CHAPTER XLI.

PICKPOCKETS.

Strangers coming to New York should always be on the watch for pickpockets, and even natives are not careful enough in this respect. Picking pockets has been reduced to a science here, and is followed by many persons as a profession. It requires long practice and great skill, but these, when once acquired, make their possessor a dangerous member of the community. Women, by their lightness of touch and great facility in manipulating their victims, make the most dangerous operators in the city. The ferry boats, cars, stages, crowded halls, and public places afford the best opportunities to pickpockets for the exercise of their skill.

A lady, riding in an omnibus, discovers that she has lost her purse, which she knows was in her possession when she entered the stage. A well-dressed gentleman sits by her, whose arms are quietly crossed before him, and his fingers, encased in spotless kid gloves, are entwined in his lap, in plain sight of all the passengers, who are sure that he has not moved them since he entered the stage. Several persons have entered and left the vehicle, and the lady, naturally supposing one of them to be the thief, gets out to consult a policeman as to her best course. The officer could tell her, after a glance at the faultless gentleman who was her neighbor, that the arms so conspicuously crossed in his lap, are false, his real arms all the time being free to operate under the folds of his talma. The officer would rightly point him out as the thief.

On all the street cars, you will see the sign, "Beware of pickpockets!" posted conspicuously, for the purpose of warning passengers. These wretches work in gangs of two, or three, or four. They make their way into crowded cars, and rarely leave them without bringing away something of value. An officer will recognize them at once. He sees a well-known pickpocket obstructing the car entrance; another pickpocket is abusing him in the sharpest terms for doing so, while, at the same time, he is eagerly assisting a respectable gentleman, or a well-dressed lady, to pass the obstruction. One or two other pickpockets stand near. All this is as intelligible to a police officer as the letters on a street sign. He knows that the man, who is assisting the gentleman or lady, is picking his or her pocket; he knows that the man who obstructs the entrance is his confederate; he knows that the others, who are hanging about, will receive the contents of the pocketbook as soon as their principal has abstracted the same. He cannot arrest them, however, unless he, or some one else, sees the act committed; but they will not remain long after they see him—they will take the alarm, as they know his eye is on them, and leave the car as soon as possible.

A detective one day noticed a pickpocket riding in a crowded stage on Broadway. Stopping the vehicle, he mounted the step, and said,

"Gentlemen, there is a notorious pickpocket in this stage. It must stand still until he leaves it."

This announcement created no little consternation amongst the passengers, and each one commenced to feel for his valuables. Fortunately, no one missed anything, but all began to feel uncomfortable, as it was plain each man suspected everybody else in the vehicle. Five minutes of painful silence elapsed, the officer keeping the stage at a halt; and, at length, a venerable, highly respectable- looking old gentleman got up, and made for the door, exclaiming,

"I have a large sum of money on my person, gentlemen, and I can't consent to remain in such company."

He left the vehicle, the detective making way for him. As he did so, the officer closed the door, and called to the driver, "Go ahead, he's out now!"

The relief of the passengers was equalled only by their surprise.

The ferry-boats, which reach or leave the city late at night, or early in the morning, with loads of sleepy and tired travellers, are much frequented by pickpockets. The passengers are more off their guard at such times than at others, and the results are greater.

Persons with prominent shirt pins, or watch chains, are amongst the principal victims of the fraternity. Those who are foolish enough to show their money in public places, suffer in the same way. The best plan is never to take money or valuables into public places.

Female pickpockets, in stages, often rob gentlemen while the latter are raising or lowering a window for them. A watch, or pocketbook, or a valuable pin, is easily taken then, as the attention of the victim is entirely given to the act of courtesy he is performing.

Women even carry their thieving into the churches. The Catholic churches, where the aisles are generally filled, and where the devout worshipper can easily be approached, are usually chosen for such exploits. The city papers frequently contain notices of such robberies.



A woman will approach a man on the street at night, and, accosting him by a familiar name, will seize his arm and walk on with him. As most men are fond of adventures, the chances are that no effort will be made to throw off the woman, who, after walking and chatting for several squares, will suddenly turn to him, and exclaim, with a start.

"Why! you are not Harry after all; I have made a mistake!"

And, with the most profuse apologies, she will make her escape. An immediate search will show the man that she has carried his wallet or his watch with her.

Young boys, termed "Kids," are very dangerous operators. They work in gangs of three or four, and by pushing against their victim, seize what they can and make off. Sometimes one of this gang is arrested, but as he has transferred the plunder to his confederates, who have escaped, there is no evidence against him.

The members of the fraternity are well known to each other, and they arrange their scenes of operations, or "beats," with great care. No one will intrude upon the "beat" of another, for "there is honor even among thieves."



CHAPTER XLII.

DRUNKENNESS.

Drunkenness is very common in New York. About eighteen thousand arrests are made annually for drunkenness alone, and nearly ten thousand more for drunkenness and disorderly conduct. Besides these there are thousands of cases of which the police never hear. The vice is not confined to any class. It is to be seen in all conditions of life, and in both sexes. Day after day you will see men under the influence of liquor, reeling through the streets, or lying under the trees in the public parks. The police soon rid the streets of such cases, which are comparatively few during the day.

At night the number of intoxicated persons increases. You will then see all classes of drunkards. There goes a young man, handsomely dressed, evidently the son of a rich family, unable to stand by himself, and piloted by a friend whose chief care is to avoid the police. There is a clerk, whose habits will soon lose him his situation. Here is a woman, well dressed, too, reeling along at a rate which will soon carry her into the arms of the policeman. The high and the low are represented on the streets.

The bar-rooms and beer-gardens are in full blast, and will not close until midnight. The better class establishments are quiet and orderly, but the noise and confusion increases as we descend the scale of the so-called respectability of these places. The sale of liquors is enormous, and the work of destruction of body and soul that is going on is fearful. The bar-rooms, beer-gardens, restaurants, clubs, hotels, houses of ill-fame, concert-halls and dance-houses, are doing an enormous trade, and thousands are engaged in the work of poisoning themselves with drink.



Respectable men patronize the better class bar-rooms, and respectable women the ladies' restaurants. At the latter places a very large amount of money is spent by women for drink. Wives and mothers, and even young girls, who are ashamed to drink at home, go to these fashionable restaurants for their liquor. Some will drink it openly, others will disguise it as much as possible. Absinthe has been introduced at these places of late years, and it is said to be very popular with the gentler sex. Those who know its effects will shudder at this. We have seen many drunken women in New York, and the majority have been well dressed and of respectable appearance.

A lady recently went into a confectionery store to purchase some bonbons. She was handsomely dressed, and was quite pretty. As the proprietor was making up her parcel he saw her stagger and fall. Hastening round to the front of the counter, he found her lying helpless on the floor, dead drunk.

Standing at our window one day last winter, we noticed two ladies, evidently a mother and daughter, come out of one of the most fashionable private residences in the city, where they had been visiting. They waited on the corner for a car, which was seen coming around the park, and to our astonishment we saw the elder lady sit down flat in the street. She was instantly jerked up by the younger woman, whose expression of intense disgust we shall not soon forget. As the old lady got on her feet again, her unsteadiness revealed the cause of her singular conduct—she was drunk.

There is a depth of misery in New York which those who have not seen it, cannot conceive of. It exists among the poorer classes, who spend their earnings in drink. They are always half stupefied with liquor, and are brutal and filthy. They get the poison from low shops, called Bucket Houses.

BUCKET HOUSES.

These shops sell the vilest and most poisonous liquors, and derive their name from the fact that their customers usually bring buckets, bowls, or pitchers for the stuff, instead of bottles or jugs. They are confined to the worst quarters of the city, and are foul and wretched beyond description. The proprietors are brutal wretches, who are capable of any crime. They do all in their power to encourage drunkenness, in order to increase their gains. They knowingly sell actual poisons for drink—liquors which nothing would induce them to use. On Saturday nights the rush to these places is very great. Liquor cannot be procured the next day, and so the poor victims of the rum- seller lay in a double quantity, and spend the Sabbath in a state of beastly intoxication.



CHAPTER XLIII.

GAMBLING HOUSES

Games of chance of all kinds are forbidden in all the States by laws which prescribe various severe penalties for the offence; but in spite of this prohibition, there is no country in the world where gambling is more common than in our own, and no city in the whole Union where it is carried on, to such an extent, as in New York.

