HIS IFEi WRITTEN BY HIMSELF PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED * ." ; tfCSB LIBRARY X- GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY TM . . . OR CAINAD/V, . . . ST. GLAIR TUNNEL ROUTE. General Offices, Montreal, Canada. London, Office, Dufthwood House, it Neiv Jiroad Street, London, OFFICERS. Sir HENRY W. TYLER, President, London, England. L. J. SEARGEANT, General Manager. W. WAINWRIGHT, Ass't Gen'l Manager. C. PERCY, Assistant to Gen'l Manager. N. J. POWER, General Passenger Agent. G. T. BELL, Assistant Gen. Pass. Agent. J. BURTON, General Freight Agent. J. J. CUNNINGHAM, Ass't Gen'l Freight Agt. H. WALLIS, Mechanical Supt. ROBERT WRIGHT, Treasurer. H. W. WALKER, Accountant. J. FRED WALKER, Traffic Auditor. W. H. ROSEVEAR, Car Accountant. J. BROUGHTON, Freight Claim Agent. H. K. RITCHIE, Stationery Agent. JOHN TAYLOR, General Storekeeper. S. SYMONS, General Baggage Agent. OFFICES : MONTREAL, P. Q. J. STEPHENSON, Supt. (all lines east of the Detroit and St. Clair Rivers) . . . .Montreal, P. Q. E. P. HANNAFORD, Chief Engineer (except G. W. and N. & N. W. Div.) Montreal, P. Q. JOSEPH HOBSON, Chief Engineer (G. W. and N. & N. W. Div.) Hamilton, Ont. JOHN EARLS, Western District Freight Agent Hamilton, Ont. ARTHUR WHITE, Central District Freight Agent Toronto, Ont. R. QUDfN, European Traffic Agent Liverpool, Eng. A. H. HARRIS, Eastern District Freight Agent Montreal, P. Q. AGENCIES, ETC. F. P. DWYER, Eastern Pass. Agent C. & G. T. Ry, 271 Broadway New York, N. Y. F. A. HOWE, General Agent (Freight) , Room 57, Home Insurance Building Chicago, 111. D. S. WAGSTAFF, Michigan and South -Western Passenger Agent, corner Jefferson and Woodward Avenues Detroit, Mich. N. J. GRACE, New England Passenger Agent, 260 Washington St Boston, Mass. G. H. PETERS, Freight Agent, 260 Washington St Boston, Mass. G. B. OSWELL, Central Passenger Agent, 62 1 < Ford St Ogdenstmrg, N. Y. T. D. SHERIDAN, Northern Passenger Agent, 177 Washington St Buffalo, N. Y. R. F. ARMSTRONG, General Agent Maritime Provinces, 134 Hollis St Halifax, N. S. M. C. DICKSON, District Passenger Agent, Union Station Toronto, Ont. R. QUINN, European Traffic Agent, 25 Water St Liverpool, Eng. D. 0. PEASE, District Passenger Agent, Bonaventure Station Montreal, P. Q. J. QUINLAN, Traveling Passenger Agent, Bonaventure Station Montreal, P. Q. Mrs. L. BARBER, Ticket Agent, I International Block Niagara Falls, N. Y. D.ISAACS, Ticket Agent (Prospect House) Niagara Falls, N. Y. G. M. COLBURN, Ticket Agent (Clifton House) Niagara Falls, Ont. E. DELAHOOKE, City Ticket Agent, 3 Masonic Temple London, Ont. G. E. MORGAN, City Ticket Agent, II James St. North Hamilton, Ont. P. J. SLATTER, City and District Passenger Agent, 20 York St., and corner King and Yonge Streets Toronto, Ont. T. HANLEY, City Ticket Agent Kingston, Ont. W. D. O'BRIEN, City Ticket Agent, 143 St. James Street Montreal, P. Q. A. H. TAYLOR, City Passenger and Freight Agent, Russell House Block Ottawa, Ont. T. D. SHIPMAN, City Ticket Agt, oppos. St. Louis Hotel and 17 Sous-le-Fort St., Quebec, P. Q. L. GLEN, City Ticket Agent, 175 St. Vincent Street Glasgow, Scot. H. C. FLOCKTON, City Ticket Agent, 36 and 37 Leadenhall Street London, Eng. T. F. WAINWRIGHT, City Ticket Agent, 2 Pall Mall Manchester, Eng. THOMAS N.^DOUTNEY: HIS LIFE-STRUGGLE AND TRIUMPHS H IDlvtt) pen*ipicture of Iftew H?orfc, TOGETHER WITH A HISTORY OF THE WORK HE HAS ACCOMPLISHED AS A TEMPERANCE REFORMER. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. profuselg ITUustrateO. BATTLE CREEK, MICH.: C. GAGE & SONS, PBINTEBS AND BINDERS. 1893. Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1893, BY THOMAS N. DOUTNEY, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. SEVENTH EDITION, MARCH, 1893. TO THE BEST PART OF MY LIFE, THIS STORY OF MY "LIFE" IS TENDERLY DEDICATED BY THE MAN SHE HAS BLESSED FOR LIFE, HER HUSBAND. SHOOTING THE LACHINE RAPIDS IN A ROWBOAT Near Montreal. STEAMER OF R. & O. NAVIGATION CO., RUNNING THE LACHINE RAPIDS. Near Montreal. INTRODUCTION. WHOEVER wishes to know the life that is lived in New York and the other large cities of America, by thousands upon thousands of human beings, let him read this book. Whoever wishes to peruse the simple, truthful narrative of the sins, sufferings, struggles, yet, by the grace of God, the ultimate reformation and triumph, of an average human being, such as Thomas N. Doutuey, let him read this book. Whoever wishes to learn the history of temperance work in this country, let him read this book. And whoever sincerely desires to know the true nature of the demon Alcohol, and the real character of that hell, Intemperance, from which only the blessing of God on his own exertions can rescue the rum-drinker and the rum-seller, let him read -this book. vii CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE My Birthplace and my Parentage. My Father's Career. My Mother and my Family. "Just as I am" 1 CHAPTER II. Early Impressions. Music and Flowers. The Joys of Summer and of a Canadian Winter. Myself, my Schooldays, and "Home, Sweet Home." The Beginning of Sorrows. The Downward Path. My First "Drink." One Point in which "The Lower Animals" set an Example to Man. Two True Stories with a Moral ... 7 CHAPTER HI. A Boy Drunkard. Two Weeks in a Bar-room as Amateur Bar-tender. A Love-story with a Doubly Disastrous Termination. The Depths of Youthful Degradation . . . . ... ^ . . . .17 CHAPTER IV. A Bad Boy's Dream. A Drunkard's Nightmare. "Bar-room Friend- ships," their Worth and Worthlessness. A Youthful Sinner and his Sorrows. How a Boy Drunkard was saved . . . . . .24 CHAPTER V. The Turning of the Tide. The Trip to " The Hub." " Dime Novel "- ism. The Two Bold Boston Buccaneers, and what became of them. The Boy is the Father of the Man 34 CHAPTER VI. My Collegiate Career. Does a " College Education " educate ? A Lady Graduate. A Typical Irishman. A Question of .Ice-cream and Influence. The Hash-hater, and why he hated it . . . .60 CHAPTER VII. I commence my Mercantile Career. Modern Trade as it really is. Its "Seamy" and its "Starry" Sides. Model Firms and Millionnaires. Centennial Excursions. A New View of A. T. Stewart. Jordan, Marsh, & Co 68 ix TENTS. CHAPTER VIII. PAGE How I fell from Grace, and lost my Place. Railroad Life. On to New York . . . . .82 CHAPTER IX. New York in General. Who come to New York, and what becomes of them. William E. Dodge, and James Fisk, juu. Which of the Two Meii will you imitate ? 88 CHAPTER X. Life in New York, Sensational and Realistic. The Population of the Great Metropolis, and its Characteristic Features. German, Irish, and American New York. Fifth Avenue, Broadway, and the Bowery, 9o CHAPTER XI. A Pen-panorama of New York. The Poor of the Great Metropolis. Castle Garden and the Emigrants. "Les Miserables." "Old Mother Hurley's." The Black Hen's. The Black Hole of Cherry Street. The Mysteries of Donovan's Lane. Tenement-house Life and "Rotten Row." The Summer Poor 101 CHAPTER XII. The Pen-panorama of New York (continued). Crime and Criminals. The Male and Female Thieves of the Metropolis. Meeting Mur- derers on Broadway. The Social Evil. Gambling, Square and Skin. The Gambler's Christmas Eve 120 CHAPTER XIII. The Pen-panorama of New York (continued). The Metropolitan Police as they are. The Detectives. Thief -takers hi Petticoats. How Capt. John S. Yonn^r caught a Thief by Instinct. The Tombs Prison, in id "Murderer's Row " . . . . . . . 149 CHAPTER XIV. A Sunday in New York. Religious and Irreligious Gotham. The Big Fiinpmls of New York. Sunday Evenings in the Great Metropolis. The History of One Memorable Sabbath Day l&J CHAPTER XV. The Wealth of the Great Metropolis. Trade, Speculation, Wall Street, and the Professions. The Adventures of Two Brothers who tried to succeed in New York by being Honest. "Fashionable Society," and what it amounts to. The Bright Side of New York. New York, after all, the Best as well as Greatest City 178 CONTENTS. xi CHAPTER XVI. PAGE Seeking and Finding Employment. New York at Night. " The Sleep- less City." The Demon Rum .... ...... 203 CHAPTER XVII. Drifting and Shifting. A Memorable Sunday. My Adventures in Cin- cinnati. Life on the River-steamboats. It* Tragedy and Comedy illustrated. Steamboat Races, Fires, and Explosions. River-gam- blers. Mock Courts and a Blessed Practical Joke. My Curse con- quers me again .... ....... 209 CHAPTER XVIII. Life in St. Louis. One of the Minor Disadvantages of Drinking. The Smell of Liquor. Serio-comic Illustrations and Anecdotes. ''A Hotel Runner." How an Irishman outbawled me, and bowl out- generalled him. "A Railroad-man" once more. My Father's Grave . ... "'. . ....... 225 CHAPTER XIX. My Newspaper-life in New York. Authors, Critics, Writers, and Jour- nalists as Drinking-men. How Horace Greeley began a Dinner- speech. Smart Men who put an Enemy into their Mouths to steal away their Brains. Alcoholic Stimulants a Curse to Talent. Fast Balls, and their Surroundings. Business and Drink. A Blessing that proved a Bane . ....... 2.% CHAPTER XX. A Silly and Sinful Vow realized. I become a Rum-seller. " The Mer- chants' Union Cigar-store and Sample-room." I dispense Poison to Men and Boys. Selling Liquor to Minors. " Pool for Drinks " . 252 CHAPTER XXI. Selling Liquor to Women. Feminine Intemperance. The Growing Fondness for Strong Drink among Females. Tbe Temptations of Women to Intemperance. Public and Private Balls and Parties. The Supper after the Theatre, the Fashionable Restaurant, the Excur- sion, etc. The Abuses of Drug-stores exposed. The Threefold Horror of Intemperance in Women ....... 261 CHAPTER XXH. A Rum-seller's Responsibility. What I did, and what I have ever since been sorry for having done. "A Drunkard's Bible" . . . . 276 xii CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXIII. PAGE Further Details of my Iniquities as a Rum-seller. " Free Lunches" de- nounced and exposed. The "Cordial" Humbug. The Decoy- bottle. The Story of a Debauch. " The New-York House." Rum and Ruin. The Fate of Rum-sellers 290 CHAPTER XXIV. A Broken Promise and a Broken-hearted Brother. Liquor brings its Revenge. The Horrors of Mania a Potu, or Delirium Tremens. Some Curious and Startling Facts. How I felt and what I suffered. My Adventures and Follies. I became "a Tramp." Station- house Lodgers and Revolvers 301 CHAPTER XXV. " On the Island." The Penitentiary. The Almshouse and the House of Refuge. "Rum does it." Lights and Shades of the Lunatic Asylum. "Island" Notorieties. A Vain Attempt to cure the Drinking-habit. New York and Rum once more .... 315 CHAPTER XXVI. Drunkards and Drinking in New York. The City of Saloons. The Glory and the Shame of the Metropolis. Palatial Rum-parlors, Cosey Bar-rooms, and Corner Groceries . 332 CHAPTER XXVII. The Haunts of the Rum-demon. The Concert-saloons of New York. The Dance-houses. How a New- York Journalist saved a German Girl. The Efforts which have been made by Temperance and Reli- gion to combat Intemperance and Vice. The Wickedest Man in New York, and Kit Burns. " Awful " Gardner and Jerry McAuley . . 338 CHAPTER XXVIII. The Rum-dens of New York To-day. Harry Hill and "Harry Hill's. The Truth about the Man and his Place. The " Mabille " and McGlory's Den. " The Haymarket" and " The Dives." The Real Trouble with the Temperance Movement 358 CHAPTER XXIX. Still Another Opportunity Won and Lost. The Young Men's Christian Association. Its History and Good Work. I am seized with an Idea. And I prepare to carry it out 365 CONTENTS. xiii CHAPTER XXX. PAOE The Stage in its Relation to the Bottle. The "Stars " and Drunkards of the Past. Estimable Men and Women who have been mastered by Bad Habits. And Estimable Men and Women who have resisted these Bad Habits. The Tliree Booths. New Light on the Assassi- nation of Abraham Lincoln. The Drama and the Dram . . . 377 CHAPTER XXXI. My First Lecture. "Great Expectations." A Bitter Disappointment. What I saw and what I did not see on Tremont Street. Two In- telligent and Well-dressed Strangers, and what they wanted with me. A Lecture under Difficulties. A Temperance Lecturer Fallen . 383 CHAPTER XXXII. "The Darkest Hour is just before the Dawn." My Lowest Point. Mania a Potu in its most Fearful Form. My Experience as a Cavalry Recruit. Army Life. My First Prayer. My Reformation . . 392 CHAPTER XXXIII. A Converted Man's Trials. Fear as an Encouraging Sign. Yes and No, or a Scene at Midnight. The Lightning-rod Man. The Life- insurance Agent. The " Drummer " and his "Samples." Book- canvassing. A True Friend and Second Father 403 CHAPTER XXXIV. I Join the Temperance Bands. Remarks as to the Great Usefulness of "Temperance Societies." I lecture under Favorable Auspices. My Triumph and my Troubles. My Book and my Printers. I lec- ture in Washington. Temperance and Intemperance among our Public Men. Sumner and Wilson compared with Saulsbury and McDougall 417 CHAPTER XXXV. My Second Lecture in the Tremont Temple. I vindicate my Cause, and redeem my Failure. I lecture at Stein way Hall, New York. And I peddle my own Tickets for my Lecture. Extracts from my First Book and my Earlier Lectures. Words of Advice, Warning, and Consolation , 432 CHAPTER XXXVI. My Lecture-tour through the Pine-tree State. The First Temperance Camp-meeting. "A Happy Thought" happily carried out. Prohi- bition in Theory and Practice. How I crossed the Kennebec through the Ice. A Seventy-mile Sleigh-ride to Augusta. Two Exciting Episodes . . . . . . ... , 445 xiv CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXVII. PAGE The Women's Crusade. Its Effects in Bangor, Me., and Elsewhere. The Origin and Progress of the Good Work. Scenes and Incidents. The Career of the Crusaders in Cincinnati, Chicago, and New York 466 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Temperance Work. Its History and Progress. The Methods and Achievements of my Predecessors and Colleagues in the Good Cause. The Rev. Drs. Lyman Beecher and Theodore L. Cuyler. The Washingtonians. John B. Gough. Father Mathew and Francis Murphy, etc .... 479 CHAPTER XXXIX. A Tribute of Gratitude. In Memoriatn of those who have befriended me. A Long List of Good Men and Women 487 CHAPTER XL. My Best Friend. How I wooed and won ray Wife. I obey an Irre- sistible Impulse, and meet my Fate. A Short, Sweet Love-story. I link my Life with a Good Woman 493 CHAPTER XLI. My Professional Temperance Work. Its General Aspects. Its Details and Narrative. My Success at Watertown, N.Y. My Struggles and Triumphs at St. Paul, Minn. My Campaign along the Hudson, Newburg, Yonkers, Nyack, etc. "The Temperance-tent" at Rochester. The Good Cause in New Jersey. Temperance Matinees at Albany. Blue Ribbons and Practical Philanthropy. Enthusiasm at Saratoga. South and West. Richmond, Va., and Richmond, Ind 500 CHAPTER XLIL My Wanderings, and Warfare with the Demon Alcohol. North, South, East, and West. In Villages and in Cities. My Visit to Brooklyn. My Adventures in Providence. "Was I not Right?" Scenes, Incidents, and Episodes. Some Misunderstandings. A Summary of my Work. The Brute of a Rum-seller. The Cripple and her Mother. A Baby as the best Temperance Lecturer of them all . 520 CHAPTER XLIII. The Temperance Campaign in New York. How the Metropolis Forgives. Some Striking Illustrations. Why not Woman as well as Man ? The Masonic Temple, the Church, and the Indian Wigwam. Dan Rice, Happy Jack Smith, and Pop Whittaker. The Search for John A. Tobin. The New- York Press and People . . . . .632 Of p- c/ ( H j w pq RAPIDS OF THE MAGOG, AT SHERBROOKE, QUE. On the Line of the Grand Trunk Railway. LIFE-STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPHS THOMAS K DOTJTNEY. CHAPTER I. MY BIRTHPLACE AND MY PARENTAGE. MY FATHER'S CAREER. MT MOTHER AND MY FAMILY. "JUST AS I AM." THERE is a certain good or ill fortune, as the case may be, that is derived by each one of us, not only from the circum- stances connected with our birth, but from our birthplace. To my mind, it is a positive misfortune to be born amid local sur- roundings that have no beauty ; while it is a direct happiness in itself to be ushered into existence, and to grow up, amid beautiful scenery, amid delightful valleys, or vast green woods, or beneath the grand mountains, or beside the yet grander sea. I therefore really feel grateful that I was born in one of the finest portions of Canada, on the right-hand bank of that mighty river, the St. Lawrence, which is year by year -growing in the esteem of tourists, and which, though not so vast as the Mis- sissippi, nor so romantically beautiful as the Hudson, still pos- sesses characteristic attractions of its own which will always render it an object of deserved admiration and interest. .1 was born in the village of Laprairie, in Canada East, nearly opposite Montreal, to which city my parents removed shortly after my birth. Now, there are few cities which, in point of picturesque beauty, surpass Montreal. With its houses built of the gray limestone from the adjacent quarries, with its MONTREAL AND ITS CATIIEDEAL. numerous tall spires, its many glittering roofs and domes, with its scores of beautiful villas studding its lofty background, the city presents as charming a panorama as is to be seen on the entire continent. It was in this beautiful city that my early youth was passed, and my first, and therefore most indelible, impressions of life were formed. My father's home was in the immediate vicinity of the great Roman-Catholic cathedral, confessedly the largest and finest cathedral in America, surmounted by a tower, the view from which almost defies description. It may seem a little thing, this living near so grand and beautiful a building as this cathedral ; but in reality, in its imperceptible but all- pervading effect upon the heart and mind of the constant be- holder, it was a very important thing indeed. It became, as it were, part and parcel, and a very important portion, of my daily life. It was the first object I saw from my room-window in the morning, the last object I saw from my window at night ere I went to bed. It was with me in its might and beauty all the time. It stole into my soul unawares. Its quiet might and majesty were deeply impressed upon me, far more deeply than I at the time myself imagined. In fact, boylike, I thought nothing about it, I suppose ; but, notwithstanding my careless- ness of the effect, the effect was there, and has remained there ever since. In all my wanderings and adventures, in my darkest hours as in my brightest, the grand yet beautiful pro- portions and outlines of that cathedral have been carried with me in my mind's eye, proving once more the positive truth of those oft-quoted words, " A thing of beauty is a joy forever." My father's name was Thomas L. Doutney, and he was both a gentleman and a scholar. He came of a good old family; and he had been educated at La Salle University, in the famed old city of Quebec, the most celebrated and the most pictur- esque of American cities. It was the first object I saw from my window in the morning" [p. 2]. . THE OLD TOWN OF QUEBEC. 3 Just as my heart has ever fondly turned to Montreal; so my father's heart always tenderly turned, in memory, to Que- bec. My father was never wearied of telling me about the dear, quaint old city of his college days. He would graph- ically describe the fine Upper Town, the semi-aristocratic, semi- religious city which stretched within the walls, devoted part to dwellings, and part to religious edifices, -a city which, even in this nineteenth century, when the days of chivalry are re- called only in the novels of James or Scott, still resembles a mediaeval town, such as the Crusaders might have lived in. Having been educated in Quebec, my father settled in Mon- treal, and, on attaining the age of twenty-one, became the editor and proprietor of a journal a daily journal entitled " L'Aurore des Canadas." My father had always evinced an inclination towards political literature and press-writing, and had taken the trouble (in which respect he differed for the better from most press-writers) to familiarize himself thoroughly with all the practical departments connected with a newspaper. He had literally served " an apprenticeship " to " the newspaper business," and understood all the duties concerned therein, from printer's devil to managing editor and proprietor. He began at the very bottom of the ladder, and by his tact, ability, industry, and character worked his way to the top ; and, had the administration to whose cause he devoted his talents and his paper remained in power, he would have become himself a power in the province. But the usual ministerial crisis came (it comes in Canada just as inevitably as it comes in the mother country) ; and, the ministry resigning, my father's paper's fate was sealed. Like the sensible and dignified dog in the story, who, when he saw preparations made to kick him out of the window, walked down stairs ; my father, seeing that all the patronage would be withdrawn from his paper, did not wait to postpone the evil day, but suspended publication at 4 MY FATHER. once. It was his wisest course ; for, being now relieved from the necessity of supporting what could only be a burden and a failure, he was now free to take advantage of any outside opportunities which might arise. And they soon arose. Aware of my father's practical newspaper training, as well as news- paper abilities, various publishers made him offers of employ- ment in responsible though not very lucrative capacities ; and at different times he became connected with three of the prominent journals of Canada, " La Pays," " La Minerve," and " The Montreal Gazette." I may here remark, that, while on the staff of " The Montreal Gazette," my father visited the United States, and received marked attention in several of the leading cities of the Union. Carrying with him letters of indorsement from his Honor Charles Rodier, Esq., mayor of Montreal in 1858, he was- received with the utmost courtesy by Hon. Daniel F. Tieman, mayor of New York, and other political magnates of the metropolis. Making a somewhat extended stay in New York,. he connected himself with the business department of " The Army and Navy Journal " of New York, and wrote for several metropolitan journals. He afterwards located himself in Boston,, becoming connected with one of the leading papers there, " The Boston Post." But in the prime of life, at forty-five years of age, and in the midst of his useful career, he died suddenly, having experienced more than the usual vicissitudes. of a newspaper career, and never having had an opportunity to do full justice to his abilities. In this latter respect he was like thousands of other men ; but as a loving father, ever struggling for the best interests and advancement of his children, and truly devoted to his family, he has had few equals and no superiors, so far as my knowl- edge and observation of life extends. His pride and delight were in us his children. Tears fill my eyes now when I think of GRAND ALLEE AND ST. LOUIS GATE, QUEBEC, P. O. On the Line of the Grand Trunk Railway. FABRIQUE STREET, LOOKING TOWARD BEAUFORT, QUEBEC, P. O. On the Line of the Grand Trunk Railway. VIEW FROM THE FORTIFICATION, QUEBEC, P. Q. On the Line of the Grand Trunk Railway. THE CITADEL AND GLACIS, QUEBEC, P. Q. On the I.ine of the Grand Trunk Railway. MY MOTHER AND MY FAMILY. 5 my dear departed father. He was much attached to a brother, who is still living, then doing business in Montreal as a whole- sale merchant, highly respected, William L. Doutney. He had also a favorite sister, who resides in Montreal: but his chief affection and pride were centred in his children ; and for their sakes he toiled and struggled, for their advancement he planned and labored, with a self-denial worthy of all praise, and (what is more than any praise) worthy of all the love that can be given to alas ! all that remains of him now his memory. My mother God bless her was, like my father, a Cana- dian by birth and education. Her maiden name was Jane Smith, and she was in all respects a lovely woman. I can see now, as I write these lines, that I was more favored than I at the time appreciated in my parents. They loved each other, and they loved their children, simple facts, which cannot be truthfully recorded of all parents nowadays. I had six brothers and two sisters ; and, take us for all in all, we were a happy family. Three brothers and one sister have since died, and the survivors are scattered; but still my thoughts often revert to the pleasant time when we were all alive and all together. I do not at all agree with the poet who says, " Sorrow's crown of sorrow Is remembering happier things." On the contrary, I have cause to believe that the " pleasures of memory " are very real, and that their essential part is this very remembrance of " once happy days," even though, as the old song has it, they may " be gone now forever." And in my own case I can testify, that, to this hour, the recollection of some quiet, domestic evening in our humble but comfortable home in Montreal, under the wing, as it were, of the grand cathedral, with my father and mother and brothers and sisters, all gathered lovingly and harmoniously together, affects me like 6 MY BROTHERS AND SISTER. the strain of once-familiar music, and thrills me with a sensa- tion of pleasure which more than neutralizes the pathos insepa- rable from my recollections. Perhaps I have special reason for fondly remembering my brothers and sisters, for they have been specially kind and loving to me in the various crises of my wandering life. My brothers, William B., Joseph F., and George P., Doutney, and my sister, Sarah Jane Doutney, have ever evinced a practical solicitude for my welfare. They were all loving brothers and a kind sister to me in my darkest hours of misfortune ; and, although unworthy of such exalted love by pursuing the course I did, they never forsook me, but plead with me earnestly to amend my ways : and by the grace of God, and such constant intercessions to the throne of grace, I believe I stand where I do to-day, on praying-ground. God was truly kind in giving me such good parents and such loving brothers and sisters ; and how can I repay them ? Let it be my constant endeavor to be worthy of such devotion, and prove to them I am not unmind- ful of their attentions ; and may I keep steadfast to the end ! By so doing I shall make atonement for past errors and follies, and I know that their hearts will be gladdened at the joyful news. They all occupy good and responsible positions in the city of New York ; and I mention their names and these facts so minutely, in relation to my connections, to show my sincerity in this narrative. The whole truth shall be told in a plain and simple way ; and though some parts may be bitter to divulge, yet it must be set down just as I am, or, rather, just as I have been, and the reader will see that none can be so hardened and lost to shame but that they may return to the paths of virtue and rectitude. And, in the pages to come, I wish to give all the glory to the Lord Jesus Christ who has saved me ; for without him I am weaker than a bruised reed, and in him alone is my trust. CHAPTER II. EABLY IMPBESSIONS. MUSIC AND FLOWERS. THE JOYS OF SUMMER AND OF A CANADIAN WINTER. MYSELF, MY SCHOOLDAYS, AND "HOME, SWEET HOME." THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS. THE DOWNWARD PATH. MY FIRST "DRINK." ONE POINT IN WHICH "THE LOWER ANIMALS" SET AN EXAMPLE TO MAN. TWO TRUE STORIES WITH A MORAL. I "WAS sent to school at an early age, and was considered an apt scholar. I possessed a fair memory, and, if I once read a book carefully, could always remember its main points. But, although I do not think it advisable in this work to discuss the " vexed questions " appertaining to the system of modern edu- cation, I must say that my experience and observation have convinced me that too much stress is laid in our schools upon the exercise of mere memory. And I must insist, that the mere accumulation of facts, mere " cramming," is not education in the true sense of the term. A so-called " smart " child, who can repeat by rote, or, as it is miscalled, " by heart," or without book, the contents of a text-book, may yet be, to all intents and purposes, a fool, and be utterly ignorant of the meaning of the great truths which the mere words (which he or she, parrot-like, repeats) only imperfectly symbolize and convey. Instances are numerous in which the dunces of schools have become the great men and women of the world, while the examples are equally plentiful of the " crack scholar " of a class never being heard of after he or she left school. Experience and observation have also convinced me, that chil- dren at schools are often overworked, with the best intentions 8 MY LOVE OF MUSIC. generally, alike on the part of parents and teachers, but on a mistaken notion that the more facts a child can repeat the more information that child is likely to retain, an idea that is wholly unfounded. An overloaded mind, like an overloaded stomach, leads, not to health, but indigestion. Still, as a mere matter of fact, I must here record, that, judged by the ordinary standard, I was "a good scholar," a child who always "knew his les- sons." I was an impressionable child, too, rather imaginative, while at the same time of a social temperament, a dangerous combi- nation of qualities, as I have since found it. I was passionately fond of music, and on Sundays would revel in the sublime melody afforded at the grand cathedral. While the notes of the organ pealed through the majestic temple, I would feel that ecstatic thrill which perhaps, of all hu- man sensations, approaches nearest to the bliss of heaven. And I am sure that the religious element in my nature was deep- ened, not deteriorated or lessened, by the glorious music with which it was thus associated. Music and religion should be like man and wife, never sepa- rated. It is to the practical application of this truth that the Roman Catholic and the Protestant Episcopal churches owe much of their success. Father Cummings, who was, when living, the favorite pastor of St. Stephen's Roman-Catholic Church in New-York City, a church so crowded twice every Sunday as to force the sexton often to close the church-doors upon late comers, once re- marked in his pleasant, shrewd way, " I trust to my organist and my choir to bring the people in : the church and I will attend to them after they are once brought in." And it is recorded of a venerable bishop of the Episcopal Church, who was "as wise as a serpent, though harmless as a dove," that, when a pious old lady once remarked, holding up SUMMER AND WINTER. 9 her bands in horror, that she had heard the organist play, upon his sacred instrument, a selection from what she was told was the opera, or, as she phrased it, "the Devil's music," mildly yet forcibly replied by asking the old lady the unanswerable question, "Well, my dear madam, why should the Devil be allowed to have all the best music ? " Why, indeed ? Why, indeed, should vice in general be rendered as attractive as possible, while virtue is allowed to seem wwattractive ? Why should the concert-saloon and the beer-hall resound with sweet or lively music, while the Sunday school or the temperance platform should be either deprived of music, or echo only with lugubrious strains ? Why, indeed ? But music was not my only delight as a child : I was passion- ately fond of flowers and of the works of nature, as I think all healthy children are. I loved to wander in the fields ; I loved to stroll by the river-side ; I loved, in my unconscious yet heart- felt way, "to look up from nature unto nature's God." I enjoyed the short but sweet Canadian summer greatly but I equally delighted in the bracing though sometimes severe Canadian winter. After all, I am inclined to think that poets and novelists have descanted too enthusiastically upon the charms of sum- mer. These -are exquisite, doubtless, but they are also ener vating. To lie all day under a leafy tree ; to sleep, soothed in your slumbers by the rippling murmurs of a babbling brook ; to chase the brilliant butterfly; to plunge into the bath; to sentimentalize in the soft moonlight; to pluck the roses in June ; to enjoy the greenness of July ; or to lazily swing in -a hammock in the dog-days of August, this is sweet in mod- eration : this is refreshing if it forms but part of a holiday, a vacation, a needed rest from labor. But to walk miles in cold, bracing air on snow ; to " sled," or to " coast," or to skate ; to brace yourself up, and venture out into a temperature approxi- 10 " IIOME LIFE" AND THE " BltEAKING-UP." mating zero ; to feel the keen air blowing against your cheeks,, and to be impelled to the necessity of active physical exercise,. this is better than the summer siesta; better because it is braver. And there is a hardy happiness about a Canadian winter, which I thoroughly appreciated myself as a boy, and which, I am glad to find, is gradually growing into favor with the American public ; as witness the Sclat which attended the recent ice-carnival at Montreal, an occasion which brought- visitors from all parts of the United States. For several years, what with my school, my school-com- panions, my cathedral music on Sundays and holidays, my happy summers, my still more delightful winters, and, above all, with my father and mother and brothers and sisters, my "home, sweet home," I was indeed happy, happier than I have ever been since, happier, probably, than I will ever be- again : for true happiness is like the plant that only blooms once in a lifetime ; and, alas ! alas ! how many live and die without ever having found it bloom at all ! Then the " break " came. My father was obliged to leave Montreal on his business. My mother was taken sick, became a confirmed invalid, and was removed to a hospital. Pecuniary difficulties increased our other troubles, and my " home life " ended. Sorrows seldom come singly, and in my case they over- whelmed me in whole troops. Financial and family troubles increased, till our once happy and united household was en- tirely broken up, like thousands of households before and since ; while we poor children were thrown upon the mercy of a cold world. For a while I could not fully appreciate the change in my position and prospects. I felt, and, alas ! I acted, like one in a dream, who was sure he would soon somehow awaken to a more agreeable reality. " My companions, and the bar-keeper, and the men around, only laughed" [p. 11]. MY FIRST GLASS OF LIQUOR. 11 I was always of a social nature, and rather what is called " popular " among my companions ; and I paid the full price of this curse of " popularity," for such mere " personal popu- larity " often is. I was not forced to feel at once our changed pecuniary posi- tion. Although I was taken from school, I still had for a while a roof to shelter me, and even a little pocket-money ; and my pocket-money and my popularity together ruined me. I was induced to drink, and soon formed a habit of drinking. I have recorded the fatal bane of my life in this short sentence. Well do I remember oh! shall I ever forget? my first drink. I met a boy, a schoolmate, who asked me to accompany him into a gilded bar-room we were passing. I accepted the invitation, and I followed my youthful companion to the bar. We could scarcely yet reach up to the counter ; but we regarded ourselves as men, and men we really were so far as having one of the worst appetites of men could constitute a man. My companion was evidently accustomed to the place. He nodded carelessly to the bar-keeper, who nodded familiarly to- him, and placed a bottle of whiskey before him on the counter. My companion poured the fiery liquid from the bottle into his glass, and I followed his example. My companion poured the fiery liquid from his glass down his throat, and I followed his example. Never shall I forget my sensations as I swallowed this my first glass of liquor. It seemed as if a fire were rushing through my veins. It seemed as if my brain and my body were dilating under the draught. I imagined myself for a moment a giant: and then the re-action came, and I only knew that I was deathly sick ; that I I, the child of a fond father's and mother's and brothers' and sisters' love and prayers was drunk in a bar-room. Alas! I must then and there have been a sight to make the angels weep, though my companion and the bar-keeper and the men around only laughed. I must here 12 INSTINCT VERSUS REASON. remark, that of course I did not at one bound become a whiskey-drinker: I did not, "at one fell swoop," become a drunkard. No : I had, previous to the sad scene just related, been for some time in the habit of drinking beer and ale and malt liquors ; and I had contracted the habit of frequenting the public-houses and the beer-saloons. In nine cases out of ten, boys, like men, become drinkers and drunkards gradually, by a slow but sure progression, or, rather, retrogression. The famous ancient saying holds good (or bad) in these modern days : " Facilis descensus averni " (" Easy and imperceptible is the descent into evil"). It was thus in my case. I began first to sip, when a small boy, small-beer ; then it was but a step, and a natural one, to cider ; then but another natural step to ale ; and then the ordinary and almost inevitable result fol- lowed, and I took my first drink of spirituous liquors under the circumstances and with the result already described. This first drink caused me, in its results upon my youthful system, a physical agony, which one would think would have had a permanently beneficial effect upon me in leading me ever after to dread and avoid the cause of such suffering. But, unfortunately, the suffering was but transitory ; and the sin was soon repeated, with less suffering at the time. There seems to be this characteristic difference between man, said to be endowed with reason, and the lower animals, which are endowed only with what is called "instinct." The latter will seldom repeat any experiment which has once been proved by them to be pernicious upon themselves. Whereas man, the lord of creation, so self-styled, man, made in the image of his Maker, will repeat, and will keep on repeating, an action, or a course of conduct, which he has proved, which he knows, to be injurious. A monkey on board a ship some years ago was given some rum by the sailors, and for a while enjoyed himself hugely with NAN AND THE MONKEY. 13 his liquor. He drank freely, swallowed glass after glass of the fiery liquid, and became hilariously drunk, to the intense delight of the crew in general, and of the captain in particular, who was a heavy drinker. For a while Master Monkey was as happy as a king, or, as the phrase goes, as " drunk as a lord." Then " a change came o'er the spirit of his dream," and Master Monkey did not feel quite so kinglike or so lordly. Then he ceased his antics altogether, huddled himself up in a corner, and looked as he felt, intensely wretched and deathly sick. Master Monkey was paying the penalty of his intoxication. In a few days he recovered from his sickness completely, and was as well as ever. So far the analogy between him and an ordinary " drinking " man was complete. So far the man and the monkey were precisely similar. But at this point all re- semblance ended. For when, a few days later, the sailors again offered Master Monkey some more rum, the monkey, instead of accepting the offer, and the liquor, resented the one, and fled from the other. He snapped at the sailor who offered him the rum, and then ran away, and climbed up the rigging, where he remained for hours. And never again, during that voyage, could the monkey be induced to taste one drop of that rum. Once the captain tried to force some of the liquor down his throat ; but the brute (?) (was he a brute, after all ? or, rather, which of the two creatures was the real brute, the monkey or the captain ?) fought fiercely, and finally compelled the captain to desist. A year later that vessel went down at sea, with all hands on board. A severe gale arose, and possibly it could have been safely struggled through with (for the vessel was stanch ; and the captain, when sober, was really a skilful seaman) ; but the captain and crew alike were more or less under the influence of liquor and the ship went down. 14 THE ELEPHANT AND TOBACCO. Now, in tliis instance, was not the order of nature clearly and directly reversed ? Did not the monkey act like a man, or as a man should act ? And did not the men act in a way that would disgrace a monkey? Many similar anecdotes illustrating this point could here be given did space permit. Experiments have been tried with intoxicating liquors upon dogs and cats ; and, in the majority of cases, the animal would never voluntarily repeat its intoxication. True, there have been exceptional cases. I knew of a cat once that had formed an acquired taste for liquor, and whose antics, it must be confessed, while under the influence of whiskey punch, were very amusing, to the spectators at least; though I cannot answer positively for the cat. But, in the great majority of instances, the point I have made holds good. And it certainly is a good point in favor of mere instinct and the lower animals. The same point holds with regard to the use of tobacco. Animals which have once been made sick with tobacco, never, or " hardly ever," can be induced to give " the weed " a second trial. A striking and terrible illustration of this fact was afforded some years ago, in the career of a Western circus, recorded by the well-known actress and authoress, Olive Logan, in her book upon the stage, and show-people generally. An elephant had once been offered a piece of tobacco, which he had greedily taken up in his trunk, and eagerly swallowed. It made him sick and disgusted ; and, elephants having long memories, he did not forget his experience. Some months afterwards a man visiting the show " fooled " the elephant by substituting a quid of tobacco for a cracker, and causing the monster to swallow the former in haste in mistake for the latter. The elephant at once became infuriated, broke loose, and carried confusion and dismay with him in his course THE WRECKING OF A CIRCUS. 15 of destruction, bringing the performances to an unexpectedly abrupt end. Having vented his wrath on the circus-tent and its surroundings, the now thoroughly maddened brute rushed to the railroad-track, on which a freight-train was rapidly ap- proaching round a curve. Ere the collision could be averted, the elephant and the locomotive " collided," the beast was killed, and the locomotive was thrown off the track, and the engineer and fireman were seriously injured. But this was not all. In the crash caused by the elephant's escapade, the cage of the tiger belonging to the show had been upset ; and the tiger had escaped. It can readily be understood what ex- citement was created by this fact, and how the farmers at once combined, and patrolled the country, for their protection from the tiger. After attacking and killing several valuable horses, and giving chase to several men, the tiger was finally killed, chiefly through the nerve of a " wild Irish girl," a servant at a farmhouse, who had never seen a tiger in her life, and who, regarding it as a mere " curiosity," led her master and his sons to the spot where she had seen the beast basking in the sun. And all this wrecking of a railroad-train, this destruction of property, and this danger to life and limb, simply because an elephant, who had been made once sick by chewing tobacco, resented the attempt to make him chew it again. . But boys and men will smoke or chew or drink, be taken horribly sick from the effects of tobacco or liquor, and yet will persist in smoking, chewing, or drinking (or all three) till the very indulgence which once made them sick becomes -a very necessity of their lives from habit. It was thus in my case ; and, ere I was sixteen years of age, I was both a smoker and a drinker, and sometimes, alas ! a profane swearer also. And I had drifted into being a " hanger round " bar-rooms and beer-saloons, and had become quite a frequenter of the thea- tre, when I could get a " free " ticket, or could obtain what is 16 ON THE DOWNWARD ROAD. known as a " bill-board " admission ; i.e., a ticket given in re- turn for distributing dodgers, circulars, or other printed matter connected with a theatre, or for " posting bills." I have nothing to say here against the theatre properly con- ducted, and I have certainly nothing to say for it in general ; but this I must and will say, that it is a dangerous place for a boy, such as I then was, to form the habit of attending, especially without the restraint of the presence of some older member of his family. I suppose that the majority of actors, actresses, and theatre-goers will confess this much at least. The theatre is assuredly not the proper place for the child, the lad ; and it was one of the worst phases of my downward career at this time, that my evenings were passed, not around the domestic fireside (alas! I had then no fireside to sit around), but under the glare of the gaslights, and under the spell of the footlights, and in the midst of companions of my own age, whose choice delights were drinking and smoking, and whose highest joy was to at- tend a theatre. I was thus fairly (or foully) started on the road to perdition, and yet I knew it not. The terrible serpent that was encircling me in his folds gave no warning. I heard not his awful hiss ; I felt not the deadly venom of his fangs ; but all unconscious I wooed him, like the poor bird which stands entranced, and flies helpless to its own destruction. And it is ever thus with crime. " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace." CHAPTER III. A BOY DRUNKARD. TWO WEEKS IN A BAR-ROOM AS AMATEUR BAR- TENDER. A LOVE-STORY WITH A DOUBLY DISASTROUS TERMINATION.' THE DEPTHS OF YOUTHFUL DEGRADATION. AMONG the "friends" (Heaven forgive me for using this sacred word in this connection !) among the acquaintances I had formed at this time, was a young man who was a bar-tender at one of the saloons which I frequented, and who had taken quite a fancy to me for some reason or other, or perhaps with- out any reason at all. This young man was, I suppose, quite as honest, as honesty goes, as the average bar-keeper : he did. not, I presume, abstract any more than the usual percentage from the " till " of the proprietor of the place ; he did not exact any more than the bar-keeper's ordinary " commission " OE " sales," and returned as large a proportion of the liquor-money to his " boss " as the rest of his class and occupation. But he was " courting " a young woman who lived in the vicinity of the saloon, and who was herself quite in demand among the swains of Montreal. The young bar-keeper had several rivals, and among them a young mechanic who came to see the young lady regularly every evening after his day's work was done, and whose addresses were received with favor by the young lady's mother ; though the girl herself, girl-like, rather affected the young bar-tender, who was decidedly good-looking. Find- ing the young mechanic at the house every night, and seeing the mother's preference for him, the young bar-keeper made it a point, as much as possible, to call upon the daughter during 8 17 18 WORSHIPPING A BAB-TENDER. the day, when he had the field all to himself; the mother being engaged in household duties, and the mechanic being hard at work at his shop. But, to do this courting by daylight, he was obliged to neglect his duties by day, such as they were, at the satoon at which he was employed. Although this neglect of duty sat lightly on his conscience, still he was glad when the idea occurred to him one day to get me to tend bar during his absences. He saw that I had nothing to do, which was un- fortunately the case ; that I had a neat, quick way with my hands, which was also the case ; that I was popular among a certain set of drinking boys and men, and might induce a certain amount of custom, which was the case, most unfortu- nately of all. But his chief dependence was my affection and respect and admiration for himself, feelings which really ex- isted for him in my breast. All boys are hero-worshippers at heart. They detest sham instinctively ; but, down at the bot- tom of his being, every boy cherishes some ideal, good or bad> and gives it the tangible shape of some man or woman, or per- haps some boy or girl, whom he knows and worships. The idol may be unworthy of its shrine, and disgrace its worship- per ; but it is adored nevertheless, with a zeal seldom given to the idols of later life. And I worshipped just then, I idealized and idolized, a bar-keeper. I moulded myself after his fashion. I took him for my pattern as far as I could, in style of dress and in manner. He was fond, I remember, of wearing his col- lar loose around his neck, a turn-down collar, rather wide ; I wore a similar collar, after a similar fashion : he affected colored handkerchiefs ; I invested a considerable proportion of my " petty cash " in colored handkerchiefs : he had a rather free and easy sailor-like gait ; I tried 1 to compass a similar variety of locomotion, though I only indifferently succeeded he was fond of " slang," and possessed a copious vocabulary thereof ; I absolutely devoted myself assiduously to acquiring "A GENTLEMAN'S SON." 19 all the " slang " words I could hear or remember, and became sufficiently versed in " argot " to have pleased in that respect a Victor Hugo. Had my idol been a great and a good man, and had I imitated him with a like sincerity, I would have been the pattern boy of my time ; but, as my model was onl" a bar-tender, I became what I was. But, such as I was, I suited the young bar-tender's purposes exactly ; and I was installed as locum tenens while he was " courting." I received strict instructions not to " give away any " liquor, to allow no " free " drinks. I was told on no account to permit anybody behind the bar, or to allow anybody to help himself, except in the regular way, from a bottle placed before him on the counter, in exchange for currency. I was cautioned not to be "too thick " or intimate with my boy companions, to ever preserve in my intercourse with them a certain official dignity (?) ; save the mark, and to keep an eye to business. Above all, I was warned, not to trifle with the receipts, not to " knock down '' -any, but to return faithfully to the bar-keeper every coin that I received from customers. These were rather strange cautions and instructions to be given by a bar-tender to a gentleman's son : but degradation, like misery, makes strange companions ; and I received my orders with submissive complacency, and at first sincerely endeavored to obey them. It may seem strange ; but I really felt a certain pride in my position, and endeavored, boy as I was, to make a'model bar-keeper. Had I been "the head boy of my class," or the prize scholar of a Sunday school, I could not have felt more the " dignity " of my position. I was puffed out with a sense of my own importance, almost weighed down with a realization of my responsibilities. I strutted around the bar-room as though I were the proprietor thereof. The real proprietor, by the by, was therx absent from the city, and little -dreamed of what was transpiring in his absence. 20 ONE OF THE "BEST FELLOWS IN THE WORLD." For a while all went smoothly ; and I seemed to give genera! satisfaction, to all but my boy cronies. They certainly ex- pected, when they saw me assume the position of bar-keeper, that they would have " the free run " of the bar-room ; and r when they found that they were mistaken in this idea, they called me names, and tried to make fun of me, and then got downright angry, and sent me, in their boyish way, to Coventry,, withdrew their companionship from me, and at last patronized an opposition saloon across the way. I saw this was going too far, and relaxed my dignity ; and,, availing myself of my privilege as bar-keeper to invite the boys occasionally to a drink, I managed to prevent the entire with- drawal of their patronage. On the whole, for the first week, I discharged my rather per- plexing duties with a conscience and a tact worthy of some- thing far better, and received the approval of my idol, the young bar-keeper ; who, seeing that I was doing well, and becoming himself more and more absorbed in his courtship, relaxed in his watchfulness over me, and let me do pretty much as I pleased. And then I followed suit, and relaxed my own watch- fulness over myself. Hitherto, oddly enough, my very freedom to drink now all that I wanted had led me to rather less indul- gence than usual ; but, after the first week, I yielded to my pro- pensity for stimulants, and became one of the " best customers " of my own bar. I blush to write it, even now, after all these years ; but I became habitually and constantly under the influ- ence of liquor, and, during the second week of my bar-tending,, hardly ever drew a sober breath. And my conviviality increased with my intemperance. I " treated " my boy companions more frequently, and " trusted " them for 'drinks more and more, till at last I had more than regained my original popularity with them, and was known as one of " the best fellows " in the world, a sure sign that I was TRAINING FOB A FIRST-CLASS RASCAL. 