As might have been expected, in the course of a few months the Baron proposed for the hand of Miss Arabella, to the great delight of papa and mamma, and the 'young people' were formally engaged. After this the young lady and her mother constantly amused themselves with writing the future title of the former, 'just to see how it looked.' Such a piece of good fortune could not be kept secret; and Miss Arabella was the object of the envy of scores of damsels who had been trying in vain to ensnare the elegant foreigner in their own nets, which were not so heavily baited.

One morning the Baron waited upon Mrs. Swigg, and producing an enormous document, written in German, and furnished with a huge red seal stamped with an eagle, informed her that the paper was a peremptory order from his Government, which he had just received, commanding him to return home at once, as his services were needed. He added that he could not disobey the command of his sovereign, and asked that his marriage with Arabella might take place at once, so that they might sail for the old world in the next Bremen steamer.

Mr. Swigg was summoned, and the matter laid before him. At first he hesitated, for he did not like so much haste; but his wife and daughter at last wrung a reluctant consent from him, and the marriage was solemnized with great splendor at Grace Church, the inevitable Brown declaring, as usual, he had never experienced so much satisfaction in his life.

Mr. Swigg, like a good father, settled half a million of dollars upon his daughter. The Baron had expected more, but the old man's shrewdness came to his aid in this instance, and he declared to his wife that this was money enough to risk at one time. His suspicions were very vague, and they were roundly denounced by his better half. He held his tongue, and after the marriage handed the Baron bills of exchange on Paris and Vienna for the five hundred thousand. Herr Von Storck, on his part, formally delivered to his father-in-law a deed, drawn up in German, (and which bore a wonderful likeness to the letter of recall he had shown Mrs. Swigg,) in which he said he settled a handsome estate near Vienna upon his bride. He apologized for not making her the usual present of diamonds, by saying that his family jewels were more magnificent than any thing that could be found in New York, and that he was afraid to risk their being sent across the ocean. They awaited his bride in his ancestral home. The parents expressed their entire satisfaction, and begged that he would not mention "such trifles."

The "young couple" were to sail on the second day after their marriage; and, at the appointed time, the new baroness awaited her husband, with packed trunks. He had gone out early in the morning to wind up his business at the Austrian Consulate. The steamer was to sail at noon, and as the hour drew near, and the Baron did not appear, the fears of Papa Swigg began to be aroused. Two, three, four o'clock, and yet no Baron Von Storck. Terror and dread reigned in the hearts of the Swigg family.

Towards five o'clock, a policeman, accompanied by a coarse-looking German woman, arrived at the mansion. He informed Mr. Swigg that he had orders to arrest Conrad Kreutzer, alias the Baron Von Storck. The denouement had come at last. The policeman informed the old gentleman that the supposed Baron was simply a German barber, who had been released from the penitentiary but a short time, where he had served a term for bigamy, and that the woman who accompanied him was Kreutzer's lawful wife.

Poor Papa Swigg! Poor Mamma Swigg! Poor Arabella, "Baroness Von Storck!" It was a fearful blow to them, but it was not altogether undeserved.

The successful scoundrel had sailed at noon on the steamer, under his assumed name, carrying with him the bills of exchange, which were paid on presentation in Europe, there being then no Atlantic telegraph to expose his villainy before his arrival in the old world. He has never been heard of since.

His victims were not so fortunate. All New York rang with the story, and those who had tried hardest to bring this fate upon themselves were loudest in ridiculing the Swiggs for their "stupidity;" so that, at last, parents and daughter were glad to withdraw from fashionable life, to a more retired existence, where they still remain, sadder, and decidedly wiser than when their career began. Mr. Swigg takes the matter philosophically, consoling himself with the determination to vote against every foreigner who may 'run for office' in his district. His wife and Arabella, however, still suffer sorely from their mortification, and are firmly convinced that of all classes of European society, the German nobility is the most utterly corrupt.

ETIQUETTE OF CARDS.

From the following article, which appeared recently in the Evening Mail, the reader will obtain a clear insight into some of the outside customs of society:

Even the cut of the pasteboard upon which a man announces his name is regulated by fashion. The man who wishes to have his note-paper, envelopes and cards, 'on the square' must know what the mode is. Visiting cards for the present season will be rather larger than formerly, and of the finest unglazed Bristol board. The new sizes will tend rather to the square than otherwise. The shape of the card may be varied, according to taste, the proper adaptation to the size of the lettering being maintained.



Among the various texts in use, nothing will supercede the English script, and those inimitable styles of old English text; the most novel being those with dropped capitals, and the extremely neat, extra- shaded. Visiting cards, with the familiar words denoting the object of the call, will remain in use, to some extent, especially for calls of congratulation or condolence. The word visite, on the left hand upper corner, will be engraved on the reverse side. The corner containing the desired word will be turned down, so as to denote the object of the call. The word on the right-hand corner, Felicitation, will be used for visits of congratulation on some happy event, as, for instance, a marriage, or a birth; on the left lower corner, the word Conge, used for a visit previous to leaving town; the other corner is to be marked Condolence. Cards sent to friends before leaving for a long journey, are issued with the addition of P. P. C. in the left hand corner. These cards are inclosed in heavy and elegant, though plain, envelopes, ornamented with a tasteful monogram or initial.

In wedding invitations, all abbreviations, like eve. for evening, will be avoided, as well as P. M.; the word afternoon being preferable. Invitations to ceremonious weddings consist of a square note-sheet, embellished with a large monogram in relief, entwining the combined initials of the bride and groom. The individual cards of both bride and groom must be also inclosed, united with a neat white satin tie; and, in some cases, another card, with reception days for the following month.

A very neat style of card has the customary 'at home' on a note-sheet, a ceremony card, (at fixed hour,) and the united cards of bride and groom, all enclosed in a splendid large envelope, of the very finest texture, with an elaborate monogram, or ornamental initial. Among the neater forms for a quiet wedding at home is the following:

MR. AND MRS.—

Request the pleasure of M.—-'s company at breakfast, on Wednesday, December 16, at one o'clock. '—Hamilton Square.'

Cards of bride and groom must be inclosed for general invitations. Very simple forms are in the best taste. They may be varied to suit the occasion, either of dejeuner, dinner reception or evening parties. For example:

MRS. WILSON. AT HOME,

Wednesday evening, January 7. '—Fifth Avenue. 'Cotillion at 9.'

Or; Soiree Dansante.

MR. AND MRS. E. DAY

Request the pleasure of your company on Monday evening, at 9 o'clock. R.S.V.P.

An afternoon wedding reception may be announced in terms like the following:

MR. AND MRS. HENRY ROBINSON

Request the pleasure of your company at the wedding reception of their daughter, on Thursday, October 15, from 2 until 4 o'clock.

'—Maple Grove.' Or again: MR. AND MRS. RICHARD WILSON

Request the pleasure of your presence at the marriage ceremony of their daughter Adelaide to Mr. Jones, at Trinity Chapel, on Wednesday evening, October 5, at 8 o'clock. Reception from 9 until 11 o'clock. '—West Hamilton street.'

The mode for private dinners may claim a paragraph. Of late, private dinners have been conducted with great ceremony. The menu, or bill of fare, is laid at each plate, an illuminated monogram embellishing the top of the menu. The list of dishes, tastefully written, and a beautifully adorned illuminated card are laid on each plate, to designate the seat of the particular guest. Another style of these cards is plain white, bound with a crimson or blue edge, and has the words Bon Appetit, in handsome letters, above the name of the guest, which is also beautifully written in the same original style, or, perhaps, in fancy colored ink.

Acceptance and regret notes are found very useful and convenient on some occasions. The best forms are:

MR. AND MRS. C. WHITE'S

Compliments to Mrs.——, accepting, with, pleasure, her kind invitation for Wednesday evening, January 14, 1869. '——Clinton Place.'

If the note be one of regret, 'regretting the necessity to decline,' is substituted. These blanks are neatly put up in small packages, with proper envelopes.

For billet or note-paper, some new styles of fine Parisian papers have just been introduced, and, for the extreme neatness of the design, or figure, in the paper, have become very fashionable. The different styles in paper and envelopes could scarcely be enumerated. The forms are small, square, and rather large, oblong shape; both folding in a square envelope, with pointed flap. A novelty has just been introduced, in a sheet of paper, so cut as to combine note sheet with envelope.

Monograms will, this season, tend to an enlarged size, besides being more complicated than usual. In many cases, the monograms spell pet names, and sometimes names of several syllables. Illuminated monograms, especially for heading of party or ball invitations, will be greatly sought after. For usual letter writing, monograms in one delicate color, or in white embossed, will be in vogue. These are very stylish, when used on thick English cream laid paper. Names of country residences, in rustic design, are also used at the top of the note sheet. Jockey monograms are formed of riding equipments. Some novelties in this way have recently made their appearance. For those fond of the game of croquet, monograms are formed of the implements of the game; and smokers may have their articles of smoking so arranged as to represent their initials.

AN ECONOMICAL WEDDING.

