If you will go to the southern extremity of Printing House Square, on the
east side of the City Hall Park, you will see the opening of a narrow
street between the offices of the _Tribune_ and _Times_ newspapers. This
is Nassau street. It runs parallel with Broadway, and terminates at Wall
street. It is about half a mile in length, and is one of the narrowest
and most inconvenient streets in the city, being less than fifty feet in
width. The houses on each side are tall and sombre looking, and the
street is almost always in the shadow. The roadway is hardly wide enough
for two vehicles to pass abreast, and the sidewalks could never by any
possible chance contain a crowd. Indeed, the street is seldom thronged,
and the people you meet there seem to be possessed of but one desire--to
get out of it as fast as possible. A stranger would, at the first
glance, unhesitatingly pronounce it an inconvenient as well as a
disagreeable thoroughfare, and yet the truth is that it is one of the
most important streets in the city in respect of the amount and variety
of the traffic carried on within its limits.
It would be hard to describe its architecture. Scarcely any two houses
are built alike. At the lower end, in the vicinity of Wall street, iron,
marble, and brown stone structures flourish, but above the Post-office
the buildings are a study. The most of them are old, but all show signs
of vigorous life, and from cellar to attic they are jammed full of busy,
scheming, toiling men.
[Picture: NASSAU STREET.]
Along the street are some of the best known and most trusted banking
houses of the city, and millions of dollars are represented in their
daily transactions. The great Post-office receives and sends out whole
tons of matter every twenty-four hours. The bulk of the periodical, and
a large part of the book-trade are carried on here through the agency of
the great news companies. Real estate men flourish here. Struggling
lawyers seem to think this street the road to success, for here they
cluster by the score. You may buy here diamonds of the purest water, and
others that had better be kept out of water. The most valuable of
watches may be obtained here; also the most genuine pinchbeck timepieces.
If one is a judge of the article he is buying, he may frequently purchase
to advantage in Nassau street, but as a rule he must examine his purchase
closely before paying for it, and be sure he receives what he has
selected. The variety of the pursuits carried on here may be ascertained
only by a diligent perusal of the signs that line the street. Perhaps in
no other thoroughfare is there to be seen such a multitude of signs. The
fronts of the houses are covered with them. They appear in nearly every
window, and the walls of the halls of the buildings, and even the steps
themselves are covered with them. Every device of the sign maker has
been exhausted here, and they tell their stories with more or less
emphasis, according to the ingenuity exercised upon them. They tell you
of "Counsellors at Law," Publishers, Artists, Dealers in Foreign and
American Engravings, Jewellers, Engravers on Wood and Steel, Printers,
Stock Brokers, Gold Beaters, Restaurant Keepers, Dealers in Cheap
Watches, Agents of Literary Bureaux, Translators of Foreign Languages,
Fruit Sellers, Boarding House Brokers, Matrimonial Agents, Book Sellers,
Dealers in Indecent Publications, and a host of others too numerous to
mention.
Go into one of the numerous buildings, and a surprise awaits you. You
might spend half a day in exploring it. It rivals the Tower of Babel in
height, and is alive with little closets called "offices." How people
doing business here are ever found by those having dealings with them is
a mystery. Many, indeed, come here to avoid being found, for Nassau
street is the headquarters of those who carry on their business by
circulars, and under assumed names. It is a good hiding place, and one
in which a culprit might safely defy the far-reaching arm of Justice.
Along the street, and mostly in the cellars, cluster the "Old Book
Stores" of New York, of which I shall have more to say hereafter, and
they add not a little to the singular character of the street. The
proprietors are generally men who have been here for years, and who know
the locality well. Many curious tales could they tell of their cramped
and dingy thoroughfare, tales that in vivid interest and dramatic force
would set up half a dozen novelists.
The Post-office draws all sorts of people into the street, and it is
interesting to watch them as they come and go. But, as has been said, no
one stays here long; no one thinks of lounging in Nassau street. Every
one goes at the top of his speed, and bumps and thumps are given and
taken with a coolness and patience known only to the New Yorker. You may
even knock a man off his legs, and send him rolling into the gutter, and
he will smile, pick himself up again, and think no more of the matter.
On Broadway the same man would not fail to resent such an assault as an
intentional insult. Every one here is full of unrest; every one seems
pre-occupied with his own affairs, and totally oblivious to all that is
passing around him. In no part of the great city are you so fully
impressed with the shortness and value of time. Even in the eating
houses, where the denizens of the street seek their noontide meal, you
see the same haste that is manifest on the street. The waiters seem
terribly agitated and excited, they fairly fly to do your bidding,
pushing and bumping each other with a force that often sends their loads
of dishes clattering to the floor. The man at the desk can hardly count
your change fast enough. The guests bolt their food, gulp their liquors,
and dart through the green baize doors as if their lives depended upon
their speed.
So all day long they pour in and out of the marble banks, in and out of
the great Post-office, in and out of the dingy offices--the good and the
bad, the rich and the poor, the honest dealer and the sharper. Few know
their neighbors here, fewer care for them; and gigantic successes and
dreary failures find their way into the street, adding year by year to
its romance and to its mystery. At night the street is dark and
deserted. Yet away up in some of the lofty buildings, the lights shining
through the dingy windows tell you that some busy brain is still scheming
and struggling--whether honestly or dishonestly, who can tell?