CHAPTER VI.

  “Nay, be brief:
  I see into thy end, and am almost
  A man already.”

  Cymbeline.

As Dirck accompanied Miss Mordaunt to her father's house in Crown Street, 10 I took an occasion to give Jason the slip, being in no humour to listen to his lectures on the proprieties of life, and left the Pinkster field as fast as I could. Notwithstanding the size and importance of New York, a holiday like this could not fail to draw great crowds of persons to witness the sports. In 1757, James de Lancey was at the head of the government of the province, as indeed he had been, in effect, for much of his life; and I remember to have met his chariot, carrying the younger children of the family to the field, on my way into the town. As the day advanced, carriages of one sort and another made their appearance in Broadway, principally conveying the children of their different owners. All these belonged to people of the first mark; and I saw the Ship that denotes the arms of Livingston, the Lance, of the de Lanceys, the Burning Castle, of the Morrises, and other armorial bearings that were well known in the province. Carriages, certainly, were not as common in 1757 as they have since become; but most of our distinguished people rode in their coaches, chariots, or phaetons, or conveyances of some sort or other, when there was occasion to go so far out of town as the Common, which is the site of the present “Park.” The roads on the island of Manhattan were very pretty and picturesque, winding among rocks and through valleys, being lined with groves and copses in a way to render all the drives rural and retired. Here and there, one came to a country-house, the residence of some person of importance, which, by its comfort and snugness, gave all the indications of wealth and of a prudent taste. Mr. Speaker Nicoll had 11 occupied a dwelling of this sort for a long series of years, that was about a league from town, and which is still standing, as I pass it constantly in travelling between Satanstoe and York. I never saw the Patentee myself, as he died long before my birth; but his house near town still stands, as I have said, a memorial of past ages!

The whole town seemed alive, and everybody had a desire to get a glance at the sports of the Pinkster Field; though the more dignified and cultivated had self-denial enough to keep aloof, since it would hardly have comported with their years and stations to be seen in such a place. The war had brought many regiments into the province, however, and I met at least twenty young officers, strolling out to the scene of amusement, as I walked into town. I will confess I gazed at these youths with admiration, and not entirely without envy, as they passed me in pairs, laughing and diverting themselves with the grotesque groups of blacks that were occasionally met, coming in from their sports. These young men I knew had enjoyed the advantages of being educated at home, some of them, quite likely, in the Universities, and all of them amid the high civilization and taste of England. I say all of them, too hastily; as there were young men of the colonies among them, who probably had not enjoyed these advantages. The easy air, self-possession, and quiet, what shall I call it?—insolence would be too strong a word, and a term that I, the son and grandson of old king's officers, would not like to apply, and yet it comes nearest to what I mean as applicable to the covert manner of these young men—but, whatever it was, that peculiar air of metropolitan superiority over provincial ignorance and provincial dependence, which certainly distinguished all the younger men of this class, had an effect on me, I find it difficult to describe. I was a loyal subject, loved the King,—most particularly since he was so identified with the Protestant succession,—loved all of the blood-royal, and wished for nothing more than the honour and lustre of the English crown. One thus disposed could not but feel amicably towards the King's officers; yet, I will confess, there were moments when this air of ill-concealed superiority, this manner that so much resembled that of the master towards the servant, the superior to the dependent, the patron to the client, gave me deep offence, and feelings so bitter, that I was obliged to struggle hard to suppress them. But this is Anticipating, and is interrupting the course of my narrative. I am inclined to think there must always be a good deal of this feeling, where the relation of principal and dependant exists, as between distinct territories.

I was a good deal excited, and a little fatigued with the walk and the incidents of the morning, and determined to proceed at once to Duke Street, and share the cold dinner of my aunt; for few private families in York, that depended on regular cooks for their food, had anything served warm on their tables, for that and the two succeeding days. Here and there a white substitute was found, it is true, and we had the benefit of such an assistant at half-past one. It was the English servant of a Col. Mosely, an officer of the army, who was intimate at my uncle's, and who had had the civility to offer a man for this occasion. I afterwards ascertained, that many officers manifested the same kind spirit towards various other families in which they visited on terms of friendship.

Marriages between young English officers and our pretty, delicate York belles, were of frequent occurrence, and I had felt a twinge or two, on the subject of Anneke, that morning, as I passed the youths of the 55th, 60th, or Loyal Americans, 17th, and other regiments that were then in the province.