21 becoming one of " the worst." It now became a regular thing to find some dozen or more lads at the saloon every morning, drinking and making merry at the expense of the " bar," an assemblage of youthful sots, with myself as head toper. I stationed a boy at the door of the saloon to keep watch, in case the bar-tender should suddenly return ; and, meanwhile, the stock of liquors, cigars, and small-beer was suffering depletion at an alarming rate. Once, while in the midst of our orgies, the boy outside rushed in with the news that the bar-tender was coming. I managed to get some of my companions out by a side-door, and I con- cealed some others in a closet ; while I stepped behind the bar, and pretended to be busily 'engaged in serving drinks to two of the oldest lads, who I made it a point to see paid for their liquor. The bar-tender then suspected nothing, and did not remain long. But, during the ten minutes of his stay, I contrived to add the sins of lying and dishonesty to my other transgressions. For I deliberately falsified the receipts of the bar, and lied wholesale about every thing connected with the management of the saloon. And, as soon as the bar-tender left, our orgies were resumed. I was in rapid course of training for a first-class rascal. So far no contretemps had occurred ; but I noticed that my idol, the bar-tender, began to be less spruce and jovial than his wont, and to neglect the fit of his collar, a sure sign that something was the matter. As I afterwards ascertained, his suit with the >oung lady was, spite of all his exertions, and outlay of time and " taffy," not progressing favorably ; and the me- chanic was gaining ground, not only with the mother, but the daughter. This rendered him moody, irritable, and suspicious ; and at last the " flare-up " came. 22 KICKED OUT INTO THE STREET. One morning he summoned up courage to propose direct to- his young lady, was refused point-blank, and was told by the mother not to enter the house of his charmer again. This rendered him wild with rage and chagrin ; and in this mood he- rushed back to the saloon, to drown his sorrows in spirits. At that precise moment I was surrounded by some ten lads,, all drinking freely at my (or, rather, the establishment's) expense. And, as luck would have it, I had forgotten this morning to station my usual " lookout " at the main door. In walked the angry bar-keeper, in stalked upon us the dis- comfited lover; and, although the shock sobered me for a moment, I was at my wit's end. I saw that my time had come. In vain I flew around, or tried; with my unsteady legs, to seem to do so. In vain I tried to convince the bar-tender that I was working for his interest. The room was filled with my companions, all more or less intoxicated. The vile stuff which formed the only stock in trade of the accursed place was con- siderably reduced, while the money-drawer made no corre- sponding exhibit. An investigation ensued, short, searching,, and decisive. The bar-keeper's eyes were opened now ; and he- took in the present situation and the recent past, in a glance. Cursing his folly, his love, his mechanic-rival, and himself^ he began to curse me and my companions. And then I blush to say it he kicked us boys all out into the street, commen- cing with me as the principal offender. It had come to this. I, the son of a gentleman, well bom and carefully reared, the child of hopes and prayers, was called 44 a young loafer," and deserved to be called it, and was- kicked out into the streets, and deserved to be kicked, by a bar-tender. v For a moment I was too dazed and too drunk to fully real- ize my indignities. I only felt the physical pain inflicted by my chastisement. Then I began to feel a positive mental or " ' So you are getting to be a drunkard, and stealing my ruin,' the bar- keeper had said to me. as he gave me his last kick into the street " [p. 23]. A DEUNKAE1} AND A LOAFER. 23 sentimental pain, in thus having broken the bond that had linked me to my boyish idol, the bar-keeper, whose kicks still smarted. And at last I experienced a sense of my own degra- dation, a bitter sense of the depths to which I had fallen. " So you are getting to be a drunkard, and stealing my rum," the bartender had said to me as he gave me his last kick into the sidewalk. And the words rang in my ears, a loafer and a drunkard a drunkard and a loafer. A mere boy, and yet both. With these awful, because true, words sounding in my ears, I staggered (I would have rushed, but I was too drunk to " rush ") away from my companions, and burst into tears, tears of shame, tears of real though unavailing penitence, which, could I have shed them under a father's eye, or with a head buried on a mother's lap, might have been such tears as the Peri in the poem would have gladly presented to the Most High as the most acceptable of all offerings. But, alas ! practically fatherless, motherless, and homeless as I was, the tears soon subsided into a moodiness of shame, in which I remembered only the degradation of the kick, but forgot the still greater degradation of its cause. And all that day I wandered aimless through the streets of Montreal, utterly wretched; and the night closed upon me as far from real reformation as when the day began. What could be more truly terrible than my position ? I was a gentleman's son, and had been kicked out of a low drinking- saloon. I was a mere boy; yet I had been called a diunkard and a loafer, and had deserved my titles. CHAPTER IV. A BAD BOY'S DKEAM. A DRUNKARD'S NIGHTMARE. " BAB-KOOM FRIEND- SHIPS," THEIB WOETH AND WORTHLES8NESS. A YOUTHFUL SINNER AND HIS SORROWS. HOW A BOY DRUNKARD WAS SAVED. IF it were not for the duty I owe my readers, I would pass over very briefly this dark period of my early life. But I wish others to derive benefit from my experiences ; and, therefore, my first evident paramount duty is, to record my experiences just as they really were, not as I would prefer now to represent them. I was " a bad boy," with the curse of an already acquired desire for stimulating drinks daily fastening itself more firmly upon me. If any fact more deplorably pitiable than this can be stated, I have not yet found out this fact, nor would I know how to state it. I went down hill rapidly, suffering step by step as I went down. After my experiences in the saloon where I "tended bar," I carefully avoided entering that place : but there were other saloons ; and I patronized these, so far as ni} r daih" de- creasing means would allow. I got into the habit of picking up little stray jobs, any thing to get a little money, but not to buy clothes with, though I was " seedy " and " shabby ; " not to purchase even food with, though I was occasionally com- pelled now to " go hungry ; " not to relieve the necessities of my scattered family, but to gratify my accursed thirst for strong drink. As fast as I earned in any way a little money, 24 " One night I had fallen asleep drunk in a cart near a stable. I awoke with a terrible headache, to find the rain pouring down upon me " [p. 25]. AN OUTCAST'S DEE AM. 25 I would hie me to some saloon, some gilded or not gilded " rum- liole," and spend it. Often the shades of evening would creep over the earth, find- ing me at my unholy revels, with all sorts and conditions of low companions. And then, finding that I was unfit to appear in the presence of any decent man or woman, I would slink away, supperless, about nine or ten o'clock at night, to some out-house or cellar or empty wagon, and sleep away my de- bauch. One night I had fallen asleep drunk in a cart near a stable. I awoke with a terrible headache, to find the rain pouring down upon me. Dripping wet, I arose, and walked to and fro, from one place of temporary shelter to another, an object which even the horses and the cattle in the stables could have pitied. But yet I never repented of the fault and folly which was thus rendering me a fit object for even a brute beast's pity. No : -all the time I stood and watched the ceaseless rain, or tried vainly to sleep in my wet rags, for they were scarcely more, I was consumed with the cursed thirst that had caused all my troubles. I was eagerly craving a chance for " a drink." My morbid fancy was conjuring up, in my lonely desolation, vis- ions of a warm, comfortably elegant room, with mirrors and -chandeliers and tables and a fine " counter," and an array of bottles, full of wine and spirits, with a plentiful supply of cigars, a room in which I was the central figure, the lord and the proprietor thereof, enjoying myself with and enriching myself by my customers. In my fancy I saw myself mixing drinks: in my fancy I felt myself drinking them. I could almost taste the liquor as it poured down my parched throat. And in my temporary delirium I cried aloud, although there were none to hear but the all-hearing spirits of good and evil, *' Yes, I will some day somehow realize this dream : somehow, -sometime, somewhere, I will keep a bar-room, my own bar- 20 A TERRIBLE VOW. room." Thus, in the storm and the night, I made a vow to- become some day, sooner or later, a rumseller, with a "gin- mill " of my own. It was a singularly sad vow for a mere boy to register. It evinced what may be termed an ambitious depth of depravity, but I am recording the simple truth ; and I really made the vow, under the circumstances I have de- scribed. And, as the course of this narrative will show, I after- wards fulfilled it. It seems almost incredible, that in so short a time I should have been brought to this condition ; but thus I was, and I saw not the doom that awaited me. I look back now on this- period of my life, and wonder why I was spared ; but a mer- ciful Providence spared me. And, thank God ! the same kind hand has plucked me as a brand from the burning ; and I have- lived to warn my fellow sinners and sufferers, both by my voice- and my pen, and to denounce that terrible tyrant, alcohol, as- the most malignant of all the fiends that hell, with all its in- finite spite and fury, can belch forth upon the earth. My situation at this period of my career was wretched in- the extreme, and became more miserable every day. Indepen- dent of my terrible faults, my woes were terrible : my poor mother in the hospital, my father a bankrupt, my sister out in the world, and the rest of us wretched ones with only the- humblest, barest shelter, and often deprived of fire and of food. And now I began to feel one of the bitterest pangs of pov- erty, the scorn of those who had known me in better days. Hitherto I had contrived, by hook or by crook, to have a. little money to spend, even though I spent it in rum, and although I had in every way misapplied it ; but now the hour came when I was literally penniless. I had been shabby in clothes for a considerable period, and had become, as it were, used to it. I had grown accustomed to cold and to sdanty BAR-EOOM FRIENDSHIPS. 2T food ; I had even become accustomed to omitting the custom of taking my regular meals, because there were no regular meals for me to take ; but I had always been able, no matter at what risk or sacrifice, to have enough money to pay for an occasional drink for myself and a few boon companions, whose society, such as it was, I courted, and with whom I was still, to a certain degree, popular. But now, face to face with absolute penury, I had no means to cater to bar-room popularity. Without a shilling, I was compelled to be without a drink and without a friend. True, for a day or so I was able to " drink," and even to " treat," on credit. But when I tried to solicit new favors, without settling the old score, my doom was sealed. I was then stamped as a "beat" and a "pauper," and I was driven out of the very bar- rooms in which I had spent my money freely when I had it. I was forbidden to enter the very places whose coffers I had helped to fill. To my depraved mind and vicious habits, these bar-rooms- represented all I knew and cared of comfort. The tavern, God help me ! had taken the place of the home ; and, when I was. turned out of the drinking-saloons, it seemed to me as if I had been expelled from life and Happiness. I felt like Adam when, driven out of Eden. I experienced then what hundreds and thousands have ex- perienced before me, and will, alas! I fear, experience after me, the utter worthlessness of bar-room friendships. Had I been wise, this lesson, impressed so forcibly upon me at so early an age, would have had a beneficial effect upon me ; but alas, alas! I was doomed to sin and suffer on, perhaps that my career might have a more beneficial effect upon others. It is often urged, in extenuation of drinking, that it is a so- cial habit, and that through it valuable acquaintances are often formed. Alas ! there is no more pernicious falsehood than this 28 " DRINKING-ACQUAINTANCES." for it is one of those glitteringly dangerous lies that are partly and only a small part true. Acquaintances are formed through drinking-habits, doubt- less, but not acquaintances worth the risk of drinking, not acquaintances really valuable, honestly worth the having oh, no, no ! a thousand times no ! In a thousand drinks the drinker cannot hope to gain one friend. It could not be otherwise ; for certainly, if drinking-habits were honestly calculated to promote sincere friendships, then would intemperance be excusable, almost a wisdom, not a folly ; almost a duty, not a vice. So great a believer, for one, am I in the moral beauty and practical value of true friendship, that, if I honestly believed that intemperance fostered friend- ship, I would cease to advocate temperance. But, thank God ! the truth is just the other way. Intemper- ance, like all vice, is unfavorable to virtue, and, among other virtues, to true friendship. Bar-room friendships, the intima- cies of intemperance, are merely superficial. They last only as long as the liquor lasts : they are bounded by the limits of the bar-room. I met a commercial drummer once out West, and he had a favorite phrase to designate such people as he only casually or slightly knew. Speaking of a man of this sort, the drummer would allude to him as "only a drinking-acqnaint- ance ; " and the phrase struck me as a very suggestive and ap- posite one. Believe me, O my reader ! the men you drink with are not " friends," they are only " drinking-acquaintances." I was, at this period of my life, forced to learn this truth. Not only did the proprietors and employees of the bar-rooms where I had spent my money, when I had it, ruthlessly expel me from them when I had no more to spend, but my more intimate companions, lads of my own age, my fellow-boys, to use a most common and expressive phrase, " went back 0*1 me," turned me the cold shoulder, and abandoned me. BOY-GRIEFS. 29 In the slang of boys nowadays they regarded me as " N. G. : " I was " played out." Among my companions had been, for several months, a young lad, whose father was in comfortable circumstances, and allowed him a good deal (and a good deal too much) pocket- money, which never remained long in his pocket, but found its way to the pockets of the men who dealt in cigars, liquors, or dime novels, three commodities which, with boys of a certain class, generally go together; and all go one way, to the Devil. I had taken a sincere liking to this particular lad, and we had been a good deal together. I had even done him now and then little favors ; but now, when in my poverty I solicited a favor, a loan of a little money, it was refused on some specious plea, such as boys, in an emergency, are quite as ready with as men ; and from that moment the boy avoided me, as if I had been stricken with the small-pox : he would leave a saloon if he saw me entering it ; he would turn round the street- corner if he saw me approaching. I felt this keenly, although I was too proud to show it. But, though I preserved a certain amount of boyish dignity (there is such a thing, as every boy or man who remembers his boyhood can testify) in the presence of others, I wept many a bitter tear in secret, more over the loss of the once delightful companionship and the destruction of my cherished dreams, than over the more material depriva- tions to which it subjected me. Boy-griefs are as hard to bear for boys, as after-sorrows are for men ; and my grief just then was bitter. Another lad with whom I had become intimate was a trades- man's son, of a less literary turn in the line of dime novels than the boy just mentioned. The former might be classed among lads of a somewhat "sentimental" turn of mind, but the tradesman's son was essentially "practical." He prided 30 A "KNOWING" CHAP. * himself, e\nen at his early age, on " knowing the world " (that is, such parts or phases of the world as were not worth know- ing) ; and he had been looked up to by other boys, and by myself, as quite an " oracle." This " knowing " chap soon taught me that he " knew " me, knew how utterly hopeless and moneyless was my condition ; for when I came to him and asked him, in my extremity, for a little pecuniary aid, he told me, with " a brutal frankness " which -would have pleased Bismarck, that he had all he could do to take care of himself, and that he didn't propose to do any thing for anybody for nothing. " If I wanted some money, why didn't I pick it up for myself, as he did ? " Now, as I wasn't as "posted " on horse-flesh and cards as this jockey and gamester of fifteen years, and as I had not yet made as mairy disreputable acquaintances as he had done, and could not therefore do as, many "odd" dirty jobs for them as he was constantly doing, I was not able to " pick up money for myself as he did ; " although, alas ! I fear that I was quite as willing to " pick it " up this or any other way just then, had I been Thank Heaven ! though bad enough, I never then, or at any other time in my life, was tempted to steal. I had no scruples of conscience against vice. I had become familiarized, child as I still was, with many kinds of low iniquity. I had soiled my hands and soul at various times with petty swindling and cheating, as in my episode as amateur bar-tender, already de- scribed. But I had never directly stolen. And now, in my utterly penniless condition, even now, I was not induced to steal, to become what is even one step lower than a drunkard, a thief. I thank Heaven for this. But I was indescribably miserable. Perhaps in all my after- life I never suffered more than I suffered now as a boy, a boy without parents, practically so ; a boy without home ; a boy THE HAD HOY. 31 without money; and a boy without friends. God help the boy who feels as I felt then ! Hungry and cold, and shabby to the last stage of shabbiness, thirsting with a young drunkard's ever unsatisfied and fiery thirst, without a dollar, and, what was even worse to me then, without a companion in the world, I brooded solitary over my sorrows. Though I had lived but a few short years, yet I was already weary of life. Mere boy as I was, existence seemed to me a conundrum, a terrible conundrum ; and like Smith, in Broug- ham's " Pocahontas," I felt inclined to " lie down and give it up." Though but a boy, I now for a moment felt all that mad desire for self-annihilation which oftentimes possesses the world-wearied, life-exhausted man. True, I thought with a little regret of the dear father and mother whom I was never to see again. True, I looked back fondly in memory to the dear home under the wing of the grand cathedral. True, I remembered fondly some pleasant sports in summers and in winters past. But I also felt vividly my present loneliness, my poverty, my broken home, my desolation, my lost, false, heart- less companions. And I thought, in my moody, boyish way, that if I was once dead, once but dead, all my hungering and thirsting and shivering, and being laughed at and sneered at, and shunned and snubbed, would be over and ended, and I would be out of the way, and life would be out of the way, for- ever. While standing one dark night at a street-corner, terribly despondent, I heard a voice a cheery, hearty voice cry out, "Why, Doutney, what are you doing here?" What was I doing, indeed ? I looked round, and saw a young lad of my acquaintance approaching. He was not one of my " drinking acquaintances," oh, no ! The unsophisticated lad who was now approaching me had never, probably, been in- 32 THE GOOD BOY. side a bar-room in his dull, uneventful, humdrum life. He,, quiet chap, was not in the habit of attending the theatre, and I suppose would not have known what " a bill-board ticket " meant. He knew so little of the world, this mere boy, that I do not suppose he could distinguish by taste the difference be- tween whiskey and brandy. He was what boys of my class, had been wont to call a " muff," or " a milksop," a boy who attended Sunday school, didn't know how to play cards, didn't smoke, didn't swear, didn't do any thing that was done by boys of spirit, and spirits like myself. But still, there he was, ad- vancing towards me, happy, healthy, hearty, well-clad, going home, I supposed, to family prayers maybe, but still to a family and a home. While I I, who a few weeks ago would have despised this happy milksop and " good boy " was But, before I could fully realize the contrast between us two, the boy had come up to the corner where I stood with despair in my soul. And then to this hour I cannot distinctly re- member how it all came about but in a moment more I found myself telling my companion all about myself, my faults, my folly. I found myself crying, with my head on his shoulder,, crying like a child, indeed, crying as if my heart would break. The boy had asked a few childish questions, said a few childishly kind words; and the flood-gates of my heart had been opened. His utterly unexpected kindness had healed the wounds inflicted upon my heart by the as utterly unexpected desertion of my former companions. His soothing sympathy had brought me back from desperate, moody despair to healthy, human sorrow, which, shared by another, was lessened, almost sweetened. In a few minutes I, the boy-drunkard, who had naturally, step by step, become the boy-outcast, was walking almost hap- pily side by side with a boy a pious, God-fearing boy whom I had previously only sneered at and despised. And, in a few- A BOY SAVED BY A BOY. 33 minutes more, I, the homeless wanderer of the streets, was in the midst of a happy home-circle, seated beside a cheerful fire, eating with a relish, and drinking, not vile whiskey or beer, but harmless, healthful tea ; while my boy-preserver bustled about, doing all he could, in company with his little sister, to make me as comfortable as possible. His father and mother had known my father and mother years before ; and for their sakes and mine, and, above all, in- duced by their own goodness and kindness, they were that night and the next day very good and kind to me, a waif and a stray. That night, instead of lying in a gutter, perhaps passing from insensibility into eternity, I was snugly tucked up in a com- fortable bed, with my boy-preserver as my room-mate. And bad boy as I was, degraded drunkard, and almost desperate and reckless as I had been that night, I felt grateful to a God in whom I had that night learned to believe, by the irresistible argument of being brought into contact with those who believed in and loved and served Him. And when my boy-preserver, just before going to bed, knelt down at his bedside, and said the Lord's Prayer, I did not then think or call him a cad or a muff or a milksop : I did not then sneer or laugh at the pious Sunday-school boy. No : I felt then and there, in my inmost heart of hearts, that he was wiser in his innocence, on his knees, with his prayers, than a thousand such as I of bar-room loafers and loungers. And, feeling this, I humbly crept to his side, fell on my knees with him, and for the first time, alas ! for years, prayed to " Our Father who art in Heaven." CHAPTER V. THE TURNING OF THE TIDE. THE TRIP TO "THE HUB." " DIME NOVEL "- ISM. THE TWO BOLD BOSTON BUCCANEERS, AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM. THE BOY IS THE FATHER OF THE MAN. THE tide had turned. My evil fortunes had reached their lowest ebb at the moment of my deepest despair and my provi- dential preservation. From that moment good luck, or, shall I not more reverently say, a kind Providence, continued to smile upon me. Just as the kind, truly Christian father and mother of my boy-preserver took me in hand, to see if they could not procure me a situation in some store or office, to keep me independent, and to keep me out of mischief, I received a letter from my dear father, informing me that good fortune had befallen him also, and that now he had arranged for me to come to Boston, where I could live and be educated at the House of the Angel Guardian in Roxbury. This was far from being a brilliant future, but it was cer- tainly far better than the life I had been leading of late ; and it was preferable, I thought, to working hard in some office or place of business : so I immediately obeyed my father's sum- mons ; and, bidding a grateful good-by to my benefactors, I started on the train from Montreal to Boston. I had an- nounced my departure for Boston to a number of my compan- ions, and had made the most of my good luck in narrating to them, and unconsciously exaggerating, the " good luck " which had happened to my father. I had enough of " human nature " 34 HUMAN NATURE IN BOYS. 35 in me to make a point of dilating upon my rose-colored pros- pects to those who had snubbed me and been cold to me in my recent misfortunes. I was particularly eloquent upon my future prospects (?) in the presence of my former companions, the dime-novel reader and the young lad of a " practical " turn of mind, who had treated my misfortunes with such indiffer- ence. I must have led them to imagine that my father had been left a large fortune, and that I was rich for life ; and I heartily enjoyed the changed manner of these and my other companions towards me. I noticed how much more cordial and even respectful they were to me now than before ; and I heartily enjoyed the change, though I cordially despised them for changing. It is a mistake to suppose that boys are not as selfish and as politic as men. " The boy is the father of the man ; " and just as " the world " and worldly ideas and inter- ests control the man, so they modify, if they do not positively control, the boy. The boy whose father is " in luck " will be held, among most other boys, to be in luck himself, and will receive a share of attention and admiration much greater than will generally be awarded to the son of a poor or unfortunate father. So I, a boy about to be sent on to the great city of Boston, where I was to live comfortably and be educated (that was the idea I gave out, in fact that was the idea I entertained myself, not exactly knowing what the peculiar character of "The House of the Angel Guardian " might be), was considered and treated very differently from the way I had been treated but recently, when I had been regarded as an almost pauper boy, the son of a ruined man, who had not a dollar in the world. Under ordinary circumstances I would have commemorated my " good luck," such as it was, by drinking, and by inviting my companions to drink; but I am glad to be able to -state that I did nothing of the kind just then. I had had enough 36 "A COLD-WATER HOUSEHOLD." of drinking for a while. I had not yet become the constant, Confirmed, inveterate slave of intoxicating drink. I was but a young fool, and therefore not quite so persistently foolish as an old fool. I had my lucid intervals, and this was one of them. Besides, I have always been of a very impressionable nature, a temperament which has alike its great advantages and disadvantages, but of which I reaped one of the advantages now. I was completely at this period tinder the blessed influence of the temperate and Christian family which had rescued me from despair and possibly from death. The head of this happy household, the husband and father, was a sincere and sensible temperance advocate, both in theory and practice ; and I had been forcibly impressed, and, under the circum- stances, most favorably. I was too young, perhaps, to have fully understood all the " total-abstinence " arguments ; but I could already understand, ay, better than most grown men, the inestimable advantages of " total-abstinence " practices. I could not help being led to contrast the health, the steady happiness, the industry and peace and order, of this "cold- water" household, with the heated life and disorder and racket and dissipation of the bar-rooms and saloons which had for so long now stood to me in the place of a home. Nor could I help contrasting my boy-preserver, the only son and pride and hope of this temperance household, with his ruddy cheeks, his bright eyes, his sturdy frame, his well-regulated nerves, his. excellent digestion, his regular sleep, and his love for out-door exercise, with the sunken cheeks, the wasted frame, the wild or dulled eyes, the " shaky " nerves, the ruined health, lost appetite, and inert indigestion, which characterized so many of the boys and men whom I knew as addicted to drink. I was no fool, except when directly under the influence of my curse : and I saw how infinitely preferable was temperance MY UNEXPECTED COMPANIONS. 37 to intemperance ; and therefore, while under the influence and in the bosorn of this well-regulated household, I was perfectly sober and temperate myself, and began to regain my health, which had been severely shattered by my recent course of life, and to even enjoy life once more in a healthy, rational fashion, as a boy should. I became greatly attached to my boy-preserver and to his interesting family, and they became sincerely fond of me. But it was thought best all round, that I should follow my father's wishes, and, -going to Boston, avail myself of whatever he had prepared for me there. So, as I stated some pages previously, I took the train from Montreal to Boston ; but I did not start alone. I had two un- asked for, unexpected companions, two lads considerably younger even than myself, who insisted on accompanying me, and in a rather peculiar fashion. Among my Montreal com- panions had been two boys, cousins and chums, the children of two respectable tradesmen of my father's acquaintance. There was nothing remarkable or striking about the characters of those two lads ; they were not specially bright or provokingly dull ; they were neither abnormally good nor bad ; but they had cultivated a taste for " light literature " in the story-paper and " dime-novel " form, until this taste had grown into a positive mania. They had read all sorts of " boys' books " (which, by the by, are often the very worst possible kind of books for boys), and were perfect walking libraries of juvenile "flash-literature." They spent all their pocket-money, not for vile spirits, as I had been doing, but for almost equally pernicious printed stuff, which demoralized their little minds as my liquid "stuff" had demoralized my youthful nerves. They were regular readers of the "police" papers, and the flash "story-papers," and books of wild very wild "adventure" in the Far very, 38 DIME-NOVEL LUNATICS. very far West. Most boys are prone to what may be styled " dime novel "-ism. I had met other lads with this tendency, as I have previously mentioned ; but these two boys were the two most confirmed dime-novel lunatics I ever remember coming- across. Pirates were as familiar to them as pies, possibly more so. Buccaneers of the Spanish (it generally is the Spanish) Main were as common as their daily bread and butter. The big, bloody Indian, with his waistband full of reeking scalps, was their pocket-companion ; and they were experts in all varieties of the war-whoop. The Italian bandit, with his beautiful captive hidden in a cave in the dense forests, and a stiletto carried in his hand, was an every-day affair ; and mur- der, suicide, poisoning, scuttling of ships, cutting of throats, etc., were as much in their line as playing marbles or hockey, if any thing, more in it. Jack Sheppard was their idol, their hero : Dick Turpin was the very god of their idolatry. They knew ten times more about the history of Jonathan Wild than they did about the history of England. And from reading books of adventure, and believing in them, to becoming adventurers themselves, was but a step. From dreaming of highwaymen and bucca- neers and wild Indians, to endeavoring to imitate their bloody and exciting excellences, was only a natural progression. So when these two bloody minded, blood-and-thunder literary lads heard that I was going to "see life," and "begin the world " at Boston, the great Boston, they determined to go with me, in search of adventure and glory and gore, and hidden treasure and scalps. " The young rovers of Montreal," or " the two bold buccaneers of Boston," would be about their " size " of manliness ; and they made their preparations on this basis. They raked and scraped all the money they could get to- gether, by selling out their stock of tops and marbles, and borrowing right and left under all sorts of lying pretences, for THE PIE ATE S OF THE FUTURE. 39 lying, of course, was a mere bagatelle to amateur pirates and prospective murderers, and even stealing from their mothers and fathers, just by way of preparation for future burglaries. With the money thus surreptitiously acquired, some shillings, the would-be scoundrels of the deepest dye purchased an outfit of deliberate villany, comprising two big clasp-knives, coming as near to the bowie-knife of Western civilization as their limited means would allow ; two fifth or sixth hand pistols, which were warranted to kill, and which certainly, if they ever had gone off, would have killed those who fired them off; powder, etc. ; and, of course, a deck of cards, some tobacco, and a " pocket-pistol " of whiskey, without which last three articles they never could have undertaken to be cut-throats or pirates of any pretence to criminal standing. Having thus provided for all the possibilities of piracy and rapine, the two incipient villains of the deepest hue stole from their homes by the back- door, gliding off as quietly and speedily as possible, lest their mothers might see them, and call them back. Imagine two pirates of the future being called back home, and, it may be, spanked, by their mothers ! Having effected their escape, the two juvenile murderers, breathing the exhilarating air of liberty, emancipated from the thraldom of the parental roof, clutching their clasp-knives, and feeling fondly the pistols in their pockets, and their pocket-pistols, strode hastily toward the railroad-depot ; the younger and more desperate ruffian of the two stopping on his way, however, to invest five cents in " taffy," a sort of candy of which the youthful monster, notwithstanding his depravity, was very fond. Imagine a bloody-minded pirate sucking candy ! The two desperate ruffians reached the train for the States a few minutes before the time for departure, and contrived to enter the hind-car, then empty, unobserved, and concealed themselves under the seats. 40 TWO MEMENTOS OF MONTREAL. All this was utterly unknown to me at the time ; the plan of the two desperadoes being, to wait till the train had started, with me on board, and then to reveal their presence to me, and to throw themselves on my generosity, friendship, and influence with the conductor. Two pirates, they imagined, in their innocence (?) of the world, that, because I had my fare paid for me to Boston, I must be a very rich and important boy indeed ! But, as chance arranged it, they did not have to wait till the train started to discover me ; or, rather, 1 discovered them. I took my place in the rear car, and sat me down right over one of the crouching pirates , talked to the kind lad who had been such a blessing to me, and who had accompanied me to the train ; bade him good-by with tears of real affection and grati- tude in my eyes, and just as I was reseating myself, after waving my hand to him from the window, saw a foot under my seat started then started still more, as I saw a head peer out, and recognized the head as belonging to one of my former companions, one of those whom I was just then thinking I was leaving, perhaps, forever. To say that I was surprised, and then glad, is to use very mild language indeed. Luckily there was, just then, no one in the car to observe, either my wonder or my delight. In a few hurried words I got from the two budding bucca- neers the general idea of their position and their intentions, and entered myself heartily into the situation. I had felt terri- bly lonely leaving my birthplace, my only home for so many years, Montreal. And here was a link supplied me by chance, a tie still connecting me with the dear old town, a memento of Montreal, two mementos, sent on, as it were, with me. I did not feel at all lonely now, with these two abandoned vil- lains lying at my feet. Of course, I smiled at their plans of plunder and piracy. I A PROTECTOR OF HIGHWAY BOYS. 41 laughed at their schemes of unbridled license and adventure. I was several years older than either of the bloody-minded rascals, and had never been so impressed with dime novels as to lose my head. That was not my special weakness. I fully realized that Boston, from what little I had heard of it, was scarcely likely to prove the place for successful plunder, save by grown-up lawyers, politicians, and tradesmen, in the regular way'; I surmised that there was a very slim chance indeed for boy-buccaneers in the city of baked beans, and that the Yan- kees would not tremble, even at the clasp-knives and pistols of my two child-companions : still, there was something in the " romance of the thing " that appealed to my boyish imagina- tion strongly ; there was something in the " running away " of the precious pair, and their hiding away, which fascinated me. Above all, I was glad of their company on my way to a strange city: it relieved greatly the home-sickness that was already beginning to steal over me, and I felt flattered at their appeals for my protection. The amateur cut-throats evidently looked up to me as to a superior boy, almost a man, a boy who was " travelling " open and above board, a boy who knew the world, a boy who had his ticket paid to Boston ; and they evidently depended on this highly favored and enlightened boy to aid them in their distress, and to carry them to Boston with him, or, rather, under him : need I say that their trust was not in vain ? Need I say that I would, just then, rather have died nay, rather have lost my trip to Boston myself than have be- trayed the two defenceless pirates and highway men I mean highway boys who thus trusted in and to me ? Need I say that I at once assumed an air of stupendous wisdom and magnifi- cent condescension, and promised them the full benefit alike of my extensive experience, and acquaintance with the world and the conductor, in case of emergency ? Need I say that I gently soothed their fears, calmed their agitation, and assured 42 IN HIDING. them, in a benignant way, that I, even I, would see them through ; smiling, as I said so, in a sort of superior, far-off way, as though I had, years ago, been a pirate once myself, and scuttled ships upon the Spanish Main, had been a bold Boston buccaneer, and had forgotten or almost forgotten, all about it. My assurances satisfied my two pirates, who thereupon cud- dled themselves under the two seats, the seat I occupied and the seat behind, and kept quiet for a while ; the younger, and, as I have before described him, the more desperate, ruffian of the two, who was stretched out, or, rather, stretched in, under the seat behind me, even betaking himself in his momentary peace and security to sucking at his five-cents' worth of " taffy." But it was now my turn to think and worry. I had assumed the responsibility of protecting these two wandering villains. I had contracted, as it were, to see them through to Boston at least ; but had I not undertaken too big a contract ? As I began to think of the risks they had to run, my head began to swim , and I almost wished that the two monsters of iniquity were safe back at home in their mothers' arms, or, for that matter, even on their mothers' knees, stretched out heads downwards, at any rate, somewhere else than right under me. I knew very little about railroad-travelling myself; but I knew that their only chance was to dodge the conductor, for that nothing I could say or do would be of any avail. I would now have willingly paid their fare out of my own pocket if I had had it in my pocket ; but, that not being feasible, the only thing for them was to hide and to keep hiding : although I did not see how it would be possible for the two wanderers to be hidden long, as people would be entering and passing through the car, in addition to the vigilance of the conductor. For a while, though, accident favored the fugitives. Only two or three passengers entered the car ; and they seated them- selves at the rear of the car, while I and my party were- LEG AND HEAD. 43 near the front entrance. And, when the conductor made his first appearance, my two pirates, being warned by me, kept as still as death, and condensed themselves into the smallest pos- sible space that I guess two buccaneers were ever compressed into. So all passed serenely, and I began to hope that all would so continue. As for my pair of criminals, now that they were really started on their wild career, really stealing, stealing a ride, their spirits rose, although their bodies couldn't; and they exchanged kicks of congratulation, and pinches of sympathy, about their only methods of communication. They even began to exchange ideas with each other and with me by whispers ; but I was fear- ful they would be overheard, and enjoined strict silence. One of my ruffians, the elder one, was of a rather phlegmatic temperament for a pirate, and could have kept still for an indefinite period : but, unfortunately, his legs were very long for his body; and, getting cramped every now and then, one or other of his limbs would protrude beyond the line of seats, whereupon the owner of the protruding limb would be severely reprimanded by me, while his fellow-pirate would warn him against similar future indiscretions by sundry kicks (not of congratulation) and pinches (not of sympathy), and would curse him for an awkward lubber and a daddy longlegs. The younger pirate, however, though he did not transgress with his. leg, was of a nervous, restless temperament, and was all the time desirous of bobbing up with his head. Now, a head ex- tending above a seat supposed to be unoccupied was as likely to attract attention as a leg extending under it ; so I was con- stantly obliged to call the restless little rascal to task, much to the delight of his more quiet, though longer-legged, companion. In fact, what with the two, the leg of the one and the head of the other, I was kept in a state of constant nervous anxiety, in the midst of which my cares were brought to a climax by 44 "CONDENSING A PIRATE." the entrance, at a way-station, of a fat woman, who coolly and calmly seated herself right on the seat behind me, and directly over on top of, in fact the younger of the wild adven- turers. Here was a situation for me, and for him. I fairly perspired with perplexity, which, of course, I was compelled to conceal. What to do I could not guess, but that fat woman must be removed at all hazards. But how? This was the question I asked myself in despair. I opened the window facing my seat. The fat woman seemed rather to like the fresh air. I closed the window quickly, with a bang ; but, after looking at me with mingled curiosity and adipose amiability, she subsided into her seat, content. Suddenly she moved slightly: something seemed to trouble her feet. I could readily guess what it was. The restless young pirate underneath, feeling himself cramped, had stirred slightly, and disturbed her. Oh, if she should take it into her fat head to investigate the cause of the disturbance ! I was on nettles. But she was too fat and too lazy. She didn't investigate, and the pirates were saved. For just then she did for herself what we never could have done with her, she moved her seat. Looking back, she rec- ognized one of the persons in the rear of the car, and got up, and joined her friend. I felt, for all the world, like a criminal who had received a respite. But then the conductor came along once more ; and there was more agony of anxiety, more cramping and condensing of pirate and small boy, till the man of tickets passed on, and there was another breathing- spell. Before a great while my amateur rascals had become thor- oughly disgusted with this style of rascality. They had not calculated on it. Pistols and clasp-knives were here of no avail, and I would not permit them to touch the whiskey they had brought with them. I was firm in my temperance princi- AN IDEA. 4 pies still, and threatened, if they drank a drop, to abandon them, a dire threat, which made my pirates shudder. Still, it was an adventure after all ; and they were getting nearer to Boston every minute. But, at the next station, the doom of my buccaneers seemed sealed. A gentleman and a lady, evidently husband and wife, middle-aged and well to do, entered the car, and seated them- selves right behind me, right over one of my stowaways. They brought plenty of traps and wraps with them, some of which they disposed of in the rack above them, the balance of which they laid upon the seat directly behind them, which was then unoccupied. Then they threw themselves back upon their seat with the air of people who had come to stay, or rather, under the circumstances, to go, and to go all the way ta Boston probably. Two of them, and one of them a man. There was no sort of help for my pirates now. And, to cap the climax, in a little while a new batch of pas- sengers came in : and, the seat behind being in demand, the middle-aged gentleman, who had put some of his things on it> now began to remove them, with the idea of putting them under his own seat ; but one of my pirates was under the seat at that identical moment : and, as I knew enough about natural philosophy to know that two things cannot occupy the same place at the same time, I made up my mind that "the game was up." Then, in my desperation, an idea seized me, an idea that was really bold and clever, if I say it myself. I resolved to grasp the situation, and turn it to my own purposes, to aid fate in bringing about a denotiment, but to change the dnofiment into such a one as I wanted. I resolved to confess all in ad- vance, the confession couldn't be more than a minute "in advance " of discovery anyway now, and to throw myself, that is to say, my fugitives, upon the mercy of the gentleman 46 FICTION MINGLED WITH FACT. and his wife, perhaps the other passengers in the car, but the middle-aged gentleman and his wife particularly. These two looked like kind-hearted people : the lady, espe- cially, had gentle eyes. I felt sure, with a boy's instinct, that I could appeal to her sympathy; but the same instinct told me that there would be little if any sympathy in their orthodox and well-regulated souls for two scamps, like my two juvenile pirates, running away from home, to make real fools and would- be rogues of themselves in a strange city. No : I would have to mingle a considerable amount of fiction with the facts of my confession. I saw that at once, and I had my story ready. " Please, ma'am," I said, turning round to the middle-aged lady, who was receiving some of their traps from her hus- band's hand, preparatory to arranging them under the seat, and touching her with my hand on her arm. The lady turned to me, and said kindly, " Well, please ivhat, my little boy ? " "Her voice was soft and low." Shakspeare says, that "is an excellent thing in woman ; " and it confirmed the impres- sion of her gentle eyes. I took courage, and said, " Please, ma'arn, don't put your things under there," pointing under the seat. The lady was evidently surprised, and no wonder, at my request, as was her husband. " What's that you say, my boy?" asked the latter ; and his voice was cheery and kindly, though ma'nly. He had only spoken six words to me in his life ; and 3*et my boy's heart warmed towards him, as a good, fatherly sort of a man, the kind of man boys like. I repeated my request, and accompanied it by its explana- tion, which was the simple truth. "Please, ma'am," I said, " don't put your things down there ; because there is a boy down there already." The worthy couple gave a start. " A boy ! " ejaculated the "Please, ma'am,' I said, 'don't put your things down there; because there's a \>oy down there already'" [p. 46]. A STORY. 47 gentleman. " A little boy under my seat all this time ! " said the lady. " Yes, ma'am," I continued ; " and there is another little boy right under my seat, right in front of your feet." "Two boys: this is wonderful !" said the gentleman. But the lady with the gentle eyes and the soft, low voice only said, "Poor little fellows!" Naturally, the lady and gentleman were going to step out of their seats, and to stoop down under them, to look at the two boys ; but I begged them not to do so, as their doing so would, of course, attract general attention among the other passengers. So far no one had observed this little scene. The words spoken, both on my side and on theirs, had been uttered in a low tone. And the lady and gentleman at once, at my request, refrained from yielding to their natural impulse of looking for the stowaways, and bringing them out, but instead looked to me, as if demanding from me a full explanation of the strange episode. I gave them an explanation, and such an explanation ! It did credit to my inventive powers. I made up, on the spot, at a minute's notice, a story " out of whole cloth," which was just the kind of story to enlist my hearers' sympathies. According to my account, the two stowaways, instead of being bloodj^-minded pirates, were the gentlest and the best of juvenile creations, and, instead of having fathers and mothers from whom they had run away, had been left orphans at an early age, and had bee,n consigned to perfect brutes of an uncle and aunt, who treated them cruelly, beating them, and refusing them to be allowed the privileges of schooling, keeping them even from attending Sunday school, an institution to which, according to my version, my bold Boston buccaneers had ever been devotedly attached. This account completely won over the lady. The idea of 48 "HE DIDN'T REALLY SEE WHY." two good boys running away from their relatives because they were not allowed to go to Sunday school was decidedly origi- nal, and from its very novelty was entitled to favor. And by judiciously describing the imaginary uncle of these two lamb- like little brothers as just the very opposite of the middle-aged gentleman himself, and inferring flatteringly though delicately in my narrative that I fully recognized the difference between the two men, I won over the middle-aged gentleman as well as his wife. Had they only guessed that their supposed innocent, lamb- like, Sunday-school-loving fugitives carried about with them at that precise moment whiskey-flasks, cards, and tobacco, and were going to Boston with an eye to burglary Ah ! it is well that we do not all of us always know every thing. By my highly imaginative narrative I completely enlisted the sympathies of my two hearers, and impressed them warmly in favor of the stowaways. They would at once have changed their seat, so as to give the " dear, good little boys " more room ;, but I represented to them, that, by so doing, they would increase the difficulties and risks of the fugitives, as the seat could not be retained, and might at any moment be occupied by new, and possibly unfriendly, parties, parties to whom I would have to retell my yarn, and who possibly might not believe it. The lady also at first proposed to get the boys out, and to pay their fare for them in the regular way ; that is, to have her husband do so. But the middle-aged gentleman did not see it in this light. Men seldom do " see " the paying money out for other men's boys as forcibly and as favorably as their wives, sisters, daughters, or sweethearts see it. No : the middle-aged gentleman didn't really see why he and his wife should inter- fere at all. He wished the boys well ; he certainly would not betray them to the conductor; he would do all he could to shield them from observation and detection ; but, as for paying THE "BOLD, BAD BOY" AND "SUNDAY SCHOOL." 