There are several classes of gambling houses in the city, which we shall endeavor to describe in their order.

FIRST-CLASS HOUSES.

There are very few of these houses in New York—perhaps not more than a dozen in all. They are located in fashionable neighborhoods, and outwardly differ in nothing from the elegant private residences which surround them, except that the blinds are closed all day long, and the house has a silent, deserted air. In its internal arrangements it is magnificent. The furniture, carpets, and all its appointments are superb. Choice paintings and works of art are scattered through the rooms, in truly regal profusion. All that money can do to make the place attractive and luxurious has been done, and as money can always command taste, the work has been well done.

The servants attached to the place are generally negroes of the better class. They are well trained, many of them having been brought up as the valets, or butlers of the Southern gentry, and answer better for such places than whites, inasmuch as they are quiet, uncommunicative, attentive and respectful. One of these men is always in charge of the front door, and visitors are admitted with caution, it being highly desirable to admit only the so-called respectable.

It is said on good authority that it requires an annual outlay of one million of dollars to keep up the first-class gaming houses of the city. This is a large sum, but the profits of the establishments are enormous.

A work recently published in Paris, gives the following description of the establishment of a famous gentleman whose history is more like a romance than a reality.

JOHN MORRISSEY'S HOUSE.

"My companion nodded to a servant standing in the hall," says the writer referred to, "and we were allowed to enter. We went through an elegantly furnished parlor, in which were many frequenters of the house, either conversing or reading newspapers. We next entered a large room lighted by numerous gas-jets. In the centre of this apartment was a long table covered with green cloth. The room was crowded with persons busily engaged in gambling. Different games of chance are in vogue in the United States; but the favorite game of European gamblers, roulette, was not tolerated in the establishment we were then visiting. In almost all the States, games of chance, for money, no matter what its amount, are prohibited, and gambling houses, being considered as contrary to good morals, are forbidden. Gambling for money was not, therefore, ostensibly carried on. The stakes consisted of counters or checks provided by the establishment. The gamblers settled their losses by means of these checks or counters, representing an understood value. In this manner, it appears, the letter, if not the spirit of the law was satisfied. In case of a sudden descent from the police, it was impossible to prove that the persons engaged in the games were playing for money, as no money, in fact, was apparent.

"'There is no people,' said Asmodeus, in the course of his explanations, 'that exhibits more respect for the law than the Americans; but none understands so well how to eschew it when it interferes with its own interests.'

"My companion also informed me that no one can recover money lost in gambling, because gambling itself is illegal. But debts of that nature are as secure as any other, especially among professional gamblers, and they are seldom repudiated.

"'All those counters and checks,' said he, 'are as good as gold, and, in this respect, no difficulty can arise. But there are, in two or three adjoining rooms, games of different kinds conducted in private; and the house, of course, is not responsible for the stakes. Money may be lost on parole there; but the loser who will not or can not make good his promise, generally finds himself in a dangerous predicament. For though there be a few men here who came attracted either by curiosity or because they have nothing else to do, the majority are professional gamblers, whose revolvers are always kept ready for great emergencies.'

"Besides the table in the centre of the room, there were half a dozen others in remote corners, and also in adjoining rooms, and which, as Asmodeus had observed, were occupied by persons engaged in some favorite game. Around the large table stood an anxious crowd. There was evidently an exciting game in operation. Near the centre of the table was seated a banker or dealer, with a large quantity of checks at his right hand, of the denomination of five, ten, twenty dollars, and upward. Thirteen cards, representing a complete pack, were affixed to the table, at convenient distances from each other, to mark distinctly the bets placed on each. Those who wished to play placed the amount they intended to stake on any particular card on the table. The dealer then producing and shuffling a pack of cards, placed them in a box, from which he caused them to slide one by one. He lost when the card equal in points to that on which the stake was set turned up on his right hand; but he won when it was on the left. He faithfully and gravely fulfilled his part, as though he were a public notary or any other officer of the law. Every one seemed satisfied with his dealings and decisions; for, during our stay in this 'hell,' (a name commonly given in America to all gambling houses,) no exclamation of any sort was made by the gamblers.

"I took him, at first, for the proprietor of the establishment. 'You are mistaken,' said Asmodeus; 'the host is that stout man whose necktie is pinned with a large diamond, and who is playing a game of ecarte near yonder window, with a constant frequenter of his house. A few years ago, he was one of the most renowned pugilists in the United States. With the profits derived from his victims in the manly art, he purchased a fine house, in which congregated the patrons and amateurs of that art, which is more in vogue to-day in America than in England. Shortly after, he found himself, perhaps unexpectedly, the manager of a faro bank. The game of faro is now in progress at the green table. He gradually withdrew himself from the noisy companions of his younger years, and soon had the gratification to behold bankers, brokers, merchants, and men belonging to the wealthy classes flock to his establishment. As his business rapidly increased, he purchased this handsome house, situated in one of the most fashionable streets of New York. It has become a favorite resort for many persons of good standing in society, and for 'the fancy' of New York. All transactions are above suspicion, for deception would be a dangerous experiment. The landlord is married, and very careful that everything is carried on in an orderly manner. Women are not admitted into the gaming-rooms, or even into the parlors of the house. An elegant supper is served up, every evening, to frequenters and visitors.

"At this very moment a footman came and announced supper. Most of the gamblers did not heed the invitation, so deeply engrossed were they in the game. A few spectators, Asmodeus and myself amongst them, went down into the dining-room, which was, like all the others in the establishment, handsomely furnished. Several ornamental sideboards were loaded with luxuries. Champagne of the best brands was freely passed around; and when supper was over, the landlord treated his guests to the best Havana segars. I expected we would have to face a pretty heavy bill for this entertainment, and was on the point of pulling out my porte-monnaie, when Asmodeus whispered me to do nothing of the sort. 'Such a proceeding,' said he, 'would be resented as an outrage by the proprietor.' Everybody, whether known to him or not, may come here, and either take part in or look at the game; as often as may suit his fancy, and enjoy a good supper besides. The proprietor hardly notices those visitors who come solely for the purpose of partaking of the good things served up at his suppers, and drinking his champagne.'"

HOW THE VICTIMS ARE PROCURED.

"Those who keep gambling houses," continues the writer from whom we have just quoted, "take care to be regularly informed of everything transpiring in the city that maybe of interest to their business. You may have noticed, lounging around the most fashionable hotels, many well-dressed young men, who spend their money freely, though they have no known means of support. They are agents for gambling-houses: their business is to track the footsteps of travellers visiting New York, for business or pleasure. They worm themselves into the confidence of strangers; show them everything worth seeing in the city; and finally introduce them to their employers, the gambling-house proprietors. This hunting after wealthy strangers is systematically carried on—it is a science. These agents leave nothing to chance; they never hurry up the conclusion of the transaction. When the unwary stranger is in a fit condition for the sacrifice, they take him to the gaming table with as much indifference and coolness as butchers drive sheep to the slaughter house. These agents have a commission on the profits realized from all the customers they lead to the gaming table, and they display such ability that they seldom fail to entrap those they single out for their victims."

It is a safe rule to suspect every one who approaches you with offers of friendship without being properly introduced. Shun all such society, for the hope of ruining you is all that induces the men to seek you.

GAMING A NATIONAL PASSION.

"There are in New York one hundred and fifty hells or gambling houses, all well known to the police, in which several millions of dollars are lost every year, by unwary persons. From time to time, police officers make a descent on the most dangerous among them, or (which is too often the case) on those whose owners have little political influence. Twenty-four hours after the descent has taken place, new gambling implements are procured in lieu of those taken away, and business is resumed as before.

"Games of chance are now in vogue all over the States, and rapidly multiplying, because the thirst for sudden fortunes is everywhere on the increase. Gambling is even practised on board of those splendid steamers, that ply up and down the rivers of the country; and more than one passenger, driven distracted by his losses at the gaming table, has thrown himself overboard.

"As I have before remarked, no cheating is to be apprehended here, as the percentage, taken beforehand out of the stakes, secures handsome profits to the proprietor of the house. But fraud is frequently resorted to in many hells; and in some of them, whether he loses or wins, the visitor is sure to be plundered of his valuables before he is allowed to depart. Blood is often shed in these places, their frequenters providing themselves, against emergency, with weapons of every description. Some gambling houses hire handsome females, and the allurements of these sirens are added to the dangers of the gaming table. New York keeps pace, in all these respects, with the large cities of Europe; and in many maisons de joie, unsuspecting persons run the risk, at any moment of the day or night, of losing their fortunes, their health, and their honor."

