Lights and Shadows of New York Life

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

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In favorable weather, the chimes can be heard for a distance of from five
to ten miles. There are few strangers who leave the city without hearing
the sweet bells of the old church. The city people would count it a
great misfortune to be deprived of their music. For nearly thirty years
they have heard them, in seasons of joy and in hours of sadness. On
Christmas eve, at midnight, the chimes ring in the blessed morning of our
Lord's nativity, thus continuing an old and beautiful custom now observed
only in parts of Europe.

The church is kept open from early morning until sunset. In the winter
season it is always well heated, and hundreds of the poor find warmth and
shelter within its holy walls. It is the only church in New York in
which there is no distinction made between the rich and the poor. The
writer has frequently seen beggars in tatters conducted, by the sexton,
to the best seats in the church.

The rector and his assistants are alive to the fact that this is one of
the few churches now left to the lower part of the city, and they strive
to make it a great missionary centre. Their best efforts are for the
poor. Those who sneer at the wealth of the parish, would do well to
trouble themselves to see what a good use is made of it.

The ultra fashionable element of the congregation attend Trinity Chapel,
or "Up-town Trinity," in Twenty-fifth street, near Broadway. This is a
handsome church, and has a large and wealthy congregation.

Trinity Parish embraces a large part of the city. It includes the
following churches, or chapels, as they are called: St. Paul's, St.
John's, Trinity Chapel, and Trinity Church. It is in charge of a rector,
who is a sort of small bishop in this little diocese. He has eight
assistants. Each church or chapel has its pastor, who is subject to the
supervision of the rector. The Rev. Morgan Dix, D.D., a son of General
John A. Dix, is the present rector.

Trinity takes good care of its clergy. The salaries are amply sufficient
to insure a comfortable support, and a well-furnished house is provided
for each one who has a family. Should a clergyman become superannuated
in the service of the parish, he is liberally maintained during his life;
and should he die in his ministry, provision is made for his family.

[Picture: TRINITY CHURCH.]

The wealth of the parish is very great. It is variously stated at from
sixty to one hundred millions of dollars. It is chiefly in real estate,
the leases of which yield an immense revenue.

The churchyard of Old Trinity covers about two acres of ground. A
handsome iron railing separates it from Broadway, and the thick rows of
gravestones, all crumbling and stained with age, present a strange
contrast to the bustle, vitality, and splendor with which they are
surrounded. They stare solemnly down into Wall street, and offer a
bitter commentary upon the struggles and anxiety of the money kings.

The place has an air of peace that is pleasant in the midst of so much
noise and confusion, and is well worth visiting.

In the churchyard, near the south door of the church, you will see a
plain brown-stone slab, bearing this inscription: "_The vault of Walter
and Robert C. Livingston_, _sons of Robert Livingston_, _of the Manor of
Livingston_." This is one of the Meccas of the world of science, for the
mortal part of _Robert Fulton_ sleeps in the vault below, in sight of the
mighty steam fleets which his genius has called into existence. A plain
obelisk, near the centre of the southern extremity of the yard, marks the
grave of Alexander Hamilton. At the west end of the south side of the
church is the sarcophagus of Albert Gallatin, and James Lawrence, the
heroic but ill-fated commander of the _Chesapeake_ sleeps close by the
south door of the church, his handsome tomb being the most prominent
object in that portion of the yard. At the northern extremity of the
churchyard, and within a few feet of Broadway, is the splendid "Martyrs'
Monument," erected to the memory of the patriots of the American
Revolution, who died from the effects of British cruelty in the "Old
Sugar House" and in the prison ships in Wallabout Bay, the site of the
present Brooklyn Navy Yard.

Close to the Broadway railing, and so close that one can almost touch it
from the street, is a worn brown-stone slab, bearing but two words,
"Charlotte Temple." It is difficult to find, and but few strangers ever
see it, but for years it has been the most prominent spot in the
enclosure to the lovers of romance. Charlotte Temple's history is a very
sad one, and unhappily not a rare one. She lived and died nearly a
century ago. She was young and surpassingly lovely, and she attracted
the attention of a British officer of high rank, who carried her off from
her boarding school, seduced her, and deserted her. Her friends
discarded her, and she sank under her heavy load of sorrow. She was
found by her father in a wretched garret, with her child. Both were at
the point of death. The father came just in time to close their eyes
forever. They were laid to rest in the same grave in the old churchyard,
and, some years after, the seducer, stung with remorse for his brutality,
placed over them the slab which still marks the spot. The sad story was
written out in book form, and was dramatized and played in every part of
the country, so that there are few old time people in all the land who
are ignorant of it.

