Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Amongst other great living players who incline to the "close game," we may mention Mr. Harrwitz, whose match with Morphy furnished not one brilliant game; also Messrs. Slous, Horwitz, Bledow, Szen, and others. But the tendency has been, ever since the celebrated and magnificent matches of the two greatest chess geniuses which England and France have ever known, McDonnel and De la Bourdonnais, to cultivate the bolder and more exciting open gambits. And under the lead of Paul Morphy this tendency is likely to be inaugurated as the rule of modern chess. Professor Anderssen, Mayet, Lange, and Von der Lasa, in Germany,--Dubois and Centurini, at Rome,--St. Amant, Laroche, and Lécrivain, of Paris,--Löwenthal, Perigal, Kipping, Owen, Mengredien, etc., of London,--are all players of the heroic sort, and the games recently played by some of them with Morphy are perhaps the finest on record. And certainly, whatever may be said of their tendency to promote careless and reckless play, the open and daring games are at once more interesting, more brief, and more conducive to the mental drill which has been claimed as a sufficient compensation for the outlay of thought and time demanded by chess.

We have already given some specimens of the Poetry of Chess. The Chess Philosophy itself has penetrated every direction of literature. From the time that Miranda is "discovered playing chess with Ferdinand" in Prospero's cell, (an early instance of "discovered mate,") the numberless Mirandas of Romance have played for and been played for mates. Chess has even its Mythology,--Caïssa being now, we believe, generally received at the Olympian Feasts. True, some one has been wicked enough to observe that all chess-stories are divisible into two classes,--in one a man plays for his own soul with the Devil, in the other the hero plays and wins a wife,--and to beg for a chess-story _minus_ wives and devils; but such grumblers are worthless baggage, and ought to be checked. The Chess Library has now become an important collection. Time was, when, if one man had Staunton's "Handbook," Sarratt, Philidor, Walker's "Thousand Games," and Lewis on "The Game of Chess," he was regarded as uniting the character of a chess-scholar with that of the antiquary. But now we hear of Bledow of Berlin with eight hundred volumes on chess; and Professor George Allen, of the University of Pennsylvania, with more than a thousand! Such a literature has Chess collected about it since Paolo Boi, "the great Syracusan," as he was called, wrote what perhaps was the first work on chess, in the middle of the sixteenth century.

But such numbers of works on chess are very rare, and when the reader hears of an enormous chess library, he may be safe in recalling the story of Walker, whose friend turned chess author; seven years after, he boasted to Walker of the extent of his chess library, which, he affirmed consisted of one thousand volumes _minus_ eighteen! It turned out that eighteen copies of his work had been sold, the rest of the edition remaining on his hands.

Though these old works are like galleries of old and valuable pictures to the chess enthusiast, they contain very little that is valuable to the general reader. Their terms and signs are to the uninitiated suggestive of a doctor's prescription. But the anecdotes of the game are, many of them, remarkable; and we believe they are known to have less of the mythical about them than those told in other departments. One who knows the game will feel that it is sufficiently absorbing to be woven in with the textures of government, of history, and of biography. It is of the nature of chess gradually to gather up all the senses and faculties of the player, so that for the time being he is an automaton chess-player, to whom life and death are abstractions.

How seriously, even religiously, the game has always been regarded by both Church and State may be judged by the account given by old Carrera of one whom we have already named as probably the earliest chess author, as he certainly is one of the greatest players known to fame. "In the time of our fathers," says this ancient enthusiast, "we had many famous players, of whom _Paolo Boi_, Sicilian, of the city of Syracuse, and commonly called the Syracusan, was considered the best. He was born in Syracuse of a rich and good family. When a boy, he made considerable progress in literature, for he had a very quick apprehension. He had a wonderful talent for the game of Chess; and having in a short time beaten all the players of the city, he resolved to go to Spain, where he heard there were famous players, honored and rewarded not only by noblemen, but also by Philip II., who took no small delight in the game. He first beat with ease all the players of Sicily, and was very superior in playing without seeing the board; for, playing at once three games blindfold, he conversed with others on different subjects. Before going into Spain, he travelled over all Italy, playing with the best players, amongst others with the Pultino, who was of equal force; they are therefore called by Salvio the light and glory of chess. He was the favorite of many Italian Princes, and particularly of the Duke of Urbino, and of several Cardinals, and even of Pope Pius V. himself, who would have given him a considerable benefice, if he would have become a clergyman; but this he declined, that he might follow his own inclinations. He afterward went to Venice, where a circumstance happened which had never occurred before: he played with a person and lost. Having afterward by himself examined the games with great care, and finding that he ought to have won, he was astonished that his adversary should have gained contrary to all reason, and suspected that he had used some secret art whereby he was prevented from seeing clearly; and as he was very devout, and was possessed of a rosary rich with many relics of saints, he resolved to play again with his antagonist, armed not only with the rosary, but strengthened by having previously received the sacrament: by these means he conquered his adversary, who, after his defeat, said to him these words,--'Thine is more potent than mine.'"

