The most wonderful street in the universe is Broadway. It is a world
within itself. It extends throughout the entire length of the island,
and is about sixty feet in width. Its chief attractions, however, lie
between the Bowling Green and Thirty-fourth street.
[Picture: BROADWAY, AT THE CORNER OF ANN STREET.]
It begins at the Bowling Green. From this point it extends in a straight
line to Fourteenth street and Union Square. Below Wall street it is
mainly devoted to the "Express" business, the headquarters and branch
offices of nearly all the lines in the country centring here. Opposite
Wall street, and on the west side of Broadway, is Trinity Church and its
graveyard. From Wall street to Ann street, Insurance Companies, Real
Estate Agents, Banks, Bankers and Brokers predominate. At the southeast
corner of Ann street is the magnificent _Herald_ office, and adjoining it
the Park Bank. Both buildings are of white marble, and the latter is one
of the grandest in the Union. Immediately opposite are St. Paul's Church
and graveyard, just above which is the massive granite front of the Astor
House, occupying an entire block, from Vesey to Barclay streets. On the
right hand side of the street, at the lower end of the Park, is the
unfinished structure of the new Post Office, which will be one of the
principal ornaments of the city. In the rear of this are the Park, and
the City Hall. Back of the City Hall, and fronting on Chambers street,
is the new County Court-House, which proved such a gold mine to the
"Ring." Across the Park you may see Park Row and Printing-House Square,
in which are located the offices of nearly all the great "dailies," and
of many of the weekly papers. Old Tammany Hall once stood on this square
at the corner of Frankfort street, but its site is now occupied by the
offices of _The Sun_ and _Brick Pomeroy's Democrat--Arcades ambo_.
[Picture: A. T. STEWART'S WHOLESALE STORE.]
Beyond the City Hall, at the northeast corner of Chambers street and
Broadway, is "Stewart's marble dry goods palace," as it is called. This
is the _wholesale_ department of the great house of A. T. Stewart & Co.,
and extends from Chambers to Reade street. The _retail_ department of
this firm is nearly two miles higher up town. Passing along, one sees in
glancing up and down the cross streets, long rows of marble, iron, and
brown stone warehouses, stretching away for many blocks on either hand,
and affording proof positive of the vastness and success of the business
transacted in this locality. To the right we catch a distant view of the
squalor and misery of the Five Points. On the right hand side of the
street, between Leonard street and Catharine lane, is the imposing
edifice of the New York Life Insurance Company, one of the noblest
buildings ever erected by private enterprise. It is constructed of white
marble.
Crossing Canal street, the widest and most conspicuous we have yet
reached, we notice, on the west side, at the corner of Grand street, the
beautiful marble building occupied by the _wholesale_ department of Lord
& Taylor, rivals of Stewart in the dry-goods trade. The immense brown
stone building immediately opposite, is also a wholesale dry-goods house.
Between Broome and Spring streets, on the west side, are the marble and
brown stone buildings of the St. Nicholas Hotel. Immediately opposite is
the Theatre Comique. On the northwest corner of Spring street is the
Prescott House. On the southwest corner of Prince street is Ball &
Black's palatial jewelry store. Diagonally opposite is the Metropolitan
Hotel, in the rear of which is the theatre known as Niblo's Garden. In
the block above the Metropolitan is the Olympic Theatre. On the west
side, between Bleecker and Amity streets, is the huge Grand Central
Hotel, one of the most conspicuous objects on the street. Two blocks
above, on the same side, is the New York Hotel, immediately opposite
which are Lina Edwin's and the Globe Theatres. On the east side of the
street, and covering the entire block bounded by Broadway and Fourth
avenue, and Ninth and Tenth streets, is an immense iron structure painted
white. This is Stewart's retail store. It is always filled with ladies
engaged in "shopping," and the streets around it are blocked with
carriages. Throngs of elegantly and plainly dressed buyers pass in and
out, and the whole scene is animated and interesting. Just above
"Stewart's," on the same side, is Grace Church, attached to which is the
parsonage. At the southwest corner of Eleventh street, is the St. Denis
Hotel, and on the northwest corner is the magnificent iron building of
the "Methodist Book Concern," the street floor of which is occupied by
McCreery, one of the great dry-goods dealers of the city. At the
northeast corner of Thirteenth street, is Wallack's Theatre. The upper
end of the same block is occupied by the Union Square Theatre and a small
hotel.
[Picture: NEW YORK LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY'S BUILDING.]
At Fourteenth street we enter Union Square, once a fashionable place of
residence, but now giving way to business houses and hotels. Broadway
passes around it in a northwesterly direction. On the west side of Union
Square, at the southwest corner of Fifteenth street, is the famous
establishment of Tiffany & Co., an iron building, erected at an immense
cost, and filled with the largest and finest collection of jewelry,
articles of _vertu_, and works of art in America. In the middle of the
block above, occupying the ground floor of Decker's Piano Building, is
_Brentano's_, the "great literary headquarters" of New York.
