Lights and Shadows of New York Life

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

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"The next room was occupied by 'a very great swell,' the premiere
danseuse of the 'Lyceum'. It contained a superb piano littered with
stage properties, dresses, and general odds and ends. The furniture was
of splendid quality, and large tinted photographs of prominent French
'professionals,' including an unusually prepossessing likeness of
Schneider, decked the walls. Satin tights, exquisitely pink, hung out of
a half-open trunk. The danseuse was seated at a small table, her own
profuse golden hair coiled after an indolent fashion, while her diamonded
fingers were hard at work saturating some superb yellow tresses in a
saucerful of colorless fluid, a bleaching agent for continuing the lustre
of blond hair. A clamorous parrot trolled a bar or two of _'Un Mari
Sage'_ overhead, and a shaggy poodle lay couched in leonine fashion at
her feet, munching a handsome though fractured fan. A well-directed kick
of her dainty little slippered foot sent the sacrilegious animal flying
on the entrance of the two invaders. This was Mademoiselle Helene
Devereux, a young lady who twirled her toes for a salary scarcely less
than that of the President of the United States. French by birth, she
spoke English with a pure accent. She seemed much amused at the errand
of her masculine visitor.

"You want to see a _premiere_ at home? Look at me now, dyeing my own
hair. And see that dress there. I made it every bit myself. I get up
every morning at 8. Some of the other lazy things in the house never
think of breakfast till 10. But I turn out at 8; eat some breakfast; do
all my mending; sort out my washing; go to rehearsal; practise new
dances; come home to lunch; drive out to the Park; eat my dinner; go to
the theatre; eat my supper, and go straight to bed. Can anybody live
more properly? I don't think it possible. Mrs. Sullivan says I'm a
model. I don't give her the least bit of trouble, and she wouldn't part
with me for anything. You ought to have been here just now, and seen
little Vulfi of the "Melodeon." She makes $100 a night, and yet she
doesn't dress any more stylishly than Mrs. Sullivan; and she never bought
a jewel in her life. She supports a mother, and sends a brother to
college in Florence. You people think we are fast. That's all nonsense.
It is only the little dancers, _la canaille_, who can afford to be
dissipated. I can't, I know that. I'm too tired after the theatre to
think of going out on a spree, as they call it. Besides, it doesn't do
for a dancer to be too cheap. It hurts her business.'

"'Devereux's nice, isn't she?' said Miss Bell. 'She's very good, and
she's plucky. A fellow once followed her home from rehearsal, chirping
to her all the way. She said nothing, but went right on into the livery
stable next door. The fellow went in after her, and she snatched a
carriage whip out of the office, and, oh my! didn't she thrash him?
Nobody interfered, and she whipped him till her arm ached. Ever since
then she's been receiving dreadful letters, and so has Mrs. Sullivan.
She can't find out who sends them, and she's never seen the fellow
again.'"

LXXVII. THE POOR OF NEW YORK.

I. THE DESERVING POOR.

Poverty is a terrible misfortune in any city. In New York it is
frequently regarded as a crime. But whether the one or the other, it
assumes here proportions which it does not reach in other American
communities. The city is overrun with those who are classed as paupers,
and in spite of the great efforts made to relieve them, their suffering
is very great.

The deserving poor are numerous. They have been brought to their sad
condition by misfortune. A laboring man may die and leave a widow with a
number of small children dependent on her exertions. The lot of such is
very hard. Sickness may strike down a father or mother, and thus deprive
the remaining members of a family of their accustomed support, or men and
women may be thrown out of work suddenly, or may be unable to procure
employment. Again, a man may bring himself and his family to want by
drunkenness. If the children are too young to earn their bread, the
support of the family falls upon the wife. Whatever may be the cause of
the misfortune, the lot of the poor in New York is very hard. Their
homes are the most wretched tenement houses, and they are compelled to
dwell among the most abandoned and criminal part of the population. No
wonder poverty is so much dreaded here. The poor man has little, if any,
chance of bettering his condition, and he is gradually forced down lower
and lower in the scale of misery, until death steps in to relieve him, or
he takes refuge in suicide.

