The Indians, the
Dutch, the English, the Colonials, the Revolutionists, the New
Americans, the shining lights of art, science, fashion and the state,
have all passed through it, confidently and at home. The dead have
slept there; wicked men have died there and great ones been honoured.
Belles and beaux have minced on their way beneath the thick green
branches,--branches that have also quivered to the sound of artillery
fire saluting a mighty nation newborn. Nothing that a city can feel or
suffer or delight in has escaped Washington Square. Everything of
valour and tragedy and gallantry and high hope--that go to making a
great town as much and more than its bricks and mortar--are in that
nine and three-quarters acres that make up the very heart and soul of
New York.
The lovely Arch first designed by Stanford White and erected by
William Rhinelander Stewart's public-spirited efforts, on April 30,
1889, was in honour of the centennial anniversary of Washington's
inauguration; it was so beautiful that, happily, it was later made
permanent in marble, and in all the town there could have been found
no more fitting place for it.
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