Some of the earliest writers on chess have given their idea of the all-absorbing nature of the game in the pleasant legend, that it was invented by the two Grecian brothers Ledo and Tyrrheno to alleviate the pangs of hunger with which they were pressed, and that, whilst playing it, they lived weeks without considering that they had eaten nothing.

But we need not any mythical proof of its competency in this direction. Hyde, in his History of the Saracens, relates with authenticity, that Al Amin, the Caliph of Bagdad, was engaged at chess with his freedman Kuthar, at the time when Al Mamun's forces were carrying on the siege of the city with a vigor which promised him success. When one rushed in to inform the Caliph of his danger, he cried,--"Let me alone, for I see checkmate against Kuthar!" Charles I. was at chess when he was informed of the decision of the Scots to sell him to the English, but only paused from his game long enough to receive the intelligence. King John was at chess when the deputies from Rouen came to inform him that Philip Augustus had besieged their city; but he would not hear them until he had finished the game. An old English MS. gives in the following sentence no very handsome picture of the chess-play of King John of England:--"John, son of King Henry, and Fulco felle at variance at Chestes, and John brake Fulco's head with the Chest-borde; and then Fulco gave him such a blow that he almost killed him." The laws of chess do not now permit the king such free range of the board. Dr. Robertson, in his History of Charles V., relates that John Frederic, Elector of Saxony, whilst he was playing with Ernest, Duke of Brunswick, was told that the Emperor had sentenced him to be beheaded before the gate of Wittenberg; he with great composure proceeded with the game, and, having beaten, expressed the usual satisfaction of a victor. He was not executed, however, but set at liberty, after five years' confinement, on petition of Mauritius. Sir Walter Raleigh said, "I wish to live no longer than I can play at chess." Rousseau speaks of himself as _forcené des échecs_, "mad after chess." Voltaire called it "the one, of all games, which does most honor to the human mind."

"When an Eastern guest was asked if he knew anything in the universe more beautiful than the gardens of his host, which lay, an ocean of green, broad, brilliant, enchanting, upon the flowery margin of the Euphrates, he replied,--'Yes, the chess-playing of El-Zuli.'" Surely, the compliment, though Oriental, is not without its strict truth. When Nature rises up to her culmination, the human brain, and there reveals her potencies of insight, foresight, analysis, memory, we are touched with a mystic beauty; the profile on the mountain-top is sublimer than the mountain. But we must heed well Mr. Morphy's advice, and not suffer this fascinating game to be more than a porter at the gate of the fairer garden. Only when it secures, not when it usurps the day, can it be regarded as a friend. There is a myriad-move problem, of which Society is the Sphinx, given us to solve.

He who masters chess without being mastered by it will find that it discovers essential principles. In the world he will see a larger chess-field, and one also shaped by the severest mathematics: the world is so because the brain of man is so,--motive and move, motive and move: they sum up life, all life,--from the aspen-leaf turning its back to the wind, to the ecstasy of a saint. See the array of pawns (_forces_, as the Hindoo calls them): the bodily presence and abilities, power of persistence, endurance, nerve, the eye, the larynx, the tongue, the senses. Do they not exist in life as on the board, to cut the way for royal or nobler pieces? Does not the Imperial Mind win its experiences, its insight, through the wear and tear of its physical twin? Is not the perfect soul "perfect through sufferings" for evermore? For every coin reason gets from Nature, the heart must leave a red drop impawned, the face must bear its scar. See, then, the powers of the human arena: here Castle, Knight, Bishop are Passion, Love, Hope; and above all, the sacred Queen of each man, his specialty, his strength, by which he must win the day, if he win at all. Here is the Idea with reference to which each man is planned; it preexisted in the universe, and was born when he was born; it is King on the board,--that lost, life's game is lost. By his side stands the special Strength into whose keeping it is given, making, in Goethe's words, "every man strong enough to enforce his conviction,"--his _conviction_, mark! Pawns and pieces form themselves about that Queen; they are all to perish, to perish one by one,--even the specialty,--that the King may triumph. Over our largest, sublimest individualities the eternal tide flows on, and the grandest personal strides are merged in the general success. The old author dreamed that the heroes of the Trojan War were changed by Zeus into the warriors of the mimic strife in order that such renowned exploits should be perpetuated among men forever: rather must we reverse the dream, and apotheosize the powers of the board, that they may appear in the sieges, heroisms, and victories of life.

* * * * *

SPRING-SONG.

Creep slowly up the willow-wand,
Young leaves! and, in your lightness,
Teach us that spirits which despond
May wear their own pure brightness.

Into new sweetness slowly dip,
O May!--advance; yet linger:
Nor let the ring too swiftly slip
Down that new-plighted finger.

Thy bursting blooms, O spring, retard!
While thus thy raptures press on,
How many a joy is lost, or marred
How many a lovely lesson!

For each new sweet thou giv'st us, those
Which first we loved are taken:
In death their eyes must violets close
Before the rose can waken.

Ye woods, with ice-threads tingling late,
Where late was heard the robin,
Your chants that hour but antedate
When autumn winds are sobbing!

Ye gummy buds, in silken sheath
Hang back, content to glisten!
Hold in, O earth, thy charmèd breath!
Thou air, be still, and listen!

