COLUMBIA UBRARIESOFFSITE 
 
 ^ VERY FINE ARTS RESTR ICT _D 
 
 AR01 405845 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library 
 Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library 
 

 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE G. FOSTER, 
 
 AUTHOR ©T 
 " KKW YORK BY GAS LIGHT," {C FIFTEEN MINVTES AROSND NEW YORK," ETC. ETC. 
 
 " Truth now hovers o*er my Geek, 
 
 And what was occe roniantac, grtwe bttrloeofae." 
 
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 NEW YORK: 
 
 DE WITT & DAVENPORT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 1-60 & 162 NASSAU STRBBTT. 
 
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NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 -«*— 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 A. SPECIMEN OF LITEBAEY AUTOBIOGRAPHY, ANB A GLIMPSE OF JOOTSHJAMSM 
 
 IN NEW YOBK. 
 
 I write this book to do justice to myself, and perhaps upon several otherg. 
 "Within the last eleven years, my pen has been pretty constantly occupied m 
 recording the results of my observations and investigations concerning life im 
 its various aspects in the metropolis of the New World. Diverted by 
 necessity in my earliest youth from following the natural bent and tendency 
 •f my character, which was an exclusive devotion to imaginative literature, 
 and forced to take'up, strengthen and develop the practical portion of my 
 nature, the intuitive powers of observation belonging to the imagination 
 have gradually been diverted, to be employed by the working machinery of 
 my mentaj organization. This, rather than the original instinot of my mind, 
 has imparted a certain speciality to my style and tone of thought and com- 
 position, which, altogether accidental as it is, I have found to be more 
 available for the every-day purposes of acquiring a livelihood, by the exercise 
 of my profession, than probably would have happened had I been left at 
 liberty to pursue my own original inclinations. This, or something like it, 
 so far as my observations have gone, is the common and almost universal 
 chance of literary men and women. Not one in a hundred, either writer or 
 artist, becomes distinguished and successful exactly in that particular line of 
 mental creation, towards which the original constitution of his mind and 
 genius tended, and to which his earliest aspirations were directed. Say 
 what we will of the moulding and fusing power of original genius, we are 
 obliged to confess that, after all, chance, accident, and cireumstanoe, have 
 more to do with the absolute destinies of every man and woman in existence, 
 than any natural or inherent predilection or capacity. 
 
12 KEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 Thus I, at the summit of fall middle age, standing now at my thirty -ninth, 
 birth-day, on the highest peak of that everlasting mountain whioh divides 
 the morning from the evening of life, odo side of which lies in fresh and 
 dewy shadow, sheltered from the arid noonday heats, and ever green and 
 fresh in the exuberance of the glancing streams that flow adown its flowery 
 sides — the other basking bfoad and faint and motionless beneath the fierce 
 beams of the descending sun, its herbage withered, its foliage discolored by 
 the prophetic instincts of a coming dissolution — I look in vain over the 
 weary journey I have passed, to trace the silver thread of that) path, winding 
 amid the flowing wildernesses, which in youth I fondly set myself to tread. 
 One by one, as that pathway led from the roof-tree of my father's home, do 
 the vestiges that marked its outline disappear, until all are lost ; and my 
 way, trackless, and uncertain, merges in the undistinguishable vistas of the 
 unknown forest. And so, not without having achieved a certain portion of 
 that success which, in the abstract, I promised myself; and, with no reason 
 to be dissatisfied with the general results to which my ambition and my 
 labors have thus far brought me; I find myself, intellectually speaking, 
 metamorphosed. I am not what I was, what I would be ; but I am, in fact, 
 another being, with another individuality, another horizon, another set of 
 ideas, of hopes, of valuations, and am no more like the fantastic thing I 
 promised myself in the exuberance of my early hope to be, than is the great 
 world of the actual in which I now move, like that world as I pictured it, . 
 ere my adventurous feet had scaled the blue and airy boundaries that circle 
 in the green amphitheatre of my native valley. 
 
 Well ! I have not distressed myself too much about this. It is true, I have 
 been conscious of this incessant change going on in my nature, and, for a 
 time struggled heroically against it. Many and bitter were the rebuffs, the 
 humiliations, and the disappointments, I encountered before I would con- 
 sent to yield the bright and glowing visions of my youth, and gathering my 
 girdle about me, set myself manfully to work at whatever my hand found 
 to do. But now some years since, that great, that one, that all-important 
 lesson of life has been learned. I no more strive to shape out an individual 
 and symmetrical destiny for myself. I have learned to look upon myself at 
 but one atom in the vast amount of mental energy, which is the atmosphere 
 and the sustaining medium of magnetic attraction, holding all things together 
 — the living electricity of the moral world. And so it has happened, that 
 the dreamy poet of sixteen, whose humblest visions were millions of mile* 
 above the very loftiest things in this hum-drum, every-day world, has come 
 to be the patient worker at the laboring oar of every-day journalism. The 
 philosophic explorer of the lowest phenomena of life and human nature, in 
 those classes and phases which in the old time had for him no existence; 
 patiently gathering up the fragments, the refuse, of every-day lifo, he ha* 
 sought, by the poetical instinct which is the motive power of his existence, 
 to invest them with the brilliant colors of his own imagination, and to era- 
 balm them in the amber of his ideal affection. Thus embellished, these 
 
 / 
 
LITERARY AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 18 
 
 "worthless straws have attracted more or less the attention cf passers-by; 
 and without originally working for any specific object, except to gratify the 
 irresistible necessity for work which existed in my nature, I havo even made 
 gome contributions to the store of knowledge among practical minds, relat- 
 ing to the actual condition of the various classes of mankind, which has not 
 been wholly without value. Especially as I now see my earliest labors in 
 this department, reproduced in thin dilutions, and made the topic of much 
 self-glorification by our "leading journals" of the day. For this I claim no 
 merit. Like my own destiny, whatever value may attach to my labors, I 
 candidly confess, must be regarded as entirely accidental. Yet gradually, as 
 these labors expanded and developed themselves before me, I have classified 
 and arranged them in some sort of form ; so that for some time past, it has 
 appeared to me to be a great and laudable life-purpose to go again carefully 
 over the ground Ihave heretofore so hastily trodden, to gather and arrange 
 the results of my observations into scientific order, and reproduce them in a 
 permanent shape, with such additional facts, experiences, and suggestions, 
 as my more matured judgment and moral perceptions should enable me to 
 contribute. This work I have purposely delayed to the culmination of the 
 middle period of life. Henceforth, whatever may be the improvements I 
 may achieve in my power of correctly observing, and justly estimating the 
 value and consequences of circumstances and events, I am fully conscious 
 that my power of literary creation must begin to wane ; and I believe, that 
 with a few fortunate exceptions, it is the history of all literary creators, that 
 the most precious portion of their powers and gifts have been expended as 
 the common stone and mortar of the underground foundations upon which 
 the future structure of their reputation was to be erected. This will not be 
 so in the future; but up to the present moment, I am fully of opinion that 
 the best and most valuable portions of the lives of eminent men in every de- 
 partment of human knowledge, have been poured out upon the barren quick- 
 sands of obscurity, or wasted in the unproductive and disheartening struggles 
 of youth. 
 
 Divested, therefore, of every idea but a most practical resolution to leave 
 behind me a not unworthy record of my humble passage through this world, 
 I have contemplated, and am about to execute the present work. Nor do I 
 fear the censure of the world for this preliminary egotism, in which I have 
 lifted the curtain from my own heart, and laid bare the chances and changes 
 which time has wrought upon my nature. Some such explanation for the 
 total estrangement that I now endure from all that has seemed to make life 
 tolerable, or for me desirable, was necessary to myself. The vanity of the 
 poet, the enthusiast, the ideal dreamer, would not suffer that I should thus 
 irrevocably pass into another and so much lower form of literary existence, 
 without this one apology and protest in behalf of those lofty aspirations 
 which overleaped the stars, and described a career among the constellations. 
 And now I believe I am ready to go on with the real and practical purpose 
 of this book. 
 
14 NEW TOKK NAKED. 
 
 It may be possible, that in the course of the ensuing pages, the reader will 
 now and then detect forms of thought, or statements of facts, which he has 
 encountered before from my pen. Considering the great amount I have 
 written at various times, and in various shapes, but always fragmentarily, 
 and to subserve the mere exigencies of the moment, upon life in New York, 
 such reminiscences are, probably, unavoidable. However, I am confident 
 that no positive repetitions will be found, as I have not referred, for many 
 months, to a page or line that I have ever written before; and, for the 
 purpose of the composition of this work, I have renewed from the beginning 
 my personal acquaintance with the facts and circumstances of the various 
 classes of life in JSTew York, and have written exclusively from my more 
 recent observations. 
 
 The first idea of the peculiar sort of sketches of eity life by which, almost 
 exclusively, the public have any knowledge whatever of me,, was purely an 
 accidental suggestion, arising from a bread-and-butter necessity. Having 
 been for some months out of employment, and in great embarrassments, from 
 illness and all sorts of mishaps, I some years ago undertook the task of local 
 reporter, or gatherer of petty items of intelligence, about the courts and the 
 city generally, for one of the morning journals — then young and of small 
 circulation — at a rate of compensation considerably less than that received 
 by the compositors who set up the type for the paper. It was my duty to 
 make daily pilgrimages to that shrine of petty larceny, drunkenness, vaga- 
 bondism, and vagrancy— the Tombs ; to watch the proceedings in the petty 
 sessions ; to chronicle the arraignment of any remarkable John Smith for 
 the unlawful appropriation of Chatham street boots, tainted sausages, and 
 musty potatoes ; to attend the preliminary examinations of suspected 
 burglars, and record the Dogberrian decisions which conveyed starving, 
 bloated, and drunken raggedness from the curse of democratic liberty to the 
 comparative comfort and security of a ward in the Hospital, or a home on 
 Blackwell's Island. Another portion of my duties was to lay in wait for the 
 thunderous clangor of the great City Hall bell ; to count its beatings, and, 
 emulous of the red-flannel demons that dragged their rattling cars over the 
 stony street, to rush off in the direction of every fire that startled the isle 
 from its propriety. Often and often, when I had fondly deemed the labors 
 of the day and night— aye, and morning too— to be over, and had subsided 
 down those five flights of darkened stairs, and crawled wearily and painfully 
 homeward, have my languid steps been arrested within sight of the bedroom 
 beacon that rose upon my gaze, by the clangor of that dreadful bell ; and, 
 sending a last gleam of muscularity into the calves of my legs, have I started 
 off over many a weary furlong, wading for hours in mud and water, gliding 
 among blackened timbers and under crashing walls, hunting up dismayed 
 presidents of trembling insurance offices, and arousing comfortable old 
 fogy ism from its midnight slumbers, to ascertain the exact amount of salt 
 pork and mackerel sacrificed on some particular occasion to the remorseless 
 appetite of the " devouring element." Another part of my duties was to 
 
 • 
 
LITERARY AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 15 
 
 watch the gallant processions of our country's defenders — videlicet, the 
 b-hoys — preceded by Dodworth's " inimitable band," and followed by the 
 shiniest and srailingest of Afric's stalwart sons, proudly bearing that 
 inevitable target, and not only looking, but acting defiance to John Bull, 
 and all the rest of creation, at every step. Fourth of July was to me a 
 godsend ; and the evacuation days, Oroton anniversaries, and twenty- 
 second of February, and even masonic funerals and odd-fellow processions, 
 which embellished the week, were the prolific sources whence I gleaned my 
 bread. Step by step, kept I pace with every ragged regiment of the now 
 extinct fantastical brigade — my column advancing line by line with its 
 column — and the grand parade of the " City Item " department and the fire 
 department both astonished the public on the same occasion. How often 
 have I marched proudly up Broadway, pencil and note-book in hand, 
 watching the gallant New York infantry as it aired and gleamed its newly- 
 polished boots along the pave ; while the gallant Morris, the Mars and 
 Apollo combined of this lucky Yankeedoodledom, with beaver gracefully 
 sdspended above his garlanded brow, bending low to the resistless ranks of 
 beauty that darted the shaft " that all the shafts of war outflies," from 
 thousands of half-closed, yet coquettishly opened, chamber- windows ! 
 
 And then, too, the receptions of great men by our most hospitable city 
 papas ; the philandering of the honorable John Smith, ex-high constable 
 of Frogtown, to the various public edifices and public institutions of our great 
 and glorious island, from the tea-room to the Bloomingdale Asylum, and 
 from the Penitentiary to the High Bridge and McOoomb's dam ; the glori- 
 ous cherry-pickings on Randall's Island, where the alderman from the 
 Twentieth Ward makes his annual speech to the little ragged nesses that there 
 vegetate at the expense of the city ; the Demosthenian debates and discus- 
 sions within the sacred walls of the Board of Aldermen ; the enlightening 
 disputes as to whether Forty-eleventh street between Avenue A and Avenue 
 B should be graded or lighted by gas ; the appropriations to innumerabie 
 young physicians for all sorts of legs set and arms put in, in consequence of 
 accidents by omnibuses that never existed and in cellars that never were 
 dug; the great question whether "them benches" should be erected 
 around the Park fountain, and whether the fountain itself should be sur- 
 rounded by a wash-bowl or a paling ; the question of lighting the Park with 
 gas, which employed so many anxious days and nights between the public 
 spirited publisher and myself; the extirpation of the awning posts from 
 Broadway, and the banishment of the pjgs from the streets ; the discussion 
 of the comparative merits of Buss and cobble-stone ; the building of bridges to 
 Brooklyn, and under-ground, over-ground, and second-story railroads from 
 the Battery to "Union Square ; the removal of the Post Office to the publisher's 
 back kitchen, and the suppression of the hog-pen adjoining the editor's 
 country-seat at Turtle Bay ; these were the prolific soils, abounding in com- 
 posts and guano of the most precious description which produced' those 
 brilliant and evanescent flowers, whose aroma, drawn from the sources of 
 
16 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 inspiration in ray inmost soul, conferred a flavor and a quality upon the 
 tasteless insipidity of a daily journal. 
 
 In these less serious occupations, my mind gradually acquired a bias in 
 the direction where they were found ; and the continual exercise of my fac- 
 ulties in this field of composition, developed that theory of the philosophy 
 of moral and social life, and of the ultimate destiny of the human animal in 
 its relations upon this earth, which lies latent in every imaginative soul, and 
 is in fact the foundation of its religous, moral, social, and political existence. 
 At last this new and improved phase of literary life led to the production 
 of a series of sketches somewhat more pretentious and finished than the 
 daily paragraphs with which I had been previously employed. These 
 sketches, under the title of " New York in Slices," were originally written 
 for publication in the journal for which I labored, whence they were copied 
 into more than two hundred leading papers in the United States, either in 
 whole or in part, and also in several of the more important journals of 
 Europe. The idea, too, at once became popular, and was adopted and imi- 
 tated in all directions. In a few weeks after the commencement of " New 
 York in Slices," we had " Hudson in Patches," " Wisconsin in Chunks," 
 and " Mississippi in Gobs " — and all sorts of states, cities and provinces, in 
 all sorts of aliquot quantities. After the "Slices" were concluded, they 
 were republished in the form of a two shilling pamphlet, and some thirty or 
 forty thousand copies sold within a year, the regular sale of the book still 
 continuing at the rate of about a thousand a month. Subsequently, as a 
 kind of sequel to the " Slices," I contracted with the publishers of the pre- 
 sent volume to write " New York by Gas-light," the sale of which has even 
 exceeded the other, and appears in no likelihood of meeting a diminution. 
 On the first appearance of this work, its truly painted pictures of New York 
 life, and its startling developments of the vice and licentiousness of the 
 higher classes of society, created a sensation new to our literature, and 
 which met rom some quarters the same species of opposition encountered at 
 first by the Mysteries of Paris, and some other similar works. This, how- 
 ever, has long since died away; and many of the leading philanthropists 
 of the day, if they would confess the truth, would own that their attention 
 was first attracted to the horrible evils they are now engaged in meliorating, 
 by the bold and naked truthfulness of " New York by Gas-light." 
 
 The design, scope, and purpose, of the present work are of a much more 
 comprehensive and complete character, than has formed the basis of any 
 of my previous compositions ; while I trust that its execution will at least 
 not be inferior to the best of those. If it shall be found to lack somewhat 
 of the exuberance and fervor that disappears from the human brain-flower 
 as the edges of its leaves turn grey, and begin to close crisply upon the 
 faltering stamen within, I trust this will be more than compensated by the 
 additional importance, gravity, and philosophical accuracy of the statements, 
 descriptions, and deductions in the following pages. 
 The last few years have witnessed a remarkable revolution in the tone of 
 
 
LITERARY AUTOBIOGRAPHY. It 
 
 public sentiment, respecting the best means of laboring for the improvement 
 and advancement of the human race, and the gradual extinction of those 
 evils which are now seen, and admitted by all hopeful souls to be inconsistent 
 with the goodness of the Creator, and uncongenial to man's higher and better 
 tendencies. Heretofore a thick pail has been spread over the crumbling* 
 skeletons and rotting ulcers of civilization, which, by the common consent 
 of philosophers, moralists, and political economists, had never been raised to 
 permit anything but the briefest glance at the horrors that lay beneath. 
 But more recently, the juster and braver theory has obtained that truth and 
 light are always good, and that in order to cure the terrible maladies that 
 afflict humanity, first of all it is necessary that they should be clearly 
 examined and deeply probed. So help me Heaven,- as I am a living soul, 
 and have an immortal destiny to expect, this has been the one only object 
 of all the developments of misery, destitution, filth, and crime, in the dark 
 labyrinths of this metropolis, that ever I have made. 
 
 Following close upon the somewhat thorough, but still fragmentary and 
 imperfect revelations contained in the u New York in Slices," and " New 
 York by Gas-light," came as an express rebuke to the ungrateful baseness 
 that had sought to stigmatize me for their production, the far broader, 
 deeper and more repulsive disclosures of the Gehenna life of London, from 
 the untiring, fearless, unshrinking pen of Mayhew, whose reports, stamped 
 with the authority and force of official documents, originally uttered through 
 the London Chronicle, have startled Europe and amazed mankind. These 
 reports, too, in their sometimes prurient and disgusting details, full of 
 catalogues of horrors from which my more timid pen would have recoiled, 
 have been spread, illuminated with praises, in the columns of the very 
 journals which sought to damn me, and which are now following in my 
 wake, with feeble imitations of what it cost me so much to produce. I do 
 not think it too much to claim that the great movement of illuminating the 
 depths of the moral and social degradation of life in a metropolis, owes 
 something of its momentum to me ; and it is in the hope of accomplishing 
 something more for philosophy, philanthropy, and the great cause of 
 humanity, now crying aloud to be heard, that I have with difficulty torn 
 nryself from the overwhelming pressure of daily avocations, clamorous for 
 my exclusive strength and devotion, and carefully, laboriously, and conscien- 
 tiously, given this — probably the last work of mine upon subjects of this 
 nature — to the press. If its execution shall at all correspond with the 
 important duty which has produced it, I know it cannot be totally destitute 
 either of interest or permanent value. 
 
18 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DISCOVERY OF NEW YORK BAY PURITANS SAILED FOR NEW YORK, BUT 
 
 LANDED AT PLYMOUTH. 
 
 In the month of September, 1609, toward the commencement of that 
 dreamy, delicious season, unknown but to these regions, and poetically 
 characterized by us as the Indian Summer, a small and adventurous 
 yacht, named the "Half-moon," and commanded by Sir Hendrick 
 Hudson, first glided over the waters of New York Bay — that bay which 
 now incloses more wealth, power, and commercial enterprise than any 
 other on the globe, and whose beauties are celebrated by bard and 
 romancer, as equal to those of the renowned Bay of Naples. It was the 
 first time that any vessel propelled by the guidance of human will, other 
 than the canoes of the red man, had ever profaned these lovely waters.* 
 All around was silence and solitude, broken only by the glancing of the 
 merry waters in the yellow sunlight, or the deep-breathing of the inter- 
 minable forest, that stretched away from the green and sleeping point of 
 the island for a thousand miles, to the great undiscovered lakes and 
 rivers of the north. The simple-minded. red men at length came down 
 towards the water's edge, in timid consternation at the approach of the 
 strange and wondrous vessel, with its graceful prow turning aside the 
 waters, and its white wings extended to catch the breeze. They saw in 
 it a great canoe of the Manitou, and with songs and dances, and such 
 rude rites as their untutored natures had caught from the unbroken 
 traditions of their tribe, they began to prepare a feast for the reception of 
 the Great Spirit. " By-and-by," as sayeth the historian Heckwelder, 
 " the chief, in red clothes and a glitter of metal, came on shore in a little 
 canoe. Mutual salutations and signs of friendship were exchanged, and, 
 after a while, strong drink was offered, which made all gay and happy." 
 A short time was necessary to make the acquaintance and acquire the 
 confidence of the simple Indian men, and when the white-skins offered 
 to treat with them for as much land as a bullock's-hide could cover or 
 encompass, the request was granted; whereupon, the cunning white 
 
DISCOVERY GP NEW YORK BAY. 19 
 
 men, with that deplorable spirit of fraud which has extirpated a simple 
 but noble race, cursing us as they sink into earth, and calling upon 
 Heaven to revenge them upon our heads, cut the bull's-hide into a long 
 and narrow thong, with which they encompassed many acres. The 
 simple Indians took it all in good part, ratified this earliest land specula- 
 tion of the cunning Yankees, and welcomed them with a cordial 
 hospitality. Such was the origin of New York, on the spot called 
 Manhattan, or Manahachtanieuks, which means, in common prose, " the 
 place where they all got drunk ;" and when we go about the new 
 wilderness of brick and mortar, topmasts and smokepipes, with their 
 branches of shrouds and running rigging — when we descend into the 
 six thousand grog-shops and rum-cellars with which the island of New 
 York at this high point of civilization abounds — and especially when we 
 walk through the neighborhood of the Crystal Palace, and see whole 
 streets and squares of groggeries, containing poisonous liquors enough to 
 fill another reservoir as large as that of the Croton, grandly frowning 
 above them — we are still inclined to go back to good old-fashioned 
 Indian nomenclature, and exclaim, " Yes, indeed, this is the spot where 
 they all got drunk !" 
 
 The tribe of Indians then inhabiting this region, were the remnants of 
 the once warlike Delawares, or Lenapes, the chief of the Five Tribes, 
 whose noble characteristics are so admirably described in that best of all 
 Cooper's land romances, " The Last of the Mohicans." " When you first 
 arrived on our shores," said the good Lenapes afterward, in remon- 
 strating with Governor Keift upon their frauds and impositions, " you 
 were sometimes in want of food. Then we gave you our beans and 
 corn, and let you eat our oysters and fish ; we treated you as if we were 
 one of ourselves, and gave you our daughters for wives." It seems that 
 the Yankees began to be ungrateful even before they became a Republic ! 
 
 After exploring the North River, upon which expedition he was absent 
 twenty-two days, Hudson returned to Manhattan, and set sail on his 
 return to Europe. His favorable account of the situation and nature of 
 the country induced an expedition, in 1-614, five years afterward, consist- 
 ing of two ships under Capts. Adrian Blok and Hendrick Christiaanse. 
 It was now that the first actual settlement of New York was begun upon 
 the site of the present city, consisting during the first year of four small 
 houses, and in the course of the next twelve months, of a redoubt on the 
 site of the old Macomb houses, in Broadway, now occupied by the new 
 and costly public stores. This little dorp, or village, was grandiloquently 
 enough named New Amsterdam, and its principal object and purpose was 
 
20 KETT YORK NAKED. 
 
 as a post for the prosecution of the fur-trade, another corresponding 
 settlement being simultaneously founded at Albany. Holland was then 
 in the palmy days of her commercial and mercantile prosperity, building 
 every year a thousand ships, and having twenty thousand vessels, and a 
 hundred thousand mariners. The city of Amsterdam was at the head 
 of the fur-trading enterprise, and it was her merchants who had sent out 
 Capt. Henry Hudson to seek a northern passage to the East Indies. 
 Failing in this, he, in search of something to compensate for his disap- 
 pointment, sailed southward toward Virginia, and in so doing stumbled 
 upon the memorable discovery of the Delaware and Hudson rivers. 
 
 The genius of the Low Dutch was never, even in its highest state of 
 development, competent to originate and carry out a systematic career 
 of colonization, nor was it with any such purpose that the incipient 
 settlement at New Amsterdam was commenced; but there were in 
 Holland, at that time, large numbers of enterprising, educated, and intel- 
 ligent Englishmen, who had sought shelter there from the fierce religious 
 persecutions of their native land, and they it' was who entertained the 
 earliest idea of founding a colony at New York. They actually em- 
 barked for that purpose in 1620 ; but were prevented by the stupidity, 
 or rascality, of their Dutch captain from reaching their destined point 
 of debarkation in the pleasant island where we all got drunk, and being 
 landed, or rather run ashore, at the bleak and barren rock of Plymouth. 
 But destiny, so often playing us insignificant and atomic individuals the 
 slipperiest of tricks, is always faithful to her trust when she takes in hand 
 the fate of races and of kingdoms ; and thus it is, that the Puritans of 
 the old Anglo-Saxon race, banished from their native Britain, and 
 departing from Holland to found a new empire in the just-discovered 
 "Western Hemisphere, in a few years penetrated from the barren and 
 rocky wilds of New England to their original destination in Now York, 
 and here assisted in essentially building up the capital and the metropolis 
 of the future world — thus completing the destiny which the stolid error 
 of the old Dutch dunderhead could divert or impede but for an instant 
 in the lapse of time. For a few generations the many-breeched Knicker- 
 bockers, Van Twillers, and Stuyvesants, remained at the head of the 
 slowly-planted and cabbage-growing New Amsterdam. But, at length, 
 the feet of the Puritan touched the soil, and, as if by magic, the scene 
 was changed. The red man disappeared, fading like a cloud melting 
 into the invisible distance, hard followed by the broad-backed and sub- 
 stantial burghers, who fast-pursued them to annihilation. Little remains 
 of either but a few unpronouncable names, and the gable ends of three 
 
DISCOVERY OF NEW YORK BAY. 21 
 
 or four miserable groceries, waiting for the next fire — of, what is about 
 the same thing in these tear-down days, the expiration of their leases — 
 to be overwhelmed beneath the trampling of No. 14, and the dirt-cart of 
 modern improvement, and to give place to another palace erected to the 
 de ; fe of Trade and Commerce. 
 
82 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NAME AND ORIGINAL APPEARANCE OF NEW YORK — THE PAST, THB 
 
 PRESENT, AND THE FUTURE. 
 
 We should not be doing full justice to our subject, if, while giving an 
 account of the name and etymology of the island and city, we should 
 omit that most valuable and veracious of all historians, Deidrich Knick- 
 erbocker, in our list of " authorities " thereupon. This renowned 
 historian gives the matter, as is usual with him when detailing great 
 and important facts, a pleasant and facetious turn ; but, nevertheless, 
 there is a great deal of truth at the bottom of most of his jokes ; and it 
 is therefore very probable, his account is, after all, the only true one. 
 According to Deidrich, the name of the island most current at the present 
 day — Manhattan — and which is also countenanced by the great historian 
 Vanderdonk, originated in the custom among the squaws of the early 
 settlement of wearing men's hats, as still may be seen to be the custom 
 among those of the tribe that occasionally appear in Broadway. 
 "Hence," quoth Deidrich, "as we are told by the old governor, who is 
 somewhat of a wag, hence rose the appellation of Man-hat-on, first 
 given to the Indians, afterward to the island. A stupid joke," adds 
 Deidrich, " but well enough for a governor." In the history of Mr. 
 Richard Blome, written in 1687, the island is called Manhadses ; while 
 John Josselyn (not the famous clown) expressly calls it Manadaes. Other 
 authorities give different etymologies of this beautiful name, among 
 which is Manetho, derived from the Great Spirit of the Indians, who was 
 supposed to make this island his favorite abode, on account, according to 
 Knickerbocker, of its uncommon delights ; . for the Indian traditions 
 affirm that the bay was once a translucent lake, filled with silvery and 
 golden, fish, in the midst of which lay this beautiful island, covered with 
 every variety of fruits and flowers ; but that the sudden eruption of 
 the Hudson River laid waste these blissful scenes, and Manetho took his 
 flight beyond the great waters of the Ontario. 
 
 The original face of New York Island, there is every reason for 
 
THE PAST, THE PRESENT, AN© THE FUTURE. 23 
 
 supposing, was a succession of green hills, gently undulating up and 
 away from the shore, and lost in the superincumbent wilderness. At the 
 extreme south end of Broadway, where the ancient fort formerly stood, 
 was an elevated mound of about the same height as the present level of 
 Trinity Church, which, from that point, swept regularly and gradually 
 down to the shore on the North river. In the neighborhood of Pearl 
 and Beekman streets, two rather precipitous hills, known as Beekman's 
 and Peek's hills, rose and extended down to the Middle Dutch Church, 
 in Nassau street, and to Maiden Lane. Between these acclivities, in 
 several places, flowed streams of water, while an inlet from the bay, 
 called the canal, set up for a considerable distance what is now known as 
 Broad street. Up Maiden Lane flowed another inlet, through Smith's 
 marsh, or fallow. A little beyond Peck Slip existed a low water-course, 
 which, in high tide, ran up to the Collect (Kolck), and thence, joining 
 with Lispenard's Swamp, on the North River side, produced a union of 
 waters quite across the entire city : thus, according to Watson's Annals, 
 converting it sometimes into an island, the eastern shore of which was at 
 the present low line of Pearl street, as it crosses Chatham. At this 
 point it was occasionally necessary to use boats to cross the foot-passen- 
 gers passing from either side of the rising ground ranging on both sides 
 of Pearl street, as that street inclines across the city till it runs out upon 
 Broadway. 
 
 It is not our intention to follow out in detail and step by step the gra- 
 dual but miraculous growth of this vast metropolis, from the little strug- 
 gling dorp of Low Dutch houses, scattered around the fort at the south- 
 ern extremity of the island, to its present gigantic dimensions and power 
 as the third city in the civilized world. Taking the two extreme points 
 ©f the landing of Hendrick Hudson and the census of 1850, the imagi- 
 nation, by a single glance, takes in by intuition the characteristic idea of 
 the intervening space of two hundred and forty years that have elapsed, 
 and of all the wondrous, changes which these years have brought. To 
 me the pursuits and labors of the antiquarian and the historian have 
 ever been uncongenial ; and the historical studies which I have been 
 compelled at various times to pursue in the exercise of my literary 
 labors, were always irksome, and among the least welcome of my tasks. 
 This is, perhaps, a strange confession for a man to make who aspires to 
 be a writer, and even an instructor of his kind ; yet as I cannot so far 
 forget myself as to say that of myself which is not strictly true, so I feel 
 bound to make the confession. To me it has ever appeared that when 
 the present has done its work, and glided to the " dim dominions of the 
 
24 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 past,* it has no longer any vital interest, and that the lessons and morals 
 which mankind has for so many thousand years been in the habit of 
 drawing from its incidents, had better be left unknown. The human 
 race can make no certain progress in the right direction, so long as its 
 eyes are constantly fixed upon the past, and all its ideas, principles, pro- 
 cesses, and methods, are drawn alone from what has been. True, the 
 melancholy histories of ignorance, superstition, oppression, and crime, 
 which form the staple materials of the world's history in all times, and 
 in all countries, furnish abundant beacons to warn us from what has gone 
 before ; but their friendly light has never yet been regarded by man or 
 nation. Men have studied the past, but to learn how individual suocess 
 in obtaining power over the minds of their fellow-men was best to be 
 achieved. It is not too much to say, that society has drawn no benefi- 
 cent lesson from the past, and that it is alone to the hope in the future, 
 and a perfect sense of what the destiny of man should be, that we may 
 look for the true science of human progress. 
 
 One of the most striking illustrations of these views is the actual 
 existence of this very metropolis. Scan it closely and with a careful 
 eye — analyze the elements of its apparent prosperity, and the real mis- 
 ery of the thousands whose unprofitable, joyless lives go to swell the 
 imposing records of our boasted census — examine into the condition of 
 its society — measure the barriers, insurmountable as walls of iron, which, 
 separate the different castes of which it is composed — the millionaire 
 from the man of genius, struggling with poverty and neglect — the lordly 
 merchant and the starving author — the wealthy and insolent few who 
 insult the public by an exhibition of the trappings of a nobility and rank 
 for which they have not even the excuse of ancestral name and blood — 
 go, as I have done, through the lanes and alleys, the underground dens 
 of poverty ; visit the haunts of crime, and filth, and licentiousness, the 
 vast caravanseries without air or the light of heaven, crowded with hun- 
 dreds of gasping paupers — inquire into the histories of our thousand 
 inventors and men of brains and genius — investigate, in a word, the 
 whole movement of the machinery of life, which carries along this great 
 metropolis, this magnificent city, the pride and glory of the New World, 
 the boast of mankind, the crown of civilization ; and in what respect is 
 it better than the cities of the Old World, where oppressions sanctified 
 by ages and sanctioned by law and military power, have so long held 
 undisputed and absolute sway ? Swell as it may with pride the heart of 
 the philanthropist, in commencing this investigation into our actual con- 
 dition, long before he has finished his work, it will throb with pain and 
 
THB PAST, THE PRESENT, AND THE FUTURE. 25 
 
 sympathy over the woes, and sorrows, and sufferings, he cannot allevi- 
 ate ; over the injustice and oppression he cannot remedy ; over the 
 whole rottenness and corruption of the social fabric, which but now 
 appeared to him so noble and so beautiful. 
 
 Is it, then, true, that the destiny of humanity is not progressive, but 
 that, running ever round in a wide circle, the vast arc deceives our nar- 
 row vision, and we think we advance onward, while every step brings 
 us nearer to the point whence we set out ? Read the past, consult 
 history, shut up your hope, and give play but to memory and the power 
 of reminiscence, and the answer must be, it is even so ! Only when we 
 have closed our perceptions to the outward form and order of material 
 events, when we have opened up the interiors of the soul, and asked of 
 her as a part of God Himself, our ultimate destiny, does the true glory 
 of humanity begin to break around us. We do not believe that there is 
 a city in Europe, where, in proportion to its population, a greater amount 
 of degradation, suffering, licentiousness and crime, exists, than in this 
 very, this proud and magnificent New York. Beneath the tall spires of 
 its countless churches, and within the shadow of its commercial palaces 
 and princely mansions, where life flows so brightly and so gaily, catching 
 and reflecting every sunbeam as it dances across each cresting wave, rolls 
 the deep, dark, sullen ocean of poverty, crime and despair. And he who 
 would justly perform his duty to the times and to his race, must not 
 hesitate to launch out fearlessly upon this gloomy sea, but explore its 
 profoundest recesses, and bring to the light of day the horrid monsters 
 that live and gender in its oozy depths. This work be mine. Already 
 have I shed some light but dimly, and by transient gleams, over the vast 
 and momentous problem of life in New York. Now the time has come 
 when my labor is to be reviewed, and its deficiencies supplied, and when 
 the whole work, so far as its execution lies within my power, must be 
 well and faithfully done. Yes, without fear or favor, I must speak the 
 truth of the various classes of man, aye, and of womankind, who go to 
 make up the population of this mighty city. What motives govern 
 them, what ends they purpose, and what means they use — these are the 
 themes which must employ my pen. And as a true and faithful student 
 of natural history — for is not the study of mankind and his phenomena 
 ten thousand times better deserving the name of natural history, than the 
 atomic results of lives spent in watching the domestic habits o^grubs and 
 beetles, or analyzing and baptizing the strata of inaccessible rocks? 
 Humanity is the creature, the creator, the consummation of the universe. 
 God himself is but the perfect Man ; and although in his long and weary 
 
 2 
 
26 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 course from the germinative peace and purity, the innocence and infan- 
 tile experience of Eden, he has departed far and wide from the knowledge 
 of his divine character and destiny, yet, when this term of probation has 
 expired, when the forty days of agony and despair in the wilderness have 
 gone by, and passed with shriekings and wailings into the tomb of time, 
 then from its Mount Pisgah shall humanity behold the promised laud, 
 the restoration of its Eden, its purity and its divine union with God him- 
 self. Therefore, shall I, animated by a knowledge consoling and 
 glorious as this, shall I be swayed by fear of the petty spite or malice of 
 disappointed men or embittered classes, in the discharge of this my 
 knightly devoir in the great tournament of life ? No ! that which is 
 within me, that which compensates me for the unprofitable dreams and 
 unfruitful struggles of life, shall be faithfully and honestly recorded in 
 these pages ; so that when this body has passed away, and the spiritual 
 man that animates it has resumed its existence in those spheres where 
 life is immortal, and progress infinite, it may smile with a satisfaction 
 that all the rewards and honors of the world could never bestow to see 
 my children, and their children's children, in the new and higher dispen- 
 sation that is rapidly coming upon the earth — not ashamed of the 
 thoughts and aspirations of their humble ancestor. So let us to our 
 work in earnest. Let us touch with the disenchanting spear of truth the 
 various classes of life and society in New York. Let us compel from 
 them their utmost secret, the theory upon which they act, the thought 
 and hope upon which they live. Let us strip off the mask in which each 
 plays its mummery before the rest, and let us show in their true propor- 
 tions, and each with its name indelibly branded upon its forehead, the 
 demons that guide and direct the game of daily life in our metropolis. 
 
THE MERCANTILE BARONS OF NEW YORK. 2T 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE MERCANTILE BARONS OF NEW YORK THE CALIFORNIA SWINDLE — > 
 
 THE PRESS, AND THE, PART IT PLAYED IN THE GAME A GLIMPSE 
 
 AT LIFE ON THE PACIFIC. 
 
 f 
 
 It would be as impossible as unprofitable to enter into a minute 
 detail of the transactions and processes of mercantile and commercial 
 life in all their ramifications. It would be as practicable to follow a 
 blackleg through all the devious windings of his career and pic- 
 ture each sin of fraud and robbery and outrage, in which he has 
 been engaged. As the tyrant and despot who erects his throne and 
 establishes his bloody power upon the corpses of millions of subjects, or 
 enemies slain in battle or in the light of day, towers in sublimity above 
 the assassin who sneaks about the midnight streets, and lays in wait for 
 a solitary victim, so the prosperous merchant-prince of the nineteenth 
 century looms proudly above the petty gambler and swindler. And as 
 the assassin who kills but a single man would, if caught, swing upon • 
 the gallows, while the monster who immolates his millions is satiated 
 with the applause of the glorifying world, so our merchant-prince treads 
 loftily the career of honor and respect and emulation, while the thief 
 and the blackleg live in daily and nightly fear of the iron fingers of the 
 law. 
 
 Notwithstanding the impossibility of chronicling in detail the move- 
 ments of the commercial world, within the limits of a single volume, yet 
 it is indispensable to our purpose that we should communicate some 
 general idea of the intrinsic character of these operations which control 
 the world and form the basis of modern commerce ; that we should 
 show by a few strong artistic touches the fundamental principle that 
 stimulates the movements of the world of trade and the laws which 
 govern it. For this purpose, the recent discovery of the gold mines of 
 California, and the unparalleled excitement which has in consequence 
 swept over the face of the entire civilized world, will faithfully and effi- 
 ciently serve our purpose. Fortunately the details of this history are 
 
28 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 fresh in the minds and memories of all. So sensitive and retentive is 
 the money-making faculty, that events which bear upon it are keenly 
 remembered and not likelv to be forgotten. It is fresh in the recollec- 
 tion of us all, the delighted and half incredulous, yet willingly received, 
 enthusiasm with which the first reports of the gold discoveries in Cali- 
 fornia were received. So miserably insufficient and unsatisfactory is the 
 life, and the reward of life, of every man in this inverted age of human 
 energy and activity, that the slightest rumor of a change for the 
 better or the opening of a fresher and more attractive field, instan- 
 taneously excites the acquisitive faculties of the entire community 
 to a state of partial insanity. The parties who had been prepar- 
 ing to take advantage of the California discovery for their enrichment 
 well knew and had deeply studied this all-controlling trait in the dispo- 
 sitions of mankind, and their plans were skillfully laid, and adroitly exe- 
 cuted, for increasing the delirious excitement produced by these golden- 
 winged rumors, and urging to madness the cupidity of that restless, ever 
 shifting, ever discontented mass who form so large and important a por- 
 tion of our population. It is much to say, yet it is not too much, that 
 the whole scheme of California emigration, the results of which, whether 
 for good or evil, have not yet begun to rise upon the perceptions of the 
 world, was the cold-blooded and deliberate execution of a plan for work- 
 ing upon the weaknesses of humanity, even to the destitution, the deso- 
 lation, and the destruction of its victims, for the mere and absolute pur- 
 pose of filling the already distended coffers of a few reckless and gigan- 
 tic gamblers, and these gamblers, too, the men who aim at and achieve 
 the highest positions in the respect and reverence of the community — 
 men whose persons inspire awe among their fellow-citizens, whose slight- 
 est nod of recognition is treasured by the humble disciple as an heir- 
 loom and the foundation of the future pride of his family ; whose move- 
 ments control the destinies of the great and miserable world of Helot- 
 ism, the ill-paid, the uneducated, the half destitute and half brutalized 
 domain of labor and production These are the men who assign the 
 position of every man and every institution in the community, whose 
 power is more arbitrary and more unscrupulously used than that of the 
 most violent of those feudal tyrants that once led their vassals and 
 retainers to the field of battle. 
 
 The means by which the designs of these individuals were carried out 
 were various, but all disreputable. The principal engine, however, of all 
 the mischief, and I blush for my profession and for my race when I write 
 it, has been the press — that sole representative on earth of the chivalry 
 
THE CALIFORNIA SWINDLE. 29 
 
 of humanity, that sole unpaid defender of the oppressed, righter of the 
 wronged, and terror of the mighty evil-doer — that knight-errant of the 
 nineteenth century, whose pen, more mighty than the lance or battle-axe 
 of armed knight, can pierce through the stoutest mail of evil, and' hurl 
 to the dust the monstrous giants that ever stride and trample upon man- 
 kind. And yet, how basely, how utterly, and for how contemptible a 
 price, has this noble champion of the world been seduced from its high 
 and holy mission ! How insignificant the Delilah who, with her golden 
 shears, has made fall the locks of strength of this Samson of the Israe- 
 lites of our day ! I know, and could trace man by man, and act by act, 
 the whole of this infamous conspiracy against the peace, and health, and 
 hope, and life of this community. I could show how, that certain res- 
 pectable and honored merchants should receive large sums for passage- 
 money from the enormous emigration to California ; these gold rumors 
 were inflated, and repeated, and reiterated, in the ears of the credulous 
 public, and printed and paid for column by column, and endorsed with 
 all the editorial authority of our leading journals. Taking the cue from 
 those weighty and controlling organs of news and public opinion, the 
 smaller journals, both in our own city and throughout the whole 
 country, have reechoed the ery, and helped to swell these fascinating 
 and irresistible reports which sent crowds upon crowds to our ports of 
 embarkation, and decimated the community of its best, most youthful, 
 and most precious material, to pour it out upon the crags, and deserts, 
 and carious of California — leaving behind, oh, what desolated hearth- 
 stones, that shall never glow again with the cheerful light of domestic 
 peace ! and what tender and loving hearts, to break over the disappointed 
 hopes that had reconciled them to the separation from those they held 
 dearer than life, but who, alas ! they shall see no more for ever ! Some 
 have laid their weary frames upon the sands of the western deserts, 
 where the bald eagle and the prairie wolf have screamed and howled, 
 circling and drawing nearer and nearer to them as the flame of life 
 burned low, and at last went out. Some, reaching the goal of their fond 
 hopes, have found their golden anticipations bitterly blasted ; and, in des- 
 pair, and the reaction of their insane excitement, have either sunk to 
 death beneath the remorseless hand of disease that reigns in these 
 inhospitable climes, or become the victims of debauchery and crime. 
 Thousands now linger drooping and sad upon those barren mountains, 
 who would exchange their right arms for the means to return to their 
 homes ; who would willingly lay down their lives the moment after they 
 had been permitted once more to clasp wife and children to their hearts, 
 
30 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 and cover them with their dying blessing. Language, powerful and sun- 
 ning as it is, has but faint power to paint the horrors of that grave of 
 hopeful men ; and if we reflect that all this terrible excitement and this 
 terrific result has been deliberately invoked for the mere purpose of 
 enriching a few men who already were rich enough to answer every 
 extravagant wish of themselves and theirs, the idea becomes too oppres- 
 sive and too incredible to be entertained. Yet, such is the melancholy, 
 the miserable fact ; and this little history contains the epitome of the 
 whole life of commerce. From it may be drawn the great lesson which 
 it teaches, and the lesson that awaits it. For, let us not insult God by 
 believing that an institution like this, which Moloch-like immolates its 
 victims by thousands, can be a permanent and necessary condition of 
 humanity. No ! The time is coming when all that which we now know 
 as commerce and trade, and all the respectable, and venerable, and wor- 
 shipful institutions and conventionalities which it has established and by 
 which it reigns, shall have disappeared from among mankind ; when the 
 honest labors, and the spontaneous efforts of all shall bring their products 
 to the general storehouse, whence in turn all shall freely and without 
 price, draw the necessaries, the luxuries, and the embellishments of life. 
 "Were it not for this hope, for this certainty, that shapes itself in light in 
 the heart of every hopeful dreamer, mankind, and destiny, and God, 
 would be an enigma too horrible to be contemplated by a sane and 
 thoughtful soul. 
 
 [Note. — This chapter was written two years and a half ago, when the 
 mad rush to California, excited by the means I have described, was at its 
 height, and the accounts almost daily received from the plains, the 
 Isthmus, and from San Francisco, and the diggings themselves, were 
 actually appalling. It could not but be that thirty months of the intense 
 activity of the present age, and the operation of that recuperative energy 
 which so strongly characterizes our race, should have wrought great 
 changes for the better in the condition of life on the Pacific. But, as the 
 facts I have stated, were all lamentably true, tJien, and as the deductions 
 I have drawn, are true, always, I let the chapter stand as it was — like 
 those crosses which are left to mark the places where murders have been 
 committed on the hiodi road, Ion* after the banditti hordes have fled 
 before the approach of civilization.] 
 
