strength, and " the
prayer of the rightedus man availeth much." The union of
heart and soul with the temperance men of Maine, the fer-
vent prayers in which I had joined with them, had imparted
new zeal to me; and I started forth anew. I now made up
my mind to do something I had not yet done ; i.e., to procure
signers to the pledge during my lectures. ,

I know that this signing the pledge has been adversely com-
mented upon by many ; that a deal of fine-spun argument has
been directed against it. I am aware that it has been said,
that a man true to himself, a true man, needs no mere pledge,
requires no signature on paper, to preserve his integrity, to
keep the mastery over his own appetites. I am fully aware
that it has often been stated, that, if a man is morally or phys-
ically weak, no amount of paper signed can make or keep him
strong. But I also know, by practical experience, which is worth
all the mere theory in the world, that the binding form of a
solemn pledge, a promise taken under the highest sanctions, has
proved an invaluable safeguard to many a weaker vessel in the
•dark hour of temptation. And while, alas ! it is true that many
a man has violated his pledge, and gone to perdition, it is also,
God be praised! true, that the great majority of those who have
once solemnly signed a pledge have kept their promise. And
certainly, the pledge or pi'omise in itself is a good, a blessed
thing. So, I have for years been strongly in favor of signing
the pledge, and have found it to work, on the whole, admir-
ably.

464

" LET THE SLAyJ)ERS GO."

I visited all the principal towns, and even many of the vil-
lages, of Maine, with encouraging results. At some places 1
obtained over a hundred signatures to the temperance pledge ;
in one plaCe, over a hundred and fifty. And I can say, with-
out egotism or exaggeration, that, as a rule, I was very well
received, — cordially welcomed, — and generally invited to
revisit and relecture.

Among the places I visited were Bangor, Augusta, Lewiston»
Bath, Biddeford, Saco, etc. In the main I had good cause to
be well pleased with Maine. But there is a reverse to every
medal, a dark side to every thing but sunlight ; and there are-
spots on even the sun. So I must confess that there were
some unflattering, and, happily, utterly unfounded, statements,
bruited abroad against me during my career in the Pine-tree-
State. I mention this fact with natural reluctance ; but as I
started out, in this narrative of my life, to tell " the truth, the-
whole truth, and nothing but the truth," I shall continue o do
80. Shakspeare has phrased it, that, " Be thou as pure as ice, as.
chaste as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny." And though,,
literally speaking, I was not as pure as the former high-priced
article, nor as beautiful and chaste as the latter, still the slan-
ders disseminated by a few against me were simply slanders^
nothing less, nothing more. It was said that I had backslided,.
had fallen, had taken once more to drinking. But I am glad
and proud and thankful to say, that I had done nothing of
the kind ; had not thought of doing it ; had not even wished
to do it ; would not have done it for the world. So let tho
slanders go, and the slanderers, into oblivion. They are past»
" Let the dead past bury its dead." With a clear conscience I
contin:3d my work of reformation, — reformed myself, endeav-
oring to reform others.

I come now to a rather exciting episode in my career as a
temperance lecturer. Sunday, Jan. 10, in the afternoon, I had

A WINTER SCENE.

455

an engagement in Woolwicli, opposite the city of Batli, in the
Montsweag Meeting-house; and that same evening I had ar-
ranged to speak in the Winter-street Cliurch at Bath. The
day was intensely cold, — a day that made one thhik of Dr.
Elisha Kent Kane, Sir John Franklin, Dr. Hayes, and other arc-
tic heroes and martyrs ; a day when the familiar saying, " cold
as charity," carried with it an extra si[;-:"'icance; a day when
all nature seemed frozen into an eternal sleep. The wind
whistled over the white ground ; and the Kennebec River,
which divides Woolwich from Bath, and over which I would
be compelled to cross to keep my engagement at the latter
place, was wide, and full of floating ice. So that when, having
lectured at the Montsweag Meeting-house, Woolwich, I came
to the river-bank, about four o'clock, it seemed utterly impossi-
ble to make the passage over to Bath.

What was to be done? But there was no use asking that
question. I knew what was to be done well enough. I must
get across that river at all hazards. I must keep my engage-
ment. I must advocate temperance, and illustrate the sincerity
of ray advocacy by undergoing whatever trouble, or even dan-
ger, lay in the way, and could not be avoided.

I was told that the river, a mile or two above Woolwich, was
frozen across, apparently in one solid field of ice, stretcliing from
bank to bank. Assuming the correctness of this statement, I
tried to procure a horse and sleigh to carry me across. But
I found, at first, nobody who would entertain the proposition.
I was assured that the appearance of the river was deceptive;
that the field of ice did not extend unbroken more than half
the width of the river, the other half being full of floating ice,
utterly impassable for sleighs. I was also assured, tliat, even
where the river appeared to be frozen solidly, the ice was thin,
liable to crack at any moment, and certainly unable to bear the
weight of a sleigh with safety. As I had offered a pretty large

466

SLEIGH, OR JiOATt

sum of money for the opportunity of sleighing across the river
if possible, and as, by declining to gratify this id#a of mine, the
parties lost the money, I have no doubt now that what they
stated was correct.

But I was not then ready to be convinced of the impractica-
bility of my scheme. I went round, insisting upon- its being
tried. And at last I found one man with a horse and sleigh,
who, "for an equivalent," consented to make the attempt to
take me over.

The preliminary arrangements being made, the sleigh started
off across the Kennebec. For a while all went smoothly. The
ice was firm ; and I began to think, with a certain degree of
pride and joy, that the danger of this river sleigh-travel had
been exaggerated. But soon I came to the end of my self-
congratulation and my expedition together, for the ice grew
weaker and weaker ; and, although we proceeded very slowly
and cautiously, we were compelled to turn back.

But I did not yet give up the ship, or, rather, the sleigh. I
heard that the ice was thicker and more extended some two
miles farther down, and I insisted upon testing the accuracy
of this statement. I found it, to a certain extent, correct. The
ice was both " thicker and more extended ; " but, alas ! in cross-
ing a river in a sleigh, a miss of a thousand feet is as good
or bad as the miss of a mile. And, for the second time, the
sleighing-party turned back.

I now felt forced to abandon the sleighing project altogether,
but there still was one hope left. The very condition of affairs
on the river which rendered it impossible to cross it in a, vehicle
or sleigh, rendered it barely possible to cross it in a vessel, — a
boat.

I suggested this idea to some boatmen along the river, but
it was not hailed with enthusiasm. In fact, the majority of
boatmen scouted it altogether, as being as visionary and imprac-

CSOSSING THE KENNEBEC.

457

ticable as the sleighing idea. But I talked, expostulated, ar-
gued, and, abofe all, promised, — promised a round sum to any
man who would row me across to Bath. And at last I found
ray man. Moved by my offer of twenty-five dollars, cash down,
to be handed to them the moment I reached the Bath shore,
two boatmen volunteered to carry me over.

I thought now, with triumph, that I had surmounted my
-difficulties. On the contrjiry, they had just commenced. It
took over two hours of wearisome work, and still more weary-
ing delay, to cut the ice to get the boat out of the dock. And
by this time it was dark ; and I was nearly faint, as well as
half-frozen. If ever there was a seeming and plausible excuse
for resort to alcohol as a stimulant, it was now and here. I
was worn out, mind and body. I was suffering keenly from
the cold. I felt at times depressed, even amid my exultation,
at my prospect of success in my present undertaking. Alcohol
would certainly have produced an immediate, and, perhaps,
pleasant stimulation. But, even under these circumstances,
total abstinence was best. For alcohol's temporary stimulation
would have been followed by the inevitable re-action, and would
have ultimately increased, not lessened, my depression. And
the fleeting strength derived from alcohol would have been
followed by an even greater proportionate weakening of th6
muscular forces. And I would have found myself more fa-
tigued than benefited. No : even in a ph3'sical, a muscular point
of view, temperance pays. And I would as soon have thought
of throwing myself into the ice-cold waters, as to have thrown
into myself the fiery draughts of alcoholic poison.

Finally, at dark, we three — the two boatmen and myself —
sttirted in a boat across the mighty and icy Kennebec.

Never shall I forget that trip across the frozen river. I
could do nothing but wait — while the two bojitmen worked —
v^nd hope, and shiver with tlie cold.

458

TALKING roll Liri:.

I did a dual of lljinking in tlu; boat. 1 tliouglit of Napo-
leon's terrific retreat from Moscow. I thoiiglit of all tha
stories I had ever read or heard of men perishing from cold.

And then I began to think liow sweet it would be just to fall
asleej) a while, and yield to the almost delicious numbness and
sense of laziness that now commenced to steal over me.

And then, with a start, I awoke to tlie reality of my position.
I remembered how, in the stories I had been thinking of, the
first sign and the most fatal of the freezing process was the
tendency it caused to sleep. I felt, that, if I fell a sleep in that
boat, I would never come out of it (probably) alive. I must
keep myself awake ; but how ? I could not move about in that
little boat. 1 had to sit stock-still. I could not read. It was
pitch dark. Only one thing suggested itself to me, — I could
talk. And talk I did, — talked for my life. I calculated that
no man could talk intelligently and consciously and sleep-
soundly at the same time ; so I talked for dear life, — talked
faster and longer than even the average woman "with a
mission."

I talked about every thing I could think of, — every thing
in the heavens above, in the earth beneath, or the waters
under the earth ; talked, although my companions had no time
to listen; talked, although the two boatmen had no inclination
to answer. I talked, talked, talked, for the three long — oh
how long and dreary and cold — hours which it took to row
one mile amid the ice in the Kennebec. I talked, talked,
talked, till we were in tlie middle of the river, or a little
beyond the middle, nearing Bath. I heard the faint sound of
a bell, — a church-bell, — the bell of the church at Bath, where
I was announced that evening to lecture. That bell put new
life into me. Perhaps I may even go so far as to affirm that
that bell saved my life.

For just then I had talked myself out. My tongue was-

' I heard the faint sound of a licll, — a clinn'h-l)(!ll " [(>. 4')S].

A XEW WAY OF CONQUERING DISEASE.

469

growing tired. I was getting sleep}' once more, but the blessed
sound of that blessed bell acted on my spirit like a cliarm. It
seemed to say in its silvery fones, "Cheer up, brother: the good
and true are expecting you to-night. They are poniing from
their homes to hear you. Their prayers are with you ; so cheer
up, brother, cheer and hurry up. '

By almost superhuman efforts we succeeded in reaching the
Bath side, and joyously I leaped out of the boat upon the land.
But, in the very midst of my triumph, exhausted nature asserted
its supremacy ; and I fainted. But, recovering myself, I darted
in the direction of the church, and the church-bell that was
then ringing out its last peal. I fell twice or thrice on the way ;
but I reached the church at last, and made my way — I cannot,
to this day, remember exactly how — to the chancel, from which
place I addressed my large and expectant audience. The
spacious church was crowded, and I spoke with vigor. How I
contrived to speak, I know not. I was utterly exhausted, physi-
cally and mentally. But the excitement of the moment sus-
tained me, and, may I not humbly and reverentially add, the
grace of God.

I felt like one in a trance. Mechanically I submitted to the
kind offices of my friends, as they removed my wraps, overcoat,
muffler, etc., from me. Mechanically I leaned upon their arms,
as they led me to my place as speaker. But the moment I saw
my audience, all weakness vanished ; and I really think, that in
all my life I never spoke better than I did that night.

A physician assured me afterwards, that it was the excite-
ment of my speech at that time that saved me from falling a
victim to a severe spell of sickness. Had I yielded to my feel-
ings and physical condition, I would have been taken seriously
ill ; but as I conquered obstacles, and conquered myself, so also
I conquered disease.

" The Bath Times," a daily paper printed in that city, had

460

IN MEMOlilAM. — MOSES OWWN.

the following account of this incident from the pen of a local
poet. I introduce it into these pages, not on account of any
great merit in the piece itself, but in kindly remembrance of its
author, Moses Owen, who was a man of talent when he did
himself justice, but who seldom did justice to himself, or any-
body else, simply because of his unfortunate appetite for liquor.
At the time of this writing he was interested in the temperance
movement, then the sensation of the time ; but, when t^he
novelty wore off, he, like too many, fell from grace, and returned
to his old habits of dissipation. Time and time again was he
warned by kind, wise friends against his unfortunate propen-
sity, but all in vain : like hundreds of others he was perfectly
certain that no harm could ever happen to Am, — as if nature
were likely to alter its laws for liis exclusive behalf. The old,
old story was repeated in his case, — the very old, old story.
He drank harder as the ynars rolled by, lost character, and
peace, and money b}' drink, and finally became the victim of
delirium tremens, and died in an insane-asylum. And yet
there never was a warmer-hearted man than Moses Owen.

But to the poem itself. It was thus introduced by "The
Bath Times:" —

The following poem was written on the occasion of Mr. Thomas
N. Dontney. tlie eloquent temperance lecturer of Boston, crossing
tlie Kennel)cc from Woolwich to Bath on the evening of Jan. 10.
The flay was intensely cold. The drifting ice would seem to forbid
ft passage : but, all imdauntcd, Mr. Doutney resolved to cross ; and,
after u perilous passage, he was landed on thq Bath side, in season to
address his friends, and a large congregation, in the house of God.
feuch pei-severance can hut meet with success.

DEDICATED TO THOMAS N. DOUTNEY.

HY MOSK8 OWRX.

The tide runs swift, but he does not reck :
He must cross to-night the Kennebec,

A LITTLE "POME.'*

461

Though the cruel ice with crash and roar
Would seem to wani him from the shore.
'Tis duty calls : and he knows full well
The meaning of the deep-toued bell ;
It calls men to llie house of prayer,
And he had promised to meet them there, —
Had promised to meet them, to tell tlieni all
Of the drunkard's curse and the drunkard's fall.
And on he passed o'er the river broad,
To meet his friends in the house of God.
But the wind blew cold, and the ice J^^'ayed,
And the boatmen faltered as if afraid ;
But all undaunted his voice was heard, —
" I've promised to meet them: I'll keep my word 1 **
Within the church on the other shore
All eyes were turned to the opening door ;
, And see, he comes ! he has all defied ;

He has safely crossed o'er the angry tide ;
And he speaks good words of heavenly cheer.
And tells them that salvation's near :
Plucked from the burning, he can stand
To meet his friends with outstretched hand.
Go on, brave worker ! men shall yield ;
'Tis not in vain you have appealed :
With such as you intemperance dire
. Must fade away, and soon expire.

Another episode of my experience in Maine is worth record-
ing. During the hist week of the session of the Mairo Legis-
lature, on Sunday evening, Fob. 21, I wns at Bucksport, soni©
twenty miles east of Bangor, where I lectured with much
success, receiving one hundred and forty-three signatures to
the pledge. The next night, Monday, Feb. 22, I had aa
engagement to speak in the hall of the House of Representa-
tives at Augusta. Monday morning came ; and I took the six-
o'clock train for Bangor, which was, as per schedule, to arrive
there in season to connect with the regular train on the Maine

462

ON TO AUGUSTA.

Central. But, owing to the icy condition of the track, the
train on which 1 was travelling was so delayed, that the regu-
lar train on the Maine Central did not wait for it, but had been
gone nearly an hour wJien our train arrived in Bangor.

Here was a situation. Here was a predicament indeed. No
more through-trains that day, and Augusta seventy miles away!

Of course, the idea of fulfilling my engagement for that night
must be abandoned, you say. Certainly 7iot, nothing of the sort.
I made up my mind that I would deliver that lecture of mine
in Augusta that night if it was in the power of mortal man to
accomplish the undertaking. This arrangement to lecture at
Augusta, the capital city of the great State of Maine, was an
important epoch in my career as a public speaker ; it marked
my gradual progress upward and onward as a temperance lec-
turer; it offered me an opportunity to make myself and my
cause more prominent than any other opportunity I had yet
enjoyed ; and I determined that circumstances, mere matters of
transit and detail, should not deprive me of my golden provi-
dential opportunity. ' ■

I could not reach Augusta that night by the cars, and, of
course, I could not walk there ; but it was barely possible that I
could reach there during the evening by sleighing. It was now
nine o'clock in the morning ; and, if I could make my arrange-
ments satisfactorily, I could read) Augusta from Bangov in, say,
from ten to twelve hours if all worked well, — if the horses and
tlie sleigh held out, and the driver did not fail me, and if I did
not freeze on the way. It was bitter cold, — ono of the very
coldest days of a remarkably cold season, — and windy, and
altogether disagree Me, even dangerous ♦ ^ !l.jse too long ex-
posed to the weather. But it mattered not. I was in such a
state of mind as to be rendered almost i'.idependont of that
mightiest of mundane influences, — the veather; and I set to
work to prepare for my sleigh-ride to Augusta.

A HLEIGU-RIDK KXTRAOHDINART.

463

I was on friendly terms with tlie proprietress of one of the
leading hostelries of Bangor, Mrs. T. A. PoAvers, afterwards Mrs.
Asa B. Huteliinson ; and through tlie kind offices of herself and
her son, Mr. Ashman Powers, I was able to procure a sleigh
on reasonable terras: and at precisely ten o'clock on Monday
morning I left Louder Block, Hammond Street, in a well-
appointed sleigh, accompanied by Mr. Ashman Powers.

Behind our sturdy and tolerably swift team we rode some
twenty-five miles to Newport, where we changed horses.
Then, having partaken hurriedly of a strengthening dinner, we
dashed on to Clinton. At the different places at which we
stopped for a few moments to rest our horses, I would tele-
graph on to the next town for fresh animals. I also, as it ap-
proached nightfall, sent on telegrams to the sergeant-at-arms at
the House of lieprf^sentatives, Augusta, keeping him informed
of our progress.

But in some places our progress was stayed altogether : twice
or thrice the snow-drifts were so formidable, that, under ordi-
nary circumstances, any man would have been justified in turn-
ing back. But I never even so much as thought of that. On
through the ice and snow and wind and growing darkness I
made my weary way. If the snow was impassable in one spot,
I made a detour around that spot, and found or made a passage
elsewhere.

Several times the sleigh capsized, and I was thrown violently
into a snow-bank. But, righting the sleigh with difficulty,
we resumed our way. And here I must say a good word for
our horses, or, towards the last stages of our journey, our
single horse. The intelligent animal appeared to appreciate
the situation, and behaved accordingly, as if fully aware that
perhaps our very lives depended on him in this emergency.
He would, in the case of an upset, remain stock-still in the
freezing cold and the blinding snow until the vehicle was

mft

464 CONQUERING COLD, DARKNESS, AND DISTANCE.

righted, and would then resume his journey. As night drew"
near, and Augusta nearer, the cold increased ; and our risks-
grew in proportion to the darkness. Amid the uniform black-
ness of the night, and the uniform whiteness of the snow, we
stood in constant danger of that most terrible thing, in our
position, losing our way. The drifts nearly blinded us ; but,,
trusting to God and our horse, we plunged on.

Our trust was not in vain. After a long and weary ride of
nearly eleven hours, frozen almost to the bone, we saw the
lights of Augusta gleaming in the distance, with a radiance
far brighter to us than that of all the stars in heaven. For*
"the cold light of the stars" is more divine than human; but
the lights of Augusta were full of suggestions of warmth and
of home, of friends waiting to welcome us, of the full tide of
humanity, of the joys of life. And we saw them, and thanked
God. And, dpshing along with all the vigor that our own
energy and encouragement could impart to our faithful steed,
we at last reached our destination, having conquered cold,,
darkness, and distance in the cause of temperance.

The very first man I met, on arriving at the State House,
was an ex-bartender of mine, who had been in my employ at
Boston. He recognized me, and addressed me at once ; but I
saw him not just then. I was so blinded with the snow, so-
numb with the cold, thet I could not distinctly distinguish any
thing. I made my way into the hall, which was packed, liter-
ally packed, with an excited audience, expecting my arrival.
It was now about twenty minutes of nine : and the audience
had been assembled since about half-past seven, nearly two-
hours ; being kept together by the interest afforded them by
the occasional telegrams from me, read to them from the
platform.

My appearance among them was hailed by a shout of wel-
come ; and I advanced to the platform, almost like a conqueror

•■.My iippcarnnco iunoiit; tlii'iii was liailcil l)v ii -ilioiil of wclcdiiic" [|> 4()4].

LECTURING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

465

receiving an oyation. And yet, in the midst of my triumph,
I was nearly blind, — snow-blind, — and almost faint from
exposure. I felt like any being in the world rather than a
conqueror.

I began my lecture at precisely fifteen minutes before nine,
and for a while said little worth the saying; for, to tell the
truth, I did not yet know myself what I was saying. I had
not yet recovered from the mingled excitement and exhaustion
of my memorable sleigh-ride. I could not see or realize my
audience, though there it stretched before me. All was dim
and blurred before my eyes, accustomed for the last few hours
only to straining through the snow. But at last my nerves
and eyes grew stronger, my body and heart grew stronger, my
soul and voice grew stronger. I realized my position, address-
ing the intelligence, morality, and respectability of Augusta,
and spoke with more than my wonted energy and effect. I
felt that I was affecting my audience because I began to affect
myself. I warmed with my subject, I rose with my theme, and,
ere I finished, had really, to a degree, deserved the applause
with which my address was greeted.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE women's cnuSADE. — ITS EFFECTS IN BANGOR, ME., AND ELSE-
WHEIIE. — TUB OKIGIN AND PliOORESS OF TUE GOOD WORK. — SCENES
AND INCIDENTS. — THE CAREER OF TUE CRUSADERS IN CINCINNATI,
CHICAGO, AND NEW YORK.

During the memorable and eventful visit to Maine, of which
I am now writing, a remarkable phase of the temperance move-
anent, known as " The Women's Crusade," was in progress at
iBangor. The noble band who formed the women crusaders
Avere unceasing in their efforts to reclaim the downfallen. And
they were wiser than most reformers: recognizing the close
connection between the body and the mind, the material and
the moral part, of man, they not only endeavored to reach
the heart of the poor inebriate by prayer and exhortation,
but, if he was hungry, they fed him; if he was ragged, they
clothed liim ; if he was in want, they aided him to the utmost
of their abilities. They acted on the almost infallible rule,
*' that the road to the soul lies through the stomach." Fine
words are all well enough, but kind deeds are finer : destitu-
tion and want need more than eloquence. Right nobly did
the philanthropic and truly Christian ladies of Bangor do
their part. I doubt if any city in the country did a nobler
work. God bless them for it !

The officers of the Bangor Women's' Temperance Crusade
were Mrs. M. Crossman, president, assisted by the leading
ladies of Bangor, among whom were Mrs. }i. E. Prentice, a
lady of large wealth and influence, and others whose whole

THE "PRAYING HAND.'

467

hearts were in the work. Committees were appointed to visit
juils, etc. ; and the station-house was visited every morning,
und coffee and bread furnished the inmates. The sick and
l)oor were visited by them at their homes ; and many a poor
heart has felt, that tliough angel visits come few and far
between, yet, in good truth, angels at last had ministered to
them. The families of men reforming were not neglected ;
and, when possible, the men themselves were procured employ-
ment, and in man}' cases have now become useful and honor-
able members of society. And this was the " praying band "
upon which so many reproaches and cruel words were cast.
This was a sample of that noble institution, that, starting in
the Far West, extended its influence to the shores of the At-
lantic, founded on the principles of love and humanity, and
against which the rum power, and in many cases the rum-sel-
lers' victims, directed the venom of their spite. " Why don't
they stay at home, and attend to their own household duties ? "
" Why don't they devote more time to the reformation of their
own families ? " "A pretty pack of women to be gadding the
streets, and singing psalm-tunes in low groggeries I " " If I had
a wife like that, I would get rid of her mighty quick," — and
all such expressions as these were heard from the enemies of
the movement, calculated to appall the stoutest hearts, and
dampen the ardor of the most enthusiastic. But they did
not do so. Those engaged in the good work knew no such
word as " fail." Though reviled, they pressed on, and by kind
acts sought to alleviate human misery. And by many a bed-
side have they knelt, and cheered the pathway of some poor
sufferer to the grave, and inspired in him a blessed hope of
a life beyond the tomb. Many a one with exulting voice can
say to-day, " To the grace of God, and the noble band of Tem-
perance Crusade women, I owe my all." And their work is
not yet ended. The little seed dropped into the earth shall

468

A TRinUTE TO WOMEN.

spring up with abundant blossom, and the ftiiit tliereof shal)
gladden the nations. In the annals of the world, no nobler
exhibition of moral and physical courage was perhaps ever ex-
hibited. The warriors of old went forth to conquer by the
fire and sword; and their path was marked by ruin, deso~
lation, and the bones of their victims. Aggrandizement and
power were their only object, and widows and orphans cursed
the day that severed them from all they held dear. But these,
these the pure and noble women of the land, went forth on a
mission of love, to build up, and not cast down ; to alleviate
suffering, and make man approach nearer to what man should
be. In a quiet, unassuming way, they approached the liaunts
of vice and woe ; and sunshine seemed to gild the lowest
places: and theirs shall be the reward "Write me as one who
loves his fellow-men." What grander mission can be under-
taken on this earth? What more sublime thought can enter
into the conception of the race ? And right worthily did this
noble band prove that their object was to relieve and succor.
Not only through time, but through eternity, shall their works
be manifest; and children's children shall rise up, and call
them blessed. Could a volume be written of their noble deeds,
of their self-sacrifices, of their devotion to the cause, the most
obdurate unbeliever and opposer of the work would be com-
pelled to bow in reverence, and exclaim, " Lord, I believe :
help thou my unbelief I " It is a beautiful thought to know
that love and pity still have an abiding-place in this earth;
that ministering angels still walk about visiting earth's poor
down-hearted ; and it seems to me to be a type of the great To
Be, where "the stream with gentle flow supplies the city of our
God." All honor, then, to this noble organization I Long
may it continue !

