Richmond in by-gone days - Part 1



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CHAPTER I. LONG TIME AGO.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintances be forgot,
And days o'lang-syne?"

THERE are few residents of Richmond whose reminiscence of its localities, 
&c., have a more remote retrospection than mine; impressed on my 
childhood, perhaps on my imagination; and as the latter may occasion. ally 
prevail, I will not venture to assert that my descriptions and anecdotes 
are literally correct--they are so, as the qualification in court goes, 
"to the best of my knowledge and belief." As far back as the year 1792, I 
think I remember the market-house occupying the site of the one just 
rebuilt (1855) on Main and Seventeenth streets. The first edifice was an 
open shed supported on wooden posts, and the slope

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from it down to Shockoe Creek was a green pasture, and considered a 
common, much used by laundresses whereon to dry the clothes which they 
washed in the stream. A spring of cool water arose in the common on the 
south side of Main street, but the spot is now occupied by a building 
where fountains of fire-water are substituted for the natural and pure 
element, and, I fear, it may be added, that the combined elements attract 
more thirsty bodies than the simple one did of yore; although the thirst 
is more apt to be increased than allayed by the fiery substitute.

The creek was crossed by foot passengers on a narrow bridge, raised a few 
feet above the surface of the water, but horses cooled their feet by 
fording it. When freshets occurred, the planks were removed from the 
bridge and a ferry-boat was substituted, which conveyed vehicles, as well 
as man and horse, across the wide and sometimes deep stream.

At the mouth of the creek, where the gas holders now rise and fall, was a 
wharf, built around a broad, flat rock (which has been blasted to 
accommodate the gas), and this place was called the Rock Landing, where 
oyster boats and small craft resorted.

Along the then elevated bank of the river,

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from about the rear of the present Union Hotel, a grassy walk, shaded by 
elm and other trees, extended for a considerable distance, down to where 
Foster's rope-walk afterwards stood, and this was the fashionable 
promenade. Of late years, the clay which nourished those trees has been 
converted into bricks, the surface lowered many feet, and a large portion 
of it covered with buildings. Below this bank was a narrow branch of the 
river, separated from the main stream by a narrow strip of land, an 
island, on which grew a few large sycamore trees, about the site of the 
present dock. I remember a vessel, grounded probably in a freshet, in this 
narrow stream, and converted into a place of refreshment, which was 
reached by a platform from the shore, and resorted to by promenaders. Its 
position was peculiarly favorable for obtaining and disposing of oysters.

The eastern end of this shaded walk terminated in a high and steep cliff, 
overhanging the river, which washed its base at high water, but at low 
tide admitted of a narrow walk on the sands. On the occasion of a severe 
ice freshet once, a great deposit of drift-wood, soil and sand formed a 
small island some hundred feet from this cliff. A German, named

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Widewilt, procured a land warrant and located it on this new-found land, 
and, to secure it against becoming a floating island, he drove stakes all 
round his slippery domain, and wattled them so that future freshets might 
add further deposits; and thus Widewilt's Island became a possession of 
some value as a fishery and sand mart. The island remained above water 
longer than its founder did above ground; but a similar accident to that 
which formed the island recurred, and destroyed the work of its 
predecessor. An ice freshet consolidated the river, and so obstructed the 
current that the ice borne over the Falls continued to accumulate in 
height until it rose to the level of Mayo's Bridge. An unfrozen current 
flowed underneath, but was not visible for many miles. The immense mass of 
ice slowly disappeared, and with it disappeared Widewilt's Island.

A similar loss of territory happened to Great Britain some years before. A 
volcanic island rose in the Atlantic off St. Michael's, one of the Azores, 
in 1811, and when it became cool enough not to scorch shoe leather, the 
captain of the British frigate Sabrina, then cruising on that station, 
landed on it, and coolly took possession in the name of his

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sovereign, and gave to it the name of his ship. It was my fortune, or 
misfortune, during the war in 1814, soon after passing the site of this 
new British territory, to be captured by one of his Britannic Majesty's 
ships. I was on board an American vessel commanded by a Scotchman, and I 
was captured by a British vessel commanded by a Yankee, and to complete 
the strange antithesis, a Yankee prizemaster was placed over my Scotch 
captain. The Yankee was a well disposed--I should rather say a good-
natured man--for his disposition to fight against his country was not 
well, but he had been a carpenter in the British service long before the 
fight begun. I inquired of him about the island, and was told he could 
show me what remained of it. Thereupon, opening his sea-chest, he handed 
me a lump of lava, and told me he was present at the birth of the island, 
and acted as one of its godfathers. That he took this memento of his 
bantling, who did not survive, or rather sur wave, but about eighteen 
months; and he bestowed on me one-half of the British dominion he had 
rescued from the other dominion which she claimed in that boastful song, 
"Britannia rules the waves."

An ephemeral island has risen and subsided

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several times near the same spot. Should "Sabrina," or one of her 
ascendants, venture to raise her head above water, she will probably be 
claimed by Great Britain as a deserter; nor is such a claim likely to be 
disputed, except in the lower regions, whence these islands seem to 
emigrate.

The Rock Landing has had a singular succession of occupants. When vessels 
of some size could no longer float there, and when even the oyster boats 
had to abandon it in favor of a wharf, which was extended to deeper water, 
a shot-tower was erected on it, or, according to modern parlance, was 
being erected. Although founded on a rock, it had not attained to its full 
attitude, when it fell to the ground, proving that bad bricks and weak 
mortar were unfit for high pressure, or perhaps the rock on which it was 
based may not have been dressed to a true level, and the tall structure 
slid off sidewise. The materials served to form a less aspiring structure, 
to use a gentle term, for a block of buildings in the Valley not always in 
very good repute.

