PHOTOGRAPHS OF NEW YORK.

ALTHOUGH there is certainly no lack of books in all the continental languages relating to America, there is something of a rarity in taking up a book like Theodore Griesinger's "Lebende Bilder aus Amerika," devoted almost exclusively to the manners and customs of the German immigrants, and the various professions they pursue. We propose, therefore, to take a cursory glance at this series of photographs in pen and ink, stopping for a more minute examination here and there where the subject appears to present sufficient importance.

Even on landing, the German is made a prey. It used to be bad enough before, when he was left defenceless to the predatory forays of the runners, loafers, and rowdies, but now that a special committee has been appointed to take charge of immigrants, we should have fancied that they would, at any rate, have done their spiriting gently. But the German is fated to be robbed, though, perchance, under a more specious form, and as the charge is certainly a grave one, we had better give it in our author's own words:

Formerly, emigrants could land wherever they pleased, but now they must all stop at Castle Garden. The luggage is collected and marked, checks being given to the passengers for it, and then they are shown into the Rotunda. They are hungry and thirsty, and would like to go into the city, but they must not reckon without their host. In the Rotunda are two desks, behind them being seated a couple of gentlemen, and before them every immigrant must appear. The gentlemen to the left speak English, and devote themselves to the Scotch, Irish, &c.; those on the right speak German, and are expressly for the Germans. The first question is, "Where are you going?" "To my relations at Detroit." "That's right; here's your railway ticket; it costs so many dollars each person. You can only get it so cheap here." The peasant opens his eyes at so much attention being paid him, and pays most willingly for self and family-of course, now and then the mistake cannot be prevented that children are reckoned at full fares. At times, however, there are people who will not start by train but prefer staying in New York; then, the most deplorable picture of New York is drawn. "No one is safe of his life, and thousands are perishing for want of work." At last they get so frightened that they buy tickets, and that is the main point. That man is best off who has no money. "Turn the rascal out," is the general cry; "he is good enough for the New Yorkers." No small revenue is derived from Častle Garden; there are annually from 160,000 to 180,000 immigrants, and each ticket averages from 10 to 12 dollars. And now to reckon the profit. If you go to any railway office in the city you will find that a ticket to "So-and-so," for which you paid 12 dollars at Castle Garden, can be procured for nine, or even less; it leaves a clear margin of 25 per cent. for the pious establishers of the Emigration Committee.

If this be true, it is a pity that something is not done, at any rate, to improve the condition of the emigrant trains. The journey is rather wearisome, for the cars are tacked on to the end of a luggage train, and it generally lasts about three times as long as by an ordinary train. Besides, too, something might be done for cleanliness; as it is currently asserted that the emigrant cars are employed for the carriage of pigs and sheep when no ships have come in. The objection has been raised more than once, that since the existence of the Emigrants' Committee many branches Sept.-VOL. CXIV. NO. CCCCLIII.

C

of New York trade have suffered from a want of workmen, because all the new arrivals are sent off at once westward for the sake of the tickets. Many imagined in their simplicity that the New York masters should be allowed to go and look for workmen at the Castle Garden, but that would not do; the poor emigrants might be swindled by runners, pretending to be master tradesmen. Consequently, Castle Garden remains hermetically closed against every one, save the immigrants themselves, the officials, and the landlords specially allowed to come and look for custom. A brother is not permitted even to enter in search of a sister, unless he has a special certificate from one of the committee. But we will turn to another sketch.

The pedlar in America is, in nine cases out of ten, a Jew. He arrived this day from Bremen or Havre, the honest Samuel, or Aaron, or Moses. Well, he saved on the long voyage, and even made some profit by selling home-made cigars that cost him six florins a thousand at 3d. each to those whose tobacco was exhausted. He starts off at once in search of a relation, and is heartily received by uncle "Well-off." "Come, what can we do for you, Sam?" says Well-off, and one word brings on another. Sam learns how Well-off started, and within two hours he leaves the house, with a bundle under his arm, of socks, braces, gloves, &c. Uncle had not given it to him, but he had behaved kindly; he had vowed by all that was sacred that he would not make a penny of Sam, and so sold him the goods at wholesale price, that is, he cleared only twenty-five per cent. instead of fifty. "We must do something for our brother's son," says Well-off to Mammi, as they retire to sleep the sleep of the righteous. The next morning Sam is at work betimes. He hires a garret for two dollars a month. He buys a box and goes on his tour. It's hard work, though, at starting. Here, he is repulsed; there, kicked out. Still Sam does not lose his temper; even if the dog is set at him, and he has to run for his life, he can sit in his garret at night and count his earnings. "Let 'em beat you, let them thrash you," his old father Issachar of the tribe of Levi had said to him; "when you've grown a rich man, no one will be able to see how many kicks and blows have received in your time." Thus Sam goes on for a week, perhaps a fortnight. His food is dry bread, his drink water. He has not expended more in a fortnight than his Christian fellow-immigrant in twenty-four hours. And he has learned something too. He knows now what days and what streets are the best; he has learned to talk with the folk, and knows the meaning of yes and no, " and "how much?" He has found out where the wholesale houses are, and Mr. Well-off makes no more twenty-five per cent. out of him, in spite of Mammi and Rebeckche. In three months Sam is quite another man. He is well off, too—at least for a pedlar-and now allows himself a piece of American cheese at times to his bread. His ready money allows him to make larger purchases, and travel the country. There are always places left through which no railway runs, and where the people are foolish enough to let themselves be cheated a little. Sam finds these places out, and the farmers are pleased to see the pedlar, for it saves them a long jaunt to town. Sam is even more pleased though, for he makes his two hundred per cent., and gets his board and lodging for nothing. Sam now travels with mercery, and prefers the New England states. Here there are few Germans, and Sam

