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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, December 03, 1871, Image 1

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VOLUME XXVII.
THE MEW YOBK DISPATCH.
PUBLISHED
EVEST SATUEDAY MORNING,
. At N®. 11 Frankfort street.
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cial Notices,” two-thirds of the above prices will be
charged for the second insertion. Regular advertise
pients will be taken by the quarter at the rate of one dol
lar a line. Special Notices by the quarter will be charged
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Cuts and fancy display will be charged extra.
* ' reasaßanswassHMasa
BP FROM THE DEPTHS.
THE HISTORY OF A POOR FAMILY.
pRUNKEN FATHER AND MOTHER.
THE PERILS OF A DAUGHTER.
A Bold Leap in the River for
Honor’s Dear Sake.
RESCUED AID TAKES TO BALTIMORE.
A Sister of Charity During the
War.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
Happy Reunion of the Poor Family.
On a December morning, in the year 1855, a woman
iat at a corner on Reade street, turning a hand or
fcan. She had a little girl three years old with her.
Several gentlemen who passed that way to their busi
ness in the morning were surprised to find the wo
man and child occupying the same locality in the
evening. The child had a handsome face; tears
trickled down its cheeks; Its shoes were full of holes;
It had. no stockings, and the poor little thing was
toearly perished with hunger and cold. A gentleman
tamed Stevenson, interested in the habits of these
people, hired a detective to watch the woman, and
the was traced into a miserable court in the rear of
Reade street. The child was handed over to a wo
man, who claimed to be its mother, together with
iwenty.five cents—the earnings for the day. The lit
tle one, though nearly frozen, was dumped down on
k pile of rags In one corner and given a dry crust of
loread. The apartment was a cellar.
A MAN LAY DRUNK
rin something supposed to be a bed. There was no
ifire; and two children, a boy and a girl, aged re
spectively seven and ten years, were seated on the
floor sorting some bits of paper and rags which they
Jiad picked up during the day. The furniture of the
Toom consisted of an old rickety table, two broken
fchairs, a bedstead, three or four broken dishes and a
and board. A bottle containing a gill oy
t>ad whisky stood upon the table.
’ll detective returned to his principal at the en
trance of the alley, and reported progress. To enter
the cellar, and offer to take the children to good
pomes would not have been the thing to do. The
Oldest girl in a year or two would be ready to
FARM OUT FOR HELLISH PURPOSES,
ftt so many dollars per week, and she and the boy,
With their and begging, were already
keeping the mlgfrable parents in liquor. The detec
tive took his companion a few blocks away, and they
Entered a court as miserable as the one they had
left Here, in a wretched room, up two flights of
Stairs, they found an old hag who sold nuts and
Bpples in the streets. She was employed to go to
the cellar ana tire the little child for the next day,
Agreeing to pay fifty ccntg. in advance, and no .ques
tions asked. Thus matters mated till the next
morning. The hag kept her appointment, and the
baby girl was soon handed over to the gentleman
Who took her to his home.
/ The degraded father came In from his night’s de
bauch and exploits of crime, in the cold gray of the
morning. He had been concerned in the robbery of
B dry goods store, and exultantly held up his share
Of the plunder, to show to the miserable woman in
the pile of rags on the bedstead. When he found
ihat little Ellen was gone he cursed and swore, and
seizing an empty bottle, threw it at his wife’s head.
3t struck with such violence that it was shivered to
ptoms, and the woman was stunned to unconscious
ness by the blow. The boy cried:
“MURDER! HELP! HELP!”
is the infuriated drunkard followed up with his fists,
Upon the inanimate and bleeding form of a woman,
the work done with the bottle, Having pounded her
to his satisfaction, he sprang through a rear window
Bnd escaped, as a wild cry rang out through the dark
faley,
I "Och, wlrral wirral Pat O’Donovan’s murtherin’
his wife,” screamed half a dozen voices.
i The policeman, who presently appeared upon the
feoene, had the unconscious woman, who was found
io be.still alive, taken to a hospital, and the children
Were removed to the nearest station house. The
Rosa had a face of extraordinary beauty, and at
tracted the attention of some of the officers, who,
their kindness in her behalf, procured her
B situation in a respectable family named Reid. The
boy Johnny was sent West to live with a merchant in
who happened to hear of his case through
a friend, the Western man agreeing to be responsible
tor his appearance should he be .required to deliver
bim up.
. Little Ellen, who had been taken away from her
Wretched parents by the apple woman, was taken
home by Stevenson, and became an inmate of his
family.
i A few months after the occurrences above related,
On a cloudy evening in April, a girl about eleven
years of age might have been seen passing along
Grand street, eaet of the Bowery. She had been at
work in one >of the milliner shops on the south side
©f Grand street, and was sent out on.an errand. She
had been directed to pass down Chatham street to
Printing House square, and thence to Broadway.
Beaching New Bowery, she went down that street by
mistake, and
LOST HEB WAY.
The girl wao Bosa o'Donovan. She was greatly
changed since she had been taken from her inhuman
parents. Her face was pale and fair; her forehead
high, broad and full. The outline of her face was
silincs . perfect in its beauty—high ncse, 'gracefully
curved lips, resolute chin, in which there was just
tie slightest trace .of a dimple; dark brown eyes,
large, soft and liquid, full of the light that .charms.
;®ubduG9 and conquers. Her brown hair fell in wavy
presses over her beautifully molded cheeks. Her
lorm was straight, slender, and petite. She wore &
■waterproof cloak and hood that completely cohered
Abe remainder of her dress. Bosa wandered about
for more than an hour. Jr’inally, without knowing it,
bhfi oame near her old home in Reade street. Aeshe
parsed under a lamp, the Tight shone full upon b.er
beautiful features. Just ijien a filthy, bedraggled,
blear eyed, half drunken woman approached, and,
looking sharply at the girl, seized her by the aim, !
Rnd tried out:
".SURE, AN’ IT’S ME LpST DARLINT,
Rosa, come back to her ould mither 1 And where is
the swale .little crayiher, E.len Then, regarding
Rosa’s nea,t dress, the woman eaid< “But ye’d be
aither being.a frind, lady, would yez, and lave yer
puir ould mither to starve in the qqwld, bitther
street. Come Along wid yez, and tell me all about
yer poor orphaat sistber ?”
