Lights and Shadows of New York Life

J >> James D. McCabe >> Lights and Shadows of New York Life

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The Roman Catholics are, in point of numbers, one of the strongest, if
not the strongest denomination in the city. In the early history of the
colony a law was enacted which required that every Roman Catholic priest
who should come into the city of his own free will, should be hanged
forthwith. This barbarous statute was never put in force, and one cannot
help smiling to think how times have changed since then for the people of
the Roman faith. Their first church occupied the site of the present St.
Peter's, in Barclay street, and was built in 1786. In 1815, they were
strong enough to erect St. Patrick's Cathedral, on the corner of Mott and
Prince streets. They have now forty churches in the city, and own a vast
amount of real estate. The city authorities, being frequently of this
faith, have made liberal grants to their church, and in this way have
excited no little hostility on the part of the Protestant churches, who
are, as a rule, opposed to secular grants to religious denominations.

The Roman Catholics of New York consist principally of the poorer
classes, though the church contains a large body of cultivated and
wealthy people. Still its strength is among the poor. Consequently the
majority of its churches are located in the meaner quarters of the city,
so that they may be convenient to those to whose spiritual wants they
minister. The attendance upon these churches is immense. The pastor of
a church in the Fourth Ward once said to the writer that he had 25,000
persons of all ages and both sexes under his pastoral care, and that
nearly all of them were very poor. His labors were arduous, and they
were well performed.

Some of the Roman Catholic churches, on the other hand, are located in
the most desirable portions of the city, and are extremely handsome
within, even if plain without. St. Stephen's, on Twenty-eighth street,
between Third and Lexington avenues, is an unattractive brick structure
extending through to Twenty-ninth street. The interior is very large and
very beautiful. The altar is of pure white marble, and its adornments
are of the richest description. The church is decorated with a series of
excellent fresco paintings of a devotional character. The altar piece,
representing The Crucifixion, is a magnificent work. The music is
perhaps the best in the city. The church will seat nearly 4000 people,
and is usually crowded.

The new St. Patrick's Cathedral, now in course of erection, will be the
most elaborate church edifice in the Union. It covers the entire block
bounded by Fifth and Madison avenues, and Fiftieth and Fifty-first
streets, fronting on Fifth avenue. The corner stone was laid by
Archbishop Hughes in 1858, and the work has been in progress, with some
interruptions, ever since. Archbishop McCloskey has for several years
past been pushing the work forward with steadfastness, and it is believed
that a few years more will witness its completion.

The site of the church is very fine. It is the most elevated spot on
Fifth avenue. The length of the building will be 332 feet; breadth of
the nave and choir, 132 feet; breadth at the transepts, 174 feet. The
foundations rest upon a stratum of solid rock. The first course is of
Maine granite, the material used in the Treasury Building at Washington.
The upper portions of this course are neatly dressed with the chisel.
The remainder of the church is to be constructed of white marble, from
the Pleasantville quarries, in Westchester county. The crystalline
character of this stone produces very beautiful effects in those portions
which are most elaborately worked. The style of the edifice is the
"decorated Gothic," which was most popular in Europe between the ninth
and fifteenth centuries.

[Picture: THE NEW ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL.]

The design would seem to be modelled after the famous Cathedral of
Cologne, the most beautiful specimen of this order of architecture. The
Fifth avenue front will be exceedingly beautiful. The carvings and
statuary for its ornament are genuine works of art, and this portion of
the building will be equal to anything in the world. The central gable
will be 156 feet high. On each side of it will rise towers which are to
reach a height of 328 feet from the ground, counting from the summit of
the cross on each. These towers are to be square in form to a point 136
feet above the ground. They are then to rise in octagonal lanterns 54
feet high, above which are to soar magnificent spires to a further
elevation of 138 feet. The towers and spires are to be adorned with
buttresses, niches filled with statues, and pinnacles, which will have
the effect of concealing the change from the square to the octagon. The
cost of the church is estimated at over two millions of dollars.

