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Note: t, Brookside Section, Section 21, SW 11473, Woodlawn Cemetery.
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The New-York Times.
NEW YORK, MONDAY, APRIL 20, 1896.--TWO PARTS-TWELVE PAGES.
p. 1, top of col. 5.
RUNAWAY ON EAST DRIVE
A BICYCLIST CAUSES DISASTER IN CENTRAL PARK.
Becomes Confused, His Wheel Wabbles, and His Career is Checked by Butcher Meyer's Big Gray Horse, Which Dashes Away, Tips Out His Load, and Upsets the Wagon of Mr. and Mrs. Leggett--Meyer Only One Seriously Hurt.
While the East Drive in Central Park was crowded yesterday afternoon with thousands of vehicles, an inexperienced bicyclist at Seventy-third Street ran against a large gray horse drawing a double-seated road wagon. A runaway with disastrous consequences followed.
The turnout belonged to Samuel Meyer, a well-to-do butcher living at 104 Second Avenue, and the occupants included himself, his wife, his sister-in-law, and another young woman. Their carriage was overturned and all thrown out, while the horse ran down the drive, dragging the wagon after him, and upsetting another carriage before his career was ended by a mounted policeman. None of the occupants of the Meyer wagon was injured excepting Mr. Meyer, who had two teeth knocked out and received an ugly cut on the chin.
The second carriage upset contained C. H. Leggett, a wholesale druggist of 301 Pearl Street, and his wife. They live at 73 East Ninety-seventh Street. Both were tossed a dozen feet, landing on the turf by the pathway and receiving no injuries.
The bicyclist was not arrested. Some said he had been seen hunting for portions of his wheel, other that he had jumped up uninjured and hastened away after seeing the trouble he had caused.
Mr. Meyer, after being taken to the Presbyterian Hospital in a Park ambulance, was carried home last evening, and talked to a reporter for THE NEW-YORK TIMES.
"I had just looked at my watch," he said, "and noticed that it was 4 o'clock. The reins were in my right hand, while my left was thrown over the back of the seat. I was not going very fast, and was driving carefully. The horse and carriage are my own, and the horse is a safe one.
"The bicyclist, I noticed, was a short, stout young fellow, with a smooth face. He was dressed in rather old clothes, and did not look exactly like a gentleman. When he got a few feet from my horse, he was neck and neck with a horse also coming toward me. The bicyclist seemed to get confused. He was evidently inexperienced. His bicycle began to wabble, and before anything could be done, he lost control of it and fell right under my horse's hind legs. I first grabbed my wife, who was sitting by my side, and tried to save her. The reins encumbered me so I let go of them.
"We all found ourselves in the gutter, and I was thrown against the curb. We saw our horse tearing down through the crowded drive, and the bicyclist gathering up his bicycle and slinking away, but we were too much shaken up to think of having him arrested, even if there had been a policeman in sight."
The Meyer carriage was smashed into pieces, and the one of the Leggetts, which was a single-seated road wagon, nearly ruined.
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N.Y. Dec 28th 1920
Dear Kate [Kate Adelia (Bagnall) Leggett, 1864-1960]
Just a line to thank you for remembering me-I don't suppose I deserve it. But-the last year has been very trying. First Clinton's [Clinton Huggins Leggett, 1847-1937] sickness and then in June the apartment was robbed and much of my silver jewelry and other things taken about 1000 dollars worth-so I did not feel like doing very much. But I didn't forget you and I appreciate having thought of even if I don't act so We had [page over] had a pleasant Christmas and were well remembered. My friend Mrs. Gillin made me a beautiful lamp shade. It is not only handsome but valuable. I had since silver spoons from another friend and lots of other things My relations are all gone but my friends are good to us. I lost a cousin in October-there is only one left-Florence [Florence Huggins Leggett, 1863-1934, later Mrs. George Lesley] was here Christmas and her friend Mr. Leslie-she does not get here very often Too much of an undertaking she is living in the Martha Washington 29th st. She looks fine but didn't seem able to do very much Clinton seems to be quite well but can't do too much. But when I look at him I think how much I have to be thankful for-There is no family news to write I never see Laura and Fannie Verli? Is the only one I ever hear from. Mrs. Whitehead died a short time ago-she was a cousin. I have met her, and she spent several evening here. I know you are a busy woman, but I am always glad to hear from you and all the family news. Thanking you again for your pretty gift and hoping you are all well and happy I am with love to all
Sister Josie [Josephine Louise (Morgan) Leggett, 1851-1927]
Letters Nos. 19 and 20 of Josephine's husband Clinton's father, Thomas B. Leggett, to his grandchildren, children of Clinton's brother, Edward. All such surviving letters may be found by consulting the chart under the Notes for Thomas:
