York was John Randel, Jr., and he has left us most
minute and prolific writings, covering everything he saw in the
course of his work; indeed one wonders how he ever had time to work at
all at his profession! Among his records is this account of dear
Richmond Hill before it had been lowered to the level of the valley
lands. It was, in fact, the last of the hills to go.

After describing carefully the exact route he took daily to the
Commissioners' office in Greenwich, as far as Varick Street where the
excavations for St. John's Church were then being made (1808), and
stating that he crossed the ditch at Canal Street on a plank, he goes
on thus:

"From this crossing place I followed a well-beaten path
leading from the city to the then village of Greenwich,
passing over open and partly fenced lots and fields, not at
that time under cultivation, and remote from any
dwelling-house now remembered by me except Colonel Aaron
Burr's former country-seat, on elevated ground, called
Richmond Hill, which was about one hundred or one hundred
and fifty yards west of this path, and was then occupied as
a place of refreshment for gentlemen taking a drive from the
city."

In 1820, if I am not mistaken, the levelling (and lowering) process
was complete. Richmond Hill's sad old windows looked no longer down
upon a beautiful country world, but out on swiftly growing city
blocks. In 1831, a few art-loving souls tried to found a high-class
theatre in the old house,--the Richmond Hill Theatre. Among them was
Lorenzo Daponte, who had been exiled from Venice, and wrote witty
satirical verse.

The little group of sincere idealists wanted this theatre to be a real
home of high art, and a prize was offered for the best "poetical
address on the occasion,"--that is, the opening of the theatre. The
judges and contestants sat in one of the historic reception rooms that
had seen such august guests as Washington and Burr, Adams and
Hamilton, Talleyrand and Louis Philippe.

Our good friend General Wetmore can tell us of this at first hand for
he was one of those present.

"It was," he says, "an afternoon to be remembered. As the long
twilight deepened into evening, the shadows of departed hosts and
long-forgotten guests seemed to hover 'round the dilapidated halls and
the dismantled chambers."

The winner of the prize was Fitz-Greene Halleck; and it was not at all
a bad poem, though too long t