THE WORK-HOUSE—BLACKWELL'S ISLAND.

683

DRUNKENNESS and small thefts are two of the main qualifications for a residence in the institution which forms the subject of this article. The writer, therefore, has been prevented from emulating an English brother of the pen who created no small sensation by his treatment of a similar theme. He has not become an inmate of the Work-house for the sake of a novel experience and the desire to give a vivid description. He may premise, however, that he has had advantages far from common in eliciting information concerning it, and that "our artist" was on the spot when the accompanying sketches were made.

The Work-house is the most recently established of the institutions upon Blackwell's Island. Previous to the erection of the present building the classes that now fill it were distributed among the District Prisons, the Tombs, the Penitentiary, and the Alms-house. It was originally recommended, "for the employment of able-bodied inmates of the Alms-house," by a committee from the Board of Aldermen. As

such the proposal was adopted by the Common Council in 1849, and passed by the Legislature in 1850. The corner-stone was laid in November of that year. The architectural plan of that date exhibits many features not seen in the structure as completed. The engraving at the head of this article shows that it comprises two wings, the one extending northerly, the other southerly, from an extensive centre building. A third wing, projecting immediately back of this, is also to be described in the original plan, as well as four outhouses of considerable architectural pretensions situated on the corners of an inclosure in which the main structure was to stand. None of these have been erected.

The northern wing contains the female wards, the southern the male. They are similar in exterior and interior construction, and the presented view of the galleries and rows of cells in the northern wing gives a fair idea of the appearance of each. In the middle of the further extremity will be seen an altar-like structure,

684

HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

INTERIOR OF THE NORTHERN WING.

containing a mammoth reflector, which at night illuminates the entire avenue. There are three stories to the edifice, to which exceptions, however, exist in the cross buildings at the end of each wing; these comprise four with a loft besides. In them are the work-rooms, the offices, and the reception-rooms. The centre building contains the apartments of the warden and physicians, the kitchens, the laundries, and the church auditory. Contiguous to and back of it, a small outbuilding with the usual tall chimney, is the engine-house, whence steam is generated for the whole institution as well as the Retreat, a structure now pertaining to the Lunatic Asylum, but which formerly belonged to the Work-house.

Like that of all institutions upon the Island, the edifice is constructed of blue stone rubble masonry, the materials obtained from the internal rock. There are also several wooden outhouses belonging to it, a stable, a carpenter shop, a blacksmith shop, and a boat-house. The last contains not only the boat and crew of the Work-house Warden, but those of the Resident Physician of the Asylum as well.

The grounds of the institution comprise about ten or twelve acres, which, carefully cultivated by certain of the prisoners, afford fair yearly returns in a variety of vegetables. They are consumed by the institution. The paid officials of the Work-house number some thirteen, of whom the highest in rank is the Superintendent or Warden. Next in order come the Clerk, then the Engineer, the Keepers, and the Matrons. The Bellevue Hospital furnishes two physicians from its staff; which staff also fills the medical departments of the Penitentiary, the Alms-house, and the Island Hospital, its members taking turns in serving at every place.

It is supposed that it would be possible to crowd two thousand prisoners into the Work-house, although it can not be strictly said that there are accommodations for them. In the female wing are some one hundred and thirty cells, each of which contains four beds. The

male wing is not so regularly divided into small cells, some within it holding twenty-five beds, but its general capacity is doubtless the same. The largest number ever at any one period incarcerated within the walls has been 1700. This happened at the time of the riots in the city concerning the draft during the late war of secession. In 1855 the number of inmates was 200; in 1856 the daily average was 625, upon which, from that year to 1860, the annual increase was about 100, the daily average being, in 1860, 1208. Since that date there has been a gradual decrease, although in a fluctuating manner. For the past three years the daily average has been from 700 to 900. The expense to the city of each inmate is about fifteen cents daily, sometimes a trifle more; sometimes a trifle less.

The utmost economy prevails, and the labor of the prisoners produces no inconsiderable amount of money. This labor, contracted for by manufacturers in the city, has in times past brought as much as $6000 to the institution in a single year. The manufacture of cigars was then carried on in a somewhat extensive manner. The receipts from contracts fluctuate not a little, the principal cause being the occasional suspension of a manufacturer. In the past year the receipts were only $2975, to which sum the Hoop-skirt Factory contributed its quota. There have also been cap and stocking contractors. Garments for United States troops were made here during the war.

The greater proportion of work, however, done by the prisoners is consumed by the institution and the various other departments under the control of the Commissioners. Carpenters, cooper, boat-builders, blacksmiths, wheel-wrights, tinsmiths, etc., are all employed at their respective branches, and their products, as may be required, are sent to the Alms-house, Bake-house, Bellevue steamboat, Bellevue Hospital, City Cemetery, Island Hospital,

HOOP-SKIRT FACTORY.

685

WORK-HOUSE SHOEMAKERS.

Lunatic Asylum, Small-pox Hospital, Penitentiary, City Prison, Commissioners of Emigration, and Randall's Island.

The carpenters are mainly employed in making coffins for the use of the above-named institutions and the outdoor poor; from 700 to 900 are constructed yearly, of various sizes. The tailors do all the repairing and making required by the Work-house in coats, pants, vests, and caps, and also that needed by Randall's Island in boys' clothing. The women of the department are largely employed in the Sewing-room upon stockings, socks, dresses, under-garments for both males and females, shrouds, and mittens.

Latterly the Work-house women have been greatly used as help in other Island institutions as scrubbers, cooks, washers, and ironers, the Lunatic Asylum being well furnished with them. Including patients to the Island Hospital, the number of transferred inmates to other institutions as help during the year 1865 amounted to 1329 males, and 3336 females. These numbers, it will be understood, refer to different commitments merely, and include those sent up for a term of ten days as well as those for six months or a year. The daily average of inmates was 772. The males have been mostly employed in the grounds in tilling land, digging excavations for cellars and foundations, wheeling dirt, breaking stones, leveling, etc. Not a few wooden structures have been lately erected by the Commissioners, and Work-house mechanics have been largely used. The Penitentiary convicts appear to be employ-

ed in occupations requiring greater strength either of body or mind. They blast the rocks of the Island and hew the stone, the larger proportion of masons and house-carpenters coming from their ranks. The more fatiguing work is evidently apportioned them. A large quarry engages them continually.

The number of deaths in the Work-house, considering the population, is very small. Of over 12,000 commitments during the past year, 1865, only eighty died. The number of elopements is, however, not so minute, over 400 having escaped in the same period. This is owing in a great measure to the scattering of the inmates among the institutions.

