F 128 .47 .ri34 Copy 1 ffi IWMii Os OR, Lights and Shades of New York. BY HARRY H. MARKS. New Yoek : THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY, No. 80 Vesey Street. 1883. SMALL CHANGE; OB^ Lights and Shades of New York. BY ^ HARRY H. MARKS HpH^y^ ' New York: '^^ '^ THB STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY, No, 30 Vesey Street. 1 88a. \,^. Va/ . Va^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 188S, by the Standard Publishing Oonipauy, in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. r- Al h/\3V PUBLISEEE8 PBEFACB, The sketches published in this volnmne depict some of the most interesting phases of hfe in New York, as seen by a news- paper reporter. Several have appeared in the columns of the JV. T. W(yrld, the Chicago limes, the Illustrated Weekly and other jonrnals with which the author was formerly connected. They are now presented to the public for the first time in book form, the* publishers believing that they are worthy of more enduring favor than usually attaches to newspaper articles. The names' of the people who figured in the incidents reported have, for obvious reasons, been suppressed or altered and, in some- instances, Ihe author has slightly modified the stiflEness of stereo- typed newspaper phraseology. With these exceptions, the volume consists literally of leaves from a reporter's note bopk, and the articles are, for the most part, statements of verified facts, gathered in the course of a ten years experience on the press. IHE STANDAKB PUBLISHING CO. No. 30 Yesey Stsebt, K. Y. CONTENTS, pAaa THE NEWSPAPER REPORTER | A DOSE OF MORPHINE U PRIVATE DETECTIVES X2 THE SOCIETY THIEF , , . . . . 18 BOME CONFIDENCE GAMES 18 GIFTS TO 'THE BRIDE . ,..,.. 21 GRINDERS OF THE ORGAN , , , 23 HUMORS OF THE STREET , . . o . . W OUR TENEMENT HOUSES , 29 IMPLEMENTS OF CRIME 32 A COMMUNISTIC BANQUET = ....» SATURDAY NIGHT ON THE BOWERY . . , , , . 38 THE CHINESE IN NEW YORK 40 STREET TRICKS 43 WOMEN WHO WORK ^ POPULAR SONGS 48 POLICE DETECTIVES 61 FANNY STACY'S MOTHER 68 BOARDING-HOUSE LIFE 59 SOME CURIOSITIES OF CRIME 83 OUR BOHEMIAN COLONY ^ A DUKE WHO KEEPS AN INN 70 A MONKEY'S FINISHING SCHOOL 73 AMATEUR ACTORS 7j A HORRIBLE TALE 81 THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN 83 •'MY UNCLE." „ 85 A STORY PROM THE MORGUE 83 IN THE EDITORS SANCTUM ,,,,,„ W A BAVARLIN EEST TAG •.,.. St TEE NEW8PAPEB BEPORTER FEW of the millions of readers, who every morning eagerly scan their daily papers in search of the latest news, and praisa or blame their editors, according to their feelings, ever give as mnoh as a thought to that hard- worked and much- abused class, the re- porters, who, on the previous day, were scouring the country, near and far, in search of choice bits oi political scandal or social gossip, which are dished up to the public in such an inviting form. To most of them the reporter is either an unimportant personage, unworthy of their notice, or a monster of iniquity too awful to think of. In fact, he is neither. Once a reporter myself, I claim to know something of my former confreres; and, I propose to tell it. The American newspaper reporters are no longermere machines for reporting speeches or chronicling the dry details of daily occur- rences, like their counterparts in the old-fashioned journalism of Europe. Their duties are various and important; and, by their faithful performance of them, they have contributed largely toward earning for the journals of this country the high reputation that they enjoy at home and abroad. The biographers and eulogists of other men, they have no one to sound their praise unless they do it themselves. Their work being altogether anonymous^ they get no credit for it outside of the offices in which they work, and their only recompense is their professional pay, which is shamefully inadequate. Newspaper reporters may be divided into two classes— viz: the fihort-hand reporters, whose duties are chiefly mechanical, and who report trials, speeches, sermons, etc., and the news reporters who write descriptive articles, serious and humorous, describe processions, balls, and other gatherings, and report political and Bocial sensations, tragic or romantic, and compose local articles ot the lighter order. The members of both classes must be men of good education and pleasant address. The latter, moreover, must have a facility for rapid, easy, and graceful writing, as well as a £;ood general knowledge of men and things. As a rule, reporters 8 THE NEWSPAPER EEPOETER are young men between the ages of 18 and 30. Frequently they are men of university traiuing and good social position, who enter a newspaper ofl&ce with the pay of a ttnge-drivtr, in the uBuallyvaiii hope of working their way up to an editorial position. This they very rarely do, however, for the reason that if a man is a good re- porter his services in that line are too valuable to be dispensed with; and if he is not a good reporter, he does not stay long enough on any one paper to earn promo'ion. The vast majority of the men, entering at on early age upon a precarious and Bohemian sort of existence, are soon disheartened at their poor prospects; and, if their position is such as to oblige them to remaiu at the work, they become dissipated and lose all ambition to rise to a higher place. M^iny a reporter, who had begun life at 20, with fair hopes of a brilliant future, has found himself at middle age no better off than when he began. Thij, partly because the bet- ter positions are very few, and partly|because promotion goes more often by favor than by merit A young man leaving college at 18, who goes into a newspaper office, to begin life as a reporter, without influence either with the editor or in the publisher's department, is put at police court work at $12 or $15 a week. His hours are from 9 or 10 a. m. until midnight, and his work is of the most tiresome and monotonous character. After a yvar or so he may be promoted to office report- ing at $25, or at the outside $35 a week; and be is obliged to re- port for assignment dai'y at 11 a. m. and 5 p. m,, so that he may be called upon at any time to engage in work that will keep him up half the uigbt. He may be in this position for years, with no prospect of bettering himself, unless he has influence or uncomnon luck, until he hies him to the country to take charge of some country sheet of which he may ultimately become the proprietor. Usually, however, he continues in town, adding to his income by corresponding for provincial papers and eking out a living as best he may. Sometimes his wide acquaintance with all kiuds of men may gst him a small political position or a place in some corpor* tion; but this h ippens very seldom. The experienced reporter, who knows the ins and outs of the offices, always prefers *'working on space''— that is being paid bf the article — to receiving a salary. The reason for this is clear. If he has a salary of $35, he may have to write ten columns a week^ and still he gets no extra pay. But, if he works on sp ice, he geta from $5 to $10 a column, and is paid according to what he does; making sometimes $50 or $60 a week. Besides, he has the advan* tage of being able to work just when he chooses, and may write THE NEWSPAPER EEPOETEB. • for ftB many papers as he likes. Nevertheless, "the space mftn** is not entirely happy. If he is sent to report some big eve^t and writes two column", he is liable, in the event of there being a crush of news, to have his article cut down three -fourths; and, in most offices, he is then paid only for what is printed instead of for what he wrote. This is a constant annoyance to him. Often his best stories are cruelly mutilated; what promised to be a good day's work is reduced to a paltry job; and the persons from whom lie got his information accuse him of garbliDg their statementB and misrepresenting them. Nor do his troubles end here. If he is not on good terms with the city editor or his assistants, his stories may be continually cut without reisou, or assignments xnay be with-held from bim. Most of all, in some offices, if he is sent to attend to a certain matter, and. after ten or twelve hours work, gets only ten lines, he is paid for these ten lines only, and receives no consideriition for his time. He may have spent a dollar or two in car fare; but according to the rules in some offices he can only charge for expenses out of town; so that if, in this given case, he has not had to leava the city, he is actually a loser by the day's work. Among other injustices he suffers is this; he Is ordered to wrice a special article, and devotes two or three days to the work, taking no other assignments in the meanwhile. His article completed, he hands it to the city editor, who sometimes delays its publication, for one reason or another, for sevtral weeks, during which time the reporter has to wait for his money; for nothing is paid for until it is published. Of course, at the end of the week in which he wrote the article, his bill is very small; and, equally, of course, he is too impecunious not to feel the effects of huving to wait two or three weeks for his pay. Naturally, the reader will ask: Bat why do the reporters stand such treatment? The answer is simply that they cannot help themselves. They are usually poor men. They have no trades union or protective association. If they resign, there are hun- dreds of others to take their places; for there are always a number of men of good education anxious to get work enough to keep body and soul together. And so they prefer to accept a half aloaf to having to go without bread. But do the editors allow such impositions? Well, with a few bright exceptions, yes. Tbd chief editors come little in contact with the reporters; and, as for the managing editors, tor the most part they are too anxious to curry favor with the publishers by the practice of rigid economy(i) to allow the question of fairness or justice to enter into their con- siderations. To the publishers, as a rule, he is the best managing 10 THE l^EWSPAPEE KEPOBTEH. editor who has the smallest bills. And the managing editors kuow this. Their own positions are not secure enough for them to afford to ignore it, and so the unfortunate reporters suffer. Apart from the pecuniary difficulties of reporters, there are others almost unknown outside of the profession. It frequently happens that the editors, in their anxiety to ''beat" one another in obtaining the earliest news, resort to the most undignified and disagreeable means to get such information as they want, and the reporters, of course, are the tools they employ. To the credit of my confreres^ be it said, that I have personally known of many instances of reporters refusing point blank to accept assignments which would compromise them as gentlemen. During the Beech- er trial, some of the papers were in the habit of sending reporters to wait on the doorst«)p3 of prominent people concerned in that famous scandal, to spy upon their actions, and to report who went in and out of doors. They had to choose their men, though; for many a reporter, poor though he might be, would not stoop to such work. Fancy the position of a reporter who is sent to inter- view the widow of some murdered man, while the bleeding corpse of her husband lies in an adjoining room! Think of the pleasant task Msigned another of going to see Mr. Brown, on the evening of the day on which his wife died, to inquire whether she lett a will! I know of an instance of a reporter being sent to interview a young lady whose affianced husband had just committed suicide. The lady had not heard tbe news, and the reporter was the first to break it to her. She swooned, and he, perhaps ashamed of his position, left in haste, probably to be scolded by the city editor for not waiting until she recovered and interviewing her then. It is a common practice, when a prominent person dies and the papers have no material for an obitua-y, to send a reporter at once to the house to interview the surviving widow or orphans in re- gard to the life of the deceased. Sometimes, I am glad to say, the relatives kick the reporter downstairs, but, sometimes they are so overcome with grief that they have not the spirit to resent the insolent intrusion. In such cases as these, however, a reporter, who is at the same time a gentleman, will either respectfully de- cline the assignment, or take it and fulfill it in his own way and in a respectable manner. I do not think that any reporter is obliged at any time to compromise himself by undertaking a dis- tastef q1 duty like this ; but it is certainly not the fault of the editors if the reporters are not, all of them, a pack of sneaking, keyhole detectives. My own experience, extending over seven years, is that a gentle- A DOSE OF MORPHINE. 