My aunt was descending from the drawing-room, in dinner dress—for that no lady ever neglects, even though she dines on a cold dumpling. As I opened the street-door, Mrs. Legge was not coming down alone to take her seat at table, but, having some extra duty to perform in consequence of the absence of most of her household, she was engaged in that service. Seeing me, however, she stopped on the landing of the stains, and beckoned me to approach.

“Corny,” she said, “what have you been doing, my child, to have drawn this honour upon you?”

“Honour!—I am ignorant of having even received any. What can you mean, my dear aunt?”

“Here is Herman Mordaunt waiting to see you, in the drawing-room. He asked particularly for you;—wishes to see you—expresses his regrets that you are not in, and talks only of you!”

“In which case, I ought to hasten up stairs in order to receive him, as soon as possible. I will tell you all about it at dinner, aunt;—excuse me now.”

Away I went, with a beating heart, to receive a visit from Anneke's father. I can scarcely give a reason why this gentleman was usually called, when he was spoken of, and sometimes when he was spoken to, Herman Mordaunt; unless, indeed, it were, that being in part of Dutch extraction, the name which denoted the circumstance (Hermanus—pronounced by the Hollanders, Hermaanus,) was used by a portion of the population in token of the fact, and adopted by others in pure compliance. But Herman Mordaunt was he usually styled; and this, too, in the way of respect, and not as coarse-minded persons affect to speak of their superiors, or in a way to boast of their own familiarity. I should have thought it an honour, at my time of life, to receive a visit from Herman Mordaunt; but my heart fairly beat, as I have said, as I went hastily up stairs, to meet Anneke's father.

My uncle was not in, and I found my visitor waiting for me, alone, in the drawing-room. Aware of the state of the family, and of all families, indeed, during Pinkster, he had insisted on my aunt's quitting him, while he looked over some new books that had recently been received from home; among which was a new and very handsome edition of the Spectator, a work that enjoys a just celebrity throughout the colonies.

Mr. Mordaunt advanced to receive me with studied politeness, yet a warmth that could not well be counterfeited, the instant I approached. Nevertheless, his manner was easy and natural; and to me he appeared to be the highest-bred man I had ever seen.

“I am thankful that the debt of gratitude I owe you, my young friend,” he said, at once, and without preface of any sort, unless that of manner be so received, “is due to the son of a gentleman I so much esteem as Evans Littlepage. A loyal subject, an honest man, and a well-connected and well-descended gentleman, like him, may well be the parent of a brave youth, who does not hesitate to face even lions, in defence of the weaker sex.”

“I cannot affect to misunderstand you, sir,” I answered; “and I sincerely congratulate you that matters are no worse; though you greatly overrate the danger. I doubt if even a lion would have the heart to hurt Miss Mordaunt, were she in his power.”

I think this was a very pretty speech, for a youth of twenty; and I confess I look back upon it, even now, with complacency. If I occasionally betray weakness of this character, I beg the reader to recollect that I am acting in the part of an honest historian, and that it is my aim to conceal nothing that ought to be known.

Herman Mordaunt did not resume his seat, on account of the lateness of the hour, (half-past one); but he made me professions of friendship, and named Friday, the first moment when he could command the services of his domestics, when I should dine with him. The army had introduced later hours than was usual; and this invitation was given for three o'clock; it being said, at the time, as I well remember, that persons of fashion in London sat down to table even later than this. After remaining with me five minutes, Herman Mordaunt took his leave. Of course, I accompanied him to the door, where we parted with many bows.

At dinner, I told my uncle and aunt all that had occurred, and was glad to hear them both speak so favourably of my new acquaintances.

“Herman Mordaunt might be a much more considerable man than he is,” observed my uncle, “were he disposed to enter into public life. He has talents, a good education, a very handsome estate, and is well-connected in the colony, certainly; some say at home, also.”

“And Anneke is a sweet young thing,” added my aunt; “and, since Corny was to assist any young lady, I am heartily glad it was Anneke. She is an excellent creature, and her mother was one of my most intimate friends, as she was of my sister Littlepage, too. You must go and inquire after her health, this evening, Corny. Such an attention is due, after what has passed all round.”

Did I wish to comply with this advice? Out of all question; and yet I was too young, and too little at my ease, to undertake this ceremony, without many misgivings. Luckily, Dirck came in, in the evening; and my aunt repeating her opinion before my friend, he at once declared it was altogether proper, and that he thought Anneke would have a right to expect it. As he offered to be my companion, we were soon on our way to Crown Street, in which Mr. Mordaunt owned and inhabited a very excellent house. We were admitted by Mr. Mordaunt himself, not one of his blacks, having yet returned from the Pinkster field.