* * * * *

MODEL LODGING-HOUSES IN BOSTON.

The present sanitary condition of our great cities is a reproach to our intelligence not less than to our humanity. Our system of self-government, so far as regards the protection of the mass of the dwellers in cities from the worst physical evils, is now on trial. The tests to which it is exposed are severe. We may boast as we like of our national prosperity, of the rapidity of our material progress,--we may take pride in liberty, in wide extent of territory, in the welcome to our shores of the exiled and the poor of all other lands, or in whatsoever matter of self-gratulation we choose,--but by the side of all these satisfactions stands the fact, that in our chief cities the duration of life is diminishing and the suffering from disease increasing. The question inevitably arises, Is this a consequence of our political system? and if so, is political liberty worth having, are democratic principles worth establishing, if the price to be paid for them is increased insecurity of life and greater wretchedness among the poor? If the origin of these evils is to be found in the incompetency of the government or the inefficiency of individuals in a democracy, a remedy must be applied, or the whole system must be changed.

The intimate connection between physical misery and moral degradation is plain and generally acknowledged. We are startled from time to time at the rapid growth of crime in our cities; but it is the natural result of preexisting physical evils. These evils have become more apparent during the last twenty years than before, and it has been the fashion to attribute their increase, with their frightful consequences, mainly to the enormous Irish immigration, which for a time crowded our streets with poor, foreign in origin, and degraded, not only by hereditary poverty, but by centuries of civil and religious oppression. This view is no doubt in part correct; but the larger share of the evils in our cities is due to causes unconnected in any necessary relation with the immigration,--causes contemporaneous with it in their development, and brought into fuller action by it, rather than consequent upon it.

More than half the sickness and more than half the deaths in New York (and probably the same holds true of our other cities) are due to causes which may be prevented,--in other words, which are the result of individual or municipal neglect, of carelessness or indifference in regard to the known and established laws of life. More than half the children who are born in New York (and the proportion is over forty per cent. in Boston) die before they are five years old. Much is implied in these statements,--among other things, much criminal recklessness and wanton waste of the sources of wealth and strength in a state.

In Paris, in London, and in other European cities, the average mortality has been gradually diminishing during the last fifty years. In New York, on the contrary, it has increased with frightful rapidity; and in Boston, though the increase has not been so alarming, it has been steady and rapid. [Footnote: The facts upon winch these statements are based are recorded in the Report of the Sanitary Commission of Massachusetts, 1850,--in the Annual Reports of the Boston City Registrar,--in the Annual Reports of the New York Society for Improving the Condition of the Poor,--and in other public documents.

It appears that the ratio of deaths to population was,

In New York, in 1810, 1 in 46.46
" 1840, 1 in 39.74
" 1850, 1 in 33.52
" 1857, 1 in 27.15

In Boston, in 1830, 1 in 48
" 1840, 1 in 45
" 1850, 1 in 38
" 1858, 1 in 41

It is probable that the ratio for the year 1858 showed somewhat more improvement even than appears from the above figures. The proportion is based on the population as ascertained in 1855. Up to 1858, the population was somewhat, though not greatly, increased, and any increase would serve to render the proportion in 1858 more favorable to the health of the city. But it was a year in which the number of deaths was less than it had been since 1850; it was, therefore, an exceptional year; and the change in the ratio of the deaths is, we fear, not the sign of the beginning of a progressive improvement.]

But more and worse than this is the fact, that in these two cities the average duration of life (and this means the material prosperity of the people) has of late terribly decreased. While out of every hundred people more die than was the case ten, twenty, thirty years ago, those who die have lived a shorter time. Life is not now to be reckoned by its "threescore years and ten." Its average duration in Boston is little above twenty years; in New York it is less than twenty years. [Footnote: In Boston, from 1810 to 1820, the average age of all that died was 27.85 years; in 1857, leaving deaths by casualty out of the calculation, it was but 20.63 years; in 1858, it was 21.76. In New York, from 1810 to 1820, it was 26.15; for the last ten years of which the statistics are known, it was less than 20.] Is the diminution of the length of life to go on from year to year?

This needless sacrifice and shortening of life, this accumulating amount of ill health, causes an annual loss, in each of our great cities, of productive capacity to the value of millions of dollars, as well as an unnatural expense of millions more. This is no figure of speech. The community is poorer by millions of dollars each year through the waste which it allows of health and life. Leaving out of view all humane considerations, all thought of the misery, social and moral, which accompanies this physical degradation, and looking simply at its economical effects, we find that it increases our taxes, diminishes our means of paying them, creates permanent public burdens, and lessens the value of property. An outlay of a million of dollars a year to reduce and to remove the causes of these evils would be the cheapest and most profitable expenditure of the public money by the municipal government. The principal would soon be returned to the general treasury with all arrears of interest.