A TRUE THEORY OF TRADE. 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NOBLE EXCEPTIONS TO THE CORRUPTIONS OF COMMERCE — A TRUE THEORY 
 
 OF TRADE. 
 
 I ought, perhaps, to state that, exceptions, and noble ones, exist in 
 every evil that afflicts the world. Were it not so, we should have no 
 tangible sign of the reality of our hope in a progressive and beautiful 
 destiny for the ultimate condition of mankind. Many magnanimous and 
 excellent, pure, good, and trustworthy natures may be found in the great 
 world of commerce — many large and noble hearts, whose deeds of silent 
 beneficence transcend the charity of angels, by so much as their position 
 is less favorable to goodness than theirs. " None are all evil," saith the 
 poet ; and it is at last to poetry and its visions that we must resort for 
 all true prophecy and prophetic inspiration. There are many high and 
 lofty merchants in New York, who not only honor their Maker and 
 themselves, but rescue their profession from some portion of the odium 
 which otherwise would weigh it down, and annihilate it, by the enor- 
 mity of its own baseness. These, whoever they are, and wherever they 
 may be, will understand and admit much of the truth that I have written 
 upon their craft ; nor do they require to be pointed out in person. Such 
 notoriety would be as unwelcome as uncongenial to the generous law of 
 their existence. 
 
 Nor am I at all blind to the momentary importance and greatness of 
 commerce as an agent and engine in the progressive development of 
 society ; and while I cannot accord to commerce a greater degree 
 of virtue than to those other forms of oppression which are rapidly 
 becoming extinct on earth, yet I clearly see that it is a phase in advance 
 of them — and that, though mankind, under its infliction, may not suffer 
 less, yet the glorious consolation remains, that they have not still so long 
 to suffer. From savageism to feudalism was a step forward. From 
 feudalism to the present forms of a commercial hierarchy is another, and 
 a long and most important, step. When, and in what direction, will the 
 next be taken, we may only guess ; but, for any rational and true answer, 
 
32 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 I should not apply to the various reformers of the day, who go about in 
 shabby coats and dirty boots, preaching reform, until they have turned 
 an honest penny out of the gaping gullibility of the crowd, and then set 
 up respectability and old fogyism with the best of them. At present, 
 we can only investigate and look upon these rascalities of all sorts, and 
 especially of mousing and cheating tradesmen, as a great moral ulcer, as 
 cities have before me wisely been called — an ulcer, too, which must disap- 
 pear and be transmuted into clean white flesh, before the moral leprosy 
 that enscales the great body of society will ever disappear. 
 
 Nor are the absolute robberies and extortions of trade its worst evils. 
 The moral effect of its practice, and its teachings, the crushing blight it 
 shoots from infancy over the expanding enthusiastic soul of youth, the 
 cold, absorbing lessons it instills, drop by drop, into the heart of noble 
 sympathizing nature, in its child-like phases, the practical teachings of 
 shrewdness, and knowledge of the world, which cautious fathers and 
 calculating mothers are so prompt to impart to their offspring, are a 
 monstrosity, great enough to convert the whole human race into devils ; 
 and when I think seriously of all these things, instead of wondering that 
 mankind are so bad, I wonder that any of them are better, and that all 
 are not worse. 
 
 The business of conducting the necessary barter among members 
 of the same country and between the different nations of the earth, the 
 whole machinery of trade and commerce, will, in another and a better 
 state of society, be of the simplest construction and most unexpensive 
 operation. 
 
 The ramifications of trade are, of course, as diversified and complicated 
 as the wants and necessities of society. I have but indicated two or 
 three of the most notdrious and conspicuous among them. Were I to 
 prolong this catalogue until I had exhausted the material for instructive 
 and profitable comment, and disclosure of the dishonesty of the operations 
 of trade, my book would be full ere I had fairly laid out the subject. But 
 perhaps, in justice to my own profession, and to literary men in general, 
 I ought not to dismiss it without one blow wielded for the honest recom- 
 pense of genius, talent, scholarship, and mental toil. As it is, the man of 
 genius, let him be the most cautious-tempered, moderate, and discreet of 
 his class, must waste the greater, and better, and fairer, and brighter 
 portion of his life in unrecompensed drudgery, that he may erect for 
 himself a platform upon which to stand, and from which to clutch a tardy 
 reward for his priceless labors. We cannot, conscientiously, let escape the 
 whole class of book-publishers and brain-buyers, from the severest of our 
 
A TRUE THEORY OF TRADE. 33 
 
 censures upon the more material products and operations in the world of 
 trade. Oh ! if I dared but take the cover off a hundred or two of brains 
 I know of, and dip out with the point of my pen the secret history 
 of their owners, the breadless days and sleepless nights, the feverish and 
 crazing years of struggle, and suspense, and mental torture, the tempta- 
 tions to crime and suicide, the greatly growing misanthropy, which at 
 last enveloped the whole horizon in a dense and gloomy cloud, dreve the 
 remembrance of the rosy dreams of youth out of existence, and paralyzed 
 the very spirit within them, what a sad, what a humiliating record would 
 it be ! The old world of letters in Europe, where Goldsmith begged and 
 Johnson starved, and Pope turned sycophant, and Savage died in the 
 gutter, was in all conscience bad enough, one would think, to draw down 
 upon the world the fiercest judgments of an offended God, who saw his 
 spirit, in shape of human genius, freely imparted to his favored children, 
 thus spurned upon and trampled in the dust by coarse and griping 
 avarice and the tyranny of trade. But if this were outrageous in the old 
 monarchies of letters, what shall we say of the state of things in our 
 republic of letters, where, in addition to the conventional, proverbial, and 
 professional wrongs heaped upon authors by the publishers, they are 
 subjected to the crushing competition of the stolen literature of all the 
 world beside, thundered down in one incessant reign of folios, quartos, 
 and duodecimos upon their devoted heads ? If the publishers of Grub 
 street were mean, and selfish, and cruel, and tyrannical, they at least paid, 
 in some sort of fashion, for what they published ; but the autocrats of our 
 Grub street not only refuse to buy the products of American genius, on 
 the plea that they can have all the intellect of Europe for nothing, but 
 they impudently parade upon their catalogues the damning fact that they 
 can afford to publish the works of all the great intellects in the world at 
 one third the price at which they can be purchased in Europe. No 
 wonder ! And if the laws were as lenient to those who stole dry-goods 
 and hardware, as to those who only steal brains, why, I could set up a 
 grocery or a rag-shop to-morrow, and undersell by fifty per cent, all my 
 rivals in the city ! Perhaps the world will one day get far enough along 
 to understand that material product is not, after all, the highest of earthly 
 possessions, and that brains, and mind, and genius, and intellect, deserve' 
 also their protection and their reward. 
 
 Coming fairly under the head of mental producers, are the great and 
 enlightened body of American inventors, who, from the political corrup- 
 tion that reigns at Washington, from the unfaithful and corrupt adminis- 
 tration of our laws, and from the dishonest combinations and conspira- 
 
34 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 cies of capitalists to i control or crush inventive genius, are nearly as bad 
 off as the poor scribblers themselves. The history of the struggles, 
 the disappointments, the extortions, the oppressions and outrages through 
 which alone an inventor can carry his invention, and bring it fairly 
 before the public, would be enough to appal the most sanguine and 
 enthusiastic inventor of some new improvement in the world of science 
 that ever lived. It would be a history reflecting and fastening the deep- 
 est moral turpitude upon a majority of the officials — I mean those of all 
 administrations and under all parties, who preside in the various 
 departments of the government. It would be a history of the bribing oi 
 congressmen, and chief engineers, and commissioners, and clerks, and 
 secretaries, by cunning and shallow-pated designers, and the fruitless 
 struggle of the really deserving, and, therefore, the honest, who could 
 not understand what it was against which they were contending. 
 
 Jealous, as pretends to be our frugal and economical government of 
 expending the people's treasure upon schemes of private interest, or for 
 the aggrandizement of individuals, yet millions are annually thrown 
 away, squandered, wasted absolutely, upon the most worthless men, and 
 still more worthless schemes, while honest possessors of invaluable 
 secrets and discoveries in the world of Art and Science spend their days 
 and nights in fruitless efforts and harrowing suspense, begging and 
 imploring, at the feet of inexorable power, for the means to test their 
 inventions and bring them fairly before the world. Thus are all 
 the great material interests of mankind retarded, embarrassed, and 
 distorted by these selfish, these base and corrupt public servants ; while 
 the reign of the false, the hollow, the counterfeit, the atrocious monster, 
 Humbug, is strengthened and perpetuated. In short, as we look down 
 deeper and deeper into this measureless abyss of commercial corruption, 
 and scan more leisurely the elements which centre there, we become 
 more and more pervaded with a sentiment of most discouraging despon- 
 dency. So ■firmly seated and well defended seem these horrible evils, so 
 deeply have they struck their roots into the soil and twined themselves 
 about the very heart of society, that finite apprehension can see no limit 
 to their existence, and no means for their extirpation. And were it not 
 for that still small voice of hope that lives for ever in the deep recesses 
 of every human heart, shedding its blessed influence throughout the 
 being that without it would sink prostrate, and let the great bat- 
 tle march on over him, we should indeed despair. But that voice will 
 never be silenced, for it is the voice of God, pleading now and persuad- 
 ing with most seductive eloquence the advent of the happy days to 
 
 m 
 
A TRUE THEORY OF TRADE. 35 
 
 come, when mankind, released from these* soiling and disgraceful gar- 
 ments in which it is now swathed and swaddled, shall rise ** up in the 
 purity and simplicity of its naked body, and fill all the universe with , 
 anthems of love and joy. 
 
 -\. 
 
36 NEW YORK NAKED 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE WORLD ASTOR PLACE OPERA-HOUSE — CRITICS COR- 
 NER A LOOK ROUND THE HOUSE SOME PORTRAITS THAT WILL BE 
 
 RECOGNIZED THE TEETERERS MORE PORTRAITS THE VICOMTESSE DE 
 
 CLAIRVILLE A LOVE STORY OF SNOBBERY AND" THE STAGE. 
 
 Let us bow, dear reader, with your permission, look in at the opera ; 
 and take a glance at the fashionable world in its highest state of develop- 
 ment, and most exuberant bloom. But first let us pay a tribute to our 
 dear departed old opera-house in Astor Place — the only real home out- 
 of-doors ever possessed by our New York aristocracy. Let us go back a 
 couple of years, and describe the opera as it was, and as, we fear, it will 
 not be again in a hurry. The house itself, as it was in its palmy days, 
 again is before us. The architect has succeeded in creating the only 
 theatre in the United States which deserves the epithet "elegant." He 
 is a man not only with ears, and of a proper length too, but with eyes 
 also. While nicely smoothing the projections and rounding off the 
 corners, to prevent the delicate notes of the nightingales on the stage 
 from stubbing their toes and breaking their necks, before coming to the 
 audience, he has artistically composed the fixtures and embellishments 
 of the house into a picture which fills the eye with graceful forms and 
 charming contrasts of color, while the gem-like chandelier sheds an 
 atmosphere of voluptuous lustre over all, like a condensed constellation 
 or a mile or two of the milky way squeezed into the circumference of a 
 lady's ring. The lightest lapse of the imagination is sufficient to recall 
 the sparkling illusions of youth, until you deem yourself in a veritable 
 world of enchantment. Then this pleasant place, filled with beautiful 
 women, shedding around the indescribable but exquisite fascination of 
 their presence — the faint and impalpable perfumes that penetrate the 
 brain, and enervate the senses with a voluptuous intoxication — the low 
 murmurs that undulate through the air, the mingled flashing of eyes and 
 diamonds that make the bosoms palpitate on which they rest — all blend 
 
THE ASTOR PLACE OPERA-HOUSE. 31 
 
 their seductive influences to wrap the soul in elysium. And all this is 
 beside the music — for, to tell the truth, to a large proportion of the 
 audience the entr'acte intervals are the only pleasant parts of the per- 
 formance — the squeaking, screeching and drumming from the stage and 
 orchestra, being the long and dreary pauses in the excitement of visiting, 
 quizzing, and flirting, submitted to with well-bred yawns, and half-choked 
 sighs of fashionable resignation. 
 
 Before we descend to particulars, we will turn our atteation for a 
 moment to the topography of the house, define the boundaries of its 
 various cantons, and indicate the character of its inhabitants. First is 
 the parquette, with its easy and commodious chairs filled with a diversi- 
 fied and medley mass, artists, editors, and critics, with their wives, either 
 in the extreme of undress, including blanket-shawl and velvet bonnet, or 
 else as extremely over-dressed, which, being literally interpreted, would 
 signify not dressed much, if any. A few of the better class of strangers 
 in town, with their families, have taken places in the parquette, to avoid 
 observation, and the half dollar extra ; and in the front seats near the 
 orchestra, you may see the wives and sweethearts of the straw-blowers 
 and catgut-scrapers in the orchestra, or of the subordinate performers on 
 the stage. In the middle of the parquette, on either side the aisle, are 
 always more or less of a higher class of audience, who, from ill health, 
 idleness, or some other cause, do not choose to enter into the contest of 
 brocade supremacy on the sofas, or to exhibit their breasts and shoulders 
 beneath the gloating gas-light of the boxes, and who really are fond of 
 the opera for itself alone, and take this means of gratifying their taste, 
 and at the same time avoiding the crash, and struggle, and ostentation, 
 of the stratum next above. In the parquette are to be found many of 
 the warmest and surest friends of the opera, many whose opinions are 
 entitled to respect, and form in reality the only standard of musical criti- 
 cism which exists in the metropolis. I have at this moment in my eye 
 an old gentleman of fifty-five or sixty, hale and hearty, with a face 
 beaming with the fresh and childlike spirit of sociality and kindness, to 
 which the man of the world at last returns, after all the experiences and. 
 suspicious bitternesses and despondencies of middle life. The old gentle- 
 man volunteered to tell me, the other evening, that he had never missed 
 a night at the Italian opera in New York. He was a constant attendant 
 at the opera when Malibran appeared in this country in the early stages 
 of its civilization ; he was faithful in his devotions to the Montressor 
 troupe ; he came cheerfully to the rescue when little Palmo broke his 
 back under the burden of the Chambers street enterprise. And since 
 
38 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 the construction of the Astor Place opera-house he has never been absent 
 a single night, rain or shine, subscription or extra, Parodi or Patti, Forti 
 or Benventano. No matter who nor what, he is always there, always 
 seated in the same chair, immediately next to the orchestra, with his 
 gentle blue eyes and mild face turned in enthusiasm upon the perfor- 
 mers, and his whole soul evidently absorbed in the music's fascinating 
 spell. Beside him stands, partly leaning against the railing of the 
 orchestra, with his face turned towards the balconies, a well-known fre- 
 quenter of the opera, once a celebrated fast man among the young roues 
 and nobles of England, now settled down to a polite, well-bred and 
 polished man of the world. He is in request at the dinner tables of the 
 fashionable hotels, welcomed at the soirees of the fashionable and the 
 literati, and altogether seems to be in as fair a way for the enjoyment of 
 a green old age as any one could desire. 
 
 Distributed, as we have said, in various parts of the parquette, are 
 those mysterious and all powerful beings, the critics. However, these 
 atomic integers of the great hydra-headed phenomenon, the Press, to a 
 certain extent obey the laws of chemical affinity, and are crystallized or 
 cribbed together in a kind of order, which may be termed the symme- 
 try of higgledy-piggledy. Across the northeast corner of the parquette 
 (all sharp and disagreeable things come from the northeast), a space, 
 about the size of a Cincinnati pig-pen, has been set apart, in which a 
 good proportion of the entire drove of critics are pounded, furnished 
 with arm-chairs, just like gentlemen, and looking very much like res- 
 pectable people, who pay their debts and speculate in Wall street. They 
 appear altogether too comfortable and well-fed for editors, critics, and 
 literary trash of that sort; but then, so far as the periodical press is con- 
 cerned, we have changed all that since the days of Goldsmith, and John- 
 son, and Addison. Our editors are mostly men of- means and shrewd 
 business faculties, who know how to make the most of their places 
 and possessions, as well as ever a shopkeeper in Pearl street. Most 
 of these write for half a dozen different papers, morning, evening, week- 
 ly, Sunday, monthly, and otherly, while their spare time is occupied in 
 corresponding with country papers, writing puffs for Genin, Jarvis, 
 Sands, and Gouraud, or bringing some creaking and rheumatic pano- 
 rama or paralytic peep-show into popularity, at two shillings a line. On 
 the whole, therefore, they live well, and are not much more overworked 
 than an omnibus horse ; while the necessity of constantly producing and 
 scraping together out of their brains about so much every week, pre- 
 ■ # vents them ever making a serious and sustained effort to see what they 
 
A LOOK AROUND THE HOUSE. 39 
 
 could do. They are generally capital fellows, free from envy, malice, 
 and all imcharitableness, and jog along together through life without 
 those childish and ridiculous squabbles so disgracefully constant with 
 their more dignified and pretentious brethren in the political department 
 of journalism. However, we shall postpone what we have to say in 
 detail of these gentlemen until wc come to our chapter upon the press, 
 in which we will group them all together. 
 
 And now for a look at the house. Let us first take a peep about the 
 precincts of the balcony sofas and boxes of the two sub-amphitheatre 
 strata, and we shall behold the concentrated essence of the ostentation, 
 fashion, wealth, beauty, and snobbery of New York. There are not so 
 many pretty women here perhaps, nor handsome men, as among the 
 audience of the minor theatres ; but they are undeniably better 
 dressed, more stylish in their appearance, and diffuse an air of good 
 breeding about them that could not be mistaken. Most of them have 
 received every possible advantage of education, as we are now in the 
 second generation of our pedigree, and the leading members of our aris- 
 tocracy are the sons of the mechanics, artisans, laborers, and soap-boil- 
 ers who established the race. They, therefore, have been delicately nur- 
 tured, and seem to take by instinct to the task of making the best use 
 of the fortunes squeezed together by their vulgar progenitors. Many of 
 them have passed a considerable time in Europe, where, as the best to 
 be had from America, they have been received into unquestionable cir- 
 cles of rank and fashion ; and, quick of apprehension, prone to imi- 
 tation, and overflowing with social ambition, as is every son and daugh- 
 ter of Yankee-doodledom, they could not fail to acquire, to a certain 
 extent, the graces and the manners of those with whom they were 
 brought in contact. It is true that they are prone to the most ridiculous 
 mistakes, which expose them at once for what they are, to thorough-bred 
 people of fashion ; and, in consequence, our wealthiest and most snob- 
 bish families are nothing but objects of ridicule and contempt to 
 the foreigners of real birth and breeding with whom they are brought 
 in contact. However, all things considered, they are a pretty good spe- 
 cimen of Yankee aristocracy, and are, perhaps, as sensible, as honest, as 
 virtuous, and as chaste, as any other aristocracy under heaven. Their 
 reigning defect and disqualification is insolence and ill-bred vulgarity — 
 our true aristocrat being inherently gentle, and thoroughly despising 
 everything like insolence to his inferiors in station. 
 
 Tjfae immense deficiency of the New York fashionable society is per- 
 ceptible at a glance. It is not in display, not in accomplishment, not m 
 
40 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 magnificence of appointment and entertainment, not even in liberality 
 and a certain lavish expenditure, which is generally, however, vulgarly 
 overdone ; but it is in the irremediable want of easy deference tc them- 
 selves and to others, which distinguishes our American society, or at any 
 rate the more sumptuous and presumptuous classes of it, on all occa- 
 sions and under all circumstances. It is to be hoped, however, that a few 
 more generations will refine, purify, and enrich the blood of our aristo- 
 cratic families, and endow a millionaire, and his wife and daughters, with 
 some approach to the good breeding and gentle manners of an intelli- 
 gent family in the middle class of life. Not, however, until the 
 factitious importance at present conceded to mercantile pursuits, and 
 the business of making fortunes upon the capital of others, is forced 
 to assume its own proper dimensions, will anything like a true social dig- 
 nity, elegance, refinement, and aristocracy, ever prevail in this democra- 
 tic metropolis. The first place in public estimation must be occupied by 
 others than prosperous shopkeepers and successful speculators, before we 
 may pride ourselves upon a true and creditable social aristocracy. 
 
 Among the most conspicuous and beautiful women in the house 
 to-night we observe two, evidently sisters, by their resemblance in style 
 and features, and especially in the luxuriance of their shining black 
 ringlets. They are in the box nearest the stage, in the second circle. 
 These are the daughters of a distinguished lawyer and man of genius in 
 the capital of the sunny South. One of them is the fashionable and 
 dashing wife of one of our most desperate financial speculators, whose 
 ups and downs in the great gambling drama of Wall street have ruined 
 thousands and shaken heretofore that vicinity to its centre. Not long- 
 since, he met with a series of reverses, which, to use a technical phrase 
 of the faro-table, quite as proper in Wall street, as in Park Place, 
 "thoroughly cleaned him out," and the gravest suspicions were even 
 noised about respecting his non-observance of the conventional and easy 
 code of honor 'that prevails in that golden realm. At all events, he 
 manifested the possession of the domestic and nepotic affections in no 
 ordinary degree ; for however wide or deep might have been the suffer- 
 ings inflicted upon his creditors, his family showed no signs of the 
 misfortune ; and, as was the case with a similar event occurring no later 
 than last summer, the ladies are still as conspicuous, as gay, and as 
 magnificently caparisoned as in the palmiest days of their husbands' good 
 luck at the cards. This, by the way, is the usual condition of things 
 among all gamblers, who, whatever their reverses, or runs of bad^luck, 
 always manage to live at the best, dress, ride, and dine, in the most 
 
A LOOK AROUUD THE HOUSE. 41 
 
 extravagant and sumptuous manner, and keep their women folks rigged 
 out like South American queens, in diamonds, feathers, and expensive 
 gewgaws, worth, at least, fully as much as themselves. Whatever we 
 may be disposed to say of the morality or immorality of blacklegs and 
 stockgamblers, we must confess that they make the very best husbands 
 in the world. 
 
 The lady we are describing is a woman partaking largely of the 
 matchless talent of the father, and possessing great powers of fascination, 
 both in manners and conversation. She is deemed by the admirers of 
 that style of thing, excessively handsome, and is by no means chary of 
 displaying her charms and accomplishments to the best advantage. 
 Some little time ago, her dinner-parties were the most piquant affairs of 
 the season ; and, by her wit and fascinations, she managed to assemble 
 around her the cream of all the desirable classes and professions — artists, 
 actors, men of letters, and brilliant conversationists, together with those 
 dazzling and yet dangerous women of an uncertain class between the 
 confines of close society and the open common of gay life. In these 
 assemblages enjoyment was the one sole aim and purpose, and it is 
 confessed by those who were admitted to those latitudinarian rites that 
 they were everything intoxicating, delicious, and seductive. Among the 
 brilliant and rather startling exhibitions in this circle were the 
 performances of the elegant hostess herself, who, apparelled in the gay, 
 picturesque, and scanty costume of a peasant Polonaise, would, after the 
 feast was over, and the company had sought the drawing-room, bound 
 like a Bayadere among them, and set their hearts beating, and brains 
 whirling, with the dizzy undulations of a dance that would have brought 
 down the house at Niblo's and crazed all the critics of the morning 
 papers. Beside her, leans over the railing of the box, her sister, younger, 
 and extremely piquante — her delicate curls twining like tendrils round 
 the half-transparent temples, glowing like pomegranates in the sun. Her 
 black eyes stream a light clear across the house ; and no matter in what 
 direction you may be looking, you cannot escape the sense of her 
 magnificent presence during the entire evening. If she be but as happy 
 as she looks, she must indeed be an enviable creature. 
 
 The box next to this is filled with over-dressed and genuine shopkeeper- 
 looking women, who require no particular mention. They are a 
 collection of the common type of New York beauty, over painted, over 
 dressed, and over supercilious. Further along, beyond the crimson- 
 curtained boxes, we encounter several of the most fashionable and 
 pretentious of our aristocratic families. Mr. De D occupies that 
 
42 NEW YORE NAKED. 
 
 box next the curtains, with the ladies of a family whose name goes back 
 to the time of the Revolution, and was then honored and trusted. The 
 ladies are dressed in unimpeachable taste, and their manner is more 
 subdued and truly aristocratic than that of many whose pretensions are 
 by no means so undisputed to the title of exclusiveness. Further along, 
 near the middle of the house, is a box furnished with crimson cushions, 
 got up at the occupant's own expense. The owner is one of the 
 wealthiest and decidedly the most distinguished-looking man of fashion 
 in the house, or in the city. His wife is also a very elegant looking 
 woman, faultlessly costumee, and whose coiffure and dresses are regularly 
 imported from Paris. She is of a family generally acknowledged to stand 
 among the front rank of our aristocracy, alihough they have not achieved 
 that position without hard fighting, and except through a storm of 
 sneering ridicule from former associates and equals, who have either not 
 been so talented or so lucky as themselves. The pair are a model of 
 conjugal devotion and felicity. They are never seen asunder, not even 
 in walks and rides. At Saratoga, they parade the gravelled promenade 
 at Marvin's, lovingly arm-in-arm, or sit in their pleasant parlor over- 
 looking the green and shady terraces of that enchanting spot, amusing 
 themselves by both reading from the same newspaper, or sipping from 
 the same sherry-cobbler. Their style is unquestionable, their appearance 
 elegant, and their position, so far as we may judge by outward signs, one 
 of unalloyed happiness. The husband is a man of fine taste and liberal 
 views, a generous patron of the arts, and aider of worthy enterprises. 
 He deserves his good fortune and his charming wife, while she is equally 
 justifiable in being devoted to hiin. 
 
 Our next conspicuous and fashionable subject in this upper circle is 
 that tall and supercilious looking woman, very thin and delicate in 
 person, and with a nose decidedly retrousse. She also had a terrible 
 struofo-lo and a lono- fi<rht before the victory was won, and she was 
 established as an undisputed member of the haut ton — and we believe 
 the contest is even now occasionally renewed. She is not decidedly a 
 handsome woman, yet there is something about her which inevitably 
 makes you turn and look at her a second time, and ever after causes you 
 to be aware, unconsciously, of her presence # or absence from the scene. 
 Seated deferentially behind her, is an elderly, thin gentleman, with 
 iron-grey hair, who might very well have been the original of Douglas 
 Jerrold's " Mat) Made of Money." Few persons in the community have 
 wielded a more powerful influence than he. In respect to the credit o£ 
 firms and individuals in Wall street, his word to a large class is law ; 
 
SOME PORTRAITS THAT WILL BE RECOGNIZED. 43 
 
 "while now and then the whole street is made to palpitate through all its 
 extremes by his movements, as if his fingers were pressing upon the very- 
 heart of that anomalous monster, the Stock Exchange. All he is, how- 
 ever, or ever was, or ever can hope to be, is by the power of money. 
 With the exception of that, few in any class are not as well entitled 
 to distinction as he. He has just one faculty — that of making money; 
 and to its development and exercise his whole life and being have been 
 faithfully devoted. Economy, abstemiousness, and self-denial — the bases 
 of all accumulation of wealth — he possesses in an eminent degree. Never 
 in all his life has he been known to spend a sixpence for anything but 
 the bare necessaries of life — that is, for himself. As to the immense 
 amounts said to be foolishly and uselessly squandered by his wife in a 
 system of ostentation as unbecoming as it is intrinsically vulgar, that is 
 neither here nor there. It is said by those who know her best, that she 
 openly married him for his money, and that the whole boast of her 
 virgin life was the avowed intention of thus disposing of her charms and 
 fascinations. Born in a humble rank, she possessed a scheming and an 
 ambitious heart; and having looked out for her bargain and disjposed 
 of herself to the best advantage and the highest bidder, plainly and 
 above board, like a sale of fancy stocks, " r. w.," shfe hastened to publicly 
 announce the completion of the transaction, and to give her husband 
 unequivocal evidences of his position and rights in the premises. If they 
 find themselves mutually abhorrent to each other, they have nobody to 
 accuse but themselves. But with all this we have nothing to do. Should 
 we institute an investigation into the statistics of wedded bliss among our 
 aristocracy, God knows where we might stop, or into what fearful abysses 
 of misery and crime we might not plunge. Therefore, taking it for 
 granted that our grey-haired financier and his young wife are as well 
 off in this respect as many of our neighbors, we pass on to the husband 
 himself. * 
 
 The head of this aristocratic and dashing -family followed the common 
 destiny of his tribe, and commenced life as an errand boy, check collec- 
 tor, &c, &c, for a broker's den in Wall street ; and as he kept steadily 
 on, with his eye fixed upon one point — to become rich — and was endow- 
 ed with iron perseverance and great shrewdness, he has long ago suc- 
 ceeded. But the principal means by which he and hundreds of our 
 money aristocracy have accomplished this, if things and actions bore 
 their right names, would be called swindling and fraud. In a word, he 
 is a leading 1 stock gambler; and his immense gains have chiefly arisen 
 from buying and selling fancy stocks, and from other similar operations, 
 
44 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 upon an unreal market, kept tip or depressed, as the needs and objects 
 of himself and his brother-gamblers required, or as there were pigeons 
 in the market to be plucked. 
 
 Our readers who have gone with us thus far will not require to be told 
 that, in our opinion, this species of gambling is far more dishonorable 
 and disgraceful than faro-dealing, or thimble-rigging; and that those 
 engaged in it are, to all intents and purposes, blacklegs, and no more 
 entitled to pass for respectable citizens than the fancy sporting men and 
 flash covies about town, who embellish the narrow and back-breaking 
 seats at Burton's, to have a laugh at religion with Aminidab Sleek, or 
 garnish the orchestra stalls at Wallack's, to ogle Miss Keene, and admire 
 the plump ankles and other attributes of Annie Lonsdale. And yet, not 
 only do our brokers and stock gamblers pass for respectable citizens, but 
 they and their families assume an air of pretentious arrogance, elbow 
 honest men aside, and set up for arbiters and dictators of society ! 
 
 See yonder haughty and bold-looking woman, scanning the audience 
 with a defiant sweep of her pearl opera-glass, and directing all eyes" upon 
 herself *by the queenly magnificence of her costume and jewelry. Look 
 well at her, and see if you can detect in her appearance the signs of one 
 of those so much commiserated working girls, whose lamentable condi- 
 tion draws such sympathetic floods of tears from the ink-stands of our 
 philanthropic scribblers. But a few years ago, that haughty head, now 
 flaunting proudly under one of Martell's twenty-five dollar feathers, was 
 bent industriously over the miscellaneous patch-work that came in her 
 way ; and those dainty fingers loaded with diamonds, were busy dis- 
 charging the manifold offices of her father's humble household. But 
 now, not one in all this gaudy and shallow crowd is or feels more 
 intensely the aristocrat than she. The capacity for luxury is the ruling 
 instinct of woman's nature, bursting out into full and perfect bloom upon 
 the first patch of prolific soil, or beneath the first ray of congenial sun- 
 shine. A woman always becomes her riches, her fine clothes, her car- 
 riage, her brilliant drawing-room, the fashionable assemblage, and the 
 highest walk in Vanity Fair — as soon as she is able to compass them. 
 Beside, our democratic empress knows- full well that she is full as good 
 as the rest — why, therefore, should she be afraid ? By the mere and 
 absolute force of money and perseverance, she stands and moves at this 
 moment (though, it is true, not without, now and then, a fight for it) in 
 the van of the snobby aristocracy of this snobby metropolis. We could 
 write a volume of homilies on this one cold-hearted, trifling lady ; but 
 mi bono ? She is only one of the ephemera who float for a moment 
 
SOME PORTKAITS THAT WILL BE RECOGNIZED. 45 
 
 i 
 
 across the broad beams of human life, aimless and valueless, save for the 
 lesson she lends to those who have the wit to find it out and the virtue 
 to profit by it. 
 
 Encroaching upon the crimson-curtained boxes at the other side, of the 
 house, we stumble apologizing past a couple of boxes filled with portions 
 of the indiscriminate crowd, pretty and engaging enough in their way, 
 with one of the handsomest and. best-dressed members of which the dis- 
 tinguished " Joe Sykes" is engaged in earnest conversation — lending for 
 a moment, by the graces of his sprightly wit and high-bred manners, an 
 air of distinction to the entire box. But let us rest our glass a moment 
 upon that small and choleric-looking gentleman in the- box nearest the 
 stage. His quiet and pretty young daughter, modestly attired in black 
 silk, and with a diamond of almost priceless value on her yet undeveloped 
 bosom, is still too young to have made her appearance regularly ticketed 
 in society, and only comes now and then to the Opera by pretty stealth. 
 The father is one of the most devoted patrons of the Opera, a permanent 
 subscriber, stockholder, and proprietor of the edifice itself, and not indis- 
 posed to exercise, on all proper occasions, his opinions and his judgment 
 upon questions relating to the progress and conduct of this aristocratic 
 national amusement. His patent of nobility is of a more ancient date 
 than those of many of his neighbors and compeers ; and, unaffectedly 
 disdainful and haughty in his manners, he gives himself little concern 
 about his position, and thereby doubly confirms it. He is a man of 
 education and taste, but too unbending and ungenial in his temper to 
 obtain from life more than about ten per cent, of the enjoyment of which 
 it is capable. 
 
 Dropping our glass perpendicularly to the balcony sofa, we chance 
 upon the face and figure of one of the lady patronesses of art and litera- 
 ture in her highly-favored seat. Perhaps you think her a little old. My 
 dear sir, you are entirely mistaken — she is by no means so old as her 
 daughter, who sits immediately next her, and who has recently married 
 one of the youngest and handsomest fashionable young bloods about 
 town. Before our lady patroness went to Europe she was, to be sure, a 
 little passee ; but a tour on the continent, and a six months' residence 
 in Paris did wonders, and she came back as fresh and rosy as a bride. 
 Envious and malicious people assert that she is too positively white, and 
 technically read in the dictionary of fashion, very much " assisted ;" but 
 what that means we have not the slightest idea. Our glass knows nothing 
 of it, and we set it down therefore as rank calumny. And, by the way, 
 it is astonishing how far this spirit of scandal will carry some people. 
 
46 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 We have even been present when ladies of notoriously phalansterian 
 habits and ideas have united furiously in tearing to pieces some absent 
 unfortunate, who happened to belong to a larger circle, or possessed a 
 more genial disposition than herself. Indeed, the general result of our 
 observations is, that in fashionable society a woman who sins only 
 brilliantly, falls beneath the envy rather than the indignation of her 
 associates. If she could divest herself of the eclat, the sin might pass 
 unnoticed. 
 
 By the way, we heard the other day of an instance of feminine perse- 
 verance, tact and management in the gratification of a social ambition, 
 which is well worth the trouble of recording. A lady whose husband 
 had amassed considerable money in the manufacture of boots, and who 
 was herself possessed of no ordinary degree of intelligence and smartness, 
 conceived that at length the time had arrived for carrying into execution 
 her long-cherished plan of effecting an entrance into fashionable life. 
 For this purpose she secured the services of a poor female friend, whose 
 position, however, was unquestionable* among the exclusive families, who 
 in consideration of certain favors and gratuities, promised to exert her 
 influence in introducing her to the approaching soiree of Mrs. Blank, of 
 Blank Place. So far did these conspirators against the dignity and 
 purity of the fashionable New York escutcheons carry their designs, that 
 the wife of our friend the bootmaker, was actually taken in company 
 with her fashionable friend, to the blank mansion, and let up the back 
 stairs into the retiring room. While here, however, the heart of the 
 patroness failed her; and, fearful of jeopardizing her own position, instead 
 of taking her protegee by the hand, and leading her boldly into the 
 drawing-room, and introducing her to the lady of the mansion, as she 
 had promised to do, she slipped down stairs, made her way quietly into 
 the parlor, and left her poor friend disconsolate up stairs. After waiting 
 for an unreasonable time for her friend, our heroine went down stairs, 
 stood painfully irresolute for a moment under the glare of the gas-lights, 
 undergoing the inquisitive glances of the porters in the hall ; then, reen- 
 tering her carriage, she found her way home in a furious passion, and 
 arousing her docile and contented husband from a sleep that would have 
 done honor to the innocence of Saint Crispin himself, she swore with a 
 terrible lady's oath that she would yet be at the head of the snobs of 
 New York. Her prediction has been fulfilled, and her aspiration grati- 
 fied. Not three months have passed by since her palace in the Fifth 
 Avenue — for it is indeed a palace — was thrown open to seven hundred 
 and fifty guests, while as many more, the biggest of whom would have 
 
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 4t 
 
 gone on their knees for an invitation, and who were among the front 
 rank of those in the circle where she had been so cruelly slighted, were 
 deliberately overlooked. The party was the festival of the fashionable 
 season. Those who were there were somebodies, and those who were 
 not, were nobodies ; and you may be sure that among the nobodies 
 figured conspicuously our quondam fashionable friend and the lady 
 Blank, of Blank Place. It was a triumph hardly and fairly won, and, 
 doubtless, well repaid her for the pains, and humiliations, and vexations 
 it must have cost her. She now may consider herself fairly established 
 in the world, and may ape on a smaller scale the soirees of the charming 
 Lady Blessington — give levees to the literati, get up desperate flirtations 
 with the smaller toadies of obscure greatness, and give literary dinners, 
 at which a great many more good things go into the guests' mouths 
 than come out of them. By perseverance and tact she has succeeded in 
 making herself the centre of a circle ; and we have even heard that one 
 of our innumerable great poets, of whom nobody ever heard, actually 
 dedicated a volume of his works to her. At all events she really has 
 brains, and a style of beauty piquante and exciting ; and, having imbibed 
 a taste for music, she attends the opera, not only for the purpose of being 
 seen, but also really for the pleasure of hearing. Between the acts she 
 receives numerous visits, evidently from the distingue appearance of the 
 visitors, voluntary ones. She treats them all. with the same haughty, 
 supercilious politeness, as if she were queen, and they her vassals. The 
 husband of this lady, whom one would imagine at least Secretary of 
 State, or something of that kind, never appears in public with her 
 Whether she will not permit it, or he is not fond of society, we do not 
 know. The probability is that having been all his life confined to his 
 shop, he does not care to go out. He has not, like his wife, the power 
 of keeping up gracefully with his changed fortunes ; and, although now 
 a wealthy aristocrat, whose wife flaunts among the proudest, and sets the 
 laws of fashionable society, he is still the humble, pains-taking and con- 
 tented shopkeeper in bearing and aspect. This is almost invariably the 
 fate of the man-machine who digs and scrapes together the money upon 
 which his wife and daughters cut a dash, and his sons grow up " fast " 
 members of young New York. 
 
 The history and position of this family furnish a striking illustration 
 of the democratic abstractions about equality, and point unerringly to 
 the one and only test of one man's superiority to another. It is not 
 blood, nor education, nor virtue, it is merely money. Look round this 
 brilliant house upon this fashionable throng, and you cannot find a soli- 
 
* 
 
 48 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 tary exception to this rule. Those who occupy the higli places, do so 
 solely because they have money. Take that from them, and they would 
 slide down unnoticed, and their footmen and chambermaids— so they 
 got possession of the money — might take possession also of their seats 
 and their position without a murmur of disapprobation. True, there are 
 a few men of real talent here ; but they are mostly journalists, critics, 
 and such trash, and are penned up as we have said in a corner, down 
 there by the big fiddle, where not an eye glance by any possibility ever 
 reaches them. " We had no money — we were nothing. They have no 
 money — they are nothing." Such is the insolent yet sagacious logic 
 which alone passes current among the aristocracy of New York. 
 
 Suppose we give you, by way of variety, a specimen of the Opera 
 House dandy of New York ? There are as many kinds of dandies as of 
 crabs, almonds, and Baptists, namely — hard-shelled and soft-shelled. 
 The soft-shelled are the most numerous of the dandy tribe, but they are 
 so inevitably soft, and destitute of characteristics, that they are a very 
 unprofitable theme for writing about, or in fact for any other purpose, 
 save filling up the chinks in a polka or entertaining the old ladies 
 in a still-life party. They are very contemptible, very happy, and 
 very harmless — completely wrapped up in their nicely-embroidered 
 self-love and Avaistcoats, and fortunately insensible to the ridicule which 
 they never fail to inspire among sensible men, and especially among sen- 
 sible women. But the hard-shelled dandy is a different sort of ani- 
 mal. He is a rare compound of impudence, vanity, toadyism, and super- 
 ciliousness, and, besides, he must be possessed of no inconsiderable share 
 of brains. We have a fair specimen of this species now under the focus 
 of our glass. He is attired not only in the height of the fashion, but 
 with a certain bizarre recklessness, which, however becoming it might be 
 in a wild Indian, or Cuffee in the cotton-field, seems strangely out of 
 taste in that symposium of style and taste, the Opera House. His 
 trousers are of the decided Boweryish cut, and measure more than the 
 full lawful sixty inches round the bottom. His coat is very natty and 
 short-waisted, and the innumerable small buttons shine in the gas-light 
 as if he had eyes breaking out all over his body. He wears a diaphan- 
 ous French embroidered shirt-bosom, with an immense pair of collars, 
 upon which each ear sits awkwardly astride, like a school-boy on a high 
 fence. His vest is extra long and pointed, and he wields an opera glass 
 almost as large as our own. But his cravat, that is the crowning effort 
 of his genius, the characteristic charm of his appearance. It is as 
 red as blood; and as he sits leaning 6ver the white railing of the balco- 
 
MORE PORTRAITS. 49 
 
 ny, poking his glass into every pretty face in the semi-circle, his neck 
 seems as if it had caught fire, and there is a movement among the 
 h'hoys in the amphitheatre, as if they were about to run for the machine. 
 However, they would find that our dandy is not easily put out. 
 
 Now, certainly to look at this dandy little gentleman, and observe the 
 airs he puts on, and the intense satisfaction beams in his face, one would 
 imagine that he was at the very head of the social fabric His his- 
 tory will show of what stuff the pretensions of our aristocracy are 
 made. The father of our young Redbreast is a respectable trades- , 
 man, and has amassed a nice little sum from the profits of his busi- 
 ness. His son, Tom, was always a scapegrace ; and after ineffectual 
 trials to reform and make something of him, the attempt was abandoned, 
 and he was left to shift for himself. We believe he commenced 
 the world as a clerk in a jobbing house, but of this we are not 
 positively certain. The first of our authentic records finds him keeping 
 a little cigar store in Broadway, dispensing the fragrant weed impar- 
 tially to all comers, at five for a shilling. We next hear of him in a 
 small dry goods store, where he works all day like a dog, and 
 cuts a tiptop swell all night, on two hundred dollars and under. 
 We heard, too, we believe, that he went into business for him- 
 self, but shortly burst up, and was again thrown upon his oars. 
 The old gentleman's purse, however, is long; and when all other inge- 
 nious devices fail to raise the wind, the old governor has, of course, as is 
 very natural and proper, to bleed. In the face of this well-known his- 
 tory as to his origin and character, the imperturbable coolness of young 
 Redbreast is such that he would, in any but a plebeian society where 
 titles are not known, be taken for a duke's son at the very least. He is 
 the terror of all the poodles of his tribe, whom he never spares, 
 but slays remorselessly with a word. His wit is not keen, but depends 
 for its effect upon a certain bluntness and discrimination of character 
 quite unusual and unexpected in one of his tribe. Altogether, although 
 he is a confirmed dandy and coxcomb himself, yet he is held in great 
 dread by the rest of the species; and if he would only take the 
 time and trouble to go about it, we have no doubt he would exterminate 
 the entire race — including, we devoutly hope, himself. 
 
 Do you see that thin, nervous, sanguine-temperamented man over 
 yonder on the balcony side sofa, sitting beside a fine-looking woman, 
 who is evidently still the pet of her lord and master. The gentleman is 
 quite aged, yet the enthusiasm and self-complacency of his disposition 
 have kept his face almost unploughed, and his gestures and movements ^ 
 
50 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 are as sprightly and youthful as his eldest son's would be, if he had one 
 If there ever was a man fond of music — devoted heart and soul to the 
 
 opera — it is Professor . Not only does he attend regularly every 
 
 public peformance, rain or shine, and be the opera old or new, subscri- 
 bers' night or off night, extra night or benefit, but he seldom or never 
 misses a day or night rehearsal. They say that he has an extensive 
 practice-chamber — having long since retired from the more arduous out- 
 door duties of his profession — and 'we know that he has a great many 
 visits to make, and a great many lectures to deliver — so that we cannot 
 see for the life of us how he is enabled to keep time with all the move- 
 ments of Maretzek's baton. Yet, go when you will, there he is, seated 
 in an attitude of intense and restless attention, his little twinkling gray 
 eye fixed firmly upon the performers, and his hand involuntarily moving 
 in concert with that of the conductor. He knows exactly when the big 
 trombone is to come in, and when the fagotto should have taken up a 
 note it has forgot to. He is evidently out of his element in front of the 
 house, but would be perfectly at home behind the green top of that 
 Jersey carry-all, whence the prompter dictates the words to his forgetful 
 
 and obstreperous crew. Yes, if fate had made Professor a prime 
 
 tenore, he would have married a prima donna, and of course been an 
 enviable man. Eh ! Benedetti ? 
 
 Of all the legitimate opera aristocracy on these sofas (and the illegiti- 
 mate ones too), our professor is the only man we can see. who is really 
 entitled to the distinction. He has intellect and genius, with which he 
 has cut and carved his way (sometimes, it is true, over the dead bodies 
 of his patients and subjects) to a well-earned and lucrative distinction. 
 Supercilious as he is to his inferiors, he is deferential to his superiors, 
 well-bred and entertaining to his equals, and with a delicious lisp and 
 velvet voice, which especially qualifies him for making progress among 
 that sex with whom accomplished doctors are so great favorites. We 
 yield him our respect, not on account of his position nor his wealth, but 
 simply because he has brains ; and so we kiss our baud to his still ele- 
 gant and attractive dame, and pass on.* 
 
 And by the way, speaking of handsome ladies, we would delicately 
 venture a hint to those luxuriously developed young girls sitting imme- 
 diately under the balcony side railings. They are certainly unconscious 
 of the beautiful and extensive prospect enjoyed by the eyes of the young 
 
 ♦Those who recognize this portrait will remember, with grief, that since it was drawn, the ori- 
 ginal haB ceased to exist. I trust that his friends will not think it presumptuous that I have 
 retained the-jketch. 
 
