re.
What was Brooklyn, and Williamsburg, and many a pretty town up above the
city, have all been merged into one grand metropolis. What it will do in
the next fifty years passes conjecture.

As they drive around nothing interests them more than to have grandmamma
talk of what it was like when she was a little girl. They find the
places, and look at them through her eyes. There is no longer any
Bowling-Green, only in name, and though part of the Battery is left, the
elevated roads go winding about among the tree-tops; Castle Garden,
after many vicissitudes and debasements, is again a place of interest
and entertainment. Here was where she heard that sweet and wonderful
Jenny Lind, who, with Parepa Rosa, and many another divine voice, is
singing up in the New Jerusalem. And though hundreds in the glare of
light and blaze of diamonds listen to Patti, she wonders if the
enthusiasm is as deep and sincere.

Over opposite where modest Brooklyn lived its simple, friendly life
fifty years ago, stretching out into country ways and green fields,
there are miles of houses, and the great bridge is such an everyday
affair one hardly gives it a second thought. And all is business now,
with tall buildings that the glance can hardly reach. There is no City
Hall Park, but a great space of flagging, though the fountain remains.
Business crowds hurry to and fro where ladies used to sit and chat while
the young people strolled about.

Stewart's old marble building is common-place and dingy. Delmonico has
gone on up-town stride by stride, and people have forgotten the old
balcony where Jenny Lind sang, and Koenig played to a street packed with
people. And the Prince de Joinville was here; also Louis Napoleon, the
nephew of his uncle, who followed his steps as Emperor and loser of
crown and all, and exile. And the young Prince Imperial, whose birth, so
long desired and celebrated with state as was that of the young King of
Rome, met with as melancholy a fate and early death as the Duc de
Reichstadt. And here the young Prince of Wales dined. He came down
Broadway with his suite and procession, and the little wife thought it a
fine sight as she stood there to see.

Broadway stretches on and on. Union Square is really a thoroughfare; but
she came up here with father and the boys when it was a grand new thing.

Did she really live in First Street with Aunt Daisy for a playmate, and
Auntie Reed, and Nora, who was a much admired singer in her