New York has long been celebrated for its magnificent entertainments, and especially for its weddings, and wedding breakfasts. On such occasions the guests, unwilling to be outdone by the host in liberality, sometimes vie with each other in presenting the bride elect with costly gifts of every description. One, two, or three rooms, as the case may be, are set apart at every "fashionable wedding," where the presents are displayed and commented upon by the invited guests. It has been frequently suggested by the more prudent members of society that these offerings be entirely suppressed, and that none but the immediate relations should commemorate the day in this wise; but the idea has met with no favor, till of late, when one of our fashionable "Murray Hill princes," took a most determined step toward reform. As it is the only case of the kind on record, a description of the wedding may not be uninteresting. Several hundred invitations were given, and at the appointed hour the parlors were crowded almost to suffocation. The bride was attired in a white marceline silk of most scant proportions; her veil consisted of one breadth of tulle caught in her comb, at the back of her hair; no flowers were worn except a very minute bunch in front of her dress. The groom was attired with like simplicity, thereby attracting considerable attention.

No refreshments were offered to the wearied guests, who gladly bade adieu, and returned to their homes. There was a false hope, raised in the minds of a few, on seeing a large bride cake in one corner, that a glass of wine and a piece of cake might be served; but the illusion was dispelled on questioning the waiter (one only being in attendance), who informed them he had instructions not to cut it! The presents were spread upon a small table, and created not a little astonishment. One five dollar gold piece was laid upon a card, bearing the inscription, "From your affectionate grandfather." A coin of half this value was presented by the "affectionate grandmother," while devoted brothers and sisters testified their affection by the presentation of a gold dollar each. As might be expected, the guests departed early. One lady was unfortunate enough to have ordered her carriage to call for her at midnight. She saw all depart, and then seated herself to await patiently its coming. After awhile a savory smell of oysters, coffee, etc., came floating on the air. With some confusion of manner the members of the family one by one disappeared, and after some delay, the host hesitatingly invited her to partake of some refreshments. She declined, and the family retired to discuss the supper; leaving her to await her carriage alone in the parlor.

THE BEST SOCIETY.

If New York has a profusion of gilt and glitter in its high life, it has also the real gold. The best society of the city is not to be found in what are known as "fashionable circles." It consists of persons of education and refinement, who are amongst the most polished and cultivated of the American people. To this class belonged Fennimore Cooper and Washington Irving. It is small, very exclusive, and careful as to whom it admits to its honors. Shoddy and its votaries cannot enter it, and therefore it is decidedly unfashionable.



CHAPTER VI.

THE TOMBS.

Leaving Broadway at Leonard or Franklin streets, one finds himself, after a walk of two blocks in an easterly direction, in a wide thoroughfare, called Centre street. His attention is at once attracted by a large, heavy granite building, constructed in the style of an Egyptian temple. This is the Tombs. The proper name of the building is "The Halls of Justice," but it is now by common consent spoken of simply as the Tombs. It occupies an entire square, and is bounded by Centre, Elm, Franklin, and Leonard streets. The main entrance is on Centre street, through a vast and gloomy corridor, the sternness of which is enough to strike terror to the soul of a criminal. Within the walls which face the street, is a large quadrangle. In this there are three prisons, several stories high. One of these is for men, the other for boys, and the third for women. The gallows stands in the prison yard, when there is need for it, all executions of criminals in this city being conducted as privately as possible.

The prison is one of the smallest in America, and is utterly inadequate to the necessities of the city. It was built at a time when New York was hardly half as large as the metropolis of to-day, and is now almost always overcrowded to an extent which renders it fearful. It is kept perfectly clean, its sanitary regulations being very rigid. It is very gloomy in its interior, and is one of the strongest and securest prisons in the world.



No lights are allowed in the cells, which are very small, but a narrow aperture cut obliquely in the wall, near the ceiling, admits the sunshine, and at the same time cuts off the inmates from a view of what is passing without. Besides these, there are six comfortable cells located just over the main entrance. These are for the use of criminals of the wealthier class, who can afford to pay for such comforts. Forgers, fraudulent merchants, and the like, pass the hours of their detention in these rooms, while their humbler, but no more guilty brothers in crime are shut up in the close, narrow cells we have described. These rooms command a view of the street, so that their occupants are not entirely cut off from the outer world.

THE BUMMER'S CELL.

The main cell in the prison is a large room, with a capacity for holding about two hundred persons. It is known as the "Bummer's Cell." It is generally full on Saturday night, which is always a busy time for the police. The working classes are paid their weekly wages on Saturday, and having no labor to perform on the Sabbath, take Saturday night for their periodical dissipation, comforting themselves with the reflection that if they carry their revels to too great an excess, they can sleep off the bad effects on Sunday.

From sunset until long after midnight on Saturday, the police are busy ridding the streets of drunken and disorderly persons. As soon as a person is arrested, he is taken to the Toombs, or one of the station houses. It is the duty of the captain in charge of the precinct to lock up every person thus brought in. He has no discretion, and he is often compelled to throw those of whose innocence he is satisfied, into the company of the most abandoned wretches for an entire night. Drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and fighting are the principal charges brought against the Saturday night inmates of the Bummer's Cell. Many visitors to the city, by yielding to the temptation to drink too much liquor, pay for their folly by an acquaintance with the Bummer's Cell. They lose their self control in the splendid gin palaces of the city, and when they recover their consciousness find themselves in a hot, close room, filled with the vilest and most depraved wretches. The noise, profanity, and obscenity, are fearful. All classes, all ages, are represented there. Even little children are lost forever by being immured for a single night in such horrible company. The females are confined in a separate part of the prison. No entreaties or explanations are of the least avail. All must await with as much patience as possible, the opening of the court the next morning.

THE TOMBS POLICE COURT.

The Court opens at six o'clock on Sunday morning. It is presided over by Justice Joseph Bowling, a short, thick-set man, with a handsome face, and a full, well-shaped head, indicating both ability and determination. Judge Dowling is still a young man, and is one of the most efficient magistrates in the city. His decisions are quickly rendered, and are generally just. He has a hard class of people to deal with, and this has made him not a little sharp in his manner. A stranger is at once struck with the quick, penetrating power of his glance. He seems to look right through a criminal, and persons brought before him generally find it impossible to deceive him. This has made him the terror of criminals, who have come to regard an arraignment before him as equivalent to a conviction, as the one is tolerably sure to follow the other. At the same time he is kind and considerate to those who are simply unfortunate. Vice finds him an unrelenting foe, and virtue a fearless defender. So much for the man.

As soon as the Court is opened, the prisoners are called up in the order of their arrival during the previous night. Here drunkenness without disorder, and first offences of a minor character, are punished with a reprimand, and the prisoners are discharged. These cases constitute a majority of the arrests, and the number of persons in the dock is soon reduced to a mere handfull. The more serious cases are either held for further examination or sent on trial before a higher court.

All classes of people come to the Justice with complaints of every description. Women come to complain of their husbands, and men of their wives. The Justice listens to them all, and if a remedy is needed, applies the proper one without delay. In most instances, he dismisses the parties with good advice, as their cases are not provided for by the law.

A SAD CASE.

Some of the cases which are brought up before the Tombs Court are deeply interesting. We take the following from the report of the General Agent of the New York Prison Association:

The case referred to is that of a woman indicted for burglary and grand larceny. She was guilty, and she felt and acknowledged it. She had lived in a neighboring city for the last six years, and for the last three years on the same floor with the complainant, and the consequence was they were very friendly and intimate. Her husband sustained a severe injury from a fall, and has since been in declining health, earning nothing for the last eighteen months. At length his mind gave way and his friends advised his removal to the Lunatic Asylum. He had been an inmate for six months, and his wife frequently visited him, always contributing to his wants and comforts. He improved so rapidly that the doctor informed his wife that on the following week, if the weather proved clear and fine, he should discharge him. The wife felt anxious to make her home more than ever cheerful and her husband happy, but she had no means. She thought of the abundance of clothing her neighbor possessed, and that some articles could be spared for a short time, probably without detection; and if she should be detected before she could redeem them, her friend would excuse her. She devised means to enter, and conveyed to the pawnbroker's two parcels of clothing, upon which she realized nine dollars; she made some purchases for the house, redeemed a coat for her husband, and then started for the asylum for the purpose of fetching him to her home. But on her arrival there, the physician told her that he had left a few hours before, that he was well and happy, and that she must keep him so. On her return home the larceny had been discovered, and the property found at the pawnbroker's; it had been pledged in her own name, and where she was well and favorably known. An officer was waiting, and she was taxed with the crime; she had destroyed the duplicate. The complainant gave her into the custody of the officer, but promised to forgive her if all the property was recovered. The husband went to his friends, and they advanced funds to redeem the property. It was returned, and also a hat paid for which had been taken. I carefully examined into this case and all its surroundings. The woman had sustained the reputation of being a sober, industrious, honest person; her state of mind was truly distressing, her greatest fear was that her husband would relapse, and she would be the cause of all his future misery. I submitted all these facts to the district attorney; he could not consent to any compromise, and again referred me to the county judge, who would not yield a tittle. Counsel having been assigned, a plea of guilty of grand larceny was put in by him, and she was remanded for sentence until Saturday. I felt very unhappy at her condition. On Friday evening I endeavored to find the district attorney, but failed; on Saturday morning I wrote him and asked him to concede that she could not be convicted of burglary, and then, was it not very doubtful whether she could be convicted of any thing more than petit larceny? If so, I urged him to consent to the withdrawal of the plea put in by her counsel, and then permit it to be substituted by one of petit larceny. My proposition met with favor; its suggestions were adopted, and the prisoner, instead of ignominy in the State Prison, was sent to the Penitentiary for three months. The woman is now in a situation at work, but her mind is ill at ease, as her husband has not been heard of since her imprisonment.

