Demorest’s Monthly Magazine, April 1868

JOURNAL OF A NOVICE NEW YORKER, LADY MARGARET MONTAGU DOUGLAS SCOTT

Dear Diary,

Today I awoke for the first time in my newly rented town house on Washington Square. From my bedroom window I can see trees coming into bud, and just for a moment I thought myself back home in rural Scotland. But only for a moment, before the noise of the city assailed me and I knew I could be nowhere else on earth but in New York. I’m not a country bumpkin (or in local parlance, a hick), as I have experience of life in Edinburgh, London, and Dublin, but there is something unique about this city. This humble journal will attempt to capture the character of the Metropolis through the eyes of a newcomer.

Take this morning. New York doesn’t so much awake as burst into life. I watch the residents of the neighbouring boarding-houses set out for work in their brown suits, cutting across the square to Broadway. I can hear the rumble of the streetcars they will catch and the cries of the newspaper hawkers on the corner. Even this early, the city hums and crackles with energy.

Breakfast in my new abode, however, is an oasis of calm Englishness—pots of tea and bread and butter. Do not assume from this that I am one of those people intent on diluting the experience of living here by recreating my homeland. I intend to become, as far as I can, a true New Yorker, but there are limits. I cannot take to coffee first thing, though my well-travelled and very dear companion prefers it. She misses the banquet that was the breakfast offered by the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where we have until recently been residing, too. During our stay, she dedicatedly worked her way through the entire menu. Everything but hominy met with her approval, and I confess that I feel the same. We were assured that it was like porridge, and both being Scotswomen were predisposed to enjoy it, but it was nothing like our traditional oats. I take my porridge with cream and salt. My companion puts sugar on hers—sacrilege! I have heard tell of others who have it with stewed fruit, with honey, or even strawberries. Abomination! Does the serving of hominy arouse as much controversy? I must investigate.

I spent the morning, Diary Dear, arranging my furniture and my linens; but in the afternoon, having had a surfeit of domestic bliss, I decided to take a trip uptown in a streetcar. A first! The place I have chosen to live is positioned quite literally at a crossroads in the city. In one direction live those who can choose to work or not, and in the other direction are those who have no option. In Dublin and London the rich and the poor live cheek by jowl. I have not yet encountered this in New York, but perhaps I’ve not strayed far enough yet? In my experience one learns most about a place by accident. Happily I am very prone to accidents!

There is nothing like a streetcar in London, and I cannot imagine there ever will be, for the tracks would have to be laid on the roads, which are much narrower than New York’s avenues, and that would cause complete chaos. Climbing aboard while wearing the full complement of fashionable skirts was a feat so difficult I almost gave up. Imagine trying to get astride a horse without the use of a mounting block, and you will be half-way there. I am sure my technique, a combination of heaving and clambering, can be bettered with practice, but it will never achieve any vestige of elegance. However once on board and perched upon one of the well-worn seats, the journey was swift and smooth. My fellow passengers were an eclectic mix, and I discovered that being seated opposite one another on a streetcar is the one situation in New York where it is deemed ill-mannered to stare. Everyone contemplates their feet.

For my next outing I am resolved to head downtown on the stage horse car, though I have been warned that these vehicles are considerably more difficult to ascend than the streetcar. Even more exciting, I believe that the West Side Elevated Patented Railway will open in the summer. I am not precisely sure what this might be or where it may take you, but it sounds like far too alluring an experience to miss, and I shall try my best to be among one of the earliest passengers.

Travelling alone on public transport is a mundane experience for many New Yorkers, but it is a great novelty to me, and a very liberating experience. I hope that I never become blasé about it, but I resolved, while making the return journey downtown to my home—for already this house feels like home—to try to capture my impressions while they were fresh. So I sat at my new desk and opened a fresh notebook and began this little journal.

I have barely scratched the surface of New York and am curious to know more. I have a list the length of my arm of new adventures crying out to be experienced. Rest assured, I will record all my impressions, good, bad, and indifferent.