jjjahmtmi^aimmal itf OF Old new York No. 4, New Series 1920 Edited By Henry Collins Brown 1 PRAY YOU LET US SATISFY OUR EYES— WITH THE MEMORIALS AND THE THINGS OF FAME THAT DO RENOWN THIS CITY" Shakespeare . New York 1920 Valentine's Manual Inc. 15 East 40™ St. Ctertg logs of 191 B Mjo Jfiowjljt in Jorrujn iOattoa STljat ICifortg Mioljt Not Pmsli from tl?^ larto. Sftyta Holum* ta Atfrrttonatelg Srotratro Copyright, 1919 by Henry Collins Brown. Press of The Chauncey Holt Company New York City CONTENTS Page DIARY OF A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK, 1849. Catherine Elizabeth Havens 1 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. Major George Haven Putnam 53 MOUNT ROOSEVELT— A MEMORIAL 61 WASHINGTON IRVING AND THE EMPRESS EUGENIE 62 NOTABLE RESTORATIONS— WALL ST. AND FIFTH AVE... 64 WALL STREET NINETY YEARS AGO. Sturges S. Dunham.... 78 DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF THE COLORED SUPPLEMENTS OF WALL STREET FIRST WHITE WAY 94 REMOVE THE POST OFFICE FROM CITY HALL PARK— A PLAN FOR AN APPROPRIATE MONUMENT TO THE LIBERTY BOYS OF 1918 97 A HUNDRED YEARS AGO 102 EDWIN BOOTH MEMORIAL 115 THE FORTUNE TELLER 118 ITEMS 121 DR. J. G. HOLLAND AND ROSWELL SMITH. William Webster Ellsworth 122 WHY I LIKE NEW YORK 129 SOME FAMOUS AMERICAN NAVAL PRINTS. H. C. Brown... 130 [ix] Page HALF A CENTURY AGO— INTERESTING ITEMS OF OLD NEW YORK. Arthur Winthrope Earle 141 SLAVE BURIALS IN NEW YORK. W. L. Calver 153 SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF OLD BROOKLYN— AS IT WAS IN THE 70's AND 80's. H. C. Brown 157 AMBROSE CHANNEL — INTERESTING FACTS ABOUT THE GREAT WATERWAY. George F. Shrady 172 OLD TARGET COMPANIES AND FIREMEN. W. S. Ludlow.... 180 THEODORE ROOSEVELT 188 GRAMERCY PARK. John B. Pine 193 Gramercy Seat. Samuel B. Ruggles. Peter Cooper's Home. Where the Atlantic Cable Project was born. Cyrus W. Field's Residence. Mayor Abram S. Hewitt. Samuel J. Tilden. John Bigelow. Calvary Church. Friends' Meeting House. Dr. Bellows and All Soul's Church. The Draft Riots. The Players. National Arts Club. Trustees of Gramercy Parle. A VOYAGE IN A CLIPPER SHIP IN THE SEVENTIES. William Allen Butler 249 CELEBRATION OF THE 507TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH OF JOAN OF ARC 253 HOW GREAT GRANDMOTHER TOOK HER OUTING IN 1810.. 257 ITEMS 259 SOME ASSOCIATIONS OF OLD ANN STREET. Aaron Mendoza 263 Christ Church. Barnum's Museum. Printers and Booksellers. Papers and Periodicals. fx I Page CURIOUS ITEMS FROM OLD NEW YORK PAPERS 304 PUTTING OUT A FIRE, 1794 ' 309 MYRIAD MARVELS OF MANHATTAN 309 CONVENTION OF THE AMERICAN FEDERATION OF ARTS 310 "REVERIES OF A BACHELOR," AND LOWER FIFTH AVE. Albert Ulmann 312 WILLIAM HAMLIN CHILDS' CASE 317 SKATING IN OLD NEW YORK. Irving Brokaw 321 MIGRATORY BIRDS OF FORT WASHINGTON PARK 335 NEW YORK CITY'S WAR ACTIVITIES— A CHRONOLOGICAL RECORD 336 THE BOSTON ROAD AND AARON BURR. Stephen Wray 367 OLD TIME MARRIAGES AND DEATHS. A. J. Wall, Ass't Lib'n, N. H. Hist. Soc'y 401 OLD MANSIONS OF THE BRONX. Randall Comfort 435 Gouverneur Morris Mansion. Lewis Morris Mansion. Jonas Bronck's Residence. Old Hunt Mansion. Faile Mansion. Dennison White Mansion. Casanova Mansion. Old Fox Mansion. Simpson Mansion. Richard M. Hoe Mansion Old Vyse Mansion. INDEX 453 fxi] ILLUSTRATIONS List of the Rare Old Prints, Engravings and Colored Lithographs Contained in this Volume. Page FRONTISPIECE (IN COLOR) First Capitol of United States— Federal Hall Wall Street. VAN DYCK'S PORTRAIT OF JAMES, DUKE OF YORK 7 U. S. S. GEORGE WASHINGTON (IN COLOR) 14 CLINTON HOTEL, BEEKMAN STREET, 1851 21 Showing the old City Hall Park fountain. OLD MIDDLE DUTCH CHURCH, NASSAU STREET 29 Built 1729; used as Post Office, 1845-75. EDWARD LIVINGSTON, THIRD MAYOR OF NEW YORK, 1801-3 37 Original painting by Trumbull. CLIPPER SHIP "SAMUEL RUSSELL" (IN COLOR) 44 A famous flyer in the China trade. NEW YORK WEEKLY JOURNAL 50 One of Zenger's early numbers. CUTTING THE TREES ON THE N. Y. HOSPITAL GROUNDS 51 To make way for Thomas Street. DE WITT CLINTON, FOURTH MAYOR OF NEW YORK, 1803-7 59 Original painting by Catlin. EARLE'S HOTEL, CANAL AND CENTRE STREETS, 1880 65 The McAlpin of 40 years ago. CLIPPER SHIP "N. B. PALMER" (IN COLOR) 74 The remarkable record of 396 miles in one day is to her credit. TALLY HO COACH, NEW YORK TO NEW ROCHELLE, 1877... 83 Delancey Kane, driving. BROADWAY, LOOKING NORTH FROM MURRAY STREET, 1880 89 [xiii] Page CITY HALL PARK, 1825 95 When the Park was the recreation ground and beauty spot of New York. CLIPPER SHIP "BENEFACTRESS" (IN COLOR) 104 One of the fast clipper ships belonging to A. A. Low & Bro. DR. HASTING'S OLD CHURCH, THE WEST PRESBYTERIAN 113 Now site of Aeolian Hall. STATUE OF EDWIN BOOTH 119 Showing the great actor as Hamlet. FORTY-SECOND STREET AND MADISON AVE., 1869.. 125 Just before the Grand Central Station was opened. CLIPPER SHIP "HOUQUAH" (IN COLOR) 132 As she appeared entering Hongkong Harbor. HOUQUAH, A NOTED CHINESE MERCHANT 139 Identified with the great business of A. A. Low & Bro. THE VELOCIPEDE IN 1869 145 The origin of the bicycle, motor cycle and automobile. JAM AT FULTON FERRY, 1883 151 BASEBALL AT CAPITOLINE GROUNDS, BROOKLYN, 1880.... 156 RACING AT JEROME PARK, 1880 156 U. S. S. "ALOHA" (IN COLOR) 160 Private yacht of Commodore Arthur Curtiss James, given to the government for service during the war. AN OLD NEW YORKER'S MISHAP AT THE FERRY SLIP.... 169 JOHN WOLFE AMBROSE....- 175 For whom Congress named the great channel to New York. AMBROSE LIGHTSHIP 175 Marking the entrance to the channel. RETURN OF A TARGET COMPANY, 1879 181 Coming home from Lion Park. U. S. S. "NOMA" (IN COLOR) 190 Lieut. Astor's yacht on duty on the high seas. GRAMERCY PARK HOUSE, 1860 199 CYRUS W. FIELD PRESENTING HIS ALTANTIC CABLE PLAN 205 From the painting in the Chamber of Commerce. GRAMERCY PARK, LOOKING NORTH 211 [xiv] Page U. S. S. "CORSAIR" (IN COLOR) 218 Private yacht of Commodore J. P. Morgan, given to the govern- ment for service during the war. BOOTH'S THEATRE, SIXTH AVE. AND TWENTY-THIRD ST., 1879 225 Where the great Shakespeare Revival in the 70's took place. CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH, 1846 231 UNITARIAN CHURCH OF ALL SOULS, 1855 237 CLIPPER SHIP "CHARLES H. MARSHALL" (IN COLOR) 246 CHART OF VOYAGE ON THE "CHARLES H. MARSHALL".. 247 WARSHIPS SALUTING JOAN OF ARC STATUE 255 NEW YORK HERALD OFFICE, 1870 261 REV. JOSEPH PILMORE, CHRIST CHURCH IN ANN STREET 267 From John Wesley's School, Kingswood, England. HISPANIC SOCIETY AND OTHER NOTABLE BUILDINGS 274 BARNUM'S VICTORY OVER ST. PAUL'S VESTRYMEN 281 TYPE FOUNDRY IN ANN STREET 281 BURNING OF BARNUM'S MUSEUM, 1865 287 LINE DRAWING OF BROADWAY AND UNION SQUARE, 1820 292 ELEVATED ROAD, GREENWICH STREET, 1869 293 CLIPPER SHIP "FLYING CLOUD" (IN COLOR) 300 A record-breaker in the old California days. BROADWAY AND MAIDEN LANE, 1880 307 NEW YORK'S NEW PUBLIC MUSEUMS, BROADWAY AND 155TH STREET 313 NEW YORK SKATING CLUB, 1863 319 SKATING IN CENTRAL PARK, 1860 (IN COLOR) 326 A rare old lithograph in the collection of Mr. Irving Brokaw. JOAN OF ARC PARK COMMEMORATIVE MEDALS 333 FOURTH AVE., 52ND AND 53RD STREETS, 1875 339 Now "Victory Way." CONTEMPORARY VIEW OF AUTOMOBILE ROW IN 1869... 345 CLIPPER SHIP "THREE BROTHERS" (IN COLOR) 352 Turned over by Commodore Vanderbilt to the government during the Civil War. WAVERLY HOUSE, 1852 359 A rare print in the collection of Mr. Robert Goelet. [xv] Page HOMESTEAD OF DR. JOSEPH BROWNE 365 OLD JOHNSTON TAVERN ON THE BRONX RIVER 371 Where the Boston stages changed horses. A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE VOLUNTEER FIREMAN (IN COLOR) 378 "Jump her boys, jump her." LORILLARD'S SNUFF MILL ON THE BRONX RIVER 385 Destroyed in the blizzard of 1888. BIXBY HOTEL AND W. & J. SLOANE'S CARPET WARE- HOUSE, 1853 391 HUDSON RIVER R. R. COMMUTATION RATE CARD, 1850.... 396 BATTERY PLACE, 1883 397 VOLUNTEER FIREMEN AT WORK (IN COLOR) 404 "The New Era." WASHINGTON EQUESTRIAN STATUE 411 As he appeared at Valley Forge. SHAKESPEARE STATUE, ERECTED BY CITIZENS OF NEW YORK 417 ROBERT BURNS STATUE, ERECTED BY ADMIRERS OF THE PEASANT BARD 423 VOLUNTEER FIREMEN, EXTINGUISHING A GREAT FIRE (IN COLOR) 430 "Now then with a will." HUNT MANSION 437 CASANOVA MANSION 437 FAILE MANSION 443 DENNISON-WHITE MANSION 443 [xvi] HOW THE CITY HALL PARK WOULD LOOK TODAY IF THE POSTOFFICE BRIDGE STATION AND COURT HOUSE WERE REMOVED. THE LIBERTY POLE COULD BE ERECTED ALMOST ON ITS OLD SITE DIARY OF A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK (1849-1850) Catherine Elizabeth Havens August 6, 1849. Xam ten years old to-day, and I am going to begin a diary. My sister says it is a good plan, and when I am old, and in a remembering mood, I can take out my diary and read about what I did when I was a little girl. I can remember as far back as when I was only four years old, but 1 was too young then to keep a diary, but I will begin mine by telling what I can recall of that far- away time. The first thing I remember is going with my sister in a sloop to visit my aunts on Shelter Island. We had to sleep two nights on the sloop, and had to wash in a tin basin, and the water felt gritty. These aunts live in a very old house. It was built in 1733 and is called , the Manor House, and some of the floors and doors in it were in a house built in 1635 of wood brought from England.* * Note — This house is now in possession of Miss Cornelia Horsford, of Cambridge, Mass., and was the subject of an article by the late Mrs. Martha J. Lamb, in the November number of the Magazine of American History for 1887. [ 1 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL The next thing I remember is going with my nurse to the Vauxhall Gardens, and riding in a merry-go-round. These Gardens were in Lafayette Place, near our house, and there was a gate on the Lafayette Place side, and another on the Bowery side. Back of our house was an alley that ran through to the Bowery, and there was a livery stable on the Bowery, and one time my brother, who was full of fun and mis- chief, got a pony from the stable and. rode it right down into our kitchen and galloped it around the table and frightened our cook almost to death. Another time he jumped onto a new barrel of flour and went right in, boots and all. He was so mischievous that our nurse kept a suit of his old clothes done up in a bundle, and threatened to put them on him and give him to the old-clothes man when he came along. The beggar girls bother us dreadfully. They come down the steps to the kitchen door and ring the bell and ask for cold victuals ; and sometimes they peek through the window into the basement, which is my nursery. And one day my brother said to one of them, "My dear, I am very sorry, but our victuals are all hot now, but if you will call in about an hour they will be cold." And she went away awfully angry. We moved from Lafayette Place to Brooklyn when I was four years old, but only lived there one year. My brother liked Brooklyn because he could go crabbing on the river, but I was afraid of the goats, which chased one of my friends one day. So we came back to New York, and my father bought a house in Ninth Street. He bought it of a gentleman who lived next door to us, and who had but one lung, and he lived on raw turnips [ 2 ] OF OLD NEW YORK and sugar. Perhaps that is why he had only one lung. I don't know. I am still living in our Ninth Street house. It is a beautiful house and has glass sliding doors with birds of Paradise sitting on palm trees painted on them. But I am afraid we shall never move again. I think it is de- lightful to move. I think it is so nice to shut my eyes at night and not to know where anything will be in the morning, and to have to hunt for my brush and comb and my books and my etceteras, but my mother and my nurse do not feel that way at all. I forgot to say I