The churches of New York are models of architectural beauty. Trinity, Grace, the Temple EMANUEL, and the new Cathedral on Fifth Avenue, are the handsomest religious edifices in America. Catholics and Episcopalians no longer have all the magnificent churches, for the other denominations are following hard in their footsteps.
Nearly all the churches of the city are above Fourth street, and in some localities they crowd each other too greatly. A few are very wealthy and are well supported, but the majority are poor and struggling. Pew-rent is very high in New York, and only those who are well off can afford to have seats in a thriving church. Besides this, people seem to care little for churches in New York. There are thousands of respectable people in the great city who never see the inside of a church, unless some special attraction draws them there. The entire support of the churches, therefore, falls on a few.
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 never dream of entering its doors. They feel they would be unwelcomed, that nine tenths of the congregation would consider them unfit 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 glimmer with a well-bred smile of contemptuous amazement, if laid in the midst of the crisp bank bills of the collection; and Lazarus would lay a long time at the doors of these churches, unless the police should remove him.
Riches and magnificence are seen on every side. The music is divine, the service is performed to perfection, and the minister satisfies his flock that they are all in the "narrow way," which his Master once declared to be so difficult to the feet of the rich man. But that was eighteen hundred years ago, and things have changed since then.
St. Alban's Episcopal Chapel, in Forty-seventh street, near Lexington Avenue, has of late attracted much attention as being the most advanced in the ritualistic character of its services. A writer in Putnam's Magazine, thus describes the manner in which the service is "celebrated" in this Chapel.
One bright Sunday morning, not long ago, I visited the 'Church of St. Alban.' It is situated in Forty-seventh street, near Lexington Avenue, quite beyond the business portion of the city, and is rather a plain- looking brick building, with a peaked roof, low, stained glass windows, and a bell on the gable in front, surmounted by a cross. I arrived some little time before the commencement of the services, and had an opportunity to look about a little, and note the interior arrangements. I found the church to be capable of holding about two hundred and fifty worshippers, with plain wooden benches for seats on each side of a central aisle, and every bench having an announcement posted upon it, as follows.
The seats of this church are all FREE, on the following conditions, a compliance with which is an obligation binding on each person occupying a sitting:
'I. To behave as in the presence of ALMIGHTY GOD.
'II. Not to leave the church during service; remaining until the clergy and choristers have retired.
'III. That each worshipper shall contribute, according to his ability, to the collections, which are the only means of supporting the church. The poor can give little, and are always welcome; but those who are able to give should not be willing to occupy seats (which might be availed of by others), without contributing their just share to the expenses.'
The pulpit, which is elevated only three or four steps, stands on the left-hand of the congregation, close to and in front of the vestry-room door or passage. The stalls adjoin the organ in a recess on the vestry- room side, with others facing them on the opposite side for antiphonal chanting or singing. The lectern, or stand on which the Bible is placed, for reading the lessons, is on the right side opposite the pulpit. There is no reading-desk for other parts of the service, as in most of the Episcopal churches.
The arrangements of the chancel occupy considerable space for a building no larger than this, and everything is very elaborate and ornamental. It is elevated by several steps, and inside the rails is still further raised, so as to bring the communion-table, or altar, prominently into view. This altar is very large, built against the rear wall of the church, with a super-altar, having a tall gilded cross in its centre. The decorations on the wall, and about the chancel-window, are of the most approved pattern, drawn from the highest authorities in ritualism and church decoration. These words, in beautiful old English letter, crown, as it were, the altar in St. Alban's: 'He that eateth ME, even he shall live by ME.' (John vi. 57.)
On either side of the large gilded cross, on the super-altar, is a lofty candlestick, with a candle in it, about seven feet high, or perhaps more. Four other candlesticks, not quite so tall, and four others, less lofty than these, again, are on each side of the altar by the wall; and, standing in the chancel, some little distance from the wall, on the right and left hand, are candelabras, with branches, holding some twenty candles each. None of these were lighted when I entered. Soon after, the bell having stopped ringing, the organ began a voluntary, on a low note, introductory to the opening of the service.
Presently, the introcessional hymn was begun, and then, emerging from the vestry-room door or passage, the first thing visible was a large wooden cross, which had to be lowered to get it through the passage, and which, when elevated, reached some six feet above the head of the small boy who carried it, and was, of course, in full view of the congregation. This boy, and others following, had on white robes, or surplices. Two of the boys carried banners, with devices, and all, with a number of adult choristers, advanced slowly towards the chancel, singing the introcessional. Last of all came the three officiating priests, or ministers, with purple-velvet, crown-shaped caps on their heads, and white garments, made like sacks, and ornamented with various colors and symbols. Profound obeisances were made towards the altar; the hymn was ended; the choristers took their places; and one of the priests, on arriving in front of the chancel-rail, began the intoning of the Litany. Morning Prayer had been said at an earlier hour.
The Litany was said as in the Episcopal Prayer Book, directly after which, notice was given that there would be a meeting of 'The Sodality of'—exactly what and whom I did not catch at the time. The priests then retired for a space, during which the two candles on the altar, and the branch candles on each side in the chancel, were lighted by a boy having a long stick, or pole, with a light on the end for the purpose. This boy passed half a dozen or more times in front of the altar, and every time made, or attempted to make, an obeisance—but it was not with any great success. The frequent repetition seemed to reduce it to little more than the 'fashionable nod.'
The introit was one of the psalms of the Psalter. While it was being chanted, the priests returned, and with lowly bowings, even to the knee, passed within the chancel and advanced to the front of the altar. The Ante-Communion was then said, the Epistle and Gospel being read by different persons. After which, notice was given of the communion, and 'a high celebration' to occur during the week. The people stood up, and remained standing, while one of the priests left the chancel, proceeded to the pulpit, and, after crossing himself, said, 'In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.'
The congregation being seated again, a discourse followed, about twenty minutes long, earnest in tone and manner, and with much good exhortation in it. Some of the preacher's figures were rather startling, especially when speaking of the Lord's Supper. He told his hearers of 'the bleeding hands of the Almighty,' offering them Christ's flesh to eat, and Christ's blood to drink. The homily ended with the priest's turning to the altar, and saying, 'Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.' He then went back to the chancel, where the others had been sitting, caps on, to listen to the discourse.