THE TEETERERS. 51 
 
 gentlemen who lean over the railing talking to them. They are, how- 
 ever, by no means singular. All over the house, and especially in the 
 front boxes up stairs, you can see groups of young men gathered behind 
 some audaciously-undressed beauty, who leans back in her seat, and 
 turns up her face, for the purpose of conversing at her ease. We are 
 determined that if ever our daughters go to the opera, they shall either 
 have a private box, or wear high-necked dresses. 
 
 Those " spicily-dressed women" on a front sofa, with a very young 
 gentleman sitting between them, his head thatched with perfectly 
 smooth and shining hair — are they not pretty ? One of the ladies has 
 set off her white neck and beautiful arms with a black lace scarf, and on 
 her throat and down her delicate bust, gleam rows and roses of 
 diamonds, glittering like the chandelier, seen through the little end of 
 our opera-glass. That very young gentleman is overwhelmed with his 
 good fortune, and really does not seem to know what to do with himself. 
 Enviable doo- ! 
 
 And by the way, as they take their seats (they have just come in), 
 we observe that they belong to that interesting class of femininities des- 
 cribed by a writer as "teeterers." They, and the class to which they 
 betang, deserve especial mention, as they are to be seen not only at the 
 opera-house, but in all other public places — in church, at concerts, in the 
 omnibusses, on the ferry-boats, in railroad cars, steamboats ; everywhere 
 where that pretty animal — young lady — is indigenous or exotic, there 
 may be seen the teeterers. Physiologists and anatomists have not yet, that 
 we are aware of, discovered that the knees and ankles of young ladies 
 are furnished with an extra pair of patent spiral spring muscles, which 
 keeps them when standing or moving about, continually on the teeter. 
 Those of our readers not well versed in orthoepical lore may not know 
 what teetering is. Nevertheless, it is a good old Anglo-Saxon word, and 
 the best definition we can give of it, is to say, that when a woman 
 teeters, she makes motions as milch as possible like those sand-snipes, of 
 tip-ups,- found along the shores of our rivers, and with which every 
 sportsman is familiar. Overhaul your "Frank Forester's Sportsman's 
 Manual," and when found make a note of. Let us take aim now with 
 our double-barrelled glass, and bring down a couple of these teeterers — a 
 class of ornithologies not laid down in that most comprehensive work of the 
 most immortal biographer of birds, Audubon. There, quick ! Look in 
 the centre private box, yonder to the left. Here is a bevy of full-grown 
 teeterers just flown in, and making the preparatory teeters before alight- 
 ing on the crimson-cushioned chairs. They are fine specimens of the 
 
52 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 bird — full-fed, full-breasted, and of magnificent plumage. As they enter 
 the box, each of the pretty creatures stands still a moment, surveying 
 the house, and drinking in the intoxicating magnetic effervescence that 
 always rises to the lips in an agreeable crowd. Then she gives a little 
 teeter, and moves half a step forward, as if she had trodden upon a 
 pebble. Then the beautiful white silk opera-cloak is thrown off, and the 
 Medicean shoulder, daintily dressed (as French cooks dress shoulders, 
 only to make them more piquant and exciting) in ravishingly thin illu- 
 sion. Then another little teeter, and a deliciously helpless tumble into 
 the front seat — another good long teeter, and she sinks at last into the 
 chair. All the others follow suit, and the whole party are finally ranged 
 in order, ready to quiz their acquaintances, criticize their neighbors' 
 dresses, ogle the beaux, and now and then, perhaps, listen to the music. 
 
 You think the teetering process, then, is over ? You were never more 
 mistaken in your life. In fact it has but just begun. If you will pay 
 attention, you will see that the vertebrae of these young ladies are 
 furnished with the patent spiral spring muscles, as well as their knees 
 and ankles ; and hips too, for ought we know to the contrary. They 
 scarcely set still a single instant. If one of them but flirt her Spanish 
 sandal wood fan, she accompanies the movement with a teeter. If she 
 adjust that cloud of illusion clinging dream-like about her neck and pro- 
 lonMno; itself into the blushing mornino- of her bosom — she teeters. When 
 one lovely arm wearies of holding the glass, and she changes it to the 
 other jeweled hand, the pretty manoeuvre is accompanied by a teeter, 
 which she no doubt thinks still prettier. In short, as every excursion of 
 a lover terminates at the dwelling of his beloved, so every movement of a 
 thorough going opera bird ends in a teeter. 
 
 The act is down, and every lady spruces up the bouquet on her bosom 
 and adjusts her ringlets or her neck-gear, for the expected visitations of 
 her forked radish acquaintances. Beautiful necks are stretched over the 
 railing to see what acquaintance has left his seat, or modest eyes are cast 
 demurely down, assisting the ears to catch the first sound of a visitor's 
 footsteps. And now begins a general teetering. Sofa after sofa, box 
 after box, all seem as if they had been suddenly smitten by the spell of 
 the all potent genii of the three-legged stool, and set cantering ngainst 
 their will, ^The game grows intensely exciting, and you begin to wonder 
 where it will all end. In good time, however, the curtain rises, and the 
 teetering subsides. 
 
 It was for a long time impossible for us to get at the clue of this 
 teetering business, and w- were en the point of giving the matter up in 
 
 
A MERCHANT PRINCE. 53 
 
 despair; when, happening one evening at the house of a literary lady, 
 and observing that all the pettieoated nobodies in the room made 
 extravagant use of the fashionable teeter, while the real celebrities 
 present on the occasion were as staid and quiet as ever, — we at length hit 
 upon the solution of the mystery. These teeterers are dying to be 
 distinguished in some way from the " common people." They have not 
 brains enough to do it by talking. It must, therefore, be effected in 
 some cheaper way. Teetering is a ridiculous thing — the sensible ones 
 will never think of doing anything half so laughable. Teetering will be 
 all our own — therefore, let us form ourselves into a class and conjugate 
 the verb to teeter in all its inflections and genuflections, — thus : I teeter, 
 Thou teeterest, She teeters, — We teeter, You teeter, Everybody teeters. 
 So it turns out that those who exhibit the greatest activity in their heels 
 are the most deficient in their heads — a homely but most natural and 
 antithetical conclusion, and one that we advise a young gentleman to 
 think well of before he undertakes to put one of these opera birds in his 
 game bag. 
 
 Yonder on the front sofa, near the middle of the house, is a real 
 merchant prince. We have all heard a great deal about " merchant 
 princes ;" but those who have come in contact with 'any of the great 
 mass of individuals who pass under this title must have been supremely 
 disgusted at finding their magnificent illusions so utterly destroyed. Per 
 haps there does not exist in the civilized world a class of persons who, 
 generally speaking, are a more perfect antithesis to all our ideas of 
 " princes" than the snobs of New York. Nearly all of them sprung from 
 not only humble but low origin ; ttiey retain all the littleness of envy, 
 the meanness of emulation, and the stinginess about money which char- 
 acterize menials — persons whose very position precludes every idea of 
 honor and chivalry, as a necessary corollary of their profession, and for 
 the exercise of which they would be disgraced. For the most part, our 
 parvenu aristocracy, who live in magnificent houses, and whose families 
 ride in beautiful carriages, glitter at the Opera and give royal entertain- 
 ments, are of the lowest grade of vulgarity — a vulgarity, too, which is 
 incurable because it is innate, and which displays itself despite their 
 wealth, despite their position, despite their exclusive'and well-sifted asso- 
 ciations, and despite their accomplishments, at every moment. The 
 father always appears sneaking and insignificant, and would more likely 
 be taken for a delinquent footman than for the master of the house. Do 
 what he will, he cannot forget the time when he ran of errands, delivered 
 packages, and trembled in his well-worn shoes when his master conde- 
 
54 >'EW YORK NAKED. 
 
 scended to frown upon him or to speak to him. He never hears the 
 door-bell ring without a nervous twitching of the flexors and extensors, 
 as if he were about to run and open it; and if. a lady enters, he receives 
 her with an ah-'of humble obsequiousness and a profusion of servile 
 genuflexions, which seem to say in very writhe, " What kind of article 
 will you be pleased to look at to-day, madam ?" 
 
 But the mistress of the family demonstrates her vulgarity in another, 
 though no less unmistakable manner. Women have no sense of justice 
 — at least such women ; and they forget their own low origin and shake 
 off all its humilities and decorous sentiments without a twinge of remorse, 
 the very moment their means enable them to do so. Go about the 
 fashionable shops of a pleasant morning — visit a fashionable concert, and 
 endeavor modestly to get a seat — go anywhere among the women of 
 whom we speak — and what do you see ? Abundance of rich dresses, 
 fine equipages and appointments, truly. But at the same time you see 
 nothing but fat and coarsely-made persons, large and strong hands and 
 feet — hoarse and croaking voices, giving utterance to the very lowest 
 species of common-place and scandal, in horrible grammar and worse 
 pronunciation. Yes, we ourselves have heard again and again the awful 
 "you was-es," the "I done its," the " bens," and the "sawrs" of the stable 
 and the scullery, issuing in vulgar tones from lips whose owners were 
 enveloj^ed in the costliest brocades, dazzling with diamonds, and who 
 really give laws to "fashionable society." As to the manners of these 
 lady patronesses of our New York aristocracy, they are rude and insolent 
 to an extent that would be laughable if it were not so pitiable. They 
 not only are never guilty of any of th6se graceful concessions which con- 
 fer such innocent pleasure upon both giver and receiver, and impart real 
 interest to even the most casual intercourse of well-bred people, but they 
 will go out of their way to insult a person not so well dressed as them- 
 selves, or to stare a modest woman out of countenance. Their talk is 
 loud and boisterous, and richly gimped and fringed with slang and 
 laughter; and it is a general custom with them, whenever an opportu- 
 nity offers, to jostle and push aside their inferiors — with much the same 
 feeling, we may suppose, that Irish servant girls and negroes always per- 
 sist in taking the wall of ladies and other white folks. We can tell a 
 tiptop fashionable woman by her swagger, as far as -a sailor can recog- 
 nize a Dutch lugger. In one word, while in real well-bred society every 
 one is solicitous to contribute everything in his power to the convenience 
 and pleasure of every one else, our aristocracy are constantly on the 
 watch to detect some means of annoying others and making themselves as 
 
A NOBLE EXCEPTION. 55 
 
 disagreeable as insolence, ignorance, and a total insensibility to ridicule 
 can accomplish. Such, we venture to say, will not be pronounced by 
 those who know, an overdrawn picture of the snob-aristocracy of New 
 
 York. 
 
 But there are exceptions, and distinguished ones. If you will look 
 there on the front balcony seats, just at the left of the principal entrance, 
 you will see several members of a family who do not in any degree 
 deserve these censures, but are really and unaffectedly what good- 
 hearted, sensible and fortunate people ought to be. 
 
 The old gentleman is a fine, rather distinguished-looking person, 
 dressed with scrupulous neatness, and with a strong predisposition to 
 taste and fashion. In fact, we had better admit at once that he is 
 evidently conscious of his good looks, and is — to say all in one word — 
 something of a dandy. His appearance, however, is strictly decorous 
 and' unostentatious ; and he is altogether a splendid specimen of the 
 " fine old Yankee gentleman." 
 
 The eldest son is from thirty-eight to forty years of age, and is also 
 quite gray, and like his three brothers, is a fair representative of the 
 paternal character. The wife and daughters, daughters-in-law and 
 brothers-in-law, are all unexceptionable and worthy ; and altogether the 
 family are a credit to themselves and an honor to the community. If 
 our " aristocracy " were composed of such individuals, we should have 
 nothing to censure. 
 
 Over a quarter of a century ago the head of this family — an intelligent 
 and comprehensive minded Yankee from New Hampshire — immigrated 
 to this city and commenced business in a humble way. Gradually he 
 proceeded from success to success, until he at last found himself at the 
 head of an immense and profitable business, and with a numerous and 
 interesting family of boys and girls growing up about him, some of them 
 just preparing to enter into society. At this time one of those terrible 
 financial choleras to wdiich our country is subject swept over New York, 
 and the great merchant found himself bankrupt. He immediately 
 wound up, paying sixty cents on the dollar, and getting a release from 
 his creditors. With the courage and calmness of a true man he went to 
 work again ; and in a few years made up his losses and paid all his old 
 creditors every cent due them, with interest. This gave him an immense 
 credit and reputation ; and in a short time the house had more than 
 recovered its former wealth and standing, and is now the center of a 
 very extensive trade. Some time ago the old gentleman gave up the 
 business entirely to his sons, and retired in dignified and quiet content- 
 
56 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 ment. His children are kind-hearted, polished and unostentatious 
 people ; and whenever we see any of thern, in public or in private, we 
 pause to thank them silently for the refreshing contrast they afford to 
 that mean and groveling world of hatred, envy and despicable vanity 
 amid which they move. 
 
 And now for a pleasant look about the house ; for the audience is very 
 brilliant, and Parodi, whom Italy has just begun to appreciate, is filling 
 the whole arena with a j^alpitating excitement by her gigantic per- 
 formance of the Lucrezia. Let us commence at the extremity of the 
 balcony toward Eighth Street. First, a pair of calm classical faces, 
 surmounting, one a white opera cloak with a square little dainty French 
 collar, and the other a bright garnet-colored jacket, so intense as to 
 amount to a real crimson. They look about very little, and evidently 
 came to hear the music. Immediately behind them is seating herself a 
 fair and delicate-colored blonde, with pale blue eyes, plurnp arms of the 
 faint hue of summer roses, and head faultlessly set on and matchlessly 
 set off by a simple pearl-white head-dress of chenille. 
 
 On the third row of the balcony, in front of Commonplace Area, are 
 two fine-looking creatures, full of life and spirits, always smiling when 
 not laughing, and always flirting their fans when there is nothing more 
 agreeable to flirt with. They are regular attendants at the opera, and 
 enjoy it evidently to the full, though not very critically. Even should 
 they discover faults, they are far too good-natured to take notice of 
 them. 
 
 In a box half round to the centre of Oblivion Row sit a very 
 distinguished-looking party. They are the young wife of a prosperous 
 speculator in steamboats and a man of wealth and fashion — surrounded 
 by her pretty sisters and relatives, with the handsome and happy 
 husband, evidently in the highest state of earthly beatitude. 
 
 In the front row of the balcony, rather nearer the stage, sits a small, 
 intellectual-looking man, with a high-spirited, tastefully-dressed lady on 
 either side — his wife, probably, and sister-in-law. The ladies are evi- 
 dently made of the finer porcelain of humanity's clay, and their faces 
 are like fair lamps lit with pleasant thoughts. 
 
 On either side of the aisle, nearly opposite, are a mother and daugh- 
 ter, the mother with a perpetual smile and the daughter with all that 
 unconscious g . so charming in infancy and girlhood, and which so 
 
 often bursts out into the most buoyant gaiety and wit. 
 
 But see that lady in pink, in the extreme upper corner of the balcony, 
 Astor Placeward — how imperially she leans against the little pillar, and 
 
THE VICOMTESSE DE CLAIRYILLE. 5T 
 
 sweeps the horizon with her glass. An arm, hopeless of parallel, save in 
 its fellow, firm as ivory yet pliant as a lily stem, is clasped with a dainty 
 bracelet in loving embrace, just where the dimpled wrist diminishes into 
 the exquisitely molded hand. -Her high brow, surmounting one of 
 Lady Bulwer's inimitable noses, seems the pure tablet upon which 
 a world of beautiful dreams are ready to record their pleasant histories 
 twenty years from now, if we could read the page ! 
 
 Carrying our glass toward the central aisle, we are arrested by a group 
 of superb forms, robed in the most exquisite French taste, occupying the 
 whole of a box in Oblivion Row. They are evidently a comme il faut . 
 party, carefully and expensively got up, and clearly altogether at home. 
 They aie not regular habituees of the Opera, and are well worth finding 
 out. Let us enlighten you. That is the family of Monsieur le Compte 
 de Clairville, who are here for a brief winter visit to one of our real aris- 
 tocratic families, with whom they made acquaintance some time ago in 
 Paris. You don't hear of these people at the New York Hotel, 
 nor the Clarendon — and, beyond their own immediate circle, very 
 few people in .New York know anything of them. We will describe the 
 young Vicomtesse de Clairville, such as we afterwards knew her — a 
 sweet and perfect type of a real woman of rank and fashion — a 
 model to be studied, a woman to be loved and adored. Her form 
 had that appearance of absolute repose which nothing but full and 
 vigorous life in relaxation possesses — for the sleep of death is rigor- 
 ous, and stiff, and clammy, and the uneasy reclining of the inva- 
 lid wearies rather than refreshes. The careless, unconscious aban- 
 donment to rest of a warm, rosy, palpitating form, flushed with the exu- 
 berance of a life it temporarily neglects to use, conveys to the mind the 
 only sense of absolute repose. 
 
 The form of Madame de Clairville may well be selected as the type of 
 both activity and rest. Round, plump, and elastic, as an infant's, she 
 moves in buoyant undulations, like an embodied wave — the reali- 
 zation of the old Greek fable, Aphrodite rising from the sea. She 
 is too dignified in her calm and somewhat disdainful mien to be 
 called petite, and yet so infantile and graceful in her movements, 
 that she inspires I know not what maguetic fascination, and an 
 insane desire to rush toward her — to clasp her in your arms — to 
 eat her, in short — and it is with difficulty that one highly susceptible 
 to the fascination of grace and motion refrains from committing some 
 mad indiscretion when this exquisite vision first beams upon him. 
 
 Should you undertake to make a catalogue raisonne of the Vicom- 
 
 4 
 
58 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 tesse de Clairville's charms, you would not arrive at any very apparent 
 brilliant result. A soft and changeable rosy light spreads all over her 
 face, and envelopes her in an atmosphere that makes all beautiful. It is 
 the presence that enthralls you, and you never dream of the sacri- 
 lege of analysing in detail the features of this youthful pythoness, 
 who floats before you in a mysterious cloud, prophesying of joy 
 and hope, and love. But the glance of her. calm, steady, liquid 
 eye, blue and unfathomable as the ocean, condenses this wavering cloud 
 of radiance, and transfixes you with its resistless spell. It sends electric 
 fire through the heart, illuminating the memory, making the harp of life 
 vibrate with sweet and unknown music. The mystery of life and love 
 in that glance — latent to all the world — to be revealed, perhaps, in all 
 its wild and thrilling earnestness, never to one on earth. 
 
 I know not that I have at all succeeded in imparting any effective idea 
 of this extraordinary being, or of explaining the resistless power she exer- 
 cises over all whom she chooses to influence. She relies on no gorgeous 
 dress to produce — all is as exquisitely simple as a Shakspere sonnet. 
 The stupid and the commonplace pass her by as the Indians so long- 
 passed by the priceless golden sands of the Pacific, until knowledge and 
 appreciation saw and seized them with thirsting avidity. The secret of 
 her power is in that latent grace I have attempted to describe — the 
 power of the hidden magnetic currents in the loadstone, of the lightning 
 buried in its cloud. She is like some magic flower, -which opens by 
 being gazed upon, and expands into immortal beauty beneath those eyes 
 worthy to take in and understand her. She is the sapphire-pictured 
 goblet of the orientals, in which the beholder sees all that his heart and 
 soul are capable of drinking in. There is no standard by which to mea- 
 sure her: she rises with the occasion to a supernatural height. Fancy, 
 imagination, genius — they are her playthings; and if she looks not 
 with disdain upon those who pride themselves upon the possession of 
 these gifts, it is because her nature cannot be for. an instant anything 
 but magnanimous. Her mental organization approaches prophecy nearer 
 than genius. She is not a poet — she is the muse of inspiration 
 itself. 
 
 This bewildering creature leans lightly against the seat in the further 
 corner of the box. A rose-colored dress, cut plain and close, reveals tho 
 outlines of her form against the dark maroon velvet of the couch; and 
 just where the horizon of the rosy robe mingles with the velvet gloom of 
 the sofa, lies the most piquant foot and ankle, encased in a delicately- 
 fashioned gaiter, rose-colored, and of the same material as the dress. 
 
 
CONTRASTS. 59 
 
 But we have lingered too long beneath this delicious spell. Let us 
 resume our journey round the house. 
 
 Our glass is arrested at this moment by a most substantial-looTdng 
 member of the opera aristocracy, who, with his wife and wife's sister, has 
 come to enjoy the soothing influence of music — of which he is extrava- 
 gantly fond — after the severe labors of the day, buying and selling 
 imaginary cargoes of flour on 'Change, and realizing his shilling per 
 barrel with no other trouble tmm making a bargain. However, he is 
 now rich, and plays his part among the aristocracy with a skill and grace 
 becoming his station. Amid all his innumerable and responsible avoca- 
 tions, as a merchant prince, he finds opportunities during the day of 
 being pretty constantly engaged in a series of the most interesting per- 
 sonal and philosophical experiments. One of his favorite recreations is 
 to come up softly behind an acquaintance, stick his forefinger near his 
 cheek, and then suddenly call out his name. The poor fellow of course 
 turns round quickly, and runs his nose or cheek sharply against his 
 friend's finger — which, you must see is exquisitely funny. Sometimes 
 the wag pins a handkerchief to the coat-tail of one of his acquaintances, 
 steals another's pocket-handkerchief, and drops bits of paper on the hat- 
 brim of a third. 
 
 These arduous and exhausting tasks of course make our hero 
 thoroughly worn out by the time he reaches home, and admirably pre- 
 dispose him for enjoying the chefs d'oeuvre of Donizetti and Rossini. 
 His wife cares nothing about music, however, and only goes to please 
 the fastidious taste of her husband. She is a most excellent woman, and 
 feels herself peculiarly fortunate, especially when contrasting her married 
 state with that of her sister, now happily a widow. 
 . The sister made a grand mistake in estimating the character of hirn 
 she consented to call her lord. He was a decided swell — a fast man- 
 cut a dash — and fairly dazzled her usually cool and excellent judgment. 
 Soon after his marriage, however, his real character became too appa- 
 rent. He rapidly sunk, step by step, down to the mere street loafer, and 
 finally enlisted as a common soldier in the army, and went to Mexico, 
 where he died. On receipt of the intelligence of his death, the respec- 
 table brother-in-law, who had been greatly scandalized at the fellow's 
 doings, and esteemed as she deserved the excellent sister of his wife, could 
 not forbear exclaiming : " "Well, there's some good news from Mexico at 
 last !" 
 
 Look in the balcony, just in front of the middle boxes, and you may 
 see one of the most brilliant and astonishing results of quack medicine 
 
 ( 
 
60 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 ever yet recorded. The father of that excessively dandified and aristo- 
 cratic youth, who holds his head as if .he " smelt something/' was a few 
 years ago as poor as you or I. But in a lucky hour he invented the 
 " Health Pills and Flummux Bitters." One of their most remarkable 
 cures is before you. The young man, we doubt, has really worked him- 
 self up into the belief that the purifying effects of the health pill and 
 flummux bitters have cleansed his blood of^ll plebeian taint, and that he is 
 now actually a full-blooded aristocrat, descended from William the Con- 
 querer and Pocahontas. The modest and decidedly beautiful woman 
 beside him is his newly-married wife — and her at least he cannot prize 
 too highly. 
 
 Yonder light-colored young man, with a soft lymphatic face, sprinkled 
 with a flaxen moustache, with large hands and feet, ill fitting garments, 
 and a gait almost as shambling as a Yankee pedlar's, is a fair specimen 
 of the dry goods business. He is the brother of a distinguished auctioneer 
 and a conspicuous politician, and is continually on the go, from box to 
 box, and from sofa to sofa — squeezing in here and out there — treading 
 on a gouty gentleman's toes, and deranging an old woman's head-dress 
 as he bows an apology — always laughing, always confused, and always 
 in hot water. If he would only keep quiet, nobody would know how 
 intensely snobbish and vulgar he is, nor how deficient he is — up here, 
 just over the eyes ! 
 
 In the balcony, just underneath the box of the beautiful opera queen, 
 sits our good-natured and fat friend, the prince of auctioneers, who is in 
 raptures with Lorini, because he runs everything up so easily. If he only 
 had such a voice, there is no limit to the prices he could get for the goods 
 he sells at auction ! He has evidently dined sumptuously, and is in that 
 peculiar state of beatitude so well described by the phrase " laying off." 
 
 Perhaps among the most conspicuous objects in the house is that 
 family in the box yonder, consisting of the mother and two or three 
 daughters, all of whom, however, but one, are now married. The women 
 are not beautiful, but are distinguished in their appearance, dressed in 
 exquisite taste, and in a remarkably quiet style for our high-colored 
 metropolis ; and all bear a striking resemblance to each other in form 
 and features, although the elder ones show a decided tendency to embon- 
 point. They are undeniably the most pretentious, exclusive, and aristo- 
 cratic family in the city. Their position originally was by no means an 
 elevated one; but by the sheer force of perseverance, discretion, and 
 industry, added to an unyielding pretensio% of manner, and a consider- 
 able degree of accomplishment and positive Ability, they have succeeded 
 
 
 * » \. 
 
 > 
 
FAMILY HISTORY. 61 
 
 in establishing themselves as the acknowledged head of the ostentatious 
 or gay class of the fashionable world. It must be confessed that some 
 of their means and appliances are ludicrous enough to those who have 
 taken the trouble to examine into the philosophy of society, or of those 
 material distinctions and badges of title and position which are recog- 
 nized as such in Europe. For instance, it was discovered that in the 
 Old World the panels of aristocratic carriages are sometimes decorated 
 with the coat of arms or device of their owners. Our fashionables, 
 determined not to be behind the very best aristocracy going, have had 
 a very beautiful picture painted on the side of their carriage by a distin- 
 guished artist, for which they paid fifty dollars in cash. It represents, 
 as well as we can make it out, a moose trying to climb over a currant 
 bush, supported by a utensil strongly resembling a cooper's adze, while 
 the quarterings are filled with ducal strawberries, which, by some error 
 of the artist, look very much like thimbles. It appears also that some- 
 body has informed them that English coachmen, footmen, &c, always 
 wear livery ; accordingly they have enveloped their driver in an immense 
 drab snrtout with six capes and brass buttons as big as breakfast plates. 
 This coat he never puts off in public, either in summer or winter. 
 Around his hat is a broad red band, carefully preserved from season to 
 season, and regularly transferred from the old tile to the new. This 
 portentous costume, comfortable enough certainly in cold weather, is as 
 inconvenient in summer to its sweltering owner as it is at all times 
 laughable and ridiculous. But it is livery. The Browns are aristocrats. 
 Aristocrats clothe their coachmen in livery. Therefore the poor devil of 
 a driver must sweat and swelter from June to September in this prepos- 
 terous woollen casing, more horrible to endure and infinitely less elegant 
 than the celebrated shirt of Nessus. 
 
 The history of the families who founded the noble house to whose 
 members we are now paying our respects is a real romance. Of the 
 fathers, one was a tailor, and for a number of years kept a little slop-shop 
 and clothing store for sailors in a side street down town. The other was 
 a worthy and respectable cooper, who made the neighborhood merry 
 with his noisy hammering, which, from his natural fondness for music 
 and the opera, arranged itself involuntarily into true musical rhythm. 
 He did not, however, prosper in this world's goods so well as his friend and 
 neighbor the tailor — people appearing to be more in want of breeches 
 than barrels. He determined, therefore, to co-operate with his neighbor, 
 and accordingly formed a copartnership with him in the tailoring busi- 
 ness, whence large 'profits and cabbages had begun to Sow and grow. 
 
62 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 Both being men of great shrewdness, tact, and economy, and worship- 
 ping money as the one only true god, their gains rapidly accumulated, 
 and were permanently invested in real estate. This of course increased, 
 in value with the growth of the city, until in a few years the partners 
 found themselves millionaires, and their children, who had intermarried, 
 and formed other eligible associations, were ready to assume the front 
 rank as members of the aristocracy — a position which they seem deter- 
 mined to make the most of; and all the ladies say they are very nice 
 and worthy people. 
 
 In process of time, one of the old gentlemen died, leaving, as was con- 
 tended, a will devolving the great bulk of the estate upon the eldest chil- 
 dren, and cutting off the younger brothers and sisters with a paltry 
 annuity. Attempts have been made by the younger children to break 
 the will, and divide the property equally among all the heirs ; but, after 
 long, exhausting, and protracted litigations, in which the poor plaintiffs 
 -were illy prepared to play their parts, they still remain unsuccessful, and 
 it is more than probable that the final decision of the courts will confirm 
 the present holders in their possessions, upon which they now nourish so 
 extensively at the Opera and elsewhere among the fashionable world — 
 thus virtually annulling the provision in our Constitution against the law 
 of primogeniture, and enforcing, in effect, the hateful right of entail. 
 
 But, if the lucky children of this family have succeeded in keeping 
 possession of all the money, the younger branches have enjoyed a full 
 share of the romance. One of the younger brothers, having a great 
 fondness for music and the arts, and being especially devoted to the dra- 
 ma, became greatly smitten at an early age with the charms and graces 
 of a young actress, the daughter of a distinguished family of artists, 
 and who, born and bred on the stage of the old Park Theatre, had made 
 a brilliant and successful debut in her profession, and was universally 
 booked in public estimation for an unlimited and splendid success 
 However, the little god tipped his dart, and with a twang away 
 it flew into the susceptible heart of the young actress, who, daz- 
 zled by the aristocratic name and devoted attentions of her lover, 
 formed the determination of resigning abruptly her just commenced 
 and brilliant public career, and retiring to the elegant privacy ol 
 domestic life. When the young gentleman's penchant was made known 
 to his aristocratic family, they greeted it with a groan of horror 
 and a fierce cry of indignation. What! a son of the Browns, whose 
 father mended breeches, to marry an actress, whose family only 
 bawled Shakspeare ? Why, 'twas enormous, 'twas a humiliation, a dis- 
 
FAMILY PRIDE. 63 
 
 grace, a degradation, an odium that would for ever rest upon the very- 
 name of Brown, and which could only be contemplated with hor- 
 ror. However, finding that the young lover did not participate in these 
 sentiments, and that, although of a mild and yielding disposition, he 
 adhered stoutly and manfully to the dictates of his heart and the 
 teachings of his affection, they tried the force of threats and denuncia- 
 tions — swore they would excommunicate him from the family, would 
 never tolerate nor recognize his wife, nor permit him again to claim com- 
 panionship or protection from them. But it was all in vain. The infa- 
 tuated young man chose rather the love and devotion of the woman of 
 genius and the artist who had enthralled him, than the heartless favor 
 and hollow affection of his selfish and hard- hearted relatives. 
 
 The best part of the joke, however, was, that the mother of our act- 
 ress, herself also an actress, and a distinguished ornament of the stage 
 for many years, took the thing quite as hardly as her indignant friends, 
 the Browns. Upon being informed of her daughter's engagement, she 
 indignantly refused her consent to any such ignoble alliance for her gift- 
 ed and brilliant daughter, exclaimed against the vulgar aspirations of 
 these shopkeeping aristocracy, and even went so far as to call upon the 
 mother of our hero in high state and full feather, and warn her by all 
 the fears of an outraged mother's vengeance, to keep her son at home, 
 and prevent the consummation of so disgraceful an intermingling of the 
 blood of genius and talent with the base-born muddy current oozing from 
 a tailor's cabbage patch. It was all in vain. The lovers sighed 
 and laughed by turns, and, at length taking advantage of that free- 
 dom which is secured to every son and daughter of Adam by our glorious 
 Constitution, fairly gave their indignant mamas the slip, and entered into 
 the silken noose of Hymen. Nor, we faithfully believe, have they ever 
 for one moment repented their determination ; although the step they 
 took has alienated them effectually from their friends, and cut off the one 
 from that social position to which he was entitled, and stopped the other in 
 her brilliant and ambitious career, yet are they apparently richly com- 
 pensated for all in the continued and unswerving devotion and affection 
 they feel and act toward each other. Their lives are a practical and 
 beautiful abnegation of the old and slanderous line — 
 
 " The course of true love never did run smooth." 
 
 It is true, I have sometimes, while watching the calm, impassive face 
 
 ■. f the lady, thought I could perceive, in the depths of her serenity and the 
 
 bstraction of her manner, traces of smothered aspirations and scarce con- 
 
64 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 quered regrets for the flattering position she had lost and the glorious 
 career she had abandoned ; but upon looking again I have become satis- 
 fied that such ideas originated in my own imagination, and were not 
 shared by her. It is a case as remarkable as it is romantic and interest- 
 ing ; and were its details fully recited and drawn up by the pen of tire 
 novelist, it would create one of the most splendid works of fiction, found- 
 ed upon life and reality, extant in our literature. 
 
 Until the last season, conspicuous among the conspicuous — seated year 
 after year in the same sofa — always " going in " for five year subscrip- 
 tions and half dollar allowances — and always, whether rain or shine, in 
 their places, reposed in conscious dignity, the head and branches of ano- 
 ther of our " first families." The hope and heir of the house is a juve- 
 nile, but exceedingly characteristic specimen of the animal known in 
 fashionable phraseology as a " duck." He is a lathy, lanky, cadaverous- 
 looking, young man, whom incessant attempts to smoke segars that made 
 him sea-sick, and gulp down whisky-skins that turned his stomach, have 
 bleached to the faintest and most woe-begone shadow of fresh and vigor- 
 ous youth. The internal soil of his brain — not very deep nor rich at 
 best, and entirely exhausted by the heavy crop of hempen it has been 
 called upon to produce, has long since refused to grow the first blade of 
 an idea ; and the consequence is, lack-lustre expression of the dissipated 
 eyes, and a flabbiness of the nerveless mouth, truly pitiable to behold. 
 This poor youth, whom we use as the type of a large and disgusting 
 class, the riches of whose whole lives are squandered ere they have yet 
 crossed the threshold, is an object rather of commiseration than ridi- 
 cule, and, were it not for the necessity of making an example for the 
 benefit of the race, we would let him pass in silence. 
 
 The costume of one of these young sprouts of our soss aristocracy 
 would of itself sufficiently indicate the idealess chaos yof the owner's 
 brain. Buried to the ears in a standing shirt collar, his little round head 
 rests in a gigantic Joinville bow, like the top of a footman's carriage tas- 
 sel. His thin legs are inserted in a pair of pantaloons, whose waistband 
 is so low, and whose fit so vulgar, that one undergoes a constant premo- 
 nitory disgust lest they should slip off. His coat is of the nattiest and 
 tightest London flashman cut, and his gloves, with his vulgar hands 
 stuffed into them, look like two bunches of white kid sausages. But to 
 form a complete idea of his costume, you should see him in Broadway, 
 with that straight English sack, the bag sleeves hanging below the tips 
 of his fingers — his head supporting a pyramid chimney-pot hat, and his 
 toes turned in as he walks, like those of a wild Indian on a trail. Under 
 
PRESERVING THE " ANTECEDENTS." 65 
 
 his arm lie carries a little yellow cane, with the head made in the like- 
 ness of a horse's hoof and foreleg in ivory, stuck in the side pocket of 
 his coat. Thus tricked out, he is a sight to behold ; and wherever he 
 appears, a smile of quiet contempt and a sympathethic shrug of pity 
 passes round the circle. However, his sublime self-complacency is an 
 abundant shield for that and all the other rebuffs to which he is liable ; 
 and, beside, he is well received by the ladies, young and old, everywhere. 
 The old gentleman has money. Q. E. D. 
 
 The old gentleman evidently enjoys, to the full capacity of his nature, 
 the otium cum dignitate of his wealth and position. But a few years 
 ago this liberal, enlightened, and worthy citizen was a small dealer in dead 
 hogs, which he used to buy in the carcass, and cut up at his own door, 
 while his prudent helpmate was carrying on a cheap boarding-house up 
 stairs. By prudence, industry and economy, the gains of pork and sau- 
 sages accumulated year after year, until the huckster became the whole- 
 sale dealer and adventurous speculator, while the boarding-house expand- 
 ed into the aristocratic mansion " above Bleecker " — the rolling-pin was 
 exchanged for the piano, and magnificent weekly entertainments almost 
 made the whole family forget that all their greatness is derived from a 
 long line of illustrious dead hogs. 
 
 We trust that no one will so far mistake us as to imagine for a moment 
 that we mean to cast contempt upon the humble origin of the New 
 York aristocracy. Far from it. None has a more appreciative admira- 
 tion of the industry by which these individuals have risen from the 
 obscurity of the bench and the shop-board to the lofty positions they 
 occupy on the sofas of the Opera House, than ourselves. But as it is 
 evident that a real aristocracy is about crystallizing, we have accepted, 
 in the absence of a regular Herald's College, the task of collecting and 
 preserving, in a durable form, the "antecedents" of the illustrious indi- 
 viduals who compose it. In discharging this duty, we are guided 
 alone by accuracy and impartiality ; and should we inadvertently make 
 any mistakes or omissions, we shall be very glad to correct them in our 
 next edition, upon a proper presentation of the facts. 
 
 The family to whom we have been paying our respects stands deserv- 
 edly high among the members of our Astor-ocracy, and its distinguished 
 head i3 as remarkable for the goodness of his heart as the badness of 
 his orthoepy. His use of money is as judicious as his use of words is 
 unfortunate. To look at the appointments of his house and family, you 
 would conclude that he was a man of distinguished taste — to hear him 
 speak, you would inevitably take him for a fool. The truth, however, is, 
 
66 
 
 NEW YORK NAK2D. 
 
 that he is neither one nor the other. Had he attended to the lining of 
 his head as assiduously as that of his pocket, he might have been a 
 savan ; but the golden texture of riches, unlike the Schneiderian mem- 
 brane, ie sufficient for only one cavity at onoe. 
 
SUCCESSFUL PERSEVERANCE. 6t 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE OPERA, CONTINUED AN EDITOR AND HIS WIFE A LITTLE SCANDAL 
 
 CATALOGUE RAISONNEE OF FASHIONABLE SOCIETY REFLECTIONS. 
 
 Do you see in that back private box, of the second tier, a magnificently 
 dressed woman seated beside a tall, silver gray-headed gentleman, with, 
 a dignified quiet air, and a very conspicuous squint ? A young gentle- 
 man, embedded in moustache and whisker, is behind them, scanning the 
 house through his glass, and occasionally saying a word or two to the 
 lady, who replies with a haughty and indifferent air. These two people 
 first mentioned are worth our especial attention. 
 
 When a man of mere wit or talent, who has forced his way from 
 obscurity to celebrity or notoriety — and, in good truth, the terms are, 
 now-a-days, synonymous — by the force of what he has said or written, 
 and not of what he has bought and sold, he deserves a passing notice at 
 our hand. The " antecedents," as well as the present surroundings and 
 belongings of such a man, cannot fail to be interesting. In this world, 
 and especially in this city, every pretension to distinction of any kind is 
 supposed, of course, to originate from the money-bag, and is strictly 
 measured by the yard-stick. Beyond the counting-house and the broker's 
 den there can be nothing enviable, nothing worth exploring. The world 
 has but one gate, and that is a golden one. Its cards of ceremony are 
 drafts and acceptances, its invitations are bank bills. Whoever enters 
 into this charmed circle, except in the " regular way," must have had 
 about the tallest job at climbing that has been recorded since David 
 Crockett found himself up a girdled tree. Even then, the fight is by no 
 means over, but must be prolonged inch by inch and step by step. It is 
 perfectly natural that those in possession should look scowlingly upon 
 the clandestine interlopers, and should watch their opportunity for 
 unceremoniously ejecting them. 
 
 The persons now under the focus of our lens are conspicuous speci- 
 mens of what we have been saying. In the face of the united jeers and 
 clamor of snobdom itself, and the curses and envious denunciations of hia 
 
68 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 to 
 
 cotemporaries, here is an editor who, having set his ambition firmly upon 
 one point, of attaining, through his influence as a journalist, social dis- 
 tinction for himself and his family, has patiently persevered, amid such 
 obstacles as must have dismayed, crushed, and overwhelmed any but a 
 man of iron nerve and indomitable perseverance. Yet we must admit 
 that he has succeeded; and we say this, not from any love for the sub- 
 ject of our sketch, but from a devilish and malicious pleasure we feel in 
 cramming this bitter, truth down the throats of the vain, shallow, igno- 
 rant, and insolent upstarts who presume to set themselves up as the 
 standards of "good society" and the dispensers of its worthless favors. 
 Yes — we repeat it to you, messieurs rag-sellers and stock-gamblers, booby 
 children of lucky tailors and coopers, hatters and sausage-makers, who 
 swell and dash, and rattle about as if the world were made for vou alone, 
 that this gaunt and solemn-looking scribbler has more influence in the 
 wave of his goose-quill than your whole tribe put together. His wife, 
 too, spends more money than you dare ask of your stingy husbands — 
 wears richer dresses and more expensive jewelry — cuts a greater dash 
 altogether, attracts ten times the sum of that eclat and attention, for 
 which you are all dying, than any of you ever dared aspire to. 
 
 This scribbler, too, and his saucy wife, have been abroad and visited 
 the leading cities of Europe — and they have been received with distin- 
 guished honor at ambassadorial dinners, ministerial soirees, and even 
 royal levees themselves. And no longer ago than the past winter, they 
 visited the beautiful and aristocratic queen of the Western Archipelago ; 
 where they were received by the haughtiest and most exclusive race of 
 aristocrats of this breathing world, with little less than royal honors and 
 attentions. Fetes and festivals signalized their coming; and their whole 
 stay in this delightful region was one uninterrupted and joyous jubilee. 
 Yes, my dear Mrs. Bobus, with the immense Spanish fan, which you do 
 not know how to even open properly, and the big bouquet, almost as red 
 and vulgar as your own face — this mere editor and his wife have been 
 received and courted in circles where you and your money, and your 
 "family influence," and all the introductions and bills of credit which 
 your husbands could cram into their portfolios, would not receive even 
 the courtesy of a look — would, in fact, never penetrate beyond the por- 
 ter's lodge, or the ante-room. This we assure you of, oh, Bobus, for your 
 especial comfort and gratification — not our own. You may laugh, and 
 sneer, and wriggle, and teeter about on your patent-spring upholstery as 
 much as you please, but you cannot alter this fact The scribbler, the 
 journalist, the editor whom nobody knows, aud the stylish equipage of 
 
A LITTLE SCANDAL. 69 
 
 whose Di Vernon-ish wife you affect to ignore in Broadway, is the mas- 
 ter of you all, and his pen is the scourge with which he drives you all 
 before him. Your husbands cower in their caves at the reverberations 
 of his patent-revolving press, and tremble in their boots if he but glance 
 his not very tender eyes toward them. Bank-stock and insurance-office 
 swindlers, who live in lordly luxury by systematic frauds that would dis- 
 grace the club-houses of old Park Row, go about in constant dread of 
 him, and pay adulation, and go down on their knees, and even write 
 checks in his favor — begging, like poor Faust, for a little "time" before 
 being brought to a settlement of their accounts with society. So that our 
 once poor and despised scribbler, who lived up four pair of stairs in a 
 back attic (which was just three pair more of stairs than he possessed 
 of breeches) and dined humbly on cheese and garlic, is now, in very 
 truth, the autocrat of all your " good society" and " exclusive" sets, and 
 " first families." Ha ! ha ! ha ! We can't help laughing, Messieurs 
 Bobus and Company, at such a good joke — although perhaps you don't 
 see the point of it ! 
 
 But the funniest part of the business is that the cotemporaries of this 
 man and his paper, all affect the utmost horror of him, and denounce 
 him on every occasion as a monster, an ogre, and for aught we know, a 
 ghoul, who preys upon the dead carcasses of newspapers that have died 
 in his time (and it must be confessed that the times have been rather 
 sickly for several years' past !) and yet there is not one of these editors 
 who does not practice on a small and mean scale the very things our 
 " satanic" friend is charged with on a grand and satanic scale. Let an 
 artist, a painter, a musician, or actor of the most unquestioned genius, 
 
 come to New York, and not patronize the , for instance, do you 
 
 think the would applaud his performances? Let a reformer 
 
 appear, advocating the same doctrines, and exposing the same abuses 
 upon which that paper gains its notoriety and profits, should he not 
 happen to belong to the editor's personal clique of adherents and toadies, 
 
 the would never condescend to hear of his existence. Take a 
 
 new invention in science or mechanics to the editor for his examination, 
 and you will be sent to the desk to arrange with the advertising clerk 
 for a notice. Carry to the office an article stating in express terms that 
 Snooks' renovating hair dye absolutely possesses the power of filling a 
 mattress-tick with first-rate curled hair by a single application, and 
 besides is a certain specific for fleas, the corns and fever-and-ague, and 
 you can have it published editorially, without any qualification or 
 reservation whatever— -fair two shillings a line / And so of monied insti- 
 
*10 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 tutions, rat-traps and quack medicines, kickshaws and theology — thai 
 •which pays is puffed ; that which don't pay is either denounced or 
 treated with silence. And this is by no means true of one paper 
 alone, but of nearly every newspaper in the city of New York. The 
 principle, the only principle, upon which journalism is conducted at the 
 present moment in New York, from the "responsible" editor to the 
 penny-a-line picker-up of horrible accidents, and the water-rat of the 
 police office, is that of pay for services rendered. And the Great Horned 
 Devil, who is the patron saint and tutelary divinity of editors and the 
 press generally, laughs and chuckles in his sleeve, when he sees these sly 
 and cunning artful dodgers quietly picking the pockets of the commu- 
 nity, while raising the hue and cry against the magnanimous Dick 
 Turpin of the profession. 
 
 But we beg your pardon, handsome and witty madam ; your husband's 
 affairs have detained us too long, and the curtain is absolutely rising. 
 Yes, Ave accept your charming invitation to that petite souper ; and 
 meanwhile, Signora mia, baccio la mano, e reverderci ! 
 
 We are now going to indulge you, gentle reader, in a little genuine 
 scandal, at the expense of our comfortable-looking friend over yonder, 
 the Chinese Mandarin. We won't be ill-natured, however, and therefore 
 we guess there will be nobody hurt. 
 