SAVED IN TIME.

"A member of an eminent firm in this city," says the gentleman from whose report the above case is taken, "called upon me with a request that I would visit a youth, aged seventeen years, now in the Tombs, charged upon his complaint with embezzling various sums of money whilst in their employ as collecting clerk. He felt anxious I should see him, and then advise what should be done. The next morning I repaired to the prison, and had the youth brought from his cell, when he made the following statement: That he lived and boarded with his widowed mother and sisters in a neighboring city, where also he had taken an active part in all their religious meetings and enterprises. He thinks he experienced a great moral change when first he became a member, and until of late had made religious duties his greatest delight. He had regarded his family as one of the happiest that could be found. Some seven or eight months since he was introduced to the firm referred to, and they engaged his services, agreeing to give him five dollars per week. He was soon appreciated by his employers, and they advanced his salary to seven dollars a week, out of which he paid his mother for board five dollars, and one dollar for his weekly fare on the railroad. This left him but one dollar for his own use. He soon became acquainted with other collecting clerks, with whom he took lunch, first a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then dinners and dessert. In this way the money of his employers disappeared. He could not charge himself with any one special act of extravagance. He felt, he said, ashamed of himself, and deeply pained before God, and wondered that he could not see and feel before that he has sinned greviously. I now urged him to conceal nothing, but tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, and to pause and consider before he answered the next question I should put to him, as it was a very serious one. 'How long would it take to induce him, with solemn purpose of heart, to resolve, unalterably resolve, never to be guilty of a repetition of crime, never to spend a cent belonging to another?' The penalty for his offence was from one year to five in a State prison. I then begged him to inform me how I should approach his honor the judge, before whom he must be brought if prosecuted. Should I ask the court to show him mercy, and send him but for two years? or would it require a longer sentence to effect a permanent change in his life? He wept distressingly, and said: 'Oh, save me from such a fate, if not for mine, for my mother's sake. Beg and pray of the firm to show me mercy, and I will be careful and honest for the future.' One of the gentlemen called upon me and inquired if I had seen this youth."



I replied that I had. 'Then what do you advise?' I asked if it was known in the house that the lad was a defaulter. 'To none but my partner' he replied. Then, said I, the best advice I am capable of giving is, forgive him, ask the court to discharge him, and take him back again into your office. I am happy to say that my advice was adopted. The youth was discharged, forgiven, and taken back again into the house, and is now performing his duties with alacrity, very grateful to the Association, and more especially to the firm for their noble conduct in this matter. That young man has no doubt been saved from a career of crime.

RELIGIOUS SERVICES.

The prisoners confined in the Tombs are provided with the means of hearing divine service every Sunday. The Roman Catholic clergy have the exclusive privilege of ministering to the spiritual wants of the women and children, and for this purpose have quite a nice little chapel fitted up in the female department of the prison. The Sisters of Charity preside over this part of the prison at all times, and no one is permitted to interfere with them.

The Protestant clergy are permitted to preach to the male prisoners in the main corridor of the prison. The preacher stands on the platform at the upper end of the passage, and the prisoners in their cells can hear him without seeing him. They pay little or no attention to him, but receive their friends in their cells, or employ themselves according to their own fancies during the preaching. The bummers are grouped in the corridor just below the preacher, and are called out from time to time by the keepers, as they are wanted in the court room. The minister is frequently annoyed and embarrassed by the shouts; jeers, and imitations of the prisoners in their cells.



CHAPTER VII.

REFORMATORY ESTABLISHMENTS.

The principal reformatory establishments of New York city are the Penitentiary, on Blackwell's Island, and the House of Refuge, devoted to juvenile criminals, on Randall's Island.

THE PENITENTIARY.

The large pile of buildings which forms such a prominent object on Blackwell's Island, known as the Penitentiary, is familiar to most of the residents of New York City, though the every day life of its inmates is practically known only to that class to which they immediately belong.

The Penitentiary, which is under the wardenship of Mr. Fitch, is capable of accommodating about seven hundred and fifty prisoners, but at present their numbers are slightly under five hundred—about three hundred men, and ninety women. The prisoners are divided into classes, the particular dress of each indicating the nature and gravity of their offences, and though amenable to the same laws as to labor and discipline, they work in separate gangs and mess by themselves. They are under the control of twenty-four keepers, each keeper, who is heavily armed, having fifteen men in his charge, whose roll he calls, and for whose absence he is responsible. At six o'clock the prisoners are all paraded to call the roll, at half-past six they have breakfast, consisting of dry bread and a bowl of coffee, and at seven, those who are skilled workmen are told off to the blacksmiths', carpenters', tailors', and weavers' shops, where all necessary repairs to the building and its fittings are done, and the clothing for the prisoners is made; others to labor in the gardens and fields, while the remainder are marched off in two divisions, one to work in the stone quarries at home, the others to be conveyed by the Commissioners' steam vessel Bellevue to the quarries on Ward's Island. The female prisoners are principally occupied in the sewing-room, in the brush-manufactory, in washing clothes, and scrubbing out the cells.

The majority of the prisoners are committed for assault and battery or larceny, for terms varying from one month to four years and a half; those committed for graver offences are confined at Sing Sing; all drunkards, vagrants, and disorderly characters at the workhouse. During the past year two thousand three hundred and fifteen persons were incarcerated for different periods—two thousand one hundred and thirty-nine whites, one hundred and seventy-six blacks. Of these about one third were native Americans, one third Irish, one tenth German, and the remainder of various nationalities. The visitor to the Penitentiary cannot but be struck by the youth of the male prisoners compared with that of the females, the bulk of the males being between fourteen and thirty years of age, the females between twenty-five and fifty. Few young girls find their way here, as in their earlier career they are able to gain enough by a life of prostitution, without committing larceny, and consequently do not resort to it till their charms begin to wear, and the consequent diminution of their means of subsistence from such a source compels them to resort to some other. There is another fact which appears in these statistics of crime, one highly suggestive to the housekeeper. Of the four hundred and eleven female prisoners committed during the past year, no less than three hundred and two were domestic servants, and of these two hundred and forty-one were Irish girls and women.

At twelve o'clock the prison bell rings for dinner. It is a sad sight to stand on the terrace and see the various gangs of men and lads march home from their work, the greater proportion of them fine, sturdy looking young fellows; it is sadder still to see some of them carrying a heavy iron ball and chain slung over the shoulder and attached to a strong iron band locked round the leg immediately above the ankle. These men have tried to escape. Necessary as it may be to adopt such measures to prevent them from repeating the attempt, surely it is unnecessarily cruel to compel these poor creatures to wear their irons at night. Their dinner consists of a can of soup, a plate of meat, and ten ounces of bread. They are allowed one hour, and are then marched back again to their work in the quarries; they have supper, bread and coffee, at five o'clock, and at half-past five they are all locked in their cells, which, though scrupulously clean, are certainly too small (about the size of an ordinary clothes closet), considering that the prisoners have to pass twelve hours out of the twenty-four in them.

On Sunday the sewing-room of the female prisoners is used as a Chapel, the men attending services in the morning, the women in the afternoon; once a month there is service for the Roman Catholic prisoners. The convicts have no privileges; a sharp, intelligent lad may become a hall boy or get employed in the mess room; or a mechanic may be appointed to one of the workshops and so gain some slight relief from the monotony of their lives; but they get no reward, beyond a little tobacco once a week for chewing; smoking is strictly prohibited; once a month they are allowed to be visited by their friends. On entering the building the visitor is forcibly struck by the following inscription over the doorway.

'The way of the transgressor is hard.'

'Such is the greeting to the unfortunate criminal as he puts his foot, often for the first time, within the prison walls. If an inscription be necessary, surely the Department of Public Charities and Correction might have chosen one less harsh in character; one that breathes a larger amount of Christian charity to a poor fellow creature, one that may offer him some small portion of that encouragement which is so essential to his reformation. Some such epigram as 'it is never too late to mend' would be altogether more suitable and far more encouraging.

THE HOUSE OF REFUGE.

