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Title: Historic buildings of America
as seen and described by famous writers
Editor: Esther Singleton
Release date: July 16, 2026 [eBook #79104]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Dodd Mead & Company, 1906
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79104
Credits: Karin Spence and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORIC BUILDINGS OF AMERICA ***
Historic Buildings of America
BOOKS BY MISS SINGLETON
TURETS TOWERS AND TEMPLES. Great Buildings of the World
Described by Great Writers.
GREAT PICTURES. Described by Great Writers.
WONDERS OF NATURE. Described by Great Writers.
ROMANTIC CASTLES AND PALACES. Described by Great
Writers.
FAMOUS PAINTINGS. Described by Great Writers.
HISTORIC BUILDINGS. Described by Great Writers.
FAMOUS WOMEN. Described by Great Writers.
GREAT PORTRAITS. Described by Great Writers.
HISTORIC BUILDINGS OF AMERICA. Described by Great
Writers.
HOLLAND. Described by Great Writers.
PARIS. Described by Great Writers.
LONDON. Described by Great Writers.
RUSSIA. Described by Great Writers.
JAPAN. Described by Great Writers.
VENICE. Described by Great Writers.
ROME. Described by Great Writers.
A GUIDE TO THE OPERA.
LOVE IN LITERATURE AND ART.
THE GOLDEN ROD FAIRY BOOK.
THE WILD FLOWER FAIRY BOOK.
[Illustration: THE CAPITOL, WASHINGTON]
Historic Buildings of
America
As Seen and Described
by Famous Writers
COLLECTED AND EDITED BY
ESTHER SINGLETON
_With Numerous Illustrations_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1906
_Copyright, 1906_
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
_Published October, 1906._
Preface
In response to requests for a book on American buildings on the plan
of my _Turrets, Towers, and Temples_, _Romantic Castles and Palaces_,
_Historic Buildings_, etc., I have endeavoured to gather here a
number of houses, churches, forts and civic buildings that are doubly
famous for their architectural interest and their association with
historical events and distinguished personages. I have also included
two monuments,--the Washington and the Statue of Liberty.
Of houses associated with Washington, I have selected Mount Vernon,
Fraunces Tavern, the Hasbrook House at Newburg and the Morris-Jumel
house, and to these the White House might be added, since he interested
himself in the plans for it and even made a personal visit of
inspection in 1792.
I have included a few simple houses that are types of the homes of
the past and have become pilgrimage places to those who delight in
reconstructing the social life of other days. Among these, the Whipple
House is one of the best specimens of New England domestic architecture
of the Seventeenth Century extant, and, having been judiciously
restored, is now a museum of antiquities. Other New England types are
represented by the Old Manse at Concord and the Clarke-Hancock house at
Lexington.
The ruins of the Jamestown Tower carry us back to the first English
settlement of the country, and the Cradock House in Medford, built in
1634 (the oldest house in New England), shows us what a house had to
be in the early days of the colonists,--a fort as well as a dwelling,
and a place of refuge in times of Indian attack. Another house that was
also protected against Indian raids is the less-known Carlyle House in
Alexandria, which was built about the middle of the Eighteenth Century.
Other forts are shown in St. Augustine, Sumter and Castle Garden. The
latter also furnishes memories of musical and theatrical celebrities,
gala performances, brilliant entertainments to distinguished guests,
great mass meetings, and shows of the Crystal Palace order.
The Churches of Guadalupe in Mexico and St. Anne de Beaupré in Canada
are shrines that attract thousands of devout visitors and rival in
picturesqueness some of the pilgrimage-places in the Old World.
Two peculiarly individual buildings are also included: the curious
beehive Tabernacle of Salt Lake City and the Palace of Chapultepec,
built in 1785. As this was originally Montezuma’s country-seat, it
carries us back as far as any other scene in the book. The Cathedral
of Mexico is also built on Aztec ruins. It is interesting to compare
this edifice with the Cathedral of Havana, in both of which the Spanish
influence is easily appreciated.
Two of the most admired productions of American architecture will be
recognized in the City Hall of New York and St. Michael’s, Charleston,
which would almost pass for a Wren church were it transplanted to the
Strand. Fortunately it survived the Charleston earthquake. The Mission
Dolores has been damaged by the San Francisco earthquake as this book
goes to press.
To our list of fine architecture should be added Christ Church in
Alexandria, Independence Hall, and the old Boston State House.
It is sometimes said there are no prevailing styles of American
architecture; but even with the few examples gathered here, we are
able to note a general taste. The style favoured by the Dutch William
and Mary of England (who shared her husband’s tastes), is revealed in
many buildings from Boston to Charleston; and the Classic style of the
Eighteenth Century, with its colonnades, porticos, domes and cupolas,
is found everywhere and is constantly imitated, to-day.
E. S.
NEW YORK, _April 23, 1906_.
Contents
THE CAPITOL, WASHINGTON 1
JOSEPH B. VARNUM.
WITHIN THE CAPITOL 8
CHARLES DICKENS.
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA 14
IZA DUFFUS HARDY.
CARPENTERS’ HALL 18
BENSON J. LOSSING.
THE CRADOCK HOUSE, MEDFORD 27
SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE.
FRAUNCES TAVERN 34
WILLIAM J. DAVIS.
WILLIAM AND MARY COLLEGE 43
JOHN FISKE.
THE MISSION DOLORES, SAN FRANCISCO 53
LADY HARDY.
KING’S CHAPEL, BOSTON 58
F. W. P. GREENWOOD.
SOME BUILDINGS IN HAVANA 68
RICHARD DAVEY.
ST. MICHAEL’S CHURCH, CHARLESTON 78
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.
THE CARLYLE HOUSE, ALEXANDRIA 84
INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA 92
D. W. BELISLE.
THE CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC 105
THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST.
PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS, OTTAWA 110
LADY HARDY.
MOUNT VERNON 115
ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN.
THE OLD MANSE, CONCORD 123
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
THE JAMESTOWN TOWER 132
CHARLES FREDERICK STANSBURY.
NASSAU HALL, PRINCETON 142
CASTLE GARDEN, NEW YORK 144
ESTHER SINGLETON.
MONTICELLO 151
EDWARD C. MEAD.
THE WILLIAM PENN HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA 164
JOHN F. WATSON.
THE CATHEDRAL, MEXICO 173
THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST.
THE WHIPPLE HOUSE, IPSWICH 178
W. H. DOWNES.
FORT MARION, ST. AUGUSTINE 185
IZA DUFFUS HARDY.
ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRÉ, QUEBEC 192
ANNA T. SADLIER.
THE WADSWORTH-LONGFELLOW HOUSE, PORTLAND 199
NATHAN GOOLD.
WASHINGTON’S HEADQUARTERS, NEWBURGH 205
GULIAN C. VERPLANCK.
THE TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE CITY 215
LADY HARDY.
THE NATIONAL WASHINGTON MONUMENT 220
JOSEPH B. VARNUM.
THE CLARKE-HANCOCK HOUSE, LEXINGTON 225
CASTLE ST. LOUIS, QUEBEC 236
J. M. LEMOINE, F. R. S. C.
SUNNYSIDE, TARRYTOWN 249
BENSON J. LOSSING.
THE OLD WITCH HOUSE, SALEM 255
ESTHER SINGLETON.
SHRINE OF GUADALUPE 263
THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST.
CHRIST CHURCH, ALEXANDRIA 268
BISHOP MEADE.
A GLIMPSE AT THE HOUSES OF NEW ORLEANS 272
LADY HARDY.
THE CHATEAU DE RAMEZAY, MONTREAL 277
MAJOR A. C. YATE.
THE CITY HALL, NEW YORK 286
ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN.
THE WHITE HOUSE 293
THE WHITE HOUSE OF THE CONFEDERACY, RICHMOND 300
THE OLD STATE HOUSE, BOSTON 305
EDWARD G. PORTER.
THE MORRIS-JUMEL HOUSE, NEW YORK 309
FORT SUMTER 313
IZA DUFFUS HARDY.
OLD STONE TOWER, NEWPORT 320
BENSON J. LOSSING.
ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, NEW YORK 325
CHARLES HEMSTREET.
FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON 332
EDWARD G. PORTER.
LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD, NEW YORK 338
ESTHER SINGLETON.
Illustrations
The Capitol, Washington _Frontispiece_
The Capitol (Rotunda) _Facing page_ 8
Arlington, Virginia „ „ 14
Carpenters’ Hall, Philadelphia „ „ 18
The Cradock House, Medford „ „ 28
Fraunces Tavern, New York „ „ 34
William and Mary College, Williamsburg „ „ 44
The Mission Dolores, California „ „ 54
King’s Chapel, Boston „ „ 58
Cathedral, Havana „ „ 68
St. Michael’s Church, Charleston „ „ 78
The Carlyle House, Alexandria „ „ 84
Independence Hall, Philadelphia „ „ 92
The Castle of Chapultepec, Mexico „ „ 106
Parliament Buildings, Ottawa „ „ 110
Mount Vernon, Virginia „ „ 116
The Old Manse, Concord „ „ 124
The Jamestown Tower, Virginia „ „ 132
Nassau Hall, Princeton „ „ 142
Castle Garden, New York „ „ 144
Monticello, Virginia „ „ 152
The William Penn House, Philadelphia „ „ 164
The Cathedral, Mexico „ „ 174
The Whipple House, Ipswich „ „ 178
Fort Marion, St. Augustine „ „ 186
Church of St. Anne de Beaupré, Quebec „ „ 192
The Wadsworth-Longfellow House, Portland „ „ 200
Washington’s Headquarters, Newburgh „ „ 206
The Tabernacle, Salt Lake City „ „ 216
The National Washington Monument, Washington „ „ 220
The Clarke-Hancock House, Lexington „ „ 226
Castle St. Louis, Quebec „ „ 236
Sunnyside, Tarrytown „ „ 250
The Old Witch House, Salem „ „ 256
Shrine of Guadalupe, Mexico „ „ 264
Christ Church, Alexandria „ „ 268
Old Houses in St. Charles’s Avenue, New Orleans „ „ 272
The Chateau de Ramezay „ „ 278
The City Hall, New York „ „ 286
The White House, Washington „ „ 294
The White House of the Confederacy, Richmond „ „ 300
The Old State House, Boston „ „ 306
The Morris-Jumel House, New York „ „ 310
Fort Sumter, South Carolina „ „ 314
Old Stone Tower, Newport „ „ 320
St. Paul’s Chapel, New York „ „ 326
Faneuil Hall, Boston „ „ 331
Liberty Enlightening the World, New York „ „ 338
THE CAPITOL, WASHINGTON
JOSEPH B. VARNUM
On the 18th of September, 1793, the south-east corner-stone of the
Capitol was laid by Washington, and a minute account of the ceremonial
appears in the _Maryland Gazette_, published at Annapolis, September
26, 1793. It is mostly devoted to the Masonic ceremonial so usual
at that day, in which “Lodge 22 of Virginia, that congregation so
graceful to the craft,” figures largely with “Grand Master P. J. Geo.
Washington, Worshipful Master” of said Lodge. We are also told that
there appeared “on the southern banks of the grand river Potomac,
one of the finest companies of artillery that hath been lately seen,
parading to receive the President of the U. S.” The Commissioners
delivered to the President, who deposited in the stone, a silver plate
with the following inscription:
“This south-east corner-stone of the Capitol of the United States
of America in the City of Washington was laid on the 18th day of
September, 1792, in the thirteenth year of American Independence,
in the first year of the second term of the Presidency of George
Washington, whose virtues in the civil administration of his country
have been so conspicuous and beneficial, as his military valour and
prudence have been useful in establishing her liberties, and in the
year of Masonry, 5793, by the President of the United States, in
concert with the Grand Lodge of Maryland, several lodges under its
jurisdiction, and Lodge, No. 22, from Alexandria, Virginia.
“Thomas Johnson, David Stewart, and Daniel Carroll, Commissioners;
Joseph Clark, R. W. G. M. P. T., James Hoban and Stephen Hallate,
Architects; Colin Williamson, M. Mason.”
A Mr. Clotworthy Stevenson made an address, and the account concludes
as follows:
“The whole company retired to an extensive booth where an ox of 500
lbs. weight was barbecued, of which the company generally partook,
with every abundance of other recreation. The festival concluded
with fifteen successive volleys from the artillery, whose military
discipline and manœuvres merit every commendation.
“Before dark the whole company departed with joyful hopes of the
production of their labour.”
The first object which attracts the traveller’s attention as he enters
Washington by rail is the Capitol.
It is not unusual on the Continent to see a noble cathedral surrounded
by miserable tumble-down structures, many of which are so ancient as
to indicate that the shrine never had an appropriate setting; and this
circumstance makes the surroundings of the Capitol a matter of less
remark to a foreigner than to an American whose first impressions are
that the edifice never will have any buildings around in keeping with
its own grandeur.
As you approach the city from the Potomac, the public buildings all
appear to great advantage, being on high ground and rising far above
the private buildings which do not shock by contrast. It is to be
regretted that circumstances have led to the erection of a large
proportion of the private buildings at the west and the abandonment, to
a great extent, of Capitol Hill, which, at the first occupation, was
regarded as the most desirable.
Mr. Trollope and others have descanted upon the mistake made in placing
the principal front of the Capitol towards the east. But when the
building was commenced there was reason for supposing that at least an
equal part of the city buildings would be on that side. Besides, such
porticos seem to require a level plane or plaza in front, rather than a
descent like that on the west. The advantage of this is very apparent,
since the porticos are naturally selected for all the great ceremonies,
inaugurations and public gatherings. There is abundance of standing
room here for any crowd, however great.
The dome is most appropriately surmounted by Crawford’s bronze statue
of Liberty (itself 16½ feet in height) is 287 feet 5 inches above the
basement of the Capitol, or about 142 feet higher than the old dome.
St. Peter’s at Rome to the top of the lantern is 145 feet higher. St.
Paul’s in London, 73 feet higher.
The Capitol Hill is about 90 feet above ordinary low tide.
The Capitol is 751 feet 4 inches long, which is 31 feet longer than St.
Peter’s and 175 feet longer than St. Paul’s.
As compared with European edifices, there are few, if any, that
have as imposing a front as the three eastern porticos present. Of
course no comparison can be made with Gothic structures like the
Parliament Houses in London. St. Peter’s Church, at first glance,
almost always disappoints the visitor in its exterior; and it is only
from a distance, where you see nothing of the front, that the majestic
proportions of the dome are realized. There is an abruptness in the
manner in which that front rises, with no relief except in a small
piazza, which seems as out of place as the one on the western front of
the Capitol. At the Capitol, the spectator, at a distance of one or two
hundred feet, has the whole structure in all its outlines before him.
Most persons who visit the Capitol for the first time, have their
attention so much absorbed in the extension, that they overlook the
objects of interest in the central edifice. Yet there is no room in the
new buildings comparable in beauty to the old Representatives’ Hall.
The new halls for the Senate and House may present acoustic advantages,
and certainly accommodate the public much better, but no room without
columns can present as imposing an effect as one with them. And such
columns! There is nothing like them elsewhere. That _brecchia_, or
pudding-stone, is too costly to work, ever to be brought into general
use. They cost over eight thousand dollars apiece, and there are
twenty-four of them. And there is no more beautiful piece of sculpture
in the building than the clock in this hall, representing History on a
winged car, the wheel of which forms the dial.
The old Hall, too, is memorable as the scene where all the great
men for the first half century of the Republic figured. Here Clay
presided, Webster made his _début_, Adams died! And how full of
associations with historical names is every part of the cosy old Senate
Chamber, now appropriately occupied by the Supreme Court! Not one
person in a hundred notices the _tobacco-leaf_ capitals of the circular
colonnade between this room and the Rotunda; and still fewer ever think
of going down the neighbouring staircase to look at the _corn-stalk_
columns which ornament the entrance to the room formerly occupied by
the Supreme Court.
Every visitor to the new wings of the Capitol must have remarked upon
the fact that, with the exception of the staircases, the most costly
decorations have been lavished upon rooms which are only accessible
to the public at limited times, or by sufferance of those having them
in charge. One naturally expects to see the results of artistic skill
to the greatest extent in the Halls of the Senate and House, as is
the case in the centre building. It seems well enough that marble and
frescoes should be used in such rooms as those appropriated to the
President and Vice-President and the Senators’ retiring-room, the last
of which, all of marble, is the gem of the building. But why so many
thousands should have been expended on committee rooms, or in painting
corridors which are too dark to be seen to advantage, is not apparent.
The only reason ever assigned is, that it was desirable to experiment
here on different styles of ornament.
There is no marble whatever in the Senate Chamber, and none, except
the Speaker’s and Clerk’s desks in the House. This deficiency is the
more noticed because of the extent to which this beautiful material is
used on the staircases leading to the galleries, which are universally
admired. But here it is remarkable that three of the staircases are of
the same material. The Tennessee marble is certainly beautiful, but so
is the white polished marble of the stairs leading to the west gallery
of the Senate.
Another criticism upon the two Halls is that they are so much alike.
The main difference is that one is smaller than the other. Conceding
that, in certain respects, they had to be alike,--as in the oblong
shape and the flat ceiling for acoustic purposes, and the construction
of galleries so as to afford an uninterrupted view,--there was surely
opportunity for a man of taste to have devised a finish which would
have been more distinctive. One of them might have had some windows
opening upon the outer world. Both are now placed in the interior,
without a window on any side. It is true that they are well lighted
both by night and day through the glass ceilings, and so far as we have
observed the ventilation is good; yet it seems a pity that the rooms
had not been constructed with windows, even if they were not to be
opened.
Nothing in the old Halls was more refreshing to members, or more
agreeable to spectators in the gallery, than the glimpse of green trees
afforded through the windows, and such windows would have been the
more attractive here, opening as they would have done upon the small
porticos north and south. This was Mr. Walter’s plan, as appears by his
report made in 1852.
It is pleasant to perceive that the architect has taken a hint from the
corn-stalk columns, and shown more boldness and originality than is
usual with his profession in departing from the regularly prescribed
orders in regard to capitals and other ornamental work. A fine row of
monolithic columns is to be seen on the floor of the south extension,
under the Representatives’ Hall, the capitals of which are composed of
the tobacco and thistle. The twenty-four columns and forty pilasters
in the grand vestibules are entirely original, the capitals being
composed of corn-leaves, tobacco and magnolias--each of the faces of
the columns, as well as the pilasters, has a magnolia, all different in
form, and all made from casts of the natural flower. The ornamentations
of the ceiling and cornices in the Senate and House are all drawn from
the natural products of the country. In the Representatives’ Hall are
many rosettes composed of the cotton plant in its various stages of
growth. No one can fail to observe and admire the exquisite statues of
Franklin and Hancock, which are appropriately placed in niches opposite
the staircases to the Senate gallery. The landings of the staircases
furnished most appropriate places for large paintings; like that of
Leutze, which improves upon acquaintance and causes every one to linger
as he goes to or returns from the gallery of the House.
WITHIN THE CAPITOL
CHARLES DICKENS
The principal features of the Capitol are, of course, the two Houses
of Assembly. But there is, besides, in the centre of the building, a
fine rotunda, ninety-six feet in diameter, and ninety-six high, whose
circular wall is divided into compartments, ornamented by historical
pictures. Four of these have for their subjects prominent events in
the revolutionary struggle. They were painted by Colonel Trumbull,
himself a member of Washington’s staff at the time of their occurrence;
from which circumstance they derive a peculiar interest of their own.
In this same hall Mr. Greenough’s large statue of Washington has been
lately placed. It has great merits of course, but it struck me as being
rather strained and violent for its subject. I could wish, however, to
have seen it in a better light than it can ever be viewed in, where it
stands.
There is a very pleasant and commodious library in the Capitol; and
from a balcony in front, the bird’s-eye view may be had, together with
a beautiful prospect of the adjacent country. In one of the ornamented
portions of the building, there is a figure of Justice; whereunto the
Guide Book says, “the artist at first contemplated giving more of
nudity, but he was warned that the public sentiment in this country
would not admit of it, and in his caution he has gone, perhaps, into
the opposite extreme.” Poor Justice! she has been made to wear much
stranger garments in America than those she pines in, in the Capitol.
Let us hope that she has changed her dressmaker since they were
fashioned, and that the public sentiment of the country did not cut out
the clothes she hides her lovely figure in, just now.
[Illustration: THE CAPITOL (ROTUNDA)]
The House of Representatives is a beautiful and spacious hall, of
semicircular shape, supported by handsome pillars. One part of the
gallery is appropriated to the ladies, and there they sit in front
rows, and come in, and go out, as at a play or concert. The chair is
canopied, and raised considerably above the floor of the House; and
every member has an easy-chair and a writing-desk to himself: which
is denounced by some people out of doors as a most unfortunate and
injudicious arrangement, tending to long sittings and prosaic speeches.
It is an elegant chamber to look at, but a singularly bad one for all
purposes of hearing. The Senate, which is smaller, is free from this
objection, and is exceedingly well adapted to the uses for which it is
designed. The sittings, I need hardly add, take place in the day; and
the parliamentary forms are modelled on those of the old country.
I was sometimes asked, in my progress through other places, whether I
had not been very much impressed by the _heads_ of the lawmakers
at Washington; meaning not their chiefs and leaders, but literally
their individual and personal heads, whereon their hair grew, and
whereby the phrenological character of each legislator was expressed:
and I almost as often struck my questioner dumb with indignant
consternation by answering “No, that I didn’t remember being at all
overcome.” As I must, at whatever hazard, repeat the avowal here, I
will follow it up by relating my impressions on this subject in as few
words as possible.
In the first place--it may be from some imperfect development of my
organ of veneration--I do not remember having ever fainted away, or
having even been moved to tears of joyful pride, at sight of any
legislative body. I have borne the House of Commons like a man, and
have yielded to no weakness, but slumber, in the House of Lords. I have
seen elections for borough and county, and have never been impelled (no
matter which party won) to damage my hat by throwing it up into the air
in triumph, or to crack my voice by shouting forth any reference to our
Glorious Constitution, to the noble purity of our independent voters,
or the unimpeachable integrity of our independent members. Having
withstood such strong attacks upon my fortitude, it is possible that I
may be of a cold and insensible temperament, amounting to iciness, in
such matters; and therefore my impressions of the live pillars of the
Capitol at Washington must be received with such grains of allowance as
this free confession may seem to demand.
Did I see in this public body an assemblage of men, bound together in
the sacred names of Liberty and Freedom, and so asserting the chaste
dignity of those twin goddesses, in all their discussions, as to exalt
at once the Eternal Principles to which their names are given, and
their own character, and the character of their countrymen, in the
admiring eyes of the whole world?
Did I recognize in this assembly, a body of men, who, applying
themselves in a new world to correct some of the falsehoods and vices
of the old, purified the avenues to Public Life, paved the dirty ways
to Place and Power, debated and made laws for the Common Good, and had
no party but their Country?
I saw in them the wheels that move the meanest perversion of virtuous
Political Machinery that the worst tools ever wrought. Despicable
trickery at elections; under-handed tamperings with public officers;
cowardly attacks upon opponents, with scurrilous newspapers for
shields, and hired pens for daggers; shameful trucklings to mercenary
knaves, whose claim to be considered, is, that every day and week they
sow new crops of ruin with their venal types, which are the dragons’
teeth of yore, in everything but sharpness; aidings and abettings of
every bad inclination in the popular mind, and artful suppressions of
all its good influences: such things as these, and in a word, Dishonest
Faction in its most depraved and most unblushing form, stared out from
every corner of the crowded hall.
Did I see among them the intelligence and refinement: the true, honest,
patriotic heart of America? Here and there, were drops of its blood and
life, but they scarcely coloured the stream of desperate adventurers
which sets that way for profit and for pay. It is the game of these
men, and of their profligate organs, to make the strife of politics
so fierce and brutal, and so destructive of all self-respect in worthy
men, that sensitive and delicate-minded persons shall be kept aloof,
and they, and such as they, be left to battle out their selfish views,
unchecked. And thus this lowest of all scrambling fights goes on, and
they who in other countries would, from their intelligence and station,
most aspire to make the laws, do here recoil the farthest from that
degradation.
That there are, among the representatives of the people in both Houses,
and among all parties, some men of high character and great abilities,
I need not say. The foremost among those politicians who are known in
Europe, have been already described, and I see no reason to depart
from the rule I have laid down for my guidance, of abstaining from
all mention of individuals. It will be sufficient to add, that to the
most favourable accounts that have been written of them, I more than
fully and most heartily subscribe; and that personal intercourse and
free communication have bred within me, not the result predicted in
the very doubtful proverb, but increased admiration and respect. They
are striking men to look at, hard to deceive, prompt to act, lions in
energy, Crichtons in varied accomplishments, Indians in fire of eye
and gesture, Americans in strong and generous impulse; and they as
well represent the honour and wisdom of their country at home, as the
distinguished gentleman who is now its Minister at the British Court
sustains its highest character abroad.
I visited both Houses nearly every day, during my stay in Washington.
On my initiatory visit to the House of Representatives, they divided
against a decision of the chair; but the chair won. The second time
I went, the member who was speaking, being interrupted by a laugh,
mimicked it, as one child would in quarrelling with another, and added,
“that he would make honourable gentlemen opposite, sing out a little
more on the other side of their mouths presently.” But interruptions
are rare; the Speaker being usually heard in silence. There are more
quarrels than with us, and more threatenings than gentlemen are
accustomed to exchange in any civilized society of which we have
record: but farm-yard imitations have not as yet been imported from the
Parliament of the United Kingdom. The feature in oratory which appears
to be the most practiced, and most relished, is the constant repetition
of the same idea or shadow of an idea in fresh words; and the inquiry
out of doors is not, “What did he say?” but, “How long did he speak?”
These, however, are but enlargements of a principle which prevails
elsewhere.
ARLINGTON
IZA DUFFUS HARDY
The next day we decided to improve the shining hours--truly and
literally shining in this radiant spring weather of blue heavens and
balmy sunshine--by paying a brief visit to the Capitol in the morning,
and taking a drive to Arlington in the afternoon. It takes a good
many brief visits to see the Washington Capitol thoroughly; but one
appreciates and enjoys it so far better than by “doing” it in one long
visitation, as we see so many tourists “doing” it, with red guide-books
in their hands, or bulging from their pockets. (I must conscientiously
confess, in parenthesis, that we ourselves also carry a _Guide to
Washington_, and, during the inspection of the Capitol, are apt
to refer to it pretty often.) In the endeavour to take it all in on
one day, the eye gets surfeited with pictures and statues, mouldings
and frescoes; the soul sickens at the further contemplation of busts
and bas-reliefs, bronze-panellings and marble pillars; Pocahontas and
Washington dance together dizzily in the confused brain; and Presidents
and Puritan Fathers, William Penn and Miles Standish, allegorical
figures of Freedom and Victory, the Declaration of Independence, the
Landing of Columbus and the Sword of Bunker’s Hill all mingle in a
kaleidoscopic jumble in the wearied mind.
In the afternoon, we take a carriage to Arlington, a beautiful drive
of only about four miles. All the way the great white dome of the
Capitol dominates the landscape. Across the Potomac, from Arlington
Heights, beyond river, wood, winding road and city, we see it soaring
into the intense blue of the sky like an Alpine peak.
[Illustration: ARLINGTON, VA.]
The Arlington Mansion was built by George Washington Parke Custis
(grandson of Martha and adopted son of George Washington). His daughter
married Robert E. Lee, and here the Lees kept hospitable house and
happy home until the disastrous days of war. During the long struggle
the estate was confiscated, and, having been employed as headquarters
for the Federal troops, was eventually turned into a “national
cemetery,” where over fifteen thousand soldiers lie buried.
The beautiful park-like grounds are now a field of the dead. Up the
hillside by thousands and tens of thousands, stretch the long regular
serried lines of tombstones. Here, line by line, in rank and file, at
peace beyond the battle, lies the silent army now. It is so hard to
realize, looking on these squadrons of the dead, still seeming drawn
up in battle array, that every one of those cold white stones strikes
down to the dust that was once a human heart, that throbbed with the
passionate pain of parting at leaving home and love, that thrilled at
the trumpet’s call, that beat high with hope and valour and gave its
life-blood for the victorious cause that it held dear!
One massive granite tomb covers a vault where lie the remains of more
than two thousand of the unknown dead. But the deserted mansion itself
is as sad as any of the tombs that surround it. The grand old house
is empty and ungarnished; its bare floors echo mournfully to our
footfalls; the hall door (the “classic portal, resting on eight massive
Doric columns,” as the guide-book describes it), stands drearily open;
all the world is welcome to enter there. It is not in the least like a
haunted house; there are no corners whence bats might flit at night; no
thick curtain of dust coats the walls, nor dark banners of spider’s web
veil the windows. The lofty rooms are spotless, speckless, carefully
kept and unutterably forlorn. We wander from room to room through a
desolate silence only broken by our own steps; the conservatories are
barren of flowers; the only living thing we come upon is a dog sleeping
in a patch of sunlight. More mournful a memorial than granite slab
or marble cross, more eloquent than inscription carved in stone, the
forsaken mansion stands, a silent monument to the Lost Cause.
As we descend the great staircase, a mighty clatter and babble wake the
hollow echoes, and we meet a gay and rather noisy party, led by our
brisk young New Yorker of yesterday’s Mount Vernon excursion, swarming,
chattering and laughing across the hall. Their happy, ringing voices
strike a jarring note here. Well, we have done with Arlington Heights,
and these joyous ones may ransack the lonely corners of the deserted
chambers at their own sweet will. As we turn for a last look, we hear
the youngest, liveliest and prettiest of the party exclaim, as she
trips lightly into the bare drawing-room:
“Oh, my! here’s a room for a hop!”
We drive back to Washington and return to our hotel in good time for
dinner, to which we sit down, a company of some three hundred, round
tables loaded with every delicacy of the season, and dine to music, a
band playing in the gallery overlooking the dining-room, exhilarating
the spirits and stimulating the appetites of the assembled Sybarites by
stirring strains.
Assassins may shoot and presidents may fall. After a splashing and a
circling in the waves, the current flows on much the same.
“_Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!_”
CARPENTERS’ HALL
BENSON J. LOSSING
On Monday morning I visited Carpenters’ Hall, the building in which
the first Continental Congress held its brief session. Having had no
intimation concerning its appearance, condition and present use, and
informed that it was situated in “Carpenters’ Court,” imagination had
invested its exterior with dignity, its interior with solemn grandeur,
and its location a spacious area where nothing “common or unclean”
was permitted to dwell. How often the hoof of Pegasus touches the
leafless treetops of sober prose when his rider supposes him to be at
his highest altitude! How often the rainbow of imagination fades and
leaves to the eye nothing but the forbidding aspect of a cloud of plain
reality! So at this time. The spacious _court_ was but a short and
narrow alley; and the _Hall_, consecrated by the holiest associations
which cluster around the birthplace of our Republic, was a small
two-story building, of sombre aspect, with a short steeple and all of a
dingy hue.
[Illustration: CARPENTERS’ HALL, PHILADELPHIA]
This building is constructed of small imported bricks, each alternate
one glazed, and darker than the other, giving it a checkered
appearance. Many of the old houses in Philadelphia were built of like
materials. It was originally erected for the hall of meeting for the
society of house carpenters of Philadelphia. It stands at the end of
an alley leading south from Chestnut Street, between Third and Fourth
Streets.
The hall in which Congress met is upon the lower floor, and comprehends
the whole area of the building. It is about forty-five feet square,
with a recess in the rear twenty-five feet wide and about twelve feet
deep, at the entrance of which are two pillars, eighteen feet high. The
second story contains smaller apartments which were used by Congress
and occupied by the society as committee rooms. In one of these,
emptied of all merchandise except a wash tub and a rush-bottomed chair,
let us sit down and consider the events connected with that first great
Continental Congress.
For many years a strong sympathy had existed between the several
colonies, and injuries done to one, either by the aggressions of the
French and Indians, or the unkind hand of their common mother, touched
the feelings of all the others and drew out responsive words and acts
which denoted an already strong bond of unity. Widely separated as some
of them were from each other by geographical distance and diversity
of interest and pursuits, there were, nevertheless, political, social
and commercial considerations which made the Anglo-Americans really
one people, having common interests and common hopes. Called upon
as free subjects of Great Britain to relinquish, theoretically and
practically, some of the dearest prerogatives guaranteed to them by the
Magna Charta and hoary custom--prerogatives in which were enveloped the
most precious kernels of civil liberty--they arose as one family to
resist the insidious progress of oncoming despotism, and yearned for
union to give themselves strength commensurate to the task. Leading
minds in every colony perceived the necessity for a general council,
and in the spring of 1774, the great heart of Anglo-America seemed
to be as with one pulsation with this sublime idea. That idea found
voice and expression almost simultaneously throughout the land. Rhode
Island has the distinguished honour of first speaking out publicly
on the subject. A general Congress was proposed at a town meeting in
Providence on the 17th of May, 1774. A committee of a town meeting held
in Philadelphia on the 21st, four days afterwards, also recommended
such a measure; and on the 23d, a town meeting in New York city uttered
the same sentiment. The House of Burgesses of Virginia, dissolved
by Lord Dunmore, assembled at the Raleigh Tavern in Williamsburg,
on the 27th, and on that day warmly recommended the assembling of a
national council; and Baltimore, in a county meeting, also took action
in favour of it on the 31st. On the 6th of June, a town meeting at
Norwich, Connecticut, proposed a general Congress; and on the 11th,
a county meeting at Newark, New Jersey, did the same; on the 17th,
the Massachusetts Assembly, and, at the same time, a town meeting in
Faneuil Hall, in Boston, strenuously recommended the measure; and a
county meeting at New Castle, Delaware, approved of it on the 29th.
On the 6th of July, the committee of correspondence at Portsmouth,
New Hampshire, expressed its approbation of the measure. A general
province meeting, held at Charleston, South Carolina, on the 6th, 7th
and 8th of that month, urged the necessity of such a Congress; and
a district meeting at Wilmington, North Carolina, held on the 21st,
heartily responded affirmatively. Thus we perceive that, within the
space of sixty-four days, twelve of the thirteen colonies spoke out
decidedly in favour of a Continental Congress, Georgia alone remaining
silent. The Massachusetts Assembly designated the 1st of September,
1774, as the time and Philadelphia as the place for the meeting of the
Congress. Other colonies acquiesced and at Philadelphia the delegates
convened.
“Now meet the fathers of this western clime,
Nor names more noble graced the roll of Fame,
When Spartan firmness braved the wrecks of time,
Or Rome’s bold virtues fann’d the heroic flame.
“Not deeper thought th’ immortal sage inspired
On Solon’s lips, when Grecian senates hung;
Nor manlier eloquence the bosom fired,
When genius thunder’d from the Athenian tongue.”
--TRUMBULL.[1]
On Monday, the 5th of September, fifty-four delegates, from twelve
colonies, assembled in Carpenters’ Hall. It was a congregation of men,
viewed in every important aspect, such as the world had never seen.
Congress was organized by the choice of Peyton Randolph, of Virginia,
as president, and Charles Thomson, of Pennsylvania, as secretary.
The credentials of the various delegates were then presented, and
now came a pause; who should take the lead? What measure should be
first proposed? They had come together from distant Provinces, some
instructed by the power that appointed them, others left free to act
as circumstances should require. There was a profound silence and deep
anxiety was depicted upon every countenance. No one seemed willing to
break that silence, until a grave-looking member, in a plain dark suit
of “minister’s grey” and unpowdered wig, arose. “Then,” said Bishop
White, who was present and related the circumstance, “I felt a regret
that a seeming _country parson_ should so far have mistaken his talents
and the theatre for their display.” But his voice was so musical, his
words so eloquent, and his sentiments so profoundly logical, that the
whole House was electrified, and the question went from lip to lip,
“Who is it? Who is it?” A few, who knew the stranger, answered, “It
is Patrick Henry, of Virginia!” There was no more hesitation; he who
startled the people of Colonial America nine years before, by his bold
resolutions against the Stamp Act, and a few months afterwards by the
cry of “Give me liberty or give me death!” now gave the impulse to
the representatives of that people in grand council assembled and set
in motion that machinery of civil power which worked so nobly while
Washington and his compatriots were waging war with the enemy in the
field.
Two days afterwards another impressive scene occurred. It was the
_first prayer in Congress_, offered by the Reverend Mr. Duché. The
first day had been occupied in the reception of credentials and the
arrangement of business; the second in the adoption of rules for
the regulation of the session; and now, when about to enter upon the
general business for which they were convened, the delegates publicly
sought Divine aid. It was a spectacle of great interest, for men of
every creed were there. In this service their creeds were forgotten and
the hearts of all united in the prayer which flowed from the pastor’s
lips; a prayer which came from a then patriot’s heart, though timidity
afterwards lost him the esteem of his friends and countrymen.
The Congress resolved to sit with closed doors, for enemies were around
them with open eyes and busy tongues, and nothing was to be made public
without special orders. Having no means at hand to ascertain the
relative importance of the Colonies, it was agreed “that each Colony
or Province should have one vote in determining questions.” One of
their first acts was to express an opinion that the whole continent
ought to support Massachusetts in resistance to the unconstitutional
change in her government; and they afterwards resolved that any person
accepting office under the new system ought to be held in detestation
as a public enemy. Merchants were advised to enter with non-importation
agreements; and a letter was addressed to General Gage, remonstrating
against the fortifications on Boston Neck, and his arbitrary exercise
of power. On the 14th of October, a _Declaration of Colonial Rights_,
prepared by a committee of two from each Province, was adopted, in
which were set forth the grievances complained of and the inalienable
rights of British subjects in every part of the realm. As a means of
enforcing the claim of natural and delegated rights, fourteen articles
were agreed to as the basis of an American Association, pledging the
associators to an entire commercial non-intercourse with Great Britain,
Ireland and the West Indies, and the non-consumption of tea and British
goods. In one clause the slave trade was specially denounced, and
entire absence from it and from any trade with those concerned in it,
formed a part of the association. Committees were to be appointed in
every county, city and town, to detect and punish all violations of
it; and all dealings with such enemies of American liberty were to be
immediately broken off. One hundred and fifty copies of the Articles of
Association were ordered to be printed.
An eloquent address to the people of Great Britain, from the pen of
John Jay, and a memorial to the inhabitants of the several British
American Colonies, written by William Livingston, were adopted by
Congress on the 21st. A petition, drawn by John Adams and corrected
by John Dickenson was approved on the 26th. Letters to the Colonies
of St. John’s Island (now Prince Edward’s, Nova Scotia), Georgia and
the Floridas, enclosing the doings of Congress, and inviting them to
join the Association, were also adopted on that day (the last of the
session). At the same time they approved of an elaborate address to the
inhabitants of Canada. This was drawn up by Mr. Dickenson. Having made
provision for another Congress to meet on the 10th of May following,
the first general council closed its session by adopting a second
humble petition to the King and a vote of thanks to the advocates of
Colonial rights in both houses of Parliament.
Congress was in actual session only thirty-one days out of the
eight weeks of the term, the remainder of the time being occupied
in preparatory business. It was a session of extraordinary activity
and a great amount of business of vast importance was transacted,
notwithstanding many unnecessary speeches were evidently made. They
were certainly more to the purpose than are most of the harangues in
Congress at the present day, or, considering the diversity of opinion
that must have existed upon the sentiments of the various state papers
that were adopted, the session would have continued for several months.
We have no means of knowing what harmony or what discord characterized
those debates. The doors were closed to the public ear, and no
reporters for the press have preserved the substance of the speeches.
That every resolution adopted was far from receiving a unanimous vote,
is very evident; for we find, by the subsequent declarations and acts
of delegates, that some of the measures were violently opposed. Many
deplored the probability of an open rupture with the mother country
and refused acquiescence in any measure that should tend to such a
result. Indeed, the sentiments of a large majority of the delegates
were favourable to an honourable reconciliation, and the Congress was
determined not to present the least foundation for a charge of rushing
madly into an unnatural contest without presenting the olive branch of
peace. Such was the tenor of its petitions and addresses; and every
charge of desire on the part of Congress for a war that might lead to
independence rested solely upon inference. Galloway, Duane, and others,
even opposed the American Association; and they regarded the Adamses as
men not only too much committed to violent measures by the part they
had taken in Boston, but that they were desperate men with nothing to
lose, and hence unsafe guides to gentlemen who had estates to forfeit.
And yet Galloway, when he became a proscriptive Loyalist, and one of
the most active enemies of the Republicans, was forced to acknowledge
the stern virtue of many of the patriots of that assembly, and among
them Samuel Adams. “He eats little, drinks little, sleeps little, and
thinks much,” he said, “and is most indefatigable in the pursuit of his
object. It was this man who, by his superior application, managed at
once the factions in Congress at Philadelphia and the factions in New
England.”
The proceedings of this first Congress went forth to the world with
all the weight of apparent unanimity, and throughout the Colonies they
were hailed with general satisfaction. The American Association adopted
and signed by the delegates was regarded by the people with great
favour and thousands in every province affixed their signatures to the
pledge. These formed the fibres of the stronger bond of the _Articles
of Confederation_ afterwards adopted, and may be considered the
commencement of the American Union.
THE CRADOCK HOUSE, MEDFORD[2]
SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE
The object of paramount interest which Medford contains is the
plantation house of Governor Cradock, or “Mathias Charterparty,” as the
malcontent Morton styled him. This house is the monarch of all those
now existing in North America. As we trace a family back generation
after generation until we bring all collateral branches to one common
source in the first Colonist, so we go from one old house to another
until we finally come to a pause before this patriarch of the sea. It
is the handiwork of the first planters in the vicinity of Boston, and
it is one of the first, if not the very first, of the brick houses
erected within the government of John Winthrop.
Every man, woman and child in Medford knows the “Old Fort,” as the
older inhabitants love to call it, and will point you to the site with
visible pride that their pleasant town contains so interesting a relic.
Turning your back upon the village and your face to the east, a brisk
walk of ten minutes along the banks of the Mystic, and you are in
presence of the object of your search.
A very brief survey establishes the fact that this was one of those
houses of refuge scattered through the New England settlements, into
which the inhabitants might fly for safety upon any sudden alarm of
danger from the savages.
The situation was well chosen for security. It has the river in front,
marshes to the eastward and a considerable extent of level meadow
behind it. As it was from this latter quarter that an attack was most
to be apprehended, greater precautions were taken to secure that side.
The house itself is placed a little above the general level. Standing
for a century and a half in the midst of an extensive and open field,
enclosed by palisades and guarded with gates, a foe could not approach
unseen by day, nor find a vantage-ground from which to assail the
inmates. Here, then, the agents of Matthew Cradock, first Governor
of the Massachusetts Company in England, built the house we are now
describing.
In the office of the Secretary of the Commonwealth, at Boston, hangs
the charter of “The Governor and Company of the Massachusetts Bay
in New England,” brought over by Winthrop in 1630. The great seal
of England, a most ponderous and convincing symbol of authority, is
appended to it.
It is well known that the settlement at Salem, two years earlier,
under the leadership of Endicott, was begun by a commercial company
in England, of which Matthew Cradock was Governor. In order to secure
the emigration of such men as Winthrop, Dudley, Sir R. Saltonstall,
Johnson, and others, Cradock proposed in July, 1629, to transfer the
government from the company in England to the inhabitants here. As
he was the wealthiest and most influential person in the association,
his proposal was acceded to.
[Illustration: THE CRADOCK HOUSE, MEDFORD, MASS.]
We cannot enter here, into the political aspects of this _coup d’état_.
It must ever arrest the attention and challenge the admiration of
the student of American history. In defiance of the crown, which had
merely organized them into a mercantile corporation, like the East
India Company, with officers resident in England, they proceeded to
nullify the clear intent of their charter by removing the government to
America. The project was first mooted by Cradock, and secrecy enjoined
upon the members of the Company. That he was the avowed author of it
must be our apology for introducing the incident. This circumstance
renders Matthew Cradock’s name conspicuous in the annals of New
England.
Cradock never came to America, but there is little doubt that he
entertained the purpose of doing so. He sent over, however, agents,
or “servants,” as they were styled, who established the plantation
at Mystic Side. He also had houses at Ipswich and at Marblehead for
fishery and traffic.
For a shrewd man of business Cradock seems to have been singularly
unfortunate in some of his servants. One of these, Philip Ratcliff,
being convicted “_ore tenus_ of most foul and slanderous invectives”
against the churches and government, was sentenced to be whipped, lose
his ears, and be banished the plantation. Winthrop was complained of by
Dudley because he stayed the execution of the sentence of banishment,
but answered that it was on the score of humanity, as it was winter and
the man must have perished. Ratcliff afterwards, in conjunction with
Thomas Morton and Sir Christopher Gardiner, procured a petition to the
Lords of the Privy Council, before whom Cradock was summoned.
Wood, one of the early chroniclers, tells us that Master Cradock had a
park impaled at Mystic, where his cattle were kept until it could be
stocked with deer; and that he also was engaged in ship-building, a
vessel of a “hundred tunne” having been built the previous year (1632).
It may be, too, that Cradock’s artisans built here for Winthrop the
little “Blessing of the Bay,” launched upon the Mystic tide, July 4,
1631,--an event usually located at the Governor’s farm, at Ten Hills.
This house, a unique specimen of the architecture of the early
settlers, must be considered a gem of its kind. It is not disguised
by modern alterations in any essential feature, but bears its
credentials on its face. Two hundred and sixty odd New England
winters have searched every cranny of the old fortress, whistled down
the big chimney-stacks, rattled the window-panes in impotent rage,
and, departing, certified to us the staunch and trusty handiwork of
Cradock’s English craftsmen.
Time has dealt gently with this venerable relic. Like a veteran of
many campaigns, it shows a few honourable scars. The roof has swerved
a little from its true outline. It has been denuded of a chimney and
has parted reluctantly with a dormer-window. The loopholes, seen in the
front, were long since closed; the race they were to defend against has
hardly an existence to-day. The windows have been enlarged, with an
effect on the _ensemble_, as Hawthorne says in a similar case, of
rouging the cheeks of one’s grandmother. Hoary with age, it is yet no
ruin, but a comfortable habitation.
How many generations of men--and our old house has seldom if ever been
untenanted--have lived and died within those walls! When it was built
Charles I. reigned in Old England and Cromwell had not begun his great
career. Peter the Great was not then born, and the house was waxing in
years when Frederick the Great appeared on the stage. We seem to be
speaking of recent events when Louis XVI. suffered by the axe of the
guillotine and Napoleon’s sun rose in splendour to set in obscurity.
The Indian, who witnessed its slowly ascending walls with wonder and
misgiving; the Englishman, whose axe wakened new echoes in the primeval
forest; the Colonist native to the soil, who battled and died within
view to found a new nation,--all have passed away. But here, in this
old mansion, is the silent evidence of those great epochs of history.
It is not clear at what time the house was erected, but it has usually
been fixed at 1634, when a large grant of land was made to Cradock
by the General Court. The bricks are said to have been burned near
by. There was some attempt at ornament, the lower course of the belt
being laid with moulded bricks so as to form a cornice. The loopholes
were for defence. The walls were half a yard in thickness. Heavy iron
bars secured the arched windows at the back, and the entrance door was
encased in iron. The fire-proof closets, huge chimney-stacks, and
massive hewn timbers told of strength and durability. A single pane of
glass, set in iron and placed in the back wall of the western chimney,
overlooked the approach from the town.
The builders were Englishmen, and, of course, followed their English
types. They named their towns and villages after the sounding
nomenclature of Old England; and what more natural than that they
should wish their homes to resemble those they had left behind? Such a
house might have served an inhabitant of the Scottish border, with its
loopholes, narrow windows and doors sheathed in iron. Against an Indian
foray it was impregnable.
Cradock was about the only man connected with the settlement in
Massachusetts Bay whose means admitted of such a house. Both Winthrop
and Dudley built of wood, and the former rebuked the deputy for what
he thought an unreasonable expense in finishing his own house. Many
brick buildings were erected in Boston during the first decade of the
settlement, but we have found none that can claim such an ancient
pedigree as this of which we are writing. It is far from improbable
that, having in view a future residence in New England, Cradock may
have given directions for or prescribed the plan of this house, and
that it may have been the counterpart of his own in St. Swithen’s Lane,
near London Stone.
“Then went I forth by London Stone
Throughout all Canwick Street.”
The plantation, with its green meadows and its stately forest-trees,
was a manor of which Cradock was lord and master. His grant extended a
mile into the country from the river-side in all places. Though absent,
he was considered nominally present, and is constantly alluded to by
name in the early records. Cradock was a member of the Long Parliament,
dying in 1641. The euphonious name of Mystic has been supplanted by
Medford, the Meadford of Dudley and the rest.
It is not to be expected that a structure belonging to so remote a
period for New England, should be without its legendary lore. It is
related that the old fort was at one time beleaguered for several days
by an Indian war party, who at length retired baffled from the strong
walls and death-shots of the garrison. As a veracious historian, we
are compelled to add that we know of no authentic data of such an
occurrence.
FRAUNCES’ TAVERN
WILLIAM J. DAVIS
Fraunces’[3] Tavern, corner of Broad and Pearl Streets, was
Washington’s quarters, on the evacuation of the city by the British
troops, 25th of November, 1783. This old mansion, around which some of
the most interesting reminiscences of our Revolutionary history are
connected, still remains, although somewhat altered from its original
appearance. It was erected about 1735 by the Delancey family, then one
of the most distinguished and opulent in New York, and was considered
equal in size and architectural display to any at that period in the
city.
As a tavern, it was the most noted in New York and was the resort of
the bloods of that day, who formed themselves into social clubs, and
among whom were some of the most active and distinguished men of the
Revolution. Samuel Fraunces, or as he was familiarly called, Black Sam
(in consequence of his swarthy complexion), was of French extraction,
and appears to have been a prince of a publican. He purchased the house
in 1762, from Oliver Delancey, for £2,000, provincial currency, but did
not open it as a public house until some time afterwards.
[Illustration: FRAUNCES’ TAVERN, NEW YORK]
The first notice of Sam that we have been able to discover, is an
advertisement in Parker’s _Post Boy_, February 5, 1761, by which
it appears that he not only acted as landlord but did considerable
business as a dealer in different kinds of preserves. Here is the
advertisement:
“To be sold at a very reasonable rate, by Samuel Francis, at the Sign
of the Masons’ Arms near the Green, New York, a small quantity of
portable soup, catchup, bottled gooseberries, pickled walnuts, pickled
or fryed oisters, fit to go to the West Indias, pickled mushrooms,
a large assortment of sweetmeats, such as currant jelly, marmalade,
quinces, grapes, strawberries and sundry other sorts.”
The Masons’ Arms was very popular under the management of Sam as a
Mead and Tea Garden, places much frequented by both sexes on pleasant
afternoons. On purchasing the Broad Street house, Sam sold out this,
and it is thus announced in the same paper:
“May 13, 1762, John Jones--Begs leave to acquaint the publick, That
he has removed to the house formerly kept by Samuel Francis, at the
Sign of the Masons’ Arms, next to Mr. Degrusia, in the Fields, where
he intends to give the same entertainment as formerly given by Mr.
Francis, and that in the best manner. Those Gentlemen and Ladies that
please to favour him with their company, may depend on the best usage
from their humble servant, John Jones.” He threw open Vauxhall Gardens,
which formerly stood in Greenwich Street, near the site afterwards
occupied by Stuart’s Sugar Refinery--but which he again resold in 1771,
and opened the much more celebrated tavern in Broad Street.
During the troubles which preceded the Revolution, Fraunces Tavern
seems to have been the resort of both Whig and Loyalist, political
affairs not having sufficient power to sever the social ties of those
whose custom it was to assemble there and discuss his Madeira, a
wine, the excellent quality of which Sam’s cellar stood proverbial.
It must not be presumed that Sam was an idle spectator of the events
then passing around him: his sympathies were with the Whigs, and he
became one of Washington’s most faithful friends and followers. It
was through the instrumentality of his daughter that the attempt to
poison Washington was frustrated, she being at that time housekeeper at
Richmond Hill, his quarters. This house was one of those which suffered
some injury from the broadside of the _Asia_ when she fired upon the
city. Freneau in one of his poems, thus speaks of it:
“Scarce a broadside was ended, till another began again--
By Jove! it was nothing but _Fire away Flannagan_!
