Here Lyes the Body: The Pell Family Burial Ground

img_4839Who isn’t intrigued by the idea of a cemetery around Halloween? For many people, an eerie frisson or two isn’t such a bad thing during this season. So now is a good time to visit the Pell family burial ground at Bartow-Pell, even though we have had no reported ghost sightings.

A short path lined with horse chestnuts leads to this romantic little woodland cemetery, nestled under towering shade trees. The seventeenth-century Pell manor house, which tradition says was destroyed during the American Revolution, once stood nearby. Six tombstones dating from 1748 to 1790—including one for Joseph Pell, the Fourth Lord of the Manor of Pelham—surround a memorial tablet added in the nineteenth century. The other stones are for Pell’s widow, Phoebe; their young married daughter Susannah; a toddler son of Phoebe and her third husband, James Bennet(t); Saloma Pell, who was also a toddler; and “Isec” (Isaac) Pell, a teenager. The old cemetery has been an object of historical interest since at least 1848, when Robert Bolton Jr. described it in A History of the County of Westchester. Its location on ancestral land made the burial ground a venerated site for the Pell family; they added the large memorial stone in 1862 and a fence with inscribed granite posts in 1891.


This photograph in the museum’s collection shows the cemetery after 1891 when the fence was added. The open water views contrast with today’s wooded landscape.


Joseph Pell’s age when he died has sometimes been transcribed as 31 but he was actually 37. By analyzing the numerals in the date of 1752, it is clear that the stone carver made sevens with down-slanted tops and the numeral one as a straight line.

Joseph Pell was thirty-seven when he died in 1752. Probate records indicate that his death took place shortly after that of his father, Thomas Pell II, the Third Lord of the Manor. According to Joseph’s will—written on August 31, 1752, when he was “very sick and weak”—he and his wife “Phebe” had six children (three sons and three daughters), and their education was important to him. His will stipulates: “The income of my estate is to be used for maintaining and bringing up my children to good learning.” His wife and his “loving friend” John Bartow (1715–1802) were among the executors. This particular John Bartow was known within the family as “old Uncle John.” He was an unmarried son of the Reverend John Bartow, who had emigrated from England to New York in 1702.

Bartow and Pell genealogy is complex. The tapestry of intermarriages and other relationships can make one’s head spin. But the bottom line is that in 1836, when Robert Bartow purchased the property that had once belonged to his grandfather John Bartow (and to his great-great-uncle Joseph Pell), he took possession of an estate with deep connections to both his Bartow and Pell ancestors.


Phoebe (or “Phebe”) Pell was Joseph Pell’s widow. She died in 1790 “in the 70th year of her age.” At his death in 1752, Joseph left his wife “£400, and a good bed and furniture, and 6 chairs, a looking-glass, a trunk and a table, and the use of all lands until my sons, Joseph and Thomas, are of age.” Records indicate that she married two more times. In 1758, Phoebe Pell wed Boswell Dawson, and in 1762, she married James Bennett. Their son John Bennett died at the age of twenty-one months on August 6, 1765, and is buried in the Pell plot, as is his mother.


John Bennett was twenty-one-months old when he died in 1765, but in recent years, his age has sometimes been transcribed as “2 months.” However, the numeral “1” is still faintly visible, and “21 months” is given in older inscriptions.

The grave of Joseph and Phoebe’s daughter Susannah is also in the cemetery. She married Benjamin Drake in 1759 and was the first of his four wives. Susannah was only twenty-two when she died on March 4, 1763, probably from complications following the birth of her second son, Benjamin, on February 21.


The exact relationship of Saloma Pell and Isaac Pell to the other people in the cemetery is unknown. Saloma died in 1760, a few months before her second birthday. Writing in 1878, Evelyn Bartow described the burial ground and erroneously lists “Salome” as a child of Joseph Pell, but Joseph died seven years before Saloma was born. “Isec” (or Isaac) Pell’s tombstone is the earliest in the plot. The inscription has been variously transcribed, sometimes leading to the interpretation that he died on December 14, 1748. However, a closer reading indicates that Isaac died at the age of fourteen on an unknown date in 1748. Further research will perhaps reveal more about Saloma and Isaac.

People of means, like the Pells, could afford to hire a stonemason to make a tombstone for their loved one. Early Colonial stones often featured memento mori, such as a death’s head, as grim reminders of an uncertain eternity and the Last Judgment. But the Age of Enlightenment and the Great Awakening produced a more benevolent philosophy towards the afterlife. Accordingly, in the mid-eighteenth century, cherub motifs began to appear on headstones as serene and hopeful reminders of heaven.


Saloma Pell’s elegant stone is attributed to the prolific carver John Zuricher. The toddler died in 1760.

The Pell cemetery includes stones in several styles. The earliest ones belong to Isaac Pell (1748) and Joseph Pell (1752) and appear to be by the same hand. The crude letterforms are similar, the spelling is poor, and they are made from the same type of fieldstone. Each has a simple pinwheel or star motif at the top. The most elaborate and beautiful marker belongs to Saloma Pell. It has been attributed to the master stonemason John Zuricher, who was active in New York, New Jersey, and elsewhere from the 1740s to the 1770s. Stylistic elements found in Zuricher’s work appear on Saloma’s headstone and include a winged cherub’s head with a square face and low-slung puffy cheeks surmounted by a crown.

As is commonly known, life expectancy in the eighteenth century was a dire prospect. The shadow of death was omnipresent. Disease could carry away several family members in one fell swoop, and many people lost precious young children to scarlet fever and other illnesses. Childbirth was perilous, and postpartum infections could turn deadly, as may have been the case with Susannah Pell Drake. Primitive medical practices sometimes did more harm than good.



Charles Willson Peale (American, 1741–1827). Mrs. Peale Lamenting the Death of Her Child (Rachel Weeping), 1772, enlarged 1776, retouched 1818. Oil on canvas. The Philadelphia Museum of Art, Gift of The Barra Foundation, Inc., 1977. The Peales’ daughter died of smallpox in 1772. This scene depicts the heartbreak that many parents experienced after the loss of a child and the hope of reuniting in heaven.