The Unitarians made their appearance in the city in 1819, and have now
five churches. One of these, the Church of the Messiah, Park avenue and
Thirty-fourth street, is very handsome.

The Friends, or Quakers, opened their first meeting-house in 1703, and
now have five places of worship, and own considerable property in the
city.

All the denominations are actively engaged in missionary work. They have
mission houses and chapels and schools in the worst quarters of the city,
which are doing a noble work, and support them liberally.

The majority of the city churches are above Canal street. In some
localities, especially on the fashionable streets, they crowd each other
too greatly. A few are very wealthy, but the majority are compelled to
struggle to get along. Pew rent is very high in New York, and only
persons in good circumstances can have pews in a thriving church. In a
fashionable church large sums are paid for pews.

The New Yorkers can hardly be said to be a church-going people. The
morning services are usually well attended, but the afternoon and evening
services show a "beggarly array of empty benches." It is astonishing to
see the widespread carelessness which prevails here on the subject of
church-going. There are thousands of respectable people in the great
city who never see the inside of a church, unless drawn there by some
special attraction. The support of the churches, therefore, falls on
comparatively a few. These give liberally, and it may be doubted whether
any other band of Christians are more munificent in their offerings.

The distinctions which govern the world prevail in the city churches.
Fashion and wealth rule here with an iron hand. The fashionable
churches, with the exception of Grace Church, are now located high up
town. They are large and handsome, and the congregations are wealthy and
exclusive. Forms are rigidly insisted upon, and the reputation of the
church for exclusiveness is so well known that those in the humbler walks
of life shrink from entering its doors. They feel that they would not be
welcome, that the congregation would consider them hardly fit to address
their prayers to the Great White Throne from so exclusive a place. The
widow's mite would cause the warden's face to wear a well-bred look of
pitying amazement if laid in the midst of the crisp bank notes of the
collection; and Lazarus would lie a long time at the doors of some of
these churches, unless the police should remove him.

Riches and magnificence are seen on every side. The music is divine, and
is rendered by a select choir of professional singers. The service is
performed to perfection. The sermon is short and very pretty, and the
congregation roll away in their carriages, or stroll along the avenue,
well satisfied that they are in the "narrow way," which the Master once
declared to be so difficult to the feet of the rich man. But that was
eighteen hundred years ago, and the world has grown wiser in its own
estimation.

II. THE CLERGY.

Talent, backed by experience and industry, will succeed in the long run
in New York, but talent is not essential to success in the ministry here.
We have often wondered what does make the success of some clergymen in
this city. They have done well, and are popular, but they are not pulpit
orators. In other cities a good pastor need not always be a good
preacher. He may endear himself to his people in many different ways, so
that his other good qualities atone for his oratorical deficiencies. In
New York, however, pastoral duties are almost entirely confined to the
ministrations in the church, visitation of the sick, marriages, and
attendance upon funerals. The city is so immense, the flock so widely
scattered, that very few clergymen can visit all their people. The
result is that pastoral visiting is but little practised here. The
clergyman is generally "at home" to all who choose to call, on a certain
evening in each week. A few civil, common-place words pass between the
shepherd and the sheep, but that is all. The mass of the people of this
city are neglected by the clergy. Possibly the fault is with the people.
Indeed, it is highly probable, considering the carelessness which New
Yorkers manifest on the subject of church going. During the summer
months a large part of New York is left to do without the Gospel. Very
many of the churches are closed. The ministers are, many of them,
delicate men, and they cannot bear the strain of an unbroken year of
preaching. So they shut up their churches during the warm season, go off
to Long Branch, Saratoga, or the mountains, or cross the ocean. With the
fall of the leaves, they come back to town by the score, and their
churches are again opened "for preaching." Don't be deceived by their
robust appearance. It is only temporary. By the approach of the next
summer they will grow thin and weak-voiced again, and nothing will
restore them but a season at some fashionable resort, or a run over the
ocean.

