US l 
 
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THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 

 \ 
 
W 1 
 
 ASMODEUS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 TIE MQU1TM OF NOT I0M: 
 
 BEING A COMPLETE EXPOSE OF 
 
 Silje Crimes, SJoittgs cm& t)itt0 
 
 AS EXHIBITED IN THE 
 
 HAUNTS OF GAMBLERS AND HOUSES OF PROSTITUTION, 
 
 BOTH IN 
 
 HIGH AND LOW LIFE! 
 
 INCLUDING A SKETCH OP THE 
 AND THE CELEBRATED 
 
 REPORT OF ARTHUR TAPPAN, ESQ. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 MAGDALKV8 Of X£W YORK. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETORS, 
 
 BY C. Q. GRAHAM & CO. 
 
 38 ANN-STREET, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 • 1849. 
 
 jfl 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, 
 BY C. G. GRAHAM & CO., 
 
 la the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York. 
 
tf-N%0 
 
 M o&7 
 
 PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. 
 
 A work entitled " Asmodeus, or Legends of New York," having 
 made its appearance a few weeks since, which caused no small ex- 
 citement in our quiet city, and the author of that work having promised 
 a sequel — which to this time has not appeared — therefore the present 
 publishers having been offered the MS. of this work, thought from the 
 character of the same, it would in one sense carry out the original 
 design of the author of " Asmodeus." It will not be necessary for 
 the publishers to make a comparison between the two, as it regards 
 literary points of view — all we have to say is that the " Iniquities of 
 New York" is written by an author of acknowledged talent. In 
 regard to the merits of the work as a true vehicle of the " Iniquities" 
 of our great city, the reader has only to read this work and he will 
 see that the author of " Asmodeus," or " Mysteries and Miseries of 
 New York" knew but little of what he professed to write a great deal 
 about. 
 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 This work is no creation of the fancy — though in the form of fiction, 
 its scenes, variations and plots are all drawn from real life, and are 
 depicted in colors of truth. 
 
 If the reader should deem any of the disclosures improper or in- 
 delicate, let him remember that it is impossible to reveal the condition 
 of the unfortunate women of a great city like New York, without the 
 use of language and the exhibition of scenes that, employed for 
 any other purpose, might be liable to censure. Besides it is to be ob- 
 served that the boldest language in the book is drawn from the cele- 
 brated report of the Magdalen Society, and that it is here given to aid 
 in the great purpose of this work — that is, the alleviation of the mis- 
 eries, the wants and the woes of the unfortunate. Who will not at 
 once, after reading this work, come out and assist us in putting down 
 the thousand ways whereby houses of ill-fame are kept supplied 
 with "fresh hands?" We say, who will not? It will doubtless be 
 those who own and rent the " dens of infamy," those who in their 
 every day life are considered good, moral, upright men, their pockets 
 always open — i. e. when any influential reporter is present that it may 
 be heralded forth to the world. 
 
INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MAGDALENS OF NEW YORK. 
 
 To portray the condition of society in New York, requires a free 
 and fearless pen. The woes and wailings, the iniquities and infamy 
 of women, form the theme of this chapter, and to hold them up before 
 the eyes of the public, demands an exposition that, though it may 
 shock the sensitive, will nevertheless command the attention and ap- 
 proval of the wise and good. 
 
 The wrongs and degradation of woman betrayed and lost — this is 
 the argument of our song! Woman, with all thy beauty and tender. 
 ness and love — when fallen from the heaven in which thou wast 
 ordained to move — how like the spirits of evil dost thou become ! 
 Lucifer, hurled from his seat at the right hand of Jehovah to the 
 bottomless deep of the damned, and with maddened hate wreaking out 
 his wrath against all that is good, is a type of woman fallen from the 
 heavenly throne of virtue to the deep abyss of that shameless and most 
 dreadful of all the traffics of sin. 
 
 The fifteen or twenty thousand of unfortunates of the City of New 
 York — women lost to virtue and forsaken by friends — who can depict 
 their lamentable condition in colors of truth, without opening a sealed 
 book of mystery, misery and wo ? 
 
 We must not approach this subject with any feeling of mawkish 
 delicacy — truth, the most alarming and sorrowful must be told with- 
 out fear of uttering what a squeamish fastidiousness might deem 
 indelicate, or of making exposures that may shock the nerves of the 
 sensitive. 
 
8 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 i 
 We shall not enter alone on this dangerous volcano, belching 
 
 forth its eruptions over the bright fields of innocence and youth and 
 
 beauty, and making desolate the homes and hearts of unnumbered 
 
 sufferers. 
 
 To this great task we shall summon the aid and counsel of the wise 
 
 and good, and accordingly open with the celebrated, the rare, and now 
 
 suppressed 
 
 REPORT OF ARTHUR TAPPAN, 
 
 ON THE MAGDALENS OF NEW YORK. 
 
 This report was made eighteen years ago, and depicts a most 
 depraved and horrible state of society. 
 
 It estimates the number of women in this city, that make prostitution 
 their trade, at Ten Thousand. By the natural laws of the increase of 
 vice, which more than keeps pace with the augmentation of the popu- 
 lation, this amount, which was then deemed too small, must now be 
 swelled to the frightful number of Twenty Thousand Women in the 
 City of New York who drive that most dreadful of all trades — the 
 traffic of their virtue for gold ! 
 
 The following statement is authentic. It was made by men dis- 
 tinguished for their piety, and learning, and who made a thorough 
 investigation the basis of their report. It is the 
 
 " First Annual Report of the Executive Committee of the New 
 York Magdalen Sooiety. Instituted January 1st, 1830." 
 
 Of this Sooiety, the distinguished philanthropist, Arthur Tappan, 
 was President. Its members were composed of the pious and good, 
 both men and women. Its object was to save the rising generation 
 from ruin, and to rescue the victims of man's pleasure from their 
 degradation. 
 
 For this purpose they had established a " Probationary House," 
 which was an 
 
 " Asylum for Females who have deviated from the path of virtue, 
 and who are desirous of being restored to good habits." 
 
 But let us turn to the report, which exhibits the condition and mis- 
 eries of this class of unfortunates with a freedom and boldness that we 
 should not venture to employ. 
 
 After giving a brief outline of the history of their institution, the 
 report proceeds to speak thus boldly of the main subject : 
 
 " The extent of prostitution in this city, as shown by facts already 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. & 
 
 developed during our labors, and the alarming increase of the unhappy 
 victims of seduction among us, of which we have attained the most 
 demonstrative evidence, so far exceed all our own previous calcula- 
 tions, that we are prepared to anticipate skepticism and incredulity in 
 others. Indeed, enough is in our possession to cause a thrill of horror 
 to be felt by every virtuous man and woman in the community, such 
 as was never produced by any expose of vice which has ever met the 
 public eye. Did not prudence and delicacy forbid the disgusting de- 
 tail of what has been brought to our knowledge thus early in the his- 
 tory of this Society, every parent would tremble for the safety of his 
 sons as well as his daughters, and we could a tale disclose which 
 would cause the blood to ' chill within the veins, and each particular 
 hair to stand erect, like quills upon the fretted porcupine.' But we 
 shall forbear, and only set forth those general facts which plead for 
 the necessity of extensive and efficient efforts, in behalf of those un- 
 happy females, for whose reformation and salvation the New York 
 Magdalen Society is engaged. 
 
 " First, then, we would present the fact, that we have satisfactorily 
 ascertained that the number of females in this city, who abandon 
 themselves to prostitution, is not less than TEN THOUSAND!! 
 The data on which this estimate is founded are, first, the opinion of 
 the Alderman, whose experience and observation for several years 
 past, as Commissioner at Bellevue, enabled him to judge very accu- 
 rately, and from whom we learned in the commencement of our labors, 
 what we then thought improbable, that there were * ten thousand har- 
 lots in this city. 1 But although we then judged that the number was 
 overrated, we are driven to the painful admission, that his estimate 
 was just, from our own observation in the partial census we have at- 
 tempted. 
 
 " We have the names, street, and number of the houses of ill-fame 
 in this city, notoriously inhabited by abandoned women ; and also the 
 houses of assignation, where daily and nightly the pollution of girls 
 and women of all ages and colors, married and single, is habitually 
 committed. Many of these sinks of iniquity are in respectable neigh- 
 borhoods, disguised under the mask of boarding houses, dressmakers, 
 milliners, stores and shops of various kinds. Some of them are large 
 and elegant houses, provided with costly furniture, and have brass 
 and silver plates on the doors, on which are engraved the real or 
 fictitious names of the occupants. 
 
 " These haunts of iniquity have been discovered partly by the aid 
 of the police officers, partly by the girls and women who have been 
 
10 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 rescued from pollution by the Asylum, and partly by the vigilance of 
 persons, male and female, employed by the Society. By these means 
 we have arrived at very many of the secrets of these nests of abomin- 
 ation, the number of lewd women who reside or resort to each, the arts 
 and intrigues by which the victims of seduction are procured, as well 
 as the names of scores of the men and boys who are the seducers of 
 the innocent, or the companions of the polluted. Hence our oppor- 
 tunity of judging of~the extent of prostitution in the city, is now by no 
 means limited, and we are satisfied we do not exaggerate when we re- 
 peat, that there are now ten thousand girls and women, in the City of 
 New- York, who live by public and promiscuous prostitution. Besides 
 these, we have the clearest evidence that there are hundreds of private 
 harlots and kept misses, many of whom keep up a show of industry 
 as domestics, nurses, &c, in the most respectable families, and throng 
 the houses of assignation every night. Although we have no means 
 of ascertaining the number of these, yet enough has been learned from 
 the facts already developed to convince us that the aggregate of these 
 is alarmingly great, perhaps little behind the proportion of the City of 
 London, whose police reports assert, on the authority of accurate re- 
 searches, that the number of private prostitutes in that city is fully 
 equal to the number of public harlots. This is a most appalling 
 picture of moral degradation, and we forbear to dwell upon so painful 
 and mortifying conclusions as those to which this view of the subject 
 would impel us. We cannot forget, however, that the Rev. Mr. Staf- 
 ford, formerly employed as a missionary among the depraved popula- 
 tion of our city, published his conviction, after careful investigation of 
 tbis subject, that there were fifteen thousand abandoned females in 
 this city, and our population, permanent and transient, was then one- 
 third less than it is now. 
 
 " As, however, we would not add one shade to the dark picture of 
 our city's pollution, we shall assume it as a fact, that there are ten 
 thousand only of these lewd women in New York, and we do so be- 
 cause we had rather underrate the aggregate than augment it. 
 Among these there are girls of fourteen, thirteen, and even twelve 
 years of age in incredible numbers, such as the House of Refuge has 
 rescued, although that spacious institution would not hold all such, 
 could they be sent there. Some of these, it is revolting to human na- 
 ture to relate, are devoted to prostitution thus early in life by their 
 own mothers, either in their own houses kept as brothels, or placed, by 
 these unnatural monsters in female form, in the houses kept by others. 
 
 " Besides these, many of them are the daughters of the wealthy, 
 
THE- INiaUITlES OF NEW YORK. [1 
 
 respectable and pious citizens of our own and other States, seduced 
 from their homes by the villains who infest the community, preying 
 upon female innocence, and succeeding in their diabolical pnrpose, 
 either by promises of marriage ; or, after deceiving them into a brothel, 
 by the commission of rape ; often first depriving the victims of their 
 lust, of their reason, by stupefying drugs kept in these dens of iniquity 
 for the purpose. Individual cases of each of these descriptions are 
 known to the Society, in which the unhappy girl has been kept 
 imprisoned for weeks, until all hope of escape from infamy was lost, 
 and she at last gave herself up to intemperance and crime. 
 
 " Among these are very many daughters of poor parents, and 
 especially widowed mothers, whose necessities compelled them to seek 
 employment as domestics. For such, especially the young and inex- 
 perienced, the keepers of these brothels are eagerly seeking in the 
 character of procuresses, and soon after hiring them as servants, they 
 are sent into a room with some man, or rather monster in human shape, 
 and compelled to submit to his vile purpose, for which the precuress 
 is liberally paid. The poor girl now finds herself ruined, and is 
 presently seduced to consent to a life of infamy, by the promise of 
 plenty of money, fine clothes, &c, and all is lost. Numbers of these 
 cases have already come under our observation, in which women were 
 thus the active agents in effecting the ruin of the young and unwary 
 of their own sex ; and then the children die from neglect or cruelly, 
 or are perhaps sent to the Alms House, while the mothers give them- 
 selves up to guilt and infamy. 
 
 " But we will not affect to conceal that hundreds, perhaps thousands 
 of them, are the daughters of the ignorant, depraved and vicious part 
 of our population, trained up without culture of any kind, amid the 
 contagion of evil example, and enter upon a life of prostitution for the 
 gratification of their unbridled passions, and become harlots altogether 
 by choice. These have a short career, generally dying of the effects 
 of intemperance and pollution soon after entering upon this road to 
 ruin. 
 
 " Without attempting to protract these loathsome details, or offering 
 comment which we deem unnecessary, we would here present the 
 result of our observation, in reference to the effects of this course of 
 lifo upon the wretched females themselves. Soon after they begin 
 their vicious indulgence ; in a drunken frolic, at the dance house, or 
 in the street, they become involved in riotous conduct, are arrested 
 and sent to the watch house, whence they are committed to the Peni- 
 tentiary for sixty days. This penance is most generally unproductive, 
 
12 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 for on their discharge they are eagerly sought for by the former com- 
 panions of their guilt, and return to their crimes. Soon they are 
 overtaken by that disease, the judicial visitation of heaven for the sin 
 of uncleanness, and are presently found in the Alms House Hospital, 
 where for weeks together the deaths among them are said to average 
 one every day. Indeed, it is evident in this city, as elsewhere long 
 since shown,, that among those who commence a life of prostitution 
 early, from three to five years is the average period of their existence, 
 for intemperance and pollution rapidly hurry them into the grave, a. 
 signal proof of the declaration, that ' the wicked shall not outlive half 
 their days.' 
 
 "Now in the view of these melancholy truths, as painful to relate 
 as they are to hear, and presenting a portrait of moral death, amid the 
 blaze of Gospel light with which our city is favored ; is there not 
 enough to awaken compassion and zeal in the heart of every individual 
 who fears God and loves his neighbor 1 compassion to snatch the 
 wretched victims of vice from the sorrows they are preparing for 
 themselves ? and zeal, to step as it were, between the living and the 
 dead, to stay the plague which assails the very vitals of society? 
 
 M It is scarcely necessary to declare, so well known is the fact, that 
 in this vast city, multitudes of young creatures are continually deluded, 
 inveigled, enticed or surprised into the path of ruin by means of the 
 vilest artifices, of whom it may be truly said, in the language of Dr. 
 Johnson, that their wretched condition is ' as much their misfortune as 
 their fault.' It is a lamentable fact that men' are the original cause 
 of the evil complained of; yet it is but too true that women take their 
 revenge a hundred fold. Seductions of females among us are often 
 attended with peculiar aggravations, and the abandoned of both sexes 
 reciprocally the tempters of the virtuous. But it is clearly ascertained 
 that bad women multiply the seduction of heedless youth more rapidly 
 than bad men seduce modest women. A few of these courtesans 
 suffice to corrupt whole cities, and there can be no doubt that some 
 insinuating prostitutes have initiated more young men into these 
 destructive ways, than the most abandoned rakes have debauched 
 virgins during their whole lives. 
 
 " We have ascertained that the mischiefs of this enormous evil are 
 greatly aggravated by the persons who keep the brothels and houses 
 of assignation in this city, many of whom live by the prostitution of 
 others under their roof, accumulate large property as the wages of 
 their iniquity, and yet boast of their own personal integrity and place 
 their children out of the reach, as they think, of this pestiferous ex- 
 
10 " 
 
 << 
 
 7,500 
 
 7 " 
 
 N 
 
 14,000 
 
 3 " 
 
 if 
 
 6,000 
 
 the miaurrias op tfEW York. is 
 
 Ample. The price of boarding, paid by the abandoned women in this 
 city to those who accommodate them, varies from three to fifteen 
 dollars a Week, according to the style of their accommodations, but is 
 generally five or six dollars per week for white women* 
 
 " The following is an attempt at estimating the probable expense, 
 or aggregate amount of the annual cost of the 10,000 harlots in this 
 city : 
 For boarding 1st class, suppose 250, at $15 per week, $ 3,750 
 » 2d " " 750, at 
 
 " " 3d " " 2,000, at 
 
 " •; 4th " " 2,000, at 
 
 Expense of boarding paid by the whole per week, $31,250 
 
 " Which multiplied by the niimber of weeks in the year make the 
 annual amount of nearly three millions qf dollars ! 7 being paid fol 
 the boarding alone of the unhappy daughters of infamy in a single 
 year. 
 
 "Now if we add to this the probable expense of clothes, theatre 
 tickets, coach hire, wines, and spirituous liquors, and other expenses 
 incidental to their mode of life, which as we learn from the best 
 evidence far exceeds the amount paid weekly for board, We think it a 
 moderate estimate, when we express our conviction that six millions of 
 dollars is annually expended in this city by prostitutes, all of which 
 besides what many of them accumulate in the banks and other pro- 
 perty, is paid to them by the guilty companions of their iniquity* 
 
 " What an awful waste of property, apart from any higher con- 
 sideration, and what proportion of this immense annual amount is 
 honestly acquired by those who thus expend it, who can say ? or 
 rather what proportion is robbed from parents, masters, and guardians 
 by the young men, clerks, apprentices* &c. Who infest these sinks of 
 abomination, who can estimate 1 More than half is doubtless paid 
 them by silly and inexperienced youth who have no means of support- 
 ing their extravagance, but by embezzling or stealing the property of 
 others, and who are made the easy dupes of the arts of these infatuating 
 furies, whose syren song lulls conscience to sleep, and thus prepares 
 for any and every crime. 
 
 " We have ascertained from various sources that each female of this 
 class is visited on the average by three men or boys daily, and that 
 each of these spend at least fifty cents for liquors, porter, &c. besides 
 the sum paid to the companions of their guilt, and the infamous myr- 
 midons ti'ho prooure and keep them. This will show that of the ten 
 
14 ASMODE&S-, OR, 
 
 million times these Women are visited by men for the purposes ef pros- 
 titution in the course of a year, Jive millions of dollars are expended in 
 addition to the items included in the above estimate. 
 
 " From the reformed women in the several Asylums, it is ascertained 
 that it is no uncommon thing for them to receive from ten to twenty 
 dollars of a night, and frequently from Saturday night to Monday 
 morning they will receive fifteen to twenty-five men, and obtain as 
 their reward from thirty to fifty dollars. These items will go far to 
 sustain the justness of our former calculations, and are intended to 
 afford some idea of the stupendous expenses of this one single vice, 
 the cause of so much pauperism and crime ; filling our alms-houses, 
 hospitals, prisons and penitentiaries, and destroying our race. 
 