Dirck appeared to be on the best terms, not only with Herman Mordaunt, but with his charming daughter. I had observed that the latter always called him “cousin Dirck,” and I hardly knew whether to interpret this as a sign of particular or of family regard. That Dirck was fonder of Anneke Mordaunt than of any other human being, I could easily see; and I confess that the discovery already began to cause uneasiness. I loved Dirck, and wished he loved any one else but the very being I feared he did.

Herman Mordaunt showed me the way, up the noble, wide, mahogany-garnished staircase of his dwelling, and ushered us into a very handsome, though not very large, but well-lighted drawing-room. There sat Anneke, his daughter, in the loveliness of her maiden charms, a little more dressed than usual, perhaps, for she had three or four young and lovely girls with her, and five or six young men; among whom were no less than three scarlet coats.

I shall not attempt to conceal my weakness. Only twenty, inexperienced and unaccustomed to town society, I felt awkward and unpleasantly the instant I entered the room; nor did the feeling subside during the first half-hour. Anneke came forward, one or two steps, to meet me; and I could see, she was almost as much confused, as I was myself. She blushed, as she thanked me for the service I had rendered, and expressed her satisfaction that her father had been fortunate enough to find me at home, and had had an opportunity of saying a little of what he felt, on the occasion. She then invited me to be seated, naming me to the company, and telling me who two or three of the young ladies were. From these last I received sundry approving smiles; which I took as so many thanks for serving their friend; while I could not help seeing that I was an object of examination to most of the men present. The three officers, in particular, looked at me the most intently, and the longest.

“I trust, your little accident, which could have been of no great moment, in itself, since you escaped so well, did not have the effect to prevent you from enjoying the rare fun of this Pinkster affair?” said one of the scarlet coats, as soon as the movement caused by my reception had subsided.

“You call it a 'little accident,' Mr. Bulstrode,” returned Anneke, with a reproachful shake of her pretty head, “but, I can assure you, it is not a trifle, to a young lady, to find herself in the paws of a lion.”

“Serious accident, then; since, I see, you are resolved to consider yourself a victim;” rejoined the other; “but, not serious enough, I trust, to deprive you of the fun?”

“Pinkster fields, and Pinkster frolics, are no novelties to us, sir, as they occur every season; and I am just old enough not to have missed one of them all, for the last twelve years.”

“We heard you had been 'out,” put in another red-coat, whom I had heard called Billings, “accompanied by a little army, of what Bulstrode called, the Light Infantry.”

Here three or four of the other young ladies joined in the discourse, at once, protesting against Mr. Bulstrode's placing their younger sisters in the army, in so cavalier a manner; an accusation that Mr. Bulstrode endeavoured to parry, by declaring his hopes of having them all, not only in the army, but in his own regiment, one day or other. At this, there was a certain amount of mirth, and various protestations of an unwillingness to enlist; in which, I was glad to see, that neither Anneke, nor her most intimate friend, Mary Wallace, saw fit to join, I liked their reserve of manner, far better than the girlish trifling of their companions; and, I could see, that all the men respected them the more for it. There was a good deal of general and disjointed conversation that succeeded; which I shall not pretend to follow or relate, but confine myself to such observations as had a bearing on matters that were connected with myself.

As none of the young soldiers were addressed by their military titles, such things never occurring in the better circles, as I now discovered, and, least of all, in those connected with the army, I was not able, at the time, to ascertain the rank of the three red-coats; though I afterwards ascertained, that the youngest was an ensign, of the name of Harris; a mere boy, and the younger son of a member of Parliament. The next oldest, Billings, was a captain, and was said to be a natural son of a nobleman; while Bulstrode was actually the oldest son of a baronet, of three or four thousand a year, and had already bought his way up as high as a Majority, though only four-and-twenty. This last was a handsome fellow, too; nor had I been an hour in his company, before I saw, plainly enough, that he was a strong admirer of Anneke Mordaunt. The other two evidently admired themselves too much, to have any very lively feelings on the subject of other persons. As for Dirck, younger than myself, and diffident, as well as slow by nature, he kept himself altogether in the back-ground, conversing, most of the time, with Herman Mordaunt, on the subject of farming.