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

Let us not be misunderstood. There are able men in the New York
pulpit--such men as Vinton, Hall, Chapin, Spring, Osgood, John Cotton
Smith, Adams, and others--but we have some weak-headed brethren also.

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

As a rule, the clergymen of New York are like those of other places.
Whether weak-headed, or strong-minded, they are, as a class, honest,
God-fearing, self-denying men. There are, however, some black sheep in
the fold; but, let us thank Heaven, they are few, and all the more
conspicuous for that reason.

The speculative mania (in financial, not theological matters) invades
even the ranks of the clergy, and there are several well-known gentlemen
of the cloth who operate boldly and skilfully in the stock markets
through their brokers. One of these was once sharply rebuked by his
broker for his unclerical conduct, and was advised, if he wished to carry
on his speculations further, to go into the market himself, as the broker
declined to be any longer the representative of a man who was ashamed of
his business. There are others still who are not ashamed to mingle
openly with the throng of curb-stone brokers, and carry on their
operations behind the sanctity of their white cravats. These last,
however, may be termed "Independents," as they have no standing in their
churches, and are roundly censured by them.

Others there are who, on small salaries, support large families. These
are the heroes of the profession, but the world knows little of their
heroism. With their slender means, they provide homes that are models
for all. They do their duty bravely, and with an amount of self-denial
which is sometimes amazing. They have happy homes, too, even if it is
hard to make both ends meet at the end of the year. They are often men
of taste and culture, to whom such trials are particularly hard. They
carry their culture into their homes, and the fruits of it blossom all
around them. Wealth could not give them these pleasures, nor can poverty
deprive them of them. They bring up their children in the fear and
admonition of the Lord, and, thanks to the free schools and their own
efforts, give them a good education. They send them out into the world
well equipped for the battle of life, and reap the reward of their
efforts in the honorable and useful lives of those children. They go
down into the grave without knowing any of the comforts of wealth,
without having ever preached to a fashionable congregation, and the world
comes at last to find that their places cannot easily be filled. Let us
be sure "their works do follow them."

XXXVIII. BOARDING-HOUSE LIFE.

New York is a vast boarding-house. Let him who doubts this assertion
turn to the columns of the _Herald_, and there read its confirmation in
the long columns of advertisements of "Boarders wanted," which adorn that
sheet. Or, better still, let him insert an advertisement in the
aforesaid _Herald_, applying for board, and he will find himself in
receipt of a mail next morning that will tax the postman's utmost
capacity. The boarding-houses of New York are a feature, and not the
pleasantest one, of the great city. How many there are, is not known,
but in some localities they cover both sides of the street for several
blocks. Those which are termed fashionable, and which imitate the
expensiveness of the hotels without furnishing a tithe of their comforts,
are located in the Fifth avenue, Broadway, and the Fourth avenue, or near
those streets. Some are showily furnished as to the public rooms, and
are conducted in seemingly elegant style, but the proprietress, for it is
generally a woman who is at the head of these establishments, pays for
all this show by economizing in the table and other things essential to
comfort. The really "elegant establishments," where magnificence of
display is combined with a good table and substantial comfort in other
respects, may be almost named in a breath.

Whether fashionable or unfashionable, all boarding-houses are alike.
They are supremely uncomfortable. The boarder is never really satisfied,
and lives in a state of perpetual warfare with his landlady. The
landlady, on her part, takes care that her guests shall not be too
comfortable. People generally become accustomed to this feverish mode of
life; so accustomed to it indeed that they cannot exist without it. They
find a sort of positive pleasure in boarding-house quarrels, and would
not be able to exist without the excitement of them.