\ The woman dragged Rosa into an alley, ard to one
ihose drinking shops so common in the neighbor
bond of tenement houses. it was one of the places
in the night, .crime revels—where munder
walks forth from the maddening counters with a red
hand; wfeere quarrels, and fights, and violence, and
adulteries Are perpetrated; where the young man
loses himsejjf in wild revel, -jnd the hard-earned
wages of ihe day laborer pass to the harlot; where,
‘he mother; with children crying bj;ead t spends
PCBUffID BI M. -A. WILMAMBON.
all that is earned by the toil of the father for drink;
where young girls, still in childhood, are
EDUCATED FOR PETTY THIEVING
and prostitution; where policy-playing newsboys
congregate to gamble away their little earnings.
Into such a hell as this was Rosa taken, and delib
erately sold, body and soul, to the proprietor, by her
inhuman mother. The poor child sobbed as if her
heart would break, till intimidated into silence.
During the few months of her residence in the
kind family of Mr. Reid, she had caught just enough
of a glimpse of the bright world beyond these reek
ing hells, to make the life into which she was thrust
back doubly bitter. Bhe was given a basket of fruit
and sent to the dance saloon on the secondt floor to
sell apples, oranges, &c., to the revelers there.
Thus, night after night, was this beautiful girl, in
whose heart nature had planted the priceless jewel
of virtuous modesty, compelled to witness the
OBSCENITY AND WICKEDNESS
of the dance-house, and tne vile slang common to
low brothels. A hundred times she had almost fallen
a victim to the beastly lusts of the debauched men
who came to the place, there was such a sad appeal
ing expression in her eyes that their devilish pur
poses had been stayed. Rosa was a favorite too.
Young sailors came to that house who were not so
hardened by the company of harlots that they could
not remember the innocent sisters with whom they
once played in the quiet dells about their child
hood’s homes. So these remembrances softened
many a heart toward the wan-faced girl. These
rough men had fought for her protection more than
once, and there had been several heads broken in
her defence. But one night in December
ROSA’S CRISIS CAME.
It was Christmas eve, and Rosa had been sent to
a neighboring grocery on an errand. There had been
a heavy fall of snow, and huge mounds had been
piled up along the side; some of these were nearly
six feet high, so that in some places persons on the
sidewalk could not see across the street. The young
girl was returning from her errand when she met a
stranger who was struck with her wondrous beauty.
He was better dressed than those who frequented
the house where she lived. He followed her, and
remained in the house, and all through the evening
he kept his eyes upon her with looks that boded
no good. Toward midnight, while the revelers were
engaged in their debauch, he followed the girl
into a dark passage put his arm around her waist.
The frightened girl glided from his grasp and ran to
the third floor, the stranger pursuing. Here Rosa
met Yorks, the keeper of the brothel, who with an
oath, pushed her into a room and handed the
stranger a key. The latter entered the room and
pushed too the door. It closed with a spring look,
and the poor girl seemed at the villain’s mercy.
But she gave him a defiant look and retreated back
ward to the window. Before he could guess her
purpose she raised the sash and made
A DESPERATE LEAP,
lighting in a bank of snow up to her neck. Though
she was unharmed, Rosa had some trouble to force
herself from the drift. She darted across the street,
but by this time Yorks, the brothel-keeper, was out
side, endeavoring to recapture her. One of the
tricks of the ‘keepers of these dens of infamy is to
accuse girls who attempt to escape from them of
theft. As Rosa ran down the street toward the river,
her fiendish pursuer added to her terror by shouting
“Stop thief!” A policeman joined in the pursuit,
but the frantic girl sped toward the river like a deer
in the chase. One pause at the dock, and then a
spring, and she was struggling in the icy current.
From the deck of a barge close by the watchman
saw the girl jump into the water. In an instant he
lowered himself into a small boat that lay at the
stern, and just as the policeman had reached the
wharf the gallant tar was lifting the half-drowned
girl into the boat. Suspecting by this time how
matters stood, the policeman turned upon his heel,
when his suspicions were confirmed by the sudden
disappearance of Yorks.
The man who rescued Rosa was a hardy old sea
man, bound for Baltimore, and he sailed early the
next morning, taking the child with him, by her
consent, she being only too glad to escape the dan
gers that beset her in New York. In Baltimore, the
girl was given a home with the sister of her rescuer,
and here she remained till after the war broke out.
During the war, among the many noble women
who visited the hospitals of the Union army, at
Washington, Annapolis, and Philadelphia, was Rosa
O’Donavan. In the midst of wounds, disease, and
death, she was almost constantly visiting the wards,
soothing the lonely agony of the suffering soldier.
24ore than once on blood-stained battle-fields her
delicate form,
ROBED LIKE THAT OF A SISTER OF CHARITY,
was seen, where she bravely passed amid a thousand
dangers, ministering to the wounded and the dying.
After the battle of Antietam, she retired to her home
in Baltimore, and attended to the wants of some
wounded officers who had bean taken to that city.
Captain Roberts from an Ohio Regiment, was among
the number. He was suffering from several terrible
flesh wounds, and was so much exhausted from loss
of blood that for days his life hung in a balance.
When the crisis was over, and the gallant soldier
was restored to consciousness, It was no wonder
that he worshipped the angelic creature who stood
in all the glory of her radiant loveliness by his bed
side day after day, fulfilling woman’s holiest noblest
mission. The days of his convalescence were happy
ones for them both. When he first learned the full
name of his fair nurse, Capt. Roberts exclaimed,
“Why Lieut. O’Donovan is now in command of a
campany with Meade, and a braver fellow never wore
a uniform. Then Rosa made the captain tell his
story—how, when almost surrounded by a squad of
rebel cavalry, and nearly hacked to pieces by their
sabres, Lieut. O’Donovan in a splendid bayonet
charge had rescued him more dead than alive.
When Rosa learned that Lieut. John O’Donovan be
longed to a Cincinnati regiment, she became deeply
interested, and was forced to tell her history, which
she did modestly, and without reserve. To her joy
and eurpinse she learned that the officer referred to
was
HER LONG LOST BROTHER.
