Captain Thomas P. Warren, 1852-96.

Even for the most experienced whaler, life on the sea trying to capture the gigantic mammals was a risky business. That lesson was learned the hard way by Captain Thomas P. Warren of Long Island, as evidenced by an article in the December 6, 1896 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“Southampton, L.I.–The news of the sudden death of Captain Thomas P. Warren of this village, while on a whaling voyage in the North Pacific, which reached here yesterday, has caused great sorrow among his many friends. The only details of the sad accident are contained in a letter received from one of his ship mates of the steam whaler Belvidere, who says that the remains will be sent home for burial in the family plot at Yaphank.

Captain Warren left for what he said would be his last whaling trip in 1892 and at its close he intended to come home and settle down for good, as he had a great attachment to his native place. With this end in view he planned the expedition of 1892. Taking as companions James and Steven Larry, whalemen from this village, whom he had known from boyhood, he engaged a vessel to leave them, with the necessary outfit, on St. Lawrence Island, near the mouth of the Behring Straits. It was their plan to whale from the shore, employing the native Esquimaux to assist them, but the natives took no interest in whaling and did not care to be employed, nor did whales come that way, so that when at the end of the season, the vessel returned by appointment to take them off, it found the men and their apparatus but no oil or bones to bring away.

"The whale struck and killed Captain Warren."

After the unsuccessful expedition Captain Warren and his friends decided to make one more venture. He left Southhampton with his two friends February 4, 1895, reaching Honolulu the 18th of the same month, where he joined the whaling steamer Belvidere of New Bedford bound for the Arctic Ocean. They wintered with the rest of the whaling fleet at the Herschel Islands off the mouth of the Mackenzie River. Late in July the ice broke up and they began their second season’s work. In the early fall they returned through the straits and cruised toward home, the hearts of all on board being made glad by a prosperous catch of ten good whales and the price of whalebone higher than ever before. Probably happiest among them was the boatheader, Captain Warren, now returning from his last voyage and bound home to his family to plan with them a convenient house to build and to stay at home with them hereafter. On October 14, the last before reaching port, another whale was captured to add to the good catch already on board but by some unlucky accident, the details of which have yet been learned, the whale struck and killed Captain Warren. Life lingered a few hours, long enough to send a last word to his family and to give directions as to the disposal of his remains.”

"He broke my windows with a sling shot and threw tomato cans at me." (Image by Ralf Roletschek.)

The tomato can was the Molotov cocktail of nineteenth-century Brooklyn, as this trio of articles from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle illustrates.

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“Mrs. Klein’s Troubles–She Says They Lock Her Up and Throw Tomato Cans at Her” (November 23, 1886): “Mrs. Katrina Klein, an elderly German woman, lives at 461 Carroll Street. The boys in the neighborhood are more than usually mischievous and according to her statement, render her life miserable. On the night of November 10 a gang of youngsters fastened her door with a piece of rope and then threw stones through the window. When Mrs. Klein succeeded in getting out she seized upon Peter Sterling, a lad who lives next door, and gave him into custody. This morning he was arraigned before Judge Walsh.

‘Do you know this villain?’ asked the Court.

‘I do your Honor. He is the worst boy in the world. He broke my windows with a sling shot and threw tomato cans at me. Whenever I go out he calls ‘Klein, Klein’ after me.’

The judge gave Sterling a lecture and then allowed him to go, as he denied having broken the windows.”

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“Much Trouble in the Flat” (August 7, 1901): “Interdomestic troubles in the flat at 117 Carlton Avenue occupied the attention of Magistrate Naumer of the Myrtle Avenue police court this morning. Mrs. Mary Deegan, who occupies an apartment on the third floor of this flat, was in the court as complainant against Charles, Thomas and John Dunn, inhabitants of the first floor. She charged that these three young men forcibly entered her room Sunday afternoon and brutally assaulted her daughter Jennie, a school girl, and herself.

"They alleged also that Mrs. Deegan dropped a tomato can on the head of Thomas."

Mrs. Deegan swore that Charles and Thomas first burst into the room; that Charles seized her bodily and threw her on the floor, while Thomas struck Jennie in the eye and cried out, ‘I owe you that.’ Then, she says, Thomas threw Jennie on top of her. Just as she was regaining her feet, so she says, John entered the room and slapped her face.