11 2nan can be a reporter, and still be a gentleman. Bat it is ciifficxilti. The reporter who has not to reproach himself with having ever abased his position to obtrude upon the privacy of grief, to insult the defenceless or to act the spy, must have had a hard road to travel. He is, perhaps, an exceptional member of his class. I hope he may not remain so. There are blacklegs in all the walks of life; and ours is no exception to the rule. Let the dirty work of the press be done by them. Let the respectable members of the profession stand aloof from area-sneaking and death-bed in- terviewing. And let the public remember that there are reporters— and reporters. A DOSE OF MOBPEINK WHEN I was a lad I served a term as clerk in a drug store down South, where, when I was not occupied in putting mp two-ounce vials of castor oil, or in ladling out colocynth apples or cayenne, I used to find much pleasure in poring over De Qum- cey's Recollections of an Opium Eater That work had a remark- able effect upon me. It gave birth to a craving for opium, which was bound to be satisfied sooner or later. It happened to be soon- er. Availing myself one day of the run of the establishment which I enjoyed, I succeeded in getting a box of opium pills, which^to my mind, contained the material wherewith to manufacture all the joys of which De Quincey had so eloquently discoursed. Wiih the pills injmy pocket, I hied me home, and, on a glorious sunny Sunday afternoon, I divested myself of my oater garments, pulled down the blinds, lighted a couple of pastilles, put De Quincey on a chair by my bedside, and— swallowed three pills. I lay down and waited for the bliss to come. The pills worked, but the bliss did not come worth a cent. But a splitting headache did and after that a feeling of nausea almost indescribable, and in thirty minutes I was as sick as the proverbial dog. I threw up — all my theories of opium and opium eating; I flung De Quincey out of the window, and I went to bed a less experimental but more experienced youth. This happened some ten years ago, and from that time to this I have had a holy horror of opium in any form. A week ago I went to a celebrated and most incompeteni dentist to have a tooth extracted. In extracting it, the dentist 12 riUTATE DETECTIVES. did — ^what many men had threatened to do before him, -but netef aclually did — he broke my jaw. That is, he splintered it and pat me m more pain than I remember ever to have endured before, Thospli.itered bones had to be cut out, of course, and that did not make me much the happier. At last, in desperate agony, I went to my friend, Dr. Kenneth Keid, for relief, and he gave me a hypodermic injection of morphine. That did help me — for a time. Did you ever have a hypodermic injection of morphine? Well- do; it is just too funny for any thing. At first yoa only feel a lit- tle Bunoyed at your doctor for sticking a needle in your arm to no purpose. Next you experience a crump in your head and a buzz- ing in your ear. Then the pain goes away, and you feel like a lammany ratification meeting and doD't linow your heels from a bund of music. At last yoa go to sleep and dream, dream the whole encyclopreiia, the diction iry, the gazeteer, your family history, the family history of all your friends and the Pateut office roports for^ twenty years back. You feel your brain traveUiug straight ahead at the rate of a thousand miles a minute. Yon are distinctly sensible of your brain knocking upagaiustyour cranium in its hurry to overtake what has gone before it. finally you wake up ma firing perspiration and vDur tongue hanging out of your mouth, your eyeballs way down on your cheek, and a general feel- ing of physical bankruptcy. But the pain has gone, and a glass of vichy or two, a warm bath and a cigar soon set yon nght, and you come to the conclusion, that I have reached, that opium properly and timely used, is a good thing, after alh PRIVA TE DETECTIVES, AMEBIGAN life is modelled after that of France {mnoh mora closely than we are generally willing to admit. This is true cf our dress, our food, our theatres, our literature, and notably of our system of espionage, known as the private detective eervioe. Born of the mutual fears and suspicions engendered among the nobles of France during the revolutionary periods, fostered under the rule of the Napoleonic dynasty, and spread in::: with time and political complications throughout Europe, this institution waa transplanted to Americ i quite recently, and has grown slowly and by stealth. The war did much to develope it, our elaborate and PKIVATE DETECTIVES. 18 complicated revenue system needs its aid, and the demoralized condition of society since the war has giren it countenance and support. There is something in the very name of • 'private detective" which is repulsive to the frank and honest mind ; its very sound arouses curiosity, and, one might almost sny suspicion Never- theless, detectives are a very necessary element of any well-ordered society, and, if their services were directed exclusively towards tha ferretiog out of crime, they would, no doubt, have the unreserved support of the community. But unfortunately the power they wield is, by some of tliem, used as often for evil as for good. The system under which they woik is so lose and ; o dangerous that it virtually gives the reputations of the whole community into the keeping of a totally irresponsible and frequently untrustwcrthy class. The private, or, as it might be called, the amateur detective service of New York, is conducted on veritable laisser faire prin- ciples. It has no such restrictions as are imposed upon the ♦'private inquiry offices" in London, or the "bureaux d'information** in Parli^. Any one is free to engage in it, and to make all he can out of it. It is often the refuge of dishonest and incompetent men who have been discharged from the police service, and who, with their wealth of experience and poverty of principle, are enabled to filch a good living by it. It is the last resort of broken-down lawyejs, and of the "rag-tail and bobtail" of the professional classes. It IS the favorite vocation of that not inconsiderable class of people who find their chief pleasure in minding their neighbor's business. But it includes also maay very estimable men, adapted by nature and training for the discharge of their delicate duties; And al- though New York may have more than her qaota of bungling and incompetent detectives, she has quite as many good officers as she needs. Most of the private detective work is done through the medi- um of the so called detective agencies. These establishments, of which there are about fifty in New York, are managed by men be- longing to the various classes ju«it described and, as a rule, they pay profitably. The "bosses" employ green hands at salaries ranging from $7 to $15 a week, and charge their patrons from $7 to $10 a day, per man; so that it is to the interest of both "boss"' and employee to work as slowly as possible. The result is that delicate work is often intrusted to incompetant hands, and sadly bungled; that arbitrary arrests are often made, and, worst of all, that many of the under-paid "officers" are in a position to make mon^ 14 PEIVATE DETECTIVES. illegitimately— and they are seldom of the class to resist tlie temp- tation. A year or so ago, an oflScer was sent to arrest an absconding clerk, who had stolen $10,000 of his employer's money. Thongb the fugitive did not leave the country, he was never arrested, anci the officer never returned. It sometimes happens, too, that these detectives, when employed in civil cases, sell their services to both aides. The character of these men is so well known that their evidence in a court of justice is frequently discredited, in which cases the money paid them is simply thrown away. One of the most glaring instances of detective rascality the writer has ever known is that of a United States Secret Service employee, who was engaged some years ago in ferreting out some custom-house frauds in this city. In the discharge of his duty, he gained access to the books and correspondence of a large import- ing firm, and, among the letters that came into his possession, were several involving the reputation of a married lady of good social standing. He made known his discovery to the husband of the lady in question, and by threats of exposure succeeded in extorting large sums of money. He continued his black-mailing tor years, and finally sold the letters he had stolen for a good round sum, on which he has lived ever since. You may see this fellow nearly every day; his face is familiar to all New Yorkers, and yet, such is the power he has over the welfare and reputation of two families, that no one dares denounce him. But let us glance for a moment at a pleasanter phase of our subject, the clever detection of frauds by competent and honest officers. A few months ago, William Biffi, formerly of the Paris Secret Service, and detective of the late Assembly Commitee on Crime, was engaged by a large piano-firm, in New York to get evidence for the prosecution of a manufacturar of "bogus" pianos. To accomplish his difficult task, Biffi went into regular partnership with the "bogus" firm, mastered all the details of the trade, and, when the case came to trial, appeared against his partners as a -witness for the prosecution. The result was, of course, perfectly fjuccessful. Another very clever detective is Taggart, Col. Tom Scott's^special man, who has recently been elected State Senator izi Pennsylvania. Among the many purposes for which private detectives are employed are those of hunting up missing men, women and children, securing evidence in divorce cases, watching and pro- tecting banks and other public institutions, "spotting" fraudulent creditors and suspicious characters generally, and "keeping an ©ye" on fast young men and family "black sheep." Every bank PEIVATE DETECTIVES. 15 and every hotel in the city has its own private detective, who watches all who come and all who go, from the partners and officers to the bell-boys and messengers. It is told of the president of a well known banking institution, that, now and again, he sends for some one of his clerks and holds some such conversation, as this: "Last Tuesday," he will say, *'you spent the evening in Jones* billiard saloon, did you not ?" •'Yes, sir," will stammer the astonished clerk. *'You took, during the evening, six rounds of drinks with your three companions, of which you paid for four, did you not ?" "Yes, sir," replies the astonished youth. '•Then you went to Mills" and lost $15 at faro, is it not so? Don't deny it — I know. I know all about you. The President will then go on and tell his man where he liver, how he lives, whom he associates with, and where he gets his clothes; all this to let him see he is watched, and to warn him against wrong doing of any kind. Without discussing the wisdom of subjecting a man to such a system of surveillance as this, without defending the man who has so little self-respect as to submit to it, it must be said that it is very effective in keeping young men in the right path. Private detectives are frequently employed by stock speculators on Wall Street, and it is well known that one prominent broker has two of the smartest men in the country in his pay. It is re- lated that, a few months ago, a large operator on "the street" employed a detective to watch his partner, whom he suspected of playing him false. The same officer was, within a few days, engaged by the gentleman whom he was watching, to pay similar attention to his suspicious partner, whom he suspected of playing bim false. When business is dull, the private detective sometimes degenerates into a city guide, and employs his time in showing the nnsophistic ited countryman the metropolitan elephant. Other pleasant and light occupations are those of "shadowing" young ladies of good social position, suspected of associating with unworthy characters, by no means a rare occurence; or "piping," or tracking husbands who go off on suspicious "excursions, "and stay out late at their "clubs." These are the social features of the detective business, and they have been brought pretty near to perfection. A knowledge of several languages is a great advantage, and the ability to move in various circles of society is almost a necessity for a successful detective. To these qualifications shoold he added 16 THE SOCIETY THIEF. a specia--OTe of detective occnpation. Tbia ia a common merit with women, many of whom are employed aa «-divorca datectirea and who, perhaps, by reason of the mtural inqaisitiveness and officionsness of their sex, seem to biiog to their work more entha- siasm and not less success than their male rivals. TEE SOCIETY IHiEff. THE recent exposure of au eminently respectable Bociety-gentle' man who, for years past has made a prxctice of attending f isbionable balls aud receptions for the purpose of stealing what ever articles of value be could lay his hands o ), cirries with it a very interestiag and instructive moral. It is hardly probable that he represents any considerable number of society thieves, but the ease with which h- gained the entree to fashionable and wealthy cir- cles suggests the idea that if he has not nL,d,or dees not have, many imitators it will not be for the lack of opportunity afforded to would-be plunderers to follow his example. This particular thief appears to be a man of good family connections, of fair education, and of uncomm^n natural ability. He has been possessed of some meacs, quite sufficient to enable him to live decently well, but hi«t ambition was to shine ia society, to be foremost in the briihant gatherings of the beau monde, to dress well, to live likj a wealthy man— and this he could not do without a considerably largpr in- come than h^ had. This ambition, frequently indulged, in part at least, and there b?ing but ona obstacle in the wny of it-j perma- nent achievement, viz: his impecuniosity, it became with him a perfect ma-jiia and ho determined to indulga himself, at the expense of sodiety and at the sacrifice of all moral principle. Unfortunately, American society is not at all parficnlar as to a man's business occupation, as long ns Le is well-dressed and seema to have plenty of money ho may come and go as he pleases and *'no questions askei." The society thief knew this and, knowing, took advantage of it, to plunder hi^ acquaintances of *'tbe upper ten" in ord«='r to gei the means to vie with thf^m in fashionabb ex- travagances. How many other men have done the same thins on a smaller scale ? And who is more to blame for the possibility of such acts than that very society which, in the present instance, id the chief victim? THE SOCIETY THIEF. 17 As long as wealth is the one key to so-called good society, un- principled men will be found willing and ready to secuie that key as best they may; honestly if they can, dishonet^tly if they xuust. If the conditions of a good standing m society were more exacting and dep' Ddent upon other,and worthier, qaalificai ions than that of wealth, the case would be different, and there would be less un- scrupulous scrambling for social advauoement. It is all very well to prate about the danger of caste-distinctioag in American socie- ty; it is very pretty to brig about the glorious equality of all men in our country and in our time, but the results are dangerous in the extreme, and one of them is just this; that it serves to encour- age such dishonesty as the society thief is guilty of. The very curse of American life is the one constant scramble among all classes to be better and higher th m tbey are. The dry goods clerk wants to live like his employer, and steals, that he may be enabled to do so; the government clerk wants a higher government position, and steals, that he may buy it; the Alderman wants to po to Congress, and st?aU, to buy votes; the Congress- man wants to ba a Senator, and steals that he may buy the legis- latures; and so it goes on through our whole national and social life. No one is satisfied, every one wants to rise higher than he is, and the powerful motive for all is money — money which must be had in some way or the other. If the petty clerk understood, once for all, that merit,and merit alone, would bring him social and business advancement; if the politician knew absolutely that no amount of mriney would secure him social or political prefer- ment, unless his money were bucked by real worth; if, in short, wo would dethrone the cursed dollar,and re-enthrone moral principle, society thieves mig:ht soon cease to exist. Until that time comes, if it ever does, people will go on stealing, that they may steal enough to secure immunity from punishment. For, unfortunate- ly, the effect of our whole politic d life, and, especially, of the re- cent compromises with the thieves of political rings, is to teach that B ealing is no crime, so long as one steals enough to pay for the law's delays, or to oompromise with his yiolims. 