have a little niece, nearly as old as I am, and she lives in the country. Her mother is my sister, and her father is a clergyman, and I go there in the summer, and she comes here in the winter, and we have things together, like whooping-cough and scarletina. Her name is Ellen and she is very bright. She writes elegant compositions, but I beat her in arithmetic. I hate compositions unless they are on subjects I can look up in books. Beside my little niece, I have a dear cousin near my age. Her father died in New Orleans, and her mother then came to New York to live. She brought all her six children with her, and also the bones of seven other little children of hers, who had died in their infancy. She brought them in a basket to put in the family vault on Long Island. My aunt and my cousins came to New York three years ago. I was in my trundle-bed one night and woke up and saw my mother putting on her hat and shawl, and I began to cry, but she told me to be a good girl and go to sleep, and next day she would take me to see some little cousins. So the next day she took me, but first we [ 3 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL went to Mrs. May's toy store, just below Prince Street on Broadway, to buy some presents for me to give to my three little girl cousins. They were living in a nice house in Bleecker Street, near McDougal Street, and are named Annie Maria and Eliza Jane and Sarah Ann. I took Annie a basket made by some of the people at the Blind Asylum. It was made of cloves strung on wire in diamond shapes, and where the wires crossed there was a glass bead. She keeps her big copper pennies in it. Annie is my dearest friend. She and I are together in school, but now they have moved way up to Fifteenth Street ; but I walk up every morning to meet her and we walk down to school together. Saturdays I go up to Annie's, and on Irving Place, between Fourteenth and Fifteenth Streets, there is a rope walk, and we like to watch the men walk back and forth making the rope. It is very interesting.1 Some Saturdays we go to see our grandmother, who lives with our aunt on Abingdon Square, and she sends Bella her maid out to buy some candy for us, and she tells us about what she did when she lived way down town in Maiden Lane. She is our mother's mother. Annie's parents and my parents were married in the Maiden Lane house, and my father took my mother to his house at 100 Chambers Street to live with him. My grandmother's mother lived in Fletcher Street, and she had a sister who lived on Wall Street, opposite the old Tontine Coffee-House. They loved each othe** very much, and were both very sick and expected to die ; but my great grandmother got up of¥ her sick bed and The Academy of Music mow stands where tli? jope walk was. j r 4 1 OF OLD NEW YORK went down to see her sister, and she died there an hour before her sister died, and they were buried together in their brother's vault in Trinity Church Yard. I love to hear my grandmother tell about these old times. She says Mr. R., who married her aunt, was a Tory; which meant he was for the English in the Revolutionary War. He was a printer and came from England, and Rivington Street was named for him. My father's father lived on Shelter Island, and had twenty slaves, and their names were: Africa, Pomp, London, Titus, Tony, Lum, Cesar, Cuff, Odet, Dido, .Ziller, Hagar, Judith, and Comas, but my grandfather thought it was wicked to keep slaves, so he told them they could be free, but Tony and Comas stayed on with him. After he died Tony and Comas had a fight and Comas cut Tony, and my grandmother told Tony he must forgive Comas, for the Bible said "by so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head," and Tony said, "yes, Missy, de nex' time Comas hit me, I'll heap de coals ob fire on his head and burn him to a cinder." New York is getting very big and building up. I walk some mornings with my nurse before breakfast from our house in Ninth Street up Fifth Avenue to Twenty-third Street, and down Broadway home. An officer stands in front of the House of Refuge on Madison Square, ready to arrest bad people, and he looks as if he would like to find some. Fifth Avenue is very muddy above Eighteenth Street, and there are no blocks of houses as there are downtown, but only two or three on a block. Last Saturday we had a picnic on the grounds of Mr. Waddell's country seat [ 5 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL way up Fifth Avenue,2 and it was so muddy I spoiled my new light cloth gaiter boots. I have a beautiful green and black changeable silk visite,3 but my mother said it looked like rain and I could not wear it, and it never rained a drop after all. It has a pinked ruffle all around it and a sash behind. Miss Carew makes my things. She is an old maid, and very fussy, and Ellen and I don't like her. She wears little bunches of curls behind her ears, and when she is cutting out she screws up her mouth, and we try not to laugh, and my mother says Miss Carew is well born and much thought of and only works for the best families. There is another person called Miss Piatt who comes to sew carpets, and although we don't despise her, which would be very wicked, for my mother says she comes of an excellent old Long Island family, yet Ellen and I don't like to have her use our forks and drink out of our cups. She is very tall and thin and has a long neck that reminds Ellen and me of a turkey gobbler, and her thumb-nails are all flattened from hammering down carpets, and she puts up her front hair in little rings and sticks big pins through them. Ellen and I try to pick out a nicked cup for her to use so that we can recognize it and avoid it. Mr. Brower makes my shoes and brings them home on Saturday night and stays and tries them on. My sisters go to Cantrell on the Bowery, near Bleecker Street. The wife of one of my brothers thinks I am too fond of pretty clothes, and she sent me a Valentine about a kitten wanting to have pretty stripes like the 2 Corner of Thirty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue, where the Brick Church now stands. 3 A visite was a loose fitting, unlined coat. [ 6 ] Van Dyck's Portrait of James, Duke of York for whom the City was named. Courtesy of Metropolitan Museum of Art OF OLD NEW YORK tiger, and how the tiger told the kitten that she had a great deal nicer life than he did, out in the cold, and that she ought to be contented. I will copy it just as she wrote it. I don't know whether she made it all up, but she made up the verse about me. This is it: A kitten one day, In a weak little voice To a tiger did say : "How much I rejoice That I am permitted In you to behold One of my own family, So great and so bold ! I'd walk fifty miles, sir, On purpose to see A sight so refreshing And pleasant to mel "With your gay, striped dress, You must make a great show, And be very much courted Wherever you go ! Every beast, great and small, In the forest must say, 'I wish I were a tiger, So showy and gay !" The tiger, half dozing, Then opened his eye, And thus to the kitten He deigned a reply. "You envious, foolish And weak little thing, Know that your size, like mine, Doth advantages bring. "Though you have not strength, Nor a gay, striped dress, You have comforts around I should love to possess. "Though I'm powerful and bold, I'm the terror of all I Alas ! every one hates me And flees at my call. [ 9 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL "You may be very useful By catching the mice ; Thus make the folks love you And give you a slice "Of their meat, and a place Nice and warm where to sleep, While, friendless and cold, I my wanderings keep 1 "Now, envy no more Fine looks and gay dress, But strive to be useful, Make happy and bless "The friends who 're around you By kindness and care, And you'll find in return Love and happiness there." Methinks you, my dear Kitty, My tale can explain ; If not, I'll unfold it When I see you again. August 15. I got so tired doing so much thinking and writing in my diary that I waited to think up some more to say. My father is a very old gentleman. He was born before the Revolutionary War. I have three sisters who are nearly as old as my mother. We have the same father, but different mothers, so they are not quite my own sisters ; but they say they love me just the same as if we were own. Two of them got married and went away to live with their husbands, but one whose name begins with C is not married. I will call her Sister C in my diary. She is educating me. I love my music lessons. I began them when I was seven years old. Our piano is in the middle room be- tween the parlor and dining-room, and my teacher shuts the sliding doors, and Ellen peeked through the crack to see what I was doing, but she was only six years old. [ 10 ] OF OLD NEW YORK My teacher is very fond of me. Last year my sister let me play at a big musical party she had, and I played a tune from "La Fille du Regiment," with variations. It took me a good while to learn it, and the people all liked it and said it must be very hard. My mother has had all my pieces bound in a book and my name put on the cover. I love my music first, and then my arithmetic. Some- times our class has to stand up and do sums in our heads. Our teacher rattles off like this, as fast as ever she can, "Twice six, less one, multiply by two, add eight, divide by three. How much?" I love to do that. I have a friend who comes to school with me, named Mary L. She lives on Ninth Street, between Broadway and the Bowery. She and I began our lessons together and sat on a bench that had a little cupboard underneath for our books. She has a nurse named Sarah. Some- times Ellen and I go there and have tea in her nursery. She has a lot of brothers and they tease us. One time we went, and my mother told us to be polite and not to take preserves and cake but once. But we did, for we had raspberry jam, and we took it six times, but the plates were dolls' plates, and of course my mother meant tea plates. My brother laughed and said we were tempted beyond what we were able to bear, whatever that means. He says it is in the Bible. I hate my history lessons. Ellen likes history be- cause she knows it all and does not have to study her lesson, but one day our teacher asked her to recite the beginning of the chapter, and she had only time to see there was a big A at the heading, and she thought it was about Columbus discovering America and began to recite at a great rate, but the teacher said, "wrong," and it [ 11 1 VALENTINE'S MANUAL was about Andrew Marvell. Once a girl in our class asked our teacher if what we learned in history was true, or only just made up. I suppose she thought it was good for the mind, like learning poetry. I meant to write about the time three years ago, when I went with my father to Brady's Daguerrean Gallery, corner of Tenth Street and Broadway, to have our picture taken. My father was seventy-four, and I was seven. It is a very pretty picture, but people won't believe he isn't my grandfather. He is sitting down and I am standing be- side him, and his arm is around me, and my hand hangs down and shows the gold ring on my fore-finger. He gave it to me at New Years to remember him by. I wore it to church and took off my glove so that Jane S., who sits in the pew next to me, would see it, but she never looked at it. We introduced ourselves to each other by holding up our hymn books with our names on the cover, so now we speak. Ellen and I are afraid of the sexton in our church. He looks so fierce and red. Once in a while my sister takes me down to the Brick Church on Beekman Street, where our family went be- fore I was born. We generally go on Thanksgiving Day. Dr. Spring is the minister. He married my parents and baptized all their children. Mr. Hull is the sexton, and he puts the coals in the foot-stoves in