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 SEYMOUR DURST 
 
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 'When you leave, please leave this book 
 
 Because it has been said 
 "Sver'tbing comes t' him who waits 
 
 Except a loaned book." 
 
 Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library 
 Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/thomasndoutneyhiOOdout_0 
 
THOMAS N. DOUTNEY: 
 
 HIS LIFE-STRUGGLE, FALL, AND REFORMATION. 
 
 21 biiub JPm-pcture of Nero ttork, 
 
 TOGETHER WITH 
 
 A HISTORY OF THE WORK HE HAS ACCOMPLISHED AS A 
 TEMPERANCE REFORMER. 
 
 WRITTEX BY HIMSELF. 
 
 Profuscb HlustratrtJ. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 FRANKLIN PRESS: RAND, AYERY, & CO. 
 
 1883. 
 
0^ 
 
 Copyright, 1883, 
 By THOMAS N. DOUTNEY. 
 
TO 
 
 THE BEST PART OF MY LIFE, 
 
 jflfcg TOtfe, 
 
 THIS STORY OF MY "LIFE" 
 
 IS TENDERLY DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE MAN SHE HAS BLESSED FOR LIFE, 
 
 HER HUSBAND. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "Whoever wishes to know the life that is lived in New York and 
 the other large cities of America, by thousands upon thousands of 
 human beings, let him read this book. 
 
 Whoever wishes to peruse the simple, truthful narrative of the 
 sins, sufferings, struggles, yet, by the grace of God, the ultimate 
 reformation and triumph, of an average human being, — such as 
 Thomas N. Doutney, — let him read this book. 
 
 Whoever wishes to learn the history of temperance work in this 
 country, let him read this book. 
 
 And whoever sincerely desires to know the true nature of the 
 demon Alcohol, and the real character of that hell, Intemperance, 
 — from which only the blessing of God on his own exertions can 
 rescue the rum-drinker and the rum-seller, — let him read this book. 
 
 vii 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My Birthplace and my Parentage. — My Father's Career. —My Mother 
 
 and my Family. — "Just as I am" 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Early Impressions. — Music and Flowers. — The Joys of Summer and of 
 a Canadian Winter. — Myself, my Schooldays, and ''Home, Sweet 
 Home." — The Beginning of Sorrows. — The Downward Path. — My 
 First "Drink." — One Point in which "The Lower Animals" set 
 an Example to Man. — Two True Stories with a Moral ... 7 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A Boy Drunkard. — Two Weeks in a Bar-room as Amateur Bar-tender. — 
 A Love-story with a Doubly Disastrous Termination. — The Depths 
 of Youthful Degradation 17 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A Bad Boy's Dream. — A Drunkard's Nightmare. — "Bar-room Friend- 
 ships," their Worth and Worthlessness. — A Youthful Sinner and his 
 Sorrows. — How a Boy Drunkard was saved 24 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Turning of the Tide. — The Trip to " The Hub." — " Dime Novel "- 
 ism. — The Two Bold Boston Buccaneers, and what became of them. 
 
 — The Boy is the Father of the Man 34 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 My Collegiate Career. — Does a " College Education" educate ? — A Lady 
 Graduate. — A Typical Irishman. — A Question of Ice-cream and 
 Influence. —The Hash-hater, and why he hated it . . .GO 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I commence my Mercantile Career. — Modern Trade as it really is. — lis 
 "Seamy" and its "Starry" Sides. —Model Firms and Millionnaiivs. 
 
 — Centennial Excursions. — A New View of A. T. Stewart. — Jordan, 
 Marsh, & Co GS 
 
 ix 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How I fell from Grace, and lost my Place. — Railroad Life. — On to New 
 
 York 82 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 New York in General. — Who come to New York, and what becomes of 
 them. — William E. Dodge, and James Fisk, jun. — Which of the Two 
 Men will you imitate ? 88 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Life in New York, Sensational and Realistic. — The Population of the 
 Great Metropolis, and its Characteristic Features. — German, Irish, 
 and American New York. — Fifth Avenue, Broadway, and the Bowery, 93 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A Pen-panorama of New York. — The Poor of the Great Metropolis. — 
 Castle Garden and the Emigrants. — "Les Miserables." — "Old 
 Mother Hurley's." — The Black Hen's.— The Black Hole of Cherry 
 Street. — The Mysteries of Donovan's Lane. — Tenement-house Life 
 and "Rotten Row." — The Summer Poor 101 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The Pen-panorama of New York (continued). — Crime and Criminals. — 
 The Male and Female Thieves of the Metropolis. — Meeting Mur- 
 derers on Broadway. — The Social Evil. — Gambling, Square and 
 Skin. — The Gambler's Christmas Eve 120 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The Pen-panorama of New York (continued). — The Metropolitan Police 
 as they are. — The Detectives. — Thief -takers in Petticoats. — How 
 Capt. John S. Young caught a Thief by Instinct. — The Tombs 
 Prison, and "Murderer's Row" 149 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A Sunday in New York. — Religious and Irreligious Gotham. — The Big 
 Funerals of New York. — Sunday Evenings in the Great Metropolis. 
 — The History of One Memorable Sabbath Day 169 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The Wealth of the Great Metropolis. — Trade, Speculation, Wall Street, 
 and the Professions. — The Adventures of Two Brothers who tried to 
 succeed in New York by being Honest. — "Fashionable Society," 
 and what it amounts to. — The Bright Side of New York. — New 
 York, after all, the Best as well as Greatest City 178 
 
CONTEXTS. XI 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Seeking and Finding Employment. — Xew York at Night. — " The Sleep- 
 less City." — The Demon Ruin 203 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Drifting and Shifting. —A Memorable Sunday. —My Adventures in Cin- 
 cinnati. —Life on the River-steamboats. —Its Tragedy and Comedy 
 illustrated. — Steamboat Races, Fires, and Explosions. —River-gam- 
 blers. — Mock Courts and a Blessed Practical Joke. —My Curse con- 
 quers me again 209 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Life in St. Louis. — One of the Minor Disadvantages of Drinking. — The 
 Smell of Liquor. — Serio-comic Illustrations and Anecdotes. — ''A 
 Hotel Runner." — How an Irishman outbawled me. and howl out- 
 generalled him. — "A Railroad-man" once more. — My Father's 
 Grave 225 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 My Xewspaper-life in Xew York. — Authors, Critics, Writers, and Jour- 
 nalists as Drinking-men. — How Horace Greeley began a Dinner- 
 speech. — Smart Men who put an Enemy into their Mouths to steal 
 away their Brains. — Alcoholic Stimulants a Curse to Talent. — Fast 
 Balls, and their Surroundings. — Business and Drink. — A Blessing 
 that proved a Bane 233 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A Silly and Sinful Vow realized. — I become a Rum-seller. — " The Mer- 
 chants' L'nion Cigar-store and Sample-room." — I dispense Poison to 
 Men and Boys. — Selling Liquor to Minors. — " Pool for Drinks " . 252 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Selling Liquor to Women. — Feminine Intemperance. — The Growing 
 Fondness for Strong Drink among Females. — The Temptations of 
 Women to Intemperance. — Public and Private Balls and Parties. — 
 The Supper after the Theatre, the Fashionable Restaurant, the Excur- 
 sion, etc. — The Abuses of Drug-stores exposed. — The Threefold 
 Horror of Intemperance in Women 2G1 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A Rum-seller's Responsibility. —What I did, and what I have ever since 
 
 been sorry for having done. — "A Drunkard's Bible " . . . . 276 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Further Details of my Iniquities as a Rum-seller. — " Free Lunches " de- 
 nounced and exposed. — The "Cordial" Humbug. — The Decoy- 
 bottle.— The Story of a Debauch. — " The New- York House." — 
 Rum and Ruin. — The Fate of Rum-sellers 290 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A Broken Promise and a Broken-hearted Brother. — Liquor brings its 
 Revenge. — The Horrors of Mania a Potu, or Delirium Tremens. — 
 Some Curious and Startling Facts. — How I felt and what I suffered. 
 
 — My Adventures and Follies. — I became "a Tramp." — Station- 
 house Lodgers and Revolvers 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "On the Island." — The Penitentiary. — The Almshouse and the House 
 of Refuge. — "Rum does it." — Lights and Shades of the Lunatic 
 Asylum. — "Island" Notorieties. — A Vain Attempt to cure the 
 Drinking-habit. — New York and Rum once more .... 315 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Drunkards and Drinking in New York. — The City of Saloons. — The 
 Glory and the Shame of the Metropolis. —Palatial Rum-parlors, Cosey 
 Bar-rooms, and Corner Groceries 332 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The Haunts of the Rum-demon. — The Concert-saloons of New York. 
 
 — The Dance-houses. — How a New-York Journalist saved a German 
 Girl. — The Efforts which have been made ( by Temperance and Reli- 
 gion to combat Intemperance and Vice. — The Wickedest Man in New 
 York, and Kit Burns. — " Awful " Gardner and Jerry McAuley . . 338 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 The Rum-dens of New York To-day. — Harry Hill and "Harry Hill's. — 
 The Truth about the Man and his Place. — The " Mabille " and 
 McGlory's Den. — " The Haymarket" and " The Dives." — The Real 
 Trouble with the Temperance Movement 358 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Still Another Opportunity Won and Lost. —The Young Men's Christian 
 Association. — Its History and Good Work. — I am seized with an 
 Idea. — And I prepare to carry it out 365 
 
CONTENTS. xiii 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 TAGE 
 
 The Stage in its Relation to the Bottle. — The "Stars " and Drunkards of 
 the Past. — Estimable Men and Women who have been mastered by- 
 Bad Habits. — And Estimable Men and Women who have resisted 
 these Bad Habits. — The Three Booths. — Xew Light on the Assassi- 
 nation of Abraham Lincoln. — The Drama and the Dram . . . 377 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 My First Lecture. — "Great Expectations." —A Bitter Disappointment. 
 
 — What I saw and what I did not see on Tremont Street. — Two In- 
 telligent and Well-dressed Strangers, and what they wanted with me. 
 
 — A Lecture under Difficulties. — A Temperance Lecturer Fallen . 3S3 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 "The Darkest Hour is just before the Dawn." — My Lowest Point. — 
 Mania a Potu in its most Fearful Form. — My Experience as a Cavalry 
 Recruit. — Army Life. — My First Prayer. — My Reformation . . 392 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A Converted Man's Trials. — Fear as an Encouraging Sign. — Yes and 
 Xo, or a Scene at Midnight. — The Lightning-rod Man. — The Life- 
 insurance Agent. — The "Drummer " and his "Samples." — Book- 
 canvassing. — A True Friend and Second Father 403 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 I Join the Temperance Bands. — Remarks as to the Great Usefulness of 
 "Temperance Societies." — I lecture under Favorable Auspices. — 
 My Triumph and my Troubles. —My Book and my Printers. —I lec- 
 ture in Washington. — Temperance and Intemperance among our 
 Public Men. — Sumner and Wilson compared with Saulsbury and 
 McDougall 417 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 My Second Lecture in the Tremont Temple. —I vindicate my Cause, and 
 redeem my Failure. — I lecture at Steinway Hall, Xew York. —And 
 I peddle my own Tickets for my Lecture. —Extracts from my First 
 Book and my Earlier Lectures. — Words of Advice, Warning, and 
 Consolation „ 432 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 My Lecture-tour through the Pine-tree State. —The First Temperance 
 Camp-meeting. — " A Happy Thought" happily carried out. —Prohi- 
 bition in Theory and Practice. — How I crossed the Kennebec 
 through the Ice. —A Seventy-mile Sleigh-ride to Augusta. — Two 
 Exciting Episodes 445 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Women's Crusade. — Its Effects in Bangor, Me., and Elsewhere. — 
 The Origin and Progress of the Good Work. — Scenes and Incidents. 
 
 — The Career of the Crusaders in Cincinnati, Chicago, and New- 
 York 466 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Temperance Work. — Its History and Progress. — The Methods and 
 Achievements of my Predecessors and Colleagues in the Good Cause. 
 
 — The Rev. Drs. Lyman Beecher and Theodore L. Cuyler. — The 
 Washingtonians. — John B. Gough. — Father Mathew and Francis 
 Murphy, etc 479 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 A Tribute of Gratitude. —In Memoriam of those who have befriended 
 
 me. —A Long List of Good Men and Women 487 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 My Best Friend. — How I wooed and won my Wife. —I obey an Irre- 
 sistible Impulse, and meet my Fate. — A Short, Sweet Love-story. —I 
 link my Life with a Good Woman 493 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 My Professional Temperance Work. — Its General Aspects. — Its Details 
 and Narrative. — My Success at Watertown, N.Y. — My Struggles and 
 Triumphs at St. Paul, Minn. — My Campaign along the Hudson, 
 Newburg, Yonkers, Nyack, etc. — "The Temperance-tent" at 
 Rochester. — The Good Cause in New Jersey. — Temperance Matinees 
 at Albany. — Blue Ribbons and Practical Philanthropy. — Enthusiasm 
 at Saratoga. — South and West. — Richmond, Va., and Richmond, 
 Ind 500 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 My Wanderings, and Warfare with the Demon Alcohol. — North, South, 
 East, and West. — In Villages and in Cities. —My Visit to Brooklyn. 
 
 — My Adventures in Providence. — "Was I not Right?" — Scenes, 
 Incidents, and Episodes. — Some Misunderstandings. — A Summary 
 of my Work. —The Brute of a Rum-seller. — The Cripple and her 
 Mother. — A Baby as the best Temperance Lecturer of them all . 520 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 The Temperance Campaign in New York. — How the Metropolis Forgives. 
 
 — Some Striking Illustrations. — Why not Woman as well as Man ? — 
 The Masonic Temple, the Church, and the Indian Wigwam. — Dan 
 Rice, Happy Jack Smith, and Pop Whittaker. — The Search for John 
 
 A. Tobin. — The New- York Press and People 532 
 
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THE LIFE-STKUGGLE OF THOMAS N. DOUTNEY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MY BIRTHPLACE AND MY PAKENTAGE. — MY FATHER'S CAREER. — MY 
 MOTHER AND MY FAMILY. — " JUST AS I AM." 
 
 There is a certain good or ill fortune, as the case may be, 
 that is derived by each one of us, not only from the circum- 
 stances connected with our birth, but from our birthplace. To 
 my mind, it is a positive misfortune to be born amid local sur- 
 roundings that have no beauty ; while it is a direct happiness 
 in itself to be ushered into existence, and to grow up, amid 
 beautiful scenery, amid delightful valleys, or vast green woods, 
 or beneath the grand mountains, or beside the yet grander sea. 
 
 I therefore really feel grateful that I was born in one of the 
 finest portions of Canada, on the right-hand bank of that mighty 
 river, the St. Lawrence, which is year by year growing in the 
 esteem of tourists, and which, though not so vast as the Mis- 
 sissippi, nor so romantically beautiful as the Hudson, still pos- 
 sesses characteristic attractions of its own which will always 
 render it an object of deserved admiration and interest. 
 
 I was born in the village of Laprairie, in Canada East, nearly 
 opposite Montreal, to which city my parents removed shortly 
 after my birth. Now, there are few cities which, in point of 
 picturesque beauty, surpass Montreal. With its houses built 
 of the gray limestone from the adjacent quarries, with its 
 
2 MONTREAL AND ITS CATHEDRAL. 
 
 numerous tall spires, its many glittering roofs and domes, with 
 its scores of beautiful villas studding its lofty background, the 
 city presents as charming a panorama as is to be seen on 
 the entire continent. 
 
 It was in this beautiful city that my early youth was passed, 
 and my first, and therefore most indelible, impressions of life 
 were formed. My father's home was in the immediate vicinity 
 of the great Roman-Catholic cathedral, confessedly the largest 
 and finest cathedral in America, surmounted by a tower, the 
 view from which almost defies description. It may seem a 
 little thing, this living near so grand and beautiful a building 
 as this cathedral ; but in reality, in its imperceptible but all- 
 pervading effect upon the heart and mind of the constant be- 
 holder, it was a very important thing indeed. It became, as 
 it were, part and parcel, and a very important portion, of my 
 daily life. It was the first object I saw from my room-window 
 in the morning, the last object I saw from my window at night 
 ere I went to bed. It was with me in its might and beauty all 
 the time. It stole into my soul unawares. Its quiet might 
 and majesty were deeply impressed upon me, — far more deeply 
 than I at the time myself imagined. In fact, boylike, I thought 
 nothing about it, I suppose ; but, notwithstanding my careless- 
 ness of the effect, the effect was there, and has remained there 
 ever since. In all my wanderings and adventures, in my 
 darkest hours as in my brightest, the grand yet beautiful pro- 
 portions and outlines of that cathedral have been carried with 
 me in my mind's eye, proving once more the positive truth of 
 those oft-quoted words, " A thing of beauty is a joy forever." 
 
 My father's name was Thomas L. Doutney, and he was both 
 a gentleman and a scholar. He came of a good old family ; 
 and he had been educated at La Salle University, in the famed 
 old city of Quebec, the most celebrated and the most pictur- 
 esque of American cities. 
 
It was the first object I saw from my window in the morning " [p. 2J. 
 
THE OLD TOWN OF QUEBEC. 3 
 
 Just as my heart has ever fondly turned to Montreal ; so 
 my father's heart always tenderly turned, in memory, to Que- 
 bec. My father was never wearied of telling me about the 
 dear, quaint old city of his college days. He would graph- 
 ically describe the fine Upper Town, the semi-aristocratic, semi- 
 religious city which stretched within the walls, devoted part 
 to dwellings, and part to religious edifices, — a city which, even 
 in this nineteenth century, when the days of chivalry are re- 
 called only in the novels of James or Scott, still resembles a 
 mediaeval town, such as the Crusaders might have lived in. 
 
 Having been educated in Quebec, my father settled in Mon- 
 treal, and, on attaining the age of twenty-one, became the 
 editor and proprietor of a journal — a daily journal — entitled 
 "L'Aurore des Canadas." My father had always evinced an 
 inclination towards political literature and press-writing, and 
 had taken the trouble (in which respect he differed for the 
 better from most press-writers) to familiarize himself thoroughly 
 with all the practical departments connected with a newspaper. 
 He had literally served " an apprenticeship " to "the newspaper 
 business," and understood all the duties concerned therein, 
 from printer's devil to managing editor and proprietor. Pie 
 began at the very bottom of the ladder, and by his tact, ability, 
 industry, and character worked his way to the top ; and, had 
 the administration to whose cause he devoted his talents and 
 his paper remained in power, he would have become himself a 
 power in the province. But the usual ministerial crisis came 
 (it comes in Canada just as inevitably as it comes in the 
 mother country) ; and, the ministry resigning, my father's 
 paper's fate was sealed. Like the sensible and dignified dog 
 in the story, who, when he saw preparations made to kick him 
 out of the window, walked down stairs; my father, seeing that 
 all the patronage would be withdrawn from his paper, did not 
 wait to postpone the evil day, but suspended publication at 
 
4 • MY FATHER. 
 
 once. It was his wisest course ; for, being now relieved from 
 the necessity of supporting what could only be a burden and a 
 failure, he was now free to take advantage of any outside 
 opportunities which might arise. And they soon arose. Aware 
 of my father's practical newspaper training, as well as news- 
 paper abilities, various publishers made him offers of employ- 
 ment in responsible though not very lucrative capacities ; and 
 at different times he became connected with three of the 
 prominent journals of Canada, — " La Pays," "La Minerve," 
 and " The Montreal Gazette." 
 
 I may here remark, that, while on the staff of " The Montreal 
 Gazette," my father visited the United States, and received 
 marked attention in several of the leading cities- of the Union. 
 Carrying with him letters of indorsement from his Honor 
 Charles Roclier, Esq., mayor of Montreal in 1858, he was 
 received with the utmost courtesy by Hon. Daniel F. Tieman, 
 mayor of New York, and other political magnates of the 
 metropolis. Making a somewhat extended stay in New York, 
 he connected himself with the business department of " The 
 Army and Navy Journal " of New York, and wrote for several 
 metropolitan journals. He afterwards located himself in Boston, 
 becoming connected with one of the leading papers there, — 
 " The Boston Post." But in the prime of life, at forty-five 
 years of age, and in the midst of his useful career, he died 
 suddenly, having experienced more than the usual vicissitudes 
 of a newspaper career, and never having had an opportunity 
 to do full justice to his abilities. 
 
 In this latter respect he was like thousands of other men ; 
 but as a loving father, ever struggling for the best interests and 
 advancement of his children, and truly devoted to his family, 
 he has had few equals and no superiors, so far as my knowl- 
 edge and observation of life extends. His pride and delight 
 were in us his children. Tears fill my eyes now when I think of 
 
MY MOTHER AND MT FAMILY. O 
 
 my dear departed father. He was much attached to a brother, 
 who is still living, then doing business in Montreal as a whole- 
 sale merchant, highly respected, — William L. Doutney. He 
 had also a favorite sister, who resides in Montreal: but his 
 chief affection and pride were centred in his children ; and for 
 their sakes he toiled and struggled, for their advancement he 
 planned and labored, with a self-denial worthy of all praise, and 
 (what is more than any praise) worthy of all the love that can 
 be given to — alas ! all that remains of him now — his memory. 
 
 My mother — God bless her — was, like my father, a Cana- 
 dian by birth and education. Her maiden name was Jane Smith, 
 and she was in all respects a lovely woman. I can see now, as 
 I write these lines, that I was more favored than I at the time 
 appreciated in my parents. They loved each other, and they 
 loved their children, — simple facts, which cannot be truthfully 
 recorded of all parents nowadays. 
 
 I had six brothers and two sisters ; and, take us for all in all, 
 we were a happy family. Three brothers and one sister have 
 since died, and the survivors are scattered; but still my thoughts 
 often revert to the pleasant time when we were all alive and all 
 together. I do not at all agree with the poet who says, — 
 
 " Sorrow's crown of sorrow 
 
 Is remembering happier things." 
 
 On the contrary, I have cause to believe that the " pleasures 
 of memory " are very real, and that their essential part is this 
 very remembrance of " once happy days," even though, as the 
 old song has it, they may " be gone now forever." And in my 
 own case I can testify, that, to this hour, the recollection of 
 some quiet, domestic evening in our humble but comfortable 
 home in Montreal, under the wing, as it were, of the grand 
 cathedral, with my father and mother and brothers and sisters, 
 all gathered lovingly and harmoniously together, affects me like 
 
6 ■ MY BROTHERS AND SISTER. 
 
 the strain of once-familiar music, and thrills me with a sensa- 
 tion of pleasure which more than neutralizes the pathos insepa- 
 rable from my recollections. 
 
 Perhaps I have special reason for fondly remembering my 
 brothers and sisters, for they have been specially kind and 
 loving to me in the various crises of my wandering life. My 
 brothers, William B., Joseph F., and George P., Doutney, and 
 my sister, Sarah Jane Doutney, have ever evinced a practical 
 solicitude for my welfare. They were all loving brothers and 
 a kind sister to me in my darkest hours of misfortune ; and, 
 although unworthy of such exalted love by pursuing the course 
 I did, they never forsook me, but plead with me earnestly to 
 amend my ways : and by the grace of God, and such constant 
 intercessions to the throne of grace, I believe I stand where I 
 do to-day, on praying-ground. God was truly kind in giving 
 me such good parents and such loving brothers and sisters ; and 
 how can I repay them ? Let it be my constant endeavor to be 
 worthy of such devotion, and prove to them I am not unmind- 
 ful of their attentions ; and may I keep steadfast to the end ! 
 By so doing I shall make atonement for past errors and follies, 
 and I know that their hearts will be gladdened at the joyful 
 news. They all occupy good and responsible positions in the 
 city of New York ; and I mention their names and these facts 
 so minutely, in relation to my connections, to show my sincerity 
 in this narrative. The whole truth shall be told in a plain and 
 simple way ; and though some parts may be bitter to divulge, 
 yet it must be set down just as I am, — or, rather, just as I have 
 been, — and the reader will see that none can be so hardened 
 and lost to shame but that they may return to the paths of 
 virtue and rectitude. And, in the pages to come, I wish to give 
 all the glory to the Lord Jesus Christ who has saved me ; for 
 without him I am weaker than a bruised reed, and in him alone 
 is my trust. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. — MUSIC AND FLOWERS. — THE JOYS OF SUMMER AND 
 OF A CANADIAN WINTER. — MYSELF, MY SCHOOLDAYS, AND " HOME, 
 SWEET HOME." — THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS. — THE DOWNWARD PATH. 
 — MY FIRST " DRINK. "—ONE POINT IN WHICH " THE LOWER ANIMALS " 
 SET AN EXAMPLE TO MAN. — TWO TRUE STORIES WITH A MORAL. 
 
 I was sent to school at an early age, and was considered an 
 apt scholar. I possessed a fair memory, and, if I once read a 
 book carefully, could always remember its main points. But, 
 although I do not think it advisable in this work to discuss the 
 " vexed questions " appertaining to the system of modern edu- 
 cation, I must say that my experience and observation have 
 convinced me that too much stress is laid in our schools upon 
 the exercise of mere memory. And I must insist, that the mere 
 accumulation of facts, mere " cramming," is not education in 
 the true sense of the term. A so-called " smart " child, who 
 can repeat by rote, or, as it is miscalled, " by heart," or without 
 book, the contents of a text-book, may yet be, to all intents and 
 purposes, a fool, and be utterly ignorant of the meaning of the 
 great truths which the mere words (which he or she, parrot-like, 
 repeats) only imperfectly symbolize and convey. Instances are 
 numerous in which the dunces of schools have become the 
 great men and women of the world, while the examples are 
 equally plentiful of the " crack scholar " of a class never being 
 heard of after he or she left school. 
 
 Experience and observation have also convinced me, that chil- 
 dren at schools are often overworked, with the best intentions 
 
 7 
 
8 MY LOVE OF MUSIC. 
 
 generally, alike on the part of parents and teachers, but on a 
 mistaken notion that the more facts a child can repeat the more 
 information that child is likely to retain, — an idea that is wholly 
 unfounded. An overloaded mind, like an overloaded stomach, 
 leads, not to health, but indigestion. Still, as a mere matter of 
 fact, I must here record, that, judged by the ordinary standard, 
 I was "a good scholar," a child who always "knew his les- 
 sons." 
 
 I was an impressionable child, too, rather imaginative, while 
 at the same time of a social temperament, — a dangerous combi- 
 nation of qualities, as I have since found it. I was passionately 
 fond of music, and on Sundays would revel in the sublime 
 melody afforded at the grand cathedral. 
 
 While the notes of the organ pealed through the majestic 
 temple, I would feel that ecstatic thrill which perhaps, of all hu- 
 man sensations, approaches nearest to the bliss of heaven. And 
 I am sure that the religious element in my nature was deep- 
 ened, not deteriorated or lessened, by the glorious music with 
 which it was thus associated. 
 
 Music and religion should be like man and wife, never sepa- 
 rated. It is to the practical application of this truth that the 
 Roman Catholic and the Protestant Episcopal churches owe 
 much of their success. 
 
 Father Cummings, who was, when living, the favorite pastor 
 of St. Stephen's Roman-Catholic Church in New- York City, — 
 a church so crowded twice every Sunday as to force the sexton 
 often to close the church-doors upon late comers, — once re- 
 marked in his pleasant, shrewd way, " I trust to my organist 
 and my choir to bring the people in: the church and I will 
 attend to them after they are once brought in." 
 
 And it is recorded of a venerable bishop of the Episcopal 
 Church, who was " as wise as a serpent, though harmless as a 
 dove," that, when a pious old lady once remarked, holding up 
 
SUMMER AND WINTER. 9 
 
 her hands in horror, that she had heard the organist play, upon 
 his sacred instrument, a selection from what she was told was 
 the opera, — or, as she phrased it, "the Devil's music," — mildly 
 yet forcibly replied by asking the old lady the unanswerable 
 question, "Well, my dear madam, why should the Devil be 
 allowed to have all the best music ? " Why, indeed ? 
 
 Why, indeed, should vice in general be rendered as attractive 
 as possible, while virtue is allowed to seem «?zattractive ? Why 
 should the concert-saloon and the beer-hall resound with sweet 
 or lively music, while the Sunday school or the temperance 
 platform should be either deprived of music, or echo only with 
 lugubrious strains? Why, indeed? 
 
 But music was not my only delight as a child : I was passion- 
 ately fond of flowers and of the works of nature, as I think all 
 healthy children are. I loved to wander in the fields; I loved 
 to stroll by the river-side ; I loved, in my unconscious yet heart- 
 felt way, "to look up from nature unto nature's God." 
 
 I enjoyed the short but sweet Canadian summer greatly, 
 but I equally delighted in the bracing though sometimes severe 
 Canadian winter. 
 
 After all, I am inclined to think that poets and novelists 
 have descanted too enthusiastically upon the charms of sum- 
 mer. These are exquisite, doubtless, but they are also ener 
 vating. To lie all day under a leafy tree ; to sleep, soothed in 
 your slumbers by the rippling murmurs of a babbling brook ; 
 to chase the brilliant butterfly ; to plunge into the bath ; to 
 sentimentalize in the soft moonlight; to pluck the roses in 
 June ; to enjoy the greenness of July ; or to lazily swing in 
 a hammock in the dog-days of August, — this is sweet in mod- 
 eration : this is refreshing if it forms but part of a holiday, a 
 vacation, a needed rest from labor. But to walk miles in cold, 
 bracing air on snow; to "sled," or to "coast," or to skate; to 
 brace yourself up, and venture out into a temperature approxi- 
 
10 "HOME LIFE" AND THE " BEE AKIN G-UP." 
 
 mating zero ; to feel the keen air blowing against your cheeks, 
 and to be impelled to the necessity of active physical exercise, 
 — this is better than the summer siesta; better because it is 
 braver. And there is a hardy happiness about a Canadian 
 winter, which I thoroughly appreciated myself as a boy, and 
 which, I am glad to find* is gradually growing into favor with 
 the American public ; as witness the Sclat which attended the 
 recent ice-carnival at Montreal, — an occasion which brought 
 visitors from all parts of the United States. 
 
 For several years, what with my school, my school-com- 
 panions, my cathedral music on Sundays and holidays, my 
 happy summers, my still more delightful winters, and, above 
 all, with my father and mother and brothers and sisters, my 
 "home, sweet home," I was indeed happy, — happier than I 
 have ever been since, happier, probably, than I will ever be 
 again : for true happiness is like the plant that only blooms 
 once in a lifetime ; and, alas ! alas ! how many live and die 
 without ever having found it bloom at all ! 
 
 Then the " break " came. My father was obliged to leave 
 Montreal on his business. My mother was taken sick, became 
 a confirmed invalid, and was removed to a hospital. Pecuniary 
 difficulties increased our other troubles, and my " home life " 
 ended. 
 
 Sorrows seldom come singly, and in my case they over- 
 whelmed me in whole troops. Financial and family troubles 
 increased, till our once happy and united household was en- 
 tirely broken up, like thousands of households before and 
 since ; while we poor children were thrown upon the mercy of 
 a cold world. 
 
 For a while I could not fully appreciate the change in my 
 position and prospects. I felt, and, alas ! I acted, like one in a 
 dream, who was sure he would soon somehow awaken to a more 
 agreeable reality. 
 
" My companions, and the bar-keeper, and the men around, only laughed 
 [p. 11]. 
 
MY FIRST GLASS OF LIQUOR. 11 
 
 I was always of a social nature, and rather what is called 
 " popular " among my companions ; and I paid the full price 
 of this curse of " popularity," for such mere "personal popu- 
 larity " often is. 
 
 I was not forced to feel at once our changed pecuniary posi- 
 tion. Although I was taken from school, I still had for a while 
 a roof to shelter me, and even a little pocket-money ; and my 
 pocket-money and my popularity together ruined me. I was 
 induced to drink, and soon formed a habit of drinking. I have 
 recorded the fatal bane of my life in this short sentence. 
 
 Well do I remember — oh ! shall I ever forget ? — my first 
 drink. I met a boy, a schoolmate, who asked me to accompany 
 him into a gilded bar-room we were passing. I accepted the 
 invitation, and I followed my youthful companion to the bar. 
 We could scarcely yet reach up to the counter ; but we regarded 
 ourselves as men, and men we really were so far as having one 
 of the worst appetites of men could constitute a man. 
 
 My companion was evidently accustomed to the place. He 
 nodded carelessly to the bar-keeper, who nodded familiarly to 
 him, and placed a bottle of whiskey before him on the counter. 
 My companion poured the fiery liquid from the bottle into his 
 glass, and I followed his example. My companion poured the 
 fiery liquid from his glass down his throat, and I followed his 
 example. Never shall I forget my sensations as I swallowed 
 this my first glass of liquor. It seemed as if a fire were rushing 
 through my veins. It seemed as if my brain and m}^ body 
 were dilating under the draught. I imagined myself for a 
 moment a giant : and then the re-action came, and I only knew 
 that I was deathly sick ; that I — I, the child of a fond father's 
 and mother's and brothers' and sisters' love and prayers — was 
 drunk in a bar-room. Alas ! I must then and there have been 
 a sight to make the angels weep, though my companion and the 
 bar-keeper and the men around only laughed. I must here 
 
12 • INSTINCT VERSUS EEASON. 
 
 remark, that of course I did not at one bound become 
 a whiskey-drinker: I did not, "at one fell swoop," become a 
 drunkard. No : I had, previous to the sad scene just related, 
 been for some time in the habit of drinking beer and ale and 
 malt liquors ; and I had contracted the habit of frequenting the 
 public-houses and the beer-saloons. In nine cases out of ten, 
 boys, like men, become drinkers and drunkards gradually, by 
 a slow but sure progression, or, rather, retrogression. The 
 famous ancient saying holds good (or bad) in these modern 
 days : " Facilis descensus averni " (" Easy and imperceptible is 
 the descent into evil "). It was thus in my case. I began first 
 to sip, when a small boy, small-beer ; then it was but a step, 
 and a natural one, to cider ; then but another natural step to 
 ale ; and then the ordinary and almost inevitable result fol- 
 lowed, and I took my first drink of spirituous liquors under 
 the circumstances and with the result already described. 
 This first drink caused me, in its results upon my youthful 
 system, a physical agony, which one would think would have 
 had a permanently beneficial effect upon me in leading me 
 ever after to dread and avoid the cause of such suffering. 
 But, unfortunately, the suffering was but transitory ; and the 
 sin was soon repeated, with less suffering at the time. 
 
 There seems to be this characteristic difference between man, 
 said to be endowed with reason, and the lower animals, which 
 are endowed only with what is called "instinct." The latter 
 will seldom repeat any experiment which has once been proved 
 by them to be pernicious upon themselves. Whereas man, the 
 lord of creation, so self-styled, — man, made in the image of his 
 Maker, — will repeat, and will keep on repeating, an action, or a 
 course of conduct, which he has proved, which he knows, to be 
 injurious. 
 
 A monkey on board a ship some years ago was given some 
 rum by the sailors, and for a while enjoyed himself hugely with 
 
MAN AND THE MONKEY. 13 
 
 his liquor. He drank freely, swallowed glass after glass of 
 the fiery liquid, and became hilariously drunk, to the intense 
 delight of the crew in general, and of the captain in particular, 
 who was a heavy drinker. 
 
 For a while Master Monkey was as happy as a king, or, as the 
 phrase goes, as "drunk as a lord." Then "a change came o'er 
 the spirit of his dream," and Master Monkey did not feel quite 
 so kinglike or so lordly. Then he ceased his antics altogether, 
 huddled himself up in a corner, and looked as he felt, intensely 
 wretched and deathly sick. Master Monkey was paying the 
 penalty of his intoxication. 
 
 In a few days he recovered from his sickness completely, and 
 was as well as ever. So far the analogy between him and an 
 ordinary "drinking" man was complete. So far the man and 
 the monkey were precisely similar. But at this point all re- 
 semblance ended. 
 
 For when, a few days later, the sailors again offered Master 
 Monkey some more rum, the monkey, instead of accepting the 
 offer, — and the liquor, — resented the one, and fled from the 
 other. He snapped at the sailor who offered him the rum, and 
 then ran away, and climbed up the rigging, where he remained 
 for hours. And never again, during that voyage, could the 
 monkey be induced to taste one drop of that rum. Once the 
 captain tried to force some of the liquor down his throat ; but 
 the brute (?) (was he a brute, after all? or, rather, which of the 
 two creatures was the real brute, the monkey or the captain ?) 
 fought fiercely, and finally compelled the captain to desist. 
 
 A year later that vessel went down at sea, with all hands on 
 board. A severe gale arose, and possibly it could have been 
 safely struggled through with (for the vessel was standi ; and 
 the captain, when sober, was really a skilful seaman) ; but the 
 captain and crew alike were more or less under the influence of 
 liquor — and the ship went down. 
 
14 . THE ELEPHANT AND TOBACCO. 
 
 Now, in this instance, was not the order of nature clearly and 
 directly reversed ? Did not the monkey act like a man, or as 
 a man should act ? And did not the men act in a way that 
 would disgrace a monkey ? 
 
 Many similar anecdotes illustrating this point could here be 
 given did space permit. Experiments have been tried with 
 intoxicating liquors upon dogs and cats ; and, in the majority of 
 cases, the animal would never voluntarily repeat its intoxication. 
 
 True, there have been exceptional cases. I knew of a cat 
 once that had formed an acquired taste for liquor, and whose 
 antics, it must be confessed, while under the influence of 
 whiskey punch, were very amusing, to the spectators at least ; 
 though I cannot answer positively for the cat. But, in the great 
 majority of instances, the point I have made holds good. And 
 it certainly is a good point — in favor of mere instinct and 
 the lower animals. 
 
 The same point holds with regard to the use of tobacco. 
 Animals which have once been made sick with tobacco, never, 
 or " hardly ever," can be induced to give " the weed " a second 
 trial. 
 
 A striking and terrible illustration of this fact was afforded 
 some years ago, in the career of a Western circus, recorded by 
 the well-known actress and authoress, Olive Logan, in her book 
 upon the stage, and show-people generally. 
 
 An elephant had once been offered a piece of tobacco, which 
 he had greedily taken up in his trunk, and eagerly swallowed. 
 It made him sick and disgusted ; and, elephants having long 
 memories, he did not forget his experience. 
 
 Some months afterwards a man visiting the show " fooled " 
 the elephant by substituting a quid of tobacco for a cracker, and 
 causing the monster to swallow the former in haste in mistake 
 for the latter. The elephant at once became infuriated, broke 
 loose, and carried confusion and dismay with him in his course 
 
THE WRECKING OF A CIRCUS. 15 
 
 of destruction, bringing the performances to an unexpectedly 
 abrupt end. Having vented his wrath on the circus-tent and 
 its surroundings, the now thoroughly maddened brute rushed 
 to the railroad-track, on which a freight-train was rapidly ap- 
 proaching round a curve. Ere the collision could be averted, 
 the elephant and the locomotive " collided," the beast was 
 killed, and the locomotive was thrown off the track, and the 
 engineer and fireman were seriously injured. But this was 
 not all. In the crash caused by the elephant's escapade, the 
 cage of the tiger belonging to the show had been upset ; and 
 the tiger had escaped. It can readily be understood what ex- 
 citement was created by this fact, and how the farmers at once 
 combined, and patrolled the country, for their protection from 
 the tiger. After attacking and killing several valuable horses, 
 and giving chase to several men, the tiger was finally killed, 
 chiefly through the nerve of a " wild Irish girl," a servant at a 
 farmhouse, who had never seen a tiger in her life, and who, 
 regarding it as a mere " curiosity," led her master and his sons 
 to the spot where she had seen the beast basking in the sun. 
 
 And all this wrecking of a railroad-train, this destruction of 
 property, and this danger to life and limb, simply because an 
 elephant, who had been made once sick by chewing tobacco, 
 resented the attempt to make him chew it again. 
 
 But boys and men will smoke or chew or drink, be taken 
 horribly sick from the effects of tobacco or liquor, and yet 
 will persist in smoking, chewing, or drinking (or all three) 
 till the ver} r indulgence which once made them sick becomes 
 a very necessity of their lives from habit. It was thus in my 
 case; and, ere I was sixteen years of age, I was both a smoker 
 and a drinker, and sometimes, alas ! a profane swearer also. 
 And I had drifted into being a " hanger round " bar-rooms and 
 beer-saloons, and had become quite a frequenter of the thea- 
 tre, when I could get a "free" ticket, or could obtain what is 
 
16 . ON THE DOWNWARD ROAD. 
 
 known as a " bill-board " admission ; i.e., a ticket given in re- 
 turn for distributing dodgers, circulars, or other printed matter 
 connected with a theatre, or for " posting bills." 
 
 I have nothing to say here against the theatre properly con- 
 ducted, and I have certainly nothing to say for it in general ; 
 but this I must and will say, that it is a dangerous place for a 
 boy, such as I then was, to form the habit of attending, especially 
 without the restraint of the presence of some older member of 
 his family. I suppose that the majority of actors, actresses, and 
 theatre-goers will confess this much at least. The theatre is 
 assuredly not the proper place for the child, the lad ; and it was 
 one of the worst phases of my downward career at this time, 
 that my evenings were passed, not around the domestic fireside 
 (alas! I had then no fireside to sit around), but under the glare 
 of the gaslights, and under the spell of the footlights, and in 
 the midst of companions of my own age, whose choice delights 
 were drinking and smoking, and whose highest joy was to at- 
 tend a theatre. 
 
 I was thus fairly (or foully) started on the road to perdition, 
 and yet I knew it not. The terrible serpent that was encircling 
 me in his folds gave no warning. I heard not his awful hiss ; 
 I felt not the deadly venom of his fangs ; but all unconscious I 
 wooed him, like the poor bird which stands entranced, and flies 
 helpless to its own destruction. And it is ever thus with crime. 
 
 " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; 
 Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BOY DRUNKARD. —TWO WEEKS IN A BAR-ROOM AS AMATEUR BAR- 
 TENDER.— A LOVE-STORY WITH A DOUBLY DISASTROUS TERMINATION. — 
 THE DEPTHS OF YOUTHFUL DEGRADATION. 
 
 Among the " friends " (Heaven forgive me for using this 
 sacred word in this connection !) — among the acquaintances I 
 had formed at this time, was a young man who was a bar-tender 
 at one of the saloons which I frequented, and who had taken 
 quite a fancy to me for some reason or other, or perhaps with- 
 out any reason at all. This young man was, I suppose, quite 
 as honest, as honesty goes, as the average bar-keeper : he did 
 not, I presume, abstract any more than the usual percentage 
 from the "till " of the proprietor of the place ; he did not exact 
 any more than the bar-keeper's ordinary " commission " on 
 " sales," and returned as large a proportion of the liquor-money 
 to his "boss" as the rest of his class and occupation. But he 
 was " courting " a young woman who lived in the vicinity of 
 the saloon, and who was herself quite in demand among the 
 swains of Montreal. The young bar-keeper had several rivals, 
 and among them a young mechanic who came to see the young 
 lady regularly every evening after his day's work was done, 
 and whose addresses were received with favor by the young 
 lady's mother ; though the girl herself, girl-like, rather affected 
 the young bar-tender, who was decidedly good-looking. Find- 
 ing the young mechanic at the house every night, and seeing 
 the mother's preference for him, the young bar-keeper made it 
 a point, as much as possible, to call upon the daughter during 
 
 17 
 
18 . WORSHIPPING A BAR-TENDER. 
 
 the day, when he had the field all to himself; the mother being 
 engaged in household duties, and the mechanic being hard at 
 work at his shop. But, to do this courting by daylight, he was 
 obliged to neglect his duties by day, such as they were, at the 
 saloon at which he was employed. Although this neglect of 
 duty sat lightly on his conscience, still he was glad when the 
 idea occurred to him one day to get me to tend bar during his 
 absences. He saw that I had nothing to do, — which was un- 
 fortunately the case ; that I had a neat, quick way with my 
 hands, — which was also the case ; that I was popular among 
 a certain set of drinking boys and men, and might induce a 
 certain amount of custom, — which was the case, most unfortu- 
 nately of all. But his chief dependence was my affection and 
 respect and admiration for himself, — feelings which really ex- 
 isted for him in my breast. All boys are hero-worshippers at 
 heart. They detest sham instinctively ; but, down at the bot- 
 tom of his being, every boy cherishes some ideal, good or bad, 
 and gives it the tangible shape of some man or woman, or per- 
 haps some boy or girl, whom he knows and worships. The 
 idol may be unworthy of its shrine, and disgrace its worship- 
 per ; but it is adored nevertheless, with a zeal seldom given to 
 the idols of later life. And I worshipped just then, I idealized 
 and idolized, a bar-keeper. I moulded myself after his fashion. 
 I took him for my pattern as far as I could, in style of dress 
 and in manner. He was fond, I remember, of wearing his col- 
 lar loose around his neck, — a turn-down collar, rather wide ; 
 I wore a similar collar, after a similar fashion : he affected 
 colored handkerchiefs; I invested a considerable proportion 
 of my " petty cash " in colored handkerchiefs : he had a rather 
 free and easy sailor-like gait ; I tried to compass a similar 
 variety of locomotion, though I only indifferently succeeded : 
 he was fond of " slang," and possessed a copious vocabulary 
 thereof ; I absolutely devoted myself assiduously to acquiring 
 
"A GENTLEMAN'S SON." 19 
 
 all the " slang " words I could hear or remember, and became 
 sufficiently versed in " argot " to have pleased in that respect 
 a Victor Hugo. Had my idol been a great and a good man, 
 and had I imitated him with a like sincerity, I would have 
 been the pattern boy of my time ; but, as my model was only 
 a bar-tender, I became what I was. But, such as I was, I suited 
 the young bar-tender's purposes exactly ; and I was installed 
 as locum tenens while he was " courting." I received strict 
 instructions not to " give away any " liquor, to allow no " free " 
 drinks. I was told on no account to permit anybody behind 
 the bar, or to allow anybody to help himself, except in the 
 regular way, from a bottle placed before him on the counter, 
 in exchange for currency. I was cautioned not to be "too 
 thick " or intimate with my boy companions, to ever preserve 
 in my intercourse with them a certain official dignity (?) ; save 
 the mark, and to keep an eye to business. Above all, I was 
 warned, not to trifle with the receipts, not to " knock down " 
 any, but to return faithfully to the bar-keeper every coin that I 
 received from customers. 
 
 These were rather strange cautions and instructions to be 
 given by a bar-tender to a gentleman's son : but degradation, 
 like misery, makes strange companions ; and I received my 
 orders with submissive complacency, and at first sincerely 
 endeavored to obey them. It may seem strange ; but I really 
 felt a certain pride in my position, and endeavored, boy as I 
 was, to make a model bar-keeper. Had I been " the head boy 
 of my class," or the prize scholar of a Sunday school, I could 
 not have felt more the " dignity " of my position. I was purled 
 out with a sense of my own importance, — almost weighed down 
 with a realization of my responsibilities. I strutted around the 
 bar-room as though I were the proprietor thereof. The real 
 proprietor, by the by, was then absent from the city, and little 
 dreamed of what was transpiring in his absence. 
 
20 ONE OF THE "BEST FELLOWS IN THE WOULD." 
 
 For a while all went smoothly ; and I seemed to give general 
 satisfactign, — to all but my boy cronies. They certainly ex- 
 pected, when they saw me assume the position of bar-keeper, 
 that they would have " the free run " of the bar-room ; and, 
 when they found that they were mistaken in this idea, they 
 called me names, and tried to make fun of me, and then got 
 downright angry, and sent me, in their boyish way, to Coventry, 
 withdrew their companionship from me, and at last patronized 
 an opposition saloon across the way. 
 
 I saw this was going too far, and relaxed my dignity ; and, 
 availing myself of my privilege as bar-keeper to invite the boys 
 occasionally to a drink, I managed to prevent the entire with- 
 drawal of their patronage. 
 
 On the whole, for the first week, I discharged my rather per- 
 plexing duties with a conscience and a tact worthy of some- 
 thing far better, and received the approval of my idol, the young 
 bar-keeper ; who, seeing that I was doing well, and becoming 
 himself more and more absorbed in his courtship, relaxed in 
 his watchfulness over me, and let me do pretty much as I 
 pleased. And then I followed suit, and relaxed my own watch- 
 fulness over myself. Hitherto, oddly enough, my very freedom 
 to drink now all that I wanted had led me to rather less indul- 
 gence than usual ; but, after the first week, I yielded to my pro- 
 pensity for stimulants, and became one of the " best customers " 
 of my own bar. I blush to write it, even now, after all these 
 years ; but I became habitually and constantly under the influ- 
 ence of liquor, and, during the second week of my bar-tending, 
 hardly ever drew a sober breath. 
 
 And my conviviality increased with my intemperance. I 
 "treated" my boy companions more frequently, and "trusted" 
 them for drinks more and more, till at last I had more than 
 regained my original popularity with them, and was known as 
 one of "the best fellows " in the world, — a sure sign that I was 
 
TRAINING FOR A FIRST-CLASS RASCAL. 21 
 
 becoming one of " the worst." It now became a regular thing 
 to find some dozen or more lads at the saloon every morning, 
 drinking and making merry at the expense of the "bar," — an 
 assemblage of youthful sots, with myself as head toper. I 
 stationed a boy at the door of the saloon to keep watch, in case 
 the bar-tender should suddenly return ; and, meanwhile, the 
 stock of liquors, cigars, and small-beer was suffering depletion 
 at an alarming rate. 
 
 Once, while in the midst of our orgies, the boy outside rushed 
 in with the news that the bar-tender was coming. I managed 
 to get some of my companions out by a side-door, and I con- 
 cealed some others in a closet ; while I stepped behind the bar, 
 and pretended to be busily engaged in serving drinks to two of 
 the oldest lads, who I made it a point to see paid for their 
 liquor. 
 
 The bar-tender then suspected nothing, and did not remain 
 long. But, during the ten minutes of his stay, I contrived to 
 add the sins of lying and dishonesty to my other transgressions. 
 For I deliberately falsified the receipts of the bar, and lied 
 wholesale about every thing connected with the management 
 of the saloon. And, as soon as the bar-tender left, our orgies 
 were resumed. I was in rapid course of training for a first-class 
 rascal. 
 
 So far no contretemps had occurred ; but I noticed that my 
 idol, the bar-tender, began to be less spruce and jovial than his 
 wont, and to neglect the fit of his collar, — a sure sign that 
 something was the matter. As I afterwards ascertained, his suit 
 with the young lady was, spite of all his exertions, and outlay 
 of time and " taffy," not progressing favorably ; and the me- 
 chanic was gaining ground, not only with the mother, but the 
 daughter. 
 
 This rendered him moody, irritable, and suspicious ; and at 
 last the " flare-up " came. 
 
22 * KICKED OUT INTO THE STREET. 
 
 One morning he summoned up courage to propose direct to 
 his young lady, was refused point-blank, and was told by the 
 mother not to enter the house of his charmer again. This 
 rendered him wild with rage and chagrin ; and in this mood he 
 rushed back to the saloon, to drown his sorrows in spirits. 
 
 At that precise moment I was surrounded by some ten lads, 
 all drinking freely at my (or, rather, the establishment's) 
 expense. And, as luck would have it, I had forgotten this 
 morning to station my usual " lookout " at the main door. 
 
 In walked the angry bar-keeper, in stalked upon us the dis- 
 comfited lover; and, although the shock sobered me for a 
 moment, I was at my wit's end. I saw that my time had come. 
 
 In vain I flew around, or tried, with my unsteady legs, to 
 seem to do so. In vain I tried to convince the bar-tender that 
 I was working for his interest. The room was rilled with my 
 companions, all more or less intoxicated. The vile stuff which 
 formed the only stock in trade of the accursed place was con- 
 siderably reduced, while the money-drawer made no corre- 
 sponding exhibit. An investigation ensued, — short, searching, 
 and decisive. The bar-keeper's eyes were opened now ; and he 
 took in the present situation and the recent past, in a glance. 
 
 Cursing his folly, his love, his mechanic-rival, and himself, 
 he began to curse me and my companions. And then — I blush 
 to say it — he kicked us boys all out into the street, commen- 
 cing with me as the principal offender. 
 
 It had come to this. I, the son of a gentleman, well born 
 find carefully reared, the child of hopes and prayers, was called 
 "a young loafer," — and deserved to be called it, — and was 
 kicked out into the streets, — and deserved to be kicked, — by 
 a bar-tender. 
 
 For a moment I was too dazed and too drunk to fully real- 
 ize my indignities. I only felt the physical pain inflicted by 
 my chastisement. Then I began to feel a positive mental or 
 
" ' So you are getting to be a drunkard, and stealing my rum,' the bar- 
 keeper had said to me, as he gave me his last kick into the street " [p. 23]. 
 
A DRUNKARD AND A LOAFER. 23 
 
 sentimental pain, in thus having broken the bond that had 
 linked me to my boyish idol, the bar-keeper, whose kicks still 
 smarted. And at last I experienced a sense of my own degra- 
 dation, — a bitter sense of the depths to which I had fallen. 
 
 " So you are getting to be a drunkard, and stealing my rum," 
 the bartender had said to me as he gave me his last kick into 
 the sidewalk. And the words rang in my ears, — a loafer and 
 a drunkard — a drunkard and a loafer. A mere boy, and yet 
 both. 
 
 With these awful, because true, words sounding in my ears, 
 I staggered (I would have rushed, but I was too drunk to 
 " rush ") away from my companions, and burst into tears, — 
 tears of shame, tears of real though unavailing penitence, — 
 which, could I have shed them under a father's eye, or with a 
 head buried on a mother's lap, might have been such tears as 
 the Peri in the poem would have gladly presented to the Most 
 High as the most acceptable of all offerings. 
 
 But, alas ! practically fatherless, motherless, and homeless as 
 I was, the tears soon subsided into a moodiness of shame, in 
 which I remembered only the degradation of the kick, but 
 forgot the still greater degradation of its cause. 
 
 And all that day I wandered aimless through the streets of 
 Montreal, utterly wretched; and the night closed upon me 
 as far from real reformation as when the day began. 
 
 What could be more truly terrible than my position ? I was 
 a gentleman's son, and had been kicked out of a low drinking- 
 saloon. I was a mere boy ; yet I had been called a drunkard 
 and a loafer, and had deserved my titles. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A BAD BOY'S DREAM. — A DRUNKARD'S NIGHTMARE. — " BAR-ROOM FRIEND- 
 SHIPS,' ' THEIR WORTH AND WORTHLESSNESS. — A YOUTHFUL SINNER 
 AND HIS SORROWS. — HOW A BOY DRUNKARD WAS SAVED. 
 
 If it were not for the duty I owe my readers, I would pass 
 over very briefly this dark period of my early life. But I wish 
 others to derive benefit from my experiences ; and, therefore, 
 my first evident paramount duty is, to record my experiences 
 just as they really were, not as I would prefer now to represent 
 them. 
 
 I was " a bad boy," with the curse of an already acquired 
 desire for stimulating drinks daily fastening itself more firmly 
 upon me. If any fact more deplorably pitiable than this can be 
 stated, I have not yet found out this fact, nor would I know 
 how to state it. 
 
 I went down hill rapidly, suffering step by step as I went 
 down. After my experiences in the saloon where I " tended 
 bar," I carefully avoided entering that place : but there were 
 other saloons; and I patronized these, so far as my daily de- 
 creasing means would allow. I got into the habit of picking 
 up little stray jobs, any thing to get a little money, but not to 
 buy clothes with, though I was " seedy " and " shabby ; " not 
 to purchase even food with, though I was occasionally com- 
 pelled now to " go hungry ; " not to relieve the necessities of 
 my scattered family, — but to gratify my accursed thirst for 
 strong drink. As fast as I earned in any way a little money, 
 
 24 
 
" One night 1 had fallen asleep drnnk in a cart near a stable. I awoke with 
 a terrible headache, to find the rain pouring down upon me " [p. 25]. 
 
AN OUTCAST'S DREAM. 25 
 
 I would hie me to some saloon, some gilded or not gilded " rum- 
 hole," and spend it. 
 
 Often the shades of evening would creep over the earth, find- 
 ing me at my unholy revels, with all sorts and conditions of 
 low companions. And then, finding that I was unfit to appear 
 in the presence of any decent man or woman, I would slink 
 away, supperless, about nine or ten o'clock at night, to some 
 out-house or cellar or empty wagon, and sleep away my de- 
 bauch. 
 
 One night I had fallen asleep drunk in a cart near a stable. 
 I awoke with a terrible headache, to find the rain pouring 
 down upon me. Dripping wet, I arose, and walked to and fro, 
 from one place of temporary shelter to another, an object which 
 even the horses and the cattle in the stables could have pitied. 
 But yet I never repented of the fault and folly which was thus 
 rendering me a fit object for even a brute beast's pity. No : 
 all the time I stood and watched the ceaseless rain, or tried 
 vainly to sleep in my wet rags, — for they were scarcely more, — 
 I was consumed with the cursed thirst that had caused all my 
 troubles. I was eagerly craving a chance for " a drink." My 
 morbid fancy was conjuring up, in my lonely desolation, vis- 
 ions of a warm, comfortably elegant room, with mirrors and 
 chandeliers and tables and a fine " counter," and an array of 
 bottles, full of wine and spirits, with a plentiful supply of 
 cigars, — a room in which I was the central figure, the lord and 
 the proprietor thereof, enjoying myself with and enriching 
 myself by my customers. In my fancy I saw myself mixing 
 drinks: in my fancy I felt myself drinking them. I could 
 almost taste the liquor as it poured down my parched throat. 
 And in my temporary delirium I cried aloud, although there 
 were none to hear but the all-hearing spirits of good and evil, 
 " Yes, I will some day somehow realize this dream : somehow, 
 sometime, somewhere, I will keep a bar-room, — my own bar- 
 
26 A TEBRIBLE VOW. 
 
 room." Thus, in the storm and the night, I made a vow to 
 become some day, sooner or later, a rumseller, with a "gin- 
 mill" of my own. It was a singularly sad vow for a mere boy 
 to register. It evinced what may be termed an ambitious 
 depth of depravity, but I am recording the simple truth ; and 
 I really made the vow, under the circumstances I have de- 
 scribed. And, as the course of this narrative will show, I after- 
 wards fulfilled it. 
 
 It seems almost incredible, that in so short a time I should 
 have been brought to this condition ; but thus I was, and I 
 saw not the doom that awaited me. I look back now on this 
 period of my life, and wonder why I was spared ; but a mer- 
 ciful Providence spared me. And, thank God ! the same kind 
 hand has plucked me as a brand from the burning ; and I have 
 lived to warn my fellow sinners and sufferers, both by my voice 
 and my pen, and to denounce that terrible tyrant, alcohol, as 
 the most malignant of all the fiends that hell, with all its in- 
 finite spite and fury, can belch forth upon the earth. 
 
 My situation at this period of my career was wretched in 
 the extreme, and became more miserable every day. Indepen- 
 dent of my terrible faults, my woes were terrible : my poor 
 mother in the hospital, my father a bankrupt, my sister out in 
 the world, and the rest of us wretched ones with only the 
 humblest, barest shelter, and often deprived of fire and of 
 food. 
 
 And now I began to feel one of the bitterest pangs of pov- 
 erty, — the scorn of those who had known me in better days. 
 
 Hitherto I had contrived, by hook or by crook, to have a 
 little money to spend, even though I spent it in rum, and 
 although I had in every way misapplied it ; but now the hour 
 came when I was literally penniless. I had been shabby in 
 clothes for a considerable period, and had become, as it were, 
 used to it. I had grown accustomed to cold and to scanty 
 
BAB-ROOM FBIENDSUIPS. 27 
 
 food ; I had even become accustomed to omitting the custom of 
 taking my regular meals, because there were no regular meals 
 for me to take ; but I had always been able, no matter at what 
 risk or sacrifice, to have enough money to pay for an occasional 
 drink for myself and a few boon companions, whose society, 
 such as it was, I courted, and with whom I was still, to a 
 certain degree, popular. 
 
 But now, face to face with absolute penury, I had no means 
 to cater to bar-room popularity. Without a shilling, I was 
 compelled to be without a drink and without a friend. True, 
 for a day or so I was able to " drink," and even to " treat," on 
 credit. But when I tried to solicit new favors, without settling 
 the old score, my doom was sealed. I was then stamped as a 
 " beat " and a " pauper," and I was driven out of the very bar- 
 rooms in which I had spent my money freely when I had it. 
 I was forbidden to enter the very places whose coffers I had 
 helped to fill. 
 
 To my depraved mind and vicious habits, these bar-rooms 
 represented all I knew and cared of comfort. The tavern, God 
 help me ! had taken the place of the home ; and, when I was 
 turned out of the drinking-saloons, it seemed to me as if I had 
 been expelled from life and happiness. I felt like Adam when 
 driven out of Eden. 
 
 I experienced then what hundreds and thousands have ex- 
 perienced before me, and will, alas! I fear, experience after 
 me, — the utter worthlessness of bar-room friendships. Had I 
 been wise, this lesson, impressed so forcibly upon me at so early 
 an age, would have had a beneficial effect upon me ; but alas, 
 alas! I was doomed to sin and suffer on, perhaps that my 
 career might have a more beneficial effect upon others. 
 
 It is often urged, in extenuation of drinking, that it is a so- 
 cial habit, and that through it valuable acquaintances are often 
 formed. Alas! there is no more pernicious falsehood than this; 
 
28 " DRINKING-A CQ TTAINTANCES." 
 
 for it is one of those glitteringly dangerous lies that are partly 
 — and only a small part — true. 
 
 Acquaintances are formed through drinking-habits, doubt- 
 less, but not acquaintances worth the risk of drinking, not 
 acquaintances really valuable, honestly worth the having — oh, 
 no, no ! a thousand times no ! In a thousand drinks the 
 drinker cannot hope to gain one friend. 
 
 It could not be otherwise ; for certainly, if drinking-habits 
 were honestly calculated to promote sincere friendships, then 
 would intemperance be excusable, — almost a wisdom, not a 
 folly ; almost a duty, not a vice. So great a believer, for one, 
 am I in the moral beauty and practical value of true friendship, 
 that, if I honestly believed that zwtemperance fostered friend- 
 ship, I would cease to advocate temperance. 
 
 But, thank God ! the truth is just the other way. Intemper- 
 ance, like all vice, is unfavorable to virtue, and, among other 
 virtues, to true friendship. Bar-room friendships, the intima- 
 cies of intemperance, are merely superficial. They last only as 
 long as the liquor lasts : they are bounded by the limits of the 
 bar-room. I met a commercial drummer once out West, and 
 he had a favorite phrase to designate such people as he only 
 casually or slightly knew. Speaking of a man of this sort, the 
 drummer would allude to him as "only a drinking-acquaint- 
 ance ; " and the phrase struck me as a very suggestive and ap- 
 posite one. Believe me, O my reader ! the men you drink with 
 are not " friends," they are only " drinking-acquaintances." 
 
 I was, at this period of my life, forced to learn this truth. 
 Not only did the proprietors and employees of the bar-rooms 
 where I had spent my money, when I had it, ruthlessly expel 
 me from them when I had no more to spend, but my more 
 intimate companions, lads of my own age, my fellow-boys, to 
 use a most common and expressive phrase, " went back on 
 me," turned me the cold shoulder, and abandoned me. 
 
BOY-GRIEFS. 29 
 
 In the slang of boys nowadays they regarded me as "N. G.:" 
 I was "played out." 
 
 Among my companions had been, for several months, a 
 young lad, whose father was in comfortable circumstances, and 
 allowed him a good deal (and a good deal too much) pocket- 
 money, which never remained long in his pocket, but found 
 its way to the pockets of the men who dealt in cigars, liquors, 
 or dime novels, — three commodities which, with boys of a 
 certain class, generally go together ; and all go one way, — 
 to the Devil. 
 
 I had taken a sincere liking to this particular lad, and we 
 had been a good deal together. I had even done him now and 
 then little favors ; but now, when in my poverty I solicited a 
 favor, — a loan of a little money, — it was refused on some 
 specious plea, such as boys, in an emergency, are quite as ready 
 with as men ; and from that moment the boy avoided me, as if 
 I had been stricken with the small-pox : he would leave a 
 saloon if he saw me entering it ; he would turn round the street- 
 corner if he saw me approaching. I felt this keenly, although 
 I was too proud to show it. But, though I preserved a certain 
 amount of boyish dignity (there is such a thing, as every boy 
 or man who remembers his boyhood can testify) in the presence 
 of others, I wept many a bitter tear in secret, more over the 
 loss of the once delightful companionship and the destruction 
 of my cherished dreams, than over the more material depriva- 
 tions to which it subjected me. Boy-griefs are as hard to bear 
 for boys, as after-sorrows are for men ; and my grief just then 
 was bitter. 
 
 Another lad with whom I had become intimate was a trades- 
 man's son, of a less literary turn in the line of dime novels 
 than the boy just mentioned. The former might be classed 
 among lads of a somewhat "sentimental" turn of mind, but 
 the tradesman's son was essentially "practical." He prided 
 
30 A "KNOWING" CHAP. 
 
 himself, even at his early age, on " knowing the world " (that 
 is, such parts or phases of the world as were not worth know- 
 ing) ; and he had been looked up to by other boys, and by 
 myself, as quite an " oracle." 
 
 This " knowing " chap soon taught me that he " knew " me, — 
 knew how utterly hopeless and moneyless was my condition ; 
 for when I came to him and asked him, in my extremity, for a 
 little pecuniar} T aid, he told me, with " a brutal frankness " which 
 would have pleased Bismarck, that he had all he could do to take 
 care of himself, and that he didn't propose to do any thing for 
 anybody for nothing. " If I wanted some money, why didn't 
 I pick it up for myself, as he did ? " 
 
 Now, as I wasn't as "posted " on horse-flesh and cards as this 
 jockey and gamester of fifteen years, and as I had not yet made 
 as many disreputable acquaintances as he had done, and could 
 not therefore do as many " odd " dirty jobs for them as he was 
 constantly doing, I was not able to " pick up money for myself 
 as he did ; " although, alas ! I fear that I was quite as willing 
 to " pick it " up this or any other way just then, had I been 
 able. 
 
 Thank Heaven ! though bad enough, I never then, or at any 
 other time in my life, was tempted to Heal. I had no scruples 
 of conscience against vice. I had become familiarized, child as 
 I still was, with many kinds of low iniquity. I had soiled my 
 hands and soul at various times with petty swindling and 
 cheating, — as in my episode as amateur bar-tender, already de- 
 scribed. But I had never directly stolen. And now, in my 
 utterly penniless condition, even now, I was not induced to 
 steal, to become what is even one step lower than a drunkard, 
 — a thief. I thank Heaven for this. 
 
 But I was indescribably miserable. Perhaps in all my after- 
 life I never suffered more than I suffered now as a boy, — a 
 boy without parents, — practically so ; a boy without home ; a boy 
 
THE BAD BOY. 31 
 
 without money ; and a boy without friends, God help the boy 
 who feels as I felt then ! 
 
 Hungry and cold, and shabby to the last stage of shabbiness, 
 thirsting with a young drunkard's ever unsatisfied and fiery 
 thirst, without a dollar, and, what was even worse to me then, 
 without a companion in the world, I brooded solitary over my 
 sorrows. 
 
 Though I had lived but a few short years, yet I was already 
 weary of life. Mere boy as I was, existence seemed to me a 
 conundrum, — a terrible conundrum ; and like Smith, in Broug- 
 ham's " Pocahontas," I felt inclined to " lie down and give it up." 
 
 Though but a boy, I now for a moment felt all that mad 
 desire for self-annihilation which oftentimes possesses the 
 world-wearied, life-exhausted man. True, I thought with a 
 little regret of the dear father and mother whom I was never 
 to see again. True, I looked back fondly in memory to the 
 dear home under the wing of the grand cathedral. True, I 
 remembered fondly some pleasant sports in summers and in 
 winters past. But I also felt vividly my present loneliness, my 
 poverty, my broken home, my desolation, my lost, false, heart- 
 less companions. And I thought, in my moody, boyish way, 
 that if I was once dead, — once but dead, — all my hungering 
 and thirsting and shivering, and being laughed at and sneered 
 at, and shunned and snubbed, would be over and ended , and I 
 would be out of the way, and life would be out of the way, for- 
 ever. 
 
 While standing one dark night at a street-corner, terribly 
 despondent, I heard a voice — a cheery, hearty voice — cry out, 
 " Why, Doutney, what are you doing here ? " 
 
 What was I doing, indeed ? I looked round, and saw a 
 young lad of my acquaintance approaching. He was not one 
 of my " drinking acquaintances," — oh, no ! The unsophisticated 
 lad who was now approaching me had never, probably, been in- 
 
32 THE GOOD BOY. 
 
 side a bar-room in his dull, uneventful, humdrum life. He, 
 quiet chap, was not in the habit of attending the theatre, and 
 I suppose would not have known what " a bill-board ticket " 
 meant. He knew so little of the world, this mere boy, that I 
 do not suppose he could distinguish by taste the difference be- 
 tween whiskey and brandy. He was what boys of my class 
 had been wont to call a "muff," or " a milksop," — a boy who 
 attended Sunday school, didn't know how to play cards, didn't 
 smoke, didn't swear, didn't do any thing that was done by boys 
 of spirit, and spirits like myself. But still, there he was, ad- 
 vancing towards me, happy, healthy, hearty, well-clad, going 
 home, I supposed, to family prayers maybe, but still to a family 
 and a home. While I — I, who a few weeks ago would have 
 despised this happy milksop and " good boy " — was — 
 
 But, before I could fully realize the contrast between us two, 
 the boy had come up to the corner where I stood with despair 
 in my soul. And then — to this hour I cannot distinctly re- 
 member how it all came about — but in a moment more I 
 found myself telling my companion all about myself, my faults, 
 my folly. I found myself crying, with my head on his shoulder, 
 — crying like a child, indeed, — crying as if my heart would 
 break. The boy had asked a few childish questions, said a few 
 childishly kind words; and the flood-gates of my heart had 
 been opened. His utterly unexpected kindness had healed the 
 wounds inflicted upon my heart by the as utterly unexpected 
 desertion of my former companions. His soothing sympathy 
 had brought me back from desperate, moody despair to healthy, 
 human sorrow, which, shared by another, was lessened, almost 
 sweetened. 
 
 In a few minutes I, the boy-drunkard, who had naturally, 
 step by step, become the boy-outcast, was walking almost hap- 
 pily side by side with a boy — a pious, God-fearing boy — whom 
 I had previously only sneered at and despised. And, in a few 
 
A BOY SAVED BY A BOY. 33 
 
 minutes more, I, the homeless wanderer of the streets, was in 
 the midst of a happy home-circle, seated beside a cheerful fire, 
 eating with a relish, and drinking, not vile whiskey or beer, but 
 harmless, healthful tea ; while my boy-preserver bustled about, 
 doing all he could, in company with his little sister, to make 
 me as comfortable as possible. 
 
 His father and mother had known my father and mother 
 years before ; and for their sakes and mine, and, above all, in- 
 duced by their own goodness and kindness, they were that 
 night and the next day very good and kind to me, a waif 
 and a stray. 
 
 That night, instead of lying in a gutter, perhaps passing from 
 insensibility into eternity, I was snugly tucked up in a com- 
 fortable bed, with my boy-preserver as my room-mate. And 
 bad boy as I was, degraded drunkard, and almost desperate 
 and reckless as I had been that night, I felt grateful to a God 
 in whom I had that night learned to believe, by the irresistible 
 argument of being brought into contact with those who believed 
 in and loved and served Him. 
 
 And when my boy-preserver, just before going to bed, knelt 
 down at his bedside, and said the Lord's Prayer, I did not 
 then think or call him a cad or a muff or a milksop: I did not 
 then sneer or laugh at the pious Sunday-school boy. No : I 
 felt then and there, in my inmost heart of hearts, that he was 
 wiser in his innocence, on his knees, with his prayers, than a 
 thousand such as I of bar-room loafers and loungers. 
 
 And, feeling this, I humbly crept to his side, fell on my 
 knees with him, and for the first time, alas ! for years, prayed 
 to " Our Father who art in Heaven." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TURNING OF THE TIDE. — THE TRIP TO "THE HUB." — " DIME NOVEL "- 
 ISM. — THE TWO BOLD BOSTON BUCCANEERS, AND WHAT BECAME OF 
 THEM. — THE BOY IS THE FATHER OF THE MAN. 
 
 The tide had turned. My evil fortunes had reached their 
 lowest ebb at the moment of my deepest despair and my provi- 
 dential preservation. From that moment good luck, or, shall 
 I not more reverently say, a kind Providence, continued to 
 smile upon me. 
 
 Just as the kind, truly Christian father and mother of my 
 boy-preserver took me in hand, to see if they could not procure 
 me a situation in some store or office, to keep me independent, 
 and to keep me out of mischief, I received a letter from my 
 dear father, informing me that good fortune had befallen him 
 also, and that now he had arranged for me to come to Boston, 
 where I could live and be educated at the House of the Angel 
 Guardian in Roxbury. 
 
 This was far from being a brilliant future, but it was cer- 
 tainly far better than the life I had been leading of late ; and 
 it was preferable, I thought, to working hard in some office or 
 place of business : so I immediately obeyed my father's sum- 
 mons ; and, bidding a grateful good-by to my benefactors, I 
 started on the train from Montreal to Boston. I had an- 
 nounced my departure for Boston to a number of my compan- 
 ions, and had made the most of my good luck in narrating to 
 them, and unconsciously exaggerating, the "good luck" which 
 had happened to my father. I had enough of " human nature " 
 
 34 
 
HUMAN NATURE IN BOYS. 35 
 
 in me to make a point of dilating upon my rose-colored pros- 
 pects to those who had snubbed me and been cold to me in my 
 recent misfortunes. I was particularly eloquent upon my 
 future prospects (?) in the presence of my former companions, 
 the dime-novel reader and the young lad of a " practical " turn 
 of mind, who had treated my misfortunes with such indiffer- 
 ence. I must have led them to imagine that my father had 
 been left a large fortune, and that I was rich for life ; and I 
 heartily enjoyed the changed manner of these and my other 
 companions towards me. I noticed how much more cordial 
 and even respectful they were to me now than before ; and I 
 heartily enjoyed the change, though I cordially despised them 
 for changing. It is a mistake to suppose that boys are not as 
 selfish and as politic as men. " The boy is the father of the 
 man ; " and just as " the world " and worldly ideas and inter- 
 ests control the man, so they modify, if they do not positively 
 control, the boy. The boy whose father is " in luck " will be 
 held, among most other boys, to be in luck himself, and will 
 receive a share of attention and admiration much greater than 
 will generally be awarded to the son of a poor or unfortunate 
 father. 
 
 So I, a boy about to be sent on to the great city of Boston, 
 where I was to live comfortably and be educated (that was the 
 idea I gave out, in fact that was the idea I entertained myself, 
 not exactly knowing what the peculiar character of "The 
 House of the Angel Guardian " might be), was considered and 
 treated very differently from the way I had been treated but 
 recently, when I had been regarded as an almost pauper boy, 
 the son of a ruined man, who had not a dollar in the world. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances I would have commemorated 
 my "good luck," such as it was, by drinking, and by inviting 
 my companions to drink ; but I am glad to be able to state 
 that I did nothing of the kind just then. I had had enough 
 
36 "A COLD-WATER HOUSEHOLD:' 
 
 of drinking for a while. I had not yet become the constant, 
 confirmed, inveterate slave of intoxicating drink. I was but a 
 young fool, and therefore not quite so persistently foolish as an 
 old fool. I had my lucid intervals, and this was one of them. 
 
 Besides, I have always been of a very impressionable nature, 
 — a temperament which has alike its great advantages and 
 disadvantages, but of which I reaped one of the advantages 
 now. 
 
 I was completely at this period under the blessed influence 
 of the temperate and Christian family which had rescued me 
 from despair and possibly from death. The head of this 
 happy household, the husband and father, was a sincere and 
 sensible temperance advocate, both in theory and practice; 
 and I had been forcibly impressed, and, under the circum- 
 stances, most favorably. I was too young, perhaps, to have 
 fully understood all the " total-abstinence " arguments ; but I 
 could already understand, ay, better than most grown men, 
 the inestimable advantages of " total-abstinence " practices. 
 I could not help being led to contrast the health, the steady 
 happiness, the industry and peace and order, of this "cold- 
 water" household, with the heated life and disorder and 
 racket and dissipation of the bar-rooms and saloons which had 
 for so long now stood to me in the place of a home. Nor could 
 I help contrasting my boy-preserver, the only son and pride 
 and hope of this temperance household, with his ruddy cheeks, 
 his bright eyes, his sturdy frame, his well-regulated nerves, his 
 excellent digestion, his regular sleep, and his love for out-door 
 exercise, with the sunken cheeks, the wasted frame, the wild 
 or dulled eyes, the "shaky" nerves, the ruined health, lost 
 appetite, and inert indigestion, which characterized so many 
 of the boys and men whom I knew as addicted to drink. 
 
 I was no fool, except when directly under the influence of 
 my curse : and I saw how infinitely preferable was temperance 
 
MY UNEXPECTED COMPANIONS. 37 
 
 to intemperance ; and therefore, while under the influence and 
 in the bosom of this well-regulated household, I was perfectly 
 sober and temperate myself, and began to regain my health, 
 which had been severely shattered by my recent course of life, 
 and to even enjoy life once more in a healthy, rational fashion, 
 as a boy should. 
 
 I became greatly attached to my boy-preserver and to his 
 interesting family, and they became sincerely fond of me. But 
 it was thought best all round, that I should follow my father's 
 wishes, and, going to Boston, avail myself of whatever he 
 had prepared for me there. 
 
 So, as I stated some pages previously, I took the train from 
 Montreal to Boston ; but I did not start alone. I had two un- 
 asked for, unexpected companions, — two lads considerably 
 younger even than myself, who insisted on accompanying me, 
 and in a rather peculiar fashion. Among my Montreal com- 
 panions had been two boys, cousins and chums, the children of 
 two respectable tradesmen of my father's acquaintance. There 
 was nothing remarkable or striking about the characters of 
 those two lads ; they were not specially bright or provokingly 
 dull ; they were neither abnormally good nor bad ; but they had 
 cultivated a taste for " light literature " in the story-paper and 
 " dime-novel " form, until this taste had grown into a positive 
 mania. 
 
 They had read all sorts of " boys' books " (which, by the by, 
 are often the very worst possible kind of books for boys), and 
 were perfect walking libraries of juvenile "flash-literature." 
 They spent all their pocket-money, not for vile spirits, as I had 
 been doing, but for almost equally pernicious printed stuff, 
 which demoralized their little minds as my liquid " stuff " had 
 demoralized my youthful nerves. They were regular readers 
 of the " police " papers, and the flash " story-papers," and 
 books of wild — very wild — "adventure" in the Far — very, 
 
38 DIME-NOVEL LUNATICS. 
 
 very far — West. Most boys are prone to what may be styled 
 " dime novel "-ism. I had met other lads with this tendency, 
 as I have previously mentioned ; but these two boys were the 
 two most confirmed dime-novel lunatics I ever remember coming 
 across. Pirates were as familiar to them as pies, possibly more 
 so. Buccaneers of the Spanish (it generally is the Spanish) 
 Main were as common as their daily bread and butter. The 
 big, bloody Indian, with his waistband full of recking scalps, 
 was their pocket-companion ; and they were experts in all 
 varieties of the war-whoop. The Italian bandit, with his 
 beautiful captive hidden in a cave in the dense forests, and a 
 stiletto carried in his hand, was an every-day affair ; and mur- 
 der, suicide, poisoning, scuttling of ships, cutting of throats, 
 etc., were as much in their line as playing marbles or hockey, 
 — if any thing, more in it. 
 
 Jack Sheppard was their idol, their hero : Dick Turpin was 
 the very god of their idolatry. They knew ten times more 
 about the history of Jonathan Wild than they did about the 
 history of England. And from reading books of adventure, 
 and believing in them, to becoming adventurers themselves, 
 was but a step. From dreaming of highwaymen and bucca- 
 neers and wild Indians, to endeavoring to imitate their bloody 
 and exciting excellences, was only a natural progression. 
 
 So when these two bloody minded, blood-and-thunder literary 
 lads heard that I was going to " see life," and " begin the 
 world " at Boston, — the great Boston, — they determined to go 
 with me, in search of adventure and glory and gore, and hidden 
 treasure and scalps. " The young rovers of Montreal," or " the 
 two bold buccaneers of Boston," would be about their "size" 
 of manliness ; and they made their preparations on this basis. 
 
 They raked and scraped all the money they could get to- 
 gether, by selling out their stock of tops and marbles, and 
 borrowing right and left under all sorts of lying pretences, — for 
 
THE PIRATES OF THE FUTURE. 39 
 
 lying, of course, was a mere bagatelle to amateur pirates and 
 prospective murderers, — and even stealing from their mothers 
 and fathers, just by way of preparation for future burglaries. 
 With the money thus surreptitiously acquired, — some shillings, 
 — the would-be scoundrels of the deepest dye purchased an 
 outfit of deliberate villany, comprising two big clasp-knives, 
 coming as near to the bowie-knife of Western civilization as 
 their limited means would allow ; two fifth or sixth hand pistols, 
 which were warranted to kill, and which certainly, if they ever 
 had gone off, would have killed those who fired them off; 
 powder, etc. ; and, of course, a deck of cards, some tobacco, and 
 a " pocket-pistol " of whiskey, without which last three articles 
 they never could have undertaken to be cut-throats or pirates 
 of any pretence to criminal standing. Having thus provided 
 for all the possibilities of piracy and rapine, the two incipient 
 villains of the deepest hue stole from their homes by the back- 
 door, gliding off as quietly and speedily as possible, lest their 
 mothers might see them, and call them back. Imagine two 
 pirates of the future being called back home, and, it may be, 
 spanked, by their mothers ! Having effected their escape, the 
 two juvenile murderers, breathing the exhilarating air of 
 liberty, emancipated from the thraldom of the parental roof, 
 clutching their clasp-knives, and feeling fondly the pistols in 
 their pockets, and their pocket-pistols, strode hastily toward 
 the railroad-depot; the younger and more desperate ruffian 
 of the two stopping on his way, however, to invest five cents 
 in "taffy," — a sort of candy of which the youthful monster, 
 notwithstanding his depravity, was very fond. Imagine a 
 bloody-minded pirate sucking candy ! 
 
 The two desperate ruffians reached the train for the States 
 a few minutes before the time for departure, and contrived to 
 enter the hind-car, then empty, unobserved, and concealed 
 themselves under the seats. 
 
40 TWO MEMENTOS OF MONTREAL. 
 
 All this was utterly unknown to me at the time ; the plan of 
 the two desperadoes being, to wait till the train had started, 
 with me on board, and then to reveal their presence to me, 
 and to throw themselves on my generosity, friendship, and 
 influence with the conductor. Two pirates, they imagined, in 
 their innocence (?) of the world, that, because I had my fare 
 paid for me to Boston, I must be a very rich and important 
 boy indeed ! 
 
 But, as chance arranged it, they did not have to wait till the 
 train started to discover me ; or, rather, 1 discovered them. I 
 took my place in the rear car, and sat me down right over one 
 of the crouching pirates , talked to the kind lad who had been 
 such a blessing to me, and who had accompanied me to the 
 train ; bade him good-by with tears of real affection and grati- 
 tude in my eyes, and just as I was reseating myself, after 
 waving my hand to him from the window, saw a foot under my 
 seat — started — then started still more, as I saw a head peer 
 out, and recognized the head as belonging to one of my former 
 companions, — one of those whom I was just then thinking I 
 was leaving, perhaps, forever. 
 
 To say that I was surprised, and then glad, is to use very 
 mild language indeed. Luckily there was, just then, no one 
 in the car to observe, either my wonder or my delight. 
 
 In a few hurried words I got from the two budding bucca- 
 neers the general idea of their position and their intentions, 
 and entered myself heartily into the situation. I had felt terri- 
 bly lonely leaving my birthplace, my only home for so many 
 years, Montreal. And here was a link supplied me by chance, 
 a tie still connecting me with the dear old town, a memento of 
 Montreal, — two mementos, — sent on, as it were, with me. I 
 did not feel at all lonely now, with these two abandoned vil- 
 lains lying at my feet. 
 
 Of course, I smiled at their plans of plunder and piracy. I 
 
A PROTECTOR OF HIGHWAY BOYS. 41 
 
 laughed at their schemes of unbridled license and adventure. 
 I was several years older than either of the bloody-minded 
 rascals, and had never been so impressed with dime novels as 
 to lose my head. That was not my special weakness. I fully 
 realized that Boston, from what little I had heard of it, was 
 scarcely likely to prove the place for successful plunder, save 
 by grown-up lawyers, politicians, and tradesmen, in the regular 
 way ; I surmised that there was a very slim chance indeed for 
 boy-buccaneers in the city of baked beans, and that the Yan- 
 kees would not tremble, even at the clasp-knives and pistols 
 of my two child-companions : still, there was something in the 
 " romance of the thing " that appealed to my boyish imagina- 
 tion strongly ; there was something in the " running away " of 
 the precious pair, and their hiding away, which fascinated me. 
 Above all, I was glad of their company on my way to a strange 
 city: it relieved greatly the home-sickness that was already 
 beginning to steal over me, and I felt flattered at their appeals 
 for my protection. The amateur cut-throats evidently looked 
 up to me as to a superior boy, almost a man, — a boy who was 
 " travelling " open and above board, a boy who knew the world, 
 a boy who had his ticket paid to Boston; and they evidently 
 depended on this highly favored and enlightened boy to aid 
 them in their distress, and to carry them to Boston with him, 
 or, rather, under him : need I say that their trust was not in 
 vain ? Need I say that I would, just then, rather have died — 
 nay, rather have lost my trip to Boston myself — than have be- 
 trayed the two defenceless pirates and highway men — I mean 
 highway boys — who thus trusted in and to me ? Need I say that 
 I at once assumed an air of stupendous wisdom and magnifi- 
 cent condescension, and promised them the full benefit alike 
 of my extensive experience, and acquaintance with the world 
 and the conductor, in case of emergency ? Need I say that I 
 gently soothed their fears, calmed their agitation, and assured 
 
42 IN HIDING. 
 
 them, in a benignant way, that I, even I, would see them 
 through ; smiling, as I said so, in a sort of superior, far-off way, 
 as though I had, years ago, been a pirate once myself, and 
 scuttled ships upon the Spanish Main, had been a bold Boston 
 buccaneer, and had forgotten or almost forgotten, all about it. 
 
 My assurances satisfied my two pirates, who thereupon cud- 
 dled themselves under the two seats, — the seat I occupied and 
 the seat behind, — and kept quiet for a while ; the younger, and, 
 as I have before described him, the more desperate, ruffian of 
 the two, who was stretched out, or, rather, stretched in, under 
 the seat behind me, even betaking himself in his momentary 
 peace and security to sucking at his five-cents' worth of " taffy." 
 
 But it was now my turn to think and worry. I had assumed 
 the responsibility of protecting these two wandering villains. 
 I had contracted, as it were, to see them through to Boston at 
 least ; but had I not undertaken too big a contract ? As I began 
 to think of the risks they had to run, my head began to swim ; 
 and I almost wished that the two monsters of iniquity were 
 safe back at home in their mothers' arms, or, for that matter, 
 even on their mothers' knees, stretched out heads downwards, 
 — at any rate, somewhere else than right under me. 
 
 I knew very little about railroad-travelling myself; but I 
 knew that their only chance was to dodge the conductor, for 
 that nothing I could say or do would be of any avail. I would 
 now have willingly paid their fare out of my own pocket if I 
 had had it in my pocket ; but, that not being feasible, the only 
 thing for them was to hide and to keep hiding : although I did 
 not see how it would be possible for the two wanderers to be 
 hidden long, as people would be entering and passing through 
 the car, in addition to the vigilance of the conductor. 
 
 For a while, though, accident favored the fugitives. Only 
 two or three passengers entered the car ; and they seated them- 
 selves at the rear of the car, while I and my party were 
 
LEG AND HEAD. 43 
 
 near the front entrance. And, when the conductor made his 
 first appearance, my two pirates, being warned by me, kept as 
 still as death, and condensed themselves into the smallest pos- 
 sible space that I guess two buccaneers were ever compressed 
 into. So all passed serenely, and I began to hope that all 
 would so continue. 
 
 As for my pair of criminals, now that they were really started 
 on their wild career, really stealing, — stealing a ride, — their 
 spirits rose, although their bodies couldn't ; and they exchanged 
 kicks of congratulation, and pinches of sympathy, — about their 
 only methods of communication. They even began to exchange 
 ideas with each other and with me by whispers ; but I was fear- 
 ful they would be overheard, and enjoined strict silence. 
 
 One of my ruffians, the elder one, was of a rather phlegmatic 
 temperament for a pirate, and could have kept still for an 
 indefinite period : but, unfortunately, his legs were very long 
 for his body ; and, getting cramped every now and then, one 
 or other of his limbs would protrude beyond the line of seats, 
 whereupon the owner of the protruding limb would be severely 
 reprimanded by me, while his fellow-pirate would warn him 
 against similar future indiscretions by sundry kicks (not of 
 congratulation) and pinches (not of sympathy), and would 
 curse him for an awkward lubber and a daddy longlegs. The 
 younger pirate, however, though he did not transgress with his 
 leg, was of a nervous, restless temperament, and was all the 
 time desirous of bobbing up with his head. Now, a head ex- 
 tending above a seat supposed to be unoccupied was as likely 
 to attract attention as a leg extending under it ; so I was con- 
 stantly obliged to call the restless little rascal to task, much to 
 the delight of his more quiet, though longer-legged, companion. 
 
 In fact, what with the two, the leg of the one and the head 
 of the other, I was kept in a state of constant nervous anxiety, 
 in the midst of which my cares were brought to a climax by 
 
44 "CONDENSING A PIE ATE." 
 
 the entrance, at a way-station, of a fat woman, who coolly and 
 calmly seated herself right on the seat behind me, and directly 
 over — on top of, in fact — the younger of the wild adven- 
 turers. 
 
 Here was a situation for me, and for him, I fairly perspired 
 with perplexity, which, of course, I was compelled to conceal. 
 What to do I could not guess, but that fat woman must be 
 removed at all hazards. But how? This was the question I 
 asked myself in despair. I opened the window facing my seat. 
 The fat woman seemed rather to like the fresh air. I closed 
 the window quickly, with a bang ; but, after looking at me with 
 mingled curiosity and adipose amiability, she subsided into her 
 seat, content. Suddenly she moved slightly: something seemed 
 to trouble her feet. I could readily guess what it was. The 
 restless young pirate underneath, feeling himself cramped, had 
 stirred slightly, and disturbed her. Oh, if she should take it 
 into her fat head to investigate the cause of the disturbance ! 
 I was on nettles. But she was too fat and too lazy. She didn't 
 investigate, and the pirates were saved. 
 
 For just then she did for herself what we never could have 
 done with her, — she moved her seat. Looking back, she rec- 
 ognized one of the persons in the rear of the car, and got up, 
 and joined her friend. I felt, for all the world, like a criminal 
 who had received a respite. But then the conductor came 
 along once more ; and there was more agony of anxiety, more 
 cramping and condensing of pirate and small boy, till the 
 man of tickets passed on, and there was another breathing- 
 spell. 
 
 Before a great while my amateur rascals had become thor- 
 oughly disgusted with this style of rascality. They had not 
 calculated on it. Pistols and clasp-knives were here of no 
 avail, and I would not permit them to touch the whiskey they 
 had brought with them. I was firm in my temperance princi- 
 
AN IDEA. 45 
 
 pies still, and threatened, if they drank a drop, to abandon them, 
 — a dire threat, which made my pirates shudder. 
 
 Still, it was an adventure after all ; and they were getting 
 nearer to Boston every minute. 
 
 But, at the next station, the doom of my buccaneers seemed 
 sealed. A gentleman and a lady, evidently husband and wife, 
 middle-aged and well to do, entered the car, and seated them- 
 selves right behind me, right over one of my stowaways. They 
 brought plenty of traps and wraps with them, some of which 
 they disposed of in the rack above them, the balance of which 
 they laid upon the seat directly behind them, which was then 
 unoccupied. Then they threw themselves back upon their 
 seat with the air of people who had come to stay, — or rather, 
 under the circumstances, to go, — and to go all the way to 
 Boston probably. Two of them, and one of them a man. 
 There was no sort of help for my pirates now. 
 
 And, to cap the climax, in a little while a new batch of pas- 
 sengers came in : and, the seat behind being in demand, the 
 middle-aged gentleman, who had put some of his things on it, 
 now began to remove them, with the idea of putting them 
 under his own seat ; but one of my pirates was under the seat 
 at that identical moment : and, as I knew enough about natural 
 philosophy to know that two things cannot occupy the same 
 place at the same time, I made up my mind that " the game 
 was up." 
 
 Then, in my desperation, an idea seized me, — an idea that 
 was really bold and clever, if I say it myself. I resolved to 
 grasp the situation, and turn it to my own purposes, to aid fate 
 in bringing about a denoument, but to change the dSnoument 
 into such a one as I wanted. I resolved to confess all in ad- 
 vance, — the confession couldn't be more than a minute "in 
 advance " of discovery anyway now, — and to throw myself, 
 that is to say, my fugitives, upon the mercy of the gentleman 
 
46 FICTION MINGLED WITH FACT, 
 
 and his wife, — perhaps the other passengers in the car, but the 
 middle-aged gentleman and his wife particularly. 
 
 These two looked like kind-hearted people : the lady, espe- 
 cially, had gentle eyes. I felt sure, with a boy's instinct, that 
 I could appeal to her sympathy ; but the same instinct told me 
 that there would be little if any sympathy in their orthodox 
 and well-regulated souls for two scamps, like my two juvenile 
 pirates, running away from home, to make real fools and would- 
 be rogues of themselves in a strange city. No : I would have 
 to mingle a considerable amount of fiction with the facts of my 
 confession. I saw that at once, and I had my story ready. 
 
 " Please, ma'am," I said, turning round to the middle-aged 
 lady, — who was receiving some of their traps from her hus- 
 band's hand, preparatory to arranging them under the seat, — 
 and touching her with my hand on her arm. 
 
 The lady turned to me, and said kindly, " Well, please what, 
 my little boy ? " 
 
 "Her voice was soft and low." Shakspeare says, that "is 
 an excellent thing in woman;" and it confirmed the impres- 
 sion of her gentle eyes. I took courage, and said, "Please, 
 ma'am, don't put your things under there," pointing under the 
 seat. 
 
 The lady was evidently surprised, and no wonder, at my 
 request, as was her husband. " What's that you say, my boy?" 
 asked the latter ; and his voice was cheery and kindly, though 
 manly. He had only spoken six words to me in his life ; and 
 yet my boy's heart warmed towards him, as a good, fatherly 
 sort of a man, — the kind of man boys like. 
 
 I repeated my request, and accompanied it by its explana- 
 tion, which was the simple truth. "Please, ma'am," I said, 
 "don't put your things down there; because there is a boy 
 down there already." 
 
 The worthy couple gave a start. " A boy ! " ejaculated the 
 
"'Please, ma'am,' I said, 'don't put your things down there; because 
 
 there's a boy down there already ' " [p. -ki]. 
 
A STORY. 47 
 
 gentleman. " A little boy under my seat all this time ! " said 
 the lady. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," I continued ; " and there is another little boy 
 right under my seat, right in front of your feet." 
 
 " Two boys : this is wonderful ! " said the gentleman. But 
 the lady with the gentle eyes and the soft, low voice only said, 
 "Poor little fellows!" 
 
 Naturally, the lady and gentleman were going to step out of 
 their seats, and to stoop down under them, to look at the two 
 boys ; but I begged them not to do so, as their doing so would, 
 of course, attract general attention among the other passengers. 
 
 So far no one had observed this little scene. The words 
 spoken, both on my side and on theirs, had been uttered in a 
 low tone. And the lady and gentleman at once, at my request, 
 refrained from yielding to their natural impulse of looking for 
 the stowaways, and bringing them out, but instead looked to 
 me, as if demanding from me a full explanation of the strange 
 episode. 
 
 I gave them an explanation, — and such an explanation ! It 
 did credit to my inventive powers. I made up, on the spot, 
 at a minute's notice, a story " out of whole cloth," which was 
 just the kind of story to enlist my hearers' sympathies. 
 
 According to my account, the two stowaways, instead of 
 being bloody-minded pirates, were the gentlest and the best of 
 juvenile creations, and, instead of having fathers and mothers 
 from whom they had run away, had been left orphans at an 
 early age, and had been consigned to perfect brutes of an uncle 
 and aunt, who treated them cruelly, beating them, and refusing 
 them to be allowed the privileges of schooling, keeping them 
 even from attending Sunday school, — an institution to which, 
 according to my version, my bold Boston buccaneers had ever 
 been devotedly attached. 
 
 This account completely won over the lady. The idea of 
 
48 "HE DIDN'T REALLY SEE WHY.' 1 
 
 two good boys running away from their relatives because they 
 were not allowed to go to Sunday school was decidedly origi- 
 nal, and from its very novelty was entitled to favor. And by 
 judiciously describing the imaginary uncle of these two lamb- 
 like little brothers as just the very opposite of the middle-aged 
 gentleman himself, and inferring flatteringly though delicately 
 in my narrative that I fully recognized the difference between 
 the two men, I won over the middle-aged gentleman as well 
 as his wife. 
 
 Had they only guessed that their supposed innocent, lamb- 
 like, Sunday-school-loving fugitives carried about with them at 
 that precise moment whiskey-flasks, cards, and tobacco, and 
 were going to Boston with an eye to burglary — Ah! it is well 
 that we do not all of us always know every thing. 
 
 By my highly imaginative narrative I completely enlisted 
 the sympathies of my two hearers, and impressed them warmly 
 in favor of the stowaways. They would at once have changed 
 their seat, so as to give the " dear, good little boys " more room ; 
 but I represented to them, that, by so doing, they would increase 
 the difficulties and risks of the fugitives, as the seat could not 
 be retained, and might at any moment be occupied by new, and 
 possibly unfriendly, parties, — parties to whom I would have 
 to retell my yarn, and who possibly might not believe it. 
 
 The lady also at first proposed to get the boys out, and to 
 pay their fare for them in the regular way; that is, to have 
 her husband do so. But the middle-aged gentleman did not see 
 it in this light. Men seldom do " see " the paying money out 
 for other men's boys as forcibly and as favorably as their wives, 
 sisters, daughters, or sweethearts see it. No : the middle-aged 
 gentleman didn't really see why he and his wife should inter- 
 fere at all. He wished the boys well ; he certainly would not 
 betray them to the conductor; he would do all he could to 
 shield them from observation and detection ; but, as for paying 
 
THE "BOLD, BAD BOY" AND "SUNDAY SCHOOL." 49 
 
 their passage, that was another matter. All that he could be 
 induced to promise, was to give the good little boys a little 
 money when they parted at the end of the trip, and to " make 
 it all right with the conductor " if that official pounced on the 
 fugitives before they reached Boston. 
 
 But he did not pounce upon them. Thanks to the consider- 
 ate care of the lady with the gentle eyes, who never left her 
 seat all the trip through, though she sat very uncomfortably, 
 trying to make as much room as possible for the stowaways ; 
 and thanks to the interest taken in the fugitives by the middle- 
 aged gentleman, who got the good little boys some refreshments 
 at one of the way-stations, and contrived to feed them on 
 apples and sandwiches surreptitiously, — the disguised pirates 
 and bogus buccaneers managed to reach the Boston depot, 
 almost bent double with being cramped, and worn out with 
 being jolted, but safe and sound. 
 
 Reaching the depot, the kind-hearted lady and gentleman 
 lingered in their car for some time, so as to give the stowa- 
 ways a chance to creep out from their concealment unobserved. 
 The lady, of course, was curious to see the " good little boys," 
 and took an especial fancy to the younger one, who was decid- 
 edly the worst boy of the two. She said a few kind words to 
 him, and asked him a few questions. During this talk I stood 
 by very nervous ; for I was afraid that something my young 
 rascal might say might betray him, and show up the falsity of 
 my story. 
 
 I was specially afraid lest the lady should ask my juvenile 
 pirate any question about the Sunday school, which I had made 
 him love so dearly. Now, if there was any one place which 
 this particular " bold, bad boy " hated worse than he did 
 another, it was a Sunday school ; and his amount of religious 
 knowledge may be inferred from the fact that I once had over- 
 heard him telling another boy how u some traitor called Judas 
 
50 TEE PIRATES REACH BOSTON. 
 
 Scareit had gone back on another person called Abraham, and 
 sold him to a leader, called Julius Caesar, for thirty dollars." 
 This being so, you can readily imagine how I dreaded any 
 " catechizing " now. But, luckily, time was pressing ; and so, 
 having kissed the two monsters of youthful depravity, whom 
 she took to be such dear, good little boys, the lady with the 
 gentle eyes departed with her husband, who, ere his departure, 
 gave us three boys each fifty cents apiece, — a gift which, I am 
 ashamed to say, we valued more than the kiss or the kind 
 words. 
 
 The first thing my two pirates did on reaching Boston and 
 freedom was to swear, — swear like troopers. The next thing 
 they did was to drink — drink like fishes — from their pocket- 
 pistols ; then they took a " chaw of tobaccy " apiece ; and then 
 we all three stalked into the nearest eating-house, and ate the 
 greater part of our fifty cents up, like famished wolves. 
 
 I began to be myself infected by the spirit of " adventure : " 
 and I would willingly have lingered longer with my incipient 
 cut-throats, though we did not have seventy cents among us; 
 but I expected a party from the " House of the Angel Guard- 
 ian " to meet me at the depot, and , came across him as I left 
 the eating-house with my companions. I was forthwith taken 
 in charge of; and bidding my prospective ruffians, ex-charges, 
 and former companions, " good-by," never saw them again, and 
 commenced a new phase of my checkered life at the " House 
 of the Angel Guardian." 
 
 I have been minute in the detail of my boy-life, and in the 
 statement of my juvenile adventures hitherto, for two reasons : 
 First, the boy is the beginning of the man ; and, to understand 
 and appreciate the man, you must first " get at " the boy. If 
 my readers are to be, as I trust they will be, interested in the 
 man Thomas N. Doutney, they must first be introduced to, 
 and become well acquainted with, the lad Tom Doutney. 
 
DEMORALIZING JUVENILE LITERATURE. 51 
 
 Second, I have been led to be minute in my details of boy- 
 life because I find that these details have previously been too 
 much neglected by previous writers. Thus, while there have 
 been any number of books devoted to the evils of intemperance, 
 in scarcely any of these books is reference made to the forming 
 of intemperate habits in early boyhood ; and yet in a large per- 
 centage of cases, as in mine, the men became drunkards when 
 they were boys. 
 
 As has been already shown, I became a drunkard when 
 " only a boy." I formed the bad habits, which cursed me as a 
 man, when " only a boy." For good or for evil I cannot too 
 strongly insist upon the truth of the saying I have already 
 quoted, " The boy is the father of the man." 
 
 And this applies, not only to intemperance, but other evils, — 
 to the love of sensational and demoralizing literature, for 
 example. The instances of my two bold Boston buccaneers 
 are cases in point. True, these two young rascals were dis- 
 covered by the Boston police before they had opportunity to 
 commit any overt breach of the peace, or break the laws of 
 the land and the Ten Commandments, and were sent back to 
 their homes. But the poison of " dime novel " -ism had done its 
 work : and to-day both of those boys are social outlaws, — pro- 
 fessional criminals ; and their cases are but two out of two 
 thousand. 
 
 While on this point, — the pernicious effect of sensational 
 literature on the young. — I would call attention to the sub- 
 joined article on this subject, published in the bright and newsy 
 "New-York Morning Journal" of Feb. 9, 1883: — 
 
52 MISSING CHILDREN. 
 
 MISSING CHILDREN. 
 
 THE PERNICIOUS EFFECT OF SENSATIONAL, FICTION UPON SCHOLARS. — 
 INSTANCES OF SEVERAL SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCES OF CHILDREN FROM 
 MOTIVES OF EXCITEMENT. — OFFICIAL INTERVIEWS UPON THE SUBJECT. 
 
 The epidemic of sudden disappearances developed early last fall, 
 and at first confined to bank-cashiers and municipal defaulters, has 
 now broken out among children. Scarcely a week passes but that 
 some distracted parent reports her petted, golden-haired child to be 
 missing. In some cases the little one remains away days, — nay, 
 even weeks ; in others the absence is merely transient, lasting not 
 longer than a few hours. 
 
 "With the object of tracing this peculiar phase of New- York life, 
 a " Morning- Journal " reporter has investigated a number of cases 
 of missing children. 
 
 On Thursday last Dr. A. Kettembeil, residing at One Hundred 
 and Sixty-first Street, reported at half -past seven o'clock at the 
 Thirty-third Precinct Station, that his little daughter Mary, aged 
 eleven years, was missing. The child was supposed to have been 
 accompanied by a schoolfellow of the same age, Maggie O'Rourke 
 by name. 
 
 Maggie is the daughter of Mr. O'Rourke, employed at Ebling's 
 brewery. Both children had attended the school of the Catholic 
 institution on One Hundred and Sixty-third Street, and had been to 
 school that day. 
 
 DR. KETTEMBEIL INTERVIEWED. 
 
 Yesterday a " Journal " reporter called upon the doctor, and learned 
 that the missing ones had been found. He said, " She, in company 
 with Maggie O'Rourke, who has run away from home half a dozen 
 times, had walked from the schoolhouse to a friend's house on 
 Seventy-first Street. The only motive I can find out from question- 
 ing her was the wish to have a good time. She is usually an obedient 
 little girl, and I have no doubt was persuaded by her companion.' ' 
 
JUVENILE VAGRANTS. 53 
 
 " Have you any theory for these disappearances, doctor? " 
 
 "No, beyond a desire for change. She had visited my friend 
 
 before, who naturally supposed we knew where the child was." 
 The O'Rourke family, upon being questioned, were very reticent, 
 
 and declined to have any thing to say, beyond the fact that the girl 
 
 had been found. 
 
 a police-sergeant's experience. 
 
 Acting-sergeant Dennerlain, upon being asked whether the absences 
 of children were frequent, replied, "Yes: we are continually asked 
 by frightened parents to discover their lost children ; but, as a rule, 
 they do not stay away longer than a few hours at a time. We 
 recently had a case of two boys disappearing for three weeks. 
 They were thirteen and fifteen years of age respectively. They had 
 saved up their pocket-money, and wanted to * see life ' as described 
 in the dime-novel order of literature. Two dollars, I think, comprised 
 their stock of money ; and finally they were discovered by the police 
 in Jersey City. 
 
 "Another case within my recollection was that of a young girl of 
 seventeen, who staid away three days, and has ever since refused to 
 give an account of where she had been, beyond saying that ' she had 
 been staying with some friends. ' Her parents are most respectable 
 people, and that is why I would not care to mention their names." 
 
 OTHER INSTANCES. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon, laundress, 1011 Third Avenue, has also experienced 
 repeated anxiety from the same cause. In this instance a bright boy, 
 fourteen years of age, has frequently disappeared from home, through 
 the fascinating experiences of pernicious literature. A few days 
 after Christmas, in company with a companion named Morgan, they 
 started for the Far West, upon a capital of a dollar and forty- five 
 cents. As soon as the novelty of adventure began to pall upon 
 their youthful minds, the twain were arrested in Newark for vagrancy, 
 and sent home. 
 
 John Spielenhoffer, baker, of East Eighty-second Street, has the 
 
54 DEFECTIVE HOME-TRAINING. 
 
 misfortune to be the parent of three children, two girls and a boy, 
 whose ages vary from twelve to fifteen, and who seem to have a 
 chronic disposition for running away. The father is a widower, and 
 consequently often away from home. The children, it seems, have 
 formed a gang of amateur "bandits," whose sanguinary raids are 
 frequently prolonged for twenty-four hours at a time, causing endless 
 anxiety and consternation to their relatives. 
 
 DETECTIVE PINKERTON'S OPINIONS. 
 
 Mr. Robert Pinkerton, in discussing the subject of missing chil- 
 dren with the writer, said, " We used to have frequent inquiries of 
 this kind, but latterly we have had no cases of the nature you refer 
 to. I have no doubt that the cause is mainly due to the craze for 
 excitement produced by morbid tales of adventure. No, I do not 
 think there is any deliberately immoral object in view, nor do I 
 believe that professional abductors of children ply their trade very 
 successfully in this city. Usually the cause will be found to be 
 purely local, due in most instances to defective home-training, and 
 being allowed to run the streets." 
 
 MR. JULIUS BUNNER SPEAKS. 
 
 This gentleman is a member of the board of education. His 
 district comprises Wards Nos. One to Eight (excepting No. Seven). 
 " I think the teachers in our city schools throw as great a safeguard 
 over their pupils as it is possible for them to do. From my own obser- 
 vation I can safely say, that I have found the schools during hours to 
 be securely locked, and no children are allowed to leave during those 
 hours. I have also frequently seen policemen stationed outside when 
 the hours of study expire. 
 
 "My own opinion is, that disappearances are largely owing to 
 pernicious literature, for the perusal of which parents are as much 
 to blame as children. I really think that the subject should receive 
 the attention of our legislature." 
 
A WOMAN'S PROTEST. 55 
 
 A protest against " sensational literature " for the young — 
 a protest far stronger than any of the points stated in the arti- 
 cle just quoted — has recently appeared, under the signature 
 of a woman, — Mrs. Louis T. Lull. 
 
 Mrs. Lull was the wife of a man who had attained considera- 
 ble eminence as a member of the detective police in the West. 
 He was quick, keen, honest, determined, brave ; and, in the dis- 
 charge of his duties, he attempted the arrest of the notorious 
 outlaws, the James brothers, who had made the South-West 
 the scene of their robberies and murders. 
 
 In this attempt, for which he deserved honorable recognition, 
 he received wounds which proved to be ultimately fatal. He 
 died, therefore, literally in the path of duty, and had a claim 
 upon the respect and sympathy of the community. But, instead 
 of receiving his poor meed of praise, the dying detective was 
 held up to popular " scorn " in " popular literature." 
 
 Stories and plays were written about the bandits, in which 
 they were the heroes and the detectives were the fools, the 
 clowns, as it were, the materials to furnish the laughter, by 
 being constantly held up to ridicule as the dupes or victims of 
 the outlaws. The robbers and the murderers were depicted as 
 gallant, brave, aspiring men, to be imitated ; while the honest, 
 energetic upholders of law and order, the officers of justice, 
 were held up to execration or contempt, men to be hated in 
 real life, and despised in print, or on the stage. 
 
 Burning with a sense of this outrage, — a sense all the 
 warmer because her own husband was one of the examples of 
 this outrage, — Mrs. Lull wrote from her o'er-fraught heart, with 
 all the eloquence of righteous wrath, a letter to "The New- 
 York Herald," which I here reprint, as a masterpiece of its kind, 
 as a bitter protest against the sensational juvenile literature of 
 the day, — not of a past day, bear in mind, but of the present 
 day, 1883. 
 
56 BORDER-RUFFIAN DRAMAS. 
 
 True, the letter alludes chiefly to "sensation dramas" for 
 boys and for young men ; but its words are equally applicable 
 to sensation stories and " dime novels " generally. 
 
 And in the particular instance to which the lady particularly 
 alludes, — the career of Jesse James, — this has been the theme 
 of many " books " as well as " dramas : " and " book " and 
 " drama " alike make the outlaw, the ruffian, the murderer, 
 their hero ; while they have only scorn and laughter for the 
 faithful officers of the law, who risked their lives — and lost 
 them — in their line of duty. 
 
 I here quote, verbatim et literatim, the letter in " The New- 
 York Herald" of Feb. 10, 1883, to which allusion has been 
 made : — 
 
 BORDER RUFFIAN DRAMAS. 
 
 THE WIDOW OF A MURDERED OFFICER ASKS WHO WAS THE HERO, THE 
 OUTLAW OR THE DETECTIVE ?— DEBASING PLAYS. 
 
 New York, Feb. 9, 1883. 
 To the Editor of the " Herald." 
 
 Most people will recall the particulars of the Gadshill robbery, and 
 the crimes which preceded and followed its ending in the tragic events 
 which finally destroyed that murderous band of outlaws of which the 
 James brothers and the Younger brothers were the chief miscreants. 
 They will recall the fact, that these desperadoes, armed to the teeth, 
 and prepared alike for plunder or for human butchery, became a 
 terror to peaceable and orderly people living in considerable sections 
 of two great States, and how they committed crime after crime, and 
 broke the laws of God and man, until every honest hand was against 
 them, and the outcry was loud and deep that such brutality should not 
 go unpunished. They will remember how at last the bravest and 
 best officers of the detective force of the country — incorruptible 
 men, with brain and nerve and energy — were chosen to face these 
 banded outcasts, and bring them to justice. And they will remember 
 how these officers grappled with the practised ruffians, and at last 
 fought them down, though succeeding in their object only after giv- 
 
A "REAL HERO." 57 
 
 ing their blood, and too often their lives, to aid in holding up the 
 hands of justice. But perhaps the people of your city were not 
 prepared to find that the cruel, boastful, blood-stained bandits of yes- 
 terday have become the godlike heroes of to-day ; that these men, 
 whose heart-sickening crimes brought death and destruction to happy 
 homes, are now represented upon the dramatic stage as brandishing 
 their weapons, making famous rides, and again committing their 
 infamous crimes to loud applause. But so it is ; and the young men 
 and women who are now witnessing and approving, in the name of 
 romance, of these dark and cruel deeds of blood, are planting seed 
 which will, sooner or later, ripen into bitter fruit. These are fearful 
 heroes whom they worship. 
 
 And what of the real heroes? What of the men who sacrificed 
 their lives for duty's sake? Bandied about the stage, cast into con- 
 tempt, caused to be foolishly deceived, handcuffed by the " bandit 
 kings," and laughed at by the people in whose name and for whose 
 cause they died. 
 
 I have not witnessed the horrible play that thus disgraces your 
 stage. But the flaming posters which I fain would not see, but 
 which confront me at every step, tell only too well of the awful 
 crimes which your people encourage nightly ; and from one and 
 another I learn, though I would gladly close my ears to all of it, 
 about the memory of brave men outraged, and their deeds despised. 
 I hear of James's famous ride from Kansas City, and see upon the 
 walls the pictures of " the detectives' ride to death," — a death made 
 to appear senseless and ignominious. 
 
 Let me tell the true story of a single one of these detectives' rides 
 to death, that those who cheer tales of crime at the theatres may 
 have a glimpse of the other side of the picture. The story is simple. 
 In 1874 Capt. Louis J. Lull, late of the Chicago police force, was 
 employed by Allen Pinkerton to take charge of the little band of 
 brave men who were to bring these ruffians to account. It was after 
 the Gadshill robbery ; and Capt. Lull, an Eastern man, honest of 
 purpose, of high character and indomitable courage, rode out upon 
 a pre-arranged route of search, having St. Clair County, Mo., as 
 
58 CAPT. LULL AND JIM YOUNGER. 
 
 its objective point. One of bis associates, Mr. W. J. Whicher, 
 took a road leading to tbe borders of Clay County ; and tbey were to 
 act in unison. Capt. Lull was accompanied by Mr. Wright and by 
 Sheriff Daniels of St. Clair County. The party rode into the 
 Monogaw woods, near Roscoe, Mo., and were there suddenly sur- 
 prised by the Younger brothers, who were also mounted, and who 
 instantly covered the party with their rifles. The terrible battle com- 
 menced at once. The Youngers called upon the detectives to give 
 up their weapons. They had been surprised : the chances were all 
 against them, and they dropped the navy revolvers which were in 
 their belts. After they had done so, John Younger fired, and shot 
 Daniels dead. Wright spurred up his horse, and fled. Capt. Lull 
 was then alone with these outlaws. He had surrendered ; yet he 
 was fired upon, and his bridle-arm was shattered before he could 
 strike a blow. He succeeded, however, in extricating a small Smith 
 & Wesson revolver from an inside pocket, — he had dropped his navy 
 revolver in response to the call to surrender, — and he shot and killed 
 John Younger. Then commenced a desperate encounter between 
 Capt. Lull and Jim Younger. Riding furiously side by side, they 
 shot at each other again and again. But Capt. Lull's horse was 
 high-spirited and restless, and disarranged his rider's aim. Capt. 
 Lull fell, — fell, shot three times by a murderous hand after he had 
 surrendered. Capt. Lull was my husband. 
 
 Is it surprising that I grow restless at the sight of these flaming 
 posters, which show James, the hero villain, in his glorious ride from 
 Kansas City, while they represent with contemptuous pity the detec- 
 tives' ride to death ? Is it not, indeed, an outrage, not only on myself, 
 but upon every good person in your city, that these walls should be 
 placarded with such pictures, and the stage given over to teachings 
 which make crime godlike and heroism infamous ? 
 
 My husband lingered in agony at Roscoe. He sent for me. Two 
 days before I heard from him, I read in a newspaper, while on a 
 sick-bed in Chicago, of the death of Mr. Whicher, who, after leav- 
 ing his valuables in the hands of the sheriff of Clay County, went 
 to the house of Mrs. Samuels, mother of the James brothers, where 
 
"Riding furiously side by side, they shot at each other again and again 
 [p. 58]. 
 
HOW A GOOD MAN DIED. 59 
 
 he was the same night captured, strapped to the back of a horse, and 
 taken to an adjoining county, where he was murdered in cold blood. 
 He, too, has met a fate hardly worse than the unsanctified horror of 
 his death in being impersonated and held up nightly upon the stage 
 as a dishonored man ; though he died in the path of duty. 
 
 I hastened to Capt. Lull, hardly knowing what to believe of his 
 fate ; for Pinkerton's agency in Chicago had received contradictory 
 reports of the tragedy in the Monogaw woods. As I passed the 
 office of Adams' Express Company under the Planters' House in St. 
 Louis, I saw a sight which made my heart sick within me. It was 
 a long, plain deal box, directed to Pinkerton's agency at Chicago. 
 I passed some dreadful moments in the street before I dared ask 
 what the contents were of this rough coffin. It contained the remains 
 of Mr. Whicher. My own hero was perhaps yet alive. With un- 
 speakable dread I hurried forward to my husband. I was in time. 
 I was with him when his great heart broke. I saw the true picture 
 of the appalling tragedy of the Monogaw woods, and now I call upon 
 every mother and sister in the land to frown upon the horrible repre- 
 sentation placed upon the stage before their sons and their brothers. 
 
 MRS. LOUIS J. LULL. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MY COLLEGIATE CAREER. — DOES A " COLLEGE EDUCATION" EDUCATE?— 
 A LADY GRADUATE. — A TYPICAL IRISHMAN. — A QUESTION OF ICE-CREAM 
 AND INFLUENCE. — THE HASH-HATER, AND WHY HE HATED IT. 
 
 My life at the " House of the Angel Guardian " was com- 
 paratively uneventful. I was strictly guarded from temptation, 
 and therefore have nothing special to record concerning this 
 period of my life. After all, looking back upon our lives, do 
 not most of us find, that what at the time seemed the " dull- 
 est " periods of our careers, were generally the best, the safest, 
 the soundest, the most sensible ? 
 
 From the " House of the Angel Guardian," I was sent, by 
 my father (after a little experience in " business-life," to which 
 I shall refer more at length in the next chapter), to "Holy 
 Cross College " at Worcester, Mass. 
 
 Of course, my dear father thought that he was doing the 
 very best thing he could possibly do for me in thus affording 
 me an opportunity for a collegiate education ; but experience 
 and observation have combined to convince me, that the advan- 
 tages of a so-called " college education " are in this country 
 vastly overrated, not because education in itself is not a most 
 blessed thing, — next to morality, religion, and health, the great- 
 est of all blessings, — but because the species of education 
 taught at the majority of colleges and collegiate schools is of 
 no practical value in the great battle of life. 
 
 Education for the mind is fully as valuable and essential as 
 clothing to the body ; but the education should be adapted to 
 
TRUE AND FALSE EDUCATION. 61 
 
 the nature and probable needs of the scholar, just as clothing 
 should be adapted to the climate under which the wearer lives. 
 
 How absurd it would be to present the child about to depart 
 for India, say, with thick flannels, and a tremendously heavy 
 ulster overcoat ! Yet it would be really not one whit more 
 ridiculous than to take a child whose parents are poor or hard- 
 working people, dependent upon their daily labor for their daily 
 bread* — the child who must soon be himself thrust upon the 
 world, to battle with it as best he may, — and teach this child 
 chiefly the "higher mathematics," as some colleges make a 
 specialty of doing, or the " dead " or " classic " languages, as 
 other colleges make a feature of. 
 
 Can an average boy, even if he can master "the higher 
 mathematics," make a living by or on them? No. Not in one 
 case in ten thousand can a young man, even if he can translate 
 and scan the Latin and Greek classics, secure an independence 
 by them. No : not in one case in ten thousand. 
 
 In the vast majority of instances, not only is the course of 
 study, the curriculum, of our collegiate institutions, of such a 
 character that the great majority of its scholars can never 
 hope to do it justice, but to even the exceptional few who can 
 and do, by patient study and with infinite difficulty, master it, 
 it proves of no practical avail. It amounts to but a realiza- 
 tion of the old, old story of the unfortunates who were doomed 
 to pour water forever into buckets that had no bottom, or 
 of those wretches who were forced by fate to roll up stones, 
 only to see the stones roll down again. 
 
 Ninety per cent of the men who succeed in life have never 
 received " a college education." They have known " little 
 Latin and less Greek," and nothing whatever, probably, of 
 "the higher mathematics." But they have known how to 
 work, day and night ; how to make money, and how — a still 
 harder task — to save it ; how to labor, " in season and out of 
 
62 THE FEMALE "GRADUATE." 
 
 season ; " how to think and act for themselves ; and this sort 
 of knowledge is not taught at college. 
 
 Of course, collegiate learning is a good thing — a very good 
 thing — in combination with the truly "higher education," which 
 teaches a young man what he is fit for in this world, and fits 
 him for it. With this it is truly admirable and desirable ; but 
 without this, or in the place of this, it is worthless, — worse 
 than worthless even, — positively and personally injurious. 
 The same remarks apply, in a modified degree, to fashionable 
 feminine schools and education. 
 
 A smattering of French, — and, generally, such a smattering 
 as makes a Frenchman smile when he is too polite to laugh 
 outright or sneer. A superficial knowledge of science, — so 
 superficial that a real scientist would be unable to detect it 
 at all, save as one sees animalculse in a drop of water through 
 a microscope. A knowledge of history, — so vague and uncer- 
 tain as to confound the Massacre of St. Bartholomew with the 
 Guy Fawkes Plot, as a lady "graduate" did recently; and to 
 locate the English Reformation, with Cranmer and Ridley, in 
 Germany, under Charles IX. of France, an historical feat 
 recently achieved by a young girl whose "diploma" at that 
 moment was suspended in a conspicuous place in her mother's 
 parlor. An acquaintance with belles-lettres, — so slight as to 
 attribute the authorship of "Tristram Shandy" to Disraeli, 
 and to credit Shakspeare with the comedy of " Money," — as 
 was done in the writer's hearing lately by a young woman 
 whose education was regarded as " finished." All this knowl- 
 edge (?), which would be worth but little in itself if full and 
 accurate, combined with utter and confessed ignorance about 
 housekeeping matters and cookery, — two matters of the very 
 utmost practical importance, — such is the intellectual "tout 
 ensemble" of the average female graduate of the period, — a 
 creature who is indeed "fearfully and wonderfully made" up, 
 
f r JgJP 
 
 " He put the lads who annoyed her to flight, and kept guard around her 
 stall" [p. 63]. 
 
THE OLD WOMAN AND YOUNG IRISHMAN. 63 
 
 without the slightest regard to common wear and tear, or com- 
 mon sense. 
 
 No wonder, in such a condition of things, that the French 
 savant who visited the United States recently, summed up his 
 observations in the now famous sentence : " Mon Dieu ! what a 
 people ! one hundred religions, and only one gravy ! " 
 
 Still, I learned something — and something even useful — at 
 the College of the Holy Cross. At any rate, I formed habits of 
 application, and systematic employment of time, which kept 
 me out of mischief. 
 
 I also formed some friendships which have been of some 
 practical advantage to me since. Among my classmates was 
 a young Irish gentleman named Martin, of the best blood 
 of Dublin. This Martin was a character who would have 
 delighted the soul of Charles Lever. He was the very incar- 
 nation of the typical Irishman, — brave, reckless yet shrewd, 
 careless, generous, hot-tempered, extravagant, the very soul of 
 gallantry and joviality. 
 
 I remember his once taking the part of an old apple-woman 
 who had been played tricks on by some of the college-boys. 
 The woman was a grandmother, ugly as " Meg Merrilies," 
 toothless, almost palsied. Her voice was cracked with age. 
 She was surly, — most decidedly unpleasant. All that could be 
 said of her by her best friend, if she had any, — which she 
 didn't, — would have been that she was old, respectable, and a 
 woman. But these three points, especially the last, sufficed for 
 the young Irishman. 
 
 He espoused the old woman's quarrel with all the ardor of 
 his nature. Had he been her son, he could not have defended 
 her more earnestly : had he been her lover, he could not have 
 been more tender and gentle with her. He put the lads who 
 annoyed her to flight : he kept guard around her stall. Nay, 
 he did what was far more difficult than either : he absolutely 
 
64 THE IRISHMAN AND ICE-CREAM. 
 
 coaxed, persuaded, and bullied the boys who owed her money 
 to pay their debts. This may stagger some ; for I know it is 
 rather a novel situation in which to place an Irishman, this 
 making him make other people pay their debts. But I am not 
 writing a romance, but telling the truth. 
 
 It really was an unselfish act in this Martin, — particularly 
 so, for the unpleasant old woman for whom he battled was as 
 deficient in the grace of gratitude as she was in the graces of 
 person. She did not even thank her champion, — even so much 
 as by a blessing or an apple. In fact, if I remember rightly, 
 she tried to get ahead, in a little pecuniary transaction after- 
 wards, of her gallant Irishman, and, I presume, probably suc- 
 ceeded — as she was a Yankee. 
 