It will be found interesting to examine the history of the Work-house, for a casual glance will determine that it is not now exclusively used for the reception of the classes for which originally it was erected. The inquiry can not be held tiresome, for it embraces a period of but sixteen years. We learn from a report of distant date, emanating from the Superintendent of the Alms-house, that a majority of the inmates of that edifice had always been accustomed to idleness, and did not care for nor feel shame consequent upon pauperism. It was adjudged that a great point would be gained if there could be some line drawn, some distinction made—which could be impressed upon the feelings of the poor themselves—between those reduced by uncontrollable circumstances and those of a lazy, shiftless disposition. It was urged that the establishment of two institutions might tend to draw the line of

686

this separation. It was asserted that the Alms-house should be a place of comparative comfort, liberally though economically maintained, a refuge from the evils and miseries of life—in fine, what the poor-laws contemplated. The Work-house, on the other hand, should be a place of hardships, of ample though coarse fare, and administered with strictness and severity. It should be as repulsive as is consistent with humanity, it being evident that humanity is far more concerned in using every method to incite the laboring classes to depend on themselves rather than upon charities for support.

Upon such principles the institution which forms the subject of this paper was originally founded. It was to be a kind of House of Industry, one of its main objects to impel the decrease of pauperism. With this intention, in the first two years of its history the Work-house people were paid a small amount for their labor. In 1850 they received, according to their class, 50, 40, and 37½ cents per day. But in 1851 the scale was reduced 15 cents on each sum, because of inmates merely looking forward to a few dollars to spend in a drunken debauch in the city. Payment in money was shortly after abolished altogether, and the institution being still regarded as a connection of the Alms-house those reasons were given:

> "When the industrious man can with difficulty obtain subsistence it is most unjust, as well as most detrimental to the moral well-being of the individual, to encourage him in idleness by the gratuitous offer of a better, at least a sufficient subsistence. We feel for the old, infirm, sick, all who are providentially afflicted, and are anxious that every attention should be extended to them to make them comfortable and happy; while the able-bodied, who are paupers from choice and capable of work, should not be allowed benefits without conforming to rules and giving an equivalent in labor."

The Work-house began to be regarded now more as a purely penal institution. Study of the history of Blackwell's Island can not fail to impress one with the progress that has been made in the management of the various departments, and with the belief that improve-

ments are to succeed. Under the Board of Ten Governors the Penitentiary exhibited a spectacle that was to be deplored. The Island Hospital at that period was a branch of it, the patients being necessarily prisoners. Their cures effected, they served a certain term in the Penitentiary as payment. The Warden's report conveys the idea that the prison was a perfect Pandemonium. Diseased prostitutes, with their victims and associates; drunkards and vagrants of all kinds, lame, maimed, and blind; wretches half-idiotic through debaucheries; thieves, rowdies, and ruffians; children without parents, and old and hardened offenders, are by him enumerated as comprised within the walls. In cases of pauperism inefficient magistrates seemed to send, *ad libitum*, to the Alms-house and the Penitentiary, poverty being adjudged a crime by certain of them.

With the changes that we have already noted as having taken place in the Work-house it is easy to see that it would soon absorb a large class formerly sent to the Penitentiary, and such now is the case. To state the matter concisely, court prisoners are sent to the Penitentiary, while police prisoners are sent to the Work-house. The charges in Work-house commitments are drunkenness, vagrancy, and disorderly conduct. Small thefts are also punishable by the Work-house, although petit larceny is a Penitentiary crime.

Doubtless some little of the confusion that once existed as to the proper place of punishment for certain offenses yet prevails. Careless officials not unfrequently send up quite innocent persons through some unfortunate circumstance of time or place; and it occasionally happens that the policeman himself is more deserving of punishment than the individual committed upon his charge. Drunkenness "covers a multitude of sins," however, in the case of a majority of the prisoners. They may well be thankful it is the only charge that can be proved against them. With these facts in mind, it is gratifying to know that destitute

boys are no longer kept here until indentured to a master, as some three or four years ago they were.

For an insight into the variety of characters and professions that find their way to the Work-house, the reader will please take his stand on the dock at the foot of Twenty-sixth Street, East River, just previous to the starting of the steamboat *Bellevue* for the Island. The prisoners, while actual inmates of the institu-

SKULKERS FROM WORK.

688

he is a worthless drunkard, a vagrant, and a villain. There are many who do not fall under all of these rules, as will have been seen from previous remarks; but of more, what I have written serves ill to express the depths of depravity to which they have sunk.

But the sour-looking policeman who has charge of the Bellevue Dock opens his gate, and we are freed from odorous and unpleasant contiguity to the crowd that presses before it. Retreating to the storehouse, farther on, we await the arrival of the "Black Maria," or prison omnibus, the passengers of which are to be our study. While so doing we can not refrain from wondering glances at the motley mass from whose ranks we have made our exit. Who are they journeying to the ill-famed isle? A well-dressed gentleman, accompanied by three ladies, proclaims by the air of refinement which hangs about his party that he is a visitor merely, animated like ourselves by curiosity concerning the public buildings of New York city; though less fortunate than we, he has not succeeded in giving the sop to Cerberus. Close by him sit three decently-attired female personages, attendants in the Alms-house or the Lunatic Asylum; all seem to be of Irish extraction, though American-born appears the long-bearded individual conversing with them, a keeper in the Penitentiary. Upon the countenances of every member of the remainder of the assemblage either disease or vice is stamped most legibly; and upon them all the watchful eye of the one-legged guardian of the visitors' receiving-room is ever cast.

Quite a philanthropist is that man; and one well-versed in the ups and downs of human life—somewhat of a philosopher too. A philosophical tone is given, indeed, to the minds of many of these retainers of the Commissioners. It arises from the nature of their duties and the many impulses to reflection continually received. To the school of Cynics they, however, mostly belong. The object of our gaze arises and examines tickets presented to him by two pretty girls who have not reached, apparently, eighteen years. They are rather well attired; but an impudent look is stealing over a once modest front, and denotes them to be of the class of the unfortunate and erring. They are for the Island Hospital, and many of their frail sisters, less fair, stand about them, accompanied, in several cases, by flashily-dressed, heavily-mustached, and low-browed young ruffians, their so-called "protectors." Examine them well; they are of the order that recruits the Work-house.