But perhaps, in addition to this general tribute to the
women's temperance work, the reader may desire some more

TUE OniGIN OF THE WOMEN'S CRUSADE.

469

definite and detailed information regarding its history. In
tliis case I can gratify to some extent his natural and com-
mendable desire.

The credit of projecting the plan of " The Woman's Crusade "
[says that excellent work, " The Temperance Reform and its Great
Reformers," which should be in the hands and in the lu>:ids of all
those interested in temperance work] has been given to Dr. I)io
(Diocletian) Lewis of Boston, who in his father's home experienced
the miseries which intemperance brings on the family. His fatiier
was a drunkard ; but his mother was a prayerful woman, whose trials
in bringing up her family, and suffering the abuses of her husband,
were almost too much for her endurance.

Many a time she went up to the ganet to pray ; and the children
would hear her crying out in agony of spirit, "How long, O Lord,
how lon<; ! how long!" When she came down, the children would
notice that her eyes were red with weeping, but that her face was
shining with light from the other world.

Under such influences as these, it is not strange that the doctor,
who had become famous for his system of hygienic training, should
carry the ideas of love and hope along the higher plane, nnd seek for
the salvation of men and women from the disease and death of drunk-
enness, which in his Iwyhood had been such a horror. He learned to
pray of his mother, and grew up in a high estimate of the power and
value of praj'er.

These views he set forth in puMic lectures in various parts of the
West, organized temperance bands, draughted and presented appeals
to the whiskey-sellers, — a method somewhat after the fashion of
Gen. Putnam himself, facing the wolf in his own den.

As the result of the first week's work along this line in the town of
Dixon, II!., thirty-nine dram-shops were closed ; and for a time it was
declared no liquor was sold in the town. At Battle Creek, Mich., the
same plan was tried shortly after, with similar excellent success.
The next places which the doctor visited were Hillslwrough and
Washington court-bouses in Ohio, where he gave two evenings to the

470

"DO YOU LIKE TO SEEf"

discussion of wotneD's prayer-moetings in saloons, at the close of
wiiicb tlie women present resulved to carry out Ills plan.

" Why did the women choose such a strange method of carrying
out this reform?" asked one, wlio was amazed to see a company of
women l^necliug at prayer in front of a saloon.

" They did not choose it," was the reply of one of them : "it was
the work of God marked out for us, and we simply did it accoixling
to orders." • ^

" Do you like to see your wife singing psalms in a saloon? " asked
a critic of the temperance movement, of a judge whose wife was one
of the most active and influential of the crusaders.

"No, my friend," he replied, "I cannot say I do: but I would
rather see my wife singing hymns in such a place, than to see my son
there singing bacchanalian songs ; and I have seen that."

"But," continued the questioner, "do you like to see your wife
kneeling on the dirty sidewalk, in front of a rum-mill, saying her
prayers?"

" No, I cannot say that I like to see it : neither do I like to see my
son lying in the gutter from the effects of the stuff which he bought
at the rum-mill, and I have seen that.'!

" Well, but, judge, do you like to see your wife marching along in
a procession, carrying a banner, and making a fuss along the public
streets?"

" No," said the judge, "I cannot say I like it: neither do I like
to see my son marching in a procession of criminals on the way to
prison, with chains about his hands ; and I have seen that."

This bona-fide conversation, as given by the evangelist. Major
Cole, who is himself a reformed man, shows how great is the sym-
pathy which this crusade awakened in the minds of the best people of
the crusade State : for rum does not seek its victims among the lowly
and ignorant only ; but, like the angel of death, the rum-fiend " loves
a shining mark."

The following sketch of the crusade in Xenia, O., is taken from
** Harper's Weekly," which gave the most admirable illustrations of
the movement, both by pen and pencil : —

34' I

'Till' pniyor contliiiK'd, ami sKiliil Mri. Ivliin ami ilu; Italiy " [p- 471].

INVADING A SALOON.

471

Observing two ladies entering a eliurth (Tniteil I*re8l);)'terian, I
believe), I followed them, and found myself in tln' presence of about
one thousand persons, assembled for prayer, and to discuss the sub-
ject of intemperance. The pastore of the several Protestant churches
were there with their people ; and a feeling of humble dependence
upon Gotl, and a deep Christian earnestness in the work before them,
seemed to prevail in the heart of every one present. After the atl-
journment of the general meeting, the ladies were called together by
Mre. Col. L<jw, president of the Ladies' Temperance Association,
who, after a few remarks, a ked, " Who will volunteer to lead a vis-
iting party to Klein's saloon? "

After a moment's pause a middle-aged lady signified her willing-
ness to do so. She gathered al)out her some eight or ten others, and
they started off in double file to beard Mr. Klein in his dei ; and I
went with them.

At the door of Mr. Klein's confectionery and toy store, without a
moment's hesitation, they filed lx)ldly in, and occupied the whole
space between the countere, which ran along three sides of the room.

On the approach of the ladies, the family Ixsat a hasty retreat, and
barricaded themselves in a very mysterious back-room, from which
issued a very strong odor of highly flavored XXX whiskey, and the
cries of a baby with very strong lungs.

When the ladies began to sing, " Shall we gather at the river?"
the ba])y began a loud and dirscordant solo. The effect w."s not at all
pleasing. At the conclusion of the hymn, one of the la<lies began a
most beautiful and touching prayer. Pso sooner had she coninicnced,
however, than Mrs. Klein, no doubt feeling that her pn iiiisi's had
been unlawfully invaded, shot out of the back-room in fiery indigna-
tion, her bare arms revolving like the sails of a wind-null, her Imir on
end, and began to pour forth such a volley of abuse upon the ladies,
that it seemed as though she carried a mitrailleuse in her mouth.

The prayer continued, and so did Mrs. Klein and the baby.

♦' O Lord ! we come not in our own strength."

•* Shust kit out of niein shop, every one of yod : yc're a set of
hypocrites i das is zo."

< -if-
1

472

"CONVINCING" A MAN AGAINST HIS WILL.

" We vfonVi ask thee to bless this family : enlighten their under-
standing, th.'tt they may be enabled to see the wrong of continuing
tins unholy trafflc."

"I do?i't vant your brayors. Ef I wants to bray, I go to mein
own shurch to bray : I don't pelieve in such dings. Oh, yes ! Oh,
yes ! de Lord pless this family ! Well, dis family kin git along
mitout sich brayers : the Lord don't hear dem."

"vShe will not hear our words ; but thou, O God ! will cause them
to ent^H" her heart as arrows of conviction."

" Yc're a set of street- walkers. Oh, I knows dis ting shust as
well as not ! it he's like the epysootic : it koos all around, and den
goes away agbin ! "

The climax was reached when Klein himself rushed into the room,
bearing aloft a little parcel, and exclaimed at the top of his voice,
"Git out o' mein house immegutly, ye hypocrites! Do you see dot
baper? das red pepper in dere, und I gives you shust five minnits to
leave my shop : ef ye don't, I drmv dis over ye ! " ]Mr. Klein, how-
ever, refrained from carrying his threat into execution ; and the ladies
concluded their visitation in peace.

From Mr. Klein's I proceeded at oqce to IMr. Carroll's grocery
and provision store. The ladies were kneeling on the sidewalk in
front of the door, engaged in prayer. Two of the party were con-
versing with Mr. Carroll, who stood in the doijrway with a newspaixT
in his hand, and looking very much annoyed, as he exclaimed, " Now
I give you fair warning. I've got thy names of ivery one of ye;
and, if you do not lave my primises this instant, I'll push ye till the
furtiiest extent of the law. I'm not a higiiwayman or a thafe, that
you should come makin' this nonsense in front of my door."

The ladies pleaded courteously with liim : he was a good-hearted
fellow, and evidently got worsted in the argument, lie l(M)ked con-
vinced, and yet felt lie could not abandon the trade which supported
him and his family with HU(!h ease. After reinaining for half an hour,
the ladies left him, promising to return again and again until he would
yield to their prayers.

The work of the crusatles in Xenia was all the more remarkable

A TOWN LIFTED OUT OF ITSELF.

478

from the fact, that this is a strongholtl of the United Presbyterian
Cliurch, where all religious services were always of the most correct
and dignified style, and where no religious songs were allowed except
the Psalms of David. This steady-going town was struck by the
wave of the crusades, and fairly lifted out of its former self. The
good women of that church had been taught that it was a shame for a
woman to speak or pray in the church, — a statement, in fact, which,
in the time of the great apostle to the Gentiles, though not so now,
was held to be almost an binding as the Ten Commandments. But
now all their former notions on this suliject were reversed. Still,
they would not sing lujy but the gootl old Bible I'salms. The modern
music, of the Bliss and Sankey style, was generally supposed to be the
only sort that was adapted to crusading ; but the Xenia ladies marched
to the tune of " Dundee " or " Mear," or " St. Martin's " or " St.
Ann," in which the Psalms of the old Scotch version have been so long
«ung ; and these steady harmonies were blessed to the breaking of
8tubl)orn hearts, and the opening of bleared and blood-sliotten eyes,
no less than the most stirring gospel songs of modern revival fame.

Very exciting scenes followed this in con'U'ction with the surrender
of the worst saloon, called the "Shades of Death;" while sIk rtly
after almost all the rest closed : and now, it is said, it is hard to get
li(pior in Xenia.

The following incidents were reported in the local papers at
the time, and will serve us samples: —

There was one saloon in Bi'llei'ontuiiie, where the crusravors were
responded to up(m the sidewalks Ity fiddling and dniicing uiside.
Hour afU'r hour the women kept guard oyer this house, singing and
praying, until, at last, tlic sahKjn-keeper was ready to exclaim, iu
the language of the hynui, —

" And now I yield, T yioM :
I can hold out no more I "

Then, antong the ringing of the chureh-bolls, the songs of thanks-
giving, ohouts of rejoicing, and tears of gladness, the beer, whiskey,

474

"I'LL GIVE UP.''

brandy, etc., were poured out in the streets, and the place opened as
a meat-market. One stubborn publican in Bellefontaine declared,
that, if the crusaders visited him, he would receive them with powder
and lead ; but the unterrifled women presently appeared before his
door, and began to pray. About a week afterwards the dealer made
his appearance at a public meeting, signed the pledge, and on the
following sabbath, for the first time in five years, attended church.
Again, in Clyde an effort was made to drown out the crusaders.
When the women kneeled in front of one of the saloons, and began
to pray, tiie keeper dashed a pailful of cold water into the face of
one who led in prayer. The woman, without stopping for an instant,
said, *' O Lord, we arc now baptized for thy work!" The water
treatment was repeated in various places, tiie water not being always
as clean as it miglit be ; but the women kept on praying, with more
faitli and energy than was manifested by the crusaders of old, and
with more substantial results attending their movements. Again,
tiie report was yesterday floating about the city, that one of the worst
places in Fulton had hung out the white flag, and surrendered to the
ladies. Investigation proved the rumor to be entirely correct.

A band of women, most of whom were residents of the first ward,
started quite early in the forenoon upon their rojnd of visitation.
Among the first places visited was the saloon of Dick Manley, on
the front street, two doors west of Kemper Lane. From some inci-
dents in their former visits, the ladies were led to believe that the
proprietor was not w holly satisfied with his business ; but they were
not expecting the easy triumph before them. Benches were care-
fully arranged by the conscience-stricken sal^onist for his visitors,
and devotional exercises were begun.

The prayers and songs were so simple, earnest, and direct, that at
last he could stand it no longer. As they were about to sing, —

" My faith looks up to thee,"

he broke in with, " Wait a little. I'll give up." He then told the
ladies that his stock was nt their disposal, and he would himself help
to pitch the vile stuff in the gutter.

"BOUND TO MAKE A CLEAN THING OF IT.'

475

About this time the scene began to grow excitiug. Several ladies
burst iuto tears. An effort was made to siug —

" Praise God from whom all blesHinga flow,"

but the voices of the siugers refused to give utterance to the language
of their hearts. Then, when they had somewhat recovered thciii-
selves, they set to work, with beaming countenances, to pour out every
thing about the premises that could moisten the throat, or make glad
the heart of man. Ueer-barrels were rolleil to the gutter ; and, while
their contents wore gurgling out through the bungholes, all the
bottles on the shelves were brought out, and dashed upon the pave-
ment. After every thing hau been cleared out, the proprietor thought
of some line old Catawba stowed away in the cellar. This was soon
bunted up, and shared the fate of the rest.

He said he was bound to make a clean thing of it.

After the saloon had been pumped thoroughly dry, the ladies went
into the place adjoining Manley's, where another victory awuiteil
them. The proprietor of the saloon was absent ; but his brother,
who was in charge, yielded to the entreaties of the women, sij^'ued
the total-abstinence pledge, and locked up the concern forever, as far
as he was concerned. If his brother wanted t6 open again, when he
got back, he might do it. The ladies then proceeded to several
other places, but met with no further apparent success. The gen-
tlemanly keeper of the Eureka Exchange slammed the door in their
faces, and retired to an upper room, from which he viewed the pro-
ceedings with a sardonic grin.

In conversation with our reporter to-night, Mr. Manley said he did
not know what he should go iuto next. He had a billiard-hall eon-
nected with his saloon, and would carry that on until soniethlnu'
better offered.

He seemed resigned to his loss of stock, and thoroughly gh- 1 'o
be out of the business. The jokes and sneers of his old friends, who
couldn't see it in that light, seemed to have no effect on him. He
remarked to one of them, that, if he owned all the sal(M>us l>etweeu
there and Columbia, the women might have the whole of them.

Ill

476

WHY SEVEN POLICEMEN VllIED.

Of the crusades in Cincinnati, Mrs. Lcavitt, who was one of the
leacleis of that movement, and now the vice-president of the Women's
Clnistian TeiniK'ranoe Union, gives tlie following account : —

'' I am often asked to tell the story of the crusades in Cincinnati,
hut I never can do it. Cincinnati was a hard field, with its three
thousand saloons, and its forty millions of dollars invested in the
liquor-trade. So strong was this mterest, that merchants did not
like their wives to engage in temperance work, for feo; of bad results
to their business ; and at first we had to adopt the old-fashioned meas-
ures. Hut at last, under the oaptism of the Holy Spirit, we came to
the conclusion, that the country methotl must be our method ; and
for eiglit weeks, about seventy strong, we crusaded the streets and
saloons after the most vigorous fashion."

On one occasion tlie women crusaders were arrested in
Cincinnati for "disturbing the peace" and "obstructing the
street.^." Any thing for a plea !

Of tliis arrest one of the ladies arrested spoke to a reporter
as follows : —

You know we were arrested, and. had to go to jail. Just think

of it:

There was a sidewalk ordinance which forbade the obstruction of
the streets, and under that we were arrested ; though we were careful
to use only the two feet in width the law allowed us when we stood
in front of a saloon, and sang at it, and quoted texts of Scripture at
it, and knelt down and prayed against it, and for the souls of those
wlio kept it.

The seven policemen who were detailed to arrest us were crying
like whipped children. But they had to do it ; and we, like good,
law-abitUng citizens, submitted, and went in procession to prison, —
forty-three of us, — singing all the way.

We were released after about four hours. Bail was offered us;
but we refused it, on the groinid that wc had done nothing against
the law, nntl thone who arrested us slioiild take the full resix)nsibility
of tlieir oulnigeoUM act.

CHICAGO'S SHAME.

477

The crusade prayer-meetings were kept up after that at the
churches ; and by and by we took the rooms at 200 Vine Street,
where we hold a coustunt crusade. The aggregate attendance at
our women's temperance prayer-meeting for the last six months was
14,009 : of these 2,932 signed the temperance pledge, and sought
the prayers of Christians in their behalf.

Chicago, as is well known, is controlled by the liquor interest, as
is the case with many another great city ; but to Chicago belongs the
distinguished disgrace of having maltreated the women crusaders in
their lawful work. A company of ladies were appointed, on one
occasion, for the purpose of visiting the hall of the city council, to
lay before them a petition for the better enforcement of the laws
already on the statute-book. There was no reason on earth wiiy
this petition should not be granted ; but the liquor-dealers gathered
together a company of lewd fellows of the baser sort, so that it was
with difBculty that the ladies could make their way tlirough the crowd
of half-drunken vagabonds. The police were plenty, as they always
are at such places ; but no arrests were made. And when the com-
mittee, after presenting their petition, trusting in God for their safety,
left the hall, the mob rudely set upon them ; and the police were actually
forced to take the ladies in charge, as if they had been prisonei-s,
and conduct them by a private way out of the midst of the crowd.

Being discouraged from the hope of attaining any great results by
law, they gave themselves up to the more earnest use of the gospel,
and established a meeting in the lower Farwell Hall every evening.
The work done here in reforming drunkards, and relieving their
families, and holding the fort for temperance, has been supplemented
by the training of a company of Christian temperance men and women,
who, by means of this gospel mission, have become acceptable and
impressive temperance orators, and whose services are in constant
demand. •

Even New York was attacked by the women crusaders, who
" carried the war into Africa," and for a while held their meet-
ings at Harry Hill's. Of course the crusaders made an excite-

478

WHY NOT NEW YORKt

meiit, a sensation at first; and of course this sensation soon
died away, but still much lasting good was accomplished.
Hundreds of drunkards were pernuinently reformed ; and
there can be no doubt, that, could a woman's crusade be
organized on a scale commensurate with the size of the metrop-
olis, New York itself could be conquered for the temperance
cause as readily as Xenia. Human nature is the same all the
world over.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

TEMPEKANCI!: WORK. —ITS HI8T0BY AND PliOQUESS. — THE »IETIIOI>8 AND
ACHIEVEMENTS OF MY PREDECESBOKS AND COLLEAGUES IS TUB GOOD
CAUSE. —THE REV. OKS. LYMAN DEKCHEK AND THEODORE L. CUYLER. —
TUR WASUINQTONIANS. — JOHN B. OOUGH. — FATHER MATL'EW AND
FRANCIS MURPHY, ETC.

Herb and now it will be proper, before proceeding to nar-
rate in detail the story of my own work in the canse of
temperance, to glance at the history of temperance work in
general, and to describe briefly, but impartially, the methods
and achievements of my predecessors and colleagues.

As the Rev. Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D., himself one of the
prominent names among the temperance workers, remarks,
"America is the birthplace of the modern Temperance Reform.
New- York State is entitled to the place of honor in the move-
ment ; for, in the county of Saratoga in that State (Saratoga,
a name forever linked with the health-giving power of tvater),
the first organization for arresting drinking-habits by signing
a written pledge was established some seventy-five years ago."

Like every other important movement, the temperance cause
has passed througli successive stages. Its present status is
the result of years of steady development and progress.

In the early Puritan "blue-law" times, drunkenness was
punished severely, — among other penalties by the pillory, and
exposure of the offender as a drunkard to public scorn. Yet
wine-bibbing and dram-drinking soon grew stronger than
the law ; and gross intemperance became the rule, and not the
exception.

479

480

TUE WA SIJINO TON I A NS.

Families drank, heaiU of families drank, and even judges
and clergymen partook freely. In the days of the Rev. Lyman
Beecher, the father of Henry Ward Heecher and Harriet
Beecher Stowe, " an ordination " was simply a disgraceful junk-
eting, in which regularly " ordained " ministers of God figured
as more or less intoxicated men. This excited the godly ire of
the Rev. Lyman Beecher; and he directed against the drink-
ing-habits of his day his famous '' Six Sermons against Intem-
perance," which form one of the ablest and most powerful
" temperance " books in existence.

Among the earlier and important temperance agencies were
the Washiugtoniuns, an organization which liad a peculiar
history.

Strange to say, the Washingtonian movement had its origin
among six hard drinkers in a drinking-den known as '^ Chasers
Tavern" in Baltimore. These six topers met every night at
the tavern, and one night in their cups fell to discussing the
Rev. Matthew Hale Smith, who was then in Baltimore deliv-
ei'ing temperance lectures.

Tlie landlord of the tavern, taking part in this discussion,
used such foul and insulting language in reference to temper-
ance lecturers in general, and the Rev. Matthew Hale Smith
in particular, that even the six topers were induced to defend
the reverend gentleman, and to hint that the tavern-keeper
was actuated in his remarks by **■ business," not principle.

This made the landlord still more intemperate in his abuse ;
till finally it was determined by the six hard drinkers, that
they would attend the next lecture of the reverend gentleman,
and judge of him for themselves. This resolution was carried
out; and the result was, that the six toper»< determined to
become six non-flvinking men for the future, and signed a
pledge requiring total abstinence from all intoxicating liquors.

A new place of nightly meeting was now chosen, — a car-

TiiK sronv OF JOHN B. Gouan.

481

Renter's shop instead of a tavern ; and the uix refuiini'd men,
becoming themselves relonners, soon made converts, — among
them a man named Jolni II. VV. Hawkins of Baltimore, whose
name soon became i<U>ntified with this phase of the temperance
movement, wiiidi has done a world of good.

But a greater man than Hawkins was "reformed" by the
Washingtonians, — John B. Gongh, who became the most
effective temperance orator or apostle the world has yet seen.

John B. (jiougli was born in England of humble parentage,
and at an early age emigrated to Anierica. Ho started out as
a lad well, but soon " fell from grace," and developed into a
reprobate and a drunkard ; joined a variety troop, and became
a strolling actor of the lowest type, taking a perverse pleasure
in burlesquing sacred things.

Low as he was, he was sinking lower and lower, till he met
a Washingtonian, Joel Stratton, or, rather, till the VVashingto-
nian met him, and induced him to sign the pledge.

Even after he signed it, his sufferings were intense, from the
love of alcohol, the habit of alcohol already formed ; and two
or three times he fell, and violated his pledge. But he con-
quered himself and habits at last, and soon became the most
famous temperance orator of the world.

Mr. Gough's eloquence is of a very peculiar, yet intensely
magnetic, kind. A German mechanic once said to his em-
ployer, " I goes to hear dot Meester Gough vot dalks mit his
goatdails." He takes up a large amount of space while ho talks,
and feels nervous unless he is talking on a large platform. X
rival lecturer once remarked, " Only let me have a platform as
big as Gough's, and I will draw as big. It is not the man, but
tlie platform, that does it." That " rival lecturer " was subse-
qviciill} accommodated witli a platform larger than any Gough
hi'd evor used, yet he didn't " draw like Gough." It was the
ma/), ard not the platform, after all.

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482

FATHER MATHEW.

The intense excitement which accompanies Gough's oratory
is simply the natural result of his intense feeling. Of this,
Mr. Gough himself has remarked, " It has been burned into
my memory from years of suffering and degradation ; and I
do feel, and ever must feel, deeply on this question."

Yet another great name in the history of temperance work,
is the ever-blessed name of Father Mathew. This modern
apostle, this latter-day saint, was born in the county of Tip-
perary, and was, therefore, an Irishman of Irishmen. He was
ever tender-hearted and benevolent, doing good to all he met,
and never going hunting or gunning or fishing, because he was
averse to inflicting pain on animals, or any breathing creature.
He became a priest to please a pious mother, and remained a
priest to please himself and Heaven.

He began his public work by founding an industrial school
for girls, and continued his heroic exertions, alike in the cause
of humanity and religion, especially in the terrible cholera
season in Cork. He then, at the urgent solicitation of a
Quaker William Martin, undertook to lead the temperance
cause in Ireland , and here he found his place. Of all men he
was the one man best fitted for the post.

" Here goes, in the name of God," said Father Mathew, as
he approached the table on the opening of the first temperance
meeting at which he ever presided, signing his name, as he
spoke, to the total-abstinence pledge. To my mind, his was
the way in which all temperance movements should be con-
ducted. There should be the practical, tangible means, — the
pledge, — and there should be the sought-for blessing of God
upon the pledge. Thus, and thus only, can reform be posi-
tively assured.

Within less than a year from this time, two hundred thou-
sand Irishmen had followed the example of Father Mathew.

He then began a travelling tempt ?ance-tour through Ireland,

"NO UEADACUES AFTER DINNER."

483

and finally visited Scotland and England, meeting with equal
success in Edinburgh and London.

Before he died, he visiced America, where he was received
with enthusiasm. He came over to this country in the " Ash-
J^urton," and on the voyage labored with great results for good
among the poor passengers in the steerage. He landed in New
York on July 2, 1849, and enjoyed a most enthusiastic recep-
tion at Castle Garden. He was formally welcomed by his
Honor Mayor WoodhuU, who offered him the hospitalities of
the city.

At eight o'clock that evening a most peculiar spectacle was
presented. A temperance" dinner — a dinner at which
there was no wine, only water — was tendered to Father
Mathew, and partaken of by the board of aldermen. Ima-
gine the feelings of the New- York aldermen at being compelled
to drink the water ! But there were no headaches after that
dinner.

For the next fortnight Father Mathew held levees at the
City Hall, which was daily thronged with all classes and
nationalities. So great were the crowds at those temperance
levees, that it became necessary to set apart separate days for
the receptions of females and the receptions of males : over fifty
thousand persons signed the pledge during Father Mathew's
visit to New York , — at least, a very large number, though not,
I believe, definitely stated.