the pews. Some- times the heat gives out and the lady gets up in her pew and waves her handkerchief and Mr. Hull comes and gets her stove and fills it again. When church begins he fastens a chain across the street to keep carriages away. A man used to stand in front of the pulpit and read two lines of the hymn and start the tune and all the [ 12 ] j& jS. dearie ptasljxrtgkm Leaving the harbor of New York, Dec. 3rd, 1918, for the Peace Con- ference at Paris with President Wil- son and party on board. This event marked the first occasion in which a President of the United States ever absented himself from the coun- try while holding office. OF OLD NEW YORK people would sing with him. He had a tuning-fork, and used to snap it and it gave him the key to start the tune on, but that was before I was born. Afterwards they had a choir, and my mother and one of my sisters sang in it one time. We are a musical family, all except my father ; but he went with my sister to hear Jenny Lind in Castle Garden, and when she sang "I know that my Redeemer liveth," the tears ran down his face. My sister took me too, and I heard her sing "Coming thro' the rye" and "John Anderson, my Joe," and a bird song, and she is called the Swedish Nightingale, because she can sing just like one. September 21. My parents went up to Saratoga in August for two weeks, to drink the water. They always stay at the Grand Union Hotel. Some time they will take me. It takes my mother a long time to pack, particularly her caps. She has a cold that comes on the nineteenth day of every August. She calls it her peach cold, and says it comes from the fuzz on the peaches she preserves and pickles.4 It. lasts six weeks and is very hard to bear. It makes her sneeze and her eyes run, and it is too bad, for she has sweet brown eyes and is very beautiful, and when she was a girl she was called "the pink of Maiden Lane," where she lived. This summer I went up to my sister's, my own sister, at Old Church. Maggy, my nurse, took me in a carriage from Hathorn's Livery Stable on University Place, to Catherine Slip on the East River, where we get into a steamboat — sometimes it is the Cricket, and sometimes 4 Now known as Hay Fever. [ 17 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL the Cataline — and we sail up the sound to the landing where we get off to go to Old Church, and then we get into the stage-coach to ride to my sister's parsonage. I was so wild to get there and to see Ellen and the rest of them that I could hardly wait to have the driver let down the steps for me to get in, and put them up again. I just love it at Old Church. We play outdoors all day; sometimes in the barn and the hayloft, and some- times by a brook across the road behind a house where three ladies live who have never married, although they have a vine called matrimony on their porch, and they are very good to us children and let us run through their house and yard. On Sundays it is so quiet we can hear every- thing they say, and one morning we heard Miss E. say, "Ann, do you think it is going to rain? If I thought it was going to rain I would take my parasol, but if I thought it was going to shine I would take my parasol- ette." Every year there is a fair at the Landing, and of course the minister has to go, and so my sister goes too and takes us. There is an old wagon in the barn beside the carriage, and sometimes we all pile in with my nurse and my sister, and go down to bathe in the salt water. I wish we lived nearer to it and could go in every day. It is lovely on Sunday at Old Church. My brother-in- law is in the pulpit, and his pew is in the corner of the church, and there are two pews in front of us. On pleasant days when the window is open behind us, we can hear the bees buzzing and smell the lilac bush; and out on the salt meadows in front of the church, we some- times, alas ! hear old Dan F. swearing awfully at his [ 18 ] OF OLD NEW YORK oxen as he is cutting his salt grass, which it is very wicked of him to cut on the Sabbath. He has only one eye and wears a black patch over the other one, and Ellen and I are afraid of him and run fast when we pass his house. A nice gentleman sits in front of us in church and brings little sugar plums and puts them on the seat beside him for Katy (Ellen's sister) to pick up, as she is very little and it keeps her quiet. One time this gentleman went to sleep in church, and his mouth was open and Katy had a rose in her little hand and she dropped it into his mouth, but he did not mind, because she was so cunning. In the front pew of the three a family of two parents and three sons and a daughter sit. They are farmers, and they stomp up the aisle in their big hob-nailed boots, and the father stands at the door of the pew and shoves them all in ahead of him just as he shoos in his hens, and then he plumps himself down and the pew creaks and they make an awful noise. The people in Old Church are very different from our church people in New York, but my sister says they are very kind and we must not make fun of them. Once a year they give her a donation party, and it is very hard for her for all the furniture has to be moved to make room for the people. They bring presents of hams and chickens and other things. I could write lots about Old Church and the good times I have there. My sister's father-in-law is the Governor of the State, and sometimes he and his wife drive over and spend the day with my sister and her husband, who is their son. Once when my sister called us to come and get dressed as they were going to arrive soon, Ellen said to me, "You needn't hurry; he isn't your [ 19 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL grandfather." She felt so proud to think he was the Governor. But my father is her grandfather too, and he is much finer looking than the Governor; and my mother says she is very proud of my father for he stands very high in the community — whatever that means. One time I was very angry with my father. It was about the Ravels. October 1. I stopped to get rested a fortnight ago and then I forgot about my diary. I will now tell about the Ravels. They act in a theater, called Niblo's Theater, and it is corner of Broad- way and Prince Street. My biggest own brother goes there with some of his friends to see the plays, and he said he would take me to see the Ravels. But when my father found out about it he would not let me go. He said he did not think it was right for Christians to go to the theater. I went out on our front balcony and walked back and forth and cried so much I hurt my eyes. Now I must tell about this brother of mine, for he has gone away off to California. He went last February with five other young gentlemen. When he was twenty-one years old he joined a fire company, and it was called "The Silk Stocking Hose Company" because so many young men of our best families were in it. But they didn't wear their silk stockings when they ran with the engine, for I remember seeing my brother one night when he came home from a fire, and he had on a red flannel shirt and a black hat that looked like pictures of helmets the soldiers wear. He took cold and had pain in his leg, and Dr. Washing- ton came and he asked my mother for a paper of pins [ 20 ] OF OLD NEW YORK and he tore off a row and scratched my brother's leg with the. pins and then painted it with some dark stuff to make it smart, and it cured him. Last year my brother had the scarlet fever. His room was on the top floor of our house, and when dear old Dr. Johnston came to see him my mother felt sorry to take him up so many stairs, but he said, "Oh, doctors and hod-carriers can go anywhere." He lives on Four- teenth Street and his daughter comes to school with me. Last week my sister took me to see Helen R. who is very sick with scarlet fever. They thought she would die, and she was prayed for in school, and now she is getting well. We went up in her room and she looked so funny in bed with all her hair cut off. She lives in Tenth Street. Before my brother went to California, he wrote in my album, and this is what he wrote: "My sister, thou hast just begun To glide the stream of Time, And as it wafts thee onward Towards thy glorious youthful prime, Oh, may the fleeting moments Which compose thy early years Be so improved that future days Will not look back in tears I" My album is a beautiful book, bound in pink kid. I begged one of my brothers (not own) for one, and he gave it to me and wrote lovely poetry on the first page. I don't understand it all, but it sounds like music. I will copy it here in my diary : [ 23 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL ''Spotless is the page and bright, By heedless fingers yet untarnished; Ne'er the track of fancy's flight Has the virgin leaflet garnished ! Sweet the impress of the heart Stamp'd in words of true affection ! This be every writer's part ! Love give every pen direction !" October 15. My eyes are so bad that I could not write in my diary, and Maggy takes me to Dr. Samuel Elliott's, corner of Amity Street and Broadway, and he puts something in that smarts awfully. He has two rooms, and all the people sit in the front room, waiting, and his office is in the back room; and they have black patches over their eyes — some of them — and sit very quiet and solemn. On each side of the folding doors are glass cases filled with stuffed birds and I know them all by heart now and wish he would get some new ones. When I was four years old I had my tonsils cut out by Dr: Horace Green, who lives on Clinton Place. My nurse asked him to give them to her, so he put them in a little bottle of alcohol and sealed it up, and she keeps it in the nursery closet, and sometimes she shows it to me to amuse me, but it doesn't, only I don't like to hurt her feelings. My grandmother gave me a five- dollar gold piece for sitting so still when they were cut out. November 8. My diary has stopped on account of my eyes, and I have not studied much. Ellen, is here, and we have had fun. We have been down to Staten Island to one of my sisters. She has ice [ 24 ] OF OLD NEW YORK cream on Thursdays, so we try to go then. One day I ate it so fast it gave me a pain in my forehead, and my brother-in-law said I must warm it over the register, and I did, and it all melted, and then they all laughed and said he was joking, but they gave me some more. My brother-in-law is a dear old gentleman, but he is very deaf. He has a lovely place and every kind of fruit on it, and there is a fountain in front with pretty fish in it. The farmer's name is Andrew, and when he goes to market, Ellen and I go with him in the buggy ; and we always ask him to take us past Polly Bodine's house. She set fire to a house and burned up ever so many people, and I guess she was hung for it, because there is a wax figure of her in Barnum's Museum. Maggy takes us there sometimes, and it is very in- structive, for there are big glasses to look through, and you can see London and Paris and all over Europe, only the people look like giants, and the horses as big as elephants. Once we stayed to see the play. Maggy says whenever the statue on St. Paul's Church hears the City Hall clock strike twelve, it comes down. I am crazy to see it come down, but we never get there at the right time. My mother remembers when the City Hall was being built; and she and Fanny S. used to get pieces of the marble and heat it in their ovens and carry it to school in their mufTs to keep their hands warm. She loves to tell about her school days, and I love to hear her. December 10. My eyes are better and I will write a little while I can. [ 25 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL Ellen and I went out shopping alone. We went to Bond's dry-goods store on Sixth Avenue, just below Ninth Street, to buy a yard of calico to make an apron for Maggy's birthday. We hope