you

prefers dealings with Americans, since he has begun to understand the "how muching." His greatest torment are the farm-dogs, and it is most remarkable that not a dog in America but will growl and bite at the sight of a Jew pedlar. Sam represents himself to the American farmer as a Canadian Frenchman, and the Yankee pretends to believe it, but the confounded dogs won't: it is not the scent of a Canadian Frenchman. Within two years Sam has his cart, and travels with cigars from Havannah and gold wares from Paris. The business goes on for some years, but not longer, for the peddling trade has one great inconvenience -Sam never dares visit the same place twice: his Paris gold turns grey too rapidly, and his Havannah cigars will not always draw. Sam, therefore, soon decides on what is to be done. He gives up peddling, returns to New York, after making several hundred dollars, and marries Rebeckche. Sam is now a made man. He can only talk English, for he has forgotten his German. On his board you do not see "Sam Ferkelche;" oh dear no! but "Simmy Fairchild," for Sam is quite Americanised.

A type of character peculiar to New York and its immediate vicinity is the "Californian widow." She is either really a widow, or a grass widow, or not a widow at all. The real widow is a woman of from twenty to forty, and is only known by the name of Californian widow so long as she remains of nubile age. Her husband has left her "just a year and a day," not because she was not pretty enough to please him, but simply because he could not find the money to support her extravagance. So he went to California, but, unfortunately, died just before discovering the philosopher's stone. This, however, the disconsolate widow takes very good care not to make publicly known; on the contrary, from the day the mournful intelligence arrives she takes brevetrank as a "Californian widow." She goes to the watering-places, the fame of her wealth preceding her, and though plenty of offers are made her, she waits till her choice can fall on the right man. It must be very unpleasant, at least for the young wife, if the new husband, in consequence of the discoveries he makes, is also compelled to migrate to California, for a lady who is a second time a Californian widow is not nearly so attractive. The second and third categories of Californian widows,

such as the " grass widow," and the " pseudo widow," are so common among ourselves as to require no closer inspection. In point of fact, they are the same all over the world.

In America a man has a right to be anything he pleases. This right belongs also to the German doctor utriusque juris, when ill-luck forces him to America. But he rarely makes use of this right, for he hardly becomes anything else than a beershop-keeper. He is not much inclined to it, perhaps, but nothing else is left him. Yet it is not such a very bad trade after all. He is generally a man from thirty to sixty years, has a large paunch, wears a moustache, at times spectacles, but by no accident gloves. He generally sets up where Germans most do congregate. He has even more than an amphibious existence, for he lives here under, there upon, elsewhere above, the earth. When under the earth, it is called a basement; when upon it, a store; when above, a saloon. The store is the only fashionable establishment now, for the basements are too gloomy, and people do not care to climb to the first floor; but the rent of a store

is most exorbitant, and must be paid beforehand, which is usually attended with some inconvenience. You can find hundreds of these beer-shops in New York. In William-street and on the Bowery you may count three dozen in a hundred yards, and often enough three in one house. Suppose we go into one, with a fervent hope that we shall find the beer fresh tapped:

Surely you know the man there with the puffed features and protruding paunch? You heard him often enough formerly, uttering his revolutionary speeches, and proving how the world should be governed. Yes, it is the former advocate So-and-so, the late doctor utriusque juris. Certainly; five years back he looked different. His face was healthy, his eye bright. And now! Yes, he has got on well. He had once a pleasant position; he lived among his equals, and he was respected; he was a true man, zealous in the performance of his duties, cheerful among his family, witty in the circle of his friends. Now, he is a New York beer-seller. He has nothing to do but to draw beer and to drink beer. He begins early in the morning and leaves off late at night. A glorious occupation! If no guest arrives he drinks from despair, if people come in he drinks for company; still, he is always drinking. But, something more. Go into the kitchen, that gloomy hole where the gas burns the whole day through, and the heat in summer and winter would roast a nigger. Do you see that pale, thin woman, with the grey-sprinkled hair? She is just preparing a cutlet for the carpenter's apprentice, or for the cobbler's better half, who was her cook over there, and now does her the honour to call in at times and "keep her in bread." Do you see this poor, worn-out creature? She is the wife of the fat fellow behind the bar; she was his faithful wife in the old fatherland, and is so here, but will not be so long, for the steam of the kitchen will soon put an end to it. How glorious is emigration to America!