A few years more, their good looks gone—male and female—their pestiferous existence draws to a close. Drunkenness and theft, with other continued debaucheries, drag them lower and lower—they are in the Work-house or the Alms-house. Some more enterprising run the gamut of all the Institutions. Their great abilities and bolder flights grant them occasional incarcerations in the State Prison or

the Penitentiary; then follow the Hospital and Work-house, and the Insane Asylum may perhaps see the end of their career.

The most amicable understanding apparently exists between the girls and their "men." Albeit their life of shame is known to all onlookers, they chat pleasantly and laugh gayly with each other; and yet that contusion round the eye, borne by yonder pale-faced young woman, was doubtless given her by the brutal, fopish youth by her side, upon whom she smiles so sweetly. Insult and abuse are her portion in life. What little heart she has is bestowed unreservedly upon him, base enough to share her degradation. Curses and blows she expects. Yet he is kind sometimes—that sullen, execrable wretch—and the tribute of her whole soul is his due. She knows no better fate, and in her ignorance can hardly conceive of natures superior to her own and his. A degraded Miranda, she loves her Ferdinand! Another party of her frail sisters arrives, the mirth increases, hands are shaken, and jests are freely exchanged; but of what character we may fairly judge, from the fact that countenances about them wear a shocked expression, and the before-remarked gentleman hastily withdraws his companions. The one-legged watchman hurries up on his crutch, and a decorous stillness prevails.

Who is that shabbily-attired woman in black, carrying a large basket? The mother doubtless of some young thief confined in the Penitentiary; honest herself it may be, and suffering concealed agony. That man beside her, with such a look of wan despair? A pauper journeying to the Alms-house; his armless sleeve helps one to surmise the cause of his destitution. From the gate of the yard of Bellevue Hospital now emerges the attenuated figure, and ghastly, emaciated countenance of a Chikanan. His parted and parched lips, his upturned vacant gaze, seem pointing at mortal pangs. Two men support his exhausted frame. For the hospital he, undoubtedly. Will he live until he arrives there?

A rumble of wheels, the crowd parts, and our reflections are cut short by the coming of the prison van, which rattles over the planking and stops before us. The whistle of the Bellevue steamboat at the same moment startles our ears, and its black hulk creeps along the wharf. Its upper and lower decks are densely covered by some three hundred medical students—a wild, hilarious multitude, just arrived from a "clinic" at the Island Hospital. Like a flock of frightened sheep they plunge pell-mell from the boat and hurry to the lecture-room of their college.

The captain is ready to receive his passengers for the return trip, and the driver of the "Black Maria" dismounts from his perch and unbolts the door of his vehicle. A singular structure that; not unlike the menagerie cars containing the cages of wild beasts. No windows are visible, ventilation being supplied by

689

apertures near the roof, fitted with three slats of fixed window-blind.

"Come out, there!" The hand of the driver rudely grasps the arm of the nearest occupant, and arouses her from a drunken stupor. A mass of rags and filth gradually discloses itself. Can it be that the creature before us is a human being? A torn shoe on one foot, a man's boot on the other; bare, bruised, and begrimed legs visible to the knee, through the wires of a battered crinoline picked from an ash-barrel; a short petticoat above this, foul and discolored with the garbage of New York streets, and fringed with its own rags; a scanty shawl alone covering the upper portion of the shivering and swollen frame; the face bloated, inflamed, distorted; its deep-sunk eyes encircled by a hideous black *aureola*. Can this brutish monster, casting malevolent side-glances as it sluggishly and painfully descends from its den, be or have been a woman? Not only that, but once, perchance, a beautiful and a lovable one. It seems difficult, nay impossible, to realize it; yet naught but seduction and the consequent career may have wrought this awful effect. Not the least lingering trace of education is visible on her features; yet forty years ago her conversation may have possessed a magic charm in the social circle, and she have been the delight of fond parents. Such reflections appear far-fetched as we gaze upon her; and so in truth they are; but none the less are they allied to fact. Her present station is alone thought of by the jeering spectators. We question a policeman as to whence she comes.

"What, that old bummer? Oh, from some vile den in Cherry Street; she has served a term of six months, and was liberated yesterday; got on a spree; raised a row, and is back again to-day for another term. She's a hanger-on of one of the lowest dance-houses; drinks all she can get, and pilfers what she is able."

Used to such sights though he be the speaker's countenance indicates disgust as he conveys his information.

A certain great thinker has said that he never heard of a crime that he could not himself have committed; one of those paradoxical sayings that are to be taken with many reservations. In its real meaning Shakspeare was pre-eminently a man who might have declared the same. It is well-nigh equivalent to an assertion that the state of mind of the doer of the deed was fully comprehended, and to a confession of one's consciousness that he is human, and, under certain circumstances, with merely the same degree of knowledge others possess, would do as they have done.

Yet the author of that singular declaration could never, at the time he spoke, have entertained an idea of the loathsome profession of the wretch now hurried to the steamboat, or he would have little wished to startle his auditors by its enunciation. It is too vile to hint at. "Drunk and disorderly" is the charge which has sent him up this time. He, like

most of those now showing their faces from the recesses of the car, are old acquaintances of the prison authorities.

The Work-house has its regular *habitues*. There are many who may be said to live there, with occasional excursions to the city, lasting from one day to a week. It is nothing unusual to see thirty women leave the institution on Monday to be all brought back by Saturday.

An exception, doubtless, to this general rule is the hatless youth who springs from the vehicle with greater agility than is shown by his companions. He is distinguished from them also by having in his countenance no such look of utter abasement as they exhibit. Deep-seated shame is there, not careless indifference. It is the first time that public chastisement has been visited upon him. His garments, though soiled, have a somewhat fashionable cut. A stranger to the city, his anxiety "to see life" has led him among bad associates. Too much loose change and a reckless, idle spirit has purchased a swift descent into debauchery. The intoxicating cup, a bar-room fight, an inroad of police, the station-house, the Tombs, a sentence of six weeks' imprisonment in the Work-house, are some of the most prominent items in his recent history. Experience is a dear schoolmistress. Let us hope that in his case she is a good one too, and has taught him an effectual lesson.

There follows close upon his heels a wild-eyed German, of a large and bony frame. His clothes are torn and in great disorder; his expression is haggard and imbecile. Handcuffs are upon his wrists. One of the boat's crew takes him in special charge. He is a lunatic *en route* for the Asylum.