 " But what is all this waste of wealth compared with the ruin of the 
 generation of young men, and the destruction of female purity ? It is 
 insignificant when compared to the overthrow of the peace of families, 
 the premature dissolution of broken hearted parents, the wretchedness 
 and disgrace of community. But all this is as the dust in the balance, 
 when weighed beside the loss of hundreds of thousands of immortal 
 souls. All else is worse than worthless when viewed in the light of 
 the eternal world, for ' her house is the way to death, and her path lays 
 hold on hell.' 
 
 " In a former part of this report we have hinted at the cruelty with 
 which very many of these guilty and unfortunate girls are treated by 
 those in whose houses they are kept in a state worse than Algerine 
 slavery. In many of the houses some broken down rake is kept by 
 the women who board the girls, in the double capacity of pimp and 
 bully, or house dog. When any benevolent person visits the house 
 for the purpose of persuading the females to leave their sinful courses, 
 this vagabond interferes and either compels the visitor to leave the 
 house, or forcibly conveys the girls into another apartment. If a girl 
 shows a desire to reform, drugs are given her in her drink to stupefy 
 her senses, and she is often cruelly beaten by this monster in the form 
 of a man. 
 
 " Another means practiced by these wretches who keep many of 
 these houses of ill-fame, to retain the girls whose ruin their arts have 
 accomplished, is to own the clothes they wear, and when' one wishes 
 to go, she has no clothes ; and even when they have clothes of their 
 own, their mistresses will often forcibly detain them under the pretext 
 of debt, numerous instances of which have come to our knowledge. 
 When, as is often the case, the clothes worn by the girls belong to the 
 keeper of the house, the wages of their iniquity is also withheld from 
 
THE INIQUITIES OP NEW YORK. 15 
 
 them, they receiving only their board, and the liquor which is freely 
 given to make them contented with their cruel bondage. 
 
 " Many of these houses are provided throughout with hired furni- 
 ture, and often of an elegant kind. We have the names and residence 
 of men in this city who follow this low business, hiring out furniture 
 by the week at extravagant prices to such houses. 
 
 "Another fact as sustained by abundant proof in our possession, 
 and one in which every class of the community is interested is, that 
 there are hundreds if not thousands of female domestics in this city, 
 who serve in respectable families, who visit the houses of assignation 
 at convenient intervals, sometimes nightly, and by returning in toler- 
 able season, escape detection by a lie in their mouths, and mingle 
 with the daughters, in the families where they live, passing for virtu- 
 ous women. One of these who has forsaken her evil ways, states that 
 she met one man every Tuesday night, and another every Friday 
 night, for months together without missing a single night, and without 
 ever incurring suspicion. 
 
 " It would be impossible however to compress withing any reason- 
 able limits the multiplied mischiefs, and disgusting details of this single 
 iniquity as known to us, by reason of our brief connection with the 
 Magdalen Society. Enougli we think has been presented to awaken 
 the feelings of every parent in this community. 
 
 " Out of a number of interesting cases, we select the following, 
 suppressing the real names for obvious reasons: 
 
 M A B , cet 21, daughter of respectable and pious parents 
 
 in a neighboring city, at a very early age was seduced from her home 
 under the promise of marriage by a young man who took her by sea 
 to a southern port, where he kept her for a time and then left her in a 
 brothel in a strange city. She now gave herself up to a life of pros- 
 titution, and went from one city to another until she came to New 
 York, where she has been the last two years. Her drunkenness and 
 crime have taken her more than once to the penitentiary, and she had 
 well nigh ruined her health. Last winter she was turned out of the 
 brothel in which she lived in consequence of a quarrel with the woman 
 who occupied it, and with whom she boarded. She had been sick for 
 some weeks, disabled from pursuing her guilty means of livelihood, 
 her clothes had found their way to the pawn-brokers, or been ex- 
 changed for ardent spirits, and at midnight she was turned into tho 
 street without any other garment than a ragged calico frock, filthy 
 beyond description, without bonnet or shoes, in one of the coldest 
 nights of the last winter. She wandered through the street, drunk 
 
1-8 ASMODEOUS ; OR, 
 
 from the excesses of the previous night, and was found in the morning 
 about day light, standing in an alley near the ' Five Points' and 
 brought, shivering with cold, to the Probationary House. Iter face 
 and limbs were bloated by intemperance, and the effects of the frost 
 seemed to have stupefied her reason, and well nigh destroyed her life* 
 By the most careful nursing and medical attention she was restored, 
 in a few days, to tolerable health, but the effects of the frost on her 
 feet continued for months. From the first she exhibited the liveliest 
 gratitude for her deliverance, and manifested a disposition to render 
 cheerful obedience to all the rules of the house* Soon she became 
 interested in the religious services of the house, and was taken to the 
 Asylum, and shortly after gave satisfactory evidence of a change of 
 heart. Ever since she has adorned her profession, and formed habits 
 of cleanliness and industry." 
 
 Here is a picture of the life and condition of the lost and unfortunate 
 women of New York. It exhibits a degree of degradation, of misery 
 and of wo unspeakable. 
 
 This report, made nearly eighteen years ago, even then in the opin. 
 ion of the best informed, underrated the number of these unfortunate 
 women. Since tha*t period the population of the city and its suburbs 
 has nearly doubled itself; and as Vice outstrips population, we may 
 reasonably infer that full Twenty Thousand Prostitutes, both public 
 and private> are now plying their lamentable trade in the city of New 
 York. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MODEL ARTISTE. 
 
 Loiter with me, reader, some afternoon on the Battery. There 
 you will behold many beautiful, but frail women. 
 
 It was in the month of May, just before the sun was sinking to his 
 polden bed. I was seated with a companion on the Battery, near the 
 entrance to Castle Garden. 
 
 Soon there passed a lady of beautiful form and most lovely coun- 
 tenance, yet seemingly saddened by some secret sorrow. Her slender 
 form and damask cheek told too plainly that the blossoms of her life 
 were withering, and that she was in the incipient stages of consump- 
 tion. But this disease, though it had dimmed the healthful and lively 
 f xpression of her features, yet had rendered them even more lovely 
 and interesting to behold. 
 
 My companion spoke, and asked : " Can you tell who that girl is ?" 
 
 " No ; I never saw her before," replied I. 
 
 " I can tell you who she is — she is a model artiste. Sit still a mo- 
 ment, and I will speak to her." 
 
 My companion was gone for a moment, and, after having spoken 
 with the lady, returned. 
 
 "There is something very interesting in the history of that girl," 
 paid he, resuming his seat by my side. 
 
 " I should like to hear it, and would like to know, too, what effect 
 her taking the part of a model artiste has had upon her morals. Has 
 she fallen ? or what is her character ?" 
 
 M She has fallen, but it was not the exhibition of herself a* a r^nlel 
 artiste that ruined her." 
 
 "The wily arts of some seducer, I suppose ?" 
 
 " It was not the wily arts of any seducer." 
 
 " Her own wanton disposition, then, led her astray V 
 
 '• \o, it was not that, either." 
 
 "Flow, then, did she fall from the high estate of virtue ?" 
 
18 
 
 " Well, I am going to see her this evening, and you may, if you 
 please, go along, and perhaps she may tell the story of her wrongs 
 from her own lips." 
 
 " I should like to go, and, if possible, draw from her the facts of her 
 own history. " 
 
 Evening came, and we set out to call on the model artiste. We 
 found her in a small house in Twelfth-streel, boarding with a widow 
 lady. 
 
 As we entered, she was introduced to me as Miss Jane Morrison. 
 She had a small room on the second floor, plainly, but comfortably 
 furnished. 
 
 We found her reading the Bible, and her eyes somewhat swollen 
 and red, as though she had just recovered from a fit of tears. Her 
 countenance was intelligent, and rendered more lovely by a tinge of 
 melancholy sadness, that was rendered more apparent by the cheerful 
 smile she strove to wear. 
 
 "You have not come to arrest me, I hope ?" were the first words 
 she spoke. 
 
 " Surely not," said my companion ; " you would not deem me so 
 base as thus to betray you." 
 
 " No, I hope not. With all my sin, I have never yet been to prison. 
 That would crush me at once. All I desire is to be permitted to live 
 and die in peace." 
 
 " Fear nothing from us," I said ; " we are your friends, and have 
 come to see if we can do you any good." 
 
 These remarks seemed to compose her mind ; and after some 
 further conversation, we at last succeeded in inducing her to reveal to 
 us the history of her life. 
 
 She was born, she said, in Orange county, New York, and at the 
 age of twelve, lost her mother. Within a year or two afterward she 
 came under the care of a step-mother. The result was what might 
 be anticipated. She was aggrieved, or fancied herself aggrieved, 
 and left her home at the age of seventeen. 
 
 She came to the City of New York, and resided for some time with 
 a female cousin who was married to a man in moderate circumstances. 
 Here she acquired the art and mystery of dress-making, and was 
 accustomed to " work out in families," by which means she obtained 
 a respectable living. 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 19 
 
 I My ruin," she said, " was wrought by a man of high standing in 
 society. He resides within sight of Union Square, and he was then, 
 and still is, a member of Calvary Church." 
 
 We pressed her to reveal his name, but she refused. 
 
 •• Nothing would induce me to disclose his name. O, I have loved 
 that man !" said she, wringing her hands in grief. " He is married, 
 nml I would not expose him for the world." 
 
 " How did you form your acquaintance with this man ?" I inquired. 
 
 '• It was at the model artistes," she answered, blushingly. 
 
 " How happened it that you joined the company V s 
 
 " My health had failed me, and the physicans told me I must 
 abandon the needle or die. By the advice of some friends, I went to 
 a water-cure establishment, and remained until f had spent all my 
 money. I had not sufficiently recovered to he able to resume my 
 occupation with the needle ; and being without money and a home, I 
 went to my cousin's, and remained for a short time. While there, I 
 perceived that I was not welcome — and indeed they had not the means 
 to accommodate me. Still, in order to help all I could, I did what 
 sewing I was able, which was fast bringing back my malady — a pain 
 In the side — in an aggravated form. What could I then do?" 
 
 " Why did you not apply to your friends for assistance ?" 
 
 " I had depended on my cousin until she was almost ready to turn 
 me out of doors !" 
 
 " Had you not other friends who would have extended to vou some 
 aid?" 
 
 u The poor, you know, have no friends. There were some ladies 
 for whom I had worked that had been friendly to me, and I applied to 
 them, but without success, except in one instance, and that was tho 
 
 wife of Mr. P , the one of whom I have spoken as the cause of my 
 
 fall. But I should not say he was tho cause." 
 
 14 Who, then, was the cause?" 
 
 II It was want — it was my dependent, desolate, suffering condition 
 that was tho cause of my departure from tho path of right. Some 
 
 assistance I received from Mrs. P , but I could not long depend 
 
 on her. One day, when strolling through tho streets, scarcely know- 
 ing whither I was going, and absorbed in thinking over my destitute, 
 and, as it seemed to me, hopeless condition, I met a young lady, an 
 acquaintance of mine, dressed in silk, with a gay hat and an elegant 
 shawl, and seeming to be very happy. 
 
 14 ' Why do you look so sad V said she. 
 " ' I cannot help it,' replied I. 
 2 
 
20 ' ASMODEtTS; OR, 
 
 " 1 1 know what is the matter,' said she, ' you are killing yourself 
 with the needle ; and because you are unable to work, you are suffer- 
 ing with want. Cheer up, I '11 tell you how you can get some money.' 
 
 " ' I should like to get some money, but I would not do anything 
 out of the way,' said 1, suspecting that Emma (for that was her name,) 
 had dressed herself in that style by means of the wages of sin. 
 
 " ' I can tell you, Jane, how you can do it in a respectable way. 
 You do not think I would throw myself away for money, do you V 
 
 " ■ O, no, I do not think you would ; but I do not know how I could 
 earn anything and be respectable.' 
 
 "'Do it as I do.' 
 
 " ' How is that ?" 
 
 " ' By the model artistes.' 
 
 " ' Do you think that I would exhibit myself in that manner before 
 an audience of men V 
 
 " ' To be sure you would. There is no harm in it. Some of the 
 most respectable ladies in the city are in our company. I once felt 
 as you do, but I have got over it now. Come along with me ; our 
 manager wants to engage just such a person as you. You have a 
 beautiful form, you will take Well, and can get a high salary. Come 
 along ; let us go to Taylor's and get some oysters, and then go with 
 me to Pinteux's to the rehearsal. Come along.' 
 
 " With these words, and especially the invitation to take some 
 oysters, I was induced to accompany her to Taylor's saloon, and from 
 thence to Pinteux's. 
 
 " At Pinteux's I witnessed the rehearsal, at which I experienced a 
 shock to my feelings ; yet, being on the brink of starvation, I yielded 
 to the entreaties of my companion and to the solicitations of the mana- 
 ger, and made an engagement at fifteen dollars per week, with a pro- 
 mise of an increase to twenty dollars. Perhaps 1 should not even then 
 have accepted this offer, had not the manager, perceiving my destitute 
 condition, presented me with live dollars in advance. 
 
 " I now left with Emma, and took board at the same house with her. 
 On the following day, I attended with her again, to take part myself, 
 for the first time, in the rehearsal. 
 
 " My feelings soon became inured to the exhibition, and I was able 
 to go through my part in a manner that gave satisfaction. But the 
 only gratifying circumstance connected with the engagement, was the 
 income it afforded, which gave to me a comfortable supporl and an 
 honorable independence. 
 
 ■• But on a sudden this bright vision passed away. From the hight 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 21 
 
 of mv prosperity, I was plunged at once into the deepest abyss of 
 misery. 
 
 •• You perhaps may remember that Sunday night when the police 
 made a descent on the Pinteux company. I was then hurried off, 
 shivering in the cold, to prison. 
 
 "O ! the horror — the indescribable anguish of that dreadful night ! 
 I can never recall its scenes without shuddering ! I was frantic. I 
 was in prison, and for what ? Not foi theft or murder. That I could 
 have endured, for they dethrone not woman's virtue. 
 
 *' But I was imprisoned, degraded for indecency, for a crime of all 
 others the most humiliating and painful to woman. I was jn despair, 
 too, at the loss of my living and of all my hopes. 
 
 11 In this desperate and distressing situation, a hand of kindness was 
 extended to me. Was it not natural that I should seize on it ?" 
 ' M Did some friend, then, come to your aid ?" asked I. 
 
 M While drowned in tears and absorbed in anguish at the prospect 
 before me, a gentleman appeared and spoke gently to me. I looked 
 
 up and beheld Mr. P , the husband of the lady for whom I had 
 
 formerly worked, and who had befriended me when I was in want. 
 
 " In the morning, Mr. P came again, and procuring my dis- 
 charge, took me under his charge. My living was gone, and he sup- 
 ported me. I could not starve, and consequently I yielded, and — was 
 — lost — lost for ever !" And uttering these words, she burst into a 
 violent paroxysm of tears. 
 
 From the friend that accompanied me, I learned that this girl had, 
 after a short time, been abandoned by the pious gentleman who had 
 taken her under his Christian protection, and had been compelled to 
 make another engagement in the company of model artistes, at 
 Pinteux's. 
 
 My friend informed me that she was the chief attraction of the com- 
 pany. Her form was one of perfect symmetry, and faultless propor- 
 tions, and the Grecian outline of her features were cast in an expres- 
 sion of angelic mildness and love. Added to this, her graceful and 
 natural attitudes made her one of the most beautiful sights to behold. 
 She was the favorite of the company, and was always received with 
 loud applause. 
 
 Those who witnessed her personation of the Greek Slave, have 
 avowed that her figure and her graceful ease surpassed that of the 
 creation of the genius of Powers. Also, her representation of Venus 
 coming from the bath, and other characters, were distinguished by 
 the modesty and grace of her demeanor and attitudes, which, together 
 2* 
 
22 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 with the beauty of her form and features, rendered the exhibition one 
 that might enrapture the artist and pure minded lover of nature. 
 
 Nevertheless, such exhibitions are notoriously of an immoral 
 tendency, and cannot be too strongly condemned. 
 
 This poor girl, after having been thus abandoned, again sought em- 
 ployment, and appeared at Pinteux's, Palmo's, and at the Temple of 
 the Muses, until these exhibitions were broken up by the authorities, 
 when she soon became reduced to the destitute condition in which we 
 found her in the house in Twelfth -street. 
 
 At the time we visited her, she had become indebted for board and 
 was penniless. To add to her misery, she was now fast fading away 
 before the burning influence of a quick consumption. 
 
 After having afforded her the means of temporary relief, we departed, 
 promising to call again. 
 
 A week or two afterward, with my friend, I visited for the last time 
 this poor, unfortunate girl. 
 
 She was now fast sinking into the grave. Her cheeks were flushed 
 with the hectic hue of death, and formed a beautiful contrast with the 
 pale wanness of her interesting countenance, whose expression seemed 
 to grow more lovely ae she approached the confines of another world. 
 
 We found her sitting in an arm-chair, and, as on the former occa- 
 sion, with the Bible in her hands, endeavoring to draw from that 
 sacred book the consolations there held out to the forlorn and the 
 forsaken. 
 
 Pearly tear-drops trickled down her sunken cheeks, as she greeted 
 us with a pleasant smile that seemed like a gleam of sunlight breaking 
 through the misty rain-drops of a gentle shower. 
 
 Poor girl ! Doomed early in life to trials too severe for her tender 
 years, she had fallen into the deep abyss of wo, and at a time when 
 she had once hoped to enter on all the duties and enjoyments of which 
 the young heart is susceptible, without reputation, without friends, 
 without home, she was sinking silently to the dust, unloved, unwept, 
 and unremembered. Often she recalled the fond caresses and the 
 tender lave of her mother. Now, in her last dying moments, that 
 mother was gone, never more to return ! O I were she now present, 
 with what an aching heart and tearful eyes would she press this forlorn 
 child to her bosom, and watch over her until the last flickering light 
 of life had died out ! A father she had. but no father's care was now 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 23 
 
 extended over her. Brothers bhe had, but they were not with lier. 
 Her sister, too, whom, to have seen in her own condition, would have 
 broken her heart — she, too, was away and unknowing of her fate. 
 Unpitied and alone, with no sympathizing companions save her own 
 unstayed tears, she was leaving the busy crowds of the world, to enter 
 on the untried and unknown future. Her hopes, once high as heaven, 
 were now sunk in the deepest abyss of despair ! Her heart, formed 
 for all the affections and endearments of life, was now just as its capa- 
 bilities were developed, was about to cease to beat for ever ! 
 
 Alas! how inscrutable are the ways of Providence! How often 
 are the guileless led into sin ! How often the beautiful and the good 
 doomed to the pangs of misery and the melancholy fate of an early 
 grave ! 
 
 But let us not murmur ! Rather bow with submission to the decrees 
 of an All-Wise Providence. 
 
 After a few moments conversation with Miss Morrison, relative to 
 her health and condition, she became calm, for she had at first been 
 much affected on our entering the room. 
 
 I having referred to her situation, she replied : 
 
 " I know I must soon die ! The green fields and the warbling 
 brooks that I loved when a child, I shall never see again. Home, 
 father, brother and sister, I have seen them for the last time, and now 
 I am to die alone and among strangers." With these words, she fell 
 to violent weeping. 
 
 Again she became calm, and requested an account of her conduct 
 to be sent to her father, witli the reasons that induced her to join the 
 company of the model artistes. 
 