 The gentleman whom we have at this moment under inspection, com- 
 menced life humbly — very humbly — so much so, in fact, that the muse 
 refuses to trace the stream of his pedigree to its source. By some lucky 
 chance, or rather the promptings of the instinct of money-making, at an 
 early part of his career he stumbled into the china business, which in a 
 few years began to turn everything within its influence to gold, and he 
 now, at full mid age, supports an elegant establishment, and makes all 
 the necessary motions to pass himself off as a real first rate nabob.* His 
 domestic history is a curious one. 
 
 Some years ago he engaged himself to a young lady of New York — 
 whom, however, upon reconsidering matters, when the time came round 
 to fulfill his contract, he concluded to abandon; and, being a man of 
 strict business habits and undoubted mercantile honor, he commenced a 
 formal negotiation for this purpose. With the details of the transaction 
 we are not familiar ; but the result of it was such as to do credit to his 
 liberality and business tact. The young lady with the broken heart, 
 
 * Rumor says that he went to China with some two hundred thousand dollars, made in South 
 America, and returned from the Celestial Empire with sixteen hundred thousand dollar* In spooio 
 — no more — no less. 
 
A NABOB MANDARIN. fl 
 
 received the handsome sura of 860,000, cash in hand, in lieu of 
 the hand of her expected bridegroom, and in consideration of which 
 she relinquished all right and title in and to the said bridegroom. 
 
 What became of the deserted fair one with the sixty thousand charms, 
 we do not know — but we presume that, if she still felt herself matrimo- 
 nially inclined, she found no difficulty in attracting and fixing scores of 
 devoted admirers from which to choose. At any rate, if we were in the 
 market, and a sixty thousand dollar lure should come gliding down the 
 stream of life, we think we could tell of an old trout who would leap 
 from his hiding-place, willing to be caught. 
 
 Our nabob mandarin, after doing up this little speculation in fancy 
 matrimonial securities, immediately cast about for another venture in the 
 same line, and at last paid a business visit to Massachusetts, and made a 
 u dicker " with one of its wooden nutmeg-making, clock-peddling fathers, 
 for the hand and person of the lady who is now his wife. They live in 
 the perfection of parvenu style and fashion — that is, they do every thing 
 exactly as the French waiting-maid and the upholsterer prescribe. They 
 go to the opera, because among the set to which they wish to belong, it 
 appeared to be fashionable to do so. The lady may have the fashionable 
 amount of musical education ; but as for the gentleman, his judgment of 
 the various chops of tea is far superior to his opinion of the relative 
 merit of different operas or artists. 
 
 He and his card sposa appear to live very comfortably as times go. 
 The lady is a " highflier ,? in her notions of matters and things, and goes 
 in for cutting a big swell as she dashes along. She has plenty of admi- 
 rers, gives magnificent entertainments, and does in all respects exactly as 
 she pleases — the only paradisal state of existence to a woman. She 
 knows the price she paid for all these beatitudes, and as it wasn't love, 
 she don't consider them too dear. After all, if we look closely into the 
 private histories which go to make up the aggregate of society, we shall 
 see the general truth broadly inculcated, that woman is strictly an article 
 of merchandise. Who, then, shall blame her for getting the highest 
 price she can for her charms and her attractions ? 
 
 The mystery of it is, to the outsiders, how such people as these conti- 
 nue to be recognized as the "aristocracy" of this refined metropolis, and 
 to assist in giving tone and character to American society. But to those 
 who have any just idea of the power of money as the representative of 
 things, and the utter superfluity of ideas, the explanation is easy enough. 
 These brainless clods, these heartless flirts, these stingy shopkeepers, 
 have made money ; and with that they can buy any kind of distinction, 
 
 *\ 
 
T2 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 social, literary, or political. There is a kind of vague, indistinct con- 
 sciousness among these people, that they are troubled with a lack of brains, 
 and could not but appear ridiculous in the presence of persons with the 
 slightest pretensions to intellect. Hence their studious neglect of literary 
 men and women, and the pains they take to surround themselves with 
 such expensive accessories and time-consuming ceremonies, as make a 
 person of moderate earnings feel uncomfortably out of place the moment 
 he finds himself among them. A moderate sized family cannot expect 
 to go, as it is called, " decently " into society in New York short of ten 
 thousand dollars a year ; and few who make their money honestly have 
 anything like that income. The consequence is, that "aristocratic" 
 society is principally made up of brainless spendthrifts, unprincipled 
 gamblers, and heartless flirts. This is a hard thing to say — but the 
 worst of it is, that it is true. 
 
 If you will take the altitude of that rouguish-looking gentleman, 
 seated between two over-dressed daughters, we will relate to you, in a 
 few words, a history that might answer, with here and there an altera- 
 tion, for three-quarters of the shop-keeping " aristocracy " of this beautiful 
 metropolis. 
 
 The gentleman is the son of the skipper of an old Albany packet- 
 schooner — a sort of vessel greatly resembling, in its day and generation, 
 the u chicken thieves " that ply up and down " the coast " to and from 
 New Orleans ; but it has long since passed out of knowledge. Our hero 
 not having any particular penchant for the sea, nor even being much 
 delighted with the charming scenery of the Hudson, declined the heredi- 
 tary schooner, and commenced life by making fires and running of 
 errands for a broker's office. He remained brokering for some years, 
 and then made a venture to South America, whence he returned with 
 some money and considerable knowledge of the world, as exhibited in 
 those distant and enlightened regions. 
 
 After his return, he cast about for the quickest and safest way of turn- 
 ing his money, and at last went into the flour business. He was, 
 however, unlucky, and found that the staff" of life would not afford him 
 an adequate support. He therefore backed out from that, and in 1833, 
 in company with another speculator, went into the stock-brokerage 
 business. Here the golden goddess again smiled upon him, and for a 
 time the concern went on swimmingly. After awhile he and his partner 
 dissolved the union, and our hero went on alone, with variable success, 
 until 1838, when he smashed up completely, and gave his notes in settle- 
 ment—some of which, by the way, were not paid till last cholera 
 
A " bogus" dandy, 13 
 
 summer. Perhaps the cholera acted sympathetically upon his con- 
 science. 
 
 Somewhere about 1842, our friend struck up an acquaintance with 
 
 the cashier of the Life and Trust Company, who furnished him 
 
 with funds to go into a large speculation in State Stocks — buying at 
 53, and in a short time having the gratification to see them run up to 
 par. The result of this speculation was, a clear profit of about one hun- 
 dred thousand dollars — or fifty thousand for our hero, and the same for 
 his friend the cashier. The latter thereupon resigned his office, and both 
 went into partnership together, and commenced an extensive and profit- 
 able business. 
 
 Heretofore our hero had been simply a business man — a money- 
 making man. Now, however, the latent buds of his ambition, warmed 
 into life by the genial spring of wealth, burst into full bloom, and our 
 drudge became suddenly transformed into the aristocrat — came the big 
 figure in a tip-top residence in a fashionable street, dressed his family to 
 death, set up a carriage, with a driver more than his master's equal in 
 birth, breeding, heart and intellect, and finally reached the summit of 
 his ambition, and a sofa at the Opera House, at one and the same time. 
 He knows as much of music as his friend the New York Mandarin, or 
 his neighbor the fat auctioneer ; however, he and his daughter seem to 
 enjoy the scene to the full. The ladies, although, as we have said, some- 
 what over-dressed, are decidedly handsome, and evidently good-natured 
 and amiable. They are at least as refined and well-bred as most of their 
 neighbors, and altogether show off as very flattering samples of upper- 
 crustitude. 
 
 But if the daughters are distinguished for their amiability, the father 
 is as notorious for the hardness of his character. No man in the street 
 bears down more heavily upon new-beginners and men of small means, 
 struggling on the meager common where once he was, than our purse- 
 proud and clay-hearted aristocrat. Indeed, next to increasing his own 
 gains, it is probable that his dearest pleasure in life is to see the hopes 
 of others disappointed. 
 
 There, perhaps, is the biggest dandy in the house — at least he thinks 
 he is, and that amounts to the same thing. People pass pretty much at 
 their own valuation — unless it is too high, and then they are " bogus," 
 and won't go at all. The history of that gentleman, who seems to know 
 everybody, who is well received and goes everywhere, is an interesting 
 and instructive chapter of human nature. He came at a very early but 
 not very tender age from the country, and got a place in a small retail 
 
 5 
 
74 NEW YORK NAKED, 
 
 dry-goods store in Maiden Lane. He was, however, so excessively 
 awkward and shy in his manners that he became a real nuisance to the 
 customers ; and his employer, although he found his new clerk honest 
 and faithful, yet began to feel that he must either mend his manners or 
 cut his stick. Through the friendly instructions and advice of another 
 clerk, however, our hero gradually shed the "exuviae of the clown," as. 
 our friend Patrick Henry — or maybe it was William Wirt — somewhere 
 so aptly says ; and in process of time the rude and boorish country 
 bumpkin refined his common mind to more porcelain consistence,, and 
 acquired, in the end, all the extra polish of fashionable life and good 
 society. 
 
 After our hero had grown to be a bearded man, and had gone success- 
 fully into business with the fellow-clerk , who had formerly taken his part, 
 and, as it were, licked him into shape, he paid a visit one summer to a 
 fashionable watering-place, to get a glimpse of good society in undress, 
 and make some observations necessary to perfect his knowledge of the 
 manners and usages of the great world. Here he fell in, accidentally, 
 with a rich banker and capitalist, from one of the river towns, who had 
 accompanied an invalid daughter to the springs in the hope of restoring 
 - her to health. Our hero at once paid the most assiduous court to the 
 family ; and, by the closeness and unremittingness of his attentions, at 
 length fairly won the "heart of both father and daughter. The affair 
 ended in a proposal of marriage, which, although regarded favorably by 
 the young lady as well as her father, raised such a clamor from the 
 friends and relations against the obscurity and poverty of the wooer, that 
 the affair was postponed, though not abandoned. Suffice it to say that, 
 as usual, true love and shrewd calculation got the advantage of all oppos- 
 ing obstacles, and they were finally married. 
 
 The business of our hero and his partner had been uniformly prosper- 
 ous, and they were gradually increasing their means and laying the 
 foundation of influence and wealth. During one of the great commercial 
 crises, however, which swept over the country a few years ago, the house 
 fell with the crash, and our hero found every dollar remorselessly swept 
 away. After things had subsided a little, his father-in-law advanced him 
 twenty thousand dollars, with which he recommenced business on his 
 own account, and in a short time began to make headway again. Gra- 
 dually the old gentleman gave up, too, the management of his own 
 affairs into the hands of his active and energetic son-in-law; until, finally, 
 the young man found himself virtually the head of one of the most popu- 
 lar bunks in the State, and the controlling spirit of an immense and 
 widely-ramified business. 
 
THE OLD KNICKERBOCKERS. 15 
 
 His natural instincts for society now claimed a hearing, and our hero 
 soon began to make his appearance in the wealthiest and most aristocra- 
 tic circles of metropolitan society. At the Opera, of course, he was 
 " bound to shine ; " and you may see him, on any regular evening, as 
 he is now, going about with an air of perfect self-assurance, and appear- 
 ing toJoe on the same comfortable terms with himself as with everybody 
 else. He is always, however, alone, and his wife is never seen in society 
 at all — preferring the domestic quietude of <; private life " to the gaudy 
 tinsel of fashion and its attending follies. If she is as happy as the hus- 
 band evidently is, they may truly be called a favored household. 
 
 But we have exhausted our evening, though by no means our mate- 
 rial. Yet we shall return here no more. What we have seen and 
 described as represented in the faithful daguerreotype of our achromatic 
 voigtlander lorgnette will serve 'admirably as an illustration of the entire 
 classes that have passed over our field of vision ; and from a considera- 
 tion of what we have here presented, may be gathered a correct idea of 
 the most pretentious class of the aristocracy of New York. It is true, 
 that beyond the walls of the Opera House, and the gaudy circle where 
 our parvenues and snobs play their ludicrous pranks, there are circles of 
 society where a true, well-bred, and unpretending aristocracy, possessing 
 but not boasting the distinction of elegance, refinement, blood and edu- 
 cation, holds its unpretending reign. But, of the few families who com- 
 pose these circles, little is ever seen or heard in public. By never 
 attempting to interfere with the rights of others, nor to monopolize 
 the distinctions and privileges of society, they have never made them- 
 selves obnoxious to the strictures of even cynics and philosophers, and 
 are justly entitled to escape all censorious comments. There are some 
 of them, the remaining families of the wealthy Knickerbockers, who 
 first settled in these regions, and whose blood has flowed in a pure and 
 uninterrupted stream for many generations. Seldom distinguished for 
 genius, unusual talent, or a vigorous ambition, they are quite free from 
 all imputations of meanness, avarice, and insolence, and their history 
 forms a clear, pure, but stagnant, level, like the waters of some seques- 
 tered lake, remote from haunts of bustling men, whose virgin waves are 
 unviolated by the prows of eager travel or grasping trade, and whose 
 green solitudes are undisturbed by the disenchanting scream of 'scape 
 valve or steam whistle. They are, in truth, the conservative element of 
 the condition of society in the New World, and, like everything else con- 
 servative, are slowly but inevitably disappearing and sinking to an utter 
 annihilation. In a few generations more, these remnants and relics of 
 
16 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 the past will be entirely absorbed and transmuted, and then we shall rush 
 onward in the great and magnificent experiment of seeing how society 
 can get along without any conservative elements whatever. Already are 
 the names of these old families we have mentioned become like shadows 
 to our apprehension. Many will hasten to extinction even in the pre- 
 sent generation; while the inevitable and irresistible decay of a^l the 
 race is as palpable as the fading of the Red man from hill and plain. 
 Although, strictly scanned, the members of these families would indivi- 
 dually betray a remarkable decrepitude and degeneracy of character, 
 inseparable from the physiological conditions of their existence on this 
 continent, yet we never see one of them nor hear the name mentioned 
 without an involuntary tribute of respect to these crumbling relics of a 
 decayed and dying social feudalism, the like of which can never again 
 exist on this free earth. 
 
POWER OF THE PRESS. 7t 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PRESS ITS DUTIES AND RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 The Press ! Mighty power ! Miraculous engine ! Irresistible im- 
 pulse — electric thrill, that keeps the pulse of the world throbbing, and 
 beats to the brains remotest convolutions — which clarifies the moral 
 atmosphere, and keeps it from petrifaction and decay. How shall I 
 approach thee ? for, although from earliest boyhood, bred among thy 
 minions, disciples and devotees, now that I stand as it were beyond 
 myself, and seek to scan all the interests of society with a just, impartial, 
 and remorseless eye, I find myself in a strange predicament. Evenly 
 balanced between the veneration which the ideal press inspires, and the 
 knowledge that an experience of the actual imparts, I fear, on the one 
 hand to do it more than honor, and on the other, less than justice. 
 Indeed to one who has penetrated into the profounder depths of the 
 arcana of journalism — to whom all the mechanism that moves this 
 gigantic automaton is familiar, and whose fingers are within reach of the 
 most secret stops and keys of this world-moving organ — the contrast 
 between what it might be, and should be, and what it is, is little less 
 than terrible, oppressing the soul with its material weight, and crushing 
 the aspirations of progress and humanity, that are thus checked in their 
 inmost temple by the divulgings of their most secret oracle. What the 
 tripod of the Pythoness, the omens and oracles of the seers and sooth- 
 sayers, the inspirations of the prophets, and the direct revelations from 
 Heaven were to the earlier ages — what the two tables of stone given to 
 Moses on Mount Horeb were to the patriarchal epoch of the race — the 
 press ought to be to the men of this generation. What chivalry and 
 knighthood were to the dark ages, the knights of the press should be to 
 this — the defenders of the assailed, the protectors of the weak, the vindi- 
 cators of the innocent, the terror of the oppressor, the scourge of the 
 false, and the righter of the wronged. ISTo institution, nor no power on 
 earth, sacerdotal or secular, ever held so high a trust or ministered from 
 so lofty an altar as the free press of the nineteenth century ; and when I 
 look at it as it is, scan one by one the materials of which it is com- 
 
18 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 posed, and see how ludicrously inadequate are the means to the mighty 
 end, I feel a disposition to retract my connection with it, to break off all 
 intercourse with its oracles, and to denounce it as the giant imposition 
 of the century — the false priest, and the dishonest monster that should 
 be chased in disgrace from the temple. 
 
 But after all, I know that I am wrong. Although the press itself is a 
 far higher and loftier institution than any other on earth, yet its mem- 
 bers and ministers are and must be only men, and men too in the general, 
 at the same points of development as those by whom they are sur- 
 rounded, and with whom they live. Therefore, if the littlenesses and 
 selfishnesses of those who control the press, appear monstrous and exagge- 
 rated, it is only because their position and their responsibilities are so 
 much greater than those of other men that their slightest derilection 
 assumes the aspect of a crime. Intrinsically and inherently, therefore, I 
 do honestly believe that there is an equal amount of honor, integrity, 
 intelligence and independence in the press, as in any other profession or 
 calling among men. And in the comments which I am about to make 
 on the leading members of this powerful body in this metropolis of the 
 New World, I claim to be actuated by a desire to probe the monstrous 
 corruptions and evils under which our noble profession suffers, not to 
 gratify the remotest shadow of a personal feeling, or an envious hatred to 
 those who have reached a higher point than myself in their journey 
 through life. Among all men who create, either in literature or art, the 
 present miserable and inverted system of rewards, both pecuniary and 
 moral, produces an inevitable envy as the general law of their existence. 
 But knowing this full well, and being every day disgusted by some con- 
 temptible illustration of this truth, I hope I have self-denial enough to 
 sacrifice whatever of latent jeelousy or envy of my cotemporaries may 
 find lodgment in my heart, and to give expression only to those impul- 
 ses of justice and ambition which are based upon the profession itself, 
 and a careful and earnest study of its duties and responsibilities. Let us 
 then, in pursuance with our sketchy plan of composition, in which, being 
 amenable to no law of rhetoric or logic, we have freer scope for the utter- 
 ance of all that presses upon us, call before us the principal individuals 
 who sway those engines of public opinion — the newspapers — and whose 
 voice can make or mar, save or damn, the greatest enterprises and the 
 loftiest hopes. 
 
MAJOR NOAH. ' *79 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PRESS, CONTINUED MAJOR SO AH JOSEPH BARBER JAMES WAT- 
 SON WEBB WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT PARKE GODWIN. 
 
 The whole of this, and the succeeding chapters, devoted to the Press, 
 I have been obliged to re -write. They were first 'composed two years 
 and a half ago. In that time how many changes have taken place! 
 Some are dead — some appointed to foreign missions — some gone into 
 the Custom House — some have married — some have taken to trade — 
 some to drink — some have got rich — and almost all have changed 
 places. 
 
 I had placed at the head of my catalogue, as being the patri- 
 arch of the press, the name of Major Noah, whom I had seen the 
 very morning on which this chapter was written, fresh and buoy- 
 ant, in all the exuberance of health and good nature, which made him so 
 great a favorite with all. Now — he is no more. Still, I let his name 
 stand in the place I originally assigned it. I let stand, too, the censure 
 as well as the praise with which I remarked upon him. Whatever I 
 then said, I honestly thought, and, therefore, I will not erase a syllable. 
 Of course, had the work not been written until after his death, many 
 modifications might have taken place ; but now, all must stand. Major 
 Noah was neither better nor worse than the great majority of mankind, 
 and had been placed in a position which neither the profoundness of his 
 ideas nor the brilliancy of his literary acquirements fairly warranted. 
 But he was a genial, cordial man, in his personal relations, and from his 
 long connection with the press and public affairs, his death was widely 
 mourned. 
 
 Mordecai Manasseh Noah, formerly styled " King of the Jews," in 
 years gone by, and at the era of American journalism corresponding to 
 the infancy of the institution, was considered the smartest and most per- 
 manent and popular of our editors. We remember well when he, after 
 lying perdu for a certain time, broke out freshly upon the admiration of 
 the public with the " Evening Star, " a paper that in its day enjoyed 
 an unbounded popularity and a large circulation, and made no small 
 
80 NEW YORK NAKED. « 
 
 degree of noise. Major Noah, in his best days, — and these were his best 
 days, — was a rather sparkling writer, altogether superficial in his ideas, 
 but quick in apprehension, ready in words, and keen-sighted to perceive 
 the weak points of his enemy, and to send his shaft of ridicule or satire, 
 winged with his grey goose quill, right to its centre. His paragraphs 
 had a genial tone, and he always adroitly managed to conceal the 
 malevolence (if malevolence there were) of his attacks beneath an air ot 
 good-nature and candor, which quite took the hearts of his readers, and 
 left his adversary altogether at his mercy. He was magnanimous, too, 
 in his newspaper warfares, in one or another of which he was perpetu- 
 ally engaged, and not only came off victor, but uniformly received great 
 praise for his forbearance, and applause for what he had not done. He 
 had a quick eye for external nature, and especially for the goings on o'f 
 city life ; and whatever subject he touched, he was sure to render inte- 
 resting, either by happy local allusions, and witty embellishment, or now 
 and then, even by some sprinkle of fancy or beam of imagination. Of 
 these higher elements, however, his possessions were limited, and it is 
 very seldom that traces of the true poetical temperament can be detected. 
 His writings £re an indication of his real character. He was an excel- 
 lent companion, an agreeable acquaintance, a good liver, a man always 
 ready to do you a favor, provided it did not cost him too much, and who 
 had rather live on good terms with everybody, excepting, of course, pro- 
 fessionally, than to take the trouble and risk of contention. Sometimes, 
 in ttie earlier part of his life, his heart even got the better of his senses, 
 and his benevolence led him to do things of which the advantage was 
 entirely against himself. As a general rule, he kept both eyes upon the 
 main chance, and took very few steps and made very few motions with 
 his thumb and fingers without some special object of self-emolument 
 For this, as times go, we have, of course, no right to condemn him. He 
 was, at least, no worse than many others of his profession in this respect, 
 while he was, doubtless, a good deal better than some of them. 
 
 The political career 6f Major Noah was a fruitful and instructive one. 
 There are few phases of partisanship he did not test, few systems of policy 
 he did not both advocate and oppose, and few great questions of national 
 interest with all sides of which he was not familiar. To one thing in 
 politics he was ever constant — his own aggrandizement ; and with that 
 remarkable faculty of convincing himself of his own incorruptibility, 
 which is the corner-stone of all political prosperity to the individual, he 
 managed so to trim, and stretch, and patch, and refashion that old anti- 
 quated garment called political conscience, as to adapt it exactly to his 
 
noah's political and editorial career. 81 
 
 own needs and his own necessities. He was a warm advocate, and 
 almost the exclusive organ of Tyler and Tylerism ; and having been 
 placed by that memorable patriot in a snug berth in the Custom House, 
 with no services and a good salary, he managed to retain it up to the 
 hour of his death. His office was that of a secret inspector — salary 
 $1500 a year, prequisites as much more, and pickings and stealings to 
 any reasonable extent. His duty was to take a walk once a month up 
 the East River, and see that the pier-heads of the wharves were all in 
 their proper places, and that the rats had not run away with the under- 
 pinning of the Dry Dock. When his Tyler organ, the "Union," followed 
 its prototype into the hades of oblivion, the Major was for some time 
 unknown to the journalistic world ; but he soon reappeared as editor of 
 " Noah's Sunday Messenger ;" which, after losing as much money as the 
 Major cared about taking out of his own pocket, was united with the 
 " Sunday Times," and still continues to be published under the latter 
 appellation. To this sheet, of which the Major continued the responsible 
 editor while he lived, he has imparted a higher tone than had before 
 characterized the Sunday press ; and its patronage and circulation are 
 now large and among a very intelligent and respectable class of the com- 
 munity. His own personal labor on the paper was light, the editorial 
 columns being filled with spicy paragraphs and racy editorials, by various 
 practised pens, who are always well paid and well treated by the proprietors, 
 Messrs. Deans and Howard. Some of »these are capitally done, especially 
 the good-natured burlesques, many of which are quite worthy of "Punch" 
 himself. 
 
 Major Noah was also, sub rosa, editor of the " Morning Star," a penny 
 paper of large circulation, but without any distinctive characteristics, 
 except those of good-nature and industry, and which, after sinking about 
 twenty thousand dollars to the proprietors, is now merged into a demo- 
 cratic journal, under the offices of Caspar Childs, the coroner of New 
 York newspapers. 
 
 The " Sunday Times" is now edited by one of the finest and choicest 
 writers belonging to the world of New York journalism — Joseph Barber, 
 who, with wit and talent enough for a new Elia, is forced, by the meagre 
 pay awarded to both these qualities, to expend his time and energies in 
 the more productive fields of puff-writing and other literary drudgery. 
 It is pleasant, however, amid all the regret that such a perversion of good 
 gifts inspires, to trace him in his better moments through the columns 
 which he now and then so joyously embellishes. 
 
 But to return to Major Noah. Thfc old king of Israel must have left 
 
82 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 some distance behind the goal of those three score years and ten which 
 the Psalmist appointed for the race of men ; yet, till a short time before 
 his death, the old man's eye had lost none of its brightness, nor his cheek 
 its color, nor his form its buoyant and dignified erectness. But the last 
 time we saw him we were shocked at perceiving that he was almost 
 blind, and that, led carefully in by the friend with whom he had come 
 to dine one bright Sunday at the Union Place Hotel, his voice trembled 
 as he accosted us, and his hand felt dry and scaly in our grasp. A few 
 days later, we heard that he had been attacked by paralysis ; and again, 
 after the lapse of a few more days, that he was slowly recovering. His 
 powerful frame and iron constitution for a time still withstood the 
 assaults of the remorseless enemy ; but already had the walls of the castle 
 be^an to reel beneath the blows of the assailant, and soon the citadel 
 itself rendered itself up to the conqueror of the mighty. "When he died, 
 a wide chasm was left in the circle of relatives and friends nearest around 
 him — for in all the attributes of husband, father, and citizen, no stain of 
 reproach rests upon his name. Often have we seen him and his hand- 
 some young wife seated together at the theatre or concert-room, their 
 faces glowing with that enthusiasm for art, and that appreciation of its 
 liohtest efforts, which form the distinguishing characteristics of their 
 wondrous race, and their eyes glistening with that dew of sympathy 
 which dries up in ordinary hearts ere the hair begins to silver or the 
 brow to wrinkle. When we mis% Major Noah from our frequent casual 
 encounter in Nassau street, and meet no more, for month after month, 
 the genial nod and kindly pressure, we feel that a patriarch of our pro- 
 fession has departed from us, and one who, if he did not fulfill all that 
 might be exacted of him, at least escaped many of the vices and demor- 
 alizing corruptions by which he was surrounded, and successfully resisted 
 temptations beneath which others might have succumbed. The funeral 
 of Major Noah was a solemn festival of grief in New York. 
 
 Next in point of age, influence and importance, among our city jour- 
 nalists, is General James Watson Webb, a man who in his day and 
 generation has exercised probably a more extended influence, for good as 
 well as evil, upon the public opinion and public affairs of this country, 
 than any other editor attached to the New York press. His personal 
 . and political history he has managed, by the help of his organization, to 
 keep the public entirely familiar with. He eannot bo a bad man, by 
 nature, or he would have been more careful to conceal his tergiversations 
 from the public. He is haughty, self-willed, violent when thwarted, and 
 reckless of danger to himself or his position, and we fear unscrupulous in 
 
GEN. WEBB AND LAVATER. 83 
 
 His assaults upon his adversaries. Conscious of great intellectual force 
 and moral power, he lacks those graces and that nice sense of the fitness 
 of things, which are the only passports to personal respect and deference 
 on the part of the public towards its conspicuous men. This galls and 
 irritates him ; and in the mortification of losing that for which his vanity 
 impels him incessantly to seek, he commits and recommits the very 
 excesses which absolutely prevent him from ever achieving it. He is too 
 careless of the feelings of others ever to have his own respected, and too 
 remorseless in his pursuit of a foe to receive the commiserations of the 
 spectators when he himself happens to be worsted. As to political con- 
 sistency, he has uniformly derided it. Parties and platforms he has set 
 at naught, and sacrificed without a regret every public man who would 
 not minister to his own purposes. The excuse for this is doubtless found 
 by his own conscience, in that wide-spread selfishness, dishonesty, and 
 corruption, that pervade political affairs, and from the stigma of which 
 we know not the public man who has escaped. Indeed, the whole 
 scheme of politics, as conducted in this Republic, sets a premium on ras- 
 cality, and elevates above the heads of honest, modest and worthy men, 
 the most worthless and unreliable elements of our society:. Political suc- 
 cess demands such an abnegation of all the higher qualities of the human 
 heart, that none who possess them in an eminent degree will pay the 
 price or make the sacrifice. The consequence is, that our offices and 
 places of public trust and honor, are filled by the men least deserving the 
 confidence and the respect of their fellow citizens. This is true of all 
 times and all parties, but never more true than of the present times and 
 the present parties in the American Republic. In pursuing, therefore, 
 to their farthest results in the aggrandizement of the individual, the 
 detestable doctrines that actuate parties and public men at this day, 
 General Webb has but to lay the salvo to his bleeding conscience — "I 
 am no worse than my fellows." But he who seeks in the depravity of 
 others an excuse for himself, although he may escape the punishment 
 due to crime, need never hope tl^} respect we pay alone to. virtue. 
 
 General Webb is a finely-framed martial-looking, man ; and now since 
 his hair has become gray, strikingly indicates the doctrine of Lavater 
 that every man resembles some peculiar tribe of animals. The family to 
 which General Webb evidently belongs is the wolf species. He is emi- 
 nently carnivorous and combative. He ha sgreat keenness of intellect, 
 but is deficient in that discretion and common sense which are the high- 
 est endowments of the human brain. He has no appreciation of wit or 
 fancy, and only delights in those growls and biting onsets which his wolf- 
 
84 KEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 ish characteristics indicate. His journal, the " Courier and Enquirer," 
 was once almost unlimited in its power, but the repeated indiscretions of 
 its editorial conduct (not always attributable to General Webb himself), 
 and the feroicity with which its political course has been characterized, 
 had greatly loosened the foundations of its popularity, until it finally 
 opened its columns to the treasonable and destructive spirit of abolition- 
 ism and anti-slavery, and almost at a blow came near tumbling from its 
 lofty position. It was for some months no longer any other than a mere 
 sectional and sectarian sheet, devoted to the advocacv of certain narrow 
 principles and narrower men, whose success or prosperity can never be 
 achieved but at the expense of the country and the Constitution. 
 Alarmed at the unmistakable evidences of the loss of position furnished 
 by the rapid decay of its subscription-list and advertising patronage,, 
 during his absence, General Webb hastened home from. Europe, and has 
 since endeavored to retrace its steps and regain the position it had lost. 
 This work has been but partially successful — the " Courier and Enqui- 
 rer " can scarcely hope to again exert its old political influence. 
 
 Age, genius, and reputation, being the three most valuable things on 
 earth, we should not be excused for longer withholding our attentions 
 from William Cullen Bryant, the chief of American poets, editor of the 
 " Evening Post," and most popular literary man of the country next to 
 Irving. Mr. Bryant, though he writes slowly and with great labor, and 
 has a natural indisposition to produce — whenever he does produce, it is 
 something worth the reading. Cool, polished, unimpeachable in style 
 and tone, his prose is distinguished by a rare moderation of sentiment, 
 perspicuity of expression, and gentle feeling. lie is remarkably unpre- 
 tending, both as a writer and a man. Although naturally courted by 
 every circle and wooed to grace the assemblies of fashion and aristocracy, 
 while his unblemished personal reputation and captivating manners make 
 him welcome in every circle, yet he rarely indulges his social instincts, 
 •r gives play to those exquisite qualities of genial wit and philosophy at 
 his command. He has become almost a complete book-worm ; and with 
 the exception of his own immediate and narrow circle, and an occasional 
 dinner with Mr. Bancroft, and two or three other celebrities, Mr. Bryant 
 is rarely found from home. He is an incessant worker ; and in the little 
 office in Nassau street, up four flights of stairs, he may be found seated 
 gingerly on the edge of the chair at the corner of a large table piled 
 mountain high with newspapers, documents, letters, proofs, tickets, 
 invitations, and all the paraphernalia of an editorial sanctum, with scarce 
 a space so large as the palm of his hand left upon which he rests that 
 
THE "CORPS'" OF THE POST. 85 
 
 portion of the paper immediately under his fingers as he writes. Sitting 
 thus, bending intensely and with a student-like air over his little patch 
 of table, his intellectual, pale face and keen eyes alive with the expression- 
 of the thought oozing out at his finger-ends — his nervous, slight, but well- 
 knit frame held in a disagreeable state of tension by the unconscious 
 excitement of composition, he is more purely and definitely a picture ot 
 the newspaper editor than may elsewhere be found in all the city. He 
 seldom writes poetry now, except for five dollars a line, when our ambi- 
 tious and good-natured friend George R. Graham wants to make a grand 
 sensation with a show-number of his magazine ; and; absorbed in politics, 
 and devoted with all the earnestness and faithfulness of Samuel Rogers, 
 to the accumulation of money, our American lyric poet lets all the world 
 of philosophy, and aspiration, and hope, and golden dreaming glide by 
 him, like a river past the plodding farmer on its banks ; delves on daily 
 in his garret den, driving before him the interests of a set of rascally 
 politicians unworthy of his slightest thought, and sacrifices on the altar 
 of money the most precious offering ever made to Pluto — detested and 
 abhorred god. When we sometimes turn over the pages of this man's 
 poetry, and see what a glorious genius was his, how high and pure his 
 aspirations, how classic and crystalline the medium of his thought and 
 intellect, and think to what a height he might have soared, we grow 
 angry at the man himself; and in behalf of his country, literature, and 
 of mankind at large, we refuse to forgive him for the crime against 
 himself and us he has committed. But it is too late to call upon him to 
 awake. The Samson of American song is shorn of his hyacinthine and 
 strength-imparting locks ; and though in good earnest the Philistine 
 Delilahs were upon him, he could no longer mingle in the melodious 
 fray. So, glorious Bryant, untimely buried in the didactic columns of 
 the " Evening Post" — forget thyself and thy destiny, and be content ! 
 
 Assistant editor of the " Evening Post, " and son-in-law to its princi- 
 pal editor, Bryant, is Parke Godwin — one of the profoundest, most ori- 
 ginal, and most remarkable • thinkers of the present age. He, alone, of 
 all the disciples of those gigantic modern reformers, whose shadows 
 begin to bathe the world in the light of a new morning, combines in his 
 organization that tenacity of practical purpose, that comprehension of 
 realities, and that self-possession in the advocacy of new ideas, utterly 
 indispensable to their true or healthful progress. Were our Brisbanes 
 and Channings, and others, whose ridiculous antics keep the world too 
 busy laughing at them to attend seriously to what they say, imbued 
 even with a tithe of the straightforward, practical earnestness of God- 
 
86 NEW TOES NAE 
 
 t 
 
 win, many beautiful and grand ideas, now stuck fast in the mud, or dis- 
 appeared entirely below the surface, would rise up in their true propor- 
 tions, and make excellent progress over the road of life. Mr. Godwin 
 has written many of the soundest and ablest articles, upon subjects of 
 deep and practical social interest, that have appeared in our literature. 
 His style is manly, massive, pure, and animated. As a speaker and lec- 
 turer, he is logical and instructive, though not decidedly elegant ; and 
 our literature has been enriched by him with many excellent and 
 truthful translations" from the German and other modern lano-uaores. 
 He is a man, with the simple, noble and truthful heart of a child — 
 firm as steel in his principles, his convictions, and his friendships, 
 yet melting as wax to the voice of affection, of suffering, or persuasion. 
 Devoted to the fine arts, in their serener forms, he ought to rank among 
 the first of our aesthetic critic's. But his temperament partakes too 
 largely of the lymphatic element for that sparkling vivacity which alone 
 makes talent acceptable or agreeable to the social world. He is, in a 
 word, a little too ponderous for contemporary success. Hereafter, when 
 His beautiful spirit is disembodied of its earthly form, and those steady 
 eyes and shaggy locks are transmuted to the spiritual adornments of 
 a spiritual head, he will look down with a half disdainful smile at the 
 appreciation which posterity will bestow upon his works, and wonder 
 why his contemporaries could not understand them as well. He is one 
 of the few men who, never striving to be ahead of the age, really 
 deserves to be so. In his personal relations he is of the best and 
 wisest. We never heard that he had an enemy, and we know that all 
 who are permitted to be acquainted with his life and character, love him 
 with a true and disinterested affection. And, in thus summing up my 
 :;uate of the man, I need not say that I am not endorsing his opi- 
 nions. Many, of them, however, are also mine ; but with his political 
 prejudices and partizan proclivities, as well as those of his father-in-law, 
 I beg to disclaim all affinity. 
 
HALLOCK A---> :OOKS. 8? 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE JOURNAL OF COMMERCE GERARD M. HALLOCK THE EXPRESS 
 
 JAMES AND ERASTUS BROOKS FREDERICK HUDSON AND THE HERALD 
 
 EDITORS. 
 
 The "Journal of Commerce " is one of the most important commer- 
 cial papers in New York, and has already, to a great extent taken the 
 place of some of its older rivals. It has always been distinguished for 
 consistency and bluntness, in its independent expression of .opinion upon 
 all political subjects, and for the reliability and general fairness of its 
 statistical and other information. Seldom has it on any occasion been 
 betrayed into an erroneous statement, and it is in all re3pects a model 
 of candid and judicious management. Its principal editor was the late 
 Mr. Gerard Hallock, an intense old fogy with a spice of fun, sarcasm 
 and absolute jollity in his composition, quite amusing and refreshing. 
 Seated on his high stool, his feet at least two feet from the floor, his hat 
 drawn tightly on his head, and his ears laid back, and shoulders shrugged 
 up, he scribbled away from morning till noon, little paragraphs of all 
 sorts, statistical, witty, philosophical, political, everything that turned up. 
 He had no out-of-door influence, and was very little seen beyond the 
 precincts of his tanctum. He was a pretty far-seeing writer of his class, 
 and understood the interests of trade and commerce thoroughly, and 
 defended them with ability. The Journal is, in the best sense of the 
 term, a respectable paper, and its influence is yearly growing stronger 
 It is a firm friend of the Constitution and its compromises, and has 
 always done full justice to the South. 
 
 The "Express,'' with its morning and evening, and sixteen after 
 " edishings," has had a hard fight, and is now but just beginning to reap 
 the reward of its industry and perseverance. The editors, James and 
 Erastus Brooks, are men of fine talent and shining qualities. Mr. 
 James Brooks was for some time a representative in Congress, and on 
 all occasions acquitted himself in an independent, manly, and straight- 
 
88 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 forward manner. No man in Congress was more popular, either in 
 Washington or among his constituents ! and he has on more than one 
 occasion, proved that his integrity to his party and his country, was not 
 a purchasable commodity, but sprang indigenously from the soil of Iris 
 very heart. Beside the two Messrs. Brooks, the other principal editor 
 of the Express, is James F. Otis, formerly a poet of considerable distinc- 
 tion, and now an indefatigable, sprightly paragraphist, reporter and 
 general critic. He is one of the most popular out-door editors we have 
 in New York ; is always " about " whenever there is anything going on, 
 and for his lively qualities in social life is sought for on all occasions of 
 good companionship. His incessant occupations on the innumerable 
 editions of the journal to which he is attached, renders all serious and 
 continuous effort of his mind hopeless, and he is one of a thousand 
 instances of a fine genius being wasted, frittered, and squandered, for 
 want of time, opportunity, and compensation, to justify its higher 
 exercise. Like the great body of us poor scribblers, he is obliged to eke 
 out his salary by contributions of hasty value to all sorts of papers, and 
 by any kind of temporary literary labor that turns up. But he is 
 always in a good humor, and always apparently contented with himself, 
 the world, and everybody around him. 
 
 The office which employs the greatest number of subordinates is the 
 Herald. At the head of them, and of Mr. Bennett's editorial assistants, 
 and in his absence, of the entire establishment up stairs, is Mr. Frederick 
 Hudson, the most invaluable and indefatigable of journalists, ^jho, to the 
 experience of many years in the higher departments of his profession, 
 adds every mental requisite to the creation of a finished specimen of the 
 craft. He has an easy, elegant, and striking style, readily adapting 
 itself to every subject ; arid his knowledge is both minute and general in 
 an unusual and surprising degree. His acquaintance with foreign 
 affairs, and the current history of Europe, is greater than that of any 
 other man connected with our press ; and, bating that he lacks somewhat 
 of courage and originality, he is all that can be looked for in a journalist. 
 His brother is the commercial editor of the Herald, and works with 
 great industry and success ! but as we never read money articles, money 
 always being very "tight" with us, whatever the commercial reporters 
 may say about its being " easy in the street," we cannot say much in 
 detail of his labors. We guess he is at least as honest as the times ; and 
 as the Herald is very rich and thinks more of reputation than money, 
 we do not doubt that the commercial department of it is quite as reliable 
 and a good deal more extensive than that of any other journal in the 
 
THE ATTACHES OF THE HERALD. 89 
 
 city. Among the subordinates attached to the Herald in the editorial 
 department, Dr. Wallis, of South Carolina, occupies an important 
 position, and contributes extensively to the political department — assisted 
 now and then by the Hon. Ex-Senator Westcott, whose witty and bitter 
 paragraphs always hit exactly where they are aimed. The foreign 
 editor and translator of modern languages for the Herald, is Mr. Char- 
 met, an accomplished young Frenchman, who succeeded the unfortu- 
 nate Michel, whose body was recently found in the East River. 
 
90 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A BATCH OF EDITORS AS THEY RUN GEORGE P. MORRIS N. P. WILLIS 
 
 C. F. BRIGGS THE BEACHES BIRAM FULLER C. B. BURKHARDT 
 
 THE SUNDAY DISPATCH MIKE WALSH THE SUNDAY ATLAS SOLOMON 
 
 S. SOUTHWORTH THE " SACHEM." 
 
 Let us take our stand on the " Herald " corner this bright summer 
 morning, and catch the editorial fish as they swim along from up town 
 to their respective dens and hiding holes for the day. They will be sure 
 nearly all of them, to run by in the course of half an hour or so. 
 And, by the way, there is one of them poking his nose round the corner 
 this very moment. What would you take him for now, that spruce, 
 well-dressed, and natty-looking man, rather under the average stature — 
 about the height of Bonaparte — a round, jolly face, good-natured mouth, 
 a twinkling eye, and full black whiskers ? He wears his hat with some- 
 thing of a military jaunt, and his clothes fit him as if they had grown 
 to him. That is George P. Morris, the American song writer, who, not- 
 withstanding all the puerilities that himself and others have writ- 
 ten to his disadvantage, has, in one way or another, niched himself 
 among the national poets of our country. General Morris has been 
 an industrious and faithful worker in the great field of American 
 literature. By his indomitable perseverance and incredible sacrifices was 
 the old " New York Mirror " established and carried to a point of pros- 
 perity scarcely since reached by any New York weekly literary journal. 
 In its pages are recorded the earliest coruscations of some of the bright- 
 est ornaments of our country's literature. Fay, Willis, Cox, Paulding, 
 Hoffman, Drake, and many others of our best known names, first got a 
 foothold on the steep hill-side of fame, under the patronage of General 
 Morris. As to his own claims to the rank of a poet, we shall not dis- 
 cuss them here. We are determined not to say an ill-natured thing in 
 this book — in fact, we have made a special contract with our publishers 
 to fill it with the milk of human kindness and the molasses of 
 
 
MORRIS AND WILLIS. 91 
 
 indiscriminate praise. At all events, General Morris has been success- 
 ful; and if we cannot agree with the verdict of public opinion, we 
 had rather admit our own want of taste than insinuate that General 
 Morris and his friends, with whose warmest opinions in his favor he 
 entirely agrees, can possibly be mistaken. 
 