she will like it. It is a good quality, for we pulled the corner and twitched it as we had seen our mothers do, and it did not tear. Ellen and I call each other Sister Cynthia and Sister Juliana, and when we bought the calico, Ellen said, "Sis- ter Cynthia, have you any change? I have only a fifty- dollar bill papa left me this morning," and the clerk laughed. I guess he knew Ellen was making it up ! There is a bakery kept by a Mr. Walduck on the corner of Sixth Avenue and Eighth Street, and they make delicious cream puffs, and when I have three cents to spare, I run down there right after breakfast, before school begins, and buy one and eat it there. On the corner of Broadway and Ninth Street is a chocolate store kept by Felix Effray, and I love to stand at the window and watch the wheel go round. It has three white stone rollers and they grind the chocolate into paste all day long. Down Broadway, below Eighth Street is Dean's candy store, and they make molasses candy that is the best in the city. Some- times we go down to Wild's, that is way down near Spring Street, to get his iceland moss drops, good for colds. My mother says Stuart's candy store down on Green- wich and Chambers Street used to be the store in her day. When she was a little girl in 1810, old Kinloch Stuart and his wife Agnes made the candy in a little bit of a back room and sold it in the front room, and sometimes they used to let my mother go in and stir it. [ 26 ] OF OLD NEW YORK After they died their sons, R. and L. Stuart, kept up the candy store in the same place, and it is there still. When my mother lived at 19 Maiden Lane, Miss Rebecca Bininger and her brother lived across the way from her, and they had a store in the front of their home and sold fine groceries, and their sitting room was behind the store. They were Moravians and they used to ask my mother sometimes to come over and sing hymns to them, and my mother says they were so clean and neat that even their pot-hooks and trammels shone like silver, and by and by Miss Rebecca would go into the store and my mother would hear paper rustling, and Miss Rebecca would come back and bring her a paper rilled with nuts and raisins for a present. Sometimes my mother gives us a shilling to go and get some ice cream. We can get a half plate for six- pence, and once Ellen dared to ask for a half plate with two spoons, and they gave it to us, but they laughed at us, and then we each had three cents left. That was at Wagner's, on the other side of Broadway, just above Eighth Street. . There is another ice cream saloon on the corner of Broadway and Waverly Place, called Thomp- son's. I hope Ellen will stay all winter. She is full of pranks, and smarter than I am if she is younger, and I hope we will have lots of snow. When there is real good sleigh- ing, my sister hires a stage sleigh and takes me and a lot of my schoolmates a sleigh ride down Broadway to the Battery and back. The sleigh is open and very long ; and has long seats on each side, and straw on the floor to keep our feet warm, and the sleigh bells sound so cheerful. We see some of our friends taking their after- [ 27 ] V ALEN T [ N E'S M A N U A L noon walk on the sidewalk, and I guess they wish they were in our sleigh ! Stages run through Bleecker Street and Eighth Street and Ninth Street right past our house, and it puts me right to sleep when I come home from the country to hear them rumble along over the cobble stones again. There is a line on Fourteenth Street too, and that is the highest uptown. I roll my hoop and jump the rope in the afternoon, sometimes in the Parade Ground on Washington Square, and sometimes in Union Square. Union Square has a high iron railing around it, and a fountain in the middle. My brother says he remembers when it was a pond and the farmers used to water their horses in it. Our Ninth Street stages run down Broadway to the Battery, and when I go down to the ferry to go to Staten Island, they go through Whitehall Street, and just opposite the Bowl- ing Green on Whitehall Street, there is a sign over a store, "Lay and Hatch," but they don't sell eggs. January 2, 1850. Yesterday was New Year's Day, and I had lovely presents. We had 139 callers, and I have an ivory tablet and I write all their names down in it. Some of the gentlemen come together and don't stay more than a minute ; but some go into the back room and take some oysters and coffee and cake, and stay and talk. My cousin is always the first to come, and sometimes he comes before we are ready, and we find him sitting behind the door, on the end of the sofa, because he is bashful. The gentlemen keep dropping in all day and until long after I have gone to bed; and the horses look tired, and the livery men make a lot of money. [ 28 ] The Old Middle Church in Nassau Street, built 1729, taken- down 1882. Used as Post Office from 1845 to 1875. From the only original print known, in the collection of wllliam lorino andrews OF OLD NEW YORK Next January we shall be half through the nineteenth century. I hope I shall live to see the next century, but I don't want to be alive when the year 2000 comes, for my Bible teacher says the world is coming to an end then, and perhaps sooner. January 14. My mother said she could not afford to get me another pair of kid gloves now, but my sister took' me down to Seaman and Muir's, next door to the hospital on Broad- way, and bought me a pair. I like salmon color, but she said they would not be useful. Strang and Adriance is next door to Seaman and Muir's and we go there some- times. We get our stockings and flannels at S. and L. Holmes' store, near Bleecker Street. They are two brothers and they keep German cologne. Rice and Smith have an elegant store on the corner of Waverly Place, and they keep German cologne too. We go sometimes to Stewart's store, way down on the corner of Chambers Street, but I like best to go to Arnold and Constable's on Canal Street, they keep elegant silks and satins and velvets, and my mother always goes there to get her best things. She says they wear well and can be made over for me or for Ellen sometimes. My Staten Island sister gave me a nice silk dress, only it is a soft kind that does not rustle. I have a green silk that I hate, and the other day I walked too near the edge of the sidewalk, and one of the stages splashed mud on it, and I am so glad, for it can't be cleaned. On Canal Street, near West Broadway, is a box store, where my mother goes for boxes. They have all kinds, [ 31 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL from beautiful big band boxes for hats and long ones for shawls, down to little bits of ones for children, and all covered with such pretty paper. Maggy, my nurse, is a very good woman, and reads ever so many chapters in her Bible every Sunday, and she said one day, "Well, Moses had his own troubles with these Children of Israel." I suppose she was thinking about the troubles she has with us children. I have a little bit of a hymn book that was given to one of my sisters (not own) by her affectionate mother. It was printed in 1811 and is called "The Children's Hymn Book," and some of the hymns are about children sleep- ing in church, and they are very severe, and I don't have to learn them, but Maggy teaches me some pretty verses sometimes to sing. I will copy down one of the hymns about sleeping in church. It is called "The sin and pun- ishment of children who sleep in the House of God." This is the hymn : Sleeper awake! for God is here Attend his word, his anger fear; For while you sleep his eyes can see, His arm of power can punish thee. This day is God's, the day He blest, His temple this, His holy rest; And can you here recline your head, And make the pew or seat your bed? Jehovah speaks, then why should you Shut up your eyes and hearing too? In anger He might stop your breath, And make you sleep the sleep of death! Dear children then of sleep beware; To hear the sermon be your care; For if you all God's message mind, For sleep no season will you find. [ 32 ] OF OLD NEW YORK Remember Entycleus of old, He slept while Paul of Jesus told; In sleep he fell, in Acts 'tis said, That he was taken up for dead. Hear this ye sleepers and be wise, And shut no more your slumbering eyes, For 'tis an awful truth to tell That you can never sleep in Hell! There is another hymn called Hell, but my mother does not like me to learn it. She thinks it is too severe. We use the book "Watt's & Select" in our church, and I know lots of them. It is the University Place Church. This is the hymn called Hell : There is a pit beneath the grave, The same into which Satan fell ; God made it in His holy wrath ; And called the horrid dungeon Hell. There burns the everlasting flame, Kindled by His almighty breath, And sinners in that pit endure The vengeance of eternal death. There is more of it but these hymns were written long ago, and we don't have such awful ones now. There is one hymn I have learnt, and in it, it says : Like young Abijah may I see That good things may be found in me. and my sister says when she was a little girl and learned it, she always thought that when Abijah died, they cut him open and found candies in him. January 20. Last Sunday my mother let me go with Maggy to her church. It is called the Scotch Seceders' Church. Mr. Harper is the minister. The church is in Houston Street. In the pew were her father and mother. They live in [ 33 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL Greenwich village, and once she took me there, and her mother gave me elegant bread and butter with brown sugar thick on it. Maggy has a sister married to a weaver, and his name is George Ross, and he is growing rich by buying land and selling it, and soon he is to be an alderman. Her other sister is Matilda, and she is my sister's maid. Our other servants are colored people. The man waiter is colored, and we hear him asking our cook on Sunday if she is going to Zion or to Bethel to church, and her name is Harriet White, but she is very black. We have a Dutch oven in our kitchen beside the range, and in the winter my mother has mince pies made, and several baked at once, and they are put away and heated up when we want one. My mother makes elegant cake, and when she makes rich plum cake, like wedding cake, she sends it down to Shaddle's on Bleecker Street to be baked. January 25. This is my mother's birthday and my grandmother came to dinner. She is forty-nine to-day, and I hope she will live to be a hundred. She has a lovely voice and sings old songs, and plays them herself. She went to a big school in Litchfield kept by a Miss Pierce, but was only there three months. Her father thought it was too cold for her to stay there. While she was there she boarded at Dr. Lyman Beecher's and his wife died, and he preached her funeral sermon, and my mother heard him. She says a Mr. Nettleton came there to preach once, and at breakfast he and Dr. Beecher had mugs of cider with pearlash in it, and they heated a [ 34 ] OF OLD NEW YORK poker and put it in the cider to make it fizz. It must have been horrid. My oldest aunt went to Miss Pierce's school, and got acquainted with a young gentleman who was at Judge Gould's Law School in Litchfield, and she married him in 1811, and he became a clergyman, and Queen Vic- toria ordered him to come to Edinburgh to try to get an estate. That was in 1837. He took my aunt and their children and went away in a ship, and it took them ninety days to cross the Atlantic Ocean, and when they get the estate they will live in the castle, and my mother and I will go and visit them. My aunt was sixteen and my uncle was nineteen when they were married, and he was born in Beaufort in South Carolina, and had a good deal of money. I do hope they will live in the castle! This, is called a law suit they are having to get the estate. This aunt took