Thus dead to any useful purpose, the Rock Landing was buried under the 
accumulating mass of earth and rubbish, which was carted from foundations 
for houses and from less

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pure sources. After many years interment it was exhumed, and like some 
other subjects, whose graves are violated, its still firm body was 
dislocated, and the members scattered abroad or used in the erection of 
the huge monument which covers its grave, but a bright and subtle spirit 
arises from it, which serves to enlighten our citizens in the most 
benighted times.

"The Cage" is, I believe, a term peculiar to Richmond, as applied to the 
receptacle for offenders. It originated from a structure so called, 
erected at the north-east end of the market bridge, some fifty years ago, 
when it terminated close to the market-house; its long parapet-wall of 
brick, surmounted by a capping of free-stone. This cage, of octagonal 
form, had open iron gratings on three sides, about ten feet above the 
street, and the floor of this open prison was arranged amphitheatrically, 
so that each occupant could see, and, what was worse, be seen from the 
street.

Here were encaged (when caught) the unfeathered night-hawks that prowl for 
prey, and screeching owls that make night hideous, and black birds, who 
had flown from their own nests, to nestle elsewhere, like cuckoos; and 
some birds, both black and white, who

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had no nests at all, were brought to roost here until that official 
ornithologist, the police master, should examine into their characters. 
This was a somewhat convenient arrangement to the citizen, who, on rising 
in the morning, missed the attendant on his household comforts, and who, 
as he went to market, had only to look into the cage for his flown bird.

A structure made memorable to future ages by the author of Hudibras, stood 
in rear of the cage.

"--In all the fabrick
You shall not see one stone or brick,
But all of wood, by powerful spell
Of magic, made impregnable:
There's neither iron bar, nor gate,
Portcullis, chain, nor bolt, nor grate:
And yet men durance there abide,
In dungeon, scarce three inches wide,
With roof so low, that under it
They never stand, but lie or sit;
And yet so foul that whoso is in,
Is to the middle-leg in prison;
In circle magical confin'd,
With wall of subtile air and wind;
Which none are able to break thorough,
Until they're freed by the head-borough,"

This mystical prison--the stocks--surmounted the whipping-post, and was an 
awful warning to the foul birds; some of whom were occasionally condemned 
to roost in the upper part and others to become acquainted with the twigs 
in the lower.



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CHAPTER II. BRITISH MERCHANTS.

THE term "British merchants" is here used not in its general acceptation, 
but as it was formerly applied in Virginia, to those who had 
establishments here, and who, in fact, had the monopoly of trade in most 
of the Southern States. Far be it from me to impugn the integrity and 
liberality of so truly noble a class as the British merchants, or to 
reflect on any nationalities, classes or sects.

On another page it is stated that supplies of goods were imported into 
Virginia, previous to and for a score of years after the Revolution, 
chiefly by English, Scotch and Irish merchants. The principals of these 
mercantile houses resided in Great Britain, and junior partners conducted 
the business in Virginia. Some of these concerns branched out, like 
polypi, to the villages and court-houses, and some of them, also like 
polypi, consumed the substance of all that came within their grasp. There 
were, however, many honorable exceptions to this rule.

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It was said to be one of the stipulations between the principals of these 
houses and the young men they sent to Virginia as clerks, that they were 
not to marry in Virginia. They came with the prospect of being admitted as 
partners in some branch of the central establishment, and it might weaken 
the sordid attachment to their patrons if they formed an attachment of a 
purer and tenderer nature to the fair daughters of their customers. They 
might make less stringent bargains, or be more indulgent in requiring 
payments. This monkish system tended to prevent that social intercourse 
between merchant and planter, which the hospitable disposition of the 
latter would have encouraged, and this exclusion of the former from good 
society led to the formation of connections of a disreputable character, 
and to habits of intemperance, to which many of them became victims.

With a moderate share of prudence and industry, the acquisition of a 
fortune was almost certain. Competition did not interfere to reduce the 
profit on goods below forty or fifty per cent., nor to raise the price of 
tobacco, which was generally taken in payment, above sixteen shillings and 
eight pence ($2.78) or eighteen shillings ($3) per one hundred pounds,

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and, at that time, the sale of no tobacco other than good leaf or stemmed 
was permitted--such as was not merchantable, if presented for inspection, 
was burned. Previous to the Revolution, a convention of the (Virginia) 
British merchants was semi-annually held at Williamsburg, when the prices 
they would allow for tobacco was fixed for the then current year, after 
the crops were pretty well ascertained. This was trading on a pretty safe 
basis, as the partners abroad could control the prices there in a great 
degree. Those planters who lived extravagantly were apt to fall in debt to 
their merchants, and would give bonds, renewed from year to year, with 
interest added, until a mortgage or deed of trust ensued, and thus some 
fine estates changed hands from planter to merchant.