Capt. Roberts sent for him, and in a day or two,
having received a short furlough, the lieutenant ar
riied. The joy of the brother and sister at meeting
each, other was almost indescribable.
Capt. Roberts, unable from bis wounds to join his
company for some months, returned to his home in
Cincinnati, and at his urgent entreaty, Rosa accom
panied him, as his betrothed wife. She learned on
her.arrival in that city, that he was a most successful
business man, and quite wealthy.
In a few months, Rosa became Mrs. Captain Rob
erts, and accompanied her husband again to the
field of active operations of the Army of the Poto
mac, where ho won new honors for bravery. At the
close of the conflict, this brave woman, who had
escaped the terrible dangers to which “nobody’s
children” are exposed, found herself the mistress of
one of tho meet elegant homes in Cincinnnati. Her
brother, at the urgent solicitation of Capt. Roberts,
became a member of the family.
But where was poor little Ellen? Mr. Stevenson
had taken her home, but he was not rich. Tw.o
years after lie had taken charge ol the child, he died,
and did not leave property sufficient to pay his deb ts.
The crisis of ’57 was too much for him. In a short
time after be died, Ellen was
FORCED INTO THE STREETS,
and was sheltered at night by a woman, who was
ttind, but wretchedly poor. The child worked at
whatever she could find, and earned JUst enough to
keep her from starving to death. Thus she drifted
along in the current which other homeless children
follow, escaping the thousand temptations to which
they .are exposed. She had attended various indus
trial ashools, and one day, in the Winter of 1866, she
found her way into the office of the Children’s Aid
Society, She was barefooted, and had on an old,
ragged shawl. She had heard of .a home in the West,
and came to see if they could find her one. A lady
and gentleman eat in the next room. They said they
had come in search of a girl to assist about the house.
They were strangers jn the city, and had been direct
ed here. The lady waA a magnificent speejmen of a
be«.sinful woman.—she wah Mrs. Captain Roberts,
and IUO gentleman vrbp sat fosside her WS9 fee? hus
band.
NEW YORK, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1871.
“She Is a pitiable-looking specimen,” said the
person in charge; “but if you wish, I’ll bring her
in.”
“Let her come In,” said Mrs. Roberts.
“What is your name, my poor girl ?” said Rosa.
“Ellen O’Donovan,” said the child, meekly.
“MY POOR, LOST NELLY!”
the woman replied, as she threw her arms around
the emaciftted form of the wondering child. She had
traced the girl, and learned her story, and when she
uttered her name, she was easily identified.
Incidents like those we have related are only a
part of the history of thousands of the homeless
children in New York. There are now about 25,000
of these In the city, who, but for the aid of charity,
would nightly be exposed to the pitiless blasts of
Winter.
FREE LODGINGS.
How the Poor are Cared for in
the Police Stations.
WANT OF ACCOMMODATION.
CHARACTER OF THE LOPCERS.
“ Bummers ’’ and “ Revolvers.”
Servant Girls Out of Work.
Mechanics and Laboring Jlcn Hard Up.
BAREFOOT JENNY, THE PERT AND
SAUCY.
Scenes and Incidents at tlie Different
Police Stations.
The subject of free lodgings for homeless and des
titute persons has troubled the police authorities
for years past. The only accommodation which the
city has for this class of people is at the station
houses, which is of a very meagre, and at many of
the station-houses, of a most miserable character.
A reporter for the Dispatch, having casually ob
served the condition of some of the lodging rooms,
and the frequent application at night of men and
women for lodgings, has, during the past week, vis
ited all of the station-houses, and inspected the
rooms set apart for that purpose, and noted the
character and condition of the lodgers. The result
of his investigations is given below.
In the first place, in order that the public can
form an adequate idea of the importance of this
matter, we will give the following abstract and ex
hibit from the “First Annual Report of the Police
Department of the City of New York,” published
this year:
LODGERS IN THE STATION-HOUSES.
The number of persons accommodated with lodg
ings’at the station-houses, from 1860 to April 5, 1871,
is 1,104,548.
During the past year 141,780 persons have been
accommodated with shelter and such lodgings as the
station-houses afford. During the inclement season
the rooms allotted to them are often overcrowded,
possibly to the detriment of the health of the police
force; and not unfrequently the applicants for lodg
ings are, of necessity, sent from one station-house
to another, on account of the insufficiency of the ac
commodations.
It is respectfully suggested that it would be wise
to provide, independent of the station-houses, under
proper supervision, several lodging-houses, to be lo
cated in different portions of the city,where the pop
ulation is dense, of sufficient dimensions to receive
and shelter this unfortunate class oi the community.
TABLE OF LODGERS FOR A SERIES OF YEARS
FROM 1861 TO APRIL 5, 1871.
Year. No. of Lodgers.
New York City 1861 119,348
“ “ 1862 70,938
“ “ 1863 68.254
“ •' 1864 59,929
“ “ 1865 64,247
“ “ 1866 115.324
“ “ 1867 105,460
“ “ 181’8 141,070
“ “ 1869 fto Nov. 1) ISS 591
•• “ From Nov. 1, 1869, to ) m
April 5, 187'9. I 82 ’ 607
“ “ From April 5. 1870, to ) iji •jon
April 5,1871. j
Total 1,104,548
It will be seen by the above table that for the last
ten years there has been, on an average, more than
one hundred thousand persons accommodated with
free lodgings each year ; and last year—that is,
r om April 5, 1870, to April 5, 1871—there were the
large number of 141,780 persons given free lodgings.
This is
AN ASTOUNDING STATEMENT,
when we reflect that one out of every seven of the
entire population of the city have slept at least one
night during the course of the year in a station
house. It must be understood, however, that in the
number given above it means the number of lodgers.
In many cases one person may sleep fifty or more
times in one or more station-houses during the
year. But, looking at it in whatever view it may be
taken, it is a melancholy exhibit, especially when it
is taken in connection with the subjoined statement
of the size and condition of the rooms set apart for
that purpose. Before proceeding to that, we desire
to call attention to a singular fact in the above table.