Mourning dress, 1786. Journal des Luxus und der Moden

When someone died, a family member or friend stayed with the body and kept “watch.” Corpses were dressed in shrouds, and an open coffin allowed people to pay their respects until the funeral took place. (To learn more about shrouds, listen to Colonial Williamsburg’s podcast.) Black mourning clothes were donned by the well-to-do, a custom that had been introduced to Colonial America from Europe. And, like a macabre party favor, funeral goers received mourning gloves and memorial gold rings as a tribute to the dead. According to research published by the New England Historical Society, Andrew Eliot, a minister at Boston’s North Church, amassed 2,940 pairs of funeral gloves over thirty-two years beginning in 1742. (To reduce this stockpile, the enterprising pastor sold many of them.) In addition, friends and family of the deceased enjoyed a large repast and alcoholic beverages as part of the funeral rituals.

Thanks to a 2012 Partners in Preservation grant from the National Trust for Historic Preservation and American Express, Bartow-Pell was able to restore the Pell family burial ground along with the mansion’s terraced garden. The cemetery and its beautiful setting are lovely in all seasons—autumn, winter, spring, and summer. But, for now, happy Halloween!

Margaret Highland, Historian

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Bluestockings and Blue Bloods: The Pelham Priory School for Young Ladies

The girls came from all over. They were daughters of the nation’s elite, of people such as Robert E. Lee and Lincoln’s former Secretary of War Edward Stanton. They were Lorillards, Lefferts, and maybe even Bartows. In the nineteenth century, these “young females of good family connections” were students at the legendary Pelham Priory, a school for young ladies about a mile north of the Bartow mansion. Extant records are limited, but we can still trace various students and make some intriguing discoveries.


William Rickarby Miller (1818–1893). Pelham Priory, Main Portal, 1856. Watercolor on paper. Collection of Catherine Boericke. Washington Irving reportedly provided yellow bricks from the old church at Sleepy Hollow to form the date “1838” above the door.

The Reverend Robert Bolton (1788–1857) was from a prominent family in Savannah, Georgia. In 1807 he went to England, the land of his forebears, to work in the Liverpool office of the Boltons’ cotton-exporting business. In 1810, he married Anne Jay (1793–1859), the daughter of the Reverend William Jay of Bath, and the Anglo-American couple had fourteen children. In 1836, the Boltons left England and moved to Westchester County, New York, where in 1838 they designed and built the Pelham Priory (now known as the Bolton Priory). Extensive gardens and grounds surrounded the massive Gothic Revival building, which overlooked Long Island Sound.


William Rickarby Miller (1818–1893). Gazebo on the Grounds of Pelham Priory, 1856. Watercolor on paper. Collection of Catherine Boericke. This scene depicts young ladies in the Priory gardens.

The Boltons started the Priory school sometime in the late 1830s, when a family friend from Savannah brought his daughter to Pelham to be educated with the Bolton children. By 1840, the new school—which followed the doctrine of the Episcopal Church—was firmly established under the supervision of the Reverend and Mrs. Bolton. Girls studied literature, mathematics, Latin, French, music, art, deportment, religion, and other subjects. Describing his parents’ approach to education, William Jay Bolton wrote that “young ladies could be highly educated without the opera, without novels, without dancing.” Emily Earle Lindsley, a Priory pupil whose father was one of the teachers, sets the scene for us:

The Armory, a large room in the center of the house, was where my father and one or two others held their classes. They sat at the head of a long, black oak table, made by the brothers Bolton, from wood which grew on the property. . . . A log fire burned in the large stone fire place . . . Stained glass windows made by one of the sons of Mr. Bolton filled the east end of the room. Mounted suits of armor, the walls decorated with a variety of swords, daggers, spears, and other warlike implements, carved high backed chairs from the time of Charles the First, and many other objects of artistic and historical interest made a most unusual setting for recitations.


Margaret Deland

In 1850 Robert and Anne Bolton returned to live permanently in England, leaving their eldest daughter, Nanette (1815–1884), in charge of the school with the help of her younger sister Adele (1830–1911). Nanette Bolton’s approach to admitting new students is wryly described by noted author and former pupil Margaret Deland (1857–1945) in her memoir Golden Yesterdays:

The Priory, which, back in the 1830’s, opened its stately evangelical doors to “young females of good family connections,” would be today an anachronism. That the doors did not open to everybody was not due to snobbishness—it was a serious sense of responsibility. Also, personally, Miss Bolton preferred girls from below Mason and Dixon’s line. Philadelphians were received, and a few “young females” from the Southwest—which is how we Pittsburghers got in—this was long before the mushroom fortunes of Pittsburgh began to cast sooty shadows on us. New York was so worldly a place that Miss Bolton only received its girls if their parents were, as she expressed it, “earnest persons,” as well as of good family connections. It was rumored that she said “No” to Boston. Boston was not worldly, perhaps, but it was sadly unorthodox. There were—Miss Bolton was sorry to say so—but there were many Unitarians in Boston—and in quite good families, too!

The school closed in the early 1880s after Nanette’s health declined. In 1883, a former student, Adele Sampson Stevens (later the Duchess de Dino), bought the Priory and gave it to her daughter Daisy as a wedding present on the day she married Frederick Allen in 1892.


The album includes an arrangement of trompe l’oeil calling cards.


Wreaths of Friendship, 1860s. Friendship album owned by Priory student Fanny J. Everest of Hamden, Connecticut. Bartow-Pell Mansion Museum, Gift of Mary Means Huber, 1981


Monarè is one of four tales by Mrs. Richard S. Greenough (Sarah Dana Loring) in Arabesques (1872).

Some Priory girls have compelling stories. Sarah Dana Loring (1827–1885), for example, was a novelist and poet. In 1846, she married Richard S. Greenough, an American sculptor from Boston who worked in Europe for much of his career. Sarah attended the Boltons’ school in the early 1840s, and her melodramatic novelette Monarè recalls the Priory’s air of Gothic medievalism. This supernatural tale—from Arabesques (1872)—is replete with castles, suits of armor, a captive maiden, and a heroic sword-bearing knight (and a werewolf!). As a fifteen-year-old student, Sarah appeared in the March 1842 edition of the Bolton family’s handwritten newspaper, the Pelham Chronicle (Town of Pelham archives). This delightful glimpse at the lighter side of the school environment, as “reported exclusively for the Chronicle,” describes a (mock) trial in which Miss Sarah Dana Loring and other plaintiffs teasingly accuse the Boltons’ fifteen-year-old daughter Abby of the crime of “scandalous speeches and a seditious libel.” “The prisoner looked very cheerful [and] had very rosy cheeks.”  Miss Sarah Dana Loring was called to testify and “looked very wildly around [and] turned up her nose at Miss Bolton the prisoner.” After calling Abby a rogue and “an actual torment,” she “stated that for a length of time past the prisoner has endeavored in every way possible to harass her feelings, calling her by the name of blue stocking, accusing her of talking about everything and everybody. . . . Here somebody in the gallery said that any how she had a touch of a blue stocking about her, which caused a roar of laughter, during which Miss Loring looked alternately white and red and seemed disposed to sit down.”