The plates were next passed around, and the alms, being collected, were placed on the altar. Then, from a side-table on the right, the two boys on duty in the chancel handed to the priest, the vessels containing the bread and wine, which were placed on the altar. The remaining candles were then lighted. After this, the communion service proceeded; and when the officiating priest faced the congregation, to say the exhortation, etc., one of the others, a step below him, held the book open for him to read from—thus serving, as it were, for a reading- stand. Wherever possible, the priests studiously preserved a position with their backs to the congregation. In the part of the communion service where the bread and wine are consecrated, the officiating priest said the words in silence. In like manner, when he partook of the sacrament himself, it was done in entire silence, with crossings, and the lowliest of kneeling, and postures of adoration. Without professing to be at all learned in the meaning of the rubrics in the Prayer Book, I venture to think the language in regard to this part of the service to be plain enough, and to require that the officiating minister shall say it all openly, and in the presence of the people, so that they can see or witness what is done by him, on every such solemn occasion. But, at St. Alban's, the priests had their faces to the altar, and backs to the congregation, and thus it was hardly possible to see anything, and be sure of what was done or left undone.
A large portion of the congregation now went forward to the chancel- rails, along, or on top of which, were napkins, or cloths, placed so as to prevent a single crumb, or a single drop, falling to the floor. While the people were engaged in kneeling at the rails, the priests remained standing, and holding aloft the paten and chalice, with their contents, for reverent and profound admiration. The administration of the sacrament was as is usual in the Episcopal Church, save that the first part of the words ('The body of our Lord Jesus Christ,' 'The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ'), was said when the bread or wine was given to each communicant, and the latter ('Take and eat this,' 'drink this,') was said to three or four together. The cup, too, was retained in the hands of the priest, and not 'delivered' into the hands of the communicant.
When all had gone forward who wished to partake of the Lord's Supper, the vessels were replaced on the altar and carefully covered, the concluding prayers were intoned, theGloria in Excelsiswas chanted, and the parting blessing was given. After a few moments, the whole congregation stood up, and remained standing, while the priests, having received water from the boys, with napkins, carefully cleansed and wiped the vessels, giving them to the boys to place on the side-table. The little fellow took up the big cross again, the others gathered in line, with the older choristers, and slowly moving, with music, to the passage at the side, the priests finally disappeared in the vestry.
The service, on this occasion, occupied exactly two hours; after which, the people were allowed to go their way, and profit by what they had seen and heard.
Talent, backed by experience and industry, will succeed in the long run in New York, but talent is not essential to success here. We have often wondered whatdoesmake the success of some men in this city. They have done well, and they have no merit as pulpit orators. In other cities a good pastor need not of necessity be a good preacher. He may endear himself to his congregation in a thousand ways, and they may make 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. The city is so immense, the flock so widely scattered, that few clergymen can visit all their people. The result is, that pastoral visiting is but little practiced here. The clergyman is generally "at home," to all who choose to call, on a certain evening in each week. A few civil 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 people are at fault. Indeed this is not only possible, but probable, for New York shows little regard for the Sabbath and the Gospel.
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 the prestige of the church often do more than the minister, for some of our poor churches have men of genius in their pulpits, while some of the wealthiest and most fashionable are called on every Sunday to listen to the merest platitudes.
Let us not be misunderstood. There are able men in the New York pulpits. We have Vinton, Chapin, Frothingham, Adams, Osgood, and many others, but we have some weak-headed brethren also.
A few clergymen get rich in this city, the wealthy members of their flocks 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 heavy, and it requires a large income to live respectably. A minister settled over 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 a moderate sized family. Very little of this will go in extravagances, if any. Many have to live on much smaller salaries, but they do it "by the skin of their teeth."
Having seen much of clergymen, we believe that, whether wise men or simpletons, they are, as a class, honest, sincere self-denying, and God-fearing. There are, however, black sheep amongst them. These are blackest in New York. There are not many of these, however.
The speculative mania (in financial, not theological, matters) to which we have referred in the chapter on Wall street, 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 and gold markets, through their brokers. One of these gentlemen was once sharply rebuked by the broker, for his unclerical conduct, and advised, if he wished to carry on his speculations, to go into the market openly himself, as the broker declined being any longer the representative of a man who was ashamed of his business.
There are still others who are not ashamed to mingle openly with the throng of curbstone brokers, and carry on their operations behind the sanctity of their white cravats.
The old graveyards of New York were located in what is now the heart of the city; and, with the exception of the churchyards, have all passed away. There are now, with the exception of the cemetery of Trinity Church, which is located near Washington Heights, no graveyards in use on the island. Interments are made either on the main land, or on Long Island. The principal, and best known cemetery, is Greenwood.
These beautiful grounds are situated in the extreme south-eastern part of Brooklyn, on Gowanus Heights. The entrance gate is about two and a half miles from the South Ferry, and three from the Fulton Ferry, with lines of horse-cars from both ferries. The cemetery is beautifully laid out, and from its heights a view of the bay and the surrounding country is obtained. The situation is naturally attractive, and large sums of money have been expended in ornamenting the grounds, until they are now second to none of the famous cemeteries of the Old World. The monuments are numerous and many of them are of the most costly and elegant nature. The contrast between these pure white shafts, and the dark green of the sward and foliage, is both striking and beautiful, while, in the far distance, the gazer, turning from this scene of silence and death, lovely as it is, may behold the bright waters of the Bay or Sound, covered with the life and activity of the commerce of this great country, and the Metropolis itself lies almost at his feet.
Admission to the cemetery can be obtained during any week-day, by means of tickets, which may be procured from any undertaker. On Sunday the grounds are opened only to the proprietors, their families, or those who come with them.
Four or five miles east of Brooklyn is the cemetery of the Evergreens. It is very beautiful, but does not compare with Greenwood, in either its natural or artificial attractions.
These grounds lie near the Evergreens, and are very handsome. Great care has been bestowed upon them, and they are amongst the most attractive in the neighborhood of the city.
This cemetery is only a few years old. It is in Westchester county, immediately on the Harlem railway. It is about seven miles from the city, and several trains stop at the main entrance during the day. The company also run funeral trains when desired. The main avenue, or boulevard, from the Central Park to White Plains, will run through these grounds; and in a few years, when the upper part of the island is more thickly settled, Woodlawn will be one of the principal cemeteries of the city. In ten years more it will rival Greenwood.