It will be seen that in 1861, before the late war had
assumed its tremendous proportions, there were
119,348 lodgers; the next four years, during the con
tinuance of the war, the numbers were reduced
about one-half. But, as soon as peace was declared,
the numbers rose again from 64,247 in 1865 to 115,324
in 1866, a difference of more than 55,000 in a single
year.
CHARACTER OF THE LODGERS.
In a great metropolitan city like this, where the
numerous exigencies of pecuniary misfortune to
which persons of small means are subjected, and
which are of every-day occurrence—persons who are
honest and respectable, but who have not the mesns
to pay for a night’s lodging; better provision should
be made to accommodate them. For the fair fame
.of the city, this shonld.be done, afi well as for a kind
consideration for the comfort of this class of our un
fortunate citizens, and tbe numerous destitute
strangers who are constantly among us.
# THE “OLD BUMS,”
as they are called are the most frequent applicants,
and it is they who are the subjects of vexation and
trouble to the police authorities. They pick up a
little job, here and there occasionally, and hang
around low gin mills until their money is spent,
and then at night sleep in the station house. Ex
perience has taught these people to apply at the
station house early, so that they can secure a place,
knowing thfat if they apply at a late hour the small
rooms will be filled, and they will have to walk about
in the cold all night. As a general thing, however,
the officers at the station houses are very kind and
considerate for these wretched creatures; and if the
night ie very cold, although the rooms may be
crowded to repletion they rarely ever turn them
away, but ;find some place in the passage-ways to
stow them. They, however, fill up the space very
often which the mere deserving should occupy.
The principal objection which some ot the police
officers urge against the building of more commo
dious lodging houses, as suggested iu the official
report above, is, that it would only tend to
ENCOURAGE IDLENESS AND DISSOLUTENESS
among the lower classes of our population. The
officers say that so long as these fellows know that a
good and comfortable lodging awaits them upon i
application, they will never try to obtain any other,
and tne little money they earu will go for rum.
What they require to eat they will beg, and thus
tney will live until .they fill a pauper’s grave. As it
is now, during the Winter, their solicitude for find
ing some place to sleep often compels them to labor,
and save their money to pay for their lodging, pro
vided they cannot get it at a station house. Hale,
able bodied men, who make a practice of sleeping in
station houses, are very often denied when they once
become known. They then go to others where they
are not known, and so on until they have run com
pletely out. These fellows, in tochical police par
lance, arc called “Revolvers/’
THE LODGING ROOMS. •
The necessity for lodging rooms more adequate to
the number and character of the population, is most
felt in the lower Wards of the city, where it is more
crowded, and where the most poverty exists among
the people.
The exceedingly cold snap commencing on Wednes
day l>s,t, caused an unusually large number to seek
lodgings .at the station-houses. Wednesday Right
there m en ru<l 176 wpgien ci ven Jp#*-
aid luhpnhut.
WHAT THE LODGERS SAY.
The first statlon-bouso visited was the Twenty-sev
enth Precinct, located at the corner of Liberty and
Church streets. The building is new, and one of the
very beet station-houses in the city. It was but a
little after seven o’clock when the reporter visited it.
Captain Cherry courteously sent a man with him
down stairs, and gave him all the information in his
power. The lodging rooms—two of them, one for
the males and one for the females—are located in the
basement, on the opposite side from the cells where
prisoners are confined. In the passage way leading
to the rooms was a coal-stove red-hot with heat.
The rooms are twelve by sixteen feet each. They
have no furniture of any kind in them. The lodgers
must lie on the bare platform, and as close together
as possible, so as to admit as many as can bo packed
into it. The platform is about two and a half feet
from tbe stone floor. The boards are loose, so that
they can be taken apart and washed each day to keep
away the vermin. Seated on this platform were al
ready eight women; one or two of them were old,
with matted gray hair hanging down their shoulders;
the remainder were young women, all of whom, with
one exception, looked dissipated. The door was
open to admit the warm air, and they seemed to be
m excellent spirits.
A BARE FOOTED ONE-EYED GIRL,
with her hair cut close to her head made a great
deal of amusement for them with her saucy replies
and ready wit. She, poor thing, was already inured
to privation and disease. She had but recently
been discharged from the hospital. She was very
solicitous, however, that her name should not be
given to the reporter. “Igo by the name of Jenny,”
said she, “but that’s not my real name/’
One of the old women was moaning *nd rubbing
her right leg.
Reporter—What’s the matter, old lady ?
Old Lady—l have the rheumatiz, sir, bad luck to
it.
All the girls laughed. They seemed overflowing
with good humor.
Jenny—She’s not a lady.
Reporter—What is she, then ?
Jenny—She’s a woman. The girls laughed immod
erately at Jenny’s pertness, all but the old woman
who continued groaning with palu.
Reporter—You ought to have something to rub on
your leg, old lady.
Old lady—l’d rather have a good pull of old bour
bon.
This reply sent the girls into bursts of laughter,
from which they did not recover for two or three
minutes.
Reporter—Jenny, what’s that you have smelling
at in the vial ?
Jenny—That’s hartshorn liniment, to drive away
my head-ache. That’s what the old woman ought to
have to rub on her shins ; but she likes the hard
stuff better. I’m afraid she won’t get any here.”
And then Jenny looked up in an arch manner, and
asked, “ Have you got any, sir ?”
This sent the girls off almost into hysterics.
By dint of questioning, it was learned that most
eff the women were
SERVANTS OUT OF EMPLOYMENT.
The most healthy eyed looking one of them said
that she had been looking for two weeks for a place
in this city and Brooklyn.
The men’s room is the same size as the women’s,
and fitted up precisely like it. There were four men
there when the reporter first entered.- The first man
spoken to said he lived at Hacketstown, and had
been working on the Morris and Essex Railroad. He
had been to No. 16 Exchange place to get his money,
but the place was closed. Ho had no money to pay
for his lodging, and therefore had to go co the station
house. The next man said:
“I been Danish. I come.trom Cleveland.”
Another man said he was a coal heaver.
Officer—“ What a’you got in that bag ?”
Coal heaver —“ Oh, it's only an old pair o’ boots
and a loaf o’ bread.”