293 Lenox Ave.
New York, N.Y.
June 25, 1892.
My dear Granddaughter
Mary H. Leggett, I must confess to you, I did not expect to write to you again this season; in fact, I told you so in my last letter. Now, I do not wish to go back on my word with you, but, as I had just finished writing a letter to your brother Howard, which closes my letter writing with him for the season, I thought, perhaps, you would be pleased to receive one so that you might have a letter to read at the same time.
I will now invite you to another walk. This time I propose that we start from the main entrance gate on the Boston road, so called, from the fact that, in those days, when there was no rail road, the mail coach passed over this road from New York to Boston. This coach line ran until about the year 1840. We will open this large white gate and walk into and through the lane to your great grandfather’s [Thomas Leggett (1755-1843)] house. The lane winds through his fields and woods on either side for nearly a mile. It is a lovely drive or walk along this winding lane, up little hills and down small dales, with large shade trees on either side, having a constant change of view over extensive meadows and cultivated fields. At the foot of this small hill we are approaching, just at the turn of the lane as you come to the entrance gate which opens on to the lawn of the house, I shall show you a small but very pretty fish pond of fresh water. This pond is much hidden from view by Napoleon willows, alder bushes and other shrubs, all of which grow very rank and luxuriantly. We boys make wonderfully nice pop-guns out of these alder stalks. Some were so large, we could push a wad through with the aid of a hickory rod with such force that it will make a report like that of a pistol. The pond is a pretty little body of perfectly transparent spring water, fed by a narrow but lively bubbling rivulet, tumbling along, meandering through the thick woods and over the green meadows on its way to this pond, and thence to the salt meadows beyond. It is a favorite resort for all us children in the summer afternoons. We sit on its well shaded green banks, twisting the willow twigs into whips and fashion the alder stalks into pop-guns, while watching the gold and silver fish as they sport themselves in the cool, crystal waters. The banks around the pond slope well up from the water, then gradually receding for some distance away, and all covered with myrtle and wild flowers. At the outlet, ferns grow very abundantly, particularly the much admired maiden hair fern. In my early days, as far back as the year 1832, it was a picturesque, cozy little place, and quite a feature of the drive through the winding lane, and adding much to its attractiveness, as it was then kept in perfect order. There were rustic seats, pleasant walks and shady places; but like everything else in this world, it fell into neglect and decay, and after a while, became as careless looking as it once was beautiful.
Passing along the road from the fish pond, you find yourself at the foot of some rising ground, looking up to and fronting the farm house. In the early spring, your attention would be attracted by the constant croaking bullfrogs. Just over the fence, hidden from sight by a heavy growth of small bushes, was a secluded little spring of pure, ice cold water. This spring was so concealed and covered with green moss and long grass, that you might pass it a dozen times and never dream that there was a spring nearby.