Loans were also made to the planters, which were apt to prove ruinous to 
the borrowers. One mode of evading the usury law was by buying from the 
planter a bill of exchange, drawn by him on some person or thing in 
London, at a very low rate of exchange; which bill would of course be 
protested and returned, subject to damages, and a refund at the current 
rate of exchange, thus involving a loss of twenty-five per cent. or more 
for

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about six months' use of the money. I have heard that such bills had been 
drawn on "the pump at Aldgate," and that on one occasion, when the planter 
was at a loss for a name to draw on, the pious merchant suggested "the 
Bishop of London," which was adopted. When the bill was presented to his 
reverence, he was much surprised, but thinking there must be some proper 
ground for it, he consulted a friend as to the course to be pursued, 
stating that he did not know the drawer, nor any cause for such a bill, 
and wished to be advised how to act. A protest was of course the result, 
and no grace was given to the graceless parties.

This system of evading the usury law gave rise to an enactment by the 
Legislature of Virginia, requiring, after the sum in sterling on the face 
of the bill, it should also express in currency the amount actually 
received for it, and, if this was omitted, the holder could recover no 
more pounds in currency than were drawn for in sterling.

The British merchants had drawn the Virginia planters so deeply in debt to 
them, and the cessation of trade during the Revolution had caused such an 
advance in the price of imported goods, and so great a depreciation in 
that of produce, that to save the planters from

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ruin, and to punish the merchants for Toryism, the Legislature passed an 
act confiscating British debts, and authorizing the treasurer to collect 
them. The effect of this was annulled when peace took place.

The monopoly of the trade of Virginia, in effect, was retained by the 
British merchants many years after the peace of 1783, but adventurers from 
the Northern and Eastern States gradually made good their footing, and 
created competition, and even some Virginians condescended to stand behind 
the desk or the counter. Some of the imported Celibates relinquished their 
vows and became engrafted on society, and thus an entire change was 
brought about in our commercial system.

When all our goods were imported direct from abroad, and our produce 
exported to Europe, we paid dearly for the honor of such direct trade, and 
found it to our interest to introduce Northern competition, which 
increased by slow degrees.

The first bold innovator, who dared to compete on a large scale with the 
importers, was Bartlett Still. He purchased his goods in the Northern 
cities, priced them in dollars and cents, instead of pounds, shillings and 
pence, and sold for cash. His fancy articles were

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more stylish, and his store more showy and brilliant than those of the old 
fogies, and he attracted the fashionable custom. His deeds were celebrated 
in rhyme, which gave increased notoriety to his establishment.

His example was soon followed, and "new store" was succeeded by "NEW new 
store;" which latter throve so well that those of the next generation 
became stock-jobbers, millionaires and bankrupt, in New York, in rapid 
succession.

Thus, by degrees, the purchase of goods in New York and Philadelphia 
became the rule, and direct importation the exception. Of late years the 
largest portion of our tobacco crop is manufactured at home and sold at 
the north, but the quantity shipped direct to Europe is equal to the 
demand, now that the Western States furnish so large a supply to markets 
abroad.

The system which formerly existed prevented an accumulation of commercial 
capital in Richmond, or in any town in Virginia, and thus stinted their 
growth. The profits on trade went in the first instance chiefly to the 
principals in Great Britain, and when their Virginia partners had amassed 
a comfortable capital, having no family ties here, they would

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retire to "the old country," as they called it, with the capital they had 
accumulated; and this continual drain kept "the new country" poor.

Many adventurers from the Northern States, after making money here, would 
return to spend or increase it there. It is of late years, comparatively, 
that a large mercantile capital has become stable in Virginia. Millions 
almost might be counted up that were abstracted from Richmond and 
Petersburg in former days, to establish those merchants, who had 
accumulated it here, in London, Liverpool, and New York, while scarcely 
any capital came from those cities to replace it.



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CHAPTER III. MODERN ANTIQUITIES.

OUR antiquities are so modern, compared even with European, (and they are 
but mere upstarts in comparison with the Egyptian and Asiatic), that the 
term scarcely seems applicable in America, except with respect to the 
mounds and ruins discovered in the west and south-west.

Among the most respectable in point of age and appearance of which 
Richmond can boast, is the old stone house of one story, on Main street, 
which dates probably. A. U. C.--and what is more remarkable has always 
been in the Egé family. May it long remain in its primitive and 
respectable condition, or according to the Spanish adieu "may it live a 
thousand years."

A steam corn mill has lately intruded itself as next door neighbor to the 
ancient and honorable stone house. This mere upstart is puffing and 
blowing, and making all sorts of noises in the very ears of Mr. Egé's 
descendants. It is enough to arouse the old patriarch

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from his grave to see his old mansion thus besieged--but if he were to 
come, he would be astonished by the whistle of the locomotive on one hand, 
and the blowing off of a steamboat on the other, by lights in his house 
without oil or candle, by the water of the river flowing in his yard, and 
above all, by something like a high clothes-line in the street, along 
which people carry on a conversation with Boston or New Orleans--things 
never dreamed of in his philosophy.

On the very summit of the high and steep hill, north of the Egé house, 
stands the old Adams Mansion, a cotemporary probably; erected by the 
original proprietor, whose domain was separated by Shockoe creek from that 
of Col. Byrd, the founder of Richmond. That mansion retains its primitive 
and picturesque appearance, and is kept in fine preservation by its 
present owner, Mr. Loftin Ellett. The old Parish Church of St. John's, 
which was entitled to precedence for its sacred character, and probably 
for its age also, is preserved in its ancient purity of simple 
architecture, with only the addition of a tower and belfry, which rising 
in pure white among the tall trees around it, presents one of the most 
beautiful and conspicuous

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objects in the many beautiful landscapes of which Richmond can boast.

The Masonic Hall deserves also to be mentioned among the "ancient and 
honorable" edifices, though comparatively of modern date. Its proportions 
are creditable to the architect, as its good preservation is to the 
brethren.

