i£x IGtbria SEYMOUR DURST When you leave, please leave this hook Because it has been said " Ever'thinQ comes t' him who waits Except a loaned hook." Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library QUAINT CUSTOMS OF FORMER NEW YORKERS Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2014 http://archive.org/details/quaintcustomsoffOObrad_0 QUAINT CUSTOMS OF FORMER NEW YORKERS BY KATHERINE LYDIG BRADY NEW YORK 1915 Copyright, 1915 By May Brady Harriman THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER Mat B. Harriman* June First, 1915 I QUAINT CUSTOMS OF FORMER NEW YORKERS I One day in August I awoke to life, to love, to sorrow, in an old Colonial house, the summer home of my family, made sacred by the traditional visit of Washington. Here, during the first few years, my life flowed on quietly and happily, for my par- ents watched over me tenderly and were all too anxious to fulfill my every wish. What a beautiful old place our country home was! Terraced gardens, lovely old trees, a famous historical stream flowing through the midst, the two quaint gray mills adjoining the house — I think I see them all now. Nowhere could such fruit be found as that from the trees on those old grounds; nowhere nowadays, it seems to me, do flowers grow as they used to grow in our gardens and greenhouses. [ 9 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF "I remember, I remember, how my childhood flitted by, The mirth of its December, the warmth of its July!" One day the old mills caught fire, and with them the homestead was burned to the ground. The ruins were for many years an attraction to our friends, who visited us in the roomy farmhouse where our family took up its quarters after the fire.- The site of our old place is to-day the Bronx Zoological Park. The Lorrilard estate, which adjoined ours, has now become the Botanical Gar- dens. The great DeLancey pine, which stood in front of my old home, may still exist; the tree was celebrated in several local poems and is mentioned in one history of New York. A curiosity still standing is the great Rocking Stone in the Zoological Park. It used to be in front of our garden- er's house. It consists of two rocks, placed one upon the other, in such a way that the upper stone rocks at a touch. I many times, as a child, used to climb upon this stone [ 10 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS to be rocked gently to and fro by our gardener. The Bloomingdale Road was in its prime during those years, and there were many large estates in our neighborhood which were kept up in fine style. The Thorns, Develins, Conollys, Donellys all had places along the Road. Once, as a little girl, I dined at Colonel Thorn's, and I watched him with awe and admiration as he dispensed the hospital- ities of the table with his grand air. Colonel Thorn's winter house in West Sixteenth Street is now part of the New York Hos- pital; and I remember being there, also, on one occasion, and still recollect the grandeur of Mrs. Thorn's appearance in a green velvet gown — with diamond buttons. In winter I lived in Laight Street, which, I suppose, is now almost an unknown lo- cality to the majority of New Yorkers. St. John's Chapel stands in Varick Street near Laight Street. How often have I sat in the [ 11 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF dear old church and watched the shadow of the cross make its appearance in the deep recess back of the high pulpit. This shadow was seen only at a certain hour dur- ing the afternoon service. Some claimed it was cast by a large gilt cross in front of the organ loft; others declared the appearance could not be so easily explained; but the true solution, I am told, was never satis- factorily decided. The old organ loft and the queer high pulpit have both given way before the chancel choir, the choristers, and other modern innovations; the shadow of the cross has faded away also, to reappear never again. It has become a memory only; its shadowy substance has gone with the old worshipers and the old days. A great event to us children in those same days was the exit of the minister from the old-fashioned reading desk, dressed in his white robe, and his entrance a few mo- ments later into the tall pulpit high above our heads, attired in a gown of black. Many a fine sermon have I heard from that [ 12 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS pulpit, and much good they might have done me if I had only listened. Alas! I was too often thinking of matters more attrac- tive to pay much heed to the preachers' words. Bishop Wainwright, Dr. Berrian (the rector), Dr. Haight, Dr. Higby are some of the clergymen who have had their say from that old rostrum. Bishop Wain- wright, so polished in his style, his every word thought upon and weighed in the bal- ance, was yet not above creature comforts entirely; for it was he who told my father that if he wished to sleep well he always ate a lobster salad. Dr. Berrian was