William Wilkins Remembered

In this article from 1892, mention is made of William Wilkins’ feelings about the trees around his home. If on occasion you look at tree branches gently swaying, you are carrying on the tradition of William Wilkins!

“Pioneer Pittsburgher. Picturesque Career of the Late Judge Wilkins. The Old Homestead. The Building Still Standing but Somewhat Rejuvenated—Some Interesting Accounts of the Old-Time Hospitality. Relics Which Are Pointed Out.”

As ancient is the hostelry
As any in the land may be,
Built in the old Colonial day,
When men lived in a grander way
With ampler hospitality;
A kind of old hobgoblin hall,
Now somewhat fallen to decay
With weather stains upon the wall,
and stairways worn and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge and tiled and tall,
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams,
Remote among the wooded hills!
For there no noisy railway speeds,
Its torch race scattering smoke and gleeds;
But noon and night the panting teams
Stop under the great oaks, that throw
Tangles of light and shade below,
On roofs and doors and window-sills.
* * * * * * *
Round this old-fashioned quaint abode
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust
Went rushing down the country road.
And skeletons of leaves, and dust,
A moment quickened by its breath
Shuddered and danced their dance of death;
And through the ancient oaks o’erhead
Mysterious voices moaned and fled.”

This, Mr. Longfellow’s description of “The Wayside Inn,” is, in its general tone, a strikingly accurate word picture of the old Wilkins homestead on Penn avenue, in East Liberty. It is “a kind of old hobgoblin hall;” “a place of slumber and of dreams.“ Comparatively few persons know of the existence of the old structure. Still fewer know anything of its history or have any idea that within these weather-stained walls there lived a man who, as a very pioneer of social culture, seems to have taken delight, during his long life of four score years, in demonstrating that he was a firm believer in the ultra-civilizing influences of that “ampler hospitality” to which the poet refers. This man was Judge William Wilkins, in whose honor the suburb, Wilkinsburg, was named.

The old Wilkins homestead was built in about the year 1825. In its original form it was a great, rambling two-story brick structure, with gables facing east and west. The beautiful driveway, which is to-day hemmed in by two rows of tall trees, leads around the house to the great front entrance which is on the side furthest so that one actually approaches the house from the rear. The big stone steps are sheltered by a protruding section of the roof, supported by massive columns. The door opens into a spacious hallway which leads directly into the drawing room or parlor. This is considerably the largest room in the house, and in its proportions it is certainly a very imposing apartment. The appearance of the room must have completely changed during the past quarter of a century. Certain it is that it is not the drawing room in which Judge Wilkins so often received his friends.

The Press reporter who visited the old homestead was told that, with the exception of the fireplace, the room had been entirely rejuvenated. But the fireplace, which is certainly a work of art, looks to-day just as it always has looked as far back as anyone who could be found can remember. The material used is Italian marble, which was ordered directly from Italy by the judge himself. On either side of the fireplace proper are beautiful pure white slabs of marble in which are carved figures of peasant girls. The capstone is ornamented by a base relief treatment of morning glories, and there are also conventional flower designs in the small squares on either side of the capstone and above the side panels. Each piece is of an almost dazzling whiteness, indicating its superior quality.

On the east of the drawing room is the great dining room, which is still used for that purpose, and on the west was a smaller reception room. Large doors connect these three rooms, which were thrown into one great ball room on state occasions. Across the hall from the reception roorn is a somewhat smaller apartment, which was used by the judge as his library and at times as a private dining room. It was in this room that he frequently ate early breakfasts in solitude, for in this respect he was somewhat peculiar.

The second story of the house was given over entirely to sleeping rooms, which were occupied by the family. On the side of the house facing Penn avenue (which is in reality the rear), the roof protrudes, and, supported by massive columns, over-hangs the great porch or portico, which extends the entire width of the drawing room east and west. A broad flight of stone steps lead up to this portico, the floor of which is set with tile. Judge Wilkins was very fond of this portico, and it was here that he and his friends passed many afternoons playing cards and drinking wine. In front is a grove of magnificent oaks, great gray specters which to-day are nodding and whispering to each other of the scenes gay and tragic, which have enacted in the time-scarred mansion over winch they have stood guard for more than half a century.