18 SOME CONFIDENCE GAMES. SOME CONFIDENCE GAMES.. DETECTIVES who detect are not, as a rule, a very talkative class of men, but when they do talk they have usually some- thing of interest to relate. This is the case with one of the oldest and most experienced men in the business, who, in conversation with the writer, a few days ago, explained a few of the many swindling games played upon greenhorns, coming to New York from the country, by professional sharpers and confidence men. These are numerous and varied, and, as there is no law against them, specifically, they can only be punished when they are suc- cessful, and when their perpetrators can be held on the charge of actually obtaining money under false pretences. One of the oldest and simplest frauds of this class is carried on chiefly upon the wharves aad in the streets around the river. It is performed thus: A, a confidence man , scrapes an acquaintance with some simple-looking countryman, who has a promising air, and gets into conversation with him. Alter plying him with drink ^md finding out something about the state of his finances, he tells him that he is about to take a dozen valuable race-horses to Cali- fornia, and is seeking a man to help him attend to them on the journey. The countryman offers his servicec, and is engaged at a liberal salary and the two start to see the horses. On their way, they are met by B, the confederate, who angrily demands immediate payment of a livery and feed bill which he has against A. A looks in his pocket-book, is surprised to find that he has no cash with him and offers B a check, which B refuses to take. A, then, prevails upon the countryman to cash ttie check or to lend him t!;e required amount until he can go to the bank; disappearance of A and B; discomfiture of C. Another ingenious swindle is known to the police as "the belt game" and is played thus: Some wealthy and green old farmer, generally a German, comes to New York, with a large sum of money, en route to Europe, to visit his family or friends. He wanders, or is decoyed, into the office of a swindling exchange broker, who offers to sell him English or German gold for American greenbacks at a very small commission. The farmer, usually suspicious, asks to see the money and is, accordingly shown and has counted out to him the genuine coin; but, as he is about to leave, the ''broker" warns him that it is not safe to carry so much money about with him and, by working upon his fears, persuades him that he ought SOME CONFIDENCE GAIVIES. 19 to get a belt. Strangely enough it happens that the "broker" has got a belt, that he can sell him, and into it the farmer puts the money himself. When he has finished his task, he is asked into the back-oflSce to undress and put it on and, while he is undress- ing, the original belt is dexterously changed for one just like it but containing nickel coins instead of the real gold. Then the •♦broker," solicitous for the welfare of his victim whose entire confidence he has gained by this time, accompanies him to the dock and sees him safely on board his ship. Even when this precaution is not taken, the victim is usually too careful of his money to take it from his body and examine it until he is on board. The trick recently sought to be played upon Mr. Shillaber is well known and almost " played out.'' Swindler No. 1 approach- es a countryman on the streets and grasping him by the hand, exclaims, "Why my dear Mr Smith, how do you do? When did you come from Racine?" The man thus accosted in nine cases out of ten sees through the trick, but in the tenth case he will reply, smiling, *• Why my name ain't Smith, stranger, nor I don't come from Racine, I am Jones of Peoria! " Swindler No. 1 apologizes, of course, and goes away to his accomplice and, to use the police-phrase, "gives him the steer," Swindler No. 2 now follows Jones all day and, towards evening or, it maybe, next day approaches him with; "Hallo. Jones, how are jou? Ain't seen you since I was down to Peoria last year. Hows the folks?'* Jones does not know the man, shows it by his looks, when, the swindler, reading his thoughts, adds: "Guess you hardly remember me, shaved my whiskers off since I met you there at the hotel." Now Jones feels more easy, ho has been having a few drinks and is afraid his memory may be bad; any way he allows his new acquaintance to show him around, takes a few more drinks and, before the day is over, he has either cashed a check taken a lottery ticket or bad his pocket picked. A very simple and frequently successful dodge, played chiefly by the youthful sharper, was next described by the detective as follows: a well-dressed man walking along the streets, usually at night, is accosted by a small boy who, in a mysterious manner says to him, holding a ring, *' say, mister, here's a ring wot I found; looks like gold; won't yer buy it? I don't want it." Usually the cupidity of the man is excited and, thinking the boy does not know the value of the trinket, which has initials engraved on it, he looks around to see that the coast is clear and, giving the youth a couple of dollars, hurries off with his prize. Ho is afraid 20 80ME CONFIDENCE GAMES. to look at his purchase until he gets home and then he examines it, perhaps tests it, and invariably findd that a dollar a gross will buy him as many more such rings as he may have occasion for. The sawdust-swindle, which has been frequently exposed, ia one of the oldest of its kind and used to pay well; bat it is going out of practice of late. It was eenerally conducted by a firm, hav- ing an office in some respectable part of town, which entered into correspondence with younj^ men all over the country, oflering to sell them counterfeit money at about the rate of $10 for $1. Tho parties so addressed would send on the money ana receive a box of sawdust or the sawdust would be sent C. O. D. and paid foe before the box was opened. Another trick of the same sort and one which is constantly played is that of bogus watches. This is monopolized by one or two large firms in this city, one of which at least has made a fortune by it and is v,ell-known and closely watched by the police, but without much effect. The bogus-watch firm writes to people m various parts of the country, on regular business paper and in regular business style, informing them that their gold watches, left for repairs, are now ready and that if the amount of the bill, usually $10, is paid they will be sent by ex- press and otherwise they will be sold to pay expenses. Tha parties so addressed, think there is some mistake, fondly imagine that there is a chance of getting a gold watch for $10 and s nd on the money. They either receive in reru*.n a brass watch worth about $2 or, as is sometimes the case, they never hear aaythiug more about it. Of the same cla-s of tricks, are those of advertising: •'a fine sewing machine for $10 "and then sending on a small instrument worth $2. A large number of the so-called Spiritualist mediums advertisaraents are of this class. Tiae spiritualist papers are full of advertisements of *' lady mediums " and others offering to answer letters from Spirit-land, to tell the past and forecast tho future for fees ranging from 50 cents to $2 per message. Need- less to say they are traps set to catch fools. Among the commonest street-swindlers are; the Mephistopbe- lian foreigner who approaches you with an offer to soil smuggled silk or laces or cigars *• dirt-cheap ; * tha man who finds a pocket book full of money and insists that you dropped it and will take a moderate reward for its return and vanishes before you discover that the contents are counterfeit ; the old lady who has lost her pocket-book and wants to borrow twenty-five cents to get home to Brooklyn; the small boy who has had •• all my papers stolen, boss, by a big boy " and wants twenty-five cents to get more; the woman who has just "been discharged horn tti« GIFTS TO THE BRIDE. 21 Treasury department '* and wants money to get a lodging;*' these and others too numerous to mention, swsll the long-l st of profes- sional swindle-s woo prey upon the uasophisiicited couutryman and the credul hi-j city man. The mle fraud is particularly versatile, wh<^u business is slack he will pier pockets, "steer" f >r gimbliug hoases, beg or burglarize, — he is not particular. Usually he is loo clever for the police and hence his usual immunity from punishment. Q1FT8 TO THE BRID& J) TIE following advertisement hag aopeaved daily for months ia one of the New York papers, and was upon its firstappeurancd hailed as a bit of irony: JJPLICATE WEDDING PRESENTS BOUGHT OB EXCHANGKD. Address J. H. Johnston, Jeweller, 150 Bowery. It is a genuine business advertisement, however. The writer called upon Mr. Johnstou last waek at his store aad found him willing to ta.k. A jeweller by trade, Mr. Jobnston is a man of many resources and one who prides himself upon his knowledge of human nature. He is, moreover, a mic publishers frequently send nim their latest tunes, with requests that he will put tciem on his organs ; but be selects only tucb as are popular or are likely to become so. His sales average over one hundred organs a year, and he some- times turns ou'. three or four a week. These vary in price from $100 to $200 for a common t^treet organ, to which extra cylinders of nine tunes each can be added at a cost of $35. The side-show organs, witb forty-two keys, four stop-pipes, nine tunes with cym- bals, bells, castanets and iiumpets, and tbe automaton br^iss band wich sixty keys, four stOD-pipes, tbirty-five brass trumpets, large and small drums, triangles and nine tunes, wbich are seen rarely in tbe streets, but frequently at cheap shows, cost all the way from $500 to S2,0C0 each. Mr. Taylor sends organs all over the Continent and has a large number of customers in South America and Cuba. When any one orders an organ he selects his own tunes, the manufacturer gets the music a-jd transfers the notes to the cylinder of tbe organ by means of tbe brass pins alluded to. A large part of the busi- ness consists of cbanging tunes. The South American orgaa grinder changes most frequently, as he has to vary his reper'oire wi^h every revolution He sends to Mr. Taylor the piano-forto accompaniment of some revolutionary air or Spanish fandango, and receives his organ shortly after metamorpbosed into a new instru* xnent. Just before St. P.itrick's Day Mr. Taylor had calls from numerous gentlemen of ihe organ grinding profession and there "Was a great demand for 'Wearing of the Gieen." **St. Patrick's Day Parade "and "Killarney'a Lakes. " When an organ-grinder, for some reason or anotber, selects a route which is inbabitated largely by people cf one nationality he changes the tune ou his instrument to buit their tastes. Thus if he goes into a G'-rman quarter he tikes the " Wacut am Rheiti" witli him, if to a French quarter tbe " Marseillaise, " if to an Irish quarter he selects the lively airs cf Erin. Tbe organ giinder is nothing if not cosmo- politan; be is not committed to the music of the pas*, present or future, and takes to the air^ of Strauss, Offenbach, Verdi cr Men- delssohn with a philosophicil equanimity nnd a truly artistic impartiality. It must be added, however, that he plays them all •with equal ease. The organ business is conducted on a cash basis. The grinder GBINDEES OF THE OEGAN. 25 gets ready money and pays ready money. Mr. Taylor says tto only time iie ever lost any money was just after the close of tho war, when a number of one-legf?ed and one-armed soldiers weie ambitious to embark upon an crgan-grindiiig career. The^ had no money, but several gentlemen, full of gratitude for their brave deeds, went security for them. They got their organs, and Mr. Taylor, to use his own words, got •' stuck for $4,000 " The barrel-organ, at present in use, has alaiost completely superseded the old-fashioned hurdy-gurdy or piano-organ, which was a string instrument and only fit to play jigs. The barrel- organ is a pipe instrument and, wben in tune, which it generally is not, is not to be despised. The great appolonicon, which mad& such a sensation in London some yeors ago, was nothing more tLan a gigantic barrel-organ. It stood 24 feet high and 30 feet brood. It could be played by three large cylinders, or by six perfoimers on six sets of keys, and was the largest hand-prgai* ever made. The organ-grinder's existence is rather precarious. The profits of his calling fluctuate, not only with the state ot business but al« 80 with the seasons. In wet weather, when there are bijt fev^ people on the street, he, of course, makes less than in fine weathex when he plays to large, tbough transient, audiences. In the sum- mer, and particulaiy in the poorer neighborhoods, where the girls being deprived of the pleasures of hotel-bops at the watering places, sometimes get up impromptu Germans on the sidewalk??, he does a rattliug good business and is occasionally able to lay up a little for the rainy and snowy days of winter. At all seasons oi the year the organ-grinder, of all men, battens on the misfortanes of others; for, strange to say among a music-loving people, he ia most liberally paid when the payment is conditional upon his going as far away as possible, and he often receives generous and unexpected gifts when he happens, by chance, to get into a street where some one is ill, dead or dying. Most of them average about 50 cents a day at this time of year. They sometime? make a dollar, but not often. In the summer they average from 75 cents to a dollar a day. It costs the organ grinder, according t,o his own account, 50 cents a day to live, and all be gets over that sum Is clear profit. One of the class, who seems to have traveled much told me once in very bad French that he had played four months in Paris before coming here, and preferred New York to the French capital He used to average 40 centimes (about 8 cents) a day there, and he makes about 50 c^nts a day here. In Paris, he said, he used to get most of his money from the women, who 86 GEINDEKS OP THE OKGAN. threw it to him from the windows; here he gets most patronage from the men who pass bim in the street He added that tb» people are not attracted to the windows here by the sound of an organ as tbev are in Pans. I asked if there was an understanding among the organ-grinders as to the roate each should take, and what woald be done if two met on the same block. The answer was that no understanding existed among the profession, and that when two of its members come in contact they both play oa with all their muscle until the one who plays louder, drives thd other one away and remains master of the field. The organ-grinder who makes the most money is usually the one ▼ho goes around with a woman and a few children, whoareuuder- fetuod to be his. At the end of two or three tunes, the woman» Infant in arm, goes into the shops and bar-rooms in the