The majority of boarders in the city are persons who have not the means
to live in their own houses. Others there are, who fancy they have less
trouble in boarding than in keeping their own establishments. This is a
singular but common delusion, and its victims endure with what patience
they can the wretched fare, the constant changes, and the uninterrupted
inconvenience and strife of a boarding-house, and imagine all the while
that they are experiencing less trouble and annoyance than they would
undergo in keeping house. The truth is, living is so expensive in New
York, that all modes of life are troublesome to those who are not wealthy
enough to disregard expense. But, here, as elsewhere, the privacy of
one's own home is better than the publicity of a boarding-house, and a
fuss with Bridget in one's own kitchen preferable to a row with a
landlady, who may turn you out of doors at the very moment you are
congratulating yourself that you are settled for the season. To persons
with families, boarding-house life ought to be intolerable. Those who
have children find that they cannot rear them as properly as they could
within their own homes, that they cannot as surely shield them from
unfavorable outside influences. Indeed, the troubles which these
"encumbrances" cause are so great that the wife and mother comes to the
conclusion that more children will simply add to her difficulties of this
kind, and so she commences to "regulate" her family, and the little ones
cease coming. Some boarding-houses will not receive children at any
price. Year by year the number of such establishments is increasing.
What will be the result? The question is not hard to answer.

The boarding-house is generally a cast-off mansion of gentility. There
are a score of things about it to remind you that it was once a home, and
to set you to speculating on the ways of the grim fate that has changed
it into a place of torment. Whole volumes have been written on the
subject, and all agree that is simply what I have described it to be.
From the fashionable Fifth avenue establishment down to the cellar
lodging-houses of the Five Points, all boarding-houses are alike in this
respect. Their success in tormenting their victims depends upon the
susceptibility and refinement of feeling and taste on the part of the
latter.

Landladies and boarders are mutually suspicious of each other. The
landlady constantly suspects her guest of a desire to escape from her
clutches with unpaid bills. The latter is always on the look-out for
some omission on the part of the hostess to comply with the letter of her
contract. Landladies are frequently swindled by adventurers of both
sexes, and guests most commonly find that the hostess does not comply
very strictly with her bargain. Furthermore, the boarder has not only to
endure his own troubles, but those of the landlady as well. Her sorrows
are unending, and she pours them out to him at every opportunity. He
dare not refuse to listen, for his experience teaches him that his
hostess will find a way to punish him for his unfeeling conduct. It is
of no use to change his quarters, for he may fare worse in this respect
at the next place. And so he submits, and grows peevish and fretful, and
even bald and gray over the woes of his tormentor. He consoles himself
with one thought--in the next world landladies cease from troubling and
boarding-houses do not exist.

All boarding-houses begin to fill up for the winter about the first of
October. Few of the proprietors have any trouble in filling their
establishments, as there is generally a rush of strangers to the city at
that time. The majority of boarders change their quarters every fall, if
they do not do so oftener. At first, the table is well supplied with
good fare, the attendance is excellent, and the proprietress as obliging
as one can wish. This continues until the house is full, and the guests
have made arrangements which would render a removal inconvenient. Then a
change comes over the establishment. The attendance becomes inferior.
The landlady cannot afford to keep so many servants, and the best in the
house are discharged. The fare becomes poor and scanty, and there begin
to appear dishes upon which the landlady has exercised an amount of
ingenuity which is astounding. They are fearfully and wonderfully
compounded, and it is best to ask no questions about them. The landlady
keeps a keen watch over the table at such times; and woe to him who
slights or turns up his nose at these dishes. She is sorry Mr. X---'s
appetite is so delicate; but really her prices of board do not permit her
to rival Delmonico or the Fifth Avenue Hotel in her table. Mr. P---, who
was worth his millions, and who boarded with her for ten years, was very
fond of that dish, and Mr. P--- was a regular _bon vivant_, if there ever
was one. Hang your head, friend X---, mutter some incoherent excuse,
gulp down your fair share of the dish in question--and fast the next time
it makes its appearance at the table.

[Picture: UNION SQUARE.]