 Martin, in addition to his general characteristics as an Irish- 
 man, had two special personal peculiarities as an individual. 
 One of these was a decidedly unconquerable aversion to ice- 
 cream. 
 
 This for an Irishman, — a young Irishman, — and a rather 
 good-looking young Irishman, — was a very inconvenient aver- 
 sion, — not so much in itself as in its consequences: for, as 
 is well known, all Irishmen are fond of the ladies ; and, as 
 is equally well known, all ladies are fond of ice-cream. Now, 
 to love the sex, and yet to hate what the sex loves, is a rather 
 contradictory state of affairs ; and it perplexed even the Irish- 
 man. 
 
 First, it led him to avoid the ice-cream saloon altogether, 
 even when with the girls (the pupils of the college were allowed 
 once a week to receive or visit friends, and they generally con- 
 trived to have one or more friends of the opposite sex). But 
 this naturally led to the girls considering him "economical" 
 or "mean ; " and an "economical " or "mean " Irishman is an 
 impossible absurdity. As for Martin, he was rendered almost 
 " wild " at the bare idea of being thought " stingy," and so 
 
ICE-CREAM AND INFLUENCE. 65 
 
 rushed to the other extreme, of asking every girl he knew to 
 take ice-cream. 
 
 But then, as he did not take any cream for himself, he would 
 be compelled to explain to each of his fair companions why he 
 did not. And then, woman-like, each of his fair companions 
 would either laugh at him, or try to talk him out of his notion, 
 and into ice-cream. Now, no Irishman can bear to be laughed 
 at. You may laugh with him all you like ; and, the more you 
 laugh, the better for both : but you must not ridicule his Irish 
 gentlemanship. And no woman who ever lived can endure the 
 idea of a man resisting her talk. When a woman " talks at " 
 a man, she expects him to surrender to her tongue, — else why 
 have a tongue at all ? And each one of his female companions 
 expected to coax and persuade her escort into doing what he 
 did not want to do ; i.e., partake of the ice-cream. Her amour 
 propre was involved in the talk. It became a question, not of 
 ice-cream, but of influence. Which of the young ladies of " the 
 students' quarter " should show her power over the Irishman 
 by influencing him to ice-cream ? This was the question ; and 
 it became a test-question among the female population of 
 Worcester, — at least among that lovely (though limited) por- 
 tion of it which came within the sphere of the student's 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Various were the blandishments, various were the stratagems, 
 resorted to, — smiles and persuasion were mingled, — by the 
 fair in this their extraordinary " siege of Martin," as it may be 
 called. But for the first time, probably, in the history of the 
 world, an Irishman resisted the ladies, — was obdurate and 
 obstinate, and refused ice-cream. 
 
 Another peculiarity of our young Irishman was his hatred of 
 frogs. This aversion to frogs was even greater than his antipa- 
 thy to ice-cream. It was such an instinctive aversion as I have 
 known the most accomplished and intelligent women to enter- 
 
66 THE INVOLUNTARY FROG-EATER. 
 
 tain towards a mouse, — a harmless, and certainly not unhand- 
 some, mouse. He regarded the frog as a species of snake, 
 and he hated a snake with all the ardor of a descendant of 
 St. Patrick. The idea of tasting a frog to him would have 
 been an impious sacrilege as well as a physical impossibility. 
 " This view of the frog-question " effectually prevented Martin 
 from joining in one of the students' favorite amusements ; i.e., 
 frog-catching. Ponds abounded in the vicinity of our college 
 building, and to those ponds it was a custom of the students 
 to proceed in what we called " frog-parties." Armed with 
 sticks and stones, we would skin the ponds of their frogs, and 
 skin the frogs afterwards, a la Frangaise. But Martin, though 
 a very social creature, would stay at the college on these 
 occasions, and amuse himself any way he could, solus. 
 
 One day at dinner I tried a little joke on Martin, which was 
 attended with a good deal more success than I myself antici- 
 pated, and was followed by an effect that I had not desired. 
 Martin was very fond of hash. In this point, I know, he differs 
 materially from the ordinary New-York boarder ; but then, our 
 hash very materially differed from the hash of the ordinary 
 New-York boarding-house. Ours was genuine hash. There 
 were no hairs in our hash, nor buttons, nor an olla podrida of 
 stale stuff. It was hash, — not refuse. It was really very 
 palatable, as well as nutritious ; and Martin liked it — 
 
 Till the day I played my joke on him. From that day he 
 tasted hash no more : he would as soon have eaten frog. In 
 fact, that was my little joke. I said to him, pointing to a dish 
 of hash he was devouring with relish, u Do you know what 
 that is?" — "Of course I do," replied Martin, with a look of 
 wonder at my question. " What is it ? " said I. " Why, 
 hash," said he. "But what is the hash made of?" said I. 
 " Of meat, to be sure," said he. " Not a bit of meat in that 
 hash," said I. " Then, what on earth is there in it ? " said he. 
 
HOLT-CROSS COLLEGE. 67 
 
 " Frogs' legs boiled down," said I. But not a word said he ; 
 but he left the table hurriedly, looking very " sea-sick, v — 
 and he never ate hash again. In vain I subsequently explained 
 to him that I had been joking, and begged his pardon for my 
 ill-timed jest. The kind-hearted fellow cordially forgave me, 
 and never harbored malice, — but never swallowed hash either. 
 From that hour on till probably his dying day, if poor Martin 
 is dead, or till he dies, he never has relished, and never can 
 enjoy, hash. The idea of the legs of frogs will always be asso- 
 ciated with the hash. It would be an awful thing for New- 
 York landladies if there were many Irishmen like Martin. 
 
 Well, I have not seen Martin for many a year, — probably 
 will never see him again in this world, — and all our merry set 
 of students are scattered ; and many of them are dead, doubt- 
 less : but I still love to recall the memory of the comparatively 
 happy, and certainly harmless, days and nights which I passed 
 in Holy-Cross College. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I COMMENCE MY MERCANTILE CAREER. — MODERN TRADE AS IT REALLY 
 IS. —ITS U SEAMY" AND ITS " STARRY " SIDES. — MODEL FIRMS AND 
 MILLIONNAIRES* — CENTENNIAL EXCURSIONS. — A NEW VIEW OF A. T. 
 STEWART. —JORDAN, MARSH, & CO. 
 
 It was not in the nature of things that I should remain long 
 at college. My father's pecuniary position was such that he 
 could not long afford to support me in idleness, — for compara- 
 tive idleness it was, — especially so far as contributing any thing 
 to my own expenses was concerned. I was not born, luckily 
 or unluckily, with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was not the 
 son of a rich man, and bread-and-butter necessities were with 
 me paramount. I therefore was compelled to abandon, at an 
 early period, school, for " real life," which is by far the best 
 school after all. As before remarked, I tried " business " a brief 
 period after leaving the " House of the Angel Guardian " and 
 before entering Holy-Cross College : and now, after a year at 
 college ; after a year of study, and some little success, I am glad 
 to say, as a student ; after passing creditably an examination, 
 and being awarded a silver medal as a college prize, the 
 medal being handed me by no less a personage than Gov. 
 Andrew himself, — John A. Andrew, one of the most illus- 
 trious governors of the illustrious State of Massachusetts ; 
 after bidding an affectionate good-by to my student compan- 
 ions, — I took a little vacation, and then left college-life forever, 
 and entered the world. In other phrase, I was placed in a store, 
 and commenced a mercantile career. 
 
BOYS AND BUSINESS. 69 
 
 This last phrase sums up the history of most boys in this 
 country. They are " placed in a store to commence a mercan- 
 tile career." Of course, there are a certain number of boys 
 who ultimately study for the " professions," and a smaller 
 number who either "do nothing at all," as it is called, i.e., 
 live upon their relatives' money, or do even worse, and go to 
 the bad outright. But these are the exceptions to the general 
 rule of a mercantile career. England has been styled " a nation 
 of shop-keepers," and " the United States " is the land of trade 
 and traders as well as of the trade-dollars. 
 
 How important it is, therefore, that, whenever possible, the 
 average American lad should be trained for the average Ameri- 
 can career. My first " place," as the saying goes, was with the 
 firm of G. VV. Warren & Co., now known all over the conti- 
 nent as Jordan, Marsh, & Co. In this place, I hope it is not 
 vain for me to state that I was frequently complimented by 
 William H. O'Brien, Esq, one of the firm (since deceased), 
 and by John J. Stevens, Esq., the superintendent of the estab- 
 lishment. 
 
 I was naturally quick at grasping the main points of any 
 subject presented to me ; and, now brought face to face with 
 trade, I appreciated at once the importance of two things, — 
 keeping my eyes open, and my legs and arms busy in the inter- 
 ests of my employers, which was my own interest. 
 
 I liked " business,'' too, what little I knew of it. It brought 
 me into constant contact with other boys and men. It gave 
 me a chance to read in the big book of humanity, which, in 
 the estimation of most boys, surpasses in interest any other big 
 book written. It was a " sociable " study, with living beings 
 for printed words. Most boys possess the "trading" spirit, 
 as witness their fondness for "swapping." Boys are often as 
 keen at bargains as men ; and I must confess that there was 
 something in the very air of " business " that seemed, as it were, 
 
70 MODERN TRADE. 
 
 " to agree with my constitution." I suppose, that having been 
 born in Canada, and Canada not lying far from New England, 
 may have had something to do with it. They do say that a 
 genuine Kanuck is not far behind, in cuteness, a genuine 
 Yankee. However this may be, I really liked business and its 
 ways, and was somewhat sorry when it was thought by my 
 father best to send me to school again, or rather, this time, 
 to college. 
 
 While I was at college my brothers remained in trade in the 
 employ of the firm of C. C. Holbrook & Co., No. 12 Summer 
 Street, Boston ; and, when I left college " for good," I likewise 
 obtained a place in this establishment. 
 
 My brothers and myself were fortunate in thus, at the very 
 outset of. our careers, obtaining positions, however humble, 
 in such well-known houses as Warren & Co. and Holbrook & 
 Co. These firms represented " business M at its best, not only 
 its enterprise, its shrewdness, its keenness of calculation, its 
 grasping ambition, its far-reaching desire for gain, — all of which 
 are very well, indispensable in their way, — but also in its 
 nobler and higher aspects, in its liberality, its large-heartedness, 
 its honesty, and conscientiousness. , Thank Heaven, there are 
 such things in modern trade ! 
 
 We hear and read a great deal, and sometimes a great 
 deal too much, about the petty dishonesties of trade and the 
 gigantic swindles of business. The papers are full of accounts 
 of wild speculations, debasing peculations, little, very little 
 and belittling dodges and tricks for gain, and brutal heart- 
 lessness. We read every day of frauds attempted, committed, 
 or detected. Every one is familiar with the wrongs inflicted 
 upon employees by soulless employers. The over-worked and 
 under-paid clerk or shop-girl is a common — far too common 
 — spectacle. 
 
 But we do not hear and do not read, as often as we 
 
JORDAN, MARSH, & CO. 71 
 
 should, of the honest and upright men who do business in our 
 midst. We are not made as familiar as we ought to be with 
 the history of firms which combine worldly shrewdness with 
 Christian principle, and the managers of which practise that 
 true godliness which, we are told, has the promise of this life, 
 and of the life that is to come. Yet there are hundreds, 
 thousands of such firms doing business, and doing it thor- 
 oughly, successfully, and satisfactorily, in all our large cities. 
 The two firms under which my earliest business life was passed 
 were cases in point. 
 
 Take Jordan, Marsh, & Co. (the firm into which G. W. 
 Warren & Co. was merged) for example : this firm transacts 
 an enormous business on the most intelligently liberal, as well 
 as economical, principles. Its operations and receipts are 
 simply enormous. It is shrewdness itself; yet it has a soul, a 
 system with a soul in it, — a system which, while it regards its 
 numerous employees as money-makers for its interests, also 
 regards them as human beings, with souls and bodies of their 
 own, which claim a certain share of consideration at its hands. 
 In pursuance of this soulful and therefore truly sensible system, 
 this celebrated firm has sent, at its expense, excursion parties 
 of its employees to Europe. In pursuance of this system, this 
 firm treats all its employees like men, women, or children, as 
 the case may be, not as mere machines. In pursuance of this 
 blessed, truly Christian system of doing business, this firm, as 
 far as possible, looks after the individual welfare of its em- 
 ployees, and thereby best promotes its own welfare ; for it goes 
 without saving, that such a firm as Jordan, Marsh, & Co. is 
 well served. 
 
 Boston has many things to be proud of, alike in the line of 
 political history and literary achievement. But, to my mind, 
 the success of such a firm as Jordan, Marsh, & Co., in its 
 midst, is as good a thing to be proud of as any other. 
 
72 A CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 It proves, that spite of their well-known, their proverbial, 
 shrewdness, "Yankee traders" have hearts as well as brains, 
 and that they have respect for the law of Love as well as 
 the laws of Business. For years the firm of Jordan, Marsh, 
 & Co. have been a household word in Boston, synonymous 
 with liberality, fair dealing, and courtesy, as well as far-reach- 
 ing enterprise. For years upon years the firm of Jordan, 
 Marsh, & Co. have been identical, as it were, with humanity, 
 as well as with mercantile honor ; with charity, as well as 
 integrity ; with Christianity, as well as trade. 
 
 I would also take this opportunity of speaking a kind word 
 in memoriam concerning the late Mr. Holbrook, the senior 
 member of the firm of C. C. Holbrook & Co. Like the mem- 
 bers of the firm of Jordan, Marsh, & Co., this gentleman's 
 system of doing business had a soul in it. He was always 
 willing to help the industrious, the humble, and the poor, in 
 their times of distress and trouble. His employees always 
 found in him, not only an employer, but a friend. He was 
 always striving to advance the true interests of all in any 
 way connected with him. The world would be the better 
 for more such generous hearts. Sorrow is alleviated by kind 
 deeds. 
 
 But it was not merely my luck or the luck of my brothers 
 to meet such model employers as these. The business world is 
 full of them, and their numbers are increasing every day. 
 
 Last Christmas, for example, an illustration was given to the 
 world. A firm doing business in Jersey City, — a firm whose 
 name I do not now recall, — a firm which had never made any 
 great pretensions to superior humanity or philanthropy or 
 Christianity, — made its hundreds of employees an unexpected 
 Christmas present, and made the present in such a way and by 
 such a system as to greatly enhance the value of the gift. 
 
 Each employee of this firm, from the porter or the humblest 
 
INVESTING IN HUMAN NATURE. 73 
 
 cash-boy up to the confidential book-keeper and the treasurer of 
 the concern, received a letter from the firm, expressing its 
 interest in his welfare, wishing him the compliments of the 
 season, and requesting his acceptance of an enclosed gift, 
 amounting to just one fifty-second part of his yearly salary, or 
 one week's wages. 
 
 The boy at three dollars a week received as a holiday gift 
 just three dollars in cash ; and the gentleman in a responsible 
 position, at a salary of ten thousand a year, received two hun- 
 dred dollars in cash, or thereabouts, pro rata. 
 
 Such a gift as this was received with respect and with grati- 
 fication by all parties, and bore in its value a direct relation 
 to the social and personal status of the recipient, and his 
 business importance to the firm. There could be no invidious 
 distinctions in gifts distributed on such a basis as this. Such 
 tokens of good will could by no chance give rise to ill will. 
 Such giving as this very closely approximated absolute perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 Such Christmas gifts were double blessings, — blessings to 
 those who received and to those who gave. And, whatever 
 expenditures this firm may hereafter have cause to regret, it 
 never can by any possibility have reason to regret this holiday 
 expenditure. 
 
 I venture to state, that every man and boy in the employ of 
 this firm will work harder and more conscientiously this year 
 in its interests than would have been the case if he had not 
 been thus kindly and delicately " remembered." And I have 
 no doubt at all, that whatever sum of money was laid out in 
 these Christmas gifts will, during the year, be " made up," in 
 half a hundred ways, tenfold. 
 
 It was an investment in human nature which will pay big 
 interest, and repay the principal. 
 
 During the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia, several 
 
74 "ADVERTISING." 
 
 leading firms displayed a wise because kindly liberality and 
 public spirit towards their employees. The Singer Sewing- 
 Machine Company, for example, " treated," at a heavy expense, 
 its army of employees to a trip to the Centennial Fair. Sev- 
 eral thousand working men and women were thus enabled to 
 have a holiday, and to devote it to mingled improvement and 
 enjoyment. This opportunity was hugely relished by the em- 
 ployees, and is not to this day forgotten. 
 
 It may be said, that the Singer Company received for this 
 good work a goodly share of advertising. So it did, and so it 
 deserved. But I am in a situation to know that this " adver- 
 tising " was entirely an after-thought. The affair originated in 
 a sincere desire on the part of the officers of the company to 
 please and benefit their hard-worked underlings, and they did 
 not at first calculate upon the matter receiving the public at- 
 tention which was awarded it. This public attention was sub- 
 sequently utilized, and cleverly, it is true , but the advertising 
 idea was the suggestion of an experienced journalist, uncon- 
 nected in any way with the company : and the affair, so far as 
 the Singer Company was concerned, was one of pure philan- 
 thropy. The same remarks apply 'to the excursion of the 
 Steinway employees to the Centennial. This was the pet pro- 
 ject of Mr. William Steinway himself, and was carried out in 
 every respect upon the most liberal scale. 
 
 Apropos of the Centennial, a gentleman of the city of New 
 York — a manufacturer largely interested in American goods, 
 — expended over ten thousand dollars in sending parties of 
 workingmen, at his expense, to visit the exhibition ; although 
 his name has never been published in connection with this 
 matter. Certainly, the point about " advertising " does not 
 apply in this case , as the gentleman's name never transpired. 
 In fact, I only know of the fact myself, but could not give the 
 individual's name if I wanted to ; as I do not know it. 
 
A. T. STEWART. 75 
 
 The late A. T. Stewart was a man who believed in a bond 
 of sympathy, and something better than mere sympathy, unit- 
 ing employer and employee. This may be news to the public, 
 but it is the simple truth. Perhaps no man as widely known 
 as A. T. Stewart was ever so little known, and so generally 
 misunderstood. He lived and died among a community which 
 knew all about him as a rich man, but knew nothing about him 
 as a man. 
 
 He was considered a hard, cold, unsympathetic individual ; 
 yet his life and acts prove that he was the very reverse. His 
 manner was unfortunate for himself. He was repellant rather 
 than magnetic, reserved in demeanor, chary of speech. But he 
 was constantly doing good, and trying to do more than he ever 
 accomplished. 
 
 His faults were those of his system, which, as he described 
 it once (in an interview with Mr. David G. Croly, the editor 
 of " The World "), was " simply business." In all matters of 
 " business " he was guided solely by " business," and he never 
 allowed sentiment or friendship or philanthropy a place in his 
 " business " at all. " If I did, I would have no business at all," 
 he said. 
 
 When "business" demanded that he should "break down" 
 a rival house, or a firm which aspired to compete with him in 
 any line of goods, why, he simply bent all his energies to work, 
 and " broke down " that house, — " wiped out " that firm. 
 
 When his contractor signed an agreement to erect his marble 
 palace on Fifth Avenue for a certain sum, Stewart held his 
 contractor to that agreement. If he lost his all in complying 
 with the terms of his contract, that was the contractor's mis- 
 fortune, not Stewart's fault. So Stewart reasoned from a 
 "business " stand-point; and, from a purely "business" stand- 
 point, he was right. 
 
 Undoubtedly, it must be conceded, that, like all men with 
 
76 " THE WOMAN'S HOTEL." 
 
 " a system," Mr. Stewart sometimes carried his system too far. 
 He was only human after all ; and, to avail myself of a colle- 
 giate quotation, " humanum est errareP 
 
 But, outside of his " system," A. T. Stewart possessed many 
 admirable qualities of heart, and was constantly demonstrating 
 their possession. 
 
 He was not only a liberal patron of the arts, but a developer 
 of nature. He bought an unattractive stretch of land, and 
 by care and outlay rendered it "a garden city." And, when 
 Ireland was famishing, he sent it relief. And, wherever great 
 distress was found, A. T. Stewart was found to relieve it. 
 
 In his treatment of his employees he observed certain rules. 
 He exacted entire obedience to a certain routine, any violation 
 of which was always and severely punished. But, on the 
 other hand, he paid always in full and promptly, was quick to 
 recognize merit, and ready, nay, anxious, to encourage it. As 
 an employee of eighteen years' standing once remarked, " Only 
 the shiftless, the stupid, or the lazy find fault with A. T. 
 Stewart." 
 
 During his life, Stewart paid out more money to men and 
 women than any other one man of his time ; and no one in his 
 employ ever had to wait for his or her money. He was enter- 
 prising and honest. His most bitter rivals, his worst enemies, 
 had to concede those facts. 
 
 But he was more than honest and enterprising and charitable 
 on great occasions : he was positively kind-hearted, as was 
 shown by his favorite scheme of a home for working-women, 
 known as " The Woman's Hotel." True, this scheme came to 
 grief. " The Woman's Hotel " fizzled into " The Park-avenue 
 Hotel ; " but that was the fault of circumstances and other men 
 and of the women, but not of A. T. Stewart. 
 
 The real history of " The Woman's Hotel " has yet to be 
 written : perhaps it never will be written. From the first, Mr. 
 
A " WORKING-LADY." 77 
 
 Stewart's plans were misunderstood ; and to this day they are 
 not clearly comprehended, and yet they were very practicable. 
 
 The gentleman who has most clearly stated the views of the 
 late Mr. Stewart in this connection, is Mr. Clair, the manager 
 of the Metropolitan and the Park-avenue Hotels. According 
 to Mr. Clair, Mr. Stewart never designed the structure on 
 Fourth Avenue for the lower and poorer class of "working- 
 women : " these were not the parties whom the millionnaire 
 employer meant to benefit by this particular charity. These 
 needed sympathy and material aid, it is true, but not a really 
 elegant home in the heart of the city. No : this establishment 
 was designed by Mr. Stewart to benefit the higher class of 
 female operatives, and especially that large and ever-increasing 
 class of women who, though compelled to support themselves, 
 as the sadly familiar phrase goes, " have seen better days." 
 
 It was for this class of women, accustomed to all the elegan- 
 cies of life, but suddenly deprived of them, that the million- 
 naire felt, and whom he wished to aid, without offending their 
 individual delicacy, wounding their womanly pride, or making 
 them feel as if they were " objects of charity." Certainly, this 
 class of females is heartily worthy of all aid and sympathy; 
 and it was surely a gentle, and almost chivalrously tender, 
 thought in the successful millionnaire, to heed them and their 
 needs. 
 
 The very poor women have their hospitals and almshouses 
 and charitable institutions; the ordinary run of seamstresses 
 and shop-girls have their haunts and compensations ; but what 
 is the fate of the lady, delicately reared, but compelled to earn 
 her living now, by catering to the very class among which she 
 was wont to live herself? 
 
 She has not lost her taste for art and for books ; she has 
 not ceased to desire a neat room and cleanly served food ; but 
 how is she to live decently and dress decently on from seven 
 
78 STEWART'S "WILL." 
 
 to ten dollars a week ? It was to answer this question satis- 
 factorily, that, according to Mr. Clair, Mr. Stewart conceived 
 the idea of the Woman's Hotel, — a hotel in which a working- 
 woman of the higher grade — "a working-lady," say — could 
 have " a room and board " for from five to seven dollars a week, 
 with privilege of bath and library and parlor; every thing 
 being furnished her at the lowest cash cost price. 
 
 True, the idea was never carried out, owing to the death of 
 Mr. Stewart, and owing, perhaps, to some misunderstandings, 
 among men and among women, which arose subsequent to that 
 event. But I hold, that, assuming Mr. Clair's view of Mr. 
 Stewart's view to be correct (and Mr. Clair is not only a reli- 
 able man, but enjoyed the fullest personal confidence of Mr. 
 Stewart), it is highly creditable to Mr. Stewart's heart that he 
 entertained such an idea. 
 
 It proves that he had a higher delicacy and gallantry of 
 thought than has been popularly supposed, and entitles him 
 to the gratitude of women in general, and " working-ladies " in 
 especial. 
 
 Let us trust, that erelong some living millionnaire will adopt 
 the late lamented Stewart's idea, and carry it out into its fair 
 fulfilment. There is a Big Blessing (a Blessing with a very 
 big B) waiting for that millionnaire. But it was in the last and 
 the most unselfish act of his life that A. T. Stewart demon- 
 strated his real nobility of soul, and his genuine kindly sym- 
 pathy with those in his employ. He was one of the very few 
 men who ever remembered their employees after death, who 
 thought about his working-people when dying, and remembered 
 them in his will. 
 
 To my mind, — and I know of many who are of like think- 
 ing, — the will of A. T. Stewart was a model one, especially as 
 regards that portion of it in which he bequeaths certain sums 
 of money, ranging from five hundred dollars to ten thousand 
 
BLESSED AND BLESSING AFTER DEATH. 79 
 
 dollars, — perhaps from less to more: I am not certain as to the 
 exact amounts, — to those in his employ who have been in his 
 service certain specified lengths of time. 
 
 These bequests were very numerous, as his list of employees 
 was very large, and not only formed respectable sums each, but 
 amounted in the total to hundreds of thousands of dollars, — 
 a fortune in themselves. 
 
 There never was a more graceful and more generous recog- 
 nition on the part of an employer of the claims of his faithful 
 employees. And there could not have been a more thoroughly 
 unselfish manifestation thereof. His earthly career would be 
 over when these bequests were bestowed ; the parties to whom 
 they would be given could benefit him no more ; their faithful 
 or dishonest service would be alike to him ; besides, he really 
 owed them nothing, — not a dollar. He had paid them fairly, 
 fully, in many cases very liberally, for many years. To many 
 of them his business had been their sole and sufficient support 
 for nearly a quarter of a century, — yet he remembered them 
 aU. 
 
 Of course, minor exceptions can be taken, even to this part 
 of the Stewart will. Flaws can be readily found in any docu- 
 ment: but the two facts remain, — first, that it was a generous 
 provision in itself , second, that it recognized a duty towards, 
 and evinced a feeling for, employees too seldom recognized or 
 evinced by employers. 
 
 And, like all good, unselfish deeds, it has brought a blessing 
 with it. Not only has the will of A. T. Stewart given the world 
 in general a higher and truer estimation of the man who made 
 it, but it has kept his memory green in the hearts and homes 
 of hundreds. 
 
 It was only the other morning that the writer heard a man 
 say, " God bless A. T. Stewart ! " taking off his hat as he said 
 so. Now, it is something rare to hear one man bless another, 
 
80 EMPLOYERS AND EMPLOYEES. 
 
 still rarer to hear a poor man bless a rich man, rarest of all to 
 hear a living man bless the dead. 
 
 It was at the stage-entrance of Daly's Theatre; and the 
 speaker was the janitor, or stage-door-man, of that establishment. 
 This individual had been one of the old employees of Stewart, 
 and had received one thousand dollars from the estate, accord- 
 ing to the terms of the will. This bequest, utterly unex- 
 pected, wholly unearned, a pure gift, enabled the hard-working 
 recipient to " put in bank " at one time more money than he 
 had been able to save in all his lifetime ; and that one thousand 
 dollars remains in the savings-bank still. And the dead and 
 gone, the almost forgotten, the, in a business point of view, 
 " obliterated " millionnaire, is never alluded to by his grateful 
 employee but with respect and blessing. 
 
 It is something to be thus remembered by hundreds. If there 
 are millionnaires yearning for true fame, for a memory worth 
 keeping, let them go and make a will like A. T. Stewart's. 
 
 I have dwelt somewhat at length upon this theme, because it 
 has forcibly struck me of late that gross injustice has been 
 rendered to Mr. Stewart in many quarters, but chiefly because 
 the facts which I have stated serve to show that there is a 
 kindly recognition nowadays, even among the most successful 
 and shrewd traders of the time, of the humanitarian claims 
 of their employees. 
 
 Mr. Clafflin, the head of the great firm of H. B. Clafflin & Co., 
 the only successful rival of A. T. Stewart & Co. in the whole- 
 sale line, is another of the millionnaire employers who entertain, 
 and prove that they entertain, kindly feelings towards the 
 "million " who are not employers. Mr. Clafnin's personal inter- 
 course with his army of clerks has ever been of the friendliest 
 description ; and although a disciplinarian in theory, and a keen 
 business man in practice, he is the soul of good fellowship and 
 the incarnation of good feeling. 
 
TEE TWO SIDES OF TRADE. 81 
 
 Scores of similar instances could be cited, did space permit. 
 Alike in this country and in Europe employers are to be found 
 who are " human " men as well as " business " men, and who, 
 while they exact work of the men to whom they pay wage, yet 
 ever feel, and show that they feel, that their relations with their 
 employees does not end with work and wage. 
 
 Some firms have even erected libraries and lyceums for the 
 benefit of their work-people, and have furnished them (though 
 at a loss, or at least with no interest on their investment) with 
 comfortable homes within their means. 
 
 These facts are encouraging, and show, that, if there is " a 
 seamy side " to modern trade, there is also a " starry " side. Let 
 us pray for more " stars." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HOW I FELL FROM GRACE, AND LOST MY PLACE. — RAILROAD LIFE. —ON 
 
 TO NEW YORK. 
 
 For a while I was steady in my attention to business, and 
 had every reason to continue so. As I have previously men- 
 tioned, I was complimented by the praise of my employers, or 
 their representatives ; and I stood well among my fellow clerks 
 and employees. I developed an aptitude for trade, and a 
 bright future opened itself before me ; but, alas ! it was not to 
 be realized. 
 
 I have before remarked that I was of a social disposition, 
 and what is called "popular" among my associates. This 
 quality has its curse as well as its blessing ; and to me, at this 
 period of my life, it was a positive misfortune. For it is one 
 of the necessities of popularity to "follow the multitude," 
 even " if to do evil : " to be popular with others, you must do 
 what others do, and be what others are ; and, if they be foolish 
 and do wrong, you must repeat the folly and the wrong. Now, 
 boys, like men, have their vicious tendencies and indulgences ; 
 and among the lads and young men with whom I was now 
 brought into constant intercourse were some who were addicted 
 to smoking, and more to drinking. 
 
 I was left more to myself now, too, than when at the " House 
 of the Angel Guardian," or at the College of the Holy Cross. 
 In our system of modern trade, every boy, as well as man, is 
 left "master of himself," if of nothing or nobody else: he is 
 "left to himself" and by himself. The homely but striking 
 
 82 
 
A DISSIPATED BOY. 83 
 
 remark here truthfully applies, " Every tub must stand upon 
 its own bottpm." So when I now met smokers and tobacco- 
 chewers, and frequenters of bar-rooms " on the sly," there was 
 no father to guard me, no mother to tenderly watch over me, 
 no teacher even to prevent me ; but, following the lead of my 
 thoughtless or evil companions, I gave way to my lately 
 restrained appetites, and became once more a drinker and a 
 drunkard. 
 
 At first I felt some shame at yielding to my grosser appe- 
 tites, and the memory of my past sufferings arose before me 
 as a warning. But, alas ! the curse was on me and in me. It 
 was in my very nature, — mixed, as it were, with my very blood. 
 It had been restrained by circumstances a while ; it had, so to 
 speak, fallen asleep ; but now it came to the surface as active 
 as ever. 
 
 I became gradually — ay, and rapidly — a "dissipated" boy, 
 which is, if possible, a shade worse and more disgusting than a 
 dissipated man ; because it is more precociously and unex- 
 pectedly silly and shameful. I smoked, I chewed, I used slang. 
 I swore occasionally, to demonstrate — Heaven save the mark ! 
 — my growing manhood. I frequented music-halls and variety 
 theatres whenever I got the money or the chance ; and I 
 became a "good" (?) customer of certain beer and bar rooms, 
 and renewed my thirst for malt and spirituous liquors, the latter 
 especially. 
 
 My appetites, for a while in leash, had broke their bonds. 
 Circumstances had mastered them for a time : now they mas- 
 tered me. 
 
 Of course, I neglected my duties ; of course, I became care- 
 less ; of course, the change was noticed in me ; and I was re- 
 proved for it, first kindly, then severely ; but, of course, neither 
 kind remonstrances nor rebuke had any effect. " I was joined 
 to my idols ; " or, to quote another and even more appropriate 
 
84 ANOTHER CHANCE. 
 
 scriptural simile, " the hog that had been washed returned to 
 the wallowing in the mire." I said to Evil, " Be thou my 
 Good ; " and soon the inevitable result followed. 
 
 After various reproofs, after various expressions of contri- 
 tion, after spasmodic efforts at reform, followed by even more 
 flagrant falls than before, I was discharged from my place. 
 
 This shock sobered me, but only for a brief period. The 
 lesson taught me by the losing of my situation was neutralized 
 by the having nothing more to do, and so having plenty of idle 
 time, which, to a boy like me, meant mischief; while the 
 healthy shame I felt at having lost the esteem of my employers, 
 and of my industrious young associates, and my hard-working 
 and sober brothers, was soon lost in the feeling of freedom I 
 possessed, — a dangerous freedom from work and restraint, — 
 and in the worthless society of a few lads as foolish and as evil 
 as myself. 
 
 In short, I got to be what is familiarly and forcibly called 
 "a loafer." I spent my days and nights in "loafing" about the 
 city ; and this is, perhaps, the most terrible position in which 
 a boy or young man can be placed. It is the " loafer " that 
 generally matures into the "criminal." * It is the "loafer" who 
 ultimately helps to fill the almshouse or the prison. 
 
 " Satan finds some mischief still 
 For idle hands to do." 
 
 But at this juncture — this crisis of my life — Providence, 
 kind Providence, interposed, and gave me another chance for 
 employment and reform. Through the kindness of William 
 H. Morrill, Esq., general freight agent of the Boston and Provi- 
 dence Railroad, I obtained a situation in the freight-department 
 of that flourishing road. 
 
 At first I really endeavored to repay Mr. Morrill for his kind- 
 ness by proving myself worthy of it. I honestly resolved to 
 
Here was the temptation brought right to me " [p. 85]. 
 
SLAVERY TO SELF. 85 
 
 surrender my bad habits and companions, and to settle down 
 to hard work. But a bad habit or an unlawful appetite once 
 held in check, and then let loose again, is more difficult to re- 
 strain or control than before ; just as a relapse is more fatal, 
 oftentimes, than the first attack of a disease. 
 
 My thirst, my drunkard's thirst, had returned to me with 
 more than its original fierceness. That desire for strong drink 
 which I had contracted when a mere child, which had cursed 
 my entrance into life, which had then been restrained by my 
 school and college discipline, and which had broken out afresh 
 amid the temptations of trade, had now become a raging fever. 
 It was my tyrant as well as my curse : it ruled me completely. 
 
 Talk about slavery, there is no slavery, no absolute slavery, 
 save that of a human being, young or old, to his or her own 
 appetites. The galley-slave, chained to the oar ; the prisoner, 
 working under the eye of the keeper, and within reach of the 
 lash ; the poor heathen African, laboring under a broiling sun, 
 at the sole mercy of his cannibal despot, — all these are slaves. 
 But none of these are so truly and verily a slave as the man 
 or boy who carries his master, his cruel, merciless master, 
 inside of himself constantly, who bears with him everywhere 
 and always that cursed, ceaseless craving for drink, which must 
 at all hazards be gratified, which demands obedience spite of 
 prudence, principle, God, man, or himself. The slave of drink 
 is the only real slave on earth, and such a slave I was now 
 becoming. Unfortunately, the very business, or occupation, I 
 was now engaged in, was peculiarly susceptible to the very 
 temptations which I found it so difficult to resist. The " rail- 
 road " line of life, so to speak, rims through all kinds of moral 
 dangers. It is in itself as useful, as honorable, and as " moral," 
 as any other employment ; but the constant meeting with all 
 sorts and conditions of people which it necessitates ; the physi- 
 cal strain which it sometimes produces ; the wear and tear upon 
 
86 MORE TEMPTATION. 
 
 the nerves ; the constant " worries " which accompany it ; the 
 irregular hours, which, as it were, go with the business, espe- 
 cially with the freight-handling department of it ; the alterna- 
 tions from hours of excessive work to hours of no work at all, 
 only waiting for the next train, — all these lead, unless con- 
 stant care is exercised, to what are styled " drinking-habits." 
 
 In my case the matter was made still worse by the fact that 
 it was part of my regular duty now to superintend the han- 
 dling, forwarding, or delivering of freight, which often consisted 
 of spirituous liquor or beer. 
 
 Barrels upon barrels of liquor would pass over the railroad, 
 and would be for a shorter or longer period of time under my 
 care. Here was the temptation brought right to me. What 
 a situation for a human being already dominated by the love 
 of liquor ! The seeds sown in my early childhood began to 
 develop themselves with alarming rapidity : my thirst grew at 
 times almost intolerable. As the barrels of beer would pass 
 slowly over the road, entering into or leaving the depot, I 
 would watch them with hungry, that is, thirsty, eye : and I 
 learned soon to avail myself of every chance to get at their 
 contents ; and there were always chances, — there were nu- 
 merous "damaged" barrels. I became a confirmed drinker; 
 though, having learned a little worldly wisdom from experi- 
 ence, I always kept sufficiently sober to attend to my absolutely 
 necessary duties. But having caught the desire for travel, 
 probably from seeing so much travel taking place all around 
 me, I became dissatisfied with my position, and longed to make 
 my entry into the metropolis. Just as all France turns its 
 eyes to Paris ; just as every ambitious bo} r in England hopes 
 some day, like Whittington, to become lord mayor of London : 
 so every man or boy on the American continent, from Canada 
 to Mexico, has dreams of some day or other, being some- 
 body or other, in New York; and these dreams seized me 
 
I came to New York " [p- 87J. 
 
/ LEAVE FOR NEW YORK. 87 
 
 now: and although Mr. Morrill was kind to me as ever; 
 although I understood my present duties, and, spite of my 
 drinking, contrived to, after a fashion, discharge them ; although 
 I was advised, even by the officials of the road requested, to 
 remain, — I resigned my position, and determined to seek New 
 York, therein to find my promised land. 
 
 I was but doing what thousands have done before : I was 
 but doing what thousands will do again, till time — or New 
 York — shall be no more. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NEW YORK IN GENERAL. —WHO COME TO NEW YORK, AND WHAT BECOMES 
 OF THEM. — WILLIAM E. DODGE AND JAMES FISK, JUN. — WHICH OF THE 
 TWO MEN WILL YOU IMITATE? 
 
 I came to New York. Of how many thousands, tens of 
 thousands, hundred of thousands, have these words been said, 
 " He came to New York ! " 
 
 " He came to New York " from the farm where he had been 
 reared, on which he toiled for years, where he had worked 
 summer and winter, spring and fall, from morning to night, for 
 a mere scanty wage, — it may be, only for board and clothes. 
 
 " He came to New York " from the home where he had been 
 carefully trained, where he had enjoyed every comfort and 
 luxury, where a father's and mother's love had watched over 
 him, and anticipated his every want, where sisters had petted 
 him, and brothers had been his admiring companions, where 
 love had been the atmosphere of life. 
 
 " He came to New York *' from the forge where he had earned 
 his frugal living by incessant labor, where he had seen nothing 
 of life but its hard work. 
 
 " He came to New York " from the factory, where he had 
 been a slave — nominally free, but really a slave — white, but 
 only a white slave — free to work fourteen hours a day, or 
 starve ; free to grind his life out for his employers' benefit, or 
 go to the poorhouse, or be carried to the cemetery. 
 
 " He came to New York " from the college where he had 
 burned the midnight oil, poring over the works of sages ; where 
 
CAME AND BE-CAME. 89 
 
 he had read Homer and Horace, Virgil and Sophocles, and 
 had stored his mind with the intellectual wealth of antiquity. 
 
 "He came to New York" from the little country town 
 where he had been a doctor, with a small practice, scattered 
 over a vast area of territory ; or an attorney, in a village where 
 the wealthiest possible client did not own ten thousand dol- 
 lars in the world, and where a fifty-dollar retainer was a year's 
 wonder; or a country clergyman, where his scanty salary was 
 paid chiefly in prayers and potatoes. 
 
 " He came to New York " from ship-board, having roved 
 round the world, and, like "a rolling stone," "gathered no 
 moss." 
 
 "He came to New York" from the hamlet where he had 
 lived all his uneventful life, never having gone farther from 
 home than the nearest market-town. 
 
 " He came to New York " from the vast London, which had 
 only proved a vast wilderness to him ; or from the gay Paris, 
 which had proved but a delusion or a snare ; or from frugal 
 Germany ; or from down-trodden Poland, or mysterious Russia. 
 From all parts of the world, and from all ranks of life, "he 
 came to New York." 
 
 But what became of Mm in New York? Ah! that is the 
 question ; and how diverse are the answers ! 
 
 He became a successful man, he made money and friends, 
 acquired fame and influence, became an honor to himself and 
 his family, made his old folks at home proud of him. 
 
 Or he became a scourge, a criminal, and an outcast ; violated 
 the law, and was condemned to pay the penalty in prison-cell ; 
 or sunk into the lowest depths of pauperism ; haunted the 
 streets a beggar ; haunted the parks in summer nights, and the 
 station-houses in winter nights, a bummer and a vagrant. 
 
 Or he became any one of the hundreds of means that lie 
 between these two extremes of fate ; or it may even be, that 
 
90 THE CITY OF OPPORTUNITIES. 
 
 to this day no one knows what has become of him ; all trace of 
 him may have been lost ; all that is definitely known of him 
 being, that " he came to New York." 
 
 New York is at once the best known and the least known 
 of all great American cities. Everybody almost knows, or 
 thinks he knows, something about it ; and yet no one, not even 
 "the oldest inhabitant," knows every thing. Each man is 
 familiar with his side of New- York life : no man is equally 
 familiar with all sides. And each man's view of New York is, 
 of course, greatly dependent upon that side of it with which — 
 and which alone — he is acquainted. 
 
 Only one thing is certain, and known to and conceded by 
 all. New York is pre-eminently the city of opportunities. 
 Everybody has a chance in New York. Rich or poor, high or 
 low, country born or city bred, smart or plodding, industrious 
 or speculative, good or bad, New York has " an opening " for 
 every man. It affords him any amount of material to build 
 upon ; but he must decide what the building shall be, and it 
 must be erected by the builder's toil and at the builder's risk. 
 There is only one kind of man for whom New York has no 
 chance to offer, no place to fill, — the fool. It is the worst 
 place for fools of any town in the world. It taxes even the 
 highest grades of talent, but it absolutely grinds the fool to 
 powder. 
 
 And there is one truth which is just as certain as the fact 
 just stated: and this latter truth cannot be too often or too 
 thoroughly impressed upon the youthful — or, for that matter, 
 upon the mature — mind; arfd this truth is, that, while New 
 York will perforce yield its treasures of opportunity to the 
 smart man, yet — and herein lies the point — yet it yields its 
 highest chances, its worthiest prizes, only to the honest as well 
 as smart, the good as well as great. 
 
 It pays best, even in New York, to be religious, moral, honest : 
 
GOD'S LAWS IN NEW TORE. 91 
 
 believe me, it does. God's laws hold good in the metropolis 
 of America, just as they hold good everywhere else in God's 
 world. Two men " came to New York " in our time. Both 
 men were of humble origin ; both men were ambitious ; both 
 men were gifted with energy, sagacity, with the power to see 
 and the power to do ; both men " came to New York " deter- 
 mined to make the very most of its chances, to avail themselves 
 to the utmost of its opportunities ; and both men fulfilled this 
 determination, but in very different, in opposite, ways. 
 
 James Fisk, jun., came to New York believing only in money 
 and in himself, caring naught for God, or man or law, human 
 or divine, save the laws of his own impulses. He was very 
 active and very able and very unscrupulous, so he succeeded. 
 He gained notoriety, influence, and wealth ; he drove his four- 
 in-hand, had his theatre and his regiment and his mistress ; he 
 had the world at his feet — so he thought. 
 
 But only for a while, — a brief while, — a few years. Then 
 he died as the fool dieth ; died, shot by his former friend ; died 
 in a scandal ; died with all the world feasting on the prurient 
 details of his troubles ; died suddenly, without warning ; died 
 in the prime of life ; died with all his sins upon his head ; died, 
 to be soon forgotten ; and died, too, after all the money he had 
 made and squandered, a comparatively poor man ; died, to live 
 in the history of his time only as an erratic character, chiefly 
 valuable as a warning, as a terrible example, to be studied so 
 as to be shunned. 
 
 William E. Dodge " came to New York " a poor boy, shrewd, 
 eager for money, but also upright, God-fearing, and man-loving. 
 He made money, — more money than James Fisk ; but he made 
 it honestly, and spent it wisely and grandly. He did not 
 drink, like Fisk, or give fast suppers ; but, instead, he founded 
 missions and Young Men's Christian Associations, and contrib- 
 uted liberally to churches, Sunday-schools, and temperance 
 
92 WILLIAM E. DODGE AND JAMES FISK, JUN. 
 
 organizations. He did not steal from corporations, and then 
 give spasmodically some of his ill-got gains to the poor ; but he 
 devoted a regular portion of his regular, immense, legitimately 
 earned income to the poor and needy abroad and at home. He 
 was a good citizen, a sabbath-keeping citizen, a law-abiding 
 citizen, an inestimable citizen. He was a moral man, a domes- 
 tic man, a devoted husband and father. 
 
 And he lived to be old and honored ; he lived to see seven 
 sons growing up to respectable manhood all around him; he 
 lived to be looked up to by the city which he had entered as a 
 poor boy. And, when he died, " he died the death of the 
 righteous." May our " last end be like his " ! 
 
 James Fisk, jun., passed along the horizon of New York like 
 a brilliant but baleful comet, vanishing swiftly into utter dark- 
 ness ; but William E. Dodge shone for nearly half a century 
 in New York as a star of constantly increasing magnitude and 
 radiance, — a star which still shines, though his earthly career 
 has closed. Now, reader, which of those two men, think you, 
 will you imitate ? 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 LIFE IN NEW YORK, SENSATIONAL AND RE ALISTIC. — THE POPULATION OF 
 THE GREAT METROPOLIS, AND ITS CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES. — GERMAN, 
 IRISH, AND AMERICAN NEW YORK. — FIFTH AVENUE, BROADWAY, AND 
 THE BOWERY. 
 
 Having thus glanced at New York in general, it will be well 
 to take this opportunity of describing New York in detail. 
 Nothing can be of more interest to the average American than 
 an accurate pen-picture of the great metropolis, and yet nothing 
 can be more rare. Books on New York, and life in the great 
 metropolis, abound ; and yet I know of none that can be regarded 
 as altogether truthful. Many are avowedly " sensational ; " and 
 even those which do not make this claim, or disdain it, err in 
 this direction of " sensationalism." Of course, any description, 
 with any pretence to truth, of life in New York, must have 
 much that is startling and sensational in it. New York, being 
 the largest, greatest, richest, most crowded, portion of the New 
 World, must be " a sensation " in itself. But, in addition to 
 all its " sensational " elements, there are to be found in New 
 York practical, common-sense, moral elements, which constitute 
 a large — nay, the larger — portion of metropolitan life, and 
 which need to be insisted and dwelt upon in every truthful, 
 truly " realistic " book or article on New-York City. 
 
 In the pages which follow, I have endeavored to do justice to 
 this fact, which has by previous writers too often been ignored ; 
 and while many of the points, facts, and scenes presented will 
 be found " sensational " enough in all conscience, the better and 
 
 93 
 
94 THE POPULATION OF NEW YORK. 
 
 brighter side of New York will likewise be described ; and, from 
 all the details of the pen-picture I shall paint, an accurate idea 
 of the great American metropolis as a whole will be obtained. 
 The real population of New York to-day exceeds two millions 
 of souls, and almost equals that of Paris. By the " real popu- 
 lation " I mean simply what the words imply, — the human 
 beings who help to populate New York by day and by night 
 constantly, who fill its streets, who do business there, who trade 
 or tramp there, who sin or enjoy there, even though they may 
 sleep or have a nominal residence elsewhere. Among the " real 
 population " of New York I include the dwellers in Brooklyn, 
 Williamsburg, etc. Brooklyn has been justly styled only " a 
 sleeping -place for New-Yorkers ; " and now that the bridge at 
 last is nearly finished, and a man will soon be able to walk or 
 ride from any point in Brooklyn to any point in New York, it 
 is certainly safe to predict, that in a few years the two cities — 
 the city of charities and the city of churches — will be one in 
 name as in fact. But even if the actual population of New 
 York is thrown out of consideration, and only the nominal, the 
 technical, population be regarded, — that population which not 
 only " lives," but " resides," in New York, — this population 
 thus reduced still amounts to an immense figure, — over one 
 million and a quarter of bodies and souls, — figures large enough 
 to render the American proud and the moralist thoughtful. 
 
 This latter estimate does not include the immense throngs of 
 visitors for business and pleasure, of whom from sixty thou- 
 sand to eighty thousand arrive and depart daily. On extraor- 
 dinary occasions this transient population, this throng of 
 visitors, swells to a hundred and fifty thousand, or even two 
 hundred thousand. 
 
 The most striking, the characteristic, feature of the popula- 
 tion of New York is its variety of nationality, its cosmopolitan 
 character. New-Yorkers are composed of all nations. Every 
 
THE COSMOPOLITE METROPOLIS. 95 
 
 country under heaven sends its natives to New York; and 
 every State of the Union, and almost every hamlet in every 
 State, has its representatives in the metropolis. 
 
 New York is to-day the third largest German city in the 
 world ; that is to say, no cities in Germany, save Vienna and 
 Berlin, contain as many German citizens as New York. 
 
 New York is to-day the largest Irish city, save only Dublin. 
 It likewise embraces a larger English and French population 
 than is generally supposed. There is also a considerable pro- 
 portion of Italians, Spaniards, South Americans, etc. New 
 York likewise contains a very large and constantly increasing 
 number of Jews, as well as their inveterate enemies, the Rus- 
 sians, and the sworn foes of these latter, the Poles. Greeks, 
 Turks, Portuguese, Swedes, Scotch, Chinese, etc., every 
 nationality under the blue canopy of the infinite, are to be 
 found. Sometimes the different nationalities are inextricably 
 blended, and sometimes they are herded together in their own 
 quarters. 
 
 Thus there are certain sections of the city which are as 
 distinctively Irish as any part of Ireland itself : there are other 
 sections where the German language is spoken exclusively. 
 A story is told of a well-known journalist of this city, — the 
 late Isaac C. Pray, — who, in a fit of absent-mindedness, one 
 afternoon took the wrong car from " The Daily-News " office, 
 and, at last, awaking from his day-dream, and not recognizing 
 his localities, left the car. Every thing to him, although he 
 was an old New-Yorker, was new ; nothing was familiar ; the 
 signs over the stores were either in Hebrew or in German ; 
 the people he met had all a foreign look ; their manners and 
 customs were strange ; and, when he asked for information as 
 to his whereabouts, he could find no one to afford him the 
 desired knowledge. He was ignorant of the language of the 
 people amongst whom he found himself: they were ignorant of 
 
96 A NEW-YORKER LOST IN NEW YORK. 
 
 his language. He was absolutely a stranger in a strange land ; 
 he was actually a New-Yorker lost in New York. He wan- 
 dered about for some time before he was able to discover that 
 he had been conveyed by the car into the heart of the great 
 East Side, — along Avenues A and B, — in the midst of the 
 " Germany " of New York. 
 
 Then, there is the distinctively and exclusively Hebrew 
 quarter of New York, where all the ordinances of Moses are as 
 strictly observed as they were in Palestine three thousand years 
 ago ; and there is the distinctively and exclusively Chinese 
 quarter, with its joss-houses and its opium-dens. 
 
 And yet, after all, there is such a thing as an American New 
 York, though satirists have occasionally asserted otherwise. 
 With all its cosmopolite character, New York is still — and let 
 us devoutly trust it always will be — a truly, thoroughly 
 American city. The native New-York element to-day is con- 
 siderable in numbers, paramount in wealth, and supreme in 
 influence and importance. Let not Americans mistake this, 
 for it is the truth ; and it is a truth which should lead them, 
 like the warrior of old, " to thank God, and to take courage." 
 
 Another great feature of New York is the immense value 
 of its land, its real estate. This feature, while it enables the 
 few to live in princely luxury, compels the majority of New- 
 Yorkers, especially the poorer classes, to live herded together 
 in discomfort. Perhaps the poor of New York are the poorest 
 people in the civilized world, as will be shown when I come to 
 glance at the tenement-house population. 
 
 A third great feature of New- York life is its inevitable ten- 
 dency to render the New-Yorker alike self-reliant and humble. 
 I know that New-Yorkers are sometimes said to be " con- 
 ceited ; " and so they are, but not of their individual selves, 
 but of their city. No man can live in New York for years and 
 have much individual conceit. New-York life " knocks it all 
 
WHAT NEW TOBK CABES FOB. 97 
 
 out " of him. No matter how smart and how rich he may be, he 
 meets every day people who are smarter and richer. The man 
 who, in a smaller town, with his one hundred thousand dollars, 
 would be vain of his wealth, meets in New York a dozen mil- 
 lionnaires a day ; and that makes him feel himself a compara- 
 tively poor man. The lawyer who has fame rubs against a 
 dozen lawyers who are far more famous ; and so the lesson of 
 humility is taught, as well as the lesson of self-reliance. For 
 of all places in the world, the homely adage is most applicable 
 to New York, that " every tub must stand on its own bottom." 
 In the great American metropolis a man is gauged by himself, 
 not by his ancestors nor their achievements. No one cares 
 much for the past: that is "ancient history." Nor is much 
 regard paid to a possible though distant future : that is " im- 
 agination." What New York cares for is the present. What 
 the man or woman is, or is doing, or is capable of doing to-day, — 
 that is New- York's idea of reality ; and New York is right. 
 What says the poet in his " Psalm of Life " ? 
 
 " Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ; 
 Let the dead past bury its dead ; 
 Act, act in the living present, 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead." 
 
 Still another characteristic, and the most dramatic of all 
 the characteristics of New York, is its contrasts, its extremes. 
 New York is, par excellence, the city of extremes and con- 
 trasts. It is at once the very worst and the very best of all 
 American cities, alike the very darkest and the very brightest. 
 It is the city of crimes and the city of charities, the city of 
 infidelity and irreligion, the city of the Sunday-school and 
 the church, the city of the public rum-shop, and the city of the 
 public school. 
 
 It has been the misfortune of New York, that its newspapers 
 
98 THE CONTRASTS OF NEW YORK. 
 
 find it to their pecuniary interest to dwell more upon the evil 
 than the good in it ; to devote more space to the sensational, 
 dark side of city-life, than to the unsensational, steadily 
 shining bright side thereof; but both sides, nevertheless, exist 
 side by side. 
 
 The contrasts of New York are perhaps in no instances 
 more forcibly presented than in its three great thoroughfares, 
 — Broadway, the Bowery, and Fifth Avenue. These world- 
 famous streets are New York in miniature, if the term " minia- 
 ture " can be applied to miles of houses, and hundreds of 
 thousands of human beings. 
 
 Broadway is the finest street on the American continent. 
 Beginning at the Battery, it extends through banks, stores, 
 hotels, churches, public buildings, till it, as it were, loses itself, 
 and dies of its own length, among the boulevards. It is trav- 
 ersed along the lower portion by omnibuses, and along the 
 upper portion by the street-cars. It is the favorite promenade 
 for business or pleasure : it is the exercise-ground of the down- 
 town merchant or broker, the shopping-ground of the up-town 
 belle, the street for adventurers. A history of Broadway 
 would be a history alike of New York « and of human nature. 
 It is the thoroughfare of average New York, of miscellaneous 
 metropolitan humanity. 
 
 Fifth Avenue is the most fashionable street in America, an 
 avenue which is lined (from Washington Square to Central 
 Park) with palaces. From the substantial residence of Ex- 
 Mayor Cooper at one end, to the superb Vanderbilt mansions 
 at the other, Fifth Avenue is a boulevard of brown stone. It 
 comprises and represents more wealth than any other one street 
 in the whole world. Three hundred millions of money are 
 represented in two short blocks of this celebrated street. 
 And all the leading clubs of New York — the Manhattan (the 
 controlling Democratic club), the Union League (the repre- 
 
BROADWAY, "THE AVENUE," AND THE BOWERY. 99 
 
 sentative Republican organization), the Union Club (the man- 
 about-town and society club) — have their buildings fronting 
 on this wonderful thoroughfare. The most fashionable hotels 
 and churches are likewise located here ; and Belmont, A. T. 
 Stewart, Astor, Jay Gould, and other world-famous names, are 
 literally household words. A million of dollars has been ex- 
 pended on several single residences on Fifth Avenue ; and the 
 finest picture-galleries in the New World are here, attached 
 to the palaces of Vanderbilt, Stewart, Belmont, Marshall 
 O. Roberts, and others. 
 
 One of the vilest dens in the world also stood upon Fifth 
 Avenue till lately. In fact, it still stands there, though de- 
 voted to other uses. I allude to the magnificent mansion of 
 the abortionist Restell, which lies within the very shadow 
 of the magnificent cathedral, and directly opposite to the 
 Vanderbilt palaces. 
 
 There are gaming-dens also on the Fifth Avenue, and houses 
 of splendid infamy ; and some of the most unscrupulous ras- 
 cals that ever escaped State prison reside here in state ; but, 
 taken as a rule, a house on Fifth Avenue symbolizes legitimate 
 worldly success. 
 
 As for the Bowery, it is decidedly the most picturesquely 
 miscellaneous street in the city or the country. To the lover 
 of human nature, and to the student thereof, it is by far the 
 most interesting thoroughfare in New York. Beginning from 
 Chatham Street, the favored locality of the dealers in "old 
 clo\" it passes along museums (some genuine, and more bogus), 
 concert saloons (a few attractive, and all vile), German beer- 
 gardens (some of them mammoth establishments, where well- 
 selected orchestras perform), mock-auction shops (less common 
 now than formerly), pawnbroking shops (constantly increas- 
 ing, constantly thronged, and many of them merely receptacles 
 for stolen goods), cheap-jewellery stores, mammoth tailor stores, 
 
100 " WAITING TILL THE CROWDS ROLL BY." 
 
 cheap dry-goods stores, cheap millinery establishments (where 
 ladies often purchase for five dollars what they tell their friends 
 afterwards they paid fifteen for on Broadway), " flash " restau- 
 rants," " all-night " dives, countless " saloons," " cigar fronts " 
 (which are simply lottery-policy shops behind), " skin " gam- 
 bling-houses, dance-houses, all sorts of places, till at last, after 
 winding and enlarging, it contracts again, and terminates in 
 the almost interminable Third Avenue. 
 
 Such are the three characteristic streets or thoroughfares of 
 New York ; and as such they are crowded, — Fifth Avenue on 
 Sunday mornings and afternoons, and on fine afternoons and 
 mornings generally ; Broadway, from morning till midnight ; 
 and the Bowery, all the time. 
 
 After all, and before all, it is this ceaseless crowding of the 
 streets of New York which is New York's most expressive 
 feature. A countryman once stood patiently waiting, in front 
 of the St. Nicholas Hotel, as the multitudes passed along. 
 After some fifteen minutes or so, a friend asked the gentleman 
 from the rural districts what he was waiting for. "For the 
 crowd to get by," he replied. Dear, good old man, he fancied 
 that there must be some unusual temporary excitement in the 
 street at that time, which would soon subside. He did not yet 
 know that this crowd was chronic. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 A PEN-PANORAMA OF NEW YORK. — THE POOR OF THE GREAT METROPOLIS. 
 — CASTLE GARDEN AND THE EMIGRANTS. — " LES MISERABLES." -— " OLD 
 MOTHER HURLEY'S." — THE BLACK HEN'S. —THE BLACK HOLE OF CHERRY 
 STREET. — THE MYSTERIES OF DONOVAN'S LANE. — TENEMENT-HOUSE LIFE 
 AND "ROTTEN ROW." — THE SUMMER POOR. 
 
 One of the most interesting places in New York is really 
 Castle Garden. Formerly this was the resort of fashionable and 
 pleasure-seeking New York, and Jenny Lind and Jullien gave 
 their concerts there. Now it is appropriated, or abandoned to 
 the emigrant, and is the first place he or she sees in the New 
 World. 
 
 Time was when the emigrant, once landed in New York, 
 was virtually surrendered a prey to land-sharks and swindlers. 
 But now the emigrant system has been brought to a state 
 closely approximating perfection ; and a man or woman can be 
 shipped as safely from Sweden to Minnesota, passing through 
 New York in transitu, as if he or she were a bale of goods or 
 a package per express. 
 
 In fact, more care is taken of the emigrant, who merely 
 passes through New York, than of the poor man or woman 
 who settles down in the midst of the metropolis. Would the 
 reader really form an idea of how some of the very poor in 
 New York "live," — if I am allowed to use the word "live" 
 in such connection, — let him read the following truthful sketch, 
 which appeared in the columns of "The New- York Sunday 
 Dispatch," written by a journalist who saw all the horrors he 
 
 so vividly describes. 
 
 101 
 
102 PICTURES OF POVERTY. 
 
 " LES M1SERABLES." 
 
 There is a house, or structure, in New York, known by its number 
 and street as " Cherry." The first floor thereof is known by the 
 appellation of the woman who rents it, as "Old Mother Hurley's." 
 This first floor is inhabited by human beings, such as they are ; and 
 this is the way in which these human beings, or 
 
 "the honest poor," 
 
 " live " at " Mother Hurley's." 
 
 The surrounding neighborhood is filthy, and the exterior of the 
 building is barn-like and disgusting. Opening the rickety door, an 
 indescribable odor overpowers your nostrils ; and unless you are 
 accustomed to this sort of thing, — unless you are a journalist or a 
 policeman, — you instinctively put your fingers around your nose, 
 close them, and keep them closed. The odor arises, as you will see 
 presently, from decaying and rotten meat and vegetables, from 
 human breaths, and foul linen, and human sores, and imperfect 
 ventilation, and human filth, and stagnant water, mingled together 
 into a villanous compound, for which the expressive Saxon has no 
 fitting name. Having exercised the power of smell sufficiently, and 
 using your power of sight, you look around and see, by an unsnuffed 
 tallow candle burning on a three-legged greasy table, leaning against 
 a bare, paperless, cracked, tumble-down wall, a lot of soiled, stained, 
 stinking linen and straw lying in a disordered mixture on the top of 
 an old mattress, which was washed ashore originally from a yellow- 
 fever ship down near quarantine; the whole "combination" being 
 supported on a low truckle-bed, and affording a place of rest such 
 as no respectable family, not even a first-class Broadway hotel, would 
 insult a dog with, and yet which forms the "post of honor" and 
 chief luxury of "Mother Hurley's." For this bed the landlady 
 charges extra ; and it is sometimes occupied by as many as three 
 people at a time, who divide the honors and the filth. 
 
 At the foot of this bed, on the night of our visit, there lay on the 
 dirty boards, without any pretence of a bed at all, a bundle of straw, 
 
MOTHER HURLEY. 103 
 
 on which an old woman about seventy years of age was lying, with- 
 out any covering whatever. The old woman was a hag, indescribably 
 dark and indescribably dirty, blear-eyed, rheumatic, almost putrid, 
 lying down with all her rags on, and vainly trying to sleep. 
 
 Near this creature was a small stove, with the least bit in the 
 world of a fire ; and opposite her was an attempt at a bar and grocery- 
 store combined, where Mother Hurley dispensed rum at three cents 
 a glass, or eggs at five cents apiece. She evidently valued her eggs 
 at a much higher rate than her rum ; and lest her hungry lodgers 
 might some day, in a fit of stomachic despair, kill her hen, and make 
 a meal of it, she kept the fowl under lock and key, in a sort of coop 
 directly adjoining the bar, where she could always keep her eye on it. 
 To our notion, we had rather been the hen at Mother Hurley's than 
 the humanity. 
 
 God knows the front part of this first floor, containing what we 
 have already described, was bad enough ; but the front part was para- 
 dise itself to the scene disclosed in the middle portion of the lodging- 
 den. Here there was no light at all, save by the " darkness visible " 
 from the candle already mentioned ; there was no attempt at ventila- 
 tion from front or rear ; there was no carpet ; there was no floor, 
 except a few boards laid here and there over the ground at intervals ; 
 there were no beds, save only a row of shelves made of unplaned 
 boards ranged along the cracking, moulding, damp walls ; there was 
 no linen, save a few foul rags ; there was no bedding, save here and 
 there a handful of shavings or straw ; there were no windows ; there 
 was no furniture, save a backless chair, with some rotten fish scat- 
 tered disgustingly over it ; there was nothing but filth and foulness, 
 and closeness and heat, and discomfort and bareness and horror ; and 
 yet in this " middle passage," this 
 
 BLACK HOLE OF CHERRY STREET, 
 
 there were, on the night of our visit, twelve human beings, — five 
 men, four women, and three children, — huddled together in rags and 
 misery in a space not fit for one well dog. 
 
 The children were two little girls and a boy ; the little girls being 
 
104 "NOTHING TO WEAB." 
 
 literally stark naked, and lying on each side of the little boy, who had 
 a man's old, torn, and stained flannel shirt on. The boy had a stupid, 
 startled look, and moved uneasily in his slumbers ; but the little 
 girls stared at us with all their eyes, — and fine eyes they were. 
 Their mother, an old woman who was lying on a board beneath the 
 shelf on which lay her children, and who, though ragged and shoe- 
 less, was not dirty, and seemed quite a decent sort of person, told us 
 simply enough, in the unvarnished language of the utterly wretched, 
 that she " did not have luck enough lately to earn or beg clothes for 
 her girls, and so she had to let them go naked all day long, and stay 
 in bed until she could get some rags for them." Here, indeed, were 
 females who had "nothing to wear," — young females, very young 
 females, who had to stay in a pest-hole, hungry and dirty and stark 
 naked, all day long, — not because their mother was lazy, for the 
 policeman told us she was an industrious woman when she had a chance 
 to work ; not because she drank, for she never touched a drop ; not 
 because she was immoral, — but because she was unfortunate, because 
 she was poor. And yet there are churches and missions and dry- 
 goods palaces in this Christian city. Of course, there was 
 
 NOT THE SLIGHTEST PRETENCE AT DECENCY, 
 
 let alone delicacy, among the men and women congregated in this 
 black hole, where the sexes are huddled together in dark dens like 
 this. Men and women are like Adam and Eve in paradise, in this 
 one respect, at least, — they are not ashamed of their nakedness, nor 
 of any thing else. A number of dirty and party-colored cloths and 
 towels, suspended from a string in front of the shelves, were the only 
 concealments attempted : and what undressing, or, rather, unragging, 
 was done, was done full in sight of all the other denizens of the 
 den, big or little, male or female, white or black ; for not only were 
 both sexes, but all colors, on a free equality of filth at Mother 
 Hurley's. 
 
 But "on horror's head, horrors accumulate:" and, terrible as 
 was this "middle passage" of Mother Hurley's den, there was a 
 more terrible place still ; and that was the rear portion of it. We 
 
A POOR DEVIL OF A WOMAN. 105 
 
 could not believe, at first, there was a rear to such a hell as this ; we 
 thought that we had reached the end and the worst ; but the police- 
 man who accompanied us — John Musgrave, detailed to bear escort 
 by Capt. Ullman and Sergt. Thompson of the Fourth Precinct — 
 showed us our mistake ; for he led the way, tumbling over old bar- 
 rels and broken crockery and dung-heaps — literally dung-heaps — 
 in the dark, till we came to an open space, a back-yard roofed over, 
 and terminated by a dead wall, — a back-yard, too, full of all manner 
 of foulness, garbage, and abomination ; a back-yard full of dirty 
 water oozing from the ground ; a back-yard literally piled with 
 human excrement ; a back-yard without any windows or doors, or 
 fresh air or light, save from a piece of tallow candle, and. yet a back- 
 yard with nine beds, or boards, with straw and soiled rags on them, 
 and ten people, — men, women, and children, — supposed to sleep on 
 said beds, or boards, in this indescribably horrible back-yard. 
 
 In the centre of this back-yard stood a table, at which, on a 
 stool, sat a man, who, with filthy hands and a ravenous appetite, ate 
 a piece of raw, rotten fish — absolutely raw and absolutely rotten — 
 with relish. Ay ; and he told us, and made no secret of it, that he 
 was very thankful to get a chance to eat it. He had picked it up, 
 and, having had nothing else to eat, made the most he could out of it. 
 
 Think of this, ye diners at Delmonico's, and midnight banqueters 
 at the Maison Doree ! a man, and not a bad man either, nor a 
 fool, — for Musgrave told us that his character was good, and his lan- 
 guage was well chosen, — thankful, in this enterprising city, for being 
 able to pick up some raw and rotten fish for his midnight supper, and 
 his only meal in twenty hours ! But we saw, ere we quitted this 
 back-yard, 
 
 A SADDER SIGHT 
 
 than even this poor devil of a man ; i.e., a poor devil of a consump- 
 tive woman, who had once been pretty (for hunger and care, and sick- 
 ness and sorrow, had not rendered her hideous yet) , — a poor devil 
 of a woman, who, though herself still virtuous, still unmarried, was 
 compelled to sleep in the next bed, or the next board, to a man, 
 
106 CONGRATULATING A BABY ON DYING. 
 
 whose head lay among the rags ; while right at the head of her bed, 
 or board, was a cesspool, emitting the vilest of all possibly inhalable 
 stenches ; while the walls around her oozed damp and filth in equal 
 proportions. Does Dante's "Inferno," or the veritable infernal 
 regions themselves, contain aught more terribly, truly repulsive than 
 this ? And yet this is what we saw or peered at in the damp and 
 darkness that night at Mother Hurley's. 
 
 We also saw in this back-yard den a broken-hearted mother 
 crying over her dying baby, who had caught cold from sleeping in 
 such a damp place as this, and was fast coughing its little self to 
 death. We could not help inwardly congratulating the baby ; but 
 neither could we help sympathizing with the poor woman, who hung 
 fondly over her suffering infant, calling it every pet name that a 
 mother's, and an Irish mother's, affection could suggest. But long 
 experience in scenes of misery had rendered her companions callous, 
 and the people around her cared no more for a dying baby than they 
 would have cared for a living one. 
 
 Now, the majority of people in this lodging-den this night were 
 not roughs or reprobates. They were as decent as such horribly 
 impecunious people could be. They were only poor, poorer, poorest; 
 and for their poverty they were punished as no criminals were ever 
 punished in Sing Sing. For their poverty they were treated as no 
 dogs are treated ; for their poverty they were compelled to go naked, 
 to eat raw and rotten fish, and to sleep in defiance of decency, and 
 in proximity to cesspools. And yet people tell us that poverty is no 
 crime, and talk of honest poverty. How in God's name can poverty, 
 such as this, be honest? But, if you wish to see how 
 
 THE CRIMINAL POOR 
 
 live and move and have their being, go to No. Water Street, 
 
 where there is a basement "den" kept by a woman who has been 
 on "The Island," and whose "husbands" have all been to State 
 prison, and who is called, from her dark hair, "The Black Hen." 
 Here, in a close, stifling little room, carpetless, cheerless beyond 
 words, on the night of our visit, was a broken-down sofa with two 
 
BILKER'S HALL. 107 
 
 hags on it ; and on the other side was a bench with four other hags on 
 it, with one hag squatted on the floor ; each of the seven women 
 being ugly, coarse, and foul, — uglier, coarser, fouler than can be 
 readily conceived of until seen. 
 
 Back of this ' ' reception-room ' ' — Heaven save the mark ! — ex- 
 tends a series of dark, dismal, dirty boxes, in which all species of 
 depravity and robbery were practised as a business ; while in the rear 
 of these M boxes " was a big bed, or mattress, stretched on the floor, 
 — foul beyond the power of the English language to express, — on 
 which the wantons slept after their sins ; while adjoining the bed was 
 a cooking-stove, — the rear apartment serving alike as kitchen, bed- 
 room, and diuing-room, — the wantons and their mistress eating their 
 garbage on the floor ; while, according to the eternal fitness of things, 
 the master of the den, and the present husband of its mistress, 
 served as cook for what infernal cooking there was to do. 
 
 But, vile as the den of 
 
 "the black hen" 
 
 might be, there was a hell on earth, filthier and viler and more 
 
 wretched still, in a basement, directly across the street, at No. 
 
 Water Street, known, in the expressive slang of the district, as " Bilk- 
 er's Hall." This place is kept by a Kitty de Fish, alias (everybody 
 has an alias in those parts) Annie Winkle, who is a woman of vio- 
 lent temper, as was proved by the spectacle presented on the occasion 
 of our visit by one of her " girls," an old woman nearly seventy years 
 of age, whose right eye, already nearly half eaten out of the eye-ball 
 by secret disease, — which was very public indeed, — was likewise cut, 
 torn, and disfigured by a plate thrown at her by the proprietress of 
 the den. If on the face of the earth there was a fouler or more dis- 
 gustingly wretched being than this old, battered harridan, then the 
 face of the earth deserves to be pitied ; and, as for the place itself, 
 there was nothing viler in the world, for the simple reason there 
 could be nothing viler. The front of the basement contained a pre- 
 tence of a" bar," with a few glasses that had not been washed since 
 they were originally stolen, and a few bottles of adulterated liquors 
 
108 FOURTH-WARD MISERY. 
 
 of the cheapest and the nastiest description, and with a few stale 
 eggs, and staler oysters. Behind this " bar" stood a ragged, sullen, 
 blear-eyed thief, the "man" of the "woman" of the place, who, 
 when not drunk, or getting others drunk on his villanous swill, 
 played the role of " a badger," and " went through the clothes " of 
 his unsuspecting and intoxicated victims, robbing them of whatever 
 moneys their pockets might contain. Back of this bar, to the rear 
 of the basement, directly behind the only sofa of the place, extended a 
 
 LIQUID PANDEMONIUM. 
 
 The words are used advisedly, for it was a "pandemonium," and it 
 was "liquid; " being composed of four or five tumble-down stalls, 
 worse than any pig-pen ever seen, in which "stalls" there were 
 bundles of straw and old mattresses stretched out upon the earth, 
 and which oozed out slime and filth, and were damp, and stunk abomi- 
 nably ; while the walls were crumbled and mouldy, and gave forth 
 filth from a neighboring cesspool. It was a sight and a smell 
 sufficient to strike terror to any nose and eye, and heart and soul : 
 even the policeman had enough of it in five minutes, and left the hell- 
 hole with unusual rapidity. And yet it was the scene of the ' ' sinful 
 pleasures " (!) and the "home, sweet home" of six or seven 
 females and one man. 
 
 But time would fail did we attempt to describe one-half of all the 
 misery that is to be seen among the poor, good and bad, of the 
 Fourth Ward. Although this district is not now what it used to be ; 
 though Kit Burns and John Allen are dead ; though many of "the 
 basements " have been closed ; and though many a den of thieves 
 have, through business and industry, been converted into hives of 
 labor, while, at the same time, the commerce of New York having 
 declined, the sailors no longer congregate in such ungodly quantities 
 as in times past ; though the police have done their duty, and 
 thereby diminished misery and crime within the district, — yet still, 
 Heaven knows, the place is unutterably horrible, viewed from a 
 humanitarian point. 
 
 While such " dens " as the " velvet room " (so called because no 
 
THE HEATHEN CHINEE. 109 
 
 velvet was ever seen within it, nothing but rags and sawdust) , at 
 the corner of Rosevelt and Water Streets, where men and women 
 nightly get drunk together, drinking vile liquor from the bung-holes 
 of barrels, and then lying down senseless on top of the barrels ; 
 and the distilleries of Flannigau and Branigan in James Street and 
 Cherry Street, — are among the most demoralizing haunts of degraded 
 humanity upon the top of the earth, there is not in the city of New 
 York, nor the city of London, nor the city of Paris, nor any other 
 city in Christian lands, or heathen, a viler, fouler, more repulsive, 
 more wretched, more God-forsaken hole, than what is known as 
 
 Donovan's lane. 
 
 The majority of our readers have, doubtless, never heard of this 
 locality, and they should thank Providence for their ignorance ; and 
 yet within its limits are two most striking companion examples of 
 poor life among the professedly pagans, and the, by courtesy, Chris- 
 tians, of New York. 
 
 THE "HEATHEN" POOR. 
 
 Donovan's Lane begins with a Chinese opium-den of the lowest 
 class, and terminates with an Irish shanty. It runs from Baxter 
 Street to Pearl Street, and is soon to be closed, thanks be to God, 
 Capt. Kennedy, and the street-commissioner. There are two opium- 
 dens within its limits. The larger one fronts on Baxter Street, and 
 comprises a Chinese club-room and temple combined, where the celes- 
 tials play cards, drink tea, and worship their gods ; while to the rear 
 is a room about twelve feet by ten, carpetless, chairless, pictureless, 
 cheerless, full of bunks or boards, full of dirty linen, which serve as 
 the beds for some dozen Chinamen cooks, stewards, cigar-sellers, 
 etc., honest people enough, but oh, so very poor ! living together like 
 pigs in a pen, in a stifling atmosphere, without the slightest pretence 
 to comfort or decency. On the top bunk lay stretched out, when we 
 visited the place, a dying Chinaman, who was sinking with a low 
 fever ; while in the lower bunks lay, in their dirty linen, three or four 
 Chinamen, huddled together in a space hardly big enough, and cer- 
 
110 DONOVAN'S LANE. 
 
 tainly not clean enough, for a pet poodle, and smoking themselves 
 into an opium stupor. 
 
 But this place was a palace compared with another opium-den, to 
 the rear, right in the centre of Donovan's Lane. Here, surrounded 
 by mud-heaps and pest-heaps, and breathing in the foul exhalations 
 from them, and from the poison garbage lying all around them, in a 
 room small, mean, low studded, without any chairs at all, only the 
 greasy tables, a bunk in one corner, and an indescribably filthy bed 
 in another corner, lay sprawling some ten men, emitting smoke from 
 their pipes, and filthy stench from themselves. A pot full of filth 
 was in the centre of the den, rendering the air still fouler ; some dirty 
 linen stunk in a pile just beyond it, and altogether a nastier place 
 could not be conceived of ; and yet this was the evening haunt, the 
 bedroom, the breakfast- room, the home, of poor wretches of pagans, 
 who, when they could do no better, the impecunious heathens, as 
 officer Francis Caddell told us, had been known to kill rats which 
 infested their den, and eat them for want of any other food, in this 
 most charitable ( ?) city. But the condition of the 
 
 CHRISTIAN POOR, 
 
 the poor who were not heathens, residing in Donovan's Lane, was 
 worse than that of the pagans themselves. Miscegenation held high 
 carnival in Donovan's Lane ; black men and white women cursed 
 and stunk and loafed and brawled and suffered there ; the " base- 
 ments " of some of the old houses in the lane were so vile, that we 
 approached their broken-down doors with our fingers to our nostrils ; 
 and yet they swarmed with wretched humanity and fat vermin : and, 
 amid all the other odors, that of the stables was not wanting ; for, 
 toward the end of the lane, there were a pair of cart-horses kept, 
 who were kept much more comfortably than any of the human beings, 
 white or black, little or big, male or female, Christian or heathen, in 
 Donovan's Lane. 
 
 This is how the wretchedly, abominably poor " live " in the 
 great metropolis, — the wretches who cannot afford to rent 
 rooms or exist in tenement-houses. 
 
TENEMENT-HOUSE LIFE. Ill 
 
 And this is the way the poor live who can " afford " tenement- 
 house life. This description is taken from the elaborate exposS 
 of tenement-house life which appeared originally in the columns 
 of " The Sunday Telegram : " — 
 
 No. Water Street is ironically called "The Gem," because 
 
 in all respects it is an utterly worthless structure. It consists of a 
 frame-building in the front and a brick building in the rear ; the latter 
 being reached by an alley- way, full of filth, worm-eaten, full of holes, 
 ricketty, full of pitfalls for the unwary. The yard between the front 
 and rear houses is very small and very foul, offensive with garbage 
 and filth. The cellar is wet, and the closets are simply damnable. 
 The rear house is vile and filthy enough, but it is a very palace com- 
 pared with the front building. Here civilization is on a par with 
 ventilation, there being no pretence at either. 
 
 There are no sinks in the house ; there is no sewer connection ; 
 the walls look as if they had never known of whitewash ; the floors 
 are filthy ; and, of course, there are no ventilation-pipes. And yet 
 there ought to be air enough through the house, for almost every 
 other window-pane in it is broken. The front-hall window has eight 
 panes broken out of twelve. 
 
 But even the bitter breath of winter cannot clean this Augean 
 stable of a tenement, for the smells from the filthy floors and the 
 filthier yard raise day and night their protest against the carelessness 
 of agents and landlords. 
 
 The odor of decaying garbage mingles with the odor of food 
 (such as the food is), and the odor from the closets mingles with 
 these two previously mentioned smells ; the three forming a terrible 
 perfume, worthy of the infernal regions. 
 
 And this triply foul atmosphere is the only air which twenty-five 
 children and young people of both sexes breathe this blessed holiday 
 season. In the second-story rear room of the front house the 
 '"Telegram" representative found, at the time of his visit, a spec- 
 tacle of human misery to which he is wholly unable to do justice. 
 Conceive Meg Merrilies (as played by Charlotte Cushman) lying in 
 
112 MEG MERRILIES IN NEW YORK. 
 
 her rags, — and very few rags at that, — stretched out full length 
 upon the floor, — and a floor full of holes, without any carpet, and 
 black with dirt, — holding upward and outward her skinny arms and 
 long hands toward the merest pretence of a fire, which merely illu- 
 minated faintly, but did not warm at all. Conceive, if you can, that 
 this Meg Merrilies has not been able to move for several weeks, and 
 that she has no bed to move to if she could move at all. Remember, 
 that, during all the recent cold snap, this Meg Merrilies has been lying 
 shivering on the floor, with the wind howling in through the shutterless 
 and broken window. Above all, do not forget that this Meg Merrilies 
 has not tasted for weeks any food worth mentioning, save some soup 
 a poor neighbor brought her, and of which her cat has taken the major 
 portion ; as Tabby is strong, and the old woman is not. To this add 
 that Meg Merrilies has a bad cough, and has to pay four dollars a 
 month for her bare walls and floor, and that every cent given her by 
 her poor neighbors is swallowed up for this rent. Above all, bear in 
 mind that this poor creature never draws a pure breath, and that the 
 only air which reaches her is the horrible atmosphere already men- 
 tioned, flavored with the odors of foul food, fouler garbage, and the 
 foulest closets in the city, which are situate directly under her broken 
 window. Remember all this ; and now think that this is no fancy 
 sketch, but a faithful report of the condition of Mrs. Mary Coffin, 
 aged eighty years. 
 
 In the hole back of the floor occupied by this old woman sleep, on 
 rags on the floor, Mary Douglas, and her daughter, eight years old, 
 who says she would like to know what a good square meal was, but, 
 above all things else, desires a place where she can get rid of the 
 smells which persistently haunt this cursed place. 
 
 To add to the discomforts of this hole, there are garbage-boxes 
 in the halls ; dogs sleep around the house ; there are dangerous holes 
 in the floors ; the steps are broken ; there are no lights in any of the 
 hallways ; and on wet days the rains soak in through the rotten roof, 
 and flood the lower floors. 
 
 To sum up, there is not a single room in this large house which is 
 fit for a beast to live in ; and perhaps the worst-looking woman in the 
 
ROTTEN ROW. 113 
 
 whole tenement is a widow Harrison, aged sixty- two, who resides in 
 the dirtiest and foulest room in the building, and who owns the whole 
 house. 
 
 Let me strengthen and conclude this fearfully accurate 
 pen-picture of tenement-house life (?) in New York by re- 
 publishing the subjoined " realistic " description of " Rotten 
 Row." 
 
 In Greenwich Street, between Spring Street and Canal Street, 
 on the North-river side, there extends a block of houses, known to 
 the neighborhood under the generic, yet at the same time specific, 
 name of ' ' Rotten Row. ' ' 
 
 Now, there is a Rotten Row in London very well known to very 
 fashionable people ; but this Rotten Row of ours here in New York is 
 not yet known to fashionable people at all. Yet it is worth seeing, 
 this New- York Rotten Row, for it is very suggestive, very realistic, 
 very terrible ; and this is what you see in Rotten Row : — 
 
 Enter No. Greenwich Street, for instance, Mrs. , agent. 
 
 You will see the narrowest yard you probably ever saw, full of 
 all sorts of refuse, containing a huge puddle of stagnant water, a 
 small, tumble-down, foul closet, heaps of wood and shavings, and a 
 pile of dirty rags. This yard, such as it is, winds and curves, like 
 a dog's hind-legs, and serves no useful purpose whatever. It is merely 
 a " crooked hole." From this yard leads a dark, narrow entry, — as 
 dirty as dark, — with the sootiest, grimiest walls one ever set eyes on, 
 — walls full of holes, full of filth; walls bulging, cracked, repulsive 
 looking. Having traversed the entry, you ascend, if you are an 
 expert climber, a flight of stairs, winding, rickety, dirty, worn, — a 
 flight of stairs which grows darker as you climb ; as, while leaving 
 the light in the entry below you, you do not gain any light from 
 above you, as the only light on the whole staircase comes from a 
 very small window on the very top floor. 
 
 Reaching the top, you find you have reached a rat-hole, a deserted 
 garret, a plasterless, chilly, filthy old rat-hole of a garret — of course, 
 deserted by humanity. You are about to descend, when you hear 
 
114 HUMANITY IN A RAT-HOLE. 
 
 voices and sounds above you ; and you suddenly become unpleasantly 
 aware that you have made a mistake, that your deserted garret is 
 really 
 
 AN INHABITED RAT-HOLE, 
 
 — thickly inhabited, — too, for three families live all the year round 
 in this garret, and pay a high rent for the privilege of so living. 
 
 Climbing up cautiously to the garret, you find it composed of a 
 species of central space, or hallway, into which open three rooms, or 
 square holes, inhabited each by a family. The situation here is as 
 picturesque as it is uncomfortable. 
 
 In winter the snow and the sleet enter here without aught to hinder ; 
 in summer the heat here is stifling ; in rainy weather the whole 
 garret is aleak ; in windy weather the garret might as well be out of 
 doors. But here, alike in rain, in wind, in summer, and in winter, 
 live and shiver and scorch and moisten a number ot human beings, — 
 four old women and two children, — who pay four dollars a month 
 for their " privileges." 
 
 Right below and to the side of this garret you see a square door, 
 like the entrance to a loft. Opening it you find yourself in a long, 
 narrow room, a sort of extension, a prolonged hole, likewise inhabited 
 by a family. The family being above the average of its class, the 
 room is clean ; but a more cheerless and dilapidated assemblage of 
 boards was never put together. The ceiling tumbles down in instal- 
 ments, the roof leaks, the walls are full of holes : there is not the 
 slightest pretence at convenience, or aught required by health or 
 comfort. The only cheerful-looking object in the room is a two- 
 months-old baby, lying, tied up, sleeping on the pile of rags which 
 serves for a bed, looking for all the world like an Indian pappoose. 
 
 The whole house is substantially built, but as dirty as desolate, 
 as bare as it is substantial. It is utterly unfitted to be lived in five 
 minutes, yet there are several poor devils who have lived in it for five 
 3 T ears. 
 
 Another house, No. Greenwich Street, owned by a Mr. 
 
 of a Fire-insurance Company, is very similar in all material points 
 
TWENTY-TWO YEARS IN A HOG-PEN. 115 
 
 and aspects. Its entry and its yard are even dirtier than that 
 of the house just described. The entry, particularly, is so full of 
 decayed vegetables that it would be readily mistaken for a muck- 
 garden. 
 
 No. Greenwich Street is a third component part of the tene- 
 ment-house horror known as " Rotten Row." It has a very small 
 yard, not over four feet in width, — an alley of dirt, terminating in a 
 foul closet. Here is where the children play and the women wash. 
 The walls of this house are black with age and dirt, and full of holes. 
 The doors are decayed and dirty ; so are the floors, so are the ceil- 
 ings. There is a dirt-heap under the stairs, and the staircase is in 
 a terrible condition. All the entries are dirty, narrow, and dark. 
 
 On the second floor of this house, in the front-room, live five 
 families, separated by a curtain. This way of dividing a room is a 
 very common occurrence in tenement-houses ; and the discomforts, to 
 say nothing of the indecencies, it implies, will suggest themselves at 
 once. The curtain, or screen, is generally of the thinnest ; nor is it 
 by any means always in its place. The herding together after this 
 fashion of young and old people of both sexes is a terrible evil. 
 The top floor of this house is an abominable place, fit only for cats, 
 dogs, and rats, who inhabit in about equal proportions ; but, unfor- 
 tunately, it is also inhabited by several families of human beings, 
 who pay rent for their dens. 
 
 One old woman has lived in this garret-hell for twenty-two years, 
 paying rent for it all the time. Just think of it ! 
 
 TWENTY- TWO YEARS IN A HOG-PEN, 
 
 for it is nothing more nor less. During the greater portion of this 
 time she has paid ten dollars a month for her share of the dirt and 
 darkness of the garret, — sometimes as high as twelve dollars a 
 month. At present she is paying "only" two dollars a week. 
 Altogether she has paid the various landlords of this house over 
 twenty-five hundred dollars, — a small fortune, taken out in filth and 
 misery. 
 
 There are big holes in the walls of thi3 garret, there is a lack of 
 
116 PANDEMONIUM IN A LOFT. 
 
 plaster, the ceiling is giving way in various places, the floor is full of 
 holes, the spot is as cheerless as a graveyard, there are no conven- 
 iences of any kind ; but here for nearly a quarter of a century 
 has lived this old woman, and here are living at this moment a num- 
 ber of men and women in certain divisions of dirt and despair which 
 they call and pay rent for as their " rooms." 
 
 But would you believe it? Even on top of this top floor, overhead 
 of this garret, there is a viler place still, which is the home of six 
 human beings. You have to climb up to this loft on a rickety ladder, 
 at the risk of breaking your neck ; and, when you reach the loft, you 
 have to bend your body to avoid striking with your head the sides. 
 The only light and air that can reach this loft must reach it through 
 the smallest species of a square window, an aperture of about one 
 foot square : and it is always dark and damp ; as, of course, the old 
 roof leaks here, there, and everywhere. In winter this loft receives 
 through the chinks in the shingles of the roof the snow ; in storms 
 this loft receives the rain ; one-half the year it is as hot as Tartarus ; 
 the other half of the year it is as cold as Greenland. And it is 
 always night there, though God's blessed sunlight is but an inch or 
 so outside. Damp, dirty, full of holes, full of rags, full of garbage, 
 full of rats, this 
 
 PANDEMONIUM OF A LOFT 
 
 is the home of three men, two women, and a little baby, who live 
 together in misery, squalor, and indecency, — ay, and pay four dollars 
 a month to be able to do so. There are only two artists who would 
 even attempt to do adequate justice to the " situation " in this loft, 
 — Charles Dickens and Gustave Dore. 
 
 And, while on this subject of the poor, I cannot refrain from 
 quoting the following article from " The New- York Era," which 
 presents a peculiar view of the metropolitan poor, taken from 
 a " summer " stand-point : — 
 
 " God help the poor! " This is a pet phrase of philanthropy in 
 winter, when the snow is on the ground, when the bleak wind whis- 
 
In Donovan's Lane " [p. 116]. 
 
THE POOR OF NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 117 
 
 ties : but philanthropy ignores the poor in summer ; it does not think 
 of them when the grass is green, when the flowers are fragrant, 
 when fashion goes " out of town." Yet the poor must live, even in 
 the summer. 
 
 But how do the poor live in summer? That is the question. And 
 we propose to answer it, so far as the answer can be furnished, by 
 a description of the way the poor live during ' ' the heated term ' ' in 
 the city of New York. 
 
 First, who do we mean by "the poor"? Why, not only the 
 pauper and the tramp, but the man or woman of straitened circum- 
 stances, the man or woman who obtains his or her daily bread by his 
 or her daily toil, and whose daily toil does not alwaj^s suffice to 
 obtain their daily bread. 
 
 How do these live in summer? Well, we will show by examples. 
 
 Do you see that man eating peaches there at the corner, — that 
 man with an old straw hat, and still older coat, and far older pants ; 
 that shabby man, who munches peaches as if he were really hungry, 
 which he is? Well, that man has a history. He was, two years 
 ago, a book-keeper for a wholesale house, at a salary of two thousand 
 dollars a year. His firm failed, and he has been out of work ever 
 since. There is a plethora of book-keepers in the market. For a 
 while he lived on expectations, and a little money that he had saved. 
 Then he lived on a little money that he was able to borrow. Then 
 he lived on trust. And then he did not live at all. He and his 
 family (he had a family, of course : men out of employment always 
 have) merely existed. They sank lower and lower. Now they oc- 
 cupy a room on a top floor of an Essex-street tenement-house, and 
 the whole family eat nothing but fruit. The family of three live on 
 peaches, bananas, and apples, — cheap, because somewhat decayed 
 fruit. 
 
 This is an actual fact. The writer of this article has talked with 
 this man, and had heard his story from his own lips. About forty 
 cents' worth of fruit a day suffices to keep soul and body together, in 
 the person of himself, his wife, and his child. Small apples, peaches, 
 etc., can be purchased at a cent apiece, sometimes six or seven for 
 
118 MIDNIGHT IN MADISON SQUABE. 
 
 five cents ; and five cents' worth can make a meal, such as it is, and 
 keep a human being from starvation. At this hour there are hun- 
 dreds of men and women in the city of New York who exist wholly 
 upon fruit, and who thank God that the summer affords them the 
 opportunity to get this fruit. Their dining-rooms are the street- 
 corners ; their restaurateurs are the old apple-women ; their menu 
 consists wholly of dessert. 
 
 How do the poor sleep in summer? Do they sleep at all? We 
 propose to show. 
 
 The other night the writer of this article strolled, after midnight, 
 through Madison-square Park. He found himself in the midst of 
 a colony of tramps, — of tramps who were not tramping, but sleep- 
 ing. The benches in the park were half full with slumbering va- 
 grants. The seats had been extemporized into beds. The writer 
 made a tour of the park, and counted sixty-four sleepers, and thir- 
 teen who were preparing to sleep. 
 
 It was a picturesque spectacle. Nothing could be more so. The 
 pale moon looked through fleecy clouds upon the poor devils as they 
 slept ; but even the moon followed the example of the rest of the 
 world, and looked down upon them. Around them was the green 
 grass, over the heads of some of them waved the leafy trees ; and 
 there they slept, in all manner of positions. 
 
 One man slept bolt upright. He was an " old stager," and could 
 sleep under any circumstances. Another leaned his head upon his 
 cane, and snored — yes, absolutely snored — as comfortably and as 
 thoroughly as though he were reposing on a feather-bed. A third 
 old veteran slept with his head on the iron side of a seat, with one 
 leg on the ground, and the other thrown loosely over the back of the 
 seat, — a position which we defy any mortal but an experienced tramp 
 to sleep in. 
 
 One wearied mortal reposed at full length on the ground, and we 
 were glad to see him do so. It seemed more according to the fitness 
 of things. Surely the turf was a more appropriate bed than the 
 bench. He was a young man ; but, young as he was, he already 
 looked like one who had seen better days — and nights. 
 
SLEEPERS IN THE PARKS. 119 
 
 Among the crowd of sleepers there was one woman, — a rather 
 pretty, though faded, woman, — decent too ; for she slept upright, all 
 by herself, in the corner of the park facing the junction of Twenty- 
 third Street and Madison Avenue. 
 
 There was also one scholar among these tramps, one wide-awake 
 scholar, who sat bolt upright, and, under the full light of a lamp, was 
 reading a book, — not only reading it, but evidently studying it care- 
 fully. Who knows but this tramp may some day be a secretary of 
 state, — aye, may be a President himself? 
 
 Thousands of men, and not a few women, sleep in the Central 
 Park. This fact is, of course, denied by the Central-park police ; 
 but it is a fact, nevertheless. How on earth can it be prevented? 
 or, to put the matter on its merits, why should it be prevented if it 
 could? Better to sleep all night in the park than in the station- 
 houses, or out on the street, as they sleep in Donovan's Alley, and 
 other choice localities, or in carts, or on cellar-doors. 
 
 A policeman of a statistical turn of mind calculated, in a talk 
 with the writer, that, on a fair night in August, over five hundred 
 people slept in the various public parks, and that fully that number 
 slept in the street, or on piles of boards, in wagons, etc. About six 
 or seven hundred more " bummed " in the various station-houses, 
 while one or two hundred wandered from place to place, or walked 
 the streets sleeplessly all night. Altogether, the bedless population 
 of New York in summer may be safely estimated to reach at least 
 two thousand, — more than the entire population of many a thriving 
 country town ! Just think of it, — a bedless village in our midst ! 
 
 If those who peruse this book will but read and re-read the 
 articles I have just quoted, they will be enabled to form a cor- 
 rect as well as vivid idea of " the poor of New York." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE PEN-PANORAMA OF NEW YORK (continued). — CRIME AND CRIMINALS. — 
 THE MALE AND FEMALE THIEVES OF THE METROPOLIS. — MEETING MUR- 
 DERERS ON BROADWAY. — THE SOCIAL EVIL. — GAMBLING, SQUARE AND 
 SKIN. —THE GAMBLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Crime in New York, like every thing else in New York, 
 flourishes extensively, and is generally misstated and misun- 
 derstood. It is underrated by many, and overestimated by 
 many more. The really good and innocent have very faint 
 ideas of how many really rascally and professedly criminal men 
 and women there are in New York ; while, on the other hand, 
 the man of the world, or the average New-Yorker, is apt to 
 exaggerate the facts of the case, and to credit (?) the great and 
 greatly bad metropolis with a much greater percentage of 
 villany than really belongs to it. 
 
 Some years ago a writer in " The New- York World " pub- 
 lished an elaborate article on "The Thieves of New York," 
 which contained a great deal of reliable information concern- 
 ing its subject. Taken as a whole, this article may be re- 
 garded as one of the most extended, philosophical, and accurate 
 of its class; and I cannot do better than by here giving ex- 
 tracts from it. 
 
 The major portion of the thieves of New York is composed of 
 the sons and daughters of Irish parents, either born in this country, 
 or having emigrated to it at an early age. Next in numerical pro- 
 portion comes the native population itself. Then rank the English, 
 who supply the metropolis with some of its most skilful and success- 
 
 120 
 
DIVISIONS OF THIEVES. 121 
 
 ful " operators.' ' Next rank the German population, who supply a 
 large percentage of the meanest kind of thieves, known as receivers 
 of stolen goods ; also a considerable proportion of the shoplifters of 
 the metropolis. Then come the aliens, who rank among them, many 
 vagrant thieves, and the lowest possible characters ; and, after them, 
 the refuse of the Spaniards, who devote their leisure to intrigue, the 
 confidence game, and to general thieving. There are very few 
 Scotch, and very few Welsh, and not a very large proportion of 
 French, thieves. There is also a considerable percentage of thieves 
 of color. 
 
 Thieves are divided and subdivided into distinct classes, each 
 class devoting itself to a separate branch of the "profession." 
 These varieties of operation may be enumerated as follows : The 
 burglar, or cracksman, embracing two different species, — the scien- 
 tific burglar, or first class, who exercises a great deal of intellectual, 
 as well as mechanical, skill in his profession, — as in breaking open 
 the safe or strong-box of some bank or banker, — and the common 
 burglar, or second class, who merely uses his jimmy, skeleton key, 
 and kindred tools ; the highway robber, or Toby-man, who attacks 
 one in the public streets, especially late at night, or in the less peril- 
 ous districts ; the garroter, a species of highway robber, too famil- 
 iar to need any description ; the pickpocket, or knucksman, male or 
 female ; the snatcher, who grasps his prey suddenly at unawares, 
 and runs for it ; the sneak thief, who justifies his name by sneaking 
 into houses, and stealing whatever apparel, or odds and ends, he can ; 
 the car-thief, or car-frisker, and his companion, the stage-thief, or 
 stage-buzzer ; the counterfeiter, or kogniacker, or maker and shover 
 of the "queer; " till-thieves, or till-tappers, who devote themselves 
 to the robbery of the exchequer ; forgers, or scratchers, who are, in a 
 criminal point of view, regarded as very dangerous sort of thieves ; 
 "pocket-book droppers," or heelers, whose peculiar business will be 
 explained hereafter; "confidence" men, who are also to be prop- 
 erly counted as thieves; "receivers," or " fences," who are cer- 
 tainly robbers, and the very worst variety thereof, though they are 
 too cowardly to do the business themselves ; the hotel-thief, among 
 
122 THE "HEELERS." 
 
 the most genteel and dangerous of all variety of robber ; the train- 
 ers of thieves, male and female, who keep in this Christian city of 
 New York, and in this nineteenth century of Christianity, regular 
 schools of stealing; the river- thieves, or dock-rats, who "follow 
 the river; " the panel-thieves, or badgers; the shoplifters, or holst- 
 ers, a variety of thieves with whom metropolitan store-keepers are 
 only too familiar ; domestic thieves, who are the pests of private 
 families, and the dread of housewives ; and a few minor varieties, 
 which are known only by the thieves themselves. 
 
 The class of men and women denominated "blackmailers," as 
 likewise the class known as " fraudulent buyers," may also be con- 
 sidered as "outside," " indirect," though very dangerous thieves. 
 
 It sometimes happens that a thief will combine two or more 
 "varieties" we have just mentioned, turning his hand to whatever 
 branch may pay him the best, or for which the most favorable oppor- 
 tunities are afforded : but, as a rule, each professional has his own 
 favorite line of business, to which he devotes his energies ; just as 
 lawyers are criminal lawyers, civil lawyers, divorce lawyers, etc. 
 
 The pocket-book robbers, or heelers, are a peculiar variety of 
 thieves. They drop a pocket-book at a countryman's feet, touch 
 him on the heel to direct his attention, then, pointing to the pocket- 
 book, suggest that it may have been lost by some one in the city ; 
 that they are not able to take any steps to return it to its rightful 
 owner, as they are obliged to leave town ; but they will intrust the 
 duty of so doing to the countryman himself, suggesting that the 
 latter can entitle himself to a liberal reward by restoring the wallet, 
 which appears to be well filled, to the owner. The excited rustic, 
 who intends to keep it for his own use, and who thinks his compan- 
 ions to be consummate fools, accepts the pocket-book (and the im- 
 posed duties), and is about to leave, when the "droppers " suggest, 
 that, as he will receive a heavy reward for the wallet, they themselves 
 deserve some compensation for giving it to his care. The country- 
 man hands them some bank-notes, and, five minutes later, discovers 
 that he has given good money for bad, that the pocket-book is 
 "stuffed," and that he himself is a sadder and wiser man. Confi- 
 
POINTS ABOUT THIEVES. 123 
 
 dence-men often play a lucrative but a difficult part. They pretend 
 to have money themselves, or checks, or stocks, or equivalents, obtain 
 money or goods on these " frauds," and thus earn, or at least obtain, 
 a livelihood. Their dodges are almost infinite and often ingenious. 
 They will form an acquaintance with a man, spend money liberally 
 on him, and at the last moment discover that they are forced at once 
 to liquidate a heavy pecuniary obligation ; they have only a check 
 for a thousand, which is dated a few days ahead ; will their friend 
 be kind enough to advance the money on it ? which the friend does 
 to his cost. At least twenty other swindles could be mentioned, did 
 space allow. The receivers of stolen goods, or " fences," are a 
 variety of pawnbrokers or stolen collaterals, keeping nominal dry- 
 goods stores, tailor-shops, etc. They pay about one-fourth of the 
 value of the stolen article, then hide it in their cellars, or send it off 
 to some confederate in another city. They are in constant communi- 
 cation with the thieves, and "assist" them in various ways, fur- 
 nishing them with bail, or lawyers, or convenient witnesses. 
 
 As for the trainers of thieves in this city, they are simply compan- 
 ion pictures to the great Dickens's pen-picture of " Fagan the Jew." 
 
 The blackmailers and fraudulent buyers have so many methods of 
 operation that it would be needless to attempt, in our limited space, 
 to describe them, especially as these classes are outside of the regu- 
 lar " organizations," to which we have reference. 
 
 As a rule, thieves dress well and not flashily : we allude to the 
 better and more successful class of " operators." They do not, as a 
 general statement, affect jewellery ; endeavoring, of course, to avoid 
 any and every mark of their identity personally. Thieves are also, 
 as a class, skilful in imitation and disguise, — two very essential 
 qualifications in their profession. It is also stated on good authority, 
 that, in point of cleanliness, thieves are models as a rule ; also they 
 are rarely drunkards. They have vices enough, but intemperance is 
 not one of them. The latter is too careless and incautious a failing. 
 A thief seldom commits himself by " outside " talk. He never betrays 
 himself by the hasty or imprudent word. His motto in this respect 
 is that of King Solomon, "The fool speaketh all his mind, but the 
 
124 WHAT THIEVES DO. 
 
 wise man keepeth it till afterwards." But, on the other hand, he 
 is unreservedly confidential to his "pals." In their relation with 
 women, thieves are more " moral " and " constant " than is generally 
 imagined. In fact, the hazards of a life of crime often develop a 
 degree of truth and affection between man and woman, united only by 
 the slenderest ties, which is seldom equalled (because seldom called 
 for) in a career of respectability. A thief will not hesitate to lie in 
 an outrageous manner to an " outsider." He considers this lie as a 
 justifiable weapon of defence or defiance, but to his confederates he 
 will invariably speak the truth. The great vice of the thief is 
 gambling. This is the chief amusement and pernicious folly of his 
 life. All thieves gamble, from the most renowned burglar to the 
 most obscure sneak-thief. As fast as they make a "haul," they 
 rush to faro or keno, and " lose their pile " almost as rapidly as they 
 acquire it. Late every night, after the professional duties of the day 
 are over, the u crossman " of every grade can be seen going from 
 gambling-hell to hell, seeking not " whom he ma} 7 devour," but where 
 he may be pecuniarily devoured. If it were not for the gambling- 
 table, all thieves might be rich. As it is, the gambling-table keeps 
 them all poor. 
 
 Men who steal are not, as a class, educated men ; but it has lately 
 been observed that their increasing numbers, and their contact with 
 the world, have rendered the tribe more refined and " clever," super- 
 ficially at least : while not a few of modern thieves are among the 
 most gifted men in the country. In the matter of pleasures it has 
 been remarked that they are not much addicted to the average run of 
 amusements, as theatrical exhibitions and the like, perhaps from their 
 acquired habit of regarding these " affairs " with an eye to business. 
 Their chief gratification seems to be "idling" when "off duty," 
 and gossiping with their "pals." They are decidedly fond of the 
 pleasures of the table. 
 
 Thieves seldom go alone, and still more seldom work alone. They 
 operate in what is styled "mobs," embracing from three to seven 
 persons, under the leadership of some skilful and bold " hand." 
 Till- tappers, confidence-men, and heelers generally work in pairs ; 
 
A THIEF'S GRATITUDE. 125 
 
 while any number of parties may be concerned in a burglary. A 
 shoplifter sometimes works without assistance. 
 
 The ''mobs" often associate together, and form a "bank," to 
 which a certain portion of their "stealings" is appropriated, to be 
 used during a bad season, or when one of their number falls into 
 the clutches of the law. That is called "laying for a fall." 
 
 "honor among thieves." 
 
 This oft-quoted expression has a meaning, a real and noteworthy 
 signification. There is a practical "honor" among "professional 
 thieves," which non-professionals would, in some respects, do well 
 to imitate. This honor includes the following " points : " — 
 
 Firsts A thief does not consider his fellow as an enemy, but, 
 rather, as a friend. Thus : if A, a thief, meets B, whom, though a 
 perfect stranger to him, he recognizes also to be a thief, A will not 
 endeavor to divert business from B, or interfere with his prospects, 
 but contents himself with his own line of trade, and, if he does aught 
 in the premises, will directly assist the stranger B. This is honor 
 "reversed " indeed. 
 
 Second, Thieves are strictly upright in the payment of their debts 
 to one another. Thus : Dutch Hendricks borrowed twenty dollars 
 of a fellow-prisoner, who was a perfect stranger to him personally, 
 and promised to return it as soon as possible. Shortly after, Hen- 
 dricks was liberated ; while the man who loaned him the money was 
 sent to Sing Sing. But Hendricks's first " earnings " after his return 
 to freedom were devoted to the payment of his loan, which was 
 handed over by him to a party designated by the original lender ; 
 thus cancelling an obligation which nothing but a sense of honor 
 could have compelled him to satisfy. 
 
 Third, Thieves are, as a class, grateful for favors rendered, 
 and, like an Indian, never forget a kindness. A man by the name 
 of Clarke, in Lispenard Street, once assisted a poor thief during his 
 sickness by bringing to the room where the fellow lay some medicines 
 and invalid luxuries. He was in the room but ten minutes ; but the 
 thief, though apparently dying, took in at a glance his benefactor's 
 
126 HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 
 
 countenance, and inquired his name. The thief's first step after 
 his recovery was to discover the locale of Mr. Clarke : and, though 
 naught transpired at the time, two years afterwards, when Clarke 
 himself had forgotten the occurrence, and was pressed greatly for 
 the want of five hundred dollars, the money was mysteriously forth- 
 coming ; being sent to him, as was afterwards discovered, by the 
 grateful thief. Such instances are by no means rare. 
 
 Fourth, Thieves are seldom mean in their money transactions 
 outside of the necessities of their profession. Thus : it has been 
 remarked, at the drinking-bar of a large hotel near Niblo's Garden, 
 that, while many men of apparent respectability would "forget" in 
 the crowd to "settle for their drinks," the unsuspected pickpocket 
 would invariably pay his reckonings. 
 
 Fifth, Thieves seldom or never betray each other. They will 
 bear the odium of the punishment alone, rather than force a comrade 
 to share it. Occasionally they will even bear the brunt of misdeeds 
 committed by others of the fraternity. Sometimes they will aid an 
 officer indirectly in restoring stolen property, provided that no persons 
 are compromised. In regard to the betrayal of confidence, thieves 
 are very severe as concerns their dealings with each other ; and a 
 " dishonorable " thief will be entirely tabooed and ostracized by his 
 companions. Thieves, however, have been known to attempt to lay 
 the burden of their guilt on the shoulders of innocent "outside" 
 parties. Thus: a car-thief recently stole a pocket-book, "weeded 
 it," and then placed it in the pocket of an unsuspecting by-stander, 
 who was accused of the robbery. This is called, we believe, " Tail- 
 ing a dead-leather," and is an unutterably mean proceeding. 
 
 After all, this " honor among thieves " is only remarkable because of 
 its contrast with the usual baseness and turpitude of their general life. 
 
 Another writer in " Frank Leslie's Illustrated Paper " has 
 given the world the following interesting facts regarding female 
 thieves : — 
 
 That stealing has become in modern times " a fine art," and that 
 it is never likely to become one of " the lost arts," is generally con- 
 
FEMALE THIEVES. 127 
 
 ceded ; but it is one of those many " arts " or professions in which 
 the women will never be able, in all probability, to rival the men. 
 Somehow or other there are fewer female thieves than male thieves ; 
 and, as a class, the former are less expert at their wicked work than 
 the latter. 
 
 Account for it as you may, the fact is undoubted. Every detec- 
 tive, every police-officer, every magistrate, every humanitarian, will 
 tell you that a comparatively small percentage of women are thieves ; 
 that male thieves, in proportion to female, are as three to one ; while 
 they are not only far less numerous, but far less skilful and daring, 
 far less pluck} 7 , far less clever. 
 
 Some theorists may account for the fact just stated on the ground 
 of the superior virtue of the female sex. They may assume, and 
 perhaps with some show of truth, that women are innately more 
 honest than men. 
 
 Others, again, less complimentary to the sex, may account for the 
 comparative paucity of female thieves on the theory that women are 
 more cowardly than men, less prone to take the risks of personal 
 punishment and State prison ; while a third set of philosophers may 
 argue that women are really less clever "at taking things," less 
 expert with their hands, less skilful in the use of burglars' tools, than 
 men. 
 
 Probably all three of these theories are to a certain extent correct, 
 and together will serve to account for the fact that female thieves are 
 comparatively few. 
 
 But only "comparatively" few, after all; for in reality, consid- 
 ered by itself, without any reference to the men, the number of female 
 thieves in the country in general, and in the city of New York in 
 special, is large, — quite too large. 
 
 And one fact should here be noted : — 
 
 The proportion of female thieves is on the increase, and has been 
 steadily increasing for some time. There are more women who steal 
 professionally now than there were ten years ago. 
 
 Emigration, and the social and pecuniary changes brought about by 
 the war, together with the "labor" strikes and troubles which have 
 
128 STEALING IN "SOCIETY." 
 
 agitated the community for some time past, will serve partly to account 
 for this very undesirable increase. 
 
 FEMALE THIEFDOM : ITS UPPER AND LOWER TENDOM. 
 
 Female thieves, as found in the metropolis, where they are in a 
 higher (?) degree of perfection (?) than elsewhere, may be divided 
 into eight classes, three of which may be characterized as "indirect" 
 thieves, while the latter five classes are thieves "direct." The 
 " indirect " thieves do not style themselves " thieves," and are called 
 by more euphonious titles. They "operate" mysteriously and in 
 secret ; while the other classes ply their nefarious trade, wherever 
 they can get a chance, by ordinary methods, among ordinary people. 
 
 The " indirect," or, if the term is not an absurdity in such a con- 
 nection, the " higher," classes of female thieves sometimes embrace 
 women of some education, and even pretensions to refinement ; while 
 the lower ranks are composed almost wholly of the most ignorant, 
 vulgar, and degraded of the sex. 
 
 The three "higher" (?) classes of female thieves comprise what 
 are called, in common parlance, " blackmailers " and " adven- 
 turesses ; " and to the list should be added the class known as " hotel- 
 thieves." Strictly speaking, these adventuresses, blackmailers, con- 
 fidence-women, etc., are thieves, just as truly as the pickpocket. In 
 fact, they are thieves of the most dangerous description, — ten times 
 more dangerous than any mere pocket-pickers. 
 
 In strictly "social" or non-professional circles, too, there have 
 been occasionally (but very rarely) found ladies of standing and 
 position who have forgotten themselves and the eighth commandment. 
 
 STEALING IN "SOCIETY." 
 
 One lady of middle age, a wife and mother, highly connected, but 
 whose family are "decayed," — reduced somewhat in pecuniary cir- 
 cumstances, though still what is called "comfortable," — has been 
 more than suspected of having taken the well-filled pocket-book of a 
 lady- friend with whom she went out one morning "shopping." It 
 
FEMININE UOTEL-TUIEVES. 129 
 
 has so happened at different times during the last five or six years, 
 that this lady has " matronized " several heiresses making their debut 
 in New- York society ; and it has also so happened that each one of 
 these heiresses has met with some mysterious pecuniary loss — the 
 loss of some pocket-book, etc. — while in the company of this most 
 respectable chaperone : so that, putting these facts together, "people " 
 in society have begun to talk about the matter ; and it is not at all 
 probable that this "poor but highly respectable " matron will ever 
 have the chance to matronize any more heiresses. 
 
 It is a well-known fact, that certain well-to-do men and women — 
 women and men who have no pecuniary inducements to steal — are 
 yet diseased with an inclination to take things which do not belong to 
 them ; but these maniacs are known as kleptomaniacs, and do not 
 fall under the head proper (or improper) of thieves. 
 
 But until recently our leading hotels and watering-places were 
 infested with a number of 
 
 HOTEL-THIEVES, 
 
 often women of considerable personal attractions, who would become 
 acquainted with the wealthy residents of the hotels, obtain a social 
 footing with their families, and rob their victims, sometimes entering 
 their rooms with false kej-s, etc., or they would "beat" the hotel- 
 proprietors, deceive them by false representations, or by ' k stuffed " 
 trunks filled with bricks or other worthlessness. This class of pests 
 throve for a while extensively ; but the hotel-keepers organized a 
 force of special " hotel-detectives," a few of the leading hotel-thieves 
 
 — Mrs. M , Mrs. W , etc. — were sent to State prison, and 
 
 at present hotel-thieving is decidedly on the decline ; the detective 
 already alluded to — Mr. George Elder — computing the number in 
 this city as not exceeding about thirty. 
 
 So much for what has been called the " swell " female thieves. 
 
 The lower orders of female thiefdom embrace five classes, — the 
 shoplifters, the stage-thieves, the domestic thieves, or dishonest house- 
 hold-servants, and the pickpockets. 
 
130 DRY-GOODS STORES AND THEIR THIEVES. 
 
 SHOPLIFTERS. 
 
 The shoplifters, or women who steal goods — generally dry-goods 
 — from stores, are on the increase however. It is calculated that 
 there are about three hundred and fifty shoplifters in the metropolis, 
 the majority of whom are Germans. These shoplifters generally 
 carry a large shawl or a big cloak, and their dresses have huge, 
 deep pockets : sometimes one dress will have as many as four pock- 
 ets. They dress plainly, so as not to attract attention, but neatly, 
 so as to be mistaken for lady customers. 
 
 They move about our large dry-goods stores, especially on " open- 
 ing" days, examine goods on the counters, and then, when the clerk 
 is not looking at her, — for even dry-goods clerks cannot have their 
 eyes everywhere at once, — the shoplifter transfers a piece of delicate 
 lace into her capacious pocket, or hides a splendid piece of dress- 
 goods under her shawl or cloak, and departs, sometimes unmolested, 
 and sometimes not : for, taught by experience, most of our large dry- 
 goods stores now employ keen-eyed men as detectives ; and so, occa- 
 sionally, the shoplifter comes to grief. 
 
 A woman was recently arrested at a dry-goods store, and brought 
 into the private office, where she was searched. Her person was a 
 perfect museum of stolen dress-goods. Her three pockets, being 
 turned inside out, ' ' emitted ' ' pieces of the most costly lace ; and 
 under a capacious shawl was displayed enough silk to make two 
 dresses. Three pairs of stolen gloves also rolled from her pocket on 
 the floor, followed by two richly embroidered lace handkerchiefs. 
 
 The scene of the "exposure" was rather striking, and eminently 
 " suggestive." Perhaps the most suggestive feature of all was the 
 indignant "attitude" struck by the woman, who persisted, spite of 
 the eloquent " articles " all around, in insisting on her " innocence," 
 she failing to convince the members of the firm. 
 
 The number of stage- thieves, or women who "work" the stages 
 for the purposes of stealing, is decidedly on the decrease. Time was 
 when our Broadway busses were the favorite haunts of well-dressed 
 female thieves, who would pick the pockets of the unwary, or, some- 
 
Searching the shop-lifter " [p 130]. 
 
" EMOTIONAL » THIEVES. 131 
 
 times, even cut their pockets out by a knife or scissors. So adroit 
 were these thieves, that they have been known to take the money 
 from a stolen pocket-book right before the rightful owner's eyes, 
 and then to replace the pocket-book before the victim missed it. At 
 one time these stage-molls, "stage-buzzers," or "knucks," as they 
 were called, numbered over one hundred ; but it is now claimed that 
 their number has been reduced to less than fifteen known profes- 
 sionals. 
 
 OUR HOUSEHOLD THIEVES. — SOME STARTLING FACTS. 
 
 The greatest increase in the number of our female thieves has 
 been found to be among our female servants, — our "domestics." 
 The increase in these, and in the number of blackmailers and adven- 
 turesses, has over-balanced the decrease in the other lines of profes- 
 sional female thieves. 
 
 The majority of these dishonest domestics are of German birth ; 
 and it has been ascertained by the efforts of detective Tilly, seconded 
 by the skill of Capt. Irving, that, in certain cases, these servant- 
 thieves combine together, and, under the leadership of a man, him- 
 self a German, rob their employers systematically, taking refuge with 
 the " man " when " out of a situation " between " robberies." 
 
 A more dangerous state of things for the community could scarcely 
 be imagined; and "intelligence-offices," as at present conducted, 
 are doing, by their loose way of transacting business, all they can to 
 play into the hands of these domestic thieves, one of whom has, how- 
 ever, recently been consigned to the tender mercies of Sing-Sing 
 prison. 
 
 EMOTIONAL THIEVING. GRIEVING AND STEALING. 
 
 Of late years a new and simple, yet clever, style of stealing has 
 become popular with the female thieves of the metropolis. 
 
 For want of a better name, it may be styled " emotional thieving ; " 
 as it depends upon the exhibition of joy, grief, friendship, etc., on 
 the part of its victims. Weddings and funerals have of late become 
 great centres for clever female thieves in which to operate, and they 
 have made the most of their opportunities. Grief seems to admit 
 
132 ' FEMALE VILLANT. 
 
 of more stealing than joy ; or, at least, there are more thieves to be 
 found at funerals than at weddings. 
 
 Sometimes the thief will "operate" at the church; sometimes at 
 the house of mourning or of feasting ; sometimes the female robber 
 will go, clad gayly, as a friend of the bride ; or sometimes, attired 
 in deepest black, as a heart-broken mourner. 
 
 But in either case her eyes and fingers are busy all the time. One 
 woman has a large handkerchief bordered with black, with which she 
 wipes her eyes constantly. She attends every possible funeral, and 
 uses this handkerchief, like charity, to cover a " multitude of sins ; " 
 for she manages to use it to hide some article, some knick-knack of 
 value, some book, or article of virtu, some costly trifle, which she 
 may happen to see and clutch. And, as she " steals away," she 
 " wipes her weeping eyes." 
 
 The number of these " emotional thieves " is estimated at about a 
 hundred and fifty. Then, of late there has arisen a class of thieves 
 who haunt the docks, and mingle with the crowd of people who 
 gather on the piers to see the last of their Europe-going friends. 
 While the "wild adieus are waved from shore," these cunning 
 female thieves "wave " and steal both. 
 
 A woman was recently arrested, who, while waving her handker- 
 chief with one hand to an imaginary somebody on the departing ship, 
 with the other hand was busy in the pockets of her neighbor. 
 
 THE SUM OF FEMALE VILLANY. 
 
 Of course, accurate statistics of the number of female thieves in 
 New York are utterly unattainable ; but the approximate statistics 
 have already been given, and may be thus summed up. They will 
 be found sufficiently correct for all purposes. They have been fur- 
 nished by the police officials of the city of New York, and are as 
 follows : — 
 
 Professional blackmailers, about 150 
 
 Adventuresses (of the upper grades) 200 
 
 Hotel-thieves, only 30 
 
FIVE MURDERERS ON BROADWAY. 133 
 
 Panel-thieves, only 20 
 
 Shoplifters, at least 305 
 
 Domestic household-thieves, estimated by the police at about . 400 
 
 Miscellaneous female thieves and pickpockets . . . . 150 
 
 Total 1,255 
 
 As yet New York has escaped the presence and the opera- 
 tions of professional assassins, analogous to the bravoes of 
 Venice or the Thugs of India. But that there are hundreds 
 of men "lying around loose," or "tight," ready to commit 
 murder for a consideration, or without any consideration, 
 cannot be denied. 
 
 Nor can New York claim any high regard for the sanctity of 
 human life. Not only have there been hosts of " mysterious 
 murders " committed in the metropolis, — of which the Nathan 
 murder is only one, though the most celebrated, — not only 
 have there been hundreds of New- York murderers either ex- 
 ecuted or imprisoned, but there are in New York to-day a 
 number of men, each of whom has killed his man, but all of 
 whom are free as air, and all prosperous, and apparently 
 respected, — some quite "popular." 
 
 In a recent stroll along Broadway, from Clinton Place to 
 Thirty-fourth Street, a New-Yorker met five murderers, one 
 after the other, on the promenade, — five men who had shot 
 other men dead. Two of these literally " free shooters " were 
 rich, and were surrounded by their fawning satellites : a third 
 was a great man among the sporting fraternity. The other 
 two were living a retired life, but all five seemed to be in the 
 best of health and spirits ; and it is safe to say, that, in either 
 London or Paris, all five would either have been hung, or 
 would be in State prison for life. 
 
 "The social evil," so called, is one of the prime evils, the 
 great curses, of New York. There are at least, to use Eliza- 
 beth Barrett Browning's words, while altering her figures, — 
 
134 " GAMBLING IN GOTHAM: 1 
 
 " Ten thousand women in one smile, 
 Who only smile at night, beneath the gas." 
 
 And the sights presented, by broad daylight, in the direct rear 
 of the Broadway hotels, from the Grand Central to the St. 
 Nicholas; and the scenes visible every night on any of the 
 leading avenues and thoroughfares, — are alike dreadful and dis- 
 gusting. " Up town " is lined with houses of gilded infamy, 
 and assignation houses; and some of the "hotels" have a 
 character that is more or less than "doubtful." Broadway 
 is " alive " with showily dressed and sometimes beautiful Tra- 
 viatas ; and prominent dry-goods stores, restaurants, ay, and 
 even churches, are turned into cruising-grounds for " adven- 
 turers," and places for " meeting by appointment." The 
 "personals" and "matrimonials" in the papers, even the 
 "housekeepers" and the "medical" advertisements, are used 
 as "baits" for the lascivious, or traps for the unwary. Sixth 
 Avenue exhibits whole blocks of depravity. And even on 
 Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue, right in the heart of the 
 fashionable quarter, pest-houses of this sort abound. 
 
 And gambling keeps pace with prostitution. Although the 
 laws are very severe against gambling, and although the 
 authorities institute spasmodic police-raids against the gam- 
 blers, there is always "play," "high" and "low" alike, and 
 plenty of it, day and night in the metropolis. New York is, 
 par excellence, the favorite resort, both of stock and card 
 gamblers. 
 