XLVIII. THE HOLIDAYS.

I. NEW YEAR'S DAY.

All the holidays are observed in New York with more or less heartiness,
but those which claim especial attention are New Year's Day and
Christmas.

The observance of New Year's Day dates from the earliest times. The
Dutch settlers brought the custom from their old homes across the sea,
and made the day an occasion for renewing old friendships and wishing
each other well. All feuds were forgotten, family breaches were
repaired, and every one made it a matter of conscience to enter upon the
opening year with kind feelings towards his neighbor. Subsequent
generations have continued to observe the custom, though differently from
the primitive but hearty style of their fathers.

For weeks before the New Year dawns, nearly every house in the city is in
a state of confusion. The whole establishment is thoroughly overhauled
and cleaned, and neither mistress nor maid has any rest from her labors.
The men folks are nuisances at such times, and gradually keep themselves
out of the way, lest they should interfere with the cleaning. Persons
who contemplate refurnishing their houses, generally wait until near the
close of the year before doing so, in order that everything may be new on
the great day. Those who cannot refurnish, endeavor to make their
establishments look as fresh and new as possible. A general baking,
brewing, stewing, broiling, and frying is begun, and the pantries are
loaded with good things to eat and to drink.

All the family must have new outfits for the occasion, and tailors and
modistes find this a profitable season. To be seen in a dress that has
ever been worn before, is considered the height of vulgarity.

The table is set in magnificent style. Elegant china and glassware, and
splendid plate, adorn it. It is loaded down with dainties of every
description. Wines, lemonades, coffee, brandy, whiskey and punch are in
abundance. Punch is seen in all its glory on this day, and each
householder strives to have the best of this article. There are regular
punch-makers in the city, who reap a harvest at this time. Their
services are engaged long before-hand, and they are kept busy all the
morning going from house to house, to make this beverage, which is
nowhere so palatable as in this city.

Hairdressers, or "_artistes_ in hair," as they call themselves, are also
in demand at New Year, for each lady then wishes to have her _coiffure_
as magnificent as possible. This is a day of hard work to these
_artistes_, and in order to meet all their engagements, they begin their
rounds at midnight. They are punctual to the moment, and from that time
until noon on New Year's Day are busily engaged. Of course those whose
heads are dressed at such unseasonable hours cannot think of lying down
to sleep, as their "head-gear" would be ruined by such a procedure. They
are compelled to rest sitting bolt upright, or with their heads resting
on a table or the back of a chair.

All New York is stirring by eight o'clock in the morning. By nine the
streets are filled with gayly-dressed persons on their way to make their
annual calls. Private carriages, hacks, and other vehicles soon appear,
filled with persons bent upon similar expeditions. Business is entirely
suspended in the city. The day is a legal holiday, and is faithfully
observed by all classes. Hack hire is enormous--forty or fifty dollars
being sometimes paid for a carriage for the day. The cars and omnibuses
are crowded, and every one is in the highest spirits. The crowds consist
entirely of men. Scarcely a female is seen on the streets. It is not
considered respectable for a lady to venture out, and the truth is, it is
not prudent for her to do so.

Callers begin their rounds at ten o'clock. The ultra fashionables do not
receive until twelve. At the proper time, the lady of the house,
attended by her daughters, if there be any, takes her stand in the
drawing-room by the hospitable board. In a little while the door-bell
rings, and the first visitor is ushered in by the pompous domestic in
charge of the door. The first callers are generally young men, who are
ambitious to make as many visits as possible. The old hands know where
the best tables are set, and confine their attentions principally to
them. The caller salutes the hostess and the ladies present, says it's a
fine or a bad day, as the case may be, offers the compliments of the
season, and accepts with alacrity the invitation of the hostess to
partake of the refreshments. A few eatables are swallowed in haste--the
visitor managing to get out a word or two between each mouthful--a glass
of wine or punch is gulped down, the visitor bows himself out, and the
ladies avenge themselves for the infliction by ridiculing him after he
has gone. This is the routine, and it goes on all day, and until long
after dark.

