Davis: Old Views of Staten Island Scenery 57 



conveys the people as far as the Telegraph, and the ride from 

 the ferry is delightfully pleasant. On one side are numerous 

 country seats and cottages, built in form like castles and palaces, 

 on the other, is the bay, laying like a perfect mirror, with New 

 York behind and the sea in front." 



Accompanying a " View of Brighton, Staten Island, New 

 York," from Ballou's Pictorial Drawing Room Companion [Aug. 

 29, 1857?] J we have "Chiefest for beauty of situation, in the 

 vicinage of New York, stands Staten Island at the mouth of Hud- 

 son River, and stretching towards the ocean, comprising within its 

 limits the thriving towns of Brighton, Port Richmond, Stapleton, 

 Tompkinsville and Clifton. Port Richmond is dear to the lovers 

 of oysters, and these delicious bivalves, the delight of city epicures, 

 have made fortunes for many of the dealers. Brighton is particu- 

 larly famous for its beautiful private residences, which, embos- 

 omed in trees and flowers, gem the green slopes along the edge of 

 the harbor. The Pavihon Hotel, the cupola of which is seen in our 

 picture, is second to none in the country as a place of resort, and, 

 taken altogether, Brighton is decidedly the aristocratic portion of 

 Staten Island. The church on the left of the view is St. Peters, 

 and across the water is seen New Jersey, its shores studded with 

 villages, and its distant highlands closing the view. When Hen- 

 drick Hudson first sailed into New York bay, this island was an 

 almost unbroken forest, inhabited by the Manhattan and Naveshik 

 Indians — warlike tribes not at all disposed to exten.d a cordial wel- 

 come to the white intruders, and among the descendants of the 

 early Dutch settlers along the Jersey shore, are still floating many 

 traditions, some of them wild enough, chronicling the desperate 

 conflicts with the red men, and their final disappearance from the 

 soil. Their last camp on the island is said to have been at Silver 

 Lake, on the summit of the hills at Tompkinsville, still surrounded 

 by woods, and supposed to be the crater of an extinct volcano." 

 This verbal picture is as different from the New Brighton of today 

 as is the picture of the scene which accompanies it ; and we know 

 that what the author has to say about the beautiful private resi- 