The oldest public house was "the Bird in hand," on Main street, at the 
foot of Church hill, lately a ruinous hovel, but now embellished with a 
new front of brick-bats.

A more modern, and a splendid house in its day, was the City tavern. 
"Hotel" was no more known then than in Meg Dod's palmiest days. But the 
old tavern having almost miraculously, as a wooden building, escaped 
conflagration, is now degraded to a workshop. The smoke-stack has 
succeeded the smoke-jack, the table is displaced by the work-bench, and 
wheels, bands and pullies revolve, where Minuets, Reels and Congos were 
danced at a ball given in honor of Gen. Washington.

A successor to the City tavern rose on the opposite side of the street, 
under the title of the Union Hotel, but now called the "United States;" 
for taverns like rogues change their

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names when they lose their characters, and this is a case of reformation 
under new rulers.

Bowler's Tavern stood where afterwards was "the Bell Tavern," named after 
its Quaker founder, and where now stands the City Hotel, or of recent 
sanctification (Query? the appropriateness?) the "Saint Charles Hotel."

Bowler's was a one story wooden house of an L shape, standing on a bank 
some six feet or more above the street, and reached by a flight of steps, 
beneath which ran the gutter--sometimes a mill stream in volume.

On some occasions the river, much more aspiring than of late years, would 
submerge the street and obstruct the approach to the house. An old citizen 
who died some years ago, said that he had paddled a canoe into Bowler's 
tavern--and a living one tells me he has crossed the street there in a 
boat.

The landlord was a figure to attract notice as a living model of departed 
fashions. His tall and burly form arrayed in fair-top boots, buff shorts, 
scarlet vest, green coat decked with large gilt buttons, a cocked hat, his 
rubicund face, surmounted by a carrot colored wig; to the rear of which 
hung a long

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and thick queue, stiffly enwrapped in black ribbon, except a short brush 
of hair peeping out at the lower end to show of what it was formed. This 
queue oscillated like a pendulum half-way down his back, marking a section 
of a circle on his coat. A worthy and kind old gentleman was Major Bowler, 
and I have introduced him with no feeling of disrespect, but as a fine 
specimen of the fashion in his day.

In the rear of this tavern, on a steep hillside, now cut down and occupied 
by livery stables and small dwellings, were the Falling Gardens, and the 
residence of their proprietor Mr. Lowndes, a fine type of the Quaker in 
personal appearance and in dress--with his broad-brimmed hat, drab suit, 
the coat of plainest cut without a superfluous button, waistcoat in same 
style, both of ample length and breadth, knee-breeches, gray stockings, 
and silver knee and shoe buckles. Many such figures were then to be seen 
in our streets, now not one, though some of the sect remain.

Just above his residence, and where now stands the Odd Fellows' Hall, on 
Franklin street, there stood on a bill nearly as high as that Hall, two 
small brick buildings, with as

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much decoration of cornice and panel work as could well be displayed. 
These were traditionally (but incorrectly I am told) called the Auditor's 
and Treasurer's offices. They were erected by Henry Banks, as wings to a 
grand centre, which was designed to connect them; but some of Mr. B.'s 
speculations fell to the ground, and his palace never rose above it. He 
had the reputation, well-earned, of being a very litigious man, and on one 
occasion, meeting a gentleman of his acquaintance on horseback, he 
accosted him and remarked casually, "that horse, Mr. P. is very much like 
one that I had." "O, Mr. Banks," replied Mr. P., at the same time making a 
movement to dismount, "if you mean to claim the horse, do not bring suit, 
I will relinquish him rather than go to law."

The Treasury was a wooden house, afterwards occupied as a dwelling by Mr. 
James Brown, Jr., in the rear of his (now Mr. Webb's), large store. Its 
security must have rested more on the absence of temptation, than in the 
strength of the building. On the summit of the high hill, overlooking the 
Treasury, was the Council Chamber, which until lately gave name to the 
Hill. But the plain brick building in which the "potent,

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grave, and reverend seniors" of the State assembled in the early years of 
the Commonwealth, has disappeared, as hast he summit of the bill on which 
it stood. Ross street, and Mayo and College streets have bored deeply into 
it, exposing to light the impressions of vast beds of scallop and other 
shells, a few shark's teeth, and various unmistakable indications, that 
this lofty hill, overlooking the surrounding country, had once been at the 
bottom of the now distant ocean. In this, if nothing else, we can lay 
claim to high antiquity.

The Council Chamber, and the beautiful hill on which it stood, became the 
property of Col. John Mayo: converted into a dwelling, it was his 
occasional City residence, when by way of variety his family left their 
country seat, north-west of the City, called the Hermitage, which was 
anything but a Hermitage in point of seclusion; for there the reigning 
belle of the day, as well as other members of the family, attracted many 
visitors, and General Scott proved, by carrying her off against all 
competitors, that "none but the brave deserve the fair."

Bellville, the beautiful country-seat, named after the gentleman who built 
it, became afterwards

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the residence of the Mayo family; but both the Hermitage and Bellville now 
present a melancholy aspect. Time and neglect have preyed on the one, and 
fire on the other, leaving bare walls only to mark the spot.

Another branch of the Mayo family has occupied, for nearly a century 
perhaps, a country-seat south-east of the city, called Powhatan, and 
reputed, no doubt correctly, to have been the site of the royal residence 
of the king whose name it bears; but it was not the scene of Pocahontas's 
romantic rescue of Captain Smith.

