The Caledonian., March 13, 1838.
From the New York Daily Advertiser and Express.
LIFE IN NEW YORK.
One half the world, it is truly said, are ignorant
of the means by which the other half live.
One of the greatest mysteries in the eyes of a
man unused to a large city is, how so large a
number of inhabitants can manage to pick up
a living; existing, as many of them appear to,
by eating each other up, somewhat after the
manner of the Kilkenny cats. Of the whole
ten thousand expedients resorted to, one motive
seems to govern all actions, and that is—to enjoy
as many benefits as possible by contributing the
smallest degree of labor. While it is the easiest
thing in the world for men of peculiar capacities
to get rich, to others it is the most difficult
thing to get bread. The former dashes through
all obstacles, surmounts every difficulty, and
overwhelms all opposition, till he has attained
his object; while the other only grubs, as it were,
through life, content with any mode of livelihood
that will satisfy his animal passions. Or, as Byron
has happily described the existence of man, it is—
“A fierce contest betwixt
Base wants and lofty will.”
The population of this city is not much short
of 300,000 souls, or 60,000 families, the heads of
which, with the exception of a very few individuals,
have recourse to their wits for the daily sustenance
of their dependents. Every man, high
or low, other than the cultivators of the earth,
lives by his wits, and every other means resorted
to for a livelihood are mere expedients or substitutes;
rendered necessary, it is very true, by the
usages of society, and requiring generally a degree
of labor equal to that of the husbandman,
and often surpassing it. But to live by one's wits,
one must have something of a stock in trade to
set up upon; and where wits are the stock in
trade, it is very natural that business should be
divided into a great many branches, as it is in a
city. Some taking to merchandize, some to
loafing, some to writing, some to begging, some
to “going out to day's work done here,” and
others to courts and courting, to the Fieri
Facias, and Capias satisfaciendum.
It is not unprofitable now and then to cast one's
horoscope abroad over one's city, and to see how
many people exist,—for which purpose we have
prepared the following article upon life in circles
but little known even to New Yorkers themselves.
Pat Waters was landed at the foot of Rector
just after the late war, destitute and penniless,
without a farthing in his pocket or a friend in the
country.
He commenced by picking up all manner of
bones and pieces of meat around the markets
and in the streets which he boiled out. The fat
extracted in this way he sold to the soap boilers,
and the bones to the button makers, until he
raised the means of buying a litter of pigs, which
he fed upon the liquor in which the bones had
been boiled, with the addition of such articles
of garbage as he could fall in with among the
huxters in the market. By the proceeds of his
bones, fat, and pigs, he became enabled in time
to purchase a cart, with which he monopolized
all the swill of a large neighborhood—extended
his pork factory, shipped his bones to Europe,
where he met with a ready sale—built a large
establishment out of town, where he carried on
his business, and in the course of a few years
amassed an independent fortune. Thousands
since his time have followed the same pursuit,
but competition has unfortunately divided the
profits into too many hands to enable his
successors to retire with the same success.
Store sweepings and street gleanings of every
description if they have not founded many fortunes,
have been the means of feeding many a
hungry mouth. An observer would be surprised
at the large amount of rubbish, seemingly of no
value, that is picked up, assorted, and systematically
disposed of, by the various degrees of chiffoniers,
and kennel scrapers, who are constantly
on the alert with their bags and baskets, particularly
early in the morning, in search of old rags,
paper, metals, broken glass, bones, coal cinders,
&c. for all of which they find ready purchasers,
in the various junk shops, and factories, in the city.
But by far the most numerous and at the same
time most indefatigable idlers are the various
classes of mendicants. From the squalid street
beggar up to the fashionable borrower, not one
of them solicits for the mere necessities of nature,
but all, more or less make mendicity a matter of
trade or speculation.