There are three thousand lawyers practicing at the New York bar. A few of these have large incomes, two or three making as much as fifty thousand dollars per annum; but the average income of the majority is limited. An income of ten or fifteen thousand dollars is considered large in the profession, and the number of those earning such a sum is small.
In most cities the members of the legal profession form a clique, and are very clannish. Each one knows everybody else, and if one member of the bar is assailed, the rest are prompt to defend him. In New York, however, there is no such thing as a legal "fraternity." Each man is wrapped in his own affairs, and knows little and cares less about other members of the profession. We have been surprised to find how little these men know about each other. Some have never even heard of others who are really prosperous and talented.
The courts of the city are very numerous; and each man, in entering upon his practice, makes a specialty of some one or more of them, and confines himself to them. His chances of success are better for doing this, than they would be by adopting a general practice. Indeed, it would be simply impossible for one man to practice in all.
Many of the best lawyers rarely go into the courts. They prefer chamber practice, and will not try a case in court if they can help it. The process in the courts is slow and vexatious, and consumes too much of their time. Their chamber practice is profitable to them, and beneficial to the community, as it prevents much tedious litigation.
Many lawyers with fair prospects and comfortable incomes, who are succeeding in their profession in other places, come to New York, expecting to rise to fame and fortune more rapidly here. They are mistaken. The most accomplished city barrister finds success a slow and uncertain thing. It takes some unusually fortunate circumstance to introduce a new lawyer favorably to a New York public.
The profession in this city can boast of some eminent names in its list of members, amongst which are those of Charles O'Conor, William M. Evarts, the present Attorney-General of the United States, James F. Brady, David Dudley Field, and William J. A. Fuller. These, or any of them, are men of the first ability in their profession, and are amongst the most honored citizens of the metropolis.
Previous to the year 1865, New York suffered from all the evils of a volunteer fire department. It had three thousand eight hundred and ten firemen, with a proper force of engines. The various companies were jealous of each other, and there was scarcely a fire at which this jealousy did not lead to blows. Frequently the fire would be left to burn while the rival companies adjusted their difficulties. The firemen seemed to take a delight in the most disgraceful and lawless acts, and were more of an annoyance than a benefit to the city.
The bill for the organization of a Metropolitan Department became a law, by the action of the Legislature, in March, 1865. As the inauguration of the new system would be the downfall of the old, the friends of the latter resolved to resist it. A case was brought before the Court of Appeals, involving the constitutionality of the bill, and the law was sustained. Measures were set on foot to get the new system to work as soon as possible, but, in the meantime, the leaders of the opposition to it endeavored to be revenged, by disbanding the old force, and leaving the city without any means of extinguishing fires. The danger was averted, however, by promptly detailing a force from the police to act as firemen in case of necessity. By November, 1865, the new system was thoroughly organized, and fairly at work.
The department is under the charge of five commissioners, appointed by the Governor. They make rules and regulations by which the force is governed, exercise a general supervision over its affairs, and are responsible to the Legislature for their acts. There is a chief engineer, an assistant engineer, and ten district engineers. There are thirty-four steam engines, four hand engines, and twelve hook-and- ladder companies in the department, the hand engines being located in the extreme upper part of the island. Each steam engine has a force of twelve men attached to it, viz., a foreman, assistant foreman, an engineer of steamer, a driver, a stoker, and seven firemen. All the engines and carriages are drawn by horses. There are five hundred and four men, and one hundred and forty-six horses in the department. Each man is paid by the city for his services. The chief engineer receives four thousand five hundred dollars per annum, foremen of companies thirteen hundred dollars, the engineers of steamers twelve hundred dollars, assistant engineers eleven hundred dollars, and firemen one thousand dollars. The steamers were built by the Amoskeag Manufacturing Company at Manchester, New Hampshire, and are amongst the very best of the kind in use. They cost four thousand dollars apiece.
The engine houses are all connected with the Central Station by telegraph. They are models of neatness and convenience. The lower floor is taken up with the apparatus and the horses. The basement is used for storing the fuel for the steamers, and also contains a furnace, by means of which the water in the engine boilers is always kept hot. The upper floor is the dormitory. The twelve men composing the company sleep here. A watch is always kept below, so that the men above, who are allowed to go to bed after ten o'clock, may be awakened without delay. Everything is neat and ready for use. It requires but fifteen seconds in the day, and one minute at night to be ready for action, and on the way to the fire.
[Illustration: Fireman on duty.]
The men are not allowed to have any other employment to occupy their time. The department claims their whole duty. A certain number are required to be always at the engine house. In case of an alarm being sounded during the absence of a fireman from the engine house, he runs directly to the fire, where he is sure to find his company. Everything is in readiness to leave the house at a moment's notice. The horses stand ready harnessed, and are so well trained that but a few seconds suffices to attach them to the steamer. The fire needs only to be lighted in the furnace, and in a few minutes the steam gauge shows a sufficiency of power for the work to be done. Great care is taken of the horses. They are groomed every day, and carefully fed at six o'clock in the morning and at six in the evening. If not used on duty, they are exercised every day by being led to and fro through the streets in the vicinity of the engine house. They are fiery, splendid animals, and are so well trained that they will stand with perfect steadiness immediately in front of a burning building.
When an alarm of fire is given, it is at once telegraphed from the nearest station to the central office, and repeated. The central office immediately strikes a gong, by telegraph, in the house of every engine which is to attend the fire. The locality, and often the precise spot of the fire can be ascertained by these signals. For instance, the bell strikes 157, thus:one—a pause—five—another pause,—and thenseven. The indicator will show that this signal or alarm is given from the corner of the Bowery and Grand street. The fire is either at this point, or within its immediate neighborhood.
There is a gong in each engine house on which the alarm is struck from the central station. As soon as the sharp strokes give the signal of danger and point out the locality, every man springs to his post. The horses are hitched in a few seconds, the fire is lighted in the furnace, and the steamer and hose carriage start for the scene of the conflagration. The foreman runs, on foot, ahead of his steamer to clear the way, and the driver may keep up with him, but is not allowed to pass him. Only the engineer, his assistant, and the stoker, are allowed to ride on the engine. The rest of the company go on foot. Fast driving is severely punished, and racing is absolutely prohibited. The men are required to be quiet and orderly in their deportment.
Upon reaching the fire communication is made between the engine and the plug or hydrant, and the work begins. The chief engineer is required to attend all fires, and all orders proceed from him. The most rigid discipline is preserved, and the work goes on with a rapidity and precision which are in striking contrast to the inefficiency of the old system.