49 their passage, that was another matter. All that he could be induced to promise, was to give the good little boys a little money when they parted at the end of the trip, and to " make it all right with the conductor " if that official pounced on the fugitives before they reached Boston. But he did not pounce upon them. Thanks to the consider- ate care of the lady with the gentle eyes, who never left her seat all the trip through, though she sat very uncomfortably, trying to make as much room as possible for the stowaways ; and thanks to the interest taken in the fugitives by the middle- aged gentleman, who got the good little boys some refreshments at one of the way-stations, and contrived to feed them on apples and sandwiches surreptitiously, the disguised pirates and bogus buccaneers managed to reach the Boston depot, almost bent double with being cramped, and worn out with being jolted, but safe and sound. Reaching the depot, the kind-hearted lady and gentleman lingered in their car for some time, so as to give the stowa- ways a chance to creep out from their concealment unobserved. The lady, of course, was curious to see the " good little boys," and took an especial fancy to the younger one, who was decid- edly the worst boy of the two. She said a few kind words to him, and asked him a few questions. During this talk I stood by very nervous ; for I was afraid that something my young rascal might say might betray him, and show up the falsity of my story. I was specially afraid lest the lady should ask my juvenile pirate any question about the Sunday school, which I had made him love so dearly. Now, if there was any one place which this particular " bold, bad boy " hated worse than he did another, it was a Sunday school ; and his amount of religious knowledge may be inferred from the fact that I once had over- heard him telling another boy how "some traitor called Judas 50 THE PIRATES REACH BOSTON. Scareit had gone back on another person called Abraham, and sold him to a leader, called Julius Caesar, for thirty dollars." This being so, you can readily imagine how I dreaded any "catechizing" now. But, luckily, time was pressing; and so, having kissed the two monsters of youthful depravity, whom she took to be such dear, good little boys, the lady with the gentle eyes departed with her husband, who, ere his departure, gave us three boys each fifty cents apiece, a gift which, I am ashamed to say, we valued more than the kiss or the kind words. The first thing my two pirates did on reaching Boston and freedom was to swear, swear like troopers. The next thing they did was to drink drink like fishes from their pocket- pistols ; then they took a " chaw of tobaccy " apiece ; and then we all three stalked into the nearest eating-house, and ate the greater part of our fifty cents up, like famished wolves. I began to be myself infected by the spirit of " adventure : " and I would willingly have lingered longer with my incipient cut-throats, though we did not have seventy cents among us ; but I expected a party from the " House of the Angel Guard- ian " to meet me at the depot, and came across him as I left the eating-house with my companions. I was forthwith taken in charge of; and bidding my prospective ruffians, ex-charges, and former companions, " good-by," never saw them again, and commenced a new phase of my checkered life at the " House of the Angel Guardian." I have been minute in the detail of my boy-life, and in the statement of my juvenile adventures hitherto, for two reasons : First, the boy is the beginning of the man ; and, to understand and appreciate the man, you must first " get at " the boy. If my readers are to be, as I trust they will be, interested in the man Thomas N. Dontney, they must first be introduced to, and become well acquainted with, the lad Tom Doutney. DEMORALIZING JUVENILE LITERATURE. 51 Second, I have been led to be minute in rny details of boy- life because I find that these details have previously been too much neglected by previous writers. Thus, while there have been any number of books devoted to the evils of intemperance, in scarcely any of these books is reference made to the forming of intemperate habits in early boyhood ; and yet in a large per- centage of cases, as in mine, the men became drunkards when they were boys. As has been already shown, I became a drunkard when *' only a boy." I formed the bad habits, which cursed me as a man, when " only a boy." For good or for evil I cannot too strongly insist upon the truth of the -saying I have already quoted, " The boy is the father of the man." And this applies, not only to intemperance, but other evils, to the love of sensational and demoralizing literature, for example. The instances of my two bold Boston buccaneers are cases in point. True, these two young rascals were dis- covered by the Boston police before they had opportunity to oommit any overt breach of the peace, or break the laws of the land and the Ten Commandments, and were sent back to their homes. But the poison of " dime novel " -ism had done its work : and to-day both of those boys are social outlaws, pro- fessional criminals ; and their cases are but two out of two thousand. While on this point, the pernicious effect of sensational literature on the young, I would call attention to the sub- joined article on this subject, published in the bright and newsy New- York Morning Journal " of Feb. 9, 1883 : 52 MISSING CHILDREN. MISSING CHILDREN. THE PERNICIOUS EFFECT OF SENSATIONAL FICTION UPON SCHOLARS. INSTANCES OF SEVERAL SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCES OF CHILDREN FROM MOTIVES OF EXCITEMENT. OFFICIAL INTERVIEWS UPON THE SUBJEC.T. The epidemic of sudden disappearances developed early last fall, and at first confined to bank-cashiers and municipal defaulters, has now broken out among children. Scarcely a week passes but that some distracted parent reports her petted, golden-haired child to be missing. In some cases the little one remains away days, nay, even weeks ; in others the absence is merely transient, lasting not longer than a few hours. With the object of tracing this peculiar phase of New- York life, a " Morning- Journal " reporter has investigated a number of cases of missing children. On Thursday last Dr. A. Kettembeil, residing at One Hundred and Sixty-first Street, reported at half -past seven o'clock at the Thirty-third Precinct Station, that his little daughter Mary, aged eleven years, was missing. The child was supposed to have been accompanied by a schoolfellow of the same age, Maggie O'Rourke by name. Maggie is the daughter of Mr. O'Rourke, employed at Ebling's brewery. Both children had attended the school of the Catholic institution on One Hundred and Sixty-third Street, and had been to school that day. DR. KETTEMBEIL INTERVIEWED. Yesterday a " Journal " reporter called upon the doctor, and learned that the missing ones had been found. He said, " She, in company with Maggie O'Rourke, who has run away from home half a dozen times, had walked from the schoolhouse to a friend's house on Seventy-first Street. The only motive I can find out from question- ing her was the wish to have a good time. She is usually an obedient little girl, and I have no doubt was persuaded by her companion." JUVENILE VAGRANTS. 53 " Have you any theory for these disappearances, doctor? " " No, beyond a desire for change. She had visited my friend before, who naturally supposed we knew where the child was." The O'Rourke family, upon being questioned, were very reticent, and declined to have any thing to say, beyond the fact that the girl had been found. A POLICE-SERGEANT'S EXPERIENCE. Acting-sergeant Dennerlain, upon being asked whether the absences of children were frequent, replied, "Yes: we are continually asked by frightened parents to discover their lost children ; but, as a rule, they do not stay away longer than a few hours at a time. We recently had a case of two boys disappearing for three weeks. They were thirteen and fifteen years of age respectively. They had saved up their pocket-money, and wanted to ' see life ' as described in the dime-novel order of literature. Two dollars, I think, comprised their stock of money ; and finally they were discovered by the police in Jersey City. "Another case within my recollection was that of a young girl of seventeen, who staid away three days, and has ever since refused to give an account of where she had been, beyond saying that ' she had been staying with some friends.' Her parents are most respectable people, and that is why I would not care to mention their names." OTHER INSTANCES. Mrs. Gordon, laundress, 1011 Third Avenue, has also experienced repeated anxiety from the same cause. In this instance a bright boy, fourteen years of age, has frequently disappeared from home, through the fascinating experiences of pernicious literature. A few days after Christmas, in company with a companion named Morgan, they started for the Far West, upon a capital of a dollar and forty-five cents. As soon as the novelty of adventure began to pall upon their youthful minds, the twain were arrested in Newark for vagrancy, and sent home. John Spielenhoffer, baker, of East Eighty-second Street, has the 54 DEFECTIVE HOME-TRAINING. misfortune to be the parent of three children, two girls and a boy, whose ages vary from twelve to fifteen, and who seem to have a chronic disposition for running away. The father is a widower, and consequently often away from home. The children, it seems, have formed a gang of amateur "bandits," whose sanguinary raids are frequently prolonged for twenty-four hours at a time, causing endless anxiety and consternation to their relatives. DETECTIVE PIXKERTOX'S OPINIONS. Mr. Robert Pinkerton, in discussing the subject of missing chil- dren with the writer, said, " We used to have frequent inquiries of this kind, but latterly we have had no cases of the nature you refer to. I have no doubt that the cause is mainly due to the craze for excitement produced by morbid tales of adventure. No, I do not think there is any deliberately immoral object in view, nor do I believe that professional abductors of children ply their trade very successfully in this city. Usually the cause will be found to be purely local, due in most instances to defective home-training, and being allowed to run the streets." MR. JULIUS BUNXER SPEAKS. This gentleman is a member of the board of education. His district comprises Wards Nos. One to "Eight (excepting No. Seven). ' ' I think the teachers in our city schools throw as great a safeguard over their pupils as it is possible for them to do. From my own obser- vation I can safely say, that I have found the schools during hours to be securely locked, and no children are allowed to leave during those hours. I have also frequently seen policemen stationed outside when the hours of study expire. "My own opinion is, that disappearances are largely owing to pernicious literature, for the perusal of which parents are as much to blame as children. I really think that the subject should receive the attention of our legislature." A WOMAN'S PROTEST. 55 A protest against " sensational literature " for the young a protest far stronger than any of the points stated in the arti- cle just quoted has recently appeared, under the signature of a woman, Mrs. Louis T. Lull. Mrs. Lull was the wife of a man who had attained considera- ble eminence as a member of the detective police in the West. He was quick, keen, honest, determined, brave; and, in the dis- charge of his duties, he attempted the arrest of the notorious outlaws, the James brothers, who had made the South-West the scene of their robberies and murders. In this attempt, for which he deserved honorable recognition, he received wounds which proved to be ultimately fatal. He died, therefore, literally in the path of duty, and had a claim upon the respect and sympathy of the community. But, instead of receiving his poor meed of praise, the dying detective was held up to popular " scorn " in " popular literature." Stories and plays were written about the bandits, in which they were the heroes and the detectives were the fools, the clowns, as it were, the materials to furnish the laughter, by being constantly held up to ridicule as the dupes or victims of the outlaws. The robbers and the murderers were depicted as gallant, brave, aspiring men, to be imitated ; while the honest, energetic upholders of law and order, the officers of justice, were held up to execration or contempt, men to be hated in real life, and despised in print, or on the stage. Burning with a sense of this outrage, a sense all the warmer because her own husband was one of the examples of this outrage, Mrs. Lull wrote from her o'er-fraught heart, with all the eloquence of righteous wrath, a letter to "The New- York Herald," which I here reprint, as a masterpiece of its kind, as a bitter protest against the sensational juvenile literature of the clay, not of a past daj r , bear in mind, bu f of the present day, 1883. 56 BORDER-RUFFIAN DRAMAS. True, the letter alludes chiefly to "sensation dramas" for boys and for young men ; but its words are equally applicable to sensation stories and " dime novels " generally. And in the particular instance to which the lady particularly alludes, the career of Jesse James, this has been the theme of many " books " as well as " dramas : " and " book " and " drama " alike make the outlaw, the ruffian, the murderer, their hero ; while they have only scorn and laughter for the faithful officers of the law, who risked their lives and lost them in their line of duty. I here quote, verbatim et literatim, the letter in " The New- York Herald" of Feb. 10, 1883, to which allusion has been made : BORDER RUFFIAN DRAMAS. THE WIDOW OF A MURDERED OFFICER ASKS WHO WAS THE HERO, THE OUTLAW OR THE DETECTIVE? DEBASING PLAYS. NEW YORK, Feb. 9, 1883. To the Editor of the " Herald." MOST people will recall the particulars of the Gadshill robbery, and the crimes which preceded and followed its ending in the tragic events which finally destroyed that murderous band of outlaws of which the James brothers and the Younger brothers were the chief miscreants. They will recall the fact, that these desperadoes, armed to the teeth, and prepared alike for plunder or for human butchery, became a terror to peaceable and orderly people living in considerable sections of two great States, and how they committed crime after crime, and broke the laws of God and man, until every honest hand was against them, and the outcry was loud and deep that such brutality should not go unpunished. They will remember how at last the bravest and best officers of the detective force of the country incorruptible men, with brain and nerve and energy were chosen to face these banded outcasts, and bring them to justice. And they will remember how these officers grappled with the practised ruffians, and at last fought them down, though succeeding in their object only after giv- A "SEAL HERO." 57 ing their blood, and too often their lives, to aid in holding up the hands of justice. But perhaps the people of your city were not prepared to find that the cruel, boastful, blood-stained bandits of yes- terday have become the godlike heroes of to-day ; that these men, whose heart-sickening crimes brought death and destruction to happy homes, are now represented upon the dramatic stage as brandishing their weapons, making famous rides, and again committing their infamous crimes to loud applause. But so it is ; and the young men and women who are now witnessing and approving, in the name of romance, of these dark and cruel deeds of blood, are planting seed which will, sooner or later, ripen into bitter fruit. These are fearful heroes whom they worship. And what of the real heroes? What of the men who sacrificed their lives for duty's sake? Bandied about the stage, cast into con- tempt, caused to be foolishly deceived, handcuffed by the " bandit kings," and laughed at by the people in whose name and for whose cause they died. I have not witnessed the horrible play that thus disgraces your stage. But the flaming posters which I fain would not see, but which confront me at every step, tell only too well of the awful crimes which your people encourage nightly ; and from one and another I learn, though I would gladly close my ears to all of it, about the memory of brave men outraged, and their deeds despised. I hear of James's famous ride from Kansas City, and see upon the walls the pictures of " the detectives' ride to death," a death made to appear senseless and ignominious. Let me tell the true story of a single one of these detectives' rides to death, that those who cheer tales of crime at the theatres may have a glimpse of the other side of the picture. The story is simple. In 1874 Capt. Louis J. Lull, late of the Chicago police force, was employed by Allen Pinkerton to take charge of the little band of brave men who were to bring these ruffians to account. It was after the Gadshill robbery ; and Capt. Lull, an Eastern man, honest of purpose, of high character and indomitable courage, rode out upon a pre-arranged route of search, having St. Clair County, Mo., as 58 CAPT. LULL AND JIM YOUNGER. its objective point. One of his associates, Mr. W. J. Whicher,. took a road leading to the borders of Clay County ; and they were to act in unison. Capt. Lull was accompanied by Mr. Wright and by Sheriff Daniels of St. Clair County. The party rode into the Monogaw woods, near Roscoe, Mo., and were there suddenly sur- prised by the Younger brothers, who were also mounted, and who^ instantly covered the party with their rifles. The terrible battle com- _ menced at once. The Youngers called upon the detectives to give up their weapons. They had been surprised : the chances were all against them, and they dropped the navy revolvers which were in their belts. After they had done so, John Younger fired, and shot Daniels dead. Wright spurred up his horse, and fled. Capt. Lull was then alone with these outlaws. He had surrendered ; yet he was fired upon, and his bridle-arm was shattered before he could strike a blow. He succeeded, however, in extricating a small Smith & Wesson revolver from an inside pocket, he had dropped his navy revolver in response to the call to surrender, and he shot and killed John Younger. Then commenced a desperate encounter between Capt. Lull and Jim Younger. Riding furiously side by side, they shot at each other again and again. But Capt. Lull's horse was high-spirited and restless, and disarranged his rider's aim. Capt. Lull fell, fell, shot three times by a murderous hand after he had surrendered. Capt. Lull was my husband. Is it surprising that I grow restless at the sight of these flaming posters, which show James, the hero villain, in his glorious ride from Kansas City, while they represent with contemptuous pity the detec- tives' ride to death ? Is it not, indeed, an outrage, not only on myself, but upon every good person in your city, that these walls should be placarded with such pictures, and the stage given over to teachings which make crime godlike and heroism infamous ? My husband lingered in agony at Roscoe. He sent for me. Two days before I heard from him, I read in a newspaper, while on a sick-bed in Chicago, of the death of Mr. Whicher, who, after leav- ing his valuables in, the hands of the sheriff of Clay County, went to the house of Mrs. Samuels, mother of the James brothers, where "Riding furiously side by side, they shot at each other again and again' [p. 58]. HOW A GOOD MAN DIED. 59 he was the same night captured, strapped to the back of a horse, and taken to an adjoining county, where he was murdered in cold blood. He, too, has met a fate hardly worse than the unsanctified horror of his death in being impersonated and held up nightly upon the stage as a dishonored man ; though he died in the path of duty. I hastened to Capt. Lull, hardly knowing what to believe of his- fate ; for Pinkerton's agency in Chicago had received contradictory reports of the tragedy in the Monogaw woods. As I passed the office of Adams' Express Company under the Planters' House in St. Louis, I saw a sight which made my heart sick within me. It was a long, plain deal box, directed to Pinkerton's agency at Chicago. I passed some dreadful moments in the street before I dared ask what the contents were of this rough coffin. It contained the remains of Mr. Whicher. My own hero was perhaps yet alive. With un- speakable dread I hurried forward to my husband. I was in time. I was with him when his great heart broke. I saw the true picture of the appalling tragedy of the Monogaw woods, and now I call upon every mother and sister in the land to frown upon the horrible repre- sentation placed upon the stage before their sons and their brothers. MRS. LOUIS J. LULL. CHAPTER VI. MY COLLEGIATE CAREER. DOES A "COLLEGE EDUCATION" EDUCATE? A LADY GRADUATE. ATYPICAL IRISHMAN. A QUESTION OF ICE-CREAM AND INFLUENCE. THE HASH-HATER, AND WHY HE HATED IT. MY life at the " House of the Angel Guardian " was com- paratively uneventful. I was strictly guarded from temptation, and therefore have nothing special to record concerning this period of my life. After all, looking back upon our lives, do not most of us find, that what at the time seemed the " dull- est " periods of our careers, were generally the best, the safest, the soundest, the most sensible ? From the "House of the Angel Guardian," I was sent, by my father (after a little experience in " business-life," to which I shall refer more at length in the ne-xt chapter), to " Holy Cross College " at Worcester, Mass. Of course, my dear father thought that he was doing the very best thing he could possibly do for me in thus affording me an opportunity for a collegiate education ; but experience and observation have combined to convince me, that the advan- tages of a so-called " college education " are in this country vastly overrated, not because education in itself is not a most blessed thing, next to morality, religion, and health, the great- est of all blessings, but because the species of education taught at the majority of colleges and collegiate schools is of no practical value in the great battle of life. Education for the mind is fully as valuable and essential as clothing to the body ; but the education should be adapted to 60 TRUE AND FALSE EDUCATION. 61 the nature and probable needs of the scholar, just as clothing should be adapted to the climate under which the wearer lives. How absurd it would be to present the child about to depart for India, say, with thick flannels, and a tremendously heavy ulster overcoat ! Yet it would be really not one whit more ridiculous than to take a child whose parents are poor or hard- working people, dependent upon their daily labor for their daily bread, the child who must soon be himself thrust upon the world, to battle with it as best he may, and teach this child chiefly the "higher mathematics," as some colleges make a specialty of doing, or the " dead " or " classic " languages, as other colleges make a feature of. Can an average boy, even if he can master "the higher mathematics," make a living by or on them? No. Not in one case in ten thousand can a young man, even if he can translate and scan the Latin and Greek classics, secure an independence by them. No : not in one case in ten thousand. In the vast majority of instances, not only is the course of study, the curriculum, of our collegiate institutions, of such a character that the great majority of its scholars can never hope to do it justice, but to even the exceptional few who can and do, by patient study and with infinite difficulty, master it, it proves of no practical avail. It amounts to but a realiza- tion of the old, old story of the unfortunates who were doomed to pour water forever into buckets that had no bottom, or of those wretches who were forced by fate to roll up stones, only to see the stones roll down again. Ninety per cent of the men who succeed in life have never received " a college education." They have known " little Latin and less Greek," and nothing whatever, probably, of "the higher mathematics." But they have known how to work, day and night ; how to make money, and how a still harder task to save it ; how to labor, " in season and out of 62 THE FEMALE " GRADUATE." season ; " how to think and act for themselves ; and this sort of knowledge is not taught at college. Of course, collegiate learning is a good thing a very good thing in combination with the truly "higher education," which teaches a young man what he is fit for in this world, and fits him for it. With this it is truly admirable and desirable ; but without this, or in the place of this, it is worthless, worse than worthless even, positively and personally injurious. The same remarks apply, in a modified degree, to fashionable feminine schools and education. A smattering of French, and, generally, such a smattering -as makes a Frenchman smile when he is too polite to laugh outright or sneer. A superficial knowledge of science, so superficial that a real scientist would be unable to detect it .at all, save as one sees animalcules in a drop of water through a, microscope. A knowledge of history, so vague and uncer- tain as to confound the Massacre of St. Bartholomew with the Guy Fawkes Plot, as a lady "graduate" did recently; and to locate the English Reformation, with Cranmer and Ridley, in Germany, under Charles IX. of France, an historical feat recently achieved by a young girl whose " diploma " at that moment was suspended in a conspicuous place in her mother's parlor. An acquaintance with belles-lettres, so slight as to attribute the authorship of " Tristram Shandy " to Disraeli, and to credit Shakspeare with the comedy of " Money," as was done in the writer's hearing lately by a young woman whose education was regarded as " finished." All this knowl- edge (?), which would be worth but little in itself if full and accurate, combined with utter and confessed ignorance about housekeeping matters and cookery, two matters of the very utmost practical importance, such is the intellectual " tout ensemble" of the average female graduate of the period, a creature who is indeed "fearfully and wonderfully made" up, P^M?- i stag*: " He pnt the lads who annoyed her to flight, ami kopt guard around her stall " [p. 63]. THE OLD WOMAN AND YOUNG IRISHMAN. 63 without the slightest regard to common wear and tear, or com- mon sense. No wonder, in such a condition of things, that the French mvant who visited the United States recently, summed up his observations in the now famous sentence : " Mon Dieu ! what a people ! one hundred religions, and only one gravy ! " Still, I learned something and something even useful at the College of the Holy Cross. At any rate, I formed habits of application, and systematic employment of time, which kept me out of mischief. I also formed some friendships which have been of some practical advantage to me since. Among my classmates was a young Irish gentleman named Martin, of the best blood of Dublin. This Martin was a character who would have delighted the soul of Charles Lever. He was the very incar- nation of the typical Irishman, brave, reckless yet shrewd, careless, generous, hot-tempered, extravagant, the very soul of gallantry and joviality. I remember his once taking the part of an old apple-woman who had been played tricks on by some of the college-boys. The woman was a grandmother, ugly as " Meg Merrilies," toothless, almost palsied. Her voice was cracked with age. She was surly, most decidedly unpleasant. All that could be said of her by her best friend, if she had any, which she didn't, would have been that she was old, respectable, and a woman. But these three points, especially the last, sufficed for the young Irishman. He espoused the old woman's quarrel with all the ardor of his nature. Had he been her son, he could not have defended her more earnestly : had he been her lover, he could not have teen more tender and gentle with her. He put the lads who annoyed her to flight : he kept guard around her stall. Nay, *ie did what was far more difficult than either : he absolutely 64 THE IRISHMAN AND ICE-CREAM. coaxed, persuaded, and bullied the boys who owed her money to pay their debts. This may stagger some ; for I know it is rather a novel situation in which to place an Irishman, this making him make other people pay their debts. But I am not writing a romance, but telling the truth. It really was an unselfish act in this Martin, particularly so, for the unpleasant old woman for whom he battled was as deficient in the grace of gratitude as she was in the graces of person. She did not even thank her champion, even so mu^h. as by a blessing or an apple. In fact, if I remember rightly* she tried to get ahead, in a little pecuniary transaction after- wards, of her gallant Irishman, and, I presume, probably suc- ceeded as she was a Yankee. Martin, in addition to his general characteristics as an Irish- man, had two special personal peculiarities as an individual. One of these was a decidedly unconquerable aversion to ice- cream. This for an Irishman, a young Irishman, and a rather good-looking young Irishman, was a very inconvenient aver- sion, not so much in itself as in its consequences: for, as is well known, all Irishmen are fond of the ladies ; and, as is equally well known, all ladies are fond of ice-cream. Now, to love the sex, and yet to hate what the sex loves, is a rather contradictory state of affairs ; and it perplexed even the Irish- man. First, it led him to avoid the ice-cream saloon altogether, even when with the girls (the pupils of the college were allowed once a week to receive or visit friends, and they generally con- trived to have one or more friends of the opposite sex). But this naturally led to the girls considering him "economical" or "mean ; " and an "economical " or "mean " Irishman is an impossible absurdity. As for Martin, he was rendered almost " wild " at the bare idea of being thought " stingy," and so ICE-CREAM AND INFLUENCE. 65 rushed to the other extreme, of asking every girl he knew to take ice-cream. But then, as he did not take any cream for himself, he would be compelled to explain to each of his fair companions why he did not. And then, woman-like, each of his fair companions would either laugh at him, or try to talk him out of his notion, and into ice-cream. Now, no Irishman can bear to be laughed at. You may laugh with him all you like ; and, the more you laugh, the better for both : but you must not ridicule his Irish gentlemanship. And no woman who ever lived can endure the idea of a man resisting her talk. When a woman " talks at " a man, she expects him to surrender to her tongue, else why have a tongue at all ? And each one of his female companions expected to coax and persuade her escort into doing what he did not want to do ; i.e., partake of the ice-cream. Her amour propre was involved in the talk. It became a question, not of ice-cream, but of influence. Which of the young ladies of " the students' quarter " should show her power over the Irishman by influencing him to ice-cream ? This was the question ; and it became a test-question among the female population of Worcester, at least among that lovely (though limited) por- tion of it which came within the sphere of the student's acquaintance. Various were the blandishments, various were the stratagems, resorted to, smiles and persuasion were mingled, by the fair in this their extraordinary " siege of Martin," as it may be called. But for the first time, probably, in the history of the world, an Irishman resisted the ladies, was obdurate and obstinate, and refused ice-cream. Another peculiarity of our young Irishman was his hatred of frogs. This aversion to frogs was even greater than his antipa- thy to ice-cream. It was such an instinctive aversion as I have known the most accomplished and intelligent women to enter- 66 THE INVOLUNTARY FROG-EATEE. tain towards a mouse, a harmless, and certainly not unhand- some, mouse. He regarded the frog as a species of 'snake, and he hated a snake with all the ardor of a descendant of St. Patrick. The idea of tasting a frog to him would have been an impious sacrilege as well as a physical impossibility. " This view of the frog-question " effectually prevented Martin from joining in one of the students' favorite amusements ; i.e., frog-catching. Ponds abounded in the vicinity of our college building, and to those ponds it was a custom of the students to proceed in what we called " frog-parties." Armed with sticks and stones, we would skin the ponds of their frogs, and skin the frogs afterwards, a la Franpaise. But Martin, though a very social creature, would stay at the college on these occasions, and amuse himself any way he could, solus. One day at dinner I tried a little joke on Martin, which was attended with a good deal more success than I myself antici- pated, and was followed by an effect that I had not desired. Martin was very fond of hash. In this point, I know, he differs materially from the ordinary New- York boarder ; but then, ou,r hash very materially differed from the hash of the ordinary New-York boarding-house. Ours was genuine hash. There were no hairs in our hash, nor buttons, nor an olla podrida of stale stuff. It was hash, not refuse. It was really very palatable, as well as nutritious ; and Martin liked it Till the day I played my joke on him. From that day he tasted hash no more : he would as soon have eaten frog. In fact, that was my little joke. I said to him, pointing to a dish of hash he was devouring with relish, " Do you know what that is?" "Of course I do," replied Martin, with a look of wonder at my question. " What is it ? " said I. " Why, hash," said he. "But what is the hash made of?" said I. " Of meat, to be sure," said he. " Not a bit of meat in that hash," said I. " Then, what on earth is there in it ? " said he. HOLY-CROSS COLLEGE. 67 " Frogs' legs boiled down," said I. But not a word said he ; but he left the table hurriedly, looking very "sea-sick," and he never ate hash again. In vain I subsequently explained to him that I had been joking, and begged his pardon for my ill-timed jest. The kind-hearted fellow cordially forgave me, and never harbored malice, but never swallowed hash either. From that hour on till probably his dying day, if poor Martin is dead, or till he dies, he never has relished, and never can enjoy, hash. The idea of the legs of frogs will always be asso- ciated with the hash. It would be an awful thing for New- York landladies if there were many Irishmen like Martin. Well, I have not seen Martin for many a year, probably will never see him again in this world, and all our merry set of students are scattered ; and many of them are dead, doubt- less : but I still love to recall the memory of the comparatively happy, and certainly harmless, days and nights which I passed in Holy-Cross College. CHAPTER VII. I COMMENCE MY MERCANTILE CAREER. MODERN TRADE AS IT REALLY^ is. ITS "SEAMY" AND ITS "STARRY" SIDES. MODEL FIRMS AND- MILLIONNAIRES. CENTENNIAL EXCURSIONS. A NEW VIEW OF A. T. STEWART. JORDAN, MARSH, & CO. IT was not in the nature of things that I should remain long at college. My father's pecuniary position was such that he could not long afford to support me in idleness, for compara- tive idleness it was, especially so far as contributing any thing to my own expenses was concerned. I was not born, luckily or unluckily, with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was not the son of a rich man, and bread-and-butter necessities were with me paramount. I therefore was compelled to abandon, at an early period, school, for " real life," which is by far the best school after all. As before remarked, I tried " business " a brief period after leaving the " House of the Angel Guardian " and before entering Holy-Cross College : and now, after a year at college ; after a year of study, and some little success, I am glad to say, as a student ; after passing creditably an examination, and being awarded a silver medal as a college prize, the medal being handed me by no less a personage than Gov. Andrew himself, John A. Andrew, one of the most illus- trious governors of the illustrious State of Massachusetts ; after bidding an affectionate good-by to my student compan- ions, I took a little vacation, and then left college-life forever, and entered the world. In other phrase, I was placed in a store> and commenced a mercantile career. 68 HOYS AND BUSINESS. 69 This last phrase sums up the history of most boys in this country. They are " placed in a store to commence a mercan- tile career." Of course, there are a certain number of boys who ultimately study for the " professions," and a smaller number who either "do nothing at all," as it is called, i.e., live upon their relatives' money, or do even worse, and go to the bad outright. But these are the exceptions to the general rule of a mercantile career. England has been styled " a nation of shop-keepers," and " the United States " is the land of trade and traders as well as of the trade-dollars. How important it is, therefore, that, whenever possible, the average American lad should be trained for the average Ameri- can career. My first " place," as the saying goes, was with the firm of G. W. Warren & Co., now known all over the conti- nent as Jordan, Marsh, & Co. In this place, I hope it is not vain for me to state that I was frequently complimented by William H. O'Brien, Esq, one of the firm (since deceased), and by John J. Stevens, Esq., the superintendent of the estab- lishment. I was naturally quick at grasping the main points of any subject presented to me ; and, now brought face to face with trade, I appreciated at once the importance of two things, keeping my eyes open, and my legs and arms busy in the inter- ests of my employers, which was my own interest. I liked " business," too, what little I knew of it. It brought me into constant contact with other boys and men. It gave me a chance to read in the big book of humanity, which, in the estimation of most boys, surpasses in interest any other big book written. It was a " sociable " study, with living beings for printed words. Most boys possess the "trading" spirit, as witness their fondness for " swapping." Boys are often as keen at bargains as men ; and I must confess that there was something in the very air of " business " that seemed, as it were, 70 MODERN TRADE. *' to agree with my constitution." I suppose, that having been born in Canada, and Canada not lying far from New England, may have had something to do with it. They do say that a genuine Kanuck is not far behind, in cuteness, a genuine Yankee. However this may be, I really liked business and its ways, and was somewhat sorry when it was thought by my father best to send me to school again, or rather, this time, to college. While I was at college my brothers remained in trade in the employ of the firm of C. C. Holbrook & Co., No. 12 Summer Street, Boston ; and, when I left college " for good," I likewise obtained a place in this establishment. My brothers and myself were fortunate in thus, at the very outset of our careers, obtaining positions, however humble, in such well-known houses as Warren & Co. and Holbrook & Co. These firms represented " business " at its best, not only its enterprise, its shrewdness, its keenness of calculation, its grasping ambition, its far-reaching desire for gain, all of which are very well, indispensable in their way, but also in its nobler and higher aspects, in its liberality, its large-heartedness, its honesty, and conscientiousness. Thank Heaven, there are such things in modern trade ! We hear and read a great deal, and sometimes a great deal too much, about the petty dishonesties of trade and the gigantic swindles of business. The papers are full of accounts of wild speculations, debasing peculations, little, very little and belittling dodges and tricks for gain, and brutal heart- lessness. We read every day of frauds attempted, committed, or detected. Every one is familiar with the wrongs inflicted upon employees by soulless employers. The over-worked and under-paid clerk or shop-girl is a common far too common spectacle. But we do not hear and do not read, as often as we JORDAN, MAESII, & CO. 71 should, of the honest and upright men who do business in our midst. We are not made as familiar as we ought to be with the history of firms which combine worldly shrewdness with Christian principle, and the managers of which practise that true godliness which, we are told, has the promise of this life, and of the life that is to come. Yet there are hundreds, thousands of such firms doing business, and doing it thor- oughly, successfully, and satisfactorily, in all our large cities. The two firms under which my earliest business life was passed were cases in point. Take Jordan, Marsh, & Co. (the firm into which G. W. Warren & Co. was merged) for example : this firm transacts an enormous business on the most intelligently liberal, as well as economical, principles. Its operations and receipts are simply enormous. It is shrewdness itself; yet it has a soul, a system with a soul in it, a system which, while it regards its numerous employees as money-makers for its interests, also regards them as human beings, with souls and bodies of their own, which claim a certain share of consideration at its hands. In pursuance of this soulful and therefore truly sensible system, this celebrated firm has sent, at its expense, excursion parties of its employees to Europe. In pursuance of this system, this firm treats all its employees like men, women, or children, as the case may be, not as mere machines. In pursuance of this blessed, truly Christian system of doing business, this firm, as far as possible, looks after the individual welfare of its em- ployees, and thereby best promotes its own welfare ; for it goes without saying, that such a firm as Jordan, Marsh, & Co. is well served. Boston has many things to be proud of, alike in the line of political history and literary achievement. But, to my mind, the success of such a firm as Jordan, Marsh, & Co., in its midst, is as good a thing to be proud of as any other. 72 A CHRISTMAS GIFT. i It proves, that spite of their well-known, their proverbial, shrewdness, " Yankee traders " have hearts as well as brains, and that they have respect for the law of Love as well as the laws of Business. For years the firm of Jordan, Marsh, & Co. have been a household word in Boston, synonymous with liberality, fair dealing, and courtesy, as well as far-reach- ing enterprise. For years upon years the firm of Jordan, Marsh, & Co. have been identical, as it were, with humanity, as well as with mercantile honor ; with charity, as well as integrity ; with Christianity, as well as trade. I would also take this opportunity of speaking a kind word in memoriam concerning the late Mr. Holbrook, the senior member of the firm of C. C. Holbrook & Co. Like the mem- bers of the firm of Jordan, Marsh, & Co., this gentleman's system of doing business had a soul in it. He was always willing to help the industrious, the humble, and the poor, in their times of distress and trouble. His employees always found in him, not only an employer, but a friend. He was always striving to advance the true interests of all in any way connected with him. The world would be the better for more such generous hearts. Sorrow is alleviated by kind deeds. But it was not merely my luck or the luck of my brothers to meet such model employers as these. The business world is full of them, and their numbers are increasing every day. Last Christmas, for example, an illustration was given to the world. A firm doing business in Jersey City, a firm whose name I do not now recall, a firm which had never made any great pretensions to superior humanity or philanthropy or Christianity, made its hundreds of employees an unexpected Christmas present, and made the present in such a way and by such a system as to greatly enhance the value of the gift. Each employee of this firm, from the porter or the humblest INVESTING IN HUMAN NATURE. 73 <3ash-boy up to the confidential book-keeper and the treasurer of the concern, received a letter from the firm, expressing its interest in his welfare, wishing him the compliments of the season, and requesting his acceptance of an enclosed gift, amounting to just one fifty-second part of his yearly salary, or one week's wages. The boy at three dollars a week received as a holiday gift just three dollars in cash ; and the gentleman in a responsible position, at a salary of ten thousand a year, received two hun- dred dollars in cash, or thereabouts, pro rata. Such a gift as this was received with respect and with grati- fication by all parties, and bore in its value a direct relation to the social and personal status of the recipient, and his business importance to the firm. There could be no invidious distinctions in gifts distributed on such a basis as this. Such tokens of good will could by no chance give rise to ill will. .Such giving as this very closely approximated absolute perfec- tion. Such Christmas gifts were double blessings, blessings to those who received and to those who gave. And, whatever -expenditures this firm may hereafter have cause to regret, it never can by any possibility have reason to regret this holiday -expenditure. I venture to state, that every man and boy in the employ of this firm will work harder and more conscientiously this year in its interests than would have been the case if he had not been thus kindly and delicately " remembered." And I have no doubt at all, that whatever sum of money was laid out in these Christmas gifts will, during the year, be " made up," in half a hundred ways, tenfold. It was an investment in human nature which will pay big interest, and repay the principal. During the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia, several 74 " AD VEE USING. ' ' leading firms displayed a wise because kindly liberality and public spirit towards their employees. The Singer Sewing- Machine Company, for example, " treated," at a heavy expense, its army of employees to a trip to the Centennial Fair. Sev- eral thousand working men and women were thus enabled to have a holiday, and to devote it to mingled improvement and enjoyment. This opportunity was hugely relished by the em- ployees, and is not to this day forgotten. It may be said, that the Singer Company received for this good work a goodly share of advertising. So it did, and so it deserved. But I am in a situation to know that this " adver- tising " was entirely an after-thought. The affair originated in a sincere desire on the part of the officers of the company to please and benefit their hard-worked underlings, and they did not at first calculate upon the matter receiving the public at- tention which was awarded it. This public attention was sub- sequently utilized, and cleverly, it is tape , but the advertising idea was the suggestion of an experienced journalist, uncon- nected in any way with the company : and the affair, so far as the Singer Company was concerned, was one of pure philan- thropy. The same remarks apply to the excursion of the Steinway employees to the Centennial. This was the pet pro- ject of Mr. William Steinway himself, and was carried out in every respect upon the most liberal scale. Apropos of the Centennial, a gentleman of the city of New York a manufacturer largely interested in American goods, expended over ten thousand dollars in sending parties of workingmen, at his expense, to visit the exhibition , although his name has never been published in connection with this matter. Certainly, the point about " advertising " does not apply in this case ; as the gentleman's name never transpired. In fact, I only know of the fact myself, but could not give the individual's name if I wanted to ; as I do not know it. A. T. STEWART. 75 The late A. T. Stewart was a man who believed in a bond of sympathy, and something better than mere sympathy, unit- ing employer and employee. This may be news to the public, but it is the simple truth. Perhaps no man as widely known as A. T. Stewart was ever so little known, and so generally misunderstood. He lived and died among a community which knew all about him as a rich man, but knew nothing about him as a man. He was considered a hard, cold, unsympathetic individual ;. yet his life and acts prove that he was the very reverse. His manner was unfortunate for himself. He was repellant rather than magnetic, reserved in demeanor, chary of speech. But he was constantly doing good, and trying to do more than he ever accomplished. His faults were those of his system, which, as he described it once (in an interview with Mr. David G. Croly, the editor of " The World "), was " simply business." In all matters of " business " he was guided solely by " business," and he never allowed sentiment or friendship or philanthropy a place in his* " business " at all. " If I did, I would have no business at all," he said. When "business" demanded that he should "break down" a rival house, or a firm which aspired to compete with him in any line of goods, why, he simply bent all his energies to work, and " broke down " that house, " wiped out " that firm. When his contractor signed an agreement to erect his marble palace on Fifth Avenue for a certain sum, Stewart held his contractor to that agreement. If he lost his all in complying with the terms of his contract, that was the contractor's mis- fortune, not Stewart's fault. So Stewart reasoned from a "business " stand-point; and, from a purely "business" stand- point, he was right. Undoubtedly, it must be conceded, that, like all men with 76 " THE WOMAN'S HOTEL. 1 ' " a system," Mr. Stewart sometimes carried his system too far. He was only human after all ; and, to avail myself of a colle- giate quotation, " humanum est errare" But, outside of his "system," A. T. Stewart possessed many admirable qualities of heart, and was constantly demonstrating their possession. He was not only a liberal patron of the arts, but a developer of nature. He bought an unattractive stretch of land, and by care and outlay rendered it "a garden city." And, when Ireland was famishing, he sent it relief. And, wherever great distress was found, A. T. Stewart was found to relieve it. In his treatment of his employees he observed certain rules. He exacted entire obedience to a certain routine, any violation of which was always and severely punished. But, on the other hand, he paid always in full and promptly, was quick to recognize merit, and ready, nay, anxious, to encourage it. As an employee of eighteen years' standing once remarked, " Only the shiftless, the stupid, or the lazy find fault with A. T. -Stewart." During his life, Stewart paid out more money to men and women than any other one man of his time ; and no one in his employ ever had to wait for his or her money. He was enter- prising and honest. His most bitter rivals, his worst enemies, had to concede those facts. But he was more than honest and enterprising and charitable on great occasions : he was positively kind-hearted, as was shown by his favorite scheme of a home for working-women, known as " The Woman's Hotel." True, this scheme came to grief. " The Woman's Hotel " fizzled into " The Park-avenue Hotel ; " but that was the fault of circumstances and other men and of the women, but not of A. T. Stewart. The real history of " The Woman's Hotel " has yet to be written : perhaps it never will be written. From the first, Mr. A " WORKING-LADY." 77 Stewart's plans were misunderstood ; and to this day they are- not clearly comprehended, and yet they were very practicable. The gentleman who has most clearly stated the views of the late Mr. Stewart in this connection, is Mr. Clair, the manager of the Metropolitan and the Park-avenue Hotels. According to Mr. Clair, Mr. Stewart never designed the structure on Fourth Avenue for the lower and poorer class of "working- women : " these were not the parties whom the millionnaire employer meant to benefit by this particular charity. These needed sympathy and material aid, it is true, but not a really elegant home in the heart of the city. No : this establishment was designed by Mr. Stewart to benefit the higher class of female operatives, and especially that large and ever-increasing class of women who, though compelled to support themselves, as the sadly familiar phrase goes, " have seen better days." It was for this class of women, accustomed to all the elegan- cies of life, but suddenly deprived of them, that the million- naire felt, and whom he wished to aid, without offending their individual delicacy, wounding their womanly pride, or making them feel as if they were " objects of charity." Certainly, this class of females is heartily worthy of all aid and sympathy; and it was surely a gentle, and almost chivalrously tender, thought in the successful millionnake, to heed them and their needs. The very poor women have their hospitals and almshouses and charitable institutions; the ordinary run of seamstresses and shop-girls have their haunts and compensations ; but what is the fate of the lady, delicately reared, but compelled to earn her living now, by catering to the very class among which she was wont to live herself? She has not lost her taste for art and for books ; she has not ceased to desire a neat room and cleanly served food ; but how is she to live decently and dress decently on from seven 78 STEWART'S " WILL." to ten dollars a week ? It was to answer this question satis- factorily, that, according to Mr. Clair, Mr. Stewart conceived the idea of the Woman's Hotel, a hotel in which a working- woman of the higher grade "a working-lady," say could have " a room and board " for from five to seven dollars a week, with privilege of bath and library and parlor; every thing being furnished her at the lowest cash cost price. True, the idea was never carried out, owing to the death of Mr. Stewart, and owing, perhaps, to some misunderstandings, among men and among women, which arose subsequent to that event. But I hold, that, assuming Mr. Glair's view of Mr. Stewart's view to be correct (and Mr. Clair is not only a reli- able man, but enjoyed the fullest personal confidence of Mr. 