The three Dunns denied the charge and swore they had never been in Mrs. Deegan’s rooms in their lives. They said they had a quarrel with Mrs. Deegan on Sunday afternoon, but it was conducted from their respective windows and was the result of Mrs. Deegan spitting on their sister’s head while she was leaning out the window. They alleged also that Mrs. Deegan dropped a tomato can on the head of Thomas. Magistrate Naumer held the boys under $200 bail each for the Court of Special Sessions.”

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“Who Threw the Tomato Can” (December 15, 1891): “Patrolman Horahue of the First Precinct had some trouble with a number of young men on Tillary Street, near Lawrence on the night of the 8th. Somebody threw a tomato can at him and it struck him on the bridge of the nose. Shortly afterward he appeared at the Adams Street Station with Peter Dolan of 163 Tillary Street and James Cleary of 33 Main Street as prisoners. He had thumped them both on the head with his club and both required the services of an ambulance surgeon. This morning Justice Walsh tried Dolan on a charge of assault preferred against him. The prisoner’s head was still bandaged and he looked weak. Horahue swore that Nolan threw the tomato can, but when he was cross examined his evidence on that point was somewhat hazy. Dolan, who is a plumber in business for himself, and a pretty good fellow, his neighbors say,denied the charge. Justice Walsh discharged him with the comment that the evidence against him was not satisfactory and that Dolan had been punished enough in his judgement.”

"The cannon exploded, tearing off Kaiser's leg." (Image by Joseph Furttenbach.)

A quartet of cautionary tales about July 4th, a wonderful and dangerous holiday, from the pages of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

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“The Cannon Exploded” (July 5, 1889): “La Grange, Tex.–The Fourth of July celebration at Round Top was marred by a terrible accident. J.G. Kaiser and two other men named Schiege and Gingel were firing off a cannon. It seems they loaded it with seven pounds of powder and filled it with wet clay and moss so as to make a loud report when fired. The cannon exploded, tearing off Kaiser’s leg and seriously wounding Schiege and Gingel. Kaiser is not expected to live.”

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“Died of Lockjaw” (July 12, 1900): “The Fourth of July celebration claimed another victim yesterday, when Frederick Detlefsen of 6 Sullivan Street died of lockjaw, at his home. He was the son of Charles Detlefsen, a well known builder, of the Twelfth Ward. The boy was not quite 16 years old, but was powerfully built. On the evening of the Fourth he received a wound in his left forefinger from the premature explosion of a blank pistol cartridge.  A local physician dressed the injury and nothing further was thought of the matter until Tuesday morning, when the boy complained of a soreness in his throat. That became worse rapidly and when a physician was summoned, he at once diagnosed the case as tetanus. The wound in the finger was opened and disclosed two greased wads embedded in the flesh. Spasms soon developed and and despite frequent injections of morphine, the boy suffered the most intense agonies. Death terminated his sufferings at noon yesterday.”

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“Inspected a Giant Cracker” (June 30, 1902): “The Fourth of July celebration was inaugurated in Greenpoint last evening by a small number of boys, who set off fireworks during every intermission of the rain. Naturally both pyrotechnics and boys became damp. James Connolly, 10 years old, of 70 Sutton Street, finally found himself endeavoring to light a giant firecracker which refused to explode. At last he put his eye at one end of the cracker, with the result which might be expected. It went off then. Young Connolly will probably lose the sight of his left eye, while his features will be disfigured for life with powder marks. He is recuperating in the care of Dr. Detsch at the Eastern District Hospital and receiving all the care and attention due the first hero of the fire cracker season.”

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"The body of little Conrad was found behind the counter burned to a crisp."

“Baby Con’s Fatal Fun” (July 2, 1893): “A shocking accident, the exact cause of which will probably never be known, occurred at 4:30 o’clock yesterday afternoon in the store kept by Frank Winkenbach, at 899 Liberty Avenue, in the Twenty-sixth Ward. Mr. Winkenbach keeps a small candy shop, but in anticipation of a busy Fourth of July had stocked his place with fireworks. Yesterday afternoon about the time indicated Mr. Winkenbach had occasion to visit the rooms above the store and he left his 4 year old boy Conrad downstairs. He had no idea that the child would have access to any matches. Suddenly the father was startled by the noise of a loud explosion and hastening downstairs, he found the store on fire. The entire stock of fireworks were exploding. Firecrackers were sputtering and Roman candles and pinwheels were wasting their substance all around. He did not see the child as he looked into the store, but, fearful that he was there, he attempted to reach the place where he was supposed to be. It was impossible to do so.

