It is a common and almost meaningless remark, that one has to be careful to avoid being lost in New York, but the words “Lost in New York” have a deeper meaning than the thoughtless speakers imagine. If the curious would know the full force of these words, let them go to the Police Headquarters, in Mulberry street, and ask for the “Bureau for the Recovery of Lost Persons.” The records of this bureau abound in stories of mystery, of sorrow, and of crime.

As many as seven hundred people have been reported as “lost,” to this bureau, in a single year, and it is believed that this does not include all the disappearances. Many of those so reported are found, as in the cases of old persons and children, but many disappear forever. Others who are recovered by their friends are never reported as found to the bureau, and consequently remain on its books as missing.

When a person is reported “Missing” to this bureau, a description of the age, height, figure, whiskers, if any, color of eyes, dress, hair, the place where last seen, the habits and disposition of the person, is given to the official in charge, who enters it in the register. When the returns of the Morgue, which are sent to the Police authorities every twenty-four hours, are received, they are compared with the descriptions in the register, and in this way bodies are often identified. Five or six hundred cards with the description of the missing person are printed, and sent to the various police precincts, with orders to the commanding officers to make a vigilant search for the person so described. Advertisements are also inserted in the newspapers describing the missing ones. Many of the estrays are children, and these are usually recovered within twenty-four hours. These little ones usually fall directly into the hands of the police, and are taken at once to the station house. If not claimed there, they are sent at nightfall to Police Headquarters, where they are cared for until their friends come for them.

THE FATE OF HUNDREDS OF YOUNG MEN.

Many of the missing are men—strangers to the city. They have come here on business or for pleasure, and have undertaken to see the sights of New York. They have drowned their senses in liquor, and have fallen into the hands of the thieves and murderers, who are ever on the watch for such as they. They have been robbed and murdered, thrown into the river, from which they sometimes find their way to the Morgue. Or perhaps they have followed some street walker to her den, there to fall victims to the knife or club of her accomplice. The river is close at hand, and it hides its secrets well. Year after year the same thing goes on, and men pay with their lives the price of their impure curiosity. The street walker still finds her victim ready to follow her to her den, for “he knoweth not that the dead are there: and that her guests are in the depths of hell. He goeth after her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of the stocks. Till a dart strike through his liver, and knoweth not that it is for his life. She hath cast down many wounded; yea, many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.”

Year after year the waters cast up their dead, and the Morgue is filled with those who are known to the police as “missing.” Men and women, the victims of the assassin, and those who are tired of life, find their way to the ghastly tables of the dead house; but they are not all. There are long rows of names in the dreary register of the police against which the entry “found” is never written. What has become of them, whether they are living or dead, no one knows. They were “lost in New York,” and they are practically dead to those interested in knowing their fate. Year after year the sad list lengthens.

In many a far off home there is mourning for some loved one. Years have passed away since the sorrow came upon these mourners, but the cloud still hangs over them. Their loved one was “lost in New York.” That is all they know—all they will ever know.