Sometimes a family, not wishing to receive callers, will hang a
card-basket on the front-door knob and close the front of the house. The
callers deposit their cards in the basket, and go their way rejoicing.
Perhaps the mansion is one that is famed for the excellence of its wines
and eatables on such occasions. The veteran caller has promised himself
a genuine treat here, and he views the basket with dismay. There is no
help for it, however, so he deposits his card, and departs, wondering at
"the manners of some people who refuse to observe a time-honored custom."

[Picture: NEW YEAR'S CALLS.]

A gentleman in starting out, provides himself with a written memorandum
of the places he intends visiting, and "checks" each one off with his
pencil, when the call is made. This list is necessary, as few sober men
can remember all their friends without it, and with the majority the list
is a necessity before the day is half over. The driver takes charge of
it often, and when the caller is too hazy to act for himself, carries him
sometimes to the door of the house, and rings the bell for him. Each man
tries to make as many calls as possible, so that he may boast of the feat
afterwards. At the outset, of course, everything is conducted with the
utmost propriety, but, as the day wears on, the generous liquors they
have imbibed begin to "tell" upon the callers, and many eccentricities,
to use no harsher term, are the result. Towards the close of the day,
everything is in confusion--the door-bell is never silent. Crowds of
young men, in various stages of intoxication, rush into the lighted
parlors, leer at the hostess in the vain effort to offer their respects,
call for liquor, drink it, and stagger out, to repeat the scene at some
other house. Frequently, they are unable to recognize the residences of
their friends, and stagger into the wrong house. Some fall early in the
day, and are put to bed by their friends; others sink down helpless at
the feet of their hostess, and are sent home; and a few manage to get
through the day. Strange as it may seem, it is no disgrace to get drunk
on New Year's Day. These indiscretions are expected at such times; and
it has happened that some of the ladies themselves have succumbed to the
seductive influences of "punch," and have been carried to bed by the
servants.

The Kitchen, as well as the parlor, observes the day. During the
Christmas week housekeepers become impressed with the fact that the usual
amount of provisions utterly fails to meet the wants of the family. They
attribute it to the increased appetites of the establishment. Biddy
could tell a different tale, however, and on New Year's Day sets a fine
table for her "Cousins" and friends, at the expense of the master of the
house. "Shure, she must say her friends, as well as the missus; and
bedad, it's a free counthry, and a poor ghirl has to look out for
hersilf."

The next day one half of New York has a headache, and the other half is
"used up" with fatigue. The doctors are kept busy, and so are the police
courts. This day is commonly called "The Ladies' Day," and is devoted by
those who feel inclined, to making calls on each other and comparing
notes as to the work of the previous day.

II. CHRISTMAS.

For weeks before the high festival of Christendom, New York puts on its
holiday attire. The stores are filled with the richest and most
attractive goods, toys of every description fill up every available space
in the great thoroughfares, the markets and provision stores abound in
good things in the eatable line, and the whole city looks brighter and
more cheerful than it has done since the last Christmas season. Broadway
and the Bowery are ablaze with gaslight at night, and shops that usually
close their doors at dark, remain open until nine or ten o'clock. All
are crowded, and millions of dollars are spent in providing for the happy
day. On Christmas Eve, or perhaps a day or two later, many of the
churches provide Christmas trees for their Sunday schools.

When the bell of "Old Trinity" rings out the last stroke of the midnight
hour of Christmas Eve, there is a pause. The city is dark and still, and
there is not a sound in all the vast edifice which towers so majestically
in the gloom of the night. The heavy clangor of the clock bell dies away
in the stillness, when suddenly there bursts out from the dark tower of
the old church a perfect flood of melody. The bells seem beside
themselves with joy, and they send their merry tones rolling through the
silent streets below, and out upon the blue waters of the bay, bidding
all men rejoice, for Christ is born.