 Some years ago a well-known sensational writer published 
 in " The Sunday Mercury " an article on " Gambling in 
 Gotham," which has been accepted as " authority " ever since. 
 I cannot present to my readers the facts about gambling more 
 fully or accurately than they have been stated in this article, 
 from which I accordingly quote : — 
 
A CITY OF GAMBLERS. 135 
 
 Gambling-bouses may be divided into five classes, — an arrange- 
 ment warranted, not only for convenience of description, but also as 
 having a real existence. These five classes embrace, First, The low 
 or negro game-houses, or dens, where the refuse of the city meet, to 
 waste the trifle which is their all in all, and where the play is as 
 fierce in intensity as the stake is of an insignificant amount. Second, 
 The corner groceries, where, in the back-shop, gambling is generally 
 carried on among the servants, laborers, and haekmen of our city. 
 Third, The Bowery or cross-street gambling-establishment, where the 
 clerks and middle classes, and a sprinkling of the thieves and coun- 
 terfeiters of the metropolis, congregate. Fourth, The fashionable 
 gaming-houses on Broadway, and the cross-streets up-town, where 
 our professional gamblers, men about town, and Wall-Street specula- 
 tors, resort ; and Fifth and last, the club-houses on the avenue, where 
 a quiet game is nightly carried on, and where the haut ton play, and 
 lose heavily. 
 
 The amateur gamblers, betting gentlemen, the members of our first 
 society, who amuse their leisure hours by fighting the tiger, are a 
 very large and influential class of the community. It may safely be 
 stated, that the majority of our leading citizens in New York, either 
 publicly or privately, gamble. New York, in fact, is a city of gam- 
 blers. We bet, we wager, we stake, we hazard : in short, we all 
 gamble. Some of us venture our pile in Wall Street, in daytime ; 
 others in Twenty-fourth Street, at night ; and not a few of us do 
 both. Men, like a well-known down-town speculator and up-town 
 sport, who "operates" terrifically, spends freely what he magnifi- 
 cently acquires, and stakes on the turn of a card as readily as on the 
 rise of a stock ; men, like a prominent banker and politician, — also 
 venture freely, and hazard the money they can well afford to lose. 
 The " Old Man," and those of kindred stamp, men of gigantic ideas, 
 gamble like giants. Society-men, physicians, lawyers, judges, and 
 newspaper-men devote a portion of their spare time to play ; while 
 at least two-thirds of our politicians are, to a greater or less degree, 
 gamblers. 
 
 Gamblers may be divided into two great classes, of amateurs and 
 
136 GAMBLERS AND THEIR CLASSES. 
 
 professionals, — men who gamble for excitement and amusement, and 
 men who gamble for a livelihood. Of the latter class we would here 
 say a few words. 
 
 Professional gamblers, like all classes of men, may be indefinitely 
 divided and subdivided into various grades, more or less clearly de- 
 fined. First, There are the proprietors of the fashionable gambling- 
 houses on Twenty- fourth to Twenty-seventh Streets — the Wall Street 
 of gamblers, the Fifth Avenue of farodom — and the vicinity. Sec- 
 ond come the proprietors of the Broadway houses. Then there are 
 the proprietors of the smaller establishments, located on the Bowery 
 and the cross-streets. Then there are a class of people, who, like 
 the late John C. Heenan, keep what is called a gambler's bank, an 
 institution whose character is explained in another part of the article. 
 And last comes the herd of gamblers who haunt these various estab- 
 lishments, some of whom play the role of roper-in or general agent 
 for an establishment ; others, that of capper, a term elsewhere ex- 
 plained ; others, who are dealers, a very important post given only 
 to men wlio can be trusted, etc., who never talk; others, who look 
 out, or watch the dealer, preventing any mistake on his part ; others, 
 who keep the cue-board, — croupiers generally, — blacklegs, et id 
 omne genus. We must not forget, in our enumeration, to mention 
 the inevitable contraband, who, in this connection, is generally a 
 sleek, well-bred fellow, who guards the entrance, sees that supper 
 is served, and performs kindred offices. 'Lowest and meanest of 
 all come the "strippers," a class of blackmailers and loafers who 
 infest gambling-houses, and, too cowardly to risk aught on their own 
 account, claim a portion of the gamblers' spoils under penalty of a 
 " row " or an " expose " if refused. 
 
 Those who object to losing money at games of chance should not 
 play at all ; and it is the height of meanness to — as has of late 
 been too frequently done — first illegally venture money at hazard, 
 and then, by process of law, to recover it if the venture has gone 
 adversely. The true wisdom is, to shun all such places as one would 
 a roaring lion. It has, however, been stated often, that all gam- 
 bling-games are unfairly conducted ; that no amateur is safe with 
 
THE " CAPPER." 137 
 
 "patents " or professionals; in other words, that all gamblers are 
 sharpers. These statements, like all other general statements, 
 though generally true, are occasionally, though rarely, false, correct 
 under certain circumstances, and unfounded in others. A few, very, 
 very few absolutely gamblers are beyond reproach as gamblers, and 
 gentlemen can stake money at their establishments with a perfect 
 assurance of good faith, so far as the mere gambling is concerned ; 
 the best proof of which fact is, that these houses, and others of a 
 similar character, sometimes, though very, very seldom, lose heavily 
 with apparent amateurs, or sometimes with absolute strangers. But 
 to by far the most of the minor houses of New York, and to not a 
 few of the fashionable establishments, these statements are not at 
 all applicable, but, as they say in the comedy, precisely the reverse. 
 These latter dens are the resorts of blacklegs and dupes ; and, of 
 course, the former carry the day, or, rather, the night. We propose 
 here, briefly, to unveil a few of the more prominent mysteries of 
 these establishments. 
 
 Gambling-houses of the kind last alluded to employ a very useful 
 personage, known as the capper. The capper is generally a genteel- 
 looking individual, apparently forty or forty-five years of age, con- 
 veying the idea of a retired merchant, or a gentleman living upon his 
 income. It often happens that a party of amateurs, or greens, may 
 be gathered together in a gaming-house, disposed for sport, and yet 
 each of the assemblage being unwilling to open the game on his own 
 individual account. In this case the capper is needed. A bell gives 
 him the signal. He hastens down stairs from his inner chamber, 
 opens the street-door, enters the gambling-room, as though a visitor 
 just arrived. He is welcomed by the proprietor with empressement, 
 saluted as " Colonel," is asked where he has been lately, — he has 
 not been visible for some time, etc., — and will he not have a glass 
 of wine or a cigar. The capper, or colonel, blandly accepts all the 
 courtesies shown him, and then, looking around in his polite and 
 dignified way upon the assembled company, impressing them with 
 a feeling of respect and confidence by his unblemished integrity, 
 suggests pleasantly, " What say you, gentlemen, to enjoying a social 
 
138 " SKIN "-GAMES. 
 
 game with our friend, the proprietor?" etc. He sits down to the 
 table accordingly, and the rest follow their leader ; and the great 
 object is accomplished, — of commencing play, — out of the proceeds 
 of which the very respectable capper takes his very respectable per- 
 centage. The capper is generally an expert, sometimes keeps the 
 cues, and is altogether a most important personage. 
 
 Another of the chief features of ordinary gambling, in all cities, 
 and a feature upon which much of its pecuniary success depends, is 
 the institution known to the initiated as "roping-in." This system 
 affords the means of an elegant and easy livelihood to many, and 
 is worthy an expose. A roper- in is simply an outside agent for a 
 gambling-house, who supplies it with its victims, receiving, in con- 
 sideration of his services, a per cent of sometimes one-half of the 
 pluckings. The roper-in is generally a man of the world, polished 
 in manners, full of savoir /aire, a good judge of human nature, and 
 keen in perception. His field lies within the compass of the fashion- 
 able hotels. He haunts the reading-rooms, gentlemen's parlors, and 
 offices of the St. Nicholas, Metropolitan, New York, Windsor, and 
 Fifth- Avenue Hotels, and his usual mode of operation is as follows : 
 He watches closely all the arrivals, and ascertains from the inspec- 
 tion of the books, or casual observations, the names and business of 
 such guests as he deems will best suit his purpose, then devotes his 
 energies to the study of the personnel and morale of the latter class. 
 Having satisfied his scrutiny, he contrives 'in some cunning way to 
 form the acquaintance of one of their number, and, by plausibly con- 
 ceived and well-executed lies, diverts all suspicion, and soon ripens 
 an acquaintance to almost friendship. Having made his points thus 
 far, the roper-in invites his friend to accompany him to the theatre, 
 and insists on paying all the expenses, on the ground that it is his 
 duty, as a citizen, to extend the hospitality of New York to the 
 stranger. After the theatre, the roper-in suggests a cigar, and 
 then, amid the puffs of a Havana, hits on a visit to a friend's house 
 in the neighborhood, where he knows they would be welcome, and 
 could enjoy a game-supper and a bottle. The stranger, fascinated 
 by this new idea, flattering himself that he is indeed seeing the 
 
TIIE ROPER-IN. 139 
 
 elephant, and doing New York, assents, and is accordingly ushered 
 into luxuriously furnished apartments, where all that can please the 
 eye, or gratify the taste, awaits him. He is introduced to a number 
 of gentlemen of distinguished bearing and exalted name ; and, after 
 a liberal course of conversation and refreshments, it is proposed to 
 join in a little social game ; and, to make the play more interesting, 
 it is also proposed to wager small amounts of money upon the result, 
 — merely for amusement, — pour passer le tempts, of course. The 
 victim assents : to refuse now would be ungeutlemanly. He may 
 plead ignorance ; " but the principle of the game is so simple," and 
 the roper-in will show him all the details. He plays, and wins, — 
 the victim generally wins at first : he is elated and good-humored 
 with his luck. Higher stakes are proposed : still he ascends, and 
 still he wins. At last the tide of fortune begins to turn. He loses ; 
 but the roper-in at his elbow says, " Try your luck once more : you 
 will come all right again." He resumes his game, and loses all self- 
 control. Inflamed by wine, and frenzied by excitement, watched by 
 men who have long since learned to stifle all human emotion m the 
 terrible machinery of play, he falls an easy spoil. In a few hours 
 he is stripped. All his available funds are diverted from his own 
 pocket to the coffers of the bank. Sometimes the victim even pledges 
 his rings or watch, to retrieve his loss, but to no avail. And then 
 the roper-in, having fulfilled his mission, will be seen no more in 
 that quarter for a while. 
 
 The ropers-in number many hundred in New York, and are among 
 the chief pests in our public places. They lounge on the street- 
 corners, haunt the entrances of theatres, stand at the doors of 
 gaming-houses ; and, though known to the hotel-keepers and police, 
 are allowed to proceed unmolested in their ways. 
 
 Again. In the third place, in short card-games, blacklegs gull the 
 unwary by means of their thorough knowledge of the appearances of 
 the various cards of a pack. Occasionally a card manufacturer and 
 gambler will act in concert ; the former suggesting certain figures to be 
 marked upon the backs or corners of the cards, which, though not to 
 be perceived by the uninitiated, will, to those in the ring, be as clear 
 
140 . " CARD-SHARPERS." 
 
 and full of meaning as a telegraphic signal to an operator. For the 
 manufacture of these cards, the gambler will contribute a large sum, 
 so as to enable the manufacturer to sell them at a low rate, and force 
 them on the market. Of course, wherever these cards are used, the 
 gamblers are masters of the situation. Even the ordinary playing- 
 cards can be readily distinguished one from the other, and their 
 suit and value ascertained by the sharper by their backs as well as 
 the general public by their faces. Thus, for instance, the star-backed 
 cards present occasionally a star at some given corner, divided into two 
 portions, which serve as indications. The calico, or check-backed, 
 cards are also distinguishable by the recurrence of some especial 
 stripe or check at a corner which will serve to designate the suit 
 and the card. Even in a pack of plain-backed cards, presenting no 
 marks whatever, the sharper can easily know all he needs. In one 
 suit of these cards, the grain of the paper may chance to run longi- 
 tudinally ; in another suit it may run transversely ; in another, diago- 
 nally ; and in the last, bias. An expert gambler can read the cards 
 as rapidly from one side as from another. We have seen the fact 
 demonstrated. 
 
 In the fourth place, the sharper, or blackleg, acquires, by care, 
 study, and long practice, a wonderful mechanical sleight-of-hand in 
 his manipulation of cards. We have met blacklegs who can outdo 
 Hermann in card- tricks. They can deal a certain number of cards 
 to their opponents, and as many as they choose to themselves, with- 
 out exciting suspicion. They can cause two or three cards to pass 
 as readily as one. They can produce any desired card precisely 
 when it is wanted, and no one save themselves be the whit the wiser. 
 Cards can be shuffled by them, and cut ad libitum; but, provided the 
 sharper has the deal, he can control his own hand, and that of his 
 adversary, at will. 
 
 In the fifth place, the mechanical appliances of the sharper, 
 utterly unsuspected by the unwary, enable him to defraud without 
 detection. This is especially the case with faro and the faro-box. 
 This latter appliance is often a marvel of ill-applied ingenuity, full 
 of hidden springs and contrivances which are absolutely invisible to 
 
BLACKLEGS AND THEIR THICKS. 141 
 
 the unpractised eye. The box is made of silver, and presents a very 
 beautiful appearance : it is seemingly simple, but really complex. 
 Into the faro-box the usual variety of cards will occasionally not 
 pass without being " reduced." There is a plate or knife prepared 
 for that purpose, through the agency of which the edges of the card 
 can be made concave or converse, and by which means, also, a num- 
 ber of marks and variations can be produced, sufficient to distinguish 
 each and every card in the pack. 
 
 "Braces," or two card-boxes, are also used by dishonest gam- 
 blers. Cards are sand-papered, and so arranged as to cling lovingly 
 together ; and numerous contrivances of similar character are in 
 vogue. 
 
 But, taken as a whole, ^t is a very difficult thing to cheat success- 
 fully at faro. There must be in all cases a collusion between the 
 dealer and the cue-keeper, and great carelessness on the part of the 
 player. 
 
 Sixthly, among blacklegs there sometimes prevails a systeTh of 
 signals, which answers all their purposes, but defies the observation 
 of outsiders. And sometimes a regular telegraph (a "gambler's 
 telegraph") is put into operation. A confederate placed in a room 
 above, or some supposed stranger looking on, can see the cards of 
 the players, and then, by the means of some mechanical communica- 
 tion, and a series of agreed-upon signs, can telegraph his knowledge 
 to his pals. But instances of this kind are comparatively rare. 
 Besides all this, the professional blackleg possesses the immense 
 advantage over his opponent of a memory rendered almost miracu- 
 lous by constant practice, a sense of touch educated to a capacity 
 rendered almost equal to that possessed by the blind, and a coolness 
 which is derived from long familiarity with scenes of excitement, — 
 a coolness which is in itself half of the game. 
 
 From this resume of the tricks practised, and the advantages 
 possessed by the blacklegs, or swindling gamblers, it is evident that 
 the " patent " man, or sharper, by his marked cards, his slcight-of- 
 hand, his " paling," stealing cards, false shuffling, dealing from the 
 bottom, slipping the cut on top, " stocking " the cards, signals, tele- 
 
142 A MEMORABLE GAME. 
 
 graphs, arranged boxes and tables, his agents and cappers and 
 ropers-in, combined with his wonderful memory, touch, and coolness, 
 is an adversary against whom all amateur-playing and strokes of luck 
 are unavailing : in other words, to use an expressive phrase, he is a 
 man who plays to win. 
 
 As regard the interior of gambling-houses, much description is 
 not needed. Sketch-writers and personal experience have rendered 
 to most information on this matter superfluous. They are, as a rule 
 (we speak of the better class of houses), handsomely furnished, 
 with costly tables, elegant machinery, table-attendance, and well 
 supplied with cigars, wine, and edibles generally. 
 
 It was at Mr. Morrissey's establishment, No. 5 "West Twenty- 
 fourth Street, that the celebrated game, one of the most stupendous 
 on record, between the Hon. John Morrissey on the one side, and the 
 Hon. Ben Wood on the other, was played. This play, alike from 
 the prominent positions of the principal personages engaged, and 
 the enormous sums staked, has acquired almost a world-wide noto- 
 riety. The game was a combination game, and six or seven persons 
 were engaged in it, — Tom Merritt, who bears the reputation of being 
 the sharpest dealer in the United States; "Jim Stuart," a noted 
 gambler; old "Scribner," who has been a successful professional 
 for over a third of a century ; a gambler rejoicing in the unusual 
 appellation of John Smith; and a noted player called "Barclay" 
 from California. In addition to the two distinguished congressmen, 
 a noted city judge was also present at the play ; and it is said the 
 Hon. Ben Wood happened to be "short" at the commencement of 
 the evening ; the judge loaned him three thousand dollars to start 
 with. The game was continued until morning ; both principals 
 waxed more and more excited as the stakes grew higher and higher ; 
 and both, it is averred, drinking freely. During the latter part of 
 the game, over thirty-one thousand dollars was staked on the turn 
 of a single card. The play, which proved a serious earnest for Mr. 
 Morrissey, resulted in Mr. Ben Wood winning from the bank a hun- 
 dred and twenty-four thousand dollars. Of this sum Mr. Morrissey 
 is said to have lost only seventy thousand dollars, the balance being 
 
GAMBLING AT TUE CLUBS. 143 
 
 shared among his associates. At any rate, the game was, accord- 
 ing to the professional gambler's ideas, squarely played, and evinced 
 a degree of skill on one side, and pluck on the other, which has 
 seldom been equalled. Certainly, it was a game worthy, in its mag- 
 nitude at least, of the Empire City. Such a game could have been 
 played nowhere outside of the metropolis. 
 
 Among the many establishments in which, though not gaming- 
 houses, gambling is excessively carried on, may be enumerated those 
 popular institutions known as clubs, embracing the Travellers', Union, 
 Manhattan, New York, and other fashionable resorts. Poker and 
 whist, with other varieties, are among the favorite games at these 
 places ; and heavy stakes are not unfrequently wagered on the results. 
 We have been told of one week in which over a hundred thousand 
 dollars changed hands at the Union Club on a game of cards. Of 
 course, at the clubs, the parties playing being all gentlemen of birth, 
 education, and position, the utmost honor is observed ; and the best 
 feeling prevails. Occasionally, however, a sharper will manage "to 
 obtain the entry ; or (such cases have been known of, though very 
 rarely) one of the members, who has learned the tricks of gamblers, 
 will avail himself of his nefarious experience, — and, of course, the 
 gentlemen who wager their money will be defrauded. But these 
 cases are exceptions to the rule ; and, whatever may be the moral 
 aspects of club-gambling, it is, at least, a fairly conducted amuse- 
 ment, patronized by those who can afford it. 
 
 As regards the statistics of gambling, we would say a few words. 
 This branch of the subject is replete with difficulty ; and all data given 
 must, of course, be considered as only approximate ; but still some 
 general figures can be stated which will afford some suggestive ideas. 
 
 Exclusive of the groceries, which are countless, and the very 
 vilest of the low dens of the metropolis, there are about two hundred 
 gambling-houses, — public, and recognized as such, — about fifty of 
 which belong to what may be styled the first-class and fashionable 
 houses. The expenses of a fashionable gambling-house are enor- 
 mous ; amounting, for wines, cigars, suppers, and other expenses, 
 from twenty-five thousand to forty thousand dollars per annum. The 
 
144 A MAN WITH A PASSION FOB GAMBLING. 
 
 value of the furniture often exceeds twenty thousand dollars in one of 
 these establishments, while the amount of capital required to start 
 with varies from fifteen thousand to fifty thousand dollars, while 
 some establishments can command twice the sum last mentioned. 
 The amount of capital invested in the gambling-houses of the 
 metropolis must exceed, in all probability, over a million and a 
 quarter of dollars. The amount of money lost or won at gambling 
 must amount throughout the year, on an average, to about forty 
 thousand dollars nightly. The number of professional gamblers in 
 New York has been variously computed from five thousand to ten 
 thousand, or about one-fourth the number of professional courtesans. 
 A proprietor of a gambling-house generally makes money, lives well, 
 dines as an epicure, drinks like a temperate Bacchus, dresses like a 
 lord, and enjoys life generally ; but his tenure of prosperity is, gen- 
 erally, short-lived in the majority of the cases. As for the profes- 
 sional gambler, he simply makes his expenses, which may be averaged 
 at two thousand dollars per annum ; is generally as poor at the end 
 of the year as he was at the beginning ; and, taken altogether, earns 
 his money with as much expenditure of time and talent as though 
 laboring in some regular trade or profession. 
 
 The passion for gambling, like the passion for drinking, often 
 obtains a terrible hold upon its victim. One of the most forci- 
 ble illustrations of this awful truth is afforded by the powerful, 
 realistic sketch entitled "The Gambler's Christmas Eve," writ- 
 ten by Mr. Isaac G. Reed, jun., the author of the celebrated 
 series of sketches, " Thirty Years in Gotham," in which the 
 story first made its appearance. This sketch is founded upon 
 fact, and was as follows : — 
 
 A man with a passion for gambling — and with a wild idea, 
 common to many gamblers, that he will some day " think out " 
 a " system " which will enable him to beat chance, burst a faro- 
 bank, and always win — marries a deserving woman, and finally, 
 through her influence, promises to abstain from gambling, and 
 
THE GAMBLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 145 
 
 never to enter a gaming-den again. He kept his promise, but 
 still brooded over his possible infallible " system." 
 
 This was the status one Christmas Eve. We give the rest of 
 the story literally. 
 
 Christmas Eve came : and it had been intended for all the Watson 
 family to take a stroll along Broadway, and finish the holiday pur- 
 chases, fillin' the family stockings ; but his wife's only sister, livin' 
 in Harlem, was taken quite sick ; and the wife was compelled to pay 
 her a visit of mercy, while the home was to be looked after by the 
 husband and father. The wife would fain have taken him with her ; 
 but, one of the children being too unwell, he was left behind to 
 superintend the nursin'. Christmas Eve came ; and a lonely, dismal 
 eve it was, — the wife and mother away from home, at the bedside of 
 her sick sister ; the husband and father seated in his room alone, with 
 no company but the hired girl and his sleeping or sick children. 
 Hours passed on : and suddenly an idea flashed across George 
 Watson's mind; a point about his "infallible system," that had 
 hitherto escaped him, now occurred to him. Suddenly, all that had 
 been unfortunate to him, or m} T sterious in the system, seemed to be 
 explained away, as if by magic or inspiration. He saw a way to 
 infallibly beat and break the faro-bank at last. A fortune lay 
 within his grasp, if he could get an opportunity to try his newly 
 discovered, almost divinely inspired, " point." He had one hundred 
 dollars in his pocket : it was enough to lay the foundation of a 
 fortune, if he could buck against the tiger with it that night. But 
 there was his sick child : he could not leave her in the sole care of 
 the hired girl. But just then a kindly, motherly neighbor dropped 
 in, — a friend of his wife's. It was his golden opportunity, and he 
 seized it. He left his household and his child in her experienced 
 care, and went into the streets in a fever of excitement and anticipa- 
 tion. AYith one hundred dollars in his pocket, he walked hastily to 
 818 Broadway, then the great "Gamblers' game" of the city of 
 New York, and rang the bell. The colored man in waiting admitted 
 him. He knew him of old, and welcomed him with a smile ; and in 
 
146 ll 818 BROADWAY:* 
 
 a few minutes he was buckin' against the tiger and the new point in 
 his infallible system. His one hundred dollars became several thou- 
 sands, and he was wild with joy. His system worked at last ; he 
 would be a rich man erelong ; it was a glorious Christmas Eve 
 indeed ! Meanwhile, with a presentiment of evil, the wife and 
 mother had suddenly left her sister's bedside, and had returned 
 home. Her worst fears were realized : her husband was gone ; and 
 a terrible instinct told her where he had gone to, and what he had 
 gone for. She had in times past learned by sad experience all his 
 gamin' haunts, and she knew that of 'em all, his chief favorite, 
 the first place he would strike would be No. 818. She was sick 
 herself, — footsore, heartsore. She had been troubled with several 
 attacks lately of heart disease, which she had kept quiet about 
 for fear of alarming her husband. It was a bitter cold night, and it 
 was beginning to snow : it would be a stormy night and a wild 
 Christmas morning, but she did not hesitate one moment. 
 
 Kissing her unconscious children, leavin' them in the charge of 
 her kind-hearted neighbor, who vainly endeavored to dissuade her 
 from going out, she again started out in the snow-storm, and trudged 
 wearily along until she reached the door of No. 818. She was still 
 a pretty woman, though faded and jaded ; and men looked at her 
 curiously and impertinently, as she walked along through dark, 
 though whitening, streets ; the young men even turned, followed her, 
 and accosted her with an impudent leer ; but she took no heed what- 
 ever. She reached the door of the gamblin'-hell, the best-known 
 place of its kind in the United States, and stopped there, just as if 
 any thin' could be accomplished by her stopping out there in the 
 dark and in the cold. 
 
 It may have been, that had she pulled the bell of 818 just then, and 
 asked for her husband while her husband was winning thousands, 
 she might have had some chance given her to get at him, and to get 
 him away ; but she did not have the nerve to do that then ; all her 
 strength seemed to have deserted her at the gamblin'-hell's portal. 
 All she did was to wring her hands, and moan, and walk up and 
 down Broadway, and wait, wait, wait, in the snow and cold, as if 
 
GEORGE WATSON'S " SYSTEM." 147 
 
 waiting could do any earthly good. At last, chilled to the bone, she 
 grew desperate, and ascended the steps, pulled the bell of No. 818, 
 but so feebly that it could not be heard at first ; though the few 
 passers-by, knowin' the character of the house, wondered at seeing 
 a woman there, at the entrance of a "hell:" — finally, mustering 
 courage, she gave a stronger pull at the bell ; and the sleek colored 
 man answered the summons in surprise. Feebly she stammered out 
 the name of her husband, and asked to see him if he was inside. 
 The colored man took in the "situation'' at once; experience of 
 life had made him keen : he caught the name upon her lips, recog- 
 nized it at once, and saw that the wife was after her husband. But 
 it would never do to interrupt the game or to have a scene. So the 
 colored man denied all knowledge of her husband, and, tellin' her to 
 go somewhere else, shut the door in her face. And there, upon the 
 snowed-upon steps, she sat that Christmas Eve, waitin' in front of 
 the gilded hell for her husband to come out, and who did not come. 
 Somehow, she was not interfered with by any policeman. The blue- 
 coats and brass buttons did not see her sitting on the steps ; their 
 business was " not " to see any thing that was goin' on in or around 
 818 ; they had their reasons. But the sports passin' to and fro, and 
 going out and in, removed her from the steps. Then she took her 
 station near by, and watched and waited, gettin' colder, and burning 
 hot with fever and excitement and pain within, the snow falling 
 around and upon her, — this was the faithful, loving, true wife's 
 Christmas Eve! Meanwhile George "Watson's "system " had gone 
 back on him ; his new point had played him false ; he lost all that he 
 had at first won ; and about midnight he had lost every dollar of his 
 original hundred dollars, and had given an I. O. U. for one hundred 
 dollars besides, with an oath, and drainin' a glass of brandy to the 
 dregs. With despair in his soul, and not one cent in his pocket, he 
 left No. 818, and walked into the street at midnight, at the legal 
 beginning of Christmas Day. He saw a woman crouchin' in a 
 corner. He stepped toward her curiously, sympathetically, as 
 towards a human being as wretched as himself. He stooped down 
 to lift the cloak which the poor woman had clasped around her, 
 
148 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 found her unconscious with the cold, and, gazing on the freezing, 
 dying woman, saw that he was gazing at his own wife. A yell that 
 might have issued from a lost spirit rang through the street, and 
 startled even the policemen into action. The woman was taken 
 hastily into a drug-store ; and restoratives were applied, but in vain. 
 She had been faithful unto death ; for in the vain attempt, somehow, 
 some way, to get at her poor, tempted husband, the man she loved 
 better than life, she had frozen to death. That Christmas morning 
 dawned drearily on a dead woman in a drug-store, and a played-out 
 gambler who had gone mad. 
 
 
"And gazing on the freezing, dying woman, saw that he was gazing at 
 his own wife" [p. 148], 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PEN-PANORAMA OF NEW YORK {continued). — THE METROPOLITAN 
 POLICE AS THEY ARE. — THE DETECTIVES. — THIEF-TAKERS IN PETTI- 
 COATS. — HOW CAPT. JOHN S. YOUNG CAUGHT A THIEF BY INSTINCT. — 
 THE TOMBS PRISON, AND " MURDERER'S ROW." 
 
 Intricate, elaborate, and varied as is crime in New York, 
 the machinery of the police-system is even more so. It is not 
 saying too much to assert that New York, with all its faults, 
 is the best-governed and the best-regulated city in America. 
 Being the largest city and the principal seaport, it is neces- 
 sarily the favorite resort of abandoned and dissolute characters, 
 male and female ; but I do not hesitate to assert, and I am 
 sustained by facts, and fortified with the opinions of those most 
 qualified to form an opinion, that, considering its population, 
 notwithstanding its enormous criminal class, New York is one 
 of the most orderly cities in the world, and its police among 
 the most efficient. 
 
 True, ever and anon, as in the memorable Forrest-Alacready 
 and the draft riots, the roughs will, for an hour or a day, get 
 the upper hand of the authorities ; and scenes of bloodshed and 
 horror will ensue. But, as a rule, the city is peaceful, orderly, 
 well-behaved, as a city, though it contains thousands of in- 
 habitants who are otherwise. 
 
 The police, too, as a rule, and as a body of men, are skilled 
 and trusty : with all his human faults, the New- York police- 
 man, like the New-York fireman, is trained, active, and reliable. 
 But still, in many — too many — individual cases, he is unworthy 
 
 149 
 
150 CRIME AND POLITICS. 
 
 of his position, — is either the creature of politicians, or the 
 friend, associate, and stipendiary of " the criminal class " itself. 
 
 It is not saying too much to assert, that, if the New-York 
 police were absolutely and entirely honest and determined, the 
 New- York criminals would, as a class, cease to exist. So thor- 
 ough is the police-system, so accurate and so varied are their 
 sources of information, so many are their opportunities, and 
 so great are their powers, that, if so disposed, the New-York 
 police could not merely diminish New- York crime, — they 
 could wipe it out. 
 
 Every professional criminal is known to the police authori- 
 ties: every haunt of crime is known to them. The police 
 have a list of every gambling-house, every assignation-house, 
 every den of vice, every policy-shop, etc. If they want a rogue, 
 they know just when and where to put the finger on him. 
 
 And yet u policy " is played by tens of thousands in this 
 city, in defiance of the law ; dens of vice are in full blast, in 
 defiance of the law ; hundreds of houses are devoted, almost 
 openly, to immoral purposes, in defiance of the law; men daily 
 and nightly gamble, and are fleeced by gamblers, in defiance of 
 the law; and an army of thieves prowl through the city, in 
 defiance of the law. 
 
 Certainly, under such circumstances, while giving the New- 
 York police the credit for what it really does, it should be held 
 censurable for what it really and deliberately leaves undone. 
 One of the great faults, the glaring evils, in the practical 
 workings of the police-system of New York, is the connection 
 — the shameful connection — that is allowed to exist between 
 crime and politics. A well-known thief in this city is, and has 
 been for years, a prominent politician , and his " den M receives 
 police protection. For years a New-York law-maker and con- 
 gressman was a New- York law-breaker and gambler. And 
 other cases in point could be cited. 
 
MONET AND THE POLICE. 151 
 
 The intimate connection between money and police favor is 
 another kindred and crying evil. Rich vice is seldom inter- 
 fered with : crime that pays its way has a way made for it, and 
 kept open, by the police ; while poverty is regarded as, in itself, 
 a crime. 
 
 Even in the workings of New York's latest patent improve- 
 ment, the new Dudley Field et ah penal code, the distinction 
 between rich and poor is plainly observed. Some Sundays ago 
 a hard-working woman, a widow, with three children to sup- 
 port, was arrested for selling some trifles on the sabbath; while 
 two well-to-do theatrical managers were permitted to make 
 hundreds of dollars by giving Sunday concerts, — concerts in 
 which no part of the programme was "sacred," — and some 
 twenty rich music-hall and saloon keepers fairly coined 
 "money" in exchange for music and liquor. 
 
 Men, rich men, brokers, and bankers, or prominent politi- 
 cians, can be seen any night, reeling from " swell " bar-rooms ; 
 and the police either look on, laughing, or kindly assist the 
 well-dressed " reeler." But when a poor man is found, in the 
 streets of New York, under the influence of liquor, then there 
 is an arrest, a cell, a fine, or the island. 
 
 Ay, not unfrequently some stranger, when seized with a fit, 
 is taken, not to a doctor, but to a magistrate ; not to a hospital, 
 but to a station-house , and is clubbed, instead of cared for. 
 
 And in the system of the police-courts, in their practical 
 administration, gross evils exist, — official outrages are perpe- 
 trated every day, — and police blackmail is levied upon all 
 who will or must endure it. 
 
 Fines are often levied which have no warrant in law : bogus 
 or straw-bail is often offered, and received, for a considera- 
 tion. Police-court lawyers are not seldom simply police-court 
 sharpers, and the administration of "justice" is sometimes 
 notoriously unjust. 
 
152 THE POLICEMAN'S CLUB. 
 
 But, with all its faults, the Metropolitan Police-System is one 
 of the most deserving and beneficial of metropolitan institu- 
 tions ; and the metropolitan police are justly the pride of New- 
 York. The old police-system was a failure, — it failed to pro- 
 tect; but, from the time when the State Legislature created 
 "a Metropolitan District" (consisting of the cities of New 
 York and Brooklyn, the counties of New York, Kings, Rich- 
 mond, and Westchester, embracing a circuit of about thirty 
 miles, controlled by a commission of five, the mayors of New 
 York and Brooklyn being members of the board), the police- 
 service has steadily improved. 
 
 As a practical working-force, the metropolitan police may 
 date its efficiency from the days of the celebrated John A. 
 Kennedy, who, though he was something of a despot, was the 
 best police-officer, the very best police-superintendent, New- 
 York City has ever seen. 
 
 With its officials, inspectors, captains, sergeants, patrolmen, 
 doormen, special policemen, etc., the New-York police comprises 
 an army of considerably over two thousand men, neatly uni- 
 formed, armed with clubs and revolvers, and thoroughly drilled. 
 The discipline is perfect. 
 
 The policeman's club is a terrible weapon : the " roughs " 
 dread its certainty of crushing or maiming more than they 
 fear the chancing of a pistol-shot. And it is sometimes terribly 
 abused. Awful to state, men — peaceable, though silly, sick 
 or intoxicated, comparatively or actually innocent men — have 
 been clubbed to death in the streets of New York by the New- 
 York police. While, at the same time, the handsome features, 
 splendid physique, and gallant politeness, of "the Broadway 
 Squad," who escort, or even carry on occasion, ladies over the 
 principal crossings, has become proverbial. 
 
 But probably the most interesting department of the police- 
 force (to the general reader) is the " detective " branch there- 
 
PETTICOATED DETECTIVES. 153 
 
 of. The modern detective figures largely in the modern play 
 and novel, and the " story-papers " are full of him. Yet few 
 are familiar with the facts about detectives. 
 
 Time was when the whole detective force in New-York City 
 was comprised in the person of one man, — old Jacob Hays. 
 Gradually, as the city increased in size and crime, a separate 
 organization of detectives was formed : then organizations 
 were multiplied, till to-day there are some fifteen or sixteen 
 distinct, and sometimes conflicting, varieties of detectives. 
 There are the central-office detectives, the local-ward detec- 
 tives, private detectives, hotel detectives, insurance detectives, 
 divorce detectives, United-States detectives, and female de- 
 tectives. 
 
 As regards petticoated detectives, a volume, and a very 
 entertaining though not edifying volume, could be written. 
 Men suspect men ; they watch each other as closely as two 
 strange dogs, and in as unfriendly a manner; but they are 
 generally off their guard with women. Besides, women know 
 the weak points of men better than men do themselves. And, 
 for both these reasons, they make capital detectives. In France 
 they have long been found useful ; and, from the days of 
 Richelieu, the most successful spies have ever been females. 
 But, in our sober country, the idea of ever emplo}'ing women 
 in secret service has all the force of a novelty. In two vari- 
 eties of cases females are peculiarly valuable : the first of these 
 is in the event of bank-robberies, especially when suspicion 
 falls upon the clerk of the institution. Male detectives are 
 set to work at the outset: but sometimes the suspected clerk 
 has skilfully covered up his tracks, and defies investigation ; or 
 else he watches every man who approaches him, in whatever 
 guise, like a hawk ; and all efforts to win the knowledge of his 
 secrets are in vain. At this stage of the game a woman is 
 sent for, generally a pretty, smart, well-dressed woman, who is 
 
154 " THE PERSONALS." 
 
 not over-scrupulous ; and the matter is placed in her hands. 
 Sometimes she proceeds directly to the point, but generally 
 finesse is resorted to ; and it is so contrived that the acquaint- 
 anceship of the fair detective and her intended victim shall be 
 brought about in some romantic manner, removed from the 
 usual beaten track of common life, and invested at the outset 
 with some of the charm of adventure or romance, so as to 
 utterly divert suspicion of her real design. Ascertaining from 
 general inquiry the character of the bank-clerk whom she is to 
 track, she resorts to the " Personals " of the newspapers, to 
 arrange an interview with him. Thus, if this clerk be, as the 
 majority of such clerks are, an admirer of the sex, a gay boy, 
 the fair detective contrives one day to meet him, in the stage 
 for instance, attracts his attention, and, at the same time, notes 
 his person and attire. A day or two after, in one of the morn- 
 ing journals, an item appears, somewhat to this effect : " If the 
 tall young gentleman, with dark hair, heavy side-whiskers, 
 dressed in such-and-such a suit, or with such-and-such a dia- 
 mond ring or pin (as the case may be), who got into the stage 
 
 at Street, and noticed the young lady in red who sat 
 
 opposite, will write to Street, or call at , he may hear 
 
 something that may please him (or hear of the lady, or form an 
 agreeable acquaintance, or whatever other wording may be 
 given to the concluding paragraph of the personal). Of 
 course, "the tall gentleman with dark hair," etc., sees this 
 item, or it is so arranged that his attention is called to it at 
 once. Of course, also, he regards the affair as a good joke, — 
 a capital love-adventure. Of course, he answers or calls, as 
 directed, and either at once, or step by step, forms the ac- 
 quaintance of the fair deceiver. Having now put her party 
 under the most favorable auspices, the game is at her disposal. 
 By her art, or her beauty, or probably by both, — for females 
 of her profession are not apt to stick at trifles, — she obtains 
 
THE "STATION D " DODGE. 155 
 
 sooner or later his confidence; she surrenders, perhaps, herself: 
 he surrenders more than himself, — his secret, — and is at her 
 mercy. Having made her points, and gotten her man "dead 
 to rights," she places the matter in the hands of her male asso- 
 ciates ; and the affair is settled by arrest or by a compromise. 
 In nine cases out of ten, by the latter. 
 
 A recent case occurred in a Broadway bank, where the sus- 
 pected clerk was a scion of a noble family. A pretty girl was 
 put on his track, managed to form his friendship through the 
 " Station D " dodge, infatuated her " man " with her charms, 
 and obtained, not only possession of his guilty secret, but also 
 eight thousand dollars of the money taken from the bank. 
 The matter was finally hushed up by a settlement; and the 
 pretty detective netted for her services, in seven weeks, the 
 handsome sum of fifteen hundred dollars. 
 
 Women are also used as car-detectives on the city passenger- 
 railways with advantage. It sometimes happens that the 
 thieves and the conductors are in partnership ; and, in course 
 of time, they become cognizant of the personnel of the regular 
 male detectives, whose influence is hereby neutralized. In 
 these cases the services of the softer sex becomes desiderata. 
 
 One of the most quiet, and therefore most valuable, of the 
 female detectives, is a young woman called " Mary Gilsey," or 
 " White Mary," from the fairness of her complexion. Mary is 
 tall and slender, and has the most dovelike, not to say stupid, 
 expression of countenance. She is the last woman in the world 
 whom nine out of ten would select for her profession, and yet 
 she is a superb detective. Keen, quick, possessed of a memory 
 exceedingly retentive, she never forgets a face, a place, or a 
 name, and has the faculty of seeing through a stone wall 
 farther than any woman of her age. She is but twenty-one, 
 and was born in the city of New York. In Paris she would 
 make a fortune in a year. In point of character, also, Mary is 
 
156 THE DIVORCE DETECTIVE. 
 
 superior to the average of her profession ; being, as far as per- 
 sonal purity is concerned, irreproachable. 
 
 The divorce detective has become, of late, " a social evil " in 
 New York. He or she is simply disgusting, disgraceful ; but 
 the fact that such a creature is in demand — in constantly 
 increasing demand — in our greatest city, is in itself a sign of 
 the times. 
 
 The modus operandi in the case of a divorce detective is 
 somewhat after this fashion : a wife suspects her husband, or 
 vice versa. Husband or wife, however, is careful to cover up 
 his or her tracks, and keeps shady as to "the little outside 
 arrangement." Wife or husband sends for a detective, and 
 the matter is arranged. The first question with the detective 
 is, of necessity, the pay. Some of them are in the habit of 
 undertaking the job at, say, fifty or a hundred dollars, others 
 charge five dollars per night, or ten dollars per day, during 
 the continuance of the investigations ; others, again, refuse to 
 bind themselves to any specific sum, but will be guided by 
 circumstances. But all agree on insisting upon two cardinal 
 points, — a certain amount of money, cash down, to bind the 
 bargain, and the payment of all incidental or contingent ex- 
 penses. In this latter item lies the great placer. The detec- 
 tive who draws but ten dollars a day salary may obtain from 
 his principal twenty dollars a day for his hotel expenses, and 
 outlays for wines and et cceteras, necessary by his pursuit of 
 knowledge under difficulties, especially if the party he is 
 dodging be at all luxuriously or fashionably inclined. And 
 there is no way by which the principal can help being " bled," 
 if his agent or detective chooses to bleed him, which he usually 
 does. One detective obtained from his employer, a wealthy 
 merchant down town, thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars in 
 four months, part as salary, and part as " contingent expenses," 
 in the tracking of the merchant's suspected wife : and, after 
 
A "PECULIAR" BUSINESS. 157 
 
 fingering the money, the detective one day coolly advised the 
 merchant to abandon the undertaking ; as his " investigations " 
 had convinced him — the detective — that either the lady was 
 as innocent as an angel, or else as cunning as the Devil, — 
 which oracular opinion was all the value received by the mer- 
 chant for his thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars. Very often 
 the detective does nothing whatever but draw his money, and 
 hold his tongue ; and, quite as frequently, he will make himself 
 known to the other party, and thus make a good thing of it 
 from both sides. But, even when legitimately employed, the 
 divorce-detective's style of doing business is, to say the least, 
 peculiar. At all hours of the day and night he is at all kinds 
 of places, in all sorts of disguises, under all varieties of pre- 
 tences, and with all classes of persons. 
 
 Detectives are some of them misnamed. Some of them 
 never "detect" any thing or anybody: they are really too 
 lazy or too stupid. Others are really too " smart " to detect : 
 they find it pays them better to protect and to blackmail. But 
 among the detective force are to be found to-day some of the 
 keenest and most upright men in the metropolis ; and the his- 
 tory of the detectives of New York presents prominently the 
 names of two men equal in ability to Vidocq himself, — the 
 late Chief Matsell and Capt. John S. Young. 
 
 As an illustration of the cleverness of Young, and as convey- 
 ing an idea of the life and experience of New-York detectives, 
 let me narrate the following interesting and characteristic 
 episode. 
 
 One fine March day, when Kennedy was superintendent of 
 police, and John S. Young was one of the controlling spirits 
 of the police detectives, the latter individual was walking down 
 Broadway, when he suddenly bethought him that a certain fine 
 French clock which he had at home required repairing. He 
 also bethought him that he had been recommended by a friend 
 
158 AN EPISODE IN THE CAREER OF CAPT. YOUNG. 
 
 to employ the services of an experienced watch and clock 
 maker, who did business on a side street, near Broadway, in 
 the precise neighborhood where, at this moment, he happened 
 to be. 
 
 Turning down this side street, forthwith Young soon found 
 himself at the clockmaker's, who occupied a shop in the rear 
 of a loan-office; the proprietor of which latter establishment 
 constantly required the watchmaker's services in repairing the 
 watches and clocks which were constantly, in the way of busi- 
 ness, deposited either temporarily or permanently at his office. 
 
 The door between the loan-office and the clockmaker's hap- 
 pened to be open at the time of Young's visit ; and, while the 
 latter was chatting with the mechanic, he saw, through the 
 open door, a man enter the loan-office, and commence a conver- 
 sation with the proprietor. 
 
 The man was of medium height, dark in complexion, swarthy, 
 strongly built, with restless black eyes, which were small, sharp, 
 and furtive in their glances ; and his whole appearance was 
 rather unprepossessing. 
 
 He wore what are called " store-clothes," — a frock-coat, a 
 badly fitting vest, and large pantaloons, and seemed to be un- 
 easy in his apparel, — just as uncomfortable as a sailor would 
 be in a suit of civilian's clothes on shore. His age seemed to 
 be about thirty-eight years, and his face was as clean shaven 
 as a lad's. 
 
 The moment John Young set his experienced eyes on the 
 man, he said to himself, " That fellow is crooked : he has been 
 doing time." Which means, translated into ordinary parlance, 
 " That fellow is a professional rogue, and has been serving a 
 term in State prison." 
 
 Just as sailors can tell a seafaring man at a glance ; just as 
 soldiers recognize military men in a moment ; just as journal- 
 ists understand one another in an instant ; just as women, by 
 
A DETECTIVE'S "INSTINCT." 159 
 
 instinct, comprehend the mysteries of other women, — so do 
 detectives and thieves recognize instinctively each other. 
 
 But in this case the rogue did not see the detective ; though 
 the detective, from his post of observation in the cloekmaker's 
 shop, keenly watched the rogue, and heard him say, finally, 
 to the proprietor of the loan-office, — 
 
 " To-night, then, at half-past six." 
 
 He then took his departure. 
 
 " Do you know that man ? " asked Young of the keeper of 
 the loan-office. 
 
 " Xo," was the reply ; " but he has been making some inqui- 
 ries about our way of doing business, and says he will call again 
 at half-past six to-night." 
 
 Young said nothing more, but, as he left the loan-shop, made 
 up his mind that he would follow up this case, commencing his 
 operations at " half-past six to-night." 
 
 He had no charge whatever to make, and he knew of none 
 whatever that had been made, against this man; he had no 
 well-grounded cause for suspicion of him ; there was no accu- 
 sation pending against him, so there could be no warrant pro- 
 cured for his arrest. He was a perfect stranger. Yet John S. 
 Young at once made up his mind that he was a rogue, that he 
 was even now engaged in a rogue's work, and that he (Young) 
 would at once penetrate the mystery of this rogue's work, pre- 
 vent its accomplishment, and arrest the rogue. 
 
 Detectives have often to act in this way with just as little 
 apparent reason and authority, — taking their chance of being 
 sanctioned by the results, — acting on the principle that u the 
 end justifies the means." 
 
 About six o'clock that evening three detectives — Young, in 
 company with detectives Elder and McCord — were hanging 
 around a store in the vicinity of the loan-office. 
 
 About six and a half o'clock the mysterious stranger, in the 
 
160 THE "MYSTERIOUS STRANGER." 
 
 "store-clothes," entered the loan-office with a small bundle. 
 He remained within a little while, and then came out without 
 the bundle. 
 
 Young went into the loan-office after the other had departed, 
 and had a few minutes' talk with the proprietor. 
 
 The mysterious stranger had merely pledged some rather 
 ordinary articles of clothing which he had no further use for, — 
 " Merely," he said, " to get used to the way of doing business 
 here, preparatory to some large operation in this line." 
 
 Having obtained this much, which was very little, Young fol- 
 lowed his two associates, who had quietly turned, and followed 
 the mysterious stranger down the side street into the Bowery. 
 
 Having gained this popular thoroughfare, — the Broadway of 
 the east side, — the mysterious stranger slowly sauntered along, 
 stopping in at several bar-rooms to enjoy a solitary drink. 
 
 Finally he turned into a first-class country tavern, or third- 
 class hotel, near Chatham Street, and, walking up to the office, 
 asked for the key of room No. 40, which was handed to him. 
 
 The three detectives — who had ere this separated, McCord 
 and Elder keeping together, and Young waddling along alone 
 after his own fashion, but who had never for a moment lost 
 sight of their man — were now at his heels, and ascended the 
 stairs after ,him. 
 
 At last, just as the mysterious stranger had unlocked the 
 door of his room, and had entered it, three persons came upon 
 him, and entered the room with him. 
 
 He looked surprised at this intrusion, as well he might. 
 
 " What do you want," he cried, " and who are you ? " 
 
 " You will find that out before we leave you," said Young, 
 acting as spokesman. " What's your name ? " 
 
 " What the D 1 is that your business ? " replied the man 
 
 thus unceremoniously interrogated. 
 
 " Ah ! you know what our business is with you well enough, 
 
" WHAT'S YOUR MONNIKER?" 161 
 
 my friend," said Young, in the most familiar manner in the 
 world, as if he and the mysterious stranger had been acquainted 
 since their infancy. " You have quite a nice trunk there, of 
 its kind," continued he, pointing to a large black packing- 
 trunk in the corner of the room near the bed. This trunk was 
 a four-foot, covered with black canvas, and bound with sheet- 
 iron straps, — such a trunk as merchants use in shipping cer- 
 tain kinds of merchandise to the West. 
 
 " Well, what of it ? " growled the mysterious stranger. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Young, " only I want to see what you 
 have in that trunk." 
 
 " That's my affair," replied the man. 
 
 "I will invoice it then," replied the officer. "Come, let's 
 have no nonsense. What's your monniker?" (the thieves' 
 slang for name). 
 
 "What's your racket?" asked Elder (" racket " is slang for 
 line of business). 
 
 " You don't look like a hoister " (a detective's phrase for shop- 
 lifter), chimed in McCord. 
 
 The stranger tried to assume a puzzled look, as if to con- 
 vey the idea that all this slang was unfamiliar to his ears ; but 
 the attempt was a failure. Evidently the fellow understood 
 every word, and Young told him so. 
 
 "How long have you been home?" continued Young (i.e., 
 how long since you have come back from State prison). 
 
 "About five months," remarked the man reluctantly, but 
 with the manner of one who had made up his mind that there 
 was no further use in trying to hide his real character. 
 
 " How long have you been in this house ? " asked Young. 
 
 The man remembered that his interrogator could readily 
 obtain the facts on this point from the clerks in the office ; so 
 he made a virtue of necessity, and told the exact truth. 
 
 "Two weeks," he replied. 
 
162 DETECTIVE'S "BLUFF." 
 
 " Where do you come from ? " asked Elder. 
 
 "From — fr^m Baltimore," he answered. 
 
 He lied ; and Elder and the rest knew it, and he knew that 
 they knew it. 
 
 " Let's see the inside of that trunk," said McCord. 
 
 Now, an ordinary man, an innocent man, would at once have 
 demanded to see the warrant, if any, upon which these three 
 men who had forced themselves into his presence acted. 
 
 Such a man would have demanded to know of what he was 
 charged, and by whom. 
 
 In this case the three detectives could have done nothing 
 whatever, for they had not the slightest shadow of legal au- 
 thority for what they were undertaking. 
 
 But it is a peculiarity of a " queer " or " crooked " man, a 
 professional rogue, that he recognizes the officers of the law by 
 some undefined instinct, and seldom insists upon their "pro- 
 ducing their papers." He will avoid, defy, or dodge them as 
 long and as well as he can ; but, when finally brought to bay, 
 he seldom avails himself of merely legal or formal technicalities 
 with the officers of justice, though, of course, he will fight the 
 judge, lawyers, or juries, the machinery of the courts, with all 
 his might and skill. 
 
 Knowing this, the three detectives calculated, that, once hav- 
 ing impressed themselves upon the mind of " the man " in their 
 true characters, he would demand no papers; and they had 
 calculated correctly. 
 
 The mysterious stranger (who was gradually becoming less 
 " mysterious ") made no point about their having no warrant, 
 but merely tried to "bluff" his unwelcome visitors, telling 
 them that he had no key to his trunk ; he had lost it ; the 
 trunk only contained his own clothes, etc. 
 
 Finally he produced the ke}' from his side-pocket, and opened 
 the trunk. 
 
TniEYES' SLANG. 163 
 
 On top, sure enough, were some clothes and some dirty linen ; 
 but the greater portion of the trunk underneath was occupied 
 with silks of the richest quality and choicest pattern. 
 
 " This is 4 swag silk ' " (stolen silk), said Young. 
 
 " No, it ain't," said the man curtly. 
 
 But he looked as if he did not expect his companions to 
 believe him. And they didn't. 
 
 " Where did you get these silks?" asked McCord. 
 
 " I bought them at auction in Baltimore," replied the stran- 
 ger. 
 
 " Got 'em cheap, didn't you ? " asked Elder significantly. 
 
 " Yes, I did : I got 'em at a bargain," answered the man ; 
 " and I have brought them on here, hoping to sell them at a 
 fair profit." 
 
 "To a ' fence ' " (a receiver of stolen goods), " eh ? " chimed 
 in McCord. " Let me tell you, my friend," continued the 
 detective, " you came near making a great mistake. Our friend 
 at the loan-office, whom you met at half-past six to-night, is not 
 the man for your purpose : he is not a i fence.' You might 
 spare yourself any further trouble in that quarter." 
 
 " In fact, you needn't take any more trouble in any quarter," 
 said Young ; " for we will take charge of these goods for you 
 from this minute." 
 
 " Devilish kind in you, to be sure," growled the man ; " but 
 I always like to handle my own property." 
 
 " Or the property of other people," added Young. " Come, 
 no nonsense, now. Where did you get these silks? You 
 have no i stiffs'" (papers or bills) "to show for them, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 . " No : I lost the bills and receipts," answered the stranger. 
 
 " Oh ! I thought so," said Young, " but it don't matter to us. 
 We will try to find out the real owner of these silks. Come 
 now, no nonsense, I tell you " (as the man began to look ugly). 
 
164 " CORNERED AT LAST." 
 
 " We are officers from police headquarters. You know us by 
 this time, and we want you and this trunk. So don't make 
 any fuss, or it will be the worse for you." 
 
 Young, as he spoke, stood between the man and the door of 
 the room. Elder stood by the one window, and McCord was 
 sentry over the trunk. Each one of the three looked like a 
 man who understood what he was about, and meant business. 
 There was no escape for the hun ted-down man, and he sur- 
 rendered sullenly. 
 
 " Do as you d d please ! " he muttered, and they fulfilled 
 
 his instructions. In a few minutes a carriage, containing the 
 three officers and their prey inside, and the big black trunk on 
 the rumble outside, was driven to police headquarters. 
 
 At that time there were a few rooms, or cells, for the deten- 
 tion of suspected persons, — parties strongly suspected, though 
 not positively charged with crime, — located on the same floor 
 of the police headquarters' building as the detective office, and 
 to the rear of the latter. 
 
 These rooms were as secure as the cells down-stairs, but 
 more comfortable , and into one of these the " man with the 
 trunk," as he was now styled, was placed. 
 
 He preserved a sullen reticence, and seemed to regret that 
 he had not made at least a show of resistance before allowing 
 himself to be taken. 
 
 Meanwhile a consultation was held in the detective office 
 concerning the new prisoner, and especially concerning the 
 silks which had been found in his trunk. That they had been 
 stolen, there was no manner of doubt ; but when and where, — 
 that was the question : all the newspapers and documents were 
 carefully conned which in any way related to past robberies 
 in New York of stores and silks, but nothing was found which 
 in any way corresponded with the facts of this case. At last, 
 after many pshaws, and not a few muttered " condemnations, 
 
" A TWO-AND-A-HALF STRETCH." 1G5 
 
 spelled with a d ," John Young lighted on a robbery of 
 
 silks in a store in Philadelphia in which some fifteen thousand 
 dollars' worth of goods had been stolen, and in which no clew 
 had been obtained, either of the goods or the robbers, though 
 over six weeks had elapsed since the affair. 
 
 Young made up his mind at once that this Philadelphia rob- 
 bery was the one in which his " man " was concerned, and he 
 at once acted on this idea. He went into the room where his 
 " man " was confined, and entered into conversation with him 
 about robberies in general. Then he brought the subject to 
 robberies in Philadelphia in particular. At the mention of the 
 word Philadelphia " the man " started slightly, — very slightly, 
 — but enough to convince John Young that he had touched 
 the right chord. So he kept harping on Philadelphia — Phila- 
 delphia — Philadelphia — till, finally, "the man" said, " Look 
 here: you mean something by this 'Philadelphia,' — spit it 
 out ! " and John Young accordingly " spatted out," and told 
 him in plain English that he suspected his companion of " be- 
 ing in " this silk-robbery in Philadelphia. 
 
 " Look here," said the man, surveying the ample proportions 
 of the adipose Young with an eager glance, and speaking this 
 time earnestly, and from his soul, — " Look here : I will trust 
 you. Promise me, on your honor, that you will do all you 
 can to get me a two-and-a-half stretch instead of a fiver " 
 (a sentence for two and a half years instead of a five-years' 
 term), "so that I can get out just a little while before my 
 wife, who is in for a three-years' stretch, so that I can 
 have a chance to turn round and provide for her when she 
 comes out of the grand quay " (State prison). " Promise me 
 this, and I will ' open,' I will ' split ' " (or tell). " I won't tell 
 you who my pals were, — I would not * squeal ' on them if you 
 were to give me twenty years ; but I will not bother you : I 
 will waive my rights about warrants and States, and all that, 
 
166 A NOBLE CRIMINAL. 
 
 and go with you to Philadelphia, and plead guilty, and tell you 
 where the balance of the swag is planted " (where the balance 
 of the stolen silks are concealed), " so that you can raise the 
 plant " (recover the goods). " You couldn't do it without me, 
 for the swag is planted where nobody could get at it unless 
 somebody dies " (an expression at which Young wondered at 
 the time, though he comprehended it afterward). "Now, is it 
 a bargain ? I want to get out before my wife. She was very 
 kind to me. I love her. She would not have been a thief had 
 it not been for me. She nursed me when I was sick. She has 
 been true to me, and I want to show her when she comes out 
 that I am not ungrateful. Promise me that you will fix it so 
 that I will get out for this a month or so before my wife, and I 
 will keep my word, and save you a heap of trouble." 
 
 The man was really in earnest, self-confessed thief as he was : 
 his whole anxiety now in this matter was one which would 
 have done honor to the noblest and best man on earth, — an 
 anxiety to provide for the future of the woman who loved him, 
 
 — a woman who, however bad to others, had always been good 
 to him. 
 
 The three detectives had surprised this man by swooping 
 upon him without charge or warrant ; but now this man, in his 
 turn, surprised the three detectives by exhibiting a phase of 
 the manliness which was utterly unexpected, and which caused 
 Young to shake him by the hand heartily, and led Elder to 
 say to McCord, " It's a pity such a fellow as that should be 
 crooked ! " 
 
 The man's petition was granted. A bargain was struck 
 between him and the officers. He waived his rights to an 
 examination, was taken the next day to Philadelphia to plead 
 guilty to participation in the robbery of the silk-store, and 
 revealed where the balance of the stolen goods was concealed, 
 
 — in an old tomb in a cemetery in the upper part of the city, 
 
THE ROGUE'S WIFE. 167 
 
 where they never would have been discovered unless somebody 
 had been brought to that particular tomb to be buried in it 
 (which explained what the man meant when he said " nobody 
 could get at it unless somebody dies "). The recovered silks 
 were restored to their owner, who rewarded the detectives 
 handsomely. 
 
 As for " the man," in consideration of the peculiar circum- 
 stances of the case, his action in the matter, and the bargain 
 made by him with the detectives, he received less than one-half 
 the ordinary sentence for his crime. He was doomed to only 
 two and a quarter years in Cherry-hill Prison, and was set free, 
 on account of good behavior, even before the expiration of that 
 term. 
 
 On coming out of prison, he resumed his trade, — he was a 
 plasterer when he was not a thief, — and was earning good 
 wages when his wife re-appeared in the world. 
 
 He took the woman to his home ; and, when last heard from, 
 " the man " was still a hard-working laborer, while the wife 
 was a laundress. 
 
 Hundreds of equally interesting sketches of detective life 
 and experience could be related did space permit, but it does 
 not. 
 
 All that I can here add in concluding this chapter is, that, 
 in the vast majority of cases, the police, in one way or other, 
 prove too much for the criminals, and that, sooner or later, 
 crime comes to punishment. 
 
 In Centre Street, in the heart of " down town," rises a large, 
 heavy granite building, in the style of an Egyptian temple, 
 known throughout New York as the Tombs. Within the 
 walls, which face the street, is a large square, in which are 
 three prisons, for boys, men, and women respectively ; and in 
 the centre of the prison-yard stands, ever and anon, when 
 needed, the awful gallows. 
 
168 "BUMMERS' CELL" AND "MURDERERS' ROW." 
 
 The main cell of the prison is a large room (holding, or able 
 to hold, about two hundred persons ; holding even more some- 
 times on a Saturday night), called "the Bummers' Cell." The 
 Tombs' police-court is always a terribly interesting and in- 
 structive place, especially on a Sunday morning. And cer- 
 tainly the most saddening place in the whole metropolis is the 
 tier of cells devoted to the temporary occupancy of the wretches 
 condemned to be hung, called " Murderers' Row." 
 
 And either to the prison or the gallows, the detectives and 
 the police bring, sooner or later, the fools, knaves, and criminals 
 of New York. t; The way of the transgressor is hard." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A SUNDAY IN NEW YORK. — RELIGIOUS AND IRRELIGIOUS GOTHAM. — THE 
 BIG FUNERALS OF NEW YORK. — SUNDAY EVENINGS IN THE GREAT 
 METROPOLIS. —THE HISTORY OF ONE MEMORABLE SABBATH DAY. 
 
 New York, being the city of contrasts, abounds, not only in 
 police, but priests ; not only in crimes, but churches. 
 
 The churches of New York are among the finest in the 
 country ; and the clergymen connected therewith are, as a 
 class, alike devout and intellectual. A dull minister has as 
 little chance in New York as any other dull man. 
 
 Trinity Church, New York, at the head of Wall Street, is 
 the richest ecclesiastical corporation in America. It really does 
 some good with its money. Services are held within its walls 
 constantly , and all well-behaved persons are admitted freely, 
 and receive the most polite attention. Trinity is so well es- 
 tablished, that it can afford to be democratic. In Trinity 
 churchyard repose the remains of Gallatin, the Revolutionary 
 financier ; George Frederick Cooke, the actor ; the unfortunate 
 and beautiful Charlotte Temple, and other persons of note. 
 The right of Trinity corporation to its revenues has been dis- 
 puted from time to time, but so far wholly unsuccessfully. 
 
 Grace Church (Episcopal) stands next to Trinity in its fash- 
 ionable importance. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful, archi- 
 tecturally, of any church in the city. It forms, with its grounds 
 and recto^, a prominent object of what may be termed " mid- 
 dle Broadway,'' directly adjoining " Stewart's store." 
 
 Old St. Patrick's Roman-Catholic Cathedral stands on the 
 
 169 
 
170 THE " SUNDAY LAWS." 
 
 east side, and is hallowed by memories. The new cathedral 
 rises on Fifth Avenue by the Park, and is a grand pile. The 
 new church of the Jesuits on Sixteenth Street, and St. Ste- 
 phen's Church on Twenty-eighth Street, are famous for the 
 high quality of the music of their choirs. The Roman-Catholic 
 churches are crowded every Sunday, not only by worshippers, 
 but visitors. 
 
 There are many superb Presbyterian, and not a few very 
 elaborate Methodist and Baptist and Dutch Reformed, churches. 
 Protestantism in the metropolis has gained in elegance, per- 
 haps, what it has lost in primitive simplicity. 
 
 There is a Roman or Greek Church chapel, and a Chinese 
 joss-house ; and a temple of free thinkers, or a society devoted 
 to ethical culture ; and there are also a number of fine Jewish 
 synagogues. 
 
 And, while there are many temples for the rich, there are 
 likewise many churches for the poor. While Rev. Dr. Hall 
 preaches every Sunday to representatives of over four hun- 
 dred millions of dollars, there are not a few clergymen whose 
 humble chapel-worshippers could not raise perhaps a thousand 
 dollars among them, all told. As in other respects, so New 
 York presents great and startling contrasts in the difference 
 between the working of its Sunday laws and their enforcement. 
 
 The " Sunday laws," so called, of New York, are very rigid, 
 yet their administration is very lax ; and it must be confessed 
 that these laws are only enforced on and against the poor and 
 obscure. The pedler must " observe the sabbath ; " but the 
 rich hotel-keeper or rum-seller, or the fashionable and luxuri- 
 ous, can do as they think best, and no one dreams of interfering. 
 
 In point of fact, and as a mere matter of fact, all religions, 
 no religion, and irreligion, stand equally in the eyes of New- 
 York law, and are equally unmolested by New-York custom. 
 Excursions and devotional exercises are patronized. Sunday 
 
A CHARACTERISTIC SUNDAY. 171 
 
 schools and sample-rooms are open. Church-goers and concert- 
 goers consult their inclinations freely every and any Sunday. 
 One characteristic feature of a New- York Sunday is the num- 
 ber of its funerals, especially the funeral-pageants of the poorer 
 classes. Sunday, being the only " spare day " of the poor man, is 
 availed of by him and his family to combine the paying of his 
 last respects to a departed friend with the enjoying of " a car- 
 riage-ride," even though it be only to and from a grave-yard. 
 
 Another characteristic feature of a New- York Sunday, of late 
 years especially, is the number and popularity of its concerts, 
 alike on the Bowery and on Broadway. 
 
 Probably the most characteristic Sunday, the most thoroughly 
 dramatic, cosmopolitan, contrasted, and thoroughly New-York 
 Sunday ever known to New York, was the Sunday of March 
 11, 1883, — the Sunday when the great Wiggins storm did 
 not come off, but when the funerals of " Jimmy " Elliott the 
 thief, and McGloin the murderer, did. 
 
 Of course, this Sunday was years later than was the date of 
 my first appearance in New York; but I allude to it here, 
 as giving my readers the most forcible idea, not only of the 
 possibilities, but of the actualities, of a New- York Sunday. 
 
 On this particular Sunday over five hundred places of wor- 
 ship were open ; and from two to four congregations assembled 
 during the day and evening at each place of worship, embra- 
 cing, say, over a hundred thousand men and women. An even 
 larger number of Sunday-schools, mission-schools, etc., were 
 attended by an even larger number of children. Thousands 
 of sermons were earnestly preached, and respectfully listened 
 to. Many thousands of prayers were publicly, as well as 
 privately, offered up to Him who heareth prayer. 
 
 Though, alas ! the public libraries and reading-rooms and art- 
 galleries were closed, some six thousand saloons were open, by 
 the side-doors at least. 
 
172 ELLIOTT'S FUNERAL. 
 
 And on the very day that a hundred thousand adults attended 
 divine worship, and more than a hundred thousand children 
 went to Sunday-school, in that very city a tremendous stir 
 took place in the streets ; and public honors were paid to a 
 murdered burglar and an executed murderer. Far be it from 
 me to deny or cavil at the right, the privilege, of the afflicted 
 ones to whom the dead were dear, to pay the last sad tribute 
 of affection to all that is left of them, — their coffins. But, 
 certainly, there was nothing in either the manner of the lives 
 or the manner of the deaths of James Elliott, the professional 
 pugilist and burglar, and McGloin, " the tough " and the assas- 
 sin, to warrant or to sanction such a wonderful " ovation " as 
 their funerals amounted to. 
 
 The terrible taking off of Elliott in the midst of his sins, 
 by a fellow and professional sinner, had an awful lesson some- 
 where in it. And so had the execution of McGloin. But 
 both lessons were completely neutralized by this public demon- 
 stration in their honor. 
 
 Read how Elliott was buried. 
 
 The casket was a gorgeous affair. The hearse was a marvel 
 of magnificence. The plumes were ample and orthodox. Be- 
 sides, there were no less than four horses, all dapple-gray, to 
 draw the mortuary vehicle through the^streets. Such a display 
 the Sixth Ward had not looked upon since the exodus of the 
 good old days of the Bowery boys and "Dead Rabbits." That 
 every thing should be in keeping, fifty gentlemen of admitted 
 standing in the sporting world, with ample breadth of chest, 
 clean collars, and high silk hats, were held in waiting to take 
 up their position behind the hearse. Sixty carriages containing 
 relatives, friends, and gentlemen about town, who believed they 
 would be insufficiently " game " were they to absent themselves, 
 were to follow the pedestrians. Altogether it was a very im- 
 posing and a very formidable gathering. But, satisfactory as 
 
A SCENE ON HARRY nOWARD SQUARE. 173 
 
 the cortSge appeared to the critical eye of the onlookers, it did 
 not come up to the intentions of Mr. Jack Stiles and his col- 
 leagues. They had determined that no well-regulated funeral 
 of this description could be complete without the presence of 
 Mr. J. L. Sullivan. They also deemed it inadvisable to proceed 
 with the final arrangements till other "knockers out '! of repute 
 had been communicated with, and their attendance had been 
 politely requested. A flood of invitations was accordingly 
 issued, but not all of them met with response. 
 
 The redoubtable Sullivan flatly refused to make a show of 
 himself behind the bier of his quondam challenger, and some 
 other representatives of the first sporting society of other cities 
 had the ill-taste to utterly ignore the communications. All 
 were not so unmindful of these little mortuary courtesies. 
 Parson Davis of Chicago, who was responsible for Elliott's 
 appearance there, sent word that he was busy. Others pleaded 
 urgent engagements. Many responded in person. What remote 
 cities failed in, New York, Brooklyn, and Jersey City amply 
 supplied. Every youth of "spirit," who had a consuming 
 ambition to be regarded as a " slugger,*' paid his respects in 
 person. Any "chicken," "mouse," or "clipper," who had 
 donned the mittens, and boxed in the cheap variety shows of 
 any of the three cities, was bound to be there. Rat-fighters, 
 dog-fighters, cock-fighters, horse-jockeys, turf-loungers, and pool- 
 room watchers, — every one who had a drop of sporting blood 
 in his veins, or thought he had, made his way to Harry Howard 
 Square. Another feature of the gathering was the representa- 
 tion of the criminal classes that appeared. Plyers of the bit 
 and jimmy, cunning sneak-thieves, wily pickpockets, — men 
 who usually skulk along in the crowd, and slip by in the dark 
 unnoticed, and wishing to remain so, — stood yesterday in the 
 full glare of the sunlight in the immense concourse before the 
 crowded house. Of course, the police were there. So were 
 
174 HOW "A TOUGH" WAS INTERRED. 
 
 their clubs, as some of the onlookers later experienced. But 
 they seemed to have their attention too much occupied with 
 the movement of the multitude to spare it for any casual 
 wrongdoer who chanced to appear. 
 
 Canal, between Centre Street and the Bowery, was almost 
 blockaded with the dense crowd of men, women, and children. 
 The pressing throngs came crowding in from all sections of the 
 city. Chatham Square was made nearly impassable by the 
 presence of the vast multitude, which continued to grow larger 
 and more compact. Along the Bowery, as far up as Seventh 
 Street, it soon became difficult for pedestrians to move. Such 
 a spectacle has not been seen here in a long time. All seemed 
 intent on one point, at least ; and this evidently was what the 
 most came for, — to catch a glimpse of the funeral cortege. 
 Beyond this few had any expectations ; and, if they might at 
 an earlier hour have anticipated an opportunity to gaze upon 
 the face of the dead pugilist, they soon must have abandoned 
 any such hope. At all events, whatever may have been the 
 desire of the most of them in this regard, they quickly per- 
 ceived the utter impossibility of doing more than remain in 
 the street, and content themselves with seeing what passed 
 before them. In front of Mr. McDavitt's house Capt. Petty 
 and a large force of policemen devoted their attention — and 
 it was with no little difficulty they succeeded in doing so — 
 to keeping the sidewalk clear of everybody except the pall- 
 bearers. 
 
 Read how murderer McGloin was interred amid scenes of 
 ribaldry and rowdyism. Read how curses and prayers were 
 commingled in a church. 
 
 A noisy multitude, numbering at least five thousand per- 
 sons, filled West Twenty-ninth Street, and surged in front of 
 the tenement where the body of Michael McGloin the murderer 
 lay. The housetops, windows, and stoops for a block each way 
 
A DISGRACEFUL SCENE. 175 
 
 were black with spectators ; and Eighth Avenue in the near 
 neighborhood was impassable. On every side were the typical 
 corner loafers ; and scores of faces seemed to reflect the defiant 
 words of the strangled assassin, "I'm a tough." Swaggering 
 young men in tight trousers cursed and struggled with swagger- 
 ing young women to get an advantageous position, and even 
 mothers with children in their arms endured the crushing and 
 pushing rather than lose a glimpse of the expected scene. A 
 platoon of policemen, headed by a roundsman, struggled and 
 fought with the mob to keep a clear space in front of the door, 
 on which the streamer of white and black crape was hanging. 
 At first the policemen were persuasive in their manner ; but at 
 last they were forced to draw their clubs, and charge. Men, 
 women, and children were prodded and rapped. Again and 
 again tbey were charged, and the air was filled with curses 
 and ribaldry. A more disgraceful scene can hardly be ima- 
 gined. Roars of laughter went up from those who were far 
 enough away from the policemen's clubs to safely indulge their 
 feelings. In the midst of all this terrible scene stood the hearse, 
 with its nodding plumes. 
 
 When the procession arrived at Calvary Cemetery, it was 
 re-enforced by a large detachment of hard-looking citizens of 
 the rowdy type. The hearse drove through the waiting crowd 
 to the little wooden chapel ; and the casket was carried up the 
 wide aisle, and laid in front of the altar under the polished tre- 
 foil arch. The father of the dead murderer, accompanied by 
 his wife and daughter, pushed their way into a pew; and a 
 host of " toughs " went upon their knees as Father Brophy, 
 the chaplain, and an altar-boy, advanced to the flower-covered 
 bier, and began the service. 
 
 Just as the priest had raised the asperges to sprinkle the 
 casket with holy water, there was a loud sound of strife at the 
 door. Then the chapel-walls echoed with curses, and a crowd 
 
176 THE LAST OF " A TOUGH." 
 
 of rowdies was seen struggling with two men who were guard- 
 ing the door. 
 
 " Silence," cried the priest, in a warning voice. 
 
 But the struggle went on, and the men at the door were 
 hurled from side to side in the fight. In the clamor which 
 came from the desperadoes, there seemed to be a kinship to 
 the dead man's boast, — 
 
 " I'm a tough." 
 
 The impressive service was completely stopped ; and many 
 of the people in the chapel, becoming alarmed, ran toward the 
 side-door, as if in fear of the roughs who were trying to force 
 their way in. 
 
 " Let no one leave his seat," cried the priest. " Do not fear, 
 and remain where you are, I command you." 
 
 At that instant the band of ruffians at the main entrance 
 burst into the chapel, fell on their knees, and the service was 
 resumed. But, all through it, there were sounds of fighting 
 outside at the entrance ; and the chaplain's eyes were fixed on 
 the door, while his lips repeated the supplication for grace to 
 the murderer's soul. Finally the priest and his assistant retired 
 behind the altar : the remains were raised upon the shoulders 
 of several young men, and carried to the hearse, which was 
 driven to Section No. 7, where a large crowd had already 
 formed around an open grave, hidden among tall tombstones. 
 It was a very small grave ; and, as the casket was lowered to 
 the bottom, it rattled against the sides of coffins which pro- 
 truded from the adjoining lots. McGloin's father, mother, 
 and sister stood on a mound of freshly dug earth, and calmly 
 watched the casket disappear from sight. Then the trench 
 was quickly filled up, the sod was packed down tightly, and 
 the flowers were arranged artistically over the grave. Then 
 the crowd left, and the sorrowing relatives re-entered their 
 carriages. Then there was a loud shout, a scramble over the 
 
ONE NEW-YORK SUNDAY. 177 
 
 graves, as Elliott's hearse came in sight; and the multitude 
 had forgotten, in the presence of the new attraction, the man 
 whose ambition was realized, when he said, — 
 
 " I've knocked my man out, and now I'm a tough." 
 
 Such was the sabbath day : and, when Sunday night came, 
 there was a grand concert given at one theatre on Broadway, 
 and another opposition and fashionable concert given across the 
 street at a rival theatre ; both concerts being fully attended, 
 and neither concert even so much as pretending to be " sacred." 
 
 Then the fashionable beer-halls on Twenty-third and Four- 
 teenth Streets held concerts likewise, and were crowded, as 
 were the beer-gardens along the Bowery. And the games of 
 poker at the Fifth-avenue clubs, and the games of faro at the 
 club-houses, or gaming-dens, near Broadway, progressed pleas- 
 antly and uninterruptedly. And the saloons generally were in 
 full blast, and two terrible murders were committed. 
 
 All within the compass of one New- York Sunday. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WEALTH OF THE GREAT METROPOLIS. — TRADE, SPECULATION, WALL 
 STREET, AND THE PROFESSIONS. — THE ADVENTURES OF TWO BROTHERS 
 WHO TRIED TO SUCCEED IN NEW YORK BY BEING HONEST. — "FASH- 
 IONABLE SOCIETY," AND WHAT IT AMOUNTS TO. — THE BRIGHT SIDE OF 
 NEW YORK. — NEW YORK, AFTER ALL, THE BEST AS WELL AS GREATEST 
 CITY. 
 
 We have already considered, and considerably in detail, the 
 poor of New York, the criminals of New York, and the police 
 of New York. But the predominating element in New York 
 is not steeped, either in poverty or crime : it has little to do 
 with prisons or police. It is chiefly concerned in buying, sell- 
 ing, investing, speculating, and spending. It is engaged in 
 trade : it dabbles in stocks or securities or real estate. It 
 practises law or medicine, or is concerned in and with politics. 
 
 The wealth of New York is not fully appreciated, even by 
 New-Yorkers. Some idea of this wealth will be formed when 
 I state that it is estimated that there are over one hundred men 
 in this city worth over twenty millions of dollars each, and 
 over a thousand men worth over a million of dollars each. A 
 paper of New York published, some time since, a list of men 
 who pay taxes on a hundred thousand dollars and over ; and 
 the mere list of names occupied so many columns in one issue, 
 with so many columns of names yet to come, that it was found 
 to be injudicious to complete the publication. 
 
 One manifest tendency of trade is to " section "-alize itself, 
 to localize itself; each separate trade occupying one section, or 
 locality. Thus, the leather-dealers occupy "the swamp," the 
 
 178 
 
" SPECULATION." 179 
 
 steamship-offices cluster round Bowling Green, the real-estate 
 offices are found in and around Pine Street, the jewellers con- 
 gregate in Maiden Lane, the newspaper-offices are thick around 
 the Park, and the retail dry-goods stores have their up-tuwn 
 centres. 
 
 Another manifest tendency of trade is to work its way 
 toward the Central Park. " Business " has invaded succes- 
 sively and successfully Clinton Place, Fourteenth Street, and 
 Twenty-third Street, and is now encroaching upon Madison and 
 Fifth Avenues, — thoroughfares hitherto sacred to " fashion." 
 
 And " speculation," which was once confined to Wall Street, 
 is now, by the telegraph and the telephone, diffused, as it were, 
 all over the city. Brokers' offices are located now in up-town 
 hotels; and the leading speculator of New York, Jay Gould, 
 has his private wires connected with his private office in his 
 private house, near the Windsor Hotel. 
 
 Speculation is at once the blessing and the bane of New 
 York, — the blessing of the lucky few, the bane of the unlucky 
 many. New York is the gambling (stock gambling) centre of 
 the world; surpassing in the magnitude of its operations, com- 
 pared to its capital, either London or Paris. 
 
 Fortunes are made sooner and lost more easily in New York 
 than in any other place on the face of the earth. A rise in 
 a stock has made almost penniless men millionnaires in a 
 week, and a fall in securities has rendered millionnaires bank- 
 rupt in a day. 
 
 As Edward Winslow Martin remarks in his celebrated book, 
 which all should read, " The Secrets of the Great City : " — 
 
 Watch the carriages as they whirl through Fifth Avenue, going 
 and returning from the Park. They are as elegant and sumptuous 
 as wealth can make them. The owners, lying back amongst the soft 
 cushions, are clad in the height of fashion. By their dresses they 
 might be princes and princesses. This much is due to art. Now 
 
180 " CURBSTONE BROKERS." 
 
 mark the coarse, rough features, the ill-bred stare, the haughty rude- 
 ness, which they endeavor to palm off for dignity. Do you see any 
 difference between them and the footman in livery on the carriage- 
 box? Both master and man belong to the same class, only one is 
 wealthy, and the other is not. But that footman may take the place 
 of the master in a couple of years, or in less time. Such changes 
 may seem remarkable, but they are very common in New York. 
 
 See that gentleman driving that splendid pair of sorrels. He is 
 a fine specimen of mere animal beauty. How well he drives ! The 
 ease and carelessness with which he manages his splendid steeds 
 excite the admiration of every one on the road. He is used to it. 
 Five years ago he was the driver of a public hack. He amassed a 
 small sum of money, and being naturally a sharp, shrewd man, went 
 into Wall Street, and joined the " Curbstone Brokers." His trans- 
 actions were not always open to a rigid scrutiny, but they were 
 profitable to him. He invested in oil-stocks, and, with his usual good 
 luck, made a fortune. Now he operates through his broker. His 
 transactions are heavy, his speculations bold and daring ; but he is 
 usually successful. He lives in great splendor in one of the finest 
 mansions in the city, and his carriages and horses are superb. His 
 wife and daughters are completely carried away by their good for- 
 tune, and look with disdain upon all who are not their equals or 
 superiors in wealth. They are vulgar and ill bred ; but they are 
 wealthy, and society worships them. There will come a change some 
 day. The husband and father will venture once too often in his 
 speculations, and his magnificent fortune will go with a crash ; and 
 the family will return to their former state, or perhaps sink lower : 
 for there are very few men who have the moral courage to try to 
 rise again after such a fall, and this man is not one of them. 
 
 In watching the crowd on Broadway, one will frequently see, in 
 some shabbily dressed individual, who, with his hat drawn down close 
 over his eyes, is evidently shrinking from the possibility of being rec- 
 ognized, the man who but a few weeks ago was one of the wealthiest 
 in the city. Then he was surrounded with splendor. Now he hardly 
 knows where to get bread for his family. Then he lived in an elegant 
 
HOW TO BE RICH IN NEW YORK. 181 
 
 mansion. Now one or two rooms on the upper floor of some tene- 
 ment-house constitute his habitation. He shrinks from meeting his 
 old friends, well knowing that not one of them will recognize him, 
 except to insult him with a scornful stare. Families are constantly 
 disappearing from the social circles in which they have shone for a 
 greater or less time. They vanish almost in an instant, and are 
 never seen again. You may meet them at some brilliant ball in the 
 evening. Pass their residence the next day, and you will see a bill 
 announcing the early sale of the mansion and furniture. The worldly 
 effects of the family are all in the hands of the creditors of the 
 " head ; " and the family themselves are either in a more modest home 
 in the country, or in a tenement-house. You can scarcely walk 
 twenty blocks on Fifth Avenue without seeing one of these bills, tell- 
 ing its mournful story of fallen greatness. 
 
 The best and safest way to be rich in New York, as elsewhere, 
 is for a man to confine himself to his legitimate business. Few men 
 acquire wealth suddenly. Ninety-nine fail where one succeeds. The 
 bane of New- York commercial life, however, is, that people have not 
 the patience to wait for fortune. Every one wants to be rich in a 
 hurry ; and as no regular business will accomplish this, here or else- 
 where, speculation is resorted to. The sharpers and tricksters who 
 infest Wall Street know this weakness of New- York merchants. 
 They take the pains to inform themselves as to the character, means, 
 and credulity of merchants, and then use every art to draw them into 
 speculations, in which the tempter is enriched, and the tempted 
 ruined. In nine cases out of ten a merchant is utterly ignorant of 
 the nature of the speculation he engages in. He is not capable of 
 forming a reasonable opinion as to its propriety, or chance of success, 
 because the whole transaction is so rapid that he has no chance to 
 study it. He leaves a business in which he has acquired valuable 
 knowledge and experience, and trusts himself to the mercy of a man 
 he knows little or nothing of, and undertakes an operation that he 
 does not know how to manage. Dabbling in speculations unfits men 
 for their regular pursuits. They come to like the excitement of such 
 ventures, and rush on madly in their mistaken course, hoping to 
 
182 PROFESSIONAL LIFE IN NEW YORK. 
 
 make up their losses by one lucky speculation ; and at length utter 
 ruin rouses them from their dreams. 
 
 Although New York is the chief business centre of the country, 
 fortunes are made here slowly and steadily. Great wealth is the 
 accumulation of years. Such wealth brings with it honor and pros- 
 perity. One who attains it honestly has fairly won the proud title 
 of " merchant," but few are williug to pursue the long life of toil 
 necessary to attain it. They make fifty thousand dollars legitimately, 
 and then the insane desire seizes them to double this amount in a 
 day. Nine lose every thing where one makes his fortune. 
 
 The reason is plain. The speculation in stocks is controlled by 
 men without principle, whose only object is to enrich themselves at 
 the expense of their victims. 
 
 Professional life in New York, like mercantile and specula- 
 tive, is heated full of bitter rivalry and intense competition. 
 The higher class of New- York lawyers charges enormous fees ; 
 while the lower class embraces the sharks, — the lawyers who 
 take cases on "spec," — and "the Tombs shysters," or jail-bird 
 lawyers ; and then there is a fouler class yet, — the divorce-law- 
 yers. The physicians of the metropolis bear, as a body, a de- 
 servedly high reputation ; while the journalists and journals of 
 New York are conceded to be at the head of journalism. New 
 York has also produced its poets, its painters, its authors, and 
 artists, and is disputing with Boston itself the claim to be the 
 literary centre. 
 
 With lawyers like Brady, O'Connor, Field, and Evarts ; with 
 physicians like Francis, Hosack, Mott, Sayres, Jacobi, Sims, and 
 Hammond ; with journalists like Bennett, Greeley, Raymond, 
 Dana, Whitelaw Ried, et al. ; with poets like Bryant ; and with 
 its long array of men distinguished in science, art, and litera- 
 ture, — the Union in general, and New-Yorkers in particular, 
 may well be proud of New York. With regard to the percen- 
 tage of honesty that is to be found in the ordinary commercial 
 
WALL-STREET BROKERS. 183 
 
 and professional transactions of New- York life, as compared to 
 the percentage of dishonesty, observers differ according to their 
 stand-point : some hold that honesty is the rare exception, 
 while dishonesty is the almost universal rule. 
 
 Such is the view taken by Mr. Isaac G. Reed, jun., in his 
 brochure entitled, " From Heaven to New York " (published 
 by the Murray-Hill Publishing Company). In this remark- 
 able, and in many points remarkably pointed, because truthful, 
 satire, the adventures and misadventures of the brothers Good- 
 heart, who came to New York, and tried to succeed honestly, are 
 recorded as follows : — 
 
 Having a little capital and a somewhat speculative turn of mind, 
 Robert Goodheart naturally sought Wall and Broad Streets, and 
 became " a broker." He conceived a great respect for brokers as a 
 class, — on theory. "Brokers," "bankers," "financiers," Wall- 
 street operators, thought he, must be high-toned and honest men, 
 par excellence; for they not only are amongst the wealthiest, but 
 our most influential, citizens ; they occupy a social, as well as a 
 pecuniary, position ; they are highly respected, therefore they are 
 highly respectable. (Poor fellow ! he was very young.) Many of 
 them are church-members in good standing. Some support clergymen, 
 others support churches ; some have endowed theological seminaries ; 
 they are professedly Christians, therefore they must be practically 
 honest men. Therefore I will join their number, and be an honest 
 man and a broker. (Poor fellow ! he was very, very young.) In a 
 little while he had mastered the " slang of the street." He fathomed 
 the mysteries of puts and calls, and margins and dividends, coupons, 
 bullion, specie, legal tenders, certificates, call-loans, funded debt, pre- 
 ferred and common stock, etc. ; and, at last, he entered into opera- 
 tions on his own account. His first transaction was with one of the 
 most successful and most celebrated of the money-kings, — a little, 
 dark-browed man, who was worth millions, and was president of a 
 railroad. The little man swallowed up in a day ever} 7 dollar which 
 our hero, or fool, had invested in the enterprise, and then refused 
 
184 TEE MILLIONNAIBE " OPEBATOBS." 
 
 even to see tlie little minnow, who never even so much as set eyes 
 upon the mighty whale again. 
 
 His next operation was with another railroad-king, — a fine-looking, 
 magnificently preserved, stately old man, with a clerical look, who 
 controlled untold millions. Of course, our hero did not deal with this 
 superb Croesus directly, but only dabbled in his "stocks" at the 
 advice of his " agents. " He lost every dollar he invested, and never 
 so much as saw the great Mogul, into whose pockets his money had 
 all gone, save once, when walking one afternoon, footsore and tired, 
 up town, he met the Croesus returning to his palace behind some of 
 the finest and fastest horse-flesh in the world. His third venture was 
 in a "pool " engineered by an old and pious millionnaire, whose good 
 morals were supposed to make ample amends for his bad English. 
 Goodheart never saw the millionnaire, nor his own money either. 
 The latter was at once ' ' gobbled ' ' up by the former, who never 
 could be found, or gotten at in any way, not even by a lawyer, so 
 cunningly had the millionnaire covered his tracks. Then Goodheart 
 invested a portion of his remaining capital in a stupendous railroad 
 scheme, which was to benefit the world, and which was controlled 
 by an eminently Christian philanthropist who loved clerg} T men. This 
 "lover of clergymen" went to the wall, and all the poor fellow's 
 investment went with him. 
 
 He never realized enough from the wreck, even to pay his travelling 
 expenses to a neighboring city, where he might have had a chance to 
 catch a passing glimpse of the eminently " Christian philanthropist " 
 who loved clergymen. Still hoping for the best, still believing in the 
 existence of mercantile honesty, Robert Goodheart invested a little 
 of what he had left in the stock of a steamship company controlled 
 by men of social pretensions, whose names were always in the news- 
 papers. He lost every dollar ; but, in this case, he had the satisfac- 
 tion of being allowed to " see " one of the " principals," who kindly 
 shook hands with him, and invited him to " take a drink." 
 
 Meanwhile our poor Robert mixed with the average herd of brokers, 
 Wall-street operators, etc., and found them, with but few exceptions, 
 to be yelling, lying, nervous, idle, immoral, reckless, unscrupulous, 
 
FROM "SPECULATION" TO "TRADE." 185 
 
 selfish, improvident gamblers, utterly shattered, alike in physique and 
 fortune. He found them to be men who were as bitter in their enmi- 
 ties as they were brittle in their friendships. Their word was a 
 mockery, and their "honor" was a sham. They were thieves 
 whom the law could not touch. They robbed their victims, and often 
 robbed each other. They were stock and gold gamblers, who prac- 
 tised openly down town tricks which would have been scorned by 
 the faro and keno gamblers up town. They were rogues who were 
 also hypocrites. They were humbugs as well as criminals. They 
 were a curse to the city and to the country. They were foul-mouthed 
 libertines and drunkards, double-faced and double-tongued, without 
 faith in God, man, or woman, and without fear of the Devil, — men 
 who met in dark corners to conspire against humanity, their country, 
 and each other ; and yet, withal, they were men who were husbands, 
 fathers, brothers, and lovers of our best " society." They were the 
 men, too, who controlled the railroads and the railroad stocks, who 
 manipulated and watered the stock, and who made an American rail- 
 road alike a danger to the public and a disgrace to the world. They 
 were the men who regarded public trusts as private tools for selfish 
 ends, and who made the very name of an official report synonymous 
 with a deliberate lie. 
 
 Robert Goodheart's eyes were opened at the last. He saw that 
 an honest broker had precisely the same chance for success on Wall 
 and Broad Street that a lamb has for life among prairie wolves ; so 
 he abandoned the street forever, a wiser and a poorer man. But he 
 did not abandon business altogether : he could not, he must live. 
 So he took heart once more, and embarked what little he now pos- 
 sessed in "trade." He was successful at the start; but, just as he 
 began to realize the fact, one of the giants in his line of business, a 
 Christian merchant, worth half a hundred millions or so, who owned 
 palaces and churches and theatres, and had more money than he 
 could ever spend in a thousand years, and to whom a temporary loss 
 was, of course, of no consequence, marked down the prices of all his 
 line of goods, and did business at a loss for a time, — for just long 
 enough to ruin Robert Goodheart, and bring him to the hammer. 
 
186 A LAMB AMONG WOLVES. 
 
 Then our poor hero, like a phoenix, arose from his ashes, and tried 
 a new line of business on a humbler scale, and was prospering in a 
 modest way, when, lo ! one of the great houses in his vicinity con- 
 ceived the idea of letting their patrons have certain articles in 
 Goodheart's line at cost price, so as to induce the public to purchase 
 more freely of their goods at a profit. Of course, those who had, 
 before this, bought their articles of Goodheart now deserted him, 
 procured what they wanted at the great house (by doing which, 
 they could save even Goodheart's moderate profit) ; and so for the 
 second time his business was ruined. But what cared the great 
 house for that? For the third time Robert Goodheart tried his for- 
 tune, and attempted to manufacture a certain article, — to deserve 
 success by procuring the best materials, and engaging skilled labor 
 at a fair rate of compensation. But how could he thus compete with 
 the monster factories which only paid "starvation wages," and which 
 did not hesitate to defraud the public with inferior material and work- 
 manship ? So for the third time Robert Goodheart, in his checkered 
 career, found himself a ruined man. Meanwhile he was cheated by 
 the petty tradesmen with whom he dealt. His tailor swindled him, 
 and his shoemaker ; his butcher and his baker swindled him ; in every 
 thing he ate, drank, or wore, he was swindled. His agents were all 
 rogues : his insurance agents were all liars. He found himself in a 
 world and whirl of falsehoods. In sheer despair he bought a ticket 
 in a lottery highly indorsed, and he found the lottery and indorse- 
 ment a swindle. 
 
 A friend borrowed money from him, under a promise of immediate 
 payment : he never saw his friend or money again. Another bor- 
 rowed money on worthless securities. A man to whom he had lent 
 money on real estate " failed," and then it was ascertained that the 
 estate was in his wife's name : another obtained large sums of money 
 by false representations. A confidential friend drew on him at sight 
 for some money, pleading urgent necessity, but never redeemed the 
 draft. A confidential clerk forged his signature to a check, and then 
 absconded : and, lastly, a small sum of money, on which he had de- 
 pended, was swallowed up by the failure of the savings-bank ; and 
 
MEDICINE AND LAW. 187 
 
 what little furniture he had was seized by his landlord, who turned 
 him out in the streets without a dollar. And all this time Robert 
 Goodheart had never cheated a man out of a penny. He had been, 
 what he promised to be, an honest man of business, and had received 
 the inevitable reward of his honesty. So it came to pass, that, in the 
 year of our Lord 18 — , in this Christian city of New York, a man 
 failed in life, utterly, hopelessly, irretrievably, and yet he was an 
 honest, hard-working man. Meanwhile the other members of the 
 Goodheart family had been pursuing their own life-paths, and each 
 had been striving to be " honest " in his own way. 
 
 Thus Francis Goodheart, the second of the brothers (while Robert 
 had been giving himself up to speculation and to trade) , had been 
 devoting himself to study and a medical career. He found the theory 
 of medicine absolutely glorious, but he found its practice absolutely 
 disgraceful. As a science, medicine is sublime : as a pursuit, it is 
 sublimely ridiculous. The art of healing in modern times is simply 
 too often the art of humbug, — a mixture in equal proportions of cant 
 and imposture. The allopaths quarrel with the homoeopaths. The 
 eclectics ignore both, and the hydropaths all three. He soon discov- 
 ered that the modern author is the incarnation of modern conceit. 
 He is simply a word- juggler, who plays his tricks with language to 
 astonish or amuse, not to benefit. Out of sixty-two professional 
 doctors of whom Francis Goodheart made the acquaintance, he 
 ascertained eight were boors, twenty- three either beats or beggars, 
 twenty-five were libertines ; while, of the whole number, forty-one 
 were either avowedly or in reality sceptics, — mockers of God and 
 immortality, — and fifty-three were drunkards. Francis Goodheart 
 soon ascertained, by practical experience, that doctors are charlatans 
 with diplomas. Sickened of medicine, Francis Goodheart rushed to 
 its antithesis, — the law. Law is justice, and justice is an attribute 
 of divinity : therefore law is divine. It may be so ; but one famous 
 New-York lawyer is a living, moving, money-making bundle of tech- 
 nicalities. Another has made a world-wide fame by his mastery of 
 legal forms : another has done every thing by not doing it. He 
 succeeds in putting every thing off : he is the apostle of delay. 
 
188 AN " OPENING " IN POLITICS. 
 
 Another, who is sleek and fat, with country-house, big diamonds, 
 has achieved pre-eminence by two simple processes, — fleecing clients 
 and bribing courts ; another, by a high ' ' religious ' ' character, look- 
 ing at these bright and shining lights, mindful of the characteristic 
 truth that James Fisk, jun., was the highly successful man of his 
 day, and Jay Gould is his highly envied successor; while, a few 
 weeks ago, a man was sentenced to prison because he "stole" a 
 loaf of bread to keep his wife and child from starving. Seeing 
 and remembering all this, Francis Goodheart, just as he had pre- 
 viously abandoned medicine, now abandoned the law. 
 
 But at this juncture, according to Mr. Reed, somebody sug- 
 gested to Mr. Goodheart that there was a great opening for an 
 honest man in New- York politics (!) ; and, accordingly, Mr. 
 Goodheart availed himself of this " opening." 
 
 Francis Goodheart commenced his political career by becoming an 
 assistant alderman. In this capacity he honestly endeavored to do his 
 duty. But one of his colleagues was an ignorant man, — a grossly 
 ignorant man, — who, instead of attending "primary" meetings, 
 should have been sent to a primary school ; another assistant alder- 
 man traded in his " influence " precisely as he traded in his soap and 
 candles ; a third was a toper, who did not draw a sober breath from 
 Monday morning till Saturday night ; a fourth sold the whiskey on 
 which the third got drunk ; while a fifth never performed a single 
 duty required by his office, — and, to do him justice, he was no 
 hypocrite, for he never even pretended to perform it. 
 
 Among Francis Goodheart's political associates there was a rascal 
 whose "influence" was five times that of Goodheart. Then, there 
 was a " shoulder-hitter " and a " plug-ugly," whose " influence " was 
 five times greater than that of the rascal again, and of course, there- 
 fore, twenty-five times greater than Francis Goodheart's. Then, 
 there was a notorious " ballot-box stuffer," very expert in his branch 
 of the profession, very much in demand at elections, whose prestige 
 was greater than that of the rascal and the rowdy combined, and who 
 was, therefore, more influential than fifty Goodhearts. 
 
A "MODEL" POLITICIAN. 189 
 
 And then there was one man, one prominent politician, whose 
 weight in the counsels of the metropolis of the nation far surpassed 
 the combined influence of the rascal, the rowdy, and the ballot-box 
 stuffer, with Francis Goodheart's "thrown in." 
 
 This mighty man made and unmade mayors and congressmen : he 
 had been a congressman himself. He controlled the police and the 
 police-commissioners. He filled up political "slates," and rubbed 
 them out at his own sweet will. He dictated the nominees of his 
 party. He was a Saul and a Samuel combined, as well as a Goliath, 
 in the political Israel. 
 
 Assuredly, thought Francis Goodheart, this great man must be a 
 giant of mind. But he was not : he was only a giant of muscle. 
 Assuredly, thought Francis Goodheart, this ruler must be a model 
 man. But he was not : he was only a model yrize-ficjlder and a 
 model gambler, — a prize-fighter who boasted that he had always hit 
 from the shoulder ; a gambler who prided himself that his ' ' game ' ' 
 was "square," not "skin," — a man who was too cautious to get 
 drunk, and too politic to lie ; whose word was his bond ; and that 
 was all that his warmest friend or partisan could claim in his behalf. 
 
 Francis Goodheart also found that what are called ballots are 
 just as purchasable as what are called bullets, — just as easily pro- 
 curable to order, and even more dangerous. 
 
 The votes of the poor were controlled by their employers. Mill- 
 owners directed factory operatives. Railroad presidents swayed 
 railroad employees. Merchants directed clerks. Even the govern- 
 ment itself went into the business of "influencing elections," and 
 gave work to thousands of men for a few weeks or days in order 
 that it might receive the benefit of the votes for which it had stained 
 its record with "bribery and corruption." 
 
 Voters were traded in, trafficked for, — transferred precisely as 
 cattle, hogs, or other live-stock ; and, like live-stock, hogs, and cat- 
 tle, they were disposed of to the highest bidder. It was a matter of 
 price, — no less, no more. 
 
 The votes of the rich, too, were also for sale, and were sold regu- 
 larly. Merchants were shown certain favors at the Custom House ; 
 
190 AN "INSIDE VIEW 1 ' OF NEW-YORK POLITICS. 
 
 they were permitted to cheat Uncle Sam ; they were allowed to 
 " smuggle.' ' Real-estate millionnaires were " assessed " at less than 
 one-third of the true value of their real estate. Railroad-kings had 
 their "taxes" arranged. And in return for these unlawful favors 
 these rich men cast their votes and their influence on the side of their 
 interest, and even lent their names publicly to "whitewash" the 
 men who bribed them. 
 
 Goodheart also found that the system of sinecures, or merely 
 nominal offices, drawing, however, real and liberal pay for needless 
 work, and oftentimes for no work at all, was in full blast, and 
 much favored by rich men for their relatives. He became per- 
 sonally acquainted with one wealthy politician, whose two nephews 
 were thus fattened on the public crib, drawing large salaries, but 
 never going near the City Hall, saving once every two or three 
 months to sign the warrants for their pay. He was also cognizant 
 of an official, high in place and prestige, who had inscribed no less 
 than seven names on the city pay-roll, he himself drawing the pay 
 for all the seven, which were merely so many aliases for himself. 
 
 Francis Goodheart also found in a very short time (the discovery 
 was forced upon him : any fool would have found it out) that the 
 political many are completely at the mercy and in the power of the 
 political few ; that the men rule about ten million (the millions mean- 
 while insisting loudly and proudly that they rule themselves). He 
 discovered that there was no machinery in the world so effective as 
 political machinery ; and that, by a simple series of u combinations " 
 and " primaries " and " caucuses " and " conventions," a very few 
 designing rogues could do whatever they saw best — or worst — 
 with a world of self-deluded calves who called themselves ' ' free and 
 enlightened citizens." Francis Goodheart saw all this, discovered 
 all this ; and his heart grew sick within him. Still he hoped on, 
 worked on, aspired on, and determined to penetrate even yet deeper 
 into the mysteries of politics, trusting that he would find erelong a 
 better and a brighter side, " the silver lining of the cloud." 
 
 By Herculean efforts Francis Goodheart contrived, without posi- 
 tive trickery or dishonesty, to be elected an assemblyman, and, in 
 
AT ALBANY. 191 
 
 the discharge of his official duties, went to Albany. To Francis 
 Goodheart's sensitive soul it was like going to — hell. To him the 
 capital of the State of New York was indeed a pandemonium. His 
 colleagues of the Legislature, of both branches, were drunkards and 
 gamblers, where they were not libertines, and were bought and sold 
 once (or in a good season twice) every twenty-four hours. Everybody 
 who had any business with the Legislature commenced operations by 
 bribing the members, — "influencing" them it was euphoniously 
 styled. A number of men, and every now and then a woman, made 
 a handsome living by serving as " go-betweens " the Legislature 
 (which was ready to grind any axes) and those who had axes to be 
 ground ; seeing that the legislators were duly bribed, and that the 
 private axes were ground fine on the public grindstone. These use- 
 ful go-betweens were known as " lobbyists ; " and among them were 
 to be found "venerable" and "respectable" men, — men who were 
 "powers behind the throne," and who, though not members of the 
 legislative body, were the "breeches-pocket" of the Legislature. 
 
 Albany was the city of jobbery. Every measure started or intro- 
 duced there became, sooner or later, — generally sooner, — a job, 
 from the necessity of the case. It was in the air. 
 
 Disgusted and disheartened at his Albany experiences, Francis 
 Goodheart abandoned all further aspirations at the State Capitol 
 (which was about the best thing he could do, as he had not the ghost 
 of a chance at any further advancement in that quarter), and, return- 
 ing to New York, managed, by the influence of a ward politician 
 (who thought he could "use" him), not by any merit of his own, 
 to become connected with one of the city departments. 
 
 Here, as a New- York politician, a New- York official, living, mov- 
 ing, and exercising his functions in the metropolis, he became per- 
 sonally and officially cognizant of the existence of an organized 
 system of political rascality which far surpassed any thing of which 
 he had any previous conception. 
 
 He was forced, in his own despite, to flounder about in a pool of 
 political pollution, in which were wallowing, steeped up to the very lips 
 with mud and money, all his fellow-officials, of low and high degree. 
 
192 OUR "JUDGES." 
 
 He found the courts corrupt. " Judges " were " elected " through 
 the direct "influence" of certain notorious "politicians;" and, 
 being grateful and wise, these "judges" played into the hands of 
 those who elected them and did their bidding, using the machinery 
 of their respective (though not respectable) courts for " political pur- 
 poses : " other " judges " bought their offices, and made them " pay " 
 an enormous profit, selling their " decisions " to the highest bidder. 
 
 One judge was "identified" with certain "railroad interests;" 
 and his "decisions" were, of course, in the "interests" of the 
 railroad. Another judge, though immensely rich, owning, among 
 other real estate, various houses of ill-fame, which yielded an enor- 
 mous revenue, still was so covetous of money that any litigant with 
 a long purse could buy him as certainly, though not as cheaply, as 
 any article at the dollar-store. A third judge " truckled " for popu- 
 larity, and, while sentencing a criminal who had no "influence" to 
 the full extent of the law, inflicted upon another criminal, equally 
 guilty, but with influence, the minimum penalty. A fourth judge was 
 a notorious libertine and drunkard, who never spared man in his 
 wrath, or woman in his lust. 
 
 There were certain lawyers who "had the ears" of certain 
 " judges," and could do with them what they pleased. These law- 
 yers, of course, were in great demand, and received large fees for 
 their "influence," and "divided" with the judges. Nepotism was 
 unblushingly practised, and the relative of a judge was almost as 
 great and almost as rich as a judge himself. The latter would 
 appoint (in any case with money in it) the former as a " referee ; " 
 and the referee would "remember" the judge, and both would get 
 rich together. 
 
 The police-courts were as corrupt as the courts of a higher grade. 
 Police-justices were incompetent or idle, or dissolute or venal ; while 
 their clerks ' ' run the machine ' ' for the ' ' benefit of those it might 
 concern," being " concerned," of course, chiefly for themselves. 
 
 The police were as corrupt as the courts. The executioners of 
 the laws were as venal as the expounders of the laws. The superin- 
 tendent of the police was the bosom friend, the public and private 
 
THE NEW-YOBK "GOLDEN" RULE. 193 
 
 associate, of the very men whom it was his official duty to arrest and 
 punish. The police detective system was an abomination : bribery 
 and compounding a felony were of every-day occurrence ; the detec- 
 tives " divided " with the thieves they protected, and bought diamond 
 rings and houses and lots on twelve hundred dollars a year. Gam- 
 blers walked up Broadway on the arm of magistrates, and every 
 night the magistrate took supper at the faro-bank of the gambler. 
 The mistresses of prominent officials were as well known as, and 
 more sought after, than their wives ; the influence of the former 
 being ten to one that of the latter. Judges supped with actresses 
 nightly, and on Sunday nights participated, with those free-and-easy 
 creatures, in a drunken orgie held at a public building erected for 
 political purposes. Railroad magnates, fearing neither God nor 
 man, trusting to money and technicalities to keep them out of State 
 prison (the only hell they believed in), used laws, legislatures, and 
 judges as their bought and paid-for tools, and with the proceeds 
 of their rascalities bedecked and bedizened their pet courtesans, 
 who flaunted their busts and diamonds in the faces of wives and 
 daughters at our fashionable balls ; while fathers and husbands ko- 
 to-oed before them in the profoundest adoration. 
 
 Official "position" was only another name for official "pecula- 
 tion." The only standard of duty was "the golden rule." Every- 
 body wanted a "fat" office. The sheriff, and the register, and the 
 county clerk, and a dozen more offices, were fortunes yearly. 
 
 Meanwhile prison discipline was a farce to the prisoner who had 
 money, and a piece of barbarity to the poor devil who had none. 
 Murderers were lionized, and were never hung unless they were 
 poor : unless they wished it, they were seldom even arrested. Swift 
 and sure justice might do well enough for " the effete barbarisms" 
 of Europe; but it was far behind this "enlightened" age, and 
 unworthy of the land of the spread-eagle. 
 
 Under such a condition of things, it is no wonder that the 
 honest Francis Goodheart, like his honest brother Robert, 
 failed as a New- York politician. 
 
194 TEE BROWNSTONEFRONTS. 
 
 This picture of life and struggle in the great metropolis is 
 highly colored ; but in too many respects its outlines are truth- 
 ful, and its scenes are realistic : just as are the main points in 
 the satirist's companion picture of an average rich and fash- 
 ionable New- York family, whom he describes under the sug- 
 gestive name of " the Brownstonefronts." 
 
 Young Brownstonefront, "the son of his father," is thus 
 introduced : — 
 
 He was a crack shot, a capital horseman ; always won at cards and 
 billiards ; could talk French like a native ; could sing an Italian 
 love-song with Brignoli himself ; was in demand for " the German ; " 
 had read every lewd book ever written, either in the original or in 
 the translation ; was a favorite with yacht-owners for their summer 
 cruises ; was an habitue of all the French balls ; had no faith in man 
 or woman ; cared for neither God nor Devil ; was a connoisseur in 
 wines ; owned half a million in real estate, yet owed everybody, his 
 washerwoman included ; had a different pair of pants for every day 
 in the week; doted on "fancy" neckties and perfumes, and curled 
 his hair ; told a lie with a coolness which truth itself might envy ; 
 ate five times a day ; never gave away a dollar in his life ; was bor- 
 rowing money all the time, and was a member of the leading clubs. 
 
 The " Brownstonefront " mansion on Fifth Avenue is thus 
 pen-painted : — 
 
 They called it " home," but " home " it was none. It may have 
 been a "mansion," or a "palace," or a "residence;" but it was 
 not a " home." 
 
 It was costly, but not comfortable; " deucedly " expensive, 
 "stunningly" fashionable, the "swell thing," and all that, but any 
 thing but homelike. 
 
 There is no place for mere "homes" on "the Avenue:" space 
 there is far too valuable to be devoted to what a satirist has called 
 " our domestic affectations." 
 
A FIFTH-AVENUE " IIOME." 195 
 
 The " Brownstonefront Mansion" was a brownstone front, of 
 course, suggestive in equal proportions of gold and gloom. Its exte- 
 rior was marked by elaborate, expensive, but tasteless stone- work ; 
 a prominent carriage-step ; and two entrances, distinctively appro- 
 priated, the one to the family, the other to the menials ; and large 
 windows, in which real lace curtains of almost fabulous cost were 
 always displayed to create Envy in the bosom of Vulgarity, and 
 Disgust in the mind of Taste. Within, the rooms were large and 
 cheerless, despite their gaudy furniture, which had cost some forty 
 thousand dollars. And although the walls were filled with ''paint- 
 ings" whose gilt frames were worth "a round thousand," yet the 
 pictures in themselves were worthless ; and the tout ensemble of the 
 household ornamentation was repulsive. The house was dark (it 
 was too big for sunlight) ; and, like many modern palaces, it was 
 imperfectly ventilated. It saddened first, and then stifled. The 
 ground on which it stood was worth several dollars an inch, but there 
 was not twenty-five cents' worth of genuine comfort in it. As often 
 happens in these gew-gaw shells, the plumbing- work was defective, 
 and the splendors were marred by smells. The chairs in the dining- 
 room cost 81,325.50, — we love to be precise, — and the mirrors in 
 the parlors had been paid for at the rate of $5,500.00. The lam- 
 brequins had cost $700.00 ; and the exact bill for the fresco-work, 
 such as it was, had been $5,853.27; but the total cost of all 
 the books in the house was less than three hundred dollars, and 
 the major portion of even this expenditure had been for the 
 " covers." 
 
 To this Fifth-avenue " home " hied Mr. Richard Brownstonefront, 
 jun. ; and he reached it just at dinner-time. The menu of that day 
 (or rather night) was sumptuous, embracing soup a la reine de IIol- 
 lande, boiled halibut, egg sauce, with potatoes a la duchesse, turkey 
 stuffed, cranberry sauce, ham glace\ champagne sauce, ribs of beef, 
 lobster salad, pate with truffles, pigeons en compote a la Francaise, 
 six vegetables, three varieties of pastry, Madeira wine, Jelly, maca- 
 roons de Nancy, with fruits, etc. ; and yet that very night the 
 "help" of the Brownstonefront mansion sat down, after a hard 
 
196 THE " GIBLS OF THE PERIOD." 
 
 day's work, to pork and beans, potatoes, and a pie ; and a poor 
 woman who had applied with her sick child in her arms, at the 
 basement-door, " for some cold victuals or bread, for the love of 
 God," had been driven away empty-handed and hungry-mouthed. 
 
 Mrs. Brownstonefront, the wife and mother, was tall and 
 slender, and had been originally good-looking. She still looked 
 well, — thanks to powder and paint and enamel, and Madame 
 Jumel, and glove-fitting corsets, and the hairdresser, and bella- 
 donna, and pencilling with India ink, and rouge, and cosmet- 
 ics, and French paste, and chalk, and arsenic, and her dentist, 
 and cotton, and padded sleeves, and padded arms, and tinted 
 nails, and tight lacing, and false hips, and bustles, and French 
 boots. 
 
 The mother and her two daughters, the Misses Brownstone- 
 front, are characterized as follows : — 
 
 All three ladies were, in the American sense of the term, " fash- 
 ionable " (i.e., money-and-time-wasting) women. They promenaded 
 Broadway, shopped at Stewart's, had bills at Tiffany's, had their 
 dresses made by Worth, had a box at the opera, a villa at New- 
 port, kept their carriage, and footman in livery, had been to Paris, 
 talked French execrably, waltzed divinely, flirted cl Voutrance, rel- 
 ished double-entendres, wore the lowest of low necks and the short- 
 est of short sleeves, were encyclopaedias of gossip and tittle-tattle, 
 were dictionaries of small-talk, lived high, loved French novels 
 (translated), and doted on French plays (adapted), copied the tricks 
 of actresses and the styles of the demi-monde, could and did drink 
 a good deal of wine at parties, receptions, New-Year's Days, and the 
 like, kept late hours, indulged in artificial compliments and friend- 
 ships, and "knew" more men than ever visited them at their 
 residence. 
 
 The mother had been in her day " a belle," and her name had 
 been bandied about in connection with a certain noted roue of an 
 Italian tenor ; Miss Cleopatra had been at one time seriously " com- 
 
A "FASHIONABLE" FAMILY. 197 
 
 promised" with a German count, whom she had picked up on the 
 Rhine ; while Miss Angelina's " deucedly neat" foot and ankle were 
 the admiration of any number of "young men about town," for 
 whose benefit said charms were " artlessly " displayed two or three 
 times a week on Broadway, and every Sunday morning and after- 
 noon on Fifth Avenue. 
 
 "Fashion" was the especial hobby of Mrs. Sophia Brownstone- 
 front, nee Von Diamondeer. She asked not what fashion was, or ivho 
 was fashionable : that they were fashionable was all she demanded of 
 her "set." Had Madame Restell herself suddenly become "fash- 
 ionable," she would have found a warm friend and admirer in 
 Mrs. Sophia Brownstonefront, nee Von Diamondeer. Like all true 
 native Americans, she prostrated herself in abject adoration before 
 the glory of a "position;" and she never cared a whit how the 
 " position " was obtained. Had Satan himself been an " old Knick- 
 erbocker " or a " distinguished foreigner, ' ' she would have bowed 
 blandly to the Devil. Practical woman that she was, she never 
 questioned an accepted fact. 
 
 "Dress" was the deity of her daughters. They were the true 
 Catholics of the mode, and their Virgin Mary was the goddess of 
 the toilet. Their whole souls "went out" in silks and satins, and 
 they dated the creation of the world from "opening-day." They 
 would never have betrayed their Master, like Judas, for thirty pieces 
 of silver : it would, in their case, have cost some thirty or forty yards 
 of velvet. Modest creatures that they were, they were all the time 
 thinking how to cover their nakedness. 
 
 All their "dear" friends and female intimates dressed superbly. 
 True, one of those " friends " had, by her extravagance, driven her 
 husband into dishonorable bankruptcy; another "intimate," whose 
 dress far exceeded her father's purse, was openly " talked about; " 
 while a third neglected her family to adorn the promenade. But 
 what of that? they all did "dress;" and people, you know, icill 
 talk. 
 
 And so the Misses Brownstonefront were very "dressy." They 
 possessed between them forty-two silk dresses (twenty party and 
 
19S ' "DBESS" A>'D ''SOCIETY." 
 
 evening dresses), twelve cloaks (embracing two seal-skin sacks, 
 worth five hundred dollars each), four velvet cloaks (costing about 
 twenty-five hundred dollars for the four), two camel's-hair shawls 
 (worth four thousand dollars the pair), and twenty-five thousand 
 dollars' worth of laces. — point-lace, point applique. Valenciennes; 
 then, they wore during the year some twenty bonnets (averaging 
 forty dollars apiece), some eighty pairs of gloves, some hundreds 
 of handkerchiefs. But. really, life is short. 
 
 -York •• society," it is •• summed up " by the satirist 
 in this one piquant paragraph : — 
 
 The --old lady. Mrs. Brownstonefront," called about five hundred 
 men and women whom she knew more or less intimately. — a hun- 
 dred of whom were swindlers ( undetected ) . a hundred more of whom 
 were bankrupts (as yet undiscovered), a hundred more of whom were 
 . libertines, and gamblers (known as such), a hundred more of 
 whom were old ladies who were trying to sell their daughters to the 
 highest bidder, while the last hundred were young ladies who were 
 displaying their matrimonial points wherever and however they could 
 to the aforesaid three hundred swindlers, bankrupts, and roues. — she 
 called these five hundre /." 
 
 And there are five thousand more like her in New York. 
 
 But it must be carefully borne in mind by the reader, that 
 there are two sides to every question, and generally more than 
 two sides to every question or point connected with New- York 
 City. 
 
 While the experiences and observations of the brothers 
 Goodheart, and while the pictures of the Brownstonefronts, 
 are truthful and realistic as far as they extend, — they do not 
 extend far enough, — they only apply to a part of New York, 
 not to New York as a whole. 
 
 New York, as a whole, is. with all its evils, a good, as well as 
 a great, city. This fact, this comforting and consoling fact, 
 this better and brighter fact, is too often forgotten by New- 
 
A POINT THAT SHOULD BE REMEMBERED. 199 
 
 Yorkers themselves, and is steadily ignored by the New-York 
 press, and writers on New York. 
 
 The New- York papers are full of murders, suicides, thefts, 
 scandals, and horrors. But why are they full of them? Sim- 
 ply because these are the remarkable exceptions to the ordinary 
 state of order, decency, honesty, peace, and security. If they were 
 normal occurrences, — these murders, thefts, scandals, and hor- 
 rors, — the papers would not record them ; they would not be 
 able to ; but they simply record them now as exceptional occur- 
 rences. 
 
 If people would but bear this simple, self-evident point in 
 mind, they would carry about with them much more accurate 
 notions of New- York life than generally prevail. 
 
 The writer once met a dear, good old lady, who loved God, 
 the Bible, and her fellow men and women, and found this 
 blessed Christian lady terribly exercised in spirit, having just 
 finished the perusal of a morning New-York paper, in which 
 she had read graphic, — too graphic, — elaborately detailed, — 
 far too elaborately detailed, — accounts of all varieties of crimes 
 and horrors. The old lady put down her paper with a sigh 
 and a shudder, and exclaimed to the writer, " What a wicked 
 city we live in ! " 
 
 " No, madam," I replied. " Say, rather, what a good city we 
 live in." And then I explained to the dear, good old soul 
 how really the prominence and space given in the paper to the 
 crimes and horrors proved how extraordinary and exceptional 
 they were. 
 
 " No paper prints," said I, " the numberless good words said 
 and good deeds done yesterday in New York and elsewhere, 
 simply because they are numberless, and of constant, ordinary 
 occurrence : they are, fortunately, matters of course, and, as 
 such, need no account or comment. But thank God, madam," 
 I devoutly and gratefully, as well as truthfully, remarked, 
 
200 THE GOOD SIDE OF NEW YORK. 
 
 " murder, theft, licentiousness, blasphemy, and the like, are un- 
 usual enough yet to challenge attention." 
 
 The old lady seized the point of my observations at once, 
 and appreciated its truth : she smiled, and from that day has 
 regarded New- York papers and New-York City very differently 
 from the light in which she formerly considered them. 
 
 The facts are, — and let us thank God for them, — that there 
 are vastly more good and honest men, and vastly more good 
 and virtuous women, in New York, than there are men and 
 women who are not honest or virtuous. 
 
 If the great metropolis leads in evil, it also more than excels 
 in good. Every now and then there may occur a " carnival of 
 crime ; " but purity, charity, honesty, industry, and religion are 
 " always with us." 
 
 New York is a religious city, as already hinted at. There is 
 one place of worship, on the average, to every four hundred 
 people in the metropolis ; and many of these churches, chapels, 
 etc., are crowded, not only on Sundays, but during the week. 
 
 New York contains twenty-two public libraries, and over a 
 hundred large first-class private libraries, as well as hundreds 
 of book-stores. 
 
 New York likewise contains a hundred and thirty-five public 
 schools of all grades, for all classes, and for all colors, and 
 employs over three thousand teachers. The metropolis can 
 justly boast of its Columbia College, the university of the city 
 of New York; the famous Cooper Institute free schools of 
 art, where hundreds of young women have laid the foundation 
 of a useful, profitable, honorable career ; its Free Academy and 
 its Normal College ; while its private schools — such as Rut- 
 gers Institute, the Charlier Institute, etc. — are justly cele- 
 brated. 
 
 The metropolis has also twenty-one public squares and parks, 
 including the finest pleasure-park in America, the Central Park, 
 
SOMETHING TO THANK GOD FOR. 201 
 
 as free to the tramp as to the millionnaire. There are numerous 
 public and private galleries of art; some of the private gal- 
 leries, such as Belmont's, being occasionally thrown open to 
 the public. 
 
 There are numerous public and several "free" baths. There 
 are over two hundred general societies, all flourishing, and all 
 instituted for worthy objects. There are sixty-three trade 
 societies, all doing good, and, on the whole, well managed; 
 while the charities of New York are literally "too numerous 
 to mention." A mere list of the charitable societies and enter- 
 prises of the metropolis would occupy pages of this book. 
 From twenty-five thousand to thirty thousand people are 
 relieved by them annually. May it not, then, be said of the 
 great metropolis to-day, as it was said over eighteen hundred 
 years ago of Mary Magdalene, "Her sins, which are many, 
 are forgiven her ; for she loved much " (if philanthropy is love, 
 which it is) : for " inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these, 
 ye did it unto me." 
 
 And, good as New York is, it is growing better every year. 
 Just as the old Five Points, the most terrible spot on the 
 American continent, is now " wiped out," and the old Brewery, 
 the scene of misery and murder, is supplanted by a public 
 mission-house; so other evil localities in the great city are 
 gradually, slowly but surely, being purified. The American 
 poet, Lowell, is right, — "Humanity moves onward" — and 
 upward. " Excelsior " is the motto, not only of Longfellow's 
 immortal poem, but of the city of New York. 
 
 This being so, — and this is so, as any careful student of the 
 metropolis is prepared to testify, — let us "thank God, and 
 take courage." 
 
 Let us confess the errors, concede the vices, regret the 
 crimes, of New York. Let us picture, if we will, the dark 
 side of metropolitan life. But let us ever do justice to the 
 
202 . BOTH SIDES. 
 
 enterprise, and to the virtue, morality, and religion, upon 
 which, after all and more than all, the metropolis is based. 
 
 If, like a famous New-York divine, Rev. Dr. Crosby, we 
 must confess "the shame of New York," let us not refuse 
 to concede to the greatest and best city on the American con- 
 tinent its meed of "glory." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SEEKING AND FINDING EMPLOYMENT. — NEW YOBK AT NIGHT. — " THE 
 SLEEPLESS CITY."— THE DEMON HUM. 
 
 Into the great city which I have just described (from the 
 experience and observation of later years), I now came, a 
 friendless lad, dependent on his work for his bread. But 
 where to get the work? That was the problem which pre- 
 sented itself to me, as it has presented itself to thousands of 
 others before and since. 
 
 Oh ! the difficulty of obtaining work in New York. That is, 
 obtaining your first work, — getting your start. That start once 
 obtained, the rest is comparatively easy ; as the French say, 
 " C'est le premier pas qui coute " (" It is the first step that 
 costs "). Some have suffered all the agonies that mind and 
 body can endure ere they have conquered that first step ; and 
 
 some 
 
 " Have by wayside fell and perished, 
 Weary with the march of life," 
 
 before they even gained that " start." 
 
 But I was more favored than the majority ; although I had 
 to pass through a certain share of torture, although I had to 
 walk and worry and wait till I was weary and worn out, yet, 
 just before I was completely exhausted, I obtained my chance, 
 I conquered my start. 
 
 I procured employment in the freight-department of the far- 
 famed Erie Railroad, under M. A. A. Gaddis, one of the local 
 freight-agents of the road. My former experience in railroad- 
 
 203 
 
204 NEW YORE AT NIGHT. 
 
 ing gave me favor, and within a few weeks I had my place 
 and work and wages among the struggling myriads of the 
 metropolis. 
 
