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lodgings in the city and perforce betook themselves to Frankford where prejudice was less rancorous. An amusing chapter might be written upon the festivities that used to take place at Harrogate Inn in connexion with its dancing pavilion. When the place was in the heyday of its prosperity, rosy-cheeked, fair-haired German lads and lasses, for whom Monday was the hebdomadal holiday, would resort thither weekly. They usually arrived in the morning, drank beer, danced and, altogether, had a serenely happy time. In the afternoon an Irish contingent from Port Richmond would appear, previously fortified for the long journey from beyond Gunner's Run (something more than a mile) by sundry repeated imbibings of whiskey. Their aim was to cut out the “Dutchies," as they called them, gain for themselves the smiles and favour of the Teuton maids, and supplant the German waltz by the Irish jig on the dancing floor. Needless to say confusion and heartburnings, if nothing worse, always resulted—worse did almost invariably follow and added the testimony of broken pates to the unwisdom of mixing drinks. This racial strife was, of course, later than Colonial times, but it deserves some mention in the story of this vicinage that has retained so much of its primitive character.

The garden at Cedar Grove is of the sort that can be found nowhere else save about an ancient house where sweet and sacred memories linger like the scents of the old-fashioned flowers blooming in the borders. The beds are edged with box-bushes thick-grown enough to sit on. Back of the house is a trellised arbour in the rose gar

den and all about it blow in profusion century-old damask roses of marvellous perfume, fragrant sweetbriar, moss roses, tea roses, and a score of others whose names are all but forgotten amid the motley throng of modern blooms. By the kitchen is a wonderful old milk-house in whose cool, mysterious depths the water bubbles through a marble basin and chills the pans of rising cream. Cedar Grove retains to-day its pristine mien and though the city's onward march has made it uncomfortable and even impossible of tenancy, it still breathes the spirit of the generations who lived quiet, orderly, God-fearing lives under its roof. It is a place replete with gentle memories, memories as peaceful as the old pale pink roses in its garden, and its brooding charm seems to tell of the comfort and contentment that reigned perennially on its threshold.

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2 UST after passing Frankford Junc

tion, from the train windows can be seen the upper part of a venerable building surrounded by trees and situated down in the Y formed by the divergent embankments of the

New York division of the Pennsylvania Railroad and the branch turning off to the Delaware River Bridge. This ancient dwelling near the banks of the Frankford Creek is Chalkley Hall. In its happier days before the encroachments of railroads and industrial plants, it was one of the fairest and stateliest seats of all the region round the city.

The main part of Chalkley Hall, erected about 1776, is an imposing square structure of cream-coloured Manchester stone brought from England as ballast. It is three storeys in height, with a hipped roof topped by fullthroated square chimneys. A range of five windows extends across the broad front, the central portion of which, embracing the three middle windows, stands forth somewhat beyond the rest of the front wall and is surmounted by a pediment whose summit rises to the ridge of the main roof. At the corners of the offset and of the building, pilasters rise from ground to cornice, while belt courses between the storeys traverse the field of the wall.

Within the great hallway is a wonderfully constructed staircase and spacious chambers on either side. The iron-pillared verandah over the main door was an

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unfortunate addition of some fifty years ago—in the best taste of its day, to be sure, but that is saying very little.

To the west is a low, two-storey wing with hipped roof pierced by dormers. Its front is lighted by a row of seven square windows, so that its length, as may be thereby inferred, is considerable. This wing is the older portion of the house and was built prior to 1723.

Thomas Chalkley, merchant, ship-owner and Quaker missionary, who established the plantation and bui the old house, says in his diary:

.

I was born on the 3rd day of the Third month, 1675, in Southwark [London] and descended of honest and religious parents [the strictest of Friends] who were very careful of me, and brought me up in the fear of the Lord; and oftentimes counselled me to sobriety, and reproved me for wantonness; and that light spirit which is incident to youth, they were careful to nip in the bud:

When between eight and ten years of age, my father

sent me

to school in the suburbs of London. I went mostly by myself, and many and various were the exercises I went through by beatings and stonings along the streets, being distinguished to the people by the badge of plainness which my parents put upon me About this time the Lord began to work strongly on my mind by his grace, insomuch that I could not forbear reproving those lads that swore

one time I remember being among some men, one of whom I had reproved

Being convicted in their consciences that what I said was true, they were all silent and wondered that I, being so young, could speak in such a manner; in which I remember, I had great peace and good satisfaction;

Notwithstanding I hated to hear wicked words, I loved play exceedingly, being persuaded there was no harm in that, if we used no bad words

I loved music,

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CHALKLEY HALL, FRANKFORD
Built by Thomas Chalkley, c. 1723; enlarged by Abel James, c. 1776

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