they make my presence a pretext for firing on the town, the first house set in flames by their guns shall be the funeral pile of some of their best friends." It is hardly necessary to add that the fleet gave the city no trouble. It may have been because Lee's words were repeated to Captain Parker of the "Asia." After the British evacuated Boston, General Washington at once hastened to New York, believing that Lord Howe would immediately attack the city. The American commander arrived on the 14th of May and pushed forward the organization of troops and the fortification of the rivers and harbor. A few skeleton mounds and ditches still remain on the upper end of the island, to point the spot where the spade came to the aid of the musket. This was neither the first nor the second visit of Washington to the city of New York. The handsome young Virginia Colonel had stopped at the town-house of Colonel Beverly Robinson when on his way to Boston, in 1756, to consult General Shirley. The two were old acquaintances. It was Colonel Robinson's father who, as Speaker of the Virginia House of Burgesses, had relieved the blushing modesty of the hero of Fort Duquesne, when the latter rose to stammer out his thanks for the resolutions giving him the credit of having saved the remnant of Braddock's army. "Sit down, Mr. Washington," said the Speaker with rare tact; "your modesty is equal to your valor, and that surpasses the power of any language that I possess." So it was natural that Washington, when visiting New York, should seek the friendly roof of Colonel Robinson, and perhaps quite as natural, also, that he should become deeply enamored of Miss Mary Phillipse, the beautiful sister of Mrs. Robinson. Tradition avers that the Virginia Colonel proposed, only to find himself rejected in favor of Colonel Roger Morris, who had served with him in the French and Indian war as an aid to General Braddock. The sequel of the story is stranger than fiction could have fashioned it. Mary Phillipse was attainted of treason during the Revolution, and the entire Phil lipse estate was confiscated, because she had followed the fortunes of her husband. What of fame and position came to Washington the world knows. It was during the occupation of New OLD FORT GEORGE. York by the Continental forces under Washington, that the Congress at Philadelphia issued the Declaration of Independence. A copy of the document was immediately forwarded to the Commander-in-Chief, with instructions to have it read to the several brigades of the army. It was received on the 9th of July, and the same evening, at six o'clock, the brigades were formed in hollow square on their respective parade grounds, to hear the decisive action taken by Congress. General Washington was within one of the squares on horseback, surrounded by his staff, while one of his aids read the Declaration. This square was formed on the grounds of the present City Hall Park, between the City Hall and the new Post-Office building. The soldiers sealed their approval of the step taken by Congress by giving three hearty cheers. The occasion was made still more notable by the release from prison of all poor debtors. Among the spectators who listened to the new political departure was Captain Isaac Sears, accompanied by a party of friends on horseback. The simple ceremonial at headquarters must have made a deep impression on them, but it was not enough for their fiery souls. They had acquired a habit of celebrating such occasions by acts that savored more of zeal than law. Scarcely had the last files of soldiery wheeled away to their barracks, when a cry arose, "To the Bowling Green!" Perhaps a plan of action had been mooted previously. Be that as it may, the crowd surged down Broadway, increasing at every step, headed by Sears and his horsemen. Soon they were joined by some of the Continental soldiers, many of the buff and blue uniforms of Glover's Marblehead regiments being conspicuous among them. Neemaum, an Indian chief, was there also, a wondering spectator, and the negro population of the city turned out en masse as to a general holiday. Arrived at the Bowling Green, there was short space for consultation. The ardent patriots had just heard King George the Third denounced as a tyrant and usurper of unauthorized powers; his statue stood before them. It had been erected by the representatives of the people, and the people themselves were there to decree its destruction. It was a life-size equestrian statue. A gilded crown rested on the royal head; one hand held the bridle, and the other rested on the hilt of his sword. The material was lead, an article of which the patriots were much in need. Around the green a handsome iron railing had been erected in 1771 at a cost of £800. There were enough mechanics in the throng to level the iron barrier, and this was quickly accomplished. They even twisted off the heads of the spikes to hurl them from the mouth of cannon at the British fleet in the harbor. As soon as the railing was removed, men climbed upon the statue, twisted stout ropes around the neck of King and horse, and, when all was ready, gave the signal to the cheering crowd to pull with a will. A hint was sufficient; no exhortation was needed. The royal statue soon lay prostrate, subject to every indignity that an excited populace could heap upon it. Axes were at hand, and the leaden bulk was speedily chopped into fragments ready for the fire and the bullet mold. The main portions of the statue were sent to a place of safety at Litchfield, Conn., and there the family of Governor Wolcott speedily transmuted them into bullets, fulfilling the threat of a patriotic New Yorker, that the British troops would probably "have melted majesty fired at them." Forty-two thousand ball cartridges were manufactured