 I was busily employed all day, and gave satisfaction. But 
 I had my nights to myself. I congratulated myself on this 
 fact, but in reality it was my great misfortune. Had I been 
 compelled to toil at night, I would doubtless have felt more 
 tired ; but I would doubtless have been more temperate, and 
 equally as happy. 
 
 Working men and women need little care and compassion 
 while " on duty ; " but they need the former, and call oftentimes 
 for the latter, when " off duty." When the eye of the super- 
 intendent or employer is upon them, they are u all right:" it 
 is only when there is none to see them but the All-seeing that 
 they are in danger of being " all wrong." 
 
 Especially is this the case in the metropolis. Other cities rest 
 at night, and the working-classes rest in and with them. But 
 New York is as restless by night as by day. New York never 
 sleeps : it has been truthfully stj-led " the sleepless city." 
 
 It has been calculated that over seventy-five thousand people 
 are busy or bustling, at work or at play, every night in the 
 great metropolis. The night-population of New York includes 
 an army of men and women, in different walks of life, — the 
 attaches of theatres and minstrel-halls, of concert-saloons, of 
 the newspapers, of the restaurants, etc., the hackmen, the 
 car conductors and drivers, the police, the thieves, the gam- 
 blers, the courtesans, the firemen, the bill-posters, the butchers, 
 the bakers, the vagrants, the hotel attaches, — these, and other 
 classes too numerous to mention, render the streets of New 
 York, or some of them at least, almost as lively at midnight 
 as at noon. One need never be lonely in New York at night 
 if he is not particular as to his company. And the temptations 
 to dissipation and intemperance in a crowd like this at night 
 
" ON THE DOWN GRADE." 205 
 
 are endless. And they were too mighty for one of my tem- 
 perament to resist. Homeless, I haunted the taverns and the 
 theatres : friendless, I made companions of the dissolute. I 
 soon fell into my former drinking-habits, and acquired, if possi- 
 ble, the curse of intemperance still stronger. Many a morning, 
 after many a night passed in bar-rooms till almost daylight, I 
 would go to my work with a fevered brow and a trembling 
 hand. But still, under all these disadvantages, I somehow kept 
 along. For a whole year I kept my situation ; and during that 
 time I familiarized myself with the haunts of vice and intem- 
 perance, and was falling lower and lower in the scale of hu- 
 manity. I became entangled in several " scrapes ; " and although 
 I was never arrested by the police, never imprisoned in a 
 police-station cell, and never brought before a magistrate in 
 a police-court, it was due to the restraining hand of Providence, 
 not to any restraint that I placed upon myself. This period I 
 regard as one of the darkest of my life. And, under the influ- 
 ence of the demon of rum, I committed indiscretions, which, 
 when reported to my father in the course of time, nearly drove 
 him to distraction, and which distressed my dear mother more 
 than all her pangs of sickness. Friends remonstrated with me 
 in vain. I was mad indeed. 
 
 Finally I lost my position on the railroad, but that did not 
 sober me ; for I obtained an even better situation in its place 
 with H. B. Clafflin & Co., in the entry-room, under Mr. 
 Henshaw as superintendent : and I drank harder than ever. 
 
 But I only held this latter situation for a month : then rum, 
 my greatest enemy, dislodged me ; and again I was roaming 
 the streets of New York without employment. 
 
 I was not utterly destitute as yet; and, as long as my money 
 lasted, I haunted bar-rooms, and drank rum. Liquor-saloons 
 were my only resorts ; and I finally sank so low, that, under 
 the influence of my potations, I would frequently sleep in these 
 
206 A DEVILISH DEBAUCH. 
 
 places till they closed, and then would walk the streets by night, 
 trying to quiet my nerves (for sleep I could not), until they 
 opened again. 
 
 I recall to memory one night in particular, when, after a 
 devilish debauch (I can use no milder term), the thought of my 
 once innocent past, my dear brothers and sisters, my honored 
 father and mother, and my pure and happy home, in dear old 
 Montreal, came across my mind with such overpowering force, 
 that, in sheer despair and desperation, I purchased a soda- 
 bottle full of whiskey, and, rushing out of a saloon, took my 
 position at midnight on the steps of 618 Broadway, — the 
 Museum of Anatomy, — and swallowed almost the entire con- 
 tents of the bottle. 
 
 I was wild with grief and shame, and I knew not what I did. 
 I presume I meant to take my chances of death or delirium 
 tremens ; and I deserved either, or both, but escaped : perhaps 
 the very quantity of liquor that I swallowed saved me ; but, 
 however that may be, I merely suffered more than usual, and 
 was more sick and nervous than usual for some forty-eight 
 hours, and then proceeded downward as before. And here I 
 must pause, and warn my readers of the terrible state to 
 which poor mortals may bring themselves. With tears in my 
 eyes I make this confession. But my case is not exceptional. 
 Thousands have been in the same condition, and only those 
 that have suffered can appreciate the same. I wish I could 
 show to every young man and woman in the country what 
 intemperance is sure to lead to. Reformation is hard — oh, so 
 hard ! Intemperance destroys self-respect ; and, when that is 
 gone, manhood departs. It dries up the sacred fountains of 
 love ; and, when they are dry, hope turns sadly away. It 
 estranges those who should be dearest to each other. It turns 
 the father from the child, and the child from the father ; and 
 all that is contained in the word "awful" it surely possesses. 
 
THE MONSTER INTEMPERANCE. 207 
 
 I have seen the ocean asleep, when scarcely a ripple disturbed 
 its placid breast. The smallest craft could venture out on its 
 tranquil bosom in safety, and the sunbeams dallied with its 
 surface, and peace and contentment seemed to have an abiding- 
 place within it. Anon the winds would rise, the hurricane 
 would rage, and the scene would be changed. Arising from 
 its lethargy, the mad waves would roll, threatening to over- 
 whelm every thing in their fury ; and night and darkness would 
 combine to augment the horrors of the scene. Intemperance 
 is like that ocean : it seems fair and lovely to gaze upon ; and 
 the poor mariner upon its bosom looks listlessly in the tide, nor 
 sees the frightful monsters that inhabit it. But now they 
 come, slimy, filthy creatures, who wind themselves around his 
 better feelings ; and the fierce storms of passion, lust, and all 
 that is unholy and debased, sweep him from mortal view. The 
 fell demon spares none. He allures the noblest of the earth, 
 and beneath him they become the most debased. No position 
 in society is secure from his attacks. He even invades the 
 sanctity of the pulpit, and the priest of God becomes his satel- 
 lite. He glories in destruction, and gloats over the shrieks of 
 his helpless victims. O young men ! if you are yielding to the 
 power of the monster in any degree, repel him before it is too 
 late. " Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it 
 giveth its color in the cup : at the last, it biteth like a serpent, 
 and stingeth like an adder." Point me to a case where, used 
 as a beverage, it ever did mortal man any good. Graves that 
 have been watered with burning, bitter tears, proclaim the con- 
 trary ; families severed speak its desolation ; the groans of 
 orphans and the shrieks of the dying, over the land, bear fear- 
 ful testimony to its destruction ; and yet the curse survives, and 
 human law appears powerless to crush it from existence. Were 
 a mad dog turned loose in our street to bite and maim the 
 passers-by, what a cry would ascend to the skies if prompt 
 
208 TO THE FOOT OF THE CEOSS. 
 
 action were not taken to stop his ravages ! Yet, worse than 
 the most rabid canine, intemperance is allowed to strike his 
 victims again and again, and almost without hinderance. I 
 have felt his deadly fangs, and feel that I have a right to lift 
 up my voice against him, to combat my greatest enemy with 
 all my power, and to show him and his emissaries as the 
 greatest enemies of the human race. Had I then gone to the 
 foot of the cross in faith, and trusted in Him who alone can 
 sustain us, I might have been spared the years to come of 
 sorrow that passed over me ; and not until I did so did I find 
 deliverance from my bondage : but, thanks be to Him, my 
 deliverance came ; and I am now ransomed by his precious 
 blood from the galling shackles of intemperance. All things 
 are possible with God. 
 
 " Would you lose your life, you find it ; 
 And in giving love you bind it 
 Like an amulet of safety 
 Round your heart forevermore." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DRIFTING AND SHIFTING. — A MEMORABLE SUNDAY. — MY ADVENTURES IN 
 CINCINNATI. — LIFE ON THE RIVER-STEAMBOATS. — ITS TRAGEDY AND 
 COMEDY ILLUSTRATED. — STEAMBOAT RACES, FIRES, AND EXPLOSIONS. — 
 RIVER-GAMBLERS. — MOCK COURTS AND A BLESSED PRACTICAL JOKE. — 
 MY CURSE CONQUERS ME AGAIN. 
 
 In my last chapter I moralized somewhat ; now let me turn 
 to my own vicissitudes of fortune, and speak of myself. Being 
 almost literally driven out of New York by my own misconduct, 
 finding it now impossible to procure a situation, and being on 
 the very verge of abject destitution and positive starvation, I 
 turned my thoughts to Albany, where I had been told there 
 was a chance for employment. Through the kindness of Mr. 
 Caulfield, a steamboat-man, agent of a line of steamers plying 
 on the Hudson, I obtained a pass to Albany, in which city I 
 landed literally penniless. 
 
 My first experience of New York had been brief and shame- 
 ful. I left it now, as I thought, forever; but I was destined to 
 return to the great metropolis again, and yet again, as the 
 reader of this life-narrative will see. 
 
 I found Albany just like New York in one most important 
 particular. You must have money, or starve, in either place. 
 As I had no money, I came near starving, and might have per- 
 ished, had I not been in this extremity befriended by S. R. 
 Gray, a true Christian gentleman, who interested himself prac- 
 tically in my welfare. But there was no opening for me in 
 Albany at that time ; and so I went on still farther, looking for 
 
 209 
 
210 A TRAMP AND A BEGGAR. 
 
 something, to do. I called upon E. D. Worcester, Esq., the 
 secretary of the New-York Central Railroad, and, on the rec- 
 ommendation of Mr. Gray, obtained from this most practical, 
 yet kind and most genial and polished man, official, and gentle- 
 man, a pass to Buffalo. I arrived in Buffalo in precisely the 
 same penniless condition in which I had reached Albany, but 
 found no duplicate of the great-hearted Mr. Gray. Having 
 neither money nor friends, only a little — a very little — " hand- 
 baggage," I was at once compelled to pawn the latter, to procure 
 a few days' board. 
 
 I spent my few days trying hard to obtain employment, but 
 in vain, and, at the expiration of a week, found myself 
 reduced to my last dollar, — poorer than I was when I came to 
 Buffalo, by the amount of the value of my little hand-baggage, 
 now unredeemed at the pawn-shop. I was not only desperately 
 poor and " hard up," but I began to suffer from the cold. I 
 was thinly clad, and had no change of raiment with me ; my 
 clothing, such as it was, being all at that " interesting " rela- 
 tive's, " my uncle's." But I must keep moving. If I could 
 not find work at Albany or at Buffalo, I must push on farther 
 West, and try Cleveland. So I begged a pass, on the strength 
 of my former connection with railroads, from Otis Kimball, 
 Esq., and one cold, dreary Saturday night first set foot in 
 Cleveland. I am told that Cleveland is a very pretty city. 
 Its citizens are justly proud thereof. But God knows I was 
 in no mood in my visit to the place to appreciate its beau- 
 ties. I was reduced to the mere animal, the wholly brutal, 
 condition, of needing only just then, and caring only just then, 
 for food, warmth, and drink, and of not being able to obtain 
 any one of the three. 
 
 I reached Cleveland a pauper; and I resided in it (Heaven 
 pardon the mockery of the use of that word " resided ") for 
 nearly forty-eight hours, — two nights and nearly two days, — 
 
SUCH A SUNDAY! 211 
 
 a tramp and a beggar. Yes, through folly and rum I had 
 reached those two extremities at last. I was a homeless tramp, 
 a penniless beggar ; sleeping, when I slept at all, in sheds or 
 out-houses, shivering in my scanty seediness, gnawing away for 
 life at stray crusts, "at the very husks the swine did eat," — 
 those husks which were for a while the envy of the prodigal 
 son in the parable, whom, in not a few respects, I closely 
 resembled, although even yet I had not attained unto his peni- 
 tence. I was wretched, of course. I grieved over my condi- 
 tion. But mere grief and wretchedness do not constitute true 
 penitence. I was in no sense of the term repentant. I was 
 only reckless, desperate, despairing, only a tramp and a beggar, 
 whom only the mercy of the Most High kept from being a 
 criminal and a thief. 
 
 Of all the Sundays in my life, I shall never forget that 
 wretched, homeless, churchless, friendless, shelterless, joyless, 
 prayerless, dreary, weary, hungry, thirsty, cold Sunday which 
 I passed in Cleveland. It was a living death. Towards noon 
 I was constrained to beg in the public streets for a few pennies 
 to buy a meal, — my first meal for nearly thirty-six hours; 
 and at night I begged a shelter from the storm, — slept by per- 
 mission in a hall-way. Great God ! what a Lord's Day that 
 was ! How terribly it contrasted with my sweet home Sun- 
 days in dear Montreal ! It is a wonder and a mercy that I did 
 not go mad, — memory mad. 
 
 It is more than a wonder, too, that such a fearful experience 
 as this, brought on directly by my cursed appetite for liquor, 
 did not lead me at once, then and there, to determine to forsake 
 rum, and to sunder myself forever from the cause of my misery. 
 But no such blessed result took place ; and I was not only 
 in reality a tramp and a beggar, but at heart, as before, a 
 drunkard. I would have been a drunkard if I had had the 
 chance. 
 
212 A MODERN WANDERING JEW. 
 
 Monday morning dawned bright and beautiful and balmy, 
 after the most horrible Sunday I had ever experienced ; and, 
 utterly disgusted with Cleveland, I braced myself up, tried 
 to assume a jaunty air, tried to forget I was a tramp and a 
 beggar, and, applying at the railroad-depot as an ex-railroad- 
 man, secured from the officials there a pass to Columbus, O. 
 
 Arriving at this thriving place about midnight, I slept in the 
 cars till morning, and then made some inquiries for work. 
 Finding no immediate opportunity in Columbus, and having no 
 time to wait, being full of a bitter restlessness which drove me 
 on, like the wandering Jew, knowing and caring not whither, I 
 applied to Mr. Doherty, then the depot-agent, and procured, 
 through his kindness, a pass to Cincinnati, where I arrived 
 with precisely five cents in my pocket, the remnants of forty- 
 five cents I had begged, — my worldly all. 
 
 True, on no larger a capital than this, men have raised them- 
 selves to influence and affluence. But then, these men were 
 not habitual drunkards. 
 
 I was now in Cincinnati, — the Queen City of the West, as 
 it is called ; the Paris of America, as it has been also styled ; 
 the leading city of the great State of Ohio, one of the leading 
 communities of the world. 
 
 There is much in Cincinnati to interest the thoughtful, 
 and to impress favorably the travelled observer. There is a 
 mingled air of enterprise and stability pervading the city, which 
 strikes one forcibly. Every thing seems established on a solid 
 basis, yet all is bustle and energy. But there is no " flash in 
 the pan " business, no mere wild, feverish, unsubstantial specu- 
 lation : every thing is a reality, like the pork itself. 
 
 The streets of Cincinnati are well laid out, the public 
 buildings are imposing, the hotels are excellent ; and it pos- 
 sesses one peculiar charm and beauty which can be claimed by 
 no other city in America, — those hills, or mountains, or elevated 
 
CINCINNATI. 213 
 
 lands, known as the Highlands, and Mount Lookout, which 
 rise from and command the city. The peculiar vertical rail- 
 ways by which these mountains are traversed are among the 
 curiosities of the West. 
 
 Cincinnati is justly proud of its superb music-hall — the finest 
 in the country — and of its musical societies, — the largest and 
 best conducted in the West. True, it has its darker aspects, 
 — its "over the Rhine," and its Sunday theatres; but, as a 
 whole, Ohio can well afford to boast of Cincinnati. 
 
 And perhaps of all places in Cincinnati the most really in- 
 teresting to the greatest number is the river-front. There is 
 always a fascination about the water and the water-ways. 
 Even a brook suggests a river ; and the river still more elo- 
 quently suggests the sea, while the sea itself suggests infinity 
 and the universe. Then, there is an abundance of life and 
 motion and change upon the surface of a river: boats and 
 passengers are constantly adding animation to the scene. Al- 
 together, the Ohio River forms the most interesting portion of 
 Cincinnati ; and to the river I now turned in my need to look 
 for work. 
 
 I was not as completely wretched and destitute here in Cin- 
 cinnati as I had been in Cleveland. I had stumbled across 
 an old acquaintance, employed at the United-States Hotel, 
 Cincinnati ; and through his kindness I had at least a place to 
 sleep for a while. I need not walk the streets all night, nor 
 sleep and shiver on the pavement; and that was something. 
 But all day long I hunted — ay, absolutely hunted — for work, 
 trudging up and down the levee, tramping from boat to boat, 
 seeking a job, — seeking but not finding; though, like Esau, 
 " I sought carefully and with tears." 
 
 Nothing presented itself. No opportunity " turned up." I 
 became discouraged ; and finally through very shame I would 
 not return to my kind friend at the hotel, but determined to 
 
214 • A SCULLION. 
 
 stay around the levee day and night till I had obtained a job. 
 There was a good deal of " stuff" in this determination, and I 
 feel glad now that I made it and kept it then. It showed to my- 
 self, that, spite of my fall from grace and good, I was not wholly 
 lost. I was not utterly debased, and I had my reward. 
 
 By dint of repeated, persistent, urgent solicitation on my 
 part, of the steward of one of the transient boats from Cin- 
 cinnati to Louisville, I obtained from him a job at last. 
 
 True, it was not a very responsible position, — it did not 
 require any great physical or mental strength, — it was only 
 the post of dish-washer and knife-cleaner ; but it was some- 
 thing, — it was better than nothing, — it was a job. 
 
 As such I gratefully regarded it ; and perhaps my fallen con- 
 dition at this period cannot be illustrated more forcibly than 
 by the fact that I, who had formerly occupied positions of some 
 little responsibility in railroad offices and stores, now con- 
 gratulated myself on securing the position of a scullion. 
 
 But it was only for a while. Within forty-eight hours after 
 commencing my menial duties, " the iron entered into my 
 soul." I saw myself as others saw me, — literally " a hewer of 
 wood and a drawer of water ; " and I realized at last to what 
 rum had brought me. 
 
 Still, — and this fact I record now with satisfaction, — I did 
 not give up my place because disgusted with myself. No : I 
 remained a scullion, and tried to discharge my menial duties ; 
 but as a servant I was not a success, and soon there was an- 
 other scullion in my stead. 
 
 But by this time I had made the acquaintance of a river- 
 captain, Capt. Daniel Conway of the steamer " Alice Dean," 
 to whom I had imparted the outlines of my history, and who 
 conceived a sincere liking for me. Capt. Conway's vessel was 
 being put in running order for the season of navigation, and 
 the kind captain promised me employment on his boat as soon 
 
A STEAMER-CLERK. 215 
 
 as it commenced its regular trips. He also kindly suggested 
 to me that I could take up my quarters on the boat at once ; 
 that is, I could sleep on board of it at nights. I eagerly availed 
 myself of this permission, and now began a new and peculiar 
 era of my ever-changing life. 
 
 Every night I enjoyed to the fullest extent my roomy quar- 
 ters on the steamer, which at that time I had almost to my- 
 self. And all day I did nothing but wait, and look at the men 
 getting the vessel ready, occasionally taking a hand myself 
 for sheer lack of any thing else to do, and to oblige my kind 
 friend, the captain. The balance of my time I " loafed," talked 
 with the deck-hands, or the laborers on the levee, smoked when 
 anybody offered me a cigar, hung around bar-rooms for " the 
 free lunches," for which the West is famous, and, alas ! took 
 every opportunity to drink, — and my opportunities were only 
 too many. There are, unfortunately, always chances to get a 
 drink. I had also availed myself of my abundant leisure to 
 write a letter to my brother William, who answered it lovingly, 
 and sent in his letter a small sum of money for my immediate 
 wants, a large portion of which small sum went at once to 
 supply my then most pressing want, — liquor. Finally, "The 
 Alice Dean" being ready, I was, according to promise, in- 
 stalled as steamer-clerk, at a fair rate of compensation. And 
 now began my experiences of life upon a Western river-steam- 
 boat. Before the great civil war, life on an Ohio or a Missis- 
 sippi-river steamboat was a very different and more exciting 
 existence than it has ever been since, or will ever be likely to 
 be again : still, even in my time, it was bustling and exciting 
 enough. It brought one into contact with all sorts and con- 
 ditions of men, and, especially to the young and impressiona- 
 ble, was ceaselessly and vividly interesting. 
 
 Each trip of each steamboat up or down the river was a story 
 in itself. Then there was the racing with rival boats. Then 
 
216 - THE EXPLOSION OF " THE MOSELLE." 
 
 there were the peculiarities of the passengers, the characteris- 
 tics of the captain and the pilot, the eccentricities of the crew. 
 
 Volumes could be written — books have been written, I 
 believe — on Western steamboat-life ; and stories of steamboat 
 adventure have from time to time appeared in magazines and 
 newspapers. Thrilling descriptions of steamboat-races have 
 been published, — terrific, because terrifically true, narratives 
 of horrible steamboat explosions. Instances have been known 
 in which the cargo itself of a vessel has been used as fuel in 
 a life or death race. The old story of a negro fastened to the 
 safety-valve to keep it down during a race is literally true. 
 Boats have time and time again caught fire while madly ra- 
 cing, and been, with cargo, crew, and passengers, consumed. 
 
 Steamboat explosions were of constant occurrence. One of 
 the most fearful was the explosion of the steamboat " Moselle " 
 near Cincinnati. " The Moselle " was a splendid new boat, 
 sailing between Cincinnati and St. Louis, and was "a crack 
 boat," a " fast " boat, — one of the very " fastest " on the river. 
 
 One pleasant afternoon, just as " The Moselle " was leaving 
 Cincinnati with an unusual number of passengers, the catas- 
 trophe occurred. The vessel had been delayed some fifteen 
 minutes to accommodate the rush of passengers, and was now 
 starting, under a tremendous force of steam, to overtake an 
 opposition boat that had left Cincinnati " on time," and there- 
 fore with some quarter of an hour's start of " The Moselle." 
 
 Just as the bow of the boat was shoved from shore, an explo- 
 sion took place, by which the whole fore part of the vessel was 
 blown up, and torn into fragments. All the boilers, four in 
 number, burst at once. The power of the explosion was un- 
 precedented in the history of steam. Its effect was like that 
 of a mine of powder, or of dynamite. 
 
 The deck was blown into the air, and all on it were hurled 
 into eternity. Fragments of boilers and of bodies were thrown 
 
THE WRECK OF " THE TENNESSEE." 217 
 
 upon both the Kentucky and the Ohio shores. One unfortu- 
 nate was hurled with such force, that his head, with one-half of 
 his body attached thereto, penetrated the roof of a house over 
 one hundred and fifty yards distant from the vessel. A few 
 in the rear of the boat dashed into the water, and swam ashore, 
 or were rescued by boats ; but the majority of the two hun- 
 dred and sixty human beings on board were either drowned, 
 scalded, or mangled. The actual number of lives lost in this 
 one explosion exceeded one hundred and fifty ; and all because 
 the captain, encouraged by his passengers, had determined to 
 overtake and pass an " opposition boat." 
 
 The scenery of the Mississippi River has neither beauty nor 
 sublimity in the ordinary sense of the words, but it possesses 
 the solemn characteristic of " vastness " to a grander and 
 gloomier degree than any river on the face of the earth. 
 
 The navigation of the river is very dangerous, alike from the 
 instability of its banks, the impetuosity of its currents, and the 
 obstacles in the river, — the snags, planters, or sawyers, as they 
 are called. Collision with these is certain destruction to a 
 steamboat, yet such collisions are of frequent occurrence. 
 
 The steamboat "Tennessee," one dark and sultry night, 
 struck a snag just above Natchez. She filled with water rap- 
 idly, and all was consternation and despair. Then came out 
 some of the meannesses of human nature. One wretch of a 
 passenger seized a skiff, and paddled round the sinking steamer, 
 calling out to those on board to throw him a bag, which con- 
 tained his money. The wretch might have saved, with his 
 skiff, a dozen or more passengers ; but he kept aloof, and only 
 clamored (and, of course, vainly) for his money. 
 
 But, thank God! some of the glorious qualities of human 
 nature also came to the front in this dark hour. A yawl was 
 finally launched ; and in it there was a place kept for the engi- 
 neer of " The Tennessee," a young man very popular alike with 
 
218 TEE BURNING OF " TEE BEN SEERBOD." 
 
 crew and passengers. But the engineer refused to leave the 
 steamboat. "Who will work my engine if I quit?" he said. 
 " I must stay here, and do my duty." And he staid on board, 
 at his boiler, and did his duty till he died. They tried in 
 vain to run the vessel on a bar, but she sank in mid-stream ; 
 and the heroic young engineer was drowned in his own 
 engine-room. 
 
 The officer of " The Prairie Belle," who, in the poem, kept his 
 place through fire and smoke " till the last galoot was ashore," 
 was a fancy founded on a fact. Let us thank God for such 
 facts as these. 
 
 " Hard drinking " among the crew, the passengers, and the 
 officers of the steamboats, used to be the rule, the prevailing 
 custom, on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. And several of 
 the most terrible river-catastrophes occurred directly from the 
 carelessness and recklessness produced by intemperance. The 
 burning of the steamer " Ben Sherrod " was a case in point. 
 One fine evening in May u The Ben Sherrod," one of the finest 
 and fastest steamers on the Mississippi, was trying to get to 
 Natchez ahead of the steamer " Prairie." Steam was kept at 
 the highest pressure all night, and the energies of the firemen 
 and crew were taxed to the utmost. In order to encourage 
 the deck-hands, a barrel of whiskey had been turned over to 
 them ; and they drank freely, — too freely, — officers and men 
 alike. 
 
 As " The Sherrod " passed on above Fort Adams, the wood 
 piled up in front of the furnaces several times caught fire, but 
 was each time extinguished, so it was thought. Had the men 
 been sober, the fire would have been altogether extinguished ; 
 as it was, it smouldered, only to break out at last furiously. 
 Even then, had sobriety and its accompaniments, sense and 
 order, prevailed, all might have been well ; but, with a drunken 
 crew, what could be expected but what took place, — a scene of 
 
THE BIVER-GAMBLER. 219 
 
 unutterable horror ? Two hundred precious human lives were 
 lost by carelessness and whiskey. 
 
 But the dangers on the river-boats were not confined to 
 fires, explosions, snags, races, or collisions. There was a human 
 danger on board the boats as formidable as any material terror. 
 I mean the river-gambler. 
 
 Day and night, during the voyage, the card-tables on the 
 vessels were surrounded by the votaries of chance : sometimes 
 six and seven tables could be seen scattered along the deck, 
 from the ladies' cabin to the social hall, or parlor, of the boat, a 
 game in progress at each table. 
 
 The games which were played mostly on the river-steamers 
 were poker, brag, whist, Boston, and old sledge. Sometimes 
 regular " banking-games," so called, were "set up " in the "social 
 hall," or parlor, such as vingt-et-un or faro. According to the 
 printed rules of these steamers, all gambling was prohibited 
 after ten o'clock in the evening ; but these rules were seen only 
 in print, not in practice : and the morning sun dawning on the 
 Mississippi rose on many an all-night card-party. The steamboat 
 officers mingled with the passengers in these games, and the crew 
 mingled with the officers. Gambling is a great leveller ; and 
 pilots, deck-hands, and millionnaires used to play cards together. 
 
 Life on a Western river-steamer in one respect resembled 
 closely life in the great metropolis. It was full of contrasts. 
 At one and the same moment four separate and totally opposed 
 scenes have been taking place on the one steamboat-deck. In 
 the ladies' cabin a group of pious men and women were engaged 
 in prayer ; in the dining-saloon, from which the tables had been 
 removed, a party of young people were dancing merrily to the 
 sound of the fiddle ; in the " social hall " a game of faro was 
 being played, amid the rattle of money and checks; while 
 beyond was a group of carousers, getting drunk at the gor- 
 geous " bar." 
 
220 I REFUSE A PROPOSITION. 
 
 The river-gamblers, or professional sharpers, who infested 
 the boats, travelled in small companies, or gangs, but, while on 
 board a steamer, pretended to be strangers to each other, the 
 better to avoid suspicion, and the more readily to fleece the 
 unwary. Their number was always sufficient to make up a 
 card-party whenever they could induce two or three " gulls " 
 " to join them in a small game, merely for amusement," as the 
 phrase was. All sorts of tricks were played upon their victims, 
 — " stocking the cards," all varieties of cheating, trickery, and 
 sleight of hand ; and, even when a fairly conducted game was 
 played, the confederates of the sharpers would " look on " as 
 spectators, and meanwhile communicate information, or " item- 
 ize " the cards, to their " pals " by agreed-upon signs. Canes 
 were twirled in certain ways, cigars were puffed according to 
 a system, fingers were employed to telegraph the cards, etc. 
 
 "Holding out" was a trick much practised by sharpers. 
 Extra cards would be secreted in laps, or behind necks, and 
 " rung in " or slipped into the pack secretly, as needed. Some 
 sharpers also played with marked cards. And in some instances 
 the bar-tenders of the boats were in league with their nefarious 
 schemes, and shared their plunder. This fact I have most 
 positive means of knowing. For while I was clerk on " The 
 Alice Dean," one of the bar-keepers of the boat being taken 
 sick, I acted in his place for a few hours one day, and, while 
 thus engaged, was approached by a very gentlemanly-looking 
 young man, who, mysteriously calling me aside, made a propo- 
 sition to me that I should be his confederate in cheating the 
 passengers with marked cards. Of course, he did not say all 
 this in so many, or rather so few, words as I have said it ; but 
 this is what his proposition amounted to. I listened patiently, 
 and commanded my temper, till the " skin-gambler," or " river- 
 sharper," had unbosomed himself freely, and had handed me 
 his skilfully marked cards. Then I handed him over to Capt. 
 
FUN IN A CROWD. 221 
 
 Conway, who, after cursing him and kicking him, put him off 
 the vessel at the next landing. 
 
 Terrible scenes have been enacted on board the river- 
 steamboats, in which the gamblers and their victims have 
 figured as murderers or murdered. Men, despoiled of all their 
 wealth at the accursed gaming-table, have committed suicide, 
 or shot the cheats who robbed them. And in several instances 
 detected sharpers have been put off the boats, and left at unin- 
 habited islands to perish slowly and horribly. 
 
 But the comedy as well as the tragedy of life has been rep- 
 resented on the river-boats. There is always a good deal of 
 " fun " in " a crowd," to those who care to study the latter, 
 and are capable of appreciating the former. And some of the 
 customs on the boats were specially amusing. To while away 
 the time during the voyages, it has been a habit to establish 
 mock courts of justice, styled " Courts of Un-Common Pleas." 
 The mandates of these courts are generally obeyed with alac- 
 rity ; but every now and then some contumacious passenger is 
 found who will not " stand " a practical joke, and who, by his 
 very " obstinacy," and " standing on his dignity," causes more 
 fun than anybody else. There was once a strolling actor 
 called " Tom," " River Tom," who passed most of his time on 
 the boats going up and down the river, and who was always in 
 demand as " sheriff's officer " in these mock courts. " Tom " 
 took his role in dead earnest, and woe be to the unlucky wight 
 who dared to resist the mandates of the mock court : he 
 would be taught that he was dealing with a genuine " sheriffs 
 officer," at least. " Tom " was a big, burly chap, and was 
 always ready for " a rough and tumble," in the way of " fun," 
 of course. He would arrest his man, and bring him before 
 the mock judge first, at all hazards, fight or no fight : but, 
 when all was over, " Tom " and his man would take a drink 
 together ; or, if they didn't, it was no fault of " Tom's." 
 
222 A COURT OF UN-COMMON PLEAS. 
 
 On one occasion " a Court of Un-common Pleas " was turned 
 to beneficial account, and the best results were accomplished 
 through a little "fun." The steamboat was "The White 
 Cloud," on her way from St. Louis to Louisville ; and a mock- 
 court had been formed. There was a bogus judge, clerk, prose- 
 cuting attorney, jury, etc. ; and " Tom " was acting-sheriff. On 
 board the boat was a well-to-do countryman, who had been 
 drinking heavily. It was resolved to try him for intemperance. 
 The man's name was Green, and very " green " he was, — so 
 verdant and so drunk that he took the whole affair for earnest, 
 and was frightened out of his little wits. He was brought 
 before " the honorable court " by " Tom," who had to support 
 the culprit, who shook with fear. He was tried, and found 
 guilty, and was asked if he had any thing to say before the 
 sentence of the court should be pronounced against him. 
 
 Then he found his tongue, and stammered forth, "Mister 
 Judge," he said, "and gintlemen of the jury, I want to say 
 this much : I am guilty. I don't justify the drinkers of whis- 
 key. I don't, though I do drink. I drank too much whiskey, 
 — I know I did. But I didn't feel well ; and I took the whis- 
 key to make me feel better, but it made me feel worse." 
 (Poor fellow, he talked good sense just then.) " I know I've 
 done wrong," he continued, " very wrong, and I deserve pun- 
 ishment ; but I beg and pray this honorable court to have pity 
 on my wife." 
 
 " Hast thou a wife ? " interrupted the judge. 
 
 " I have," said the prisoner. 
 
 " And children also ? " 
 
 "No, not yet — that is — but I expect to," said the pris- 
 oner solemnly. 
 
 Here the court was convulsed with laughter. But the pris- 
 oner proceeded still more solemnly, "My wife will become the 
 mother of a fatherless orphan if you throw me overboard" 
 
A BLESSED JOKE. 223 
 
 " Throw you overboard ! Who put that into your head, 
 prisoner?" asked the judge. 
 
 "That man said I was to be thrown overboard if found 
 guilty," cried the prisoner, pointing to " Tom." " He said that 
 I should be punished by being compelled to swallow more 
 water than I had whiskey." 
 
 Here the court and company were convulsed again. When 
 order was restored, the case proceeded. The judge gave a 
 charge to the jury, full of nice, wonderfully nice, points of law, 
 so minute that not even a Philadelphia lawyer would have 
 thought of them, but leaning to mercy's side so far as the 
 prisoner was concerned. Without leaving their seats, the jury 
 returned the following verdict : " We find the defendant guilty, 
 but recommend him strongly to mercy." 
 
 And then the judge pronounced the prisoner pardoned, but 
 only on condition that he would at once sign a cast-iron tem- 
 perance pledge. The prisoner, now completely sobered, and 
 full of gratitude, at once signed the pledge. 
 
 Ay, and kept it faithfully. He never drank a drop of liquor 
 again, and lived happy and respected for twenty years after. 
 This mock-court joke had been the most blessed reality of all 
 his life. Would to Heaven that there could be perpetrated 
 every day just a thousand such jokes. 
 
 Governor Cleveland of New York, in his recent course in 
 pardoning a man who had been brought to crime by intemper- 
 ance, on the condition of his pledging himself to drink no more, 
 has acted on the idea suggested by this blessed " practical joke ; " 
 and I would that all the rest of the governors would follow his 
 example. 
 
 But to return to myself. Amid the varied and exciting 
 scenes of river-steamboat life, I enjoyed myself heartily for 
 some time, meanwhile discharging my duties as clerk. But 
 soon my social nature, and my popularity with the passengers 
 
224 t DRIFTING AGAIN. 
 
 and my fellow-officials, proved my bane ; and I took to drinking 
 at the bar, of which in a few weeks I became one of the best, 
 or worst, customers. 
 
 Drinking constantly, I soon began to neglect my duties ; and, 
 although the captain remonstrated with me in a friendly way, 
 I did not heed his expostulations. My curse was once more 
 upon me, and overcame me at the last. Tired of his vain 
 expostulations, the captain discharged me from his employ. I 
 reformed once, was taken back once, fell again, and was then 
 discharged permanently. 
 
 Finally, again workless, hopeless, and penniless, I drifted to 
 St. Louis. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LIFE IN ST. LOUIS. — ONE OF THE MINOR DISADVANTAGES OF DRINKING. — 
 THE SMELL OF LIQUOR. — SERIO-COMIC ILLUSTRATIONS AND ANECDOTES. 
 — "A HOTEL RUNNER." — HOW AN IRISHMAN OUTBAWLED ME, AND HOW 
 I OUTGENERALLED HIM. — "A RAILROAD-MAN " ONCE MORE. — MY FA- 
 THER'S GRAVE. 
 
 Arriving in St. Louis, the first thing I did was a thing I 
 had done already, alas! too often, — take a drink. This I did 
 from choice. The next thing I did was also a thing I had 
 already done too often, — look for work. This I did from sheer 
 necessity. I was almost literally penniless. For several days 
 I trudged through St. Louis, seeking employment, but not find- 
 ing it. On two or three occasions I seemed to impress those I 
 called upon favorably at first. But, after a talk with me, they 
 dismissed me in, it seemed to me, disgust. I believe now that 
 it really was in disgust, — disgust arising from the opportunity I 
 unwittingly gave them, during my talk with them, of smelling 
 my breath. The reader may be inclined to smile at this, but 
 I found it was no smiling matter. 
 
 Really, among the many evils that rum-drinking brings with 
 it, not the least is its pollution of the mouth and breath. This 
 may be a minor point ; but it has its importance, and its impor- 
 tant disadvantages. Rum-drinkers unconsciously confess this 
 themselves by the pains they take to counteract it. There are 
 at least a half a dozen preparations in vogue among drinking- 
 men, having for their avowed object the purification of the 
 breath after its deliberate defouling with the fumes of alcohol. 
 
 225 
 
226 TEE POOR OLD LADY AT THE PLAY. 
 
 In heated rooms, crowded assemblages, and theatres, this 
 rum-polluted breath-nuisance becomes quite serious. A case 
 recently transpired in which an old lady at a theatre was ren- 
 dered deathly sick from the vile breath of a strange gentleman 
 who sat next to her, and who " went out " to " see a man " be- 
 tween each act of a five-act play. Poor old lady, she deserved 
 sympathy. She had come to the theatre to witness one tra- 
 gedy. She was compelled to be a spectator of two tragedies, 
 or a spectator and involuntary actor in an unpaid-for, unex- 
 pected, and utterly undesired, serio-comedy. The tragedy on 
 the stage, and the serio-comedy at her side, kept on culminat- 
 ing together. During each act the tragedy of the actors on 
 the stage increased in intensity, and after each intermission 
 the serio-comedy of the man on the seat beside her with the 
 bad breath deepened in disgust. The play became more har- 
 rowing, and the man's breath grew more horrible simulta- 
 neously, till at last, between the nervousness caused by what 
 she saw on the stage, and the nausea caused by what she 
 smelt off of it, the poor old lady fainted, and no wonder. 
 
 The story of the young lady at a play, who when her escort 
 told her, during the intermission, that he must " go out for a 
 moment to see the manager," assured him, taking some carda- 
 mom-seeds out of her pocket, that she had " brought a manager 
 with her," contains " a moral." 
 
 My experience in St. Louis likewise contains " a moral ; " for 
 I feel assured, that on several occasions I lost a chance at a 
 good situation, simply and solely because the parties to whom 
 I applied for employment smelt my breath. 
 
 But at last I came across a hotel-man who did not regard my 
 breath as a -disadvantage. It would really be the height of 
 impudence and unfairness for an average hotel-man (and rum- 
 seller) to object to a man's smelling of rum. And this partic- 
 ular hotel-man was so favorably impressed with my general 
 
A GAME OF BASE-BAWL. 227 
 
 appearance and " talk," that he engaged me on the spot as a 
 " runner," or " tooter," for his hotel. 
 
 A bargain between us was soon struck. I was in no condi- 
 tion to parley long. Besides, the terms offered me were really 
 liberal enough. I was to have no wages. I was to receive no 
 money direct, except what I might " pick up " in odd jobs. 
 But I was to have a room or a bed, and my three meals a day, 
 at the hotel. And " board and lodging " both mean a good 
 deal to a man who is not sure of either. So I became " a hotel 
 runner." 
 
 It was my duty to be at the depots at the arrival of trains, 
 and to cry out my hotel, and induce passengers to give it a trial. 
 It was a post requiring activity and lung-power, with assurance. 
 And I possessed all three qualities in about equal proportions. 
 
 Of course, there were other " runners " for other hotels ; and 
 we tried, in the way of business, to out-bawl each other. To 
 make a base pun, it was between us a sort of game of base 
 " bawl." (N.B. — This joke has been copyrighted, and any in- 
 fringement upon it will be dealt with according to law.) 
 
 For a few days I found myself the most successful "runner," 
 because undoubtedly the loudest " bawler." Then " my nose 
 was put out of joint," or at least my " jaw " was, by a rival 
 hotel engaging the services of a big, strapping Irishman, who 
 had the biggest fist and the biggest mouth I ever remember 
 seeing, and certainly the very loudest voice I ever remember 
 hearing. From the moment I heard the " high notes " of this 
 Irishman, I felt my doom as a bawler was sealed. For two 
 days, however, I contended, though from the start vainly, with 
 the possessor of this stupendous vocal organ. I yelled myself 
 hoarse. I nearly burst a blood-vessel, and cracked my lungs. 
 I utterly exhausted my wind-power, while the Irishman se- 
 renely screamed an octave higher. It was of no use. I ac- 
 cepted the inevitable, and I bawled no more. 
 
228 CUNNING VERSUS LUNG-POWER. 
 
 But I did not abandon my business as a " runner," — no. I 
 had too mUch nerve for that, and, I flatter myself, too much wit. 
 Richelieu is said to have adopted Lysander's motto : " When 
 the lion's skin falls short, eke it out with the fox's ; " that is to 
 say, when force fails, try cunning. And I copied from Riche- 
 lieu, without then thinking either of Richelieu or Lysander. 
 Finding I could not out-bawl my Irishman, I tried to out- 
 general him, and succeeded. 
 
 I saved my lungs. I let the Irishman shout away, while I 
 put on my most winning smiles, and, watching like a hawk all 
 strangers at the depots, gently approached them, and insinu- 
 ated myself into their confidence. I did not yell out the name 
 of my hotel : I merely smilingly and softly suggested it to the 
 stray passenger. Approaching him or her, I would bow politely 
 and deferentially, and, as if I were a humble friend and a sin- 
 cere well-wisher, would insinuate rather than state, that the ho- 
 tel I had the honor to represent was confessedly the very finest 
 in St. Louis, — at least the very finest for such a gentleman or 
 lady as the passenger. And just as, according to Solomon, " a 
 soft answer turneth away wrath ; " so, according to Thomas N. 
 Doutney, my readers may rest assured that "a soft, insinuating 
 suggestion often turneth the stranger into the hotel to which 
 he or she should go." I found it so in a score of cases, and 
 have here the proud satisfaction of recording that I completely 
 conquered at last my loud-voiced conqueror, and succeeded in 
 sending more passengers to my hotel than he sent to his. 
 
 For a while I enjoyed my victory, and my life as " a hotel 
 runner." By the by, while on this subject, I have recently 
 discovered that " hotel running " or " tooting " is not un- 
 known at Northern fashionable watering-places. At Long 
 Branch, for instance, last summer a big, burly man (in winter- 
 time a ticket-speculator in New York) was regularly employed 
 as a "runner" for a prominent hotel near the pier, and, by his 
 
LIFE IN ST. LOUIS. 229 
 
 energies and lungs, materially contributed to the prosperity of 
 his hotel. 
 
 After all, I suppose the business is legitimate enough ; but it 
 is certainly not of a very intellectual or elevating nature, and 
 erelong I wearied of it. My associations as a " runner " had 
 by this time brought me into contact with many railroad -men 
 around the depots ; and, having been a " railroad-man " myself, 
 I gradually drifted back into my old life : and finally, abandon- 
 ing my career as a " runner," I obtained the more congenial and 
 better-paid position of a clerk in the freight-department of the 
 then North Missouri Railroad. For some time I discharged the 
 duties of my new position with satisfaction to myself and my 
 employers, and lived, on the whole, pleasantly and not dishon- 
 orably in St. Louis. 
 
 There is much in St. Louis, as a city, to attract the stranger, 
 as well as to charm the resident. It has points and charac- 
 teristics of its own quite as marked as any that distinguish its 
 rivals, Cincinnati or Chicago. It has a mingled flavor of South- 
 ern as well as of Western life about it, and, while thoroughly 
 American, is to a large degree German. 
 
 Its " upper classes " are highly cultured. It possesses great 
 wealth and wonderful resources ; while its " average " citizens, 
 its middle classes, are honest, law-abiding, and industrious. 
 
 But, like all great cities, it is cursed with the vice of intem- 
 perance. It is a city of drinking-saloons and beer-gardens, 
 and in these places I was far too frequently to be found. In 
 short, I kept on drinking as well as working ; and although I 
 had once more, in my ever-changing life, mastered my business, 
 and gained a situation, I had not mastered myself, or gained a 
 victory over my great enemy, — liquor. 
 
 But I was not wholly depraved. I did not sink quite so low 
 in St. Louis as I had sunk elsewhere ; and among a few desira- 
 ble and respectable acquaintances, I had won, to a certain 
 
230 THE FATAL LETTER. 
 
 degree at Least, the esteem and friendship of a good man, — a 
 clergyman, — who took an interest in my welfare, temporal and 
 spiritual, and upon whom I began to look in my comparative 
 loneliness almost as a second father. My letters came in his 
 care ; and one ever sadly memorable Sunday evening, when I 
 called at his house, he handed me a black-bordered letter, 
 which, from the handwriting, I recognized as being from my 
 brother William. With a trembling hand, dreading I knew 
 not what, I broke the seal ; and my worst possible fears were 
 realized. Death had invaded our family circle , and my father, 
 my true, real, only, much-loved father, was no more. Two 
 weeks before I received the letter he had departed this life, and 
 had gone to receive the reward of the just and the good. The 
 hot tears coursed down my cheeks as I thought how many pangs 
 I had caused him by my dissolute conduct, and he so patient, 
 loving, and hopeful of his erring son. He never gave me up, 
 nor abandoned me ; and my emotions overcame me. I should 
 have fallen to the floor had not the venerable clergyman sup- 
 ported me, and led me to a room, where my long-pent-up agony 
 could no longer be controlled. Naturally sensitive, I now felt 
 keener than ever the loss of my father, and my own ingratitude. 
 I realized what a wretch I had been. I could stand it no 
 longer; but, rushing out on the streets of St. Louis, I knew 
 not nor cared not what I did. Alas ! in my grief and despair 
 I sought a temporary relief in my old curse, — rum. I drank 
 and drank until my brain was doubly maddened ; and then, 
 oh, strange inconsistency ! with my brain on fire with liquor, I 
 tried to pray. My father was dead ! These words were ring- 
 ing in my ears with a fearful meaning. I, a wanderer from 
 home, in my dark hours had heard the sad tidings ; and I knew 
 I should never see him more. All night I paced the streets, 
 and wished I was dead. I besought God to take me out 
 of the world. I felt I was in one sense a murderer, — the 
 
\^i H, 
 
 "My long-pent-up agony could no longer be controlled " [p. 230]. 
 
A FATHER DEAD. 231 
 
 murderer of a loving parent; for my conduct had been the 
 means of hurrying my poor father to the grave. I feel even 
 now, that, if he could only have been spared to see me a 
 reformed man, I would willingly have suffered ten thousand 
 times the amount I have ; but he was not permitted to do so, 
 and with sad misgivings for his eldest son he must have passed 
 away. The first glass was the occasion of all my trouble and 
 much of his. For God's sake beware of the first glass. But, 
 thank God ! my dear father is not even now wholly lost to me. 
 
 "Not lost forever, whilst around me springing 
 
 The violets weep, the roses blush and bloom, 
 And summer birds, in summer woodlands singing, 
 
 Flood with soft rapture all the tranquil gloom ; 
 Not lost forever, though on earth we've parted ; 
 
 Not lost forever, though we meet no more : 
 They do not wander sad and broken-hearted 
 
 Who see heaven's radiance from this mortal shore. 
 There shall be meaning in the stars and flowers, 
 
 The deep and solemn voices of the sea, 
 Telling of happy dreams, of happy hours, 
 
 Of life and sunshine which it caught from thee." 
 
 How I got through that terrible Sunday I scarcely know, but 
 it passed ; and early Monday morning I went to the railroad 
 office where I was employed, and saw personally the president 
 of the road, Mr. Isaac Sturgeon. He had already heard, casu- 
 ally, from the clerks of my father's death ; and when, with 
 faltering voice, I told him that I desired to return East to pay 
 my last and only tribute to his memory by looking on all that 
 was visible of him, — his grave, — he at once kindly furnished 
 me with a ticket to Boston. 
 
 So I left St. Louis, and turned my face northward and 
 eastward, starting on a sadly solemn journey, terminating in 
 a father's grave. 
 
232 • AT MY FATHER'S GRAVE. 
 
 While en route, sad and penitential thoughts possessed me. 
 But, reaching New York, I met, unfortunately, with some of 
 my " old cronies," my former dissolute companions in the great 
 metropolis. Temporarily oblivious of my grief, I once more 
 sought distraction in drink. Alas, alas ! the awful shadows 
 from a dear one's grave cannot stand successfully to bar the 
 path that leads the drunkard to his rum and ruin ! On the 
 way to my father's tomb I " went on a spree " (as the fearful 
 and fearfully familiar slang phrase goes), and yet I loved my 
 father. Finally I arrived in Boston with saddened heart, but 
 also with shattered nerves and an aching head. 
 
 At the depot I met my brothers, who were anxiously await- 
 ing me. Our meeting was affecting ; for we sincerely loved 
 each other, and had all loved the one we had just lost. With 
 tears I heard the full particulars of my dear father's death. 
 He had died, as he had lived, in the fear and love of God. He 
 had died, as every true man would wish to die, at peace with 
 God and the world. The prayer in his case had been fulfilled : 
 " Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end 
 be like his;" and "we sorrowed, but not as those without 
 hope." 
 
 And then we brothers went to our father's grave in the 
 small cemetery near Forest Hills. 
 
 " Only this, only this, 
 
 All this love and all this trust ; 
 Only this, only this, 
 
 Only a handful of quiet dust, 
 And a grave beneath the daisies.' ' 
 
 And, kneeling down beside it, I humbly prayed, and asked 
 the Divine forgiveness, and the forgiveness of that father whom 
 I trusted was now a saint in heaven. Sinner that I was, I was 
 sincere in this prayer; and I arose feeling that my cry had 
 been heard, and that my father now looked smiling from above. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MY NEWSPAPER-LIFE IN NEW YORK. —AUTHORS, CRITICS, WRITERS, AND 
 JOURNALISTS AS DRINKING-MEN. — HOW HORACE GREELEY REGAN A DIN- 
 NER-SPEECH. — SMART MEN WHO PUT AN ENEMY INTO THEIR MOUTHS 
 TO STEAL AWAY THEIR RRAINS. — ALCOHOLIC STIMULANTS A CURSE TO 
 TALENT. — FAST BALLS, AND THEIR SURROUNDINGS. — BUSINESS AND 
 DRINK. —A BLESSING THAT PROVED A BANE. 
 
 Having performed the last sad offices in memory of the dear 
 departed, I had now to return to the world, and face realities. 
 My situation was practically this : here I was in Boston again, 
 with little money and no situation. My place in St. Louis had 
 been filled, and I had small prospects of procuring a place 
 in Boston. I again resumed the by this time to me familiar 
 occupation of looking for occupation ; but I was not, as usual, 
 successful. After spending a few days with my poor, discon- 
 solate brothers, as their guest, not wishing to tax their resources 
 further, I bade them an affectionate and sorrowful adieu, not 
 knowing when, if ever, we should meet again, and went to New 
 York, the great city which has always exercised on me the 
 same fascination that it has upon thousands of others. I 
 turned to New York as the moth turns to flutter around the 
 candle. 
 
 Arriving in New York, I conceived an idea, upon which 
 I forthwith acted. It proved u a happy thought." I believe I 
 have previously mentioned the fact that my dear, lamented 
 father had for a while been in the employ of the proprietors of 
 " The Army and Navy Journal," the Messrs. Church Broth- 
 ers. Upon these gentlemen, the Church Brothers, I at once 
 
 233 
 
234 ■ "SPENDING" MONET. 
 
 called; and, availing myself of the respect and kindly remem- 
 brance they cherished towards my father, I asked them for 
 work. They granted my request. The kindness they had 
 extended to the father, they continued to the son. 
 
 I breathed a hearty sigh of relief when I had obtained this 
 new situation, for it indeed relieved me of burdening anxieties. 
 True, I had earned a good salary in St. Louis ; but I had spent 
 the major portion thereof in liquor. 
 
 Of how many hundreds, of how many thousands, of salary- 
 drawing men can these words be truthfully written, they' 
 " spend the major portion of their salaries in liquor ! " Poor 
 fools ! and yet they would resent the being called a fool. 
 
 I was again in a fairly paid position. I had the opportunity 
 to honestly and easily earn needful and comfortable board, 
 lodging, and clothing, and a chance to even save money besides. 
 I earned my money, but what did I do with it when earned ? 
 True, I " lived," and lived fairly well in all material points. 
 So far, so good ; but what did I do with my spare money, my 
 over-and-above-expenses money ? Did I consider it as " sav- 
 ing " money, or as (to use that frightfully familiar and expres- 
 sive phrase) " spending money." Heaven forgive me for my 
 folly, but I spent it all. I saved nothing ; and, incredibly silly 
 as it was, I spent most of it in rum. 
 
 Having suffered from intemperance as I had suffered, one 
 would naturally reason that I would hereafter shun indulgence 
 in liquor. But I did not shun the cup : I sought it. 
 
 I was now "a newspaper-man," — at least a man connected 
 with a newspaper : and " newspaper-men," great and small, 
 have their own peculiar temptations ; and among their strong- 
 est temptations is intemperance. There was a public dinner 
 once given in the Astor House to De Groot, the projector of 
 the Vanderbilt Bronzes, or monument, near St. John's Park. 
 To this dinner Horace Greeley was invited, and he accepted the 
 
WRITERS AS DRINKERS. 235 
 
 invitation. The veteran editor, with his shrewdly benevolent 
 face, sat at the head of the table, and ate heartily, but drank 
 nothing but water ; though all the rest took wine, and took it 
 freely. After a while Mr. Greeley was called upon for a speech ; 
 and, rising, he commenced as follows : " I have already seen 
 two generations of editors die drunk, and I am expecting to 
 live to see the third generation follow their example." This 
 " opening " was greeted with good-natured laughter, everybody 
 making allowances for what they called the " old man's cold- 
 water hobby." But in these words Horace Greeley uttered a 
 most lamentable but undeniable truth. It was hardly polite 
 for him, under the circumstances, I confess, to say the words 
 at all: but perhaps he meant them for a warning to his hearers; 
 and, as a mere matter of fact, they contained as much truth as 
 ever was printed in any editorial in the " Tribune." 
 
 Newspaper-men (reporters, correspondents, critics, editors), 
 magazine-writers, poets, novelists, dramatists, writers generally 
 of books and papers, as a class, are hard drinkers. Writing- 
 men are drinking-men. It is a sad truth, but a positive fact. 
 True, Shakspeare, the greatest of modern writers, in some 
 respects the greatest of all writers, has put into the mouths of 
 some of his immortal characters immortal words protesting 
 against intemperance. 
 
 " Oh that men will put an enemy into their mouths to steal away 
 their brains ! " 
 
 "O thou invisible Spirit of Wine, if thou hast no other name to 
 be known by, let us call thee Devil." 
 
 And yet Shakspeare, unless persistently belied, was a drink- 
 ing-man himself, and, it is even said, died from the effects of a 
 drinking " bout." 
 
 Before Shakspeare's times, and since, poets have sung the 
 praises of wine, from Horace to Moore. And in plays and 
 
236 . THE BOHEMIANS OF NEW YORK. 
 
 operas drinking-songs have ever been popular. The most 
 brilliant operatic music which holds the lyric stage to-day 
 accompanies a libretto of wine-bibbing. The literature of in- 
 temperance is voluminous and fearfully fascinating, and it 
 pervades prose as well as poetry. The novelists have been 
 mostly drinking-men, and have never protested in their famous 
 books against intemperance. Other evils have been wonder- 
 fully well described, and wonderfully well reprobated ; but the 
 evils of rum-drinking have yet to find their Charles Dickens 
 or their Victor Hugo. 
 
 Perhaps the most " original " and exceptionally gifted of 
 American writers, Edgar A. Poe, fell a victim to the curse of 
 intemperance. And his fatal vice has found, among his less- 
 gifted but equally weak literary associates, hundreds of imi- 
 tators and fellow-victims. 
 
 And among that brilliant but erratic class, called, for a lack 
 of a more distinctive name, "Bohemians," i.e., writers for 
 magazines and journals, liquor has reigned supreme. Time 
 was when the Bohemians of New York comprised probably as 
 brilliant a set of men as were ever congregated in one city at 
 one time in the world. The old " Leader " newspaper, and the 
 old "Knickerbocker" magazine, numbered among their con- 
 tributors some of the brightest spirits that periodical literature 
 or journalism has ever been able to boast of. They assembled 
 nightly at PfafFs famous old restaurant ; and around those plain 
 tables were uttered "thoughts that breathe, and words that 
 burn." Literary, dramatic, and musical matters were discussed 
 with zest and intelligence ; and religion and philosophy were 
 treated of in a truly catholic and philosophical spirit. But, 
 unfortunately, these high matters were discussed over beer or 
 ardent spirits ; and the liquors gradually got the better or the 
 worse of the brilliant men who partook so continually and 
 copiously of them. 
 
HOW SOME JOURNALISTS HAVE LIVED AND DIED. 237 
 
 The brilliant ideas soon passed away, and were forgotten 
 too often with the convivial occasion that gave them birth; 
 but the evil effects of the evil spirits endured and increased, 
 till at last beer obliterated brains, and alcohol destroyed the 
 writers one by one. Of the Bohemians of Pfaffs, but two 
 remain alive in New York to-day. The rest of the brilliant 
 band have perished wrecks. One, by far the most brilliant of 
 the number, lived to become an object of aversion to those 
 who did not know him, and of charity to those who did ; till 
 at last he died a pauper. Another of the number wandered 
 for months around the streets of New York, a homeless tramp, 
 sleeping in the station-houses in winter, and in the city-parks 
 in summer, till one day he perished of mingled whiskey and 
 starvation. A third died horribly of delirium in his prime. 
 A fourth perished early of excess. A fifth expired in a hospi- 
 tal, and so the death-list rolled up. It is not saying too much 
 to state, that, had it not been for liquor, nine-tenths of those 
 brilliant Bohemians would have been alive to-day. 
 
 And history repeats itself. Just as the writers of the last 
 generation " died drunk ; " so many of the newspaper-writers 
 of the present generation are going down to their premature 
 deaths, killing themselves slowly but surely by rum. 
 
 One of the ablest writers on one of our leading journals died 
 two or three years ago, having never been wholly sober for a 
 day at a time for years. His unfortunate fondness for liquor 
 was well known, and great allowances were made for it. But 
 at last the proprietor of the journal which he had so long, 
 ably, and faithfully served was compelled to discharge him. 
 
 Even then he was given what odd jobs of work could 
 possibly be allotted to him, but even these jobs were not 
 attended to. He was not in a fit condition to attend to them. 
 
 The unfortunate man had a family to whom he was de- 
 votedly attached, though not as devotedly as he was to liquor. 
 
238 A POOR YOUNG VICTIM OF INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 For a week at a time this family would be forced to live upon 
 bread, — bare bread without meat, sometimes even without 
 butter. On one occasion it was ascertained, that, although 
 the weather was piercing cold, the family had had no fire 
 in the house for five days and nights. There was no money in 
 the pockets of the husband and the father to buy coal or food. 
 This broke the old man's heart ; and he died, leaving his family 
 utterly destitute. 
 
 Another attache of a prominent evening journal, although a 
 personal favorite of the proprietor, was several times dismissed 
 for intemperance, and taken back on solemn promises of refor- 
 mation, which were constantly broken. Finally he was admon- 
 ished that his next offence would be fatal, a bar to all possible 
 future employment on that journal. With this warning in his 
 ears, he was sent to a fashionable summer resort to report 
 "the season." This post was a fairly lucrative one, an honor- 
 able one, an easy one comparatively ; but it necessarily brought 
 him into social and professional relations with sporting-men, 
 politicians, and men of the world, all drinking-men. In an 
 evil hour he forgot the admonition he had received, and fell. 
 One night he was seen around the hotels beastly drunk, and, 
 of course, was not able the next day to send on his required 
 "letter." Inquiries were made about him, and a statement of 
 his condition was sent on to the New- York office of the journal. 
 One morning, as the poor young victim of intemperance was 
 in his hotel-room, trying to "brace himself up," and "sober 
 down," as he sat up in his bed, fevered and nervous, a knock 
 was heard at his door, and a letter was brought to him by an 
 attendant. The letter was from the office in New York, curtly 
 dismissing him forever from his position on the journal with 
 which he had been connected for 3 r ears. 
 
 In a fit of unavailing despair, the poor young victim of 
 intemperance, utterly demoralized, hung himself by his sus- 
 
THE SHADOW OF AN AWFUL DOOM. 239 
 
 penders to his own bedpost. He was found, in the afternoon, 
 cold and dead : the woman he loved was a helpless widow, and 
 "rum did it." 
 
 One of the ablest and most experienced editors connected 
 with the New- York press is subject to periodical " sprees, 1 ' in 
 which he disappears, and wanders off from tavern to tavern 
 till the fit is passed, leaving him for weeks as helpless as a 
 child. It is confidently expected, among others by the afflicted 
 editor himself, that sooner or later, in one of these periodical 
 sprees, the temporary madman will meet his death. The 
 shadow of an awful doom is hanging over him ; and yet he 
 lacks the nerve, the moral courage, the will, to do the only thing 
 that will or can save him, — abstain wholly from alcohol. 
 
 Perhaps there is a creature connected with this self-doomed 
 editor even more to be pitied than the editor himself. I mean 
 his devoted wife, who suffers more than tongue can tell during 
 these awful absences of her husband, who is, at all other times, 
 a model husband. 
 
 Many other cases could be cited ; but will not these suffice ? 
 Suffice it to state, that at least four-fifths of the newspaper-men 
 of New York are addicted to intemperance, and the same pro- 
 portion holds in the newspaper-men of other cities. 
 
 And yet there is not the slightest necessity for this. The plea 
 that writers and thinkers require spirituous stimulants is a false 
 plea, utterly unfounded in either theory or fact. 
 
 The true theory is, that the brains and nervous system of 
 writers, thinkers, and students, being necessarily taxed in an 
 unusual degree, they should, more than other men, avoid all 
 extra, unnecessary, and artificial stimulation. The real fact of 
 the matter is, that the leading writers, thinkers, and students do 
 not indulge to any degree, if at all, in stimulants. "Smart" 
 men often drink, but the very " smartest " men do not. 
 
 Mr. A. Arthur Reade has recently compiled a very interest- 
 
240 STUDY AND STIMULANTS. 
 
 ing and valuable little volume, entitled " Study and Stimu- 
 lants ; or, The Use of Intoxicants and Narcotics in Relation to 
 Intellectual Life," as illustrated by personal communications on 
 the subject from men of letters and of science. 
 
 The editor of this little volume [which has been ably reviewed by 
 the critic of " The New- York Tribune "] has made a contribution both 
 interesting and valuable to the study of the effect of stimulants upon 
 mental activity. He has taken pains to collect personal opinions and 
 experiences from men distinguished in literature and science, and has 
 thereby arrived at conclusions which ought to be serviceable to think- 
 ers. These conclusions are as follows : (1) That alcohol and tobacco 
 are of no value to a healthy student. (2) That the most vigorous 
 thinkers and hardest workers abstain from both stimulants. (3) 
 That those who have tried both moderation and total abstinence, find 
 the latter the more healthful practice. (4) That almost every brain- 
 worker would be the better for abstinence. (5) That the most 
 abstruse calculations may be made, and the most laborious mental 
 work performed, without artificial stimulus. (6) That all work done 
 under the influence of alcohol is unhealthy work. (7) That the only 
 pure brain stimulants are external ones, — fresh air, cold water, walk- 
 ing, riding, and other out-door exercises. 
 
 Not one of the eminent men whose letters Mr. Reade prints has 
 resorted to alcohol for inspiration as stimulus to thought, though a 
 few of them use it moderately as a support under conditions of 
 mental and physical exhaustion. Mr. Gladstone has always abstained 
 from the use of very strong and fiery stimulants, and smoking he 
 detests. When Littre\ the French philosopher, felt the strain upon 
 his system produced by continuous thought, he repaired his natural 
 forces, not with alcohol or tobacco, but with doses of fruit jelly or 
 jam, pots of which he kept conveniently at hand in his study. Dr. 
 Henry Maudsley does not consider alcohol or tobacco to be in the 
 least necessary or beneficial to a person who is in good health. "I 
 am of opinion," he says, " that any supposed necessity of one or the 
 other to the hardest or best mental bodily work, by such a person, is 
 
WHAT GEE AT AUTHORS TUINK OF ALCOHOL. 241 
 
 purely fanciful. He will certainly do harder and sounder work with- 
 out them. I am speaking, of course, of a person in health : by a 
 person not in health they may be used properly, from time to time, as 
 any other drug would be used." Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes holds 
 much the same opinions. He prefers an entirely undisturbed and 
 unclouded brain for mental work, unstimulated by any thing stronger 
 than tea or coffee, unaffected by tobacco or other drugs. 
 
 While Professor Tyndall does not think that any general rule can 
 be laid down, he is of the opinion that that man is happiest who is 
 so organized as to be able to dispense with the use of both alcohol 
 and tobacco. Sir William Thomson thinks that neither tobacco nor 
 alcohol is of the slightest consequence as a stimulus or help to intel- 
 lectual efforts. 
 
 Mr. E. A. Freeman has no liking for the scented weed. " I tried 
 it once or twice when young," he writes ; " but, finding it nasty, I did 
 not try again. Why people smoke, I have no notion. If I am tired 
 of work, a short sleep sets me up again." 
 
 Jules Simon regards the use of tobacco as a practice much to be 
 deprecated, as its tendency is to separate men from the society of 
 women. He believes, too, that, when taken in excess, it has a stu- 
 pefying effect, and that it may act as a poison. A French senator 
 who departed this life not long ago, assured him repeatedly that he 
 was dying from the effects of constant smoking. 
 
 Mr. Charles Reade does not mention the use of alcohol, but 
 expresses decided opinions in the matter of tobacco. "I tried to 
 smoke five or six times, but it always made me heavy and rather sick : 
 therefore, as it is not a necessary of life, and costs money, and makes 
 me sick, I spurned it from me. I have never felt the want of it. I 
 have seen many people the worse for it. I have seen many people 
 apparently none the worse for it. I never saw anybody perceptibly 
 the better for it." 
 
 Mr. W. D. Howells never uses tobacco, except in a rare self-defen- 
 sive cigarette, when a great many other people are smoking ; and he 
 commonly drinks water at dinner. When he takes wine, he thinks it 
 weakens his work and his working-force. Mr. Thomas Hardy has 
 
242 . A SENSIBLE LETTER. 
 
 never smoked a pipeful of tobacco in his life, nor a cigar ; and his 
 impression is, that its use would be very injurious in his case. So far 
 as he has observed, it is far from beneficial to any literary man. Mr. 
 Hardy goes on to say, " I have never found alcohol helpful to novel- 
 writing in any degree. My experience goes to prove, that the effect 
 of wine, taken as a preliminary to imaginative work, is to blind the 
 writer to the quality of what he produces rather than to raise its 
 quality." 
 
 Mr. Philip Gilbert Hamerton's letter is one of the most interest- 
 ing and sensible in the volume : — 
 
 "lam quite willing to answer your question about tobacco. I 
 used to smoke in moderation ; but six years ago some young friends 
 were staying at my house, and they led me into smoking more in the 
 evenings than I was accustomed to. This brought on disturbed nights 
 and dull mornings ; so I gave up smoking altogether, as an experi- 
 ment, for six months. At the end of that time, I found my general 
 health so much improved, that I determined to make abstinence a 
 permanent rule, and have stuck to my determination ever since, with 
 decided benefit. I shall certainly never resume smoking. I never 
 use any stimulants whatever when writing, and I believe the use 
 of them to be most pernicious : indeed, I have seen terrible results 
 from them. When a writer feels dull, the best stimulant is fresh 
 air. Victor Hugo makes a good fire before writing, and then opens 
 the windows. I have often found temporary dulness removed by 
 taking a turn out of doors, or simply by adopting Victor Hugo's 
 plan." 
 
 The venerable James Martineau (now seventy-seven), who is prac- 
 tically an abstainer, has untroubled sleep and digestion, and has 
 retained the power of mental application with only this abatement 
 perceptible to himself, that a given task requires a somewhat longer 
 time than in fresher days. Few things, he believes, do more at a 
 minimum of cost to lighten the spirits, and sweeten the temper of 
 families and of society, than the repudiation of artificial indulgences. 
 Mr. George Augustus Sala says that he has been a constant smoker 
 for nearly forty years ; but, had he to live his life over again, he would 
 
AUTHORS WHO WERE NOT DRUNKARDS. 243 
 
 never touch tobacco in any shape or form. He complains that drink- 
 ing to excess weakens the eyesight, impairs the digestion, plays havoc 
 with the nerves, and interferes with the action of the heart. 
 
 Professor Paul Bert, the well-known savant, sums up his opinions 
 in the following propositions : — 
 
 " (1) Whole populations have attained to a high degree of civil- 
 ization and prosperity without having known either tobacco or alcohol : 
 therefore these substances are neither necessary nor even useful to 
 individuals as well as races. (2) Very considerable quantities of 
 these drugs, taken at a single dose, may cause death : smaller quanti- 
 ties stupefy, or kill more slowly. They are, therefore, poisons, against 
 which we must be on our guard." 
 
 William Cullen Bryant, editor and poet, was a very abstemi- 
 ous man ; Longfellow was extremely temperate in his habits ; 
 Horace Greeley, the most influential journalist of his time, was 
 " a teetotaler." Numerous other examples could be cited ; but 
 certainly the list I have just given proves incontestably the 
 point, that artificial stimulants are not in the slightest degree 
 essential to literary achievement. 
 
 Consequently, I would here take the liberty of urging upon 
 writers, students, and literary men, the absolute importance of 
 temperance, and would earnestly and respectfully record my 
 protest against the drinking-habits of newspaper-men. 
 
 But it is, after all, not their professional life, but their social 
 life, that leads most newspaper-men to drink. They " indulge," 
 not from even any fancied idea of nervous necessit} 7 , but from 
 sheer conviviality. 
 
 They attend theatres largely, and go to public balls ; and in 
 these crowded places they meet associates, male and female, 
 witli whom they imbibe wine and alcoholic stimulants. 
 
 Of late years the great public balls of New York have be- 
 come saturnalias of intemperance. I allude, not only to the 
 "fast" public balls, "the French balls," so called, but to even 
 
244 ■ PUBLIC BALLS. 
 
 the balls of the highest grade, — the fashionable " charity ball," 
 and the popular " Liederkranz." 
 
 The scenes at the suppers and in the " wine-rooms " of these 
 public balls are often so gross as almost to be beyond respect- 
 able description. In plain English, at these balls men and 
 women, ladies and gentlemen, often get drunk together. 
 
 Any ball habitue will bear me out in my assertion, that not 
 only married ladies, but their daughters ; not only men, but the 
 female members of their families, — can be seen at every public 
 ball held at the Academy of Music, in a state of stimulation 
 and exhilaration from wine closely bordering upon positive in- 
 toxication. 
 
 The most " profitable " pecuniarily of all the " privileges " 
 connected with a ball are the " wine " and " bar " privileges. 
 Some public balls are every season gotten up wholly by wine- 
 dealers as a vehicle to advertise and dispose of their wares : 
 they are known among the initiated as " wine-balls." The 
 statistics of the number of bottles sold at these " wine-balls " 
 are, to a thoughtful mind, simply frightful. And there can be 
 no manner of doubt that these public balls have become the 
 most demoralizing agents among our public amusements. 
 
 Attending these balls regularly, and as a matter of " busi- 
 ness," being of necessity conspicuous parts of these balls, 
 it is the most natural, though lamentable, thing in the world, 
 that the reporters should yield to the temptations by which 
 they are surrounded. I write this more in sorrow than in 
 censure, for I have ever cherished a tender regard for " news- 
 paper-men ; " and it is for the sake of this tender regard, 
 that I would here, in taking leave of this subject, warn the 
 newspaper-writers of the present day against that vice to which 
 they are so peculiarly exposed, — intemperance. I wish to 
 Heaven some one had warned me, at the period of my life of 
 which I am now writing, against the peculiar dangers of a 
 
A DEPOT-MASTER AND A FOOL — BOTH. 245 
 
 newspaper-career, and that I had taken heed of the warning. 
 But, as it was, I yielded without a struggle to my old enemy, 
 drink, and soon became a confirmed sot, with just enough re- 
 straint over myself not to directly lose my position on my paper 
 by neglecting my imperative duties. But my employers began 
 to be dissatisfied with me, and no wonder ; and, having been 
 brought by my newspaper duties into relations more or less in- 
 timate with railroad officials, I finally applied for and obtained a 
 situation on the People's Despatch, a fast freight-line owned by 
 the then existing Merchants' Union Express Company, of which 
 Mr. Van Duzen was the general agent. I had ever taken kindly 
 to " railroad-life ; " and in my new position, spite of my dissolute 
 habits, I gave such satisfaction, that I was promoted to take 
 charge of the entire depot business of the company at Boston, 
 to which city I was now transferred. Here my position was 
 technically that of " depot-master ; " my superior officer being 
 Fred. Wilde, Esq., a very capable and efficient railroad-man, 
 who was then, as afterwards, general freight and ticket agent 
 for the Western Union Railroad at Racine, Wis. 
 
 I pleased Mr. Wilde, and my prospects were now flattering. 
 Had I been wise and self-controlled, had I only left rum alone, 
 I would doubtless have from this time gone onward and up- 
 ward. I understood thoroughly every department of my busi- 
 ness. I liked my work, and my associates liked me. I had a 
 fair salary, with a chance for advancement. How many thou- 
 sands of young men would have thanked God for my opportu- 
 nities, and availed themselves of them to the utmost. But I 
 deliberately threw away my chances for a steady, profitable 
 career, and, having saved a little money, made up my mind to 
 spend it in "seeing life;" that is, in drinking rum, for I had 
 reached that fearful stage when " rum " was " life." I blush 
 now to record it ; but I absolutely and deliberately resigned my 
 position as depot-master (spite of the protests of Mr. Wilde, 
 
246 THE UPWARD PATH. 
 
 who furnished me kindly with letters of indorsement), and 
 started off on my travels, or sprees, visiting and drinking — the 
 two terms with me were synonymous — in New York, Phila- 
 delphia, Baltimore, and Canada, wasting my time, health, 
 and money in foolish, fatal dissipation. " Ephraim was joined 
 to his idols " indeed. 
 
 With all the blessings of life showered upon me from above, 
 I deliberately let the golden shower fall in vain. With all my 
 business opportunities and business abilities, I became an idler 
 and a drunkard ; while other young men, no more gifted by na- 
 ture, and no more favored by fortune, than myself, became, by 
 steady attention to business, infinitely my superiors. They 
 took the path that led upward. 
 
 And here let me draw the parallel, or the contrast, between 
 two persons starting with even prospects in life, and show how 
 sobriety, and attention to duty, must prosper, and intemperance 
 and its corresponding neglect must fail. When I was in the 
 freight-department in New York, a young man, C. De Kalb 
 Townsend, was appointed to a subordinate position in the same 
 place. He was a gentleman of unexceptionable character, and 
 soon gained the esteem and respect of his employers. He and 
 I were transferred the same day, — he to take charge of the 
 freight-depot at Albany, and I at Boston. His course was up- 
 ward ; his promptness insured it : and he was soon appointed 
 head agent in Albany, then superintendent of the western divis- 
 ion at Cleveland, O., and is to-day, as I write, general freight- 
 agent for the New-England States, for this same company. 
 His office is at No. 1 Court Street, corner of Washington, Bos- 
 ton. I, with advantages equal to his, if not greater, threw 
 them all away, just for my inordinate desire for strong drink. 
 I could cite other examples of this contrast, drawn from my 
 own experience ; but two will speak as eloquently as two hun- 
 dred, for the two hundred are but repetitions of the two. 
 
STRONG DRINK VERSUS BUSINESS. 247 
 
 Strong drink and business cannot go together: one or the 
 other must be abandoned. I would implore all you young men 
 who occupy any position in the mercantile world, if you are 
 addicted to the use of stimulants in any shape, for Heaven's 
 sake abandon their use before it is too late ! Ninety-nine out 
 of one hundred who continue in the habit are ruined, and the 
 hundredth one is scorched. Total abstinence is the only abso- 
 lute safeguard for the success, happiness, and prosperity of a 
 business-man. 
 
 There are many employers, who, though drinking-men them- 
 selves, partaking occasionally of champagne, or even something 
 stronger, will not have any employees who drink. And 
 although they act inconsistently as regards themselves, and 
 unfairly as regards their clerks, they act wisely as regards their 
 own mercantile interests. The records show, that, in the major- 
 ity of cases, defaulting clerks and dishonest cashiers have been 
 " drinking-men." 
 
 There was a wise old king who held that there was a woman 
 to every piece of mischief. Undoubtedly, the old king's theory 
 had much to support it: women have done a deal of evil as 
 well as of good in the world. But, really, wine has done 
 more harm and far less good than woman. 
 
 Take the statistics of crime to-day, examine the figures in 
 any country or city, and you will find that by far the larger 
 proportion of crimes are committed by drinking-men. I 
 include not only the crimes committed in the heat of passion, 
 — murders, — etc., but the cooler and more calculating crimes 
 of forgery and theft. 
 
 So that those business-men are prudent, who, even if they 
 are not temperate men themselves, make it a rule to employ 
 only temperance men. My only wonder now, looking back, 
 and writing about the past, is, not that I got along so badly 
 in my early business-life, but that, under the circumstances, 
 
248 THE FAMILY THAT DID DRINK. 
 
 m 
 
 with my hard drinking-habits, I got along so well, or got along 
 at all. I would not now employ such a young man myself as 
 I once was. I would be afraid to. I would expect to have my 
 business neglected, or my trust violated ; and, in nine cases out 
 of ten, my anticipations would be realized. 
 
 Drinking-habits are the worst possible habits for young men 
 in business ; and, conversely, temperate, totally abstinent, hab- 
 its are the very best possible habits for young business-men. 
 Just as a drinking-man generally falls, so a non-drinking man 
 generally rises. Illustrations of this last fact abound on every 
 side, — conspicuous examples, like Peter Cooper in New York, 
 G. W. Childs in Philadelphia (the latter " a newspaper-man," 
 by the by, and a great one, who has never taken a drink, or 
 used tobacco, in his life), and literally hundreds of others. 
 And in humbler, less public, more ordinary, life, the examples 
 of the benefits of " temperance " in business are numberless. 
 
 I met, when a very young man, two families, became intimate 
 with them. They were both poor, but the head of the one 
 family was a whiskey-drinker, and the head of the other family 
 had never taken a drop of ardent spirits in his life. 
 
 The first family was composed of a father and mother and 
 two sons, all able to do a day's work and earn a day's wages, 
 and save part. But the father only worked by fits and starts, 
 a week now and then, a day now and then, or not at all : the 
 rest of his non-working time, and all his spare time, he passed 
 at taverns. 
 
 His sons naturally followed his example, were sometimes to 
 be seen carousing with their own father, and were generally in 
 low company. 
 
 The wife and mother protested and begged in vain : neither 
 husband, father, nor sons would heed her protests or her prayers ; 
 so at last she lost heart, and took to drinking herself. At one 
 time I have seen the whole family, wife and husband, mother 
 
THE FAMILY THAT DID NOT DRINK. 249 
 
 and sons, drunk together, — the most awful sight upon the 
 earth. 
 
 The family are all " gone under " now. The father died of 
 mania a potu; the eldest son died a tramp, and in a drunken 
 brawl ; the other son is in Sing-Sing prison, " doing time " for 
 stealing ; and the mother is over on Blackwell's Island. 
 
 This was the poor family that did drink. 
 
 The second family consisted of a father, mother, and two 
 young boys, — a family constituted like the first, save that the 
 members of the first family were all stronger and more robust in 
 their physical health, and had therefore the decided advantage. 
 
 But the head of this second family worked day and night; 
 and his wife and children worked with him and beside him, — 
 worked hard and steadily, though they had no "regular work," 
 so called. They had no " situations : " all they could get to do 
 was, for a long while, " odd jobs." But they were always try- 
 ing to get what jobs they could, and were always doing their 
 best at any jobs they got. 
 
 At last the father got a place, — a place in a store where he 
 had to work hard for very little ; but he did his best gratefully 
 and zealously. One day a vacancy occurred among the boys in 
 the store : the hard-working father recommended his own son 
 for the place ; and, judging the son by the father, the recommen- 
 dation was accepted. Then, a woman was needed to look after 
 the building as a janitress : and the hard-working husband rec- 
 ommended his wife for the place ; judging the wife and mother 
 by the husband and son, the recommendation was accepted: 
 and in a little while a place was found about the establishment 
 for the remaining child. 
 
 Father, mother, and children were now all on wages together 
 at one place. All at work together, not all drunk together. 
 
 Work, like blood, will tell. And to-day that once poor 
 family are in business for themselves. The mother keeps a 
 
250 " going down: 1 
 
 trimming-store, doing a lively trade, with her youngest son as 
 her industrious clerk and honest cashier; the father is in a 
 shipping-house down town, getting a fair salary, and enjoying 
 the esteem of his employers ; and the eldest son is in the office 
 of the Erie Railroad, a rising young man. 
 
 And this is the once poor family that did not, and does not, 
 and never will, drink. I have known cases in which the greatest 
 advantages have been neutralized solely by drink ; and I have 
 known cases in which the solitary advantage possessed was, that 
 the party did not drink. And yet this one last solitary point 
 in his favor has brought many a man to competency and peace, 
 while all the points in favor of the others have been brought 
 to naught by rum. 
 
 In my own immediate circle of acquaintances, I have known 
 a man who, while keeping a large family solely on his small 
 earnings as a clerk in a lace-store, with no prospects in life 
 ahead worth speaking of, yet found, or rather made, time to 
 start a little business of his own ; his wife making neckties, 
 and the children going round peddling them. From the re- 
 ceipts of this little extra business, he managed to accumulate 
 a little money, which, prudently invested, became the founda- 
 tion of a fortune. But, if he had been a drinking-man, he 
 would never have had either the energy, or the time, or the 
 means, to start this little outside business, which ultimately 
 proved his salvation. It was because he did not waste his time 
 and money in drink, that he had time to think out, and the 
 wherewithal to start, this blessed little business. And his case 
 is but one of thousands. 
 
 But I heeded not. I kept on with my idleness and my waste, 
 my self-indulgence and my intemperance, till my means were 
 almost exhausted, and my health almost shattered, going delib- 
 erately down, and yet hoping recklessly that something would 
 "turn up." 
 
" turning up: 1 251 
 
 And something did "turn up." "The unexpected always 
 happens," says the French proverb ; and an utterly unexpected 
 and undeserved piece of good fortune now fell to my lot. I 
 met an old acquaintance who had in former days been very 
 friendly to me, and who was now in the possession of ample 
 means. In the most generous manner this true friend loaned 
 me a large sum of money, and thus enabled me, spite of my 
 worthlessness and dissipation, to realize all the material advan- 
 tages of industry and sobriety. Dear friend, he was actuated 
 only by the most generous impulses, and by the most sincere 
 desire for my success. But I was in such a state, and had 
 gradually acquired such a character, or, rather, lack of charac- 
 ter, that his kindness now did me far more harm than good, 
 as the reader will see in the course of my next chapter. 
 
 My doom was sealed. I only wonder that it was not sealed 
 for eternity. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A SILLY AND SINFUL VOW REALIZED. — I BECOME A RUM-SELLER. — " THE 
 MERCHANTS' UNION CIGAR-STORE AND SAMPLE-ROOM." — I DISPENSE 
 POISON TO MEN AND BOYS. — SELLING LIQUOR TO MINORS. — " POOL FOR 
 DRINKS." 
 
 The reader has not forgotten, that one wretched night in 
 Montreal, in my rum-heated misery and madness, I had cher- 
 ished the vision of one day keeping a saloon, — a rum-shop, — 
 of my own. Years had passed since then. I had forgotten 
 many things worth remembering ; but I distinctly remembered 
 that vision, and the vow I had registered with myself to realize 
 it whenever possible. And now the opportunity was presented 
 to me to realize my fearful dream, to keep my terribly silly and 
 sinful vow. I was the possessor of quite a large sum of money 
 in cash. It was mine to do with it as I pleased; and the 
 depravity in which I was now steeped cannot be more clearly 
 stated than when I say that my first and only thought about 
 this money was to start a rum-shop with it. Had I thrown the 
 money into the street, it would have been better for the world 
 and me. That young man must be far advanced on the road 
 to perdition whose only plan on receiving unexpectedly a large 
 sum of money is to use it all to start a " bar-room." 
 
 But I hastened to put my plan into execution. I was im- 
 patient to behold my gilded palace of iniquity. I was eager 
 to see myself as the proprietor — not the mere bar-tender, but 
 the proprietor — of a drinking-saloon. 
 
 Strange perversity. Just as the student is anxious to clutch 
 his diploma, just as the philosopher is eager to solve his prob- 
 
 252 
 
MY CIGAR-STORE AND RUM-SHOP. 253 
 
 lem, just as the philanthropist is longing to relieve the suffer- 
 ings of humanity, so I, a young man, fairly educated, carefully 
 reared, the child of many prayers, the youth of many opportu- 
 nities, the young man now of liberal means, was anxious, 
 eager, longing, to open and control a place devoted to the 
 destruction of myself and others. And all this came of my 
 amateur bar-tending in that saloon in Montreal. And all this 
 sprung from a vision that had flashed across me that night 
 in which I staid out in the street, a drunken tramp. How 
 momentous are the little things of life ! The seed had ger- 
 minated, and its fruit was to be bitter. 
 
 I made the necessary arrangements for opening my contem- 
 plated saloon, with an energy and industry worthy of a better 
 object ; and in a little time I was before the public, in the good 
 old city of Boston, as the proprietor of one of the showiest 
 bar-rooms (and cigar-rooms combined) in that city. I fitted 
 up the shop No. 628 (old number) Washington Street, oppo- 
 site Common Street, with taste and liberality, and rendered it 
 attractive, — greatly too attractive for many. Glowing signs, 
 like banners, were suspended from " the outer walls." And 
 my place was named " The Merchants' Union Cigar-Store and 
 Sample-Room." The name was bestowed out of compliment 
 to an express-company with which I had had dealings, and the 
 compliment was reciprocated by liberal patronage. Shakspeare 
 to the contrary notwithstanding, there is something in a name. 
 
 The idea of combining the two evils, a cigar-store and a rum- 
 shop, tobacco and whiskey, under one roof, in one establish- 
 ment, each poison having, however, its own distinct and 
 separate place, was then a novel one in Boston. And I took 
 quite a pride in having been one of the first to introduce this 
 original novelty, this combination of two evils, either one of 
 which was, sooner or later, certain death. It is astonishing 
 what human beings can be proud of. 
 
254 . I BECOME A " SPIDEB." 
 
 Yes, I had two dens of gilded vice now under my sole 
 control, — a cigar-store in front and a bar-room in the rear ; 
 and many were the victims enticed therein. 
 
 " ' Won't you walk into my parlor ? ■ 
 
 Said the spider to the fly. 
 1 'Tis the prettiest little parlor 
 
 That ever you did spy.' " 
 
 And it really was a very pretty little parlor, or, rather, two 
 pretty little parlors, if I, the spider, have to say it for myself. 
 The cigar-store in front, in full view of the crowded street, 
 was a very tempting, cosey sort of a place, and looked innocent 
 enough. All the appointments were really, as the advertise- 
 ments say, "first-class." Any gentleman might walk in, and 
 survey the little cigar-store with pleasure. And then, just the 
 other side of the neat little cigar-store was a still neater and 
 handsomer bar-room, less exposed to public observation, — so 
 cosey, so private ; just the thing for a bar-room, and so genteel, 
 — so very genteel, you know. 
 
 Ay, a genteel charnel-house ; ay, a very cosey and comfort- 
 able " hell." 
 
 I had fairly now, and of my own free will, entered upon the 
 occupation of a mercantile murderer, a licensed poisoner, a 
 dealer in liquid death; and I gloried in the occupation. Like 
 the arch-fiend, my master, I had said, " Evil, be thou my good." 
 
 I was steeped in iniquity. And nothing about human nature 
 is more terrible than the facility with which men, once launched 
 on an evil course, learn to make a boast of that which is their 
 disgrace, a glory of that which is their shame. 
 
 The man who blushes at himself, and shrinks from humanity, 
 having committed his first theft, glows with exultation as he 
 narrates to his "pals" in some "boozing ken" the cunning 
 with which he has just accomplished his one hundredth. The 
 Italian bravo in the story, who felt like Cain with the curse 
 
nOW SATAN LOVED ME! 255 
 
 as he staggered from the scene of his first crime, felt like a 
 hero, and was as proud as an Alexander, when, after a long 
 series of crimes, he was appointed the head of a band of hired 
 assassins. 
 
 And so I, Thomas N. Doutney, who had once been a mem- 
 ber of a truly Christian family, who had at another period of 
 my life been the recipient of the greatest favors from a Chris- 
 tian and temperate family, who had felt and realized in my 
 own experience the curse of rum, and had time and time again 
 bitterly reviled myself for my intemperance, was now deliber- 
 ately engaged in enticing men and boys to purchase of me 
 their destruction. Ay, and I absolutely enjoyed my devilish 
 work. 
 
 I have just used the expression " men and boys," for I sold 
 to growing boys as well as to grown men. It was not enough 
 for me to ruin the husbands and fathers, I must demoralize the 
 youth. How Satan must have loved me (query, can the Devil 
 be ever said to "love," even his own?) in those days! 
 
 Under cover of my innocent-looking cigar-stand in the front, 
 the boy devotees to Bacchus, the juvenile slaves of drink, 
 would stealthily glide in, as if half afraid that their employers 
 or their parents might see them and discharge them, or stop 
 their pocket-change. And, when once inside, the sample-room 
 was invariably the chief resort and prime attraction. My 
 drinking-hell, or parlor, the same thing, was really very pleasing 
 to the eye : my furniture, glass-ware, etc., were of the best, 
 and quite cleverly arranged, so as to produce a desirable effect. 
 It looked just like what it was, the very place to drink in. 
 
 Here in this gilded den, here in this drinking " hell " of a 
 "parlor," many an unfortunate young man, without a doubt, 
 has, through my instrumentality, drained his first glass, and 
 started, as I had started before him, on the downward path 
 whose termination was perdition. 
 
256 ,A SAMPLE-BOOM BY DAT AND NIGHT. 
 
 Here in this "cosey" "sample-room " of mine, in the strange 
 democracy of drink, the rich customer and the poor have met 
 on the common level of appetite ; and the comparatively intelli- 
 gent man and the positive fool have been each as wise — and 
 foolish — as the other. 
 
 Many a man has wasted his day in my place, passing the 
 long, bright hours, afforded him by a bountiful Providence 
 for honest work, in senseless dissipation, the only effect of 
 which was to transfer slowly but surely his money from his 
 pocket into mine. Many a man has been led by me, and the 
 influences of my place, to literally rob his wife and family, — 
 rob them of his time, his strength, and their support. Many 
 a boy has been induced to " drop in " my saloon when he 
 should have been doing his work, and has been compelled to 
 lie, and to deceive his employers afterwards, to cover up his 
 folly. Many a lad, at my twin dens of vice, has contracted 
 habits of self-indulgence and indolence, which, once contracted, 
 cursed him and cursed his till his dying day. 
 
 And, bad as my place was by day, it was worse by night. 
 Objectionable as it was under the sunlight, it was positively 
 villanous " under the gaslight." For when the stars began to 
 " blossom in the infinite meadows of heaven, those forget-me- 
 nots of the angels," I on earth began to light my gas-jets, and 
 fix my fire, and burnish up things, and make my hell as heav- 
 enly as possible. All the arts which a loving woman uses to 
 adorn her home, to render her fireside the most attractive of all 
 spots to those she loves, — all these little arts and cares I, a full- 
 grown man, used to render my drinking-den attractive to the 
 men and boys I did not love, but only intended to use and ruin. 
 
 And I succeeded with my drinking-den a good deal better 
 than many a loving woman succeeds with her home. My place 
 became " popular ; " that is to say, in plain English it was a 
 curse to the neighborhood. 
 
Oh! my den was very ' gay ' at night " [p. 257]. 
 
HOW I BECAME A DEVIL. 257 
 
 I ought to have been suppressed as a public pest ; but I was 
 hailed as "a hail fellow well met," a "good fellow." The 
 women ought to have banded together, and "drummed me 
 oat" of town. The men ought to have "tarred and feathered" 
 me, and " ridden me on a rail." The children ought to have 
 hooted me, and pelted me with stones. But, instead of this, I 
 was shaken hands with by men, and I was patronized by boys, 
 and even, as I will dwell more upon later, by women themselves. 
 
 Many a man has lost his money and his evenings at my den. 
 Many a man lias lost his opportunities for domestic recreation, 
 and lost his health and sleep, at my place. Many a man has 
 deserted his wife and children for the unhallowed attractions of 
 my cursed saloon. 
 
 Many a sister and daughter has been deprived of the cher- 
 ished companionship of a brother and a father by me and my 
 den. Many a fond mother has been robbed of the company of 
 her beloved son by me and my vile place. Many a weeping 
 wife has sat lonely at nights, waiting for a husband's return, 
 whom yet she dreaded to see returning, on account of my 
 damned saloon. 
 
 I use strong language, but not stronger than my case and 
 my place and myself deserved. I see what I was then, and 
 I do hesitate to say so now. Were I to live a thousand years, I 
 could not fully atone for the evil I caused in those few months at 
 "The Merchants' Union Cigar-Store and Sample-Room," No. 628 
 (old number) Washington Street, opposite Common Street, Bos- 
 ton. These confessions, these self-condemnations, are but a small 
 portion of my punishment, my repentance, and, I humbly and 
 fervently trust, my expiation. Oh ! my den was very "gay" 
 at nights. The sounds of revelry were heard within : and the 
 young bloods, just starting on their career, jostled against the 
 poor, hard-shaking inebriate, who had staggered in for a soothing 
 dram. All classes and conditions of society were my patrons. 
 
258 THE EVIL I HAVE DONE. 
 
 Many a strong man, rejoicing in his strength, drained his glass, 
 who has since sunk beneath " the fire-water " I and others sold 
 him, into a drunkard's grave. Many an old man, rendered pre- 
 maturely aged by the use of stimulants, hobbled up to my bar, 
 and with trembling arms " crooked his elbow " for his tem- 
 porary gratification and my pecuniary gain. 
 
 Ah ! I would not like to know the fate of all those who used 
 to visit me. I would not like to hear the groans that their falls 
 and my greed have caused. I would not like to see the tears 
 that I have caused my victims to shed, — the bitter but unavail- 
 ing tears. I write this sorrowfully and truthfully, but I felt 
 nothing of the kind when I was selling rum. For then I was 
 only a rum-seller, onty a bar-keeper and a bar-tender ; and such 
 gentlemen should have no feelings. For, in order to conduct 
 their business in a proper manner, they should be utterly obliv- 
 ious to the sufferings of their victims. 
 
 All night long I kept my place going, — all through the 
 night, until the break of day sometimes, if my custom war- 
 ranted it, and my customers wished it. For although I pro- 
 fessed to be " law-abiding " and respectable, and although the 
 law closed all drinking-places at midnight, I found means to 
 evade that or any other law, human or divine, which inter- 
 fered with my interests or convenience. 
 
 In big cities a little money, properly distributed, can do a 
 great deal. And there are few things that a liquor-dealer can- 
 not do with the police. He can evade any law he pleases if he 
 is willing to pay for the evading. It is so in Boston and New 
 York, and I have yet to hear from any city where it is not so. 
 The early-closing law had no terrors for me, neither had the 
 law against selling liquor to minors. I sold rum to a boy just 
 on the same terms as I sold rum to a man, — good money for 
 l)ad liquor. Son or father were all one fool, one tool, one 
 customer, one victim, to me. Like death, that death-dealer, 
 
THE RUM-SELLER AND THE SEDUCER. 259 
 
 the rum-seller, is no respecter of persons. In this point, and 
 this only, the liquor-dealer resembles the Almighty. 
 
 Here I would pause to solemnly protest against the laxity of 
 the administration of the law in reference to this selling liquor 
 to minors. God knows it is bad enough to sell liquor to full- 
 grown men, but it is simply infernal to sell it to children. I 
 feel now what I deserved myself, at this fearful period of my 
 life, for doing this fearful thing ; and I knoiv now what men, or 
 fiends, merit who persist in committing this atrocity. 
 
 What would be thought of, said of, and done to, the druggist 
 who would sell arsenic or prussic acid to every child who 
 happened to have ten cents ? What, then, shall be thought of, 
 said of, and done to, the rum-dealer who sells what is worse 
 than any poison in the pharmacopoeia, because more delightful, 
 while equally dangerous, to every and any boy who asks for it ? 
 Nothing — positively nothing — can ever justify revenge or 
 violence ; but I sometimes think that a father would be as 
 excusable in wreaking his vengeance on a man who sold his 
 son rum as on the man who betrayed his daughter's honor. In 
 both cases it is the object of the bad man to ruin the child. 
 Only in the one case it is an object of passion ; in the other 
 case, of sheer calculation, and deliberate greed of gain. From 
 this aspect of the case, is not the rum-seller viler than even the 
 seducer? 
 
 Let me not be misunderstood. I would not be wilfully un- 
 just. I would not exaggerate. I am fully aware that this sell- 
 ing liquor to minors is not, happily, a " universal " custom among 
 rum-sellers. There are not a few liquor-dealers who would 
 scorn to defy alike nature, law. and decency by selling rum to 
 children. The larger saloons in our great cities do not permit 
 this cursed custom. Even some of the better class, if there 
 is such a class, of " dance-houses," do not sanction this atrocity. 
 Thus, at Harry Hill's u dive " a conspicuous sign is posted on 
 
260 . POOL FOE DRINKS. 
 
 the walls, — "No children allowed here." " Positively no liquor 
 sold to boys ; " and the spirit of those signs is carried out to the 
 letter. But then, I am also thoroughly aware that these cases 
 are exceptional, and that, take the country through, ninety 
 drinking-saloons out of one hundred are not " particular " as to 
 the age of their customers ; or, as a liquor-dealer once phrased 
 it, " Business looks to a customer's dollars, not his years." Per- 
 haps the liquor-dealer was correct in his remark about business. 
 But how about that Judge before whom even "a business" 
 rum-seller must stand sooner or later ? 
 
 And I cannot too loudly, sternly, bitterly reprobate the 
 utterly damnable custom of " pool for drinks " which prevails. 
 Surely Satan must have held high carnival in hell when this 
 custom was originally introduced on earth. To the credit of 
 the press of America, especially the paper called "Truth," 
 when controlled by Mr. Josh Hart, be it said, that " pool for 
 drinks " has been persistently denounced by the public press. 
 But based, as it is, upon depraved appetites, appealing, as it 
 does, to the lowest, and therefore most generally diffused, attri- 
 butes of humanity, this " institution " is not dependent upon 
 the approval, is, in fact, quite independent of the disapproval, 
 of the public press. What do the boys who " pool for drinks " 
 care for " what the papers say " ? Most of them, perhaps, could 
 not " read " the papers if they tried. • 
 
 There is but one way of dealing with this much-denounced 
 but growing evil. " Pool for drinks " should be a penal offence, 
 and the penalty should be rigidly enforced. Every decent citi- 
 zen should see that the offenders should be prosecuted, and 
 punished to the full extent of the law. 
 
 I never see the sign " Pool for Drinks " in a bar-room but I 
 shudder. The letters become confused before my eyes; and 
 I see in blood-red characters, " Gates of Hell " instead of " Pool 
 for Drinks." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 SELLING LIQUOR TO WOMEN. — FEMININE INTEMPERANCE. —THE GROWING 
 FONDNESS FOR STRONG DRINK AMONG FEMALES. — THE TEMPTATIONS OF 
 WOMEN TO INTEMPERANCE. — PUBLIC AND PRIVATE BALLS AND PAR- 
 TIES. —THE SUPPER AFTER THE THEATRE, THE FASHIONABLE RESTAU- 
 RANT, THE EXCURSION, ETC. — THE ABUSES OF DRUG-STORES EXPOSED. 
 THE THREEFOLD HORROR OF INTEMPERANCE IN WOMEN. 
 
 There is another evil which is quite as pernicious as the 
 love for drinks, or the selling of liquors to minors, — an evil 
 which cannot be directly forbidden by law, and yet which 
 should be forbidden by every man's very instincts and his 
 human nature. I allude to the selling of liquor to females. 
 
 True, I sold liquor to females myself. To my shame I re- 
 cord it. But I have bitterly repented ; and I would not offer 
 a glass of liquor to a woman now, not for my life. Nay, I 
 would rather offer her my life itself. The latter might possibly 
 do her some good : the liquor could not. 
 
 But though I, thank God ! no longer sell liquor to women, 
 there are hundreds of liquor-dealers who do sell it to women as 
 to men ; and there are, alas ! thousands of women who buy and 
 drink liquor just like men. 
 
 The increasing number of women who drink, moderately or 
 immoderately, privately and publicly, is one of the signs, and 
 one of the very worst signs, of the times. It is a sign of the 
 times which cannot be ignored by the thinker and observer, 
 nor passed over by the moralist. I am sorry to say, not only 
 that women drink, but that women of all classes and condi- 
 tions drink ; not only the lowest class, but the highest class ; 
 
 261 
 
262 THE "FAMILY ENTBANCE." 
 
 and, worst of all, that most numerous class of all, the middle 
 class. 
 
 The woman of " society " drinks her champagne ; the woman 
 not in " society " drinks her brandy ; and the " respectable 
 married (or single) woman " drinks her beer ; the fashionable 
 lady drinks at her receptions, parties, and balls ; the adventuress 
 or Traviata drinks freely at home or abroad, in the parlor, the 
 wine-room, or the restaurant ; while the women of the middle 
 class drink in their M beer-gardens," or in those " family-rooms," 
 so-called, which are now connected with the " side-door " 
 arrangements of so many drinking-saloons. 
 
 Time was when none but the most depraved of the female 
 sex would be seen entering a " saloon," either by the main or by 
 "the side" doors; but now, through those " family-room " 
 dodges, "decent" women, in the ordinary sense of the term, 
 enter a saloon with their male escorts, and on the same terms. 
 
 The other night at an entertainment I noticed a party of 
 three, — a handsome woman, an elderly lady, and their young 
 male escort, a youth not over seventeen years of age at the 
 oldest, — who attracted my attention by their good looks, and 
 apparent gentility of deportment. But what was my surprise, 
 when the entertainment was over, to see the party enter a 
 drinking-saloon around the corner, through a side-door, over 
 which was inscribed the words "familyentrance." I know the 
 place the party entered to be simply and solely "a rum-shop;" 
 and yet these three respectable people, two ladies and a youth, 
 had entered it, — ay, and remained in it some time, — so long 
 that I was curious to know exactly what they were doing. 
 
 I opened the door of the " family entrance," and looked in. 
 There were seated the party of three at a table, a thin partition 
 only separating them from the crowd of drinkers round the 
 adjoining bar ; and on the table were placed two glasses of beer 
 and one bottle of spirits. The little "den," or "parlor," or 
 
■• They were seated — the party of them — at a table, a thin partition only 
 *eparatin^ them from the crowd of drunkards " [p. 268]. 
 
A SIGN — BUT OF W II AT J 263 
 
 u family-room," or whatever it was, in which the party sat, was 
 neat, and scrupulously clean. I will say that much for it. The 
 table, too, was large, and rather elegant ; the chairs were solid 
 and comfortable ; and there was a neat engraving suspended on 
 the wall. It would have been quite a comfortable little room 
 in the " home " of a " family ; " but here, as an attachment, a 
 supplement, to a bar-room, it looked as much out of place as 
 these two ladies and this youth looked out of place in it. 
 
 This was one of the more elegant of the " family entrances " 
 connected with the bar-rooms of the day ; but, in the great 
 majority of instances, these "family entrances " merely consist 
 of a board partition and a movable slide, through which the 
 woman hands the bar-keeper her money, and receives in exchange 
 her liquor, — a fine position for a woman, a sister, daughter, 
 sweetheart, wife, or mother, truly ! 
 
 It has been claimed that these " family entrances " to " bar- 
 rooms" are signs that the "bar-rooms" are becoming more 
 decent. On the contrary, I hold that they are signs that the 
 " family " of to-day is becoming less decent, because more inclined 
 to bar-rooms and intemperance. You cannot touch pitch without 
 being defiled. If a clean palm handles dirt, the purity of the 
 palm does not communicate itself to the filth ; but the foulness 
 of the dirt communicates itself to, and soils, the palm. It may 
 be unfortunate that it is so, but it is the fact. As Bob Ingersoll 
 remarks, " Health is not catching, but disease is." Ingersoll, it 
 is true, protests indignantly against this fact (in which protest 
 I think he is unwise, as a little calm reflection will show) ; but 
 even Ingersoll admits the fact that " the bar-room " can never 
 be improved by "family" influences. But the "family" can 
 easily be ruined by a " bar-room " and its " family entrance." 
 
 The female intemperance of the time is one of the great evils 
 of the time. It is manifested everywhere. It is exhibited on 
 holidays and at public and private festivals. The Jewess quaffs 
 
264 "LADIES" AT A "BALL." 
 
 her wine at Purim, and the Christian maiden quaffs her wine 
 at Christmas, and they both quaff their wine together on the 
 New-Year's Day. In regard to the New- Year's holiday, it must 
 be confessed that there has been some marked improvement. 
 Time has been when, throughout the country more or less, but in 
 New- York City especially, New- Year's Day was a carnival of in- 
 temperance, initiated by the ladies ; a saturnalia, in which women 
 led the way to intoxication. But there has been a great reform 
 in this direction ; and now New-Year's Day is observed in a com- 
 paratively temperate and decorous manner, showing conclusively 
 the power of public opinion when properly directed. But, 
 though New-Year's Day observances are growing better, our 
 balls and parties, public and private, are growing worse. I have 
 already alluded to public balls in connection with the news- 
 paper-men who attend them professionally. The number and 
 the quality of the women who yield more or less to intemperance 
 at these balls are strikingly suggestive. The wine-rooms, so- 
 called, at these balls, are always filled with females, drinking, 
 and generally, I must say, drinking freely, with their male 
 escorts, and not a few of the women belonging to the class 
 designated as " ladies," — ladies by birth, education, and position, 
 and yet yielding to intemperance in their own persons, and set- 
 ting an example of intemperance to others. 
 
 A young lady last winter had, literally J to be carried to her 
 carriage from the Academy of Music, New York, about three 
 o'clock in the morning. Two gentlemen and a policeman carried 
 her. She was said to be " sick," but she was really " drunk." 
 
 A half an hour or so later two ladies (?) reeled — they could 
 not be said to " walk" — from the Academy ; and, in attempting 
 to descend the steps that led to the sidewalk, one of the young 
 ladies (?), while boisterously laughing, tumbled down the steps, 
 and seriously injured herself internally, and has since been 
 confined to her elegant home, an invalid. 
 
"FASHIONABLE" BALLS. 265 
 
 These women were the daughters, sisters, etc., who figure in 
 " good society ; " and I know of a case in which one young 
 man absolutely came, in the lobby of the Academy of Music, 
 face to face, at a masked ball, with his own mother drunk. 
 
 Mind you, these balls were not the balls called "fast," or 
 considered " disreputable." They were given under the pat- 
 ronage of well-known and popular societies. They were not 
 held at some east-side hall, but in the very home of opera ; 
 and the females to whom I have alluded were not Camilles, 
 so styled, Traviatas, or "unfortunates." No: they were the 
 fortunate ones of this world, the lilies of the fashionable field, 
 who were compelled neither to toil nor to spin ; and yet they 
 were public drunkards. 
 
 Believe me, I do not exaggerate. I understate, not overstate, 
 the case. A friend of mine, who has for years made a specialty 
 of pen -painting the great public balls for " The New-York 
 Sunday Mercury," one of the leading journals of its class, in 
 which my friend's ball-reports have been a leading feature, 
 assures me that he has, in the course of his fifteen years of ball- 
 going, seen the female members of many of the so-called and 
 self-styled " best families " in the metropolis more or less (and 
 generally more) under the influence of liquor at balls. 
 
 And, if these things are done in the green tree, what must be 
 done in the dry? If public intemperance prevails among the 
 women of "society," what is to be looked for in women who 
 are not restrained by social obligations ? 
 
 At private parties, balls, and receptions a higher degree of 
 decorum prevails naturally than holds in public entertainments. 
 But " drinking-habits " unfortunately pervade the whole fabric 
 of society ; and the wine-cup is as accessible, and, alas ! as 
 agreeable, to a woman in the houses of her friends, or at her 
 own home, as in the Academy of Music on a ball-night. 
 
 A lady of the highest social position in this country (the 
 
266 ' THE VANDEBBILT BALL. 
 
 bosom-friend and hostess of one of the leading members of the 
 English aristocracy), and herself the wife of one of the richest 
 young men in New York, America, or the world, recently gave 
 a fancy-dress party, to which were invited prominent represen- 
 tatives of the wealth, fashion, beauty, and influence of the 
 metropolis. An ex-president of the United States attended 
 the ball. An ex-secretary of State was there. The richest men 
 in the land were there. And their wives and daughters, sisters 
 and sweethearts, were there. Over eight hundred millions of 
 dollars were represented by their owners, and their owners' 
 wives' diamonds. 
 
 One of the very finest houses in America was thrown open 
 to the eight hundred invited guests, who, decked in every gor- 
 geous variety of fanciful attire, presented, in the magnificent 
 parlors of the mansion, a scene rivalling fairyland, and far sur- 
 passing any scene ever presented on the boards of a theatre. 
 
 But there was more at the Vanderbilt ball than money or 
 beauty or fashion or influence. There was wine there in 
 profusion. Thousands of bottles of liquor had been provided, 
 at a cost of several thousands of dollars ; and their contents 
 were all consumed with gusto. True, there does not seem to 
 have been any great excess at that particular place on that par- 
 ticular occasion. But the unfortunate fact remains, undenied 
 and undeniable, that a prominent society lady, herself a profess- 
 ing Christian, at an entertainment representing that "best 
 society " to which the rest of the social world looks for an 
 example, at an entertainment controlled by her, given by her, 
 to which the eyes of the world were turned, and to which she 
 knew they were turned, deliberately gave her sanction to wine- 
 bibbing, — ay, made the quality and quantity of the liquors 
 provided for her ball a subject for marked comment. 
 
 By so doing, the lady unwittingly, and unthinkingly prob- 
 ably, cast her vote, as it were, in favor of the liquor traffic. What- 
 
WINE-SUPPERS. 267 
 
 ever influence she and her position might have was thrown in 
 the scale in favor of drink. 
 
 The ball, under such auspices, did not leave the world any 
 better than it found it, but, in so far as the question of temper- 
 ance or intemperance is concerned, left it worse. 
 
 Far be it from me to censure or criticise unfairly a lady or 
 a stranger. From all I hear, the lady in this case is one of the 
 best and brightest specimens of her delightful sex, a truly 
 Christian woman ; and, in giving wine at her ball, she did but 
 follow the almost universal custom of the world in which she 
 lives, moves, and has her being. But truth is truth ; and the 
 simple truth is, that it would have been infinitely better for 
 the world if there had been no liquors offered at that famous 
 ball. But the evil of feminine intemperance, or at least wine- 
 drinking by females, is not confined to balls or receptions, etc., 
 public or private. It has become one of the most pernicious 
 and popular customs of the time, to connect an evening's 
 amusement with a supper, as a matter of routine and of course. 
 And of this supper, wine forms part, and a most important 
 part, " of routine and of course." 
 
 It is not enough now-a-nights, for a gentleman to take a lady 
 to an opera, or a concert, or a theatre. He must, almost per- 
 force, ask the lady, after the entertainment, to partake of a 
 supper, and a bottle, or bottles, of wine, at some fashionable 
 restaurant. If he omits this invitation to supper and wine, he 
 is considered by the ladies a very undesirable cavalier, is 
 regarded "mean" or "stingy," is sneered at as "prudent" 
 or "economical," or is slightingly and slangily designated as 
 "N. G." 
 
 This evil of " supper after the theatre " or opera is a four- 
 fold ill. 
 
 First, It is an unnecessary expense, and a considerable and 
 therefore lamentable waste of money, benefiting nobody but 
 
268 . A FOURFOLD EVIL. 
 
 the rich hotel or restaurant keeper, who does not need it. True, 
 to many this item of expense is but a trifle ; they can afford 
 it: but to many — many more men — it is a serious thing, and 
 they cannot afford it ; but they must stand it all the same. 
 
 Second, It is a positive injury to the physical systems of both 
 parties to the supper. It is considered to be injurious to the 
 digestion in the majority of cases. 
 
 Then, it is certainly an evil to the nervous systems of the 
 parties, encroaching upon the hours that ought to be devoted 
 to sleep. 
 
 And, lastly, it is a moral evil ; as the wine-drinking thereat 
 tends directly to intemperance. 
 
 Many a young girl, and many a mature woman, goes to bed 
 with disordered stomach, excited nerves, and wine-heated brain, 
 instead of a clear head, a cool head, a sound digestion, and a 
 calm mind, "all on account of an after-the-theatre wine-sup- 
 per." 
 
 And many a young man, finding himself in the streets of 
 New York, or some other great city, after midnight, with his 
 nerves inflamed by the wine he has just partaken of with a 
 lady, determines to " make a night of it," and winds up with 
 a disreputable debauch, " all on account of an after-the-theatre 
 wine-supper." 
 
 Thirty-five hundred dollars have been received by one Fifth- 
 avenue restaurant in one week from " suppers " ordered by 
 parties after eleven o'clock at night. Of this expenditure, all of 
 which was unnecessary, the majority was for wine, all of which 
 was positively injurious. 
 
 Even those blessed institutions known as "excursions," 
 which have become the poor man's greatest and only luxuries, 
 and the average citizen's delight, are getting to be associated 
 almost inseparably with drink and drinking-habits in some 
 form or other. 
 
THE CURSE OF " EXCURSIONS." 269 
 
 The best and worst proof of this fact is, that a heavy profit is 
 annually realized off of "the bar-privileges" of "excursion- 
 boats ; " although a tremendous price is charged for these " privi- 
 leges," or curses. 
 
 Every " excursion-house " depends chiefly, if not solely, on 
 its bar. And there are more "bars" than "hotels" at every 
 excursion-place. 
 
 And as women and children form the majority of excursion- 
 ists, as the male of the human species is generally accompanied 
 on an excursion by his female and his young, it necessarily 
 follows, that women and children are in the habit of "drinking" 
 on "excursions," — a statement which every excursionist is in 
 a condition to corroborate. 
 
 I do not mean to say (for it would not be the truth) that 
 hard drinking is the rule on excursions: it is, happily, the 
 exception. But, nevertheless, wine or beer drinking is not 
 the exception, but the rule. 
 
 The writer one Saturday afternoon took a trip to Coney 
 Island. He counted during the course of his trip, extending 
 from four in the afternoon till nine in the evening, one hundred 
 and eighteen women and seventeen children whom he saw 
 drinking : true, most were drinking beer, which is one degree 
 less injurious and reprehensible than drinking alcoholic spirits, 
 but they were all on the road to ruin, and more than half 
 the number were evidently "the worse for" their potations. 
 The benefit derived from the fresh air and change of scene 
 had been almost neutralized by the beer. The " excursion " 
 had been changed from a blessing into a bane by " the drink." 
 
 But bad as is the drinking female excursionist, or the woman 
 who drinks in company, the female solitary drinker, or the 
 woman who drinks alone, is worse. The condition of the 
 latter is much more dangerous than that of the former, though 
 both are in imminent peril. And yet the number of solitary 
 
270 "SOLITARY DRINKERS" AMONG WOMEN. 
 
 drinkers among women is large, and is yearly increasing. 
 There are so many women nowadays who live alone, who are 
 deserted by their husbands, or who have no husbands or male 
 protectors; there are so many women who have to live by 
 themselves, in both senses of the word " by , " and to these 
 lonely ones the temptation is so strong to seek solace in the 
 stimulation, or temporary oblivion, produced by alcohol. 
 
 One of the saddest sights, possibly, to be seen by mortal eyes, 
 is one of the commonest, — I see it almost every day, — some 
 little girl, from six years old to ten or twelve, sent to a saloon 
 with a pitcher in her little hand, to be filled with beer for her 
 mother, or, at any rate, some older woman. Such a spectacle 
 is too familiar in tenement-house districts, and in some locali- 
 ties that have naught to do with tenement-houses, to attract 
 attention. And yet there can be to the thoughtful observer 
 really no sadder sight than an old woman sending a young 
 woman for drink. 
 
 When a woman reaches the solitar}^-dririking stage she is 
 generally " done for," lost beyond redemption, or as nearly so 
 as any human being can ever be. Yet there are thousands of 
 women, some of them brilliant, in this very stage this very hour. 
 
 I know of one once glorious woman who is, in the literal and 
 fullest meaning of the term, drinking herself to death. She 
 is still fine-looking, is accomplished and clever, but has become 
 a slave to alcohol, and, alas ! loves her slavery. She is ruining 
 her health and her morals, ay, even what to many a woman is 
 more than morals or health, — her looks ; but she persists, and 
 probably will persist unto the end, which cannot be far off. 
 
 The papers recently reported the case in which the relatives 
 of a wealthy widow were compelled to apply to law to have a 
 guardian appointed for the lady, who had become an habitual 
 drunkard, and was squandering her property in drunken orgies 
 with "fast " acquaintances, male and female. 
 
A WOMAN " CHRONICALLY DRUNK.' 7 271 
 
 There lives to-day in the city of Brooklyn a woman who 
 has not drawn a sober breath for the last ten years. She keeps 
 herself chronically drunk, and, what is even worse, has taught 
 her nieces — two little girls — to drink with her. The younger 
 girl, a miss of fifteen years of age, has repeatedly been seen 
 reeling through the streets, carrying sometimes beer and some- 
 times brandy. 
 
 Not long ago there died on Black well's Island a woman 
 called "old Sal Coon." This woman's real name was Sarah 
 Kuhn ; and she had been at one time a belle of New York, and 
 the fiancee of a wealthy man. But she took to drink ; and drink 
 took from her, one by one, lover and position, and property and 
 beauty, and health and self-respect : till at last she became a 
 " station-house lodger " and " a vagrant," and as such served six 
 or seven terms "on the Island." Yet she clung to drink as 
 though it had been her own flesh and blood, or her heart's love, 
 or her only hope, instead of her only curse and her worst enemy. 
 
 The once society queen lived a tramp, and died a pauper, for 
 the sake of — rum. I could cite a score of similar cases did time 
 and space permit. The cases would only differ in details : the 
 main points would be terribly the same. 
 
 Of late years the facilities for feminine intemperance have 
 been individually increased in a quarter which would not be at 
 first suspected. The " drug-stores " of the period have entered 
 into a species of competition with " the family entrances " of 
 saloons, and with the " fashionable restaurants," for supplying 
 the woman of the period with stimulants, alcoholic or otherwise. 
 Cases are not infrequent in which the lady-drinker obtains her 
 liquor from her drug-store, on the plea of "for medicinal pur- 
 poses." The druggists do not hesitate to furnish the liquor, 
 although they do not hesitate to laugh slyly at the plea. 
 Money has as much influence over druggists as over any other 
 class in the community. 
 
272 DRUGGISTS, DOCTORS, AND INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 And, in some cases, even physicians are induced to lend their 
 aid to intemperance. At least, cases have been known in which 
 female drinkers have produced physicians' prescriptions for 
 intoxicating liquors. I apply these remarks in this connection, 
 not merely to druggists in States or towns where "prohibi- 
 tory" laws prevail, but to druggists in cities like New York 
 and Philadelphia, who can have no possible excuse for the 
 sale of liquor, except strictly in limited quantities, under 
 peculiar circumstances, as medicine. 
 
 I may here add, that druggists do not confine themselves to 
 the sale of alcoholic stimulants. They have encouraged and 
 fostered a trade in other stimulating preparations among women.. 
 
 Thus, I am informed that bromide of potassium is now largely 
 sold to ladies for its stimulating properties. Bromide of potas- 
 sium is a splendid medicine, — a nerve-soother and a peace- 
 producer, properly taken. But, improperly used, it produces a 
 species of intoxication which ultimately results in idiocy. 
 
 Codeine is another nerve-agent used and abused for its stimu- 
 lating properties. Codeine seems to have no direct action on 
 the brain, but confines itself to the nerves. Taken in six-grain 
 doses, it will completely revolutionize the nervous system. But 
 its exhilarating effects are followed by a very disagreeable tin- 
 gling and itching, succeeded by an intense period of depression, 
 or "horrors." Quinine, as is well known, has highly stimulat- 
 ing properties ; and advantage is frequently taken of this fact. 
 Of course, nothing is easier than to get quinine, under pretence 
 of suffering under malarial disease, or without any pretence at 
 all ; and in a little while, at a very little expense, a species of 
 exhilaration can be produced. A prominent resident of Staten 
 Island, a widow-lady, is a victim to the habitual use of quinine 
 as a stimulant. So is a wealthy widow-lady, one of the princi- 
 pal real-estate owners in New York. 
 
 Many of the minor remedies and medicines on the druggist's 
 
MINOR STIMULANTS. 273 
 
 calendar are likewise growing in demand as stimuli. Thus, 
 the essence of ginger is much employed by clergymen. It is a 
 mild stimulant, " so they say." How truthfully may be judged 
 from the statement of a druggist to the writer, that essence of 
 ginger is only another name for alcohol, being eighty-five per 
 cent alcohol, — a " mild stimulant " indeed. Two tablespoonf uls 
 of this " mild stimulant " will produce a state of semi-intoxica- 
 tion, which, though not followed by such re-action as in the case 
 of alcohol pure and simple, is succeeded by stomachic trouble, 
 and general derangement of system. 
 
 Spirits of lavender, or red lavender, is another "mild stimu- 
 lant." Much in vogue among old maids, it seems to go with 
 cats and parrots and corkscrew curls. 
 
 The aromatic spirits of ammonia, or eau sedative, is a very- 
 popular preparation with French women and actresses. It is a 
 pretty powerful stimulant, though neither its exhilarating nor 
 depressing effects last long ; while among the poorer classes of 
 women, — servant-girls and laundresses, — "essence of pepper- 
 mint " is decidedly in demand as a stimulant. 
 
 None of these stimulants may, perhaps, be styled " danger- 
 ous" in themselves. Certainly, none of them are to be com- 
 pared with alcohol. But they foster a pernicious tendency to 
 stimulation, which insensibly but almost inevitably leads the 
 way for more dangerous and deleterious preparations. 
 
 I have not alluded here to the growing use of opium and 
 hashish (cannabis indica, or Indian hemp) among women, 
 because " the opium habit " is an evil altogether apart from the 
 evil I am considering (though quite as terrible). 
 
 But, taken as a class of establishments, it may be truthfully 
 stated, that much of the evil upon which I have been dilating 
 — intemperance among females — is due directly to the facili- 
 ties afforded for intemperance by drug-stores. 
 
 What with private balls, public balls, suppers after theatres 
 
274 ' A TRIPLE CURSE. 
 
 at fashionable restaurants, drinking on rides and excursions, 
 " family entrances " to rum-saloons, solitary drinking, and the 
 drug-store of the period, the female sex is almost as likely to 
 fall a victim to the demon of drink as the male. 
 
 And, oh ! if woman could only realize what a horrible thing 
 intemperance is in her, — how much more horrible than in a 
 man, — she would never drink. 
 
 Intemperance, though morally as great a crime in one sex as 
 in the other, is socially and physically, and from a physiological 
 point of view, more fearful and more criminal in a woman than 
 a man, for three reasons : — 
 
 First, Every true man cherishes a high ideal of the sex which 
 furnished him a mother ; and, when this ideal is rudely shat- 
 tered (and nothing on earth is so calculated to utterly destroy 
 this ideal as seeing a woman under the influence, not of senti- 
 ment, but spirits, not of love, but liquor), he receives a shock 
 much greater than any man could cause him to endure. 
 
 Second, A woman's nerves being more delicate than a man's, 
 the injurious effect of liquor upon her sensitive organization is 
 increased. Men can work or walk off some of their foul spirits ; 
 but a woman merely suffers when she drinks, and can do noth- 
 ing. If women were only wise, and knew themselves, no man 
 living could ever successfully tempt them to drink ; and they 
 would ask for poison as soon as ask for 1 liquor. 
 
 Third, A woman, in her capacity as a mother, is doubly 
 guilty if she drinks ; for she drinks for two. She poisons the 
 blood, she shatters the nerves, of her child as well as herself. 
 
 This is a point which has vastly more importance than is 
 generally attached to it. There is such a thing as hereditary 
 intemperance, — inherited tendency to drink. Every physiologist 
 is aware of this fact. I have practically discovered it, and have 
 acted on my discovery, as I will narrate hereafter. 
 
 The milk of a nursing-mother, who is of intemperate habits, 
 
DOUBLY TERRIBLE AND CRIMINAL. 275 
 
 becomes charged with the alcohol she imbibes, and is, in its 
 turn, imbibed by the poor, helpless infant, who becomes, as it 
 were, an infant-drunkard, cursed for life by its own mother. 
 