The Commissioners of Public Charities and Correction, in their last report, made the startling announcement that there are no less than thirty-nine thousand children in the City of New York, growing up in ignorance and idleness. These children, influenced from their cradles by the most terrible surroundings, have no alternative but to become beggars and thieves almost as soon as they can run alone. Thousands of them are orphans, or perhaps worse, for they are often the children of parents who, ignoring the laws of nature, use them for the purpose of furthering their own vicious ends. They live principally in a neighborhood which abounds in lodging-houses for sailors, the lowest class of liquor stores, dancing and concert rooms, and various other low places of amusement; a neighborhood swarming with brothels, whose wretched inmates are permitted to flaunt their sin and finery, and ply their hateful trade openly, by day and night; where at midnight the quarrels, fights, and disturbances, are so noisy and so frequent that none can hope for a night's rest until they are inured by habit; where, night after night, they witness the most desperate encounters between drunken men and women, kicking, biting, and tearing one another's hair out, as they roll together in the gutter, or, as is too often the case, using deadly weapons, and where the crowd, instead of interfering to stop these awful scenes, stand by in a brutal enjoyment of them, abetting and encouraging the principal actors therein. And their homes, what are they? Their fathers, often out of work, are unable to support their families; their clothes, their bedding, their furniture, all gone to the pawn-shop; father, mother, and children, are often compelled to sleep on the bare boards, huddling close together for warmth in one ill-built, ill-ventilated room. Amid their misery, this neglect of the common decencies of life, this unblushing effrontery of reckless vice and crime, what chance have these poor unhappy little children of becoming decent members of society. They are sickly from the want of proper nourishment, vicious from example, ignorant because they do not care to learn, and their parents take no trouble to compel them to do so, and must inevitably grow up only to swell the already fearful sum total of our criminal population. At ten the boys are thieves, at fifteen the girls are all prostitutes.

A system of State reformatories and State apprenticeships on an extensive scale is the only way of grappling with this terrible state of things. Such institutions as the House of Refuge on Randall's Island have done and are doing much, but a dozen such institutions might be established with advantage in the State of New York alone. On Randall's Island the young criminal has the opportunity of acquiring regular habits and learning a useful trade. They are subject to a humane, though strict discipline, and a very large per centage, especially of the boys, do undoubtedly become reformed. This reformatory, a wise combination of school and prison, can accommodate one thousand inmates. There are at present about eight hundred boys, and one hundred and fifty girls on the register. The boys' building is divided into two compartments, the first division, in the one, is thus entirely separated from the second division, in the other compartment. The second division is composed of those whose characters are decidedly bad, or whose offence was great. A boy may, by good conduct, however, get promoted from the second into the first division. As a rule the second division are much older than the first. Each division is divided into four grades. Every boy on entering the Reformatory is placed in the third grade; if he behaves well he is placed in the second in a week, and a month after to the first grade; if he continues in a satisfactory course for three months, he is placed in the grade of honor, and wears a badge on his breast. Every boy in the first division must remain six months, in the second division twelve months in the first grade, before he can be indentured to any trade. These two divisions are under the charge of twenty-five teachers and twenty-five guards. At half-past six o'clock the cells are all unlocked, every one reports himself to the overseer, and then goes to the lavatories; at seven, after parading, they are marched to the school rooms to join in religious exercises for half an hour; at half-past seven they have breakfast, and at eight are told off to the work-shops, where they remain till twelve, when they again parade, previous to going to dinner. For dinner they have a large plate of excellent soup, a small portion of meat, a small loaf of bread, and a mug of water. At one o'clock they return to their work. When they have completed their allotted task they are allowed to play till four, when they have supper. At half-past four they go to school, where they remain till eight o'clock, the time for going to bed. Each boy has a separate cell, which is locked and barred at night. The cells are in long, lofty, well ventilated corridors, each corridor containing one hundred cells. The doors of the cells are all grated, in order that the boys may have light and air, and also be under the direct supervision of the officers, who, though very strict, apparently know well how to temper strictness with kindness. Before going to bed, half an hour is again devoted to religious exercises, singing hymns, reading the Bible, etc. There is a large chapel, where the services are conducted on Sunday, the girls having the gallery to themselves. There is, however, no Catholic service. This, surely, is not right. At the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island they have service once a month for the Catholics. Of the six hundred and eighty-two children committed from the Courts during the year 1867, no less than four hundred and fourteen were Irish, and in all probability a large proportion of these are Roman Catholics. Institutions of this character should certainly be made as unsectarian as possible.

One of the most interesting, and at the same time, one of the most important features of the Refuge, is the workshop. On entering the shop, the visitor is amused by finding a lot of little urchins occupied in making ladies' hoopskirts of the latest fashionable design; nearly 100 are engaged in the crinoline department. In the same long room, about 50 are weaving wire for sifting cotton, making wire sieves, rat traps, gridirons, flower baskets, cattle noses, etc. The principal work, however, is carried on in the boot and shoe department. The labor of the boys is let out to contractors, who supply their own foremen to teach the boys and superintend the work, but the society have their own men to keep order and correct the boys when necessary, the contractors' men not being allowed to interfere with them in any way whatever. There are 590 boys in this department. They manage on an average to turn out about 2,500 pairs of boots and shoes daily, which are mostly shipped to the Southern States. Each one has a certain amount of work allotted to him in the morning, which he is bound to complete before four o'clock in the afternoon. Some are quicker and more industrious than others, and will get their work done by two o'clock; this gives two hours' play to those in the first division, the second division have to go to school when they have finished till three o'clock, they only being allowed one hour for recreation. The authorities are very anxious to make arrangements to have a Government vessel stationed off the island, to be used as a training-ship for the most adventurous spirits. If this design is carried out it will be a very valuable adjunct to the working of the institution, and will enable the Directors to take in many more boys, without incurring the expense of extending the present buildings. The girls are also employed in making hoop skirts, in making clothes for themselves and the boys, in all sorts of repairing, in washing linen, and in general housework. The girls are generally less tractable than the boys; perhaps this is accounted for by their being older, some of them being as much as five or six and twenty. The boys average about 13 or 14, the girls 17 or 18 years of age. Nearly two thirds of the boys have been boot-blacks, the remainder mostly what are technically known as 'wharf rats.' Some of them are now in the house for the third time; one, a lad only 15 years of age, has passed one year in a juvenile asylum, four years in a reformatory, and is now at Randall's Island. Another has been three times convicted of horse stealing; he would, late at night, ask permission to sleep in a stable; he is a complete cripple, and by attracting sympathy his request was often granted; when every one had left the place he would quietly open the door and lead out the horses. On each occasion that he was convicted he managed to get off with three horses. Another little fellow, only six years old, with a chum, broke into a pipe store, and stole 150 meerschaum pipes; he was however detected while trying to dispose of them. There is a colored lad, about eighteen, who is very amusing; he is a great orator, and addresses the others on all subjects, both general and political. On one occasion, when the Principal ventured to ask him whom he had adopted as his model for speaking, he grandly replied, 'I will have you to know, sir, that I am no servile imitator.' Some of the boys cannot overcome their thieving propensities, but will, even in the Refuge, purloin things that can be of no earthly use to them, if they get the chance. They are very quick and expert. Only a few days ago one of the boys fell down in a fit in the schoolroom; some of the others assisted the teacher to carry him into the open air. The poor fellow had a collection of nick-nacks in one pocket, and about 20 penny pieces in the other, but during the moment that passed in carrying him out both pockets were emptied. The Directors of the house of Refuge, while having a due regard for the well-being of its inmates, very properly take care that they are not so comfortable or so well fed as to lead them to remain longer in the reformatory than necessary. As soon as the boys appear to be really reformed they are indentured out to farmers and different trades. In the year 1867 no less than 633 boys and 146 girls were started in life in this way. Any person wishing to have a child indentured to him, has to make a formal application to the Committee to that effect, at the same time giving references as to character, etc. Inquiries are made, and if satisfactorily answered, the child is handed over to his custody, the applicant engaging to feed, clothe, and educate his young apprentice. The boy's new master has to forward a written report to the officer, as to his health and general behavior from time to time. If the boy does not do well, he is sent back to the Refuge, and remains there till he is 21 years of age. Most of the children, however, get on, and many of them have made for themselves respectable positions in society. The annals of the Society in this respect are very gratifying and interesting. Many young men never lose sight of a Refuge which rescued them in time from a criminal life, and to which they owe almost their very existence. Instead of alternating between the purlieus of Water street and Sing Sing, they are many of them in a fair way to make a fortune. One young man who was brought up there, and is now thriving, lately called at the office to make arrangements for placing his two younger brothers in the House, they having got into bad company since their father's death. A very remarkable occurrence took place at the institution not long ago. A gentleman and his wife, apparently occupying a good position in society, called at the Refuge and asked to be allowed to go over it. Having inspected the various departments, just before leaving, the gentleman said to his wife, 'Now I will tell you a great secret. I was brought up in this place.' The lady seemed much surprised, and astounded all by quietly observing 'And so was I.' So strange are the coincidences of human life.