a man of majestic pose, who well knew his world and had a leaning towards its faults and its omissions. One sermon of Dr. Berrian's I shall never forget. It was preached for Mrs. Rich- mond's House of Mercy in Mulberry Street, and his description of a Magdalene's funeral at which he had assisted was graphic in the extreme. Dr. Higby, I remember, had a charming voice, so sweet, so musical, that [ 13 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF the sense of his utterances was lost in the rhythm of his cadences. It was like listen- ing to some grand oratorios in which are no jars, no discordant notes. No sweeter tones will e'er be heard in heaven. Dr. Haight's mind was set on theology and the teachings of the Church; he was parliamentary in every detail. Bishop Onderdonk lived at this time, an old man, in Franklin Street; and I remem- ber how we young folks looked with awe, yet pity, on one who seemed to be under- the shadow of a black cloud. Last but not least of the men of God whom I recall was Dr. Weston, a famous chaplain of the fa- mous Seventeenth Regiment and a man beloved by all who knew him. " Requiescat in pace!" I have read somewhere lately of a thousand dollars left to St. John's Chapel, the interest of which sum was to furnish throughout the year a weekly "dole" of bread to the poor. The report stated that the "dole" is still given. St. John's Park was just in front of the [ 14 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS chapel. It is now the great Vanderbilt freight depot, but was then the meeting ground for us young folks — and many a lad would walk round and round the spot, waiting for his fair lady to join him. What rivalries, what jealousies had birth within the iron railings of that inclosure! It was a beautiful park, with flowers and green grass, a fountain, and a hundred trees, no two alike, planted by a Frenchman who later left New York City in disgust, declar- ing that America was "a country of a hun- dred religions and one sauce," while France was "a country of a hundred sauces and one religion." The park was bounded by Varick, Beach, Hudson, and Laight streets. The houses around the park were some of the handsomest in the city, and as a rule were occupied by their owners, who, with their families, were the only ones who had right of entrance through the park gates. The park was about as large as Union Square and had a gate at each block. An old colored man named Cisco was [ 15 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF guardian of St. John's Park, and he was the epitome of crossness and ill humor. He made the young people go almost on their knees for any favor, and woe unto the un- happy one who forgot his key to the gates and could produce no certificate of owner- ship. In the winter Cisco would flood over the park grounds and allow the water to freeze, and then what merry skating by moonlight, followed by the quiet return to our homes by way of the basements, for fear our parents would find us out and forbid further sport. Some of the families who lived around the park and in adjoining streets were the Thorns, who afterwards lived in Sixteenth Street, the Schuylers, Moores, Pells, Tillous, Minturns, Wilkes, Brinckerhoffs, Troups, Kembles, Hamiltons, Smedburgs, Lords, Ogdens, Lydigs, Bleeckers, Gibbs, Bishop Wainwright, and Dr. Berrian. It has al- ways been considered a patent of respecta- bility, to say the least, to hail from this quarter of the town. [ 16 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS There were some rather curious charac- ters, I remember, also connected with this quarter. There was an ancient colored wo- man who went about with a basket and in it — oh! — such delicious cakes. All pa- tronized her. There was, besides, the fa- mous hairdresser Martelle. He was dark of hue, was said to hail from the West Indies, and was allowed much freedom in his talk with the ladies. He was the prin- cipal coiffeur of his day. Another curious person was an old gentlewoman, who lived upstairs somewhere in Canal Street. She curled and dyed feathers and subsisted on what her friends brought her to eat. An- other old lady came to our house to sew carpets. We called her "Miss and she ate at table with the family. This old lady brought with her the gossip of the time, to much of which we children were not permitted to listen. At the corner of North Moore and Hud- son streets was a shop kept by a Mr. John Atwill. He sold everything from thread and [ « ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF needles up to the richest "bits," literally, of laces and satins. I think he amassed quite a fortune. He was a charitable man, and a rather amusing anecdote is told in con- nection with one of his good deeds. A clever woman, living in the neighborhood, who was slightly sarcastic and very witty, once asked Mr. Atwill for a contribution to a cer- tain society. He gave it. Sometime after, the woman returned to the store to thank him for his