The Council-chamber residence was particularly convenient to Colonel Mayo, 
for, with a spy-glass, he could see from thence all that was passing on 
his bridge, a structure which--like the Pyramids of Egypt, each the work 
of the life-time of the Pharaoh who was to occupy it--kept the Colonel 
employed from the prime of youth to a ripe old age, and left a similar 
occupation to his successor.

The Capitol itself occupied a very humble site at the base of this hill, 
and the homeliness of the building was adapted to its locality; but it may 
be questioned whether, in that mere wooden barn, more high talent, more 
political wisdom, and more polished gentility,

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were not assembled, than have been since in the marred copy of a beautiful 
Grecian temple, which in its coat of shabby stucco, crowns the beautiful 
summit of Capitol hill.

The Old Capitol as it was called tin it was demolished, was on Fourteenth 
(or modern Pearl) street, below Exchange alley, where Mr. Fry has erected 
some fine stores. The house was a plain one-story building, originally of 
small dimensions. From Halls of Legislation it was converted into counting 
rooms--bills of exchange were drawn in place of legislative bills--bargain 
and sale superseded motions and enactments--for I dare be sworn that 
bargain and sale never contaminated those Hails when occupied by the 
Fathers of the Republic, and I hope it cannot be truly charged to their 
successors.

An English firm, Donald & Burton, occupied the old Capitol, as did their 
successors, carrying on a very extensive business. The name of the last 
one, James Brown, being common to several other residents, caused the 
soubriquet of "Old Capitol Brown" to be applied to him, while others were 
variously distinguished. The last survivor of these synonymes still 
retains the designation

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of Junior, though he has passed three score and ten, and I hope his 
juniority will continue for many years more. With him I will close this 
chapter of Modern Antiquities.



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CHAPTER IV. MAIN STREET.

THE earliest impression on my mind of the appearance of the Main street, 
(and it was the only one on which the buildings were not "few and far 
between,") is that the houses were of wood, and generally of one or two 
stories in height. On the west of Shockoe creek two of these yet remain. 
One is a few doors below the spot where Bowler's, the Bell, the City, and 
St. Charles, have successively offered their accommodations to travellers; 
a small two story house, for many years past a tinner's shop, but very 
many years previous to that the property of the worthy "Minton Collins, 
seedsman," who showed his gratitude by bestowing it on the daughters of 
his hospitable friend Mr. Wiseham. The other wooden structure, which has 
escaped demolition--though time has nearly effected it--is the house at 
the corner of Main and Fourteenth or Pearl streets, and this, like some 
folks, artfully conceals its natural complexion and its antiquity, under 
an artificial

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exterior, a coat of plaster, though it is sometimes betrayed by the laths.

The Brick Row, thus distinguished of old for its exclusiveness, commenced 
at this spot, and extended up to what was Crawford's Corner, now the 
Dispatch office; where the same cannon has stood guard against the 
assaults of drays and wagons at least sixty years. The square diagonally 
above the old gun was, I think, the next that could boast of brick fronts, 
and these, where not replaced by new ones, now show marks of antiquity. 
The opposite square was the third to obtain such distinction, and its most 
conspicuous edifice was the Eagle Tavern. Pursuing a zig zag course from 
the upper corner of the Eagle Square, as it is still called, though the 
eagle has flown, we see the last of the brick rows that stood at the 
beginning of the present century, and that row has risen a story, by an 
Irish process of depression; the street having been cut down until the 
cellars were brought to light and converted into shops. The only four 
story house in the city was "Harris's building," at the upper corner of 
the square, and this grew up, or rather down, to be of five stories, when 
its elevation (like Cardinal Wolsey's)caused its downfall; it

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had aspired above the reach of its protectors, the fire engines, even 
aided by the great Fire King, John P. Shields, and it expired in a blaze, 
not more glorious than the cardinal's, though like him resigned to its 
fate, i. e., if well insured.

Nearly opposite to the present Exchange Bank stood a large wooden 
building, which, in my youthful days, was Mrs. Gilbert's Coffee House; not 
a news-room, but truly what its name imports; and here tea, coffee and 
chocolate were dispensed to customers, seated around the fire in winter, 
or at the open windows in summer. In after years, and under other 
occupants, it assumed the name of the Globe Tavern, and it closed its 
career a few years ago as an "oyster and beef-steak houses with other 
refreshments," under a skilful mulatto woman, whose canvas backs, soras, 
and other delicacies of the season attracted many customers. The great 
Globe is dissolved, leaving not a wreck behind, and the splendid store of 
Kent, Paine & Co., the first specimen in Richmond of the Broadway style of 
dry goods palaces, has risen on the spot.

Main street was not a smooth road to travel either on horseback or on 
foot. No portion of the carriage-way was paved, and the side walks

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only here and there, and with ups and downs. The dealers who wished to 
entice the ladies to their shops (stores, I beg pardon,) would present a 
paved entrance; those who sought rougher customers offered a rough 
reception, over gravel or cobble stone. Dust in summer was insufferable, 
and in winter the mud would be ancle deep, and in some places "up to the 
hub." By way of making crossings, a narrow mound of ashes and cinders 
would be raised across the street, and wo to him or her who, on a dark 
night, deviated from the right path.

