Lights and Shadows of New York Life / or, the Sights and Sensations of the Great City

Although Mr. Beecher is a resident of Brooklyn, and although Plymouth Church is located in that city, yet the great preacher is sufficiently bound to New York by business and socialities to make him a part of the great metropolis.

He was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, on the 24th of June, 1813, and is now in his fifty-ninth year, though he looks very much younger.  He was the eighth child of Dr. Lyman Beecher, and was regarded as the dunce of the family, and, according to his own account, had the usual unpleasant experience of ministers’ children.  Being of a naturally strong, vigorous constitution, his body far outran his mind, and the little fellow lagged behind until nature asserted her rights.  The forcing process accomplished very little with him.  He was quick-witted, however, and fond of fun.  The gloomy doctrines of his learned father made him shudder, and he came to the conclusion that Sunday was a day of penance, and the Catechism a species of torture invented for the punishment of dull boys.  At the age of ten, he was sent to a boarding-school in Bethlehem, where he studied by shouldering his gun and going after partridges.  Then his sister, Catharine, took him in hand, but he spent his time in teazing the girls of her school, and she was compelled to give him up as a hopeless case.  The boy of ten could not be made a mental prodigy, do what they would.  The result is that the man of fifty-nine is as fresh and vigorous in body and mind as most others are at thirty-five.

Immediately after his ordination, Mr. Beecher married, and accepted a call to Lawrenceburg, Indiana, on the Ohio River, twenty miles below Cincinnati.  He did not stay there long, but passed to the charge of a church in Indianapolis, where he spent eight years—eight valuable years to him, for he says he learned how to preach there.  In the summer of 1847, he received and accepted a call to the pastorate of Plymouth Church, in Brooklyn, which had just been founded, and on the 11th of November, 1847, he was publicly installed in the position which he has since held.

Few persons of education and taste ever come to New York without hearing the great preacher.  Plymouth Church is a familiar place to them.  It is located in Orange street, between Hicks and Henry streets, Brooklyn.  It is a plain structure of red brick.  The interior is as simple as the exterior.  It is a plain, square room, with a large gallery extending entirely around it.  At the upper end is a platform on which stands the pulpit—an exquisitely carved little stand of wood from the Garden of Gethsemane.  In the gallery, back of the pulpit, is the organ, one of the grandest instruments in the country.  The seats are arranged in semicircles.  By placing chairs in the aisles, the house will seat with comfort twenty five hundred people.  The congregation usually numbers about three thousand, every available place being crowded.  The upholstering is in crimson, and contrasts well with the prevailing white color of the interior.

The singing is congregational, and is magnificent.  One never hears such singing outside of Plymouth Church.

His literary labors, apart from his ministerial duties, have been constant.  He has published several books, has edited The Independent and The Christian Union, and has contributed regularly to the New York Ledger and other papers.  He has been almost constantly in the lecture field, and has spoken frequently before public assemblies on the various questions of the day.

Mr. Beecher is young-looking and vigorous.  He has the face of a great orator, and one that is well worth studying.  He dresses plainly, with something of the farmer in his air, and lives simply.  He is blessed with robust health, and, like his father, is fond of vigorous exercise.  He has a fine farm on the Hudson, to which he repairs in the summers.  Here he can indulge his love of nature without restraint.  He is said to be a capital farmer, though he complains that he does not find the pursuit any more remunerative than does his friend, Mr. Greeley.

To live at the expense of other people, and to procure the means of living in comfort without working for it, is an art in which there are many proficients in New York.  Certain of those who practise this art are known in city parlance as “Black-mailers,” and they constitute one of the most dangerous portions of the community.  The Blackmailer is generally a woman, though she is frequently sustained or urged on by a rough, professional thief, or pick-pocket.  The indiscretions of men of nominally spotless character are constantly becoming known through the instrumentality of the gossips, and as soon as these reach the ears of the Blackmailers, who are ever on the watch for them, they proceed to take advantage of them to extort money from the person implicated.  They are not content, however, with making victims of those who are really guilty of indiscretions, but boldly assail the innocent and virtuous, well-knowing that nine persons out of ten, though guiltless of wrongdoing, will sooner comply with their demands than incur the annoyance of a public scandal.  Such persons think the wretch will never dare to charge them with the same offence or endeavor to extort money from them a second time, and make the first payment merely to rid themselves of the annoyance.  They ought never to yield, whether innocent or guilty, for the Blackmailer is sure to repeat her demand.  The law makes it a crime for any one to endeavor to extort money in this way, and no person so threatened should hesitate to apply to the police for protection.

