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Title: The Ladies of the White House
Or, in the Home of the Presidents. Being a Complete History of
the Social and Domestic Lives of the Presidents from Washington to
the Present Time—1789–1881
Author: Laura C. Holloway
Release Date: December 9, 2021 [eBook #66909]
Language: English
Produced by: Richard Tonsing, MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADIES OF THE WHITE HOUSE ***
[Illustration:
_The White House_
]
THE
LADIES OF THE WHITE HOUSE;
OR,
IN THE HOME OF THE PRESIDENTS.
_Being a Complete History of the Social and Domestic Lives of the
Presidents from Washington to the Present Time—1789–1881._
BY
LAURA C. HOLLOWAY.
_WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL AND WOOD._
CINCINNATI:
FORSHEE & McMAKIN,
188 & 190 WEST FIFTH STREET.
1881.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
LAURA C. HOLLOWAY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
FERGUSON BROS. & CO.,
PRINTERS AND ELECTROTYPERS.
PHILADELPHIA.
PREFACE.
The Ladies of the White House have had no biographers. The custom of the
Republic, which relegates back to private life those who have served it,
has made it difficult to gather much of stirring interest concerning the
women who have made the social history of the different administrations.
From privacy they came, to privacy they were returned, and the world
took little cognizance of them beyond noting the entertainments they
gave, and the success that attended their dinners and receptions.
In the historical works of the age—even in the biographies of the
Presidents themselves—not much has been said of women, who, for the most
part, were powerful adjuncts to their popularity, and exerted great
influence over their lives. The most that has been written of them
heretofore were descriptions in the daily papers of the appearance of
the lady of the White House on some public occasion, and with this the
world has been content until now. We have had a hundred years of
domestic honor in the White House—a hundred years which has added much
to the glory of the country abroad, and it is but fitting that women,
who have held the highest social and semi-official position in the
nation, should be made historic subjects. No better time than the
present could be found for filling this serious gap in general American
history. The moral influence that has been exerted by the untarnished
reputations and high social qualities of the women who have successively
filled the position of Hostess of the Presidents’ House, cannot be
estimated. Without the effective and intelligent aid they rendered, no
administration would have been satisfactory; and though the political
historian may ignore such service, the right-thinking, honorable men or
women of this country have a higher appreciation of the services
rendered by these ladies, who were the power behind the throne, equal in
social influence to the throne itself, and a historical work bearing
upon their lives is a valuable contribution to the nation’s official
history.
Such a one is now offered to the people of this country. It is a
complete work, comprising a biographical sketch of every President’s
wife and hostess of the Executive Mansion from Mrs. Washington down to
Mrs. Garfield.
The information contained in the volume has never been compiled in any
other form, and there are many historical facts of a most interesting
nature for the first time presented to the public. The book contains the
portraits of the wives of the Presidents, and of the ladies who presided
over the Mansion during the administrations of unmarried Presidents. At
a time when the women of this country are commanding the attention of
the civilized world by reason of their higher education, superior mental
attributes, and exalted social status, such a book is of exceptional
value.
The mechanical execution of the work will commend itself to all lovers
of excellence in book-making. Nothing has been left undone that would
make it worthy of the ladies whose records it contains. The unusual
attractions of the theme, the style in which it is published, and the
place in the country’s history which such a book fills, conspire to
render it a work which the public and private libraries of this country
cannot afford to be without; they cannot be called complete without a
copy of the “Ladies of the White House.”
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE WHITE HOUSE _face title page_.