In Brief Memorials of an Only Daughter by the Reverend Henry P. Tappan (1844), we learn that “Mary C_____” was sent “to Mrs. B., who takes a few young ladies to educate with her own daughters.”  She arrived in July 1840 “after a rather tiresome sail of three hours” and almost immediately wrote to her mother complaining of homesickness. But she soon felt much better after a high-spirited excursion:

Mr. B. said we should sail out to one of the little islands with which the shore abounds, and carrying our provisions with us, we should there dine and take tea . . .  At ten o’clock in the morning we all sallied forth, thirty-one in number . . . [We had] the prettiest situation on the island . . . with Mr. B.’s tower with the flag flying, only now and then discernible . . . The dinner consisted of a lobster, an immense beefsteak-pie, a ham, a tongue, and a great basket full of clams, which we cooked by means of a fire made on the rocks. . . . After dinner we all went out sailing in the row boats . . . The other boat commenced by singing “God save the King,” and our boat answered by singing “Yankee Doodle.”

Mary lasted only a few months at the Priory. She was frail, probably consumptive, and pined for home. She died in Nice, France, in February 1842.


Rosina Emmet Sherwood, ca. 1870. William Kurtz, photographer. Emmet family papers, 1792–1989, bulk 1851–1989. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.

In the 1870s, Henry James’s cousin Henrietta Temple (1853–1934) studied at the Priory. Her lively sister Minny (1845–1870), who died of consumption in nearby New Rochelle at the age of twenty-four, inspired the characters of Isabel Archer in The Portrait of a Lady and the ill-fated Milly Theale in The Wings of the Dove. Their relative, the artist Rosina Emmet Sherwood (1854–1948)—mother of the playwright Robert Sherwood—was also a Priory pupil.


Alexandre Cabanel (French, 1823–1889). Catharine Lorillard Wolfe, 1876. Oil on canvas. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Catharine Lorillard Wolfe Collection, Bequest of Catharine Lorillard Wolfe, 1887, 87.15.82.

Did the Bartow girls ever enroll as students at the Priory? The families were neighbors who shared a deep connection to the Episcopal Church, and we know that the Bartows were sometimes Robert Bolton’s parishioners. Furthermore, the Bartow children’s second cousins and contemporaries—Catherine Lorillard and Catharine Lorillard Wolfe—were Priory scholars in the 1840s and ‘50s. Perhaps one day we will find evidence that Catharine, Clarina, and Henrietta Bartow also attended this unique school.

Margaret Highland, Historian

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The Girl in the Portrait: Emma Beach and Mark Twain

The rain came down on wind-blown seas in New York Harbor on June 8, 1867, when about sixty-five passengers boarded the side-wheel steamship Quaker City for a highly publicized five-month “pleasure excursion” and pilgrimage to Europe and the Holy Land. The luxury voyage was led by Captain Charles C. Duncan, a friend of the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher (1813–1887), the superstar Congregationalist preacher and charismatic pastor of Brooklyn’s legendary Plymouth Church (whose sister was Harriet Beecher Stowe). Beecher was supposed to go on the trip but had to drop out, as did Civil War general William Tecumseh Sherman. However, among the ship’s well-heeled passengers were Moses Sperry Beach (1822–1892), a member of Plymouth Church and publisher of The Sun, a New York newspaper that once had the highest circulation in America, and his seventeen-year-old daughter Emma Beach (1849–1924).


James Hamilton Shegogue (American, 1806–1872). Charles Yale Beach and His Sister Emma Beach, 1854. Oil on canvas. Bartow-Pell Mansion Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. J. Luther Cleveland, 1966.03


Emma Beach, ca. 1870. Abbott Handerson Thayer and Thayer Family papers, 1851–1999 (bulk 1881–1950). Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution

Emma and her brother Charles Yale Beach are shown as children in a portrait by James Hamilton Shegogue (1806–1872) that hangs in the dining room at Bartow-Pell. The portrait is above a sideboard that was made by the children’s grandfather Moses Yale Beach (1800–1868), who was a cabinetmaker as a young man. In 1819, he married Nancy Day, the sister of the founder of the New York Sun, and later became its publisher. Subsequently, his son Moses Sperry Beach took over the paper. Although the Beach family has no known connection to the Bartows, the portrait and sideboard fit our period of interpretation.


Mark Twain. Carte de visite, Abdullah Frères, Constantinople, 1867. This photograph was taken in Constantinople but inscribed and dated “Saml Clemens, Jaffa, Sept. 30, 1867.” Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-28851

In June 1867, Samuel Clemens, otherwise known as Mark Twain (1835–1910), was thirty-one, and his career as a journalist, humorist, and lecturer was taking off. He too joined the Quaker City tour but as a correspondent for the Alta California, a San Francisco newspaper. A couple of years later, in 1869, Twain published The Innocents Abroad, a best-selling travel book about the cruise based on accounts he wrote for American newspapers. This lively and sometimes satirical narrative chronicles the group’s travels but also pokes fun at Americans abroad, including some of his shipmates. Twain’s irreverent wit, jaunty prose, and occasional slang make for good reading.

Newspaper publisher Moses Beach threw a party for his fellow travelers the night before their departure. Each had paid the enormous sum of $1,250 for the trip, and their applications had been scrutinized by a committee. Twain wrote: “For months the great pleasure excursion to Europe and the Holy Land was chatted about in the newspapers everywhere in America and discussed at countless firesides.”  Anticipation and expectations were high. And after the deprivations of the Civil War, people were eager to travel. The ambitious itinerary included Gibraltar, Rome, Athens, Constantinople, Beirut, Jerusalem, Cairo, and other exotic places. The 1867 Exposition Universelle in Paris and a visit with Czar Alexander II and his family were highlights of the journey.


Moses Sperry Beach. Illustration from The Innocents Abroad, 1869

According to a passenger list published in the New York Times, Emma Beach and her father were to be joined by Emma’s older brother Charles (“C. Y. Beach”), her companion in Bartow-Pell’s portrait. But Charles’s plans evidently changed, because he was not listed on the return voyage or in other accounts of the trip. Their mother, Chloe Beach, stayed in Brooklyn with the younger children.