And now emerges a girl of not uncomely countenance, holding before it her faded jockey hat and feather. "Not altogether shameless, then," is our thought, when a cynical observer mutters, "She don't want to spoil her future prospects." The charge against her "vagran-cy," most likely.

The remaining occupant of the car pushes her bold front into sight. "A born thief!" would be our ejaculation, did we not know the warping influences of poverty and evil association. A more incorrigibly vicious creature in appearance it would be difficult to conceive. Her furtive glance, her thin and compressed lips, her low brow, denote ignorance, rapacity, and cunning.

"How many have you there?" asks the driver, referring to a paper in his hand.

"Eight," responds the Captain.

"All right; there are ten more coming," and the speaker closes and bolts the door of his vehicle. Another like it takes its place, and the same scene is repeated with variations. A bloated and rough over-coated individual, with a collection of rheumatic umbrellas under his arm, is the first to descend. Of Jewish extraction evidently, his appearance is so swinish that we must believe his society is tabooed by his

690

tribe at least. To the rag-picking fraternity he is closely allied. Vagrancy and drunkenness are written in letters of fire on his lurid visage.

"One of the roughs—a 'Cosmos,'" is the next to appear. With his red shirt, black pants, and slouched felt; his tobacco-stained lips, swaggering walk, and insolent expression, he is a characteristic sample of the rowdies who infest the corners of the Bowery. "Hi! hi! there's Joe!" shouts a voice at the gate. It proceeds from one of the gay companions of the flashily-attired girls.

"How long you're in for?" continues the speaker.

Joe casts behind him a defiant grin of recognition and responds: "Ten days," adding, enigmatically, "Be sure you're there when I'm out." A rude grasp on the shoulder from an attendant policeman hurries him forward.

A painted, emaciated cyprian, with torn finery, follows. She seems exhausted, and with painful steps joins the gang. A broad-shouldered, pug-nosed, thick-set young ruffian, creates a small sensation as he shoves his bulk into view. There is a muttered chorus from a crowd of juvenile dock-loafers and pickpockets at the gate. "That's him, isn't it, Bill?" "Yes; he's a case—a jolly cove." Inquiring elicits the information that the renowned worthy is the hero of a recent prize-fight, in which "Black Mike" was badly "punished." The spoils of war, some twenty-five dollars, have been spent with the plainly visible effect. A female "sneak thief" and a 'longshoreman now appear. That haggard, and yet regular-featured wretch, the intellectual sparkle of whose eye is not entirely lost through liquor, has been a noted counterfeiter and served a long term in the State Prison.

Most of those whom we have seen have committed crimes for which the Penitentiary is the fitting place of punishment, though vagrancy, with disorderly conduct, is the only charge that can be positively proved against them in the courts. The Work-house gang is completed by the addition of a rum-eaten creature, even now so overcome with "stimulant" that she has to be supported by two of the boat attendants. The way to their proper receptacle on the steamboat is cleared, and the dingy, ragged gathering is marched forward, some twenty persons in all. Following, we see them disappear, single file, into the hold, through a door behind the engine-room in the centre compartment of the vessel. Although it is regularly cleaned, a noisome den must be that dépôt for so much filth, disease, and vice. We have no inclination whatever to ask to be allowed to examine its interior.

Now that we are upon the *Bellevue*, it is worth our while to employ our curiosity upon an institution which is so prominent a feature in the history of the criminal. Its name, *Bellevue*, is an euphonious title given (*lucus a non lucendo*) from a greater appreciation of sound than sense.

Though a new boat, its appropriately funereal garb makes it a dismal sight as to its exterior, harmonious with the wretchedness to be described within. The poetic designation given it by Island residents is somewhat more true, a "Tub of Misery." It has another claim to recognition in this essay, from the fact that it is mostly manned by Work-house prisoners, whose faded and patched jackets are every where obtrusive. A stigma is plainly fixed upon them, in the name of the institution to which they belong printed on their backs. A sullen crew are they; a cringing, slave-like expression upon the countenances of two or three; yet at times much gayety is observable among them. Like most specimens of degraded human nature they, as a rule, possess little kindliness of feeling, even in respect to each other, and their sport frequently consists in tormenting one of their number more imbecile than the rest. Used to scenes of extreme suffering, their hearts have become hardened, and they look with lazy indifference upon that which causes a pang in the ordinary man. Were it not for the officers over them, the agonized Hospital cases would often fare badly in their hands; and they appear to regard with especial disgust those sent to the Island upon the same charges upon which they themselves have been committed. A drunken woman falling helplessly upon the deck would be there left to lie but for a command; and an aged though dissolute cripple might again and again entreat assistance, it would be denied him. Many of them feel little or no humiliation in their ignoble station. They have never known much better. The world visits upon poverty and ignorance the same contempt which it adjudges to crime, and to that contempt they have been all their life used. It is their normal state. One or two, as is to be expected, possess a fair share of intelligence. They were doubtless good mechanics until drink overthrew them. Keen remorse will sometimes assail these, but they summon an ignoble philosophy to their aid; they acknowledge themselves mastered by their passion, and supinely make no struggle against its influence.

There are some four or five Work-house women employed on the steamboat in keeping the vessel clean. What they are the reader has been already told in the general survey of the character of the inmates. They seem good-humored creatures (though the Ishmaelite expression is to be seen in their eyes), and conduct themselves with great decorum.

It is well known that crime, though a great leveler, has yet its aristocracy, and it may amuse the reader to learn that the Penitentiary prisoners look with disdain upon their fellows in the Work-house. Being the greater criminals, they in so far show more ability in running counter to the laws. Smartness and pluck, by those acknowledging no moral virtues, are of course the qualities most to be commended; hence doubtless their feeling of superiority.

691

ON BOARD THE "BELLEVUE"—ARRIVAL AT THE WORK-HOUSE DOCK.

As a class they are, indeed, much more noble-looking beings. Drink destroys the body, mind, and heart; selfishness, the main-spring of crime, exercises its debasing influence upon the heart chiefly, the intellect, though warped, losing none of its energy. The Work-house man is more harmful to himself than others; the Penitentiary prisoner one whom society may more justly fear. In truth, not only by themselves, but by a large proportion of the smaller Island officials, are the Penitentiary people the more respected; nor need it excite surprise when it is considered that they but think it in strict accordance with the code of worldliness, itself founded on pure selfishness. To the ordinary Work-house case there is naught in the future; but the Penitentiary convict may reasonably aspire to much. Brutishness reigns in the Work-house; a demoniac spirit in the Penitentiary. Demons are more respected than brutes.