The neighbors sent out a fire alarm and soon the engines were on the ground. It seemed as if the entire front of the store was in flames. The firemen were rapidly at work and soon the fire was extinguished. The body of little Conrad was found behind the counter burned to a crisp. His clothing had been entirely consumed, and all that remained was the charred corpse with the little shoes still adhering to the child’s feet. The body was taken to the living rooms of the family and Coroner Creamer was notified to hold an inquest. The flames had consumed the front of the shop and it was boarded up last night. A crowd of curious neighbors hung around. A rosette of white crepe and streamers on the door told of the tragedy.

From the fact that there was a loud explosion at the outset it is believed that the child had dropped a lighted match among some gunpowder which formed part of the stock. The front windows were blown out by the shock and the store was utterly wrecked. It was impossible when the fire broke out to rescue the child, but Mr. Winkenbach had hoped that Conrad had escaped. It was only when his disfigured body was found that the father abandoned the idea that the boy had managed to reach the street.”

"Jacob Snyder, an oysterman living in Woodhaven, had a bitter experience on Jamaica Bay Thursday night." (Image by Alexander Rummler.)

When they weren’t busy collecting and selling shellfish, 19th-century oystermen were living dramatic lives, as the following trio of Brooklyn Daily Eagle articles demonstrates.

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“A Bloody Affray–Murderous Assault of an Oysterman” (September 17, 1887): “At an early hour yesterday morning, John Graham, aged twenty-five years, of No. 53 Harrison Avenue, with two friends, visited the oyster saloon of Adam Christman, No. 416 Broadway, and asked for stews. When they were laid on the table Graham asked fror more butter, which Christman refused to give, much to the annoyance of the former, who threw his oysters into a waste dish, and with his friends got up to leave. Before they had reached the door, Christman, armed with an oyster knife, made a desperate attack on Graham, cutting him severly in the head and face, and inflicting some dangerous wounds. It was with the greatest difficulty that he was disarmed and his victim rescued. Beside the injuries referred to, Graham had his nose almost entirely bitten off during the struggle. Christman, who is thirty years of age, was arrested on a charge of felonious assault by Sergeant Leavey, of the Thirteenth precinct. He was arraigned before Justice Riley to-day, and hold for examination.”

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"When they were laid on the table Graham asked fror more butter, which Christman refused to give, much to the annoyance of the former, who threw his oysters into a waste dish." (Image by Antoine Vollon.)

“Old Bob Meets With an Accident” (March 8, 1896): “Henry Young of Flatlands, 93 years of age, known all over the annexed district as Old Bob, met with an accident in Flatlands yesterday afternoon that came within a hair’s breadth of spoiling his prospect of being a centenarian. Old Bob is an oyesterman, and three times a week he may be seen on his yellow wagon, peddling oysters up and down Flatbush Avenue and the side streets. Yesterday afternoon he was just coming to a halt on front of the Ditman residence on Flatbush Avenue, near Avenue C, when a farmer’s wagon, belonging to P.J. Collins of Flatlands, collided with his vehicle. Bob was thrown off his seat with great violence and landed head first in the middle of the car tracks. He was stunned from the shock and unable to rise for several minutes. When he got up he found his wagon a wreck and the farmer’s wagon going up the avenue with the speed of a trolley car. Bob’s horse being a steady animal, stood patiently waiting to see what his master was going to do about it. He left the horse and what was left of the wagon just where they stood and with blood in his white hair, called on Justice Steers to have the driver of the farm wagon arrested.”