For many years, a family of the largest sized green-coated frogs lived and thrived in and about this living spring. These big frogs were a dread and terror to us small boys. Their eyes were so large and bulged out of their heads, they looked so wild and glared at us, their bodies were so bid and shiny, and they would swell them out so much, their mouths were so wide and ugly looking, and they would croak so loudly, and in such a solemn manner, keeping up their croaking for such a long time, and withal so dignified and proud, sitting up on the green, mossy bank with their great, long, hind legs spread out, ready to jump at us; that often times, toward evening in the spring when we would be passing by on the road and hear the deep, solemn toned croak of those big frogs, se would fancy all sorts of things, so would take each others’ hands and run past the place as fast as we could.
Crossing the lawn fronting the Rose Bank house was a Ha-Ha wall dividing it from what we called the Point lot. This lot comprised some fifty acres of high ground, rising well up from the river front. On both the east and south sides it was skirted with quite a stretch of brilliant feldspar rock. At the end of the point, the water was very deep where the rock dropped sheer into the water. We caught large black fish in the deep water off the rock. On the west side of the lot was quite a piece of heavy woodland. These woods were the hunting grounds of the boys for rabbits, weasels, skunk and mink. Just off the woods to the west was an extensive salt meadow through which a narrow salt water creek, having many crooks and turns and zig-zag ways wound in and out and around, until it reached a pretty little cove, almost hidden from sight by the hazel nut bushes and large chestnut trees that grew on the high banks. This creek was called by the Indian name Bunga Creek. In the woods which stretched away from the banks, were many mounds, which were said to be the graves of Indian chiefs. Just a little way from this creek was a ledge of rock which was the den of the largest size black snakes. Some of these times I must tell you what times we boys used to have with these snakes.
When the tide was rising, it would whisk and whirl your little boat up and through this creek at a great rate of speed. The creek was noted for the abundance of crabs, eels and black mussels, all of them considered great table delicacies. It was also alive with shrimp and little fiddlers which are considered choice bait for bass and black fish. These little fiddlers live in holes on the banks of the creek, where the mussels are also found in great abundance. The fiddlers are little, round black crabs, about two inches long and having very hard shells. They run about over the mud and in and out of their holes as quick as thought. They have but one very strong biting claw. If they catch hold of your finger with this claw, they never let go. To free yourself, you must pull the claw from their body, which, strange to say, does not appear to affect them in the least. Many a bite and sore finger I have had from these little fiddlers when catching them for bait.
One cold, frosty October morning we boys started out early to look after our traps, which we had set out the night before in the woods. The large steel trap was carefully set for a mink or weasel, or perhaps a skunk. The figure 4 traps were for rabbits. They were made by bending over a young sapling and fastening a string with a slip loop on it to the extreme end of the sapling. The sapling was kept down by tying the loop to a figure 4 pegged to the ground. The least touch to the figure 4 would spring the catch, the loop falling over the head of the rabbit and the sapling straightening up and swinging the rabbit up in the air. We all started in the direction of the figure 4 traps, but just as we entered the woods, I was told to run over to the steel trap to see if there was anything in it and then come back to the rest of the boys and report. When I reached the trap, found it sprung and nothing in it, I thought I would set it and then run after the boys. I placed my foot on the spring, pushed it down part way and then put my thumbs on the sharp saw tooth jaws to pull them out flat and set the trap. I had just pulled the jaws slightly apart when I realized how cold and numb my hands and feet were and how little power was in them and how little control I had over them. The trap closed on my thumbs and held me fast. There I was, way out in the woods, out of the hearing of my brothers, so cold I was all in a shake and shiver in every part of me, my feet numb and helpless with cold, my thumbs firmly held between the teeth of the trap, which was chained to a tree and so could not be moved. I fell on the ground exhausted with pain and cold, and would in a short time have frozen to death. Fortunately the boys came to see why I had taken so long at the trap. They immediately took in the situation, releasing my thumbs from the bite of the trap, rubbing my hands and walking me about to get my blood circulating. I was soon able to walk back to the house to get my thumbs dressed and myself thoroughly warm. I assure you, that from that day, I never touched a steel trap to set it, when my feet or fingers were very cold.