Some thought him saluting his _Sally’s_ and _Nancy’s_
Till he drove a round shot thro’ the roof of _Sam Francis_.”
Notwithstanding this belligerent demonstration, the social club still
continued its weekly meetings for some time. A list of the members of
this club was found among the papers of the late John Moore, one of the
members and presented to the New York Historical Society, by his son,
Thos. W. C. Moore, which contains some very curious remarks which we
here insert in full.
“List of Members of the Social Club, which passed Saturday evenings
at Sam Francis’s corner of Broad and Dock Street, in winter, and in
summer at Kip’s Bay, where they built a neat, large room for the Club
House. The British landed at this spot the day they took the city, 15th
September, 1776.”
Members of this Club dispersed in December, 1775, and never afterwards
assembled.
John Jay (Disaffected) Became Member of Congress,
a Resident Minister
to Spain, Commissioner to
make peace, Chief Justice,
Minister to England, and
on his return, Governor of
New York--a good and
amiable man.
Gouveneur Morris „ Member of Congress, Minister
to France, etc.
Robt. R. Livingston „ Minister to France, Chancellor
of New York, etc.
Egbert Benson „ District Judge, New York,
and in the Legislature.
Good man.
Morgan Lewis „ Governor of New York
and a General in the war of
1812.
Gulian Verplanck „ but in Europe till 1783--President
of New York Bank.
John Livingston and but of no political importance.
his brother Henry „ went to the southward as a
James Seagrove „ merchant.
Francis Lewis „ but of no political importance.
John Watts „ doubtful--during the war
Recorder of New York.
Leonard Lispenard and but remained quiet at New
his brother Anthony „ York.
Rich’d Harrison (Loyal) but has since been Recorder
of New York.
John Hay „ an officer in the British
Army. Killed in West
ndies.
Peter Van Schaack „ a lawyer, remained quiet at
Kinderhook.
Daniel Ludlow „ during the war--since President
of Manhattan Bank.
Dr. S. Bard „ though in 1775 doubtful,
remained in New York--a
good man.
George Ludlow „ remained on Long Island in
quiet. A good man.
William his brother „ or supposed so--remained
on Long Island. Inoffensive
man.
William Imlay „ at first, but doubtful after
1777.
Edward Goold „ at New York all the war--a
merchant.
John Reade (Pro and Con) would have proved loyal,
no doubt, had not his wife’s
family been otherwise.
J. Stevens (Disaffected)
Henry Kelly, (Loyal) went to England and did not
return.
Stephen Rapelye turned out bad--died in the
New York Hospital.
John Moore Loyal --in public life all the war
and from year, 1765.
While the city was in possession of the British nothing of interest
seems to have transpired within the house. The 25th day of November,
1783, being the time fixed upon for the exodus of the British troops,
arrangements were made for the triumphal entry of Washington and the
American army to take possession of the city. On the morning of that
day,--a cold, frosty, but clear and brilliant morning--the troops
under General Knox encamped at Harlem, marched to the Bowery lane,
and halted at the present junction of Third Avenue and the Bowery.
There they remained until about one o’clock in the afternoon when the
British left their posts in that vicinity and marched to Whitehall. The
American troops followed, and before three o’clock General Knox took
formal possession of Fort George, amid the acclamations of thousands
of emancipated freemen and the roar of artillery upon the Battery.
Washington repaired to his quarters at Fraunces Tavern, and there,
during the afternoon, Governor Clinton gave a public dinner to the
officers of the army, and in the evening the town was brilliantly
illuminated. But the most remarkable event connected with the history
of the house and which has rendered it the greatest monument to
perpetuate the virtues and patriotism of Washington, is the fact that
in it he virtually resigned the charge which he had assumed on taking
command of the army. In the room on the second story occurred the
scene of his taking leave of his officers,--men who had suffered with
him in all the dangers and privations of that protracted struggle
which brought us liberty, devoted and ready to follow his lead in any
enterprise. What a noble spectacle does that scene present to the mind
for contemplation--how unlike other leaders in similar movements, who,
after having successfully obtained their purposes, seize the reins of
government, assisted by a victorious army and elevate themselves to the
supreme power by trampling upon the liberties of the people.
At this time great discontent existed throughout the army occasioned
by the coldness of Congress to the numerous petitions which had been
presented to obtain relief. The Newburgh letters proceeded from that
cause. Many of the best friends of America began to entertain doubts
as to the States being able to sustain themselves, and that anarchy
would rule. In view of this state of affairs, overtures had been made
to the chief to elect him king, but virtue was stronger than power; he
declined the proffer, with an admonition to those who offered it which
they could never forget.
The City of New York has made many futile attempts to erect to the
memory of Washington a suitable monument. It has already been done.
The preservation of Fraunces Tavern is the greatest monument that
can be conceived or erected. Let the demagogue who would barter the
liberties of his country for his personal aggrandizement visit it, and
stand within that room where the greatest of men resigned his power
and became a simple farmer again; and will not that bright example
bring him back to his duty again? It may become a second Mecca to bring
the faithful to behold the room in which occurred the scene of his
greatness and magnanimity.
On Thursday, December 4, 1783, the principal officers of the army
assembled at Fraunces’s to take a final leave of their beloved chief.
The scene is described as one of great tenderness. Washington entered
the room where they were all waiting, and, taking a glass of wine in
his hand, he said: “With a heart full of love and gratitude, I now
take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your latter days may be
as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and
honourable.” Having drank, he continued: “I cannot come to each of
you to take my leave, but shall be obliged to you if each will come
and take me by the hand.” Knox, who stood nearest to him, turned and
grasped his hand, and, while the tears flowed down the cheeks of each,
the commander-in-chief kissed him. This he did to each of his officers,
while tears and sobs stifled utterance. Washington soon left the room,
and passing through a corps of light infantry, he walked in silence to
Whitehall, followed by a vast procession, and at two o’clock entered a
barge to proceed to Paulus Hook, on his way to _Mount Vernon_.
Sam Fraunces kept the house until 1785, when he sold it.
On the election of Washington to the Presidency, Sam was appointed
steward to his establishment. An anecdote is related of Sam, who was
always anxious to provide the first dainties of the season for the
General’s table. It appears that Sam, on making his purchases at the
old Fly Market, observed a fine shad, the first of the season; he was
not long in making the bargain, and it was sent home with his other
purchases. Next morning it was duly served up in Sam’s best style for
the General’s breakfast. The General on sitting down to the table
observed the fish and asked Sam what it was. He replied “that it was
a fine shad.” “It is very early in the season for them,” rejoined
the General, “how much did you pay for it?” “Two dollars,” said Sam.
“Two dollars! I can never encourage this extravagance at my table,”
replied Washington, “take it away--I will not touch it.” The shad was
accordingly removed, and Sam, who had no such economical scruples, made
a hearty meal on the fish at his own table.
WILLIAM AND MARY COLLEGE
JOHN FISKE[4]
This college was established in 1693, with Blair for its president.
Governor Nicholson, with seventeen other persons appointed by the
assembly, formed the board of trustees. From the outset Nicholson
was warmly in sympathy with the enterprise, but now this friend was
called away for a time. In the anti-Catholic fervour which attended the
accession of King William and Queen Mary, the palatinate government
in Maryland had been overturned and the new Royal Governor Sir Lionel
Copley, died in 1693. Nicholson was then promoted from Deputy-Governor
of Virginia to be Governor of Maryland. About the same time Lord Howard
of Effingham resigned or was removed, and Sir Edmund Andros was sent
out to Virginia as Governor. It may seem a strange appointment in view
of the obloquy which Andros had incurred at the north. But in all these
appointments William III. seems to have acted upon a consistent policy
of not disturbing, except in cases of necessity, the state of things
which he found. As a rule he retained in his service the old officials
against whom no grave charges were brought; and while the personality
of Andros was not prepossessing, there can be no doubt as to his
integrity.
Nicholson’s career as Royal Governor of Maryland lasted until 1698,
while Andros was having a hard time in Virginia trying to enforce with
rigour the Navigation Act and to make life miserable for Dr. Blair.
His conduct was far more moderate than it had been in New England,
but he had his full share of trouble in Virginia. The moving cause of
his hostility to the College of William and Mary is not distinctly
assigned, but he is not unlikely to have believed, like many a dullard
of his stripe, that education is apt to encourage a seditious and
forward spirit. He did everything he could think of to thwart and
annoy President Blair. At the election of burgesses he predicted that
the establishment of a college would be sure to result in a terrible
increase of taxes. He tried to persuade subscribers to withhold the
payment of their subscriptions. He sought to arouse an absurd prejudice
against Scotchmen, for which it was rather late in the day. Finally he
connived at gross insults to the president and friends of the college.
Among the young men to whom Andros showed especial favour was Daniel
Parke, whose grandson, Daniel Parke Custis, is now remembered as the
first husband of Martha Washington. This young Daniel did some things
to which posterity could hardly point with pride. He is described as a
“sparkish gentleman,” or as some would say, a slashing blade. He was
an expert with the rapier, and anxious to thrust it between the ribs
of people who supported the college. His challenges were numerous,
but clergymen could not be reached in such a way. So “he set up a
claim to the pew in church in which Mrs. Blair sat, and one Sunday,”
as we are told, “with fury and violence he pulled her out of it in the
presence of the minister and congregation, who were greatly scandalized
at this ruffian and profane action.”[5]
[Illustration: WILLIAM AND MARY COLLEGE, WILLIAMSBURG, VA.]
This was going too far. The stout Scotchman had powerful friends in
London; the outrage was discussed in Lambeth Palace; and Sir Edmund
Andros, for winking at such behaviour, was removed. He was evidently a
slow-witted official. His experiences in Boston, with Parson Willard
of the Old South, ought to have cured him of his propensity to quarrel
with aggressive and resolute clergymen. For two or three years after
going home, Sir Edmund governed the little channel island of Jersey,
and the rest of his days were spent in retirement, until his death in
1714.
The system of absentee Governors occasionally exemplified in such cases
as those of Lord Delaware and Lord Howard, was now to be permanently
adopted. A great favourite with William III. was George Hamilton
Douglas, whose distinguished gallantry at the Battle of the Boyne and
other occasions had been rewarded with the earldom of Orkney. In 1697
he was appointed governor-in-chief of Virginia, and for the next forty
years he drew his annual salary of £1,200 without ever crossing the
ocean. Henceforth the official who represented him in Virginia was
entitled Lieutenant-Governor, and the first was Francis Nicholson, who
was brought back from Maryland in 1698.
One of Nicholson’s achievements in Maryland had been the change of seat
of government from St. Mary’s to Annapolis. He now proceeded to make
a similar change in Virginia. After perishing in Bacon’s rebellion,
Jamestown was rebuilt by Lord Culpepper, but in the last decade of
the century it was again destroyed by an accidental fire, and has
never since risen from its ashes. Of that sacred spot, the first
abiding-place of Englishmen in America, nothing now is left but the
ivy-mantled ruins of the church-tower and a few cracked and crumbling
tombstones.
Jamestown had always a bad reputation for malaria, and after its second
burning people were not eager to restore it. Plans for moving the
government elsewhere had been considered on more than one occasion.
In 1699 the choice fell upon the site of Middle Plantation, half-way
between James and York Rivers, with its salubrious air and wholesome
water. It had already, in 1693, been selected as the site of the new
college. Nicholson called the place Williamsburg, and began building a
town there with streets so laid out as to make W and M, the initials
of the king and queen, a plan soon abandoned as inconvenient. The town
thus founded by Nicholson remained the capital of Virginia until 1780,
when it was superseded by Richmond.
Nicholson was in full sympathy with President Blair as regarded the
college, but occasions for disagreement between them were at hand. On
the Lieutenant-Governor’s arrival the wise parson read him a lesson
upon the need for moderation in the display of his powers. The career
of his predecessor Andros, in more than one Colony, furnished abundant
examples of the need for such moderation. Blair offered him some
good advice tendered by the Bishop of Lincoln, whereupon Nicholson
exclaimed, with a big round oath: “I know how to govern Virginia and
Maryland better than all the bishops in England. If I had not hampered
them in Maryland and kept them under, I should never have been able to
govern them.” The doctor replied: “Sir, I do not pretend to [speak for]
Maryland, but if I know anything of Virginia, they are a good-natured
[and] tractable people as any in the world, and you may do anything
with them by way of civility, but you will never be able to manage them
in that way you speak of, by hampering and keeping them under.” The
eccentric governor did not profit by this advice....
Nicholson was recalled to England in 1705. Afterwards we find him
commanding the expedition which in 1710 captured the Acadian Port Royal
from the French. He then served as Governor of the newly conquered Nova
Scotia and afterwards of South Carolina, was knighted, rose to the rank
of Lieutenant-General and died in 1728.
Meanwhile the College of William and Mary, in which Nicholson felt so
much interest, was flourishing. Unfortunately its first hall, designed
by Sir Christopher Wren, was destroyed by fire in 1705, but it was
before long replaced by another. Until 1712, the faculty consisted of
the president, a grammar-master, writing-master and an usher; in that
year a professor of mathematics was added. In 1729, there were six
professors. Fifty years later the departments of law and medicine were
added, and the name “College” was replaced by “University.”
As in the case of Harvard, it was hoped that this college might prove
effective in converting and educating Indians. In 1723, Brafferton Hall
was built for their use, from a fund given by Robert Boyle, the famous
chemist. It is still standing and used as a dormitory. We are told that
the “Queen of Pamunkey” sent her son to college with a boy to wait upon
him, and likewise two chief’s sons, “all handsomely cloathed after the
Indian fashion”; but as to any effects wrought upon the barbarian mind
by this Christian institution of learning, there is nothing to which we
can point.
The first Commencement exercises were held in the year 1700, and it is
said that not only were Virginians and Indians present on that gala
day, but so great was the fame of it that people came in sloops from
Maryland and Pennsylvania and even from New York. The journals of what
we may call the “faculty meetings” throw light upon the manner of
living at the college. There is a matron or housekeeper, who is thus
carefully instructed: “1. That you never concern yourself with any
of the Boys only when you have a Complaint against any of them, and
then that you make it to his or their proper Master.--2. That there
be always both fresh and salt Meat for Dinner; and twice in the Week,
as well as on Sunday in particular, that there be either Puddings or
Pies besides; that there be always Plenty of Victuals; that Breakfast,
Dinner and Supper be serv’d up in the cleanest and neatest manner
possible; and for this Reason the Society not only allow but desire
you to get a Cook; that the Boy’s Suppers be not as usual made up of
different Scraps, but that there be at each Table the same Sort: and
when there is cold fresh Meat enough, that it be often hashed for
them; and that when they are sick, you yourself see their Victuals
before it be carried to them, that it be clean, decent and fit for
them; that the Person appointed to take Care of them be constantly with
them, and give their Medicine regularly. The general Complaints of
the Visitors and other Gentlemen throughout the whole Colony, plainly
shew the Necessity of a strict and regular Compliance with the above
Directions.... 4. That a proper Stocking-mender be procured to live in
or near the college, and as both Masters and Boys complain of losing
their Stockings, you are desired to look over their Notes given with
their Linnen to the Wash, both at the Delivery and return of them....
5. That the Negroes be trusted with no keys; ... that fresh Butter be
look’d out for in Time, that the Boys may not be forced to eat salt in
Summer.--6. As we all know that Negroes will not perform their Duties
without the Mistress’ constant Eye, especially in so large a Family as
the College, and as we all observe You going abroad more frequently
then even the Mistress of a private Family can do without the affairs
of her province greatly suffering, We particularly request it of you,
that your visits for the future in Town and Country may not be so
frequent, by which Means we doubt not but Complaints will be greatly
lessened.”[6]
At another meeting it is ordered that “y^t no scholar belonging to
any school in the College of w^t Age, Rank, or Quality, soever, do
keep any race Horse at y^e College, in y^e Town--or anywhere in the
neighbourhood--y^t they be not any way concerned in making races, or in
backing, or abetting, those made by others, and y^t all Race Horses,
kept in y^e neighbourhood of y^e College, etc., belonging to any of
y^e scholars, be immediately dispatched and sent off and never again
brought back, and all of this under Pain of y^e severest Animadversion
and Punishment.”
There is a stress in the wording of this order which makes one
suspect that the faculty had encountered difficulty in suppressing
horse-racing. Similar orders forbid students to take part in
cock-fighting, to frequent “y^e Ordinaries,” to bet, to play at
billiards, or to bring cards or dice into the college. Punishment is
most emphatically threatened for any student who may “presume to go
out of y^e Bounds of y^e College, particularly towards the mill-pond”
without express leave; but why the mill-pond was to be so sedulously
shunned we are left to conjecture. Finally, “to y^e End y^t no Person
may pretend Ignorance of y^e foregoing ... Regulations, ... it is
Ordered ... y^t a clear and legible copy of y^m be posted up in every
School of y^e College.”[7]
One of the brightest traditions in the history of the college is that
which tells of the wooing and wedding of Parson Camm, a gentleman
famous once, whose fame deserves to be revived. John Camm was born in
1718 and educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. He was a man of good
scholarship and sturdy character, an uncompromising Tory, one of the
leaders in that “Parsons’ Cause,” which made Patrick Henry famous.
He lived to be the last president of William and Mary before the
Revolution. After he had attained middle age, but while he was as yet
only a preacher and professor, and like all professors in those days
at William and Mary a bachelor, there came to him the romance which
brightened his life. Among those who listened to his preaching was Miss
Betsy Hansford, of the family of Hansford, the rebel and martyr. A
young friend, who had wooed Miss Betsy without success, persuaded the
worthy parson to aid him with his eloquence. But it was in vain that
Mr. Camm besieged the young lady with texts from the Bible enjoining
matrimony as a duty. She proved herself able to beat him at his own
game when she suggested that if the parson would go home and look at 2
Samuel xii. 7, he might be able to define the reason of her obduracy.
When Mr. Camm proceeded to search the Scriptures, he found these
significant words staring him in the face: “And Nathan said to David,
_Thou art the man!_” The sequel is told in an item of the Virginia
Gazette, announcing the marriage of Rev. John Camm and Miss Betsy
Hansford.
So, Virginia, too, had its Priscilla! In the words of the sweet
mediæval poem:
“El fait que dame, et si fait bien,
Car sos ciel n’a si france rien
Com est dame qui violt amer,
Quant Deus la violt à ço torner:
Deus totes dames beneie.”[8]
But this marriage was an infringement of the customs of the college,
and was rebuked in an order that _hereafter_ the marriage of a
professor should _ipso facto_ vacate his office.
The college founded by James Blair was a most valuable centre for
culture in Virginia, and has been remarkable in many ways. It was
the first college in America to introduce teaching by lectures, and
the elective system of study; it was the first to unite a group
of faculties into a university; it was the second in the English
world to have a chair of Municipal Law, George Wythe coming to such
a professorship a few years after Sir William Blackstone; it was
the first in America to establish a chair of History and Political
Science; and it was one of the first to pursue a thoroughly secular
and unsectarian policy. Though until lately its number of students
at any one time had never reached one hundred and fifty, it has
given to our country fifteen senators and seventy representatives in
Congress; seventeen Governors of States, and thirty-seven judges; three
Presidents of the United States,--Jefferson, Monroe and Tyler; and the
great Chief Justice Marshall. It was a noble work for America that was
done by the Scotch parson, James Blair.
THE MISSION DOLORES, SAN FRANCISCO
LADY HARDY
We enter the Golden Gate Park, where, a few years ago, the Pacific
waves were rolling; but these hundreds of acres have been reclaimed
from the sea, and are planted with rare shrubs, young trees, evergreens
and blooming flowers. It is tastefully laid out, a landscape garden and
park in one; there are picturesque winding paths and shady nooks and
corners where you can hide from the sun’s searching rays, and, while
you listen to the singing birds overhead, hear the boom of the breakers
on the shore below. We pass through this paradise of green and reach a
silent sea of yellow sandhills, smooth and soft as velvet, billowing
round in graceful, undulating waves as far as the eye can reach; there
is a sudden curve, and the wide Pacific Sea, in all its glory, lies
before us clothed in the sunshine, its white foam lips kissing the
golden shore; its long level line stretched against the distant skies.
We drove down to it; nay, drove into it, and watched its tiny waves
dimpling into a thousand welcomes beneath our wheels. The sun and sea
conspired together to fill the air with balmy breezes. We felt the
soft spray blowing in our faces, stirring our blood, and setting our
cheeks aglow, and as we breathed the crisp, soft air, laden with three
thousand miles of iodine, we seemed to be taking a draught of the
elixir of life.
On our way home we passed the old Mission; at least, all that is left
of it, which is not much--the mere remnants of some redwood houses and
the ancient church, a quaint-looking low-roofed home of desolation,
with its adobe walls of sun-baked clay about four feet thick, which
promise to withstand the encroaches of time a century longer. A chime
of three bells still hangs in three square portholes; their long
tongues red with rust, droop dumb and motionless from their silent
mouths. Only a hundred years ago they were brought from Castile,
blessed by the holy fathers, and brought here to the edge of the wild
Western world to ring out and summon the heathen and the wanderer to
worship the one true God.
You enter the ruined church through a low, arched doorway. The broken
font is still there, but the last drop of holy water was spilled from
it long ago. The mullioned windows are of a quaint fan-like shape and
the genial sun tries to pierce through the grime and dust and send its
beams dancing over the crumbled ruin within. The painted wooden shrines
of St. Joseph and St. Francis (who gave the settlement of Yerba Buena
the name of San Francisco) are still there. Near by are the Madonna
and Child, but the paint has worn off and they are all discoloured
and stained with the damp wind and the rain which drips, in the rainy
season, from the dilapidated roof. The crumbling decorations, though
they are of a rough, rude workmanship, still bear the stamp of artistic
design, though crudely executed by unaccustomed hands, who laboured
for the love of God. It is about a hundred feet from the threshold
to the altar. Give reins to your imagination, set it galloping back a
hundred years, and see the priests, the white nuns, and hooded friars
clustered round the empty altar busy in the service of the Lord; the
aisles filled with kneeling Indians, who know little of the faith they
have adopted except that there is an unknown God somewhere who makes
their corn grow, watches over their lives here, with a promise of a
life hereafter; men from Mexico, Peru, and Spain, and wanderers from
all along the wild Pacific coast are standing reverently round; censers
are swinging, lights are burning, and a choir of voices chant the Ave
Marias. A Christian host gathered in that wilderness by the sea. Where
are they all now? Vanished like the children of a dream.
[Illustration: THE MISSION DOLORES, SAN FRANCISCO]
A mouldy, funereal odour clings about the ruined walls, and we are
glad to step out into the little graveyard outside, where the English
hawthorn and white winter roses are blooming and the grass growing rich
and luxuriant above the moss-grown graves. Whole tribes of Indians lie
buried in the dust below our feet. There is no more desolate spot in
the world than a disused graveyard. We read strange unfamiliar names
upon the broken, half-buried stones, and crumbling urns, dilapidated
angels and crippled cherubs are tottering round us. Here and there we
decipher an English name, and, beneath, the information: “Died by the
hands of the V. C.”; “In mercy we slay the enemies of the Lord.” The
V. C. means the Vigilance Committee, who, in the early lawless days,
executed justice swift and sure upon proven criminals. The strict
justice of their decisions was never called in question. A certain
number of men of known integrity were invested with supreme power of
life or death, and the guilt of a man being once fully assured, he
had a brief trial and swift execution. There was no legal quibbling,
which often lets loose some atrocious criminal to prey upon the world
again until, at the end, he is launched out of it. Near the low arched
gateway stands the dilapidated figure of a woman, her sightless eyes
and lifted hands pointing upwards--mute significance of one hope for
all the miscellaneous dead.
A fresh breeze was blowing outside, but here it seemed to hang heavy
and still, laden with the damp odour of mouldering graves, which
mingled with and destroyed the sweet scent of the flowers that are
flourishing so luxuriantly above the dead. This was the first we had
seen of the many remnants of the old mission days, when the Spanish
Fathers first came to the wilderness to sow the good seed and reap the
harvest in their Lord’s name.
About the year 1820 the mission began to decay, the soldiers were
recalled from the Presidio, where they had been stationed for the
protection of the friars and their property, and from that time the
missions dwindled, till the Fathers were recalled to Spain. They
carried with them all their cattle and movable goods, and left their
buildings to decay. These are scattered throughout the State of
California, wherever the Fathers held temporary sway. Still, though
they and their labours have passed away, and are well-nigh forgotten,
they have left their traces behind them: throughout the country we
find the old Spanish names still clinging to the soil, such as Santa
Clara, Santa Rosa, Santa Barbara, San Rafael, San José, Los Angeles,
Monterey, Carmelo, etc. Mr. John S. Hittell has given in his history of
California a most interesting and graphic account of these missions,
their people, their work, and the effect upon the country from their
first establishment to their decline.
The city has grown out of the wilderness, and crowded so close to the
crumbling walls of the ruined mission that as we leave the gloomy
precincts we step out into the populous streets, which are full of
hurry, bustle and vigorous young life. It is like stepping from the old
century into the new. Gaily painted cars and omnibuses are dashing up
and down the wide Mission Street, each following the other so quickly
that before you can step into one, another is on its heels.
KING’S CHAPEL, BOSTON
F. W. P. GREENWOOD
The _Rose_ frigate must have seemed to the greater part of the
Bostonians, or Bostoneers, as Randolph called them, freighted heavily
with woe, bearing as it did the Rev. Robert Ratcliffe, of the Church
of England, with his surplice and his book of Common Prayer; to say
nothing of the commission which appointed a president over them by the
King’s sole authority. It was as new to them and as disagreeable to
have in their midst a settled clergyman of that church as it was to
see at their head a ruler not of their own choosing. “There had been
very few instances of even occasional assemblies for religious worship
according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England for more
than fifty years. When the commissioners from King Charles were at
Boston in 1665, they had a chaplain with them, but there was no house
for public worship. Most of the inhabitants who were upon the stage in
1686, had never seen a Church of England assembly” (Hutchinson). The
time was now come for the strange sight to be exhibited, and for the
members of the Episcopal communion to rally under the countenance and
influence of the Royal government. It should be stated, too, that the
general court had declared in 1677, that no persons should be hindered
from performing divine service according to the Church of England.
The way therefore appeared to lay smooth and open for the Episcopalians
to introduce their forms of worship and government.
[Illustration: KING’S CHAPEL, BOSTON]
As Randolph had the chief hand in overturning the old charter of
the Colony, so was he most active and efficient in establishing an
Episcopalian Church here, and procuring the services of a clergyman
from England.
Randolph carried his two great ends, the destruction of the original
Massachusetts Charter, and the importation and introduction of an
Episcopal clergyman.
On the 15th of May, 1686, as I have before stated, arrived the _Rose_
frigate, commanded by Captain George. On the 25th Dudley entered on the
duties of his temporary presidency. On the 26th, Mr. Ratcliffe waited
on the council and Mr. Mason and Randolph proposed that he should have
one of the three Congregational meeting-houses to preach in. This was
denied, but he was granted the use of the library room in the east end
of the town house, which then stood where the Old State House, or, as
its present name is, the City Hall, now stands.
This was truly an humble beginning for those who made such high
pretensions as did these zealous Royalists and churchmen. As they
assembled in the east end of the town house, and looked round on their
twelve forms and their movable pulpit, they must have felt the contrast
between such a tabernacle and the solemn old cathedrals at home; and
have felt, too, that they were among a people who, though of the same
blood as themselves, were strangers to their mode of faith and worship,
despising what they esteemed most sacred, and setting at nought the
power which they deemed unquestionable.
On the 23d of March, 1687, the Governor (Sir Edmund Andros) sent Mr.
Randolph for the keys of the South meeting house, now called the Old
South, that the Episcopalians might have prayers there. A committee of
six, of whom Judge Sewall was one, thereupon waited on his Excellency
to show that the house was their own property, and to repeat that they
could not consent to part with it to such use. This was on Wednesday.
The following Friday, which was Good Friday, Sir Edmund Andros sent
to command the sexton of the South church to open the door and ring
the bell for those of the Church of England. The sexton, though he had
resolved not to do so, was persuaded or intimidated into compliance,
and the Governor and his party took possession of the house, and the
church service was performed there.
We now approach the close of Andros’s tyrannical government, which
was brought about through the influence of one of the most auspicious
changes in the government of the mother country, the Glorious
Revolution, as it is called, of 1688. The spring succeeding the landing
of William of Orange at Torbay, news was brought to Boston of the
event, by way of Virginia, by a Mr. Winslow. Sunday, the 26th of May,
the joyful news arrived of the proclaiming of William and Mary and on
the 29th, the proclamation was published in Boston with great ceremony.
Late in the year, an order from the King was received, requiring that
Sir Edmund Andros, Edward Randolph, John Trefry, and others that had
been seized by the people of Boston, should be sent to England in the
first ship bound thither, and in February, 1690, they embarked, and
Boston was rid of them and their tyranny.
Mr. Ratcliffe and his assistant, Mr. Clark, must have also gone back
to England about this time, as I find no notice of either of them,
after the disposition of Andros. But in the meantime, the Episcopal
Church had been built. How the land was procured, or of whom, when the
building was dedicated, or by whom, there is no record, or if there be
one, I have not met with it.
This first church was built of wood. It stood on the spot covered by
the present church, but did not occupy nearly so much ground. In an old
engraving which I have examined, representing the town of Boston as it
was in 1720, this church, among others, is introduced. It stands in
the same position with the present one, has a square tower at the west
end, from the roof of which rises a staff supporting the vane, and just
under the vane is a large and quite observable crown. It was the fifth
house of public worship erected in Boston. The Congregational houses
were then three in number, and the Baptists had succeeded in building
themselves a church several years before the Episcopalians commenced
theirs.
In the beginning of the year 1702, news was received of the death of
King William, and the Church was put in mourning. Before his decease,
Mr. Joseph Dudley, who had rendered himself so obnoxious here, as in
many things the coadjutor, and, for his own selfish ends almost the
creature of Randolph, had interest enough to obtain while in London,
the appointment of Governor of Massachusetts, which he had so long
and eagerly coveted. On his reappearance in Boston, invested with
his new dignity, he was received kindly and with a forgetfulness of
past offences. He joined himself to the congregation of _Queen’s
Chapel_, as it was now called, on the accession of Queen Anne; and
his name, together with that of the Lieutenant-Governor, constantly
appears on the list of vestrymen.
At the Easter meeting in 1708, it was “agreed, that on Whitsunmonday
there be a meeting of the congregation about enlarging the Queen’s
Chappell.” The work, however, seems not to have been commenced till the
year 1710, when a subscription was raised to effect its accomplishment.
It amounted, indeed, to a rebuilding of the church, which was enlarged
to twice its original size; nor was it till the year 1713, that the
pillars, capitals and cornice were painted, and the scaffolding taken
down. Places were assigned anew to the proprietors, and each person
paid for the building of his own pew. And whereas the pews had been
built before, according to the usual fashion, with little rails or
banisters running round the top, it was now voted that they should
“be built in one forme without banisters.” The pulpit was removed
from its former situation “to the next pillar at the East, being near
the centre of the Church.” The two long pews fronting the pulpit were
made into two square pews, one for Col. Tailer, Lieutenant-Governor,
the other for Mr. Jekyll, and the two pews behind them were made into
one, for the use of masters of vessels; and the pew behind that was
appropriated to the accommodation of eight old men. A shell was placed
over the south door.
A clock was given by “the Gentlemen of the British Society”; and a more
important present, that of an organ, demands a more particular notice.
_A Record of Votes and Resolutions, etc., together with some brief
Memoirs of the Transactions relating to the Rebuilding King’s Chapel
in Boston_ begins with stating that King’s Chapel was first erected
of wood in the year 1688, that it was enlarged in 1710, and being
found in the year 1741 in a state of considerable decay, that it was
proposed to rebuild it of stone. The Rev. Roger Price was at that time
“minister,” and William Shirley, Esq. (about the same time appointed
Governor of the Province), and Mr. Sam’l Wentworth, wardens. A
voluntary subscription was set on foot, and Peter Faneuil, Esq., chosen
treasurer for receiving sums subscribed. The building was to be stone
and cost £25,000 old tenor. It was not to be commenced till £10,000
were subscribed.
In March, 1753, the new church being so far advanced that it was
necessary to desert the old one, the congregation requested and
obtained leave to meet in Trinity Church on Sundays, at separate hours
from the congregation of that church, and on festival and prayer days
in Mr. Croswell’s meeting-house. In April the old church was pulled
down. Before it falls to the ground, let us take such a glimpse of its
venerable interior, as the mist of dim ages will allow us.
Since the enlargement of the Chapel in 1710, and the erection
subsequently of galleries, it contained 122 pews, of which number 82
were on the ground floor. But these pews must have been small, as the
present church contains no more. The pulpit was on the north side of
the church, at about the midst. A finely decorated pew for the Governor
who sat successively in it, was opposite; and near it there was another
pew reserved for the officers of the British Army and Navy. In the west
gallery of this first Episcopal Church was the first organ which ever
pealed to the praise of God in this country; while displayed along its
walls, and suspended from its pillars, after the manner of foreign
churches, were escutcheons and coats-of-arms being those of the King,
Sir Edmund Andros, Francis Nicholson, Captain Hamilton, and Governors
Dudley, Shute, Burnet, Belcher and Shirley. In the pulpit there was
an hourglass, according to the old fashion, mounted on a large and
elaborate stand of brass. At the east end there was “the Altar piece,
whereon was the Glory painted, the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer,
the Creed and some texts of Scripture.” It was a strange sight among
the bare churches of New England.
In 1756 the noble organ which now stands in our west gallery was
procured from England, and paid for by the subscription of individuals
belonging to the church. Its original cost in London was £500 sterling;
and when all charges were added, its whole expense amounted to £637.
As it was obtained by private subscription, no notice of it whatever
is taken in the church records. The only memorial concerning it with
which I am acquainted, is a paragraph in the _Boston Gazette and
Country Journal_ of 30th of August, 1756, which is copied into our
later records, and is as follows:
“We hear that the organ, which lately arrived from London by Capt.
Farr for King’s Chapel in this Town, will be opened on Thursday next
in the Afternoon; and that said organ (which contains a variety of
curious stops never yet heard in these parts) is esteemed by the most
eminent masters in England, to be equal, if not superior to any of the
same size in Europe.--There will be a sermon suitable to the occasion;
Prayers to begin at four o’clock.”
There is a very current tradition respecting this organ, that it
was selected by Handel himself. Taking into consideration the above
reference to “the most eminent masters in England,” we may receive
this tradition as founded in truth. And, moreover, as the organ was
designed for the King’s Chapel in New England, we may readily suppose
that his Majesty’s favourite musician would at least be desired to give
his opinion of its merits; and this opinion, being favourable, might
be called a selection, even if the “mighty master” gave himself no
further trouble with its purchase. Handel died in 1758, and was blind
eight years before his death. But sight was not at all necessary in the
office supposed to be consigned to him, and though his eyes never could
have measured the external proportions of this organ, his ears must
probably have judged of its tones and powers and his own hands rested
on its keys.
In 1772, an additional service of plate, together with new pulpit
furniture, was obtained from the King through the influence of Governor
Hutchinson. In 1773, the ancient records end. A short time previous to
the breaking out of the war, and through the whole of the year 1775,
King’s Chapel was the place of worship of many of the officers of the
Navy and Army of Great Britain, who were stationed in and near Boston;
and the duties of Dr. Caner and his assistant were consequently much
increased.
The Chapel remained closed till the autumn of 1777; and then it was
opened, not for Episcopal but Congregational services, very contrary
to all the anticipations of Dr. Caner. The congregation of the Old
South Church, not being able at that time to repair the desolations of
their own sanctuary, which had been desecrated, spoiled, and used as
a riding-school by the British troops, applied for the use of King’s
Chapel, or the Stone Chapel, as it then for obvious reasons began to be
called. The application was made to the few proprietors of the Chapel
who were left, and was readily granted. “The congregation,” says Mr.
Wisner, in his _History of the Old South Church_, “were kindly and
gratuitously accommodated at the Chapel about five years.”
Our church as a building has undergone no considerable change since the
Revolution, except the erection of the colonnade at the West End, or
Front, which was put up in the year 1790. The crown and mitre have, to
be sure, disappeared from their stations on the top of the organ, and
the Governor’s pew, with its Corinthian pillars and crimson damask
tapestry, has been taken down and converted into two pews of common
size and pretensions. But the architecture and interior arrangements,
are, in all other respects, the same as before the war.
SOME BUILDINGS IN HAVANA
RICHARD DAVEY
Notwithstanding the mosquito nuisance and bad drainage, the traveller’s
first impression of Havana is distinctly agreeable, and the pleasing
illusion is never completely destroyed. The harbour is wonderfully
picturesque. Opposite the entrance stands the Moro Castle, almost a
_facsimile_ of that curious little castellated Moorish fortress which
faces the beautiful monastery and Church of Belem, at Lisbon. To
the left are two rather sharp promontories, crested by several fine
churches, on _Los Angeles_, fully two hundred years old--an age in the
New World, corresponding to hoar antiquity in the Old,--beyond these,
upon a number of low-lying hills, rises the city, an irregular mass of
one-storied dwellings, painted a vivid ochre, and interspersed with
church domes and towers--with here and there tall, lank cocoa palms,
or a tuft of banana leaves waving over some garden wall. Vessels
from every part of the world, feluccas, with their swallow-shaped
sails, some dazzling white, others a deep-red brown, fill up the
foreground--whilst canoe-like market boats laden with tropical fruits,
fish, vegetables and flowers, and rowed by negroes naked to the waist,
scud in all directions over the deep blue waters.
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, HAVANA]
Arriving, as I did, from New York, which I had left deep in snow,
this summer scene was most exhilarating, and the exceeding transparency
of the Cuban atmosphere added considerably to its beauty. Everything
seemed unusual, novel, and, above all, utterly unlike what I had
expected. The impress of the mother-country, Spain, is felt and seen
everywhere, and modern American influences are barely perceptible, as
yet. From the sea Havana might be Malaga or Cadiz, but when you land,
memories of Pompeii immediately crowd upon you. What we should call the
city proper, the commercial quarter of the Cuban capital, consists of
a labyrinth of narrow lanes, traversed by one or two broadish streets,
the principal of which, known all over Southern America and the West
Indies as Calle O’Reilly, runs from the Governor’s Palace, right out
to the walls of the city. Few of the houses which line these lanes and
alleys are more than one story high, but that one story so exceedingly
lofty, that it would make three in an average London dwelling. The
lower half of every house is painted either a deep darkish blue, a
deep Egyptian red, or a vivid yellow ochre; the upper part is always
a dazzling white. As in Pompeii you notice rows of stucco columns,
painted half one colour, half another. Peeping through the ever-open
doorways, you may, as you pass along, obtain something more than a
mere casual glimpse of the interior of the dwellings. If you are early
enough, you may behold the family at its toilet, for there is very
little privacy anywhere in Cuba, every act, from entry into life to
its final exit, from baptism to burial, being serenely performed in
the utmost publicity. The lower windows, overlooking the street, are
protected by heavy iron bars, and behind these you may, in certain
quarters of the town, see lively groups of Havanese Geishas, their
faces thickly powdered with rice flour, their long black hair plaited,
and their opulent charms displayed to liberal advantage--“_sono donn
che fano all’ amore!_” These same curious overhanging windows, with
their iron bars, would give the place a prison-like appearance, were
they not painted in the most brilliant colours,--orange, scarlet, and
pea-green.
There is no West End, so to speak, in Havana, the mansions of the
wealthy being scattered through every part of the city. Some of the
finer houses are exceedingly handsome, but they are all built on one
plan, in the classical style, with an inner courtyard, surrounded by
handsome marble or stucco columns. I imagine them to be designed much
on the same plan as the villas of ancient Rome. In the centre of the
_Pateo_, there is generally a garden, rich in tropical vegetation,
shading either a fountain or a large gilded aviary full of brilliant
parrots and parrakeets. In some houses there is a picture or statue of
the Virgin, or some Saint, with a silver lamp burning before it day
and night. In the _Pateo_ the family assembles of an evening, the
ladies in full dress--and as it is generally brilliantly illuminated,
the pleasant domestic scene adds greatly to the gay appearance of the
streets, which fill with loungers in the cool of the evening.
The handsomest street in Havana is the Cerro, a long thoroughfare
running up a hill at the back of the town, bordered on either side
by enormous old villas, in the midst of magnificent gardens. The
finest of these mansions belongs to the very old Hernandez family, and
is built of white marble in the usual classical style. The adjacent
villa, Santo Veneo has a lovely garden, and used to be famous for its
collection of orchids, the late Countess de Santo Veneo, a very wealthy
lady, being a great collector. She was a clever, agreeable woman,
well-known in Paris where she usually spent the summer and autumn. In
the midst of a perfect forest of cocoa-palms stands the former summer
villa of the Bishops of Havana, now a private residence.
Then, one after the other, follow the handsome dwellings of the
Havanese Sangre Azul, of the Marquese dos Hermanos, of the Conde
Penalver, of the Marqueza de Rio Palma, etc. The cacti in these villa
gardens are of amazing size and shape, some showing leaves thick
enough to bear the weight of a full grown man. Unfortunately, these
Havana Edens are infested all the year round by swarms of mosquitos.
The residents seem skin proof, and do not appear to suffer from the
insects’ attacks. But woe waits on the unwary newcomer who tempts fate
by lingering in these lovely gardens!
Although an eminently Catholic city, Havana cannot be said to be rich
in churches. A goodly number have been destroyed during the various
rebellions, especially those of the middle of the century, when the
religious orders were suppressed. The largest church is the Mercede, a
fine building in the _rococo_ style with handsome marble altars
and some good pictures. It is crowded on Sundays and holidays by
the fashionable world of the place, the young men forming up in rows
outside the church as soon as Mass is over, to gaze at the senoritas
and their chaperons.
The Cathedral is the chief architectural monument of interest in
Havana. It was erected for the Jesuits in 1704, and was converted into
a Cathedral in the course of the Nineteenth Century. It is built in the
usual Hispano-American style with a big dome and two stumpy towers on
either side of the centre. Internally the effect is rather heavy, owing
to the dark colour of the marbles which cover the walls, but compared
with most churches in these latitudes, the edifice is in exceptionally
good taste, with a remarkable absence of the tawdry images and
wonderful collections of trumpery, artificial flowers and glass shades,
which, as a rule, disfigure South American churches. The choir would
be considered handsome even in Rome, and the stalls are beautifully
carved in mahogany. Almost all the columns in the church are also
mahogany, highly polished, producing the effect of a deep red marble,
most striking when relieved, as in this case, by gilt bronze capitals.
In the choir is the tomb of Columbus. The great navigator died, as
most of my readers will doubtless be aware, at Valladolid, in Spain,
on Ascension Day, 1506, and his body was at first deposited, after the
most pompous obsequies, in the Church of San Francisco, in that city.
In 1513, the remains were conveyed to the Carthusian monastery of La
Quabas, at Seville, where Ferdinand and Isabella erected a monument
over them, bearing the simple but appropriate inscription:
“_A Castile y Leon
Nuevo Mundo Dio Colon._”
Twenty-three years later, the body of Columbus, with that of his son
Diego, was removed to the island of San Domingo or Hayti, and interred
in the principal church of the capital; but when that island was ceded
to the French, the Spaniards claimed the ashes of the Discoverer, and
they were carried to Havana and solemnly interred in the Cathedral,
on the 15th January, 1796. The remains, which, by this time, it
seems, were scanty enough, were placed in a small urn, deposited in
a niche in the left wall of the chancel, and sealed up with a marble
slab, surmounted by an excellent bust of the bold explorer, wreathed
with laurel. The inscription, a very poor one, excited considerable
ridicule, and a pasquinade was circulated, lamenting the absence of the
nine Muses on the occasion of its composition.
Of late years, however, the inhabitants of San Domingo have set up a
protest in favour of certain bones which have been discovered in their
own Cathedral, and declare by their gods or by their saints, that never
a bone of Columbus left their island, and that the relics of the great
Christopher in the Cathedral of Havana, unto which so many pilgrimages
have been made, are as apocryphal as were those of certain saints
mentioned by the learned Erasmus.
Of the other numerous Havanese churches there is not much to be said,
except that nearly all have remarkable ceilings, decorated in a sort
of mosaic work in rare woods, often very artistic in design. Columns
of mahogany are frequently seen, and nearly all the churches are
lined with very old Spanish or Dutch tiles. The Church of Santa Clara,
attached to a very large nunnery, is a favourite place of devotion with
the fashionable ladies, who squat on a piece of carpet in front of the
Madonna, with their negro attendant kneeling a few feet behind them.
When the lady has performed her devotions, the sable footman takes up
her carpet, and follows her out of the church, walking solemnly a few
feet behind her. In the Church of the Mercede, there is a very curious
picture representing a group of Indians being slaughtered by a number
of Spaniards. In the centre is a wooden cross, upon the transverse
portions of which Our Lady is seated, holding the infant Jesus in
her arms. In the corner is a long inscription of some historical
importance. It runs thus:
“The Admiral, Don Christopher Columbus and the Spanish Army, being
possessed of the ‘Cerro de la Vaga,’ a place in the Spanish island,
erected on it a cross, on whose right arm, the 2d of May, 1492, in the
night, there appeared, with her most precious Son, the Virgin, Our Lady
of Mercy. The Indians, who occupied the island, as soon as they saw
Her, drew their arrows and fired at Her, but, as the arrows could not
pierce the sacred wood, the Spaniards took courage, and, falling upon
the said Indians, killed a great number of them. And the person who saw
this wonderful prodigy was the V. P. F. Juan.”
The Jesuits have an important college for boys in Havana. Annexed to it
is an observatory, said to be the best organized in South America. The
church is handsome, and over the high altar hangs a famous Holy Family
by Ribera. In connection with this college, there is also a museum and
library, especially rich in drawings and prints, illustrating Cuban
life and scenery, from the Sixteenth Century down to our own times.
The Tacon opera-house, which can accommodate 5,000 persons, is, in its
way, a very fine theatre, built in the Italian fashion, with tiers of
boxes, one above another. They are separated by gilded lattices, so as
to afford every possible means of ventilation. Round each tier of boxes
is a sort of ambulatory or verandah, overlooking the great Square.
The upper gallery is exclusively devoted to the coloured people, who,
on a Sunday, fill it to suffocation. They are considered the most
critical part of the audience, and their appreciation or disapproval
is generally well founded and liberally demonstrated. The first two
rows of boxes belong to the aristocracy and wealthy merchants, and
the display of jewelry on a gala night used to be quite amazing. The
lower part of the house is divided into a pit and orchestra-stalls.
When crowded the Tacon presents a really fine appearance. The stage
is, I should say, as large as that at Covent Garden and the operas are
perfectly mounted and staged.
According to the best authorities, Diego Velasquez, the Conqueror of
Cuba, founded the famous city of San Christobal de la Habana in 1508,
and being immensely impressed by the width and depth of the harbour,
and its generally favourable position for trade purposes, he called
it _la Have del Nuevo Mondo_, the key to the New World. So far
he was right, and until quite recently Havana stood forth among the
richest cities in Southern America. The early history of Cuba, like
that of all the West Indian Islands, consists of a series of attacks by
Spanish, English, French and Dutch buccaneers and privateers. In 1528,
these adventurers burnt the new city to the ground, but, Phœnix-like,
it soon rose above its ashes, and was eventually protected by a
chain of fortifications of sufficient importance to resist a siege
by the Dutch in 1628. From 1762 until February, 1763, the English,
under Sir George Pickock, held the place. It was finally restored to
the Spaniards; and the evacuation, on July 10th of the same year,
was celebrated with great rejoicing; Britain being, at that date,
distinctly unpopular in Cuba. In 1768, France having ceded Louisiana to
Spain, Don Antonio Alloa sailed for New Orleans, to take possession in
the name of Their Catholic Majesties. He was so ill received as to be
obliged to return forthwith to Havana, where Marshal O’Reilly, an Irish
exile, organized an expedition to Louisiana, and seized the capital,
which was not held for very long. In 1802, Havana was partly burnt to
the ground and some ten thousand persons were left homeless. Under the
Governorship of the celebrated Tacon, Havana soon resumed its foremost
position, and was almost entirely rebuilt in stone and masonry,
whereas, hitherto, most of the houses had been of wood thatched with
straw. If you ask, “Who built that fine edifice?” the answer is
invariably “Tacon.” “Yon theatre?” “Tacon.” It is literally a case of
“_Tacon qui, Tacon su e Tacon giù._” He is the benevolent Figaro
of the place. The wonders which he performed in a short time prove
clearly that when the island is energetically governed, it flourishes
marvellously.
ST. MICHAEL’S CHURCH, CHARLESTON
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
Cities, like men, and because they are the work of men, have each,
necessarily, marked features of individuality, and these will be found
to illustrate in some degree, the characteristics of the people by
whom they have been founded, and by whom they are maintained. All
of our American cities may thus be distinguished, each having its
local atmosphere and aspect. Charleston is confessedly one of the
favourite cities of the South, if not of the Union, and is commended
to our regards by a thousand special considerations. She has been
distinguished by her early and active share in our Revolution--in
the formation of the Confederacy and the Constitution--in the noble
contributions of intellect and valour which she has made to the common
capital of the country--in her generous sacrifices at all times in the
common cause--by the refinements of her society--by the polish of her
people--the general propriety of her tastes--her lofty morals and warm
hospitality.
Founded under peculiar circumstances, at a juncture of marked
transition in European affairs, under the direct patronage of the most
eminent among the British nobility, and subsequently taken under the
immediate protection of the Crown, the colony of South Carolina--of
which Charleston was at that period the very soul--was always a much
favoured province of the mother country. The richness and value
of her products furnished substantial reasons why she should be a
favourite. Her merchants were mostly British; her native sons of family
were sent to Britain for education; and the affinities between the
parent state and the colony were thus rendered doubly tenacious, making
the struggle of the Revolution a much severer one in this than in any
other colony of the whole continent.
[Illustration: ST. MICHAEL’S CHURCH, CHARLESTON]
The Palmetto City is happily placed within two spacious rivers, the
Cooper and Ashley--the Etiwan and Keawah of the Red Men. These unite
to form the harbour, which is ample and attractive to the eye, in
high degree, forming a beautiful _ensemble_, not less sweet than
spacious. As you enter from the sea, between the Islands of Sullivan
and Morris, the city opens before you in the foreground, five miles
distant--rising, like another Venice from the ocean. It is built, like
Venice, upon flats and shoals of sand and mud. So low is the land, that
the illusion that it is built directly in the sea, continues till you
approach quite near it. This illusion is productive of a picturesque
effect, but not sufficient to compensate you for the relief which would
be yielded by an elevated background, or by lofty eminences of land
on either side. As you advance, the bay expands, wide and majestic,
forming a harbourage to which there can be no objection, were it not
for the embarrassments of the bar at the entrance, which forbids the
admission of ships of very heavy draught of water. In front of you,
commanding the channel is Fort Sumter, a formidable pile of fortress,
with double tier of heavy cannon rising upon a mole at the head of a
sand-bar. In passing Sullivan’s Island the eye readily distinguishes
the famous fortress which bears the name of Moultrie, distinguished
in American history as the scene of one of the first and best fought
battles of the Revolution, when a few hundred native riflemen, who
had never fired a cannon before, beat off and nearly destroyed a
formidable British fleet, making such slaughter among them as, in
proportion to the numbers engaged, was not even reached by that of
Trafalgar and the Nile. On the right you see Haddrill’s--Mount Pleasant
village--which also constituted one of the fortresses of ’76. On the
left are the shores of James and Morris Islands, the latter bearing the
lighthouse of the port; the former the site of old Fort Johnson, which
was wrested from the British, prior to the battle of Fort Moultrie
by the enterprise of a small body of citizen soldiery. Here at the
very portals of the city, you encounter Castle Pinckney, covering an
ancient mud reef; and here we propose to give you a bird’s eye view of
the city itself--the Palmetto City. You see the _tout ensemble_
at a glance, and perceive its two most prominent characteristics--the
verandahs, balconies, piazzas, with the ample gardens and their
foliage, which isolate every dwelling-house, and form a substitute for
public squares, in which Charleston is lamentably deficient. But for
the largeness of the several lots and the taste of the people for shade
trees, the deficiency would be fatal at once to the health and beauty
of the place.