Cold victuals, which is frequently implored
from the charitable housekeeper in accounts of
the deepest despondency, and accepted with
demonstrations of the most profound humility and
gratitude, are also converted into merchantable
articles—the fat pieces are selected out to undergo
the process of the try kettle; the vegetables
are culled out to feed hogs, and the daintier bits
of fish, flesh and fowl, are sold to the keepers of
boarding houses, and cook shops at the Five
Points, at the foot of Dover street, up to the Hook,
and other places of similar reputation. The
amount thus disposed of is incalculable. The
persons who traffic in this way, prepare their
children like actors for the various parts they
have to play. The smallest with baskets and
bags, dressed in tattered garments, are despatched
to solicit broken viands from door to door; the
big boys prowl about the wharves, sampling coffee
bags, sugar hogsheads, tea boxes, cotton bales,
&c.; the girls each take an infant by the hand;
the mother borrows a sick baby to excite the
sympathies of the humane, and scattering
themselves around the most frequented parts of the
city, with the most doleful expressions and the
most pitiful lamentations, solicit charity from every
passenger. The father of this interesting
household rigs himself up to counterfeit lameness
or blindness, or afflicts his limbs with fictitious
ulcers to excite pity and extort a charitable
tribute from the way-fairer; and after having
disposed of the products accumulated in their
various peregrinations, they all meet together at
night to drink and make merry at the expense of
those who had compassion upon them in the
day time.
In Elm street, near the Five points, there is a
rendezvous or retreat for vagabonds of every
description. It is located about thirty or forty
feet below the surface of the street—the apartment
is some ten or twelve yards square, into
which the light of the sun is never seen. In the
middle of this subterranean recess, in cold
weather is placed a furnace of embers, the fumes
from which find no difficulty in escaping through
the multiplicity of apertures in the apartment.
At the door sits an old black woman, who demands
from the lodgers as they enter, three cents,
for which sum they are permitted to lay upon
the floor with their feet toward the fire around
the furnace. When the circle is complete the
old woman locks the door, puts the key into her
pocket and goes to sleep herself, leaving the
sleeping radii, composed of both sexes, all colors,
and all habits, to repose together till morning,
when they are all turned out again in the street
to pursue their various avocations. Some will
be found at the markets, cleaning fish, or helping
the huxters, sweeping streets, lading and
discharging cargoes, carrying baggage, gathering
paper, rags and old junk—fiddlers, drummers,
paupers, and panders,—all are again in motion,
and all enabled to bring some kind of grist to the
mill in their own way, and all very anxious,
seemingly to be well thought of by their fellows, and
to live as long as they can.
The various cries that assail the ears of the
stranger when he first visits New York, convey
to him an idea of their employments. Long
before day-light is heard the shrill musical treble
of the little ragged chimney sweeper, contrasted
with the hoarse, deep intonations of his master
on the opposite side of the street. Science,
however, has made serious inroads in this as well
as almost every other branch of industry, since
the patent sweeper with his rods and wires, will
cleanse in half the time and for half the money
that his rival can, besides being far more musical.
Milkmen, cartmen and bakers' vehicles, rattling
and screaming through the streets—the blast of
the ash-man's horn, and the rumbling of the
butcher's cart over the devoted pavements soon
announce to you the approach of breakfast time.
Breakfast! as Jeremy Diddler says, Delightful
sound—by far the most interesting period of the
day to some. Aye, to hundreds who rise not
knowing where or how one may be procured.—
With those that have the means, nothing is more
easy, and breakfasts may be obtained for almost
any price. If you go to Delmonico's it will cost
just ten times the amount that you can buy one
for at Sweeney's; at the former place you may
breakfast for any sum up to a dollar, and a hungry
man will not feel much distress in devouring
that amount,—while at Sweeney's you may
surfeit an Alderman with half the sum. At the
markets you may get a so-so breakfast for sixpence,
and at Loafer's Hall, in Water street, you
may get a comfortable warm dejeuner (if you are
not over particular, and like hash,) for threepence
York money. Lodgings, at the same place, for
three cents upon the floor; for six cents in a
bunk, with only two companions—and only one
shilling for a whole bunk and clean straw.—
Blessed be the peace-makers, for nothing more
contributeth to humble, poor, sinful humanity
than the boarding and lodging of Loafer's Hall.