dancing lessons when she was a girl of Mr. Julius Metz, and she danced the shawl dance, and was very graceful, and she and my mother took music lessons on the piano, of Mr. Adam Geib, and he played the organ in Trinity Church, and he and his brother George Geib sold pianos. A young lady in Edinburgh told one of my Scotch cousins that she supposed all the Americans were copper colored, and he said, "Well, you know my father is a Scotchman, so that is why I am white." February 14. I have had a lot of Valentines to-day. Once when I was six years old I teased one of my brothers (not own) for a valentine, and he sent me one written on a sheet of lovely note paper with a rose bud [ 35 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL in the corner. It is pretty long to copy, and I don't know all it means, but it sounds tinkly, like music. This is it : Little Kitty one day, In her wheedling way, With her kisses and smiles And twenty such wiles, Did a valentine request ; That somehow or other My brain I should bother And verses indite In stupidity's spite, To comply with her simple behest. Now, though it may seem But a trifling affair To fill up a ream Of paper so fair With words that will jingle in rhyme, Yet to put them together In proper connection And give them a meaning And useful direction Wit is quite as essential as time. And here, little Kitty, Will please to observe That speech, to be witty, Must ever deserve The aids of reflection and sense ; And careless, gay prattle And voluble talk, Though making much rattle Will scarcely be thought Very witty or worthy defense ! But as verse that is fired With passion and truth, From a fancy inspired By beauty and worth, Hath a charm that no heart can resist, So the thoughts of a mind That's calm, clear and pure, When they utterance find, In words plain and sure, Are generally reckoned the best ! [ 36 ] ard Livingston, third Mayor of New York, 1801-3. Painted from life by John Trumbull. From the original in the City Hall OF OLD NEW YORK This brother is a lawyer, and now he has gone to California too, to a place called Eureka. He has a lovely voice, and so has my own brother too, who went to California last year, and they used to sing rounds with my sister. When my mother sings one of her songs, she has to cross her left hand over her right on the piano to play some high notes, and make what my teacher says is "a turn," and it is beautiful. This song is called "The Wood Robin," and another one begins, "Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer." My mother knows ever so many songs, and some of them were sung before she was born. One of them is called "The Maid of Lodi," and another is "The Old Welsh Harper," and another, "A Social Dish of Tea," and a lot of others. April 12. I have a schoolmate who lives across the street, and her name is Minnie B. Her father is a doctor, and she has a brother, Sam, and he is fifteen years old and big, and to-day I ran over to see her, and Sam opened the front door, and when he saw me, he picked me up in his arms to tease me, but he didn't see his aunt Sarah who was coming downstairs, and when she saw him she was very severe, and said, "Samuel, put that child down right away, and come and eat your lunch." I don't dislike Sam, but I think he was very rude to-day, and I am glad his aunt Sarah made him behave himself. Minnie B. and Lottie G., who lives on the corner of University Place and Ninth Street, and Mary P., who lives on Ninth Street across Fifth Avenue, and I have a sewing society, and we sew for a fair, but we don't make much money. [ 39 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL But four years ago there was a dreadful famine in Ireland, and we gave up our parlor and library and dining room for two evenings for a fair for them, and all my schoolmates and our friends made things, and we sent the poor Irish people over three hundred dollars. My brothers made pictures in pen and ink, and called them charades, and they sold for fifty cents apiece ; like this : a pen, and a man, and a ship, and called it, "a desirable art" Penmanship. The brother who used to be so mis- chievous, is studying hard now to be an engineer and build railroads. He draws beautiful bridges and aque- ducts. One Fourth of July, my father got a carriage from Hathorn's stable and took my mother and my sister and my brother and me out to see the High Bridge. It is built with beautiful arches, and brings the Croton water to New York. My brother says he remembers riding to the place where the Croton aqueduct crossed Harlem River by a syphon before the Bridge was built, and the man who took charge of it opened a jet at the lowest point, and sent a two-inch stream up a hundred feet. My mother says when she was young, everybody drank the Manhattan water. Everybody had a cistern for rain water for washing, in the back-yards. And when she lived in Maiden Lane, the servants had to go up to the corner of Broadway and get the drinking water from the pump there. It was a great bother, and so when my grandfather built his new house at 19 Maiden Lane, he asked the aldermen if he might run a pipe to the kitchen of his house from the pump at the corner of Broadway, and they said he could, and he had a faucet in the kitchen, and it was the first house in the city to have drinking water in it, and after that several gentlemen [ 40 ] OF OLD NEW YORK called on my grandfather and asked to see his invention. My mother says the Manhattan water was brackish and not very pleasant to drink. My grandfather had ships that went to Holland and he brought skates home to his children, and they used to skate on the Canal that is now Canal Street and on the pond where the Tombs is now, and my mother says that the poor people used to get a rib of beef and polish it and drive holes in it and fasten it on their shoes to skate on. The Canal ran from Broadway to the North River, and had a picket fence on both sides of it, and there were only three houses on its side, and they were little white wooden houses with green blinds. My grand- father used to tell his children that whichever one would be up early enough in the morning could ride with him before breakfast in his gig as far as the stone bridge, and that was the bridge at Canal Street and Broadway. My grandfather bought the lot for his new house from Mr. Peter Sharp, the father of my mother's school- mate, Fanny. The lot was 28 feet wide, but the house was only 25 feet wide, and there was an alley 3 feet wide that was used by the shop people to get to the kitchen at the back of the house. This Mr. Sharp was an alderman and he was a Demo- crat, and my grandfather was a Federalist, and they used to exchange their newspapers so as to read both kinds, and sometimes when my mother was waiting for Fanny to go to school, at her house, Mr. Sharp would throw down the paper and say a very wicked word about the Federalists. Another alderman is Mr. John Yates Cebra, a cousin of my mother's. He lives on Cebra Avenue on Staten Island, and once I went there with [ 41 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL my sister in her barouche and the grays. . The grays are beautiful horses. July 15. I have not written in my diary for ever so long, but now school has just closed for the summer, and I have more time. We had a new study last winter, something to strengthen our memories. The teacher was a Miss Peabody from Boston, and she has a sister married to a Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne, who writes beautiful stories. We had charts to paint on, and stayed after school to paint them, and one-half of the page was a country and the other half was for the people who lived in that country, and the country was painted one color, and the people another color, and this is the way it will help us to remember; for Mesopotamia was yellow, and Abraham, who lived there, was royal purple, and so I shall never forget that he lived in Mesopotamia, but I may not remember after all which was yellow, the man or the country, but I don't suppose that is really any matter as long as I don't forget where he lived. We did not study it long, but it was fun to stay and paint after school. Professor Hume teaches us natural science, and every Wednesday he lectures to us, and one day he brought the eye of an ox and took it all apart and showed us how it was like our own eyes. And another time he brought an electric battery, and we joined our hands, ever so many of us, and the end girl took hold of the handle of the battery, and we all felt the shock, and it tingled and pricked. [ 42 ] Samuel JRusadI 1S47 A beautiful vessel, plenty of light canvas for moderate weather but heavily sparred and every inch a Clipper. Built by Brown & Bell and en- gaged in the China Tea Trade. In a run from Canton in 1851 she sailed 6,780 miles in 30 days, her best day being 328 miles. ( ' Nat ' ' B. Palmer was in com- mand. She was named for the foun- der of Eussell & Co., a great China firm in the early 40 's and with whom A. A. Low and his brother began their career as merchants and ship owners. Collection Mrs. A. A. Low. OF OLD NEW YORK Sometimes he talks on chemistry, and brings glass jars and pours different things into them and makes beautiful colors. He told us we could aways remember the seven colors of the rainbow by the word, v i b g y o r. Professor Edwardes has been teaching us French. He is a little bit of a man, with a big head, and gray hair and a broken nose, and when he recites one of La Fontaine's Fables, he says, "L'animal vora-a-ace," and rolls up his eyes until you can only see the whites of them. Mr. Roy comes from the Union Seminary on University Place, to teach us Latin. August 6. This is my birthday again, and I am now eleven years old. School will begin again in September and so I will write some more in my diary while I have time. I think I will tell about the school my mother went to. The first school she went to was in Fair Street, and that is now Fulton Street, east of Broadway. It was kept by a Mrs. Merrill, an old lady who took a few little children, and each child brought her own little chair. Then my mother went to Mr. Pickett's, and she says that was the school of that time. He had two sons who taught in the school. I will tell about it just as she has written it down for me. "The school at first was at 148 Chambers Street, on the south side near Greenwich Street. Mr. Pickett's resi- dence was in front and the school buildings were in the yard behind, running up three stories, with a private side entrance for the scholars, and a well in the yard. The house was brick, painted yellow, but the school buildings were of wood. The first and second floors [ 47 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL were for the boys, and the third for the girls, beautifully fitted up, and hardwood floors. On the wall in the four corners of the girls' room were oval places painted blue, and on them in gilt letters were inscribed, Atten- tion, Obedience, Industry, Punctuality. Mr. Pickett's desk was in the center of the room. The desks were painted mahogany color, and put in groups of four, facing each other. Wooden benches without backs were screwed to the floor. On top of the desks were little frames with glass fronts for the copies for writing, and the copies were slid in at the sides. Some of them were, Attention to study, Beauty soon decays, Command your- self, Death is inevitable, Emulation is noble, Favor is deceitful, Good humor pleases, etcetera. Quill pens were used, which Mr. Pickett made himself." Some of the girls who went to school with my mother had awfully funny long names. One was Aspasia Sera- phina Imogene and their last name was Bogardus. She had ten brothers and sisters, and these were some of their names : Maria Sabina, Wilhelmina Henrietta, Laurentina Adaminta, Washington Augustus, Alonzo