In that "cleanliness is next to godliness" we see another reason why the Work-house prisoner is so much despised. The memory of that proverb explains the feeling prevalent in the boat on which we are; a comparatively cent set of men were those descending into the hold through that gangway in the bow of the vessel—thieves all, convicts for the Penitentiary.

Accommodations for Hospital cases are to be found in a side cabin in front of the paddle-box; where, too, the patient for the Lunatic Asylum is brought. Alms-house paupers may

sit at pleasure on the lower deck. That blind old man, with his countenance covered with blue specks, is one of them. A gunpowder explosion occasioned his deformity and loss of vision. If we mistake not, we have seen him, and that little girl beside him, as beggars in the city street no long time since. That tearful woman in black near by, so thinly clad, is a companion in misfortune, destined to the same abode.

"Charity Hospital and Penitentiary!" shouts the Captain.

We have arrived at our first landing. There is a delay of ten minutes, in which we see the prisoners from the bow of the boat, arranged two abreast, under charge of the Penitentiary keepers, and marched to their place of punishment.

"It is the close of winter as we glide by the Island, and although some of the buildings thereon attract a pleased vision, it possesses little of that picturesque charm which the foliage of summer lends it."

"Alms-house, Work-house, and Lunatic Asylum!"

We have reached our destination, and in company with other visitors disembark, the author stopping for a short period to take a sketch of the prisoners emerging from the hold. While so doing he notes a spectacle that did not strike him before—a woman with an infant in the midst of the imbruted group. Hers is the last stage of the drunkard's career. Her rags, her pallor, her bruises, hint at all the most dire effects of drink. Yet, as we learn, she has claim to the two sacred titles of wife and mo-

692

ther, though sacrilege it seems to call her by them. Wifely feelings, it is easy to surmise, she has entirely lost. Her own husband preferred the charge which has sent her into six months' imprisonment; a reptile he himself, rioting in some lodging cellar. Does she possess ought of maternal tenderness? Not one jot; she suckles her young as would a beast; would throw it in the gutter to grasp a glass of gin. We are thankful to know that her off-spring will be taken from her while she is serving out her sentence, and sent to the Foundling Hospital of the Alms-house.

A gray-bearded individual in Work-house garb marshals the prisoners on the wharf, separating the sexes. He is an old habitué of the institution, thoroughly acquainted with its whole management. His excessive demerits are in a certain sense beneficial to him, he becomes a sort of non-commissioned officer through his knowledge of the tactics; and thoroughly posted as to ways and means, gets many a luxury that his brethren in misfortune are deprived of. He is interrupted in his employment of counting the party and referring to a list in his hand by a shout.

“Hi, there! Take care of that man!”

Shrieking with extended arms, and fingers spasmodically clutching the air, his eyes distended in a frightened gaze, his blue lips quivering and his whole frame shaking with terror, an emaciated member of the gang backs toward the edge of the wharf.

“Catch hold of him, he'll drown himself!”

He is speedily seized by two of his companions and kept in the ranks.

“Ha, ha! he's got the horrors, worst kind,” laughs one of the women.

“What did yer see, old Flibbertigibbet—old Sooty?” asks another.

“Yer ain't there yet, old boy; yer time ain't come,” enigmatically sneers a third, and the whole party indulge in merriment at the expense of the victim of delirium tremens.

He, poor man, lost in a world of frightful imaginations, makes no response, and doubtless does not hear. But the frosty air cutting the ill-clad limbs of many, and unpleasant anticipoations of what is in store for them, soon silence all mirth. We watch the dismal procession plodding wearily along until the female part disappears in the further extremity of the northern wing of the Work-house.

The bath-room now awaits those who need it; and what member of the party we have seen does not? The clothes upon them are exchanged for the coarse uniform of the institution, and, made into a compact parcel, are docketed and deposited in a place of safety, there to remain until the owners have fully served their periods of imprisonment.

And now let the writer introduce the disagreeable pronoun I, excusing it on the plea that it is necessary to the interest of the narrative. When, therefore, I started on my excursions in and about the Work-house I was

accustomed to fill my pockets with carefully-dissected plugs of tobacco, that being, as soap once was in Texas, the current coin of the realm. At its appearance woebegone countenances brightened, content drew near, and confidential histories were unfolded. The male prisoners, almost without exception, are devotees of the weed, while the institution to which they belong considers it a luxury and does not furnish it. Upon my first stroll through the building the value of my foresight was made manifest.

“I say, boss!” was my greeting in an excited under-tone from a haggard individual peering through the iron-latticed window of a cell, “Got any tobacco, Mister? I haven't had a chew for a week.”

“Yes, I can oblige you, I believe. How comes it you're not at work?”

“Thank you;” the piece of plug went to the fevered mouth with great rapidity, and his features lost much of their pained expression. A gleam of light had stolen into his dungeon.

“Why ain't I at work? You see my eye, don't you? If I go out the cold will inflame it and make it worse.”

He exhibited a discolored optic, which had evidently received a severe injury, the epidermis about it was cut and abraded to a considerable extent, while his countenance elsewhere showed contusions:

“So you don't prefer staying here to working, eh?”

“Of course not; being shut up all day and night in a cell is a hard lot. If I was well I wouldn't be allowed to do so either.”

“What sent you up?” My face wore the expression of a man who sees another deeply wronged.

“Oh, a confounded fool of a policeman. You see I was returning from my work—I am a printer by trade—and as I crossed the Bowery I was attracted by something in the street, turned to look, and a Third Avenue car ran into me and knocked me down—hurting me as you see. An M. P. then rushed up, collared me, and said I was drunk. So I was committed here.”

“Yours is a sad case,” I rejoined, and, turning on my heel, renewed my inquiries concerning the charge against him by addressing a keeper.

“Oh, that fellow, he's an old customer. A fight in a disorderly house brought him here this time, along with several others, men and women. Knives and clubs were used as well as fists. He's a hard nut.”

My curiosity was excited respecting the dismal inhabitants of other cells, and addressing a heavily-mustached, pale-faced man of some thirty years, I asked him how long he had been shut up.

“Oh, I came in at noon. I'll be put at work to-morrow.”

“Have some tobacco? So you know something about the institution then; been here before?”

694

WORK-HOUSE TAILORS.

"Well, well; young fellows will get into scrapes. By-the-way, I am something of an artist, and would like to sketch your pictures."