THE GUESTS.

"The persons who frequent gambling houses may be divided into two classes: occasional gamblers and professional gamblers. Among the first may be placed those attracted by curiosity, and those strangers I have alluded to who are brought in by salaried intermediaries. The second is composed of men who gamble to retrieve their losses, or those who try to deceive and lull their grief through the exciting diversions that pervade these places.

"I see, for instance, to the right of the dealer, a tall man, with a well-trimmed beard. He is a general in the United States army, and married a young girl belonging to one of our best families. A few years after his marriage his wife disappeared. As she seemed much attached to her husband, and a model of chastity, the general belief was that she had been the victim of some foul outrage. The friends of her family, and the police, made active but fruitless search for her; and the lady's disappearance remained enveloped in mystery, until she was recognized by an American traveller, an acquaintance, in an Italian city. It appears she had removed there, after her mysterious disappearance from her native land, and lived quite comfortably with a comrade-in-arms of her husband. The general has been unable, up to this day, to forget his unfaithful wife, and he comes here, every night, to endeavor, by gambling, to divert his mind from grief.

"Near him, that man, whose fingers are loaded with showy rings, and who affects womanish manners, is the owner of a newspaper which delights in praising the aristocratic institutions of the Old World—a harmless pastime, in which and one can safely indulge, in a country where there is no law against the press, and where everybody may relieve his mind of any foolish idea or fancy without injury to anything but his reputation. Gambling is more than a passion to that personage—it is his very life, as necessary to him as the air he breathes. He has organized lotteries throughout the States, and though they are prohibited by severe laws, he has found the means to evade them all, and build up a large fortune. He often plays very high, and recently very nearly broke the bank. The latter met with a loss of two hundred thousand dollars.

"The gambler who is now leaving the gaming-table, is a teller in one of our city banks. He long enjoyed the confidence of the directors; but, a few days ago, they decided to have him watched, after office hours—a measure now resorted to by many financial institutions, on account of frequent defalcations. To-morrow morning, that teller will be requested by the board of directors to show his books, and give an account of the situation and prospects of the bank. But, in spite of his proficiency in book-keeping, he will be unable to figure up and represent the seventy-five thousand dollars he has squandered away in gambling houses since he commenced, six months ago, to frequent them.

"I also recognize at the table a lawyer, who, a few years ago, married a courtesan, in whom covetousness for wealth had become, during the last years of her life, a ruling passion. A few weeks after their marriage, the courtesan died, bequeathing the lawyer all her fortune. It was surmised, at the time, that she had been poisoned; and perhaps her husband comes here to drown his remorse.

"That black-haired, rather corpulent man, whose visage is spoiled by a dishonest glance, and demeanor tarnished by an innate vulgarity, is a teacher of foreign languages. He assumes important airs, as teachers generally do and though affecting, in his discourse, a Puritan austerity, few men are more intensely devoted to the pursuit of gain. An adventurer, he had but one purpose in view when he settled in the United States and commenced teaching—to find an heiress. After a fruitless search among his young pupils of the fair sex, he finally fascinated and married a spinster. Her savings are nightly dwindling away at the gaming table."

A CARD-TABLE ROMANCE.

One of the city journals recently published the following account of an affair, which occurred some time since, at one of the best-known gaming hells of Broadway. The parties referred to are members of one of the wealthiest and most fashionable families in the city:

For some weeks past, one of the most fashionable Broadway gambling houses had been honored with the presence of a dashing young man, apparently not more than nineteen or twenty years of age. The gentleman gave his name as Dick Harley, and professed to hail from New Orleans. As he displayed a well-filled pocketbook, he was welcomed, of course.

In play he was remarkably lucky, for a time, at least. This attracted additional attention, and not only made him an object of envy, but of jealousy. Many of the most expert resorted to all the known arts of the game in order to pluck the youngster, but were themselves sold.

During all these visits, young Harley appeared to feel an especial interest in one of the visitors, who was known to hold a responsible position in a down-town banking house. This person was nearly always a loser, and his manner plainly told the fact that those losses greatly affected him. He was always uneasy, his eyes inflamed, and his hand trembling, while he would often start to his feet, and walk up and down the apartment, in a manner bordering on frenzy. It soon began to be whispered around that the man was utterly ruined—that there would soon be another bank defalcation sensation, and perhaps a suicide.



For some time, young Harley had made efforts to gain the exclusive attention of the bank officer, but had failed to do so. At length, however, he was successful, and the New Orleans buck and the ruined gamester sat down together.

Fortune now appeared to change. Harley had fifty thousand dollars in his possession, which he had won. But he began to lose now, and the bank officer was the winner. The game continued, and still Harley lost. He remained perfectly calm in the mean time, while the winner became even more excited than while he was unfortunate.

At length the fifty thousand dollars changed hands, and the banker asked,

'Shall we continue the game, sir?

'No,' replied Harley.

'But you want a chance for revenge?

'No, I will play no more with you. However, I would like to make one condition.'

'What is it?'

'Step aside with me, and you shall know.'

Harley and the winner stepped a little apart, when the former whispered.

'Sir, your manner has spoken only too plainly that your losses were about to involve you in trouble. Those losses have but just commenced; but if you continue your play, they will soon be very great, and yourself and family will be crushed. You have won sufficient to-night to save your honor, have you not?

'Thank God, yes,' was the earnest reply.

'Then the condition I would make is this: leave this place and never enter it again.'

'I'll do it,' was the almost frantic response, and the banker turned to leave the room.

At the same time, those around had no idea of losing such, an opportunity as now presented itself. That fifty thousand dollars must again change hands. One of the men present advanced, and, laying his hands upon the shoulder of Harley, said:

'Look you, youngster, you are going a little too far. You have won from us largely.'

'Aye, and lost again,' was the calm reply.

'So have we; and you must not stand in the way of our making good that loss.'

'How can I possibly do so?'

'By persuading the winner of your money to play no more.'

'Have I not a right to do it?'

'No.'

'Then I shall assume that right.'

As Harley said this he caught the bank officer by the arm, and led him toward the door. But the little fellow was instantly seized, and hurled to the opposite side of the room, where he fell with considerable violence.

Instantly he sprang to his feet, while his eyes flashed fire. At the same time, he drew a revolver, and exclaimed:

'Stand from that door, or there will be blood shed here.'

On occasions of this kind, revolver generally answers revolver. It was so on this occasion; and Harley received two shots, which sent him reeling upon the carpet. A crimson spot appeared near his temple, and he clutched his breast with his hands.

Of course, there were those present who did not like the idea of murder, and such sprang forward to the aid of the wounded lad. A black wig fell from his head, and then long golden locks were exposed to view. The vest was opened, and the bosom palpitating beneath the spotless linen was that of a woman.

The surprise of all was very great, and none more so than that of the young bank officer, when he discovered in Dick Harley no other than his own sister. She had learned of the gaming, and had followed him in order to save him from ruin. She had succeeded, for no person now attempted to molest her. The wound upon the head was but slight, although it stunned her for a few moments.

She left the house with her brother, and it is not likely that either of them will ever enter it again.

SECOND-CLASS HOUSES.

There are many establishments of this description in the city. They are neither so elegantly furnished nor so exclusive as to their guests as the first-class houses. There is also another important difference. In a first-class house, the visitor is sure to meet men who will deal fairly with him; and if he loses, as he is almost sure to do, it is because he is playing against more expert hands than himself. This is what is called a "square game." Everything is open and fair, and the bank relies on the fickleness of the cards and the superior skill of its dealer. In the second-class houses, however, the visitor is literally fleeced. Every advantage is taken of him, and it is morally certain that he will lose every cent he risks. In first-class houses, one can play or look on, as he pleases. In second-class houses, the visitor who declines to risk something is in danger of personal violence. He will be insulted by the proprietor or one of his myrmidons; and if he resents the insult, his life hangs by a very slender thread. The "runner" system is practiced very extensively in connection with these houses. The visitor is plied with liquor unceasingly during his stay in the rooms, and the losses of the unfortunate man during this period of semi-unconsciousness are frightful.