 The co-editor, and, for many years, the inseparable companion ot 
 General Morris, is Mr. N. Parker Willis, whose name appears at 
 the head of the "Home Journal," as a sort of lure" to country young 
 ladies of a sentimental and hysterical turn. It has been Mr. Willis* 
 strange and curious destiny to be most praised for that of which he had 
 the least, and most abused for that of which he was not guilty. The 
 almost sole misfortune of Mr. Willis has been to have a juster apprecia- 
 tion of his own real qualities and powers than other men ; and, popular 
 and petted in turn, by many circles and classes, he has imbibed the 
 unfortunate opinion that the esteem of the world at large is not worth 
 the trouble of striving for, and has acquired a distaste for those healthier 
 and manlier exhibitions of talent and genius which command the uni- 
 versal admiration and respect of mankind. The lamentable result of 
 this has been, not merely that Mr. Willis is an egotist and a trifler in 
 literature, but that he is satisfied with the appreciative applauses of 
 the small circle in which he moves, and has, at length, convinced 
 even his warmest admirers, that he does not possess the intellectual power 
 to carry out the career of which his early efforts gave promise. He 
 has, unquestionably, written some beautiful poetry, and much pretty and 
 conceited prose, some of which is quite exquisite. But it is all frag- 
 mentary, prophetic, unsatisfactory, except as prognostic of future excel- 
 lence ; while, when we look for the consequence of this fertile promise, 
 we find but a continuation of the same artificial and superficial trifling, 
 which mocks the hope and tantalizes the heart. We know well that Mr. 
 Willis has pursued this course, and arrived at this determination, through 
 a careful, steady, and closely pursued policy, the policy of egotism ; but, 
 at the same time, we feel indignant at the conclusion upon which he 
 has ventured, and wish he had chosen to strive for greatness rather than 
 an unbounded reputation for aristocracy, at which all who know his real 
 position profoundly laugh. To be the editor of a ladies' weekly journal, 
 striving to make the uninitiated think him the pet of a parvenu aristo- 
 cracy, is an ignoble fate for one whose natural stature was " taller than 
 he might walk beneath the stars.' 7 
 
 But we have permitted ourselves to become too much absorbed in our 
 curly -headed and blue-eyed poet, and fear that several of the smaller fish 
 
92 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 have run by undetected. Let us see. No — tnere goes Carlos Stuart, 
 also a poet and editor. Formerly he used to stir up the lower stratum 
 of tke population by his terrific leaders on the revolution in Cuba, and in 
 favor of penny postage, in the "Daily Sun." Now he makes up statisti- 
 cal paragraphs for the "National Democrat, we believe. Just behind 
 him, turning into the " Sun " office, are the Brothers Beach, two indus- 
 trious men, who through their widely-circulated paper, the " Sun," exert 
 an influence upon the lower side or under-crust of public opinion almost 
 incredible. The reason of the unbounded and unparalleled success of 
 the "Sun" is simple, but it is a reason too often overlooked by literary 
 projectors. Its tone is strictly adapted to the intellect, capacity, and 
 needs, of the class to whoni it is addressed. They all take it, they all 
 like it, and all derive advantages from it ; and it is to these gradual imper- 
 ceptible raisers of the standard of intelligence among certain classes, who, 
 by stooping almost to the level of those whom they would elevate, gain 
 their confidence and win their attention, that the absolute, practical and 
 real progress of society is indebted. They may not themselves even 
 know the ultimate height to which the race is tending, but they work 
 on, still earnestly and efficiently in the present. The penny press of this 
 age is worthy of our admiration and careful study, as one of the most 
 important and powerful institutions of the times ; and the men who con- 
 duct it, no matter how unconscious they may be of all the bright 
 thoughts and golden dreams that sometimes seem alone worthy of our 
 contemplation, are yet doing a far weightier and efficient work than we. 
 But who is this intellectual, keen-looking man, coming across from 
 Mercer's ? His eye looks as mild and gentle as that of a child, but his 
 face has the devil in it. You may be sure he has. a shrewd biting pen 
 of his own, and that there is one particular corner in his ink-stand that 
 bubbles up a perpetual fountain of the bitterest gall. This however, is 
 all professionally — personally he is the mildest-mannered man that ever 
 cut a literary throat or crucified a professional reputation ; and so 
 entirely unconscious is he of any wrong, that he cannot really see how 
 people should be annoyed at a mere witticism, as he calls something that 
 takes the skin off his victim. This is Harry Franco Briggs — a man of 
 a most original and inventive imagination, profound critical knowledge 
 of the philosophy of art Bud the belle-lettres, and as completely the slave 
 of gigantic prejudices as Faust was of Mephistophiles. They say he 
 writes for " Putnam," as well as the " Sunday Courier," and that he v, 
 the author of the gigantic " Bourbon " hoax. Sometimes we see ai tie 
 in the " Evening Mirror," which must have proceeded from his pen ; but 
 
BRIGG3 NICHOLS — PAGE — BURKHARDT. 93 
 
 he generally disclaims the authorship or responsibility of its articles, and 
 we believe that the majority of the rude and malicious flings contained 
 in that journal, are from the pen of its chief editor, Hiram Fuller. Mr. 
 Fuller is a man of undeniable talent and policy, but he is gangrened with 
 envy, and cannot for the life of him forego an opportunity of saying a 
 severe or bitter thing about even those for whom he possesses the warm- 
 est friendship. Mr. Briggs stopped but a moment at the " Mirror n 
 office, probably to hand in a paragraph which he had concocted at the 
 expense of some poor devil during the morning, and is now on his way 
 to the Custom House, where he keeps a comfortable berth of some fifteen 
 hundred dollars a year, besides waifs and strays. In addition to his con- 
 nection with the " Mirror," whatever it may be, he is one of the editors 
 and proprietors of the " Sunday Courier," a paper which has worked its 
 way up within the last three or four years to a large circulation, and a 
 high position among the Sunday press. To the judicious management 
 and careful business knowledge and experience of Mr. James L. Smith is 
 the prosperity of the " Sunday Courier " principally owing. 
 
 A little farther up the street a middle-sized, pale-complexioned, and 
 rather bilious-looking gentleman has just gone up stairs into the former 
 office of the " Sunday Mercury." He is a man of decided talent and 
 cleverness, but is also afflicted with the malignant fever, of which he 
 has been for several years one of the most conspicious and incurable 
 cases. If Mr. Samuel Nichols would distil into the columns of the 
 " Sunday Mercury " merely his wit and genius, and omit the malice, he 
 would make it the most popular paper of its class in the city.* His part- 
 ner, Dow, Jr., in other words, Mr. Page, of Vermont, has in times past 
 occupied a conspicuous position among Sunday journalists, but we believe 
 his health has now greatly failed, and that he seldom writes. His 
 " Short Patent Sermons," published in the " Sunday Mercury," are really 
 among the most original specimens of quaint and curious literature 
 extant. They gave the " Sunday Mercury " a large notoriety, from which 
 it has not yet fairly recovered, although to say truly, its efforts in that 
 direction have neither been few nor feeble. 
 
 Striding down Ann street yonder, at a killing pace — for it is Saturday 
 morning, and not a paragraph yet written for to-morrow's paper — is C. 
 B. Burkhardt, one of the editors of the " Sunday Dispatch," especially 
 devoted to the musical and dramatic department, and one of the few 
 writers among us on those subjects whose productions are not ridiculous. 
 
 * We regret to say that since this article was written the Sunday Press has been deprived of a 
 valuable member, by the death of Mr. N., resulting from an accident on one of our city railroads. 
 
94 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 He is a writer in other departments of literature, of some considerable 
 distinction, and as a translator, especially from German. His contribu- 
 tions to the " Sunday Dispatch" on music and the Opera have generally 
 been characterized by good sense, good taste, and a thorough knowledge 
 of his subject. The otht v editors of the "Dispatch 1 ' we do not know. 
 We think, however, that we nave tracked in its strong-built and inde- 
 pendent columns the footsteps of Mike Walsh, who, when he is himself, 
 and is not misled nor bamboozled by the prejudice and humbug of those 
 around him, is one of the strongest and faithfulest writers upon subjects 
 of practical and public reforms that we have in our city. He is the very 
 antipodes of humbug, pretension, and hypocrisy ; and his hatred of these 
 evils has become morbid and little short of a monomania, which distorts 
 his otherwise useful public life, and perverts the manliness of his talent 
 and genius. With a little practical common sense, Mike Walsh would 
 have inevitably been one of the first men of his day ; for lack of it, he 
 threatens to become the last. However, the "Dispatch" is controlled 
 entirely by the stringent judgment and discreet experience of Mr. Wil- 
 liamson, its sole owner since the death of the gifted and unfortunate 
 William Burns ; and its columns are remarkable for the intrepidity, and 
 yet discretion, with which they are conducted. 
 
 There are the Siamese Twins, the Castor and Pollux of Sunday jour- 
 nalism — the proprietors of the oldest Sunday paper in the city, and for a 
 long time the most profitable — the " Sunday Atlas." Deacon Herrick, 
 of Maine, and Mr. Ropes, of New York, were the original inventors of 
 that paper some fifteen years ago ; and in a few weeks after its com- 
 mencement, being hard pushed for five dollars to buy a ream of paper, 
 late on Saturday afternoon, to print their next morning's edition on, they 
 sold out a third of the establishment to Frederick West. In a few years 
 more, the paper was worth a profit of fifteen or twenty thousand dollars 
 a year, and still continues to divide very nearly that sum between its 
 proprietors — Mr. West having some time since sold out and retired from 
 the concern, as he expressed it, " out and injured." The present condi- 
 tion of the "Atlas" and its past prosperity are owing entirely to the care- 
 ful economy and untiring industry of its two proprietors ; and as an 
 illustration of the indomitable perseverance which characterizes them, 
 we may mention that, when they were dismissed from the Custom House, 
 and for months since, having occupied lucrative posts there since the 
 Tyler administration, of which they were the organs in this city, they 
 felt themselves so poor, in consequence of the loss of their offices, that 
 they immediately went to work as compositors on their own paper — 
 
JULIE DE MARGUERITTES. , 95 
 
 although, we suppose, that neither of them is worth less than thirty or forty 
 thousand dollars, besides the income of the "Atlas." The other editor 
 of the " Atlas " is Solomon S. South worth, more universally known to the 
 reading public as " John Smith, Jr., of Arkansas ;" under which sobri- 
 quet he has contributed profusely for the last twenty years to the press, 
 in various j>arts of the country. He is one of our best-informed political 
 writers, and has done good service to many political characters in and 
 out of station ; while his biographical and dramatic contributions to the 
 " Atlas," and other papers, are always pervaded with an air of thorough 
 acquaintanceship with the subject, with everything and everybody con- 
 nected with it, with its past history and present condition, which make 
 them extremely interesting. The peculiar point in the literary character 
 of Mr. Southworth is the enormous development of his organ of ideality. 
 When he sits down to compose a history, or a description of a scene or 
 incident, he immediately completes it in his imagination in all its parts — 
 not so much in reference to what it is or was, as to what it appears to 
 him it might have been, or should have been — and then proceeds to 
 narrate with the most imperturbable gravity that which he has con- 
 ceived, with all the minuteness and imposing movement of indisputable 
 fact. This he sometimes does by way of quizzing, and in fact has addict- 
 ed himself so much to burlesque that he permits that style of narrative 
 to pervade many of his more serious efforts, and frequently leads those 
 who put their trust in him into the most ludicrous and embarrassing 
 blunders. This curious idiosyncracy of intellect apart, Mr. Southworth 
 is an agreeable writer, and a popular and good-natured man. He also 
 was an officer in the Custom House, but has for some time been perma- 
 nently and publicly associated with the editorial conduct of the "Atlas." 
 By the way, we noticed just now coming round the corner, the Cheva- 
 lier Picton, enveloped in the most barbarous of beards, make his way 
 up-stairs into the " Sachem" office. This paper is edited by himself and 
 Dr. Batchelder, assisted by H. W. Herbert and Mr. Foster. The dig- 
 nified and patriotic tone of the political department of this paper gives it 
 a wide popularity, especially among the members of the order of " United 
 Americans," whose organ it is. The intelligent, sprightly, and always 
 just criticisms upon music and the drama which appear in the " Sachem," 
 and which remind one of. the vigorous " Vivian" in the London " Leader," 
 are generally supposed to be from the pen of Madame Julie de Margue- 
 rittes. Indeed we know not who else in this country could write them 
 
96 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE "WEEKLY PRESS THE LITERARY WORLD CORNELIUS MATHEWS E. A. 
 
 DUYCKINCK WILLIAM S. PORTER THE ALBION HENRY C. WATSON 
 
 LEWIS GAYLORD CLARK RUFUS W. GRISWOLD RICHARD WILLIS WALL 
 
 STREET JOURNAL. 
 
 We are in Nassau street, just in time to catch the editors of the 
 " Literary World " on the way to their office. Look carefully at that small- 
 sized, happy-looking man in spectacles. That is Cornelius Mathews, the 
 immortal Puffer Hopkins, who has been so much, and so virulently 
 abused for faults he did not possess and overlooked for good qualities he 
 did, that he has lost in his own case all sense of the just appreciation of 
 things, and feeds his vanity at the expense of his reputation, while in 
 sheer despite of those who have told him of his faults, he aggravates 
 them to an inflammation which has become a sort of moral gout, 
 converting the whole man into one immense twinging toe, carefully to 
 be nursed and defended against the encroachments of marauding or 
 unconscious boot heels. He has literary talent, invention, and imagina- 
 tion, of a high order ; and had he not committed the fatal mistake of 
 Betty, who wished to see herself ride by in the coach, he would have 
 been among the most honored and popular of our American authors. 
 But his insatiate and suicidal egotism has neutralized half the effects of 
 his talents and natural gifts, and he is constantly wasting his strength in 
 fighting for a position infinitely lower than that which would be accorded 
 him by universal consent, if he would cease to fight at all. We see with 
 pleasure that he is becoming more and- more alive to the truths that we 
 have here had the courage to tell him, and we believe the time will come 
 when he will set himself seriously to the fair, and honest utterance of 
 that which is within him, and will take his rank among the best and 
 best estimated of our native writers. His contributions to the "Literary 
 World V are many of them excellent ; and in a word, that paper itself is 
 conducted with a marked ability, and discretion which has imparted to 
 it a firm and enviable reputation. The ostensible editor of it is Evert 
 
HENRY C. WATSOX. 9T 
 
 A. Duyckinck, ODe of the finest and most genuine Knickerbocker brains 
 that has come down to us from the olden time. He is a gentle and 
 appreciative critic, a warm and devoted friend, and a gentleman of 
 polished address and refined manners. His criticisms betray good-nature, 
 forbearance, and true knowledge of his subject, and he is one of the best 
 read men, and altogether the most admirable off-hand critic, we have 
 amoncj us. 
 
 We must now step across the Park and pay our respects to some of 
 the members of the Saturday weekly press who burrow in that region. 
 Conspicuous among them, and among all, wherever he may be, either 
 on the turf or at the bar, in the bowling-saloon or midnight-revel, is 
 William T. Porter, the Tall Son of New York, and editor of that world- 
 renowned repository of wit, humor, slang, flash, and horse-talk, the 
 " Spirit of the Times." He who knows not Wm. T. Porter deserves not 
 to be known, and has wasted his life to little purpose. 
 
 Xext to the office of the " Spirit of the Times," is that of the Albion, 
 edited by a retired linen-draper from England, whom we have never yet 
 had the pleasure of seeing. We have broken our shins over three or 
 four of his high-flying tory leaders, in stumbling about among the ample 
 pages of the Albion in search of friend Watson's searching musical 
 criticisms and Professor Howe's more instructive than sparkling articles 
 upon the drama. We believe that both these gentlemen have now re- 
 tired from the Albion, and we thus miss the only inducement that could 
 possibly prevail upon us to look into its pages. 
 
 There, by the way, goes Harry Watson, one of the best musical critics 
 in the United States. He was born and educated in the midst of the 
 theatrical and musical profession in London, and has himself thoroughly 
 studied not only the science of music, but the art and mystery of com- 
 position. Having heard and carefully listened to all the great artists, 
 and all the great musical solemnities, of the great British capital for 
 several years, he has stored a naturally appreciative and acute mind with 
 all that may be known on the subject of the divinest of arts. We have 
 carefully watched his criticisms wherever they have appeared ; and we 
 believe, with here and there a bias of personal prejudice to which all are 
 liable, they are most reliable and valuable. We must confess, however, 
 that they would possess an additional charm, were they a little more 
 carefully written ; for Watson is emphatically a slovenly writer. '"Tis 
 true, and pity 'tis 'tis true ;" and would he only reform himself in this 
 respect, his literary compositions would be invaluable, whatever may be 
 the fate or merit of those musical ones which under the name of polkas, 
 
98 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 marches and songs, and all sorts of things, are lying upon the counters 
 of our music stores and the pianos of our misses. 
 
 Ho ! hilloa, there Mr. Phonographer ! We had like to have forgotten 
 one of the most charming and delightful members of our great profession, 
 simply because, showing his face but once a month in the grand rush 
 and hurry of our scrambling, quotidien, Broadway existence, his dauger- 
 reotype was erased from our memory. We can not pardon ourselves 
 even for the momentary obscuration of our field of vision, which led us to 
 overlook so genial and good-natured a star as now rises upon the horizon. 
 That handsome man there, with, his cane and unavoidable bundle of 
 magazines and papers, or some such trash, the same we verily believe we 
 encountered some ten years ago on the sunny side of Broadway and 
 thirty, is Lewis Gaylord Clark, editor of the monthly " Gossip to Readers 
 and Correspondents," and haberdasher general of the small wares that 
 fill the other pages of that literary china-shop, the " Knickerbocker 
 Magazine." But the " Gossip " has preserved the whole concern from the 
 otherwise too perceptible odor of an old fogyism, that would ere now 
 have buried it full fifty fathoms deep in the Cypress Hills of literature — 
 while its poor ghost would have been bankrupt of sufficient assets to pay 
 the mild taxation of the board of directors, for the privilege of screaming 
 to the midnight wind its gibbering apostrophes to the trees of that 
 ghostly region. The genius of Clark is not sporadic and individual, so 
 much as it is general and epidemic. It is a sort of intellectual amber, in 
 which long and short straws, and other worthless fragments, are preserved 
 and made precious and beautiful. We look forward every month to his 
 sparkling " Gossip " with as insatiable an anxiety as for Blackwood him- 
 self; and long may he preserve that inexhaustible fund of gay spirits 
 and happy humor, which renders him the favorite of the domestic circle, 
 the friend and playmate of all good children with whom he comes in 
 contact, and the well-beloved brother of all the members of his profes- 
 sion! 
 
 There goes by, Dr. Hufus W. Griswold, whose name is as familiar to 
 the American reader as that of Dr. Watts — not so much for what he has 
 done himself, as for his presentation of the works of others. It is fortu- 
 nate to the cause of bibliography that his talents took the peculiar turn 
 they did — as his laborious and incessant researches into the history of 
 the literature of this country have made him the American Sismondi, 
 and have contributed to the archives of American literature more valua- 
 ble materials than it otherwise possesses altogether. Still, to the mere 
 reading public, the absolute devotion of his life to those pursuits is a 
 
RUFUS GRISW0LD AND RICHARD WILLIS. 39 
 
 subject of regret ; for, say what we may of the errors and prejudices of 
 Rufus W. Griswold, yet there are few men who are possessed of his 
 natural abilities, or endowed with a more exquisite sensibility and a more 
 sustaining enthusiasm. Had he early developed his sense of self-reliance 
 he might have risen upon his own isolated merits to an enviable height 
 in literature ; while at present he must content himself with being- 
 adjudged its most faithful historian and most appreciative critic. 
 
 Another weekly paper, professedly devoted to music and the fine arts, 
 is the " Musical Times," edited by Richard Willis, brother of N. P. It 
 is made up principally of re-hashed German transcendentalisms, and 
 puerile speculations on abstruse, exploded, or ridiculous theories. 
 Richard Willis, in boyhood, was taken up as the pet of a set of literary 
 old maids, and pronounced to be a great musical genius. They even- 
 tually persuaded Mr. Jonas Chickering to send him to Europe, to become 
 a great composer. He went, and immured himself for two or three 
 years in a small town in Germany — never even visited either Italy or 
 France — and came back the weakest dish of milk and water that ever 
 was skimmed. As the results of his studies, and the sole efforts of his 
 gigantic genius, he has produced four waltzes and a set of polkas — the 
 equal of which can be improvised by any tolerably educated young lady. 
 Richard — poor Richard — has all the self conceit of his brother, N. P., 
 without any of his genius. 
 
 The "Wall Street Journal," edited by Mr. Robinson (not Wm. E. of 
 sausage notoriety), is a very spirited and useful chronicle of financial 
 movements, operations in real estate, <fcc, &c, and often contains piquant 
 and well considered hints on other topics of current interest. 
 
 TJiere are several other weekly publications in New York, but not 
 possessed of any very marked characteristics. With the religious press 
 it is not our intention to meddle, at present. 
 
109 NEW YORK NAKED 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE HERALD AND ITS INFLUENCE WASHINGTON IRVING GEORGE BAN- 
 CROFT R. H. STODDARD DR. MAYO GULIAN C. VERPLANCK RICH- 
 ARD B. KIMBALL GEORGE BUSH HENRY JAMES DR. E. H. DIXON 
 
 DR. E. E. MARCY. 
 
 For some years it was the custom, especially with all unsuccessful 
 journals and writers, to sneer at and abuse the " Herald." But gra- 
 dually, as the fact became more and more apparent that it was entirely 
 beyond their reach, we hear no more of their criticisms and complaints ; 
 and the " Herald " is now spoken of as an " established institution," 
 with which nobody can afford to quarrel. 
 
 The reputation of the " Herald " is world-wide. Wherever men read 
 or care for news — wherever civilization has an agency or an outpost, or 
 wherever the great Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Arnerican races are known — 
 the " Herald " is a recognized authority. No other paper in the world, 
 with the single exception of the " Times " of London, can, in any 
 degree, compare in extent and universality of reputation with the 
 " New York Herald." This has been brought about, solely and exclu- 
 sively, by the unusual talents, foresight, and perseverance of James Gor- 
 don Bennett — a man who, assailed in every manner and by every device 
 that envy and malice can contrive, in wreaking themselves upon the 
 object of their hate, exercises at this moment a more important influence 
 upon public opinion, and even upon the legislative and congressional dis- 
 cussions, which result in the laws by which the community is governed, 
 than all the other newspaper writers of the country. The party press 
 must be measured by states and sections, if we would compare its influ- 
 ence with that of the "New York Herald." By its great wealth and 
 illimitable resources for obtaining every species of information, and 
 employing, if not the highest order of talent, at least the greatest amount 
 of enterprize, in every department ; by the completeness of its business 
 regulations and the untiring energy that, emanating from the central 
 
 '-*!•! 
 
HONESTY AND INCORRUPTIBILITY OF THE N. Y. HERALD. 101 
 
 brain of the establishment, controls every movement, he has it in his 
 power to bring upon any given point, at a moment's notice, an 
 amount of argument and persuasion, illustrated, as it is, by an impreg- 
 nable array of facts, which is perfectly overwhelming. This very posi- 
 tion, too, secures the " Herald " from the common and too frequently 
 deserved charge of venality and corruption, so incessantly hurled against 
 the press, and more than half neutralizing the good it should accom- 
 plish. While other journals, making lofty professions of honesty and 
 incorruptibility, feigning to look with disdain and horror upon the terri- 
 ble " Herald," can be bought, body and soul, boots and breeches, for a 
 few dollars, the wealthy " Herald " can afford to turn up its nose in con- 
 tempt at all efforts at bribery, and is forced, as a mere matter of policy, 
 to be independent. We say what will be readily recognized as truth by 
 all acquainted with the operations and movements of the press in New 
 York, when we declare that no paper in the city is .so difficult to influ- 
 ence or bias, or to be brought to the advocacy of any certain measure or 
 interest, as the " New York Herald." Indeed, we cannot well see how 
 it can afford to be venal. The time may have been when it was less 
 unpurchasable. Of that, we know nothing ; but we do know that, while 
 having purchased, over and over again, for a mere pittance, not, in 
 the most exorbitant instance, exceeding two shillings a line, the editorial 
 endorsement of several very self-righteous papers, the " Herald " has 
 steadily refused large sums, and the most flattering inducements, for its 
 advocacy of that which it would, perhaps, voluntailry have advocated if 
 left alone. When we say that the opinions of other papers have been 
 purchased, we do not mean it in a very derogatory sense. We do not 
 mean that they have been bribed to advocate crime, vice, or error, nor 
 that they have been bought off from attacking men or institutions. We 
 simply mean that their publishers or editors have been induced, as a mere 
 professional matter of business, to employ their time and talents, and occu- 
 py their columns, in advocating the interests or explaining the advantages 
 of certain matters which otherwise they either would not have noticed at 
 all, or else would have dismissed with brief and common-place edito- 
 rial suavity. In this we confess we do not see anything heinously 
 wrong, so that the editor always reserves to himself the right and the 
 duty of advocating nothing, either in the arts, sciences, literature, or in 
 politics, with a bad tendency or a dishonest purpose. The greatest evil 
 experienced from this kind of farming out the editorial opinion to the 
 highest bidder, is its depreciating effect upon the character and estima- 
 tion of the press itself. Because the puffs and commendations, the 
 

 102 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 ♦ fulsome eulogies of mediocre artists, writers, actors, and public perfor- 
 
 mances and exhibitions generally, are powerfully calculated to depress 
 the standard of public taste and retard the progress of a refined and 
 thorough appreciation of the arts. In this sense every editor who writes 
 one word of praise of any man, woman, or thing, not strictly in his naked 
 judgment just and well deserved, inflicts, to the extent of his power and 
 influence, an injury upon mankind. But this is a logic and a morality 
 too searching and too close to be applied to any human interest or insti- 
 tution at present existing on earth. The lawyer advocates the cause that 
 pays him. The physician clings with blind zeal and murderous fatuity 
 to the venerable errors that swell his fees ; and even the ministers and 
 servants of God do not blush to adapt their teachings and their doctrines 
 to the length of their parishioners' purses ; and if one of them, comfor- 
 tably seated among his small and humble congregation in the interior, 
 who never dreamed of gilded candlesticks and velveted pews, and the 
 Romanesque paraphernalia of our grand cosmopolite semi-Popish tem- 
 ples, receives a call to a higher field of labor and a larger salary, his 
 doctrines and tenets expand like the flower of a bulbous root into whose 
 glass the impassioned spinster pours a vial of ammonia. Therefore, 
 although we must admit that it is strictly right to advocate nothing for 
 • pay which an editor would not naturally advocate without it, we must at 
 
 the same time confess that while human nature and society are con- 
 ducted upon their present systems, which compel every man to depend 
 upon the pecuniary results of his own individual efforts for the adequate 
 support of himself and family, so long will money secure the favor, the 
 advocacy, and the endorsement, of the various organs and oracles of 
 public opinion. 
 
 We have now rapidly, yet faithfully, sketched the principal personages 
 connected with journalism in New York. We have estimated their 
 various talents and genius as nearly as we could as if we had no personal 
 acquaintance whatever with any one of them ; and if we have at all been 
 influenced by our own feelings in respect to any, it has been by making 
 an over allowance in our own mind for the possibility of being influenced 
 by personal dislike or indignation. As a picture, hastily sketched it is 
 true, of the state and condition of the New York Press at the present 
 time this chapter possesses an intrinsic value, belonging by no means 
 
 / either to the author, or to any skill he may have exerted in producing it. 
 
 I We cannot more appropriately bring this portion of our work to a close 
 
 than by a brief mention of other distinguished characters, both male and 
 female, who belong to the world of letters and are yet not actually con- 
 
IRVING — BANCROFT — STODDARD. 103 
 
 nected with the public press. Of these is, and for a long time has been, 
 Washington Irving, who, although now verging close upon the Scripture 
 span of life, still bears in his lineaments those pleasant and refreshing 
 traits of innocence and real benevolence, illuminated by genius and ima- 
 gination, which shine so gloriously through all his works. He has still, 
 despite his years, one of the handsomest and most engaging faces you 
 will meet with in the city. His smile is still full of sunshine, and the 
 grasp of his hand as cordial and warm as in early youth. At least so 
 they say who know him. We have only seen him from a distance, and 
 admire him as we admire the steady shining star that looks each night 
 into our window with its cheerful and pleasant ray. Mr. Irving is a shy 
 and retired man, and in general society, into which, however, he very 
 rarely goes, says little, and shrinks from those attentions that all are ever 
 so anxious to pay the brightest and worthiest ornament of American 
 literature. We once, some years ago, secreted ourselves in the office of 
 the Union Place Hotel, to get an innocent glimpse of Geoffrey Crayon 
 as he passed along the hall on his way to the studio of Charles Martin, 
 who has had the honor of creating for posterity the one portrait of the 
 historian of his native state, by which he will be known to after ages. 
 Irving still walks firm and briskly, and betrays few or none of those pain- 
 ful premonitories that speak the disenchanting approach of age. Long 
 may the sunshine from his honest heart and glorious brain illuminate 
 that noble and benevolent countenance ! He is the patriarch of Ameri- 
 can literature ; and when he departs for the spiritual world, his tribe, his 
 race, and mankind, will have lost one of their most valuable ornaments. 
 
 Another visiter to the rooms of the artist we have named, who has 
 become the acknowledged painter of distinguished men and lovely 
 women, is the Hon. George Bancroft, a slim and in every way com- 
 monplace-looking man, whom you would as soon suspect of spinning 
 ribbons out of his mouth, as histories and grand literary achievements 
 out of his brain. He lives in the vicinity of Union Square, in a state of; 
 elegant retirement ; and say what they will of the ingratitude of the 
 world towards men of letters, he is a conspicuous instance of the high 
 value of respectable mediocrity in literature, when attended by shrewd- 
 ness in business, and industry in private diplomacy. 
 
 I met yesterday in the Park a former crony of Bayard Taylor, a 
 juvenile iron-founder, or something of that sort, by the name of R. H. 
 Stoddard, who has an imagination as glorious as the big ladlesfull of 
 melted pig metal that they pour into those moulds in the manufacture of 
 cooking-stoves, and whose fancy is a great deal more delicate and exube- 
 
104 NEW YORK XAKED. 
 
 rant tnan those beautiful devices whicli appear on the front plates of the 
 stoves aforesaid. He has in reality moulded some of the -neatest and 
 sweetest verses in the language ; and we think he would be doing us all 
 a great service by forsaking the ladle and clinging to the pen, and by 
 exchanging the streams of melted metal for strains of melting sentiment. 
 Now, Stoddard, don't you dare to get into a white heat over this cast 
 that I am taking of you, and let the rosy current of indignation overflow 
 the melting-pot of your heart, and rise to your cheeks, or emit sparks 
 from your eyes. You know you are the very Benvenuto Cellini of foun- 
 ders, without his brass, and the sooner you leave off founding cooking- 
 stoves, and commence founding your own reputation, the sooner you will 
 begin to convert your pot-metal into gold and silver. Give up your iron 
 founding and your Custom House, and become famous. * 
 
 Yonder goes Dr. Mayo, the author of " Kaloolah," and some other 
 equally delightful books. " Kaloolah " is the romance of a dreamer, a 
 poet, a student, and a man of the world — lacking somewhat in that pro- 
 bability of incident and vraisemblance of characterization that imparts 
 life to Cooper and Scott, and which makes us swallow down without 
 gulping all Herman Melville's delicious lies. " Kajoolah " is, however, a 
 work of exquisite taste, skill and fine genius. Mayo is a lazy man, and 
 loves his ease, or he would be a preeminent one. 
 
 That short rubicund gentleman you see yonder, turning into Broadway, 
 is a legitimate descendant of the old Knickerbocker race. His fathers 
 were contemporaries, friends and counsellors of Peter Stuyvesant and 
 his illustrious successors, and he himself fully partakes the genial 
 characteristics of those people and those times. If you follow him up 
 Broadway you will find him turning down some side street somewhere 
 near the Hospital and entering his capacious library, stuffed full of bo 
 of all descriptions, and with just room enough on his centre table for his 
 portable desk to lie yawning at both mouths with bundles of half 
 swallowed papers and memorandums. Here he lives and sees the da 
 and years glide by as peacefully, and almost as thoroughly abstracted 
 from all the real and everyday interests that go tramping and bustling 
 around Lira, as the stone St. Paul in the niche opposite the Museum. 
 Mr. Verplanck is one of our most elegant and accomplished scholars and 
 critics ; has written many valuable contributions to our literature, and 
 is principally known to the outside world by his acute and appreciate 
 criticisms upon Shakspeare. He is not an ambitious man, in the broad 
 sense of the term, and is satisfied with that unquestioned position, and 
 unreluctant esteem afforded by the contacts and contingencies of 
 
PROFESSOR BUSH. 105 
 
 domestic and social life. It is a fault in him that his ambition is not 
 equal to that of many less worthy to entertain so noble a guest. 
 
 But we must step across the street to pay our respects to Mr. Richard 
 B. Kimball, author of the " St. Leger Papers " — one of the most remark- 
 able philosophical fictions produced since the Faust and Wilhelm Meister 
 of Goethe. It is profound, startling, enchanting ; sometimes brilliant, 
 often fervid and impassioned, and in point of execution is a model of that 
 style of composition. We regard it as a real misfortune to literature 
 that Mr. Kimball is a devoted lawyer and man of business, and only 
 finds time to write when the reactive necessities of his richly endowed 
 intellect absolutely require that sort of exercise by way of repose and 
 relaxation. Mr. Kimball is not hereafter to be a stranger in the field of 
 authorship, but may be numbered, if not with its professional, yet among 
 its most successful, harvesters. Mr. Kimball is still a very young man, 
 and we have every right and reason — now that through the blessings of 
 homeopathy and Dr. Marcy his health in restored — to predict for him a 
 long and brilliant career. 
 
 Do you see that tall, white-haired, intellectual-looking gentleman, slim 
 and somewhat stoop-shouldered, closely wrapped in a not very new nor 
 particularly well-brushed black Spanish cloak? He stops, you see, at 
 Sweeney's eating-house. It is about dinner-time at that aristocratic esta- 
 blishment, and this old gentleman is a regular customer there, where, 
 to his unsophisticated taste, the plain sixpenny steak and mashed turnips 
 and potatoes, with three cents worth of extra bread and pickles, is as 
 deliciously and completely satisfying to his appetite as if he were eating 
 at the Rocher Cancale, or the Clarendon Hotel, with every delicacy ever 
 conceived by Soyer within reach or call. Little recks that glorious old 
 man what he eats, or where he eats it, or what he wears, or how it is 
 put on. But his face is humorous with the spiritual intelligence within, 
 that gleams through his serene eyes and lights up every lineament with 
 the electric flashings from the spiritual world, whom his own purity and 
 genius have attracted close about him*. That is George Bush, the great 
 expounder of the doctrines of Swedenborg, and head of the new Jerusa- 
 lem Church in this country. He was for many years one of the most 
 eminent Protestant clergymen and Oriental scholars in the land ; and 
 his distinguished and unapproached merits in both these departments 
 are -willingly conceded from one end of the country to the other. Every 
 college and university in the Union echoed with the sound of his name 
 and the splendor of his scholastic achievements ; while the purity, the 
 fervor, and the moral grandeur of his private life surrounded him with 
 
 7 
 
106 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 the halo through which the darts of calumny could not penetrate." Led 
 by his love of learning, or, we would feign believe, by some divine 
 instinct, specially communicated to him for the purpose, be at lengtb 
 encountered the giant, Swedenborg ; being, perhaps, in all the ranks of 
 our scholars, and philosophers, and divines, the only living man capable 
 of standing up face to face before that seer and prophet of a new dispen- 
 sation, and of understanding and feeling the full force and magnitude of 
 the truths contained in his immortal works, or of imparting them intel- 
 ligibly and faithfully to the common apprehension of his fellow-men. 
 Accordingly, with the simplicity and faith of a child — appalled at no 
 amount of labor entailed by the undertaking, and discouraged by no 
 doubt as to the clearness, and purity, and truthfulness of his own concep- 
 tions, the labor was begun and faithfully continued. Herculean as it is 
 in an intellectual point of view, yet has Professor Bush found it but a 
 labor of love ; and his translations now extant of the writings of Sweden- 
 borg will live for ever as one of the most gigantic monuments of human 
 devotion, perseverance, and scholarship. Whatever people may think, 
 or affect to think of the peculiar doctrines contained in the writings of 
 Swedenborg, none now deny the surpassing greatness of that man's intel- 
 lect. And the philosophical world has recently found itself compelled to 
 award him as elevated a station in the world of science and natural phi- 
 losophy as theologians and divines had already conceded him in that of 
 morals and religion. Every Sabbath, Prof. Bush faithfully and eloquently 
 expounds some portion of the Scriptures by the lamp of Swedenborg's 
 inspirations, to a select, enlightened, and slowly-increasing congre- 
 gation, the germs of an entirely new, more real, more practical dispensa- 
 tion of the religion of Jesus Christ — the forerunner of that millennial 
 reformation in the Church of God upon earth, which corresponds spiritu- 
 ally to the physical and moral reforms now in progress toward their ful- 
 fillment, and both of which must as infallibly and surely come as the 
 sun continues to give light and heat, and the power of germination and 
 progress to the physical universe, or as the great Central Sun Himself 
 streams forth His undying love through the remotest bounds of infinite 
 space. Considered in any light we will, George Bush is unquestionably 
 one of the most remarkable men that this or any other age has produced. 
 Henry James, the lecturer and writer, well deserves his place here, 
 however, as one of the most original and vigorous thinkers of the age. 
 He does not confine himself exclusively to the doctrine of any sect nor 
 individual ; his is a nature too orginal and creative for that; — yet with 
 such variations in detail and scientific form as depend upon his peculiar 
 
HENRY JAMES — DR. HEMPEL. 10 1 
 
 organization, lie adds his magnificent strength to propel forward those 
 grand and fundamental ideas of the harmony, prosperity, and happiness 
 of the unitary race of men, which now 'swell in the heart and inspire the 
 hopes and labors of all true spirits. His lectures, some of which have 
 already been collected and printed, are among the most startling, pro- 
 found, and original productions ever submitted to the public. And 
 although Mr. James does not possess a fascinating way of expressing his 
 ideas and seducing the reader into good humor with what he is about 
 to encounter, yet few appreciative minds can come in contact with the 
 bold, burning, and triumphant logic of this intuitive reasoner and irresist- 
 ible thinker, without undergoing a greater or less change or perturbation 
 from his usual routine of contemplation. Those who are ripe enough to 
 receive the seed of his beautiful thoughts, instantly become converts to 
 the glorious ideas he promulgates ; while upon the less mature he never 
 fails to produce an impression which, sooner or later, must bring them 
 to the same point of view with himself. 
 
 Another of this new order of literary and philosophical spirits, by 
 which the present age is characterized, over all tliat have preceded it, 
 is Dr. Hempel, a Homeopathic physician of eminence and also a volum- 
 inous and eloquent philosophical writer. He is an impersonation of 
 the highest grade of the German mind ; and probably very few 
 brains were ever created so full of beautiful theories and symmetrical, phi- 
 losophical creations as his. At the same time he is strongly grounded 
 in all the great fundamental principles of the reforms, now sweeping 
 humanity onward in its career, and has produced, at least, one work 
 which will not die. This is his book showing the absolute correspon- 
 dence and identity of the doctrines taught by Fourier and by Sweden- 
 borg, and proving that those of the former are the inevitable, material 
 and physical ultimates of the later — that Association, as taught by 
 Fourier, is the scientific resolution of the great problem of the spiritual life 
 of man as propounded by Swedenborg, from his own direct experiences 
 in the spiritual world. This book is an admirable and invaluable study 
 to all who would inform themselves, without too great an expenditure of 
 time and trouble, of the leading features of those ideas which are the 
 origin of those mysterious and startling influences every where bursting 
 out all about us. The medical works of Dr. Hempel are extensive and 
 extremely valuable ; consisting as they do not only of his own original 
 contributions, to the science of Homeopathy, but of the most careful and 
 laborious translations of those intricate and difficult works of Hahnemann 
 which there is scarcely another writer living who could have fairly and 
 
108 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 faithfully rendered into English. Dr. Hempel is still quite a young man, 
 and we have a right to expect much — and much that is valuable, still 
 from his powerful and prolific pen. 
 
 Another medico-literary man of altogether a different genius, but suffi- 
 ciently eccentric and sparkling in his way, to detain us for an agreeable 
 minute and a half, is Dr. E. H. Dixon, the trenchant editor of the 
 Scalpel, whose terrible gashes upon the bloated and corrupt body of the 
 old school of medical practice has let out more fetor and corruption than 
 the whole profession, from Hippocrates to Mott, have ever cured. Dr. 
 Dixon's Scalpel — beside being one of the most amusing, piquant and 
 lively periodicals that has made its appearance in the world since Black- 
 wood and Kit North — must be regarded as an indispensable seton 
 established in the medical world, for the purpose of keeping the poor 
 patients' body politic in some tolerable state of health and purification. 
 If by some sudden edict all the periodicals in America were to be anni- 
 hilated, with one exception, and the choice of that exception were left to 
 us, we certainly think we should be compelled to choose the Scalpel. 
 The Doctor himself, personally, is as odd a genius as his periodical. 
 Tall, wiry, and with a powerful bilious and muscular organization, he 
 rushes along the street like an embodied destiny, or the Dutchman with 
 the steam cork leg that would not stop. His small gray eyes twinkle 
 with fun and humor upon the slightest provocation ; and there is an 
 unctuousness in his very tone of voice, that speaks of latent jokes and 
 witticisms held in solution in his subdued and almost cynical tempera- 
 ment, as some subtle and destructive chemical agent is concealed in 
 those perfectly harmless bedbug exterminators upon which our friend 
 Lyon makes so much money and such excellent poetry in the advertis- 
 ing columns of the Herald. 
 
 We must leave the still unexhausted list of our medical writers, with a 
 brief mention of Dr. E. E. Marcy, author of the most popular hook yet 
 written in explanation of the theory and practice of Homeopathy, and 
 editor of the able Homeopathic Quarterly Review, established by our, 
 friend Radde. Dr. Marcy emigrated but a few years since to New York 
 from Connecticut ; but by the skillfulness of his treatment of disease, and 
 the unswerving integrity of his personal character, he has already acquired 
 a commanding position in the field of medicine, while his literary produc- 
 tions have conferred upon him a distinguished rank among the medical 
 authors of our country. He is still among the youngest, both of prac- 
 titioners and authors ; and, deeply imbued with the importance of the 
 cause, he has sacrificed all minor considerations, all love for beautiful but 
 
H. T. TUCKERMAN. 10 J) 
 
 unprofitable theorizing, to its interests, and devotes himself with a single- 
 ness of purpose and indomitable perseverance, to a career which truth 
 has marked out for him to pursue, that must terminate in placing him, 
 among the conspicuous benefactors of his race. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 H. T. TUCKERMAN J. T. HEADLEY D. K. MITCHELL MRS. E. OAKES SMITH 
 
 MRS. CHILD MRS. KIRKLAND. 
 
 One of the most dreamy and voluptuous faces one encounters under a 
 hat, in his walks in Broadway, is that of Henry T. Tuckerman, a Yankee 
 by birth and blood, but a pure Italian of the most delicious dolce far 
 nientc organization in sentiment, character, and imagination. He lived 
 some years in Italy, his soul, like a crystal chalice, drinking in the balmy 
 air, and sunny life, and delicious clime, until his whole nature became 
 imbued with its subtle incense ; and now, at scarcely forty-five, returned 
 to the busy haunts of his money-making countrymen, he still lives the 
 serene and tranquil life of the student and the poet, deaf to all the crash- 
 ing turmoil that whirls around, and feeding his heart upon those splendid 
 dreams that rise and expand their glittering wings only from out the 
 clear and undisturbed fountains of the heart. As he goes by, wrapped 
 in his Spanish cloak, and with his speculative eye fixed steadily upon the 
 walk, I envy him, not only for all he is, but still more for all he is not. 
 Tuckerman writes only when he has the will. When the inspiration 
 comes, the sibyl speaks ; otherwise he is silent and muses happy and 
 contented till the fit again sweeps over him. He has a genial fancy, a 
 tender and musical style, and if he would whip and spur his muse, as 
 we, poor insane devils, are obliged to do, would be the first in the race. 
 But he has fortunately had the courage to accept and abide by a hap- 
 pier lot, and his days pass serenely in peace, his eye undimmed and his 
 face unwrinkled by care and commonplace anxiety. He is still in the 
 very prime of life, and we hope to hear glorious things of him ere his 
 first half century is over. 
 
 On the opposite side of the street, threading his way carefully, yet 
 swiftly and fearlessly, ampng the omnibuses and vehicles, is a man of 
 directly the opposite temperament. Full of enthusiasm, of fire, of deter- 
 mination, ambition, will, genius even, he is ever restless, ever hard at 
 
110 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 work at something, and generally to a most excellent purpose. Say 
 what we will of the carelessness and slovenliness, and even the common- 
 placeness of much that J. T. Headley has written, yet we must confess 
 that there are few of our writers who may ever hope to achieve the 
 popularity he has already gained, before the brightness of his youth has 
 past. When his imagination becomes mellowed by the ripening and 
 strengthening influences of time, when his prejudices are soothed and 
 allayed, the bitterness and indiscretion of his impulses subdued, and the 
 lights and shades of his intellect harmonized to their proper proportions, 
 Mr. Headley must produce works of a high and lasting merit. Much 
 that he has already written, interwoven as it is with our national history, 
 and the history of events that beacon themselves above the sea of time, 
 must be immortal. But he has as yet by no means done his best ; and 
 we, as well as all the world, expect much from him. 
 
 Within the last two or three years, a young man of the more aristo- 
 cratic class of our population, possessing family position, wealth, and 
 unblemished reputation, has made his appearance in polite circles, and 
 has achieved a very decided sensation. During the past winter he has 
 really been quite a lion in good society, and the pet of all the ladies who 
 either are, or affect to be fashionable. He has not borne his honors very 
 meekly, but has splurged considerably upon the strength of his new- 
 fledged wings — although we never heard that he was either impertinent 
 or ill-natured — and that is more, we guess, than he will say of me when 
 he reads this paragraph. The works upon which he chiefly depends for 
 his present reputation are, the " Lorgnette," and the " Reveries of a 
 Bachelor." They are elegantly written, and betray an intimate know- 
 ledge of the conventionalities and superficialities of society ; but, either 
 from an inability or disinclination on the part of the author, they do not 
 sound the depths of human nature, nor contribute much to the stock of 
 original ideas afloat. The author of these works is Mr. D. K. Mitchell, 
 otherwise called "Ik Marvel," who has been so over-puffed by his friends, 
 and so neglected by the rest of the public, that he is greatly puzzled to 
 know exactly where he stands — a dilemma, however, from which his 
 good opinion of himself threatens to rescue him in the most agreeable 
 manner. He is quite a young man, a little of a coxcomb, wears straw- 
 colored kids, and mustachios, and uses a tortoise-shell eye-glass. 
 
 We have thus rapidly cast our eyes over the broad field of current 
 literature in New York, and furnished our readers with daguerreotype 
 sketches of the principal laborers therein. A few we have probably omit- 
 ted ; but if so, it is from ignorance or oversight. Those who find them- 
 
A GLANCE AT OUR FEMALE AUTHORS. Ill 
 
 selves in this category will have the kindness to forgive us for our 
 apparent slight, and console themselves for not being noticed in a very 
 little book like mine, by getting themselves inserted in the next edition 
 of the very big book of my friend Dr. Griswold, who will do them up in 
 the most elegant manner and at short notice, if they will only send that 
 prince of literary diagnosticians a lock of their hair, or a paring of their 
 thumb-nail. 
 
 But there still remains a small and perfumed corner of this somewhat 
 sterile field where bloom the roses and the tulips, the pinks and pansies, 
 the daisies and buttercups of literature ; and to this sacred precinct, this 
 seraglio of Apollo, where the grand Sultan of poetry and art choicely 
 keeps his ehoicest beauties, do we now direct our steps. 
 