On the south-east corner of Broad and Meeting Street is an antique of
the old Colonial period, the sight of which always rouses the pride
of the Palmetto citizen. This is St. Michael’s Church (Episcopalian),
a fine old fabric, and one of the best specimens of the British
architectural talent of its day, at least as this was exhibited in its
American production.
This fine church was first opened for worship in 1761. Its tower
is supposed to be one of the noblest ornaments of the city. The
proportions are good; the effect is graceful and imposing. The extreme
elevation is 168 feet; no great elevation, perhaps, except in a city
so little above the sea as Charleston. It is here even now overtopped
by others. But it is not a mere spire. It is a series of ornamented
chambers, gradually rising from each other; and involves dimensions of
greater bulk and weight than any other of the city towers, St. Philip’s
alone excepted. The church of St. Michael’s seems to be deficient in
relation with the tower, and the effect is not good. It is too squat
for the steeple. The extreme length of the body of the church is 130
feet, its width 60. As a whole the structure is in good taste, simple
and proper; while this steeple, from its proportions, and an air of
grace and lightness, which lessens greatly your idea of its bulk and
weight, is in the highest degree pleasing and impressive.
This tower constituted, until a comparatively recent period, the great
landmark of the city from the sea. It was the chief, or only beacon in
the period of the Revolution, and was painted black when the assailing
British fleet was anticipated, in order to prevent their use of it
as a guide to the harbour. But this was a mistake. Black against a
light-blue sky was a more certain landmark than white. It has a very
musical chime of eight bells, none sweeter in the country. In the humid
climate of Charleston the bells acquire a rare sweetness of tone, and
those of St. Michael’s are especially musical. Of these bells there is
a curious history. They were taken down and sent, as a portion of the
_spolia opima_ of the captured city, to London for sale. They were
bought by London merchants, and restored by them to the church, whether
as a gift or by purchase we are not able to say.[9]
During the Civil War the bells of St. Michael’s were sent to Columbia
to be cast into cannon, but General Beauregard pronounced them unfit
for the purpose and had them preserved in the capital with other relics
of value.
THE CARLYLE HOUSE, ALEXANDRIA
In the quiet little town of Alexandria, whose large and grass-grown
cobble-stones are rarely disturbed by vehicles or pedestrians, there
are many old houses of distinguished, if somewhat decayed, appearance.
They date from the period when the town, known as Belle Haven, had
every prospect of becoming an important centre of trade and society. It
was a mart for the famous “Oronoko tobacco” and a warehouse for this
commodity established about 1720 brought prosperity to the settlement
on the Potomac, whose name was soon changed to honour James Alexander,
the Earl of Stirling. Many ships docked in the harbour to land
merchandise, soldiers, sailors, officers and distinguished foreigners
on diplomatic missions; and from the _Royal George_, the northern
mail coach left every day connecting Alexandria with the world. In this
period of prosperity, many handsome houses were built and furnished
with every comfort and luxury known to this country.
Among the typical examples of domestic architecture of Colonial days is
one that amply repays a visit,--not merely on account of its historical
associations, but because it is one of the best specimens of Eighteenth
Century architecture existing in this country.
[Illustration: THE CARLYSLE HOUSE, ALEXANDRIA, VA.]
Completely hidden by a modern hotel of unprepossessing appearance, few
tourists who pause on their way from Washington to _Mount Vernon_ to
see the town that Washington visited so frequently, are aware of its
existence.
Passing through the hotel into the back court, the visitor is suddenly
confronted by this noble old house, now deserted and forlorn, with
no hints of its days of gaiety and splendour. The house is extremely
large and of fine proportions, and when surrounded by its trees
and gardens must have presented an appearance of great dignity
and charm. Architects, however, delight even more in the interior
decorations,--the beautifully carved chimney-pieces, doors and other
woodwork and the fine stairway. When this house was built by Major John
Carlyle in 1752, it was considered one of the three handsomest homes
in the vicinity, the others being _Mount Vernon_, the home of the
Washingtons, and _Belvoir_, the home of the Fairfaxes.
One curious feature of the Carlyle House is that it is built upon an
old fort, whose massive grass-grown walls are still to be seen, as well
as the subterranean passage that leads from the house through the fort
to the Potomac.
The following description by a nameless writer describes the house as
it was about forty years ago:
“It is built of cut stone, quite large, being about fifty feet square,
the doors and windows ornamented with carved caps. A massive porch is
built on the west front and the east is occupied by a long verandah. A
wide hall runs entirely through the house, in each story, and opening
into them are spacious rooms. These, as well as the hall on the first
story, are wainscoted to the ceiling and ornamented with carved wood,
after the style of the period in which the house was built.
“Formerly, fine grounds surrounded the house; on the east side a garden
extended to the river, which, at that time, was about three hundred
yards distant. This inlet has long been filled in, and its site is now
occupied by streets and buildings. A broad walk, bordered on either
side with trees and shrubs extended from the house to the river. Being
considerably above the grade of the surrounding streets, the garden
was entirely cut away except a small portion near the house, which was
walled in. The garden on the west front extended from the mansion to
the street and fronted directly on the public square, which at that
time was occupied by the town jail and pillory. In the garden were a
number of tall Lombardy poplars, and at each corner a lodge was built,
which was used as servants’ quarters. These have all been removed and
their site is occupied by a large building. This prevents a front view
of the mansion, except from the interior point of the hotel.”
Another excellent description by Alexander Cameron, in the _New
England Magazine_ for 1902, reads as follows:
“The most imposing residence the town possessed was, of course, the one
John S. Carlyle had erected in 1752, constructed of Portland stone,
shipped from the Isle of Wight in exchange for the famous Oronoko
tobacco. The house was well situated,--in the rear the lawn sloped
down to the Potomac and on the portico one could sit and watch the
vessels from over the seas glide into the haven that ever appeared
most beautiful, and in front like watchful sentinels, a double row of
Lombardy poplars kept guard over the stately home, where hospitality
was offered with a lavish hand and where good cheer and kindliness were
ever to be found. The woodwork of the interior of the house is regarded
as the best specimen of Colonial style; the windows, doorways, mantels,
the primitive cupboards, the heavy carved frieze, even the chairboard
are all in exquisite taste. Here in the great drawing-room of gold and
white, Washington was often to be seen, taking part in the minuet and
one could catch a glimpse of the dainty room in blue and white across
the hall. But there was another side to all this brightness and gaiety,
as the dungeons of the house could testify, where in times of attack
by the Indians, the household sought protection, or by means of the
subterranean passage, as at _Mount Vernon_, an escape was offered
by way of the Potomac and the happy youths in powdered wigs, beruffled
shirts, knee breeches, and silk hose, who could step with so light a
heart in the dance, could also draw their swords and fight for the
protection of their homes and for the honour of their King.”
The French and Indians were a menace to the prosperity of Alexandria;
those living without the town found it difficult to bring their produce
to market without fearing an attack; therefore in 1754 Washington, then
but twenty-two, led a small company of Alexandria soldiers against the
enemy. This was unsuccessful and Washington was compelled to surrender.
In the following year, England took extreme measures.
It was the period when England and France were contending for power on
this continent. France, with her allies, the Indians, held the Lakes
and many strong forts in the interior, while England held the Atlantic
seaboard peopled by loyal colonists. The English ministry having
decided to attack the French on the Lakes and in Ohio, despatched
General Braddock to Virginia in 1755, with instructions to proceed to
Fort Duquesne, the site of the present city of Pittsburg.
On his arrival in Alexandria, General Braddock became the guest of
Major Carlyle, while doubtless the soldiers were put up at the _Royal
George_.
We can imagine that the entertainment offered to the gallant, gay
and eccentric General by a wealthy colonist did not shame the famed
Virginia hospitality; and that when the Governors of New York,
Massachusetts, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania and North Carolina
arrived, there were dances, dinners, cards, toasts and wines, and
scenes of gaiety, as well as the discussion of vital questions. A
Conference of six Governors and noted army officers was not an everyday
occurrence, and the old house held a very brilliant gathering.
The Conference ended and the plan of action determined upon, Braddock
and his little company of red-coated soldiers, set out from Alexandria.
They took the road across the mountains, still a wilderness, although
the Indian no longer lurks behind the trees and rocks. Here the
traveller is shown various paths called “Braddock’s Road,” and springs
and stones called “Braddock’s Well” and “Braddock’s Stone,” all of
which are associated, or supposed to be associated, with the memorable
“Braddock’s Defeat.”
Braddock’s story is very well told by John Esten Cooke, who writes:
“He went from Williamsburg to Alexandria to consult with the governors
of the more prominent colonies; and one morning there appeared at his
headquarters a young gentleman of some reputation as a soldier--Colonel
George Washington of _Mount Vernon_. As Washington had already
smelled gunpowder and knew the wilderness, Braddock gave him a
position on his staff, and informally consulted with him, but
exhibited ill-conditioned disdain when the young ‘buckskin’ hinted
that ‘regulars’ would not accomplish much in the woods when matched
against Indians firing from behind the trees. The idea that _British
regular troops_ would not sweep such hornets from their path,
struck Braddock evidently in the light of an exquisite absurdity; and,
paying no attention to Washington’s warnings, he hurried forward his
preparations, set out for the frontier, passing through Frederick City,
Maryland, and Winchester, Virginia, and entered Fort Cumberland, where
his troops were to rendezvous amid a thundering salute of thirteen
cannon, the drums beating the ‘Grenadier’s March’ as he flashed by in
his chariot, his staff galloping beside it. So went upon his way the
brave and unlucky Englishman who was not destined to return....
“The tragic sequel of the drama we need not describe. Braddock had
acted like the brave man he was in the battle and defeat that ensued,
and, seeing all things crumbling around him, seemed anxious to die.
He rode into the hottest of the fire, a conspicuous figure in his
splendid uniform--shouting orders, storming at the troops, waving his
sword--exposing himself recklessly in every part of the field. Five
horses had been killed under him. As one fell, he seized and mounted
a fresh one. At last his fate came. A bullet traversed his right arm
and buried itself in his lungs. He fell--was caught by Captain Stewart
of the Virginia light-horse, and there was scarcely time to hurry him
off the fateful field, when the English troops broke on all sides and
retreated in wild disorder, pursued by the French and Indians.
“The shattered army were now in full flight across the Monongahela;
and then they hastened back through the wilderness, scarcely pausing
before they reached Fort Cumberland. Tradition relates that Braddock
was so painfully wounded that he could not be carried off even in a
spring vehicle, and was swung at full length in a large silken sash
which he had worn, the extremities of which were affixed to two horses
moving abreast. This sash is said to be still in existence. He could
be carried no further than the Great Meadows, where he died on the
night of July 13th, Washington reading the funeral service over his
body, which was there interred. Savages lurked around--all was done in
silence. Not even a volley was fired in honour of the brave soldier who
had come to this wilderness to find a grave.”
The report to the home government gave the Colonial soldiers their
due. It read: “The Virginia officers and troops behaved like men and
died like soldiers.” Washington was the only officer who survived. He
wrote: “I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under
me, yet escaped unhurt although death was levelling my companions on
every side of me.”
On his return, Washington entered into all the gaieties of Alexandria,
balls and dances at the Carlyle House, balls and dances at the _Royal
George_, and balls and dances at the tavern called Gadsby’s. He
notes in his Diary of 1760 the description of a ball in Alexandria,
ending: “We lodged at Col. Carlyle’s.”
During the Civil War, this old house was used as headquarters for the
medical directors of the hospitals in the vicinity.
INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA
D. W. BELISLE
This venerable edifice, which excites so much patriotic veneration
from the American people and is regarded with profound esteem abroad,
was known until the year 1776 as the State House. From that memorable
period--when the representatives of the nation resolved to be free--the
room on the east side of the main entrance has been designated by the
appellation of Independence Hall. For wise and patriotic reasons it has
never been altered. By that designation it will remain hallowed to all
time. So long as a single genuine spark of freedom remains in the human
heart, so long will Independence Hall be regarded as the birthplace
of liberty--the immortal spot where the manacles of oppression were
sundered and despotism received its most formidable rebuke. The State
House, originally constructed for the purpose of accommodating legal
business, the dispensation of Colonial statutes for Pennsylvania, and
the transaction of various other matters, was commenced in the year
1729 and completed in 1734. Its dimensions and architectural plan--the
design being furnished by an amateur architect, named John Kearsley,
Sr.,--were regarded by many as too large and expensive; and the
erection of the building was, therefore, quite strenuously opposed.
Had the men who first conceived the noble enterprise of building
it foreseen the exalted character which their contemplated edifice
would assume in future, there would not probably have been a single
dissenting voice in the liberal plan projected by its founders. It is
a singular historical fact, that most of those who opposed the plan of
the edifice in the commencement and who were still living at the time,
were opposed to the adoption of the “Declaration of Independence,”
which occurred within its very walls about a quarter of a century
afterwards. According to bills and papers kept by Andrew Hamilton, one
of the three Commissioners who had the superintendence of the financial
matters connected with its construction, it appears that the edifice
cost originally $16,250. The two wings which now form important addenda
to the building, however, were not erected until the years 1739–40, and
increased the total amount to $28,000--but their cost cannot be counted
in the original bill.
[Illustration: INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA, PA.]
Watson in his _Annals_ says: “Edmund Woolley did the carpenter work,
John Harrison the joiner work, Thomas Boude was the brick mason,
William Holland did the marble work, Thomas Kerr, plaster, Benjamin
Fairman and James Stoopes made the bricks; the lime was from the
kilns of the Tysons. [These kilns were situated in Manship Township,
Montgomery County, about one mile west from Willow Grove and fifteen
miles from the Hall of Independence.] The glass and lead cost £170
and the glazing in leaden frames was done by Thomas Godfrey, the
celebrated. I may here usefully add, for the sake of comparison, the
costs of sundry items, to wit: carpenter’s work at 4_s._ per day;
boy’s, 1_s._; master carpenter, E. Woolley, 4_s._ 6_d._; brick-laying
by Thomas Boude, John Palmer and Thomas Redman, at 10_s._ 6_d._ per M.;
stone work in the foundation at 4_s._ per perch; digging ground and
carting away, 9_d._ per yard; bricks, 31_s._ 8_d._ per M.; lime per 100
bushels, £4; boards, 20_s._ per M.; lath-wood, 18_s._ per cord; laths,
3_s._ per C.; shingles, 20_s._ per M.; scantling, 1½_d._ per foot;
stone, 3_s._ per perch, and 5_s._ 5_d._ per load. Labourers receive
2_s._ 6_d._ per day; 2,100 loads of earth are hauled away at 9_d._ per
load.” These items are only given as specimens of curiosity, and will
serve to amuse, if not to instruct.
The woodwork of the steeple by which the building was first surmounted,
on examination in 1774, was found to be so much decayed, that it was
decided to remove it, and it was accordingly taken down, leaving only
a small belfry to cover the bell for the use of the town-clock,--which
had but one dial face, at the west end of the building. In that
condition it remained until 1829, when the steeple which now crowns
the building, was erected on the plan of the original one. Some years
ago the interior woodwork to the room in which the “Declaration of
Independence” was signed was removed for the purpose of modernizing
the plans, but public sentiment soon demanded its restoration, and it
now presents the same appearance it did on that memorable occasion. In
1854, the City Councils of Philadelphia very patriotically resolved
to place in this sacred room--where they properly belong--all the
relics associated with the brilliant history of the Hall and the times
contemporaneous with the American Revolution, which they could obtain.
With commendable zeal and enterprise they have obtained and arranged
in their appropriate places portraits of nearly all the distinguished
“Signers of the Declaration of Independence,” as well as many other
valuable relics, all of which are sacred mementoes uniting the present
and the past with ligaments of inseverable affection.
“When the regular sessions of the Assembly were held in the State
House,” says Watson, “the Senate occupied upstairs and the Lower House
the same chamber since called Independence Hall. In the former, Anthony
Morris is remembered as Speaker, occupying an elevated chair facing
north--himself a man of amiable mien, contemplative aspect, dressed
in a suit of drab cloth, flaxen hair slightly powdered, and his eyes
fronted with spectacles. The Representative Chamber had George Latimer
for Speaker, seated with his face to the west,--a well-formed manly
person, his fair large front and eyes sublime declared absolute rule.”
For many years previous to 1855, the upper apartment of Independence
Hall was divided into rooms which were occupied by the Supreme Courts
of the United States, and was rented for offices of various kinds.
Grave and deliberate as were the general purposes, during the early
period of the Revolution, to which the “State House” was appropriated
in the Colonial days of Pennsylvania, it was on several occasions used
as a hall for banqueting. In the long gallery, upstairs, the feasting
tables were spread, around which hilarity and mirthfulness prevailed,
while the tables themselves were loaded with every desirable luxury
which the appetite or inclination might fancy or desire. Soon after
the edifice was completed, in 1736, William Allen, Esq., then Mayor
of Philadelphia, made a feast at his own expense. This entertainment,
which was of a sumptuous and costly character, was spread in the “State
House,” and the Mayor extended his invitations to all distinguished
strangers in the city. The number of invited guests exceeded any at
the feasts given in the city on previous occasions, while those who
partook of his hospitality expressed their unanimous consent that,
“for excellency of fare, it was a most elegant entertainment.” On the
arrival of their new Colonial Governor, Denny, in 1756, while the
Assembly was in session, that body gave him a reception dinner, and
this feast was likewise spread at the “State House,” at which the
“civil and military officers and clergy of the city” were present.
This entertainment occurred in August, and was an important event
during that session of the Assembly. It had a tendency to harmonize
various antagonistical personal feelings, which were looked upon
as boding no peculiar good to the new administration. Again, when
Lord Loudon, commander-in-chief of the King’s forces in the several
colonies, visited the city in the year 1757, the corporation received
him at the “State House” by a great banquet. General Forbes, who was
then commander at Philadelphia and of the southern settlements, was
also present on that occasion. Various guests were invited, among
whom were officers of rank, gentlemen strangers, clergy and private
citizens, who partook of those municipal hospitalities. It was
remarked by some uninvited guests at the time, that the expenditure
for this entertainment was greater than had ever before been made by
the authorities for public receptions, which indicated a very early
hospitality to such feasts--especially when given at the expense of the
public treasury. When in 1774, the first Congress met in Philadelphia,
a sumptuous collation was prepared by the gentlemen of the city,
for the entertainment of its representatives, the “State House” was
selected as the building in which the festive ceremonies should be
performed. The members and invited guests congregated first at the
City Tavern,[10] and thence marched in an imposing procession to the
“State House,” in the dining-hall of which the repast was spread.
About five hundred persons partook of the dinner, and when the toasts
were given they were rendered patriotic by the “firing of cannon and
martial music.” These festive occasions exerted salutary influence upon
public sentiment, and had a tendency to develop, in no small degree,
political feelings which actuated the people. No doubt the principles
promulgated and advocated around the brimful goblet and board, were
regarded in a patriotic or disloyal sense, according to the dominant
characteristics of leading men, with their adherence to Parliamentary
laws, or Republican sympathy.
Notwithstanding the fact that Independence Hall is regarded as a most
sacred shrine of Liberty, in days of yore it was used for various
purposes--some of which illy comported with the true character of the
building. Mr. Watson says: “For many years the public papers of the
Colony, and afterwards of the City and State, were kept in the east
and west wings of the State House, without any fire-proof security
as they now possess. From their manifest insecurity, it was deemed,
about the year 1809, to pull down those former two-story brick wings
and to supply their places by those which are now there. In former
times such important papers as rest with the Prothonotaries were
kept in their offices at their family residences.” When workmen
were superintending the removal of the former wings of the “State
House,” Mr. Grove, who was the master mason, made several interesting
discoveries of relics. These were mostly found under the foundations
of the walls, as the workmen excavated the ground considerably deeper
for the present cellars. At the depth of some five feet, and close to
the western wall, was dug up a keg of Indian flints. Nothing appears
upon record to give the faintest idea as to who performed the deed,
or for what purpose they were buried there. The impression of the keg
was distinct, but the wood had decayed and become assimilated with the
loamy soil. At about the same depth, and in close proximity to it,
were uncovered the complete equipments of a sergeant, consisting of a
musket, cartouche-box, sword, buckles, etc. “The wood being decayed
left the impression of what they had been.” These discoveries excited
considerable curiosity, and attracted a large multitude of people to
see and examine them. But a greater and more general excitement was
created, a day or two subsequently, at the announcement that a lot of
bomb-shells, filled with powder, had been exhumed by the diggers. This
circumstance led to various conjectures, relative to the object for
which they had been buried beneath the building, but a satisfactory
solution of the mystery has not, as yet, been given. Some entertained
the belief that it was intended for another Guy Fawkes plot, to destroy
the edifice on a particular occasion. Most probably, however, they
had been placed there for safe keeping, or to prevent their falling
into unfriendly hands. Subsequently, when the present foundation was
built two of these bombs were walled in with the stones and now form a
portion of the stonework.
We have remarked that Independence Hall was used for various purposes.
In the year 1802, the Legislature of Pennsylvania granted to Charles
Wilson Peale the use of the upper rooms in which the public banquets
were formerly given for the exhibition of curiosities which he
had collected and arranged under the title of the _Philadelphia
Museum_.
As a place of literary entertainment, Independence Hall assumes a
conspicuous reputation. In 1771, the Rev. Jacob Duché, assistant
minister of Christ Church and St. Peter’s, Philadelphia, wrote as
follows:--“The ‘State House,’ as it is called, is a large plain
building, two stories high. The lower story is divided into two large
rooms, in one of which the Provincial Assembly meet and in the other
the Supreme Court of Judicature is held. The upper story consists of a
long gallery, which is generally used for public entertainments, and
two rooms adjoining it, one of which is appropriated for the Governor
and his Council; the other, I believe, is yet unoccupied. In one of
the wings, which join the main building by means of a brick arcade, is
deposited a valuable collection of books, belonging to a number of the
citizens, who are incorporated by the name of ‘_The Library Company of
Philadelphia_.’ You would be astonished, my Lord, at the general taste
for books which prevails among all orders and ranks of people in this
city. The librarian assured me that, for one person of distinction and
fortune, there were twenty tradesmen that frequented this library.” The
Library Company of Philadelphia, to which the above reverend writer
so sneeringly alludes (and who, during the Revolutionary struggle for
Independence, turned Tory to the cause of Freedom), was first started
by Benjamin Franklin in 1731, and was called “_The City Library_,” in
consequence of a union which was made on the first of July of that
year, of several libraries. In October, 1732, their first importation
of books from England arrived, amounting in cost to £45 15_s._,
sterling. The Library was located in Pewter-platter Alley, but in 1740
it was transferred to the State House. Thence in 1773 it was placed
in the Carpenters’ Hall, where it remained until the year 1790. It
received its incorporation in 1742, under the title of the “Library
Company of Philadelphia.” In 1792, this Company, the Loganian and the
Union, were merged into one,--making a _tria juncta in una_.
During the progress of the struggle for Freedom, the State House was
signalized for many scenes which transpired within it, and was, at
one time, used as a hospital for wounded soldiers. A “lobby” extended
the whole length of the building, then eastward from the head of the
stairs, and in this “lobby” the American officers who were captured at
the Battle of Germantown were retained as prisoners. It was used as a
hospital after the Battle of the Brandywine, where many a noble patriot
breathed his last. Such were some of the sad purposes for which this
sacred structure has been used. This building is also rendered immortal
from the fact that here Washington “bade farewell to public life, and
delivered that memorable address which will ever be cherished as a
sacred legacy by his grateful countrymen.” In 1824, Lafayette received
his friends in Independence Hall. It has been subsequently used as the
audience-chamber of several distinguished visitors, and a reception
room for the Presidents of the United States. The body of the venerable
John Adams here lay in state on its way to his final resting-place.
After the completion of the State House in 1734, measures were set
on foot to secure means and funds sufficient to place in the dome a
bell appropriate for the building. As they had already supplied a
great public necessity by placing a clock in the west end--not in the
_steeple_, as _Harper’s Magazine_ represents it--many influential
citizens opposed the measure, on the ground of extravagance, arguing
that the “great cost of the State House had imposed a heavy tax upon
the citizens, and further expenditure was useless.” The better judgment
of the people, however, after several years prevailed, and it was
decided to have a bell. But another great and discouraging difficulty
met the speedy accomplishment of their purposes. There had been but
little moulding and casting effected in the Colonies, in consequence of
the home government monopolizing almost exclusively every department of
manufacturing, thereby subjecting their subjects in the New World to
depend upon the mills, looms and furnaces of England for a supply of
such articles as Parliament might _think proper_ for them to have. It
became necessary, therefore, to submit to the inconvenience, trouble
and delay, of sending to London for a bell. This was done. The size,
peculiar shape, weight,[11] motto and thickness, were accurately
mentioned, as directions for casting it, and the order was sent in the
latter part of the year 1750. About a year would elapse before they
could reasonably expect the bell to reach this country. It came at last
in 1752, and before it was landed from the ship, hundreds of citizens
repaired to the vessel to examine it and congratulate the city on its
safe arrival.
The tone was clear, distinct and forcible, well calculated to inspire
feelings of pride in those enterprising citizens, who had been chiefly
instrumental in procuring it. But their high anticipations were doomed
to meet a sad disappointment. A day or two after its arrival, while
removing it from the vessel to the place for which it was intended, it
met with an accident by which its tones were rendered discordant, the
beauty of its appearance mutilated and its uses almost destroyed. In
fact, the bell had to be recast, and it was decided that an experiment
should be made in the city.
Accordingly the task was assigned to Messrs. Pass & Stow, who were
to perform the operation under the superintendence of Isaac Norris,
Esq., Speaker of the Colonial Assembly. To that gentleman is ascribed
the honour of having originally suggested the motto “Proclaim Liberty
throughout the land and to all the inhabitants thereof,” which the bell
contains, and which proved so prophetic of its future use. In regard
to the new bell cast by Messrs. Pass & Stow, Mr. Norris remarked that
“they have made a good bell, which pleases me much that we should
_first_ venture upon and succeed in the greatest bell, for aught
I know, in English America--surpassing, too, the imported one, which
was too high and brittle.” No doubt such were the facts, especially
in reference to the last part of Mr. Norris’s remarks, and in that
respect, also, the bell was significantly emblematical. Efforts were
made to restore the bell to its original sound by boring holes into it,
but the attempt proved unavailing.
Such is the brief history of the origin of the “Old State House
Bell”; and it is to be regretted that no more definite reminiscences
connected with it have been preserved. During the struggle for that
Independence and Freedom which was proclaimed by this bell, while the
British threatened to take and occupy Philadelphia, this bell, together
with that belonging to Christ Church, was taken down, and conveyed to
the river, near Trenton, where they were buried in the water in order
to prevent them from falling into the hands of their enemies. In
this condition they remained from 1777 to the close of the American
Revolution, when they were brought back to the city and placed in their
former situations.
THE CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC
THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST
A clear, unclouded atmosphere at an elevation of 8,000 feet above the
level of the sea in the tropics puts everything _couleur de rose_.
There is no heat, no cold; the average temperature is about 60°, and
the atmosphere is so clear that when you see the mountains at the ends
of the streets they appear close at hand, instead of being from twenty
to forty miles distant.
All the houses in the city have a gay appearance; such as are not white
or light yellow or green are tinted with various shades of red, and
many of the churches may be pronounced pink; three or four hundred
yards of a street in pink has a pretty effect, especially if continued
in pale green; a house in grey stone adjoining another faced with blue
encaustic tiles is, to say the least, pleasing to the eye of any one
who for months past has only gazed upon dwellings of dull red brick. As
you get into the outskirts of the city, the houses are meaner, but many
of them are festooned with flowers and wreaths, so the appearance of
beauty is maintained, even if on close inspection it is found delusive.
One of the three principal rides out of the city is the Paséo de la
Reforma, three miles in length, leading to the Castle of Chapultepec;
here the gay world disports itself from seven to nine in the morning
on horseback, and from six to seven in the evening in carriages; but it
is deserted during Lent for the Paséo de la Viga, where three or four
military bands discourse excellent music.
The principal ride is to the Castle of Chapultepec, and as it is the
first ride every visitor is sure to take, he will be interested to
learn that the building on the summit of the porphyry rock, visible
from all parts of the valley, stands on the site of the Palace of
Montezuma;[12] it is known as the Hill of the Grasshopper in old Aztec
charts, and is always drawn on their hieroglyphics as a mound, with a
grasshopper as large as the mound itself on the top of it.
Nothing remains of the grandeur which marked the place in Montezuma’s
time except the avenues of enormous Cyprus trees (_Cupressus distica_)
beneath whose shades were the gardens where he loved to wander, even
after his beloved capital had fallen into the rude hands of the
invading Spaniards.
I measured the girth of several of these trees, and found three or four
of the largest to vary from thirty-five to forty feet above the ground.
Their height was proportionately grand, 100 to 120 feet and the trees
are well shaped. Long festoons of a greyish Spanish moss hang from
their branches; this moss is supposed to add to the beauty of the
groves, but it gives me an idea of decay.
[Illustration: CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC, MEXICO]
In Prescott’s fourth book there is a graphic account of Montezuma’s
town and country palaces of barbaric splendour; his armouries, his
granaries, his strange collection of human monsters and dwarfs,
his menageries and the aviary, which alone required three hundred
attendants; the royal household is described, and in proof of the
luxury of the royal table, it is mentioned that there were runners
stationed every twenty miles the whole distance from Vera Cruz to
Mexico, that the red mullets might be placed fresh and sweet upon his
table; it is said that the runners brought up these delicacies from
the coast in quicker time than the present railway can accomplish. No
one can doubt the truth of the description of his magnificence who has
beheld the trees that are still standing along the avenues of what was
once his royal garden. From the terrace in front of his palace, he saw
the snow-capped mountains Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl and the City of
Mexico, entirely surrounded by the waters of Lake Texcoco, glittering
at his feet; the Pinion de los Baños, Pinion del Marques, Santa
Catharina and San Nicholas, all small craters or volcanic cones; and to
the right the hill called Estrella, on which the sacred fire was always
burning, until the 26th of December, every fifty-second year.
At these intervals, the fire of every temple and house was
extinguished, and the people abandoning themselves to despair, tore
their garments and destroyed their furniture, as their priests taught
them it was probable that the world would be destroyed. The ceremony
was terrible; a noble victim was sacrificed, and it was not till after
midnight, when the constellation Pleiades had passed the zenith, that
the priests announced that the world was again saved. The sacred fire
kindled by the friction of sticks placed in the wounded breast of the
victim was conveyed to the altar, when the blaze of the funeral pyre
announced the glad tidings of joy to the countless multitudes looking
on from every part of the valley; these thereupon gave themselves up to
transports of delight, and kept the Carnival or national jubilee, which
lasted twelve or thirteen days. New fire was then carried by fleet
runners from the altar of Estrella to every part of the kingdom.
There is an idea of stability in the Scriptural phrase “everlasting
hills.” The “everlasting hills” are before me; the aspect of the
valley has been changed. Lake Texcoco has been withdrawn a mile or two
from the city; the domes and spires of the city are different from
the Teocalli and Palace of Montezuma; and the Palace of Chapultepec,
in front of which I am standing, has been rebuilt several times by
Spanish Viceroys. The present building was erected so lately as 1785;
it is a kind of gilt pagoda on a castellated battlement, and the rooms
were decorated by Maximilian, its last occupant, with coarse Pompeiian
arabesques. These are changes, but Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl rear
their snow-capped heads as they did before man counted time.
At the back of the Castle, looking over the large cypress-trees on
the pleasaunce below, is seen the high ground on which the Battle of
Molino del Rey (the King’s mill) was fought in August, 1847, between
the American army under General Scott and the Mexican army under
General Santa Anna. The large flour mill and other buildings bear marks
of shot and shell, and the centre of the battlefield is indicated by a
square marble pedestal, on which are inscribed the names of the Mexican
officers who fell on the field.
This was the last battle of the war which arose out of the secession of
the territory of Texas from Mexico in order to become one of the North
American States. General Scott being victorious over the Mexicans,
the treaty of peace--known as the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo--was
ratified in the early part of 1848, by which the Americans obtained
the territories of Texas, New Mexico, and upper California. Arizona
was subsequently bought from Santa Anna by the Treaty of Messilla for
$10,000,000.
PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS, OTTAWA
LADY HARDY
The approach to this city, the capital of the Dominion of Canada, is
by no means imposing; the face of the river is covered and its mouth
filled with sawdust; it is stifled, and has scarcely strength to flow,
it could not burst into a smile, or ripple, under the most tempting of
summer suns. Immense booms of timber which have been floated down from
the “forest primeval” hundreds of miles away, float still on the river
surface till they are hauled up to feed the hungry mills, mechanical
giants, whose rasping jaws work day and night crushing these sturdy
“sons of the forest,” cutting them in slices and casting them forth to
be stacked in huge piles along the river-banks miles before we reach
the town. There is no bustle or confusion on our arrival there. On the
quiet little landing-stage two or three lumbering vehicles are waiting;
we are escorted to one of these by our chivalrous captain, who carries
our hand baggage and superintends the removal of the rest.
[Illustration: PARLIAMENT BUILDING, OTTAWA, CANADA]
Our first day in Ottawa was spent in visiting the Parliament buildings,
which occupy a plateau of about thirty acres on the loftiest point of
the city, and nearly two hundred feet above the Ottawa River; they are
surrounded by beautifully laid out gardens, and seem to be growing out
of a bed of soft greensward of velvet smoothness. They are composed
of cream-coloured Potsdam stone, the ornamental part being of Ohio
and Arupois marble; they are built in the Italian-Gothic style of the
Thirteenth Century, and I am told they are the most beautiful specimens
thereof in all America, perhaps in the world. Their elevated position,
with their long lines of pointed windows, massive buttresses, and
numerous pinnacles and towers, silhouetted against the bright blue sky,
are objects of imposing and majestic beauty for miles around. In the
front centre stands Victoria Tower, one hundred and eighty feet high,
and surmounted by an iron crown. The chief entrance to the building is
through the broad-pointed arches beneath this tower; the royal arms are
above the doorway; in the grand Senate Hall, there is a very beautiful
statue of the Queen and the vice-regal throne is flanked by busts of
the Prince of Wales and the Princess Alexandra.
In the most remote, as well as in the most populous districts, the
features of the royal family are duly represented. The Canadians are
the most loyal of British subjects; they lower their voices with solemn
reverence when they speak of “Her Majesty the Queen,” to whom they
never refer as “the Queen,” pure and simple; they give her a whole
string of titles and adjectives, like the tail of a paper kite, and
set her sailing in the heaven of their imagination, as though she were
beyond the range of humanity altogether.
Much has been said, much has been written on the subject of Canada;
we have learned its geographical position, the length and breadth of
its lakes and rivers, the extent of its vast forest lands, the height
of its mountains, etc., but the figures dazzle the mind, and bring
no realization of the fact. Nothing less than a personal visit will
enable us to comprehend the wonders of this luxuriant land, which is
surrounded and encompassed with its own loveliness. The primeval forest
still holds its own in the vast solitudes, sacred as yet from the
increasing encroachments of man, its immense inland seas and fruitful
rivers winding through scenery the most picturesque, the most sublime;
to say nothing of its vast unexplored lands and mineral resources, and
the wide tracts of rich uncultivated country, watered by springs and
rivulets which have been flowing in their living liquid beauty since
the days of Paradise.
We had heard much of the extremes of temperature, of heat and cold,
especially in Ottawa, and prepared ourselves for broiling; well, it
was warm, the sun blazed, the hot winds blew, and the dust of this
most dusty city whirled and swirled around us, got into our eyes, our
ears, crept insidiously down our throats, and seemed struggling to
turn us inside out; but we clutched our mantles around us, and butted
against the wind, screening ourselves from the sun’s fierce rays as
best we could. It is not often that the sun and wind have such a tussle
together. However, we reached home at last in an uncooked state,
feeling not much warmer than we should do on a summer day at home,
though the temperature is much higher and the hours are marching to the
tune of 90° in the shade.
We had spent the whole day in wandering and driving about the streets
of Ottawa, till we gained a very good idea of its external appearance.
It has numerous fine churches, and its town hall, post office and all
the municipal buildings are substantially and massively built in an
attractive and fanciful style of architecture. As for the rest of
the city, it is in a perfectly unfinished state; it is as yet only a
thing of promise, though it has the making of a very fine town in the
future; but however fast it marches, it will have to keep growing,
and work hard too for another century at least, before it reaches the
level of its magnificent Parliament buildings. The streets are wide
and long, stretching away out of sight; they are cobble-stoned and
roughly wood-paved for the most part. After passing the principal
lines of shops in Sparkes Street, the houses seem to have been built
for temporary convenience only, and crop up here and there in a direct
line, leaving wide spaces of waste land between, as though they were
in a hurry to see which should reach the end of the long street first,
the end that seems to be creeping back to the primeval forest, which
civilization and time have left far behind.
Ottawa itself is neither picturesque nor attractive, being built on
perfectly flat ground. It looks like a timber yard and smells of
sawdust. The Ottawa River has as many long thin arms as an octopus, and
they run meandering inland by a hundred different ways; here they meet
in a vast tumbling mass, falling over huge boulders and broken stony
ground till they are dignified by the name of the “Chaudière Falls”;
lower down their headlong course is stopped, and they are utilized and
made to turn a huge saw-mill where a thousand steel teeth are biting
through the grand old trees, tearing them into chips, digesting and
disgorging them on the other side; in vain the water foams and groans,
crashing its rebellious waves together--man is its master and will
have his way.
Rideau Hall, the home of our Princess, lies on the outskirts of the
town, and is by no means a regal-looking mansion; it is a long low
building of gray stone, standing on rather elevated ground, and has a
pleasant view of the town and river from the lawn and flower garden,
which encloses two sides of it; the approach is through tolerably
well timbered grounds, not of sufficient importance to be called a
“park.” The Governor and Princess Louise were away, and the house
was undergoing repair--it looked as though it needed it. There was
nothing to distinguish this from any second or third-rate country
house at home, except the one solitary and rather seedy looking
sentinel who paraded before the door. The people of Ottawa speak most
enthusiastically of our Princess; every one has some kind memory or
pleasant anecdote to tell of her. It is said that when Her Royal
Highness held her first reception, she appeared in a plain high
dress, expecting, perhaps, to find fashion “out of joint” in this
far-away place; but the Canadian ladies came trooping “_en grand
toilette_,” with fans and diamonds, trains and laces, like living
importations from Worth himself. At the next reception matters changed,
and the royal lady appeared in all the splendour of the British Court.
MOUNT VERNON
ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN
Every patriotic American who visits Washington makes a pious pilgrimage
to the home and tomb of the Father of his Country. There are two ways
of reaching _Mount Vernon_, one by trolley and one by river. The road
passes through a flat, uninteresting and somewhat desolate country;
and a loud-voiced _cicerone_ indicates the points of interest on
the way. The journey is usually broken either going or returning at
Alexandria, a quaint, old, sleepy, dilapidated, little town. Visitors
stroll through its grass-grown streets, marvel at its rotting wharf,
drop in at the Carlyle House, where the ill-fated Braddock made
his headquarters; and then take a look at old Christ Church where
Washington worshipped.
The pleasantest and most picturesque route, however, is by river. A
delightful sail down the Potomac for about an hour brings one to the
landing-stage at the foot of the grounds. The approach to the house is
very fine. _Mount Vernon_ stands on a wooded eminence commanding
a beautiful view of the reaches of the river and the opposite shores.
From the river, the house with its broad pillared colonnade has an
impressive air.
The estate of _Mount Vernon_ in Washington’s day was an extensive
one of two thousand broad acres. Its owner was very fond and proud of
it. He himself wrote: “No estate in United America is more pleasantly
situated. In a high and healthy country, in a latitude between the
extremes of heat and cold, on one of the finest rivers in the world,
a river well stocked with various kinds of fish at all seasons of the
year, and in the spring with shad, herring, bass, carp, sturgeon, etc.,
in great abundance. The borders of the estate are washed by more than
ten miles of tide-water: several valuable fisheries appertain to it.
The whole shore in fact, is one vast fishery.” Washington was also
proud of his trees. To increase their numbers and varieties was the
constant occupation of his home life. Every season of the year found
him providing for them. The grounds still owe much of their charm
to his care. They glisten and bloom with shade trees, evergreens,
flowering shrubs and fruit trees:--box, holly, tulip, poplar,
sweet-gum, sassafras, dogwood, oak, mulberry, aspen, ash, locust and
fringe-tree are plentiful, the deciduous trees in this list being
natives of Fairfax County. Washington’s diary shows his interest in
forestry and gardening. He notes when the white-thorn is in berry, when
he clears the undergrowth of a clump of pines, when he plants hemlock
and sows holly berries, when he plants acorns and buckeye nuts brought
from the battleground of Monongahela, and horse-chestnuts from his old
home in Westmoreland.
[Illustration:
Copyrighted by Soule Photo. Co.
MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA]
_Mount Vernon_ was originally built by George’s elder half-brother,
Lawrence Washington, who laid out the grounds and named the place in
honour of Admiral Vernon, under whom he had seen distinguished service
at the siege of Cartagena. When George came into possession soon
after his generous brother’s death in 1752, _Mount Vernon_ was a modest
and unpretending Virginia dwelling. The new owner improved and enlarged
it on several occasions, and frequently added to the out-buildings.
At some little distance from the driveway facing the east front, the
road led through a patch of flowering shrubbery and passed between
porters’ lodges built of sun-dried bricks to the gateway familiar to
every tourist. This approach opened to view a plain two-story house
with peaked roof and cupola, and out-buildings connected with the main
structure by an open arcade, in the usual Virginia style. These covered
ways are a great protection in cold or inclement weather to those
bringing in hot food from the kitchen, which, here as elsewhere, is
separate from the house.
The only striking architectural feature of the building was the
colonnade, a broad flagged piazza on the side facing the river,
supporting by slender wooden columns the eaves of the roof, and
affording a shady and cool retreat for family and visitors. The lawns
slope away down to the river, and many a pleasant afternoon tea has
been enjoyed under those columns.
Leaving the landing-stage we take a short walk up the hill and reach
the building where lie the mortal remains of the great liberator and
first President of the United States. Considering the memories that
cluster around it, the structure is insignificant and unworthy. It
is more like an ordinary spring-house than a mausoleum, and when we
remember what has been expended on Grant’s tomb and others whose memory
the nation delights to honour, we cannot help marvelling at the sordid
simplicity of Washington’s last resting-place. The graves of many
members of the family lie around it; and in the vault at the back of
the mausoleum are the remains of many more. Who they were, however, we
have no means of ascertaining because there are no records or tablets
to assist us. For more than half a century, this tomb suffered from
worse than neglect, for the pious pilgrims and the ordinary curiosity
hunters who visited the tomb of the Father of his Country carried
away as mementos chips of masonry, pebbles, flowers, ferns, twigs,
branches of trees and bushes, and generally devastated the place. These
depredations have now ceased, however; and the tomb is now protected by
lock and key against vandalism.
The work of protection and preservation is now in the hands of the
Mount Vernon Ladies Association of the Union which was the first
patriotic organization of women in the United States. It was started
in 1853, and received a charter from the Virginia legislature in 1856.
After long correspondence Mr. John Augustine Washington consented to
surrender the mausoleum, house and 200 acres of grounds for $200,000.
The money was soon raised and _Mount Vernon_ now belongs to Virginia,
and is under the charge of regents appointed one for each state of
the Union. These in turn are under a president. The regents meet at
_Mount Vernon_ every year. The house and grounds are under the direct
charge of a resident superintendent, who is as courteous and obliging
as he is an able administrator. Many of the rooms are under the special
patronage of separate states, and there is in consequence a good deal
of competition among the regents to supply furniture of Washington’s
day, when it is not possible to recover genuine Washington relics. It
has been said that Washington snuff-boxes are as plentiful as Mayflower
furniture; but now every precaution is taken against labelling anything
that is not undeniably authentic.
The house has two important fronts, presenting one to the river and
another to the beautiful sweep of turf between it and the road. The
gardens, with their greenhouses and thick box hedges, are beautiful at
all seasons of the year.
_Mount Vernon_ is by no means a palatial mansion: perhaps the
visitor’s first feeling is one of disappointment. The hall with
its winding staircase is roomy enough, but the rooms--the bedrooms
especially--are undeniably small. However the house is cosy enough, and
was ample for the needs of Washington and his small family.
By donation and purchase, the regents have managed to collect quite a
respectable number of George Washington’s personal belongings. There is
the great carpet specially manufactured for him and presented by Louis
XVI.; then we note his parlour mirror, bookcase, travelling trunk,
dressing-table, shaving glass and various wearing apparel, besides many
chairs, tables, beds and Miss Custis’s harpsichord. Before the ladies
took charge, the furniture, panelling, etc., suffered terribly from the
depredations of conscienceless relic-hunters,--but now it is protected
from goths and vandals by gates.
_Mount Vernon_ during Washington’s lifetime was furnished with
comfort and elegance. It may be interesting to the reader to go through
some of the rooms with the guidance of the inventory taken after George
Washington’s death.
The rooms then were not named as they are now, but they can be readily
identified. The “New Room” was evidently used as a dining-room, since
it was furnished with two dining-tables, two sideboards, on which
stood six mahogany knife-cases, China images and a China flower
pot, twenty-seven mahogany chairs, two large looking-glasses, two
candle-stands, two fire-screens, two stools, two elegant lustres, two
silver-plated lamps and six China jars on the mantelpiece. The hearth
was supplied with andirons, dogs, shovel, tongs and bellows; the floor
was covered with a good mat; the windows were draped with valuable
curtains; and pictures worth nearly a thousand dollars adorned the
walls.
The “Front Parlour” contained an expensive sofa, eleven mahogany
chairs, a tea-table, a rich looking-glass, three lamps, two of which
had mirrors, five China flower-pots, chimney furniture, a handsome
carpet and window curtains. Many pictures hung on the walls.
The “Little Parlour” was furnished with a settee, tea-table, ten
Windsor chairs, looking-glass, fender and hearth furniture, carpet,
window curtains and pictures.
In the “Study” we find a bureau, a tambour secretary, a walnut table,
two pine writing-tables, writing-desk and apparatus, circular chair,
armchair, dressing-table, oval looking-glass, eleven spy-glasses,
a case of surveying instruments, a globe, two brass candlesticks,
seven swords and blades, four canes, seven guns, 45 lbs. of silver
plate valued at $900, other plate worth $424, and many other articles.
This was evidently the General’s sanctum, where he attended to his
correspondence and other business.
When the number of guests did not require the use of the “New Room,”
the family gathered in the “Dining Room.” Here were two dining tables
and a tea-table, a mahogany sideboard, two knife cases and a large
spirits case, ten mahogany chairs, a carpet, hearth furniture, window
curtains and pictures.
The “Bedroom” contained a bed, bedstead and mattress, looking-glass,
small table, four walnut chairs, window curtains and blinds, a carpet,
andirons, etc., and one large picture.
All along the staircase were hung a great number of prints, and a
looking-glass was in the passage on the second floor. In the lower
“Passage” were fourteen mahogany chairs, a spy-glass, a thermometer
and pictures. The “Closet” contained a fire-screen and a machine to
scrape shoes on. There were thirty Windsor chairs on the Piazza:--ample
provision surely for callers!
The walls of the “Front Room” were decorated with prints. It was cosy
with window curtains, fireplace and carpet. The rest of the furniture
comprised a bed and bedstead with curtains, a dressing table, a large
looking-glass, a wash-basin and pitcher and six mahogany chairs.
The “Second Room” was similarly furnished, except for the chairs, of
which there were only five, including an armchair. A portrait of
General Lafayette hung on one wall, he having occupied this room.
The “Third Room” was furnished exactly like the “Front Room” except for
a chest of drawers in addition. Prints ornamented the walls here also.
The “Fourth Room” contained bed, bedstead and curtains, carpet and
window curtains, andirons, prints, five mahogany chairs, pine dressing
table and large looking-glass, a close chair, wash-basin and pitcher.
The “Small Room” was furnished with bed, bedstead, dressing table,
dressing-glass, washstand and three Windsor chairs.
The “Room which Mrs. Washington now keeps” was almost as desolate as
her short widowhood. She seldom left it during the short time she
survived her husband. It contained only a bed, bedstead and mattress,
table, three chairs, oval looking-glass, carpet, fender and andirons.
This is quite bare in comparison with “Mrs. Washington’s Old Room,”
which contained a bed, bedstead and curtains, a glass, dressing table,
writing-table and writing chair, an easy chair, two mahogany chairs, a
chest of drawers, a clock, carpet, window curtains, fender, andirons
and pictures.
The kitchen, still in its old condition, was thoroughly equipped for
the hospitality demanded of the master of _Mount Vernon_.
The total value of the furniture was nearly $3,500; that of the 139
chairs alone was $658; and of the pictures and prints, $2,000.
THE OLD MANSE, CONCORD
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Between two tall gateposts of rough-hewn stone (the gate itself having
fallen from its hinges at some unknown epoch), we beheld the grey
front of the old parsonage terminating the vista of an avenue of black
ashtrees. It was now a twelvemonth since the funeral procession of the
venerable clergyman, its last inhabitant had turned from that gateway
towards the village burying ground. The wheel-track leading to the
door, as well as the whole breadth of the avenue, was almost overgrown
with grass, affording dainty mouthfuls to two or three vagrant cows
and an old white horse who had his own living to pick up along the
roadside. The glimmering shadows that lay half asleep between the door
of the house and the public highway were a kind of spiritual medium,
seen through which the edifice had not quite the aspect of belonging
to the material world. Certainly it had little in common with those
ordinary abodes which stand so imminent upon the road that every
passer-by can thrust his head, as it were, into the domestic circle.
From these quiet windows the figures of passing travellers looked too
remote and dim to disturb the sense of privacy. In its near retirement
and accessible seclusion it was the very spot for the residence of a
clergyman--a man not estranged from human life, yet enveloped in the
midst of it with a veil woven of intermingled gloom and brightness. It
was worthy to have been one of the time-honoured parsonages of England,
in which, through many generations, a succession of holy occupants pass
from youth to age, and bequeath each an inheritance of sanctity to
pervade the house and hover over it as with an atmosphere.
Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse ever been profaned by a lay occupant
until that memorable summer afternoon when I entered it as my home.
A priest had built it; a priest had succeeded to it; other priestly
men from time to time had dwelt in it; and children born in its
chambers had grown up to assume the priestly character. It was awful
to recollect how many sermons must have been written there. The latest
inhabitant alone--he by whose translation to paradise the dwelling was
left vacant--had penned nearly three thousand discourses, besides the
better, if not the greater number that gushed living from his lips. How
often, no doubt, had he paced to and fro along the avenue, attuning
his meditations to the sighs and gentle murmurs, and deep and solemn
peals of the wind among the lofty tops of the trees! In that variety
of natural utterances he could find something accordant with every
passage of his sermon, were it of tenderness or reverential fear. The
boughs over my head seemed shadowy with solemn thoughts as well as
with rustling leaves. I took shame to myself for having been so long a
writer of idle stories, and ventured to hope that wisdom would descend
upon me with the falling leaves of the avenue, and that I should light
upon an intellectual treasure in the Old Manse well worth those hoards
of long hidden gold which people seek for in moss-grown houses.
Profound treatises of morality; a layman’s unprofessional and therefore
unprejudiced views of religion; histories (such as Bancroft might have
written had he taken up his abode here as he once purposed), bright
with picture gleaming over a depth of philosophic thought,--these were
the works that might fitly have flowed from such a retirement. In the
humblest event, I resolved at least to achieve a novel that should
evolve some deep lesson and should possess substance enough to stand
alone.
[Illustration: THE OLD MANSE, CONCORD, MASS.]
In furtherance of my design, and as if to leave me no pretext for not
fulfilling it, there was in the rear of the house the most delightful
little nook of a study that ever afforded its snug seclusion to a
scholar. It was here that Emerson wrote Nature; for he was then an
inhabitant of the Manse, and used to watch the Assyrian dawn and
Paphian sunset and moonrise from the summit of our eastern hill.