 Whether, therefore, looked at as a wife or a mother, whether 
 regarded as a human being or a member of society, whether 
 looked at from a man's point of view, a woman's or a child's, 
 a woman who is intemperate is doubly terrible and criminal. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A RUM-SELLER'S RESPONSIBILITY. — WHAT I DID, AND WHAT I HAVE EVER 
 SINCE BEEN SORRY FOR HAVING DONE. — " A DRUNKARD'S BIBLE." 
 
 And yet I did my devilish share, in the days of which I now 
 write, to make women intemperate by selling them the cursed 
 wherewithal. Not a few women came to my bar-room, — "The 
 Merchants' Union Cigar-Store and Sample-Room ; " and I took 
 their money just as I took men's money, and gave them beer 
 or wine or whiskey, brandy, rum, or gin, just as I would give 
 to men. Some of the poor women who came to my gilded den, 
 with their thin, pinched faces, showed signs of poverty, and 
 even positive hunger ; but I heeded not their faded looks : all 
 I heeded then was what they carried in their faded pocket- 
 books, if they had any. Some of the poor, degraded wretches 
 of faithless mothers left their helpless children at their wretched 
 rooms, or room, uncared for while they stole, or staggered, to 
 my den for drink. But I sold them th£ drink ; though I felt, 
 though I knew, that the coin they held tremblingly out to me 
 should have bought their children food or clothes. God for- 
 give me ! but I was a brute and a rascal then. God forgive 
 me ! for I can never fully forgive myself. 
 
 One poor woman crept into my gilded den one night, and 
 asked for gin. I poured out the vile stuff she asked for into the 
 bottle she brought with her ; and then she handed slowly, and, 
 as it were, painfully, a quarter of a dollar, and placed it in my 
 opened palm. As I was about to put the money into the 
 
 276 
 
CAIN'S OLD QUESTION. 277 
 
 drawer, I heard her sigh, and shake her head, and say, " The 
 last, the very last." 
 
 Something about the woman stirred my better nature, — I still 
 had such an article hidden somewhere about me, — and I got 
 into a talk with her about herself. It was about the only sub- 
 ject on which she now could talk, misery is so egotistical. 
 
 I learned that she had a sick child at her room, and that 
 the quarter of a dollar she had just given me for gin was all the 
 money she had left in the world, — " the last, the very last." I 
 did not take that quarter, — I returned it to her ; but, alas ! I let 
 her take the gin away with her. And the next day she died 
 in a drunken debauch. 
 
 Alas, alas ! I have the destruction, I fear, of many a woman and 
 man to answer for, — at least my share thereof. True, I did not 
 think of this at the time ; or, if I did, I lulled my conscience to 
 sleep with Cain's old question, " Am I my brother's or my sister's 
 keeper ? " But, wittingly or unwittingly, I assumed my portion 
 of responsibility ; and I must bear it. 
 
 Oh ! if every rum-seller would but for one hour regard this 
 matter of responsibility in its true light, as I see it clearly 
 now, there would not be a glass of liquor sold as a beverage 
 throughout Christendom to-morrow, or ever after. 
 
 Mrs. S. C. Hall, some thirty years ago, published in that 
 most admirable publication, " Harper's Magazine," — a magazine 
 always devoted to temperance, religion, and morality, — a pow- 
 erful sketch entitled " A Drunkard's Bible," which very forcibly 
 illustrates this point of a rum-seller's responsibility. 
 
 This sketch opens with a conversation between an English 
 village inn-keeper, Mathew Hownley, and his sister Martha. 
 
 " There is more money made in the public line than in any other, 
 unless it be pawnbroking," said Martha Hownley to her brother; 
 "and I do not see why you should feel uncomfortable. You are a 
 sober man : since I have kept your house, I never remember seeing 
 
278 "MARTHA, WE MUST LIVE. 11 
 
 you beside yourself ; indeed, I know that weeks pass without your 
 touching beer, much less wine or spirits. If you did not sell them, 
 somebody else would. And, were you to leave ' The Grapes ' 
 to-morrow, it might be taken by those who would not have your 
 scruples. All the gentry say your house is the best conducted in the 
 parish" — 
 
 "I wish I really deserved the compliment," interrupted Mathew, 
 looking up from his day-book. " I ought not to content myself with 
 avoiding beer, wine, and spirits : if I believe, as I do, that they are 
 injurious, alike to the character and health of man, I should, by 
 every means in my power, lead others to avoid them." 
 
 " But we must live, Mathew ; and your good education would not 
 keep you — we must live ! " 
 
 " Yes, Martha, we must live, — but not the lives of vampires; " 
 and he turned rapidly over the accounts, noting and comparing, and 
 seemingly absorbed in calculation. 
 
 Martha's eyes became enlarged by curiosity, — the small, low curi- 
 osity which has nothing in common with the noble spirit of inquiry. 
 She believed her brother wise in most things ; but, in her heart of 
 hearts, she thought him foolish in worldly matters. Still, she was 
 curious ; and, yielding to what is considered a feminine infirmity, she 
 said, " Mathew, what is vampires? " 
 
 Mathew made no reply; so Martha — who had been "brought up 
 to the bar" by her uncle, while her brother was dreaming over an 
 unproductive farm, troubled as usual about "much serving," and 
 troubling all within her sphere by worn-out and shrivelled-up anxie- 
 ties, as much as by the necessary duties of active life — looked at 
 Mathew as if speculating on his sanity. Could he be thinking of 
 giving up his business, because of that which did not concern him? 
 — but she would "manage him." It is strange how low and cun- 
 ning persons do often manage higher and better natures than their 
 own. 
 
 "Martha," he called at last in a loud voice, "I cannot afford to 
 give longer credit to Peter Croft." 
 
 " I thought he was one of your best customers : he is an excellent 
 
INFIRMITY OF PURPOSE. 279 
 
 workman ; his wife has much to do as a clear-starcher ; and I am sure 
 he spends every penny he earns here," — such was Martha's answer. 
 
 44 And more!" replied Mathew, "morel Why, last week the 
 score was eighteen shillings — besides what he paid for." 
 
 "He's an honorable man, Mathew," persisted Martha. "It is 
 not long since he brought me six teaspoons and a sugar-tongs when 
 I refused him brandy (he will have brandy). They must have be- 
 longed to his wife ; for they had not P. C. on them, but E. — some- 
 thing : I forget what." 
 
 Mathew waxed wroth. " Have I not told you," he said, — " have 
 I not told you that we must be content with the flesh and blood, with- 
 out the bones and marrow, of these poor drunkards? I am not a 
 pawnbroker to lend money upon a man's ruin. I sell, to be sure, 
 what leads to it ; but that is his fault, not mine." 
 
 "You said just now it icas yours," said his sister sulkily. 
 
 "Is it a devil, or an angel, that prompts your words, Martha? " 
 exclaimed Mathew impatiently ; then, leaning his pale, thoughtful 
 brow on his clasped hands, he added, "But, however much I some- 
 times try to get rid of them, it must be for my good to see facts as 
 they are." 
 
 Martha would talk : she looked upon a last word as a victory. 
 "He must have sold them whether or not, as he has done all his 
 little household comforts, to pay for what he has honestly drunk ; 
 and I might as well have them as any one else. My money paid for 
 them, and in the course of the evening went into your till. It's very 
 hard if, with all my labor, I can't turn an honest penny in a bargain 
 sometimes, without being chid as if I were a baby." 
 
 "I am sorely beset," murmured Mathew, closing the book with 
 hasty violence, — " sorely beset ; the gain on one side, the sin on the 
 other; and she goads me, and puts things in the worst light: never 
 was man so beset," he repeated helplessly; and he said truly he 
 was " beset," — by infirmity of purpose, — that mean, feeble, pitiful 
 frnstrator of so many good and glorious intentions. 
 
 It is at once a blessed and a wonderful thing how the little grain of 
 "good seed" will spring up and increase: if the soil be at all pro- 
 
280 . TEE GOOD SEED. 
 
 ductive, how it will fructify ! A great stone may be placed right over 
 it, and yet the shoot will forth, — sideways, perhaps, after a long, 
 noiseless struggle amidst the weight of earth, — a white, slender 
 thing, like a bit of thread that falls from the clipping-scissors of 
 a little heedless maid — creeps up, twists itself round the stone, a 
 little, pale, meek thing, tending upward — becoming a delicate green 
 in the wooing sunlight — strengthening in the morning, when birds 
 are singing — at mid-day when man is toiling — at night, while men 
 are sleeping, until it pushes aicay the stone, and overshadows its 
 inauspicious birthplace with strength and beauty. 
 
 Yes : where good seed has been sown, there is always hope, that, 
 one day or other, it will, despite snares and pitfalls, despite scorn 
 and bitterness, despite evil report, despite temptations, despite those 
 wearying backslidings which give the wicked and the idle scoffers 
 ground for rejoicing, — sooner or later it will fructify. 
 
 All homage to the good seed ! — all homage to the good sower ! 
 
 And who sowed the good seed in the heart of Mathew Hownley ? 
 Truly, it would be hard to tell. Perhaps some sower intent on doing 
 his Master's business ; perhaps some hand unconscious of the wealth 
 it dropped ; perhaps a young child, brimful of love, and faith, and 
 trust in the bright world around ; perhaps some gentle woman, 
 whose knowledge was an inspiration rather than an acquirement ; 
 perhaps a bold, true preacher of the Word, stripping the sinner of 
 the robe that covered his deformity, and holding up his cherished 
 sins as warnings to the world ; perhaps it was one of Watts's hymns, 
 learned at his nurse's knee (for Mathew and Martha had endured 
 the unsympathizing neglect of a motherless childhood), a little line, 
 never to be forgotten, — a whisper, soft, low, enduring, — a comfort 
 in trouble, a stronghold in danger, a refuge from despair. Oh, what 
 a world's wealth is there in a simple line of childhood's poetry ! 
 Martha herself often quoted the " Busy Bee : " but her bee had no 
 wings ; it could muck in the wax, but not fly for the honey. As to 
 Mathew, wherever the seed had come from, there, at all events, it 
 was, struggling, but existing — biding its time to burst forth, to bud, 
 and to blossom, and to bear fruit. 
 
"IN DUE TIME." 281 
 
 The exposure concerning the spoons and sugar-tongs made Mathew 
 so angry, that Martha wished she had never had any thing to do with 
 them ; but, instead of avoiding the fault, she simply resolved in her 
 own mind never again to let Mathew know any of her little transac- 
 tions in the way of buying or barter : that was all. 
 
 Mathew, all that day, continued more thoughtful and silent than 
 usual, which his sister considered a bad sign : he was reserved to his 
 customers, — nay, worse : he told a woman she should not give gin to 
 her infant at his bar, and positively refused, the following Sunday, 
 to open his house at all. Martha asked him if he were mad. He 
 replied, "No:" he was "regaining his senses." Then Martha 
 thought it best to let him alone : he had been "worse" — that is, 
 according to her reading of the word " worse " — before, — taken the 
 "dumps" in the same way, but recovered, and gone back to his 
 business " like a man." 
 
 Peter Croft, unable to pay up his score, managed, nevertheless, 
 to pay for what he drank. For a whole week Martha would not 
 listen to his proposals for payment "in kind: " even his wife's last 
 shawl could not tempt her, though Martha confessed it was a beauty ; 
 and what possible use could Mrs. Peter have for it now, it was so 
 out of character with her destitution. She heard no more of it, so 
 probably the wretched husband disposed of it elsewhere : this disap- 
 pointed her. She might as well have had it ; she would not be such 
 a fool again ; Mathew was so seldom in the bar, that he could not 
 know what she did. Time passed on : Martha thought she saw one 
 or two symptoms of what she considered amendment in her brother. 
 " Of course," she argued, " he will come to himself in due time." 
 
 In the twilight which followed that day, Peter Croft, pale, bent, 
 and dirty, the drunkard's redness in his eyes, the drunkard's fever 
 on his lips, tapped at the door of the room off the bar, which was 
 more particularly Martha's room, — it was, in fact, her watch-tower, 
 — the door half glazed, and the green curtain about an inch from 
 the middle division : over this the sharp, observant woman might 
 see whatever occurred, and no one could go in or out without her 
 knowledge. 
 
282 A DRUNKARD'S BIBLE. 
 
 She did "not say " Come in" at once: she longed to know what 
 new temptation he had brought her, for she felt assured he had 
 neither money nor credit left. 
 
 And yet she feared, " Mathew made such a worry out of every 
 little thing." The next time he tapped at the window of the door, 
 her eyes met his over the curtain ; and then she said, " Come in," in 
 a penetrating, sharp voice, which was any thing but an invitation. 
 
 " I have brought you something now, Miss Hownley, that I know 
 you won't refuse to lend me a trifle on," said the ruined tradesman : 
 "I am sure you won't refuse, Miss Hownley. Bad as I want the 
 money, I could not take it to a pawnbroker ; and, if the woman 
 asks for it, I can say I lent it, Miss Hownley : you know I can 
 say that." 
 
 Peter Croft laid a Bible on the table, and, folding back the pages 
 with his trembling fingers, showed that it was abundantly illustrated 
 by fine engravings. Martha loved "pictures;" she had taken to 
 pieces a "Pilgrim's Progress," and varying the devotional engrav- 
 ings it had contained with abundant cuttings out from illustrated 
 newspapers, and a few colored caricatures, had covered one side of a 
 screen, which, when finished, she considered would be at once the 
 comfort and amusement of her old age. After the drunkard had 
 partially exhibited its contents, he stood by with stolid indifference ; 
 while she measured the engravings with her eye, looking ever and 
 anon toward the screen. "Very well," she said, uttering a delib- 
 erate untruth with her lips, while her mind was made up what to do, 
 — " very well : what did you say you wanted for it? " He repeated 
 the sum : she took out exactly half, and laid the shining temptation 
 on the table before him. 
 
 "Have you the heart, Miss Hownley," he said, while fingering, 
 rather than counting, the money, — " have you the heart to offer me 
 such a little for such a great deal? " 
 
 "If you have the heart to sell it, I may have the heart to offer 
 such a price," she answered, with a light laugh ; " and it is only a 
 drunkard's bible ! " 
 
 Peter Croft dashed the money from him with a bitter oath. 
 
WHAT THE GOOD BOOK SAYS. 283 
 
 11 Oh, very well ! " she said ; " take it, — or leave it." 
 
 She resumed her work. 
 
 The only purpose to which a drunkard is firm is to his own ruin. 
 Peter went to the door, returned, took up the money. "Another 
 shilling, miss? It icill be in the till again before morning." 
 
 Martha gave him the other shilling, and, after he was fairly out of 
 the room, grappled the book, commenced looking at the pictures in 
 right earnest, and congratulated herself on her good bargain. In 
 due time the house was cleared ; and she went to bed, placing the 
 Bible on the top of her table, among a miscellaneous collection of 
 worn-out dusters and tattered glass-cloths, '* waiting to be mended." 
 
 That night the master of "The Grapes" could not sleep. More 
 than once he fancied he smelt fire ; and after going into the unoccu- 
 pied rooms, and peeping through the keyholes and under the doors 
 of those that were occupied, he descended to the bar, and finally, 
 entering the little bar-parlor, took his day-book from a shelf, and, 
 placing the candle, sat down, listlessly turning over its leaves. But 
 the top of the table would not shut ; and, raising it to remove the 
 obstruction, Mathew saw a large family Bible. Pushing away the 
 day-book, he opened the sacred volume. 
 
 It opened at the 23d chapter of Proverbs : and, as if guided by a 
 sacred light, his eyes fell upon the 29th verse ; and he read, — 
 
 "Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who 
 hath babbling ? who hath wounds without cause ? who hath redness of 
 eyes? 
 
 "They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed 
 wine. 
 
 " Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his 
 color in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. 
 
 " At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." 
 
 He dashed over the leaves in fierce displeasure ; and, as if of 
 themselves, they folded back at the 5th chapter of Galatians : 
 "Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the 
 which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that 
 they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God." 
 
284 ' THE DAT THAT MUST COME. 
 
 u New. and Old, New and Old," murmured Mathew to himself. 
 "lam condemned alike by the Old and the New Testament." He 
 had regarded intoxication and its consequences heretofore as a great 
 social evil. The fluttering rags and the fleshless bones of the drunk- 
 ard and his family ; the broils, the contentions, the ill-feeling, the 
 violence, the murders, wrought by the dread spirit of alcohol, — had 
 stood in array before him as social crimes, as social dangers ; but he 
 did not call to mind, if he really knew, that the word of God exposed 
 alike its destruction and its sinfulness. He was one of the many 
 who, however good and moral in themselves, shut their ears against 
 the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely ; and, though he 
 often found wisdom and consolation in a line of Watts's hymns, he 
 rarely went to the fountain of living waters for the strengthening and 
 refreshing of his soul. He turned over the chapter, and found on 
 the next page a collection of texts, written upon a strip of paper in 
 the careful hand of one to whom writing was evidently not a frequent 
 occupation. 
 
 Proverbs, the 23d chapter: "For the drunkard and the glutton 
 shall come to poverty : and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags." 
 1 Corinthians, 6th chapter, 10th verse: " Nor thieves, nor covetous, 
 nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the king- 
 dom of God." 
 
 "Again that awful threat!" murmured Mathew; "and have I 
 been the means of bringing so many of my fellow-creatures under 
 its ban ? " 
 
 1 Samuel, the 1st chapter: "And Eli said unto her, How long 
 wilt thou be drunken? put away thy wine from thee." Luke 21: 
 "And take heed to yourselves, lest at any time your hearts be over- 
 charged with surfeiting, and drunkenness, and cares of this life, and 
 so that day come upon you unawares." 
 
 "Ay, that day," repeated the landlord, — "that day, — the day 
 that must come." 
 
 Ephesians, 5th chapter: "And be not drunk with wine, wherein 
 is excess; but be filled with the Spirit." Proverbs, 20th chapter: 
 "Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is de- 
 
TAKE HEED TO THE THING THAT IS BIGHT. 285 
 
 ceived thereby is not wise." "Woe to thee who selleth wine to thy 
 neighbor, and mingleth strong drink to his destruction." 
 
 He rose from the table, and paced up and down the little room : no 
 eye but His who seeth all things looked upon the earnestness and 
 agitation of that man ; no ear but the All-hearing heard his sighs, 
 his half-muttered prayers to be strengthened for good. He said 
 within himself, " Who will counsel me in this matter? To whom 
 shall I fly for sympathy? Who will tell me what I ought to do? 
 How remedy the evils I have brought on others while in this busi- 
 ness, even when my heart was alive to its wickedness? " He had no 
 friend to advise with, — none who would do aught but laugh at and 
 ridicule the idea of giving up a good business for conscience' sake : 
 but so it was that it occurred to him, " You have an immortal Friend ; 
 take counsel of Him, pray to Him, learn of him, trust Him ; make 
 His book your guide." And, opening the Bible, he read one other 
 passage: " Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right; 
 for that shall bring a man peace at the last." 
 
 Pondering on this blessed rule of life, so simple and so compre- 
 hensive, he turned back the pages, repeating it over and over again, 
 until he came to the first fly-leaf, wherein were written the births, 
 marriages, and deaths of the humble family to whom the Bible had 
 belonged ; and therein, second on the list, he saw in a stiff, half- 
 printed hand, the name, Emma Hanby, only daughter of James and 
 Mary Jane Hanby, born so-and-so, married at such a date to Peter 
 Croft ! 
 
 " Emma Hanby," born in his native village, — the little Emma 
 Hanby whom he had loved to carry over the brook to school ; by 
 whose side in boy-love he had sat in the meadows ; for whom he had 
 gathered flowers ; whose milk-pail he had so often lifted over the 
 church-stile ; whom he had loved as he never could or did love woman 
 since ; whom he would have married, if she, light-hearted girl that 
 she was, could have loved the tall, yellow, awkward youth whom it 
 was her pastime to laugh at, and her delight to call " Daddy," — was 
 she, then, the wife — the torn, soiled, tattered, worn-out, insulted, 
 broken-spirited wife — of the drunkard, Peter Croft? It seemed im- 
 
286 THE RUM-SELLER ON HIS KNEES. 
 
 possible, her memory had been such a sunbeam from boyhood up, 
 the refiner of his nature, the dream that often came to him by day 
 and night. While passing the parochial school, when the full tide 
 of girls rushed from its heat into the thick city-air, his heart had 
 often beat if the ringiug laugh of a merry child sounded like the 
 laugh he once thought music ; and he would watch to see if the girl 
 resembled the voice that recalled his early love. 
 
 4 'And I have helped to bring her to this," he repeated over and 
 over to himself ; " even I have done this ; this has been my doing." 
 He might have consoled himself by the argument, that, if Peter Croft 
 had not drunk at "The Grapes," he would have drunk somewhere 
 else ; but his seared conscience neither admitted nor sought an 
 excuse : and after an hour or more of earnest prayer with sealed lips, 
 but a soul bowed down, at one moment by contempt for his infirmity 
 of purpose, and at another elevated by strong resolves of great sacri- 
 fice, Mathew, carrying with him the drunkard's Bible, sought his 
 bed. He slept the feverish, unref resiling sleep which so frequently 
 succeeds strong emotion. He saw troops of drunkards, — blear- 
 eyed, trembling, ghastly spectres, pointing at him with their shaking 
 fingers, while, with pestilential breath, they demanded "who had 
 sold them poison." Women, too, — drunkards, or drunkards' wives, 
 in either case, starved, wretched creatures, with scores of ghastly 
 children, — hooted him as he passed through caverns reeking of gin, 
 and hot with the steam of all poisonous drinks ! He awoke just as 
 the dawn was crowning the hills of his childhood with glory, and 
 while its munificent beams were penetrating the thick atmosphere 
 which hung as a veil before his bedroom window. 
 
 To Mathew the sunbeams came like heavenly messengers, winging 
 their way through the darkness and chaos of the world for the world's 
 light and life. He had never thought of that before, but he thought 
 of and felt it then ; and much good it did him, strengthening his 
 good intent. A positive flood of light poured in through a pane of 
 glass which had been cleaned the previous morning, and played upon 
 the cover of the poor drunkard's Bible. Mathew bent his knees 
 to the ground, his heart full of emotions, — the emotions of his early 
 
HOW " THE GRAPES" LAY IN THE KENNEL. 287 
 
 and better nature ; and he bowed his head upon his hands, and 
 prayed in honest resolve and earnest zeal. The burden of that 
 prayer, which escaped from between his lips in murmurs sweet as the 
 murmurs of living waters, was, that God would have mercy upon 
 him, and keep him in the right path, and make him, unworthy as he 
 was, the means of grace to others, — to be God's instrument for good 
 to his fellow-creatures ; to minister to the prosperity, the regenera- 
 tion, of his own kind. Oh, if God would but mend the broken vessel, 
 if he would but heal the bruised reed, if he would but receive him 
 into his flock ! Oh, how often he repeated, " God give me strength ! 
 Lord strengthen me!" 
 
 And he arose, as all arise after steadfast prayer, strengthened, and 
 prepared to set about his work. I now quote his own account of 
 what followed : — 
 
 "I had," he said, " fixed in my mind the duty I was called upon 
 to perform : I saw it bright before me. It was now clear to me, 
 whether I turned to the right or to the left : there it was, written in 
 letters of light. I went down-stairs, I unlocked the street-door, I 
 brought a ladder from the back of my house to the front ; and with 
 my own hands, in the gray, soft haze of morning, I tore down the 
 sign of my disloyalty to a good cause. ' The Grapes ' lay in the 
 kennel, and my first triumph was achieved. I then descended to my 
 cellar, locked myself in, turned all the taps, and broke the bottles 
 into the torrents of pale ale and brown stout which foamed around 
 me. Never once did my determination even waver. I vowed to 
 devote the remainder of my life to the destruction of alcohol, and 
 to give my power and my means to reclaim and succor those who had 
 wasted their substance and debased their characters beneath my roof. 
 I felt as a freed man, from whom fetters had been suddenly struck 
 off. A sense of manly independence thrilled through my frame. 
 Through the black and reeking arch of the beer-vault, I looked up to 
 heaven. I asked God again and again for the strength of purpose 
 and perseverance which I had hitherto wanted all my latter life. 
 While called a 'respectable man,' and an 'honest publican/ I knew 
 that I was acting a falsehood, and dealing in the moral — perhaps 
 
288 "AWAY THEY GO. 11 
 
 the eternal- — deaths of many of those careless drinkers, who had 
 'sorrow and torment, and quarrels and wounds without cause,' even 
 while I, who sold the incentives to sorrow and torment, and quarrels 
 and wounds without cause, knew that they ' bit like serpents, and 
 stung like adders.' What a knave I had been ! erecting a temple to 
 my own respectability on the ruins of respectability in my fellow- 
 creatures ; talking of honesty, when I was inducing sinners to aug- 
 ment their sin by every temptation that the fragrant rum, the 
 white-faced gin, the brown, bouncing brandy could offer, all adulter- 
 ated, all untrue as myself, all made even worse than their original 
 natures by downright and positive fraud ; talking of honesty, as if I 
 had been honest ; going to church, as if I were a practical Christian, 
 and passing by those I had helped to make sinners with contempt 
 upon my lip, and a ' Stand by, I am holier than thou ! ' in my proud 
 heart, even at the time I was inducing men to become accessories to 
 their own shame and sin, and the ruin of their families. 
 
 "Bitter but happy tears of penitence gushed from my eyes as the 
 ocean of intoxicating and baneful drinks swelled and rolled and 
 seethed around me. I opened the drain, and they rushed forth to add 
 to the impurity of the Thames. ' Away they go ! ' I said : ' their 
 power is past. They will never more turn the staggering workman 
 into the streets, or nerve his arm to strike down the wife or child he 
 is bound by the law of God and man to protect ; never more send 
 the self-inflicted fever of delirium tremens through the swelling veins ; 
 never drag the last shilling from the drunkard's hand ; never more 
 quench the fire on the cottage hearth, or send the pale, overworked 
 artisan's children to a supperless bed ; never more blister the lips of 
 woman, or poison the blood of childhood ; never again inflict the 
 Saturday's headache which induced the prayerless Sunday. Away, 
 away ! Would that I had the power to so set adrift all the so perverted 
 produce of the malt, the barley, and the grape, of the world ! ' As 
 my excitement subsided, I felt still more resolved. The more I 
 calmed down, the firmer I became. I was as a paralytic recovering 
 the use of his limbs, as a blind man restored to sight. The regrets 
 and doubts that had so often disturbed my mind gathered themselves 
 
REFOBMEB AND A REFORMER. 289 
 
 into a mighty power, not to be subdued by earthly motives or earthly 
 reasoning. I felt the dignity of a mission. I would be a temper- 
 ance missionary to the end of my days ! " 
 
 And he kept his vow. He did all he could to repair the evil 
 he had helped to encourage in poor Peter Croft's case, and 
 lived and died reformed and a reformer. 
 
 The story is a noble one, and should be republished in full 
 by the conductors of " Harper's Magazine." It will amply 
 repay perusal. 
 
 I cannot be too thankful to Almighty God, that I have had 
 the good fortune and the grace, in a humble way, to imitate the 
 good example (if, alas ! also the bad) of Mathew Hownley. 
 
 And I beg, I earnestly implore, the many really good-hearted 
 but criminally careless men who are to-day in the ranks of the 
 rum-sellers, to follow my example, just as I have followed 
 Mathew Hownley's, and as we both have followed the teach- 
 ings of true wisdom, practical morality, and the Holy Bible. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 FURTHER DETAILS OF MY INIQUITIES AS A RUM-SELLER. — "FREE LUNCHES" 
 DENOUNCED AND EXPOSED. — THE " CORDIAL " HUMBUG. — THE DECOY- 
 BOTTLE. — THE STORY OF A DEBAUCH. — "THE NEW- YORK HOUSE." — 
 RUM AND RUIN. — THE FATE OF RUM-SELLERS. 
 
 But, alas ! I am not now writing of my reformation, but of 
 my fall ; not of the days in which I have been striving to do 
 good, but of the days and nights in which I did evil, and that 
 continually. 
 
 I was very wicked, and very cunning in my wickedness, in a 
 low, small way. I did all I could to decoy my victims, and 
 succeeded only too completely. I patronized all the latest de- 
 vices to lead my customers into drinking. I had the latest 
 novelties in the way of patent dice-boxes, " to throw for 
 drinks." And I prided myself on the quality and quantity of 
 the viands I displayed to tempt my customers at my "free 
 lunch." 
 
 A few words here as to " free lunches." These are among 
 the most dangerous devices of the arch-fiend of intemperance. 
 They utilize one appetite to produce and assist the develop- 
 ment of another. They give the glamour of a spurious liber- 
 ality to the mercenary arts of the rum-seller. They delude the 
 unthinking and the unwary. They are misnomers. They are 
 styled " free," but there is nothing " free " about them. They 
 are intended to be paid for — and dearly paid for — by the par- 
 takers thereof. They are either of a very common and cheap 
 sort, — salted provisions, which incite to the thirst,* which it is 
 
 290 
 
THE DOUBLE PROFIT OF "A FREE LUNCH." 291 
 
 designed to appease subsequently by liquor, — or, if they are 
 of a higher grade, they are so served and hedged round with 
 social etiquette and observances, as to cause the "free luncher" 
 to feel under obligations to pay an exorbitant price for his 
 drinks. 
 
 In some places, such as the far-famed Hoffman-house bar, 
 the lunch consists of sugar-cured hams, potato or other salads, 
 even chicken occasionally, etc. These are served on plates 
 by a waiter, and are partaken of on finely polished tables. 
 This lunch, thus served, is "free:" but at the luncher's side 
 stands an attendant, who expects, and gives you to understand 
 that he expects, your order for some drink, and this drink 
 is charged to you at a tariff considerably in excess of the regu- 
 lar price of your drink. Whiskey which is sold to you at 
 the bar, without the " free " lunch, for fifteen cents, is served 
 to you with the " free " lunch, at twenty cents. The " free- 
 dom " of your lunch amounts, therefore, to just five cents, which 
 in itself much more than covers the actual cost of your " free " 
 lunch, in addition to absolutely forcing you to spend fifteen 
 cents besides for the drink, on which the profit is again tremen- 
 dous. Your " free " lunch, therefore, pays a double profit to 
 the bar. 
 
 But, even in the cases where no direct advance is charged for 
 the lunch, it leads directly to the purchasing of drinks which 
 would not otherwise be purchased, and is thus very, though 
 indirectly, profitable. 
 
 Some of the largest and most popular saloons in the large 
 cities set quite an elaborate "free" lunch of soups and meats, 
 and only charge ten cents for their drinks. And yet their 
 proprietors make fortunes, showing conclusively how much 
 "money" there is in the cursed "business." 
 
 I have calculated, that, on an average, ten " free lunches " 
 will not consume over twenty-five cents' worth of provisions at 
 
292 TEE "CORDIAL" DODGE. 
 
 actual cost, an item which bears a very small proportion indeed 
 to the money they expend in liquors and cigars. 
 
 I have also calculated, and I think I am correct in my calcu- 
 lations, that at least twice as many people are induced to drink 
 by a " free " lunch as would otherwise be led to partake. So 
 that, taken altogether, a free lunch is one of the most profitable, 
 as it is popular, of rum-sellers , dodges. 
 
 Let a poor devil who really needs a lunch, try to get a really 
 "free" lunch at one of these saloons, and see how he will fare. 
 Let him eat and not drink, and see how he will be treated — 
 or maltreated. 
 
 This whole "free-lunch" business is a delusion, a sham, and 
 a snare ; and, as "one who knows," I expose and protest against 
 it. 
 
 And quite as pernicious a snare, and quite as thorough and 
 paltry a shame, is the " cordial " dodge. " Bitters " so called, 
 " tonics " and " cordials " so styled, are kept " in stock " in all 
 the rum-shops ; and men, who ought to know better, ease their 
 consciences by partaking of these compounds, thinking, or pre- 
 tending to think, that they are not, thereby, "drinking," — in 
 the intoxicating or intemperate sense of that term. 
 
 And not a few men, and some women, partake freely of these 
 cordials at their offices or homes, who, claim to be "temperance " 
 men and women. And yet all these "bitters," "cordials," 
 tonics, and the like, contain a very large per cent of alcohol, 
 and will as assuredly intoxicate as alcohol itself. 
 
 The imbiber of "bitters," etc., does but deceive himself, — if 
 he does even that ; he certainly does not deceive the world at 
 large, which by this time has found out what these "bitters," 
 etc., really are ; he does but add the vice of hypocrisy or 
 deceit to the vice of intemperance. 
 
 But, of course, I was not burdened with these reflections at 
 the time of which I write : and I displayed a fine assortment 
 
THE "DECOY-BOTTLE" TRICK. 293 
 
 of " bitters," cordials, and the like, to my customers ; though 
 I seldom partook of them myself, preferring " to take my whis- 
 key straight." All this time I drank heavily, of course ; but, 
 even in my drinking, I resorted to stratagem, — the usual rum- 
 sellers' stratagem. I was asked, during an average day and 
 night, to drink so often with my customers (invitations which, 
 of course, I could not disregard in the way of ''business"), 
 that I would assuredly have been drunk all the time, and un- 
 able to attend to business, had I not resorted to the familiar 
 " decoy-bottle " trick. I had a bottle of cider, or very diluted 
 spirits, sometimes of colored lemonade, constantly on hand; 
 which bottle was labelled whiskey or brandy, and passed as 
 such. When invited to "drink," I would help myself from 
 this bottle, helping my friend and patron from another bottle, 
 and charging both drinks to him ; thus combining pleasure, 
 profit, and humbug. 
 
 I still retained, and, in fact, gained in, the personal "popu- 
 larity" to which I have already alluded; and, even making 
 allowances for the times when I resorted to my "decoy" bottle, 
 I was one of the best, or worst, customers of my own bar. I 
 paid my victims at least the poor compliment of often partaking 
 with them the poison I offered to them. And occasionally I 
 would neglect my saloon and its interests altogether for days 
 at a time, trusting my business to my subordinates, and con- 
 centrating my energies on having a wild debauch with some 
 boon companions. 
 
 Returning from one of these debauches, in the course of 
 which I had visited the metropolis, and had not drawn a sober 
 breath between New York and Boston, I found that several of 
 my regular customers had, as it were, taken possession of my 
 saloon ; having, in friendly fashion, overpowered the bar-keeper 
 I had left in charge, and literally "helped themselves." 
 
 I found bar-keeper and patrons alike in a state of intoxi- 
 
294 SATAN'S CARNIVAL. 
 
 cation; high carnival being in progress, — Satan's carnival. 
 Some men were sleeping their liquor off on my sofas : others 
 were stretched, rolling, upon the floor. At first I was in- 
 clined to be enraged with my bar-keeper, and cross with my 
 customers, who had thus violated all the " customs " of saloon- 
 life, "running the saloon themselves." But I was too "far 
 gone " myself to find fault with others for being in a similar 
 condition. So, after the first emotions of surprise and anger 
 had passed, I entered into the spirit and spirits of the scene, 
 and intensified the debauch and disorder instead of ending it. 
 
 I invited all hands to "make a night of it," a proposal which 
 was hailed with yells of delight by all those who were still 
 capable of comprehending it, and I must confess that I was 
 myself somewhat surprised to find how many of those present 
 did " comprehend " it thoroughly. 
 
 One man, whom I thought was buried in a drunken sleep 
 upon the floor, heard my proposition, and awoke with amazing 
 alacrity. I don't suppose that any other possible proposition 
 would have awoke him then, but a proposition to drink more 
 at somebody else's expense. 
 
 Another man, who had been tossing about on a lounge in 
 a corner, and who, I thought, was in the last stage of debauch, 
 immediately ceased tossing, and arose, and walked to the bar 
 with alacrity, calling for a " free " drink, in practical indorse- 
 ment of my proposition. 
 
 My suggestion was carried, as they say, viva voce, nem. con. 
 So we did " have a night of it " indeed. Pouring out my 
 best, and worst, for the delectation and destruction of my com- 
 pany, I led the way into the streets with a wild " hurrah," 
 which was echoed by the crowd. We perpetrated all sorts of 
 pranks, terrified decent people out of their wits, and had what is 
 styled "a high old time " generally. One of our number con- 
 ceived a deep, desperate attachment to a lamp-post, clung to it 
 
GIVING A LAMP-POST TAFFY. 295 
 
 closely and tenderly, and could not be torn from it. He kissed 
 it with drunken fervor, called it u pet names," and, what I have 
 never seen or heard done before or since, " gave the lamp-post 
 taffy" — talked to the lamp-post just as a young man would to 
 the girl he was courting on a Sunday night. 
 
 Longfellow says somewhere, "Affection never was wasted ; " 
 but then, Longfellow, poor fellow ! had never seen a fellow- 
 making love to a lamp-post. 
 
 What became of us all that night I cannot, to this day, 
 distinctly remember, but I do distinctly remember, to this 
 hour, what a terrible headache I had next day, and how 
 fearfully I paid for that debauch by shattered nerves and 
 disordered system for days afterward. 
 
 From the date of this debauch I became demoralized ; spree 
 succeeded spree , I neglected my business, not only occasion- 
 ally, but altogether, and soon was "ruined," not only as a 
 man, but as a rum-seller. 
 
 I had no longer any saloon to keep, or rum to sell. On 
 account of my excesses, I was compelled to give up business ; 
 or, rather, my business gave up me. And after a campaign of 
 about six months against the pocket-books, health, and mor- 
 als of my fellow-men, "Othello's occupation w T as gone," and 
 I was a bankrupt, and once more without a business. 
 
 Had I now received my deserts, I would have been per- 
 mitted, through my own wickedness and recklessness, to go 
 from one excess into another, and to go down at last into a 
 drunkard's grave ; but, through the mercy of Providence, my 
 evil career did not produce upon me a fatal result. 
 
 In this dark hour kind friends, far kinder than I deserved, 
 gathered round me, taking pity upon one who had no pity 
 for himself or others. My brothers still clung to me : a good 
 home was even now placed at my disposal. Nay, my excep- 
 tional good luck went still farther : and although I had wasted, 
 
296 ONE MORE CHANCE. 
 
 as has been seen, one large sum of money placed at my com- 
 mand unexpectedly by one friend; yet I now came across 
 still another party, who had faith in my business capacity, 
 and who once more offered to start me in business. Other 
 parties sustained my new, or, rather, my old, friend and well- 
 wisher in his offer ; and I found, that, with all my dissipations, 
 I yet retained the confidence of a certain number of my fel- 
 low-men, who were willing to aid me by every means in their 
 power. And, really, I could have been a good manager, and 
 a successful business-man, had not that terrible blight of in- 
 temperance settled over me j but that destroyed all. 
 
 My kind friends determined to give me one more chance ; 
 and, more money being placed at my disposal, I opened a 
 hotel. I leased the estate of the late Samuel Piper, Esq., 
 the extensive coal-dealer of Boston, at 21 South Street in 
 that city, and, fitting up the establishment as a hotel and 
 restaurant, called it " The New- York House." The house 
 was of only moderate size ; but I made my calculations for 
 profit upon my dining-room and restaurant, and my " meals " 
 would have paid me had I properly attended to them and 
 to business. But I opened a " sideboard " (another name 
 for a "bar"), and soon became the most constant customer 
 of that portion of the establishment. 
 
 At first my trade more than equalled the expectations of 
 my friends : business was " rushing," and I employed a num- 
 ber of colored waiters. I made money from the very start, 
 but, alas ! my money did me more harm than good. I became 
 careless, reckless, dissipated once more, and more than ever. 
 Not only was my business " rushing," but I was " rushing " 
 to perdition. I gave no attention to the affairs of the house, 
 and frequently would stagger into the dining-room, at meal- 
 times, in a maudlin condition. This misbehavior naturally 
 offended my guests, and their number began to diminish , 
 
A DEBAUCH. 297 
 
 while all discipline and comfort in the house were at an 
 end. 
 
 Then I began to absent myself from the place, — took to 
 "spreeing around," as it is termed, and made myself locally 
 conspicuous by my excesses. Frequently I would start off 
 from my house to do my daily marketing, leaving word with 
 the steward or head-waiter that I would return in, say, an 
 hour; as I then would really intend. But meeting, on the way 
 to or from market, with some "boon" companion, whose so- 
 ciety was the very reverse of a " boon " to me, we would begin 
 to drink at the nearest bar-room, and would keep drinking, at 
 bar-room after bar-room, all that day maybe, — all that day 
 and night maybe, — and maybe for days and nights together. 
 
 Once, starting for market early one morning, I did not return 
 to my place for nearly two weeks. I met some foolish friends, 
 with time and money to waste , and we started on a debauch, 
 which, beginning in Boston, was carried all the way to New 
 York, where we remained the greater portion of the time. 
 
 What a fearful fortnight that was ! With what regret and 
 shame I look back upon it now ! We were none of us sober all 
 those long two weeks, and passed our time in sin of all descrip- 
 tions. Within the two weeks we broke, either directly or indi- 
 rectly, every one of the Ten Commandments. Beasts — self- 
 made human beasts — that we were, we wallowed in the mire. 
 And yet we were all full-grown men, — some even married 
 men, with sons and daughters, — men whose wives spent the 
 two weeks in sadly wondering and fearing what had become 
 of their husbands. 
 
 At last we returned, but in what a condition ! One of our 
 party was suffering from an attack of delirium tremens. I my- 
 self was bordering on the same. It had been a debauch, and 
 we had to pay the penalty. A debauch like this is one of the 
 most expensive things on earth, for it costs more than any man 
 
298 BEGINNING THE DAT WITH BRANDY. 
 
 can afford to pay. From that debauch matters grew steadily, 
 swiftly, worse and worse. I was going down hill now at rail- 
 road speed. My business decreased, and my dissipation in- 
 creased. I wats completely the slave of alcoholic liquor. My 
 colored porter (Allen W. Sawyer, afterwards employed by Dr. 
 Lighthill of Boston) was instructed to bring me brandy every 
 morning before I arose from bed. I began the day, not with 
 prayer, but brandy. What good could possibly come of a day 
 thus horribly begun? 
 
 One morning my porter forgot to bring my liquor. I 
 remained in bed for two hours, calling and cursing the delin- 
 quent. I was completely the slave of my depraved desire for 
 strong drink. When at last the porter appeared, I met him 
 with a volley of abuse. In fact, I abused everybody connected 
 with me, as is generally the case with drinking-men. There is 
 no such a creature as a "genial " hard-drinker. 
 
 Hard, constant drinking of alcoholic liquors so upsets the 
 nervous system as to render the drinker, if not mad, morose ; 
 he becomes unduly, unnaturally irritable , he becomes, not only 
 a pest to society, but a terror to his family and servants. 
 Though, when in my normal condition, a really kind-hearted 
 man, I became in my cups (and I was now always in my cups) 
 almost a fiend in my ill-temper, as, I fear, my poor porter, 
 Allen, who in his way was an honest, obliging fellow enough, 
 could testify. 
 
 Meanwhile, as my health declined, and my temper grew 
 worse, my pecuniary matters became more and more entangled. 
 My creditors were numerous by this time, and waxed impatient. 
 They put their claims into constables' hands to collect. The 
 State police made my acquaintance as an impecunious debtor, 
 — but a shade better than a defaulter. I could not meet my 
 obligations. At last the end came, as could have been expected 
 from such a beginning. The grand finale of my once prosper- 
 
RUM-SELLER'S MONEY. 299 
 
 ous hotel was an auction-sale of the chattels contained therein. 
 I was now literally houseless. I was turned out into the street. 
 Nay, let me write the simple truth. I had turned myself out 
 into the street. I had rendered myself homeless. Providence 
 had given me opportunity after opportunity. Friend after 
 friend had given me chance after chance, but in vain, — all 
 in vain. Rum had proved stronger than Providence or 
 friends. 
 
 Once more I began to realize that the way of the trans- 
 gressor and rum-seller and rum-drinker is hard. I became a 
 complete beggar. From comparative affluence I had sunk to 
 extreme poverty, and in less than two years. All the money I 
 had made by my cursed traffic in rum had done me no lasting 
 good. It had gone, as it came, with a curse. 
 
 And here let me remark, that experience and observation 
 have taught me that rum-sellers' money never comes to good. 
 It curses too many to be blessed itself. I have yet to learn of 
 a case in which a man who sold rum has reaped and kept a 
 fortune under such circumstances as to benefit himself. 
 
 True, he often makes a fortune, but it is sooner or later 
 wasted or lost. It never results in solid, lasting advantages to 
 its possessor or his family. Even in the very, very few cases 
 which serve as exceptions to prove this rule, it will be found 
 that some terrible misfortune has accompanied the pecuniary 
 benefits realized. 
 
 Of the five men, who are all the rum-sellers I have ever 
 known or heard of who have kept the money they made, four 
 have been cursed in ways unconnected with money, it is true, 
 but in such ways as to render their money worthless. One of 
 the five is a raving maniac in an asylum. Another is an im- 
 becile. A third is afflicted with a terrible and incurable ner- 
 vous disease, and the fourth has experienced every possible 
 variety of domestic misfortune. 
 
300 DISGRACED IN BOSTON. 
 
 " There's a Divinity which shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will." 
 
 I was now another example of the truth I have just been 
 stating and illustrating. Spite of all the money I had made 
 by sin, I was now not only a sinner, but a pauper. 
 
 I had been poor before this, when, on my Western trip, I 
 had scarcely managed to keep soul and body together ; and it 
 was rum had ruined me then. I had returned to the East 
 once more, and had prospered, in a worldly point of view, for 
 a season ; but I was now again prostrated, and rum had ruined 
 me again. Disgraced in Boston, I turned my rum-reddened 
 eyes in the direction of New York. The railroad-pass business 
 was now at an end with me. I had exhausted all my influence 
 in that direction. But I managed to borrow ten dollars from 
 a friend (the last of the friends I had left in Boston), and with 
 that money purchased a ticket for New York. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A BROKEN PROMISE AND A BROKEN-HEARTED BROTHER. — LIQUOR BRINGS 
 ITS REVENGE. — THE HORRORS OF MANIA A POTU, OR DELIRIUM TRE- 
 MENS. — SOME CURIOUS AND STARTLING FACTS. — HOW I FELT AND WHAT 
 I SUFFERED. —MY ADVENTURES AND FOLLIES. — I BECAME " A TRAMP." 
 — STATION-HOUSE LODGERS AND REVOLVERS. 
 
 New York once more. The wheel of fortune had turned 
 around ; and again I was a castaway in a great city, alone, — 
 a wanderer over the face of the earth. But I did not repent 
 me of my folly : my time for true repentance had not yet come. 
 I only drank. I did not think. And will it be believed? I 
 absolutely spent the greater part of the balance of the ten dol- 
 lars loaned me to come to New York on, — the only money I 
 had in the world just then, — in rum. 
 
 Then, with only two dollars between me and starvation, I 
 went round, in a mechanical sort of a way, seeking employment. 
 But by this time being well known to be a confirmed drunk- 
 ard, and bearing the evidences of my bad habits with me in 
 my general appearance, and my breath, I failed, and was re- 
 duced to literally my last dollar, soon to my last half-dollar ; 
 and a half-dollar does not go very far in New York. 
 
 Had I been punished as I richly deserved, I would have 
 been, at this crisis of my fate, abandoned by the kind Provi- 
 dence that had hitherto watched over me. and allowed to drain 
 the cup of misery and starvation to its dregs. But yet another 
 chance was to be offered to me, and abused by me. 
 
 At this time, when every penny was valuable to me, nay, 
 
 301 
 
302 A BROKEN PROMISE. 
 
 vital, I received, in the most unexpected manner, from a party 
 I most unexpectedly met, a hundred dollars. And then my 
 dear, good brother William, at my urgent solicitation, know- 
 ing that I understood thoroughly the restaurant business, and 
 having faith in the promises I now made to attend to it, loaned 
 me some money himself, and borrowed some more money for 
 my use from others ; and thus once more I had a start in life. 
 My brother had solemnly exacted from me a pledge, before he 
 let me have the money, that under no circumstances would I 
 hereafter touch liquor, or sell it. I gave the required pledge, 
 and, to do myself but justice, gave it in good faith. At the 
 time I really never intended — just then — ever to taste or 
 deal in rum again. 
 
 My brother had faith in my word, and joyfully assisted me to 
 start on a new career of industry and sobriety. What with 
 some cash and some credit, I obtained quite a stock of goods 
 and furniture, and opened a restaurant at 144 Bleecker Street. 
 This restaurant I christened " The St. Lawrence," in honor of 
 the noble river on whose banks I first saw the light of day. 
 And for a time the establishment did well, and promised to do 
 better. Alas ! it probably would have fulfilled its promise 
 better than I kept mine. 
 
 For in an evil, ill-omened hour, I deceived my noble, gener- 
 ous, confiding brother. I listened to the bad advice of a dis- 
 solute companion, and introduced liquor on my premises, first 
 secretly, then openly, as an article of traffic. In short, my 
 restaurant became, what too many restaurants already are, a 
 drin king-saloon, a cursed rum-shop. 
 
 The fatal consequences of this foolish and vile course of 
 procedure soon became apparent, chiefly in my own person. 
 As usual, I became the most frequent and steady customer of 
 my own bar ; and the same evil results followed that had at- 
 tended me before. I took to hard drinking. My place became 
 
A " SPECIAL CURSE " OF INTEMPERANCE. 303 
 
 a resort for hard drinkers. I was seen, in business hours and 
 in business places, drunk. 
 
 The news reached the ears, and was brought before the very 
 eyes, of my creditors, — of the parties who, on my own and my 
 brother's representations of my sobriety, had let me have goods 
 or furniture. Finding themselves deceived, the parties who 
 still owned the goods (as I had not paid for them), and the 
 furniture-dealers, came, and took their property away. In less 
 than three weeks after its opening, my restaurant, or saloon, 
 was closed. Such was the end of my third, and, as it proved, 
 my last, rum-shop. And I now thank Heaven that it ended 
 so. It was fitting that all such undertakings should terminate 
 in bringing upon themselves, what they bring upon others, 
 — disaster. 
 
 But, alas ! my kind, my trusting, my deceived, brother, he 
 suffered through my folly and sin, he was blamed by those to 
 whom he had made pledges for me ; and, worst of all, he was 
 grieved to the heart, alike at my intemperance and my deceit. 
 Poor fellow ! he had trusted me so, and had hoped in me so. 
 And now — 
 
 Poor, dear, kind-hearted, truly Christian brother! he was 
 brought to his bed by combined chagrin, anxiety, and disappoint- 
 ment. He had not been in robust health for some time, and 
 his trouble intensified his physical complaints. He was taken 
 with a severe attack of low typhoid fever, and for a while 
 serious consequences were anticipated. A very serious conse- 
 quence, indeed, did follow. Being, through grief and sickness, 
 unable to attend to his business, another person was employed 
 to do his necessary work ; and thus my ever temperate brother, 
 through his devotion to a drunkard, lost his place. 
 
 It is one of the special curses of intemperance, to bring sor- 
 row upon the innocent as well as guilty. Those who do not 
 drink must suffer with those who do. The drunkard's wife and 
 
304 A DRUNKARD'S EOMCEOPATHT. 
 
 the drunkard's children are punished even more than the drunk- 
 ard : they have the shame and poverty and care to bear, without 
 experiencing the temporary exhilaration and excitement. My 
 poor brother was paying the penalty of my sins. 
 
 But he was avenged. For the sight of his sickness, and the 
 reflection that his misfortunes were caused by my worthlessness, 
 and the dark thoughts which now crowded upon me, as I saw 
 now what a rogue and fool alike I had been, under the damning 
 influence of drink, drove me, alas, alas ! to drink the more. 
 
 Strange, and terrible as strange, that drunkards should be 
 unconsciously such confirmed homoeopaths. It is the cardinal 
 doctrine of homoeopathy, that like cures like, that what causes 
 a disease can cure it ; and, with liquor, the drinking-man seems 
 to act upon this principle. Rum leads him to sorrow, and 
 sorrow leads him back to rum, in a species of endless chain of 
 luckless destiny. In his case this homoeopathy of rum is a 
 horrible mistake. I found it so ; for now the liquor, which had 
 time and time again brought me to poverty and disgrace, 
 brought me at last to that horror of horrors, called mania a potu, 
 or delirium tremens. 
 
 This term is of unfortunately frequent occurrence. It is seen 
 constantly in print nowadays. But few, save those who have 
 suffered from it, ever even faintly realize all that it implies. 
 
 I would to Heaven that I had the genius of a Dickens or 
 a Victor Hugo. For in that case I would pen-paint, as only a 
 Dickens or a Hugo could, the terrors of delirium tremens; 
 although I firmly believe, that even those great men, or men 
 equally great, would fail to adequately describe its fearful 
 agonies, unless they themselves had previously suffered them in 
 their own persons. 
 
 In many things, in most things, in this life, exaggeration is 
 possible, and in most cases does more harm than good. But 
 believe me, dear reader, in the case of mania a potu exaggera- 
 
A MAN WHO HAD " BEEN IN HELL " ALREADY. 305 
 
 tion is simply impossible, and entirely out of the question. I 
 have read various descriptions of it in romances, temperance 
 books, and medical journals, but I have never }'et read any 
 thing that conveys faithfully its horrors. I have even witnessed 
 an attempt to depict its agonies on the stage, — an attempt 
 made by a very clever actor; but it fell far short of the reality. 
 
 Oh ! if this book of mine should fail of every other effect 
 upon every other man, woman, or child, save the one effect 
 of keeping one human being free of delirium tremens, I would 
 gladly feel that it had not been written in vain. 
 
 It is recorded of a certain man, that he had been for years 
 an infidel, and had been particularly merry at the expense of the 
 orthodox idea of a place of torment. He had scoffed at the pos- 
 sibility of a hell, and had regarded his half-dozen or so argu- 
 ments against its existence as unanswerable. But one time he 
 suffered from an attack of delirium tremens ; and, from the date 
 of his recovery from this attack, he became a firm advocate of 
 Calvinism, and was one of the stanchest believers in the possi- 
 bility, nay, the actuality, of a hell. And he used to say, on the 
 subject being alluded to, that he had the strongest possible rea- 
 son for his change of belief; for he was wont to remark, allud- 
 ing to his sufferings in delirium tremens, " I have been in hell 
 already." 
 
 True, this tremens is "only a nervous" disorder: true, its 
 horrors exist only in the "imagination" of the sufferer. But 
 all this is merely a verbal description, a definition of a fact : 
 it does not alter or affect the fact itself in the slightest. The 
 mere explanation, that the tortures of mania a potu are self- 
 caused, are created by the very creature's acts who suffers from 
 them, does not change the quality or the quantity of these 
 tortures. 
 
 As a rule, the delirium tremens is immediately preceded by 
 an attack of what is familiarly and forcibly styled " the hor- 
 
306 " THE HORRORS." 
 
 rors." There never was a more appropriate name, — horrors 
 unutterable, the horror of horrors. There is no pain, no physi- 
 cal pain, accompanying these " horrors." They are only a de- 
 pression of all the vital forces at once, — a depression of all 
 the nervous, intellectual, and spiritual forces, an intense feeble- 
 ness and hopelessness and helplessness, a shrinking at, a loath- 
 ing of, every thing and everybody, especially one's own self. 
 A most " horrible " state indeed, which often impels the sin- 
 ning sufferer to suicide. 
 
 But these "horrors" are but the prelude to the terrors of 
 delirium. Bad as they are, they are only a negative state ; 
 whereas, in delirium itself, the terrors are active, abnormally, 
 awfully positive. 
 
 The stomach of the sufferer has become by this time coated 
 with, or, rather, the coat of the stomach has been burned away 
 by, alcohol ; he cannot eat ; he has lost all desire for food ; he 
 cannot retain food in his stomach ; while his poor, heated brain 
 becomes abnormally, awfully active. 
 
 The poor victim of alcoholic drink cannot find rest, even in 
 sleep ; he cannot sleep ; he is as wide awake at midnight as 
 at mid-day; he is restless, — abnormally, awfully restless; he 
 cannot keep still; his muscles are twitching ceaselessly; his 
 body is as wildly active in a diseased way as his mind; he 
 talks incessantly. 
 
 And at last he goes alcohol-mad, liquor-insane. This alco- 
 hol-madness, this liquor-insanity, constitutes delirium tremens. 
 
 During this madness the appearance of the sufferer is fright- 
 ful. His eyes glare wildly, his body quivers, his hands trem- 
 ble, his legs writhe. He is in a constant state of agitation, or 
 shaking : hence the vulgar but expressive term applied to the 
 fearful phenomenon, "the shakes." 
 
 But his inward state is far more fearful than its outward 
 manifestations. He literally suffers the agonies of the dammed. 
 
A PEN-PICTURE OF DELIRIUM TREMENS. 307 
 
 That phrase sums up the situation. I could say no more if I 
 used words for a week. 
 
 Some years ago an artist died in the city of Philadelphia 
 from an attack of mania a potu. In the earlier stage of his 
 attack, before he became utterly unmanageable, he seized his 
 brush and canvas, and depicted some of the awful objects 
 which filled his sphere of vision. That canvas is now in the 
 possession of a physician in Philadelphia, and far surpasses in 
 sublimity of agony and terror any illustration of Dante's " In- 
 ferno " or " Paradise Lost " by Gustave Dore*. 
 
 A writer for the public press, a New- York journalist, was 
 once self-driven to delirium tremens. After his recovery he 
 wrote an article descriptive of the vagaries of his imagination 
 during his delirium. In his article he says, "When I stretched 
 myself on my bed, and closed my eyes, and willed, with all my 
 power of will, to sleep, lo ! I would feel myself dragged down 
 — down — down — to infinite depths of utter darkness at in- 
 finite speed. Then, when I raised myself on my bed, and sat 
 wide awake, lo ! I would feel myself lifted upwards, carried 
 up — up — up — into space, as it were, by the hands of fiends, 
 with devilish rapidity ; and, whether I was rising or falling, 
 I would see, — I would be compelled to see, — ever rising or 
 falling with me, and ever hissing in my ears, and ever darting 
 before my eyes, a hideous snake, which never left me for three 
 days and nights, which seemed three eternities of torture." 
 After such an experience as this, is it any wonder that the 
 journalist, when he came to his senses, abjured liquor, as a 
 cursed thing, forever. And would to God that all who have 
 sinned and suffered like him would, like him, abjure forever 
 after the cursed cause of their sins and sufferings ! 
 
 Rut — and perhaps this is the most terrible fact about delir- 
 ium tremens — men have been known to recover from the effects 
 of an attack of mania a potu, and yet deliberately set to work — 
 
308 A VISIONARY MENAGERIE. 
 
 or to drink — to invite and bring on another attack. Is this 
 sheer deviltry, or absolute insanity, or both? 
 
 Alas ! I have been in my own person an example of this 
 " sheer deviltry M and "absolute insanity" combined; for, as the 
 reader will see, I have at different periods of my career been 
 a self-devoted victim to the unutterable horrors of delirium 
 tremens. 
 
 This, my first attack, was very severe. As I lay in my bed 
 I saw horrid, scowling faces of lions, tigers, and bears on the 
 walls of my room. I was surrounded day and night by a vis- 
 ionary menagerie more extensive and more varied and more 
 fierce than Barnum's ; for, in my case, the wild beasts were loose^ 
 and had no keepers. 
 
 And ever and anon, amid the howling, raging beasts, would 
 appear the form of some blood-red devil, crying out, — I heard 
 the words distinctly : I can hear them in my memory yet, — 
 " Drink rum, and die, you scoundrel ! " Then the blood-red 
 demon would gaze at me with an infernal sneer, that would 
 have made the fame and fortune of any Mephistopheles upon 
 the stage. And then he would vanish, only to be succeeded 
 by some other more infernal monster. And T, poor I ! would 
 shrink and shudder with an anguish that can never be told 
 before their burning gaze. Yes, there was a hell. Hell was 
 around me, and I was in it. The cold sweat would start from 
 every pore, and I would vainly but fervently pray for death. 
 And yet I lived, ay, lived to deliberately resuffer these horrors, 
 and re-create them. 
 
 God have mercy on us ! We are indeed fearfully and won- 
 derfully made. 
 
 At last I recovered from my delirium, though with broken 
 health and shattered nervous system, and once more faced the 
 material necessities of life and poverty. 
 
 And once more the ever-bountiful Providence, which had 
 
ANOTHER CHANCE SPOILED. 309 
 
 so generously given me opportunity after opportunity which 
 I had wasted, allowed me one opportunity the more. 
 
 A kind friend, who had aided me pecuniarily in Boston, now 
 came to my help here in New York, and loaned me money 
 wherewith to sublet a furnished house at 27 West Fourth Street, 
 next door to the private office of the famous Commodore 
 Vanderbilt, whom I occasionally saw entering or leaving his 
 office. I envied the sturdy old commodore his wealth, but even 
 more I envied him his health; forgetting that the health, as 
 w T ell as the wealth, w 7 as but the natural result of the veteran's 
 constant and undeviating attention, alike to the laws of busi- 
 ness and the body. Whatever else he was or was not, it will 
 not be denied that Commodore Vanderbilt was always " good 
 to himself." All the Vanderbilts are famous for being " good 
 to themselves." But a drunkard never can be "good to him- 
 self" or to anybody else. 
 
 For a period, while the awful experience of my delirium 
 was still fresh upon me, I refrained from drink, and really tried 
 to attend to business. But the scheme of subletting the fur- 
 nished house in Fourth Street did not prove remunerative. 
 So I changed my locality, and with the aid of the kind friend, 
 who still adhered to me, hired another furnished house at 130 
 Adams Street, Brooklyn. 
 
 Would you believe it? Alas! who would believe it, except- 
 ing those who know what intemperance is, and human nature? 
 By this time I had forced myself to forget temporarily the 
 horrors of mania a potu, and had taken to drinking heavily 
 again. 
 
 The inevitable result followed. The house in Brooklyn had 
 to be given up in less than a month ; and I was literally " in 
 the street" again, having lost all my chances and all my friends. 
 A man cannot go on having chances and spoiling them, having 
 friends and abusing their friendship, forever. This was my 
 
310 IN A "STATION-HOUSE" FOR SHELTER. 
 
 last speculation. I had no further chances or friends or cash 
 or credit to speculate with now. To use the common expres- 
 sion, "I had come to the end of my rope." Perhaps the horrors 
 of the extreme poverty I now experienced saved me from the 
 even worse horrors of another attack of mania a potu, a second 
 case of which I would probably have experienced if I had 
 had money or credit enough now to get at the liquor. But, 
 although perforce saved from the terrors of delirium, I came 
 very near to undergoing the terrors of absolute starvation. I 
 passed many a day without tasting food, save a stray bite now 
 and then, such as a wandering dog might procure prowling 
 around the streets. Indeed, just at this time I was more like a 
 dog than a human being. I had acted like a beast, and it was 
 but just that I should be treated as a beast. 
 
 Oh the agonies and oh the shame of this terrible period 
 of my life ! This homeless, friendless, moneyless, hopeless, 
 period of my career ! All day long I tramped, tramped, tramped, 
 without a purpose in tramping , and all night long I tramped, 
 tramped, tramped, because I had nowhere to go except the 
 station-houses ; and even my tramp's soul revolted at sleeping 
 in them with the wretches that used them as a night's resort. 
 
 I had applied once to a station-house for shelter : but, after 
 undergoing a terribly humiliating questioning by the police- 
 official, I found myself herded with such a set of foul and 
 filthy wretches, — as foul in mind as filthy in body, — that I got 
 up from the floor on which I had thrown myself for a short 
 sleep, necessitated by the fatigues I had experienced (it was 
 my first sleep for forty-eight hours), and walked away, out 
 into the wet night; preferring the inclement weather to the 
 human race, or such a portion of it as slept in the station- 
 houses. 
 
 Night-life in a station-house or police-station is a prominent, 
 or at least striking, feature of city existence, especially of New- 
 
"STATION-HOUSE LODGERS." 311 
 
 York city-life. As a journalist remarked in an elaborate article 
 on this subject, " This variety of existence illustrates some of 
 the most tragic and some of the most comic features imagina- 
 ble i" and he is correct. I have subsequently examined curi- 
 ously the records of some of the station-houses, and have 
 found the particulars, among others, of the following cases. 
 They will fully illustrate the subject, and will point the moral, — 
 the ever old, the ever new, moral, — that the love of liquor, 
 even more than the love of money, is the root of all evil. 
 
 An old woman by the name of Carson, seventy-two years of age, 
 with gray hair, but comparatively hale and hearty, has been fre- 
 quently arrested at the request of her own son, and brought to the 
 station. She was constantly roaming the streets as a vagrant, obtain- 
 ing money, getting drunk with it, and then coming home, and heating 
 her husband, who was partially insane. The old woman resisted the 
 oflicers of the law with all her might, and was obliged to be carried 
 to her cell by the main force and joint efforts of three policemen ; 
 her son standing by and looking on all the while. This unfortunate 
 was the mother of ten children, and was, w r hen sober, a respectable 
 personage ; but then, she was seldom sober. 
 
 Another sad case was that of Susan Anthony (no connection what- 
 ever of, or relation to, the distinguished Susan B. Anthony) , a young 
 and rather pretty female, who is in the habit of indulging in periodical 
 spells of vagrancy. During these " attacks " she invariably becomes 
 grossly intoxicated, and then goes home to her mother, a quiet, timid 
 old lady, abuses her dreadfully, and even threatening her life. She 
 has been taken to the station-house repeatedly, and at last was sent 
 to the Island. 
 
 Among the ;t funny M cases recorded is that of a notorious female 
 beggar and vagrant, who was arrested for drunkenness, and taken to 
 the station-house. She remained there for several days and nights ; 
 and though she was thoroughly searched, and no bottle with liquor 
 of any description found in her possession, and although no spirits 
 were allowed to reach her from any outside source whatever, still the 
 
312 THE " VAGRANT" DOCTOR. 
 
 woman remained as drunk as when she was first arrested : or, if there 
 was any change in her condition, it was that she was drunker than 
 ever. Who could explain the mystery? Certainly, the police could 
 not. Was this a new and inexplicable spiritual phenomenon? Who 
 could tell ? A dozen hypothesis were started ; but there was only 
 one thing certain, and that was the fact of the woman's seemingly 
 endless drunkenness. At last a light dawned : a brilliant idea 
 flashed across the brain of the sergeant of the ward. He called a 
 woman to his aid, and suggested his idea. The female friend as- 
 sumed the task proposed. She proceeded, not only to search thor- 
 oughly the clothes of the drunken creature (which had been previously 
 attempted), but to strip her entirely, and examine her person; and 
 then, and not till then, was the mystery explained. A gin-bottle, 
 now nearly empty, was found suspended from her waist by a string, 
 which had been, during the search by the officers, concealed between 
 her limbs, and had thus escaped detection. The bottle being re- 
 moved, its owner soon recovered. 
 
 Another case to which we can but briefly allude is, that one of the 
 most eminent physicians of this city, who, though enjoying a lucra- 
 tive practice, indulges in liquor to excess, aud has often been found 
 lying in the street-gutters late at night, and been arrested as a 
 vagrant. One morning, after passing a night in the station-house, 
 the doctor, who was then unknown to the officers, having been taken 
 in his torn and muddy clothes to the magistrate, fined and repri- 
 manded, was discharged. Going from the court- room, he saw a 
 carriage with a coachman in livery, and two fashionably dressed ladies 
 within it. Without more ado, the doctor walked to the carriage, and 
 endeavored to get into it. The policeman, astonished, endeavored to 
 prevent him, when lo and behold! to the policeman's unutterable 
 surprise, the ladies sweetly smiled upon the supposed vagrant ; and 
 'the liveried coachman informed the officer u that it was all right." 
 This was the doctor's carriage, and that was the doctor. 
 
 A great number of the beggars are vagrants, and lodge regularly 
 in the station-houses. When asked for their names, they generally 
 give fictitious ones ; and, when requested to state where they live, 
 
A HUMAN "REVOLVER." 313 
 
 they do not say, what is the truth, that they have no home (for in 
 this case they would be liable to arrest as vagrants, and would be 
 sent to the Island), but answer that they live in Brooklyn, or Ilobo- 
 ken, or some kindred locality, which is too distant to reach that night, 
 and so forth. They are searched before being taken to the sleeping 
 apartments, but they often contrive to secrete spirits or tobacco ; and, 
 as they are almost without exception dirty and diseased, they are 
 a very disagreeable addition to any house whatever, even though it 
 be but a station-house. Committing them as vagrants does no good 
 whatever ; for the Island and the Almshouse are so full that they 
 cannot be there accommodated, and so they return after a few days' 
 commitment to their old round of the stations. But there is one 
 matter I would respectfully suggest to the proper city authorities ; 
 and this is, the erection of suitable buildings for the accommodation 
 of vagrants outside of the limits of the station-houses ; so that the 
 regular members of the police-force — a respectable class of men — 
 shall not be compelled to live in such unpleasant proximity to the 
 very vilest of the refuse of New York. 
 
 There are depths even in absolute degradation and wretch- 
 edness ; and. I feel grateful, that, even amid all the shames and 
 sorrows of the time of which I write, I never sunk so low as 
 to become a regular station-house lodger, a " revolver " as it 
 is called, — a human " revolver," — a so-called human being 
 " revolving " at nights from one station-house to another. 
 
 But Heaven knows I was low enough ; my only hope being, 
 to watch for a chance to do some " chores " for a bite of cold 
 meat or bread, or, alas ! to sweep out some cheap groggery for 
 a glass of rum. 
 
 This sort of thing could not have lasted much longer with 
 me. Fatigue, famine, and exposure would, in a few days and 
 nights more, have finished me, when I stumbled across some 
 men who had known me in my prosperity ; and the contrast 
 between my appearance now and my appearance then struck 
 
314 THE INEBRIATE ASYLUM. 
 
 them so forcibly, that, taking care of me temporarily, and con- 
 sulting with my relatives, it was finally determined to send me 
 to the Inebriate Asylum on Ward's Island, a plan to which 
 I heartily assented. I did not expect to be really cured of my 
 desire for liquor. I did not even, so degraded had I become, 
 desire to be cured of my desire. But at least I would have 
 food and shelter. I would not be a vagrant and a tramp any 
 longer. So I gladly accepted the kind offer of my former 
 friends and associates, and pretended the necessary contrition 
 for the past, and the expected determination to reform in the 
 future. And having been applied for under a fictitious name, — 
 the only time I ever accepted a fictitious name, save when I 
 visited pawn-shops, — and a month's pay having been handed 
 over for my board in advance, I found myself an inmate of 
 the Inebriate Asylum " on the Island." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "ON THE ISLAND." — THE PENITENTIARY. — THE ALMSHOUSE AND THE 
 HOUSE OF REFUGE. — "RUM DOES IT." — LIGHTS AND SHADES OF THE 
 LUNATIC ASYLUM. — " ISLAND " NOTORIETIES. — A VAIN ATTEMPT TO 
 CURE THE DRINKING-HABIT. — NEW YORK AND RUM ONCE MORE. 
 
 " The Islands," used in the New- York-municipality's meaning 
 of the words, embrace some of the finest portions of that vast 
 collection and aggregation of land, buildings, and humanity 
 known as New York. Had the original owners of " the 
 Islands," Ward, Randall, etc., after whom they are named, 
 been gifted with what the Germans style u far sight," they 
 never would have parted with their lands at the comparatively 
 small prices which they did. And, had the city of New York 
 been truly wise, it would never have surrendered its fairest 
 possessions to the exclusive use of paupers, criminals, inebriates, 
 and lunatics. Think what those islands would have been 
 worth, cash down, to the Wards and Randalls to-day. Think 
 what a magnificent series of public parks these islands would 
 have formed. And yet perhaps it is a fortunate dispensation 
 of Providence, that the " poor devils " of the New-York com- 
 munity are permitted, under the existing order of things, to 
 enjoy the unrivalled location of these islands ; for it is about 
 the only thing left them to enjoy. 
 
 The three islands, Blackwell's, Ward's and Randall's, in the 
 Fast River, are among the most justly noticeable features of 
 the metropolis, and offer many attractions to the visitor, as 
 well as present much material for the thoughtful observer. 
 
 315 
 
316 THE NEW-YORK PENITENTIARY. 
 
 One of the buildings on BlackwelFs Island is the most be- 
 neficently terrible place in America. I allude to the small-pox 
 hospital. While the charity hospital is one of the largest and 
 best-conducted institutions in the world, one of the many 
 charities which constitute the true boast of New York. And 
 back of this magnificent charity hospital stands that gloomy 
 and massive structure, the New-York Penitentiary, where, alas ! 
 although there are many sinners and sufferers, I fear there are 
 but few M penitents." 
 
 The prisoners in the penitentiary are divided into classes, 
 according to their offences, and, though amenable to the same 
 laws and discipline, work in separate gangs, and mess sep- 
 arately. They are under the control of heavily armed keepers, 
 whose will is indeed law. At six o'clock the prisoners are 
 paraded to roll-call. At half-past six they have their " break- 
 fast" of dry bread and a bowl of coffee; and then they are 
 portioned off to a day's hard toil, — some to the blacksmith's, 
 carpenter's, tailor's, and weaver's shops ; some to labor in the 
 gardens and fields, and the rest to the quarries; the female 
 prisoners being occupied in the sewing-room, in the brush- 
 manufactory, in washing clothes, or in scrubbing and chamber- 
 work. The majority of the prisoners are committed for assault 
 and battery or for larceny, for terms varying from one month 
 to four years. The drunkards, vagrants, and disorderly charac- 
 ters, are sent to the workhouse ; while those committed for 
 graver offences are destined for Sing-Sing prison. About 
 one-third of the prisoners at the penitentiary are of Irish 
 extraction ; not over one-tenth are German , and all, almost 
 without exception, are drinking, heavily drinking men. There 
 are vastly more male than female prisoners, and most of the male 
 prisoners are young. There is one fact, in this connection, highly 
 suggestive to the housekeepers of New York, — three-fourths of 
 the female prisoners are, or were, domestics, house-servants. 
 
THE PUBLIC INSTITUTIONS. 317 
 
 At twelve o'clock the prisoners " dine " on a can of soup, a 
 plate of meat, and ten ounces of bread. At five they have 
 what serves for supper ; and at six — or five-thirty — they are 
 locked in their narrow cells for the night. These cells are 
 comparatively clean, but positively small, — too small for any 
 human being, even if a prisoner, to pass half his time in them. 
 
 On Sundays the men and women are confined in their cells 
 all day, save when led to chapel. Their Sundays are the only 
 idle and the most lonely and dismal days of the week, and 
 they consequently hate the very name of Sunday. Is there not 
 something wronor in a svstem like this? 
 
 The convicts have absolutely no privileges whatever. Their 
 lives have but three elements, — hard work ; harder loneliness; 
 and, hardest of all, monotony. 
 
 One text is practically carried out in this institution : " The 
 way of the transgressor is hard." But is there not a better 
 motto than this, which should be likewise practically illus- 
 trated ? — "It is never too late to mend." 
 
 Beyond the penitentiary stretch the almshouses. They are 
 highly spoken of, officially at least. No such horrors have 
 ever been perpetrated in them as Gov. Gen. Butler has un- 
 earthed at Tewksbury. 
 
 Attached to the almshouses are the hospitals for incurables, 
 fine institutions of their peculiar kind. 
 
 Connected with the almshouse management is the bureau 
 for the relief of the outdoor poor, which conducts its truly 
 benevolent and well-organized opera t inns through the entire 
 city of Xew York. 
 
 In the rear of the almshouse is the workhouse, about as 
 nearly perfect of its sort as can well be attained to in this 
 world. But the statistics connected with it are simply fright- 
 ful. Think of it. About twenty thousand persons are com- 
 mitted to this workhouse every year, ten days being the aver- 
 
318 RUM DOES IT. 
 
 age term* of commitment. Comparatively few committed are of 
 American birth. The majority are Irish and German, and 
 drunkenness is by far the chief cause of their commitment. 
 
 Yes, rum does it. Rum sends over eighteen thousand of 
 the twenty thousand to the workhouse. And it is rum that 
 chiefly serves to keep the penitentiary full. As in New York, 
 so in London, so in Paris, so in Boston, so in Philadelphia, so 
 everywhere else. It is rum, rum, rum, that fills the almshouses, 
 asylums, jails. It is rum, rum, rum, that makes men fools and 
 knaves. It is rum, rum, rum, that renders them idle, dissolute, 
 worthless, vicious, criminal, wretched. It is rum that has 
 always done it, it is rum that is doing it. And it is rum that 
 will continue to do it till there are no more rum-drinkers and 
 rum-sellers. 
 
 On Randall's Island stands the House of Refuge, — a very 
 handsome series of edifices, in the Italian style of .architecture. 
 
 The commissioners of public charities and correction, in one of 
 their recent reports, made the startling announcement, that there are 
 no less than sixty thousand children in the city of New York grow- 
 ing up in ignorance and idleness. These children, influenced from 
 their cradles by the most terrible surroundings, have no alternative 
 but to become beggars and thieves almost as soon as they can run 
 alone. Thousands of them are orphans, or perhaps worse ; for they 
 are often the children of parents, who, ignoring the laws of nature, 
 use them for the purpose of furthering their own vicious ends. They 
 live principally in a neighborhood which abounds in lodging-houses 
 for sailors, the lowest class of liquor-stores, dancing and concert 
 rooms, and various other low places of amusement, — a neighborhood 
 swarming with brothels, whose wretched inmates are permitted to 
 flaunt their sin and finery, and ply their hateful trade openly, by day 
 and night ; where at midnight the quarrels, fights, and disturbances 
 are so noisy and so frequent that none can hope for a night's rest 
 until they are inured by habit ; where, night after night, they witness 
 
THE HOUSE OF REFUGE. 319 
 
 the most desperate encounters between drunken men and women, 
 kicking, biting, and tearing one another's hair out, as they roll 
 together in the gutter, or, as is too often the case, using deadly weap- 
 ons ; and where the crowd, instead of interfering to stop these awful 
 scenes, stand by in a brutal enjoyment of them, abetting and encour- 
 aging the principal actors therein. And their homes, what are they? 
 Their fathers, often out of work, are unable to support their fami- 
 lies ; their clothes, their bedding, their furniture, all gone to the 
 pawn-shop ; father, mother, and children are often compelled to 
 sleep on the bare boards, huddling close together for warmth in one 
 ill-built, ill-ventilated room. Amid their misery, this neglect of the 
 common decencies of life, this unblushing effrontery of reckless vice 
 and crime, what chance have these poor, unhappy little children of 
 becoming decent members of society ? They are sickly from the want 
 of proper nourishment, vicious from example, ignorant because they 
 do not care to learn, and their parents take no trouble to compel 
 them to do so, and must inevitably grow up, only to swell the 
 already fearful sum-total of our criminal population. At ten the 
 boys are said to be thieves : at fifteen the girls are said to be all 
 prostitutes. 
 
 A system of State reformatories and State apprenticeships on an 
 extensive scale is the only way of grappling with this terrible state 
 of things. Such institutions as the House of Refuge on Randall's 
 Island have done and are doing much, but a dozen such institutions 
 might be established with advantage in the State of New York alone. 
 On Randall's Island the young criminal has the opportunity of ac- 
 quiring regular habits, and learning a useful trade. They are subject 
 to a humane, though strict discipline ; and a very large percentage, 
 especially of the boys, do undoubtedly become reformed. This 
 reformatory, a wise combination of school and prison, can accom- 
 modate one thousand inmates. There are at present about eight 
 hundred boys and one hundred and fifty girls on the register. The 
 boys' building is divided into two compartments : the first division, in 
 the one, is thus entirely separated from the second division, in the 
 other compartment. The second division is composed of those whose 
 
320 DETAILS OF "REFORMATORY" LIFE. 
 
 characters are decidedly bad, or whose offence was great. A boy 
 may, by good conduct, however, get promoted from the second into 
 the first division. As a rule, the second division are much older than 
 the first. Each division is divided into four grades. Every boy on 
 entering the Reformatory is placed in the third grade ; if he behaves 
 well, he is placed in the second in a week, and a month after in the 
 first grade ; if he continues in a satisfactory course for three months, 
 he is placed in the grade of honor, and wears a badge on his breast. 
 Every boy in the first division must remain six months, in the second 
 division twelve months in the first grade, before he can be indentured 
 to any trade. These two divisions are under the charge of twenty- 
 five teachers and twenty-five guards. At half -past six o'clock the 
 cells are all unlocked ; every one reports himself to the overseer, 
 and then goes to the lavatories •, at seven, after parading, they are 
 marched to the schoolrooms, to join in religious exercises for half an 
 hour ; at half-past seven they have breakfast, and at eight are told 
 off to the work-shops, where they remain till twelve, when they again 
 parade, previous to going to dinner. For dinner they have a large 
 plate of excellent soup, a small portion of meat, a small loaf of bread, 
 and a mug of water. At one o'clock they return to their work. 
 When they have completed their allotted task they are allowed to 
 play till four, when they have supper. At half-past four they go to 
 school, where they remain till eight o'clock, the time for going to bed. 
 Each boy has a separate cell, which is locked and barred at night. 
 The cells are in long, lofty, well-ventilated corridors ; each corridor 
 containing one hundred cells. The doors of the cells are all grated, 
 in order that the boys may have light and air, and also be under the 
 direct supervision of the officers, who, though very strict, apparently 
 know well how to temper strictness with kindness. Before going to 
 bed, half an hour is again devoted to religious exercises, singing 
 hymns, reading the Bible, etc. There is a large chapel, where the 
 services are conducted on Sunday ; the girls having the gallery to 
 themselves. There is, however, no Catholic service. This, surely, 
 is not right. At the Penitentiary on Black well's Island they have 
 service once a month for the Catholics. Of the six hundred and 
 
THE REFUGE " WORKSHOP." 321 
 
 eighty-two children committed from the courts during the year 18G7, 
 no less than four hundred and fourteen were Irish ; and, in all proba- 
 bility, a large proportion of these were Roman Catholics. Institutions 
 of this character should certainly be made as unseetarian as possible. 
 One of the most interesting, and, at the same time, one of the 
 most important, features of the Refuge, is the workshop. On enter- 
 ing the shop, the visitor is amused by finding a lot of little urchins 
 occupied in making ladies' hoop-skirts of the latest fashionable 
 design. Nearly a hundred are engaged in the crinoline department. 
 In the same long room, about fifty are weaving wire for sifting 
 cotton, making wire sieves, rat-traps, gridirons, flower-baskets, cattle- 
 noses, etc. The principal work, however, is carried on in the boot 
 and shoe department. The labor of the boys is let out to contract- 
 ors, who supply their own foremen to teach the boys and superintend 
 the work : but the society have their own men to keep order, and 
 correct the boys when necessary ; the contractors' men not being 
 allowed to interfere with them in any way whatever. There are five 
 hundred and ninety boys in this department. They manage, on an 
 average, to turn out about twenty-five hundred pairs of boots and 
 shoes daily, which are mostly shipped to the Southern States- Each 
 one has a certain amount of work allotted to him in the morning, 
 which he is bound to complete before four o'clock in the afternoon. 
 Some are quicker and more industrious than others, and will get their 
 work done by two o'clock ; this gives two hours' play to those in the 
 first division : the second division have to go to school, when they 
 have finished, till three o'clock ; they being allowed one hour only for 
 recreation. The authorities are very anxious to make arrangements 
 to have a government vessel stationed off the island, to be used as a 
 training-ship for the most adventurous spirits. If this design is 
 carried out. it will be a very valuable adjunct to the working of the 
 institution, and will enable the directors to take in many more boys, 
 without incurring the expense of extending the present buildings. 
 The girls are also employed in making hoop-skirts, in making clothes 
 for themselves and the bo} T s, in all sorts of repairing, in washing 
 linen, and in general housework. The girls are generally less tracta- 
 
322 "BAD BOYS." 
 
 ble than the boys : perhaps this is accounted for by their being older, 
 some of them being as much as five or six and twenty. The boys 
 average about thirteen or fourteen, the girls seventeen or eighteen, 
 years of age. Nearly two-thirds of the boys have been boot-blacks, 
 the remainder mostly what are technically known as "wharf-rats." 
 Some of them are now in the house for the third time. One, a lad 
 only fifteen years of age, has passed one year in a juvenile asylum, 
 four years in a reformatory, and is now at Randall's Island. Another 
 has been three times convicted of horse-stealing. He would, late at 
 night, ask permission to sleep in a stable. He is a complete cripple, 
 and by attracting sympathy his request was often granted. When 
 every one had left the place he would quietly open the door, and lead 
 out the horses. On each occasion that he was convicted he managed 
 to get off with three horses. Another little fellow, only six years 
 old. with a chum, broke into a pipe-store, and stole a hundred and 
 fifty meerschaum pipes : he was, however, detected while trying to dis- 
 pose of them. There is a colored lad, about eighteen, who is very 
 amusing. He is a great orator, and addresses the others on all 
 subjects, both general and political. On one occasion, when the 
 principal ventured to ask him whom lie had adopted as his model for 
 speaking, he grandly replied, " I will have you to know, sir, that I 
 am no servile imitator." Some of the boys cannot overcome their 
 thieving propensities, but will, even in the Refuge, purloin things that 
 can be of no earthly use to them, if they get the chance. They are 
 very quick and expert. Only a few days ago one of the boys fell 
 down in a fit in the schoolroom. Some of the others assisted the 
 teacher to carry him into the open air. The poor fellow had a collec- 
 tion of knick-knacks in one pocket, and about twenty penny-pieces in 
 the other ; but, during the moment that passed in carrying him out, 
 both pockets were emptied. The directors of the House of Refuge, 
 while having a due regard for the well-being of its inmates, very 
 properly take care that they are not so comfortable or so well fed as 
 to lead them to remain longer in the reformatory than necessary. As 
 soon as the boys appear to be really reformed, they are indentured 
 out to farmers and different trades. In the year 1867 no less than 
 
A DOUBLE " SECRET." 823 
 
 six hundred and thirty-three boys and a hundred and forty-six girls 
 were started in life in this way. Any person wishing to have a child 
 indentured to him, has to make a formal application to the committee 
 to that effect, at the same time giving references as to character, etc. 
 Inquiries are made ; and, if satisfactorily answered, the child is handed 
 over to his custody ; the applicant engaging to feed, clothe, and edu- 
 cate his young apprentice. The boy's new master has to forward a 
 written report to the officer, as to his health and general behavior 
 from time to time. If the boy does not do well, he is sent back to 
 the Refuge, and remains there till he is twenty-one years of age. 
 Most of the children, however, get on ; and many of them have 
 made for themselves respectable positions in society. The annals of 
 the society in this respect are very gratifying and interesting. Many 
 young men never lose sight of a refuge which rescued them in time 
 from a criminal life, and to which they owe almost their very exist- 
 ence. Instead of alternating between the purlieus of Water Street 
 and Sing Sing, they are, many of them, in a fair way to make a 
 fortune. One young man who was brought up there, and is now 
 thriving, lately called at the office to make arrangements for placing 
 his two } T ounger brothers in the house ; they having got into bad com- 
 pany since their father's death. A very remarkable occurrence took 
 place at the institution not long ago. A gentleman and his wife, 
 apparently occupying a good position in society, called at the Refuge, 
 and asked to be allowed to go over it. Having inspected the various 
 departments, just before leaving, the gentleman said to his wife, 
 " Now I will tell you a great secret. I was brought up in this place." 
 The lady seemed much surprised, and astounded all by quietly 
 observing, "And so was I." So strange are the coincidences of 
 human life ! 
 
 Among the other public institutions on Randall's Island 
 are the "Nurseries," the "Infant Hospital," and the "Idiot 
 Asylum," admirably conducted institutions all, reflecting credit 
 upon New York, and illustrating practical Christianity. And 
 then there is the insane asylum, located on Blackwell's Island, 
 
324 A MUCH-MABRIED WIDOW AND GINGER-TEA. 
 
 back of the workhouse, and occupying the extreme upper por- 
 tion of the island, connected with the new lunatic asylum on 
 Ward's Island. 
 
 There have been some curious creatures confined in this 
 city lunatic asylum. One of the most curious was a woman 
 who always fancied herself the wife of the present President 
 of these United States, and the widow of all the preceding 
 Presidents. She has passed away now, — gone to join her many 
 illustrious husbands. In most points this old lady was as sane 
 as most old ladies ; but, on the subject of the presidenc} r , she 
 was as mad as a March hare (though why a hare should be 
 regarded as particularly " mad " in March, I never have been 
 able for the life of me to discover ; nor have I ever met any- 
 body else who had). Another well-known inmate of the lunatic 
 asylum in his day took it into his crazy head that he was called 
 upon to defend the island from invasion : and so he passed his 
 not otherwise valuable time in erecting the most amazing forti- 
 fications, — defences which mocked at all the laws of military 
 engineering, and yet which answered the purposes for which 
 they were designed completely, — a remark which applies to very 
 few military fortifications, except, perhaps, Gibraltar. 
 
 A third lunatic imagined that he had a plan to cure all the 
 ills that humanity is heir to. But, in this respect, he was only 
 like a hundred — or shall I not say a hundred thousand ? — other 
 self-constituted " reformers " who go around, making life really 
 not worth the living with their wild schemes of reformation. 
 His plan had at least the merit of simplicity and cheapness. 
 His panacea for every human ill was ginger-tea. This, taken in 
 sufficient quantities, — mark that not at all insane proviso, — 
 would infallibly heal, in due time, — mark, likewise, that not at 
 all crazy qualification, — every person ill in mind, body, or spirit. 
 All possible misfortunes yielded to ginger-tea. All possible 
 crimes would be prevented by ginger-tea taken in sufficiently 
 
OFFICIAL OUTRAGES ON TUE SANE. 325 
 
 large closes in time. Delightful idea ! And, unlike many 
 reformers I have met, the ginger-tea philanthropist and re- 
 former practised what he preached, and was so fond of ginger- 
 tea that the rules of the insane asylum were strained a little 
 in his behalf; and he was supplied night and morning with 
 copious draughts of his own panacea. 
 
 And in his own case, at least, his prescription worked well. 
 Outside of a general flightiness, — harmless to eveiybody but 
 himself, — and his craze for ginger-tea, he was one of the best 
 creatures imaginable, a moral and religious man, who really 
 loved his fellows, and tried — though in his own peculiar way 
 — to benefit them. I really wonder if, after all, there is not 
 something good in — ginger-tea? 
 
 In some points the lunatic asylums on the islands are well 
 spoken of by common report, and every now and then the 
 papers contain an account of some entertainment being given 
 to amuse the lunatics, and to add to the scant}^ pleasures of 
 their lives. Some prominent musical and theatrical artists have 
 on different occasions appeared and performed at these enter- 
 tainments. 
 
 But, on the other hand, the papers have occasionally (of late 
 quite frequently) published accounts of official outrages on 
 private citizens, perpetrated within the walls of the city in- 
 sane asylum. It has been alleged, that not only have sane 
 men — men known to be sane — been, through the instrumen- 
 tality of their relatives and the connivance of officials, confined 
 here under the mistake of lunacy, but that perfectly sane men 
 have been compelled to labor — and labor more severely than 
 if they had been held to be " sane " — " for nothing " (without 
 having committed any offence, and without receiving any com- 
 pensation), for the private pecuniary benefit of the officials of 
 the lunatic asylum. Cases of this sort are not unfamiliar to the 
 reading public, and one young lawyer of New- York City, 
 
326 " THE BOSS " AND " rj?# SHEPHERD." 
 
 Mr. Aaron Kahn, has acquired some local reputation by making 
 a specialty of ferretting out such cases, and legally protecting 
 their victims. 
 
 As a rule, of course the very great proportion of men and 
 women who are confined or housed in any of the public insti- 
 tutions on the islands, are of a low — generally of the lowest — 
 social grade ; that is, if they can be said to have any social 
 grade at all. But ever and anon, though very, very rarely, 
 some distinguished or educated man sinks so low as to become 
 an involuntary inmate of institutions on the islands. William 
 M. Tweed was a case in point. Perhaps no fall in history 
 was deeper than that of the great Tammany boss, and modern 
 lord of misrule. Belisarius, as a beggar, was at least not 
 criminally disgraced : the shame was on the side of an un- 
 grateful people, not of the neglected hero. Joan of Arc at the 
 stake was a heroine and a martyr, in the very midst of the 
 pusillanimous canaille she had for a while commanded, and 
 had striven to render free. But William M. Tweed lived to 
 "do time" as a " convict" in a striped suit, a duly tried and 
 legally sentenced felon, in the very institution of which he had 
 been for many years one of the official magnates, and in the 
 very midst of a city which he had once absolutely ruled with 
 almost despotic power. Tweed in his cell presented one of the 
 most dramatic, striking, and instructive pictures that could pos- 
 sibly be exhibited to the world. 
 
 Another man, of a very different class and stamp from 
 Tweed, yet socially his equal, and in point of education his 
 superior, has been enrolled among the prisoners on the island. 
 I allude to the Rev. Dr. Cowley of the tk Shepherd's Fold," who 
 was imprisoned here for cruelty to children. And it is some- 
 what strange to remember, that, although William M. Tweed was 
 always, in his autocratic way, a liberal-handed, genial-minded 
 man, he never found as many sincere sympathizers among the 
 
" OLD SAL COON." 327 
 
 politicians, as did the reverend doctor, who was never suspected 
 of liberality or geniality, among the clergymen. Perhaps it is 
 a rule, that the greater the height from which a man falls, the 
 more complete and utter is his fall. The clergyman being but 
 an ordinary man, his fall was soon forgotten ; but the politician 
 being the head of his tribe, his downfall was immortal. 
 
 And among the few socially notable people who have ulti- 
 mately found their way to the island was a woman who at one 
 time was a belle of old Xew York, the wife of a prosperous 
 merchant, and a leader of the ton at Saratoga, — a woman who 
 could converse fluently in French, German, Italian, and Spanish, 
 as well as English ; a woman who had at one time numbered 
 among her admirers a mayor of Xew York ; a woman who in 
 her younger days had attracted the notice of Charles Dickens 
 when he visited this country ; a woman who had stirred a ten- 
 der sentiment in the breast of that great adventurer, Louis 
 Xapoleon, during the short period of his stay in Xew York, 
 and yet a woman who ere she died, a few years ago, had served 
 seventeen terms on the island for vagrancy and drunkenness ; 
 a woman who at the date of her death was simply the head 
 chambermaid of one of the institutions on the island. I allude 
 to the woman known to all regular habitues of " the Island " 
 as " old Sal Coon." 
 
 I dare say other illustrations could be cited, did I but know 
 the real inside history and romance of " the islands " and their 
 inhabitants. But enough has been stated to show that it is 
 not only the " lower class " who sooner or later drift into dis- 
 grace and imprisonment upon " the islands." 
 
 It was on Ward's Island that I found, in this my period 
 of self-inflicted disgrace and self-deserved despair, a temporary 
 refuge. The Inebriate Asylum on Ward's Island, of which I 
 now became an inmate, lies near the emigrant hospital and 
 the new lunatic asylum, and is a fine, large building, with ample 
 
328 MY NEW QUARTERS. 
 
 accommodation for four hundred and fifty patients. Many 
 of the patients were, like n^self, placed here by their friends, 
 who defray the expenses of their confinement, and ultimate 
 restoration to health and society. 
 
 As a whole, the institution is ably and intelligently con- 
 ducted ; and every material and moral appliance is employed 
 by those in charge to redeem the poor victims of intemperance 
 who are intrusted to their care. 
 
 In many cases the treatment is successful; and hundreds of 
 men who would otherwise have descended into a drunkard's 
 grave have been rescued from their awful fate. 
 
 At first I was pleased with my new quarters in the Inebriate 
 Asylum. It was a welcome change for me to sleep upon a 
 comfortable cot, instead of vainly striving to repose in a ten- 
 cent lodging-house when I had ten cents to spare, or tramping 
 the streets all night when I had not. It was a welcome 
 improvement, too, on my daily routine, to get three fair meals 
 a day, instead of picking up, say, one poor meal or so in two or 
 three days. 
 
 But, alas ! poor human nature will be poor human nature ; 
 and I soon wearied of confinement, and of my monotonous life 
 at the asylum. True, I was not a prisoner, only a patient , but 
 I was not at all " patient," and I was obliged to submit to an 
 unyielding discipline : true, I knew that this severe discipline 
 would all result in my permanent good if I would only heartily 
 and in good faith submit to it. But there is an old saw in 
 verse, with much more truth to the line than in most verses of 
 a much higher character : — 
 
 " No rogue e'er saw the halter draw, 
 With good opinion of the law." 
 
 And it requires a good deal of philosophy for a man who is 
 afflicted with a vice, to wholly and heartily submit himself to 
 
MY PLAN FOR ESCAPE. 329 
 
 the severe measures necessary to conquer the vicious habit, 
 unless he is compelled to submit by force. In short, before I 
 had been many days and nights at the asylum, at which my true 
 friends had so kindly placed me, I began to think upon the 
 chances of escape from it. Although some degraded wretches 
 absolutely learn, by time and trouble, to look upon " the islands'' 
 as their " winter home," and consider a commitment thereto a 
 piece of good luck ; yet the great majority of the involuntary 
 inmates of the island institutions regard themselves in their 
 true light of prisoners, and, like prisoners, often attempt to 
 escape. 
 
 Men have been killed ere now in endeavoring to reach " the 
 lights o' New York " which gleamed temptingly before them, 
 across the East River. Only a little distance from their island 
 prison, men have been shot down like dogs by the prison- 
 guards, as they were trying to regain their freedom ; men have 
 been drowned in their efforts to escape ; while not a few have 
 ultimately escaped, having by pluck or by stratagem evaded 
 or defied the prison-guards, crossed the little strip of water 
 which separated them from life, and regained their fellow-men 
 and freedom. The longer I remained at the asylum, the more 
 I thought about the best means to leave it ; and finally I hit 
 upon a practical plan. I became so desperate in my new quar- 
 ters, from sheer monotony and ennui, and the restraints of a 
 necessary discipline, that, although fairly fed and well housed 
 and well treated, I would rather have taken to a swim, and my 
 chances at a shot, than be confined, though for my own good, 
 longer. But it was not necessary to resort to such extreme 
 measures. I effected my escape in a very simple yet satisfac- 
 tory way, by a simple little stratagem. 
 
 Newspaper-men are furnished with passes to the islands by 
 the authorities, to facilitate their professional duties ; and on 
 this fact I based my plan. I watched my opportunity and my 
 
330 FROM WARD'S ISLAND TO NEW YORK. 
 
 man, made the acquaintance of a journalist who seemed likely 
 to serve my turn, and obtained from him one of those passes 
 without which no man can enter or leave the islands, but 
 armed with which he is free to come or go. 
 
 Carefully arranging all the details of my plans, so as not to 
 attract suspicion, and not to disturb the official routine of the 
 asylum, I slipped out from the asylum-walls, within which, of 
 course, I was known, and stepped out into the little world out- 
 side, where I was unknown. Presenting my pass, I stepped 
 from the island into the boat, and soon, in the regular way, 
 reached New York undisturbed. 
 
 How my heart beat as I approached New York! How I 
 exulted as I set my free foot once more within the metrop- 
 olis! 
 
 And yet I was not free, nor was I regaining freedom. On 
 the contrary, I was really coming deliberately back into the 
 very worst captivity, — that which renders a man the slave of 
 his appetites. My true freedom and wisdom would have been, 
 to have remained in the asylum till I had been completely 
 cured: then, when I left the place healed, and in my right 
 mind, I would indeed have been " a free man," — free from a 
 slavery the most terrible of all. But I reasoned differently 
 just then , or, rather, I did not reason at all : I merely escaped 
 from confinement, and exulted in my escape. Reaching the 
 New- York dock, I landed cautiously, and then went rapidly on, 
 on, on, till beyond the reach of possible pursuit. 
 
 And then what do you think I did? Thank Heaven for the 
 success that had crowned my efforts at escape? Oh, no! I 
 never thought of Heaven in the matter at all. Determine to 
 live more wisely in the new life now opening to me than I had 
 lived in the past ? Oh, no ! I made no resolutions at all, — 
 certainly, no good or wise ones. 
 
 All I did was simple enough, — about the most "simple" 
 

 
 1 
 
 
 "The saloon-keeper of whom I implored a drink eyed me curiously, 
 listened to my story, and then, with a laugh and an oath, handed me a 
 rum-hottle " [p. 331]. 
 
A "FEEE" DRUNKARD. 331 
 
 and silly, as well as sad, thing I could have done. I went into 
 the first rum-shop I could find, and begged for a drink. 
 
 That was all there was about it, and that was about all the 
 good that my experience in the Inebriate Asylum had brought 
 me. Poor victim of rum that I was ! All that my " freedom " 
 meant to me was liquor. I eyed hungrily, or rather thirstily, 
 all the saloons I passed; and at last my thirst overcame me. 
 I knew I had no money, and that it would be some hours, per- 
 haps a day, before I could meet any of the few acquaintances 
 from whom I could by any chance obtain a dollar. I felt hun- 
 gry too. It was late in the afternoon, and I had not tasted 
 food since early in the morning. But I kept my hunger down 
 a while. I could master that, but not my thirst : that mastered 
 me. It was for drink, and not for food, I begged. 
 
 The saloon-keeper of whom I implored a drink eyed me 
 curiously, listened to my story, and then, with a laugh and an 
 oath, handed me a rum-bottle. I poured out a glassful, and 
 then eagerly drained the contents of the glass. The fiery 
 liquor gurgled as it went down my throat. I rejoiced in the 
 now for some time unaccustomed sensation, and I heartily 
 thanked the man who had enabled me to partake once more of 
 my old curse. Probably in the whole course of my life I never 
 evinced a more degraded, besotted, hopeless condition, than at 
 this particular period of my career , having thus deliberately 
 and desperately removed myself from the restraining influences 
 of that asylum which would have been my salvation, and hav- 
 ing thus eagerly surrendered myself to the fatal influences of 
 that appetite which had been my destruction. 
 
 And now I was once more roaming the streets of New York 
 a "free " " drunkard" 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 DRUNKARDS AXD DRINKING IN NEW YORK. — THE CITY OF SALOONS, — THE 
 GLOKY AND THE SHAME OF THE METROPOLIS. — PALATIAL RUM-PARLORS, 
 COSEY BAR-ROOMS, AND CORNER GROCERIES. 
 
 There are a vast number of " free " drunkards in New York. 
 Drunkenness is altogether too free in every sense, excepting in 
 a pecuniary sense. New York is a hard-drinking, as well as 
 hard-working, metropolis, — a liquor-cursed city. 
 
 New York might be briefly described as a city of drinking- 
 saloons, — some of them of the very highest and most artistic 
 grade, some of them palaces of luxury, others vile and low 
 and mean and dirty beyond the power of a reputable pen to 
 paint ; some far better than others, some far worse than others ; 
 but all of them alike in their one main object, — the selling of 
 liquor with or without a license. " The New-York Herald " 
 states, — 
 
 There are over 10,000 rum-shops in the city of New York, — one 
 to every 125 inhabitants, one to every 25 families. There are only 
 1,100 bakers, 2,000 butchers, 4,000 grocers; more rum-sellers than 
 there are butchers, bakers, and grocers together. Of these 10,000 
 rum-shops, 9,000 are licensed ; and a moderate estimate gives the illicit 
 shops and places where rum — which is the comprehensive term for 
 drinks of all kinds — is sold at 1,000. The statistics show that there 
 are 4,319 hotels of all grades ; that there are 3,722 places where ale 
 and beer only are sold ; that there are 534 shops, drug-stores, and 
 others where liquor can be had, — which, with the estimated illicit 
 1,000, gives a total of 10,075. Various shops and stores where bread, 
 332 
 
TIIE GE0G-ST10PS OF NEW YORK. 333 
 
 meat, and groceries can be procured foot up 7,32G. In other words, 
 there are more rum-shops than food-shops in this great city of New 
 York by 2,749. 
 
 The Act under which the excise commissioners work provides that 
 no license shall be granted unless the applicant is of good moral 
 character, and lias sufficient ability to keep an inn. A glance at the 
 statistics of crime, brought down to October, 1881, reveals rather an 
 extraordinary comment upon the moral influence, at all events, ex- 
 erted in, from, and about the liquor-shops. The total number of 
 arrests for crime in one year was 67,135. Of these, 20,228 were for 
 intoxication per se ; and 22,384 were for disorderly conduct, the nor- 
 mal outcome of drinking, giving a total of 42,612 rum-arrests, or 
 sixty-three per cent of the entire number. 
 
 The facts show that that part of the population which least needs 
 temptation is most multitudinously supplied with it in its worst and 
 lowest form. Thus, that section of the city bounded by Broome, 
 Division, Norfolk, and the Bowery, contains a hundred and seventy- 
 five lager-beer saloons and seventy-six rum-shops. On one block, 
 between East Houston and Stanton Streets, there are seventeen 
 houses (Ma} 7 , 1883), of which eleven are gin-mills. On the block 
 betw r een Bayard and Division Streets, there are fourteen houses, in 
 eight of which liquor is sold. On Cherry Street, between James and 
 Oliver, there are ten houses, in nine of which are saloons. On the 
 block between Catherine and Oliver there are eight houses, six of 
 which are devoted to the sale of whiskey. On James Street, between 
 Batavia and North Chambers, of the eight houses four are rum-shops ; 
 and on Chatham Street, between Roosevelt and James, there are 
 eight houses, in four of which liquor is sold. These facts certainly 
 are extremely suggestive. And this state of things, which has been 
 gradually growing worse and worse during the past twenty years, has 
 finally reached a plane where sober-minded people think it is well to 
 call a halt. 
 
 One of the ablest and most influential of New- York clergy- 
 men, the Rev. Dr. Crosby, has openly declared that " the lowest 
 
334 THE SHAME OF NEW YORK. 
 
 grog-shop influence rules the town." In a lecture lately deliv- 
 ered at Steinway Hall for the Association of Master Plumbers, 
 on " The Glory and Shame of New York," the reverend doctor 
 stated that there was much in New York to make its residents 
 proud. No city in the world had made such rapid progress in 
 every thing that pertained to beauty and utility. The Central 
 Park, the Croton Aqueduct, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the ele- 
 vated railroads, were monuments of utility which did honor to 
 the city. Its public schools were superior to those in any city 
 in the world. Its men were energetic and persevering, and 
 possessed of strong common sense. It was a harmonious com- 
 munity, although made up of people of many races. That 
 intermingling of races had broadened the views of all the 
 people, and rubbed out the provincialism which was the dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic of New York's sister cities. 
 
 But, unless the good citizens awake to a sense of their duty, 
 there was danger that the glory of New York might be over- 
 shadowed by her shame. " The chief sources of this shame," 
 the lecturer said, " are rum and the power of the rumseller. 
 The city has been burdened with a debt of more than $100,- 
 000,000, solely by the plunderings of politicians. Tweed was 
 not the only plunderer. There were as great scoundrels in 
 politics before Tweed, and we have « had plenty of them since 
 his time. These rascals avoid punishment by ingenious con- 
 trivances, and by a knowledge of each other's misdeeds. Men 
 are elected aldermen, county clerk, and sheriff, because they 
 have kept liquor-saloons. Bruisers and gamblers are made 
 protectors of the city's morals. The people often elect a good 
 man for mayor. But, no matter how good are his intentions, 
 when he goes into office he is compelled, either to yield to the 
 city-hall rowdyism, or to make a futile effort against it. If 
 these mayors would tell their experience, and speak truly, they 
 would all confess that the lowest form of grog-shop influence 
 
STOKES'S BAB-BOOM. 335 
 
 rules the government, — men who enjoy prize-fights, and fre- 
 quent disreputable places; dirty, vulgar men, whom respecta- 
 ble persons would shun as they do small-pox. The primaries 
 were run largely by the rum-shop influence. The district and 
 central committees dare not go back on the primaries; and the 
 citizens are called upon to vote the regular ticket, which is 
 the result of these primaries. 
 
 "There are in this city," Dr. Crosby continued, "about twelve 
 thousand drinking-saloons, one to every thirty-three persons, if 
 the women and children are left out of the calculation ; and 
 one to every eighteen, if the number of men who do not 
 frequent the saloons is taken as fifteen in every thirty-three. 
 These saloons are chiefly sustained by the citizens of Irish 
 and German extraction. Eight thousand saloons are kept by 
 foreign-born citizens. The cure is in the foreign-born citizens' 
 hands. If they wish their adopted city to retain its glory, they 
 should unite with other good citizens, and check the power of 
 rum and the groggeries." 
 
 Dr. Crosby then spoke of the social shame caused by rum, 
 and added that men were to blame for its influence, because 
 they voted for partisans regardless of their fitness ; newspapers 
 were to blame, because they did not boldly proclaim against it ; 
 and the city's law-officers were to blame, because they treated 
 the liquor-seller too lightly. 
 
 Some of the bar-rooms of New York are simply palatial. 
 The Hoffman-house bar, owned by Edward S. Stokes of Fisk- 
 Mansfield notoriety, is confessedly the finest bar-room in the 
 world. At night it presents to the eye of the moralist a terri- 
 ble spectacle. All that money and taste can do to make rum- 
 drinking attractive has here been done. Pictures of nude 
 
 o 
 
 nymphs are suspended from the walls, or arranged with lights 
 as if in an art gallery. Statues of naked women are placed on 
 pedestals at all the entrances or exits. Articles of virtu, brie- 
 
336 " SIREN-SALOONS." 
 
 d-brac, etc., lavishly abound. Mirrors meet the eye on every 
 side. The carpets are luxurious as those of a parlor. The 
 tables are of the most elegant material and workmanship. The 
 chairs are of the most luxurious pattern. The attendants are 
 polite, active, well dressed, and well drilled. Every comfort 
 and convenience known to modern civilization, from the tele- 
 phone to the spittoon, is accessible. And all for one object 
 only, — the destruction of the human race directly and indi- 
 rectly by the sale of liquor. 
 
 One such saloon as this does incalculable harm from its very 
 charm. Just as a beautiful bad woman is more dangerous 
 than a bad woman who is not beautiful, so a liquor-saloon 
 which is elegant will entice more victims than a liquor-saloon 
 which cannot boast of its elegance. 
 
 And, within the wide compass of the metropolis, there are 
 a hundred saloons of the class of the one just described, — a 
 hundred sirens which daily and nightly lure men to per- 
 dition. 
 
 There are a score of these siren-saloons within a stone's- 
 throw of the Fifth-avenue Hotel. 
 
 Some of the middle-class saloons are likewise very cosey and 
 comfortable places of resort, regarded only from a material 
 point of view. There is a drinking-saloon "down town," for 
 example, in the Bennett Building, which is a species of museum 
 of curiosities, cartoons, and reminiscences. Rare old play-bills, 
 local relics, pictures, caricatures of well-known men of the 
 past and present, all sorts of oddities, are here to be found ; 
 and here are also to be found many of the leading journalists 
 of the metropolis, and its sporting-men, rendering the place a 
 species of " exchange." 
 
 And yet it is only " a rum-shop " after all, — a place where 
 drinking, and drinking only, goes on " from morn till noon, 
 from noon to dewy eve," — a rum-shop which is indirectly re- 
 
"NO DIFFERENCE AT ALL." 337 
 
 sponsible for the " decline and fall " of many of its patrons, 
 and for the suicides of several of its best customers. 
 
 And just as the Hoffman-house bar is a sample of one class 
 of saloons ; so is this latter a specimen of another class, even 
 more numerous, and, in proportion to its expenses, even more 
 profitably dangerous. And as " one star differs from another 
 star in glory ; " so one rum-shop differs from another in grade 
 till we come down to the very lowest social and " spirit "-ual 
 strata, to the " corner grocery,' ' or the " boozing ken." 
 
 But it must ever be carefully borne in mind, that, though the 
 details and the surroundings of the " business " vary vastly, 
 the " business " itself, in all the grades of saloons, is precisely 
 the same. Vice is always nothing but vice, and liquor is always 
 nothing but liquor. 
 
 The drinking palace or parlor is only the ordinary bar-room, 
 ivith a little veneer on it ; and the ordinary bar-room is but the 
 "corner grocery," with a little more " style ; " and the "corner 
 grocery" soon sinks into the policy-den or the thieves' resort. 
 But in the eyes of the moralist, the temperance man, and 
 Heaven, there is no difference at all between them. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE HAUNTS OF THE RUM-DEMON. — THE CONCERT-SALOONS OF NEW YORK. 
 — THE DANCE-HOUSES. — HOW A NEW- YORK JOURNALIST SAVED A GER- 
 MAN GIRL. — THE EFFORTS WHICH HAVE BEEN MADE BY TEMPERANCE 
 AND RELIGION TO COMBAT INTEMPERANCE AND VICE. —THE WICKEDEST 
 MAN IN NEW YORK AND KIT BURNS. — "AWFUL " GARDNER AND JERRY 
 MOAULEY. 
 
 New York has always been a rum-cursed city, and its low- 
 est dens and dives have been rendered even more hideous by 
 the quantity and quality of the rum retailed there. 
 
 The concert-saloons of New York are among the favorite 
 haunts of the liquor-demon, — that familiar fiend of the vast 
 American metropolis. 
 
 We find the following faithful description of one of these 
 saloons in one of the popular prints of the day : — 
 
 On Broadway, near Street, we notice, just above the entrance 
 
 to a cellar, a naming transparency, with the inscription, "Madame 
 
 X., Arcade." Going down a few steps, we find our view of 
 
 the interior obstructed by a large screen painted white, with the almost 
 nude figure of a dancing Venus coarsely painted thereon. The screen 
 is placed across the entrance, a few feet from the door, obliging us to 
 flank it, d, la Sherman, and enter the hall by going around it. We 
 find the floor handsomely covered with matting and oil-cloth. On 
 the right-hand side, nearest the door, is the bar, over which presides 
 a genius of the male sex, whose chief attractions consist of a decided 
 red head, and an immense paste breast-pin stuck into the bosom of a 
 ruffled shirt. The bar is well furnished ; and any drink called for, 
 
" THE PRETTY WAITER-GIRLS:' 839 
 
 from beer to champagne, can be instantly obtained. A significant 
 feature is a formidable Colt's revolver, a foot in length, suspended 
 immediately over the sideboard. This weapon, it may be observed, 
 is not placed there as an ornament : it is in itself a monitor, warning 
 those inclined to be disorderly of the danger of carrying their boister- 
 ousness or ruffianism too far. On the walls are black engravings of 
 the French school, fit ornaments of the place. But, while we are 
 taking this casual survey, one of the attendant nymphs with great 
 scantiness of clothing, affording display for bare shoulders and not 
 unhandsome ankles, appears, and, with a voice of affected sweetness 
 wholly at variance with her brazen countenance and impertinent air, 
 requests us to be seated, and asks what we will have. We modestly 
 ask for "two ales," which are soon placed before us, and paid for. 
 While quietly sipping the beverage, we will glance at our surround- 
 ings. Back of the hall (we are sitting at a table near the centre of 
 the apartment), on a raised platform, is an asthmatic piano-forte, 
 upon which an individual with threadbare coat, colorless vest, and 
 faded nankeen pantaloons, is thrumming away for dear life. Out of 
 tune himself, he tortures the poor instrument in a way that threatens 
 its instant dissolution, rending its heart-strings, and causing it to 
 shriek with agony, wailing out the tune that the old cow died of. 
 This is the only music the performer is acquainted with, judging 
 from the persistent manner in which he clings to it. What he lacks 
 in musical knowledge, however, he makes up with intention, and 
 thumps away quite manfully, only stopping, now and then, to call 
 for a drink with which to recruit his exhausted energies. But we 
 have come to behold the chief attraction of the establishment, — " the 
 pretty waiter-girls." 
 
 Looking around, we see, perhaps, twenty females in various 
 styles of dress, — some in Turkish costume (supposed to be houris, 
 no doubt), others attired as Spanish peasants, and others in plain 
 evening attire. The latter are, for the most part, far from pos- 
 sessing charms, and, from their looks, have long since outlived their 
 beauty ; but what they lack in this respect they make up in others. 
 The girl that waited upon us on our entrance again approaches, 
 
340 SCENE IN PANDEMONIUM. 
 
 and, seeing our glasses empty, takes them away to be replenished. 
 She soon re-appears, and, in response to our invitation, takes a seat 
 "beside us while we enter into conversation with her. She is a fair 
 sample (excuse the mercantile term) of her class, and her history is 
 si history of a majority of her associates. 
 
 Not unprepossessing in appearance, by any means, Ellen 
 
 (that she tells us is her name) is twenty-two years of age; was 
 born in the village of Tarrytown ; resided with her parents until she 
 was eighteen, when her father died. Leaving her mother, with her 
 youngest brother she came to New York to seek employment. On 
 arriving in the city, she obtained a situation in a millinery store ; 
 remained there but a short time ; was out of work, had no friends, 
 no money ; would not go back to her mother, who was poor ; saw an 
 
 advertisement of Madame for " Pretty Waiter-Girls ; " answered 
 
 it ; was engaged in the saloon ; seduced (partly by promises and 
 partly by threats) by one of the frequenters of the establishment ; 
 and has since led the life of a prostitute. Ellen told her story with- 
 out the least emotion, and, when asked about her mother, carelessly 
 replied, she supposed the old woman was dead by this time. 
 
 Such are the effects of vice, and a life of infamy, upon the noble 
 feelings and natural impulses of the female heart. With an excla- 
 mation of "Oh, there's my man!" our attendant suddenly left us, 
 and joined an individual who had just entered the apartment ; and we 
 did not see her again. 
 
 At a table nearly opposite to our own sat a couple, one of whom 
 at least, to even a casual observer, is a stranger to the place and its 
 surroundings : there is no doubt of it. Wholly enrapt in the beauty 
 and grace of his female companion, he is totally oblivious to all pass- 
 ing around. She is exerting all her arts to entice "greeney" into 
 her net, and before long will be counting the amount of his cash ; 
 while he, her dupe, will be, too late, reflecting upon the depravity of 
 " pretty waiter-girls." By this time the saloon is crowded with men 
 and women of all ages, and degrees of social standing. Here is the 
 man-about-town, the hanger-round of the hotels, in clothes of unex- 
 ceptionable cut and make, talking earnestly with a female, whose 
 
WHAT "A CONCERT-SALOON" REALLY IS. 341 
 
 drawn veil conceals her face, — perhaps some unfortunate victim of 
 his lust, or probably his mistress come to plead for justice, or for her 
 week's allowance of money. Yonder is a youth of, as Sylvanus 
 Cobb, jun., would say, some eighteen summers, young in years, but 
 old in sin, who supports on his knee a " nymph-du-pave," with whom 
 he has entered from the street, and upon whom he is spending his 
 last quarter's salary, or the proceeds of an investigation into the 
 till of his employer. In that corner is the returned soldier, who has 
 just been paid off, and who is now expending the hard-earned pittance 
 of the government upon some bepainted and bedizened courtesan, 
 while his wife and family are suffering for want of the common 
 necessaries of life. A cry of pain, followed by a burst of brutal 
 laughter, causes us to turn our eyes to a corner, just in time to wit- 
 ness a woman fall to the ground, by a blow from the clinched fist of 
 the brute with whom she had been quarrelling. A moment there is 
 silence in the hall, but only for a moment. The girl is picked up by 
 one of her companions, a few rough jokes at her expense, and all 
 goes on as before. Observe that couple descending the steps, — a 
 handsome, almost noble-looking man, but upon whose countenance 
 is stamped the mark of a dissolute life — upon his arm a female hid- 
 den from view by a black veil. They advance to the bar. The gen- 
 tleman whispers a word in the ear of one of the girls. A meaning 
 smile flickers over her face as she hands him a key, with which he 
 opens a door in the end of the room, and disappears with the female. 
 Reader, you have seen half a dozen similar couples arrive and vanish 
 through the same door. Do you know the why and wherefore of this 
 proceeding? This saloon is one of the most "notorious assignation 
 houses" in New York. We might go on, and notice more fully the 
 various scenes constantly varying in this house ; but we have not at 
 present time or space ; and, besides, the task is not an agreeable one. 
 
 The dance-houses of New York form still another temple of 
 the metropolitan liquor-demon, — the real Devil of New York. 
 These "dance-houses" differ from the "concert-saloons," just 
 described, in two points only, — they are a degree lower and 
 
342 A SAILORS' "DANCE-HOUSE." 
 
 viler ; and their guests, or victims (the terms are identical and 
 interchangeable), assemble for the purposes of dancing as well 
 as drinking. 
 
 These dance-houses are generally located in the very worst 
 quarters of the city, in the streets near the East and North 
 Rivers, in order to be easy of access to sailors. The buildings 
 are generally out of repair, and have a rickety appearance. 
 The main entrance leads to a long, narrow hall, the floor of 
 which is well sanded : the walls are ornamented with flashy 
 prints, and the ceiling with colored tissue papers cut in " fancy " 
 shapes. There is always a bar, which is well stocked with all 
 sorts of vile spirits. The place is desolate and horrible in 
 itself; but the women connected with it, the poor "girls" of 
 the dance-house, are beyond description pitiable. God help 
 them ! They constitute the most hideous incarnation of vice 
 and rum. 
 
 They are miserably clad ; they are always more or less wild 
 with liquor ; they are despised by all decent men and women, 
 and know it ; they are cursed at, kicked, and cuffed by the 
 brutal owner of the place ; they are often terribly beaten in 
 the drunken quarrels which arise in these abodes of iniquity ; 
 they are the playthings of the most besotted of mankind ; they 
 despise themselves. God help them indeed, for rum and the 
 Devil have brought them to perdition, even in this world ! 
 
 And they can not, they dare not, even try to escape ; for 
 they are the slaves, yes, the slaves of their master, — the vile 
 keeper of tins dance-house hell. They have no money of their 
 own, not a dollar. Their master claims a part of their infa- 
 mous earnings as his " trade percentage," his business " com- 
 mission," and then demands the rest for their board and 
 clothes. 
 
 Even in the few cases where the poor " girl " (generally a 
 prematurely aged " girl ") has the nerve to fly from one of 
 
"CHRISTIAN" LAW ON SATAN'S SIDE. 343 
 
 these dance-houses, she is brought back, either by force or by 
 the law (?), or both. Yes, in this Christian (?) city the law in 
 these cases is on the side of Satan and the dance-house keeper. 
 The latter, inspired by the former, claims the clothes on the 
 backs of the runaways as his property, and charges them with 
 theft. 
 
 That able and high-toned writer on low city-life, Oliver Dyer, 
 in that once popular and alwa}-s able magazine, " Packard's 
 Monthly," thus alludes to this fearful blot on humanity and 
 justice : — 
 
 There is, probably, not a police reporter in the city of much expe- 
 rience who has not seen one of these girls arraigned at the Tombs, 
 or at some other police-court, on a charge of theft ; because, in flee- 
 ing from the intolerable servitude of some den of vice, she had to 
 wear clothes belonging to the keeper, not having any of her own 
 wherewith to hide her nakedness. We will give a scene of this 
 kind : Place, the Tombs ; time, six o'clock in the morning ; present, 
 police-justice, officers of the court, about thirty prisoners, policemen 
 attending as witnesses, and parties preferring charges against prison- 
 ers. The name of the girl against whom complaint has been made 
 having been called, the following examination took place : — 
 
 Justice. What is the charge against this girl? 
 
 Policeman. Felony. Stealing wearing-apparel. 
 
 Justice. Who is the complainant? 
 
 Policeman. This woman here (pointing out the keeper of the 
 den from which the girl fled, — a most villanous old hag) . 
 
 Justice (to the keeper). What did the girl steal? 
 
 Policeman. Every rag she has on, bad luck to her ! 
 
 Justice. Mary (to the girl), who owns the shawl you have on? 
 
 Mary. She does, sir (pointing to the woman). 
 
 Justice. Who owns that hat and dress you have on? 
 
 Mary. She does. 
 
 Justice. Haven't you any thing of your own to wear? 
 
 Mary. Nothing, sir. 
 
344 " IT IS A HARD CASE, MARY." 
 
 Justice. This woman owns them all, — all the clothes you have on ? 
 
 Mary. Yes, sir. 
 
 Justice. If they are hers, you should not have taken them. 
 
 Mary. Please, sir, I couldn't stay in her house any longer ; and I 
 couldn't go naked into the street. 
 
 Justice. It is a hard case, Mary ; but stealing is stealing, and I 
 shall have to send you up for twenty days. And so Mary is sent to 
 the Penitentiary on Blackwell's Island for twenty days (and sometimes 
 for a longer period), wearing the " stolen " clothes ; and the wretch of 
 a keeper goes back to her den, and tells the other girls of Mary's fate, 
 satisfied to give the shabby garment, in which the victim was attired, 
 in exchange for the " moral effect " of the girl's conviction and impris- 
 onment on those who are still in her clutches. Justice Dowling, we 
 believe, never convicts a girl of theft under such circumstances, but 
 gives her accuser such a scoring down in open court as sends her 
 back to her den in rage and shame. 
 
 Justice Dowling is dead ; but I would that he had left more 
 of his like, in this respect at least, behind him. 
 
 Those of my readers desirous of perusing more elaborate 
 pen-pictures of the dens and dives of the great metropolis 
 than I have power or space to give, and learning their horrors, 
 are respectfully referred to such works as " The Secrets of the 
 Great City," by Edward Winslow Martin, — a book replete 
 with curious and instructive information on all phases of met- 
 ropolitan life. It is not unfrequently the case, though not so 
 frequently now as in the past, that respectable girls, especially 
 emigrants, are decoyed into these dens and dance-houses. Once 
 within these hells, the poor girls seldom come out pure ; once 
 ingulfed, they are lost : but there is one case, at least, in which 
 one of these poor, decoyed girls escaped, and escaped through 
 the kindness of heart and the Christian courage of a well-known 
 New-Yorker, now connected in an important capacity with 
 " The New-York Sun." 
 
