In its charities, New York stands at the head of American communities—the great heart of the city throbs warmly for suffering humanity. The municipal authorities expend annually about one million of dollars in public charities. The various religious denominations spend annually about five millions more, and private benevolence disburses a sum of which no record is to be had—but it is large. Besides this, the city is constantly sending out princely sums to relieve want and suffering in all parts of our broad land. New York never turns a deaf ear to an appeal for aid.
The people of New York are very liberal in matters of opinion. Here, as a general rule, no man seeks to influence the belief of another, except so far as all men are privileged to do so. Every religious faith, every shade of political opinion, is protected and finds full expression. Men concern themselves with their own affairs only. Indeed this feeding has been carried to such an extreme that it has engendered a decided indifference between man and man. People live for years as next door neighbors without ever knowing each other by sight. A gentleman once happened to notice the name of his next door neighbor on the door-plate. To his surprise he found it the same as his own. Accosting the owner of the door-plate one day, for the first time, he remarked that it was singular that two people bearing the same name should live side by side for years without knowing each other. This remark led to mutual inquiries and statements, and to their surprise the two men found they were brothers—sons of the same parents. They had not met for many years, and for fully twelve years had lived side by side as neighbors, without knowing each other. This incident may be overdrawn, but it will illustrate a peculiar feature of New York life.
Strangers coming to New York are struck with the fact that there are but two classes in the city—the poor and the rich. The middle class, which is so numerous in other cities, hardly exists at all here. The reason of this is plain to the initiated. Living in New York is so expensive that persons of moderate means reside in the suburbs, some of them as far as forty miles in the country. They come into the city, to their business, in crowds, between the hours of seven and nine in the morning, and literally pour out of it between four and seven in the evening. In fair weather the inconvenience of such a life is trifling, but in the winter it is absolutely fearful. A deep snow will sometimes obstruct the railroad tracks, and persons living outside of the city are either unable to leave New York or are forced to spend the night on the cars. Again, the rivers will be so full of floating ice as to render it very dangerous, if not impossible, for the ferry boats to cross. At such times the railroad depots and ferry houses are crowded with persons anxiously awaiting transportation to their homes. The detention in New York, however, is not the greatest inconvenience caused by such mishaps.
To persons of means, New York offers more advantages as a place of residence than any city in the land. Its delightful climate, its cosmopolitan and metropolitan character, and the endless variety of its attractions and comforts, render it the most delightful home in America. Its people are warmly attached to and proud of it, and even strangers feel drawn towards it as to no other city save their own homes. Few persons care to leave it after a twelve-months’ residence within its limits, and those who are forced to go away generally find their way back at the earliest opportunity.
II. THE HARBOR OF NEW YORK.
The bay and harbor of New York are noted the world over for their beauty. When the discoverer, Henry Hudson, first gazed upon the glorious scene, he gave vent to the impulsive assertion that it was “a very good land to fall in with, and a pleasant land to see,” and there are few who will venture to differ from him.
To enjoy the wonderful beauty of the bay, one should enter it from the ocean; and it is from the blue water that we propose to begin our exploration.
Nineteen miles from the City of New York, on the western side of the bay, is a low, narrow, and crooked neck of sand, covered in some places with a dense growth of pine and other hardy trees. This neck is called Sandy Hook, and its curve encloses a pretty little bay, known as the Cove. On the extreme end of the point, which commands the main ship channel, the General Government is erecting a powerful fort, under the guns of which every vessel entering the bay must pass. There is also a lighthouse near the fort, and within the last few years a railway depot has been built on the shore of the Cove. Passengers from New York for Long Branch are transferred from the steamer to the cars at this place, the road running along the sea-shore to Long Branch. To the westward of Sandy Hook, on the Jersey shore, are the finely wooded and picturesque Highlands of Nevesink, and at their feet the Shrewsbury River flows into the bay, while some miles to the eastward are the shining sands and white houses of Rockaway Beach and Fire Island. Seven miles out at sea, tosses the Sandy Hook Light Ship, marking the point from which vessels must take their course in entering the bay.
Leaving Sandy Hook, our course is a little to the northwest. The New Jersey shore is on our left, and we can see the dim outlines of Port Monmouth and Perth Amboy and South Amboy in the far distance, while to the right Coney Island and its hotels are in full sight. Back of these lie the low shores of Long Island, dotted with pretty suburban villas and villages. A few miles above Sandy Hook we pass the Quarantine station in the Lower Bay, with the fleet of detained vessels clustering about the hospital ships.
Straight ahead, on our left, is a bold headland, sloping away from east to west, towards the Jersey coast. This is Staten Island, a favorite resort for New Yorkers, and taken up mainly with their handsome country seats. The bay here narrows rapidly, and the shores of Staten and Long Islands are scarcely a mile apart. This passage is famous the world over as The Narrows, and connects the Inner and Lower Bays. The shores are high on either side, but the Staten Island side is a bold headland, the summit of which is over one hundred feet above the water. These high shores constitute the protection which the Inner Bay enjoys from the storms that howl along the coast. It is to them also that New York must look for protection in the event of a foreign war. Here are the principal fortifications of the city, and whichever way we turn the shores bristle with guns. On the Long Island shore is Fort Hamilton, an old but powerful work, begun in 1824, and completed in 1832, at a cost of $550,000. The main work mounts eighty heavy guns; but since the Civil War, additional batteries, some of them armed with Rodman guns, have been erected. A little above Fort Hamilton, and a few hundred yards from the shore, is Fort Lafayette, built on a shoal known as Hendricks’ Reef. It was begun during the war of 1812, cost $350,000, and was armed with seventy-three guns. It was used during the Civil War as a jail for political prisoners. In December, 1868, it was destroyed by fire, and the Government is now rebuilding it upon a more formidable scale. The Staten Island shore is lined with guns. At the water’s edge is a powerful casemated battery, known as Fort Tompkins, mounting forty heavy guns. The bluff above is crowned with a large and formidable looking work, also of granite, known as Fort Richmond, mounting one hundred and forty guns. To the right and left of the fort, are Batteries Hudson, Morton, North Cliff, and South Cliff; mounting about eighty guns of heavy calibre. It is stated that the new work on Sandy Hook will be armed with two hundred guns, which will make the defensive armament of the Lower Bay and Narrows over six hundred and thirteen guns, which, together with the fleet of war vessels that could be assembled for the protection of the city, would render the capture of New York by an enemy’s fleet a hazardous, if not impracticable, undertaking.
Passing through The Narrows, we enter the Inner Bay. New York, Brooklyn and Jersey City are in full sight to the northward, with the Hudson stretching away in the distance. The bay is crowded with shipping of all kinds, from the fussy little tug-boat to the large, grim-looking man-of-war. As we sail on, the scene becomes more animated. On the left are the picturesque heights of Staten Island, dotted thickly with country-seats, cottages, and pretty towns, and on the left