[Picture: THE POOR IN WINTER.]

The Missionaries are constant in their labors among the poor. They
shrink from no work, are deterred by no danger, but carry their spiritual
and temporal relief into places from which the dainty pastors of
fashionable churches shrink with disgust. They not only preach the
Gospel to the poor, who would never hear it but for them, but they watch
by the bed-sides of the sick and the dying, administer the last rites of
religion to the believing pauper or the penitent criminal, and offer to
the Great Judge the only appeal for mercy that is ever made in behalf of
many a soul that dies in its sins. There is many a wretched home into
which these men have carried the only joy that has ever entered its
doors. Nor are they all men, for many of the most effective Missionaries
are gentle and daintily nurtured women. A part of the Missionary's work
is to distribute Bibles, tracts, and simple religious instruction. These
are simple little documents, but they do a deal of good. They have
reformed drunkards, converted the irreligious, shut the mouth of the
swearer, and have brought peace to more than one heart. The work is done
so silently and unpretendingly that few but those engaged in it know how
great are its effects. They are encouraged by the evidences which they
have, and continue their work gladly.

Thanks to the Missionaries, many of the deserving poor have been brought
under the constant care of the Mission Establishments, from which they
receive the assistance they need. Yet there are many who cannot be
reached, or at least cannot be aided effectively. The officers of the
Howard Mission relate many touching incidents of the suffering that has
come under their notice.

There was among the inmates of the Mission, about a year ago, a girl
named Rose ---. She was ten years old, and was so lame that she was
unable to walk without crutches. When she became old enough to do
anything, her mother, a drunken and depraved woman, sent her on the
streets to sweep the crossings and beg. She managed to secure a little
money, which she invested in "songs." She paid three-quarters of a cent
for each "song," and sold them at a cent apiece. With her earnings she
supported her mother. Their home was the back room of a cellar, into
which no light ever shone, and their bed was a pile of rags. To reach
this wretched spot, the little girl was compelled to pass through the
front cellar, which was one of the vilest and most disgusting dens in the
city.

The mother at length fell ill, and the child in despair applied to the
Howard Mission for aid, which she received. Food and clothing were given
to the mother, but they were of little use to her, as she died within two
days. The breath had scarcely left her body, when the wretches who
occupied the outer cellar stripped her of all her clothing, and left her
naked. She was wrapped in an old sheet, put into a pine box, nailed up
and buried in the potter's field, without the pretence of a funeral.

The little girl, now left alone, succeeded in obtaining some sewing. She
worked on one occasion from Tuesday until Saturday, making eleven dozen
leaves for trimming ladies' velvet cloaks. She furnished her own thread,
and paid her own car fare. She received eight cents a dozen for the
leaves, or eighty-eight cents in all, or less than the thread and car
fare had actually cost her. The officers of the Howard Mission now came
to her aid, and gave her a home in their blessed haven of rest.

One of the evening papers, about a year ago, contained the following
"Incident of City Life:"

"In a cellar, No. 91 Cherry street, we found an Irish woman with five
children, the oldest probably ten years old. Her husband had been out of
work for nearly six months, and was suffering severely from bronchitis.
There was no appearance of liquor about the place, and the Missionary who
had visited them often said she was sure they did not drink. The woman
was suffering severely from heart disease, and had a baby three weeks
old. But what a place for a baby! There were two windows, two feet by
two feet, next to the street, so splashed on the outside and stained by
the dust and mud that they admitted but little light. A tidy housewife
might say, Why don't the woman wash them? How can she stop to wash
windows, with a baby three weeks old and four helpless little ones
besides, crying around her with hunger and cold? The floor had no
carpet. An old stove, which would not draw on account of some defect in
the chimney of the house, had from time to time spread its clouds of
smoke through the cellar--the only room--even when the baby was born. A
few kettles, etc., stood around the floor, some crumbs of bread were on a
shelf, but no sign of meat or vegetables. A wash-tub, containing
half-washed clothing, stood near the middle of the room; there was a
table, and a bedstead stood in a corner pretty well furnished--the bed
clothing the gift of charity. In this the father, mother, babe, and
perhaps a little boy two years old, slept. But the other children? O,
they had some old bundles of rags on the floor, and here they were
compelled to lie like pigs, with little or nothing to cover them. When
it rained, the water from the street poured into this hole, and saturated
the rags on which the children slept, and they had to lie there like poor
little drowned rats, shivering and wailing till morning came, when they
could go out and gather cinders enough to make a fire. The privilege of
living in this place cost five dollars per month. And yet this woman was
willing to talk about God, and believed in his goodness. She believed
that he often visited that place. Yes, he does go down there when the
good Miss --- from the Mission descends the slimy steps."

