Clergymen had not become affected with the throat troubles prevalent in later times.  No hour-glass or warning clock was displayed in the bleak spare edifice.  In the exuberance of zeal often the end of the discourse came only with utter physical exhaustion.  Then the passing of the plate; an eight-stanza hymn, closing with the vehemently shouted Doxology; and the concluding Benediction.  From that old-time Sabbath day the affairs of the world were rigidly excluded.  It was a day of rest not only for the family but for the family’s man-servant and maid-servant.  Saturday had seen the preparation of the necessary food.

[Illustration:  The Washington arch.  A splendid sentinel guarding the approach to the avenue.  Beyond, houses dating from the thirties of the last century, that mark the beginning of the stretch of tradition]

On the Sabbath only cold collations were served.  Public opinion was a stern master.  Woe betide the one rash enough to defy the established conventions!  The physician on his rounds, or the church-goer too aged or infirm to walk to the place of worship, were the only ones permitted to make use of a horse and carriage.  Now and then one of the godless would slip away northward for a drive on some unfrequented road.  Detection meant society’s averted face and stern reprimand.  For an indefinite period the sinner would be a subject of intercession at evening prayers.

The weekday life was in keeping with the Knickerbocker Sabbath.  Home was the family castle, over which parental authority ruled with an iron hand.  Hospitality was genuine and whole-hearted; but tempered by frugal moderation.  Strict punctuality was demanded of every member of the household.  The noon repast was the meal of the day.  At the stroke of twelve old New York sat down to table.  In the home there was variety and abundance, but the dinner was served as one course.  Meats, poultry, vegetables, pies, puddings, fruits, and sweets were crowded together on the board.  This adherence to the midday meal must have been the weak point in the armour in which the old order encased itself.  For there the first breach was made.  New Yorkers, returning from visits to Europe, hooted at the primitive noon repast of their youth.  At first what were called the “foreign airs” of these would-be innovators were treated with derision.  But they persisted, and by slow stages three o’clock became the extra fashionable hour for dinner.  The old City Hotel was one of the first public places to fall into line.