Persons from the country, stopping at the hotels of the city, are frequently the objects of the attacks of the Blackmailers.  A man’s name is learned from the hotel register, and he is boldly approached and charged with conduct he never dreamed of being guilty of.  The scoundrel professes to know him and his whole family, and names the price of his silence.  Too often the demand is complied with, and the money paid.  The proper course to pursue when accosted in such a manner, is to call upon the nearest policeman for assistance in shaking off the wretch.

Many of the female Blackmailers are very young, mere girls.  A couple of years ago, Police Captain Thorne discovered a regularly organized band of them.  They are mostly flower girls, from twelve to sixteen years of age.  They are generally modest in demeanor, and some of them are attractive in appearance.  They gain admittance to the offices and counting rooms of professional men and merchants, under the pretext of selling their flowers, and then, if the gentleman is alone, close the door, and threaten to scream and accuse him of taking improper liberties with them, unless he consents to pay them the sum they demand.

I.  FORTUNE-TELLERS AND CLAIRVOYANTS.

The city journals frequently contain such advertisements as the following:

A TEST MEDIUM.—THE ORIGINAL MADAME F--- tells everything, traces absent friends, losses, causes speedy marriages, gives lucky numbers.  Ladies, fifty cents; gentlemen, one dollar.  464 ---th Avenue.

A FACT—NO IMPOSITION.  THE GREAT EUROPEAN Clairvoyant.  She consults you on all affairs of life.  Born with a natural gift, she tells past, present, and future; she brings together those long separated; causes speedy marriages; shows you a correct likeness of your future husband or friends in love affairs.  She was never known to fail.  She tells his name; also lucky numbers free of charge.  She succeeds when all others fail.  Two thousand dollars reward for any one that can equal her in professional skill.  Ladies, fifty cents to one dollar.  Positively no gents admitted.  No 40 --- Avenue.

Still, there are many male visitors.  Speculators, victims of the gaming table and the lottery, come to ask for advice, which is given at random.  The woman knows but little of her visitors, and has no means of learning anything about them.  Sometimes her statements are found to be true, but it is by the merest accident.

The clairvoyants do not hesitate to confess to their friends, in a confidential way, of course, that their pretensions are mere humbuggery, and they laugh at the credulity of their victims, whilst they encourage it.  It seems absurd to discuss this subject seriously.  We can only say to those who shall read this chapter, that there is not in the City of New York an honest fortune-teller or clairvoyant.  They knowingly deceive persons as to their powers.  It is not given to human beings to read the future—certainly not to such wretched specimens as the persons who compose the class of which we are writing.  The only sensible plan is to keep your money, dear reader.  You know more than these impostors can possibly tell you.

Many of these fortune-tellers and clairvoyants are simply procuresses.  They draw women into their houses, and ply them so with temptations, that they frequently ruin them.  This is the real business of most of them.  They are leagued with the keepers of houses of ill-fame.  No woman is safe who enters their doors.

II.  MATRIMONIAL BROKERS.

There are several women in the city who advertise to introduce strangers into the best society, and to procure wives and husbands from the same element for their customers.  As a general rule, these women are simply procuresses.  If, however, a man desiring to marry a woman in this city, seeks their aid, they will always find some means of assisting him.  The charge for their services is either a percentage on the lady’s fortune, or a certain specified sum.  The woman, or broker, will devise some means of making the acquaintance of the lady against whom her arts are to be directed, and will proceed cautiously, step by step, until she has caused her victim to meet the man for whom she is working.  The arts used vary according to circumstances, but they rarely fail of success.  Men who wish to accomplish the ruin of some innocent girl, also seek the aid of these brokers, and frequently, through their assistance, effect their purpose.  If it is necessary, the victim, after being allured to the broker’s house, is drugged.  These women are the vampires of society.  It is very difficult for the authorities to make a case against them, and they generally go unpunished.

I.  THE FREE SCHOOLS.

The provision made by the city and the people of New York for the education of the young is in keeping with their metropolitan character.  The public and private schools are numerous, and are well supported.