We had been together an hour, and I had acquired sufficient ease to change my seat, and to look at a picture or two, which adorned the walls, and which were said to be originals, from the Old World; for, to own the truth, the art of painting has not made much progress in the colonies. We have painters, it is true, and one or two are said to be men of rare merit, the ladies being very fond of sitting to them for their portraits; but these are exceptions. At a future day, when critics shall have immortalized the names of a Smybert, and a Watson, and a Blackburn, the people of these provinces will become aware of the talents they once possessed among them; and the grandchildren of those who neglected these men of genius, in their day—ay, their descendants to the latest generations—will revenge the wrongs of merit and talent, to the end of civilized time. It is a failing of colonies to be diffident of their own opinions; but I have heard gentlemen, who were educated at home, and who possessed cultivated and refined tastes, affirm that the painters of Europe, when visiting this hemisphere, have retained all their excellence; and have painted as freely and as well, under an American, as under a European sun. As for a sister art, the Thespian muse had actually made her appearance among us, five years before the time of my visit to town in 1757, or in 1752; a theatre having actually been built and opened in Nassau Street in 1753, with a company under the care of the celebrated Hallam, and his family. This theatre I had been dying to visit, while it stood, for as yet I had never witnessed a theatrical performance; but my mother's injunctions prevented me from entering it while at college. “When you are old enough, Corny,” she used to say, “you shall have my permission to go as often as is proper; but you are now of an age, when Shakspeare and Rowe might unsettle your Latin and Greek.” My task of obedience had not been very difficult, inasmuch as the building in Nassau Street, the second regular theatre ever erected in British America, was taken down, and a church erected in its place. 12 The comedians went to the islands, and had not reappeared on the continent down to the period of which I am now writing; nor did their return occur until the following year. That they were expected, however, and that a new house had been built for them, in another part of the town, I was aware, though month after month passed away, and the much-expected company did not appear. I had understood, however, that the large military force collecting in the colony, would be likely to bring them back soon; and the conversation soon took a turn, that proved how much interest the young, the gay, and the fair, felt in the result. I was still looking at a picture, when Mr. Bulstrode approached me, and entered into conversation. It will be remembered, that this gentleman was four years my senior; that he had been at one of the universities; was the heir to a baronetcy; knew the world; had risen to a Majority in the army, and was by nature, as well as training, agreeable, when he had a mind to be, and genteel. These circumstances, I could not but feel, gave him a vast advantage over me; and I heartily wished that we stood anywhere but in the presence of Anneke Mordaunt, as he thus saw fit to single me out for invidious comparison, by a sort of tête-à-tête, or aside. Still, I could not complain of his manner, which was both polite and respectful; though I could scarce divest myself of the idea, that he was covertly amusing himself, the whole time.

“You are a fortunate man, Mr. Littlepage,” he commenced, “in having had it in your power to do so important a service to Miss Mordaunt. We all envy you your luck, while we admire your spirit, and I feel certain the men of our regiment will take some proper notice of it. Miss Anneke is in possession of half our hearts, and we should be still more heartless to overlook such a service.”

I muttered some half-intelligible answer to this compliment, and my new acquaintance proceeded.

“I am almost surprised, Mr. Littlepage,” he added, “that a man of your spirit does not come among us in times as stirring as these. They tell me both your father and grandfather served, and that you are quite at your ease. You will find a great many men of merit and fashion among us, and I make no doubt they would contribute to make your time pass agreeably enough. Large reinforcements are expected, and if you are inclined for a pair of colours, I think I know a battalion in which there are a vacancy or two, and which will certainly serve in the colonies. It would afford me great pleasure to help to further your views, should you be disposed to turn them towards the army.”

Now all this was said with an air of great apparent frankness and sincerity, which I fancied was only the more visible from the circumstance that Anneke was so seated as unavoidably to hear every word of what was said. I observed that she even turned her eyes on me as I made my answer, though I did not dare so far to observe her in turn as to note their expression.

“I am very sensible, Mr. Bulstrode, of the liberality and kindness of your intentions,” I answered steadily enough, for pride came to my assistance, “though I fear it will not be in my power to profit by it at once, if ever. My grandfather is still living, and he has much influence over me and my fortune, and I know it is his wish that I should remain at Satanstoe.”

“Where?” demanded Bulstrode, with more quickness and curiosity than strictly comported with good-breeding perhaps.

“Satanstoe; I do not wonder you smile, for it has an odd sound, but it is the name my grandfather has given the family place in Westchester. Given, I have said, though translated would be better, as I understand the present appellation is pretty literally rendered into English from the Dutch.”

