The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1877-02-17
Letter From New York.

NEW okk CITY, FEB I3, 1877.
"rt's very sloppy and rather
muggy, and | don'tsee much chance
of its gettin' no BETTER" remarked
Jack, my porter, as he fused around
my table this morning, vainly en-
deavoring to get the dust off of q
pile of newspapers, with the stump
end of what was once a feather
broom. "I've watched this 'ere
kind O. weather pootty close for
several years." he remarked, "and |
hev ginerally obsarved that when it
don't get no better it ither stays
where it is, or gets wus." / looked
out of my Office window,-Jack was
right. Ugh, it makes me sick to
look at the streets, continents of
slnSh, surrounded by oceans of mud
rivers Of dirt dotted with islands
of filth as far as the eye can reach.
Here is a horse down, blocking
Broadway with swearing coachmen
and stage-drivers,- dirty ganins
and bawling policemen,-and, mercy
on me, there goes that fat woman
with the basket down on her-new
dress that must have cost ten cents
a yard, if it cost nickel +; aud now
look at that big patch on the-well
it's not a nice place to have patch
Of dirt. | pulled on my two-story
Arctics, buttoned up my coat, took
look at an accidental insurance
policy that | had in my side pocket,
and sailed out. ran the muck-a-
muck Of Broadway successfully,
merely losing one rubber and getting
my left ear and my overcoat pocket
full of mud. I crossed the Park and
taking off my hat reverently to the
statue of Franklin, which sanctifes
Printing House Square, observed
for the first time that he had turned
his back on the Tribune office, and
the young editor, whose eagle eyrie
is always up in the tall tower near
the sky. | pass by old Tammany
Hall, now occupied by Dana and
The Sun. All me, the light of other
days is taded since Captain Rynders
led the Empire Club, eleven hun
dred strong, down through the Sixth
Ward, and Mike Walsh, with the
SPARTAN band at his back, was
good for two thousand majority
from the Bowery to the river. /
love Chatham street; there is such
d sweet and pleasant perfume of old
clothes, ancient boots, aud diIapi-
dated hats about it, that it is really
quite refreshing. | love Chatham
street as ! rem arked before, because
there are no neW smells there; it's
the same old smell that l recog-
nized more than a quarter at CEN
tury ago, and they say the people
don't mind it who are used to it, on
the contrary they rather like it, in
fact it is aid they cannot hive with
out it; this may be so, but I confess
| do not altogether banker after it
myself. | recollect q somewhat
similar aroma or bouquet during my
travels in Canada. stopped at a
log house one evening for supper
and lodging, and thirteen wood
choppers had pulled off their boots
and lay sleeping with their feet to
the stove,-the memory haunts me
still, even the sight of an old boot,
OF a woolen sock is enough to dis
turbe my peace of mind for week;
but Chatham street is mild along
side Of that, and as contemplate
the gentle faces of the inhabitants,
| am constantly reminded of my
wanderings in Palestine, and my
trip to the Holy Sepulcber. would
be almost willing to take my oath
that that fellow with the hook nose
and the wall eye is the same chap
who; nearly thirty years ago, seized
me byth wais,band of my breeches
dragged me into that identical
shop and compelled me to buy, for
two dollars and a quarter, a coat
big enough for my great-grand-
father. But here we are at Baxter
street. Yes, heaven be thanked IT is
still the same. Mike Dooley's new
tenement house in the middle of the