The first in importance are the Public or Free Schools, which are acknowledged to be the best in the Union.  The Free School system is under the control of a Board of Education, whose offices are located in a handsome brown stone building at the northwest corner of Grand and Elm streets.  The Board consists of twelve Commissioners, who have the general supervision of the schools, the disbursement of the moneys appropriated for the cause of education, the purchase of sites and the erection of new buildings, the purchase and distribution of books, stationery, fuel, lights, and all supplies needed by the schools.  There are also five Trustees for each ward, or 110 in all, who were, until recently, chosen by the people.  Besides these, are twenty-one Inspectors of Schools, who were, until recently, appointed by the Mayor and confirmed by the people.  The charter of 1870, however, changed the whole system, and gave to the Mayor the power of appointing all the officers named above, taking the control of the school system entirely out of the hands of the people.  It is needless to add this was the work of the Ring, and was done to secure to them additional power and plunder.

The public schools are divided into Primary, Grammar, Evening, and Normal Schools.  There are about 200 of these schools in the city, a Primary and a Grammar School often occupying the same building.  Some of the Primaries are for boys or girls only, while in others both sexes are admitted.  The course in the Primaries is very simple, as very young children are taught here.  The pupils are divided, according to qualification, into six grades.  The lowest grade receives the simplest instruction, such as conversational lessons about common objects, or “object teaching,” which is designed to form habits of accurate observation; simple instruction in regard to morals and manners; reading and spelling easy words from the blackboard or chart; counting; and simple addition by the aid of the numerical frame.  From this simple, but substantial basis, the pupil is advanced as rapidly as his capabilities will permit, from grade to grade; until the first, or highest, is reached.  In this the instruction embraces the four ground rules of arithmetic, geography, writing, drawing on the slate, and advanced object lessons.  When the pupil is proficient in these studies, he is transferred to the Grammar School.

The whole public school system is free to all the children of the city, whose parents will avail themselves of it.  Books, and everything needed, are furnished without charge.  The pupil is put to no expense whatever, but is required to maintain habits of order and personal neatness.  The cost to the city is gladly borne by the tax payers, for it saves the metropolis from an increase of the great army of ignorant and idle men and women, which are the curse of all great cities.  The very poorest men or women can thus give to their children the priceless boon of knowledge, of which their youth was deprived.  Profiting by the advantage thus acquired, these little ones, in after years, may rise to fame and fortune.  Thus not only the metropolis but the whole country reaps the blessings of this magnificent system of free education.  The poor, however, are not the only persons who secure the advantages of the free schools for their children.  Many wealthy, or moderately comfortable parents send their children to these schools, because they are the best in the city.

An Evening High School, for males only, has been established, at which working men, and others unable to attend the day schools, may pursue a more extended course of study.  English grammar, mathematics, natural science, drawing, navigation, municipal and constitutional law, phonography, declamation, book-keeping, Latin, French, German, and Spanish are embraced in the course.  The students may pursue one or more studies, as they may desire.

The Mission Schools have been mentioned already.

II.  THE COLLEGES.

The higher institutions of learning are numerous, but we can mention only the principal here.

The University of the City of New York was established in 1831, and is regarded as one of the best institutions of its kind in the country.  It has a chancellor and a full corps of professors in its several schools.  It includes a preparatory department, a grammar school, a school of art, a school of civil engineering, a school of analytical and practical chemistry, a school of medicine, and a school of law.  The medical school has been especially famous, and has numbered among its professors, at various times, such men as Valentine Mott, John W. Draper, and William H. Van Buren.

“The opening of the Central Park saved horseflesh in New York,” said an old jockey.  Few who know the truth will gainsay this assertion.  The opening of Jerome Park did as much for “horseflesh” by rescuing the sport of horse racing from the blackguards and thieves, into whose hands it had fallen, and placing it upon a respectable footing.

The race-course is the property of the American Jockey Club, and the Spring and Fall Meetings of that association are held there, and are attended by large and fashionable crowds.  The Club House and Club Stand occupy the most retired and elevated portion of the grounds, but the best point of view is the Grand Stand, in front of which is the usual starting point and winning post.  The price of admission is high, but the grounds are thronged with vehicles and persons on foot.  As many as ten or fifteen thousand persons may be seen within the enclosure, while the favorable positions outside of the grounds are black with more economical spectators.  The crowd is orderly and good-humored, and the occasion is rarely marred by any act of rowdyism or lawlessness.