When I first saw the room its walls were blackened with the smoke of
unnumbered years, and made still blacker by the grim prints of Puritan
ministers that hung around. These worthies looked strangely like bad
angels, or at least like men who had wrestled so continually and so
sternly with the devil that somewhat of his sooty fierceness had been
imparted to their own visages. They had all vanished now; a cheerful
coat of paint and golden-tinted paper-hangings lighted up the small
apartment; while the shadow of a willow-tree that swept against the
overhanging eaves attempered the cheery western sunshine. In place
of the grim prints there was the sweet and lovely head of one of
Raphael’s Madonnas and two pleasant little pictures of the Lake of
Como. The only other decorations were a purple vase of flowers, always
fresh, and a bronze one containing graceful ferns. My books (few, and
by no means choice; for they were chiefly such waifs as chance had
thrown in my way) stood in order about the room, seldom to be disturbed.
The study had three windows, set with little, old-fashioned panes
of glass, each with a crack across it. The two on the western side
looked, or rather peeped, between the willow branches down into the
orchard, with glimpses of the river through the trees. The third,
facing northward, commanded a broader view of the river at a spot where
its hitherto obscure waters gleam forth into the light of history.
It was at this window that the clergyman who then dwelt in the Manse
stood watching the outbreak of a long and deadly struggle between two
nations; he saw the irregular array of his parishioners on the farther
side of the river and the glittering line of the British on the hither
bank. He awaited in an agony of suspense the rattle of the musketry.
It came, and there needed but a gentle wind to sweep the battle smoke
around this quiet house.
I never grew quite acquainted with my habitation till a long spell of
sulky rain had confined me beneath its roof. There could not be a more
sombre aspect of external nature than as then seen from the windows
of my study. The great willow-tree had caught and retained among its
leaves a whole cataract of water, to be shaken down at intervals by the
frequent gusts of wind. All day long, and for a week together, the
rain was drip--drip--dripping and splash--splash--splashing from the
eaves, and bubbling and foaming into the tubs beneath the spouts. The
old unpainted shingles of the house and out-buildings were black with
moisture; and the mosses of ancient growth upon the walls looked green
and fresh, as if they were the newest things and afterthought of Time.
The usually mirrored surface of the river was blurred by an infinity
of raindrops; the whole landscape had a completely water-soaked
appearance, conveying the impression that the earth was wet through
like a sponge; while the summit of a wooded hill, about a mile distant,
was enveloped in a dense mist, where the demon of the tempest seemed to
have his abiding-place and to be plotting still direr inclemencies.
Happy the man who in a rainy day can betake himself to a huge garret,
stored, like that of the Manse, with lumber that each generation has
left behind it from a period before the Revolution. Our garret was an
arched hall, dimly illuminated through small and dusty windows; it was
but a twilight at the best; and there were nooks, or rather caverns,
of deep obscurity, the secrets of which I never learned, being too
reverent of their dust and cobwebs. The beams and rafters, roughly
hewn and with strips of bark still on them, and the rude masonry of
the chimneys, made the garret look wild and uncivilized,--an aspect
unlike what was seen elsewhere in the quiet and decorous old house.
But on one side there was a little whitewashed apartment which bore
the traditionary title of the Saint’s Chamber, because holy men in
their youth had slept and studied and prayed there. With its elevated
retirement, its one window, its small fireplace, and its closet,
convenient for an oratory, it was the very spot where a young man might
inspire himself with solemn enthusiasm and cherish saintly dreams. The
occupants, at various epochs, had left brief records and ejaculations
inscribed upon the walls. There, too, hung a tattered and shrivelled
roll of canvas, which on inspection proved to be the forcibly wrought
picture of a clergyman in wig, band and gown, holding a Bible in his
hand. As I turned his face towards the light he eyed me with an air
of authority such as men of his profession seldom assume in our days.
The original had been pastor of the parish more than a century ago, a
friend of Whitefield, and almost his equal in fervid eloquence. I bowed
before the effigy of the dignified divine, and felt as if I had now met
face to face with the ghost by whom, as there was reason to apprehend,
the Manse was haunted.
Houses of any antiquity in New England are so invariably possessed
with spirits that the matter seems hardly worth alluding to. Our ghost
used to heave deep sighs in a particular corner of the parlour, as
if he were turning over a sermon in the long upper entry,--where,
nevertheless, he was invisible in spite of the brilliant moonshine that
fell through the eastern window. Not improbably he wished me to edit
and publish a selection from a chest full of manuscript discourses that
stood in the garret. Once, while Hilliard and other friends sat talking
with us in the twilight, there came a rustling noise as of a minister’s
silk gown, sweeping through the very midst of the company so closely
as almost to brush against the chairs. Still there was nothing visible.
A yet stranger business was that of a ghostly servant maid, who used to
be heard in the kitchen at deepest midnight, grinding coffee, cooking,
ironing,--performing, in short, all kinds of domestic labour,--although
no traces of anything accomplished could be detected the next morning.
Some neglected duty of her servitude--some ill-starched ministerial
band--disturbed the poor damsel in her grave and kept her at work
without any wages.
But to return from this digression. A part of my predecessor’s library
was stored in the garret--no unfit receptacle indeed for such dreary
trash as comprised the greater number of volumes. The old books would
have been worth nothing at an auction. In this venerable garret,
however, they possessed an interest, quite apart from their literary
value, as heirlooms, many of which had been transmitted down through
a series of consecrated hands from the days of the mighty Puritan
divines. Autographs of famous names were to be seen in faded ink
on some of their fly-leaves; and there were marginal observations
or interpolated pages closely covered with manuscript in illegible
shorthand, perhaps concealing matter of profound truth and wisdom. The
world will never be the better for it. A few of the books were Latin
folios, written by Catholic authors; others demolished Papistry, as
with a sledge-hammer, in plain English. A dissertation on the Book of
Job--which only Job himself could have had patience to read--filled
at least a score of small thickset quartos, at the rate of two or
three volumes to a chapter. Then there was a vast folio body of
divinity--too corpulent a body, it might be feared, to comprehend the
spiritual element of religion. Volumes of this form dated back two
hundred years or more, and were generally bound in black leather,
exhibiting precisely such an appearance as we should attribute to
books of enchantment. Others equally antique were of a size proper to
be carried in the large waistcoat pockets of old times,--diminutive,
but as black as their bulkier brethren, and abundantly infused with
Greek and Latin quotations. These little old volumes impressed me as if
they had been intended for very large ones, but had been unfortunately
blighted at an early stage of their growth. The rain pattered upon the
roof and the sky gloomed through the dusty garret windows, while I
burrowed among these venerable books in search of any living thought
which should burn like a coal of fire, or glow like an inextinguishable
gem, beneath the dead trumpery that had long hidden it.
By and by, in a little time, the outward world puts on a drear
austerity. On some October morning there is a heavy hoar-frost on the
grass and along the tops of the fences; and at sunrise the leaves
fall from the trees of our avenue without a breath of wind, quietly
descending by their own weight. All summer long they have murmured like
the noise of waters; they have roared loudly while the branches were
wrestling with the thunder gust; they have made music both glad and
solemn; they have attuned my thoughts by their quiet sound as I paced
to and fro beneath the arch of intermingling boughs. Now they can only
rustle under my feet. Henceforth the grey parsonage begins to assume
a larger importance, and draws to its fireside,--for the abomination
of the air-tight stove is reserved till wintry weather,--draws closer
and closer to its fireside the vagrant impulses that had gone wandering
about during the summer.
When summer was dead and buried the Old Manse became as lonely as a
hermitage. Not that ever--in my time at least--it had been thronged
with company; but, at no rare intervals, we welcomed some friend out
of the dusty glare and tumult of the world, and rejoiced to share with
him the transparent obscurity that was floating over us. In one respect
our precincts were like the Enchanted Ground through which the pilgrim
travelled on his way to the Celestial City! The guests, each and all,
felt a slumberous influence upon them; they fell asleep in chairs, or
took a more deliberate siesta on the sofa, or were seen stretched among
the shadows of the orchard, looking up dreamily through the boughs.
They could not have paid a more acceptable compliment to my abode, nor
to my own qualities as a host. I held it as a proof that they left
their cares behind them as they passed between the stone gateposts at
the entrance of our avenue, and that the so powerful opiate was the
abundance of peace and quiet within and all around us. Others could
give them pleasure and amusement or instruction--these could be picked
up anywhere; but it was for me to give them rest--rest in a life of
trouble.[13]
THE JAMESTOWN TOWER
CHARLES FREDERICK STANSBURY
Since the last decade of the Seventeenth Century a dismantled church
tower has stood on Jamestown Island in Virginia, a relic of the
settlement which defined the destiny of our country and a remnant of
the first Episcopal church in America. Fire, the destruction of the
elements, and decay have removed all that was James’ Fort save this
remnant to liberty and religion. Only students of history knew this
tower a year ago--now it has been brought into the prominence it
deserves.
Having decided that the three hundredth anniversary of the real birth
of the nation deserved adequate commemoration, the United States
has invited all the world to share in a celebration to be held in
1907 on Hampton Roads and its shores--an apotheosis of the small
but determining village which was thirty miles distant and now is
represented only by a mouldy tower.
[Illustration: THE JAMESTOWN TOWER, JAMESTOWN, VIRGINIA]
Speaking eloquently of the period which marked the inception of this
historic building, former Governor of Virginia, William E. Cameron
said: “The vista of years which stretches backwards into the dim
distance of the Sixteenth Century presents an imposing avenue of
events and deeds. Momentous occurrences loom up as era markers in the
country’s progress some of which are spectacularly brilliant, and
yet there is perhaps no event of all the long line which completely
ranks with the first act in the country’s drama.”
At the farther end of the avenue one may see the ruined and dismantled
tower of the Jamestown church, all that is left to mark the spot where
sufferings were endured and deeds performed outranking the wildest
imaginings of poet or romancer.
Although the Jamestown tower is the pathetic ruin of Columbia’s oldest
church, it does not represent the earliest effort by English speaking
people to plant Christianity in this part of the world. We read that in
the year 1588, Sir Walter Raleigh gave 100 Pounds for the propagation
of Christianity in Virginia, “the glorie of God, and the saving of the
soules of the poor and blinded infidels.” Yet it was not until 1607
that the first church was erected at Jamestown. Its humble beginning
has been nowhere better described than by Captain John Smith in a
pamphlet published in 1631, some years after his history of Virginia,
in which he says:
“When I first went to Virginia, I well remember, we did hang an awning
(which is an old sail) to three or four trees, to shadow us from the
sun; our walls were rails of wood, our seats unhewed trees, till we
cut planks, our pulpit a bar of wood nailed to two neighbouring trees;
in foul weather we shifted into an old rotten tent, for we had few
better, and this came by way of adventure for new. This was our church
till we built a homely thing like a barn, set upon crotchetts, covered
with rafts, sedge and earth, so was also the walls. The best of our
houses were of the like curiosity but the most part far much worse
workmanship, that could neither well defend wind nor rain, yet we held
daily Common Prayer morning and evening, every Sunday two sermons, and
every three months the holy communion till our minister died, (the Rev.
Mr. Hunt) but (after that) our prayers daily with a homily on Sundays,
we continued two or three years after, till more preachers came.”
Captain Smith says further that the log church first erected was
burned down the following winter with many other houses. Mr. Hunt lost
all his books and everything else but the clothes on his back. This
first Episcopal minister in the new world appears to have been a man
of noble character and fine attainments. Although his sufferings were
almost incredible, “yet none ever saw him repine; upon any alarm he
was as ready at defense as any, and till he could not speak he never
ceased to his utmost to animate us constantly to persist,--whose soul,
questionless, is with God.”
Nor must we forget that the first legislative body in America, to which
eleven boroughs sent burgesses, was opened in the Jamestown church with
prayer by Mr. Bucke who succeeded Mr. Hunt. Laws were now superseded
by others of a different character and the church of England more
formally established than ever before. From Hening’s statutes at large
we learn that there was enacted by the General Assembly in 1623, 1.
That there shall be in every plantation where the people use to meete
for the worship of God, a house or roome sequestered for that purpose
and not to be for any temporal use whatsoever, and a place empaled in,
sequestered only to the buryal of the dead.
2. That whosoever shall absent himselfe from divine service any Sunday
without an allowable excuse shall forfeit a pound of tobacco, and he
that absenteth himselfe a month shall forfeit 50 pounds of tobacco.
3. That there be an uniformity in our church as neere as may be to the
cannons in England; both in substance and circumstances, and that all
persons yield readie obedience unto them under paine of censure.
The fourth statute refers to holidays and the fifth to a subject that
has been often discussed, namely: that no minister be absent from his
church above two months in all the yeare upon penalty of forfeiting
halfe his means, and whosoever shall absent above fowre months in the
year shall forfeit his whole means and cure.
The sixth statute refers to slander and provides
That whosoever shall disparage a minister without bringing sufficient
proofe to justify his reports whereby the minds of his parishioners
may be alienated from him, and his ministry prove the less effectual
by their prejudication, shall not only pay 500 lb. weight of tobacco
but also aske the minister so wronged forgiveness publicly in the
congregation.
In the Jamestown church of her period Pocahontas was doubtless baptized
in the Christian faith, taking the name of Rebecca. Here, also the
famous Indian girl was married to John Rolfe before proceeding to
England where her too early death occurred.
There is some conflict of opinion concerning the date of the erection
of the church now represented by the picturesque tower of Jamestown.
It has been affirmed that the ruined tower is what is left of the
church that was destroyed in Bacon’s rebellion in 1676. Bishop Meade
of Virginia, who visited the ruins in 1856, gives the history of
the succession of the Jamestown churches as follows:--The first as
described by Captain Smith, was made of the awning or old sails,
taken from vessels, and fastened to trees. The second was a very
plain log building, which was burned down in the second or third year
of the colony during the ministry of Mr. Hunt. The third was larger
and better, probably of wood, built during the presidency of Captain
Smith, repaired and adorned by Lord De la War when he arrived in
1611. The dimensions were twenty-four feet by sixty. The chancel or
_quoir_ was large enough to hold the Governor, the council and
other officers of state. In this structure, doubtless, was held the
first legislative session in 1619. Bishop Meade is of the opinion that
this was the structure that was burned down during the Bacon rebellion.
In opposition to the theory that the present are the ruins of the old
church which was burned in the rebellion, he places the fact that the
dimensions of the church which Smith built and Lord De la War repaired
were different from the one whose ruins are now seen. The dimensions
of the former were twenty-four by sixty; of the latter twenty-eight by
fifty-six feet. He claims that other circumstances render it almost
certain that another church had been built since the destruction of the
one by Bacon. He points out the fact that in 1733 a silver font, still
in existence was presented to it by two members of the Ambler family
and adds that it surely would not have been presented to the ruins
of a deserted church. He concludes, therefore, that the ruined tower
which we now behold represents the remains of a church put up since
the rebellion and his contention is certainly logical. Howe’s outline
history of Virginia takes the ground that previous to 1617, or ten
years after the first settlement of Jamestown there were two churches
destroyed. The tower now standing may have belonged to the second
church and survived its destruction. It could not have been part of the
first, for that “cost no more than 50 Pounds”; or it may have been the
tower of a third. We can only surmise that the tower has been standing
upwards of three hundred years.
Bishop Meade has alluded to the fact that for several years after the
death of Mr. Hunt the colony was without a minister. This is referred
to in “A True Declaration of the Estate of the Colony in Virginia,”
etc., published by the council in England in 1610 as one of the
causes which had provoked God to visit the plantation with those dire
calamities that beset it at the time that Lord De la War was first sent
out as Governor for life.
An ardent task must have been that of the first ministers of the
Jamestown church. A part of the religious services enjoined were as
follows: On week days, early in the morning, the captain sent for
tools, in the place of arms where “the sergeant-major, or captain
of the watch, upon their knees made public and faithful prayers to
Almighty God for his blessing and protection to attend them in their
business for the whole day after succeeding.” The men were divided
into gangs who worked on alternate days. The gang for the day was then
delivered to the maisters and overseers of the work appointed, who kept
them at labour until nine or ten o’clock; then, at the beat of the
drum, they were marched to the church to hear divine service. After
dinner, and rest till two or three o’clock, at the beat of the drum the
captain drew them forth to the place of arms, to be thence taken to
their work till five or six o’clock, when, at beat of drum, they were
again marched to the church to evening prayer: they were then dismissed.
The ruined graveyard, or “place impaled in, sequestered only to the
buryal of the dead,” at base of the Jamestown tower is not without
interest. An inscription records the fact that “Here lyeth the body of
the Rev. John Gough, late minister of this place, who departed this
life, January 15, 1683–4, and waits in hopes of a joyful reunion.”
There are tombstones and fragments of such, that record the deaths of
Philip Ludwell and Sarah his wife, of Ursula Beverly, wife of Robert
Beverly and daughter of William Byrd. There are likewise the tombs of
Edward Jacqueline, Jacqueline Ambler, B. Harrison and Mrs. Edwards.
There were in addition two tombs interestingly described by Bishop
Meade as he saw them in 1856. They were those of Commissary Blair and
Mrs. Blair. The tombs were placed side by side and were very heavy and
strong. The platform, sides, and ends were of white freestone and the
interior filled with bricks, well cemented. The top slab, on which
the inscriptions were made, were of thick dark iron stone, or black
marble. A sycamore-shoot sprung up between the graves and grew to be a
large tree. In its growth it embraced, on one end and on the top the
tomb of Mrs. Blair, one third of which lay embedded in the body of the
tree and held immovable. All the interior, consisting of brick, and two
of the side stones, had been entirely forced out of their places by the
tree and lay scattered around while the dark iron-stone slab was held
in the air three feet above the surface of the earth, fast bound by the
embrace of the body of the tree into which it had sunk between one and
two feet, the inscription being only partially legible. On the other
side the whole tomb of Commissary Blair had been forced away from its
place by the roots and body of the tree and was broken to pieces in all
its parts.
Three hundred years have come and gone since the seed from which has
grown English speaking America was planted on the spot where stands the
old Jamestown tower.
The page in our History relating to it is fraught with perennial
interest. In picturesqueness it is unsurpassed. The romantic story of
Pocohontas, the grandeur of the character and attainments of Captain
John Smith which grows brighter with the passing centuries and the
almost incredible sufferings of the early settlers, combine to make a
story the fascination of which is not decreased by its sadness. The
crumbling tower makes a powerful appeal to the imagination such as
inspired the British Spy to exclaim:
“Whence arises the irrepressible reverence and tender affection
with which I look at this broken steeple? Is it that my soul, by
a secret, subtle process, invests the mouldering ruin with her own
powers; imagines it a fellow being; a venerable old man, a Nestor or
an Ossian, who has witnessed and survived the ravages of successive
generations, the companion of his youth and of his maturity, and now
mourns his own solitary and desolate condition, and hails their spirits
in every passing cloud? Whatever may be the cause, as I look at it, I
feel my soul drawn forward as by the cords of gentlest sympathy and
involuntarily open my lips to offer consolation to the drooping pile.”
It seems almost anti-climatic to be obliged to record the fact that
the Society for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities is arresting
the hand of Time and taking measures to preserve this famous ruin
for future generations. In the process of so doing the Society has
unearthed much that is of interest to the historian of the subject. It
is not therefore as literally true as it appeared to be when John Esten
Cooke said that at present nothing remains of this famous settlement
“but the ruins of a church tower covered with ivy and some old
tombstones. The tower is crumbling year by year and the roots of trees
have cracked the slabs making great rifts across the names of the old
Armingers and Honourables. The place is desolate with its washing waves
and flitting sea fowl, but possesses a singular attraction. It is one
of the few localities which recall the first years of American history:
but it will not recall them much longer. Every distinctive feature of
the spot is slowly disappearing. The river encroaches year by year, and
the ground occupied by the original huts is already submerged.”
Three hundred years, as pointed out by Congressman Towne, seems a
long time as we speak the words; yet in the life of nations it is but
a little while. There are while this is being written five members
of the House of Representatives that could clasp hands and unite the
settlement of Jamestown with its proposed celebration in 1907. The
present Senators from two of the states in the Union could compass the
interval with ten years to spare.
Brief period through three centuries appear on the page of history, the
disintegrating ruin standing on Jamestown Island as the isolated emblem
of the nation’s birth, accentuates the immutable law of material change
whereby both humble and gorgeous monuments reared by the hand of man
“Shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a wrack behind.”
NASSAU HALL, PRINCETON
Princeton Univerity, once known as the College of New Jersey, was
founded by charter in 1746, under the auspices of the Presbyterian
Synod of New York, which at that time included many Presbyterian
churches of New Jersey. The college was opened in Elizabethtown in
1847, but was soon removed to Newark, and, in 1757, to Princeton, where
a large building had been erected and named Nassau Hall in honour of
King William III. of England, who was of the House of Nassau.
Nassau Hall has had an interesting history. During a part of the
Revolutionary War, it was used by both American and British soldiers
as a barrack and hospital, and during the Battle of Princeton (Jan. 3,
1777), the British troops made a stand within its walls until they were
driven out by Washington’s advance. In 1783, the Continental Congress
met in it, and in company with General Washington, attended the
commencement of that year. At this time General Washington presented
the trustees with fifty guineas to aid in repairing the damages caused
by the war; and the money was appropriated for a full length portrait
of General Washington, painted by the elder Peale, to replace the
portrait of George III., which a cannon ball had ruined. Washington’s
portrait was placed in the original gilt frame. Nassau Hall was burned
in 1802 and again in 1855.
[Illustration: NASSAU HALL, PRINCETON]
Many of the buildings suffered during the Revolution, and much trouble
was found to raise sufficient funds to repair them; but, as time
wore on, the college revived and its income increased. The first
president was the Rev. Jonathan Dickinson; the second, the Rev. Aaron
Burr (father of the famous Aaron Burr); the third, Jonathan Edwards;
and the sixth, Dr. Witherspoon, a member of the Continental Congress
and a Signer of the Declaration of Independence.
With a few exceptions, the buildings, numbering forty-two, are grouped
around Nassau Hall. They are built, for the most part, of stone, and
are situated in the midst of beautiful grounds, composed of hills,
meadows and woodlands and avenues of tall elms. One of the most
conspicuous of these is known as “McCosh’s Walk,” named for Dr. James
McCosh, who came from Queen’s College, Belfast, Ireland, to become the
president, a post which he held from 1868 to 1888.
Among the most important buildings are the Library, Marquand Chapel,
Witherspoon Hall, Blair Hall, Alexander Hall, the John C. Green School
of Science, Dickinson Hall, Murray Hall, Edwards Hall, Reunion Hall,
Chancellor Green Library, Biological Laboratory and the Gymnasium.
There are also several fine museums and collections of pottery,
antiquities, geology and archæology.
The Princeton Theological Seminary associated with the college, was
organized in 1812 and chartered in 1822.
Princeton celebrated its sesqui-centennial in October, 1896, and on
October 22, 1896, President Patton announced its change of name to
Princeton University by the authority of the legislature.
CASTLE GARDEN, NEW YORK
ESTHER SINGLETON
In 1814, an important mass meeting was held at the City Hall to
consider the best means of defending New York in case the British army
came northward; and in this year among the other defences erected was
that of Fort Clinton. The construction of this fort out on the rocks
beyond the Battery was watched with much patriotic interest, and it
is said that one New York lady of high social position became so
enthusiastic that she trundled a wheelbarrow full of earth with her
own fair hands from Trinity Churchyard to the Battery. Whether or not
she despoiled the grave of one of her forefathers for this purpose,
tradition is silent.
There had been, however, a fort here long before this date. During
the administration of Governor Cosby, the Capsey Battery was erected
in 1735, when a tragedy occurred which is thus described in the paper
of July 21: “On Wednesday last the first stone of the platform of
the new Battery on Whitehall Rocks was laid by his Excellency, our
Governor, and it was called George Augustus’s Royal Battery. As his
Excellency was returning and the last round was firing, the last piece
of the Cannon (being very much Honey-Comb’d and eaten almost through,
as it afterwards appeared by the pieces) burst and the pieces flying
different ways killed three persons; viz., John Symes, Esq., High
Sheriff for the City and County of New York; Miss Courtlandt, only
daughter to the Hon. Col. Courtlandt, a member of His Majesty’s Council
in this Province; and a son-in-law of Alderman Romur.”
[Illustration: CASTLE GARDEN, NEW YORK]
A rip-rap wall lay between the Battery and Fort Clinton, which were
connected by a bridge of about two hundred feet long, and off this
bridge there was excellent fishing for bass, drum and weak-fish.
In 1822, when the property was ceded back to the city by the Federal
Government and the military headquarters removed to Governor’s Island,
it was determined to convert Castle Garden into a place of public
entertainment. The old fort was then leased to a Mr. Marsh, who made a
popular resort of it. Among other improvements, he floored the top of
the parapet and covered it with awnings; and the New Yorkers of that
day considered it a most delightful place to while away the summer
hours.
On August 16, 1824, the _Cadmus_ landed the Marquis de Lafayette, “the
guest of the nation,” at Castle Garden, where the military force of the
city and an immense concourse of people were gathered to receive him;
and on September 14, a great _fête_ was held in his honour at Castle
Garden, which was, perhaps, the most brilliant entertainment ever given
in the city up to that time.
Castle Garden was the scene of large political meetings at which Daniel
Webster and other notable orators, statesmen and citizens appeared; and
in 1847, a great memorial concert for Mendelssohn was given there.
This year brings us to the period when Castle Garden became one of
the most important play-houses of New York. It was opened by Messrs.
French and Heiser on the 28th of June, 1847, with the popular actors
and actresses Holland, Walcot, Arnold, Herr Cline, Miss Clarke, Miss
M. Phillips, Mrs. W. Isherwood, etc., etc., and on the 18th of August
of that year the Havana Opera Company, with Luigi Arditi, who is still
remembered by many old opera-goers, as the conductor. The singers
included Signorina Tedesco and Perelli, Vita, Novelli, and Candi.
The first opera presented was _Ernani_, followed by _Norma_, _La
Sonnambula_ and _Saffo_.
About this time Castle Garden is described by Philip Hone as “the most
splendid and largest theatre I ever saw--a place capable of seating
comfortably about six or eight thousand persons. The pit or area of
the pavilion is provided with some hundred small white tables and
movable chairs, by which people are enabled to congregate into little
squads and take their ices between the acts. In front of the stage is a
beautiful fountain which plays when the performers do not. The whole of
this large area is surmounted by circular benches above and below, from
every point of which the view is enchanting.”
On June 5, 1848, George Holland, as director, opened with popular
farces such as _Old Honesty_, in which he played the part of Tom
Perch, _Box and Cox_, etc. Cline gave performances on the tight-rope
and several notable benefits were given,--one for Arditi and the great
contra-bassist, Botesini, in which Truffi, Pico, Vietti, Beneventano,
Rapetti and Caffi appeared. On August 3d, there was also a great
benefit performance for the suffering volunteers returning from the
Mexican War.
From June 8th to September 7, 1850, the Havana Opera Company gave a
splendid series of performances under Arditi’s bâton, beginning with
_Norma_. The company was composed of Marini, Salvi, Lorini, Vietti,
C. Badiali, Luigi Vita, Elsa Costini, Arditi and Botesini, which, to
quote a contemporary, “formed, perhaps the finest musical combination
ever heard in New York, and succeeded with the aid of moonlight and
sea-breezes, notwithstanding the smallness of the stage and utter
deficiency of acoustic requirements, in attracting immense audiences.”
On September 11th, a very interesting event occurred,--the _début_
of Jenny Lind under Barnum’s management. The clever showman had
advertised his song-bird so successfully that the tickets were sold at
auction (one Mr. Genin, a hatter, bought the first ticket for $225.00),
and those, not fortunate enough to obtain admission, hired row boats
and hovered around Castle Garden during the performance.
Max Maretzek now appears on the scene to give a series of operas during
the summer of 1851, for an admission of fifty cents. Marini, Lorini,
Forti, Beneventano, and Signoras Benedetti, Bosio, Truffi, Clotilda
Barili, Mme. De Vries and Mme. Maretzek formed a strong company, which
was so successful that in the next year Maretzek repeated his venture,
with such great singers as Sontag, Steffanone, Vietti, Salvi, Marini,
Rossi, Strakosch and Badiali.
Immense audiences gathered at Castle Garden to hear Jullien’s wonderful
orchestra,--the biggest and most extraordinary band that had ever
visited New York. The eccentric French leader made his first appearance
on July 29, 1852.
In 1852, the Rousset sisters appeared and French opera and comedy were
played by Mme. Fleury-Jolly and Mlle. d’ Armont. The Ravel family and
Blondin also appeared in this year.
There were many attractions at Castle Garden, besides the music and
drama. There were shows of various kinds and plenty of food and drink.
One chronicler speaks of “the fountain of real champagne, falling over
the rocks of a mimic grotto from which the people dipped the sparkling
fluid in amazed bewilderment.”
Maretzek had another season in the summer of 1854, and in that year
another great event occurred at Castle Garden,--under Mr. Hackett’s
management, while the Academy of Music on Irving Place (opened Oct. 2,
1854), was being made ready, the famous Grisi and Mario were introduced
to the New York public in _Lucrezia Borgia_ on September 4. The seats
cost from $3.00 to $5.00.
One of the important performances during this decade was one in
commemoration of the introduction of the drama at Williamsburg, Va.,
in 1752, by the Hallam Company from London. On this occasion _The
Merchant of Venice_ and Garrick’s _Lethe_ were given.
Laurence Hutton’s memories in _Plays and Players_ (New York,
1875) are worth quoting: “At Castle Garden too were held the fairs
of the American Institute, with their countless delights to the boy
of that period; their models of full-rigged yachts, their wonderful
glass blowers and the marvellous machines to pare apples and to wring
clothes, which were to revolutionize our entire domestic economy and
which never worked when we got them home.... To Castle Garden also came
the first and only Chinese Junk, and to Castle Garden, to see it and
wonder at it, down Broadway came all the good people of Gotham.
“At Castle Garden, too, best of all were those peep-holes in the
gallery, which we can remember so long ago that we had to be lifted up
by paternal arms to look into them. Cosmorama, or diorama, were they
called? and what pictures were revealed of impossible deluges, with
pre-Raphaelite waters, and a pink-coloured Duke of Wellington at a
very blood-red battle of Waterloo! The cyclorama of Paris by Night, or
London by Day, is nothing to these battle scenes of Castle Garden, as
real to us in those days as war itself. The exercise of a very little
‘make believe’ invested in the old fort a personal interest in all of
its battles and the peep-holes became portholes to us, through which
many a time and oft, with General Taylor, we have bombarded Monterey,
or have died on the Plains of Abraham with General Wolfe.
“Of Castle Garden, hardly can we speak without some mention of the
promenade on the outer balcony, so popular on fine nights when the
moon, the inconstant moon, shone on the sparkling river and the Jersey
shore; and the music of the orchestra, with its voluptuous swell,
mingling so harmoniously with the melodious ‘clink, clink’ of the ice
in the julep glasses, added such charms to the opera.”
Among the important receptions held in Castle Garden were those to
Louis Kossuth in 1849, and to the Prince of Wales in 1860.
After having served as an immigrant _dépôt_ for many years, Castle
Garden was turned into an Aquarium, that attracts many visitors who are
unaware of the interesting history that the curiously shaped old brown
building in Battery Park has to tell.
MONTICELLO[14]
EDWARD C. MEAD
Next to _Mount Vernon_, doubtless there is no place in the Union
that has been more written of or more visited than _Monticello_,
the beautiful home of President Jefferson; and yet of the many who
have visited this historic spot and the much that has been said of it,
few are aware of the true story connected with the building of this
celebrated mansion.
Many legends and marvellous tales are told the stranger who treads
its portals, few of which are based upon fact; yet there remain many
incidents untold which would add an interesting page to its history,
which we propose to gather up and trace the true story of its erection
from its inception to its completion.
Colonel Peter Jefferson, the father of Thomas Jefferson, and William
Randolph, both of Goochland County, Virginia, were very close friends
and neighbours. In 1735 both obtained “patents” for large grants of
land lying contiguous to each other, and ever since their descendants
have intermarried and maintained this juxtaposition.
Colonel Peter Jefferson had thus obtained by grant one thousand acres
lying on each side of the Rivanna River, where it intersects the
South-West range of mountains; to this he added by purchase nine
hundred acres, making a total of nineteen hundred acres of land on each
side of the river, which embraced the little towns of Shadwell on the
north and Milton on the south.
In 1770, Mr. Jefferson, who was then a young practising lawyer, first
began to clear the summit of _Monticello_ (Italian for “little
mountain”), with a view of building. It was then merely a wild, tangled
forest, but he had often looked upon this elevated spot with peculiar
attraction, and had frequently rambled over its steep, craggy sides, or
clambered to its summit, there to gaze upon the grand panoramic view
spread out before him with feelings of sublime admiration and intense
delight; it was such a picture as he wished always before him, and thus
it was he decided here to build his home.
After the destruction by fire of the paternal roof at Shadwell, Mr.
Jefferson began in earnest to build upon this almost inaccessible spot,
and in the fall of that year (1770) had erected a small one-and-a-half
story brick building, containing one good-sized room, which is the same
portion of the present building forming the south-east “pavilion” at
the extremity of the south “terrace”; this room was the only part of
the house habitable when he took his young bride there in 1772.
[Illustration: MONTICELLO, VIRGINIA]
Mr. Jefferson’s conception and designs for building his new home were
not so elaborate or extensive as were afterwards carried out upon his
return from Europe. He was very conventional in his style and manner
of living, not wishing to go beyond the simplicity of his neighbours,
even in his plan of building, and yet there was at that time not
another brick building outside the town of Charlottesville, and though
of quite moderate proportions compared to its ultimate appearance, it
was then considered the most imposing building in the county.
The belief that Mr. Jefferson imported from England most of the brick
used for his building is quite erroneous; all these were made upon the
spot by his slaves, and the site of their manufacture is still pointed
out; but in after years, when completing the north end and adding many
embellishments to his original design, some of the finest brick and
ornamental material were procured in Philadelphia and sent around by
water to Richmond, and thence to the little town of Milton.
In the autumn of 1775, still further additions were made, and the
grounds greatly improved and enlarged, Mr. Jefferson planting with his
own hands many fruit and ornamental trees, the trunks of which still
remain.
During the sessions of Congress, while Mr. Jefferson would be absent
from _Monticello_ for months at a time, the work of completion
would be necessarily slow, and even up to the year 1782 the house was
but partially completed. Still more did that part which had already
been built suffer much from delay during his sojourn in France as
ambassador. It was not until Mr. Jefferson’s return in 1794, that real
active work was resumed, and he applied himself enthusiastically once
more to the early completion of his design.
His intention now was to build another wing, one story and a half
high, both to be united and crowned with a balustrade, having a
dome between them, the apartments to be large and convenient, the
decorations within and without to be simple, yet regular and elegant.
Mr. Jefferson had already erected a saw-mill, a grist-mill and a
nail-factory, where every nail for the building was hand-forged by his
coloured boys. Many of his artisans had been brought with him from
Europe, and with all the material at hand the work now progressed
rapidly.
The story that Mr. Jefferson laboured upon the building and laid many
of the brick with his own hand is erroneous. He was always fond of
working in his “shop,” where in this “mechanical retreat,” which stood
at the rear of the house, he would put to a practical test his theories
and exercising his inventive genius; but he never laboured in the real
sense of the word except for his own gratification and pleasure, or to
set an example of industry to those around him.
In 1802, the _Monticello_ mansion was considered completed. The
expense had been very great for those times, which, Mr. Jefferson
states, was exactly two thousand and seventy-six dollars and
twenty-nine cents, while he was away at Washington, besides the large
sums he had previously spent upon it.
Thus it had taken nearly _thirty years_ to build this historic old
edifice, a building which could now be erected in six months under our
present rapid mode of construction.
Let us glance for a moment at this curious structure as it then stood,
fresh from the hands of the illustrious architect, for Mr. Jefferson
had designed each part most minutely himself.
Entering from the eastern portico with its lofty Corinthian pillars
and arched door, over which is still seen the old English clock which
marked the hours, the visitor is here met and ushered through large,
double glass doors into a spacious semi-octagonal hall with its wide
fireplace at one end, as is usually found in old English mansions.
Opposite the door is a small gallery, while on one side of it stood
a fine marble bust of the patriot himself, and on the other one of
Washington, both by the celebrated Italian artist Carracci. Along
each side of the hall were many Indian relics which Mr. Jefferson had
collected.
From this hall opens another glass door leading into the drawing-room
or _salon_ being the largest and most handsome room in the house,
and situated immediately under the dome. This room is also octagonal,
its floor being laid in parquetry of octagonal blocks of different
coloured wood, which were cut and fitted by his own coloured workmen,
giving it a most unique and pleasing effect and which for skill
challenges the genius of a more intelligent race. The walls of this
stately room were adorned with portraits of Columbus, Vespucius, Andrew
Doria, Castruccio-Castracani, Raleigh, Cortez, Bacon, Newton, Locke,
Washington, Adams, Madison and Monroe, while on either side of the door
stood the busts of Alexander and Napoleon.
Leading from this room on the west side was the dining-room, and beyond
this the octagonal tea-room. Here were to be seen busts of Franklin,
Voltaire, Lafayette and Paul Jones. Adjoining this were the bedrooms
for guests, while on the east of the entrance hall was the bedroom of
Mrs. Martha Randolph, who resided there permanently after the death of
Mrs. Jefferson.
Mr. Jefferson’s bedroom was next to that of Mrs. Randolph, beyond which
was his library, which extended to the west side of the house, and from
which led into an arched conservatory; beyond this was Mr. Jefferson’s
celebrated workshop.
The upper part of the house was gained by a very narrow, tortuous
stairway; the rooms above were quite small, of low pitch, and badly
lighted, or ventilated; all of them were of many shapes, in conformity
to the octagonal design of the house; alcoves let into the wall served
in the place of bedsteads, their small dimensions being hardly suited
to the comfortable repose of an ordinary-sized person.
The dome over the parlour was covered with thick glass; this was
called the “ladies’ drawing-room,” which at one time was used as a
billiard-room until the laws of Virginia prohibited the game. It was
also said to have been used as a “ballroom”; but it is safe to say that
Mr. Jefferson never had a dancing-party in his house, though extremely
fond of music and even had his daughter taught the graceful art.
The furniture throughout was very handsome, most of which was purchased
in France and used while living in Philadelphia. The beautiful marble
and brazier tables, French mirrors and elegant sofas of the court style
of Louis XVI. gave a charming and effective contrast to the artistic
finish of the interior; while the many rich paintings, statuary and
works of art gave a sense of regal splendour which amazed the many
plain and simple Virginians who thronged the mansion.
Governor Gilmer of Georgia, who was a frequent and familiar visitor,
thus describes _Monticello_ during Mr. Jefferson’s last term of
office:
“Three rooms of the house were left open for visitors. I saw statuary,
fine paintings and a collection of Indian relics. The statuary was
very beautiful; I could not be satisfied with looking at it. Mr.
Jefferson’s library door was locked, but the window-blinds were thrown
back, so that I could see several books turned open upon the table,
the inkstand, paper and pens as they had been used when Mr. Jefferson
quitted home.”
On top of the dome, Mr. Jefferson had his observatory, being a simple
platform surrounded by a balustrade. Here he would often sit, night and
day, surveying the heavens or the vast expanse of scenery before him
with his telescope.
The famous mill-factory, machine-shops and weaving rooms were to the
south-east of the house, beyond which was the terraced garden in which
he delighted to exhibit his horticultural products. The farm itself had
not been cleared to any great extent around the mansion, most of the
crops being raised on the north side of the river at Shadwell and upon
the Tufton farm near Milton.
Thus we find the farm and mansion of _Monticello_ in 1809, upon
the retirement of Mr. Jefferson from the Presidency. But it was not
to gain repose, for he was followed to his beautiful mountain home by
a host of admirers and visitors, and but for the records left us, it
was scarcely possible to believe the extent to which the imposition
upon his privacy by friends, kindred and the public generally was
carried at this time. They would come singly and in families, bringing
babies, nurses, drivers and horses, spending weeks and even months
at a time, giving the place an appearance of some noted watering
_rendezvous_. Here would be gathered students, savants, musicians,
clergymen, members of Congress, foreign travellers, artists and men
of every faith and political creed to gratify their curiosity and say
that they had seen and heard Mr. Jefferson. In one instance a family of
six from Europe remained ten months; on another occasion a lady broke
a pane of glass with her parasol in her eagerness to get a glimpse of
the President. Crowds would stand about the house for hours watching
for his exit, until Mr. Jefferson in desperation would fly to his
farm, _Poplar Forest_, in Bedford County, for repose, expressing
truly his feelings when he said: “Political honours are but splendid
torments.”
At various times there were also many celebrated visitors to
_Monticello_, who have left their record of the place as it then
appeared; among these were the Duke de Liancourt, a distinguished
French traveller, who, in 1796, remained several days; the Marquis de
Chastellux, aide to General Lafayette; Lieutenant Hall of the English
army in 1816; and William Wirt, the historian, the friend and frequent
visitor of Jefferson. All these have given graphic descriptions
of this celebrated spot, some in language most illusive, for it is
hardly possible for the eye to reach the Chesapeake Bay, the Atlantic
Ocean, or even to the James River, nor can the lofty hills of Maryland
or the Peaks of Otter be seen, yet the view is grand, majestic and
inspiring,--the same which Mr. Jefferson gazed upon with delight, and
which has been the theme of poets and historians since, and ever more
to be the admiration of thousands who make their pilgrimage to this
shrine of America’s freedom.
Thus stood _Monticello_ at the close of Mr. Jefferson’s life in 1826.
It was known at this time that he was deeply involved in debt,--one
partially made in entertaining his numerous guests,--in consequence
of which his entire estate was soon afterwards offered for sale by
his grandson and executor, Colonel Thomas Jefferson Randolph, of
_Edgehill_. Mr. Jefferson had truly rendered himself poor when he
built _Monticello_. The Italians brought over to do the ornamental
work proved most expensive, and his friends had literally “ate him
out of house and home”; so of his once large estate of ten thousand
acres very little remained besides the mansion and its contents, he
having previously sold, in 1776, lands to the amount of twenty thousand
dollars in the hope of stemming the incoming tide of insolvency.
About the year 1828, Commodore Uriah P. Levy, of the United States
Navy, who had known and greatly admired Jefferson, secured the mansion
with four hundred acres of the _Monticello_ tract. In purchasing
the place he designed to preserve it in the same condition, and carry
out the plans of the great patriot himself for its adornment; and still
further, in honour of his memory, he erected a handsome statue to him
in the City Hall at New York.
Commodore Levy presided most gracefully over the halls of
_Monticello_, and fittingly maintained its just celebrity for
hospitality. After the death of Commodore Levy the estate descended to
his nephew, the Hon. Jefferson M. Levy, of New York, its present owner.
During the Civil War it was confiscated by the Confederate Government
and fell into rapid decay; at one time being used as a hospital, after
which it was rented to unscrupulous parties, who allowed it to be sadly
pillaged. After the war it was not difficult for Mr. Levy to regain
possession, who at once began its restoration and to-day it stands
complete, and perhaps far more beautiful than even in Jefferson’s time.
Let us picture _Monticello_ as it now stands, after a lapse of
nearly seventy years, still sitting in all its majestic pride and
grandeur upon its lofty eminence, while so many of the great, the good
and the gifted who once graced its halls have passed away forever.
Instead of a steep rough road, filled with rocks and gullies, upon
which vehicles would once frequently stall, the visitor can now drive
from the city of Charlottesville over a smooth and easily graded road,
which winds gracefully around Carter’s Mountain, bringing the traveller
to the “Notch,” or first summit, almost before he realizes it. Here
stands the porter’s lodge, with artistic double gate, through which
vehicles enter upon the _Monticello_ domain proper, and begin to
ascend the Little Mountain, upon which the mansion sits a mile above.
The same smooth road, bordered by a stone wall, winds along its rugged
sides until the cemetery is reached, which stands midway to the summit.
This is the spot chosen by Jefferson, in 1782, after the death of his
wife, Martha Wayles Jefferson, where he wished himself and family to
be laid. It is on a gentle slope of the mountain, to the right of the
road, surrounded by lofty oaks and pines, with all the solemn beauty
and stillness of the primeval forest.
A few hundred yards from the cemetery the entrance to the lawn
is reached, and a glimpse of the grand scenery spread below is
seen. Keeping to the right, we pass the ruins of the celebrated
“nail-factory,” with its solitary chimney festooned with ivy.
Farther on, a solitary grave surrounded by a stone wall, marks the
resting-place of the mother of Commodore Levy, who died here. Next we
come to the “weaving-room,” which is now the manager’s house. Here we
are met by a coloured porter, who, though looking quite venerable, does
not lay claim to being Mr. Jefferson’s body-servant, though for a few
pennies he will tell you some wonderful stories of him, and point out
with pride the many objects of interest. Approaching the mansion up the
east lawn, the visitor will stand for a moment and glance at the clock
over the door and the weather-vane overhead, which had so often been
scanned by the great philosopher. Then reverently entering the double
glass doors, he will find himself in the famous hall where Jefferson
was wont to meet and greet his visitors.
On the right hangs a full-length portrait of Commodore Levy in full
naval uniform; it is a majestic and striking picture of this noted
officer; while opposite is a model of the _Vandalia_, the flag-ship in
which he sailed around the world. Many other paintings adorn the room
which will claim a close and special notice. In the large parlour or
_salon_ hangs a full-size portrait of Madam Rachel Levy, the mother of
Commodore Levy, who was styled the “American Beauty” while in Europe,
a term not inappropriately given if we may judge by the beautiful
features before us. The furniture in this room is of the rich antique
pattern, to represent the period of Mr. Jefferson’s term as ambassador,
while from the ceiling hangs a magnificent chandelier of an old English
style for candles. A similar one hangs in the dining-room, both having
been imported direct from Europe by Mr. Levy, and are said to have once
graced the palace of the Empress Josephine at _Malmaison_.
The glass doors, the polished floors of parquetry, the antique
furniture and ancient portraits, all lend a baronial aspect of the past
century in close keeping with its appearance during Mr. Jefferson’s
time.
The grounds and exterior appointments are well preserved. Scattered
over the rich green lawn are rustic benches, statuary, vases and
urns of fragrant plants. Here, beneath stately elms, locust and
chestnut-trees, the visitor can sit and feast the eye upon the vast
landscape on every side.
Half a dozen English spaniels sport on the green lawn, while upon the
steep, craggy side of the mountain eight or ten deer can occasionally
be seen, which are parked by a high picket-fence. The rear, or
south-west, lawn is equally beautiful: from this point is to be seen
the mystical looming of Willis’s Mountain in Buckingham County, forty
miles away, which would be usually pointed out by Mr. Jefferson to his
visitors; then to stand on the north-west side of the pavilion and view
the University, with the city of Charlottesville spread in the valley
below in all its peaceful repose and beauty, while far beyond stretches
the vast range of the Blue Ridge, embracing an extent of vision nearly
fifty miles in length, which forms a picture such as will repay a
journey of several thousand miles to behold.
THE WILLIAM PENN HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA
JOHN F. WATSON
It is a matter of inquiry and doubt at this day (1828) which has
been the house in Letitia Court, wherein William Penn, the founder
and Colonel Markham, the Lieutenant-Governor, dwelt.[15] The popular
opinion now is, that the inn at the head of the court, occupied as the
Leopard Inn and since Penn Hall is the identical house alluded to. The
cause of this modern confidence is ascribable (even if there were no
better ground of assurance) to the fact, that this building, since they
built the additional end to the westward, of about eighteen to twenty
feet, presents such an imposing front towards High Street, and so
entirely closes the court at that end (formerly open as a cart passage)
that from that cause alone, to those not well-informed it looks as the
principal house, and may have therefore been regarded by transient
passengers as Penn’s house.
[Illustration: THE WILLIAM PENN HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA]
The truth is that for many years the great mass of the population had
dropt or lost the tradition about Penn’s house in the court; and it is
only of later years, antiquities beginning to excite some attention,
that the more intelligent citizens have revived some of their former
hearings about the court. During all the earlier years of my life, I
never heard of Penn living there at all; but of later years I have. I
have been, therefore, diligent to ask old men about it. Several said it
never used to be spoken of in their youth. John Warder, an intelligent
merchant, now above seventy-three years of age, was born at the corner
house of the alley on High Street, and has told me he never was told
of Penn’s living there, when a boy. On the other hand, a few old men
have told me, at every period of their life the tradition (though known
to but few) was, that it was one of two houses, to wit--either Doyle’s
Inn, or the old Rising Sun Inn on the western side of the alley. Joseph
Sansom, Esq., about sixty, told me he heard and believed it was the
house at the head of the court, and so also some few others; but more
persons, of more weight in due knowledge of the subject, have told
me they had been always satisfied it was the old Rising Sun Inn on
the western side of the court. Timothy Matlack, aged ninety-two, who
was very inquisitive, and knew it from fourteen years of age, said it
was then the chief house in the court as to character; it was a very
popular inn for many years (whereas Doyle’s house was not an inn till
many years afterwards), that it then had an alley on its northern side
for a cart way running out to Second Street, and agreeing with “Penn’s
gate over against Friends’ Meeting,” etc., at which place his Council,
1685, required King James’s proclamation to be read.
This name Letitia house I found was a name which even those who thought
the house at the head of the court was Penn’s, granted that Letitia
Penn dwelt in, even while the father may have occupied the other. In
this they were certainly in some error; Letitia being an unmarried
girl, could never have had a separate house; she was not with her
father till his second visit in 1700. It was in Penn’s first visit
only, in 1682, that he could have dwelt there.
I infer from the facts that Penn had “his cottage” built there before
his landing by Colonel Markham; that some of the finer work was
imported for it with the first vessels; that he used it as often as
not at his “palace” at Pennsbury. After him, it was used by Colonel
Markham, his Deputy Governor; and afterwards for public offices. That
in 1700, when he used the Slate-house, corner of Second Street and
Norris Alley, having a mind to confer something upon his daughter,
then with him, he gave her a deed, 1 mo. 29th, 1701, for all that half
square lying on High Street and including said house. Several years
after this event, the people, as was their custom, when the court began
to be built up on each side of a “36 feet alley,” having no name for
it, they, in reference to the last conspicuous owner, called it Letitia
Court, in reference to the then most conspicuous house; the same house
so given to Penn by his daughter.
If we would contemplate this Letitia house in its first relations, we
should consider it as having an open area to the river the whole width
of the half square, with here and there retained an ornamental clump of
forest trees and shrubbery on either side of an avenue leading out to
the Front Street; having a garden of fruit trees on the Second Street
side and on Second Street “the Governor’s Gate,” so called “opposite
to the lot of the Friends’ Great Meeting.” By this gate the carriages
entered and rode along the avenue by the north side of the house to the
east front of the premises.
This general rural appearance was in all accordance with Penn’s known
taste, and was doubtless so continued until the ground was apportioned
out in thirty city lots, as expressed by James Logan in a letter to
Letitia Aubrey, in the year 1737.
The following facts present scraps of information which may tend still
further to illustrate the proper history of the premises, to wit:
“Pitch upon the very middle of the platt of the towne, to be laid
facing the harbour, for the situation of the house.” Thus intimating,
as I conceive, the choice of Letitia Court, and intimating his desire
to have it facing the river, “as the line of houses of the towne should
be.”
The Slate-Roof house still standing at the south-east corner of Norris
Alley and Second Street, and now reduced to a lowly appearance, derives
its chief interest from having been the residence of William Penn. The
peculiarity of its original construction, and the character of several
of its successive inmates, will enhance its interest to the modern
reader. The facts concerning the premises, so far as may now be known,
are generally these, to wit:
The house was originally built, in the early origin of the city, for
Samuel Carpenter--certainly one of the earliest and greatest improvers
of the primitive city. It was probably designed for his own residence,
although he had other houses on the same square, nearer to the river.
It was occupied as the city residence of William Penn and family,
while in Philadelphia on his second visit in 1700;[16] in which
house was born, in one month after their arrival, John Penn, “the
American”--the only one of the race ever born in the country. To that
house, therefore, humble, degenerated, and altered in aspect as it now
is, we are to appropriate all our conceptions of Penn’s employments,
meditations, hopes, fears, etc., while acting as Governor and
proprietary among us. In those doors he went in and out--up and down
those stairs he passed--in those chambers he reposed--in those parlours
he dined or regaled his friends--through those garden grounds he
sauntered. His wife, his daughter Letitia, his family and his servants
were there. In short, to those who can think and feel, the place is
filled with local impressions. Such a house should be rescued from its
present forlorn neglect; it ought to be bought and consecrated to some
lasting memorial of its former character, by restoring its bastions and
salient angles, etc. It would be to the character of such Societies
as the Historical and Penn Association, etc., to club their means to
preserve it for their chambers, etc., as long as themselves and the
city may endure.
