The Hillsdale Standard

Life in New York.—The editor of the New York Times gives the following graphic picture of life in New York:

"Where do they live—this ever moving throng of human beings? This woman, covered with rags and filth, with a sick child in each arm, so sad and hopelessly miserable, does not live anywhere in particular. Last night her home was in an open cart in Canal street. When the rain descended so copiously on Saturday night, she crept under a piazza in Crosby street. Where she will sleep to night, she knows no better than you. If her little ones could go with her, she would thankfully receive orders to be at home in the burying place on Ward's Island.

That wretched ruffian's home is in a loft over a stable. He don't know any of his fellow-lodgers except the one he met on Blackwell's Island, and they have not spoken together. Last night he gave a sixpence to the woman whose child was moaning for a piece of bread; that furnished the first gleam of comfort he has seen for a month.

That newsboy lives in Water street. He pays rent for a room on the fifth floor, and they have Croton in the room. His mother goes out to washing, and so they live in comfort, until the father returns from sea to abuse his wife, and drink up the little balance she has saved to give on returning.

That man with the hairy upper lip, and the general exterior of a musician, has a parlor in a genteel neighborhood. Fine engravings adorn its walls, and some little dirt defiles the handsome carpet. In his stewpan he stews his meat, boils his coffee, and heats the water wherewith to shave his lower lip. He keeps bachelor's hall, is independent and lonesome, a good deal envied, and a good deal wondered about.

That dandy lives at a boarding house. He drinks water out of goblets, and for the elegant crockery pays several dollars more a week, although it does not make the chicken tender or the beef sweet. He discusses the morning news with hairless acquaintances, and gets on well enough until he falls sick. We must not contemplate that contingency.

Lean Fill, one of the Irish prisoners rescued by the firmness of Gen. Scott from British cruelty in 1812, is now stumping it for his friend of forty years ago."