Father Mathew then visited Boston and Washington, being
in both cities enthusiastically received ; and in Washington he
was offered the very highest distinction that can be paid to the
subject of another country in this country, — a resolution being
passed unanimously that Father Mathew be admitted to a seat
on the floor of the House.

He finally left the United States on board the Collins
Steamer " Pacific," having issued an appropriate " farewell

484

THE RED-RIBBON REFORM CLUBS.

address." His last days were spont in much personal suffering,
brought on by his arduous labors in the temperance cause. He
passed to his reward in the sixty-sixth year of his age, dying
the death of the righteous, as he lived the life. If ever a man
left the world better than he found it, that man's name was
Father Mathew. His statue stands in the city of Cork, and
his memory will live till the last trump.

One of the chief workers in the temperance cause was Dr.
Reynolds of Maine, the father of the Red-ribbon Reform Clubs.

Henry A. Reynolds was born of well-to-do parents in Bangor,
Me. ; studied medicine, and took to drinking, becoming both a
doctor and a drunkard. But, after a terrible experience with
alcohol, he reformed, and became a reformer of others.

He believes in the grace of God first, and then in the means
of grace ; and among these " means " he places the pledge, and
a red ribbon as a sign of the pledge, — " an outward and visible
sign of an inward and spiritual grace," to use the words of the
catechism. The idea of this red ribbon occurred to the doctor
accidentally, but was at once utilized by him. It means pre-
cisely no less and no more than the uniform means to the
soldier. The uniform don't and can't make' a soldier, but
every soldier will acknowledge the usefulness of a uniform.

All over the Union, alike in Massachusetts and Michigan,
the Red-ribbon Clubs are institutions, and Dr. Reynolds's name
is a tower of strength.

And now we come to Francis Murphy, who has done a noble
work in gospel temperance. Francis Murphy was born in Ire-
land of humble parents. Emigrated when a lad to this coun-
try. Tried farming; married. Led a sober, industrious life
for a while, and then took to dissipated courses, and, in con-
junction with his brother, kept a tavern in Portland, Me. He
patronized his own bar liberally, and gradually sank to the
lowest depths of degradation. Finally he committed a crime

esoiaBi

FRANCIS MURPHY.

485

which led to his imprisonment. He had fallen as low as man
can fall.

But God has raised him as high as man can rise, to be a bene-
factor to his fellow-men. And Heaven's agent in this elevation
was Capt. Cyrus Sturdivant, the ex-manager of a coasting-line
of steamers which sail from the harbor of Portland, and a truly
devout and God-fearing man. This man met Murphy in jail,
and by his kindness javed him from despair, and led him to
Christ. And then Capt. Sturdivant procured Murphy's release
from jail, and led him to his family. But his heart-broken wife
died soon after his release, and Murphy was a while in despair.
But there was a work for him to do, and he did it. And to-day
he stands prominent among the men who have blessed their
fellow-men. In every large city in the Union, and abroad as
well as in this country, the name of Francis Murphy, the evan-
gelist of gospel temperance, is a household word.

In connection with gospel temperance, Mr. D. L. Moody
must also be mentioned. True, he has never professed to be
directly a temperance advocate; but, believing intemperance
to be a great sin, he has preached and prayed against it, and
thus endeared himself to all true temperance men and
women.

The names of Edward Murphy, Clark Wilson, Mrs. Wilson,
and Hon. Luther Caldwell, must also be mrr.tioned in this
chapter, as having been the effective co-workers of Francis
Murphy.

Thomas W. Pittman, Esq., o* New York, is also justly en-
titled to a conspicuous place in the catalogue of temperance
orators and advocates. Mr. Pittman has been all his life
thoroughly conversant with life in New York, and has given
the world the benefit of his experience in his celebrated
" Lecture on Crooked People." He was also identified promi-
nently with the Murphy revival in New York.

486

DODGE, GIBBSI, ETC.

There are other names which press for honorable mention,
such as the late Hon. William E. Dodge, merchant, Christian,
philanthropist, and president of the National Temperance Pub-
lication Society of New York, — an institution which has done
and is doing a world of good; John N. Stearns, Esq., the'
secretary of the publication society ; the late Charles Jewett,
M.D., a distinguished advocate of the medical side of the tem-
perance reform ; E. C. Delevan ; Rev. Charles N. Fowler, the
editor of "The Christian Advocate," and author of the grand
addi'ess on "The Impeachment of King Alcohol;" the re-
formed and reforming " rough," " Jerry" McAuley ; Mrs. Mary
T. Lathrop, the temperance revivalist ; Charles W. Sawyer,
Moody's valued assistant in gospel temperance work ; and the
ladies of the Women's Temperance Union.

Nor could I conclude this imperfect sketch of temperance
work and workers, without at least a reference to the well-
known and energetic J. B. Gibbs, Esq., of the Alderney Dairy,
New York.

This gentleman is at once a business man. Christian temper-
ance man, and philanthropist, {),nd is doing, has been doing,
and as long as he lives will be doing, a good and practical
and steady work. And that is the kind of work that tells.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A TRIBUTE OP GRATITUDE. — IN MEMORIAM OF THOSE WHO HAVE BE-
FRIENDUU ME. — A LONG LIST OF GOOD MEN AND WOMEN.

Having now completed the story of J|y life, from my birth,
through my happy boyhood, and checkered manhood, witli all
its lights, and, alas ! all its shades, its struggles, its miseries, its
errors, and, I trust, its ultimate triumph ; and having glanced
at the works and achievements of others who, like me, have
reformed themselves, or have endeavored to reform others;
before proceeding to the direct detail of my recent experiences
as a recognized temperance advocate, — I would take this
opportunity of testifying my gratitude to a few of the many
who have, in my battle of life, befriended and assisted me in
various ways. It has been my good fortune to have made
warm friends. It has also been my good fortune to have re-
ceived unlooked-for, undeserved kindnesses from comparative,
or even utter, strangers. And I never can be sufficiently grate-
ful to my benefactors, and to the Giver of all good, who put
it in their hearts to befriend me. I fear, in this world, I may
never be able to repay them ; but, God bless them ! they did
what they did without hope or expectation of reward, impelled
only by a sense of duty, and their own kind hearts. Still, I
can at least, in this place, acknowledge my obligations; and
I feel confident that my readers wil} pardon me for digressing
thus from my direct narrative to do so. Surely the world, or
that portion of it which has favored me by perusing this book,
will not think the worse of me for being grateful.

487

1^^

■M]

488

" SUBSTANTIAL " FRIEiyDSlIIP.

In writing this book, I am aware I luive laid myself open to
criticism by my frequent use of names of individuals with
whom I have come into contact : but, without this course, I felt
tliat it would not be a correct version of my life ; and therefore
I have been explicit on this point. The nature of this book
will not admit of my mentioning all the names of persons that
have befriended me, but I feel it a duty to speak of some of
those who have directly aided me in my darkest hours. In a
previous chapter, I spoke of one who went my bonds on the
occasion of my first lUture at Tremont Temple, when I Avas
arrested for debt, and stated that some future reference would
be made to him. His name is Mr. J. G. Pierce, formerly of
25 Howard Street, Boston. He paid from his own pocket
all the bills that I was compelled that night to meet. Kind
reader, you may question why he did this: I will answer; I
will be brief, and to the point. I had sold him a book during
my canvassing, and had requested him to aid me in business
matters, giving him what I considered as collateral. The time
for my lecture having come, I told him that I lacked the means
of carrying it through, not for the moment anticipating that
he would aid me. To my great surprise he said that he fully
indorsed my course, and he came up to the Temple. He did
not realize at the time to what extent he had indorsed me. He
stood by me that night : and, had it not been for him, I should
have slept in the station-house ; as the officers would have been
compelled to carry me off, had I not given bonds. Reader,
would you not consider it your duty to speak of a man who had
thus befriended j'ou ? Of course, I do not say that there was
no other philanthropist in Boston, who, if he had known my real
condition, would not have aided me ; but this gentleman hap-
pened to be the right man in the right place. I knew nothing
of his habits or his previous character, but he was a friend to
me in my hour of need; and such friendships are substantial.

A KIND ACT.

48»

Among those who have cLainis upon my histiug gratitude,
an honored place must be given to a prominent man aliLudy
referred to in the preceding chapter, — John B. Gough, Esq., —

the CHAMPION OF CHAMPIONS, AND, WITHOUT ANY POSSIBILITY
OF CAVIL, THE GREATEST TEMPERANCE LECTURER OF THE AGE.

On one memorable occasion, this unparalleled orator and
temperance advocate performed a special act of courtesy in my
behalf, which was productive of the utmost benefit. It was
characteristic of the man.'

I once needed, particularly needed, a friend. It was a hard
time with me. Mr. Gough saw it at a glance. In conversation
with me, he said,- " Come to Tremont Temple to-night." The
occasion was a great temperance mass-meeting. Ex-Gov.
Talbot presided. John B. Gough was the orator of the night.
I was requested to take a seat. I did so. And finally the
governor, at Mr. Gough's request, called aloud for me to come
from the audience, and be seated with them upon the platform.
I was assigned one of the only three high-backed chairs upon
the great platform, the governor and Mr. Gough occupying
the other two. That kind act, simple in itself, was the means
of immediately giving me a high and lasting prestige.

The Hon. Neal Dow, the father of the famous Maine Liquor
Laws, which, after all said and done, remain the best laws yet
promulgated on the liquor traffic, has also shown me great
kindnesses. The famous clergymen, Rev. Dr. Theodore L.
Cuyler, and Rev. Dr. Justin D. Fulton, have, in their way,
done me the greatest obligations by bestowing upon me their
professional and personal indorsement, and lecturing for me,
and in behalf of my work.

To the long list of those to whom I owe love and gratitude

' for favors unexpected and unpaid for, save in gratitude and

love, I would here add the names of Miss A.- A. Jennings of

Rochester, N.Y., who befriended me in my time of great dis-

490

MY MANY FRIENDS.

tress, and who luis befriended many another desperate and
despairing fellow-mortal; Rev. George J. IMingins, the eloqnent
divine of New York ; Mrs. E. A. Rawson of North Grosvenor-
dale, whose heart has ever been ready and eager to lielp those
honestly desiring to help themselves; Mr. and Mrs. Dr. S. C.
Carter of Liberty, Ind., who are noted for their Christian phi-
lanthropy; E. J. Smith, Esq., of Washington, D.C.; Charles-
A. Webster, Esq., W. E. Sherman, and H. S. Woodworth, Esq.,
of Providence, R.I. ; Mr. and Mrs. C. C. Post of Burlington^
Vt., the father and mother of my beloved wife, whom I am
about to introduce to my readers, and who have been as truly
and practically solicitous concerning my own welfare and work
as though they were my own parents, not merely my wife's ;.
Thomas W. Pittman, Esq., of New York, the eloquent orator
and lecturer and able lawyer ; Mr. Francis Murphy, the great
apostle of temperance ; Miss Frances E. Willard, the able and
zealo"' tdy president of the Women's National Christian
Tern' ce Union ; Benjamin R. Jewell, Esq., of Boston,
Mas;^. ; Hon. T. R. Westbrooke, Judge of the Supreme Court
of the State of New York ; Right Rev. William Bond, bishop
of Montreal, P.Q. ; Dr. Isaac N. Quimby, a prominent philan-
thropist and distinguished physician of Jersey City, N.J. ;
Rev. Dr. Bixby ; Rev. C. L. Goodell ; Rev. Dr. G. W. An-
derson ; Rev. Moses B. Scribner; Rev. John Evans; Rev. R.
Montague ; Rev. Francis Ryder of Rhode Island ; his Excellency
Nelson Dingley, jun., Ex-Governor of the State of Maine ; Wen-
dell Phillips, Esq., of Boston, so widely and favorably known ;.
Dr. Dix, oculist and aurist. Hotel Pelham, Boston ; Dr. A. J.
French (President Lawrence National Bank) and lady of Law-
rence ; J. C. Bowker and lady of Lawrence ; Hon. Charles
Parker of Meriden, Conn. ; R. C. Bull, Esq., P. M. W. T. of H.
and T., New- York City ; Hon. E. W. Stetson, Damariscotta,
Me. ; Capt. Guy C. Goss of Bath, Me. ; Frank Dingley, Esq.».

ItlUS. FRANCES FEAKSON.

STILL MORE FRIENDS.

491

of Lewiston ; H. M. Bryant, Esq., of Lewiston ; Charles II.
Taintcv, Esq., President Auburn Reform Club ; C. H. Woocl-
wortli and family of Dalton, Mass. ; Forester Clark and family
of Pittsfield, Mass.; Rev. J. W. Hamilton, Mrs. David II. Barton
and family, of Boston ; Frank W. Lucas, Esq., of Providence ;
James M. Palmer, J. P. Yates, H. H. Jones, and their families,
of Haverhill, Mass. ; his Honor E. P. Ilodsden, ex-mayor of
Dover, N.H. ; Hon. J. Horace Kent of Portsmouth, N.II.; his
Honor Ex-Mayor Warren of Biddeford, Me.; City Marshal
Durgin of Saco, Me. ; Edward A. Cass, Esq., G. W. C. T. of
the Temple of Honor of Maine; Hon. Joshi.a '\'^ye of Augusta;
L. W. Filkins, Esq., of New York; William Appleton, jun.,
of Boston ; also G. W. Butts, Esq. (Chaco & Butts, bankers),
W. Sweeney, Esq., Mr. and Mrs. N. Rumsden, ]\Ir. and Mrs.
Charl ,'s H. Robinson, Mr. T. J. Fales, Mr. and Mrs. B. H. Ray-
nor. Col. Frank G. Allen, Ex-Mayor A. C. Barstow, George A.
Barstow, Esq., Deputy-Sheriff C. H. Scott, J. B. Gardiner, Esq.,
Mrs. Lucy M. Dickinson, Mrs. Annie IvI. Branch, daughter of
the late Dr. Mowrey, Mrs. R. H. White, all of Providence, R.I. ;
Rev. L. H. Wakeman, William F. PeebleSj Esq., Mrs. Robinson
of Stamford, Conn.; Mrs. Maria C. Treadwell, President W.
C. T. U. of Conn. ; also Mr. Treadwell, her husband. Nor can
I forget Mrs. J. A. Powers, now Mrs. Asa B. Hutchinson of
the famous Hutchinson family of singers, then the proprietress
of the house where I boarded in Bangor at No. 125 Hammond
Street. To her, her family, and all the boarders in the house,
I feel under the deepest obligations ; for, when I was sadly in
need of (I must confess it) clothing, they sent it to me in a
most delicate manner. I would also make special mention in
this place of Mrs. Frances Fearson (colored), who was a true
and truly Christian benefactress of mine, as the subjoined story
will show : —
One day, after a terrible debauch, feeling sick and sore, I was

492

NURSED AND CARED FOR.

wandering the streets of Providence in rain, sleet, and slush,
and by accident found myself in this good woman's house. I
had nothing but a faded duster and an old under garment lo
battle the elements with ; and this poor woman would not let
me go out, but fed and cared for me. I was sick one whole
week in her house, and she nursed and cared for me as if I
were her own child. I can never, I shall never, forget the
kindness of this good woman. Long may she live !

I could also mention the names of hundreds of other persons
who befriended me, but I must stop somewhere. All who
have ever been kind to me, whether named here or not, will
please accept my gratitude. If their names are omitted, it is
the fault of my diary, and not my heart ; so pardon the over-
sight. I must state, in conclusion, that my mentioning these
names is of my own free will, and totally witliout the knowl-
edge of any of the parties ; and, if any one should feel a delicacy
about being thus mentioned, they must attribute it to my sense
of the obligations I am under to them, and to nothing else.

CHAPTER XL.

MY BEST FRIEND. — HOW I WOOED AND WON MY WIFE. —I OBEY AN 1RBE»
SISTIBLE IMPULSE, AND MEET MY FATE. — A SHORT, SWEET LOVE-STORY.
— I LINK MY LIFE WITH A GOOD WOMAN.

My last chapter was devoted to my friends, — fi'iends in the
plural. The present chapter shall be devoted to my one best
friend, — my wife.

For I have a wife, and I thank God for it. Her dear eyes
are Ir-^king over my shoulder now, as I write ; and her dear head
shakes, and her dear face almost frowns, or comes as near as it
can (which is not very close) to frowning, as she insists that I
shall omit rll mention of her in this book.

The idea of such a thing ! The bare idea of a man writing
his life, and leaving out his wife ! Did you ever ? The thing
is an absurdity : it is impossible. Hamlet with Hamlet omitted
would be nothing to it.

No, a thousand times no I I might be induced to omit,
almost any other portion of my biography, but not the por-
tion in which she figures ; for she is the best part of my life.
In sheer simple justice to her, I m^ . tell about her — and in
justice to myself.

For the most complimentary thing that can be said about me
is, that I am her husband. That fact speaks volumes for the
good that must be somewhere in me. I have been frank
enough, as my readers will be ready to testify by this time»
in regard to all my faults, my follies, my shames : let me, for
Heaven's sake, have all the benefit of the good sense I have

403

494

''BURLINGTON ON THE BRAIN."

lA I

shown in wooing such a woman, the good luok I have had in
winning such a woman, and the good that has been in me to
enable me to wear such a woman, and appreciate her as she
deserves. It was a love-match : and, as " all the world loves a
lover," I will tell you all about it ; though there is not much
to tell.

While I was talking temperance in New England, in the yeaA*
1875 (I shall never forget that year), I sent my agent, Mr.
Thomas J. Pressey, to the pretty little town of Burlington, Vt.,
to make arrangements to secure a hall for a lecture. I never
have been able to explain to myself satisfactorily why ; but the
fact is, that I had always felt a great desire to visit Burlington,
Vt. I had no special reason for this desire ; but I felt it strongly,
nevertheless. Was it not Destiny — Kismet — Providence ?

My agent returned with the news, that it had proved un-
practical for hira to procure me a satisfactory date at Burling-
ton. He had done his level best, but had not been able to
arrange matters.

This should have settled the matter. I should have at once
dismissed Burlington, Vt., from my thoughts and plans. I had
every confidence in my agent. I knew that he had done all
that man could do to carry out my wishes, and had failed,
fe.mply because my wishes could not be carried out. In ninety-
nine cases out of a hundred, I would have dismissed the aifair
with a " Very well, I will go somewhere else." But this was
the one-hundredth case. I did not go somewhere else ; but I
went straightway to Burlington, Vt., myself, though it was two
hundred and fifty miles away from the place where I was then
lecturing.

My agent wondered at my taking " such a notion to Burling-
ton," as he phrased it, and remonstrated with me ; but I was
headstrong. I had literally "Burlington on the brain" just
then ; and to Burlington I went, arriving there safely. I had

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

495

been filled with all sorts of vague, wild, restless ideas about
wliat I would do when I got to Burlington ; but, when I got
there, these dreams vanished : and I proceeded at once, in the
most practical way, to endeavor to do what my agent had
failed to do, — secure a hall.

By a lucky chance, I succeeded in my attempt. An obstacle
which had nonplussed my agent was gotten over by myself;
and I obtained the leading hall of the place, and was advertised
to address the good people of Burlington, Vt., the very next
night.

The "very next night" came, and with it a crowd. I was
in high spirits, and my lecture was a success : I felt it ; I saw
it. I also saw, during my lecture, two ladies standing in the
Ooorway of the hall, one of whom, the taller one of the two,
was watching my delineation of the horrors of delirium tremens
with mingled admiration and disgust, — admiration, I flaUtr
myself, of the lecturer, but disgust at this phase of his subjc^-t.
From the moment I saw that taller lady of the two, standing
in the doorway, my doom was sealed. 1 felt it. I felt a thrill
ecstatic and indefinable. But there, I spare my reader any
more of this. I fell in love, — love at first sight. I have
always been convinced that " the taller lady of the two " felt
towards me, from the very first, as I felt towards her, — that
she, too, felt that " thrill, ecstatic and undefinable," when she
first set eyes on me. But to this day she has refused to give
me definite information on this important point. Such is
woman 1

Well, after the lecture I was introduced to several of the
ladies of Burlington who had been present, and, among them,
to the " taller lady of the two," who had excited such a com-
motion in my breast. She bowed and smiled. I smiled and
bowed. And the first all-important step was taken.

We talked about the temperance cause and my lecture, etc. :

Il«t(

PI II

lili!

496

and

SUCH A DELIGHTFUL UNSETTLKD STATE."

was airanged, as I was to lecture in Burlington another
night, that the lady, the particular lady, the "taller lady of
the two," the woman who had already become the only woman
in the world to me, would honor me by assisting at my next
lecture ; she being an accomplished vocalist, and excellent
musician.

This much being settled, we separated for the night.
Whether my particular lady dreamed of me that night, or
not, I know not. As I have just remarked, she has always
been reticent on all these preliminary details, so far as she was
concerned. But this I know and can testify, that I dreamed
all night of her, and awoke in the morning more iu love than
before.

Burlington, Vt., so nicely situated on Lake Champlain, is a
very pretty and picturesque place indeed, — one of the most charm-
ing towns in all Nevr England, — and possesses a public park of
great beauty. I rose early, and walked all through the town, and
felt somehow as if this pretty little place, which I had never visited
before, was already identified with my life. A view of a sunset
across Lake Champlain is only equaled by the Italian sunset.

Needless to say, I met my charmer that day for the second
time, and a rosebud passed between us ; and at my next lecture
there was some singing ; but really, whether the rosebud
passed from me to her, or from her to me, or whether she
sung and I spoke, or she spoke and I sung, has always
remained in my memory doubtful. I was in such a trance
all the time, — such a delightful unsettled state of " first
love."

But I distinctly re member what occurred on the third day
of my tarry in Burlington. The woman I knew I loved, and
made no secret to myself about it, was announced to sing at
sr e "benefit concert;" and, as I was sitting on the veranda
ot my hotel, she passed along on her way to rehearsal.

Of course, I merely rose from my seat, and bowed politely, —

I TOLD UER all:

497

of course, — and then went into the hotel, leaving her to walk
to rehearsal alone. Of course, every nan in love would have
done just that.

But enough of badinage. Love is, after all, a serious thing,
— as serious as it is sweet; and I was desperately as well as
delightfully in earnest.

Making no disguise of my jpy at meeting her, I joined the
lady ; and, before that walk was over, I had proposed, and been
accepted.

That day is the best and brightest day ^hat I have ever
known, — the brightest and best day I shall ever know on
earth, — a day of heaven.

We walked amid as lovely scenery as this world contains,
with the placid waters of Lake Champlain and the beauties of
the Park in sight. But it would have been all the same to
me if I had been strolling through the orange-groves of Flor-
ida, or the mountain glories of Switzerland, or the old temples
of eternal Egypt, or the splendors of mighty Rome. I saw
but my companion's face. I had no eyes but for her eyes, I
had no ears but for her voice.

Though, to tell the truth, her eyes were modestly downcast ;
and she said but little. But I talked for two.

I had much to tell ; for, with my usual directness of purpose,
I determined to make a clean breast of all my past life. I
determined there should be perfect confidence as well as per-
fect love between us. I resolved that no secret should stand
between us, now or evermore. If there were dark passages in
my past life, as, alas 1 there were, I should bring them to light
now, that hereafter it should not be in the power of any enemy
to unearth them, and say to her, "See, he would have con-
cealed these from you."

Yes, thank Heaven ! I told her all, — all my escapades, all my
sorrows and disgraces and dissipations. I kept back nothing.

498

'JUST THE VERY LEAST BIT JEALOUS."

And here, let me say, I would recommend all men in love
to follow my example in this respect. Be frank with the
woman you love. This frankness is in itself a compliment
to the woman ; and, if she is a true woman, she will appre-
ciate it.

True, it is unpleasant, most decidedly unpleasant, to make
yourself out a fool, if not worse, in the eyes of her to whom
you would be a hero. But be of good heart. She will not
love you the less for proving to be human. And she will find
more excuses for you, if she loves you, than you will be able to
find for yourself.

At any rate, I have never for one moment regretted my
frankness to my love — my wife. She has loved me better
since she has been called upon to forgive me.

We were betrothed, and I was blessed. I went to bed that
night the happiest man in Burlington, Vt., or anywhere else.
And, ere I went to bed, I fell upon my knees, and thanked the
Giver of all good for his unspeakable gift, — the true love of a
true woman.

Our engagement was for a while kept secret, but only for a
little while. Both my wife and myself were too sensible to
make a secret of what was really, at least on my part, a matter
of pride, prudence, and congratulation. Besides, like every
other lovely woman, my betrothed had attracted the admira-
tion of other men besides myself, — some of them better men
perhaps ; and as long as they were kept in ignorance of our
engagement, so long as they thought there might be hope,
they would press their suit. In fact, to tell the truth, I began
to feel just the least bit in the world (of course, only just the
very least bit) jealous of another man, who was corresponding
•with my darling.

And so to ease myself, and put all parties ort of their pain,
I one day told my love to the parents of the girl I loved, —

n love

th the

tliment

appre-

> make
I whom
rill not
ill find
able to

;ed my
better

ed that
re else.
ced the
ive of a

;ly for a
sible to
I matter
e every
admira-
iter men
5 of our
)e hope,
I began
just the
iponding

eir pam,
loved, —

Masi'kr Charlks Post Douin'kv,

MARlilEL AND SETTLED.