neighbor- hood, and usually manages to scrape together a few coppers, while the other children accost the passers-by, and sometimes with fair results. When an organ-grinder cannot afford the luxury of a wife and some children, he gets the next best thing—a monkey — which he usually bays of one of his countrymen who deal in those animals. The monkey is often so trained that he can beg quite as importunately as a wife or child, and, as he costs less to keep and clothe, he is considered more economicaL Besides, he is funny. Which a wife and children sometimes are not. When an organ* fjriLder has neither a wife and children nor a monkey, he some- times has an instrument, the front of which is fitted with dancing puppets, but this is a useless piece of extravagance, as the puppets cannot beg, will not work and do not add mateiially to the attract- ions of the organ. On the the contrary, thev simply bring to- gether around the performer a crowd of dirty little boys and girls who block up the sidewalk, cause the organ-man to swear in his native Italian, and sometimes provoke the policeman to order him to "move on." So much for the Italian organ-grinder. The one-legged oi one armed ex-soldier, in military costume arrayed, who is familiar to all, occupies a little higher rank in the protession. Instead of trudging around and discoursing mufic with a liberal and undis- criminating hand all over the city, he takes up his position at the corner of some leading thoroughfare where, in time, he becomes known and is constituted a sort of pensioner on all the business men in the neighborhood. This musical ex-follower of Mars often makes a fair income and is looked upon with charitable and patriotic indulgence. Just after thp close of t he war the military organ grinders were alarmicgly numerous in our streets, but they HUMOES OF THE STEEET 27 bave decreased of late to tolerable proportion"'. Many of tbem Jhave their discliarges from the army framed and hung in front of their instruments as a sort of guarantee of good faith. Besides the ■male organ-grinders, there are a number of women in the profession oa their own account. The most noteworthy are those who go around town with a very small instrument on a very large truck in one end of which are huddled two or three children of tender years who usually do the vocal part of the performance by howling lustily while their ostensible mother grinds the instrument. This little family group is generally completed by a poor, sickly little girl, a few years older than the babies in the truck, whe goes round with a tin cup soliciting alms. This is, perhaps, the best paying branch of the busiuess. Last come the poor old women who are seen nightly on Broad- way as the theatres are closing, just seen by the light of a dim candle feebly burning on the organ, grinding away at a small and peculiar looking box which emits faint sounds as of a half-smothered infant appealing for help. One of this class is also found every afternoon on Twenty-third street, near the Fifth Avenue Hotel, with an in- strument whose chief recommendation is that it cannot be heard. Where it was made, when or by whom, no man knowetb; it might, judging from its age and size, have served as a model for the original article said to have been made by Archimedes 2,000 jears ago. EUMOBS OF THE STBEETS. "TF, as some carping criacs contend, American humor consists, -*- mainly in bad spelling and grotesque exaggerations, then the sign-boards of the metropolis are truly humorous. That the humor is frequently unintentional does not at all detract from its power to amuse, as may be seen from a few specimens of street eigus given below. A Fourth Avenue confectioner has a sign in his shop-window which reads "Pies Open All Night"; an undertaker in the same thoroughfare advertises "everything requisite for a first-class fun- cral"; a Bowery placard reads, "Horae-Made Dining Booms, Family Oysters"; a West Broadway restaurateur sells "Home- Made Pies, Pastry and Oysters "; a Third Avenu<=» "dive" offers for fiale " Coffee and Cakes off the Griddle,'' and an East Broadway 28 HUMORS OF THE STREETS. caterer retails "Fresh Salt Oysters" and ** Larger Beer." A Ful- ton Street tobacconist calls himself a "Speculator in Smoke," and a purveyor of summer drinks has invented a new draught which he calls by the colicky name of "Eolian Spray." A Sixth Avenue barber bangs out a sign reading *' Boots Polished Inside," and on Varick Street, near Carmine, there are "Lessons given on the Piano with use for Practice." Cloth Cuttt and Bastd " is the cabalistio legend on the front of a millinery shop on Spring Street. A mender of old umbrellas has a sign-board reading: ** This is the celebrated umbrella hospital, where broken bones are set without pain or use of chloroform. No incurable cases sent out I Invalids called for and sent home sound." A Broadway dealer in "Gents* Furnishing Goods" sells "Patent Irrepressible Shirts," and a Brooklyn dealer in head-covering calls himself a *• a practical and classical hatter." A Fourth Avenue hosier deals in "perfect gentlemen's outfits." An East Broadway livery stable is described by its proprietor as "Hotel de Horse." "Crosbie's Country Pork established 1859,'' is sold on Ninth Avenue, and " Ladies' lunch with polite attendants " is to be had at a moderate price on Four- teenth Street. On South Fifth Avenue is a sis[n which reads "wash- ing whitewashing and going out to days* work done in the back room," and on Centre Street is a sign-board bearing the inscrip- tions, "Calsoming & Wall Coloring, Boilers, Grates, & Furnesses Set, Ovens Built, Sewers and Drains put in Curbs, Gutters, and Repairing. All branches attended to." A Chatham Street shirt store is kcown as ' ' Society for the Encouragement of Wearing Clean Shirts," and a sign on Fiftieth Street near Ninth Avenue reads, "kindling wood yard furniture removed with care." A Brooklyn express wagon, apparently owned by a disciple of Josh Billings, has this inscription, " Orl Kines of horling Dun." " Fancy Goods, La .v blanks and fishing tackle "are sold at a store in Hoboken. " Mrs. Captain McCoy, teacher of practical navigation," resides on Madison Street. It is strange how oddly names contrast sometimes, and some- time agree with the vocations of thoir owners, thus Ig. Weinbeer keeps a wine and beer saloon as do also Messrs. Kaltwasser & Co, B arup & Oarraher is the name of a shipping firm, and the Misses Hooper deal in hoopskirts. Sartorius is a tailor on Tliird Avenue. Jacob Abies brews, and Peter Ahles sells beer. Butcher & Butler are in the plumbing business. Mr. Carmaik is a driver, and Mr. Carmen is a carman. Coffin is a druggist, Mr. Coppers is a plum- ber, and Mr. Coppersmith is a baker. Mr. Costumer is a cigar- maker. Messrs. Good & Mercy are in the hat trade, bat Mr. Hatter UU£ T£K£MEKT-HOUSEa Sd ia a shoemaker and none of the Shoemakers makes shoes. Mr. Monliey deals in monkeys, and other animals, Mr. Oak is a carver^ and Mr. Ode follows the very unpoetical calling of a confectioner. Mr. Seaman is a tailor, Mr. Tar is a caulker, and Weiscbman db fleischman sell sweet-breads. Good names for sign-board painters who work by the foot are those of Calvocoressi and Eodoconachi, Francis Przygviski and Mr. Eeczkiewrez are united in the shoe- making business. Mr. Hugueninvuillemin is a watchmaker, Ilium .0 buildings of all kinds. Taken all through the city, (he new and the old, the first and the second classes, they average iour stories in height^ and are constructed to hold two .families and a half to each floor, or ten families to a house. Accordingly, if all these buildings are full, the tenement house population of New York is 210,000 families, which, at five persons to a family, would inake 1,050,000 men, women and children. This is evidently an over-estimate, but certain experienced 'agents of tenement-houses on the east bide say that 20 per cent, is all that need be deducted ibr houses or parts of houses not occupied. That deduction leavett « net tenement-hoose population of 840,000 souls. 80 OUB TENEMENT-HOUSES. It has been said that the tenements averaged two and a half families to a floor, or ten families to a house, but the population is not at all equally distributed; in some buildings there are as many as five families on a floor, and in others only one or two. Most of the buildings are so built as to effect the greatest possible economy in space, in ventilation and in safety. High and narrow, with contracted hallways and walls of the minimum thickness allowed by the Department of Buildings, with little or no open space in the rear, and frequently a rear tenement building instead of a court, they are baruly bearable as places of habilntion in the winter, and still less 60 in the summer. Indeed, it has become a common si^ht to see their inmates sleeping.jon summer nights, on the roofs of their dwellings or in carts in front of them rather tban suffocate within doors. It is their cheapnei>s and tbeir cheapness only that gives them any attraction to the poor, and their cheapness is due to the possibility of packing tbem with tenants and to the practioe of building them on the most economical plan. The tenement-houses are not, as many suppose, confined ex- 'Clusively to the lower districts; they are found all over the city ?nd fringe the island on the extreme east and extreme west sides uU the T7ay up town. The most fashionable part of New York is flanked by them on either side, and a straight line drawn from Murray Hill to first avenue on the one side and from Murray Hill to Tenth avenue on the other would discover some of the very worst of these dwellings. They are constantly increasing, too; within the past eighteen months 800 new ones have been put up, some down town below Houston street, and others up town as far as Harlem. The (distress of the time has not relieved them of their usual class of tenants so much as it has tilled them with a new class, which formerly inhabited private houses. The cheaper tenements are better patronized than ever, and land-owners who would not ven- ture to build ordinary dwelling houses to stand vacant are willing^ to take advantage of the present low price of labor by erecting tenements, which insure a safe and steady, though slow, return for the investment. The neighborhood of First and Second avenues, between about Twentieth and Thirtieth streets, abounds in tenement-houses of tue lower class, inhibited for the most part by Irish and Irish- American working-men, or men who would worit if they had the of)port unity. The buildings are high and narrow, constructed to 1 old as many people as possible, without more regard than is. compulsory — that is, than is compelled— to health, comfort or &;fety. In most of these houses there are from fifieen to twenty OUB TENEMENT-HOUSES. tL families, and in some there are more huddled together, and making life bearable as best they can. The crowding would be less toler- able but for the fact that, by their male tenants at least, the tene- ments are only used almost exclusively for sleeping places. All day the men are away at work, and in the evenings and on Sunday they pass most of their time in the parks or in and around the saloons which flourish in the n ighborhood, and of which as one of its features, more will be said anon. In the spring and sum- mer mont. s the women, too, forsake the close buildings for the not much fresher air of the curb-stone and pavements outside. A walk along First avenue, in the locality indicated, after dusk, at this time of the year, will discover the door-steps alive with women nursing their infants and with young girls gossiping among them- selves or flirting with the young men; the sidewalk and roadway literally swarming with children screaming and shouting at play, while the scene is lit up by the brilliant lights of the myriad liquor saloons. Evidently the life of this quarter of the city is to be seen principally in the open street, and especially after the close of the working day. The sights and sounds are not at all like those of an American citj . They recall rather a Saturday night scene in the back streets of Dublin or in the Irish quarter of London. The names on the shop-windows and sign-boards are, almost without exception, Irish. The conversation of the old people leaves no room for dDubt as to their race and origin, and the accent and tone of the younger people tell at once of their descent. There is the good-natured chaffing, the merry laugh and the occasional snatch of a song that are always found in an Irish gathering, and the courtesy to strangers that is characteristic of the Irish people. Many if not most of the people bear unmistakable signs of poverty and the most prosperous looking are prosperous laboring men. Perhaps the most noticeable feature of this tenement-house district is the extraordinary number of liquor saloons it contains. At a casual glance one would say that there is a grog shop to every five houses; on one block there are no less than seven. These are as different in appearance from the German lag«>r-beer saloons of the lower districts as the people who patronize them are from the German beer drinkers. Instead of the low-roofed, dark basement, with its modest little counter and its sombre proprietor dispensing beer from behind, one seees large, showy stores, bri lliantly lighted without and gorgeous within with long mirrors reflecting the array of shining and vari-colorr d glasses ranged along the counter. The dispenser of drinks is usually a short, thick-set man, with clean shaven face, snowy shirt and high collar, spotless apron and crystal pin, who looks as though he expects to be an "aldhirman from the 32 OMPLEMENTS OF CEIME. deestrict." The keepers of these places are, indeed, people of con- siderable political "influence," Almost without excepiiou they are members ef the district or general commitees of their districts in some one of the various political parties. They are captains of tens and fifties of the retainers of the local political magnates; their •' places " are the political headquarters of the various facdons in the various election districts, and they are visited periodically by actual or expectant candidatas for office who wish to "keep in with the boys/' The people who patronize these saloons contrast strongly in appearance with the people who keep them. Visit one of them at almost any time after dusk (Sundays included, though then one must enter by the side door), and the same group will b« found. Around the door, aad sitting on the boxes and barrels just within, are half a score of idle youths with trousers tight at knee, hat at-one-side, a torn and greasy coat and soiled linen, set oft with the inevitable dollar store pin. At the bar. just entered by the ••family entrance," are two or three women, whose dress indicates great poverty, waiting with their tin cans to be served with "a