A great deal of money changes hands at the races.  Bets are freely offered and taken on the various horses.  The pools sell rapidly, and the genial auctioneer finds his post no sinecure.  The struggles of the noble animals are watched with the deepest interest.  The greatest excitement prevails amongst the élite in the private stands, as well as throughout the common herd below.  Every eye is strained to watch the swift coursers as they whirl down the track, and when the quarter stretch is gained the excitement is beyond control.  The victor steed flashes with lightning speed by the winning post amidst a storm of cheers and yells of delight.

The course is still new, but the system which it has inaugurated is becoming more thorough every year.  The management is in the hands of gentlemen of character, who are seeking to make at least one place in the country where the blackguards and reckless gamblers who disgrace the American turf shall be powerless to control affairs.  The benefits of this management will be very great.  The stock of the State will be vastly improved, and the metropolis, especially, will be able to boast some of the finest blooded racers in the world.

Visitors to the Central Park on pleasant afternoons, rarely fail to notice a light buggy, generally with a single occupant, drawn by a pair of fine horses, whose whole appearance is indicative of their high breeding and great speed.  The animals would command attention anywhere, and the driver would excite equal notice, for all are physically among the finest specimens of their kind to be met with in the country.  The man is almost seventy-eight years of age, but he looks twenty years younger.  He is large of frame, tall, erect, and with a face as handsome and as cold as a statue.  He is one of the best known men in the country, and he is called Cornelius Vanderbilt.

In 1818, he suddenly abandoned his flourishing business, and accepted the command of a steamboat, with a salary of one thousand dollars.  His friends were greatly astonished at this step, and remonstrated with him warmly, but without shaking his resolution.  He had the sagacity to perceive that the steamboats were about to revolutionize the whole system of water transportation, and he meant to secure a foothold in the new order of affairs without delay.  The result vindicated his wisdom.

The steamer which he commanded was one of a line plying between New York and New Brunswick—the old route to Philadelphia.  This line was conducted by Mr. Thomas Gibbons, and was warmly opposed by the representatives of Fulton and Livingston, who claimed a monopoly of the right to navigate the waters of New York by steam.  Gibbons was effectively supported by Vanderbilt, who ran his boat regularly in spite of all efforts made to stop him, until the courts sustained him in his rights.  Then Vanderbilt was allowed to control the line in his own way, and conducted it with such success that it paid Gibbons an annual profit of forty thousand dollars.

In 1829, at the age of thirty-five, he left the service of Mr. Gibbons, and for the second time began life on his own account.  He built a small steamer, called the “Caroline,” and commanded her himself.  In a few years he was the owner of several small steamers plying between New York and the neighboring towns.  Thus began his remarkable career as a steamboat owner, which was one unbroken round of prosperity.  He eventually became the most important man in the steamboat interest of the country.  He has owned or has had an interest in one hundred steam vessels—hence his title of Commodore—and has been instrumental in a greater degree than any other man, in bringing down the tariff of steamboat fares.  He has never lost a vessel by fire, by explosion, or a wreck.  His “North Star” and “Vanderbilt” were famous steamships in their day, and in the latter he made an extended tour to the various ports of Europe.

A few years ago, the City Hall Park, which was then shaded by noble old trees, and the Battery, were the favorite resorts of this class in fair weather.  They would sit on the benches of the park, and doze, or, when very sleepy, would lie at full length upon them, until aroused by a blow from a policeman’s club upon the soles of their shoes.  They were not allowed to sleep in the park, and when caught in the act were compelled to join the throng of promenaders in Broadway, and “move on.”  At the Battery they were rarely disturbed.  That locality was then a mere receptacle for trash, and the Bummer was at home there.  The dirt heaps were softer than the stones, and the breeze that came in from the bay was highly favorable to slumber.  Now, all has been changed.  The massive edifice of the New Post-office covers the old resort of the Bummer, and the Battery has been made so spruce and trim that it needs not the gruff voice of the gray-coated guardian of the place to make the Bummer feel that it is lost to him forever.

In begging, the Bummer never asks boldly for aid.  He always prefaces his request with a pitiful story of misfortune, and expresses his sense of shame at being an able-bodied man and yet compelled to “ask” for assistance.  He is an adept at deceiving good-hearted people, and very clever at assuming the air of innocent misfortune.  Thus he supplies his wants.