Henry Ward Beecher, 1855–65. Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress, LC-DIG-cwpbh-03065

Author and scholar Debby Applegate discusses the close relationship between Henry Ward Beecher and the Beach family in her Pulitzer Prize-winning book The Most Famous Man in America: The Biography of Henry Ward Beecher. Moses Sperry Beach and his family joined Beecher’s Plymouth Church when they moved to Brooklyn Heights in 1854, the year that Shegogue painted the portrait of the Beach children. Moses Beach was a generous supporter of the church, and it wasn’t long before the Beach family developed a warm friendship with the Beechers. In fact, Applegate’s research reveals that Beecher probably had an adulterous relationship with Mrs. Beach and may have fathered her youngest child, who was born in 1867, about four months before the Quaker City set sail. Although Beecher was married, he had a reputation as a philanderer, and in 1875, he was accused of adultery with Elizabeth Tilton, another friend’s wife, but he was acquitted after a scandalous trial.

For Moses Beach, the Quaker City cruise must have served as a welcome distraction from his domestic woes. During the journey, Beach was not only a tourist but a working journalist, reporting about the extraordinary trip and writing thirty-seven articles for his newspaper, The Sun. He was one of several reporters on board, including Mark Twain.


The Start, The Innocents Abroad, 1869

Meanwhile, Emma Beach enjoyed a shipboard flirtation with Twain, and the two were regular evening chess partners who later remained friends. Mark Twain “used to play chess with me and I now think that he purposely let me win—I was only seventeen,” Emma later wrote in a letter to Twain’s biographer Albert B. Paine. The travelers also corresponded after returning home. A letter to Emma from Twain in Washington, D.C., dated January 31, 1868, begins with the salutation “Shipmate, Ahoy!” In this letter he told “Miss Emma” that despite the absence of an invitation from Mrs. Beach: “I shall come without any invitation. I shall come & stay a month! . . . I know I shall be doing wrong—but then I do wrong every day, anyhow.” He also asked for her help in identifying some Old Master paintings that she had seen on the Quaker City trip:

And please tell me the names of the Murillo pictures that delighted you most . . . Remember, I am in a great straight, now, & it is hard to have to write about pictures when I don’t know anything about them. Hang the whole gang of old masters, I say! The idea that I have to go driveling about those dilapidated, antediluvian humbugs at this late day, is exasperating.

On a visit to New York earlier in the month, Mark Twain had stayed with his Quaker City roommate and reunited with some of their traveling companions, including Charlie Langdon, whose sister Olivia became Twain’s wife in 1870. “It was the unholiest gang that ever cavorted through Palestine, but those are the best boys in the world,” Twain wrote to his mother and sister on January 8, 1868. During his New York stay, the author was invited to dine at Henry Ward Beecher’s house in Brooklyn along with his “old Quaker City favorite, Emma Beach.” Twain’s letter continues: “We had a very gay time, if it was Sunday. . . . Henry Ward is a brick.” (For more letters, see the Mark Twain Project Online.)

Emma Beach’s adventures on the Quaker City and her friendship with Mark Twain are only part of her compelling life story. She became an artist known mostly for floral paintings and nature studies. And in 1891, she married American artist and naturalist Abbott Thayer (1849–1921) shortly after the death of his first wife, Kate Bloede, who had died in a sanatorium earlier that year after a long bout with depression. Emma, a close friend of the couple, had helped the family during Kate’s illness. Emma and Abbott Thayer lived in Dublin, New Hampshire. She assisted her husband and helped illustrate Concealing-Coloration in the Animal Kingdom, a controversial study of camouflage by Thayer and his son Gerald. Emma died in 1924 at the age of seventy-four. She spent her final days with her sisters Ella and Violet at their home in Peekskill, New York.

Margaret Highland, Historian

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Quills and Steel: Using Pens to Interpret the Past

Mordan's Oblique Steel Pen 1831 cropped

Why does the pen-maker do wrong, and try to make others as bad as himself? Because he makes the people steal (steel) pens, and says they do right (write). Cassell’s Educator for the Young

This childhood riddle tells a story of changing technology in the nineteenth century, when the invention of the “steel pen” made quill pens obsolete. However, the introduction of new technology did not mean that people’s habits changed overnight. How and when did this advance in technology and practice occur? And how does this information help us interpret the past at Bartow-Pell?

DT2047 MMA

William Michael Harnett (1848–1892). The Banker’s Table, 1877. Oil on canvas. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Purchase, Elihu Root Jr. Gift, 1956., 56.21.

Quill pens had been used for hundreds of years before the steel nib revolutionized the pen industry in the nineteenth century. Made from goose, turkey, swan, crow or other large feathers, quill pens had hollow barrels that were ideal ink reservoirs and sturdy tips that could be cut into fine writing points. The process of making a quill pen started with heating the barrel in hot sand or ashes in order to remove the membranes, desiccate the oily parts, and harden the shaft and make it transparent. Plunging the barrels into boiling water—and perhaps adding either alum or nitric acid—was sometimes recommended to increase firmness. Then, according to the Cyclopaedia of Useful Arts (1854), “a portion of the barb is stripped off so as to occupy less room in packing, and the quills are tied up in bundles of 25 or 50 each” for sale at stationery shops.

Godey's Feb 1836 crop larger

Illustrations from Godey’s Lady’s Book, February 1836, show proper writing posture and the correct way to hold a quill pen.


Horace Bundy (1814–1883). Vermont Lawyer, 1841. Oil on canvas. National Gallery of Art, Gift of Edgar William and Bernice Chrysler Garbisch, 1953.5.4

Consumers were often expected to create the pointed end of their quills by using a pen knife to snip off the end of the barrel, make a slit, and form the writing tip. (The slit was essential because it acted as a capillary for ink flow.) Quill pens required frequent mending with a pen knife. Even young ladies “ought to be able to make or mend a pen herself,” pronounced the author of a Godey’s Lady’s Book article in 1836, at a time when steel pens were already in use but were found to be “hard and unpleasant” by the Godey’s writer. Nevertheless, according to “How Steel Pens Are Made,” an article published in The United States Magazine in 1857, not everyone was adept at cutting a quill: “While quill pens were in vogue, the occupation of a pen-cutter, or maker, was one of considerable importance; not one in five of those who used pens, could make one.” Indeed, the Cyclopaedia of Useful Arts asserted that a professional could cut 1,200 pens in a day.