"The last financial report issued by the Managers is certainly encouraging, and might be studied with advantage by the Directors of other public institutions. The total expenditures for the year 1867, for an average of nine hundred and ninety inmates, was $115,036; but the earnings of the work-shops amounted to $55,090, making the net expenditures $59,946. In 1864, the net cost of each child was $83; in 1865, $80; in 1866, $74, and in 1867, $61. In 1864, the net earnings of each child were $39; in 1865, $42; in 1866, $49, and in 1867, $56, showing every successive year a better result. At the Red Hill Reformatory in England, the net cost of each child for the year 1867, was $135, and the net earnings of each child $30. The total expenditure of the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island for last year was $93,966 for an average of five hundred and thirty three-inmates; deducting $15,175, the value of convict labor, the net expenditure was $77,791, making the net annual cost of each convict $146. After making all allowances for difference of age, etc., there is a very wide margin between $146 and $61. The Principal of the Refuge, Mr. Israel C. Jones, has been occupied for seventeen years in Reformatory work, and no doubt the successful results attending the operations of this society are mainly due to his great experience. Mr. Jones takes great pleasure in receiving visitors who are desirous of seeing the practical workings of his system."



CHAPTER VIII.

LINES OF TRAVEL.

In a city so vast as New York, one of the greatest considerations is to provide ample means for rapid and sure passage from one part of the corporate limits to another. Persons who live at the upper end of the island cannot think of walking to their places of business or labor. To say nothing of the loss of time they would incur, the fatigue of such a walk would unfit nine out of ten for the duties of the day. For this reason all the lines of travel in the City are more or less crowded every day. The means of transportation now at the command of the people are the street railways and the omnibusses, or stages; as they are called.

THE STREET CARS.

The majority of the street railways centre at the Astor House and City Hall. From these points one can always find a car to almost any place in the city. The fare is six cents to any part of the City below 62nd Street, and seven to any point above that and below 130th Street. The cars are all more or less crowded. With the exception of a few lines, they are dirty. An insufficient number are provided, and one half of the passengers are compelled to stand. The conductors and drivers are often rude and sometimes brutal in their treatment of passengers. One meets all sorts of people in these cars. The majority of them are rough and dirty and contact with them keeps a person in constant dread of an attack of the itch, or some kindred disease. Crowded cars are a great resort for pickpockets, and many valuable articles and much money are annually stolen by the light-fingered gentry in these vehicles.

The wages paid to employees by the various companies are not large, and the drivers and conductors make up the deficiency by appropriating a part of the fares to their own use. Some are very expert at this, but many are detected, discharged from the service of the company, and handed over to the police. The companies exert themselves vigorously to stop such practices, but thus far they have not been successful. Spies, or "Spotters," as the road men term them, are kept constantly travelling over the lines to watch the conductors. These note the number of passengers transported during the trip, and when the conductors' reports are handed in at the receiver's office, they examine them, and point out any inaccuracies in them. They soon become known to the men. They are cordially hated, and sometimes fare badly at the hands of parties whose evil doings they have exposed. As all the money paid for fares is received by the conductor, he alone can abstract the "plunder." He is compelled to share it with the driver, however, in order to purchase his silence. In this way, the companies lose large sums of money annually.

There is either a car or stage route on all the principal streets running North and South. There are, besides these, several "cross town" lines, or lines running across the City. East and West, from river to river. The fare on these is five cents. They cross all the other railways, and their termini are at certain ferries on the North and East Rivers.

THE STAGES.

The stages of New York are a feature of the great city which must be seen to be appreciated. They are fine, handsome coaches, with seats running lengthways, and capable of seating from twelve to fourteen persons. They are drawn by two horses, and have all the lightness and comfort of a fine spring wagon. Their routes begin at the various ferries on the East river, from which they reach Broadway by the nearest ways. They pass up Broadway for over a mile, and turn off from it to other sections of the city at various points between Bleecker and Twenty-third streets. The fare in these vehicles is ten cents, and is paid to the driver, who communicates with the passenger by means of a hole in the upper and front end of the coach. The checkstring passes from the door through this hole, and is fastened to the driver's foot. By means of this, a passenger can at any moment stop the stage. In order that the driver may distinguish between a signal to stop the coach and one to receive the passenger's fare, a small gong, worked by means of a spring, is fastened at the side of the hole. By striking this the passenger at once commands the driver's attention.

The stage drivers are entirely exposed to the weather, and suffer greatly from the extremes of heat and cold. They can not leave their seats, and are oftentimes terribly frozen in the winter, before reaching the ends of their routes. They are constantly on the watch for passengers, and it is amusing to watch the means to which they resort to fill their coaches. In the early morning, and towards the close of the day, they have no need to solicit custom, for then both stages and cars are crowded to their utmost capacity. During the rest of the day, however, they exert themselves to fill their coaches. They are called upon to exercise no little skill in driving. Broadway, and the cross streets along their routes, are always crowded with vehicles, and it requires more dexterity than one would at first suppose, to avoid accidents.

Good drivers are always in demand. Their wages are fair, and they are allowed the greater part of Saturday, or some other day in the week, and as the stages do not run on Sunday, they are always sure of two "off-days" out of the seven. Like the street railway men, they consider it perfectly legitimate to fill their own pockets at the expense of the owners of the vehicles. The writer of these pages once had a long conversation upon this subject with the driver of a stage. Jehu endeavored to justify the practice of robbing his employers by a number of very ingenious arguments, and finally closed with the remark:

"Well, you see, Mr. Martin, where the boss is a sensible man, he don't object to a driver's making a few dollars for himself, for he knows that a man who can make a plenty of stamps for himself will always make a plenty for the boss, to keep from being found out; and it is a fact, sir, that them as makes most for themselves always makes the biggest returns to the office."

The drivers are frequently in trouble with the police. They have a holy horror of falling into the hands of these limbs of the law, and this feeling renders them more careful in their driving, and general conduct while on duty.

Owing to the high rate of fare demanded by the stages, the rougher and dirtier portion of the community are seldom met in them. The passengers are generally of the better class, and one meets with more courtesy and good breeding here than in the street cars. Ladies, unaccompanied by gentlemen, prefer the stages to the cars. They are cleaner, and females are less liable to annoyance.



Like the cars, however, they are the favorite resorts of pickpockets. At night they are patronized to such an extent by streetwalkers seeking custom, that the city press has styled them "perambulating assignation houses."

THE FERRIES.

Including the Harlem and Staten Island lines, there are twenty-three lines of ferries plying between New York and the adjacent shores. Of these, nine are in the North or Hudson river, and fourteen in the East river. The boats are large side-wheel vessels, capable of carrying both foot-passengers, horses, and vehicles. Early in the morning they are crowded with persons and teams coming into the city, and in the afternoon the travel is equally great away from the city. On some of the lines the boats ply every five minutes; on others the intervals are longer. The Harlem and Staten Island boats start hourly—the fare on these lines is ten cents. On the East river lines it is two cents, on the North river three cents.

The boats are large and handsome. Nearly all of them are lighted with gas, and at least a score of them are seen in the stream at the same moment. At night, with their many colored lights, they give to the river quite a gala appearance. The travel on them is immense. Over fifty millions of persons are annually transported by them. Many often carry from 800 to 1000 passengers at a single trip.

During the summer it is pleasant enough to cross either of the rivers which encircle the island; but in the winter such travelling is very dangerous. Storms of snow, fogs, and floating ice interfere greatly with the running of the boats, and render accidents imminent. Collisions are frequent during rough or thick weather, and the ice sometimes carries the boats for miles out of their course. The East river is always more or less crowded with vessels of all kinds, either in motion or at anchor, and even in fair weather it is only by the exercise of the greatest skill on the part of the pilot that collisions can be avoided. The following incident from one of the city journals for November 14, 1868, will show how terrible these accidents are:

"Early this morning, when the Brooklyn boats are most crowded, chiefly with workmen and girls coming to the city just before working hours, a frightful collision took place as one of the Fulton ferry boats was entering the New York slip, resulting in the wounding of probably twenty persons, many of them fatally. At that hour four boats are run on the Fulton ferry, the Union and Columbia running on a line, as also the Hamilton and Clinton. The Clinton being slightly detained on the New York side, the Hamilton, waiting for her, remained longer than usual at the Brooklyn slip, and received therefore an immense load of passengers, probably over a thousand. At this time in the morning, it being flood tide, a strong current sets up the East river from Governor's Island, which is just now further strengthened by the freshet on the Hudson. The Hamilton, therefore, after being carried up on the Brooklyn side, and turning in the centre of the river, steamed down some distance below the New York slip, as usual, in order not to be carried beyond by the upward tide. Turning, she then came up to the slip, where the Union was laying, chained up, at the southern or lower ferry-way. Close in by the piers an eddy from the main current which strikes New York about Beekman street, sets strongly down stream. As the Hamilton came into the slip from below, aiming at the upper ferry- way, her bow was caught by this eddy and swung around with great force toward the end of the Union. The Hamilton having a full load and the Union having just discharged hers, the former was much the lower in the water. The projecting guard of the Union therefore entered the front part of the ladies' cabin at about the height of the seats, and also smashed the rails on the outer deck. This particular part of the boat was, of course, the most densely crowded, and the consequences of the shock were frightful. One boy, George Brewer, who was said to have been outside the chain, was caught by the foot and instantly killed, his head and a good part of the body being mashed to a jelly. Several had their feet cut off below the knee, and a dozen others were seriously injured. The following is the list of those known to be hurt. It is probable that several cases have not yet been discovered, and one or two may have fallen overboard and not yet been missed. People looking anxiously for missing friends, supposed to have been on the fated boat, have been calling in great numbers during the morning at the ferry- house and the police station."