In his confidential moments, he readily admits that “Bumming” is a hard life, but he is confident that it is better than working for a living.  You cannot induce him to accept any species of employment, however light.  Vagrancy has a strange fascination for him, and he will be nothing but what he is until five-cent whiskey sinks him to a grade still lower.  Sometimes he sees his doom afar off, and anticipates it by seeking the cold waters of the East River.  At the best, suicide is the happiest end he can hope for, and it does not require much exertion to drown oneself.  Should he allow events to take their natural course, there is but one prospect before him—a pauper’s death and the dissecting-table.

Some of these men have had fair starts in life.  Some of them are well educated, and could have risen to eminence in some useful calling.  A fondness for liquor and a disinclination to work have been their ruin.

The peculiar formation of the island of Manhattan renders it impossible for the city to expand save in one direction.  On the south, east, and west its growth is checked by the waters of the rivers and bay, so that it can increase only to the northward.  The lower part of the island is being occupied for business purposes more and more exclusively every year, and the people are being forced higher up town.  Those who remain in the extreme lower portion for purposes of residence are simply the very poor.  Those who can afford to do so, seek locations removed as far as is convenient to them from the business section.  The laboring class, by which I mean all who are forced to pursue some regular occupation for their support, are not able to go far from their work, and are obliged to remain in locations which will enable them to reach their places of business with as little delay as possible.

Consequently the bulk of the population is packed into that portion of the city which lies between the City Hall and Fourteenth street.  By the United States Census of 1870, the population of the wards in this district was reported as follows:

The total area of the city is twenty-two square miles, and we find that one-half of its population is cramped within an area of about four square miles.  It is evident, therefore, that they must be housed in a very small number of buildings, and such indeed is the case.

The section of the city embraced in the wards we have named is filled with a class of buildings called tenement houses.  The law classes all dwellings containing three or more families as tenement houses, but the true tenement house is an institution peculiar to New York.  There are about 70,000 buildings in the city used for purposes of business and as dwellings, and of these, 20,000 are tenement houses, containing about 160,000 families, or about 500,000 people.  This would give an average population of eight families or twenty persons to each tenement house in the city.  In 1867 the number of tenement houses was 18,582.  The following table will show their distribution among the wards at that time, and their sanitary condition:

The best of the tenement houses are uncomfortable.  Where so large a number of people are gathered under the same roof to live as they please, it is impossible to keep the premises clean.  A very large portion of them are in bad repair and in equally bad sanitary condition.  In 1867 these houses made up fifty-two per cent. of the whole number, and there is no reason to believe that there has been any improvement since then.  Many of them are simply appalling.  They become more wretched and squalid as the East River and Five Points sections are reached.  Cherry, Water, and the neighboring streets, are little better than charnel houses.

About three months ago one of the most wretched rookeries in the city was cleared out and cleansed by order of the Board of Health.  This was known as “Sweeney’s,” and stood in Gotham Court.  The immediate cause of its overhauling was the discovery of its actual condition made by Detective Finn and Mr. Edward Crapsey of the New York Times, during a visit to it.  Mr. Crapsey gives the following interesting account of his visit:

“‘This bullseye is an old acquaintance here,’ said the detective, ‘and as its coming most always means “somebody wanted,” you see how they hide.  Though why they should object to go to jail is more than I know; I’d rather stay in the worst dungeon in town than here.  Come this way and I’ll show you why.’

“Carefully keeping in the little track of light cut into the darkness by the lantern, I followed the speaker, who turned into the first door on the right, and I found myself in an entry about four feet by six, with steep, rough, rickety stairs leading upward in the foreground, and their counterparts at the rear giving access to as successful a manufactory of disease and death as any city on earth can show.  Coming to the first of these stairs, I was peremptorily halted by the foul stenches rising from below; but Finn, who had reached the bottom, threw back the relentless light upon the descending way and urged me on.  Every step oozed with moisture and was covered sole deep with unmentionable filth; but I ventured on, and reaching my conductor, stood in a vault some twelve feet wide and two hundred long, which extended under the whole of West Gotham Court.  The walls of rough stone dripped with slimy exudations, while the pavements yielded to the slightest pressure of the feet a suffocating odor compounded of bilge-water and sulphuretted hydrogen.  Upon one side of this elongated cave of horrors were ranged a hundred closets, every one of which reeked with this filth, mixed with that slimy moisture which was everywhere as a proof that the waters of the neighboring East River penetrated, and lingered here to foul instead of purify.