 " I wish," said she, " my father to know the true reasons that in- 
 duced me to join the company." 
 
 " Does he already know that you have been a member of the com- 
 pany ?" inquired I. 
 
 " Yes, he has heard, and not knowing the cause of it, was very 
 angry with me ; and that is the reason I could not return to my home 
 when this last illness came upon me." 
 
 "But did you not explain the circumstances ?" 
 • No ; I never wrote to him after I knew he had found it out, and 
 wag offended at me for it." 
 
 ' Had you told him all the circumstances, he would have forgiven 
 you." 
 
U ASMODEUS; OR, 
 
 " Perhaps he might ; but he is a stern man, and I was from that 
 time afraid to write. But I now wish him to know that it was want 
 which brought me to it — the cause that drove me to it." And as she 
 said these words, her tears broke forth afresh. 
 
 Soon after this we left, promising to call again on the morrow, but 
 that morrow she never lived to see. 
 
 When we called again, the lady with whom she had boarded met 
 us at the door, and said : 
 
 " Poor girl, she 's gone now ; 1 was sorry for her, she seemed to be 
 so good and to suffer so much in her mind." 
 
 " But she died sooner than you anticipated ?" inquired we. 
 
 " Yes, poor thing ; she took on greatly after you left, saying she 
 wished she could go home. She said her father would forgive her, 
 and she wanted to write to him to come after her." 
 
 " That is what we intended to do ; we were about to write to her 
 father, that he might reach here before she died." 
 
 " She got her paper and was sitting down to write, when her feelings 
 overcame her, and she fell to crying most bitterly. This started the 
 blood from her lungs, and she then soon fell away," said the old lady, 
 wiping a tear from her eye. 
 
 She resumed again, saying : 
 
 " The girl seemed to think every thing of her father, for she talked 
 of him as long as life lasted." 
 
 " How long did she live ?" 
 
 " But about two hours after the bleeding commenced ; and the last 
 thing she said was, ' O, my father, I have offended thee ! My mother, 
 I am going to meet you ! May the Lord have mercy on my soul V 
 And with these words, her speech was gone." 
 
 Such was the career and unfortunate termination of the life of a 
 beautiful, intelligent, and interesting young girl, who had left a 
 pleasant and comfortable home in the country, for the dangers and 
 temptations of a city life. 
 
 When will girls, who have good homes in the country, learn to be 
 content, and to shun the devouring maelstroms of a corrupt and 
 corrupting city ? 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE THREE SISTERS — AS MODEL ARTISTES. 
 
 In the Police court appears a group of interesting females — three 
 of them young and beautiful — the elder a round, plump, good-looking 
 widow of forty, and the mother of the other three. 
 
 She is a magnificent looking woman, tall, stately, of full, round 
 proportions, almost giant-like in dimensions. Her complexion is 
 florid, her hair of a bright glossy brown, and her eyes full and lan- 
 guishing, indicating a sensual and voluptuous disposition. 
 
 The nature of the business that brought her thither is explained by 
 the affidavit in which she had sworn, 
 
 "That her three daughters, Isabella , Louisa , and 
 
 Elizabeth , conducted themselves in a disorderly manner, and 
 
 will not obey the instructions or authority of their parent, but against 
 deponent's consent and orders, exhibited themselves in an unbecoming 
 manner and against public decency and good morals, by appearing 
 before the public in an undress, as Model Artistes, much to their dis- 
 grace, and as deponent fears, leading to their ruin. Deponent further 
 says that she has seen her daughters, named aforesaid, appear at a 
 public exhibition held at Palmo's Theatre, in Chambers-street, in the 
 manner as set forth aforesaid. Deponent therefore prays that her 
 daughters named aforesaid, may be arrested and dealt with as the law 
 directs in such cases made and provided." 
 
 Isabella, the eldest of the truant daughters, was about twenty-one 
 years of age, of medium stature, but graceful form, and an expressive 
 countenance, indicative of deep passion. 
 
 Louisa, the second sister, was eighteen, taller, of a more beautiful 
 form, and of a blonde complexion, lively and expressive features, dis- 
 tinguished by great beauty. She was a most beautiful model. 
 
 Elizabeth, the youngest, and yet the tallest and most beautiful of 
 the three, was less than sixteen. Her form was faultless — of a full 
 voluptuous bust — tall, yet not thin, but of a full and gracefully turned 
 
26 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 contour — in stature resembling Powers' Greek Slave, but in develops 
 ment more like the celebrated Venus de Medicis. Her Grecian fea- 
 tures seemed lit with the Promethean fire of genius, and wore an 
 expression of divine loveliness. 
 
 Pauline Bonaparte, the sister of Napoleon, renowned as the most 
 beautiful woman of her age, and whom the great Canova obtained to 
 appear in his studio as a model, was not more beautiful than the 
 youngest of these sisters. 
 
 The proportions of Elizabeth, embodied in marble, stand as 
 a more fitting emblem of female beauty than the Greek Slave of 
 Powers. 
 
 Such were the three model artistes, and here they were before the 
 tribunal of justice, with their mother as their accuser. 
 
 The examination proceeded, and the following developments were 
 made, which exhibit a most startling condition in the morals of the 
 society of this Babylon of the New World. 
 
 One morning last winter the manager of Palmo's was visited by a 
 large, noblerlooking woman, dressed in plain style, who was the mother 
 of these three daughters. 
 
 " I have come," said she, " in answer to the advertisement I saw in 
 the '■ Sun,' for girls, who it is said can have light employment and good 
 wages." 
 
 "Take a seat," replied the manager. 
 
 " What is the nature of the employment ?" asked the lady, taking 
 a chair. 
 
 " It is to appear in our company," said the manager with a bland 
 smile. 
 
 "Your company; that is, the model artistes, I suppose," said the 
 lady not the least abashed. 
 
 "Yes," replied the manager, "we have a fine company, and are 
 all very respectable ladies too. 
 
 "I fear it will not be a proper place for young ladies." 
 
 " Fear nothing on that score. The young ladies of my establish- 
 ment are all well protected." 
 
 " There are some ladies of my acquaintance that wished me to 
 call and inquire into the nature of the employment, and what the pay 
 would be." 
 
 "Well, it depends on the young ladies. If they are well adapted 
 for the performance, they shall have good salaries — from nine to fifteen 
 dollars a week." 
 
 " They are, I believe, very beautiful girls." 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 29 
 
 " Will you not come and bring the young ladies with you and wit- 
 ness the performances ?" 
 
 This was agreed to, and the buxom widow departed. 
 
 The widow returned to her home. 
 
 " What news, mother?" inquired all the daughters at once, as she 
 entered the house. 
 
 " O ! good news ! It is the model artistes. He will give from nine 
 to fifteen dollars a week, and has invited us to come and see the 
 performance." 
 
 u I should not like to go and sit among all the men and look on. 
 Are there any ladies in the audience ?" asked Isabella. 
 
 " I do not know ; but he will give us a private box, where we can 
 gee and not be seen." 
 
 "O, that is good. I should like to go," said one of the younger 
 girls. 
 
 The mother and her three daughters repaired to Palmo's and were 
 provided with a private box. They witnessed the exhibition and were 
 satisfied they should be willing to appear in it. 
 
 Before the performance was closed, the manager entered the box, 
 and inquired : 
 
 "How do you like the performance, ladies?" 
 
 " We are satisfied with it," replied the lady, at the same time 
 saying : " these are the young ladies who wish to engage in the 
 company." 
 
 The manager, after viewing them with delight for a few moments, 
 asked : 
 
 " Do they wish to make the engagement themselves ?" 
 
 " Yes, they are willing." 
 
 " Do they reside in the city V 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 14 In what street?" 
 
 "In Suffolk-street." 
 
 " Have they parents V* 
 
 "They have a mother." 
 
 " And you are the mother ? There is a family likeness," said the 
 manager, having eagerly eyed them for a moment. 
 ' F confess I am the mother," replied she. 
 
 The party now retired to thd manager's room, and a bargain- was 
 
30 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 agreed on, by which the daughters were to' have nine dollars per 
 week, after they should have properly qualified themselves by repeated 
 rehearsals. 
 
 The girls regularly appeared with the mother at the rehearsals, and 
 at length made their debut before the public. 
 
 At first their embarrassment was so great that it was with difficulty 
 they could preserve their attitude ; but they soon gained steady nerves, 
 and went through their parts with much eclat. The younger in par- 
 ticular, was greatly admired, and became famous among the bloods 
 for her magnificent form and graceful attitudes. 
 
 Had this been all of the model artistes, perhaps it had been well for 
 them ; but other trials and temptations awaited these doomed victims. 
 
 The nature of these temptations may be gathered from the following 
 scene, which took place one evening at the close of the performance : 
 " I say, Bob, where did you get that Venus coming from the bath V 
 eagerly asked a young man dressed in the very hight of fashion, as 
 he entered the private room of the manager at the fall of the curtain 
 one evening. 
 
 "She is a New York gal, and I have got in the company her two 
 sisters also, who are almost equally beautiful," replied the manager, 
 who seemed to be on familiar terms with the visitor, whose name was 
 Frank Colton. 
 
 "But you must introduce me to her at once," said Frank, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " Ah ! no ; I can't do that. I have promised that pleasure to 
 another. But I can introduce you to her sister next older. She is a 
 perfect beauty." 
 
 Soon another gentleman entered. 
 
 It was the one who was to be introduced to the youngest sister. 
 He was also a young man dressed in rich and fashionable style. 
 
 These two gentlemen were introduced to the two youngest sisters, 
 and accompanied by the manager and the elder sister, sat down to an 
 oyster-supper, at which they all freely partook of champagne. 
 
 In the meantime, the mother, who generally accompanied her 
 daughters, was this evening persuaded to go home alone and leave 
 the young ladies under the protection of the manager, who promised 
 to see them safely home. 
 
 The sisters had seen little of the world, and at home had suffered 
 at times much for want of the comforts of life, and had, too, become 
 partly alienated in their affections toward their mother in consequence 
 of her tvrannieal and sometimes cruel treatment,.arising from her bad 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORE. 3t 
 
 temper, and occasional immoderate use of strong drinl:. They there- 
 fore naturally felt pleased with the attentions paid them, and wen* 
 easily led on from step to step to the abyss of ruin. 
 
 The school of the model artistes was a most corrupt one ; destroy- 
 ing all of purity and virtue that came in contact with it. 
 
 Though most of those forming the company of exhibitors had pre- 
 viously become so hardened in iniquity as to receive no additional 
 injury from its contaminating influences, yet many others who pos- 
 sessed both virtue and beauty, were induced by suffering and want 
 to enter the vortex of this devouring maelstrom, and once within 
 its influence, they were drawn by giddy whirls to the bottom of 
 perdition. 
 
 Thanks to an enlightened and respectable portion of the community, 
 they have been put down, never, we trust, to re-appear again. 
 
 The person who introduced this corrupting exhibition into the 
 United States, is a person by the name of Collyer, an Englishman, 
 who has hitherto led an itinerant life, in the character first of a pre- 
 tended phrenologist, and afterward of a mesmeriser, in which last 
 character he at one time became quite notorious in Boston. 
 
 One word as to the character of the audiences. 
 
 The spectators were many of them lecherous old and dissipated 
 young men. Many visited a night or two out of curiosity, and among 
 these were a large number of strangers from other parts of the 
 country. 
 
 The result of the examination before the police may be briefly 
 stated. 
 
 It appears that the manager and the mother had fallen into 
 some disagreement; the latter alledging that her daughters were 
 subjected to improper influences; and the former charging that the 
 mother was intemperate and troublesome, and therefore he had been 
 obliged to eject her from the theatre. 
 
 Hence the complaint by the mother. . 
 
 The daughters, who had become corrupted and attached to the new 
 scenes and excitements in this path of life, sided with the manager, 
 and desired to remain in the company. Denying that they were under 
 any improper influence, they were allowed to depart, while the man- 
 ager was released on nominal bail. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE COUNTERFEITERS. 
 
 At midnight, wander through this city. 
 
 Look upon the countless houses and reflect what is going on 
 within. 
 
 Yonder is the peaceful sleep of innocence, and beneath that other 
 roof skulks the guilty murderer, trembling at his own shadow. 
 
 Here we behold the wearied and sated with luxury, and there 
 poverty in its squalor and rags lies down on a bed of straw, gnawed 
 by the anguish of hunger and exhaustion. 
 
 Pause now in front of that respectable looking house. In the rear 
 is a building, beneath whose roof and within its bolted doors are seven 
 men in their shirt-sleeves, all hard at work. 
 
 They are counterfeiting the notes of one of our banks, and the silver 
 coin of our country. 
 
 Silver, and other metals, and engravings on steel, piles of notes, and 
 base coin, fill the safe. 
 
 Along the narrow alley is heard a step approaching the house in 
 the rear. 
 
 "Down with your hammer, and not a word from one of you," 
 murmured the man on guard, in trembling tones. 
 
 " Hush, now : some one is coming. Hustle those notes into the 
 safe. Put every thing into the safe and lower it into the vault. 
 Spring for your lives!" uttered a low voice within. 
 
 " Whitney, who can it be ? There are more than one of them. It 
 must be a band of police !" exclaimed the guard in terror. 
 
 " Hush all your fears," said the low voice which was that of Whit- 
 ney, who seemed to be the leader of the gang. " No man shall be 
 admitted, and whoever attempts to force his way shall receive a silent 
 elung-shot or a pistol-ball," 
 
THE INiaUlTIES OF NEW YORK. 33 
 
 " Haulsey I" again exclaimed the guard in fear, " blow out that 
 light in an instant, for there stands several persons in the street looking 
 up the alley." 
 
 "See that the doors are all fastened, and let every man arm himself, 
 for if any attempt should be made, blood will be spilled," said Whit- 
 ney, in a low but firm tone. 
 
 "They are all bolted. But, look! For God's sake, keep still. 
 Do you hear that voice ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Whitney ; " and From this window I will answer if any 
 of them speak." 
 
 " What are you at work for at this late hour of the night ?" asked a 
 voice from without, in a bold tone. 
 
 " Whitney, tell him you are laboring for your bread — tell him 
 quick," uttered the guard in almost breathless suspense. 
 
 "I am, sir," answered Whitney, " hard at work in making packing, 
 boxes for a merchant in Cedar-street, if you must know what is none 
 of your business." 
 
 " But why do you work so late ?" 
 
 " Because the boxes must be done to-morrow morning." 
 
 " But we have our doubts as to your occupation. We must there- 
 fore enter and satisfy ourselves of this." 
 
 " We grant no admission, and especially at this late hour." 
 
 " Men, try that door and see if an entrance can be effected," said 
 the leader of the band outside. 
 
 " The door seems strongly barred and locked," answered one of 
 the men who with two or three others had tried it. 
 
 " Why do you wish to break in upon my premises ? I have told you 
 my business, and at this time of night ! cannot admit any one. Is not 
 that enough ?" 
 
 "No; we have our doubts, and if you resist our demands, we shall 
 be strengthened in our suspicions." 
 
 "If you persist in your attempts to enter, I shall blow your brains 
 out," exclaimed Whitney, brandishing a revolver in his hand. "At 
 my call, I have men who will come to my assistance, and we shall be 
 more than a match for you." 
 
 " Ah ! you rascal, you have deceived me then ; you are not 
 making packing boxes ; you are doing that for which you should be 
 arrested." 
 
 " Whitney ! Whitney ! let us first get the safe and all things secure 
 jn the vault," said one of the men within, in a low voice, touching 
 Whitney on the shoulder. 
 
34 ASMODEUS; OR, 
 
 " Yes ; do it, while I talk to them outside. Be quick, and fear not," 
 returned Whitney, with a sullen grin. 
 
 "Shall we light a lamp ?" asked the younger of the seven. 
 
 " Yes ! There is nothing to fear, boys. They are now moving off," 
 said Whitney, shutting the chamber window. 
 
 11 Oh, d — n the luck," exclaimed Whitney. "Boys, we must con- 
 ceal the notes on our persons, and secure the silver." 
 
 "What do you mean to do?" asked one of the men. 
 
 " We must be off to other quarters. We are suspected, and we 
 must move at once." 
 
 " Move from Mercer-street or you are lost !" 
 
 " My God ! did you hear that voice ? Is it a ghost, or a voice from 
 the other world ? Do you hear it, boys ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but where did it come from ? What means it V 
 
 " Move from Mercer-street or you are lost !" 
 
 " My God ! that voice again ! Can it be a ghost ! Men, what do 
 you think ?" exclaimed Whitney, with some anxiety. 
 
 " It must be some one behind the brick walls. At any rate, we 
 must move, and no mistake." 
 
 " I '11 speak to it. What voice is that ?" 
 
 " There comes no answer ! But let us listen for a few 
 minutes." 
 
 " It is no voice ; it must have been but imagination," said Whitney, 
 the leader of the gang. 
 
 " Let us then proceed to business," said several voices, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " Shall we go up to Albany, and there carry on our business, or 
 where shall we go ?" asked one of the company. 
 
 " No, not to Albany, for it is too near those high walls at Auburn," 
 answered another. 
 
 " Then let us go to Greenport ; that is a retired spot where we can 
 operate without disturbance." 
 
 " No, that won't do — it is too far down the island ; for, after all, 
 New York must be the place for head-quarters." 
 
 "That is according to my mind. But what do you say, Whitney, 
 in regard to this V 
 
 " I will tell you, men. My life has been passed amid such scenes, 
 and this does not alarm me. Our business is now flourishing, and to 
 keep it so, New York is the place for head-quarters." 
 " But do you know of a good place ?" 
 " I have my eye, this very minute, on a house where, in times past, 
 
THE INIQUITIES OP NEW YORK. 35 
 
 the business of counterfeiting was carried on for years, without 
 exciting the least suspicion;" 
 
 " And you say it was never found out ?" I 
 
 " Never has it been suspected. It is in a good location." 
 
 " Where is it — in Broadway V 
 
 " No ! not in that thoroughfare, but I know I could obtain one or 
 more rooms in it this very night. I could get the cellar where I know 
 there are secret vaults the police would never detect." 
 
 " Good ! Is that really so ? Then that is the place : let us have 
 it." 
 
 " Secret vaults are there, did you say ?" 
 
 " Go ask that one who has had his respite from the gallows some 
 half-a-dozen times," said Whitney. 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? Leman ?" 
 
 u No ; but one with whom I have had much intercourse, and one 
 who was brought up among the first in the city, and who used to say 
 his catechism when a boy as well as I did." 
 
 *• Whom, then, can it be ?" 
 
 " It is Babe the pirate, yonder. Poor fellow ! he has had affliction 
 and misery enough in his day." 
 
 " But where is the place you spoke of?" asked one of the company. 
 " If we were in Philadelphia or Baltimore, I would know where to go 
 to, but I don't know this New York as well." 
 
 Whitney now rose from his chair, and turning his long black 
 hair from his narrow forehead, called in his men to listen, when he 
 was interrupted by the guard, who exclaimed : 
 
 " We had better remain quiet for a few minutes !" 
 
 " Why so ?" asked one of the men, " is the police gang returning ?" 
 At the same time, he and Whitney advanced toward the window to 
 look out. 
 