Many persons coming to the city yield to the temptation to visit these places, merely to see them. They intend to lose only a dollar or two as the price of the exhibition. Such men voluntarily seek the danger which threatens them. Nine out of ten who go there merely through curiosity, lose all their money. The men who conduct the "hell" understand how to deal with such cases, and are rarely unsuccessful.

It is in these places that clerks and other young men are ruined. They lose, and play again, hoping to make good their losses. In this way they squander their own means; and too frequently commence to steal from their employers, in the vain hope of regaining all they have lost.

There is only one means of safety for all classes—Keep away from the gaming table altogether.

DAY GAMBLING HOUSES

At first gambling was carried on only at night. The fascination of the game, however, has now become so great, that day gambling houses have been opened in the lower part of the city. These are located in Broadway, below Fulton street, and in one or two other streets within the immediate neighborhood of Wall street.

These "houses," as they are called, are really nothing more than rooms. They are located on the top floor of a building, the rest of which is taken up with stores, offices, etc. They are managed on a plan similar to the night gambling houses, and the windows are all carefully closed with wooden shutters, to prevent any sound being heard without. The rooms are elegantly furnished, brilliantly lighted with gas, and liquors and refreshments are in abundance. As the stairway is thronged with persons passing up and down, at all hours of the day, no one is noticed in entering the building for the purpose of play. The establishment has its "runners" and "ropers in," like the night houses, who are paid a percentage on the winnings from their victims, and the proprietor of the day-house is generally the owner of a night-house higher up town.

Square games are rarely played in these houses. The victim is generally fleeced. Men who gamble in stocks, curbstone brokers, and others, vainly endeavor to make good a part of their losses at these places. They are simply unsuccessful. Clerks, office-boys, and others, who can spend but a few minutes and lose only a few dollars at a time, are constantly seen in these hells. The aggregate of these slight winnings by the bank is very great in the course of the day. Pickpockets and thieves are also seen here in considerable numbers. They do not come to practice their arts, for they would be shown no mercy if they should do so, but come to gamble away their plunder, or its proceeds.



CHAPTER XLIV.

KIT BURNS'S.

Having given the reader a description of the "Wickedest Man in New York," we must now introduce him to Mr. Christopher Burns, or, as he is familiarly called, Kit Burns, the compeer of the noted John Allen.

In walking through Water street, you will notice a plain brick building, rather neater in appearance than those surrounding it. The lower part is painted green, and there is a small gas lamp before the door. The number, 273, is very conspicuous, and you will also notice the words over the door, rather the worse for exposure to the weather, "Kit Burns" "Sportsman's Sail".

The ostensible business of Kit Burns, is that of a tavern keeper, and it is said that his house is well kept for one of its class. The bar does a thriving business, and is well stocked with the kind of liquor used in Water street.

Attached to the tavern, however, are the principal attractions of the place to those who frequent it. These are the rat and dog pits.

THE RAT PIT.

Rats are plentiful along the East River, and Burns has no difficulty in procuring as many as he desires. These and his dogs furnish the entertainment, in which he delights. The principal room of the house is arranged as an amphitheatre. The seats are rough wooden benches, and in the centre is a ring or pit, enclosed by a circular wooden fence, several feet high. A number of rats are turned into this pit, and a dog of the best ferret stock is thrown in amongst them. The little creature at once falls to work to kill the rats, bets being made that she will destroy so many rats in a given time. The time is generally "made" by the little animal, who is well known to, and a great favorite with, the yelling blasphemous wretches who line the benches. The performance is greeted with shouts, oaths, and other frantic demonstrations of delight. Some of the men will catch up the dog in their arms, and press it to their bosom in a frenzy of joy, or kiss it as if it were a human being, unmindful or careless of the fact that all this while the animal is smeared with the blood of its victims. The scene is disgusting beyond description.



THE DOG FIGHTS.

Kit Burns is very proud of his dogs, and his cellar contains a collection of the fiercest and most frightfully hideous animals to be found in America. They are very docile with their owner, and seem really fond of him. They are well fed and carefully tended, for they are a source of great profit to their owner.

Notice is given that at such a time there will be a dog fight at "Sportsman's Hall," and when that time arrives the roughs and bullies of the neighborhood crowd the benches of the amphitheatre. A more brutal, villainous-looking set it would be hard to find. They are more inhuman in appearance than the dogs.

Two huge bull-dogs, whose keepers can hardly restrain them, are placed in the pit, and the keeper or backer of each dog crouches in his place, one on the right hand, the other on the left, and the dogs in the middle. At a given signal, the animals are released, and the next moment the combat begins. It is simply sickening. Most of our readers have witnessed a dog fight in the streets. Let them imagine the animals surrounded by a crowd of brutal wretches whose conduct stamps them as beneath the struggling beasts, and they will have a fair idea of the scene at Kit Burns's.

THE REVIVAL AT KIT BURN'S.

During the summer of 1868, while the Water street revival was going on at John Allen's, the parties conducting the movement endeavored to induce Kit Burns to join them. He refused all their offers, and at last they hired his rat pit at a high price, for the purpose of using it for religious services for one hour in each day. This was done, and the meetings held therein were sadly disgraceful to the cause of Christianity. We take the following account of one of these meetings from the New York World, our apology for intruding it, being our desire to present a truthful picture.

The Water street prayer-meetings are still continued. Yesterday at noon a large crowd assembled in Kit Burns's liquor shop, very few of whom were roughs. The majority seemed to be business men and clerks, who stopped in to see what was going on, in a casual manner. In a few minutes after twelve o'clock the pit was filled up very comfortably, and Mr. Van Meter made his appearance and took up a position here he could address the crowd from the centre of the pit, inside the barriers. The roughs and dry goods clerks piled themselves up as high as the roof, tier after tier, and a sickening odor came from the dogs and debris of rats' bones under the seats.

Kit stood outside, cursing and damning the eyes of the missionaries for not hurrying up.

Kit said, 'I'm d——d if some of the people that come here oughtn't to be clubbed. A fellow 'u'd think that they had niver seen a dog-pit afore. I must be d——d good-looking to have so many fellows looking at me.'

Inside, the exhortations were kept up to fever heat. In a little gallery above the pit, not more than four feet from the dirty ceiling, there were half a dozen faded and antiquated women, who kept chorus to the music of the Heavenly Jerusalem, as follows:

'To God, the mighty Lord Your joyful thanks repeat; To him due praise afford, As good as he is great. For God does prove Our constant friend; His boundless love Shall never end-a-a-h.'

'That's what I call singing the bloody gospil. The man that wrote that ballad was no slouch,' cried out George Leese, alias 'Snatchem,' one of the worst scoundrels in New York, who is now in the saving path of grace. As a beastly, obscene ruffian, 'Snatchem' never had his equal in America, according to his own account. The writer has seen this fellow at prize fights, with a couple of revolvers in his belt, engaged in the disgusting office of sucking blood from the wild beasts who had ceased to pummel each other for a few seconds. This man, with his bulging, bulbous, watery-blue eyes, bloated red face, and coarse swaggering gait, has been notorious for years in New York. The police are well acquainted with him, and he is proud of his notoriety.

'Snatchem' asked our reporter if he ever saw such 'a-rough and-tumble- stand-up-to-be knocked-down son of a gun as he in his life.'

Did you ever see such a kicking-in-the-head-knife-in-a dark-room fellow as I am, eh?'

Our reporter meekly answered 'no.'

I want a quarter-stretch ticket to go to glory, I do. I can go in harness preaching the bloody gospil against any minister in New York. I know all Watts' Hymns and Fistiana, and I'd like to be an angel and bite Gabriel's ear off.'

A man got upon one of the benches in the pit and commenced to preach in a frenzy to the crowd. He related his experience as a gambler at several gambling houses in Ann street and on Broadway. He told very affecting stories about young men who bought stacks of chips and were afterwards reduced to their bottom dollar and misery.

The minister asked 'if any one present was in need of his prayer, or of water from the Jordan to wash out his sins, to let him hold up his hand.'

George Leese did so. 'He wanted all the water he could get from the Jordan or any other river.'