I drew from my vest paper and pencils. There was a muttered chorus, "He's Harper's Artist," and a hasty departure from sight was made by the troop. The "leader" of the band alone maintained his position, exclaiming:

"What yer 'fraid of? Yer scared, all o' yer;" and the young ruffian, to illustrate his own hardihood, pressed his face close against the bars. His "manliness" soon brought to his side the remainder of the gang, and a comical variety of expression was before me. My air of *bonhomie* gradually departed as I proceeded with my drawing, and in view of my serious aspect he became convinced his friendship had been gained on false pretenses. I was made the subject of animadversions of a disagreeable character, and at one time he was considering aloud the propriety of spitting in my face. He mollified much, however, as I finished, and asked to see the sketch.

Ascending the iron staircase to the third tier I proceeded along the gallery and entered the shoemakers' room, where some twelve men were industriously employed. The "boss" leaned back in his chair at the further end of the apartment and lazily smoked a pipe, while the most complete order prevailed. Curious glances were directed toward me as I produced my drawing materials, and silence for a few minutes reigned; then, fully assured of my innocuous nature, one of their number recom-

menced a narrative of his luck in business outside, the customers he had had, the amount of work he had performed. His stories seemed to contain a good deal of "brag," and chuckles were not infrequent among his hearers, while he was interrupted continually by jokes and sarcastic utterances. They seemed all to be of the best class the Work-house furnishes; habitual drunkenness was doubtless their offense. In the year 1865 this shop produced some 855 pairs of men's shoes, 1318 pairs of women's shoes and slippers, besides other articles. It also repaired 1153 pairs of children's shoes for Randall's Island, and 1356 boots and shoes for the Work-house.

In the tailoring shop opposite I discovered some fifteen or twenty personages sitting, squatting, or lying upon a platform which ran the whole length of the room, and was supported by common carpenter's benches. All these worked in sullen silence upon pants and jackets of Work-house cloth. They seemed to be repairing rather than making. I finished my sketch of oddities among them without exciting any interest save that the master left the room for a moment to consult with a keeper as to the propriety of my intrusion. Without wishing to be indelicate, I would state that mending such garments as I then saw must involve certain tribulations, as one of the party divided his time pretty equally between attentions to his own epidermis and the work in hand. During the year 1865 a great quantity of goods was manufactured here, including 334 kersey jack-

695

ets, 984 kersey pants, 1118 boys' jackets, 1185 boys' pants as well as many vests, over-coats, etc. Repairing was also done upon 7896 pieces of boys' clothing, and 2827 pieces of men's apparel.

Retracing my steps I now proceeded through the long narrow gallery to the centre building, in which, before passing through it to the female wards, I made a drawing of the Sewing-room which is located in the church auditory. My entrance produced no little snickering among the two or three hundred women assembled, which was considerably increased by my taking a seat near the altar, directly confronting them as they sat in long settees busily plying the needle. In the sea of faces upturned before me there were few that could be called even comely. The ages ranged from sixteen to seventy. The younger wore an expression of gay recklessness, the older a stolid look of debased indifference; yet among these latter I occasionally described quite a motherly countenance. The history of the individual owning it might, however, have told me that it was merely an aspect of brutish good-nature. I recognized many faces I had seen on the Bellevue dock; but dressed now in the clean, yellowish white uniform of the institution they little resembled their former selves. A quiet air pervaded the gathering—an air even of content. I wondered at the order maintained amidst such a lawless set, superintended by a single matron, a slight woman in black, who occasionally promenaded the aisle; until I thought of

the dark cell, the only punishment in vogue at the Work-house, but which is dreaded in proportion to its isolation. Insolence was sure to be rewarded by incarceration there.

A large table near me was presided over by a prisoner, an elderly and even respectable-looking woman, who examined the work submitted to her as finished by her companions. The nature of many was plainly exhibited as they did this, and were thus brought under the special observation of "Harper's Artist." The opportunity to give a display of hardihood was not to be lost, and comical were the grimaces and extravagant the gestures that one woman especially made, to the great delight of her fellows. They were then mostly employed in knitting and darning stockings. This department of the Work-house turned out last year nearly 2000 pairs of women's stockings and 1000 pairs of men's socks, about 1500 dresses for women and girls, etc., etc.

As my eyes rested on interesting countenances among the workers, I could not help believing that one or two of them owed their presence there to injustice, and I called to mind an anecdote communicated to me by a worthy clergyman who has long been connected with the Institutions on the Island. It is amusing on the surface, though saddening in its depths. A German prisoner related to him her story, which he afterward proved to be true. She lived at Spuyten Duyvel Creek, and having been shopping in New York city, by some means got delayed beyond the hour of evening in

THE SEWING-ROOM.

696

which it is usual for unprotected females to appear in the streets. Hurrying, then, to the ferry, she was rudely stopped by a policeman, who asked where she was going. With indignation and broken English she rapidly informed him she was going to Spuyten Duyvel.

The astute officer instantly adjudged that she was swearing, arrested her, and had her sent to the Island as a vagrant given to disorderly conduct. When my friend met her she was a most miserable woman; her wifely and motherly feelings were stirred to their inmost recesses; a husband and three children awaited in agonized ignorance her arrival at their fireside. He proved her case, and she was released from duration vile. The consummate hypocrisy of many inmates prevents, however, as a rule, credence to such tales. I may add, that my personal experience inclines me especially to be skeptical.

A fair-haired young Englishman, of some twenty-four years, being transferred from the Work-house to be assistant to the clerk of the Lunatic Asylum, was brought specially under my notice. His intelligence struck me, and his story won my sympathy. He was a civil engineer by profession, and, as he said, was connected with George Francis Train at the time that dignitary was engaged in city railroad affairs in London. He manifested the greatest admiration for the acuteness of his principal, and his anecdotes concerning his method of business were full of interest. A frolic of a rather extravagant nature had sent him to the Island. He had arrived in New York with pockets full of money, having just resigned a situation as engineer on a Southern line of railroad, and, while looking for something to turn up, had yielded to the wild spirit of youth and become involved in dissipation. His abilities and manners won him many friends during the period of his incarceration. Upon its conclusion he went to the city for a day or two, having borrowed a few dollars, and returned saying he had secured a situation as civil engineer in a company about starting for Switzerland. The next day he again went to the city to settle some matters in connection with his proposed scheme, and the weather being somewhat cold he induced a gentleman resident in the Asylum to lend him a fine over-coat. He borrowed a few small articles of wearing apparel as well as money from other persons, and then, although he had stated he would come back to the Asylum that same evening, neither he nor his plunder was ever seen there again.