donation. "I hope you have followed St. Paul's injunction," she said to him, "to 'lay up for yourself treasures in heaven where moth and rust do not cor- rupt/ for in the samples you were kind enough to send us from your earthly treas- ures, the moths are hard at work." In the days of which I write, breakfast was at eight, as now, but there was no in- dulgence for tardy ones, and we had to for- feit sixpence for the poor box each time we were late for the family morning prayers. Dinner was served from five to six o'clock, and after dessert the cloth would be re- [ 13 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS moved and nuts with Madeira and port wines would be placed on the highly pol- ished mahogany table. Those were the days when servants lived almost as of the family, and they used much " elbow grease" in their work. No modern invention for pol- ishing and cleaning has ever been found to excel this old-time recipe which made those tables shine. Formal dinners were few and portentous occasions. About eight o'clock each evening the old colored butler would bring in the tea tray with its delicate bread and butter, its home-made cakes, and other dainties. "Whigs" was a favorite tea biscuit at one time, eaten hot with but- ter. This got its name from the political party of the time. Young girls did not go to the theater as they do nowadays. Three or four times a year, perhaps, was all that was allowed to them in that line. Amusements, otherwise, were of the simplest kind; a home life with one's own family was then the common custom. [ 19 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF Once in a while a friend would call in the evening and pass an hour or two in talk, while the ladies of the house plied their needles. I remember two old ladies, how- ever, who used somewhat more ceremony than this towards their guests. They al- ways kept a pair of gloves in their work baskets, and no matter how plainly they were dressed, if they heard the door bell ring and a visitor announced, they would instantly take their gloves out of their bas- kets and put them on. This was apparently their idea of being in proper costume to receive a visitor. Sundays, I admit, were rather long. Twice to St. John's Church for service; a stroll after morning service by some of the young people (Hudson Street was the Fifth Avenue of that time); once to Sunday school; and the Catechism at home in the evening — that was our program. While my mother read to us and tried to drill into our heads the fearful answers to some of the questions which she asked us at these [ 20 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS evening sessions, how we did listen and pray for the door bell to ring. That meant friends and freedom. At last the time came and I made my entree into society. Then my father would have one of the servants gather for me the fairest flowers in our greenhouses to trim my ball dresses. It was a fancy of his own. One night it would be japonicas, another roses, another something else, but always fresh flowers would be sewed by my maid in profusion upon my gown for each dance that I attended. New Year's Day was observed when I was a young girl, and what a pleasant day it was! The ladies who " received visitors' ' were dressed in their best and were compli- mented and wished "Many happy returns of the day" by the gentlemen who "made calls" and who, like the ladies, were attired in evening costume, wearing dress suits with white gloves. The tables were spread on these occasions with viands to tempt the appetite. Many a health was drunk and [ » ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF many a feud wag buried that day in a glass of wine. What a difference now! Every- body goes out of town on New Year's Day, and the city is like a deserted village. On St. Valentine's Day young men would go through the streets, their servants be- hind them, carrying baskets heaped with valentines. These offerings they would leave at the doors of their chosen fair ones. The stores of Schaus and Goupil were down town; Tiffany's was near Spring Street; and Ball and Black's not far from there. A. T. Stewart's great store was at the corner of Chambers Street and Broad- way; Arnold's in the very heart of the shopping district in Canal Street; and Ait- ken and Miller's a few blocks above that street on Broadway. Canal Street, in those days, was like Twenty-third Street to-day. Ridley's and Wild's were the candy stores then — very nearly like Huyler's. Delmon- ico's was at the corner of Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue, and Taylor's Saloon [ 22 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS was down town. Where the Fifth Avenue Hotel stood was a Hippodrome. Just before I was married I paid a visit to Madame Jumel's place on the Blooming- dale Road and saw the eccentric old lady herself. Her attire was not of the neatest. A dirty yellow cameFs-hair shawl was her chief ornament, and she was surrounded