MARTHA WASHINGTON (_Vignette_) _face page_ 39
MARTHA WASHINGTON „ „ 43
ABIGAIL ADAMS „ „ 87
MARTHA JEFFERSON „ „ 126
DOROTHY P. MADISON „ „ 171
LOUISA CATHARINE ADAMS „ „ 238
RACHEL JACKSON „ „ 272
MRS. MARTIN VAN BUREN „ „ 333
ANGELICA VAN BUREN „ „ 339
LETITIA CHRISTIAN TYLER „ „ 366
MRS. JAMES K. POLK „ „ 400
ABIGAIL FILLMORE „ „ 457
HARRIET LANE „ „ 498
MRS. ABRAHAM LINCOLN „ „ 526
MRS. ANDREW JOHNSON „ „ 546
MARTHA PATTERSON „ „ 573
MRS. ULYSSES S. GRANT „ „ 603
NELLIE GRANT SARTORIS „ „ 612
LUCY WEBB HAYES „ „ 628
LUCRETIA RUDOLPH GARFIELD „ „ 665
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
MOUNT VERNON (_wood cut_) „ „ 55
MONTICELLO „ „ „ 147
MONTPELIER „ „ „ 206
FIRST RESIDENCE OF ANDREW JACKSON „ „ „ 282
HERMITAGE „ „ „ 287
WHEATLAND „ „ „ 506
CONTENTS
MARTHA WASHINGTON.
Personal appearance of Mrs. Custis—Introduced to Colonel
Washington—Traditions relating to their first interview—The
body-servant’s long wait for his master’s appearance—His orders
to put up the horses for the night—The wooing of the soldier
lover—Returns from the seat of government to offer
himself—Engagement—Marriage—The wedding at the “White House”—The
Virginia home of the bride—A most joyous and happy event—The
girlhood of Martha Dandridge—The belle of Williamsburg—Her first
marriage—Death of her eldest son—Colonel Custis—His fine
character and romantic nature—Happy married life with him—Left
with two children—She manages her estate after her husband’s
death—Residence near her father’s home—Twenty-six years old when
she becomes Mrs. Washington—Had never known care or poverty—Her
high social position—Removal to Mount Vernon—Again the mistress
of a wealthy planter’s home—Often with Washington in Williamsburg
while he was a member of the Legislature—Her life a happy
one—Washington’s great consideration for her—Only letter
preserved that was written by him to her—Mrs. Washington before
her death destroyed all her letters—This one overlooked—His
assurance that he is unwilling to part with her and their
children, at the time that he is made Commander-in-Chief of the
Continental Army—His only unhappiness due to her loneliness—Urges
her to be content, and not complain of what he could not
avoid—Makes his will in her favor, and hopes that his “dear
Patsy” is pleased with its provisions—Her visits to him—Travels
in her private carriage to his head-quarters each year—The
servants wish his return home—Washington anxious about her, and
after her arrival sent letters of thanks to all who had been
attentive to her—The officers glad to see her—Once insulted in
Philadelphia through party bitterness—Sensitive to her husband’s
fair fame—Mrs. Washington not fond of dress—The spinning wheels
and looms in her house—Washington’s inaugural suit the handiwork
of his household—She wears “a simple russet gown and white
handkerchief about her neck” to a ball given in her honor—Two of
her dresses woven from the ravelings of brown silk stockings and
old crimson chair-covers—Washington’s return to Mount
Vernon—called again from his retirement—Mrs. Washington’s
crowning glory—Some other attributes—Her life an interesting one,
viewed historically—Mrs. Washington not much of a reader—A good
daughter and mother, but not a notable housekeeper—Her husband
the manager of the establishment—The children governed by him—A
source of regret that he had no sons and daughters—His countrymen
glad that there was no parental tie to divert him from his public
service—Death of Miss Custis—John Parke Custis with General
Washington—His young wife and children at Mount Vernon—Mrs.
Washington at Valley Forge during the winter of 1777–78—Death of
her son—General Washington adopts her two grandchildren, and
returns to Mount Vernon with the mourners—Mrs. Washington’s first
reception as wife of the Chief Magistrate—Pleased with her lofty
position—The levees held at the Republican Court—The residence of
the President in New York—The etiquette of the mansion—Mrs.