A force of policemen is at once sent to every fire. These stretch ropes across the street at proper distances, and no one but the members of the Fire Department, who may be known by their uniforms and badges are allowed to pass these barriers. In this way the firemen have plenty of room to work, lookers on are kept at a safe distance, and the movable property in the burning building is saved from thieves.
The life of a fireman is very arduous and dangerous, and applicants for admission into the department are required to be persons of good health and good character. The men are often called upon not only to face great personal danger, but they are also subjected to a severe physical strain from loss of rest and fatigue. For a week at a time they will be called out and worked hard every night, but all the while are required to be as prompt and active as though they had never lost a night's rest. They are constantly performing acts of personal heroism, which pass unnoticed, in the bustle and whirl of busy life around them, but which are treasured up in the heart of some grateful mother, father, wife, or husband, whose loved one has been rescued from death by the fireman's gallantry.
Nor is the gallantry all on the side of the fireman. During the past year there have been numerous instances where an intrepid policeman has nobly risked his life to save some threatened fellow creature from death by fire or by drowning.
In passing the corner of Broadway and Houston street, you will see, to the east of the great thoroughfare, an immense red and blue lantern attached to a low, dingy frame building. This is the sign of Harry Hill's dance-house. It is one of the sights, and one of the saddest sights, too, of New York. As you approach the place from Broadway, you notice a narrow door at the side of the main entrance, opening upon a flight of stairs which lead to the dancing hall. This is the private entrance for women. They are admitted free of charge as their presence is the chief attraction to the men who visit the place. Passing through the main door you enter a room used as a bar room and eating saloon. It differs in nothing from the average low class bar rooms of the city. A narrow passage-way between the counters, leads to the entrance of the dancing hall, which apartment is situated on the floor above the bar room and in the rear of it. Visitors to this hall are charged an admittance fee of twenty-five cents, and are expected to order liquor or refreshments as soon as they enter.
Harry Hill is generally to be seen moving amongst his guests while the entertainment is going on. He is a short, thickset man, with a resolute, self-possessed air, and is about fifty years old. He is very decided in his manner, and is fully equal to the task of enforcing his orders. The "fancy" stand in awe of him, as they know he will follow up any command with a blow or a summary ejection from his premises. He has been in the business for twelve years, and his profits are estimated at over fifty thousand dollars a year now, clear of all expenses. He is said to be a kind, humane man, and is reputed to give largely to charitable purposes. He manages every department himself, although he has a manager to conduct affairs for him. His eye is on everybody and everything.
It is Harry Hill's boast that he keeps a "respectable house." Unlike the other dance-houses of the city, there are no girls attached to this establishment. All the company, both male and female, consists of outsiders, who merely come here to spend an evening. The rules of the house are printed in rhyme, and are hung conspicuously in various parts of the hall. They are rigid, and prohibit any profane, indecent, or boisterous conduct. The most disreputable characters are to be seen in the audience, but no thieving or violence ever occurs within the hall. Whatever happens after persons leave the hall, the proprietor allows no violation of the law within his doors.
The hall, itself, consists simply of a series of rooms, which have been "knocked into one" by the removal of the partition walls. As all of these rooms were not of the same height, the ceiling of the hall presents a curious patchwork appearance. A long counter occupies one end of the hall, at which liquors and refreshments are served. There is a stage at another side, on which low farces are performed, and a tall Punch and Judy box occupies a conspicuous position. Benches and chairs are scattered about, and a raised platform is provided for the "orchestra," which consists of a piano, violin, and a bass viol. The centre of the room is a clear space, and is used for dancing. If you do not dance you must leave, unless you atone for your deficiency by a liberal expenditure of money. The amusements are coarse and low. The songs are broad, and are full of blasphemous outbursts, which are received with shouts of delight.
You will see all sorts of people at Harry Hill's. The women are, of course, women of the town; but they are either just entering upon their career, or still in its most prosperous phase. They are all handsomely dressed, and some of them are very pretty. Some of them have come from the better classes of society, and have an elegance and refinement of manner and conversation, which win them many admirers in the crowd. They drink deep and constantly during the evening. Indeed, one is surprised to see how much liquor they imbibe. The majority come here early in the evening alone, but few go away without company for the night. You do not see the same face here very long. The women cannot escape the inevitable doom of the lost sisterhood. They go down the ladder; and Harry Hill keeps his place clear of them after the first flush of their beauty and success is past. You will then find them in the Five Points and Water street hells.
As for the men, they represent all kinds of people and professions. You may see here men high in public life, side by side with the Five Points ruffian. Judges, lawyers, policemen off duty and in plain clothes, officers of the army and navy, merchants, bankers, editors, soldiers, sailors, clerks, and even boys, mingle here in friendly confusion. As the profits of the establishment are derived from the bar, drinking is of course encouraged, and the majority of the men are more or less drunk all the time. They spend their money freely in such a condition. Harry Hill watches the course of affairs closely during the evening. If he knows a guest and likes him, he will take care that he is not exposed to danger, after he is too far gone in liquor to protect himself. He will either send him home, or send for his friends. If the man is a stranger, he does not interfere—only, no crime must be committed in his house. Thieves, pickpockets, burglars, roughs, and pugilists are plentifully scattered through the audience. These men are constantly on the watch for victims. It is easy for them to drug the liquor of a man they are endeavoring to secure, without the knowledge of the proprietor of the house; or, if they do not tamper with his liquor, they can persuade him to drink to excess. In either case, they lead him from the hall, under pretence of taking him home. He never sees home until they have stripped him of all his valuables. Sometimes he finds his long home, in less than an hour after leaving the hall; and the harbor police find his body floating on the tide at sunrise. Women frequently decoy men to places where they are robbed. No crime is committed in the dance hall, but plans are laid there, victims are marked, and tracked to loss or death, and, frequently, an idle, thoughtless visit there, has been the beginning of a life of ruin. The company to be met with, is that which ought to be shunned. Visits from curiosity are dangerous. Stay away. To be found on the Devil's ground is voluntarily to surrender yourself a willing captive to him. Stay away. It is a place in which no virtuous woman is ever seen, and in which an honest man ought to be ashamed to show his face.
We have already quoted at some length from an interesting work entitled "Asmodeus in New York," recently published in Paris, and we now ask the reader's attention to the following sketch of an entertainment given at the mansion of a female, whose infamous exploits as an abortionist have earned her the title of "the wickedest woman in New York."
