At the southern point of the island upon which New York is built, a circular structure sufficiently isolated to attact attention has stood for many years.

A fort once, pointing black-nosed cannon down the bay; then a peaceful and delightfully situated tea-garden, and then a concert hall in which Jenny Lind thrilled audiences with the sweetness of her song, it has since accomodated itself to another and very different use.  The lower sandstone walls of the military establishment still remain, but above them and over them a roof and wooden walls have been put, and abutting on them are several large sheds.

Castle Garden is now, and has been since 1855, a depot for the reception and protection of the emigrants arriving in New York, and in it the poor strangers landing from foreign countries are taken care of and helped on their way to their destinations.

Any morning in spring and summer there is a scene here full of suggestiveness.  We see the raw material of which our new population is being formed pouring in.  Here, huddling together like sheep bewildered by the strangeness of their surroundings, are the poor of many lands.   They look sad enough to move one's pity, and poor enough to invite one's patronage.

In other cities - Boston, Philadelphia, or Baltimore - no special effort is made to care for them; but in New York, where more of them land than at all other ports, this place is provided for their reception.

The emigrants are landed from the ocean steamer by a tender, and as they come crowding down the gang-plank, each armed engaged with bundles and boxes and packages balanced on their heads, or thrown over their shoulders, their faces wear an inquisitive, half-astonished, half-dismayed look.  then passing off the tender, they are filed into the great rotunda, where hundreds, and sometimes thousands, of other emigrants are already gathered, brought together from every port of Europe, speaking half-a-dozen different tongues, and exhibiting evershifting effects of costume.  The faces of the crowd represent nearly every type - light-eyed, bonnetless Irish girls, yellow-haired Germans, tawny Italians, thin-featured French, and often of late, there have been among the others the heavily-dressed and heavily-featured figures of the Russian Jews.

The buzz of the voices and the crowding are confusing at first, but the emigrant finds himself rapidly put through a series of preparatory processes, and at the end of an hour he can, if he chooses, walk out and look about for himself in the grinding city.  He is inspected by medical officers, his name, age, country, calling and distinction are registered at a desk where there are clerks and interpreters.

These are the only things which are compulsory, and when they are done he can do exactly what he pleases.  It will be well for him, however, if he does not venture too far into the city, lest he fall into the hands of thieves and cheats.  The main purpose of Castle Garden is to protect him from these.

The scene immediately after the arrival of a steamer is as busy and noisy as a fair.  Within the great circus-like building there is a ticket-office, a money-exchange, a telegraph-office and a restaurant at each of which one may see many curious and touching incidents.  Here at the money-changer's desk is a bulletin giving the American value of various foreign coins, and after each transaction the broker hands his customer a memoranda of it.  Most of the emigrants are wary with their money, and carry it, not in their pockets, but concealed somewhere about their persons.  Often it would take an adroit thief and an intricate exploration to find it.  It is wrapped in envelope within envelope, stringed and knotted with the most precious care.

"Which people bring the most money?"

"The Germans and Scandinavians are the best provided,"
answers the clerk at the exchange-desk."  Next to them
are the Irish, and the poorest of all are the Italians, who
often have no money and little baggage."

The names of the emigrants who have friends or letters or telegrams waiting for them are called out, and there are many affecting reunions.

The husband who has been parted from his wife, and the son who has sent to his old home for his mother or sister, are here to receive them.

Often when the first embrace is over, the new-comer stands back and surveys the Americanized relative from head to foot with great admiration.

The head that left Queenstown bonnetless has now a gorgeous pile of milinery upon it.   The feet that wore clogs are displayed in fancy leather, with tassels.

But sometimes the friends who are expected do not appear.

As the names of the persons for whom there are letters or telegrams, or for whom some one is waiting, are called, you see an emigrant here and there - a girl or woman, most likely, who listens with strained attention, and who falls back with a woe-begone face when she finds that there is nothing for her.

As often as the clerk's voice is heard she darts forward, hoping that now her name is to be called.

Sometimes the looked-for friend at last appears.

Sometimes death or some mischance has removed the one who was to be of help to her, and she finds herself cast upon her own resources.

Before evening most of the emigrants arriving each day have left the Garden, either to stay in New York, or to take the train to other points.

A few remain and make themselves as comfortable as possible on the floor and benches.

The people of the different countries keep to themselves and you see the Italians huddled up here, the Germans there, and the Swedes across the way.  There are some picturesque groups among them.

A Normandy peasant woman in sabots and cap, seated on the floor, surrounded by six chubby little girls, each a miniature of herself; a knot of yellow-haired pink-faced Germans eating liverwort and blackish bread, and a circle of Italians, who are making a frugal supper, and each of whom, we notice is provided with a wicked-looking knife.

At night the Garden is very gloomy, and looking over the floor upon the dark figures stretched out in slumber, a dream comes to us of the brilliant lights and the fashionable audiences of the time when Jenny Lind sang here.

Fortunate are the emigrants who have friends to meet them and take them to the homes they have made for themselves in the new country.

It is but a few years ago that the latter landed at Castle Garden, and their improved appearance, their sharpened wits and smart dress presage the future of the new-comers themselves, if they are thrifty and industrious.

~~~~~~~~~