Guevara Blog

On the

On the corner of anthony street and the points,4 in newyork, there stands, like a grim savage, the house of the nine nations, a dingy wooden tenement, that for twenty years has threatened to tumble away from its more upright neighbor, and before which the stranger wayfarer is seen to stop and contemplate. In a neighborhood redolent of crime, there it stands, its vices thick upon its head, exciting in the mind of the observer its association with some dark and terrible deed. On the one side, opens that area of misery, mud and sombre walls, called cow bay on the other a triangular plot, reeking with the garbage of the miserable cellars that flank it, and in which swarms of wasting beings seek a hidingplace, inhale pestilential air, and die. Gutters running with seething matter homeless outcasts sitting, besotted, on crazy