The appearance of the entire city now gives the impression of life and bustle. With the exception of Gramercy Square and Irving Place, there is hardly a spot in the lower part of the city that now has any appearance of repose. Thirty years ago the city presented a wholly different aspect. Fifth Avenue, from Washington to Madison Square, was, in the opinion of the writer, one of the finest residence streets anywhere. At most hours of the day the people on the sidewalks were comparatively few and there was a very small proportion of business wagons and trucks that used the roadway as compared with the numbers that do so to-day. University Place was a street of nearly the same character, as was also Second Avenue from Seventh Street to Stuyvesant Square. This street had a charm of its own. Lined as it was on either side with spacious residences, it gave the impression of a street of homes. The façades of the largest houses were simple and unpretentious, forming a marked contrast to some of the houses uptown to-day.
As regards the matter of repose, it may be said that twenty-five years ago the palm would clearly have been given to Lafayette Place. This short street also had a character of its own. From the Langdon house on the east side near Astor Place to old St. Bartholomew’s Church at Great Jones Street, and from the Langdon (Wilks) house on the west side to the Schermerhorn house opposite the church, almost every building had its individuality. The street was marred by three or four ancient buildings, which for some reason were not removed, such as the stable between the Langdon house and the Astor Library, once the favorite Riding Academy. The Library still (1906) stands, as does a part of the old Colonnade, but an earthquake could hardly have wrought greater changes than has the march of trade.
The large mansion of the first John Jacob Astor stood separated from the Library by a gateway and broad alley reaching to the stables in the rear. Adjoining was a group of houses of the style of those in Washington Square, broad and “high-stooped.” Opposite, on the corner of Fourth Street, stood a church whose portico of granite Ionic columns (each a monolith brought with great trouble from Maine) was one of the wonders of the town. Almost adjoining was the Swan residence, since converted into the Church House of the diocese, and then the Colonnade with its long row of granite Corinthian columns, considered a marvel in its day. Next to these was the “English basement” house of the late Charles Astor Bristed, with arch and driveway leading to the rear, and on the corner the Langdon (Wilks) house, when it was built, the finest in town. Being a short street, blocked at one end and leading only to Astor Place at the other, the drivers of very few vehicles ever took the trouble to turn into it, except the driver of a private carriage, perhaps a closed coach drawn by heavy horses (for the cobble stones were rough); the coachman on a vast hammercloth embellished with fringes and tassels, as was frequently seen forty years ago, the footman sometimes standing behind, his hands grasping two leather loops to hold himself in place. So quiet was the street that on a pleasant afternoon the youngsters who dwelt in the neighborhood carried on their game of ball undisturbed. Perhaps it was this feature of quiet repose which suggested the suitability of establishing there the Library, the churches, the Columbia College Law School, and the Church House.