 " No," answered the guard, " but some one seems to be watching 
 the building !" 
 
 Whitney soon returned, and gave his men assurance of no cause 
 for alarm. He then arranged his plans and gave directions for the 
 removal from this building. 
 
 " Having now arranged all things, shall I go this moment and 
 engage the place I have in view ?" asked their leader. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply of all. 
 
 " I will soon depart, and take Hooper with me, and in one hour we 
 will return to you again," said Whitney, as he departed with his 
 chosen companions, each of whom was armed with pistols and dirks. 
 3 
 
36 ASMODEUS j OR, 
 
 " Stop, stop, a moment !" said one of them, " will you tell us where 
 this house is ?" 
 
 " There is time enough for all that yet, and on our return you 
 shall know," said Whitney. 
 
 " But I have good reason for asking." 
 
 " What is your reason ?" 
 
 " If you are bound to a place that you know is safe— one to which 
 we can go at any time, hadn't you better take the keys of the safe 
 with you, and deposite them in the cellar ?" 
 
 "That's a good idea, Whitney," said Hooper, "for there is no 
 telling what a day may bring forth. What say you ?" 
 
 " It is a lucky thought," replied the leader, as he took the keys and 
 placed them in a belt he wore about his waist. 
 
 They departed, and were soon in Broadway. 
 
 Down that thoroughfare they walk, arm in arm, to Canal-street, in 
 which they enter the house they designed to occupy. 
 
 " It was occupied by a congenial spirit, who was still up, and with 
 whom they soon concluded a bargain. Here they remained till the 
 dawn of day, when they returned to their old haunt in Mercer- 
 street. 
 
 Thus they evaded the "vigilance of the police." For though the 
 police had kept watch of the house, and saw these two men come out, 
 yet they had been unable to track them to the house in Canal- 
 street. 
 
 The policemen thought that if nothing was removed during that 
 night, no attempt at removal would be made until the next night, 
 when it was resolved to make a descent on the premises with a strong 
 force. 
 
 In this they were disappointed ; for Whitney and his companions 
 returning at daylight, every thing was in half an hour made ready 
 lor removal. 
 
 The police, apprehending no occurrence of this kind during the 
 day, had left only one man to watch the premises. 
 
 Him Whitney easily managed to bribe, and soon a vehicle belonging 
 to the band took every thing off in a couple of boxes, while the com- 
 pany, one by one, made their escape, without exciting any suspicion. 
 
 The next night they were at work again in their new quarters, 
 where they remained for a long time, unsuspected and unmolested. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BETRAYER AND THE BETRAYED. 
 
 Let the reader now, in imagination, enter a well furnished room in 
 Canal-street, near Thompson. Let it be in the month of March, on a 
 clear cold day, and at the hour of eleven at night. 
 
 For at that time and place, a middle aged man, an actor on the 
 stage of one of the New York theatres, entered this room, where a 
 very young woman was then sitting in a pensive and melancholy 
 mood. 
 
 Her appearance was that of a delicate well-bred woman. Her 
 condition, too, was one that, if unmarried, was sufficient to give cause 
 for the grief and despair depicted on her countenance. She was soon 
 to become a mother ! 
 
 She was dressed in a modest and very pretty style, and seemed to 
 be about eighteen. 
 
 The gentleman, or the stage actor, was dressed in a rich and fash- 
 ionable style, with gold watch and chain. 
 
 " George ! George ! can it be that you have at last come to see me 
 before I die ? O ! I am glad you have come ; I wanted to see you 
 once more before I leave the world !" said the poor girl, bursting into 
 a flood of tears. 
 
 " Fanny !" said he, " be of good cheer and fear not. I will never 
 desert you. In me behold your friend !" 
 
 " Can I then believe in you ? O ! tell me and it will relieve me !" 
 said Fanny. 
 
 * As true as there is a God in Heaven ! I mean what I say. You 
 can trust me to the end." 
 
 " Thanks, George ! my mind is easier. But had you not come this 
 day, I should have put an end to my sufferings before another sun had 
 arisen. " 
 
 " I will stand by you and see that you have every thing you want ; 
 that you are properly provided for and have suitable attendants." 
 3* 
 
38 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 Soon after, George departed, promising to return again at three 
 o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 While this poor girl is left alone reflecting on the contrast between 
 the innocent pleasures of her early years, and the agonizing suffer- 
 ings of her present condition, we will for a few moments revert to her 
 history. I 
 
 She was a native of one of the interior towns of this State, and had 
 been brought up in comfortable circumstances. Her father was a 
 merchant, but having become involved in his affairs, his mind became 
 so deranged that it had been found necessary to take him to a lunatic 
 asylum. Having partially recovered, he was restored to his family, 
 but soon afterward, in a moment of derangement, he put an end to his 
 life by his own hands. 
 
 Soon after this circumstance, which threw the family into sorrow 
 and want, Fanny was visited by a female cousin from the city, who 
 determined her fate. 
 
 The cousin painted in the most glowing colors the charms and 
 pleasures of a city life, and finally succeeded in persuading Fanny 
 that a good deal of money was to be made by working in artificial 
 flowers, and that she might thus live independent, dress in good style, 
 and enjoy the many pleasures a city life affords. 
 
 Influenced by these representations, she came to the city and pro- 
 cured work in a shop in William-street with her cousin. 
 
 The current of her life here ran smoothly until, through the intro- 
 duction of her cousin, she became acquainted with the actor, who was 
 familiarly called by her George. 
 
 One day, while at work, her cousin inquiringly remarked : 
 " You have never been to the theatre, have you, Fanny ?" 
 "No ; and I do not care to go," replied she. 
 
 " O ! you would be delighted. You had better go with me to-night. 
 I am going to have a beautiful gentleman for a beau, and we shall 
 have a private box." 
 
 "I have never been to a theatre, and I don't think I should like to 
 go. The theatre is not a good place." 
 
 " That is one of your country notions. I never saw any thing bad 
 in the theatre. You had better go along to-night. It is the Bowery, 
 and the play is to be the Wizard of the Wave. Come, you go — we 
 are to have a private box, and we '11 have a nice time." 
 
 Partly by these representations, and partly impelled by curiosity to 
 see a theatre for the first time, Fanny was induced to accompany her 
 cousin. 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 39 
 
 The person who attended them was an attach^ of the theatre, and 
 had often accompanied her thither, and generally provided them with 
 a private box. \ 
 
 In this private box George had become acquainted with, and had 
 often visited this young girl, and when the latter mentioned that 
 she had a beautiful cousin by the name of Fanny in the city, it 
 had been arranged that some evening she should bring her to the 
 theatre. 
 
 George, when he had concluded his part on the stage, was to come 
 to the private box and there be introduced to Fanny. 
 
 The plan succeeded as had been arranged. 
 
 Fanny went to the theatre, became acquainted with George, and 
 often repeated her visits. 
 
 She soon became attached to him, and under a promise of marriage, 
 was finally induced to leave her shop and take apartments in Canal- 
 street, where she was living when first introduced to the reader. 
 
 At three o'clock, George returned, and found Fanny on the sofa, in 
 tears, as usual. 
 
 " Well, Fanny, I have returned, as you requested," said he, on 
 entering the room. 
 
 " Yes, and I am glad to see you. Among all your vows and pro- 
 mises, there is one I have held as sacred ; and when I think of it, my 
 brain seems on fire !" 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " What is it ! You surely need not ask. You know the solemn 
 vow you made — you know the sacred promise under which I was 
 induced to leave my employment, and take up my abode with you in 
 these apartments !" 
 
 " I suppose I know what you mean." 
 
 " Yes, you know ! You have not forgotten your promise to marry 
 me!" 
 
 Here both parties sat for some moments in silent meditation, when 
 she recumed : 
 
 " George, my mind borders on frenzy, when I think of the home 
 in the country, of the friends I there had, and the society I there 
 enjoyed — when I think of those happy days of innocence, and contrast 
 them with the guilt, the agony, the despair of my present condition. 
 O ! these agonizing thoughts will drive me mad !" 
 
 "Calm yourself, Fanny," said George, very coolly. "I will see 
 that you are provided for." 
 
 " Provided for ! That is nothing to the disgrace that will befall me, 
 
40 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 when my situation shall become known to my friends, unless you 
 fulfil your vow to make me your wife !" 
 
 " Stay ! stay your feelings ! Fanny, be not desponding ! Look on 
 the bright side !" 
 
 " There is no bright side ; except you marry me, my prospects are 
 blighted for ever." 
 
 "I will cling to you, and see you through all your troubles." 
 
 "You can do nothing for me unless you make me your wife. 
 That, and that alone, will repair all my wrongs and make me happy 
 once more." 
 
 " You may pass through the whole and your friends know nothing 
 of it." 
 
 " But I shall know it ! Yes ! and my friends will know it too. But 
 I will never survive my shame. I will blot out my disgrace with 
 blood !" 
 
 " Calm yourself, Fanny. I can arrange the whole matter so that 
 you will be comfortable." 
 
 "Comfortable ! what was I when you first knew me 1 Was I not com- 
 fortable then ? O ! when at home in years gone by I was happy ! I 
 had all I could wish. I was innocent and had what I shall never 
 know again — peace of mind. O ! my mother, how she would feel if 
 she knew this ! It would drive her to madness, as my father was 
 driven by other woes. O ! that I should live to be a curse to her !" 
 and with these words the poor broken-hearted girl fell to violent 
 weeping. 
 
 At length she resumed her calmness, when George interrupted the 
 silence by saying : 
 
 "You must control your feelings, and listen to some plan by 
 which we may avoid exposure, and relieve you from your difficul- 
 ties." 
 
 " There are but two modes of relief — one is marriage, and the 
 other death ! I see the alternative — nothing is left for me but the 
 latter!" / 
 
 " Be not so desperate ! There is hope for you. You can be relieved 
 and become happy again." 
 
 " Never ! never ! What hope is there left for me ? Do you intend 
 to keep your word, and marry me ?" 
 
 " I know a trusty female physician, who will do for you all you can 
 desire." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said Fanny, starting with indignant 
 surprise. 
 
THE INICIUITIES OF NEW YORK. 41 
 
 " I mean to place you in the charge of one who will relieve you 
 from all your difficultes." 
 
 " Do you mean the infernal Restell?" asked the girl with trembling 
 indignation. 
 
 "I do!" said George, with unfeeling firmness. 
 
 " Good heavens ! No. When I wish to rush unprepared and 
 rashly into the presence of my Maker, this right hand has strength 
 and courage to do the dreadful deed. I wish no infamous Restell to 
 dispatch me through the lingering tortures of her diabolical art. I 
 have the nerve and the heart to do the deed at once." 
 
 "You are laboring under a delusion. I cannot reason with you," 
 replied George. 
 
 "There is no reason in me 'twixt marriage and death. I demand 
 of you, then, which is my fate!" 
 
 " I cannot talk with you until you become calm." 
 
 " You have left me trembling on a thread over the abyss of ruin, 
 and now all you can say is to ask me to be l calm !' " said the girl, 
 with a scornful tone, rising from the sofa and walking up and down 
 the room under deep excitement. 
 
 After a few moments silence, she turned toward her betrayer and 
 said : 
 
 " Under a solemn vow of marriage, you led me hither, and have 
 plunged me deep into misery. I demand of you now, will you fulfil 
 your promise ?" 
 
 " To-morrow I will call and see you again." 
 
 " No more evasion ; I demand an answer this instant. Yes or no." 
 
 " I cannot now answer you. I will call again to-morrow, and then 
 we will settle the question." 
 
 " To-rnorrow is in another world ! Thither I will seek it ! Another 
 to-morrow in this world I shall never know !" j 
 
 George now abruptly took his departure, when Fanny threw herself 
 on the sofa and gave way to violent tears, which continued until inter- 
 rupted by a visit from her cousin, who, herself hardened in guilt, had 
 seen little of Fanny since the departure of the latter from the work- 
 shop. 
 
 Now, having heard of Fanny's situation, she came to visit her, and 
 being affected by her sad condition, so far relented of the part she had 
 taken in the affair, as to take an interest in Fanny's welfare, and to 
 tnake to her an important disclosure. 
 
 She told Fanny that George was a married man, and that he lived 
 at No. — Bayard-street. 
 
42 ASMODEUS, OR, 
 
 At this announcement Fanny swooned, but soon recovered. 
 
 " I advise you," said the cousin, " to go to his house this very night 
 and make him do something for you. You will find him in at seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 "I will go," said Fanny calmly, "but it is little that I shall want 
 him to do for me ; what I want done I can do for myself." 
 
 "If you will go I will accompany you." 
 
 " Thanks to you, I will go alone, or you may go with me to the 
 door, but alone I will enter." 
 
 With a sadness too deep for tears, and with a despair beyond the 
 power of utterance, Fanny carefully arranged her toilet, wrote a short 
 letter to her mother, and telling her cousin to take charge of her things 
 if she should not return, took her departure for Bayard-street. 
 
 She entered the house alone, saw the wife of him she had called 
 George, and was satisfied of the reality of the deception that had been 
 practiced on her. 
 
 She then turned aside and took a deep dose of poison she had previ- 
 ously procured for the purpose, and fell on the sofa in a spasmodic 
 burst of tears. 
 
 When George came in, she rose and cursed him with the frenzy 
 of a fiend. She was already a maniac. As she was storming with 
 rage at her betrayer, an irruption of blood burst from her mouth, and 
 she fell back a corpse. 
 
 A coroner's inquest, and an exposure in the newspapers, was the 
 finale of this sad tragedy. 
 
CHAPTER V I 
 
 MOSE IN A MUSS. 
 
 " Hurra, b'hoys ! — look ahead ! Now for a muss ! Sam, and all 
 the rest o' yon, be on hand. Don't you see that 'ere short-masted 
 craft dere — de sloop a-coming into that dock — there by Peck Slip V 
 said the genuine and original Mose, to a small band of his comrades 
 off duty and ready for anything. 
 
 " Veil, Mose, I does see it — but vot ov it ? Is there any chance for 
 some lamming to be done ?" said Sam, who was a sort of lieutenant 
 colonel or adjutant general acting under Mose. 
 
 "Nothing shorter, d — n your eyes ! Don't you all see there's a 
 chance for the benefit of Kipp and Brown — a roaring speculation for 
 all of us?" 
 
 " D — n me now, if I can see far enough to see through your specu- 
 lation out of that craft. How is it wid you, Charley ? Does you 
 see it wid de guzzling eye-glass ?" asked Sam, with a triumphant 
 chuckle. 
 
 " No," muttered Charley, with a shake of the head. 
 
 " Don't you see that 'ere tall, lean, long-shanked, sober-looking 
 chap, with a light green cap on his phrenology- box ? He 's standing 
 by the anchor." 
 
 " Veil, Mose, I does see a chap yonder, side of dat blubberly long- 
 head nigger. He 's that feller wid his hands in his short breeches 
 pocket," said Sam, with a grin. 
 
 " B'hoys, he's the chap for the benefit ! See him now he's ashore," 
 said Mose, with a shout of triumph. 
 
 " Now for the speculation ! What is it ?" 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell yer, b'hoys," said Mose, with his finger to his 
 nose ; " if yer'll back me up well, I'll agree to have a V out of his 
 pocket in double quick time, If I don't, then never call me Mose 
 agin." 
 
 f 
 
44 * ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 " Well, I 'm ready to raise the wind, Mose. You 're a good lead — 
 you open rich, so d — n me if I doesn't go into it for the spoils," said 
 Sam, giving Mose a strong slap on the shoulder. 
 
 " Here's what opens rich as a box of dry goods," responded Charley, 
 as he clapped his hands together and strode off several paces. 
 
 " Now, croneys, hear to me. You see that green 'un, six 
 feet in his shoes, squaring off for those lobsters in that old woman's 
 stand ? Say nothing now. I'm into him about a half of ten feet," 
 said Mose, with a shout. 
 
 " Half of ten dollars you mean, instead of half of ten feet. I 'm 
 right, ain't I ?" asked Sam, with a knowing wink. 
 
 " I '11 gub up that — you 're right," answered Mose. 
 
 " Don't forget that you must trust old Divine Providence of yours," 
 said Charley. 
 
 " Here then, b'hoys, I goes in as a swift witness — if Divine Pro- 
 vidence permits. I always gets my share — so here's what's ready," 
 ejaculated Sam, with a chuckling tone of joy. 
 
 By this time the sloop had made fast to the dock, and the Yankee, 
 leaping from the deck, had hastily run up to an old woman's stand, 
 and fallen to devouring the lobsters and other eatables with a keen 
 appetite. 
 
 " Now, Sam, let the feller get through eating, and return to his 
 sloop, and then, Sam, I '11 take you with me, and we'll board her 
 without ceremony ; and Charley, you'll stay here till I send for you," 
 said Mose, with the air and tone of a general commander. 
 
 Reaching the sloop, they found the Yankee, who had returned from 
 the stand, near the mast, down upon his knees, greedily devouring 
 some raw clams, which he had just procured on shore. 
 
 " My God ! can it be ? My friend, stop eating ! — you are in a h — 11 
 of a stew ! — in a most dangerous pickle !" exclaimed Mose, in a tone 
 of alarm. 
 
 "Pickle! about what? and who are you?" asked the Yankee, as 
 he continued eating. 
 
 " Stop ! hold ! and save yourself from destruction f Hold, or you're 
 a, gone coon !" 
 
 " You don't think I was brought up in the woods to be scared by 
 the owls, du you ?" drawled the Yankee, with apparent unconcern, as 
 he continued his eating. 
 
 " Let him alone — let him die in his own way f He seems to be a 
 nice piece of dry goods, but it's a pity he should spile just now," said 
 Sam. 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF PfEW YORK. 45 
 
 11 What du you mean now ? Du just tell !" said the Yankee, 
 beginning to feel some alarm, and wiping bis greasy chops on his 
 sleeve. 
 
 " Ah," said Sam, shaking his head, with a long sigh ; " ah, I'ni 
 sorry for you, but you're a dying man— that's a faet !" 
 
 " He ain't nothing else," said Mose. 
 
 " But why ? — -what du you mean? — me a dying man! Why? 
 Du tell now!" exclaimed the Yankee, getting mare alarmed, as he 
 sprung to his feet. 
 
 " Feel of his pulse, Sam, right off quick !" muttered Mose, when 
 Sam instantly obeyed, while the Yankee stood trembling, white as a 
 ghost. 
 
 " Ah, it's a hard case !" said Sam, in a low, solemn tone, and still 
 holding on to the pulse. 
 
 11 What is the matter now ? — du tell !" exclaimed the Yankee, now 
 almost frightened out of his wits. 
 
 " Do you know you've been eatin' pisen clams ?" asked Mose. 
 
 "Pisen clams! O, Lord ! send for a doctor! Must I die !— can't 
 you save me ? O, am I lost ? Pisen clams ! O, I am gone !— can't 
 you save me ?" uttered the Yankee, pacing up and down the deck in 
 a paroxysm of terror. 
 
 " Confess your sins," said Mose, "and die like a decent man." 
 