 There, ring the bell. Titivate your hair and cravat. Throw open the 
 door, and boldly enter the realm of blue-stockingdom. Here, seated on 
 chintz-covered sofas, or lounging in groups about the handsome 
 apartments, may be seen — or at any rate might have been seen before 
 the fair hostess became a lionne at Washington, and made Congress put 
 her in the appropriation bill — the leading feminine celebrities in the 
 world of literature. But the fact is, that this petticoat Republic of Let- 
 ters has been, since the visit of Miss Bremer to this country, partially 
 disbanded and broken up, and each of its members has established a 
 petty sovereignty on her own book. This is a great pity ; for the charm- 
 ing reunions of distinguished men and women that used every week, in 
 the winter time, to take place at the house of our philosophical and con- 
 templative friend were a nucleus and a germ, from which we have anti- 
 cipated a beautiful and kindly growth of intellectual and social influences. 
 The extremes, or outer edges of the two sorts of society — the intellectual 
 and the money circles — were gradually approximating through the 
 influence of these assemblages, and had, in fact, in several instances 
 positively interlaced and become fairly united ; but we know not whether 
 it was from rivalry and personal misunderstandings, or from the fact that 
 literary people and artists, thus left to themselves and thrown entirely 
 upon each other for their conversational resources, unavoidably found 
 themselves ennuyed ; yet so it is, that these parties have become heads of 
 the ton, and the elements of which they were composed are scattered far 
 and wide. The philosophy of feminine literature in New York, however, 
 is well worth the studying. It shows that female labor in this, as well 
 as in all other departments of industry and production, is but slightly 
 rewarded in comparison to that of the other sex, both in pay and reputa- 
 tion. The days of butterfly magazinery seem to be approximating 
 
112 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 rapidly to their close ; and the butterflies who created and embellished 
 this institution are disappearing with it. It may be, however, that we 
 do injustice to these agreeable and interesting beings, and that we only 
 miss them from the literary world because we are no more among them 
 and of them. 
 
 Conspicious among the living literary women of this country is Mrs. 
 E. Oakes Smith, whose graceful minor poems are well known, and whose 
 higher and more sustained efforts have manifested the possession of ima- 
 gination and genius. We think her forte is in dramatic writing, and we 
 cannot doubt that were she to seriously busy herself in that direction, 
 she would meet with success. Mrs. Smith is among the boldest and 
 freest of her sex's thinkers ; and some of her articles and lectures upon 
 marriage, female labor, and the general relations and condition of women 
 in society at the present day, have excited considerable attention. 
 
 A noble and beautiful illustration of female goodness is quietly letting 
 go by her useful and lovely life in complete and voluntary seclusion 
 from all society, save that of a circle of the most intimate and loving 
 friends. She preserves, in the full experience and knowledge of mid-life, 
 all the freshness and purity, and unconscious vivacity of childhood ; and 
 that she so sedulously retires from all common associations is a great and 
 positive loss to society, for no woman we have ever known is better cal- 
 culated, nor more fully qualified to embellish the best society, and impart 
 value and meaning to the conventionalisms of life, than Lydia Maria 
 Child. Anchorite as she is, sometimes an extraordinary occasion brings 
 her from her seclusion ; and those who are permitted to come within the 
 magnetic influence of her glorious spirit never forget the day that was so 
 bountiful to them. Mrs. Child has written much, but always carefully 
 and well, and always with a steady, firm and apparent meaning. Her 
 philosophy is a transparent one, as clear as crystal, and as beautiful. It 
 is the philosophy of love. She believes that God created all things from 
 love, and sustains them by love, and that they should help and sustain 
 each other by love alone. Her books are the most beautiful of sermons, 
 and her whole life and character an illustration of the loftiest and most 
 refined religion. Her influence upon her contemporaries has been perhaps 
 wider and greater than that of any other living woman, for her pleasant 
 yet unpretending, her logical yet utterly unstrained, arrangement of 
 subject and beauty of illustration, are as precious as they are rare. The 
 works of Mrs. Child are the most priceless gems in the great mine of 
 female literature ; and although others may have written more preten- 
 tiously, and exhibited more apparent fire, and more superfice of enthu- 
 
L. MARIA CHILD — CAROLINE M. KIRKLAND. 113 
 
 siasm, yet nowhere can there be found an equal development of the truly 
 beautiful, the truly wise, and the truly good. We feel a thrill of pride 
 and pleasure in thus recording an honest and faithful opinion of the lite- 
 rary merits of Mrs. Child. "We love to see her works lying on the 
 centre-table wherever we go-^for it is a proof to us that good hearts and 
 pleasant intellects are about us. She has not an enemy in the world, 
 and could not possibly have one. When she dies her lovely spirit will 
 pass, by a transition so natural and so easy, into its new and higher rela- 
 tions, that we doubt indeed whether she will herself at first be conscious 
 of the change. Mrs. Child is no partisan, no argufier, no declaimer 
 against abuses, nor suggester of new and startling theories ; but her 
 whole heart overflows into her works with an unbounded love for God 
 and nature, and all true and beautiful things — and so evidently sincere 
 and thorough is the abandonment of her devotion, that it imparts a tone 
 to her least pretentious writings which fill the eyes with tears, and the 
 heart with glowing happiness. 
 
 Conspicuous among the female writers of this country is Mrs. Kirkland, 
 whose works, written when she resided at the West, burst upon the pub- 
 lic several years ago with the promise of an extremely brilliant career for 
 their gifted author. Since her removal to New York, she has either lost 
 much of her inspiration, or occupied herself in other pursuits than those 
 of literature ; for, although we occasionally see her name, and read her 
 effusions, yet the inimitable freshness, and spirit, and raciness, of those 
 glorious prairie sketches in " A New Home — Who'll Follow V seems to 
 have faded from her brain and heart in the stifling atmosphere of the 
 metropolis, as completely as the immaculate flavor of Knickerbocker's 
 history disappeared from Irving's inkstand the moment he removed him- 
 self from the weird precincts of Sleepy Hollow. Mrs. Kirkland's 
 characteristics, as indicated by her recent writings that we have seen, are 
 a shrewd power of observation and description, and an inexhaustible 
 common sense. Had she, however, fulfilled the promise of her earlier 
 works, she would have risen to a height of popularity which it would 
 have been difficult to measure. 
 
 We might extend and prolong the catalogue of our female writers, 
 but not greatly nor profitably. In fact, although we have been as great- 
 ly favored as any other time or country in this respect, yet it must be 
 confessed that female literature compares but poorly with the creative 
 efforts of the other sex. Whether this is owing: to the errors and falsi- 
 ties in our social institutions, or to an inherent inequality in the intellec- 
 tual endowments of the two sexes, I shall not be bold enough to discuss. 
 
114 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 My own private opinion of the matter, however, is, that women, beiDg 
 such exquisite poetry and works of art themselves, cannot be expected to 
 reproduce themselves by the ordinary process of pen and ink, and other 
 implements, by which the human brain manages to get rid of itself in 
 the various departments and interests of creative effort. We should as 
 soon expect a rose-bush to turn gardener, or a gold-finch ornithologist, as 
 for those pretty flowers and sweet singing birds, the ladies, to do any- 
 thing but be musical and beautiful. We think, in fact, that a woman 
 transcends her manifest destiny in entering the rubbish -strewn arena of 
 literature and art ; and could we organize society strictly according to 
 our own views, the sole employment of all womankind, throughout the 
 universe, should be, to admire their pretty selves, and be adored by the 
 men. Until this new and magnificent phase of society comes round, we 
 devotedly raise our hat, and bid them adieu. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A NEW FIELD A WORD ABOUT THE PAINTERS NATIVE AND FOREIGN 
 
 PAUPERS FREE NEGROES DESTINY OF THE BLACK RACE CREATION 
 
 OF NEW RACES FINAL DESTINY OF THE GLOBE AND ITS INHABI- 
 TANTS. 
 
 Native Mechanics and Laborers — Effects of Foreign Competition — 
 Changes in the Current of Trade — The Commercial Inquisition — 
 Mechanics — The Contract System — Disappearance of Certain Trades 
 from the City — Female Labor — Emigrant Population — Duty of 
 Society to its Helpless Members — The Firemen of New York — 
 No. 14 in Broadway — A Frenchman ] s Description of the Fire- 
 men — The Quarrels and Amusements of Firemen — Good Move — 
 Native Rowdies and Foreign Rumsellers — Pritchard's Trial — 
 Firemen Militia— Duty of Society to Youthful Vagabonds — Slop 
 Work — Remedy — Amusements of the Middle Million — Bowery — 
 National — Franklin Museum — Bur ton's — Brougham's — Niblo's — 
 Broadway — Christy's Minstrels — Balls and Dancing — The B'hoy 
 on Sunday — On the Avenue — Reflections. 
 
 We now take a bold plunge from the wealthy and professional classes 
 of society into another world and another creation, almost among another 
 race of beings; for the undeveloped, uneducated, unrefined, and, neces- 
 
AMERICAN ARTISTS. 115 
 
 sarily, partly brutalized victim of labor is, in deed and in truth, a differ- 
 ent being from the man of taste, refinement, and gratified aspirations. 
 We had intended, before bidding adieu to the upper strata of society, 
 to make some allusion to the other classes of professional life than the 
 literary, but on second thought, we abandoned this idea — as well on 
 account of the reader as ourselves. Every man and woman in the com- 
 munity is interested in every literary man and woman, while each indi- 
 ridual and each family selects its own lawyer, its own doctor, and its own 
 minister, and cares comparatively little about those of other people. It 
 is true, the world of art should present a somewhat fruitful and profita- 
 ble field of investigation ; but artists are, as a class, so much more irrita- 
 ble than even scribblers, that we shall fain make the best of it by dis- 
 missing them with a word of approbation in the lump, avoiding all inves- 
 tigation or criticism upon their individual merits. In fact, the condition 
 of the fine arts in this country, at the present time, is so eminently without 
 nationality, without originality, without antecedents, and without well- 
 defined features, that if I were to say only that which I think and feel 
 about American art and American artists, I should make many unneces- 
 sary enemies, say many unnecessary cruel things, and incurably wound 
 many susceptibilities ; and, as I have no intention of saying anything in 
 this book that I do not believe, I will even let the studios repose in their 
 quiet and half mysterious solitude. Painters, besides, are a tribe of 
 beings who seem scarcely to' belong to society. A few of them, now 
 and then, make their appearance in certain favored circles, but, gener- 
 ally, they live within themselves, and their social solaces are of a descrip- 
 tion too bizarre and doubtful to be recognized in any regular disquisition 
 upon society. Let us, then, pay the hasty tribute of an exceptional 
 word in favor of Durand, Mount, and Elliott, leave these narrow precincts, 
 and direct our steps toward the broad and fruitful field of observation 
 opened before us by the condition and destiny of the great middle work- 
 ing class. 
 
 From this point the character of our material will rapidly degenerate. 
 The elegant will sink to the common-place, the common-place to the 
 destitute and squalid, and misery and ignorance speedily find their 
 inevitable ultimates — in licentiousness and crime. In this division of 
 our work it is our intention to probe boldly and with honest hands the 
 absolute and positive evils and their consequences which oppress this 
 immense class of our population — to show truly those which are imposed 
 upon them by others, as well as those which proceed from within them- 
 selves. Before we have finished this task it will have led us from the 
 
116 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 palaces and saloons of our wealthy and accomplished aristocracy, to the 
 dens and garrets of want and degradation. 
 
 In treating of the working classes in the metropolis, we must com- 
 mence by making an immediate distinction, generally in disquisitions 
 of this kind overlooked, as well as lost sight of in those statistics of crime 
 and pauperism and charity which from official sources are given to the 
 public. This distinction is one of birth-place, and recalls in all its depth 
 and intensity the old Native American question, which by the ignorance, 
 dishonesty, imbecility and selfishness of its managers was perverted from 
 its high and holy mission and made the laughing-stock of the public. 
 Yet the philosophy of that question contained the great idea necessary 
 to explain, to understand, and to remedy the monstrous evils of society 
 in the New World. Without keeping in view this great distinction, it is 
 incredible to the large thinking mind that a government so free and 
 little expensive to the labor of the country as ours — that a soil so prolific 
 and a system of labor, competition, combination and reward so utterly 
 unrestricted — should produce such wide-spread destitution and despair 
 as we are about to lay bare in the heart of the capital of the western 
 world. And it is strictly true that an inconceivably small portion of this 
 misery is shared by the native born children of the American soil. In 
 this immense city with its seventy thousand paupers and two millions 
 and a half annually disbursed in public charity, I do not honestly be- 
 lieve there are fifty native born Americans who are indebted to public 
 charit}^ for their food or shelter. The moment we approach the darker 
 and more revolting aspects of life in this metropolis, it is but a reproduc- 
 tion, line for line and feature for feature, in many cases, in all with but 
 slight modifications, of the same phases of existence in London and other 
 portions of the old world. I ought, however, to except from these 
 remarks the free negro population of our city, which in everything 
 wretched, hopeless and abominable, is infinitely worse than Jerrold, or 
 Mayhcw, or Dickens, or Sue, could possibly conceive ; for, added to the 
 disabilities of association and lack of education, the free negro, removed 
 from the sole protection that has ever succeeded in rescuing him from 
 starvation, sinks hopeless beneath that inferiority of blood and race 
 implanted in his nature by God himself. Yes, there can be no doubt in 
 the mind of any reasoning and rightly observing man, that in no part of 
 the earth, under no institutions, however tyrannical or oppressive, under 
 no system of inadequate reward or enormous taxation of labor that ever 
 existed, has white human nature fallen by many, many degrees so low 
 as the condition of the free blacks in New York, Philadelphia and 
 
ABSORPTION OF THIS COLORED RACES. lit 
 
 Boston ; while at the same time it is true that there never yet has been 
 a peasantry and a laboring population of any race or color, who as a 
 general thing enjoyed so comfortable a degree of existence, and were so 
 free from destitution, vice and disorders, as the slave population of the 
 South. These two grand facts I state here — not for the purpose of draw- 
 ing from them inferences prejudicial to this or that political interest, nor 
 to add one futile effort more to the thousands that have been made or 
 that will ever be made with equal futility, to settle this point in political 
 economy. The destiny of the black race in contact with the whites is a 
 problem which can only work itself out to a satisfactory conclusion. As 
 to my own belief — if there be any who possess a curiosity to know it — it 
 is that the African race, although by its greater flexibility and power of 
 adaptation to circumstances, it will for a long time remain in some 
 species of contact with the whites, yet must eventually be absorbed or 
 annihilated, as the red man has already almost been. I believe fully, as 
 the result of the most careful and deeply interested studies, investigations 
 and reflections upon the laws of the physiology of races, that not only 
 will the African and the Indian tribes be eventually extirpated in the 
 progress of humanity — not only will their fate be imitated by the yellow 
 men and the Malays, and all other races at present known and recognized 
 as inferior to the Caucasian, but that there are to appear on earth races 
 of men as far superior to the present highest development of the Cauca- 
 sian and Anglo-Saxon races, as they are to the other and meaner inhabi- 
 tants of the earth. I look abroad upon this globe and find progress 
 stamped as the character of its animal and vegetable productions. The 
 condition of its geological, vegetable, animal and scientific developments 
 and the physical and intellectual state of the races of mankind who 
 inhabit it, all bear a continual and marvellous harmony, one with the 
 other. Reasoning from the past, I look to the future history of our 
 planet, and I see the earth disencumbered of its miasmatic marshes, its 
 inaccessible mountains levelled to the grasp of the cultivator of £he soil, 
 its barren deserts blooming as the rose, and every noxious and poisonous 
 weed, ore and exhalation departed for ever. When that time comes, the 
 meteoric phenomena of the atmosphere and of the seasons, will have 
 corresponded to this great and beneficent change. Death-dealing 
 tempests and convulsions will no more sweep over the land and ocean ; 
 pestilential winds will no more scatter death and horror among the 
 millions of every clime and nation ; and the whole physical condition of 
 thos3 who fill this beautiful green globe, which God has given to man 
 for his final and glorious habitation and inheritance, will utter but one 
 
118 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 sweet and thrilling harmony with the divine goodness and glory of the 
 Creator. At that time too will the human race have undergone a corres- 
 ponding transfiguration. Murder and robbery, and oppression, and 
 treachery, and ingratitude, and all the horrible train of evils that march 
 wailing like furies in the train of a perverted love, will have disappeared 
 from among mankind. Want, parent of every species of crime and out- 
 rage, that man has ever suffered at the hand of man, the cause too of 
 those horrible evils to which woman has been so long compelled to 
 submit, will no longer then exist, and with it will disappear those mean, 
 contemptible and miserable motives now miscalled passions, that hurry 
 a desperate, reckless and despairing world into every horrible excess. 
 In these days, too, the physical and intellectual stature of mankind will 
 have aggrandized itself to its original and celestial proportions, when 
 God created man in his own image, and' when he was but a little lower 
 than the angels. 
 
 But, to leave these speculations, which will of course be dismissed 
 among the idle dreams and fancies of the imagination — let us cast a look 
 at the great problem of labor in the nineteenth century* as we find it 
 actually existing in New York. As to a great majority of our American 
 mechanics and laboring men, they are for the most part in what may be 
 called a comfortable position, though now and then they feel the hand of 
 distress weigh heavily upon them — chiefly, however, through the severe 
 competition created by the immense, number of emigrants, who stand 
 ready at every corner to undertake every species of mechanical, or other 
 labor, whether they understand it or not, and who of course will work 
 for a mere pittance in comparison to any fair remuneration, as understood 
 in our American scale of prices. Accustomed in their own country to 
 live like pigs, they can stow themselves away into all sorts of holes and 
 corners, and live on refuse, at a rate of wages upon which any decent 
 white man would very surely, and very speedily starve. Thus they over- 
 run every department of mechanical industry especially, like armies of 
 locusts, and literally take the bread out of the mouths of native-born 
 laborers. We do not say they are to blame for this. We only state the 
 fjict ; and for proof that it is fact, we appeal to every man and woman in 
 city who depends upon the labor of the hands for subsistence. 
 
 An important change in the retail and smaller mercantile operations 
 of the state is now gradually but visibly being effected. It is the con- 
 centration of capital and trade in each department into the hands of a 
 few large dealers or contractors. This, like almost every other tendency 
 of the present civilization, is the inverted aspect of a process of true 
 
MERCANTILE ESPIONAGE. 119 
 
 melioration. Concentration and combination are the secrets of the mag- 
 nificent improvements wnich are to come upon the face of society ; but 
 as at present directed and controlled, they are but the signs of oppression, 
 and the great and rapidly-becoming insurmountable obstacle to success to 
 all who start and struggle in life unaided by hereditary wealth or factitious 
 circumstances. Formerly it was possible and common for young traders 
 with four or five thousand dollars capital, to commence business in any 
 department they preferred, and with ordinary caution, prudence and eco- 
 nomy, to almost invariably succeed. But now we find the amount of 
 capital necessary to procure even a remote chance of success rapidly 
 enlarging ; and in a short time it will be impossible to found a mercan- 
 tile establishment short of a fortune to invest as preliminary capital. 
 The few large houses in every branch of trade are rapidly swallowing up 
 and absorbing the smaller and younger ones around them, and it is 
 already almost an utter impossibility for a young man without vast 
 resources, and unlimited credit and acquaintance, to even obtain a show 
 of success in the great and cruel game of mercantile competition. We 
 are rapidly creating in our very midst, and unconsciously to all, even to 
 themselves perhaps, a class of commercial barons, into whose hands will 
 inevitably pass the entire control of the business and credit, and the very 
 mercantile existence, of the whole trading communit}^. In fact, to an 
 incredible extent already is this so ; and hundreds of ambitious young 
 men of small means, to whom the country and villages and smaller cities 
 are still a free and practicable arena, annually hasten here to sink their 
 capital, involve themselves, and crush hope out of their hearts, in the 
 futile struggle for a foothold in the metropolis. Not contented with the 
 gradual and natural formation of these gigantic monopolies, the leading 
 houses in metropolitan trade, have . in their employment an organized 
 system of espionage, which, centered in New York, extends its ramifica- 
 tions to every city, village, and school district, in "the Union. Spies are 
 regularly employed by this institution to travel throughout the country, 
 and secretly obtain precise information of the property, the associations, 
 the business, the family, and the personal habits of every man engaged 
 in trade. These data are transmitted to the office of the central inquisi- 
 tion in New York, and carefully recorded in secret ledgers, and books of 
 reference — so that the innocent country-merchant who enters our palatial 
 establishments of wholesale trade, is scanned by the reference partner 
 through a hole in his private counting-room, and the reference books 
 examined to the minutest detail of his credit, as he passes the counters 
 loaded with the gorgeous products of skill and industry he has come to 
 
120 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 examine. This system can scarcely be called other than infamous ; and 
 were it put in practice by any other than the selfish and insolent class 
 who in reality govern and rule this age, and especially this country — 
 the merchants — it would bring disgrace and incurable odium upon those 
 who indulged in it. But now it is only regarded as evidence of the 
 shrewdness and thoroughness of the commercial community, and no pos- 
 sible means of escaping it exist. 
 
 Something of a similar kind to the monopolizing tendency we have 
 recorded above exists also in respect to the mechanical interests of the 
 city — springing from an undue expansion and application of the contract 
 system, by which the speculating contractor interposes between the 
 mechanic and the real employer, and besides appropriating a heavy per 
 centage upon the poor proceeds, nullifies the advantages of the lien-law, 
 and leaves the poor workman utterly at the mercy of the heartless con- 
 tractor, who, compelled by competition, to engage work for less than 
 fair prices, must in turn oppress his workman to starvation point. This 
 evil has long been desperately felt among the entire class of mechanics 
 and workmen engaged in building; and instances of the most unmiti- 
 gated scoundrel ism on the part of these cold-blooded speculators on the 
 bone, and muscle, and the sweat of the laborers' brow, every now and 
 then transpire. But there is no remedy for these evils, save a total reno- 
 vation and revolution in the system upon which work is done — and that 
 of course is only the result of time. It will come as soon as it cannot 
 help it ; not before. 
 
 Another change in the mechanical labor of the city is in the gradual 
 driving out, by want and starvation, of the smaller and handier kinds of 
 mechanical labor, such as shoe-making, hat-making, &c, from the city 
 into the adjacent country and villages. I have, in times past, had occa- 
 sion to become familiar with the condition of these classes of mechanics, 
 and I was astonished to learn the rapid change in the respect I have 
 mentioned that was being effected among them. Large numbers of the 
 more respectable and high-minded portion "bf the mechanics engaged in 
 these occupations have been forced to quit the city and find home and 
 employment in the large establishments founded in other places ; while 
 the great proportion of the work of this kind still done in the city is in 
 the hands of foreign journeymen or botches, who work very badly for 
 worse pay, and are grateful for any occupation that will save them and 
 their families from absolute starvation. Of course, under these circum- 
 stances, all broad ideas of the practical reformation and elevation of the 
 
 < hanical laboring classes must be out of the question. A transfusion 
 
AMERICAN CHARACTERISTICS. 121 
 
 of material and element is constantly going on of an expensive and dete- 
 riorating character ; and every year sees the great body of the journey- 
 men mechanics of the city of New York considerably lower than its 
 twelvemonth predecessor. This is a melancholy truth, but it is one 
 which I know from practical observation, and one that cannot be success- 
 fully disputed. The last two years have added • another element to this 
 drain upon the vitality and vigor of our population, by withdrawing 
 several thousands of our young men to California, leaving their families 
 to become destitute and demoralized, and their places to be rilled with an 
 infinitely less valuable material than themselves. 
 
 The condition and state of development of the female portion of our 
 working population is even less encouraging than that of the other sex. 
 Those of them who are wives and mothers are continually tempted, by 
 the insane spirit of social rivalry that pervades all classes, to go beyond 
 their means in their manner of dress and living, and to neglect those 
 strict lessons of prudence and economy, in the rearing of their families, 
 which are alone fitted to their condition and the struggle in life for which 
 they are destined. In respect to education, also, there are wide and 
 lamentable deficiencies. Although our Free School system has done 
 great good, and prevented incalculable ignorance and misery, yet there 
 is that which it cannot do. It cannot infuse into the hearts and minds 
 of fathers and mothers, in the lower walks of life, a proper sense of the 
 necessity for education; and there is a .constant struggle going on 
 between the tendency of the rising generation to seek the light and the 
 influence of a degraded and besotted parentage to corrupt and depress 
 it, whose results are visible in the wide-spread deterioration in public 
 morals, and an increasing catalogue of petty offences against the laws. 
 These things, too^are confined almost exclusively to the foreign classes of 
 our population. To an American family the ambition to possess know- 
 ledge, comfort, and respectability is inherent, while to the degraded 
 thousands whom Europe annually throws upon our shores, the first and 
 last thought is the groggery, the hospital, and the almshouse. It is a 
 terrible food for any nation to digest, such an immense mass of moral 
 and physical filth and putrefaction; yet the stomach of our body politic 
 is so strong and healthy, ^,nd so young and fresh are all the sources of 
 our public opinion and public morality, that the constant process of defile- 
 ment going on in New York has little power to taint the other portions 
 of the system ; and it is even to be hoped that it will eventually purify 
 itself, and so keep the nation from the consequences of the polluting con- 
 tact to which it is subjected. In very truth, the emigrant population of 
 
 8 
 
122 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 New York is one of the most terrible nuisances with which any people 
 or any city were ever infested. Ignorant of the principles of our social 
 and political institutions, unconscious of the dignity and responsibility 
 that belong to the position of a free human agent, and unable to per- 
 form the slightest action, save from the impulse of a narrow and blind 
 selfishness, they destroy and pervert all the blessings that naturally flow 
 from our form of Government and transform them into curses, not only 
 upon themselves but upon the community that is forced to cherish and 
 sustain them. Miserable, miserable, indeed, is the condition of the 
 foreign population of this great city ! To go through the streets and 
 along the wharves on either side of the Island, knee deep in filth and 
 suffocating with poisonous odors, to examine the damp and gloomy cel- 
 lars where so many hundreds of them are huddled together, writhing 
 like loathsome reptiles, in a pestilential and noxious atmosphere, to wit- 
 ness the drunken revels and midnight orgies with which these unhappy 
 wretches solace themselves for the starvation and shivering despair ot 
 their daily existence, — is to make one's self familiar with a gigantic 
 moral phenomenon whose proportions strike terror to the soul, and whose 
 shadow blots the sunshine of hope from the heart. Yes, in this glorious 
 metropolis of the New World, so wealthy, so ambitious, so ostentatious, 
 and so gay, nearly a hundred thousand human beings, steeped to the lips 
 in every species of moral and physical degradation, live on from day to 
 day and from year to year an ever satire upon our lofty pretensions of 
 superiority to the rest of the world, and a terrible rebuke to the indiffer- 
 ence and the errors of society that thus remorselessly refuses to recognize 
 so many and such helpless of its members. 
 
 It is not our purpose in this place to go over again the details and 
 the revolting particulars of the condition of this class of our population, 
 nor to harrow up the sensibilities of our readers by pictures drawn from 
 life, and observation of the state in which they pass their lives. All this 
 has been done again and again ; and yet the community seems as insen- 
 sible as ever to the truth, and as incapable of entertaining any ideas 
 pointing to a radical and thorough reform in the basis and principle of 
 social existence — the only method from which any alleviation of these 
 horrors is ever to be hoped for. Year after year our moralists and minis- 
 ters preach against those terrible vices of theft, and robbery, and prosti- 
 tution, which spring directly from want ; and yet no one has the courage 
 to stand up and proclaim the truth, that society itself has committed the 
 first crime, and that it is the imperative duty of the community itself to 
 provide for the comfort of every one of its members, and then to hold 
 
THE NEW YORK FIREMEN. 123 
 
 them responsible for the faithful performance of their duties in the 
 respect due to the rights and property of others. Thousands of men, 
 women and children live in daily danger of starvation and perishing ; 
 and it is my positive belief that a great proportion of the petty crimes 
 and of the immoralities of the lower class of society proceed directly 
 from the dire urgency of cold and hunger. I have seen enough to con- 
 vince me of this. I have witnessed scene after scene, of destitute and 
 despairing virtue, pushed by starvation to the verge of crime, so oft 
 repeated, that it leaves no doubt in my mind that if society would per- 
 form its first and fundamental duty to all its members, the crimes and 
 the evils which most press upon us would almost wholly disappear. 
 Intemperance is the grand medium and condition in which the bulk of 
 crimes are committed. But intemperance is only the unnatural solace 
 of these desperate and reckless individuals ; for in it they forget for a 
 time their sufferings and their sorrows. And licentiousness, too, is 
 another direct offspring of this want of the common necessaries' of life, 
 which it is the bounden duty of the community to supply to every indi- 
 vidual. I do not believe there are at this moment ten women of the ten 
 thousand publicly frail ones of New York, who, had they been secured 
 an honorable and a decent existence, would have abandoned themselves 
 to the life of infamy and shame they now jDursue. Nor do I believe that 
 the multitude of offences against property that stain our criminal calen- 
 ders would exist were it not for the pinching want inflicted by hunger, 
 and the discomfort and physical suffering of the families of criminals. 
 Parental love is the strongest of human passions; and it is even stronger 
 in the lower classes, who have so few things to love, and so few to love 
 them, than in the higher. It is not difficult to believe that ignorant and 
 half-starved men, goaded on by the sufferings and destitution of their 
 families, should commit acts of reprisal against that society which has 
 treated them and theirs with such palpable and unjust severity. 
 
 But let us refrain for still a moment from this extreme view of life, in 
 its lower phases, and refresh ourselves with a draught of air from this 
 open window, and a gleam of sunshine from the beautiful sky. Look 
 how gay and lively is the street, how busy and eager the thousands who 
 hurry by in swift procession ! And see ! there is a body of stalwart and 
 sinewy men clad in leathern caps and red shirts, with pantaloons rolled 
 up, or tucked into the tops of their cowhide boots, and all pulling lustily 
 at an obstinate-looking vehicle, with strange and uncouth machinery 
 and enginery all about it, and setting down low to the ground, with stout 
 and thick- ribbed wheels that rattle and crack loudly as they mil over 
 
124 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 the pavement. The machine is dragged by long ropes, to which are 
 attached twenty or thirty men, and which is followed by twice as many 
 boys of all sizes, sorts, and complexions. This is that wonder of civiliza- 
 tion, a Fire Company ; not such fire companies as exist in any other 
 country on the face of the earth — uniformed, disciplined, under strict 
 control, and drilled to well-understood regulations — but a volunteer fire 
 company — in short, an American Fire Company. Its members all belong 
 to some respectable business, and turn out entirely, con amove, and from 
 the sheer love of excitement and that irrepressible flow of animal spirits, 
 which is the uniform characteristic of the American. "With no compen- 
 sation whatever, and no expectation of reward, except the mere fun of 
 the thing, and the glory of doing a good action, without a selfish motive, 
 these brave and hardy men expose themselves to dangers and perils ten 
 times as great as those that accompany the fiercest battle. Day or night, 
 at a moment's warning, no matter what may be their engagements, or 
 what claims may be asserting themselves upon their time and attention, 
 they leave their occupations,' their beds, the cradle of their sick child — 
 anything, anybody — and at the sound of the alarm-bell, rush into the 
 streets, clothing themselves in their uniform as they go along, and ready 
 to work one hour, or fifty hours, as the case may be, in mud and water, 
 under tumble-down walls, amid blazing rafters and crashing timbers, to 
 save the property, perhaps the lives of people whom they know not, and 
 never heard of, and who care and know nothing of them. Talk of the 
 chivalry of the middle ages, and its sickly and sentimental whine ! 
 "Why, it was nothing whatever to be compared to the chivalry of the 
 American fireman, who, almost unconscious that he is doing an unusual 
 thing, holds his whole life and existence at the order and service of those 
 in whom he has no interest whatever, and from whom he expects no 
 reward. 
 
 The firemen of New York are a social phenomenon well worth the 
 studying ; and if we mistake not, the most important and encouraging 
 ■lessons are to be drawn from their life and example. Their efficient and 
 practical existence, and that it is efficient and practical, no one we fancy 
 will be disposed to deny, is a veritable and triumphant reply to those 
 cavillers at the great social religion of Fourier, who contend that even 
 could the distribution and organization of labor he provides for be 
 effected, the motives would be wanting that would impel to action those 
 groups devoted to the performance of dangerous and revolting duties. 
 War, and a sacrifice of soldiers to a cause they know nothing of and care 
 nothing for, is accounted for by these cavillers as the effect of discipline 
 
THE AMERICAN FIREMAN AN ORIGINAL. 125 
 
 and the fear of punishment. It may be that to some extent this is the 
 case ; although there can be no serious doubt that the latent sense of 
 chivalry existing in every human heart, is at the bottom of the courage 
 and devotion of soldiers. But in the case of the firemen the question is 
 at once disincumbered of all these difficulties, and presents itself naked 
 to our view. No inconvenience nor disability is incurred by the fireman 
 who neglects his duties. No force operates upon him to induce him to 
 engage in that dangerous occupation, and no hope of reward nor com- 
 pensation continues him in the performance of its functions. If any 
 human act can be clearly traced for its motives to the inherent love of 
 glory and a chivalric devotion to the interests of others, which lie at the 
 basis of all the noble qualities of humanity, it is the service performed 
 for their fellowmen by the volunteer firemen — ill-requited and unacknow- 
 ledged as are their countless acts of devotion and exposure. 
 
 We do not know that we could do a more interesting thing than to 
 give in this place the^estimate of our New York firemen, formed by an 
 intelligent foreigner, one of the editors of the " Republican " who under 
 the title of " Esquisses a, la Plume," has given a series of graphic and 
 entertaining pictures of life and character in New York, exhibiting great 
 power of observation as well as lively fancy and an agreeable style. One 
 of these sketches is under the title of " Types du Bowery — le Pompier." 
 
 " The American fireman, says our Paris philosopher, " differs essentially 
 from his French namesake. They have but a single point of correspon- 
 dence, the common object of their mission. As to the organization of 
 their bodies and their individual physiology, there is radical difference. 
 In France the fireman is recognized by his martial gait, by his uniform, 
 and his helmet of polished brass. In New York, except when in actual 
 service, the fireman wears a black dress, sometimes even a drab overcoat, 
 and an umbrella — when it rains. The first is a soldier subject to a com- 
 plete military discipline, and officered by men who belong to the ranks 
 of the army. The second is a simple citizen, without moustachios, 
 exercising voluntarily his benevolent functions upon the sounding of the 
 tocsin that calls him to the field ; free the remainder of the time, and 
 owing no service • nor obedience but to the chiefs of his company, who 
 obtain their honors by election, and upon the strength of long services or 
 of brilliant acts of courage and devotion. Here, one is a fireman when 
 he does not wish to perform military nor jury duty. The American 
 fireman inhabits, then, no particular barrack. He dwells everywhere, in 
 every street, in every house, in every hotel. A clerk, a pastry cook, a 
 poet, are all equally eligible as firemen, and man the pump merely as a 
 
126 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 matter of taste and for the love of rendering service to humanity. What 
 sacrifices and dangers are imposed upon them sometimes in the accom- 
 plishment of their service, and how shall we describe the risks and dan- 
 gers they run, and the vexations and annoyances to which they are 
 subjected ! 
 
 " Thus, a young man is at the ball, in the midst of a fete resplendent 
 with light and beautiful ladies. At the moment when he is about rais- 
 ing his foot with the lady of his love to mingle in the first measures of 
 the polka, rich in prospective pressures of the hand and glances of love, 
 behold, he is arrested all of a sudden; and with neck outstretched, 
 listening to a mysterious noise, at which he reconducts his partner to her 
 place, and hastens out of the saloon — but not without throwing a piteous 
 regret upon the pleasures of the night. This young man perhaps had a 
 boot that pinched his corns, or, perhaps, he found himself taken with a 
 sudden indisposition ? No — reassure yourself. It is a fireman, who has 
 just heard, rising above the harmonious waves of sound from the orches- 
 tra, the alarm bell of the City Hall. He hurries to his domicile, if it is 
 not too far off, dons his red flannel-shirt, his patent-leather cap ; and 
 behold him, a few minutes afterwards, working at the pump, or galloping 
 in the traces, neither more nor less than an omnibus horse. The fire 
 extinguished, he dresses himself anew, then goes to resume the thread of 
 his night's amusement, and the peroration of a love speech of which ho 
 had not time to come to the conclusion. 
 
 " It must not be supposed that fires here are less quickly extinguished 
 than under a different system. There is not perhaps in the world a 
 more energetic, more prompt, more active organized fire department. 
 
 " For the rest, the title of fireman, honorable as it is, does not suffice 
 to constitute here a regular position. It brings in nothing, pecuniarily 
 speaking, and no one enjoys a rank in the community entitling him to 
 write on his visiting card, ' Mr. Pillicoddy, fireman.' In France the fire- 
 man forms part of a corps (Telite. He is prized by the Government, 
 which accords to him a high salary, and surrounds him With evidences 
 of distinction. To conclude by a last trait, which relates to moral char- 
 acter — if the French fireman has known how to establish a universal 
 reputation for gallantry — the oyster-women are there to bear witness of 
 it — the American fireman might pass for being almost a savage. 
 
 " The firemen recruit themselves, as we have said, from all ranks of 
 society. ' They are found not only in all the quarters of New York, but 
 disseminated over the entire surface of the United States, with such inhe- 
 rent variations of physiognomy as are incident to the locality. Nowhere, 
 
THE SPORTING TIREJIAN". 12? 
 
 however, is the type more strongly defined, nor more distinctly colored, 
 than in the Bowery. Let us then continue our studies in this quarter. . 
 It would be difficult at the first glance to recognize anything but a citizen 
 in a fire-mac, because he carries no visible badge of his profession ; but 
 in the Bowery there exist, however, certain peculiarities, undistinguish- 
 able to a person not accustomed to see them, whkh reveal infallibly a 
 member of this vast corporatioo. There are in this region a class of 
 people who have in reality no other avowed profession. "What name 
 shall we give these? The word fireman is scarcely sufficient. It is 
 necessary to add to it that of sportsman, in order to properly character- 
 ize them. The sporting fireman is in a certain circle a man of conside- 
 ration. He plays an important part sometimes in the elections, and is 
 both throne and oracle in the public-houses. He is a species of fier-a- 
 b?'as, whose power is established by his mental and moral peculiarities 
 on one side, and his brute force on the other. His feudal dominion 
 extends over all those who are attached, directly or indirectly, to the 
 fancy, and to the various kinds of sport. We must remark in passing 
 the signification which is given to this word in New York. In France, 
 and especially Eugland, the sportsman is almost always a gentleman, 
 who, for the employment of his fortune and leisure, occupies himself with 
 horses, with the chase, like the gentleman of the middle ages. Here, 
 save that there may be a few rich men who follow the European tradi- 
 tions, sport is for the most part a business — the business of those who 
 have no business — and a means of speculation. One bets on a boxer, on 
 a horse, on a card, or on a bull-dug. One gains or loses. This is play 
 elevated to the rank of a profession ; and this profession, like all others, 
 has its degrees, its hierarchy — from the fashionable gamester, who scat- 
 ters his gold with a hand elegantly gloved 1 in white kid, and frequents 
 the clubs of good society, to the vagabond who rattles the dice or 
 shuffles the greasy cards in a low tavern ; from the elegant horse-jockey 
 who figures on the Centreville-course, to the buffoon who traffics in 
 stolen dogs. But the mass of sportsmen are the hundreds of individuals 
 of whom one recognizes figures that no language names, and who gather 
 round certain haunts in the Bowery, and elsewhere — the bar-rooms, and 
 other places of public- reunion. Of these one sees they are sportsmen, 
 and it is well understood without further commentary, as when one says 
 of another class, ' they are doctors.' 
 
 " The sportiog fireman naturally finds himself in all places where 
 sporting aifairs are carried on ; at the Centreville-course, at the gymna- 
 siums, in the boxiog-saloons, and, above all, in the sporting coffee-houses, 
 where wagers are arranged, and matches made up. 
 
128 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 " The physique of the sporting fireman is peculiar to himself, and we 
 find in him even a certain* brutal poetry which is his seal and stamp. 
 He is rarely handsome, or, to speak more correctly, almost always he is 
 literally ugly. His stature and carriage are striking, and his gait solid, 
 yet elastic. He has great strength, and a spirit of grace in his move- 
 ment. On his head (the hair of which is smoothed with soap in puffs 
 below the ears, and in large ringlets around them, that which has given 
 birth, we. presume, to the word 'soaplock' as solely applied to this class) 
 he wears a hat with a straight brim, and of the shape and fashion of a 
 chimney-pot. The hat inclined over the eyes, leaves open to view the 
 immense posterior of the occiput. Around the neck the hair is cut 
 short, and resembles the mane of a certain animal who is scraped before 
 being transformed to brushes, sausages and hams. Around his neck 
 hangs, with a sort of coquettish negligence, a cravat of some color, red, 
 yellow, or blue, the ends of which are arranged in flourishing spirals, and 
 float like pennants on the wind. The collar opened, when collar there 
 is, permits to be seen a muscular chest, where sun and whisky have 
 traced their blushing imprint. A red flannel-shirt, fastened on the 
 breast with large buttons, black or white, and pantaloons, secured around 
 the waist with a band of leather ; boots of strong leather worn over the 
 pantaloons: such is in general the costume of the sporting fireman. 
 Add to this bizarre costume the historical and necessary complement, 
 the tobacco quid illuminating with fancy designs the margin of his 
 mouth, and the picture is complete. 
 
 " The occupation, avowed and public, of these men, is firemen. As 
 to gaming, which furnishes them with their real means of existence, 
 they consider it merely as an accessory, an agreeable accomplishment, 
 but an accomplishment by which they live. 
 
 "This class of individuals is more num'erous than one would naturally 
 suppose. There are in New York an entire class who have no other life. 
 However unfavorable to morals may be such an existence, it is not neces- 
 sary, therefore, to imagine that it excludes all good sentiments. The 
 fireman is brave, adventurous, and in the ensemble of his character, not- 
 withstanding the tendency towards vicious habits and debased instincts, 
 possesses a certain elevation of soul which makes itself visible some- 
 times, and of which many examples might be cited. The gambling- 
 house, the house of prostitution, the groggery, are the habitual sphere 
 where he expends his active life ; and it is not wonderful that such an 
 existence should go far to extinguish all his noble faculties. But in the 
 midst of this dissipation and demoralization, there are moments in which 
 burns a pure generosity and a disinterested morality. It is only in part. 
 
«< T.A VT.-D-" 
 
 fancy" firemen. 129 
 
 it is true. A brutality, carried sometimes almost to the point of cruelty, 
 seems to be the foundation of his nature, although he is susceptible of 
 devoted attachment and profound friendship. One circumstance goes 
 far to neutralize the value of these generous instincts — and this is, that 
 they are exercised too often on those who are unworthy of them, and are 
 manifested almost always by acts of a puerility so exaggerated that the 
 fact makes us forget the cause, and the action disqualifies us from appre- 
 ciating the motive. 
 
 " Adjacent to the sphere of the sporting fireman we find another class 
 of individuals, happily less numerous, to whom it would be difficult to 
 give a decorous name if the American writers themselves had not 
 resolved the difficulty by styling them " fancy firemen." These leave 
 far behind them the first, who, although of questionable morality, are 
 not directly nuisances to society. The fancy firemen have not even the 
 speculations of play for a means of subsistence. They live one knows 
 not how, sleeping one knows not where- — and yet they live and sleep. 
 When night descends upon the city, the fancy firemen set themselves at 
 work, and you may see them circulating, seeking adventures, inundating 
 the bar-rooms, insulting women, quarrelling among themselves, fighting, 
 and making false alarms of fire, for the express purpose, in the language 
 of their oratory, of getting up a muss — that is to say, a tumultuous 
 scramble, in which they and their friends always find means to play a 
 conspicuous part. With these men nothing is entitled to respect but 
 the baton of the policeman. They are the froth that gathers and fer- 
 ments in the popular quarters, the scourge of honest laborers, the nur- 
 sery whence are recruited the pensioners of the Tombs, the philosopher's 
 stone to the Chief of Police. The fancy men have an unknown origin. 
 Like rivers whose sources have not yet been discovered, we only know 
 whence they run — to the penitentiary. The family for them is a myth, 
 and they seem to have been created, like pestiferous insects, from the 
 miasma of the streets and gutters. Social mushrooms, they grow up, 
 live, and die on the dunghill. They form, in the language of our friend, 
 G. G. Foster, ' a regular cordon of rascality.' 
 
 "It is impossible to give a complete description of this tribe of 
 equivocal firemen, for there is nothing definite concerning them but the 
 vagabondage of their existence. In all the great cities they exist, and 
 escape the eye of the observer for the very logical reason that they are 
 seldom seen in the daytime. Nothing short of a general perturbation 
 brings them to the surface. A political emeute, for example, or a fire ; 
 for in either of these cases they are enabled to inherit without discovery 
 
130 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 some of tlie spoils and property of others. Here, fires being frequent, 
 the fancy men have an occupation in some sort permanent, and for this 
 reason doubtless it is that they are called " the men what run with the 
 engine." This sympathy manifested by the fancy men for the fire 
 engine, sometimes classes them in the ranks of firemen ; but it would be 
 treating them with far too much honor to suppose for an instant that 
 they belong to that occupation. It is in fact the first to disown them. 
 It possesses far too correct a sense of its own dignity and respect for 
 honesty, not to repulse these miserable excrescences who endeavor to 
 attach themselves to it. The sportsman himself does not tolerate the 
 fancy man, except on conditions that he confines himself within legal 
 limits. In despite of these parasitical hornets, for which they ought not 
 to be considered responsible, the body of the firemen are unquestionably 
 worthy, of great consideration ; for they are composed, in an immense 
 majority, of honest and laborious workmen, of clerks belonging to respec- 
 table establishments, often even of masters and proprietors of shops and 
 stores. The sporting fireman himself, viewed only in his devotion to the 
 public welfare, ought not to be excluded from this majority ; for it is 
 possible to gamble and yet to be a good citizen. However venturesome 
 this assertion may seem, it is however, in the United States no less than 
 elsewhere, a national trait, and frequently this daring and venturous 
 spirit of speculation rises to the confines of sublimity. 
 
 " The firemen form an institution highly useful, highly moral, highly 
 philanthropic, and those who belong to it are always ready at the first 
 sound of the bell to expose their lives for the good of the community, 
 employing in their voluntary mission a constant energy and a devotion 
 often heroic, meriting the sympathies of all honest men and a fair place 
 in public opinion." 
 