from this source, and a record found among the papers of Governor Wolcott showed that Mrs. Marvin had made 6,058 cartridges, Ruth Marvin 11,592, Laura Marvin 8,370, Mary Marvin 10,790, etc. Such was the temper of the mothers and daughters of that day. An attempt was made to connect General Washington with the destruction of the statue, but it failed. He knew nothing of the affair until it was ended. The next day, however, having learned that some of the soldiers were present and assisting, he issued an order warning them not to countenance any such riotous proceedings in future. It was right that Washington should maintain discipline among his troops, but New York will always sympathize with the men who overturned the King's statue. The Bowling Green henceforth became associated with the first daring blows struck for independence. It is worthy of remark that, during the eight months of 1776 in which the Continental army occupied New York, the houses and property of loyalists were untouched by the needy Colonial leaders. It must be confessed again here, that the wealth and aristocracy of the city either inclined to royalty, or waited to see which side would win. Some families, like that of Robert Murray, were divided in sentiment. In this particular case the staid Quaker merchant inclined to King and Parliament, while his wife and daughters were ardently devoted to the buff and blue of Congress. Oliver De Lancey was a royalist without reserve. The Waltons, again, were of the number who thought it best to temporize and see whether Washington's raw recruits could do as well elsewhere as at Lexington and Bunker Hill. entrance boasted a massive portico with fluted columns. Two rows of balustrades encircled the roof. A grand mahogany staircase occupied the center of the house. Some of the great rooms were paneled in Down in the busiest portion of Pearl street, in Franklin Square, near Peck Slip, there stands a large building whose shabby gentility and antique air would invite the gaze of the passing stranger, even if he heeded not the legend, "Old Walton House," smeared across its front in black letters. It looks like a worthy object of private or public charity. Built of brick with stone trimmings of the last century style, its prevailing color is a yellowish brown, relieved by the Quaker drab of the stone-work. The windows are large and square, but the panes of glass are small and numerous. The spacious interior affords room for half a dozen stores, and an army of tenants populate the remote interior. Fruit, candies, pictures, and (tell it not in the fashionable Gath of England!) junk are the attractions flaunted by the signs that adorn its walls, and the whole is capped by a placard announcing "Boarding" for such unfortunates as may venture to apply. The old house has long ago seen its best days, but, if walls have memories as well as ears, it can recall scenes it has witnessed that would make Madison Avenue envious. It is a wreck now, and out of place-stranded among a people with whom it has no sympathy. But it has a history, and something of our Centennial's glory will soon light up its worn and aged face. The house was built in 1754 by William Walton, a wealthy merchant and "Member of His Majesty's Council for the Province of New York." When he selected the site, people asked with amazement why he proposed to build so far out of town. At that time there was only one building on the south side of Pearl (then Queen) street, between Peck Slip and Cherry, and only four or five in the neighborhood of Franklin Square. When completed, the Walton mansion was the wonder of the day. The main THE WALTON HOUSE IN ITS PRIME. oak, richly carved, while the walls of others were hung with stamped leather, heavily gilded, which was then extremely fashionable, and is now once more coming into use. The bright yellow bricks, of which the building was constructed, were brought from Holland; the live oak used for timbers was imported from England, and the tiles of the great sloping roof were of Dutch make. The pediment was ornamented with two angels carved in stone, who supported the Walton coat-of-arms. The house was magnificently furnished, and its gilding, carving, tapestries, carpets, and gold and silver plate were the talk and marvel of the town. In one of the upper rooms traces of the superb carvings still remain, and those who are curious enough to explore will find among sights and smells worthy of the famous city of Cologne, some remains of the porcelain tiles that adorned the fire-places, elaborately set with flowers and birds. Walton spared no expense in the erection and furnishing of his mansion, but he would never tell the sums he had expended upon it. The fame of his Sybaritic dwelling extended to England, and it was quoted in Parliament as an example of colonial extravagance and a proof of the ability of the people to pay the royal taxes. It is singular to read that in his day the THE OLD PROVOST PRISON. Hon. William Walton, Esquire, Member of His Majesty's Council, was known as "Boss" Walton. Whence he acquired the title is uncertain. His wealth was inherited from his father, Captain William Walton, who sailed his own ships and made a large fortune by successful ventures. It is fair to presume, therefore, that the "Boss" of the last century was not the head of a Ring, and knew nothing of unauthorized municipal contracts. He entertained regally. His hospitality attracted out of the city the equipages of the merchant princes with their liveried footmen. Their host, whose portrait represents him as a man of robust build, attired in brown velvet coat with long-flapped waistcoat of white satin, welcomed them to a table crowned with ancient Burgundy and Madeira. In the ample gardens, which then stretched down to the East