499

told it like a man, and was received, as I liad hoped to be, as
the accepted suitor and future husband of their daughter.

My betrothed's parents were people of influence and posi-
tion in the community. Her father, Charles C. Post, is a
manufacturer, and patentee of several valuable improvements ;
while her mother, n^e Sylvia C. Partch, was a descendant of
one of the oldest and best families in New England. Her
grandfather, Alson H. Post, had erected a church at Hines-
burg, Vt., the birthplace of Chester A. Arthur, President of
the United States ; and along her family line were to be found
some of the most thrifty, intelligent, and prosperous of New-
England farmers.

As for my betrothed herself, Helen L.. Post, now for several
happy years Mrs. Helen L. Doutney, her personal appearance,
and varied accomplishments, are already familiar to the public ;
as she has constantly been a prominent attraction at my tem-
perance meetings and entertainments, and a pul)lic favorite.
But her domestic virtues, — as a wife, and the mother of a fine
boy, Master Charles Post Doutney, — these are beyond all praise,
and are known fully only to her husband, child, and God.

I did not remain "an engaged man" long. I am not one of
those who approve of lengthened engagements. Let the court-
ship be long, if you will (though mine was short as it was
sweet), but let your betrothal season be brief, and your mar-
riage be as speedy as possible.

I was married on the twenty-ninth day of June, 1876, at the
Baptist Church in Burlington, Vt., in the presence of a large
assemblage, by the Rev. Munson A. Wilcox of Burlington, Vt.

And, from the day of my marriage, I have been a good man,
or at least a much better man than I was b^ore I married.

; w y^' w;y""'"' '" ** " * ' "

CHAPTER XLI.

fii I

MT PROFESSIONAL TKMPEBANCE WOKK. — ITS QBNERAL ASPECTS. — ITS DE-
TAILS AND NARBATIVE. — MY SUCCESS AT WATEHTOWN, N.Y. — MY 8THUQ-
OLES AND TRIUMPHS AT ST. PAUL, MINN. — MY CAHPAION ALONG THE
HUDSON, NEWBURG, YONKERS, NYACK, ETC. — "THE TEMPERANCE-TENT "
AT ROCHESTER. — THE GOOD CAUSE IN NEW JERSEY. — TEMPERANCE.
MATIN&ES AT ALBANY. — BLUE RIBBONS AND PRACTICAL PHILANTHROPY.
— ENTHUSIASM AT SARATOGA. —SOUTH AND WEST. — RICHMOND, VA., AND.
RICHMOND, IND.

I HAVE now completed the story of what may be called my
personal life, as distinct from my strictly professional career. I
have shown fully, and in detail, how I have sinned and suffered
and struggled, and finally succeeded in conquering my own bad
habits, and winning a good woman.

But, thus far, I regard my life-narrative (at least, from a prac-
tical and temperance point of view) as being but the history
of a course of preparation for a good work, — not as the history of
a good work itself ; /or with me my good work was but in its
infancy. I was a temperance lecturer, it is true, acknowledged
and established. But most of my achievements in this line had
yet to he achieved : most of my victories had yet to he won. But.
fortified by experience, strengthened by the grace of God, and
sustained by* the loving sympathy of a devoted wife, I was now
ready for action. I was a temperance worker indeed. And the
remainder of this volume must be devoted to a brief rSsumS
of my career as a professional temperance advocate.

It will not be necessary to give every detail of my public life
or professional movements. It will su£Bce to describe my expe-

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SOitE MATTERS OF FACT.

601

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public life
e my expe-^

riences in the prominent places I have professionally visited,
and to narrate those phases of my public career which are
eitlier the most interesting in themselves, or are the best illus-
trations of my own peculiar methods and successes.

I may state, that, as a temperance lecturer and advocate, I
have generally exceeded my own or my friends' anticipations.
I may also state truthfully, that, while not offending any special
class, I have always been most successful with what we call
" the masses." I am one of " the people " myself ; and, as such,
my lieart goes out to them, and for them : and so, while, I trust,
the rich, aristocratic, and cultured have not turned from me, the
working-classes and the masses — i.e., nine-tenths of the popu-
lation — have ever been specially attracted to me, and actuated
by my influence.

I may also state, as a matter of fact, that I have generally
succeeded in drawing to myself a good deal of public and news-
paper notice, and have made more or less of a stir wherever I
went. I have been the cause of discussion, and have been cen-
sured for my methods by some, as well as enthusiastically
indorsed by more. But, in the long-run, I have been vindicated
by results ; and, the longer I have remained and worked in any
one place, the more thoroughly have I succeeded, and the more
warmly have I been liked. I have gained in popularity and
influence as I progressed. The last impression of me or my
work has been better than the first. This I have always justly
regarded as a healthy sign.

One of the first places in which I, as a temperance lecturer
and advocate, made my mark, was at the thriving town or city
of Watertown, one of the most enterprising places in Jefferson
County, and all that section of the great State of New York.

Prior to my vint to Watertown, I had been in the habit of
speaking only one night in each town ; and I went to Water-
town itself for only one night. But my enthusiastic reception,

III!

602

WORK AT wArEirrowN.

and the good work I saw being done, led me to remain and
lecture and work four nights ; and then, returning to tlie place
rather reluctantly, — fearing I had rather overdone the matter
here before, — I found the tide of enthusiasm, practical enthu-
siasm, for the temperance cause, swelling so rapidly, that I
remained seven weeks.

At one period, during my visit to Watertown, I conducted
two meetings at different parts of the borough simultaneously,
crossing over from one to the other by team, and personally
conducting them both at once.

All classes of people joined m the temperance revival I here
inaugurated, and the town was taken by storm for the good
cause. As " The Lockport Times " remarked, " The people of
Watertown have had an immense temperance jubilee and pro-
cession ; the mayor and aldermen leading the procession through
the streets amid cheers from the multitude, music from the
bands, and the waving of flags. The revival is in charge of
Doutney, the celebrated temperance worker."

This temperance jubilee, in addition to the grand procession
just referi'ed to, embraced a temperance " supper " at Washing-
ton Hall, which was an immense success. During my work at
Watertown I headed a party of over two hundred ladies and
gentlemen interested in the cause of temperance, and Avith
them paid a visit to the Watertown jail, where I held a temper-
ance meeting among the prisoners, several of whom were
aifected to tears, and many of whom signed the pledge.

A "temperance reform club" had )>een started previous to
my arrival at Watertown ; but, before my departure from the
place, the membership to this club had been increased to over
thirty times its original proportions. This was practical work ;
these were tangible results ; and as such I would gratefully
record them.

"The Watertown Daily Times" of Jan. 22, 1877, treating

IIHGINNING TUE GOOD WOliK.

503

editorially of the temperance reform movement in the place,
remarked, —

There is something fearfully suggestive iu figures when properly
grouped. They carry force in their array beyond what any verbal
statement can do. Their power is beyond that of eloquence, and tiieir
pathos is deeper than the saddest truth. Wherever we look, in every
State of our Union, and in every city and village of the State, the
financial and social devastation which the rum-tradic works is seen.
Jails are filled by it ; the poorhouses are crowded by wretched in-
mates ; wives are separated from their husbands ; children are made
vagrants ; homes are devastated by the operation of a trafl^c against
which humane and economic considerations unite in earnest and solemn
protest. It is owing in part to the vastness of the curse, that peo-
ple do not grasp its enormity, which threatens every sacred and salu"
tary interest of society. In view of tliese solemn facts, about four
weeks ago a handful of people of this city began to feel an interest
in the welfare and well-being of their fellow-brotjjers, who had been,
some for years and some for a lifetime, daily addicted to the use of a
poisoning beverage which filled homes with want and wretchedness,
and which has scattered the seeds of sin and degradation in every
little neighborhood in Watertown as well as elsewhere. Being men
of much experience in the many different ways in which the impor-
tant questions of temperance, intemperance, and strong drink had
been treated in the past, they resolved upon a new i)lan ; namely,
that of forming what is known as a temperance reform club, and
work, only to get fallen men, and others who take now and then si
drink, to join ; leaving the questions of who shall sell, and what we
shall do with the whiskey-venders, to be dealt with by others ; think-
ing perhaps in so doing, if successful in saving a large number of
men, the liquor-dealers would in time quit the business. Knowing
these things, and desiring to accomplish a great good, they secured the
services of a reformed drunkard who had been speaking in the neigh-
borhood. He came, and held several meetings in the Young Men's
Christian Association Rooms, which were well attended. The Tern-

504

TBE GOOD WORK PROGRESSES.

■t'^^''^'

perance Reform Club of Watertown emanated from these meetings.
This Hian did good work while he remained ; but it was apparent
that he was not the man to interest men, and to turn them to the
paths of right and righteousness. It was plain to all, that the great
work to be performed must be done by some individual in whom all
classes would have confidence. The name of Thomas N. Doutney
was suggested. His fame as a temperance lecturer was known ; and
he was invited, and he came. At the time of Mr. Doutney's arrival,
there were between thirty and forty members of the Temperance
Reform Club ; yet the members of the little band earnestly hoped to
be made stronger through the influence of Mr. Doutney, and their
hopes have been fully realized. The first meetings were held in
Mechanics' Hall, Factory Street, — a small room with limited accom-
modations. The attendance soon became so large, that more room
was a necessity. The pastors of the various churches offered to Mr.
Doutney and the club the free use of their edifices, and all were
anxious to assist in the good work. The court-house was placed at
their disposal ; and last, but not least,' John A. Sherman, proprietor
of Washington Hall, offered the hall free to the club on any and all
occasions that they might desire it. On one occasion two meetings
were held at the same hour, — one in the Arsenal-street Methodist
Church, and the other in Scripture & Clark's Hall, which was also given
without charge. The meetings have been crowded without exception.
Mr. Doutney has been present at every meeting, and in his own
peculiar style has shown men the true way. Mr. Doutney is a
man perhaps of twenty-eight to thirty-two years : is medium in
size, and quick in thought and action. He is always ready when
called upon to do any thing to save a fallen brother. He is not a
polished orator, but a very earnest speaker. He is an excellent
delineator. He can imitate the French, German, Irish, Scotch, and
the negro to perfection. He has all the requisites of a temperance
reformer. He has been a liquor-seller and a drunkard ; has had the
delirum tremens, and all else that follows the use of strong drink.
The small number of thirty or forty has, through Mr. Doutney's
exertions, been increased to an organization of nearly one thousand

FAREWELL TO WATERTOWN.

605

persons. The vasthess of the work can hardly be realized, and its
importance can never be forgotten. The object of the club is, not to
meddle with politics, or the private affairs of any one, but simply
to preach temperance. Mrs. Doutney has been present at most of the
meetings, and has favored the audience with her singing, which is
very fine, to say the least. Watertown has never experienced such a
temperance revival as that of the past three weeks. The kind of
men who have signed the pledge and joined the club are just the
men that no community can do without. Many of them are fathers.
Many are sons, — the pride of some poor mother or father. Many
of them are friends who are dear to all of us. Many of them are
brothers, loved of dear sisters, who rejoice to-day that their brothers
are sober men.

Ere I left Watertown I was made agreeably cognizant of the
esteem in which I was held in the place, by the presentation
of a superb gold watch, the gift of a number of influential
citizens deeply interested in the temperance movement. My
farewell to Watertown was marked by a display of public sym-
pathy and personal feeling which was as encouraging as it was
unusual.

It took place at the First Presbyterian Church, which was
crovrded with over fifteen hundred people. Rev. Dr. Porter,
presiding elder, M. D. Kinney, President Ingles, Rev. Mr. Bul-
lock, Rev. Mr. Putnam, and other prominent citizens, took part
in the exercises, which were, towards the end, positively affect-
ing m the display of good feeling, which was also manifested
practically in liberal contributions to defray my necessary living
expenses. God bless Watertown ! I feel I was enabled to do
it some lasting good ; and I know that the memory of the kind-
ness of its citizens will ever do me good till I die, and perhaps
— who shall say not — after death.

Another town of importance in which my work proved a
success, after a somewhat protracted struggle, was St. Paul,

506

AT ST. PAUL.

Minn., one of the most flourishing centres of the great West.
The ladies of St. Paul had been specially exercised concerning^
the rum-demon, and had resolved to exorcise it. Tliey deter-
mined to attack it root and branch, and by every known agency.
Among other steps, they appointed a day of fasting and prayer,
and also made arrangements for me to speak on Sunday night»
May 13, 1877, at the opera-house, under their auspices. In all
my life I never addressed a more intelligent audience than were
gathered together at the opera-house that Sunday evening.
Every seat in the building was occupied, including chairs on
the stage ; while large numbers stood up in the aisles. And
hundreds of persons reluctantly went to their homes, not being
able to enter the building at all.

Upon the platform were Rev. Dr. Breed, Rev. Messrs. Cross,
McKebben, Edwards, Williams, and other pastors of the
evangelical churches of the city, and a trained choir of fifteen
voices, who discoursed most excellent music.

I felt perfectly at home amid such a crowd as this, and soon
put my audience, as the French say, en rapport with me. I
never felt alike more cool and more enthusiastic in the whole
course of my existence, and I could see that my words struck
home. I carried my audience with me. The next night the
meeting, the crowd, and the enthusiasm were repeated. I was
a success, or at least the good cause I represented had tri-
umphed in my person.

Here in St. Paul I adopted the plan of a ribbon to designate
those who had signed the pledge, and I found the plan worked
admirably. I substituted a blue for a red ribbon: arid soon
the streets of St. Paul began to be remarkably well supplied
with perambulating blue ribbons, or honest, happy men, pledged
to total abstinence from intoxicating drinks, with blue ribbons
attached; and I had thus tangible evidence before me con-
stantly that my labors were blessed.

"AN OUTSIDE HEATHEN."

607

But I did not by any means give entire satisfaction at first
in St. Paul. "The Dispatch" remarked, that "some of his
[my] illustrations and sayings are not in accord with minis-
terial views." In short, I was not theological enough or dig-
nified enough. But then, I had not come to St. Paul to preach
theology or to illustrate dignity, but to advocate temperance ;
and I certainly did that, and did it successfully.

' I, or my methods of temperance work, soon became the
subject of newspaper controversy. An unknown correspond-
ent, who signed himself "An Outside Heathen," wrote to
" The St. Paul Dispatch," indorsing my work, but blaming the
churches and the ministers for not sustaining me more pub-
licly and steadily. To this communication a certain "J. McK"
replied in behalf of the churches and ministers, claiming that
they did support me in my temperance work, but found fault
with my depending too much upon mere material or moral
means, — pledges, blue ribbons, arguments, and the like, — but
not attaching sufficient importance to the one only element that
could ever make and keep men truly temperate ; i.e., the grace
of God. Now, in this, " J. McK " made a great mistake ; for
it was just because I did believe in the grace of Qod that I was
so particular in insisting upon using all the means of grace., such
as lectures, arguments, pledges, blue ribbons, etc. I have
always felt that it was the height of folly and impertinence
to call upon God to do that for us which we will not try with
all our might to do for ourselves. Unto him that hath shall
be given. And I hold that no man can be honestly, prayer-
fully desirous of conquering intemperance, or any other bad
habit, who will not thoroughly use every physical and intel-
lectual means to accomplish this end.

The newspaper controversy over my methods of temperance
work was carried on with considerable asperity for some time :
but at last Christian people began to understand me better;

608

ST. PAUL'S PARADE.

and, ere I left St. Paul, I was publicly and heartily indorsed
alike by laity and clergy.

The subjoined extract from " The St. Paul Dispatch " will
serve to show how triumphantly I terminated my campaign at
St. Paul.

GRAND PARADE AND MEETING LAST EVENING.

Tlie crowning event of the Temperance Reform took place last
evening in the form of a grand temperance parade, under the super-
vision of Mr. Doutney. Tlie assembly was called at seven o'clock ;
and the parade formed in two ranks to the number of seven hundred
and fifty men, headed by a band, and neai'ly all the clergy. The pro-
cession moved from the City Hall, and marched up to the Seven Cor-
ners, down Third to Jackson, from Jackson up Seventh to Wabasha
to Third. The column was here countermarched, and filed two and
two into the opera-house, filling the lower part of the house and
stage full. The gallery, dress-circle, and boxes were filled exclusively
with ladies. All along the line of march, the sidewalks were filled
with citizens who waved on the procession as it moved along: at
least eight hundred men were in line.

The meeting at the opera-house was very interesting, and at
eleven o'clock the vast audience yet seemed willing to remain. A
large number signed the pledge ; and, if Mr. Doutney could remain
another week, the interest would not abate one whit.

The following resolutions and r/eamble were offered by Col. J.
Ham Davidson, and adopted without one dissenting voice. "After
more than three weeks of earnest labor in the grand temperance
reform in St. Paul, under the direction of Thomas N. Doutney,
and after witnessing the glorious results that have been achieved,
we deem it expedient and just to give some expression to our appre-
ciation of Mr. Doutney's labors, as we are about to separate with
him, in order to aid the good work wherever he may go hereafter."
Therefore,

Resolved, That we recognize in Thomas N. Doutney the most
active temperance worker that has ever been with us ; and, after

OLD" NEWnURG.

609

carefully observing the results of the series of meetings conducted
by him under the auspices of the Women's Christian Temperance
Union of St. Paul, we heartily and earnestly commend him to the
sympathy and co-operation of* all temperance men and women^
wherever he may go to labor in the future.

Resolved, That we return thanks to the ladies for the series of
meetings they have inaugurated, and which was rendered so entirely
successful by their efforts to do so.

A third town in which my temperance work was crowned
with success was Newburg, N.Y., one of the old historical
towns of the Empire State. My advent in this old borough
created an excitement which gradually increased till it became
the sensation and the one great topic of the place. I intro-
duced "the blue-ribbon" plan here also, and found it acted
like a charm.

Some of the temperance meetings held under my direction
at the opera-house here were, as "The Newburg Daily
Journal " phrased it, " sights to behold." Large numbers went
away from the place, unable to get inside its portals. And the
large audience was swayed by an enthusiasm rarely witnessed
outside a political meeting.

I was specially blessed in being enabled to make an impres-
sion upon the firemen of Newburg, many of whom were of
the class denominated as "hard drinkers." Altogether, I
did a great work, sustained by the active sympathy of the
press and the clergy (Rev. Dr. Carrol, Rev. J. R. Thompson,
Rev. Dr. King, and others), and, ere I left the town, had gained
nearly fifteen hundred converts to the temperance cause.

One of my favorite maxims met with hearty indorsement
here, — i.e., that the very best way to reform men is, to give
them a chance to reform themselves; and that the very best
way to keep a man honest, industrious, and temperate, is, to
give him work. This sentiment was enthusiastically ap-

510

THE HUDSON-RIVER TOWNS.

plauded, and was, I am glad to say, acted upon practically in
a number of instances which came to my knowledge.

Just as in many other places, so in Newburg, my methods
were appreciated more and more as I remained longer and
longer. My personal and professional popularity increased
with time. And, when I bade farewell to the good old town,
I found that I was parting with friends, not strangers. The
firemen of the town turned out en maaae to see me off. And
-it seemed as if all the population of the borough had come
down to the river-side to bid me good-by. The steamboats
blew their whistles, the town-bells rung. I received an almost
national salute, which I received gratefully, and viewed in its
true light, as a deserved compliment, not to my humble self,
but to my great and noble cause.

At this period I also visited the beautiful little Nyack and
the active, flourishing Yonkers, two of the best known of
the Hiidson-river towns. In both of these places my work
achieved a gratifying success. As "The Yonkers Gazette"
stated, " upwards of seventeen hundred persons have signed
the pledge, and put on the blue ribbon, during the lecturer's
stay in Yonkers." During my work at Nyack an excursion
steamer was chartered to convey parties of friends, and others
desirous of attending my meetings, from Yonkers to Nyack and
return. In Yonkers I caused to be organized a branch of the
Woman's Temperance Union.

The next place of prominence at which I laboted was Roch-
ester, one of the great cities of the Empire State, — a city full
of wealth and energy and enterprise. In this city I first intro-
duced and practically carried out an idea which had for some
time been forming in my mind, — the idea of a " Temperance-
Tent" — of temperance* meetings conducted under canvas. I
could see no good reason why the circus should monopolize
this good idea. There is something about " tent-life " which

"A TEMPERANCE-TENT.'

611

pleases the popular fancy. It is in itself a very convenient
kind of life during the season, far preferable to the hiring
of halls in warm weather, combining, as it does, the advan-
tages of an open-air existence with all the essentials of an
indoor life. For the life of me, I could see no impropriety
about it, no valid objection ; while I at once realized its bene-
fits. So, determined to do for temperance what Barnum and
others have done for amusement, I erected a monster tent, and
conducted my services and public exercises un(|er canvas.

This was the first application of the Tent to Temperance in
this country, and has proved a success.

I may here remark, that in this tent-idea, as in every other
idea which I have carried out or acted upon, I have endeav-
ored to apply the principles of common sense and business to
morality, religion, and temperance, and have, as it were, gone
up to God in a business way, and endeavored to practically real-
ize, in dollars and cents, in clothes or food, or work or canvas,
or whatever it might be, the good that I wanted to carry out.

I am a great believer, not only in grace, but in the means of
grace. In fact, I feel sure you can't have the one — and have
no right to expect it — without the agency of the other. As
the circus-folk found tent-life available for mere amusement,
so I have found it available for moral and philanthropic instruc-
tion. And just as show-people generally try to make shows
agreeable and enticing with song and music and mirth and
recreation, so I have striven to render temperance attractive
by presenting it with attractive surroundings.

As I remarked one day in an address, " Let the temperance
people but take one-half as much trouble to empty the bar-
rooms and drinking-saloons as the proprietors of these places
take to fill them ; let the cold-water advocates surround tem-
perance with as much attraction as the liquor-dealers surround
Tum, — and the good work is accomplished."

512

MY ''NEW IDEA'' IN ROCHESTER.

On these sentiments I have based my course ; and I found,
that as elsewhere, so in Rochester, I met with thorough
indorsement and success.

My " gospel temperance-tent," as I termed it, was erected in
Rochester, near the corner of Caledonia and West Avenues,
and had seating accommodation for nearly a thousand people.
Rev. Dr. Riggs, Rev. J. T. Bissel, Rev. M. Fisher, and other
clergymen, took part in the dedicatory exercises ; and it was a
popular "hit* from the start. It was just what the people
needed. The Rochester " Democrat & Chronicle," in its
elaborate description of this temperance-tent, remarks a&
follows ; —

The pavilioa is a large, two-mast concern, and appears very
much like the ordinary show-tent, which covers the mysteries of the
lesser light shows upon the road. The seats, or benches, are arranged
in semicircular form, facing toward the platform at the west side.
There is an abundance of sawdust spread around under foot ; and the
square, eaves-trough " illuminators," which hang around the two cen-
tre poles, give to the place that air which so largely tends to attract
hundreds to the circus-tent. . . . But there are no small boys trying to
crawl in under the tent, and no young men, with their shirt-sleeves
caught up by elastic bands, who go about plaintively calling " pea-
nuts." As the expansive spread of canvas overhead flaps and sways
in the wind, there is something about the homogeneous throng, and
their unconventional surroundings, which strongly tends to remind
one of a good old-fashioned camp-meeting, where the only canopy
over the congregation is the rustling leaves and leafy branches, and
the starry skies above. This last sentence gives the whole force of
the tent-idea. It is to convey the suggestions of a free outdoor life,
as contrasted with indoor style and restraint.

I may here remark that mine was not merely a " fair-weather "
tent : it was perfectly waterproof, greatly to the comfort of an

"A REFORMED WORKER.

518

immeuse audience which attended one of my temperance meet-
ings during a tremendous shower, and experienced no incon-
venience.

During my stay in Rochester I was ably aided by the ener-
getic and eloquent Col. John F. Hoy, T. B. Stillson, Rev.
Messrs. Stacy, Baker, Taylor, Campbell, Patton, and many others,
as well as by my dear wife, whose sweet singing on the platform,
and sweet smile off the platform, did much to advance our
mutual work and the noble cause. Miss Florence E. Bacon, a
personal friend of my wife and of myself, as well as one of my
most faithful assistants, also contributed largely to our success
by her popular recitations. Miss Bacon is universally pro-
nounced by press and public a young lady of fine elocutionary
ability.

In Rochester, as elsewhere, the good work prospered under
my humble though honest exertions : but, of course, all was
not couleur de rose ; nothing is in this world. Somebody, who
signed himself "A Reformed Worker," attacked myself and
wife as " humbugs," after our departure. But his attack only
brought eloquent defenders to the front, and merely served to
prove how many friends my wife and myself had made in
Rochester. After all, the best proof of the kind of work we
did in Rochester was the fact, that thousands of signatures
were appended to the temperance pledge.

Another field of labor in which success attended our efforts
was Jersey City, one of the most bustling suburbs of the great
metropolis. In Newark, Paterson, and other New-Jersey cen-
tres of population, I also lectured with good results. In New-
ark I lectured under the auspices of the Union Gospel Temper-
ance Association. Here, as elsewhere, my temperance-tent
was a great "hit." "The Newark Daily Advertiser" re-
marked, that "the novelty of conducting meetings of this
kind under couvas draws to the tent an element in this com-

614

THE "PLEDGE" IN ALBANY.

munity which could not be otherwise reached by Christian or
by temperance workers." This sums up the whole matter, —
gives the truth concerning it in a nut-shell.