A small stream used to flow rather diagonally across Main street; its 
source was a spring or springs flowing from the hill which terminated 
below the present Metropolitan Hall, formerly the First Presbyterian 
Church; it passed in a trunk through Byrd's warehouse, and flowed along an 
alley, the entrance of which is now converted into a large arch at Mr. 
Womble's store, above Fourteenth street. Its course continued openly and 
boldly across Main street, but was concealed until it emerged in Change 
alley, and flowed along Virginia and across Cary streets to the river. 
Sometimes with its affluents from the gutters, after a rain, it would 
spread over the entire surface

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of Virginia street and convey to the river a liberal contribution of 
gravel and mud. All these vagaries are now hidden by a culvert, like the 
under ground railroad, concealing many foul movements.

A somewhat successful attempt was made by the residents on Main street, at 
about the close of the last century, to beautify it by planting trees; and 
Mr. Jefferson's (recently introduced) favorite exotic, the Lombardy 
poplar, which was then all the rage, was chosen beyond all the trees of 
the forest. It flourished as many of its countrymen have on our soil, and 
its towering Summits soon aspired to, and even overtopped the height of 
the chimneys; but pride must have a fall. The national plant of Virginia 
(unjustly stigmatized as a weed) may naturally be supposed to have become 
jealous of the foreign upstart that towered over her near her native 
fields at every homestead, and it is as natural to imagine that she 
induced the insects she had nourished to make an attack on the invader, 
and a successful one it proved. The great caterpillars were not recognized 
by the people as native tobacco worms, but were stigmatized as poisonous 
foreigners, and as being ungratefully introduced and nourished by the

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exotic they had cherished. The rage now took an opposite course. Evidence 
as strong was adduced against the caterpillars, as of yore against the 
witches, and the decision was equally just and fatal to both. The axe was 
put to the roots of the trees, and scarcely one in all the region around 
survives to show the injustice of the sentence.

Main street did not extend far beyond Harris's house in habitable guise, 
in those days. Gullies and swamps crossed its path. Where Tan-bark-hall 
stood, and Bosher's row stands, were the tan yards of Bockius and 
McKechnie. A path of tan bark or of boards enabled pedestrians to reach 
the nearly uninhabited regions beyond, but carriages rarely ventured 
through the swamp or up the ascent beyond it. The eaves of the houses used 
by the tanners were scarcely as high as the present foot-way. There was a 
good skating pond in winter on one of the lots on the north side of the 
street. The family of McKims owned and resided on the property where 
Corinthian Hall and other buildings now rear their tall heads, in place of 
the ancient and lowly structures lately removed.

I ought to apologize for pursuing a devious course, and I now descend from 
the upper

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end of Main street to the south-west end of the market bridge, where was 
the parterre of Mons. Didier Colin, Perruquier, extending from his house 
down to the margin of Shockoe creek. Looking over the parapet of the 
bridge, the pedestrian might have his senses regaled with the sight and 
smell of various flowers in their season. The spot on which they grew is 
now covered with brick buildings, but the creek, not reconciled to the 
encroachment, sometimes rises in wrath and drives the invaders from their 
lower apartments.

A place of great public resort during many years after about 1810, for 
politicians, quidnuncs, stock jobbers, and in general those who had 
nothing else to do, was Lynch's Coffee House, two doors below the Globe, 
which Mr. Lynch had vacated. Here all the news, foreign and domestic, 
rumours true or false, scandal and tittle-tattle centered, and from hence 
it was diffused, with increased vigor at each corner round which it 
circulated. Here windy talkers would blow their bellows, and tedious ones 
the their listeners; but here also men of note might frequently be 
listened to, and here Mr. Lynch held his stock auctions. The most 
difficult thing at

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this reading-room, was a quiet perusal of the papers; but with all its 
disadvantages, it was an useful place of resort, where a-body could meet a-
body; and it does no credit to Richmond, that a reading-room cannot now be 
well sustained; it must be ascribed to the great industry of its merchants 
and professional men, who have no time to spare.

At Lynch's, during times of political excitement, as soon as the papers 
were obtained from the post office, he would open the most important one 
and read the news aloud to the assembled multitude. During the war with 
Great Britain, and when General Scott was on the Canadian frontier, he 
read aloud "the army is in statu quo." "Indeed!" said one of his hearers, 
"how far is that from Montreal?" And on another occasion he announced 
"Congress is to be called together instanter." "Dear me!" said a listener, 
"are they afraid to meet in Washington?"



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CHAPTER V. BROAD STREET.

SOME sixty years ago, or more, Broad street (or rather, broad road,) 
contained few houses, except at its two extremities, which were First and 
Twelfth streets. The trade from both sides of the Blue Ridge was carried 
on by means of large four or six-horse wagons; and, as they entered the 
city at the head of Broad street, small dealers established themselves 
there to meet the trade. The name of one of them yet remains in the 
identical spot occupied by that of his grandfather, James Bootwright, in 
the last century, on the first house on First street, and when he recently 
died, we lost "the oldest inhabitant." His cotemporary, Garthwright, at 
the opposite corner, was his friendly rival in trade during some thirty or 
forty years. The wagons came laden with flour, butter, hemp, wax, tallow, 
flaxseed, feathers, deer and bear skins, furs, ginseng, snake-root, &c.; 
and I once saw a bunch of dried rattlesnakes, which I was told was used

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to make viper broth for consumptive patients. Rattlesnakes seem to have 
been considered a delicacy, even amongst the higher classes, in old times, 
for Col. Byrd, in his "Journal to the Land of Eden," (on Roanoke river,) 
says: "We killed two very large rattlesnakes, of fifteen and twelve 
rattles; they were both fat, but nobody would be persuaded to carry them 
to our quarters, although they would have added much to the luxury of our 
supper." As they had venison and wild turkey, they could not have been in 
a starving condition.