Gillott and Mitchell boxes

Gillott and Mitchell boxes. Each contained 144 nibs (one gross).

Although it is unclear when and where the original metal pen was invented, steel nibs were first mass produced in the 1820s by English manufacturers such as Joseph Gillott and John and William Mitchell, whose companies launched Birmingham as the epicenter of the global pen industry, a position it held for over a hundred years. During this time, dozens of makers supplied pens to the United States and to other countries around the world. The author of “How Steel Pens Are Made” claimed that more than 500 million steel pens were made in Birmingham in 1855, requiring 300 tons of metal. Nibs—or “steel pens,” as they were called—were inserted into pen holders, which were often made of wood Gillott ad 1840and fitted with hardware to hold the pen point. Sometimes nibs were made of gold, but obviously these were more expensive. When steel nibs broke or became dull, they were discarded, which is why stationers often sold boxes of one gross (twelve dozen). As manufacturing methods improved and production costs decreased, producers and consumers benefited. In The Story of Writing, the great modern calligrapher Donald Jackson wrote that “within thirty years from 1820 the application of machinery for stamping and slitting pens had reduced their price from 2d [two pence] each to 2d per gross.” It was steel-pen paradise. Furthermore, cheap printing costs created a heyday for advertisers, and pen makers eagerly took advantage of this to market their products.

steel pens 11 and illus - Copy

Young women made up the majority of workers in steel-pen factories.

As with most transitioning technologies, the shift to steel pens was not immediate. For a while, some consumers preferred feathers to steel. In fact, both types of pens were in use from the 1820s to the 1860s. Quill pens were flexible and allowed writers to produce a fine stroke, at least when the points were well cut and in good condition, so quills continued to appeal to some individuals. (In addition, there are always people who do not like change.) Some pen makers also offered nibs cut from quill barrels but inserted in a holder like metal pen points. Steel pens, however, were more durable and offered the convenience of being ready-made and did not require constant mending. Metal nibs also provided more uniform writing, whereas quills could result in poor penmanship if they were not properly cut or mended. In 1835, the Encyclopaedia Americana declared:

Of late, steel pens have been much used and improved, and for certain purposes, as for signing bank notes, to make the signatures uniform, they appear well adapted; as also for people who cannot make pens; but, on the whole, the quill affords a much easier and handsomer chirography.

And in “An Evening’s Conversation about Autographs,” a Godey’s article published in 1839, the author’s opinion on the matter is clear.

“I hope she does not write with that abomination of art, a steel pen,” said Ellen.

“No—I think hers is a real feather; it may be from the same gray goose which furnished the Commentator Gill with his much enduring pen.”

Kit's Writing Lesson 1852 by Robert Braithwaite Martineau 1826-1869

Robert Braithwaite Martineau (1826–1869). Kit’s Writing Lesson, 1852. Oil on canvas. Tate Britain. Photographic Rights © Tate 2016, CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0 (Unported)

But times had changed drastically by 1863, which is evident in “The Making of a Pen,” an article from Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Arts.

Among other elegant old-fashioned arts which graced the leisurely days of the Georges, but are rapidly dying out in this high-pressure time, must be reckoned the making and mending of quill pens. How many of my readers comprehend the mysteries of shaping, nibbing, and splitting? Here and there, perhaps, you may find an elderly gentleman, probably arrayed in a frill, and a blue coat with brass buttons, who prides himself in his dexterity in these almost obsolete operations; but the number is thinning every year.

The quill was (almost) dead. Long live the steel pen! That is, until the fountain pen came along, and the ballpoint, and so it continues. Today, however, the conversation is not about pens but about the future of handwriting itself. The New York Times recently published a book review on this topic that elicited a number of letters to the editor.

What does this mean for historic interpretation at Bartow-Pell? The Bartows bought their property in 1836 and moved into the mansion in 1842. At that time, people used both quills and steel pens, so we can display both types in our period rooms. Although the Bartows’ habits would have changed with the times, it’s anyone’s guess exactly when they decided to renounce old-fashioned feathers. Perhaps they were thoroughly modern steel-pen users by the time they moved to their country estate. We will probably never know.

As a reader of The Sporting Magazine wrote in 1835, “And now, Mr. Editor, for the present I throw aside my quill, remaining yours, &c.”

Margaret Highland, Historian

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Parlor Must-Have: The Center Table in Nineteenth-Century Interiors

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Bartow-Pell’s formal double parlors feature two center tables.

What’s the big deal about center tables, and why does Bartow-Pell have so many of them?

The center table was an essential piece of furniture in American parlors in the middle of the nineteenth century. It was not only useful; it was also imbued with complex social and cultural meanings. As a practical matter, center tables—which were frequently the focal point of parlors—were suitable locations for oil lamps and other lighting devices, which were often placed in the middle of the table in order to distribute precious light evenly, especially during the evening. The table’s round form also allowed people to sit close together and created convenient gathering spots for sewing, reading aloud, conversation, and other group activities. “‘We have been talking about getting a centre-table,’” a young wife reminds her husband in Three Experiments of Living (1837). “‘I thought it would be very convenient; and then it gives a room such a sociable look; besides, as we had a centre-lamp!’” she pleads.

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Illustration from American Girl’s Book: Or, Occupation for Play Hours by Eliza Leslie, 1831

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A. J. Downing, The Architecture of Country Houses, 1850, fig. 223

Center tables took on a kind of moral connotation, however, beyond simply serving as a domestic asset.  In 1850, Andrew Jackson Downing wrote in The Architecture of Country Houses that they “have long been popular pieces of parlor furniture,” and the “centre-table is to us the emblem of the family circle.” In 1854, a writer in Family Miscellany and Monthly School-Reader advised that the center table helped promote learning as well as good morals:

Let the family be supplied with books and periodicals. When evening comes, wheel the table into the center of the room, bring on the lights and gather around them. While the mother is busily engaged in sewing, and the daughter with knitting, and the younger children in some quiet but innocent game of amusement, let the father or son read from an interesting volume, now and then pausing, that all may join in a brief conversation on the subject. . . .From the associations of such a home, and family-room, and center-table, with its stores of knowledge, there would go forth into the world . . . young men and young women with a social influence which would banish from society much of its selfishness.