In Albany I made a protracted stay, whose general history
may be summed up in one sentence. My work began bravely,
developed great enthusiasm; also developed some dissatisfac-
tion, arising partly from the slanders of the envious, and partly
from the misunderstandings of the well-meaning ; but finally
culminated in a triumph, and resulted in permanent good.
The details are briefly as follows : For over five weeks I held
nightly meetings, and in some cases two meetings a-day, in
Martin Hall, old Tweedle Hall, the old Tabernacle Baptist
Church, etc., under the auspices of the Woman's Christian
Temperance Union. The Rev. Mr. Morse was the first clergy-
man of Albany to introduce me to the public, and remained
my warm personal friend and professional associate throughout.

As usual, I made an all-important feature of the signing of
the pledge. It may be well here to give the form of the pledge
which I offered for signature.

"Charity covereth a multitude of sins. Help raise the fallen.
With malice toward none, and with charity for all, I, the under-
signed, do pledge my word and honor, God helping me, to abstain
from all intoxicating liquors as a beverage, and that I will, by all
honorable means, encourage others to do the same."

I also made a special feature of the singing. The Moody
and Sankey hymns were used, as well as some special temper-
ance and religious hymns published in leaflets, and widely
distributed. My dear wife, in this departmnnt, was of the
utmost assistance to me. Her rendering of " The Ninety and
Nine," and other sacred songs of a similar character, was spe-
cially notable.

I also found that my renditions of character and dialect parts,

" THE BLUE HIliJiON:'

515

in imitation of men of various nationalities in various stages of
intoxication, were very well received, and highly commended
by the press, as well as by the people.

Among the attractions at some of my meetings at Albai.y
were the Hutchinson family of singers, one of whom, Mrs. Asa
Hutchinson, so kindly befriended me when Mrs. Powers of
Bangor, Me., and whose kindness I made a point of publicly
acknowledging at one of my meetings.

The blue ribbon was also utilized with great success at
Albany, as one of the " outward and visible signs of an inward
and spiritual grace." And here let me explain why I adopted
the blue ribbon. I obtained the hint as to the color from the
fifteenth chapter of the Book of Numbers, thirty-eighth and
thirty-ninth verses, in which allusion is made to a blue fringe
on the garments of the children of Israel, which was to be a
symboi, " that ye may look upon it, and remember all the com-
mandments of the Lord, and do them."

One feature of my Albany meetings struck the public as a
novelty, and met with wide approval. I refer to what I may
call my "temperance matinSes" — my meetings in the after-
noon for children. Over one thousand children assembled at
Tweedle Hall, Saturday afternoon, Dec. 8, 1877, to take part
in the exercises of one of my meetings. I offered prizes for
tlie best temperance recitations, the prizes consisting of eigh-
teen volumes of juvenile stories. Twenty-six boys and thirty-
six girls competed for the prizes.

On another occasion I offered a ten-dollar gold-piece as a
prize for the best recitation by either girl or boy. The chil-
dren, with their parents and relatives, were intensely interested
iu this competition.

Some, it is true, found fault with this connecting children
with a temperance movement ; but I took issue with those fault-
finders. As I remarked at the time, " I would rather have chil-

516

THE CHILDREN AND THE CLERGY.

dren taught temperance than grown people, for in the children
lies the hope of the nation. Besides, it is so much easier to
prevent an evil in a child than it is to cure that evil in a grown-
up man or woman."

Exception was also taken in certain quarters in Albany, that
I had not been indorsed by the clergy, — that, as a body, they
stood aloof from my work. But this was contrary to the facts-
in the first place, and had nothing to do with my temperance
work. I came to call, like my Divine Master, not the right-
eous, but the sinner, to repentance. I did not visit Albany,
or any other place, to produce a revival among the clergy
(though not a few clergymen really need a " revival " of old-
fashioned, true religion), but to produce an awakening and a
reformation among the lowly and the sinful. And in this I
effectually succeeded.

How successful my work in Albany really was, can be seen
from a glance at the following article, which appeared in the
columns of " The Albany Evening Journal : " —

Now that the temperance revival, held in this city, draws to a close,.
it might be interesting to look back on the field, and notice the results.
While the protracted meetings did not begin until some six weeks ago,
yet the preparatory meetings were commenced last June, being held
in the open air at the Capitol Park every Sunday afternoon. Later,
when the weather became too cool, "Martin Hall," which waa
crowded each Sunday, was secured. In this hall Mr. Thomas N.
Doutney commenced his series of meetings, which have continued
over a period of five weeks. Mr. Doutney came to this city in the full
flush of a wonderful success in the city of Newburg ; and, knowing
that this city was ripe for a revival, he expected to have the assistance
and co-operation of all the temperance men and women of the city,
as he had at Newburg and other cities. But one of the results did
not fully realize his anticipations; for while temperance workers
gathered around him, and rendered all the assistance which they knew

MY SUCCESS AT ALU ANY.

80 well how to give, the other and liijjlier t'lement stootl aloof. This,
in a great measure, can be accoiiiitcd for by certain individual jealousy,
»nd by false and scandalous stories in relation to the reviValist ; and
time has shown, as another result, that Mr. Doutney is, without doubt,
a pure, spotless, and earnest young man, who thought, lal)ored, and
prayed without thought of remuneration. When we come to consider
that it became necessary to charge an admissi6n-fee to pay the neces-
sary expenses of the revival, — and, notwithstanding this, the meet-
ings were usually crowded, — Mr. Doutney 's success was something to
wonder at. It showed that the people believed in him, and it also
showed the command which he exhibited over the rougher class or
■element that were usually found present at the meetings in large
numbers and on all occasions. During the five weeks Mr. Doutney
held thirty-seven revival meetings, at which five thousand persons
(in round numbers) signed the pledge. Hundreds and hundreds of
these men are now trying to lead a nobler life. Mr. Doutney was
also present at and led thirty-five prayer-meetings. The attendance
on them was principally reformed men, and the result of the work at
these meetings can never be correctly estimated. Four meetings for
children were also held, and greatly enjoyed by the little folks. Be-
sides all these, Mr. Doutney found time to make personal visits to the
unfortunate. Mr. Doutney, during his stay, did not think it beneath
him to accompany a large wagon through our streets, and solicit from
our merchants about one hundred dollars' worth of provisions and a
number of tons of coal. The singing of Mrs. Doutney was a very
attractive feature of the revival. There are many who will retain in
their memory the beautiful and feeling strains of "Oh, to be noth-
ing ! " as she rendered them. The different temperance organizations
ably assisted all the efforts of the revivalist. Taken together as a
whole, we think the revival a success. The ladies were untiring in
their good work, and deserve considerable praise for the unwavering
fidelity which they gave to the cause and Mr. Doutney.

One of the most striking episodes of my career in Albany-
was my " relief-visits " to the poorer families of the reformed

618

SAliATOGA, THE SOUTH, AND TUB WEST.

drunkards among whom I successfully labored. This I made
a feature of, and deservedly; for how can a poor man be
kept reformed if he has nothing wherewith to keep himself
and his family ? Reformed drunkards and their families must
live, and must have something to eat, until they, by their new-
found sobriety and industry, are enabled to earn it. It is use-
less to tell a starving man to be honest, or a hungry man to be
temperate, especially if he has a family who are suffering with,
as well as by, him.

Recognizing this fact, I went round Albany with a four-horse
team, and collected from the charitable, groceries and provis-
ions for " my poor," — the Lord's " poor," — the poor of those
who hf.d signed the pledge. The response to my efforts in this
direction was grand, — three wagon-loads full of provisions.

Then I went round in a buggy, and solicited orders for coal,
which orders were liberally supplied. There are warm hearta
and open hands in the Capitol city of the Empire State.

One of my most successful meetings, or series of meetings,
was held at the far-famed village of Saratoga. Here, under the
auspices of the Women's Temperance Union, the indorsement
of Rev. Dr. Stryker and other clergymen, and the attendance
of the Seventy-seventh Regimental Band, which participated in
strumentally in the entertainment, I gave a number of lectures,
which were received with avidity by overflowing houses.

And thus I traversed all portions of the United States, being
alike successful in Richmond, Va., and Richmond, Ind., — in the
South as in the West. I experienced the far-famed hospitality
of the Sunny South in various localities throughout Virginia,
Norfolk, etc. ; and I likewise enjoyed the equally kind-hearted,
if somewhat more boisterous and more demonstrative, hospital-
ity of the breezy and boundless West. All places were alike
to me "if only I could save some," and all places seemed
blessed to me for good.

AMONG THE QUAKERS.

519

In Richmond, Ind., my work was commenced under the
auspices of the Quakers, " The Society of Friends," a sect
which has always been inclined to temperance in drink, as well
as in word and deed. My efforts in this place were marked
with signal success. " The Riciimond Palladium " remarked,
that " the temperance agitation started by Thomas N. Doutney
at the Eighth-street Friends' Church has grown into a move-
ment so strong that no church in the city, except the yearly
meeting-house, is large enough to hold the crowd that goes
night after night to hear him." So the Phillips Opert-house
was engaged for three evenings to accommodate the rush, and
barely sufficed for that.

Here as elsewhere the sweet singing of my dear wife, and
the admirable recitations of Misis Florence E. Bacon, elicited
deserved applause.

CHAPTER XLII.

My WANDERINGS, AND WABFARB WITH THE DEMON ALCOHOL. — NORTH,
SOUTH, EAST, AND WEST. —IN VILLAGES AND IN CITIES. — MY VISIT TO
BROOKLYN. — MY ADVENTURES IN PROVIDENCE. — "WAS I NOT RIGHT?"
— SCENES, INCIDENTS, AND EPISODES. — SOME MISUNDERSTANDINGS. —
A SUMMARY OF MY WORK.— THE BRUTE OF A BUM-SELLER. —THE CRIP-
PLE AND HER MOTHER. — A BABY AS THE BEST TEMPERANCE LECTURER
OF THEM ALL.

It is surely unnecessary, and would be tedious for me, to
recount the narratives of ray professional visits to all the dif-
ferent places where I have labored and lectured. There would
be a uniformity, a monotony, about the details, which would
be uninteresting to the general reader ; and I have made up
my mind, whatever else I may or may not be, never to be
"dull." It is the one unpardonable sin against the general
public. Suffice it to say, that I traversed almost the entire con-
tinent in the cause of temperance. Among the towns where I
was heartily received, and accorded a generous welcome, were
Staunton, Va. ; Lynchburg, Va. ; Bridgeport, Conn. ; Rome, N. Y. ;
Utica, N.Y. ; Geneva, N.Y. ; Oneida, N.Y. ; Little Falls, N.Y. ;
Newport, R.I. ; Hartford, Conn. ; Poughkeepsie, N.Y. , Stamford,
^onn. ; Biddeford, Bangor, Rockland, Camden, Bath, Lewiston,
Augusta, Ellsworth, and other leading towns in Maine; Bur-
lington, St. Albans, Rutland, Montpelier, St. Johnsbury, and
other prominent places in Vermont; Manchester, Dover, and
other towns in New Hampshire ; Lawrence, Haverhill, Wake-
field, Holyoke, Worcester, Salem, and Springfield, Mass., in
addition to a very successful visit to Boston ; Meriden, New
630

THE CITY OF CHURCHES.

521

Haven, Conn. ; Troy, Plattsburg, Schenectady, Port Henry,
Buffalo, Odgensburg, Amsterdam, Gloversville, N.Y. ; Balti-
more, Md.; Minneapolis, Minn, (in both of which last-mentioned
places I was far more successful ultimately than either my
friends or myself expected) j Indianapolis, Shelbyville, Laporte,
Union City, and other leading towns in Indiana; London,
New Ohio, etc., in Ohio, with a very enthusiastic reception in
that great centre, Cincinnati; Belvidere, Ottawa, and other
towns in Illinois, with a fine reception in that very hot-bed of
the rum -interest, Chicago itself, as well as an almost ovation in
Montreal and other prominent places in Canada.

I have taken the pains to specify the different places I visited
as far as possible, as I do not believe in mere vague state-
ments, and wish to show here and now, how I have actually
visited, and been on the whole successful, alike East, West,
North, and South; alike in the small villages, the thriving
towns, and the great cities ; thus proving, that gauged by the
only possible test, practical and extended experience, my style
of temperance work, so to speak, my peculiar methods of
reformation, have been appreciated by the only possible and
final judge, — the general public

Among the great cities in which I was successful must be
mentioned Brooklyn, — the City of Churches, the home of those
ciiree truly good and great men (for such they are, after making
il allowances for their personal peculiarities and professional
<• iferences). Revs. Drs. Henry Ward Beecher, De Witt Talmage,
and Justin D. Fulton. In Brooklyn I was treated well by press
and public, and found my reward in good accomplished.

That excellent paper, " The Brooklyn Eagle," thus referred
e^litorially to my work.

The six-weeks' temperance campaign, inaugurated by Thomas N.
Doutney, in the tent at the junction of Flatbush and Fifth Avenues,
was brought to a successful termination last evening by an excellent

622

TWO IIEPRESENTATIVE CITIES.

^ vocal mid instnimental concert. A good audience was present, in-
cluding many prominent advocates of the cause. Among those who
occupied seats on the platform were Mr. Watson — of the "Jersey
City Journal" — and family. The programme opened with an ad-
mirably rendered duet on the cornet and clarinet, by Mrs. Lilla Belle
and Will I. Peters. This was succeeded by the recitation of the
" Schoolmaster's Guest," by Miss Florence E. Bacon, whose elocu-
tionary and mimetic powers are simply wonderful. The young lady
was warmly applauded. A " Free and Jolly Rover I " was well sung
by I. W. Macy, who, in answer to a recall, gave a laughing-soug,
which was capitally do'io. " Chicken on de Brain " and Josh Billings
" On Gongs " were moi. ; ' ' >gly read by Mr. Doutncy. The soprano
solo " Perplexity," by Mi^. itson, was followed by a cornet solo by
Mrs. Peters. Mrs. Doutney sang "Take Me Home," a selection
descriptive of Southern life. The remainder of the programme con-
sisted of the " Deacon's Confession ; " " A B C Duet " by Mrs. Jones
— daughter of the late James Budworth of minstrel fame — and I. W.
Macy ; solo by George 1. Winters ; " Shivering and Shaking " by Mr.
and Mrs. Doutney ; and other selections. Mr. Doutney goes to Wes-
terly, R.I., and New London, Conn., to spend a week in each place.
He began his work here on May 31 ; and his meetings, with few
exceptions, have been crowded from the commencement. During his
stay in this city he has made many friends.

Probably the two places in which I have enjoyed the most
emphatic success have been two representative cities, — one of
them perhaps the most thriving, bustling, sensational city of its
size in New England ; the other certainly the greatest city in
the American continent, if not in the world. I allude to the
city of Providence, R.I., and the city of New York.

In both of these wide-awake places my wide-awake methods
have been understood and appreciated. In both of these enter-
prising-^jentres my enterprise has found a congenial atmosphere.
In both cities I have made a stir, — a sensation, — and accom-
plished practical results for good.

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IN PROVIDENCE, R.I.

52S

Of course, it goes without saying, that in both of these cities
I have encountered opposition. No positive man, with an idea,
can go to Providence or to New York without encountei'ing^
positive men, with ideas directly opposed to his. And then
follows the inevitable clashing and battling of ideas, terminat-
ing either in a " drawn battle," or " the survival of the fittest."

So the reader of these pages will see that I have made ene-
mies as well as friends in these two cities, have found denoun-
cers as well as advocates. But the latter classes will be found
to be alike more numerous and more influential than the former.
I have been enabled to make ten friends where I have made
one enemy ; and, in my case, the usual rule has been reversed,
and my friends have been more active than my enemies.

But to particulars. I commenced my career as a temperance
lecturer in Providence comparatively quietly so far as the press
was concerned, though very enthusiastically so far as my audi-
ences were concerned. From the first my houses were large,
as was conceded by the papers. " The Morning Star " of Provi-
dence thus alluded to my first meeting : —

The first of a series of meetings for the cause of temperance to be
given by Thomas N. Doutney was held in a tent on Broad Street last
evening, and an audience of nearly a thousand persons was in attend-
ance. The tent is located on a lot on Broad Street sixty by ninety
feet, and has a seating capacity of about eighteen hundred. Above
the top of the tent, there are two flags waving, one bearing the
inscription "Doutney Jubilee," and the other his working motto,
" Truth and Temperance." The exercises opened last evening with
the singing of several of the best of Moody and Sankey's hymns ;
and, after prayer by the Rev. Mr. Alden, a brief address was
then made by Henry S. Woodsworth, the grand worthy patriarch of
the Sons of Temperance of Rhode Island. Mr. Doutney was then
introduced ; and his remarks were of the common-sonse order, with-
out attempts at rhetorical effect, but were straightforward, and pic-

524 ''TEMPERANCE" HOTELS AND BOGUS "DRUG "-STORES.

turecl in plain terms the awful effects of intemperance, interspersed
with several humorous and ridiculous antics of a man under the
influence of liquor : yet the speaker convinced his audience that he
was an earnest worker in the cause, and the result was a number of
signatures to the temperance pledge. During the evening, there was
plenty of vocal and instrumental music by a corps of nine ladies and
gentlemen, who accompany Mr. Doutney in his working; and the
company enjoyed a good musical entertainment, besides hearing the
true inwardness of the evils of intemperance explained by a man who
had risen from a ragged inebriate to be an advocate of the temperance
cause, and knew from sad experience the evils resulting from drinking.

My succeeding meetings were as largely attended as my first,
and my audiences grew more and more enthusiastic as they saw
and heard more and more of me. I flatter myself I gave them
something to think about and to talk about. My methods
were novel as well as effective. They did not "run in the
old ruts : " they were not " stereotyped."

In one of my addresses I raised a little breeze by " pitching
into " so-called " temperance hotels," which had nothing to
justify their existence, saving the mere fact that they did not
sell whiskey or wine or beer. This fact was a gratifying and a
good one ; but it did not in itself constitute " a hotel," nor make
amends for the carelessness, and poor accommodations, and
terrific cookery, which characterized some of those miscalled
"hotels." Am I not right? I also, in another address, created
some excitement by denouncing, in unmeasured terms, those
so-styled " drug-stores," which sold liquor " on the sly." I said
that the humbugs and hypocrites of " druggists " who " run "
these stores were infinitely worse and meaner than the open
and above-board liquor-dealer. And I meant just what I said,
and I mean it still. Am I not right ?

I was called a " charlatan " and a " mountebank," because on
one occasion I appeared, attired very elaboratel3% on the plat-

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GOOD CLOTHES, VARIETY ACTORS, ETC.

625

form, and excused my elaborate " make-up " on the plea that
"I wished to show that reforui^a drunkards could afford to
wear good clothes." But was there, after all, any humbug
about all this? Was it not merely practically illustrating a
practical truth? Was I not right?

I also provoked some criticism because I entered into nego-
tiations with a popular variety actor in Providence, and en-
deavored to enlist his services in the temperance cause. But
was I not justified in using every agency to bring men to the
truth ? Was I not fully justified in utilizing every means and
every man to accomplish an undeniably good result? Was I
not justified in trying to turn this variety actor's mimic gifts,
and his professional and personal popularity, into a new and
better channel than that to which it had been previously de-
voted ? Was I not right ?

During my stay in Providence, a distinguished gentleman
made the remark publicly, that my work did not meet his entire
approval, and would not receive his individual subscription*
because it "looked like a mere money-making venture, and
seemed like a second edition of Barnum's show." The refer-
ence to Barnum I took as rather a compliment than otherwise ;
but the reference to the money I justly resented, and entirely
disproved. True, I had to live ; and I tried to live by my hon-
orable calling as a temperance lecturer, just as a clergyman
tries to live as a religious lecturer. But beyond this I cared no
more for money than the minister ; and my meetings had less,
not more, of the pecuniary element in them than the average
church. The average church has a pastor, with a stated salary,
dependent upon certain fixed conditions and pecuniary resoui «.os ;
whereas I had to depend only on the friends of the cause, or
occasionally on a very small, merely nominal, admission-fee.
So I think that I proved to the public of Providence, that, in
one point at least, the gentleman had made a mistake.

626

DOUTNEY'S iVORK.

During my stay in Providence, there was also a slight misun-
derstanding between my friend, Mr. Ferrin, and myself, on the
one side, and some gentlemen connected with local temperance
organizations, on the other side. But it will be fully enough
to state on this matter, that my action in this affair received
the indorsement of the most influential gentlemen and ladies
connected with the temperance work, embracing such men as
the Rev. George W. Anderson, who wrote me a warm letter of
approval , and Mr. George W. Butts, the owner of the lot on
which my tent stood, who was so well satisfied wifli my
course that he gave me the use of his ground hereafter rent
free.

I had, in addition to my other episodes, "a little difference
of opinion " with certain members of " the Reformed Men's
Club," — a local temperance organization, — and a passing con-
troversy with the Providence " Telegram." But, on the whole,
I got along well with the press and the community, and cer-
tainly succeeded in the one great object of my life, — bringing
men to temperance, and, as far as I could, to total abstinence,
— inducing them to sign, and influencing them to keep, the
pledge.

I do not know that I can sum up my three-months' temper-
ance labor in Providence better than an ardent advocate of
temperance summed it up in the columns of the " Sunday
Star." This article I herewith quote entire ; as it is full and
truthful, and presents the whole truth in a striking and forci-
ble, because practical, manner : —

DOUTNEY'S WORK.

TIIK I5KSULT8 OF THREE-MONTHS' TEMPERANCE WORK IN PROVIDENCE.
To THE EdFTOR of THE SuNDAY StAR.

Sir, — If I can give you even an imperfect idea of the good work
accomplished by Thomas N. Doutney in the three months he has been

ITS ACTUAL liESULTS.

627

in Providence, I Bliall bo glad. On Aug. 3 he opened his tent in
I'i'ovidence, and all through the dry and heated mouth he toiled on
incessantly. While every citizen who possibly could was taking
rest, he worked on for fallen humanity. September, in all its dreamy
beauty, failed to allure the worker from his task. The golden month
of October found the burden and care and responsibility Increasing
on Mr. Doutney's shoulders.

IN MUSIC HALL.

The chill of the evenings, together with the increase of the audi-
ence, made it essential to have larger and warmer quarters. On the
€th of October the tent was exchanged for Music Hall. Up to this
time meetings were held every evening in the tent. From Oct. 6 to
Nov. 8 meetings were held every evening except Wednesdays ; then
again, Nov. 11, 12, and 19. And every night the hall, as well as the
tent, has been literally packed : every night but two Mr. Doutney
■was present, and conducted the meeting. Hundrciin of people have
iittended every meeting, from the first night in the tent to the " bene-
fit." The persistency with which these meetings were carried on
showa the noted firmness, force, energy, and endurance of the man.
It proves one good thing, — that they have become aroused in gospel
temperance work ; that their influence was to aid the cause. Besides,
■we had some of the most eloquent orators and most polished speak-
ers in our Union to address the meetings. Here let me add, never in
one single instance have the poor and lowly been turned from the
<loor. They have always been admitted, and enjoyed the same con-
siderate and kind attentions others more prosperous have enjoyed.

THE ACTUAL RESULTS.

More than three thousand people have signed the pledge, and but
Tcry few have broken it. Some of the most hopeless cases of intem-
perance ever known in our city have been reformed. Men who never
remember a sober day before, are to-day respectable, sober members
of society. Probably no two were approached in the same manner.
Could you have seen the number of poor, fallen men who have been

528

THE CHILDREN'S MEETINGS.

watched and nursed through "deliriiirii tremens," as tenderly and
carefully as a mother would have watched a sick child, by Mr. Dout-
ney and his assistants, you would feel this in itself sufficient work for
three months. When medical aid was needed, the best physicians
have been called and paid by Mr. Doutney. Clothing was provided,
food administered to the hungry, husbands returned to wives after
years of absence. Hundreds of homes have been made happy.
Places of abode have been hunted up, too wretchedly miserable to be
dignified by the name of home : they have been made bright, cheerful,
cleanly, and comfortable. Then Mr. Doutney, by personal application,
gathered in a large amount of provisions for reformed men ; and, at
his solicitation, one evening a collection of more than eighty dollars
was taken up, to be placed in the hands of Henry F. Ferrin, for the
needs of the poor who had signed the temperance pledge since tlie
gospel meetings. Besides, other collections have been taken up at
different times for outside purposes, — two for a poor cripple-girl, one
for two invalid sisters, also one for the proprietor of a coffee-house,
and one for the minister and sabbath school of the Gaspee-street
Zion M. E. Church (colored). And I venture to say, that, at the
time some of the collections were called for, the funds were low, very
low, in Mr. Doutney's treasury, to carry on his own meetings.

THE children's MEETINGS.

The grand and glorious success of the children'sj meetings I can-
not overlook. The first was on so stormy a day hardly a child could
be expected out, but more than five hundred were present. Some of
them gave well-rendered temperance recitations. They were enter-
tained with fine music and songs. They wore bountifully fed with
luscious grapes, the best of cake, and plenty of fresh milk. The
next Saturday being fine, nearly fourteen hundred little hearjts were
made glad by the march through the streets, fine music, and the plen-
tiful repast of good things provided for them. It was a day never
to be forgotten by the little o: cs.

The meeting held by the reformed men was conducive of great
good, as was the meeting the night the reformed men spoke for the

^ BUM-SELLING nRUTE.

