University of Virginia Library

16. CASTLE GARDEN.

The time is now, when middle aged citizens say to their
wives and daughters, as they stand twenty-five yards this side
of the gate-way opening to the castle bridge, “I remember
the time when this was the west barrier of the battery, and
from here, and close along the old flag-staff house, famous
for oranges and peanuts, down to the old long wharf, at
Whitehall, ran a frail, trembling fence, of white painted pine.
Here, on the north side of the bridge, indulged boys—too
happy—and weary cashiers and clerks, when the tide served,
threw out their heavy-sinkered lines for bass and weak fish,
and drew rich suppers from the propitious Hudson, then unvexed
by steamboats. Here on the left, were the ferry stairs.
Many a man of us was a boy then, and, on Saturday afternoon's
vacation, excused his return after sundown, by a string
of begauls, and occasional blackfish, caught from the steps of
that ancient ferry. But it is all gone now. The ferry and the
fish have departed.

We have heard and seen such good citizens sigh, and shake

their heads in melancholy. Such is the inevitable bitterness
of population and improvement. But how will it be ten, or
five years hence? The world, especially the First Ward of
it, does not lie still. Here we have had forts and breast works
pulled down and levelled, and the battery turned into a pleasure
ground, and the river encroached upon, and old Hudson
actually submitting to King Canute's law, and a war castle put
up, and then turned into a hall of music and fireworks, and
every thing changed—all, all in a believable time.

Must we expect no more change?

Reader, get that piece of silver changed at the very enticing
banking house, at the arch way, and get one of Marsh's
tickets instead, and then cross the bridge with me, and see.
How swiftly rushes flood-tide beneath the arches of these
piers! How comfortable the sensation of safety from the
whirlpools beneath your feet, as you lean over the railing, and
look into the black water? Yet a decree has gone forth that
all this shall be changed. Time, as well as heavy horse, and
light footed maidens, has galloped over this bridge, and has
shaken the stones, and loosened the iron, and rotted the woodwork.
The worshipful Mayor and Council, not to be behind
time, are devising how soon the water shall be dammed out
and the castle and the bridge be both demolished; and the
lovers of the sublime and beautiful in Wall street and Exchange
place are feasting their imaginations with goodly rows
of store-houses fringing the river side, and already seem to
hear instead of Marsh's orchestra raising a Pæan to the Gods,
the deep yoheho of niggers hoisting skins and indigo to the
fourth story!

Every man, woman, and child that does not now and then
take a walk on the battery and then cross the bridge, and enter
the fort-garden, and mount to the topmost promenade on

the walls, and purify his soul in the winds that are permanently
engaged for the establishment, will lament ere long the
change which will bring destruction to the pleasures which
are now afternoonly enjoyed by the Deputy