On Christmas Day the festivities are much the same as those in other
places. They are hearty and merry here, as elsewhere, and the season is
one of happiness. The poor are not forgotten. Those who give nothing at
other times, will subscribe for dinners or clothing for the unfortunate
at Christmas. The various charitable institutions are kept busy
receiving and delivering the presents sent them. Their inmates are
provided with plentiful, substantial dinners, and have abundant means of
sharing in the happiness which seems to pervade the whole city.

Thanksgiving Day, Evacuation Day (November 25th), the Fourth of July, and
the Birthday of Washington, all receive appropriate honors, but they do
not compare with the two great festivals of the Metropolis.

XLIX. THE SOCIAL EVIL.

I. THE LOST SISTERHOOD.

In January, 1866, Bishop Simpson, of the Methodist Episcopal Church, at a
public meeting at the Cooper Institute, made the astounding declaration
that there were as many prostitutes in the city of New York as there were
members of the Methodist Church, the membership of which at that time was
estimated at between eleven and twelve thousand. In the spring of 1871,
the Rev. Dr. Bellows estimated the number of these women at 20,000.
These declarations were repeated all over the country by the press, and
New York was held up to public rebuke as a second Sodom. The estimate of
Dr. Bellows would brand one female in every twenty-four, of all ages, as
notoriously impure, and taking away from the actual population those too
old and too young to be included in this class, the per centage would be,
according to that gentleman, very much larger--something like one in
every eighteen or twenty. New York is bad enough in this respect, but
not so bad as the gentlemen we have named suppose. The real facts are
somewhat difficult to ascertain. The police authorities boast that they
have full information as to the inmates of every house of ill-fame in the
city, but their published statistics are notoriously inaccurate. As near
as can be ascertained, there are about 600 houses of ill-fame in the
city. The number of women living in them, and those frequenting the
bed-houses and lower class assignation houses, is about 5000. In this
estimate is included about 700 waiter-girls in the concert saloons.

This is the number of professional women of the town, but it does not
include these who, while nominally virtuous, really live upon the wages
of their shame, or the nominally respectable married and single women who
occasionally visit assignation houses. It is impossible to estimate
these, but it is believed that the number is proportionately small.
Their sin is known only to themselves and their lovers, and they do not
figure in the police records as abandoned women.

The fallen women of New York include every grade of their class, from
those who are living in luxury, to the poor wretches who are dying by
inches in the slums. Every stage of the road to ruin is represented.

There are not many first-class houses of ill-fame in the city--probably
not over fifty in all--but they are located in the best neighborhoods,
and it is said that Fifth avenue itself is not free from the taint of
their presence. As a rule, they are hired fully furnished, the owners
being respectable and often wealthy people. The finest of these houses
command from ten to twelve thousand dollars rent. The neighbors do not
suspect the true character of the place, unless some of them happen to be
among its visitors. The police soon discover the truth, however. The
establishment is palatial in its character, and is conducted with the
most rigid outward propriety.

The proprietress is generally a middle-aged woman, of fine personal
appearance. She has a man living with her, who passes as her husband, in
order that she may be able to show a legal protector in case of trouble
with the authorities. This couple usually assume some foreign name, and
pass themselves off upon the unsuspecting as persons of the highest
respectability.

The inmates are usually young women, or women in the prime of life. They
are carefully chosen for their beauty and charms, and are frequently
persons of education and refinement. They are required to observe the
utmost decorum in the parlors of the house, and their toilettes are
exquisite and modest. They never make acquaintances on the street, and,
indeed, have no need to do so. The women who fill these houses are
generally of respectable origin. They are the daughters, often the wives
or widows, of persons of the best social position. Some have been drawn
astray by villains; some have been drugged and ruined, and have fled to
these places to hide their shame from their friends; some have adopted
the life in order to avoid poverty, their means having been suddenly
swept away; some have entered upon it from motives of extravagance and
vanity; some are married women, who have been unfaithful to their
husbands, and who have been deserted in consequence; some have been
ruined by the cruelty and neglect of their husbands; some, horrible as it
may seem, have been forced into such a life by their parents; and others
have adopted the life from motives of pure licentiousness. The
proprietress takes care to keep her house full, and has agents whose
business it is to provide her with fresh women as fast as they are
needed. Whatever may be the cause of their fall, these houses are always
full of women competent to grace the best circles of social life.