Efforts have been made to span the East river with a bridge, for the purpose of affording sure and safe communication between this city and Brooklyn, but the plan has always met with the sternest and most uncompromising hostility from the ferry companies, who wish to retain their present enormous business.



CHAPTER IX.

STREET MUSICIANS.

Street musicians in New York are as plentiful as the leaves in Vallambrosa. One cannot walk two blocks in the entire City, without hearing from one to half a dozen street instruments in full blast. A few of the instruments are good and in perfect tune, but the majority emit only the most horrible discord.

THE ORGAN GRINDERS.

Only a few of the organ grinders own their organs. The majority hire them from parties who make a business of letting them. The rent varies from two to twenty dollars per month, according to the quality of the instrument; the French flute-organ commanding the best price. The owners of the organs generally manage to inspire the "grinders" with a wholesome terror of them, so that few instruments are carried off unlawfully, and after all, the organ grinders are generally more unfortunate than dishonest.

The men are generally Italians. Occasionally a German or Swiss is seen, but Italy contributes the great majority. Women are not often seen on the streets in such capacities, except in company with their relatives or lovers, and then they accompany the organ with the tambourine.

In good weather, a man with a good flute-organ can generally make from two to five dollars a day. Those who have the best instruments seek the best neighborhoods in the upper part of the city. There they are always sure of an audience of children, whose parents pay well, and some of these seemingly poor fellows have made as much as from ten to fifteen dollars in a day and evening. In bad weather, however, they are forced to be idle, as a good organ cannot be exposed with impunity at such times. The "grinders" pay from five to eight dollars per month for their rooms, and sustain their families entirely upon maccaroni. They use but a single room for all the purposes of the family, and, no matter how many are to be accommodated with sleeping arrangements, manage to get along in some way. They are very exclusive, and herd by themselves in a section of Five Points. Baxter and Park and the adjoining streets are taken up, to a great extent, with Italians.

The better class of Italians keep their apartments as neat as possible. Children of a genial clime, they are fond of heat, and the temperature of their rooms stands at a stage which would suffocate an American.

As a general rule, the organ grinders are better off in this country than in their own. Their wants are simple, and they can live with comfort on an amazingly small sum.

There are, however, many who are not so fortunate as those to whom we have referred. These are the great majority of the organ grinders, the owners, or renters of the vile, discordant instruments which are the bane of city people. They earn comparatively little but kicks and curses. They are ordered off by irate householders, and receive but little or no consideration from the police. They live in wretchedness and want. Their homes are vile and filthy, and they are the perpetrators of a great many of the crimes that disgrace the city. They are frequent visitors at the Tombs, and are ready to be employed for any dirty job for which unscrupulous men may wish to engage them.

THE WANDERING MINSTRELS.

Any one who can turn a crank can manage a street organ. The arrangement of the instrument being entirely automatic, no knowledge of music on the part of the grinder is necessary. Another class of street minstrels are required to possess a certain amount of musical skill in order to perform creditably. These are the strolling harpers and violinists. Like the organ grinders they are chiefly Italians, but they are not so fortunate in a pecuniary sense. Their earnings are very slender, and they live lives of want and misery. A very few are excellent performers, but the great mass have not the faintest idea of music.

CHILD MINSTRELS.

It is said that there are several hundred child minstrels in the City of New York, by which we mean children below the age of sixteen or seventeen years. They are chiefly Italians, but there are a few Swiss and some Germans amongst them. They are generally to be found in the streets in pairs; but sometimes three "travel" together, and sometimes only one is to be found.

Mr. Nathan D. Urner, of the Tribune, whose experience of city life has made him a valuable authority in such matters, has recently contributed an article on this subject to Packard's Monthly for November, 1868, from which we make the following interesting quotations:

"As a general rule, the little ones have parents or relatives—mostly engaged in the same business—to whose support they contribute; but there are both men and women in the city—and most heartless, worthless wretches they are—who import orphan children from Naples and Tuscany, for the purpose of turning their childish talents, both as musicians and beggars, to practical account. Indeed, a number of years ago, there was a villain, living in Baxter street, who employed at one time fourteen children, mostly girls, in this manner. His name, if my memory serves me correctly, was Antonelli. At any rate, by a cruel system of punishment and semi-starvation, he reaped considerable profit from the unfortunates—compelling them to steal as well as beg, and converting the girls into outcasts at the earliest possible age—until his arrest and imprisonment in the penitentiary of a neighboring State released them from their bondage, though only, it is to be feared, to fall into hands quite as bad. But they are seldom much better off, even if they have parents. A detective police officer told me that he knew of half- a-dozen cases where Italian fathers of this class had made a regular business of hiring out their children for the purposes of prostitution; and the precocity of development and expression frequently betrayed by the girls, still young in years, is mournful evidence of the truth of his statement."

It is astonishing to see how little musical talent is exhibited by these little ones, whose natures are drawn from the land of music. We have repeatedly seen them sawing away patiently at a violin, or jerking the strings of a harp, but could detect no semblance of melody in the noise they made. Not a few of the little ones endeavor to make up in dancing what they lack in musical skill. Their parents or proprietors are harsh and stern with them, and endeavor to beat some slight knowledge of their art into them, but it is a long time before they succeed. Sometimes death steps in to end the troubles of the child before success has crowned the efforts of the parent. Let us hope the little voices will be more melodious in the unseen world.

Sometimes these children will be found in pairs on the streets, consisting of a boy with a small harp, and a girl with a violin; or sometimes two girls; one with an old, broken guitar, and the other with a tambourine; or, again, of two boys, with harp and violin. Their music, at the best, is but worthless, and their voices have a cracked, harsh, monotonous cadence, but they also possess a sadness which rarely fails to bring a penny or two into the outstretched hat. They are dirty, ragged, and more like monkeys than children, but they have a wistfulness and weariness about their gaze and manner that make one's heart ache. It is so sad to see young children condemned to such lives. They are very young, the average age being eight years, but they do not seem like children. You think they are little old men and women.

At all hours of the day, and until late at night, you may hear their music along the streets, and listen to their sad, young voices going up to the ear that is always open to them. They are half fed and half clothed, and their filthiness is painful to behold. They sleep in fair weather under a door step, in some passage-way or cellar, or in a box or hogshead on the street, and in the winter huddle together in the cold and darkness of their sleeping places, for we cannot call them homes, and long for the morning to come. The cold weather is very hard upon them. They love the warm sun, and during the season of ice and snow are in a constant state of semi-torpor. You see them on the street, in their thin, ragged garments, so much overpowered by the cold that they can scarcely strike or utter a note. Sometimes they are permitted by the keeper of some saloon to approach his stove for a moment or two. These are the bright periods of their dark lives, for as a general rule, they are forced to remain in the streets, plying their avocations until late in the night, for blows and curses are their reward should they fail to carry to those who own them a fair day's earnings. Give them a penny or two, should they ask it, reader. You will not miss it. It is more to them than to you, and it will do you no harm for the recording angel to write opposite the follies and sins of your life that you cast one gleam of sunshine into the heart of one of these little minstrels.

AN INCIDENT.

During one of the heavy snows of the last winter, one of these child harpers was trudging wearily down Fifth Avenue, on his way to the vile quarter in which he was to spend the night. It was intensely cold, and the little fellows strength was so much exhausted by the bleak night wind that he staggered under the weight of his harp. At length he sat down on the steps of a splendid mansion to rest. The house was brilliantly lighted, and he looked around timidly as he seated himself, expecting the usual command to move off. No one noticed him, however, and he leaned wearily against the balustrade, and gazed at the handsome windows through which the rich, warm light streamed out into the wintry air. As he sat there, strains of exquisite music, and the sounds of dancing, floated out into the night. The little fellow clasped his hands in ecstacy and listened. He had never heard such melody, and it made his heart ache to think how poor and mean was his own minstrelsy compared with that with which his ears were now ravished. The wind blew fierce and keen down the grand street, whirling the snow about in blinding clouds, but the boy neither saw nor heard the strife of the elements. He heard only the exquisite melody that came floating out to him from the warm, luxurious mansion, and which grew sweeter and richer every moment. The cold, hard street became more and more indistinct to him, and he sat very still with his hands clasped, and his eyes closed.