"A BASEMENT" IN WILLIAM STREET, N.T. 345 
 
 In the month of February, 1852, Isaac W. England, Esq., for- 
 merly the city editor of "The New- York Tribune," subsequently 
 the managing editor of " The Chicago Republican," and now 
 the business manager of " The New- York Sun," was returning 
 to this city from Liverpool, in the emigrant packet-ship " New 
 York," in which he had taken a second-cabin passage, for the 
 purpose of learning practically how emigrants fared in such 
 vessels. Mr. England did this with a view to exposing the 
 atrocities then practised upon emigrants, and which he after- 
 wards did expose, in the columns of " The Tribune," and with 
 such effect as to be largely instrumental in the fundamental 
 regeneration of the whole emigrant business, and the creation of 
 the Castle-Garden commission. Among the passengers in the 
 second cabin of the packet-ship was a handsome English girl, 
 some nineteen years of age, from near Mr. England's native 
 town. The fact that the girl came from near his native town 
 led Mr. England to feel an interest in her ; and he learned that 
 she was coming to America to join her brother, then living near 
 Pottsville in Pennsylvania. On landing in New York, the girl 
 went to a boarding-house in Greenwich Street, there to await 
 his arrival ; it having been arranged that he should come to 
 New York for her. Mary (for that was her name) had not 
 been at the boarding-house many days, when a German woman 
 called there in search of a bar-maid ; and, seeing Mary, she at 
 once sought to induce her to accept the situation. It is not un- 
 common for English girls, of the class to which Mary belonged, 
 to act as bar-maids in England ; that being there considered a 
 respectable employment. Deceived by the complaisant man- 
 ners, and lured by the liberal promises, of the German woman, 
 the girl accepted her offer, and went with her to her saloon, a 
 basement in William Street, near Pearl. After one-day's ser- 
 vice as bar-maid, Mary was bluntly told by her employer that 
 she had been brought -4iiither to serve in a capacity which we 
 
346 THE PEBILS OF THE POOR. 
 
 will not name, and was at once ordered to make ready for enter- 
 ing upon a life of shame. The horror-stricken girl, frantic with 
 terror, set about immediately leaving the premises. But she 
 was too valuable a prize to be allowed to escape. The hag into 
 whose clutches she had fallen locked her up in a back-basement 
 room, extending under a grate in the yard, and open to the in- 
 clemency of the weather, and there kept her for two days and 
 two nights , the girl not daring to eat or drink all that time, for 
 fear of being drugged into insensibility and ruin. The only 
 sustenance the poor girl had, in eight and forty hours, was the 
 snow that she scraped from the area-grating ; nor did she dare 
 to close her eyes in sleep for an instant : and, while thus impris- 
 oned, constant efforts were made to intimidate her, and force 
 her to submit. With some poor women, threats would have 
 been sufficient to accomplish the fatal purpose ; but Mary was 
 prepared to fight for her honor, which was dearer than life. But 
 lack of food and sleep began to tell upon her. Her strength 
 failed, her mind weakened, and it seemed as though her doom 
 was sealed. On the third day of Mary's imprisonment, Mr. 
 England, who was about to start for Rhode Island, bethought 
 himself of his young country-woman, and determined to call at 
 the boarding-house in Greenwich Street. He did so, and was 
 told she had engaged as bar-maid 1 in the William-street saloon. 
 Having knowledge of such places, Mr. England was troubled, 
 and, though pressed for time, determined to call at the saloon. 
 He went there, and his first glance discovered its character. On 
 inquiring of the landlady for Mary, he was -told she had gone 
 to Pennsylvania with her brother two days ago. Something in 
 the woman's manner excited Mr. England's suspicions ; and he 
 told her that he thought she was deceiving him, and that Mary 
 was still in the house. At this the woman flew into a passion, 
 and swore volumes in several different languages at Mr. Eng- 
 land. While he was thus contesting with the landlady, one of 
 
"As soon as the door was opened, Mary came rushing out, and, seeing Mi 
 England, flew to him, sobbing hysterical!}', and clinging to his arm, and cried ; 
 1 Take rae from this place! Take me from this place! ' " [p. 347]. 
 
A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. 347 
 
 the girls in waiting passed near him, and muttered something 
 which he understood to be a statement that Mary was in the 
 house. Upon this Mr. England took decided ground, and told 
 the woman, that, unless she immediately produced the girl, he 
 would go for an officer, and have her arrested. This brought 
 her to terms. She gave one of the girls a key, and an order in 
 German, in pursuance of which the girl went to the room where 
 Mary was confined. As soon as the door was opened, Mary 
 came rushing out, and, seeing Mr. England, flew to him, sob- 
 bing hysterically, and clinging to his arm, and cried, " Take me 
 from this place, take me from this place ! " After demanding 
 Mary's trunk, which was delivered to him with all her things, 
 Mr. England immediately took the rescued girl to a place of 
 safety. Mary's brother had died while she was on her voyage 
 to meet him. But a young New-Yorker, a lawyer, saw her, 
 loved her, wooed her, and married her; and they now live 
 happy and prosperous. But suppose that there had been no 
 Mr. England in the case. Why, then she would have met her 
 doom in the wretched William-street den, and been one of 
 that class about whom this article is written. 
 
 But what have the good people of New York been about all 
 these years (one naturally asks) with all these iniquities all 
 about them? What have the Christians and the temperance 
 people been doing to check these devilish evils, to stop this 
 work of rum, in these its most degraded aspects? 
 
 They have not been idle , though they have not always, I 
 fear, been wise : and time after time earnest efforts have been 
 made to stem the downward current of depravity. 
 
 Sometimes public attention has been largely drawn to these 
 efforts at reformation and salvation ; and much good, even if, 
 in many cases, only a temporary good, has been accomplished. 
 
 Years ago there lived and sinned in New York a dance-house 
 keeper, upon whom Oliver Dyer, already mentioned, bestowed, 
 
348 THE WICKEDEST MAN IN NEW YORK. 
 
 in an article in " Packard's Monthly," the title, richly deserved, 
 of " The Wickedest Man in New York." 
 
 He and his, and his surroundings, and the attempt made to 
 reform him, were thus described graphically in the magazine : — 
 
 The wickedest man in New York goes by the name of John Allen. 
 He lives at No. 304 Water Street. He keeps a dance-house there. 
 He is about forty-five years old. He is reputed to be worth a hun- 
 dred thousand dollars, more or less ; and he is knotvn to be worth 
 seventy thousand dollars. He has three brothers who are clergymen, 
 two of them being Presbyterians, and one a Baptist, and is reported 
 to have once been a minister of the gospel himself ; was a good man 
 originally, and is yet a "good fellow" in many respects. Were it 
 not for his good qualities, he never could have attained unto the 
 eminence of being the icickedest man in New York. 
 
 The best bad are always the worst. 
 
 Take him for all in all, our wickedest man is a phenomenon. He 
 reads the Bible to his dance-house girls, and his favorite papers are 
 44 The New York Observer" and "The Independent." lie takes 
 them regularly, and reads them. We have repeatedly seen them 
 lying on the counters of his bar-room, along with "The Herald" 
 and "Sun." We have also seen a dozen copies of "The Little 
 Wanderer's Friend" scattered about his place; for he takes an 
 interest in mission-work, and "goes in" generally for progress for 
 other people. This wickedest man is the only entity appertaining 
 to the shady side of New- York life which we have not been able 
 to fathom or account for. Why a human being of his education 
 should continue to live in a Water-street dance-house, and bring up 
 his children there, is more than we can comprehend. 
 
 For the wickedest man loves his children. His little five-year-old 
 boy is the apple of his eye. He never misses an opportunity to sound 
 the child's praises, and to show off his accomplishments. All things 
 considered, the little fellow is truly a wonder. He is crammed full 
 of information on all manner of topics, and is ever ready to re- 
 spond to his doting father's attempts to make his smartness visible to 
 
A WATER-STREET DEN. 349 
 
 the naked eye. We have never visited the wickedest man's dance- 
 house without having our attention called to his little son's abilities, 
 except once, when he took us around to the school the child attends, 
 to let us see that he ranks with the best, and is a favorite with his 
 teacher. That was on the twenty-eighth day of May, at a quarter 
 to twelve in the daytime, when we went to 304 Water Street to tell 
 Mr. Allen that the fated time had come for serving him up in a 
 magazine article. 
 
 We think we know why this wickedest man persists in living in his 
 "Water-street den, — we have, in fact, penetrated his secret; but, as 
 we are not absolutely certain as to the matter, we will not set our 
 suspicions down in print, lest we should do him injustice. We have 
 said our wickedest man is a phenomenon : we meant this in its appli- 
 cation to the deepest springs of his character, but it is also applica- 
 ble to the external manifestations of those deepest springs. 
 
 Has the reader any notion of a Water-street dance-house ? Con- 
 cretely stated, it is a breathing-hole of hell, — a trap-door of the 
 bottomless pit. You step into a bar-room wherein lousy loafers lurk 
 on a level with the sidewalk, and in rooms far below it. But usually 
 there is a " saloon" in the rear of the bar-room. Passing out of the 
 bar-room by a door opening in a partition across the rear, you enter 
 the dancing-saloon, which varies in size from a room fifteen feet 
 square to a room twenty-five to fifty feet in extent. Along the wall 
 of this room extends a bench, usually on three sides. In the farther 
 end of the room is an orchestra, proportioned in numbers and skill 
 to the prosperity of the establishment. In one of the rear corners 
 of the saloon, there is a small bar, where the girls can drink with their 
 victims without exposing their fascinations to the unthnftful gaze 
 of a non-paying public. Sitting upon the benches, or grouped upon 
 the floor, are girls varying in number from four to twenty, but aver- 
 aging about ten. These girls are not comely to the fastidious eye, but 
 to a sailor from a long cruise they are not without attractions. So, 
 too, do certain landsmen of a degraded type pay homage. But a 
 decent man can only regard them with pity and sorrow. The only 
 girl we ever saw in a dance-house, in whom we could detect any 
 
350 LITTLE " CHESTER:* 
 
 comeliness or refinement, was a daughter of a former lieutenant- 
 governor of a New-England State ; and she had been there but a 
 few hours. 
 
 The first time we entered John Allen's dance-house, we found it 
 in full blast : it was eleven o'clock at night. There were thirteen 
 girls in the room, three musicians, and seven customers submitting 
 to the blandishments of an equal number of the sirens who pervaded 
 the room. Our party consisted of the policeman who accompanied 
 us, three clergymen on the lookout for the "elephant," Mr. Albert 
 C. Arnold of the Howard Mission, and the writer. The wickedest 
 man was in his glory. Things were moving briskly ; ordered the 
 orchestra to do their best, and ordered the girls to "break our 
 hearts." A vigorous dance followed, after which the proprietor called 
 out, — 
 
 " Hartford, go up and get my baby." Hartford turned out to be 
 one of the girls, and soon returned, bearing in her arms an undressed, 
 sleepy child. This was the juvenile prodigy. The father took him 
 in his arms with a glow of pride and affection. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, you are writers, philosophers, and preachers ; 
 but I'll show you that my baby knows as much as any of you. 
 He's hell on reading, writing, praying, and fighting." And, without 
 more ado, he stood the little fellow upon the floor, and began to 
 catechize him in ancient and profane and modern history, geography, 
 with a result that astonished all. Suddenly he exclaimed, " 'Ches- 
 ter,' — that's the child's name, — give me a song ! " and " Chester" 
 gave us a song. 
 
 " Now, ' Chester,' give us a ' break-down,' the orchestra a ' break- 
 down ; ' " and " Chester" danced it with precision and vigor, and his 
 mother looked on with delight. 
 
 " Now, ' Chester,' give us a ' prayer : ' " and the child recited first 
 the Lord's Prayer, and then others, mixed with so much ribaldry 
 and profanity on the father's part as cut us to the heart. 
 
 And here we got a glimpse of the pre-eminent wickedness of the 
 man, — wickedness which is leading him to train up that idolized 
 boy in a way and in an atmosphere which will yet make him an 
 
" GRIT AND GRACE." 351 
 
 object of disgust and loathing, even to his own heart. For that 
 dance-house child, there seems to be no spiritual hope. The sacred 
 and profane are so mingled up, that he will never be able to tell 
 which is sacred and which is profane. He will grow up in the high- 
 est possible type of wickedness — if he grows up at all. Of all the 
 cases we have ever seen, Chester Allen gives us the keenest pang. 
 
 After the infant phenomenon had been sent back to bed, his 
 father asked our party if we wouldn't "mix in" and have a dance 
 with the girls. u It will do you good," said he, "to trip it a little 
 on the light fantastic. Besides, I like to do the fair thing by dis- 
 tinguished men. I am fond of literary people, and especially of 
 clergymen. I have three brothers who adorn the sacred calling, and 
 grit and grace run through our family like the Tigris and the Jordan 
 through the Holy Land. Go in, gentlemen : the girls shall not hurt 
 you. I will watch over you like a hen over her chickens, and you 
 shall leave my premises as virtuous as you came in. Ha, ha ! 
 come, what shall it be? " On being assured that we would not "trip 
 it on the light fantastic," he asked us if ice (that is, our party) would 
 not favor the girls with a song : whereupon Mr. Arnold suggested 
 that we should all sing together, and asked the girls what they would 
 like best. Several of them immediately responded in favor of "There 
 is rest for the weary." — "Do you know that? " one of the clergy- 
 men asked. "Yes!" answered at least half a dozen of the girls. 
 " TVhere did } t ou learn it?" asked another of the clergymen. "At 
 sabbath school," was the reply. We all looked at one another. 
 Here was a revelation. These girls had been brought up to attend 
 sabbath school. Perhaps they were daughters of Christian parents ! 
 But we had not time to pursue this painful speculation, for the girls 
 began to sing, — 
 
 " In the Christian's home in glory- 
 There remains a land of rest; 
 And my Saviour's gone before me, 
 To fulfil my soul's request. 
 Chorus. — There is rest for the weary, 
 There is rest for you. 
 
352 A QUEER PLACE FOE A "CHRISTIAN OBSERVER." 
 
 On the other side of Jordan, 
 In the sweet fields of Eden, 
 Where the tree of life is blooming, 
 There is rest for you." 
 
 And oh, with what fervor and pathos they sang ! especially the 
 chorus, which, at the end of each verse, they sang three times over. 
 Some of them sat weeping as they sang. 
 
 Since that occasion we have repeatedly visited the abode of the 
 wickedest man in New York, but all our efforts to get any vital hold 
 on him have been in vain. He is always cordial, always ready to 
 let the girls "have a spiritual sing:" he will even permit a little 
 exhortation in his dancing-saloon, and is free with his " Independ- 
 ent " and his "Christian Observer." 
 
 But he keeps on his way with unyielding pertinacity. On one 
 occasion a party suggested that he should let us have a prayer-meet- 
 ing in his saloon. After a little reflection, he replied, "Well, no, 
 gentlemen : I can't go that. You know that every man must have 
 regard to his profession, and the opinions of his neighbors. What 
 with my ' Observer ' and 'Independent,' and } T ou fellows coming 
 here and singing camp-meeting songs, I am already looked upon in 
 the neighborhood as being rather loose and unsound ; and if, upon 
 top of all that, I should let you hold a prater-meeting here, I should 
 lose the little character that I've left."" But our friend Arnold of the 
 Howard Mission was determined to achieve the prayer-meeting ; and 
 during the fourth week in May last, when there were many of his 
 clerical friends in the city, Mr. Arnold thought he would bring a 
 heavy spiritual cannonade to bear on Allen, and see what would come 
 of it. So, on Monday night, May 25, after a carefully conducted 
 preliminary season of prayer, an assaulting party was formed, includ- 
 ing six clergymen from different parts of the country, to march upon 
 the citadel of the enemy. When we arrived, it was half-past twelve. 
 The window-shutters were closed, and we feared we were too late. 
 But a light shone through the window over the door ; and, on appli- 
 cation, we were admitted, and received a hearty welcome. Allen just 
 then was undergoing a shampooing process, for the purpose, as he 
 
A PRAYER IN A DANCE-HOUSE. 353 
 
 frankly said, of enabling him to go to bed sober. He added, "You 
 see, gentlemen, it won't do for a business man, or a literary man 
 either, to go to bed drunk. So, now, just take my advice, and, when- 
 ever you find yourself drunk about bed-time, you just take a good 
 shampoo, and you will find the investment will pay a big dividend in 
 the morning. But walk into the saloon, gentlemen, walk in. The 
 girls are in there, taking a rest and a smoke after the arduous duties 
 of the evening. Walk in." We walked in, and found the girls 
 smoking pipes, and sitting, and lounging about the room. 
 
 In a few minutes Allen came in, and proposed to have the girls 
 dance for us ; but we declined. "Well, then, Arnold, let's have a 
 song! " he exclaimed. Mr. Arnold, as usual, asked the girls what 
 they would like to have ; and they at once asked for their favorite, 
 "There is rest for the weary." — "Here, mother, give me my 
 fiddle," said Allen to his wife, " and bring out the * books ; ' " mean- 
 ing " The Little Wanderer's Friend," of which he keeps a supply. 
 
 The books were got out by one of the girls, the fiddle was handed 
 him by his wife, and Allen led off on the treble, all hands joining 
 in. There were eleven girls in the room ; and they sang the chorus 
 with unusual fervor, even for them. As soon as this song was fin- 
 ished, a couple of the girls simultaneously asked for " There's a light 
 in the window for thee, brother," which was sung with emphasis and 
 feeling. Mr. Arnold, believing that the hour had come, tapping 
 Allen on the shoulder, said, "Well, John, old boy, give us your 
 hand. I feel just like praying here with you." Allen took the ex- 
 tended hand, and gruffly said, "What! pray ? Do you mean pray? 
 No, never ! ' ' 
 
 "Well, John," said Mr. Arnold, "I am going to pray here, any- 
 how. If I do not pray loud, I'll pray soft. You sha'n't lose the 
 prayer, anyhow." — "Well, Arnold, mind now, if you pray, I'll not 
 hear you ; mind that. I don't know any thing about it. I won't 
 hear you;" and backing slowly out of the room, and repeating "I 
 won't hear you" over and over again, Allen went through the door 
 leading to the bar, and closed it after him. Mr. Arnold then invited 
 the girls to join in prayer with him, which they did, — some of them 
 
354 " THESE POOR GIRLS." 
 
 kneeling on the floor, others bowing their heads upon their hands, — 
 while Allen peered through the window of the partition-door upon 
 the singular scene. Many of the girls arose sobbing ; and several 
 of them crowded around Mr. Arnold, and begged him, in the name 
 of God, to take them from that place. 
 
 They would work their hands off if honest work could be got for 
 them : they would submit to any hardship if they could only be re- 
 stored to opportunities for virtue and a Christian life. Take them 
 from this place — where could he take them? In all this Christian 
 land, there is not a Christian home that would open their doors to 
 a repentant female sinner, except to turn her out of the house. 
 
 On calling on Mr. Arnold the next day, we found him in the room 
 of the mission, with his head bowed upon the table as though in 
 prayer. " Sir," he exclaimed, " what is to be done about this? " — 
 "About what?" we asked. "These poor girls," he replied. "I 
 have been thinking and praying all night, but I can see no light. 
 Sir" (pressing my hand), "I shall go mad. There are about forty 
 dance-houses in Mr. Allen's neighborhood. Each one requires a 
 re-enforcement of eighty girls, amounting to a trifle of over six a 
 day for each one of them, — about six fresh girls a day, Sunday 
 included." 
 
 Naturally, the publication of Mr. Dyer's article centred upon 
 John Allen for a while public attention ; and certain clergy- 
 men called upon him, and endeavored to convert him. 
 
 In a few weeks John Allen's dance-house was closed for the 
 first time in seventeen years. And the next day it was an- 
 nounced that Allen had abandoned forever his infamous voca- 
 tion. Alas ! this announcement did not prove true. The 
 wickedest man went back to his wickedness once more ; but 
 still, much benefit had indirectly been done. A great many 
 sinners, unlike Allen, remained true to their pledges ; and, on 
 the whole, the effect of the " movement " was for good. And 
 one thing is certain : had the good work been carried on stead- 
 
KIT BUBNS. 355 
 
 z7y, and as earnestly as it had been commenced ; had the parties 
 concerned on the Lord's side " not been weary in well-doing ; " 
 had they persisted in their efforts "in season and out of season," 
 as did "the great apostle of the Gentiles," — Paul, — the result 
 of their labors of love would have been vastly greater. But 
 discouraged by the backsliding of the principal sinner, and 
 sensitive to the remarks of the daily press, and obtaining an 
 unpleasant notoriety, the Christian and temperance leaders, to 
 use the expressive language of the prize-ring, " threw up the 
 sponge," and left Rum and the Devil in possession of the field. 
 
 Spasmodic efforts avail little in temperance, religion, or any 
 thing else. It is the steady, persistent fighters, like Wellington 
 and Grant, who never know or care when they are defeated, 
 but who fight right on, who win the fight at last. Another 
 attempt at what may be called "sensational conversion" was 
 made years ago at the rat-pit of the dog-fighter Kit Burns, 
 who was in his time one of the "characters" of New York. 
 
 Kit Burns's place was known as " Sportsman's Hall." It was 
 a plain brick building on "Water Street, with the lower portion 
 painted green, and a small gas-lamp in front of the door. 
 
 The " bar " at Kit Burns's was like all other " bars " in Water 
 Street, only more copiously stocked with liquor ; but the great 
 " attraction " of the place was the room fitted up as an amphi- 
 theatre, or "pit." The seats were rough, very rough benches; 
 and the pit, or ring, was enclosed by a wooden fence, forming a 
 circle several feet in height. There the rat-fights and dog- 
 fights were held and largely attended, ay, and by men some- 
 times of money, and social or political position. 
 
 These dog and rat fights were terrible spectacles of degraded 
 and drunken humanity witnessing pluck and suffering. But 
 the dogs and rats were less beastly than the men. During the 
 Water-street revival at John Allen's, the parties conducting 
 the movement made an effort to bring Kit Burns under the 
 
356 "AWFUL GARDNER." 
 
 influence of temperance and religion. But he resisted their 
 efforts. Then the revivalist hired Kit's rat-pit, and used it 
 for daily religious services. 
 
 There, as in the case of John Allen, less " sensational " good 
 was accomplished than the conductors of the movement ex- 
 pected and desired. And so they became discouraged. But, 
 in reality, a great deal of good was attained, though in a quiet 
 way, among the more obscure sinners. The real mistake made 
 was, not in beginning these revivals, but in ever abandoning 
 them. Temperance raids, religious raids, like police raids, 
 accomplish far less good than steady, moderate, but ceaseless 
 effort. And it must not be forgotten, that although the noto- 
 rious sinners, John Allen and Kit Burns, persisted in their in- 
 iquities, spite the revivals at their places, two other sinners 
 (almost as notorious) have been reformed, and have remained 
 reformed to-day, and are prominent examples of what temper- 
 ance and true religion can do, even for the vilest. I allude to 
 "Awful Gardner" and "Jerry McAuley." 
 
 Awful, or Orville, Gardner was for years a notorious drunkard, 
 pugilist, and gambler, a champion of evil. But he became 
 converted, and at once proved that his conversion was sincere. 
 He forsook the prize-ring and the card-tables with their villan- 
 ous associations, and lived like an honest man, by honest means, 
 and among honest men and women. He had been for years a 
 " chum " of John Allen, a constant feature of his dance-house. 
 And Allen, and the rest of his set, "took no stock," as it is 
 called, in his conversion. When his reformation was announced, 
 it was pronounced " a dodge ; " and bets were offered that he 
 would be " worse than ever " in a month. But the month 
 passed ; and Gardner still was honest, sober, and religious. 
 Three months passed, and still he manifested those three vir- 
 tues. A year passed : still he held on to his honesty, to his 
 temperance, and to his God. He was a man of his word : he 
 
JERRY MCAULEY. 357 
 
 had taken a solemn pledge " to serve God as faithfully in the 
 future as he had served the Devil in the past," and he kept 
 his vow. From that day on he has indorsed his oath by a life 
 of an irreproachable character. 
 
 And Jerry McAuley, who was once a "rough" and a "tough," 
 is to-day himself a temperance reformer, and conducts *a suc- 
 cessful " mission-house " here in the heart of one of the vilest 
 sections of the metropolis, directly adjoining one of the most 
 disgustingly popular of the drinking-haunts of New York, — 
 " the infamous Cremorne." There is abundant encouragement 
 to be derived, after all, from the records of the endeavors of 
 the past. Even the failures made by the good men and women 
 before us are full of instruction and profit if only read aright. 
 
 All that the good people of New York, or of any other and all 
 other cities, have got to do to reform the bad, is, to be as 
 earnest and as persistent in good as the bad are in evil. The 
 rum-seller does not sell rum by " spasms," or for "sensation : " 
 he sells it all the time for profit. So the Christian reformer 
 and the temperance advocate should not seek to do good by 
 spasmodic " revivals " only, nor to obtain notoriety. No : they 
 should do their good as the sinner and the rum-seller do their 
 evil, — regularly, steadily, with a due knowledge of human 
 nature, with a single desire to gain their end, and all the time. 
 
 Then they will be sure to succeed, and then only. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE RUM-DENS OF NEW YORK TO-DAY. — HARRY HILL AND " HARRY HILL'S." 
 — THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MAN AND HIS TLACE. — THE " MABILLE " AND 
 MCGLORY'S DEN. — "THE HAYMARKET" AND "THE DIVES." — THE REAL 
 TROUBLE WITH THE TEMPERANCE MOVEMENT. 
 
 In a preceding chapter I have endeavored to show how vile 
 the liquor strongholds of the metropolis have been in the past. 
 But New York is just as liquor-cursed, just as rum-vile, to-day, 
 as in the days or nights of Kit Burns and John Allen. 
 
 There is " Harry Hill's," for example. This place has been 
 so frequently described, that its proprietor has learned to look 
 upon these descriptions as " advertisements." Consequently, I 
 do not propose to give Mr. Harry Hill an " ad." Suffice it to 
 say, that none of the printed descriptions of this notorious den 
 have been truthful. They have either exaggerated its attrac- 
 tions, or failed to do justice to the singular, the absolutely 
 unique, character of its proprietor. 
 
 "Harry Hill's" is not really" an attractive place at all to 
 those who are accustomed, in any degree, to appreciate attrac- 
 tions. As a "theatre," the place is absolutely unworthy of 
 notice , the stage being small, the company being cheap, and 
 hardly worth their money at that, and the programme being 
 poor. In fact, the "theatre" serves but as an excuse for the 
 " beer-hall," the " wine-room," and " the dance-house." 
 
 The distinctive feature of this, and the other similar dance- 
 houses, is, that women from the streets are admitted "free," 
 — free from the necessity of a male escort or an admission-fee. 
 
 358 
 
"THE ONLY MAN OF HIS KIND." 359 
 
 A man must pay, to enter Harry Hill's, his twenty-five cents : 
 a woman can enter Harry Hill's, as often as she pleases, for 
 nothing. 
 
 True, she must " behave herself " while in the dance-house : 
 she must preserve outward decorum. But the fact remains, 
 that she attends the "performances" at Harry Hill's only for 
 one of two reasons, or for both, — either to swill beer or 
 " drink wine," if invited to do so, or to solicit indirectly, or to 
 be solicited directly by, men. 
 
 Whatever credit (?), if any, can be attached to keeping the 
 best possible kind of a very bad house, is due to Harry Hill. 
 He sees that his women do not outrage decency, as they do 
 elsewhere ; and he takes care that the thieves who resort to his 
 place do not steal while in his house, or from his customers. 
 There are no " complaints " ever made formally to the police 
 against " Harry Hill's : " and speaking technically, merely in a 
 legal police-point of view, it does not deserve to have any 
 made against it ; for the mere outward form and letter of the 
 law is never violated by the shrewd proprietor, who finds it to 
 his interest to be comparativel}* decent. But still the fact 
 remains, that the place is, and has been for years, the most 
 notorious dance-house in the city of New York; that it is 
 the nightly rendezvous of gamblers, thieves, and prostitutes , 
 and that it is, and long has been, one of the favorite haunts of 
 the accursed liquor-demon. 
 
 As for the proprietor himself, he is sui generis, — the only 
 man of his kind in New York, or, perhaps, anywhere else. He 
 bears deservedly a high reputation as a business-man, is kindly 
 hearted, respected for his probity by those who have dealings 
 with him, and beloved by those who are employed by him. 
 He has a very large and miscellaneous acquaintance, and num- 
 bers among his friends some of the most prominent men of the 
 day. 
 
360 THE TWO HABET HILLS. 
 
 But, on his dance-house side, Harry Hill is simply a trafficker 
 in bad rum and bad women, — a man who, by his very popu- 
 larity, does harm to the uuwary. There is no use in mincing 
 matters ; and for once let the truth be written, just as it is, 
 about Harry Hill. 
 
 The writer knows him well, and likes one Harry Hill — 
 Harry Hill the man — very well indeed; but for Harry Hill 
 the dance-house keeper and rum-seller, he has, and every true 
 man can't well help having, an unqualified contempt. 
 
 How there can be two men, two Harry Hills, so different, 
 combined in the one man, the one Harry Hill, is a problem I 
 cannot solve. But, luckily, I am not called upon to solve it, 
 but only to describe it, as I have endeavored to do, without 
 malice, and in the fear of the Lord. 
 
 All good men will shun, and all men who wish to remain 
 good should shun, Harry Hill's just as they would a small-pox 
 hospital ; for a place where no virtuous woman ever enters 
 should never be entered by a decent man. 
 
 And New York is full of places which are even worse than 
 Harry Hill's, if worse be possible, — places which are even 
 lower, less outwardly decorous, more inwardly vile, such as 
 " The Allen's Mabille," as it is called, and McGlory's den. 
 
 At the former place, in the immediate vicinity of Harry 
 Hill's, thieves and courtesans daily and nightly congregate , 
 and, of course, liquor, and very bad liquor, is persistently and 
 profitably sold. And ever and anon public " balls," " masked " 
 balls sometimes, are held at the Mabille, and very largely 
 attended, not only by the " flash " class, but by those who 
 should know and do better, — the so-called "swells" of the 
 upper classes of society, " men-about-town," etc., who thus 
 then and there patronize pandemonium. 
 
 As for McGlory's den, it is a vile hole, indescribably disgust- 
 ing. There is really nothing attractive about it, except its 
 
VILE, VILER, VILEST. 361 
 
 very repulsiveness. It makes not the slightest pretence to 
 beauty or to art. There is not the slightest indication of 
 refinement. There is really no comfort : the liquor is vile, 
 the people who drink it are viler, and the man who u runs " the 
 beastly rum-hole is the vilest of all. 
 
 Here murderous assaults have been committed with impu- 
 nity ; here people have been robbed unblushingly ; here rivalry, 
 blasphemy, and obscenity can be heard constantly; here the 
 worst of men mingle with the vilest of women, both classes of 
 wretches on the lookout for victims brought here by curiosity, 
 under the insane idea that they are " seeing life," when really 
 they are " seeing " the only part of " life " not worth the see- 
 ing ; here a " rough," who was head bar-keeper of this " hell," 
 recently attempted to kill a policeman, and was himself killed ; 
 and here every crime that can disgrace humanity is represented. 
 
 This den of McGlory's has recently been brought into 
 prominence by the colossal " cheek " of McGlory himself, who, 
 taking advantage, by a trick, of the representatives of the 
 proprietors of the Brunswick Hotel, one of the most fashion- 
 able establishments on Fifth Avenue, absolutely engaged a 
 parlor at the Brunswick, and gave a post-midnight supper to 
 his gang of "girls" and "roughs," who made night hideous 
 with their orgies, and stirred Fifth Avenue down to its very 
 foundations. 
 
 It is now claimed, that the idea of this colossal combined 
 " sell " and " spree " did not originate with McGlory himself, but 
 was done at the instigation, and with the financial "backing," 
 of certain prominent parties in society, who were unfriendly 
 to the management of the Brunswick. But, at any rate, the 
 affair was successfully and skilfully engendered by McGlory, 
 who spent a large sum of money on it, and received from it 
 an enormous advertisement, worth ten times the money spent. 
 
 Now, it is not my intention to do what the proprietors of the 
 
362 " MCGLORY' S DEN" AND " THE HAYMARKET." 
 
 Brunswick unwittingly did, and " advertise " McGlory by 
 " abusing " him. He and his den, and all such men as he, and 
 all such places as his, are really not worth the elaborate pen- 
 and-ink descriptions that have been wasted upon them. 
 
 Suffice it to say, that all these haunts of vice and rum are 
 disgustingly similar, and will not repay the trouble, expense, 
 or risk of a personal visit. I am writing of them as they are ; 
 and I do not intend that any glamour of romance or poetry 
 shall be thrown around them, for there is not a particle of 
 romance or charm about them. 
 
 Take the Haymarket, for example : what can really be less 
 poetical or attractive than this notorious place ? A floor 
 almost as dirty as a stable, with vestiges here and there of 
 tawdry finery, with a bar at one side, and staircases on either 
 side, leading to a second floor, or gallery, with wine-room, or 
 platform, to the rear, and a sort of supper-room to one side, 
 and tables and chairs of the rudest description everywhere, 
 with a small stage, accommodating a noisy orchestra at one 
 end ; and a space on the middle of the floor reserved for dan- 
 cing, where women, foul from the streets, whirl round in the 
 arms of men, smoking cigars ; while on all sides, around and 
 above, men and women, thieves and prostitutes, look on, laugh, 
 sneer, curse, or applaud, as the case may be, amid clouds of 
 tobacco-smoke and the fumes of villanous w T hiskey. Such is 
 the appearance of the Haymarket any and every night from 
 ten o'clock till two ; and, certainly, there is nothing very capti- 
 vating about all this. 
 
 " The Cremorne " is even lower and less attractive than the 
 Haymarket, being only a free-and-easy of the lowest grade ; 
 and the " Lava Beds," so called, on Sixth Avenue, around 
 Thirtieth Street, are merely localities devoted to drinking- 
 saloons, like the notorious " Empire," where the appetites of 
 degraded women are catered to by men even more degraded, 
 
"STRAINING AT GNATS AND SWALLOWING CAMELS." 363 
 
 and where boys, girls, men, and women drink and often quarrel, 
 undisturbed by the police, — the wonderful and wonderfully 
 inconsistent New-York police, which, while it puts a stop to 
 what at least claims to be a devout representation of religious 
 mysteries, does not put a stop to " The French Madame's," or 
 a score of dens which claim to be and are unblushing and alto- 
 gether undevout representatives of irreligion and depravity. 
 
 Ah! sometimes when I think of the fact, that the police 
 arrest poor candy-women and little boys for trying to make a 
 few cents on the first day of the week, and }*et permit Irving, 
 and the rest of his class, to keep the Sixth-avenue " dives " 
 open day and night all the week through, unmolested, I cannot 
 help recalling the words of Him who denounced bitterly the 
 hypocrites who " strained at a gnat, and swallowed a camel." 
 
 For the police, if they chose, could, within forty-eight hours, 
 close all the places I have just described. Just as Owney 
 Geoghan's vile den has been brought to at least temporary grief 
 of late ; just as the Buckingham has been stopped, — so all the 
 dens in New York could be wiped out if the police were only 
 as earnest in doing their work as they are in getting their pay, 
 — if, like the Divine Master, they were "no respecter of 
 persons." 
 
 Ah ! the real difficulty is, not to get the necessary machinery 
 with which to repress the infamous liquor traffic, but to keep 
 that machinery up to doing its work. The real trouble with 
 the temperance movements has always been, that the temper- 
 ance and reform influences, the ministers, the authorities, the 
 police, have been ever lukewarm in their duties ; while the rum- 
 sellers have been heart and soul, body and mind, dollars and 
 cents, earnest and energetic in their profitable sin. Success in 
 any thing in this world is more a matter of mingled prudence 
 and pluck than of any thing else, or of all things else com- 
 bined ; and, alas, alas ! the preponderance of worldly tact and 
 
364 . THE LESSON OF SUCCESS. 
 
 persistent energy has thus far been on the side of the rum- 
 sellers. Hence their success to date. 
 
 But this fact carries with it its own lesson ; for it follows, 
 that, when the energy and the prudence of the temperance 
 advocates shall equal or exceed for good the zeal and shrewd- 
 ness displayed by the rum-sellers for evil, then the case will be 
 reversed, and alcohol will be dethroned. And it may here be 
 remarked, that the energy and worldly wisdom shown by some 
 of the converts to temperance, by the reformed drunkards, such 
 as "Awful" Gardner and Jerry McAuley, previously alluded 
 to, and Ben Hogan the reformed pugilist, who has been of 
 late doing so noble a work in Chicago and the "West, puts 
 to shame the supineness of the regular recognized agents of 
 reform and good morals, the " orthodox " clergymen, the pro- 
 fessed temperance people, and the uniformed, disciplined, but 
 inefficient and half-hearted, police. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 STILL ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY WON AND LOST. — THE YOUNG MEN'S CHRIS- 
 TIAN ASSOCIATION. — ITS HISTORY AND GOOD WORK. — I AM SEIZED WITH 
 AN IDEA. — AND I PREPARE TO CARRY IT OUT. 
 
 I will now resume the thread of my personal narrative. 
 Having "loafed" around New York in destitution and dis- 
 grace, idling, and suffering for lack of the decencies and even 
 the necessaries of life, a slave to my old foe, rum, I finally, 
 with the good luck that so constantly attended me, and which 
 I as constantly abused, came across an old friend, who, taking 
 pity on my distresses, and having confidence in my business 
 talent, first exacted from me a pledge that I would cease drink- 
 ing, and then advanced me a sum of money to invest in the 
 restaurant business. 
 
 I accordingly went on at once to Boston, and opened a place 
 at No. 21 South Street. Once more an all-merciful Provi- 
 dence had put me on my feet, and given me a chance, — my 
 tenth or fifteenth chance. But, alas, alas, alas ! although I had 
 given my pledge not to drink, I violated it in a few weeks. I 
 promised in good faith ; but rum had ruined my free will, as it 
 always does. And I did not keep my vow. My new specu- 
 lation ended — as my old speculations had all ended — in fail- 
 ure, brought on by rum, — rum simply, and rum solely, and 
 rum altogether. 
 
 I was then compelled to seek assistance for the very necessa- 
 ries of life. And, among other places, I applied in my distress 
 to the Young Men's Christian Association Rooms. There I met 
 
 365 
 
366 THE T.M.C.A. 
 
 Mr. D. Banks McKenzie, who took a true Christian's kindly 
 interest in my case. He had been, I understood, a sufferer 
 once himself from my own dread moral, spiritual, and physical 
 disease, intemperance, but had reformed and recovered, and 
 had devoted himself to rescuing unfortunates like me. He 
 substantially befriended me, even to such a great degree that 
 I have not yet been able to repay him. I hope, God giving 
 me health and strength, to show this man, who is doing so 
 much for humanity at large, that at least I feel grateful for his 
 kindness. 
 
 And here let me say a few words relative to Young Men's 
 Christian Associations, which are justly ranked among the 
 memorable achievements and powerful influences of the times. 
 
 These associations are now numbered by the hundreds, and 
 embrace many thousands of members. And as a writer on this 
 subject in that truly Christian and altogether admirable peri- 
 odical, "Harper's Magazine," remarks, — 
 
 To bind together such a congeries of societies, and to inform 
 them with a common life, has required tact, patience, and uncommon 
 good judgment. The associations are examples of business shrewd- 
 ness applied to Christian aims. For once worldly wisdom, in the best 
 sense, has entered into league with Christian simplicity. One cannot 
 read the instructions for the formation of associations without tracing 
 the marks of this wisdom. Some of them run in this wise : " Begin 
 quietly, without mass-meetings." " Avoid debt." " Do not run a 
 race with a lyceum, or any like institution." " Strike out into new 
 paths." " Build a house that beats a public-house." " Keep out the 
 talking, office-seeking men, who are ready to seize upon a new move- 
 ment so long as it adds to their popularity, or gratifies their vanity. 
 At conventions ' show-men ' are not needed, nor persons simply who 
 can make a good speech." " Do not depend upon large and ambitious 
 meetings to sustain your work." " Put your association-room not 
 higher than the second floor, and furnish it as a parlor, and not in a 
 
TUE FOUNDER OF TIIE Y.M.C.A. 3G7 
 
 formal manner as a public hall." " Do not engage as an association 
 in measures of political reform." Such instructions reveal a patient 
 study of the difficulties which are met in the path of every move- 
 ment, and the methods by which they are overcome. There is a 
 touch of satire in the advice to keep clear of windy, talking men. 
 "What village in our land does not know them? Carlyle, in his 
 4 ' Stump Orator," advises that a bit of his tongue be cut off every 
 time that he talks without doing. The associations have learned, 
 that all "deep talent is a talent to do, and is intrinsically of silent 
 nature." They have a short word for the fussy orator: "Much- 
 talking man, you may go down. Your gift is not wanted here." Let 
 it not be supposed, however, that worldly prudence is the chief 
 qualit} 7 in the management of these associations. It plays a sub- 
 ordinate part only : underneath it is a fervid zeal for the spiritual 
 welfare of young men. 
 
 The date of the beginning of a Young Men's Christian Associa- 
 tion was 1844; and Mr. George Williams, the founder, lives a hale 
 and vigorous man, old as years are counted, but still youthful in his 
 Christian zeal. The original association in London has owed much 
 of its growth to the energy of its long-time secretaiy, Mr. Shipton, 
 who, now retired from duty, can look back with pleasure upon the 
 fruit of his manifold toils. The example of England was quickly 
 copied on this side of the ocean ; and, in 1857, there was one formed 
 in Montreal. New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and other cities, 
 rapidly followed. In tracing this history, we find that brain, the 
 ardor of Christian zeal, and business experience, have worked to- 
 gether. For instance, in the city of New York, merchants, bankers, 
 and professional men, such as Cephas Brainard, James Stokes, jun., 
 Elliot Monroe, "William E. Dodge, jun., have been closely linked 
 with others whose entire lives have been surrendered to this service. 
 But to no one can more be ascribed in the developing of the associa- 
 tions in the United States than to Robert R. MeBurney. the New- York 
 secretary. He wields an unknown power by suggestion, which 
 reaches to the farthest limits of association interests. He may be 
 classed as one of the best examples of quiet, persistent energy. 
 
368 THE ATHEIST IN THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 
 
 Many will remember the modest quarters of the association in the 
 Bible House of former years. Through the confidence which Mr. 
 McBurney's executive abilities have inspired, the funds have been 
 collected for the erection of the Association Building, which is in 
 every way worthy of the conspicuous position it occupies in the city. 
 Here, too, the International Committee have their headquarters ; and 
 from this point, as a centre, radiates the work among railway-men, 
 the college students, among the Germans, in the South and West, 
 and among the freedmen. All these branches from the parent-stock 
 have grown without human provision. Some one has appeared fitted 
 for a special service : the service has called for the man, and the 
 managers have had the sagacity to heed the call. The life of F. von 
 Schluemenbach, who has charge of the association among the Ger- 
 man young men in the United States, has the same romantic interest 
 as that of William Nast, the founder of the German Methodist- 
 Episcopal Churches. Nast was a fellow-student with Strauss, was 
 infected with Straussian scepticism, came to the United States, led 
 for a time an aimless, unsettled life, was led by the simple-hearted 
 Christians to doubt his doubt, and to a hearty acceptance of Christian 
 faith. Von Schluemenbach had adopted an Epicurean, atheistic phi- 
 losophy, had become a leader among like-minded young men of Ger- 
 man nationality, but through the earnest expostulation of the late Gen. 
 Albright of Pennsylvania, and the awakening of the recollections of 
 early years in the fatherland, was brought to a better mind. Gen. Al- 
 bright, who was in war a fearless soldier, and all the time a fearless 
 Christian, introduced the German atheist to his Sunday school in 
 these terms : " Here is my dear friend, Capt. von Schluemenbach, an 
 infidel, by the way, who says there is no God ; and he is going to 
 speak to you, and tell you there is no God, and to prove it to you." 
 This was a trying position for the German. The songs of the chil- 
 dren had awakened tender feelings ; and his speech became a confes- 
 sion, that he could not believe there was a God. But, if the children 
 knew that better than he, they might as well pray for him as for 
 others. Led gently, step after step, by the general and his wife into 
 the truth, he began a new life. 
 
A DOCTOR AND A BIBLE-TEACHER. 369 
 
 It is the characteristic of the association, that they develop lay 
 activity. Gen. Albright was a lawyer, a bank-president, and a man 
 of affairs. New York has given an example of a physician and 
 professor in a medical school who is also one of the most successful 
 of Bible-teachers. Dr. "W. H. Thompson for eleven years has had 
 before him, every Sunday afternoon in Association Hall, an audience 
 varying from five hundred to seven hundred persons, who have 
 listened to his explanations of the meaning of Scripture. His quali- 
 fications for the work of an expositor are unusually good. He is the 
 son of Rev. Dr. William M. Thomson, the author of " The Land 
 and the Book." His early life was spent in Syria; and, as the East 
 has for centuries been unchangeable, he can furnish out of the 
 stores of his memory abundant illustrations of Scripture history. 
 Seated beside a table, on which his arm carelessly leans ; using collo- 
 quial tones, which derive no advantage from any power of voice ; not 
 at all fluent, but, on the contrary, hesitating in utterance, — Dr. 
 Thomson has, nevertheless, learned the secret of holding his audi- 
 ences : one of the causes of this success is, that the lecturer has 
 something to say ; another, that he does not "orate." Dr. Thom- 
 son believes that Bible history may be made as interesting as any 
 other. " Take," he says, " the history of the founding of the Chris- 
 tian Church, as it is given us in the Acts, and illustrated in the 
 Epistles, and, if that subject cannot be made more interesting than 
 the history of Greece or the American Revolution, it will be owing 
 solely to the mental vacuity of the teacher himself, who has been 
 deadened by a liturgical reading of the Bible till his ears are dull of 
 hearing." Preachers who speak to nearly empty pews Sunday after 
 Sunday may learn something to their advantage by attending the lec- 
 tures of the Rev. Dr. Thomson. 
 
 As I was once a railroad-man myself, I may here remark, that a 
 great interest has been taken by the Young Men's Christian Asso- 
 ciation in railroad-men. Cleveland is the centre from which work has 
 sprung ; although tentative efforts have been made in St. Albans, Vt., 
 as early as 1854, and in Canada in 1855, its success dates from 1872. 
 Mr. Lang Sheaff became conspicuous in it at Cleveland. In 1877 Mr. 
 
370 CHRISTIAN ENGINEERS AND BRAKESMEN. 
 
 E. D. Ingersoll was appointed secretary of the Railway Branch of the 
 Young Men's Christian Associations. So rapidly has this Christian 
 enterprise grown, that in 1879 a convention of the Young Men's 
 Christian Associations was held in Altoona, Penn. There are now 
 reading-rooms for railroad-men at thirty-three railroad centres, of 
 each of which a secretary has charge. An aggregate of thirty thou- 
 sand dollars is annually appropriated by the companies for this truly 
 Christian labor. "Mr. Ingersoll," says a leading railway manager, 
 " is, indeed, a busy man. Night and day he travels. To-day a rail- 
 road president wants him here : to-morrow a manager summons him 
 there. He is going, like a shuttle, back and forth through the 
 country, weaving the web of the Railway Associations. In Indi- 
 anapolis twelve railroad companies aid in the support of this work 
 of benevolence. In Chicago the president of one of the leading 
 railroads, the general manager of another, the general superintendent 
 of anothpr, and other officials, have served and are serving, and are 
 serving actively, on the Railway Committee of the Young Men's 
 Christian Associations." The stuff these men are made of may be 
 seen from some of the reports to the Altoona convention. One spoke 
 thus: " About twelve years ago we organized in Stonington, Conn., 
 a midnight prayer-meeting of railroad-men. It was the hour before 
 the starting of the steamboat night-train. The first night one man 
 
 o o o 
 
 was soundly converted, and continues to-day a living witness of the 
 truth. After a while the meetings were suspended ; and I heard 
 nothing more about the railroad-meetings, until Mr. Ingersoll, the rail- 
 road secretary of the International Committee, came down that way. 
 " I run a midnight train from Providence," said a conductor, " and 
 speak almost every Sunday ; and many of our railroad-men attend. 
 I am forty-six years of age, and have been twenty-seven years on 
 the road, and four years at sea. My engineer is a Christian man, 
 and I feel safe behind him." Are the passengers of the midnight 
 train the worse off because the engineer and conductor are such men 
 as these? A railroad secretary, who represented Indianapolis, said, 
 " A member of our association was killed last week, and I was called 
 upon to bury him : it was a sad, a very sad, duty. He was a Chris- 
 
PIETY AND COMMON SENSE. 371 
 
 tian boy, and there are men here who have heard him pray. Going 
 home from the funeral, one of the boys, not a Christian, said, l The 
 Railroad Christian Association is doing more for our railroad-men than 
 any thing else in the world.' " 
 
 Some may suppose that the books provided in the railroad read- 
 ing-rooms are wholly of the goody-goody species. Not so. The 
 Bible is there, and is made the text-book in the Bible-classes ; and 
 devotional books do their precious office. But these men have active 
 brains, and are Americans. A secretary says of them, " One of the 
 first things they call for is railroad-works. I am surprised how many 
 inquire for mechanical works ; and for that reason I am particular to 
 have the railroad papers — ( The Scientific American,' etc. — on our 
 tables. These are read more than the dailies. If the men know that 
 they are going to get something that will help in working up to a 
 higher position, they will come to our rooms." Among the books 
 called for, as desirable for the libraries, are Bourne's "Hand-book 
 of the Steam-Engine, " Balfour Stewart's "Conservation of Energy," 
 Pope's "Modern Practice of the Telegraph," and along with such 
 strong meat as Henry's "Commentaries," Conybeare and Howson's 
 "St. Paul," etc. 
 
 It is now time to consider the methods by which these results have 
 been attained. Enthusiasm alone will not account for them. A brief 
 outburst of Christian zeal may form an association of young men, but 
 the cohesive force of the bond is very slight. In point of fact, moral 
 societies outside of churches fall to pieces very easily : the wonder is, 
 that many of them live from year to year. That the Christian associ- 
 ations have lived for a generation, and have grown so steadily, is due 
 to two facts : they meet a permanent want, and they have been brought 
 into unity with unusual skill. According to their own account, their 
 history is divisible into three periods. The first is called the period 
 of confederation, and extends from 1854 to 1801. The former date 
 marks the first annual convention of the associations of the United 
 States and the British Provinces, held at Buffalo. This was the time 
 of infancy. The associations were experiments, and were learning 
 what could and what could not be done. The second period is that 
 
372 THE GROWTH OF THE Y. M. C. A. 
 
 of the civil war, 1861 to 1864. The war changed at once the labors 
 of the associations. The army, which absorbed the young men of the 
 period, became the objective point. Army committees were formed, 
 first for Christian labors among the recruits encamped about New York, 
 and then for service in the field. A convention of delegates from the 
 Young Men's Christian Associations formed the United-States Chris- 
 tian Commission, which, as has been well said, was one of the most 
 beneficent agencies ever devised to alleviate the miseries and horrors 
 of war. "It served as the medium by wliieh the Christian homes, 
 churches, and communities of the country sent spiritual and material 
 comfort to the soldiers in the field and hospital." In the four years 
 of war it expended, for the benefit of the soldiers, two and a half 
 millions in cash, and nearly three millions in stores. To have origi- 
 nated this agency is one of the crowning glories of the Young Men's 
 Christian Associations. They modestly disclaim any credit for its 
 wonderfully wise administration. That belongs to Mr. George H. 
 Stuart and his associates. But the history confirms what Lord 
 Bacon says of young men : " that their invention is more lively than 
 that of old men ; and imaginations stream into their minds better, 
 and, as it were, more divinely." The third period, from 1865 to the 
 present time, is the period of development. In 1869 the test of 
 membership was adopted, which led to a sifting, as well as a closer 
 unity. But the most capital device which dates from this period was 
 the formation of an International Executive Committee, as the organ 
 of the international convention. This committee has its headquarters 
 in New York, and has the supervision of association work throughout 
 America. Its circulars describe the field to be covered in this 
 fashion : — 
 
 " Fifty thousand college students, one hundred thousand commer- 
 cial travellers, five hundred thousand German-speaking young men, 
 five hundred thousand colored young men, eight hundred thousand 
 railroad-men, the young men in States west of the Ohio, the young 
 men of the South, the young men in Canada, the Young Men's Chris- 
 tian Associations in North America, — a broad field, certainly ; and, 
 for all its breadth, it is occupied. The young men have entered it 
 
SOME FACTS AND FIGURES. 373 
 
 bravely, and intend to hold it, as they commonly say, ' for their Lord 
 and Master.' Since 18G6 the committee has brought up to each 
 successive international convention a careful report of what has been 
 accomplished under its superintendence, and has submitted a plan. 
 with estimates of cost, for the coming year. After deciding on the 
 general features of the work to be undertaken, the convention refers 
 it to the executive committee, with instructions to perfect the plan in 
 detail, and to carry out its provisions as far as the necessary funds 
 are furnished by the associations and the friends of the cause." Thus 
 far the committee have had but one chief secretary, — Mr. Richard 
 C. Morse. Mr. Morse is a graduate of Yale, and has the quick, ner- 
 vous energy of the American young man. He believes it to be possi- 
 ble to girdle the globe with Young Men's Christian Associations, and, 
 most likely, expects to live long enough to see it done. But the In- 
 ternational Executive Committee reaches still farther. In each State 
 of our Union, and in each of the Provinces of Canada, it has a corre- 
 sponding member, through whom it reaches State and Provincial as- 
 sociations. Under its inspirations State and Provincial associations 
 are held. Each State is urged to employ a secretary, and each local 
 association a general secretary, both to devote all their time to asso- 
 ciation labors. Of course, only the strongest associations can afford 
 to support paid agencies : still, there are already one hundred and 
 twenty-one general secretaries and assistants, twelve State secretaries, 
 and eight international secretaries, making one hundred and forty-one 
 in all. Sixty associations in America have buildings, and thirty-seven 
 have building-funds and real estate. AYhen Mr. Morse entered upon 
 his duties in 1870, there was but one agent employed by the Interna- 
 tional Committee; it had no more than $4,700 in hand for all ex- 
 penditures : it now employs eight special secretaries and three office 
 assistants, and expended in 1880 the sum of $24,444. This, for 
 young men who are supposed to be remarkably impulsive, is an ad- 
 mirable exhibition of executive power. But New York is not the 
 sole centre from which association enterprises radiate. Chicago 
 shares this honor. In that city Mr. D. L. Moody began, in the ser- 
 vice of the Christian Association, the marvellous evangelism which 
 
374 A GLORIOUS SHOWING. 
 
 spread over Europe and America. In all his diversified labors, Mr. 
 John V. Farwell of Chicago, the president of the association, has 
 been his counsellor and friend. The great merchant and the evan- 
 gelist have been honorably coupled together in the recent religious 
 history of the North-West. Geneva, too, the historic city of the 
 Protestant reformers, is a great centre still. Here is the seat of the 
 "World's Central Committee, which aims to link together the system 
 of Christian Associations throughout the world. The secretary of 
 the committee is Mr. Charles Fermand, who, in order to execute the 
 duties of the office, has surrendered his brilliant business prospects, 
 has travelled over the field in Europe and America, and made his first 
 report to the world's convention of all associations, held in London 
 in August, 1881. Mr. Fermand spent three years in examining the 
 associations of French and German Switzerland, America, England, 
 and Scotland, and Ireland, France, Belgium, etc. Mr. Fermand had 
 to obey the summons to perform military service for two months, in 
 accordance with the requirements of Swiss law. These are some of 
 the outgrowth of the little union of young men, effected by Mr. 
 George "Williams in 1844. We can best show the fruit by coming 
 back to one association building, — that of New York. Every secular 
 day more than eight hundred persons enter its open doors ; to the 
 reading-room and gymnasium one-third as many ; over two thousand 
 meetings are held yearly ; that is, six each day. In all this activity, 
 there is but one governing impulse, — that the best service to be ren- 
 dered to them is, to lead them to revere and love Jesus Christ. This 
 is the simple creed of the Young Men's Christian Associations. In 
 this vast complexity of agencies, not one of them is employed with 
 a malevolent purpose. To every young man they do, in point of 
 fact, present the appeal, — 
 
 " And thy striving, be it with loving, 
 And thy living, deed on deed." 
 
 And now to return to myself. 
 
 Having, through the agency of the Y. M. C. A. (initials far 
 more truly honorable than the famous S. P. Q. R. of the ancient 
 
"CHEEKY" YET SOUND. 375 
 
 Romans), through the kindness of Mr. D. Banks McKenzie, 
 and the blessing of Heaven, contrived to remain sober for some 
 weeks, I got quite elated with my novel sobriety ; and one day 
 the idea occurred to me, why not give a temperance lecture ? 
 The idea was rather a " cheeky " one, I confess, for a drunkard 
 who was not yet morally certain of his own reform ; yet, after 
 all, it was not so wild and Utopian as it seemed. Who more 
 fitted truthfully and vividly to describe the horrors of intem- 
 perance than the man who has personally experienced them? 
 Besides, I had some qualifications for a popular lecturer. I 
 had self-possession, a gift of language, and a certain power of 
 telling a story, which would serve me on the platform in good 
 stead. And then, the novelty of the thing would give it a cer- 
 tain amount of eclat ; while the mere fact of coming before the 
 public as a temperance lecturer would, I thought, compel me 
 ever afterwards to feel under a more than ordinary obligation 
 to keep sober. So, for all these reasons, the idea of giving a 
 temperance lecture seemed just the thing. 
 
 I communicated the idea to my friends, and found that they 
 warmly approved of it. So, as the phrase is, " I put myself 
 in the hands of my friends,'' who made the arrangements 
 about the lecture for me. Tremont Temple was engaged for 
 Monday evening, May 19, 1873, for the first appearance upon 
 the lecture-platform of Thomas N. Doutney ; and I set to work 
 to prepare a lecture, partly based upon my own personal expe- 
 rience, and partly devoted to a consideration of the causes 
 and cure of intemperance. I threw my whole stock of energy 
 into this lecture. I meant, at heart, to reform. I had been 
 low enough. This lecture was to be the first step towards my 
 elevation. In the composition of my lecture, I experienced 
 some of the usual troubles that await a man on his first essay 
 at literary work ; but, as to the delivery of the lecture itself, I 
 had no fear : I felt that I could deliver it, and that I would ; 
 
376 AN ASSURANCE THAT FULFILS ITSELF. 
 
 and an assurance like this, accompanied by the necessary work 
 and energy, usually is fulfilled. It fulfils itself. 
 
 To a certain extent (to what degree those who have heard 
 me must judge for themselves, but certainly to a degree), 
 I have the gift of acting ; that is, of delineating emotion. I 
 have never, in any way, been connected with the theatrical 
 profession, either directly or indirectly ; but I have seen now 
 and then some very artistic acting, and have not been slow in 
 gathering hints from what I saw and heard. In this respect 
 my occasional visits to the theatre have not been, as they are 
 to most,, an unmitigated evil. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 TUE STAGE IN ITS RELATION TO THE BOTTLE. — THE " STARS n AND DRUNK- 
 ARDS OF THE PAST. — ESTIMABLE MEN AND WOMEN WHO HAVE BEEN 
 MASTERED BY BAD HABITS. — AND ESTIMABLE MEN AND WOMEN WHO 
 HAVE RESISTED THESE BAD HABITS. — THE THREE BOOTHS. — NEW LIGHT 
 ON THE ASSASSINATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. —THE DRAMA AND THE 
 DRAM. 
 
 And here let me pause a moment in my direct narrative 
 to write a few words of reminiscence, warning, and advice to 
 actors and actresses, and to " show " people in general. 
 
 Each profession has its strong points and its weak ones, — its 
 characteristic virtues and vices. The clerical profession is 
 elevating and self-denying, but it is peculiarly liable to the 
 besetting sin of " spiritual pride." The law is liberal, but has a 
 tendency to trickery. Medicine is both liberal and elevating, 
 but has a tendency to materialism and to infidelity. While the 
 theatrical profession, though the most " charitable " branch of 
 occupation known to man, always kindly hearted and open- 
 handed, has its own peculiar vice, intemperance. One of the 
 greatest actors the English-speaking stage has seen, Edmund 
 Kean, was an inveterate drunkard, the abject slave of wine, — 
 a man who clouded his genius and shortened his life by his 
 terrible excesses. And the man to whom he, when in this 
 country, erected a monument, the actor Cooke, was another 
 genius and another drunkard. One of the greatest actors 
 known to the American stage, the elder Booth, was the slave 
 of drink ; and many are the serio-comic and almost tragic 
 stories recorded of the drinking bouts of this extraordinary 
 
 377 
 
378 GREAT LIGHTS EXTINGUISHED. 
 
 genius. J. R. Scott, in his days the rival of Edwin Forrest, 
 fell a victim to " the flowing bowl ; " as did the bright gentle- 
 man Perry, the leading man, and that incomparable light come- 
 dian Mortimer, — ay, the very man who for years made fame and 
 fortune by acting the role of the drunkard in Barnurn's Museum 
 drama of that name, the actor Goodall, whose personation of 
 George Middleton, the drunkard, was a splendid piece of art, 
 and itself a sermon, died of mania a potu. Burton, though not 
 a drunkard, was a hard drinker, and shortened his days by his 
 drinking-habits. Brougham — genial John Brougham — lived 
 for years a comparative wreck, previous to his final departure. 
 He had never even been what is called " a hard drinker ; " but 
 he had undermined his constitution by his steady, " moderate 
 drinking," which, just as " constant dripping will wear a stone," 
 will, sooner or later, undermine the most vigorous constitution. 
 Lucille Western, the greatest actress America has yet produced, 
 with the sole exception of Charlotte Cushman, ruined her 
 health by resorting to the use of stimulants to sustain her 
 strength, and died in her prime. And the long list of gifted 
 men and women on the stage who have injured themselves, or 
 absolutely killed themselves, by drink, could be indefinitely pro- 
 longed, down to the most beautiful woman of her day, the lovely 
 and loving Adelaide Neilson, who sapped her system, and per- 
 ished in her prime, from excesses in eating and drinking. 
 
 All the people I have mentioned were gifted ; and most of 
 them were good, — good at heart, — and much better in their 
 lives, perhaps, than the average men and women of the world : 
 but, unfortunately for themselves, they had contracted the 
 habit of resorting to intoxicating stimulants; and they paid 
 the penalty of their folly. 
 
 Far be it from us to judge them, but certainly we must 
 pity them ; and we ought all of us to take warning from them. 
 
 And yet there are hundreds of actors to-day, and scores of 
 
A FREE "LIVER" AND EARLY DIE-ER. 379 
 
 actresses, who are not taking warning, but are imitating the 
 folly of their dead and gone companions in art — and alcohol. 
 
 It is not saying too much to say, that the finest leading man 
 the present decade has produced, Charles Thorne, jun., would 
 have been alive to-day had he been a total-abstinence man. 
 But, as he was a "free liver,'' he was an early die-er. 
 
 And there are hosts of 4w stars " and " leading-men,*' and 
 actors of all grades, who are hard drinkers, and who are doing 
 themselves, and their families if they have any, and the general 
 public, gross injustice by yielding more or less, generally more, 
 to their special temptation of intemperance. 
 
 And social drinking is far too much of a custom among the 
 ladies of the profession. Thus two of the members of one 
 stock-company in Xew-York City, and three of another, are 
 steady consumers of beer and wine in any thing but moderate 
 quantities ; and their M little weakness " only serves to excite 
 the good-natured mirth, the badinage, of their associates, which 
 is, perhaps, the worst sign about the whole matter. 
 
 The fondness of the members of the corps-de-ballet for beer 
 has become proverbial, equalled only by the predilection of 
 circus-people for whiskey. 
 
 It is a thousand pities it is so ; but we leave it to theatrical 
 people and circus-people themselves, if we do not state the 
 simple truth. 
 
 I have no ill will towards theatrical and show folk : on the 
 contrary, I have a kindly feeling ; for they have entertained me 
 occasionally, and treated me cordially always, when I met 
 them ; but it is for this very kindly feeling's sake that I would, 
 in the name of their best interests, protest against their worst 
 enemy. Nor is there the slightest real necessity for this sad 
 state of things. There is no more need for an actor or actress 
 to drink, than there is for a lawyer, or a doctor, or a clergyman 
 for that matter. 
 
380 THE. TEMPERATE SON OF AN INTEMPERATE FATHER. 
 
 While many of the great theatrical stars have been drunk- 
 ards, many, fully equal to them in all artistic respects, have 
 been positively or comparatively sober men and women. 
 
 Charlotte Cushman was a model alike of energy, talent, and 
 temperance. Macready was a temperate man. Forrest was 
 always careful in his habits as regards the use of intoxicating 
 stimulants. John Gilbert, honored John Gilbert, the model 
 "old man " of New York, is a strictly temperate man. Murdock, 
 the classic Murdock, has been all his life a pattern in this, as in 
 all other respects. Edwin Booth, to-day the foremost Ameri- 
 can actor of the world, affords, in his own career, a memorable 
 example of the fact, that personal intemperance is not an essen- 
 tial of theatrical greatness. And the history of this illustrious 
 artist also proves that drinking-habits can be overcome by will- 
 power, and that even the terrific curse of inherited intemper- 
 ance, a hereditary tendency to liquor derived from one's own 
 parents, can be neutralized and conquered by earnest effort. 
 
 Edwin Booth was the son of a hard-drinking father, who, 
 training his child in his own profession, unfortunately also 
 initiated him into his own irregular habits. Cases are still 
 remembered in which father and son have been seen under the 
 influence of liquor together. At one time of his eventful life, 
 Edwin Booth was far advanced on the road that leads to a 
 drunkard's grave. His trip to Australia with Laura Keene 
 was clouded by his excesses ; and the old adage, " like father, 
 like son," seemed to be in a fair way to be realized once 
 more. 
 
 But Edwin Booth had a host of warm wishers, and among 
 them some true friends, who sincerely regretted his drinking- 
 habits, and strove to correct them. It was his good fortune 
 also to marry a woman who did all in a true wife's power to 
 counteract the curse that was threatening to destroy the man 
 she worshipped. Above all, Edwin Booth himself was, with 
 
EDJVIN AND ]VILKES BOOTH. 381 
 
 all his uncommon genius, a man of common sense; and he saw 
 clearly that he was on the road to ruin, and he paused ere it 
 was too late. 
 
 He is to-day a temperate man, a reformed drunkard, like 
 myself. 
 
 His career is very instructive, — full of warning alike and 
 encouragement. He did not reform all at once. He did not 
 become a sober man at one bound. No : his reformation was 
 gradual, and marked by several falls from grace. At one 
 period it was even thought that all hope of reformation would 
 have to be abandoned by his friends and the public : he 
 seemed destined to destruction. 
 
 But thanks to his friends, to his own force of character, to 
 the prayers of a true wife, and to the blessing of Heaven, he 
 crossed the Rubicon, and conquered himself, and is to-day a 
 temperate as well as a famous man. 
 
 Compare his career with that of his ill-starred brother, Wilkes 
 Booth. Wilkes possessed more native ability than any of his 
 brothers ; he was more like his illustrious father in gifts than 
 any other of his sons ; but, alas ! he also was exactly like his 
 illustrious sire in eccentricity and intemperance. 
 
 And it was his intemperance which, among other things, led 
 him to the crime which has forever cast a shadow on the name 
 of Booth, the actor-assassin. 
 
 It is not asserting too much to say, that, had John Wilkes 
 Booth not been a drinking-man, the assassination of Abraham 
 Lincoln would not now be a fact of history. Wilkes had been 
 drinking hard for some weeks previous to the terrible affair ; 
 and all his associates in the foul enterprise, if the term "enter- 
 prise " can be applied to such a cowardly folly, were drinking 
 men and women. 
 
 This is a point which has not been yet dwelt upon with the 
 force that it deserves. All the assassins, and Mrs. Surratt her- 
 
382 . AN ACTRESS'S GOOD WORK. 
 
 self, were wine-bibbers, hard drinkers ; and alcohol influenced 
 them as well as treason. 
 
 Had the conspirators been all sober, they would probably 
 not have been conspirators. Had they been practised in the 
 restraints of sobriety, it is safe to assume that the frenzy of 
 assassination would never have seized them. Men who control 
 their appetites generally control their passions ; and the assassi- 
 nation of Abraham Lincoln may be, in part at least, laid to the 
 charge of alcohol. It is one of the encouraging signs of the 
 times, that of late years some well-known theatrical people 
 have become directly or indirectly the advocates of temper- 
 ance. Miss Minnie Cummings (the real founder of the 
 Madison-square Theatre), though not identified directly with 
 temperance work, not long ago delivered one of the best of 
 temperance orations, because brief and to the point, in the city 
 of New York. And the same lady, a short time previous to 
 her impromptu speech, had come across, accidentally, a poor 
 drunkard, who, but for her interference, would have been 
 taken to the station-house, but who, restored to his right 
 mind and a sober life by her kindly influences, is now doing 
 well at this moment, in the metropolis, as a writer in a metro- 
 politan journal. 
 
 Other actresses, notably a Mrs. Susie Denver, have joined 
 the ranks of the reformers, and are proving, alike by precept 
 and example, that there is no essential connection between the 
 stage and the bottle, the drama and the dram. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MY FIRST LECTURE. — "GREAT EXPECTATIONS." — A BITTER DISAPPOINT- 
 MENT. — WHAT I SAW AND WHAT I DID NOT SEE ON TREMONT STREET. — 
 TWO INTELLIGENT AND WELL-DRESSED STRANGERS, AND WHAT THEY 
 WANTED WITH ME. — A LECTURE UNDER DIFFICULTIES. — A TEMPER- 
 ANCE LECTURER FALLEN. 
 
 Well, the (to me) ever memorable Monday, May 19, 1873, 
 arrived in due time ; and I was in a constant state of exaltation 
 and excitement. A good deal of preparation had really been 
 made for my lecture that night. Printer's ink was thrown 
 around everywhere ; and flowing handbills announced that 
 " The reformed drunkard, Thomas N. Doutney, would lecture 
 at Tremont Temple. Admission twenty-five cents, reserved 
 seats fifty cents." 
 
 Some of my friends had even gone to the trouble and 
 expense (more trouble than expense, by the by) to secure the 
 services, in my behalf, of a band, — a German street-band, — all 
 uniformed for the occasion, and presenting a strong and noisy 
 advertisement of my forthcoming lecture. My friends were 
 determined that I should " make a noise in the world/' if only 
 by proxy. Every thing seemed propitious. Special compli- 
 mentary tickets had been issued " for the press," and to each of 
 these tickets my likeness was attached. In short, in this my 
 first lecture, as in every thing else I have subsequently under- 
 taken, I did whatever my hand found to do ; and I did it witli 
 all my might. 
 
 And meanwhile I cherished high hopes of making a brilliant 
 
 383 
 
384 A DAY AND A NIGHT. 
 
 success. I had ever in my mind's eye the pleasing vision of a 
 crowded house, an audience of well-dressed and intelligent men 
 and women listening to my words ; and this prospect of a 
 grand house, with a good return at the box-office, cheered me 
 infinitely. I felt more like a boy than I had felt for years, — a 
 boy in animal spirits and vivacity, — though more of a man than 
 ever also, — a full-grown man in ardor and ambition. Nor was 
 I wholly selfish in my feelings and aspirations. For I hoped 
 and believed, that among my audience that evening would 
 be found some poor victims of rum, like myself (or, rather, 
 my former self), who, I trusted and resolved, should receive 
 from my words alike warning and encouragement. I was in 
 high spirits ; and acquaintances gathered round me, and in- 
 creased my confidence and excitement. Hosts of professed 
 temperance people, who called themselves my friends, all prom- 
 ised "to be there " at the Tremont Temple that Monday night. 
 And as they clasped my hand, and bade me God-speed in my 
 good work, I felt that a new life and light were beginning to 
 dawn upon me through this my first lecture. I could reason- 
 ably hope to pay my debts, and begin existence anew on a 
 better, sounder basis than ever before. 
 
 Ah ! I shall never forget that Monday. It was a day of 
 anticipation. And, alas ! I shall never forget, either, that Mon- 
 day night. It was a night of awakening, — and such an awak- 
 ening ! — an awakening to reality. 
 
 As the shades of night gathered around the great city, I 
 began to feel slightly nervous. The re-action to my state of 
 excitement had commenced already. I bolted my supper 
 down, and then rushed to the Tremont Temple, towards which 
 I expected to see (with my bodily eyes) hurrying a crowd of 
 those " well-dressed and intelligent men and women " whom I 
 had seen (in my mind's eye) during the whole day. But 
 I was disappointed. As I approached the Tremont Temple, I 
 
AN AWAKENING TO REALITY. 385 
 
 could see no crowd at all : if any thing, the number of people 
 now in that vicinity seemed to be less than usual. 
 
 With a strange, depressing sensation of wondering uneasi- 
 ness, I took my position on Tremont Street, opposite the Tem- 
 ple, and waited for that crowd that was to come. I waited, 
 but the crowd came not. I saw my own name conspicuously 
 displayed on the outside of the building, but I saw very little 
 else. There was very little else to see. Certainly, I saw no 
 eager multitude pressing into the hall. I only beheld now 
 and then a man or small boy, — generally a small boy, — stop- 
 ping, and looking carelessly at my " announcements," and then 
 passing on. In ten minutes or more that I stood there on the 
 street, not over twenty people entered the hall itself; and 
 yet it was within a quarter of an hour of the advertised 
 time for my lecture to commence. Perhaps, in all my life, I 
 was never more wretched and crest-fallen than as I stood there 
 on Tremont Street, Boston. I felt strongly humiliated, sunken 
 in my own self-esteem. I felt outraged, humiliated, disgraced. 
 I began to understand what is meant by the pangs of dis- 
 appointed ambition. 
 
 But I recovered myself, "braced myself up," metaphorically 
 speaking, and crossed the street to the Temple, not as a chief 
 advancing to victory, not as a genius advancing to fame, not as 
 a toiler going to meet his reward, but rather as a victim to mar- 
 tyrdom, or a child to punishment, or as any thing or anybody 
 you choose, except as an about-to-be successful lecturer. 
 
 Ah ! there was no crowd at the door. The box-office was 
 nearly deserted, — nearly, but not quite. There were two men 
 — two rather " well-dressed and intelligent men" — in the 
 entrance, but they were not buying tickets of admission : they 
 were not at all anxious to hear me, they were onl}~ anxious to 
 see me. 
 
 One of these two men was so very anxious to see me, that 
 
386 "AFFECTIONATE ANXIETY:' 
 
 he barred my passage-way to the staircase, and, placing his 
 hand upon my arm, stopped me, and asked me, almost in a 
 tone of affectionate inquiry, "If my name was Thomas N. 
 Doutney ? " 
 
 I wondered who on earth the man was, and what he wanted ; 
 but I told him that was my name. And then instantly the 
 cause of his almost affectionate anxiety was explained ; for he 
 produced out of his ample pocket a legal document, — a war- 
 rant for my arrest for debt. My well-dressed and intelligent 
 men were two sheriffs officers. And I, the aspiring lecturer, 
 at the very commencement of my lecture-tour, before I had 
 begun my " lecture season," in fact, was " in quod." As the 
 comic-puzzle people phrase it, " I was ended ere I had begun." 
 A good many lecture enterprises terminate with an arrest for 
 debt : mine had commenced with it. 
 
 I can make light of the situation now ; but, ah ! it was dark, 
 very dark, with me just then. There was not a more unhapp3 T , 
 a more deeply humiliated man in all wide Boston then than 
 the " Thomas N. Doutney," as " per advertisements." 
 
 One can hardly imagine — I can hardly describe — my feel- 
 ings or my position at this moment. Here I was, just out of 
 the dark valley of intemperance, about to tell my experience, 
 about to make strenuous efforts at reforming myself and 
 others ; and now I was seized by the law for a debt, — a 
 paltry debt, — one of the very debts I had hoped to wipe 
 out by my lecture. It seemed as though the fates, in the 
 persons of sheriffs officers, had conspired against me. I was 
 crushed, but not for long. I am, fortunately, one of the men 
 who do not stay long " crushed." I resemble Grant in one 
 little particular, and in my humbler way, — I don't know 
 when I am beaten. I raised my head, and suddenly resolved 
 to make a test-case now and here against fate and the 
 sheriff. I resolved to move heaven and earth rather than to 
 
" For he produced out of his ample pockets a legal document. — a warrant 
 for my arrest for debt " [p. 386]. 
 
A WOULD-BE LECTUBER AND DEPUTY SHERIFFS. 387 
 
 be moved from my lecture. I had been through many trying 
 scenes before, under different circumstances, as the preceding 
 pages make plain. And now, on my first step toward reforma- 
 tion, to be headed off was not only hard, it should be impossible. 
 
 I said to the officers, " Gentlemen, I admit the debt. It is 
 an honest one. I owe it ; and this very lecture I am announced 
 this hour to give is intended, among other things, to raise 
 the money to pay it with. Bear with me : wait, and defer exe- 
 cuting your warrant till I have delivered my lecture. I do 
 not wish to disappoint my audience." 
 
 I said these last words with an attempt at a grand air, as 
 if I had been a professional lecturer of long standing, and had 
 been used to entrancing audiences all my life. But the sheriff's 
 officers winked at each other, — actually winked, — as if to im- 
 ply that they didn't think my audience would be so very much 
 " disappointed " at my not giving my lecture after all. The 
 impudence of sheriff's officers is something colossal. 
 
 As for the other arguments and points in my little speech, 
 they had no effect upon the officers at all. They were proof 
 by this time against all arguments and points save one, — 
 money, or good security therefor. They were eminently 
 "practical" men; hadn't an ounce of poetry, romance, or faith 
 in their whole composition ; would not have trusted the apostle 
 Paul if they held a warrant against him, let alone a temperance 
 lecturer. 
 
 " You must pay the. full amount specified in my warrant," 
 said officer No. 1 ; " or go with us," said officer No. 2. 
 
 I pleaded with the officers. " Even sheriffs officers," I said 
 to myself, in my ignorance, " must be human. For Heaven's 
 sake," I cried, " give me a chance. This is m} r first lecture." 
 I thought it best, at this stage of affairs, to dismiss all airs and 
 pretence, and stick to the naked truth. " This is my very first 
 appearance as a public speaker. My whole future may depend 
 
388 • "SOME" AND "NONE." 
 
 upon it. If I fail, the papers will call it a fizzle ; and I will be 
 laughed at." That didn't move them a bit. " Besides, in this 
 case, you will never be able to get your money." This seemed 
 to impress them a good deal. I saw my advantage, and pur- 
 sued it. I dilated upon the great difference between having 
 some money in their hands, which they would be sure to have 
 if I was allowed to deliver my lecture, and having no money 
 at all in their hands, which would be sure to be their case in 
 case my lecture was not delivered, and the money already paid 
 for tickets was refunded. 
 
 The sheriff's officers stopped winking, and looked at each 
 other meaningly. Then they conversed a moment apart in a 
 low tone ; and finally, approaching me, it was arranged that I 
 should instruct, in their presence, the ticket-agent or treasurer 
 in the Temple to pay over to them all money received for 
 tickets, over and above the money due as rent of the hall, and 
 that I should then proceed, and deliver my lecture, with the 
 officers sitting on the first row of seats from the platform. 
 After the lecture, if the receipts from the box-office were not 
 found sufficient to cancel the debt, I was to furnish bail before a 
 bail-commissioner, whom they would have ready to act in my case. 
 
 I agreed to the terms. What else could I do but agree ? 
 And while one of the two officers started off on some other 
 business, — to make some other poor wretch more wretched, — 
 I walked up to the platform, followed by the other officer, who 
 was mistaken by the small audience present, I suppose, for 
 some prominent temperance man, or, perhaps, another reformed 
 drunkard ; as it must be confessed his red nose gave him a much 
 closer resemblance to the latter character than to the former. 
 
 I felt mean enough. Still, I had scored my first point. I 
 was to deliver my lecture. About two hundred were present 
 where I had expected two thousand. Still, somebody was 
 there, and I was there. 
 
I SPEAK. 389 
 
 When the time came, I advanced on the stage ; and a theo- 
 logical student advanced with me. He offered up a prayer. 
 While he was praying, I stood wondering where were all the 
 friends who were so enthusiastic in my behalf that very morn- 
 ing. I could not see them now; though I had ample time, 
 during the elaborate prayer, to scan every face in the one- 
 tenth filled auditorium. 
 
 At last the prayer ended ; and I was introduced to the audi- 
 ence, and received with a faint ripple of welcome. Where were 
 the thunders of applause which I had been hearing all day in 
 my dreams ? The contrast between my great expectations and 
 their paltry realizations abashed me. And then I felt an attack 
 coming on of what I knew to be " stage-fright." I had heard 
 it spoken of by others, but had always laughed at it myself. 
 
 " He jests at scars who never felt a wound." 
 
 But now it seized me, and for a moment my tongue refused its 
 office. The sweat stood upon my brow. But I must speak, 
 and there is a strange might about a " must." I did speak, 
 and, after the first moment, spoke as freely and fluently as I 
 have ever spoken since. I threw every thing else from my 
 mind, — the officers, the debt, the past, the present, or the 
 future, — and proceeded with my lecture. Really, although I 
 state it myself of myself, it was not a bad lecture for a brand- 
 new lecturer, and was well received. I at least entertained, 
 and I trust instructed, my audience. I had something to say, 
 and I said it. I knew what I was talking about, and that is 
 more than can be said of every lecturer. While delivering 
 my address, the excitement acted as a delightful stimulus 
 upon me ; but, when the lecture ceased, my troubles again 
 began. The sheriff's officer, who had not heard the lecture, 
 now joined the more (or less) lucky officer who had heard it ; 
 and the two (the surplus funds in the box-office not being suffi- 
 
390 . "POETIC JUSTICE IN PROVIDENCE." 
 
 cient) escorted me to a bail-commissioner. Here a kind friend, 
 to whom I shall refer later, became my bondsman ; and I was 
 temporarily discharged. 
 
 I was now free, — free to go where I wanted ; and, as I was 
 tired and worn out with the excitements of the day and the 
 disappointments of the night, I went to my lodgings, and fell 
 asleep, but only for a brief while. I awoke a little after mid- 
 night, a prey to that foe of sleep, — reflection; and with my 
 thoughts were mingled bitter humiliation, and still more bitter 
 recrimination. I mentally denounced the friends who had 
 promised me their countenance and aid that night, and had 
 afforded me neither. And then I took myself to task for hav- 
 ing made the mistake of charging too high an admission-fee, — 
 I, an utterly unknown temperance lecturer. " I ought to have 
 known better," I said to myself convincingly, now that it was 
 too late for the conviction to do me any good. Is it a wonder, 
 then, that, with all this passing through my mind, I did not 
 sleep ? All the rest of that livelong night (and it seemed a 
 livelong night truly) I tossed about my bed, seeking rest, but 
 not finding it. A hundred times that night I asked myself the 
 question, " Is this the reward of my struggling to be better ? " 
 A hundred times that weary night I took Providence to task ; 
 forgetting, that as I had repeatedly, time and time again, delib- 
 erately cast away the chances Heaven had already given me, 
 it was hardly to be expected that the very first chance that I 
 chose to accept should turn out just as I desired. There is 
 a poetic justice in Providence, although this justice seldom 
 seems poetic to the party most concerned. 
 
 I arose the first day after my first lecture feeling indescriba- 
 bly depressed. The glow of hope, the excitement of action, 
 had faded. I had now only a disagreeable memory, and a 
 dreadful headache, and a very little money. 
 
 And, alas ! I had no trust, just then, in a higher power than 
 
I FALL. 391 
 
 my poor, weak self. I had leaned upon my own strength, 
 and it had proved indeed a broken reed. I had nowhere to go 
 for consolation. I believed in a God, of course ; but my belief 
 was only theoretical, not vital. I had not a living faith. And 
 so — and so — 
 
 I fell, — fell again, — fell a victim to the very enemy I had 
 denounced, and warned others against. Weary, desperate, and 
 disgusted with myself, humanity, and fate, I sought a tempo- 
 rary oblivion in the arms of my old arch-enemy, King Alcohol. 
 Within twenty-four hours after the delivery of my first tem- 
 perance lecture, I was seen reeling through the streets of Bos- 
 ton, drunk. Yes, the new-fledged champion of temperance had 
 fallen ; and the hearts of the rum-sellers grew merry, and the 
 hosts of hell exulted. Another temperance lecturer fallen ! 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 "the darkest hour is just before the dawn."— my lowest point. 
 — mania a potu in its most fearful form. — my experience as a 
 cavalry recruit. — army life. — my first prayer. — my refor- 
 MATION. 
 
 The last chapter left me fallen from grace, after having 
 lectured at Tremont Temple the evening previous. My future 
 life seemed now darker than ever. I made up my mind that 
 I was lost forevermore. I gave myself up to abject despair. 
 What could the future have in store for me but ruin ? Had 
 I not fallen again — and again — and yet again ? Had not 
 helping hands been outstretched to bring me back to virtue, 
 and outstretched, alas ! in vain ? Had not love and affection 
 kept guard over me, and had I not proved utterly unworthy ? 
 Had I not promised to reform, and broken my promise ? Ay, 
 had I not struggled to reform, and ignominiously failed ? And 
 now, after a public effort in one of the largest halls in Boston, 
 was I not reeling in the streets a common drunkard? Yes; 
 and I only wonder that all that was good and holy did not shun 
 me altogether as totally depraved and vile. I hated myself. 
 I was ashamed of my own companionship, and one day I 
 made up my mind to banish myself. I resolved upon a change 
 of scene. I determined to go where neither friend nor foe 
 would ever see me. I forgot, that, go where a man will, he 
 never can escape from himself. In a fit of despair and despera- 
 tion I made up my mind to enlist in the United-States army, 
 and on the 27th of June I carried out my resolution. 
 
 392 
 
I JOIN THE ARMY. 393 
 
 I presented myself to the recruiting-officer, and was favora- 
 bly received. Uncle Sam is not too particular, except as to 
 physical qualifications; and, spite of all my excesses, I was 
 sound in body yet. 
 
 So I passed the usual medical examination satisfactorily, 
 and was duly sworn in, and donned the uniform of a cavalry 
 recruit. Acting on the motto that — 
 
 " It is well to be merry and wise, 
 It is well to be honest and true, 
 It is well to be off with the old love 
 Before you are on with the new," — 
 
 I got rid of my old clothes before I put on my new suit. I sold 
 my civilian's suit to an old Jew. There is always an old Jew 
 ready to buy old clothes. It is an admirable illustration of 
 supply and demand. It is a mysterious dispensation of Provi- 
 dence. The particular "old Jew "in this case was a Semitic 
 septuagenarian, who " hung around " the " raw recruits " for the 
 express purpose of buying their old clothes. He paid a dollar 
 and a half for mine. He tried to get them for a dollar first: 
 then, finding me firm as to the fifty cents, he submitted, and 
 " forked over." Before night every cent of those one hundred 
 and fifty cents was expended in rum. It would have probably 
 been the same if it had been one hundred and fifty dollars. 
 That same evening, in a state of intoxication, I was sent, with 
 two fellow-Irish raw recruits, to the cavalry recruiting head- 
 quarters, 174 Hudson Street. As soon as I arrived there, on a 
 Sunday morning, my first act was, to beg the sergeant in charge 
 to let me out so that I might get a drink ; but I need not say 
 that this vile request was not complied with. And it was well 
 for me that the sergeant did his duty in this respect ; for, had I 
 then taken a drop more, no earthly power could have answered 
 for the consequences. As it was, ere that Sunday terminated, I 
 
394 A HORROR OF HORRORS. 
 
 fell into one of the most terrible cases of delirium tremens that 
 ever a poor mortal passed through and survived. My state of 
 mind — my despair — my desperation — my disgust — my loath- 
 ing of the world and of Thomas N. Doutney, — along with the 
 dissipations I had passed through, combined to bring me to this 
 fearful state. Mania a potu was once more upon me. It was a 
 fearful attack. I suffered indescribably, — more, much more 
 than in my first attack ; although I was infinitely less demonstra- 
 tive now than previously. Mine was the outwardly silent delir- 
 ium, — the very worst of all possible varieties. 
 Shakspeare says, — 
 
 " The grief that will not speak 
 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break." 
 
 And so with delirium tremens. The delirium that raves and 
 rushes and curses is terrible : but the delirium that does not 
 rave, nor give any outward token of its inward agony, is far 
 more awful — to the sufferer ; for, in this latter species, even the 
 poor relief of muscular activity and excitement is denied; and 
 the poor victim of drink is compelled, as it were, to remain 
 only a spectator of his own indescribable agonies. 
 
 The officers in charge of me at this time did not know that 
 any thing was the matter with me, and probably would not 
 have cared if they had. They took me to the doctor in charge, 
 to stand my second and final examination ; and while waiting, 
 in line with the rest, to be tested and questioned by the phy- 
 sician, I suffered the torments of the damned. 
 
 Methought, as I stood waiting my turn with the rest, that I 
 could hear demons and goblins all around me, shouting, and 
 making hideous noises, and rushing upon me with yells of 
 " Shoot him ! shoot him ! " Then other goblins and demons 
 would howl, " Cut him to pieces ! " " Burn him ! " and the like. 
 Others, again, would exclaim, " Hang him ! " or " Drown him ! " 
 
TEE AWFUL POWER OF ALCOHOL. 395 
 
 and then they would rush towards me to execute their threats, 
 looking unutterably awful. 
 
 I heard these cries as clearly as ever in my sober moments 
 I heard the sound of my own voice ; I saw these sights as 
 plainly as ever I saw my own image in the glass, — and yet I 
 uttered no cry ; I made no movement whatever ; I was 
 apparently quiet, and stood straight in the ranks. 
 
 Oh, what a horror of horrors I was passing through ! No 
 wonder I occasionally thought of suicide. That very day, as I 
 stood there in the ranks, waiting for the second medical exami- 
 nation, I would gladly have cut my throat, had I had any thing 
 to cut it with. 
 
 But the day rolled on : the night came, and my night was 
 worse than even my day. I could not sleep. I never closed 
 my eyes from evening till morning, but dreamed the woful, 
 waking dreams of wild delirium. 
 
 Methought the whole United-States army stood beside my 
 bed in battle array, ready with cannon, musketry, and all the 
 implements of war, to sweep me from the face of the earth. 
 Then horrid monsters of every description appeared, flying 
 and crawling ; and the scene was fearful beyond description. 
 No mortal could pen-paint the scene. The Devil could be its 
 only accurate artist. The horrors of hell would themselves be 
 insignificant in comparison. I look back upon this time now, 
 and only wonder that I could have looked upon all this, and 
 live. It seems a miracle I did not die of fright and horror. 
 
 For, at the time I suffered all this, it was all to me a reality, 
 — as real as myself. The monsters glaring and hissing and 
 writhing and fighting and rushing all around me were real 
 monsters. I could hear them, see them, feel them, as they 
 crawled or sprung against me. I heard, saw, felt them, as 
 plainly as ever I heard, saw, or felt any thing or anybody in 
 my sober moments. Truly, the awful power of alcohol is 
 
396 MORE TERRIBLE THAN THE SMALL-POX. 
 
 amazing when one thinks of the abominable terrors it creates, 
 as well as the fearful evils it causes. I was not of a peculiarly 
 susceptible or poetical temperament ; and yet Dickens, Dante, 
 Gustave Dore*, Bulwer, Victor Hugo, could not have evolved 
 from their gifted imaginations such stupendous terrors as I was 
 surrounded with that night. Every intonation of voice and 
 roar was audible among these hideous monsters that pressed 
 around me. Every species of distorted shape was visible 
 among them, and the element of time was itself exaggerated 
 in my delirium : every hour seemed a century ; that night 
 seemed everlasting. And yet I did not die. It seemed as if I 
 was undergoing an immortality of agony. 
 
 But I shudder to narrate more. Even now, after all these 
 years, I tremble as I dilate upon the horrors of that unuttera- 
 bly awful attack of delirium tremens. Oh ! would to God that 
 I could imbue, by my words, the minds of men with such a 
 dread of the tortures of mania a potu, that they would shun, 
 as they would the possibilities of the small-pox, the bare possi- 
 bility of delirium tremens ; for, really, the small-pox, loathsome 
 as it is, does not begin to compare in awful agony with mania a 
 potu. 
 
 I would to-day rather have any disease, or all the diseases to 
 which humanity can be subject, than suffer another attack of 
 delirium tremens. I have not exaggerated the terrors of this 
 latter complaint. Believe me, dear reader, I have not done 
 so ; and, for one very sufficient reason, I could not do so if I 
 would. 
 
 And I assure you, dear, dear reader, that there is but one 
 infallible way of avoiding the unutterable affliction of delirium 
 from drink ; and that is, not to drink at all. For, if you swallow 
 your first glass of intoxicating liquor, the chances are, you will 
 soon swallow your second, then, in due time, your hundred and 
 second, and so on, till finally, some day or some night, the 
 
AEMT-LIFE. 397 
 
 delirium will seize you as it seized rne ; and then God have 
 mercy on your soul and body ! 
 
 Touch not, taste not, handle not, the accursed thing. 
 
 Many men, and not a few women, alas ! have met with death 
 in the midst of delirium ; but I was mercifully spared. I recov- 
 ered from this attack, and when sober enough, and steady in 
 nerves enough to write, sent letters to several friends, and 
 prominent people I had met (among others, Gen., now Gov., 
 Benjamin F. Butler, Rev.. J. D. Fulton, who was formerly 
 of Boston, Rev. W. F. Mallalieu of South Boston, and others), 
 entreating them to exert their influence with Gen. Belknap, 
 the then secretary of war, to procure my discharge from the 
 army. I also sent in a formal application for my discharge to 
 the wnr-department. 
 
 I had sickened of army-life, or of what I had seen of it, — 
 its irksome restraints, its mingled confinement and exposure, 
 and its low associations among the rank and file. And I had 
 changed my mind now altogether about wishing to hide myself 
 from the world, to bury myself in some far-off fort, or to be- 
 come a mere well-drilled and poorly fed and worse-paid military 
 machine. 
 
 No : I longed to be a free man once more ; and erelong I re- 
 gained my freedom, — thanks to my friends, and the prominent 
 people who still kindly remembered me, and my brothers, who 
 did all" in their power to assist me, — and was discharged ; my 
 discharge being handed me July 28, 1873, dated three days 
 previously, a special order having been created for my dis- 
 charge. 
 
 And here let me pause a moment to glance at army-life in 
 a general way. I, of course, had not time, in my brief " mili- 
 tary career" (to use a high-sounding expression), to see much 
 of the " inside workings " of our " army system,'' as it is called ; 
 but I saw enough to learn that intemperance is one of the cry- 
 
398 THE ENEMY WHICH STONEWALL JACKSON DREADED. 
 
 ing evils, not only among the soldiers, but among the officers, 
 of the United-States army. 
 
 " Privates " drink, and " officers " drink ; and, from what I 
 saw, I should be led to infer that officers drank more than pri- 
 vates, with far less excuse. The poor soldiers have few pleas- 
 ures in life, and are driven to drink under the mistaken idea 
 that it furnishes a resource against the misery and monotony 
 of their lives. But the officers have much to enjoy in life, and 
 do not need the extra stimulus of fiery liquor ; yet the great 
 majority of army officers, as well as soldiers, are drinking-men. 
 
 The notion has gone abroad, that the efficiency of troops in a 
 campaign is increased by the use of stimulants, and that only a 
 half-drunken soldier is wholly courageous. This is altogether 
 a mistake : what is called " Dutch courage," the temporary 
 "bravery" that comes from whiskey or rum or gin, is only a 
 flash in the pan ; it does not make a steady fighter. 
 
 The leading general of the Southern Confederacy remarked 
 once in reference to this point, that " he dreaded liquor for his 
 men a good deal more than he did any other enemy ; " and 
 Stonewall Jackson spoke the simple truth. 
 
 And I know of one Confederate soldier, at least, who frankly 
 confesses, that, if the officers on the Southern side had been 
 more temperate, " the Lost Cause " might have been saved. At 
 least, so he thinks. 
 
 British commanders, alike in the Crimea and in Africa, 
 under a torrid sun, and under the influences of perpetual cold, 
 have tried the experiment of strengthening their soldiers by 
 supplying them with alcoholic stimulants, and have found that 
 the experiment was a failure. 
 
 No, no. It is in military life as it is in civic. There is but 
 one humanity, and but one law for it, — the law of temperance. 
 Alcohol has never made a man stronger, and never will ; for 
 there is no real strength in it : it is simply what it is called, — 
 
FREE AND A SLAVE. 399 
 
 a " stimulant," — and nothing else. It is not a tonic, but only 
 an excitant ; and, the less the army and the navy have to do 
 with it, the better for the morale and the physique of those 
 departments. But to return to myself. My discharge from 
 the army proved to me that I had still some friends left, which, 
 under the circumstances, was more than I deserved. It also 
 showed me the real affection of my brother William, who had 
 not only worked hard for my discharge, but had taken the 
 trouble to seek me out, and inform me of my good fortune sev- 
 eral days before my formal discharge was handed to me in 
 person. When at last I took my departure from cavalry head- 
 quarters forever, I experienced a feeling of gladness and relief, 
 — a sense of freedom which was inexpressibly refreshing. 
 This feeling amounted to positive exaltation ; and under its 
 influence (how shall I write it ? who shall believe it ?) I began 
 to drink again, — to drink the very day that I was set free, to 
 make a slave of myself to rum on the very day that I had 
 obtained my freedom. Yes : I write but the simple, shameful 
 truth. Within thirty minutes from the time I was discharged 
 from the United-States cavalry, I began to drink ; and I was 
 drunk for thirty days. Such is the fearful power of intemper- 
 ance when once it has taken firm hold of its victim. I felt all 
 the time I was acting like a fool, a beast, and a scoundrel, in 
 fact, disgracing and ruining myself, and causing my kind 
 friends, who deserved far different conduct at my hands, the 
 utmost chagrin and anxiety. I do believe that the very demon 
 of evil had at this time seized me. In the language of Holy 
 Writ, I was possessed of an evil spirit. 
 
 During these thirty days of orgy, this month of shame, I 
 wandered from city to city, from hamlet to hamlet, all over 
 New- York State. I had one companion, a poor victim of drink 
 like myself. We two drunkards, with just enough money in 
 our pockets to pay for drinks, with a little food and lodging 
 
400 A DOUBLE "PROVIDENCE." 
 
 thrown in, made the days foul, and the nights hideous, with our 
 dissipations ; till at last my companion was, fortunately for me, 
 called away by urgent business, — which even he, sot as he was, 
 could not afford to neglect, — to New York ; our parting taking 
 place in the city of Providence, R.I. 
 
 This place was appropriately named; for it was here and 
 now, under the providence of God, that I came to my senses, 
 and that my true and lasting reformation commenced. 
 
 Awakening from my debauch, lonely now and sick, having 
 passed through almost every phase of experience possible to 
 humanity, I felt, not only as disgusted with myself as ever, 
 but I felt now what I had never felt before, a true feeling 
 of genuine remorse for my transgression, a sorrow for my 
 sin. 
 
 There is a wide difference between remorse and repentance. 
 I had often experienced the one, but till now I had never mani- 
 fested the other. Remorse is a sentiment of regret wholly 
 selfish, — a selfish sorrow for our sins, and for their conse-' 
 quences upon ourselves, or, it may be, on our fellow men and 
 women. But repentance is a feeling of regret for sin, because 
 our sin has offended Heaven. Repentance regards God, where- 
 as remorse looks merely at ourselves or at the world. Remorse 
 is human, and, therefore, often weak, and comparatively worth- 
 less ; but repentance is divine. 
 
 And it was this divine repentance that here, through Provi- 
 dence, in Providence, overpowered me. I saw and felt for the 
 first time how I had offended God as well as man. And for 
 the first time in my life I knelt down, and called, not only in 
 word, but in spirit, upon the Lord to help me. 
 
 I determined now by God's grace to keep sober, and by 
 God's grace I have been enabled from that hour to this to 
 adhere to that determination. 
 
 Well do I remember the words of this my first, real, from- 
 
"A NEW LIFE." 401 
 
 the-heart prayer. " O Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ ! " I 
 cried, " thou who didst pardon the thief upon the cross, wilt 
 thou not pardon me ? " They who come unto the Lord Jesus 
 Christ shall in no wise be cast out. 
 
 And, having prayed, I rose from my knees, and walked out 
 into the streets of the old New-England town. I felt a new 
 life already in me, a new sense of power as well as an inex- 
 pressible sense of comfort. 
 
 I strolled toward the bridge on Market Square ; and, standing 
 there, under the impulse of the time and the occasion the fol- 
 lowing simple verses flashed across my mind, — verses which I 
 at once transcribed, and have ever since retained as a memento 
 of that blessed episode in, or, rather, that blessed beginning of, 
 my life. 
 
 Intemperance claimed me as its own, 
 
 And reason was well-nigh o'erthrown : 
 
 Condemned, I wandered far abroad, 
 
 Despised by man, accursed by God. 
 
 For me there was no friendly home : 
 
 My only portion was to roam. 
 
 No children lisped a father's name : 
 
 My parents bowed their heads in shame. 
 
 The demon rum had full control, 
 
 And cast its shadow o'er my soul. 
 
 I could not pray, I dared not think : 
 
 I only moaned, " Oh, give me drink! " 
 
 The fiends in hell then heard my cry, 
 
 Nor pitied, nor would let me die. 
 
 And well I knew that I alone 
 
 Was guilty, and I must atone ; 
 
 For I, when life was fair and young, 
 
 "When hope's sweet song was all unsung, 
 
 Had ta'en a serpent to my breast, 
 
 That stung me till I had no rest. 
 
 It lured me on ; I thought it fair, 
 
 I thought it life ; it was despair. 
 
402 "MY SHACKLES ABE BROKEN." 
 
 For years its slimy folds did bind 
 My bruised form and wearied mind. 
 
 Is there no hope ? the billows toss 1 
 I'll bow me humbly 'fore the Cross ; 
 And he who died on Calvary 
 Perchance will turn the fiend from me. 
 I bowed ; and, lo ! from heaven above 
 I heard a voice of wondrous love 
 Say, " Rise, poor soul, you are forgiven : 
 Who loves the Lord shall enter heaven." 
 
 I make no pretensions to being a poet : but these verses, as it 
 were, rushed, irresistibly upon me then and there ; and, as for- 
 ever identified with the happiest moments of my life, I have 
 recorded them. 
 
 And having composed and copied this unpretending and 
 spontaneous effusion, illustrative alike of my transgressions 
 and my triumph, my sins and my gratitude, I went home feeling 
 as though my shackles were broken, and a load had fallen from 
 my shoulders. 
 
 I will here add, that upon this very bridge, in Market Square, 
 Providence, R.I., I had, but a few hours before, stood (with my 
 companion now departed to New York), with the determined 
 purpose to commit suicide by leaping into the water. But 
 now, instead of destroying soul and body, I had saved both. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A CONVERTED MAN'S TRIALS. — FEAR AS AN ENCOURAGING SIGN. — YES 
 AND NO, OR A SCENE AT MIDNIGHT. — THE LIGHTNING-ROD MAN. — THE 
 LIFE-INSURANCE AGENT. — THE " DRUMMER " AND HIS "SAMPLES." 
 — BOOK CANVASSING. — A TRUE FRIEND AND SECOND FATHER. 
 
 I was now a converted man, reformed drunkard, truly con- 
 verted, truly reformed. I felt it then, I feel it still. But even 
 a converted and reformed man must live : he must have food 
 and clothes ; and, unless he inherits them, he must earn them. 
 I therefore determined at once to set to work and earn an hon- 
 est, as well as a sober, living. But how ? No matter. I was 
 used to that question by this time. I had answered it before, 
 when a drunkard : certainly I was prepared to answer it now, 
 as a non-drinking man. I determined to get employment at 
 all hazards, and so I began the search. 
 
 My first great want was a little read} 1 - money to live on while 
 seeking employment. Time is the real lever with which Ar- 
 chimedes can move his world ; but, to have the advantages of 
 time, one must be able to control it as well as himself: he must 
 have money ; for time is money, and money is time. Here my 
 usual luck did not altogether forsake me : for, meeting a friend, 
 I procured from him a small amount of ready cash ; and witli 
 this I obtained a room in a lodging-house. It was but a very 
 small room, — what is known as "a six by nine ; " a hall bed- 
 room, an attic ; one of those apartments you cannot conven- 
 iently swing a cat in without hurting the cat ; but it was clean, 
 and had a good bed in it ; and it was not a bar-room, nor near 
 
 403 
 
404 ON THE VERGE OF PERDITION. 
 
 a bar-room. That was something : that was every thing to me 
 just then. True, for many a day I lived on but one meal a 
 day, and a scanty meal at that. True, for many a day I walked 
 about hungry, and many a night I went to bed hungry. But 
 what of that ? I walked the streets sober every day ; and I 
 went to bed sober every night, thank God ! I would not take 
 the world for that reflection now. 
 
 And perhaps the most encouraging sign in my state this 
 time was, that I constantly feared myself. I knew my own 
 weakness, and constantly dreaded a fall ; and, therefore, by the 
 grace of God, I fell NOT. His strength was made perfect 
 through my weakness. Had I now, or at times past, been 
 puffed up with pride, had I been self-confident, I feel sure I 
 would have fallen, and probably forever; for there is an end, 
 even to divine forbearance. The Holy Spirit will not always 
 strive with men. But I was constantly on my guard against 
 my own appetite for drink. I watched myself carefully, 
 prayerfully. I had cause. Had I not fallen time and time 
 again, when I had every thing to sustain and encourage me ? 
 Had I not thrown away for rum all the comforts and decencies 
 of life ? Had I not embittered the last hours of my dear, dead 
 father by my intemperance ? Had I not rendered my brothers' 
 hearts heavy? Had I not brought sorrow upon my sincere 
 friends? Well might I, therefore, fear my own depravity and 
 weakness now, — now just recovered from a debauch, now just 
 beginning my new life of self-control, now with the demon 
 thirst, the drunkard's devil, coursing through my veins. It 
 really was almost a moral miracle that I did not fall, as I had so 
 often fallen before. But there is One above (I am thoroughly 
 convinced of it) who heareth prayer. And he had heard my 
 supplications, and had bestowed upon me strength, not mine, 
 but his. One night — never shall I forget that night — I was 
 upon the very verge of perdition, — upon the very brink of 
 
THE SAFEST PLACE FOR A REFORMED DRUNKARD. 405 
 
 falling. I had retired worn and weary with trudging after 
 work to no purpose, at an early hour, but found myself unable 
 to get to sleep. At last I resolved to take a little walk to 
 quiet my nerves ; and, arising, I dressed myself hurriedly, and 
 went out into the streets. It was only a few minutes past 
 eleven o'clock, and there were people still in the streets. And, 
 alas ! there were liquor-saloons all around me, and in full blast. 
 From some of these saloons the sounds of merriment were 
 wafted to my ear. They seemed to imply so much sociality 
 and humanity to me in my lonely condition, that I was irre- 
 sistibly attracted towards the places from which they issued. 
 The saloons were well lighted, too, and looked, as well as 
 sounded, cheerful. I contrasted the brightness and the life 
 within them with my dreary loneliness ; and I approached one 
 of these saloons more closely, and more closely still, till I 
 entered it. 
 
 Yes, I entered it. Yes, I looked around with longing at the 
 old, familiar bar, with its tempting array of bottles and glasses. 
 Yes, I looked at and nodded to the bar-keeper, with whom I 
 was personally acquainted. Yes, I came up to the bar, and 
 shook hands with him across it. Yes, I got into a little chat 
 with him about old times. I had known him for several years, 
 and had not seen him for over eighteen months. Yes, he 
 asked me to take something; meaning, of course, by "some- 
 thing," not something worth taking, — not money or food or 
 raiment, — but rum. Yes, I said I would. 
 
 But, thank God ! no, I did NOT. No, no, no, I did not take 
 "something;" no, at the very last moment I put down the 
 glass untasted, rushed from the bar-room, rushed to my lodg- 
 ing-house, rushed to my little den of a room, and rushed upon 
 my knees. 
 
 I tell you, his knees are the safest place for the reformed 
 drunkard who would stay reformed. 
 
406 THE "CHEEKY" FOUR. 
 
 Rising refreshed from my supplications, I retired to bed for 
 the second time that night, and this time thankful and trium- 
 phant. The same kind Providence that had preserved me that 
 night provided for me the next morning. I came across an 
 acquaintance who procured for me a position as a book-can- 
 vasser. 
 
 I see the smile, that, at this statement, makes its appearance 
 on my reader's face ; and I understand it : my reader has met 
 before this with a book-canvasser, and smiles at his persistent 
 "cheek;" or, perchance, he does not smile, he frowns, — frowns 
 at the recollection of the way that book-agent bored him and 
 bothered him. 
 
 Well, it makes but little difference to the book-canvasser 
 whether the reader (his victim) smiles or frowns: smile or 
 frown are all the same to him. He sells books, or tries to sell 
 them, alike to the smiling and the frowning, to the courteous 
 or to the harsh. He is a very practical man, this book- 
 canvasser. It has always been a disputed point among men 
 of the world, as well as philosophers, which of the four has the 
 most "cheek," — genuine, unblushing, and persistent "brass," 
 — the lightning-rod man, the life-insurance agent, the commer- 
 cial traveller, or the book-canvasser. 
 
 Numberless stories have been told of each of the four, with 
 more or less truth ; and I confess that I have never yet been 
 able to make up my mind satisfactorily on this point. 
 
 There was a lightning-rod man once named Eaves, of whom 
 I heard a story that is worth the telling, as illustrating the 
 perseverance of his tribe, though in this particular case it 
 came to grief. 
 
 Eaves had struck a little town out West, and, meeting a 
 worthy citizen, bored him unmercifully with requests to be 
 allowed to put up his lightning-rods. 
 
 At last the worthy citizen stopped, and stood before quite a 
 
A LIGHTNING-BOB MAN'S STORY. 407 
 
 large house, and gazed at it with such a fond, admiring look, 
 that the lightning-rod man at once took it for granted that it 
 was the worthy citizen's own residence. 
 
 Eagerly he asked for permission to run up his rods on this 
 structure ; and the permission, to his delight, was granted. 
 Like a cat after a mouse, the lightning-rodist went up and 
 down and about the outside of that building, absolutely per- 
 spiring with his gymnastic and other efforts, till his self- 
 appointed task was done, and done in the quickest time for 
 lightning-rods on record. Then he asked the worthy citizen, 
 who had looked on, blandly smiling, for his pay. 
 
 " Your what ? " asked the worthy citizen. 
 
 « My pay." 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " Why, for putting up my lightning-rod on your house there." 
 
 " My house there ? " said the worthy citizen, smiling still 
 more blandly. " Why, man, that is not my house ; it belongs 
 to the corporation ; that is the town-hall." 
 
 "But you said I might run up my rod there," said the 
 enraged rod-man. 
 
 " So you can ; in fact, you have : and I am sure the corpora- 
 tion will thank you for your trouble." 
 
 The story does not state whether Eaves got the value of his 
 rods, or took them down ; but it is safe betting that he got the 
 value of his rods. 
 
 Another man, a life-insurance agent, was the terror of a 
 large section of country, and for ten years, or so, had con- 
 tributed, unchecked, his quota to the sum of human misery. 
 He was a terribly "persistent cuss," as they say out West, and 
 was in all his life brought to grief only once ; but that once 
 was by a woman, of course. 
 
 She was a modest-looking woman, too, soft-voiced, demure, 
 eminently respectable. She sat on the porch of her little 
 
408 HASN'T COMPLAINED FOB FIVE YEAES. 
 
 . cottage-home one evening, when the life-insurance man passed 
 by. She had a far-away look in her eyes, which rested on the 
 hills in the distance. 
 
 The life-insurance man stepped softly to her side. 
 
 " Good-evening, ma'am," he said, almost tenderly. 
 
 " Good-evening, sir," she said, very politely. 
 
 " Sitting all alone, I see, madam," remarked the life-insurance 
 man, in his light, airy, familiar way. " Husband stepped out, I 
 presume." 
 
 " My husband is not at home, sir," said the woman simply. 
 
 " Ah ! sorry for that, ma'am," remarked the life-insurance 
 man; "for I am sure that I could have convinced him of the 
 paramount importance, nay, the absolute duty, of his insuring 
 his valuable life in my company, for the benefit of his — his 
 charming wife, ma'am : " here he bowed and smirked to the 
 lady, who simply said in reply, — 
 
 " You are very kind, sir ; but I do not think that you can 
 induce my husband to insure in your company." And then she 
 added, with a gentle sigh, soft as the breath of June among its 
 roses, " I wish you could." 
 
 Here was unlooked-for encouragement, indeed. Here was 
 the wife (the real head of the family: the life-insurance man 
 knew enough of women to know that, being a married man 
 himself), wishing that her husband could be insured ; what 
 could be better? Between the wife and the life-insurance 
 agent, that husband was as good as insured already. 
 
 But first it would be just as well, the life-insurance man said 
 to himself, to ascertain something about this husband. 
 
 " Is your husband healthy, ma'am ? " he asked anxiously, as 
 if inquiring about the health of a near and dear relative, possi- 
 bly mother-in-law. 
 
 "He has not complained of any thing whatever for these 
 five years," said the lady. 
 
THE LIFE-IXSURAXCE AGEXT'S STORY. 409 
 
 The insurance-man smiled. 
 
 "Are his habits regular?" continued the life-insurance man. 
 
 "Perfectly so," replied the fond wife, proudly adding, "I 
 always know where to find him." 
 
 The insurance-man smiled more broadly. Such a husband 
 was likely to be a treasure, not only to his family, but to his 
 company. 
 
 " Does he never go about any at nights, madam ? " asked he. 
 
 " Never," replied she. 
 
 "Well, not even hardly ever?" asked he. 
 
 " No, absolutely never," replied she seriously. 
 
 " What a jewel of a husband ! " said the life-insurance man. 
 
 " My only jewel ! " said the lady ; and again the far-off look 
 stole into her eyes, as they rested on the outlines of the distant 
 hills. 
 
 "Madam," cried the insurance-man, in a fit of professional 
 rapture, " I must see your husband." 
 
 " You cannot see him," said the lady. 
 
 "I must speak to him," persisted the life-insurance man 
 rather wonderingly. 
 
 " You cannot speak to him," said the lady decidedly. 
 
 "Why not?" inquired the perplexed insurance-man. 
 
 " Because he is dead" said his widow softly, sadly, sweetly. 
 But this time the far-away look in her eyes was not half so far 
 away as that life-insurance man got, and as rapidly as possible. 
 
 As for " drummers," or " commercial travellers " as they are 
 called, their assurance is as proverbial as their enterprise. 
 These men form a class sui generis, and their " cheek " is 
 colossal. 
 
 But their tact and shrewdness is fully equal to their 
 " cheek:" their brains are equal to their brass. They are cer- 
 tainly "wise as serpents," if not altogether "harmless as 
 doves." 
 
410 THE "DRUMMER'S" STORY. 
 
 A drummer some years ago "struck" a little town in In- 
 diana, where the principal " merchant " of the place was bit- 
 terly opposed to " drummers," making it a rule to insult them 
 whenever they approached him in the way of business. 
 
 But this particular drummer had determined to sell this par- 
 ticular merchant his goods, and went about it in a characteristic 
 manner. He walked into the store one morning, and the mer- 
 chant seemed by instinct to penetrate his character. " You're 
 one of those chaps they call drummers, ain't you?" said the 
 merchant with a sneer. 
 
 " A drummer ? " said the " drummer " innocently. " Oh, 
 no ! You are laboring under some mistake, sir. True, we 
 have a man in our organization, — our band, — who does play 
 the drum, and plays it well ; but I am not that man. I am the 
 business agent of the troop, not the drummer." 
 
 "Band! troop! what are you talking about?" asked the 
 merchant curiously. " Who are you, anyway ? " 
 
 " I am the agent of the so-and-so band of minstrels " (nam- 
 ing some minstrel-troop he had just seen "posted" on the walls 
 of the town), replied the young man , " and I have called to see 
 if I could not prevail upon you and your family to honor our 
 entertainment with your presence to-night." 
 
 " Humph ! not a ' commercial traveller,' only a • nigger min- 
 strel,' " remarked the merchant, sotto voce ; then aloud, "Young 
 man, neither I nor my family are in the habit of attending 
 4 shows.' " 
 
 "Of course not, as a general thing," said the young man 
 calmly. " I know that. A man in your position cannot do that 
 sort of thing as a rule. It would be beneath your character 
 and dignity. But, really, our entertainment is of a very high 
 order ; and I have called to beg you to accept three of the best 
 seats in the house, for to-night, as the guests of the entertain- 
 ment, without any expense on your part, of course. We wish 
 
A MAN WHO MEANT TO KEEP HIS WORD. 411 
 
 to prove that we are patronized by the leading people of each 
 town in which we perform, and so " — 
 
 "You have come to secure my presence and that of my 
 family as one of your indorsements, eh ? " remarked the mer- 
 chant, now smiling pleasantly. Like a great many men, he 
 had conscientious objections against paying to attend public 
 amusements, but his objections did not extend to free tickets. 
 
 "Precisely," said the young man. "Permit me to beg your 
 acceptance of this order for — for how many shall I make the 
 order for seats for this evening, sir? Three ? " 
 
 " "Well, you might as well make it for four, young man," 
 suggested the merchant pleasantly. 
 
 The young man said, " Four, certainly ; " and, sitting down, 
 he wrote on a piece of paper, " Give bearer four of the best 
 seats nearest the stage," directed it to the " Treasurer of So- 
 and-so Minstrel Troop," and signed it with his own name. 
 
 " There, sir," said the drummer, handing the merchant this 
 piece of paper, " present this at the box-office of the hall any 
 time to-day, the sooner the better, any time after twelve 
 o'clock (it was now eleven), and you will receive your seats. 
 Be sure to use them." 
 
 "I surely will," said the merchant; and, if ever man meant 
 to keep his word, he did. 
 
 "And now may I ask, do you not perform yourself?" in- 
 quired the merchant blandly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! but I would like to bet you will not recognize me 
 when you see me this evening," answered the young man. 
 
 " Don't be so sure of that," laughed the merchant. " I have 
 quick eyes. What particular line of character will you assume 
 this evening ? " 
 
 " Oh ! that would be giving myself away," said the young 
 man. " Wait till I have given you a sample of my quality, and 
 then see if you can recognize me in the performance." 
 
412 "I SHALL LIKE YOUE SAMPLE." 
 
 " Right, young man," said the merchant. " But I feel sure 
 that I shall like your sample." 
 
 " I may remind you of those words to-morrow, sir," said the 
 young man. And, after a little more " chin-music," he bowed 
 himself out of the store, accompanied to the door by the now 
 affable proprietor. 
 
 At that moment the "order" on the box-office for four 
 seats was, of course, wortli no more than the paper it was writ- 
 ten on. But within fifteen minutes it was wortli what it called 
 for. For the drummer rushed round to the box-office, bought 
 and paid for four of the best seats, and arranged that they 
 should be handed at once, without remark, to the party who 
 presented the order, which was presented within less than an 
 hour afterwards by no less a person than the merchant himself. 
 
 That night the merchant, wife, son, and daughter, were pres- 
 ent at the minstrel-show, but looked in vain for the young man 
 who had given the order. " It is astonishing how these show- 
 people can disguise themselves," the merchant said to his wife. 
 " That young man promised to give me a sample of his quality, 
 but here I have not been able to discover any signs of him all 
 this evening." 
 
 But he " discovered signs of him " early the next morning. 
 For about ten o'clock the young man put in an appearance, 
 smiling, and carrying a black box under his arm. 
 
 Warm greetings having been exchanged, the young man 
 said to the merchant, " Well, sir, did you enjoy the show ? " 
 
 " Extremely," said the merchant. 
 
 " And did you recognize me ? " asked the young man. 
 
 "To tell the truth, I did not," said the merchant, rather 
 crestfallen. 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, sir," now said the young man in his 
 turn, " it would have been a wonder if you had ; for I did not 
 perform last night. But I promised to give you a sample of 
 
FOUR VERY USEFUL CLASSES OF MEN. 413 
 
 my quality, and I shall keep my word. Here is a full sample 
 of my line of goods" continued the young man, opening his 
 black box, or sample-case, and exhibiting his wares, spreading 
 them out in long array before the dumfounded merchant. 
 "And remember," said the young man meaningly, "you prom- 
 ised me here yesterday that you should like the sample". 
 
 There was no help for it. The merchant had been neatly 
 cornered. For very shame's sake, and for the four " free " 
 tickets' sake, he had to " like the sample " and to order some 
 goods. 
 
 With all their cheek and eccentricities, the "drummers," or 
 " commercial travellers," are a very useful set of men, and 
 play an important part in our modern mercantile civilization. 
 
 They have many estimable qualities, and are united by a 
 bond of more than common brotherhood. And they have or- 
 ganized a system of mutual-benefit association and life-insur- 
 ance among themselves which works admirably, and deserves 
 the highest praise. 
 
 Their chief faults are inseparable from their roving, specula- 
 tive, competitive system of living and doing business, over- 
 eagerness for gain, and over-indulgence in stimulants. Let us 
 trust that time, experience, and a higher grade of morality, will 
 correct these evils. 
 
 As for life-insurance canvassers, they are a very useful class 
 of men, indeed. They deal in a matter of paramount impor- 
 tance ; and to them, more than to any other one agency, is due 
 the success of the life-insurance system of to-day. 
 
 Even the lightning-rod men have their uses, as many a barn 
 and many a big building will testify during a thunder-shower. 
 
 As for book-canvassers, they are important factors in the 
 march of progress. Not only do they earn an honest living for 
 themselves, but they tend directly to disseminate intelligence 
 among the people. Many a man or woman has been induced, 
 
414 I GAIN A TRUE FRIEND. 
 
 first to buy, then to read, good books, solely by the persistent 
 efforts of the book-canvassers. 
 
 And book-canvassing has this most commendable feature. 
 It gives woman — working woman — a chance to earn her 
 bread. This point should not be overlooked. True, this very 
 feature has been abused. True, not a few female book-can- 
 vassers make their ostensible business merely an excuse to call 
 upon men at their offices, and places of business, and form their 
 acquaintance in a personal, social, and illegitimate way. This 
 sort of thing is largely carried on in great cities, especially in 
 the city of New York ; as almost every rich man can testify 
 from experience. But every thing, from religion down, has 
 been abused ; and, as every moralist knows, the abuse of a 
 thing is no argument whatever against its legitimate use. 
 
 Book-canvassing is as honorable a calling, if honorably pur- 
 sued, as any other ; and I now went into it with all my heart 
 and soul. It brought me fair results in the way of money. 
 But, above all, it gained me, what is far more than money, a 
 true friend. 
 
 The Lord was surely smiling on me now; for among the 
 very first men upon whom I called in the way of business as 
 a book-canvasser was Mr. Henry • F. Ferrin, an auctioneer 
 and commission merchant, 74 Weybossett Street, Providence, 
 — a prominent temperance man, and genuine temperance 
 worker. 
 
 Although I was a stranger to Mr. Ferrin, he asked me some 
 kindly questions relative to myself ; and when I hinted at the 
 outlines of my history as a reformed, or, rather, trying-to-re- 
 form, drunkard, his sympathies were instantly aroused. And, 
 in turn, his warm-hearted sympathy led me to a full confession 
 of my past errors to this stranger. 
 
 I told him all, concluding with my recent lecture at Boston, 
 and my still more recent fall. In short, I told to him my whole 
 
Thomas X. Doutney as he appeared, selling books, when he first met 
 Mr. H. F. Ferrin at his place of business in Providence, R.I. Mr. Ferrin 
 afterwards became the instrumentality in Mr. Doutney's reformation. 
 [Sketched by Mrs. Albertina Carter.] 
 
GOOD ADVICE. 415 
 
 history. I wonder that he did not shrink from me when he 
 heard it ; but in the goodness of his heart he received me with 
 open arms, and promised me all the assistance in his power to 
 keep me from falling. 
 
 God alone knows what the result might have been had he 
 turned from me and spurned me. And this day I have no 
 doubt but that some higher power influenced the heart of that 
 Christian gentleman to start me aright, and to show me that 
 all was not lost. 
 
 This practical aid was what I least of all deserved, but 
 what I most of all needed; and it did me a world of good. 
 To Henry F. Ferrin, Esq., next to Almighty God, I owe my 
 holding out. He entreated me to join several temperance 
 orders with which he was connected ; viz., " The Temple of 
 Honor," and " The Sons of Jonadab," assuring me that the 
 influences I would there meet would help to sustain me in my 
 good resolutions, which they did. 
 
 In regard to my lecturing on temperance, Mr. Ferrin said, 
 "You have lectured once on temperance, and failed : you must 
 lecture once more, and succeed. Start again as a speaker by 
 speaking here in Providence." I replied, " Mr. Ferrin, I hardly 
 dare attempt it. I am afraid I cannot stand, and that I may 
 again be the means of hurting the good cause. God knows I 
 desire to reform ; but I fear, I fear." Was this modesty true 
 humility ? or was it the arch-tempter whispering specious pre- 
 texts in my ear at the decisive moment when, perhaps, my fate 
 stood trembling in the balance ? 
 
 My best of friends (for so I must ever call Mr. Ferrin) finally 
 entreated me in so earnest and kindly a manner, that my better, 
 or bolder, self triumphed, in saying, " You are in the hands of 
 a true friend; and sink or swim, fail or succeed, follow his 
 advice : " and I forthwith followed it. I felt a solid and most 
 comforting assurance that my heavenly Father had sent me 
 
416 . VITAL CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 one to be as an earthly father to me, — a father in whom I 
 could trust, and by whom I could be guided in all things. 
 
 Mr. Ferrin not only gave me practical advice in regard to my 
 contemplated lecture, but entered with lively interest into the 
 details of my plans. He referred me to different temperance 
 people in the city who would be most apt to aid me, and 
 even in some cases accompanied me, and gave me a personal 
 introduction and warm indorsement. 
 