And immediately he pulled out the bread, and di
vided it up among his fellow-lodgers.
Just then five more men came marching in, four
ot whom were Germans, and one a negro. The
Germans were strangers in the city, and had been
looking for work. The negro was from Charleston,
and was a cook. He had a job, ho said, to go aboard
a ship the next morning as cook.
At the Third Precinct Station House, No. 160
Chambers street, they have no accommodation for
lodgers.
At the Fifth, Nos. 19 and 21 Leonard street, the
station-house is new. Captain Petty gave the re
porter a considerable amount of information. The
free lodging-rooms in this station-house are twenty
feet long by ten feet wide. They have stone flooring,
with raised board platform for the lodgers to lie upon,
as above described, and this arrangement is the
same in all the new and best station-houses in the
city. When the reporter entered the room for the
men, the upper portion of the platform was already
occupied with reclining men. One or two were on
the lower side, dovetailed between the others. The
platform was subsequently entirely covered by
twenty-three men—the most it will hold. The plat
form being but ten feet wide, the dove-tailing pro
cess left not a foot of the boards visible, and caused
the whole mass of humanity to look solid and com
pact.
Some of the men, ui>on being awakened, looked
like
HONEST MECHANICS,
and were well-dressed. They all said they were out
of work, and had no money. Others were “ old
bums,” and their breaths exhaled fumes of bad
whisky. In the female’s room, at the time the re
porter entered, there was but one woman, and she
was seated on tbe platform reading a morning paper
by the gaslight. She was gruff, and seemed annoyed
at being disturbed. She was a servant, out of work.
Afierward, the room was filled with women and
children.
Captain Petty tells many stories about his free
lodgers. One was an old
IRISHMAN, WITH A FINE MILITARY BEARING,
who always saluted the officer at the desk very po
litely when he entered. He wore a dark blue uniform
coat of a subaltern officer of the United States army,
the brass buttons of which always shone bright and
clean.
He seemed to take an especial pride in his brass
buttons, and kept his coat buttoned up tightly to his
throat, so that the buttons could be seen. His ex
planation of the situation was, that he had been in
the late war, and was waiting to get his pay from
some quartermaster whom he named. Captain
Petty permitted him to lodge there for three months;
and then, having observed him laying around drink
ing-saloons day, never doing anything, Captain
Petty thought he had “played it” long enough, and
would not let him stop there any longer.
Since last May .there have been two children born
at this station-house, the mothers being free lodgers.
One was a fine boy, the captain said, and was named
Leonard Petty Carrigan. Leonard for the street,
Petty for tbe captain, and Carrigan for the mother.
“1 won’t name him after bis father, bad luck to
him,” said she, “for he had the common name of
Smith. My name is more ’ristocratic.”
She was sent to the hospital; and she afterward
c«jne to lodge at the station-house, with her Loy
Leonard Petty.
Qpe woman with four children lodged there a
whole week. Captain Petty told her if she came
there again he would find means to have her dis
posed of, intending to take her to court. She did
not come again.
The Eighth Precinct station-house, corner of
Prince and Wooster streets, has the worst lodging
rooms of al! the station-houses in the city. Captain
McDermott himself accompanied the reporter down
stairs, and pointed out their imperfections. In size
they are eight by twelve feet. There is no raised
platform, and positively
NO VENTILATION
except when the door opens to admit lodgers into
them. There is a hot stove in the passage-way, and
a coal bin at the extreme end. If no deaths occur
from asphyxia in those lodging rooms this Winter, it
will be something remarkable. When the door was
opened by the captain, a horrid stench rushed out.
In the swsfy time the weceedieg Xfq®
this “Black Hole ” is offensive to the officers, who
sleep directly over head. The surgeon has reported
its condition to the Police Commissioners, and it is
hoped they will see the necessity of an improvement
of some kind. The rooms are entirely too small to
accommodate the largo numbers of poor and desti
tute people in the Eighth Ward. Only eight by
twelve feet! —and yet in this small space as many as
eighteen persons have been crowded!
Upon ro-ascending to the office, eno of the women
followed, and said she could not stand it “ down
there,” and walked out, thinly clad, in the freezing
night air. What better proof could be afforded of
the horrid character of this place?
The lodging rooms ot the station-houses on the
west side, further up town, are mostly the same as
those first described. This is especially true of all
the new ones. The same may be said of the east
side of the city with the exception of the Sixth, at
No. 9 Franklin street, which has been condemned by
the Superintendent of Buildings; and it has been
officially stated that “a more healthy location is im
peratively needed.” The accommodations at the
Union Market station-house are wretched for lodg
ers, as well as insufficient for the wants of the Pre
cinct.
The station-house, at No. 220 East Fifty-ninth
street, is bad, and insufficient in every way. Poor
lodgers have got a poor chance there.
The Fourth Precinct Station-House, at No. 9 Oak
street, is a new one. It carries the palm in the way
of free lodgers, averaging severity-five each night.
Rut this number crowds the space most uncom
fortably.
It would be useless to enter into mors details con
cerning this subject. Enough has been said to show
the character of the rooms assigned by the police
authorities for lodgings, and the character of the oc
cupants, and the pressing need for reform and im
provement in the whole matter.
Some of the officers suggest that a large manufac
turing establishment might be carried on by the per
sons who go to station-houses for free lodgings.
Many of the better class of them would be glad to
work for their victuals, and a place to sleep com
fortably at night. They would thus better their own
condition, and be valuable laborers to the'eitv. The
plan seems feasible, and would no doubt work well.
THB RELIGIOUS WIB.
READING THE BIBLE IN THE
PUBLIC SCHOOLS.
A PROTESTANT’S VIEWS.
Tlie Destruction of Oisr Public
Schools .Determined On.
A System of Sectarian Schools to
be Built Up.
How the Catholic Schools in this City were
Commenced and Slaintaincd.
To the Editor of the N, Y. Dispatch:
Dear Sir—The small war now waging in the First
District school at Long Island City (better known by
its old title of Hunter's Point), between the school
officers and certain of the Catholic portion of the
populace, who have incited their children to acts of
disorder when the Bible is read each morning, is
about as unwise a thing as they could well engage
in. It can but excite the most intense religious feel
ings, and will fan into life animosities which have
lain dormant for many years past, but which unwise
acts will call into being, and render all the more
alarming for their long quiescence.
THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE ROW.
When the various villages which now constitute
Long Island City were into one, the
Board of School Commissioners adopted the rules
and regulations that govern the schools in this city.
One of these is that the schools shall be opened each
morning by the reading of a chapter from the Bible,
or the Lord’s Prayer. One of the Commissioners—a
Catholic—visited the school on one occasion, and on
nearing the Bible read, as usual, became very indig
nant, and delivered himself of a very inflammatory
harangue, denouncing this part of the exercises in
the strongest terms. The majority of the School
Board decided that it would be subversive of disci
pline if the reading was discontinued under compul
sion, and accordingly it was continued. There are a
large number of Cathode children attending tbe
school, and these soon began to show signs of in
subordination, incited thereto, without doubt, by
their parents, and others of their faith. It is even
asserted that the Catholic priest of that parish has
been so unwise as to take part in urging that the
reading of the Bible in the school should be re
sisted.
Threats were also made against the Principal of
the school, Mr. Frederick Seiburg, an accomplished
and educated gentleman, and against those members
of the School Board who favored a continuance of
the reading. On z last Monday morning, Katie Denin,
whose parents had taken an active part in the cut
side demonstrations, arose in school while Mr. Sei
burg was reading the Lord’s Prayer, and denounced
it as sacrilegious and wrong, declaring she did not
believe it, when Mr. Seiburg attempted to eject her;
her brothers came to her rescue and prevented it.
They were arrested, but immediately bailed, and set
at liberty. On the following morning much the
same scenes were enacted. The girl Denin and thir
teen others who had interrupted the reading of the
Scriptures by shouts of “Don’t believe it,” were ex
pelled.
ANOTHER SCHOOL IN AN UPROAR.
In the Second Ward School the same state of things
existed. On Tuesday morning one of the boys, dur
ing the reading, shouted, “ lake your Bible and go
toh—l with It. Ovher boys and girls hooted and
hissed, and the clamor was deafening until the Prin
cipal ended it by desiring all who were opposed to
the Bible to rise, and then, with his assistants,
promptly expelled all who did so, forty in number.
The majority of the members of the School Board,
recognizing this as an attack on the American system
of free education, have promptly backed up Mr. Sei
burg and the Principal of the other school in what
they have done, and declare that none of these re
fractory children shall be readmitted to the schools
until their parents will agree to become responsible
for their good behavior while in school.
THE EFFECT OUTSIDE.
Mr. Seiberg cannot appear on the street without
being insulted; and his life is daily threatened. The
school buildings are guarded by the police, but nev
ertheless stones and bricks are nightly hurled
through the windows. By some, the closing of the
schools is advocated; but this is opposed by others,
who say that it would be giving way too much to the
spirit of bigotry and intolerance—that tbe course of
the School Board, expressive as it is of American in
dependence and a determination not to allow reli
gion to obtain a louihold in our schools, and thus
impair, if not utterly destroy their usefulness, should
be sustained to the uttermost.
THE FEELING IN THIS CITY.
The matter is being canvassed in this city by those
of cur citizens who have viewed with alarm and in
dignation tbe encroachments of the Catholic portion
oi thesommunity; and leehng that this advance and
overslaughing of the rights of others should be re
sisted before it becomes so much of a lower as to
almost defy assault.
A FAVORED RELIGION.
The Catholic portion of this community are less
than one-fourth oi the whole; and yet by constant,
persistent effort, extending through a long series of
years, they have succeeded in obtaining more than
four-fifths of the donations that are given by the State
and city authorities. While other congregations have
studiously kept out ol politics, the Catholic priest
hood, early recognizing it as a lever for the advance
ment of the church, with that foresight for which
th.eir leaders have always been remarkable in affairs
of this kind, pushed forward men for nomination,
and supported others, solely with a view to obtain,
through them, grants of land and money for Mother
Church, The well-known and somewhat eccentric,
as well as jelly old boy, Father Mooney, pastor of St.
Bridget’s, is .as good a politician as is to be found in
ibis town? bW no ecrnulea about dee'gs.aling to I
OFFICE, NO. 11 FRANKFORT BT.
his flock, on the eve of an election, whom they are to
support.
The talented Archbishop Hughes was also a shrewd
politician, and it was by his good management that
St. Patrick's and other Catholic schools, in the
Fourth, Sixth, and Fourteenth Wards, were estab
lished by and supported from the public treasury.
Ostensibly built as private, or rather denominational
schools, they were soon provided for by a subservi
ent Common Council, and from that time forward
they have been kept up at the expense of thousands
of dollars to the general public, although excellent
common schools are provided in the same Wards,
under the common school system. A long and bit
ter fight by Archbishop Hughes for a share of the
Common School Fund, to be devoted to Catholic
schools, ended in his defeat—for the time being.
How he, with his usual astuteness, got around the
difficulty, let those large and well-filled sectarian
schools, as compared with the comparatively empty
public schools close by, answer.
HOW ABOUT OTHER DENOMINATIONS.
People are beginning to inquire if these schools
are supported year after year by donations from the
public moneys, why have not other denominations
the same right ? Certainly, it must be distasteful to
the children of a Jew to listen to the reading of the
New Testament. Why, it is asked, have the Jews,
notoriously among the most wealthy of our citizens,
as a class, not the same right to have schools built
for them, and supported at the expense of the pub
lic, as the Catholics ? And if they, who not the re
maining denominations in kind ? Carry out this
train of reasoning to its logical conclusion, and what
is there left of our Common. School system ? Abso
lutely nothing.
OUR SYSTEM OF CHARITIES.
The same system runs through our charities, pub
lic and private. In all of these the same undue
prominence is given to Catholics. Where a Congre
gational, Baptist, Methodist, or Hebrew congregation
receive a SI,OOO donation from the State or city
authorities, the Catholics receive SIO,OOO, as the pub
lished tables will prove. One institution alone, the
Catholic Reformatory, receives from $125,000 to
150,000 yearly for work that should be left to the
State or county correctional institutions.