The ball ended towards the small hours of the morning, and the clatter of carriages dashing up to the door of the mansion, gave the signal to the guests that it was time to depart. No one had seen the odd-looking bundle that lay on the street steps, half buried in the snow, and which might have lain there until the morning had not some one stumbled over it in descending to the carriages. With a half curse, one of the men stooped down to examine the strange object, and found that the bundle of rags and filth contained the unconscious form of a child. The harp, which lay beside him, told his story. He was one of the little outcasts of the streets. Scorning to handle such an object, the man touched him with his foot to arouse him, thinking he had fallen asleep. Alas! it was the eternal sleep.

A SAD STORY.

Mr. Nathan D. Urner, from whose interesting paper in Packard's Monthly we have already quoted, draws the following touching picture of minstrel life:

A horrible murder had been committed. All engaged in it, including the victim, were foreigners. There was not a redeeming feature, not even the rather equivocal one of passion's frenzy, connected with the deed. It was deliberate, long-concerted, mercenary, atrocious, and bloody. The murderers—there were two—were shortly afterwards arrested; tried, convicted, and sentenced to death, with a dispatch and inexorableness which—probably owing to their friendlessness—was somewhat unusual under the statutes of this State. The most affecting incident connected with the condemned—both of them desperate villains—was the parting scene between the Italian criminal (his comrade was a Spaniard) and his child. This was a little girl, scarcely ten years of age; I doubt if she numbered so many. The man was low-browed, narrow-templed, and of a generally brutal, repulsive aspect. They were about to lead him into the dungeon of the condemned, the studded door of which would not open again save to admit his passage to the gallows-tree; and his poor child was beside him. Hardened, sin-stained as he was, the father was himself visibly affected; but the tempest of wild, passionate grief that agitated the little girl, so soon to be left an orphan, was something remarkable in one of her years.

She was evidently a child of the streets. Her dress was ragged and foul, and even her face so unclean as to be barely redeemed by the large, beautiful black eyes which would alone have betrayed the sunny clime of her origin. While the wretched criminal stood, shame-facedly and with drooping crest, before her, she fell upon his manacled hands, kissing them wildly, and betraying in her childish grief all the deep, sensitive, despairing sorrow of a woman. The villain before her might have often beaten her, debased her immeasurably, but the mysterious cord that linked their beating hearts was unbroken, though it sang like a bowstring in the gusty horror that swept between, and stretched to attenuation as the elder spirit sank, groaning, into the abyss of its own wickedness. Hot tears gushed from her eyes, her little throat was swollen with the choking sobs, and her narrow, rag-covered chest heaved with tumultuous agony. But after he was taken away, when the iron door which to her was, indeed, the door of the tomb, had closed between them forever, she became quickly calm, and her face soon wore an air of quiet resignation.

As she was about leaving the court-room she stooped and picked up a weather-stained guitar. I guessed her vocation, and was resolved to speak to her.

'What is your name, little one?'

'Angela, sir.' It was a sad voice, but very sweet.

'And do you play on this for a living?'

'I play and sing also, sir.'

The court had been dismissed, and the crowd were confusedly dispersing.

'I say, little gal, can't you give us a song 'afore you go?' said an inconsiderate policeman, meaning to be good-natured.

'I shall not sing to-day, sir!' said the little girl, decisively; and then, with a dignity of grief which sat well upon her, despite her rags, she passed out of the room with her dingy guitar, while the large man who had accosted her so rudely shrank back, abashed, before the glance with which the black eyes reproached him to the heart, ere they vanished in the crowd.

Here was a chance for me. I happened to be the only reporter present at the scene—'sensation' was my forte—a 'beat' upon all the other dailies had come directly to my hand. It was late in the week, and I was also afforded the chance of cooking the thing up remuneratively for two or three weekly papers. But the whole thing stood before me like a picture which it seemed a sacrilege to copy. So I cheated the Tribune with the rest, and, for the first time in my life, let the opportunity for a sensation slip my hand. No credit to either heart or head, however, for a relapse into my chronic state of impecuniosity, on the following week, caused me to curse a squeamishness whose absence might have earned a score of dollars.

But I soon forgot the incidents in the court-room in the manifold and hum-drum duties of my profession.

Several months afterward, however, I was passing down Park Row, when my attention was attracted to a little girl playing a guitar and singing an Italian song in a plaintive, monotonous air. Her dress and voice attracted my attention on the instant, and, when I saw her face, I recognized Angela, the girl of the trial-scene. It was her father whom, at that very moment, I was going to see hanged. I stood stock-still with amazement, the coincidence was so startling.

When she had finished her song, and had garnered up the few coppers placed in her hand by the careless and uncritical crowd, I stepped up to her and said:

'Angela, do you remember me?'

'Yes, sir,' she replied, her dark face lighting up with a gleam of recognition.

'Do you know what day this is?'

'It is the morning of my father's death—how should I forget it?'

'You refused to sing on the day of his sentence—can you find heart, then, to do so in this dreadful hour?'

The dirty little fingers fluttered nervously over the music-strings—as the creative hand might do with a human heart of whose destiny there was a doubt. For an instant a pang of agony wreathed the young face to the depth of its expressions, but she resumed her sorrowful complacency immediately.

'I am singing to my mother across the sea,' she said, quietly.

"Then, resuming her guitar, she swept out a yet more plaintive air, and lifted her young, shrill voice in song. The crowd around her did not increase, the interest was not enhanced, and the chary pennies of approbation were as few as before. But to me there was a wild, desolate melancholy in the melody that fell so unheedingly upon the ears of the crowd. They did not see nor hear what I did. They merely saw a dusky foreign girl using her voice for a scanty livelihood. I saw a patient, suffering, religious spirit, singing out its agony to a kindred spirit beyond the eight hundred leagues of heaving brine (I would wager my life that the mother heard that song, were she buried in the bosom of the Appenines); and the deep melancholy of those large, dark eyes, uplifted so plaintively, the saintly refinement of sorrow that lingered in the soft, olive face which spoke of far Italy, the 'divine despair' of the mellow voice, haunted me strangely and unpleasantly as I hurried away to the scene of death."

WHAT BECOMES OF THESE CHILDREN.

It is very sad to think of the future of these little ones. Without education, with an early familiarity with want, misery, brutality, and crime, the little minstrels rarely "come to any good." The girls grow up to lives of shame, and fortunately die young. The boys become vagrants, thieves, and often assassins. They soon find their way to the reformatory establishments and prisons of the city. The police watch them closely, and never overlook one of their offences. Everybody condemns them, and no one reflects that they are irresponsible for their sins. "As the twig is bent the tree is inclined."



CHAPTER X.

THE PRESS.

The press of New York is a subject which requires more time and space in its treatment than can be given to it in this volume, and we must therefore confine ourselves to a brief glance at it. It is divided into two branches, the secular and religious, and in the former we include all the political and literary journals of the City.

THE MORNING PAPERS.

The daily journals of New York are the ablest and best conducted in America, and among the most brilliant in the world. Their power is immense, and they generally shape and direct the tone of the provincial journals. They are conducted upon a most excellent system as far as their internal arrangements are concerned, and the persons employed upon them are men of ability and experience. As pecuniary investments, they pay handsomely. The stock is very valuable, and it is impossible to purchase it at any price, the present owners being unwilling to sell. Nearly all the principal journals have handsome printing houses of their own. The new Herald office is one of the most magnificent edifices in the City, and in its internal arrangement is the most convenient in the world.

The morning papers are the Herald, Tribune, Times, World, Sun, Democrat, Journal of Commerce, Staats Zeitung, and Commercial Advertiser.

THE HERALD

The Herald is regarded as the model newspaper of the United States. Its office is located at the corner of Broadway and Ann Streets, and is built of white marble, in the modern French style. Below the sidewalk are two immense cellars, or vaults, one below the other, in which are two steam engines of thirty-five horse power each. Three immense Hoe presses are kept running constantly from midnight until seven in the morning, printing the daily edition. The rooms and machinery are kept in the most perfect order. Nothing is allowed to be out of place, and the slightest speck of dirt visible in any part, calls forth a sharp rebuke from Mr. Bennett, who makes frequent visits to every department of the paper.

On the street floor, the main room is the public office of the journal. Its entrances are on Broadway and Ann street. It is paved with marble tiles, and the desks, counters, racks, etc., are of solid black walnut, ornamented with plate glass. Every thing is scrupulously clean, and the room presents the appearance of some wealthy banking office.

On the third floor are the editorial rooms. The principal apartment is the "Council Room," which overlooks Broadway. Every other branch of the editorial department has its separate room, and all are furnished with every convenience necessary for doing their work with the utmost precision and dispatch.

Each day, at noon, the editors of the Herald, twelve in number, assemble in the "Council Room." Mr. Bennett, if he is in the City, takes his seat at the head of the table, and the others assume the places assigned. If Mr. Bennett is not present, his son, James Gordon Bennett, Jr., presides at the council, and, in the absence of both father and son, the managing editor takes the head of the table.