The main causes of this great and growing misery are patent. The remedies for them are scarcely less plain. The chief sources of that disease and death which may be prevented by the action of the community are, first, the filthy and poisonous houses into which a large part of the people are crowded; second, the imperfect ventilation of portions of the city,--its narrow and dirty streets, lanes, and yards; and, third, the want of sufficient house and street drainage and sewerage. It is important to note in relation to these sources of evil, that, while the poverty of our poor is generally not such complete destitution as that of many of the poor in foreign cities, their average condition is worse. The increase of disease and mortality is a result not so much of poverty as of condition. "The pith and burden of the whole matter is, that the great mass of the poor are compelled to live in tenements that are unfit for human beings, and under circumstances in which it is impossible to preserve health and life."

To improve the dwellings of the poor, to make them decent and wholesome, is, then, the first step to be taken in checking the causes of preventable disease and death in our cities. This work implies, if it be done thoroughly, the securing of proper ventilation, sewerage, and drainage.

Most of the houses which the poor occupy are the property of persons who receive from them a rent very large in proportion to their value. No other class of houses gives, on an average, a larger return upon the capital invested in it. The rents which the poor pay, though paid in small sums, are usually enormous in comparison with the accommodation afforded. The houses are crowded from top to bottom. Many of them are built without reference to the comfort or health of their occupants, but with the sole object of getting the largest return for the smallest outlay. They are hotbeds of disease, and exposed to constant peril from fire. Now it seems plain that here is an occasion for the interposition of municipal authority. In spite of the jealousy (proper within certain limits) with which governmental interference with private property is regarded in this country, it is a manifest dereliction of duty on the part of our city authorities not to exercise a strict supervision over these houses. The interests which are chiefly affected by their condition are not private, but public interests. There are legal means for abating nuisances; and there is no reason why houses which affect the health of whole districts should not be treated in the same way as nuisances which are more obtrusive, though less pernicious. In some of the cities of Europe, in Nuremberg, for instance, there is a public architect, to whom all plans for new buildings are submitted for approval or rejection according as they correspond or not with the style of building suitable for the city. What is done abroad to secure the beauty of a city might well be done here to secure its health. Again, by legal enactment, we have prevented the overcrowding of our emigrant ships: the same thing should be done in our cities, to prevent the overcrowding of our tenement-houses. No house should be allowed to receive more than a fixed maximum of dwellers in proportion to its size and accommodations. These are simple propositions, but, if properly carried out by enactment, they would secure an incalculable good.

[Footnote: Since writing the preceding sentences, we have been gratified to see that a bill proposing the creation of a Metropolitan Board of Health has been introduced into the Legislature of New York. If the bill becomes a law, as we trust it may, the board will be invested with power "to enact ordinances for the proper government and control of buildings erecting or to be erected, ... to compel the lessees or owners of dwellings to put the same in proper order, and to provide sufficient means of egress in case of fire." The New-York Evening Post of March 23, in giving an account of this bill, says,--and there is no exaggeration in its statements,--

"The nearly one million of souls of this great city are left to take care of themselves,--to be crowded mercilessly by landlords into houses without light, air, or water, and without means of egress in case of fire; and the street filth is allowed to accumulate till the city has become as the famous Pontine Marshes, to breathe whose exhalations is certain disease. All this results, as is proved by comparison with other cities, in the unnecessary loss of five thousand to eight thousand lives annually, and of many millions of dollars expended for unnecessary sickness, and the consequent loss of time and strength,--all of which might be saved, as they are actually saved in other and larger cities, by the application of sanitary laws by intelligent and efficient officers.

"And yet our Common Council are unmoved to apply the corrective, and the Legislature postpones action upon the numerous petitions of the people upon the subject. How long these bodies will be suffered to abuse the patience of our citizens we cannot tell; but the breaking out of a pestilence which shall sweep a thousand a week into the grave, and bring this city to financial ruin, will be but a natural issue of the present neglect. The Health Bill now before the Legislature has been prepared under the auspices of the Sanitary Association. Its provisions are sweeping; but the importance of the subject, the uniform filthy condition of our streets, and the wretched and unsafe condition of our tenement-houses imperatively demand changes of the most radical nature. The general provisions of the bill seem to cover the points most requiring legislation; and while in some of its details it could probably be improved, it is difficult to imagine that the present state of sanitary regulations could be made worse, and certain that the proposed reforms, if carried out, would be of great advantage."

In Massachusetts, statutes have existed for some years, giving to the Boards of Health of the different cities or towns powers of a similar nature to those granted by the bill proposed for New York, but of far too limited scope. By Chapter 26, § 11, of the General Statutes, which are to go into operation this year, the Boards of Health are authorized to remove the occupants of any tenement, occupied as a dwelling-place, which is unfit for the purpose, and a cause of nuisance or sickness either to the occupants or the public,--and may require the premises, previously to their reoccupation, to be properly cleansed at the expense of the owner. But the penalty for a violation of this article is too light, being a fine of not less than ten nor more than fifty dollars. To secure any essential good from this law, it must be energetically enforced, with a disregard of personal consequences, and an enlightened view of public and private rights and necessities, scarcely to be expected from Boards of Health as commonly constituted. We require a law upon this subject conveying far ampler powers, enforced by far heavier penalties. It should embrace oversight of the construction as well as of the condition of the dwellings of the poor. Until we obtain such a law, the community is bound to insist upon a rigid enforcement of the present imperfect statute.