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“Frozen in His Boat” (January 7, 1893): “Jacob Snyder, an oysterman living in Woodhaven, had a bitter experience on Jamaica Bay Thursday night. His hands, feet and ears were frozen and it is thought amputation of his feet will be necessary. Snyder owns oyster beds at Beach Channel. His grounds have been visited by oyster thieves lately, and on Thursday night the planter, armed with a shot gun, arranged to watch the beds from a rowboat hidden in the thatch, a short distance from the channel. Snyder watched for several hours, taking frequent pulls at a flask of whisky. He fell sleep and did not wake until 3 o’clock, when the storm was at its height. Snyder was benumbed with the cold, but decided to make an attempt to reach the main land. His boat was caught by the wind and blown toward the mouth of the bay. The desperate efforts of the bayman to control the boat were without effect and he became exhausted and lost consciousness. Early yesterday Snyder’s son began a search for his father. The skiff was found on Ruffle Bar. The oysterman lay in the bottom of the boat, still unconscious and nearly frozen to death. A vigorous rubbing partially restored him, but Snyder lost consciousness three times before reaching his home. Physicians were called to attend him and they will make an effort to save his hands.”

"A few minutes later screams were heard in the orchard."

Children playing with firearms, always a recipe for disaster, led to tragedy on Long Island 110 years ago, as this article from the January 2, 1901 issue of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle demonstrates. An excerpt:

“Northport, L.I.–The second accidental shooting within a week at Fort Saratoga occurred about noon yesterday, and though little Carlo Bertelsen, the victim, is yet alive at noon to-day with a .32-caliber bullet in his body, little hope is entertained of his recovery.

Peter Mortensen, the 10-year-old son of Andrew Mortensen, an oysterman, took a .32 caliber pistol belonging to his grandfather from a bureau drawer, and in company with his cousin, Willi Kasso, and his playmate, Carlo, the son of a farmer, 8 years of age, he went into an orchard near their home to practice shooting at a mark.

A few minutes later screams were heard in the orchard, and Bertelsen’s parents found their child lying upon the ground with a bullet wound in his stomach. The Mortensen child in the excitement had dropped the pistol and ran away.

Dr. George H. Donahue at Northport was called and he found that the bullet had entered the child’s body just below the lung, but he was unable to locate it.

Young Mortensen, who held the pistol, had a part of one finger taken off by the same bullet that wounded his playmate.

Coroner H.H. Davidson, last night took the ante-mortem statement of the injured child, who said they had already shot the pistol off once at a mark, and were getting ready to shoot the second time when Peter Mortensen could not move the trigger, so they all took a hand in trying and the pistol suddenly went off.

Dr. Walter Lindsay, who was called in consultation last night, does not think the boy can live. This accident occurred within one half mile of where Henry Webber was accidentally shot by his brother on Friday last and which resulted in his death.”

"Charles Emerson, a milk peddler of this city, was shot and killed yesterday afternoon."

Perhaps no figure in nineteenth-century New York was quite so feared as the milkman, an agent of death and destruction who delivered calamity along with his white gold, as the following articles from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle demonstrate.

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“A Milkman Shot By a Farmer” (September 29, 1893): “Buffalo, New York–Charles Emerson, a milk peddler of this city, was shot and killed yesterday afternoon midway between here and Tonawanda by William H. Griffith, a farmer. Griffith had sold Emerson some hay and the latter was hauling it away without paying for it as agreed upon. Yesterday while Griffith was absent Emerson attempted to take away another load. Griffith returned before the wagon was loaded and a quarrel ensued during which Griffith got his gun and shot Emerson in the thigh, making an ugly wound from which he had bled to death. Griffith was arrested. He claims that Emerson was advancing on him with a pitchfork when he fired in self defense.”

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“Found Dead in His Cell” (September 2, 1896): “Jamaica, Long Island–Patrick Quinn, a milkman of Madison Street, this village, 26 years of age, who was arrested at 6 o’clock last evening and confined in the lock up at the town hall on a charge of breaking in the windows of the house in which he lived, belonging to Annie Olrogge, was found dead in his cell this morning by Keeper Hogan. Coroner S.H. Nutt viewed the remains and will hold an inquest Friday at 7:30 P.M. Quinn had been drinking heavily of late and it is supposed that his death resulted from alcoholism.”

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"John Diedesch, a milkman, on Saturday night called upon a customer named Augusta Buckel to collect a bill due for lacteal served during the week."

“A Demonstrative Milkman” (February 25, 1878): “John Diedesch, a milkman, on Saturday night called upon a customer named Augusta Buckel, at her residence, No. 59 Hoyt Street, to collect a bill due for lacteal served during the week. Mrs. Buckel was not prepared to liquidate the account, as her husband had not returned home, nor was Diedesch in a humor to accept any such excuse as that offered. Accordingly he gave the woman to understand that he believed she intended to cheat him, and in return Mrs. Buckel had something to say which did not tickle the milkman’s fancy. The result was that Diedesch became exceedingly angry, and in this mood struck and kicked Mrs. Buckel to that extent that she may suffer permanently from the injuries inflicted.”