The council is opened by Mr. Bennett, or his representative, who presents a list of subjects. These are taken up, seriatim, and discussed by all present. The topics to be presented, in the editorial columns of the Herald the next day, are determined upon, and each editor is assigned the subject he is to "write up." All this is determined in a short while. Then Mr. Bennett asks the gentlemen present for suggestions. He listens attentively to each one, and decides quickly whether they shall be presented in the Herald, and at what time; and if he desires any subject to be written upon, he states his wish, and "sketches," in his peculiar and decisive manner, the various headings and the style of treatment.

There are twelve editors and thirty-five reporters employed on the Herald. They are liberally paid for their services. Any one bringing in news is well rewarded for his trouble.

The composing rooms are located on the top floor, and are spacious, airy, and excellently lighted. A "dumb waiter," or vertical railway, communicates with the press room; and speaking tubes, and a smaller "railway," afford the means of conversation and transmitting small parcels between this room and the various parts of the building. Five hundred men are employed in the various departments of the paper.

THE OTHER JOURNALS.

The World, Tribune, Times, and other journals, have fine establishments of their own, that of the Times ranking next to the one just described. The advantages of the Herald system are so manifest that the other City dailies are adopting it as rapidly as possible.

THE EVENING PAPERS.

The evening papers are a noticeable feature of the great city. They are the Evening Post, the Evening Mail, the Express, the Telegram, the News, and the Star. These issue their first editions at one o'clock in the afternoon, and their latest at five or six o'clock. On occasions of more than usual interest, extras are issued hourly as late into the night as eleven or twelve o'clock. The evening papers contain the latest news, gossip, and a variety of light and entertaining matter, and are bought chiefly by persons who wish to read them at home, after the cares and fatigues of the day are over.

THE WEEKLIES.

The weeklies are too numerous to mention. The principal are the Round Table, the Nation, the Ledger, the Mercury, the New York Weekly, the Sunday Mercury, the News, the Dispatch, the Leader, the Examiner and Chronicle, the Courier, the Clipper, Wilkes' Spirit, the Turf, Field and Farm, Harper's Weekly, Frank Leslie's Newspaper, the Bazaar, the Albion, the Citizen, the Irish Citizen, Irish American, etc., etc. All of these journals display more or less ability, and each one has its specialty. Some are devoted to politics, some to literature alone, some to sporting matters, some to police items, and some to general news.

THE RELIGIOUS PAPERS.

The principal religious papers are, the Observer, the Independent, the Protestant Churchman, the Church Journal, the Methodist, etc., etc. They are devoted principally to denominational and sectarian matters, but too frequently dabble in politics to an extent that renders them more partisan than laymen care to see religious sheets.

PRINTING HOUSE SQUARE.

Opposite the City Hall, at the junction of Nassau and Spruce streets and Park Row, is a large open space, known as "Printing House Square," so called because the offices of the leading journals of the city are either immediately on this square, or within a couple of blocks of it. Standing in the Park at this point, one may count the signs of at least thirty first-class journals of various kinds.

A PRESS CURIOSITY.

One of the curiosities of Printing-House Square is the huge engine which runs so many presses. This is owned by a firm in Spruce street between William and Nassau, and occupies the basement of their building. There is a large one hundred and fifty horse-power engine which runs during the day, and a seventy-five horse-power which relieves it at night. From this shafting and belting distribute the power in every direction. One shaft runs to and across Frankfort street, supplying THE MAIL and other offices, another crosses William street and runs the six cylinder presses which pile the three hundred thousand copies of the Ledger in its beautiful press-room. Another shaft crosses Spruce street, runs through and across Beekman, and even supplies presses in Ann street.

Altogether these engines supply over one hundred and twenty-five presses—each being estimated and charged so much per horse-power according to this estimate. It runs three quarters of a mile of main shafting, beside a mile or more connecting shafts and as much belting. One of these belts, an india-rubber one, one hundred and twenty feet long, connects a fifth-story press on Nassau street with the main shafting on Spruce, across the intervening yards, and another leather one on Beekman street, one hundred and forty feet long, perfectly perpendicular, connects the sub-cellar and attic.

"This engine prints all McLaughlin's toy books, runs the immense establishments of Bradstreet and J. W. Oliver, besides many other job printers, a hoop-skirt manufactory and several binderies, and prints nearly fifty papers, besides magazines and books innumerable; among them, the 'Mail,' the 'Independent,' 'Dispatch,' 'Leader,' 'Star,' 'Examiner and Chronicle,' 'Observer,' 'Courier,' 'Clipper,' 'Wilkes' Spirit,' 'Turf, Field and Farm,' 'Police Gazette,' 'La Crosse Democrat,' 'Ledger,' 'New York Weekly,' 'Literary Album,' 'Sunday Times,' 'New Yorker Democrat,' 'Commonwealth,' 'Scottish American,' 'Freeman's Journal,' 'Tablet,' 'Emerald,' 'Irish American,' 'Irish People,' etc., etc. Truly a power in the world."



CHAPTER XI.

WALL STREET.

If you pass down Broadway to the main entrance to Trinity Church, and then turn abruptly to your left and cross the street, you will find yourself at the head of Wall street, the great financial centre of America. It is a narrow street, extending from Broadway to East river, and lined with handsome brown stone, marble, and granite buildings. Scarcely a house has less than a score of offices within its walls, and some have very near three times that number. Space is very valuable in Wall street, and some of the leading firms in it have to content themselves with a narrow, small, dark hole, which a conscientious man would hardly call an office. The rent demanded for these "offices" is enormous, and the buildings bring their owners princely fortunes every year. The houses are all covered with signs, the names on which one will immediately recognize as famous in the financial world. The streets running into Wall street, for the distance of one or two blocks, on the right hand and the left, are also occupied with the offices of bankers and brokers, and are included in the general term, "Wall street," or "the street."

ITS HISTORY.

Wall street has always been famous in the history of New York. It was originally used as a sheep pasture. Its natural condition being partly rolling upland and partly meadow of a swampy character. The name of the street originated thus: In 1653, the Dutch settlers, being threatened with an attack by their New England neighbors, resolved to fortify the town by constructing a wall or stockade across the island just beyond the northern limits of the settlement. The line selected was drawn across the old sheep pasture. In the course of a few years, the anticipated hostilities having passed over, the settlers began to build houses along the line of the city wall, and the new street, when laid off, received by common consent the name of "the Wall street," which it has since borne. The wall, having fallen into decay, was demolished about the year 1699, and the stones were used in building the first City Hall, which stood at what is now the corner of Nassau and Wall streets, the site of the Sub-Treasury of to-day. This building was used for the various purposes of the city government until the close of the Revolution. It contained, besides the council and court rooms, a fire engine room, a jail for the detention and punishment of criminals, and a debtors' prison, which was located in the attic, a cage, and a pillory. A pair of stocks were set up on the opposite side of the street, wherein criminals were exposed to the indignant gaze of a virtuous public.

After the close of the Revolution, the building was enlarged and improved for the use of the Federal Government. The first Congress of the United States assembled within its walls in the year 1789, and upon its spacious portico George Washington took the oath to support and defend the Constitution, as President of the United States.

The street was originally taken up with private residences, but at length monetary institutions commenced to find their way into it. The Bank of New York was located here in 1791, at the corner of William street. Other institutions, and private bankers, soon followed it, and the work of improvement went on until the street of to-day is the result. Famous lawyers have also had their offices in this street. Alexander Hamilton's sign might once have been seen here, not far from where his humble monument now stands in Trinity churchyard, and the name of Caleb Cushing is now to be found just a little below Broadway.

The street fairly began its present career in the days of Jacob Little, "the great bear of Wall street." He opened an office here in 1822, and, in twelve years, by dint of such labor as few men are capable of performing, placed himself at the head of American operators. His credit was good for any amount, for his integrity was unimpeachable. He could sway the market as he pleased, and his contracts were met with a punctuality and fidelity which made "his word as good as his bond." Efforts were made to ruin him, but his genius and far-sightedness enabled him to defeat all his enemies with their own weapons. His gains were enormous, and so were his losses. He met the latter cheerfully. The late war, however, brought his reverses so rapidly upon him that he had not the time to meet one before another stared him in the face. Still, he was calm and undismayed. He gave up his last dollar without repining, saying that he would willingly sacrifice even life itself for the perpetuity of the Union and the Constitution. He died early in the year 1861, honored by all, and leaving his life an example to those of us who are left behind him. He was a devout member of the Episcopal Church, but he extended his charities, which, though quiet, were unusually large, to all denominations.

THE SUB-TREASURY.

The Sub-Treasury is a handsome white marble building, located at the corner of Wall and Nassau streets. The Treasury is built in the Doric style of architecture; and its massive flight of steps and handsome portico present a striking appearance. It is built in the most substantial manner, and has an entrance at the rear on Pine street. The interior is tastefully arranged, and massive iron gratings protect the employees from surprise and robbery. The vaults are burglar-proof. This is the principal depository of the Government, and millions of dollars are always in its vaults.