629

f rize. i was truly glad vviieu the women were given an opportunity
to speak, if only for five minutes. They showed much natural »' eui.
and no small amount of ability.

UOUTNEV's KLOQUEXCE.

One of the most potent influences for temperance in these meeting*
has been the experience lecture, given several times by request. No
one who has had an opportunity of hearing it will question the elo-
quence of the speaker. Probably on Sunday evening, Nov. 12, Mr.
Doutney showed his oratorical powers to as good ad\antage as at any
time since his stay in Trovidence. His remarks were to the point ;
and his allusion to women, their influence in temperance work, and
the good use they would put the ballot to., was earnest, truthful, and
respectful in the extreme.

Let me say, in conclusion, that it has been a grand, good Christian
work, from first to last. No one person, in my remembrance, has
done as much practical good, and as much Christian work, in the
same time as Mr. Doutney. Mr. and Mrs. Doutney came amongst
us as comparative strangers : they depart counting their friends by
thousands. Mrs. Doutney, in her sweet songs, has melted many a
hardened heart. Sustained by an unfaltering trust in CJod, and with
a firm determination to do right, Mr. Doutney has gained the confi-
dence of many of our citizens. But some one says, "I thought
Doutney had enemies." Show nie a person without an enemy, and I
will show you a cipher in the world and society every time.

Some incidents in my career in Providence liave a personal
and human interest. Thus, I became cognizant of a man, or
brute in man's form, who passed for a generr us-liearted, open-
handed individual, a prominent rum-seller in Providence, who,
when a poor, misguided, loving creature liad become dis-
tasteful to him, and had, in her bitterness of spirit, taken to
drink, had turned her out of doors. In my manly and right-
eous wrath I stigmatized this beast as he deserved, and, by so

530

A CRIPPLE AND HER MOTHER.

doing, secured, by my allusions to his case, his enmity and that
of his " gang," — for I will not allov/ myself to say his '* friends,"
for that would be to pollute the sacred name of friendship in
this connection. I was threatened with vengeance, but I cared
not. And I was right, for such a brute as that is in most cases'
a coward. The male creature who will maltreat a woman is
usually afraid of a man. So his threats came to nothing.

A ripple of excitement, this time of a sentimental character,
was also caused during my lectures here by the constant
appearance .at the meetings of a woman, who wheeled into
the midst of the crowd a crippled child, — a young girl, —
who found the principal delight of her life in the varied exer-
cises — the songs and speeches and recitations and miscellane-
ous performances — at my temperance "entertainments." This
crippled daughter and devoted mother came in a little while
to be looked upon as parts — and very interesting parts — of
the " show ; " and their presence evoked sympathy, which I
soon endeavored to put into tangible shape by crystallizing
it into " a collection," which I presented to the cripple, with
a kiss.

But perhaps the most spvisational incident connected with my
course of lectures in Providence had for its chief actor and fac-
tor a baby, — a helpless and unconscious baby, — who, in spite
of its unconscious helplessness, became a most effective agent
ill the good work of saving men from the devil of alcohol.

It was one of my farewell services in the gospel temperance-
tent, in the early part of October, prior to my removing my
meetings to the Music Hall. A large audience was assembled,
.and the exercises were of a more than usually interesting char-
:acter. Suddenly the interest was intensified by a baby making
iits appearance on the platform, — '■ a baby in arms, and such a
ibaby I — weakly, puny, sickly, bloodless, joyless, almost lifeless,
thin, emaciated, gaunt, very bony for a baby, an almost skele-

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'The baby was the most effective teini)erance lecturer of them all" [p.

5.'U].

A liRUNKKN-MOTHKR-POISONKI) UAttY.

531

ton of a baby, with im Hesh to speak of, and very nervous;
a mere bundle of bones and nerves, — such a baby I All the
mothers in the audience who saw it looked at each other piti-
fully, and said, " Poor thing I " Poor little thing, poor thing,
indeed I for it was a baby who had just been taken from the
arms of its drunken mother, who had been found in a state
of beastly intoxication, — "off on a drunk," as the terrible
filang is; while the father had been sent to the State work-
house. Between its two wretched and worthless parents, the
" poor little thing " had had no nourishment for some time, and
was dying, partly from starvation, but what was worse yet,
if worse was possible, partly from alcoholic poisoning^ — poison
imbibed by suckling at the alcohol-befouled milk of the mother.

This is an actual fact, reader. There is not the slightest
€xaggeration about it I assure you. I have the word of a
reputable physician, who was acquainted with the details of
the case, that the child's blood — what little blood it had —
was poisoned by the alcohol in its mother's drink. Could any
temperance lecture be more impressive than this awful fsict?
And need it be said that I made the most effective, dramatic,
immediate use I could of it, and held that poor little baby
there, before that crowded assemblage, as my most effective
temperance lesson ?

During my stay in Providence I received able assistance
from many good men and women, — practical encouragement
rrom all classes of people. Thomas W. Pittman, Justin 1).
Fulton, and other eloquent speakers, addressed the meetings,
J. B. Gibbs of New York lent me his aid ; the Rev. Thomas
W. Vine, the Rev. W. J. Worth, the Rev. T. C. Goodsell, Benja-
min R. Jewell, of Boston, Rev. Mr. J)exter, Rev. Mr. Scribner,
all lent me their valuable time, talents, and influence; but —

That baby was the most effective temperance lecturer of them all!

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE TEMI'KRAXCE rAMPAKJN IN NEW YOl'.K. — HOW THE METROPOLIS FOB~
«fIVES. — SOME sritlKIXd ILLt'STUATIONS. — WHY NOT WOMAN ASWEI.U
AS MAN? — THE MASONIC TEMI'LE, THE CUUUCU, AND THE INDIAN WIO-
WAM. — DAN RICE, HAI'PY JACK SMITH, AND POP WHITTAKER. — THE
SEARCH FOR JOHN A. TOllIN. — THE NEW-YORK PRESS AND PEOPLE.

The last place at which I labored iu the cause of temper-
ance (up to the date at which this story of my life-struggles,
fall, reformation, and triumph terminates, May, 1883) was the
greatest, worst, best place of all, — New York. My readers
have doubtless noticed ere this, that I have always entertained
a peculiar admiration for New York, as well as entertained my
own peculiar, but, I am assured, correct, views thereof. I have
ilwelt upon its varied aspects largely in these pages, and have
described, and have let other writers describe for me, its curious
and startling phases of existence. I approached New York as
an avowed temperance advocate with diffidence, — a modestv
jmrtly personal and partly professional. I had been once
known here in the metropolis as a rum-drinker, — ay, and a rum-
seller, and now I had what seemed to me the assurance, almost
I lie impudence, to appear before it as a temperance lecturer.
How would it receive me in my new character? Would it
not remember me only in my old? Would it not force me to
pay the penalty of my erring past by refusing to acknowledge
me in my repenting present? So much personally.

Again, professionally. New York had already enjoyed all
the intellectual efforts of a Father Mathew, a Gough, and a
Murphy. What further need had it, then, of a Doutney ? All

WHAT NKH' YORK ASKS.

533

that is greatest on eurtli in art, science, literature, politics,
finance, religion, and morals, comes of itself, or is brought, to
New York. What need, then, to swell the already overflowing
tide of contributions with my little mite ? In short, I antici-
pated in New York comparative obscurity and failure But
on the contrary I found a liberal welcome, and, from t] e start,
success.

As for my pa»t^ New York, God bless it ! liad, in its bigness
of size and soul, forgotten all about it, save where I myself
chose to tell about it. This is characteristic of New York. It
knows no past. It cares nothing for "ancient liistory." It
looks only at the direct present, and only towards the imme-
diate future. " To-da}^ " is by far the favorite word in its
language. "To-morrow," too, is quite a common term; but
" yesterday " is seldom referred to.

New \'"ork asks not, cares not. What a man may have been ?
all it wants to know, and that it will find out and determine for
itself at once, is. Who and what is the man? So New York
never "bothered" about recollecting the old Tom Doutney the
inebriate, — save when and as far as Tom Doutney himself
mentions it, — but only set to work, saw, heard, and made up
its mind in regard to, Thomas N. Doutney, the converted rum-
^seller and temperance lecturer. And I am sincerely grateful,
profoundly glad, and not a little proud, to have reason to think
that the latter Doutney impressed the metropolis favorably.

And while I am on this point, to which I have been directing
attention, — the indifference of New York to the past, its ten-
dency to forget, — let me remind the reader, that if there is an
€vil side to it, — as there undoubtedly is, — if it leads to a
quick, complete obliteration of all records and relics, so that in
New York to-day there is hardly a building remaining that
stood in New York fifty years ago, — there is also a magnificent
side, — a noble and a Christ-like side.

534

FOlidKT AND FORUIVE.

The tendency to fon/et is accouipaniod by tlie tendency to
forgive. The former is human, and tiie hitter is divine.

True, there is periiaps too much of this in New York, as
instanced by t lie notorious fact, — already alluded to, I think,
elsewhere in this volume, — that 1 have met in the course of one
day, in the streets of >'ew York, four or five men, each of whom
has killed liis man, and who, in almost any other country, would
have been hung, or would have been confined in State prison
for life, but each of whom, in the American metropolis, is en-
joying all the comforts and respect of the average free and
well-to-do citizen.

Hut then, on the other hand, there are hundreds of men, —
meji who have sinned and suffered, but repented and reforined»
— who, in any other city almost in the world, would have been
ostracized, pointed at with shame, and ruined, but who in
New York, their very crimes forgotten, are leading respectable
lives, and are themselves respected.

And God bless, I say, from the bottom of my heart, t\\&
great and great-hearted city of which this can truly be said T
Such it. city is pre-eminently adapted for the home of any re-
formed man, whether he be a criminal or drunkard. And let
me here breathe the earnest pra^-er, that some day the fulnesa
of time and justice shall come, when not only shall all other
cities imitate New York in its tendency to forgive, but when
this forgiveness shall be extended, not only to men, but to women ,*
when there shall be hope, not only as now, for a penitent
thief, forger, or drunkard, truly trying to reform, but also for
an erring woman who grieves over her error, and has ceased
to err, and who is striving to recover the ground that she
has lost.

Jesus Christ forgave, ay, loved Mary Magdalene. He has
commanded us to forgive alt sins committed by others, — all:
he has specified no one exception Who, then, what mere man

NEW YORK SUSTAINS ME.

535

or what mere woman, has the right to pronounce any one sin
in either sex unpardonable ?

Hut to return to my more immediate subject, — my own
lecture experiences in New York. 1 found them generally and
steadily successful ; and I have therefore the right to conclude
that the metropolis, familiar as it was with the burning elo-
ijuence of a (iough and a Murphy, accustomed as it was to the
glowing earnestness of a Moody, yet found something differ-
ent from these, and something commendable, in the efforts to
phrase, amuse, instruct, and reform his fellow-men, made by-
Tiioraas N. Doutney and those associated with him.

I begJin w\\ work at the splendid Masonic Tem[ile, corner
Twenty-third Street and Fifth Avenue, with Thomas W. Pitt-
man, Esq., for my chairman, and assisted by my dear wife as
solo singer, my dear friend. Miss Florence E. Bacon, as elocu-
tionist, and a fine corps of colored jubilee singers, the Olym-
pian Quintet, C. C. (~"ornish, njunager, and the great and won-
derful Gilbert family (Mr. O. C. (Jilbcrt director and leader),
and William B. Stone. These were great '" hits " in New
York, and always received hearty and genuine encores. The
papers at first were comparatively " non-committal " in re-
gard to my "movement." It requires time for the Press of
New York to make up its metropolitan mind. But in due
season, after detailing reporters to carefully attend and watch
the progress of my " meetings," the editors of New York came
to the conclusion that I was really in earnest in the first place,
and that I had solved the problem of presenting moral reforms
in an attractive light, and arraying I*rudence and Principle in
the garb of Pleasure.

Consequently, from the time they arrived at tliat conclu-
sion, I was thoroughly iiidorsed and sustained by the Press of
New York. The papers reported fully my meetings, and occa-
sionally honored me with "editorial mention." This, from

536

MY NEW-YOliK WORK.

New York, was honor indeed. As for the people, I carritMl
them with me in New York as elsewhere. They thronged my
meetings at the Masonic Temple, where on several occasions I
appeared in conjunction with my esteemed friend Mr. J. B.
Gibbs, the whole-souled temperance advocate.

Having fulfilled my season at the Masonic Temple, finding
the absolute importance of a larger hall to hold my increasing
audiences, I made an arrangement with the representatives of
the old aquarium property, corner of Thirty-fifth Street and
Broadway (then used as "an Indian circus and wigwam" on
week-days), for regular monster temperance mass-meetings, as it
were, accompanied by, and alternating with, a miscellaneous
sacred meeting every Sunday afternoon and evening. I also
made arrangements with the Rev. George J. Mingins for the
use of his sacred edifice (the Union Tabernacle, on West
Thirty-fifth Street, near Broadway ) on week-day evenings.

With these places, I was enabled to give constant entertain-
ments for temperance, and met with great encouragement.

I introduced several new features into my temperance meet-
ings. One of them was the appearance of the famous circus-
clown, Dan Rice, in his new character of "the deformed
transformed;" or, "the reformed drunkard."

Dan Rice was always a popular man in his days of dissipa-
tion ; and his reception, under my management, showed that he
had lost none of his former hold upon the public. If the people
had liked him drunk, they now heartily welcomed him sober.

That able paper, "The New- York Times," in its leading
reportorial article in its issue of Monday, April 9, 1883, thus
describes Dan Rice's reception and first appearance at the
Indian wigwam : —

Col. Dan Rice, ex-clown, cx-circus proprietor, evangelist, and tem-
perance advocate, lectured last evening \.\\h)\\ " Moral Reform and

DAN RICE.

637

Temperance" in the Indian wigwam at Tliirty-fiftli Street and Broad-
way. His audience, wliicii completely filled the liouse, was high!}
^enthusiastic, and was made up in part of the noble red men who
nightly perform in tiie ring upon the stage, and wliose gloomy
demeanor indicated that they were not in sympathy with any abbre-
viation of their supply of fire-water. Several persons were in the
auditorium whom tiie speaker might have utilized as his "horrible
examples," to illustrate the lecture. Some of the audience were
horrified to observe two men lying prone across the raftere in tlie Hies
above the stage, and were only relieved when they learned that they
were wax lay-figures, which perform tragedy parts in the wigwam
<lramas, and were taking a sabbath rest before another week's
work. Col. Rice, being introduced, remarked, after a basHo-jmifidnlo
"ahem," which made the audience start, that there was a destiny
which shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we may. Mr. Rice con-
tinued that he felt nervous, because some friends had rattled him by
alleging that he was going back into the circus-ring, simply for the
reason that he was going to lecture In the wigwam. That did not
deter him from appearing, however ; for he liad lectured all through
the South for charity, and paid his own bills, except when he was
able to stand 'em off (murmurs of sympathy). Here the colonel
said that he had been a very bad man in his time, but had made a
departure from the tents of the wicked. " Moorly and Sankey
and Dan Rice," said the speaker, "will be spoken of as a trio who
only lived to do good to their fellow-men." He recalled the days
when he used to partake of the cup which simultaneously cheers and
inebriates, and said that he used to think he could drink more than
anyl)ody else without showing it, until he tried conclusions with a
man named Jewell, who l)elonged to the custom-house, and a fellow
named Morse. They got him under the table, and went home sol)er
themselves; and he had always regretted it. Col. Rice's advice to
young men was not in fccordance with the orthodox belief expressed
by temperance lecturers. The colonel said, "If any young man
wants to be a true temiierance man, let him go out and get the
delirium tremens; and that will settle It." He furtlier held out en-

588

t'OI- W IIIITAKKH.

courageniLMit to youtlig ho tlinptMod, by U'lliu}; of a young fellow he
knew in Evuusvillc, Ind., who hud itelirhini tremens 8o terribly tliut
he thouglit he hail been in hell fifteen yeaij* ; anil, when he gave up
drinking, the ladies took au interest in him, and bought him a gold
wateh and ehuin. The speaker had never yet seen a man get so
drunk as he had been himself. " Talk of seeing snakes I " said he,
"I've seen anacondas, hyenas, olephauts. Talk about your Pilots
and your .Iuml>08 ! why, I've seen, I've seen " — And the colonel
left the audience to infer that his vision was preposterous beyond his
powers of description. He related a touching tale of a gentleman
residing in Illinois, who got up one morning, «i'ter he had been on a
'• racket," and, finding his money all gone, looked through the house,
tiiscovercd a quarter in a drawer, appropriated it, hied him to a
saloon, invited two friends to drink with him. and paid the quarter
aforementioned for three drinks. They were just wiping their raontliH
when the rum-seller's little daughter came in, and said, " Paw,
gimme a quarter to buy a beefsteak for breakfast ; " and her devoted
parent handed over the coin he had just received for the three drinks.
Then the gentleman, revived and refreshed, went home to his
matutinal meal : on the table naught but bread and coffee. He in-
quired the reason of his wife. She replied that somelKKly had stolen
the quarter, ergo she had been obliged to do without. The gentleman
pondered, and then registered a mental vow he would purchase no
more steak for a rum-seller's breakfast. He has never drank a drop
since, and is now worth a fortune, and wore a plug-hat on Sundays
.■ind legal holidays. The speaker related other incidents in which
virtue was always rewarded, and vice punished, and withdrew amid
thunders of applause.

I also on another occasion introcluced, in the novel rdle of
temperance lecturers, two well-known " sports," — Pop Whitta-
ker, the veteran referee of prize-fights and sporting-matches,
and " Happy " Jack Smith, the well-known trainer. These two
gentlemen made their appearance together at my last meeting^
in the " Indian wigwam." " Truth," a daily paper, under the

' On the tiilile iianglit but bread ami coffee " [p r>'-'n].

''HAPPY' JACK SMITH.

539

management of " Josh " Hart, the well-known ex-theatrical
manager, thus alludes to this occav'"** : —

Yesterday's meetings at the big Indian wigwam were the last
of the Doutney temperance movement ; aud Mr. Doutney may leave
with a good conscience, that he has done much good for the cause.
In the afternoon ''Happy" Jack Smith, the well-known trainer,
made a long and interesting address. He advised his hearers, if they
wished to enjoy the benetits of health and friendship, to become total
abstainers. Pop Whittaker made m eloquent and dtull speech,
fuli of anecdotes which convulsed his hearers. He had been appren-
ticed to a circus-rider when a boy, and had been in professional life
ever since. Though he acted as referee, he did not say he was a,
tighter, " a buffer," or a bummer. He had lost his arm two years
ago, and he must live. He would not beg. For forty years he luul
not drank a drop ; yet he associated with those who drank, and, when
asked to drink, invariably took a cigar. To amuse himself aud
friends, he had in I'hiladelphia, in 1839, signed the pledge sixty
times in on(; day. A few days after, he signed it under oath for one
year, and kept it. At the end of that time he had move money than
he knew what to do with, and felt in splendid condition. Then, on
the invitation of some friends, he took some sarsaparilla, which tasted
queer, and warmed him up. "As cunning as 1 was, they rung the
changes, and had put in enough liquor to take away the heavy tasl*?
of the sarsaparilla. In about an hour I was booming down Chestnut
Street as though I owned it, and in a week I hadn't a cent in my
pocket. At one time P. T. Barnum worked for me for twenty-live
dollars a-mouth, and now he's a millionnaire. He was always a tem-
perance man, too, and is so to-day."

After recitations from the i»oynolds children, the meeting wa»
adjourned.

During my stay in New York I also made every effort to
find the whereabouts of, and to lay my friendly hand on, poor
John , the man who had once been the president of tho

640 JOHN

ONCK R.R. PHKSWENT, NOW TRAMP.

New-York Uuilroad, but who, for some years past,

had been a homeless tramp, brought to his shame and sorrow
by improvidence and rum.

Had I found John , the tramp, he would have made

an even more effective temperance lecture in Nuw York than
my baby in Providence. But all my efforts in this direction
were vain. I legret it deeply, alike for my own sake, John's
sake, and the sake of temperance. But it was not to be.

Of course, all was not rose-color with me, all sunshine, here
in New York, any more than elsewhere. During my campaign
in the great metropolis I encountered misunderstanding, mis-
representation, and o[)position. 1 was censured by some over-
sensitive people for introducing a certain lady before my audi-
ences, — the " certain lady " being a woman, who, with a peculiar
experience of the life and habits of the " unfortunates " of her
sex, had devoted herself to their reformation. This "specialty"
of this '• certain lady's " was not altogether savory in the nostrils
of many, and they resented my indorsement of her; but I, for
one, have never regretted it, and never will. I am the friend,
the true friend in Christ, of every erring sister, as well as
every erring brother.

Then a little unpleasantness arose between myself and two
or three members of the Manhattan Temperance Association
of this city, and other minor disagreements occurred from
time to time. But this was simply duplicating past experi-
ences, and terminated, I am glad to say, in duplicating past
successes.

And one of the main features of my New-York campaign
was in connection with theatres and actors. New York has
become the great theatrical centre of the United States. Right
or wrong, this is a simple fact, which no one but a fool will
deny. And, seizing upon this fact, I made a sensation among
the theatrical profession which brought me prominently before

" IN DEFENCE OF ACTORS."

641

the public, and thus enabled uie, in my way, to do the public
and my cause good.

I ordered a circular to be printed on " The Damning In-
fluences Surrounding the Theatrical Profession," and sent
* several thousands of these circulars to the actors, actresses,
singers, managers, dancers, variety troops, dramatic and
theatrical agents, theatrical doorkeepers, stage-hands, etc.,
throughout New York, accompanied by an invitation to attend
my afternoon and evening Sunday meetings at the Indian
wigwam.

This ch'cular was regarded in various lights by various people
and papers. "TlieStar" pronounced me "an insulting dema-
gogue ; " others styled me a " played-out sensationalist," what-
ever that might be ; others regarded the affair as a joke. But»
at any rate, it created a stir, «nd filled the wigwam. The
following report of the lecture delivered on the basis of this,
circular, published in " The New- York Herald " of Monday,
March 26, 1883, will show that my remarks were really to be
construed as "a defence of, or a plea for, actors," rather than
an attack upon them. It will also show how my remarks were
received : —

IN DKFKNCE OF ACTOHS.

SOME WOHDS SI'OKKN IX THKUt KAVOIl IIY THOMAS X. DOl'TXEV.

The usual large crowds nsst'inldod yesterday at the '' wiftwuin.'*
corner of Broadway and Tliirty-fiftli Street, to listen to the me<lley
of exercises forming tlie attractive features of the meetings held there
by Thomas N. Doutney. [ntermingled with serious discourses by
the Ilev. William Whitfield and Dr. Ball, upon the evils of intemper-
ance in general, and the license question in particular, there were
recitations, banjo-playing, and playing on the l)ones. The grand
feature was an address by Mr. Doutney upon " The Damning In-
flucDcea Surrounding the Theatrical Profession." In opening hi»
discourse, Mr. Doutney desired tiie audience to renienil)er that the

642

FAREWELL TO NEW YORK.

theme i-elated, not to tlie damning inHuences of the theatrical profes-
sion, but to tiiose surrounding it ; althougii, he said, tlie Rev. Dr.
Talmage and the Rev. Dr. Crosby had belittled the profession, and
those who belonged to it, he would not belittle or malign these eminent
<livine8. He did think it better, however, that those taking upon ♦
themselves to condemn the profession should be persons who knew
something about it. One of the gentlemen he had named had gone
to Buckingham, and visited dives ; but no one should be mistaken by
the idea that the singers and clog-dancers at those places, and at Billy
McGlory's, belong to the theatrical profession. Personally he had had
considerable experience with peojjle in the theatrical profession, and
he spoke only what he knew. In the name of God he would tell all
parents not to let a boy or girl of theirs to entc the profession ; and
he would tell them more, to keep boys and girls away from the
theatre altogether. He then proceeded to explain the "damning
influences," as he regarded them. The great danger was, the temp-
tation to drink exhausting stimulants after exhausting lalwrs. The
best and brightest in the profession had yielded to this temptation,
and gone to the dogs. But all did not yield. He urged beef-tea
and oysters as substitutes for wine and whiskey. Another danger was,
the sociability so characteristic of the profession. They all, as a rule,
died poor. They received good salaries, but spent their money as
fast as they earned it. There was not a skinflint among them. If
he was dead broke, he would go to an actor for aid, sooner than to a
minister of the gospel. They were always ready to help in any good
work, as recently shown in their noble assistance in swelling to its*
gigantic proportions the "•Herald" Ohio-flood fund.

On the whole, vv^hat with my jubilee singers, my sacred songs
and glees. Miss Bacon's recitations, my wife's sweet singing, my
own addresses, the humorous remarks and pathetically pro-
found utterances of Dan Rice, Pop Wliittaker, and "Happy"
Jack Smith, the eloquent appeals of Thomas W. Pittman, the
assistance lent me by the Rev. George T. Mingins and other
clergymen and gentlemen, by J. B. Gibbs and other tem-

FA HK WELL TO THE READER.

648

perance workers, and last, but not least, the support afforded
rae, wherever and whenever I deserved it, by the New- York
press, my temperance campaign in the great American me-
tropolis was satisfactory to all concerned, and resulted in large
gains for man, for temperance, and for God.

And now farewell.