quart of ale, Patsy, for the ould man." On the other side of a stack of empty champagne cases are two or three seedy-looking young men and one m is evidently s'lperior to his calling, but who is not disposed to di valge his affairs and will brook no questioning. To those who knov him he says, "I like America and I like to live here. Being here, I, of coarse, want to do like the Americans and make my own liv- ing. I choose this business because in it I am always sure of tv o thina[s which, on the whcle, are essential lo life— a good dinner and a boitle of good wine. If I get tired of this, which is very unlikely, I mav go back to It ily, but at present I am very well satisaed and feel al:ojretber cent nted." In the Duke's household in Hoboken is an old gentleman of very distinguisaed appear.ince and very reserved n^anner, who came with him here from Italy, He lives quietly, rarely talks to any one, dresses well, and seems to have no occupation. Gos- sips say that the mysterious gentleman is a relative of tbe Duke, but those who claim to know say tbat he is an oid family servant of the houFB of Pignatelli, who alone was true to his master, and whom he has most kindly and honorably declaied shall bo taken care of as long as be lives, ThePalizzo CaLibi'ittJ, where the Du tee was born, where he epent the most evrntful years or his life, and where his wife and tbe future Duke of Calabriiti still live, is well-known as one of the handsomest buildings in N iples. It stand-} at tbe entrance of the Chiaja, and makes a strong contrast to tbe comfortable little Hoboken hoiel, known as the " Dake's Hoase. " A MONEETS' FINISHING BGHOOL. MONKEYS are not born ready educated any more than men end womea. They require to be taught, and are obliged to Btady bard before they iCAoh that high state of develapment in which they are frequently found in circuses, at side-shows, on fitreet-orgars and in the other walks of monkev life. la their primitive condition monkeys are not at all mere intelligent than babies, but, they Dave much more aptitude for acquiring knowl- edge, and are more amenable to discipline than the young ones of the human race. A Urge number of monkeys are edacatad in 7i A MONKEYS' FINISHING SCHOOL. New York, whence they are pent to delight the hearts of small boys and sight-seers all over the country. Unfortunately they have not the advantages that human beings have ; their early sur- roundings are the reverse of respectable, and their instructors are generally men and boys who have failed to distinguish themselves in other and higher avocations. A few weeks ago, I visited "a young monkeys' finishing school," situated on Baxter street, near Worth. On arriving at No. 18, I inquired of an Italian fruit-vender the way to the institution, and was led through an alley strewn with garbage, dust, and old rags, up the rickety staircase of a two- story hut in the rear, into a room about 10 feet by 8, in which were three men, two boys, two half naked children, a large dog, a small monkey, two bedsteads, a barrel of rotten fruit, and an ex- Uuited fetates soldier waiting with his organ, which was in need of repairs. The windows, the panes of which were composed in equal parts of glass, paper, rags and shoes, looked out upon a back-yard in which was hung an abundance of linen recently washed, but, judging from the appearance of the men in the neigh- borhood, not for the in-dwellers of the house. The proprietor of the establishment, an old and almost blind Italian who, although he has for years been travelling about in the country educating montejs in New Orleans and California, cannot speak a word of English, introduc3d himself. He expatiated in terms of warm praise, bad French and worse Italian, on the peculiar characteris- tics of the monkey and the unfailing effect of bis method of in- struction. The monkey was then taken out of his box, and the old Ital- ian having picked up the two children and chucked them into a corner, and rolled the barrel of rotten fiuit over to keep them company, a space was cleared for his performance. The animal began, of bis own accord by standing on his head, turning a somersault and pulling my walking-stick out of my hand. But the professor seemed to reprehend this unprovoked activity, and his pupil was promptly brought to order by the sight of a stout riding-whip. Then, all being in order, the monkey went through military movements with a gun, stood on his head, danced a hornpipe, and, after much persuasion with the stock of the gun, walked the leugth of the room on his forelegs. The company then adjourned to the back yard aforementioned, where the dog was saddled, and the monkey mounted him and rode round the place in the most manly style. The professor said it bad taken him nearly six months to teach the monkey the tricks be knew, and he did not consider him perfect yet. Nevertheless, he would sell him to a circus for A MONKEYS' FINISHING SCHOOL. 75 $300. He had got him from an importer of monkeys, who had brought him from Africa. He had recently sold several little black monkeys, Capuchins he called them, at prices ranging from $70 to $150, according to the number of tricks they could per- form; he charged so much for eacb monkey, and so much extra for each trick. He did not think there was any profit in selling one monkey at a time; he makes most by selling beveral together. He gets most of his animals from the importers; ihose which are tractable he trains for shows, circuses and organs, and those which are not tractable he sells to the Park Commissioners for ex- hibition in Central Park. Continuing luy tour around Baxter street, I learned that there was scarcely one Italian peanut merchant or ragpicker who had not at least one monkey for sale. Some of them go about with their pets concealed on their persons, always ready to produce them when there seems to be a prospect of a trade. Others leave them at home, spending their leisure hours in training them in the hope that they will eventually bring a good price. Among these men the monkey has a reputation for gentleness of disposition and docility of character which is hardly borne out by the manner in which they treat them. The monkeys ail seem to understand Italian, French and English equally well, and the sad cast of their countenances apparently shows that, with them at least, a talent for modern languages is a matter of life and death. The largest dealer in monkeys in the city is a man in Chat- ham street, near the Bowery. He buys his animals direct from the importer, and has a stock on hand, including specimens of the Capuchin, a native of Guinea, the Cacajo, of Souih Africa, the ape, the gorilla, the baboon and the chimpanzee. They racge in price from $15 for a baby monkey, to $1,500 for a large, full- grown baboon. They are all uneducated, and have yet to be trained before they can be of much use to th^j circuses and side- showmen for whom they are intended. The Chatham street dealer sells a large number of small monkeys to people who make pets of them. Old maids and eccentric bachelors have a predilec- tion for this class of domestic toys. The monkey is, strange to say, rather delicately constituted, and some of the race, particularly the variegated monkey with chestnut body, yellow head, yellow cheeks and black limbs, and the green monkey, with black face, are never seen in this country, because they cannot live outside of their own climate. The colored monkeys seen here are not the genuine article, and are usually got up to order, in the fashion of Mr. Batnum's woolly horse. 76 AMATEUE ACTOKS. AMATEUR ACTORS, SOCIETY is continnaJly seeking new toys. Its latest play things aie amateur dramatic societies and private reading clubs. Not tbat either of these institutions is absolutely novel, but they have never existed ia such large numbers nor enjoyed such general popularily as now. It matters little whether this fact is due to an increased dei^ire on the part of young people for literary recre- ation and mortal self-improvement, or whether — which is a great deal more likely — it is due to the hard times and consequent scarci- ty of balls, parties and receptions, which rendeisit necessary for society folk to seek seme n&w way of killing time. Ceitain it is that these institutions are growing apace, and no well-regulated young pel son can afford to disrcgaid the prevailing fashion which requires the joining of one or the other or both. The amateur dramatic societies and reading clubs up-town are numbered by hundreds. Hardly a block of brown fctone fronts from Twenty- third street to Harlem but has its society. They are so inexpen- sive, unostentatious, sestbetic and ostensibly innocint that p.ipas and mammas greet their formation with satisfaction and yield a ready consent to their daughters' joining them. Innocent old folk ! They little imagine that these clubs are simply the seeds of dances, hops, parties, and suppers which are, in the long run, des- tined to be far more expensive than the same number of regular balls would be. Amateur dramatic societies, being the more pretentious of the two kinds of clubs alluded to, come first in order for consid- eration. Ihey are composed usually of twenty or thirty young ladies and gentlemen, with an occasional fprinkling of stage- struck married people. It is by no means essential that the members should i:osess any histrionic ability. On the contrary, in many cases, absence of talent in this respect is rather a re- commendation, as it puts all upon nn equal footing, and obviates, to some extent, the danger of jtalousy and rivalry. The organi- zation of these societies is free of expense. The damages are, so to speak, indirect, coming in the form of bills for costumes and stage appointments, the former being defrayed by the actors and actresses, and the latter by assessments upon the gentlemen mem- beri. The performiinees are given at Ihb residences of the lady members, each of whom plays hostess in her turn. And it is here that the expense to papa and mamma comes in. After the play is over, and the tragedy has been transformed into a comedy. AMATEUE ACTORS. 77 or the comedy has been metamorphosed into a tragedy, as the case may be, of course the young folks dance, and of course the old folks provide the supper and ultimately pay, at least for the lades' costumes, and so are wheedled, unknowingly, and in spite of themselves, into giving what is to all intents and purposes a regular party. The amateur dramatic society-man is not the most modest of his race. He aspires to be a great actor. The old-fashioned par- lor comedies, which his grandfather played in, do not satisfy the fire of ambition which burns within bim. He dubs his society the *'Booth," the "Wallack," the "Thespian," the "Birret" or the **Salvini,"and goes m for the heaviest of comedy, the lightest of tragedy. He plays C.aude Melnotte and his sweetheart playa Pauline, or he practices the lex tali<>nis and murders Macbaih, while the least unobtrusive of the lady members makes short work of that monarch's wife. Any play in which there is plenty to say and little to do will suit. The amateur actor is generally pretty good at t liking, but, somehow, or other, as soon as the table-cloth, which does service for a curtain, rises and discovers him on the floor of the back parlor, which passes for a stage he loses all con- trol over bis muscles and is strangely unable to use his limbs. He is all right in the rehearsals, but on the awful night of the per- formance he is otherwise. He usually complains of the chilliness of the room and fears an a'tack of the dumb-ague; be walks furi- ously up and down behind the scenes and bids tbe prompter be careful to speak loudly and distinctly. He is in mortal agony lest his mustache f.Jl off, he is afraid his wig is awry, his boots are so tight he cannot walk, and he has no pockets in his clothes and does not know what on earth to do with his hands. He is mumbling to himself all the time the other drama is personce are speaking, and is careful never to look at the person he is addressing, consis- tently and conscientiously stiri-g at the blank wall, right over the head of the audience, while he is deliverirg his lines. Ten to one he is cast for the lover of the girl he docs not care a p!n for, while his hated lival is playing the lover to the girl he adores, or he is disconcerted by the sight of a man in the audience who has plajed his part and who grins when he blunders in his lines; in fact.^there is no end to the sad posdbilities of dire disaster which befall the amateur actor on his road to fame in private theatricals. The young lady 16 more at home. She don't care whether she knows her lines or not, for nobody can hear her in either case. She alw-ays takes care to speak in a whisper, q rite inaudi- ble two feet fr^^m the stage, and to this extent she is safe. Stie is Qsually more thoughtfal of her dress and its claims to the notice 78 AVIATEUR ACTORS. of the audience than she is of her part in the play. She, too, is all right at rehearsal, ba^, when the night of the playing comes on sue is apt to forget her cue, and keep the audieiice and actors waiting a minute or two in dead silence while she gives a last touch to her dress and takes a last look in the glass. Then she enters, radiant, beautiful, just on the point of taking np the thread of the dialogue quite forgotten by the audie nee, when a burst of applause greets her, disconcerts her, and she stands si- lent and bathed in— rouge, until the voice of the prompter, heard loud above all the applause, spurs her into action again. No matter what may be the e^^igency of the dramatic situation she will allow no unusual familiaiities, not even the se mblance of a kiss, nor the shadow of an embrace. She will wear modern jew- elry, no matter now ancient the time of the play, and has not the remotest idea of the importance of small details in stage business. The male amateur is always eminently satisfied with his own dramatic and elocutionary powers, and scorns the extraneous aid of professionals. Not bo the female amateur, who takes les- sons in elocution and deportment from Miss Fanny Morant, or from the modest person who advertises in the daily papers, as fol- lows : AN accomplisliecl actress and dramatic reader teaches elocution, prepares pupils for the stage, instructs and directs rehearsals; voice-buildiag tor liie pulpit, bar and stage; making the weakest voice smooth and powerful. Address ''LADY TEAZLE," Post-Offlce. In time the female amateur becomes sublimely self-confident, and indulges in wild dreams of appearing on the professional stage and wearing dresses like unto those of Fanny Davenport. The male amateur, on the other hand, looks down with sublime con- descension upon the dramatic profession, and thinks he does it honor when he deigns to play with it. The height of ambition in the breast of the average amateur actor is reached when he is allowed to appear in public for the benefit of some charitable institution — and charity covers his sins, among others. His appearance at the Union League or Terrace Garden Theatre in the plays of "A Serious Family," *'The Colleen Bawn" or "The Hunchback" becomes a tradition in his family, and he is never tired of describing his triuuipli and the fit of his costume. On occasions of public performances, however, the lady amateurs u^ually back out, their papas objecting to the un- due publicity of the thing, and their places are filled by profes- sional actresses who cannot get an engagement elsewhere. This ifi no exaggeration, for, as everybody knows, there is no severer test of the amiability, patience and long suffering of a reasonable being than attendance at an amateur entertainment in aid of some AMATEUB ACTORS. 