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Bartow-Pell’s family sitting room. An oversized Bible sits on the center table, which is covered with a period-appropriate green cloth.


Henry F. Darby (American, 1829–1897). The Reverend John Atwood and His Family, 1845. Oil on canvas. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Gift of Maxim Karolik for the M. and M. Karolik Collection of American Paintings, 1815–1865, 62.269

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Ladies sew and converse around a center table. Fashion plate from Godey’s Lady’s Book, January 1853

Center tables and their affiliation with the parlor, often a feminine domain in nineteenth-century households, prompted Godey’s Lady’s Book to publish a column called “Centre-Table Gossip.” The tables were also bourgeois status symbols. “The Center-Table,” a short story published in 1850 in Gazette of the Union, Golden Rule, and Odd Fellows Family Companion, begins:

“Husband,” said Mrs. N——, “I think we must have a center-table. I have some very tasteful volumes, and some beautiful shells, and a variety of things with which to furnish it; and indeed our parlor is quite singular without it, they are so common now.”

“Well, Mary,” replied her husband, “the house is your own domain, you know. Arrange it to your own taste.”

As these passages show, items found on center tables varied, and they revealed what was important in different households. Books and periodicals could indicate an emphasis on education and learning, or they might have been on view merely to demonstrate good taste. An oversized Bible was often included. “Her centre-table contained a large Bible . . . one or two annuals in gay attire, the daguerreotype of her absent son, and a cologne bottle,” wrote Mrs. J. H. Hanaford, mixing the sacred with the secular in “The Centre-Table versus the Dining-Table,” from The Water-Cure Journal (1853). “Rich confusion” is described in this poem from The Monthly Miscellany of Religion and Letters (1840):

A small round table in the centre placed,

With Bible, hymn book, and the annuals graced;

The daily paper and the last review,

Tracts, pamphlets, billets, old as well as new,

With inkstand, wafers, sand-box, paper, knife,

In rich confusion there.

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Sinumbra lamp, French, ca. 1820. Bartow-Pell Mansion Museum, Gift of Stuart and Sue Feld 2014.04a,b

Publishers, manufacturers, and advertisers took advantage of society’s devotion to the center table. For example, in 1852, a book notice in The National Magazine Devoted to Literature, Art, and Religion declared that “exquisitely engraved” Bible illustrations in recently published volumes would “form an elegant addition to the library, or centre-table.” Sewing baskets, books, writing supplies, and the like—which were happily scattered on center tables in back-parlors and sitting rooms—would not usually clutter a formal parlor. Instead, tables in the best rooms of the house might feature a floral arrangement, sinumbra lamp (a “shadowless” lamp with a circular oil font and a glass shade), or decorative object as an elegant centerpiece.

Even though center tables often had marble tops, table cloths were fashionable accessories. According to A. J. Downing: “Centre-tables depend for their good effect mainly on the drapery or cover of handsome cloth or stuff usually spread upon their tops, and concealing all but the lower part of the legs.” And an article in the Merchants’ Magazine and Commercial Review (1859) informs us that “Almost every parlor center-table is covered in winter by a woolen table-cover.” Although a variety of color and fabric options were available, green baize or broadcloth was a common choice.

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Table design. Thomas Hope. Plate 39 from Household Furniture and Interior Decoration, London, 1807

American center tables as a furniture form were inspired by French and English sources. The British Regency designer Thomas Hope (1769–1831), for example, published a “round monopodium or table in mahogany” in his book Household Furniture and Interior Decoration (1807), which scholars have linked to American table design. And French-style gueridons, or round tables, with marble tops, were made in early nineteenth-century New York by the influential Parisian émigré cabinetmaker Charles-Honoré Lannuier (1779–1819).

In Bartow-Pell’s formal double parlors, two center tables date from the second quarter of the nineteenth century. Casters allow them to be moved easily, as originally intended, reminding us that the set-up for today’s First Friday concerts is not entirely unlike what the Bartows would have done for their evening parties. Upstairs in the mansion’s family sitting room, a typically large Bible and items for family activities surround an oil lamp on the center table. Yet another table, with a lap desk, inkwell, and books, is located in the seating area of the master bedchamber.

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American center table in the Grecian Plain style, ca. 1835–40. Bartow-Pell Mansion Museum. Gift of Mrs. Robert Brace, 1986

Although Bartow-Pell currently has several center tables on view, it is unknown how many the Bartow family actually owned. Curators in historic house museums such as Bartow-Pell that do not retain their original furniture use their best knowledge to interpret period rooms, and they rely on donations, monetary gifts, grants, and loans of objects from collectors and other museums to gather appropriate pieces. Over time, new resources and ongoing scholarship allow collections to be refined.

In modern households, the center table is a thing of the past. Lamps have electrical cords that need to be plugged into outlets, so tables with lamps must be next to a wall. Families often gather in front of a television set instead of reading aloud in a circle. And people don’t need a special place to keep a lap desk since lap-top computers can be used almost anywhere.

Although times have changed and center tables are no longer a household essential, they are still a must-have at Bartow-Pell.

Margaret Highland, Historian

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What’s a Girl to Do? Nineteenth-Century Lifestyle Guides for Young Ladies

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Fashion plate (detail), Godey’s Lady’s Book, December 1859

To quote pop star Cindi Lauper, “Girls just want to have fun,” and it was often the same in the nineteenth century. Plus ça change, as they say. There were just a lot more rules back then. And let’s not forget the moral high ground. Henry James’s Daisy Miller and Thackeray’s Becky Sharp wanted to have a good time, but look where their high-spirited ways got them.

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A selection of nineteenth-century etiquette manuals

Etiquette, deportment, and behavior manuals abounded in nineteenth-century America. These didactic guides helped instruct the expanding middle and upper classes on proper manners and “true politeness,” starting at a young age. New parlor furniture wasn’t enough for a family of means; the right kind of social behavior was also required to attain “perfect gentility.” Eliza Leslie, Emily Thornwell, Mrs. John (Eliza) Farrar, and Louisa C. Tuthill are a few examples of authors who wrote in this popular genre. Although Bartow-Pell does not have any volumes from the Bartows’ original library, it is quite possible that their daughters, Catharine (1830–1907), Clarina (1838–1898), and Henrietta (1843–1902), owned this sort of book. Conduct, conversation, fashion, hygiene, social occasions, and letter writing are common subjects. Some advice still resonates, but for modern readers, the rest can range from anachronistic to humorous. In this post, we are going to take a look at some selected do’s and don’ts for mid-nineteenth-century young ladies.