Leonidas Agamemnon, Napoleon LePerry Barrister. There were eleven children, and their mother named them after people she had read about in novels. It must have been funny to hear their nurse call them all to come to dinner. My name is Catherine Elizabeth. I don't like it very much. It makes me think of Henrietta Maria and Marie Antoinette and all those old queens with long names we study about in history, but my mother calls me Katy, and sometimes Katrintje, which is the Dutch for "little Katy." [ 48 ] OF OLD NEW YORK Some other schools in New York now are Mme. Canda's on Lafayette Place, Mme. Okill's on Eighth Street, Mme. Chegary's, the Misses Gibson on the east side of Union Square, Miss Green's on Fifth Avenue, just above Washington Square, and Spingler Institute on the west side of Union Square, just below Fifteenth Street. On the corner of Fifteenth Street next to Spingler Institute is the Church of the Puritans. Dr. Cheever is the minister, and he and the church people are called a long name, which means that they think slavery is wicked, and they help the black slaves that come from the South, to get to Canada where they will be free. N. B. — My mother has read my diary and corrected the spelling, and says it is very good for a little girl. She has written down her memories of old New York, for me, and she was born in 1801, and can remember back to 1805, some things. I 49 VALENTINE'S MANUAL t n e New -York Weekly JOURNAL Containing ihe freftejl Advices Foreign } and Dome flick. MUN DAT November 12, 1735. I Mr. Zcugcr. Nccrt the following in your next, and you'Jl oblige vour Fnend, CJTO. Mird temporum felicitas uhi f'ntiri qua vein qn& fend as die ere licit. Tacit. THE Liberty of the Prefs is a Subject of the great- eft TrnnnrtaT*?, nnd in which every Individual is as much concern'd as he is in any other Part of Liberty : Therefore it will not be improper to commumca'e to the I'ublick the Senti- ments of a lire excellent Writer upon this Poin\ fuch is the Elegance and Pcrfpicuity of his Writings, fech the inmitjble Force cf his Rcp.fr) it will be difficult '.o fay 31 new that he lus not (aid, fay that much worfe whi-: faid. There are two Sorts of Monarchic?., an abfolute and a limited one. In the firfl, the Liberty of thePrcfs cp.n never be maintained, it is incoiifillont with it , for What abfolute Monarch would fuller anv Subjofl to animadvert on his Action*., when it is in his Pow- er to declare the Crime, and to nomi- nee the Puni'hmciii ? This wodd make it vcrvdsniero'-H to exercifefuch a Liberty ptffidcs the Ob'/cfc a;»nft which tho'ij Per. j n:u!t be directed, is v.n?, that bcvik» wheel as they can use, we give the sizes below, in proportion to a man's height : Men from 4 ft. 10 in. to 5 ft 2 in. high, can use a 3S in. wheel and touch the floor with both feet. Men from 5 ft. 3 in. to 5 ft. 6 in. high can use a -11 in. wheel and touch the floor with both feet. Men from 5 ft. 7 in. to 5 ft. hitrh can use a 45 in. wheel and touch the floor with both feet. Men from 5 ft. 10 in. to 6 ft. can use a 48 in. wheel and touch the floor with both feet. As all will be desirous of getting the Velocipede that will run the easiest, go the fastest, and turn the shortest, we invite all to send for "Circular giving fall description, TOMLINSON, DEMAREST, & CO., Fine Caeeiage BtJiLDEss. 620 BROADWAY. New Yoek. Out of this came the bicycle, the motor cycle and the automobile OF OLD NEW YORK ning it out of the house, turning it around and running it back "tongue in." "Harry Howard Hose laid" in Christopher Street and it was here the above solemn farewell ceremony was witnessed. Thackeray and the Bozvery Boy When visiting New York, Thackeray expressed a wish to meet a Bowery Boy. A friend took him to the Bow- ery and suggested that he get into conversation with one of the boys. Approaching one, Thackeray made an effort to begin a conversation by saying, "I want to go to the Bowery." The answer came swiftly back, "Well, sonny, you can go." The Gap Between New York and Harlem The change from the old New York to the newer city took place when the elevated roads were opened. Pre- viously there had been a great gap between New York and Harlem. When people found that they could go to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street in less time than it took to go to Forty-second Street by stage or horse- car they flocked to the new districts by hundreds of thousands and "Old New York" as we knew it then fast disappeared in the great modern city of today. Greenwich Village Proper The application of the term Greenwich Village by the scribes of the present day to territory east of Sixth Ave- [ 147 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL nue is absolutely wrong. Greenwich Village was west of Sixth Avenue and southwest of Greenwich Avenue. My mother as a girl lived in the neighborhood of Jane Street, and when going to visit an aunt who lived on McDougal Street walked through open fields. Washington Parade Ground Washington Square was Washington Parade Ground prior to the time when it was cut through for teams and Lawrence Street widened and called South Fifth Ave- nue. The drills of the Seventh Regiment took place in the wide space on the outer edge of the Parade Ground. It was to provide a better drill ground that Tompkins Square was opened. Longacre Square in Its Infancy In the spring of 1862 my family moved to one of the newly completed brownstone houses on the east side of Seventh Avenue, between Forty-sixth and Forty-seventh streets. At that time there were no houses except squat- ters' shanties between Forty-eighth Street and Central Park. My father kept his driving-horses at the livery stable opposite the site of the present Hotel Astor, which was then occupied by a row of houses that had been put up by the Astor family. Our usual drive in the afternoon was up through Central Park to 110th Street and Fifth Avenue, where Harlem Lane began, and thence out to Bloomington and King's Bridge. My father owned some lots on West 129th Street which were occupied by gardeners. The rental he received was his winter's supply of celery. [ 148 ] OF OLD NEW YORK Carmansville to New York in 1867 In 1867 my brother lived at Carmansville. In going to and from his business he took the steamer "Tiger Lily" between Carmansville and 129th Street and East River, and from there the famous boats "Sylvan Dell," "Sylvan Stream," "Sylvan Grove" and "Sylvan Glen" to Peck Slip. Frolics of the Old Fire Department I remember the final parade of the old Volunteer Fire Department. Every Engine Company, Hook and Lad- der and Hose had its own particular pet — we would say mascot now. One had a live bald eagle called "Uncle Abe." Hook and Ladder No. 8 had a black bear. In parading the apparatus was drawn by hand, the tow rope being extended from curb to curb by the front rank of men, and the men on the ends would "swipe" the hand- kerchiefs of the ladies and tie them on to the rope, so that by the time they reached the place of dismissal the rope was hung full of them. Bill Poole When Bill Poole was shot his last words were, "I die an American Citizen," and the American Wards — the eighth, ninth and fifteenth — suspended all business. On the Sunday afternoon he was buried the Sunday schools were almost entirely empty of pupils. [ 149 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL Chop Houses in the '6o's There was an English Chop House known as "The Studio" just above Dr. Muhlenberg's church that was so very English that I do not remember having seen an American paper or magazine there at any time. On Fourth Avenue near 20th Street there was a similar place but not quite so exclusive. Quiet controlled the Chop Houses of those days, so very different from the noise and bustle of the Chop Houses of to-day. And where are the good old Oyster Houses that used to be plentiful? What turtle soup we used to get at Fulton Market ! Pat Gilmore and His Band Pat Gilmore was at the apex of his fame when he played at Brighton Beach. He was very proud of his band, and it was a big one. There were 100 pieces in it. There was only one other band to compare with it, and that was Col. Jim Fisk's Ninth Regiment Band, which also had 100 pieces. Grafula the famous leader of the Seventh Regiment Band would not have more than 48 pieces. He said that he could make more music or more noise with 48 pieces than Gilmore could with 100. Gil- more travelled all over the country giving concerts. He carried 100 uniforms with him, many of which were filled by local talent of the places where he played. [ 150 ] OF OLD NEW YORK Slave Burials in New York W. L. Calver Directly on the line of Tenth Avenue near its junction with 212th Street in the fields of Inwood about thirty rude stones may be seen projecting a few inches above the sod. These stones are partly enclosed by a semi- circle of wild pear trees which have been permitted to grow and furnish shade for the cattle which represent Manhattan Island's last herd. The regularity with which these stones have been placed is not at first appar- ent, and a careless observer might easily pass them with- out notice ; indeed, few residents of Inwood know of their existence ; yet they mark human graves — and real slave graves at that. Within a stone's throw of this burial place is another where lie the masters of these poor blacks. It was a custom, more forcible than law — though laws there were, too — that the servant could not be consigned to consecrated ground. For further proof of this one need only stroll out the Hunt's Point Road to where that thoroughfare first reaches the Sound, and there where rest other ancient lords and masters of the soil in the "Hunt and Legget burial ground" may be seen the usual adjunct — a slave plot — just across the roadway. By a singular coincidence these two reminders of slav- ery days in New York are most inappropriately situated. The fields of Inwood encircled by the surrounding heights are like a vast amphitheater in whose arena was fought one of the most disastrous battles in the struggle for American Independence. The human chattels in- terred subsequently in the blood-bought soil were not the property of Loyalists. There is quite a touch of irony in [ LSI ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL the fact that in the Hunt's Point burial plot, which ex- cluded the sable representatives of our race, rests Joseph Rodman Drake, one of freedom's best friends. The Hunts and Leggets, for whom the little cemetery at Hunt's Point is named, were descended from the Jes- sups and Richardsons, the original patentees of the coun- try thereabouts. To the present representatives of these old families one must go to obtain what little informa- tion of a positive character there is concerning the occu- pants of the slave plot at Hunt's Point. Mr. Henry D. Tiffany, who resides at "Foxhurst" at the junction of the Southern Boulevard and Westchester Avenue, is the son of Mary L. Fox, whose mother was Charlotte Legget, who was descended from John Rich- ardson, the original patentee of Hunt's Point — or the planting neck of West Farms, as the point was known in Colonial times. Mr. Tiffany's mother, who died in 1897, had a clear recollection of the last black interred in the slave plot. This was an old negress named "Aunt Rose." She had formerly been a slave in the Legget family, but she and her children had been manumitted. Aunt Rose was something of a character in her way and a memory of her has consequently survived to the present time in Mr. Tiffany's family. She was buried in the slave plot some time away back in the forties. Slavery in New York was the subject of much legis- lation in old times, and the laws in relation to the burial of slaves were strictly enforced. Some of these laws were peculiar. In 1684 the burial of slaves was first legislated upon. The private burial