A man who announced that his name was Sam Irving, and had been a great scoundrel and dog-fighter, said he used to go to Harry Jenning's; to Butler's, in Ninth Avenue; to McLaughlin's, in First Avenue; and to Kit Burns's, to see dogs fight and snarl at each other; he went to Ireland once to bring over a fighting-dog; the man who gave him that dog came to a terrible end by his own hand. The speaker had been reared in sin and shame; he had known the life of the streets; but now Jesus had grabbed him where he lived, and he was going to do better. He wanted every one to take warning by him. They could get Christ as well as him. The prayer-meeting ended by the singing of the Doxology.



CHAPTER XLV.

SAILORS' BOARDING HOUSES.

In walking along the streets in the vicinity of the water, you will notice many buildings with the sign "Sailors' Boarding House." One would suppose that poor Jack needed a snug resting place after his long and stormy voyages, but it is about the last thing he finds in New York. The houses for his accommodation are low, filthy, vile places, where every effort is made to swindle him out of his money; the proprietors are merciless sharks, and they keep the sailors who come to this port in a state of the most abject slavery.

A ship comes in from a long voyage. Her men are discharged and paid off. The runners for the boarding houses lie in wait for them, and, as soon as they get their money, take them to the establishments which prove so fatal to them. There they are made drunk, robbed of their money and valuables, and of all their good clothing, and brought in debt to their landlord. A captain in want of a crew applies to one of these landlords for men. In order to secure them, he has to advance a part of their wages, which the landlord claims for debts which Jack never contracted. The men are made drunk, and in this state they sign the shipping articles, and are sent to sea. When they recover their senses, they are on the blue water, and prefer their present condition to being at the mercy of the landlords. In this way, it frequently happens that poor Jack never gets the benefit of a single penny of his hard earnings.

Efforts have been made by conscientious shipowners to put a stop to the outrages of the landlords, but each one has failed. The wretches have banded together, and have prevented sailors from shipping, and in the end the ship owners have been compelled to abandon the sailor to the mercy of his tyrants. Only a law of Congress, regulating sailors' boarding houses, according to the system now in use in England, will remedy the evil.

Hon. W. F. G. Shanks, who has given much time and research to this matter, in a recent communication to a city journal, thus sums up his experience and discoveries:

Among the things which I learned and the points on which I satisfied myself thoroughly, I may mention, as of possible interest to the public, the following:

1. I have carefully calculated that not less than one thousand destitute women, and five hundred men, are supported by the one hundred and seventy boarding-houses and thirty shipping offices in New York.

2. At least fifteen thousand sailors of all nations are annually robbed, by these people, of not less than two millions of dollars. I name this amount to be within bounds; I believe it to be at least half as much more.

3. Only two of these houses have a legal existence; all the rest are kept open in defiance of a State law, enacted in 1866, 'for the better protection of the seamen,' whom these landsharks prey upon. A grand jury was obtained which indicted the delinquents, who refused to take out a license according to this law, but the State Commissioners have in vain urged the City attorney to prosecute the offenders.

4. The landlords laugh at the authority of the State Commissioners for licensing boarding houses for seamen, of which Mr. E. W. Chester is President, and rely on the license to vend liquor issued by the Police Board, of which Mr. Acton is President, as their ample protection.

5. The landlords have congregated mainly in the Fourth and Sixth Wards of the city, in order to influence, if not control them politically. The combination existing between boarding-house keepers and shipping- masters enables them to cast, in any election in the City, at least one thousand votes, and probably more.

6. Much of the smuggling in this port is done by the runners of these houses.

7. Numbers of criminals flying from justice are aided to get to sea by these men; and during the war hundreds of deserters from the army, who had never been out of sight of land, and knew nothing of an ordinary seaman's duty, were shipped by them as good seamen.

8. No inquiry is made by owners, captains, or shipping agents, into the moral character or seamanship of the men employed by these agents.

9. Seamen are allowed to ship only when penniless, and often without sufficient clothing to protect them from the inclement weather.

10. They are discharged from ships without the wages due them, and have no alternative but to go to the men whom they know will rob them; and the United States laws authorize the owners of vessels to deny them their pay until ten days after the cargo is discharged—much longer than the owners usually withhold it. It is these laws which throw the sailor under the control of the 'land sharks.'

11. Foreign sailors are induced to desert their ships and go in other vessels by landlords who aim to rob them of the advance pay which custom exacts. The sailors thus not only lose by desertion the pay due them by the ship they abandon, as well as the advance which, they get from their new commander, but also forfeit their nationality and the protection of their former flag.

12. Foreign captains frequently force their men to desert them, in order to save their keep and back pay. This they accomplish either by bad treatment of the men or collusion with the landlords.

13. Large ships are often detained in port, after having their cargo on board, because of the refusal of landlords to allow the seamen to ship while their money lasts.

14. The owners submit to this indirect control of their great interests for fear of giving offence to the men who furnish and control the crews. The United States has not a law which would protect owners in an effort to change the system of shipping seamen, improving their condition, or protecting them in their rights, or in increasing the number and the utility of seamen.

15. There is not a single training or school ship in this port, although Boston boasts two in successful operation. The United States laws do not require, as they should, that every ship leaving an American port, under the United States flag, should carry its complement of apprentices. Neither of these practical means of building up the merchant marine service is generally adopted in the United States, though the experience of England, and other great maritime powers, has shown the benefit and the necessity of both systems.

16. Generally speaking, the very worst enemies of the sailor in all ports are the consuls who are sent to protect them. Practically, they are the aiders and abettors of landlords. There may be exceptional cases, but I cannot venture to name them. A special investigation of consulate abuses would reveal the sailor as the most frequent victim.

I could mention other important points, if space permitted. To be brief, I have seen that the sailor is without protection from Government laws, Government agents, or the owners whose interest he serves. He is systematically robbed, imprisoned and sold into the hardest of servitude, as openly as negroes were sold a few years ago in the South. If he complains of the robbery, judges, who hold their positions by the favor of the landlords who commit the robbery, release the culprit on bail, and send the sailor to the House of Detention as a witness, where he is forgotten, or finally turned penniless into the street, to wander back to the man who robbed him, to beg for assistance and work. If he refuses to ship as landlords direct, he is forcibly put on board by legal process, or through the agency of the whiskey bottle, and in either case is sent penniless and almost naked to sea. They never complain of the terms of sale. After Jack has been on a packet ship for two months, he is glad to escape, by any means, to the ills of the boarding houses, and after enduring that slavery for a fortnight, he is only too glad to rush back to the hardships of the ocean life he lately thought so terrible. His life is one desperate effort to escape the ills he has and fly to others that he knows well enough. The sailor has no respect for Hamlet's philosophy.



CHAPTER XLVI.

THE CHURCHES AND THE CLERGY.

The churches of New York are models of architectural beauty. Trinity, Grace, the Temple EMANUEL, and the new Cathedral on Fifth Avenue, are the handsomest religious edifices in America. Catholics and Episcopalians no longer have all the magnificent churches, for the other denominations are following hard in their footsteps.

Nearly all the churches of the city are above Fourth street, and in some localities they crowd each other too greatly. A few are very wealthy and are well supported, but the majority are poor and struggling. Pew-rent is very high in New York, and only those who are well off can afford to have seats in a thriving church. Besides this, people seem to care little for churches in New York. There are thousands of respectable people in the great city who never see the inside of a church, unless some special attraction draws them there. The entire support of the churches, therefore, falls on a few.

The fashionable churches, with the exception of Grace Church, are now located high up town. They are large and handsome, and the congregations are wealthy and exclusive. Forms are rigidly insisted upon, and the reputation of the church for exclusiveness is so well known that those in the humbler walks of life never dream of entering its doors. They feel they would be unwelcomed, that nine tenths of the congregation would consider them unfit to address their prayers to the Great White Throne from so exclusive a place. The widow's mite would cause the warden's face to glimmer with a well-bred smile of contemptuous amazement, if laid in the midst of the crisp bank bills of the collection; and Lazarus would lay a long time at the doors of these churches, unless the police should remove him.

Riches and magnificence are seen on every side. The music is divine, the service is performed to perfection, and the minister satisfies his flock that they are all in the "narrow way," which his Master once declared to be so difficult to the feet of the rich man. But that was eighteen hundred years ago, and things have changed since then.

SAINT ALBAN'S.

