The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1892-01-24
OLD new YORK.
Some Historic B2IIS and Homes in The En-
Dire CITY.

In the lower part Of NaTick street stands
an old house which is in the last stages Of
shabby gcntility, and TO which | make
pilgrimage every year. l would doff my
hat to it in passing If | dared to take the
liberty in such a neighb0rh0od. There is
nothing attractive about it, aud people
stare at me as pause in my walk and look
up at the unwaShed windows To their
eyes the house is a diapldIte1 and dirty
tenement which has seen better days, but
deserves no sympathy Oh that account. Io
me ii Is redOleut with the sweetness OF q
vanished youth | recall the bright, red
face " it'll which it shOne upon the street
fifty years ago, and the air Of solid comfort
which eushrinPd It, Then St. Johns
PARK, which filled the double block in
front, was beautiful with catalpa trees, cot
tOnwOOdS, horse chestnutS and the silver
birch, ana It's green acres beSet with paths
Of shining gravel, that wandered between
beds Of tiger lilies. buebells and mariRolds,
and around clusters Of luacS and the rose
of Sharon. The park has been plated out
by hldeOuS depot for freight, and but for
old ST. Johns Church, whose shadow still
falls across the home of my bOYhoOd, |
would think there was some mistake In the
names OF the streets. Yet there can be no
error here. AS if | did not know every
square inch of the stOOp, which | would
have 10 mount slowly now, but up and down
WHOSE BiUNuSIuut steps NY StIdl
feet had once danced meTrily! There
is the iron railing, with its beat and Tusted
ornaments; the aTched doorway, with its
curious side lights; the supporting pillars,
with their quaint carvings. and there, In
hidden corner, is the opening through which
the carrier dropped the Courier and Eu-
Quirer every morning. | turn to the side
walk to see If The sycamore in whose
branches the OriOle lung his nest every
year and futtered the black aud orange ban
ner Of his pIumage is yet standing. but 1t
has gone. Then | remember that | alone
am left Of all the folk who daily crossed the
threshold half century ago.
Brought up with this reverence for things
that are old 1t has grieVpd me to see the his
tOrc homes of New York disappearing one
by one before the icOnOcast who is spoken
of imppTs0ualy as the march Of improve
ment. II was bad enough to see the ak laid
at the root OF clusters OF forest trees and the
plow speeding through the mold Of dainty
gardens, but when the unsympathetic work
men began to pull down tie Old house that
was alike rich in walnscOting and in tradi-
ton, it seemed as if was witnessing the exc
cution Of friend. Such fate is inevitable,
perhaps, and the young fathOuse pays well,
but memory has disappeared. The old
ApthOrpe house has lately been RACED to the
ground, aud the summer residence of Alex
ander Hamilton, the Grange, las been
moved from the commanding site on which
sixth street and Tenth avenue, midway be-
tween the Hudson and the Harlem rivers,
and has been transformed into temporary
chapel for ST. Luke's congregation. The
thirteen trees which the great statesman
planted with his own hands as representa-
tive OF the thirteen States which he, more
than any man of his day. had welded
into an indssoluble union, still hud-
die together inside their shabby
picket fence, but they look ashamed
of their nakedneSS, now that the
landscape has gone. "A garden" wrote
Hamilton, lis a very usual refuge for dis
appointed politician; and he amused him
self ninety years ago in planting flowers
and setting out shrubs around the spacious
and elegant mansion, whose stout oak TIM
bers had been present from his wlfes
father, General Schuyler. 1t has always
seemed a reprOach to the wealthy men OF
the metropolis that none Of them has reached
out hand TO save to future generations the
home reared by the father of American
finance and the trees his hands had planted.
1t Is too late now to save anything but the
trees, and they may soon be gone.--tellX
Oldboy in Frank Lesle'S Popular Monthly
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