As I entered the female wards I was desirous of examining the dark cell so strongly presented to my imagination as I sat sketching in the Sewing-room. A keeper politely conducted me to its location on the ground-floor of the building, and I desribed some six of them side by side. They were merely empty stone apartments with heavy double doors, the outside one of which had the appearance, to a casual glance, of the door of the ordinary cell. Closer inspec-

tion, however, showed that its grate-work was merely painted, and that it was thoroughly penetrable by light. With both shut and bolted the blackest night must reign in the dungeon, and to an evil conscience given up to itself therein, with the attendant demons of ignorance, imagination, and superstition, it must indeed seem hideous.

THE DARK CELL.

"Is there any one confined here now?" I asked of the keeper.

"Yes, one. Would you like to take a sketch?"

A clanging of iron and we were admitted into No. 80. What resembled a bundle of clothes lay on the floor in a corner, but as my eyes became accustomed to the dim light I recognized the crouching figure of a woman, her head between her knees, and her hands clasped about it.

"Get up there!" was harshly commanded.

The creature, throwing back her disheveled hair, shiveringly arose, and placing herself awkwardly against the wall, gazed upon us with frightened aspect.

The keeper regarded her with a cynical air of triumph; and if there had been aught of rebellion in her she was thoroughly mastered—there was no question about that. Compassion fairly stung me as I looked; I hastily turned away. Hard as were her features, depraved as had been her life, her complete humiliation was most pitiable.

"How long has she been there?"

"About six hours."

"What was her offense?"

"A matron had her shut up for insults and continual insolence."

I was now invited to see the women at dinner. The hour was fast approaching, and as I was absorbed in making a drawing of the interior of a cell with its occupants, two savage-looking Amazons, bearing between them a large tin vessel of soup, struck against me in their impetuous march, and considerably disturbed my equilibrium. I soon regained it and my sketch-

697

MESS-ROOM.

book, however, and with unmoved visage finished my task.

"What are they in there for?" I asked, addressing some stragglers through the hall, and indicating the dismal group whose figures I had drawn.

"Ha! ha! they're just off the streets—look blue, don't they?"

They did indeed wear the saddest expression of any about me. Mortifying reflections seemed devouring each one; in dogged silence they sat, their eyes fixed on the floor. Their appearance afforded the utmost amusement to the hilarious prisoner who had answered me; but my occupation also interested her, and calling to a woman passing by she exclaimed:

"Hi, Sal! don't you want your dagrytype taken? Here's your chance; get it done cheap!"

There raged a desire among all the inmates to have every body's portrait taken except their own.

The dinner-bell sounded, and from the cells soon appeared a large body of women, who, forming themselves into single file under the eye of a keeper, advanced with great decorum along the hall and up the narrow staircase to the mess-rooms. The different work-rooms also sent forth their processions, which streamed along the various galleries. It was a novel and instructive sight; the discipline maintained was evidently most effectual. The sober air which pervaded all, the whitish uniform of the females, the long corridors, with other details, presented many of the features of a nunnery, and I was lost in an imaginative reverie to

be rudely disrupted by—"Take care of yourself there; you'll get the dark cell, my lady!" in the harsh voice of the keeper.

On the narrow tables, scarcely a foot wide, were placed at regular and close intervals pans of soup, in addition to which each individual received a good-sized piece of bread meted out to her upon entrance by a prisoner selected for the purpose, who presided over a large box. The meal was eaten in perfect silence—the negro portion of the assemblage forming a select circle. Enough was provided, but I could see many would have eaten more; and when, as sometimes happened, a rather smaller piece of bread than usual was delivered, it was received with an enraged sniff. The two mess-rooms seated, I should judge, some four hundred. Upon the conclusion of the meal the keeper, who had all along manifested great interest in my drawings, proposed to add to my repertory two fine samples of the prisoners. The first brought before me was a light-haired woman of forty years, who acted much as would a little girl called from the nursery for the delectation of a grave visitor of her parents. Her tongue wriggled about her lips, and both hands were occasionally pressed upon her cheeks, the fingers entering her mouth as she fidgeted upon her seat, gazing now into my eyes with a scared and mystified smile, and then casting side-glances at her amused companions, while a giggle ever and anon shook her frame.

"She's crazy, isn't she?" I asked.

"She crazy? A more cunning creature never came to the institution."

"Well, she's silly, then?"

"Yes, sometimes."

While finishing her portrait I was confronted with the second sample, whom the keeper

INTERIOR OF A CELL.

VOL. XXXIII.—No. 198.—3 A

698

had taken much time and care in selecting. She was, in truth, a Work-house case from head to foot; her scarred lip and bloated countenance indicated many a scene of riot and debauchery; but the presentation of her likeness spares me further description. As she came before me, she wore her gown over her head, which, it seems, was contrary to the laws, and the keeper put it down with more rudeness than I thought necessary; but I soon forgave him, for as she arose to go away, and I with much suavity was thanking her for her motionless sitting, she made a muttered remark to attract my attention, and then thrust out her hand for my watch-chain. I saw the action before it was too late, and she proceeded to her cell without having perpetrated the delicate little robbery.

In the third story I found the Hoop-skirt Factory as well as the apartment in which the manufacture of cigars had once been carried on. The contractor for the latter had just suspended business. The Hoop-skirt Factory exhibited some twenty-six women at work. They were presided over by a stout male keeper as well as a forewoman. The latter, salar-

ied by the contractor, would fare hardly amidst the reckless gathering were it not for her masculine protector, who strode about slapping his thigh with a light cane. I learned that few, if any, of those employed knew the trade before entering the Work-house, but that a knowledge of it was easily acquired, two weeks sufficing for a very ordinary intellect to master all the details and manipulation. A pressing machine was situated in a separate room, and was used to securely fasten the circlets of the skirt upon wires, crossing them at right angles, tin clamps being employed. Two of the youngest women I had seen about the institution were here at work. One of them was even pretty, with a black, bright, and malicious eye, and a thick shock of dark hair. This flying in all directions and bristling up from her forehead, gave her a very weird look, of which she was conscious, striving to intensify it for my amusement by spreading her locks more wildly. The keeper leaving the room, she at once stopped working and advanced toward me, fixing an ardent gaze upon me. I was flattering myself with the conviction that I had inspired love at first sight, when more careful observation in-

WORK-HOUSE PRISONERS GETTING ICE.