[Picture: THE CITY MISSIONARY.]

"I have been astounded," said a city clergyman to the writer, "to find
so much genuine piety in the wretched places I visit. A few nights ago I
was called to see a woman who was very ill. The messenger conducted me
to a miserable cellar, where, on a bed of rags, I found a woman, about
sixty years old, gasping for breath. She greeted me with feverish
anxiety, and asked me if I thought it possible for her to get well; I
told her I did not know, and as she seemed very ill, I sent the man who
had been my conductor, to the nearest police station, to ask for medical
aid. I asked her if she wished to live, she answered, 'No, unless it be
God's will that I should.' Well, the reply startled me, for the tone was
one of unquestioned resignation, and I had not expected to discover that
virtue here. In reply to my questions she told me her story--a very
common one--of a long life of bitter poverty, following close on a few
years of happiness and comfort at the beginning of her womanhood. Her
trial had been very hard, but she managed by God's grace to keep her soul
pure and her conscience free from reproach.

"In a little while the physician I had sent for came in. He saw her
condition at a glance, and turning to me said, in a low tone, that she
would not live through the night, that she was literally worn out. As
low as he spoke, she overheard him. She clasped her bony hands
exultantly, her poor wan face gleamed with joy, and she burst out in her
thin, weak voice, into the words of the hymn:

"'Happy soul! thy days are ended,
Leave thy trials here below:
Go, by angel guards attended,
To the breast of Jesus, go!'

"Well, she died that night, and I am sure she is in heaven now."

Great efforts are made by the organized charities of the city to relieve
the sufferings of the deserving poor. Prominent among these charities is
the "Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor." The object of
the Society is to help them by enabling them to help themselves and
gradually to lift them up out of the depths of poverty. The city is
divided into small districts, each of which is in charge of a visitor,
whose duty it is to seek out the deserving poor. All the assistance is
given through these visitors, and nothing is done, except in extreme
cases, until the true condition of the applicant is ascertained. Money
is never given, and only such supplies as are not likely to be improperly
used. Every recipient of the bounty of the Society is required to
abstain from intoxicating liquors, to send young children to school, and
to apprentice those of a suitable age. During the twenty-seven years of
its existence, ending October 1st, 1870, the Society has expended in
charities the sum of $1,203,767, and has given relief to 180,000
families, or 765,000 persons. The office of the Society is in the Bible
House.

II. THE BEGGARS.

Begging is a profession in New York. The deserving poor rarely come on
the streets to seek aid, but the beggars crowd them, as they know the
charitable institutions of the city would at once detect their imposture.
A short while ago the "Superintendent of the Out-door Poor," said to a
city merchant, "As a rule never give alms to a street beggar. Send them
to me when they accost you, and not one in fifty will dare to show his
face in my office."

The New York beggars are mainly foreigners. Scarcely an American is seen
on the streets in this capacity. Every year the number is increasing.
Foreigners who were professional beggars in their own countries, are
coming over here to practise their trades, and these make New York their
headquarters. It is estimated that there are more professional beggars
here than in all the other cities of the country combined.

