Year: 1878




To the Editor of the Herald:


NEW YORK, October IL, 1878.
A few weeks since wrote you from Long
Branch. where Dame Fashion was then
sporting with Notwithstanding Neptune" but
the old fellow, it would seem, soon become
satiated with flattery and turned cold shoul-
der on the heartless jade, whereat she ordered
her Saratoga packed, and tlounced home in
furry. In other words, the season at the
Branch was somewhat suddenly terminated
by cold snap, about the 1st of September.
1t became ''demd damp and disagreeable' as
Mr.. Mantalini would say, and 10! in the
twinkling of an eye the place was deserted.
The guests all fled, the garlands dead, etc.,
for there is nothing makes the complexion
look so sperfectly horrid' as cold salt
breeze, and what is the pleasure of staying
after your complexion is gone? So we all
came home in a hurry and left the Branch
bowling wilderness.


We found all the rest of the world coming
into town by different routes from the other
resorts, and evidently suffering, like our
selves, from the complexion panic. Now
the last resort is heard from, the returns are
all in, our skius have been restored to their
youthful bloom, and we are all out shopping,
and, l am afraid, laying up for ourselves
more treasures where moth and rust doth cor
rupt than we are laying up in heaven. But
came not here to moralize. New York is
desperately wicked place, everybody knows,
but it has most pleasing exterior, and why
dive below the surface to find the hidden
Nemesis.


"All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens."


know of no place in this country, and l
doubt if there are many cities on the globe
where one can so fully enjoy life if he has
money, and where he can SO obscurely live
if ''his Golfers sound with hollow poverty and
emptiness" as in this vast city. To be sure
Poverty and Crime stalk through our streets
like foul miss-shapen stigmatics, but the police
keep these demons off the fashionable
thoroughfares as much as possible, and their
presence, therefore, do not offend those of
gentle nerve, who can turn q deaf ear and
blind eye on these foul-faced reproaches on
our society.


And just here am reminded of touching
little incident which came under my notice a
few days since. l was passing along one of
the uptown streets, and when opposite
police station / saw large crowd of idlers
congregated about the door, and. in the street
in front, stood one of those prison vans,
known as the ''Black Maria" On the top
step of the station-house entrance stood
young woman miserably dressed and dirty,
carrying in her arms fat and rather neatly
dressed babe. The poor woman was crying
bitterly, but the baby laughed and crowed
and patted its mothers head with its chubby
little hands in that happily unconscious way
children have which in such scenes as this,
and amid such surroundings, is far sadder
sight than tears. Just as was about to pass
two burly policemen began bringing out the
prisoners and placing them IN the wagon,
| and could not help waiting moment to see
| if anyone belonging to the woman and child
should be brought out. Yes, the last on the
list of the poor victims of the law was the
husband and father. He was young, fine
looking man, but seemed rather sullen and
morose until his eyes rested upon his wife
and baby, and then there was look of ter
much rather not have seen them there, it was
almost too much for him to bear. He kissed
his wife and she held up the infant, who
reached out its little arms to its father, but
the police had no time for sentiment, so they
pulled the hand-cuffed man down the steps,
hurried him into the van, banged to the door
and doubly padlocked it, the vehicle drove
quickly away, the crowd dispersed and the
woman went away sobbing as if her heart
would break and the baby laughed joyously. 1t
was scene Victor Hugo might have worked
up to fine dramatic point. simply give
the plain, unvarnished tale.


In fine contrast to this little episode was
the spectacle presented at the ''openings" of
some of the fashionable shops on Broadway
the same day. Our falls here in New York
are our most delightful seasons. Our spring,
''beautiful spring" is a snare and delusion;
winter is cold premeditation, as it were;
summer we ''don't count" as Rip Van Win
kle says, but in the glorious autumn days our
beautiful city may be seen with her war paint
on. September and October are our cham
pion months and ''come pat betwixt too early
and too late" The sky is blue and clear,
the air delicious, fashionable houses are
opened, fashionable turnouts dash through