79 soup-kitchen or hospital. Having got your money for the tickets, and that money going to the charity to be benefited and not to them, the performers feel in no way called upon to consult your interests or to consider your feelings. They play to amuse them- selves, and, if they have any sense of humor at all, their object must generally be attained. The more pretentious of the regularly or- ganized dramatic societies are constantly on the lookout for oppor- tunities to appear in public and to hide their ambition under the mantle of charity. They are a perennial source of annoyance to the better class of benevolent associations, whose clerks are kept busy answering and declining offers of performances and subse- quent select receptions for their benefit. They are, at the same time, a mine of wealth to the smaller philanthropic institutions, for whoso advantage they are permitted to operate upon the nerves of the charitably-disposed theatre-going public. The great liber- ality of amateur actors may be judged from an offer recently made to an association formed for the purpose of erecting a monument to a distinguished man, proposing to give a performance in aid of the monument-fund free— if it was given 200 tickets, half of all the boxes and $300 in cash for its expenses. Tha secretary added that this generous offer was made on behalf of the amateur association, whose members were anxious to aid in the monument project, but were not able to contribute in cash. Closely allied to the amateur theatrical societies are the so- called reading clubs. These are composed of somewhat different material. They partake of the character of "sociables," and us- ually have about thirty or forty members, ladies and gentlemen, all more or less acquainted and moving in the same society. The club meets at the houses of the lady members, and winds up each entertainment with a dance and a supper. These features are, however, less pretentious than in the case of the amateur actors, who do not care to go to the trouble of studying, rehearsing and dressing, unless they are permitted to inflict their performances upon tolerably large assemblages. The members of the reading clubs have not the trouble of dressing, for swallow-tails and "low-necks" are forbidden; of course, they have no occasion to rehearse, and any one who attends a reading can easily see for himself that studying is altogether dispensed with. Four or five members are chosen to read at each meeting, and every person so chosen is free to select for himself or herself what "piece" he or she will perpetrate. So it is not an nnfrequent occurrence for an evening's entertainment to consist of, say; "Enoch Arden," "Hor- atius," "Lord of Burleigh," "Shamus O'Brien" and "The Bells," or of "The R iven," "The Son of the Evening Star," "Sheridan's BO AMATEUE ACTORS. Kide," "The Night Before Waterloo" and *'Maro Antony's Or»- ion.'" The members are, as a rule, emineaily conservative in- tbeir tastes, and never select any "piece" which 13 not "stan- dard," or ha^ not been read '.\ thousand times before. They are careful not to evinca the least emotiou while the readings are going OD, bat preserve a death-like silence until their close, when tlijy appliu 1 all, eqaally, impartially and indiscriminately. The most difficult selections are ofteuest selected. Thus every youog man wants to have "TbG Bells," and every young lady is ambi- tious to tackle "The Lord of Burleigh. ' T.je ladies display the same talent for hiding their short-coaiing^ in teading-clubs that they do on the amateur stage, and always read sctto voce, com- pletely dropping their voices when they couae to a difficaU word. The gentlemen, on the other hand, take the orthoepic voail by the horns, and shout loudsr than any others the words they can- not pronounce. A common pastime of reading-club people is to select a well-known scene from a popular play, and rob it of its proper charm. The quarrel scene between Sir Peter and Lady Teazel in the "School for Scandal, '* and t ^.e love scene between King Harry and the French Princess in "Henry the Fifth," are fa- vorite subjects. The theatrical itch has spread even to the reading-clubs, and it 18 not an unfrequent thing for them to close their bi-monthly meetings with charades which bear just enorgh resemblanca to priva'e theatricals to be to.erable— no more— and to satisfy the craving of modern yoansfUdydom for an opportunity to distort itself upon a floor bearing the semblm^.e of a siage, clad in gar- ments not unlike theatrical trappin.:^s, in a piece which might under remotely conceivable circumstances, pass for a play. A HOEBIBLE TALE. 81 A EORRIBLE TALE, LAST Ttnrpday eveuiDg, while Mr. Morris Wolf, of No. 586 &ec(md Avenue, wiis seated at bis door stoop, one K'ernaa tuuk f .rcible posses>ion of his dog, a f imily pet, wdich was both muzzled and licensed. Mr. Wolf remoastrated, when K'ernan be- caaie exceedingly demonstrative and tbreatened to shoot the own- er of the aoimai, be-ides being abusive. Appreciatirjg the fact that he had a ruSi m to deal with, an ofiScer was called in, who proQjutly arrested tbe int uder, who. on being brought before Jus- tice Morgan cominiited him.— Jewish paper. And yet we call this a free countr v ! Was such an outrage ns this ever befare perpetrattd in tho light of cur boasted mnet?enth cen- tury civilization? Wasa Jewish Journal ever before called upon to chronicle such a dastardly violation of the princi les which un- derlie our social, political and relif^ious institutions ? Does not the Hilton infamy pale its ineffectu.l fires in the light of this latest and most atrocious villainy, happily exposed by the mig ty power of that potett engire of public opinion— the press? But let us con- sider this horrible anomaly in a calm and judicial spirit. Here W3 have it stated on apparently good authority that on a Thursday evening, of all evenings ia the week, Mr. Morns Woli wai calmly and quieLly seated '*at his door stoop.'' and, as f .r rsthe evidence show?,ho wisheonly Wolf at his door, By his side, iu mute enjoymentof the picturesque scenery of Second Avenue, satafum- ily p3t, his dog,— no common dog either, but one that was "Lo:h mi:zzied and licensed." What a charming scene of the simplicity of domestic human and canine life under the starry flig of the American Kepublic is here presented! But, stay! the serpent is on the trail, the calm of the midsumnjer evening scene on the 6-ot side is but the precursor of the storm to come. Suddenly there appears "one Kiernan,"— the veracious chronicler is conscientio ou^iy careful to inform us that there is only o le of him — and seizes the family pet. He does not attempt to argue with the dog, he us^s no powers of persuasion, no ! not he, ruthless d;sturber of the domestic peace of the Woif household; be takes the bull by the horns, or rather, the dog by the tai!; he takes "forcible posses- sion" of Lim and rudely bears him away. Mr. Wolf, wounded m his tenderest feelings at this high=> handed outrage upon bis pet, very naturally remonstrates; bui in Vain, the tjraut's enrs are deaf to all entreaties — and it never s. ems to have occurred to Mr. WoJf to try the effects of a five-dol- lai- b'll. Kiernan, instead of being melted to tears at the remouo 8. ranees of his victim, does— what? — why he actually has the au- G^ A HOKRIBLE TALE. dacity to become demonstrative. We have the statement here in black and white. More,— he threatens to shoot Mr. Wolf, thus causing him to sacrifice his life for his dog; and, not content with being demonstrative and threatening to shoot, he adds insult to injury by ''being abusive." Nor have we any information that any of the witnesses of this diabolical deed raised their voices in protest. At this stage of the proceedings, having had his dog stolen, having seen the thief become demonstrative," having heard him threaten murder and having, finally, seen him "abusive" besides, Mr. Wolf begins to take in the situation. He begins to "appreci- ate the fact that he has a ruffian to deal with" — which shows that Mr. Wolf is an appreciative man. What then ? He calls in an officer who "promptly arrested the intruder," and it really seemed Hs though justice was about to triumph; but, alas! how little do they kno v of that which is, who base their hasty judgment upon that which seems! Kiernan is taken to court, but, instead of be- ing punished, be has the audacity to reverse the order of things by committing the magistrate. The reporter plainly says that Kiernan "on being brought before Justice Morgan, committed him." This was the crowning outrage. Where is our vaunted American freedom, where is the sanctity of our laws, when a ras- cally dog-catcher who is arrested and taken to court can sit in judgment on his judge and commit him? Was such a thing ever heard of before? If such a thing can ever occur again, had we not better abolish our courts altogether, and bow down to the sovereign rule of the dog-catcher ? But, the chapter of villainy is not yet complete. Because a Jew was the victim in this case, no doubt, the daily papers mali- ciously suppressed all mention of it, and, had it not been for our enterprising, courageous and intelligent Jewish contemporary, this outrage might never have seen the light of day, might have been allowed to fester in darkness, corrupting every branch of our city government, and sapping the very foundations of American liberty. But the paper we quote is ediled by an alderman of the city of New York, who, in his official capacity, had to do with the appointment of dog-catcher Kiernan. Certainly the alderman will use his influence to have him removed, to right this crying wrong, and to vindicate the majesty of our outraged laws. Such villainous proceedings as these must be checked, or the day of dire disaster is not far distant, when the people will rise up in their might to demand justice, even though tiiey have to reach U through oceans of crimson gore ! THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN. 8S THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN. THE midsummer maiden is a production, aged somewhere be- tween 18 and 25, common to all civilized countries and abounding in the United States in large numbers. They are not exactly a product of nature, as nature furnishes only the raw ma- terial, leaving the maiden 10 complete herself according to her taste — if she has any. Nor can ihey be called altogether artistic, for the art they employ seldom serves to hide their deformities. Of late the midsummer maiden has become quite popular among the admirers of curiosities, so that almost every American, household Las at least one. But it is on the hotel piazzas at sum- mer (last) resorts, in the saloons and on the decks of our pleasure- boats, and in the cosy recesses of our drawing-room railroad cars that they are found in the greatest abundance. Midsummer maidens are usually distinguished by their little feet, little hands, little waists and Ittle minds. Sometimes they have no minds, but in such cases nature endows them with a wealth of tongue, and a development of cheek enough to make up for the deficiency— such is the law of compensation and the eternal fitness of things. The average midsummer maiden is peculiarly constructed-, when in a natural state she is sometimes a collection of sharp an- gles, superfluous elbows, shoulders and hipbones, with sometimes great scarcity of hair and impure complexion. But, when dressecJl up for business, she is graceful and elegant; she has a beautifully* rounded figure, luxurious growth of hair and a dazzling complex- ion. To acquire this valuable stock in trade, she undergoes a per- fect martyrdom of tight-lacing, padding, squeezing and wrench- ing. She submits herself to the hands of the painter and decorator, and, such is her heroic devotion to her business and such her de- termination to succeed in it, that she actually does not hesitate to wear on her head the cast-off tresses of prison convicts, hospital patients, and morgue subjects, in the form of curls, chignons and puffs. The chief business of the midsummer maiden is to change her condition— not, as some scientific writers have maintained, to im- prove it— for she often does the former without achieving the lat- ter. She feels that she is in a transitory state, lifeo the worm which is about to become a butterfly, only that she plays butterfly first; often, alas, to be trodden on as a worm hereafter. In one sense she is a worm before marriage; she is scoured and dried, and 8i THE MIDSUMMER MAIDEN. the jewelled hook is ran through her ear and she is nsei as bait to catch pud2:eon. la this way she is usefal to papas in cifiBcalties.with no assets but their daughters, these being usually willing to realize on themselves. The arts used by tbe midsammer mddens to secure their game are various and peculiar, but tiiey excite Utile wonder when we lemf ruber that tbe whole life of tbe species is devoted to ihis one object. From infancy upwarr", they are taught by the old ones of their kind to regard themselves as licensed, piofes.