[The bill above alluded to by our correspondent has since been rejected by the Legislature of New York.--EDS. ATLANTIC.]]

Still, however much may be done by public authority, the condition of the dwellings of the poor must be determined chiefly by the interest and the legal responsibility of their individual owners. That men may be found willing to make fortunes for themselves by grinding the faces of the poor is certain; but there are, on the other hand, many who would be willing to use some portion, at least, of their means to provide suitable homes for the destitute, could they be assured of receiving a fair return upon the property invested. It has been a matter of doubt whether proper houses could be built for the dwellings of the lower classes, with all necessary accommodations for health and comfort, at such a cost that the rents could be kept as low as those paid for the common wretched tenements, and at the same time be sufficient to afford a reasonable interest upon the investment. Toward the solution of this doubt, an experiment which has been tried in Boston during the last five years has afforded important results.

In the spring of 1853, a number of gentlemen having subscribed a sufficient sum for the purpose of building a house or houses on the best plan, as Model Dwellings for the Poor, a society was formed, which, in the next year, received an act of incorporation from the Legislature under the style of "The Model Lodging-House Association." A suitable lot of land having been obtained upon favorable terms, at the corner of Pleasant Street and Osborn Place, the Directors of the Association proceeded to erect two brick houses, of different construction, each containing separate tenements for twenty families. The plans of the buildings were prepared with great care to secure the essentials of a healthy home,--pure air, pure water, efficient drainage, cleanliness, and light. In their details, strict regard was had to the most economical and best use of a limited space, and ample precautions were taken to reduce to its least the risk of fire. In each house, double staircases, continuous to the roof, (and in one of them of iron,) and two main exits were provided; and more recently, the two buildings, which are separated from each other by a passage-way some feet in width, have been connected by throwing an iron bridge from roof to roof, by which, in case of alarm in one of them, escape may be readily had through the other. Each house was, moreover, divided in the middle by a solid brick partition-wall.

The houses are five stories in height, not including the basement or cellar, with four tenements in each story. The reduced plans, on the opposite page, exhibit the general arrangements of the houses, and show the complete separation of each set of apartments from the others, each one opening by a single door upon the common stairs or passage. Their relation is scarcely closer than that of separate houses in a common continuous block. Each tenement, it will be observed, consists of a living-room, and two or three sleeping-rooms, according to the space, a wash-room, with sink and cupboards, and a water-closet. The stories are eight feet and six inches in height, which is ample for the necessities of ventilation. In one of the buildings, each tenement is provided with shafts for dust and offal, communicating with receptacles in the cellar. The roofs of both are fitted with conveniences for the drying of clothes, properly guarded; and in the cellars of both are closets, one for each tenement, to hold fuel or stores. In the basement of house No. 1 there are also two bathing-rooms, which have been found of great use.

It would be difficult, after some years' experience, to pronounce which of the two houses is the best fitted for its object. Their cost was nearly the same. The plan of No. 1 is original and ingenious; its large open central space is valuable for purposes of ventilation, and as affording opportunity for exercise under cover in stormy weather for infants and infirm people. This advantage is perhaps compensated for in the other house by the fact of each tenement reaching from back to front of the house, thus securing within itself the means of a thorough draught of fresh air. Both plans are excellent, and may be unqualifiedly recommended.

The houses were ready for occupation about the beginning of 1855, and since that time have been constantly full. The applicants for tenements, whenever one becomes vacant, are always numerous.

The cost of these two buildings was a little over $18,000 each, exclusive of the cost of the land upon which they stand. The land cost about $8,000; and the whole cost of the buildings, including some slight changes subsequent to their original erection, and of the lot on which they stand, would be more than covered by the sum of $46,000.

The rents were fixed upon a scale varying with the amount of accommodation afforded by the separate tenements, and with their convenience of access. They run from $2 to $2.87 per week. By those familiar with the rents paid by the poor these sums will be seen to be not higher than are frequently paid for the most unhealthy and inconvenient lodgings. The total annual amount of rent received from each house is $2,353, which, after paying taxes, water-rates, gas-bills, and all other expenses, including all repairs necessary to keep the building in good order, leaves a full six per cent. interest upon the sum invested.

A portion of the land purchased by the Association not having been occupied by the two houses already described, it was determined to erect a third house upon it, of a somewhat superior character, for a class just above the line of actual poverty, but often forced by circumstances into unhealthy and uncomfortable homes. This was accordingly done, at a cost, including the land, of about $26,000. The house, of which the plan is well worthy of imitation, contains a shop and nine tenements. These tenements, which form not only comfortable, but agreeable homes, are rented at from two to three hundred dollars a year, and the gross income derived from the building is about $2,500.

During the five years since the first occupation of the houses no loss of rents has occurred. For the most part, the rent has been paid not only punctually, but with satisfaction, and the expressions which have been received of the content of the occupants of the tenements have been of the most gratifying sort. The houses, as we know from personal inspection, are now in a state of excellent repair, and show no signs of carelessness or neglect on the part of their occupants. Few private houses would have a fresher and neater aspect after so long occupancy. The tenants have been, with few exceptions, Americans by birth, and they have taken pains to keep up the character of their dwellings.