Leaving Union Square behind us, we pass into Broadway again at
Seventeenth street. On the west side, occupying the entire block from
Eighteenth to Nineteenth streets, is a magnificent building of white
marble used by a number of retail merchants. The upper end, comprising
nearly one half of the block, is occupied by Arnold, Constable & Co., one
of the most fashionable retail dry-goods houses. At the southwest corner
of Twentieth street, is the magnificent iron _retail_ dry-goods store of
Lord & Taylor--perhaps the most popular house in the city with residents.
The "show windows" of this house are always filled with a magnificent
display of the finest goods, and attract crowds of gazers.
At Twenty-third street, Broadway crosses Fifth avenue obliquely, going
toward the northwest. At the northwest corner of Twenty-third street,
and extending to Twenty-fourth street, is the Fifth Avenue Hotel, built
of white marble, one of the finest and handsomest buildings of its kind
in the world. Just opposite is Madison Square, extending from Fifth to
Madison avenues. The block from Twenty-fourth to Twenty-fifth streets is
occupied by the Albemarle and Hoffman Houses, in the order named, both of
white marble. Just opposite, at the junction of Broadway and Fifth
avenue, is a handsome granite obelisk, with appropriate ornaments in
bronze, erected to the memory of General W. J. Worth. Immediately beyond
this is the Worth House, fronting on Broadway and Fifth avenue. The
vicinity of Madison Square is the brightest, prettiest, and liveliest
portion of the great city. At the southwest corner of Twenty-sixth
street is the St. James' Hotel, also of white marble, and just opposite
is the "Stevens' House," an immense building constructed on the French
plan of "flats," and rented in suites of apartments. Between
Twenty-seventh and Twenty-eighth streets, on the west side, is the
Coleman House. At the southeast corner of Twenty-ninth street is the
Sturtevant House. At the northeast corner of Twenty-ninth street is the
Gilsey House, a magnificent structure of iron, painted white. Diagonally
opposite is Wood's Museum. At the southeast corner of Thirty-first
street is the Grand Hotel, a handsome marble building. The only hotel of
importance above this is the St. Cloud, at the southeast corner of
Forty-second street.
At Thirty-fourth street, Broadway crosses Sixth avenue, and at
Forty-fourth street it crosses Seventh avenue, still going in a
northwesterly direction. It is but little improved above Thirty-fourth
street, though it is believed the next few years will witness important
changes in this quarter.
There are no street car tracks on Broadway below Fourteenth street, and
in that section "stages," or omnibuses, monopolize the public travel.
Several hundreds of these traverse the street from the lower ferries as
far as Twenty-third street, turning off at various points into the side
streets and avenues.
[Picture: BROADWAY, AS SEEN FROM THE ST. NICHOLAS HOTEL.]
Below Twenty-ninth street, and especially below Union Square, the street
is built up magnificently. From Union Square to the Bowling Green, a
distance of three miles, it is lined on each side with magnificent
structures of marble, brown, Portland, and Ohio stones, granite, and
iron. No street in the world surpasses it in the grandeur and variety of
its architectural display. Some of the European cities contain short
streets of greater beauty, and some of our American cities contain
limited vistas as fine, but the great charm, the chief claim of Broadway
to its fame, is the _extent_ of its grand display. For three miles it
presents an unbroken vista, and the surface is sufficiently undulating to
enable one to command a view of the entire street from any point between
Tenth street and the Bowling Green. Seen from one of the hotel
balconies, the effect is very fine. The long line of the magnificent
thoroughfare stretches away into the far distance. The street is
thronged with a dense and rapidly moving mass of men, animals, and
vehicles of every description. The effect is unbroken, but the different
colors of the buildings give to it a variety that is startling and
pleasing. In the morning the throng is all pouring one way--down town;
and in the afternoon the tide flows in the opposite direction. Everybody
is in a hurry at such times. Towards afternoon the crowd is more
leisurely, for the promenaders and loungers are out. Then Broadway is in
its glory.
Oftentimes the throng of vehicles is so dense that the streets are
quickly "jammed." Carriages, wagons, carts, omnibuses, and trucks are
packed together in the most helpless confusion. At such times the police
are quickly on hand, and take possession of the street. The scene is
thrilling. A stranger feels sure that this struggling mass of horses and
vehicles can never be made to resume their course in good order, without
loss of life or limb to man or beast, or to both, and the shouts and
oaths of the drivers fairly bewilder him. In a few minutes, however, he
sees a squad of gigantic policemen dash into the throng of vehicles.