We entered. The lady of the house, richly attired in a silver-brocaded dress and wearing a crown of diamonds, very kindly welcomed us, thanking Asmodeus for bringing in a distinguished stranger. The introduction over, we mingled with the crowd, and went through the rooms opened to the guests, while the lady led to an adjacent room a few female friends, to show them her necklaces, rings, bracelets, and other jewels.
'American ladies,' said Asmodeus, 'avail themselves of every opportunity to exhibit their treasures, down to their silver, china, and linen. They are fond of jewels, the most showy being especially in favor. But I would not warrant that all those gems that flash in the gaslight are genuine stones. There is such a demand now for California diamonds that, very likely, many sets now adorning the wives of lucky speculators are mingled with worthless imitations. Time is necessary to learn how to distinguish precious stones from spurious ones, and few persons can devote as much leisure as did yonder Jew banker in collecting pearls, the smallest of which in his possession is worth twenty thousand dollars. He recently gave to his wife a necklace made up of twenty of such pearls, and their number increases every year.'
In the meanwhile, dancing had commenced in several spacious rooms; in others, card-playing was being indulged in. Servants, wearing black garments and white neckties, were busy carrying refreshments around. Many persons, preferring the pleasure of eating to those of playing or dancing, were seated in another room at a table loaded with meats and delicacies. Next to this, another room, elegantly furnished, was crowded with young and old men, indulging in smoking. Boxes of cigars were piled up on elegantétagères; and I noticed that many a smoker, besides the cigar he was smoking, filled his pockets with that luxury. While going through the several rooms opened to the public, Asmodeus called my attention to their costly furniture. Some of these rooms were lined with finebrocatelle, imported from France, Italy, China, and Japan, the latter conspicuous for their fantastical drawing and patterns; others with Persian and Indian cloths; and the several pieces of furniture were of unexceptionable taste. Some were inlaid with gold, bronze, or china; some were made up of rosewood, artistically carved. Gems of art and curiosities of every description were displayed uponétagères; and through the house, made bright as day by hundreds of gaslights, one walked on soft, smooth carpets of the best manufactures of Europe. They alone were worth a fortune.
Amazed at such luxury, exceeding that of many a patrician family in Europe, I thought our Amphitryon was either one of those wealthy merchants whose ships carry the American flag over the broad ocean, or those manufacturers who build up enormous fortunes at the expense of the public.
'You are mistaken,' said Asmodeus. 'We will call, by and by, on one of those merchant-princes you allude to. For the present we are in the house of one of Juno's priestesses. You are aware, Juno was called Lucina when she superintended the birth of children. But the lady who has welcomed us so kindly is far from assisting in the birth of children; her calling, on the contrary, is to prevent it; she practices infanticide every day, and it is by carrying on this business she has obtained the wealth she is making so great a display of. Every one of those window-shades, so nicely arranged to ward off the rays of the sun, cost one thousand dollars. They were painted by our best artists, none of them having declined to display his talents for the benefit of Madame Killer—such is the name of the owner of this splendid residence. As there are thirty windows, you may easily figure up the cost of those gorgeous shades. That of all the furniture is in the same proportion: every piece of it, I dare say, has been purchased with the money received for the murder of a child.'
Bewildered at these revelations, I thought Asmodeus was deceiving me.He quietly continued:
'That stout gentleman, going from one to another, and making himself affable with everybody, who looks like a good-natured person, and whose unctuous manners remind one of a clergyman, is the husband of Madame Killer. He is an accomplished scholar, and has obtained his diploma from one of our best medical colleges. He might have obtained a competency by honest practice. But when Madame Killer, already enriched through her nefarious business, hinted that she was disposed to marry him, Bungling eagerly took the hint, and espoused this abortionist.
'Of course, after the marriage, Madame Killer retained her own name, as it was already a notorious one. Love, you may be sure, had nothing to do with this matrimonial transaction. Madame Killer married Bungling because his science might be of some service in many delicate circumstances—in about the same way a merchant takes in a partner when he has too much to do. The couple have been uniformly prosperous since they married, about ten years ago. True, they had two or three unpleasant misunderstandings with the police, on account of a few poor creatures dying of ill-treatment at their hands; but they came out of all of them triumphantly.'
'Must I infer from this that the laws of America do not punish infanticide?' said I, 'that fearful crime of getting rid of children before or after their natural birth. Even the unfortunate who stakes her life to conceal the consequences of a fault, is amenable to law; she is punished for child-murder, as well as her accomplice, in every civilized country.'
'By and by,' answered Asmodeus, 'I will explain that subject to you. I will content myself, for the present, by saying that the laws of America are no less severe than those of Europe, as regards the crimes of infanticide and abortion. But in such cases, as well as in many others, the law often remains a dead letter.'
I longed to depart from the house. I fancied, after Asmodeus's frightful revelations, the very air we breathed was impregnated with deadly miasma. Dancing had been interrupted for awhile; and in a hall, connected with a conservatory, filled with rare and odoriferous plants, a concert was beginning. Every note from a sonorous piano sounded in my ear like the wailing of one of those poor little beings the Amphitryons had brought to an untimely death. And then, of what character were those women, crowding the rooms, in spite of the crumpling of their splendid dresses? Who were those men, who had either accompanied or were courting them?
'You are quite mistaken,' said Asmodeus, 'if you believe we are in the midst of a mixed crowd, such as that denominated thedemi-mondein the French capital, and not tolerated, as yet, at private receptions here, or at places of public resort. To be sure, what is called the social evil unfortunately exists in New York, as in the large cities of Europe; but it keeps aloof from decent society. It is true, that such is the discretion of corrupt females, it is often impossible to distinguish an honest woman from one who has lost her chastity. Of course I do not speak of those creatures so deeply fallen into habits of corruption, that they shrink no longer from exhibiting their degradation. Perhaps we shall have an opportunity of visiting the backgrounds of our civilization, where those wretched creatures live. For the present, I must set you right concerning the standing in society of the guests of this house.