After William Penn had left this house, on his intended return
with his family to England, he, while aboard his return ship the
_Messenger_ (an appropriate name for the message and business he
was purposing!) writes on the 3d of September, 1701, to James Logan,
saying: “Thou may continue in the house I lived in till the year is up.”
James Logan in reply, in 1702, says: “I am forced to keep this house
still, there being no accommodation to be had elsewhere for public
business.” In fact, he retained it as a government house till 1704,
when he and his coadjutors moved to Clark’s Hall in Chestnut Street,
afterwards Pemberton’s great house.
James Logan, in a letter to William Penn of 5th December, 1703, says
Samuel Carpenter “has sold the house thou lived in” to William Trent
(the founder of Trenton in 1719) for £850.
At this house Lord Cornbury, then Governor of New York and New Jersey
(son of Lord Clarenden, cousin of Queen Anne), was banqueted in great
style in 1702, on the occasion of his being invited by James Logan,
from Burlington, where he had gone to proclaim the Queen. Logan’s
letter, speaking of the event, says he was dined “equal, as he said,
to anything he had seen in America.” At night he was invited to Edward
Shippen’s (great house in south Second Street) where he was lodged
and dined with all his company, making a retinue of nearly thirty
persons. He went back well pleased with his reception, via Burlington,
in the Governor’s barge, and was again banqueted at Pennsbury by James
Logan, who had preceded him for that purpose. Lord Cornbury there
had a retinue of about fifty persons, which accompanied him thither
in four boats. His wife was once with him in Philadelphia, in 1703.
Penn, on one occasion, calls him a man of luxury and poverty. He was
at first very popular; and having made many fine promises to Penn, it
was probably deemed good policy to cheer his vanity by striking public
entertainments. In time, however, his extravagant living and consequent
extortion, divested him of all respect among the people.
In 1709, “the slated-roof house of William Trent” is thus commended
by James Logan as a suitable residence for him as Governor, saying:
“William Trent, designing for England, is about selling his house
(that he bought of Samuel Carpenter) which thou lived in, with the
improvement of a beautiful garden,”--then extending half-way to Front
Street and on Second Street nearly down to Walnut Street. “I wish it
could be made thine, as nothing in this town is so well fitting a
Governor. His price is _£_900 of our money, which it is hard thou
canst not spare. I would give £20 to £30 out of my own pocket that it
were thine--nobody’s but thine.”
The house, however, was sold to Isaac Norris, who devised it to
his son, Isaac, through whom it has descended down to the present
proprietor, Sarah Norris Dickinson, his grand-daughter (1828).
It was occupied at one period, it is said, by Governor Hamilton,
and, for many years preceding the war of Independence, it was deemed
a superior boarding house. While it held its rank as such, it was
honoured with the company, and, finally, with the funeral honours of
General Forbes (successor to General Braddock), who died in that house
in 1759. The pomp of his funeral from that house surpassed all the
simple inhabitants had before seen in their lives. His horse was led
before the procession, richly caparisoned,--the whole conducted in all
“the pomp of war,” with funeral dirges, and a military array with arms
reversed, etc.[17]
In 1764, it was rented to be occupied as a distinguished boarding-house
by the widow Graydon, mother of Captain Graydon of Carlisle,
who has left us his amusing _Memoirs of Sixty Years’ Life in
Pennsylvania_. There his mother, as he informs us, had a great
many gentry as lodgers. He describes the old house as very much of a
castle in construction, although built originally for a Friend. “It
was a singular, old-fashioned structure, laid out in the style of a
fortification, with abundance of angles, both salient and re-entering.
Its two wings projected to the street in the manner of bastions, to
which the main building, retreating from sixteen to eighteen feet,
served for a curtain.[18]... It had a spacious yard, half way to Front
Street, and ornamented with a double row of venerable lofty pines,
which afforded a very agreeable _rus in urbe_.” She continued
there till 1768–1769, when she removed to Drinker’s big house, up Front
Street, near to Race Street. Graydon’s anecdotes of distinguished
persons, especially of British officers and gentry who were inmates,
are interesting. John Adams and other members of the First Congress had
their lodgings in the “Slate-House.”
THE CATHEDRAL, MEXICO
THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST
When Cortes conquered the country, he had instructions from Ferdinand
and Isabella, from Charles V. and from Pope Alexander IV. to
Christianize it; and this part of his duty, with the help of his
army of priests and the formidable terrors of the Inquisition, he
accomplished all too zealously. The successive Spanish Viceroys
completed the work in the spirit of their age; indeed, in such a
manner, that when the books are opened and the last seal broken, the
cries of the heathen will most probably drown the anthems of the
saints. The Old Testament injunction, “Thou shall utterly destroy the
heathen from amongst you,” without a single gleam from the brightness
of the Sermon from the Mount, has under no circumstances been more
rigorously enforced than by Spain in Mexico and Peru; and what remains
of her glories, but the bitterest of bitter feeling in Mexico, and the
hatred of her Cuban subjects?
In the Conquest of Mexico it was the rule to destroy all the high
places and all vestiges of the ancient worship. The Teocalli or temples
were levelled to the ground; crosses were set up, and churches built on
their sites. The magnificent Cathedral of Mexico stands over the spot
where the high altar of Montezuma and his predecessors once ran with
the blood of human sacrifices. The first church on this site, after the
destruction of the Teocalli, was founded by Charles V. His successor,
Philip, ordered it to be pulled down, and commenced the erection of the
present structure in 1573. It was not finished and dedicated until the
22d of December, 1657. It has a fine dome and two open towers, each 218
feet high, in which are large bells exposed to view. The length of the
building is 426 feet; the architecture is Doric; the railings of the
choir, and the passage to the high altar were made of _tumbago_,
manufactured at Macao in China, and weighing twenty-six tons. It is
a brassy-looking metal, composed of silver, gold and copper, but
contains so much gold, that an offer has been made to replace it with
pure silver, and give many thousand dollars in addition. The cost of
the Cathedral, that is, of the walls alone, was over $2,000,000. The
interior of the building forms a Greek cross, and is divided into five
naves. On either side of the main nave are wide chapels, elaborately
adorned and enclosed by bronze gates; the walls are clothed with
pictures in rich old Spanish gold frames; and at one time a Murillo
stood over the high altar, but the present archbishop, wise in his
generation, after the robbery of a famous picture from a church in
Spain, caused it to be removed to the archiepiscopal palace, where it
now hangs. There is no stained glass in the windows, and there are no
such luxuries as pews; Indian and Hidalgo, Aztec and Spaniard, peon and
peasant, kneel on the bare boards. One rude bench is reserved for the
old and infirm.
[Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF MEXICO, MEXICO]
The choir is one mass of elaborate carving; the choir books, dating
from 1620, are of vellum, and painted in black letters. Close to the
choir is a magnificent altar, supported by green marble columns
resembling malachite. A rich balustrade of _tumbago_ connects
the altar and the choir. The picture of the Virgin, in the central
nave, was painted by Cabrena in 1700, and a St. Sebastian, in one of
the chapels, by Balthasor de Echavi in 1645. The glory of the cupola
was painted by Simeno de Planes; on the first plane are placed the
ancient patriarchs and the celebrated women of the Old Testament, the
colours being as vivid at this moment as when laid in. The balustrade
surrounding the grand altar is also of _tumbago_, as are the
sixty-two statues which serve as chandeliers. The high altar is
approached by seven steps, the tabernacle is supported by eight ranges
of pillars in the form of a colonnade, on the first of which stand the
statues of the Apostles and the Evangelists, while those of numerous
saints occupy the second range. On the third appear groups of angels,
and, rising from the midst, the Mother of God.
The sacristy is fitted up with oak, black as ebony from age, with
several large pictures. I often looked into it, and one day I found
two or three priests indulging in a quiet chat after Mass, while the
attendants folded away the rich vestments. A padre, seeing I was a
stranger, offered to show me the magnificent set of vestments worked
for the Cathedral by command of Isabella of Spain; they are of cloth
of gold, encrusted with gems, and in panels passages from Holy Writ
are worked exquisitely in silk, so as to have the effect of the
finest painting; it is only on close inspection that I could discover
the traces of the needle. These gorgeous vestments are useless for
practical purposes, for they are so heavy that no man of ordinary
dimensions could sustain their immense weight for more than a few
minutes. Saying mass, or even pronouncing the benediction in them, is
out of the question. By the kindness of the padre I was also permitted
to view the great council chamber, part and parcel of the Cathedral, in
which the councils of the bishops were held, the Archbishop of Mexico
presiding on a great gilded throne. This is indeed a noble apartment;
it has an open groined roof, and around the walls are portraits of
suffragan bishops of Mexico--copies only, for the originals are hung
in a sort of secret chamber, to which I was subsequently conducted.
This chamber was approached through the gates of a side altar, and
the cicerone touched a--to me--invisible spring; a door of maximum
thickness slowly opened to admit us to a sort of crypt, with formidably
barred windows, around which hang the original portraits of the bishops
from first to last, in splendid preservation. In this apartment was a
massive oaken table, with a sort of funnel in the middle of it. It is
on this table that the offerings of the faithful, after a collection,
are deposited, counted, and dropped through the funnel into huge,
grim-looking, iron-bound boxes, which stood about the room.
During my stay in Mexico excavations were being made in front of the
Cathedral to convert the paved ground into a garden, and but a few
feet below the surface some octagonal columns of the first church were
discovered; also two heads of large stone serpents, some ten feet long
and five feet in depth and in thickness; the carving of the feathered
ornaments on the heads was perfect; they had originally been the
capitals to the doorposts of the pagan temple of Montezuma, and these
interesting fragments of both temple and primitive church were conveyed
with much labour and care to the National Museum.
THE WHIPPLE HOUSE, IPSWICH
W. H. DOWNES
The old house bought by the Ipswich Historical Society is the best
surviving example in New England of the earliest Seventeenth-Century
colonial architecture. There are several finer and grander specimens of
the domestic architecture of later periods in Essex County, but in all
the category of colonial houses there is no such perfectly preserved
and authentic type of the domestic architecture of the middle of the
Seventeenth Century. The exact date of its erection is unknown, but all
the valid evidence available, in the absence of documentary records
bearing directly on this point, indicates that it was built as early as
1650, and there are architects who believe that it was erected still
earlier. The extreme rarity of houses dating from that remote period,
so soon after the settlement of Massachusetts, is due primarily to
the limited longevity of wooden building, and secondarily to the fact
that the colonists were at first obliged by the paucity of proper
building materials to erect only temporary cabins of logs, which were
subsequently abandoned and neglected, after more comfortable dwellings
were made possible by the establishment of saw-mills and forges and
roads. Ipswich was settled in 1633. The first saw-mill in the town was
established in 1649. The great posts and girders, with other surviving
timbers of the frame of the old house in question, bear no marks of the
axe or the adze, and it would be a fair inference that they were
sawed, though not necessarily by water power, for we know that some
extensive sawing was done by hand in sawpits.
[Illustration: WHIPPLE HOUSE, IPSWICH, MASS.]
... There are three or four successive parts or chapters in the serial
story of the old house. The west end of the main structure was built
first; of this there is evidence in the material, the workmanship, the
age of the woodwork, and in indirect, but convincing written evidence.
The main beams of the frame--the posts, sills, girders, joists,
rafters, etc.--in this wing are of American larch or tamarack, a soft
wood, which, however, has shown astonishing durability in every part
except where it has been exposed to moisture. The east part of the
main structure, the second chapter, was possibly added in the time of
the affluent and pious Captain John Whipple, the second of that name,
who, in 1683, was estimated to be “worth” $16,570. In this part of the
house the main beams are of oak, and the posts and girders are carved
with some attempt at elegance of finish. Later a lean-to was added,
the rafters on the north (rear) side of the roof being supplemented
by a new set of rafters at an easier angle, carrying the roof at one
point almost to the ground. Whether the lean-to was entirely built at
one time, or in two sections, is unknown and is not of importance. The
lean-to is a relatively modern part, and the original profile of the
exterior must have been very angular and high-shouldered in proportion
to its ground area.
Now, here are the more interesting dimensions of the building, as
it stands. Length, on the ground, fifty feet; width, thirty-six
feet. Great east room, ground floor, twenty-four by seventeen and
one-half feet; height seven feet. Fireplace in this room, seven feet
and three inches wide; two feet, nine inches deep. Dimensions of
oak girders, fourteen by fourteen inches. Windows, diamond panes,
and hung on hinges, five feet, three inches wide, and two feet, six
inches high; three sashes each; should be leaded glass. East chamber,
same measurements as east room below. Fireplace in this room, six
feet, two inches wide, and two feet, two inches deep. These figures
may mean but little to the layman, but they are full of significance
to the architect, the builder, and the antiquarian. The exterior of
the Whipple house has nothing in its aspect that would serve to draw
especial attention to it; but the interior possesses these two distinct
points of architectural merit, remarkable massiveness of construction,
and fine, dignified proportions. The two main rooms on the ground
floor are in fact superb for their simplicity, size and solidity. The
beautiful rich brown tone of the old oak posts, girders and joists
gives the key of colour. There is a white plastered ceiling between
the joists, the plaster being put directly on the floor-boards of the
second story....
One thing is evident, to any visitor who stands in the great east room,
and contemplates the stately proportions of the interior; that is,
that the Whipples must have been great swells in their day, to possess
such a mansion. Indeed, no further proof of their status, so far as
means are concerned, is needed than is furnished by the entertaining
inventory of Captain John Whipple’s estate in 1683, with its painful
particularity, itemizing each separate article of household use,
apparel, tools, edibles, beverages, and even “Lawrence ye Indian,”
who was valued at four pounds, a sum which seems inexpensive, even
where the supply of Indians exceeded the demand. It is enough to make
collectors’ mouths water to run over this list of old furniture,
silverware, pewter, china, arms, andirons, brasses, coppers, gallipots,
buckles and buttons, “kittles,” warming-pans, trenchers, candlesticks,
“tin lanthorns,” beakers, flagons, “basons,” piggins, “sully bub” pots,
spinning wheels, and a score of other things, more or less phonetically
spelled, after the excellent fashion of the epoch, when, as George
Eliot remarks, spelling was mostly a matter of taste.
The first John Whipple, whose estate was inventoried in 1669, was not
nearly so well off as his son afterwards became, though he had a farm
of about 360 acres of land, worth $750, and houses and lands in the
town, worth $1,250, with $45 worth of “apparell,” $35 worth of “feather
beds,” $6.75 worth of “chayres,” and $12 worth of “bookes.”
Speaking of books, the Ipswich Historical Society has in its custody,
in the west room of the old house, the most unmitigatedly pious lot
of old books I ever saw. They come from the Religious Society in
Ipswich, and the visitor may while away long hours in reading such
light literature as Jonathan Edwards’ “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry
God” (Salem, 1786), Increase Mather’s “Angelagraphia” (Boston, 1696),
or “The Loving Invitation of Christ to the Aged, Middle-Aged, Youth
and Children, from the mouth of Elizabeth Osborn, only Three Years and
Nine Months Old.” The collection of books, manuscripts, autographs,
etc., displayed in this room embraces a copy of the Breeches Bible
(1615); an autograph letter from John Winthrop, Jr., founder of Ipswich
(1634); an inventory of the household goods in Winthrop’s house in
Ipswich; several old petitions, deeds, wills, and other Colonial and
Revolutionary documents of interest. On rainy days, when the outside
world is dark and dismal, and the time hangs heavy on one’s hands,
it will be consoling for the people who like that sort of thing to
sit down and run through Owen’s work on “Indwelling Sin,” Baxter’s
“Call to the Unconverted,” Woodward’s “Fair Warning,” Crawford’s
“Dying Shots,” the account of “Count Struensee’s Conversion,” Cooper
on “Predestination,” Edwards on “Original Sin,” Shepard’s “Sound
Believer,” Langdon on “The Revelation,” Coleman’s “Parable of the Ten
Virgins,” Webb’s “Direction for Conversion,” Bellamy’s “Glory of the
Gospel,” Ditton on “The Resurrection,” Doddridge on “Regeneration,”
or Stoddard’s “Safety of Appearing in ye Righteousness of Christ.”
But, though the theology of these stalwart Calvinists may seem a bit
inflexible and unlovely to modern eyes, what they did not know about
setting up a title-page was not worth knowing. As religionists they
were of their day, took their creeds straight and hot, and their rum
ditto; but they were first-rate printers!
The house is a veritable museum of Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century
relics and curios. There is a buffet full of old china in the west room
which contains some very rare and choice pieces. The andirons in this
room are cast-iron figures of Hessians, in grenadier caps, picked out
with gilt. The iron fire-back is dated 1693. The andirons in the east
room are dated 1596. The great east room is fitted up as a kitchen.
The fire burns on the hearth as of yore, and the spacious fireplace is
fully equipped with ancient cooking utensils. Huge pewter platters and
obsolete fire-arms adorn the walls. The spinning-wheels, cheese-press
and churns are in their places. Here we find the yarn reels, the great
winnowing fan, the old cradle, foot-stove, candle-mould, candlesticks,
nice pieces of old needlework, samplers, old lamps, pewter porringers,
tinder-boxes, trivets, lanthorns, trammels, tin kitchens with spits,
etc., and a highly interesting collection of old furniture. In the
west room are the cabinet of old china, sundry heirlooms, an ancient
piano, antique chairs and pictures. The paintings comprise a smoky old
panel depicting the harbour of Ipswich, in which the vessels fly the
British flag, showing that it was painted prior to the Revolution, and
a life-size bust portrait of Whitefield, anonymous, and somewhat queer
about the eyes. Whitefield preached in Ipswich, and he did so to such
good effect that Satan fled through the meeting-house window, leaving
on the window-ledge the print of his cloven hoof. Mr. Waters may not
believe this, but it is just as true as some other local traditions.
“The old mansion,” says President Waters, in a passage of retrospect
which shows how sympathetic is his vein of fancy, “is a constant
reminder of all the glorious names which hallow and illumine the early
years of our town life,--Saltonstall and Winthrop, Symonds and Denison,
Ward and Norton and Hubbard and all the rest. They were all friends
of the Elder. Every one of them may have crossed our threshold. As we
sit here in the flickering firelight we seem to see them sitting, as
of old, and conversing on the great themes.... The old pavement in the
dooryard rings again with the hoof-beats of Captain Whipple’s horse
hurrying to lead his troopers on a swift ride to Andover to repel an
Indian assault. John Appleton and Thomas French are talking in this
very room of their imprisonment and trial for advocating resistance to
the royal governor’s edict and demanding representation before they
would submit to taxation. Colonel Hodgkins and Colonel Wade and Major
Burnham smoke and sip their steaming cups and chat of Bunker Hill and
Yorktown, of Burgoyne and Cornwallis, Washington and Lafayette.” And he
evokes a vision of the ancient life, its feasts, weddings, funerals,
departures and home-comings, its daily toil, and all the lights and
shadows of the remote Puritan home life, that revives the far-off days
with a singular and touching reality.
FORT MARION, ST. AUGUSTINE
IZA DUFFUS HARDY
From Jacksonville to St. Augustine is like a going back from the
Nineteenth Century into the Sixteenth. This, the oldest city in the
United States--with its history that should be printed in red letters,
being one volume of war and siege and bloodshed--is to all appearance
the old Spanish settlement still. The world seems to have gone on and
left it behind; the march of modern improvement has passed it by; the
tourist has found it out, and the hotel-keeper, of course, keeps him
company; but they have failed to spoil, or modernize and mar the quaint
old town. Step outside your hotel, and you at once step into a bygone
age. The old Spanish city lies wrapt in a dreamy peace; it seems asleep
in the sunshine. Narrow, unpaved, sandy streets; quaint wooden houses
breaking out into balconies and piazzas; untidy yards with ragged
banana-trees and palms and oleanders and climbing roses; “coquina”
houses, relics of old days, massive of wall and scant of window, built
of the curious material “coquina,” found only hereabouts (formed of
masses of crushed shell dug out of Anastasia Island, just across the
river)--this is St. Augustine at a first glance!
The oldest inhabitant is sitting at his door under his own vine and
figtree, smoking the pipe of peace in his shirt sleeves. He bids us
good evening; we stop and chat awhile with the old man, who is like
a picture, his snow-white hair and beard framing a rugged brown face.
He is a Spaniard, he tells us, born here, and nearly grown to manhood
when the Spanish flag was hauled down to give place to the Stars and
Stripes. He points out one of the oldest Spanish houses, a pink house,
built of “coquina,” and plastered over with a delicious soft pink like
the flush of sunset. Its little lattice windows are broken, so that
we can see the thickness of its massive “coquina” walls; it is empty
and falling rapidly to ruin. Down the narrow, sunny, sandy, almost
deserted street comes a riderless horse, trotting at a brisk pace. He
knows his home, and turns in under his own archway smartly. Next comes
a solitary cow, and presently a mare, also unencumbered by rider or
saddle, followed by a pretty little foal. They are all returning to
their respective homes in a quiet, business-like way.
We walk on to the Plaza, the central spot in which the sluggish
currents of life in St. Augustine seem to meet and eddy and make a
little stir in the sleepy old place. Facing on the Plaza is the old
Catholic church, with its high quaint belfry, to which the guide-books
and residents invariably call the attention of the tourist. Here is
the old market, under whose arched roof, men, women and children were
bought and sold once upon a time, and not so long ago, before the slave
traffic (which brought its curse with it, and pulled down the pillars
of the temple, and drew ruin, at least for a season, on these fair
lands of the South), gave place to the innocent bargaining for fish,
flesh, fowl and fruit, which is all these old walls look down upon
to-day.
[Illustration: FORT MARION, ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA]
Beyond the Plaza we come upon the “sea-wall,” which our little
guide-book has led us to anticipate as a “promenade.” When we behold
it, however, our dreams of promenading vanish. It runs along the shore,
from the modern barracks at one end of the town to the ancient fort at
the other. It is simply a low, massive stone wall, the top of which,
unprotected by any rail or parapet, is described as the favourite
“Lover’s Walk”; but, if it is so, St. Augustine lovers must be slender
as well as affectionate. We find it quite enough to walk singly upon
it with a steady head. The tourist is “promenading himself” there,
of course, with his wife in her palmetto-hat; and we perceive, on
observation of the various couples, that lovers, when young and slim,
_may_ walk double, though more frequently _he_ walks behind _her_. A
soft, fresh breeze blows up from the unseen Atlantic, which is shut
from our view by the long slip of Anastasia Island, running parallel
with the sea-wall, between the ocean, whose salt fragrance floats
faintly to us, and the river lapping the base of the wall. The sea-wall
walk leads us to the old Fort Marion, which is, perhaps _the_ sight to
be seen here.
The first stone was laid in 1592, the last, as the inscription over
the gateway tells us, in 1756. The great fortress is in excellent
preservation. Its massive “coquina” walls stand almost untouched by
time or siege, though the wild grass waves under our feet in the
barbican and blue flowers blossom from the chinks in the “coquina”
blocks. A grim silence broods over the ancient walls, as we explore
turret and drawbridge, casement and bastion. There is an old sergeant
whose mission is to show visitors over the place, but he is apparently
off duty, for we seek and find him not. A fellow-tourist, however,
gives us all the information we require. We sit on damp blocks of
stone on a mud floor under a vaulted roof, while he tells us of the
“locked dungeon,” into which admission can only be gained through the
absent sergeant. He pioneers us into the “bakehouse,” a huge, dimly-lit
stone room, also with mud floor and vaulted roof, with a recess which
served as oven, and one aperture which combined the offices of chimney
and window. It was here that, during the siege of St. Augustine, all
the townsfolk collected for shelter; and a wretched community they
must have been! From this bakehouse a gloomy archway leads into a
pitch-dark dungeon. Our escort lights matches, which only serve to
make the darkness visible. By their feeble glimmer we can see neither
roof nor walls, nothing but the thick blackness which closes round us
like a pall. We are told, however, that the obscurity here is nothing
to the inky darkness of the “locked dungeon,” wherein, the story
goes, skeletons were found in iron cages,--but this is, by the best
authorities, denied.
We next inspect a comparatively light and airy cell, with a narrow
grating high up, to our eyes unattainable and impassable, but through
which the Indian chief, “Wild Cat,” is said to have effected his
escape. The great Osceola, his companion in obscurity, nobly refused
to avail himself of the same means. It strikes me as possible that
the “Cat” was the slenderer and more agile of the two. From the fort
we cross a rough and pathless stretch of sand and turf to another
relic of the past--to the old city gates. They are built of “coquina,”
of course. We inspect the barred and grated sentinel-boxes, the high
towers flanking the gateway and dutifully resist the temptation to chip
off a piece of “coquina” as a souvenir.
The next day is Easter Sunday; the quaint old streets are crowded
with gaily-dressed people; the Plaza is swarming with happy pairs.
This is truly the “Land of Flowers.” As we saunter in the shade of
the great trees that make King Street rather a forest-glade than a
street, and linger to gaze into the groves and gardens which surround
almost every residence, we drink in the fragrant breeze, heavy with
perfumes of myriad blossoms, and revel in the luxuriance of tropical
bloom and foliage all around us. Here is the lance-leaved palmetto, and
here the beautiful feathery date-palm; here the oleanders droop their
pink and pearl, starred and scented boughs high out of reach above
our heads; here climbing roses straggle up to the housetops; here are
great forest-like trees covered with the sweet yellow flowers of the
apoppinac; here the giant magnolia, tall as a poplar and sturdy as an
oak, is opening the great white petals of its mammoth flower. Now and
then we come upon the bridal blossoms of the orange and again upon
branches weighed down under their globes of ruddy gold.
We take a farewell stroll down St. George’s Street--where the oldest
inhabitant still sits smoking under his figtree, and the ragged
bananas and spiky palms in the gardens stand out against the deepening
glow in the west--as evening draws on. We wander down to the sea-wall,
which is nearly deserted now. There are one or two wild-looking men
on horseback, their saddles mere mats of crimson or blue embroidered
cloth, their feet thrust into the unsightly bags known as Mexican
stirrups. There are several dogs, one large yellow mastiff taking his
siesta on the sea-wall, occupying the entire width of the “promenade”;
a canine friend, coming to interview him, stands on his hind legs, with
his fore-paws on the top of the wall. This somehow makes the “Lover’s
Walk” look a very small affair. One of the riders spurs his horse up on
to the wall, and, like the successful admirer of “the Lady Kunigonde of
the Kynast,” he “rides along the battlemented parapet,” breaking up the
canine _tête-à-tête_. Fortunately, there are no lovers on the wall
to be startled from off their own particular domain, only the yellow
mastiff scuttles down in a hurry as horse and rider gallop by.
The sun is setting behind the town, and the eastern sky before us
catches a tender reflected blush just on the horizon. Beyond the
sea-wall lies a stretch of water, blue as heaven and calm as a dream;
it scarcely laps against the old stones; the little boats on its
surface “float double” boat and shadow; an indescribable softness, like
a sleep, broods over its waveless tide. Beyond this entranced water
lies the long dark shade of Anastasia Island; beyond that, the pale
reflected rose of the eastern sky fades slowly with the dying day. The
one or two stragglers on the sea-wall stand out in vivid silhouette
against the blue water and blushing sky; the clatter of the horse’s
hoofs, as the equestrian Blondin dashes along the top of the wall,
seems to shatter the silence like the breaking of a spell.
ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRÉ, QUEBEC[19]
ANNA T. SADLIER
Long ago, in some far away time too distant for actual history to have
recorded the fact, a few Breton sailors, coming up the great river were
surprised by a terrific storm. In all the terror of the moment, the
blackness of the night, the howling of the winds and the rushing of the
waters, their hearts went back to distant Brittany. In childhood and in
youth they had been taught to have recourse to the beloved patroness
of their _chère Bretagne_. Never had St. Anne d’Auray failed to
hear a simple and heartfelt prayer. They registered a vow: if the good
saint brought them once more to land, there where their feet touched
they would build her a shrine. A morning came blue and cloudless.
These brave men were ashore and where? They looked about them. To the
northward rose the Laurentian hills, to the southward the wide-rolling
St. Lawrence, to the eastward a little stream, now the St. Anne,
dividing the settlement from the neighbouring parish of St. Joachim.
In such surroundings they built a simple wooden chapel and laid the
foundation of a shrine now famous throughout America.
[Illustration: ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRÉ, QUEBEC, CANADA]
The years went on; these hardy _voyageurs_ passed on their way and
were heard of no more in the village they had founded. But habitations
soon grew up, and the settlement of Petit-Cap began to be known
by the little temple which stood in its very heart. Meanwhile in the
passing years, the springtime floods and the winter storms, and even
the hand of time itself, began to tell upon the sturdy wooden frame
of the good saint’s shrine. The project of rebuilding it was first
seriously entertained somewhere about 1660. A prosperous farmer of
the village, named Etienne Lessard, made a generous donation of land
sufficient for the erection of a church, provided only that the work
was begun at once. A discussion now arose as to the propriety of
changing the site; but the matter was finally decided and M. Vignal, a
priest from Quebec, went down to Petit-Cap to bless the foundations.
He was accompanied by M. d’Aillebout, Governor of New France, who went
thither expressly to lay the corner-stone.
This second church, which remained in use till 1876, was built of stone
and stood just at the foot of the hill, where the present chapel for
processions now is. During the years following its erection multitudes
of pilgrims flocked thither.
Amongst those whose interest in the welfare of the church and the
propagation of the devotion have woven a halo round this village shrine
is that immortal Bishop of Quebec--he who coming of the ancient and
knightly race, the Barons Montmorenci de Laval, forsook the splendours
of a luxurious court and the softness of a southern climate to devote
his wonderful intellect to the service of the primitive Canadian Church.
Rich gifts began to pour in and the attention of royalty itself
was drawn to the spot; for a gleam from the magnificence of that
traditionally splendid court of Louis le Grand fell upon that humble
sanctuary hard by the blue stream, which still bore the Indian
_voyageur_ upon his way. It is part of the romance which antiquity
has lent to the place, this offering made by the queen-mother of Louis
XIV. Anne of Austria’s own royal hands worked a handsome chasuble as
a gift to the good St. Anne. The ornaments upon it are red, white and
black arrows and the whole is richly wrought in gold and silver. Now,
though that splendid pageant of a dream, that gorgeous phantom of a
dead royalty, has passed into tradition, the vestment worked by the
royal mother’s hands is still seen at the altar of St. Anne’s upon
great occasions.
A costly silver reliquary adorned with precious stones and two pictures
painted by the Franciscan friar, Luc Lafrançois, are the gifts of Mgr.
de Laval; while there is a crucifix of solid silver presented by the
hero of Iberville in 1706 in return for favours obtained. So does the
past intermingle everywhere with the present, and such tokens speak
like the voices of the dead, giving testimony of answered prayers.
Kneeling there before that beloved mother of the Mother of Christ,
we can see in fancy, as humble suppliants by our side, the great and
good prelate whose name shines out from the early Canadian annals with
an unsurpassed lustre, or the valiant soldiers, proud and warlike
viceroys, gay and gallant barons of France, who have bent the knee
here, humble, believing, hopeful as the poor fisher whose boat rocked
the while upon the surging waters without. In 1875, a magnificent
banner, seven feet and a half high by four and a half broad, was
presented to the Curé by his Excellency Lieutenant-Governor Caron, of
Quebec. On one side of it is St. Anne teaching the Blessed Virgin, the
two figures encircled by a silver shower. Above and below is inscribed:
“St. Anne, Consolation of the Afflicted, pray for us.” The reverse
of the banner represents St. Joachim as a pilgrim, proceeding to the
temple with his simple gift of two white doves. The work thereupon was
done by the Sisters of Charity.
The walls and sanctuary are fairly covered with crutches, hearts of
gold and silver, and the like, each one telling of a belief in some
cure obtained, or petition heard.
The year of 1876, the year of the building of the new church was
crowned by a rescript of His Holiness Pius IX., bearing date the 7th of
May, by which he declared St. Anne patroness of the Province of Quebec,
as long ago St. Joseph had been declared patron of all Canada.
The interior of the church is adorned with eight altars, the high altar
being the gift of his Grace Mgr. Taschereau, of Quebec; the Blessed
Virgin’s, that of the Bishop of Montreal; one to the Sacred Heart of
Jesus, that of the Bishop of St. Hyacinth; while St. Joseph is donated
by the Bishop of Ottawa, the Holy Angels by the clerks of St. Viator.
Two really beautiful stained windows which adorn the chancel are the
gift of four parishioners. Various pictures upon the walls commemorate
remarkable deliverances from shipwreck and the like. Such is Le Père
Pierre and the crew of the ship _Saint Esprit_ making a vow to St.
Anne; or the King’s vessel, _Le Héros_, on the point or foundering; or
yet another caught in the ice and saved through the intercession of
St. Anne. Of the artistic excellence of many of these pictures we say
nothing.
Besides the relics of St. Anne, the Church of Beaupré can boast many
others, such as the one of St. Francis Xavier, of St. Deodatus, St.
Benedict, St. Valentine, St. Remi, St. Eulalie, St. Amantis, Pontianus,
St. Cæsarius, and others. The Rev. M. Gauvreau, Curé from 1875 to
1878, almost completely finished the exterior of the new church.
In 1876, he likewise built a school chapel for the children of the
neighbouring concessions. He also conceived the idea of building the
Chapel of the Processions out of the material of the old church. It was
consecrated October 2, 1878, and is intended to perpetuate the ancient
edifice, being erected after the same fashion and surmounted by the
same bell-tower, whence the same sweet-toned voice calls the people to
prayer that called the dead and gone generations ago. Situated upon an
eminence, and being used especially when the concourse of pilgrims is
very great, it is an imitation of the altar of the _Scala Sancta_
at St. Anne d’Auray. There is a fountain just before the entrance to
the new church, where crowds of pilgrims are seen using the water. It
is surmounted by a statue of St. Anne.
The one principal street of St. Anne’s runs along the slope of a hill
which in the summer-time is thickly covered with fruit-laden trees.
Canadian homesteads of comfort and of plenty line it on either side.
The population consists of some hundred and fifty families, who,
experiencing little of “life’s long and fitful fever,” spin out their
days in a primitive and rural simplicity which belonged to the golden
epoch of _la Nouvelle France_. The traveller fresh from the restless
bustle of a modern Babylon seems to find himself suddenly transported
to some far-away Utopia of simple content which has slept for centuries
an enchanted sleep, and awakes isolated indeed from the Juggernaut
of progress. The handsome church, sole token of modern enterprise,
arises like a new Aladdin’s tower from amid the group of quaint,
almost mediæval dwellings. In the spring and summer-time St. Anne’s
awakes from a lethargy in which it has been plunged during the long
winter, and, as the city of some Arabian Nights’ tale, is suddenly
aglow with life and animation. Pilgrims of every rank and condition of
life fill its street; matron and maiden, priest and layman, the young
and the old, the grave and the gay, come thither, an eager but silent
and recollected throng, to the feet of the good St. Anne. Prayers
go up, hymns ring out on the stilly evening, or at tranquil morn,
and the pilgrims take their homeward way, with a vision of the calm,
restful loveliness of nature there in that favoured spot to haunt them
for many days. They remember Nature at St. Anne’s, with her dim and
night-empurpled hills, amongst which linger the memories of hundreds of
years, with her flowing sunlit streams, the waving of trees and grass,
the dreamy village life, and above all a something indescribable. The
chant and the organ-tone and the murmur of pilgrim voices fade into
a distant memory, but the voyager down that sapphire stream, the St.
Lawrence, to that hill-shadowed sanctuary, keeps for a lifetime the
impression of what he has seen and heard.
THE WADSWORTH-LONGFELLOW HOUSE, PORTLAND
NATHAN GOOLD
The Wadsworth-Longfellow house was built in 1785–1786, by General Peleg
Wadsworth, the grandfather of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He was a
native of Duxbury, a graduate of Harvard College, and a major-general
in the army of the Revolution.
According to the account of his daughter, Zilpah, General Wadsworth’s
appearance, at this time, was as follows:--“Imagine to yourself a man
of middle age, well proportioned, with a military air, and who carried
himself so truly that many thought him tall. His dress, a bright
scarlet coat, buff small clothes and vest, full ruffled bosom, ruffles
over the hands, white stockings, shoes with silver buckles, white
cravat bow in front, hair well powdered and tied behind in a club,
so-called.”
At first, the house was of two stories with a pitched roof and was
the first house in Portland to have brick walls. The bricks came from
Philadelphia to build these walls which are sixteen inches thick. The
third story was not added until 1815.
The poet’s mother was about eight years old when her father built this
house. In 1804, she was married to Stephen Longfellow, in the house
which had been her home from childhood. Longfellow was born in another
house in Portland, but at the early age of eight months he was brought
by his parents to the Wadsworth House.
Henry W. Longfellow lived here during his childhood, boyhood and
young manhood, and here he came, to his old home, to the end of his
life. Here were the scenes of his bringing up and here he profited
by the examples and precepts of his honoured parents. Here he wrote
his first poem and others, together with portions of his prose works.
It was really his home until the purchase of the ‘Craigie House,’ at
Cambridge, in 1843, a period of thirty-five years. The home remained
with the old furnishings undisturbed until the death of Mrs. Pierce.
Longfellow’s last visit here was in July, 1881, when he wrote to a
friend in Rhode Island:--
“Portland has lost none of its charms. The weather is superb and the
air equal to that of Newport or East Greenwich or any other Rhode
Island seashore. I shall remain here a week or two longer, and think of
running up to North Conway and to Sebago, to see the winding Songo once
more. It is very pleasant sitting here and dictating letters. It is
like thinking what one will say without taking the trouble of writing
it. I have discovered a new pleasure.”
[Illustration: THE WADSWORTH-LONGFELLOW HOUSE, PORTLAND, MAINE]
The poems now known to have been written in this house are:--
The Battle of Lovell’s Pond, 1820; Musings, 1825; The Spirit of Poetry,
1825; Burial of Minnisink, 1825; Song: When from the eye of day,
1826; Song of the Birds, 1826; The Lighthouse; The Rainy Day, 1841;
Changed, 1858, and probably others. A portion of Hyperion was written
here and, no doubt, much was outlined in this house while staying here.
The old house has sixteen rooms. It was the home of the Wadsworth and
Longfellow families for one hundred and fifteen years and is in a good
state of preservation. It has no
“Weather-stains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors.”
It was
“Built in the old Colonial day,
When men lived in a grander way,
With ampler hospitality.”
It has eight open fireplaces, and in former times, during a year, over
thirty cords of wood were burned in them. What a tale of bygone days
they could tell!
The living or sitting-room has the same general appearance as when
occupied by the Longfellows. For about ten years it was used by the
father for a law office, and the poet, his brother Stephen, George W.
Pierce and others studied law here. The vestibule or “Little Room”
was added as an addition or entrance to the law office. His brother
wrote of Longfellow: “In this room the young graduate scribbled many
a sheet.” After the removal of the office, about 1828, this room was
changed into a china closet and the poet wrote his sister Elizabeth,
from Göttingen, under date of March 29, 1829: “My poetic career is
finished. Since I left America I have hardly put two lines together;
... and no soft poetic ray has irradiated my heart since the Goths
and Vandals crossed the Rubicon of the front entry and turned the
_sanctum sanctorum_ of the ‘Little Room,’ into a china closet.”
Back of the living-room is the kitchen with its broad fireplace, in
which is the old iron back, on which is the fish “that forever bakes
in effigy.” This fireplace has never been closed, and the utensils and
china seen here were used by these families in the poet’s time and
before. This room, being as of old, is one of the most interesting in
the house. It tells its own story.
On the opposite side of the front hall is the “Den” or the old
dining-room, made especially famous by the fact that here, between the
windows, looking out into the garden, on the same desk now standing
there, was written “The Rainy Day” in 1841. From these windows the poet
saw the flowering grapevine mentioned in the third line,
“The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,”
which is living and is still to be seen there. The furniture on the
first floor of the house, on exhibition, was theirs and was used by the
family.
The second story has four rooms, the “Mother’s Room,” the “Guest’s
Room,” the “Children’s Room” and Mrs. Pierce’s old room. They contain a
wonderful collection of the families’ belongings for the inspection of
the visitors interested.
The third story, added in 1815, is reached by a wellworn stairway
of especial interest from the fact that over these stairs climbed
the Longfellow children to their bedchambers where they were under
the immediate charge of their aunt, Lucia Wadsworth. This floor has
seven rooms. The room of rooms is the poet’s boyhood one, in which he
wrote “Musings” and “The Lighthouse.” It is furnished with many of the
articles of yore. “The Boys’ Room,” which, at times, has been occupied
by all the Longfellow boys, looks out on the garden and the western
sky. It contains the old trundle-bed and the writings of the children
on the casing of the window, with many articles of much interest.
The remaining rooms on this floor are used for exhibition purposes.
From the front windows, in those days, could be seen the harbour, its
islands, and Cape Elizabeth; from those in the rear, Back Cove, the
fields and forests, back of which loomed up the White Mountains. It was
a magnificent prospect. Longfellow wrote:--
“Happy he whom neither wealth nor fashion,
Nor the march of the encroaching city,
Drives an exile
From the hearth of his ancestral homestead.”
On the window casing in the “Boys’ Room” one of the children has
inscribed, “How dear is the home of my childhood.” The poet expressed
his sentiments of the love of the old home in words that will never be
stricken from our language:--
“Truly the love of home is interwoven with all that is pure and deep
and lasting in earthly affections. Let us wander where we may, the
heart looks back with secret longings to the paternal roof. There
the scattered rays of affection concentrate. Time may enfeeble them,
distance overshadow them, and the storms of life obstruct them for a
season; but they will at length break through the cloud and storm, and
glow and burn and brighten around the peaceful threshold of home.”
The Wadsworth-Longfellow House came into the possession of the Maine
Historical Society in 1901 by donation from Anne Longfellow Pierce, a
sister of the poet. She was born here in 1810 and died here in 1901.
It is now practically a museum of Longfellow relics and attracts many
visitors, no less than 30,000 having been admitted since it was opened
to the public.
WASHINGTON’S HEADQUARTERS, NEWBURGH
GULIAN C. VERPLANCK
The old Hasbrook house, as it is called, situated on the west bank
of the Hudson, a little south of the village of Newburgh, is one
of the most interesting relics of the first and heroic age of our
republic; for at several periods of the War of the Revolution, and
especially from the autumn of 1782 until the troops were finally
disbanded, it was occupied by General Washington as the headquarters
of the American army. The views from the house and grounds, as well as
the whole neighbourhood around it, are rich alike in natural beauty
and in historical remembrance. You look from the old house upon the
broad bay into which the Hudson expands itself just before entering
the deep, rocky bed through which it flows towards the ocean between
the lofty mountain-banks of the Highlands. On the opposite shore is
seen the ridge of mountains, upon the bald, rocky summits of which
during the war of 1776 the beacon fires so often blazed to alarm the
country at the incursions of the enemy from the south, or else to
communicate signals between the frontier posts in Westchester, along
the line of the American positions at Verplanck’s Point, West Point
and the barracks and encampments on the plain of Fishkill. As these
mountains recede eastward from the river, you see the romantic stream
of Mattavoan winding wildly along their base, through glens and over
falls, until, at last, as if fatigued with its wanton rambles, it
mingles quietly and placidly with the Hudson. On this side of it are
stretched the rich plains of Dutchess County, with their woody and
picturesque shores. All along these plains and shores are to be found
other memorials of the Revolution; for there were the store-houses,
barracks and hospitals of our army, and there, for many months, were
the headquarters of the Father of American tactics, the disciplinarian
Steuben. To the south, you look down upon the opening of the Highlands,
and the rock of Pollopell’s Island, once a military prison, and thence
follow with your eye the “Great River of the Mountains”[20] till it
turns suddenly and disappears around the rocky promontory of West
Point--a spot consecrated by the most exciting recollections of our
history, by the story of Arnold’s guilt and André’s hapless fate and
the incorruptible virtue of our yeomanry; by the memory of the virtues
of Kosciusko and Lafayette; of the wisdom and valour of our own chiefs
and sages.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON’S HEADQUARTERS, NEWBURGH]
The Hasbrook house itself is a solid, irregular building erected about
1734. The excellent landscape painted by Weir and engraved with equal
spirit and fidelity by Smillie, will give the reader a better idea
of its appearance and character than words can convey. The interior
remains very nearly as Washington left it. The largest room is in
the centre of the house, about twenty-four feet square, but so
disproportionately low, as to appear very much larger. It served the
General during his residence there, in the daytime for his hall of
reception and his dining-room where he regularly kept up a liberal,
though plain hospitality. At night it was used as a bedroom for his
aides-de-camp and occasional military visitors and guests. It was long
memorable among the veterans who had seen the chief there for its huge
wood fire built against the wall, in, or rather under a wide chimney,
which was quite open at both sides. It was still more remarkable for
the whimsical peculiarity of having seven doors and but one window. The
unceiled roof of this room, with its massive painted beams, corresponds
to the simplicity of the rest of the building, as well as shows the
indifference of our ancestors to the free communication of noise and
cold air, which their wiser or more fastidious descendants take so much
pains to avoid. On the north-east corner of the house, communicating
with the large centre room, is a small chamber, which the General used
as a study or private office.
Those who have had the good fortune to enjoy the acquaintance of
officers of the northern division of our old army, have heard many a
Revolutionary anecdote, the scene of which was laid in the old square
room at Newburgh, “with its seven doors and one window.” In it were
every day served up, to as many guests as the table and chairs could
accommodate, a dinner and a supper, as plentiful as the country could
supply and as good as they could be made by the continental cooks,
whose deficiency in culinary skill drew forth in one of his private
letters, the only piece of literary pleasantry, it is believed, in
which the great man was ever tempted to indulge. But then, as we
have heard old soldiers affirm with great emphasis, there was always
plenty of good wine. French wines for our French allies and those
who had acquired or who affected their tastes, and sound Madeira for
the Americans of the old school, circulated briskly, and were taken
in little silver mugs or goblets made in France for the General’s
camp-equipage. They were accompanied by the famous apples of the
Hudson, the Spitzenbergh and other varieties and invariably by heaped
plates of hickory nuts, the amazing consumption of which by the General
and his staff, was the theme of boundless admiration to the Marquis
de Chastelleux and other French officers. The jest, the argument, the
song and the story circulated as briskly as the wine; while the chief
at the head of his table, sat long, listened to all, or appeared to
listen, smiled at and enjoyed all, but all gravely, without partaking
much in the conversation, or at all contributing to the laugh, either
by swelling its chorus, or furnishing the occasion; for he was neither
a joker nor a story-teller. He had no talent, and he knew he had none,
for humour, repartee, or amusing anecdote; and if he had possessed it,
he was too wise to have indulged in it in the position in which he was
placed.
One evidence among many others, of the impression which Washington’s
presence in this scene had made, and the dignity and permanence it
could lend to every idea or recollection, however trivial otherwise,
with which it had been accidentally associated, was given at Paris. The
American Minister (we forget whether it was Mr. Crawford, Mr. Brown,
or one of their successors), and several of his countrymen, together
with General Lafayette, were invited to an entertainment at the house
of a distinguished and patriotic Frenchman, who had served his country
in his youth, in the United States during the war of our independence.
At the supper hour the company were shown into a room fitted up for
the occasion, which contrasted quite oddly with the Parisian elegance
of the other apartments where they had spent their evening. A low,
boarded, painted ceiling, with large beams, a single, small uncurtained
window, with numerous small doors, as well as the general style of
the whole, gave at first the idea of the kitchen, or largest room of
a Dutch or Belgian farm-house. On a long, rough table was a repast,
just as little in keeping with the refined kitchen of Paris, as the
room was with the architecture. It consisted of large dishes of meat,
uncouth-looking pastry, and wine in decanters and bottles, accompanied
by glasses and silver mugs, such as indicated other habits and tastes
than those of modern Paris. “Do you know where we are now?” said the
host to General Lafayette and his companions. They paused for a few
moments in suspense. They had seen something like this before, but when
and where? “Ah, the seven doors and one window,” said Lafayette, “and
the silver camp-goblets, such as our marshals of France used in my
youth! We are at Washington’s Headquarters on the Hudson, fifty years
ago!”
We relate the story as we have heard it told by the late Colonel Fish,
and, if we mistake not, the host was the excellent M. Marbois.
There is another anecdote of a higher and more moral interest, the
scene of which was also laid in this house. A British officer had been
brought in from the river, a prisoner and wounded. Some accidental
circumstance had attracted to him General Washington’s special notice,
who had him placed under the best medical and surgical care the army
could afford, and ordered him to be lodged at his own quarters. There,
according to custom, a large party of officers had assembled in the
evening to sup with the commander-in-chief. When the meats and cloth
were removed, the unfailing nuts appeared, and the wine, a luxury
seldom seen by American subalterns, except at “his Excellency’s” table,
began to circulate. The General rose much before his usual hour, but,
putting one of his aides-de-camp in his place, requested his friends to
remain, adding, in a gentle tone: “I have only to ask you to remember
in your sociality, that there is a wounded officer in the very next
room.” This injunction had its effect for a short time, but, as the
wine and punch passed around, the soldier’s jest and mirth gradually
broke forth, conversation warmed into argument, and, by-an-by, came
a song. In the midst of all this, a side-door opened, and some one
entered in silence and on tiptoe. It was the General. Without a word
to any of the company, he passed silently along the table, with almost
noiseless tread to the opposite door which he opened and closed after
him as gently and cautiously as a nurse in the sick room of a tender
and beloved patient. The song, the story, the merriment died away at
once. All were hushed. All felt the rebuke, and dropped off quietly,
one by one, to their chambers or tents.
But the Newburgh Headquarters are also memorable as the scene of a far
more important transaction.
In the autumn of 1783, the war had closed with glory. The national
independence had been won. The army, who had fought the battles,
who had gone through the hardships and privations of that long and
doubtful and bloody war without a murmur, were encamped on the banks
of the Hudson, unpaid, almost unclothed, individually loaded with
private debt, awaiting to be disbanded, and to return to the pursuits
of civil life, without the prospect of any settlement of their long
arrears of pay and without the means of temporary support until other
prospects might open upon them in their new avocations. It was under
these circumstances, while Congress, from the impotence of our frame
of government under the old confederation, and the extreme poverty
of the country, found themselves utterly unable to advance even a
single month’s pay, and, as if loth to meet the question, seemed but
to delay and procrastinate any decision upon it; the impatient and
suffering soldiery, losing, as their military excitement died away
with its cause, all feeling of loyalty towards their civil rulers,
began to regard them as cold-hearted and ungrateful masters who sought
to avoid the scanty and stipulated payment of those services, the
abundant fruits of which they had already reaped. Then it was that
the celebrated anonymous Newburgh letters were circulated through the
camp, touching with powerful effect upon every topic that could rouse
the feelings of men suffering under the sense of wrong and sensitive
to every stain upon their honour. The glowing language of this address
painted their country as trampling upon their rights, disdaining their
cries and insulting their distress.
The power of this appeal did not consist merely in its animated and
polished eloquence. It was far more powerful, and, therefore, more
dangerous, because it came warm from the heart and did but give bold
utterance to the thoughts over which thousands had long brooded in
silence. Precisely that state of feeling pervaded the whole army, that
discontent towards their civil rulers, verging every hour more and
more towards indignation and hatred, that despair of justice from any
other means or quarter than themselves and their own good swords, that
rallying of all their hopes and affections to their comrades in arms
and their long-tried chief, such as in other countries have again and
again enthroned the successful military leader upon the ruins of the
Republic he had gloriously served.