One of the Trustees of the Association, a gentleman to whose good judgment and constant oversight, as well as to his sympathetic kindness tor the occupants of the houses and interest in their affairs, much of the success of this experiment is due, says, in a letter from which we are permitted to quote,--"From my experience in the management of this kind of property, I believe that it may in all cases with proper care be made _safe and permanent for investment_. But what I think better of is the good such houses do in elevating and making happier their tenants, and I much rejoice in having had an opportunity to test their usefulness."

As a comment upon these brief, but weighty sentences, we would beg any of our readers, who may have opportunity, to look for himself at the substantial and not unornamental buildings of the Association, with their showier front on Pleasant Street, and their imposing length and height of range along the side of Osborn Place,--to see them affording healthy and convenient homes to fifty families, many of whom, without some such provision, would be exposed to be forced into the wretched quarters too familiar to the poor,--and then to compare them with the common lodging-houses in any of the lower streets or alleys of Boston or New York.

A similar work to that performed by the Boston Association was undertaken shortly afterward by a society in New York, who in 1854-5 erected a building containing ninety tenements of three rooms each, under the name of "The Working-Men's Home." The cost of this enormous building, which was well designed, was about $90,000. It is fifty-five feet in breadth by one hundred and ninety feet in length; it is nearly fireproof, and is provided with double stairways. It has been occupied from the first by colored people, and we regret to learn that it has not proved a success, so far as regards the annual return upon the property invested. After paying the heavy city tax of 1 3/4 per cent., and the charges for gas and water, the sum remaining for an annual dividend is not more than four per cent.

This want of success is not, we believe, inherent in the plan itself, but is the result of a want of proper management and supervision. We learn that the tenants often leave without paying rent, and that the building is more or less injured by their neglect. The class of tenants has undoubtedly been of a lower grade than that which has occupied the Boston houses, and the habits of the blacks are far inferior to those of the white American poor in personal neatness and care of their dwellings. But we have no doubt, that, in spite of these drawbacks, a good revenue might be derived from the rents paid by this class of tenants. The success of the Boston experiment is due in considerable part to the employment by the Association of a paid Superintendent, living with his family in one of the buildings, who has a general oversight of the houses, collects the rents, and determines the claims of occupants of the tenements. Such an officer is indispensable for the proper carrying on of any similar undertaking on so large a scale. We trust that no effort will be spared in New York to bring out more satisfactory results from this great establishment. Benevolence is one thing, and good investments another; but benevolence in this case does not do half its work, unless it can be proved to pay. It must be profitable, in order to be in the best sense a charity.

The effect which the Boston houses have already had, in proving that homes for the poor can be built on the best plan for the health and comfort of their inmates and at the same time be good investments of property, is manifest in many private undertakings. Several large houses have already been built upon similar plans; old lodging-houses have been in several instances remodelled and otherwise improved; blocks of small dwellings for one or two families have been erected with every convenience for the class who can afford to pay from three to six dollars a week for their accommodations. The example set by the Association promises to be widely followed.

Much, however, yet remains to be done, and associate or private energy is needed for the trial of new and not less important experiments than that already well performed. The means for some of them are at hand. It will be remembered that the late Hon. Abbott Lawrence, to whose beneficence during his life the community was so largely indebted, and whose liberal deeds will long be remembered with gratitude, left by will the sum of $50,000 to be held by Trustees for the erection of dwellings for the poor. This sum will in a short time be ready for employment for its designated purpose, and it may be hoped that those who control its disposal will not so much imitate the work already done as perform a work not yet accomplished, but not less essential. The houses of the Association are, as we have stated, not occupied by the most destitute poor,--and it is for this lowest class that the most pressing need exists for an improvement in their habitations. If the cellar-dwelling poor can be provided with healthy homes, and these homes can be made to pay a fair rent, the worst evil in the condition of our cities will be in a way to be remedied. It is very desirable that a house should be erected in one of the crowded quarters of the city, and at a distance from the buildings of the Association, in which each room should be arranged for separate occupation. The rooms might be of different sizes upon the different floors, to accommodate single men who require only a lodging-place, or a man and wife. Perhaps on one floor rooms should be made with means of opening into each other, to supply the need of those who might require more than one of them. The house should be heated throughout by furnaces, to save the necessity of fires in the rooms; and as no private meals could be cooked in the house, an eating-room, where meals could be had or provisions purchased ready for eating, should form part of the arrangements of the house in the lower story. There can be no doubt that such a house would be at once filled,--and but little, that, if properly built and managed, under efficient superintendence it would pay well, at the lowest rates of rent. Even with a possibility of its failing to return a net annual income of six per cent upon its cost, it is an experiment that ought to be tried,--and we earnestly hope that the Trustees of Mr. Lawrence's bequest will not hesitate to make it. Putting out of question all considerations of profitable investment, it would be, as a pure charity, one of the best works that could be performed.

We must restore health to our cities, and, to accomplish this end, we must provide fit homes for the poor. The way in which this may be done has been shown.

* * * * *

A SHORT CAMPAIGN ON THE HUDSON.

The campaigner marched out of a lawyer's office in Nassau Street, New York.