River with no intervening streets, the beauties of the day, charming to the eye in petticoats of satin and sacques of silk, with long pointed waists gathered at the peak by golden cords, and nebulous with lace,-sauntered in the early evening, listening to the love tales of their cavaliers. Grand as was the display at din ners and parties, the good people of those times kept early hours. Public dances were advertised to begin "precisely at five o'clock in the evening," and to be abroad at a private party after nine o'clock was an exception upon which the best society frowned. In its gayest days, the old Walton House closed its shutters at ten o'clock. Of the churches that were standing in New York in 1776, but two remain, and only one of them is now occupied for public worship. St. Paul's Church, in Broadway between Vesey and Fulton streets, is apparently in as good condition as when it was first opened, though it no longer gathers within its walls a congregation of wealthy and eminent citizens, but is content with doing a missionary work among the poor. The corner-stone of this beautiful edifice was laid in a wheatfield near the Commons in 1764. At that time the fashion of the city was gathered near the Bowling Green, and people criticised the folly of building a church so far out of town that it would take a century to gather a substantial congregation within it. Shortly after the arrival of the American troops in New York, St. Paul's was closed for a season, but, on the advent of Lord Howe, his military chaplain, the Rev. Dr. O'Meara, opened it and preached there. In September, 1776, the sacred edifice had a narrow escape from fire. Trinity Church was burned and the entire district between that locality and Fulton street, but, though the roof of St. Paul's was repeatedly set on fire by sparks and cinders, the citizens succeeded in quenching the flames. There is probably no building in the city which has preserved its revolutionary memories so well as old St. Paul's. It is little changed from its ancient comeliness, though everything in its vicinity has undergone a complete transformation. Built to face the river, and originally looking out upon the wooded shores of New Jersey, custom has reversed the ancient order, and the chancel end on Broadway is usually spoken of as the front. Its quiet graveyard now seems strangely out of place among the neighboring temples of business. The sleepers there have witnessed every change that has swept over the city since the Colonial Governor sat in vice-regal style in the royal pew. Its graves are garlanded every summer with flowers, through the pious care of the vestry, and the names inscribed on the head-stones tell the social record of the city in the last century. But the spot most attractive to resident or stranger is the monument raised against the chancel end of the church and facing Broadway, on which the inscription reads as follows: This Monument is erected by order of Congress to transmit to posterity a grateful remembrance of the patriotic conduct, enterprise and perseverance of Major-General Richard Montgomery, who, after a series of successes amid the most discouraging difficulties, Fell in the attack on Quebec, 31st of December, 1775, aged 37 years. If Massachusetts furnished, in the person of Dr. Warren, the first martyr-leader of the Revolution, New York gave to the patriot army and to an early grave one of the most brilliant soldiers of the century. There is, probably, no monumental inscription so frequently read as that of General Montgomery. He who passes on the street can easily decipher it, and there is not a pleasant day that does not witness little groups peering through the iron railings to study the record of the gallant young patriot whose praises were sounded in Parliament by Barré, Burke, and Chatham, and whose loss was felt throughout the colonies to be a public calamity. Trinity Church, which was the most aristocratic place of worship in old New York, was an edifice that made more pretensions than St. Paul's, but was its inferior in architectural beauty. The original building was opened for divine service in February, 1697, under the rectorship of the Rev. William Vesey. It was enlarged in 1735, and its steeple, which a contemporaneous journal speaks of as "splendid and superb," was pointed out to strangers with most devout pride. But even pride must have a fall, and, in the great fire of 1776, its interior was entirely destroyed, and only its stone walls and a portion of its spire were left standing. The ruins remained uncared for until 1788, when a new building was reared on the old site, and it in turn gave place to the present fine edifice in 1846. Dr. Charles Inglis, a devoted royalist, was rector during the entire period of the Revolution, retiring to Nova Scotia when it became evident that the colonies would achieve their independence. The great fire of 1776 broke out on the night of September 20th in a low groggery near the Whitehall. It took its course up the west side of Broad street as far as Flattenbarrack Hill (Exchange Place), burning everything in its way. Thence, crossing Broadway, it destroyed Trinity Church and some few houses below it, and from the church it swept upward to Barclay (then Mortkile) street and King's College. Four hundred and ninety-three buildings were destroyed, and an immense amount of property. New York has never since suffered so severely, in proportion, by fire. A visit to the church-yard of old Trinity will amply repay the trouble. It is rich in monuments of the past. There sleeps the dust of William Bradford, printer, in whose office Benjamin Franklin sought employment when he came to this city at the age of sixteen, seeking his fortune. The vault of Col. Marinus Willett, soldier of the Revolution, |