by cats. She talked of her adventures and boasted of her triumphs. I wore a very pretty gray costume, I remember, which Madame did me the honor to admire, ob- serving, "My dear, I wore gray the day I made my greatest conquest. " I was shown through the house by a Mr. Chase, a lawyer, married to a cousin of Madame's. I saw many curious and some beautiful things. I saw the Washington room; the combined silver service for choc- olate, tea, and coffee, which was brought out to this country by General Jumel; the celebrated portrait of Madame Jumel in her youth, and, in the hall, the large and mys- terious picture of Madame seated with a [ 23 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF youthful figure by her side with his face gone. I was told that the picture had been cut by Madame herself in a fit of rage against the original, some relative, who had displeased her. The most singular thing in this strange house was shown me last — a dining room and a dinner table. The table was covered with a yellow dinner cloth, dingy and dim from age, and it held still the remnants of a feast given long years ago. The stale crumbs, the dishes in disorder, the empty wine glasses all were standing there as they had stood, I was told, since Madame Jumel had given a dinner to Louis Napoleon, then a tutor of French in this country. Madame would never allow any- thing to be touched, and it gave me a strange feeling to see those reminders of that dead and gone distinction. I thought of Miss Haversham in " Great Expecta- tions,^ waiting, in her wedding gown, by her untouched wedding breakfast, for the lover who would never again meet her eyes. Earlier than this visit, I remember two [ 24 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS great social events. One was the Prince of Wales Ball at the Academy, when the floor- ing gave way and many were precipitated into the parquette, though fortunately no- body was killed. The other event was more private — a reception given by Mr. Bel- mont to the Japanese Ambassadors, whose presence in this country was chiefly due to the exertions of Commander Perry, Mrs. Belmont's father. The Embassy was com- posed of men of high rank, and they ate apart; but I w r as one of the few who were given a peep at the strangers while they sat at table. Those days in Laight Street were the days of carriages with high hammer-cloth seat and a stand at back with cords for the foot- men. I remember, when I was quite a girl, a neighbor of ours whose carriage was up- holstered in gorgeous yellow, her livery being light gray faced with black velvet. The aunt of another lady, now living in New York, both of whom are "old New Yorkers/' could be seen until very recently [ 25 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS riding almost daily in an old carriage with its stand for footmen and driven by a colored coachman as venerable as the car- riage itself. Old customs and old costumes survive long after the general public believe them dead and buried. I remember, for instance, another lady, well known in New York, who always wore on state occasions, till the day of her death, which occurred not long ago, a turban which reminded me of pictures of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. [ 26 ] II II In 1861 the Civil War broke out. What a time it was! Mothers, fathers, wives, sweethearts all watched with fear the course of events. Regiments were being raised, and boys as well as mature men were rushed to the front. Instead of going to church, I would watch the regiments march through Canal Street — the tears, the handshakes, and the partings, some of them forever. The day the Seventh left for the seat of war was like a holiday. All work was sus- pended, and as the troops marched down Broadway, with their chaplain, Dr. Weston, at their head, many a prayer was uttered, many a tear was shed. How all New York worked for the sol- diers! Devoted men and women gave up theii time and even their lives to soothe and comfort the wounded and dying. The [ 29 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF girls gave parties to scrape lint and knit stockings for use in the hospitals. It was just at this time that I went on my wedding trip to Washington. The city was on a war footing, and everything was under martial law. We were obliged to obtain a passport to visit a certain fort on the outskirts of Washington. We took a carriage, but on arriving at a bridge the sentinel would not let us over, there being nothing said about a conveyance in the pass. The commander, however, changed the wording of our pass and allowed the ve- hicle with us in it to cross. "A judge and his lady cannot go on foot," he said politely. I went to the Georgetown nunnery, also to the monastery. The nuns had no idea of what was going on in the outside world. They did not know that the rout at Bull Run had taken place and that the road had been strewn with dead and dying stragglers. In the monastery I was shown