 " O, must 1 die ! I have wronged no one — I hain't injured any man. 
 I never stole any thing, except water-melons — and I did steal a sheep 
 once, but nobody ever knew it ! O, dear, shall I die !" exclaimed 
 the Yankee, so overcome with fear as unconsciously to turn the scene 
 into a farce. 
 
 " Let's lam him — he's a sheep-stealer !" said Mose, laying his hand 
 roughly on the Yankee's forehead. 
 
 " Lam him !" echoed Sam. " He'd steal the pennies from a dead 
 man's eyes !" 
 
 "O, I'm faint! — I feel that I am going! — I'm dying !— send for a 
 doctor !" continually exclaimed the poor panic-stricken Yankee. 
 
 " Shall I send for a doctor ?" asked Mose, with an affectation of 
 pity. 
 
 11 Yes, send ; for I shall die if you don't, of this pisen clam in my 
 stomach ! O, it is eating me up alive ! — send for the doctor !" 
 
 Sam was instantly dispatched for a doctor, while Mose undertook 
 to comfort the Yankee. 
 
 " Why don't the doctor come ! — I feel faint ! — O, my stomach is on 
 fire ! — I am pisened !" 
 3 
 
46 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 ** Sam won't spare shoe-leather in going up there. I'm sure the 
 doctor will soon be here." 
 
 Soon Sam came blustering along, and bringing with him Charley, 
 who was to enact the character of the doctor. 
 
 " Hoo ! where's the patient ?" asked Charley, blowing and puffing 
 as though he was almost out of breath. 
 
 " Here he is. This way, doctor — this way, doctor — he's most 
 gone !" said Mose, giving Charley a sly wink of the eye. 
 
 " Stand back, gentlemen, and give the patient a chance to breathe, 
 while I examine into the case," said Charley, with a high tone of 
 authority. 
 
 " Stand back !" said Mose, pushing back the small group of persons 
 that had gathered about the scene. 
 
 " My friend, what's the matter?" inquired Charley, in an anxious tone. 
 
 " O, I'm dying ! — I'm pisened ! Doctor, shall I die ?" was the 
 reply of the poor frightened Yankee, who was sitting on the deck with 
 his hands across his stomach, and actually suffering real pain, as was 
 natural after having over-eaten of lobsters and clams. 
 
 " Doctor, what do you think of his case ?" asked Mose, in a doleful 
 tone. 
 
 Charley, feeling the pulse of the Yankee, shook his head, but made 
 no other reply. 
 
 " Give us the verdict, any how !" exclaimed Mose, impatiently. 
 
 " It's a doubtful case," said Charley, in a very solemn tone. 
 
 " Then is it fixed, doctor, that 1 can get well ? Can't you save me, 
 doctor ?" 
 
 " I'll try ; but you must keep quiet, and do as I tell you." 
 
 " Well, I will, doctor," said the Yankee, submissively. 
 
 * Bring me quick some warm water," called Charley. 
 
 The warm water was instantly brought, and its emetic effects soon 
 relieved the trembling Yankee of the contents of his overloaded 
 stomach, and removed the pain he had experienced. 
 
 " How do you feel now V asked Charley, after the water had pro- 
 duced its full effect and the Yankee seemed entirely relieved from his 
 pain. 
 
 " I feel first rate, doctor. Ain't I cured ? I guess all that tarnation 
 pisen is gone — ain't it, doctor V' 
 
 " Yes, you are entirely cured ; all the pisen is out of you. But if 
 I hadn't come, you'd a been cold afore this time." 
 
 " So I should, doctor. I guess you've saved me ! Well, what's to 
 pay for this job ? I 'spose you'll want a five ?" 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 47 
 
 M Your life's worth more than that. I can't save a man in such a 
 case for less than ten." 
 
 " Well, here's your cash." 
 
 " And now you must pay me and Sam who went for the doctor." 
 interposed Mose. 
 
 This the Yankee paid also, when Mose and his companions moved 
 off, and wended their way to a grog-shop in Roosevelt-street, where 
 they divided the spoils. Mose taking ten dollars, and giving the five 
 to be divided between his followers and dependents, Sam and 
 Charley. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE OLD BREWERY. 
 
 In the heart of that centre of all that is degraded, infamous and 
 wretched — The Five Points— stands the " Old Brewery," whose name 
 indicates the use to which it was formerly applied. It is now an old 
 and rotten structure, into which are crowded about a hundred of the 
 most miserable an/i wretched creatures. 
 
 This building is entered by a narrow avenue, known as " Murder- 
 er's Alley," and stands on a sunken spot, surrounded on every side 
 by shabby and dilapidated tenements, to which the pure air of heaven 
 seldom or never rinds its way. The little open space about the build- 
 ing, and the narrow alley leading to it, are filthy in the extreme, while 
 the noxious effluvia naturally arising from the place, is sufficient 
 to render it remarkable that human beings can exist for any con- 
 siderable length of time within reach of such health-destroying 
 influences. 
 
 Under the guide and protection of a police officer, we entered this 
 abode of misery. 
 
 The first group we met was that of a mother and three children, a 
 boy and two girls. The mother, half covered with filthy rags, bowed 
 as we approached, while the starving and emaciated young ones looked 
 up with a sorrowful appeal that must have melted a heart of ioe. 
 Tears the mother and her children would have wept, at the sight of 
 any one seemingly capable of affording them aid, had not their eyes 
 been wept dry. 
 
 " Mother, have they brought us something to eat V asked one of 
 the little girls in piteous tones, as she threw her feeble and uncleansed 
 arms around her mother's neck. ^ 
 
 "My child, I do not know," answered the despairing mother. 
 
 
THE INiaUlTlES OF NEW YORK. 49 
 
 "My dear woman/' said the friend who accompanied me, "what 
 brought you to this distressed condition?" 
 
 " It would be a long and sad story to tell," she replied sorrow- 
 fully. 
 
 • How do you live here ? what do you have for food ?" 
 
 • We have had no food for two days, except what we have gnawed 
 from those old bones in the corner yonder," 
 
 " How long have you been in this place ?'.' 
 
 "Since February Jast — some three months." 
 
 "Have you no friends ?" 
 
 " I had a husband, and a brother and a sister ; but they are all dead 
 now." 
 
 " Then you have had no food these two days except those 
 bones?" 
 
 "No ; and the children, poor creatures, gnaw them all the time, as 
 they are most starved and have nothing else to eat." 
 
 "One of them is chewing something now — what is it?" 
 
 '•It is shoe-leather. They want something in their mouths to 
 chew." 
 
 The scene having become now too painful any longer to endure, we 
 brought forward the basket of cold victuals — consisting chiefly of meat 
 and bread — which we had brought for the occasion. 
 
 On seeing this, the children sprang forward with greedy looks, when 
 the mother seemed overcome, and would have wept had she any tears 
 to weep. 
 
 Before their immediate wants were gratified, we were surrounded 
 at the door by a group of famishing mortals, old men and women and 
 children, begging for a morsel of food. 
 
 The room we first entered was a small damp apartment on the first 
 floor, and occupied solely by this widow and her three children. The 
 floor was covered with a thick damp coating of earth or filth, and the 
 walls were besmeared with almost every thing repulsive, while the 
 nauseous vapors and stench of the confined and poisonous atmosphere 
 would seem sufficient to destroy the vigor and health of the most active 
 and robust frames. 
 
 And such is a fair picture of the apartments throughout this noisome 
 into which are crowded so many wretched and half famished 
 sufferers. 
 
 While our companion was distributing food to the crowd about the 
 door, we gave a few moments more attention to the poor woman who 
 had first attracted our attention. 
 
50 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 She stated that she had been in good circumstances, but her hus- 
 band, through intemperance, had brought his family to want, and him- 
 self to an untimely grave, leaving her and three helpless children 
 without any means of support. She had procured work and kept from 
 starvation, until now her health was broken, and she had been obliged 
 to take an apartment in this old den of misery, as she could here pay 
 her rent for a week or a few days only in advance, and it had taken 
 all the money she could obtain to pay her rent, small as it was, being 
 but fifty cents a week. 
 
 The appearance of the woman confirmed her statement, for she 
 seemed to have had a good education. 
 
 "I care not for myself," she said, "it is for my children that I 
 feel. I know that I am broken down, and it matters not now how 
 soon I am consigned to the grave. I was well brought up, and I 
 feel it now the more bitterly, to see my children thus reared in 
 ignorance and degradation. They are bright children, and if they 
 could only have good homes and education, I would be willing to 
 leave this world, where nothing is left for me but suffering and 
 sorrow." 
 
 "But have you no friends to look after you ?" inquired we. 
 " When did you ever know the wretched to have any friends? I 
 have had those whom the world calls friends, and they are now well 
 off; but I would not have them know my situation." 
 " Your health is poor — is it not ?" 
 
 11 1 am not able to go out to obtain work, nor could I do anything if 
 I had work to do. The last money I had was obtained by pawning 
 the last piece of clothing I had left, and I am too proud to beg or to go 
 to the alms-house." 
 
 We promised to call and see her again, and afterward had the sat- 
 isfaction of obtaining relief for her wants, through the Association for 
 the Relief of the Destitute, by which, and also by the aid of some of 
 her former friends, whose attention we had called to her condition, she 
 was removed to a comfortable dwelling, and her children placed in 
 situations where they earned their own living. 
 
 We entered next a larger room, occupied by several families. We 
 first saw an old man sitting on a stool, rubbing his hands, his chin in 
 active motion, and his emaciated form trembling like the last leaf in 
 autumn. 
 
 At the sight of us, he lifted himself with difficulty on his bare feet, 
 and half* covered with rags, came forward with a blessing, and with 
 tears in his eyes, begged for food. 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. ' 5 1 
 
 At the same instant, the glaring eyes, the sunken features, and 
 wan, starving countenances of women and children, gathered around 
 our basket, crying most piteously for something to eat. Not one but 
 was clad in rags, and seemed the very personification of wretchedness 
 and misery. 
 
 We distributed a small quantity of food among them and went on 
 ;iur way, but several followed us, crying for more, which we were 
 compelled to refuse, in order to save something if possible for all of the 
 more needy whom we might meet. 
 
 Another old man we found, who was but a mere skeleton. We 
 gave him some bread, which he swallowed with great greediness, and 
 then thanked us with a smile, saying he had not had a morsel of food 
 for nearly two days. 
 
 In one of the rooms sat a poor woman clothed in filthy rags, who 
 was unable to walk. We found her weeping. 
 
 " Why do you weep ?" asked my friend. " Are you ill V 
 
 " Look yonder !" said she. " There is my daughter, and you will 
 not wonder why I weep !" 
 
 We looked as she pointed with her finger, and we beheld, 
 partly concealed behind an old barrel in the hall, a young girl, of 
 not more than twenty, apparently in a frenzied state,- lying on 
 the floor, and sucking the blood from her own arm, which she had 
 bitten. 
 
 " Stop, my child !" said we, " why do you suck the blood from your 
 own arm ?" 
 
 " There is no other food for me !" cried she, in the most frantic 
 agony. 
 
 " Here is food for you," said we, offering her bread and meat, 
 which she devoured most ravenously. She thanked us, and then we 
 went on. 
 
 Such are the scenes which are to be met with daily in the " Old 
 Brewery. 7 ' 
 
 Yet, is it not strange that in a city abounding in wealth — where 
 thousands live in luxuries they do not want and cannot enjoy, and 
 are puzzled to devise means to get rid of their money, that such 
 misery and wretchedness should be suffered to exist ? 
 
 Instead of throwing away hundreds on some useless toy not cared 
 for, or some pernicious indulgence, why is it that the rich will not 
 ' spare a few dollars to relieve the sufferings of the destitute and the 
 dying?" 
 
 This is the great question society has been asking for the past 
 4 
 
52 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 five thousand years, and it now seems as far off from a solution as 
 ever. 
 
 It is, nevertheless, a melancholy fact, that man cares not for his 
 brother man, and the contrast in the condition of the rich and the poor 
 in our large cities exhibits the selfishness and depravity of the human 
 heart, in a light that is melancholy and lamentable to behold. 
 
/ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WIFE WITH TWO HUSBANDS j OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BEAUTIFUL 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 "By heavens! what a beautiful creature!" exclaimed Charles 
 
 C p, a clerk with Charles O'Conner, as a young and beautiful 
 
 woman left the office, after having been in consultation with the dis- 
 tinguished bachelor counsellor. 
 
 "O ! she's angelic! she's divine !" replied George, a fellow clerk. 
 " I wonder who she is. Egad, if she couldn't melt O'Conner's stoical 
 indifference, it must be something colder than ice !" 
 
 " She had such a sweet countenance — such an intelligent expres- 
 sion ! She is indeed divine ! George, I'm in love with that woman. 
 I will, I must have her. Ask O'Conner who she is, won't you ?" 
 
 "No; I'll leave that to you. Perhaps he might tell me to mind my 
 business." 
 
 " Egad, I'll find out !" exclaimed Charles, jumping from his chair 
 in great excitement. 
 
 The mystery, was, however, soon explained, when papers were 
 handed to the clerks to copy, touching the application for divorce in 
 the case of Mary C k vs. James C k. 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! Charley ! Here the mystery is solved ! This beautiful 
 creature is a married woman," said George. 
 
 " A married woman ? It can't be !" 
 
 " Yes, she's married ; but never mind that, here's her affidavit for 
 a divorce, and it reads rich." 
 
 " A divorce ? She shall have it, and that's not all, I'll help her to 
 another husband instanter. Has she any children ?" 
 
 "One little girl." 
 
 • It does not seem possible ; I should not take her to be over sixteen 
 or seventeen." 
 4* 
 
54 ASM0DEU3, OR, 
 
 The truth was, Mrs. C k was scarcely eighteen, though she had 
 
 been married more than two years. 
 
 She was the daughter of a wealthy butcher, residing in the upper 
 part of the Bowery. While a school girl, she had attracted the 
 attention of a dashing looking young man, with whom she had fallen 
 in love. 
 
 Of his situation she and her parenN knew but little, though her 
 father had become satisfied he was a gambler. He claimed to be in 
 possession of a considerable fortune, and he found little difficulty in 
 persuading the young lady to believe whatever he might desire. 
 
 The result of the affair was this : he was forbidden to enter the 
 house — the young lady protested and was imprisoned in her chamber. 
 Nevertheless she found means of communicating with her lover, and he 
 contrived means for her escape. 
 
 A ladder was provided. At midnight she opens her window, 
 descends the ladder ; a carriage is waiting ; she enters, and in the arms 
 of a lover is borne to the house of a friend, where they are married. 
 
 Afterward a reconciliation with her parents is effected, and she 
 returns home with her husband to reside. 
 
 The illusion did not last long. Soon she discovered that her hus- 
 band was a professional gambler, and that instead of a fortune, he had 
 only the uncertain returns of the gaming, house to depend on. Hence 
 he was sometimes profuse and prodigal, and at other times entirely 
 destitute. 
 
 After the lapse of more than two years, Mrs. C k applied, 
 
 through Mr. O'Conner, for a divorce, which, after a short delay, she 
 obtained without opposition. 
 
 During the proceedings in this case, Charles C p, one of Mr. 
 
 O'Conner's clerks, became desperately enamored of the fair applicant, 
 and before unloosing herself from the first tie, she had already con- 
 sented to bind herself by a second one. 
 
 Mrs. C k was a woman of rare beauty. Tall and graceful in 
 
 her form, she would have formed a perfect model for an artist. But 
 her chief attraction lay in her countenance. Her face was symmetri- 
 cally beautiful, and cast in the expression of the most divine loveliness. 
 She was a woman that would cause a stranger, in her presence, invol- 
 untarily to pause and admire — even to love her — for the sweetness and 
 loveliness of her disposition, as expressed through a countenance of 
 unsurpassed beauty, was perfectly captivating. 
 
 Mr. C p had then fallen in love with her at first sight, and was 
 
 resolved she should become his own. 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 57 
 
 Beiriff of an agreeable person, with a fluent and ready wit, he found 
 1:0 difficulty in obtaining entrance to the temple of her affections, where 
 he paid the most devout worship. 
 
 Having been unfortunate in her first marriage, she had repined over 
 her miserable condition, and had sighed to partake of the domestic 
 bliss which her more fortunate acquaintances seemed to enjoy. 
 
 When, therefore, Mr. C ppaid his addresses to her, she thought 
 
 now an opportunity was afforded her of entering anew the marriage 
 state, and enjoying those blessings of peace and love which she had 
 so long sighed after in vain. 
 
 Mrs. C k, as was stated, obtained her divorce ; but she was com- 
 pelled to give up her only child, a beautiful girl. The sacrifice was 
 great, but she thought amid new ties and new scenes, she should be- 
 come reconciled to the absence of her daughter, and, if not forgetting 
 her, at least cease to dwell upon her with regret. 
 
 In a few short months, Mrs. C k had become Mrs. C p, and 
 
 was settled with her husband in his native village in the interior of 
 the State. 
 
 There her time for a short period passed pleasantly away, but soon 
 she found that living the life of a village lawyer's wife would not satisfy 
 her. 
 
 She had spirit and ambition that could find no sphere for action in 
 the circle in which she moved. Gay and fond of society, she now 
 pined under the monotony of a sedate country life, and longed for the 
 exciting scenes of city life, of which she had in the years of her girl- 
 hood tasted sufficiently to acquire a fondness for, and from which sho 
 had been cut off before her desires had been subdued to moderation, by 
 i reasonable and proper indulgence in the amusements of societ) r . 
 
 She therefore felt like a young girl, snatched prematurely from a 
 scene of pleasure, and though still in sight of the object of her desire, 
 yet withheld from all participation therein. 
 
 No wonder, then, that the youthful Mrs. C p sighed in secret 
 
 for scenes she felt she was destined never to behold. Still, like a 
 good wife, she strove to hide her feelings and wear a cheerful cofcjn- 
 lenance on all occasions. 
 
 Her beauty, her youth, her wit, her keen susceptibilities for social 
 enjoyments — all these she beheld withering in the desert sun of her 
 isolation, and not a sympathising breeze passed by to receive the per- 
 luiiie of her gentle but unuttered repinings. 
 
 It would have been some relief to her desolate heart, had there been 
 young buds of promise shooting from the parent stem. But to her 
 
58 ASMODEUS; OR, 
 
 the rich gift of children was now denied, and the more her thoughts 
 wandered back to the darling child she had left behind and given up 
 as she believed for ever, the more the love of her absent child 
 became the absorbing passion of her soul. 
 
 After having lived this quiet life for four years, she at length, after 
 much persuasion, obtained the consent of her husband to visit her 
 friends in New York. 
 
 A mother she had not had since a child, but her father was still 
 living, and married a second time. Brothers she had in the city, to 
 whom she was tenderly attached, and there dwelt her twin sister — her 
 other self, whom she loved as she loved her own soul. But, above all, 
 there, too, was her child, whom she had not now seen for four years, 
 and whom she felt that she now loved more than she loved her own life. 
 The preparation is made — the journey undertaken ; she is with her 
 husband once more in her father's house. Her child — where was 
 that ? It was at a boarding-school in Bond, street, under the protection 
 of its father, and was now a beautiful young girl about six years old. 
 Hither she ran the first day without the knowledge of her husband, 
 obtained admittance, and beheld once more the object of her tenderest 
 love. Almost frenzied with excitement, she strained her daughter to 
 her bosom, and parted from her again with tears, as though her heart 
 would break. 
 