St. Alban's Episcopal Chapel, in Forty-seventh street, near Lexington Avenue, has of late attracted much attention as being the most advanced in the ritualistic character of its services. A writer in Putnam's Magazine, thus describes the manner in which the service is "celebrated" in this Chapel.

One bright Sunday morning, not long ago, I visited the 'Church of St. Alban.' It is situated in Forty-seventh street, near Lexington Avenue, quite beyond the business portion of the city, and is rather a plain- looking brick building, with a peaked roof, low, stained glass windows, and a bell on the gable in front, surmounted by a cross. I arrived some little time before the commencement of the services, and had an opportunity to look about a little, and note the interior arrangements. I found the church to be capable of holding about two hundred and fifty worshippers, with plain wooden benches for seats on each side of a central aisle, and every bench having an announcement posted upon it, as follows.

The seats of this church are all FREE, on the following conditions, a compliance with which is an obligation binding on each person occupying a sitting:

'I. To behave as in the presence of ALMIGHTY GOD.

'II. Not to leave the church during service; remaining until the clergy and choristers have retired.

'III. That each worshipper shall contribute, according to his ability, to the collections, which are the only means of supporting the church. The poor can give little, and are always welcome; but those who are able to give should not be willing to occupy seats (which might be availed of by others), without contributing their just share to the expenses.'

The pulpit, which is elevated only three or four steps, stands on the left-hand of the congregation, close to and in front of the vestry-room door or passage. The stalls adjoin the organ in a recess on the vestry- room side, with others facing them on the opposite side for antiphonal chanting or singing. The lectern, or stand on which the Bible is placed, for reading the lessons, is on the right side opposite the pulpit. There is no reading-desk for other parts of the service, as in most of the Episcopal churches.

The arrangements of the chancel occupy considerable space for a building no larger than this, and everything is very elaborate and ornamental. It is elevated by several steps, and inside the rails is still further raised, so as to bring the communion-table, or altar, prominently into view. This altar is very large, built against the rear wall of the church, with a super-altar, having a tall gilded cross in its centre. The decorations on the wall, and about the chancel-window, are of the most approved pattern, drawn from the highest authorities in ritualism and church decoration. These words, in beautiful old English letter, crown, as it were, the altar in St. Alban's: 'He that eateth ME, even he shall live by ME.' (John vi. 57.)

On either side of the large gilded cross, on the super-altar, is a lofty candlestick, with a candle in it, about seven feet high, or perhaps more. Four other candlesticks, not quite so tall, and four others, less lofty than these, again, are on each side of the altar by the wall; and, standing in the chancel, some little distance from the wall, on the right and left hand, are candelabras, with branches, holding some twenty candles each. None of these were lighted when I entered. Soon after, the bell having stopped ringing, the organ began a voluntary, on a low note, introductory to the opening of the service.

Presently, the introcessional hymn was begun, and then, emerging from the vestry-room door or passage, the first thing visible was a large wooden cross, which had to be lowered to get it through the passage, and which, when elevated, reached some six feet above the head of the small boy who carried it, and was, of course, in full view of the congregation. This boy, and others following, had on white robes, or surplices. Two of the boys carried banners, with devices, and all, with a number of adult choristers, advanced slowly towards the chancel, singing the introcessional. Last of all came the three officiating priests, or ministers, with purple-velvet, crown-shaped caps on their heads, and white garments, made like sacks, and ornamented with various colors and symbols. Profound obeisances were made towards the altar; the hymn was ended; the choristers took their places; and one of the priests, on arriving in front of the chancel-rail, began the intoning of the Litany. Morning Prayer had been said at an earlier hour.

The Litany was said as in the Episcopal Prayer Book, directly after which, notice was given that there would be a meeting of 'The Sodality of'—exactly what and whom I did not catch at the time. The priests then retired for a space, during which the two candles on the altar, and the branch candles on each side in the chancel, were lighted by a boy having a long stick, or pole, with a light on the end for the purpose. This boy passed half a dozen or more times in front of the altar, and every time made, or attempted to make, an obeisance—but it was not with any great success. The frequent repetition seemed to reduce it to little more than the 'fashionable nod.'

The introit was one of the psalms of the Psalter. While it was being chanted, the priests returned, and with lowly bowings, even to the knee, passed within the chancel and advanced to the front of the altar. The Ante-Communion was then said, the Epistle and Gospel being read by different persons. After which, notice was given of the communion, and 'a high celebration' to occur during the week. The people stood up, and remained standing, while one of the priests left the chancel, proceeded to the pulpit, and, after crossing himself, said, 'In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.'

The congregation being seated again, a discourse followed, about twenty minutes long, earnest in tone and manner, and with much good exhortation in it. Some of the preacher's figures were rather startling, especially when speaking of the Lord's Supper. He told his hearers of 'the bleeding hands of the Almighty,' offering them Christ's flesh to eat, and Christ's blood to drink. The homily ended with the priest's turning to the altar, and saying, 'Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.' He then went back to the chancel, where the others had been sitting, caps on, to listen to the discourse.

The plates were next passed around, and the alms, being collected, were placed on the altar. Then, from a side-table on the right, the two boys on duty in the chancel handed to the priest, the vessels containing the bread and wine, which were placed on the altar. The remaining candles were then lighted. After this, the communion service proceeded; and when the officiating priest faced the congregation, to say the exhortation, etc., one of the others, a step below him, held the book open for him to read from—thus serving, as it were, for a reading- stand. Wherever possible, the priests studiously preserved a position with their backs to the congregation. In the part of the communion service where the bread and wine are consecrated, the officiating priest said the words in silence. In like manner, when he partook of the sacrament himself, it was done in entire silence, with crossings, and the lowliest of kneeling, and postures of adoration. Without professing to be at all learned in the meaning of the rubrics in the Prayer Book, I venture to think the language in regard to this part of the service to be plain enough, and to require that the officiating minister shall say it all openly, and in the presence of the people, so that they can see or witness what is done by him, on every such solemn occasion. But, at St. Alban's, the priests had their faces to the altar, and backs to the congregation, and thus it was hardly possible to see anything, and be sure of what was done or left undone.

A large portion of the congregation now went forward to the chancel- rails, along, or on top of which, were napkins, or cloths, placed so as to prevent a single crumb, or a single drop, falling to the floor. While the people were engaged in kneeling at the rails, the priests remained standing, and holding aloft the paten and chalice, with their contents, for reverent and profound admiration. The administration of the sacrament was as is usual in the Episcopal Church, save that the first part of the words ('The body of our Lord Jesus Christ,' 'The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ'), was said when the bread or wine was given to each communicant, and the latter ('Take and eat this,' 'drink this,') was said to three or four together. The cup, too, was retained in the hands of the priest, and not 'delivered' into the hands of the communicant.

When all had gone forward who wished to partake of the Lord's Supper, the vessels were replaced on the altar and carefully covered, the concluding prayers were intoned, the Gloria in Excelsis was chanted, and the parting blessing was given. After a few moments, the whole congregation stood up, and remained standing, while the priests, having received water from the boys, with napkins, carefully cleansed and wiped the vessels, giving them to the boys to place on the side-table. The little fellow took up the big cross again, the others gathered in line, with the older choristers, and slowly moving, with music, to the passage at the side, the priests finally disappeared in the vestry.

The service, on this occasion, occupied exactly two hours; after which, the people were allowed to go their way, and profit by what they had seen and heard.

THE CLERGY.

Talent, backed by experience and industry, will succeed in the long run in New York, but talent is not essential to success here. We have often wondered what does make the success of some men in this city. They have done well, and they have no merit as pulpit orators. In other cities a good pastor need not of necessity be a good preacher. He may endear himself to his congregation in a thousand ways, and they may make his other good qualities atone for his oratorical deficiencies. In New York, however, pastoral duties are almost entirely confined to the ministrations in the church. The city is so immense, the flock so widely scattered, that few clergymen can visit all their people. The result is, that pastoral visiting is but little practiced here. The clergyman is generally "at home," to all who choose to call, on a certain evening in each week. A few civil words pass between the shepherd and the sheep, but that is all. The mass of the people of this city are neglected by the clergy. Possibly the people are at fault. Indeed this is not only possible, but probable, for New York shows little regard for the Sabbath and the Gospel.

A man of real talent will always, if he has a church conveniently and fashionably located, draw a large congregation to hear him; but the location and the prestige of the church often do more than the minister, for some of our poor churches have men of genius in their pulpits, while some of the wealthiest and most fashionable are called on every Sunday to listen to the merest platitudes.