The disinterested patriotism of Washington rejected the lure to his
ambition, his firm and mild prudence repressed the discontents and
preserved the honour of the army, as well as the peace, and, probably,
the future liberties of his country. It was the triumph of patriotic
wisdom over the sense of injury, over misapplied genius and eloquence,
over chivalrous, but ill-directed feeling. The opinions and the
arguments of Washington, expressed in his orders and in the address
delivered by him to his officers, calmed the minds of the army and
brought them at once to a sense of submissive duty; not solely from
the weight of moral truth and noble sentiment, great as that was, but
because they came from a person whom the army had long accustomed to
love, to revere and to obey; the purity of whose views, the soundness
of whose judgment and the sincerity of whose friendship, no man could
dream of questioning. Shortly after, the army disbanded itself. The
veterans laid down their swords in peace, trusting to the faith and
gratitude of their country, leaving the honour of the “Continental
Army” unstained and the holy cause of liberty unsullied by any one
act of rebellious, or ambitious, or selfish insubordination. They
fulfilled the prophetic language of their chief, when, in the closing
words of his address on this memorable occasion, he expressed his sure
confidence that their patient virtue, rising superior to the pressure
of the most complicated sufferings, would enable “posterity to say,
when speaking of the glorious example they had exhibited to mankind,
had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of
perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining.”
Why should we dilate here on the particulars of this transaction?
They form the brightest page in our history, the noblest theme of our
orators; but no eloquence can increase the interest and dignity of the
narrative, as told in the plain language of Marshall and in the orders
and address of Washington himself.
Let it suffice for us to fulfil faithfully the humbler task of the
local antiquary, which we have here undertaken to perform. When any
of our readers visit this scene, they will feel grateful to us for
informing them that it was in the little northeastern room of the “old
stone house” at Newburgh, that Washington meditated on this momentous
question and prepared the general orders to the army and the address
which he read with such happy effect to the military convention that
assembled on his invitation, on the 15th of October, 1783, at a large
barrack or storehouse, then called “the new building,” in the immediate
neighbourhood.
It was but a few days after this, that, upon the lawn before the house,
Washington finally parted with that portion of his army which did
not accompany him to take possession of New York. He parted with his
faithful comrades with a deep emotion that contrasted strongly with the
cold and calm serenity of manner which had distinguished him throughout
the whole seven years of the war.
THE TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE CITY
LADY HARDY
There are few passengers on board the train as we steam through the
suburban districts of Mormonland. The magnificent chain of the Wahsatch
Mountains rising in the east and the great Salt Lake stretching away
towards the west, the rest of the scene made up of fertile lands, green
meadows, fields of yellow corn and purple clover, form an enchanting
panorama as we fly past them; we are full of an undefined curiosity and
anxious to see this City of the Saints of which we have heard so much.
We reach the City of the Saints at last, and find it as fair and
beautiful as we had expected. It is in truth an oasis in a desert, a
blooming garden in a wilderness of green. We can scarcely conceive how
this flowery world has lifted itself from the heart of desolation;
it is only one more proof that the intellect and industry of man
can master the mysteries of nature, and force her in her most harsh
uncompromising moods to bring forth fair fruits. It lies in a deep
wide valley, bounded on the east by the mighty range of the Wahsatch
Mountains, which lift their rugged stony feet stretching away and
reaching towards the west, where the great Salt Lake unrolls its dark
waters, and widens and wanders away until it is lost in the distance.
The streets are wide, the houses of all sorts and sizes, some one-story
high, some two or even three, all built in different styles, or no
style of architecture; each man having built his dwelling in accordance
with his own taste, or convenience. The streets are all arranged in
long straight rows, and stretch away till they seem to crawl up the
mountain-sides and then are lost. On either side of the roadways
are magnificent forest-trees, which in summer-time must form a most
delightful shade, though now it is autumn and the leaves are falling
fast. Streams of water with their pleasant gurgling music flow on
either side, through a deep cutting (which we should irreverently call
the gutter), rushing along as though they were in a hurry to reach
some everlasting sea. The women come out with their buckets and help
themselves, while the children sail their toy boats, clapping their
hands gleefully as the tiny craft is tossed and tumbled and borne
along on the face of the bubbling water. Street-cars come crawling
along the straight streets, crossing and re-crossing each other at
different points; but a private cab or carriage is rarely to be seen.
Every house, be it only composed of a single room, is surrounded by a
plot of garden ground, where fruits, flowers and vegetables all grow
together in loving companionship. Everything seems flourishing, and
everybody seems well-to-do; there are no signs of poverty anywhere;
no bare-footed whining beggars fill the streets; tramps there may
be, passing from one part of the State to another, but these are all
decently dressed and well fed, for at whatever door they knock, they
are sure to find food and shelter, charity to those in need being a
part of the reigning religion.
[Illustration: THE TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH]
The far-famed tabernacle strikes one as a huge monstrosity, a tumour of
bricks and mortar rising on the face of the earth. It is a perfectly
plain egg-shaped building, studded with heavy entrance doors all
around; there is not the slightest attempt at ornamentation of any
kind; it is a mass of ugliness; the inside is vast, dreary, and strikes
one with a chill, as though entering a vault; it is 250 feet long and
80 feet high; its acoustic properties are wonderful--the voice of him
who occupies the rostrum can be distinctly heard in the remotest corner
of the building. If you whisper at one end your words are repeated
aloud at the other, without being caught up and hunted through every
crevice by ghostly mocking echoes. A gallery runs all around, supported
by rows of thin, helpless-looking pillars. The seats in the body of the
building are raised on sloping ground, like the pit of a theatre,--a
wide expanse of empty benches, dreary and depressing to the wandering
eye, which finds no pleasant spot to dwell upon. In the centre stands
a fountain with four plaster-of-Paris lions _couchant_, poor,
mangy-looking beasts at best. From the white plastered ceiling or dome,
being concave perhaps it may be called so, hangs a gigantic star, hung
round with artificial flowers and evergreen pendants, something like
a monstrous jack-in-the-green turned upside down. The whole interior
is gloomy and dark; I doubt if people could ever see to read their
prayers. At one end of this huge barn-like building hangs an immense
blue banner emblazoned with a golden beehive, which flaunts over the
heads of the faithful. At the other end stands an organ, the largest
in the world they say, and it may be so, for it is certainly immense.
They are justly proud of it, for it is of home manufacture entirely,
and was built precisely where it stands, under the supervision of an
English convert named Ridges, and contains upwards of a thousand pipes,
some of such a circumference you feel as though you could wander up and
down them, and be lost in a world of music. Notwithstanding its immense
size, it has not a single harsh or metallic sound; on the contrary, it
is marvellously soft-toned; from the low flute-like wailing voice of
the _vox humana_ to the deep bass roll which stirs the air like a
wave of melodious thunder, it has all the delicacy of the Æolian harp,
with the strength and power of its thousand brazen voices. The case
is of polished pine of elegant and simple design. All wood, metal and
other material used was brought from the forest or mines of Utah.
Sloping down from the organ towards the auditorium are semicircular
rows of seats, for the elders and dignitaries of the Church. In the
centre is a desk with a shabby blue sofa behind it; this was used by
Brigham Young and his two chief councillors. Below this are the seats
for the twelve apostles and for the choir and benches where the elders
may congregate to consult together. In front of all this combination
stands a long narrow table, an altar perhaps it may be called, covered
with a red cloth, whereon is arranged a gorgeous array of silver
cups, of all shapes and sizes, as though prepared for an unlimited
christening party or an everlasting service libation to some heathen
deity rather than to a Christian God.
Passing out from the tabernacle, we glanced at the Endowment House,
where many of their religious ceremonies are performed, and where,
if rumour speaks truly, gross licentiousness is carried on under the
sanction of the Church--where some ugly secrets and mysteries lie
hidden, of which no one can speak and live. Across the road stands
the president’s office, and next to that the “Beehive House” of
Brigham Young notoriety. It is a long low-roofed, adobe building,
railed in, a desolate-looking place where, in old days, some dozens
of his wives were domiciled; it is now occupied by his wives--some of
them. A high stone wall filled in with adobe encloses the president’s
residence and many other buildings, with arched gateways and heavy
wooden gates; there is a double archway leading to some factories and
stables, surmounted by a beehive in the grip of a monstrous eagle--an
illustration of the Mormon faith in the cruel clutch of the Stars and
Stripes. Close by is the school-house, first erected for the sole
education of Brigham Young’s family, which was large enough to fill
it; it is now devoted to the benefit of the masses. The whole of these
buildings are crowded together, and are generally surrounded by a high
wall, which gives them a gloomy appearance, suggestive of an Eastern
harem.
THE NATIONAL WASHINGTON MONUMENT
JOSEPH B. VARNUM
“Yonder shaft,
Which States and peoples piled the stones
That from its top the very winds might waft upon,
To distant shores, the name of Washington.”
The most interesting fact connected with the Monument is, that it
stands on the site where Washington supposed he was to be commemorated.
In 1783, Congress passed resolutions directing the Minister at
Versailles to secure the services of the best artist in Europe, for
the preparation of a statue of Washington, “to be erected at the place
where the residence of Congress shall be established.”
[Illustration: THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT
WASHINGTON, D. C.]
The Commissioners who planned the Federal City, set apart the place
where the Monument now stands, as the site for this statue; and their
report with this provision, was communicated by Washington to Congress.
It has been said that the statue by Houdon, in Virginia, was from the
cast which Jefferson, then Minister to France, procured, with reference
to fulfilling this resolution of Congress; but the statue never appears
to have been ordered, probably for want of funds. Like many other acts
of the Continental Congress, it was probably delayed in its execution
by the uncertainty which existed about a Seat of Government, as well
as the embarrassments incident to a government just emerging from a
war, and dependent for all its resources on the action of the States.
In 1799, Congress directed President Adams to correspond with Mrs.
Washington, and ask her consent to the interment of the remains of
her illustrious husband, under a monument to be erected by the United
States in the Capitol at the City of Washington. Mrs. Washington gave
her assent in the following letter:
“Taught by the great example I have so long had before me never to
oppose my private wishes to the public will, I must consent to the
request of Congress which you have had the goodness to transmit to
me; and, in doing this, I need not, I cannot, say what a sacrifice of
individual feeling I make to a sense of public duty.”
But the monument was not erected, and the remains, therefore, were not
removed from _Mount Vernon_.
In 1816, the subject was revived in a report by Mr. Huger, of South
Carolina, from a joint committee for a public monument and the removal
of the remains, but nothing was done. In February of the same year the
legislature of Virginia authorized Governor Nicholas to apply to Judge
Bushrod Washington, then proprietor of _Mount Vernon_, for leave
to remove the remains of General and Mrs. Washington from _Mount
Vernon_ to Richmond, to be placed under the monument proposed to be
erected to the honour of Washington, at the capital of the State. Judge
Washington declined, and, among other reasons stated the following:
“But obligations more sacred than anything which concerns
myself--obligations with which I cannot dispense--command me to retain
the mortal remains of my venerated uncle in the family vault where
they are deposited. _It is his own will, and that will is to me a
law which I dare not disobey._ He has himself directed his body
should be placed there, and I cannot separate it from those of his near
relatives, by which it is surrounded.”
Mr. John A. Washington declined on a similar ground, a proposition
made by Congress in 1832, to remove the remains of General and Mrs.
Washington to a vault under the rotunda of the Capitol.
On the 26th of September, 1833, a number of citizens of Washington
digested a plan for the erection of a monument which, in the language
subsequently used by Mr. Winthrop, should “bespeak the gratitude, not
only of the State, or of cities, or of Governments, not of separate
communities, or of official bodies; but of the people, the whole people
of the nation: a national monument erected by the citizens of the
United States of America.”
At first the plan was to raise the funds by dollar subscriptions;
but the whole collection amounted to only $28,000, when, owing to
the financial embarrassments of the country, the collections were
suspended. But the amount on hand was invested, and the interest
regularly re-invested, so that it had increased to $40,000 when the new
collection was begun in 1846.
As to the design, it is not easy to say what would have suited the
public at large, and satisfied to a reasonable degree the critics. For
our own part we should have thought that something might have been
designed more particularly expressive of its object and more American
in its details, less of a mere imitation of the ancients, something
which would have embodied in it the trees and products peculiar to
our country, something a little less like a second edition of Bunker
Hill Monument, and which could present internal as well as outward
attractions.
The obelisk presents some decided advantages--
First: It is of all monuments the strongest and most enduring, next
to that of the pyramid. In 1800, when the question in Congress was
between adopting the statue of 1783, or a mausoleum in pyramidal
form, it was stated in debate, without any concert whatever, a
remarkable concurrence had taken place between West, Trumbull and
other respectable artists, who gave an unequivocal preference to a
mausoleum. A mausoleum would last for ages, and would present the same
imperishable appearance two thousand years hence that it would now;
whereas a statue would only remain until some civil convulsion, or
foreign invasion, or flagitious conqueror, or lawless mob should dash
it into atoms, or until some invading barbarian should transport it as
a trophy of his guilt to a foreign shore. Besides, a statue was minute,
trivial, perishable. It was a monument erected to all that crowd of
estimable but subordinate personages that soar in a region elevated
indeed above common characters, but which was infinitely below that of
Washington. At that session, after a long discussion, a bill passed one
House for the erection of a “mausoleum of American granite and marble
in a pyramidal form, 100 feet square at the base and of a proportional
height.”
Secondly: It is like the Government and character of Washington,
simple and majestic, with no attempt at ornament. It cannot well be
spoiled in building, or by bad sculpture. We could not hope to rival
the magnificent productions of the Old World in structure, however
creditable the works of our artists may have been in one or two
instances.
Thirdly: It excels all others in one respect, that of height.
NOTE.--The work was begun in 1858 and finished in 1885.
The original designs were by Robert Mills and the total cost
reached the sum of $1,187,710.31. In 1878, it was noticed that
the foundations were not secure, and deep excavations were made
around the base to strengthen the obelisk which had by that
time reached the height of 156 feet. The area of the foundation
was enlarged from 6,400 to 16,000 feet. The National Washington
Monument has a total height of 555 feet 5⅓ inches, higher than
St. Paul’s, London (404 feet), St. Peter’s, Rome (434¾ feet),
the Strasburg Cathedral (495 feet) and the Cologne Cathedral
(514 feet). It is 231 feet higher than Bartholdi Statue of
Liberty in the harbour of New York.--E. S.
THE CLARKE-HANCOCK HOUSE, LEXINGTON
In 1778, the City of Boston placed a tablet on the walls of Christ
Church, Boston, which reads: “The signal lanterns of Paul Revere
displayed in the steeples of this church, April 18, 1775, warned the
country of the march of the British troops to Lexington and Concord.”
Important as the “midnight ride of Paul Revere” was, it owes its chief
fame to Longfellow, who made it the subject of a story in _The Tales
of a Wayside Inn_, written in 1863. The Landlord begins:
“Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
In the Eighteenth of April, Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
“He said to his friend, ‘If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.’
Then he said ‘Good-night!’ and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
* * * * *
“Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
* * * * *
“Meanwhile impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight,
A second lamp in the belfry burns!
“A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight
Kindled the land into fame with its heat.
* * * * *
“It was one by the village clock
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
* * * * *
“So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,--
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.”
[Illustration: CLARKE-HANCOCK HOUSE, LEXINGTON, MASS.]
Closely associated with this ride is the old house known as the
Clarke-Hancock House and now owned by the Lexington Historical Society.
On the night of Paul Revere’s ride, two of the leaders of the American
cause were sleeping quietly there,--John Hancock and Samuel Adams,
upon whose heads a price had been set. They were attending the daily
sessions of the Provincial Congress in Concord and returned every
night to Lexington where they lodged in the home of the Rev. Jonas
Clarke, who had married a niece of Hancock’s. Another inmate of the
house at this time was Hancock’s betrothed bride, Dorothy Quincy, whom
he married in the following year. It was very important that Hancock
and Adams should be kept informed of the progress of events in Boston,
and Paul Revere, then a man of forty, was a regularly employed and
paid messenger from the patriots of Boston to them Revere, an engraver
and silversmith, was one of the “Sons of Liberty,” a society composed
largely of artisans and workmen; and, moreover, he was one of a company
who patrolled the streets of Boston to watch the movements of British
soldiers and Tories.
Revere’s own account of this ride, written about 1783 and published
in an early number of the _Massachusetts Historical Society’s_
publications, reads:
“About ten o’clock, Dr. Warren sent in great haste for me, and begged
that I would immediately set off for Lexington, where Messrs. Hancock
and Adams were, and acquaint them of the movement, and that it was
thought they were the objects. When I got to Dr. Warren’s house, I
found he had sent an express by land to Lexington--a Mr. William Dawes.
The Sunday before, by desire of Dr. Warren, I had been to Lexington,
to Messrs. Hancock and Adams, who were at the Rev. Mr. Clarke’s. I
returned at night through Charlestown; there I agreed with a Colonel
Conant and some other gentlemen, that if the British went out by water,
we would show two lanthorns in the North Church steeple; and if by
land, one as a signal; for we were apprehensive it would be difficult
to cross the Charles River, or get over Boston Neck. I left Dr. Warren,
called upon a friend, and desired him to make the signals. I then went
home, took my boots and surtout, went to the north part of the town,
where I kept a boat; two friends rowed me across Charles River a little
to the eastward, where the _Somerset_ man-of-war lay. It was then
young flood, the ship was winding and the moon rising. They landed me
on the Charlestown side. When I got into town, I met Colonel Conant and
several others; they said they had seen our signals. I told them what
was acting, and went to get me a horse; I got a horse of Deacon Larkin.”
Revere went directly to the Clarke house. His narrative continues:
“After I had been there for about an hour Mr. Dawes came; we refreshed
ourselves, and set off for Concord, to secure the stores, etc., there.
We were overtaken by a young Dr. Prescott, whom we found to be a high
Son of Liberty. I told them of the ten officers that Mr. Devens met,
and that it was probable we might be stopped before we got to Concord;
for I supposed that after that night, they divided themselves, and that
two of them had fixed themselves in such passages as were most likely
to stop any intelligence going to Concord. I likewise mentioned that
we had better alarm all the inhabitants till we got to Concord; the
young Doctor much approved of it, and said he would stop with either of
us, for the people between that and Concord knew him, and would give
the more credit to what we said. We had got nearly half-way; Mr. Dawes
and the Doctor stopped to alarm the people of a house; I was about one
hundred yards ahead, when I saw two men, in nearly the same situation
as those officers were near Charlestown. I called for the Doctor and
Mr. Dawes to come up; in an instant I was surrounded by four; they had
placed themselves in a straight road, that inclined each way; they
had taken down a pair of bars on the north side of the road, and two
of them were under a tree in the pasture. The Doctor being foremost,
he came up; and we tried to get past them; but they being armed with
pistols and swords, they forced us into the pasture; the Doctor jumped
his horse over a low stone-wall, and got to Concord.
“I observed a wood at a small distance, and made for that. When I
got there, out started six officers on horseback and ordered me to
dismount. One of them, who appeared to have the command, examined me,
where I came from and what my name was. I told him. He asked me if I
was an express? I answered in the affirmative. He demanded what time
I left Boston? I told him; and added that their troops had catched
aground in passing the river and that there would be five hundred
Americans there in a short time, for I had alarmed the country all the
way up.”
Revere was ordered to mount his horse, and was led by the soldiers
back to Lexington; but when they arrived near the meeting-house, “the
militia fired a volley of guns, which appeared to alarm them very
much.” The officers rode off with Revere’s horse and he hurried back
to Mr. Clarke’s house, where he related his adventures. It was then
decided that Hancock and Adams had better leave Lexington, and so they,
with Dorothy Quincy, accompanied by Hancock’s secretary, Lowell, and
Paul Revere, went to Woburn. Revere and Lowell returned to Lexington,
to “find what was going on.” The former tells us that on reaching the
town:
“Mr. Lowell asked me to go to the tavern with him to get a trunk of
papers belonging to Mr. Hancock. We went up chamber, and while we were
getting the trunk, we saw the British very near, upon a full march.
We hurried towards Mr. Clarke’s house. In our way, we passed through
the militia. They were about fifty. When we had got about one hundred
yards from the meeting-house, the British troops appeared on both sides
of the meeting-house. They made a short halt; when I saw and heard a
gun fired, which appeared to be a pistol. Then I could distinguish two
guns, and then a continued roar of musketry; when we made off with the
trunk.”
A concise and interesting version of this story is thus told by Thomas
Wentworth Higginson:
“When on the night of the 18th April, 1775, Paul Revere rode beneath
the bright moonlight through Lexington to Concord with Dawes and
Prescott for comrades, he was carrying the signal for the independence
of a nation. He had seen across the Charles River the two lights from
the church steeple in Boston which were to show that a British force
was going out to seize the patriotic supplies at Concord: he had warned
Hancock and Adams at Rev. Jonas Clarke’s parsonage in Lexington, and
had rejected Sergeant Monroe’s caution against unnecessary noise,
with the rejoinder: ‘You’ll have noise enough here before long--the
regulars are coming out.’ As he galloped on his way the regulars were
advancing with steady step behind him, soon warned of their own danger
by alarm-bells and signal guns. By the time Revere was captured by some
British officers who happened to be near Concord, Colonel Smith, the
commander of the expedition, halted, ordered Pitcairn forward, and sent
back prudently for re-enforcements. It was a night of terror to all the
neighbouring Middlesex towns, for no one knew what excesses the angry
British troops might commit on their return march....
“Before 5 A. M., on April 19, 1775, the British troops had
reached Lexington Green, where thirty-eight men, under Captain Parker,
stood up before 600 or 800 to be shot at, their captain saying:
‘Don’t fire unless you are fired on; but if they want a war, let it
begin here.’ It began there; they were fired upon; they fired rather
ineffectually in return, while seven were killed and nine wounded.
The rest, after retreating, re-formed and pursued the British towards
Concord, capturing seven stragglers--the first prisoners taken in the
war. Then followed the fight at Concord, where 450 Americans instead of
38, were rallied to meet the British. The fighting took place between
two detachments at the North Bridge, where
“‘Once the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world.’”
The old house, which witnessed such exciting scenes, stands not far
from the village green of Lexington. It is known as the Clarke-Hancock
House, and was built by Thomas Hancock, the rich Boston merchant, in
1740, presumably for his father “Bishop” Hancock, who dwelt there. The
following description is by Samuel Adams Drake:
“The house belongs certainly to two, and perhaps to three, periods.
It is composed of a main building in the plain, substantial style of
the last (Eighteenth) Century, and of a more antiquated structure
standing at right angles to it. The first confronts you, if you have
come down the road from the Common; the last faces the street from
which the whole structure stands back a little distance, with a space
of green turf between. A large willow is growing in front of the main
house, and on the verge of the grass-plot stands an elm, its branches
interlacing those of a fellow-tree on the other side the way, so as to
form a triumphal arch under which no patriot should fail to pass. We
have christened the twain Hancock and Adams. The one is sturdy, far
reaching and comprehensive; the other, graceful, supple, but of lesser
breadth. About the house flourish lilacs, syringas and the common
floral adjuncts of a New England home....
“The room occupied by ‘King’ Hancock and ‘Citizen’ Adams is the one on
the lower floor on the left of the entrance. Care has been taken to
preserve its original appearance.
“The woodwork of Southern pine has remained unpainted, acquiring with
age a beautiful colour. One side of the room is wainscoted up to the
ceiling, the remaining walls bearing the original paper in large
figures. The staircase in the front hall has also remained innocent of
paint and is handsome enough for a church. Age has given to the carved
balusters and panelled casings a richness and depth of hue that scorns
the application of any unnatural pigment. The room we have just left is
in the south-west corner of the house. Passing to the opposite side of
the hall we enter the best room, which corresponds in finish with that
just described, except that the painter’s brush has been applied to the
wainscot and newer paper to the walls....
“The best room communicates with the ancient or original house, which
is seen fronting the street with its single story and picturesque
dormer windows and roof. This part was doubtless built by the bishop’s
parishioners soon after his settlement. It formerly stood nearer the
high-road until the new building was completed, when it was moved back
and joined upon it. The house is a veritable curiosity and would not
make a bad depository for the household furniture and utensils of the
period to which it belongs, being of itself so unique a specimen of
early New England architecture. The floors and wainscot are of hard
wood, upon which time has left not the least evidence of decay. The
farmers clearly meant their minister to inhabit a house of a better
sort than their own, as is apparent in the curious panelling of the
outer door, which still retains its original fastenings, and in the
folding shutters of the little study at the back. A cramped and narrow
staircase conducts to the chambers above, from the room in which we are
standing. The same old dresser is attached to the wall, garnished of
yore by the wooden trenchers and scanty blue china of the good bishop’s
housekeeping. Some old three-legged tables are the only relics of the
former inhabitants. This one room according to the custom of the times,
served as kitchen, dining-room and for the usual avocations of the
family. The little study has the narrow windows which first admitted
light upon the ponderous folios of the minister, or the half-written
sheets of many a weighty sermon.”
CASTLE ST. LOUIS, QUEBEC
J. M. LE MOINE, F. R. S. C.
“Such dusky grandeur clothed the height
Where the huge castle holds its state,
And all the steep slope, down
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,
Mine own romantic town.”
--_Marmion._
In describing the antique castle, several writers have mixed up dates
and incidents referring to the Fort St. Louis begun in 1620, with
those relating to the Château St. Louis, which, after several changes
and transformations, assumed that name only in 1647, under Governor
de Montmagny. Hawkins is quite correct in saying that: “The Castle of
St. Louis was in early times rather a stronghold of defence than an
embellished ornament of royalty. Seated on a tremendous precipice:
“On a rock whose haughty brow
Frown’d o’er St. Lawrence’s foaming tide,”
and looking defiance to the utmost boldness of the assailant, nature
lent her aid to the security of the position. The cliff on which
it stood rises nearly two hundred feet in perpendicular height
above the river. The castle thus commanded on every side a most
extensive prospect, and until the occupation of the higher ground to
the south-west, afterwards called Cape Diamond, must have been the
principal object among the buildings of the city.
[Illustration:
Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.
CASTLE ST. LOUIS, QUEBEC]
“When Champlain first laid the foundation of the Fort, in 1620, to
which he gave the name of St. Louis, it is evident he was actuated by
views of a political, not of a commercial character. His mind was in
better keeping with warlike enterprises than the acquirement of wealth.
He was perfectly disinterested in all his proceedings. Foreseeing
that Quebec would become the seat of dominion and invite a struggle
for its future possession, he knew the necessity of a stronghold, and
determined to erect one in opposition to the wishes of the Company of
Merchants.” The building was commenced in July, 1620.
Champlain, at first, styled his fort “_demeure, corps-de-logis_”--that
is, a dwelling-place. In 1621, he put in charge of it, one M. Du Mai,
with a few men. In 1622, he pushed on the work, “insisting on the
importance of completing it, having it equipped with an armament,
stores and a suitable garrison.” On the 29th November, 1623, the
ruggedness of the ascent from the _Abitation_ to the fort, induced him
to establish a road or path (since known as Mountain Hill) to Fort St.
Louis. The walls of the fort later on covered about four acres. On the
18th April, 1624, his artificers were busy putting in their place the
timber conveyed there by his Indian allies on sledges over the snow on
the 10th December, 1623. Two years later, a violent wind storm carried
away over the cliff the roof of the building.
On his departure for France in August, 1624, though Champlain had left
orders to continue the work on his fort, he found on his return that
no progress worth mentioning had been made. In anticipation of the
time not far distant when he expected the French King would be sending
colonists to Quebec, as well as soldiers for their protection, the
founder of Quebec decided on razing the small fort begun in 1620. With
the materials, he set to work to lay the foundations of the larger one,
which he may have occupied as a residence previous to the surrender
of the fort to the Kertks in 1629, but where he certainly made his
home when he returned from France in 1633, until his death there on
Christmas Day, 1635.
Louis Kertk held it from 1629 to 1632, Emery de Caen and Duplessis
Bochart took possession of it in 1632, until Champlain’s return, 23d
May, 1633.
The first Château, a one-story building commenced in 1647 by Governor
de Montmagny, and which is styled “Corps de Logis au Fort,” after
some repairs was finally demolished by Count de Frontenac in 1694
and rebuilt by him. The second Château, begun in 1694–5, to which a
wing was added was completed in 1700. It is described by La Potherie,
and later on, in 1749 by the Swedish botanist and traveller, Herr
Peter Kalm, the friend of Linnæus. Capt. John Knox of the 43d, a
companion-in-arms of Wolfe, also alludes to it in his voluminous diary
of the great siege of 1759, when the bombardment inflicted on Quebec by
Admiral Saunders, left it in ruins. It so remained until Gov. Murray
had it repaired in 1764, and occupied it in 1765.
On the 5th May, 1784, General Haldimand set to work to construct an
addition to St. Louis Castle for public balls and official dinners,
whilst the state levees continued to take place in the old Château. A
portion of the walls of Fort St. Louis were used in constructing the
first story of the building, which took the name of Château Haldimand.
It was inaugurated with _éclat_ more than two years after the
Governor’s departure, on the 18th January, 1787, by a splendid ball on
Queen Charlotte’s birthday when Lady Dorchester-Maria, the accomplished
daughter of the Earl of Iffingham--presided. On August 15th, 1787,
Prince William, a middy on board the frigate _Pegasus_, then in
port, afterwards Duke of Clarence, and later on, William IV., King of
England, paid his respects to the Governor-General at Government House,
the old Château and inspected the new building.
On the 21st September of the same year, and on the 4th of October,
1787, the overseer of Military Works, Sergeant James Thompson records
in his diary the extensive preparations made to welcome to Quebec the
King’s son, without forgetting the platform erected for the occasion
on the roof of the old powder magazine (razed in 1892), in the rear of
Château Haldimand, in order to witness the fireworks set off in his
honour. In December of that year, the Governor removed his household
goods to the new building, leaving the old Château to be used as public
offices, and about this time the castle was allowed to get out of
repair. The Governor for the time being inhabited the new building,
the Château Haldimand, it being more modern and roomy, in its internal
arrangements.
In 1808, at the request of His Excellency, General Sir James Henry
Craig, the provincial legislature voted and spent £10,000 in rebuilding
two stories higher the antique castle; and a short time before his
departure, in 1811, he removed to it from his summer retreat, Spencer
Wood, and his winter quarters at Château Haldimand. On the 23d January,
1834, it was entirely consumed by fire; but its dependency, Haldimand
Castle escaped. Lord and Lady Aylmer, the previous occupants of Château
St. Louis, instead of inhabiting General Haldimand’s structure, took
their abode on the Cape with Col. Craig, until they could rent a house.
Four years later, in 1838, the pompous but able Governor and Grand
Commissioner, the Earl of Durham, having declined to accept from the
authorities any remuneration for his short time of office, it is said,
directed this fund to be donated to the razing of the ruins of the old
Château, and to the erection on their foundations, of a terrace (Durham
Terrace until 1879), 160 feet in length. This the Minister of Public
Works, in 1854, the Hon. P. Chabot, M. P. P. for Quebec, increased to
270 feet. Under Lord Dufferin’s Plans of City Embellishments, it was
extended, at Government and Municipal cost, to 1,420 feet in length.
The corner-stone to this incomparable promenade was laid on the 18th
October, 1878, by the Earl of Dufferin, and was named and inaugurated
by their Excellencies, the Marquis of Lorne and H. R. H. the Princess
Louise, as Dufferin Terrace on the 19th June, 1879, at the request of
the Mayor, City Council and Citizens of Quebec.
On the 12th June, 1846, an awful fire, attended by the loss of forty
lives, obliterated the remaining walls of the old Château and its
stables, transformed first into a riding-school and next into a theatre.
From 1852 to 1855, and from 1860 to 1865, the remaining modern
building, Château Haldimand, was used by the Provincial Board of Works,
the Crown Lands, King’s Domain and Registrar. In 1857, it became the
seat of the Normal School, and again until 1860 and later on.
With the old French powder-magazine in rear, it was razed in 1892
to the ground to make room for the stately pile, the Hotel Château
Frontenac, planned by an eminent New York architect, Mr. Bruce Price,
for the Château Frontenac Co., of which Thos. G. Shaughnessy is the
president. It was built at a cost of $500,000 on a site purchased from
the Provincial Government of Quebec, covering 57,000 feet.
Montmagny, Chevalier de Malte, had pushed forward colonization, among
other measures drawing on Normandy, Brittany, Perche, Poitou, Aunis,
and set to work to inspire respect to the Indians hutted around his
fort. The latter styled Montmagny _Ononthio_, which means “Great
Mountain”--playing on his name (Mons Magnus). The surname was borne by
the succeeding French Governors.
His next care was to lay out streets, widen and straighten the
footpaths which intersected Stadacona. But a _chevalier sans
cheval_, as Mr. E. Gagnon well observes, could not be the correct
thing. So a horse as a mount--the first seen in the colony--was
imported from France by the inhabitants on the 20th June, 1647, a very
suitable present to the worthy Knight. What became of it history does
not say. Matters were evidently looking up at the Fort and Château
when M. d’Ailleboust, the new Governor took possession of Government
House at Quebec in 1648. He was replaced by M. de Lauzon, 1651–56.
Lauzon reoccupied it as administrator in 1657, and his successors under
Viscount d’Argenson in 1658; Baron d’Avougour, in 1661, and Chevalier
Saffrey de Mesy in 1663.
Governor de Courcelles arrived at Quebec in 1665, with the magnificent
Marquis de Tracy, the King’s Lieutenant-General in America. Tracy was
accompanied by several companies of the dashing Carignan-Salières
regiment, and made his _début_ with extraordinary pomp. His advent
was quite a social event in Quebec, which had just been granted a Royal
Government, and for the first time was styled a town. De Courcelles’s
administration lasted until 1672, when Count de Frontenac was named
Governor. His first administration lasted until 1682. He was followed
by Labarre, 1682–85, and by the Marquis De Nonville, 1685–89, when
the stern old warrior was recalled to his former position, which he
occupied until the year of his death, in 1698. Callières followed,
1699–1703, when Philippe de Rigaud, Marquis de Vaudreuil, was named and
governed the country until 1725.
Charles Le Moine, Baron de Longueuil, administered the colony,
1625–26; he was succeeded by the Marquis de Beauharnois. Count de la
Galissonnière was next sent out to govern, from 1746 to 1749, during
the captivity of the Marquis de la Jonquière, who, on his way to
Quebec, had been taken prisoner by an English fleet. The Marquis,
however, at his release ruled here, in 1752, when Charles Le Moine,
the second Baron de Longueuil, administered the Government from May to
July, 1752. That year the Marquis Duquesne de Menneville replaced him,
and the last Governor under French rule was Pierre Rigaud, Marquis de
Vaudreuil Cavagnal until 1760.
History tells of one distinguished guest Herr Peter Kalm, the Swedish
_savant_ and botanist, who was dined and wined there for forty
days by another _savant_ Count de la Galissonnière, Governor of
Quebec, in the summer of 1749. Hark to his description of the Château:
“The Palace (Château Saint Louis), is situated on the west or steepest
side of the mountain, just above the lower city. It is not properly
a palace, but a large building of stone, two stories high, extending
north and south. On the west side of it is a courtyard, surrounded
partly with a wall and partly with houses. On the east side, or towards
the river, is a gallery as long as the whole building, and about two
fathoms broad paved with smooth flags and included on the outside by
iron rails, from whence the city and river exhibit a charming prospect.
This _gallery_ serves as a very agreeable walk after dinner, and
those who come to speak with the Governor-General wait here till he
is at leisure. The place is the lodging of the Governor-General of
Canada, and a number of soldiers mount the guard before it, both at the
gate and in the courtyard; and when the Governor, or the Bishop comes
in or goes out, they must all appear in arms and beat the drum. The
Governor-General has his own chapel where he hears prayers; however, he
often goes to Mass at the church of the Recollets, which is very near
the palace.”
The Castle and Fort St. Louis under England’s domination has had its
sunshine and its shadows; its dark as well as its bright, radiant
memories; its anxious hours of siege and alarm--nay, even of blockade,
followed by the welcome roar of artillery, proclaiming British
victories; more than once social pageants and many festive displays.
Facing the site of the fort, long since vanished, a few yards to the
west, lies the well-known area, _La Grande Place du Fort_ (since
1862, the Ring), mantled in foliage and trees, planted when Mayor
Thomas Pope held out at the City Hall. Our warlike ancestors knew it as
the _Place d’Armes_. In days gone by, have met, not for military
drill, but for annual roll-call, on St. Peter and St. Paul’s Day, June
the 29th, the city militia--an important though a very pacific body. It
was continued for years until dropped about 1850.
Hark! to the rousing cheer of the British soldiery, as they plant
on the Grande Parade, facing the historic Château, on the 18th of
September, 1759, on the day of the capitulation of Quebec, the solitary
gun, drawn from the Heights of Abraham through St. Louis gate. Captain
John Knox, of the 43d Regiment, tells us how his brave commander
hoisted the English flag, after taking possession of the keys of Quebec
from de Ramsay, its late Governor.
But the lordly castle of other days, riddled by the shot and shell
of the English fleet, tenantless, uninhabitable, was not thoroughly
repaired until 1764–5, when General James Murray, first Governor of
Quebec, had his Royal Commission read on the adjoining square, prior to
his taking possession of the Castle as his official residence. A decade
later, and the occupant (Sir) Guy Carleton, so appropriately named
the “saviour of Quebec,” might notice, from the Château windows, the
arrival on the Levis shore, on the 5th of November, 1775, of Benedict
Arnold’s hungry and worn-out continentals, eager to cross the St.
Lawrence, and land at Wolfe’s cove above. But a wise precaution had
induced Lt.-Governor Cramahe to remove to the Quebec side the Levis
canoes and water conveyances before the arrival of the invading host.
The wave of invasion, triumphant at Montreal, Sorel, Chambly, Three
Rivers, St. John and elsewhere, was hurled back by the granite rock of
Quebec. On the 31st December, 1775, at 9 A. M., the intrepid
chieftain, Guy Carleton, could from his parlour windows look down
triumphantly, but not scornfully, on the New England soldiery, escorted
to the Grande Parade--426 rank and file--marched up prisoners of war,
from the Sault-au-Matelot assault, to await crestfallen, the orders of
His Excellency before being detailed to their respective prisons.
Might one not unreasonably infer, from the official etiquette that
has ever prevailed among naval commanders frequenting our port, that
the youthful captain of the sloop of war, _Albemarle_, Horatio
Nelson, present here in 1782 paid his _devoirs_ at the Castle to
the distinguished Governor-General Sir Frederick Haldimand, and partook
of the hospitalities usually shown to visitors of distinction? At his
romantic time of life did Nelson, like many subsequent lovers, indulge
in a sentimental promenade on the famed Castle terrace? Did he ever,
at the witching-hour when the citadel evening-gun calls to barrack
military _beaux_, meet there the adorable Mary Simpson, the girl
for whose sake he was, he said, ready to quit the service? Southey,
as well as Lamartine, in their biographies of the hero of Trafalgar,
state that violence had to be used to tear the smitten Horatio from his
Quebec charmer. Miss Simpson after marrying Major Matthews, Secretary
to the Governor, removed to London with her husband who became Governor
of Chelsea Hospital.
A titled visitor of no ordinary rank entered the portals of the Castle
in 1787, Prince William Henry, Duke of Clarence, subsequently William
IV., King of England. He was then a roystering middy on board H. M.
frigate _Pegasus_, anchored in the port below the Château. A grand
ball was given there in his honour by Lord and Lady Dorchester.
A volume would not suffice to detail the brilliant receptions and state
balls given at the Castle during Lord Dorchester’s administration--the
lively discussions, the formal protests originating out of points of
precedence, burning _questions de jupons_ between the touchy magnates
of the old and those of the new _régime_; whether La Baronne de St.
Laurent would be admitted at the Château or not; whether a de Longueuil
or a de Lotbinière’s place was on the right of Lady Maria, the charming
consort of His Excellency Lord Dorchester, a daughter of the great
English Earl of Effingham; whether dancing ought to cease when their
Lordships the Bishops entered and made their bow to the representative
of royalty. Unfortunately, Quebec had then no Court Journal, so that
the generations following can have but faint ideas of all the witchery,
the stunning head-dresses, the _décolletées_, and high-waisted robes
of their stately grandmothers, whirled around in the giddy waltz by
whiskered, epauletted cavaliers, or else courtesying in the demure
_minuet de la cour_.
We are now nearing the stormy era of “Little King Craig.” Troublous
times are looming out portentously for the earnest, hospitable, but
stern Laird of the Castle, Sir James Henry Craig. The lightning cloud,
however, will burst over his successor, Sir George Prevost. As oft
before, the trumpet of Bellona has sounded; this time at Washington,
on the 18th of June, 1812. “Prepare for the Invader,” is repeated with
bated breath in the streets of Quebec.
“Five cannon taken at Detroit, are now lying in the Château Court,”
says the Quebec _Mercury_ of 27th October, 1813, whilst the
prisoners taken at Detroit, brought down to Quebec, await embarkation
for Boston for purposes of exchange. Quebec was martial with United
States uniforms--American prisoners--the Yankee Generals Winder,
Chandler and Winchester; Colonel Winfield Scott, later on General
Winfield Scott, who culled laurels in the Mexican War, and so many
other officers and privates, that the Governor of Canada scarcely knew
how to dispose of them. Colonel Scott remained in Canada from the date
of his surrender, 23d October, 1812, to the period of his departure
from Quebec, say May, 1813. But he was on _parole_ all the time.
In bringing to a close this brief sketch, may we not recall how many
representatives of royalty, under French and under English rule,
Viceroys, proud Dukes, distinguished Earls, martial Counts and Barons,
occasionally held there their Court, in quasi-regal style, in order to
keep up the prestige of France’s _Grand Monarque_ (Louis XIV.)
and thereby impress, the surrounding Indian tribes with his might;
or as worthy representatives of the British Crown in the New World:
Champlain, de Montmagny, D’Ailleboust, Lauzon, D’Argenson, de Mesy, de
Courcelles, stern old Frontenac, La Barre, Callières, de Vaudreuil,
de Ramsay, de Longueuil, de Beauharnois, de la Galissonnière, de
la Jonquière, Duquesne, General Murray, Sir Guy Carleton, Sir F.
Haldimand, Lord Dorchester, General Prescott, Sir James H. Craig, Sir
George Prevost, Sir James Kempt, Sir John Coape Sherbrooke, the Duke of
Richmond, Earl Dalhousie, Lord Aylmer?
SUNNYSIDE, TARRYTOWN
BENSON J. LOSSING
Approaching Tarrytown, we observe upon the left of the highway an
already populous cemetery covering the crown and slopes of a gentle
hill. Near its base is an ancient church, and a little beyond it flows
a clear stream of water, which the Indians called _Po-can-te-co_,
signifying a “run between two hills.” It makes its way in a swift
current from the back country between a hundred hills, presenting a
thousand scenes of singular beauty in its course. The Dutch named it
_Slaeperigh Haven Kill_, or Sleepy Haven Creek, and the valley in
the vicinity of the old church through which it flowed _Slaeperigh
Hol_, or Sleepy Hollow, the scene of Washington Irving’s famous
legend of that name.
The little old church is a curiosity. It was built, says an inscription
upon a small marble tablet on its front, by “Frederic Philips and
Catharine Van Cortland, his wife, in 1699,” and is the oldest church
edifice existing in the state of New York. It was built of brick and
stone, the former imported from Holland for the purpose. Over its
little spire still turns the flag-shaped vane of iron, in which is cut
the monogram of its founder (V F in combination, his name being spelt
in Dutch Vedryck Flypsen); and in the little tower hangs the ancient
bell, bearing the inscription in Latin: “_If God be for us, who can
be against us? 1685._” The pulpit and communion table were also
imported from Holland. The former was long since destroyed by the
iconoclastic hand of “improvement.”
At this quiet old church is the opening of Sleepy Hollow, upon the
shores of the Hudson, and near it is a rustic bridge that crosses the
_Po-can-te-co_, a little below the one made famous in Irving’s
legend by an amusing incident.[21] In this vicinity, according to
the legend, Ichabod Crane, a Connecticut schoolmaster, instructed
“tough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted, Dutch urchins” in the rudiments
of learning. He was also the singing-master of the neighbourhood.
Not far off lived old Baltus Van Tassel, a well-to-do farmer, whose
house was called _Wolfert’s Roost_. He had a blooming and only
daughter named Katrina, and Ichabod was her tutor in psalmody, training
her voice to mingle sweetly with those of the choir which he led at
Sabbath-day worship in the Sleepy Hollow Church. Ichabod “had a soft
and foolish heart towards the sex.” He fell in love with Katrina. He
found a rival in his suit in stalwart, bony Brom Van Brunt, commonly
known as Brom Bones. Jealousies arose, and the Dutchman resolved to
drive the Yankee schoolmaster from the country.
Strange stories of ghosts in Sleepy Hollow were believed by all, and by
none more implicitly than Ichabod. The chief goblin seen there was that
of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon
ball. This spectre was known all over the country as “The Headless
Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.”
[Illustration: “SUNNYSIDE”, IRVINGTON, NEW YORK]
About three miles below Tarrytown is _Sunnyside_, the residence
of Washington Irving. It is reached from the public road by a winding
carriage-way that passes here through rich pastures and pleasant
woodlands and then along the margin of a dell through which runs a
pleasant brook, reminding one of the merry laughter of children as it
dances away riverward and leaps in beautiful cascades and rapids into a
little bay a few yards from the cottage of _Sunnyside_.
Around that cottage and the adjacent lands and waters, Irving’s genius
has cast an atmosphere of romance. The old Dutch house--one of the
oldest in all that region--out of which grew that quaint cottage,
was a part of the veritable _Wolfert’s Roost_--the very dwelling
wherein occurred Katrina Van Tassel’s memorable quilting frolic that
terminated so disastrously to Ichabod Crane in his midnight race with
the “Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.” There, too, the veracious
Dutch historian, Diedrich Knickerbocker, domiciled while he was
deciphering the precious documents found there, “which, like the
lost books of Livy, had baffled the research of former historians.”
But its appearance had sadly changed when it was purchased by Mr.
Irving, about 1836, and was by him restored to the original form of
the _Roost_, which he describes as “a little, old-fashioned stone
mansion, all made up of gable ends, and as full of angles and corners
in an old cocked hat. It is said, in fact,” continues Mr. Irving,
“to have been modelled after the cocked hat of Peter the Headstrong,
as the Escurial was modelled after the gridiron of the blessed St.
Lawrence.” It was built, the chronicler tells us, by Wolfert Acker, a
privy councillor of Peter Stuyvesant, “a worthy, but ill-starred man,
whose aim through life had been to live in peace and quiet.” He sadly
failed. “It was his doom, in fact, to meet a head wind at every turn
and be kept in a constant fume and fret by the perverseness of mankind.
Had he served on a modern jury he would have been sure to have eleven
unreasonable men opposed to him.” He retired in disgust to this then
wilderness, built the gabled house and “inscribed over the door (his
teeth clenched at the time) his favourite Dutch motto ‘_Lust in Rust_’
(pleasure in quiet). The mansion was thence called _Wolfert’s Rust_
(Wolfert’s Rest), but by the uneducated, who did not understand Dutch,
_Wolfert’s Roost_.” It passed into the hands of Jacob Van Tassel,
a valiant Dutchman, who espoused the cause of the Republicans. The
hostile ships of the British were often seen in Tappan Bay, in front
of the _Roost_, and Cow Boys infested the land thereabout. Van Tassel
had much trouble: his house was finally plundered and burnt, and he was
carried a prisoner to New York. When the war was over, he rebuilt the
_Roost_, but in more modest style. “The Indian spring”--the one brought
from Rotterdam--“still welled up at the bottom of the green bank; and
the wild brook, wild as ever, came babbling down the ravine, and threw
itself into the little cove where of yore the water-guard harboured
their whale-boats.”
The “water-guard” was an acquatic corps, in the pay of the
Revolutionary government, organized to range the waters of the Hudson,
and keep watch upon the movements of the British. The _Roost_,
according to the chronicler, was one of the lurking-places of this
band and Van Tassel was one of their best friends. He was, moreover,
fond of warring upon his “own hook.” He possessed a famous “goose-gun”
that would send its shot half-way across Tappan Bay. “When the
belligerent feeling was strong upon Jacob,” says the chronicler of
the _Roost_, “he would take down his gun, sally forth alone, and
prowl along shore, dodging behind rocks and trees, watching for hours
together any ship or galley at anchor or becalmed. So sure as a boat
approached the shore, bang! went the great goose-gun, sending on board
a shower of slugs and buck shot.”
On one occasion Jacob and some fellow bush-fighters peppered a British
transport that had run aground. “This,” says the chronicler, “was
the last of Jacob’s triumphs; he fared like some heroic spider that
had unwittingly ensnared a hornet, to the utter ruin of its web. It
was not long after the above exploit that he fell into the hands of
the enemy, in the course of one of his forays, and was carried away
prisoner to New York. The _Roost_ itself, as a pestilent rebel nest,
was marked out for signal punishment. The cock of the _Roost_ being
captive, there was none to garrison it but his stout-hearted spouse,
his redoubtable sister, Notchie Van Wurmer, and Dinah, a strapping
negro wench. An armed vessel came to anchor in front; a boat full of
men pulled to shore. The garrison flew to arms, that is to say, to
mops, broomsticks, shovels, tongs, and all kinds of domestic weapons,
for, unluckily, the great piece of ordnance, the goose-gun, was absent
with its owner. Above all, a vigorous defence was made with that most
potent of female weapons, the tongue; never did invaded hen-roost make
a more vociferous outcry. It was all in vain! The house was sacked and
plundered, fire was set to each room, and in a few moments its blaze
shed a baleful light over the Tappan Sea.”
THE OLD WITCH HOUSE, SALEM
ESTHER SINGLETON
On the corner of Essex and North Streets, in Salem, there stands a
house that attracts many visitors, although it is neither picturesque
nor impressive. “The Old Witch House,” however, appeals to the
imagination, recalling one of the darkest chapters in the history of
this country,--the witchcraft mania of the Seventeenth Century.
This belief, transplanted from the Old Country, flourished luxuriantly
under the dark shadow of Puritanism. Although witchcraft was believed
in throughout the Middle Ages, the witch-mania proper begins in 1484
when Innocent VIII. gave the sanction of the Church to the prosecution
of all who were believed to practice sorcery; and soon after this the
famous _Malleus Maleficarum, or Hammer for Witches_ was drawn
up by two German inquisitors and a clergyman of Constance. In this
book witchcraft is described and a code for the trial of witches
systematized. Fires for burning witches blazed in nearly every town on
the Continent for nearly four centuries. In Germany the persecutions
were frightful, and in Geneva five hundred persons were burned in
three months in 1515–1516! The witch-mania was rampant in England and
Scotland, where in the Seventeenth Century a horrible class called
“witch finders” went from town to town, where, for the small fee
of twenty shillings, they discovered witches, subjecting innocent
persons--the old, the young, the attractive and unattractive, the
infirm and the ill, as well as the hale and hearty--to most inane
tests and cruel tortures till they confessed themselves bewitched. It
is said that the greatest number of legal executions in England took
place during the sitting of the Long Parliament (1640–1660), when three
thousand persons were put to death. This figure, however, does not
include those poor creatures who suffered death at the hands of the mob.
This witch-mania had, in great measure, abated at home when it broke
out in the British Colonies in America. A few trials occurred in
Maryland and Virginia and a few persons were hung in Connecticut;
but Massachusetts was the soil most favourable to the growth of this
terrible delusion. Salem has the distinction of having sent the
greatest number of victims to their unjust doom. The town became
panic-stricken and no one was safe. An historian writes:
“So violent was the popular prejudice against every appearance of
witchcraft, that it was deemed meritorious to denounce all that gave
the least reason for suspicion. Every child and every gossip was
prepared to recognize a witch, and no one could be certain of personal
safety. As the infatuation increased, many of the most reputable
females, and several males also, were apprehended and committed to
prison. There is good reason to believe that, in some instances, the
vicious and abandoned availed themselves of gratifying their corrupt
passions of envy, malice and revenge.”
[Illustration: THE OLD WITCH HOUSE, SALEM]
A graphic description of the Salem horrors is given in _Old Naumkeag_,
by Webber and Nevins (Salem, 1877):
“Salem witchcraft commenced during the month of February, 1692, at
the house of the Rev. Samuel Parris, in that part of the original
town, which is now Danvers. The daughter of Mr. Parris and his niece
Abigail Williams, aged nine and twelve years respectively, began to act
‘in a strange and unusual manner.’ They would utter loud and piteous
cries, creep into holes, hide under benches and put themselves into
odd postures. The physicians pronounced them bewitched, and all the
ministers were invited to meet at Mr. Parris’s house, and unite with
him in solemn religious services. As the interest in their actions
increased, they became more violent, and accused Tituba, a South
American slave in the Parris family, of having bewitched them. Mr.