^ional catchers, and the catching of men as legitimate nnd maidenly eport. Old women — old enough to know better— teach the maid- ens, even before tbey are able to talt, to *'make eyes," to kiss, and "to flirt." When the maidens are just about able to walk and talk — the latter comes to them by nature and stays — they are taught to go through certain gyratory movements, yclept dancing, so as to ex- cite the interest, admiration, and warmer feeling? of the men, and »lso to bring about the opportunities for eng-igemeats ft closer quarters. As they grow older, great care is paid to their dress, hnd especially to shoes and stockings, whicb are of the most fan- tastic designs, and of which a suggesive inch or two is always \ isible. Arrived at the age when they can go into business regularly, theM. M.'sare taught tbe use of certain powder=, paints, cosmet- ics and unguents to make their skin pleasant to the fci[;ht and loach, and agreeable to the smell. They are also shown how to diess in such a way as to expose as much as possible such natural charms as they may have, wbile nt t'ae s ima ti jae hiding such do- lor mities as tbey may Buffer from; so that the girl who is really handsome, when on business, wears very little dress ut all. Thus simjtiy attirco, bhe ambles into the open matrimonial mart, the ball-room, throws bciseif into the armsol the first man she knows, imd he, clasping his arm ai^ound Ler waist, rushes up find down the room with be;, like a madman goaded ti frenzy by ttie sight of so much beauty undisi^u. sod, or r.s if determined to punish the girl by a SOI t of crcul.r tread-mill action. lacident- aliy, he will sometimes tear off her back what litile dress she has there; for, be it noted, the average M. M. "usually wears two yards of dress on the ground for every one she wears on her person. This, however, is mainly in the ball-room, eLewhere she not infre quently wears a dress that covers her form, though even then she hn.s it so cut as to reveal in suggestion, what it but lialf conceals in fact. Ot'ier ort% she employs in the pursuit of her avocation arp, playing with the pinno, reciting poetry in a high key with "3SIY UNCLE." 85 musical accompaniment, the use of the fan as a weapon of of- fense aud defense, especially the former, and the manoeuvres of the handkerchief. The M. M. is gregarious. In flocks she haunts the park, the bluff, the beach, the hotel piazzas and corridors; she is alike at home in all. N.:> place comes aoji-s to her; whereer she be the can throw her line and play her fish. Summer hotel hops and straw rides were invented for her special benefit, and there are writers who maintain that moonlight evenings, with her inevita- ble "strolh " were also established for her advantage, but proof is lacking on this poiD*-. Some people think it essential to a man's happiness to have at least one M. M. This is a sad mistake, and often leads to dire results, which are seen in the Divorce court records. Sometimes an M. M., if taken young, and tamed and carefully handled, will turn out a tolerable, aud occasionally, even a good wife. But the vast m: jority of them are anable to shake off t'ae effects of early evil hiibits, and remain M. M.'s to the death, fcr which they us- ually prepare their toilettes and decorations far in advance, so that tLey may enter the hereafter, armed with the same arts and wiles that they practised here. "MT UNCLK" IT appears from the lift census that there were in 1870 only 384 pawnbrokers in the United Sbit.^--, but the actual number must be considerably greater. In New York tbere are eighty licensed pawnbrokers, who must be American citizens, must have resided in the city one year, and have paid $ jO licensa and given bondsof $1,000 before they were accoided the privilege of con- ducting their business. There are, no doubt, many unlicensed pawnbrokers, and jewellers, and others who do a money-lending business sub rosa. C.-rtainly many por^ons engaged in tbe buai- n^-S!ire aveise to having tjfir occopa ion known, Pawnbrokiug has of la:e years been considered somewhjt disreputabl:?, notwith- standing that the first pawnbrokers we: e Italian merchants from Lombardy, of high standing in their ovn cju.try, and Lai nobis and royal customers. Edward I, ot England, ; awned the customs of his kingdom for a heavy loan, an I Ei.vard III and Eichard II pled;::ed tbe crow a jewels. In tbe sixteenth centnry tbe descendants of the Lombtiid paVrnbrokers bad become so overbearin2andextc:!^» / 8^ "MY UNCLE." tionate that they were expelled from France and England, and laws were enacted to dt-llver thf» poor from their extortions. Mem- bers of the famous Medici family were foremost among the money- lenders of I he midJle ages. The pawnbrokers of the present day are no better than their predecessors, from whom they have inherited their cruel greed, as they maintain the trade-sign of three gold balls, derived from the armorial bearings of the ancient corporation of Lombards. But tbe recent enactments in regaid to usury have somewhat cur- tailed the profits of the business. In thirty-three States and Ter . ritories, the regular rate of interest varies from six to twelve per cent. In California, Florid i, Miine, Montana, Nevada, New Mex- ico, Bbode Island, South Carolina, Texas, Utah, Washington and Wyoming, all usury laws have b^en abolished, and any rate of in- terest agreed upon m )y be collected. New York has the most stringent usury law-;; ths maximuai rate of interest is fixed at seven per cent., an 1 violations of t le 1 iw are made misdemeanors, punishable by fi je, imprisonment and forfeiture of the principal. Nevertheless, exorbitant interest is invariably collected by round- about methods, contrived sucsessfully to evade the law: The brokers charge for the ticket, charge f jr registering, charge for storage — anything to swell their profits. The pawnbrokers of New York do business chiefly on the Bow- ery, Third, an I Sixth avenues, and on the side streets between Bleecker and Four eenth. They are most numerous in the poorest districts. There are i o less than six of them on three blocks near tbe beginning of Sixih uvenue. Just now, business is lively with thp'a); thj prevalent depression in ail trades and industries has re- duced so many, hithert •, vv^H-to-do people to abs )lu:e want, that the pawn-shops are t»veistocked with wearing apparel and house- hold oods of all kind •^, pledged not unfrequently to procure a much needed loaf of bread. The consequ nee is thit the brokers are .' fifaring very limited loans, and m ;ny of them will not take in anything but] welry, which is always marketable, and which, as it is seldom redeemed, is a source of much gam to them. The articles most l;equ2nLly pawael are watches and rings, on which the moneylenders usually advince from one-half to two-lbirde of their v due. Clothing is tiken in pledge only at the flower class of pawnsho t , an 1, un ess it is new, or almost new, very little money can be rai .el ou it. All pledges are kept for one year, and at the end of that, time those left unredeemed be- come the property of tb.e broker, whose chief profit comes from this branch of his tr ide. It fr. qu-^ritly happens that stolen goods ?j:e pawned by thieves or their ageats, and pawnbrokers are con- '*MY UNGLE." 87 sequently subject te frequent visits by the police in search of lost property. Nearly all of the so-called diamond-brokers on Broad- way and side streets are pawnbrokers who surreptitiously buy all sorts cf property, and advance money on all classes of valuables **and no questions a keri." They are uuder strict police surveil- lance. The legal requirement that every person offering an ar- ticle in pbdge shall give his or her nama and address is practi- cally useless as about eighty-four par cent, of people so pledging give assumed nama^ and filse addresses. The scenes and incidents of pawnbrokers' shops have been so often, and so graphically described, that it is not necessary to treat of them here. As a rule the sh )p3 are well kept and ord°.r- ly, aad whatever gri2f or trouble may penetrate there does not disturb the peac^. The sight of men pledgiag their tools, and women their household utensils, for money wherewith to buy in- toxicating drinks, waich is SD terribly common in England, is happily rare among us. On the other hand, p^op^e of very fair social position, who, in England, would not dire to enter a pawn- shop, frequent such places here whenever the necessity arises. Professional gamblers are perhaps the pawnbroker's best customers. They generally wear an abundance of jewelry, and, when bad luck sets ia, tljey part with their baubles, one by one, t« raise the means to "get square" again. A large number of wed- ding rings are pawned every year, and more of them are redeem- ed than of any otherkind of jewelry. The weddiag ring is us- ually the last trinket with which a woman will part, and if it goes 'tis probably to restore a dying child to life, or to feed a famish- ing family. So many watches have been pawned of late, that the brokers will now advance on them only the value of the metal un- less the watch be of a celebrat ed make. The consequence of this is, that watches are cheaper th in ever, and can be bought in run- ning order as low as $2. It is very common for people to take imitation gold to the pawnbroker's in tho hope that it may pass for genuine, but the hope is always delusive. The money-lender is too much an adept at getting the better of others ever to allow anyone to get the better of him. He is always provided with a bottle of strong acid and a pair of scales, and can tell to a fraction the exact value of every piece of metal offered to him. Pawnbrokers, more than any other class of men, except sher- iffs* officers, profit by the misfortunes of their neighbors. As on« of them said the other day to the writer: "Hard times or good times don't make no matter of difference to u^; there is always folks wanting money and ready to get it the best way they ean." A STORY FROM T.:E MOuGUE. A STORY FROM THE MORGUE. ON Sunday morumg an unknown man was found by the police of the Nineteenth Precinct dyins in the Btreet. He was taken to the station-house and died on tbe way there. The coroner'? in- quest sbowed that death had resulted from natural causea, and the body was taken to the Morgue. On Tuesday the dead man was identified and proved to be Herman Christopher Schnohel, a native of Libau, Russia, aged sixty-five, avd the father of two girls, aged respectively filtetn ~nd seventeen, who live with Mrs F. M, of East Fif;y-sixth street. From Mrs. M. and Schnobel's daugh- ters, it appears that be was at one time a wealthy, and bighly re- spected merchant in his own country and a member of a very good family. Accoiding to their story, moi«over, corroborated by let- ters, papeis and certificates examined by tbe writer, he appears to have had an eventlul and some hat romantic life. Some twenty years ago, then a middle-aged man and a bachel- or, he was a prosperous merchant in the town of Libau, wbere tiis brother*, Edward Schuobel, at one time a Russian Consul in Italy, and Dr. Call Schnohel, still reside. He was a man of lively tem- perament, fond of pleasure, and welcome in tbe best society. He fjimed the acquaintance of a handsome and fascinating actress, by name Antonis, lep'ited to be the illegitimate daughter of a weilihy noblr-mxn; fell in love with ber, and against the wishes of his t.imily and friends s'.ie became his wife. His relatives, dis- pleased at what they reg irdel as his marriage beneath his station, disowned him and refused to lecoguize Lim, Schnohel, neverthe- less, remained true to his wife, and lor four or five years they lived very happily tocrether. She bore him two children, the present wardsof Mrs. M. Not more than a year after the birth of her second child Mrs. Schnohel became iicquninted with an officer in the Russian army. Thc-y fell in love. They decided to elope, and, having her husband and children without a word, Mrs. Schuobel gati.ered up all the jewelry and money phe could find, and fled with her lover to America. P. or ^.chuobel was nearly heart- bro^^en. He began to neglect his business, his health failed, and after five years of weary searching f.r his lost wife, hearing that she Was in America, he determined to follow her. Here he came, with tbe few thousmd roubles he had saved from his ruined busi- ness, about ten vfars ago. Arriving in New York he embirbe-l in business, and founded the house of Schnohel & Co., commission merchants in ft\Ti.cy A STOE\ STEOM THE MOEGUE. 89 goods, at 81 New Canal street He did fairly well for a time, and about four years ago he sent to Eussia for his daughters, whom he had left in care of some friends. In 1875, owing to some cause not clearly explained, Schnobel suddenly failed, and found him- self bankrupt and almost penniless. All this time he had been IE quiring for his lost wife, but had been able to discover nothing of ber. Thrown on the world at sixty-three, with two children to support, he tried hard to find employment, but in vain. Though he was well-educated and could speak five languages, he could not earn the price of a meal. His little stock of money was al- most gone, when Mrs. M., who had known him in his better days, ofifered to take his eldest girl to her home and care for her. The offer was thankfully accepted, and later, as his prospects grew worse and worse, she took charge of the second daughter also. For tLe past two years Schnobel had been living from hand to mouth, as best he could, his children giving him snch help as tbey could afford. On Saturday last the keeper of the house in West Thirteenth street, where he lodged, called and informed them that their father was missing. They made all possible in- quiries, and on Monday they went the Morgue, but were refused admission by the keeper. On Tuesday they saw their father's death announced in the paper, and went to Coroner Croker, who gave them a permit to visit the Morgue, and there they found the dead body of the missing man. That was aJl they could do; they had no money to pay for a decent funeral, and, kissing the cold face of their father, they lefc him there to be buried in the Pot- ter's Field. "But," said the younger gir1 to the writer, **we shall write to our relatives in Russia for money, and then, when it comes, the gentleman at the Morgue says he will give us our papa, and we can bury him properly." The girls have written to Eutsia.in this hope. Among Schuobel's papers were the baptismal certificates of his children, his passport, certificates of his decoration by the Emperor with orders-of-merit for distinguished services in the army, and several letters, all written in German. There were also some letters from his wife, of whom little is knowo. She and her husband never met after her elopement. Mrs. M. says that the companion of her flight died about five years ag ), and that, shortly after, Mrs. Schnobel went to Milwaukee, and has not been heard of since. 