Mrs. Biers, the lady who rented the house about a year ago, and who was kindly acting as a guide to the reporter, pointed to a table whose round marble top is supported by an ornamented iron shaft, and told an interesting story concerning it. The table was standing on the old portico one afternoon last summer—in fact, it is allowed to stand there constantly. Mrs Biers noticed an old gentleman, whose hair and beard were snowy white, walking about among the great oaks and looking up at the house. Thinking he was in doubt as to where the door was, she stepped out on the portico. The stranger saw her, and, lifting his hat, said:

“You must pardon me for acting so strangely, but the fact is I came back here to get just one more look at the old place. I knew Judge Wilkins very well. He was one of my intimate friends, and I have passed many hours under this old roof. It is many years since I was here last, but the place is not much changed. Those old oak trees look just as they did 30 years [ago.] Why, there's the judge’s old card table. Many a hard-fought game have I played and seen played on that old table, ” and with that he turned and walked slowly away.

Probably no one recollects more clearly the days in which the homestead was in its full glory than does Stuart Clark, who for nearly 28 years was employed as a man-of-all-work about the place. Mr. Clark is 71 years of age, but the hand of time has thus rested very lightly upon him. When seen by the Press reporter at his home, near Penn avenue and a short distance from the old Wilkins property, Mr. Clark talked interestingly for an hour or more of the days which he had passed in the judge’s employ. He said he remembered the judge perfectly—a tall, erect, kindly-faced man who always had a smile and a pleasant word for everyone.

“Yes,” he continued, “there used to be some great parties over there. The judge had lots friends, and he used to like to have them around him. He usually gave two big receptions and dances each winter at the house, and the people came from miles away to attend them. Then there was usually one or more smaller parties every month during the winter. In the summer it was about the same as to the number of the parties, but they had lots more fun. During the afternoon the gentlemen used to amuse themselves by pitching quoits or lying under the trees, talking and gossiping. In the evening there would be dancing and card playing. The judge’s favorite game was sevenup, though they used to play old sledge and poker, too. I have seen them sit for hours on the portico around that old card table. The judge was an awful hard loser. Often I knew him to play all through the night to get back some of the money he had lost, and he generally managed to do that, too, for he was a mighty good card player.

“The thing he was most particular about, though, was those trees. Ho wouldn’t allow one of them to be disturbed in any way. He used to say they were the best friends he had, and he wasn’t in the habit of cutting his friends. He was very fond of animals, too, and he kept five fine horses and four cows. The cows were known as the Harry Clay Durhams. They were pure white, and he pastured them in the fields in front of the house, along what is now Penn avenue. He had a little terrier dog, too, and he called him Dragon. I don’t know which thought the most of the other. The dog was always along with him, and when the judge sat down there on the portico Dragon would lie down right between his feet. The little fellow lived to be so old that they had to feed him with a spoon like a baby. When he died the judge had him buried in the little grass plot right in front of the front door, and we hauled a big boulder from way back in the woods and put it on his grave. And that boulder is there in front of the house yet. When the judge died they cut a statue of a dog out of a piece of the granite and put it at the door of the v[ault] in the Allegheny cemetery. Years [afterw]ard. when they moved the ju[dge’s casket to] the family vault in Hom[ewood Ceme]tery, they took that image of Dragon along, too, and there he lies at the door of the vault now, just as he used to lie between the judge’s feet on the old portico.

“Yes, sir, there were some fine people who used to come to the old place. I’ve seen Henry Clay there lots of times, and Secretary Stanton, too. I remember hearing the judge saying goodby to Mr. Clay when he went away the last time. He said: ‘Well, goodby, Harry. You’ve been whipped for president three times and that’s enough. But if the women could have voted you would have been elected by a big majority.’