They are masters of the situation, and wo to the driver who dares disobey
their sharp and decisive commands. The shouts and curses cease, the
vehicles move on one at a time in the routes assigned them, and soon the
street is clear again, to be "blocked" afresh, perhaps, in a similar
manner in less than an hour. Upwards of 20,000 vehicles daily traverse
this great thoroughfare.
It is always a difficult matter for a pedestrian to cross the lower part
of Broadway in the busy season. Ladies, old persons, and children find
it impossible to do so without the aid of the police, whose duty it is to
make a passage for them through the crowd of vehicles. A bridge was
erected in 1866 at the corner of Fulton street, for the purpose of
enabling pedestrians to pass over the heads of the throng in the streets.
Few persons used it, however, except to witness the magnificent panorama
of the street, and it was taken down.
Seen from the lofty spire of Trinity Church, the street presents a
singular appearance. The perspective is closed by Grace Church, at Tenth
street. The long lines of passers and carriages take distinct shapes,
and seem like immense black bands moving slowly in opposite directions.
The men seem like pigmies, and the horses like dogs. There is no
confusion, however. The eye readily masses into one line all going in
the same direction. Each one is hurrying on at the top of his speed, but
from this lofty perch they all seem to be crawling at a snail's pace.
The display in the windows of the Broadway stores is rich, beautiful, and
tempting. Jewels, silks, satins, laces, ribbons, household goods,
silverware, toys, paintings, in short, rare, costly, and beautiful
objects of every description greet the gazer on every hand. All that is
necessary for the comfort of life, all that ministers to luxury and
taste, can be found here in the great thoroughfare. And it is a mistake
to suppose, as many persons do, that "Broadway prices" are higher than
those of other localities. The best goods in the city are to be found
here, and they bring only what they are worth, and no more. Yet it must
not be supposed that all Broadway dealers are models of honesty.
Everything has its price in the great street--even virtue and honesty.
By the side of merchants whose names are synonymous for integrity are to
be found some of the most cunning and successful scoundrels. Broadway is
an eminently cheerful street. On every hand one sees evidences of
prosperity and wealth. No unsuccessful man can remain in the street.
Poverty and failure have no place there. Even sin shows its most
attractive guise in Broadway.
[Picture: SATURDAY AFTERNOON CONCERT AT CENTRAL PARK.]
The side-walks are always crowded, even in the summer, when "everybody is
out of town," and this throng of passers-by constitutes one of the most
attractive features of the scene. Every class, every shade of
nationality and character, is represented here. America, Europe, Asia,
Africa, and even Oceanica, each has its representatives. High and low,
rich and poor, pass along at a rate of speed peculiar to New York, and
positively bewildering to a stranger. No one seems to think of any one
but himself, and each one jostles his neighbor or brushes by him with an
indifference amusing to behold. Fine gentlemen in broadcloth, ladies in
silks and jewels, and beggars in squalid rags, are mingled in true
Republican confusion. The bustle and uproar are very great, generally
making it impossible to converse in an ordinary tone. From early morn
till after midnight the throng pours on.
At night the scene is different, but still brilliant. The vehicles in
the street consist almost entirely of carriages and omnibuses, each with
its lamps of different colors. They go dancing down the long vista like
so many fire-flies. The shop-windows are brightly lighted, and the
monster hotels pour out a flood of radiance from their myriads of lamps.
Here and there a brilliant reflector at the door of some theatre, sends
its dazzling white rays streaming along the street for several blocks.
Below Canal street Broadway is dark and silent, but above that point it
is as bright as day, and fairly alive with people. Those who are out now
are mostly bent on pleasure, and the street resounds with cheerful voices
and merry laughter, over which occasionally rises a drunken howl.
Strains of music or bursts of applause float out on the night air from
places of amusement, not all of which are reputable. Here and there a
crowd has collected to listen to the music and songs of some of the
wandering minstrels with which the city abounds. Gaudily painted
transparencies allure the unwary to the vile concert saloons in the
cellars below the street. The restaurants and _cafes_ are ablaze with
light, and are liberally patronized by the lovers of good living. Here
and there, sometimes alone, and sometimes in couples, you see women,
mainly young, and all flashily dressed, walking rapidly, with a peculiar
gait, and glancing quickly but searchingly at every man they pass. You
can single them out at a glance from the respectable women who happen to
be out alone at this time. They are the "street walkers," seeking
companions from among the passers-by. Some of them are mere children,
and the heart aches to see the poor creatures at their fearful work. The
police do not allow these women to stop and converse with men on
Broadway, and when they find a companion they turn off promptly into a
side street, and disappear with him in the darkness.
Towards eleven o'clock the theatres pour out their throngs of spectators,
who come to swell the crowd on Broadway, and for a little while the noise
and confusion are almost as great as in the day. Then the restaurants
will close, and the street will gradually become deserted and dark,
tenanted only by the giant policemen; and for a few hours the great city
will be wrapped in silence and slumber.