of a slave by his master was forbidden, and a citizen of Albany who in- terred his slave in a "private and suspicious manner" was fined 12 shillings. The object of this law was of course [ 154 ] OF OLD NEW YORK to prevent the concealment of a murder, either by or at the instigation of his master. Thirty-eight years later the Corporation of New York ordered that all Negro and Indian slaves dying within the city should be buried by daylight. The penalty for infraction of this law was ten shillings, to be paid by the masters or owners. Under the laws of 1731 not more than twelve slaves were to attend a funeral, under pen- alty of being publicly whipped, unless the master pay a fine of 12 shillings. No pall, gloves or favors were to be used. A slave who had held a pall, or wore gloves or favors, was to be publicly whipped. The object of these laws was to prevent conspiracy and sedition. The two things which New Yorkers dreaded most apparently were tires and slave insurrections. By an ordinance passed March 10th, 1712, all slaves, whether Negro or Indian, were forbidden to appear in the streets an hour after sunset. Statistics prove that from 1698 to the Revolu- tion the slaves stood to freemen in the proportion of only one to seven. The marriage of slaves was made legal in 1813. One or other of the parties might be free, but the children followed the condition of the mother. Those familiar with the dusky "hot corn" vender of the present time will be interested to know that by an ordinance passed 160 years ago, blacks were forbidden to sell boiled Indian corn on the streets of New York. [ 155 ] [ 156 ] SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF OLD BROOKLYN H. C. Brown HE Brooklyn of which I write is a different city from the one we know to-day, entirely different. The buildings have changed, the streets have changed, and the people have changed, and there are a great many more families in the village than when I was a boy playing among its vacant lots and selling water around the Union grounds at a cent a glass, and when the water got very warm, dropping the price to "as much as you could drink for a cent." The people do not seem to me to be so neighborly nor so approachable as the people I used to know on our block. On summer nights we all used to sit out on the front stoop and the young folks would start some popular song like "Wait Till the Clouds Roll By, Jennie," or "Juanita, Soft Over the Mountains," or some other favorite. And all the other stoops would presently join in the singing, which made it a very enjoyable and neighborly affair. Opposite my home on Marcy Avenue, I looked out upon the smiling acres of the old Wyckoff farm in the 70's, and I consider myself among the few men who were fortunate enough to witness the harvesting of a [ 157 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL wheat crop on land in Brooklyn now covered with apart- ment houses in endless succession. In my day the city was seldom called by its real name, but was affectionately referred to as the "City of Churches" or the "City of Homes." I think that that appellation is still to a large extent true of Brooklyn to-day. It has always been a remarkable city in more ways than one. A few years ago it gave Taft a majority of 27,000 when all the rest of the country turned him down, and the next year it gave Hearst 57,000 majority while the rest of the state did exactly the reverse. The civic independence of Brookyn passeth all understanding. The same city that gave us Seth Low also gave us John F. Hylan, and until Brooklyn makes up its mind, we shall not know whether a League of Nations is a good thing or a bad one- There seem to be two very distinct Brooklyns : the one forever a butt of ridicule at the hands of newspaper par- agraphers ; the other a city of intellectual accomplish- ment, of a cultured society and a home-loving and God- fearing people. Marshall P. Wilder made a whole lot of money out of his single reference to the building of a subway between New York and Brooklyn, which he said was constructed so that a New York man could go to Brooklyn without being seen. Chauncey Depew used to describe Brooklyn as being always between pleasure and the grave, because it lay between New York and Green- wood Cemetery. A writer in the New York Sun on one occasion raised the question as to whether a Brooklyn man ever blacked his boots, and another correspondent replied to the effect that he had recently rode in a Brooklyn street car and saw a man who had not only his boots blacked, but his [ 158 ] Commodore Arthur Curtiss James, owner Patriotic Spirit of New York Yachtsmen in the Great World War. The following letter to Commodore James which accompanied the return of the U. S. S. Aloha, shown opposite, gives a glimpse of a fascinating page in recent history. Headquarters of the Third Naval District Third Avenue and Twenty-ninth Street Brooklyn, New York. July 25, 1919 S. W. 158-5 My dear Sir. It is my privilege and very pleasant duty to express to you on behalf of the Navy as well as Commandant of the Third Naval District, the deep appreciation of the loyal and generous spirit which prompted you to put your Yacht, ALOHA, at the disposal of the Navy at the nominal charter of one dollar per month. This vessel was taken over on April 22nd, 1917, and desig- nated as S. P. No. 317. After such changes as were required to fit her for the service intended, it was commissioned on June 5, 1917, and assigned to duty as flagship of Rear Admiral Cameron McR. Winslow, U. S. N., Inspector of Naval Dis- tricts, and upon this detail performed very valuable service. On the cessation of hostilities it was placed out of commission and returned to you on January 29, 1919. The ready and generous response of the yacht owners, at a time when small vessels were so greatly needed, contributed in no small way to the successful manner in which the American Navy met the demands so suddenly made upon it on the dec- laration of war. I remain, Very sincerely, J. F. GLENNON, Rear Admiral U. S. N. Arthur Curtiss James, Esq., 99 John Street, New York City. In sftite of the brief time at our disposal — Naval censorship preventing release till the Treaty was actually signed, — we have been enabled to present the Aloha, Corsair and Noma as part of the fighting forces of the United States Navy, and to quote brief extracts from the official records in Washington telling of submarine encounters ; responses to S. O. S. signals and their valiant service as Convoys. It is all in striking contrast to their hitherto peaceful lives in summer harbors. Next year we shall include Sultana, North Star, Kanawha, Vedette, Aphrodite. Christobel, etc., till the list of New York yachts is complete. OF OLD NEW YORK eyes blacked as well. Another observing citizen said he noticed an old lady coming out of the subway at the City Hall who stood somewhat bewildered at the crowds at the Bridge entrance. One of the policemen approached her sympathetically and asked her if she did not want to go to Brooklyn and she replied, "No ; I have to go." The cartoonists find it sufficient to draw a procession of baby carriages propelled by men along a border of rubber plants, in order to indicate Brooklyn. And so between the work of the dramatist who starts a play, "Why a Girl Leaves Home," and ends it with the next line, "Because She Lived in Brooklyn," to the artist whose work I have just described, the city does not begin to get the credit to which it is entitled. One has only to recall Brooklyn's pre-eminent position in the field of educational work, her great and command- ing influence in the religious world, her magnificent park- way and her many noble public improvements to appre- ciate her greatness and importance. I am told, and I believe it is true, that there exists nowhere in this world the equal in artistic beauty and magnificent conception to the Soldiers' Arch at the entrance to Prospect Park. The genius who created this magnificent memorial also astounded the world by the brilliance of his work at the great World's Fair in Chicago, where his fountain in the Court of Honor challenged the admiration of artists the world over. It is no small credit to this wonderful city that it was one of her native sons who created this im- perishable work of art, and that Frederick MacMonnies played around the streets of Brooklyn Heights as a boy, grew up in the city, and found his talents acknowledged and recognized in the place of his birth before the world took him up. [ 163 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL So when one has under consideration such complex material, and so mysterious a body of men and women as constitute the great city of Brooklyn, he has a task of no mean dimensions. It is doubtless true that I am unable to refer to many two-story houses that have been sup- planted by a fifty or sixty-story structure, as in the case of New York. Yet if New York's material progress is more manifest to the eye, so also is Brooklyn's spiritual progress to the soul. I shall therefore content myself with a sketch of Brooklyn as I knew it in the 70's and 80's, and try to pass in brief review some of the salient features of the city as it then appeared to me and more particularly the ^"E. D.," and I will try to analyze the causes which, for some occult reason, imbued the W. D. with what seemed to me a sense of superiority. Nothing I have ever encountered since these early days will equal the scorn and disdain with which a young lady from the Heights would remark to me upon learn- ing of my residence, "Oh, you are from the E. D." Nothing more was ever added. But it was enough. There seemed to be nothing left for anybody to do who came from the E. D. but to dry up and blow away. There was no use of protesting against this attitude, for in that case, the young ladies would simply change it to "You're from Williamsburg," and of course everybody knew that that was the last word in contempt. Undoubt- edly, the Heights in those days corresponded to the best knowledge we now have of heaven. As it was, there- fore, impossible for a native son of the E. D. to aspire to residence on the Heights, so he did the next best thing and moved away. He has lived, however, to see the mighty fallen; and to observe unfortunately the once [ 164 ] OF OLD NEW YORK proud and cultured precincts of Brooklyn Heights brought to the level of ordinary everyday boarding houses. They tell me that in the Park slope some of the glories of the Heights have been preserved, but I belong to a past generation — to the generation that was accustomed to the forest of masts that clustered 'round the docks — - below the heights — to the clipper ships that bore the house flags of Brooklyn merchants from Java Head to New York in a hundred days. When these galleons dis- appeared there also disappeared a distinct era in the life of Brooklyn — never to return. Notwithstanding the superciliousness of society on the Heights, the young ladies and young gentlemen in the li. D. contrived to exist and amuse themselves after a fashion, even if it was perhaps a simpler fashion. In the circle in which I moved, one of our favorite dissipa- tions were surprise parties. We met at each other's houses and from there marched in a body to the home of one of our mutual friends who was popularly sup- posed to be in entire ignorance of the intended festivities. Occasionally this surprise was a great success and our young friend was caught wholly unprepared. Some- times she had her hair done up in curl papers just ready to go to bed, and other times she was helping mother wash up the dishes after a supper later than usual. But in the majority of instances, news of our coming leaked out in some way and the family was carefully prepared for our reception, and simulated with more or less suc- cess, unfeigned surprise at the appearance