"Catalina was a dear old lady who spent most of her childhood in lower Broadway in the neighborhood of St. Paul's. She was then in her 94th year, when she dictated a few recollections of Broadway when it was still a region of homes and all around were the churches, schools and other evidences of its social atmosphere and while it was still an almost rural section of our city. To our inexpressible regret, the memoirs were interrupted by that summons which we all must obey and the narrative is broken at its most interesting point. Slight, as it is, we think our readers will enjoy this first hand view of the annals of a quiet neighborhood now grown so strident and strenuous."

Her Recollections

The child I am writing of seems to be not myself, but an entirely different person. A timid, painfully sensitive child, made more so by delicate health...I could not understand how my kitten that I shut up on a chair, making a cage of other chairs, could get out. I was born in Schodack Landing. The house still stands in which I was born, and in which my father died. My first home of which I have any recollection was at Broadway and Vesey Street, the entrance on Vesey Street.

We must have lived there some time. It was there I persuaded my sister to go with me and have our ears pierced, and gold hoops put in; then went in and told mother. I do not remember that she chided us for our daring, neither do I remember ever, from her, a cross word. I often went across Broadway, and stood in the doorway of a house where my aunt, Mrs. Stryker, lived, opposite old St. Paul's, and waited there to see St. Paul come down from his niche to get his dinner, when he heard the clock strike one...In those days Mrs. Stryker called me Johnny McGuire. I never knew why. But then I had many nicknames. Mr. H., my stepfather, whom I remember as far back as that time, called me "Bobolink." On the corner of the churchyard opposite us an old Mrs. Lawrence had an apple and peanut stand. In winter, she sat in a covered box, something like a seaside chair, with a foot stove. More than once, she left me to tend her stand, and often gave me a maple sugar cocoanut cake for it.

While we were in that house, my mother being absent on one occasion at evening service, old Ann Gilmore, our nurse, was so hurt that mother should put me to sleep in a cold room (our sleeping room was never warmed), that she lighted a charcoal furnace in the room, which was without a chimney, and had mother come home but a few minutes later, the doctor never could have brought me to. Another time, the nurse gave me a thimble to play with, and, of course, I tried to swallow it, and was just saved. My father died when I was a year and a half old. It was the next Spring mother moved to Vesey Street (1824). The house was owned by old John Jacob Astor. I have an indistinct remembrance of the old man, with his thrifty habits, picking up, about the streets, such things as he did not like to have to go to waste. Our house was entered from Vesey Street, there being several shops under it on Broadway. It was in one of these that we went to have our ears pierced.

Our next door neighbor was a Madame B., who kept a fancy store. Our backyards adjoined each other, our wood pile was against her fence. (No one had sub cellars in those days.) I used to get up on the wood pile when Madame B. and her husband quarreled, to see them fight it out. We went to school to a Miss Baynum, a prim old maid, in Vesey Street. On our way, we always stopped at Shaddle's bakery, to buy a penny's worth of round hearts (Bolivar's), always eating the scallops off before we reached school. I was always in disgrace in school, having generally the dunce cap, or the leather medal, but Ellen Scrougan and Johnnie Armstrong were about like me.

Ellen would not learn her lessons. On one occasion Miss Baynum sent me to the City Hall to get the Chief Constable, "Old Hayes," thinking I would only go outside the door, to frighten Ellen. But I had my fun out of it, for, fearing I would be called back, I ran as if the old boy was after me, till, meeting "old Hayes," as the Head Constable was called, I stated the case to him, and he sent me back to say that they did not take children up for such things, at which Miss Baynum was much mortified. I can remember just how I looked in my nankeen Van Dyke. I looked very demure when Miss Baynum asked me why I went up to the City Hall, and only answered "Why, you told me to." She also once took me up there after school, and threatened me with being locked up. Mother could never have known of her punishments, or we would not have been allowed to remain in her school. I was also, once, shut up in a new coal bin in a dark closet till I asked her pardon, which I waited until school was out to do. I rather enjoyed the fun of it. I must have been a mixture of mischief and cowardice.

In one attic to which mother sometimes sent me, there was a great tortoise-shell cat, which made its home behind a curtain, and would come out and glare at me. One day in going up the stairs at twilight, my head hit this horrid cat, which Cousin Peter V. had hung; and since then, I have hated cats as I do the Evil One. Cousin P. was fond of practical jokes; and, more than once, I have seen mother faint away, he frightened her so. He nearly frightened me out of what little wits I might have had. 

It was in Vesey Street that Betsey and I had mumps, measles (which weakened her eyes), and whooping cough. We had chinchilla hats, blue shoes, and blue canton crape dresses. What a guy I must have looked, with my sallow skin, saucer eyes, and bare bones.  The next move was to Fulton Street. Of that I have no recollection, except that of making mud-pies in the back yard. After that, we spent a year in Somerville, N.J. Then we lived in Broadway, opposite John Street. Of the life in that house, I remember very little, but I do remember hiding something from my mother which I feared she would not like, the only time I ever remember doing, deliberately, anything I thought would displease her. How well I remember going down to the Garden Street (Exchange Place) Church and Sunday School, Miss Anna Matthews being my teacher (we then lived in Dey Street). The ministers all wore their robes going through the streets, and the streets near the churches were all closed by chains during the services, so that these should not be disturbed by the passing of carriages.

My first remembrance of Uncle  Ben D. was of his coming to church as he just arrived from Savannah. I had just been printing my name in pencil on the pew door and I fancied that he looked very sternly at me. I never shall forget the Communions at that church. Every one went forward to the table. As they went, they always sang what has, ever since, been my favorite hymn, "How Firm A Foundation". I can well remember wishing that I could go forward with mother, and wondering if I ever would be good enough. My remembrance of these seasons has impressed me with the idea that children should be present at such services. The hymns sung, the impressive manner of the elegant Dr. Matthews, mother's kind friend, all come back to me, when I hear the hymns sung, as if it were yesterday.

