of pleasure-seekers during the hot months of summer, and the delightful weeks of early autumn. There, in profound retirement, in an elegant mansion on the bank of the East River, lived David Provoost, better

PROVOOSTS TOMB-- JONES'S \YOODS.

known to the inhabitants of New York -- more than a hundred years ago -- as "Eeady-money Provoost." This title he acquired because of the sudden increase of his wealth by the illicit ti-ade in which some of the

8 F

THE HUDSON.

colonists were then engaged, in spite of the vigilance of the mother country. He married the widow of James Alexander, and mother of Lord Stirling, an eminent American officer in the old war for independence. In a family vault, cut in a rocky knoll at the request of his first wife, he was buried, and his remains were removed only when it was evident that they would no longer be respected by the Commissioner of Streets. It is now a dilapidated ruin near the foot of Seventy-first Street. The marble slab that he placed over the vault in memory of his wife (and which commemorates him also) lies neglected, over the broken walls.*' The fingers of destruction are busy there.

The old Provoost mansion is gone, and with it has departed the quiet of the scene. Near its site, large assemblages of people listen to music, hold festivals, dance, partake of refreshments of almost every kind, and fill the air with the voices of mirth. The Germans, who love the open air, go thither in large numbers ; r.nd tents wherein lager bier is sold, form conspicuous objects in that still half sylvan retreat. There Blondiu walked his rope at fearful heights, among the tall tulip trees ; and there, in autumn, the young people may yet gather nuts from the hickory trees, and gorgeous leaves from the birch, the chestnut, and the maple.