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“Drunk Carbolic Acid” (April 8, 1895): “Henry A. Nichol, a milkman, who lived at 1,155 Broadway, was found dead yesterday afternoon in a coach in the rear of the livery stable of Walter R. Thomas, at 661 Lexington Avenue, where he stabled his horse and wagon. Two vials half filled with carbolic acid and a small glass which lay beside the dead man indicated that he had committed suicide. Nichols, who was 29 years old and unmarried, had been drinking heavily for three or four weeks past, and because of his dissipated habits had lost much of his trade. His friends say he had threatened to take his life.”

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“The Deadly Broken Wire” (December 27, 1891): “Orange, New York–Frank E. Williams, a milkman was killed by an electric shock on High Street at 3:30 o’clock this morning. An old unused wire of the District messenger service broke during the night and fell across the wires of the city lighting system, which carry a current of 2,000 volts. The weather this morning was very foggy. While Williams was delivering milk the horse went ahead, and, coming in contact with the old wire, was knocked down. Williams went to his assistance and was struck in the face by the wire, which he grasped with both hands and held on to. No person witnessed the actual occurrence. Williams was taken to the residence of J.N. Robins and Dr. Bradshaw was called in. He came too late, however, for Williams was beyond human aid. His body was taken to the morgue.

Williams was 27 years of age, and was an estimable man. He was married three months ago to Miss Moger of Roseland, where he lived. When the news of his death was broken to his young wife she was greatly overcome.”

"He ran into an ice wagon, was thrown from his wheel under the hind wheel and his ribs crushed in."

In the days before refrigeration, let alone air conditioning, New Yorkers depended on ice wagons to deliver to them freezing blocks of comfort and survival. In Brooklyn alone in the 1880s, residents required 50,000 tons of ice each summer. That meant a lot of ice wagons on the streets and plenty of mishaps resulting from them, as the following stories from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle demonstrate.

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“Undertaker Kane Was Thrown From His Wagon” (May 26, 1885): “Benjamin Kane, an undertaker doing business on Sixth Street, near North Fifth, was thrown from his wagon on North Second Street, after colliding with an ice wagon last Wednesday, and sustained injuries from which he has since died.

Mr. Kane, who was a young man and not long ago married was well known to the Fourteenth Ward. The young wife was so stricken with grief at the demise of her husband that her life hung in the balance for twelve hours. She is now considered out of danger.”

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“Hurt By a Cake of Ice” (August 12, 1895): “John Hilken, 26 years old, at 427 Marcy Avenue, was loading his ice wagon at the foot of Hewes Street this morning, when he was accidentally cut over the eye with an ice pick. George Wood, another ice man of 60 Sumpter Street, fainted at the sight of blood and when an ambulance surgeon arrived to treat Hilken, he found that Wood was more in need of attention. Hilken’s wound was sewed up and Wood was restored to consciousness to be laughed at by fellow ice men.”

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"The body of a man almost 50 years old, who was known as 'Pegleg Jimmy,' was found this morning in an ice wagon"

“Found Dead in an Ice Wagon” (November 24, 1902): “The body of a man almost 50 years old, who was known in the neighborhood of Montgomery and South Streets, Manhattan, as ‘Pegleg Jimmy,’ was found this morning in an ice wagon that had been left over night on Pier 49, East River. He was a cripple and walked with crutches, which were found lying beside his body. The police of the Madison Street station, to whom the find was reported, and who took charge of the case are of the opinion that the man died of exposure, as he was insufficiently clothed for the chilliness of last night.”

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“Boy Bicyclist Killed” (August 13, 1897): “William McKenna, 16 years old, of 511 East Thirteenth Street, New York, met a horrible death this morning while riding a bicycle on Twenty-first Street, just west of Gramercy Park. He ran into an ice wagon, was thrown from his wheel under the hind wheel and his ribs crushed in. One of the ribs pierced his heart, causing instant death.”