'Most of those men, who so often appreciate the good things served around by the waiters, are wealthy merchants, lawyers, and physicians. I even recognize among them a few magistrates and legislators. They have accompanied their wives; and some, even, have brought their daughters to this dreadful house, where some unfortunate woman is, perhaps, dying in the upper story, and paying with her life the violation of nature's laws. Some guests have come through curiosity, attracted by the splendors of a residence opened for the first time to the gaze of strangers. Others have availed themselves of the opportunity of gayly spending here a few idle hours, and do not trouble themselves with the Amphitryons' respectability. Lastly, many guests did not deem it safe to decline Madame Killer's invitation; for that Thug of society holds in her hands the honor of hundreds of families, and it would be dangerous to arouse her resentment. A single word from her lips, some well-concocted story, would bring on awful scandals. She could, for instance, apprise yonder husband, so attentive to his wife, that the latter, during the two years he has served his country abroad, has applied to Madame Killer's art to remove the consequences of an adulterous intrigue. That young man, who has just inherited a large estate, and seems so much enamoured of that light-haired young lady, might learn, tomorrow morning, through an anonymous letter, that the fair beauty, instead of spending, as he believes she did, the summer months in the country, had secreted herself in Madame Killer's hospitable house.
'Undoubtedly, the dread of some awful revelation has brought here many persons, as out of five hundred invited guests only a few do not attend Madame Killer'ssoiree. But I am far from believing that they would not have come, under any circumstances, even had they been free from fear of personal consequences. Madame Killer is wealthy, and nobody cares about the way she has obtained her wealth. Whoever is worth one million dollars, no matter how acquired, honestly or dishonestly, is welcome everywhere, and hissoireesand receptions are attended by the best society. I see, for instance, talking with Madame Killer, a merchandise broker, whose name was given to a ship launched this very morning, and who would be shut out of decent society in any other country. Three years ago, he failed to the amount of two or three millions of dollars. According to his balance-sheet, he could pay fifty cents on the dollar. But, when his book-keeper joyfully informed his employer of such an unexpected result, "Change it, by all means," exclaimed the broker, "my creditors do not expect even fifteen cents on the dollar, and were I to give them fifty, what benefit would I derive from my failure?" And he paid ten cents only on the dollar.
'Near that honest broker—who has become wealthy in consequence of that transaction, and at the same time a man of importance, being now a director of a trust company, and other concerns—see that young man, wearing side-whiskers, after the English fashion. His light hair and blue eyes denote his German origin. He is an exchange broker, and made two hundred thousand dollars last year in this quick way: Pretending to have realized large profits in stock gambling, he succeeded in inspiring such confidence in the president of one of our most respectable banks, where he kept his account, that his checks were indiscriminately certified by that officer. One check for two hundred thousand dollars was in that way certified, and the money had just been paid out to a compeer, when the directors of the bank discovered that the adventurer had but a small deposit in their hands. He failed the next day, and the president, who had rashly caused a heavy loss to the bank, blew out his own brains.
'The guest who is making his bow to the lady of the house, was formerly secretary of one of our railroad companies. The stock had gone up one hundred per cent. above par, on the strength of the manager's report, exhibiting the prosperous condition of the company's affairs, when an over-issue of stock, to the amount of two millions of dollars, was detected. To satisfy the public clamor, the secretary and another officer of the company were discharged. But all inquiry respecting this stupendous fraud was indefinitely postponed. The discharged employés of the company now live in high style, and give parties, which their former employers, the directors of the railroad concern, do not fail to attend.
Next to him, that dandy, who is talking with a gentleman whose beard, though he is a judge of the Supreme Court, might grace the chin of a musketeer, is a wealthy banker's son. He is fresh from the State's prison; and, strange indeed, the magistrate he is speaking to, is the very one who sentenced him—perhaps, because of the pressure of public opinion, which must, after all, be taken into consideration. Our dandy, when his father retired, became sole manager of a banking house, and attempted to double, in a few weeks, the wealth his father had toiled thirty years to accumulate.
Discarding legitimate speculation, he gambled at the Stock Exchange, which soon swallowed up the money and other deposits confided to his keeping. Then he became almost crazy. To keep up his credit with our banks and procure resources—and led astray by the hope of realizing profits large enough to make up his losses—he became a forger. He imitated the signatures of his correspondents, his own friends, in fact, of everybody in town; and, one morning, the people were startled in reading in the newspapers that forged notes, amounting to several millions of dollars, were flooding the street. The young man was sentenced to prison for a term of five years—one for each forged million! as remarked the wag who is now talking with him.'
'How is it he is out of prison?'
'That is precisely a point of American law which deserves a passing notice. Most of the State governors are vested with the pardoning power. When the exercise of such a prerogative devolves upon State legislatures, corrupting influences are less to be apprehended. A single individual may be coaxed to pardon by his political friends, or even bribed. But money, and political connections, are of little avail when one has to deal with one hundred legislators. In New York State, the legislature has no control over the pardoning power, which is vested exclusively in the governor. The family and friends of that youth represented his crime, stupendous as it was, as the first he had ever committed. Its enormity was represented as a proof of temporary insanity—the great argument, now-a-days, of our lawyers—and he was set free by the governor, after remaining a few months in prison. He shows himself again among the wealthy classes, and is as kindly received by them as he would have been had he never forged notes to the amount of several millions of dollars—so deeply-rooted in the American people is the feeling of tolerance, and especially when those who are the objects of it are millionaires, or in a fair way to become so.'
* * * * *
At this moment, we noticed some excitement among a few young ladies standing near a songstress who had just been rapturously applauded. A gentleman of commanding appearance, but deadly pale, was speaking to her, in a tone loud enough to be heard by those standing by. 'You are certainly much indebted to Madame Killer,' said the gentleman, 'but I wonder how you can sing in a house where you brought to death an innocent being!' And, bowing low to Madame Killer, he disappeared among the bewildered assembly.
"'Ah!' said Asmodeus, with a sarcastic smile, 'the wronged husband tells his false wife some bitter truths.'"
[Illustration: Scene at the "Wickedest Woman's"]
The wickedest woman lives in a magnificent house, in a fashionable street. A part of her fortune was made as a female physician. She made money rapidly. The police were frequently called on to arrest her for child murder, but she always managed to escape conviction and punishment. After several years of profitable practice, she opened a home for unfortunate women. She advertised her business extensively, and soon became well known. Women who wished to conceal the results of their shame, sought her out, and found a tender and thoughtful friend during their period of trial. Such conduct, on her part, brought her a constant run of custom, and paid well.