On the high ground just back of the ledge of feldspar rock, and on the extreme point of the Point lot, there stood that pretty little house which I have before spoken of as the Pavillion. This was a small house, painted white with green blinds. It had just one room and was designed like a Greecian temple, having a wide porch in front, over which the roof extended. This porch was supported by Greecian columns. This little house was erected in the year 1832 by my father for the exclusive use of our sister, [Catherine Maria Leggett (Allen) (1817-1890)] when she was a little girl of some fourteen summers. It was furnished to suit her ideas and taste, and just as a little girl would wish to have it. The view of the river from the porch or windows of the Pavillion was really beautiful. The water just off the rock in front of this house being very deep, vessels would sail up to within a few yards of it before making their tack. The white caps would scud along over the tops of the waves as they came rolling and tumbling along, striking the rock with great force and throwing the spray high over the banks. That beautiful bird which flies so gracefully over the waves, the sea gull, and has such power of wind, flying with such ease against the severest storm, would be seen hovering about, skimming the crest of the waves, and rejoicing as the wind increased in power. It is a saying among sailors that when the sea gull flies close to the water, it is a sign of a storm. On the feldspar rock which was just in front of this pavillion, and which projected well out into the river, there was a natural seat just large enough to hold one person. Nature had fashioned it to have back and sides, so, by placing shawls on the rock, one had a very comfortable seat and a grand look-out. On the extreme point of the rock was very deep water, which was always rough and in wild motion, making the picture just so much more attractive.
Tradition said that Washington Irving, the poet, used to sit on this rock when composing his verses. Many a time I have sat in that same seat of solid rock and enjoyed the beautiful view before me. The little pavillion, where my sister passed so many happy hours during her girlhood, remained on that spot for over fifty years, when it was taken away to another spot and used for other purposes; so goes the world, always changing and never quiet.
During the years when our family lived at Rose Bank, and in consequences of this little house standing so boldly out to view from the water and its being so well painted in white, it was known by all the river pilots as Leggett’s Point land mark. I hope that this coming fall, we may get a barouche some pleasant Saturday, and have your father, mother, Howard and yourself, all go up and have a look at Rose Bank as it is. Then you may draw your own conclusions as to how it must have looked in my younger days. Of course we shall find it much changed and altered, but, for all that, I shall be able to point out to you much of what I have written you about and which you may remember.
Now come and sit with me in the Washington Irving seat, for it is large enough for the two of us. While you are looking out over the river at the big ships as they come sailing up through Hell Gate, I will tell you, among other things, about the goats and goat wagons which your father and your Uncle Clinton had when they were very small and gentlemanly little boys. I will say that we made it a rule of our lives to make the home of our children so happy and pleasant to them that they never cared to leave it. Consequently they were a contented and satisfied family of children, and loved their own home and their surroundings better than those of their young friends and neighbors.
One summer morning, a gentleman and his wife, who had just returned from a very extended tour through Europe and the Holy Land, came to pass the day with us, having driven up from the city in their carriage. The lady was entertaining your father [Edward Howard Leggett, (1845-1927)] and his brother Clinton [Clinton Huggins Leggett, (1847-1937)] with tales of what she had seen in her travels through the different countries of the world she had visited. Among other things, she said that, in India, they had ridden on the backs of elephants; over the great deserts of Africa, on camels; through the snows of Norway, by reindeer; and in other countries on donkeys, mules, asses and ponies. The two boys were standing up in front of her, looking very intently in her face, and taking in all she said, when Clinton, going up very close to her and taking hold of her hand to better attract her attention, said, "Did you ever ride behind goats?" He looked so cunning, Mrs. Lowrie drew him up to her and kissing him said, "Clinton, I must say I never have ridden behind goats." Well would she like to take a ride in their goat wagon? Yes, she would. That was enough. Off went the two boys, on the full run, to harness up their goats, so happy were