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This upstairs room at Bartow-Pell is interpreted as Clarina Bartow’s bedchamber when she was a teenager in the 1850s.

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Miss Leslie. Frontispiece from Godey’s Lady’s Book, vol. 32, 1846

Eliza Leslie (1787–1858) was a prolific American author who wrote books on etiquette and housekeeping, cookbooks, and fiction, as well as articles for magazines such as Godey’s Lady’s Book. In 1831, she published American Girl’s Book: or, Occupation for Play Hours. The opening pages, which could easily depict the Bartow family, describe a mother arriving home from the city by steamboat and bringing a copy of the American Girl’s Book as a present for her daughters. “I wish we had possessed this book before we went to Georgiana Howard’s birth-day party, where nothing was thought of but playing on the piano and dancing, just as if the company were all ladies and gentlemen,” exclaims one of the girls. “Besides, we have enough of music and dancing at school.” Eliza Leslie clearly did not think that girls should be treated as miniature adults; rather, she wanted them to enjoy childhood pastimes and informal learning through sports, games, riddles, “amusing [needle]work,” and crafts. Frog in the Middle, Track the Rabbit, and other energetic games encouraged physical activity; charades, conundrums, and card games used cognitive skills; and imaginative needlework projects—such as making reticules and pincushions—fostered creativity and sharpened fine motor and sewing skills.

As girls entered their teens, expectations for their behavior changed, prompting plenty of advice from authors. Here are some examples.

Corset detail The London and Paris Ladies' Magazine of Fashion ed by mrs. Edward Thomas, January 1853

London and Paris Ladies’ Magazine of Fashion, January 1853

Mrs. John Farrar complained about the “unhealthy practice of tight [corset] lacing” in The Young Lady’s Friend (1853):

So long as gentlemen admire small waists and praise those figures the most which approach the nearest to the shape of a wasp, or an hour-glass, it is in vain to tell young ladies that the practice is destructive of health, and that there is no real beauty in the small dimensions at which they are aiming. . . . Let mothers, too, make a stand against this general perversion . . . let them keep their daughters without corsets until they have attained their full development of figure.

And here is what Mrs. Farrar had to say on revealing evening gowns:

No woman can strip her arms to her shoulders and show her back and bosom without injuring her mind and losing some of her refinement; if such would consult their brothers, they would tell them how men regard it.

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Fashion plate (detail), Godey’s Lady’s Book, July 1853

In The Lady’s Guide to Perfect Gentility (1856), Emily Thornwell admonished readers against wearing thin silk or muslin gowns, “flimsy silk stockings and slippers of a scarcely more substantial material,” and bare shoulders as “they sally forth into the damp and chilly air of the night . . . shivering with cold” on their way to an evening ball or party. “One cause of the alarming prevalence of consumption among the females in this country may, we suspect, be traced to” such behavior, Thornwell proclaimed.

Eliza Leslie, writing in The Behaviour Book: A Manual for Ladies (1853), expressed these views about young ladies “flirting with beaux” at church:

We are sorry to see young ladies, on their way to church, laughing and talking loudly, and flirting with the beaux that are gallanting them thither. It is too probable that these beaux will occupy a large share of their thoughts during the hours of worship.

Miss Leslie offered many other instructions to her youthful readers and their mothers, including the following “bad practices . . . not to be done”:

Slipping a ring up and down your finger. Sitting cross-kneed and jogging your feet. Drumming on the table with your knuckles, or, still worse, tinking on a piano with your fore-finger only. Humming a tune before strangers. Singing as you go up and down stairs. Putting your arm round the neck of another young girl, or promenading the room with arms encircling waists. . . . Slapping a gentleman with your handkerchief or tapping him with your fan. Allowing him to take a ring off your finger, to look at it. Permitting him to unclasp your bracelet, or, still worse, to inspect your brooch.

The author also cautioned readers against silly trends, “even if they have been introduced by a belle and followed by other belles”:

During the Jenny Lind fever, there were young ladies who affected to skuttle into a drawing-room all of a sudden, somewhat as the fair Swede came skuttling in upon the concert stage.

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Girandole with Jenny Lind base (detail), ca. 1850. Bartow-Pell Mansion Museum. The “Swedish Nightingale” began a sensational American tour in 1850 for P. T. Barnum.

“Girls often bring from the boarding-school a sort of school slang, which they have sported among themselves,” Louisa Tuthill grumbled in The Young Lady’s Home (1847). Eliza Leslie was even more severe on this subject, rebuking young ladies who “try to excite laughter and attract the attention of gentlemen by talking slang. Where do they get it? How do they pick it up? From low newspapers, or from vulgar books? Surely not from low companions?” Heaven forbid!

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Leaving Home. Frontispiece from The Young Lady’s Home, Louisa C.Tuthill, 1847

Just like countless Victorian novels, this post ends with the subject of marriage. Many authors offered matrimonial advice. Louisa Tuthill warned against infidels, immorality, narcissism, old men, curmudgeons, extravagance, idleness, tyrants, and “sour creature[s], who would turn the cream in my coffee by looking at it.” Mrs. Farrar, on the other hand, tried to avoid the topic:

Another reason for my not entering fully into the subject of love and matrimony is that every book of advice for young ladies is full of it, and you can easily find it elsewhere. It is the principal material in every novel and tale, and the best fictions of our day hold up to view the mistakes and faults which young persons are most likely to commit in a more impressive manner than can be done here.

Margaret Highland, Historian

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Greek Revival Mystery: Who Designed the Bartow Mansion?



Bartow mansion, east façade

The present proprietor has lately erected a fine stone house, in the Grecian style, which presents a neat front with projecting wings. Robert Bolton Jr., A Guide to New Rochelle and Its Vicinity, 1842

Robert and Maria Bartow wanted to live in high style. And they had the perfect opportunity to do just that in the 1830s when Mrs. Bartow inherited from her uncle George Lorillard a handsome sum, which enabled the couple to build an elegant stone mansion “in the Grecian style.” Surrounded by expansive lawns and sweeping views of Long Island Sound, their new house—in what later became known as the Greek Revival style—was a status symbol that proclaimed the family’s good taste and social position to admiring visitors and passersby and created a grand impression befitting the descendants of the Lords of the Manor of Pelham.