'Stewart), it is highly creditable to Mr. Stewart's heart that he entertained such an idea. It proves that he had a higher delicacy and gallantry of thought than has been popularly supposed, and entitles him to the gratitude of women in general, and "working-ladies" in especial. Let us trust, that erelong some living millionnaire will adopt the late lamented Stewart's idea, and carry it out into its fair fulfilment. There is a Big Blessing (a Blessing with a very big B) waiting for that millionnaire. But it was in the last and the most unselfish act of his life that A. T. Stewart demon- strated his real nobility of soul, and his genuine kindly sym- pathy with those in his employ. He was one of the very few men who ever remembered their employees after death, who thought about his working-people when dying, and remembered them in his will. To my mind, and I know of mam" who are of like think- ing, the will of A. T. Stewart was a model one, especially as regards that portion of it in which he bequeaths certain sums of money, ranging from five hundred dollars to ten thousand BLESSED AND BLESSING AFTER DEATH. 79 dollars, perhaps from less to more : I am not certain as to the exact amounts, to those in his employ who have been in his service certain specified lengths of time. These bequests were very numerous, as his list of employees was very large, and not only formed respectable sums each, but amounted in the total to hundreds of thousands of dollars, a fortune in themselves. There never was a more graceful and more generous recog- nition on the part of an employer of the claims of his faithful employees. And there could not have been a more thoroughly unselfish manifestation thereof. His earthly career would be over when these bequests were bestowed ; the parties to whom they would be given could benefit him no more ; their faithful or dishonest service would be alike to him ; besides, he really owed them nothing, not a dollar. He had paid them fairly, fully, in many cases very liberally, for many years. To many of them his business had been their sole and sufficient support for nearly a quarter of a century, yet he remembered them all. Of course, minor exceptions can be taken, even to this part of the Stewart will. Flaws can be readily found in any docu- ment: but the two facts remain, first, that it was a generous provision in itself, second, that it recognized a duty towards, and evinced a feeling for, employees too seldom recognized or evinced by employers. And, like all good, unselfish deeds, it has brought a blessing with it. Not only has the will of A. T. Stewart given the world in general a higher and truer estimation of the man who made it, but it has kept his memory green in the hearts arid homes of hundreds. It was only the other morning that the writer heard a man say, "God bless A. T. Stewart!" taking off his hat as he said so. Now, it is something rare to hear one man bless another, 80 EMPLOYERS AND EMPLOYEES. still rarer to hear a poor man bless a rich man, rarest of all to- hear a living man bless the dead. It was at the stage-entrance of Daly's Theatre ; and the speaker was the janitor, or stage-door-man, of that establishment. This individual had been one of the old employees of Stewart, and had received one thousand dollars from the estate, accord- ing to the terms of the will. This bequest, utterly unex- pected, wholly unearned, a pure gift, enabled the hard-working recipient to " put in bank " at one time more money than he had been able to save in all his lifetime ; and that one thousand dollars remains in the savings-bank still. And the dead and gone, the almost forgotten, the, in a business point of view, " obliterated " millionnaire, is never alluded to by his grateful employee but with respect and blessing. It is something to be thus remembered by hundreds. If there are millionnaires yearning for true fame, for a memory worth keeping, let them go and make a will like A. T. Stewart's. I have dwelt somewhat at length upon this theme, because it has forcibly struck me of late that gross injustice has been rendered to Mr. Stewart in many quarters, but chiefly because the facts which I have stated serve to show that there is a kindly recognition nowadays, even among the most successful and shrewd traders of the time, of the humanitarian claims of their employees. Mr. Clafflin, the head of the great firm of H. B. Clafflin & Co., the only successful rival of A. T. Stewart & Co. in the whole- sale line, is another of the millionnaire employers who entertain, and prove that they entertain, kindly feelings towards the "million " who are not employers. Mr. Clafflin's personal inter- course with his army of clerks has ever been of the friendliest description ; and although a disciplinarian in theor} r , and a keen business man in practice, he is the soul of good fellowship and the incarnation of good feeling. THE TWO SIDES OF TRADE. 81 Scores of similar instances could be cited, did space permit. Alike in this country and in Europe employers are to be found who are " human " men as well as " business " men, and who, while they exact work of the men to whom they pay wage, yet ever feel, and show that they feel, that their relations with their employees does not end with work and wage. Some firms have even erected libraries and lyceums for the benefit of their work-people, and have furnished them' (though at a loss, or at least with no interest on their investment) with comfortable homes within their means. These facts are encouraging, and show, that, if there is " a seamy side " to modern trade, there is also a " starry " side. Let us pray for more " stars." CHAPTER VIII. HOW I FELL FROM GRACE, AND LOST MY PLACE. RAILROAD LIFE. O3T TO NEW YORK. FOR a while I was steady in my attention to business, and had every reason to continue so. As I have previously men- tioned, I was complimented by the praise of my employers, or their representatives ; and I stood well among my fellow clerks and employees. I developed an aptitude for trade, and a bright future opened itself before me ; but, alas ! it was not to be realized. I have before remarked that I was of a social disposition, and what is called "popular" among my associates. This quality has its curse as well as its blessing ; and to me, at this period of my life, it was a positive misfortune. For it is one of the necessities of popularity to "follow the multitude," even " if to do evil : " to be popular with others, you must do what others do, and be what others are ; and, if they be foolish and do wrong, you must repeat the folly and the wrong. Now, boys, like men, have their vicious tendencies and indulgences ; and among the lads and young men with whom I was now brought into constant intercourse were some who were addicted to smoking, and more to drinking. I was left more to myself now, too, than when at the " House of the Angel Guardian," or at the College of the Holy Cross. In our system of modern trade, every boy, as well as man, is left " master of himself," if of nothing or nobody else : he is 'left to himself" and by himself. The homely but striking A DISSIPATED HOY. 83 remark here truthfully applies, " Every tub must stand upon its own bottom." So when I now met smokers and tobacco- chewers, and frequenters of bar-rooms " on the sly," there was no father to guard me, no mother to tenderly watch over me, no teacher even to prevent me ; but, following the lead of my thoughtless or evil companions, I gave way to my lately restrained appetites, and became once more a drinker and a drunkard. At first I felt some shame at yielding to my grosser appe- tites, and the memory of my past sufferings arose before me as a warning. But, alas ! the curse was on me and in me. It was in my very nature, mixed, as it were, with my very blood. It had been restrained by circumstances a while ; it had, so to speak, fallen asleep ; but now it came to the surface as active as ever. I became gradually ay, and rapidly a "dissipated" boy, "which is, if possible, a shade worse and more disgusting than a -dissipated man ; because it is more precociously and unex- pectedly silly and shameful. I smoked, I chewed, I used slang. I swore occasionally, to demonstrate Heaven save the mark ! my growing manhood. I frequented music-halls and variety theatres whenever I got the money or the chance ; and I became a " good " (?) customer of certain beer and bar rooms, and renewed my thirst for malt and spirituous liquors, the latter especially. My appetites, for a while in leash, had broke their bonds. Circumstances had mastered them for a time : now they mas- tered me. Of course, I neglected my duties ; of course, I became care- less ; of course, the change was noticed in me ; and I was re- proved for it, first kindly, then severely ; but, of course, neither kind remonstrances nor rebuke had any effect.. "I was joined to my idols ; " or, to quote another and even more appropriate 84 ANOTHER CHANCE. scriptural simile, " the hog that had been washed returned to the wallowing in the mire." I said to Evil, " Be thou my Good ; " and soon the inevitable result followed. After various reproofs, after various expressions of contri- tion, after spasmodic efforts at reform, followed by even more flagrant falls than before, I was discharged from my place. This shock sobered me, but only for a brief period. The lesson taught me by the losing of my situation was neutralized by the having nothing more to do, and so having plenty of idle time, which, to a boy like me, meant mischief; while the healthy shame I felt at having lost the esteem of my employers, and of my industrious young associates, and my hard-working and sober brothers, was soon lost in the feeling of freedom I possessed, a dangerous freedom from work and restraint, and in the worthless society of a few lads as foolish and as evil as myself. In short, I got to be what is familiarly and forcibly called "a loafer." I spent my days and nights in "loafing" about the city ; and this is, perhaps, the most terrible position in which a boy or young man can be placed. It is the " loafer " that generally matures into the " criminal." It is the " loafer " who ultimately helps to fill the almshouse or the prison. " Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do." But at this juncture this crisis of my life Providence, kind Providence, interposed, and gave me another chance for employment and reform. Through the kindness of William H. Morrill, Esq., general freight agent of the Boston and Provi- dence Railroad, I obtained a situation in the freight-department of that flourishing road. At first I really endeavored to repay Mr. Morrill for his kind- ness by proving myself worthy of it. I honestly resolved to Here was the temptation brought right to int.- " [p. 85]. SLAVERY TO SELF. 85 surrender my bad habits and companions, and to settle down to hard work. But a bad habit or an unlawful appetite once held in check, and then let loose again, is more difficult to re- strain or control than before ; just as a relapse is more fatal, oftentimes, than the first attack of a disease. My thirst, my drunkard's thirst, had returned to me with more than its original fierceness. That desire for strong drink which I had contracted when a mere child, which had cursed my entrance into life, which had then been restrained by my school and college discipline, and which had broken out afresh amid the temptations of trade, had now become a raging fever. It was my tyrant as well as my curse : it ruled me completely. Talk about slavery, there is no slavery, no absolute slavery, save that of a human being, young or old, to his or her own appetites. The galley-slave, chained to the oar ; the prisoner, working under the eye of the keeper, and within reach of the lash ; the poor heathen African, laboring under a broiling sun, at the sole mercy of his cannibal despot, all these are slaves. But none of these are so truly and verily a slave as the man or boy who carries his master, his cruel, merciless master, inside of himself constantly, who bears with him everywhere and always that cursed, ceaseless craving for drink, which must at all hazards be gratified, which demands obedience spite of prudence, principle, God, man, or himself. The slave of drink is the only real slave on earth, and such a slave I was now becoming. Unfortunately, the very business, or occupation, I was now engaged in, was peculiarly susceptible to the very temptations which I found it so difficult to resist. The " rail- road " line of life, so to speak, runs through all kinds of moral dangers. It is in itself as useful, as honorable, and as "moral," as any other employment ; but the constant meeting with all sorts and conditions of people which it necessitates ; the physi- cal strain which it sometimes produces ; the wear and tear upon 86 MORE TEMPTATION. the nerves ; the constant " worries " which accompany it ; the irregular hours, which, as it were, go with the business, espe- cially with the freightrhandling department of it ; the alterna- tions from hours of excessive work to hours of no work at all > only waiting for the next train, all these lead, unless con- stant care is exercised, to what are styled ** drinking-habits." In my case the matter was made still worse by the fact that it was part of my regular duty now to superintend the han- dling, forwarding, or delivering of freight, which often consisted of spirituous liquor or beer. Barrels upon barrels of liquor would pass over the railroad* and would be for a shorter or longer period of time under my care. Here was the temptation brought right to me. What a situation for a human being already dominated by die love of liquor! The seeds sown in my early childhood began to develop themselves with alarming rapidity : my thirst grew at times almost intolerable. As the barrels of beer would pass slowly over the road, entering into or leaving the depot, I would watch them with hungry, that is, thirsty, eye: and I learned soon to avail myself of every chance to get at their contents; and there were always chances, there were nu- merous u damaged" barrels. I became a confirmed drinker, though, having learned a little worldly wisdom from experi- ence, I always kept sufficiently sober to attend to my absolutely necessary duties. But having caught the desire for travel. probably from seeing so much travel taking place all around me, I became dissatisfied with iny position, and longed to make my entry into the metropolis. Just as all France turns its - to Paris ; just as every ambitious boy in England hopes some day, like Whittington, to become lord mayor of London : so every man or boy on the American continent, from Canada to Mexico, has dreams of some day or other, being some- body or other, in New York; and these dreams seized me ; I came to New York " [p. 87J. I LEAVE FOR NEW YORK. 87 now : and although Mr. Morrill was kind to me as ever ; although I understood my present duties, and, spite of my drinking, contrived to, after a fashion, discharge them ; although I was advised, even by the officials of the road requested, to remain, I resigned my position, and determined to seek New York, therein to find my promised land. I was but doing what thousands have done before: I was but doing what thousands will do again, till time or New York shall be no more. CHAPTER IX. NEW YORK IX GENERAL. WHO COME TO NEW YORK, AND WHAT BECOMES OF THEM. WILLIAM E. DODGE AND JAMES FISK, JUN. WHICH OF THE TWO MEN WILL YOU IMITATE? I CAME to New York. Of how many thousands, tens of thousands, hundred of thousands, have these words been said, " He came to New York ! " " He came to New York " from the farm where he had been reared, on which he toiled for years, where he had worked summer and winter, spring and fall, from morning to night, for a mere scanty wage, it may be, only for board and clothes. " He came to New York "' from the home where he had been carefully trained, where he had enjoyed every comfort and luxury, where a father's and mother's love had watched over him, and anticipated his every want, where sisters had petted him, and brothers had been his admiring companions, where love had been the atmosphere of life. " He came to New York " from the forge where he had earned his frugal living by incessant labor, where he had seen nothing of life but its hard work. " He came to New York " from the factory, where he had been a slave nominally free, but really a slave white, but only a white slave free to work fourteen hours a day, or starve ; free to grind his life out for his employers' benefit, or go to the poorhouse, or be carried to the cemetery. " He came to New York " from the college where he had burned the midnight oil, poring over the works of sages ; where CAME AND BE-CAME. 89 lie had read Homer and Horace, Virgil and Sophocles, and had stored his mind with the intellectual wealth of antiquity. "He came to New York" from the little country town where he had been a doctor, with a small practice, scattered over a vast area of territory ; or an attorney, in a village where the wealthiest possible client did not own ten thousand dol- lars in the world, and where a fifty-dollar retainer was a year's wonder; or a country clergyman, where his scanty salary was paid chiefly in prayers and potatoes. " He came to New York " from ship-board, having roved round the world, and, like " a rolling stone," " gathered no moss." " He came to New York " from the hamlet where he had lived all his uneventful life, never having gone farther from home than the nearest market-town. " He came to New York " from the vast London, which had only proved a vast wilderness to him ; or from the gay Paris, which had proved but a delusion or a snare ; or from frugal Germany ; or from down-trodden Poland, or mysterious Russia. From all parts of the world, and from all ranks of life, "he came to New York." But what became of him in New York? Ah! that is the question ; and how diverse are the answers ! He became a successful man, he made money and friends, acquired fame and influence, became an honor to himself and his family, made his old folks at home proud of him. Or he became a scourge, a criminal, and an outcast ; violated the law, and was condemned to pay the penalty in prison-cell ; or sunk into the lowest depths of pauperism ; haunted the streets a beggar ; haunted the parks in summer nights, and the station-houses in winter nights, a bummer and a vagrant. Or he became any one of the hundreds of means that lie between these two extremes of fate ; or it may even be, that 90 THE CITY OF OPPORTUNITIES. to this day no one knows what has become of him ; all trace of him may have been lost ; all that is definitely known of him being, that " he came to New York." New York is at once the best known and the least known of all great American cities. Everybody almost knows, or thinks he knows, something about it ; and yet no one, not even "the oldest inhabitant," knows every thing. Each man is familiar with his side of New- York life : no man is equally familiar with all sides. And each man's view of New York is, of course, greatly dependent upon that side of it with which and which alone he is acquainted. Only one thing is certain, and known to and conceded by all. New York is pre-eminently the city of opportunities. Everybody has a chance in New York. Rich or poor, high or low, country born or city bred, smart or plodding, industrious or speculative, good or bad, New York has "an opening" for every man. It affords him any amount of material to build upon ; but he must decide what the building shall be, and it must be erected by the builder's toil and at the builder's risk. There is only one kind of man for whom New York has no chance to offer, no place to fill, the fool. It is the worst place for fools of any town in the world. It taxes even the highest grades of talent, but it absolutely grinds the fool to powder. And there is one truth which is just as certain as the fact just stated: and this latter truth cannot be too often or too thoroughly impressed upon the youthful or, for that matter, upon the mature mind; and this truth is, that, while New York will perforce yield its treasures of opportunity to the smart man, yet and herein lies the point yet it yields its highest chances, its worthiest prizes, only to the honest as well as smart, the good as well as great. It pays best, even in New York, to be religious, moral, honest i GOD'S LAWS IN NEW YORK. 91 believe me, it does. God's laws hold good in the metropolis of America, just as they hold good everywhere else in God's world. Two men " came to New York " in our time. Both men were of humble origin ; both men were ambitious ; both men were gifted with energy, sagacity, with the power to see and the power to do ; both men " came to New York " deter- mined to make the very most of its chances, to avail themselves. to the utmost of its opportunities ; and both men fulfilled this determination, but in very different, in opposite, ways. James Fisk, jun., came to New York believing only in money and in himself, caring naught for God, or man or law, human or divine, save the laws of his own impulses. He was very active and very able and very unscrupulous, so he succeeded. He gained notoriety, influence, and wealth ; he drove his four- in-hand, had his theatre and his regiment and his mistress ; he had the world at his feet so he thought. But only for a while, a brief while, a few years. Then- he died as the fool dieth ; died, shot by his former friend ; died in a scandal ; died with all the world feasting on the prurient details of his troubles ; died suddenly, without warning ; died in the prime of life ; died with all his sins upon his head ; died, to be soon forgotten ; and died, too, after all the money he had made and squandered, a comparatively poor man ; died, to live in the history of his time only as an erratic character, chiefly valuable as a warning, as a terrible example, to be studied so as to be shunned. William E. Dodge " came to New York " a poor boy, shrewd, eager for money, but also upright, God-fearing, and man-loving. He made money, more money than James Fisk ; but he made it honestly, and spent it wisely and grandly. He did not drink, like Fisk, or give fast suppers ; but, instead, he founded missions and Young Men's Christian Associations, and contrib- uted liberally to churches, Sunday-schools, and temperance- "92 WILLIAM E. DODGE AND JAMES FISK, JUN. organizations. He did not steal from corporations, and then give spasmodically some of his ill-got gains to the poor ; but he devoted a regular portion of his regular, immense, legitimately earned income to the poor and needy abroad and at home. He was a good citizen, a sabbath-keeping citizen, a law-abiding citizen, an inestimable citizen. He was a moral man, a domes- tic man, a devoted husband and father. And he lived to be old and honored ; he lived to see seven sons growing up to respectable manhood all around him ; he lived to be looked up to by the city which he had entered as a poor boy. And, when he died, " he died the death of the righteous." May our " last end be like his " ! James Fisk, jun., passed along the horizon of New York like a brilliant but baleful comet, vanishing swiftly into utter dark- ness ; but William E. Dodge shone for nearly half a century in New York as a star of constantly increasing magnitude and radiance, a star which still shines, though his earthly career has closed. Now, reader, which of those two men, think you, will you imitate ? CHAPTER X. LIFE IN NEW YOBK, SENSATIONAL, AND REALISTIC. THE POPULATION OF THE GREAT METROPOLIS, AND ITS CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES. GERMAN, IRISH, AND AMERICAN NEW YORK. FIFTH AVENUE, BROADWAY, AND THE BOWERY. HAVING thus glanced at New York in general, it will be well to take this opportunity of describing New York in detail. Nothing can be of more interest to the average American than an accurate pen-picture of the great metropolis, and yet nothing can be more rare. Books on New York, and life in the great metropolis, abound ; and yet I know of none that can be regarded as altogether truthful. Many are avowedly " sensational ; " and even those which do not make this claim, or disdain it, err in this direction of " sensationalism." Of course, any description, with any pretence to truth, of life in New York, must have much that is startling and sensational in it. New York, being the largest, greatest, richest, most crowded, portion of the New World, must be " a sensation " in itself. But, in addition to all its " sensational " elements, there are to be found in New York practical, common-sense, moral elements, which constitute a large nay, the larger portion of metropolitan life, and which need to be insisted and dwelt upon in every truthful, truly " realistic " book or article on New- York City. In the pages which follow, I have endeavored to do justice to this fact, which has by previous writers too often been ignored ; and while many of the points, facts, and scenes presented will be found " sensational " enough in all conscience, the better and "94 THE POPULATION OF NEW YORK? brighter side of New York will likewise be described ; and, from all the details of the pen-picture I shall paint, an accurate idea of the great American metropolis as a whole will be obtained. The real population of New York to-day exceeds two millions of souls, and almost equals that of Paris. By the " real popu- lation " I mean simply what the words imply, the human beings who help to populate New York by day and by night constantly, who fill its streets, who do business there, who trade or tramp there, who sin or enjoy there, even though they may sleep or have a nominal residence elsewhere. Among the " real population " of New York I include the dwellers in Brooklyn, Williamsburg, etc. Brooklyn has been justly styled only "a sleeping -place for New-Yorkers;" and now that the bridge at last is nearly finished, and a man will soon be able to walk or ride from any point in Brooklyn to any point in New York, it is certainly safe to predict, that in a few years the two cities the city of charities and the city of churches will be one in .name as in fact. But even if the actual population of New York is thrown out of consideration, and only the nominal, the technical, population be regarded, that population which not only " lives," but " resides," in New York, this population thus reduced still amounts to an immense figure, over one million and a quarter of bodies and souls, figures large enough to render the American proud and the moralist thoughtful. This latter estimate does not include the immense throngs of visitors for business and pleasure, of whom from sixty thou- sand to eighty thousand arrive and depart daily. On extraor- dinary occasions this transient population, this throng of visitors, swells to a hundred and fifty thousand, or even two hundred thousand. The most striking, the characteristic, feature of the popula- tion of New York is its variety of nationality, its cosmopolitan character. New-Yorkers are composed of all nations. Every THE COSMOPOLITE METROPOLIS. 95 country under heaven sends its natives to New York ; and every State of the Union, and almost every hamlet in every State, has its representatives in the metropolis. New York is to-day the third largest German city in the world ; that is to say, no cities in Germany, save Vienna and Berlin, contain as many German citizens as New York. New York is to-day the largest Irish city, save only Dublin. It likewise embraces a larger English and French population than is generally supposed. There is also a considerable pro- portion of Italians, Spaniards, South Americans, etc. New York likewise contains a very large and constantly increasing number of Jews, as well as their inveterate enemies, the Rus- sians, and the sworn foes of these latter, the Poles. Greeks, Turks, Portuguese, Swedes, Scotch, Chinese, etc., every nationality under the blue canopy of the infinite, are to be found. Sometimes the different nationalities are inextricably blended, and sometimes they are herded together in their own quarters. Thus there are certain sections of the city which are as distinctively Irish as any part of Ireland itself : there are other sections where the German language is spoken exclusively. A story is told of a well-known journalist of this city, the late Isaac C. Pray, who, in a fit of absent-mindedness, one afternoon took the wrong car from " The Daily-News " office, and, at last, awaking from his day-dream, and not recognizing his localities, left the car. Every thing to him, although he was an old New-Yorker, was new; nothing was familiar; the signs over the stores were either in Hebrew or in German ; the people he met had all a foreign look ; their manners and customs were strange ; and, when he asked for information as to his whereabouts, he could find no one to afford him the desired knowledge. He was ignorant of the language of the people amongst whom he found himself: they were ignorant of 96 A NEW-YORKER LOST IN NEW YORK. his language. He was absolutely a stranger in a strange land ;. he was actually a New-Yorker lost in New York. He wan- dered about for some time before he was able to discover that he had been conveyed by the car into the heart of the great East Side, along Avenues A and B, in the midst of the " Germany " of New York. Then, there is the distinctively and exclusively Hebrew quarter of New York, where all the ordinances of Moses are as strictly observed as they were in Palestine three thousand year* ago; and there is the distinctively and exclusively Chinese quarter, with its joss-houses and its opium-dens. And yet, after all, there is such a thing as an American New York, though satirists have occasionally asserted otherwise. With all its cosmopolite character, New York is still and let us devoutly trust it always will be a truly, thoroughly American city. The native New-York element to-day is con- siderable in numbers, paramount in wealth, and supreme in influence and importance. Let not Americans mistake this,. for it is the truth ; and it is a truth which should lead them, like the warrior of old, " to thank God, and to take courage/' Another great feature of New York is the immense value of its land, its real estate. This feature, while it enables the few to live in princely luxury, compels the majority of New- Yorkers, especially the poorer classes, to live herded together in discomfort. Perhaps the poor of New York are the poorest people in the civilized world, as will be shown when I come to glance at the tenement-house population. A third great feature of New- York life is its inevitable ten- dency to render the New-Yorker alike self-reliant and humble. I know that New-Yorkers are sometimes said to be " con- ceited ; " and so they are, but not of their individual selves, but of their city. No man can live in New York for years and have much individual conceit. New-York life " knocks it all WHAT NEW YORK CAEES FOB. 97 out " of him. No matter how smart and how rich he may be, he meets every day people who are smarter and richer. The man who, in a smaller town, with his one hundred thousand dollars, would be vain of his wealth, meets in New York a dozen mil- lionnaires a day ; and that makes him feel himself a compara- tively poor man. The lawyer who has fame rubs against a dozen lawyers who are far more famous ; and so the lesson of humility is taught, as well as the lesson of self-reliance. For of all places in the world, the homely adage is most applicable to New York, that " every tub must stand on its own bottom." In the great American metropolis a man is gauged by himself, not by his ancestors nor their achievements. No one cares much for the past: that is "ancient history." Nor is much regard paid to a possible though distant future : that is " im- agination." What New York cares for is the present. What the man or woman is, or is doing, or is capable of doing to-day, that is New- York's idea of reality; and New York is right. What says the poet in his " Psalm of Life " ? " Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ; Let the dead past bury its dead ; Act, act in the living present, Heart within, and God o'erhead." Still another characteristic, and the most dramatic of all the characteristics of New York, is its contrasts, its extremes. New York is, par excellence, the city of extremes and con- trasts. It is at once the very worst and the very best of all American cities, alike the very darkest and the very brightest. It is the city of crimes and the city of charities, the city of infidelity and irreligion, the city of the Sunday-school and the church, the city of the public rum-shop, and the city of the public school. It has been the misfortune of New York, that its newspapers 98 THE CONTRASTS OF NEW YORK. find it to their pecuniary interest to dwell more upon the evil than the good in it ; to devote more space to the sensational, dark side of city-life, than to the unsensational, steadily shining bright side thereof; but both sides, nevertheless, exist side by side. The contrasts of New York are perhaps in no instances more forcibly presented than in its three great thoroughfares, - Broadway, the Bowery, and Fifth Avenue. These world- famous streets are New York in miniature, if the term " minia- ture " can be applied to miles of houses, and hundreds of thousands of human beings. Broadway is the finest' street on the American continent. Beginning at the Battery, it extends through banks, stores, hotels, churches, public buildings, till it, as it were, loses itself, and dies of its own length, among the boulevards. It is trav- ersed along the lower portion by omnibuses, and along the upper portion by the street-cars. It is the favorite promenade for business or pleasure : it is the exercise-ground of the down- town merchant or broker, the shopping-ground of the up-town belle, the street for adventurers. A history of Broadway would be a history alike of New York and of human nature. It is the thoroughfare of average New York, of miscellaneous metropolitan humanity. Fifth Avenue is the most fashionable street in America, an avenue which is lined (from Washington Square to Central Park) with palaces. From the substantial residence of Ex- Mayor Cooper at one end, to the superb Vanderbilt mansions at the other, Fifth Avenue is a boulevard of brown stone. It comprises and represents more wealth than any other one street in the whole world. Three hundred millions of money are represented in two short blocks of this celebrated street. And all the leading clubs of New York the Manhattan (the controlling Pemocnilic club), the Union League (the repre- BROADWAY, "THE AVENUE," AND THE liOU'EUY. 99 sentative Republican organization), the Union Club (the man- about-town and society club) have their buildings fronting on this wonderful thoroughfare. The most fashionable hotels and churches are likewise located here ; and Belmont, A. T. Stewart, Astor, Jay Gould, and other world-famous names, are literally household words. A million of dollars has been ex- pended on several single residences on Fifth Avenue ; and the finest picture-galleries in the New World are here, attached to the palaces of Vanderbilt, Stewart, Belmont, Marshall O. Roberts, and others. One of the vilest dens in the world also stood upon Fifth Avenue till lately. In fact, it still stands there, though de- voted to other uses. I allude to the magnificent mansion of the abortionist Restell, which lies within the very shadow of the magnificent cathedral, and directly opposite to the Vanderbilt palaces. There are gaming-dens also on the Fifth Avenue, and houses of splendid infamy ; and some of the most unscrupulous ras- cals that ever escaped State prison reside here in state ; but, taken as a rule, a house on Fifth Avenue symbolizes legitimate worldly success. As for the Bowery, it is decidedly the most picturesquely miscellaneous street in the city or the countiy. To the lover of human nature, and to the student thereof, it is by far the most interesting thoroughfare in New York. Beginning from Chatham Street, the favored locality of the dealers in "old clo 1 ," it passes along museums (some genuine, and more bogus), concert saloons (a few attractive, and all vile), German beer- gardens (some of them mammoth establishments, where well- selected orchestras perform), mock-auction shops (less common now than formerly), pawnbroking shops (constantly increas- ing, constantly thronged, and many of them merely receptacles for stolen goods), cheap-jewellery stores, mammoth tailor stores, 100 " WAITING TILL THE CROWDS ROLL BY. 1 ' cheap dry-goods stores, cheap millinery establishments (where ladies often purchase for five dollars what they tell their friends afterwards they paid fifteen for on Broadway), " flash " restau- rants," " all-night " dives, countless " saloons," " cigar fronts " (which are simply lottery-policy shops behind), " skin " gam- bling-houses, dance-houses, all sorts of places, till at last, after winding and enlarging, it contracts again, and terminates in the almost interminable Third Avenue. Such are the three characteristic streets or thoroughfares of New York ; and as such they are crowded, Fifth Avenue on Sunday mornings and afternoons, and on fine afternoons and mornings generally ; Broadway, from morning till midnight ;. and the Bowery, all the time. After all, and before all, it is this ceaseless crowding of the streets of New York which is New York's most expressive feature. A countryman once stood patiently waiting, in front of the St. Nicholas Hotel, as the multitudes passed along. After some fifteen minutes or so, a friend asked the gentleman- from the rural districts what he was waiting for. " For the- crowd to get by," he replied. Dear, good old man, he fancied that there must be some unusual temporary excitement in the street at that time, which would soon subside. He did not yet know that this crowd was chronic. CHAPTER XL A PEN-PANORAMA OF NEW YORK. THE POOR OF THE GREAT METROPOLIS. CASTLE GARDEN AND THE EMIGRANTS. " LES MISERABLES." " OLD MOTHER HURLEY'S." THE BLACK HEN'S. THE BLACK HOLE OF CHERRY STREET. THE MYSTERIES OF DONOVAN'S LANE. TENEMENT-HOUSE LIFE AND "ROTTEN ROW." THE SUMMER POOR. ONE of the most interesting places in New York is really Castle Garden. Formerly this was the resort of fashionable and pleasure-seeking New York, and Jenny Lind and Jullien gave their concerts there. Now it is appropriated, or abandoned to the emigrant, and is the first place he* or she sees in the New World. Time was when the emigrant, once landed in New York, was virtually surrendered a prey to land-sharks and swindlers. But now the emigrant system has been brought to a state closely approximating perfection ; and a man or woman can be shipped as safely from Sweden to Minnesota, passing through New York in transitu, as if he or she were a bale of goods or a package per express. In fact, more care is taken of the emigrant, who merely passes through New York, than of the poor man or woman who settles down in the midst of the metropolis. Would the reader really form an idea of how some of the very poor in New York " live," if I am allowed to use the word " live " in such connection, let him read the following truthful sketch, which appeared in the columns of " The New- York Sunday Dispatch," written by a journalist who saw all the horrors he so vividly describes. 101 102 PICTURES OF POVERTY. " LES MI*EKABLES." There is a house, or structure, in New York, known by its number and street as " Cherry." The first floor thereof is known by the appellation of the woman who rents it, as "Old Mother Hurley's." This first floor is inhabited by human beings, such as they are ; and this is the way in which these human beings, or "THE HONEST POOR," " live " at " Mother Hurley's." The surrounding neighborhood is filthy, and the exterior of the building is barn-like and disgusting. Opening the rickety door, an indescribable odor overpowers your nostrils ; and unless you are accustomed to this sort of thing, unless you are a journalist or a policeman, you 'instinctively put your fingers around your nose, close them, and keep them closed. The odor arises, as you will see presently, from decaying and rotten meat and vegetables, from human breaths, and foul linen, and human sores, and imperfect ventilation, and human filth, and stagnant water, mingled together into a villanous compound, for which the expressive Saxon has no fitting name. Having exercised the power of smell sufficiently, and using your power of sight, you look around and see, by an unsnuffed tallow candle burning on a three-legged greasy table, leaning against a bare, paperless, cracked, tumble-down wall, a lot of soiled, stained, stinking linen and straw lying in a disordered mixture on the top of an old mattress, which was washed ashore originally from a yellow- fever ship down near quarantine; the whole "combination" being supported on a low truckle-bed, and affording a place of rest such as no respectable family, not even a first-class Broadway hotel, would insult a dog with, and yet which forms the "post of honor" and chief luxury of "Mother Hurley's." For this bed the landlady charges extra; and it is sometimes occupied by as many as three people at a time, who divide the honors and the filth. At the foot of this bed, on the night of our visit, there lay on the dirty boards, without any pretence of a bed at all, a bundle of straw, MOTHER HURLEY. 103 on which an old woman about seventy years of age was lying, with- out any covering whatever. The old woman was a hag, indescribablv dark and indescribably dirty, blear-eyed, rheumatic, almost putrid, lying down with all her rags on, and vainly trying to sleep. Near this creature was a small stove, with the least bit in the world of a fire ; and opposite her was an attempt at a bar and grocery- store combined, where Mother Hurley dispensed rum at three cents a glass, or eggs at five cents apiece. She evidently valued her eggs at a much higher rate than her rum ; and lest her hungry lodgers might some day, in a fit of stomachic despair, kill her hen, and make a meal of it, she kept the fowl under lock and key, in a sort of coop directly adjoining the bar, where she could always keep her eye on it. To our notion, we had rather been the hen at Mother Hurley's than the humanity. God knows the front part of this first floor, containing what we have already described, was bad enough ; but the front part was para- dise itself to the scene disclosed in the middle portion of the lodging- den. Here there was no light at all, save by the " darkness visible " from the candle already mentioned ; there was no attempt at ventila- tion from front or rear ; there was no carpet ; there was no floor, except a few boards laid here and there over the ground at intervals ; there were no beds, save only a row of shelves made of unplaned boards ranged along the cracking, moulding, damp walls ; there was no linen, save a few foul rags ; there was no bedding, save here and there a handful of shavings or straw ; there were no windows ; there was no furniture, save a backless chair, with some rotten fish scat- tered disgustingly over it ; there was nothing but filth and foulness, and closeness and heat, and discomfort and bareness and horror ; and yet in this " middle passage," this BLACK HOLE OF CHERRY STREET, there were, on the night of our visit, twelve human beings, five men, four women, and three children, huddled together in rags and misery in a space not fit for one well dog. The children were two little girls and a boy ; the little girls being 104 "NOTHING TO WEAR." literally stark naked, and lying on each side of the little boy, who had a man's old, torn, and stained flannel shirt on. The boy had a stupid, startled look, and moved uneasily in his slumbers ; but the little girls stared at us with all their eyes, and fine eyes they were. Their mother, an old woman who was lying on a board beneath the shelf on which lay her children, and who, though ragged and shoe- less, was not dirty, and seemed quite a decent sort of person, told us simply enough, in the unvarnished language of the utterly wretched, that she ' " did not have luck enough lately to earn or beg clothes for her girls, and so she had to let them go naked all day long, and stay in bed until she could get some rags for them." Here, indeed, were females who had "nothing to wear," young females, very young females, who had to stay in a pest-hole, hungry and dirty and stark naked, all day long, not because their mother was lazy, for the policeman told us she was an industrious woman when she had a chance to work ; not because she drank, for she never touched a drop ; not because she was immoral, but because she was unfortunate, because she was poor. And yet there are churches and missions and dry- goods palaces in this Christian city. Of course, there was NOT THE SLIGHTEST PRETENCE AT DECENCY, let alone delicacy, among the men and women congregated in this black hole, where the sexes are huddled together in dark dens like this. Men and women are like Adam and Eve in paradise, in this one respect, at least, they are not ashamed of their nakedness, nor of any thing else. A number of dirty and party-colored cloths and towels, suspended from a string in front of the shelves, were the only concealments attempted : and what undressing, or, rather, unragging, was done, was done full in sight of all the other denizens of the den, big or little, male or female, white or black ; for not only were both sexes, but all colors, on a free equality of filth at Mother Hurley's. But "on horror's head, horrors accumulate:" and, terrible as was this "middle passage" of Mother Hurley's den, there was a more terrible place still ; and that was the rear portion of it. We A POOR DEVIL OF A WOMAN. 105 could not believe, at first, there was a rear to such a hell as this ; we thought that we had reached the end and the worst ; but the police- man who accompanied us John Musgrave, detailed to bear escort by Capt. Ullman and Sergt. Thompson of the Fourth Precinct showed us our mistake ; for he led the way, tumbling over old bar- rels and broken crockery and dung-heaps literally dung-heaps in the dark, till we came to an open space, a back-yard roofed over, and terminated by a dead wall, a back-yard, too, full of all manner -of foulness, garbage, and abomination ; a back-yard full of dirty water oozing from the ground ; a back-yard literally piled with human excrement; a back-yard without any windows or doors, or fresh air or light^save from a piece of tallow candle, and yet a back- yard with nine beds, or boards, with straw and soiled rags on them, and ten people, men, women, and children, supposed to sleep on said beds, or boards, in this indescribably horrible back-yard. In the centre of this back-yard stood a table, at which, on a stool, sat a man, who, with filthy hands and a ravenous appetite, ate a piece of raw, rotten fish absolutely raw and absolutely rotten with relish. Ay ; and he told us, and made no secret of it, that he was very thankful to get a chance to eat it. He had picked it up, and, having had nothing else to eat, made the most he could out of it. Think of this, ye diners at Delmonico's, and midnight banqueters at the Maison Doree ! a man, and not a bad man either, nor a fool, for Musgrave told us that his character was good, and his lan- guage was well chosen, thankful, in this enterprising city, for being able to pick up some raw and rotten fish for his midnight supper, and his only meal in twenty hours ! But we saw, ere we quitted this back-yard, A SADDER SIGHT than even this poor devil of a man ; i.e., a poor devil of a consump- tive woman, who had once been pretty (for hunger and care, and sick- ness and sorrow, had not rendered her hideous yet) , a poor devil of a woman, who, though herself still virtuous, still unmarried, was compelled to sleep in the next bed, or the next board, to a man, 106 CONGRATULATING A BABY OS DY1SG. whose head lay among the rags ; while right at the head of her bed, or board, was a cesspool, emitting the vilest of all possibly iuhalable stenches ; while the walls around her oozed damp and filth in equal proportions. Does Dante's "Inferno," or the veritable infernal regions themselves, contain aught more terribly, truly repulsive than this? And yet this is what we saw or peered at in the damp and darkness that night at Mother Hurley's. We also saw in this back-yard den a broken-hearted mother crying over her dying baby, who had caught cold from sleeping in such a damp place as this, and was fast coughing its little self to death. We could not help inwardly congratulating the baby ; but neither could we help sympathizing with the poor voman, who hung fondly over her suffering infant, calling it every pet name that a mother's, and an Irish mother's, affection could suggest. But long experience in scenes of misery had rendered her companions callous, and the people around her cared no more for a dying baby than they would have cared for a living one. Now, the majority of people in this lodging-den this night were not roughs or reprobates. They were as decent as such horribly impecunious people could be. The}' were only poor, poorer, poorest; and for their poverty they were punished as no criminals were ever punished in Sing Sing. For their poverty they were treated as no dogs are treated ; for their poverty they were compelled to go naked, to eat raw and rotten fish, and to sleep in defiance of decency, and in proximity to cesspools. And yet people tell us that poverty is no crime, and talk of honest poverty. I low in God's name can poverty, such as this, be honest? But, if you wish to see how THE CUIMINAL POOR live and move and have their being, go to No. Water Street, where there is a basement "den" kept by a woman who has been on '-The Island," and whose "husbands" have all been to State prison, and who is called, from her dark hair. "The Black Hen." Here, in a close, stifling little room, carpetless. cheerless beyond words, on the night of our visit, was a broken-down sofa with two BILKER'S HALL. 107 hags on it ; and on the other side was a bench with four other hags on it, with one hag squatted on the floor ; each of the seven women being ugly, coarse, and foul, uglier, coarser, fouler thau can be readily conceived of until seen. Back of this "reception-room" Heaven save the mark! ex- tends a series of dark, dismal, dirty boxes, in which all species of depravity and robbery were practised as a business ; while in the rear of these " boxes " was a big bed, or mattress, stretched on the floor, foul beyond the power of the English language to express, on which the wantons slept after their sins ; while adjoining the bed was a cooking-stove, the rear apartment serving alike as kitchen, bed- room, and dining-room, the wantons and their mistress eating their garbage on the floor ; while, according to the eternal fitness of things, the master of the den, #nd the present husband of its mistress, served as cook for what infernal cooking there was to do. But, vile as the den of "THE BLACK HEN " might be, there was a hell on earth, filthier and viler and more- wretched still, in a basement, directly across the street, at No. - Water Street, known, in the expressive slang of the district, as " Bilk- er's Hall." This place is kept by a Kitty de Fish, alias (everybody has an alias in those parts) Annie Winkle, who is a woman of vio- lent temper, as was proved by the spectacle presented on the occasion of our visit by one of her " girls," an old woman nearly seventy years of age, whose right eye, already nearly half eaten out of the eye-ball by secret disease, which was very public indeed, was likewise cut, torn, and disfigured by a plate thrown at her by the proprietress of the den. If on the face of the earth there was a fouler or more dis- gustingly wi'etched being than this old, battered harridan, then the face of the earth deserves to be pitied ; and, as for the place itself, there was nothing viler in the world, for the simple reason 'there could be nothing viler. The front of the basement contained a pre- tence of a " bar," with a few glasses that had not been washed since they were originally stolen, and a few bottles of adulterated liquors. 