the famous Holy Spirit flower, an orchid with its petals forming a dove. I passed one night in [ 30 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS Baltimore, where there were regiments about, armed men coming and going, and every instant an attack or an outbreak of some kind expected. Then came the Draft Riots in New York. No lights were used in the houses. I sat in my home (in Twenty-third Street) by my closed window blinds, not knowing what might happen from moment to moment, and watched the men go by, tall, strong, mus- cular, in shirt sleeves, with clubs in their hands or guns on their shoulders. I attended one performance at the Winter Garden, when " Julius Csesar" was the play, and the principal parts were taken by the three brothers Booth — Edwin, Wilkes, and Junius. Edwin was Brutus, Junius was Cassius, and Wilkes Booth was Marc Antony. Just after the oration over Caesar's dead body, there was an alarm of fire. The curtain was drawn, the house rose en masse, and only Edwin Booth's presence of mind prevented a panic. Mr. William Ricketts, who of late years has [ 31 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF been crier of one of the courts in the City Hall, was one of the ushers on that occa- sion. He told me it was said that on that night an attempt was made to fire all the theaters in the city, but watchers and engines were on hand, and so no damage was done. A purely personal recollection of the war is of a german that I danced with young Colonel Shaw, to whom there has since been erected the touching memorial at Beacon Hill, Boston. Soon after our dance Colonel Shaw went South, took command of the First Colored Regiment raised, fought, died, and was buried, as his me- morial records. The ladies of New York, as I have said, were untiring in their efforts to relieve the sufferings of the soldiers. Even an im- promptu hospital was at one time arranged by them in the City Hall Park. The first Mrs. S. L. M. Barlow was one who devoted most of her time to this and like work. Many now living in New York must re- [ 32 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS member the great Sanitary Fair which was held in Union Square for the benefit of the Sanitary Commission. This was the largest fair held at the time, but there were others very large, notably one in the then uncom- pleted store owned by A. T. Stewart at Tenth Street and Broadway, now Wana- maker's. New York celebrated the taking of Rich- mond and the nation's other great victories by a great procession of soldiers and civil- ians; but following immediately upon these rejoicings came Lincoln's assassination. The stores were all closed on the day Abraham Lincoln's body was carried in solemn state through the city, and as the mournful train marched through Broadway, prayers were heard sobbed out for our first martyred President. The city, draped in black, had known its saddest Good Friday. General Grant, thereafter, became the greatest liv- ing hero of the nation, and for years many honors were bestowed upon him through- out the world. [ 33 ] Ill Ill When the old "Home Journal" was in its prime, the leading society journal in New York (as "Town and Country/ ' its succes- sor, is to-day), I used frequently to see N. P. Willis, its editor; and on one occasion I had the pleasure of seeing Edgar Allan Poe at Fordham, seated on the piazza of his house, which is now in the Bronx Park and the Mecca of Poe's admirers. I had the pleasure of meeting many clever men of that time and during the Re- construction Period after the Civil War. There was Arthur Gilman, with his famous lecture on "The Puritan Fathers." It was apropos of this lecture someone asked Mr. Gilman, "Why, when there was so much talk about the Puritan Fathers, no one ever said anything about the Puritan Mothers?" [ 3T ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF A celebrated man whom I knew well was my husband's brother, James T. Brady, the great criminal lawyer of his day, a man even now remembered in this age of quick forgetfulness. I recall a little story of his social wit. Once, while he was dining at a lady's house, there was a tremendous crash in the pantry. The hostess sat placidly unmoved. Whereupon Mr. Brady smilingly quoted, " Mistress of herself, though China fall." Clarence Seward, "the Knight of the Golden Locks," the Lohengrin of the bar; General Sickles, fine soldier, honest states- man, true friend; Daniel Dougherty, "the silver-tongued orator"; Joaquin Miller, "the Poet of the Sierras," who at my table once asked for coffee, and putting in brandy set it on fire, "To make a little hell of his own," he told us; and Bret Harte, who, dining with us on another occasion, re- marked that he had "at last moved into very respectable quarters," for on his re- turn home one evening his little girl had [ 38 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS run out to meet him, crying, "Oh, papa! How nice it is to live here! I have n't heard