Charcoals of new and old New York; . ownin years. All the old cronies, of recent days, were given the cold were turned out of doors. Nothing shall be omitted to restoreit to its own once proud estate, boasted the Frenchman. Now follows the period of the raised dais. What tales were toldof it! Of postilions on the highroad as Madame Jumel drove out inher yellow coach; of routs and balls; of throngs of diplomats; exiledroyalties; banished statesmen, and imperialists, including the threeBonaparte brothers, Louis, Joseph and Jerome. Last, came Madamessecond marriage, to Aaron Burr in
Charcoals of new and old New York; . ownin years. All the old cronies, of recent days, were given the cold were turned out of doors. Nothing shall be omitted to restoreit to its own once proud estate, boasted the Frenchman. Now follows the period of the raised dais. What tales were toldof it! Of postilions on the highroad as Madame Jumel drove out inher yellow coach; of routs and balls; of throngs of diplomats; exiledroyalties; banished statesmen, and imperialists, including the threeBonaparte brothers, Louis, Joseph and Jerome. Last, came Madamessecond marriage, to Aaron Burr in 1833, an escapade which set everytongue wagging from Washington Heights to Bowling Green. Although an appreciative literary atmosphere prevailed recallingits former days, and poets appeared where courtiers had flourished, thepoverty of the house was beginning to be apparent. It was gettingshabby and grey. Worse still, as time went on, the polite world turnedits back, as new faces were seen at the windows,— rather disreputable 126. THE JUMEL MANSION some of them. Eat, drink and be merry, was now the creed, for to-morrow the front porch will cave in, and the old library topple downthe hill. These were its most disheartening experiences. Ruin now marked it for its own. Its days were numbered. Unlesssome hand were held out, the proud aristocrat would collapse. Thewomen heard the cry. The Daughters of the Revolution, rousingthemselves, went to its rescue. The City Fathers listened. An appro-priation was made, and once more its proud doors were thrown wide. To-day it maintains its compelling dignity and its individualityintact. Its destiny fulfilled. 129 THE BRONX 131 XX THE BRONX IKNOW a grey-haired old lady who once told me that when she wasa child her father often took her to see another grey-haired oldlady who owned a little farm uptown — a long way uptown —where in a back lot there was pastured a cow. One of my old ladyschildish delights was a drink of warm milk from this
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