Parris beat Tituba and compelled her to acknowledge herself guilty.
These children next complained of Sarah Goode and Sarah Osborne, and
then of two other women of excellent character, Corey and Nurse. All
were thrown into prison. John, Tituba’s husband, for his own safety,
accused others. The demon was thus let loose in the midst of the
people, but it was the demon of superstition rather than the demon of
witchery.”
The following list of those who were executed is also taken from the
same authorities:
“Rev. Geo. Burroughs, of Wells, Maine; Wilmot Reed, of Marblehead;
Margaret Scot, of Rowley; Susanna Martin, of Amesbury; Elizabeth
Howe, of Ipswich; Sarah Wildes and Mary Estes, of Topsfield; Samuel
Wardwell, Martha Currier and Mary Parker, of Andover; John Proctor,
Geo. Jacobs, Sen., John Willard, Sarah Goode, Rebecca Nurse, Giles
Corey and Martha Corey of Salem Village, Ann Pudeater, Bridget Bishop
and Alice Parker, of Salem.
“Corey was pressed to death, because he refused to speak, knowing that
speech would avail him nothing. His tongue was pressed out of his
mouth, but was forced in again by the sheriff with his cane. About 150
persons in all were accused of witchcraft, including nine children
varying from five to fourteen years.
“Various were the accusations brought against them, such as having
familiarity with ‘the black man,’ who it was claimed was ever by
their side whispering in their ear; holding days of hellish fasts
and thanksgivings; eating red bread and drinking blood; transforming
themselves and their victims into various forms; signing contracts with
Satan; entering his employ and yielding to his commands; afflicting
others by pinching, pricking with pins, striking, etc., while many
miles distant; and divers other accusations that would be laughed to
scorn at the present day. All matters of affliction or of discord
among the people, such as a controversy respecting the settlement of a
minister, which had for a time been going on; also the death of some
of the most influential of the citizens, were attributed to Satanic
influences. With such inflammable matter, in an age of superstition,
the result is not to be wondered at.
“Cotton Mather, one of the most learned ministers of that time, led in
the preaching to the people of sermons designed to inflame rather than
abate the panic. He adopted the doctrine of demons, and was exceedingly
energetic in endeavouring to spread the delusion into other parts of
the Colony. To him is largely ascribed the extent of the calamity.”
Victims were quickly dragged to “Witch Hill,” after being quickly
convicted. It is said that many speedy and informal trials took place
in the “Witch House,” which was in 1692 the residence of the intolerant
Judge Corwin.
Dr. Bentley says:
“From March to August, 1692, was the most distressing time Salem ever
knew: business was interrupted, the town deserted, terror was in
every countenance and distress in every heart. Every place was the
subject of some direful tale, fear haunted every street, melancholy
dwelt in silence in every place after the sun retired. The population
was diminished, business could not for some time recover its former
channels, and the innocent suffered with the guilty. But as soon as
the judges ceased to condemn, the people ceased to accuse. Terror at
the violence and the guilt of the proceedings, succeeded instantly
to the conviction of blind zeal, and what every man had encouraged,
all now professed to abhor. Every expression of sorrow was found in
Salem. The church erased all the ignominy they had attached to the
dead, by recording a most humble acknowledgment of their error. But a
diminished population, the injury done to religion and the distress of
the aggrieved were seen and felt with the greatest sorrow.”
When the authorities finally realized their error, all the victims
locked up in the Salem prison were discharged without trial, and those
suspected persons who had fled to other towns for safety were permitted
to return to their homes without fear of being molested.
Regarding this outbreak in Salem, James Russell Lowell writes:
“Credulity, as a mental and moral phenomenon, manifests itself in
widely different ways, according as it chances to be the daughter of
fancy or terror. The one lies warm about the heart as Folk-lore, fills
moonlit dells with dancing fairies, sets out a meal for the Brownie,
hears the tinkle of airy bridle-bells as Tamlane rides away with the
Queen of Dreams, changes Pluto and Proserpine into Oberon and Titania,
and makes friends with unseen powers as Good Folk; the other is a bird
of night, whose shadow sends a chill among the roots of the hair;
it sucks with the vampire, gorges with the ghoul, is choked by the
night-hag, pines away under the witches’ charm, and commits uncleanness
with the embodied Principle of Evil, giving up the fair realm of
innocent belief to a murky throng from the slums and stews of the
debauched brain....
“The Puritan emigration to New England took place at a time when the
belief in diabolic agency had been hardly called in question, much
less shaken. They brought it with them to a country in every way
fitted, not only to keep it alive, but to feed it into greater vigour.
The solitude of the wilderness (and solitude alone by dis-furnishing
the brain of its commonplace associations, makes it an apt theatre
for the delusions of imagination), the nightly forest noises, the
glimpse, perhaps, through the leaves, of a painted savage face,
uncertain whether of redman or Devil, but more likely of the latter,
above all, that measureless mystery of the unknown and conjectural
stretching away illimitable on all sides and vexing the mind, somewhat
as physical darkness does, with intimation and misgiving,--under all
these influences, whatever seeds of superstition had in any way got
over from the Old World would find an only too congenial soil in the
New. The leaders of that emigration believed and taught that demons
loved to dwell in waste and wooded places, that the Indians did homage
to the bodily presence of the Devil, and that he was especially enraged
against those who had planted an outpost of the true faith upon
this continent hitherto all his own. In the third generation of the
settlement, in proportion as living faith decayed, the clergy insisted
all the more strongly on the traditions of the elders, and as they all
placed the sources of goodness and religion in some inaccessible Other
World rather than in the soul of man himself, they clung to every shred
of the supernatural as proof of the existence of that Other World, and
of its interest in the affairs of this. They had the countenance of all
the great theologians, Catholic as well as Protestant, of the leaders
of the Reformation, and in their own day of such men as More and
Glanvil and Baxter. If to these causes, more or less operative in 1692,
we add the harassing excitement of an Indian war (urged on by Satan in
his hatred of the churches), with its daily and nightly apprehensions
and alarms, we shall be less astonished that the delusion in Salem
Village rose so high than that it subsided so soon.”
The “Old Witch House” that forms the subject of our sketch was
originally the home of Roger Williams while he was preaching in Salem
in 1635–1636. From it he fled to the shores of Narraganset Bay, where
he founded the Colony of Rhode Island. Its next occupant was Captain
Richard Davenport who cut the cross from the King’s colours because
“it savoured of Popery.” In 1674 or 1675, Judge Corwin of witchcraft
fame took possession and made many alterations. Before his day the old
house presented a more attractive appearance, resembling many houses
of this period still standing in England. In its original state, it
was composed of several overhanging stories, each larger than the one
below and the roof was broken into several peaked gables, each of which
was ornamented with a pineapple of carved wood. Narrow windows with
lozenge-shaped panes added to its quaintness. More alterations were
made in 1746 and 1772, and all feeling of picturesqueness has vanished
completely.
SHRINE OF GUADALUPE
THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST
One day I took a car to pay a visit to the shrine of Guadalupe, which
is situated three miles from the city (Mexico), and is a great point of
attraction both to residents and visitors.
The old road from the city to Guadalupe, with its handsome wayside
shrines, was given up to the Vera Cruz Railway, and a new road for
tramcars and traffic has been made alongside of it. As soon as we had
passed the gates and the _aduna_, “crack, crack, hi, hi, hi!” and
off we went at a hand gallop past adobe houses and _pulquerias_, the
snow-capped giant Popocatapetl lifting his white head to the azure on
the right, and soon, through the avenue of trees, the little church on
the hill Tepeyac, erected where the Virgin appeared to the peasant Juan
Diego, and the Cathedral at its foot, with its flat façade flanked by
low towers, were both visible in the distance.
The cars came to a standstill in front of the Cathedral, and a motley
crowd of loungers watched us alight.
The houses are one-storied and old, the windows barred after the
fashion introduced by the Moors into Spain; behind the bars stood
village maidens and matrons who signalled and saluted their male
acquaintances by holding up the left hand, the fingers extended, which
they wiggled to and fro about half-a-dozen times; this is their mode of
salutation, possibly it means we have fruit and entertainment to offer.
The church of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is the most famous of all
the churches in the country, owing its notoriety to the legend that,
on the 12th of December, 1531, the Virgin Mary appeared to a poor
Mexican shepherd in that neighbourhood; he reported the vision to the
priests, who asked him to substantiate his statement by proofs. The
Virgin showed herself to him on five different occasions, and finally
stamped her image on his blanket; this mark was accepted; Our Lady
of Guadalupe was officially proclaimed the patron saint of Mexico by
the authority of Pope Clement VII., and thereby the influence of the
Catholic religion was greatly extended, it being asserted that, by her
graciously appearing to a native, all natives were taken under her
special protection. A shrine was erected on the top of the hill where
the vision appeared. At its foot rose a magnificent Cathedral, which
at one time was very rich in gold and silver ornaments, the offerings
of the faithful; but many of these were confiscated and coined into
money by order of President Benito Juarez in 1860, and have since been
replaced by inferior metal.
The name of Guadalupe was combined with that of Hidalgo, the Mexican
priest who in 1810 raised the cry of independence from the Spanish
yoke. He had painted on his standard the image of the Virgin of
Guadalupe which greatly helped to excite the patriotism of the natives;
more than 100,000 of them rallied round him; but they were so badly
armed that they could not compete with the Spanish forces, who,
curious to say, fought under the banner of the Virgin Los Remedios.
[Illustration: CHURCH OF GUADALOUPE, MEXICO]
Poor Hidalgo was captured by the Spaniards and shot in 1811; but his
followers in whom he had aroused much enthusiasm, continued the war,
and, after eleven years’ hard fighting, independence was accomplished,
in 1821, under Iturbide; and Spanish Viceroys and their rule were
abolished. Mexican presidents, nominated every four years by the
plebiscite of the nation, took their place.
There is not much to see in the Cathedral, which has been despoiled of
its silver and valuables (the golden frame of the Virgin was taken, but
returned); so I made the ascent by a zigzag road to the shrine at the
top of the hill.
Before entering the chapel, stop to look at the view; it will repay
any amount of trouble taken in mounting the steep steps. The city, the
lake and Chapultepec are within the range of a camera, if it could be
so fixed as to avoid the roof of the Cathedral below you. Turn and
enter the shrine: at a little altar on the right are rude daubs of
pictures representing miracles worked through the intervention of the
Virgin--pious offerings in commemoration of a child saved from fire,
a husband from lightning, a wife from a runaway train, a lady and
gentleman from an overturn of a carriage, people rising from a bed of
sickness, and such like--some of them with the paint hardly dry.
The altar railing is of solid silver; this railing was, of all the
sumptuous church fixtures throughout the land, alone spared by the
Liberals. Its value must be immense; pious Mexicans do not like to
appraise it, for reasons best known to themselves. The great gem,
however, of this church is the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, which
she herself imprinted--according to the legend--upon the _tilma_,
or garment, of Juan Diego, the poor peasant, as a proof that she
had appeared to him; this relic is hung over the high altar in a
wrought-iron case and is only exposed on rare holidays. By especial
grace I obtained a view of it. The _tilma_ is a very coarse piece
of woollen fabric; the colouring of the image is distinct, and may have
been touched up from time to time. On a table at the door are copies of
the picture in all sizes, and you see them in every Indian hut, every
wayside shrine, in all the public offices, in every church--indeed in
every place in the land, appropriate or inappropriate, as the case may
be.
In an adjoining churchyard are some pretty tombs, and great prices are
paid for interment in this sacred spot. Santa Anna rests here, and the
names of the leading families of Mexico could be read on the marble on
all directions.
After descending from the hill I visited the miraculous sulphur spring,
said to cure everything; the church or dome which covers it was being
redecorated at great expense at the time of my visit. The legend says
that this spring of sulphur hydrogen gushed forth from a spot touched
by one of the Virgin’s feet. On the 12th of December every year (the
anniversary of the apparition), thousands of natives from all parts of
the country visit this shrine and the Church of Guadalupe. The name is
familiar to many people as that of a town between Toledo and Trujillo
in Spain, where there is a famous shrine to the Virgin. There is
always a longing in the minds of colonists to perpetuate the names of
the country of their birth, and Guadalupe is no doubt an instance of
this patriotic feeling on the part of the Spaniards; the Geronomite
convent in Spain was at the time of the Conquest the richest and most
venerated shrine in the old country, its celebrated figure of the
Virgin, being believed to have been carved by St. Luke himself, and
it was given by St. Gregory the Great to San Leandro for putting down
Arianism. The figure was hidden and miraculously preserved during
six centuries of Moorish invasion, and when brought to light was so
venerated by the whole Spanish nation that the settlers in New Spain
would delight in perpetuating the name of the shrine in their new home.
CHRIST CHURCH, ALEXANDRIA
BISHOP MEADE
The town of Alexandria was at first called Hunting Creek Warehouse,
sometimes Belle Haven, and consisted of a small establishment at that
place. Its growth was encouraged by successive acts of the Legislature,
establishing semi-annual fairs and granting certain privileges to
those who attended them. In the year 1762, it was enlarged by the
laying off of numerous lots on the higher ground, belonging to Dade,
West and the Alexanders, after which it improved rapidly, so that at
the close of the Eighteenth or beginning of the Nineteenth Century
its population was ten thousand, and its commerce greater than it now
is. So promising was it at the close of the war, that its claims were
weighed in the balance with those of Washington as the seat of National
Government. It is thought that, but for the unwillingness of Washington
to seem partial to Virginia, Alexandria would have been the chosen
spot, and that on the first range of hills overlooking the town the
public buildings would have been erected. Whether there had been any
public worship or church at Alexandria previous to this enlargement of
it, and the great impulse thus given to it, does not appear from the
vestry-book, though it is believed that there was. But soon after this,
in the year 1764, Fairfax parish is established, and measures taken for
the promotion of the Church in this place. The vestry book commences
in 1765. At one time there were two churches in the new parish of
Fairfax--one at the Falls, called, as the present one is Little Falls
Church; the position of the other--the Lower Church--is not known. It
may have been an old one at Alexandria.
[Illustration: OLD CHRIST CHURCH, ALEXANDRIA, VA.]
Among the first acts of the vestry was the repairing of the two old
churches in the parish, at a cost of more than thirty-two thousand
pounds of tobacco. In the year 1766, it is determined to build two
new churches,--one at the Little Falls, very near the old one, and
one in Alexandria, to contain twenty-four hundred square feet and to
be high-pitched so as to admit of galleries. Mr. James Wrenn agrees
to build the former, and Mr. James Parsons the other, for about six
hundred pounds each. A most particular contract is made for them.
The mortar is to have two-thirds of lime and one of sand,--the very
reverse of the proportion at this day, and which accounts for the
greater durability of ancient walls. The shingles were to be of the
best cypress or juniper, and three-quarters of an inch thick, instead
of our present half-inch ones. Mr. Parsons was allowed to add ten feet
to the upper part of the church on his own account, and to pay himself
by their sale, on certain conditions. He commenced his work, but was
unable to finish it. It lingered for some years, until in 1772, Mr.
John Carlisle undertakes it, and completes it in 1773. The ten pews are
now sold, and General Washington, though having just been engaged in
the erection of Mount Vernon Church, which was finished the same year,
and having a pew therein, gives the highest price for one in Christ
Church, which was occupied by him and his family during his life, and
has been by some of his name ever since. The gallery was not put up
until the year 1787, at which time the pews were balloted for. The
steeple is of modern construction.
Christ Church stands on Cameron and Washington Streets in a
pretty green churchyard, where in 1774, Washington addressed
the citizens advocating resistance to Great Britain; and it was
on the spot also that General Lee agreed to take command of the
Virginia forces at the beginning of the Civil War in 1861.
Washington attended Christ Church regularly, and his pew is
still shown. Unfortunately, the old high backed pews were
cut down a few years ago at the instance of the rector of an
important church in Washington. Washington always drove from
_Mount Vernon_ to Alexandria in a handsome cream-coloured
coach, the body of which was suspended by heavy leather straps.
The sides and front were shaded with green blinds and black
leather outside curtains. The lining of the coach was black
leather; the Washington arms were painted on the doors and a
picture of the seasons was also painted on each of the four
panels. Four horses were ordinarily harnessed to this coach
except when six were required for long journeys. What became of
this coach we learn from Bishop Meade, who says:
“There was one object of interest belonging to General
Washington, concerning which I have a special right to
speak,--viz.: his old English coach, in which himself and Mrs.
Washington not only rode in Fairfax County, but travelled
through the length and breadth of our land. So faithfully was
it executed that, at the conclusion of this long journey, its
builder, who came over with it and settled in Alexandria, was
proud to be told by the General that not a nail or screw had
failed. It so happened, in a way I need not state, that this
coach came into my hands about fifteen years after the death
of General Washington. In the course of time, from disuse, it
being too heavy for these latter days, it began to decay and
give way. Becoming an object of desire to those who delight
in relics, I caused it to be taken to pieces and distributed
among the admiring friends of Washington who visited my house,
and also among a number of female associations for benevolent
and religious objects, which associations, at their fairs and
other occasions, made a large profit by converting the fragments
into walking-sticks, picture-frames, and snuff-boxes. About
two-thirds of one of the wheels thus produced one hundred and
forty dollars. There can be no doubt but that at its dissolution
it yielded more to the cause of charity than it did to its
builder at its first erection. Besides other mementos of it, I
have in my study, in the form of a sofa, the hind-seat, on which
the General and his lady were wont to sit.”--E. S.
A GLIMPSE AT NEW ORLEANS HOUSES
LADY HARDY
We start in the early morning on a pedestrian excursion through this
“Paris of the South.” We almost fancy that we have gone to sleep in
the New World, and woke up in the old fair and familiar city across
the sea. It is the same, yet not the same; there is a similarity in
the general features especially in the vicinity of Canal Street, to
which I shall allude more fully by and by, and an insouciant gaiety in
the aspect of the people, which pervades the very air they breathe;
an electric current seems always playing upon their spirits; moving
their emotional nature, sometimes to laughter, sometimes to tears.
It seems as though the two cities had been built on the same model,
only differently draped and garnished, decorated with different orders
and stamped with a different die. Coming down a narrow lane, we met
a Frenchwoman, her mahogany coloured face scored like the bark of an
old tree scarcely visible beneath her flapping sunbonnet. She wore
short petticoats, and came clattering along over the rough stones in
her wooden sabots, while her tall blue-bloused grandson carrying her
well-filled basket strode beside her; and a meek-eyed Sister of Charity
bent on her errand of mercy passed in at a creeking doorway. These
were the only signs of life we saw as we first turned on our way to
the French quarter of the town, which still bears the impress of
the old Colonial days. This is the most ancient portion of the city,
and full of romantic traditions of the days that are dead and gone.
The long narrow crooked streets, running on all sides in a spidery
fashion, with rows of shabby-looking houses, remain exactly as they
were a hundred years ago. Strict conservatism obtains here; nothing
has been done in the way of improvement; the old wooden houses are
bruised and battered as though they had been engaged in a battle with
time and been worsted; they are covered with discolourations and
patches, naked and languishing for a new coat of paint. There are no
dainty green sun blinds here, but heavy worm-eaten wooden shutters and
queer timber-doors hung on clumsy iron hinges; here and there we get
a glimpse of the dingy interiors while a few bearded men are lounging
smoking in the doorways, and a few children, clattering like French
magpies, are playing on the threshold. Everything is quiet and dull--a
sort of Rip Van Winkle-ish sleep seems drooping its drowsy wings and
brooding everywhere, till a lumbering dray comes clattering over the
cobble stones, and sends a thousand echoes flying through the lonely
streets.
[Illustration: ST. CHARLES AVENUE, NEW ORLEANS]
From these stony regions, past the little old-fashioned church where
the good Catholics worshipped a century ago and we emerge upon Canal
Street, the principal business thoroughfare of the city; it is thronged
with people at this time of day, busy crowds are passing to and fro,
the shop windows are dressed in their most attractive wares, temptingly
exposed to view. Confectioners, fruit and fancy stores overflow into
open stalls in front and spread along the sidewalk; huge bunches of
green bananas, strawberries, peas, pines, cocoa-nuts and mangoes,
mingled with dainty vegetables, are lying in heaps. We are tempted to
try a mango, the favourite southern fruit, of whose luscious quality
we have so often heard, but the first taste of its sickening sweetness
satisfies our desires. The street is very wide, and the jingle-jangle
of the car-bells, the rattling of wheels and the spasmodic shriek and
whistle of the steam engine--all mingle together in a not unsweet
confusion. Lumbering vehicles, elegant carriages, street-cars and a
fussy little railway, all run in parallel lines along the wide roadway.
This is the great backbone of the city, whence all lines of vehicular
traffic branch off on their diverse tracks into all the highways and
byways of the land. Here we get on to a car which carries us through
the handsomest quarter of the city. Quaint old-fashioned houses,
surrounded by gardens of growing flowers, and magnificent magnolias,
now in full bloom, stand here and there in solitary grandeur, or
sometimes in groups like a conclave of green limbed giants, clothed in
white raiment, and perfumed with the breath of paradise. Past lines of
elegant residences, where the _élite_ of the city have their abode, and
we soon reach a rough wooden shed yclept a “depot.”
The architectural beauty of New Orleans is unique, and wholly unlike
any other Southern city; the avenues are wide and beautifully planted,
a generous shade spreads every way you turn. The dwelling-houses
which line St. Charles’s Avenue are graceful, classical structures,
no blending together of ancient and modern ideas, and running wild
into fancy chimney-pots, arches, points and angles like a Twelfth
Cake ornament. Some are fashioned like Greek temples, most impressive
in their chaste outline and simplicity of form; others straight and
square, with tall Corinthian columns or fluted pillars, sometimes of
marble, sometimes of stone. The severe architectural simplicity, the
pure white buildings shaded by beautiful magnolias and surrounded
by brilliant shrubs and flowers, form a vista charming to the eye
and soothing to the senses, and all stands silhouetted against the
brightest of blue skies--a blue before which the bluest of Italian
skies would seem pale.
The aspect of the city changes on every side; we leave the fashionable
residential regions and enter broad avenues lined with grand old forest
trees, sometimes in double rows, the thick-leaved branches meeting and
forming a canopy overhead. The ground is carpeted with soft green turf,
and bare-legged urchins, black and white, are playing merry games; a
broken down horse is quietly grazing, and a cow is being milked under
the trees, while a company of pretty white goats, with a fierce-looking
Billie at their head, are careering about close by. Pretty pastoral
bits of landscape on every side cling to the skirts and fringe the
sides of this quaint city. As we get farther away from St. Charles’s
Avenue, the better class of residences get fewer and fewer, till they
cease altogether, and we come upon pretty greenshuttered cottages,
with their porches covered with blossoms and rows of the old-fashioned
straw bee-hives in front. Here and there are tall tenement houses built
of cherry-red bricks, which are let out in flats to the labouring
classes.
THE CHÂTEAU DE RAMEZAY, MONTREAL
MAJOR A. C. YATE
The history of Canada that is destined to live is that of its earliest
explorers and colonists, amongst whom the French rank first and the
English second. One of the most interesting monuments of that history
is the Château de Ramezay in Montreal, of which I propose to record
here what little I have been able to learn during a short visit to
Canada. It was built about 1705 by Claude de Ramezay, “a distinguished
soldier of noble birth,” who was Governor of Montreal from 1703 to
1724. In some books I find the name spelt Ramsay or Ramesay, but
Ramezay is the spelling adopted by the Numismatic and Antiquarian
Society of Montreal. It is practically certain that the Governor of
Montreal who bore the name was of Scotch extraction. In the Seventeenth
Century the cadets of many families of the French nobility emigrated to
Canada (“La Nouvelle France,” as it was then called), while the nominal
Vice-royalty was held by several of the highest nobles of the land,
viz., the Prince de Condé, Duc de Montmorenci, and Duc de Ventadour.
The emigrant nobles were granted seigneuries in various parts of New
France, and in some cases these seigneuries have remained in their
families to the present day. The Château de Ramezay is the town mansion
of one of these seigneurial families. Very little, however, seems to
be known of Claude de Ramezay. An autograph letter of his, presented
by Judge Baby, is in the museum. In 1703, the Marquis de Vaudreuil,
Commandant of Montreal, succeeded the Chevalier de Callière (who had
also in his day been Governor or Commandant of Montreal) as Governor of
Canada. Claude de Ramezay apparently succeeded De Vaudreuil as Military
Governor of Montreal. He appears to have been a man of capacity and to
have interested himself keenly in the pioneering and exploring work to
which so many men at that time devoted themselves. In 1702, during his
Governorship, a French post was established at Detroit, and in 1717,
another at the mouth of the Kaministiquia River, on Lake Superior,
where Fort William now is. Nor was M. de Ramezay backward in organizing
military expeditions against the English settlements in the New England
States. During the whole of De Ramezay’s Governorship the English and
French colonies in America were at war, as indeed they almost always
were, whether the mother-countries were at peace or not.
The Governorship of Claude de Ramezay is said to have ended in 1724,
whether owing to his death or retirement we are not told. In 1745, the
Château passed into the hands of “_La Compagnie des Indes_,” and
remained with them till September, 1760, when Montreal surrendered to
the united forces of Amherst, Haviland and Murray. We are not told what
use was made of the Château from 1724 to 1745. Tradition associates
with the Château the name of De Vaudreuil, one celebrated in the annals
of “_La Nouvelle France_,” but it is not explicit as to date, or
indeed any detail. The first Marquis de Vaudreuil, after having been
for some years Commandant of Montreal, became Governor of Canada in
1703, and retained that post until he died, respected and regretted in
1725.
[Illustration:
Copyright, 1900, by Detroit Photographic Co.
THE CHÂTEAU DE RAMEZAY, MONTREAL]
It is said that when Claude de Ramezay died (no date given), his heirs
found themselves unable to bear the expense of keeping up so large a
residence, and sold it to “_La Compagnie des Indes_.” From 1745 to
1760, it was thus the headquarters of a great French trading-company,
the resort of Indian _voyageurs_ and _coureurs de bois_, coming in from
the north and west with their loads of furs, and selling or bartering
them to the agents of the company, by whom they were shipped to France.
This company also held by charter a monopoly in the purchase and sale
of all imports and exports in the Colony. When Canada passed into the
possession of Great Britain, in 1760, the Château de Ramezay became
General Amherst’s headquarters, and subsequently for a short time those
of General Gage. We find from Withrow’s History that it was a De Ramsay
(as Withrow spells it), who surrendered Quebec to General Townshend
after Wolfe’s victory on the Heights of Abraham.
When Canada was ceded to the British, the Château de Ramezay was not
at first annexed as the residence of the Governor of Montreal. It was
purchased from the “_Compagnie des Indes_” by William Grant, Baron
de Longueuil.[22] It is doubtful if the Grants ever occupied the
Château, for it continued to be known for some ten years after the
cession by the name of the “Indian House.” The Governor of Canada
then, finding it necessary to provide the Lieutenant-Governor with
a suitable residence, leased it. The first Lieutenant-Governor who
attended it was Mr. Cramahé. He had scarcely settled there when the
approach of General Montgomery, in November, 1775, with a force of
New England Revolutionists compelled him to vacate it and retire to
Quebec. There, pending the arrival of General Sir Guy Carleton, he
made energetic preparations for the defence of Quebec, and declined to
give any answer to Benedict Arnold’s summons to surrender, which was
made on the 14th of October. On the 19th Sir Guy Carleton arrived, and
assumed command of the defence. It was on the 12th of November, 1775,
that General Montgomery entered Montreal, and on the 4th of December
his forces and those of Arnold, about 1,200 men in all, appeared before
Quebec. Montgomery was slain in a vain attempt to capture the town on
the night of the 31st of December, 1775. Finally, early in May, 1776,
the Americans were driven from before Quebec, leaving guns, stores,
provisions, and even their sick behind. Meanwhile three American
Commissioners, Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Chase and Charles Carroll,
came to Montreal to urge the Canadians to join the revolted colonies
against Great Britain. Benjamin Franklin, certainly, if not the other
two Commissioners, resided when in Montreal in the Château de Ramezay,
and here a certain M. Mesplet, under the orders of Benjamin Franklin,
set up the first printing-press in Montreal.
The first printing-press in Canada was set up in Quebec in 1764, and
on the 21st of June of that year the first number of the _Quebec
Gazette_, a journal which till recently was still published, made
its appearance. Benedict Arnold, after his failure at Quebec, went to
Montreal and took command of the Revolutionary troops there. He resided
in the Château de Ramezay.
After the withdrawal of the Americans, the Château de Ramezay remained
untenanted until the government bought it from the Grants, and made it
the official residence of the Governors of Lower Canada temporarily
resident in Montreal. Their permanent residence was at Quebec, and for
years the Governors, when they visited Montreal, had to bring their
own furniture with them. At last, however, a grant of money was voted
to them for the purchase of permanent furniture for their Montreal
residence. For half a century it was occupied by successive Governors,
who made many alterations and additions. Lord Metcalfe (1843–1844) was
the last resident Governor, the seat of Government between the years
1841 to 1858, being fixed successively at Quebec, Kingston, Montreal,
then at Toronto and Quebec alternately, and finally, by Her Majesty’s
decision, at Ottawa, where it has since remained.
The union of the Provinces of Upper and Lower Canada was formerly
proclaimed on the 10th of February, 1841. After the establishment of
the Governor-General in a new Government House, and again, when the
headquarters of the provincial government of the Lower Province was
transferred to Quebec, the Château de Ramezay was used for various
governmental purposes. Among others, the Law Courts sat there, and
afterwards certain rooms were used for classes of the Normal School
and of the Medical Faculty of Laval. The extensive vaults and cellars
below the house had in the Eighteenth Century been used by the French
as store-houses for the large quantities of supplies which, owing to
the hostility of the Indians it was necessary to maintain there. So
incessant were at times the raids of the Iroquois, whether instigated
by the New England Government or not, that cultivation was almost an
impossibility, and all food supplies had to be imported from France and
stored in Montreal. Some of the vaults also were used as dungeons, and
at times refractory Indian chiefs were probably incarcerated there to
give them time to see reason; while in some cases they were detained
as hostages for the good faith of their tribe. There was also a deep
well in one vault, now boarded over. Under the English Governors,
these vaults were used as wine-cellars, servants’ offices and quarters
for the Governor’s guard, for the preservation of the old French and
English official and other records, and for the storage of fuel and
supplies. In one vault we still find the kitchen. The huge fireplace
was fitted up above with an arrangement for smoking ham and bacon,
while on one side opened a large oven, about five feet in diameter, for
baking bread. In a recess close by was hung a drum, in which worked,
like a squirrel in a cage, the turnspit-dog that roasted the joints.
In a corner of another vault still lies a portion of the first system
of water-pipes used in Montreal. It is the trunk of a tree, ten or
twelve feet long, by nine or ten inches in diameter, hollowed out. The
walls of the vaults are in some places of great thickness; ranging from
five to eight feet. In the early part of the Eighteenth Century, when
a good house was built, it was solidly built. It is stated that some
fifty years ago, soon after the Château ceased to be the residence of
the Governors, the City Council authorized the demolition of a portion
of it, in order to open up a thoroughfare. The building was thus cut in
two. The portion which is now used as the museum was retained by the
civic authorities. The remainder was turned into a hotel in which Jenny
Lind and Charles Dickens, amongst others, are said to have stayed.
Between 1880 and 1890 the City Magistrates of Montreal meted out
justice for petty misdemeanours in this building. Rooms which had been
tenanted by a Governor-General, and which for a hundred and forty years
had been the centre of the French and British rule in Montreal thus
gradually sank to the level of a police magistrate’s court. About this
time, however, public attention was drawn to this building (largely
owing to the exertions of the Numismatic and Antiquarian Society of
Montreal), and to its antiquarian and historical interest. When, in
1893, the Provincial Government offered it for sale by public auction,
it was bought by the Corporation of the City of Montreal with the
view of preserving the building and establishing in it a free public,
archæological, scientific and historical museum. In 1895, the custody
of the Château, on behalf of the people of the city, was vested in the
Numismatic and Antiquarian Society.
It was in the Château de Ramezay that met from 1838 to 1840, the
Special Council (half English and half French), which was appointed by
the Home Government to act in place of the legislature of Lower Canada
during the Rebellion and so-called “Patriotic War” of 1837–1838. The
Constitution was for the time suspended. The Special Council paved the
way for the Act of Union of 1840, which was a step towards the present
Constitution of the Dominion. The confederation of 1866 was the final
step.
Two of the principal rooms in the Château are now known as the
_Salle du Conseil_ and the Library. With the former, tradition
associates many names (already mentioned), well-known to history,
and on whom the varying fortunes of Canada have depended. Its walls
are now hung with engravings and documents that commemorate those
names and those fortunes. The old fireplace in the Library has only
recently been discovered, having been walled up for many years. The
treasures that have already been collected in this, the first Canadian
Museum of Antiquities, are most interesting and valuable, and some
are unique. There are 113 portraits, 82 historical pictures and 74
old prints, which illustrate the most celebrated names and the most
famous scenes and events of Canadian history, from Jacques Cartier to
Sir John Macdonald. Early explorers, Jesuit missionaries, governors
and generals, both French and English; old maps and prints of Canada,
Quebec and Montreal, etc., are the subjects. In addition, there is a
collection of scarce books, papers, documents and magazines connected
with Canada, weapons of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, and
many quaint and curious relics both of war and peace.
THE CITY HALL, NEW YORK
ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN
It is a great pity that the open space now known as City Hall Park
is so restricted in area, because the City Hall is an admirable
architectural edifice apart from its historical associations, and is
worthy of a better setting. As it is, it suffers terribly from its
surroundings, being dwarfed, crushed and overwhelmed, by the “World”
building, office sky-scrapers and other unsightly buildings that
surround it. If we want to realize the architect’s intent, we must
level the monster structures in the immediate vicinity and restore the
scene of the date when the City Hall was designed.
A tablet under the Mayor’s office informs us that here Washington read
the Declaration of Independence to the troops, but the City Hall did
not occupy that site in those days. The present miniature park is a
very small part of the original common land known as the “Commons,” or
the “Fields.” Under the Dutch, this open space was called the Vlackte
(the Flat). In Colonial days, the Bridewell, and the New Jail, and
the stake at which negroes were occasionally burnt were situated on
it. King’s College was on the West; on the North was the Collect Pond
and the stream flowing to the Hudson through Lispenard’s Meadow. A
powder house also stood on the Commons and the old Boston Post Road
(now Chatham St.) passed through it on the East. At the corner of
Park Row and Nassau St. was the Brick Presbyterian Church. The Sons of
Liberty used to assemble in the “Fields”; and the present Post Office
covers the spot whereon the Liberty Pole was raised.
[Illustration: THE CITY HALL, NEW YORK]
The first City Hall, or Stadt Huys, was modest enough. It was a stone
house built for a tavern by Governor Kieft, in 1642. The site, on the
“Waal,” at the corner of Pearl St. and Coenties Alley, was selected on
account of its being convenient to the ferry. Thirteen years later, it
was ceded to the city authorities for the sittings of the Burgomasters
and Schepens of New Amsterdam. It was used also as a prison. This old
Dutch house, with its “crow-stepped” gable and cupola, stood till 1700.
The next City Hall, which lasted throughout the Eighteenth Century, was
situated almost on the site of the present Sub-Treasury on Wall St.
In 1800, the corporation of the city of New York felt the need of a
more spacious and imposing civic building, so a prize of $350 was
offered for a plan and elevations of a town-hall of four façades. One
of those sent in received the approbation of the City Fathers two
years later; and the Common Council immediately appointed a building
committee, and appropriated $25,000 for the work. The architect was
a native of New York: his name was John McComb. Born in 1763, he had
already gained distinction in his profession by his plans for the front
of the Government House, Washington Hall, St. John’s Church, the Murray
St. and Bleecker St. churches, and many other public and private
edifices in New York, Philadelphia, and other cities.
Mr. McComb was quite abreast with the architectural tastes of his day.
He had no sympathy with the Gothic style, nor is his work in the least
reminiscent of the great Renaissance town-halls of the Netherlands.
He seems to have almost slavishly followed the English school of
architects, particularly the Adam brothers and Sir William Chambers.
The works of the latter especially were held in the highest esteem and
admiration by the New York architect.
It is not difficult to trace the sources from which Mr. McComb derived
his inspiration for a City Hall which even to-day is unsurpassed in
dignity, simplicity, beauty and purity of design by any building of
this kind in the country. Cross-sectioned north and south it strongly
resembles the Register Office, Edinburgh, that was built by the Adams
in 1774. About the same date they were responsible for the Assembly
Rooms, Glasgow, the stairway of which the one in the City Hall greatly
resembles, but the latter is more graceful and better proportioned. In
fact, the interior details show an intimate acquaintance with the works
of the Adam brothers.
For the principal elevations, the architect went to Inigo Jones’s plans
for Whitehall Palace: with the exception of the Banqueting House, these
had never been carried out. Sir William Chambers was closely followed
in the exterior details; and Adam, Richardson, Soane, Campbell and
Richardson, in the plan and interior work.
When the site was chosen, it was considered that he would indeed be a
wild dreamer who would expect the city to spread further up town than
what is now City Hall Park: the chief façade therefore looked at the
city lying below it, and the back towards the open country was left
plain and unornamented,--for who would ever see that side?
The front, therefore, was built of Stockbridge marble, the sides of
Morrisania or Verplanck marble, and the rear of brown stone. The marble
was carved by John Lemair, whom the architect held in high esteem.
He wrote: “I have visited the carver’s shop almost daily, and I have
always been pleased with Mr. Lemair’s attention, mode of working and
finishing the capitals,--work which is not surpassed by any in the
United States and but seldom seen better executed in Europe and which
for proportion and neatness of workmanship will serve as models for
carvers in future.”
The work on the interior, however, was not so satisfactory; the
execution of the wood-carving is very inferior: there was a scarcity of
good wood-carvers in New York at that date. On account of the scarcity
of labour and funds, it took ten years to build; but on the whole the
work was well done and economically, for it cost no more than half a
million dollars.
In the original design, a clock was placed in the centre window of the
attic story front: this clock was not supplied till 1830, when it was
placed in the cupola which was altered to receive it. This change was
detrimental to the general effect as originally intended.
In 1811, before it was quite completed, the Fourth of July was
celebrated in the new City Hall; and the Aldermen took up their
quarters there in August of that year. From that time it became the
nucleus of municipal life, and its grounds were visited for recreation
as well as business. The park gave its name to the famous Park Theatre,
that stood on the south-east side.
A writer of the day describes the Park as “a piece of inclosed ground
in front of the new City Hall, consisting of about four acres, planted
with elms, planes, willows and catalpas, the surrounding foot-walk
encompassed with rows of poplars. This beautiful grove in the middle of
the city, combines in a high degree ornament with health and pleasure;
and to enhance the enjoyments of the place, the English and French
reading-room, the Shakespeare gallery, and the theatre, offer ready
amusement to the mind; while the mechanic-hall, the London hotel and
the New York gardens present instant refreshment to the body. Though
the trees are but young, and of few years’ growth, the Park may be
pronounced an elegant and improving place.”
The artistic beauty of the building has more than once suffered
from overzealous repairs and renovations. Two or three years ago,
the exterior was scoured and cleaned with a sand-blast process that
deprived the marble of all the mellow tones and tints with which Time
had beautified it: but Time can also heal this wound.
In 1858, at the great celebration in honour of the successful laying
of the first Atlantic cable, there was a grand display of fireworks,
during which a stray spark set fire to some inflammable material
stored at base of the cupola. The latter was consumed, and the low dome
over the stairway was also damaged. This was not the only damage done
by this fire, for the clock was also destroyed, and the scales fell
from the hands of Justice,--the figure that surmounted the cupola.
Moreover, when the old bell hanging there, that had so often clanged
forth its alarm to summon the citizens, was removed, the cornice was
injured. For several years, no effort was made to repair the damage;
the windows were boarded up, and the façade remained smoke-blackened.
When the work of repair was finally taken in hand, there was no attempt
to restore anything but the general appearance of the original, so that
both dome and cupola suffered in that Medean cauldron.
The City Hall has often been the scene of important functions. On Feb.
22, 1819, a grand ball was given in honour of General Andrew Jackson;
and in 1825, General Lafayette was escorted there immediately after his
arrival at Castle Garden. A great dinner was given to him within its
walls; and in the “Portrait Room” he held public receptions every day
from twelve to two o’clock, during his stay in New York.
Nearly every important foreigner and distinguished “guest of the
nation” has been welcomed at the City Hall by the Mayor: a brilliant
reception to Prince Henry of Prussia was among the latest.
The City Hall, too, has frequently been illuminated in celebration of
some event of importance. That of 1825, in honour of the opening of the
Erie Canal was considered magnificent at the time. Considering that
they had neither gas nor electricity, they did very well, for no less
than 2,306 lights were displayed, including wax candles, and lamps of
various colours. There was a transparency on the front representing the
Erie Canal, emblematical figures, etc., etc. There was also a lavish
display of fireworks.
Another remarkable demonstration occurred at the City Hall when the
Croton Water Works were given to the city in 1842. There was a great
procession and a fountain was formally opened in the City Hall Park.
This was much admired; and by manipulating the pipes the fountain was
made to assume such shapes as the “Maid of the Mist,” the “Croton
Plume,” the “Vase,” the “Dome,” the “Bouquet,” the “Wheat Sheaf” and
the “Weeping Willow.”
THE WHITE HOUSE
The long low white mansion with its white colonnades surrounded by
green lawns and tall shade trees standing some little distance from
Pennsylvania Avenue is familiar to every one in the United States.
Even those who have not visited the house--and these are few in
number--know it well by means of pictures. Perhaps the prettiest view
of the building is the less familiar one of the South Portico, below
which the greensward stretches down almost to the Potomac and is broken
by fountains and flower beds. The view is very pretty, too, from the
Portico itself, embracing the shining river and the tall Monument on
the right.
We cannot help regretting that the first President of the United States
was never an occupant of the White House and that he did not know it
would be popularly called by a name associated with his wife. He took
the greatest interest in the architectural plans for it, and with Mrs.
Washington visited the mansion just before the arrival of Mr. and Mrs.
Adams.
The story of the White House is as follows:--In 1792, the United States
Government offered a prize of five hundred dollars for the best plan
for the official residence of the President. The fortunate architect
was James Hoban, an Irishman by birth, but at this time a resident of
South Carolina. Hoban selected for his model the Duke of Leinster’s
new house in Dublin, built in the fashionable classic style of the
day. The original plan for the Presidential mansion called for three
stories, and Hoban suggested that wings adorned with colonnades should
be added as need for extension arose. Public opinion, however, was
aghast at such magnificence, and, although Washington liked the plan,
the architect was obliged to modify it.
The stone of which it is built was quarried at Rock Creek, near
Washington. The corner-stone was laid by General Washington in 1792;
but the house was not finished until 1799. By this time John Adams had
become President of the United States and he and Mrs. Adams were the
first occupants. Mrs. Adams’s description shows very plainly that the
Mansion was not, in any sense, palatial. She says in one of her chatty
letters:
“The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty
servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order, and perform
the ordinary business of the house and stables--an establishment
very well proportioned to the President’s salary. The lighting the
apartments from the kitchen to parlours and chambers is a tax indeed,
and the fires we are obliged to keep to secure us from daily agues is
another very cheering comfort! To assist us in this castle, and render
less attendance necessary, bells are wholly wanting, not one single
one being hung through the whole house, and promises are all you can
obtain. This is so great an inconvenience that I know not how to do, or
what to do.... We have not the least fence, yard or other conveniences
without, and the great unfinished audience-room [the East Room] I
make a drying-room of to hang my clothes in. Six chambers are made
comfortable; two lower rooms, one for a parlour and one for a ballroom.”
[Illustration: THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON]
Little or nothing was done to make the Executive Mansion more sumptuous
during either Jefferson’s or Madison’s administrations; and it must
have been a surprise to visitors from other parts of the world to see
such a simple dwelling. Writing home in 1804, Thomas Moore says: “The
President’s house is encircled by a very rude pale, through which a
common rustic stile introduced visitors.”
The Madisons, whose home it became in 1809, were noted for the
old-fashioned Virginia hospitality that they extended to those invited
to both public and private entertainments. The famous Dolly Madison was
a gracious hostess, and her abundant table did not escape criticism.
The Madisons were compelled to flee from the house on the approach of
the British troops in 1814. Many stories are told of how Mrs. Madison
saved the valued portrait of Washington that had been hanging in the
State Dining-Room since 1800; but her own is the best. Mrs. Madison did
not cut the picture from the frame as the legend has it, but ordered
this to be done. Just before her flight, she writes to her sister on
the 23d of August, 1814:
“My husband left me yesterday morning to join General Winder. He
inquired anxiously whether I had courage or firmness to remain in
the President’s House until his return on the morrow, or succeeding
day, and on my assurance that I had no fear but for him, and the
success of our army, he left, beseeching me to take care of myself,
and of the Cabinet papers, public and private. I have since received
two despatches from him written with a pencil. The last is alarming,
because he desires I should be ready at a moment’s warning to enter my
carriage and leave the city; that the enemy seemed stronger than had at
first been reported, and it might happen that they would reach the city
with the intention of destroying it. I am accordingly ready; I have
pressed as many Cabinet papers into trunks as to fill one carriage; our
private property must be sacrificed, as it is impossible to procure
wagons for its transportation. I am determined not to go myself until
I see Mr. Madison safe so that he can accompany me, as I hear of much
hostility towards him.”
After the Battle of Bladensburg, she continues:
“Our kind friend Mr. Carroll has come to hasten my departure, and
in a very bad humour with me, because I insist on waiting until the
large picture of General Washington is secured, and it requires to be
unscrewed from the wall. The process was found too tedious for these
perilous moments; I have ordered the frame to be broken and the canvas
taken out. It is done! and the precious portrait placed in the hands
of two gentlemen from New York for safe keeping. And now, dear sister,
I must leave the house, or the retreating army will make me a prisoner
in it by filling up the road I am directed to take. Where I shall again
write to you, or where I shall be to-morrow I cannot tell!
DOLLY.”
The British troops entered the Mansion and set fire to it. “I have
indeed to this hour,” wrote an eye-witness in 1855, “the vivid
impression upon my eye of columns of smoke and flame ascending all
through the night of August 24, 1814, from the Capitol, President’s
house and other public buildings, as if the whole were on fire, some
burning slowly others with bursts of flames, and sparks mounting high
in the dark heavens.”
This spectator was with President Madison, the Secretary of the Navy
and others across the river, watching the spectacle.
After the fire of 1814, the Madisons lived in rented houses in
Washington.
When the Mansion was partially restored and again made habitable, the
blackened exterior was painted white and the building received the name
White House in honour of Mrs. Washington’s early home in Virginia.
President and Mrs. Monroe held the first public reception in 1818, on
New Year’s Day.
The White House was refurnished in 1825, for the visit of General
Lafayette. Congress allowed John Quincy Adams $14,000 for this purpose.
Another allowance of $13,000 was made to Martin Van Buren for further
decorations and furnishings, and President Johnson was allowed $30,000
to repair the building after the Civil War.
The portico on the North Side was added in President Jackson’s time.
The most important changes, however, have taken place during President
Roosevelt’s administration. About half a million dollars have been
spent in making architectural improvements, both within and without.
A terrace has been added on the west side, leading to the executive
offices, and by the removal of the conservatory, the state dining-room
has been enlarged. This room has also been refurnished with panels,
tapestries and trophies of the chase.
The historical rooms are the great “East Room,” where the public
receptions are held and where the brilliant marriages of Nelly Grant
and Alice Roosevelt took place; the “State-Dining-room”; the “Red
Room,” the “Blue Room” and the “Green Room”; and although the furniture
and draperies of these rooms have been changed from time to time, the
colours have been rigidly adhered to.
The “Blue Room,” of which Jefferson was particularly fond, is the
President’s reception-room. It is oval in shape. At present the walls
are covered with blue silk and the window curtains are blue sprinkled
with golden stars.
Scattered through the various rooms are many portraits of the
Presidents and their wives.
The conservatory of the White House, which owes much to President
Grant, has always been noted, and supplies choice flowers and plants
for the state dinners and other important entertainments.
The White House is full of memories and associations of the public
and private life of the Presidents. Weddings, funerals, and births
have occurred here. Within its walls President Lincoln signed the
Proclamation of Emancipation. Here Garfield languished for weeks
after his assassination. The last notable event was the wedding
of Miss Alice Roosevelt, the President’s daughter, to Mr. Nicholas
Longworth,--the most brilliant entertainment that the White House has
ever seen.
THE WHITE HOUSE OF THE CONFEDERACY, RICHMOND
One of the Meccas of the Southern States is a house in Richmond
formerly known as “The White House of the Confederacy,” and now as “The
Confederate Museum.” It is a plain, substantial house with columns at
the back and is a typical residence of Richmond and of the Nineteenth
Century. The house was built in 1819 by Dr. Brockenbrough for his
residence and must have been more imposing with the original garden.
In 1862 Mr. Lewis Crenshaw, the owner, sold it to the city of Richmond
for the use of the Confederate Government; and the city, having
furnished it, offered it to Jefferson Davis, the President of the
Confederate States for his residential and official home. Mr. Davis
refused to accept the gift, and it was then rented from the Confederate
States for the “Executive Mansion.” President Davis and his family
lived here for three years until the evacuation of Richmond, when he
left with the government officials on the night of April 2, 1865.
The “Mississippi Room” was his study, and in it all the important
conferences of the President and his officers were held. It may be
interesting to quote here from Mrs. Davis’s _Memoirs of Jefferson
Davis_, regarding this historic house. She writes:
“In July we moved to the old Brockenbrough house, and began to feel
somewhat more at home when walking through the old-fashioned
terraced garden or the large airy rooms in the seclusion of family life.
[Illustration: WHITE HOUSE OF THE CONFEDERACY, RICHMOND, VA.]
“The mansion stands on the brow of a steep and very high hill that is
sharply defined against the plain at its foot through which runs the
Danville railway that leads to the heart of Virginia. The house is very
large, but the rooms are comparatively few, as some of them are over
forty feet square. The ceilings are high, the windows wide and the
well-staircases turn in easy curves towards the airy rooms above. The
Carrara marble mantels were the delight of our children....
“The tastes, and to some extent, the occupations and habits of the
master of the house, if he, as in this case, assisted the architect in
his design, are built in the brick and mortar, and like the maiden’s
blood in the great bell, they proclaim aloud sympathy or war with those
whom it shelters. One felt here the pleasant sense of being in the
home of a cultivated, liberal, fine gentleman, and that he had dwelt
there in peaceful interchange of kind offices with his neighbours.
The garden, planted in cherry, apple and pear-trees sloped in steep
terraces down the hill to join the plain below. To this garden or
pleasance came always in my mind’s eye a lovely woman, seen only by the
eye of faith, as she walked there in ‘maiden meditation.’
“Every old Virginia gentleman of good social position who came to
see us, looked pensively out on the grounds and said, with a tone of
regret, something like this: ‘This house was perfect when lovely Mary
Brockenbrough used to walk there, singing among the flowers’; and then
came a description of her light step, her dignified mien, her sweet
voice and the other graces which take hold of our hearts with a gentle
touch and hold them with a grip of steel. At first it seemed odd and
we regretted our visitor’s disappointment, but after a while Mary came
to us, too, and remained the titular goddess of the garden. Her name
became a household word. ‘Whether Mary would approve’ was a question
my husband playfully asked, when he liked the arrangement of the
drawing-rooms.”
When General Godfrey Witzel, in command of the Northern troops entered
the city on the morning of April 3, 1865, he made this house his
headquarters; and it was used as the headquarters of the United States
Government during the five years that Virginia was under military rule
and was called “District No. 1.” When Abraham Lincoln passed through
Richmond a few days after the evacuation, he was received in the
“Georgia room” of this old house.