A portion of the wagoners traded on Broad street, but by far the larger 
number, and especially of those who brought loads from country merchants, 
drove down town. That trade was chiefly in the hands of four or five city 
merchants; and the fleets of wagons that would assemble, in brisk times, 
near their stores, looked like the baggage train of a small army. Many of 
these wagons, however, came by another road, through the Southern Valley, 
from Abingdon, and that region was even then a wealthy one, from its 
mineral and agricultural products. As specie only circulated in that 
remote country, one of the expedients resorted to by the merchants

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there to make remittances to Richmond, was, to place a bag of gold or 
silver in the centre of a cask of melted wax or tallow, or to conceal the 
silver within a large bale of hemp.

Such a journey, over such roads as were then travelled, was a work of time 
and toil. Almost a month then, for what is accomplished in two days now, 
from the Salt Works, in Wythe County, to Richmond.

To reach Broad street from Main street, was almost as difficult a task as 
the ascent of a small mountain. Thirteenth, or Governor street, was at the 
same base as now, but the present height of the Governor's grounds, on 
that street, show what was its ascent, which was furrowed with gullies. 
The only other route was across the Capitol square, diagonally from 
Eleventh to Tenth street, near where St. Paul's Church now stands. This 
road, as well as the other, was usually washed into gullies by every hard 
rain, and the stiff red clay would sometimes form almost a close mass 
between the spokes of the wheels.

A most dilapidated old wooden house on Broad street, west of Sixth, or a 
portion of it, is now in course of demolition. It has long been an eyesore 
to passengers. Of late years the upper part has been the nestling place of

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families of the plebeian class of free negroes, and the signs of the 
occupants were obvious at the windows, which were decorated, and also 
protected against the intrusion of light and air, by old hats and bundles 
of rags. The cellar was also sometimes a receptacle for rags, besides old 
iron, broken glass, and other commodities, destined, in regenerated forms, 
possibly, to aid in the decoration of a palace. Between these upper and 
lower regions, (the one not tenanted by angels, nor the other by devils,) 
was the ground floor, on which were shops for the sale of old raiment for 
the outer man, some of it almost fit for the window blinds of the upper or 
the bag of the lower tenants; and, for the comfort of the inner man, a 
cheap repast of cow-heel, tripe, and hoe-cake, or a refreshing dram, whose 
spirit was not betrayed by its colour. To complete the conveniences of 
this bazaar, there was a receptacle for dilapidated furniture--tables and 
chairs, scarcely able to stand on their own legs, much less to sustain the 
dishes that were to be served, or the guests that were to be seated on 
them--cradles without rockers, and bedsteads already tenanted. This 
description applies, however, to only two-thirds of the extensive 
premises--the other third may perhaps be a dower right,

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and, consequently, if a lady's possession, much better cared for. Whilst 
the rest of the ancient edifice has been the victim first of disgrace, and 
now of demolition, the remaining portion seems to be occupied as a 
thriving shop for the sale of all sorts of commodities for daily use and 
consumption. Its neat block cornice and ancient front only requires a coat 
of paint to restore its good looks--like some other faded antiquities. The 
gutter in front was sometimes enlivened by the prattle of ragged and dirty 
and happy children, who were busily employed in making dirt pies, and 
baking them in dirt ovens, moulded on their bare feet; while a few 
chickens pecked and scratched on the unpaved sidewalk, unless frightened 
off by a hungry dog, who envied them the invisible repast, which they 
seemed to enjoy.

My first recollection of this late populous habitation, was when the sign 
of Richards's tavern swung before the door; the portico occupied by 
inveterate tobacco chewers, who kept the footway well sprinkled for some 
yards before them--but this was in the middle age of the ancient 
structure, which was probably coeval with the survey of the street on 
which it stood, near the entrance of the town, and on the great highway to 
it of

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the "outer inhabitants," as Col. Byrd designated the people of the upper 
country. It was originally, no doubt, the principal "house of 
entertainment" for those outsiders. The dusty or more generally miry 
street in front of it, was made lively by the fleets of wagons from the 
Blue Ridge, and vocal with the jingling of the peals of bells, attached to 
the harness of the stout horses, who seemed proud of the music, as well as 
of the bear-skin mantillas which protected their withers, of the rosettes 
of red and yellow galoon which decorated their bridles, and of the same 
gaudy materials with which their plaited tails were tied--when not in fly 
time.

Now-a-days, we occasionally see one of these mountain ships; but the muddy 
road they toiled through in former days, is now traversed by the iron 
horse, and his piercing screams have silenced the grateful neighings of 
his noble predecessor.

In the early days of the house last described, Main street was not 
practicable west of Eleventh, nor was Ninth street a highway, or rather, 
it was a high way, not to be ascended to Broad street by wheels. The 
formation of Broad street across the valley is in the memory of many of my 
readers, if many I shall have.



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CHAPTER VI. THE CAPITOL AND THE SQUARE.