108 FOURTH-WARD MISERY. of the cheapest and the nastiest description, and with a few stale eggs, and staler oysters. Behind this "bar" stood a ragged, sullen, blear-eyed thief, the "man" of the "woman" of the place, who, when not drunk, or getting others drunk on his villanous swill, played the role of " a badger," and " went through the clothes " of his unsuspecting and intoxicated victims, robbing them of whatever moneys their pockets might contain. Back of this bar, to the rear of the basement, directly behind the only sofa of the place, extended a LIQUID PANDEMONIUM. The words are used advisedly, for it was a " pandemonium," and it was " liquid ; " being composed of four or five tumble-down stalls, worse than any pig-pen ever seen, in which "stalls" there were bundles of straw and old mattresses stretched out upon the earth, and which oozed out slime and filth, and were damp, and stunk abomi- nably ; while the walls were crumbled and mouldy, and gave forth filth from a neighboring cesspool. It was a sight and a smell sufficient to strike terror to any nose and eye, and heart and soul : even the policeman had enough of it in five minutes, and left the hell- hole with unusual rapidity. And yet it was the scene of the " sinful pleasures " ( !) and the "home, sweet home" of six or seven females and one man. But time would fail did we attempt to describe one-half of all the misery that is to be seen among the poor, good and bad, of the Fourth Ward. Although this district is not now what it used to be ; though Kit Burns and John Allen ai'e dead ; though many of " the basements " have been closed ; and though many a den of thieves have, through business and industry, been converted into hives of labor, while, at the same time, the commerce of New York having declined, the sailors no longer congregate in such ungodly quantities as" in times past; though the police have done their duty, and thereby diminished misery and crime within the district, yet still, Heaven knows, the place is unutterably horrible, viewed from a humanitarian point. While such ' ' dens ' ' as the ' ' velvet room ' ' (so called because no THE HEATHEN CHINEE. 1Q9 1 velvet was ever seen within it, nothing but rags and sawdust) , at the corner of Rosevelt and Water Streets, where men and women nightly get drunk together, drinking vile liquor from the bung-holes of barrels, and then lying down senseless on top of the barrels ; and the distilleries of Flaunigan and Branigau in James Street and Cherry Street, are among the most demoralizing haunts of degraded humanity upon the top of the earth, there is not in the city of New York, nor the city of London, nor the city of Paris, nor any other city in Christian lands, or heathen, a viler, fouler, more repulsive, more wretched, more God-forsaken hole, than what is known as DONOVAN'S LANE. The majority of our readers have, doubtless, never heard of this locality, and they should thank Providence for their ignorance ; and }"et within its limits are two most striking companion examples of poor life among the professedly pagans, and the, by courtesy, Chris- tians, of New York. THE "HEATHEN" POOR. Donovan's Lane begins with a Chinese opium-den of the lowest class, and terminates with an Irish shanty. It runs from Baxter Street to Pearl Street, and is soon to be closed, thanks be to God, Capt. Kennedy, and the street-commissioner. There are two opium- dens within its limits. The larger one fronts on Baxter Street, and comprises a Chinese club-room and temple combined, where the celes- tials play cards, drink tea, and worship their gods ; while to the rear is a room about twelve feet by ten, carpetless, chairless, pictureless, cheerless, full of bunks or boards, full of dirty linen, which serve as the beds for some dozen Chinamen cooks, stewards, cigar-sellers, etc., honest people enough, but oh, so very poor ! living together like pigs in a pen, in a stifling atmosphere, without the slightest pretence to comfort or decency. On the top bunk lay stretched out, when we visited the place, a dying Chinaman, who was sinking with a low fever ; while in the lower bunks lay, in their dirty linen, three or four Chinamen, huddled together in a space hardly big enough, and cer- 110 DONOVAN'S LANE. tainly not clean enough, for a pet poodle, and smoking themselves into an opium stupor. But this place was a palace compared with another opium-den, to the rear, right in the centre of Donovan's Lane. Here, surrounded by mud-heaps and pest-heaps, and breathing in the foul exhalations from them, and from the poison garbage lying all around them, in a room small, mean, low studded, without any chairs at all, only the greasy tables, a bunk in one corner, and an indescribably filthy bed in another corner, lay sprawling some ten men, emitting smoke from their pipes, and filthy stench from themselves. A pot full of filth was in the centre of the den, rendering the air still fouler ; some dirty linen stunk in a pile just beyond it, and altogether a nastier place could not be conceived of ; and yet this was the evening haunt, the bedroom, the breakfast-room, the home, of poor wretches of pagans, who, when they could do no better, the impecunious heathens, as officer Francis Caddell told us, had been known to kill rats which infested their den, and eat them for want of any other food, in this most charitable ( ?) city. But the condition of the ' CHRISTIAN POOR, the poor who were not heathens, residing in Donovan's Lane, was worse than that of the pagans themselves. Miscegenation held high carnival in Donovan's Lane ; black men and white women cursed and stunk and loafed and brawled and suffered there; the "base- ments " of some of the old houses in the lane were so vile, that we approached their broken-down doors with our fingers to our nostrils ; and yet they swarmed with wretched humanity and fat vermin : and, amid all the other odors, that of the stables was not wanting ; for, toward the end of the lane, there were a pair of cart-horses kept, who were kept much more comfortably than any of the human beings, white or black, little or big. male or female, Christian or heathen, in Donovan's Lane. This is how the wretchedly, abominably poor "live " in the great metropolis, the wretches who cannot afford to rent rooms or exist in tenement-houses. TENEMENT-HOUSE LIFE. Ill And tliis is the way the poor live who can "afford " tenement- house life. This description is taken from the elaborate expose of tenement-house life which appeared originally in the columns of " The Sunday Telegram : " No. Water Street is ironically called "The Gem," because in all respects it is an utterly worthless structure. It consists of a frame-building in the front and a brick building in the rear ; the latter being reached by an alley-way, full of filth, worm-eaten, full of holes, ricketty, full of pitfalls for the unwary. The yard between the front and rear houses is very small and very foul, offensive with garbage and filth. The cellar is wet, and the closets are simply damnable. The rear house is vile and filthy enough, but it is a very palace com- pared with the front building. Here civilization is on a par with ventilation, there being no pretence at either. There are no sinks in the house ; there is no sewer connection ; the walls look as if they had never known of whitewash ; the floors are filthy ; and, of course, there are no ventilation-pipes. And yet there ought to be air enough through the house, for almost every other window-pane in it is broken. The front-hall window has eight panes broken out of twelve. But even the bitter breath of winter cannot clean this Augean stable of a tenement, for the smells from the filthy floors and the filthier yard raise day and night their protest against the carelessness of agents and landlords. The odov of decaying garbage mingles with the odor of food (such as the food is), and the odor from the closets mingles with these two previously mentioned smells ; the three forming a terrible perfume, worthy of the infernal regions. And this triply foul atmosphere is the only air which twenty-five children and young people of both sexes breathe this blessed holiday season. In the second-story rear room of the front house the "Telegram" representative found, at the time of his visit, a spec- tacle of human misery to which he is wholly unable to do justice. Conceive Meg Merrilies (as played by Charlotte Cushman) lying in 112 MEG MERRILIES IN NEW YORK. her rags, and very few rags at that, stretched out full length upon the floor, and a floor full of holes, without any carpet, and black with dirt, holding upward and outward her skinny arms and long hande toward the merest pretence of a fire, which merely illu- minated faintly, but did not warm at all. Conceive, if you can, that this Meg Merrilies has not been able to move for several weeks, and that she has no bed to move to if she could move at all. Remember, that, during all the recent cold snap, this Meg Merrilies has been lying shivering on the floor, with the wind howling in through the shutterless and broken window. Above all, do not forget that this Meg Merrilies has not tasted for weeks any food worth mentioning, save some soup a poor neighbor brought her, and of which her cat has taken the majoi portion ; as Tabby is strong, and the old woman is not. To this add that Meg Merrilies has a bad cough, and has to pay four dollars a month for her bare walls and floor, and that every cent given her by her poor neighbors is swallowed up for this rent. Above all, bear in mind that this poor creature never draws a pure breath, and that the only air which reaches her is the horrible atmosphere already men- tioned, flavored with the odors of foul food, fouler garbage, and the foulest closets in the city, which are situate directly under her broken window. Remember all this ; and now think that this is no fancy sketch, but a faithful report of the condition of Mrs. Mary Coffin, aged eighty years. In the hole back of the floor occupied by this old woman sleep, on rags on the floor, Mary Douglas, and her daughter, eight years old, who says she would like to know what a good square meal was, but, above all things else, desires a place where she can get rid of the smells which persistently haunt this cursed place. To add to the discomforts of this hole, there are garbage-boxes in the halls ; dogs sleep around the house ; there are dangerous holes in the floors ; the steps are broken ; there are no lights in any of the hallways ; and on wet days the rains soak in through the rotten roof, and flood the lower floors. To sum up, there is not a single room in this large house which is fit for a beast to live in ; and perhaps the worst-looking woman in the ROTTEN ROW. 113 whole tenement is a widow Harrison, aged sixty- two, who resides in the dirtiest and foulest room in the building, and who owns the whole house. Let me strengthen and conclude this fearfully accurate pen-picture of tenement-house life (?) in New York by re- publishing the subjoined " realistic " description of " Rotten Row." In Greenwich Street, between Spring Street and Canal Street, on the North-river side, there extends a block of houses, known to the neighborhood under the generic, yet at the same time specific, name of " Rotten Row." Now, there is a Rotten Row in London very well known to very fashionable people ; but this Rotten Row of ours here in New York is not yet known to fashionable people at all. Yet it is worth seeing, this New- York Rotten Row, for it is very suggestive, very realistic, very terrible ; and this is what you see in Rotten Row : Enter No. Greenwich Street, for instance, Mrs. , agent. You will see the narrowest yard you probably ever saw, full of all sorts of refuse, containing a huge puddle of stagnant water, a small, tumble-down, foul closet, heaps of wood and shavings, and a pile of dirty rags. This yard? such as it is, winds and curves, like a dog's hind-legs, and serves no useful purpose whatever. It is merely a " crooked hole." From this yard leads a dark, narrow entry, as dirty as dark, with the sootiest, grimiest walls one ever set eyes on, walls full of holes, full of filth; walls bulging, cracked, repulsive looking. Having traversed the entry, you ascend, if you are an expert climber, a flight of stairs, winding, rickety, dirty, worn, a flight of stairs which grows darker as you climb ; as, while leaving the light in the entry below you, you do not gain any light from above you, as the only light on the whole staircase comes from a very small window on the very top floor. Reaching the top, you find you have reached a rat-hole, a deserted garret, a plasterless, chilly, filthy old rat-hole of a garret of course, deserted by humanity. You are about to descend, when you hear 114 HUMANITY IN A RAT-HOLE. voices and sounds above you ; and you suddenly become unpleasantly aware that you have made a mistake, that your deserted garret is really AN INHABITED RAT-HOLE, thickly inhabited, too, for three families live all the year round in this garret, and pay a high rent for the privilege of so living. Climbing up cautiously to the garret, you find it composed of a species of central space, or hallway, into which open three rooms, or square holes, inhabited each by a family. The situation here is as picturesque as it is uncomfortable. In winter the snow and the sleet enter here without aught to hinder ; in summer the heat here is stifling ; in rainy weather the whole garret is aleak ; in windy weather the garret might as well be out of doors. But here, alike in rain, in wind, in summer, and in winter, live and shiver and scorch and moisten a number ot human beings, . four old women and two children, who pay four dollars a month for their " privileges." Right below and to the side of this garret you see a square door, like the entrance to a loft. Opening it you find yourself in a long, narrow room, a sort of extension, a prolonged hole, likewise inhabited by a family. The family being above the average of its class, the room is clean ; but a more cheerless and dilapidated assemblage of boards was never put together. The ceiling tumbles down in instal- ments, the roof leaks, the walls are full of holes : there is not the slightest pretence at convenience, or aught required by health or comfort. The only cheerful-looking object in the room is a two- months-old baby, lying, tied up, sleeping on the pile of rags which serves for a bed, looking for all the world like an Indian pappoose. The whole house is substantially built, but as dirty as desolate, as bare as it is substantial. It is utterly unfitted to be lived in five minutes, yet there are several poor devils who have lived in it for five years. Another house, No. Greenwich Street, owned by a Mr. of a Fire-Insurance Company, is very similar in all material points TWENTY-TWO YEABS IN A HOG-PEN. 115 and aspects. Its entry and its yard are even dirtier than that of the. .house just described. The entry, particularly, is so full of decayed vegetables that it would be readily mistaken for a muck- garden. No. Greenwich Street is a third component part of the tene- ment-house horror known as "Rotten Row." It has a very small yard, not over four feet m width, an alley of dirt, terminating in a foul closet. Here is where the children play and the women wash. The walls of this house are black with age and dirt, and full of holes. The doors are decayed and dirty ; so are the floors, so are the ceil- ings. There is a dirt-heap under the stairs, and the staircase is in a terrible condition. All the entries are dirty, narrow, and dark. On the second floor of this house, in the front-room, live five families, separated by a curtain. This way of dividing a room is a very common occurrence in tenement-houses ; and the discomforts, to say nothing of the indecencies, it implies, will suggest themselves at once. The curtain, or screen, is generally of the thinnest ; nor is it by any means always in its place. The herding together after this fashion of young and old people of both sexes is a terrible evil. The top floor of this house is an abominable place, fit only for cats, dogs, and rats, who inhabit in about equal proportions ; but, unfor- tunately, it is also inhabited by several families of human beings, who pay rent for their dens. One old woman has lived in this garret-hell for twenty-two years, paying rent for it all the time. Just think of it ! TWENTY-TWO YEARS IN A HOG-PEN, for it is nothing more nor less. During the greater portion of this time she has paid ten dollars a month for her share of the dirt and darkness of the garret, sometimes as high as twelve dollars a month. At present she is paying "only" two dollars a week. Altogether she has paid the various landlords of this house over twenty-five hundred dollars, a small fortune, taken out in filth and misery. There are big holes in the walls of this garret, there is a lack of 116 PANDEMONIUM IN A LOFT. plaster, the ceiling is giving way in various places, the floor is full of holes, the spot is as cheerless as a graveyard, there are no conven- iences of any kind ; but here for nearly a quarter of a century has lived this old woman, and here are living at this moment a num- ber of men and women in certain divisions of dirt and despair which they call and pay rent for as their " rooms." But would you believe it? Even on top of this top floor, overhead of this garret, there is a viler place still, which is the home of six human beings. You have to climb up to this loft on a rickety ladder, at the risk of breaking your neck ; and, when you reach the loft, you have to bend your body to avoid striking with your head the sides. The only light and air that can reach this loft must reach it through the smallest species of a square window, an aperture of about one foot square : and it is always dark and damp ; as, of course, the old roof leaks here, there, and everywhere. In winter this loft receives through the chinks in the shingles of the roof the snow ; in storms this loft receives the rain ; one-half the year it is as hot as Tartarus ; the other half of the year it is as cold as Greenland. And it is always night there, though God's blessed sunlight is but an inch or so outside. Damp, dirty, full of holes, full of rags, full of garbage, full of rats, this PANDEMONIUM OF A LOFT is the home of three men, two women, and a little baby, who live together in misery, squalor, and indecency, ay, and pay four dollars a month to be able to do so. There are only two artists who would even attempt to do adequate justice to the " situation " in this loft, Charles Dickens and Gustave Dore". And, while on this subject of the poor, I cannot refrain from quoting the following article from " The New- York Era," which presents a peculiar view of the metropolitan poor, taken from. a " summer " stand-point : " God help the poor! " This is a pet phrase of philanthropy in winter, when the snow is on the ground, when the bleak wind whis- In Donovan's Lane " [p. 116]. THE POOR OF NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 117 ties : but philanthropy ignores the poor in summer ; it does not think of them when the grass is green, when the flowers are fragrant, when fashion goes "out of town." Yet the poor must live, even in the summer. But how do the poor live in summer? That is the question. And we propose to answer it, so far as the answer can be furnished, by a description of the way the poor live during " the heated term " in the city of New York. First, who do we mean by "the poor"? Why, not only the pauper and the tramp, but the man or woman of straitened circum- stances, the man or woman who obtains his or her daily bread by his or her daily toil, and whose daily toil does not always suffice to obtain their daily bread. How do these live in summer? Well, we will show by examples. Do you see that man eating peaches there at the corner, that man with an old straw hat, and still older coat, and far older pants ; that shabby man, who munches peaches as if he were really hungry, which he is? Well, that man has a history. He was, two years &go, a book-keeper for a wholesale house, at a salary of two thousand dollars a year. His firm failed, and he has been out of work ever since. There is a plethora of book-keepers in the market. For a while he lived on expectations, and a little money that he had saved. Then he lived on a little money that he was able to borrow. Then he lived on trust. And then he did not live at all. He and his family (he had a family, of course : men out of employment always have) merely existed. They sank lower and lower. Now they oc- cupy a room on a top floor of an Essex-street tenement-house, and the whole family eat nothing but fruit. The family of three live on peaches, bananas, and apples, cheap, because somewhat decayed fruit. This is an actual fact. The writer of this article has talked with this man, and had heard his story from his own lips. About forty cents' worth of fruit a day suffices to keep soul and body together, in the person of himself, his wife, and his child. Small apples, peaches, etc., can be purchased at a cent apiece, sometimes six or seven for 118 MIDNIGHT IN MADISON SQUARE. five cents ; and five cents' worth can make a meal, such as it is, keep a human being from starvation. At this hour there are hun- dreds of men and women in the city of New York who exist wholly upon fruit, and who thank God that the summer affords them the opportunity to get this fruit. Their dining-rooms are the street- corners ; their restaurateurs are the old apple-women ; their menu consists wholly of dessert. How do the poor sleep in summer ? Do they sleep at all ? We propose to show. The other night the writer of this article strolled, after midnight r through Madison-square Park. He found himself in the midst of a colony of tramps, of tramps who were not tramping, but sleep- ing. The benches in the park were half full with slumbering va- grants. The seats had been extemporized into beds. The writer made a tour of the park, and counted sixty-four sleepers, and thir- teen who were preparing to sleep. It was a picturesque spectacle. Nothing could be more so. The pale moon looked through fleecy clouds upon the poor devils as they slept ; but even the moon followed the example of the rest of the world, and looked down upon them. Around them was the green grass, over the heads of some of them waved the leafy trees ; and there they slept, in all manner of positions. One man slept bolt upright. He was an ' ' old stager, ' ' and could sleep under any circumstances. Another leaned his head upon his cane, and snored yes, absolutely snored as comfortably and as thoroughly as though he were reposing on a feather-bed. A third old veteran slept with his head on the iron side of a seat, with one leg on the ground, and the other thrown loosely over the back of the seat, a position which we defy any mortal but an experienced tramp to sleep in. One wearied mortal reposed at full length on the ground, and we were glad to see him do so. It seemed more according to the fitness of things. Surely the turf was a more appropriate bed than the bench. He was a young man ; but, young as he was, he already looked like one who had seen better days and nights. SLEEPERS IN THE PARKS. 11D Among the crowd of sleepers there was one woman, a rather pretty, though faded, woman, decent too ; for she slept upright, all by herself, in the corner of the park facing the junction of Twenty- third Street and Madison Avenue. There was also one scholar among these tramps, one wide-awake scholar, who sat bolt upright, and, under the full light of a lamp, was reading a book, not only reading it, but evidently studying it care- fully. Who knows but this tramp may some day be a secretary of state, aye, may be a President himself? Thousands of men, and not a few women, sleep in the Central Park. This fact is, of course, denied by the Central-park police ; but it is a fact, nevertheless. How on earth can it be prevented? or, to put the matter on its merits, why should it be prevented if it could? Better to sleep all night in the park than in the station- houses, or out on the street, as they sleep in Donovan's Alley, and other choice localities, or in carts, or on cellar-doors. A policeman of a statistical turn of mind calculated, in a talk with the writer, that, on a fair night in August, over five hundred people slept in the various public parks, and that fully that number slept in the street, or on piles of boards, in wagons, etc. About six or seven hundred more "bummed" in the various station-houses, while one or two hundred wandered from place to place, or walked the streets sleeplessly all night. Altogether, the bedless population of New York in summer may be safely estimated to reach at least two thousand, more than the entire population of many a thriving country town ! Just think of it, a bedless village in our midst ! If those who peruse this book will but read and re-read the articles I have just quoted, they will be enabled to form a cor- rect as well as vivid idea of " the poor of New York." CHAPTER XII. THE PEN-PANORAMA OF NEW YORK (continued). CRIME AND CRIMINALS. THE MALE AND FEMALE THIEVES OF THE METROPOLIS. MEETING MUR- DERERS ON BROADWAY. THE SOCIAL EVIL. GAMBLING, SQUARE AND SKIN. THE GAMBLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. CHIME in New York, like every thing else in New York, flourishes extensive^, and is generally misstated and misun- derstood. It is underrated by many, and overestimated by many more. The really good and innocent have very faint ideas of how many really rascally and professedly criminal men and women there are in New York ; while, on the other hand, the man of the world, or the average New-Yorker, is apt to exaggerate the facts of the case, and to credit (?) the great and greatly bad metropolis with a much greater percentage of villany than really belongs to it. Some years ago a writer in " The New- York World " pub- lished an elaborate article on "The Thieves of New York," which contained a great deal of reliable information concern- ing its subject. Taken as a whole, this article may be re- garded as one of the most extended, philosophical, and accurate of its class; and I cannot do better than by here giving ex- tracts from it. The major portion of the thieves of New York is composed of the sons and daughters of Irish parents, either born in this country, or having emigrated to it at an early age. Next in numerical pro- portion comes the native population itself. Then rank the English, who supply the metropolis with some of its most skilful and success- 120 DIVISIONS OF THIEVES. 121 ful "operators." Next rank the German population, who supply a large percentage of the meanest kind of thieves, known as receivers of stolen goods ; also a considerable proportion of the shoplifters ol the metropolis. Then come the aliens, vrho rank among them, man^ vagrant thieves, and the lowest possible characters ; and, after them, the refuse of the Spaniards, who devote their leisure to intrigue, the confidence game, and to general thieving. There are very few Scotch, and very few Welsh, and not a very large proportion of French, thieves. There is also a considerable percentage of thieves of color. Thieves are divided and subdivided into distinct classes, each class devoting itself to a separate branch of the "profession." These varieties of operation may be enumerated as follows : The burglar, or cracksman, embracing two different species, the scien- tific burglar, or first class, who exercises a great deal of intellectual, as well as mechanical, skill in his profession, as in breaking open the safe or strong-box of some bank or banker, and the common burglar, or second class, who merely uses his jimmy, skeleton key, and kindred tools ; the highway robber, or Toby-man, who attacks one in the public streets, especially late at night, or in the less peril- ous districts ; the garroter, a species of highway robber, too famil- iar to need any description ; the pickpocket, or knucksman, male or female ; the snatcher, who grasps his prey suddenly at unawares, and runs for it ; the sneak thief, who justifies his name by sneaking into houses, and stealing whatever apparel, or odds and ends, he can ; the car-thief, or car-frisker, and his companion, the stage-thief, or stage-buzzer ; the counterfeiter, or kogniacker, or maker and shover of the "queer;" till-thieves, or till- tappers, who devote themselves to the robbery of the exchequer ; forgers, or scratchers, who are, in a criminal point of view, regarded as very dangerous sort of thieves ; "pocket-book droppers," or heelers, whose peculiar business will be explained hereafter; "confidence" men, who are also to be prop- erly counted as thieves; "receivers," or " fences," who are cer- tainly robbers, and the very worst variety thereof, though they are too cowardly to do the business themselves ; the hotel-thief, among 122 THE "HEELERS." the most genteel and dangerous of all variety of robber ; the train- ers of thieves, male and female, who keep in this "Christian city of New York, and in this nineteenth century of Christianity, regular schools of stealing; the river-thieves, or dock-rats, who "follow the river; " the panel-thieves, or badgers; the shoplifters, or hoist- ers, a variety of thieves with whom metropolitan store-keepers are only too familiar; domestic thieves, who are the pests of private families, and the dread of housewives ; and a few minor varieties, which are known only by the thieves themselves. The class of men and women denominated "blackmailers," as likewise the class known as "fraudulent buyers," may also be con- sidered as "outside," " indirect," though very dangerous thieves. It sometimes happens that a thief will combine two or more "varieties" we have jyst mentioned, turning his hand to whatever branch may pay him the best, or for which the most favorable oppor- tunities are afforded : but, as a rule, each professional has his own favorite line of business, to which he devotes his energies ; just as lawyers are criminal lawyers, civil lawyers, divorce lawyers, etc. The pocket-book robbers, or heelers, are a peculiar variety of thieves. They drop a pocket-book at a countryman's feet, touch him on the heel to direct his attention, then, pointing to the pocket- book, suggest that it may have been lost by some one in the city ; that they are not able to take any steps to return it to its rightful owner, as they are obliged to leave town ; but they will intrust the duty of so doing to the countryman himself, suggesting that the latter can entitle himself to a liberal reward by restoring the wallet, which appears to be well -filled, to the owner. The excited rustic, who intends to keep it for his own use, and who thinks his compan- ions to be consummate fools, accepts the pocket-book (and the im- posed duties), and is about to leave, when the " droppers " suggest, that, as he will receive a heavy reward for the wallet, they themselves deserve some compensation for giving it to his care. The country- man hands them some bank-notes, and, five minutes later, discovers that he has given good money for bad, that the pocket-book is "stuffed," and that he himself is a sadder and wiser man. Confi- POINTS ABOUT THIEVES. 123. dence-men often play a lucrative but a difficult part. They pretend to have money themselves, or checks, or stocks, or equivalents, obtain money or goods on these " frauds," and thus earn, or at least obtain, a livelihood. Their dodges are almost infinite and often ingenious. They will form an acquaintance with a man, spend money liberally on him, and at the last moment discover that they are forced at once to liquidate a heavy pecuniary obligation ; they have only a check for a thousand, which is dated a few days ahead ; will their friend be kind enough to advance the money on it? which the friend doe& to his cost. At least twenty other swindles could be mentioned, did space "allow. The receivers of stolen goods, or "fences," are a variety of pawnbrokers or stolen collaterals, keeping nominal dry- goods stores, tailor-shops, etc. They pay about one-fourth of the value of the stolen article, then hide it in their cellars, or send it off to some confederate in another city. They are in constant communi- cation with the thieves, and "assist" them in various ways, fur- nishing them with bail, or lawyers, or convenient witnesses. As for the trainers of thieves in this city, they are simply compan- ion pictures to the great Dickens's pen-picture of " Fagan the Jew." The blackmailers and fraudulent buyers have so many methods of operation that it would be needless to attempt, in our limited space, to describe them, especially as these classes are outside of the regu- lar " organizations," to which we have reference. As a rule, thieves dress well and not flashily : we allude to the better and more successful class of " operators." They do not, as a general statement, affect jewellery ; endeavoring, of course, to avoid any and every mark of their identity personally. Thieves are also, as a class, skilful in imitation and disguise, two very essential qualifications in their profession. It is also stated on good authority, that, in point of cleanliness, thieves are models as a rule ; also they are rarely drunkards. They have vices enough, but intemperance is, not one of them. The latter is too careless and incautious a failing. A thief seldom commits himself by " outside " talk. He never betrays himself by the hasty or imprudent word. His motto in this respect is that of King Solomon, "The fool speaketh all his mind, but the 124 WHAT THIEVES DO. wise man keepeth it till afterwards." But, on the other hand, he is unreservedly confidential to his "pals." In their relation with women, thieves are more " moral " and " constant " than is generally imagined. In fact, the hazards of a life of crime often develop a degree of truth and affection between man and woman, united only by the slenderest ties, which is seldom equalled (because seldom called for) in a career of respectability. A thief will not hesitate to lie in an outrageous manner to an "outsider." He considers this lie as a justifiable weapon of defence or defiance, but to his confederates he will invariably speak the truth. The great vice of the thief is gambling. This is the chief amusement and pernicious folly of his life. All thieves gamble, from the most renowned burglar to the most obscure sneak-thief. As fast as they make a "haul," they rush to faro or keno, and " lose their pile " almost as rapidly as they acquire it. Late every night, after the professional duties of the day are over, the " crossman " of every grade can be seen going from gambling-hell to hell, seeking not " whom he may devour," but where he may be pecuniarily devoured. If it were not for the gambling- table, all thieves might be rich. As it is, the gambling-table keeps them all poor. Men who steal are not, as a class, educated men ; but it has lately been observed that their increasing numbers, and their contact with the world, have rendered the tribe more refined and " clever," super- ficially at least : while not a few of modern thieves are among the most gifted men in the country. In the matter of pleasures it has been remarked that they are not much addicted to the average run of amusements, as theatrical exhibitions and the like, perhaps from their acquired habit of regarding these " affairs " with an eye to business. Their chief gratification seems to be "idling" when "off duty," and gossiping with their "pals." They are decidedly fond of the pleasures of the table. Thieves seldom go alone, and still more seldom work alone. They operate in what is styled "mobs," embracing from three to seven persons, under the leadership of some skilful and bold "hand." Till-tappers, confidence-men, and heelers generally work in pairs ; A THIEF'S GRATITUDE. 125 while any number of parties may be concerned in a burglary. A shoplifter sometimes works without assistance. The "mobs" often associate together, and form a "bank," to which a certain portion of their "stealings" is appropriated, to be used during a bad season, or when one of their number falls into the clutches of the law. That is called "laying for a fall." "HONOR AMONG THIEVES." This oft-quoted expression has a meaning, a real and noteworthy signification. There is a practical "honor" among "professional thieves," which non-professionals would, in some respects, do well to imitate. This honor includes the following " points : " First, A thief does not consider his fellow as an enemy, but, rather, as a friend. Thus : if A, a thief, meets B, whom, though a perfect stranger to him, he recognizes also to be a thief, A will not endeavor to divert business from B, or interfere with his prospects, but contents himself with his own line of trade, and, if he does aught in the premises, will directly assist the stranger B. This is honor " reversed " indeed. Second, Thieves are strictly upright in the payment of their debts to one another. Thus : Dutch Hendricks borrowed twenty dollars of a fellow-prisoner, who was a perfect stranger to him personally, and promised to return it as soon as possible. Shortly after, Hen- dricks was liberated ; while the man who loaned him the money was sent to Sing Sing. But Hendricks's first " earnings " after his return to freedom were devoted to the payment of his loan, which was handed over by him to a party designated by the original lender ; thus cancelling an obligation which nothing but a sense of honor could have compelled him to satisfy. Third, Thieves are, as a class, grateful for favors rendered, and, like an Indian, never forget a kindness. A man by the name of Clarke, in Lispenard Street, once assisted a poor thief during his sickness by bringing to the room where the fellow lay some medicines and invalid luxuries. He was in the room but ten minutes ; but the thief, though apparently dying, took in at a glance his benefactor's 126 HONOR AMONG THIEVES. countenance, and inquired his name. The thief's first step after his recovery was to discover the locale of Mr. Claj-ke : and, though naught transpired at the time, two years afterwards, when Clarke himself had forgotten the occurrence, and was pressed greatly for the want of five hundred dollars, the money was mysteriously forth- coming ; being sent to him, as was afterwards discovered, by the .grateful thief. Such instances are by no means rare. Fourth, Thieves are seldom mean in their money transactions outside of the necessities of their profession. Thus : it has been remarked, at the drinking-bar of a large hotel near Niblo's Garden, that, while many men of apparent respectability would "forget" in the crowd to "settle for their drinks," the unsuspected pickpocket would invariably pay his reckonings. Fifth, Thieves seldom or never betray each other. They will bear the odium of the punishment alone, rather than force a comrade to share it. Occasionally they will even bear the brunt of misdeeds committed by others of the fraternity. Sometimes they will aid an officer indirectly in restoring stolen property, provided that no persons are compromised. In regard to the betrayal of confidence, thieves are very severe as concerns their dealings with each other ; and a " dishonorable " thief will be entirely tabooed and ostracized by his companions. Thieves, however, have been known to attempt to lay the burden of their guilt on the shoulders of innocent "outside" parties. Thus: a car-thief recently stole a pocket-book, "weeded it," and then placed it in the pocket of an unsuspecting by-stander, who was accused of the robbery. This is called, we believe, "Tail- ing a dead-leather," and is an unutterably mean proceeding. After all, this " honor among thieves " is only remarkable because of its contrast with the usual baseness and turpitude of their general life. Another writer in " Frank Leslie's Illustrated Paper " has given the world the following interesting facts regarding female thieves : That stealing has become in modern times " a fine art," and that it is never likely to become one of " the lost arts," is generally con- FEMALE THIEVES. 127 ceded; but it is one of those many "arts" or professions in which the women will never be able, in all probability, to rival the men. Somehow or other there are fewer female thieves than male thieves ; and, as a class, the former are less expert at their wicked work than the latter. Account for it as you may, the fact is undoubted. Every detec- tive, every police-officer, every magistrate, every humanitarian, will tell you that a comparatively small percentage of women, are thieves ; that male thieves, in proportion to female, are as three to one ; while they are not only far less numerous, but far less skilful and daring, far less plucky, far less clever. Some theorists may account for the fact just stated on the ground of the superior virtue of the female sex. They may assume, and perhaps with some show of truth, that women are innately more honest than men. Others, again, less complimentary to the sex, may account for the comparative paucity of female thieves on the theory that women are more cowardly than men, less prone to take the risks of personal punishment and State prison ; while a third set of philosophers may argue that women are really less clever "at taking things," less expert with their handy, less skilful in the use of burglars' tools, than men. Probably all three of these theories are to a certain extent correct, and together will serve to account for the fact that female thieves are comparatively few. But only "comparatively" few, after all; for in reality, consid- ered by itself r without any reference to the men, the number of female thieves in the country in general, and in the city of New York in special, is large, quite too large. And one fact should here be noted : The proportion of female thieves is on the increase, and has been steadily increasing for some time. There are more women who steal professionally now than there were ten years ago. Emigration, and the social and pecuniary changes brought about by the war, together with the "labor" strikes and troubles which have 128 STEALING IN "SOCIETY." agitated the community for some time past, will serve partly to account for this very undesirable increase. FEMALE THIEFDOM : ITS UPPER AXD LOWER TENDOM. Female thieves, as found in the metropolis, where they are in a higher (?) degree of perfection (?) than elsewhere, may be divided into eight classes, three of which may be characterized as "indirect" thieves, while the latter five classes are thieves "direct." The " indirect " thieves do not style themselves " thieves," and are called by more euphonious titles. They "operate" mysteriously and in secret ; while the other classes ply their nefarious trade, wherever they can get a chance, by ordinary methods, among ordinary people. The " indirect," or, if the term is not an absurdity in such a con- nection, the " higher," classes of female thieves sometimes embrace women of some education, and even pretensions to refinement ; while the lower ranks are composed almost wholly of the most ignorant, vulgar, and degraded of the sex. The three "higher" (?) classes of female thieves comprise what are called, in common parlance, " blackmailers " and " adven- turesses ; " and to the list should be added the class known as " hotel- thieves." Strictly speaking, these adventuresses, blackmailers, con- fidence-women, etc., are thieves, just as truly as the pickpocket. In fact, they are thieves of the most dangerous description, ten times more dangerous than any mere pocket-pickers. In strictly "social" or non-professional circles, too, there have been occasionally (but very rarely) found ladies of standing and position who have forgotten themselves and the eighth commandment* STEALING IX "SOCIETY." One lady of middle age, a wife and mother, highly connected, but whose family are "decayed," reduced somewhat in pecuniary cir- cumstances, though still what is called "comfortable," has been more than suspected of having taken the well-filled pocket-book of a lady- friend with whom she went out one morning "shopping." It FEMININE HOTEL-THIEVES. 129 has so happened at different times during the last five or six years, that this lady has " matronized " several heiresses making their debut in New-York society ; and it has also so happened that each one of these heiresses has met with some mysterious pecuniary loss the loss of some pocket-book, etc. while in the company of this most respectable chaperone : so that, putting these facts together, "people " in society have begun to talk about the matter ; and it is not at all probable that this "poor but highly respectable " matron will ever have the chance to matronize any more heiresses. It is a well-known fact, that certain well-to-do men and women women and men who have no pecuniary inducements to steal are yet diseased with an inclination to take things which do not belong to them ; but these maniacs are known as kleptomaniacs, and do not fall under the head proper (or improper) of thieves. But until recently our leading hotels and watering-places were infested with a number of HOTEL-THIEVES, often women of considerable personal attractions, who would become acquainted with the wealthy residents of the hotels, obtain a social footing with their families, and rob their victims, sometimes entering their rooms with false keys, etc., or they would "beat" the hotel- proprietors, deceive them by false representations, or by "stuffed" trunks filled with bricks or other worthlessness. This class of pests throve for a while extensively ; but the hotel-keepers organized a force of special " hotel-detectives," a few of the leading hotel-thieves Mrs. M , Mrs. W , etc. were sent to State prison, and at present hotel-thieving is decidedly on the decline ; the detective already alluded to Mr. George Elder computing the number in this city as not exceeding about thirty. So much for what has been called the " swell " female thieves. The lower orders of female thiefdom embrace five classes, the shoplifters, the stage-thieves, the domestic thieves, or dishonest house- hold-servants, and the pickpockets. 130 UBY-GOODS STORES .AND THEIR THIEVES. SHOPLIFTERS. .^ The shoplifters, or women who steal goods generally dry-goods from stores, are on the increase however. It is calculated that there are about three hundred and fifty shoplifters in the metropolis, the majority of whom are Germans. These shoplifters generally carry a large shawl or a big cloak, and their dresses have huge, deep pockets : sometimes one dress will have as many as four pock- ets. They dress plainly, so as not to attract attention, but neatly, so as to be mistaken for lady customers. They move about our large dry-goods stores, especially on " open- ing " days, examine goods on the counters, and then, when the clerk is not looking at her, for even dry-goods clerks cannot have their eyes everywhere at once, the shoplifter transfers a piece of delicate lace into her capacious pocket, or hides a splendid piece of dress- goods under her shawl or cloak, and departs, sometimes unmolested, and sometimes not : for, taught by experience, most of our large dry- goods stores now employ keen-eyed men as detectives ; and so, occa- sionally, the shoplifter comes to grief. A woman was recently arrested at a dry-goods store, and brought into the private office, where she was searched. Her person was a perfect museum of stolen dress-goods. Her three pockets, being turned inside out, ' ' emitted ' ' pieces of the most costly lace ; and under a capacious shawl was displayed enough silk to make two dresses. Three pairs of stolen gloves also rolled from her pocket on the floor, followed by two richly embroidered lace handkerchiefs. The scene of the "exposure" was rather striking, and eminently " suggestive." Perhaps the most suggestive feature of all was the indignant "attitude" struck by the woman, who persisted, spite of the eloquent " articles " all around, in insisting on her " innocence," she failing to convince the members of the firm. The number of stage-thieves, or women who "work" the stages for the purposes of stealing, is decidedly on the decrease. Time was when our Broadway busses were the favorite haunts of well-dressed female thieves, wlio would pick the pockets of the unwary, or, some- " Searching the shop-lifter " [p 130]. " EMOTIONAL " THIEVES. 131 times, even cut their pockets out by a knife or scissors. So adroit were these thieves, that they have been known to take the money from a stolen pocket-book right before the rightful owner's eyes, and then to replace the pocket-book before the victim missed it. At one time these stage-molls, "stage-buzzers," or "knucks," as they were called, numbered over one hundred ; but it is now claimed that their number has been reduced to less than fifteen known profes- sionals. OUR HOUSEHOLD THIEVES. SOME STARTLING FACTS. The greatest increase in the number of our female thieves has been found to be among our female servants, our "domestics." The increase in these, and in the number of blackmailers and adven- turesses, has over-balanced the decrease in the other lines of profes- sional female thieves. The majority of these dishonest domestics are of German birth ; and it has been ascertained by the efforts of detective Tilly, seconded by the skill of Capt. Irving, that, in certain cases, these servant- thieves combine together, and, under the leadership of a man, him- self a German, rob their employers systematically, taking refuge with the " man " when " out of a situation " between " robberies." A more dangerous state of things for the community could scarcely be imagined; and "intelligence-offices," as at present conducted, are doing, by their loose way of transacting business, all they can to play into the hands of these domestic thieves, one of whom has, how- . ever, recently been consigned to the tender mercies of Sing-Sing prison. EMOTIONAL THIEVING. GRIEVING AND STEALING. Of late years a new and simple, yet clever, style of stealing has become popular with the female thieves of the metropolis. For want of a better name, it may be styled " emotional thieving ; " as it depends upon the exhibition of joy, grief, friendship, etc., on the part of its victims. Weddings and funerals have of late become great centres for clever female thieves in which to operate, and they have made the most of their opportunities. Grief seems to admit 132 FEMALE VILLANY. of more stealing than joy ; or, at least, there are more thieves to be found at funerals than at weddings. Sometimes the thief will "operate" at the church; sometimes at the house of mourning or of feasting ; sometimes the female robber will go, clad gayly, as a friend of the bride ; or sometimes, attired in deepest black, as a heart-broken mourner. But in either case her eyes and fingers are busy all the time. One woman has a large handkerchief bordered with black, with which she wipes her eyes constantly. She attends every possible funeral, and uses this handkerchief, like charity, to cover a " multitude of sins ; " for she manages to use it to hide some article, some knick-knack of value, some book, or article of virtu, some costly trifle, which she may happen to see and clutch. And, as she "steals away," she " wipes her weeping eyes." The number of these " emotional thieves " is estimated at about a hundred and fifty. Then, of late there has arisen a class of thieves who haunt the docks, and mingle with the crowd of people who gather on the piers to see the last of their Europe-going friends. While the "wild adieus are waved from shore," these cunning female thieves "wave " and steal both. A woman was recently arrested, who, while waving her handker- chief with one hand to an imaginary somebody on the departing ship,, with the other hand was busy in the pockets of her neighbor. THE SUM OF FEMALE VILLANY. Of course, accurate statistics of the number of female thieves in New York are utterly unattainable ; but the approximate statistics have already been given, and may be thus summed up. They will be found sufficiently correct for all purposes. They have been fur- nished by the police officials of the city of New York, and are as follows : Professional blackmailers, about 150 Adventuresses (of the upper grades) 200 Hotel-thieves, only 30- FIVE MURDERERS ON BROADWAY. 133 Panel-thieves, only 20 Shoplifters, at least 305 Domestic household-thieves, estimated by the police at about . 400 Miscellaneous female thieves and pickpockets . . . 