“‘I say, Tom,’ he called back to his companion, who had remained with me in the darkness, ‘here’s a big break in the Croton main.’  But a moment later, in an affrighted voice: ‘No, it ain’t.  Its the sewer!  I never knew of this opening into it before.  Paugh! how it smells.  That’s nothing up where you are.  I’ll bet on the undertaker having more jobs in the house than ever.’

“By this time I began to feel sick and faint in that tainted air, and would have rushed up the stairs if I could have seen them.  But Finn was exploring that sewer horror with his lantern.  As I came down I had seen a pool of stagnant, green-coated water somewhere near the foot of the stairs, and, being afraid to stir in the thick darkness, was forced to call my guide, and, frankly state the urgent necessity for an immediate return above.  The matter-of-fact policeman came up, and cast the liberating light upon the stairs, but rebuked me as I eagerly took in the comparatively purer atmosphere from above.  ‘You can’t stand it five minutes; how do you suppose they do, year in and year out?’  ‘Even they don’t stand it many years, I should think,’ was my involuntary reply.

“As we stepped out into the court again, the glare of the bullseye dragged a strange face out of the darkness.  It was that of a youth of eighteen or twenty years, ruddy, puffed, with the corners of the mouth grotesquely twisted.  The detective greeted the person owning this face with the fervor of old acquaintanceship: ‘Eh, Buster!  What’s up?’  ‘Hello, Jimmy Finn!  What yez doin’ here?’  ‘Never mind, Buster.  What’s up?’  ‘Why, Jimmy, didn’t yez know I lodges here now?’  ‘No, I didn’t.  Where?  Who with?’  ‘Beyant, wid the Pensioner.’  ‘Go on.  Show me where you lodge.’  ‘Sure, Jimmy, it isn’t me as would lie to yez.’

“‘We’ll see whether you would or no,’ said Finn, tapping on the door.  Being told to come in, he opened it; and on this trivial but dexterous pretext we invaded the sanctity of a home.

“In the contracted space of these two rooms, and supplied with these scanty appliances for comfort, nine human beings were stowed.  First there was the ‘Pensioner,’ a man of about thirty-five years, next his wife, then their three children, a woman lodger with two children, and the ‘Buster,’ the latter paying fifteen cents per night for his shelter; but I did not learn the amount paid by the woman for the accommodation of herself and children.  The Buster, having been indignant at my inquiry as to the light upon the stairs, was now made merry by Finn supposing he had a regular bed and bedstead for the money.  ‘Indade, he has not, but a “shakedown” like the rest of us,’ said the woman; but the Buster rebuked this assumption of an impossible prosperity by promptly exclaiming, ‘Whist! ye knows I stretch on the boords without any shakedown whatsumdever.’

“By various wily tricks of his trade, Detective Finn managed to get a deal of information out of the Pensioner without seeming to be either inquisitive or intrusive, or even without rubbing the coat of his poverty the wrong way.  From this source I learned that five dollars per month was paid as rent for these two third-floor rooms, and that everybody concerned deemed them dirt cheap at the price.  Light was obtained from kerosene lamps at the expense of the tenant, and water had to be carried from the court below, while all refuse matter not emptied into the court itself, had to be taken to the foul vaults beneath it.  The rooms, having all these drawbacks, and being destitute of the commonest appliances for comfort or decency, did not appear to be in the highest degree eligible; yet the Pensioner considered himself fortunate in having secured them.  His experience in living must have been very doleful, for he declared that he had seen worse places.  In itself, and so far as the landlord was concerned, I doubted him; but I had myself seen fouler places than these two rooms, which had been made so by the tenants.  All that cleanliness could do to make the kennel of the Pensioner habitable had been done, and I looked with more respect upon the uncouth woman who had scoured the rough floor white, than I ever had upon a gaudily attired dame sweeping Broadway with her silken trail.  The thrift that had so little for its nourishment had not been expended wholly upon the floor, for I noticed that the two children asleep on the shakedown were clean, while the little fellow four years of age, who was apparently prepared for bed as he was entirely naked, but sat as yet upon one of the three chairs, had no speck of dirt upon his fair white skin.  A painter should have seen him as he gazed wonderingly upon us, and my respect deepened for the woman who could, spite the hard lines of her rugged life, bring forth and preserve so much of childish symmetry and beauty.