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Bartow mansion, west façade, ca. 1870

Why did Robert and Maria Bartow decide to leave New York City? Tragedy struck in December 1835, just before Christmas, when two of their four young children died at the family’s home in today’s lower Manhattan, probably from a contagious disease. Dramatically, this was the same week as New York’s Great Fire of 1835, when high winds and frigid temperatures made it difficult to control rapidly spreading flames that destroyed hundreds of buildings. Although there was little loss of life, the conflagration was witnessed by a terrified New York City populace. The traumatized Bartows were probably anxious to leave urban perils behind, and, four months later, they purchased their country property, which had belonged to Robert Bartow’s Pell ancestors and to his grandfather John Bartow (1740–1816). Robert must have had fond boyhood memories of the estate, when his grandfather “kept open house to all his relatives and friends, and his home was the center of attraction in the society of the county from the hearty welcome they always received.” (Evelyn Bartow, Bartow Genealogy, 1878). Now, retired from business, Robert Bartow could live the life of a modern “Lord of the Manor,” following in the footsteps of his venerated Pell ancestors.

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The mansion’s staircase spirals past a bank of windows, allowing light and air to suffuse the center of the house.

On April 25, 1836, the couple bought 233 acres from Herman LeRoy for $40,000. Tradition says that the seventeenth-century Pell manor house was destroyed during the American Revolution and replaced with another dwelling around 1790. This second house no longer exists, but it is believed that Robert and Maria lived there during the six years it took to build their new home. Construction was likely under way by 1838, when the Bartow tutor Augustus Moore wrote: “Mr. Bartow and I have many pleasant walks about the place examining the improvements, etc.” The family moved into the mansion in 1842.

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William Strickland, Second Bank of the United States, Philadelphia, 1819–24. Historic American Buildings Survey, 1939. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division

Greek Revival architecture was in full swing when the Bartows built their new house. This was a common style for domestic structures in the United States from the 1820s to the 1850s and first became popularized by public buildings such as William Strickland’s Second Bank of the United States in Philadelphia (1819–24). The revival of Grecian style in the Western world resulted from a widespread interest in classical archaeology, antiquity, and the architecture of ancient Greece. The United States—with its roots in Thomas Jefferson’s embrace of classical architecture as an appropriate style for the new American republic—was particularly receptive to Greek Revival designs. Prosperous times and new-found wealth, especially after construction of the Erie Canal in New York State, led to a proliferation of this new “National Style.” Pattern books by Asher Benjamin (1773–1845) and Minard Lafever (1798–1854) were important disseminators of architectural elements, serving as guides for builders, carpenters, and craftsmen. Greek Revival had become de rigueur in America.

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Bartow-Pell’s front entrance with pseudo-pediment

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Entry hall and parlor door pediments at Bartow-Pell

Greek Revival buildings often mimic ancient Greek temples, with porticoes, colonnades, and columns, but the presence of these elements was not required, and they are non-existent at the Bartow mansion. Nevertheless, many standard Greek Revival features are found at Bartow-Pell, including a symmetrical main façade, a heavy cornice above a wide band of trim, and a low-pitched hipped roof. A pseudo-pediment above the front door adds a classical component that echoes the interior pediment profile. Some other classical design details—such as niches—create cohesion and balance between the front and back façades and the interior. The mansion’s two projecting wings owe a debt to the architectural legacy of Palladio.

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Double parlors

Bartow-Pell’s subtle exterior contrasts with its robust high-style Greek Revival interiors. In the double parlors, dynamic carved wooden winged cherub’s heads and eagles in high relief fill the pediments; double anthemia (honeysuckle petals) adorn the pilasters; and acanthus and papyrus leaves embellish Corinthian capitals.

Plaster ornamentation includes dentil molding and elaborate ceiling medallions. The somewhat unusual combination of eagles and cherubs—both winged creatures—provides decorative continuity between the two rooms, and the wing form adapts easily to fill the sloping sides of the pediments. The eagle, a popular patriotic motif in the nineteenth century, has sometimes been identified as a more masculine element, perhaps chosen by Mr. Bartow. The cherub’s more feminine overtones suggest an affinity with Mrs. Bartow.

Now for the big question: Who designed the Bartow mansion?

So far, the architect’s identity is lost in history. No drawings, plans, or documents related to the mansion’s design and construction have ever come to light. Architectural scholars have often noted that some of the mansion’s Greek Revival details appear to derive from Minard Lafever’s guides and pattern books, such as the 1833 edition of The Modern Builder’s Guide, and sometimes the mansion is even attributed to him, but there is no evidence that Lafever designed Robert Bartow’s residence.

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Plates from Minard Lafever’s book The Beauties of Modern Architecture, 3rd ed., 1839

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Perhaps coincidentally, Robert Bartow’s brother Edgar John Bartow hired Lafever in the mid-1840s to design the Gothic Revival-style Church of the Holy Trinity in Brooklyn and commissioned stained-glass artisans and brothers William Jay Bolton and John Bolton—whom Edgar John likely met because the Boltons were Robert Bartow’s neighbors—to design and execute the church windows. According to the 1850 census, John Bolton (1818–1898) was employed as a “glass stainer,” but he was working as an architect by 1855 in New York City at 348 Broadway and was in practice with his brother-in-law John Schuyler, a civil engineer. John Bolton has sometimes been identified as possibly designing the Bartow mansion, but this is doubtful because he was only eighteen years old when Robert and Maria bought the property and there is no evidence that Bolton was employed as a professional architect before 1855. Furthermore, he is not mentioned in his brother Robert’s published description of the house. However, the Bolton brothers were also woodworkers, and perhaps John helped with some of the wood carving or carpentry at the mansion. (He later became an Episcopal priest.)

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Hawkswood. Historic American Buildings Survey. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division

Other attributions for the Bartow mansion have been suggested, including Thomas Cole (1801–1848), the Hudson River School painter and sometime architect who married Robert Bartow’s first cousin Maria Bartow, and Martin Euclid Thompson (1787–1877), who has been named as the architect of Hawkswood, a nearby Greek Revival house known as the Marshall mansion (and later the Colonial Inn) that was among the historic Pelham Bay dwellings demolished by Robert Moses during the 1930s. Finally, as clients, how involved were the Bartows in the building’s design, and how much influence did they exert over the unknown architect?

At present, we can only speculate on who designed the Bartow mansion, but we hope that one day this Greek Revival mystery will be solved.

Margaret Highland, Historian

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