150 Total 1,255 As yet New York has escaped the presence and the opera- tions of professional assassins, analogous to the bravoes of Venice or the Thugs of India. But that there are hundreds of men "lying around loose," or "tight," ready to commit murder for a consideration, or without any consideration, cannot be denied. Nor can New York claim any high regard for the sanctity of human life. Not only have there been hosts of "mysterious murders" committed in the metropolis, of which the Nathan murder is only one, though the most celebrated, not only have there been hundreds of New- York murderers either ex- ecuted or imprisoned, but there are in New York to-day a number of men, each of whom has killed his man, but all of whom are free as air, and all prosperous, and apparently respected, come quite " popular." In a recent stroll along Broadway, from Clinton Place to Thirty-fourth Street, a New-Yorker met five murderers, one after the other, on the promenade, five men who had shot other men dead. Two of these literally " free shooters " were rich, and were surrounded by their fawning satellites : a third was a great man among the sporting fraternity. The other two were living a retired life, but all five seemed to be in the best of health and spirits ; and it is safe to say, that, in either London or Paris, all five would either have been hung, or would be in State prison for life. " The social evil," so called, is one of the prime evils, the great curses, of New York. There are at least, to use Eliza- beth Barrett Browning's words, while altering her figures, 134 " GAMBLING IN GOTHAM." " Ten thousand women in one smile, Who only smile at night, beneath the gas." And the sights presented, by broad daylight, in the direct rear of the Broadway hotels, from the Grand Central to the St. Nicholas; and the scenes visible every night on any of the leading avenues and thoroughfares, are alike dreadful and dis- gusting. " Up town " is lined with houses of gilded infamy, and assignation houses ; and some of the " hotels " have a character that is more or less than "doubtful." Broadway is " alive " with showily dressed and sometimes beautiful Tra- viatas ; and prominent dry-goods stores, restaurants, ay, and even churches, are turned into cruising-grounds for " adven- turers," and places for "meeting by appointment." The "personals" and " matrimonials " in the papers, even the "housekeepers" and the "medical" advertisements, are used as "baits" for the lascivious, or traps for the unwary. Sixth Avenue exhibits whole blocks of depravity. And even on Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue, right in the heart of the- fashionable quarter, pest-houses of this sort abound. And gambling keeps pace with prostitution. Although the laws are very severe against gambling, and although the- authorities institute spasmodic police-raids against the gam- blers, there is always "play," "high" and "low" alike, and plenty of it, day and night in the metropolis. New York is r par excellence, the favorite resort, both of stock and card gamblers. Some years ago a well-known sensational writer published in "The Sunday Mercury" an article on "Gambling in Gotham," which has been accepted as " authority " ever since. I cannot present to my readers the facts about gambling more fully or accurately than they have been stated in this article,. from which I accordingly quote : A CITY OF GAMBLERS. 135 Gambling-houses may be divided into five classes, an arrange- ment warranted, not only for convenience of description, but also as having a real existence. These five classes embrace, First, The low or negro game-houses, or dens, where the refuse of the city meet, to waste the trifle which is their all in all, and where the play is as fierce in intensity as the stake is of an insignificant amount. Second, The corner groceries, where, in the back-shop, gambling is generally carried on among the servants, laborers, and hackmen of our city. Third, The Bowery or cross-street gambling-establishment, where the clerks and middle classes, and a sprinkling of the thieves and coun- terfeiters of the metropolis, congregate. Fourth, The fashionable gaming-houses on Broadway, and the cross-streets up-town, where our professional gamblers, men about town, and Wall-Street specula- tors, resort ; and Fifth and last, the club-houses on the avenue, where a quiet game is nightly carried on, and where the haut ton play, and lose heavily. The amateur gamblers, betting gentlemen, the members of our first society, who amuse their leisure hours by fighting the tiger, are a very large and influential class of the community. It may safely be stated, that the majority of our leading citizens in New York, either publicly or privately, gamble. New York, in fact, is a city of gam- blers. We bet, we wager, we stake, we hazard : in short, we all gamble. Some of us venture our pile in Wall Street, in daytime ; others in Twenty-fourth Street, at night ; and not a few of us do both. Men, like a well-known down-town speculator and up-town sport, who "operates" terrifically, spends freely what he magnifi- cently acquires, and stakes on the turn of a card as readily as on the rise of a stock ; men, like a prominent banker and politician, also venture freely, and hazard the money they can well afford to lose. The " Old Man," and those of kindred stamp, men of gigantic ideas, gamble like giants. Society-men, physicians, lawyers, judges, and newspaper-men devote a portion of their spare time to play ; while at least two-thirds of our politicians are, to a greater or less degree, gamblers. Gamblers may be divided into two great classes, of amateurs and 136 GAMBLERS AND THEIR CLASSES. professionals, men who gamble for excitement and amusement, and men who gamble for a livelihood. Of the latter class we would here say a few words. Professional gamblers, like all classes of men, may be indefinitely divided and subdivided into various grades, more or less clearly de- fined. First, There are the proprietors of the fashionable gambling- houses on Twenty- fourth to Twenty-seventh Streets the Wall Street of gamblers, the Fifth Avenue of farodom and the vicinity. Sec- ond come the proprietors of the Broadway houses. Then there are the proprietors of the smaller establishments, located on the Bowery and the cross-streets. Then there are a class of people, who, like the late John C. Heenan, keep what is called a gambler's bank, an institution whose character is explained in another part of the article. And last comes the herd of gamblers who haunt these various estab- lishments, some of whom play the role of roper-in or general agent for an establishment ; others, that of capper, a term elsewhere ex- plained ; others, who are dealers, a very important post given only to men who can be trusted, etc., who never talk; others, who look out, or watch the dealer, preventing any mistake on his part ; others. who keep the cue-board, croupiers generally, blacklegs, et id omne genus. We must not forget, in our enumeration, to mention the inevitable contraband, who, in this connection, is generally a sleek, well-bred fellow, who guards the entrance, sees that supper is served, and performs kindred offices. Lowest and meanest of all come the "strippers," a class of blackmailers and loafers who infest gambling-houses, and, too cowardly to risk aught on their own account, claim a portion of the gamblers' spoils under penalty of a " row " or an " expose" if refused. Those who object to losing money at games of chance should not play at all ; and it is the height of meanness to as has of late been too frequently done first illegally venture money at hazard, and then, by process of law, to recover it if the venture has gone adversely. The true wisdom is, to shun all such places as one would a roaring lion. It has, however, been stated often, that all gam- bling-games are unfairly conducted ; that no amateur is safe with THE " CAPPEB." 137 *' patents "or professionals; in other words, that all gamblers are sharpers. These statements, like all other general statements, though generally true, are occasionally, though rarely, false, correct under certain circumstances, and unfounded in others. A few, very, very few absolutely gamblers are beyond reproach as gamblers, and gentlemen can stake money at their establishments with a perfect assurance of good faith, so far as the mere gambling is concerned ; the best proof of which fact is, that these houses, and others of a similar character, sometimes, though very, very seldom, lose heavily with apparent amateurs, or sometimes with absolute strangers. But to by far the most of the minor houses of New York, and to not a few of the fashionable establishments, these statements are not at .all applicable, but, as they say in the comedy, precisely the reverse. These latter dens are the resorts of blacklegs and dupes ; and, of course, the former carry the day, or, rather, the night. We propose here, briefly, to unveil a few of the more prominent mysteries of these establishments. Gambling-houses of the kind last alluded to employ a very useful personage, known as the capper. The capper is generally a genteel- looking individual, apparently forty or forty-five years of age, con- veying the idea of a retired merchant, or a gentleman living upon his income. It often happens that a party of amateurs, or greens, may be gathered together in a gaming-house, disposed for sport, and yet each of the assemblage being unwilling to open the game on his own individual account. In this case the capper is needed. A bell gives him the signal. He hastens down stairs from his inner chamber, opens the street-door, enters the gamblirfg-room, as though a visitor just arrived. He is welcomed by the proprietor with empressement, saluted as "Colonel," is asked where he has been lately, he has not been visible for some time, etc., and will he not have a glass of wine or a cigar. The capper, or colonel, blandly accepts all the courtesies shown him, and then, looking around in his polite and dignified way upon the assembled company, impressing them with a feeling of respect and confidence by his unblemished integrity, -suggests pleasantly, "What say you, gentlemen, to enjoying a social 138 " SKIN "-GAMES. game with our friend, the proprietor?" etc. He sits down to the table accordingly, and the rest follow their leader ; and the great object is accomplished, of commencing play, out of the proceeds of which the very respectable capper takes his very respectable per- centage. The capper is generally an expert, sometimes keeps the cues, and is altogether a most important personage. Another of the chief features of ordinary gambling, in all cities, and a feature upon which much of its pecuniary success depends, is the institution known to the initiated as "roping-in." This system affords the means of an elegant and easy livelihood to many, and is worthy an expose^. A roper-iu is simply an outside agent for a gambling-house, who supplies it with its victims, receiving, in con- sideration of his services, a per cent of sometimes one-half of the pluckings. The roper-in is generally a man of the world, polished in manners, full of savoir faire, a good judge of human nature, and keen in perception. His field lies within the compass of the fashion- able hotels. He haunts the reading-rooms, gentlemen's parlors, and offices of the St. Nicholas, Metropolitan, New York, Windsor, and Fifth-Avenue Hotels, and his usual mode of operation is as follows : He watches closely all the arrivals, and ascertains from the inspec- tion of the books, or casual observations, the names and business of such guests as he deems will best suit his purpose, then devotes his energies to the study of the personnel and morale of the latter class. Having satisfied his scrutiny, he contrives in some cunning way to form the acquaintance of one of their number, and, by plausibly con- ceived and well-executed lies, diverts all suspicion, and soon ripens an acquaintance to almost friendship. Having made his points thus far, the roper-in invites his friend to accompany him to the theatre, and insists on paying all the expenses, on the ground that it is his duty, as a citizen, to extend the hospitality of New York to the stranger. After the theatre, the roper-in suggests a cigar, and then, amid the puffs of a Havana, hits on a visit to a friend's house in the neighborhood, where he knows they would be welcome, and could enjoy a game-supper and a bottle. The stranger, fascinated by this new idea, flattering himself that he is indeed seeing the THE ROPER-IN. 139 elephant, and doing New York, assents, and is accordingly ushered into luxuriously furnished apartments, where all that can please the eye, or gratify the taste, awaits him. He is introduced to a number of gentlemen of distinguished bearing and exalted name ; and, after a liberal course of conversation and refreshments, it is proposed to join in a little social game ; and, to make the play more interesting, it is also proposed to wager small amounts of money upon the result, merely for amusement, pour passer le temps, of course. The victim assents : to refuse now would be ungentlemanly. He may plead ignorance ; " but the principle of the game is so simple," and the roper-in will show him all the details. He plays, and wins, the victim generally wins at first: he is elated and good-humored with his luck. Higher stakes are proposed : still he ascends, and still he wins. At last the tide of fortune begins to turn. He loses ; but the roper-in at his elbow says, " Try your luck once more : you will come all right again." He resumes his game, and loses all self- control. Inflamed by wine, and frenzied by excitement, watched by men who have long since learned to stifle all human emotion in the terrible machinery of play, he falls an easy spoil. In a few hours he is stripped. All his available funds are diverted from his own pocket to the coffers of the bank. Sometimes the victim even pledges his rings or watch, to retrieve his loss, but to no avail. And then the roper-in, having fulfilled his mission, will be seen no more in that quarter for a while. The ropers-in number many hundred in New York, and are among the chief pests in our public places. They lounge on the street- corners, haunt the entrances of theatres, stand at the doors of gaming-houses ; and, though known to the hotel-keepers and police, are allowed to proceed unmolested in their ways. Again. In the third place, in short card-games, blacklegs gull the unwary by means of their thorough knowledge of the appearances of the various cards of a pack. Occasionally a card manufacturer and gambler will act in concert ; the former suggesting certain figures to be marked upon the backs or corners of the cards, which, though not to be perceived by the uninitiated, will, to those in the ring, be as clear 140 " CARD-SHARPERS." and full of meaning as a telegraphic signal to an operator. For the manufacture of these cards, the gambler will contribute a large sum, so as to enable the manufacturer to sell them at a low rate, and force them on the market. Of course, wherever these cards are used, the gamblers are masters 'of the situation. Even the ordinary playing- cards can be readily distinguished one from the other, and their suit and value ascertained by the sharper by their backs as well as the general public by their faces. Thus, for instance, the star-backed cards present occasionally a star at some given corner, divided into two portions, which serve as indications. The calico, or check-backed, cards are also distinguishable by the recurrence of some especial stripe or check at a corner which will serve to designate the suit and the card. Even in a pack of plain-backed cards, presenting no marks whatever, the sharper can easily know all he needs. In one uit of these cards, the grain of the paper may chance to run longi- tudinally ; in another suit it may run transversely ; in another, diago- nally ; and in the last, bias. An expert gambler can read the cards as rapidly from one side as from another. We have seen the fact demonstrated. In the fourth place, the sharper, or blackleg, acquires, by care, study, and long practice, a wonderful mechanical sleight-of-hand in his manipulation of cards. We have met blacklegs who can outdo Hermann in card-tricks. They can deal a certain number of cards to their opponents, and as many as they choose to themselves, with- out exciting suspicion. They can cause two or three cards to pass as readily as one. They can produce any desired card precisely when it is wanted, and no one save themselves be the whit the wiser. Cards can be shuffled by them, and cut ad libitum; but, provided the sharper has the deal, he can control his own hand, and that of his adversary, at will. In the fifth place, the mechanical appliances of the sharper, utterly unsuspected by the unwary, enable him to defraud without detection. This is especially the case with faro and the faro-box. This latter appliance is often a marvel of ill-applied ingenuity, full of hidden springs and contrivances which are absolutely invisible to BLACKLEGS AND THEIR TRICKS. 141 the unpractised eye. The box is made of silver, and presents a very beautiful appearance : it is seemingly simple, but really complex. Into the faro-box the usual variety of cards will occasionally not pass without being "reduced." There is a plate or knife prepared for that purpose, through the agency of which the edges of the card can be made concave or converse, and by which means, also, a num- ber of marks and variations can be produced, sufficient to distinguish each and every card in the pack. "Braces," or two card-boxes, are also used by dishonest gam- blers. Cards are sand-papered, and so arranged as to cling lovingly together ; and numerous contrivances of similar character are in vogue. But, taken as a whole, it is a very difficult thing to cheat success- fully at faro. There must be in all cases a collusion between the dealer and the cue-keeper, and great carelessness on the part of the player. Sixthly, among blacklegs there sometimes prevails a system of signals, which answers all their purposes, but defies the observation of outsiders. And sometimes a regular telegraph (a "gambler's telegraph ") is put into operation. A confederate placed in a room above, or some supposed stranger looking on, can see the cards of the players, and then, by the means of some mechanical communica- tion, and a series of agreed-upon signs, can telegraph his knowledge to his pals. But instances of this kind are comparatively rare. Besides all this, the professional blackleg possesses the immense- advantage over his opponent of a memory rendered almost miracu- lous by constant practice, a sense of touch educated to a capacity rendered almost equal to that possessed by the blind, and a coolness which is derived from long familiarity with scenes of excitement, a coolness which is in itself half of the game. From this resume of the tricks practised, and the advantages, possessed by the blacklegs, or swindling gamblers, it is evident that the " patent " man, or sharper, by his marked cards, his sleight-of- hand, his " paling," stealing cards, false shuffling, dealing from the bottom, slipping the cut on top, " stocking " the cards, signals, tele- 142 A MEMORABLE GAME. graphs, arranged boxes and tables, his agents and cappers and ropers-iu, combined with his wonderful memory, touch, and coolness, is an adversary against whom all amateur-playing and strokes of luck are unavailing : in other words, to use an expressive phrase, he is a man who plays to win. As regard the interior of gambling-houses, much description is not needed. Sketch*writers and personal experience have rendered to most information on this matter superfluous. They are, as a rule (we speak of the better class of houses), handsomely furnished, with costly tables, elegant machinery, table-attendance, and well supplied with cigars, wine, and edibles generally. It was at Mr. Morrissey's establishment, No. 5 West Twenty- fourth Street, that the celebrated game, one of the most stupendous on record, between the Hon. John Morrissey on the one side, and the Hon. Ben "Wood on the other, was played. This play, alike from the prominent positions of the principal personages engaged, and the enormous sums staked, has acquired almost a world-wide noto- riety. The game was a combination game, and six or seven persons were engaged in it, Tom Merritt, who bears the reputation of being the sharpest dealer in the United States; "Jim Stuart," a noted gambler; old " Scribner," who has been a successful professional for over a third of a century ; a gambler rejoicing in the unusual appellation of John Smith; and a noted player called "Barclay" from California. In addition to the two distinguished congressmen, a noted city judge was also present at the play ; and it is said the Hon. Ben AVood happened to be "short" at the commencement of the evening ; the judge loaned him three thousand dollars to start with. The game was continued until morning ; both principals waxed more and more excited as the stakes grew higher and higher ; and both, it is averred, drinking freely. During the latter part of the game, over thirty-one thousand dollars was staked on the turn of a single card. The play, which proved a serious earnest for Mr. Morrissey, resulted in Mr. Ben Wood winning from the bank a hun- dred and twenty-four thousand dollars. Of this sum Mr. Morrissey is said to have lost only seventy thousand dollars, the balance being GAMBLING AT THE CLUBS. 143 shared among his associates. At any rate, the game was, accord- ing to the professional gambler's ideas, squarely played, and evinced a degree of skill on one side, and pluck on the other, which has seldom been equalled. Certainly, it was a game worthy, in its mag- nitude at least, of the Empire City. Such a game could have been played nowhere outside of the metropolis. Among the many establishments in which, though not gaming- houses, gambling is excessively carried on, may be enumerated those popular institutions known as clubs, embracing the Travellers', Union, Manhattan, New York, and other fashionable resorts. Poker and whist, with other varieties, are among the favorite games at these places ; and heavy stakes are not unfrequently wagered on the results. We have been told of one week in which over a hundred thousand dollars changed hands at the Union Club on a game of cards. Of course, at the clubs, the parties playing being all gentlemen of birth, education, and position, the utmost honor is observed ; and the best feeling prevails. Occasionally, however, a sharper will manage to obtain the entry ; or (such cases have been known of, though very rarely) one of the members, who has learned the tricks of gamblers, will avail himself of his nefarious experience, and, of course, the gentlemen who wager their money will be defrauded. But these cases are exceptions to the rule ; and, whatever may be the moral aspects of club-gambling, it is, at least, a fairly conducted amuse- ment, patronized by those who can afford it. As regards the statistics of gambling, we would say a few words. This branch of the subject is replete with difficulty ; and all data given must, of course, be considered as only approximate ; but still some general figures can be stated which will afford some suggestive ideas. Exclusive of the groceries, which are countless, and the very vilest of the low dens of the metropolis, there are about two hundred gambling-houses, public, and recognized as such, about fifty of which belong to what may be styled the first-class and fashionable houses. The expenses of a fashionable gambling-house are enor- mous ; amounting, for wines, cigars, suppers, and other expenses, from twenty-five thousand to forty thousand dollars per annum. The 144 A MAN WITH A PASSION FOR GAMBLING. value of the furniture often exceeds twenty thousand dollars in one of these establishments, while the amount of capital required to start with varies from fifteen thousand to fifty thousand dollars, while some establishments can command twice the sum last mentioned. The amount of capital invested in the gambling-houses of the metropolis must exceed, in all probability, over a million and a quarter of dollars. The amount of money lost or won at gambling must amount throughout the year, on an average, to about forty thousand dollars nightly. The number of professional gamblers in New York has been variously computed from five thousand to ten thousand, or about one-fourth the number of professional courtesans. A proprietor of a gambling-house generally makes money, lives well, dines as an epicure, drinks like a temperate Bacchus, dresses like a lord, and enjoys life generally ; but his tenure of prosperity is, gen- erally, short-lived in the majority of the cases. As for the profes- sional gambler, he simply makes his expenses, which may be averaged at two thousand dollars per annum ; is generally as poor at the end of the year as he was at the beginning ; and, taken altogether, earns his money with as much expenditure of time and talent as though, laboring in some regular trade or profession. The passion for gambling, like the passion for drinking, often obtains a terrible hold upon its victim. One of the most forci- ble illustrations of this awful truth is afforded by the powerful, realistic sketch entitled "The Gambler's Christmas Eve," writ- ten by Mr. Isaac G. Reed, jun., the author of the celebrated series of sketches, "Thirty Years in Gotham," in which the story first made its appearance. This sketch is founded upon fact, and was as follows : A man with a passion for gambling and with a wild idea, common to many gamblers, that he will some day " think out " a " system " which will enable him to beat chance, burst a faro- bank, and always win marries a deserving woman, and finally, through her influence, promises to abstain from gambling, and THE GAMBLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 145 never to enter a gaming-den again. He kept his promise, but still brooded over his possible infallible " system." This was the status one Christmas Eve. We give the rest of the story literally. Christmas Eve came : and it had been intended for all the Watson family to take a stroll along Broadway, and finish the holiday pur- chases, fillin' the family stockings ; but his wife's only sister, liviu' in Harlem, was taken quite sick ; and the wife was compelled to pay her a visit of mercy, while the home was to be looked after by the husband and father. The wife would fain have taken him with her ; but, one of the children being too unwell, he was left behind to superintend the nursin'. Christmas Eve came ; and a lonely, dismal eve it was, the wife and mother away from home, at the bedside of her sick sister ; the husband and father seated in his room alone, with no company but the hired girl and his sleeping or sick children. Hours passed on : and suddenly an idea flashed across George "Watson's mind; a point about his "infallible system," that had hitherto escaped him, now occurred to him. Suddenly, all that had been unfortunate to him, or mysterious in the system, seemed to be explained away, as if by magic or inspiration. He saw a way to infallibly beat and break the faro-bank at last. A fortune lay within his grasp, if he could get an opportunity to try his newly discovered, almost divinely inspired, "point." He had one hundred dollars in his pocket : it was enough to lay the foundation of a fortune, if he could buck against the tiger with it that night. But there was his sick child : he could not leave her in the sole care of the hired girl. But just then a kindly, motherly neighbor dropped in, a friend of his wife's. It was his golden opportunity, and he seized it. He left his household and his child in her experienced care, and went into the streets in a fever of excitement and anticipa- tion. With one hundred dollars in his pocket, he walked hastily to 818 Broadway, then the great "Gamblers' game" of the city of New York, and rang the bell. The colored man in waiting admitted him. He knew him of old, and welcomed him with a smile ; and in 10 146 "818 BROADWAY." a few minutes he was buckin' against the tiger and the new point in his infallible system. His one hundred dollars became several thou- sands, and he was wild with joy. His system worked at last ; he would be a rich man erelong ; it was a glorious Christmas Eve indeed ! Meanwhile, with a presentiment of evil, the wife and mother had suddenly left her sister's bedside, and had returned home. Her worst fears were realized : her husband was gone ; and a terrible instinct told her where he had gone to, and what he had gone for. She had in times past learned by sad experience all his gamin' haunts, and she knew that of 'em all, his chief favorite, the first place he would strike would be No. 818. She was sick herself, footsore, heartsore. She had been troubled with several attacks lately of heart disease, which she had kept quiet about for fear of alarming her husband. It was a bitter cold night, and it was beginning to snow : it would be a stormy night and a wild Christmas morning, but she did not hesitate one moment. Kissing her unconscious children, leavin' them in the charge of her kind-hearted neighbor, who vainly endeavored to dissuade her from going out, she again started out in the snow-storm, and trudged wearily along until she reached the door of No. 818. She was still a pretty woman, though faded and jaded ; and men looked at her curiously and impertinently, as she walked along through dark, though whitening, streets ; the young men even turned, followed her, and accosted her with an impudent leer ; but she took no heed what- ever- She reached the door of the gamblin'-hell, the best-known place of its kind in the United States, and stopped there, just as if any thin' could be accomplished by her stopping out there in the dark and in the cold. It may have been, that had she pulled the bell of 818 just then, and asked for her husband while her husband was winning thousands, she might have had some chance given her to get at him, and to get him away ; but she did not have the nerve to do that then ; all her strength seemed to have deserted her at the gamblin'-hell's portal. All she did was to wring her hands, and moan, and walk up and clown Broadway, and wait, wait, wait, in the snow and cold, as if GEORGE WATSON'S " SYSTEM." 147 waiting could do any earthly good. At last, chilled to the bone, she .grew desperate, and ascended the steps, pulled the bell of No. 818, but so feebly that it could not be heard at first ; though the few passers-by, knowin' the character of the house, wondered at seeing -a woman there, at the entrance of a "hell:" finally, mustering courage, she gave a stronger pull at the bell ; and the sleek colored man answered the summons in surprise. Feebly she stammered out the name of her husband, and asked to see him if he was inside. "The colored man took in the "situation" at once; experience of life had made him keen : he caught the name upon her lips, recog- nized it at once, and saw that the wife was after her husband. But it would never do to interrupt the game or to have a scene. So the colored man denied all knowledge of her husband, and, tellin' her to :go somewhere else, shut the door in her face. And there, upon the snowed-upon steps, she sat that Christmas Eve, waitin' in front of the gilded hell for her husband to come out, and who did not come. -Somehow, she was not interfered with by any policeman. The blue coats and brass buttons did not see her sitting on the steps ; their business was " not " to see any thing that was goin' on in or around 818 ; they had their reasons. But the sports passin' to and fro, and going out and in, removed her from the steps. Then she took her station near by, and watched and waited, gettin' colder, and burning hot with fever and excitement and pain within, the snow falling around and upon her, this was the faithful, loving, true wife's Christmas Eve ! Meanwhile George Watson's " system " had gone back on him ; his new point had played him false ; he lost all that he had at first won ; and about midnight he had lost every dollar of his original hundred dollars, and had given an I. O. U. for one hundred dollars besides, with an oath, and drainin' a glass of brandy to the dregs. With despair in his soul, and not one cent in his pocket, he left No. 818, and walked into the street at midnight, at the legal beginning of Christmas Day. He saw a woman crouchin' in a corner. He stepped toward her curiously, sympathetically, as towards a human being as wretched as himself. He stooped down to lift the cloak which the poor woman had clasped around her, 148 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. found her unconscious with the cold, and, gazing on the freezing,, dying woman, saw that he was gazing at his own wife. A yell that might have issued from a lost spirit rang through the street, and startled even the policemen into action. The woman was taken hastily into a drug-store ; and restoratives were applied, but in vain. She had been faithful unto death ; for in the vain attempt, somehow, some way, to get at her poor, tempted husband, the man she loved better than life, she had frozen to death. That Christmas morning dawned drearily on a dead woman in a drug-store, and a played-out gambler who had gone mad. "And gazing on the freezing, dying woman, saw that he was gazing at his own wife" [p. 148]. CHAPTER XIII. THE PEN-PANORAMA OF NEW YORK (continued). THE METROPOLITAN POLICE AS THEY ARE. THE DETECTIVES. THIEF-TAKERS IN PETTI- COATS. HOW CAPT. JOHN S. YOUNG CAUGHT A THIEF BY INSTINCT. THE TOMBS PRISON, AND "MURDERER'S ROW." INTRICATE, elaborate, and varied as is crime in New York, the machinery of the police-system is even more so. It is not saying too much to assert that New York, with all its faults, is the best-governed and the best-regulated city in America. Being the largest city and the principal seaport, it is neces- sarily the favorite resort of abandoned and dissolute characters, male and female ; but I do not hesitate to assert, and I am sustained by facts, and fortified with the opinions of those most qualified to form an opinion, that, considering its population, notwithstanding its enormous criminal class, New York is one of the most orderly cities in the world, and its police among the most efficient. True, ever and anon, as in the memorable Forrest-Macready and the draft riots, the roughs will, for an hour or a day, get the upper hand of the authorities ; and scenes of bloodshed and horror will ensue. But, as a rule, the city is peaceful, orderly, well-behaved, as a city; though it contains thousands of in- habitants who are otherwise. The police, too, as a rule, and as a body of men, are skilled and trusty: with all his human faults, the New- York police- man, like the New- York fireman, is trained, active, and reliable. But still, in many too many individual cases, he is unworthy 149 150 CRIME AND POLITICS. of his position, is either the creature of politicians, or the- friend, associate, and stipendiary of " the criminal class " itself. It is not saying too much to assert, that, if the New- York police were absolutely and entirely honest and determined, the New- York criminals would, as a class, cease to exist. So thor- ough is the police-system, so accurate and so varied are their sources of information, so many are their opportunities, and so great are their powers, that, if so disposed, the New- York police could not merely diminish New- York crime, they could wipe it out. Every professional criminal is known to the police authori- ties: every haunt of crime is known to them. The police have a list of every gambling-house, every assignation-house,, every den of vice, every policy-shop, etc. If they want a rogue,, they know just when and where to put the finger on him. And yet "policy" is played by tens of thousands in this- city, in defiance of the law ; dens of vice are in full blast, in defiance of the law ; hundreds of houses are devoted, almost openly, to immoral purposes, in defiance of the law ; men daily and nightly gamble, and are fleeced by gamblers, in defiance of the law; and an army of thieves prowl through the city, in defiance of the law. Certainly, under such circumstances, while giving the New- York police the credit for what it really does, it should be held censurable for what it really and deliberately leaves undone. One of the great faults, the glaring evils, in the practical workings of the police-system of New York, is the connection the shameful connection that is allowed to exist between crime and politics. A well-known thief in this city is, and has- been for years, a prominent politician , and his " den *' receives police protection. For years a New- York law-maker and con- gressman was a New-York law-breaker and gambler. And other cases in point could be cited. MONEY AND THE POLICE. 151 The intimate connection between money and police favor is another kindred and crying evil. Rich vice is seldom inter- fered with : crime that pays its way has a way made for it, and kept open, by the police ; while poverty is regarded as, in itself, a crime. Even in the workings of New York's latest patent improve- ment, the new Dudley Field et al. penal code, the distinction between rich and poor is plainly. observed. Some Sundays ago a hard-working woman, a widow, with three children to sup- port, was arrested for selling some trifles on the sabbath; while two well-to-do theatrical managers were permitted to make hundreds of dollars by giving Sunday concerts, concerts in which no part of the programme was "sacred," and some twenty rich music-hall and saloon keepers fairly coined " money " in exchange for music and liquor. Men, rich men, brokers, and bankers, or prominent politi- cians, can be seen any night, reeling from " swell " bar-rooms ; and the police either look on, laughing, or kindly assist the* well-dressed " reeler." But when a poor man is found, in the streets of New York, under the influence of liquor, then there is an arrest, a cell, a fine, or the island. Ay, not unfrequently some stranger, when seized with a fit, is taken, not to a doctor, but to a magistrate ; not to a hospital, but to a station-house ; and is clubbed, instead of cared for. And in the system of the police-courts, in their practical administration, gross evils exist, official outrages are perpe- trated every day, and police blackmail is levied upon all who will or must endure it. Fines are often levied which have no warrant in law : bogus or straw-bail is often offered, and received, for a considera- tion. Police-court lawyers are not seldom simply police-court sharpers, and the administration of "justice" is sometimes notoriously unjust. 152 THE POLICEMAN'S CLUB. But, with all its faults, the Metropolitan Police-System is one of the most deserving and beneficial of metropolitan institu- tions ; and the metropolitan police are justly the -pride of New York. The old police-system was a failure, it failed to pro- tect; but, from the time when the State Legislature created "a Metropolitan District" (consisting of the cities of New York and Brooklyn, the counties of New York, Kings, Rich- mond, and Westchester, embracing a circuit of about thirty miles, controlled by a commission of five, the mayors of New York and Brooklyn being members of the board), the police- service has steadily improved. As a practical working-force, the metropolitan police may date its efficiency from the days of the celebrated John A. Kennedy, who, though he was something of a despot, was the best police-officer, the very best police-superintendent, New- York City has ever seen. With its officials, inspectors, captains, sergeants, patrolmen, doormen, special policemen, etc., the New-York police comprises an army of considerably over two thousand men, neatly uni- formed, armed with clubs and revolvers, and thoroughly drilled. The discipline is perfect. The policeman's club is a terrible weapon : the " roughs " dread its certainty of crushing or maiming more than they fear the chancing of a pistol-shot. And it is sometimes terribly abused. Awful to state, men peaceable, though silly, sick or intoxicated, comparatively or actually innocent men have been clubbed to death in the streets of New York by the New- York police. While, at the same time, the handsome features, splendid physique, and gallant politeness, of "the Broadway Squad," who escort, or even carry on occasion, ladies over the principal crossings, has become proverbial. But probably the most interesting department of the police- force (to the general reader) is the " detective " branch there- PETTICOATED DETECTIVES. 153 of. The modern detective figures largely in the modern play And novel, and the " story-papers " are full of him. Yet few .are familiar with the facts about detectives. Time was when the whole detective force in New- York City was comprised in the person of one man, old Jacob Hays. Gradually, as the city increased in size and crime, a separate organization of detectives was formed : then organizations were multiplied, till to-day there are some fifteen or sixteen distinct, and sometimes conflicting, varieties of detectives. There are the central-office detectives, the local-ward detec- tives, private detectives, hotel detectives, insurance detectives, divorce detectives, United-States detectives, and female de- tectives. As regards petticoated detectives, a volume, and a very entertaining though not edifying volume, could be written. Men suspect men ; they watch each other as closely as two strange dogs, and in as unfriendly a manner; but they are .generally off their guard with women. Besides, women know the weak points of men better than men do themselves. And, for both these reasons, they make capital detectives. In France they have long been found useful ; and, from the days of Richelieu, the most successful spies have ever been females. But, in our sober country, the idea of ever employing women in secret service has all the force of a novelty. In two vari- eties of cases females are peculiarly valuable : the first of these is in the event of bank-robberies, especially when suspicion falls upon the clerk of the institution. Male detectives are set to work at the outset : but sometimes the suspected clerk has skilfully covered up his tracks, and defies investigation ; or else he watches every man who approaches him, in whatever guise, like a hawk ; and all efforts to win the knowledge of his secrets are in vain. At this stage of the game a woman is sent for, generally a pretty, smart, well-dressed woman, who is 154 " THE PERSONALS." not over-scrupulous ; and the matter is placed in her hands. Sometimes she proceeds directly to the point, but generally finesse is resorted to ; and it is so contrived that the acquaint- anceship of the fair detective and her intended victim shall be brought about in some romantic manner, removed from the usual beaten track of common life, and invested at the outset with some of the charm of adventure or romance, so as to- utterly divert suspicion of her real design. Ascertaining from general inquiry the character of the bank-clerk whom she is to track, she resorts to the " Personals " of the newspapers, to- arrange an interview with him. Thus, if this clerk be, as the majority of such clerks are, an admirer of the sex, a gay boy, the fair detective contrives one day to meet him, in the stage for instance, attracts his attention, and, at the same time, notes his person and attire. A day or two after, in one of the morn- ing journals, an item appears, somewhat to this effect: "If the tall young gentleman, with dark hair, heavy side-whiskers dressed in such-and-such a suit, or with such-and-such a dia- mond ring or pin (as the case may be), who got into the stage at Street, and noticed the young lady in red who sat opposite, will write to Street, or call at , he may hear something that may please him (or hear of the lady, or form an agreeable acquaintance, or whatever other wording may be given to the concluding paragraph of the personal). Of course, "the tall gentleman with dark hair," etc., sees this item, or it is so arranged that his attention is called to it at once. Of course, also, he regards the affair as a good joke, a capital love-adventure. Of course, he answers or calls, as directed, and either at once, or step by step, forms the ac- quaintance of the fair deceiver. Having now put her party under the most favorable auspices, the game is at her disposal. By her art, or her beauty, or probably by both, for females of her profession are not apt to stick at trifles, she obtains. THE "STATION D" DODGE. 155- sooner or later his confidence; she surrenders, perhaps, herself: he surrenders more than himself, his secret, and is at her mercy. Having made her points, and gotten her man " dead to rights," she places the matter in the hands of her male asso- ciates ; and the affair is settled by arrest or by a compromise. In nine cases out of ten, by the latter. A recent case occurred in a Broadway bank, where the sus- pected clerk was a scion of a noble family. A pretty girl was put on his track, managed to form his friendship through the '" Station D " dodge, infatuated her " man " with her charms, and obtained, not only possession of his guilty secret, but also eight thousand dollars of the money taken from the bank. The matter was finally hushed up by a settlement; and the pretty detective netted for her services, in seven weeks, the handsome sum of fifteen hundred dollars. Women are also used as car-detectives on the city passenger- railways with advantage. It sometimes happens that the thieves and the conductors are in partnership ; and, in course of time, they become cognizant of the personnel of the regular male detectives, whose influence is hereby neutralized. In these cases the services of the softer sex becomes desiderata. One of the most quiet, and therefore most valuable, of the female detectives, is a young woman called " Mary Gilsey," or " White Mary," from the fairness of her complexion. Mary is. tall and slender, and has the most dovelike, not to say stupid, expression of countenance. She is the last woman in the world whom nine out of ten would select for her profession, and yet she is a superb detective. Keen, quick, possessed of a memory exceedingly retentive, she never forgets a face, a place, or a name, and has the faculty of seeing through a stone wall farther than any woman of her age. She is but twenty-one, and was born in the city of New York. In Paris she would make a fortune in a year. In point of character, also, Mary is. 156 THE DIVORCE DETECTIVE. superior to the average of her profession ; being, as far as per- sonal purity is concerned, irreproachable. The divorce detective has become, of late, " a social evil " in New York. He or she is simply disgusting, disgraceful ; but the fact that such a creature is in demand in constantly increasing demand in our greatest city, is in itself a sign of the times. The modus operandi in the case of a divorce detective is somewhat after this fashion : a wife suspects her husband, or vice versa. Husband or wife, however, is careful to cover up his or her tracks, and keeps shady as to "the little outside arrangement." Wife or husband sends for a detective, and the matter is arranged. The first question with the detective is, of necessity, the pay. Some of them are in the habit of undertaking the job at, say, fifty or a hundred dollars , others charge five dollars per night, or ten dollars per day, during the continuance of the investigations ; others, again, refuse to bind themselves to any specific sum, but will be guided by circumstances. But all agree on insisting upon two cardinal points, a certain amount of money, cash down, to bind the bargain, and the payment of all incidental or contingent ex- penses. In this latter item lies the great placer. The detec- tive who draws but ten dollars a day salary may obtain from his principal twenty dollars a day for his hotel expenses, and outlays for wines and et cceteras, necessary by his pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, especially if the party he is dodging be at all luxuriously or fashionably inclined. And there is no way by which the principal can help being "bled," if his agent or detective chooses to bleed him, which he usually does. One detective obtained from his employer, a wealthy merchant down town, thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars in four months, part as salary, and part as " contingent expenses," in the tracking of the merchant's suspected wife : and, after A "PECULIAR" BUSINESS, 157 fingering the money, the detective one day coolly advised the- merchant to abandon the undertaking ; as his " investigations " had convinced him the detective that either the lady was as innocent as an angel, or else as cunning as the Devil, which oracular opinion was all the value received by the mer- chant for his thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars. Very often the detective does nothing whatever but draw his money, and hold his tongue ; and, quite as frequently, he will make himself known to the other party, and thus make a good thing of it from both sides. But, even when legitimately employed, the- divorce-detective's style of doing business is, to say the least, peculiar. At all hours of the day and night he is at all kinds of places, in all sorts of disguises, under all varieties of pre- tences, and with all classes of persons. Detectives are some of them misnamed. Some of them never "detect" any thing or anybody: they are really too lazy or too stupid. Others are really too "smart" to detect :. they find it pays them better to protect and to blackmail. But among the detective force are to be found to-day some of the keenest and most upright men in the metropolis ; and the his- tory of the detectives of New York presents prominently the names of two men equal in ability to Vidocq himself, the late Chief Matsell and Capt. John S. Young. As an illustration of the cleverness of Young, and as convey- ing an idea of the life and experience of New- York detectives, let me narrate the following interesting and characteristic episode. One fine March day, when Kennedy was superintendent of police, and John S. Young was one of the controlling spirits of the police detectives, the latter individual was walking down Broadway, when he suddenly bethought him that a certain fine French clock which he had at home required repairing. He also bethought him that he had been recommended by a friend 158 AN EPISODE IN THE CAREER OF CAPT. YOUNG. to employ the services of an experienced watch and clock maker, who did business on a side street, near Broadway, in the precise neighborhood where, at this moment, he happened to be. Turning down this side street, forthwith Young soon found himself at the clockmaker's, who occupied a shop in the rear of a loan-office; the proprietor of which latter establishment constantly required the watchmaker's services in repairing the watches and clocks which were constantly, in the way of busi- ness, deposited either temporarily or permanently at his office. The door between the loan-office and the clockmaker's hap- pened to be open at the time of Young's visit ; and, while the latter was chatting 'with the mechanic, he saw, through the open door, a man enter the loan-office, and commence a conver- sation with the proprietor. The man was of medium height, dark in complexion, swarthy, strongly built, with restless black eyes, which were small, sharp, -and furtive in their glances ; and his whole appearance was Tather unprepossessing. He wore what are called " store-clothes," a frock-coat, a badly fitting vest, and large pantaloons, and seemed to be un- -easy in his apparel, just as uncomfortable as a sailor would be in a suit of civilian's clothes on shore. His age seemed to be about thirty-eight years, and his face was as clean shaven as a lad's. The moment John Young set his experienced eyes on the man, he said to himself, " That fellow is crooked : he has been doing time." Which means, translated into ordinary parlance, " That fellow is a professional rogue, and has been serving a term in State prison." Just as sailors can tell a seafaring man at a glance ; just as soldiers recognize military men in a moment ; just as journal- ists understand one another in an instant ; just as women, by A DETECTIVE'S "INSTINCT." 