The visitors to these establishments are men of means. No one can afford
to visit them who has not money to spend on them. Besides the money paid
to the inmates, the visitors expend large sums for wines. The liquors
furnished are of an inferior quality, and the price is nearly double that
of the best retail houses in the city. It is not pleasant to
contemplate, but it is nevertheless a fact, that the visitors include
some of the leading men of the country, men high in public life, and
eminent for their professional abilities. Even ministers of the gospel
visiting the city have been seen at these houses. The proportion of
married men is frightfully large. There is scarcely a night that does
not witness the visits of numbers of husbands and fathers to these
infamous palaces of sin. These same men would be merciless in their
resentment of any lapse of virtue on the part of their wives. New York
is not alone to blame for this. The city is full of strangers, and they
contribute largely to the support of these places, and the city is called
upon to bear the odium of their conduct. Men coming to New York from
other parts of the country seem to think themselves freed from all the
restraints of morality and religion, and while here commit acts of
dissipation and sin, such as they would not dream of indulging in in
their own communities, and they go home and denounce New York as the
worst place in the world.

The proprietress takes care that the visitors shall enjoy all the privacy
they desire. If one wishes to avoid the other visitors, he is shown into
a private room. Should the visitor desire an interview with any
particular person he is quickly admitted to her presence. If his visit
is "general," he awaits in the parlor the entrance of the inmates of the
house, who drop in at intervals.

The earnings of the inmates of these houses are very large, but their
expenses are in proportion. They are charged the most exorbitant board
by the proprietress, whose only object is to get all the money out of
them she can. They are obliged to dress handsomely, and their wants are
numerous, so that they save nothing. The proprietress cares for them
faithfully as long as they are of use to her, but she is not
disinterested, as a rule, and turns them out of doors without mercy in
case of sickness or loss of beauty.

The inmates of these first-class houses remain in them about one year.
Many go from them sooner. In entering upon their sin, and tasting the
sweets of wealth and luxury, they form false estimates of the life that
lies before them, and imagine that though others have failed, they will
always be able to retain their places in the aristocracy of shame. They
are mistaken. The exceptions to the rule are very rare, so that we are
warranted in asserting that these first-class houses change their inmates
every year. A life of shame soon makes havoc with a woman's freshness,
if not with her beauty, and the proprietress has no use for faded women.
She knows the attraction of "strange women," and she makes frequent
changes as a matter of policy. Furthermore, the privacy of these places
demands that the women shall be as little known to the general public as
possible.

Whatever may be the reason, the change is inevitable. One year of luxury
and pleasure, and then the woman begins her downward course. The next
step is to a second-class house, where the proprietress is more cruel and
exacting, and where the visitors are rougher and ruder than those who
frequented the place in which the lost one began her career. Two or
three years in these houses is the average, and by this time the woman
has become a thorough prostitute. She has lost her refinement, and, it
may be, has added drunkenness to her other sin, and has become
full-mouthed and reckless. She has sunk too low to be fit for even such
a place as this, and she is turned out without pity to take the next step
in her ruin. Greene street, with its horrible bagnios, claims her next.
She becomes the companion of thieves--perhaps a thief herself--and passes
her days in misery. She is a slave to her employer, and is robbed of her
wretched earnings. Disease and sickness are her lot, and from them she
cannot escape. She is never by any chance the companion of a
"respectable" man, but her associates are as degraded as herself. She
may fall into the hands of the police, and be sent to the Island, where
the seal is set to her damnation. A year or two in a Greene street house
is all that a human being can stand. The next descent is to Water street
or some kindred thoroughfare. Almost immediately she falls a victim to
the terrible scourge of these places. Disease of the most loathsome kind
fastens itself upon her, and she literally rots to death. Such faces as
look out upon you from those Water street dens! Foul, bloated with gin
and disease, distorted with suffering and despair, the poor creatures do
what they can to hasten their sure doom. It all happens in a few years,
seven or eight at the longest. Ninety-nine women out of every hundred go
down the fearful road I have marked out. I care not how beautiful, how
attractive, how sanguine may be the woman who is to-day the acknowledged
belle of a fashionable house of ill-fame, her doom is sure. Would you
see her seven years hence, should she live that long, you must seek her
among the living corpses of the Water street dens.