The new church of St. John's, on Fifth Avenue, was thronged the
morning of the last Sunday of October, in the year 1880. Sitting
in the gallery, beneath the unfinished frescoes, and looking down
the nave, one caught an effect of autumn gardens, a suggestion of
chrysanthemums and geraniums, or of October woods, dashed with
scarlet oaks and yellow maples.
— Henry Brooks Adams
Books (first lines)