they with the thought that Mrs. Lowrie would ride with them in their goat wagon. In a short time they were at the door, having your Uncle Clinton’s black goat Dick harnessed with your father’s white goat Billy hitched before their two seated, square body spring wagon. They made a pretty little picture as they drew up at the door. I don’t think I ever saw anything so cunning as did those two dear little boys, as they stood before the door, feeling so proud that a lady, who had traveled all over the world, was to ride with them in their goat wagon. They sat up so straight on the front seat, one holding the reins and the other the whip, both so polite and gentlemanly. When Mrs. Lowrie saw the high and narrow back seat she was expected to sit on, she was rather afraid to get in, fearing the wagon might upset, so suggested that the back seat be taken out and she would sit on the bottom of the wagon with her back to the boys and her feet sticking out from the back of the wagon. It was indeed a comical sight to see her in this position, but she was determined to please the boys, and at the same time have some fun out of it for herself. When all was ready, the boys started the goats off at a full gallop, Mrs. Lowrie holding on the sides of the wagon with her hands, and getting most fearfully shaken up. Down the road in the lawn they went, at full speed around the big circle and up the hill to the back gate, on the full run, turning around and back again to the house before Mrs. Lowrie had time to scream out to stop. When she got out of the wagon she said, "Boys, of all the many countries I have been in, and of all the different kinds of vehicles I have seen, with the many different kinds of animals I have ridden behind, the ride with these two goats, in this small wagon, with you two little boys beats them all. I have never before had such a ride, nor have I ever been so shaken up, and shall never forget this goat ride as long as I live." Nor did she forget it, for shortly thereafter she again went abroad and wrote the boys a very nice letter.
In addition to the two seated wagon, intended for two goats, the boys each had a sulky with single harness. They also had a stable in which to keep their goats, as well as a shed for their wagon and sulkies. Each boy assumed full responsibility for the care of his goat. They also had other pets of various kinds: chickens, ducks and pigeons. Each had his own little garden which was kept in neat order.
At one time we had on the place a very large turkey gobbler. He was rather an ugly old fellow, and at times would run after the boys and chase them all over the lawn. One day your Uncle Clinton, when he was but a little fellow, came running into the house, calling to this mother to tell her that the ugly old turkey had been chasing and kicking him, and would she please come out and give the old fellow a good whipping. One of these days you must have your father take you to your Uncle Clinton’s house to show you the portrait of your Uncle Clinton and your father. It was painted when they were quite young boys, and will show you exactly how they looked at that time. I could keep on and write you many more little stories, but I do not know if you care for them, and rather fear that I have already tired you with my long letters, so will give you a rest for the balance of the season; trusting that you will keep well, and your summer be a pleasant one, and will say good-bye.
I am, your Grandfather
Thomas B. Leggett
The Bellevue Villa House Highland, Ulster Co.
New York
August 17, 1892
My dear Grandson,
Howard C. Leggett,
I was much pleased to receive your letter of August 14th., with plans of your chicken house. I fully agree with you and think it would be a good idea to put another story on the main building. How would it do to make this new upper story all for your pigeon house, and all the other part for your chicken house, tool house and office? I would also suggest that you get some old window sash and place in the side of the chicken house so as to give more light during the winter days, and to get more benefit of the heat of the sun during those cold days. Make the sash to slide back and forth so you can introduce fresh air from time to time as required, for chickens must have fresh air as well as sunlight to keep them well and healthy; and as for heat, they will stand all you will give them and thrive the better for it. Keep your house perfectly clean and covered with white wash. All the ground floor should be well drained to keep it dry, and always covered with sand for the fowl to scratch in. Now you will have ample time to think up all these alterations and settle in our mind just how you would like to have it done, and when we all return to our homes in the fall, we can talk up the cost, and the ways and means to be able to do it.
Referring to that part of your letter about the picking of huckleberries with the aid of a wire comb, it is a novel idea and a new one to me.