“I like the name exceedingly, Mr. Littlepage, and I feel certain I should like your good, old, honest, Anglo-Saxon grandfather. But, pardon me, it is his wish you should remain at Satansfoot?”

“Satanstoe, sir; we do not aspire to the whole foot. It is my grandfather's wish that I remain at home until of age, which will not be now for some months.”

“By way of keeping you out of Satan's footsteps, I suppose. Well, these old gentlemen are often right. Should you alter your views, however, my dear Littlepage, do not forget me, but remember you can count on one who has some little influence, and who will ever be ready to exert it in the behalf of one who has proved so serviceable to Miss Mordaunt. Sir Harry is a martyr to the gout, and talks of letting me stand in his place at the dissolution. In that case my wishes will naturally carry more weight. I like that name of Satanstoe amazingly!”

“I am infinitely obliged to you, Mr. Bulstrode, though I will confess I have never looked forward to rising in the world by taxing my friends. One may own that he has had some hopes founded on merit and honesty—”

“Poh! poh!—my dear Littlepage, honesty is a very pretty thing to talk about, but I suppose you remember what Juvenal says on that interesting subject—“probitas laudatur et alget.” I dare say you are fresh enough from college to remember that comprehensive sentiment.”

“I have never read Juvenal, Mr. Bulstrode, and never wish to, if such be the tendency of what he teaches—”

“Juvenal was a satirist, you know,” interrupted Bulstrode a little hastily, for by this time he too had ascertained that Anneke was listening, and he betrayed some eagerness to get rid of so flagitious a sentiment; “and satirists speak of things as they are, rather than as they ought to be. I dare say Rome deserved all she got, for the moralists give a very sad account of her condition. Of all the large capitals of which we have any account, London is the only town of even tolerable manners.”

What young Bulstrode would have ventured to say next, it is out of my power to guess; for a certain Miss Warren, who was of the company, and who particularly affected the youth, luckily called out at this critical instant—

“Your attention one moment, if you please, Mr. Bulstrode; is it true that the gentlemen of the army have been getting the new theatre in preparation, and that they intend to favour us with some representations? A secret something like this has just leaked out, from Mr. Harris, who even goes so far as to add that you can tell us all about it.”

“Mr. Harris must be put under an arrest for this, though I hear the colonel let the cat out of the bag, at the Lt. Governor's table, as early as last week.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Bulstrode,” Anneke observed calmly, “that I have heard rumours to this effect for quite a fortnight. You must not blame Mr. Harris solely, for your whole regiment has been hinting to the same purpose far and near.”

“Then the delinquent will escape, this time. I confess the charge; we have hired the new theatre, and do intend to solicit the honour of the ladies coming to hear me murder Cato, and Scrub; a pretty climax of characters, you will admit, Miss Mordaunt?”

“I know nothing of Scrub, though I have read Mr. Addison's play, and think you have no need of being ashamed of the character of Cato. When is the theatre to open?”

“We follow the sable gentry. As soon as St. Pinkster has received his proper share of attention, we shall introduce Dom-Cato and Mr. Scrub to your acquaintance.”

All the young ladies, but Anneke and her friend Mary Wallace, laughed, two or three repeating the words 'St. Pinkster,' as if they contained something much cleverer than it was usual to hear. A general burst of exclamations, expressions of pleasure, and of questions and answers followed, in which two or three voices were heard at the same moment, during which time Anneke turned to me, who was standing near her, at the spot occupied by Bulstrode a minute before, and seemed anxious to say something.

“Do you seriously think of the army, Mr. Littlepage?” she asked, changing colour at the freedom of her own question.

“In a war like this, no one can say when he may be called on to go out,” I answered. “But, only as a defender of the soil, if at all.”

I thought Anneke Mordaunt seemed pleased with this answer. After a short pause, she resumed the dialogue.

“Of course you understand Latin, Mr. Littlepage, although you have not been at the universities?”

“As it is taught in our own colleges, Miss Mordaunt.”

“And that is sufficient to tell me what Mr. Bulstrode's quotation means—if it be proper for me to hear.”

“He would hardly presume to use even a Latin saying in your presence, that is unfit for your ear. The maxim which Mr. Bulstrode attributes to Juvenal, simply means 'that honesty is praised and starves.'”