a little boy say 'damn' once!" Gov- ernor Tilden, who was only prevented by one vote from becoming President of the United States; Oakey Hall; Judge Daly, president of the Geographical Society for many years; A. A. Hayes; Mr. Hay, who became Secretary of State; Mr. Du Chaillu; Mr. Stoddard; Mr. Stedman — all these have been my guests, with others, some liv- ing, some passed over to the great majority. Many dinners have I attended at which famous people of that time were guests. One was a very beautiful affair given by Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Fish to General and Mrs. Grant on their return from their trip around the world; one to Lord Dufferin by Sir Archibald , then the British Minister to this country; another to Arch- bishop McClosky by Mr. Devlin; still an- other to General Sherman by General and Mrs. Butterfield. One of the earliest din- ners of my own giving was to Commodore [ 39 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF and Mrs. Worden — the Commodore, of course, who was the hero of the "Monitor" and "Merrimac." I attended the large banquet given to James Girard on his re- tirement from the bar, and listened there to the last public speech of James T. Brady. There used to be dinners given by the Brothers-in-Law, a club of lawyers, who always invited ladies to their entertain- ments. Ladies were also invited to the St. Patrick's Day dinners to hear the speeches. Among the literary clubs of short exist- ence was the Pot Luck Club. Its peculiar- ity was that every member of the club was required to cook some dish at their meet- ings, and these dishes became the menu of the evening. The Sorosis in those days gave entertainments to which both ladies and gentlemen were bidden. One very pleasant breakfast stands out in my memory, given by General Sickles to the Comte de Paris. Among notable events I remember the opening night of Booth's theater, when Booth played Romeo to Miss McVicar's [ 40 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS Juliet. How proud he was of her that night and how superbly the scenery was gotten up — finer than anything ever produced by Irving. This opening was a grand occasion and only invited guests filled the house. I was in a box, and when Booth himself en- tered to pay us a visit between the acts, we all began to praise him and his work. "A truce to that," he said. "What do you think of the little lady?" I have seen Forrest's Richelieu (and a magnificent piece of acting it was), and when a child I saw Charlotte Cushman and remember her singing at the piano in our home; then again her Romeo, Meg Merrilies, and, just before her death, her Lady Mac- beth. Many a happy hour have I passed with Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams. Mr. Booth, too, I came to know quite well; also Lester Wallack, Harry Edwards, Mon- tague, and others. One clever man, not an actor but a litterateur, was Stephen Mas- sett, who used to recite delightfully many poems that he wrote himself under the nom [ 41 ] QUAINT CUSTOMS OF de plume of " Jeems Pipes. " Edwin Adams and Rose Eytinge were the best Claude Melnotte and Pauline who ever stood upon our stage. I saw them and I saw Mrs. Russell, Mrs. John Hoey, in old Burton's Theater in Chambers Street opposite the Tombs. Much later I was present at the One Hundredth Night Celebration of "The Shaughran," when my husband presented a statue of Con, the Shaughran, to Mr. Dion Boucicault. This took place at Wallack's, which was then at Thirteenth Street and Broadway. With Dan Bryant, best of all the negro minstrels, minstrelsy as a fine art seemed to die. At his funeral all New York turned out to see him carried to his last resting place. Dr. Frothingham delivered an ad- dress to his memory, and in his speech re- marked: "Of Malibran they said, 'The angels wanted her to sing with them and took her to themselves/ The like we may say of Bryant." The ballet in those days was not as com- [ 42 ] FORMER NEW YORKERS mon a thing as it is to-day. An old country woman was taken by some city friends to see "The Black Crook/' then the sensation of the hour. "Why, girls/ ' the old lady cried, "come away! Those girls up there ain't dressed enough to go to bed." Perhaps the most exciting and dramatic incident of any that I recall occurred on the night of Garfield's death. My husband and I sat in the library, listening to the ex- tras that were being shouted on the streets. 1 ' Garfield dying ! Garfield dying ! ' ' the boys were still shouting, when a carriage drove hastily up to our door and the bell pealed. It was about midnight, so the judge went himself to open the door. I heard men's voices in the hall; then my husband came upstairs. "Garfield is dead! They have sent for me to administer the oath of office to Arthur." He left me, and a moment later the carriage went again fu- riously through the night. It was neces- sary there should be no delay. The United States must not be without a President. [ 43 ] 4