A GENERAL OVERHAULING.
To such lengths has this system of organized giv
ing away been carried, that a determined effort is to
be made to put a stop to jt in good part. The mem
bers of the incoming city government are pledged to
reform, and may be trusted to do away with many
of the abuses that have grown up under the corrupt
bodies that have administered the affairs of this city
for several years past.
A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.
I know there are members of the Board of Educa
tion, who, if their real sentiments were made public,
would express themselves in favor of dropping the
reading of the Bible in our public schools, because
it is made the pretext by the Catholic clergy for ob
jecting to omftfcchool system. But these same men
are decidedly opposed to giving a dollar toward the
support of any sectarian school. Only in this man
ner, they think, can our public school system, of
which we are so proud, and from which we claim
such good results flow, be perpetuated.
THE AMOUNTS ASKED FOR FROM THE CITY.
The various Catholic charitable institutions in this
city during the present year, asked for the following
amounts: The Managers of the Roman Catholic Or
phan Asylums, asked for SIO,OOO, or more, if it could
be given. They had already received SB,OOO in the
State Tax Levy. The Sisters of St. Dominic Asylum
asked for SIO,OOO, and received $6,000. They had
already received $5,000 from the State Tax Levy.
The Managers of St.- Vincent’s Hospital received
$5,000 from the State Tax Levy, asked for SIO,OOO,
and received $6 000.
The Sisters of the Poor, of St. Francis Hospital,
asked for $30,000, and received $6,000.
The Managers of St. Joseph’s Orphan Asylum re
ceived from the Tax Levy $2,000, and asked for and
received $5,000.
The Sisters of Mercy asked for and received $3,000
for St. Joseph’s Industrial Home.
The Association for Befriending Children received
from the State $5,000, and asked for an additional
$5,000.
In accordance with an Act of the Legislature, re
quiring the sum of sllO per capita on the average of
persons annually maintained in the institution, the
New York Catholic Protectory demanded the sum of
$163,000, and received it.
The Society for the Protection of Destitute Roman
Catholic Children receives annually several thousand
dollars from the State, and asked for additional aid
from the city.
The Roman Catholic House of the Good Shepherd
'asked for SIO,OOO. In 1869 this institution received
from the Tax Levy $15,000, and from the Excise Fund
SIO,OOO. In 1870 it received from the Tax Levy
$25,000, and from the State Charity Bill $4,000.
The Superior of St Anthony’s Convent asked for
$5,000 or SIO,OOO.
The Missionary Order of St. Francis asked for aid,
but did not mention the amount wanted.
The Managers of the Asylum of St. Vincent de
Paul suggested that $15,000 would carry them through
the present year.
These are only the applications that were made to
the Board of Apportionment. Each year the Com
mon Council mako appropriations, aggregating a very
large amount for the Roman Catholic Schools
and Charitable Societies in this city. The entire
amount has some years been as high as half a million
dollars. Valuable plots of ground have been given
almost without any consideration therefor to Roman
Catholic bodies, while the more moderate requests
of other denominations have been met with decided
refusals.
No one can truthfully deny that the Roman Catho
lic charitable institutions are doing a good work in
sheltering and educating children, who would other
wise grow up and become outlaws or prostitutes.
But those who have at heart the interests of other
societies or institutions equally deserving receive
nothing like the amount that is annually given these
more favored ones. Even where the Board of Ap
portionment has refused applications for Roman
Catholic Schools and Charities, the applicants have
transferred their requests to the Common Council
and had them granted.
This matter has been agitated for some time, and
the feeling engendered by it is so bitter that there is
danger that the Legislature may cut off all appropri
ations. and forbid the Common Council from making
any appropriations for institutions of a religious or
scholastic nature. ' Tax Payer.
AVONDALE?
A MAN CONFESSES ON HIS DEATH-BED THAT
HE AIDED IN FIRING THE AVONDALE
BREAKER. ___
(From the Scranton Republican.)
Since the loss of the Avondale coal breaker by fire,
and the additional terrible loss of a hundred lives
from the effect upon the ventilation of the mine,
there has been endless aud fruitless speculation as
to its cause, and the profound mystery which
shrouled it at the time has since enveloped it, and
■while the story which reaches us comes from no
authoritative source, itjs still so generally circu
lated, that we feel justified in giving it for what it
mav be worth.
A man who lived somewhere near Grand Tunnel,
died from the effects of small-pox last Friday night.
In his last moments he said to those about him that
there was something on his mind which troubled
him, and he could not die at rest with himself until
he told it. He went on to say that the Steuben
(Avondale') breaker was never fired by accident, but
that he was of a party of six who fired it. Then giv
ing his own name, he undertook to give others, but
but could only articulate what was understood to be
“Michael,” when a fainting fit attacked him, from
which he did not rally, dying shortly after. It will,
of course, never be known what he intended to di
vulge, but he has certainly left enough behind him
to confirm the belief of some who have held that the
burning of the breaker was through foul means, and
it may open the way to find out whether there is
really any foundation for the belief. And should
investigation show that tiiere was loul play, we hope
that not a stone may be left unturned to bring the
wretches who could plan and carry out so dastardly
and awful a scheme, to HQmmary and effective re.
tr ibn tipp
1 IIWllM;
08, THE
MYSTERY OF k FAMILY.
BY ARCHER BUCHAN.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE MASQUERADE.
The Hotel D’Orville was brilliant with lights ;
the air was heavy with perfume; and strains
of melody from basso, viol, and flute, now loud
and fast, and again soft and low, resounded
throughout the mansion. The grand recep
tion hall was in a perfect blaze with the myriad
lights in magnificent chandeliers, which being
again reflected in the mirrors surrounding the
walls, seemed to be endless. At the further
end of the salon a large square window stood
open, and gave exit to the garden, in which
every bush and tree was hung with many-col
ored lights ; and seemed to be under some en
chantment of glow-worms.
Up to the grand entrance of the mansion,
carriages were arriving and departing rapidly,
one after another. The rank and fashion of
Paris were gathering, decked out in motley
array. Knights, Turks, Chinese, monks, har
lequins, clowns—the garbs of all periods and
all nations, had some representative; for this
was one of those grand masqn- s in which the
heart of the Parisian delights. It was open
only to the favored few of the pure ton; for
Lady Campbellkopt her circle very select. The
favored few, however, were sufficiently numer
ous to crowd the mansion.