 These views of the firemen of New York, and of their excrescences 
 and fungi, are in the main remarkably correct, and betray great intelli- 
 gence and carefulness of observation. If the tone and spirit of this 
 writer were emulated by the generality of foreigners who employ their 
 pens upon the manners, customs, institutions and inhabitants of the 
 United States, we should be much better known and much better res- 
 pected abroad than we have at present any chance of being. There is 
 no doubt that the great body of the New York firemen are, as stated by 
 our French contemporary, honest, useful and educated men. Since the 
 decay of our militia system, which has been regularly laughed out of 
 existence as a ridiculous and useless humbug, the warlike and chivalrous 
 spirit of the middle ages has concentrated itself in our fire companies ; 
 while as to this spirit among the more pretentious and aristocratic circles 
 
fireman's hall. 131 
 
 of our population, it is enough to say that it does not exist. One of the 
 distinguishing characteristics of the firemen is their great attachment 
 and devotion to each other ; and although they frequently indulge in 
 fights and quarrels, and even establish hereditary hostilities that continue 
 from year to year, yet their contests, even including brickbats and bloody 
 noses, should be regarded strictly in the illustrations of their amusements, 
 Their habits of exposure and reckless disregard of danger create in them 
 a kind of savage necessity for rough play ; and we have often imagined 
 that the dainty little lap-dogs that run about on sunny afternoons in 
 Union Square, must look upon the occasional encounters of the New 
 Foundlanders and bull-dogs occurrinor on the outside of the railings with 
 very much the same sort of shuddering as our effeminate ducks and 
 dandies regard the bear's-play exercise of the firemen and the b'hoys. 
 Indeed, the soul of the fire department is emulation, and to the free play 
 of this passion we are indebted for the unparalleled and incredible 
 efficiency and promptness, the unshrinking exposure and labor, that 
 characterize its proceedings in so remarkable a manner. It is of course 
 natural that sometimes this spirit of emulation should lead to excesses *, 
 but the spirit of rowdyism has never in New York been permitted to 
 obtain a permanent influence upon our fire department. And although 
 it is now and then disgraced by the deeds of the fancy men and ruffians 
 who endeavor on all occasions to link themselves with it, and clothe their 
 3vil deeds with the sanction of its name, yet as a general thing, the res- 
 pectability and honesty of the department cannot be questioned. 
 
 The firemen of Williamsburg some two years ago made a movement, 
 under the authority and patronage of the city government, which 
 demands our particular notice, and is entirely in accordance with the 
 views entertained and advocated in this work. They started the project 
 of building a large and handsome edifice to be entitled the " Fireman's 
 Hall," to be furnished with rooms for lecturing, for scientific experiments, 
 for meeting of the various companies, drill-rooms and reading room9, a 
 dancing hall and concert rooms, and in short, every means for the 
 improvement and amusement of the firemen, at present accessible only 
 partially and under disadvantageous circumstances, and so not used at 
 all. Nothing can be more important than this movement, if we look at 
 it not merely for itself, but as an indication of what is to come. It is a 
 movement which ought to be and must be sooner or later extended to 
 every other craft and profession. Nothing is so much needed at the 
 present moment as the developing and elevating of the minds of the 
 members of our various mechanical professions, and the establishing of a 
 refined and noble ambition for excelling, not only in the material and 
 
132 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 physical labors of their occupation, but in the intelligence, morality and 
 intellectual usefulness of the members. We would hold up both our 
 hands to see the creation of an institution which should be the intellec- 
 tual counterpart of the glass palace of the London World's Fair. 
 
 It is the one great and most discouraging fact of the present age, that in 
 the insane rush for physical, material and mechanical development, that 
 mental and spiritual emulation which can alone ripen the heart, illumi- 
 nate the soul, and purify society of its monstrous horrors, has been almost 
 wholly neglected. To this is owing the existence of such large and 
 unmanageable masses of low and ignorant ruffianism, of which our 
 Parisian friend has just been speaking. The number and character of 
 the rowdy and vagabond population of New York, to those who only go 
 easily through life, and cast their eyes but upon the surface of things 
 around them, is quite incredible. Hundreds and even thousands of them 
 go nightly prowling about the city, or gathering in the vilest and most 
 loathsome dens of gambling, theft and prostitution in wretched quarters 
 of the town, congregating in low groggeries and continually engaged 
 in contriving schemes and adventures of depredation upon the property 
 or the security of society. The two conspicuous antitheses of this phase 
 in New York life are the fancy men of whom we have been speaking, 
 and the foreigners, chiefly Dutch and Irish, who keep small groceries and 
 low grog-shops in the squalid precincts of the city. The fancy men, to 
 our disgrace be it spoken — and we will as honestly tell the truth about 
 our own citizens as of foreigners — are almost exclusively native-born 
 Americans. Reared in complete idleness and utter ignorance, they are 
 not a whit more elevated in character and motive than the savao-es of 
 the wilderness. They are continually in want, because they have no 
 idea of earning anything by work ; and when they make a lucky haul 
 by stealing at a fire or swindling some greenhorn or drunken stranger, 
 they hasten to expend the product to the last pent in the Dutch groggery 
 or the negro brothel, and the next morning are as destitute as ever. 
 Then they go prowling about among the haunts where they spent their 
 money, while a vague sense of savage justice leads them to think it no 
 more than right that those who have received all their money for rotten 
 whisky and poisoned brandy, now that it is gone, should continue to 
 furnish them with those delightful commodities for nothing. But the 
 Dutchman is like a sensitive plant — the moment he feels the approach 
 of a customer without money, he instinctively closes his till, stops up his 
 bottles and bungs his barrels. His hypocritical politeness, with which 
 he dealt out the poison so long as the b'hoy had money, has vanished, 
 and with a cold and sourkrout look, he tells him to go about his busi- 
 
THE B'HOY. 133 
 
 ness. This is touching the b'hoy in a tender point. He would not 
 
 mind being refused credit ; but to be " sassed " by the Dutch 
 
 son of a is more than he can bear ! All the b'hoy and all the 
 
 real native American is at once roused in his whole bein^. He medi- 
 
 O 
 
 tates seriously how he may gratify his thirst for revenge and rot-gut ; 
 and gathering his chums together, all of whom have at various times 
 and in various places suffered the same indignity, a plan is set on foot to 
 redeem the honor of the native American name, and revenge themselves 
 upon the whole race of bloody foreigners. This leads to the nightly 
 enactment of scenes of violence and rowdyism, terminated by the inter- 
 vention of the police, but more frequently permitted, by the proverbial 
 supineness of those guardians of the publie tranquillity, to proceed to riot, 
 battery and bloodshed ; and our criminal records are not wanting in 
 evidences that this foul conspiracy abainst public order, promoted by the 
 natural antagonism of these despicable foreign rumsellers, and atrocious 
 native blackguards, leads frequently to homicide and murder. Laws 
 have been found utterly inefficient to check this rampant evil, and an 
 illustration of the details of all that we have been indicating in these 
 general terms is afforded by the trial of Pritchard, who murdered 
 a Dutchman in cold blood because he would not trust him for rum. 
 Judge Edmonds, with that frank sincerity and candor which has begun 
 to characterize our bench since the election of judges by the people, 
 exerted himself to the utmost to have the law carried out in its manifest 
 and just meaning, but in vain. So precious is regarded human life by 
 the enlightened sense of the nineteenth century, that even the breath of 
 a criminal must not be stopt by a jury, save under circumstances of some 
 peculiar atrocity ; and the observation of Judge Edmonds, that he was 
 forced to rank himself among the opponents of capital punishment, if for 
 no other reason than because it was impossible to induce juries to inflict 
 the pain of death, is a striking and irresistible argument for the abolition 
 of the gallows, and the total and radical revolution in our whole system 
 of criminal jurisprudence. 
 
 "We forgot to mention in the proper place an important function per- 
 formed by our corps of regular firemen, that of a volunteer militia. If 
 it were possible to imagine a series of events which would again bring 
 into request the arms of our citizens, for defense against the aggression? 
 of a foreign invader, it would not be possible more thoroughly, promptly 
 and efficiently, to meet the exigencies of such a case than by the out- 
 pouring of our brave and hardy fire companies, every one of which is 
 also a military company, and under a regular and thorough system of 
 military drill and tactics. A continuous alarm of the fire-bell of the City 
 

 134 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 Hall would in thirty minutes gather an army of dauntless and herculean 
 citizen soldiers, who would defend our coast against all the armed hosts 
 that could be thrown upon it by all the powers of Europe — but this con- 
 sideration is of little worth to us, for we do . not believe in the remoto 
 possibility of any such event. It would greatly please and delight us if 
 we could see this gallant spirit of daring and emulation in submission to 
 general toil and hardship, when not required in the extinguishment of 
 fires, diverted to some of the innumerable grand and ennobling purposes 
 of physical improvement of which the age is so greatly in need. 
 
 We must not dismiss the subject of the firemen without alluding to 
 the youths and boys, five hundred of whom are at this moment rushing 
 tumultuously along behind £he fire procession, and whose faces, habili- 
 ments and general carriage, denote them too truly the inevitable followers 
 and emulators of the older vagabonds we have been trying to character- 
 ize. There cannot be on the earth another sadder nor more melancholy 
 sight than that of these multitudes of prematurely barbarized and brutal- 
 ized youths, growing up in idleness, depravity and vagabondage, 
 throughout the city. Not only they themselves are objects of our 
 keenest commiseration, but the inevitable influence of such masses of 
 young, fermenting and active depravity, yearly growing up to manhood, 
 and thrown into the great arena of metropolitan life, is a phenomenon 
 that inspires the moralist and the philanthropist with despair. Oh ! 
 when will society grasp this mighty evil, and extinguish it ? When will 
 it see how feeble and futile are all its miserable expedients, its alms- 
 bouses, its pauper institutions of emigrant out-door charity, its Black- 
 well's Island, its farm schools, its asylums and its penitentiaries ? When 
 will the scales fall from the eyes of those who blindly lead a blind civili- 
 zation staggering to its death ? When will it be seen that these poor 
 beings, the corrupt leaven that ferments the whole body politic with 
 disease and crime, are composed of noble and holy souls, and spirits like 
 unto other men, and that, from whatever cause they have grown thus 
 helpless amid the living death that surrounds them, they are entitled to 
 claim of the great human family, of which they are the most unfortunate 
 members, that protection from themselves, that escape from want and 
 ignorance and a horrible and hopeless existence, which is the birthright 
 of every son and daughter of humanity ? When will the community 
 learn that it is the community itself who commits the first crime, and 
 that the vile deeds and terrible destinies of these wretched beings are but 
 the inevitable retributien for its own awful neglect of its fundamental 
 duties ? How miserably inadequate to the good to be accomplished are 
 
 • 
 
A MODEL INSTITUTION. 135 
 
 all the means by which society feebly attempts to reconcile itself with its 
 aspirations, and harmonize its attributes with its destiny ! 
 
 Let us imagine for a moment a sum of money equal to that annually 
 consumed by either of those worse than useless institutions, the army and 
 navy of the United States, and let this sum be appropriated to the estab- 
 lishment of schools, farms and workshops united, affording adequate 
 means of instruction, employment and amusement suited to every taste, 
 every condition and every capacity of the young. Let the law of this 
 institution be that every species of instruction in every department shall 
 be at all times going on, and that there shall be no restraint whatever 
 upon the inmates as to the hours of their coming and going, or of the occu- 
 pations, studies, pursuits and employments, in which they wish to engage 
 themselves. Let there be no caprice nor inclination except indecorum, 
 which cannot be unrestrictedly and at the moment indulged, and let the 
 only punishment for even indecorum or disorder, be exclusion. The edu- 
 cational department of this institution should include the languages and 
 the common branches, and the thorough and complete study and 
 practice of all the fine arts, music, architecture, painting, sculpture, the 
 science of chemistry in all its infinite and beautiful ramifications, natural 
 history, with practical illustrations and examples, book-keeping, composi- 
 tion, eloquence. Every inmate should be entirely at liberty to go from 
 any one of these employments to any other of them at any hour he 
 liked, and to change as often as the inclination seized him ; or to leave 
 altogether the school-rooms, and to visit the shops of the mechanics, 
 where every species of mechanical labor, of invention, of machinery, is 
 taught and perfected. After wearying himself here, let the eager pupil 
 either resort to the playground, the gymnasium or the riding-school, for 
 a new excitement, or to the garden and the fields for the study and prac- 
 tice of practical agriculture and botany, or the gratification of some 
 peculiar taste in the cultivation of a particular flower or fruit, or the 
 adornment of a favorite field. When mind and body were thus harmo- 
 niously cultivated, strengthened and developed, by a round of occu- 
 «tions and employments, each spontaneous, and all strengthening 
 d delightful, let there be opportunities for these young pupils of 
 humanity to indulge in unrestricted social intercourse, or resort to the 
 diviner pleasures of music or the drama heard in their perfection, or the 
 more silent teachings of the gallery of statuary and painting, where the 
 great lessons of the immortal beautiful, raying from the warm-colored 
 painting, or the life-like statuary, imprint themselves in the colors of 
 happiness for ever in the heart and the understanding. Let us imagine a 
 life like this for thes9 deformed and miserable young wretches, who 
 
136 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 haunt the lanes and by-ways, and courts and cellars of the metropolis, 
 living upon filth, and imbibing vice, disease and immorality, from the 
 cradle to the grave ; and what would be the result ? Think you that 
 under regulations like these, our Tombs, our Blackwell's Island, our hos- 
 pitals and our penitentiaries would not speedily become diverted to more 
 satisfactory, and more beautiful purposes? Nay, our very City Hall 
 itself, the home of courts and lawyers, would become illuminated with a 
 new spirit, and its spacious halls and chambers resound to the refining 
 language of art, literature and science, while it would exhale around it 
 an atmosphere of moral purity and refinement, that would extend like 
 circles in the water to the remotest bounds of public sentiment. 
 
 Under such a state of existence as this, can we imagine that any would 
 grow up willful, vicious, ignorant, and polluted % No ; most truly we 
 cannot imagine such a thing; if there be those acrid, envious, and embit- 
 tered souls who can, it is not for them we hope and write. It is not for 
 them that these prophecies of what will be are recorded. 
 
 The one great objection among rational minds to a scheme like this, 
 i- the unfounded charge of inherent idleness brought against humanity. 
 Well, let those who choose be idle ; or let them do nothing but play. 
 They would soon find that play was the most irksome of all employments. 
 While all round them were emulous of useful occupations and of distin- 
 guishing themselves in profitable pursuits, how long would it be before 
 their ambition to mingle in the exciting strife, everywhere going on 
 around, would, in turn, become excited ? Emulation is one of the eter- 
 nal laws of human existence. The other law, equally universal and 
 equally eternal, is that of physical activity. Every human being feels a 
 constant impulse to surpass somebody, and to be employed. The cause 
 of idleness, and of the irksomeness of profitable labor is, that now-a-days, 
 by our present system, the great majority of those who labor are con- 
 fined perpetually to one kind of work, which becomes tiresome and 
 monotonous to an inexpressible degree ; and in addition to this, they are 
 so overworked, until the natural spring and elasticity of their bodies are 
 over-tasked and over-wrought, that all kinds of exertion become abW- 
 rent and repulsive. This it is that has brought upon mankind the cruel 
 and most unjust charge of idleness. It is impossible for human beings 
 to be idle ; and it is because so many thousands are compelled to do that 
 which they dislike, or are prevented from doing that which they would, 
 that such horrible disturbance between recreation and labor, between 
 activity and repose, is continually sending its moral thunder storms into 
 the atmosphere of life. If every one had the privilege and the means of 
 laboring at what he liked, and changing his occupations when he would, 
 
SLOP-SHOPS AND " SWEATERS." 13t 
 
 there would be more than enough work performed to provide in abun- 
 dant luxury every species of product required by all, and that, too, at a 
 rate and proportion of active labor trifling in comparison to the terrible 
 taxations at present imposed upon the working and professional classes, 
 and which, in fact, in a healthy condition of life and society such as this, 
 would produce nothing but the mere and necessary spontaneous exertion 
 of the frame. 
 
 One of the first necessities for lifting the laboring class from their pre- 
 sent degraded and degrading position is provision for their innocent and 
 profitable recreation. As a means of this, the Williamsburg movement, 
 although small and comparatively insignificant of itself, is clearly in the 
 right direction ; and we fervently hope that it will be not only speedily 
 carried out, but emulated and surpassed in our own city. The dedica- 
 tion of such an institution would be to us an imposing, solemn, yet 
 encouraging and hopeful occasion. 
 
 Meanwhile, and during the period necessary for any new and good 
 idea to take root in the soil of this society, which so spontaneously pro- 
 duces every worthless and bitter weed, we will point the attention of all 
 Christian employers to one of the sorest and closest evils under which 
 thousands of our poor journeyman mechanics are now laboring, — we 
 allude to that accursed system of slop-work, so thoroughly exposed in the 
 recent investigations of Mr. Mayhew, in the " Morning Chronicle," and 
 whi«h, amidst certain kinds of occupations, prevail proportionally to as 
 great an extent in this city as in London. By this nefarious traffic in the 
 labor of those who, at best, can earn but the barest subsistence by the 
 most continuous and exhausting toil, whole classes of heartless specula-, 
 tors, or, as they are called among the tailors, " sweaters," are enabled to 
 realize large sums weekly — absolutely plucked from the miserable earn- 
 ings of the workmen themselves ! It is only an extension and ramifica- 
 tion of the detestable contract-system, by which a sharper undertakes to 
 perform a certain amount of work for a trifle lower than the usual rates, 
 and then farms it out to the most needy, miserable, and spiritless work- 
 men he can find, carrying competition to its lowest and most wretched 
 extent, and thus enabling himself to pocket from the contract a large 
 slice of the entire sum. Thus not onlv are the workmen and workwomen 
 prevented from approaching directly the consumers of what they pro- 
 duce, but they are not even permitted to deal directly with the proprietor 
 or master workman who employs them. Sometimes even the sweater 
 himself employs under-sweaters, who, in turn, must make their profits 
 from the job ; and so, in the end, the at first inadequate payment given 
 for the work is taxed, first by the master-workman for his profits and the 
 
 9 
 
138 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 support of his splendid shop and his elegant and fashionable family up 
 town ; next, for the greedy profit of the remorseless shaver and sharper; 
 and then again, for one or two, and sometimes three, of his underlings. 
 In such a state of things as this — an absolutely dishonest and fraudulent 
 appropriation of the earnings of the workmen — it is incredible that the 
 workman himself can live at all ; and when we reflect that this abomin- 
 able system, this monstrous outrage upon every decent principle and 
 teaching of humanity, pervades the whole classes of labor and feeds upon 
 entire trades and crafts, we can no longer wonder at the wretchedness, 
 the dishonesty, the intemperance, and the depravity in which the lower 
 classes of our working population are grovelling. Here, again, in our 
 own city, interposes the shapeless horror of foreign immigration. It is 
 to the ignorant and poor-spirited foreign population that the sweater of 
 every kind takes his labor to be performed. With the assurance of 
 ignorance and despair, they eagerly undertake to do any kind of work 
 for any price ; so that gradually, although customers complain, and the 
 public's half-made garments are falling from their backs, the work is 
 taken from the hands of the educated and thoroughly-trained journey- 
 men — whose honorable spirit leads them rather to starve than to disgrace 
 their trade and their humanity — and given to these wretched helots and 
 paupers, who not only burden beyond endurance the public charity of 
 the country, but snatch the work and fair recompense of toil, in the gift 
 of the community, from the hands and mouths of the honest and 
 deserving. 
 
 But this is by no means a solitary evil in our present system of work 
 and reward ; it is but one fact in a whole history of injustice and wrong 
 — a single phenomenon of a world of ill. The whole idea of the proper 
 distribution of rewards for different kinds of labor is completely inverted; 
 and those kinds of labor and occupation, pleasant, delightful, and 
 instructive in themselves, and which impart a positive pleasure to their 
 doers, are rewarded with the highest and almost limitless compensa- 
 tions ; while those suffering and humble individuals who perform the 
 arduous, the exhausting, the injurious, and the repulsive tasks of society — 
 and which, be it remembered, must be performed if society would hold 
 itself together — are deprived of all respect and honor for their heroic 
 labors, and fobbed off with a measure of reward and compensation so 
 mean and contemptible, as scarcely to furnish them with the most com- 
 mon necessaries of a miserable life. Is it not a self-evident, natural law 
 of labor and compensation, that those kinds of service which require the 
 greatest expenditure of strength, the greatest sacrifice of feeling, of com- 
 fort, or of health, should receive the highest reward? — while those who 
 
LOW ESTIMATE OF FEMALE LABOR. 139 
 
 labor only in gay and smiling fields, surrounded with aromatic flowers, 
 and cheered by an ever-present sunshine, should be content with the 
 delights of their existence, their immunity from severe compulsory toil, 
 and the more perfect development of their bodies and spirits, wholly 
 unattainable by the orders of workmen, upon whose illy-requited exer- 
 tions they live and prosper ? Ought not, in strict justice, he who drains 
 our marshes, cleanses the cloacce of great cities, builds our railroads and 
 our canals, performs the menial offices of our households and prisons — 
 ought he not really to deserve a higher reward than he who busies him- 
 self with some graceful occupation that but agreeably employs his time, 
 and furnishes him only the natural exercise of body and mind required 
 by the common law of his existence ? Surely, surely this is but plain 
 truth and common sense ; yet so perverted have become all the ideas 
 respecting the rights and justice of labor, that it will, doubtless, by a 
 majority of the intelligent and respectable persons who peruse these 
 pages, be pished and pshawed at as a ridiculous and impracticable 
 innovation. 
 
 But in no department of human labor has the doctrine of a false and 
 unnatural distribution of its rewards been carried so far as in respect to 
 the labor of women. On any fair, manly, and decent scale of estimate, 
 the relative value of services performed, the labor of woman, and the 
 services she gives us in every condition, every rank, and every circum- 
 stance of life, are at all times and on all occasions entitled to the highest 
 honors and rewards that society has to bestow. Not more directly is the 
 embryo in the mother's womb indebted to the cares and sufferings of 
 woman for its entrance into the world, than is the whole life of man, from 
 the cradle to the coffin, wholly dependent upon the cares and sufferings 
 of these same beings. And yet in every department of labor, in every 
 situation of life, the work of woman is treated as a miserable joke, and 
 mocked with the merest tithe of a just reward. If we look beyond the 
 tenderer and more indispensable offices of the mother or the wife, the 
 nurse, and the instructor of infancy, to those labors performed by the 
 thousands of women in the community, compelled to maintain themselves 
 by the work of their fingers, we shall find the same principle prevailing. 
 The man who carries bricks upon his shoulder, or assists in any other 
 of the lowest occupations of life, receives four or five times the pay 
 awarded to the woman who fashions our garments, or keeps in order our 
 dwellings, or performs any of those important and indispensable services 
 of which alone her sex is capable. This is a wrong and injustice so 
 flagrant and so palpable, that it seems impossible to contemplate its per- 
 manent existence without imputing to the heart of man an inherent love 
 
140 N1W YORK NAKED. 
 
 of oppression, and a corrupt and dishonest selfishness. By what right, 
 save the barbarian right of brutal strength, has the community to impose 
 such terms of recompense upon the labor of woman, that, deprived of the 
 assistance and protection of husband or male protector, let her do what 
 she will she can but be a pauper and a beggar, and has but one means 
 left to provide her with a few years' exemption from the cruel law of this 
 Christian world — the sale of her chastity, and the* defilement of her 
 beautiful and immortal spirit? It would seem that no legislator could 
 look at these facts, and reflect upon their bearings and consequences for 
 a single moment, without taking a solemn resolution to exert himself 
 instantly and perseveringly for the remedy of so great, so cruel, so out- 
 rageous a wrong ; and yet, year after year, and cycle after cycle, the 
 dread system moves on, crushing thousands of joyous, tender, and loving 
 creatures, made to adorn, and perfume, and glorify this dreary and 
 gloomy society, and confirming in the hearts of mankind that frightful 
 indifference to the rights of women, and that gloating anticipation of the 
 shames to which they are driven, which, it would seem, could belong 
 only to a malignant demon. There is a frightful reality, under these cir- 
 circumstances, in the suspicion that man, by the common and devilish 
 instinct, which he dares not own to himself, keeps woman the debased 
 and helpless slave she is, that he may the more easily prey upon her 
 virtue, and revel in the debauchery to which starvation and absolute 
 want so continually impel her. Looked at from this point of view, the 
 whole question of prostitution, and the means of its prevention, assumes 
 a new and startling aspect, and one which it is the sacred duty of every 
 good man and every good woman to examine boldly and discuss pro- 
 foundly. At the bottom of all these monstrous evils some great and 
 apparent duty must, in the agitations of the present epoch in the moral 
 world, soon become patent ; and unless the race of mankind is inherently 
 and irrevocably bad, and unless the Devil, and not God, bears sway 
 throughout this universe, socjety will, ere long, begin to put itself in an 
 attitude to see that its duty is faithfully and honorably fulfills 1. 
 
 As to the immediate redress for the most pressing evils under which 
 the laboring and producing classes are suffering, all measures looking in 
 that direction must, as a first and primary necessity, be extremely gradual 
 in their operation ; for although the class of those who think and reason 
 only from what they wish, and seek to transport the world from wrong 
 to right, from misery to happiness, by a single effort of their imagina- 
 tions, is slowly on the increase, especially in this country, yet thpy arc 
 still far too insignificant a portion of the mass and momentum of public 
 opinion to have a right to expect wide and important revolutions to be 
 
TRADE ASSOCIATIONS. 141 
 
 effected in the well-settled evils and abuses of living and practical inter- 
 ests, save by small and low progress. Without expending too much 
 time and care, therefore, in the discussion of broad principles or collateral 
 issues, that which the real well wishers of society have to do at the 
 present moment is to advocate a moderate and amicable expression of 
 interests between the producers and the capitalists ; to endeavor to 
 establish a spirit of union and combination among the members of each 
 trade or craft, which, without being oppressive, insolent or over-exacting 
 toward honorable employers, shall at the same time form an efficient 
 protection against the encroachments and the frauds, the tyranny and 
 the oppressions of dishonest and heartless speculators. Progress, even 
 in this small way, must unavoidably be slow, and this is owing quite 
 as much to the narrowness, the jealousy and the selfishness of the work- 
 ing ranks themselves, as to the injustice and indifference of employers. 
 Indeed, I am not certain that the reform does not work fastest among 
 employers and capitalists themselves ; for at the rate things are going on 
 they must see that a few years must inevitably deteriorate the working- 
 interests so as to drag the whole world of industry on this side of the 
 water down to the same level it occupies in Europe. 
 
 Among the w r orkmen themselves, however, there has been, during the 
 last few T years, a marked and encouraging improvement in their tone of 
 thought and mode of action. In several trades efficient movements have 
 already been commenced, and are in some cases in practical operation, 
 by which the journeymen have associated themselves and their little 
 capital together and established a shop through which they put them- 
 selves in direct connection with the consumers. This is, after all, the 
 only certain, the only advisable method by which the working men can 
 safely improve their condition, and still retain the advantages they at 
 present possess. This is a movement which cannot justly call out 
 opposition nor hostility from any quarter ; and all that is required is 
 industry, moderation, temperance and promptness in their dealings with 
 the public, to enable associations of this nature in any branch of mecha- 
 nical business whatever to successfully compete with the very best 
 establishments conducted by capitalists in the old way. By an intelli- 
 gent perseverance in this course eventually to drive these establishments 
 completely from the market. If the fundamental qualities which every- 
 where create success, industry, temperance, intelligence and economy, 
 could at one moment descend into the heart of every journeyman in 
 New York, that would be the moment of the regeneration of the whole 
 class. "Workshops and stores, supplied and conducted by the journey- 
 men themselves, could afford to turn out better work and at cheaper 
 
142 NSW YORK NAKED. 
 
 prices than any monopoly establishments whatever, conducted by 
 capitalists and managed on the slop-shop or sweating system. This is a 
 truth the importance of which is not sufficiently considered by the work- 
 ing classes themselves. It is but another illustration of the eternal law 
 of success and happiness which God has established throughout his entire 
 universe. It is upon the inherent character and the intrinsic deeds of 
 the being himself that his destiny immediately and always depends ; 
 and the very moment that the intelligence of the working classes has 
 been raised to that point that they can see this simple, plain, practical 
 question in its full importance and all its bearings, they may begin at 
 once to create their own destinies and escape peaceably and without the 
 power of any man to obstruct or oppose them, from all the disabilities, 
 from all the injustice, from all the suffering, all the misery which have 
 heretofore been inflicted upon them. Study it well, examine it in every 
 light, consider all its collateral branches, its ramifications through the 
 great interests of society, and you can come but to this one conclusion — 
 that the moment the working classes have the resolution, the stability 
 and the character to put themselves in direct connection with those who 
 consume and pay for the products of their toil, that moment they are 
 in fact and deed regenerated and disenthralled. After that, if they go 
 astray or sink again beneath the temptations of capital or the illusions 
 of idleness and intemperance, upon their own heads and the heads of 
 their posterity for ever, will be the curse of so unnatural a crime ! 
 
 "We have now to cast a hasty but instructive glance upon a branch of 
 our subject not less interesting than any we have yet considered. We 
 mean the amusements of the laboring classes. It is in this respect that 
 the widest difference is recognized between the laborers, both male and 
 female, of this country and Europe. There, theatricals, concerts and 
 other reputable and decent public amusements, are almost inaccessible 
 to the great body of the working classes. The prices of admission to 
 places of public entertainment, although not apparently very greatly 
 higher than with us, are yet, on account of the scarcity of money among 
 the lower classes, and the immense disparities of the wages of labor, 
 sufficient to place these resorts beyond the reach of all save the few for- 
 tunate ones who live upon their incomes. Day and week labor in Lon- 
 don can rarely furnish the opportunity to the laborer to visit, either 
 alone or with his family, a place of public amusement. Perhaps once or 
 twice a year, by way of a great holiday, he may manage to visit some 
 wretched minor theatre or peep-show ; but as a general thiug they are 
 wholly deprived of the refining influence of decent public amusements, 
 and for all their recreations, all their pastimes, all their solace from 
 
THE BOWERY THEATRE. 143 
 
 hunger, pain, despair and gloomy discontent, there exists but one terrible 
 resort — the gin shop. The consequence of this is a physical and mental 
 deterioration too frightful to contemplate, and- which, as we may too well 
 see from the wretched and rickety specimens of humanity daily being 
 vomited upon our shores, leads the populations of Europe rapidly toward 
 a cretinism, involving the destruction and decay of entire races. 
 
 Here, however, the case is entirely different. So numerous, and for 
 the most part, well conducted are our places of public amusement, our 
 concert-rooms, our dancing-saloons, and general miscellaneous resorts, 
 that however poor may be the condition of an American family, or how- 
 ever inadequate the reward its members receive for their labor, they 
 manage to be regular visitants two or three times every week to some 
 place of public amusement, where they can innocently forget their cares 
 and troubles, and gaily laugh over the mirthful productions of the comic 
 muse in some one or other of her grotesque maskings. A careful obser- 
 vation and study of the different places of amusement of this kind, would, 
 be of itself an interesting and instructive volume ; for here at various 
 times you might catch types well defined- and perfectly developed, of 
 every class of men, women and children in the vast lower stratum of our 
 population. But we can here only glance for a moment at these estab- 
 lishments, and indicate by a few hasty touches the leading characteris- 
 tics of each. 
 
 The largest and most permanently popular place of public amusement 
 in the city has been, time out of mind, the Bowery Theatre; and 
 although we are accustomed to connect with the name of this establish- 
 ment, peanuts, red woollen-shirts, tobacco chewing, and rowdyism, with 
 its trowsers tucked into its boots, yet, in point of fact, the Bowery stage 
 would compare favorably as to the strength and talent of its performers 
 with any other theatrical establishment in the country. It is true that 
 the actors and actresses there are apt to acquire a style a little broader 
 and stronger marked than might be acceptable to the laws of a fastidious 
 criticism ; but they are never dull, never wanting in a certain strength 
 and naturalness of execution and conception very grateful to the habitue 
 of the popular humdrumities of more fashionable concerns. The Bowery 
 is now the only theatre in the city about which cluster any portion of 
 those hereditary glories and associations that rendered it dearer to the 
 amateur and lover of the drama. Here, Malibran made first a name and 
 reputation, which afterwards overspread and enthralled the whole world 
 with its power and magnificence. Here, Kean, and Cook, and Hamblin, 
 and Forrest, won their laurels. Here Scott and Adams narrowly escaped 
 becoming the greatest among their rivals ; and here the popular heart 
 
144 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 has often thrilled and palpitated beneath the magnetic and electric con- 
 ceptions of Mrs. Shaw, the Siddons of the stage, without compeer or 
 competitor. As to melo-drama and spectacle, they have been carried to 
 a point at this theatre never approached by any other establishment in 
 America ; and even now, if we would enjoy a real old-fashioned evening 
 at the theatre, there is no house to which we would sooner wend our 
 way than the old Bowery. 
 
 But the audience — ah ! there's a picture ! I think I see them now, 
 as they loomed upon my delighted vision last Christmas evening. The 
 house was crammed like a sausage in gallery and lobby, in pit and 
 punch-room, there was not room to poke your nose, or even had you suc- 
 ceeded in inserting it, the perfume there was not as agreeable as that 
 you would not have willingly withdrawn it again, especially, dear reader, 
 if you should happen to be afflicted with a nose at all sensitive. For 
 our part we always feel on these occasions in the same happy humor as 
 the fox at the lion's levee — we have a cold, and cannot smell. The pit 
 is on fire with ,red flannel, and the incessant and enormous consumption 
 of peanuts is no bad imitation of the crackling of the flames. The 
 strong points of the actor are brought out and applauded like the happy 
 hits in a political speech. Every time our friend Scott strides across the 
 stage, and strikes one of those terrific attitudes, such as Praxiteles nor the 
 sculptor of the Laocoon never conceived in his wildest fancies, a shout of 
 approbation rises from the joyous pit. " Hi, hi ! Go it my Scott !" 
 " That's the ticket !" " Ain't he some !" accompanied by yellings, 
 whistlings, hootings of indescribable and inconceivable descriptions, 
 resound on all sides — 
 
 M And galleries answer from their tipsy crowd, 
 Back to the joyous pit, that calls to them aloud." 
 
 Struggling our way through the lobby, we overhear the following dia- 
 logue, which is characteristic enough to give a truthful idea of the tone 
 and atmosphere of the entire house in front of the foot-lights : " Helloa 
 Bill, your eyes, how are you ?" says one of the b'hoys to his friend, whom 
 he encounters in the crowd, at the same time raising his herculean hand 
 above the other's head, and crushing his hat down over his eyes and 
 ears. The other sputters, and chokes, and .struggles, and at last gets his 
 head out of his hat ; and, hitting his friend a tunk in the ribs without 
 
 being at all discomposed or out of humor, says, "pretty well, 
 
 you ! how are you ? Is Lize along V " Yes. Your gal here ?" says 
 thu other. " Yes, in coorse, she afc't nothin shorter," replies the first. 
 ." Well, then spose we go and saloon our women !" 
 
LIFE SCHOOLS OF MORALITY. 145 
 
 The dress circle is occupied by the more quiet and respectable families 
 and children of the east end of the city, and with the exception of the 
 flaming conspicuousness of the dress and accoutrements of the ladies, the 
 prevalence of children of all sorts and sizes, and the circulation of lemon- 
 ade, candy and oranges, and other refreshments, around the circle between 
 the acts, you would not know but you were in ever so fashionable an 
 establishment. The upper tiers and galleries are a bad and dreadful 
 region. They are filled with rowdies, fancy men, working girls of doubt- 
 ful reputation, and, last of all, the lower species of public prostitutes, 
 accompanied by their " lovyers," or such victims as they have been able 
 to pick up. The central point of this stratum is the punch-room, where 
 a continual flood of poisoned brandy, rum and whisky, is poured down 
 the reeking throats of these desperate wretches ; until steam being up to 
 the proper point, they take their departure one by one, to the haunts of 
 crime, debauchery and robbery, whence they issued at nightfall like 
 broods of dark ill-omened birds. This is a picture that can never be 
 adequately described, and the consideration of which in all its revolting 
 realities must work a thorough and effectual cure to every tendency to 
 licentiousness and drunkeness in every susceptible and decent nature. 
 Had we a son whose firmness of moral character we feared or doubted, 
 we should want nothing better to confirm him in habits of decency, clean- 
 liness and temperance, than a few visits to these indescribably disgusting 
 haunts of human wretchedness. 
 
 What we have said of the Bowery, will do, with very slight modifica- 
 tions, for the National Theatre, which is conducted on a smaller scale 
 but with great industry and tact. Its frequenters are very nearly the 
 same class with those at the Bowery, with the exception that the 
 inmates of the dress circle are a majority of them Jews and Jewesses. 
 You may see here a greater display of the peculiar lineaments of Jewish 
 female beauty than at any other place in the city. 
 
 Between the Bowery and the National is an establishment now known 
 as the Franklin Museum, to which we are sorry to say hundreds of people 
 in that quarter of the city, and indeed a few obscene old lechers from 
 other portions and ranks of society, are nightly visitants. It is here that 
 these disgusting exhibitions known as " model artists " may be seen in all 
 their uncovered pruriency, and shocking indecency. It is incredible 
 'that anything short of goats and satyrs should find such obscene exhibi- 
 tions of bandy-legged, flabby-breasted and lank deformity enticing ; yet 
 it is certainly true that hundreds of men who wear decent clothes, and 
 have all the external appearance of respectability, go nightly to gloat 
 
146 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 over these disgusting exhibitions. For such, we should imagine, there 
 was no hope. 
 
 Another favorite and very crowded resort of the better portion of the 
 middle' ranks is Burton's Theatre, where the performances are usually 
 of a high grade, and are so diversified and interspersed with popular 
 novelties as never to pall upon the restless taste of the visitors, but 
 always to present something piquant, fresh and exciting. Burton's is 
 also a great resort for strangers, and a favorite among the critics. 
 
 Another establishment, very similar in character, is Brougham's 
 Lyceum, although from its location, and the peculiar character of its 
 company and performances, it includes in its visitors a somewhat more 
 elevated order of the population. "We often see in the dress circle and 
 private boxes of this neat and handsome theatre, our most fashionable 
 ladies ; while the orchestra stalls are nightly occupied by the upper crust 
 fast men, who pay a dollar a piece, and think it cheap, for the privilege 
 of a nearer look at Mrs. Brougham's magnificent bust, Mary Taylor's 
 handsome legs, and Miss Gould's saucy eyes. 
 
 Niblo's and the Broadway are filled with a more indiscriminate com- 
 pany. The great support of the former are the families of up town 
 residents ; and during the recent engagements of the Rousset girls we 
 noticed that their well disciplined performances and the truly exquisite 
 dancing of Caroline, drew constantly fashionable and brilliant audiences, 
 equalling, in^he character and the position of the members, the most 
 favorite and aristocratic audiences at the Opera. The Broadway is the 
 great resort for foreigners, critics and legitimate theatre goers, who can- 
 not exist without at least a nightly looking in upon the performances at 
 the leading theatre. Generally these performances are of a character to 
 justify this devotion to them, although occasionally it happens that the 
 nefarious starring system to which all our large theatres are unhappily 
 subjected, bores the public with a series of performances expensive to the 
 manager and unsatisfactory to the audience, while he might make money 
 and delight his visitors by the well considered representations of his 
 excellent stock. 
 
 But the grand point of attraction for our respectable middle class, is 
 the inimitable and inevitable Christy's Minstrels. It is here that the 
 mere desire for fun and enjoyment without the trouble of being critical 
 or refined, which is the very striking characteristic of nine-tenths of all 
 our population, finds full scope ; and in the comicalities of these really 
 thorough artists in their line, they find complete occupation for their 
 love of amusement. We know of no place in the city where we would 
 sooner go for an amusing and suggestive lesson in human nature than to 
 Christy's MinsM-els. 
 
A TARGET EXCURSION. 14? 
 
 Then in winter we have our innumerable balls of every grade, charac- 
 ter and style. The devotion of the New York public to dancing" is 
 proverbial, and extends through all classes, who pursue it with equal 
 pleasure and pertinacity. From the gorgeous saloons in the Fifth 
 Avenue to Mager's in Elizabeth street, every body dances. Probably 
 there are not less than half a dozen public balls every night during the 
 winter dancing season ; and in summer, our innumerable steamboat 
 excursions, flotilla balls and fourth of July and other stampedes, 
 supply an almost equal round of saltatory festivities. These amusements, 
 however, have been thoroughly described in detail, from first to last, in 
 "New York by Gas-Light ;" and, as it is one of the principal objects of 
 authors now-a-days to make their last work contribute to the sale of its 
 illustrious predecessors, I have to recommend to my readers who may 
 wish to know more about the dancing business in New York, to peruse 
 that graphic and popular work, the propriety and correctness of which 
 are sufficiently established by the abuse it has received in the New York 
 Tribune and other highly moral sheets. 
 
 The out-door amusements of our middle class is a subject worthy of 
 our attention, and form one of our national characteristics. Foremost 
 among them are the turn-outs of the firemen and the b'hoys in uniform — 
 that is, if red shirts and muskets constitute that desirable state — to 
 campment or target excursions, and otherwise. One of the big sights of 
 New York, and one that must strongly impress an observant stranger, is 
 a military fire company out on parade, or on its way to a target excur- 
 sion at the Red House or some other favorite vicinity. The erect and 
 stalwart men marching with a gait more solid and substantial than 
 elegant or military, preceded by a loud screaming band of military 
 music, and the rear brought up by the fattest and shiningest of negroes, 
 holding the target upright in his arms, and grinning with the , delight 
 and notoriety of his position. Behind them come a motley and tumult- 
 uous stream of loafers and ragged urchins, with straws and feathers 
 stuck in their hats, and clubs carried at their shoulders in imitation of 
 their full grown prototypes. These amateur military parades are perfect- 
 ly at home in Broadway, and pursue their winding way amid the omni- 
 buses and drays in entire good nature and equanimity, carefully leaping 
 the mud holes and ruts to save their pantaloons, if it is fair weather. 
 But if it happens to be a rainy spell, and such happens are by no means 
 rare in New York, then the broad bottomed trowsers are rolled up from 
 the boots, and they go it straight through from the mark, mud and mud 
 puddles being no obstacles. The character of the entertainment, the 
 toasts, the sentiments, the good shots both with musket and tongue, the 
 oorks and charges that are drawn, the casks and noses that are tapped, 
 
148 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 the amiable knock-downs and drag-outs, the rough bear's play of these 
 primitive muscular and good-natured children of a larger growth, would 
 figure handsomely here, had we some faithful phonographer to bring us 
 a due report ; nor do we doubt that they would be quite as instructive 
 as the gas and gammon, the blarney and twaddle, which, column after 
 column, like slime in the wake of a tortoise, embellish the columns of 
 our daily papers after some great man has made his passage through the 
 city. Indeed, in these target excursions a degree of general good feeling 
 and sincere enjoyment prevails which would put to shame the formal 
 and conventional gatherings of so called statesmen, patriots and politi- 
 cians. 
 
 Sunday, however, is the great day for the b'hoy. Then, whatever he 
 may be subjected to during the week ; whether he may have had money 
 during the six days to buy rum and tobacco ; whether his gal has given 
 him the mitten, or whether he has had the " delicious triangles," or been 
 expiating a spree in the Tombs — Sunday he must have his turn-out. In 
 the warm srjring and summer seasons it is to Hoboken, to Harlem, to 
 Staten Island or Coney Island that he steers with his red cheeked and 
 red ribbon gal, blooming like a garden of poppies, sunflowers and daffy- 
 down-dillies, hanging lovingly upon his arm, and his own brilliant soap- 
 locks fresh plastered and burnished for the occasion. At these times the 
 b'hoy is truly an interesting animal, perfectly docile except when 
 irritated ; but you had better be careful not to tread upon his corns and 
 not to encroach in any possible manner upon his comfort or his dignity. 
 Incidents that he might during week days be disposed to pass over with 
 a grunt and a growl, now that Lize is by his side would be instantan- 
 eously resented upon the spot. And this spirit of ambition and pride in 
 the presence of the other sex, which characterizes all creation, from the 
 knighterrant of the tournament doing his devoir in the presence of his 
 lady love, to the poltroon barnyard chicken fighting for the favor of his 
 sultana, sometimes leads to the most tragical consequences. Not 
 [infrequently are these Sunday excursions embellished with "musses" of 
 a serious character ; and the green aa-ass and golden flowers of Hoboken 
 and Staten Tsland have often been dyed by the blood of rival chieftains 
 ainonir these half savage tribes of the Manhattanese. 
 
 •' »:• the Av-nue" is another favorite resort of "Mose" and "Sykesy." 
 The b'hoy has a natural affection for the hoi-'. He looks up to him, with 
 an intuitive instinct, as the superior animal, and lavishes upon him an 
 amount of all and a <]< crree of tenderness that it would be extreme- 
 
 ly difficult, if not impossible, for any of his human relatives or associates 
 to elicit from him. The horse, however, that Mose condescends to love 
 
UNSATISFACTORY CONCLUSION'S. 149 
 
 must bo "one of 'em," — must not be afraid to go, nor to let out all it 
 knows at the shortest notice, and on the slightest provocation. A fast 
 horse and a "high" gal are the two great earthly beatitudes of the New 
 York b'hoy ; and we verily believe that if he ever entertains any definite 
 idea of God, he pictures him as something with a gallus bonnet, and that 
 can go it inside of two minutes. 
 
 The great arena for the display of this species of public recreation, is 
 the Third Avenue — a broad, straight, beautiful road, studded with grog 
 shops on either side, and everything handy and convenient for taking 
 the greatest possible advantage of rowdy Sundays, and keeping the sub- 
 urbs and avenues of the city in such a condition that Christian men and 
 women are disposed to keep shy of them. It is rather an exhilarating 
 sight, however, it must be confessed, to watch the extempore trots and 
 sporadic races that come off on the Avenue almost any afternoon, but 
 especially on Sunday. Here, too, in his dainty little buggy, resorts the 
 upper-class fast man and sportsman — sometimes with his mistress, but 
 more frequently with his friends, and cutting what is technically known 
 as the "tallest kind of a swell." A great deal of human nature and 
 horse flesh is put to a very bad use daily on the Third Avenue ; and of 
 all the unprofitable ways of spending a Sunday that could be thought of, 
 we believe that the b'hoy and the g'hal of New York have hit upon 
 decidedly the most unprofitable. 
 