Whole communities live upon the proceeds of
the sales of loco-foco matches, scented soaps,
penny combs, penny newspapers, almanacks, and
in the season, radishes, green corn, strawberries,
and various other fruits and vegetables, hawked
about the streets by children of all ages, sizes and
colors.
Poor gentlemen, i. e. lazy vagabonds, generally
of illustrious foreign origin, often lay the well
disposed under severe contributions, or by means
of subscriptions got up in their behalf by a set of
sympathetic idlers, who seem to think their duty
done when they have obtained the sum required,
without adding any thing of their own to the
fund. These services are frequently requited
by the interesting stranger walking off with a
silver snuffer stand or soup ladle, while his
obliging protege is in the next room writing him a
letter of recommendation for employment.
Puffers at Auctions—drummers for traders—
decoy ducks in segar stores—talisman in courts—
procurers—protectors, and bullies of various
kinds—sham husbands—foundling nurses—forestallers—
bond-signers, and even the vile informer,
and the shabby, subtle, scurrilous penny-a-liner,
all receive their per diems for the different parts
they have to perform in the every day of life.
Crockery and tin ware squatters, who locate
themselves upon the corners around the markets;
old hat traders; itinerant umbrella dealers; organ
grinders; water carriers and ice servers; key
fitters; glaziers; private night watchmen, and
public dock wallopers, are all tolerated in this
way, and like the rest of their fellow citizens,
live upon one another—every one has his market,
and ever one is in demand.
—————————————
The following article is from the chaste and
glowing imagination of Doct. T. N. Caulkins,
editor of the Coldwater Observer.
OUR COUNTRY IN 1887.—What will this Union
be fifty years from this day! The cloud by
day and the pillar of fire by night, for the world
to follow in their march of civilization and
refinement. The morning of 1887 will dawn upon
this nation doubled in extent, with Michigan,
Wisconsin and Iowa as the centre of civilization,
and the unbegotten states of Oregon, Macedon,
Columbia and Pacificus, stretching along the ocean,
called the Pacific states, with another tier of
the sisterhood lying along the Rocky Mountains,
known by the name of the middle [or mountain] states.
What now are known as the western, will then receive
the appellation of the eastern states, while the
western will be those bordering on the Pacific
ocean. Fifty millions of freemen will look upon
the light of that morn, and glory in the name,
yielded by France, of the “Great Nation.”
Splendid cities will then exist where now the
Indian, the lord of the dark forest around him,
lies prone upon his copper face, dreaming of the
happy hunting grounds of his fathers, with whom
must soon dwell the whole Indian[human] race. On that
day a mere handful will be lingering on the borders
of the great deep that must at length engulph
them. Where will then be the capital of
Michigan? In some inland city near her centre,
will its columns rise in magnificence and splendor.
Branches of the University of Michigan
will then be flourishing and imparting their
cheering influence in every county throughout the
State. Each county will have its temple of liberty,
whose altar is the Printing Press, and each
town is temple of worship and its numerous
schools, the nurseries of freedom, instructed by
a well taught teacher, at fifty dollars a month.
Then, perhaps, the schoolmaster will be
esteemed equal to the cook on board the steam
boat—a happy epoch in the march of human
improvement. Where then will be the capital
of this Union? Possibly in the valley of the
Mississippi—St. Louis may be the favored spot, or
even the unbroken wilderness still farther west.
And where, alas, will be the present citizens of
our great Republic? Then will
“Each in his narrow cell forever laid;
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.”
The present dwellers of the earth will have
then ceased their bustle—but little space will be
held by them, and a new race of men—our children
and our children's children will then manage
the machinery of the world.
The above is not the language of prophecy,
but that of rational deduction from a knowledge
of the past and present. Even the boldest flights
of imagination, fifty years ago, could scarcely
have been equal to the reality at the present
hour. And may Heaven permit us to continue
our glorious career till all the nations of the
earth become even as we are—“except” in the
language of the great apostle—“these bonds,”
the bonds of the once proud sons of Africa, the
rival of imperial Rome.
—————
“Our Country in 1887” is slightly different here:
Adams Sentinel., December 22, 1837.
The Columbia Democrat., December 30, 1837.