Among the latest arrivals was a common
fiacre, out of which leapt a man in Jewish gab
erdine, with other habiliments to match. The
cab instantly drove away, as if in a hurry to
get out of sight. He of the gaberdine ascend
ed the stairs, and just after crossing the thres
hold, a domestic respectfully bowed to him.
"Ah 1” exclaimed the Jew masque, in a weak,
astonished voice, “I have forgotten the card,
ray friend ; but this will do as well.”
110 quietly dropped a Napoleon into the
man’s hand, and was instantly conducted to
the reception hall.”
As he passed down the brilliant salon, and
steered his way through the crowd of laughing
fairies, friars, goddesses, and the rest, his eyes,
glaring out from his black mask, wandered
restlesssly over the assembly.
“White, and a red rose on the breast,” mut
tered Neil Colvin, clutching bis long staff tight
ly with bis hand, and passing on watchfuily.
Just then the band played a galop, and fai
ries, goddesses, monks, and knights whirled
ahd twirled furiously along the salon. Loud
er, louder rose the music; faster, faster flow
the dancers ; and Neil hurriedly stepped to the
side opposite the window. Eagerly ho watched
tho dresses of the dancers as they flew past
him. Presently, he glanced toward the largo
window, which opened to the garden, and his
heart leapt as if about to burst from his breast.
There, standing in tho window, with her eyes
apparently fixed upon him, was a lady, dressed
in simple white satiu, without jewel or orna
ment, other than a red rose upon her breast.
He with difficulty restrained himself from a
cry of joy, as be made his way through the
midst of the terpsichoreans.
The lady observing that he approached, slow
ly made her way through the window, and
moved into the garden.
At the same time a rod cross knight, who
was standing a little farther down the salon,
hastily elbowed bis way up to a gentleman in
the costume of the Louis XII. period.
"There, you see yonder man in the gaber
dine, and she in the white, with tho red rose?
They have kept the appointment,” said the
knight, who was our friend Dunstan.
“ Impossible !” said the Master; “ she camo
here in’pink.”
“Bah 1 A ruse to blind you.”
“Hum—doubtless. But I am content—this
is their last interview.”
“ How will you prevent another ?”
“What bridge does he cross on the way to
la Cite ?”
“Tho Notre Dame—why?”
“He might have a fall, you know, and it
might be over the parapet —Macfarlane.”
With the last word, Kilmonell turned to s
giant of a man who was standing behind him.
with a friar’s cowl drawn well over his faco,
and a long cloak concealing his person. Kil
monell directed the attention of this man to
Neil, who was just then passing through the
window ; and when Kilmonell had done speak
ing to him Macfarlane nodded bis head affirma
tively, and then moved to the entrance dooi
of the salon, by which he took his stand, as il
waiting for somebody.
While this was passing between Dunstan,
Kilmonell, and his servitor, they did not ob
serve that a couple of dancers remained very
close to them ail the time, apparently having
some difficulty to get into-the proper pas. Tho
gentleman did not appear to be able to dance,
and the lady was apparently trying to drag
him through the galop; but they started and
stopped again, with singular awkwardness,
always remaining close to Kilmonell. The
gentleman was dressed to represent Neptune,
in a long, weedy-looking, green garment, and
the lady a la Diana.
Just when Kilmonell ceased speaking, and
Macfarlane moved away, the lady gave up the
attempt to make Neptuno dance, and she
placed her arm in his, and walked down the
room with him.
“ We nave had enough of dancing, Mr. Kin
loch,” she whispered.
“As you please, Miss Menzies, I told you
that I couldn’t dance ; and 1 wouldn’t have
tried it for anybody in tho world but yourself.
You see I am a hopeless boor, and you will
never get me to know anything about anything
except horses, guns, and dogs.”
There was a queer mingling of humor, re
spectful tenderness, and slight chagrin in ths
man’s tone.
“Well, never mind the dancing—come thia
way into the garden. I want you to do me a
favor.”
“ You will confer a favor upon me in asking
me to do anything,” was the answer, in an
earnest tone.
“ Will you exchange your dress with a friend
of mine ?”
“Oh!—is that all?” I wish it had been a
something more ; but where is he, and I’ll give
him everything in a minute—that is, of course,
after you get out of the way.”
“We will see him presently. He wears a
Jew’s garberdine, and when you put it on, yot
must look as like him as possible.”
“ I will do anything you bld me.”
Neil followed the lady of the rose down the
illuminated paths of the garden, till, at length,
when they had nearly reached its extremity,
and when they were surrounded ffy laurel
bushes—a place which was dark in comparison
with the rest of the grounds, the lady paused.
Neil sprang to her side, and the blood went
singing madly through his veins as he
grasped her hand. The exquisitely-carved
mouth and chin were all of tho face that was
visible beneath the mask.
“ Helen 1”
“Neill”
There was a depth of hopeless agony in ths
tone of the poor lady’s voice, as she breathed
that name. But there was something very
coldly calm withal.
“Neil spoke in a low, feverish, agitated
voice.
“Are you then marble still? Helen, for
great Heaven’s sake, speak to me with soma
flash of soul—speak to me as if you could feel
as other human creatures feel.” •
“Do you doubt that I feel?” she said, with
some bitterness, “ and would it not be well if 1
were cold as I seem? Should you not rejoice if
my heart were stone ? Should you not bo glad
that you, who fled from me at the moment
when you might have saved mo from—from—
that which I have become ?”
“ You upbraid—you are angry with me ?”
“ No.”
“I was deceived.”
“I know it.”
“But I have cast forth from my soul all
doubt—all hesitation. I believe you pure and
and guiltless—pure as I thought you were
when we first met. And I will prove it in the
teeth of the foul fiend’s self—l will prove it tc
tho world.”
She trembled violently, but did not speak. !'
A pause. Thon Neil, in a hot, anguished
tone :
“You are Keren Ygu do pot 10Y9
mA.”
NO. 5

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