The place where we are now staying is quite a pleasant one, being some three hundred feet up above the river with a fine view for a long distance. The house will hold about a hundred guests and twenty five servants, which with the family, makes some 130 persons in all under one roof. One part of the house is five stories high. As for the Hudson River which we overlook and which is said to be one of the most beautiful ones in the world, you already know more or less about it, so will not speak of it now. But I must say a few words and tell you something about the wonderful bridge that crosses the river at this place. This bridge is now known as the Poughkeepsie Bridge. It is used exclusively for railroad purposes, and is the longest one in the world with the exception of one in Scotland. The Poughkeepsie Bridge is built entirely of steel and is 6767 feet long, supported by 128 steel piers resting on granite foundations. That portion of the bridge which spans the river is 2608 feet long from shore to shore, and is constructed on an entirely new plan known as the cantilever. The river itself is crossed by five spans, each span being 521 feet in length, and 212 feet above high water. The construction is called cantilever for the reason that the spans over the river cant up and over on the principle of an arch. The granite stone foundations on which the steel piers rest, are down in the river and mud for 140 feet, resting on the solid rock below. When I tell you that all this great structure, considerably over a mile in length, and 212 feet up in the air, is composed entirely of steel beams, rods and bolts, without a particle of wood about it, you may well understand that it is one of the great wonders of the age. Cantilever is a new word and applies to the arches of a bridge built over a wide
river on this novel plan. By this cantilever method you gain much strength, as well as height, with a great saving of material. So much for the Poughkeepsie Bridge.
This part of the country where we are now passing the summer is wonderful for the great quantity of rocks large and small and for the high hills. So much do the small stones cover the ground that you would not suppose it possible that anything could grow on it. Yet Ulster County is a great producer of grapes and small fruits. I have ridden through vineyards comprising thousands of vines. The other day I drove through one covering 40 acres of ground and having over 18,000 grape vines, all filled with bunches of beautiful gapes and looking as if they grew out of the very stones. So thick were the stones on the ground that you could not see the evidence of a particle of earth. Blackberries, raspberries, currants and huckleberries are to be seen covering acres of ground on which it looks as if nothing in the world could possibly grow, so covered is the ground with small stones. Thousands of boxes of fruit are sent every day to the New York and Boston markets from this Ulster County.
All this county about is very wild and rough. It is all up hill and down hill, making it very difficult and tiresome walking. Then again, the river banks are so high and rise so steeply from the river, that you can only at certain places, and those far apart, get up and down to the river which destroys all the pleasure. The West Shore Rail Road skirts all the shore on the west side of the river, as the Hudson Rail Road does on the east side. Since the inhabitants have to cross a rail road to get to the river, which is uncertain and dangerous, they get little pleasure and benefit from the river.
You ask me to write again of the Rose Bank days, which I will with much pleasure; but do not suppose you care for this during your vacation, so perhaps some day next winter you may be surprised some day to receive a long letter in a large envelope. Give my love to your father, mother and sister Mary. I do hope that you will all keep well and have a pleasant summer. I shall always be pleased to hear from you.
I am your
Grandfather,
Thomas B. Leggett.
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http://www.italiangen.org/NYCDeathresults.ASP?EnterSurname=leggett&EnterSoundexCode=&EnterFirstInitial=&kindenter=exact
Surname Given Name Age Month Day Year Certificate
Number County Soundex
Leggett Josephine L 76 y Jan 11 1927 1087 Manhattan L230
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The New York Times, 12 & 13 January 1927
Deaths.
LEGGETT-Josephine L., beloved wife of Clinton H. Leggett and daughter of the late John J. and Margaret Morgan. Funeral services at her residence, 600 West 165th St., Thursday, Jan. 13, at 11 A. M.
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<b>Josephine Louise <i>Morgan</i> Leggett
</b>Birth 1851
Death 11 Jan 1927 (aged 75-76) New York County (Manhattan), New York, USA
Burial Woodlawn Cemetery Bronx, Bronx County, New York, USA
Plot Lot S. W. 11473, Sec. 21, Brookside
Memorial ID 137067008
Note: Birth and death dates (years only) from stone in the Leggett/Morgan Plo
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