THE Capitol Square was originally as rugged a piece of ground as many of 
our hillsides in the country exhibit after a ruinous course of 
cultivation. Deep ravines furrowed it on either side, and May and 
Jamestown weeds decorated and perfumed it in undisturbed luxuriance. On 
each side of the capitol was a long horse-rack, for the convenience of the 
public and to diversify the odour. In front of the portico stood an 
unpainted wooden belfry, somewhat resembling the dairys we see at good 
farm-houses. The portico might then be reached by a narrow, winding stone 
stairway, now closed, which gave to the goats and kids, who sported in 
numbers about the grounds, a convenient access to the portico, where they 
found shelter in wet weather. A few of the original forest trees, oaks and 
pines, which had escaped the barbarous refinement of clearing away native 
growths to be supplanted by exotics, constituted the only relief to the 
dismal aspect of the grounds, except a

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few chinquepin bushes, which served to prick the fingers of boys in due 
season, and a copious and luxuriant growth of thistles, whose down, in a 
good breeze, resembled a snow storm.

Between the Governor's house and the Capitol was a high stone wall, near 
the line of the street, built to close the upper end of an immense ravine 
(now a shady dell), and over this wall, after a heavy fall of rain, flowed 
a great body of water, forming a fine rose-tinted cascade.

The ugly Guard-house and belfry, now disfiguring the square, was preceded 
by a much uglier edifice: a shabby, old, second-hand, wooden house, 
occupied as barracks by the Public Guard, under the command of Captain 
Quarrier. The grounds immediately around it were bedecked with the shirts 
of the soldiers and the chemises of their wives, which flaunted on clothes-
lines, and pigs, poultry and children enlivened the scene.

The Capitol itself, not then stuccoed, exposed its bare brick walls 
between the columns or pilasters. The roof was once flat, if I mistake 
not, and paved with tiles, and, like Noah's Ark, "was pitched without, 
with pitch." But as a hot sun caused the pitch to flow down the gutters, 
and the rains to enter the halls, an

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elevated roof was substituted. In process of time, the attic thus formed 
was converted into an arsenal. The building and the fire-arms being 
perhaps considered fire-proof, or the risk not considered at all. Even at 
this day, a most valuable deposit, the State Library, is at risk in the 
combustible upper part of the Capitol, and the inestimable statue of 
Washington, by Houdon, may one day be destroyed, as was Canova's spendid 
one at Raleigh, N. C. A handsome fire-proof building should be erected for 
the preservation of both, and of other objects of value.

The Governor's House preceding the present one, was a very plain wooden 
building of two stories, with only two moderate sized rooms on the first 
floor. It was for many years unconscious of paint, and the furniture was 
in keeping with the republican simplicity of the edifice, and of its 
occupants, from Henry and Jefferson down to Monroe and Page. The palings 
around the yard were usually in a dilapidated condition, and the goats 
that sported on the steep hill sides of the Capitol Square, claimed and 
exercised the liberty of grazing on his Excellency's grounds.

The cows are now endeavoring to establish a similar claim to the grass and 
onions on

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the public square, in the very face of the sentry.(1)

The old residence of the Governors of Virginia might usually have boasted 
that, if it had in itself no claims to distinction, its occupants had many.

Two articles of furniture of the colonial times are extant in the Capitol, 
namely: the Speaker's chair of the House of Burgesses, originally 
decorated with the royal arms. This was removed from Williamsburg, and is 
now, though shorn of its regal emblems, occupied by the Speaker of the 
House of Delegates.

The tall stove which warmed those colonial and independent halls, in 
succession, for about sixty years, and for the last twenty-five has served 
to warm the central hall, in which stands Houdon's statue of Washington, 
is a work of note. This stove bears also the British arms and other 
embellishments in relief,

(1. Since writing the above, posts have been planted at each gate, about 
two feet apart, which, while they exclude the cows, may also practically 
exclude fashionable ladies from the Capitol Square, now that the Eugenie 
hoops have become in vogue, and are adopted indiscriminately by those who 
have or have not the same motive that induced the Empress to introduce 
them. It would be impracticable for a fashionable hoop, without 
considerable coaxing, to pass between the barriers which are placed to 
obstruct the entrance of the cows.)

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and they remain perfect, being as indestructible as the structure they 
decorate, for the stove is truly a structure of three stories.

The founder of it, Buzaglo, was proud of his work, and when it was shipped 
from London, he thus writes to "My Lord" (Botetourt,) dated August 15th, 
1770: "The elegance of workmanship does honour to Great Britain. It excels 
in grandeur anything ever seen of the kind, and is a master-piece not to 
be equalled in all Europe. It has met with general applause, and could not 
be sufficiently admired!!!" The reader is advised to draw a long breath, 
and pause awhile, till his admiration subsides.

This "warming machine," as Buzaglo called it, this master-piece of art and 
science, doomed to carry his name to posterity, was presented to the House 
of Burgesses by the Duke of Beaufort. It has survived three British 
monarchs, and been cotemporaneous with three kingly monarchies, two 
republics and two imperial governments in France--but of only one 
constellation of republics in the United States,--I hope and trust "one 
and indivisible, now and forever!"

The grounds of the Capitol Square were originally laid out by Mons. 
Godefroï, a French

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gentleman of skill and taste, according to the formal style, where
"Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother,
And half the terrace just reflects the other."

He certainly reduced chaos to order, and made the grounds very handsome, 
and wonderfully regular, considering their original irregularity. But now 
"half the terrace" does not "reflect the other." The west side has been 
modernized according to an irregular plan, adapted to it by Mr. Notman, of 
Philadelphia. Some dozen flights of stone steps are dispensed with; the 
straight lines of trees are being gradually thrown into disorder. But the 
east side, like a prim old maid, retains its formality for the present, 
and serves to show the contrast between the formal and the picturesque 
styles. But the great and striking embellishment of the square will be the 
Washington Monument, now ready for the erection of the statuary on their 
pedestals.