 Daily she was permitted to visit the child, but while at her father's 
 house she was in a melancholy mood, and most of the time wandering 
 alone in the garden. 
 
 One day, when visiting her child, she was struck by surprise at 
 the entrance of her former husband, the father of her daughter — Mr. 
 
 C k. 
 
 " I am most glad to see you !" he exclaimed. " You are the only 
 woman I ever did or ever shall love !" 
 
 " This, sir, is strange. What means it ? I was told that no one, and 
 especially you, should intrude on me in these visits to my child," 
 said the woman, indignantly. 
 
 i" Pardon me. I did not wish to intrude on these your sacred inter- 
 views with our child ; but the memory of the happy days I have 
 known in your society, and the love that still clings to my heart, have 
 impelled me to break in upon this scene, and, even at the risk of in- 
 curring your anger, to speak once more to the only woman 1 ever 
 loved." 
 
 " You know my situation and the impropriety of this proceeding. 
 You or I must immediately depart." 
 
TilE INlftUiTHSS OF NEW YOUtv. 59 
 
 11 Bo not so rash. You respected and reciprocated my passion in 
 former days — why so rudely rebuff it now ?" 
 
 ''You know my altered situation, and what, my present position 
 requires." 
 
 " Love knows no law but its own will, and it will have its way." 
 
 " Sir, I must leave !" And with these words, she started to leave 
 the room, when he interrupted her, by saying : 
 
 M Do you want your child ?" 
 
 " My child ? It is all I want !" 
 
 " You can have her." 
 
 " O, my child ! my child !" she exclaimed, embracing her daughter 
 with tears of joy. 
 
 " But there is one condition on which alone you can ever possess 
 her again." 
 
 " What is the condition — name it ?" 
 
 " You must do justice to me !" 
 
 "Justice to you ! When did I ever do you injustice V 
 
 * You separated from me — abandoned me for another !" 
 
 M I was divided from you according to law, and was afterward mar- 
 ried to a man whom I never saw until after I had applied for my bill. 
 Do you call this abandoning you for another ? Did I not have cause 
 for the course I pursued ?" 
 
 " I will not speak of that now. You did not hear what I had to say 
 in my own defense. But you were instigated to the course you pur- 
 sued by your friends." 
 
 " Consider I had cause. Your unfaithfulness and the profession 
 you pursued — were they not a sufficient cause ?" 
 
 •• We'll not speak of that now. Had you heard me at the time, I 
 could have explained every thing to your satisfaction." 
 
 M If I 've wronged you, it's too late now to repair that wrong." 
 " But you have never heard me. How know you but you would 
 have been satisfied had you heard me ? Listen to me now, and then 
 judge." 
 
 " If it.be in my power to repair any wrong I may have done, I will 
 cheerfully do it. But now I must be gone." 
 
 " Another time, and you will hear me ?" 
 
 M Another time !' said she, leaving the room, and returning directly 
 to her father's house. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE WOMAN WITH TWO HUSBANDS, CONCLUDED. 
 
 Mrs. C p, on returning home, passed the remainder of the day 
 
 m profound melancholy. Her thoughts were upon her daughter, and 
 now a hope had been held out to her, yet burdened with a condition 
 that seemed impossible for her to fulfil. 
 
 But she could not forget her daughter. The gleam of hope that 
 had once shot across her mind, still faintly glimmered in the distance. 
 At one moment, she resolved to make the sacrifice, whatever it might 
 be, in order to possess the dearest object of her love. At another, 
 this seemed impracticable, and she was then plunged into the deepest 
 despair. 
 
 Now reminiscences of her first love arose in her heart, and the 
 reflection that she might have done injustice to him whom she once 
 tenderly cherished, preyed upon her. She then at length resolved 
 that if he should present himself before her on the following day on 
 her visit to her child, she would hear him, and at all hazards would 
 recover possession of her daughter. 
 
 The morrow came, and at her usual hour repaired to the school. 
 Here, as was anticipated, she met her former husband. 
 
 He told her his story, and his words fell on listening and sympa- 
 thizing ears. He admitted his guilt, but related palliating circum- 
 stances that if known at the time, would have induced her to forgive 
 him. 
 
 As to his profession of gambling, he had only temporarily pursued 
 it from necessity, and then only after his marriage, and for the sake of 
 procuring a respectable and genteel living for her. 
 
 Born to wealth, and educated in luxury, he had in a dissipated 
 mood provoked his father to abandon him ; and the gaming table, 
 which had subsequently afforded him occasional relief, he had, after 
 
THE INiaUiTlES OF NEW YORK. 61 
 
 his marriage, been compelled to make his constant resort as a sole 
 dependence for himself and family. 
 
 But he had long since reformed, and had been reconciled to his 
 father, whose recent death had now left him in possession of a large 
 fortune. 
 
 He contended that her divorce and subsequent marriage were both 
 invalid, and he was not served with a legal notice in the case of 
 her proceedings against him, and that he might now lawfully claim 
 her as his wife. 
 
 He professed the same ardent attachment to her as ever, and con- 
 jured her for her own and his future peace and happiness to abandon 
 the man to whom she was not legally married, and to return to the 
 only one whom she had ever truly loved, and with whom alone she 
 could live happily. 
 
 He painted in vivid colors the enjoyments and pleasures which his 
 wealth and a city life would procure, and the true bliss she would 
 find in the society of her child, and a husband she loved, and with 
 opportunities of daily intercourse with her twin-sister and other 
 friends. 
 
 These words produced a deep impression on the susceptible mind 
 of this young and sorrow-stricken woman. She thought of the dis- 
 mal, tedious hours she would be doomed to pass in solitude, or what is 
 worse, in the midst of uncongenial society, and that too, with a hus- 
 band whom she now looked on with aversion ; and then after having 
 renewed her attachment to her daughter, to be separated for ever — 
 the thought was agonizing, and she had not the strength to endure it. 
 
 If she yielded she would have her daughter again — she would be 
 surrounded by the charms and excitements of a life of pleasure and 
 enjoyment, and would also exchange the society of a man whom she 
 never loved, for one whom she had always regarded with fondness, 
 and from whom she separated only under the momentary passion of 
 resentment for her neglected and injured beauty. 
 
 These considerations agitated her bosom with tumultuous emotions, 
 and convulsed with tears, she said : 
 
 " I yield on one condition." 
 
 " What is it? Name it," he returned with eager impatience. 
 
 " It is this, I must see my elder brother and my sister, and if they 
 consent, I consent." 
 
 u Be it so ; I will abide their decision. To-morrow let us meet 
 again that I may know my fate." 
 
 "To-rnorrow we will meet again." 
 
62 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 On this the parties separated, when Mrs. C p immediately re- 
 paired to her twin-sister, who was married and in good circumstances, 
 residing in the upper part of the city. 
 
 To her she told the whole story of her sufferings, and readily ob- 
 tained her consent to abandon the last husband, and by all means to 
 recover the child. The brother was called and his consent was also 
 obtained. 
 
 The next day, Mrs. C p and her first husband again met and ar- 
 ranged their plans, which were to be put immediately into execution. 
 
 Evening came, and in her father's house Mrs. C p was quite 
 
 cheerful. 
 
 Her husband, who observed this change in her feelings, was him- 
 self also in the best spirits, and previous to his going out to spend the 
 evening, had bestowed on her the tenderest caresses. Ah ! little did 
 he know that he was looking on that lovely conutenance for the last 
 time ; little did he know that he was pressing those lips to his own for 
 th» last time. 
 
 Soon after he had gone, a carriage drove up near the re- 
 sidence of Mrs. C p's father, the door was thrown open, 
 
 but no one egressed. It had not long been waiting when Mrs. 
 
 C p, throwing on her bonnet, slid unperceived out of her father's 
 
 house, and entered this carriage, which then drove off. 
 
 She was not missed until about ten o'clock, when her husband 
 returned. Search was instantly made, messengers were dispatched 
 to the school, to her brother's, and to her sister's, but no tidings 
 
 of her. could be obtained. Mr. C p became alarmed lest some 
 
 accident had befallen her, and was pacing up and down the hall 
 in great agitation, when a ring was heard at the door bell. He 
 opened the door in great haste, hoping to meet his missing wife, but 
 great was his disappointment on receiving from a boy the following 
 note: 
 
 My once Dear Husband : 
 
 The change which has come over my feelings renders it impossi- 
 ble for me any longer to live with you. This will explain the cause 
 of my departure. I am now gone where you can never see me more. 
 I trust that you may bear the misfortune as becomes a man, and that 
 you will hereafter have no cause to regret the step I have taken. 
 You have lost one who can no longer love you, but who now by this 
 act gives you an opportunity to become happy with another. My best 
 wishes for your prosperity and happiness go with you. 
 
 Farewell, Maey C p. 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 63 
 
 On reading this, the afflicted man fainted, but on reviving, recovered 
 a manlv composure, and bore the mortification and regret he must 
 naturally have felt with a composed and resigned mind. Her parents, 
 who were taken by surprise at this singular conduct, were indignant 
 at their daughter, and made every effort to find out her place of con- 
 cealment, in order if possible to restore her to her husband, with whom 
 thpy sincerely sympathized. 
 
 He, on the contrary, desired no effort should be made to restore her 
 to him, as he was resolved to return immediately home, send back the 
 furniture and clothes belonging to her, and never think of her more. 
 
 With this resolution he returned home, and as he had promised, 
 restored to his late wife all that had belonged to her. 
 
 Mrs. C p had, on the night of her elopement, entered the car- 
 
 riage in waiting for her, where she was received in the arms of Mr. 
 
 C k, her first husband, and was conveyed immediately to her 
 
 brother's house, where with her daughter, she remained concealed 
 from her parents and friends for some weeks. 
 
 Afterward she had a house of her own, furnished in elegant style, 
 with horses and carriages at her command, and soon she became 
 involved in a whirl of dissipation and amusement. 
 
 Her first husband was restored to her love, and they seem to pass 
 their time as happily as when first married. She takes the name of 
 her first husband, and few knew any thing of her previous adventures. 
 
 But among all her friends and acquaintances she is beloved for her 
 beauty, her agreeable manners, her lively and entertaining wit, and 
 also for her numerous virtues, which shine conspicuous through the 
 tenor of her life. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 SCENES AND ACTIONS IN THE SOCIETY OF MORAL REFORM. 
 
 A tall, young and beautiful woman, known by the cognomen of 
 Mrs. (we will not give her real name, but call it) Shampill, was a 
 leading actor in the Moral Reform movements of this city. 
 
 Her history may be thus briefly summed up : She and two sisters 
 were early left orphans, and dependent on their own exertions for 
 bread — she learned the trade of milliner. The eldest was soon mar- 
 ried, and after having borne two children, was left a widow. The 
 next younger sister died about the same time. Thus the widow and 
 the youngest sister — the latter but eighteen — found themselves alone 
 in the world. 
 
 They took a house together, and let rooms to lodgers, but it was not 
 long before the busy tongue of scandal had filled the air with rumors, 
 false or true. The youngest, to counteract the effect of these tales, 
 consented to marry a miserable old invalid, who belonged to a family 
 of some distinction) but whose fortune was now now reduced to a few 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 With this small sum a larger house was taken, and furnished in 
 good style, and the name of Dr. Shampill put on the door, as the old 
 man had been a doctor, though without practice. In this new 
 establishment they lived ; but what they gained in money they lost in 
 reputation. 
 
 The house was made the scene of gayety and dissipation. Fre- 
 quently they gave supper parties. On such occasions, at about nine 
 o'clock, a party of young gentlemen and young ladies would be 
 gathered, and love and song, and mirth and pleasure, would go round 
 till past the keystone hour of the night. 
 
 To speak of the character of the ladies assembled, or to describe 
 more particularly the scenes enacted on these occasions, is foreign to 
 the purposes of this work. It is sufficient to say that Mrs. Dr. Sham- 
 
THE maUiTIES OF NEW YORK. 65 
 
 pill became an object of much admiration within a certain circle of 
 young men, and frequently rode out, or walked with some of the 
 dashing young men lhat frequented her house, while, in her own house, 
 she was conspicuous in the merry-making parties, which boded no 
 good to her fame. 
 
 Days passed on, and Mrs. Dr. Shampill and her sister quarreled, 
 and separated. The former took a new house, letting the rooms to 
 lodgers, joined the church and entered the business of moral reform. 
 
 Another actor in these scenes was also the wife of a doctor. She 
 was the victim of a mother's lolly. 
 
 In a town in the northern part of this State she was born and 
 educated. Her mother, who became romantically attached to a 
 female- friend, had at a boarding school joined in a mutual vow that 
 their future' children should be united in matrimony. It so happened 
 that this mother married rich, and her friend comparatively poor, and 
 the only son of the latter was ten years older than the only daughter 
 of the former. 
 
 This mother, when her daughter was but fifteen, was brought upon 
 her death bed, during the absence of her husband at the South. At 
 this solemn juncture, her female friend came forward and insisted on 
 the marriage of their children, lest, after her death, it might be pre- 
 vented. She wished, at all events, to secure a rich bride for 
 her son. 
 
 The marrirge ceremony was privately performed, and, as previously 
 agreed upon, the parties immediately separated, not to re-unite or 
 make their marriage known to friends or the public for two years. 
 
 Mr. B 1, which was the name of the bridegroom, returned to his 
 
 studies in the medical college, and Mrs. B 1, after her mother's 
 
 death, was sent to a boarding-school. 
 
 After the stipulated lapse of time, the victims of this foolish marriage 
 returned to their native place, and were publicly married over again. 
 Of course it took but a short time for them to discover that they were 
 mutually unfitted for each other's society, and that a mutual aversion 
 existed between them. 
 
 Mrs. 15 1 was but seventeen, beautiful, accomplished, and fond 
 
 of gayety. The susceptibilities of her private nature, and the 
 inclinations of her mind, easily lead her from her plodding, ungainly 
 and phlegmatic husband into censurable flirtations with the gay and 
 designing admirers in whose society she found more congenial sym- 
 [•ath. 
 
 Disgraced at home, her father denounced and cast her off, when 
 
G6 A3M0DEUS ; OR, 
 
 she and her husband came to the City of New York to seek their for- 
 tunes. After various struggles and trials, through which he was 
 supported by his wife, he at length commenced business as a homoeo- 
 pathic physician. 
 
 Mrs. Dr. B 1, who'had hitherto spent several weeks, or months, 
 
 every winter at the South, in the company of an uncle or a cousin, 
 and who had flirted herself out of all respectable society at Saratoga 
 Springs, and had, in one instance, been requested to leave the United 
 States Hotel — now settled down in her own house in this city, and had 
 things in her own way. 
 
 If the doctor's business was not very lucrative at first, the house 
 nevertheless thrived — furniture, and dress, and gay company, and 
 money, were not wanting to make time pass pleasantly away. 
 
 Mrs. Dr. B 1 now became a leader in the moral reform move- 
 ment. 
 
 Another conspicuous actor was an old deformed woman, a widow, 
 who had been a milliner all her days, and having in her old age joined 
 the church, set up for the character of a benevolent woman. 
 
 She united herself with every religious or charitable society, where 
 she could get admitted, and finding her former occupation was looked 
 on as rather vulgar by the professors of religion and charity, contrived, 
 by the aid of a poor music-teacher and an old piano, to set up the 
 double business of a select boarding-school and a boarding-house for a 
 " few families"or i; single gentlemen." 
 
 If she would every week have a day or two to herself, when she 
 would lie in her dining-room stretched on a settee in a state of stupor, 
 which the uncharitable called drunkenness, it was not her fault, but 
 that of her ill-health, which required the free use of brandy, as pre- 
 scribed by her physician, who was, and is, a well-known temperance 
 lecturer. 
 
 If her boarders would frequently refuse to eat what was set before 
 them, it was not her fault, for she always bought the cheapest the 
 market afforded. 
 
 If the daughter would charge the mother with lying and drunken- 
 ness, it was not the fault of the parent, for she had often told the child 
 not to do so, as it would be a scandal to her who belonged to so many 
 religious and temperance societies, and who stood so high in the 
 ch u rch . 
 
 Mrs. Cain, for that was the pious old lady's name, had often been 
 charged with not paying any of her servants, but this charge was 
 false, for she did at least pay one as follows: 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF^EW YORK. 67 
 
 A meeting of one of the charitable associations to which she be- 
 belonged met at her house to distribute clothing to the poor. 
 
 " I have sent," said Mrs. Cain, M for a very poor widow woman, 
 with small children, to come and get some clothing to-day." 
 
 " Let her be brought in," said the Presidentess. 
 
 Mrs. Cain went out and soon returned with her own servant, whom 
 she had instructed to play her part. 
 
 The servant received the clothing, and Mrs. Cain afterward charged 
 twice its value in payment of her wages. 
 
 Such were three of the most conspicuous actors in the Moral Re- 
 form Society of the City of New York. 
 
 Let us attend an informal meeting of these immaculate moral 
 reformers. 
 
 It is called at Sister Cain's. A few only are notified to attend. 
 The business is looking after suspected delinquents, either the hus- 
 bands or lovers of the female moral reformers. 
 
 The presidentess, a busy old maid, and the treasurer, a simple- 
 minded and pious matron, whose husband never troubled himself about 
 
 her affairs, were present. Mrs. Dr. Shampill, Mrs. Dr. B 1, and 
 
 Mrs. Milliner, school-mistress, boarding-house-keeper-Cain, together 
 with a couple of young married ladies, formed the remainder of the 
 members of the meeting, with two exceptions — these were the clair- 
 voyant operator, styled Dr. Ashwood, and his subject, Eliza. 
 
 The members present were believers in the occult science and 
 mysteries of clairvoyance. The disbelievers were not notified to 
 attend. 
 
 The presidentess called the meeting to order. 
 
 Prayer by Sister Cain. 
 
 Next came the. order of the day. 
 
 Sister Cain rose and said that "Mrs. Wood was present, and though 
 she had not yet been married one year, she was thrown into the 
 greatest distress of mind at the recent neglect of her husband, and his 
 absence from home to a very late hour at night. I move that the 
 clairvoyant be put upon him, that we may find him out and reform 
 him." 
 
 " I second the motion," says Mrs. Dr. B 1. 
 
 "The vote is unanimous," announced the presidentess. 
 The operator puts his subject in motion. 
 
 " There he goes !" exclaims the clairvoyant, Eliza. " There he 
 goes — see — trace him into that elegant house near the Parade Ground. 
 It is ten o'clock." 
 
68 ASMODEUS; OR, 
 
 " Who lives there ?" asked the operator- 
 Mrs. Dr. Shampill turns pale, moves in her seat, and puts her hand- 
 kerchief to her mouth. 
 
 "It is a doctor/' answers Eliza. " See, he approaches that beauti- 
 ful woman. She smiles — the gentleman /mrriles." 
 
 11 Well, what else do you see ?" 
 
 " He sits down by her side." 
 
 " Well, what else ?" 
 
 •' A little rosy-cheeked boy with arrows hovers over them, and in a 
 few minutes they are enveloped in a misty shower of gold." 
 