I thought that something like displeasure settled on the fair, polished, brow of Miss Mordaunt, who, I could soon see, possessed much character and high principles for one of her tender years. She said nothing, however, though she exchanged a very meaning glance with her friend Mary Wallace. Her lips were moved, and I fancied I could trace the formation of the sounds “honesty is praised and starves!”

“And you are to be Cato I hear, Mr. Bulstrode,” cried one of the young ladies, who thought more of a scarlet coat, I fancy, than was for her own good. “How very charming! Will you play the character in regimentals or in mohair—in a modern or in an ancient dress?”

“In my robe de chambre, a little altered for the occasion, Unless St. Pinkster and his sports should suggest some more appropriate costume,” answered the young man lightly.

“Are you quite aware what feast Pinkster is?” asked Anneke, a little gravely.

Bulstrode actually changed colour, for it had never crossed his mind to inquire into the character of the holiday; and, to own the truth, the manner in which it is kept by the negroes of New York, never would enlighten him much on the subject.

“That is information for which I perceive I am now about to be indebted to Miss Mordaunt.”

“Then you shall not be disappointed, Mr. Bulstrode; Pinkster is neither more nor less than the Festival of Whit-sunday, or the Feast of Pentecost. I suppose we shall now hear no more of your saint.”

Bulstrode took this little punishment, which was very sweetly but quite steadily uttered, with perfect good-humour, and with a manner so rebuked as to prove that Anneke possessed great control over him. He bowed in submission, and she smiled so kindly, that I wished the occasion for the little pantomime had not occurred.

“Our ancestors, Miss Mordaunt, never heard of any Pinkster, you will remember, and that must explain my ignorance,” he said meekly.

“But some of mine have long understood it, and observed the festival,” answered Anneke.

“Ay, on the side of Holland—but when I presume to speak of our ancestors, I mean those which I can claim the honour of boasting as belonging to me in common with yourself.”

“Are you and Mr. Bulstrode, then, related?” I asked, as it might be involuntarily and almost too abruptly.

Anneke replied, however, in a way to show that she thought the question natural for the circumstances, and not in the least out of place.

“My grandfather's mother, and Mr. Bulstrode's grandfather, were brother and sister,” was the quiet answer.

“This makes us a sort of cousins, according to those Dutch notions which he so much despises, though I fancy it would not count for much at home.”

Bulstrode protested to the contrary, stating that he knew his father valued his relationship to Mr. Mordaunt, by the earnest manner in which he had commanded him to cultivate the acquaintance of the family the instant he reached New York. I saw by this, the footing on which the formidable Major was placed in the family, everybody seeming to be related to Anneke Mordaunt but myself. I took an occasion that very evening, to question the dear girl on the subject of her Dutch connections, giving her a clue to mine but with all our industry, and some assistance from Herman Mordaunt, who took an interest in such a subject, as it might be ex officio, we could make out no affinity worth mentioning.

10 (return)
[ Now, Liberty Street.]

11 (return)
[ The person meant here, was William Nicoll, Esquire, Patentee of Islip, a large estate on Long Island, that is still in the family, under a Patent granted in 1683. This gentleman was a son of Mr. Secretary Nicoll, who is supposed to have been a relative of Col. Nicoll, the first English Governor. Mr. Speaker Nicoll, as the son was called, in consequence of having filled that office for nearly a generation, was the direct ancestor of the Nicolls of Islip and Shelter Island, as well as of a branch long settled at Stratford, Connecticut. The house alluded to by Mr. Littlepage, as a relic of antiquity in his day,—American antiquity, be it remembered,—was standing a few years since, if it be not still standing, at the point of junction between the Old Boston Road and the New Road, and nearly opposite to tha termination of the long avenue that led to Rosehill, originally a seat of the Watts'. The house stood a short distance above the present Union Square, and not far from that of the present Gramercy. It was, or is, a brick-house of one story, with a small court-yard in front; the House of Refuge being at a little distance on its right. If still standing, it must now be one of the oldest buildings of any sort, in a town of 400,000 souls! As Mr. Speaker Nicoll resigned the chair in 1718, this house must be at least a hundred and thirty or forty years old; and it may be questioned if a dozen as old, public of private, can be found on the whole island.

As the regular family residences of the Nicolls were in Suffolk, or on their estates, it is probable that the abode mentioned was, in a measure, owing to an intermarriage with the Watts', as much as to the necessity of the Speaker's passing so much time at the seat of government.—EDITOR.]

12 (return)
[ The church is now (1845) being converted into a Post-Office.]