159 instinct, comprehend the mysteries of other women, so do detectives and thieves recognize instinctively each other. But in this case the rogue did not see the detective ; though the detective, from his post of observation in the clockmaker's shop, keenly watched the rogue, and heard him say, finally, to the proprietor of the loan-office, " To-night, then, at half-past six." He then took his departure. " Do you know that man ? " asked Young of the keeper of the loan-office. " No," was the reply ; " but he has been making some inqui- ries about our way of doing business, and says he will call again at half-past six to-night." Young said nothing more, but, as he left the loan-shop, made up his mind that he would follow up this case, commencing his operations at " half-past six to-night." He had no charge whatever to make, and he knew of none whatever that had been made, against this man; he had no well-grounded cause for suspicion of him ; there was no accu- sation pending against him, so there could be no warrant pro- cured for his arrest. He was a perfect stranger. Yet John S. Young at once made up his mind that he was a rogue, that he was even now engaged in a rogue's work, and that he (Young) "would at once penetrate the mystery of this rogue's work, pre- vent its accomplishment, and arrest the rogue. Detectives have often to act in this way with just as little apparent reason and authority, taking their chance of being sanctioned by the results, acting on the principle that " the end justifies the means." About six o'clock that evening three detectives Young, in company with detectives Elder and McCord were hanging around a store in the vicinity of the loan-office. About six and a half o'clock the mysterious stranger, in the 160 THE "MYSTERIOUS STRANGER." "store-clothes," entered the loan-office with a small bundle. He remained within a little while, and then came out without the bundle. Young went into the loan-office after the other had departed,, and had a few minutes' talk with the proprietor. The mysterious stranger had merely pledged some rather ordinary articles of clothing which he had no further use for, " Merely," he said, " to get used to the way of doing business here, preparatory to some large operation in this line." Having obtained this much, which was very little, Young fol lowed his two associates, who had quietly turned, and followed the mysterious stranger down the side street into the Bowery. Having gained this popular thoroughfare, the Broadway of the east side, the mysterious stranger slowly sauntered along,, stopping in at several bar-rooms to enjoy a solitary drink. Finally he turned into a first-class country tavern, or third- class hotel, near Chatham Street, and, walking up to the office,, asked for the key of room No. 40, which was handed to him. The three detectives who had ere this separated, McCord and Elder keeping together, and Young waddling along alone after his own fashion, but who had never for a moment lost sight of their man were now at his heels, and ascended the stairs after him. At last, just as the mysterious stranger had unlocked the door of his room, and had entered it, three persons came upon him, and entered the room with him. He looked surprised at this intrusion, as well he might. " What do you want," he cried, " and who are you ? " " You will find that out before we leave you," said Young, acting as spokesman. " What's your name ? " " What the D 1 is that your business ? " replied the man thus unceremoniously interrogated. " Ah ! you know what our business is with you well enough, " WHAT'S TOUE MONNIKER?" 161 my friend," said Young, in the most familiar manner in the world, as if he and the mysterious stranger had been acquainted since their infancy. " You have quite a nice trunk there, of its kind," continued he, pointing to a large black packing- trunk in the corner of the room near the bed. This trunk was a four-foot, covered with black canvas, and bound with sheet- iron straps, such a trunk as merchants use in shipping cer- tain kinds of merchandise to the West. " Well, what of it ? " growled the mysterious stranger. " Nothing," replied Young, " only I want to see what you have in that trunk." " That's my affair," replied the man. "I will invoice it then," replied the officer. "Come, let's have no nonsense. What's your monniker?" (the thieves' slang for name). "What's your racket?" asked Elder (" racket " is slang for line of business). " You don't look like a hoister " (a detective's phrase for shop- lifter), chimed in McCord. The stranger tried to assume a puzzled look, as if to con- vey the idea that all this slang was unfamiliar to his ears ; but the attempt was a failure. Evidently the fellow understood every word, and Young told him so. " How long have you been home ? " continued Young (i.e., how long since you have come back from State prison). "About five months," remarked the man reluctantly, but with the manner of one who had made up his mind that there was no further use in trying to hide his real character. " How long have you been in this house ? " asked Young. The man remembered that his interrogator could readily obtain the facts on this point from the clerks in the office ; so he made a virtue of necessity, and told the exact truth. "Two weeks," he replied, n 162 DETECTIVE'S "BLUFF." " Where do you come from ? " asked Elder. " From from Baltimore," he answered. He lied; and Elder and the rest knew it, and he knew that they knew it. " Let's see the inside of that trunk," said McCord. Now, an ordinary man, an innocent man, would at once have demanded to see the warrant, if any, upon which these three men who had forced themselves into his presence acted. Such a man would have demanded to know of what he was charged, and by whom. In this case the three detectives could have done nothing whatever, for they had not the slightest shadow of legal au- thority for what they were undertaking. But it is a peculiarity of a " queer " or " crooked " man, a professional rogue, that he recognizes the officers of the law by some undefined instinct, and seldom insists upon their "pro- ducing their papers." He will avoid, defy, or dodge them as long and as well as he can ; but, when finally brought to bay, he seldom avails himself of merely legal or formal technicalities with the officers of justice, though, of course, he will fight the judge, lawyers, or juries, the machinery of the courts, with all his might and skill. Knowing this, the three detectives calculated, that, once hav- ing impressed themselves upon the mind of " the man " in their true characters, he would demand no papers; and they had calculated correctly. The mysterious stranger (who was gradually becoming less " mysterious ") made no point about their having no warrant, but merely tried to "bluff" his unwelcome visitors, telling them that he had no key to his trunk ; he had lost it , the trunk only contained his own clothes, etc. Finally Jie produced the key from his side-pocket, and opened the trunk. THIEVES' SLANG. 163 On top, sure enough, were some clothes and some dirty linen ; but the greater portion of the trunk underneath was occupied with silks of the richest quality and choicest pattern. " This is * swag silk ' " (stolen silk), said Young. " No, it ain't," said the man curtly. But he looked as if he did not expect his companions to Toelieve him. And they didn't. " Where did you get these silks?" asked McCord. " I bought them at auction in Baltimore," replied the stran- ger. ." Got 'em cheap, didn't you ? " asked Elder significantly. " Yes, I did : I got 'em at a bargain," answered the man ; " and I have brought them on here, hoping to sell them at a fair profit." "To a ' fence ' " (a receiver of stolen goods), " eh ? " chimed in McCord. " Let me tell you, my friend," continued the detective, " you came near making a great mistake. Our friend at the loan-office, whom you met at half-past six to-night, is not the man for your purpose : he is not a ' fence.' You might spare yourself any further trouble in that quarter." " In fact, you needn't take any more trouble in any quarter," said Young ; " for we will take charge of these goods for you from this minute." " Devilish kind in you, to be sure," growled the man ; " but I always like to handle my own property." " Or the property of other people," added Young. " Come, no nonsense, now. Where did you get these silks? You have no 'stiffs'" (papers or bills) "to show for them, I sup- pose?" " No : I lost the bills and receipts," answered the stranger. " Oh ! I thought so," sa"id Young, " but it don't matter to us. We will try to find out the real owner of these silks. Come now, no nonsense, I tell you" (as the man began to look ugly). 164 " COENEEED AT LAST." " We are officers from police headquarters. You know us by this time, and we want you. and this trunk. So don't make any fuss, or it will be the worse for you." Young, as he spoke, stood between the man and the door of the room. Elder stood by the one window, and McCord was sentry over the trunk. Each one of the three looked like a man who understood what he was about, and meant business. There was no escape for the hun ted-down man, and he sur- rendered sullenly. " Do as you d d please ! " he muttered, and they fulfilled his instructions. In a few minutes a carriage, containing the three officers and their prey inside, and the big black trunk on the rumble outside, was driven to police headquarters. At that time there were a few rooms, or cells, for the deten- tion of suspected persons, parties strongly suspected, though not positively charged with crime, located on the same floor of the police headquarters' building as the detective office, and to the rear of the latter. These rooms were as secure as the cells down-stairs, but more comfortable ; and into one of these the " man with the trunk," as he was now styled, was placed. He preserved a sullen reticence, and seemed to regret that he had not made at least a show of resistance before allowing himself to be taken. Meanwhile a consultation was held in the detective office concerning the new prisoner, and especially concerning the silks which had been found in his trunk. That they had been stolen, there was no manner of doubt ; but when and where, that was the question : all the newspapers and documents were carefully conned which in any way related to past robberies in New York of stores and silks, but nothing was found which in any way corresponded with the facts of this case. At last, after many pshaws, and not a few muttered " condemnations* "A TWO-AND-A-HALF STRETCH." 165 spelled with a d ," John Young lighted on a robbery of silks in a store in Philadelphia in which some fifteen thousand dollars' worth of goods had been stolen, and in which no clew had been obtained, either of the goods or the robbers, though over six weeks had elapsed since the affair. Young made up his mind at once that this Philadelphia rob- bery was the one in which his " man " was concerned, and he at once acted on this idea. He went into the room where his " man " was confined, and entered into conversation with him about robberies in general. Then he brought the subject to robberies in Philadelphia in particular. At the mention of the word Philadelphia " the man " started slightly, very slightly, but enough to convince John Young that he had touched the right chord. So he kept harping on Philadelphia Phila- delphia Philadelphia till, finally, " the man" said, "Look here: you mean something by this * Philadelphia,' spit it out ! " and John Young accordingly " spatted out," and told him in plain English that he suspected his companion of " be- ing in " this silk-robbery in Philadelphia. " Look here," said the man, surveying the ample proportions of the adipose Young with an eager glance, and speaking this time earnestly, and from his soul, " Look here : I will trust you. Promise me, on your honor, that you will do all you can to get me a two-and-a-half stretch instead of a fiver " (a sentence for two and a half years instead of a five-years' term), "so that I can get out just a little while before my wife, who is in for a three-years' stretch, so that I can have a chance to turn round and provide for her when she comes out of the grand quay " (State prison). " Promise me this, and I will ' open,' I will ' split ' " (or tell). " I won't tell you who my pals were, I would not ' squeal ' on them if you were to give me twenty years ; but I will not bother you : I will waive my rights about warrants and States, and all that, 166 A NOBLE CRIMINAL. and go with you to Philadelphia, and plead guilty, and tell you where the balance of the swag is planted " (where the balance of the stolen silks are concealed), " so that you can raise the plant" (recover the goods). "You couldn't do it without me, for the swag is planted where nobody could get at it unless somebody dies " (an expression at which Young wondered at the time, though he comprehended it afterward). " Now, is i a bargain? I want to get out before my wife. She was very kind to me. I love her. She would not have been a thief had it not been for me. She nursed me when I was sick. She has been true to me, and I want to show her when she comes out that I am not ungrateful. Promise me that you will fix it so that I will get out for this a month or so before my wife, and I will keep my word, and save you a heap of trouble." The man was really in earnest, self-confessed thief as he was : his whole anxiety now in this matter was one which would have done honor to the noblest and best man on earth, an anxiety to provide for the future of the woman who loved him, a woman who, however bad to others, had always been good to him. The three detectives had surprised this man by swooping upon him without charge or warrant ; but now this man, in his turn, surprised the three detectives by exhibiting a phase of the manliness which was utterly unexpected, and which caused Young to shake him by the hand heartily, and led Elder to say to McCord, " It's a pity such a fellow as that should be crooked ! " The man's petition was granted. A bargain was struck between him and the officers. He waived his rights to an examination, was taken the next day to Philadelphia to plead guilty to participation in the robbery of the silk-store, and revealed where the balance of the stolen goods was concealed, in an old tomb in a cemetery in the upper part of the city, THE ROGUE'S WIFE. 167 where they never would have been discovered unless somebody had been brought to that particular tomb to be buried in it (which explained what the man meant when he said " nobody could get at it unless somebody dies "). The recovered silks were restored to their owner, who rewarded the detectives handsomely. As for " the man," in consideration of the peculiar circum- stances of the case, his action in the matter, and the bargain made by him with the detectives, he received less than one-half the ordinary sentence for his crime. He was doomed to only two and a quarter years in Cherry-hill Prison^ and was set free, on account of good behavior, even before the expiration of that term. On coming out of prison, he resumed his trade, he was a plasterer when he was not a thief, and was earning good wages when his wife re-appeared in the world. He took the woman to his home ; and, when last heard from, " the man " was still a hard-working laborer, while the wife was a laundress. Hundreds of equally interesting sketches of detective life and experience could be related did space permit, but it does not. All that I can here add in concluding this chapter is, that, in the vast majority of cases, the police, in one way or other, prove too much for the criminals, and that, sooner or later, crime comes to punishment. In Centre Street, in the heart of " down town," rises a large, heavy granite building, in the style of an Egyptian temple, known throughout New York as the Tombs. Within the walls, which face the street, is a large square, in which are three prisons, for boys, men, and women respectively ; and in the centre of the prison-yard stands, ever and anon, when needed, the awful gallows. 168 "BUMMERS' CELL" AND "MURDERERS' ROW." The main cell of the prison is a large room (holding, or able to hold, about two hundred persons ; holding even more some- times on a Saturday night), called "the Bummers' Cell." The Tombs' police-court is always a terribly interesting and in- structive place, especially on a Sunday morning. And cer- tainly the most saddening place in the whole metropolis is the tier of cells devoted to the temporary occupancy of the wretches condemned to be hung, called " Murderers' Row." And either to the prison or the gallows, the detectives and the police bring, sooner or later, the fools, knaves, and criminals of New York. " The way of the transgressor is hard." CHAPTER XIV. A SUNDAY- IN NEW YORK. RELIGIOUS AND IRRELIGIOUS GOTHAM. THE BIG FUNERALS OF NEW YORK. SUNDAY EVENINGS IN THE GREAT METROPOLIS. THE HISTORY OF ONE MEMORABLE SABBATH DAY. NEW YORK, being the city of contrasts, abounds, not only in police, but priests ; not only in crimes, but churches. The churches of New York are among the finest in the country ; and the clergymen connected therewith are, as a lass, alike devout and intellectual. A dull minister has as little chance in New York as any other dull man. Trinity Church, New York, at the head of Wall Street, is the richest ecclesiastical corporation in America. It really does some good with its money. Services are held within its walls constantly , and all well-behaved persons are admitted freely, and receive the most polite attention. Trinity is so well es- tablished, that it can afford to be democratic. In Trinity churchyard repose the remains of Gallatin, the Revolutionary financier; George Frederick Cooke, the actor; the unfortunate and beautiful Charlotte Temple, and other persons of note. The right of Trinity corporation to its revenues has been dis- puted from time to time, but so far wholly unsuccessfully. Grace Church (Episcopal) stands next to Trinity in its fash- ionable importance. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful, archi- tecturally, of any church in the city. It forms, with its grounds and rectory, a prominent object of what may be termed " mid- dle Broadway," directly adjoining " Stewart's store." Old St. Patrick's Roman-Catholic Cathedral stands on the 169 170 THE "SUNDAY LAWS." east side, and is hallowed by memories. The new cathedral rises on Fifth Avenue by the Park, and is a grand pile. The new church of the Jesuits on Sixteenth Street, and St. Ste- phen's Church on Twenty-eighth Street, are famous for the- high quality of the music of their choirs. The Roman-Catholic churches are crowded every Sunday, not only by worshippers, but visitors. There are many superb Presbyterian, and not a few very elaborate Methodist and Baptist and Dutch Reformed, churches. Protestantism in the metropolis has gained in elegance, per- haps, what it has lost in primitive simplicity. There is a Roman or Greek Church chapel, and a Chinese joss-house; and a temple of free thinkers, or a society devoted to ethical culture ; and there are also a number of fine Jewish synagogues. And, while there are many temples for the rich, there are likewise many churches for the poor. While Rev. Dr. Hall preaches every Sunday to representatives of over four hun- dred millions of dollars, there are not a few clergymen whose humble chapel- worshippers could not raise perhaps a thousand dollars among them, all told. As in other respects, so New York presents great and startling contrasts in the difference between the working of its Sunday laws and their enforcement. The " Sunday laws," so called, of New York, are very rigid, yet their administration is very lax ; and it must be confessed that these laws are only enforced on and against the poor and obscure. The pedler must "observe the sabbath;" but the rich hotel-keeper or rum-seller, or the fashionable and luxuri- ous, can do as they think best, and no one dreams of interfering. In point of fact, and as a mere matter of fact, all religions, no religion, and irreligion, stand equally in the eyes of New- York law, and are equally unmolested by New-York custom. Excursions and devotional exercises are patronized. Sunday A CHARACTERISTIC SUNDAY. 171 schools and sample-rooms are open. Church goers and concert- goers consult their inclinations freely every and any Sunday. One characteristic feature 6f a New- York Sunday is the num- ber of its funerals, especially the funeral-pageants of the poorer classes. Sunday, being the only " spare day " of the poor man, is availed of by him and his family to combine the paying of his last respects to a departed friend with the enjoying of " a car- riage-ride," even though it be only to and from a grave-yard. Another characteristic feature of a New- York Sunday, of late years especially, is the number and popularity of its concerts,, alike on the Bowery and on Broadway. Probably the most characteristic Sunday, the most thoroughly dramatic, cosmopolitan, contrasted, and thoroughly New- York Sunday ever known to New York, was the Sunday of March 11, 1883, the Sunday when the great Wiggins storm did not come off, but when the funerals of " Jimmy " Elliott the thief, and McGloin the murderer, did. Of course, this Sunday was years later than was the date of my first appearance in New York ; but I allude to it here, as giving my readers the most forcible idea, not only of the possibilities, but of the actualities, of a New- York Sunday. On this particular Sunday over five hundred places of wor- ship were open ; and from two to four congregations assembled during the day and evening at each place of worship, embra- cing, say, over a hundred thousand men and women. An even larger number of Sunday-schools, mission-schools, etc., were attended by an even larger number of children. Thousands of sermons were earnestly preached, and respectfully listened to. Many thousands of prayers were publicly, as well as privately, offered up to Him who heareth prayer. Though, alas ! the public libraries and reading-rooms and art- galleries were closed, some six thousand saloons were open, by the side-doors at least. 172 ELLIOTT'S FUNERAL. And on the very day that a hundred thousand adults attended divine worship, and more than a hundred thousand children went to Sunday-school, in that very city a tremendous stir took place in the streets ; and public honors were paid to a murdered burglar and an executed murderer. Far be it from me to deny or cavil at the right, the privilege, of the afflicted ones to whom the dead were dear, to pay the last sad tribute of affection to all that is left of them, their coffins. But, certainly, there was nothing in either the manner of the lives or the manner of the deaths of James Elliott, the professional pugilist and burglar, and McGloin, " the tough " and the assas- sin, to warrant or to sanction such a wonderful " ovation " as their funerals amounted to. The terrible taking off of Elliott in the midst of his sins, by a fellow and professional sinner, had an awful lesson some- where in it. And so had the execution of McGloin. But both lessons were completely neutralized by this public demon- stration in their honor. Read how Elliott was buried. The casket was a gorgeous affair. The hearse was a marvel of magnificence. The plumes were ample and orthodox. Be- sides, there were no less than four horses, all dapple-gray, to draw the mortuary vehicle through the streets. Such a display the Sixth Ward had not looked upon since the exodus of the good old days of the Bowery boys and " Dead Rabbits." That every thing should be in keeping, fifty gentlemen of admitted standing in the sporting world, with ample breadth of chest, clean collars, and high silk hats, were held in waiting to take up their position behind the hearse. Sixty carriages containing relatives, friends, and gentlemen about town, who believed they would be insufficiently " game " were they to absent themselves, were to follow the pedestrians. Altogether it was a very im- posing and a very formidable gathering. But, satisfactory as A SCENE ON HARRY HOWARD SQUARE. 173 the cortege appeared to the critical eye of the onlookers, it did not come up to the intentions of Mr. Jack Stiles and his col- leagues. They had determined that no well-regulated funeral of this description could be complete without the presence of Mr. J. L. Sullivan. They also deemed it inadvisable to proceed with the final arrangements till other "knockers out " of repute had been communicated with, and their attendance had been politely requested. A flood of invitations was accordingly issued, but not all of them met with response. The redoubtable Sullivan flatly refused to make a show of himself behind the bier of his quondam challenger, and some other representatives of the first sporting society of other cities. had the ill-taste to utterly ignore the communications. All were not so unmindful of these little mortuary courtesies. Parson Davis of Chicago, who was responsible for Elliott's appearance there, sent word that he was busy. Others pleaded urgent engagements. Many responded in person. What remote cities failed in, New York, Brooklyn, and Jersey City amply supplied. Every youth of "spirit," who had a consuming ambition to be regarded as a "slugger," paid his respects in person. Any "chicken," "mouse," or "clipper," who had donned the mittens, and boxed in the cheap variety shows of any of the three cities, was bound to be there. Rat-fighters, dog-fighters, cock-fighters, horse-jockeys, turf-loungers, and pool- room watchers, every one who had a drop of sporting blood in his veins, or thought he had, made his way to Harry Howard Square. Another feature of the gathering was the representa- tion of the criminal classes that appeared. Flyers of the bit and jimmy, cunning sneak-thieves, wily pickpockets, men who usually skulk along in the crowd, and slip by in the dark unnoticed, and wishing to remain so, stood yesterday in the full glare of the sunlight in the immense concourse before the crowded house. Of course, the police were there. So were 174 HOW "A TOUGH" WAS INTERRED. their clubs, as some of the onlookers later experienced. But they seemed to have their attention too much occupied with the movement of the multitude to spare it for any casual wrongdoer who chanced to appear. Canal, between Centre Street and the Bowery, was almost blockaded with the dense crowd of men, women, and children. The pressing throngs came crowding in from all sections of the city. Chatham Square was made nearly impassable by the presence of the vast multitude, which continued to grow larger and more compact. Along the Bowery, as far up as Seventh Street, it soon became difficult for pedestrians to move. Such a spectacle has not been seen here in a long time. All seemed intent on one point, at least ; and this evidently was what the most came for, to catch a glimpse of the funeral cortege. Beyond this few had any expectations ; and, if they might at an earlier hour have anticipated an opportunity to gaze upon the face of the dead pugilist, they soon must have abandoned any such hope. At all events, whatever may have been the desire of the most of them in this regard, they quickly per- ceived the utter impossibility of doing more than remain in the street, and content themselves with seeing what passed before them. In front of Mr. McDavitt's house Capt. Petty and a large force of policemen devoted their attention and it was with no little difficulty they succeeded in doing so to keeping the sidewalk clear of everybody except the pall- bearers. Read how murderer McGloin was interred amid scenes of ribaldry and rowdyism. Read how curses and prayers were commingled in a church. A noisy multitude, numbering at least five thousand per- sons, filled West Twenty-ninth Street, and surged in front of the tenement where the body of Michael McGloin the murderer lay. The housetops, windows, and stoops for a block each way A DISGRACEFUL SCENE. 175 were black with spectators; and Eighth Avenue in the near neighborhood was impassable. On every side were the typical corner loafers ; and scores of faces seemed to reflect the defiant words of the strangled assassin, "I'm a tough." Swaggering young men in tight trousers cursed and struggled with swagger- ing young women to get an advantageous position, and even mothers with children in their arms endured the crushing and pushing rather than lose a glimpse of the expected scene. A platoon of policemen, headed by a roundsman, struggled and fought with the mob to keep a clear space in front of the door, on which the streamer of white and black crape was hanging. At first the policemen were persuasive in their manner ; but at last they were forced to draw their clubs, and charge. Men, women, and children were prodded and rapped. Again and again they were charged, and the air was filled with curses and ribaldry. A more disgraceful scene can hardly be ima- gined. Roars of laughter went up from those who .were far enough away from the policemen's clubs to safely indulge their feelings. In the midst of all this terrible scene stood the hearse, with its nodding plumes. When the procession arrived at Calvary Cemetery, it was re-enforced by a large detachment of hard-looking citizens of the rowdy type. The hearse drove through the waiting crowd to the little wooden chapel ; and the casket was carried up the wide aisle, and laid in front of the altar under the polished tre- foil arch. The father of the dead murderer, accompanied by his wife and daughter, pushed their way into a pew; and a host of " toughs " went upon their knees as Father Brophy, the chaplain, and an altar-boy, advanced to the flower-covered bier, and began the service. Just as the priest had raised the asperges to sprinkle the casket with holy water, there was a loud sound of strife at the door. Then the chapel-walls echoed with curses, and a crowd 176 THE LAST OF "A TOUGH." of rowdies was seen struggling with two men who were guard- ing the door. " Silence," cried the priest, in a warning voice. But the struggle went on, and the men at the door were hurled from side to side in the fight. In the clamor which came from the desperadoes, there seemed to be a kinship to the dead man's boast, " I'm a tough." The impressive service was completely stopped ; arid many of the people in the chapel, becoming alarmed, ran toward the side-door, as if in fear of the roughs who were trying to force their way in. " Let no one leave his seat," cried the priest. " Do not fear, and remain where you are, I command you." At that instant the band of ruffians at the main entrance burst into the chapel, fell on their knees, and the service was resumed. But, all through it, there were sounds of fighting outside at the entrance ; and the chaplain's eyes were fixed on the door, while his lips repeated the supplication for grace to the murderer's soul. Finally the priest and his assistant retired behind the altar : the remains were raised upon the shoulders of several young men, and carried to the hearse, which was driven *to Section No. 7, where a large crowd had already formed around an open grave, hidden among tall tombstones. It was a very small grave ; and, as the casket was lowered to the bottom, it rattled against the sides of coffins which pro- truded from the adjoining lots. McGloin's father, mother, and sister stood on a mound of freshly dug earth, and calmly watched the casket disappear from sight. Then the trench was quickly filled up, the sod was packed down tightly, and the flowers were arranged artistically over the grave. Then the crowd left, and the sorrowing relatives re-entered their carriages. Then there was a loud shout, a scramble over the ONE NEW-YORK SUNDAY. 177 graves, as Elliott's hearse came in sight; and the multitude had forgotten, in the presence of the new attraction, the man whose ambition was realized, when he said, " I've knocked my man out, and now I'm a tough." Such was the sabbath day : and, when Sunday night came, there was a grand concert given at one theatre on Broadway, and another opposition and fashionable concert given across the street at a rival theatre ; both concerts being fully attended, and neither concert even so much as pretending to be " sacred." Then the fashionable beer-halls on Twenty-third and Four- teenth Streets held concerts likewise, and were crowded, as were the beer-gardens along the Bowery. And the games of poker at the Fifth-avenue clubs, and the games of faro at the club-houses, or gaming-dens, near Broadway, progressed pleas- antly and uninterruptedly. And the saloons generally were in full blast, and two terrible murders were committed. All within the compass of one New- York Sunday. CHAPTER XV. THE WEALTH OF THE GREAT METROPOLIS. TRADE, SPECULATION, WALL STREET, AND THE PROFESSIONS. THE ADVENTURES OF TWO BROTHERS WHO TRIED TO SUCCEED IN NEW YORK BY BEING HONEST. "FASH- IONABLE SOCIETY," AND WHAT IT AMOUNTS TO. THE BRIGHT SIDE OF NEW YORK. NEW YORK, AFTER ALL, THE BEST AS WELL AS GREATEST CITY. WE have already considered, and considerably in detail, the poor of New York, the criminals of New York, and the police of New York. But the predominating element in New York is not steeped, either in poverty or crime : it has little to do with prisons or police. It is chiefly concerned in buying, sell- ing, investing, speculating, and spending. It is engaged in trade : it dabbles in stocks or securities or real estate. It practises law or medicine, or is concerned in and with politics. The wealth of New York is not fully appreciated, even by New-Yorkers. Some idea of this wealth will be formed when I state that it is estimated that there are over one hundred men in this city worth over twenty millions of dollars each, and over a thousand men worth over a million of dollars each. A paper of New York published, some time since, a list of men who pay taxes on a hundred thousand dollars and over; and the mere list of names occupied so many columns in one issue, with so many columns of names yet to come, that it was found to be injudicious to complete the publication. One manifest tendency of trade is to " section "-alize itself, to localize itself ; each separate trade occupying one section, or locality. Thus, the leather-dealers occupy "the swamp," the 178 " SPECULATION." 179 steamship-offices cluster round Bowling Green, the real-estate offices are found in and around Pine Street, the jewellers con- gregate in Maiden Lane, the newspaper-offices are thick around the Park, and the retail dry-goods stores have their up-town centres. Another manifest tendency of trade is to work its way toward the Central Park. "Business" has invaded succes- sively and successfully Clinton Place, Fourteenth Street, and Twenty-third Street, and is now encroaching upon Madison and Fifth Avenues, thoroughfares hitherto sacred to " fashion." And " speculation," which was once confined to Wall Street, is now, by the telegraph and the telephone, diffused, as it were, .all over the city. Brokers' offices are located now in up-town hotels ; and the leading speculator of New York, Jay Gould, has his private wires connected with his private office in his private house, near the Windsor Hotel. Speculation is at once the blessing and the bane of New York, the blessing of the lucky few, the bane of the unlucky many. New York is the gambling (stock gambling) centre of the world ; surpassing in the magnitude of its operations, com- pared to its capital, either London or Paris. Fortunes are made sooner and lost more easily in New York than in any other place on the face of the earth. A rise in a stock has made almost penniless men millionnaires in a week, and a fall in securities has rendered millionnaires bank- rupt in a day. As Edward Winslow Martin remarks in his celebrated book, which all should read, " The Secrets of the Great City : " Watch the carriages as they whirl through Fifth Avenue, going and returning from the Park. They are as elegant and sumptuous as wealth can make them. The owners, lying back amongst the soft cushions, are clad in the height of fashion. By their dresses they might be princes and princesses. This much is due to art. Now 180 " CURBSTONE BROKERS." mark the coarse, rough features, the ill-bred stare, the haughty rude- ness, which they endeavor to palm off for dignity. Do you see any difference between them and the footman in livery on the carriage- box? Both master and man belong to the same class, only one is wealthy, and the other is not. But that footman may take the place of the master in a couple of years, or in less time. Such changes may seem remarkable, but they are very common in New York. See that gentleman driving that splendid pair of sorrels. He is a fine specimen of mere animal beauty. How well he drives ! The ease and carelessness with which he manages his splendid steeds excite the admiration of every one on the road. He is used to it. Five years ago he was the driver of a public hack. He amassed a small sum of money, and being naturally a sharp, shrewd man, went into Wall Street, and joined the " Curbstone Brokers." His trans- actions were not always open to a rigid scrutiny, but they were profitable to him. He invested in oil-stocks, and, with his usual good luck, made a fortune. Now he operates through his broker. His transactions are heavy, his speculations bold and daring ; but he is usually successful. He lives in great splendor in one of the finest mansions in the city, and his carriages and horses are superb. His wife and daughters are completely carried away by their good for- tune, and look with disdain upon all who are not their equals or superiors in wealth. They are vulgar and ill bred ; but they are wealthy, and society worships them. There will come a change some day. The husband and father will venture once too often in his speculations, and his magnificent fortune will go with a crash ; and the family will return to their former state, or perhaps sink lower : for there are very few men who have the mora} courage to try to rise again after such a fall, and this man is not one of them. In watching the crowd on Broadway, one will frequently see, in some shabbily dressed individual, who, with his hat drawn down close over his eyes, is evidently shrinking from the possibility of being rec- ognized, the man who but a few weeks ago was one of the wealthiest in the city. Then he was surrounded with splendor. Now he hardly knows where to get bread for his family. Then he lived in an elegant HOW TO BE RICH IN NEW YORK. 181 mansion. Now one or two rooms on the upper floor of some tene- ment-house constitute his habitation. He shrinks from meeting his old friends, well knowing that not one of them will recognize him, except to insult him with a scornful stare. Families are constantly disappearing from the social circles in which they have shone for a greater or less time. They vanish almost in an instant, and are never seen again. You may meet them at some brilliant ball in the evening. Pass their residence the next day, and you will see a bill announcing the early sale of the mansion and furniture. The worldly effects of the family are all in the hands of the creditors of the " head ; " and the family themselves are either in a more modest home in the country, or in a tenement-house. You can scarcely walk twenty blocks on Fifth Avenue without seeing one of these bills, tell- ing its mournful story of fallen greatness. The best and safest way to be rich in New York, as elsewhere, Is for a man to confine himself to his legitimate business. Few men acquire wealth suddenly. Ninety-nine fail where one succeeds. The bane of New- York commercial life, however, is, that people have not the patience to wait for fortune. Every one wants to be rich in a hurry ; and as no regular business will accomplish this, here or else- where, speculation is resorted to. The sharpers and tricksters who infest Wall Street know this weakness of New- York merchants. They take the pains to inform themselves as to the character, means, and credulity of merchants, and then use every art to draw them into speculations, in which the tempter is enriched, and the tempted ruined. In nine cases out of ten a merchant is utterly ignorant of the nature of the speculation he engages in. He is not capable of forming a reasonable opinion as to its propriety, or chance of success, because the whole transaction is so rapid that he has no chance to study it. He leaves a business in which he has acquired valuable knowledge and experience, and trusts himself to the mercy of a man he knows little or nothing of, and undertakes an operation that he does not know how to manage. Dabbling in speculations unfits men for their regular pursuits. They come to like the excitement of such ventures, and rush on madly in their mistaken course, hoping to 182 PROFESSIONAL LIFE IN NEW YORK. make up their losses by one lucky speculation ; and at length utter ruin rouses them from their dreams. Although New York is the chief business centre of the country, fortunes are made here slowly and steadily. Great wealth is the accumulation of years. Such wealth brings with it honor and pros- perity. One who attains it honestly has fairly won the proud title of " merchant," but few are willing to pursue the long life of toil necessary to attain it. They make fifty thousand dollars legitimately, and then the insane desire seizes them to double this amount in a day. Nine lose every thing where one makes his fortune. The reason is plain. The speculation in stocks is controlled by men without principle, whose only object is to enrich themselves at the expense of their victims. Professional life in New York, like mercantile and specula- tive, is heated full of bitter rivalry and intense competition. The higher class of New-York lawyers charges enormous fees ; while the lower class embraces the sharks, the lawyers who take cases on "spec," and "the Tombs shysters," or jail-bird lawyers ; and then there is a fouler class yet, the divorce-law- yers. The physicians of the metropolis bear, as a body, a de- servedly high reputation j while the journalists and journals of New York are conceded to be at the head of journalism. New York has also produced its poets, its painters, its authors, and artists, and is disputing with Boston itself the claim to be the literary centre. With lawyers like Brady, O'Connor, Field, and Evarts ; with physicians like Francis, Hosack, Mott, Sayres, Jacobi, Sims, and Hammond ; with journalists like Bennett, Greeley, Raymond, Dana, Whitelaw Ried, et al. ; with poets like Bryant ; and with its long array of men distinguished in science, art, arid litera- ture, the Union in general, and New-Yorkers in particular, may well be proud of New York. With regard to the percen- tage of honesty that is to be found in the ordinary commercial WALL-STREET BROKERS. 183 and professional transactions of New- York life, as compared to the percentage of dishonesty, observers differ according to their stand-point : some hold that honesty is the rare exception, while dishonesty is the almost universal rule. Such is the view taken by Mr. Isaac G. Reed, jun., in his brochure entitled, " From Heaven to New York " (published by the Murray-Hill Publishing Company). In this remark- able, and in many points remarkably pointed, because truthful, satire, the adventures and misadventures of the brothers Good- heart, who came to New York, and tried to succeed honestly, are recorded as follows : Having a little capital and a somewhat speculative turn of mind, Robert Goodheart naturally sought "Wall and Broad Streets, and became " a broker." He conceived a great respect for brokers as a class, on theory. "Brokers," "bankers," "financiers," Wall- street operators, thought he, must be high-toned and honest men, par excellence; for they not only are amongst the wealthiest, but our most influential, citizens ; they occupy a social, as well as a pecuniary, position ; they are highly respected, therefore they are highly respectable. (Poor fellow ! he was very young.) Many of them are church-members in good standing. Some support clergymen, others support churches ; some have endowed theological seminaries ; they are professedly Christians, therefore they must be practically honest men. Therefore I will join their number, and be an honest man and a broker. (Poor fellow ! he was very, very young.) In a little while he had mastered the " slang of the street." He fathomed the mysteries of puts and calls, and margins and dividends, coupons, bullion, specie, legal tenders, certificates, call-loans, funded debt, pre- ferred and common stock, etc. ; and, at last, he entered into opera- tions on his own account. His first transaction was with one of the most successful and most celebrated of the money-kings, a little, dark-browed man, who was worth millions, and was president of a railroad. The little man swallowed up in a day every dollar which our hero, or fool, had invested in the enterprise, and then refused 184 THE MILLIONNAIRE " OPERATORS." even to see the little minnow, who never even so much as set eyes upon the mighty whale again. His next operation was with another railroad-king, a fine-looking, magnificently preserved, stately old man, with a clerical look, who controlled untold millions. Of course, our hero did not deal with this superb Croesus directly, but only dabbled in his "stocks" at the advice of his "agents." He lost every dollar he invested, and never so much as saw the great Mogul, into whose pockets his money had all gone, save once, when walking one afternoon, footsore and tired, up town, he met the Crresus returning to his palace behind some of the finest and fastest horse-flesh in the world. His third venture was in a "pool " engineered by an old and pious millionnaire, whose good morals were supposed to make ample amends for his bad English. Goodheart never saw the millionnaire, nor his own money either. The latter was at once "gobbled" up by the former, who never could be found, or gotten at in any way, not even by a lawyer, so cunningly had the milliouuaire covered his tracks. Then Goodheart invested a portion of his remaining capital in a stupendous railroad scheme, which was to benefit the world, and which was controlled by an eminently Christian philanthropist who loved clergymen. This " lover of clergymen " went to the wall, and all the poor fellow's investment went with him. He never realized enough from the wreck, even to pay his travelling expenses to a neighboring city, where he might have had a chance to catch a passing glimpse of the eminently " Christian philanthropist " who loved clergymen. Still hoping for the best, still believing in the existence of mercantile honesty, Robert Goodheart invested a little of what he had left in the stock of a steamship company controlled by men of social pretensions, whose names were always in the news- papers. He lost every dollar ; but, in this case, he had the satisfac- tion of being allowed to " see " one of the " principals," who kindly shook hands with him, and invited him to " take a drink." Meanwhile our poor Robert mixed with the average herd of brokers, Wall-street operators, etc., and found them, with but few exceptions, to be yelling, lying, nervous, idle, immoral, reckless, unscrupulous, FROM "SPECULATION" TO "TRADE." 185 selfish, improvident gamblers, utterly shattered, alike in physique and fortune. He found them to be men who were as bitter in their enmi- ties as they were brittle in their friendships. Their word was a -mockery, and their "honor" was a sham. They were thieves whom the law could not touch. They robbed their victims, and often robbed each other. They were stock and gold gamblers, who prac- tised openly down town tricks which would have been scorned by the faro and keno gamblers up town. They were rogues who were -also hypocrites. They were humbugs as well as criminals. They were a curse to the city and to the country. They were foul-mouthed libertines and drunkards, double-faced and double-tongued, without faith in God, man, or woman, and without fear of the Devil, men who met in dark corners to conspire against humanity, their country, -and each other ; and yet, withal, they were men who were husbands, fathers, brothers, and lovers of our best "society." They were the men, too, who controlled the railroads and the railroad stocks, who manipulated and watered the stock, and who made an American rail- road alike a danger to the public and a disgrace to the world. They were the men who regarded public trusts as private tools for selfish -ends, and who made the very name of an official report synonymous with a deliberate lie. Robert Goodheart's eyes were opened at the last. He saw that ;an honest broker had precisely the same chance for success on Wall and Broad Street that a lamb has for life among prairie wolves ; so he abandoned the street forever, a wiser and a poorer man. But he did not abandon business altogether : he could not, he must live. 80 he took heart once more, and embarked what little he now pos- sessed in "trade." He was successful at the start; but, just as he began to realize the fact, one of the giants in his line of business, a Christian merchant, worth half a hundred millions or so, who owned palaces and churches and theatres, and had more money than he could ever spend in a thousand years, and to whom a temporary loss was, of course, of no consequence, marked down the prices of all his line of goods, and did business at a loss for a time, for just long enough to ruin Robert Goodheart, and bring him to the hammer. 186 A LAMB AMONG WOLVES. Then our poor hero, like a phoenix, arose from his ashes, and tried a new line of business on a humbler scale, and was prospering in a modest way, when, lo ! one of the great houses in his vicinity con- ceived the idea of letting their patrons have certain articles in Goodheart's line at cost price, so as to induce the public to purchase more freely of their goods at a profit. Of course, those who had, before this, bought their articles of Goodheart now deserted him, procured what they wanted at the great house (by doing which, they could save even Goodheart's moderate profit) ; and so for the second time his business was ruined. But what cared the great house for that? For the third time Robert Goodheart tried his for- tune, and attempted to manufacture a certain article, to deserve success by procuring the best materials, and engaging skilled labor at a fair rate of compensation. But how could he thus compete with the monster factories which only paid "starvation wages," and which did not hesitate to defraud the public with inferior material and work- manship? So for the third time Robert Goodheart, in his checkered career, found himself a ruined man. Meanwhile he was cheated by the petty tradesmen with whom he dealt. His tailor swindled him, and his shoemaker ; his butcher and his baker swindled him ; in every thing he ate, drank, or wore, he was swindled. His agents were all rogues : his insurance agents were all liars. He found himself in a world and whirl of falsehoods. In sheer despair he bought a ticket in a lottery highly indorsed, and he found the lottery and indorse- ment a swindle. A friend borrowed money frojp him, under a promise of immediate payment : he never saw his friend or money again. Another bor- rowed money on worthless securities. A man to whom he had lent money on real estate " failed," and then it was ascertained that the estate was in his wife's name : another obtained large sums of money by false representations. A confidential friend drew on him at sight for some monej 7 , pleading urgent necessity, but never redeemed the draft. A confidential clerk forged his signature to a check, and then absconded : and, lastly, a small sum of money, on which he had de- pended, was swallowed up by the failure of the savings-bank ; and MEDICINE AND, LAW. 187 what little furniture he had was seized by his landlord, who turned him out in the streets without a dollar. And all this time Robert Goodheart had never cheated a man out of a penny. He had been, what he promised to be, an honest man of business, and had received the inevitable reward of his honesty. So it came to pass, that, in the year of our Lord 18 , in this Christian city of New York, a man failed in life, utterly, hopelessly, irretrievably, and yet he was an honest, hard-working man. Meanwhile the other members of the Goodheart family had been pursuing their own life-paths, and each had been striving to be " honest " in his own way. Thus Francis Goodheart, the second of the brothers (while Robert had been giving himself up to speculation and to trade) , had been devoting himself to study and a medical career. He found the theory of medicine absolutely glorious, but he found its practice absolutely disgraceful. As a science, medicine is sublime : as a pursuit, it is. sublimely ridiculous. The art of healing in modern times is simply too often the art of humbug, a mixture in equal proportions of cant and imposture. The allopaths quarrel with the homoeopaths. The eclectics ignore both, and the hydropaths all three. He soon discov- ered that the modern author is the incarnation of modern conceit. He is simply a word-juggler, who plays his tricks with language to astonish or amuse, not to benefit. Out of sixty-two professional doctors of whom Francis Goodheart made the acquaintance, he ascertained eight were boors, twenty-three either beats or beggars, twenty-five were libertines ; while, of the whole number, forty-one were either avowedly or in reality sceptics, mockers of God and immortality, and fifty-three were drunkards. Francis Goodheart soon ascertained, by practical experience, that doctors are charlatans with diplomas. Sickened of medicine, Francis Goodheart rushed to its antithesis, the law. Law is justice, and justice is an attribute of divinity : therefore law is divine. It may be so ; but one famous New- York lawyer is a living, moving, money-making bundle of tech- nicalities. Another has made a world-wide fame by his mastery of legal forms : another has done every thing by not doing it. He succeeds in putting every thing off : he is the apostle of delay. 