 " Well, what else ?" 
 
 "All looks bright and luminous ; but I can see nothing more." 
 
 " Who is this lady ?" 
 
 " The doctor's wife." 
 
 " What is her name ?" 
 
 "You will see the name on the door-plate. It begins with S." 
 
 "This is a dubious case," said Mrs. Cain. 
 
 All eyes were now turned to Mrs. Dr. Shampill, for all could have 
 no doubt that it was her that was meant. 
 
 " Please ask the clairvoyant what night this was?" said Mrs. Dr. 
 Shampill, in a bold tone. 
 
 "What night was this?" 
 
 "It was last Friday night." 
 
 "Do you not remember," asked Mrs. Dr. Shampill, turning toward 
 the treasurer, "that on last Saturday morning I handed you a dona- 
 tion from a friend, of a two dollar and a half gold piece ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do," replied the treasurer. 
 
 "Now I can tell you how it was," explained Mrs. Dr. Shampill. 
 " The doctor was standing at the door and saw Mr. Wood passing, 
 and he called him in. I philopcened Mr. Wood, and he gave a small 
 donation to the society, which money I handed the next morning to 
 the treasurer, and this is the golden shower Eliza saw." 
 
 " This explanation seems entirely satisfactory," said Mrs. Dr. 
 B 1. 
 
 " I think so too," said the treasurer. 
 
 Mrs. Wood expressed herself satisfied with the explanation ; when 
 the examination proceeded in regard to a young man, a clerk in 
 
 Broad-street, whose conduct Mrs. Dr. B 1 wished scrutinized, as 
 
 she pretended, for the sake of a cousin of hers, a young lady to whom 
 the young gentleman in question was engaged to be married. 
 
 The real truth was, this young gentleman was a fond and too 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 69 
 
 familiar friend of Mrs. Dr. B 1, and she had lately suspected him 
 
 of certain vagaries which did not over-please her. 
 
 The examination proceeded, but nothing definite was elicited, save 
 a visit or two to some young ladies, whom, perhaps, he oright not to 
 have visited. 
 
 The other young married lady had her husband's conduct put under 
 the clairvoyant sight, but nothing of moment was elicited, save that he 
 
 was fond of calling on Mrs. Dr. B 1, and had been seen riding out 
 
 witii Mrs. Dr. Shampill. But these circumstances were satisfactorily 
 explained. 
 
 The clairvoyants were dismissed with a fee of fifteen dollars, five of 
 which went privately in the pocket of Sister Cain, who had procured 
 for him the job of regularly attending these meetings. 
 
 At the regular meetings of the society, the treasurer accounted for 
 these expenses under the head of miscellanies, and would never give 
 any more particular account of the money. To replenish the treasury, 
 the country auxiliary societies were loudly called on to aid in the 
 cause of female virtue, and the rich and benevolent in the city were 
 frequently importuned to contribute. 
 
 The meeting broke up. 
 
 Mrs. Dr. B 1 met her friend in the evening, and charged him 
 
 with what had been revealed by the clairvoyant. 
 
 Mrs. Dr. Shampill returned home and took off her plain black dress 
 in which she always appeared at the society, at church and on other 
 similar occasions. 
 
 She now arrayed herself in gay and dashing colors and bedecked 
 with jewelry. Her husband, as he was styled, was in the basement, 
 where he was usually kept, when a well-jressed young gentleman 
 called. 
 
 A short time afterward, Mrs. Dr. Shampill and Mr. Wood were 
 seen riding out on the Bloomingdale Road, and seemingly in the 
 highest glee. • 
 
 Thus goes the world, and of such stuff are made half the pretended 
 reformers of the world. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A SCENE IN DUANE-STREET. 
 
 We here present another chapter of the Iniquities of New York, 
 in which is pictured forth a deplorable state of morals. 
 
 The scenes here depicted — unfortunately of too common occurrence 
 — confirm the statements of some of the most experienced police 
 officers, who affirm that two-thirds of the support given to the houses 
 of ill-fame, in this city, comes from married men. 
 
 Some of the parties involved in the following occurrence occupy 
 distinguished positions in society, and the degradation to which they 
 have stooped, only renders the more conspicuous and more dangerous 
 the flagrant vices to which they have been addicted. 
 
 The pen of the moralist and the tongue of the reformer are called 
 on for a more bold and active exercise of their benevolence in the work 
 o^ wiping out from the face of society the foul stains of licentiousness 
 and debauchery. 
 
 As the Spartans exhibited drunken helots before their children, to 
 incite in their minds an abhorrence of the drunkenness, so we here 
 present to the world the following picture of sin and depravity, copied 
 from the columns of the Police Gazette, in order that this rock of 
 temptation and death may be shunned : 
 
 A rich and racy scene occurred at the Court of Special Sessions on 
 Friday last. On that occasion, a pretty and fashionably attired young 
 
 girl, named Caroline M , was placed on trial, charged with having 
 
 violently assaulted Mrs. Jane W — ; — , keeper of a house of prostitution, 
 No. — Duane-street. 
 
 Mrs. W , who presents an antiquated appearance of forty odd 
 
 years gathering, appeared in court, most flauntingly attired in silks 
 and furbelows, while the early hour at which she had risen, caused 
 such haste in her toilet, as to leave the recent traces of paint and 
 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 71 
 
 powder streaming down her face, like a muddy brook rushing through 
 a chalk pit. She was attended by several of her " boarders," while, 
 on the other hand, the fair prisoner was escorted into conrt by a crowd 
 of tawdry-dressed associates, intermingled with her "talented and 
 ingenious" attorney at law. 
 
 Jane W being examined, testified that the prisoner was a 
 
 boarder in her establishment for the last three months. On the 
 morning of the 12th of July, about half-past 10 o'clock, her attention 
 : traded by the servant girl Maria, who complained that Caroline 
 was making a muss on the table cloth, by spilling the coffee and 
 breaking the cups and saucers. Witness went down stairs for the 
 purpose of expostulation with her, when the latter insisted on having 
 hot coffee for breakfast, as she paid seven dollars a week for her 
 board. The servant told her that if she would come to breakfast 
 early, instead of walking down stairs at half past ten, she could get 
 her coffee always hot. Witness endeavored to remove Caroline from 
 the room ^ when she smashed cups, saucers, china, glass, ornaments, 
 and every thing else she could lay her hands on, and on witness 
 attempting to prevent her, she flew at her like a tigress — tore 
 her clothes, grappled her by the throat and would have choked 
 her to death, but for the interference of Dr. Fall, who came to 
 her rescue. 
 
 Counsel for defense. — What sort of house do you keep, and where 
 do you keep it ? 
 
 Witness. I keep a boarding house at — Duane-street. 
 
 Counsel. Are they all girl boarders ? 
 
 Witness. Well, 1 guess so. 
 
 Counsel. Do you know Mr. J. A ? 
 
 Witness. Yes, very well. 
 
 Counsel. Does he or Dr. Fall board there ? (Laughter.) 
 
 Witness. No, sir, they don't. 
 
 Counsel. Did you or either of those gentlemen shake this prisoner 
 before she attacked you ? 
 
 Witness. No, sir, they didn't do no such thing. 
 
 Counsel. What does this girl pay for her board per week ? 
 
 Witness. $7 per week. \ 
 
 Counsel. Besides bed money ? (Laughter.) 
 
 Witness, (with much impertinent indignation.) Bed money ! What's 
 bed money, sir ? I don't know what you mean, sir ! Bed money ! 
 1 never receive bed money, sir. (Great laughter among the audience, 
 and the police and Prince John Davis' finger to his nose.) 
 
72 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 Joe A was here called as a witness in behalf of Mrs. W , 
 
 but he did not answer. 
 
 Dr. Adolph Fall was next called to the stand, amid a Buttering 
 excitement from the audience, who appeared to expect some rich 
 developments from the professional attendant of a house so well known 
 for disease and for every creeping thing. 
 
 The doctor stated that, at about half-past ten o'clock, on the morning 
 in question, while he was attending a patient in the house opposite that 
 
 kept by Mrs. W , a girl called to him from the attic window, and 
 
 said that Caroline was murdering Miss Jane, down stairs, and begged 
 him to come over right away and separate them, as she had her down 
 on the floor belting her among the broken crockery ; that he ran 
 directly across into the basement, and found Caroline bearing Miss 
 Jane with one hand and choking her with the other ; that he attempted 
 to part them, but had much difficulty before he succeeded, and after- 
 ward had to send for a policeman to take Caroline away to the Tombs. 
 
 Cross-examined by defense. What is your business, sir, ^nd where 
 do you reside 1 
 
 Witness. I am a physician, and my residence is at — Warren- 
 street. 
 
 Q. Do you often visit this house, doctor ? 
 
 A. {much excited.) 1 have a right to attend the house as often as I 
 please, professionally, sir ; I have answered the question, and I don't 
 wish to be asked any impertinent questions beyond it. 
 
 Q. Many of the inmates of the house are continually diseased, are 
 they not, doctor, and this makes it necessary for you to call often, I 
 suppose ? 
 
 A. They 're like other girls, I suppose — sick and well, as circum- 
 stances happen. (Laughter.) 
 
 Q. You appear to Know them all well, doctor, you speak and nod 
 to them familiarly, as I saw just now. 
 
 A. No, sir, I don't know them more than other persons whose 
 business brings them there professionally.. (Much smirking among the 
 policemen present at the latitude of the word "professionally" 
 
 Q. Your professional license gives you great latitude, doesn't it, 
 doctor, in all matters appertaining to female diseases ? (Laughter.) 
 
 A. Of course it does — it's my business. 
 
 Q. Have you ever seen a model artiste at Mrs. W 's for medi- 
 cal inspection ? (Roars of Laughter.) 
 
 A. I shall answer no question not relative to the case. (More 
 roars.) 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 73 
 
 Q. Well, doctor, answer me this. Did you ever see any thing at 
 
 Mrs. W 's that looked like a live corpse ? (Shouts of laughter, 
 
 with cries of order, order.) 
 
 A. I appeal to the court for protection — I sha'n't answer such 
 questions. (More snorting.) 
 
 Q. Doctor, never mind about that answer. But did you ever see 
 Joe A at the house of Mrs. W ? ' 
 
 The doctor objected to answering the question and it was ruled out 
 by the court. 
 
 Q. While you were attempting to separate the parties in the 
 basement, didn't you bite one of Miss Caroline's fingers so severely 
 that the blood ran down on your breast and spotted your shirt 
 bosom? 
 
 A. No, sir. I did not — my linen was soiled, but it was caused by 
 my nose bleeding, and not by biting her finger. 
 
 Q. What caused your nose to bleed, doctor ? (Laughter.) 
 
 A . I don't know, except it was the excitement of the affray between 
 the women. 
 
 Q. VVhat's the best cure for nose bleed, doctor? (Great 
 laughter.) 
 
 A. I'm not here to answer this question, sir. (Great laughter, 
 during which some one was heard to say in sotto voce, "put ice in your 
 breeches. ") 
 
 The policeman who arrested Miss Caroline was then called and 
 testified that she was very violent and mighty stormy when he entered 
 the basement. 
 
 Recorder. Well, Caroline, what have you got to say about this 
 business? 
 
 Caroline. It's all a piece of spite against me, because I threatened 
 to expose her carryings on with her lovers; they and she irritated me 
 to it. I had to go to the Battery that morning to meet a gentleman, 
 and as I didn't get to bed till late, for we sometimes don't go at all if 
 there's no company, and hardly ever, till 4 o'clock, I didn't get back 
 in time for breakfast ; I went into the kitchen and the girl said there 
 was nothing but cold coffee, and I don't like cold coffee, and she gave 
 me some sauce, and I threw the coffee on the table. At this the girl 
 went up stairs, and down came Miss Jane, like a raving fury, and com- 
 menced calling me all sorts of names, such as your honors would 
 blush to hear, and I called her names back, so I did. She then 
 clinched me and 1 clinched her, and instantly one of her lovers, Dr. 
 Adolph Fall, who stands over there, rushed in and took her part and 
 
74 ASMODEUS; OR, 
 
 endeavored to choke me off. Fie shoved me against the wall, and I 
 pushed my hand out against his face, so as to prevent him, when he 
 clinched one of my fingers with his teeth and bit it to the bone, so that 
 the blood run all over the bosom of his shirt. 
 Recorder. Is Dr. Fall often there ? 
 
 A. Oh yes, bless you ; he and Joe A are always there. 
 
 (Great laughter.) A was there that morning, and he' hid himself 
 
 in a clothes press up stairs. (Roars.) 
 
 Q. Is Mr. A a doctor, too? (Laughter.) 
 
 A. O no, Lord bless you — he's a music man in Broadway, some- 
 where — (roars again) — but they're both lovers of hers; she sometimes 
 has both of them in the house at once ; one in the basement and the 
 other in her room up stairs. (Snorting laughter. Prince John, with 
 one hand in his pocket, moving for the door.) 
 Q. Do they board there 1 
 
 A. Not regularly, or to pay for it, but they dine very often with 
 the girls, for they do anything that Miss Jane tells the*m to do. (Great 
 
 laughter.) A takes breakfast very often in the morning, and Dr. 
 
 Fall comes in the evening — the doctor made her a present of a kissing 
 chair, (roars) a few days since, and she wants to have me punished 
 because I laughed and talked about it — I couldn't help it, I'll assure 
 you 1 couldn't, to think of her kissing, as she is old enough to be my 
 mother. (Roars of laughter.) 
 
 Q. Caroline, I'm afraid you've got a bad temper, and if we let you 
 go you'll assail her again in the house. 
 
 A. (Witness cryirig.) I'm as quiet and as good natured as any 
 girl is, and how can I do anything to her when Dr. Fall and Joe 
 
 A are always in the house ? If the court will let me go this time, 
 
 I'll never go near her place again, I'll assure you, as soon as I get my 
 clothes away from there. 
 
 Recorder. The court have consulted about your case, and under 
 the circumstances we shall order you to be confined in the city prison 
 ten days, in hopes you may conclude to quit this course of life and enter 
 some Magdalen asylum for penitence and reformation. 
 
 Caroline then left the court, attended by her escort to the prison 
 entrance. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SCENES IN A BOARDING HOUSE, IN WHICH A BEAUTIFUL BUT MYSTEBIOUS 
 ■ YOUNG WIDOW FIGURES. 
 
 There are certain phases in the boarding-house life in this city 
 that are rich in scenes of gaiety, love and depravity. The quantity 
 of wickedness cloaked in some instances under the name of boarding- 
 house, would, if exposed, appear to most people frightful. 
 
 The following scenes are taken from real life, and are illustrative 
 of a great deal of similar life every day occurring in various parts of 
 the city. 
 
 Mrs. Smith has a large house elegantly furnished in Houston-street, 
 and her rooms filled with boarders. 
 
 In describing the group, conspicuous among them appears a decay- 
 ed, or decaying doctor, a widower, who lives on his money, and 
 liberally enjoys the best of liquors. He occupies the back-parlor, 
 which seemed to be the head-quarters of the landlady also, and if ru- 
 mor did not belie her, she was, in the poetic language of Burns, 
 " The lass that made the bed to him." 
 Among the other boarders were a merchant, two clerks, a young 
 doctor, who could not pay his board bill, and two young men with 
 plenty of money and up to any thing. 
 
 The landlady was a buxom widow of forty, full of life, gaiety, 
 romance, and of the utmost liberality in speech and manners. She 
 was blessed with two daughters, fifteen and seventeen years of age, 
 who were chips of the old block, and the youngest one, all block. 
 
 It happened one day that Mr. Curry, a Wall-street broker, an old 
 familiar acquaintance of Mrs. Smith, called to obtain board for Mrs. 
 
 B n, a young widow, then boarding in his family. 
 
 . Smith knowing the piety and excellent character of the 
 broker's wife, and consequently feeling assured that from the circum- 
 stance of the widow's residing in such a family, she must bo quite 
 orthodox in all the proprieties of life, accordingly took her in. 
 
76 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 A few days after, a young gentleman who represented himself as a 
 merchant from the South, came with his most beautiful wife and took 
 board. 
 
 One day, after a frolicsome evening in the parlor, when the rest of 
 the company had retired, the landlady, Mrs. Smith, called a dashing 
 young man — Mr. Jones — one of her boarders, to her, and in low con- 
 tidential tone, said : 
 
 " There is to be a private fancy dress ball at a friend's of mine, in 
 a ^e\v days; would you like to attend?" 
 
 " With all my heart, nothing will please me more." 
 
 " Mind you now, this is all to be kept a secret, and there will be 
 some pretty girls there, and you can fall in love with them as much 
 as you please." 
 
 " That's capital ! Just what I like !" 
 
 " You must keep it all a secret." 
 
 "To be sure I will." 
 
 " I'll explain to you confidentially all about it. I have a friend 
 residing in Liberty-street." 
 
 " O, yes ! I know her ! It was the lady you introduced to me at the 
 dinner-table the other day. Mrs. El wood — is not that the lady ?'? 
 
 "Yes; it is she." 
 
 "I thought so," replied Jones, touching his thumb to the nasal ex- 
 tremity, and gyrating his digitals in a very significant manner. 
 
 " Did you ever know her before ?" 
 
 " No ; but I have known her since, and know who it was that went 
 to Boston with her, whom she pretended was her husband. The day 
 I saw her at your table she slyly invited me to call on her, and I have 
 been several times to see her." 
 
 " Well, since you know something about her, I'll tell you all I 
 know of her. I have been acquainted with her since she was married 
 a dozen years ago to a very nice young man. He took it into his 
 head one day to get jealous of a young lawyer, and perhaps he had 
 cause. At any rate, he got up one morning, took his trunk and 
 clothes and went off, leaving her with the furniture. She then lived 
 with the lawyer, who now oftentimes passes as her husband, though 
 in her house she styles herself as a widow. You know she lets out 
 rooms to single gentlemen." 
 
 " I know she is regarded a very respectable and nice lady by her 
 lodgers and by the neighbors." 
 
 "Well, as to the ball. She is in the practice of giving some very 
 private and select balls." 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 77 
 
 " Who will be there ?" 
 
 11 1 can't tell you, for it is a rule that none shall know each other. 
 You will be introduced to the company, but by some fictitious name, 
 and if you ever see any of the party hereafter in any other place, you 
 are not to know them." 
 
 " What sort of company is it ?" 
 
 "All very respectable. Every lady present will be of the highest 
 respectability." 
 
 "Are you going V asked Jones. 
 
 "To be sure I am." answered Mrs. Smith, in a bold tone. 
 
 " Are there any others going whom I know ?" 
 
 "Yes; and though it is against the rules to tell, yet I'll tell you. 
 The young widow is going, and Mrs. Parrot, and Mrs. Clark. Mrs. 
 Parrot, you know, is the young lady that has just come here." 
 
 " Yes, I know her. Her pretended husband is a notorious gambler, 
 and she is his paramour. They have just come from New Orleans to 
 spend the summer at the North." 
 
 "Well, I knew something about that— you'll keep it secret. She 
 is a beautiful lady and knows how to behave with propriety." 
 
 '•Who is Mrs. Clark?" 
 
