s the
darkness falls over the city the street blazes with light. Away up
towards Prince street you may see the flashy sign of Tony Pastor's Opera
House, while from below Canal street the Old Bowery Theatre stands white
and glittering in the glare of gas and transparencies. Just over the way
are the lights of the great German Stadt Theatre. The Atlantic Garden
stands by the side of the older theatre, rivalling it in brilliancy and
attractiveness. Scores of restaurants, with tempting bills of fare and
prices astonishingly low, greet you at every step. "_Lager Bier_," and
"_Grosses Concert_; _Eintritt frei_," are the signs which adorn nearly
every other house. The lamps of the street venders dot the side-walk at
intervals, and the many colored lights of the street cars stretch away as
far as the eye can reach. The scene is as interesting and as brilliant
as that to be witnessed in Broadway at the same hour; but very different.

As different as the scene, is the crowd thronging this street from that
which is rushing along Broadway. Like that, it represents all
nationalities, but it is a crowd peculiar to the Bowery. The "rich Irish
brogue" is well represented, it is true; but the "sweet German accent"
predominates. The Germans are everywhere here. The street signs are
more than one-half in German, and one might step fresh from the
Fatherland into the Bowery and never know the difference, so far as the
prevailing language is concerned. Every tongue is spoken here. You see
the piratical looking Spaniard and Portuguese, the gypsy-like Italian,
the chattering Frenchman with an irresistible smack of the Commune about
him, the brutish looking Mexican, the sad and silent "Heathen Chinee,"
men from all quarters of the globe, nearly all retaining their native
manner and habits, all very little Americanized. They are all "of the
people." There is no aristocracy in the Bowery. The Latin Quarter
itself is not more free from restraint.

Among the many signs which line the street the word "_Exchange_" is to be
seen very often. The "Exchanges" are the lowest class lottery offices,
and they are doing a good business to-night, as you may see by the number
of people passing in and out. The working people have just been paid
off, and many of them are here now to squander their earnings in the
swindles of the rascals who preside over the "Exchanges." These deluded
creatures represent but a small part of the working class how