Broadway, and especially Fourteenth street, Union Square, and the Fifth
avenue are full of them. They represent all forms of physical
misfortune. Some appear to have but one leg, others but one arm. Some
are blind, others horribly deformed. Some are genuine cripples, but the
majority are sound in body. They beg because the business is profitable,
and they are too lazy to work. The greater the semblance of distress,
the more lucrative is their profession. Women hire babies, and post
themselves in the thoroughfares most frequented by ladies. They
generally receive a considerable sum during the course of the day.
Others again provide themselves with a basket, in which they place a
wretched display of shoestrings which no one is expected to buy, and
station themselves in Broadway to attract the attention of the charitably
disposed. The most daring force their way into private houses and the
hotels and demand assistance with the most brazen effrontery. They hang
on to you with the utmost determination, exposing the most disgusting
sights to your gaze, and annoying you so much that you give them money in
order to be rid of them. They, in their turn, mark you well, and
remember you when you pass them again.

Perhaps the most annoying of the street beggars are the children. They
frequent all parts of the city, but literally infest Fourteenth street
and the lower part of the Fifth avenue. Many of them are driven into the
streets by their parents to beg. They have the most pitiful tales to
tell if you will listen to them. There is one little girl who frequents
Fourteenth street, whose "mother has just died and left seven small
children," every day in the last two years. A gentleman was once
accosted by two of these children, whose feet were bare, although the
weather was very cold. Seizing each by the arm, he ordered them to put
on their shoes and stockings. His manner was so positive that they at
once sat down on a door step, and producing their shoes and stockings
from beneath their shawls, put them on. Many of these children support
drunken or depraved parents by begging, and are soundly beaten by them if
they return home at night without money. They grow up to a life of
vagrancy. They soon learn to cheat and steal, and from such offences
they pass rapidly into prostitution and crime.

Besides these street beggars, there are numbers of genteel, and doubtless
well-meaning persons who make it their business to beg for others. They
intrude upon you at the most inconvenient times, and venture into your
private apartments with a freedom and assurance which positively amaze
you. Refuse them, and they are insulting.

Then there are those who approach you by means of letters. They send you
the most pitiful appeals for aid, and assure you that nothing but the
direst necessity induces them to send you such a letter, and that they
would not do so under any circumstances, were not they aware of your
well-known charitable disposition. Some persons of known wealth receive
as many as a dozen letters of this kind each day. They are, in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, from impostors, and are properly
consigned to the waste-basket.

Housekeepers have frequent applications every day for food. These are
generally complied with, as, in all families of moderate size, there is
much that must either be given or thrown away. Children and old people
generally do this kind of begging. They come with long faces and pitiful
voices, and ask for food in the most doleful tones. Grant their
requests, and you will be amused at the cool manner in which they will
produce large baskets, filled with provisions, and deposit your gift
therein. Many Irish families find all their provisions in this way.

LXXVIII. QUACK DOCTORS.

Carlyle's savage description of the people of England--"Eighteen millions
of inhabitants, mostly fools"--is not applicable to his countrymen alone.
It may be regarded as descriptive of the world at large, if the
credulity, or to use a more expressive term, "the gullibility" of men is
to be taken as a proof that they are "fools." Many years ago a
sharp-witted scamp appeared in one of the European countries, and offered
for sale a pill which he declared to be a sure protection _against
earthquakes_. Absurd as was the assertion, he sold large quantities of
his nostrum and grew rich upon the proceeds. The credulity which
enriched this man is still a marked characteristic of the human race, and
often strikingly exhibits itself in this country. During the present
winter a rumor went out that a certain holy woman, highly venerated by
the Roman Catholic Church, had predicted on her death-bed, that during
the month of February, 1872, there would be three days of intense
darkness over the world, in which many persons would perish, and that
this darkness would be so intense that no light but that of a candle
blessed by the Church could penetrate it. A Roman Catholic newspaper in
Philadelphia ventured to print this prophecy, and immediately the rush
for consecrated candles was so great on the part of the more ignorant
members of that Church, that the Bishop of the Diocese felt himself
obliged to publicly rebuke the superstition. This credulity manifests
itself in nearly every form of life. The quack doctors or medical
impostors, to whom we shall devote this chapter, live upon it, and do all
in their power to encourage it.