The landlady has shrewdly calculated the chances of retaining her
boarders. She knows that few care to or can change in the middle of the
season, when all the other houses are full; and that they will hang on to
her establishment until the spring. If they do not come back the next
fall, others will, and as the population is large, she can play the same
game upon a fresh set of victims for many years to come. It is of no use
to complain. She knows human nature better than you do, and she adheres
rigidly to her programme, grimly replying to your tale of woes, that, if
you do not like her establishment, you can go elsewhere. You would go if
you could find a better place; but you know they are all alike. So you
make up your mind to endure your discomforts until May, with her smiling
face, calls you into the country.

Boarding-houses allow their guests a brief respite in the summer. The
city is then comparatively deserted, and the most of these "highly
respectable" establishments are very much in want of inmates. Expenses
are heavy and receipts light then, and the landladies offer an unusual
degree of comfort to those who will help them to tide over this dull
season.

As regards the ferreting out of impropriety on the part of her guests,
the New York landlady is unequalled by the most skilful detective in the
city. She doubts the character of every woman beneath her roof; but in
spite of her acuteness she is often deceived, and it may be safely
asserted that the boarding-houses into which improper characters do not
sometimes find their way are very few. It is simply impossible to keep
them out. The average boarding-house contains a goodly number of men who
are so many objects of the designs of the adventurers. Again, if the
adventuress wishes to maintain the guise of respectability, she must have
a respectable home, and this the boarding-house affords her. One is
struck with the great number of handsome young widows who are to be found
in these establishments. Sometimes they do not assume the character of a
widow, but claim to be the wives of men absent in the distant
Territories, or in Europe, and pretend to receive letters and remittances
from them. The majority of these women are adventuresses, and they make
their living in a way they do not care to have known. They conduct
themselves with the utmost outward propriety in the house, and disarm
even the suspicious landlady by their ladylike deportment. They are ripe
for an intrigue with any man in the house, and as their object is simply
to make money, they care little for an exposure if that object be
attained.

XXXIX. THE RESTAURANTS.

New York is said to contain between five and six thousand restaurants.
These are of every kind and description known to man, from Delmonico's
down to the Fulton Market stands. A very large number of persons live
altogether at these places. They are those who cannot afford the expense
of a hotel, and who will not endure a boarding-house. They rent rooms in
convenient or inconvenient locations, and take their meals at the
restaurants. At many nominally reputable establishments the fare is
infamous, but as a rule New York is far ahead of any American city with
respect to the character and capabilities of its eating-houses.

The better class restaurants lie along Broadway and Fifth avenue. The
other longitudinal streets are well supplied with establishments of all
kinds, and in the Bowery are to be found houses in which the fare is
prepared and served entirely in accordance with German ideas. In other
parts of the city are to be found Italian, French, and Spanish
restaurants, and English chop houses.

The fashionable restaurants lie chiefly above Fourteenth, and entirely
above Canal street. Delmonico's, at the northeast corner of Fourteenth
street and the Fifth avenue, is the best known. It is a very extensive
establishment, is fitted up in elegant style, and is equal to any
eating-house in the world. The prices are very high. A modest dinner,
without wine, for two persons, will cost here from four to five dollars.
The fare is good, however. The house enjoys a large custom, and every
visitor to New York who can afford it, takes a meal here before leaving
the city. Delmonico is said to be very rich.

A young man, to whom the ways of the house were unknown, once took his
sweetheart to lunch at this famous place. His purse was light, and when
he came to scan the bill of fare, and note the large sums affixed to each
item, his heart sank within him, and he waited in silent agony to hear
his fair companion make her selection. After due consideration, she
ordered a woodcock. Now woodcocks are expensive luxuries at Delmonico's,
and the cost of one such bird represented more than the total contents of
the lover's purse. He was in despair, but a lucky thought occurred to
him. Turning to the lady, he asked with an air of profound astonishment: