Peculiarities of American Cities

Occupying the block between Fiftieth and Fifty-first streets is the Roman Catholic Cathedral of St. Patrick, commenced in 1858, and with the towers still incomplete. It is of white marble, in decorated Gothic style; and the largest and handsomest church in the country. It is elaborately carved, the numerous rose windows seeming almost like lace work. When completed it will have two spires, ornamented with buttresses, niches with statues, and pinnacles, and three hundred and twenty-eight feet in height. The interior is as beautiful as a dream. It is entirely of white marble. Massive pillars with elaborately carved capitals support the arched roof, while the light is softened and subdued by beautiful stained-glass windows. The building is in such perfect proportion that one does not realize its immense size until he descries the priest at the altar, so far away as to seem a mere child.

But eight squares away is Central Park, the great breathing-place of the city. Looking back, down the Avenue, from the entrance to the Park, there is seen a forest of spires rising from magnificent churches which we have had no space to mention, and blocks upon blocks of palatial residences, the homes of the millionaires of the city. The eastern side of Fifth Avenue, facing the Park for a number of blocks, is occupied by elegant private residences.

Madison Avenue starts from Madison Square, running through to Forty-second street. It, with parallel avenues and places, shares the prestige of Fifth Avenue, as being the aristocratic quarter of the city.

Fourteenth street, once a fashionable thoroughfare, is now fast being occupied by large retail stores.

The avenues, commencing at First, and numbering as high as Eleventh, run north and south, parallel to Fifth Avenue, already described. They are supplemented on the eastern side, at the widest part of the island, by avenues A, B, C, and D. Most of these avenues commence on the eastern side at Houston street, the northern boundary of the city in the early part of the present century. On the western side, with the exception of Fifth and Sixth, they commence but little below Fourteenth street. They are mostly devoted to retail trade, and, on seeing their miles of stores, one wonders where, even in a great city like New York, all the people come from who support them.

Second Avenue is almost the only exception among the avenues. Early in the century it was what Fifth Avenue has become to-day, the fashionable residence avenue; and even yet some of the old Knickerbocker families cling to it, living in their roomy, old-fashioned houses, and maintaining an exclusive society, while they look down with disdain upon the parvenues of Fifth avenue. Stuyvesant Square, intersected by Second avenue, and bounded on the east by Livingston Place, and on the west by Rutherford Place, is one of the quarters of the ancient régime. Here still live the Rutherfords and the Stuyvesants. Here is the residence of Hamilton Fish and William M. Evarts. St. George Church, with the largest seating capacity of any church in the city, faces this square.

Booth's Theatre is on the corner of Sixth avenue and Twenty-third street. It is the most magnificent place of amusement in America; built in the Renaissance style, with a Mansard roof. Opposite is the Masonic Temple, in Ionic and Doric architecture. At the corner of Eighth avenue and Twenty-third street is the Grand Opera House, once owned by James Fisk, Jr.

New York is at once spendthrift and parsimonious in the naming of her streets. Thus, she sometimes repeats a name more than once, and again, bestows two or three names upon the same street. There is a Broadway, an East Broadway, a West Broadway, and a Broad street. There is Greenwich avenue and Greenwich street. There are two Pearl streets. There is a Park avenue, a Park street, a Park row, and a Park place. On the other hand, Chatham becomes East Broadway east of Bowery; Dey street is transformed into John street east of Broadway; Cortlandt becomes Maiden Lane at the same dividing line; and other streets are in like manner metamorphosed. Fourth Avenue, beginning at the Battery as Pearl street, changes to the Bowery at Franklin Square. At Eighth street, without any change in its direction, it becomes Fourth Avenue; from Thirty-fourth to Forty-second streets it is Park Avenue, and then relapses into Fourth Avenue again. This is one of the most interesting avenues in the city; as Pearl street, its windings and its business occupations have been referred to.

Bowery has a character all its own. It takes its name from Peter Stuyvesant's "Bowerie Farm," through which it passes. In it is probably represented every civilized nation on the globe. It is unqualifiedly a democratic street. While Fifth Avenue represents one extreme of city life, the Bowery represents the other. Here are the streets and shops of the working classes, consisting of dry and fancy goods, cigar shops, lager beer saloons, shoe stores, confectionery stores, pawnbrokers' shops, and ready-made clothing, plentifully besprinkled with variety and concert saloons and beer gardens. There are no elegant store fronts or marble stores here. The buildings are plain brick edifices, three or four stories in height, the upper stories occupied by the families of the merchants, or as tenement houses. The Germans visit the beer gardens with their wives and families, to listen to what is sometimes excellent music, and to drink beer. The concert saloons are, some of them, the resorts of the lowest of both sexes. Near Canal street is the site of the old Bowery Theatre, which, having been thrice destroyed by fire, has been thrice rebuilt, the last time, quite recently, and is now known as Thalia Theatre. A generation and a half ago the gamins of New York reigned supreme in the pit. Now that they have been relegated to the gallery, they still criticise the performance with the frankness and originality of expression characteristic of the "Bowery boys" of old. One should visit the Bowery at night, when the workmen and shop girls, having finished their daily labor, are out for recreation and amusement. Then he will gain an idea of one phase of city life and people which he would not obtain otherwise.

At Seventh street, where Third avenue branches off, looking down the Bowery, and occupying the entire block to Eighth street, is Cooper Institute, containing a free library, free reading-room, free schools of art, telegraphy and science, and a hall and lecture room. Peter Cooper was one of the representative men of New York. Acquiring a large fortune by strictly honorable methods, he devoted a generous portion of it to charitable objects, and this Institute is one of the lasting monuments of his generosity. He was a true philanthropist, a man of broad thought and kindly impulses, whose name was honored by all classes of the community. He died in April, 1883, at a ripe old age.

Occupying the block between Third Avenue and the Bowery, which is now dignified by the name of Fourth avenue, is the Bible House, the largest structure of its kind in the world, except that of London. Here the Bible is printed in almost every known language, and here are congregated the offices of the various religious societies of the city and country. The Young Men's Christian Association and Academy of Design occupy opposite corners at Twenty-third street, on the west side of the avenue. The exterior of the latter is copied from a famous palace in Venice, and it is peculiar as well as beautiful in its appearance. From Thirty-second to Thirty-third streets is the immense structure intended by A. T. Stewart as the crowning charitable object of his life, to be, perhaps, in some sort, an atonement for injustice of which he may have been guilty toward the working classes. It was designed as a hotel for working women, but in its very plan indicated how little its founder understood the nature or needs of that class. At its completion, after his death, it did not take many weeks to demonstrate that working women preferred a place more home-like, and fettered by less restrictions than this palace-prison; and so the edifice was turned into an ordinary hotel.

Park avenue commences at Thirty-fourth street, being built over the track of the Fourth avenue car line. In the centre of this avenue, over the tunnels, are little spaces inclosed by iron fences, and containing a profusion of shrubbery and flowers. The avenue abounds in elegant churches and equally fine residences. At Forty-second street is the Grand Central Depot, seven hundred feet in length, its exterior imposing, and with corner and central towers surmounted by domes. At Sixty-ninth street, between Fourth and Lexington avenues, is the new Normal College, an ecclesiastical-looking building, the most complete of its kind in America.

Retracing our steps to near the foot of Bowery, we come to Chatham street, where the Jews reign supreme, and which is the vestibule of the worst quarter of the city. Passing along a pavement festooned with cheap, ready-made clothing, one comes to Baxter street, and from thence to the Five Points, once the most infamous locality of New York. Here, a generation ago, a respectable man took his life in his hands, who attempted to pass through this quarter, even in broad daylight. It was the abode of thieves, burglars, garotters, murderers and prostitutes. Hundreds of families were huddled together in tumble-down tenement houses, living in such filth and with such an utter lack of decency as is scarcely to be credited. But home missionaries visited the quarter, established mission-schools and a house of industry, tore down the disgraceful tenement-houses and built better ones in their place; and to-day the old Bowery, Cow Bay and Murderers' Alley are known only in name. The Five Points is at the crossing of Baxter, Worth and Parker streets, and is really five points no longer, the carrying through of Worth street to the Bowery, forming an additional point. The locality is still dreadful enough, with all its improvements. Drunken men, depraved women, and swarms of half-clad children fill the neighborhood, and even the "improved tenement houses," as viewed from the outside, seem but sorry abodes for human beings. This is the heart of a wretched quarter, which extends westward to Broadway, and almost indefinitely in other directions. Mott, Mulberry, Baxter, Centre, Elm and Crosby streets are all densely populated, containing numberless tenement houses. It is possible to walk through some of these streets and never hear a word of English. Mulberry and Crosby streets are especially the homes of Italians, who on Sunday mornings pour out of the tenements upon the pavement and street below in such throngs that a stranger can scarcely elbow his way through. The Chinese have taken possession of the lower part of Mott street, and established laundries, groceries, tea-houses, lodging-houses, and opium-smoking dens. The latter are already attracting the attention of the public, and a feeble effort has been made by the city government to put a check upon their evil influence. These streets are a festering sore in the very heart of the city, and require attention.

The Tombs, the city prison, famous in the criminal history of New York, is located in the midst of this quarter, on Centre street, occupying an entire block. It is a gloomy building, constructed of granite, in imitation of an Egyptian temple. Within these forbidding walls is the Tombs Police Court, where, early each morning, petty cases are disposed of by the magistrate upon the bench; and here prisoners are kept awaiting trial. Eleven cells of special strength and security are for murderers awaiting trial or punishment. There is also a special department for women. In the inner quadrangle of the building murderers are made to suffer the utmost penalty of the law, and the last act of many a tragedy which has excited and horrified the public has been performed here.

It will be a relief to turn from the gloom and wretchedness of the Tombs to the sunshine and freedom of New York's great breathing place. Central Park contains eight hundred and forty-three acres, and embraces an area extending from Fifth to Eighth avenues, and from Fifty-ninth to One-hundred-and-tenth streets. Originally, it was a desolate stretch of country in the suburbs of the city, varied by rocks and marshes, and dotted by the hovels of Irish and Dutch squatters, its most picturesque features being their goats, which picked up a scant living among the rubbish with which it was covered. Its whole extent is now covered with a heavy sod, planted with trees and shrubbery, and furnishes many miles of drives and walks. Every day in the year it has numerous visitors, but on Sunday, one must fairly elbow one's way through the crowds. In the southeast corner are the Zoölogical Gardens and the old State Arsenal; the Metropolitan Museum of Art, recently opened, is north of Belvidere, on the east side of the Park. The Egyptian Obelisk stands on an eminence west of the museum. Winding paths conduct the visitor to the Mall, a stately avenue shaded by double rows of elms, and ornamented at intervals with bronze statues of celebrated American and European statesmen and poets; also a number of groups which are especially fine. The Terrace is at the northern terminus of the Mall, and leads by a flight of broad, stone stairs to Central Lake, the prettiest body of water in the Park, dotted by gondolas. A fountain, with immense granite basins, and a colossal statue of the Angel of Bethesda, stands between the terrace and the lake. Beyond the lake is the Ramble, consisting of winding, shaded paths, and covering thirty-six acres of sloping hills. From the tower at Belvidere, a magnificent piece of architecture, in the Norman style, may be obtained a fine bird's-eye view of the Park. Just above Belvidere are the two reservoirs of the water works, extending as far north as Ninety-sixth street. Beyond that the Park is less embellished by art, and is richer in natural beauties. From the eminence upon which stands the old Block House, on the northern border of the Park, a magnificent and extensive view may be obtained of the hills which bound in the landscape, and including High Bridge.

One should visit the water front of New York, which circles the city on three sides, to gain an idea of its immense commerce. A river wall of solid masonry has been commenced, which, when completed, will make the American metropolis equal to London and Liverpool in this respect. A perfect forest of masts lines the wharves, representing every kind of craft, and almost every nation that sails the seas. Twice a week European steamships leave from the foot of Canal street; while from various points along the wharves, indicated by handsome ferry or shipping houses, boats go and come, to and from every port on the river or on the Atlantic coast. At Desbrosses and Cortlandt streets ferries connect with Jersey City. South, Wall and Fulton ferries give access to Brooklyn; while other ferries convey passengers to other points on the rivers and bay.

Passing up the East River, with the ship-thronged wharves and docks of New York on one hand, and the Brooklyn Navy Yard on the other, the visitor soon obtains a view of Blackwell's, Ward's and Randall's islands. Blackwell's Island is at the foot of Forty-sixth street, and is one hundred and twenty acres in extent. Upon it are located the Almshouse, Female Lunatic Asylum, Penitentiary, Work House, Blind Asylum, Charity, Smallpox and Typhus Fever hospitals. These buildings are all constructed of granite, quarried from the island by convicts. They are plain but substantial in appearance.

Leaving Blackwell's Island, the boat passes cautiously through the swirling waters of Hell Gate, once the terror of all sailors, but now robbed of most of its horrors. It was originally a collection of rocks in mid channel, which, as the tides swept in and out, caused the waters to rush in a succession of whirlpools and rapids. But a few years ago United States engineers undertook and accomplished a gigantic excavation, directly under these threatening rocks and reefs. When it was completed a grand explosion, effected by means of connecting wires, blew up these dangerous obstructions, and left a comparatively clear and safe channel for vessels. The few remaining rocks which this explosion failed to disturb are being removed, and with its dangers, much of the romantic interest which attached to Hell Gate will pass away.

Ward's Island, embracing two hundred acres, and containing the Male Lunatic Asylum, the Emigrant Hospital, and the Inebriate Asylum, divides the Harlem from the East River. Randall's Island is separated from Ward's Island by a narrow channel, and is the last of the group. It contains the Idiot Asylum, the House of Refuge, the Infant Hospital, Nurseries, and other charities provided by the city for destitute children.

The visitor in New York should, if possible, make an excursion to High Bridge, a magnificent structure by which the Croton Aqueduct is carried across Harlem River. It is built of granite, and spans the entire width of valley and river, from cliff to cliff. It is composed of eight arches, each with a span of eighty feet, and with an elevation of a hundred feet clear from the surface of the river. The water is led over the bridge, a distance of fourteen hundred and fifty feet, in immense iron pipes, six feet in diameter. Above these pipes is a pathway for pedestrians. At One-hundred-and-sixty-ninth street, a little below the High Bridge, is the site of the elegant mansion of Colonel Roger Morris, and the head-quarters of General Washington during active operations in this portion of the island. The situation is one of picturesque and historic interest.

Rising grandly above all the shipping of the East River, on both its sides, are the massive towers of the Suspension Bridge, connecting the sister cities of New York and Brooklyn. Ponderous cables swing in a single grand sweep from tower to tower, supporting the bridge in its place. It does not seem very much elevated above the river, and you feel that a certain majestic sailing vessel which is bearing down upon it will bring the top of her masts in contact with it. But she sails proudly beneath the structure, never bowing her head, and there is plenty of room and to spare; for the bridge is one hundred and thirty-five feet above high water mark. The distance from tower to tower is one thousand five hundred and ninety-five feet, while the entire length of the bridge, from Park Place to its terminus, on the heights in Brooklyn, is six thousand feet, or a little more than a mile. Its width is eighty-five feet, affording space for two railways, besides two double carriageways, and one foot-path. It was commenced in 1871, and cost $15,000,000. Its formal opening took place on May twenty-fourth, 1883. The day was a rarely beautiful one, and was observed as a general holiday by the people of both cities. President Arthur and his Cabinet, the governors of New York, New Jersey, and Rhode Island, with many other distinguished persons, were among the guests, while the honors of the occasion were done by the Mayors of New York and Brooklyn. Every street in the neighborhood of the bridge was packed with a dense throng of spectators, while windows, balconies and roofs were filled with curious sight seers.

