The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe [832]
For the present, vale et valete.
P.
Editors of the “Columbia Spy.”
LETTER 2
Correspondence of the Spy.
NEW-YORK.
May 21st, 1844.
In the way of mere news there is nothing — nothing, at least, which I could reconcile it to my conscience to make matter of record.
The city is thronged with strangers, and everything wears an aspect of intense life. Business has experienced a thorough revival, and “all goes merry as a marriage bell.” Notwithstanding the Croton water, or “the Crot’n,” as the Gothamites have it, the streets are, with rare exception, insufferably dirty. The exceptions are to be found in Bond Street, Waverly Place, and some others of the upper, more retired, and more fashionable quarters. These surpass in purity the cleanest districts of Philadelphia; but, in general, there is no comparison between the two cities. I believe that New-York is “scavengered,” to use an English verb, by contract, at an annual expense of $50,000. If this is really the case, there must be either great stupidity, or ignorance, somewhere — or at all events some partisan chicanery. Contractors might pay roundly for the privilege of cleaning the streets, receiving the sweepings for their perquisite, and find themselves great gainers by the arrangement. In any large city, a company of market gardeners would be induced to accept a contract of this character.
Mr. Harper has commenced his reign with vigor, and will, no doubt, make an efficient Mayor. Of course, there has been, and will be, the usual proscription, notwithstanding the usual promises. The anticipation, or rather the certainty of removal from office, has given rise to some high-handed, and at the same time ludicrous instances of the sauve qui peut principle. Entire districts, for example, are left, for weeks, in outer darkness, at night; the lamp-lighting functionaries flatly refusing to light up; preferring to appropriate the oil to their own private and personal emolument, and thus have a penny in pocket, with which to console themselves for that dismissal which is inevitable. Three quarters of a mile on the Third Avenue, one of the most important and most thronged thoroughfares, have been thus left in darkness visible for the last fortnight or more. When the question is asked — “cannot these scoundrels be made to suffer for their high-handed peculation?” — the reply is invariably — “oh no — to be sure not — the thing is expected, and will only be laughed at as an excellent practical joke. The comers-in to office will be in too high glee to be severe, and as for the turned-out, it is no longer any business of theirs.”
I presume you have seen, by the papers, that some person has been so good as to publish what he calls “The Life and Writings of James Gordon Bennet [[Bennett]].” Mr. Bennet [[Bennett]], calling the book “an infamous and atrocious libel,” charges Mr. Moses Y. Beach of the “Sun,” with its perpetration, and announces his intention to sue. Mr. Beach denies the parentage, and Mr. T. L. Nichols avows it. Mr. N. was, for a year, associated with Mr. Bennet [[Bennet]]t in the conduct of the “Herald,” and is a man of much talent. He declares that the brochuie in question is chiefly a rifaciments of Mr. Bennet’s [[Bennett’s]] own articles extracted from the “Herald” itself. I have not seen the production, nor shall I see it. It is said to be very severe.
The arrival of the Brittannia at Boston, on Saturday, just as the western train was leaving the city, rendered nugatory the various “express” arrangements in contemplation, and thus put an end to diverse excellent quarrels in prospectu. One, especially, of ominous aspect, had been gradually gathering itself into shape, between