Her present business is conducted upon the same system. Her rooms are elegant, and perfectly secluded. Her patients have every comfort, every care, bestowed upon them. The doctress is gentle and considerate in everything, and her patients soon learn to love her as a friend. She charges heavily for all this, and her fees are usually paid, in full, in advance. Sometimes the party engaging the rooms gives no name, sometimes an assumed name is given. The wickedest woman asks no questions.
Honest wives, in the comfort of their own homes, surrounded by love and respect, shrink from that hour of trial and anguish, which is at once a woman's cross and crown. How sad, then, is the trial of the erring creature in this splendid mansion. Terror, anguish, despair, remorse, and shame, struggle at her heart, and deprive her of courage, prudence, and almost of reason. At such times, few can resist the appeal of the wickedest woman, to confide in everything to her. The poor sufferer reveals her whole history, her name, and that of the father of her child. The wickedest woman, while soothing her, listens attentively, and carefully records the whole story, with all the names. If the child is born alive, it is faithfully attended to, and every precaution is taken by the doctress to have it reared in health. The mother knows nothing of its fate, and, with recovered health, goes back to her position in society, carrying with her the assurance of the wickedest woman that her secret is safe.
The wickedest woman never loses sight of either patient. As those who seek her assistance are apt to be persons of means, she has a motive in doing so. It may be one or ten years after her services were rendered, but, at what she considers the proper time, she renews her acquaintance with them. She will startle them by a call, or a note, recalling to them the events they would gladly forget, and soliciting a loan for a short time. The appeal is generally made to the man, and is sustained by such strong proofs that he dares not refuse to comply with the demand. Of course he knows that the wickedest woman will never return his money, but he is forced to send whatever sum she pleases. The child, which has been carefully reared, is a living witness against him, and the wickedest woman threatens to produce it if her demands are refused. Every year the demand is renewed. Men have been driven to bankruptcy, to ruin, and to death, by these heartless extortions. Still, the wickedest woman continues her course. She boasts that society in New York cannot do without her, and the facts seem to justify this boast.
A recent number of a city journal, contained the following account of the system of bringing up and adopting out illegitimate children in New York. We present it in place of any description of our own.
FEMALE MEDICAL ESTABLISHMENTS.[Footnote: The writer of this article is a woman.]
Having read in the English and Scottish journals of the day a great deal of curious and startling matter in reference to the practice of 'baby-farming,' as it is called, and having constantly accumulating proof submitted to our eyes and understandings of the existence of similar practices in our midst, here, in this great Christian city of New York—having also read with mingled shame and wonder, and with suspended judgment (as to the vital question whether, as the world goes and must go, they were criminally injurious or socially beneficial) concerning the numerous private establishments where wounded love and brazen immorality alike find refuge and concealment, and where the true orphans of life, those innocents who know not and who can never know, their fathers or their mothers, find a temporary home, prior to their entrance upon life and their struggle with the world—a married lady friend of mine and myself determined recently to personally inquire into these subjects and to investigate their condition and practical workings, so far as possible, and to make public our investigations for the benefit of the world at large and of all whom it may concern.
Having arrived at this determination, the next morning we glanced over the advertising columns of the papers, and having read and reread the subjoined advertisement—
'Important to females. Dr. and Mrs.——(20 years' practice) guarantee certain relief to married ladies. Patients from a distance provided with board, nursing, etc. Private advice letter free. Office,——. New York'—
We resolved to visit this establishment that very day.
We found it located upon Third Avenue, near——street, over a shop, and situated in the neighborhood of a number of little stores, sandwiched, as it were, between all varieties of trades. A sign on the exterior of the building directed us to pull the bell and walk up stairs. This injunction was probably designed to give the parties notice of the approach of persons desirous to see them, and to put them, and whoever might chance to be with them at the time, on their guard. The correctness of this view was proved by the fact, that, as we entered, we saw a woman peering at us from the floor above, who immediately withdrew on seeing us. We were shown into what had evidently been intended for a hall bed-room but now served the purpose of a reception room or office. Here we were, in a few moments, waited upon, by the very lady or woman who had just peered down upon us, but who, of course, assumed to be totally unconscious of this fact. She was neatly dressed, and of quiet manner; and bowing, awaited our introduction of the object of our visit. We made a poor enough show, doubtless, in our pretended statement of our design in calling, but between us we gave her to understand, as we had previously arranged, that we acted in behalf of a lady friend of ours who had been 'unfortunate,' and who desired nursing, medical attention, and above all, secrecy. Mrs.—— listened to our statement in a matter of fact way, as though our story was 'as familiar as household words,' and then, it must be confessed, kindly enough, with more delicacy and feeling (or show of it) than we would have,à priori, given her credit for, explained to us themodus operandito be pursued. No patients were received at the office in Third Avenue; they were all sent to another branch of the establishment in——street, presided over by a Dr.——.
The terms were in all cases strictly the same. Twenty five dollars per week were charged for board and lodging, or one hundred dollars for the month, 'payable invariably in advance.' The fee for nursing and medical attendance was one hundred dollars; while the charge made for receiving and taking care of the child reached the same figure—making in all the considerable sum of three hundred dollars, for which amount it was guaranteed to furnish the most comfortable lodging, the best professional skill, and the most inviolate seclusion—certainly a convenient arrangement on both sides of the transaction.
"It must be here mentioned that no pay whatever, not even in the shape of presents or equivalents, is received from the parties who 'adopt' the children thus confided to the care of Mrs.——and Dr.——. On the contrary, this amiable couple are only too glad to get rid of the 'infant darlings' in some lawful way, and thus to avoid any further expense or delay upon their account. Those to whom the children are really indebted for their birth are required to bear the expense, which, as just stated, is fixed at one hundred dollars. And the only fear entertained by the madame and the doctor is, that 'people will not apply fast enough for the babies,' who are, from the day of their birth, sent at once to wet-nurses dispersed over the city, who, if the regular methods fail, are themselves allowed to adopt the children, or to dispose of them, by 'adoption,' to other parties."
But few of these "private establishments" are well managed. The majority are conducted by ignorant, avaricious quacks, who have no knowledge of surgery or medicine, and who either kill or injure their victims for life. Frequent arrests of these people are made every year, but the punishment is seldom inflicted as it should be. It is, as a general rule, only in such first-class establishments as that of the wickedest woman that patients are well treated or skilfully served. In the majority of them the most horrible suffering and certain death await the poor creatures who enter them. There are very few exceptions to this rule. The newspapers are full of the advertisements of the wretches who conduct these establishments, and there are always an abundance of applications from unfortunate women. They come here from all parts of the country. In the best establishments nature is allowed to take its course. In the others, the ignorant quacks attempt to hasten the result by artificial means. The end in such cases is death.