“There were plenty more fine men who used to come to the judge’s receptions. There was Mr. Peoples and Mr. Scott, and Mr. Denny and Mr. Shoenberger, and Mr. Guthrie and Mr. Carnegie and [Mr.] Batehelor and in fact all of the prominent men who lived hereabouts. I remember [them] very well. Do I recollect the [] men who built the house? [I can] tell you that, too. A man named McClelland did the carpenter work, and a man named Dignum did the brick and masonry work. The stone was dressed by George Gillett, and came from George McComb’s quarry, on Negley’s run. There was an old house at the Penn avenue entrance to the grounds. It was built over the road, the kitchen on the left side, a sitting room on the right and a sleeping room right over the gate. The judge would give that little house to any man who would see to the opening and closing of the gate when people wanted to pass through. I lived there quite a while myself. It was torn down in 1867, when Mr. Coleman bought the property from Mrs. Wilkins, after the judge’s death. Mr. Coleman made a good many changes in the old house while he was living there. He added those two wings on each end and had it all fitted up inside, so the rooms don’t look at all as they originally did. I guess about the only things that are left of tho old furniture are the card table and that white marble mantel-piece.”

Charles W, Batchelor, of the Keystone bank, was a personal friend of Judge Wilkins, and spoke in the highest terms of general character. Capt. Batchelor described the judge as an ideal gentleman, always courteous and polite to all men, regardless of their position in the social scale. “He was an ideal host,” said Mr. Batchelor, “and one of the most charming conversationalists I have ever met. His entertainment of his guests was perfect. He had that happy faculty of being able to put every one at his ease, but at the same time he maintained his dignity and always commanded respect. One day, only a short time before his death, I went to his house. He was lying on a little couch, and when I came into the room he was smiling as though something pleased him immensely. After he had greeted me he said in his peculiar way:

“ ‘I have just been thinking, Batchelor, of two serious mistakes which I have made during my life time.’ “
“ ‘What were they, judge?’ “ I asked.
“ ‘Well, once I gave a dinner party to some of my gentleman friends, and, to please my wife, I gave orders that no wine should be served. That was one mistake. And the other one I made once when I was sick. I consulted a homeopathic physician.’ “

“That,” continued Mr. Batchelor, “is a fair sample of his manner of receiving you. He had a very fine sense of the general fitness of things too. I remember that once Andrew Carnegie, John Scott and John B. Guthrie went out to his house to play whist. Mr. Scott was accompanied by Blythe, the then famous local artist. Blythe stayed there all night, and some weeks afterward, as I was walking down Wood street one afternoon, I saw in Gillespie’s a painting which attracted my attention. I stopped to examine it, and was a good deal startled when I saw that it was a picture of Judge Wilkins, Andrew Carnegie, John Scott and John B. Guthrie seated around a table playing cards. Then I knew why Blythe had stayed all night at the judge’s house, and I walked into the store and told Mr. Gillespie that I was sure he would do a wise thing if he took that painting out of bis window, which be did. A few days later I met the judge at East Liberty station. He was boiling over about that picture being displayed in such a public place, as I was sure he would be, and he spoke his mind in very plain terms about Blythe and all other persons who had had anything to do with the performance; and he was very grateful to me for what I had done.

“Unless I am greatly mistaken the judge presided at the memorable meeting which was held here at the time Secretary Floyd was attempting to have those big guns shipped south from the arsenal here. Judge Wilkins had been a strong Democrat all his life, but when the war cloud arose he at once became an outspoken union man. And when the meeting was called to take some action upon Secretary Floyd’s order that those guns be shipped south, the old judge was right on hand, and it was due to him as much as to anyone that the guns were never sent. When the war broke out, as a mark of respect and confidence, he was made major general of the Home brigade of Allegheny county, and he appointed William Bagley commissary general and myself quartermaster general. I still have the commission which he sent, and which is in his own handwriting.

“Yes, I remember very well how the judge felt about the old trees about his house. To have touched one of them with an ax or a knife, or to have even scratched the bark in any way intentionally, would have been considered a positive sacrilege by him. He would not allow them to be trimmed or cut in any way, and the appearance of the old monarchs is to-day just about what it was when the judge used to walk about in their shade, or watch their swaying branches from his chair on the portico. . . .”

______

“Pioneer Pittsburgher” Press, Pittsburgh, Pa., December 19, 1992, in a scrapbook Pennsylvania County Histories, Allegheny County, v. 3., pp.96–99.
https://archive.org/details/pennsylvaniacoun03unse_0/page/96/mode/2up