There are quite a number of these men in New York. They offer to cure
all manner of diseases, some for a small and others for a large sum. It
has been discovered that some of these men carry on their business under
two or three different names, often thus securing a double or triple
share of their wretched business. The newspapers are full of their
advertisements, many of which are unfit for the columns of a reputable
journal. They cover the dead walls of the city with hideous pictures of
disease and suffering, and flood the country with circulars and pamphlets
setting forth the horrors of certain diseases, and giving an elaborate
description of the symptoms by which they may be recognized. A clever
physician has said that no man ever undertakes to look for defects in his
physical system without finding them. The truth of the remark is proven
by the fact that a very large number of persons, reading these
descriptions of symptoms, many of which symptoms are common to a number
of ills, come to the conclusion that they are affected in the manner
stated by the quack. Great is the power of the imagination! so great,
indeed, that many sound, healthy men are thus led to fancy themselves in
need of medical attention. A short interview with some reputable
physician would soon undeceive them, but they lay aside their good sense,
and fall victims to their credulity. They think that as the quack has
shown them where their trouble lies, he must needs have the power of
curing them. They send their money to the author of the circular in
question, and request a quantity of his medicine for the purpose of
trying it. The nostrum is received in due time, and is accompanied by a
second circular, in which the patient is coolly informed that he must not
expect to be cured by one bottle, box, or package, as the case may be,
but that five or six, or sometimes a dozen will be necessary to complete
the cure, especially if the case is as desperate and stubborn as the
letter applying for the medicine seems to indicate. Many are foolish
enough to take the whole half dozen bottles or packages, and in the end
are no better in health than they were at first. Indeed they are
fortunate if they are not seriously injured by the doses they have taken.
They are disheartened in nine cases out of ten, and are, at length,
really in need of good medical advice. They have paid the quack more
money than a good practitioner would demand for his services, and have
only been injured by their folly.

It may be safely said that no honest and competent physician will
undertake to treat cases by letter. _No one worthy of patronage will
guarantee a cure in any case_, for an educated practitioner understands
that cases are many and frequent where the best human skill may be
exerted in vain. Further than this, a physician of merit will not
advertise himself in the newspapers, except to announce the location of
his office or residence. Such physicians are jealous of their personal
and professional reputations, and are proud of their calling, which is
justly esteemed one of the noblest on earth. They are men of humanity,
and learning, and they take more pleasure in relieving suffering than in
making money. To those who have no money they give their services in the
name of the Great Healer of all ills. They have no private remedies.
Their knowledge is freely given to the scientific world that all men may
be benefited by it, contenting themselves with the enjoyments of the fame
of their discoveries.

The quack, however, is a different being. In some cases he has medical
knowledge, in the majority of instances he is an ignoramus. His sole
object is to make money, and he sells remedies which he knows to be
worthless, and even vends drugs which he is sure will do positive harm in
the majority of cases.

The best plan is never to answer a medical advertisement. There are
regular physicians enough in the land, and if one is influenced by
motives of economy, he is pursuing a mistaken course in dealing with the
advertising quack doctors of New York. If there is real trouble, so much
the greater is the need of the advice of an educated and conscientious
physician. If concealment is desired, the patient is safe in the
confidential relations which every honest physician observes towards
those under his care. A man is simply a fool to swallow drugs or
compounds of whose nature he is ignorant, or to subject himself to
treatment at the hands of one who has no personal knowledge of his case.

The same credulity which makes the fortunes of quack doctors, enriches
the vendors of "Patent Medicines." The majority of the "specifics,"
"panaceas," etc., advertised in the newspapers are humbugs. They are
generally made of drugs which can do no good, even if they do no harm.
Some are made of dangerous chemical substances, and nearly all contain
articles which the majority of people are apt to abuse. The remedies
advertised as cures for "private diseases" generally do nothing but keep
the complaint at a fixed stage, and give it an opportunity to become
chronic. The "Elixirs of Life," "Life Rejuvenators," "Vital Fluids," and
other compounds sold to "revive worn out constitutions" are either
dangerous poisons or worthless draughts. A prominent dealer in drugs
once said to the writer that the progress of a certain "Bitters" could be
traced across the continent, from Chicago to California "by the graves it
had made." Bitters, "medicinal wines" and such liquors have no virtues
worth speaking of. They either ruin the tone of the stomach, or produce
habits of intemperance.