Let us not be misunderstood. There are able men in the New York pulpits. We have Vinton, Chapin, Frothingham, Adams, Osgood, and many others, but we have some weak-headed brethren also.

A few clergymen get rich in this city, the wealthy members of their flocks no doubt aiding them. Some marry fortunes. As a general rule, however, they have no chance of saving any money. Salaries are large here, but expenses are heavy, and it requires a large income to live respectably. A minister settled over a prosperous congregation cannot maintain his social position, or uphold the dignity of his parish, on less than from eight to ten thousand dollars per annum, if he has a moderate sized family. Very little of this will go in extravagances, if any. Many have to live on much smaller salaries, but they do it "by the skin of their teeth."

Having seen much of clergymen, we believe that, whether wise men or simpletons, they are, as a class, honest, sincere self-denying, and God-fearing. There are, however, black sheep amongst them. These are blackest in New York. There are not many of these, however.

The speculative mania (in financial, not theological, matters) to which we have referred in the chapter on Wall street, invades even the ranks of the clergy, and there are several well-known gentlemen of the cloth who operate boldly and skilfully in the stock and gold markets, through their brokers. One of these gentlemen was once sharply rebuked by the broker, for his unclerical conduct, and advised, if he wished to carry on his speculations, to go into the market openly himself, as the broker declined being any longer the representative of a man who was ashamed of his business.

There are still others who are not ashamed to mingle openly with the throng of curbstone brokers, and carry on their operations behind the sanctity of their white cravats.



CHAPTER XLVII.

CEMETERIES.

The old graveyards of New York were located in what is now the heart of the city; and, with the exception of the churchyards, have all passed away. There are now, with the exception of the cemetery of Trinity Church, which is located near Washington Heights, no graveyards in use on the island. Interments are made either on the main land, or on Long Island. The principal, and best known cemetery, is Greenwood.

GREENWOOD.

These beautiful grounds are situated in the extreme south-eastern part of Brooklyn, on Gowanus Heights. The entrance gate is about two and a half miles from the South Ferry, and three from the Fulton Ferry, with lines of horse-cars from both ferries. The cemetery is beautifully laid out, and from its heights a view of the bay and the surrounding country is obtained. The situation is naturally attractive, and large sums of money have been expended in ornamenting the grounds, until they are now second to none of the famous cemeteries of the Old World. The monuments are numerous and many of them are of the most costly and elegant nature. The contrast between these pure white shafts, and the dark green of the sward and foliage, is both striking and beautiful, while, in the far distance, the gazer, turning from this scene of silence and death, lovely as it is, may behold the bright waters of the Bay or Sound, covered with the life and activity of the commerce of this great country, and the Metropolis itself lies almost at his feet.

Admission to the cemetery can be obtained during any week-day, by means of tickets, which may be procured from any undertaker. On Sunday the grounds are opened only to the proprietors, their families, or those who come with them.

THE EVERGREENS.

Four or five miles east of Brooklyn is the cemetery of the Evergreens. It is very beautiful, but does not compare with Greenwood, in either its natural or artificial attractions.

CYPRESS HILLS.

These grounds lie near the Evergreens, and are very handsome. Great care has been bestowed upon them, and they are amongst the most attractive in the neighborhood of the city.

WOODLAWN.

This cemetery is only a few years old. It is in Westchester county, immediately on the Harlem railway. It is about seven miles from the city, and several trains stop at the main entrance during the day. The company also run funeral trains when desired. The main avenue, or boulevard, from the Central Park to White Plains, will run through these grounds; and in a few years, when the upper part of the island is more thickly settled, Woodlawn will be one of the principal cemeteries of the city. In ten years more it will rival Greenwood.



CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE BAR.

There are three thousand lawyers practicing at the New York bar. A few of these have large incomes, two or three making as much as fifty thousand dollars per annum; but the average income of the majority is limited. An income of ten or fifteen thousand dollars is considered large in the profession, and the number of those earning such a sum is small.

In most cities the members of the legal profession form a clique, and are very clannish. Each one knows everybody else, and if one member of the bar is assailed, the rest are prompt to defend him. In New York, however, there is no such thing as a legal "fraternity." Each man is wrapped in his own affairs, and knows little and cares less about other members of the profession. We have been surprised to find how little these men know about each other. Some have never even heard of others who are really prosperous and talented.

The courts of the city are very numerous; and each man, in entering upon his practice, makes a specialty of some one or more of them, and confines himself to them. His chances of success are better for doing this, than they would be by adopting a general practice. Indeed, it would be simply impossible for one man to practice in all.

Many of the best lawyers rarely go into the courts. They prefer chamber practice, and will not try a case in court if they can help it. The process in the courts is slow and vexatious, and consumes too much of their time. Their chamber practice is profitable to them, and beneficial to the community, as it prevents much tedious litigation.

Many lawyers with fair prospects and comfortable incomes, who are succeeding in their profession in other places, come to New York, expecting to rise to fame and fortune more rapidly here. They are mistaken. The most accomplished city barrister finds success a slow and uncertain thing. It takes some unusually fortunate circumstance to introduce a new lawyer favorably to a New York public.

The profession in this city can boast of some eminent names in its list of members, amongst which are those of Charles O'Conor, William M. Evarts, the present Attorney-General of the United States, James F. Brady, David Dudley Field, and William J. A. Fuller. These, or any of them, are men of the first ability in their profession, and are amongst the most honored citizens of the metropolis.



CHAPTER XLIX.

THE METROPOLITAN FIRE DEPARTMENT.

Previous to the year 1865, New York suffered from all the evils of a volunteer fire department. It had three thousand eight hundred and ten firemen, with a proper force of engines. The various companies were jealous of each other, and there was scarcely a fire at which this jealousy did not lead to blows. Frequently the fire would be left to burn while the rival companies adjusted their difficulties. The firemen seemed to take a delight in the most disgraceful and lawless acts, and were more of an annoyance than a benefit to the city.

THE NEW SYSTEM.

The bill for the organization of a Metropolitan Department became a law, by the action of the Legislature, in March, 1865. As the inauguration of the new system would be the downfall of the old, the friends of the latter resolved to resist it. A case was brought before the Court of Appeals, involving the constitutionality of the bill, and the law was sustained. Measures were set on foot to get the new system to work as soon as possible, but, in the meantime, the leaders of the opposition to it endeavored to be revenged, by disbanding the old force, and leaving the city without any means of extinguishing fires. The danger was averted, however, by promptly detailing a force from the police to act as firemen in case of necessity. By November, 1865, the new system was thoroughly organized, and fairly at work.

THE FORCE.

The department is under the charge of five commissioners, appointed by the Governor. They make rules and regulations by which the force is governed, exercise a general supervision over its affairs, and are responsible to the Legislature for their acts. There is a chief engineer, an assistant engineer, and ten district engineers. There are thirty-four steam engines, four hand engines, and twelve hook-and- ladder companies in the department, the hand engines being located in the extreme upper part of the island. Each steam engine has a force of twelve men attached to it, viz., a foreman, assistant foreman, an engineer of steamer, a driver, a stoker, and seven firemen. All the engines and carriages are drawn by horses. There are five hundred and four men, and one hundred and forty-six horses in the department. Each man is paid by the city for his services. The chief engineer receives four thousand five hundred dollars per annum, foremen of companies thirteen hundred dollars, the engineers of steamers twelve hundred dollars, assistant engineers eleven hundred dollars, and firemen one thousand dollars. The steamers were built by the Amoskeag Manufacturing Company at Manchester, New Hampshire, and are amongst the very best of the kind in use. They cost four thousand dollars apiece.

The engine houses are all connected with the Central Station by telegraph. They are models of neatness and convenience. The lower floor is taken up with the apparatus and the horses. The basement is used for storing the fuel for the steamers, and also contains a furnace, by means of which the water in the engine boilers is always kept hot. The upper floor is the dormitory. The twelve men composing the company sleep here. A watch is always kept below, so that the men above, who are allowed to go to bed after ten o'clock, may be awakened without delay. Everything is neat and ready for use. It requires but fifteen seconds in the day, and one minute at night to be ready for action, and on the way to the fire.