 Ay, my kind friend even put his hands into his own pockets, 
 and advanced me money to meet my present necessities and 
 daily expenses. 
 
 Ah ! there are men in this world whose Christianity is not a 
 sham, but a vital Christianity. And men like Henry F. Ferrin 
 justify the assertion of the sage, that " there is something good 
 in human nature after all." 
 
' ' 
 
CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 I JOIN THE TEMPERANCE BANDS. — REMARKS AS TO THE GREAT USEFUL- 
 NESS OF "TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES." — I LECTURE UNDER FAVORABLE 
 AUSPICES. — MY TRIUMPH AND MY TROUBLES. — MY BOOK AND MY 
 PRINTERS. — I LECTURE IN "WASHINGTON. — TEMPERANCE AND INTEM- 
 PERANCE AMONG OUR PUBLIC MEN. —SUMNER AND WILSON COMPARED 
 WITH SAULSBURY AND MCDOUGALL. 
 
 One memorable night — shall I ever forget it? — I went with 
 my kind, true friend and benefactor, Mr. Ferrin, to be enrolled 
 among the professed defenders of temperance. As I made my 
 way to the hall, where my new brothers in the good work were 
 awaiting me, my heart swelled within me with mingled emo- 
 tions, — joy and gratitude for my present state of mind ; hope for 
 my future ; and perhaps most really encouraging, though then 
 depressing, sign of all, shame for my besotted past. The pano- 
 rama of my evil, foolish, base career was unrolled before me, 
 and I saw myself as I had been. I was frightened at the spec- 
 tacle, and filled with fear — fear for myself — that I might even 
 now fall once more as I had fallen before. I trembled for my- 
 self; but grace was given me, and I persevered unto the end. 
 
 Mr. Ferrin introduced me to the temperance brotherhood, 
 and I was duly initiated. When I saw the kind brothers 
 gather around me, felt them press my hand, and heard them 
 congratulate me on having joined their noble order, my eyes 
 filled with tears, but my heart grew strong ; for I knew that I 
 was at last among those who would not tempt and taint me, 
 but would protect and shield me. No, I never shall forget 
 that night. I felt buoyant and cheerful, and firm in the good 
 
 417 
 
418 . TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES. 
 
 cause. I have since connected myself with the Sons of Tem- 
 perance, and the Independent Order of Good Templars. 
 
 I would here remark, that I believe in temperance organi- 
 zations and societies as important agencies in temperance work. 
 Man is a social being, so constituted by his Creator ; and social 
 agencies fill a prominent place in the scheme of human destiny. 
 
 And as social influences are too often used for evil; so they 
 should be, whenever possible, employed for good. 
 
 The social influences are particularly brought into play by 
 the drinking and drink-dealing class. Every hotel-keeper, bar- 
 keeper, rum-seller, is a " social " man. The great majority of 
 the men who ask us to drink, and who set us the example, are 
 "social " beings, "good fellows," so called. There is a super- 
 fluity of " drinking " society ; and, to counteract all this, there 
 should be an abundance of "temperance " society, — the soci- 
 ety of non-drinking men and women, who would entertain and 
 smile upon and encourage the man and the woman who do not 
 drink. 
 
 Consequently, under certain conditions, and in their time 
 and place, organized temperance societies are valuable, nay, 
 invaluable. True, they can never be depended upon to supply 
 the place of individual will-power and force of character. No 
 man can ever be a temperance man if he depends upon any 
 one society or any number of societies to keep him temperate. 
 Only the grace of God, and his own strength of soul, can keep 
 him sober. But as adjuncts to individuality, as means of 
 grace, temperance societies are most desirable, commendable, 
 and practically useful. I would advise all my readers to con- 
 nect themselves with some such organization, or several of 
 them, — the more the better. 
 
 It was soon known among my new brethren, that I had at 
 one time attempted a temperance lecture ; and, spite of my 
 failure in this line, it was now suggested that I should renew 
 
BRETHREN INDEED. 419 
 
 the attempt under more encouraging auspices. I felt grateful 
 for the suggestion, and accepted it. 
 
 My new-made brethren in the temperance cause did not do 
 to me as many temperance societies — too many — do unto 
 others in my condition : they did not put me on probation for 
 a long period, during which period I was to be regarded with 
 suspicion, and, although sorely tempted, was to be only spar- 
 ingly encouraged. They did not wait to see whether I " would 
 hold out," meanwhile making it as hard as possible for me 
 to " hold out." They did not keep me without money, or the 
 chance to make it, doing nothing but feeling hungry, and try- 
 ing to keep sober on a starving stomach. No : they took it for 
 granted, — God bless them for it ! — that I meant to be honest, 
 that I was sincere in my desire to reform. They acted on the 
 glorious plan, that faith begets faith, that trust breeds strength. 
 And I am glad and proud to say, that their goodness and wis- 
 dom were not thrown away upon me. Arrangements were im- 
 mediately made for me to deliver a lecture ; and the streets of 
 Providence were strewn with handbills and posters announcing 
 that " Thomas N. Doutney, the reformed drunkard and rum- 
 seller, would deliver a temperance lecture, relating his sad and 
 terrible experience with the demon Alcohol, in Harrington's 
 Opera House, Sunday evening, Oct. 12, 1873." The admission- 
 fee was placed at ten cents, and my new-found brothers worked 
 with a previously unheard-of energy. The result was, a full, 
 even overflowing house on that Sunday evening. Under such 
 circumstances, with such encouragement, need it be said that 
 the lecture was, as a lecture, a success, — such a success that 
 I was requested to repeat it ? 
 
 I did repeat it, and with the most satisfactory results to all 
 concerned. My audience was pleased ; my friends were de- 
 lighted ; my benefactor, Mr. Ferrin, was in ecstasies. I myself 
 felt happier than ever before in my life ; and the cause of tern- 
 
420 ' MY SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 perance — next to religion the noblest cause on earth (in fact, a 
 most important part of religion itself) — was, I trust, materially 
 advanced. At this second lecture the officers of the various 
 temperance societies which I had recently joined, and others, 
 appeared on the platform with me in full regalia. It was a 
 memorable occasion of my life, — this, my second successful tem- 
 perance lecture. Somehow it has impressed my memory even 
 more strongly than my first. The audience, for one thing, 
 was larger ; and then, I had grown more accustomed to public 
 speaking, and had more confidence in myself. 
 
 When I looked beside me, and saw my new-found friends 
 and brethren seated all around me, I felt encouraged by their 
 presence to stand steadfast ; and I felt myself growing stronger 
 and stronger to do battle for the right. 
 
 And, when I looked at the vast audience in the hall, I felt 
 assured and confident ; for were we not all united in love and 
 desire for the greatest earthly good, — temperance, a sound 
 mind in a sound body? 
 
 And though my speech might be lacking in the graces of 
 polished oratory, though I was keenly alive to my own defi- 
 ciencies, yet I felt, I knew, that I had the good will and the 
 sympathy of my audience ; and that conviction will impart 
 energy, and will almost supply the place of oratory, to any 
 man who has the slightest claim to be regarded as a public 
 speaker. 
 
 And I could not but think of the difference between my 
 friends here, listening to my words now, and the so-called 
 " friends " (?) of my former and dissipated days. My temper- 
 ance friends were really anxious for my spiritual and bodily 
 prosperity, desirous that I should do my duty to God, man, 
 and myself. But as for my " fast " friends of the " social 
 glass," my drinking companions, what cared they for aught but 
 the general or "social" indulgence of the hour? 
 
MY LITTLE BOOK. 421 
 
 Yes ; for a while I felt satisfied with my new world and new 
 life, and confident of myself, as well as grateful, I trust, to 
 Heaven. But the re-action inseparable from my excitement 
 came; and, although I had pleased my own immediate circle, 
 I found that I was still regarded with, under the circumstances 
 not unnatural, suspicion by the temperance world at large. 
 
 Through the influence of dear, kind brother Ferrin, and 
 other friends, I obtained, on the prestige of my two successful 
 lectures, occasional engagements to lecture outside of Provi- 
 dence, among the small towns of Rhode Island; but these 
 engagements were few, and far between, and not very lucra- 
 tive nor satisfactory. Even a " reformed drunkard" has to 
 live, and needs boots and clothes and food and lodging ; and 
 every one of these needs costs, and requires cash or credit. 
 
 At this juncture, my funds being at ebb-tide, and not being 
 disposed to be a burden to my friends, or an object of charity, 
 I determined to fall back upon my recent experience as a book- 
 canvasser, and with this difference, — which I trusted would be 
 an improvement, — I determined to canvass for and sell a book 
 in which I had a proprietary interest myself, instead of a book 
 the greater part of the profit on which went to others, — in 
 short, to canvass and sell my own book, — my own biography. 
 
 I conceived the idea of writing a book, — the history of my 
 own life, — and hastily put together a few " notes " of my 
 career, from which I compiled a book which answered my pur- 
 poses for a while, and has formed the foundation of the present 
 volume. I commenced canvassing for this work witli moderate 
 results. 
 
 And here I must tell a story, — a story which is creditable 
 to all parties concerned, though scarcely credible. 
 
 Of course, I could do nothing in my book-line till I had got 
 my printer. But how was I to get my printer? Printers are 
 eminently practical, and demand money for type and paper; 
 
422 MY PRINTERS. 
 
 and their idea of " money " generally takes the form of " cash 
 down," and I had no "cash" to "down." That's just what 
 was the matter. 
 
 But Heaven tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. After 
 meeting various rebuffs, an idea seized me, for which I can never 
 be too grateful for having acted upon. 
 
 One day, being in Boston, I entered the office of Messrs. 
 Rand, Avery, & Co., printers, — one of the oldest printing- 
 houses in America, — and saw one of the managing-men of the 
 concern, Mr. Avery L. Rand. Without any preliminaries I told 
 him who I was, — Thomas N. Doutney, a reformed drunkard, 
 a converted rum-seller, a temperance advocate, who had writ- 
 ten his own life, and wanted to have it published, he hoping 
 to be able to live upon the proceeds of the biography when 
 published. 
 
 I also told him, with equal frankness, that I had no money, 
 not a dollar that I could spare just then, — not a dollar but 
 what the book itself might bring in. All that I could do was 
 to promise, on my word of honor, that, if he did print my MSS. 
 for me, I would devote myself night and day to canvassing for 
 the book, and selling it, and would live upon next to nothing 
 till I had paid him out of the proceeds. 
 
 It was all I had to offer ; and this offer from a stranger 
 would have been, on sound business grounds, regarded as 
 utterly unworthy of serious consideration. I fully expected 
 that my proposition and my manuscript would be " declined," 
 and without " thanks." But to my unbounded surprise, and my 
 lasting gratitude, my almost desperate and despairing offer was 
 accepted. Mr. Rand promised to forthwith publish my book ; 
 and he forthwith published it, — in as good style as if it had 
 been a first-class paying job. 
 
 Ah, reader! there is something good in human nature after 
 all, and unexpected deeds of kindness are forever making 
 
CANVASSING FOR MY BOOK. 423 
 
 earth better and brighter. I shall never forget the almost 
 unexampled liberality of Messrs. Rand, Avery, & Co. 
 
 But I am glad to say, that I honestly tried to be not un- 
 worthy of their generosity. Without going into further details 
 regarding my little book, I may here state, that, as soon as it 
 was published, I "took hold of it" — in the canvassing sense — 
 with vigor, and that, as fast as I sold copies of the book, I hied 
 me to the office of my noble printers, and handed them the 
 money, until I had cancelled at least the pecuniary debt ; though 
 I never expect, nor ever wish, to be able to free myself from 
 my obligations of gratitude. 
 
 After thoroughly canvassing for my book, I made up my 
 mind, that, as I had previously travelled around for intem- 
 perance, I would now change the programme, and travel for 
 Temperance. Then I visited several places in Connecticut, 
 meeting with varied and generally indifferent success ; for, 
 being totally unknown and unheralded, my audiences were 
 small. Working in this State for several weeks, and meeting 
 with but poor financial success, I found myself in New Haven 
 penniless ; and I began to grow despondent. Here I again 
 found a friend in the person of Elder Marvin W. Lutz, who 
 substantially aided me. He said that some one had spoken of 
 me to him ; and, seeing that I needed clothing, he supplied me 
 in this respect, giving me a fine overcoat, underclothing, shirts, 
 and brought me to the house of Charles F. Hotchkiss, Esq., 
 where he himself resided, treating me, a stranger, as one of the 
 family. Such kindness needs no comment. This gentleman 
 who thus befriended me, like all of us poor mortals, has his 
 friends and his enemies, and has been alike severely assailed 
 and warmly indorsed ; but, be it as it may, lie showed that he 
 had a heart that could sympathize with distress ; and I from my 
 heart's innermost depths thank him for his kindness, and feel 
 that I am under the warmest obligations to him. An oppor- 
 
424 . FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 tunity now unexpectedly presented itself for me to lecture 
 before the " Sons of Jonadab," in Washington, D.C. ; and, 
 money being furnished me to defray my expenses, thither I 
 went. On my way to that city of "magnificent distances" 
 (and 'tis distance lends enchantment to the view), before I 
 came in sight of the dome of the Capitol, my imagination took 
 wings, and soared away. This, I thought in my simplicity, is 
 the fountain-head of learning and of wisdom ; here are assem- 
 bled the patriotic and pure of our country, to enact laws for the 
 common good ; here no corruption or bribery would dare to 
 enter ; and here is our tower of strength and our bulwark of 
 safety. I felt almost as if I were approaching holy ground ; and, 
 when fairl}^ within the sacred precincts, I took my carpet-bag, 
 and started for my hotel. But, alas ! here, as elsewhere, I saw 
 the saloon-doors open, the same old crowd reeling in with the 
 same blasphemous oaths ; and I wondered if any of this class of 
 people were our law-makers. I had travelled much previously, 
 but had never been a Congressman nor a companion of Con- 
 gressmen ; yet I said to myself, If here, under the very shadow 
 of our Capitol, intemperance can raise its hydra head, and be 
 allowed to sting its victims, what hope is there for our holy 
 cause? If the intellect and brains ,of the land do not work to 
 abolish it, what can a poor reformed drunkard like myself do 
 towards suppressing it ? It seemed to me then an interminable 
 task, and I well-nigh lost courage. I did not know then that 
 God in his wisdom takes the foolish things of this earth to con- 
 found the wise, and that the humblest worker in the good 
 cause, resolved to do his best, can accomplish more than " all 
 that learning, all that wealth, e'er gave." On reaching my 
 hotel (which, by the way, was a temperance house), I felt 
 calmer ; and my lecture came off in Jonadab Hall, under the 
 best of auspices. I remained in this city about a month, during 
 which time I quite frequently visited the House and Senate, 
 
CHARLES SUMNEB. 425 
 
 and heard the lions roar. There I saw Sumner, and little 
 thought that a few short months would find him moulder- 
 ing in the grave. But such is life, and death is the great 
 leveller. 
 
 George Alfred Townsend, the famous correspondent '• Gain," 
 thus writes of Sumner in his very readable book entitled " Wash- 
 ington Outside and Inside: " — 
 
 No sketch of men of mark in Washington would be complete 
 without Charles Sumner. He resided there for many years, in a 
 pleasant new residence, at the corner of II Street and Vermont 
 Avenue. His dwelling below stairs was a pair of salons, tastefully 
 and copiously filled with busts, engravings, books, and articles of 
 virtu. 
 
 Many visitors have penetrated into this senatorial labyrinth ; but 
 few have had opportunities to estimate the pleasantness of his din- 
 ners, enlivened and made cheerful by a host who long ago accepted 
 the English mode of living, — to save the day for stint and work, and 
 to resign the evening to good cheer. 
 
 On the second floor, in one very large and nearly square room, 
 lighted by windows on two sides, Mr. Sumner sits at a large table ; 
 a drop-light bringing into clear yet soft relief his large and imposing 
 stature, strong face, great wave of hair ; and, incased in his dressing- 
 gown and slippers, he looks like Forrest's delineation of Richelieu, 
 recreating at play-writing. 
 
 It has been said of Mr. Sumner, that he has not a patient temper, 
 that he is uncompromising, and that he is impracticable. The second 
 of these distinctions does him honor ; he is never disturbed except 
 upon leading questions ; and, after twenty years in the Senate, he is 
 still heard to debate at rare times, and is always heard with the 
 keenest interest by all. 
 
 Not a particle of his life has been wasted. As to his want of 
 practicability, the progress of the nation of which he has been the 
 ideal leader, in its better elements, for twenty years, disproves the 
 shallow assumption. Since he left Harvard College, in 1830, he has 
 
426 . MCDOUGAL OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 passed the gamut of all the practical workshops through which a 
 senator should go. At the age of twenty-two he took charge of the 
 "American Jurist," and edited it with the keen eye of a natural 
 lawyer. While pursuing his legal practice in Boston, between the 
 ages of twenty-two and twenty-six, he was the reporter of the United- 
 States Circuit Court, and teacher in the Cambridge Law School. In 
 1837 he went abroad, and enjoyed the confidence of the best and most 
 experienced in public life. Returning in 1840, he edited " Vesey's 
 Reports," in twenty volumes; and thenceforward, for eleven years, 
 until his election, at one bound, from private life to the United-States 
 Senate, Mr. Sumner was the beau ideal of the State as an orator and 
 leader ; he rose direct from a private citizen of Massachusetts to be 
 her senator, in place of Webster, and at the age of forty. The 
 people of Washington have known more or less for twenty-one years 
 of Mr. Sumner. 
 
 And as a man pre-eminently of temperate habits, a man who 
 kept his appetites in subjection, Charles Sumner deserved special 
 attention and commendation. 
 
 Contrast Sumner's career with that of McDongal of Cali- 
 fornia ; and yet the latter was, in natural parts, fully the equal 
 of, if not superior to, the former. Mr. Townsend, in his book, 
 remarks, — 
 
 A brilliant man, of evil habits, in his day was James A. McDougal 
 of California, who died in 1867. He has left many anecdotes of 
 himself at Washington, where he is regarded as the fallen angel, the 
 superb ruin, — a sweetly melancholy portrait out of decadence, like 
 those carousing Romans painted by Couture. His desultory learning 
 was remarkable ; so was the tenacity of his memory, the stronger 
 when his brain was most aflame : and he used to quote from the Greek 
 and Latin poets by the page, steadying himself meantime, a poor 
 old sot in body, while his luminous intellect kept the bar-rooms in a 
 thrill. 
 
 There is a restaurant near the Capitol where they still show 
 
" THE BRIGHTEST INTELLECT IX CONGRESS." 427 
 
 McDougal's clog, a milk-white mongrel, with the fawning habits still 
 left, in which he was humored by its master. Like his memory, it is 
 most vivid and familiar with bar-keepers and tavern-loiterers ; and 
 they say with some vanity, — 
 
 " Knows tha' dorg? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " That's Senator McDougal's favo-rite purp." 
 
 McDougal used to feign great knowledge of the small-sword ; and 
 an Irishman or Scotchman was in "Washington during the war, giving 
 fencing lessons to the officers. One day McDougal dared him to a 
 combat with canes. They crossed a while ; and McDougal, half- 
 drunk, gave the master a violent " dab " on the side of the ear that 
 nearly knocked him down. 
 
 The swordsman said to McDougal, — 
 
 " That was foul : now I am going to clear you out." 
 
 " Don't you touch that man," cried a vagrant Irishman loitering 
 near, who had heard, perhaps, through the tavern windows, some of 
 the drunken senator's didactics. "That man's a good Dimmicratic 
 senator and a great gaynius : if you hit him, I'll mash your nose." 
 
 So the wayward steps of the poor, lost old man were upheld by 
 invisible attendants, extorted to his service by the charm and com- 
 mand of his talents ; for, when drunkest, he was most arrogantly 
 oracular, and did all the talking himself. 
 
 They recall, who have ever heard them, Saulsbury and McDougal 
 together ; the latter defining in a wild, illustrated, poetic way the 
 words "government," "law," and " sovereign," pouring upon them 
 the wealth of his vagrant readings, making a mere definition gor- 
 geous by his endowments of color, light, and sentiment. Then Sauls- 
 bury, shutting one eye to see him fairly, would say with ludicrous 
 pity, — 
 
 " McDougal, you've the brightest intellect in Congress." Clutch- 
 ing Saulsbury with the grasp of a vise, and speaking to him in a tone 
 of solemn warning, McDougal would retort, " You, sir, would be the 
 brightest intellect if you would study." 
 
 At this Saulsbury, in a maudlin way. falls to weeping ; and McDou- 
 
428 • TWO SENATORS. 
 
 gal, imagining himself called upon in this case to utter a mild reproach, 
 would construct a garment of sanctity for himself : — 
 
 "I burn the lamp early and late," said McDougal. "The rising 
 sun sees me up already, laboring with the Muse of Homer (sob from 
 Saulsbury) . I reach down the Koran at sunrise, and read myself a 
 sublime lesson, pilfered, it is true, from the benignant Brahma, but 
 little altered, except in the vernacular. At eight o'clock, like Socra- 
 tes, I breakfast upon a fig and a cake of oatmeal : wine never crosses 
 these lips. Till ten o'clock I roam in my gardens, communing with 
 the mighty master of the Sadducees " (sob from Saulsbury). 
 
 Enter the bar-keeper with the drinks, and the airy castle dissolves. 
 
 The wild things done by McDougal would make a comedy fit for 
 Farquhar. His entire mileage and pay he spent, taking little note 
 of his family, making about twelve thousand dollars a year. He 
 died in Albany, near his birthplace, a victim to his temperament ; 
 for he had no grain of practical executive tact, and his poetic nature 
 made him both the stature and the wreck he was. The fire that made 
 him brilliant made him also ashes. 
 
 Can any " temperance lecture " be more powerful than is the 
 contrast thus depicted between two intemperate great men, like 
 Saulsbury and McDougal, and the temperate great man, like 
 Charles Sumner? 
 
 How much better would it have been for him, and for his 
 country, had "Tom" Marshall been a non-drinker, and "Dick" 
 Yates, and even Daniel Webster himself ! 
 
 Intemperance is the great curse and danger of our public 
 men. It came near being the personal as well as political ruin 
 of the foremost man of our time, General and President Grant. 
 And, with all his faults and weakness, President Hayes's memory 
 will always be held in lasting honor for his firm stand against 
 intoxication and intemperance in Washington. 
 
 Look at the example set by Henry Wilson, the illustrious 
 shoemaker and senator, who would as readily have stolen as 
 
" HE NE1TUER BRINKS NOR SMOKES." 429 
 
 drank, and compare his career and character with that of 
 another member of Congress, the "Hon." John Morrissey, 
 "sport" and prize-fighter. 
 
 Drinking-habits totally unfit a man for public as well as for 
 private business. This truth is practically acted upon in that 
 most practical of all the public departments, the Treasury. 
 The responsible men connected with the Treasury Department 
 have never been "drinking" men. The country wouldn't, 
 couldrit stand it. 
 
 Col. Whiteley may be taken as a sample of the men who are 
 connected responsibly with the United-States Treasury. He 
 was at the head of the United-States Treasury detectives. 
 " Gath " thus pen-painted him : — 
 
 The position which Col. Whiteley maintains is of more import than 
 any secret police-agent holds in the Union. He is charged with all 
 the manifold and intricate offences against the currency and the 
 Treasury, including counterfeiting, defalcations, whiskey and tobacco 
 frauds. His headquarters are in New York. His force is distributed 
 through the Union. He is tall, wiry, and rather debilitated ; a long, 
 pale, youthful face, without any worldliness in it ; and a sober, mod- 
 est, and nearly clerical, black dress. Wliiteley neither drinks nor 
 smokes. Whiteley is as much a Puritan as Mr. Boutwell himself. 
 With some youthful confidence, he is still thoughtful and perse- 
 vering ; and, armed with the enormous power of the Federal state, 
 he is not subject to the restraints of cross-jurisdictions and State 
 laws, which impede the pursuit of local criminals. He occupies 
 the whole Held, and is free from the jealous annoyances of police 
 rivalry. 
 
 He " neither drinks nor smokes ! " Be sure the country's 
 interests are safe in the hands of the man of whom these words 
 can truthfully be said, or at least much safer than in the hands 
 of one of whom they could not be said. 
 
430 BUTLER AND GRANT. 
 
 During my stay in Washington I called upon Gen., now 
 Gov., Butler, one of the best-abused and most successful pub- 
 lic men in the country. The career of this noted and notable 
 man has been varied and unique. Butler is in all respects an 
 "original." Even his most inveterate personal or political 
 enemy will confess this much. He is a thorough "man." 
 There is nothing of the "milksop," nothing of the mere senti- 
 mentalist, about him. He is as able as he is audacious: his 
 most bitter foe will concede this. And in private life he is 
 very pleasant, even amiable when he chooses. I found him, 
 now as ever, very cordial to me. He had befriended me in my 
 earlier career: he was friendly to me now. He purchased one 
 of my books, and, receiving me at his private residence, treated 
 me very courteously. 
 
 During my stay in Washington I went on Sunday to the 
 Metropolitan Church, of which the Rev. Dr. Tiffany was pastor. 
 This church is one of the " institutions " of the capital. One 
 of the peculiar features of this church is, that, like its name, it 
 is truly " metropolitan." There is a seat in this church, or 
 seats, for every State in the Union, from Maine to California. 
 A stranger visiting in Washington, and entering Dr. Tiffany's 
 church, has only to tell the usher what State he is from, and he 
 will find himself placed in the pew allotted to his State ; and, 
 if there are any of his own State people there, he will find 
 himself at once among them, — literally "at home." This is 
 an " original " idea, and is worthy of imitation. Gen. Grant 
 and family often worshipped at this church. 
 
 Apropos of Grant : before leaving Washington for Baltimore, 
 I called upon the General-President at the White House. I 
 devised means to have him know that I was a reformed man ; 
 and on the 11th of February, 1874, between the hours of twelve 
 and two (the "visiting-hours" of the White House), I was 
 permitted, in my turn, with others, to pay my respects to, and 
 
FROM BOSTON TO NEW YORK. 431 
 
 shake hands with, the sovereign ruler of these free, and forever 
 to be free, United States. Gen. Grant received me kindly, but, 
 as usual, said nothing. 
 
 I then took the train for Baltimore ; and, on the same even- 
 ing, I again raised my voice for temperance in the Aisquith 
 street Methodist-Episcopal Church in Baltimore, leaving for 
 Boston via New York the next morning. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 MY SECOND LECTURE IN TIIE TREMONT TEMrLE. — I VINDICATE MY CAUSE, 
 AND REDEEM MY FAILURE. — I LECTURE AT STEINWAY HALL, NEW 
 YORK. — AND I PEDDLE MY OWN TICKETS FOR MY LECTURE. — EXTRACTS 
 FROM MY FIRST BOOK AND MY EARLIER LECTURES. — WORDS OF ADVICE, 
 WARNING, AND CONSOLATION. 
 
 Ox my arrival in Boston I immediately called on my friend 
 and benefactor, E. H. Sheafe, Esq., then editor and proprietor 
 of " The Temperance Album," who arranged for me to lecture 
 again in Tremont Temple, Sunday evening, March 22, 1874. 
 
 I accepted this arrangement gladly, triumphantly ; for I 
 wanted to succeed here, as a lecturer, where I had previously 
 failed. And I wanted to redeem my fall after my failure. I 
 wished to show the good people of Boston that I had truly 
 reformed ; that, through the grace of God, I was strong where 
 I had been weak. I wished to show, that though, since my last 
 and first lecture in Tremont Temple, I had inflicted disgrace 
 upon myself, and shame upon the temperance cause, by my 
 yielding to Rum, I had wiped out the disgrace, and atoned for 
 the shame, by my recovery and reformation. 
 
 My wish was gratified. I delivered this, my second lecture 
 in the Tremont Temple, on the theme of " my experience," to 
 an overflowing house, by which I was most kindly, nay, enthu- 
 siastically, received. Congratulation upon congratulation was 
 showered upon me , and even those who had predicted my 
 downfall again, were the first to welcome me. My hand was 
 shaken till it was nearly powerless, and my heart was full of 
 
 432 
 
LECTURING AROUND NEW YORK. 433 
 
 pride and gratitude. Thus ended my second appearance in 
 Boston and the Tremont Temple. 
 
 Every day now I could feel I was gaining new strength. I 
 had come back to the very city where I had been widely 
 known as a rum-seller, and had found a host of friends, who 
 seemed to have forgotten and forgiven my past, and to hope 
 and believe in my future. I thanked the great Giver of all 
 good for his kindness to me, and inwardly resolved to be still 
 more worthy of such friendship and such love. 
 
 Never shall I forget this loving friendship : the kind deeds 
 of brother Sheafe and his associates linger tenderly in my heart. 
 
 Encouraged by my success in Boston, I departed to New 
 York upon a lecture-tour, through New- York State and New 
 Jersey. 
 
 Arriving in the metropolis, I met my brothers ; and, thank 
 God ! this time I met them sober. I could take their hands and 
 receive their warm greeting as an honest and a temperate man. 
 They would never again be compelled to blush for my condi- 
 tion. My brothers were more than ever delighted to see me, 
 and congratulated me over and over again on my good resolves 
 and my better reformation. 
 
 After the re-union I proceeded to business, and lectured with 
 tolerable success in some of the suburban towns. I then 
 naturally asked myself, " Why should I not lecture in the 
 metropolis itself? " 
 
 Seeing no earthly reason why I should not, and seeing 
 several reasons why I should, I at once entered into arrange- 
 ments with the New-York branch of the Young Men's Chris- 
 tian Association, and under their auspices lectured in some 
 local halls, then in some of the Methodist churches, and finally 
 in the Church of the Disciples, under Rev. Dr. Hepworth. 
 
 After this I fully made up my mind to make "a grand 
 demonstration " in the very heart of New York ; and for that 
 
434 AT STEINWAY HALL. 
 
 purpose I hired Steinway Hall, determining to " put in an 
 appearance " in the very finest lecture-hall in the metropolis. 
 Steinway Hall is a lasting monument of enterprise, liberality, 
 and success, and is typical of the enterprise, liberality, and 
 success of the world-renowned firm that erected it, which 
 embraces the leading piano-makers of the world. 
 
 I had but little ready money ; but the Steinwa}^ were very 
 kind, — as they are in all deserving cases, — and put the rent 
 so low that I could see a chance, under all circumstances, to at 
 least "get even" with my expenses. 
 
 Steinway Hall being thus secured, I was advertised as ex- 
 tensively — though as cheaply — as possible, in handbills, etc., 
 to lecture on " my experience " with intemperance, on Sunda}^ 
 evening, May 3, 1874. 
 
 But here "luck" was against me. It so happened, that a 
 celebrated temperance lecturer was advertised to speak else- 
 where in the city that same Sunday evening. And it further 
 chanced, that there was to be a grand temperance mass-meeting 
 at Rev. Dr. Hep worth's church that very evening. Either of 
 these " attractions " would have seriously conflicted with my 
 lecture, but both together threatened to swamp me altogether. 
 
 But, as my readers have probably learned by this time, lam 
 a man not easily "swamped." I buckled on my armor; or, less 
 figuratively speaking, I tackled my work in earnest. I saw at 
 once that my only hope was in personal exertion. It would 
 not do to trust to the " public interest " in my lecture. I would 
 have to create a personal and pecuniary interest in myself. It 
 would not do to sit still, and trust to having the public come 
 to me to buy tickets for my lecture. No : I would have to 
 move about, and go to the public, and sell tickets for myself. 
 It was not pleasant, certainly ; it was infra dignitatem, perhaps ; 
 but it was absolutely necessary. So I set to work, and did that 
 necessary thing. 
 
TICKET-PEDLER AND LECTURES. 435 
 
 I took my tickets in my hand, and sonic of my handbills and 
 books, and peddled my books and tickets in the streets of New 
 York up to within two hours of my delivering my lecture. 
 Yes; and I take pride now in recording the fact. I look back 
 upon it with satisfaction, — a satisfaction I trust and believe 
 my worthy readers will share with me. 
 
 For this fact proves beyond a pcradventure, that there was 
 some "stuff" in me as a man, after all. I had sinned and 
 fallen as a man, alas ! but I was willing and anxious to rise 
 and atone, and work for my atonement and my own honest 
 living, as a man. And so I record the fact of my being "ticket- 
 pedler " with quite as much pride as I do the being " lecturer/' 
 
 I succeeded fairly with my peddling, but still I found the 
 hall not over one-tenth full when the hour for my lecture ar- 
 rived. This was discouraging, but it could not be helped. I 
 had done my best as an agent, a ticket-seller; let me now do 
 my best as a speaker ; let me at least try to do justice to my 
 cause, — the noblest cause, the best subject for a lecture, on the 
 face of God's green earth. — temperance. I felt sure of at least 
 one group of sympathizers and indorsers ; for my brothers and 
 some intimate friends were among my audience, and their dear 
 hearts were inexpressibly gratified to see and hear me openly 
 and boldly espouse the temperance cause. 
 
 And probably here is the fitting place for me to give my 
 readers some idea of the sentiments I propounded in my lec- 
 tures during this the earlier period of my career as a public 
 speaker. The subjoined extracts will gratify my readers' 
 natural curiosity on this point, and will also afford them a fair 
 sample of my first "book," to which I have been alluding, into 
 which these extracts were incorporated. 
 
 Speaking of "moderate drinking," so called, I remarked, "In 
 the first place, no person ever becomes a drunkard of a sudden. 
 The first taste of liquor is generally repulsive, and the person 
 
436 • MODERATE DRINKERS. 
 
 taking it almost involuntarily shrinks from it. But by degrees 
 the terrible appetite is acquired ; and, when once fastened 
 upon its victim, it is almost impossible to shake it off. The 
 moderate drinker is the embryo drunkard. He ma}' rejoice 
 in his strength, and boast that he can take it, or let it alone ; 
 and perhaps at that particular time he can : but the time will 
 come when the shackles will bind him more closely, and he 
 will see no escape. Oh, what a curse to the world are 
 these same moderate drinkers ! The youth, just starting in 
 life, sees them apparently successful, and boasting of their 
 ability to restrain their appetites, and says, 4 Oh ! I will drink, 
 and become a moderate drinker, and then I can enjoy the good 
 things of this life without fear or reproach ; ' but, young man, 
 the thousands of wrecks that are strewn along the sea of life 
 are but typical of yourself. All started prosperously, and for a 
 while favoring breezes hied them to their destined port. This 
 moderate drinker in a short time went down beneath the 
 waters, and the waves of oblivion closed over him. This other 
 one, with shattered hulk and tattered sails, may yet float the 
 waters, ' but none so poor to do him reverence.' They are all 
 wrecks ! There is no such a thing as moderate drinking. It is 
 a misnomer. The spell it throws around its victims is only to 
 destroy. Show me a moderate drinker, and ask me to point 
 out his future. What are the chances ? Are they in favor of 
 long life, health, and prosperity? By no means! but rather 
 of the opposite, from bad to worse ; a ruined reputation, and 
 the loss of all that is good and holy. In the course of my 
 short life I have one case of many in view, which fully illus- 
 trates the truth of these remarks. A young man of noble 
 descent and fine abilities at an early age commenced sipping 
 his wine, and laughed at the idea that he could become a com- 
 mon drunkard. It was preposterous : liquor only inspired him, 
 and did him no harm. A few years passed on ; and, his father 
 
GAY COMPANIONS. 437 
 
 meeting with reverses in business, lie was thrown out upon the 
 world to earn his own livelihood ; and the habit acquired in 
 his affluence still clung to him in his poverty, without the 
 means of gratifying it. What was the consequence? He 
 took to stronger drink, and squandered his manhood ; and to- 
 day a simple gravestone marks the resting-place of one who 
 in a few short years had sowed the wind, and reaped the whirl- 
 wind. And yet he trusted in his own strength. Alas ! how 
 many thousands have done the same, and gone the same way ! 
 In total abstinence alone is safety : there is no half-way ground 
 between temperance and intemperance. The one is altogether 
 beneficial, the other damnable. And let the young man, ere 
 he drinks his first glass, stop and ask, ' Where may this not 
 lead me?' The silent guardian is whispering in his ear, 
 4 Refrain, refrain ! ' His life hangs trembling in the balance ! 
 What will he do? Does he start on the flowery path, he is 
 lost in all human probability. Does he dash it down, he is 
 saved ; for temperance destroys none, its mission is to save." 
 In regard to " social " drinking, and drinking " friends,'' I 
 remarked, " The great danger to the youthful voyager over 
 life's troubled waters is gay companions. Let me repeat it 
 again, — gay companions. We are influenced more or less by 
 our surroundings, and like naturally attracts like. Imitation 
 is a great law of human nature. The child delights in imitat- 
 ing its parents, and children of an older growth delight in the 
 same. Therefore I say to the young men of this country, be 
 careful with whom you associate. He who handles filthy 
 matter will be himself defiled, and there is no escape from it. 
 By gay companions I mean those who set at naught the princi- 
 ples of temperance, and rejoice in being called their own mas- 
 ters ; who acknowledge no parental restraint, and scoff at the 
 'old woman' or the 'old man,' and do just about what they 
 want to. Such young men are already far advanced on the 
 
438 WHicn is tue best way? 
 
 road to infamy. It needs no prophet to predict their future. 
 Unless some merciful Providence shall interpose, their doom is 
 sealed. It is an old and trite saying, that ' Hell is paved with 
 good intentions ; ' and drunkards' graves are rilled to-day by 
 countless thousands whose intentions were, doubtless, good." 
 
 Again, on another branch of my subject I recorded myself 
 as follows : — 
 
 " The great question of to-day appears to be, How shall the 
 liquor traffic be put down in the most effectual manner ? The 
 law is ample enough in New England for its suppression ; but 
 so many loop-holes of escape are left open for the rum-seller, 
 that the infamous traffic continues almost without a hinderance. 
 In various parts of New England, a few cities and towns, 
 through the exertions of local authorities, have succeeded in 
 almost totally suppressing the sale of the ardent ; but, in the 
 majority of places, the law seems powerless for its suppression. 
 Just as long as there is money to be made in the infamous 
 business, the sale will continue, and designing men will devise 
 means to elude the strictest laws. And here the question 
 comes up concerning the best method of reforming the poor 
 inebriate from his intemperance. Moral suasion is powerful, 
 and many have been reclaimed through its soothing influence. 
 A kindly word spoken at the proper time has saved many 
 a poor, erring mortal ; and the prayers and labors of faithful 
 men and women have not been without avail. Yet moral 
 suasion, unaided, can only take exceptional cases. In prohibi- 
 tion alone, there is absolute safety. Could a law be enacted to 
 suppress the manufacture of the vile stuff, then there would be 
 no need of moral suasion, and prohibition would be an estab- 
 lished fact." 
 
 As regards alcohol itself, in one of my addresses I thus expa- 
 tiated : — 
 
 " Alcohol, in its physiological aspect, possesses three distinct 
 
THE PHYSICAL DANGERS OF ALCOUOL. 409 
 
 properties : it has a nervine property, by which it excites the 
 nervous system inordinately, and exhilarates the brain ; it has a 
 stimulating property, by which it excites the muscular system 
 and the action of the heart and blood-vessels ; it has a narcotic 
 property, the operation of which is to suspend the nervous 
 energies, and soothe and stupefy the subject. Says a well- 
 known writer, 4 Now, any article possessing either one or but 
 two of these properties, without the other, is a simple, harm- 
 less thing, compared with alcohol. It is only because alcohol 
 possesses this combination of properties by which it operates 
 on various organs, and affects several functions in different 
 ways at one and the same time, that its potency is so dreadful, 
 and its influence so fascinating, when once the appetite is thor- 
 oughly depraved by its use. It excites and calms, it stimulates 
 and prostrates, it disturbs and soothes, it energizes and exhausts, 
 it exhilarates and stupefies, simultaneously. Now, what rational 
 man would ever pretend in going through a long course of 
 fever, when his nerves were impaired, his brain was inflamed, 
 his blood fermenting, and his strength reduced, that he would 
 be able, through all the commotion and change of organism, to 
 govern his tastes, control his morbid cravings, and regulate his 
 words, thoughts, and actions ? Yet these same persons will 
 accuse, blame, and curse the man who does not control his 
 appetite for alcohol, while his stomach is influenced, blood 
 vitiated, brain hardened, nerves exhausted, senses perverted, 
 and all his feelings changed, by the accursed stuff, with which 
 he has been poisoning himself to death piecemeal for years, 
 and which suddenly and all at once manifests its accumulated 
 strength over him. A man does not come out of the flames 
 of alcohol, and heal himself, in a day. It is a struggle, and 
 conflict, and woe ; but at last, and finally, it is glorious vic- 
 tory.' Thus saith that ardent worker in the good cause, 
 Luther Benson, Esq., of Indiana, himself a man that has been 
 
440 " STUMBLING-BLOCKS." 
 
 through the fiery furnace, and whose burning words have aroused 
 the people to a realizing sense of the horrors of intemperance. 
 And could the complete history of any reformed drunkard be 
 written, could his secret thoughts.be exposed to the gaze of 
 the world, it would be seen that reformation came only after a 
 most desperate conflict, in which the foe stubbornly disputed 
 every point, and the ground gained one day was, perhaps, lost 
 the next. God knows that I myself have had a bitter experi- 
 ence. Moral suasion appeared to be powerless with me, and 
 the entreaties and strivings of my best friends only appeared 
 to make me worse. I was a spoiled child, that needed the rod 
 fully as much as good advice ; and I attribute my release, as 
 before stated, only to some higher power." 
 
 On the subject of the stumbling-blocks in the way of the 
 proselytes to temperance, I once spoke as follows: — 
 
 " The obstacles placed in the path of the new proselyte to the 
 cause of temperance are many, and those desirous of his fall 
 surround him on all sides* I low bitterly have I experienced 
 this ! There are always those ready to help a man on the 
 downward road, and Satan continually solicits his poor victim. 
 Stumbling-blocks are placed in the way ; and, for every one that 
 falls, a yell of triumph is raised by v the fiends of darkness. I 
 am glad to see by the daily papers, that Indiana has passed a 
 strong license law. If liquor cannot, by any possible means, 
 be done away with, for Heaven's sake let us have the law as 
 stringent as possible ! By this law, saloon-keepers are required 
 to furnish a bond in two thousand dollars, that they will keep 
 orderly houses, and pay all fines and damages arising from 
 unlawful sales under the act. Licenses are denied to persons 
 in the habit of becoming intoxicated. For liberty to sell spirit- 
 uous liquors, a fee of a hundred dollars is required ; and, to sell 
 wine and beer, fifty dollars is demanded. These fees are to be 
 paid to county treasurers, and to them incorporated towns and 
 
BUM HAS NO GRATITUDE. 441 
 
 cities are privileged to impose an additional hundred dollars. 
 Liquor cannot be sold on Sundays, nor on holidays or election 
 days. Saloons are to be closed at eleven P.M., and forbidden 
 to be opened until five A.M. The sale of liquor to persons in 
 the habit of becoming intoxicated, after their friends have pro- 
 tested against it, is prohibited. Selling to minors is made a 
 penal offence, and the dispensation of adulterated liquor is for- 
 bidden. Saloon-keepers are made personally liable for injury 
 or damage perpetrated on account of the use of the liquor they 
 may sell. Offenders against the law are punished by fine or 
 imprisonment. This, as far as it goes, must have a salutary 
 effect ; but let us hope that the time will come when licenses 
 to destroy the body as well as the soul will be among the things 
 of the past. I have never forgotten that I have been a rum- 
 seller and rum-drinker, and know from my own experience 
 how callous the hearts of such people become to human want 
 and suffering. As long as a man has money, how cordially he 
 is welcomed into the bar-room ! how kindly the bar-tender 
 greets him with a pleasant smile on his face ! and how alert he 
 is to hear every order, and attend to it ! Then it is, 4 Good- 
 morning, Mr. So-and-So ! ' Fviends crowd around him, and 
 congratulate him on his fine appearance ; and the poor sinner 
 begins to think that he is, in truth, a person of some conse- 
 quence. But let adversity come, brought about, in all proba- 
 bility, by the very man that so flattered and cajoled him, and a 
 different experience awaits him. His money gone, he is told to 
 clear out of the place, and not show his face there again. Self- 
 respect and manly courage have left him ; and he meekly sub- 
 mits to insult and abuse, provided he can obtain the stimulants 
 his stomach so ardently craves. Rum has no gratitude and no 
 lespect. It destroys all that is pure and holy on the earth. 
 The brightest intellects have felt its power, and have come 
 down to the level of the brutes. A short time ago I visited a 
 
442 WAR AND INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 neighboring city ; and, ascending to the summit of a lofty hill, 
 I found thereon a monument erected to the memory of those 
 who lost their lives in the nation's cause. Around its base the 
 names of the fallen heroes were recorded in the granite, and 
 the place was sacred to memory. And, as I read, I pondered 
 and thought, What if a monument could be raised to those 
 who have fallen under the curse of intemperance? What 
 stone would be large enough to contain the names? Well 
 might War recoil, and bow his head: well might he say, 4 I 
 have slain my millions, but thou thy tens of millions ! ' The 
 poor victims of intemperance have passed to their doom ; for 
 them the tears of pity may fall, and prayers ascend to the 
 throne of grace for the erring ones ; but nothing can call them 
 back again. Could any of those who have thus departed this 
 life have been permitted to see their future course, and the 
 darkness and desolation that would gather around it, how they 
 would have shuddered with affright ! How they would have 
 dashed the cup to the earth, that was about to ingulf them, 
 and thanked God for their deliverance ! How they would 
 have hastened to retrace their steps, and warn their friends of 
 what the result might have been ! And yet we take no warn- 
 ing. We see the poor victims falling •around us like the leaves 
 in autumn, and their places are filled by those who court the 
 same doom. Is there no remedy to stay this evil? Must the 
 dark wave of intemperance continue to roll over the land? 
 Thank God, stout hearts are engaged in the noble cause of 
 reform, and the star of promise gladdens the earth! The 
 prayer of the righteous availeth much ; and the seasons of 
 great revivals that spring up in various sections of our country 
 are the answers to the prayers of those good people who desire 
 the salvation of their fellow-men." 
 
 Again, I may here quote another passage from one of my 
 addresses : — 
 
THERE IS A CHANCE FOR ALL. 443 
 
 "I am well aware that the subject of temperance lias for 
 many years engaged the attention of enlightened, benevolent, 
 and wise minds, and that it would be presumption in me to 
 endeavor to state any new facts in regard to its havoc and 
 desolation. Yet I have suffered from the monster's fangs, 
 and can speak from experience. Those who have followed me 
 through this simple recital will see that I have not been spared, 
 and I desire to add my mite to the abundant testimony against 
 the tyrant Alcohol. I have been completely under his control ; 
 and if, by reading my miraculous deliverance from his power, 
 any poor, struggling, doubting soul should take courage, and 
 should be led to seek a higher life, I shall feel that my work 
 lias not been in vain. And I would say to all, even the most 
 degraded and despairing drunkard, that there is a chance for 
 reformation. Put forth all your own efforts, and trust in Him 
 who taketh away the sins of the world. Bow before the cross 
 of Christ humbly and contritely, and he will hear your cry. 
 He will not forsake you. Turn to the good workers in the 
 temperance cause, and they will not pass you by unheeded. 
 Tell them your sorrows, your struggles, your resolves, your 
 failures, and you will find that they will stand by you ever 
 ready to keep you from falling. Connect yourself with some 
 temperance organization, and the new associations will be 
 beneficial. Avoid evil companions, and keep busy at some 
 useful occupation. ' Satan ever finds work for idle hands to 
 do,' and idleness and intemperance are boon companions. I 
 have been a wanderer over the face of the earth ; and were the 
 chance offered me to go back to my former life of degradation 
 and shame, or to die, how gladly I would embrace death ! I 
 would welcome it as the dearest friend that could come, for 
 intemperance is worse than death. The dead sleep well in the 
 quiet of the grave. For them the storms and tempests of 
 the earth have no terrors ; but a worse than hell rages in the 
 
444 . TRUTHS. 
 
 breast of the drunkard, and there is no escape. In his despair 
 he calls on the mountains to fall on him, and hide him from 
 the wrath to come ; but death shuns him, and he lives, a curse 
 to himself and to the world." 
 
 These extracts I have given in this place, not from egotism, 
 but simply as specimens of my lectures and my writings at 
 this period of my career, and especially because they are, in 
 themselves, expressions more or less forcible of truths, — 
 truths which, as a temperance man, a temperance advocate, 
 and a sincere Christian, I would seek to impress upon my 
 readers. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 MY LECTURE-TOUR THROUGH THE PIXE-TEEE STATE. — THE FIRST TEMPER- 
 ANCE CAMP-MEETING. — "A HAPPY THOUGHT" HAPPILY CARRIED OUT. 
 
 — PROHIBITION IX THEORY AXD PRACTICE. — HOW I CROSSED THE KEN- 
 NEBEC THROUGH THE ICE. — A SEYEXTY-MILE SLEIGH-RIDE TO AUGUSTA. 
 
 — TWO EXCITIXG EPISODES. 
 
 Having delivered several lectures in the places immediately 
 adjacent to New York, with fair success, I took a wider flight, 
 and, having an opening offered me in Maine, eagerly accepted 
 it ; as I had always had a strong desire to visit the Pine-tree 
 State. 
 
 My first public appearance as a temperance lecturer in Maine 
 took place in Portland; and on Monday evening, July 13, 1874, 
 I lectured at the Allen Mission, which was under the manage- 
 ment of Capt. Cyrus Sturdivant, the well-known temperance 
 reformer. This Allen Mission is a most excellent, as well as 
 energetic, institution, and has accomplished a grandly praise- 
 worthy end. It is composed of indefatigable members, who 
 never tire in the cause of morality, religion, and temperance ; 
 enthusiastic meetings are held every evening ; and kind hands 
 and loving hearts are ever willing, nay, unfeignedly anxious, to 
 attend to the wants of sufferers and sinners in general, and the 
 intemperate in particular. Many a mother's heart has been 
 gladdened by the work of this institution, and many a man and 
 woman has been by it reclaimed from a fate far worse than 
 death. Night after night the hall in which the Allen-mission 
 services are held is filled to repletion, nor are " the services " 
 confined to the " hall " alone. The conductors of this noble 
 
 443 
 
446 . THE ALLEN MISSION. 
 
 enterprise, like their divine Master, do not wait to be sought : 
 they go out and search after the unfortunate and the erring. 
 The Allen-mission workers go about the streets, and bring the 
 wanderers in. 
 
 Nor do the Allen-mission workers merely pra} r and teach: 
 they clothe and feed. Recognizing the fact, which so many 
 well-meaning people ignore, that man and woman are composed 
 of flesh and blood, as well as of mind and spirit, they aim to 
 supply material as well as moral needs : they give food to the 
 hungry, and clothing to the naked, as well as administer moral 
 and religious instruction to the depraved and the dissipated. 
 Following the example of the ever blessed, because ever consid- 
 erate, Jesus in the wilderness, who fed the multitude before he 
 taught them, they attend to the absolutely needful wants of 
 the body before appealing to the mind and soul. Would that 
 in this respect they had more imitators. 
 
 Whenever possible, the Allen-mission members afford the 
 shelter of a respectable home to those who come within the 
 sphere of their influence ; and they furnish employment to 
 pay for the privileges of this home, thereby encouraging self- 
 respect, and stimulating industry. 
 
 Let me here add my mite of praise of him who then con- 
 ducted these meetings, — Capt. Sturdivant. A true gentleman 
 in every sense of that word, he devotes his time and ability to 
 the object dearest to his heart, and goes about doing good, and 
 speaking good words to down-trodden men. God bless him! 
 Would there were more such lecturers, more such more ivorkers, 
 more such men. 
 
 It was about this time that a great stir was made in the New- 
 England States concerning a certain great " temperance " camp- 
 meeting that was to follow the usual Methodist (religious) 
 camp-meeting at Old-Orchard Beach. This "temperance" 
 camp-meeting idea was then a new thing. This was to be the 
 
THE TEMPERANCE CAMP -MEETING. 447 
 
 first " temperance camp-meeting " on record. Like all new 
 things, its very novelty created an unwonted excitement. It 
 became the great topic of talk, thought, and newspaper com- 
 ment, throughout the State. It was to be under the direction, 
 chiefly, of Francis Murphy, Esq., the eloquent temperance 
 lecturer, worker, and orator, himself a reformed rum-seller and 
 drunkard ; and, through the courtesy of Mr. Murphy, I, among 
 others, received an invitation to attend and address the meeting. 
 
 In regard to the meeting itself, a great diversity of opinion 
 prevailed. Some were sure it would be a failure : others were 
 equally sure it would prove a success, and these last were 
 correct. The hand of God guided the conductors of the enter- 
 prise, and all foreboding prophecies came to naught. An 
 immense concourse of people were on the ground all the time, 
 equalling in numbers those at the preceding religious gather- 
 ing. It was a camp-meeting indeed, — an impressive spectacle. 
 Sectarianism was unknown, and men and women of all denom- 
 inations met for worship and mutual good under the blue 
 canopy of heaven. All present seemed animated with but one 
 impulse ; all classes of society were represented ; rich and 
 poor were gathered together on common ground for a common 
 purpose. Representatives were present from every temperance 
 society, probably, in the country, as well as from the women's 
 crusade. Temperance and religion walked hand in hand. 
 Happy men were to be found, drawing, perhaps for the first 
 time for years, sober breaths, and enjoying an existence free 
 from the fever of debauch; while happy children were to be 
 seen listening, for the first time perhaps, to the glorious story 
 of the cross. A general awakening was the result. 
 
 That such meetings as this are productive of good, there can 
 be no question, drawing, as they do, all classes and grades of 
 society into one common union, and cementing more closely 
 the tie that binds man to his fellow-men. 
 
448 THE CAMP-MEETING SEASON. 
 
 In the stately church, alas ! (the " fashionable " church, sup- 
 posed to be devoted to the worship of Him who had not where 
 to lay his head) there can be no equality. Fashion there sits in 
 queenly state : and the poor, and shabbily dressed, feel ashamed 
 to enter among such finery ; or, if they enter, it is into the gal- 
 leiy, where, in some obscure nook, they look down in envy on 
 their more fortunate fellow-beings. But here in the camp-meet- 
 ing, full in the presence of the infinite God who made the 
 woods, the mountains, the fields, the stars, and the sea, for all 
 alike, all are on the same equality of infinite nothingness. Here 
 the wind or the ocean, the hill or the valley, speak the universal 
 voice of nature, and remind us all that we are in the presence 
 of a God who heeds not our petty distinctions, and who 
 acknowledges only two classes, — those who love and serve 
 him, and those who love and serve him not. 
 
 Here we exclaim with the poet, " The groves were God's first 
 temples : " here we repeat softly the beautiful verse, — 
 
 " This turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; 
 My temple, Lord, this arch of thine ; 
 My censer's breath the evening airs ; 
 And silent thoughts my only pra}*ers." 
 
 I do not wonder at the popularity of the camp-meeting 
 season. I only wonder that the season is not longer, that 
 there are not more camp-meetings, and that they are not more 
 largely attended. They are among the most humanizing and 
 beneficent institutions known to the Christian world. They 
 are fully as Christianizing as the churches themselves. Christ 
 believed in camp-meetings. 
 
 The temperance camp-meeting of which I write, the first 
 temperance camp-meeting, was a great success. The crowds 
 were immense and enthusiastic, and the speakers were nu- 
 merous and eloquent. They seemed inspired by the occasion, 
 and spoke glowing words to convince and to convert. And 
 
IIOW A DRUNK EX ROUGH WAS SAVED. 449 
 
 the good results of all this excitement and enthusiasm were 
 manifest. Men who had come to curse remained to pray. 
 Men who had come to revile remained to repent, and to call 
 to God to save them from the wrath to come. The Spirit 
 indeed moved upon the troubled waters. 
 
 One case came under my own direct observation, which 
 forcibly illustrates the effects produced upon evil-doers by the 
 good words uttered during this temperance camp-meeting. A 
 rough from Boston, an ex-pugilist and gambler, had strayed 
 within the camp-meeting grounds out of curiosity, and was 
 jeering and blaspheming at all he saw. To make his scorn of 
 "temperance * ? the more marked, this man had filled a bottle 
 with whiskey, and held it in his hand, ostentatiously displaying 
 it, and occasionally " taking a pull " at its contents. Some 
 remonstrated with him, others reproved him, others again 
 threatened him with expulsion from the camp-meeting grounds; 
 but he only reviled the more, and drank the more. He seemed 
 utterly incorrigible. 
 
 But, in one group he approached, a speaker was describing 
 the death-bed scene of a Christian, and contrasting it with the 
 last moments of a drunkard. The speaker was not very elo- 
 quent, but deeply in earnest; and his word-painted contrast 
 between the two death-bed scenes was very realistic. At any 
 rate, it so deeply affected the drunken rough, that moved by 
 some irresistible impulse, — inspired, who shall doubt, from 
 above, — he suddenly raised his bottle of whiskey, — not to his 
 lips, but into the air, — and then flung it with all his might to 
 the ground. Then, rushing to the speaker, he burst into tears, 
 flung his arms around his neck, and, finally recovering himself, 
 pledged himself solemnly, in the presence of God and his fel- 
 low-men, never again to touch a drop of liquor. And this was 
 but one out of many instances that could be cited. Yes : this 
 temperance camp-meeting was a success, and there ought to be 
 
450 . "A happy, holy life: 1 
 
 yearly camp-meetings like this held in every State in the 
 Union. 
 
 It was a happy, holy life we led in those days. Rising- early 
 from our healthful sleep, we would hie us to the beach, and 
 there, with the Almighty right before us, in his grandest work, 
 the ocean, would sing our songs of praise to Him who made the 
 sea, and us, and all things. 
 
 Then would follow an enjoyable meal, followed by entertain- 
 ing and improving conversation, followed in its turn by religious 
 and temperance services, and those followed by, perhaps, a re- 
 freshing bath among the breakers. Then came dinner, and a 
 stroll, and a talk, and more services of song and prayer ; more 
 speeches, full of wisdom, instruction, entertainment, consola- 
 tion ; then supper, and rest and repose, under the protection 
 of a loving God. Ah ! if all life were only one camp-meeting. 
 During the progress of this meeting I addressed the assem- 
 blage, and, under the propitious influences of the time and 
 scene, spoke, I believe, with unwonted fluency and power. 
 My speech was well received, and thus I was enabled to con- 
 tribute my share to the general good. 
 
 From the camp-meeting at Old-Orchard Beach I extended 
 my travels through the State of Maine, — a State forever mem- 
 orable in the annals of the history of the temperance cause, — 
 the State of Neal Dow, and emphatically of "Prohibition." 
 
 Undoubtedly, prohibition in Maine, like every other good 
 thing in every other part of the earth, has occasionally been 
 carried too far. Undoubtedly, like all other good things, the 
 theory of prohibition has not always been illustrated favorably 
 by its practice. Undoubtedly, there has been some " humbug " 
 and " cant " about it. Undoubtedly, there has been a good 
 deal of hypocrisy cloaked under it ; and the prohibitory laws 
 have been too often ingeniously and successfully evaded. To 
 confess all this is but to confess, that the author of the pro- 
 
PBOIIiniTIOX AXD NEAL DOW. 451 
 
 hibitory code was human, that its administrators were human, 
 and that the people among whom it took effect were very 
 human. But conceding all this, granting nearly all that the 
 opponents of prohibition can allege against either its theory or 
 its practice, its principles or its administration, the great fact 
 remains undenied and undeniable, that, on the whole, prohibi- 
 tion in Maine has worked well, and that it has done an amount 
 of good that will only be fully known at the Judgment Day, 
 when all secrets are laid bare, and every thing will be seen in 
 its true light. 
 
 Maine under prohibition has been infinitely better and 
 happier than Maine would have been without prohibition, or 
 than other States are to-day without it. This is the one all- 
 important point, compared with which all minor points sink 
 into insignificance. Thousands of homes in Maine under pro- 
 hibition are peaceful and prosperous, which in Maine without 
 prohibition would have been wretched, if not utterly wrecked. 
 Thousands of men in Maine under prohibition are honest, in- 
 dustrious, sober, who in Maine without prohibition would have 
 been dishonest, idle, and intemperate. Thousands of women 
 in Maine under prohibition are happy wives and honored moth- 
 ers, who in Maine without prohibition would be the despairing 
 wives of confirmed drunkards, or the disgraced mothers of 
 convicted felons. 
 
 This is quite enough to prove the utility of prohibition, and 
 forever to immortalize the name of Neal Dow. 
 
 Of course, circumstances alter cases, and men differ in dif- 
 ferent localities. Prohibition is not possible at once in every 
 State, everywhere. This is a fact that the over-zealous ad- 
 vocate of temperance should always bear in mind. All moral 
 fruit, like material fruit, needs preparing for; and this prep- 
 aration takes, not only trouble, but time. Heaven could have 
 ordered it otherwise perhaps. The Infinite could so have 
 
452 " THE GRADUAL SYSTEM." 
 
 arranged this world, that crops would spring out of the ground 
 instantly, without sowing and ploughing and fertilizing, and 
 constant care, watchfulness, and work, on the part of the hus- 
 bandman. But it has not pleased the Almighty so to arrange 
 it. The scheme of the world has been based upon the gradual 
 system of development. The world was made gradually in 
 six days or periods, we are told in the Sacred Volume, — not 
 evolved instantly. And he who would hope to achieve lasting 
 good in the moral world must submit himself to this unfailing 
 law : he must prepare for good ; he must lead up to it gradu- 
 ally. As with every thing else, so with prohibition. The tem- 
 perance worker, if wise, will not expect, will not attempt, 
 to advocate immediate prohibition in all localities under all 
 circumstances. But he will sow the good seed, he will fight 
 the good fight, he will pave the way, he will educate public 
 opinion gradually up to the desired point. Step by step he 
 will march to prohibition, — not leap to it at a single bound, 
 and, by so leaping, fall and fail. 
 
 I have always acted on this gradual system, and intend to 
 do so. The Chinese have a proverb, " By time and patience 
 the mulberry-leaf becomes satin." The Spanish proverb says, 
 "All things come to him that waits." And Holy Scripture 
 assures us, that, " in due season " (not at once, but in the course 
 of time) " we shall reap if we faint not." It is to these assur- 
 ances that I look for, and confidently believe in (some time, at 
 last), general prohibition. But to Neal Dow, more than to any 
 other one man, will always be due the praise for the establish- 
 ing of prohibition in our midst, as " a fixed fact." And to 
 such men as Francis Murphy, and Dr. Henry A. Reynolds, the 
 leaders of the Red-ribbon movement, will ever be awarded 
 a high place in the history of temperance for their support of 
 the good work. 
 
 I met with much encouragement as a temperance lecturer 
 
SIGNING THE PLEDGE. 453 
 
 in Maine. It was a refreshing season for me : I trust I accom- 
 plished some good for others. I know that I derived much 
 moral benefit myself. I felt stronger in and for the good work 
 to which I had pledged myself. I felt now that I stood on 
 firm ground, — firm as the grace of God. And the phantom 
 fear of again falling — again wallowing in the mire — no 
 longer haunted me. In union there is strength, and " the 
 prayer of the righteous man availeth much." The union of 
 heart and soul with the temperance men of Maine, the fer- 
 vent prayers in which I had joined with them, had imparted 
 new zeal to me ; and I started forth anew. I now made up 
 my mind to do something I had not yet done ; i.e., to procure 
 signers to the pledge during my lectures. 
 
 I know that this signing the pledge has been adversely com- 
 mented upon by many ; that a deal of fine-spun argument has 
 been directed against it. I am aware that it has been said, 
 that a man true to himself, a true man, needs no mere pledge, 
 requires no signature on paper, to preserve his integrity, to 
 keep the mastery over his own appetites. I am fully aware 
 that it lias often been stated, that, if a man is morally or phys- 
 ically weak, no amount of paper signed can make or keep him 
 strong. But I also know, by practical experience, which is worth 
 all the mere theory in the world, that the binding form of a 
 solemn pledge, a promise taken under the highest sanctions, lias 
 proved an invaluable safeguard to many a weaker vessel in the 
 dark hour of temptation. And while, alas ! it is true that many 
 a man has violated his pledge, and gone to perdition, it is also, 
 God be praised ! true, that the great majority of those who have 
 once solemnly signed a pledge have kept their promise. And 
 certainly, the pledge or promise in itself is a good, a blessed 
 thing. So, I have for years been strongly in favor of signing 
 the pledge, and have found it to work, on the whole, admir- 
 ably. 
 
454 • "LET THE SLANDERS GO." 
 
 I visited all the principal towns, and even niany of the vil- 
 lages, of Maine, with encouraging results. At some places I 
 obtained over a hundred signatures to the temperance pledge ; 
 in one place, over a hundred and fifty. And I can say, with- 
 out egotism or exaggeration, that, as a rule, I was very well 
 received, — cordially welcomed, — and generally invited to 
 revisit and relecture. 
 
 Among the places I visited were Bangor, Augusta, Lewiston, 
 Bath, Biddeford, Saco, etc. In the main I had good cause to 
 be well pleased with Maine. But there is a reverse to every 
 medal, a dark side to every thing but sunlight; and there are 
 spots on even the sun. So I must confess that there were 
 some unflattering, and, happily, utterly unfounded, statements 
 bruited abroad against me during my career in the Pine-tree 
 State. I mention this fact with natural reluctance ; but as I 
 started out, in this narrative of my life, to tell " the truth, the 
 whole truth, and nothing but the truth," I shall continue to do 
 so. Shakspeare has phrased it, that, 4i Be thou as pure as ice, as 
 chaste as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny." And though, 
 literally speaking, I was not as pure as the former high-priced 
 article, nor as beautiful and chaste as the latter, still the slan- 
 ders disseminated by a few against me were simply slanders, 
 nothing less, nothing more. It was said that I had backslided, 
 had fallen, had taken once more to drinking. But I am glad 
 and proud and thankful to say, that I had done nothing of 
 the kind ; had not thought of doing it ; had not even wished 
 to do it ; would not have done it for the world. So let the 
 slanders go, and the slanderers, into oblivion. They are past. 
 " Let the dead past bury its dead." With a clear conscience I 
 continued my work of reformation, — reformed myself, endeav- 
 oring to reform others. 
 
 I come now to a rather exciting episode in my career as a 
 temperance lecturer. Sunday, Jan. 10, in the afternoon, I had 
 
A WINTER SCENE. 455 
 
 an engagement in Woolwich, opposite the city of Bath, in the 
 Montsweag Meeting-house ; and that same evening I had ar- 
 ranged to speak in the Winter-street Church at Bath. The 
 day was intensely cold, — a day that made one think of Dr. 
 Elisha Kent Kane, Sir John Franklin, Dr. Hayes, and other arc- 
 tic heroes and martyrs ; a day when the familiar saying, " cold 
 as charity," carried with it an extra significance ; a day when 
 all nature seemed frozen into an eternal sleep. The wind 
 whistled over the white ground ; and the Kennebec River, 
 which divides Woolwich from Bath, and over which I would 
 be compelled to cross to keep my engagement at the latter 
 place, was wide, and full of floating ice. So that when, having 
 lectured at the Montsweag Meeting-house, Woolwich, I came 
 to the river-bank, about four o'clock, it seemed utterly impossi- 
 ble to make the passage over to Bath. 
 
 What was to be .done? But there was no use asking that 
 question. I knew what was to be done well enough. I must 
 get across that river at all hazards. I must keep my engage- 
 ment. I must advocate temperance, and illustrate the sincerity 
 of my advocacy by undergoing whatever trouble, or even dan- 
 ger, lay in the way, and could not be avoided. 
 
 I was told that the river, a mile or two above Woolwich, was 
 frozen across, apparently in one solid field of ice, stretching from 
 bank to bank. Assuming the correctness of this statement, I 
 tried to procure a horse and sleigh to cany me across. But 
 I found, at first, nobody who would entertain the proposition. 
 I was assured that the appearance of the river was deceptive ; 
 that the field of ice did not extend unbroken more than half 
 the width of the river, the other half being full of floating ice, 
 utterly impassable for sleighs. I was also assured, that, even 
 where the river appeared to be frozen solidl}-, the ice was thin, 
 liable to crack at any moment, and certainly unable to bear the 
 weight of a sleigh with safety. As I had offered a pretty large 
 
456 SLEIG1I, OR BOAT? 
 
 sum of money for the opportunity of sleighing across the river 
 if possible, and as, by declining to gratify this idea of mine, the 
 parties lost the money, I have no doubt now that what they 
 stated was correct. 
 
 But I was not then ready to be convinced of the impractica- 
 bility of my scheme. I went round, insisting upon its being 
 tried. And at last I found one man with a horse and sleigh, 
 who, "for an equivalent," consented to make the attempt to 
 take me over. 
 
 The preliminary arrangements being made, the sleigh started 
 off across the Kennebec. For a while all went smoothly. The 
 ice was firm ; and I began to think, witli a certain degree of 
 pride and joy, that the danger of this river sleigh-travel had 
 been exaggerated. But soon I came to the end of my self- 
 congratulation and my expedition together, for the ice grew 
 weaker and weaker ; and, although we proceeded very slowly 
 and cautiously, we were compelled to turn back. 
 
 But I did not yet give up the ship, or, rather, the sleigh. I 
 heard that the ice was thicker and more extended some two 
 miles farther down, and I insisted upon testing the accuracy 
 of this statement. I found it, to a certain extent, correct. The 
 ice was both " thicker and more extended ; " but, alas ! in cross- 
 ing a river in a sleigh, a miss of a thousand feet is as good 
 or bad as the miss of a mile. And, for the second time, the 
 sleighing-party turned back. 
 
 I now felt forced to abandon the sleighing project altogether, 
 but there still was one hope left. The very condition of affairs 
 on the river which rendered it impossible to cross it in a vehicle 
 or sleigh, rendered it barely possible to cross it in a vessel, — a 
 boat. 
 
 I suggested this idea to some boatmen along the river, but 
 it was not hailed with enthusiasm. In fact, the majority of 
 boatmen scouted it altogether, as being as visionary and imprac- 
 
CROSSING THE KENNEBEC. 457 
 
 ticable as the sleighing idea. But I talked, expostulated, ar- 
 gued, and, above all, promised, — promised a round sum to any 
 man who would row me across to Bath. And at last I found 
 my man. Moved by my offer of twenty-five dollars, cash down, 
 to be handed to them the moment I reached the Bath shore, 
 two boatmen volunteered to carry me over. 
 
 I thought now, with triumph, that I had surmounted my 
 difficulties. On the contrary, they had just commenced. It 
 took over two hours of wearisome work, and still more weary- 
 ing delay, to cut the ice to get the boat out of the dock. And 
 by this time it was dark ; and I was nearly faint, as well as 
 half-frozen. If ever there was a seeming and plausible excuse 
 for resort to alcohol as a stimulant, it was now and here. I 
 was worn out, mind and body. I was suffering keenly from 
 the cold. I felt at times depressed, even amid my exultation, 
 at my prospect of success in my present undertaking. Alcohol 
 would certainly have produced an immediate, and, perhaps, 
 pleasant stimulation. But, even under these circumstances, 
 total abstinence was best. For alcohol's temporary stimulation 
 would have been followed by the inevitable re-action, and would 
 have ultimately increased, not lessened, my depression. And 
 the fleeting strength derived from alcohol would have been 
 followed by an even greater proportionate weakening of the 
 muscular forces. And I would have found myself more fa- 
 tigued than benefited. No : even in a physical, a muscular point 
 of view, temperance pays. And I would as soon have thought 
 of throwing myself into the ice-cold waters, as to have thrown 
 into myself the fiery draughts of alcoholic poison. 
 
 Finally, at dark, we three — the two boatmen and myself — 
 started in a boat across the mighty and icy Kennebec. 
 
 Never shall I forget that trip across the frozen river. I 
 could do nothing but wait — while the two boatmen worked — 
 and hope, and shiver with the cold. 
 
458 TALKING FOR LIFE. 
 
 I did a deal of thinking in the boat. I thought of Napo- 
 leon's terrific retreat from Moscow. I thought of all the 
 stories I had ever read or heard of men perishing from cold. 
 
 And then I began to think how sweet it would be just to fall 
 asleep a while, and yield to the almost delicious numbness and 
 sense of laziness that now commenced to steal over me. 
 
 And then, with a start, I awoke to the reality of my position. 
 I remembered how, in the stories I had been thinking of, the 
 first sign and the most fatal of the freezing process was the 
 tendency it caused to sleep. I felt, that, if I fell a sleep in that 
 boat, I would never come out of it (probably) alive. I must 
 keep myself awake ; but how ? I could not move about in that 
 little boat. I had to sit stock-still. I could not read. It was 
 pitch dark. Only one thing suggested itself to me, — I could 
 talk. And talk I did, — talked for my life. I calculated that 
 no man could talk intelligently and consciously and sleep 
 soundly at the same time; so I talked for dear life, — talked 
 faster and longer than even the average woman "with a 
 mission." 
 
 I talked about everything I could think of, — every thing 
 in the heavens above, in the earth beneath, or the waters 
 under the earth ; talked, although my companions had no time 
 to listen ; talked, although the two boatmen had no inclination 
 to answer. I talked, talked, talked, for the three long — oh 
 how long and dreary and cold — hours which it took to row 
 one mile amid the ice in the Kennebec. I talked, talked, 
 talked, till we were in the middle of the river, or a little 
 beyond the middle, Hearing Bath. I heard the faint sound of 
 a bell, — a church-bell, — the bell of the church at Bath, where 
 I was announced that evening to lecture. That bell put new 
 life into me. Perhaps I may even go so far as to affirm that 
 that bell saved my life. 
 
 For just then I had talked myself out. My tongue was 
 
I 
 
 " I heard the taint sound of a hell, —a church-hell " [p. 45«j. 
 
A NEU T WAY OF CONQUERING DISEASE. 459 
 
 growing tired. I was getting sleepy once more, but the blessed 
 sound of that blessed bell acted on my spirit like a charm. It 
 seemed to say in its silvery tones, " Cheer up, brother: the good 
 and true are expecting you to-night. They are coming from 
 their homes to hear you. Their prayers are with you ; so cheer 
 up, brother, cheer and hurry up." 
 
 By almost superhuman efforts we succeeded in reaching the 
 Bath side, and joyously I leaped out of the boat upon the land. 
 But, in the very midst of my triumph, exhausted nature asserted 
 its supremacy ; and I fainted. But, recovering myself, I darted 
 in the direction of the church, and the church-bell that was 
 then ringing out its last peal. I fell twice or thrice on the way ; 
 but I reached the church at last, and made my way — I cannot, 
 to this day, remember exactly how — to the chancel, from which 
 place I addressed my large and expectant audience. The 
 spacious church was crowded, and I spoke with vigor. How I 
 contrived to speak, I know not. I was utterly exhausted, physi- 
 cally and mentally. But the excitement of the moment sus- 
 tained me, and, may I not humbly and reverentially add, the 
 grace of God. 
 
 I felt like one in a trance. Mechanically I submitted to the 
 kind offices of my friends, as they removed my wraps, overcoat, 
 muffler, etc., from me. Mechanically I leaned upon their arms, 
 as they led me to my place as speaker. But the moment I saw 
 my audience, all weakness vanished ; and I really think, that in 
 all my life I never spoke better than I did that night. 
 
 A physician assured me afterwards, that it was the excite- 
 ment of my speech at that time that saved me from falling a 
 victim to a severe spell of sickness, Had I yielded to my feel- 
 ings and physical condition, I would have been taken seriously 
 ill ; but as I conquered obstacles, and conquered myself, so also 
 I conquered disease. 
 
 " The Bath Times," a daily paper printed in that city, had 
 
460 IN MEMOUIAM. — MOSES OWEN. 
 
 the following account of this incident from the pen of a local 
 poet. I introduce it into these pages, not on account of any- 
 great merit in the piece itself, but in kindly remembrance of its 
 author, Moses Owen, who was a man of talent when he did 
 himself justice, but who seldom did justice to himself, or any- 
 body else, simply because of his unfortunate appetite for liquor. 
 At the time of this writing he was interested in the temperance 
 movement, then the sensation of the time ; but, when the 
 novelty wore off, he, like too many, fell from grace, and returned 
 to his old habits of dissipation. Time and time again was he 
 warned by kind, wise friends against his unfortunate propen- 
 sity, but all in vain : like hundreds of others he was perfectly 
 certain that no harm could ever happen to him, — as if nature 
 were likely to alter its laws for his exclusive behalf. The old, 
 old story was repeated in his case, — the very old, old story. 
 He drank harder as the years rolled by, lost character, and 
 peace, and money by drink, and finally became the victim of 
 delirium tremens, and died in an insane-asylum. And yet 
 there never was a warmer-hearted man than Moses Owen. 
 
 But to the poem itself. It was thus introduced by " The 
 Bath Times : " — 
 
 The following poem was written on the occasion of Mr. Thomas 
 N. Doutney. the eloquent temperance lecturer of Boston, crossing 
 the Kennebec from Woolwich to Bath on the evening of Jan. 10. 
 The day was intensely cold. The drifting ice would seem to forbid 
 a passage : but, all undaunted, Mr. Doutney resolved to cross ; and, 
 after a perilous passage, he was landed on the Bath side, in season to 
 address his friends, and a large congregation, in the house of God. 
 Such perseverance can but meet with success. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THOMAS N. DOUTNEY. 
 
 BY MOSES OWEN. 
 
 The tide runs swift, but he does not reck : 
 He must cross to-night the Kennebec, 
 
A LITTLE "POME." 461 
 
 Though the cruel ice with crash and roar 
 
 "Would seem to warn him from the shore. 
 
 'Tis duty calls : and he knows full well 
 
 The meaning of the deep-toned bell ; 
 
 It calls men to the house of prayer, 
 
 And he had promised to meet them there, — 
 
 Had promised to meet them, to tell them all 
 
 Of the drunkard's curse and the drunkard's fall. 
 
 And on he passed o'er the river broad, 
 
 To meet his friends in the house of God. 
 
 But the wind blew cold, and the ice delayed, 
 
 And the boatmen faltered as if afraid ; 
 
 But all undaunted his voice was heard, — 
 
 " I've promised to meet them : I'll keep my word ! " 
 
 Within the church on the other shore 
 
 All eyes were turned to the opening door ; 
 
 And see, he comes ! he has all defied ; 
 
 He has safely crossed o'er the angry tide; 
 
 And he speaks good words of heavenly cheer, 
 
 And tells them that salvation's near : 
 
 Plucked from the burning, he can stand 
 
 To meet his friends with outstretched hand. 
 
 Go on, brave worker ! men shall yield ; 
 
 'Tis not in vain you have appealed : 
 
 With such as you intemperance dire 
 
 Must fade away, and soon expire. 
 
 Another episode of my experience in Maine is worth record- 
 ing. During the last week of the session of the Maine Legis- 
 lature, on Sunday evening, Feb. 21, I was at Bucksport, some 
 twenty miles east of Bangor, where I lectured with much 
 success, receiving one hundred and forty-three signatures to 
 the pledge. The next night, Monday, Feb. 22, I had an 
 engagement to speak in the hall of the House of Representa- 
 tives at Augusta. Monday morning came ; and I took the six- 
 o'clock train for Bangor, which was, as per schedule, to arrive 
 there in season to connect with the regular train on the Maine 
 
462 ON TO AUGUSTA. 
 
 Central. But, owing to the icy condition of the track, the 
 train on which I was travelling was so delayed, that the regu- 
 lar train on the Maine Central did not wait for it, but had been 
 gone nearly an hour when our train arrived in Bangor. 
 
 Here was a situation. Here was a predicament indeed. No 
 more through-trains that day, and Augusta seventy miles away! 
 
 Of course, the idea of fulfilling my engagement for that night 
 must be abandoned, you say. Certainly not, nothing of the sort. 
 I made up my mind that I would deliver that lecture of mine 
 in Augusta that night if it was in the power of mortal man to 
 accomplish the undertaking. This arrangement to lecture at 
 Augusta, the capital city of the great State of Maine, was an 
 important epoch in my career as a public speaker ; it marked 
 my gradual progress upward and onward as a temperance lec- 
 turer ; it offered me an opportunity to make myself and my 
 cause more prominent than any other opportunity I had yet 
 enjoyed ; and I determined that circumstances, mere matters of 
 transit and detail, should not deprive me of my golden provi- 
 dential opportunity. 
 
 I could not reach Augusta that night by the cars, and, of 
 course, I could not walk there ; but it was barely possible that I 
 could reach there during the evening by sleighing. It was now 
 nine o'clock in the morning ; and, if I could make my arrange- 
 ments satisfactorily, I could reach Augusta from Bangor in, say, 
 from ten to twelve hours if all worked well, — if the horses and 
 the sleigh held out, and the driver did not fail me, and if I did 
 not freeze on the way. It was bitter cold, — one of the very 
 coldest days of a remarkably cold season, — and windy, and 
 altogether disagreeable, even dangerous to those too long ex- 
 posed to the weather. But it mattered not. I was in such a 
 state of mind as to be rendered almost independent of that 
 mightiest of mundane influences, — the weather ; and I set to 
 work to prepare for my sleigh-ride to Augusta. 
 
A SLEIGH-RIDE EXTRAORDINARY. 463 
 
 I was on friendly terms with the proprietress of one of the 
 leading hostelries of Bangor, Mrs. T. A. Powers, afterwards Mrs. 
 Asa B. Hutchinson ; and through the kind offices of herself and 
 her son, Mr. Ashman Powers, I was able to procure a sleigh 
 on reasonable terms : and at precisely ten o'clock on Monday 
 morning I left Louder Block, Hammond Street, in a well- 
 appointed sleigh, accompanied by Mr. Ashman Powers. 
 
 Behind our sturdy and tolerably swift team we rode some 
 twenty-five miles to Newport, where we changed horses. 
 Then, having partaken hurriedly of a strengthening dinner, we 
 dashed on to Clinton. At the different places at which we 
 stopped for a few moments to rest our horses, I would tele- 
 graph on to the next town for fresh animals. I also, as it ap- 
 proached nightfall, sent on telegrams to the sergeant-at-arms at 
 the House of Representatives, Augusta, keeping him informed 
 of our progress. 
 
 But in some places our progress was stayed altogether : twice 
 or thrice the snow-drifts were so formidable, that, under ordi- 
 nary circumstances, any man would have been justified in turn- 
 ing back. But I never even so much as thought of that. On 
 through the ice and snow and wind and growing darkness I 
 made my weary way. If the snow was impassable in one spot, 
 I made a detour around that spot, and found or made a passage 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Several times the sleigh capsized, and I was thrown violently 
 into a snow-bank. But, righting the sleigh with difficult}', 
 we resumed our way. And here I must say a good word for 
 our horses, or, towards the last stages of our journey, our 
 single horse. The intelligent animal appeared to appreciate 
 the situation, and behaved accordingly, as if fully aware that 
 perhaps our very lives depended on him in this emergency. 
 He would, in the case of an upset, remain stock-still in the 
 freezing cold and the blinding snow until the vehicle was 
 
464 CONQUERING COLD, DARKNESS, AND DISTANCE. 
 
 righted, and would then resume his journey. As night drew 
 near, and Augusta nearer, the cold increased ; and our risks 
 grew in proportion to the darkness. Amid the uniform black- 
 ness of the night, and the uniform whiteness of the snow, we 
 stood in constant danger of that most terrible thing, in our 
 position, losing our wa}'. The drifts nearly blinded us ; but, 
 trusting to God and our horse, we plunged on. 
 
 Our trust was not in vain. After a long and weary ride of 
 nearly eleven hours, frozen almost to the bone, we saw the 
 lights of Augusta gleaming in the distance, with a radiance 
 far brighter to us than that of all the stars in heaven. For 
 " the cold light of the stars " is more divine than human ; but 
 the lights of Augusta were full of suggestions of warmth and 
 of home, of friends waiting to welcome us, of the full tide of 
 humanity, of the joys of life. And we saw them, and thanked 
 God. And, dashing along with all the vigor that our own 
 energy and encouragement could impart to our faithful steed, 
 we at last reached our destination, having conquered cold, 
 darkness, and distance in the cause of temperance. 
 
 The very first man I met, on arriving at the State House, 
 was an ex-bartender of mine, who had been in my employ at 
 Boston. He recognized me, and addressed me at once ; but I 
 saw him not just then. I was so blinded with the snow, so 
 numb with the cold, that I could not distinctly distinguish any 
 thing. I made my way into the hall, which was packed, liter- 
 ally packed, with an excited audience, expecting my arrival. 
 It was now about twenty minutes of nine: and the audience 
 had been assembled since about half-past seven, nearly two 
 hours ; being kept together by the interest afforded them by 
 the occasional telegrams from me, read to them from the 
 platform. 
 
 My appearance among them was hailed by a shout of wel- 
 come ; and I advanced to the platform, almost like a conqueror 
 
My appearance among them was hailed by a shout of welcome" [p 4(M]. 
 
LECTURING UXDER DIFFICULTIES. 465 
 
 receiving an ovation. And yet, in the midst of nrv triumph, 
 I was nearly blind, — snow-blind, — and almost faint from 
 exposure. I felt like any being in the world rather than a 
 conqueror. 
 
 I began my lecture at precisely fifteen minutes before nine, 
 and for a while said little worth the saying ; for, to tell the 
 truth, I did not yet know myself what I was saying. I had 
 not yet recovered from the mingled excitement and exhaustion 
 of my memorable sleigh-ride. I could not see or realize my 
 audience, though there it stretched before me. All was dim 
 and blurred before my eyes, accustomed for the last few hours 
 only to straining through the snow. But at last my nerves 
 and eyes grew stronger, my body and heart grew stronger, my 
 soul and voice grew stronger. I realized my position, address- 
 ing the intelligence, morality, and respectability of Augusta, 
 and spoke with more than my wonted energy and effect. I 
 felt that I was affecting my audience because I began to affect 
 myself. I warmed with my subject, I rose with my theme, and, 
 ere I finished, had really, to a degree, deserved the applause 
 with which my address was greeted. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE WOMEN'S CRUSADE. — ITS EFFECTS IN BANGOR, ME., AND ELSE- 
 WHERE. —THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF THE GOOD WORK. — SCENES 
 AND INCIDENTS. — THE CAREER OF THE CRUSADERS IN CINCINNATI, 
 CHICAGO, AND NEW YORK. 
 
 During the memorable and eventful visit to Maine, of which 
 I am now writing, a remarkable phase of the temperance move- 
 ment, known as " The Women's Crusade," was in progress at 
 Bangor. The noble band who formed the women crusaders 
 were unceasing in their efforts to reclaim the downfallen. And 
 they were wiser than most reformers : recognizing the close 
 connection between the body and the mind, the material and 
 the moral part of man, they not only endeavored to reach 
 the heart of the poor inebriate by prayer and exhortation, 
 but, if he was hungry, they fed him; if he was ragged, they 
 clothed him ; if he was in want, they aided him to the utmost 
 of their abilities. They acted on the almost infallible rule, 
 " that the road to the soul lies through the stomach." Fine 
 words are all well enough, but kind deeds are finer : destitu- 
 tion and want need more than eloquence. Right nobly did 
 the philanthropic and truly Christian ladies of Bangor do 
 their part. I doubt if any city in the country did a nobler 
 work. God bless them for it ! 
 
 The officers of the Bangor Women's Temperance Crusade 
 were Mrs. M. Grossman, president, assisted by the leading 
 ladies of Bangor, among whom were Mrs. H. E. Prentice, a 
 lady of large wealth and influence, and others whose whole 
 
TIIE "PRAYING BAND." 467 
 
 hearts were in the work. Committees were appointed to visit 
 jails, etc. ; and the station-house was visited every morning, 
 and coffee and bread furnished the inmates. The sick and 
 poor were visited by them at their homes ; and many a poor 
 heart has felt, that though angel visits come few and far 
 between, yet, in good truth, angels at last had ministered to 
 them. The families of men reforming were not neglected ; 
 and, when possible, the men themselves were procured employ- 
 ment, and in many cases have now become useful and honor- 
 able members of society. And this was the " praying band " 
 upon which so many reproaches and cruel words were cast. 
 This was a sample of that noble institution, that, starting in 
 the Far West, extended its influence to the shores of the At- 
 lantic, founded on the principles of love and humanity, and 
 against which the rum power, and in many cases the rum-sel- 
 lers' victims, directed the venom of their spite. " Why don't 
 they stay at home, and attend to their own household duties?" 
 " Why don't they devote more time to the reformation of their 
 own families ? " "A pretty pack of women to be gadding the 
 streets, and singing psalm-tunes in low groggeries ! " " If I had 
 a wife like that, I would get rid of her mighty quick," — and 
 all such expressions as these were heard from the enemies of 
 the movement, calculated to appall the stoutest hearts, and 
 dampen the ardor of the most enthusiastic. But they did 
 not do so. Those engaged in the good work knew no such 
 word as " fail." Though reviled, the}^ pressed on, and by kind 
 acts sought to alleviate human misery. And by many a bed- 
 side have they knelt, and cheered the pathway of some poor 
 sufferer to the grave, and inspired in him a blessed hope of 
 a life beyond the tomb. Many a one with exulting voice can 
 say to-day, "To the grace of God, and the noble band of Tem- 
 perance Crusade women, I owe my all." And their work is 
 not yet ended. The little seed dropped into the earth shall 
 
468 A TRIBUTE TO WOMEN. 
 
 spring up with abundant blossom, and the fruit thereof shall 
 gladden the nations. In the annals of the world, no nobler 
 exhibition of moral and physical courage was perhaps ever ex- 
 hibited. The warriors of old went forth to conquer by the 
 fire and sword; and their path was marked by ruin, deso- 
 lation, and the bones of their victims. Aggrandizement and 
 power were their only object, and widows and orphans cursed 
 the day that severed them from all they held dear. But these, 
 these the pure and noble women of the land, went forth on a 
 mission of love, to build up, and not cast down ; to alleviate 
 suffering, and make man approach nearer to what man should 
 be. In a quiet, unassuming way, they approached the haunts 
 of vice and woe; and sunshine seemed to gild the lowest 
 places : and theirs shall be the reward, " Write me as one who 
 loves his fellow-men. " What grander mission can be under- 
 taken on this earth? What more sublime thought can enter 
 into the conception of the race ? And right worthily did this 
 noble band prove that their object was to relieve and succor. 
 Not only through time, but through eternity, shall their works 
 be manifest ; and children's children shall rise up, and call 
 them blessed. Could a volume be written of their noble deeds, 
 of their self-sacrifices, of their devotion to the cause, the most 
 obdurate unbeliever and opposer of the work would be com- 
 pelled to bow in reverence, and exclaim, " Lord, I believe : 
 help thou my unbelief!" It is a beautiful thought to know 
 that love and pity still have an abiding-place in this earth ; 
 that ministering angels still walk about visiting earth's poor 
 down-hearted , and it seems to me to be a type of the great To 
 Be, where "the stream with gentle flow supplies the city of our 
 God." All honor, then, to this noble organization ! Long 
 may it continue ! 
 
 But perhaps, in addition to this general tribute to the 
 women's temperance work, the reader may desire some more 
 
TUE ORIGIN OF THE WOMEN'S CRUSADE. 469 
 
 definite and detailed information regarding its history. In 
 this case I can gratify to some extent his natural and com- 
 mendable desire. 
 
 The credit of projecting the plan of " The Woman's Crusade" 
 [says that excellent work, " The Temperance Reform and its Great 
 Reformers," which should be in the hands and in the heads of all 
 those interested in temperance work] has been given to Dr. Dio 
 (Diocletian) Lewis of Boston, who in his father's home experienced 
 the miseries which intemperance brings on the family. His father 
 was a drunkard : but his mother was a prayerful woman, whose trials 
 in bringing up her family, and suffering the abuses of her husband, 
 were almost too much for her endurance. 
 
 Many a time she went up to the garret to pray ; and the children 
 would hear her crying out in agony of spirit, u How long, O Lord, 
 how long! how long ! " When she came down, the children would 
 notice that her eyes were red with weeping, but that her face was 
 shining with lio-ht from the other world. 
 
 Under such influences as these, it is not strange that the doctor, 
 who had become famous for his system of hygienic training, should 
 carry the ideas of love and hope along the higher plane, and seek for 
 the salvation of men and women from the disease and death of drunk- 
 enness, which in his boyhood had been such a horror. He learned to 
 pray of his mother, and grew up in a high estimate of the power and 
 value of prayer. 
 
 These views he set forth in public lectures in various parts of the 
 West, organized temperance bands, draughted and presented appeals 
 to the whiskey-sellers, — a method somewhat after the fashion of 
 Gen. Putnam himself, facing the wolf in his own den. 
 
 As the result of the first week's work along this line in the town of 
 Dixon, 111., thirty-nine dram-shops were closed ; and for a time it was 
 declared no liquor was sold in the town. At Battle Creek, Mich., the 
 same plan was tried shortly after, with similar excellent success. 
 The next places which the doctor visited were Hillsborough and 
 "Washington court-houses in Ohio, where he gave two evenings to the 
 
470 "DO YOU LIKE TO SEE?" 
 
 discussion of women's prayer-meetings in saloons, at the close of 
 which the women present resolved to carry out his plan. 
 
 " Why did the women choose such a strange method of carrying 
 out this reform?" asked one, who was amazed to see a company of 
 women kneeling at prayer in front of a saloon. 
 
 " They did not choose it," was the reply of one of them : " it was 
 the work of God marked out for us, and we simply did it according 
 to orders." 
 
 " Do you like to see your wife singing psalms in a saloon? " asked 
 a critic of the temperance movement, of a judge whose wife was one 
 of the most active and influential of the crusaders. 
 
 " No, my friend," he replied, ''I cannot say I do: but I would 
 rather see my wife singing hymns in such a place, than to see my son 
 there singing bacchanalian songs ; and I have seen that." 
 
 "But," continued the questioner, " do you like to see your wife 
 kneeling on the dirty sidewalk, in front of a rum-mill, saying her 
 prayers?" 
 
 " No, I cannot say that I like to see it : neither do I like to see my 
 son lying in the gutter from the effects of the stuff which he bought 
 at the rum-mill, and I have seen that." 
 
 " Well, but, judge, do you like to see your wife marching along in 
 a procession, carrying a banner, and making a fuss along the public 
 streets ? ' ' 
 
 " No," said the judge, "I cannot say I like it: neither do I like 
 to see my son marching in a procession of criminals on the way to 
 prison, with chains about his hands ; and I have seen that." 
 
 This bona-fide conversation, as given by the evangelist, Major 
 Cole, who is himself a reformed man, shows how great is the sym- 
 pathy which this crusade awakened in the minds of the best people of 
 the crusade State : for rum does not seek its victims among the lowly 
 and ignorant only ; but, like the angel of death, the rum-fiend " loves 
 a shining mark." 
 
 The following sketch of the crusade in Xenia, O., is taken from 
 " Harper's Weekly," which gave the most admirable illustrations of 
 the movement, both by pen and pencil : — 
 
The prayer continued, and so did Mrs. Klein and the baby " [p. 471]. 
 
INVADING A SALOON. 471 
 
 Observing two ladies entering a church (United Presbyterian, I 
 believe) , I followed them, and found myself in the presence of about 
 one thousand persons, assembled for prayer, and to discuss the sub- 
 ject of intemperance. The pastors of the several Protestant churches 
 were there with their people ; and a feeling of humble dependence 
 upon God, and a deep Christian earnestness in the work before them, 
 seemed to prevail in the heart of every one present. After the ad- 
 journment of the general meeting, the ladies were called together by 
 Mrs. Col. Low, president of the Ladies' Temperance Association, 
 who, after a few remarks, asked, " Who will volunteer to lead a vis- 
 iting party to Klein's saloon? " 
 
 After a moment's pause a middle-aged lady signified her willing- 
 ness to do so. She gathered about her some eight or ten others, and 
 they started off in double file to beard Mr. Klein in his den ; and I 
 went with them. 
 
 At the door of Mr. Klein's confectionery and toy store, without a 
 moment's hesitation, they filed boldly in, and occupied the whole 
 space between the counters, which ran along three sides of the room. 
 
 On the approach of the ladies, the family beat a hasty retreat, and 
 barricaded themselves in a very mysterious back-room, from which 
 issued a very strong odor of highly flavored XXX whiskey, and the 
 cries of a baby with very strong lungs. 
 
 When the ladies began to sing, " Shall we gather at the river?" 
 the baby began a loud and discordant solo. The effect was not at all 
 pleasing. At the conclusion of the hymn, one of the ladies began a 
 most beautiful and touching prayer. No sooner had she commenced, 
 however, than Mrs. Klein, no doubt feeling that her premises had 
 been unlawfully invaded, shot out of the back-room in fiery indigna- 
 tion, her bare arms revolving like the sails of a wind-mill, her hair on 
 end, and began to pour forth such a volley of abuse upon the ladies, 
 that it seemed as though she carried a mitrailleuse in her mouth. 
 
 The prayer continued, and so did Mrs. Klein and the baby. 
 
 " O Lord ! we come not in our own strength." 
 
 " Shust kit out of mein shop, every one of you : ye 're a set of 
 hypocrites ; das is zo." 
 
472 "CONVINCING" A MAN AGAINST HIS WILL. 
 
 "We would ask thee to bless this family : enlighten their under- 
 standing, that they may be enabled to see the wrong of continuing 
 this unholy traffic." 
 
 "I don't vant your brayers. Ef I wants to bray, I go to mein 
 own shurch to bray: I don't pelieve in such dings. Oh, yes! Oh, 
 yes ! de Lord pless this family ! Well, dis family kin git along 
 mitout sich brayers : the Lord don't hear dem." 
 
 " She will not hear our words ; but thou, O God ! will cause them 
 to enter her heart as arrows of conviction." 
 
 "Ye're a set of street-walkers. Oh, I knows dis ting shust as 
 well as not ! it he's like the epysootic : it koes all around, and den 
 goes away again ! ' ' 
 
 The climax was reached when Klein himself rushed into the room, 
 bearing aloft a little parcel, and exclaimed at the top of his voice, 
 "Git out o' mein house immegutly, ye hypocrites! Do you see dot 
 baper? das red pepper in dere, und I gives you shust five minnits to 
 leave my shop : ef ye don't, I drow dis over ye ! " Mr. Klein, how- 
 ever, refrained from carrying his threat into execution ; and the ladies 
 concluded their visitation in peace. 
 
 From Mr. Klein's I proceeded at once to Mr. Carroll's grocery 
 and provision store. The ladies were kneeling on the sidewalk in 
 front of the door, engaged in prayer. Two of the party were con- 
 versing with Mr. Carroll, who stood in the doorway with a newspaper 
 in his hand, and looking very much annoyed, as he exclaimed, " Now 
 I give you fair warning. I've got the names of ivery one of ye ; 
 and, if you do not lave my primises this instant, I'll push ye till the 
 furthest extent of the law. I'm not a highwayman or a thafe, that 
 you should come makin' this nonsense in front of my door." 
 
 The ladies pleaded courteously with him : he was a good-hearted 
 fellow, and evidently got worsted in the argument. He looked con- 
 vinced, and yet felt he could not abandon the trade which supported 
 him and his family with such ease. After remaining for half an hour, 
 the ladies left him, promising to return again and again until he would 
 yield to their prayers. 
 
 The work of the crusades in Xenia was all the more remarkable 
 
A TOWN LIFTED OUT OF ITSELF. 473 
 
 from the fact, that this is a stronghold of the United Presbyterian 
 Church, where all religious services were always of the most correct 
 and dignified style, and where no religious songs were allowed except 
 the Psalms of David. This steady-going town was struck by the 
 wave of the crusades, and fairly lifted out of its former self. The 
 good women of that church had been taught that it was a shame for a 
 woman to speak or pray in the church. — a statement, in fact, which, 
 in the time of the great apostle to the Gentiles, though not so now, 
 was held to be almost as binding as the Ten Commandments. But 
 now all their former notions on this subject were reversed. Still. 
 they would not sing any but the good old Bible Psalms. The modern 
 music, of the Bliss and Sankey style, was generally supposed to be the 
 only sort that was adapted to crusading ; but the Xenia ladies marched 
 to the tune of "Dundee" or "Mear," or " St. Martin's" or " St. 
 Ann," in which the Psalms of the old Scotch version have been so long 
 sung ; and these steady harmonies were blessed to the breaking of 
 stubborn hearts, and the opening of bleared and blood-shotten eyes, 
 no less than the most stirring gospel songs of modern revival fame. 
 
 Very exciting scenes followed this in connection with the surrender 
 of the worst saloon, called the "Shades of Death;" while shortly 
 after almost all the rest closed : and now, it is said, it is hard to get 
 liquor in Xenia. 
 
 The following incidents were reported in the local papers at 
 the time, and will serve as samples : — 
 
 There was one saloon in" Bellefontaine, where the crusaders were 
 responded to upon the sidewalks by fiddling and dancing inside. 
 Hour after hour the women kept guard over this house, singing and 
 praying, until, at last, the saloon-keeper was ready to exclaim, in 
 the language of the hymn, — 
 
 " And now I yield, I yield : 
 I can hold out no more ! " 
 
 Then, among the ringing of the church-bells, the songs of thanks- 
 giving, shouts of rejoicing, and tears of gladness, the beer, whiskey, 
 
474 "I'LL GIVE up:' 
 
 brandy, etc., were poured out in the streets, and the place opened as 
 a meat-market. One stubborn publican in Bellefontaine declared, 
 that, if the crusaders visited him, he would receive them with powder 
 aud lead ; but the unterrified women presently appeared before his 
 door, and began to pray. About a week afterwards the dealer made 
 his appearance at a public meeting, signed the pledge, and on the 
 following sabbath, for the first time in five years, attended church. 
 Again, in Clyde an effort was made to drown out the crusaders. 
 When the women kneeled in front of one of the saloons, and began 
 to pray, the keeper dashed a pailful of cold water into the face of 
 one who led in prayer. The woman, without stopping for an instant, 
 said, "O Lord, we are now baptized for thy work!" The water 
 treatment was repeated in various places, the water not being always 
 as clean as it might be ; but the women kept on praying, with more 
 faith and energy than was manifested by the crusaders of old, and 
 with mere substantial results attending their movements. Again, 
 the report was yesterday floating about the city, that one of the worst 
 places in Fulton had hung out the white flag, and surrendered to the 
 ladies. Investigation proved the rumor to be entirely correct. 
 
 A band of women, most of whom were residents of the first ward, 
 started quite early in the forenoon upon their round of visitation. 
 Among the first places visited was the saloon of Dick Manley, on 
 the front street, two doors west of Kemper Lane. From some inci- 
 dents in their former visits, the ladies were led to believe that the 
 proprietor was not wholly satisfied with his business ; but they were 
 not expecting the easy triumph before •them. Benches were care- 
 fully arranged by the conscience-stricken saloonist for his visitors, 
 and devotional exercises were begun. 
 
 The prayers aud songs were so simple, earnest, and direct, that at 
 last he could stand it no longer. As they were about to sing, — 
 
 " My faith looks up to thee," 
 
 he broke in with, " Wait a little. I'll give up." He then told the 
 ladies that his stock was at their disposal, and he would himself help 
 to pitch the vile stuff in the gutter. 
 
"BOUND TO MAKE A CLEAN THING OF IT." 475 
 
 About this time the scene began to grow exciting. Several ladies 
 burst into tears. An effort was made to sing — 
 
 " Praise God from whom all blessings flow," 
 
 but the voices of the singers refused to give utterance to the language 
 of their hearts. Then, when they had somewhat recovered them- 
 selves, they set to work, with beaming countenances, to pour out every 
 thing about the premises that could moisten the throat, or make glad 
 the heart of man. Beer-barrels were rolled to the gutter ; and, while 
 their contents were gurgling out through the bungholes, all the 
 bottles on the shelves were brought out, and dashed upon the pave- 
 ment. After every thing had been cleared out, the proprietor thought 
 of some fine old Catawba stowed away in the cellar. This was soon 
 hunted up, and shared the fate of the rest. 
 
 He said he was bound to make a clean thing of it. 
 
 After the saloon had been pumped thoroughly dry, the ladies went 
 into the place adjoining Mauley's, where another victory awaited 
 them. The proprietor of the saloon was absent ; but his brother, 
 who was in charge, yielded to the entreaties of the women, signed 
 the total-abstinence pledge, and locked up the concern forever, as far 
 as he was concerned. If his brother wanted to open again, when he 
 got back, he might do it. The ladies then proceeded to several 
 other places, but met with no further apparent success. The gen- 
 tlemanly keeper of the Eureka Exchange slammed the door in their 
 faces, and retired to an upper room, from which he viewed the pro- 
 ceedings with a sardonic grin. 
 
 In conversation with our reporter to-night, Mr. Manley said he did 
 not know what he should go into next. He had a billiard-hall con- 
 nected with his saloon, and would carry that on until something 
 better offered. 
 
 He seemed resigned to his loss of stock, and thoroughly glad to 
 be out of the business. The jokes and sneers of his old friends, who 
 couldn't see it in that light, seemed to have no effect on him. He 
 remarked to one of them, that, if he owned all the saloons between 
 there and Columbia, the women might have the whole of them. 
 
476 WHY SEVEN POLICEMEN CBIED. 
 
 Of the crusades in Cincinnati, Mrs. Leavitt, who was one of the 
 leaders of that movement, and now the vice-president of the Women's 
 Christian Temperance Union, gives the following account: — 
 
 "lam often asked to tell the story of the crusades in Cincinnati, 
 but I never can do it. Cincinnati was a hard field, with its three 
 thousand saloons, and its forty millions of dollars invested in the 
 liquor-trade. So strong was this interest, that merchants did not 
 like their wives to engage in temperance work, for fear of bad results 
 to their business ; and at first we had to adopt the old-fashioned meas- 
 ures. But at last, under the baptism of the Holy Spirit, we came to 
 the conclusion, that the country method must be our method ; and 
 for eight weeks, about seventy strong, we crusaded the streets and 
 saloons after the most vigorous fashion." 
 
 On one occasion the women crusaders were arrested in 
 Cincinnati for "disturbing the peace" and "obstructing the 
 streets." Any thing for a plea ! 
 
 Of this arrest one of the ladies arrested spoke to a reporter 
 as follows : — 
 
 You know we were arrested, and had to go to jail. Just think 
 of it! 
 
 There was a sidewalk ordinance which forbade the obstruction of 
 the streets, and under that we were arrested ; though we were careful 
 to use only the two feet in width the law allowed us when we stood 
 in front of a saloon, and sang at it, and quoted texts of Scripture at 
 it. and knelt down and prayed against it, and for the souls of those 
 who kept it. 
 
 The seven policemen who w r ere detailed to arrest us were crying 
 like whipped children. But they had to do it ; and we, like good, 
 law-abiding citizens, submitted, and went in procession to prison, — 
 forty-three of us, — singing all the way. 
 
 We were released after about four hours. Bail was offered us ; 
 but we refused it, on the ground that we had done nothing against 
 the law, and those who arrested us should take the full responsibility 
 of their outrageous act. 
 
CIIICAGO'S SHAME, 477 
 
 The crusade prayer-meetings were kept up after that at the 
 churches; and by and by we took the rooms at 200 Vine Street, 
 where we hold a constant crusade. The aggregate attendance at 
 our women's temperance prayer-meeting for the last six months was 
 14,000 : of these 2,932 signed the temperance pledge, and sought 
 the prayers of Christians in their behalf. 
 
 Chicago, as is well known, is controlled by the liquor interest, as 
 is the case with many another great city ; but to Chicago belongs the 
 distinguished disgrace of having maltreated the women crusaders in 
 their lawful work. A company of ladies were appointed, on one 
 occasion, for the purpose of visiting the hall of the city council, to 
 lay before them a petition for the better enforcement of the laws 
 already on the statute-book. There was no reason on earth why 
 this petition should not be granted ; but the liquor-dealers gathered 
 together a company of lewd fellows of the baser sort, so that it was 
 with difficulty that the ladies could make their way through the crowd 
 of half-drunken vagabonds. The police were plenty, as they always 
 are at such places ; but no arrests were made. And when the com- 
 mittee, after presenting their petition, trusting, in God for their safety. 
 left the hall, the mob rudely set upon them ; and the police were actually 
 forced to take the ladies in charge, as if they had been prisoners, 
 and conduct them by a private way out of the midst of the crowd. 
 
 Being discouraged from the hope of attaining any great results by 
 law, they gave themselves up to the more earnest use of the gospel, 
 and established a meeting in the lower Farwell Hall every evening. 
 The work done here in reforming drunkards, and relieving their 
 families, and holding the fort for temperance, has been supplemented 
 by the training of a company of Christian temperance men and women, 
 who, by means of this gospel mission, have become acceptable and 
 impressive temperance orators, and whose services are in constant 
 demand. 
 
 Even New York was attacked by the women crusaders, who 
 u carried the war into Africa/' and for a while held their meet- 
 ings at Harry Hill's. Of course the crusaders made an excite- 
 
478 WHY NOT NEW YORK? 
 
 merit, a sensation at first; and of course this sensation soon 
 died away, but still much lasting good was accomplished. 
 Hundreds of drunkards were permanently reformed ; and 
 there can be no doubt, that, could a woman's crusade be 
 organized on a scale commensurate with the size of the metrop- 
 olis, New York itself could be conquered for the temperance 
 cause as readily as Xenia. Human nature is the same all the 
 world over. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 TEMPERANCE WORK. — ITS HISTORY AND PROGRESS. — THE METHODS AND 
 ACHIEVEMENTS OF MY PREDECESSORS AND COLLEAGUES IN THE GOOD 
 CAUSE. — THE REV. DRS. LYMAN BEECHER AND THEODORE L. CUYLER. — 
 THE AVASHINGTONIANS. — JOHN B. GOUGH. — FATHER MATHEW AND 
 FRANCIS MURPHY, ETC. 
 
 Here and now it will be proper, before proceeding to nar- 
 rate in detail the story of my own work in the cause of 
 temperance, to glance at the history of temperance work in 
 general, and to describe briefly, but impartially, the methods 
 and achievements of my predecessors and colleagues. 
 
 As the Rev. Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D., himself one of the 
 prominent names among the temperance workers, remarks, 
 "America is the birthplace of the modern Temperance Reform. 
 New-York State is entitled to the place of honor in the move- 
 ment ; for, in the county of Saratoga in that State (Saratoga, 
 a name forever linked with the health-giving power of water), 
 the first organization for arresting drinking-habits by signing 
 a written pledge was established some seventy-five years ago." 
 
 Like every other important movement, the temperance cause 
 has passed through successive stages. Its present status is 
 the result of years of steady development and progress. 
 
 In the early Puritan "blue-law" times, drunkenness was 
 punished severely, — among other penalties by the pillory, and 
 exposure of the offender as a drunkard to public scorn. Yet 
 wine-bibbing and dram-drinking soon grew stronger than 
 the law ; and gross intemperance became the rule, and not the 
 exception. 
 
 479 
 
480 THE WASHINGTONIANS. 
 
 Families drank, heads of families drank, and even judges 
 and clergymen partook freely. In the days of the Rev. Lyman 
 Beecher, the father of Henry Ward Beecher and Harriet 
 Beecher Stowe, "an ordination " was simply a disgraceful junk- 
 eting, in which regularly " ordained " ministers of God figured 
 as more or less intoxicated men. This excited the godly ire of 
 the Rev. Lyman Beecher ; and he directed against the drink- 
 ing-habits of his day his famous " Six Sermons against Intem- 
 perance,'' which form one of the ablest and most powerful 
 "temperance" books in existence. 
 
 Among the earlier and important temperance agencies were 
 the Washingtonians, an organization which had a peculiar 
 history. 
 
 Strange to say, the Washington ian movement had its origin 
 among six hard drinkers in a drinking-den known as " Chase's 
 Tavern " in Baltimore. These six topers met every night at 
 the tavern, and one night in their cups fell to discussing the 
 Rev. Matthew Hale Smith, who was then in Baltimore deliv- 
 ering temperance lectures. 
 
 The landlord of the tavern, taking part in this discussion, 
 used such foul and insulting language in reference to temper- 
 ance lecturers in general, and the Rev. Matthew Hale Smith 
 in particular, that even the six topers were induced to defend 
 the reverend gentleman, and to hint that the tavern-keeper 
 was actuated in his remarks by " business," not principle. 
 
 This made the landlord still more intemperate in his abuse ; 
 till finally it was determined by the six hard drinkers, that 
 they would attend the next lecture of the reverend gentleman, 
 and judge of him for themselves. This resolution was carried 
 out ; and the result was, that the six topers determined to 
 become six non-drinking men 'for the future, and signed a 
 pledge requiring total abstinence from all intoxicating liquors. 
 
 A new place of nightly meeting was now chosen, — a car- 
 
THE STORY OF JOHN B. GOUGH. 481 
 
 penter's shop instead of a tavern ; and the six reformed men, 
 becoming themselves reformers, soon made converts, — among 
 them a man named John II. W. Hawkins of Baltimore, whose 
 name soon became identified with this phase of the temperance 
 movement, which has done a world of good. 
 
 But a greater man than Hawkins was "reformed" by the 
 Washingtonians, — John B. Gough, who became the most 
 effective temperance orator or apostle the world has yet seen. 
 
 John B. Gongh was born in England of humble parentage, 
 and at an early age emigrated to America. He started out as 
 a lad well, but soon "fell from grace," and developed into a 
 reprobate and a drunkard ; joined a variety troop, and became 
 a strolling actor of the lowest type, taking a perverse pleasure 
 in burlesquing sacred things. 
 
 Low as he was, he was sinking lower and lower, till he met 
 a Washingtonian, Joel Stratton, or, rather, till the Washingto- 
 nian met him, and induced him to sign the pledge. 
 
 Even after he signed it, his sufferings were intense, from the 
 love of alcohol, the habit of alcohol already formed ; and two 
 or three times he fell, and violated his pledge. But he con- 
 quered himself and habits at last, and soon became the most 
 famous temperance orator of the world. 
 
 Mr. GougrTs eloquence is of a very peculiar, yet intensely 
 magnetic, kind. A German mechanic once said to his em- 
 ployer, " I goes to hear dot Meester Gough vot dalks mit his 
 goatdails." He takes up a large amount of space while he talks, 
 and feels nervous unless he is talking on a large platform. A 
 rival lecturer once remarked, " Only let me have a platform as 
 big as Gough's, and I will draw as big. It is not the man, but 
 the platform, that does it." That "rival lecturer" was subse- 
 quently accommodated with a platform larger than any Gough 
 had ever used, yet he didn't " draw like Gough." It was the 
 man, and not the platform, after all. 
 
482 FATHER MATHEW. 
 
 The intense excitement which accompanies Gough's oratory 
 is simply the natural result of his intense feeling. Of this, 
 Mr. Gough himself has remarked, "It has been burned into 
 my memory from years of suffering and degradation; and I 
 do feel, and ever must feel, deeply on this question.'' 
 
 Yet another great name in the history of temperance work, 
 is the ever-blessed name of Father Mathew. This modern 
 apostle, this latter-day saint, was born in the county of Tip- 
 perary, and was, therefore, an Irishman of Irishmen. He was 
 ever tender-hearted and benevolent, doing good to all he met, 
 and never going hunting or gunning or fishing, because he was 
 averse to inflicting pain on animals, or any breathing creature. 
 He became a priest to please a pious mother, and remained a 
 priest to please himself and Heaven. 
 
 He began his public work by founding an industrial school 
 for girls, and continued his heroic exertions, alike in the cause 
 of humanity and religion, especially in the terrible cholera 
 season in Cork. He then, at the urgent solicitation of a 
 Quaker, William Martin, undertook to lead the temperance 
 cause in Ireland , and here he found his place. Of all men he 
 was the one man best fitted for the post. 
 
 " Here goes, in the name of God," said Father Mathew, as 
 he approached the table on the opening of the first temperance 
 meeting at which he ever presided, signing his name, as he 
 spoke, to the total-abstinence pledge. To my mind, his was 
 the way in which all temperance movements should be con- 
 ducted. There should be the practical, tangible means, — the 
 pledge, — and there should be the sought-for blessing of God 
 upon the pledge. Thus, and thus only, can reform be posi- 
 tively assured. 
 
 Within less than a year from this time, two hundred thou- 
 sand Irishmen had followed the example of Father Mathew. 
 
 He then began a travelling temperance-tour through Ireland, 
 
"NO UE AD ACHES AFTER DINNER:' 483 
 
 and finally visited Scotland and England, meeting with equal 
 success in Edinburgh and London. 
 
 Before he died, he visited America, where he was received 
 with enthusiasm. He came over to this country in the " Ash- 
 burton," and on the voyage labored with great results for good 
 among the poor passengers in the steerage. He landed in New 
 York on July 2, 1849, and enjoyed a most enthusiastic recep- 
 tion at Castle Garden. He was formally welcomed by his 
 Honor Mayor Woodhull, who offered him the hospitalities of 
 the city. 
 
 At eight o'clock that evening a most peculiar spectacle was 
 presented. A " temperance " dinner — a dinner at which 
 there was no wine, only water — was tendered to Father 
 Mathew, and partaken of by the board of aldermen. Ima- 
 gine the feelings of the New- York aldermen at being compelled 
 to drink the water ! But there were no headaches after that 
 dinner. 
 
 For the next fortnight Father Mathew held levees at the 
 City Hall, which was daily thronged with all classes and 
 nationalities. So great were the crowds at those temperance 
 levees, that it became necessary to set apart separate days for 
 the receptions of females and the receptions of males : over fifty 
 thousand persons signed the pledge during Father Mathew's 
 visit to Xew York, — at least, a very large number, though not, 
 I believe, definitely stated. 
 
 Father Mathew then visited Boston and Washington, being 
 in both cities enthusiastically received ; and in Washington he 
 was offered the very highest distinction that can be paid to the 
 subject of another country in this country, — a resolution being 
 passed unanimously that Father Mathew be admitted to a scat 
 on the floor of the House. 
 
 He finally left the United States on board the Collins 
 Steamer " Pacific, ,, having issued an appropriate " farewell 
 
484 THE BED-RIBBON REFORM CLUBS. 
 
 address." His last days were spent in much personal suffering, 
 brought on by his arduous labors in the temperance cause. He 
 passed to his reward in the sixty-sixth year of his age, dying 
 the death of the righteous, as he lived the life. If ever a man 
 left the world better than he found it, that man's name was 
 Father Mathew. His statue stands in the city of Cork, and 
 his memory will live till the last trump. 
 
 One of the chief workers in the temperance cause was Dr. 
 Reynolds of Maine, the father of the Red-ribbon Reform Clubs. 
 
 Henry A. Reynolds was born of well-to-do parents in Bangor, 
 Me. ; studied medicine, and took to drinking, becoming both a 
 doctor and a drunkard. But, after a terrible experience with 
 alcohol, he reformed, and became a reformer of others. 
 
 He believes in the grace of God first, and then in the means 
 of grace ; and among these "means" he places the pledge, and 
 a red ribbon as a sign of the pledge, — " an outward and visible 
 sign of an inward and spiritual grace," to use the words of the 
 catechism. The idea of this red ribbon occurred to the doctor 
 accidentally, but was at once utilized by him. It means pre- 
 cisely no less and no more than the uniform means to the 
 soldier. The uniform don't and can't make a soldier, but 
 every soldier will acknowledge the usefulness of a uniform. 
 
 All over the Union, alike in Massachusetts and Michigan, 
 the Red-ribbon Clubs are institutions, and Dr. Reynolds's name 
 is a tower of strength. 
 
 And now we come to Francis Murphy, who has done a noble 
 work in gospel temperance. Francis Murphy was born in Ire- 
 land of humble parents. Emigrated when a lad to this coun- 
 try. Tried farming ; married. Led a sober, industrious life 
 for a while, and then took to dissipated courses, and, in con- 
 junction with his brother, kept a tavern in Portland, Me. He 
 patronized his own bar liberally, and gradually sank to the 
 lowest depths of degradation. Finally he committed a crime 
 
FRANCIS MURPHY. 485 
 
 which led to his imprisonment. He had fallen as low as man 
 can fall. 
 
 But God has raised him as high as man can rise, to be a bene- 
 factor to his fellow-men. And Heaven's agent in this elevation 
 was Capt. Cyrus Sturdivant, the ex-manager of a coasting-line 
 of steamers which sail from the harbor of Portland, and a truly 
 devout and God-fearing man. This man met Murphy in jail, 
 and by his kindness saved him from despair, and led him to 
 Christ. And then Capt. Sturdivant procured Murphy's release 
 from jail, and led him to his family. But his heart-broken wife 
 died soon after his release, and Murphy was a while in despair. 
 But there was a work for him to do, and he did it. And to-day 
 he stands prominent among the men who have blessed their 
 fellow-men. In every large city in the Union, and abroad as 
 well as in this country, the name of Francis Murphy, the evan- 
 gelist of gospel temperance, is a household word. 
 
 In connection with gospel temperance, Mr. D. L. Moody 
 must also be mentioned. True, he has never professed to be 
 directly a temperance advocate; but, believing intemperance 
 to be a great sin, he has preached and prayed against it, and 
 thus endeared himself to all true temperance men and 
 women. 
 
 The names of Edward Murphy, Clark Wilson, Mrs. Wilson, 
 and Hon. Luther Caldwell, must also be mentioned in this 
 chapter, as having been the effective co-workers of Francis 
 Murphy. 
 
 Thomas W. Pittman, Esq., of New York, is also justly en- 
 titled to a conspicuous place in the catalogue of temperance 
 orators and advocates. Mr. Pittman has been all his life 
 thoroughly conversant with life in New York, and has given 
 the world the benefit of his experience in his celebrated 
 "Lecture on Crooked People." He was also identified promi- 
 nently with the Murphy revival in New York. 
 
486 DODGE, GIBBS, ETC. 
 
 There are other names which press for honorable mention, 
 such as the late Hon. William E. Dodge, merchant, Christian, 
 philanthropist, and president of the National Temperance Pub- 
 lication Society of New York, — an institution which has clone 
 and is doing a world of good ; John N. Stearns, Esq., the 
 secretary of the publication society ; the late Charles Jewett, 
 M.D., a distinguished advocate of the medical side of the tem- 
 perance reform; E. C. Delevan ; Rev. Charles N. Fowler, the 
 editor of "The Christian Advocate," and author of the grand 
 address on "The Impeachment of King Alcohol;" the re- 
 formed and reforming "rough," "Jerry" McAuley ; Mrs. Mary 
 T. Lathrop, the temperance revivalist ; Charles W. Sawyer, 
 Moody's valued assistant in gospel temperance work ; and the 
 ladies of the Women's Temperance Union. 
 
 Nor could I conclude this imperfect sketch of temperance 
 work and workers, without at least a reference to the well- 
 known and energetic J. B. Gibbs, Esq., of the Alderney Dairy, 
 New York. 
 
 This gentleman is at once a business man, Christian temper- 
 ance man, and philanthropist, and is doing, has been doing, 
 and as long as he lives will be doing, a good and practical 
 and steady work. And that is the kind of work that tells. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE. — IN MEMOBIAM OF THOSE WHO HAVE BE- 
 FRIENDED ME. — A LONG LIST OF GOOD MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 Having now completed the story of my life, from my birth, 
 through my happy boyhood, and checkered manhood, with all 
 its lights, and, alas ! all its shades, its struggles, its miseries, its 
 errors, and, I trust, its ultimate triumph ; and having glanced 
 at the works and achievements of others who, like me, have 
 reformed themselves, or have endeavored to reform others ; 
 before proceeding to the direct detail of my recent experiences 
 as a recognized temperance advocate, — I would take this 
 opportunity of testifying my gratitude to a few of the many 
 who have, in my battle of life, befriended and assisted me in 
 various ways. It has been my good fortune to have made 
 warm friends. It has also been my good fortune to have re- 
 ceived unlooked-for, undeserved kindnesses from comparative, 
 or even utter, strangers. And I never can be sufficiently grate- 
 ful to my benefactors, and to the Giver of all good, who put 
 it in their hearts to befriend me. I fear, in this world, I may 
 never be able to repay them ; but, God bless them ! they did 
 what they did without hope or expectation of reward, impelled 
 only by a sense of duty, and their own kind hearts. Still, I 
 can at least, in this place, acknowledge my obligations; and 
 I feel confident that my readers will pardon me for digressing 
 thus from my direct narrative to do so. Surely the world, or 
 that portion of it which has favored me by perusing this book, 
 will not think the worse of me for being grateful. 
 
 487 
 
488 "SUBSTANTIAL" FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 In writing this book, I am aware I have laid myself open to 
 criticism by my frequent use of names of individuals with 
 whom I have come into contact : but, without this course, I felt 
 that it would not be a correct version of my life ; and therefore 
 I have been explicit on this point. The nature of this book 
 will not admit of my mentioning all the names of persons that 
 have befriended me, but I feel it a duty to speak of some of 
 those who have directly aided me in my darkest hours. In a 
 previous chapter, I spoke of one who went my bonds on the 
 occasion of my first lecture at Tremont Temple, when I was 
 arrested for debt, and stated that some future reference would 
 be made to him. His name is Mr. J. G. Pierce, formerly of 
 25 Howard Street, Boston. He paid from his own pocket 
 all the bills that I was compelled that night to meet. Kind 
 reader, you may question why he did this : I will answer ; I 
 will be brief, and to the point. I had sold him a book during 
 my canvassing, and had requested him to aid me in business 
 matters, giving him what I considered as collateral. The time 
 for my lecture having come, I told him that I lacked the means 
 of carrying it through, not for the moment anticipating that 
 he would aid me. To my great surprise he said that he fully 
 indorsed my course, and he came up to the Temple. He did 
 not realize at the time to what extent he had indorsed me. He 
 stood by me that night : and, had it not been for him, I should 
 have slept in the station-house ; as the officers would have been 
 compelled to carry me off, had I not given bonds. Reader, 
 would you not consider it your duty to speak of a man who had 
 thus befriended you ? Of course, I do not say that there was 
 no other philanthropist in Boston, who, if he had known my real 
 condition, would not have aided me ; but this gentleman hap- 
 pened to be the right man in tho right place. I knew nothing 
 of his habits or his previous character, but he was a friend to 
 me in my hour of need ; and such friendships are substantial. 
 
