hair was tightly frizzed by Maniort, the leading hair-dresser of the day.  He was the proprietor of the Knickerbocker Barber-Shop at Broadway and Wall Street, and the town gossip.  Years later he was to enjoy the patronage of the Third Napoleon in Paris as a reward for favours extended to the Prince when the latter was an exile here.  There is little record of elaborate pre-nuptial bachelor dinners in the style of modern New York.  What would have been the use?  The gardens of the city’s fashionable homes boasted no extensive circular fountains or artificial fishponds into which the best-man or the father of the bride-to-be could be flung as an artistic diversion.  As has been said, it was something of a slow old world, lacking in many of the modern comforts.

The robe of the bride was of white satin, tinged with yellow, the bodice cut low in the neck and shoulders, and ornamented with lace.  Over her hair, built up by Martell, was flung the coronet of artificial orange blossoms held by the blonde lace veil.  Then the satin boots and the six-button gloves.  At the wedding-supper the bride’s cake, rich, and of formidable proportions, was the piece de resistance.  Also there was substantial fare; hams, turkeys, chicken, and game; besides fruits, candies, and creams.  In place of the champagne of later days there were Madeira, Port, and Sherry.  Round the table, illuminated by wax candles and astral lamps, young and old gathered; the women of a past generation in stiff brocades, powdered puffs, and tortoise-shell combs.  From the first to last the Fifth Avenue wedding of those days reflected the patriarchal system that had not yet passed.

It was not a matter of denomination, but when the world was young, the pioneers of the Avenue did not smile on the way to worship.  The Sabbath day still retained a good deal of the funereal aspect with which the New England Puritans had invested it.  The city was silent save for the tolling of the church bells.  At ten o’clock in the morning, at three in the afternoon, and again, at seven at night, the solemn processions of men, women, and children, clad in their Sunday best, issued from the homes, and slowly wended their way to church.  When the congregation had gathered, and the service was about to begin, heavy iron chains were drawn tightly across the streets adjacent to the various places of worship.  It was the hour for serious meditation.  No distracting noise was to be allowed to fall upon those devout ears.

Abram C. Dayton, in his “Last Days of Knickerbocker Life,” left a description of the service at the Dutch Reformed Church of that day.  He told of the long-drawn-out extemporaneous prayers, the allusions to “benighted heathen”; to “whited sepulchres”; to “the lake which burns with fire and brimstone.”  Of instrumental accompaniment there was none, and free scope was both given and taken by the human voice divine.  Then the sermon!  Men were strong in those days!