188 AN " OPENING " IN POLITICS. Another, who is sleek and fat, with country-house, big diamonds, has achieved pre-eminence by two simple processes, fleecing clients #nd bribing courts ; another, by a high ' ' religious ' ' character, look- ing at these bright and shining lights, mindful of the characteristic truth that James Fisk, jun., was the highly successful man of his day, and Jay Gould is his highly envied successor ; while, a few weeks ago, a man was sentenced to prison because he " stole " a loaf of bread to keep his wife and child from starving. Seeing and remembering all this, Francis Goodheart, just as he had pre- viously abandoned medicine, now abandoned the law. But at this juncture, according to Mr. Reed, somebody sug- gested to Mr. Goodheart that there was a great opening for an honest man in New-York politics (!) ; and, accordingly, Mr. Goodheart availed himself of this " opening." Francis Goodheart commenced his political career by becoming an assistant alderman. In this capacity he honestly endeavored to do his ics, and French paste, and chalk, and arsenic, and her dentist, and cotton, and padded sleeves, and padded arms, and tinted nails, and tight lacing, and false hips, and bustles, and French boots. The mother and her two daughters, the Misses Brownstone- front, are characterized as follows : All three ladies were, in the American sense of the term, " fash- ionable " (i.e., money-and-time-wasting) women. They promenaded Broadway, shopped at Stewart's, had bills at Tiffany's, had their dresses made by Worth, had a box at the opera, a villa at New- port, kept their carriage, and footman in livery, had been to Paris, talked French execrably, waltzed divinely, flirted d, I'outrance, rel- ished double-entendres, wore the lowest of low necks and the short- est of short sleeves, were encyclopedias of gossip and tittle-tattle, were dictionaries of small-talk, lived high, loved French novels (translated), and doted on French plays (adapted), copied the tricks of actresses and the styles of the demi-monde, could and did drink a good deal of wine at parties, receptions, New- Year's Days, and the like, kept late hours, indulged in artificial compliments and friend- ships, and "knew" more men than ever visited them at their residence. The mother had been in her day " a belle," and her name had been bandied about in connection with a certain noted roue of an Italian tenor ; Miss Cleopatra had been at one time seriously u com- A "FASHIONABLE" FAMILY. 197 promised " with a German count, whom she had picked up on the Rhine ; while Miss Angelina's " deucedly neat " foot and ankle were the admiration of any number of "young men about town," for whose benefit said charms were " artlessly " displayed two or three times a week on Broadway, and every Sunday morning and after- noon on Fifth Avenue. "Fashion" was the especial hobby of Mrs. Sophia Brownstone- f ront, nee Von Diamondeer. She asked not what fashion was, or ivho was fashionable : that they were fashionable was all she demanded of her "set." Had Madame Restell herself suddenly become "fash- ionable," she would have found a warm friend and admirer in Mrs. Sophia Brownstonefront, nee Von Diamondeer. Like all true native Americans, she prostrated herself in abject adoration before the glory of a "position;" and she never cared a whit how the " position " was obtained. Had Satan himself been an " old Knick- erbocker" or a "distinguished foreigner," she would have bowed blandly to the Devil. Practical woman that she was, she never questioned an accepted fact. "Dress" was the deity of her daughters. They were the true Catholics of the mode, and their Virgin Mary was the goddess of the toilet. Their whole souls "went out" in silks and satins, and they dated the creation of the world from "opening-day." They would never have betrayed their Master, like Judas, for thirty pieces of silver : it would, in their case, have cost some thirty or forty yards of velvet. Modest creatures that they were, they were all the time thinking how to cover their nakedness. All their "dear" friends and female intimates dressed superbly. True, one of those "friends" had, by her extravagance, driven her husband into dishonorable bankruptcy; another "intimate," whose dress far exceeded her father's purse, was openly " talked about; " while a third neglected her family to adorn the promenade. But what of that? they all did "dress;" and people, you know, will talk. And so the Misses Brownstonefront were very " dressy. " They possessed between Uiem forty-two silk dresses (twenty party and 198 " DRESS " AND " SOCIETY." evening dresses), twelve cloaks (embracing two seal-skin sacks, worth five hundred dollars each), four velvet cloaks (costing about twenty-five hundred dollars for the four), two camel's-hair shawls (worth four thousand dollars the pair), and twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of laces, point-lace, point applique, Valenciennes; then, they wore during the year some twenty bonnets (averaging forty dollars apiece), some eighty pairs of gloves, some hundreds of handkerchiefs. But, really, life is short. As for New- York " society," it is " summed up " by the satirist in this one piquant paragraph : The "old lady, Mrs. Brownstouefront," called about five hundred men and women whom she knew more or less intimately, a hun- dred of whom were swindlers (undetected), a hundred more of whom were bankrupts (as yet undiscovered), a hundred more of whom were roues, libertines, and gamblers (known as such) , a hundred more of whom were old ladies who were trying to sell their daughters to the highest bidder, while the last hundred were young ladies who were displaying their matrimonial points wherever and however they could to the aforesaid three hundred swindlers, bankrupts, and roues, she called these five hundred "society." And there are five thousand more like her in New York. But it must be carefully borne in mind by the reader, that there are two sides to every question, and generally more than two sides to every question or point connected with New- York City. While the experiences and observations of the brothers Goodheart, and while the pictures of the Brownstonefronts, are truthful and realistic as far as they extend, they do not extend far enough, they only apply to a part of New York, not to New York as a whole. New York, as a whole, is, with all its evils, a good, as well as a great, city. This fact, this comforting and consoling fact, this better and brighter fact, is too often forgotten by New- A POINT THAT SHOULD BE EEMEMBEEED. 199 Yorkers themselves, and is steadily ignored by the New- York press, and writers on New York. The New-York papers are full of murders, suicides, thefts, scandals, and horrors. But why are they full of them? Sim- ply because these are the remarkable exceptions to the ordinary state of order, decency, honesty, peace, and security. If they were normal occurrences, these murders, thefts, scandals, and hor- rors, the papers would not record them ; they would not be able to ; but they simply record them now as exceptional occur- rences. If people would but bear this simple, self-evident point in mind, they would carry about with them much more accurate notions of New- York life than generally prevail. The writer once met a dear, good old lady, who loved God, the Bible, and her fellow men and women, and found this blessed Christian lady terribly exercised in spirit, having just finished the perusal of a morning New-York paper, in which she had read graphic, too graphic, elaborately detailed, far too elaborately detailed, accounts of all varieties of crimes and horrors. The old lady put down her paper with a sigh and a shudder, and exclaimed to the writer, " What a wicked city we live in ! " " No, madam," I replied. " Say, rather, what a good city we live in." And then I explained to the dear, good old soul how really the prominence and space given in the paper to the crimes and horrors proved how extraordinary and exceptional they were. " No paper prints," said I, " the numberless good words said and good deeds done yesterday in New York and elsewhere, simply because they are numberless, and of constant, ordinary occurrence : they are, fortunately, matters of course, and, as such, need no account or comment. But thank God, madam," I devoutly and gratefully, as well as truthfully, remarked, 200 THE GOOD SIDE OF NEW YORK. " murder, theft, licentiousness, blasphemy, and the like, are un- usual enough yet to challenge attention." The old lady seized the point of my observations at once, and appreciated its truth : she smiled, and from that day has regarded New- York papers and New- York City very differently from the light in which she formerly considered them. The facts are, and let us thank God for them, that there are vastly more good and honest men, and vastly more good and virtuous women, in New York, than there are men and women who are not honest or virtuous. If the great metropolis leads in evil, it also more than excels in good. Every now and then there may occur a " carnival of crime ; " but purity, charity, honesty, industry, and religion are " always with us." New York is a religious city, as already hinted at. There is one place of worship, on the average, to every four hundred people in the metropolis ; and many of these churches, chapels, etc., are crowded, not only on Sundays, but during the week. New York contains twenty-two public libraries, and over a hundred large first-class private libraries, as well as hundreds of book-stores. New York likewise contains a hundred and thirty-five public schools of all grades, for all classes, and for all colors, and employs over three thousand teachers. The metropolis can justly boast of its Columbia College, the university of the city of New York; the famous Cooper Institute free schools of art, where hundreds of young women have laid the foundation of a useful, profitable, honorable career ; its Free Academy and its Normal College; while its private schools such as Rut- gers Institute, the Charlier Institute, etc. are justly cele- brated. The metropolis has also twenty-one public squares and parks, including the finest pleasure-park in America, the Central Park, SOMETHING TO THANK GOD FOR. 201 as free to the tramp as to the millionnaire. There are numerous public and private galleries of art; some of the private gal- leries, such as Belmont's, being occasionally thrown open to the public. There are numerous public and several "free" baths. There are over two hundred general societies, all flourishing, and all instituted for worthy objects. There are sixty-three trade societies, all doing good, and, on the whole, well managed; while the charities of New York are literally " too numerous to mention." A mere list of the charitable societies and enter- prises of the metropolis would occupy pages of this book. From twenty-five thousand to thirty thousand people are relieved by them annually. May it not, then, be said of the great metropolis to-day, as it was said over eighteen hundred years ago of Mary Magdalene, "Her sins, which are many, are forgiven her ; for she loved much " (if philanthropy is love, which it is) : for " inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these, ye did it unto me." And, good as New York is, it is growing better every year. Just as the old Five Points, the most terrible spot on the American continent, is now " wiped out," and the old Brewery, the scene of misery and murder, is supplanted by a public mission-house ; so other evil localities in the great city are gradually, slowly but surely, being purified. The American poet, Lowell, is right, "Humanity moves onward" and upward. " Excelsior " is the motto, not only of Longfellow's immortal poem, but of the city of New York. This being so, and this is so, as any careful student of the metropolis is prepared to testify, let us " thank God, and take courage." Let us confess the errors, concede the vices, regret the crimes, of New York. Let us picture, if we will, the dark side of metropolitan life. But let us ever do justice to the 202 BOTH SIDES. enterprise, and to the virtue, morality, and religion, upon which, after all and more than all, the metropolis is based. If, like a famous New-York divine, Rev. Dr. Crosby, we must confess "the shame of New York," let us not refuse to concede to the greatest and best city on the American con- tinent its meed of " glory." CHAPTER XVI. SEEKING AND FINDING EMPLOYMENT. NEW YOKK AT NIGHT. "THE SLEEPLESS CITY." THE DEMON RUM. INTO the great city which I have just described (from the experience and observation of later years), I now came, a friendless lad, dependent on his work for his bread. But where to get the work? That was the problem which pre- sented itself to me, as it has presented itself to thousands of others before and since. Oh ! the difficulty of obtaining work in New York. That is, obtaining your first work, getting your start. That start once obtained, the rest is comparatively easy ; as the French say, " C'est le premier pas qui cotite " (" It is the first step that costs "). Some have suffered all the agonies that mind and body can endure ere they have conquered that first step ; and some " Have by wayside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life," before they even gained that " start." But I was more favored than the majority ; although I had to pass through a certain share of torture, although I had to walk and worry and wait till I was weary and worn put, yet, just before I was completely exhausted, I obtained my chance, I conquered my start. I procured employment in the freight-department of the far- famed Erie Railroad, under M. A. A. Gaddis, one of the local freight-agents of the road. My former experience in railroad- 203 204 NEW YORK AT NIGHT. ing gave me favor, and within a few weeks I had my place and work and wages among the struggling myriads of the metropolis. I was busily employed all day, and gave satisfaction. But I had my nights to myself. I congratulated myself on this fact, but in reality it was my great misfortune. Had I been compelled to toil at night, I would doubtless have felt more tired ; but I would doubtless have been more temperate, and equally as happy. Working men arid women need little care and compassion while " on duty ; " but they need the former, and call oftentimes for the latter, when " off duty." When the eye of the super- intendent or employer is upon them, they are " all right : " it is only when there is none to see them but the All-seeing that they are in danger of being " all wrong." Especially is this the case in the metropolis. Other cities rest at night, and the working-classes rest in and with them. But New York is as restless by night as by day. New York never sleeps : it has been truthfully styled " the sleepless city." It has been calculated that over seventy-five thousand people are busy or bustling, at work or at play, every night in the great metropolis. The night-population of New York includes an army of men and women, in different walks of life, the attaches of theatres and minstrel-halls, of concert-saloons, of the newspapers, of the restaurants, etc., the hackmen, the car conductors and drivers, the police, the thieves, the gam- blers, the courtesans, the firemen, the bill-posters, the butchers, the bakers, the vagrants, the hotel attaches, these, and other classes too numerous to mention, render the streets of New York, or some of them at least, almost as lively at midnight as at noon. One need never be lonely in New York at night if he is not particular as to his company. And the temptations to dissipation and intemperance in a crowd like this at night " ON THE DOWN GRADE." 205 are endless. And they were too mighty for one of my tem- perament to resist. Homeless, I haunted the taverns and the theatres: friendless, I made companions of the dissolute. I soon fell into my former drinking-habits, and acquired, if possi- ble, the curse of intemperance still stronger. Many a morning, after many a night passed in bar-rooms till almost daylight, I would go to my work with a fevered brow and a trembling hand. But still, under all these disadvantages, I somehow kept along. For a whole year I kept my situation ; and during that time I familiarized myself with the haunts of vice and intem- perance, and was falling lower and lower in the scale of hu- manity. I became entangled in several " scrapes ; " and although I was never arrested by the police, never imprisoned in a police-station cell, and never brought before a magistrate in a police-court, it was due to the restraining hand of Providence, not to any restraint that I placed upon myself. This period I regard as one of the darkest of my life. And, under the influ- ence of the demon of rum, I committed indiscretions, which, when reported to my father in the course of time, nearly drove him to distraction, and which distressed my dear mother more than all her pangs of sickness. Friends remonstrated with me in vain. I was mad indeed. Finally I lost my position on the railroad, but that did not sober me; for I obtained an even better situation in its place with H. B. Clafflin & Co., in the entry-room, under Mr. Henshaw as superintendent : and I drank harder than ever. But I only held this latter situation for a month : then rum, my greatest enemy, dislodged me; and again I was roaming the streets of New York without employment. I was not utterly destitute as yet; and, as long as my money lasted, I haunted bar-rooms, and drank rum. Liquor-saloons were my only resorts ; and I finally sank so low, that, under the influence of my potations, I would frequently sleep in these 206 A DEVILISH DEBAUCH. places till they closed, and then would walk the streets by night, trying to quiet my nerves (for sleep I could not), until they opened again. I recall to memory one night in particular, when, after a devilish debauch (I can use no milder term), the thought of my once innocent past, my dear brothers and sisters, my honored father and mother, and my pure and happy home, in dear old Montreal, came across my mind with such overpowering force, that, in sheer despair and desperation, I purchased a soda- bottle full of whiskey, and, rushing out of a saloon, took my position at midnight on the steps of 618 Broadway, the Museum of Anatomy, and swallowed almost the entire con- tents of the bottle. I was wild with grief and shame, and I knew not what I did. I presume I meant to take my chances of death or delirium tremens ; and I deserved either, or both, but escaped : perhaps the very quantity of liquor that I swallowed saved me ; but, however that may be, I merely suffered more than usual, and was more sick and nervous than usual for some fort3 r -eight hours, and then proceeded downward as before. And here I must pause, and warn my readers of the terrible state to which poor mortals may bring themselves. With tears in my eyes I make this confession. But my case is not exceptional. Thousands have been in the same condition, and only those that have suffered can appreciate the same. I wish I could show to every young man and woman in the country what intemperance is sure to lead to. Reformation is hard oh, so hard ! Intemperance destroys self-respect ; and, when that is gone, manhood departs. It dries up the sacred fountains of love ; and, when they are dry, hope turns sadly awaj-. It estranges those who should be dearest to each other. It turns the father from the child, and the child from the father ; and all that is contained in the word "awful" it surely possesses. THE MONSTER INTEMPERANCE. 207 I have seen the ocean asleep, when scarcely a ripple disturbed its placid breast. The smallest craft could venture out on its tranquil bosom in safety, and the sunbeams dallied with its surface, and peace and contentment seemed to have an abiding- place within it. Anon the winds would rise, the hurricane would rage, and the scene would be changed. Arising from its lethargy, the mad waves would roll, threatening to over- whelm every thing in their fury ; and night and darkness would combine to augment the horrors of the scene. Intemperance is like that ocean : it seems fair and lovely to gaze upon ; and the poor mariner upon its bosom looks listlessly in the tide, nor sees the frightful monsters that inhabit it. But now they come, slimy, filthy creatures, who wind themselves around his better feelings ; and the fierce storms of passion, lust, and all that is unholy and debased, sweep him from mortal view. The fell demon spares none. He allures the noblest of the earth, and beneath him they become the most debased. No position in society is secure from his attacks. He even invades the sanctity of the pulpit, and the priest of God becomes his satel- lite. He glories in destruction, and gloats over the shrieks of his helpless victims. O young men ! if you are yielding to the power of the monster in any degree, repel him before it is too late. " Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its color in the cup : at the last, it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." Point me to a case where, used as a beverage, it ever did mortal man any good. Graves that have been watered with burning, bitter tears, proclaim the con- trary; families severed speak its desolation; the groans of orphans and the shrieks of the dying, over the land, bear fear- ful testimony to its destruction ; and yet the curse survives, and human law appears powerless to crush it from existence., Were a mad dog turned loose in our street to bite and maim the passers-by, what a cry would ascend to the skies if prompt 208 TO THE FOOT OF THE CROSS. action were not taken to stop his ravages ! Yet, worse than the most rabid canine, intemperance is allowed to strike his victims again and again, and almost without hinderance. I have felt his deadly fangs, and feel that I have a right to lift up my voice against him, to combat my greatest enemy with all my power, and to show him and his emissaries as the greatest enemies of the human race. Had I then gone to the foot of the cross in faith, and trusted in Him who alone can sustain us, I might have been spared the years to come of sorrow that passed over me ; and not until I did so did I find deliverance from my bondage : but, thanks be to Him, my deliverance came ; and I am now ransomed by his precious blood from the galling shackles of intemperance. All things are possible with God. " Would you lose your life, you find it ; And in giving love you bind it Like an amulet of safety Round your heart forevermore." CHAPTER XVII. DRIFTING AND SHIFTING. A MEMORABLE SUNDAY. MY ADVENTUEES IN CINCINNATI. LIFE ON THE EIVEK-STEAMBOATS. ITS TRAGEDY AND COMEDY ILLUSTRATED. STEAMBOAT RACES, FIRES, AND EXPLOSIONS. * BIVER-GAMBLEBS. MOCK COURTS AND A BLESSED PRACTICAL JOKE. MY CURSE CONQUERS ME AGAIN. IN my last chapter I moralized somewhat ; now let me turn to my own vicissitudes of fortune, and speak of myself. Being almost literally driven out of New York by my own misconduct, finding it now impossible to procure a situation, and being on the very verge of abject destitution and positive starvation, I turned my thoughts to Albany, where I had been told there was a chance for employment. Through the kindness of Mr. Caulfield, a steamboat-man, agent of a line of steamers plying on the Hudson, I obtained a pass to Albany, in which city I landed literally penniless. My first experience of New York had been brief and shame- ful. I left it now, as I thought, forever ; but I was destined to return to the great metropolis again, and yet again, as the reader of this life-narrative will see. I found Albany just like New York in one most important particular. You must have money, or starve, in either place. As I had no money, I came near starving, and might have per- ished, had I not been in this extremity befriended by S. R. Gray, a true Christian gentleman, who interested himself prac- tically in my welfare. But there was no opening for me in Albany at that tune ; and so I went on still farther, looking for 209 210 A TRAMP AND A BEGGAR. something to do. I called upon E. D. Worcester, Esq., the secretary of the New-York Central Railroad, and, on the rec- ommendation of Mr. Gray, obtained from this most practical, yet kind and most genial and polished man, official, and gentle- man, a pass to Buffalo. I arrived in Buffalo in precisely the same penniless condition in which I had reached Albany, but found no duplicate of the great-hearted Mr. Gray. Having neither money nor friends, only a little a very little " hand- baggage," I was at once compelled to pawn the latter, to procure a few days' board. I spent my few days trying hard to obtain employment, but * in vain, and, at the expiration of a week, found myself reduced to my last dollar, poorer than I was when I came to Buffalo, by the amount of the value of my little hand-baggage, now unredeemed at the pawn-shop. I was not only desperately poor and " hard up," but I began to suffer from the cold. I was thinly clad, and had no change of raiment with me ; my clothing, such as it was, being all at that " interesting " rela- tive's, " my uncle's." But I must keep moving. If I could not find work at Albany or at Buffalo, I must push on farther "West, and try Cleveland. So I begged a pass, on the strength of my former connection with railroads, from Otis Kimball, Esq., and one cold, dreary Saturday night first set foot in Cleveland. I am told that Cleveland is a very pretty city. Its citizens are justly proud thereof. But God knows I was in no mood in my visit to the place to appreciate its beau- ties. I was reduced to the mere animal, the wholly brutal, condition, of needing only just then, and caring only just then, for food, warmth, and drink, and of not being able to obtain any one of the three. I reached Cleveland a pauper; and I resided in it (Heaven pardon the mockery of the use of that word "resided") for nearly forty-eight hours, two nights and nearly two days, SUCH A SUNDAY! 211 a tramp and a beggar. Yes, through folly and rum I had reached those two extremities at last. I was a homeless tramp, a penniless beggar ; sleeping, when I slept at all, in sheds or out-houses, shivering in my scanty seediness, gnawing away for life at stray crusts, " at the very husks the swine did eat," those husks which were for a while the envy of the prodigal son in the parable, whom, in not a few respects, I closely resembled, although even yet I had not attained unto his peni- tence. I was wretched, of course. I grieved over my condi- tion. But mere grief and wretchedness do not constitute true penitence. I was in no sense of the term repentant. I was only reckless, desperate, despairing, only a tramp and a beggar, whom only the mercy of the Most High kept from being a criminal and a thief. Of all the Sundays in my life, I shall never forget that wretched, homeless, churchless, friendless, shelterless, joyless, prayerless, dreary, weary, hungry, thirsty, cold Sunday which I passed in Cleveland. It was a living death. Towards noon I was constrained to beg in the public streets for a few pennies to buy a meal, my first meal for nearly thirty-six hours; and at night I begged a shelter from the storm, slept by per- mission in a hall-way. Great God ! what a Lord's Day that was ! How terribly it contrasted with my sweet home Sun- days in dear Montreal ! It is a wonder and a mercy that I did not go mad, memory mad. It is more than a wonder, too, that such a fearful experience as this, brought on directly by my cursed appetite for liquor, did not lead me at once, then and there, to determine to forsake rum, and to sunder myself forever from the cause of my misery. But no such blessed result, took place; and I was not only in reality a tramp and a beggar, but at heart, as before, a drunkard. I would have been a drunkard if I had had the chance. 212 A MODERN WANDERING JEW. Monday morning dawned bright and beautiful and balmy after the most horrible Sunday I had ever experienced ; and, utterly disgusted with Cleveland, I braced myself up, tried to assume a jaunty air, tried to forget I was a tramp and a beggar, and, applying at the railroad-depot as an ex-railroad- man, secured from the officials there a pass to Columbus, O. Arriving at this thriving place about midnight, I slept in the cars till morning, and then made some inquiries for work. Finding no immediate opportunity in Columbus, and having no time to wait, being full of a bitter restlessness which drove me on, like the wandering Jew, knowing and caring not whither, I applied to Mr. Doherty, then the depot-agent, and procured, through his kindness, a pass to Cincinnati, where I arrived with precisely five cents in my pocket, the remnants of forty- five cents I had begged, my worldly all. True, on no larger a capital than this, men have raised them- selves to influence and affluence. But then, these men were not habitual drunkards. I was now in Cincinnati, the Queen City of the West, as it is called ; the Paris of America, as it has been also styled ; the leading city of the great State of Ohio, one of the leading communities of the world. There is much in Cincinnati to interest the thoughtful, and to impress favorably the travelled observer. There is a mingled air of enterprise and stability pervading the city, which strikes one forcibly. Every thing seems established on a solid basis, yet all is bustle and energy. But there is no " flash in the pan " business, no mere wild, feverish, unsubstantial specu- lation : every thing is a reality, like the pork itself. The streets of Cincinnati are well laid out, the public buildings are imposing, the hotels are excellent ; and it pos- sesses one peculiar charm and beauty which can be claimed by no other city in America, those hills, or mountains, or elevated CINCINNATI. 213 lands, known as the Highlands, and Mount Lookout, which rise from and command the city. The peculiar vertical rail- ways by which these mountains are traversed are among the curiosities of the West. Cincinnati is justly proud of its superb music-hall the finest in the country and of its musical societies, the largest and best conducted in the West. True, it has its darker aspects, its "over the Rhine," and its Sunday theatres; but, as a whole, Ohio can well afford to boast of Cincinnati. And perhaps of all places in Cincinnati the most really in- teresting to the greatest number is the river-front. There is always a fascination about the water and the water-ways. Even a brook suggests a river ; and the river still more elo- quently suggests the sea, while the sea itself suggests infinity and the universe. Then, there is an abundance of life and motion and change upon the surface of a river : boats and passengers are constantly adding animation to the scene. Al- together, the Ohio River forms the most interesting portion of Cincinnati ; and to the river I now turned in my need to look for work. I was not as completely wretched and destitute here in Cin- cinnati as I had been in Cleveland. I had stumbled across an old acquaintance, employed at the United-States Hotel, Cincinnati ; and through his kindness I had at least a place to sleep for a while. I need not walk the streets all night, nor sleep and shiver on the pavement; and that was something. But all day long I hunted ay, absolutely hunted for work, trudging up and down the levee, tramping from boat to boat, seeking a job, seeking but not finding ; though, like Esau, " I sought carefully and with tears." Nothing presented itself. No opportunity " turned up." I became discouraged ; and finally through very shame I would cot return to my kind friend at the hotel, but determined to 214 A SCULLION. stay around the levee day and night till I had obtained a job. There was a good deal of " stuff" in this determination, and I feel glad now that I made it and kept it then. It showed to my- self, that, spite of my fall from grace and good, I was not wholly lost. I was not utterly debased, and I had my reward. By dint of repeated, persistent, urgent solicitation on my part, of the steward of one of the transient boats from Cin- cinnati to Louisville, I obtained from him a job at last. True, it was not a very responsible position, it did not require any great physical or mental strength, it was only the post of dish-washer and knife-cleaner ; but it was some- thing, it was better than nothing, it was a job. As such I gratefully regarded it ; and perhaps my fallen con- dition at this period cannot be illustrated more forcibly than by the fact that I, who had formerly occupied positions of some little responsibility in railroad offices and stores, now con- gratulated myself on securing the position of a scullion. But it was only for a while. Within forty-eight hours after commencing my menial duties, " the iron entered into my soul." I saw myself as others saw me, literally " a hewer of wood and a drawer of water ; " and I realized at last to what rum had brought me. Still, and this fact I record now with satisfaction, I did not give up my place because disgusted with myself. No : I remained a scullion, and tried to discharge my menial duties ; but as a servant I was not a success, and soon there was an- other scullion in my stead. But by this time I had made the acquaintance of a river- captain, Capt. Daniel Conway of the steamer " Alice Dean," to whom I had imparted the outlines of my history, and who conceived a sincere liking for me. Capt. Conway 's vessel was being put in running order for the season of navigation, and the kind captain promised me employment on his boat as soon A STEAMER-CLERK. 215 as it commenced its regular trips. He also kindly suggested to me that I could take up my quarters on the boat at once ; that is, I could sleep 011 board of it at nights. I eagerly availed myself of this permission, and now began a new and peculiar era of my ever-changing life. Every night I enjoyed to the fullest extent my roomy quar- ters on the steamer, which at that time I had almost to my- self. And all day I did nothing but wait, and look at the men getting the vessel ready, occasionally taking a hand myself for sheer lack of any thing else to do, and to oblige my kind friend, the captain. The balance of my time I " loafed," talked with the deck-hands, or the laborers on the levee, smoked when anybody offered me a cigar, hung around bar-rooms for " the free lunches," for which the West is famous, and, alas ! took every opportunity to drink, and my opportunities were only too many. There are, unfortunately, always chances to get a drink. I had also availed myself of my abundant leisure to write a letter to my brother William, who answered it lovingly, and sent in his letter a small sum of money for my immediate wants, a large portion of which small sum went at once to supply my then most pressing want, liquor. Finally, "The Alice Dean" being ready, I was, according to promise, in- stalled as steamer-clerk, at a fair rate of compensation. And now began my experiences of life upon a Western river-steam- boat. Before the great civil war, life on an Ohio or a Missis- sippi-river steamboat was a very different and more exciting existence than it has ever been since, or will ever be likely to be again : still, even in my time, it was bustling and exciting enough. It brought one into contact with all sorts and con- ditions of men, and, especially to the young and impressiona- ble, was ceaselessly and vividly interesting. Each trip of each steamboat up or down the river was a story in itself. Then there was the racing with rival boats. Then 216 THE EXPLOSION OF " THE MOSELLE." there were the peculiarities of the passengers, the characteris- tics of the captain and the pilot, the eccentricities of the crew. Volumes could be written books have been written, I believe on Western steamboat-life ; and stories of steamboat adventure have from time to time appeared in magazines and newspapers. Thrilling descriptions of steamboat-races have been published, terrific, because terrifically true, narratives of horrible steamboat explosions. Instances have been known in which the cargo itself of a vessel has been used as fuel in a life or death race. The old story of a negro fastened to the safety-valve to keep it down during a race is literally true. Boats have time and time again caught fire while madly ra- cing, and been, with cargo, crew, and passengers, consumed. Steamboat explosions were of constant occurrence. One of the most fearful was the explosion of the steamboat " Moselle " near Cincinnati. " The Moselle " was a splendid new boat, sailing between Cincinnati and St. Louis, and was "a crack boat," a "fast" boat, one of the very "fastest" on the river. One pleasant afternoon, just as " The Moselle " was leaving Cincinnati with an unusual number of passengers, the catas- trophe occurred. The vessel ha-d been delayed some fifteen minutes to accommodate the rush of passengers, and was now starting, under a tremendous force of steam, to overtake an opposition boat that had left Cincinnati " on time," and there- fore with some quarter of an hour's start of " The Moselle." Just as the bow of the boat was shoved from shore, an explo- sion took place, by which the whole fore part of the vessel was blown up, and torn into fragments. All the boilers, four in number, burst at once. The power of the explosion was un- precedented in the history of steam. Its effect was like that of a mine of powder, or of dynamite. The deck was blown into the air, and all on it were hurled into eternity. Fragments of boilers and of bodies were thrown THE WRECK OF " THE TENNESSEE." 217 upon both the Kentucky and the Ohio shores. One unfortu- nate was hurled with such force, that his head, with one-half of his body attached thereto, penetrated the roof of a house over one hundred and fifty yards distant from the vessel. A few in the rear of the boat dashed into the water, and swam ashore, or were rescued by boats ; but the majority of the two hun- dred and sixty human beings on board were either drowned, scalded, or mangled. The actual number of lives lost in this one explosion exceeded one hundred and fifty ; and all because the captain, encouraged by his passengers, had determined to overtake and pass an " opposition boat." The scenery of the Mississippi River has neither beauty nor sublimity in the ordinary sense of the words, but it possesses the solemn characteristic of " vastness " to a grander and gloomier degree than any river on the face of the earth. The navigation of the river is very dangerous, alike from the instability of its banks, the impetuosity of its currents, and the obstacles in the river, the snags, planters, or sawyers, as they are called. Collision with these is certain destruction to a steamboat, yet such collisions are of frequent occurrence. The steamboat "Tennessee," one dark and sultry night, struck a snag just above Natchez. She filled with water rap- idly, and all was consternation and despair. Then came out some of the meannesses of human nature. One wretch of a passenger seized a skiff, and paddled round the sinking steamer, calling out to those on board to throw him a bag, which con- tained his money. The wretch might have saved, with his skiff, a dozen or more passengers ; but he kept aloof, and only clamored (and, of course, vainly) for his money. But, thank God! some of the glorious qualities of human nature also came to the front in this dark hour. A yawl was finally launched ; and in it there was a place kept for the engi- neer of "The Tennessee," a young man very popular alike with 218 THE BURNING OF " THE BEN SHERROD." crew and passengers. But the engineer refused to leave the- steamboat. " Who will work my engine if I quit?" he said. " I must stay here, and do my duty." And he staid on board, at his boiler, and did his duty till he died. They tried in vain to run the vessel on a bar, but she sank in mid-stream ; and the heroic young engineer was drowned in his own engine-room. The officer of " The Prairie Belle," who, in the poem, kept his place through fire and smoke " till the last galoot was ashore," was a fancy founded on a fact. Let us thank God for such facts as these. " Hard drinking " among the crew, the passengers, and the officers of the steamboats, used to be the rule, the prevailing custom, on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. And several of the most terrible river-catastrophes occurred directly from the carelessness and recklessness produced by intemperance. The burning of the steamer "Ben Sherrod" was a case in point. One fine evening in May "The Ben Sherrod," one of the finest and fastest steamers on the Mississippi, was trying to get to Natchez ahead of the steamer " Prairie." Steam was kept at the highest pressure all night, and the energies of the firemen and crew were taxed to the utmost. In order to encourage the deck-hands, a barrel of whiskey had been turned over to- them ; and they drank freely, too freely, officers and men alike. As " The Sherrod " passed on above Fort Adams, the wood piled up in front of the furnaces several times caught fire, but was each time extinguished, so it was thought. Had the men been sober, the fire would have been altogether extinguished ; as it was, it smouldered, only to break out at last furiously. Even then, had sobriety and its accompaniments, sense and order, prevailed, all might have been well ; but, with a drunken crew, what could be expected but what took place, a scene of THE EIVER-GAMBLEE. 219 unutterable horror ? Two hundred precious human lives were lost by carelessness and whiskey. But the dangers on the river-boats were not confined to fires, explosions, snags, races, or collisions. There was a human danger on board the boats as formidable as any material terror. I mean the river-gambler. Day and night, during the voyage, the card-tables on the vessels were surrounded by the votaries of chance : sometimes six and seven tables could be seen scattered along the deck, from the ladies' cabin to the social hall, or parlor, of the boat, a game in progress at each table. The games which were played mostly on the river-steamers were poker, brag, whist, Boston, and old sledge. Sometimes- regular "banking-games," so called, were "set up " in the "social hall," or parlor, such as vingt-et-un or faro. According to the printed rules of these steamers, all gambling was prohibited after ten o'clock in the evening ; but these rules were seen only in print, not in practice : and the morning sun dawning on the- Mississippi rose on many an all-night card-party. The steamboat officers mingled with the passengers in these games, and the crew mingled with the officers. Gambling is a great leveller ; and pilots, deck-hands, and millionnaires used to play cards together. Life on a Western river-steamer in one respect resembled closely life in the great metropolis. It was full of contrasts. At one and the same moment four separate and totally opposed scenes have been taking place on the one steamboat-deck. In the ladies' cabin a group of pious men and women were engaged in prayer ; in the dining-saloon, from which the tables had been removed, a party of young people were dancing merrily to the sound of the riddle ; in the " social hall " a game of faro was being played, amid the rattle of money and checks; while beyond was a group of carousers, getting drunk at the gor- geous "bar." 220 / REFUSE A PROPOSITION. The river-gamblers, or professional sharpers, who infested the boats, travelled in small companies, or gangs, but, while on board a steamer, pretended to be strangers to each other, the better to avoid suspicion, and the more readily to fleece the unwary. Their number was always sufficient to make up a card-party whenever they could induce two or three "gulls" "to join them in a small game, merely for amusement," as the phrase was. All sorts of tricks were played upon their victims, " stocking the cards," all varieties of cheating, trickery, and sleight of hand ; and, even when a fairly conducted game was played, the confederates of the sharpers would " look on " as spectators, and meanwhile communicate information, or " item- ize " the cards, to their "pals "by agreed-upon signs. Canes were twirled in certain ways, cigars were puffed according to a system, fingers were employed to telegraph the cards, etc. "Holding out" was a trick much practised by sharpers. Extra cards would be secreted in laps, or behind necks, and "rung in" or slipped into the pack secretly, as needed. Some sharpers also played with marked cards.. And in some instances the bar-tenders of the boats were in league with their nefarious schemes, and shared their plunder. This fact I have most positive means of knowing. For while I was clerk on " The Alice Dean," one of the bar-keepers of the boat being taken sick, I acted in his place for a few hours one day, and, while thus engaged, was approached by a very gentlemanly-looking young man, who, mysteriously calling me aside, made a propo- sition to me that I should be his confederate in cheating the passengers with marked cards. Of course, he did not say all this in so many, or rather so few, words as I have said it ; but this is what his proposition amounted to. I listened patiently, and commanded my temper, till the " skin-gambler," or " river- sharper," had unbosomed himself freely, and had handed me his skilfully marked cards. Then I handed him over to Capt. FUN IN A CROWD. 221 Conway, who, after cursing him and kicking him, put him off the vessel at the next landing. Terrible scenes have been enacted on board the river- steamboats, in which the gamblers and their victims have figured as murderers or murdered. Men, despoiled of all their wealth at the accursed gaming-table, have committed suicide, or shot the cheats who robbed them. And in several instances detected sharpers have been put off the boats, and left at unin- habited islands to perish slowly and horribly. But the comedy as well as the tragedy of life has been rep- resented on the river-boats. There is always a good deal of " fun " in " a crowd," to those who care to study the latter, and are capable of appreciating the former. And some of the customs on the boats were specially amusing. To while away the time during the voyages, it has been a habit to establish mock courts of justice, styled " Courts of Un-Common Pleas." The mandates of these courts are generally obeyed with alac- rity j but every now and then some contumacious passenger is found who will not " stand " a practical joke, arid who, by his very " obstinacy," and " standing on his dignity," causes more fun than anybody else. There was once a strolling actor called " Tom," " River Tom," who passed most of his time on the boats going up and down the river, and who was always in demand as " sheriffs officer " in these mock courts. " Tom " took his role in dead earnest, and woe be to the unlucky wight who dared to resist the mandates of the mock court: he would be taught that he was dealing with a genuine "sheriff's officer," at least. " Tom " was a big, burly chap, and was always ready for "a rough and tumble," in the way of "fun," of course. He would arrest his man, and bring him before the mock judge first, at all hazards, fight or no fight : but, when all was over, " Tom " and his man would take a drink together ; or, if they didn't, i/ was no fault of " Tom's." 222 A COURT OF UN-COMMON PLEAS. On one occasion " a Court of Un-common Pleas " was turned to beneficial account, and the best results were accomplished through a little "fun." The steamboat was "The White CJloud," on her way from St. Louis to Louisville ; and a mock- court had been formed. There was a bogus judge, clerk, prose- cuting attorney, jury, etc. ; and " Tom " was acting-sheriff. On board the boat was a well-to-do countryman, who had been drinking heavily. It was resolved to try him for intemperance. The man's name was Green, and very " green " he was, so verdant and so drunk that he took the whole affair for earnest, and was frightened out of his little wits. He was brought before " the honorable court " by " Tom," who had to support the culprit, who shook with fear. He was tried, and found guilty, and was asked if he had any thing to say before the sentence of the court should be pronounced against him. Then he found his tongue, and stammered forth, "Mister Judge," he said, "and gintlemen of the jury, I want to say this much : I am guilty. I don't justify the drinkers of whis- key. I don't, though I do drink. I drank too much whiskey, I know I did. But I didn't feel well; and I took the whis- key to make me feel better, but it made me feel worse." (Poor fellow, he talked good sense just then.) " I know I've done wrong," he continued, " very wrong, and I deserve pun- ishment; but I beg and pray this honorable court to have pity on my wife." " Hast thou a wife ? " interrupted the judge. " I have," said the prisoner. " And children also ? " "No, not yet that is but I expect to," said the pris- oner solemnly. Here the court was convulsed with laughter. But the pris- oner proceeded still more solemnly, "My wife will become the mother of a fatherless orphan if you throw me overboard." A BLESSED JOKE. . 22-3 " Throw you overboard ! Who put that into your head, prisoner ? " asked the judge. "That man said I was to be thrown overboard if found guilty," cried the prisoner, pointing to " Tom." " He said that I should be punished by being compelled to swallow more water than I had whiskey." Here the court and company were convulsed again. When order was restored, the case proceeded. The judge gave a charge to the jury, full of nice, wonderfully nice, points of law, so minute that not even a Philadelphia lawyer would have thought of them, but leaning to mercy's side so far as the prisoner was concerned. Without leaving their seats, the jury returned the following verdict : " We find the defendant guilty, but recommend him strongly to mercy." And then the judge pronounced the prisoner pardoned, but only on condition that he would at once sign a cast-iron tem- perance pledge. The prisoner, now completely sobered, and full of gratitude, at once signed the pledge. Ay, and kept it faithfully. He never drank a drop of liquor again, and lived happy and respected for twenty years after. This mock-court joke had been the most blessed reality of all his life. Would to Heaven that there could be perpetrated every day just a thousand such jokes. Governor Cleveland of New York, in his recent course in pardoning a man who had been brought to crime by intemper- ance, on the condition of his pledging himself to drink no more, has acted on the idea suggested by this blessed " practical joke ; " and I would that all the rest of the governors would follow his example. But to return to myself. Amid the varied and exciting scenes of river-steamboat life, I enjoyed myself heartily for some time, meanwhile discharging my duties as clerk. But -soon my social nature, and my popularity with the passengers 224 DRIFTING AGAIN. and my fellow-officials, proved my bane ; and I took to drinking at the bar, of which in a few weeks I became one of the best, or worst, customers. Drinking constantly, I soon began to neglect my duties ; and* although the captain remonstrated with me in a friendly way, I did not heed his expostulations. My curse was once more upon me, and overcame me at the last. Tired of his vain expostulations, the captain discharged me from his employ. I reformed once, was taken back once, fell again, and was then discharged permanently. Finally, again workless, hopeless, and penniless, I drifted to St. Louis. CHAPTER XVIII. LIFE IN ST. LOUIS. ONE OF THE MINOR DISADVANTAGES OF DKINKING. THE SMELL OF LIQUOR. SERIO-COMIC ILLUSTRATIONS AND ANECDOTES. "A HOTEL KUNNER." HOW AN IRISHMAN OUTBAWLED ME, AND HOW I OUTGENERALLED HIM. "A BAILRO AD-MAN " ONCE MORE. MY FA- THER'S GRAVE. ARRIVING in St. Louis, the first thing I did was a thing I had done already, alas! too often, take a drink. This I did from choice. The next thing I did was also a thing I had already done too often, look for work. This I did from sheer necessity. I was almost literally penniless. For several days I trudged through St. Louis, seeking employment, but not find- ing it. On two or three occasions I seemed to impress those I called upon favorably at first. But, after a talk with me, they dismissed me in