make use of a horse and carriage. Now and then one of the godless would
slip away northward for a drive on some unfrequented road. Detection
meant society's averted face and stern reprimand. For an indefinite
period the sinner would be a subject of intercession at evening prayers.

The weekday life was in keeping with the Knickerbocker Sabbath. Home was
the family castle, over which parental authority ruled with an iron
hand. Hospitality was genuine and whole-hearted; but tempered by frugal
moderation. Strict punctuality was demanded of every member of the
household. The noon repast was the meal of the day. At the stroke of
twelve old New York sat down to table. In the home there was variety and
abundance, but the dinner was served as one course. Meats, poultry,
vegetables, pies, puddings, fruits, and sweets were crowded together on
the board. This adherence to the midday meal must have been the weak
point in the armour in which the old order encased itself. For there the
first breach was made. New Yorkers, returning from visits to Europe,
hooted at the primitive noon repast of their youth. At first what were
called the "foreign airs" of these would-be innovators were treated with
derision. But they persisted, and by slow stages three o'clock became
the extra fashionable hour for dinner. The old City Hotel was one of the
first public places to fall into line.

The time was to come when a dining establishment, second to none of its
day in social prestige and culinary excellence, was to stand on a corner
of Fifth Avenue and Fourteenth Street. But when those who dwelt on lower
Fifth Avenue were still pioneers, dining out in public places meant a
long and venturesome journey to the southward. The restaurants of that
time--they were more generally called "eating houses,"--were almost all
established in the business portions of the city. The midday dinner was
the meal on which they depended for their main support. Then masculine