You will see in almost any city paper a number of such advertisements as this:
"ADOPTION.—Two beautiful infants, male and female, five and six months old. Call upon Mrs.——, No. 25 E.——th street."
The following will show the meaning of such advertisements:
There is located on 19th street, New York city, a large establishment devoted to the obtaining and preparing of infants for 'adoption.' This Temple of the Innocents is presided over by a Madam P——, and combines with the features common to the establishments elsewhere referred to, the new and novel feature of a 'nursery' in which the innocents are kept, nursed, and clothed, after a fashion, until they are 'adopted.' The babies are housed in a large and airy room, plainly but neatly furnished, and are attended by a corps of nice-looking nurses. Each babe has its own cradle, and a rattle or toy or two, and the little creatures are really well attended to, as it is evidently and directly the interest of Madam P——to have her stock in trade as healthy- looking as possible, in order to dispose of them rapidly and to advantage. Madam P——is a stout brunette, gaily dressed, and has made a great deal of money by the practice of her peculiar 'profession.'
She possesses a large wardrobe of baby-dresses, in which the infants are attired when 'presented,' in order to look as captivating as possible; and the lady is a thorough 'artist' in her way. She has been 'assaulted' by the papers, and 'interfered with' by the police, but, nevertheless, the facts are stated as we have found them.
"Another institution, located near that portion of the metropolis denominated Yorkville, is of a much more nefarious description. Here children are left by their unnatural parents to be 'disposed of,' and 'disposed of' they are—not killed outright, but neglected—given to suspicious characters, to mere strangers, and never heard from or thought of afterwards. A pensive-seeming, expressively-faced young woman clad in black, with a shawl thrown over her person, is engaged occasionally to appear as 'the mother'—'the poor, heart-broken mother' of the babies. By her appearance and well-feigned tears, she excites the sympathies of such ladies (few in number) as visit the establishment in good faith for the purpose of 'adopting' infants, and her bursts of maternal tenderness and grief when imprinting a 'farewell kiss, forever' upon the lips and cheeks of her departing darling, seldom fail to draw an extra fee from the benevolent pocket of the 'adopting' patron."
Many mothers offer their children for adoption, simply to get rid of the trouble and expense of supporting them. Others part with them with tears and heart pangs, in the hope that the little one's future will be bettered by the change. Various causes are assigned for such acts.
"A French schoolmistress, a pretty young woman, who taught her native language to the younger scions of several of our 'first families,' having been brought to Dr.——'s establishment, expressed her willingness to allow her child to be adopted, and it was accordingly placed at the disposal of a fashionable lady and her husband, who visited the establishment, and were about to bear the child away, when, suddenly, the poor young mother rushed down stairs, and, seeing her own flesh and blood, her own baby, clasped in another's arms, and about to be torn from her heart and her grasp forever, fell at the feet of the lady of fashion, and plead piteously, passionately, desperately, for permission to retain her child. In vain the lady of fashion remonstrated; in vain she argued the matter; in vain she offered the girl-mother money; in vain, too, were the upbraidings of the astonished housekeeper and her assistant; nature would have its way, and the mother would have her child, and the contest of GoldversusGod terminated, as all such struggles should, in the victory of God and Heart, and the French mother kept her child."
Some strange, almost romantic incidents have occurred in the history of the 'patients' of the establishment of Dr.——.
"A lady of the highest fashion, residing in Madison Avenue, accompanied by her husband, (not like the poor girl, who, seeking a refuge, must come secretly and alone,) called, one day, in reference to the receiving within the accommodating shelter of the asylum, her own sister, who had been 'unfortunate,' as women go. The 'sister'—a fair- haired brunette, with exquisite eyes—was accordingly admitted, (it being announced to her circle, the curled darlings of society, that the young lady would be 'out of town, visiting some of her friends in the country' for a limited period.) In three months, the young lady returned to her admirers, and a delicious cherub (given out to nurse) is at the present writing almost daily visited by a beautiful young lady, 'who has conceived a great liking for it,' and by an older and more matronly lady, who speaks of, at some future time, 'adopting' the little darling (who,apropos, bears a strong resemblance to the younger lady) for her own."
Some years ago, a handsome young woman, of respectable parentage, sought the shelter of the convenient establishment of Dr.——. The lady subsequently married a well-to-do farmer, from the West, and in the full confidence of the marriage state, trusting to the passionate devotion of her husband, she revealed the secret of her early misdemeanor to her liege lord, who proved himself well worthy of her confidence. The wife, who resided in Illinois, came to New York; visited Mrs.——, (the lady who acted as Dr.——'s agent, and a call upon whom has already been described,) and begged Mrs.——to restore the child, who had been separated from her and 'adopted' by other parties, years before. With this request Mrs.——refused to comply. She knew the whereabouts of the child well enough, but she also knew that it was now theprotegé, the pet, the heir of a wealthy old couple, who were devotedly attached to it, and whose hearts would be almost broken by parting with it, while the worldly interests of the child would also be materially injured by the removal. Above all, the revealing of the child'slocalewould be a violation of a 'professional obligation,' and would be initiating a very dangerous precedent in matters of this kind; and so Mrs.——'s lips were sealed, and to this day the real mother knows naught of her own child; would not even be able to recognize her offspring, if they were to meet face to face in the streets of New York.
"A rising young politician of this city has recently married a lady, whose early history resembles that of the mother just mentioned. But the politician is of a different mould from the Western husband, and having ascertained the 'little episode' in his wife's history, is now negotiating with her for a separation. Unlike the mother just alluded to, however, the politician's wife has recovered her child, and finds consolation in the fact, even in view of the contemplated separation.
"A terrible scandal, which was on the verge of becoming the property of the greedy public of New York, compromising a young Jewess of great wealth and high social position, has been recently, and let us trust, finally 'hushed' through the invaluable aid of Dr.——'s establishment. A horrible revelation of domestic depravity has thus escaped publication, and a woman who would otherwise have been an outcast from her circle, and a blot upon the religion of her people, is now, thanks to skill, secresy, and money, the admired wife of a leading Hebrew merchant."