 " The lady I introduced you to the other day. She is rich, and has 
 got a very nice young man for a husband, but as she has all the 
 money, he has to do just as she tells him. He can't buy a suit of 
 clothes without her permission. But he'll never know of her going to 
 this ball." 
 
 " Who is this young widow, now with you ?" asked Jones. 
 
 " I don't know. Mr. Curry, and an old friend, brought her here. 
 She says he is her trustee, and has the management of her funds. 
 She was in his family a short time, but Mrs. Curry cleared her out. 
 and he brought her here. Mrs. Curry, I have heard, is a very 
 unhappy woman." 
 
 After this conversation, the parties retired — the one to ponder on 
 schemes for new intrigues, and the other, young Jones, to dream of 
 the fancy ball. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE FANCY BALL. 
 
 The scene is now in Mrs. Elwood's house in Liberty-street. 
 She had taken advantage of a temporary absence of her lodgers 
 to give a fancy ball, which not only brought her friends together 
 for the enjoyment of rare sport, but also served to replenish her 
 purse — for the tickets of admission were five dollars for a gentleman 
 and lady. 
 
 The rules required that all should meet and part as strangers, and 
 not recognise each other afterward, should they happen to meet, except 
 by mutual consent. 
 
 While together, the utmost freedom of social intercourse was to be 
 permitted, and all were to consider themselves at liberty to chat and 
 flirt to their heart's content. 
 
 There were present on this evening about twenty persons, among 
 whom were several beautiful ladies ; but the belle of the room was 
 
 the young and mysterious widow, Mrs. B n. 
 
 She had a tall queanly form, graceful carriage, and a most lovely 
 and expressive countenance, black eyes, dark hair, and an arm like 
 Pico's. 
 
 She was dressed in the character of the " Indian Queen," which 
 was at that time the rage at the Olympic, and which gave her an 
 excellent opportunity to display to the greatest advantage the peerless 
 beauty of her form ; her principal dress being a species of frock coat, 
 which, for a gentleman, would have been of good length. Her arms 
 were bare, and like polished marble. Her dress displayed an ivory 
 neck, and gave indications of a bust, which, when moved by the deep 
 heavings of passion, might call forth sighs from the bosom of an 
 anchorite. 
 
 She, together with Mrs. Smith, who was not in costume, came with 
 Mr. Jones. 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 79 
 
 It would be superfluous to describe the dress of the others. Though 
 all were not in costume, yet all were dressed in the gayest style, and 
 had come to indulge in the freest mirth, and to abandon themselves U 
 the pleasures and excitements of the moment. 
 
 The first of the evening passed off with the greatest hilarity. The 
 music was fine and the dance went briskly. 
 
 The widow was the great point of attraction, but her society was 
 chiefly monopolized by her attendant, young Jones, who had begun to 
 he separately in love with her. Some heart-burnings and jealousies 
 arose, but soon they were drowned in the waves of mirth, and the 
 dance, and music and wine. 
 
 The supper-hour came, when the party sat down to a munificently 
 spread table, loaded with the choicest viands, and sparkling with 
 wines. 
 
 Young Jones was seated between Mrs. Smith and the widow, the 
 latter of whom absorbed all of his attention. They supped and drank 
 deep of the wine, and after having removed from table, retired by 
 themselves, leaving others to renew the dance, in which but few now 
 participated. 
 
 Young Jones, when alone with the widow, strove with all his art 
 to draw from her a confession of her career, but in vain. He could 
 learn from her only that she had been married, and was now a widow. 
 He, however, confessed his love in no moderate terms, and vowed he 
 would cling to her till death. 
 
 The artful widow professed to reciprocate a degree of love, and 
 afterward turned the passion of her admirer to great advantage to 
 herself, in the shape of costly and valuable presents. 
 
 On returning to the dance, young Jones took Mrs. El wood for a 
 partner, and became so much interested in her witty and intelligent 
 conversation, as almost to forget the star that had hitherto twinkled in 
 the firmament of his thoughts. 
 
 From this agreeable lady he learned much of the world, and was 
 made acquainted with the position and character of many of the actors 
 in the scene before them. 
 
 "Tell me, I beg of you, who is that lively, enchanting girl, in the 
 character of a Swiss peasant V 
 
 M You know it is against the rules to tell what we know of each 
 other ; yet, as this lady has desired an introduction to you, 
 and as she does not now profess to much secresy, I will tell you who 
 she is. 
 
 M She J9 a native of Halifax, where her father was a physician, ^ut 
 
80 ASMODEtTS; OR, 
 
 dying, and leaving his family uuable to support themselves in the 
 style in which they were accustomed to live., the sons entering into 
 business, the mother and an only daughter came to this city, where 
 the latter teaching at first in a school at Bloomingdale, at length set 
 up for herself. Soon after her mother dying, and she herself marrying 
 a Southern gentleman, went to the South to reside. 
 
 For two summers he left her alone, and came to New York, to 
 amuse himself without her. 
 
 " Suspecting all was not right, she resolved to accompany -him this 
 season ; and they came on together in May, and put up at the Astor 
 House. Here she soon discovered that her husband was a gambler, 
 and that other objects drew off his attention from her, leaving her at 
 times several days together without coming near her. Being thus 
 alone, she called on a former female friend, who is also a good friend 
 of mine. She was introduced to me. I found her a woman of spirit, 
 and sense ; and knowing that she had herself alone to depend on, de- 
 termined on an independent course of action. She still remains at the 
 Astor House, where her husband occasionally visits her, and pays her 
 board ; but, as to her conduct, he knows nothing of that." 
 
 " Who is that gentleman with her ?" 
 
 " He is the Secretary of the French Legation, and is a great 
 admirer of this deserted woman, who possesses much wit and 
 intelligence.'* 
 
 It was near morning before the party broke up, when young Jones 
 accompanied his two partners home, and retired to rest — but not to sleep, 
 for he lay in a waking and bewildered dream of the new and exciting 
 scenes he had witnessed and participated in. 
 
 Soon Mrs. Smith became quite jealous of the widow, and a quarrel 
 ensued, which ended by an accusation against her by the widow, who 
 alledged that the former had stolen a sum of money from her trunk. 
 
 Officers were sent for, and a search made throughout the whole 
 house, and to which all the boarders were obliged to submit. 
 
 During this pell-mell, it leaked out, through the tongue of the 
 widow, that Parrot was a gambler, and his pretended wife no wife at 
 all. Strange hints were also thrown out regarding Mrs. Elwood, 
 who, as a frequent visitor, was known to all the boarders. 
 
 The consequence was, several of the more respectable boarders 
 packed up their things to depart, when the Parrots and the widow 
 received their walking-ticket. 
 
 The widow and young Jones, on this afFray, took a tour to Boston, 
 while Mrs. Smith soou afterward filled her house with a new' set of 
 
THE INIGIU1T1ES OF NEW YORK. 81 
 
 boarders, and all things went on as smooth and as jolly as though 
 nothing of an unpleasant nature had ever occurred. 
 
 Young Jones has since got married, but not to the widow, who is 
 now boarding at a very respectable boarding-house not far from 
 Union Square, and who, if she sees this, will recognize some scenes 
 in which she has borne a part, but who has sense enough to keep to 
 her own counsel. 
 6 
 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A WORD ABOUT GAMBLERS. 
 
 There are in this city some half a score or more of tip-top gambling 
 concerns, furnished in the most elegant style, and which offer to their 
 guests most magnificent suppers. 
 
 There has been recently opened an establishment to which but few 
 can gain admittance. It is furnished in the most elegant style, sur- 
 passing any establishment of the kind ever known in this country. 
 All its furniture was imported from Paris, for its mirrors and rich 
 paintings dazzle the sight, and the foot rests upon the softest carpets of 
 Turkey. But of this we say no more at present. 
 
 Besides this there are more than a hundred shops of a lower grade, 
 where the business is carried on upon a gradually reduced scale, 
 until you reach the Five Points, where in some damp cellar or rotten 
 garret you behold a group of ebony-faces grinning around a pine 
 table, and lighted by a tallow candle stuck in a glass bottle. 
 
 But it is the medium or better grade of gamblers that do the 
 most mischief, and decoy the greatest number of victims into their 
 snares. 
 
 To recruit the victims of their diabolical trade, the gamblers of this 
 city have a regular system of police established upon all new-comers 
 to the city, whose business it is to watch the arrivals at the hotels and 
 ascertain who among them are likely subjects to be operated upon. 
 The spies employed in this business are often men of considerable ad- 
 dress, and make a flashy genteel appearance, very impressive and 
 taking with greenhorns. The principal means of leading strangers 
 into the trap are an introduction to the innumerable houses of ill-fame, 
 the inmates of all of which are connected with one or the other of the 
 gambling-houses. 
 
 The decoy knows how to make himself agreeable to the stranger — 
 points out the various curiosities of the city, supplies him with in- 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 83 
 
 formation respecting the various localities — tells him where the Post 
 Office, the Exchange, the Custom House, &c, &c, can be found 
 — and makes himself useful in a variety of ways. At evening they 
 adjourn to the bar — fortify themselves with a julep— and by 
 the tirr.e it is scientifically imbibed, Mr. Greenhorn is ripe for any- 
 tiling. 
 
 A walk is proposed ; and in the course of a lounge in the Battery 
 or a saunter up Broadway the city gentleman meets a female acquaint- 
 ance, splendidly dressed and uncommonly sociable and condescend- 
 ing. Mr. Greenhorn is at once introduced, and the lady politely 
 invites both gentlemen to call round in the course of the evening and 
 see her. The countryman is delighted with such an unusual exhibi- 
 tion of hospitality, and begins to think New York is a leetle the cutest 
 place anywhere this side of sundown. 
 
 Once fairly in the harlot's den, and his fate is sealed. Bewildered 
 with the strangeness of all he sees and hears, overcome by flattery 
 and attentions, he does not refuse a glass of champagne, which 
 is drugged with a small quantity of morphine, just enough to inspire 
 self-confidence and audacity; and the spy finds no difficulty in 
 leading a willing victim to the gambling-house, where he is scien- 
 tifically plucked, and left to make his way to his hotel, a ruined, 
 miserable man. 
 
 Going still another step downward in our researches, we come upon 
 the penny poker dens of the thieves and negroes of the Five Points and 
 other similar localities. These are indescribably filthy and abomin- 
 able holes, into which a man with healthy lungs might penetrate with 
 about as much safety as he would go down a well with an air-damp at 
 the bottom. 
 
 Here the various grades of small thieves and pickpockets may be 
 seen, huddled together over a dark table, shuttling a pack of greasy 
 and worn-out cards, drinking villainous brandy and fire-new whiskey 
 — swearing, quarrelling, fighting, and making the reeking air thick 
 with blasphemy. In these dens men and women are indiscriminately 
 mingled — and such men ! but more especially, such women ! 
 
 The enemy of mankind could not possibly desire more fitting and 
 accomplished instruments to perform all his dirtiest jobs upon earth. 
 Here the striking characteristics of gambling-houses, groggery and 
 brothel are brought in the strongest relief. Whoever glances at one 
 of these places, has indelibly stamped upon his brain a picture of hu- 
 man degradation which the most vivid imagination would attempt in 
 vain to conceive. 
 8* 
 
84 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 In going about the city, in preparing to discharge a task such as 
 we have undertaken, and exploring the m)'steries of these veritable 
 internal regions, one no longer wonders at the amount and frequency 
 of crime. He only is astonished that it is not an hundred times as 
 great. 
 
 We have hinted that the gambling-heuses of all grades were well- 
 known to the police* and we now repeat that there is not an officer or 
 policeman in the city who doesn't know one or more of these places, 
 and has not in his possession positive evidence of their true character. 
 " Well then, why are they not suppressed and their keepers punished 
 aqcording to law ?" 
 
 If we could answer that question so that the people could see it 
 exactly as it is, we could revolutionize society and reform the world. 
 We may say, in general terms, that all these establishments contain 
 or control votes — the whole end, aim and means of office-holders and 
 politicians. There is, doubtless, an immense amount of private 
 bribery of officers by the keepers of these and other unlawful estab- 
 lishments. But the great thing is votes. 
 
 So long as the party in power can maintain the ascendency by 
 winking at a hundred and fifty notorious gambling-houses, keeping 
 dark about fifteen hundred public brothels, and licensing two thousand 
 superfluous groggeries, so long we shall look in vain for any thorough, 
 radical and all-embracing system of municipal reform, commended for 
 the benefit of the people and carried out in complete good faith and 
 honor. 
 
 But we repeat, the gambling-shops will never be suppressed while 
 the authorities themselves are involved in this disgraceful calling. 
 Thre is scarcely a Common Council in which there is not a professed 
 gambler in one or both boards. One of the aldermen from one of the 
 first five wards was with his paramour notoriously known as the 
 keeper of a famous infamous house. ■ 
 
 While such a state of things continue, it is in vain to hope for any 
 attempt at vigilance or faithfulness in the execution of the laws. 
 
 It is well known that the gamblers confine their operations not to 
 cards or dice, but that politics is one of the means of gambling. In- 
 deed it has been said that the gamblers control our elections, and that 
 no persons are so well informed of the state of parties and of the means 
 predicting or rather of predetermining future elections. 
 
 The gamblers have large bets at stake on all important elections, 
 particularly the Presidential election, and to facilitate their operations 
 have a complete and efficient organization extending to every State, 
 
THE INIQUITIES OF NEW YORK. 85 
 
 by which they are not only able to exercise a great influence on the 
 votes of the people, but also to obtain exclusive information of the 
 political partialities of the people, and of the probable, if not certain 
 result of the elections in every part of the country. 
 
 To this scheme of political gambling many a victim has fallen. It 
 is not by bets among themselves that the gamblers carry on this game, 
 it is by drawing the ardent and inexperienced young politicians into 
 their snares that they flourish. 
 
 Their instruments by which they operate are conspicuous betting 
 politicians, who are furnished with means by gamblers to bring the 
 young and inconsiderate into their traps. 
 
 What effect the new law will have on this system of political gam- 
 bling remains to be seen. We trust it will be beneficial, but the 
 facility with which it may be evaded, or the impunity with which it 
 may in most cases probably be violated, will perhaps render it partially 
 ineffectual. 
 
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 A Choice Collection of the most Popular and admired 
 
 Sentimental, Patriotic, Comic, Irish, Negro, 
 
 and numeroes other Songs. 
 
 Thi9 work contains not only the New Songs of the fashionable 
 
 Operas, but the Old Ballads that delighted our ancestors. T.iis 
 
 collection is one of the best and cheapest ever made in this country. 
 
 On receipt of Half a Dollar, free of postage, this book will be 
 securelv packed, and sent bv mail lo anv part of the United States, by 
 C. G. GRAHAM cV CO., 39 Ann-street, N. Y. 
 
96 ASMODEUS ; OR, 
 
 C. G. GRAHAM & CO., 
 
 NO. 38 ANN-STREET, NEW YORK, 
 
 HAVE JUST ISSUED A UNIFORM EDITION OP 
 
 Printed on fine white paper, clear and legible type, and each form- 
 ing one large octavo volume, complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong 
 paper cover, and can be sent by mail to any part of the United States 
 lor &% cents postage. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING COMPRISES THE LIST : 
 
 Lena Cameron ; or The Four Sisters. 
 
 The Belle of the Family. 
 
 Sybil Lennard, A Record of Woman's Life. 
 
 The Duke and the Cousin. 
 
 The Little Wife, A Record of Matrimonial Life. 
 
 The Maneuvering Mother. 
 
 The Baronet's Daughters. 
 
 The Young Prima Donna. 
 
 Harry Monk. 
 
 The Old Dower House. 
 
 Hyaeinthe, or The Contrast. 
 
 Alice Seymour. 
 Any one or all of the above will be sent to any place in the United 
 States, by return of mail, on remitting the amount for them to the 
 publisher in a letter. Published by C. G. GRAHAM & CO., 
 
 38 Ann-street, New York. 
 
 THE SONG BOOK OF SONG BOOKS ! 
 
 NOW READY, 
 
 IN A HANDSOME POCKET VOLUME 
 
 OF OVER FIVE HUNDRED PAGES, 
 With a beautiful colored Lithographic Frontispiece, and Numerous 
 Engravings, in Cloth Covers, at only FIFTY CENTS. 
 
 THE CONDITIONS OF HEALTH AND LONG LIFE, 
 
 With practical Directions for their Preservation and attainment, by 
 Robert Chambers, Editor of "Chambers' Cyclopedia,'' &c. Price 
 Twelre and a half Cents. 
 All orders must be addressed to C. G. GRAHAM & CO., 
 
 38 Ann-street, N. Y. 
 
 LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 
 
 By T. S. Arthur, author of " Insubordinate ; or, the Shoemaker's 
 Daughter," " The Maiden," etc. One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. 
 For sale by C. G. GRAHAM & CO., 39 Ann-street, N. Y. 
 
y« >f^N 
 
 ih»^ 
 
 PRICE. FiFTY CENTS. 
 
 6W 
 
 THE YOUNG MOOR , 
 
 OR, THE , . 
 
 I FORTUNES OF A FOUNDLING. I 
 
 H :; 
 
 if 
 I 
 
 - 
 
 1 
 
 T 2 
 
 4" 
 
 
 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 BY EUGENE SCRIBE. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 C. G. GRAHAM & CO., I 
 
 * /) OFFICE OF THE "NATION kh PRESS," 38 ANN STREET^) 
 Ht NEW YORK. 
 
 
 1848. 
 
 H«5^~*- 
 
 COMPLETE l\ ONE VOLUME. 
 
 
CLOTHING EMPORIUM 
 
 AND 
 
 mmmm outfitting itabuime 
 
 No. 27 CORTLANDT-ST., 
 
 Always on hand the largest, cheapest and most fashionable ass 
 merit of Clothing that can be found in this city, embracing all .' 
 latest style garments adapted to the season. With the increasi 
 popularity of the establishment, and the immense increase of patr 
 age from all parts of the United States has stimulated the subscril 
 to still greater exertion to make the House the principal mart of 
 
 In this country. All purchases are made for cash, and from i 
 IMMENSE SACRIFICE which must be made by both 
 
 FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC MANUFACTURES 
 
 I shall be enabled to offer Clothing at a great reduction from all 
 former prices. It is unnecessary to enumerate a long list of prict 
 but would say that gentlemen can find fashionable "and well ma< 
 Clothing at the above Establishment cheaper than any other 1 1 
 in the City. _ Persons residing at a distance, by sending their mea 
 ures can receive Clothing on the same terms as if they were here 
 select for themselves, and sent to any part of the Country by E 
 press or otherwise. 
 
 THE LARGEST AND BEST ASSORTMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 FASHIONABLE CRAVATS, GLOVES, SUSPENDERS, UV 
 BRELLAS, HOSIERY, SHIRTS OF EVERY DESCRIPTION 
 
 in fact, every article belonging to a gentleman's wardrobe can be 
 found at prices that will defy all competition. Strangers and other 
 arriving in the city can find a full or partial outfit by calling on 
 
 J. O. BOOTH, 
 
 No. 27 CORTLANDT STREET, 
 
 A FEW DOORS BELOW THE WESTERN HOTEL.