Shortly after noon the procession moved down Broadway, and a little after one o'clock the President and other distinguished guests entered the gateway of the bridge, preceded by the Seventh Regiment, the procession headed by a company of mounted policemen, while Cappa's band played "Hail to the Chief." When the party reached the New York tower, they were met by President Kingsley of the bridge trustees, and there were introductions and welcomes, and the march was resumed. At the Brooklyn tower Mayor Low met the President, and the Seventy-third Regiment presented arms. In announcement of the fact that the bridge was crossed, cannons thundered forth salutes, the steam whistles of vessels and factories screamed, bells rang, and deafening cheers went up from the watching multitude. The further ceremonies of the day took place in a pavilion on the Brooklyn end, when Mr. William E. Kingsley, the President of the Bridge Association, Mayor Low, of Brooklyn, Mayor Edson of New York, Hon. Abram S. Hewitt and Rev. B. S. Storrs, made able addresses. A reception was tendered in the evening, at the Academy of Music, by the City of Brooklyn, to the President and the Governor of the State, previous to which there was a fine display of fireworks from the bridge.

During all the excitement of the day, while cannon thundered and the multitude cheered, an invalid sat alone in his house on Columbia Heights, and regarded from afar the completion of his toil of years. John A. Roebling, the elder of the two Roeblings, first conceived and planned the bridge which connects New York and Brooklyn. He had built the chief suspension bridges in the country, and to him was intrusted the task of putting his own plans into tangible form. While testing and perfecting his surveys, his foot was crushed between the planking of a pier; lockjaw supervened, and the man who had designed the bridge lost his life in its service. He was succeeded by his son, Colonel Washington A. Roebling, who was equally qualified for the undertaking. He labored with zeal, giving personal superintendence to his workmen, until in the caissons he contracted a mysterious disease, which had proved fatal to several men in his employ. From that period he was confined to his home, a hopeless invalid, his intellect apparently quickened as his physical system was enfeebled. He has never seen the structure, save as it stands from a distance; but from his sick-room he has directed and watched over the progress of the enterprise, his active assistant being his wife, of whom Mayor Edson, in his address on the occasion, spoke in the following terms: "With this bridge will ever be coupled the thought of one, through the subtle alembic of whose brain, and by whose facile fingers, communication was maintained between the directing power of its construction and the obedient agencies of its execution. It is thus an everlasting monument to the self-sacrificing devotion of woman." After the conclusion of the address, the President and his Cabinet, the Governor, and hundreds of others, paid their respects to Colonel Roebling, and did honor to the man the completion of whose work they were celebrating. After it was over Roebling replied, to the suggestion that he must be happy, "I am satisfied."

The great bridge was opened to the public at midnight, and the waiting throng, which even at that hour numbered about twenty thousand persons, were permitted to enter the gates and cross the structure. A representative of the New York Herald was the first to pay the toll of one cent demanded, and the first to begin the passage across. With the completion of this bridge the continent is entirely spanned, and one may visit, dry shod and without the use of ferry boats, every city from the Atlantic to the Golden Gate.

But the great bridge was not to be consecrated to the use of the public without a baptism of blood. On Decoration Day, which occurred the seventh day after the opening of the bridge, there was a grand military parade in New York, reviewed by President Arthur from a stand in Madison Square, and impressive ceremonies at the various cemeteries in Brooklyn. From early morning a steady stream of pedestrians poured each way, across the bridge. About four o'clock in the afternoon there came a lock in the crowd, just at the top of the stairs on the New York side, leading down to the concrete roadway Men, women and children were wedged together in a jam, created by the fearful pressure of two opposing crowds, extending to either end of the bridge. Some one stumbled and fell on the stairs. The terrible pressure prevented him or her from rising, and others fell over the obstacle thus placed in the pathway. Those immediately behind were hopelessly forced on over them. A panic ensued. Women screamed and wrung their hands; children cried and called pitifully for "help!" Men shouted themselves hoarse, swore and fought. A hundred hats and bonnets were afterwards found upon the spot, trampled into shapelessness. Clothes were torn off, and many emerged from the crush in only their undergarments. Parents held their children aloft to keep them from being trampled upon. Hundreds of men climbed with difficulty on the beams running over the railroads, and dropping down were caught by those in the carriage-way beneath. A number of women also escaped in that manner.