I have now reached that point in my life-story where the
past merges into the present, and history terminates in "to-
<lay." I am still living, thank God! and working in the cause
to which I have solemnly yet cheerfully devoted my best ener-
gies. I have been even more successful in my late visits to
Providence and the New-England States than formerly ; my
preparations for my future work have been all made on a more
elaborate scale than ever before ; but all this deals with life,
— not a \\ie-%tory. My story itself is done.

What remains of my career has yet to be worked out, an<J
only God knows " what will the harvest be."

But I sincerely trust that I have, in the pages of this truth-
ful life-narrative, shown enough of my better self to the reader
to impel him to wish me " God-speed."

I trust that I have given him glimpses enough of a man
struggling to reform himself and others, to cause him to breathe
a " God bless you I " over me and mine.

I have not palliated my own enormities. I have written my-
self down in this book as for years a reckless wine-bibber and
a heartless rum-seller. And I trust the reader will take warn-
ing from the terrible and disgusting aspect in which 1 have
appeared in those two characters.

I have shown, as forcibly as I could, the manifest and mani-
fold evils, horrors, and curses of intemperance. Let me hope
the reader will, from what I have suffered, learn to avoid them.

I have shown incidentally, yet truthfully and fully, the life
that is led in the great metropolis ; the varying and fearfully

544

''GOD BLESS US."

contrasted phases uf existence which are to be found in New
York. I hope and believe that the reader will be able to
derive from this part of my book alike a moro vivid and
more accurate picture of metropolitan life than can bo pro-
cured elsewhere.

In short, I trust and hope that the reader of this volume
has had more than his money's worth, partly in the pen
pictures of New York, partly in the information imparted in
regard to temperance work, and the wiirnings conveyed con-
cerning intemperance, and, lastly, in the interest inspired by
the unvarnished narrative of the life-struggles and triumphs
of Thomas N. Doutney, who trusts and hopes, ay, and feels
assured, that through the grace and in the might of God
he is indeed the "converted rum-seller," 'the reformed drunk-
ard."

ST. OLAIN TWNNBL.

Favorite Line^

Between the

-^-^East and West

■ ■•II ■■■■iiiiiiiiiniMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliiliii

THE GREAT

INTERNATIONAL

ROUTE.

iiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

L. J. SEARGEANT,

Oeneral Manager

WM. ■WAINWRIQHT,

Anst, QeMral Manager.

CHAS. PERCY,

AmUitant to Oeneral Manager.

N. J. POWER,

Oentral J'lusenger Ageitt.

G. T. BELL,

AmI, O^fteral Pauenger AgetU.

Hoad Offices, • MONTREAL, P. Q.

*'♦

01^

The Sf • Glaip Tunnel Route*

L. J. SEARGEANT. (Jetipral Manag^cr.
WM. WAINWRKIHT, Assl. (Jenl. Mffr. N. J. POWER, C.m-ral PasseiKrer AjrenU
CIIAS, PERCY, As8t. to (ieiii>ral Manairer. (;. T. UELL, Asst. Onl. Pass. Agt.

HEAD OFFICES, MONTREAL, P. Q.

GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY

• • • OR CANADA. • • •

THE GREAT INTERNATIONAL ROUTE.

Location of Main Lines and Branches, with

Mileage.

EASTERN DIVISION.

Main Line Portland Me.

Hemmlngford . . Branch St. Isidore Jet P. Q.

Lewiston..
Massena Springs

Norway

Quebec

Rouses Point..
TItree Rivers..
Vaiieyfleid ....

. Lewlaton Jet Me.

.Brosscaiis...
.South Paris.,
.nicbmond ..
. St. Lambert .
Arthabaska .

....v.q.

. . . Me.
....P.Q.
....P. Q.
....P.Q.

.St. Martina P q.

to Montreal P. Q.

" MooersJct N. Y.

" I.ewlston Me.

" MaisBciia Springs N. Y.

" Norway Me.

" Levis P. Q.

" Rouses Point N. Y.

" l)onretsLnnd.(Whf)P. q.
" Viilleyfield P.Q.

CENTRAL DIVISION.

Main Line Montreal .

Harwood Brancli Cobourg .

Kingston "

Uchlne Wharf "
Montreal Wharf "
Old Main Line. "

Toronto Belt Lines

. P. Q. to Toronto Ont.

.Out.

....Kingston Jet Ont.

....Willows P.q.

....Pt. St. Charles ....P.Q.

....St. Henri P.Q.

( Don Ont.

• (Carlton Ont.

" Harwood Ont.

" Kingston Ont.

" Lacblne Wharf P. Q.

" Montreal Wharf .... P. Q.

" Dor\-nl P. Q.

" FairbankJct Ont.

"Swansea Ont.

MIDLAND DIVISION.

Main Line Scarboro Jet

Main Line Blackwater Jot . .

Belleville Branch Peterboro

Chemong "

Coboconk "

Hallburton "

Ukefield "

Madoc "

Medonte Tramway "

Old Road "

Sutton "

Whitby "

.Ont. to

.Ont. "
.Out. "

..Peterboro Ont.

..Lindsay Ont.

.Lakefleld Jet Ont.

..North II a8tlngsJet.Otit.

..Cold water Ont.

. . Omemee Jet Ont.

..Stouffvllle Ont.

..Manilla Jet Out.

N. & N. W. DIVISION.

ii«iii ii» IToronto Ont,

Mainune ]AtherleyJct Ont,

to Orillia Jet Ont.

" NorthBay Ont

Beaton A Colllngwood Branch.. Beeton Jet. Ont " LakeJct Ont

" Hillsdale Ont

" Allandale Ont

" Meaford Ont

" Muskoka Wharf Ont

" Penetang Ont

iFloa Tranway
iHamtlton A Allandale

Haatord

MutkokaWhari

Morth SifflCM

Elmvale Ont

Georgetown Ont.

Allendale Ont

Oravenhurst Ont

Colweil Ont

297.25
2«.75

5.W
83.70

L.'iO
90.. V)
43.fi8
35., 34
20.(0

338.00

i4.no

2.67
.47
2.00
8.03
8.42
4.

.60

j Port Hope Jet Ont. i

I via Peterboro. \

Midland Ont

Belleville Harbor . . . Ont.

Chemong Wharf Ont.

Coboconk Ont

Hallburton Ont.

Lakefleld Ont

Kldorado Ont

Scotts Mills Ont

Mlllbrook Ont

Jackson's Point Ont

Whitby Harbor Ont

113.46

78.79
65.84

9 10
87. &»
54.84
11.66
21.60

9.00
16.41
S6.46
83.63

[385.29

89.00
8.80

68.70

51.80
1.00

33.BO

GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY

• • • OF CANADA, • • •

THE GREAT IXTERNATIOXAL ROUTE.

Location of Main Lines and Branches, with
Mileagre.— Continued.

NORTHERN DIVISION.

338.00
14. BO
2.67
.47
8.00
8.63
8.49
4.60

■ 113.46

78.79

65.84

9 19

87.69

54.84

11.66

SI .60

0.00

15.41

86.46

83.63

Main Line Toronto Ont.

Buffalo A Goderlch . . . Branch . . Stratford Ont.

Durham

GaltAEImIra

Geo. Bay & Lake Erio

London

London, Huron A Bruce
Wellington, Grey & B.
Wellington, (So. Ext'n)

Main Line.

Palmerston Out.

Gait Ont.

I Stratford Jet Ont.

> HurrlHton Ont.

St. Marj'g Ont.

Hyde Park Jet Out.

llarrlBburg Ont.

Palmerston Ont.

to Samla Tunnel . ...Ont. 100.86

" Goderlch (Elevator). Ont. 47. .15

Durham Ont. 26.73

Elnilra Ont. a").69

LIstOWOl Ont. I „a lo

Wlartou Wharf Ont. f >"• «

LondonKast Ont. 31.34

M'lnghamJct Ont. 68.84

Southampton Ont. 188.86

Kincardine Ont. 66.39

SOUTHERN DIVISION.

Allanburg Branch

Brantford & Tilsonburg "

Buffalo & Goderlch.... "

Geo. Bay A Lake Erie . "

Hamilton & Aiiandale . "

LoopLine "

Petrolla "

PortStanley "

Port Dover "

Sarnia

South Norfolk "

Toronto "

Welland "

.Susp. Bridge X. Y.

Allanburg Jet Ont.

llarrlsbnrg Ont.

Stratford Ont.

Tavl8to<k Jet .... Ont.

Georgetown Ont.

Fort Erie Ont.

Petrolla Jet Ont.

London Ont.

Hamilton Ont.

Komoka Ont

Slmcoe Ont.

Toronto Ont.

Port Ualhousle Ont.

,,J Windsor Ont. I

I via London. |

" Niagara Falls Ont.

" Tilsonburg Jet Ont.

" Buflfalo X. Y.

" PortDover Ont.

" Hamilton Ont

" Glencoe Ont

" Petrolla Ont

" Port Stanley Ont

" PortDover Ont

..J Pt Edward Ont i

( Pt Huron (Tunnel) Mleh. j

" Port Rowan Ont

" Hamilton Ont

" Port Colbome Ont

889.78

0.10

42.56

110.60

55.60

86.71

145. M

4.67

83.74

40.85

56.80

17.84
38.78
84.55

Total mileage east of Detroit and Port Huron 3,366.48

Cn A <> o T i>t ni.,i.i». J Fort Gratiot Mich, to Detroit Mich.) oe «v
.D.ACQ.T.Jct Division.. -jjiji^^ykepjptMjpb .. West Detroit Mich, f ^^

Mich. Air Line Division Lenox Mleh. ■' Jackson Mich. 106.60

885.89

80.00
8.80

B8.70

51.80
1.00

33. BO

CONTROLLED LINES.

C* a.T. Ry Port Huron Mleh. to Chicago HI. 336.00

C.8.* M.R.R Durand Mich. " Oa-at-ka Beach Mich. 68.63

D.G.H.AM.Ry Detroit Mich. "OrandHaven Mich. 189.00

D. Q. H. * M. Steamer OrandHaven Mich. " Milwaukee Wis. 85.00

T.8.A M. Ry Ashley Mich. " Muskegon Mich. 06.01

Grand Total Mileage 4,889.87

GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY

• • • OF* CANADA, • • •
THE ST. CI_AIR TUIMIMEU ROUTE.

Sleeping and Parlor Car Tariff.

FOR ONE BERTH IN SLEEPING CAR BETWEEN

MOIITREAL and HALIFAX $4.00 i

MOIITKXAL «nd LEVIS (Qaebeci 1.50

MOIITREAL and SPRDIGFIELD 2.00

MONTKEAL and HEW YORK 2.00

MONTREAL and BOSTON 2.00

BOSTON and CHICAGO, via Montreal. . 5.50
PORTLAND and CHICAGO, via Mon-
treal 5.50

BOSTON and CHICAGO, via Bnffalo . . 5.50
NEW YORK and cmCAGO, via Bnffalo 5.00
BOSTON and DETROIT, via Bof/alo. ... 4.50
NEW YORK and DETROIT, via Boffalo 3.50

MONTREAL and CHICAGO 5.00

TORONTO and CHICAGO 3.00

PORTLAND and MONTREAL 2.00

MONTREAL and TORONTO 2.00

OTTAWA and TORONTO $2.00

TORONTO and NORTH BAY 2.00

TORONTO and DETROIT 2.00

TORONTO and EINCSTON WHARF . 1.50
SUSPENSION BRIDGE and KINGSTON

WHARF 2.00

BUFFALO and DETROIT 2.00

BUFFALO and CHICAGO 3.00

DETROIT and CHICAGO 2.00

CHICAGO and ST. PAUL 2.00

CHICAGO and KANSAS CITY 2.50

CHICAGO and COUNCIL BLUFFS 2.50

CHICAGO and ST. LOUIS 2.00

CHICAGO and LOS ANGELES 15.50

CHICAGO and ( FRANCISCO 15.50

CHICAGO and FoKTLAND (Oregon) .... 15.50

FOR ONE SEAT IN PARLOR CAR BETWEEN

BOSTON and MONTREAL $1.50

PORTLAND and MONTREAL I.SO

MONTREAL and LEVIS (Quebec) 75

MONTREAL and OTTAWA 50

MONTREAL and TORONTO I.OO

TORONTO AND MUSKOKA WHARF 50

TORONTO and BARRIE 25

PETERBORO and TORONTO $ .25

TORONTO and HAMILTON .25

SUSPENSION BRIDGE and DETROIT. ... I.OO

HAMILTON and DETROIT 75

HAMILTON and SUSPENSION BRIDGE .25
SUSPENSION BRIDGE and LONDON 50

Intermediate points In proportion. Double a Herih fare Is charKed for a wc.tlon.
Accommodation In Sleeping and Parlor Curs will bo sold only to holders of llrst-elass
tickets.

Agents of the Grand Trunk Hallway at the undermentioned points hoi. I diugriiras of
Sleeping and I'arlor Curs, and will reser^•e aouomodutlons on application liy letter or tele-
graph. Such upplleutlons should sluW. clearly the number of berths or m ntlons reiiulred,
from and to what points, by what train and route, and the date of starting.

N. J. GRACE

W. D. O'BRIEN .
A. H. TAYLOR. .

J. LAWLOR

T. D. SHIPMAN

P. J. SLATTER..

W. JARMAN

W.J. HAMILTON.
W. G. WEBSTER..
W. T. VANSTON..

E. J. PIERCE

W. J. JACOBSEN .
C. R. CLARKE

No. 260 Washlnarton Street. Boston. Mass.

No. 143 St. James Street. Montreal, P. Q.

Russell House Block. Ottawa. Ont.

Depot Ticket Agrent, Portland. Me.

City Ticket Agent. Quebec, P. Q.

No. 20 York Street. Toronto. Ont.

Corner King and Yonge Streets, Toronto. Ont.

Depot Ticket Agent. Toronto, Ont.

Depot Ticket Agent. Niagara Falls, Ont.

Depot Ticket Agent, Hamilton, Ont.

Depot Ticket Agent, London, Ont.

City Ticket Agent, Detroit, Mich.

Depot Ticket Agent. Detroit, Mich.

Depot Ticket Agent. Port Huron Tunnel, Mich.

"A TRIUMPH OF ENGINEERING SKILL!"

fjii iiii

■».y'Si-

':. IIST CLAIR

_18 90 "^

t?- i(^ .. -4.

- 51 -..f

T^^t^

8^:^

^*^P-;- t

•^t^^.*

1^ **' '

ST. CLAIR TUNNEL.

An iinllniltoil use of monoy placed at tlio command of unKlnonrtoK gtMilus to produco absolute priic*
tlcnl results, Is what the

Ofraisid Xfruisik Rail- wax

hasbopndolnn to bettor the means of transportation and to better Insure perfect comfort to tho travel-
ing public, In romiilotliiu to ni^rfectlon that ninKulMcent triumph of end nnrrlnx skill, the ureatHT. PI < AIR
TlTNNKU NO FlIUKV THANSKKK. NO OKLAVS. Hear In mind that the 4;RAKI» TRl'XK
RA1I,.WAY \H TIIK 09II.ir UIHEVT KUCTJC to and from the Wo»t, via Niagara falls
and the Kreat St. Clair Tunnel.

I'assentter trains commenced ninnlnR through this Oreat Tunnel on December", WI. It Is the great-
est submarlno tunnel In t'lo world. It Is a solid iron tube l'.l feet and IIJ Inches In diameter, and overono
mile lnk'ni.^lh: with niipioaches over two nillos long; cost I2,7I)0,U)0! coiiru-cts (Canada with the I'nited
States. With the Chii'in/o li (irand Trunk and Central Vermont Kallwavs, the <;rand Trunk Kitilwar
makes TllK «iUK\T l.NTEilNATlo.VAIi ItuUTB between the Kattt and the West, via the St. ClalrTunnel
and Niagara Kails.

L. ,1. SKAnOKAXT, Ceneriil MannRer. Orand Trunk nallwnv,

WM. WAIN'WUUiUT, Asslsluut (ieneral Manager, (J rand Tfiiiik Uiiilway,

C11A3. I'KUCY, Asslsinntto (ieiieriil Miiimger, (iriind Trunk Hallway,

N. J. POWKR.Ociienil I'assenu'er AKunt, (ininil Trunk Hallway, .

<}. T. lUOLTi, Assistant General I'aHsciiRcr Agent, (irand Trunk Railway, .

\V. .1. sriCRU, General Manager, Chicago tb tJrand Trunk Uailway,

<ilX). U. IlKKV'^R, TrnmoMaimger, " " " "

W. K. DAVI: , (ieneral I'assenger AKt.," " " •• . .

K. C. SMITH, President fentnd Vermont Ttallwav,

V. W. BAIiDWIN, (Jeiieral Sni^erlntendent, fcntral Vermont Hallway,
S. W. CL'MMINOS, (luuural russoiiuur Aufiit, " " "

Montreal, P. Q. «

Detroit, Mleh.
Chicago, Ills.

St. Albans, Vt.

. ';

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

Grand Trunk Railway

OK CANADA,

The Great Iiiternatioiial Route.
The White Mountains, The Thousand Islands,

Tourists*

Montreal,

Route.

Quebec,

Rapids of St. Lawrence,

The Niagara Falls.

No other road in the world reaches six places of such fame.
The Grand Trunk \& emphatically the Tourists' Route.

The Grand Trunk pays constant attention to its roadway,

ensuring as perfect a track as can be found in America.
Dining Cars are not an experiment with the Grand Trunk,
but have been running successfully for years over the
Southern (formerly Great Western) Division, serving the
most elaborate and best-cooked meals that can be pro-
vided.

The Day Coaches of the Grand Trunk are among the most
elegant and comfortable, and its revolving-chair smoking
cars unequaled.

Bagg^age Checked through Canada in Bond, avoid-
ing all custom-house annoyances. No examination of any
kind.

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

THE ST. CLAIR TUNNEL ROUTE.

<Mi|i|i||IMIIIIIII

Grand Trunk Railway,

THE

GREAT TRUNK

LINE

And very popular system

Between the East and the West.

llJilil'IIIIIIHIIHII

Over

of Line

3,000 niles

Under One Hanagement.

IMIMIIIIIMI«|||

CHOICE I Via Niagara Falls,
OF M Montreal,

ROUTES

or Portland.

PULLMAN PALACE, PARLOR, BUFFET, SLEEPING AND
DINING CARS ON THROUGH TRAINS.

Rates Always as Low as by Any Other Line.

L. J. SEARGEANT, General Manager, - - Montreal, P. Q.

W. WAINWRIQHT. Assistant General Manager, Montreal, P. Q.

C. PERCY, Assistant to General Manager, - Montreal, P. Q.

N. J. POWER, General Passensrer Aerent, - Montreal, P. Q.

O. T. BELL, Assistant General Passenger Agent, Montreal, P. Q.

** f

G^ND 'Irunk

^Kailway,

The 81. Clair Tunnel Route.

TO ALL PARTS OF THF WEST.

(i;sr 3,000 Miles of Line Under One Management!

CHOICE ( Niagara Palis,

OF ^^" \ Montreal, or
ROUTES ( Portland.

Pullman Palace, Parlor, Buffet, Sleeping
and Dining Cars on Through Trains.

RATES ALWAYS AS LOW AS BY ANY OTHER LINE.

L. J. SEARGEANT, General Manfiger,

W. WAINWRIGHT, Assistant General Manager,

C. PERCY, Assistant to General Manager,

N. J. POWER, General Passenger Agent,

O. T. BELL, Assistant General Passenger Agent,

Montreal, P. Q.
Montreal, P. Q.
Montreal, P. Q.
Montreal, P. Q.
Montreal, P. Q.

Palace Sleieping

• •

o •

Dining: Car Line

In Connection with Southprn Division
GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY,

A Favorite
Route

!?«•

East

via Niagara

Falls.

*"*-^

DETROIT & CHICAGO LINE.

A magnificent line of now Pnllinan l^ulTct, Sleeping and Parlor Cars
are run between Detroit ami Chicago, via Durund.

CHICAGO <& SAGINAW VALLEY LINE.

A daily line of Pulhiiiui SleiM>ing, P;irl< r and Chair Cars are run
between Cliicago arid Saginaw \ al.ey, \ ia iinit, in both directions.

THE GRAND HAVEN LINE

JIs a popular Sunnncr Route to ^lilwaukee and the West and Northwest.

For Information Apply to Agents, nr Address

BEN. FLETCHER, Trav. Pass. Agt. D. G. H. & M., Cor. Woodward and Jefferson Ave.,

Detroit. Mich.

W. J. SFICKR, General MaiiaKer.
GEO. B. RKENK. Traffic ManaRer.
W. E. DAVIS, Gen. PasseiiRer ABciit.
E. H. HUGHES, Gen. West. I'ass. Agt.
CHICAGO A GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY.

1..J.SF.ARGKANT, fieneral Managfr.
VVM. VVAINWKIGllT. Ass't GeiiT .Mgr.
C, I^ERCV, Ass't to (ieneral Mniiajrer.
N. J. I'OWiCR, (ieneral PassenRir Ajtent.
G, T. 13Kl,l,, Asst Gen'l rasseiiuer \9*
GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY.

Ill

wmmm

'illJS^

Banner

Summep

Route,

TO AND FROM THE WEST IS VIA THE

"GRAND HflV&N LINE,"

AND THE ELEGANT STEAMERS

•• CITY OF MILWAUKEE" and "WISCONSIN/'

The finest Htemners on inland waters, forming a daily line,— SundayH incIudecL
Timu, distance und inuuey saved to

MILWAUKEE, all points in WISCONSIN, MINNESOTA, DAKOTA
AND THE NORTHWEST,

During the Summer months. A delightful trip acroHS Lake Michigan
BE SURE YOUR TICKET READS THAT WAY.

W. J. SPICER, A. H. ATWATEK, J. W. LOUD,

General Manager, Superintendent, Traffic Manager,

n. a. H. .* M. ntttt T. S. * M. HAIK\\'A.YS, Itetrntt. Af/o/i.

BKN. FLETCHER, Detroit, Mich.,

Traveling Paatenger Agent D. G. H. & M. and T. S. A M. Ryt.

IT WILL WEU REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PA6t

ST.LOyiSHOTILtt

UEBEG,
P.Q.

WHEN VISITING THAT QUAINT OLD

CITY OF QUEBEC

so WELL KNOWN AS THE

(Sf I la I'd 11 a F oj /"irr)cricGc

Do not forget that the

St, Louis Hotel

IS TXXE

ONLY REALLY FIRST CLASS HOTEL IN THE CITY.

O/'CiV SVMXtHH A.NIJ WUVTUR.

fcnnH most reasnnnWo for imroly VlrstCliiHS ami rt'ltnlilc forvlce. Omnilmsos unci CiirrliiKeR

to iinil from all triiliiM ami on arrival and (Ii'|iartiir«! of all boats and Kteauiers. Tables

coiiNlanlly KUi)|>llod with the bt'Ht the markets afford. Within a stone « I hrow

of the new nirllainent ItnlldliiKs: the New ("onrt House; Citadel ; Esplaimdc,

Postolllre: leading lilacis of bnslness, etc., etc., etc.

CHATEAU ST. LOUIS HOTEL Co., Proprietors.
W. O. O'NBIL. MANAaiH.

GRflNFPfiGiFiG Hotel

^CHICAGO, IL.L.

THE LARGEST AND FINEST

HOTEL IN THE COUNTRY.

Impossible to Excel the Table
and other Service.

FIRST CLASS IN EVERY PARTICULAR, IN THE
STRICTEST SENSE OF THE TERM.

MOST CENTRALLY LOCATED.

DRAKE, PARKER & CO., Proprietors.

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

PORTLAND STEAM PACKET COMPANY.

DAILY LINE OF FIRST -CLASS STEAMERS BETWEEN

BOSTON and PORTLAND.

ONE OF THE

STEAMERS "TREMONT"(New), "PORTLAND" (New),
OR "FOREST CITY,"

LEAVES INDIA WHARF, BOSTON, FOR PORTLAND,

Every evening from June to ficptember, Sundays Included, at 7 o'clock.

From September to June, same hour every evening, except Sunday.

^ ConnectinK, on arrival, with Halne Central, Knox & Lincoln,

Portland & OsdensburK, Grand Trunk, and Portland &

Rochester Railroads, and with Bangor A JVtachlaa

Steamers (or points on the coast of Main*.

This line aflfords a most desirable route to Lewiston, Old Orchard
Beach, Poland Spring, Rangeley Lakes. Mount Desept, Bethel,
Gorham, N. H., North Conway, Crawford's, Fabyan's, ttc.

Finest Ocean Trip on Eastern Coast, and best route to WHITE
MOUNTAINS, and Inland and Seaside Resorts of Maine.

THROUGH AND EXCURSION TICKETS
AT LOW RATES.

State Rooms Seouired In Advance.

LEAVE PORTLAND FOR BOSTON

Every evening; from June to September, Sundays included, at 7

o'clocic, and at same liour every evening, except Sunday, from

September to June, connecting on arrival, with tlie

earliest trains on all diverging lines.

C. F. WILLIAMS, Agent,

BOSTON.

J. B. COYLE, Manager. PORTUND, Me.

J. F, LISCOMB, Gen. Agent and Treasurer,

PORTLAND.

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PA6E.

Falmouth Hotel,

5l^RTLf\ND, MAINE.

THE ONLY
REALLY

'n FIRST-CUSS

HOTEL IN
PORTLAND, AND

SECOND TO NONE IN THE NEW ENGLAND STATES.