"Shyster," said our old man, as he called me into his own den, or rather lair,--(for den, I take it, is the private residence of a beast of prey, and lair his place of business. I do not think that this definition is mine, but I forget to whom it belongs,)--"I suppose you would not dislike a trip into the country? Very well. These papers must be explained to General Van Bummel, and signed by him. He lives at Thunderkill, on the Hudson. Take the ten-o'clock train, and get back as soon as you can. Charge your expenses to the office."

"What luck!" thought I, as I dashed down-stairs into the street,--determined to obey his last injunction to the letter, whatever course I might think fit to adopt about the one preceding it. No one who has not been an attorney's clerk at three dollars a week, copying declarations and answers from nine A.M. to six P.M., in a dusty, inky, uncarpeted room, with windows unwashed since the last lease expired, can form a correct notion of the exhilaration of my mind when I took my seat in the railroad-car. The great Van Bnmmel himself never felt bigger nor better.

It was in that loveliest season of the year, the Indian summer,--a week or ten days of atmospheric perfection which the clerk of the weather allows us as a compensation for our biting winter and rheumatic spring. The veiled rays of the sun and the soft shadows produce the effect of a golden moonlight, and make even Nature's shabbiest corners attractive. To be out-of-doors with nothing to do, and nothing to think of but the mere pleasure of existence, is happiness enough at such times. But I was looking at a river panorama which is one of Nature's best efforts, I have heard; and on that morning it seemed to me impossible that the world could show anything grander.

It was very calm. The broad glittering surface of the river showed here and there a slight ripple, when some breath of air touched it for a moment; but wind there was none,--only a few idle breezes lounging about, waiting for orders to join old Boreas in his next autumnal effort to crack his cheeks. The bright-colored trees glowed on the mountain-sides like beds of living coals.

"How the deuse," thought I, as I stared at them, "can a discerning public be satisfied with Cole's pictures of 'American Scenery in the Fall of the Year'? You see on his canvas, to be sure, red, green, orange, and so on, the peculiar tints of the leaves; but Nature does more (and Cole does not): she blends the variegated hues into one bright mass of bewitching color by the magic of this soft, golden, hazy sunshine. I wish, too, that the great company of story-tellers would let scenery rest in peace. The charm of a landscape is entireness, unity; it strikes the eye at once and as a whole. Examination of the component parts is quite a different thing. Who ean build up a view in his mind by piling up details like bricks upon one another? Most people, I suspect, will find, as I do, that, no matter what author they may be reading, the same picture always presents itself. A vague outline of some view they have seen arises in the memory,--like the forest scene in a scantily furnished theatre, which comes on for every play. The naked woods, trees, rocks, lake, river, mountain, would have done the business just as well, and saved a deal of writing and of printing. The most successful artist in this line I know of is Michael Scott, whose tropical sketches in 'Tom Cringle's Log' are unequalled by any landscape-painter, past or present, who uses pen and ink instead of canvas and colors."

My trance was broken by the voice of the brakeman shouting, "Thunderkill," into the car, as the train drew up at a wooden station-house. Jumping out, I asked the way to General Van Bummel's. A man with a whip in his hand offered his services as guide and common carrier. I determined to experience a new sensation,--for once in my life to anathematize expenditure, and charge it to the office. So, climbing into a kind of leathern tent upon wheels, I was soon on my way to the leaguer of the General. A drive of a mile brought us to two stout stone gateposts, surmounted each by a cannon-ball, which marked Van Bummel's boundary. We turned into a lane shut in by trees. While busily taking an inventory of the General's landed possessions for future use, my attention was drawn off by loud shouts, the sound of the gallop of horses and the rattling of wheels. Imagining at once that the General's family-pair must be running away with his family-coach, I eagerly urged my driver to push on; but the cold-hearted wretch only laughed and said he "guessed there was nothing particular the matter." At last, we _debouched_ (excuse the word; I have not yet got the military taste out of my mouth) upon a lawn, across which a pair of large bay horses, ridden postilion-fashion by one man, were dragging a brass six-pounder, upon which sat another in full uniform.

"What the Devil is that?" said I.

"That's the Gineral and his coachman a-having a training," answered my driver.

As he spoke, the officer shouted, "Halt!"

Coachy pulled up.

"Unlimber!" thundered the chief; and, aided by his man, obeyed his own orders.

"Load!" and "Fire!" followed in rapid succession.