700

THE SWILL TUB.

mated the gang, only inspired to exertion by the appearance of the officer. This lazy feeling is indicated in the sketch of the prisoners building sea-wall. Of course, seeing that no remuneration thereunto accrues, no one expects them to work with much gusto, still it is to be believed that an energetic man could not from habit refrain from being industrious in the task given him.

The picturesque, and indeed comical, aspect of a party breaking stones near the river attracted my attention. The weather was somewhat chilly; although the sun shone brightly a cold wind made the thinly clad feel uncomfortable, and as protection against this, several of the men had ensconced themselves in old baskets lying about. I discovered in the overseer of the gang an individual who had been employed at the Asylum in the more congenial occupation of writing. Drink there procured had rendered him insolent to the Warden of the Work-house, and he was in consequence reduced to his present position. The gift of a cigar established us on familiar footing, and he became quite communicative concerning his fellow-prisoners under him.

"What's that man tied his pants tight about the ankles for—that man who keeps walking up and down?"

"Oh, the poor devil hasn't any stockings; he wishes to keep the wind off. He's quite a smart old boy in his way—has an invention connected with a steam-engine he means to patent and realize a fortune from."

"You have clever men up here, then?"

"Yes, sometimes. You see that grizzly-headed little fellow with the bright black eye, he's one of them. Commenced life as a clerk, I believe—took to drinking, wrote poetry for the Sunday papers, delirium tremens—has been to several Lunatic Asylums. In one he wrote a novel depicting life therein, rather scandalizing the institution. It fell into the Physician's hands, who burned it up. He escaped sentence for forgery in Massachusetts by a plea of insanity. Has been engaged in lecturing and

in giving concerts. He can get off a good thing, too. Up there at the Asylum, where he was for a time, there's a watchman named Cordial, who had occasion to carry him forcibly back to the 'Lodge' in one of his freaks. As he was rather roughly handled, he exclaimed, 'This is what I call a Cordial reception!' Not bad, eh? Then, too, being rebuked by an official, who told him he wanted none of his impudence, 'Of course you don't, my

good Sir, you've got enough of your own.'"

"Look at that man!" I exclaimed, interrupting the recital, and pointing to an individual who, having laid aside his hammer, had produced from his hat a beet, a carrot, and some crusts of bread, involved in a dirty handkerchief, and then unbuttoning his vest revealed a larger stock of refuse vegetables, including potatoes, which he proceeded leisurely to munch.

"Look at him, I think he's awful!"

"Offal, of course he is; he went to the dogs long ago. No amount of victuals will satisfy that fellow. As soon as he with some others come out to work in the morning, they strike a bee line for the swill tubs of the Asylum and stuff their jackets, pants, and hats with greasy beets and pieces of bread. They're used to it, the gluttons; it's the way many of them supported life while in the city."

"Don't the institution feed them well?"

"It feeds them; they get as much as others, of course; but they always complain of feeling hungry."

Near by these stone-breakers a gang of some fifty Penitentiary prisoners were engaged in blasting rocks, and I may as well state here for the benefit of visitors to the Island, that the Penitentiary men are to be distinguished from others by their uniforms of whitish material, striped horizontally with dark brown.

I have rarely observed Work-house women employed in outdoor work save in that intimately connected with feminine pursuits, such as the hanging of clothes to dry. Yet at one time I used to remark a couple of stalwart females on the steamboat dock, who busied themselves in lading and unlading a cart, which drove down from their prison. The odd situation of these Amazons, as they "chaffed" with the men around, their bold and confident looks, their apparent delight in their masculinity, fastened them securely in my memory. I have since learned they were connected with the Cigar Factory. Occasionally, as the cart was about starting on a return to the institution, one of them would bound upon it, and rushing

702

two, but the remainder were evidently in their
normal state. Time passed agreeably with
those by the help of cards, pipes, and a few
books and newspapers. Sleep had its adorers.
When a dime novel made its appearance it was
amusing to see and listen to the group that
gathered about the individual reading it aloud.
Be happy, O Novelist! thou hast not lived in
vain. Tears stood in the eyes of those little
used to weep when the sufferings of thy Amelia
and her Adolphus were related. The brilliant
description of the enraged bull and the heroic
devotion of the distracted lover awakened en-
thusiasm; and where Amelia piteously and el-
oquently bewails the absence of Adolphus there
arose a chorus: "That's what I call fine writ-

ing!" "That's nice!" "Lovely, and no mis-
take!" Although one stalwart member of the
party expressed disgust, exclaiming, "That's
— bosh—wishy-wash!" and strode to the
open air to ease his indignation. Every thing
that is is good, and sentimentalism is not an
exception.

But I hear a trampling of feet, and the voice
of the Captain sings out:

"All aboard!"

The sturdy and active muscles of the crew
urge me swiftly across the river, strong as is
the current; and hoping my readers have de-
rived as much interest as myself from my visits
to the Work-house, I am landed at Seventy-
ninth Street.

THE LADY OF MY DREAMS.

HER face is stern, but wondrous fair
Of feature, and her raven hair
Falls down in silken ripples where,
Wrapp'd round by sleep, I see her stand,
A visitor from some dim land,
This Lady of my Dreams.

Close to my bedside through the night,
Until the dawning of the light
Strikes feebly on my waking sight,
She stands, and at the break of day,
Like to a ghost, she flits away
With morning's earliest beams.

Twined with her locks of raven hair
Are countless brazen serpents there,
Whose hisses rend the tortured air
From topaz tongues of sharpened flame,
Forked lightnings tipped with 'deadliest aim,
That lure the charmèd sight.

I know the time that she draws nigh,
Slow pass the hours when she is by,
A sullen fire glows in her eye,
That burns into my heart and brain,
Down deepening with a sense of pain,
Through all the troubled night.

Uplifted high above her head
Its blade all dashed with drops of red,
As if by it some heart had bled,
She holds a dagger in the air,
This woman with the face so fair,
The Lady of my Dreams.

Descending straight toward my breast,
Its hilt by her fair fingers prest,
Slowly, but with no show of rest,
Closer it nears my shuddering heart,
When, waking with a sudden start,
The gray dawn coldly gleams.

What is this vision of the night
That vanishes with morning's light,
And ever cheats my waking sight—
Is it the ghost of guilt once wrought
In lasting deed or nursed in thought?
Oh, this it sometimes seems!

Often when by myself I sit,
Bound with slight threads by memory knit,
Unseen the shadow seems to flit
Before me, she with face so fair,
The woman with the raven hair,
The Lady of my Dreams.