The men are not allowed to have any other employment to occupy their time. The department claims their whole duty. A certain number are required to be always at the engine house. In case of an alarm being sounded during the absence of a fireman from the engine house, he runs directly to the fire, where he is sure to find his company. Everything is in readiness to leave the house at a moment's notice. The horses stand ready harnessed, and are so well trained that but a few seconds suffices to attach them to the steamer. The fire needs only to be lighted in the furnace, and in a few minutes the steam gauge shows a sufficiency of power for the work to be done. Great care is taken of the horses. They are groomed every day, and carefully fed at six o'clock in the morning and at six in the evening. If not used on duty, they are exercised every day by being led to and fro through the streets in the vicinity of the engine house. They are fiery, splendid animals, and are so well trained that they will stand with perfect steadiness immediately in front of a burning building.

AT WORK.

When an alarm of fire is given, it is at once telegraphed from the nearest station to the central office, and repeated. The central office immediately strikes a gong, by telegraph, in the house of every engine which is to attend the fire. The locality, and often the precise spot of the fire can be ascertained by these signals. For instance, the bell strikes 157, thus: one—a pause—five—another pause,—and then seven. The indicator will show that this signal or alarm is given from the corner of the Bowery and Grand street. The fire is either at this point, or within its immediate neighborhood.

There is a gong in each engine house on which the alarm is struck from the central station. As soon as the sharp strokes give the signal of danger and point out the locality, every man springs to his post. The horses are hitched in a few seconds, the fire is lighted in the furnace, and the steamer and hose carriage start for the scene of the conflagration. The foreman runs, on foot, ahead of his steamer to clear the way, and the driver may keep up with him, but is not allowed to pass him. Only the engineer, his assistant, and the stoker, are allowed to ride on the engine. The rest of the company go on foot. Fast driving is severely punished, and racing is absolutely prohibited. The men are required to be quiet and orderly in their deportment.

Upon reaching the fire communication is made between the engine and the plug or hydrant, and the work begins. The chief engineer is required to attend all fires, and all orders proceed from him. The most rigid discipline is preserved, and the work goes on with a rapidity and precision which are in striking contrast to the inefficiency of the old system.

A force of policemen is at once sent to every fire. These stretch ropes across the street at proper distances, and no one but the members of the Fire Department, who may be known by their uniforms and badges are allowed to pass these barriers. In this way the firemen have plenty of room to work, lookers on are kept at a safe distance, and the movable property in the burning building is saved from thieves.

The life of a fireman is very arduous and dangerous, and applicants for admission into the department are required to be persons of good health and good character. The men are often called upon not only to face great personal danger, but they are also subjected to a severe physical strain from loss of rest and fatigue. For a week at a time they will be called out and worked hard every night, but all the while are required to be as prompt and active as though they had never lost a night's rest. They are constantly performing acts of personal heroism, which pass unnoticed, in the bustle and whirl of busy life around them, but which are treasured up in the heart of some grateful mother, father, wife, or husband, whose loved one has been rescued from death by the fireman's gallantry.

Nor is the gallantry all on the side of the fireman. During the past year there have been numerous instances where an intrepid policeman has nobly risked his life to save some threatened fellow creature from death by fire or by drowning.



CHAPTER L.

HARRY HILL'S.

In passing the corner of Broadway and Houston street, you will see, to the east of the great thoroughfare, an immense red and blue lantern attached to a low, dingy frame building. This is the sign of Harry Hill's dance-house. It is one of the sights, and one of the saddest sights, too, of New York. As you approach the place from Broadway, you notice a narrow door at the side of the main entrance, opening upon a flight of stairs which lead to the dancing hall. This is the private entrance for women. They are admitted free of charge as their presence is the chief attraction to the men who visit the place. Passing through the main door you enter a room used as a bar room and eating saloon. It differs in nothing from the average low class bar rooms of the city. A narrow passage-way between the counters, leads to the entrance of the dancing hall, which apartment is situated on the floor above the bar room and in the rear of it. Visitors to this hall are charged an admittance fee of twenty-five cents, and are expected to order liquor or refreshments as soon as they enter.

THE PROPRIETOR.

Harry Hill is generally to be seen moving amongst his guests while the entertainment is going on. He is a short, thickset man, with a resolute, self-possessed air, and is about fifty years old. He is very decided in his manner, and is fully equal to the task of enforcing his orders. The "fancy" stand in awe of him, as they know he will follow up any command with a blow or a summary ejection from his premises. He has been in the business for twelve years, and his profits are estimated at over fifty thousand dollars a year now, clear of all expenses. He is said to be a kind, humane man, and is reputed to give largely to charitable purposes. He manages every department himself, although he has a manager to conduct affairs for him. His eye is on everybody and everything.

THE DANCE HALL.

It is Harry Hill's boast that he keeps a "respectable house." Unlike the other dance-houses of the city, there are no girls attached to this establishment. All the company, both male and female, consists of outsiders, who merely come here to spend an evening. The rules of the house are printed in rhyme, and are hung conspicuously in various parts of the hall. They are rigid, and prohibit any profane, indecent, or boisterous conduct. The most disreputable characters are to be seen in the audience, but no thieving or violence ever occurs within the hall. Whatever happens after persons leave the hall, the proprietor allows no violation of the law within his doors.

The hall, itself, consists simply of a series of rooms, which have been "knocked into one" by the removal of the partition walls. As all of these rooms were not of the same height, the ceiling of the hall presents a curious patchwork appearance. A long counter occupies one end of the hall, at which liquors and refreshments are served. There is a stage at another side, on which low farces are performed, and a tall Punch and Judy box occupies a conspicuous position. Benches and chairs are scattered about, and a raised platform is provided for the "orchestra," which consists of a piano, violin, and a bass viol. The centre of the room is a clear space, and is used for dancing. If you do not dance you must leave, unless you atone for your deficiency by a liberal expenditure of money. The amusements are coarse and low. The songs are broad, and are full of blasphemous outbursts, which are received with shouts of delight.

THE DANCERS.

You will see all sorts of people at Harry Hill's. The women are, of course, women of the town; but they are either just entering upon their career, or still in its most prosperous phase. They are all handsomely dressed, and some of them are very pretty. Some of them have come from the better classes of society, and have an elegance and refinement of manner and conversation, which win them many admirers in the crowd. They drink deep and constantly during the evening. Indeed, one is surprised to see how much liquor they imbibe. The majority come here early in the evening alone, but few go away without company for the night. You do not see the same face here very long. The women cannot escape the inevitable doom of the lost sisterhood. They go down the ladder; and Harry Hill keeps his place clear of them after the first flush of their beauty and success is past. You will then find them in the Five Points and Water street hells.

As for the men, they represent all kinds of people and professions. You may see here men high in public life, side by side with the Five Points ruffian. Judges, lawyers, policemen off duty and in plain clothes, officers of the army and navy, merchants, bankers, editors, soldiers, sailors, clerks, and even boys, mingle here in friendly confusion. As the profits of the establishment are derived from the bar, drinking is of course encouraged, and the majority of the men are more or less drunk all the time. They spend their money freely in such a condition. Harry Hill watches the course of affairs closely during the evening. If he knows a guest and likes him, he will take care that he is not exposed to danger, after he is too far gone in liquor to protect himself. He will either send him home, or send for his friends. If the man is a stranger, he does not interfere—only, no crime must be committed in his house. Thieves, pickpockets, burglars, roughs, and pugilists are plentifully scattered through the audience. These men are constantly on the watch for victims. It is easy for them to drug the liquor of a man they are endeavoring to secure, without the knowledge of the proprietor of the house; or, if they do not tamper with his liquor, they can persuade him to drink to excess. In either case, they lead him from the hall, under pretence of taking him home. He never sees home until they have stripped him of all his valuables. Sometimes he finds his long home, in less than an hour after leaving the hall; and the harbor police find his body floating on the tide at sunrise. Women frequently decoy men to places where they are robbed. No crime is committed in the dance hall, but plans are laid there, victims are marked, and tracked to loss or death, and, frequently, an idle, thoughtless visit there, has been the beginning of a life of ruin. The company to be met with, is that which ought to be shunned. Visits from curiosity are dangerous. Stay away. To be found on the Devil's ground is voluntarily to surrender yourself a willing captive to him. Stay away. It is a place in which no virtuous woman is ever seen, and in which an honest man ought to be ashamed to show his face.