In Dey Street mother married Mr. Hine. She kept sister home to witness the marriage, but sent me to school. I did not like it. We went, at that time, to Miss Maynard's school, in Fulton Street, sister, as everywhere else, at the head of her class, while all I recall was ringing a particular door-bell on my way to school. It was there that sister got into the way of taking notes of sermons, as the scholars were obliged to report, on Monday mornings, all that they could recall. While we were living there (Dey Street), my earliest friend, Eleanor D., daughter of the Mrs. D. who was a great Mission worker, died. Another impression of Dey Street was my mother's giving away my wax doll, that was dressed in blue gauze, and could shut its eyes. She gave it to Maria V., because I was getting too old to play with dolls; but Maria was as old. There was a ship-bread bakery near us, where the men kneaded the dough with their feet. I used to stand and watch them. My other great entertainment was to go to all the menageries and museums, to see all the monstrosities, as giants, fat girls, Siamese twins, and the man without arms, who cut watch papers, using his toes in place of fingers.

Our school vacations, which we spent in Somerville of Schodack, were for the month of July only.  While we lived in Dey Street there was a great turnout, but I do not know the occasion. That was in 1831. (Probably the funeral of ex-President Monroe, on July 7th.) We all wore tri-colored rosettes. Sister and I were out alone, to see the parade. On the 4th of July, booths were placed all along outside of the City Hall Park railing; and, for sale, they had roast pig and cherry pie, and other dainties. Dey Street was where my grandfather lived after his (2nd?) marriage. The table that, for years, stood in the Dobbs Ferry hall was one of two that stood between the three windows in grandmother's drawing room; and the old mahogany chair was there, too. I was never in that room, but, somehow, I knew just how it looked.

After mother's marriage to Mr. H. we moved to Willow Street, Brooklyn. The first Summer there I was so sick with dysentery that my bones were through, and the doctors came in only to see if I were alive. A preparation of loaf sugar, gum Arabic and castor oil cured me. The Misses T., our neighbors, watched with me many nights. Mother was too ill, in another room, to see me, for weeks. The Misses T. were always doing some kind or charitable act, and yet they, at last, were left very poor, and obliged to work for their living. The time in that house seems to have been all Summer, for my remembrance of the days as they passed was of living in the peach trees in the garden and eating the luscious fruit, and of sitting on the fence and looking into the street.

While we lived there, occurred what is known as the great fire (1835). I watched it all night. I saw the dome of the Merchants' Exchange fall in. The sparks from that fire came over the river so thick that the neighbors, in shingle-roofed houses, were obliged to keep their roofs wet all night, and a bill flew over, and was picked up on Mrs. R.'s front porch. Sister was at Miss M.'s wedding, and Mr. Alexander H. escorted her home, and expressed his desire to become a permanent escort.

While we were in the John Street house, directly opposite Grant Thorburn's garden, Uncle Ben was married to Lucretia M., and Alanson T. to Sarah M. That was the first wedding at which the brides carried bouquets. Mr. Thorburn sent them to the brides. His garden was a place of great resort, had lovely plants, a room full of birds, and a fountain whose basin was full of gold and silver fish. The day of Uncle Ben's wedding they all went but myself. I was thought too young. They went over (to Brooklyn?) before dark, leaving me alone in the house, and warning me not to open the door, to any one, unless it was the servant, who was out. I, ion my timidity, went and looked out of the side-lights until it was so dark I was afraid to move. I never shall forget my fears.

I was very fond of Aunt Lucretia. They kept house near us while she was able. Their Marquard I was very fond of, and spent my spare time with him. It was a great grief when he died at eighteen months, while his father and mother were away in Santa Cruz, for her health, Marquard staying with her mother. the first pretty dress I ever remember having (not being one of sister's outgrown ones), was a peach blossom colored silk of Aunt Lucretia's. I must have looked like a peach in it.) The first time I wore it, I upset a lamp over it where I was spending the evening, and spent the evening putting magnesia on the spots, and was relieved, next morning, to find them all gone.

After moving to Clark Street I had scarlet fever, and was so ill that the doctor only came in from time to time to see if I was living. The night Marian G. married Mr. C., Uncle Ben and sister went to the wedding. I grew suddenly worse, so that neither mother nor I thought that I would live till they came home, but I was spared. Sister, who watched me alternate nights, did not have any signs of it. Ann Gilmore came the alternate nights, going back to her work in the morning.

Many pleasant summers, out of town, I recall. Never being strong, I was sent away. One Summer I spent in Pine Plains. The family were very fond of flowers, and I had my fill of them. They all did all they could for my pleasure, planning long drives and excursions. One drive was to New Milford, while Rev. Noah Porter was settled there. Some summers I spent in Somerville, at the home of Cousin Peter V., and his mother, Aunt Catalina. They were next door neighbors to Mr. Peter E., the father of Mrs. Samuel S. So, with the E's and our Cousins Liz, Mary and Caroline, we had merry times. This must have been before I was twelve years old, as Aunt Catalina died about that time, and the three girls came to live with us, and then we had merry times. With the lapse of time, the years seem to run into one.

Our acquaintance with the A. family began about the time I was sixteen. The daughters of Mr. Gad T. gave a party, to which sister and a Miss Matilda T. were invited. Miss T. came and asked sister to let her bring an escort for them both, "one of the handsomest men in New York." It was Nathan A.