Convenient to Postoiflce, Banks, Custom House, leading business places, railroad

and steamboat landings, and Theatres All the most improved and modem

conveniences. The table is a marvel of excellence. The flirniture

and upholstery the most beautiful. Everything A 1 , par excellence.

J. K. MARTIN,

J'roprietor.

G. R. RENFREW & CO.,

Furriers to Her Majestu. the Qiieen,

35 and 37 Buade Street, Quebec,

71 and 73 King Street, East, Toronto.

COPY OF THE ROYAL WARRANT.

w^m-mm

!l4g!-W-

lt ! ^4g-«-

i S ' -»-g ! t ! .4W-a

G. R. RENFREW (trading as Renfrew k Co.), of Quebec, Canada, FDRRIER

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IT WILL WELL RtiPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND TNC NEXT PAQE.

Maine steamship Gompu

TRI-WEEKLY LINE BETWEEN

PORTLAND m NEW YORK.

-H-

STEAMSHIPS

SUMMER SERVICE, ISSf.

MANHATTAN, KKw
COTTAGE CITY, nw
ELEANORA,

Leave Franklin Wharf, Portland, every Monday, Wednesday and
Saturday, at 6.00 P. M.

Leave Pier 38, East River, New York, every Monday, Wednesday
and Saturday, at 5.00 P. M.

FARES (/w Statm Roomb).

Betwaen Portland and Naw York. ........ tS.OO

Round Trip TIckata. allowing atop ovar at Martha's VInayard, 8.00

Between Portland or New York, and Martht't Vineyard. .... 4.00

Round Trip TIcketa from Portland or New York to Martha's Vlnayard and Return, . 7.00

MmsLm Emtra,

Preiirht rrrflTpd .-iiul forwardrd to ,itid from all pointH South and Wc8t of New
York and Ebhi t Portland. For freight or pasRaKe apply to

C. M. BAILKY, PiMK-aoiit,

J. K. LISCOMB, Oon'l Agent,
Mainbc.

BANGOR HOUSE,

This is the only lifHt-claHs huuHe in Banifor,— no travelers declare. Most bcan-
tifully and centrally located. Finely furnished. The "Banifur House" is noted for
the excellency of Its table. Travelers stopping' a day or more to see the beautiful
city of Bangor,— which is well worth the time to do— will find all the comforts of a.
true and comfortable home at the Banifor House.

H. C. CHAPMAN, Propribtor.

C€

/''"T^V

ST. PAUL, MINN.

..The only practically first-class hotel in the city.

..The appointments are the richest in design and beauty
of finish.

. . Most luxuriously furnished.

..The table service cannot be excelled; polite and ex-
perienced attaches.

..Centrally located.

, , First-class Cafe attached to the hotel where the finest
luncheons are served.

BUGB:SB MBHL, »fe SON^ Prop'rs.

_.. JtiM

finest

tp*i*s.

FOR COMFORT, SAFETY, AND SCENERY, CHOOSE IN TRAV
ELING EAST OR WEST, THE

Central Vermont Railroad,

THE GREAT ROUTE OF THE "OREEN MOUNTAIN FLYER"
AND THE "ADIRONDACK LfMlTED."

WHICH POHHH, IN CONMECTIUN WITH THE

Grand Trunk Railway, the St. Clair Tunnel Route,

THE

OLD AND FAVORITE NEW ENGLAND ROUTE

TO AND FROM ALL POINTS WEST.

The Uolllng-Stook and Kqulpment of the CENTRAL VK:iMONT RAILROAD Is seoouG
to no Road In this country. It Is the cnly ilne running

Pullman Sleeplng-Cars between Chicago and Boston Without Change,

And Solid Trains of elegant Coaches and Baggage-Cars

WITHOUT CHANGE BETWEEN MONTREAL AND BOSTON.

steel Ralls, Iron lirldgcs, with Wostlnghouso Automatic lirake, Miller IMutform.
Coupler, and Buffer on every train, assure safety while passing swiftly through Mount-
ain, Lake, and River Scenery of the most beautiful and varied description.

The Train Service of this Road Is so arranged, that sure connections are made with
tho Orand Trunk Railway, and with Railroads in New Kngland to and from all the prin-
cipal cities, villages, and towns In

MASSACHUSETTS, RHODE ISLAND, COMECTICUT AND VERMONT.

Fullman Cars Montreal To Springfield, and Wagrner Cars Montreal
to New York, Without Change.

Plrst-oloss Restaurants with reasonable charges, and ample time given for meals.

BAGGAGE CHECKED THROUGH CANADA IN BOND, AVOIDING
ALL TROUBLE OF CUSTOMS.

During tho Summer, EXCURSION TICKETS are sold over this lino at greatly reduced
rates. Ask for rates via this Liiiu before buying, und note that your tickets read via

CENTRAL, YERMONT RAIL.ROADy

For sale at all Stations and rcs|)onsible Ticket Ofiiccs East and West.

COMPANY'S OFFICES,
aM WaaUacton St., Boaton ; 3I7 Broadway, Hew York ; 136 St. Jamea St., Kontreb

E. C. SMITH, President,
F. W. BALDWIN, Gen. Supt.. 8. W. CUMMINGS. Gen. Pass. Agi

GENERAL OFFICES, ST. Av "^ANS, VERMONT.

The West Hot^l-

MINNEIAROUS, MIIMN.

Thorottshly Fire Proof. Rates. S3 a Day and Upwards.

JOHN T. WEST, Proprietor J T. O'BRIEN, Manager.

Quebec & Lake St. John

RAILWAY.

Pnttii Qttchov

f<> Htihvrviilt tit
litiko St. ,Fuhii.

the hvitil <tf

The scenery along the line of this Railway is of a weird
character, passing great mountains, giant rocks, pretty lakes,
majestic rivers, and rapids after rapids finished in art by tlie
hand of nature herself, and therefore indescribably grand. No
pen can paint the beauty of this section. Miles and miles of
travel, where neither man nor house can be seen. A journey
whicii makes the traveler wild with admiration and unbounded
enthusiasm. All kinds of game in abundance. Fine restaurants
at convenient stations, provided by the Railway Company.

Don't miss a trip into the wilds of Canada via this route.

The "Roberval,'>

At the end of the route, will be found to be a first-class hotel,
e<|ual in all appointments to first-class city hotels. The hotel
company, backed by the railway company, has gono to that
great expense to meet the demands of its patrons.

TA.KB TUB TlUl't^ iw

. . . You will remember it pleatanily throughout life.

The Quebec & Lake St. John Railway runs in close con-
nection with all the trains of the Grand Trunk Railway and
steamboat companies.

Send for circulars and information to

J. G. SCOTT,

AI^BX. HARDY,

Ctal. Tlckat aad Pat*. Acnt.

QUEBEC, P. Q.

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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Photographic
_Sciaices
Corporation

a WEST MAIN STRin

WEBSTER, N.Y. 145S0

(716) 1794303

Ci^

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS ANO THE NEXT PABE.

Duluth Short Line

ST. PAUL & DULUTft RAILROAD,

Between St. Paul, Minneapolis and Duluth, West Superior
and all Points on lake Superior.

THROUGH SLEEPING GARS ON ALL NIGHT TRAINS

Between St. Paul and Duluth, Minneapolis and Duluth, St. Paul and

West Superior.

A. B. PLOUGH, a. F. COPELAND, GEO. W. BULL, G. C. GILFILLAN,
OenU Manager. Superintendent. (ien'l Pubs. Agt. Ass't Gen'lPass. Agt.

General Offices, St. Paul, Miim.

t^ BRTE8 HOUSE,

Indianapolis, lnd«

LOGftTED IN THE MOST GENTRftL PART OF THE CITY.

ELEGANTLY FURNISHED.

The Table Supplied

WITH

All the Delicacies
OF THE Season. . .

It is an acknowledged fact, that the
table and general service of this most ex-
cellent hotel is unexcelled. The details
and general management of this house are
pernonally superintended by the proprietor.

STRICTLY FIRST-CLASS..

TERMS, Reasonable for Service Rendered.

L,OUTS RIBBOl^n, Proprietor.

THi PEOPLE'S LINE

New York to Albany..

D R EW, Capt. B. J. Ro«,

NEW DEAN RICHMOND, cpt. Tii.m.. p..t.
— cprtM PIER 41, NORTH RIVER,

Foot of Ciinal Street, near Jersey City Ferry, Desbrosses St.

AT o.oo r. 'M.

Connecting' at Albany with trains of the New York Central for the West; Dclawara
& Hudson Canal Company's Roads for all points North; Albany & Susque-
hanna for Howe's Cave, Cooperstown, C)tse^o Lake, Richfield Spring's,
Sharon Sprtnifs; and Boston, Hoosac Tunnel & Western R. R.,
Boston & Albany R. R., for Lebanon Springs, Pittsfield,
and the East. Local trains from Troy every half
hour, connecting with Troy & Boston R. R.

Albany to New York.

NEW DEAN RICHMOND, o.pt. Th.ina. p..t.
DREW, c»pt. B. J. Rot.

M^ Leave Albany at 8.00 P. M.,

OR ON THE ARRIVAL AT THE STEAMERS' DOCK OF DELAWARE

& HUDSON CANAL COMPANY'S EVENING TRAINS FROM THE

NORTH AND WEST, STEPPINa FROM CARS TO STEAMER.

Pier 41 North River, Foot Canal St., New York.

W. W. EVERETT, President.

M. B. WATERS, General Passenger Agent, Albany, New York.

J. H. ALLAIRE, Ticket Agt.. Pier 41 , North River, Foot Canal St., N. Y.

mMAN

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UNACfilUAINTED WITH THE GEOQRAPHY OF THIS
COUNTRY WILL OBTAIN MUCH VALUABLE INFOR*
NATION FROM A STUrV OF THIS MAP OF THE

•< Ml/I^jl O TEXA

|eL*PAS » |PooU Bro»..C h\i

points Kiist, JNortti una ^ortnwcst from Kansas uity
Moines, Chicago, and, via ALItEBT LKA ROUTE, to Spirit Lake,
ton, Sioux Palls, Watertown, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and intcrveuin;

Pipestone, Worthing-
towns and cltlcs-

n IS tut! snort, uireui rouiu. lu cuiincui.iun wiiu iiiu s iroui oi. iiouis, «jincinnuii, ijoiiis-
vllle, Nashville, and Eastern and Southern points converging at Kansas City, It also con-
stitutes

THE SHORT LINE TO DENVER AND THE WEST
FROM THE MISSOURI RIVER.

It traverses vast areas of the richest fanning and grazing lands in the world, forming
speediest, most popular and economical system of transportation to and from all cities,
towns and sections in Kansas, Colorado, and the Indian Territory. FREE Reclining
Chair Jars between Kansas City and Caldwell, Hutchinson and Dodge City, and Pullman
Palac^ Sleeping Cars to and from Wichita and Hutchinson.

ST. JOHN,

Otntral Manager

W. I. ALLEN.

Aut. General Manager.

CHIoaso, lllln<

JOHN SEBASTIAN,

6«n. Pan and Ticket Agt

all points East, North and Northwest from Kansas City to Rock Island, Davenport, Des .

■ i . .. - . pjp^

ig t(
It is the short, direct route. In connection with lliu s from St. IiOuTs, Cincinnati, Louis-

The Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railwayi

Including main lines, branches and extensions East and West of the Missouri River. To ^

O
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O
MAGNIFICENT VESTIBULE EXPRESS TRAINS, C

Leading all competitors in splendor of equipment, cool in summer, warmed by steam
from the locomotive in winter, well ventilated and free from dust — leave Kansas City
and St. Joseph dally, on arrival of trains from the East and Southeast, with elegant Day
Coaches, Pullman Palace Sleepers and FREE Reclining Chair Cars, RUNNING THROUGH
WITHOUT CHANGE to Denver, Colorado Springs, and Pueblo, making stops only at Im-
portant intervening stations In Kansas and Colorado. Superb Dining Hotels at conven-
ient stations west of Kansas City and St. Joseph furnish delicious meals at seasonable
hours and at moderate prices.

The ROCK ISLAND is the Favorite Tourist Line

To Manitou, Pike's Peak, the Garden of the Gods, Cascade, Green Mountain Falls, Idaho
Springs, the mountain parks, mining camps and cities, sanitary resorts, hunting and
fishing grounds, and scenic attractions of Colorado. Its Vestibule Express Trains are
equipped with every modern improvement that can add to the safety, convenience, com-
fort, and luxurious enjoyment. They also make close connections at terminal cities In
Colorado (in Union Depots) with the Denver and Rio Grande, Colorado Midland, Union
Paoiflo, Denver, Texas and Fort Worth, and all other diverging lines.

For Tickets, Maps, Time Tables, Folders, copies of the "Western Trail," (issued
monthly), or further desired information, address

m
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tis.

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

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FORTY-THREE YEARS Qf

TI16 Great Rock island Route, >

•S> 13SO - 1SS3 <e

Three years long-er than David reifhed has the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific
Railway run trains westward fro'm Cliic The advent of lliis line in any community

has always caused tlie public heart to i-.rob with excess of joy while realizinijr the
value of this (fraud acquisition and encouraging' influence to aid in a noble protfress of
subduing' the wilderness. The Rock Island has for forty years been marching on in
the work of civilizing a vast and fertile but primarily a nonproductive country, and
accomplished its fair share in rendering millions of acres capable of returning a
fruitful abundance.

o Education and commerce follo'wed the home-seekers' settlement. Towns and cities
became fixtures and grew in population as agriculture and kindred interests developed
under a patronizing influence of the great thoroughfare which, since the beginning,
forty years ago, now extends a distance equal to the breadth of our continent, pene-
trating the richest sections of half a dozen or more States and changing a vast area
and barren waste, to land of health, beauty and profit.

The Rock Island is foremost in adopting any advantage calculated to improve
speed, and give that luxury, safety and comfort that popular patronage demands. Its
equipment is thoroughly complete with veslibuled trains, map'nificent dining cars,
sleepers and chair coaches, all the most elegant, and of receii^ly improved patterns.

With a double all steel track from Chicago to Rock Island, and heavj- pattern rail
on excellent ties 8 nd road bed to the Rocky Mountains, on which run solid veslibuled
trains, renders this route pre-eminently attractive and because of its safetj- in trans-
porting passengers— a most desirable one for traveler, visitor, tourist or business man.

The opening of the Rock Island is the signal of increased property values and farm
products, the harbinger of development and prosperity, the precursor of schools,
populous villages, and cities.

It is remarkable that this popular thoroughfare meets so little opposition from the
people 'ivhen it proposes to establish a new branch or extend main lines. Other roads
complain of the ditticulties they encounter. Not so the Rock Island.

Faithful and capable management, and polite, honest service from employes are
Important items. They art a double duty — to the company and to travelers— and it is
sometimes a task difficult of accomplishment. Passengers on this line will find little
cause for complaint on that ground.

In future years, when comparisons attain, the observer will be able to realize that
one of the most powerful agencies which wrought a wonderful change, encouraged the
doubling of trade and manufacturing industries and increase of population, was the
great Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railway.

The importance of this line can be better understood, if a short lesson In geography
be now recited.

What is the great Eastern terminus of the Rock Island Route? — Chic^r « —What
other sub-eastern terminus has it? — Peoria. — To what important points ti-.e8 .'t run
trains to tlie Northwest? — St. Paul and Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Waterto^^'n and
Sioux Falls, Dakota. — To what important Iowa and Nebraska points? — Des M Ines,
Davenport, Iowa; Omaha and Lincoln, Nebraska. — Does it touch other Missouri 'iver
points? — Yes; St. Joseph^tchison, Leavenworth and Kansas City. — Does ii. run ; tins
to the foothills of the Rocky Motintalns? — Yes; to Denver, Colorado Spri.ig" and
Pueblo; solid vestibuled from Chicago.— Can importa '♦ cities of Kansas be reached by
the Rock Island Route? — Yes; its capital city, Topeka, and a full hundred others in all
directions in the State. — How near to the new lands, already opened for settlement,
in the Indian Territory, does the Great Rock Island Route run?

JUST ALONG SIDE OF IT.

It will thus be seen that a line tapping, as the Rock Island does, such a varied
territory, has much in that regard to commend it lo travelers, as all connections are
sure on the Rock Island, and passengers can rely on a sjieedy journey, as over a bulk
of the system through trains are run, and it lias become, and rightly too, the popular
line.

For full particulars as to tickets, maps, rates, apply to any coupon ticket office in
the United States, Canada or Mexico, or address:

E. ST. JOHN.

General Manager,

W. I. ALLEN. JOHN SEBASTIAN.

AiiUtant General Mannger. General fau. and Ticket Agt

OHIC3A<aC3, ll-L..

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IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

Hoosac Timnel Route,

PITCHBVRO R. R.

FAVORITE ROUTE BOSTON TO SARATOGA,

And the most direct route from Albanj', Troy and the west, to Worcester, Providnncq

Boston, and all Eastern cities, and is also the most direct route from all

Eastern iioinis to the West via Albany and Troy.

Magnificent Rolling Stock,

Fast Time,

Reliable Management, . .

Low Fares,

Palatial Sleepers and . .
Drawing-Room Cars . .

ON ALL TRAINS.

The only line running- Ihrounj-li the

FAR-FAHED

HOOSAC TUNNEL,

Engineering Wonder of the
Nineteenth Century.

lie sure your tickets read, Ti'a Hoosac Tun-
nel Route, Take none other.

JOHN ADAMS, Genl. Supt., Boston, Mass.

J. R. WATSON, Genl. Pass. Agt., Boston, Mass.

C. A. niMMO, Genl. Western Pass. Agt., Troy, H. T.

CENTRAL VERMONT RAILWAY,

Great Route of the "(irei'n flountain Flyer" and the "Adirondack Limited."

Quick Time, Low Fares, Elegant Rolling-Stock, Princely Palace Sleepers,
Royal Drawing, Dining lioom and Buffet Cars.

Passenpers for Montreal, Quebec, and points farther north should see to it that their

tickets read lia Central Vermont R. R., and not rw any other road. This is the

only route from New York, Albany, or Troy, passing throupli the

cities and principal tr)wns in Vernionl. and the

only route offerinjf a full view of

The Famous AdirondacK Monntaifls.

The Mountain Scenery along this Route, together with the

VIEl^S OF I.AKK CHAMPLAIN,

Go to make up a picture that beggars description.

This Line is also the favorite route from Boston to the West via Montreal, and the only

dii'ect line from Boston to Ogdensburg, N. Y., as well as a favorite

route from New York City to Ogdensburg.

PIrst-Class Hanc cement is the verdict awarded this Company by the public.

E. C. SMITH, President, St. Albans, Vt. F. W. BALDWIN, Genl. Supt., St. Albans, Vt

S. W. CUMMINGS, Genl. Passenger Agent, St. Albans, Vt.

A. C. STONEGRAVE, Canadian Passenger Agent, St. Jamos St., Montreal, P. Q.

0)<E TO tHf[e:e:

MANUALS;
Tlfi TO THll^TYTWO
fron. STOPS.

|2oo.io$6oo

[ALOGUES

Compass FOR F'JLL PARTS
orpopuLAR Music

_ $114. $117: $120 UP

FRE

V^'(/)

' : BOSTON 1 54-TREMo"NT'i3T. NEWYORKflS EI^^St. CHICAGO. 149 W/Wsh Ave

'!l

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

Iitteffiational

S. S. Company

COMFORT, SPEED. SAFETY.

From Commercial Wharf, Boston*

The Great Line between Boston, Mass.,

Portland and Eastport, Me, and St. Johns, N, B.^

'.'"t. iM ^^'iiiLH in the Maritime Provinces, New-
foundland, etc., etc.

Most Magnificent Floating Palaces.

No Boats on Eastern Waters to Compare with

them.
Elegantly Furnished. — Unexcelled Service.
Table Supplied with the Very Best the Markets

Afford.
The Cheapest and Most Comfortable Method of

Travel.

FARES ALWAYS LOWER THAN BY ANY OTHER ROUTE.

This Hne takes no risks in running. Their rule is "Absolute

Safety." Excellent Excursion Route. See Time

Tables on another page.

Capt. J. S. WINSLOW, President, J. B. COYLE, Gensral Manager.

Portland, Maine.
E. A. WALDRON, General Agent, Boston, Mass.

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

• 1892 and 1893

International Steamship Co.

• BOSTON, PORTLrtND, EftSTPORT AND
ST. JOHN LINE.

FALL AND WINTER

"TIME-nrABL-E.

The TIme-Tables as given are for the convenience of
the public, and it Is the intention of the Com-
pany to carry out the same, but the right Is
reserved to change without notice.

SEPTEMBER 5 TO NOVEMBER 2.

Steamers leave Boston at 8.30 a. m. on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fri-
days, for Eastport and St. John. Loave Portland at 5.00 p. m. on Monday*
and Fridays only. (The Wednesday trip is to be made direct to Eastport,
not calling at Portland.) Noon trains of the Boston & Maine Railroad con-
nect with steamer at Portland on Mondays and Fridays.

RETURNING.

Leave St. John at 7.25 a. m., and Eastport at 12.30 p. m. for Boston,
on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and for Portland, on Mondays and
Fridays only. (The Wednesday trip is to bo made direct between Eastport
and Boston, not calling at Portland.)

NOVEMBER 2, 1892, TO ABOUT MAY 1, 1893,

Steamers will make two trips per week, leaving either end of the route
on Mondays and Thursdays, calling at Portland each way.

Capt, J, S. WINSLOW, President, Portland, Me.
J. B. COYLE, General Manager, Portland, Me.
E. A. WALDRON, General Agent, Boston, Mass.

IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE.

^ ^ f-^ ^ MaiDiRcth Pekin Ducks,

^ \ -x DO D -^^^ Hankln's Choicest.

^rZ^ ^C White Wyandottes,

, 4 ^^ ^^^^^^ C^^ Knnpp Hros, mid

AJ ^^^ i ^-^ y ^^^'y^^ W. N. Croifuts-

White Plymouth Rocks,

8. M. Williams' "Em-
pli»" Strain.

Black MInorcas,

J. Y. nioknoll's
spoclally se-
lected, t^'w^ ^ m -^j^js/i '^.'^.^

Rouen Ducks,

Imported 1889.
Knglish Prize Winners.

Mammoth PekIn Ducks,

Rankin's Choicest.

Strains.

Wool

Aylesbury Ducks

Imported 1880.
English Prize Winners.

8«nd for Cata!oi^«, Prices mi
Description.

Correspondence sol' '** 'd In reference to the above classes of birds. All quei^itlons
cheerfully answered- " matlon given free of cost. None but the highest class of
birds kept. Eggs for ^ furnished at reasonable rates.

Addr

^. H. 'WAI^IvACE, l^oodstock, Ont.

VISITORS TO MONTREAL

AT ALL SEASONS WILL REMEMBER THAT THE

ST LAWRENCE HALL

IS THE OLD, RELIABLE, AND ONLY

F5IRST-OI-MSS HOTEL.
Centrally Located for All Points of Interest and Business Purposes.

$26,000 and over recently expended in adding to the many Improvements
which this fine hotel already possesses.

Rooms elegantly furnished. Table service second to none In the country. Every de-
tail Is superintended In person by Mr. Henry Hogan, proprietor, so well and so favorably
known tnroughout the world as a host of long and practical experience and much
deserved popularity. ,

Telegraph-oflBce, barber-shop, news-stand, livery, pabsenger elevator, etc., connected
krlth the hotel. Stages to and from all trains.

Be sure and stop at the St. Lawrence Hall when you visit Montreal.

S. MONTGOMERY, manaqcr. HENRY HOGAN, proprietor.

OFFICE ASSIST AKTB:

James Eathorne, W. H. Brown, Alfred N. Thompson.

Cathiar and Book-Katper. Chief Clark Saoond Clark

E. Q. Jeffrey, '-i^ P. O'Neil, Head Waltar

Third Clfrh. fourth Clark. and Suptof Culinary Sarvlou

"The Robcpval,"

•:•

ROBERVAL. R. Q.

Terminus of the Quebec and Lake St. John Railway, —
nearly two hundred miles north of Quebec. The homo of
the "Ouananlsche" (land lock Salmon).

The great game section of Canada. Fur and feathered
game of all sizes and character in abundance.

The greatest fishing district In Canada. Salmon,
speckled trout, and all species of value.

Indian tribes and the most beautiful scenery.

"The Roberval" (as throngs who have already visited
It will testify) is a first-class hotel In every particular.
Service equal to any first-class city hotel. Cuisine fit for an
epicure; table unsurpassed. Magnificent lawns. Uninter-
rupted lake view. Electric lights. Trains run to hotel
grounds^

H. J, BBBMBR,

Froprletar,

"THE STILLMKN." ♦ ♦ ♦

-ClyEV^I/AND, OHIO.

Nothing like it in Ohio, and nothing to surpass
it elsewhere.

Situated on the famous Euclid Avenue, sur-
rounded by beautiful lawns finely cared for; ma-
jestic shade trees; electric lights in and outside of
hotel.

Table service the production of the highest culi-
nary art, and laden with the best which money can
bu3'.

Furnished in the most modern style. "The
Stillman" is absolutely fire-proof. It is virtually a
palace hotel, centrally located.

H[. r^. FiOE^SSE^Fi,

XI ei tn ei g^ r-.