The teetotaller in America is always an American, rarely an Irishman, never a German or Frenchman. The chief supporters of temperance are the clergy and the rich. It is no matter whether the clergyman is Methodist or Presbyterian, Unitarian or Mormonite, Quaker or Episcopalian on one point they all agree, that the less money is spent for spirits, wine, and beer, the more can be expended for church purposes. Then why should not the clergyman be a teetotaller, the more so as he is compelled to live by his customers? The rich are teetotallers from equally noble motives, for the workmen who expend nothing for liquor can exist, even if they receive lower wages. Besides, the clergy and the rich men require no public-houses. The establishments where liquor is sold by the glass are for the poor man; respectable persons have it in by the barrel. Of the way in which the Maine law is evaded, M. Griesinger furnishes a touching example:

The temperance mania is most at home in the northern states, for the clergy have thoroughly frightened the farmers into it. They mean it honestly enough! If you visit one of them you find nothing but water on the table; water for breakfast, dinner, and supper. After staying a few days, and becoming known to the family, the son will first take you on one side. He'll lead you into the stable, and will draw a large bottle from behind a bundle of hay, and express his opinion that a good dram would do no hurt such a cold morning; but you must not say anything to father and mother. After dinner the house-mother will take you by the arm and lead you into her sanctuary, and behind a broad clothespress she will open a secret door, and produce a nice-looking bottle of the real sort, from which she will give you some "stomach drops." stomach drops." She thinks, though, that father and son need know nothing of these drops. Last of all, after supper, your host will conduct you into his study, where there is an enormous

medicine chest. From one of the physic bottles he will pour out a glass, which you think the best of all three; but you do not drink it as brandy, but as medicine. He, too, calculates that the medicine is not suited for the rest of the family, and warns you to keep the secret to yourself.

The Germans have dealt a heavy blow to teetotalism by the introduction of "Lager Bier" into North America. Ten years ago it was hardly known, and now its use is extended over the whole of the Union. The natives even surpass the Germans in the quantity they drink. Teetotalism is making a desperate effort to regain its position, and in New York and other large cities the apostles preach in the open street. On a fine Sunday they stand on an empty cask and hold forth. The audience chiefly consist of sailors and girls. What success their preachings have the reader may convince himself, if he ever come to New York and listen to the "plastic remarks and interruptions of the hearers. But what do the apostles care for that? They are paid for their preaching, and their red noses are a guarantee as to how they lay out the money. If teetotalism were once to cease, and the duty on wine reduced through the Union, spirits of wine, vitriol, and aquafortis would undergo a lamentable depression in the market.

From teetotalism to servant-galism seems a strange step, but they are nuisances from which America suffers equally. The German maid-of-allwork was looked on slightly in her home, and still more slightly paid. She had to do everything, and her wages were so small that they had barely sufficed to buy a silk handkerchief for Sunday wear. Perhaps she was not out to service, but lived with her parents, who could scarce earn their daily bread, and knew no more of life than that it was made up of potatoes and labour. Then she heard all at once of America, and how the servants were dressed as ladies, and paid like the keeper of the queen's wardrobe. So she talked the matter over with her young man, the boots at the Swan, mayhap, or the journeyman butcher, and with great difficulty the money was collected, and they started for America! She arrived here in her old-fashioned attire, in calico dress and apron, and no other headcovering than that bestowed by nature. But for all that, her young man may be weeks ere he gets work-but she has a situation in a couple of days. German servant girls are articles of great demand in America. But she doesn't keep her first place long. How much do you get a month?" a friend asks her, who has been longer in the country and knows what's what. "Only four dollars? What are you thinking about? You can have six: you must go into service with Americans." What a prospect! Why, she dreamt about it all the way across! She regards a situation with Americans as a German groom looks upon one with a count. The Americans are all born Croesuses, and at the same time own blood with lords and dukes. She cannot yet talk English, except yes and no, but that is no matter: the Americans are such pleasant people, and

she will soon manage to get on. Well, she learns all she requires quick enough; but, after all, everything that glitters is not gold! She is so terribly lonely! there is no dear friend to meet at the well, and pour her heart out, for the water is in the house. There is no "missis " who likes to hear the news the maid is so ready to impart, for they do not understand one another. There is no Jacob, or Joseph, or Fritz near at hand to have a quiet gossip with round the corner when work is over. She is ever in the kitchen: it is her sitting-room, work-room, at times her bed