of the party. The invitations were quite informal, the dignity of engraving not even being considered. You were cor- dially invited to meet at the residence of Miss So-and-so [ 165 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL to attend a surprise party, and there was always a post- script which read, "P. S. — Please furnish oranges," or apples, or cake, as the case might be. After a while this modest request was omitted and the invitations then read "Gents assessed 25c." This was considered quite an ad- vance in the social scale and a very distinct improvement over the plebeian method of bringing your contribution in a paper bag. With the gradual growth of wealth and culture in the eastern district, however, this primitive method of entertainment gradually decreased until it ceased altogether, and thereafter the hostess provided all the refreshments and you were simply expected to honor them with the pleasure of your company. I have been to many gatherings in many parts of the world since those green and salad days, but I have yet to recall one which lingers in my memory with greater fragrance and with more lovable association than the various nights that I spent in the old E. D. the guest of a surprise party where I furnished oranges, or cake, or candy. The next great popular form of entertainment was undoubtedly the Sunday parade on Bedford Avenue in the afternoon. It must be remembered that everybody who aspired to be anybody, belonged to one of our churches, and that all of these churches had Sunday school in the afternoon, which terminated at four o'clock. At that hour, by common consent, all the young people gravitated to the Avenue, and as there were about a dozen churches in the immediate neighborhood the stream of promenaders grew to quite respectable propor- tions. By common consent it was given up to the younger element, and I remember with what pleasure and excitement I would doff my hat to sundry and va- rious young ladies whom I had met socially during the [ 166 ] OF OLD NEW YORK week or previously. It was a moral certainty almost that if you were anxious to meet any particular young lady whom you had not seen recently, you could accom- plish your purpose quite naturally on Bedford Avenue. The Avenue ended at the fountain, which marked the beginning of Fourth Street. Fourth Street, I under- stand, has since been added to Bedford Avenue, and no longer enjoys a separate existence. The residences on both sides of the Avenue were of a very substantial character, and were occupied by fam- ilies quite equal, if not superior, from the point of means, to their more lordly neighbors on the Heights. There were many famous homes on the Avenue, that of Mrs. Knapp's being among the better known. Mrs. Knapp's interest in St. John's Church and in all musical affairs in the eastern district made her magnificent home the head- quarters for many delightful receptions and entertain- ments of this character, and around this home centered much of the social life in the eastern district. Upon one occasion, General Grant, then in the very height of his popularity, was a guest of Mrs. Knapp, and I remember that the event was chronicled as of the highest importance. Practically every man of eminence in the eastern district was invited to meet the General and in that neighborly way we had all the rest of us consid- ered that the General was our guest as well as Mrs. Knapp's, but only Mrs. Knapp had the proper kind of house and one sufficiently large in which to do proper honor to so prominent a citizen as the great Union General. Anniversary Day was a red letter day in the annals of the Eastern district. That was another little difference between the Eastern District and the Western. We al- [ 167 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL ways had our children's parade a week or two earlier than the western division. Exactly why this was so I do not remember ; at all events, we children looked for- ward to this celebration with an interest that I cannot possibly describe. Nothing in my life that I can recall, before or since, ever equalled the anticipation with which I looked forward to the Anniversary parade. I belonged to Dr. Edward Eggleston's church on Lee Avenue, corner of Hewes Street, and I was a member of a small mili- tary organization which was attached to the Sunday School, and was known as the "Christian Endeavor Zouaves." We were gorgeously arrayed in red shirts and blue trousers, with a red stripe down the sides. We wore the regulation Grand Army cap, trimmed with gold braid, and carried a wooden gun. For months before the parade we were drilled in the manual of arms and on this day of days a space was cleared for us in front of the Fountain and there we went through our evolutions to the delight and amazement of our friends and rela- tives. Exactly why we should have had a military organiza- tion attached to a church I have never been able to ascer- tain, especially to the Church of Christian Endeavor, which Dr. Eggleston always wished to have called the Church of Christ the Carpenter. My own theory was, however, that it was due to the fact that our Captain, A. G. Brown, who kept a shoe store on Fourth Street, was an ex-army officer of the Civil War and felt im- pelled to keep up the military spirit and to keep alive the patriotism inculcated by his strenuous experience with the Boys in Blue. The gallant Captain has long since gone to his last reward, but I always look back on his efforts with kindly recollection. He certainly cured me [ 168 ] OF OLD NEW YORK of stoop shoulders and a tendency to smoke cigarettes and imparted to our particular set a truly military air, which was of vast benefit to us in promenading Bedford Avenue Sunday afternoons. I cannot close these recollections of the Anniversary without trying in some way to express, however feeble, the anguish and the unmitigated grief which was the por- tion of every scholar when Anniversary Day turned out to be a stormy one. No doubt many of the girls and boys of that day have since then passed through many of life's disappointments and perhaps the cup of sorrow has been pressed to their lips more than once. I hope not, but the common experience is to the contrary, and yet I make bold to say that I doubt if ever any sorrow or any disappointment in a sense was keener or more deeply felt than a rainy morning on Anniversary Day. We were a tired, foot-sore and weary lot of children when the parade was over, but the ice cream and cake served out to us in our Sunday Schools was a rich reward for all our exertions. As we were all decked out in our most expensive finery, and looked very pretty, I think our parents felt fully recompensed for the trouble that they took as their share of the holiday. [ 171 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL Ambrose Channel George F. Shrady When the weary transatlantic traveler hears the lynx- eyed lookout cry, "Ambrose Light abeam, sir !" he begins to realize that he is near his journey's end. "Ambrose Light" marks the entrance to the great Channel leading from the trackless deep of the Atlantic Ocean to the harbor of New York City. While "Am- brose Light" and "Ambrose Channel" may suggest home to the incoming traveler, it is a question whether he could tell how this waterway and the sturdy little light- ship, bobbing about on the waves "outside," came by their names. We are living in a busy age, amidst never-ending and kaleidoscopic changes, when the happenings of to-day may be forgotten by to-morrow. Not a few of our better-informed citizens may recall however, that "Ambrose Channel" was named by Con- gress in honor of the late John Wolfe Ambrose of New York City, who devoted the last eighteen years of his life to securing Federal appropriations amounting to $8,000,000 for the improvement of New York harbor, so that vessels of the largest size and deepest draft might be accommodated at its wharves. Mr. Ambrose was born January 10th, 1838, at New Castle, near the city of Limerick, Ireland. He came to the United States with his parents as a young child, and, although obliged to earn his living at an early age, he prepared himself for college by studying far into the nights, after days of strenuous toil and fa- tigue. He finally entered New York University, later [ 172 ] OF OLD NEW YORK going to Princeton University, with a view to prepar- ing himself for the ministry. He came of a family that had produced a long line of clergymen and physicians. On the completion of his college course in 1860, he changed his plans, taking up newspaper work as a mem- ber of the staff of the official organ of the Citizens Asso- ciation, which in those early days was one of the first civic organizations devoted to municipal reform. Though so much of his subsequent life was spent in the engross- ing activities of a business career, he always found time to cultivate literature. He was an admirable Greek scholar, and during the lifetime of Dr. Howard Crosby, who was his friend and former preceptor, they fre- quently read together some of the classics in that an- cient tongue. His natural aptitude and education made him a lover of books, and his happiest hours were spent in the quiet of his library, where he had a valuable col- lection of rare editions of his favorite writers. In the same year that he left college he married Miss Kath- arine Weeden Jacobs, a daughter of George Washington Jacobs, of the well-known family of that name from Hingham, Mass. Her maternal ancestors were descend- ed from Jonathan Weeden, a colonial settler of New York City. Early in his business career Mr. Ambrose engaged in construction work on a large scale, and among his many accomplishments in this line were the building of the Second Avenue Elevated road, the Sixth Avenue Ele- vated road from Seventy-second Street to 158th Street, the laying of the first pneumatic tubes for the Western Union Telegraph Co., and the making of numerous up- town streets, particularly in the Harlem section. Dur- ing the building of the Elevated roads his firm employed [ 173 ] VALENTINE'S MANUAL as many as 7000 men at one time, establishing a record for rapidity of construction seldom, if ever, equaled. He was wont to observe with commendable satisfaction that he never had a strike on any work in which he was engaged. The few threatened strikes he had always been able to avert by a frank and equitable treatment of the points at issue. His genius for accomplishing whatever he undertook, no matter how difficult, soon became universally known, and on several occasions he was urged to accept public office. Mayor Hugh J. Grant offered him the Street Cleaning Commissionership, and although he declined the position, he drafted, at the suggestion of the Wom- an's Health Protective Association, a bill for the reor- ganization of the Street Cleaning Department. It was so practical and complete in all its phases, that it at once met with popular favor. The late Colonel Waring was quick to recognize its merits and was the first to put into operation many of its features. In 1880 he became interested in the development of Brooklyn waterfront properties. He was the organizer and president of the Brooklyn Wharf and Dry Dock Company, and the founder of the 39th Street South Brooklyn Ferry, and president of it until his death. Soon after the formation of these companies his atten- tion was directed to the inadequate channels of the port of New York, especially along the Brooklyn shore. The long stretch from 28th Street to 65th Street, South Brooklyn, which to-day is a seething mass of shipping activity, representing investments of hundreds of mil- lions of dollars, was an undeveloped, swampy section, the shore line, a succession of mud flats, with an aver- age depth of 8 feet of water at high tide. [ 174 1 The Lightship that marks the entrance to the