 The philosophical conclusions we are forced to draw from the contem- 
 plation of the amusements of the lower and middle classes of our popu- 
 lation are by no means satisfactory nor encouraging. When we consider 
 a mass of four hundred thousand individuals depending entirely for their 
 means of recreation and mental refinement, for their knowledge and taste 
 for the Beautiful, in all its infinite diversity of enchanting forms, upon 
 such amusements as these, we cannot wonder at the coarseness and 
 brutality of that public sentiment which is thus permitted to grow up 
 utterly destitute of every opportunity for developing and exercising its 
 higher qualities and capacities. Not a picture-gallery, not a concert- 
 room, not so much as even a brass band of music upon the public 
 squares ; no free lectures and exhibitions upon science and the wonders 
 of the natural world — no great public institutions where books and 
 attractive entertainments are furnished gratuitously to the public — exist 
 throughout all our colossal, citv. The communitv takes it for granted 
 that it has done its duty when it lights the lamps, gathers up the mud 
 in little heaps, and sets policemen to watch the doors of our store-houses 
 and dwellings. It does not recognize the fact that the poor people, who 
 cannot pay for refinement and luxury, have anv minds, any souls, or any 
 
150 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 morals or intellectual needs, which it may be its duty to supply. Were 
 half the money that is now expended in policing the community and 
 punishing vagrancy, vagabondism, and vice, devoted to the establishing 
 of public galleries, public libraries and reading-rooms, public dramatic 
 and musical entertainments, public lectures, and the more attractive 
 branches of education generally, five years would not elapse before half 
 of our criminal expenditure would be no longer needed — if, indeed, a 
 moiety of the remaining portion did not become useless. Not dungeons, 
 nor gibbets, not the cruel scourge of penitentiary labor and infamy, nor 
 all the paraphernalia of punishment for crime that ever the ingenuity of 
 mankind has conceived, possesses one tithe of the power to restrain the 
 exaggerated impulses, to harmonize the perverted and discordant pas- 
 sions of the poor, as the influence — silent, yet ceaseless, piercing as sun- 
 shine in still waters — of the material Beautiful freely presented to the 
 admiration of men. There is a power in physical beauty, and especially 
 in the lofty creations and expressions of the fine arts, that goes with elec- 
 tric certainty to the centre and pivot of the soul of every human being, 
 awaking and inflaming a loftier ambition and a purer aspiration, which 
 looks with loathing and abhorrence upon all that is base, and selfish, 
 and grovelling, and lifts the whole being into the light of a broader and 
 more noble existence. It is society that is the criminal, when, while it 
 employs all its power, and exhausts all its resources in defending and 
 securing the rich and the educated, it withholds from its ignorant and 
 erratic children all means of understanding their own natures, developing 
 their spiritual w r ants, or appreciating their legitimate destinies. Even the 
 monarchies and despotisms of the Old World have somewhat understood 
 of this great and imperative lesson ; and there is not a capital of Europe 
 which is not embellished to a greater or less degree with its public gal- 
 leries, libraries, and monuments, dedicated to the service of the whole 
 community; while in this free and enlightened land, the home and arena 
 of a new epoch, a new dispensation, not a solitary ray of the Beautiful 
 beams for the eye and heart of the poor man. And yet our divines, our 
 moralists, our teachers, exhaust themselves in wonder at the depravity 
 and immoral tendencies of the age, and go nigh, in holy horror of the 
 'degraded classes, to despair of human nature itself. How long shall this 
 double blindness curse the world ? 
 
 We have now gone over the field of life occupied by the great middle 
 and lower class of our population — indicating, describing, characterizing, 
 and reflecting, as we went along, upon whatever appeared to us the most 
 important and instructive themes. We ought to say in this place, for 
 the sake of our own reputation for sanity, among many who, we hope, 
 
LEWD WOMEN". - 151 
 
 will peruse these pages, that although fully, earnestly, and devoutly 
 believing in the truth of every opinion, every idea, and every movement 
 we have advocated for the melioration of the working class and the 
 purification of society, yet we do not at all believe in their practicability, 
 save by most gradual and imperceptible steps. Those steps are con- 
 tinually being taken, within and all around us; and the actual progress 
 that carries society on its way to a higher and better state of existence 
 is by no means carried on through the direct influence of those who are 
 avowedly reformers, or whose views are most frequently and most loudly 
 expressed. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LEWD WOMEN. 
 
 After having brought my last chapter to a close, I have been several 
 days hesitating, reviewing my thoughts, opinions and observations, and 
 experiencing a sort of dread in commencing the final chapter of this 
 book, which must be devoted to that momentous yet revolting subject, 
 Prostitution — its extent, its conditions, and its remedy. Those who have 
 gone thus far with me in my investigations into the actual condition of 
 society in this metropolis, will not need that I should repeat here my 
 religious and unalterable conviction that a vast majority of female pros- 
 titution is the direct result of the inadequate compensation for female 
 labor ; and in restating this broad fact, I cannot neglect the opportunity 
 of marking an almost incredible truth — that society should have delibe- 
 rately, and for thousands of years, committed its greatest outrage and its 
 worst oppression, upon its weakest, most endeared, most beautiful and 
 most indispensable members/ Without the physical and personal exis- 
 tence of woman, society would cease ; and without her moral and senti- 
 mental influence it would retrograde to barbarism and brutality. It 
 would be natural to suppose, therefore, that beings formed by the 
 Creator to play so conspicuous and important a part in the economy of 
 society, should be cherished by that society as its dearest treasures and 
 most priceless blessings. Such, however, is by no means the case, 
 neither in a general view nor in individual instanoes. As a class, women 
 are deceived, outraged, robbed and trampled upon ; while the more favored 
 individuals of their sex at best become the objects of the whims and the 
 
NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 caprices of man's inconstant affection, alternately exaggerated to a divi- 
 nity, or brutalized to a slave. Men have made women in turn the object 
 of their imaginations and their passions, never of their esteem and sym- 
 pathy. Seeing herself thus abandoned, thus misunderstood, and thus 
 systematically crushed under the contempt of the superior sex, it is not 
 unnatural that woman should have discovered the secret of her power, 
 and by exciting and flattering the appetite and vanity of her cruel 
 master, should have sought to snatch from his yielding moments some 
 portion of that power, and of those rights, of which it is the whole object 
 and tendency of society and of law to deprive her. This state of exis- 
 tence has made woman herself a perverted and vicious being, has 
 poisoned the purest fountains of her devotion, her constancy and her 
 self-sacrificing affection, and has made her the heartless, sometimes help- 
 less, and sometimes all-powerful, victim and enemy of man. 
 
 The first duty of a true society would be to secure woman from every 
 possibility of unnecessary suffering, from all wrong, from all injustice, 
 and from all likeness of oppression. But this first duty of society has 
 been wholly and persistently neglected and set at naught. The conse- 
 quence is that the unnatural and inverted relations existing between the 
 two sexes, instead of producing that mutual and beneficent influence 
 upon both, which is so clearly indicated by their organizations, and by 
 the natural tendency of their instincts, have exacerbated the bad quali- 
 ties of man, and nourished into a pernicious growth the weaknesses and 
 the defects of woman ; and instead of forming together and in a harmo- 
 nious relation with each other, a symmetrical and beautiful society, they 
 have, by being rudely torn asunder and re-presented to each other in a 
 false aspect, made the world a social hell. 
 
 We have said that the principal and direct cause of the extent of 
 prostitution, was the inadequate reward allowed to women for their 
 manual labor, and their services in behalf of others. The disproportion 
 between the wages of the two classes of laborers, male and female, is 
 more enormous than would at first sight be believed. The worst 
 rewarded male laborer in our city does not receive, while engaged in 
 work, less than a dollar a day. The best rewarded female labor, in the 
 most skillful and expert of those occupations which employ a vast majo- 
 rity of working women, does not receive one-half that amount; and on 
 an average the comparative wages received by men and women for the 
 performance of mechanical labor, is at least as four to one in favor of the 
 male. 
 
 Twenty thousand women in the city of New York devote their days, 
 and a portion of their nights, faithfully to the performance of the severest 
 
T3B LAST RESORT. 153 
 
 and most health-exhausting toil, at rates of compensation which, on the 
 whole, after deducting days for sickness, and days when there is no 
 work, and other drawbacks indispensable to their existence, do not 
 exceed one hundred dollars a year for each. Out of this must be paid 
 their board, their washing — for remember, they have no time to wash, 
 and scarcely to repair their own clothes — their education, their amuse- 
 ments, their physician's bills, their clothes, in short every personal 
 expense to which they are liable. An extensive observation of the habits 
 and conditions of the laborers of New York, extending over a series of 
 years, would warrant us in the belief that we have placed this average 
 considerably too high, and that, year by year, and estimating the weeks 
 in which no work is to be procured, seventy-five dollars a year would be 
 nearer the average ; still, we place it at a hundred, or about two dollars 
 a week. Now then let us consider — at the lowest possible estimate of 
 board, clothing, washing, and the other indispensables of the meanest 
 grade of life, we are assailed by the positive conviction that, upon the 
 sum we have named, these women could not exist The startling ques- 
 tion, then, forces itself upon us — from what resource do they draw the 
 additional sums necessary to prolong their bare lives from year to year f 
 Read Mr. Mayhew's " London Labor and the London Poor ; n read my 
 essays, published six or seven years ago in the "Tribune," under the title 
 of " Labor in New York, its Conditions and Rewards ;" and the answer 
 to this question is before us. It is from prostitution whence the addi- 
 tional income of these poor wretches is drawn. A vast majority of them 
 only resort to this in the last extremity, and when their absolute wants 
 of food, and clothing, and habitation, are miserably fulfilled, they retire 
 with horror and self loathing to their original condition of life, faithfully 
 resisting every allurement of the tempting world without, until again 
 driven forth into the streets by the pangs of hunger. This is the life 
 led by many thousands in this city of New York, of those tender and 
 beautiful beings who were given to the world by God to bless and sanc- 
 tify, and ennoble its inhabitants, to preserve in their faithful bosoms the 
 germs of that celestial love that has passed out of man's more radiative 
 nature, and concentrated itself alone in the female heart. Many of these 
 poor creatures, as they see from out their wretched garret-windows, or 
 through the chinks and crannies of their stifled and noisy workshops, the 
 gilded and mirthful daughters of shame flaunt by in splendid robes and 
 laughing Jiumor, turn the despair that feeds upon their hearts into a cold 
 and calculating resolution to escape the doom to which they have been 
 consigned, and to prey upon their oppressors for their own pleasure and 
 short-lived joy. Usually they are seduced and betrayed to the first com- 
 
 10 
 
154 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 mission of crime through the promptings of a pure and confiding lo^e, a 
 love born in their hearts for some man whom they invest with all the 
 angelic attributes that their souls love to worship, and who, when his 
 base appetite is gratified, invariably deserts his victim with the heartless- 
 ness of nothing but a man. Then revenge, hatred and despair, t 
 possession of the poor creature's soul. Then for a moment the light of 
 her immortal nature is extinguished, and in one mad spasm of frenzy 
 and insanity, she takes the fatal plunge into open vice, that never can 
 be retrieved. Once thoroughly perverted in the very source of her natu- 
 ral and her moral emotions, woman becomes a demon in her turn, and 
 preys remorselessly upon her insensate victims. The 'very absence of 
 appetite itself, which is a pervading characteristic of a vast majority of 
 women, enables them to play effectually upon the passions of men. 
 After the first paroxysm of their rage and hatred subsides, they look 
 their new destiny in the face with horror, and in th#agonies of remorse, 
 fly to intemperance as the Lethean stream that will save thein from its 
 dread visitations. Thus prepared by every outrage, every excess, and 
 every stimulant that can develop the worst passions of which the human 
 soul is capable, these smiling ogres are let loose to prey remorselessly 
 upon the society that has made them what they are. This, in a few 
 brief phrases, is the picture of prostitution as it exists at the present day 
 in every civilized community. There are minor features and minor 
 causes which require a somewhat detailed and delicate discrimination in 
 their handling. 
 
 There are some questions so painful and perplexing that statesmen, 
 moralists and philanthropists shrink from them by common consent; and 
 of all these questions prostitution is the darkest, the knottiest, and 
 saddest. From whatever point of view it is regarded, it presents consi- 
 derations so difficult and so grievous that neither ruler nor writer has yet 
 been found with nerve to face the sadnesses, or resolution to encounter 
 the difficulties. Statesmen see the mighty evil lying on the main path- 
 way up the world, and, with a groan of pity and despair, " pass by on 
 the other side." Like the timid patient who, fearing and feeling the 
 existence of a terrible disease, they dare not examine its symptoms nor 
 probe its depth, lest they should discover that it was incurable and 
 mortal; or, like a more foolish animal still, they hide their heads at the 
 mention of the danger, as if they hoped by ignoring to annihilate it. It 
 is from a strong conviction that this is not worthy behaviour on the part 
 of those who aspire to guide either the actions or the opinions of others, 
 that wo have undertaken to speak of so dismal and delicate a matter. 
 We are aware that mischief is risked by bringing the subject promi- 
 
FACING THE EVIL. 155 
 
 nently before the public eye, and that the benefit to be derived from the 
 discussion should be so clear and certain as unquestionably to overbal- 
 ance this risk. We are aware that it is a matter on which it is not easy 
 to speak hopefully, not always possible to speak with confidence as to 
 facts, cause or consequences. We are aware that we expose ourselves to 
 much scoffing from the vulgar and lightminded, much dishonest misre- 
 presentation from those who echo any popular cry, much unmerited 
 anger from those who deem that refinement forbids them to speak of 
 things which it does not forbid them to do ; much serious blame on the 
 part of those who think that no object can justify us in compelling atten- 
 tion to so revolting a moral sore. We have weighed all these obstacles, 
 and we have' concluded that the end we have in view, and the chance 
 good we may effect, and the suffering we may mitigate, warrant us in 
 disregarding them. We think that such considerations have already too 
 long withheld serious and benevolent men from facing one of the sorest 
 evils the sun now shines upon, or the darkness of night covers. Our 
 divines, our philanthropists, our missionaries, nay, even our Sisters of 
 Charity, do not shrink from entering in person the most loathsome 
 abodes of sin and misery — nor from penetrating into the lowest dens of 
 filth and pollution, where human despair ever dragged itself to die — 
 when led thither by the impulse of compassion and the hope of good. 
 Why then should we allow indolence, disgust, or the fear of misconstruc- 
 tion to deter us from entering upon an inquiry as to the possibility of 
 mitigating the very worst form which human wretchedness and degrada- 
 tion can assume. The best and purest of our race do not feel themselves 
 repelled from, or tarnished by the darkest haunts of actual guilt and 
 horror, where pain is to be assuaged, or where souls are to be saved. 
 Let us act by subjects as they act by scenes. 
 
 Feeling, then, that it is a false and mischievous delicacy, and a culpa- 
 ble moral cowardice, which shrinks from the consideration of the great 
 social vice of prostitution — because the subject is a loathsome one : 
 feeling, also, that no good can be hoped unless we are at liberty to treat 
 the subject, and all its collaterals, with perfect freedom, both of thought 
 and speech — convinced that the evil must be probed with a courageous 
 and unshrinking hand before a cure can be suggested, or palliatives can 
 safely be applied — we have deliberately resolved to call the public atten- 
 tion to it, though we do so with pain, reluctance, and diffidence. 
 
 And first — to preclude misrepresentation as far as this is possible — we 
 must show our colors by expressing our own feelings as to fornication. 
 Our morality will be considered by the divine as strangely lax and incon- 
 sistent, and by the man of the world, the ordinary thinker, and the mass 
 
156 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 who follow current ideas, without thinking at all — as savage and absurd ; 
 nevertheless, we conceive it to harmonize with the ethics of nature and 
 the dictates of unsophisticated sense. We look on fornication, then (by 
 which we always mean promiscuous intercourse with, women who prosti- 
 tute themselves for pay), as the worst and lowest form of sexual irregula- 
 rity, the most revolting to the unpolluted feelings, the most indicative of 
 a low nature, the most degrading and sapping to the loftier life — 
 
 " The sin of all most sure to blight — 
 The sin of all that the soul's light 
 Is soonest lost, extinguished in." 
 
 Sexual indulgence, however guilty in its circumstances, however tragical 
 in its results, is, when accompanied by love, a sin according to nature ; 
 fornication is a sin against nature ; its peculiarity and heinousness con- 
 sist in its divorcing from all feeling of love that which was meant by 
 nature as the last and intensest expression of passionate love ; in its put- 
 ting asunder that which God has joined ; in its reducing the deepest 
 gratification of unreserved affection to a mere momentary and brutal 
 indulgence ; in its making that only one of our appetites, which k 
 redeemed from mere criminality by the hallowing influence of the better 
 and tenderer feelings with which nature has connected it, as animal as all 
 the rest. It is a voluntary exchange of the passionate love of a spiritual 
 and intellectual being, for the mere hunger and thirst of the beast. It is 
 a profanation of that which the higher organization of man enables him 
 to elevate and refine — it is the introduction of filth into the pure sanctu- 
 ary of the affections. 
 
 We have said that fornication reduces the most fervent expression of 
 deep and devoted human love to a mere animal gratification. But rt 
 does more than this : it not only brings man down to a level with the 
 brutes, but it has one feature which places him far, far below them. 
 Sexual connection with them, is the simple indulgence of a natural desire 
 mutually felt ; in the case of human prostitution, it is in many, probably 
 in most instances, a brutal desire on one side only, and a reluctant and 
 loathing submission, purchased by money, on the other. Among cattle, 
 the sexes meet by common instinct and a common wish — it is reserved 
 for the human animal to treat the female as a mere victim for his lust, 
 The peculiar guilt of prostitution, then, consists, in our view of the matter, 
 in its being unnatural; a violation of our true instincts — not a mere 
 frailty in yielding to them. On this matter, therefore, we feel at least as 
 strongly as any divine can do. 
 
 In the second place, we feel called upon to protest against the manner 
 
THE LOWEST DEPTH OF MISERY. 15 T 
 
 in which prostitutes are universally regarded, spoken of, and treated in 
 this country, as dishonoring alike to our religion and our manhood. The 
 iniquity pervades all classes, and both sexes. No language is too savage 
 for these wretched women. They are outcasts, Pariahs, lepers. Their 
 touch even in the extremitiy of suffering, is shaken off, as if it were' pol- 
 lution and disease. It is discreditable to a woman, even to be supposed 
 to know of their existence. They are kicked, cuffed, trampled on with 
 impunity by every one. Their oaths are seldom regarded in a court of 
 justice, scarcely ever in a police court. They seem to be considered far 
 more out of the pale of humanity than the negroes on a slave plantation, 
 or fellahs in a pasha's dungeon. 
 
 If the extremity of human wretchedness — if a condition which 
 combines within itself every element of suffering, mental and physical, 
 circumstantial and intrinsic — is a passport to our compassion, every heart 
 should >bleed for the position of the prostitute, as it never bled at any 
 form of woe before. We wish it were in our power to give a picture, 
 simple, faithful, uncolored, but " too severely true," of horrors which con- 
 stitute the daily life of women of the town. The world — the unknowing 
 world — is apt to fancy her revelling in the enjoyment of licentious plea- 
 sure ; lost and dead to all sense of remorse and shame ; wallowing in 
 mire because she loves it. Alas ! there is no truth in this conception, or 
 only in the most exceptional cases. Passing over all the agonies of grief 
 and terror she must have endured before she reached her present degra- 
 dation ; the vain struggle to retrieve the first false, fatal step ; the feeling 
 of her inevitable future pressing her down with all the hopeless weight of 
 destiny ; the dreams of a happy past that haunt her in the night-watches, 
 and keep her even trembling on the verge of madness ; — passing over all 
 this, what is her position when she has reached the last step of her 
 downwarl progress, and has become a common prostitute? Every 
 calamity that can afflict human nature, seems to have gathered round 
 her — cold, hunger, disease, often absolute starvation. Insufficiently fed, 
 insufficiently clad, she is driven out alike by necessity, and by the dread 
 of solitude, to wander through the streets by night, for the chance of 
 earning a meal by the most loathsome labor that imagination can picture, % 
 or a penal justice could inflict. For, be it remembered, desire has, by 
 this time, long ceased ; the mere momentary excitement of sexual indul- 
 gence is no longer attainable; repetition has changed pleasure into 
 absolute repugnance ; and those miserable women ply their wretched 
 trade with a loathing and abhorrence, which only perpetual semi-intoxi- 
 cation can deaden or endure. The curses, the blows, the nameless 
 brutalities they have to submit to from their ruffianly associates of the 
 
158 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 brothel and saloon, are as nothing to the hideous punishment inherent 
 in the daily practice of their sin. Their evidence, and the evidence of 
 all who have come in contact with them, is unanimous on this point — 
 that rum alone enables them to live and act; that without its constant 
 stimulus and stupefaction, they would have long since died from mere 
 physical exhaustion, or gone mad from mental horrors. The reaction 
 from the nightly excitement is too terrible to be borne, and rum is again 
 resorted to as a morning draught. Even this wretched stimulus often 
 fails ; and there can be few of our readers who have not seen some ot 
 these unhappy creatures, after a winter's night spent in walking to and 
 fro for hours, amid snow, frost, or piercing winds, in dress to flimsy 
 even for the hottest season, sink down on a door step fainting and worn 
 out, too feeble to be able, and too miserable to desire to rise. All this 
 time too, disease of many kinds is busy with is victim ; and positive pain 
 is added to severe privation and distracting thought. Do not let it be 
 supposed that they are insensible to the horrors of their situation ; we 
 believe this is rarely the case altogether ; where it is so, they owe it to 
 the spirits in which they invariably indulge. 
 
 The career of these women is a brief one; their downward path a 
 marked and inevitable one ; and they know this well. They are almost 
 never rescued ; escape themselves they cannot. Vestigia nulla retrorsum. 
 The swindler may repent, the drunkard may reform ; society aids and 
 encourages them in their thorny path of repentance and atonement, and 
 welcomes back with joy and generous forgetfulness the lost sheep and 
 prodigal son. But the prostitute may not pause — may not recover : at 
 the very first halting timid step she may take to the right or to 
 the left, with a view to flight from her appalling doom, the whole resist- 
 less influence of the surrounding world, the good as well as the bad, close 
 around her to hunt her back into perdition. 
 
 Then comes the last sad scene of all, when drink, disease, and starva- 
 tion have laid her on her death-bed. On a wretched pallet in a filthy 
 garret, with no companions but the ruffians, drunkards, and harlots with 
 whom she had cast her lot; amid brutal curses, ribald language, and 
 drunken laughter ; with a past, which, even were there no future, would 
 be dreadful to contemplate, laying its weight of despair upon her soul ; 
 with a prospective beyond the grave which the little she retains of her 
 early religion lights up for her with the lurid light of hell — this poor 
 daughter of humanity terminates a life, of which, if the ain has been 
 grievous, the expiation has been fearfully tremendous. 
 
 We have seen that, even in their lowest degradation, these poor 
 creatures never wholly lose the sense of shame or sensitiveness to the 
 
A MISTAKEN IDEA. 159 
 
 ©pinions of the world. It is pleasing also to find that anotaer of the 
 chief virtues which belong to the female character, seems never- to 
 become extinct within them, or even to be materially impaired. Their 
 kindness to all who are in suffering or distress, has attracted the atten- 
 tion and called forth the admiration of all who have been thrown much 
 into contact with them. " The English Opium Eater " bears eloquent 
 testimony to the unquenchable tenderness of their nature, and the ready- 
 generosity with which they lavish aid to the needy out of their scanty 
 and precarious means. Duchatelet states that their affection for children, 
 whether their own or not, is carried to a point surpassing that common 
 to women, and that, in consequence, they make the most careful and 
 valuable of nurses. 
 
 But if sympathy be due to these unhappy women on the mere ground 
 of the suffering they undergo, it will perhaps be even more readily 
 rendered when we examine a little into the antecedents which have led 
 them to their fate. There is, we think, a very general misapprehension, 
 especially among the fair sex, as to the original causes which reduce this 
 unfortunate class of girls to their state of degradation — the primary 
 circumstances of their fall from chastity. On this matter, those who 
 know the most will assuredly judge the most leniently. Those who 
 think of this class of sinners as severely as closest moralists, and volup- 
 tuaries with filthy fancies and soiled souls, and — alas ! as most women 
 are apt to do — fancy the original occasion of their lapse from virtue to 
 have been either lust, immodest and unruly desires, silly vanity, or the 
 deliberate exchange of innocence for luxury and show. We believe they 
 are quite mistaken, it is the first never, or so rarely, that in treating of 
 the subject we may be entitled to ignore the exceptions ; it is the latter 
 only in a small portion of the cases that occur. It is very important to 
 a true view and a sound feeling on these matters, to set this error right. 
 Women's desires scarcely ever lead to their fall ; for (save in a class of 
 whom we shall speak presently) the desire scarcely ever exists in a 
 definite and conscious form, till they have fallen. In this point there ia 
 a radical and essential difference between the sexes : the arrangements of 
 nature and the customs of society would be even more unequal than 
 they are, was it not so. In men in general, the sexual desire is inherent 
 and spontaneous, and belongs to the condition of puberty. In the other 
 sex, the desire is dormant, if not non-existant, till excited; always till 
 excited by undue familiarities, almost always till excited by actual inter- 
 course. Those feelings which coarse and licentious minds are so ready 
 to attribute to girls, are almost invariably consequences. Women, whose 
 position and education have protected them from exciting causes, con- 
 
160 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 stantly pass through life without ever being cognizant of the promptings 
 of the senses. Happy for them that it is so ! we do not mean to say 
 that uneasiness may not be felt — that health may not sometimes suffer; 
 but there is no consciousness of the cause. Among all the middle and 
 higher classes, and to a greater extent than would be commonly believed, 
 among the lower classes also, where they either come of virtuous parents 
 or have been carefully brought up, this may be affirmed as a general 
 fact. Were it not for this kind decision of nature, which has been 
 assisted by that correctness of feeling which pervades our education, the 
 consequences would we believe, be frightful. If the passions of women 
 were ready, strong and spontaneous, in a degree even remotely approach- 
 ing the form they assume in the coarser sex, there can be little doubt 
 that sexual irregularities would reach a height, of which, at present, we 
 have happily no conception. Imagine for a moment, the sufferings and 
 struggles the virtuous among them would, on that supposition, have to 
 undergo, in a country where, to hundreds of thousands, marriage is impos- 
 sible, and to hundreds of thousands more, is postponed till the period of 
 youth is passed ; and where modesty, decency and honor, alike preclude 
 them from that indulgence which men practice without restraint or 
 shame. No! Nature has laid many heavy burdens on the delicate 
 shoulders of the weaker sex : let us rejoice that this at lea3t is spared 
 them. 
 
 The causes which lead to the fall of women are various ; but all of 
 them are of a nature to move grief and compassion, rather than indig- 
 nation and contempt, in all minds cognizant of the strange composition of 
 humanity — the follies of the wise, the weakness of the strong, the lapses 
 of the good ; cognizant, also, of those surprising and deplorable incon- 
 sistencies, by which faults may sometimes be found to have grown out 
 of virtues, and very many of our heaviest offences to have been grafted 
 by human imperfection upon the best and kindest of our affections. 
 
 The first and perhaps the largest class of prostitutes are those who 
 may fairly be said to have no choice in the matter — who were born and 
 bred in sin ; whose parents were thieves and prostitutes before them ; 
 whose dwelling has always been in an atmosphere of squalid misery and 
 sordid guilt ; who have never had a glimpse or a hearing of a better life; 
 whom fate has marked from their cradle for a course of degradation ; for 
 whom there is no fall, for they stood already on tho lowest level of 
 existence ; in whom there is no crime, for they had and could have 
 neither an aspiration, a struggle, nor a choice. Such abound in London, 
 New York - and other large cities; and, though to a less extent, in almost 
 all large towns. Their families form the classes dangereum of French 
 
THE PRIMAL CAUSES. 161 
 
 statisticians ; and it is from these that is recruited the population of the 
 jails, the lowest brothels, the penitentiaries and the alms-house. How 
 this class is to be checked, controlled, diminished, and, finally extirpated, 
 presents one of the most difficult practical problems for statesmen, and 
 one, to the solution of which they must address themselves without 
 delay ; but it is one with which at present we have not to do. All that 
 we wish to urge is, that the prostitutes who spring from this class are 
 clearly the victims of circumstances, and therefore must, on all hands, be 
 allowed to be objects of the most unalloyed compassion. 
 
 Others unquestionably, and alas ! too many, fall, from the snares of 
 vanity. They are flattered by the attentions of those above them in 
 station, and gratified by a language more refined and courteous than 
 they hear from those of their own sphere. They enjoy the present 
 pleasure, think they can secure themselves against being led on too far, 
 and, like foolish moths, flutter around the flame which is to dazzle and 
 consume them. For these we have no justification and little apology to 
 offer. Silly parents, and a defective or injudicious education form their 
 most frequent excuse. Still, even these are not worthy of the treatment 
 they meet with, even from those of their own sex, who cannot be uncon- 
 scious of the same foibles — still less from men. Let those who are with- 
 out sin araonor us cast the first stone at them. 
 
 Some, too, there are, for whom no plea can be offered — who volun- 
 tarily and deliberately sell themselves to shame, and barter, in a cold 
 spirit of bargain, chastity and reputation, for carriages, jewels, and a 
 luxurious table. All that can here be urged is the simple fact — too 
 notorious to be denied, too disgraceful for the announcement of it to be 
 listened to with patience — that, in this respect, the unfortunate women 
 who ultimately come upon the town, are far from being the chief or 
 most numerous delinquents. For one woman who thus, of deliberate 
 choice, sells herself to a lover, ten sell themselves to a husband. Let not 
 the world cry shame upon us for the juxtaposition. The barter is as 
 naked and as bold in the one case, as in the other ; the thing bartered is 
 the same ; the difference between the two transactions, lies in the prioe 
 that is paid down. 
 
 Many — and these are commonly the most innocent, and the most 
 wronged of all — are deceived by unreal marriages ; and in these cases, 
 their culpability consists in the folly which confided in their lover, to the 
 extent of concealing their intention from their friends — in all case3 a 
 weak, and in most cases a blameable concealment; but surely not one 
 worthy of the fearful punishment which in nearly every instance over- 
 takes it Many — far more than would generally be believed — fell from 
 
162 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 pure unknowingness. Their affections are engaged, their confidence 
 secured ; thinking no evil themselves, they permit caresses, which in 
 themselves, and to them, indicate no wrong, and are led on ignorantly 
 and thoughtless 1 ^ from one familiarity to another, not conscious where 
 those familiarities must inevitably end, till ultimate resistance becomes 
 almost impossible, and they learn, when it is too late — what women can 
 never learn too early, or impress too strongly on their minds — that a 
 lover's encroachments, to be repelled successfully, must be repelled and 
 negatived at the very outset. 
 
 We believe we shall be borne out by the observation of all who have 
 inquired much into the antecedents of this unfortunate class of womun-r 
 those at least, who have not sprung from the very low, or actually vicious 
 sections of the community — in stating that a vast proportion of those 
 who, after passing through the career of kept mistresses, ultimately come 
 upon the town, fall in the first instance, from a mere exaggeration and 
 perversion of one of the best qualities of a woman's heart. They yield 
 to desires in which they do not share, from a weak generosity which 
 cannot refuse anything to the passionate entreaties of the man they love. 
 There is in the warm, fond, heart of woman, a strange and sublime 
 unselfishness, which men too commonly discover only to profit by — a 
 positive love of self-sacrifice — an active, so to speak, an aggressive desire 
 to show their affection, by giving up to those who have won it, something 
 they hold very dear. It is an unreasoning and dangerous yearning of 
 the spirit, precisely analogous to that which prompts the surrenders and 
 self-tortures of the religious devotee. Both seek to prove their devotioa 
 to the idol they have enshrined, by casting down before his altar their 
 richest and most cherished treasures. This is no romantic, or overcolored 
 picture ; those who deem it so, have not known the better portion of the 
 sex, or do not deserve to have known them. We refer confidently to 
 all whose memory unhappily may furnish an answer to the question, 
 whether an appeal to this perverted generosity is not almost always the 
 final resistless argument to which female virtue succumbs. When we 
 consider these things, and remember also, as we must now proceed to 
 show, how many thousands trace their ruin to actual want — the want of 
 those dependent on them — we believe, upon our honor, that nine out of 
 ten originally modest women, who fall from virtue, fall from motives or 
 feelings in which sensuality and self have no share; nay, under circum- 
 stances in which selfishness, had they not been of too generous a nature 
 to listen to its dictates, would have saved them. 
 
 We have already spoken of that hard necessity — that grinding poverty 
 approaching to actual want — which, by unanimous testimony, is declared 
 
TEE LAST DREADFUL RESORT. 163 
 
 to be the most prolific source of prostitution in this and in all other coun- 
 tries. In Paris, the elaborate researches of Duchatelet have established 
 this point in the clearest manner. After speaking of the prosiitutes sup- 
 plied from those families w ho live in vice and hopeless abandonment, he 
 proceeds thus: — 
 
 " Of all causes of prostitution in Paris, and probably in all great 
 towns, there are none more influential than the want of work, and indi- 
 gence resulting from insufficient earnings. What are the earnings of 
 our laundresses, our sempstresses, our milliners ? Compare the wages 
 of the most skillful with those of the more ordinary and moderately able, 
 and we shall see if it be possible for these latter to procure even the 
 strict necessaries of life ; and if we further compare the price of their 
 work with that of their dishonor, we shall cease to be surprised that so 
 great a number should fall into irregularities, thus made almost inevi- 
 table. This state of things has naturally a tendency to increase, in the 
 actual state of our society, in consequence of the usurpation by men of a 
 large class of oecupations, which it would be fitter and more honorable 
 in our sex to resign to the other. Is it not shameful, for example, to see 
 in Paris thousands of men in the prime of their age, in cafes, shops and 
 warehouses, leading the sedentary and effeminate life which is only suit- 
 able for women." 
 
 M. Duchatelet adds some other facts which fully confirm the testi- 
 mony we shall have to bring respecting an unfortunate class in our 
 country, viz. that filial and maternal affection drive many to at least 
 occasional prostitution, as a means, and the only means left to them, of 
 earning bread for those dependent on them for support. 
 
 " It is difficult to believe that the trade of prostitution should have been 
 embraced by certain women as a means of fulfilling their maternal or 
 filial duties — nothing, however, is more true. It is by no means rare to 
 see married women, widowed, or deserted by their husbands, and in con- 
 sequence deprived of all support, become prostitutes with the sole object 
 of saving their family from dying of hunger. It is still more common to 
 find young girls, unable to procure from their honest occupations an ade- 
 quate provision for their aged and infirm parents, reduced to prostitute 
 themselves in order to eke out their livelihood. I have found too many 
 particulars regarding these two classes, not to be convinced that they 
 are much more numerous than is generally imagined." 
 
 M. Duchatelet sums up the results of investigations into the cases of 
 5,183 Parisian prostitutes as follows: — 
 
164 NEW YORK NAKED. 
 
 Driven to the profession by parental abandonment, excessive 
 
 want, and actual destitution 2,696 
 
 To earn food for the support of their parents or children . . 89 
 
 Driven by shame to fly from their homes 289 
 
 Abandoned by their seducers, and having nothing to turn to . 2,118 
 
 Total 5,183 
 
 We shall not take much pains in proving that poverty is the chief 
 determining cause which drives women into prostitution in England and 
 America, as in France ; partly because we have no adequate statistics, 
 and we are not disposed to present our readers with mere fallacious esti- 
 mates, but mainly because no one doubts the proposition. Granting all 
 that is or can be said of the idleness, extravagance, and love of dress, of 
 these poor women, the number of those who would adopt such a life, 
 were any other means of obtaining an adequate maintenance open to 
 them, will be allowed on all hands to be small indeed. 
 
 Now, we surely cannot be wrong, in assuming that we have said 
 enough to induce those who have hitherto thought of prostitutes only 
 with disgust and contempt, to exchange these sentiments for the more 
 just and more Christian feelings of grief, compassion, and desire to soothe 
 and to save. The sin that arises from generous, though weak self aban- 
 donment ; the sin that is induced by the intolerable anguish of a child's 
 starvation, must be regarded, both in Heaven and on earth, with a very 
 different degree and kind of condemnation from that which is called 
 forth by frailty arising out of the cravings of vanity, or the unbridled 
 indulgence of animal desire. Enough has surely been said, to induce us 
 to regard these unfortunate creatures rather as erring and suffering fellow 
 creatures, than as the outcasts and Pariahs they are now considered. 
 But one more most weighty consideration remains before we quit this 
 part of our subject. 
 
 We have seen that the great majority of these poor women fall, in the 
 first instance, from causes in which vice and selfishness hare no share. 
 For that almost irresistible series of sequences, by which one lapse from 
 chastity conducts ultimately to prostitution, we — the world — must bear 
 the largest share of the blame. What makes it impossible for them to 
 retrace their steps ? — almost impossible even to pause in their career of 
 ruin. Clearly, that harsh, savage, unjust, unchristian public opinion 
 which has resolved to regard a whole life of indulgence on the part of 
 one sex as venial and natural, and a single falso step, on the part of the 
 other, as irretrievable and unpardonable. How few women are there who, 
 after the first error, do not awake to repentance, agony, and shame, and 
 
 1 
 
5T0 PITT FOR THE REPENTANT MAGDALEN. 165 
 
 would not give all they possess to be allowed to recover and recoil ? 
 They may be in love with their seducers — never with their sin. On the 
 contrary, they hate it the more earnestly from having felt the weight of 
 its chains, and tasted the bitterness of its degradation. They yearn with 
 a passionate earnestness, of which mere innocence can form no concep- 
 tion, to be permitted to recover their lost position at the expense of any 
 penitence, however severe, after the lapse of any time, however long. 
 But we brutally refuse to lend an ear to their entreaties. Forgetting our 
 Master's precepts- — forgetting our human frailty — forgetting our own 
 heavy portion in the common guilt — we turn contemptuously aside from 
 the kneeling and weeping Magdalen, coldly bid her to despair, and leave 
 her alone with the irreparable. Instead of helping her up, we thrust her 
 down, when endeavoring to rise ; we choose to regard her not as frail? 
 but as depraved. Every door is shut upon her, every avenue of escape is 
 closed. A sort of fate environs her. The more shame she feels — i. e. 
 the less her virtue has suffered in reality — the more impossible is her 
 recovery, because the more does she shrink from those who might have 
 been able to redeem her. She is driven into prostitution by the weight 
 of all society pressing upon her. 
 
 If she is in the lower ranks of life, what resource but prostitution is 
 open to her f If she be a semstress, what lady will take her into her 
 house to work. If she be a maidservant, what mistress will either accept 
 or retain her ? If she belong to the classw immediately above those in 
 the social scale, is the refuge of the family hearth freely opened to the 
 repentant sinner, if her shame allows her to approach it ? Has she most 
 reason to expect that she will be spurned away from it in anger, or 
 welcomed home with the tears of joy that are shed over the lost sheep ? 
 Alas ! is it not notorious, that of a hundred fathers who would fall upon 
 the neck of a prodigal son, and hail his return with unlimited forgiveness, 
 there is scarcely one who, obedient to the savage morality of the world, 
 would not turn his back upon the erring, repentant daughter ? When 
 shall we learn in judging the moral delinquencies of the two sexes, to 
 eschew those partial balances and false weights, which are an abomina- 
 tion to the Lord ? 
 
 One only chance of restoration does society offer to the poor victim of 
 seduction ; and even this chance does not lie within her option. If her 
 seducer can be induced, by bribe, persuasion or threat, to marry her, her 
 fault is not expiated, but amended and obliterated ; as the phrase goes, 
 she is "made an honest woman again." What a withering sarcasm upon 
 our ethical notions is contained in that coarse expression! If tho poor 
 
166 NEW YORK NAKED.' 
 
 girl can induce or compel the man who has betrayed her, to swear a lie 
 of fidelity to her, at the altar; if she can bind to her by legal process, a 
 libertine who, being bound against his will, is certain to hate and abuse 
 her; if, having committed the pitiable folly of yielding to an unworthy 
 deceiver, she is -willing still to commit the more monstrous folly of put- 
 ting her whole future fate into his hands,- after his unworthiness has been 
 made manifest — then, on that hard condition, and that only, can her 
 character be whitewashed. The pardon of society is granted or with- 
 held, according as she can or cannot, obtain a legal hold on her betrayer. 
 For ourselves, we confess that in the cases which have come before us, 
 we have seldom felt disposed to counsel such views, or such suggestions. 
 "We have said, " Do not let one false step lead you on to commit another, 
 of which the punishment may last through life : we will do all in our 
 power to hide your shame, and enable you to recover your position, and 
 atone for your sin ; but do not, for the sake of avoiding what you have 
 brought upon yourself, make yourself the slave of a man who has injured 
 you, and now wishes to desert you. Do not take a step of irremediable 
 mischief, for the sake of escaping the world's reproaches ; for the deed 
 itself, and its appearance to your own conscience, can be changed by no 
 subsequent proceedings !" We must, however, add, that we have rarely 
 found the victim of seduction willing to listen to our reasoning. Their 
 desire of recovering a social position, and their horror of the probable 
 alternative, were generally strong enough to induce them to welcome all 
 the terrors of an unhappy marriage. 
 
 Yet this is the sole condition on which society will pardon the erring; 
 the only way it offers them of retrieving that which, were better and 
 kindlier notions to prevail, might generally be retrievable. At its door 
 lie the consequences of this harsh decision. 
 
 For the first fatal but pardonable error of woman, vanity, weakness, 
 unregulated affection, the pressure of want, the perversion of generosity, 
 or the cruel deception of others, must bear the blame ; for the subsequent 
 and far guiltier step3, by which frailty gradually darkens into coarse and 
 grievous sin, the hard-hearted, inequitable pharisaism of society must be 
 held responsible. In this matter, " we are very guilty concerning our 
 Bister ;" and women are even guiltier than men. Let us, for a moment, 
 look at this monstrous barbarity from a natural, rather than a conven- 
 tional view ; and let those who are shocked at the uncompromising 
 plainness of our speech, look back on their own experience, and question, 
 if they can, the experience of others, as to the truth of our remarks, 
 before they venture to condemn us. We have no wish to extenuate the 
 sin, or to palliate the weakness ; but above all, and before, let us be just. 
 
 
THE DIFFERENCE — WHAT IS IT ? 16t 
 
 What is, among the originally correct-minded and well-conducted, the 
 real difference between the first sacrifice at the first shrine of love in the 
 case of a married, and an unmarried woman ? It is not that one 
 feels that she is acting virtuously, and the other, that she is acting 
 viciously — the sense of shame is the same in both cases : we appeal to 
 all modestly brought up women if it be not so. Indeed, can it be 
 otherwise ? 
 
 As a most virtuous and sensible lady once said : — " It is not a quarter- 
 of-an-hour's ceremony in a church that can make that welcome or 
 tolerable to pure and delicate feelings, which would otherwise outrage 
 their whole previous notions, and their whole natural and moral sense." 
 Among the decorously educated (and it is of such only that we are 
 speaking), the first sacrifice is made and enacted, in both cases, in a 
 delirium of mingled love and shame. The married woman feels shame, 
 often even remorse, and a strong confusion of all her previous moral con- 
 ceptions ; but the world laughs at her scruples — tells her that her feel- 
 ings are all nonsense, and exalts her to the honors of a matron. The 
 unmarried woman experiences the same confusion, remorse, and shame ; 
 and the world reechoes her feelings — confirms the sentence she has 
 passed upon herself, and casts her out upon a dunghill. The practical 
 difference between them being, that the church ceremony — which could 
 not change the nature of the action common to both, and accompanied 
 and prompted by the same feelings in both — Secures to the one a perma- 
 nent protection, and the sanction of the world and the world's laws ; 
 while the other, imprudent, deceived, or self-sacrificing creature, is left 
 destitute of either: and the world steps in and says to her, "You shall 
 not return to peace, or virtue, or domestic life — the paradise of comfort 
 and hope is closed to you forever upon earth." Let us trust that Heaven 
 is more merciful and just. The married woman says to her, " we have 
 both submitted with reluctance and distress to the embraces of a man » 
 we loved ; but the consequences to me are a happy home and loving 
 children, who are a glory and a crown of honor to my hearthstone ; to 
 you the consequences are desertion, horror, and degradation, and your 
 ohildren shall be a terror and a curse to you. The very same deed — 
 varied only in its antecedents — which leaves me free to kneel the next 
 morning at the throne of grace, with an unstained conscience and an 
 assured hope — makes you feel that heaven has cast you off, and that the 
 altar, to which you cling in your agony, is polluted by your touch ; and 
 all this because /had secured a protection and a legal sanction before I 
 yielded, and you had not? 1 Let us not be misunderstood. We are far 
 from meaning to affirm that the circumstance of obtaining a legal and 
 
168 NSW YORK NAKED. 
 
 religious license beforehand, does not constitute a wide and vital distinc- 
 tion between the cases ; but where it is, as it often is, the only distinction, 
 it cannot of itself suffice to constitute the one a loathsome wretch, while 
 the other is a pure and honored matron. The instinctive feeling of 
 mankind assures us that there must be something sadly wrong and out 
 of joint in the premises that lead to such a decision. Justice and mercy 
 forbid us to confirm the harsh decree. 
 
 Moreover, the mercy, the gentleness, the kind consideration towards 
 human infirmity, the tender treatment of guilt, which we deny to the 
 victim, we lavish on the betrayer. Hers is innate depravity, hopelest 
 degradation, un worthiness which must bo pushed out of sight, blotted 
 from memory, ignored in good society and polite speech ; his are the 
 venial errors of youth, the ordinary tribute to natural desires, the com- 
 mon laxity of a man of the world. Truly, it is time we should come to 
 a sounder estimation and a juster judgment-seat ; we owe a fairer 
 reckoning both to those whom we condemn, and to those whom we 
 absolve. 
 
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