I saw and smelt that they used real powder. This over, the horses were made fast again, John, bestrode his nag, the General clambered on to his brazen seat and down they came at a tearing pace directly towards us. Luckily I had read "Charles O'Malley," and knew how to behave in such cases. I jumped from the wagon, and, tying my handkerchief to the ferule of my umbrella, advanced, waving it and shouting, "A flag of truce!" The General ordered a halt and despatched himself to the flag. As he approached I beheld a stout, middle-aged, good natured looking man, dressed in the graceless costume of Uncle Sam's army; but I must say that he wore it with more grace than most of the Regulars I have seen. Our soldiers look unbecomingly in their clothes,--there is no denying it,--a good deal like _sups_ in a procession at the Bowery. A New-York policeman sports pretty much the same dress in much better style. You hardly ever see an officer or private, least of all the officer, with the _air militaire_. I also noticed with pleasure that the General had not on his head that melodramatic black felt, feather-bedecked hat, which some fantastic Secretary of War must have imagined in a dream, after seeing "Fra Diavolo" at the opera, or Wallack in Massaroni. In place of this abomination, a cap covered with glazed leather surmounted his martial brow. When we met, I lowered my umbrella and offered my card, with the office pasteboard. He took them with great gravity, read the names, and requested me to fall back to the rear and await orders. Then rejoining his gun, he was driven slowly towards the house,--my peaceful _ambulance_ following at a respectful distance. When I reached the door, the six-pounder had disappeared behind a clump of evergreens, and the General stood waiting to receive me. His manner was affable.

"How d'ye do, Mr. Shyster? Glad to see you, Sir. Walk into the library, Sir."

I complied, and while the General was absent, engaged in carrying out some hospitable suggestions for my refreshment, I examined the room. It was large, and handsomely furnished. I looked into the bookcases: the shelves were filled with works on War, from Cæsar's Commentaries down to Louis Napoleon on Rifled Cannon. In one corner stood a suit of armor; in another a stand of firearms; between them a star of bayonets. On the mantelpiece I perceived a model of a small field-piece in brass and oak, and, what interested me more, a cigarbox. I raised the lid; the box was half full of highly creditable-looking cigars. My soul expanded with the thought of a probable offer of at least one.

"None of your Flor de Connecticuts," I thought, "from the Vuelta Abajo of New-Windsor, but the genuine Simon Puros."

A second glance at the inside of the lid caused grave doubts to depress my spirits. I beheld there, in place of the usual ill-executed lithograph with its _fábricas_ and its _calles_, three small portraits. The middle one was the General in full uniform; I recognized him easily; the other two were no doubt his aides-de-camp;--all evidently photographs; they were so ugly. I dropped the lid in disappointment, and turned to the side-table. On it lay a handsome sword in an open box lined with silk. Over it hung, framed and glazed, the speech of the committee appointed by his fellow-soldiers of the county to present the sword to the General, together with the General's "neat and appropriate" answer and acceptance.

I began to be a little astonished. I certainly did not expect anything of this sort. Our old man called him General, to be sure; but General means nothing, in the rural districts, but a certain amount of wealth and respectability. It has taken the place of Squire. But here was I with a man who took his title _au sérieux_. What with the uniform, the cannon, and the coachman, I began to feel like an ambassador to a potentate with a standing army.

Here the General reappeared, bearing in his august hands a decanter and a pitcher. After due refreshment, I produced my papers, made the necessary explanations, and executed my commission so much to his satisfaction that he invited me cordially to dine and spend the night, instead of taking the evening-train down. I accepted, of course,--such chances seldom fell into my way,--and was shown into a nice little bedroom, in which I was expected to dress for dinner. Dress, indeed! I had on my best, and did not come to stay. Novel-heroes manage to remain weeks without apparent luggage; but a modern attorney's clerk, however moderate may be his toilette-tackle, finds it inconvenient to be separated from it. However, I did what I could,--washed my hands, settled the bow of my neck-tie, smoothed my hair with my fingers, and thought, as I descended to the drawing-room, of the travelling Frenchman, who, after a night spent in a diligence, wiped out his eyes with his handkerchief, put on a paper false collar, and exclaimed,--"_Me voici propre!_"

The General, in a fatigue-dress, presented me to Mrs. Van Bummel, a good-looking woman of pleasant dimensions,--to Miss Bellona Van Bummel, who evidently thought me beneath her notice,--and to the Reverend Moses Wether, whose mild face, white cravat, and straight-cut collar proclaimed him. As I came in, his Reverence attempted to slip meekly out, but was stopped energetically by the General.

"How is this? Mr. Wether, you know you cannot leave, Sir."

"But, my dear General, I only dropped in for a few moments; and really I have so much to do!"

"I am sorry, Sir," rejoined the General, sternly, "but you cannot be excused. You accepted the position of Chaplain to the Regiment. You neglected to attend the last two reviews. You were condemned by a Court Martial, over which I presided, to twenty-four hours' arrest, which you must now submit to."

"But, my dear General," feebly expostulated the man of prayer, "you know I thought the nomination a mere pleasantry; I had no idea you were serious, or I should never have listened to the proposition."

"Can't help that, Sir. You accepted the commission, you neglected your duty, and you must take the consequences."

Just then, as the poor perplexed parson was about to make another attempt for liberty, a side-door swung open; a well-built, comely servant-girl, dressed like Jenny Lind in the "Fille du Régiment," appeared. Bringing the back of her hand to her forehead, she said,--

"General, dinner is ready."

Van Bummel muttered something about "joining our mess," and led the way to the banqueting-hall. I was too hungry to be particular about names, and did ample justice to an excellent spread and well-selected tap,--carefully avoiding eating with my knife or putting salt upon the table-cloth, which I had often heard was never done by the aristocracy. As I kept my eyes upon the others and imitated them to the best of my ability, I hope I did not disgrace Nassau Street.