A KIND ACT. 489 
 
 Among those who have claims upon my lasting gratitude, 
 an honored place must be given to a prominent man already 
 referred to in the preceding chapter, — John B. Gough, Esq., — 
 
 the CHAMPION OF CHAMPIONS, AND, WITHOUT ANY POSSIBILITY 
 OF CAVIL, THE GREATEST TEMPERANCE LECTURER OF THE AGE. 
 
 On one memorable occasion, this unparalleled orator and 
 temperance advocate performed a special act of courtesv in my 
 behalf, which was productive of the utmost benefit. It was 
 characteristic of the man. 
 
 I once needed, particularly needed, a friend. It was a hard 
 time with me. Mr. Gough saw it at a glance. In conversation 
 with me, he said, " Come to Tremont Temple to-night." The 
 occasion was a great temperance mass-meeting. Ex- Gov. 
 Talbot presided. John B. Gough was the orator of the night. 
 I was requested to take a seat. I did so. And finally the 
 governor, at Mr. Gough's request, called aloud for me to come 
 from the audience, and be seated with them upon the platform. 
 I was assigned one of the only three high-backed chairs upon 
 the great platform, the governor and Mr. Gough occupying 
 the other two. That kind act, simple in itself, was the means 
 of immediately giving me a high and lasting prestige. 
 
 The Hon. Keal Dow, the father of the famous Maine Liquor 
 Laws, which, after all said and done, remain the best laws yet 
 promulgated on the liquor traffic, has also shown me great 
 kindnesses. The famous clerGrvmen, Rev. Dr. Theodore L. 
 Cuyler, and Rev. Dr. Justin D. Fulton, have, in their way, 
 done me the greatest obligations by bestowing upon me their 
 professional and personal indorsement, and lecturing for me, 
 and in behalf of m}^ work. 
 
 To the long list of those to whom I owe love and gratitude 
 for favors unexpected and unpaid for, save in gratitude and 
 love, I would here add the names of Miss A. A. Jennings of 
 Rochester, N.Y., who befriended me in my time of great dis- 
 
490 MY MANY FRIENDS. 
 
 tress, and who has befriended many another desperate and 
 despairing fellow-mortal ; Rev. George J. Mingins, the eloquent 
 divine of New York ; Mrs. E. A. Rawson of North Grosvenor- 
 dale, whose heart has ever been ready and eager to help those 
 honestly desiring to help themselves ; Mr. and Mrs. Dr. S. C. 
 Carter of Liberty, Ind., who are noted for their Christian phi- 
 lanthropy ; E. J. Smith, Esq., of Washington, D.C. ; Charles 
 A. Webster, Esq., W. E. Sherman, and H. S. Woodworth, Esq., 
 of Providence, R.I. ; Mr. and Mrs. C. C. Post of Burlington, 
 Vt., the father and mother of my beloved wife, whom I am 
 about to introduce to my readers, and who have been as truly 
 and practically solicitous concerning my own welfare and work 
 as though they were my own parents, not merely my wife's ; 
 Thomas W. Pittman, Esq., of New York, the eloquent orator 
 and lecturer and able lawyer ; Mr. Francis Murphy, the great 
 apostle of temperance ; Miss Frances E. Willard, the able and 
 zealous lady president of the Women's National Christian 
 Temperance Union ; Benjamin R. Jewell, Esq., of Boston, 
 Mass.; Hon. T. R. Westbrooke, Judge of the Supreme Court 
 of the State of New York ; Right Rev. William Bond, bishop 
 of Montreal, P.Q. ; Dr. Isaac N. Quimby, a prominent philan- 
 thropist and distinguished physician of Jersey City, N.J. ; 
 Rev. Dr. Bixby ; Rev. C. L. Goodell ; Rev. Dr. G. W. An- 
 derson ; Rev. Moses B. Scribner ; Rev. John Evans ; Rev. R. 
 Montague; Rev. Francis Ryder of Rhode Island; his Excellency 
 Nelson Dingley, jun., Ex-Governor of the State of Maine ; Wen- 
 dell Phillips, Esq., of Boston, so widely and favorably known ; 
 Dr. Dix, oculist and aurist, Hotel Pelham, Boston ; Dr. A. J. 
 French (President Lawrence National Bank) and lady of Law- 
 rence ; J. C. Bowker and lady of Lawrence ; Hon. Charles 
 Parker of Meriden, Conn. ; R. C. Bull, Esq., P. M. W. T. of H. 
 and T., New- York City ; Hon. E. W. Stetson, Damariscotta, 
 Me. ; Capt. Guy C. Goss of Bath, Me. ; Frank Dingley, Esq., 
 
MRS. FRANCES FEARSON. 
 
STILL MORE FRIENDS. 491 
 
 of Lewiston ; H. M. Bryant, Esq., of Lewiston ; Charles H. 
 Tainter, Esq., President Auburn Reform Club ; C. H. Wood- 
 worth and family of Dalton, Mass. ; Forester Clark and family 
 of Pittsfield, Mass.; Rev. J. W. Hamilton, Mrs. David H. Barton 
 and family, of Boston ; Frank W. Lucas, Esq., of Providence ; 
 James M. Palmer, J. P. Yates, H. H. Jones, and their families, 
 of Haverhill, Mass. ; his Honor E. P. Hodsden, ex-mayor of 
 Dover, N.H. ; Hon. J. Horace Kent of Portsmouth, N.H.; his 
 Honor Ex-Mayor Warren of Biddeford, Me.; City Marshal 
 Durgin of Saco, Me.; Edward A. Cass, Esq., G. W. C. T. of 
 the Temple of Honor of Maine ; Hon. Joshua Nye of Augusta ; 
 L. W. Filkins, Esq., of New York; William Appleton, jun., 
 of Boston ; also G. W. Butts, Esq. (Chace & Butts, bankers), 
 W. Sweeney, Esq., Mr. and Mrs. N. Ramsden, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Charles H. Robinson, Mr. T. J. Fales, Mr. and Mrs. B. H. Ray- 
 nor, Col. Frank G. Allen, Ex-Mayor A. C. Barstow, George A. 
 Barstow, Esq., Deputy-Sheriff C. H. Scott, J. B. Gardiner, Esq., 
 Mrs. Lucy M. Dickinson, Mrs. Annie M. Branch, daughter of 
 the late Dr. Mowrey, Mrs. R. H. White, all of Providence, R.I. ; 
 Rev. L. H. Wakeman, William F. Peebles, Esq., Mrs. Robinson 
 of Stamford, Conn.; Mrs. Maria C. Treadwell, President W. 
 C. T. U. of Conn. ; also Mr. Treadwell, her husband. Nor can 
 I forget Mrs. J. A. Powers, now Mrs. Asa B. Hutchinson of 
 the famous Hutchinson family of singers, then the proprietress 
 of the house where I boarded in Bangor at No. 125 Hammond 
 Street. To her, her family, and all the boarders in the house, 
 I feel under the deepest obligations ; for, when I was sadly in 
 need of (I must confess it) clothing, they sent it to me in a 
 most delicate manner. I would also make special mention in 
 this place of Mrs. Frances Fearson (colored), who was a true 
 and truly Christian benefactress of mine, as the subjoined story 
 will show : — 
 
 One day, after a terrible debauch, feeling sick and sore, I was 
 
492 NURSED AND CARED FOR. 
 
 wandering the streets of Providence in rain, sleet, and slush, 
 and by accident found myself in this good woman's house. I 
 had nothing but a faded duster and an old under garment to 
 battle the elements with ; and this poor woman would not let 
 me go out, but fed and cared for me. I was sick one whole 
 week in her house, and she nursed and cared for me as if I 
 were her own child. I can never, I shall never, forget the 
 kindness of this good woman. Long may she live ! 
 
 I could also mention the names of hundreds of other persons 
 who befriended me, but I must stop somewhere. All who 
 have ever been kind to me, whether named here or not, will 
 please accept my gratitude. If their names are omitted, it is 
 the fault of ni} T diary, and not my heart; so pardon the over- 
 sight. I must state, in conclusion, that my mentioning these 
 names is of my own free will, and totally without the knowl- 
 edge of any of the parties ; and, if any one should feel a delicacy 
 about being thus mentioned, they must attribute it to my sense 
 of the obligations I am under to them, and to nothing else. 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 MY BEST FRIEND. — HOW I WOOED AND WON MY WIFE. — I OBEY AX IRRE- 
 SISTIBLE IMPULSE, AND MEET MY FATE. — A SHORT, SWEET LOVE-STORY. 
 — I LINK MY LIFE WITH A GOOD WOMAN. 
 
 My last chapter was devoted to my friends, — friends in the 
 plural. The present chapter shall be devoted to my one best 
 friend, — my wife. 
 
 For I have a wife, and I thank God for it. Her dear eyes 
 are looking over my shoulder now, as I write ; and her dear head 
 shakes, and her dear face almost frowns, or comes as near as it 
 can (which is not very close) to frowning, as she insists that I 
 shall omit all mention of her in this book. 
 
 The idea of such a thing ! The bare idea of a man writing 
 his life, and leaving out his wife ! Did you ever ? The thing 
 is an absurdity : it is impossible. Hamlet with Hamlet omitted 
 would be nothing to it. 
 
 Ko, a thousand times no ! I might be induced to omit 
 almost any other portion of my biography, but not the por- 
 tion in which she figures ; for she is the best part of my life. 
 In sheer simple justice to her, I must tell about her — and in 
 justice to myself. 
 
 For the most complimentary thing that can be said about me 
 is, that I am her husband. That fact speaks volumes for the 
 good that must be somewhere in me. I have been frank 
 enough, as my readers will be ready to testify by this time, 
 in regard to all my faults, my follies, my shames : let me, for 
 Heaven's sake, have all the benefit of the good sense I have 
 
 493 
 
494 "BURLINGTON ON THE BRAIN." 
 
 shown in wooing such a woman, the good luck I have had in 
 winning such a woman, and the good that has been in me to 
 enable me to wear such a woman, and appreciate her as she 
 deserves. It was a love-match : and, as " all the world loves a 
 lover," I will tell you all about it ; though there is not much 
 to tell. 
 
 While I was talking temperance in New England, in the year 
 1875 (I shall never forget that year), I sent my agent, Mr. 
 Thomas J. Pressey, to the pretty little town of Burlington, Vt., 
 to make arrangements to secure a hall for a lecture. I never 
 have been able to explain to myself satisfactorily why ; but the 
 fact is, that I had always felt a great desire to visit Burlington, 
 Vt. I had no special reason for this desire ; but I felt it strongly, 
 nevertheless. Was it not Destiny — Kismet — Providence ? 
 
 My agent returned with the news, that it had proved un- 
 practical for him to procure me a satisfactory date at Burling- 
 ton. He had done his level best, but had not been able to 
 arrange matters. 
 
 This should have settled the matter. I should have at once 
 dismissed Burlington, Vt., from my thoughts and plans. I had 
 every confidence in my agent. I knew that he had done all 
 that man could do to carry out my wishes, and had failed, 
 simply because my wishes could not be carried out. In ninety- 
 nine cases out of a hundred, I would have dismissed the affair 
 with a "Very well, I will go somewhere else." But this was 
 the one-hundredth case. I did not go somewhere else ; but I 
 went straightway to Burlington, Vt., myself, though it was two 
 hundred and fifty miles away from the place where I was then 
 lecturing. 
 
 My agent wondered at my taking "such a notion to Burling- 
 ton," as he phrased it, and remonstrated with me ; but I was 
 headstrong. I had literally "Burlington on the brain" just 
 then ; and to Burlington I went, arriving there safely. I had 
 
LOVE AT FIRST SIGIIT. 495 
 
 been filled with all sorts of vague, wild, restless ideas about 
 what I would do when I got to Burlington ; but, when I got 
 there, these dreams vanished : and I proceeded at once, in the 
 most practical way, to endeavor to do what my agent had 
 failed to do, — secure a hall. 
 
 By a lucky chance, I succeeded in my attempt. An obstacle 
 which had nonplussed my agent was gotten over by myself; 
 and I obtained the leading hall of the place, and was advertised 
 to address the good people of Burlington, Vt., the very next 
 night. 
 
 The "very next night" came, and with it a crowd. I was 
 in high spirits, and my lecture was a success : I felt it ; I saw 
 it. I also saw, during my lecture, two ladies standing in the 
 doorway of the hall, one of whom, the taller one of the two, 
 was watching my delineation of the horrors of delirium tremens 
 with mingled admiration and disgust, — admiration, I flatter 
 myself, of the lecturer, but disgust at this phase of his subject. 
 From the moment I saw that taller lady of the two, standing 
 in the doorway, my doom was sealed. I felt it. I felt a thrill 
 ecstatic and indefinable. But there, I spare my reader any 
 more of this. I fell in love, — love at first sight. I have 
 always been convinced that " the taller lady of the two " felt 
 towards me, from the very first, as I felt towards her, — that 
 she, too, felt that " thrill, ecstatic and undefinable," when she 
 first set eyes on me. But to this day she has refused to give 
 me definite information on this important point. Such is 
 woman ! 
 
 Well, after the lecture I was introduced to several of the 
 ladies of Burlington who had been present, and, among them, 
 to the " taller lady of the two," who had excited such a com- 
 motion in my breast. She bowed and smiled. I smiled and 
 bowed. And the first all-important step was taken. 
 
 We talked about the temperance cause and my lecture, etc. : 
 
496 "SUCH A DELIGHTFUL UNSETTLED STATE." 
 
 and it was arranged, as I was to lecture in Burlington another 
 night, that the lady, the particular lady, the "taller lady of 
 the two,"' the woman who had already become the only woman 
 in the world to me, would honor me by assisting at 1113' next 
 lecture ; she being an accomplished vocalist, and excellent 
 musician. 
 
 This much being settled, we separated for the night. 
 Whether my particular lady dreamed of me that night, or 
 not, I know not. As I have just remarked, she has always 
 been reticent on all these preliminary details, so far as she was 
 concerned. But this I know and can testify, that I dreamed 
 all night of her, and awoke in the morning more in love than 
 before. 
 
 Burlington, Vt., is a very pretty and picturesque place in- 
 deed, — one of the most charming towns in all New England, 
 — and possesses a public park of great beauty. I rose early, and 
 walked all through the town, and felt somehow as if this pretty 
 little place, which I had never visited before, was already 
 identified with my life. 
 
 Xeudless to say, I met my charmer that day for the second 
 time, and a rosebud passed between us ; and at my next lecture 
 there was some singing ; but really, whether the rosebud 
 passed from me to her, or from her to me, or whether she 
 sung and I spoke, or she spoke and I sung, has always 
 remained in my memory doubtful. I was in such a trance 
 all the time, — such a delightful unsettled state of " first 
 love." 
 
 But I distinctly remember what occurred on the third clay 
 of my tarry in Burlington. The woman I knew I loved, and 
 made no secret to myself about it, was announced to sing at 
 some "benefit concert;" and, as I was sitting on the veranda 
 of my hotel, she passed along on her way to rehearsal. 
 
 Of course, I merely rose from my seat, and bowed politely, — 
 
"I TOLD HER ALL." 497 
 
 of course, — and then went into the hotel, leaving her to walk 
 to rehearsal alone. Of course, every man in love would have 
 done just that. 
 
 But enough of badinage. Love is, after all, a serious thing, 
 — as serious as it is sweet; and I was desperately as well as 
 delightfully in earnest. 
 
 Making no disguise of my joy at meeting her, I joined the 
 lady ; and, before that walk was over, I had proposed, and been 
 accepted. 
 
 That day is the best and brightest day that I have ever 
 known, — the brightest and best day I shall ever know on 
 earth, — a day of heaven. 
 
 We walked amid as lovely scenery as this world contains, 
 with the placid waters of Lake Champlain and the beauties of 
 the Park in sight. But it would have been all the same to 
 me if I had been strolling through the orange-groves of Flor- 
 ida, or the mountain glories of Switzerland, or the old temples 
 of eternal Egypt, or the splendors of mighty Rome. I saw 
 but my companion's face. I had no eyes but for her eyes, I 
 had no ears but for her voice. 
 
 Though, to tell the truth, her eyes were modestly downcast ; 
 and she said but little. But I talked for two. 
 
 I had much to tell ; for, with my usual directness of purpose, 
 I determined to make a clean breast of all my past life. I 
 determined there should be perfect confidence as well as per- 
 fect love between us. I resolved that no secret should stand 
 between us, now or evermore. If there were dark passages in 
 my past life, as, alas ! there were, I should bring them to light 
 now, that hereafter it should not be in the power of any enemy 
 to unearth them, and say to her, u See, he would have con- 
 cealed these from you." 
 
 Yes, thank Heaven ! I told her all, — all my escapades, all my 
 sorrows and disgraces and dissipations. I kept back nothing. 
 
498 "JUST THE YEET LEAST BIT JEALOUS." 
 
 And here, let me sa}~, I would recommend all men in love 
 to follow my example in this respect. Be frank with the 
 woman you love. This frankness is in itself a compliment 
 to the woman ; and, if she is a true woman, she will appre- 
 ciate it. 
 
 True, it is unpleasant, most decidedly unpleasant, to make 
 yourself out a fool, if not worse, in the eyes of her to whom 
 you would be a hero. But be of good heart. She will not 
 love you the less for proving to be human. And she will find 
 more excuses for you, if she loves you, than you will be able to 
 find for yourself. 
 
 At any rate, I have never for one moment regretted my 
 frankness to my love — my wife. She has loved me better 
 since she has been called upon to forgive me. 
 
 We were betrothed, and I was blessed. I went to bed that 
 night the happiest man in Burlington, Vt, or anywhere else. 
 And, ere I went to bed, I fell upon my knees, and thanked the 
 Giver of all good for his unspeakable gift, — the true love of a 
 true woman. 
 
 Our engagement was for a while kept secret, but only for a 
 little while. Both my wife and myself were too sensible to 
 make a secret of what was really, at least on my part, a matter 
 of pride, prudence, and congratulation. Besides, like every 
 other lovely woman, my betrothed had attracted the admira- 
 tion of other men besides myself, — some of them better men 
 perhaps ; and as long as they were kept in ignorance of our 
 engagement, so long as they thought there might be hope, 
 they would press their suit. In fact, to tell the truth, I began 
 to feel just the least bit in the world (of course, only just the 
 very least bit) jealous of another man, who was corresponding 
 with my darling. 
 
 And so to ease myself, and put all parties out of their pain, 
 I one day told my love to the parents of the girl T loved, — 
 
MARRIED AND SETTLED. 499 
 
 told it like a man, and was received, as I had hoped to be, as 
 the accepted suitor and future husband of their daughter. 
 
 My betrotliecl's parents were people of influence and posi- 
 tion in the community. Her father, Charles C. Post, is a 
 manufacturer, and patentee of several valuable improvements ; 
 while her mother, nee Sylvia C. Partch, was a descendant of 
 one of the oldest and best families in New England. Her 
 grandfather, Alson H. Post, had erected a church at Hines- 
 burg, Vt., the birthplace of Chester A. Arthur, President of 
 the United States ; and along her family line were to be found 
 some of the most thrifty, intelligent, and prosperous of New- 
 England farmers. 
 
 As for my betrothed herself, Helen L. Post, now for several 
 happy years Mrs. Helen L. Doutney, her personal appearance, 
 and varied accomplishments, are already familiar to the public ; 
 as she has constantly been a prominent attraction at my tem- 
 perance meetings and entertainments, and a public favorite. 
 But her domestic virtues, — as a wife, and the mother of a fine 
 boy, Master Charles Post Doutne}', now in his sixth year, — 
 these are beyond all praise, and are known fully only to her 
 husband, child, and God. 
 
 I did not remain "an engaged man" long. I am not one of 
 those who approve of lengthened engagements. Let the court- 
 ship be long, if you will (though mine was short as it was 
 sweet), but let your betrothal season be brief, and your mar- 
 riage be as speedy as possible. 
 
 I was married on the twenty-ninth day of June, 1876, at the 
 Baptist Church in Burlington, Vt., in the presence of a large 
 assemblage, by the Rev. Munson A. Wilcox of Burlington, Vt. 
 
 And, from the day of my marriage, I have been a good man, 
 or at least a much better man than I was before I married. 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MY PROFESSIONAL TEMPERANCE WORK. — ITS GENERAL ASPECTS. — ITS DE- 
 TAILS AND NARRATIVE. — MY SUCCESS AT WATERTOWN, N.Y. —MY STRUG- 
 GLES AND TRIUMPHS AT ST. PAUL, MINN. — MY CAMPAIGN ALONG THE 
 HUDSON, NEWBURG, YONKERS, NYACK, ETC. — U THE TEMPERANCE-TENT '' 
 AT ROCHESTER. — THE GOOD CAUSE IN NEW JERSEY. — TEMPERANCE 
 MATINEES AT ALliANY. — BLUE RIBBONS AND PRACTICAL PHILANTHROPY. 
 — ENTHUSIASM AT SARATOGA. — SOUTH AND WEST. — RICHMOND, VA., AND 
 RICHMOND, IND. 
 
 I have now completed the story of what may be called my 
 personal life, as distinct from my strictly professional career. I 
 have shown fully, and in detail, how I have sinned and suffered 
 and struggled, and finally succeeded in conquering my own bad 
 habits, and winning a good Avoman. 
 
 But, thus far, I regard my life-narrative (at least, from a prac- 
 tical and temperance point of view) as being but the history 
 of a course of preparation for a goodivork, — not as the history of 
 a good work itself ; for with me my good work was but in its 
 infancy. I was a temperance lecturer, it is true, acknowledged 
 and established. But most of my achievements in this line had 
 yet to be achieved : most of my victories had yet to be won. But 
 fortified by experience, strengthened by the grace of God, and 
 sustained by the loving sympathy of a devoted wife, I was now 
 ready for action. I was a temperance ivorJcer indeed. And the 
 remainder of this volume must be devoted to a brief resume 
 of my career as a professional temperance advocate. 
 
 It will not be necessary to give every detail of my public life 
 or professional movements. It will suffice to describe my expe- 
 
 500 
 
SOME MATTERS OF FACT. 501 
 
 riences in the prominent places I have professionally visited, 
 
 and to narrate those phases of my public career which are 
 either the most interesting in themselves, or are the best illus- 
 trations of my own peculiar methods and successes. 
 
 I may state, that, as a temperance lecturer and advocate, I 
 have generally exceeded my own or my friends' anticipations. 
 I may also state truthfully, that, while not offending any special 
 class, I have always been most successful with what we call 
 " the masses." I am one of " the people " myself; and, as such, 
 my heart goes out to them, and for them : and so, while, I trust, 
 the rich, aristocratic, and cultured have not turned from me, the 
 working-classes and the masses — i.e., nine-tenths of the popu- 
 lation — have ever been specially attracted to me, and actuated 
 by my influence. 
 
 I may also state, as a matter of fact, that I have generally 
 succeeded in drawing to myself a good deal of public and news- 
 paper notice, and have made more or less of a stir wherever I 
 went. I have been the cause of discussion, and have been cen- 
 sured for my methods by some, as well as enthusiastically 
 indorsed by more. But, in the long-run, I have been vindicated 
 by results ; and, the longer I have remained and worked in any 
 one place, the more thoroughly have I succeeded, and the more 
 warmly have I been liked. I have gained in popularity and 
 influence as I progressed. The last impression of me or my 
 work has been better than the first. This I have always justly 
 regarded as a healthy sign. 
 
 One of the first places in which I, as a temperance lecturer 
 and advocate, made my mark, was at the thriving town or city 
 of Watertown, one of the most enterprising places in Jefferson 
 County, and all that section of the great State of New York. 
 
 Prior to my visit to Watertown, I had been in the habit of 
 speaking only one night in each town ; and I went to Water- 
 town itself for only one night. But my enthusiastic reception, 
 
502 WORK AT WATERTOWN. 
 
 and the good work I saw being done, led me to remain and 
 lecture and work four nights ; and then, returning to the place 
 rather reluctantly, — fearing I had rather overdone the matter 
 here before, — I found the tide of enthusiasm, practical enthu- 
 siasm, for the temperance cause, swelling so rapidly, that I 
 remained seven weeks. 
 
 At one period, during my visit to Watertown, I conducted 
 two meetings at different parts of the borough simultaneously, 
 crossing over from one to the other by team, and personally 
 conducting them both at once. 
 
 All classes of people joined in the temperance revival I here 
 inaugurated, and the town was taken by storm for the good 
 cause. As " The Lockport Times " remarked, " The people of 
 Watertown have had an immense temperance jubilee and pro- 
 cession ; the mayor and aldermen leading the procession through 
 the streets amid cheers from the multitude, music from the 
 bands, and the waving of flags. The revival is in charge of 
 Doutney, the celebrated temperance worker." 
 
 This temperance jubilee, in addition to the grand procession 
 just referred to, embraced a temperance " supper " at Washing- 
 ton Hall, which was an immense success. During my work at 
 Watertown I headed a party of over two hundred ladies and 
 gentlemen interested in the cause of temperance, and with 
 them paid a visit to the Watertown jail, where I held a temper- 
 ance meeting among the prisoners, several of whom were 
 affected to tears, and many of whom signed the pledge. 
 
 A " temperance reform club " had been started previous to 
 my arrival at Watertown ; but, before my departure from the 
 place, the membership to this club had been increased to over 
 thirty times its original proportions. This was practical work ; 
 these were tangible results ; and as such I would gratefully 
 record them. 
 
 " The Watertown Daily Times " of Jan. 22, 1877, treating 
 
BEGINNING THE GOOD WORK. 503 
 
 editorially of the temperance reform movement in the place, 
 remarked, — 
 
 There is something fearfully suggestive in figures when properly 
 grouped. They carry force in their array beyond what any verbal 
 statement can do. Their power is beyond that of eloquence, and their 
 pathos is deeper than the saddest truth. Wherever we look, in every 
 State of our Union, and in every city and village of the State, the 
 financial and social devastation which the rum-traffic works is seen. 
 Jails are filled by it ; the poorhouses are crowded by wretched in- 
 mates ; wives are separated from their husbands ; children are made 
 vagrants ; homes are devastated by the operation of a traffic against 
 which humane and economic considerations uuite in earnest and solemn 
 protest. It is owing in part to the vastness of the curse, that peo- 
 ple do not grasp its enormity, which threatens every sacred and salu- 
 tary interest of society. In view of these solemn facts, about four 
 weeks ago a handful of people of this city began to feel an interest 
 in the welfare and well-being of their fellow-brothers, who had been, 
 some for years and some for a lifetime, daily addicted to the use of a 
 poisoning beverage which filled homes with want and wretchedness, 
 and which has scattered the seeds of sin and degradation in every 
 little neighborhood in AVatertown as well as elsewhere. Being men 
 of much experience in the many different ways in which the impor- 
 tant questions of temperance, intemperance, and strong drink had 
 been treated in the past, they resolved upon a new plan : namely, 
 that of forming what is known as a temperance reform club, and 
 work, only to get fallen men, and others who take now and then a 
 drink, to join ; leaving the questions of who shall sell, and what we 
 shall do with the whiskey-venders, to be dealt with by others ; think- 
 ing perhaps in so doing, if successful in saving a large number of 
 men, the liquor-dealers would in time quit the business. Knowing 
 these things, and desiring to accomplish a great good, they secured the 
 services of a reformed drunkard who had been speaking in the neigh- 
 borhood. He came, and held several meetings in the Young Men's 
 Christian Association Rooms, which were well attended. The Tern- 
 
504 THE GOOD WORK PROGRESSES. 
 
 perance Reform Club of Watertown emanated from these meetings. 
 This man did good work while he remained ; but it was apparent 
 that he was not the man to interest men, and to turn them to the 
 paths of right and righteousness. It was plain to all, that the great 
 work to be performed must be done by some individual in whom all 
 classes would have confidence. The name of Thomas N. Doutney 
 was suggested. His fame as a temperance lecturer was known ; and 
 he was invited, and he came. At the time of Mr. Doutney's arrival, 
 there were between thirty and forty members of the Temperance 
 Reform Club ; yet the members of the little band earnestly hoped to 
 be made stronger through the influence of Mr. Doutney, and their 
 hopes have been fully realized. The first meetings were held in 
 Mechanics' Hall, Factory Street, — a small room with limited accom- 
 modations. The attendance soon became so large, that more room 
 was a necessity. The pastors of the various churches offered to Mr. 
 Doutney and the club the free use of their edifices, and all were 
 anxious to assist in the good work. The court-house was placed at 
 their disposal ; and last, but not least, John A. Sherman, proprietor 
 of "Washington Hall, offered the hall free to the club on any and all 
 occasions that they might desire it. On one occasion two meetings 
 were held at the same hour, — one in the Arsenal-street Methodist 
 Church, and the other in Scripture & Clark's Hall, which was also given 
 without charge. The meetings have been crowded without exception. 
 Mr. Doutney has been present at every meeting, and in his own 
 peculiar style has shown men the true way. Mr. Doutney is a 
 man perhaps of twenty-eight to thirty-two years : is medium in 
 size, and quick in thought and action. He is always ready when 
 called upon to do any thing to save a fallen brother. He is not a 
 polished orator, but a very earnest speaker. He is an excellent 
 delineator. He can imitate the French, German, Irish, Scotch, and 
 the negro to perfection. He has all the requisites of a temperance 
 reformer. He has been a liquor-seller and a drunkard ; has had the 
 delirum tremens, and all else that follows the use of strong drink. 
 The small number of thirty or forty has, through Mr. Doutney's 
 exertions, been increased to an organization of nearly one thousand 
 
FAREWELL TO WATERTOWN. 505 
 
 persons. The vastness of the work can hardly be realized, and its 
 importance can never be forgotten. The object of the club is, not to 
 meddle with politics, or the private affairs of any one, but simply 
 to preach temperance. Mrs. Doutney has been present at most of the 
 meetings, and has favored the audience with her singing, which is 
 very fine, to say the least. Watertown has never experienced such a 
 temperance revival as that of the past three weeks. The kind of 
 men who have signed the pledge and joined the club are just the 
 men that no community can do without. Many of them are fathers. 
 Many are sons, — the pride of some poor mother or father. Many 
 of them are friends who are dear to all of us. Many of them are 
 brothers, loved of dear sisters, who rejoice to-day that their brothers 
 are sober men. 
 
 Ere I left Watertown I was made agreeably cognizant of the 
 esteem in which I was held in the place, by the presentation 
 of a superb gold watch, the gift of a number of influential 
 citizens deeply interested in the temperance movement. My 
 farewell to Watertown was marked by a display of public sym- 
 pathy and personal feeling which was as encouraging as it was 
 unusual. 
 
 It took place at the First Presbyterian Church, which was 
 crowded with over fifteen hundred people. Rev. Dr. Porter, 
 presiding elder, M. D. Kinney, President Ingles, Rev. Mr. Bul- 
 lock, Rev. Mr. Putnam, and other prominent citizens, took part 
 in the exercises, which were, towards the end, positively affect- 
 ing in the display of good feeling, which was also manifested 
 practically in liberal contributions to defray my necessary living 
 expenses. God bless Watertown ! I feel I was enabled to do 
 it some lasting good ; and I know that the memory of the kind- 
 ness of its citizens will ever do me good till I die, and perhaps 
 — who shall say not — after death. 
 
 Another town of importance in which my work proved a 
 success, after a somewhat protracted struggle, was St. Paul, 
 
506 AT ST. PAUL. 
 
 Minn., one of the most flourishing centres of the great "West. 
 The ladies of St. Paul had been specially exercised concerning 
 the rum-demon, and had resolved to exorcise it. They deter- 
 mined to attack it root and branch, and by every known agency. 
 Among other steps, they appointed a day of fasting and prayer, 
 and also made arrangements for me to speak on Sunday night, 
 May 13, 1877, at the opera-house, under their auspices. In all 
 my life I never addressed a more intelligent audience than were 
 gathered together at the opera-house that Sunday evening. 
 Every seat in the building was occupied, including chairs on 
 the stage ; while large numbers stood up in the aisles. And 
 hundreds of persons reluctantly went to their homes, not being 
 able to enter the building at all. 
 
 Upon the platform were Rev. Dr. Breed, Eev. Messrs. Cross, 
 McKebben, Edwards, Williams, and other pastors of the 
 evangelical churches of the city, and a trained choir of fifteen 
 voices, who discoursed most excellent music. 
 
 I felt perfectly at home amid such a crowd as this, and soon 
 put my audience, as the French say, en rapport with me. I 
 never felt alike more cool and more enthusiastic in the whole 
 course of my existence, and I could see that my words struck 
 home. I carried my audience with me. The next night the 
 meeting, the crowd, and the enthusiasm were repeated. I was 
 a success, or at least the good cause I represented had tri- 
 umphed in my person. 
 
 Here in St. Paul I adopted the plan of a ribbon to designate 
 those who had signed the pledge, and I found the plan worked 
 admirably. I substituted a blue for a red ribbon : and soon 
 the streets of St. Paul began to be remarkably well supplied 
 with perambulating blue ribbons, or honest, happy men, pledged 
 to total abstinence from intoxicating drinks, with blue ribbons 
 attached ; and I had thus tangible evidence before me con- 
 stantly that my labors were blessed. 
 
"AN OUTSIDE HEATHEN." 507 
 
 But I did not by any means give entire satisfaction at first 
 in St. Paul. " The Dispatch " remarked, that " some of his 
 [my] illustrations and sayings are not in accord with minis- 
 terial views." In short, I was not theological enough or dig- 
 nified enough. But then, I had not come to St. Paul to preach 
 theology or to illustrate dignity, but to advocate temperance ; 
 and I certainly did that, and did it successfully. 
 
 I, or my methods of temperance work, soon became the 
 subject of newspaper controversy. An unknown correspond- 
 ent, who signed himself "An Outside Heathen," wrote to 
 44 The St. Paul Dispatch," indorsing my work, but blaming the 
 churches and the ministers for not sustaining me more pub- 
 licly and steadily. To this communication a certain 44 J. McK" 
 replied in behalf of the churches and ministers, claiming that 
 they did support me in my temperance work, but found fault 
 with my depending too much upon mere material or moral 
 means, — pledges, blue ribbons, arguments, and the like, — but 
 not attaching sufficient importance to the one only element that 
 could ever make and keep men truly temperate ; i.e., the grace 
 of God. Now, in this, 44 J. McK " made a great mistake ; for 
 it was just because I did believe in the grace of God that I was 
 so particular in insisting upon using all the means of grace, such 
 as lectures, arguments, pledges, blue ribbons, etc. I have 
 always felt that it was the height of folly and impertinence 
 to call upon God to do that for us which we will not try with 
 all our might to do for ourselves. Unto him that hath shall 
 be given. And I hold that no man can be honestly, prayer- 
 fully desirous of conquering intemperance, or any other bad 
 habit, who will not thoroughly use every physical and intel- 
 lectual means to accomplish this end. 
 
 The newspaper controversy over my methods of temperance 
 work was carried on witli considerable asperity for some time : 
 but at last Christian people began to understand me better ; 
 
508 ST. PAUL'S PARADE. 
 
 and, ere I left St. Paul, I was publicly and heartily indorsed 
 alike by laity and clergy. 
 
 The subjoined extract from "The St. Paul Dispatch " will 
 serve to show how triumphantly I terminated my campaign at 
 St. Paul. 
 
 GRAND PARADE AND MEETING LAST EVENING. 
 
 The crowning event of the Temperance Reform took place last 
 evening in the form of a grand temperance parade, under the super- 
 vision of Mr. Doutney. The assembly was called at seven o'clock ; 
 and the parade formed in two ranks to the number of seven hundred 
 and fifty men, headed by a band, and nearly all the clergy. The pro- 
 cession moved from the City Hall, and marched up to the Seven Cor- 
 ners, down Third to Jackson, from Jackson up Seventh to "Wabasha 
 to Third. The column was here countermarched, and filed two and 
 two into the opera-house, filling the lower part of the house and 
 stage full. The gallery, dress-circle, and boxes were filled exclusively 
 with ladies. All along the line of march, the sidewalks were filled 
 with citizens who waved on the procession as it moved along : at 
 least eight hundred men were in line. 
 
 The meeting at the opera-house was very interesting, and at 
 eleven o'clock the vast audience yet seemed willing to remain. A 
 large number signed the pledge ; and, if Mr. Doutney could remain 
 another week, the interest would not abate one whit. 
 
 The following resolutions and preamble were offered by Col. J. 
 Ham Davidson, and adopted without one dissenting voice. "After 
 more than three weeks of earnest labor in the grand temperance 
 reform in St. Paul, under the direction of Thomas N. Doutney, 
 and after witnessing the glorious results that have been achieved, 
 we deem it expedient and just to give some expression to our appre- 
 ciation of Mr. Doutney' s labors, as we are about to separate with 
 him, in order to aid the good work wherever he may go hereafter." 
 Therefore, 
 
 Resolved, That we recognize in Thomas N. Doutney the most 
 active temperance worker that has ever been with us ; and, after 
 
"OLD" NEWBURG. 509 
 
 carefully observing the results of the series of meetings conducted 
 by him under the auspices of the Women's Christian Temperance 
 Union of St. Paul, we heartily and earnestly commend him to the 
 sympathy and co-operation of all temperance men and women, 
 wherever he may go to labor in the future. 
 
 Resolved, That we return thanks to the ladies for the series of 
 meetings they have inaugurated, and which was rendered so entirely 
 successful by their efforts to do so. 
 
 A third town in which my temperance work was crowned 
 with success was Newburg, N.Y., one of the old historical 
 towns of the Empire State. My advent in this old borough 
 created an excitement which gradually increased till it became 
 the sensation and the one great topic of the place. I intro- 
 duced " the blue-ribbon " plan here also, and found it acted 
 like a charm. 
 
 Some of the temperance meetings held under my direction 
 at the opera-house here were, as " The Newburg Daily 
 Journal " phrased it, " sights to behold." Large numbers went 
 away from the place, unable to get inside its portals. And the 
 large audience was swayed by an enthusiasm rarely witnessed 
 outside a political meeting. 
 
 I was specially blessed in being enabled to make an impres- 
 sion upon the firemen of Newburg, many of whom were of 
 the class denominated as "hard drinkers." Altogether, I 
 did a great work, sustained by the active sympathy of the 
 press and the clergy (Rev. Dr. Carrol, Rev. J. R. Thompson, 
 Rev. Dr. King, and others), and, ere I left the town, had gained 
 nearly fifteen hundred converts to the temperance cause. 
 
 One of my favorite maxims met with hearty indorsement 
 here, — i.e., that the very best way to reform men is, to give 
 them a chance to reform themselves ; and that the very best 
 way to keep a man honest, industrious, and temperate, is, to 
 give him work. This sentiment was enthusiastically ap- 
 
510 THE HUDSOX-RIVER TOWXS. 
 
 plaucled, and was, I am glad to say, acted upon practically in 
 a number of instances which came to my knowledge. 
 
 Just as in many other places, so in Newburg, my methods 
 were appreciated more and more as I remained longer and 
 longer. My personal and professional popularity increased 
 with time. And, when I bade farewell to the good old town, 
 I found that I was parting with friends, not strangers. The 
 firemen of the town turned out en masse to see me off. And 
 it seemed as if all the population of the borough had come 
 down to the river-side to bid me good-by. The steamboats 
 blew their whistles, the town-bells rung. I received an almost 
 national salute, which I received gratefull} r , and viewed in its 
 true light, as a deserved compliment, not to my humble self, 
 but to my great and noble cause. 
 
 At this period I also visited the beautiful little Nyack and 
 the active, flourishing Yonkers, two of the best known of 
 the Hudson-river towns. In both of these places my work 
 achieved a gratifying success. As "The Yonkers Gazette" 
 stated, "upwards of seventeen hundred persons have signed 
 the pledge, and put on the blue ribbon, during the lecturer's 
 stay in Yonkers." During my work at Nyack an excursion 
 steamer was chartered to convey parties of friends, and others 
 desirous of attending my meetings, froni Yonkers to N} T ack and 
 return. In Yonkers I caused to be organized a branch of the 
 Woman's Temperance Union. 
 
 The next place of prominence at which I labored was Roch- 
 ester, one of the great cities of the Empire State, — a city full 
 of wealth and energy and enterprise. In this city I first intro- 
 duced and practically carried out an idea which had for some 
 time been forming in my mind, — the idea of a " Temjyerance- 
 Tent" — of temperance meetings conducted under canvas. I 
 could see no good reason why the circus should monopolize 
 this good idea. There is something about " tent-life " which 
 
"A TEMPERANCE-TENT." 511 
 
 pleases the popular fancy. It is in itself a very convenient 
 kind of life during the season, far preferable to the hiring 
 of halls in warm weather, combining, as it does, the advan- 
 tages of an open-air existence with all the essentials of an 
 indoor life. For the life of me, I could see no impropriety 
 about it, no valid objection ; while I at once realized its bene- 
 fits. So, determined to do for temperance what Barnum and 
 others have done for amusement, I erected a monster tent, and 
 conducted my services and public exercises under canvas. 
 
 This was the first application of the Tent to Temperance in 
 this country, and has proved a success. 
 
 I may here remark, that in this tent-idea, as in every other 
 idea which I have carried out or acted upon, I have endeav- 
 ored to apply the principles of common sense and business to 
 morality, religion, and temperance, and have, as it were, gone 
 up to God in a business way, and endeavored to practically real- 
 ize, in dollars and cents, in clothes or food, or work or canvas, 
 or whatever it might be, the good that I wanted to carry out. 
 
 I am a great believer, not only in grace, but in the means of 
 grace. In fact, I feel sure you can't have the one — and have 
 no right to expect it — without the agency of the other. As 
 the circus-folk found tent-life available for mere amusement, 
 so I have found it available for moral and philanthropic instruc- 
 tion. And just as show-people generally try to make shows 
 agreeable and enticing with song and music and mirth and 
 recreation, so I have striven to render temperance attractive 
 by presenting it with attractive surroundings. 
 
 As I remarked one day in an address, " Let the temperance 
 people but take one-half as much trouble to empty the bar- 
 rooms and drinking-saloons as the proprietors of these places 
 take to fill them ; let the cold-water advocates surround tem- 
 perance with as much attraction as the liquor-dealers surround 
 rum, — and the good work is accomplished." 
 
512 MY "NEW IDEA" IN ROCHESTER. 
 
 On these sentiments I have based my course ; and I found, 
 that as elsewhere, so in Rochester, I met with thorough 
 indorsement and success. 
 
 My " gospel temperance-tent," as I termed it, was erected in 
 Rochester, near the corner of Caledonia and West Avenues, 
 and had seating accommodation for nearly a thousand people. 
 Rev. Dr. Riggs, Rev. J. T. Bissel, Rev. M. Fisher, and other 
 clergymen, took part in the dedicatory exercises , and it was a 
 popular "hit" from the start. It was just what the people 
 needed. The Rochester " Democrat & Chronicle," in its 
 elaborate description of this temperance-tent, remarks as 
 follows : — 
 
 The pavilion is a large, two-mast concern, and appears very 
 much like the ordinary show-tent, which covers the mysteries of the 
 lesser light shows upon the road. The seats, or benches, are arranged 
 in semicircular form, facing toward the platform at the west side. 
 There is an abundance of sawdust spread around under foot ; and the 
 square, eaves-trough " illuminators," which hang around the two cen- 
 tre poles, give to the place that air which so largely tends to attract 
 hundreds to the circus-tent. . . . But there are no small boys trying to 
 crawl in under the tent, and no young men, with their shirt-sleeves 
 caught up by elastic bands, who go about plaintively calling " pea- 
 nuts." As the expansive spread of canvas overhead flaps and sways 
 in the wind, there is something about the homogeneous throng, and 
 their unconventional surroundings, which strongly tends to remind 
 one of a good old-fashioned camp-meeting, where the only canopy 
 over the congregation is the rustling leaves and leafy branches, and 
 the starry skies above. This last sentence gives the whole force of 
 the tent-idea. It is to convey the suggestions of a free outdoor life, 
 as contrasted with indoor style and restraint. 
 
 I may here remark that mine was not merely a " fair-weather " 
 tent : it was perfectly waterproof, greatly to the comfort of an 
 
"A REFORMED WORKER." 513 
 
 immense audience which attended one of my temperance meet- 
 ings during a tremendous shower, and experienced no incon- 
 venience. 
 
 During my stay in Rochester I was ably aided by the ener- 
 getic and eloquent Col. John F. Hoy, T. B. Stillson, Rev. 
 Messrs. Stacy, Baker, Taylor, Campbell, Patton, and many others, 
 as well as by my dear wife, whose sweet singing on the platform, 
 and sweet smile off the platform, did much to advance our 
 mutual work and the noble cause. Miss Florence E. Bacon, a 
 personal friend of my wife and of myself, as well as one of my 
 most faithful assistants, also contributed largely to our success 
 by her popular recitations. Miss Bacon is universally pro- 
 nounced by press and public a young lady of fine elocutionary 
 ability. 
 
 In Rochester, as elsewhere, the good work prospered under 
 my humble though honest exertions : but, of course, all was 
 not couleur de rose ; nothing is in this world. Somebody, who 
 signed himself "A Reformed Worker," attacked myself and 
 wife as "humbugs," after our departure. But his attack only 
 brought eloquent defenders to the front, and merely served to 
 prove how many friends my wife and myself had made in 
 Rochester. After all, the best proof of the kind of work we 
 did in Rochester was the fact, that thousands of signatures 
 were appended to the temperance pledge. 
 
 Another field of labor in which success attended our efforts 
 was Jersey City, one of the most bustling suburbs of the great 
 metropolis. In Newark, Paterson, and other New- Jersey cen- 
 tres of population, I also lectured with good results. In New- 
 ark I lectured under the auspices of the Union Gospel Temper- 
 ance Association. Here, as elsewhere, my temperance-tent 
 was a great " hit." " The Newark Daily Advertiser " re- 
 marked, that " the novelty of conducting meetings of this 
 kind under canvas draws to the tent an element in this com- 
 
514 THE "PLEDGE" IN ALBANY. 
 
 munity which could not be otherwise reached by Christian or 
 by temperance workers." This sums up the whole matter, — 
 gives the truth concerning it in a nut-shell. 
 
 In Albany I made a protracted stay, whose general history 
 may be summed up in one sentence. My work began bravely, 
 developed great enthusiasm ; also developed some dissatisfac- 
 tion, arising partly from the slanders of the envious, and partly 
 from the misunderstandings of the well-meaning ; but finally 
 culminated in a triumph, and resulted in permanent good. 
 The details are briefly as follows : For over five weeks I held 
 nightly meetings, and in some cases two meetings a-day, in 
 Martin Hall, old Tweedle Hall, the old Tabernacle Baptist 
 Church, etc., under the auspices of the Woman's Christian 
 Temperance Union. The Rev. Mr. Morse was the first clergy- 
 man of Albany to introduce me to the public, and remained 
 my warm personal friend and professional associate throughout. 
 
 As usual, I made an all-important feature of the signing of 
 the pledge. It may be well here to give the form of the pledge 
 which I offered for signature. 
 
 "Charity covereth a multitude of sins. Help raise the fallen. 
 With malice toward none, and with charity for all, I, the under- 
 signed, do pledge my word and honor, God helping me, to abstain 
 from all intoxicating liquors as a beverage, and that I will, by all 
 honorable means, encourage others to do the same." 
 
 I also made a special feature of the singing. The Moody 
 and Sankey hymns were used, as well as some special temper- 
 ance and religious hymns published in leaflets, and widely 
 distributed. My dear wife, in this department, was of the 
 utmost assistance to me. Her rendering of " The Ninety and 
 Nine," and other sacred songs of a similar character, was spe- 
 cially notable. 
 
 I also found that my renditions of character and dialect parts, 
 
"tiie blue ninnox." 515 
 
 in imitation of men of various nationalities in various stages of 
 intoxication, were very well received, and highly commended 
 by the press, as well as by the people. 
 
 Among the attractions at some of my meetings at Albany 
 were the Hutchinson family of singers, one of whom, Mrs. Asa 
 Hutchinson, so kindly befriended me when Mrs. Powers of 
 Bangor, Me., and whose kindness I made a point of publicly 
 acknowledging at one of nn- meetings. 
 
 The blue ribbon was also utilized with great success at 
 Albany, as one of the " outward and visible signs of an inward 
 and spiritual grace." And here let me explain why I adopted 
 the blue ribbon. I obtained the hint as to the color from the 
 fifteenth chapter of the Book of Numbers, thirty-eighth and 
 thirty-ninth verses, in which allusion is made to a blue fringe 
 on the garments of the children of Israel, which was to be a 
 symbol, " that ye may look upon it, and remember all the com- 
 mandments of the Lord, and do them." 
 
 One feature of my Albany meetings struck the public as a 
 novelty, and met with wide approval. I refer to what I may 
 call my " temperance matinies" — my meetings in the after- 
 noon for children. Over one thousand children assembled at 
 Tweedle Hall, Saturday afternoon, Dec. 8, 1877, to take part 
 in the exercises of one of my meetings. I offered prizes for 
 the best temperance recitations, the prizes consisting of eigh- 
 teen volumes of juvenile stories. Twenty-six boys and thirty- 
 six girls competed for the prizes. 
 
 On another occasion I offered a ten-dollar gold-piece as a 
 prize for the best recitation by either girl or boy. The chil- 
 dren, with their parents and relatives, were intensely interested 
 in this competition. 
 
 Some, it is true, found fault with this connecting children 
 with a temperance movement : but I took issue with those fault- 
 finders. As I remarked at the time, "I would rather have cliil- 
 
516 THE CHILDREN AND THE CLERGY. 
 
 dren taught temperance than grown people, for in the children 
 lies the hope of the nation. Besides, it is so much easier to 
 prevent an evil in a child than it is to cure that evil in a grown- 
 up man or woman." 
 
 Exception was also taken in certain quarters in Albany, that 
 I had not been indorsed by the clergy, — that, as a body, they 
 stood aloof from my work. But this was contrary to the facts 
 in the first place, and had nothing to do with my temperance 
 work. I came to call, like my Divine Master, not the right- 
 eous, but the sinner, to repentance. I did not visit Albany, 
 or any other place, to produce a revival among the clergy 
 (though not a few clergymen really need a " revival " of old- 
 fashioned, true religion), but to produce an awakening and a 
 reformation among the lowly and the sinful. And in this I 
 effectually succeeded. 
 
 How successful my work in Albany really was, can be seen 
 from a glance at the following article, which appeared in the 
 columns of " The Albany Evening Journal : " — 
 
 Now that the temperance revival, held in this city, draws to a close, 
 it might be interesting to look back on the field, and notice the results. 
 While the protracted meetings did not begin until some six weeks ago, 
 yet the preparatory meetings were commenced last June, being held 
 in the open air at the Capitol Park every Sunday afternoon. Later, 
 when the weather became too cool, "Martin Hall," which was 
 crowded each Sunday, was secured. In this hall Mr. Thomas N. 
 Doutney commenced his series of meetings, which have continued 
 over a period of five weeks. Mr. Doutney came to this city in the full 
 flush of a wonderful success in the city of Newburg ; and, knowing 
 that this city was ripe for a revival, he expected to have the assistance 
 and co-operation of all the temperance men and women of the city, 
 as he had at Xewburg and other cities. But one of the results did 
 not fully realize his anticipations ; for while temperance workers 
 gathered around him, and rendered all the assistance which they knew 
 
MY SUCCESS AT ALBANY. 517 
 
 so well how to give, the other and higher element stood aloof. This, 
 in a great measure, ean be accounted for by certain individual jealousy, 
 and by false and scandalous stories in relation to the revivalist ; and 
 time has shown, as another result, that Mr. Doutney is, without doubt, 
 a pure, spotless, and earnest young man, who thought, labored, and 
 prayed without thought of remuneration. When we come to consider 
 that it became necessary to charge an admission-fee to pay the neces- 
 sary expenses of the revival, — and, notwithstanding this, the meet- 
 ings were usually crowded, — Mr. Doutney's success was something to 
 wonder at. It showed that the people believed in him, and it also 
 showed the command which he exhibited over the rougher class or 
 element that were usually found present at the meetings in large 
 numbers and on all occasions. During the five weeks Mr. Doutney 
 held thirty-seven revival meetings, at which five thousand persons 
 (in round numbers) signed the pledge. Hundreds and hundreds of 
 these men are now trying to lead a nobler life. Mr. Doutney was 
 also present at and led thirty-five prayer-meetings. The attendance 
 on them was principally reformed men, and the result of the work at 
 these meetings can never be correctly estimated. Four meetings for 
 children were also held, and greatly enjoyed by the little folks. Be- 
 sides all these, Mr. Doutney found time to make personal visits to the 
 unfortunate. Mr. Doutney. during his staj*, did not think it beneath 
 him to accompany a large wagon through our streets, and solicit from 
 our merchants about one hundred dollars' worth of provisions and a 
 number of tons of coal. The singing of Mrs. Doutney was a very 
 attractive feature of the revival. There are many who will retain in 
 their memory the beautiful and feeling strains of '"Oh, to be noth- 
 ing ! " as she rendered them. The different temperance organizations 
 ably assisted all the efforts of the revivalist. Taken together as a 
 whole, we think the revival a success. The ladies were untiring in 
 their good work, and deserve considerable praise for the unwavering 
 fidelity which they gave to the cause and Mr. Doutney. 
 
 One of the most striking episodes of my career in Albany 
 was my " relief-visits " to the poorer families of the reformed 
 
518 SARATOGA, THE SOUTH, AND THE WEST. 
 
 drunkards 'among whom I successfully labored. This I made 
 a feature of, and deservedly; for how can a poor man be 
 kept reformed if he has nothing wherewith to keep himself 
 and his family ? Reformed drunkards and their families must 
 live, and must have something to eat, until they, by their new- 
 found sobriety and industry, are enabled to earn it. It is use- 
 less to tell a starving man to be honest, or a hungry man to be 
 temperate, especially if he has a family who are suffering with, 
 as well as by, him. 
 
 Recognizing this fact, I went round Albany with a four-horse 
 team, and collected from the charitable, groceries and provis- 
 ions for "my poor," — the Lord's "poor," — the poor of those 
 who had signed the pledge. The response to my efforts in this 
 direction was grand, — three wagon-loads full of provisions. 
 
 Then I went round in a buggy, and solicited orders for coal, 
 which orders were liberally supplied. There are warm hearts 
 and open hands in the Capitol city of the Empire State. 
 
 One of my most successful meetings, or series of meetings, 
 was held at the far-famed village of Saratoga. Here, under the 
 auspices of the Women's Temperance Union, the indorsement 
 of Rev. Dr. Stryker and other clergymen, and the attendance 
 of the Seventy-seventh Regimental Band, which participated in 
 strumentally in the entertainment, I gave a number of lectures, 
 which were received with avidity by overflowing houses. 
 
 And thus I traversed all portions of the United States, being 
 alike successful in Richmond, Va., and Richmond, Ind., — in the 
 South as in the West. I experienced the far-famed hospitality 
 of the Sunny South in various localities throughout Virginia, 
 Norfolk, etc. ; and I likewise enjoyed the equally kind-hearted, 
 if somewhat more boisterous and more demonstrative, hospital- 
 ity of the breezy and boundless West. All places were alike 
 to me "if only I could save some," and all places seemed 
 blessed to me for good. 
 
AMONG THE QUAKERS. 519 
 
 In Richmond, IncL, my work was commenced under the 
 auspices of the Quakers, " The Society of Friends," a sect 
 which has always been inclined to temperance in drink, as well 
 as in word and deed. My efforts in this place were marked 
 with signal success. " The Richmond Palladium " remarked, 
 that "the temperance agitation started by Thomas N. Doutney 
 at the Eighth-street Friends' Church has grown into a move- 
 ment so strong that no church in the city, except the yearly 
 meeting-house, is large enough to hold the crowd that goes 
 night after night to hear him." So the Phillips Opera-house 
 was engaged for three evenings to accommodate the rush, and 
 barely sufficed for that. 
 
 Here as elsewhere the sweet singing of my dear wife, and 
 the admirable recitations of Miss Florence E. Bacon, elicited 
 deserved applause. 
 
CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 MY WANDERINGS, AND WARFARE WITH THE DEMON ALCOHOL. — NORTH, 
 SOUTH, EAST, AND WEST. — IN VILLAGES AND IN CITIES. — MY VISIT TO 
 BROOKLYN. — MY ADVENTURES IN PROVIDENCE. — " WAS I NOT RIGHT?" 
 — SCENES, INCIDENTS, AND EPISODES. — SOME MISUNDERSTANDINGS. — 
 A SUMMARY OF MY WORK. — THE BRUTE OF A RUM-SELLER. — THE CRIP- 
 PLE AND HER MOTHER. — A BABY AS THE BEST TEMPERANCE LECTURER 
 OF THEM ALL. 
 
 It is surely unnecessary, and would be tedious for me, to 
 recount the narratives of my professional visits to all the dif- 
 ferent places where I have labored and lectured. There would 
 be a uniformity, a monotony, about the details, which would 
 be uninteresting to the general reader ; and I have made up 
 my mind, whatever else I may or may not be, never to be 
 "dull." It is the one unpardonable sin against the general 
 public. Suffice it to say, that I traversed almost the entire con- 
 tinent in the cause of temperance. Among the towns where I 
 was heartily received, and accorded a generous welcome, were 
 Staunton, Va. ; Lynchburg, Va. ; Bridgeport, Conn. ; Rome, N.Y. ; 
 Utica, N.Y. ; Geneva, N.Y. ; Oneida, N.Y. ; Little Falls, N.Y. ; 
 Newport, R.I.; Hartford, Conn. ; Poughkeepsie, N.Y., Stamford, 
 Conn. ; Bicldeford, Bangor, Rockland, Camden, Bath, Lewiston, 
 Augusta, Ellsworth, and other leading towns in Maine ; Bur- 
 lington, St. Albans, Rutland, Montpelier, St. Johnsbury, and 
 other prominent places in Vermont ; Manchester, Dover, and 
 other towns in New Hampshire; Lawrence, Haverhill, Wake- 
 field, Holyoke, Worcester, Salem, and Springfield, Mass., in 
 addition to a very successful visit to Boston ; Meriden, New 
 
 520 
 
TUE CITY OF CHURCHES. 521 
 
 Haven, Conn. ; Troy, Plattsburg, Schenectady, Port Henry, 
 Buffalo, Odgensburg, Amsterdam, Gloversville, N.Y. ; Balti- 
 more, Md. ; Minneapolis, Minn, (in both of which last-mentioned 
 places I was far more successful ultimately than either my 
 friends or myself expected) ; Indianapolis, Shelby ville, Laporte, 
 Union City, and other leading towns in Indiana ; London, 
 New Ohio, etc., in Ohio, with a very enthusiastic reception in 
 that great centre, Cincinnati; Belvidere, Ottawa, and other 
 towns in Illinois, with a fine reception in that very hot-bed of 
 the rum-interest, Chicago itself, as well as an almost ovation in 
 Montreal and other prominent places in Canada. 
 
 I have taken the pains to specify the different places I visited 
 as far as possible, as I do not believe in mere vague state- 
 ments, and wish to show here and now, how I have actually 
 visited, and been on the whole successful, alike East, West, 
 North, and South; alike in the small villages, the thriving 
 towns, and the great cities ; thus proving, that gauged by the 
 only possible test, practical and extended experience, my style 
 of temperance work, so to speak, my peculiar methods of 
 reformation, have been appreciated by the only possible and 
 final judge, — the general public. 
 
 Among the great cities in which I was successful must be 
 mentioned Brooklyn, — the City of Churches, the home of those 
 three truly good and great men (for such they are, after making 
 all allowances for their personal peculiarities and professional 
 differences), Revs. Drs. Henry "Ward Beecher, De Witt Talmage, 
 and Justin D. Fulton. In Brooklyn I was treated well by press 
 and public, and found my reward in good accomplished. 
 
 That excellent paper, " The Brooklyn Eagle," thus referred 
 editorially to my work. 
 
 The six-weeks' temperance campaign, inaugurated by Thomas N. 
 Doutney. in the tent at the junction of Flatbush and Fifth Avenues, 
 
 was brought to a successful termination last evening by an excellent 
 
522 TWO REPRESENTATIVE CITIES. 
 
 vocal and instrumental concert. A good audience was present, in- 
 cluding many prominent advocates of the cause. Among those who 
 occupied seats on the platform were Mr. WatsoD — of the "Jersey 
 City Journal" — and family. The programme opened with an ad- 
 mirably rendered duet on the cornet and clarinet, by Mrs. Lilla Belle 
 and Will I. Peters. This was succeeded by the recitation of the 
 " Schoolmaster's Guest," by Miss Florence E. Bacon, whose elocu- 
 tionary and mimetic powers are simply wonderful. The young lady 
 was warmly applauded. A " Free and Jolly Rover I " was well sung 
 by I. W. Macy, who, in answer to a recall, gave a laughing-song, 
 which was capitally done. " Chicken on de Brain " and Josh Billings 
 " On Gongs " were most amusingly read by Mr. Doutney. The soprano 
 solo " Perplexity," by Miss Watson, was followed by a cornet solo by 
 Mrs. Peters. Mrs. Doutney sang "Take Me Home," a selection 
 descriptive of Southern life. The remainder of the programme con- 
 sisted of the " Deacon's Confession ; " "ABC Duet " by Mrs. Jones 
 — daughter of the late James Budworth of minstrel fame — and I. W. 
 Macy ; solo by George I. Winters ; " Shivering and Shaking " by Mr. 
 and Mrs. Doutney ; and other selections. Mr. Doutney goes to Wes- 
 terly, R.I., and New London, Conn., to spend a week in each place. 
 He began his work here on May 31 ; and his meetings, with few 
 exceptions, have been crowded from the commencement. During his 
 stay in this city he has made many friends. 
 
 Probably the two places in which I have enjoyed the most 
 emphatic success have been two representative cities, — one of 
 them perhaps the most thriving, bustling, sensational city of its 
 size in New England ; the other certainly the greatest city in 
 the American continent, if not in the world. I allude to the 
 city of Providence, R.I., and the city of New York. 
 
 In both of these wide-awake places my wide-awake methods 
 have been understood and appreciated. In both of these enter- 
 prising centres my enterprise has found a congenial atmosphere. 
 In both cities I have made a stir, — a sensation, — and accom- 
 plished practical results for good. 
 
K S S 4> O > 
 
IN PROVIDENCE, B.L 523 
 
 Of course, it goes without saying, that in both of these cities 
 I have encountered opposition. No positive man, with an idea, 
 can go to Providence or to New York without encountering 
 positive men, with ideas directly opposed to his. And then 
 follows the inevitable clashing and battling of ideas, terminat- 
 ing either in a " drawn battle," or " the survival of the fittest.'' 
 
 So the reader of these pages will see that I have made ene- 
 mies as well as friends in these two cities, have found denoun- 
 cers as well as advocates. But the latter classes will be found 
 to be alike more numerous and more influential than the former. 
 I have been enabled to make ten friends where I have made 
 one enemy ; and, in my case, the usual rule has been reversed, 
 and my friends have been more active than my enemies. 
 
 But to particulars. I commenced my career as a temperance 
 lecturer in Providence comparatively quietly so far as the press 
 was concerned, though very enthusiastically so far as my audi- 
 ences were concerned. From the first my houses were large, 
 as was conceded by the papers. " The Morning Star " of Provi- 
 dence thus alluded to my first meeting : — 
 
 The first of a series of meetings for the cause of temperance to be 
 given by Thomas N. Doutney was held in a tent on Broad Street last 
 evening, and an audience of nearly a thousand persons was in attend- 
 ance. The tent is located on a lot on Broad Street sixty by ninety 
 feet, and has a seating capacity of about eighteen hundred. Above 
 the top of the tent, there are two flags waving, one bearing the 
 inscription "Doutney Jubilee," and the other his working motto, 
 " Truth and Temperance." The exercises opened last evening with 
 the singing of several of the best of Moody and Sankey's hymns ; 
 and, after prayer by the Rev. Mr. Alden, a brief address was 
 then made by Henry S. "Woodsworth, the grand worthy patriarch of 
 the Sons of Temperance of Rhode Island. Mr. Doutney was then 
 introduced : and his remarks were of the common-sense order, with- 
 out attempts at rhetorical effect, but were straightforward, and pic- 
 
524 "TEMPERANCE" HOTELS AXD BOGUS "DRUG "-STORES. 
 
 tured in plain terms the awful effects of intemperance, interspersed 
 with several humorous and ridiculous antics of a man under the 
 influence of liquor : yet the speaker convinced his audience that he 
 was an earnest worker in the cause, and the result was a number of 
 signatures to the temperance pledge. During the evening, there was 
 plenty of vocal and instrumental music by a corps of nine ladies and 
 gentlemen, who accompany Mr. Doutney in his working ; and the 
 company enjoyed a good musical entertainment, besides hearing the 
 true inwardness of the evils of intemperance explained by a man who 
 had risen from a ragged inebriate to be an advocate of the temperance 
 cause, and knew from sad experience the evils resulting from drinking. 
 
 My succeeding meetings were as largely attended as my first, 
 and my audiences grew more and more enthusiastic as they saw 
 and heard more and more of me. I flatter myself I gave them 
 something to think about and to talk about. My methods 
 were novel as well as effective. They did not " run in the 
 old ruts : " they were not " stereotyped." 
 
 In one of my addresses I raised a little breeze by " pitching 
 into " so-called " temperance hotels," which had nothing to 
 justify their existence, saving the mere fact that they did not 
 sell whiskey or wine or beer. This fact was a gratifying and a 
 good one ; but it did not in itself constitute "a hotel," nor make 
 amends for the carelessness, and poor accommodations, and 
 terrific cookery, which characterized some of those miscalled 
 "hotels." Am I not right? I also, in another address, created 
 some excitement by denouncing, in unmeasured terms, those 
 so-styled " drug-stores," which sold liquor " on the sly." I said 
 that the humbugs and hypocrites of " druggists " who " run " 
 these stores were infinitely worse and meaner than the open 
 and above-board liquor-dealer. And I meant just what I said, 
 and I mean it still. Am I not right ? 
 
 I was called a " charlatan " and a " mountebank," because on 
 one occasion I appeared, attired very elaborately, on the plat- 
 
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GOOD CLOTUES, VARIETY ACTORS, ETC. 525 
 
 form, and excused my elaborate "make-up" on the plea that 
 "I wished to show that reformed drunkards could afford to 
 wear good clothes." But was there, after all, any humbug 
 about all this? Was it not merely practically illustrating a 
 practical truth? Was I not right? 
 
 I also provoked some criticism because I entered into nego- 
 tiations with a popular variety actor in Providence, and en- 
 deavored to enlist his services in the temperance cause. But 
 was I not justified in using every agency to bring men to the 
 truth? Was I not fully justified in utilizing every means and 
 every man to accomplish an undeniably good result? Was I 
 not justified in trying to turn this variety actor's mimic gifts, 
 and his professional and personal popularity, into a new and 
 better channel than that to which it had been previously de- 
 voted ? Was I not right ? 
 
 During my stay in Providence, a distinguished gentleman 
 made the remark publicly, that my work did not meet his entire 
 approval, and would not receive his individual subscription, 
 because it "looked like a mere money-making venture, and 
 seemed like a second edition of Barnum's show." The refer- 
 ence to Barnum I took as rather a compliment than otherwise ; 
 but the reference to the money I justly resented, and entirely 
 disproved. True, I had to live; and I tried to live by my hon- 
 orable calling as a temperance lecturer, just as a clergyman 
 tries to live as a religious lecturer. But bevond this I cared no 
 more for money than the minister, and my meetings had less, 
 not more, of the pecuniary element in them than the average 
 church. The average church has a pastor, with a stated salary, 
 dependent upon certain fixed conditions and pecuniary resources ; 
 whereas I had to depend only on the friends of the cause, or 
 occasionally on a very small, merely nominal, admission-fee. 
 So I think that I proved to the public of Providence, that, in 
 one point at least, the gentleman had made a mistake. 
 
526 DOUTNEY'S WORK. 
 
 During my stay in Providence, there was also a slight misun- 
 derstanding between my friend, ^Mr. Ferrin, and myself, on the 
 one side, and some gentlemen connected with local temperance 
 organizations, on the other side. But it will be fully enough 
 to state on this matter, that my action in this affair received 
 the indorsement of the most influential gentlemen and ladies 
 connected with the temperance work, embracing such men as 
 the Rev. George W. Anderson, who wrote me a warm letter of 
 approval , and Mr. George W. Butts, the owner of the lot on 
 which my tent stood, who was so well satisfied with my 
 course that he gave me the use of his ground hereafter rent 
 free. 
 
 I had, in addition to my other episodes, " a little difference 
 of opinion " with certain members of " the Reformed Men's 
 Club," — a local temperance organization, — and a passing con- 
 troversy with the Providence "Telegram." But, on the whole, 
 I got along well with the press and the community, and cer- 
 tainly succeeded in the one great object of my life, — bringing 
 men to temperance, and, as far as I could, to total abstinence, 
 — inducing them to sign, and influencing them to keep, the 
 pledge. 
 
 I do not know that I can sum up my three-months' temper- 
 ance labor in Providence better than an ardent advocate of 
 temperance summed it up in the columns of the " Sunday 
 Star/' This article I herewith quote entire ; as it is full and 
 truthful, and presents the whole truth in a striking and forci- 
 ble, because practical, manner: — 
 
 DOUTXEY'S WORK. 
 
 THE RESULTS OF THREE-MONTHS' TEMPERANCE WORK IN PROVIDENCE. 
 
 To the Editor of the Sunday Star. 
 
 Sir, — If I can give you even an imperfect idea of the good work 
 accomplished by Thomas N. Doutney in the three months he has been 
 
ITS ACTUAL RESULTS. 527 
 
 in Providence, I shall be glad. On Aug. 3 he opened his tent in 
 Providence, and all through the dry and heated month he toiled on 
 incessantly. While every citizen who possibly could was taking 
 rest, he worked on for fallen humanity. September, in all its dreamy 
 beauty, failed to allure the worker from his task. The golden month 
 of October found the burden and care and responsibility increasing 
 on Mr. Doutney's shoulders. 
 
 IN MUSIC HALL. 
 
 The chill of the evenings, together with the increase of the audi- 
 ence, made it essential to have larger and warmer quarters. On the 
 Gth of October the tent was exchanged for Music Hall. Up to this 
 time meetings were held every evening in the tent. From Oet. G to 
 Nov. 8 meetings were held every evening except Wednesdays ; then 
 again, Nov. 11, 12, and 19. And every night the hall, as well as the 
 tent, has been literally packed : every night but two Mr. Doutney 
 was present, and conducted the meeting. Hundreds of people have 
 attended every meeting, from the first night in the tent to the " bene- 
 fit." The persistency with which these meetings were carried on 
 shows the noted firmness, force, energy, and endurance of the man. 
 It proves one good thing, — that they have become aroused in gospel 
 temperance work ; that their influence was to aid the cause. Besides, 
 we had some of the most eloquent orators and most polished speak- 
 ers in our Union to address the meetings. Here let me add, never in 
 one single instance have the poor and lowly been turned from the 
 door. They have always been admitted, and enjoyed the same con- 
 siderate and kind attentions others more prosperous have enjoyed. 
 
 THE ACTUAL RESULTS. 
 
 More than three thousand people have signed the pledge, and but 
 very few have broken it. Some of the most hopeless cases of intem- 
 perance ever known in our city have been reformed. Men who never 
 remember a sober day before, are to-day respectable, sober members 
 of society. Probably no two were approached in the same manner. 
 Could you have seen the number of poor, fallen men who have been 
 
528 THE CHILDREN'S MEETINGS. 
 
 watched and nursed through "delirium tremens," as tenderly and 
 carefully as a mother would have watched a sick child, by Mr. Dout- 
 ney and his assistants, you would feel this in itself sufficient work for 
 three months. "When medical aid was needed, the best physicians 
 have been called and paid by Mr. Doutney. Clothing was provided, 
 food administered to the hungry, husbands returned to wives after 
 years of absence. Hundreds of homes have been made happy. 
 Places of abode have been hunted up, too wretchedly miserable to be 
 dignified by the name of home : they have been made bright, cheerful, 
 cleanly, and comfortable. Then Mr. Doutney, by personal application, 
 gathered in a large amount of provisions for reformed men ; and, at 
 his solicitation, one evening a collection of more than eighty dollars 
 was taken up, to be placed in the hands of Henry F. Ferrin, for the 
 needs of the poor who had signed the temperance pledge since the 
 gospel meetings. Besides, other collections have been taken up at 
 different times for outside purposes, — two for a poor cripple-girl, one 
 for two invalid sisters, also one for the proprietor of a coffee-house, 
 and one for the minister and sabbath school of the Gaspee-street 
 Zion M. E. Church (colored). And I venture to say, that, at the 
 time some of the collections were called for, the funds were low, very 
 low, in Mr. Doutney's treasury, to carry on his own meetings. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S MEETINGS. 
 
 The grand and glorious success of the^children's meetings I can- 
 not overlook. The first was on so stormy a day hardly a child could 
 be expected out, but more than five hundred were present. Some of 
 them gave well-rendered temperance recitations. They were enter- 
 tained with fine music and songs. They were bountifully fed with 
 luscious grapes, the best of cake, and plenty of fresh milk. The 
 next Saturday being fine, nearly fourteen hundred little hearts were 
 made glad by the march through the streets, fine music, and the plen- 
 tiful repast of good things provided for them. It was a day never 
 to be forgotten by the little ones. 
 
 The meeting held by the reformed men was conducive of great 
 good, as was the meeting the night the reformed men spoke for the 
 
A RUM-SELLING BRUTE. 529 
 
 prize. I was truly glad when the women were given an opportunity 
 to speak, if only for live minutes. They showed much natural talent, 
 and no small amount of ability. 
 
 One of the most potent influences for temperance in these meetings 
 has been the experience lecture, given several times by request. No 
 one who has had an opportunity of hearing it will question the elo- 
 quence of the speaker. Probably on Sunday evening, Nov. 12. Mr. 
 Doutney showed his oratorical powers to as good advantage as at any 
 time since his stay in Providence. His remarks were to the point : 
 and his allusion to women, their influence in temperance work, and 
 the good use they would put the ballot to, was earnest, truthful, and 
 respectful in the extreme. 
 
 Let me say, in conclusion, that it has been a grand, good Christian 
 work, from first to last. No one person, in my remembrance, has 
 done as much practical good, and as much Christian work, in the 
 same time as Mr. Doutney. Mr. and Mrs. Doutney came amongst 
 us as comparative strangers : they depart counting their friends by 
 thousands. Mrs. Doutney, in her sweet songs, has melted many a 
 hardened heart. Sustained by an unfaltering trust in God, and with 
 a firm determination to do right, Mr. Doutne}* has gained the confi- 
 dence of many of our citizens. But some one says, "I thought 
 Doutney had enemies." Show me a person without an enemy, and I 
 will show you a cipher in the world and society every time. 
 
 Some incidents in my career in Providence have a personal 
 and human interest. Thus, I became cognizant of a man, or 
 brute in man's form, who passed for a generous-hearted, open- 
 handed individual, a prominent rum-seller in Providence, who, 
 when a poor, misguided, loving creature had become dis- 
 tasteful to him, and had, in her bitterness of spirit, taken to 
 drink, had turned her out of doors. In my manly and right- 
 eous wrath I stigmatized this beast as he deserved, and, by so 
 
530 A CRIPPLE AND HER MOTHER. 
 
 doing, secured, by my allusions to his case, his enmity and that 
 of his " gang," — for I will not allow myself to say his " friends," 
 for that would be to pollute the sacred name of friendship in 
 this connection. I was threatened with vengeance, but I cared 
 not. And I was right, for such a brute as that is in most cases 
 a coward. The male creature who will maltreat a woman is 
 usually afraid of a man. So his threats came to nothing. 
 
 A ripple of excitement, this time of a sentimental character, 
 was also caused during my lectures here by the constant 
 appearance at the meetings of a woman, who wheeled into 
 the midst of the crowd a crippled child, — a young girl, — 
 who found the principal delight of her life in the varied exer- 
 cises — the songs and speeches and recitations and miscellane- 
 ous performances — at my temperance "entertainments." This 
 crippled daughter and devoted mother came in a little while 
 to be looked upon as parts — and very interesting parts — of 
 the " show ; " and their presence evoked sympathy, which I 
 soon endeavored to put into tangible shape by crystallizing 
 it into " a collection," which I presented to the cripple, with 
 a kiss. 
 
 But perhaps the most sensational incident connected with my 
 course of lectures in Providence had for its chief actor and fac- 
 tor a baby, — a helpless and unconscious baby, — who, in spite 
 of its unconscious helplessness, became a most effective agent 
 in the good work of saving men from the devil of alcohol. 
 
 It was one of my farewell services in the gospel temperance- 
 tent, in the early part of October, prior to my removing my 
 meetings to the Music Hall. A large audience was assembled, 
 and the exercises were of a more than usually interesting char- 
 acter. Suddenly the interest was intensified by a baby making 
 its appearance on the platform, — a baby in arms, and such a 
 baby! — weakly, puny, sickl} 7 , bloodless, joyless, almost lifeless, 
 thin, emaciated, gaunt, very bony for a baby, an almost skele- 
 
"The baby was the most effective temperance lecturer of them all" [p. 
 531]. 
 
A DRUNKEN-MOTHER-POISONEI) BABY. 531 
 
 ton of a baby, with no flesh to speak of, and very nervous ; 
 a mere bundle of bones and nerves, — such a baby! All the 
 mothers in the audience who saw it looked at each other piti- 
 fully, and said, " Poor thing ! " Poor little thing, poor thing, 
 indeed! for it was a baby who had just been taken from the 
 arms of its drunken mother, who had been found in a state 
 of beastly intoxication, — "off on a drunk," as the terrible 
 slang is; while the father had been sent to the State work- 
 house. Between its two wretched and worthless parents, the 
 "poor little thing" had had no nourishment for some time, and 
 was dying, partly from starvation, but what was worse yet, 
 if worse was possible, partly from alcoholic poisoning, — poison 
 imbibed by suckling at the alcohol-befouled milk of the mother. 
 
 This is an actual fact, reader. There is not the slightest 
 exaggeration about it, I assure you. I have the word of a 
 reputable physician, who was acquainted with the details of 
 the case, that the child's blood — what little blood it had — 
 was poisoned by the alcohol in its mother's drink. Could any 
 temperance lecture be more impressive than this awful fact? 
 And need it be said that I made the most effective, dramatic, 
 immediate use I could of it, and held that poor little baby 
 there, before that crowded assemblage, as my most effective 
 temperance lesson ? 
 
 During my stay in Providence I received able assistance 
 from many good men and women, — practical encouragement 
 from all classes of people. Thomas W. Pittman, Justin D. 
 Fulton, and other eloquent speakers, addressed the meetings , 
 J. B. Gibbs of New York lent me his aid; the Rev. Thomas 
 W. Vine, the Rev. W. J. Worth, the Rev. T. C. Goodsell, Benja- 
 min R. Jewell, of Boston, Rev. Mr. Dexter, Rev. Mr. Scribner, 
 all lent me their valuable time, talents, and influence : but — 
 
 That baby was the most effective temperance lecture?- of them all ! 
 
CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE TEMPERANCE CAMPAIGN IN NEW YORK. —HOW THE METROPOLIS FOR- 
 GIVES. — SOME STRIKING ILLUSTRATIONS. — WHY NOT WOMAN AS WELL 
 AS MAN? — THE MASONIC TEMPLE, THE CHURCH, AND THE INDIAN WIG- 
 WAM. — DAN RICE, HAPPY JACK SMITH, AND POP WIIITTAKER. — THE 
 SEARCH FOR JOHN A. TOBIN. — THE NEW-YORK PRESS AND PEOPLE. 
 
 The last place at which I labored in the cause of temper- 
 ance (up to the date at which this story of my life-struggles, 
 fall, reformation, and triumph terminates, May, 1883) was the 
 greatest, worst, best place of all, — New York. My readers 
 have doubtless noticed ere this, that I have always entertained 
 a peculiar admiration for New York, as well as entertained my 
 own peculiar, but, I am assured, correct, views thereof. I have 
 dwelt upon its varied aspects largely in these pages, and have 
 described, and have let other writers describe for me, its curious 
 and startling phases of existence. I approached New York as 
 an avowed temperance advocate with diffidence, — a modesty 
 partly personal and partly professional. I had been once 
 known here in the metropolis as a rum-drinker, — ay, and a rum- 
 seller , and now I had what seemed to me the assurance, almost 
 the impudence, to appear before it as a temperance lecturer. 
 How would it receive me in my new character? Would it 
 not remember me only in my old? Would it not force me to 
 pay the penalt}^ of my erring past by refusing to acknowledge 
 me in my repenting present? So much personally. 
 
 Again, professionally, New York had already enjoyed all 
 the intellectual efforts of a Father Mathew, a Gough, and a 
 Murphy. What further need had it, then, of a Doutney ? All 
 
 532 
 
WnAT NEW YORK ASKS. 533 
 
 that is greatest on earth in art, science, literature, politics, 
 finance, religion, and morals, comes of itself, or is brought, to 
 New York. What need, then, to swell the already overflowing 
 tide of contributions with my little mite ? In short, I antici- 
 pated in New York comparative obscurity and failure. But 
 on the contrary I found a liberal welcome, and, from the start, 
 success. 
 
 As for my past, New York, God bless it ! had, in its bigness 
 of size and soul, forgotten all about it, save where I 1113-self 
 chose to tell about it. This is characteristic of New York. It 
 knows no past. It cares nothing for "ancient history." It 
 looks only at the direct present, and only towards the imme- 
 diate future. " To-day " is b}~ far the favorite word in its 
 language. " To-morrow," too, is quite a common term ; but 
 "yesterday" is seldom referred to. 
 
 New York asks not, cares not, What a man may have been ? 
 all it wants to know, and that it will find out and determine for 
 itself at once, is, Who and what is the man f So New York 
 never " bothered " about recollecting the old Tom Doutney the 
 inebriate, — save when and as far as Tom Doutney himself 
 mentions it, — but only set to work, saw, heard, and made up 
 its mind in regard to, Thomas N. Doutney, the converted rum- 
 seller and temperance lecturer. And I am sincerely grateful, 
 profoundly glad, and not a little proud, to have reason to think 
 that the latter Doutney impressed the metropolis favorably. 
 
 And while I am on this point, to which I have been directing 
 attention, — the indifference of New York to the past, its ten- 
 dency to forget, — let me remind the reader, that if there is an 
 evil side to it, — as there undoubtedly is, — if it leads to a 
 quick, complete obliteration of all records and relics, so that in 
 New York to-day there is hardly a building remaining that 
 stood in New York fifty years ago, — there is also a magnificent 
 side, — a noble and a Christ-like side. 
 
534 . FORGET AND FORGIVE. 
 
 The tendency to forget is accompanied by the tendency to 
 forgive. The former is human, and the latter is divine. 
 
 True, there is perhaps too much of this in New York, as 
 instanced by the notorious fact, — already alluded to, I think, 
 elsewhere in this volume, — that I have met in the course of one 
 day, in the streets of New York, four or five men, each of whom 
 has killed his man, and who, in almost any other country, would 
 have been hung, or would have been confined in State prison 
 for life, but each of whom, in the American metropolis, is en- 
 joying all the comforts and respect of the average free and 
 well-to-do citizen. 
 
 But then, on the other hand, there are hundreds of men, — 
 men who have sinned and suffered, but repented and reformed, 
 — who, in any other city almost in the world, would have been 
 ostracized, pointed at with shame, and ruined, but who in 
 New York, their very crimes forgotten, are leading respectable 
 lives, and are themselves respected. 
 
 And God bless, I say, from the bottom of my heart, the 
 great and great-hearted city of which this can trul}* be said ! 
 Such a city is pre-eminently adapted for the home of any re- 
 formed man, whether he be a criminal or drunkard. And let 
 me here breathe the earnest prayer,* that some day the fulness 
 of time and justice shall come, when not only shall all other 
 cities imitate New York in its tendency to forgive, but when 
 this forgiveness shall be extended, not only to men, but to women; 
 when there shall be hope, not only as now, for a penitent 
 thief, forger, or drunkard, truly trying to reform, but also for 
 an erring woman who grieves over her error, and has ceased 
 to err, and who is striving to recover the ground that she 
 has lost. 
 
 Jesus Christ forgave, ay, loved Mary Magdalene. He has 
 commanded us to forgive all sins committed by others, — all : 
 he has specified no one exception. Who, then, what mere man 
 
NEW YORK SUSTAINS ME. 535 
 
 or what mere woman, has the right to pronounce any one sin 
 in either sex unpardonable ? 
 
 But to return to my more immediate subject, — my own 
 lecture experiences in New York. I found them generally and 
 steadily successful ; and I have therefore the right to conclude 
 that the metropolis, familiar as it was with the burning elo- 
 quence of a Gough and a Murphy, accustomed as it was to the 
 glowing earnestness of a Moody, yet found something differ- 
 ent from these, and something commendable, in the efforts to 
 please, amuse, instruct, and reform his fellow-men, made b}* 
 Thomas X. Doutney and those associated with him. 
 
 I began my work at the splendid Masonic Temple, corner 
 Twenty-third Street and Fifth Avenue, with Thomas W. Pitt- 
 man, Esq., for my chairman, and assisted b}~ my dear wife as 
 solo singer, my dear friend, Miss Florence E. Bacon, as elocu- 
 tionist, and a fine corps of colored jubilee singers, the Olym- 
 pian Quintet, C. C. Cornish, manager, and the great and won- 
 derful Gilbert family (Mr. O. C. Gilbert director and leader), 
 and William B. Stone. These were great " hits " in Xew 
 York, and always received hearty and genuine encores. The 
 papers at first were comparatively " non-committal " in re- 
 gard to my "movement." It requires time for the Press of 
 New York to make up its metropolitan mind. But in due 
 season, after detailing reporters to carefully attend and watch 
 the progress of my " meetings," the editors of Xew York came 
 to the conclusion that I was really in earnest in the first place, 
 and that I had solved the problem of presenting moral reforms 
 in an attractive light, and arraying Prudence and Principle in 
 the garb of Pleasure. 
 
 Consequently, from the time they arrived at that conclu- 
 sion, I was thoroughly indorsed and sustained by the Press of 
 Xew York. The papers reported fully my meetings, and occa- 
 sionally honored me with "editorial mention. " This, from 
 
536 MY NEW-YORK WORK. 
 
 New York, was honor indeed. As for the people, I carried 
 them with me in New York as elsewhere. They thronged my 
 meetings at the Masonic Temple, where on several occasions I 
 appeared in conjunction with my esteemed friend Mr. J. B. 
 Gibbs, the whole-souled temperance advocate. 
 
 Having fulfilled my season at the Masonic Temple, finding 
 the absolute importance of a larger hall to hold my increasing 
 audiences, I made an arrangement with the representatives of 
 the old aquarium property, corner of Thirty-fifth Street and 
 Broad wa}' (then used as "an Indian circus and wigwam " on 
 week-days), for regular monster temperance mass-meetings, as it 
 were, accompanied by, and alternating with, a miscellaneous 
 sacred meeting every Sunday afternoon and evening. I also 
 made arrangements with the Rev. George J. Mingins for the 
 use of his sacred edifice (the Union Tabernacle, on West 
 Thirty-fifth Street, near Broadway) on week-day evenings. 
 
 With these places, I was enabled to give constant entertain- 
 ments for temperance, and met with great encouragement. 
 
 I introduced several new features into my temperance meet- 
 ings. One of them was the appearance of the famous circus- 
 clown, Dan Rice, in his new character of "the deformed 
 transformed ; " or, " the reformed drunkard." 
 
 Dan Rice was always a popular man in his days of dissipa- 
 tion ; and his reception, under my management, showed that lie 
 had lost none of his former hold upon the public. If the people 
 had liked him drunk, they now heartily welcomed him sober. 
 
 That able paper, " The New- York Times/' in its leading 
 reportorial article in its issue of Monday, April 9, 1883, thus 
 describes Dan Rice's reception and first appearance at the 
 Indian wigwam : — 
 
 Col. Dan Rice, ex-clown, ex-circus proprietor, evangelist, and tem- 
 perance advocate, lectured last evening upon " Moral Reform and 
 
BAN RICE. 537 
 
 Temperance" in the Indian wigwam at Thirty-fifth Street and Broad- 
 way. His audience, which completely filled the house, was highly 
 enthusiastic, and was made up in part of the noble red men who 
 nightly perform in the ring upon the stage, and whose gloomy 
 demeanor indicated that they were not in sympathy with any abbre- 
 viation of their supply of fire-water. Several persons were in the 
 auditorium whom the speaker might have utilized as his ct horrible 
 examples," to illustrate the lecture. Some of the audience were 
 horrified to observe two men lying prone across the rafters in the flies 
 above the stage, and were only relieved when they learned that they 
 were wax lay-figures, which perform tragedy parts in the wigwam 
 dramas, and were taking a sabbath rest before another week's 
 work. Col. Rice, being introduced, remarked, after a basso-prof undo 
 tw ahem," which made the audience start, that there was a destiny 
 which shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we may. Mr. Rice con- 
 tinued that he felt nervous, because some friends had rattled him by 
 alleging that he was going back into the circus-ring, simply for the 
 reason that he was going to lecture in the wigwam. That did not 
 deter him from appearing, however ; for he had lectured all through 
 the South for charity, and paid his own bills, except when he was 
 able to stand 'em off (murmurs of sympathy). Here the colonel 
 said that he had been a very bad man in his time, but had made a 
 departure from the tents of the wicked. "Moody and Sankey 
 and Dan Rice," said the speaker, "will be spoken of as a trio who 
 only lived to do good to their fellow-men." He recalled the days 
 when he used to partake of the cup which simultaneously cheers and 
 inebriates, and said that he used to think he could drink more than 
 anybody else without showing it, until he tried conclusions with a 
 man named Jewell, who belonged to the custom-house, and a fellow- 
 named Morse. They got him under the table, and went home sober 
 themselves; and he had always regretted it. Col. Rice's advice to 
 young men was not in accordance with the orthodox belief expressed 
 by temperance lecturers. The colonel said, "If any young man 
 wants to be a true temperance man, let him go out and get the 
 delirium tremens; and that will settle it." He further held out en- 
 
538 POP WIIITTAEER. 
 
 couragement to youths so disposed, by telling of a young fellow be 
 knew in Evansville, Ind., who bad delirium tremens so terribly that 
 be thougbt be bad been in bell fifteen years ; and, wben be gave up 
 drinking, the ladies took an interest in bim, and bought him a gold 
 watch and chain. The speaker had never yet seen a man get so 
 drunk as be bad been himself. " Talk of seeing snakes ! " said he, 
 "I've seen anacondas, hyenas, elephants. Talk about your Pilots 
 and your Jumbos ! why, I've seen, I've seen" — And the colonel 
 left the audience to infer that bis vision was preposterous beyond his 
 powers of description. He related a touching tale of a gentleman 
 residing in Illinois, who got up one morning, after he had been on a 
 kk racket," and, finding his money all gone, looked through the house, 
 discovered a quarter in a drawer, appropriated it, hied him to a 
 saloon, invited two friends to drink with him, and paid the quarter 
 aforementioned for three drinks. They were just wiping their mouths 
 when the rum-seller's little daughter came in, and said, tk Paw, 
 gimme a quarter to buy a beefsteak for breakfast ; " and her devoted 
 parent handed over the coin he had 311st received for the three drinks. 
 Then the gentleman, revived and refreshed, went home to his 
 matutinal meal : on the table naught but bread and coffee. He in- 
 quired the reason of his wife. She replied that somebody had stolen 
 the quarter, ergo she had been obliged to do without. The gentleman 
 pondered, and then registered a mental vow he would purchase no 
 more steak for a rum-seller's breakfast. He has never drank a drop 
 since, and is now worth a fortune, and wore a plug-hat on Sundays 
 and legal holidays. The speaker related other incidents in which 
 virtue was always rewarded, and vice punished, and withdrew amid 
 thunders of applause. 
 
 I also on another occasion introduced, in the novel role of 
 temperance lecturers, two well-known " sports," — Pop Whitta- 
 ker, the veteran referee of prize-fights and sporting-matches, 
 and " Happy " Jack Smith, the well-known trainer. These two 
 gentlemen made their appearance together at my last meeting 
 in the " Indian wigwam." " Truth," a daily paper, under the 
 
" On the table naught but bread and coffee " [p 538]. 
 
"HAPPY" JACK SMITH. 539 
 
 management of " Josh " Hart, the well-known ex-theatrical 
 manager, thus alludes to this occasion : — 
 
 Yesterday's meetings at the big Indian wigwam were the last 
 of the Doutney temperance movement ; and Mr. Doutney may leave 
 with a good conscience, that he has done much good for the cause. 
 In the afternoon '-Happy" Jack Smith, the well-known trainer, 
 made a long and interesting address. He advised his hearers, if they 
 wished to enjoy the benefits of health and friendship, to become total 
 abstainers. Pop Whittaker made an eloquent and droll speech, 
 full of anecdotes which convulsed his hearers. He had been appren- 
 ticed to a circus-rider when a boy, and had been in professional life 
 ever since. Though he acted as referee, he did not say he was a 
 fighter, " a buffer," or a bummer. He had lost his arm two years 
 ago, and he must live. He would not beg. For forty years he had 
 not drank a drop ; yet he associated with those who drank, and, when 
 asked to drink, invariably took a cigar. To amuse himself and 
 friends, he had in Philadelphia, in 1839, signed the pledge sixty 
 times in one day. A few days after, he signed it under oath for one 
 year, and kept it. At the end of that time he had more money than 
 he knew what to do with, and felt in splendid condition. Then, on 
 the invitation of some friends, he took some sarsaparilla, which tasted 
 queer, and warmed him up. "As cunning as I was, they rung the 
 changes, and had put in enough liquor to take away the heavy taste 
 of the sarsaparilla. In about an hour I was booming down Chestnut 
 Street as though I owned it, and in a week I hadn't a cent in my 
 pocket. At one time P. T. Barnum worked for me for twenty-five 
 dollars a-month, and now he's a millionnaire. He was always a tem- 
 perance man, too, and is so to-day." 
 
 After recitations from the Reynolds children, the meeting was 
 adjourned. 
 
 During my stay in New York I also made every effort to 
 find the whereabouts of, and to lay my friendly hand on, poor 
 John Tobin, the man who had once been the president of the 
 
540 JOHN TOBIN, ONCE R.R. PRESIDENT, NOW TRAMP. 
 
 New- York Central Railroad, but who, for some years past, 
 had been a homeless tramp, brought to his shame and sorrow 
 by improvidence and rum. 
 
 Had I found John Tobin, the tramp, he would have made 
 an even more effective temperance lecture in New York than 
 my baby in Providence. But all my efforts in this direction 
 were vain. I regret it deeply, alike for my own sake, Tobin's 
 sake, and the sake of temperance. But it was not to be. 
 
 Of course, all was not rose-color with me, all sunshine, here 
 in New York, any more than elsewhere. During my campaign 
 in the great metropolis I encountered misunderstanding, mis- 
 representation, and opposition. I was censured by some over- 
 sensitive people for introducing a certain lady before my audi- 
 ences, — the " certain lady " being a woman, who, with a peculiar 
 experience of the life and habits of the " unfortunates " of her 
 sex, had devoted herself to their reformation. This "specialty" 
 of this " certain lady's " was not altogether savory in the nostrils 
 of many, and they resented my indorsement of her , but I, for 
 one, have never regretted it, and never will. I am the friend, 
 the true friend in Christ, of every erring sister, as well as 
 every erring brother. 
 
 Then a little unpleasantness arose between myself and two 
 or three members of the Manhattan Temperance Association 
 of this city, and other minor disagreements occurred from 
 time to time. But this was simply duplicating past experi- 
 ences, and terminated, I am glad to say, in duplicating past 
 successes. 
 
 And one of the main features of my New-York campaign 
 was in connection with theatres and actors. New York has 
 become the great theatrical centre of the United States. Right 
 or wrong, this is a simple fact, which no one but a fool will 
 deny. And, seizing upon this fact, I made a sensation among 
 the theatrical profession which brought me prominently before 
 
"IN DEFENCE OF ACTORS:' 541 
 
 the public, and thus enabled me, in my way, to do the public 
 and my cause good. 
 
 I ordered a circular to be printed on " The Damning In- 
 fluences Surrounding the Theatrical Profession, " and sent 
 several thousands of these circulars to the actors, actresses, 
 singers, managers, dancers, variety troops, dramatic and 
 theatrical agents, theatrical doorkeepers, stage-hands, etc., 
 throughout New York, accompanied by an invitation to attend 
 my afternoon and evening Sunday meetings at the Indian 
 wigwam. 
 
 This circular was regarded in various lights by various people 
 and papers. "The Star" pronounced me " an insulting dema- 
 gogue ; " others styled me a " played-out sensationalist,'' what- 
 ever that might be ; others regarded the affair as a joke. But, 
 at any rate, it created a stir, and filled the wigwam. The 
 following report of the lecture delivered on the basis of this 
 circular, published in " The New-York Herald " of Monday, 
 March 26, 1883, will show that my remarks were really to be 
 construed as "a defence of, or a plea for, actors," rather than 
 an attack upon them. It will also show how my remarks were 
 received : — 
 
 IX DEFENCE OF ACTORS. 
 
 SOME WORDS SPOKEN IN THEIR FAVOR BY THOMAS X. DOUTNET. 
 
 The usual large crowds assembled yesterday at the "wigwam," 
 corner of Broadway and Thirty-fifth Street, to listen to the medley 
 
 of exercises forming the attractive features of the meetings held there 
 by Thomas N. Doutney. Intermingled with serious discourses by 
 the Rev. William Whitfield and Dr. Ball, upon the evils of intemper- 
 ance in general, and the license question in particular, there were 
 recitations, banjo-playing, and playing on the bones. The grand 
 feature was an address by Mr. Doutney upon " The Damning In- 
 fluences Surrounding the Theatrical Profession." In opening his 
 discourse, Mr. Doutney desired the audience to remember that the 
 
542 FAB E WELL TO NEW YORK. 
 
 theme related, not to the damning influences of the theatrical profes- 
 sion, but to those surrounding it : although, he said, the Rev. Dr. 
 Talmage and the Rev. Dr. Crosby had belittled the profession, and 
 those who belonged to it, he would not belittle or malign these eminent 
 divines. He did think it better, however, that those taking upon 
 themselves to condemn the profession should be persons who knew 
 something about it. One of the gentlemen he had named had gone 
 to Buckingham, and visited dives ; but no one should be mistaken by 
 the idea that the singers and clog-dancers at those places, and at Billy 
 McGlory's, belong to the theatrical profession. Personally he had had 
 considerable experience with people in the theatrical profession, and 
 he spoke only what he knew. In the name of God he would tell all 
 parents not to let a boy or girl of theirs to enter the profession ; and 
 he would tell them more, to keep boys and girls away from the 
 theatre altogether. He then proceeded to explain the "damning 
 influences," as he regarded them. The great danger was, the temp- 
 tation to drink exhausting stimulants after exhausting labors. The 
 best and brightest in the profession had yielded to this temptation, 
 and gone to the dogs. But all did not yield. He urged beef- tea 
 and oysters as substitutes for wine and whiskey. Another danger was, 
 the sociability so characteristic of the profession. They all, as a rule, 
 died poor. They received good salaries, but spent their money as 
 fast as they earned it. There was not a skinflint among them. If 
 he was dead broke, he would go to an actor for aid, sooner than to a 
 minister of the gospel. They were always read}* to help in any good 
 work, as recently shown in their noble assistance in swelling to its 
 gigantic proportions the "Herald" Ohio-flood fund. 
 
 On the whole, what with my jubilee singers, my sacred songs 
 and glees, Miss Bacon's recitations, my wife's sweet singing, my 
 own addresses, the humorous remarks and pathetically pro- 
 found utterances of Dan Rice, Pop Whittaker, and " Happy " 
 Jack Smith, the eloquent appeals of Thomas W. Pittman, the 
 assistance lent me b}* the Rev. George T. Mingins and other 
 clergymen and gentlemen, by J. B. Gibbs and other tern- 
 
FAREWELL TO THE READER. 543 
 
 perance workers, and last, but not least, the support afforded 
 me, wherever and whenever I deserved it, by the New-York 
 press, my temperance campaign in the great American me- 
 tropolis was satisfactory to all concerned, and resulted in large 
 gains for man, for temperance, and for God. 
 
 And now farewell. 
 
 I have now reached that point in my life-story where the 
 past merges into the present, and history terminates in " to- 
 day." I am still living, thank God ! and working in the cause 
 to which I have solemnly yet cheerfully devoted my best ener- 
 gies. I have been even more successful in my late visits to 
 Providence and the New-England States than formerly; my 
 preparations for my future work have been all made on a more 
 elaborate scale than ever before ; but all this deals with life, 
 — not a \\ie-story. My story itself is done. 
 
 What remains of my career has yet to be worked out, and 
 only God knows " what will the harvest be." 
 
 But I sincerely trust that I have, in the pages of this truth- 
 ful life-narrative, shown enough of my better self to the reader 
 to impel him to wish me " God-speed." 
 
 I trust that I have given him glimpses enough of a man 
 struggling to reform himself and others, to cause him to breathe 
 a " God bless you ! " over me and mine. 
 
 I have not palliated my own enormities. I have written my- 
 self down in this book as for years a reckless wine-bibber and 
 a heartless rum-seller. And I trust the reader will take warn- 
 ing from the terrible and disgusting aspect in which I have 
 appeared in those two characters. 
 
 I have shown, as forcibly as I could, the manifest and mani- 
 fold evils, horrors, and curses of intemperance. -Let me hope 
 the reader will, from what I have suffered, learn to avoid them. 
 
 I have shown incidentally, yet truthfully and fully, the life 
 that is led in the great metropolis; the varying and fearfully 
 
544 t "GOD BLESS US." 
 
 contrasted phases of existence which are to be found in New 
 York. I hope and believe, that the reader will be able to 
 derive from this part of my book alike a more vivid and more 
 accurate picture of metropolitan life than can be procured 
 elsewhere. 
 
 In short, I trust and hope that the reader of this volume has 
 had more than his money 's worth, partly in the pen-pictures of 
 New York, partly in the information imparted in regard to 
 temperance work, and the warnings conveyed concerning in- 
 temperance, and, lastly, in the interest inspired by the unvar- 
 nished narrative of the life-struggle, fall, and reformation of 
 Thomas N. Doutney, who trusts and hopes, ay, and feels 
 assured, that, through the grace and in the might of God, 
 he is indeed " the converted rum-seller," " the reformed 
 drunkard." 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 Mothers, Read This! 
 
 THE PRETTIEST SIGHT IN BOSTON, SO ALL PHYSICIANS 
 ADMIT THAT HAVE SEEN THEM, 
 
 Are the babies at the Free Hospital for Infants and Women with Chronic Diseases, supported by 
 the Murdock Liquid Food Company. There are three wards, twenty beds each. 
 
 Any physician or officers of benevolent societies can visit them any day from 10 a.m. to p.m. 
 These beds are assigned to the cities of Massachusetts ; and'any lady can have a bed for her infant, 
 if one is vacant, free for one year. The babies gain from one-half to one pound per week. 
 
 They are not dependent on their Mothers. Ditto Wet-Nurses. 
 Ditto Milk. Ditto Nursing-Bottles. 
 
 Any infant ten days old will not take any other food unless the Liquid Food is added, and 
 their rapid growth in flesh and strength is proof of all claimed. 
 
 Their only food being Murdock's Liquid Food (see label on each bottle), they require no 
 medicine, as they are nourished; and being nourished enables them to throw off the wastes 
 which are making daily, as well as develop new life, as their increased weight weekly proves. 
 
 Our infants are nine-tenths foundlings or orphans, and are physically as diseased or weak as 
 the worst that are in any institution. 
 
 A foundling eight weeks old was removed from quarantine too soon, and broke out with 
 measles after he had been in the ward one week. The other infants, being well nourished, did 
 not take them ; as they did not want them. The child is as bright as any of them, and our treat- 
 ment was only reducing the strength of his food. 
 
 Results obtained at the Free Hospital, established and supported by 
 the Murdock Liquid Food Company, Boston, of ninety beds for 
 women with Chronic Diseases and Infants, 
 
 Confirms all that is claimed for Liquid Food (it being condensed, free of insoluble matter, and 
 can be retained by the stomach when so weak as to refuse water) in making new blood, and that 
 in cleansing the system of disease. 
 
 "We challenge the world to produce such cases of restoring persons to health where life has 
 been despaired of for years. 
 
 The following cases are a few of the many at our Ilospital, showing what class of cases we 
 are treating: — 
 
 Miss (r. (our patients are known by the letter on their beds) has been taking our Liquid 
 Food since last August. In the spring of 1877, then twenty years old, she began to fail, caused 
 by general nervous prostration, and failed so rapidly that in the fall was confined to her bed for 
 seven months. During the term she was treated by live physicians of good Btanding, but with no 
 relief. She suffered severely with her stomach, and could take but little food ; and that she could 
 not assimilate. Last August she was reduced to seventy pounds (her former weight was a hun- 
 dred and twenty-five pounds) : she could not walk across the room alone, and had not been 
 dressed for months. Since that date she has taken a dessert-spoonful of Liquid Pood four times 
 daily, and has gained steadily Ave pounds a month, and now weighs a hundred and twenty-seven 
 pounds, has returned home, takes her meals with her family, walks round the yard, and takes 
 short rides, and continues to gain in strength. 
 
 Prior to last summer she had taken Chloral for eighteen months, and in vain had tried to 
 leave it off, but could not until the nerves were nourished, which she succeeded in doing after 
 taking Liquid Food a few weeks. 
 
 Her father writes us, that he is convinced that Liquid Food has saved his daughter's lift- ; and, 
 she being his only child, he says words cannot convey the happiness that he and his wife enjoy 
 in her recovery. 
 
 < Mrs. C. had been an invalid for over two years, a great share of the time being confined to 
 her bed; has suffered very much, both from abscesses and nervous prostration, and was given up 
 as hopeless by all the physicians who treated her. She came under our treatment January, 1883, 
 has improved greatly, and considers that she has fully recovered; as she is able to he about the 
 house, performs light duties, eats well, where, before treatment, she could only retain milk, and 
 had no appetite for solid food of any kind, which she now enjoys. 
 
 Ask your druggist for Murdock's Liquid Food. This remarkable food is also indor- 
 preventive against the use of all alcoholic stimulants and tobacco. 
 
 MURDOCK LIQUID FOOD CO., BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. 
 
 i 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 AN EDITORIAL FROM THE BOSTON JOURNAL, MAY 24, 
 
 1883. 
 
 A CHARITY THAT WILL BENEFIT MANY. 
 
 In passing by the Free Hospital for Diseased and Orphan Infants, also for 
 Women with Chronic Diseases, founded and sustained by the Murdock Liquid 
 Food Company of Boston, to show the value of raw, condensed food, free from 
 insoluble matter (of which they were the sole manufacturers), for developing 
 life, and cleansing the system of chronic diseases, we were surprised to see and 
 learn of the establishment and its management. The infants' department they 
 have assigned to different cities of Massachusetts, from one to six beds each, 
 and to the city of Boston and State of Massachusetts eighteen beds each, free 
 of expense for one year. When not filled, any person having an infant can 
 have a bed assigned it free. The three wards will accommodate twenty in- 
 fants each. They are equipped with the best of hair mattresses, spring-beds, 
 blankets, and linen. It is a pretty sight to see a baby at each end of the beds, 
 each bed being lettered, and each baby known by letter, and having a necklace 
 of its own; thus making it impossible for them to get mixed, as did Ralph and 
 the Captain in "Pinafore." From what we saw, we can say we never found 
 more healthy babies, — all as fat as the best of them. To see them take their 
 food indicates that nursing-bottles are not necessities. Babies ten days old, 
 being the youngest yet received, on arrival will drink from a china mustache 
 coffee-cup one-half cup of prepared Liquid Food, served at blood heat; show- 
 ing that their instincts are as strong as that we see in animals, for we all 
 know that a cow prefers clover to an oyster stew. It is a fact, that infants, 
 after taking this food, will not take any other until Liquid Food is added 
 to it ; while their rapid growth in flesh and strength proves that making new 
 blood makes new life. This department is under the management of a matron 
 of large experience, who has able assistants. The sanitary condition of the 
 Hospifal is equal to any we have ever visited. The sun is on the front or back 
 all day: the babies have their sun-baths daily. The Women's Department 
 contains thirty beds, each lettered. These beds are at the control of any phy- 
 sician who is a member of the Massachusetts Allopathic or Homoeopathic 
 Medical Society, and who has a worthy case that will not yield to treatment. 
 There are three wards, —one each for female complaints, scrofula, and con- 
 sumptives, — and separate quarantine rooms for babies and ladies ; and join- 
 ing each ward is a reception-room for the patients to receive one friend or a 
 clergyman one-half hour daily. Sun-baths are taken each day. In the rear of 
 the house is a large yard and an L, on the roof of which is room for all the 
 patients to take the air or sun-bath, the roof being covered with settees. The 
 treatment, as expressed on cards in the wards, is nutrition, with physical and 
 mental rest. Patients are forbidden talking of their diseases ; as that is conta- 
 gious to the mind, and affects the physical health which they are trying to 
 restore. Thus far their efforts in saving life have been a success. 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 FOR COMFORT, SAFETY, AND SCENERY, CHOOSE, IN TRAVEL- 
 LING EAST OR WEST, THE 
 
 QWLML V ermont R ailroad , 
 
 WHICH FORMS, IX CONNECTION WITH THE 
 
 GRAND TRUNK RAILWAY, 
 
 Old and Favorite New England Route 
 
 TO AND FROM ALT. POINTS WEST. 
 
 The Rolling-Stock and Equipment of the CENTRAL VERMONT RAILROAD 
 is second to no Road in this country. It is the only line running 
 
 Pullman Sleeping-Cars between Chicago and Boston Without Change, 
 
 And solid trains of elegant Coaches and Baggage-Cars 
 
 WITHOUT CHANGE BETWEEN MONTREAL AND BOSTON. 
 
 Steel Rails, Iron Bridges, with "Westinghouse Automatic Brake, Miller Plat- 
 form, Coupler, and Buffer on every train, assure safety while passing swiftly 
 through Mountain, Lake, and River Scenery of the most beautiful and varied de- 
 scription. 
 
 The Train Service of this Road is so arranged, that sure connections are made 
 with the Grand Trunk Railway, and with Railroads in New England to and from 
 all the principal cities, villages, and towns in 
 
 MASSACHUSETTS, RHODE ISLAND, CONNECTICUT, AND VERMONT. 
 
 Pullman Cars Montreal to Springfield, and Wagner Cars Montreal 
 to New York, Without Change. 
 
 First-class Restaurants with reasonable charges, and ample time given for meals. 
 BAGGAGE CHECKED THROUGH CANADA IN BOND, 
 
 avoiding all trouble of customs. 
 
 During The Summer, EXCURSION TICKETS are sold over this line at greatly 
 Reduced Rates. 
 
 Ask for rates via this Line before buying, and note that your tickets read via 
 
 CENTRAL VERMONT RAILROAD, 
 
 For sale at all Stations and responsible Ticket Offices East and Wesr. 
 
 COMPANY'S OFFICES— 260 Washington Street, Boston; 271 
 Broadway, New York ; 136 St. James Street, Montreal. 
 
 J. W. HOBART, Gen. Supt. S. W. CUMMINGS, Gen. Pass. Agt. 
 
 GENERAL OFFICES, ST. ALBANS, VT. 
 3 
 

 BOSTON I 54-Tremont.St. NEWY0RK46 E14^St. CHICAGO, 14-9 Wabash Ave 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS ANO THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 THE 
 
 BOSTON, CONCORD, MONTREAL 
 
 WHITE MOUNTAINS RAILROAD 
 
 IS THE MOST DIRECT ROUTE TO 
 
 Lake Winnipesaukee, Plymouth, 
 
 Camp ton, Camp ton Village, 
 
 Thornton, West Thornton, 
 Woodstock, North Woodstock, 
 
 Lisbon, Littleton, Franconia, 
 
 Maplewood, Bethlehem, 
 
 PROFILE, TWIN (FOUNTAIN, FABYAN, WIT. PLEASANT, 
 
 AND CRAWFORD HOUSES. 
 
 Whitefield, Jefferson, Lancaster, 
 North Stratford, Colebrook, 
 
 Rangeley Lakes, and Dixville Notch. 
 
 THIS IS THE ONLY ROUTE TO THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 
 
 MAKING DIRECT CONNECTION WITH THE 
 
 Pemigewasset Valley Railroad, 
 
 The Profile & Franconia Notch Railroad, 
 The Whitefield &: Jefferson Railroad, 
 
 And the Mt. Washington Railway. 
 
 DRAWING-ROOM CARS ON ALL EXPRESS TRAINS. 
 
 All Trains stop at Pemigewasset House, Plymouth, for Dinner. 
 
 Be sure your tickets read via BOSTON, CONCORD, & MONTREAL R.R. For 
 sale at all principal Ticket Offices, and the 
 
 Boston Passenger Agency, No. 5 State St. 
 
 GEORGE W. STORER, Passenger Agent, Boston. 
 
 W. A. STOAVELL, Supt., Plymouth, N.H, W. R. BRACKETT, G.T.A 
 
 5 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS ANO THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 PORTLAND STEAM PACKET COMPANY. 
 
 DAILY LINE OF FIRST-CLASS STEAMERS BETWEEN 
 
 Boston m Portland. 
 
 ONE OF THE 
 
 STEAMERS "TREMONT" (NEW), "JOHN BROOKS," OR 
 "FOREST CITY," 
 
 LEAVES INDIA WHARF, BOSTON, FOR PORTLAND, 
 
 Every Evening, Sundays excepted, at 7.00 P.M., 
 
 Connecting, on arrival, with Maine Central, Knox & Lincoln, Portland & Ogdcns- 
 burg, Grand Trunk, and Portland & Rochester, Railroads, and with Bangor & 
 Macbias Steamers for points on the coast of Maine. 
 
 THIS LINE AFFORDS A MOST DESIRABLE ROUTE TO 
 
 LEWISTON, OLD ORCHARD BEACH, Poland Spring, Rangeley 
 
 Lakes, MOUNT DESERT, Bethel, Gorham, N.H., North 
 
 Conway, Crawford's, Fabyan's, etc. 
 
 Tinest Ocean Trip on Eastern Coast, and best Route to "WHITE t 
 MOUNTAINS, and Inland and Seaside Resorts of Maine. 
 
 THROUGH AND EXCURSION TICKETS AT LOW RATES. 
 
 STATE ROOMS SECURED IN ADVANCE. 
 
 Leave Portland for Boston every evening (Sundays excepted) at 7.00 o'clock, 
 connecting, on arrival, with the earliest trains on all diverging lines. 
 
 WILLIAM WEEKS, Agent, J. F. LISCOMB, Gen. Ticket Agent, 
 
 BOSTON. PORTLAND. 
 
 J. B. COYLE, Jun., General Agent, PORTLAND, ME. 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 ThTPEOPLES line 
 
 ITew ^Toark to Albany. 
 
 CAPT. OHP 1T\TT1\T CAPT. 
 
 DREW, ,r E T OE . ST. JOHN 
 
 , THOMAS POST. 
 
 FROM PIER 41, NORTH RIVER, 
 
 FOOT OF CANAL STREET, 
 Near Jersey-City Ferry Desbrosses Street, 
 
 -A-T 
 
 ZL*£. 
 
 Connecting at ALBANY with Trains of the New York Cen- 
 tral for the WEST ; Delaware & Hudson Canal Company's Roads 
 for all points NORTH; Albany & Susquehanna for HOWE'S 
 CAVE, COOPERSTOWN, OTSEGO LAKE, RICHFIELD 
 SPRINGS, SHARON SPRINGS; and Boston, Hoosac Tunnel, 
 & Western R.R., Boston & Albany R.R., for LEBANON SPRINGS, 
 PITTSFIELD, and the East. Local Trains for TROY every half- 
 hour, connecting with Troy & Boston R.R. 
 
 Albany to New ^Tork. 
 
 ST. JOHN, THOMAS POST. DREW, 
 
 CAPT. T\F>T7^ir CAPT. 
 
 S. J. ROE. 
 
 LEAVE 
 
 -A.rban.3r at S.OO E».^£., 
 
 OR ON ARRIVAL AT THE STEAMERS' DOCK OF 
 
 Delaware and Hudson Canal Company's Evening Trains 
 
 FROM THE NORTH AND WEST, STEPPING FROM CARS TO STEAMER. 
 
 M. B. WATERS, Gen. Pass. Agent, Albany, New York. 
 J. H. ALLAIRE, Gen. Ticket Agent, Pier 41, North River, Foot of Canal Street, New York. 
 
 7 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 NEVER p&m&M NEVER 
 
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 THE BEST 
 
 Kidney and Liver Medicine. 
 
 Pains in the Back, Side, or Loins are cured by Hunt's Remedy, — the great Kidney and 
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 has Baved from lingering disease ami death hundreds who have been given up by physicians. 
 Hunt's Remedy cures all diseases of the Liver, Kidneys. Bladder, and urinary Organs, 
 Dropsy, Gravel, Diabetes, and Incontinence and Retention of Urine. Hunt's Remedy cures 
 Blight's Disease of the Kidneys. General Debility, Female Weakness. Nervous Diseases, Intern- 
 perance, and Excesses. Hunt's Remedy cures Bilious Headache, Sour stomach. Costiveness, 
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 will convince you Hunt's Remedy is purely vegetable, is used by family physicians, and the 
 utmost reliance may he placed in it." Hunt's Remedy encourages sleep, creates an appetite, 
 braces up the system, and renewed health i- the result. Send for pamphlet to 
 
 HUNT'S REMEDY COMPANY, Providence, R.I. 
 
 "Having witnessed the wonderful effects of Hunt's Remedy in my own case, and in a srreat 
 number of others, I recommend it toail afflicted with Kidney Diseases or Dropsy. Those afflicted 
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 Remedy will do this. Respectfully yours, E. R. DAWLEY." 
 
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 "I have suffered twenty years with severe disease of the kidneys before using Hunt's 
 Remedy two days I was relieved, and am now well. JOSHUA Tl THILL." 
 
 " My physicians thought that I was paralyzed on one side. I was terribly afflicted with rheu- 
 matism' from 1869 to 1880. 1 was cured by Hunt's Remedy." STEPHEN G. HASON." 
 
 "My doctor pronounced my case Blight's Disease, and told me that I could live only forty- 
 eight hours. I then took Hunt's Remedy, and was speedily cured. M. GOODSPEED." 
 
 "Having suffered twenty years with Kidney Disease, and employed various physicians -with- 
 out being relieved, I was then cured by Hunt's Remedy. SULLIVAN FENNER." 
 
 "I have been greatly benefited by the use of Hunt's Remedy. For diseases of the kidneys 
 aud urinary organs there is nothing superior. A. D. NICKERSON.-" 
 
 Albert Holt, Esq., Paymaster Boston and Albany Railroad, writes, "I have used Hunt's 
 Remedy, and my experience' with it has been such that I can cheerfully say that lam satisfied 
 that it will do just what it promises to do." 
 
 "I was unable to arise from bed from an attack of Kidney Disease. The doctors could not 
 relieve me. I was finally completely cured by using Hunt's Remedy. 
 
 FRANK R. DICKSON." 
 
 "I have suffered extremely with Kidney Disease : after using Hunt's Remedy two days, I 
 was enabled to resume business. GEO. F. CLARK." 
 
 One trial will convince you. For sale by all Druggists. 
 
 SEND FOR PAMPHLET TO 
 
 HUNT'S REMEDY COMPANY . . Providence, R.I. 
 
 PRICE 75 CENTS AND $1.25. 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 N. Y., P., & B. R.R. 
 
 OAKLAND BEACH. 
 
 THE SUMMER GARDEN OF NARRAGANSETT BAY. 
 
 NATURE'S PARADISE. 
 
 No Hills. Expansive Lawns, Artificial Lake, Extensive Bathing Beach, 
 Sailing, Fishing, and innumerable enjoyments. 
 
 Oakland Beach Hotel, 
 
 THE PALATIAL SEASIDE HOTEL OF NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 E, STANTON, Proprietor; also of Hotel Berkeley, Boston. 
 
 HIRAM D. MAXFIELD & SON'S 
 
 UNRIVALLED SHORE DINNERS. 
 
 Abundant in Quantity and Variety. Unexcelled in Quality and Relish. 
 
 WHITE'S MILITARY BAND. 
 
 Music on the Bloomer Observation Trains. Concerts in the spacious 
 
 grove. 
 
 Oakland Beach Trains run hourly from the West End Providence 
 
 Railroad Depot. 
 
 J. B. GARDINER, Supt., N. Y., P., & B. R.R. 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 E. J. SMITH. 
 
 H. W. STEIXHILPER. 
 
 A. C. SMITH. 
 
 ELASTIC CHAIR COMPANY, 
 
 MANUFACTURERS OP 
 
 ELASTIC FOLDING CHAIRS AND SETTEES 
 
 LAWN OR VERANDA, OPERA-HOUSES, HALLS, DINING- 
 ROOMS, OFFICES, ETC. 
 
 Estimates furnished for Church Pews having the Elastic Fabric for Seat and Back. 
 
 WILLIAMSPORT, PENN. 
 
 Folding-Settee, No. 2. 
 
 Folding-Chair, No. 3. 
 
 Our goods are manufactured under a line of seven patents, and four applications for additional 
 patents, covering the principle of stringing slats on steel springs or flexible wires in the construc- 
 tion of seats or backs for chairs, settees, pews, etc. Infringers on any of these patents will be 
 promptly prosecuted according to law. 
 
 10 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO REAO THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 Our goods are recommended by the United States Senate and House of Representatives, who, 
 in December, 18S2, passed joint resolution for their use in the- Capitol at Washington; also, 
 Professor Beard, Secretary of Smithsonian Institution; Dr. Gtoddard, United States Asylum for 
 the Insane; various heads of departments of Government where the goods are used; and by 
 dealers generally in the United States who have favored us with their orders. 
 
 OUR CHAIRS AND SETTEES ARE USED IN SEATING THE 
 GREAT DOUTNEY TEMPERANCE TENT. 
 
 Church or Opera Chair, No. 1. 
 
 Are made with ELASTIC BACK and SEAT; is as easy as an upholstered chair, without 
 being a harbor for dirt and vermin. When the seat is turned up. they occupy but four inches 
 space, allowing a person to pass in front without inconvenience to the occupant. The weight of 
 each chair is about ten to twelve pounds. "Whoever has a hall or opera-house to seat should not 
 fail to see these before purchasing others. 
 
 We manufacture settees constructed on the same principle. Price and further description, 
 with sample, if desired, sent on application. Send for catalogue. 
 
 ELASTIC CHAIR COMPAXY, 
 
 WILLIAMSPORT, PENN. 
 11 
 
IT WILL WELL REPAY YOU TO READ THIS AND THE NEXT PAGE. 
 
 MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN 
 
 MATTRESSES 
 
 OK AI.L KINDS. 
 
 Feathers, Bedding-, and Spring- Beds, constantly on hand. Hair Mat- 
 tresses, and every other variety, made to order, in a first- 
 class manner, and satisfaction guaranteed. 
 
 122 NORTH MAIN STREET, PROVIDENCE, R.I. 
 
 COLD AIR FEATHER RENOVATOR. 
 
 IMPORTANT TO HOUSEKEEPERS. 
 
 RENOVATE YOUR FEATHERS, AND REMOVE THE MOST PREVALENT CAUSES OF DISEASE. 
 
 This new machine, patented Feb. 24, 1880, which will accomplish this without the least injury 
 to the feathers, the subscriber offers to the citizens of this city and vicinity. —a rare opportunity 
 to avail themselves of the unparalleled benefits of this unrivalled Feather Pressing and Renovat- 
 ing Machine. 
 
 The most successful patent of the kind ever offered to the public : and we venture the predic- 
 tion that it will never be excelled: for it proves exactly what all conditions and qualities of feath- 
 ers need, to render them as perfect as age, quality, and condition will admit. 
 
 The cleaning Is dune by sweating and cold air, without steam. No tire coming in contact 
 with the feathers, consequently there is no possibility of burning, scorching, or otherwise injur- 
 ing them. 
 
 By this process all moths are destroyed and removed, the feathers cleaned, and the fibres re- 
 lieved from their matted condition, giving astonishing increase to bulk (more than one-third), and 
 removing the disagreeable odor, dust, and dirt which steam never has done, and which is so com- 
 mon to new as well as old feathers; in fact, giving the appearance and essential qualities of new 
 feathers, relieving them from all liability to moths by the removal of all germ and gelatinous 
 matter from the quill. 
 
 Our facilities are such that we can, at short notice, take and return beds the same day, well 
 dressed, and ready for immediate use. 
 
 A trial is solicited to clean and renovate your old or new beds, providing they are goose or 
 duck feathers: as we guarantee to give you satisfaction, or no expense. 
 
 You are cordially invited to call and examine our machine in operation, and judge for yourself. 
 
 The ladies are especially solicited to call at any time through the day. 
 
 PRICE-LIST OF THE COLD AIR RENOVATOR 
 
 For Renovating Beds, $3.00. For Renovating Pillows, $1.50. 
 
 We call for and return beds in the " city proper" without extra charge. Out-of town orders 
 are charged the express rates extra. 
 
 The price for renovating beds, etc., by the old process, without removing dust and dirt, as 
 done by other machines, are for beds, $2.00; pillows and bolsters, 81.50. 
 
 Your orders and patronage is respectfully requested. Truly yours, 
 
 WILLIAM SWEENEY, 122 North Main Street, Providence, R.I. 
 
 12