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“Train Smashes Ice Wagon” (August 14, 1897): “At 8 o’clock this morning a train on the Norton’s Point division of the Long Island Railroad crashed into an ice wagon owned by Peter Kappelman of West Second Street, Coney Island, at the corner of Railroad Avenue and West Twenty-first Street. The wagon was completely wrecked and James McCutcheon, 42 years old, of West Fifth Street and Sheepshead Bay Road, the driver, was thrown out on his head. He was not badly hurt.”

"The second shot struck Russell in the groin and the third in the back."

Seemingly everyone in America in the late nineteenth century would behand you with a butcher’s knife for a sawbuck, so you had to be particularly heinous to be identified as a “rough character,” as the following quartet of Brooklyn Daily Eagle articles prove.

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“Chopped His Wife’s Head Off” (June 16, 1889): “Philadelphia, Pa.–A most brutal murder was committed in this city this afternoon. George McCann, aged about 30 years, a rough character, killed his wife, Maggie, five years younger, by chopping her head off in a horrible manner with a hatchet. Jealousy was the cause.”

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“Not Satisfied With The Play” (January 13, 1887): “Chicago, Ill.–A dramatic company from Kansas City gave an entertainment in the City Hall last night. At the close of the performance a number of rough characters demanded the return of their money, and, not getting it, the manager and the members of the company were shamefully beaten. Adam Gorman pursued one of the men half a square, and a few minutes later was found with his left arm split open and a fearful gash near the breast. The mob then pursued the company to the Marion House, where the officers defended them from the mob. Gorman’s injuries are probably fatal.”

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"George McCann...killed his wife, Maggie, five years younger, by chopping her head off in a horrible manner with a hatchet."

“Bloody Deeds” (September 29, 1884): “Middletown, Ohio–Henry Slopy was murdered here yesterday afternoon at half past four o’clock by Sandy Jackson, a rough character. Jackson was drunk and attempted to stir up a row. Slopy ran away and was struck with a stone, which broke his neck. Jackson was arrested immediately together with a confederate, a young man named John Flaherty. The murder caused much excitement among the citizens and threats of lynching being made, special policemen were called in to guard the jail.”

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“Attacked By Roughs” (February 7, 1895): “Stocktown, Mass.–Shortly after the arrival of the 11 o’clock train last night Officer Curtis was quietly walking with a man down the street behind a crowd of rough local characters. One of the company, Christopher Russell, turned and asked the officer why he was following them. The officer replied, ‘I have the right to.’

There was some little talk and Russell sprang at the officer, biting him severely in the cheek. Officer Curtis finally used his revolver, first shooting into the air. The second shot struck Russell in the groin and the third in the back. Although badly used up, Curtis took Russell and one other man in the party, F. Dillon, to the lock up. Russell was taken to the Massachusetts General Hospital on the 5:40 train this morning. His condition is critical. Officer Curtis lies ill at his home.”

"One bloated creature whom it would be libel on the sex to designate a woman,..."

In the August 27, 1849 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, the paper’s incredibly progressive editors dealt with the problem of vagrancy with their usual sensitivity:

“Our city is infested with scores of disgusting vagrants of both sexes, who are constantly annoying the inhabitants of Brooklyn by applications for charity. One bloated creature whom it would be libel on the sex to designate a woman, as she is in a constant state of beastly intoxication, is the habit of gaining access to houses by means of entry doors, and if her requests for relief are not comlied with, she vomits forth a torrent of filthy and disgusting abuse that to say the least of it, is perfectly horrifying.

If it within the limits of possibility, we would suggest to our city authorities the propriety of some of our police officers receiving their instructions to use their best means to rid the community of this horde of beggars to whom it is sinful to give alms, for they are, for the greater portion, drunkards or thieves, or both, as can be proved.

The loathsome creature we above alluded to was questioned (by the mistress of a house in Atlantic street, who happened to come down earlier than usual) as to why she came begging at so early an hour. She answered that the girls, when the mistress was not in the way, were pretty good natured, more so than they dared to be when the mistress was in the way. The lady asked her what she had in her apron. The lady opened it, and among a variety of food was a whole fowl and a whole loaf; and yet this creature was going from house to house, soliciting food for herself and her six starving children.

We earnestly recommend that the remedy be entrusted to some efficient officers. It is obvious that if beggars such as are described, were not permitted to infest private dwellings, as they now do, servants could be neither wasteful, nor dishonest with the property of their employers.”