A Little Girl in Old New York

by Amanda M. Douglas

Steve was building his new house and they thought to get in it by the fall. It was on the plot Dolly's father had given her at Twentieth Street near Fifth Avenue. The Coventry Waddells, who were really the leaders of fashionable society, were erecting a very handsome and picturesque mansion on Murray Hill, between Fifth and Sixth avenues on Thirty-eighth Street. The grounds took the whole block. There were towers and gables and oriels, and a large conservatory that was to contain all manner of rare plants, native as well as foreign. But everybody thought it quite out in the country.

Steve laughingly said they would have fine neighbors. The Waddells were noted for their delightful entertaining.

They took Aunt Eunice a walk down Broadway to show her the sights. The "dollar side" had become the accepted promenade. Already there were some quite notable people who were pointed out to visitors. You could see Mr. N. P. Willis, who was then at the zenith of his fame. When a Sunday-school entertainment wanted to give something particularly fine, the best speaker recited his poem, "The Leper," which was considered very striking. There was Lewis Gaylord Clark, of The Knickerbocker, who wrote charming letters, and these two were admitted to be very handsome men. There was George P. Morris, whose songs were sung everywhere, and not a few literary ladies. There was the Broadway swell in patent-leather boots and trousers strapped tightly down, in the style the boys irreverently called pegtops. He had a high-standing collar, a fancy tie, a light silk waistcoat with a heavy watch-chain and seal, a coat with large, loose sleeves, a high hat, and carried his cane under his arm, while, as one of the writers of the day said, "he ambled along daintily."

Then you might meet the Hammersley carriage with its footman and livery that had made quite a talk. Young and handsome Mrs. Little, whose marriage to an old man had been the gossip of the season, sat in elegant state with her coachman in dark blue. Now one hardly notes the handsome equipages, or the livery either.

But the "Bowery boy" was as great a feature of the time as the Broadway swell. He, too, wore a silk hat, and it generally had a three-inch mourning band. His hair was worn in long, well-oiled locks in front, combed up with a peculiar twist. He wore a broad collar turned over, and a sailor tie, a flashy vest with a large amount of seal and chain, and wide trousers turned up. His coat he carried on his arm when the weather permitted, and he always had a cigar in the lower corner of his mouth. He walked with a swagger and a swing that took half the sidewalk. He ran "wid de machine," and a fire was his delight; to get into a fight his supreme happiness. He really did not frequent the Bowery so much as the side streets. There were little stores where cigars and beer were sold, something stronger perhaps, and they were generally kept by some old lady who could also get up a meal on a short notice after a fire. On summer nights they had chairs out in front of the door, and tilting back on two legs would smoke and take their comfort. For diversion they went to Vauxhall Garden or the pit of the Bowery Theatre. Yet they were quite a picturesque feature of old New York.

Bowery and Grand Street were the East Side's shopping marts. Stewart was building a marble palace at the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street. You went to Division and Canal streets for your bonnets. There were a few private milliners who made to order and imported.

There were sails and short journeys to take even then. Elysian Fields had not lost all its glory. And yet the little girl was quite disappointed in her visit to it. She had lived in the country, you know, she had looked off the Sound at Rye Beach and seen the Hudson from Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow, and really there were lovely spots up the old Bloomingdale road. And she had pictured this as beyond all.

Aunt Eunice was very much struck with the changes. Her surprise really delighted the little girl. They took her over in Hammersley Street. Old Mr. Bounett seemed quite feeble, and though he was not in his court attire, he had a ruffled shirt-front and small-clothes. Aunt Eunice thought him delightful. It seemed queer to think of a French quarter in New York in the old part of the last century where people met and read from the French poets and dramatists, and almost believed when civilization set in earnestly, French must be the polite language of the day.

The little girl felt quite as if she was one of the hostesses of the city. She knew so many strange things and could find her way about so well. And yet she was only ten years old.

Aunt Eunice thought her a quaint, delightful little body, and wise for her years. But she was small. Nora Whitney had outgrown her and the Dean children were getting so large. As for the boys, they grew like weeds, and the trouble now was what to do with Ben. There was no free academy in those days, but the public school gave you a good and thorough education in the useful branches.