After the war “The White House of the Confederacy” became the home of
the first public school established in Richmond and was used as such
for more than twenty years. Finally, to save it from destruction, for
the house was falling into decay, a mass-meeting was held in Richmond
to take measures for its preservation. A society was formed called the
“Confederate Memorial Literary Society” whose first act was to petition
the city to yield it to its charge for the purpose of establishing a
Museum of Confederate relics and a memorial to President Davis.
The Museum was formally opened in 1890. Quoting from the charter:
“The purposes for which it is formed are to establish in the city of
Richmond, in the State of Virginia, the capital of the late Confederate
States of America, a Confederate Memorial Literary Society or
Association, to collect and receive, by gift, purchase, or otherwise,
all books and other literary productions pertaining to the late war
between the States, and of those engaged therein; all works of art or
science, all battle-flags, relics, and other emblems of that struggle,
and to preserve and keep the same for the use of said Society and the
public.”
A room, bearing the distinctive name, shield, and colours of the State
it represents, is assigned to each State of the Confederacy, and is a
repository for memorials from that State. A Regent and Vice-Regent are
appointed to represent each State and to assume the care and expense
of their respective rooms--collecting by loan, donation, or otherwise,
contributions of what they think will make their rooms attractive.
The Solid South is represented by a general reception room, library
and gallery in which the portraits of the President of the Confederate
States and of his Cabinet as well as those of the distinguished civil
and military leaders are hung. On the left is the “Virginia Room” and
on the right the “Georgia Room” and beyond that the “Mississippi Room,”
in which the Confederate Cabinet sat. The relics of Jefferson Davis
are appropriately placed here. The Kentucky, Alabama, South and North
Carolina and Maryland Rooms are in the second story, and in the third,
the Alabama, Arkansas, Tennessee, Florida, Missouri, Louisiana and
Texas Rooms are situated.
The collection is exceedingly large and of great interest to the
student of the great struggle of 1861–1865.
THE OLD STATE HOUSE, BOSTON[23]
EDWARD G. PORTER
The Old State House stands upon the site of the original market-place,
opposite the first meeting-house in which, for a quarter of a century,
the town-meetings were held, according to the custom of the time.
In the year 1656 Captain Robert Keayne, one of the founders of the
Ancient and Honourable Artillery Company, left, in his voluminous and
eccentric will, “the sum of three hundred pounds, current money,” for
a Town House, which was to furnish room for the market, as well as for
the courts, a library, an exchange, an armoury, etc. An equal amount
was contributed by citizens, and a wooden structure was erected on
this spot which served the purposes of the town until it was destroyed
in the great fire of 1711. There are good descriptions extant of this
first building, but no pictures or plans. It was the scene of the
administration of Endicott, Bellingham, Leverett, Bradstreet, Andros,
Phips, Stoughton, Bellomont, and Joseph Dudley. By this time the Town
House had become such a necessity that its successor was immediately
provided for, one-half the expenses being borne by the Province, and
the other half by the Town and the Country in equal proportion.
The first Governor who presided in this building was Joseph Dudley, and
after him came Tailer, Shute, Dummer, Burnet, Belcher, and Shirley.
It was during the latter’s brilliant administration that the famous
expedition against Louisburg was planned and successfully carried out
in 1746 under General (afterwards Sir William Pepperell) and Commodore
Warren.
The following year the Town House (at that time commonly called the
Court House) was seriously injured by fire, which began in the second
story and destroyed much of the interior, and nearly all the records,
pictures and furniture. The building, however, was reconstructed very
much as before; and from that day to this, no essential changes have
taken place in its appearance.
An interesting description of it is found in a journal dated 1750:--
“They have also a Town House, built of brick, situated in King’s
Street. It’s a very Grand Brick Building, Arch’d all Round and Two
Storie Heigh, Sash’d above; its Lower Part is always open, design’d as
a Change, tho the Merchants in Fair Weather make their Change in the
Open Street, at the eastermost end. In the Upper Story are the Council
and Assembly Chambers. It has a neat Capulo, Sash’d all Round, which on
rejoycing days is Elluminated.”
The administrations of Pownall, Bernard, and Hutchinson bring us to
the stirring events immediately preceding the Revolutionary War. At
that time many eyes were turned to this building in hope or fear,
as the scene of the royal authority in the Council Chamber, and of
the popular demands for Liberty in the Hall of Representatives. The
obnoxious measures of the Crown, which followed so rapidly upon the
accession of George III. in 1760, were here officially promulgated by
the Governors, and vehemently denounced by the patriots.
[Illustration: OLD STATE HOUSE, BOSTON]
The collision which finally came in 1775, was foreshadowed in the
speeches of James Otis and Samuel Adams, in the protests of the
Legislature against the unjust imposition of taxes, in the arrival of
the British regiments, and in the massacre of March 5, 1770, which
occurred almost under the windows of the Council Chamber.
The quartering of troops in the Town House and the planting of
cannon at its doors gave great offence to the people, and served
only to increase the difficulty. Under General Gage, the last of the
Royal Governors, were developed those military movements which made
Lexington, Concord and Bunker Hill immortal, and which led to the
organization of an American army, by whose achievements the British
were compelled to evacuate Boston on the 17th of March, 1776.
In July of the same year, the Declaration of Independence was read
to the citizens of Boston from the famous east window of the Council
Chamber, where in the earlier time the Royal succession had been in
three instances proclaimed “with Beat of Drum and Blast of Trumpet,”
and where also had been announced in turn the appointment of eight
governors of Massachusetts under the Crown, and where at last, in 1783,
the Proclamation of Peace was read by the Sheriff of Suffolk, amid the
grateful shouts of the multitude and the salutes of thirteen cannon at
the forts.
In this building John Hancock was inaugurated the first Governor under
the Commonwealth; and here presided his successors, James Bowdoin,
Samuel Adams, and Increase Sumner. In 1789, General Washington, during
his last visit to Boston, reviewed the procession from a temporary
balcony erected at the west end of the Hall of Representatives.
Here the Legislature of Massachusetts met for the last time in 1798,
and then marched in a body to the more imposing structure which had
just been completed on Beacon Hill.
The old building has since then been given up to business purposes,
except during an interval of ten years, 1830–1839, when it was occupied
by the municipality as a City Hall.
In 1882, it was carefully restored and formally re-dedicated to the
public use as a memorial hall. The second floor, containing the
ancient Council Chamber and Representatives Hall, has been confided
to the custody of the Bostonian Society for a term of years. Valuable
portraits, engravings, documents, and other historical relics may here
be inspected daily by the public without charge. The tower, the quaint
roof, the lion and unicorn, the central stairway, and, in fact, all
the details of the building, present with almost absolute accuracy the
characteristic features of the old Town House of the fathers. And it is
confidently believed that the venerable structure will continue to grow
more and more in the affections of the people of Boston, because it was
here that “the child Independence was born.”
THE MORRIS-JUMEL HOUSE, NEW YORK
Commanding an extensive view, or “prospect,” as they would have said
in Colonial days, of the Harlem River and Long Island Sound, there
stands a dwelling of the Georgian period famous under two names,--the
“Morris House” and the “Jumel Mansion.” The house was built by Colonel
Roger Morris, an English officer who came to this country with General
Braddock and was wounded in the ill-fated expedition to Fort Du Quesne.
He also served under General Wolfe at Quebec and left the army in
1764 to settle in New York, where he became a member of the King’s
Council. He bought the property on Harlem Heights and erected the
house now standing as a present for his wife, Mary Philipse, daughter
of Frederick Philipse, whom he married in 1758. The Morrises made a
charming home here and entertained with lavish hospitality the most
distinguished guests until the beginning of the Revolution, when, being
Tories, they were forced to leave their house. Eventually, included
in the bill of attainder, they went to England, and their house and
property in Harlem Heights were confiscated and sold.
Immediately after the battle of Long Island, August 27, 1776, General
Washington retreated with his army to Harlem and selected the Morris
House for his headquarters. Here Aaron Burr, associated with the later
destinies of the house, served as secretary to Washington.
One day, after nearly three months’ residence, Washington started out
on a reconnoitering expedition and about fifteen minutes after he had
left, the British troops under Sir Thomas Stirling took possession of
this desirable place; and from that moment until the evacuation of
New York in 1783, the “Morris House” was the headquarters of General
Knyphausen and his Hessian soldiers.
In 1785, the house became a tavern and was used as such for several
years. It next looms into importance in 1810, when it was purchased by
Stephen Jumel, whose handsome and clever American wife and the society
that she gathered around her brought it once more into notoriety.
There have been several conflicting stories regarding Madame Jumel’s
parentage; but Mr. Josiah Collins Pumpelly in an article published in
the _New England Genealogical and Biographical Record_ (1903)
obtained the following statement from a relative: “Eliza (Bowen) Jumel
was born, April 2, 1777, in Providence, R. I., but not in a poor-house,
as was asserted by her enemies during the lawsuit. The statement made
in Appleton’s _Cyclopædia of National Biography_ that the lady’s
name was Capet, and that she was born at sea, is not sustained by
reliable history. Eliza Jumel was the daughter of Phœbe and John Bowen.
Her father was a sea-captain and owned his own vessels; her brother and
father were drowned together.”
[Illustration: THE MORRIS-JUMEL HOUSE, NEW YORK]
In 1804, she was married to Stephen Jumel, a rich coffee planter of
San Domingo, who, during an insurrection on the island and massacre of
the French, escaped to New York about 1790. He was much older than his
beautiful bride; for at the time of his marriage he was nearly fifty
and she twenty-seven. In 1810, they purchased the “Morris House” on
Harlem Heights where they lived in great style. Subsequently the Jumels
had a home in Paris, where they also entertained sumptuously until M.
Jumel’s large fortune melted away. In 1821, Madame Jumel returned to
her New York home. It seems that Madame Jumel immediately disposed
of her rich furniture and other treasures, for in 1821 the following
advertisement appears in the New York newspapers: “On Monday, the 16th
of April next, at the Mansion House of Mrs. Jumel, Harlem Heights, the
whole of her Furniture and Gallery of original Paintings, together
with Kitchen Furniture, Carriages, Horses, and other implements on the
premises. Any attempt to describe those superb and elegant articles
would hardly convey an idea of what they are; and as people will be at
liberty to go and see them one week previous to the sale, it is deemed
sufficient to say that such a collection has never been offered to the
public and connoisseurs in this country; being a careful selection made
in Paris by the best judges from the museum and palace of the late
Emperor.”
M. Jumel returned to New York in 1828 and recovered his lost fortune.
From that date till his death in 1832, the house again witnessed scenes
of gay society. Among the distinguished visitors at this period were
Joseph Bonaparte and Louis Napoleon.
Again to quote from Mr. Pumpelly:
“After the death of her husband Madame Jumel carried on her business
affairs by herself. She displayed in them excellent judgment and
ability. The varied experiences of her life had sharpened her
faculties, and the poor Rhode Island girl, with whom scandal had made
free, had developed into a woman of culture, tact and superior powers.
She furnished her mansion with somewhat of its former splendour. It
displayed abundant souvenirs of the First Empire and its renowned
master. There were eight chairs which had belonged to the First Consul,
a table, the marble top of which had been brought to her from Egypt, a
clock which the Emperor had used in the Tuilleries, a chandelier that
he had once given to Moreau, tapestries and paintings which had been
collected by Josephine; also a set of drawing-room furniture which had
once been owned by Charles X.; a bedstead upon which Napoleon had slept
for many months and his army chest. Visitors also told of a stand that
was said to have belonged to Voltaire, a black leather trunk which was
supposed to have been used by Napoleon on the march to Moscow, and an
elaborate embroidery of flowers surrounded by a golden chain, which had
been made by the Empress. On the furniture was emblazoned the symbolic
‘N’ of the Empire in commemoration of its great chief.”
In 1833, Madame Jumel was married in the drawing-room of this historic
house to Aaron Burr. After her death in 1865, the house became the
property of Mr. Nelson Chase, whose first wife was Madame Jumel’s
niece. It now belongs to the Daughters of the American Revolution.
FORT SUMTER
IZA DUFFUS HARDY
The next morning we sally forth early under a tropical sky of burning
blue and take our way to the market, a bright and busy scene, and cool
and pleasant even this hot day, the breeze blowing gently through
the long airy sheds, supported by open archways, the abundant array
of fruit and flowers and vegetables refreshing to the eye. The negro
element is in almost exclusive possession behind the stalls, the white
in front, but not exclusively. There is a negro majority in South
Carolina, in the market as well as elsewhere. Here are all shades of
black, yellow and brown; here a good-looking brown girl with immense
gold earrings, sits half hidden behind tempting great heaps of rosy
tomatoes, golden Florida oranges and crimson plantains; there an old
woman, black as a coal, coifed in a gorgeous striped bandana, presses
green peas upon our attention; here the tourist is buying bananas and
the housekeeper pricing pineapples.
We linger among the fruit-stalls and do not hurry ourselves past the
fishmonger’s department, where the cool shining fish lie on slabs
spread with green leaves. But we hasten through the butcher’s quarter;
it is too hot to look at raw beef. We observe strutting about here,
picking up pieces under the stalls and perching over the doorways, a
number of large birds, which we take at first for turkeys. They are,
however, buzzards, unfit to eat, but useful in picking up offal, and
therefore encouraged about this quarter of the market.
Returning to the main street of Charleston, we pass by the ruins of the
old church.
“Burnt during the war, of course?”
“No, madam, burnt by accident before the war.”
There its ruined and blackened walls stand still, the long grass
growing where aisle and altar were. We pass by the shops and soon
come to the private houses, pretty and picturesque detached villas
(residences “unattached,” are, of course the rule in these warm
climes). Many are surrounded by their own gardens; some nestle in the
shadow of tall trees; others are buried from basement to roof in the
luxuriant purple blossoms of the wisteria. At the end of this street we
come upon the Battery, the most beautiful spot in this beautiful city
by the sea.
Here, facing the strip of park which lies between them and the water,
stand the finest residences in Charleston, built in the palmy days
before the war, some of them survivals of the old Colonial times. No
two of these handsome houses are alike; each is stamped with its own
character and individuality; they are of all styles--Greek, Gothic,
Elizabethan, and nondescript, and of all pale tints of cool grey,
white, and light brown. They all luxuriate in balconies, piazzas,
verandahs, and every device for enjoying an almost tropical air in
shade and sunshine, and many of them rejoice in their own shadowing
trees. The scorching breath of the Southern summer has not yet
rusted the green of the turf and tree; the grass in the Battery
Park is the richest velvet sward that our feet have ever pressed;
the spring-leafage of the scrub-oaks is fresh and tender, though the
warmer tints of autumn linger yet here and there among the boughs. At
the further border of the long narrow slip of park is a fine sea-wall,
beyond which the sleepy waters of Charleston Harbour lap the stone of
the embankment. Here on the Battery stand various monuments, one, of
course, in memory of “the brave who are no more.” It is here, all along
this walk, that the ladies of Charleston collected in crowds, on one
memorable 12th of April, to watch the bombardment of Fort Sumter in the
distance.
[Illustration: FORT SUMTER, SOUTH CAROLINA]
Fort Sumter, of course, is the first excursion the tourist takes from
this city. A short cut through the market leads us to the wharf where
the little paddle-steamer waits to carry us thither. The sun blazes
fiercely in a heaven of dazzling sapphire blue, the little waves lap
and gurgle softly in transparent ripples of emerald, as the boat cuts
its calm way along. We pass the sunny shores, the green trees and white
villas of Mount Pleasant--well so named!--we pass Sullivan’s Island;
we near Fort Moultrie; and now we are in sight of Sumter. The deck is
crowded with excursionists, most of them Northern tourists; there are
a few Southerners, one or two Germans--we discover no English except
ourselves. We make acquaintance with some of our fellow-passengers;
all seem sociably inclined; all gather together along the bulwarks at
the first sight of Fort Sumter. Here are North and South, “Yankee” and
rebel harmoniously and amicably associating on a pleasure excursion to
the scene of the first conflict of the terrible four years’ struggle,
the spot where “twenty years and more” ago, that first shot was
fired which rang through the civilized world, which thrilled like a
bugle-call through the hearts of North and South, and “let slip the
dogs of war” to their dreadful work. Here this morning are the men who
wore the vanquished grey and those of the victorious blue, brothers
once more! In sight of the shattered walls of Sumter, no word except of
friendliness is heard.
We observe in the conversation of the various groups that they one and
all delicately refrain from speaking of the “other side” in audible
tones except as “Federal” and “Confederate,” although to each other, in
their _sotto voce_ discourse, we catch the old terms “Yank” and
“Reb” passing freely.
The Federal element, as represented on board this boat, does not appear
very well informed as to the facts and details of the siege. We inquire
in vain: How many were in the fort? What was the besieging force? How
many lives were lost? In answer to this last question, there are a
variety of answers, apparently most of them conjectural, and ranging
from “three hundred” down to “none.”
“It was from Fort Moultrie yonder that the first gun was fired,”
observes one tourist, drawing from his next neighbour the mild
correction: “Pardon me, sir, the _very_ first shot was from Fort
Johnson.”
Hereupon both parties pull out of their pockets--no, not revolvers, but
little blue paper--covered “Guides to Charleston.”
Meanwhile we are drawing nearer and nearer to the low, sandy island
that is the goal of our excursion. We wonder, as we look on that barren
sand-heap scorching in the yellow sand-glare, was _that_, once
upon a time, the lofty fort of Sumter? Could ever those fragments
of battered wall have towered up towards these blue skies in proud
defiance? In fancy, we see the pall of smoke wrap Sumter round again,
hear the thunder of the cannonade, and above the “burning battlehell”
of fire and smoke, we see streaming to the wind the ghost of the “Stars
and Bars!”
We land on the little pier, and pick our way along narrow planks laid
across the heavy sand, amongst heaps of cannon balls, old guns, new
guns, up steps, down steps, underground and overground, in and out
of gloomy bomb-proofs, from the loopholes of which the “dogs of war”
thrust forth their huge, black muzzles. One of the little garrison of
the fort shows us round, and acts as general _cicerone_ to our
party. He answers our questions--the Northern tourists put quite as
many as we strangers do; is it not twenty-two years since the siege? A
whole world behind to them; but our soldier-guide has the whole story
fresh in his mind. So has a bronzed and grizzled Southerner, who now
for the first time, in the subterranean shades of a bombproof-tunnel,
comes to the fore, and thenceforth divides public interest and
attention with the lawful _cicerone_.
Somebody puts to this new authority the old question--how many lives
were lost in the opening bombardment?
“Not one, sir,” is the prompt answer, “not one by the Confederate
attack. Seems strange, but so ’tis. There was one life lost, and that
was after the fort had surrendered. A man was blown up and killed. He
laid a mine, as a trap to blow up the Confederates, and he tripped his
foot, stumbled, and touched it off, and was killed by his own mine.”
A gentle smile of contemplative satisfaction irradiated the
Confederate’s countenance as he narrated this anecdote--of which we
afterwards heard divers and contrasting versions. I was walking with a
gentleman from Massachusetts, but, as my escort did not appear able to
feed my feminine curiosity with all the details I desired, I drew the
better-informed Confederate authority to join us; and we rambled on in
an exemplarily harmonious trio.
Our Southerner was brimming over with reminiscences, all uttered in
dulcet and lamb-like tones which would well have befitted an idyllic
love-story.
“With a seven-inch bore, like this,” he observed, resting his boot-heel
tenderly on a big gun that lay half buried in the sand, “we sunk the
first monitor that came along. Hit the turret and made her careen, and
then the lower battery took her right between wind and water.”
He smiled softly, as if cherishing sweet and tender memories.
“I put a little Confederate flag on the buoy out there,” he continued,
pointing to a spot on the sunny water, “and it stayed there all the
time.”
“Didn’t we come after it?” inquired the tourist from Massachusetts.
“Oh, yes; the Federals, they came after it several times; but they
didn’t happen to get it,” the mild Carolinian replied in his soft
lingering drawl.
I do not know how much or how little correct history was current
amongst us that day; but there certainly was a good deal of information
to be had for the asking.
“Getting ready for our cousins!” observed a New York girl, patting a
fine new gun approvingly.
“What cousins?” I inquired.
“Our English cousins,” was the reply. “They might take a fancy to come
over here!”
“I don’t think we want to come over, except as tourists, as we have
come to day,” I observed, mildly deprecating.
“I guess you and the Southerners have had enough of that,” replied the
young lady contentedly.
Our bronzed Southerner was picking up a sea-shell from the sand as a
souvenir for me, and, probably by way of a coal of fire, he picked up a
finer shell for her, and polished it with his pocket handkerchief.
In every group some chapter of the story of the siege was being told--I
fear occasionally coloured according to the bias of the narrator. The
names of Beauregard, Sherman, Lee, Anderson, were echoing on every
side. Indeed it was not 1883, it was 1861, in which we all lived that
hour!
Time was up; the whistle sounded. We left the sandy isle of Fort
Sumter--deserted now, save for a little garrison to be counted on the
fingers of one hand--and returned to our boat, and to the present year
of our Lord, 1883.
OLD STONE TOWER, NEWPORT
BENSON J. LOSSING
The object of greatest attraction to the visitor at Newport is the
Old Tower or windmill, as it is sometimes called. On the subject
of its erection history and tradition are silent, and the object
of its construction is alike unknown and conjectural. It is a huge
cylinder composed of unhewn stones--common granite, slate, sandstone,
and pudding-stone--cemented with coarse mortar, made of the soil on
which the structure stands, and shell lime. It rests upon eight round
columns, a little more than three feet in diameter and ten feet high
from the ground to the spring of the arches. The wall is three feet
thick, and the whole edifice is twenty four feet high. The external
diameter is twenty-three feet. Governor Gibbs informed me that, on
excavating the base of one of the pillars, he found the soil about four
feet deep, lying upon a stratum of hard rock, and that the foundation
of the column, which rested upon this rock, was composed of rough-hewn
spheres of stone, the lower ones about four feet in circumference. On
the interior, a little above the arches, are small square niches, in
depth about half the thickness of the wall, designed apparently to
receive floor-timbers. In several places within, as well as upon the
inner surface of some of the columns, are patches of stucco, which,
like the mortar, is made of coarse sand and shell lime, and as hard
as the stone it covers. Governor Gibbs remembers the appearance of
the tower when it was partially covered with the same hard stucco upon
its exterior surface. Doubtless it was originally covered within and
without with plaster, and the now rough columns, with mere indications
of capitals and bases of the Doric form, were handsomely wrought, the
whole structure exhibiting taste and beauty. During the possession
of Rhode Island by the British in the Revolution, the tower was more
perfect than now, and the walls were three or four feet higher than at
present. The British used it for an ammunition magazine, and when they
evacuated the island, they attempted to demolish the old “mill,” by
igniting a keg of powder within it. But the strong walls resisted the
vandals, and the only damage the edifice sustained was the loss of its
roof and two or three feet of its upper masonry. Such is the Old Tower
at Newport. Its early history is yet unwritten and may forever remain
so.
[Illustration: OLD STONE TOWER, NEWPORT]
There has been much patient investigation, with a great deal of
speculation, concerning this ancient edifice, but no satisfactory
conclusion has yet been obtained. Of its existence prior to the
English emigration to America there is now but little doubt; and it
is asserted that the Indians, of whom Mr. Coddington and other early
settlers upon Aquitneck (now Rhode Island) solicited information
concerning the structure, had no tradition respecting its origin.
Because it was called a “mill” in some old documents, some have argued,
or rather, have flippantly asserted, that it was built by the early
English settlers for a windmill. Thus Mr. Cooper disposes of the
matter in his preface to _Red Rover_. A little patient inquiry
would have given him a different conclusion; and if the structure is
really ante-colonial, and perhaps ante-Columbian, its history surely
is worthy of investigation. That it was converted into and used for a
windmill by some of the early settlers of Newport, there is no doubt,
for it was easily convertible to such use, although not by a favourable
arrangement. The English settlement upon the island was commenced in
1636, at the north end, and in 1639 the first house was erected on the
site of Newport, by Nicholas Easton. Mention is made in the Colonial
records of a windmill by Peter Easton, in 1663, twenty-five years after
the founding of Newport; and this was evidently the first mill erected
there, from the fact that it was considered of sufficient importance
to the Colony to induce the General Court to reward Mr. Easton for his
enterprise, by a grant of a tract of fine land, a mile in length, lying
along what is still known as _Easton’s Beach_. That mill was a
wooden structure, and stood upon the land now occupied by the North
Burying-ground in the upper suburbs of Newport. The land on which the
tower stands once belonged to Governor Benedict Arnold, and in his
will, bearing the date of 1678, forty years after the settlement, he
mentions the “stone-mill,” the tower having evidently been used for
that purpose. Its form, its great solidity, and its construction upon
columns, forbid the idea that it was originally erected for a mill; and
certainly, if a common windmill made of timber was so highly esteemed
by the people, as we have seen, the construction of such an edifice,
so superior to any dwelling or church in the colony, would have
received special attention from the magistrates and the historians of
the day. And wherefore, for such a purpose, were the foundation-stones
wrought into spheres and the whole structure stuccoed within and
without?
When, in 1837, the Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries of Copenhagen
published the result of their ten years’ investigations concerning the
discovery of America by the Northmen in the Tenth Century, in a volume
entitled _Antiquitates-Americana_, the old mill at Newport, the
rock inscription at Dighton, in Massachusetts, and the discovery of
skeletons evidently of a race different from the Indians, elicited
the earnest attention of inquirers, as subjects in some way connected
with those early discoveries. Dr. Webb, who was then a resident of
Providence, and secretary to the Rhode Island Historical Society,
opened a correspondence with Charles C. Rafn, the Secretary to the
Royal Society of Copenhagen, Dr. Webb employed Mr. Catherwood to make
drawings of the mill, and these, with a particular account of the
structure, he transmitted to Professor Rafn. Here was opened for the
society a new field of inquiry, the products of which were published,
with engravings from Mr. Catherwood’s drawings. According to Professor
Rafn, the architecture of this building is in the ante-Gothic style,
which was common in the north and west of Europe from the Eighth to the
Twelfth Centuries. “The circular form, the low columns, their thickness
in proportion to their distance from each other, and the entire want
of ornament,” he says, “all point out this epoch.” He imagines that it
was used for a baptistery, and accounts for the absence of buildings of
a similar character by the abundance of wood in America. The brevity
of the sojourn of the Northmen here was doubtless another, and perhaps
principal reason, why similar structures were not erected. The fact
that the navigators of Sweden, Norway and Iceland visited and explored
the American coast, as far as the shores of Connecticut, and probably
more southerly, during the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries (five hundred
years before the voyages of Columbus), appears to be too well attested
to need further notice here. For the proofs the reader is referred to
the interesting work alluded to _Antiquitates-Americana_.
ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, NEW YORK
CHARLES HEMSTREET[24]
In the chapel of St. Paul’s, and in the graveyard that surrounds it,
there are sights enough to keep a thoughtful person busy during more
than one long day. To see the people hurrying along Broadway, without
even a glance at the dim, old building, you would never think so. Close
by the chapel door, which faces the churchyard, there is a bench which
I occupy so often that I have come to feel that it is my personal
property. It rests close by the ivy-covered wall, and, although it is
but a dozen steps from the street, the intervening churchyard gives it
relief and quiet so that all sight and sound of the bustling city seem
shut off.
Sometimes there are visitors, doubtless attracted by my at-home
appearance as I sit there, who ask me questions about the church and
the churchyard. I always like to be asked these questions, and answer
them as best I can. If the questioners are interested, I deliver a
sort of lecture, telling how very small the city was in the year 1764,
when the corner-stone of the church was laid, and how the building was
opened in the second year after that. Then I wander on and tell how
there were fields all around in those days, and how they sloped from
the church door right down to the river. Sometimes, when there is a
word of surprise at the many houses that now stand between the church
and the river, I explain that a great deal of the land has been filled
in during the one hundred and thirty odd years that have passed and
that it has become too valuable to be left as a green field.
My last inquirer was an old gentleman, who was so much more in earnest
than the usual curiosity seeker, that I asked him if he had lived long
in the city.
“I am only here for a time, from the West,” said he. “This is my first
visit to St. Paul’s although I love every stone in the old building.
My father, when he was a child, lived near here, and, although he left
the city with his parents in his youth, he often talked to me of this
church, and how he had played among the tombstones when he was a boy.
But the church seems smaller than I have imagined it.”
And then I told him that to me, too, the church seemed to grow smaller
each year, but this was, doubtless, caused by the tall buildings
growing up around it; and that the church had, in the time when his
father knew it, been considered a giant of a building.
The old man nodded his head. “Yes, yes; doubtless so,” said he. Then,
on my invitation, he gladly followed me into the chapel, and I led the
way to the pew, off the north aisle, where George Washington used to
sit when he attended service, and which has been preserved as he used
it.
“So this is the Washington pew!” said my companion, as he tenderly
tapped the woodwork against which he leaned, and looked admiringly
at the coat-of-arms of New York on the wall above.
[Illustration: ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, NEW YORK]
“Yes, and you will remember that in 1776, when the invading British
force came, the city was fired, Trinity Church was burned, with all
its records, and the flames swept away a great part of the western
side of the city. St. Paul’s Chapel was saved, and here, during the
British occupation, Lord Howe, the English commander, and many soldiers
of the King attended service. And when the British left New York, and
the American forces came, Washington and his army took their places in
the church. And to this church, on the day that he was inaugurated as
first President of the United States, came Washington, and sat in this
pew in which we now sit. Those who visited the church in Washington’s
time have left the record that he was Commander-in-Chief, and in the
days when he was President, he always attended the church without the
slightest display, that he walked in very quietly, and that when he was
in his seat he paid not the slightest attention to anything except his
prayer-book and the clergyman. During all the time that he was in the
city, he regularly, each week made the entry for Sunday in his diary:
‘Went to St. Paul’s Chapel in the forenoon.’
“And there you see the sounding-board on the pulpit, with the
coat-of-arms of the Prince of Wales on the top. During Revolutionary
days, patriots rushed through the city and destroyed everything that
suggested allegiance to England. In some way, this sounding-board
escaped destruction, so that now it is the only pre-Revolutionary
relic remaining in the place where it originally stood.
“There, beside the west wall, is a bust of John Wells, erected by the
members of the City Bar. He was a talented lawyer, who died in 1823.
Wells was the sole survivor of a large family, all the members of
which, except himself, were killed by Indians at the Cherry Valley
Massacre. That he lived was due to his being at the time away from home
attending school. He came to the city, practised law successfully for
many years, and died regretted by the entire fraternity.”
These things and others in the chapel I pointed out to my companion,
and then he followed me out into the churchyard again. We noted the
spot, close by Vesey Street, where lay the remains of George Eacker,
who killed the son of Alexander Hamilton in a duel, a few years before
the great statesman was himself killed in the self-same way. There
was another grave, almost in the centre of the yard, of a man who, in
his day, had made a name for himself, which is almost forgotten now.
It was the grave of Christopher Colles. He first conceived the idea
of the Erie Canal, and delivered lectures on the subject, long years
before DeWitt Clinton carried the project to a successful conclusion.
It was this same Christopher Colles who built a reservoir by the
Collect Pond, giving New York her first water-works, and applying steam
practically to his pumping-station ten years before Fulton applied it
to navigation. Colles died in 1821, a poor man.
The tall monument to the south of the church, erected to the memory
of Thomas Addis Emmett, the jurist and brother of Robert Emmett,
interested my companion more than anything else. He took a deep
interest in deciphering the inscription on the west side--a curious
inscription for a tombstone, for it reads,
40 42′ 40″ N.,
74 03′ 21″ 5 W. L. G.,
and tells the exact latitude and longitude in which the monument is.
When we came to the monument set in the chancel window facing the
street, my companion looked at me inquiringly. It was just after the
celebration of Decoration Day, and a wreath of fresh flowers, bound
with a trailing ribbon of imperial purple, quite hid the inscription
on this tomb. Then we talked over the story of the brave hero of
Quebec--Major-General Richard Montgomery--whose body lies beneath the
chancel; spoke of how he had fallen in that fateful battle of 1775
calling on the men of New York to follow where he led; how the men had
followed him, and how many of them had fallen with their general; of
the day forty-three years later, when the nation for which he had died,
remembering his brave deeds, had brought his body home to the city
from its first resting place in Quebec; how on that day the city had
been draped in mourning; how the streets had resounded to the tread of
marching feet, and how the body had been interred beneath the chancel,
where a monument was already set up to a great and good man, and a
reminder to all that the deeds of men live after them.
And then we reached the gate which opens into the churchyard from
Broadway. For a few moments we stood silently looking at the crowds
that hurried past. I do not know what were my companion’s thoughts just
then, but my own were of those other men who a hundred years before had
hurried along the same thoroughfare, and of whom the only reminders
now are the tombstones in the churchyard. My companion then left me,
mingled with the crowds and was soon lost to sight.
I meant to have told him that to know all the picturesqueness of Old
St. Paul’s, it should be visited on a night in early winter; one of
those dreary nights when the rain falls blurring the glare of lights
until those from each separate store-window seem to melt together.
Then all the noise and bustle settle down into a sullen roar. Wet and
dripping horses flounder past; cable cars glide along with clanging
sound of bell; people knock umbrellas together as they hurry on.
The rain, the noise, the confusion, the lights bewilder the brain.
As one passes the Astor House, where the confusion is greatest, the
lights most dazzling, the crowds largest and most in a hurry, you
suddenly come upon the churchyard. It is merely to cross narrow Vesey
Street,--but it is like stepping from day to night. The sight of the
dark old church and the quiet tombs behind the tall iron fence breathe
of silence and comfort. In the daytime the tombstones are brown and
faded, but on these rainy nights the lights creeping in through the
bars make them white as snow.
[Illustration: FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON]
A quaint, curious corner, side by side with the roar and rush of the
city. The rusty iron railing is a barrier seeming to shut out noise and
life, as though to protect the sleepers in their well-earned rest.
FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON
EDWARD G. PORTER[25]
In 1740 Peter Faneuil, a Huguenot resident of Boston, who had
recently inherited a large fortune from his uncle, offered to build
a market-house at his own expense and give it to the town, provided
they would pass a vote agreeing to accept and maintain it under proper
regulations. Accordingly a town-meeting was called to consider the
matter, and the thanks of the meeting were unanimously extended to Mr.
Faneuil, for his generous offer. But upon the question of accepting it,
there was such a division of opinion, that the vote stood 367 in favour
and 360 against it. Thus narrowly, by only seven votes in a large
meeting, did the project succeed, so slow were the people to see the
advantages of the new system.
We can hardly conceive of Boston now without its Faneuil Hall; but
the crowds who daily gather about it little imagine how much they are
indebted to the energy of its earliest friends in that critical moment
when its very existence was hanging in the balance.
The structure was completed in 1742, John Swibert, the portrait
painter, being the architect, and Samuel Ruggles the builder. Mr.
Faneuil enlarged the original plan and added a hall above the
market,--and additional proof of his munificence which was gratefully
recognized by the town in its public acceptance of the gift, on which
occasion the name “Faneuil Hall” was given to it to be retained
forever; and “as a further testimony of respect, it was voted that Mr.
Faneuil’s picture be drawn at full length and placed in the hall.” The
town also added the Faneuil arms, beautifully carved and gilt by Moses
Deshon.
The building was constructed of brick, two stories and a half high,
one hundred feet long and forty feet wide, with open arches below and
a tower above, and was in many respects the most important edifice in
the town. Its architecture was considered imposing and ornate. The
spacious hall would contain a thousand persons, and there were various
rooms besides. The town-meetings were held here after this, and the
selectmen’s offices were removed from the old Town-House in King, now
State Street, which was left chiefly to the Legislature and the courts.
Most unexpectedly, a few months after the building was completed, its
founder died; and the first oration pronounced in the hall, was his own
eulogy by John Lovell, the well-known master of the Latin School.
In January, 1761, the interior of the building caught fire, and nothing
but the bare walls remained. The records, fortunately, and some other
documents were saved. The hall was rebuilt on the old plan, and opened
again in March, 1763, when James Otis, Jr., delivered the dedicatory
address. The cause of the patriots was now making such progress in
Boston that large meetings were held in Faneuil Hall to give expression
to the popular feeling; and hence arose the name “Cradle of Liberty,”
which it has borne ever since, and which it so well deserves.
In March, 1767, the hall was illuminated by vote of the town, to
commemorate the repeal of the Stamp Act. The following year, a
convention of representatives from nearly all the towns in the Province
was in session here for a week in September, to consider what measures
could be taken in view of the expected arrival of a large force of
British troops. Governor Bernard refused to recognize the convention,
although its proceedings were throughout orderly and constitutional.
The fleet arrived immediately after; and the Fourteenth Regiment,
Colonel Dalrymple, was quartered in Faneuil Hall for a month, by order
of the Governor, though not without a vigorous protest from the people.
During the stormy period preceding the outbreak of the Revolution, many
notable town-meetings were convened here, as on the occasion of the
Boston Massacre and on the arrival of the “detestable tea.” But the
hall at that time could not hold as many people as the Old South, and
this explains why some of the large meetings adjourned to the latter
place.
During the siege of Boston the building was at first used as a
storehouse for arms and furniture, and then converted into a theatre
for the diversion of the troops. Among the performances, the tragedy
of _Zara_ and the comedy of _The Busybody_ were frequently given;
and, once, at least, a local farce written by General Burgoyne, and
entitled _The Blockade of Boston_. This would be an interesting relic
of the period if it could be found, but it does not appear ever to have
been printed. After the evacuation of Boston, the portraits of Peter
Faneuil, George II., Governor Shirley, General Conway, and Colonel
Barré, which had hung in Faneuil Hall, were missing, nor has any trace
of them ever been discovered.
In the year 1806, with the new era of prosperity, the hall was very
much enlarged by doubling the width and adding a third story. This, of
course, has greatly changed the appearance of the structure, although
its original style has been fairly well preserved.
The interior, with its lofty galleries and classic columns, has become
well known to thousands. Here the great questions of the century,
touching the commercial, political and philanthropic interests of
Boston, have been eloquently discussed by the foremost orators of the
time. Many a Bostonian can recall the occasions when he has stood
on the sanded floor for hours with a patient and patriotic crowd,
applauding the sentiments of one speaker after another as they came
forward upon the platform and emphasized the issues of the hour. Here
great public receptions have been given to distinguished guests,
together with many civic and military banquets. Here, formerly, were
held the industrial exhibitions of the Massachusetts Charitable
Mechanic Association. It is emphatically the people’s hall, and will
always remain so; for, by a provision in the city charter, neither
Faneuil Hall, nor Boston Common, can ever be sold or let for money.
The collection of portraits attracts many visitors. On the west wall is
Healy’s large painting of Webster replying to Hayne in the Senate, and
near it are Stuart’s Washington and Copley’s Hancock, Warren and Samuel
Adams. There are also portraits of Peter Faneuil, John Quincy Adams,
Edward Everett, Governor Andrew, Senator Wilson, Robert Treat Paine,
Caleb Strong, Commodore Preble, General Knox, Rufus Choate, President
Lincoln, Anson Burlingame, Admiral Winslow and Wendell Phillips.
Back of the rostrum are busts of John Adams, Samuel Adams and Daniel
Webster. The clock was presented to the city by the school children of
Boston in 1850.
The upper hall has been chiefly used as an armory by various military
corps, especially of late by the Ancient and Honourable Artillery
Company, the oldest military organization in the country. The
Massachusetts Historical Society held some of its early meetings in the
north-west corner of the upper story in the old building from 1792 to
1794.
The grasshopper vane is an interesting survivor of the former
structure. It was made by Shem Drowne, the well-known copper-smith of
the last century, who also made and repaired the cockerel vane for the
Second Church. The famous Indian vane on the Province House was also
his handiwork. He died in 1774, at the age of ninety years.
The insect is remarkably well preserved, and shows the fidelity with
which it was made; all the details being carefully worked out in
copper, as if they were to be closely inspected. The eyes are of glass
and shine in the sunlight with great brilliancy. The grasshopper is
supposed to have been suggested by the vane on the Royal Exchange of
London. It was also the device for the vane on the summer house of the
Faneuil estate on Tremont Street.
LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD
ESTHER SINGLETON
On Bedloe’s Island, a mile and a half below the Battery, on the site
formerly occupied by Fort Wood, the most famous statue in America
greets and welcomes every ship that enters the beautiful harbour of New
York.
Just as soon as you leave the lower New York Bay and note the Brooklyn
Bridge--which at this distance and in the twilight appears like a filmy
cobweb, so airily suspended above the East River that it seems as if
the lightest breeze might blow it away--the eye is fascinated by the
sparkling, bluish light from Liberty’s uplifted torch. Ever larger
and brighter it grows, as your boat speeds through the dying tints of
sunset, more brilliant than the silver stars in the sky, the red and
green lights of the river craft, and the golden beads that now begin to
outline the fairy bridge.
On entering the Harbour in the daytime, the tall, graceful figure
silhouetted against the sky soon attracts your attention; and if you
are approaching New York from the south, long before you reach the
city, long before the sharp, salt, invigorating air from the sea--sweet
to smell and sweet to taste--strikes nostril and lip, across the flat
meadows of Jersey, you see the great effulgent Star of Liberty shining
like Rigel, Sirius, or Arcturus.
[Illustration: STATUE OF LIBERTY, NEW YORK]
The island on which the colossal statue stands was called Minnisais in
the Indian language, meaning “small island.” In Colonial days it was
the summer home of Captain Kennedy, of the Royal Navy, afterwards
the Earl or Cassilis. In 1753, it is described in an advertisement as
follows: “To be Let. Bedloe’s Island, alias Love Island, together with
the dwelling-house and lighthouse being finely situated for a tavern,
where all kinds of garden stuff, poultry, etc., may be easily raised
for the shipping outward bound, and from where any quantity of pickled
oysters may be transported; it abounds with English rabbits.”
In 1758, Bedloe’s Island became a quarantine station, and during the
War of the Revolution, it was chosen as an asylum for Tory refugees;
but the buildings prepared for their reception were burned on the night
of April 2, 1776.
A strong star fort was erected here in 1814 when the defences of New
York were strengthened; and it is on the site of Fort Wood that the
great pedestal rests.
The idea of this colossal statue originated with the French
Sculptor, Bartholdi, in 1871, while on a visit to New York, and it
was first discussed in the house of M. Laboulaye at Glavigny, near
Versailles. In 1875, M. Bartholdi submitted his design to the _Union
Franco-Americaine_, which had been formed in France for the purpose
of presenting the people of the United States with a gift in honour of
the country’s celebration of its hundred years of independence. When
the design was accepted, the French society poetically expressed its
intention as follows:
“We desire to erect in the unequalled harbour of New York a gigantic
statue on the threshold of the New World, to rise from the bosom of the
waves and represent Liberty enlightening the World.”
The French people subscribed enough to pay for the cost of the
work--more than $250,000, and the wrist and hand with the torch were
sent to the Centennial Exhibition of 1876 held at Philadelphia. In
1877, the citizens of New York held a meeting and appointed a committee
to raise the necessary funds and procure the necessary legislation
for the erection of this gift to the nation. Congress authorized its
acceptance and passed a resolution to provide for its erection on
Bedloe’s Island and also for its care. The public subscriptions were
devoted to the foundation and the pedestal. In 1884, the statue was
finished and presented to the United States Minister in Paris and in
the following year it was taken to pieces and shipped in the French
man-of-war, _Isère_. The statue arrived in New York Harbour on
June 17, 1885, and two days later it was taken to Bedloe’s Island. It
was dedicated on October 28, 1886, with much ceremony. The day was
unfortunately misty and foggy. President Cleveland was present and many
distinguished French guests, among whom was M. de Lesseps. The ceremony
is thus described:
“After a prayer by the Rev. Dr. Storrs, the Comte de Lesseps was
introduced and made a brief speech on the part of France, and then
Senator William M. Evarts in an extended address, delivered the statue
to the people of the United States through the President. M. Bartholdi
himself with trembling hand pulled the covering from the face of the
great statue, and when the roar of the answering cannons had in a
measure subsided, President Cleveland, in a few words, accepted the
gift. M. W. A. Lefaivre as the accredited representative of the French
nation, made a short address, and the ceremonies were brought to an end
by an eloquent oration from Mr. Chauncey M. Depew.”
The ideal significance of the statue was thus happily expressed: “We
dedicate this statue to the friendship of nations and the peace of the
world; the spirit of Liberty embraces all races in common brotherhood,
it voices in all languages the same needs and aspirations.”
Figures are rarely interesting; but as Liberty Enlightening the
World is the highest statue in the world, its dimensions are worth
noting. The figure itself is 111 feet high, and to the extremity of
the torch 151–41 feet. The head is 13½ feet high, the thumb is 12
feet in circumference, and the forefinger is 7 feet 11 inches long.
The extremity of the torch is 305 feet 11 inches above mean tide. The
statue may be ascended by means of stairways within; a stairway leads
into the head, which can accommodate forty persons at a time, and a
stairway also leads into the extended arm. The pedestal also contains
stairways and balconies near the top.
The foundation for the pedestal, which is 89 feet high and built of
cut stone, was made within the walls of the old fort. The dimensions
of the pedestal are 63 feet square at the base and 43½ at the top. The
torch and diadem are lighted by electricity. The statue is composed of
300 bronze plates and weighs 220 tons. General Charles P. Stone was the
engineer of the pedestal and Mr. Richard M. Hunt, its architect.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The Author of M’Fingal. These lines are from his _Elegy on the
Times_, published while this first Congress was in session.
[2] From Samuel Adams Drake’s _Historical Mansions and Highways_
(Boston, 1899), by permission of the publishers, Messrs. Little, Brown
& Co.
[3] This is the manner in which he signed his name, and is thus
recorded by him in the Deed of Conveyance in 1785.
[4] From John Fiske’s _Old Virginia and Her Neighbours_ (Boston,
1899), by permission of and special arrangement with Messrs. Houghton,
Mifflin & Co., publishers of Mr. Fiske’s writings.
[5] _William and Mary College Quarterly_, I., 65.
[6] _William and Mary College Quarterly_, III., 263.
[7] _William and Mary College Quarterly_, II., 55–6.
[8] _Partenopeus de Blois_ 1250, ed. Crapelet, I. 45. “She acts
like a woman, and so does well, for under the heavens there is nothing
so daring as the woman who loves, when God wills to turn her that way:
God bless the ladies all!”
[9] In 1872, Mrs. Petigru Carson writes in Appleton’s Journal: “When
the British took Charleston in 1780, they stabled their horses in the
church, and, unhanging the bells, sent them off to London, where they
were dumped on the Tower Wharf. At last the vestry of St. Michael’s
received a letter bidding them expect their bells by a certain ship
sailing from London. The people went in procession to bring up from
the ship their beloved bells, which they had never hoped to listen to
again, and with prayers and thanksgivings they were replaced in the
church tower. The pious benefactor never made himself known, but he was
supposed to have been some British officer who had been at the taking
of Charleston. For seventy years did those bells regulate the social
life of the city. For, not only did they call to worship, and celebrate
all occasions of public joy and sorrow, but nightly they rang a curfew
which ruled everybody’s movements. It was intended to warn the negroes
home at nine o’clock in winter, ten in summer; after that hour they
might not go into the streets without a written pass. All visitors were
expected to take leave at bell-ring.
“Then Sherman’s army passed through leaving its track as of lightning.
A party of half-drunken soldiers, out for a lark and for plunder,
were accosted by a negro who offered to show them the bells which had
rung in secession. ‘Never,’ said the men, ‘shall they play that tune
again!’ and they smashed them into a hundred pieces.” The rector and
congregation despite their poverty consequent on the war wrote to one
Mr. C. R. Prioleau of London to inquire the cost of a new set.
“There was no record at Charleston of where the bells came from.
But Mr. Prioleau searched the directory for the oldest founders of
the city, and went from one to the other, until at Meares & Co.,
Whitechapel, London, a firm which had been in existence three hundred
years, he found, by patient examination, the record of bells cast for
St. Michael’s Church, Charleston, S. C., in 1759. The proportions of
the metal and sizes of the bells were all entered in the books; and the
present Meares engaged to turn out a new set which, when hung, should
make the Charlestonians themselves think they heard the veritable
old bells. But Mr. Prioleau was not content with this; he wrote back
to have all the fragments that could be found sent out--and this was
done. Meanwhile, Meares found still in their service an old man of
seventy-six, who had been apprentice under the very foreman who, more
than a hundred years before, had cast those bells; and he, stimulated
by Prioleau’s generosity, never rested till he brought to light the
very original moulds for the castings. Into them the new metal was
melted with careful distribution of the broken fragments, so as to
make the illusion a reality. All that was wanting to make up the cast,
Mr. Prioleau added, and the reward of his perseverance and generosity
was to send to the vestry these new bells, which are the very old ones
still. Again did the congregation with tears and thanksgiving receive
the bells from this their fifth voyage across the Atlantic, and hung
them up in St. Michael’s steeple.”--E. S.
[10] The City Tavern stood on the site of the “Coffee House,” and was a
distinguished eating restaurant.
[11] The weight of the bell was 2,030 pounds.
[12] Humboldt says that the hill of Chapultepec was chosen by the
young Viceroy Galvez as the site of a villa (Château de Plaisance) for
himself and his successors. The castle has been finished externally,
but the apartments are not yet furnished. The building cost the king
£62,000. The Court of Madrid disapproved of the expense, but, as usual,
after it was laid out. The plan of this edifice is very singular.
The common opinion at Mexico is that the house of the viceroy at
Chapultepec is a disguised fortress.
[13] The Old Manse was built in 1765, for the Rev. William Emerson, and
was owned subsequently by the Rev. Ezra Ripley, who married his widow.
Hawthorne moved here in 1842.
[14] From _Historic Homes of the South-West Mountains, Virginia_
(Philadelphia, 1899).--By permission of Messrs. J. B. Lippincott
Company.
[15] “This house his commissioners had placed for him, as he requested,
facing the river. It was on Front Street south of the present Market
Street, in the centre of a lot which ran back to Second Street, along
Market, and included about half the block. There were no houses then
between Front Street and the river-shore. The house was of brick, and
is still preserved, as we suppose, but has been removed to Fairmount
Park. It was always known as the Letitia House, because he afterwards
gave it, with its large lot, to his daughter. In it, I have no doubt,
many of the early meetings of the Provincial Council were held, and
it may be considered the first state-house of the Province.”--Sidney
George Fisher, _The True William Penn_ (Philadelphia, 1900).
[16] “On their arrival at Philadelphia, he (Logan) and Penn, with Mrs.
Penn and Penn’s daughter, Letitia, lived for a month at the house of
Edward Shippen. After that they moved to the slate-roof house, as it
was called, on the east side of Second Street, north of Walnut. Penn
rented it for two years, and used it for his town residence. His son,
John, was born there, always known as John the American, and it was
afterwards used by Logan as an office for the proprietary business. It
should have been preserved as a relic, for in later years it had many
interesting associations.”--Sidney George Fisher, _The True William
Penn_ (Philadelphia, 1900).
[17] He had had great honours shown to him two years before for the
capture of Fort Duquesne (Fort Pitt).
[18] We may say of this house trade has changed the scene; for the
recess is since filled out to the front with store windows, and the
idea of the bastions, though still there, is lost.
[19] Reprinted by permission of the Editor of the _Catholic World_.
[20] The Indian name of the Hudson.
[21] “Over a deep, black part of the stream, not far from the church,”
says Mr. Irving, in his _Legend of Sleepy Hollow_, “was formerly
thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it and the bridge itself
were thickly shaded by overhanging trees which cast a gloom about it
even in the daytime, but occasioned a fearful darkness at night.”
[22] The Grants, Barons de Longueuil, hold the only Colonial peerage in
the British Empire. Their barony, though created by the Bourbons, is
held in right of their domain in Canada, and as such is now recognized
by the Herald’s office.
[23] From _Rambles in Old Boston_ (Boston, 1887). By permission of
the publishers, Messrs. Cupples, Upham, and Company.
[24] From _When Old New York Was Young_ (New York, 1902). By
permission of the author.
[25] From _Rambles in Old Boston_ (Boston, 1887). By permission of
the publishers, Messrs. Cupples, Upham and Co.
Transcriber’s Notes:
1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been
corrected silently.
2. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have
been retained as in the original.
3. Superscripts are represented using the caret character, e.g. D^r. or
X^{xx}.
4. Italics are shown as _xxx_.
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