90 m THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. IN TEE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. THE modern daily newspaper, and particularly the modern American daily newspaper, is a puzzle to most people. Ex- cept to those who are familiar with the inside workings of the great offices, the mysteries of the profession are positively be- wildering. But there are a few points about it which may be ex- plained. Reference is made in particular to the news and edito- rial departments. To begin with, every newspaper has a chief editor, a Ray- mond, a Bennett, or a Greeley, who directs its general policy, dictates the tone of its editorals, and exercises a general supervis- ion of its interests. Next to him in rank is the managing editor, who controls the news columns, and acts as the chiefs first lieu- tenant, in carrying out the objects of the journal. The city-editor has charge of all matters oc curring in the city, and is the com- mander-in-chief of a small army of reporters. These are the three chief functionaries. Besides them, to say nothing of the editorial writers, there are, a dramatic critic, a financial editor, and others in charge of the commercial, real estate, live-stock, and foreign departments of the paper, each being supreme in his special line, and subject only to the orders of the managing edi- tor. This last, named functionary is really the most important man in the office, for, in most offices, the chief is rarely seen, and issues his orders usually by proxy. The managing editor's chief assistant is the night-editor ,who has charge of the arrangement of the matter in the paper, edits all the out-of-town copy that comes into the office during the evening, writes'the heads to telegraphic despatches and corres- pondence, as the'night city editor does to the local matter, and takes the manager's place after he leaves the office. The night- editor is responsible for having the paper printed in time for the early mails and newsmen, for getting in all matter of pressing importance, and for seeing that nothing of an objectionable character is printed after the managing editor leaves. It will thus be seen that his position is by no means easy or even agreeable. Another assistant of the manager is the daj -editor, who gen- erally has charge of the correspondence — a very important de- partment on a large paper— and represents the manager when he is absent from the office during the day. He is also the unhappy being who receives and listens to the thousand and one bores who infest newspaper offices, and rush to them to tell their pri- IN THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 91 vate grievances, or their supposed public wrongs. He is compelled to sympathize with the wocS of one and the ambitions of another. Often he has to exercise that patience, which is characteristic of newspaper-men, when he is approached by the belligerent caller who comes to get an apology or "clean out the oflfice." He is the unhappy being on whom amateur poets draw their manuscripts and to whom literary young ladies look for aid, comfoit and advice. Not at all the least important persons on a great daily paper are the reporters. They may be divided into two general classes: first, the routine workers, such as those who report meetings of public boards and societies, the doings at police headquarters, at the City Hall, and in the courts; secondly, the descriptive writers who do up public ceremonies and exhibitions, write fancy sketches, and do the light work generally. A peculiar class of re- porters, who cannot be included in either category, are those em- ployed to do detective work, ferret out political and other secrets, interview public and private persons, and do work, generally of such a character that, while it is a necessary element of lively and enterprising journalism, the editors who direct it to be done would, under no circumstances, take a hand in it themselves. Other important newspaper people are the regular correspon- dents, not the amateur correspondents who write special letters on special occasions, but the staff-men who do the drudgery and labor at Washington, or at Albany during the legislative sessions, keep their papers supplied with news, and keep their eyes on the public servants, ever ready to detect and expose a job or a theft. To these men the people owe the revelations of official corruption which are made from time to time; of these men the dishonest or incompetent official is more afraid than of the whole government. The travelling or special correspondents, who journey from place to place to describe a fire, an explosion, or a flood, or keep the people informed upon political prospects Ie times of election, are also very important members of the profession, and are frequent- ly charged with very delicate and responsible functions. So much, in brief, for the men of the newspapers, or rather the chief men (for many less indispensible personages are neces- sarily omitted, such as the resident foreign correspondent, sum- mer-resort correspondent, and occasional contributor. ) Now a word as to how they dj their combined work. The contents of a great newspaper may be divided under three heads : the editorial, news and advertising departments. The first is in charge of the chief editor, the second, of the managing editor, and the third, of the publisher or his representative in the 92 IN THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. publication office. The editoriald, political and other, are, vitn few exceptions, written by the regular paid staff writers, who sometimes choose their own subjects, and are sometimes assigned their topics, the articles ia every ctse being approved by the chief editor before their publicatioo. Some of them are written leisure- ly and at great pains; others, and by far the mnjority, are dashed off hurriedly late at night to accompany the news on which they are baseJ. Tbis has been the case witb some of the most brilliant and vigorous newspaper writing ever printed. The news comes from various sources. Foreign and domestic correspondence and special city articles often come to the office in the daytime. These the day-editor or city-editor makes ready for the prin'ers, who begin setting them in type at seven in the evening. Most of the city news, however, comes from the re- porters late at night, and is hurriedly read and revised and sent to the printers. The domestic and foreign despatches come at all hours of the nignt, from special and regular correspondents, and from tbe two great news-channels, the Associated Press and the National i:'ress Association. These companies have agents all over the world, who send to the central office in New York accounts of everything of interest occurring in their respective localities. As fast as the press despatches reach the newspaper offices they are turned over to the night-editor and his assistants, who revise and summarize them, write the head-lines and communicate the chief topics of interest to the editorial writers, who make the editorial comments. Perhaps not more than one-half of all the matter sent over the wires is ever seen in print. It is cut and boiled down, altered and condensed, and put into shppe to fit the available space, which varies according to the number and importance of loc.il and other events. Frequency long despatches, reporting startling events at distant points, reach the office very late et night, or perhaps just a few minutes before the hour of going to press, which is usually two A. M., and the nigbt-editor and his as- sistants have to handle th'^m skilfully and rapidly to get the news into the paper in some form. Failing this, a second, and if ne- cessary, a third extra edition is issued. Besi Jes the press associations already mentioned there are lo- cal companies, such as the City and Metropolitan Pre>s Associa- tions, which supply the papers with such local matter as their re- porters may fail to obtain, or which is worth using but not worth sending for. The matter comiog from these sources passes through the city-editor's hands, and is treated ia the same way a ; tbe other press matter. All these news aesociations are absolutely and ne- cessarily non-politica.1. IN THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 93 Usually the last "copy' -which reaches the hands of the prin- ters en ft daily paper is the dramatic criticism, which, being writ- ten after the performance?, is late in arriving at the office. Some- times the critic goes there to write, but more frrqii:ntly he goes to his clnb to do his work and sends Lis aUicIe down to (he office. On occasions of important public events the work done in American newspaper offices is really marvellous. Take, for exam- ple, election day. The foils cbse at loa'\ on t'le afternoon of one day, arid by two A.. M. on the next morning, the pipers are out with full returns from all over the country. This result is achieved only by great enterprise. The papers have special correspondents in every state capital, and telegraphic wires in their offices com- municating with the centres of news all over the city, and the whole staff is busily at work all night m figuring up the results. Sometimes there are thirty or forty men at work at the same time, without counting the edi'oii il writers, who a^e busily engiged in crowing over victories or condolin^f wi;h their party ia defeat, as the case may be. To see the startling heud-lines and "roosters,'* which appear on the following day at the h^ads of newspaper col- umns, one would suppose that the editoi had spent the night in joyfal carousings rather than in hard, exhausting work. In enterprise, brghtnts?, accuracy and public (spirit, the news- papers of America are unequalled. They are tru3 representatives of the people of the country. They ore the daily food, as well as the chief educators, of the nation. Oae copy of the average first- class American journal contains more general information, more bright writing, more pathos, humor and wisdom than can be found in a whole volume of newspapers published in any other part of the world. Truly we may be proud of the American press. Its power is so wide and far-reaching that it would be surprising if it were not sometimes abused ; but, taken as a whole, it is an institu- tion of which more good than evil can be said and whcs) influence ia most frequently exercised on the side of justice and enlighten- ment. 94 A BAVARIAN FEST TAG. A BAVARIAN FEST TAG MYRTLE Avenue Park is a rural spot in the furthermost part of East Brooklyn, on the avenue from which it takes its name. It is not much of a park, hardly a match in size for Jones's Wood, and in natural beauty it is not much ahead of Tompkins Square, in its present condition. Indeed, except for a few leafless trees and occasional patches of parched grass, it has none of the features of a park at all. Nevertheless, it proved to be a very attractive resort yesterday on the occasion of the annual volkfest of the Bavarian societies of Brooklyn, which took place there, and drew to the grounds several hundred people of Bava- rian birth, or descent, and of all kinds and degrees. The park was decorated in honor of the event with the Bavarian and Amer- can national colors, and all around were scattered signs of rejoic- ing and festivity. Just inside the gates was a diminutive bowl- ing-alley, a little further on, a dancing-platform with a rude bar, on which were two kegs of lager on tap at one end, and a stand for the coatless and spectacled musicians at the other. Near the dancing-floor was another platform on which were stacked a doz- en or so of rifles, as if to protect the kegs of lager mounted on a box just behind them. Standing guard over the whole were two members of the Schutzenverein in full uniform, and around the stands was the legend, "Hauptquartier des Bayerisches Volkfest.'* Of course there was a merry-go-round, revolving to the music of a hand-organ and the joyous shouts of the youngsters, and there were the fruit-stand, ice-cream saloon, and lager-beer stations with- out number. The inevitable photograph gallery was present and doing a good business, as was the man with the machine to "try your muscle," and also the Punch-and-Juiy show, and a ''G^rand Parisian Panorama of the Philadelphia Exposition," with a Ger- man drummer, who declared that the show had received the highest encomiums from Carl Schurz and President Hayes. The scene presented was very similar to those witnessed at the periodical Kermesses in Brussels, Antwerp, and other Conti- nental cities. The assemblage, too, was very much of the same character, consistino: mainly of small retail dealers and clerks, with their wives and all their children. The large number of babies and small boys present was noticeable. Most of the guests arrived in family groups — the father, in his best broadcloth suit, carrying a small satchel with the day's provisions, and with one young one hanging to the skirts of his coat on either side; the A BAVAKIAN FEST TAG. 95 mother with an infant of tender years in her arms, and some more young ones hanging to her skirts. One group consisted of a father and mother, each carrying one of the recently arrived twins, and five other small children besides. "You have a large family here," suggested the writer, in Ger- man. •'Yes, fellow-countryman." was the reply; "but we can't make any discrimination, you know. Mother must come, and I must come, and so we have to bring the children. (Patronizingly) — would you like to hold one of the twins for a minute ?" The costumes of some of the worthy pic-nickers added much to the picturesqueness of the scene. A couple, apparently new arrivals from the Fatherland, were attired in the most approved Bavarian style. Madame had her head enveloped in a vari-colored silk handkerchief, from which her red face smiled pleasantly upon a plain-cut dress, of which the body was of bright red, and the skirtof red with a single border of purple. A green silk apron and a heavy gold chain completed the toilet. Meinherr was at- tired in a full suit of broadcloth, the jacket cut very shorr, just to the hips, and the trousers cut very wide, except at the ankles, where they were correspondingly narrow. A round black hat, such as is known in England as a "a pork-pie," a heavy watch- chain, and a large and snow-white shirt frill set off his handsome figure. There were many members of the Schutzenverein and Singerverein and of vereine of every description, all in their soci- ety uniforms. There were boys in entire suits of black and green yelvet, with top boots; men with blue and red uniforms and bright steel helmets, and others in green serge coats and regulation black trousers. The men in costume were, of course, the moat popular with the fair ones. Time was passed pleasantly in dancing, drinking, and seeing the sights. Everybody danced, and most of the men danced well, all with cigars in their mouths and some in their shirt-sleeves. The event of the day was the grand dramatic performance given by a few amateur actors in a wooden open-topped shanty, erected on the grounds. The theatre itself was very simple and conveni- ent, as the audience in front could see behind the scenes and on the stage at the same time, and the stage-manager walked to and fro unconcernedly, but quite unnoticed by the performers. The play was in Geimau, of course; th(i hero was a shoemaker: Schnapps was the villain, and the plot was, and to the writer con- tinues to be, the mystery. The performance was well received. At sundown the numerous beer-libations began to have their effect upon some of the gallant pic-nickers. There was considerable 96 A BAVARIAN FEST TAG. •temping and kissing, not exactly comme ilfauf, but no conduct be- to^d the bounds of decency — noisy singing and violent dancing