Washington’s views on the subject of her elevation—A letter to a
friend, in which her philosophy is shown—Removal of seat of
government to Philadelphia—Letter of the Rev. Ashbel Green—Mrs.
Washington again at Mount Vernon—The President rents a house in
Market street between Fifth and Sixth, and furnishes it
handsomely—Return of the President and Mrs. Washington from Mount
Vernon—Congress assembles—Mrs. Washington’s drawing-rooms held on
Friday evenings—Early hours for retiring—She tells her company
that her husband retired at “ten” and she followed very soon
afterward—Stiffness and formality of the drawing-rooms—How Mrs.
Washington received—No hand-shaking in those days—The
grandchildren of Mrs. Washington—Mrs. Robert Morris receives with
Mrs. Washington—The Marchioness d’Yuro—The first levee in
Philadelphia the most brilliant occasion of the kind ever known
in this country—Recollections of Mrs. Binney—Mrs. Washington’s
punctuality in returning calls—Her manners easy and
pleasant—Makes tea and coffee for an English guest—Her plain cap
and gray hairs, as described by this visitor—Return to Mount
Vernon—The old life resumed—Washington lays out the future
capital—The “White House” named in honor of the former home of
his wife—The building afterward partly burned by the
British—Anecdote of “obstinate” David Burns—“What would
Washington have been if he hadn’t married the Widow
Custis?”—Mount Vernon thronged with visitors—Closing years of
Washington’s life—His death in 1799—Grief of Mrs.
Washington—Refuses to be comforted—Never re-enters the chamber in
which he died—Congress passes resolutions of respect and
condolence—Entreats Mrs. Washington’s consent to the interment of
the remains in Washington—She gives reluctant consent to the
request—Remains interred at Mount Vernon, where they are now—Mrs.
Washington’s resemblance to her husband—Her dependence upon his
guidance and love—Her appearance at this time—Serene of
countenance—A devoted Christian—His death a fatal blow—Her death
two and a half years later—Their bodies side by side—Visit of
Lafayette to Mount Vernon in 1826—Visit of Albert Prince of
Wales, in 1860, in company with President Buchanan—Description of
the place as it appeared before its restoration 39
MRS. ABIGAIL ADAMS.
The daughter of a New England minister—Instructed by her
grandmother—Durable impressions received from her—Never at
school—Always sick—Austere religious habits and customs of her
kindred—Imaginative faculties suppressed—A great letter writer—A
reader of standard works—Not a learned woman—Her fondness for
religious topics and discussions—The daughters taught home
duties—The sons sent to college—No career for woman outside the
domestic circle where she toiled—Marriage of Abigail Smith to
John Adams—Her parents rather opposed to the match—She was the
daughter and granddaughter of a minister, and hence superior to
him in social position—Incident connected with her marriage—Her
Father’s sermon—A happy marriage—The mother of three sons and a
daughter—Mr. Adams a delegate to the Colonial Convention—Made the
trip from Boston to Philadelphia on horseback—Elected to
Congress—His wife alone at Braintree—Hears news of the battle of
Lexington—Manages her farm and does her own house-work—Studies
French at night—Long evenings alone with her four little
children—Three deaths in her household—Cheers her husband at his
far-off post of duty—The proclamation of the King arouses her
patriotism—In sight of the cannonading at Boston, and in the
midst of pestilence—Mr. Adams returns to his suffering
family—Leaves, after a month’s visit, for Philadelphia—The roar
of British cannon before Boston—Mrs. Adams climbs a hill to watch
the shells falling about the city—Writes her husband from her
post of observation—His long absence—No joy in his return to his
wife when she learns his news—Appointed Minister to France—Sails
in company with his eldest son—Mrs. Adams again alone—Manages her
farm and teaches her children—Does not hear from her husband for
six months—Her business ability enables her to support herself
and make her home a happy asylum for family—Writes sadly to her
husband—He returns after eighteen months—Ordered to Great Britain
to negotiate peace—Two of his sons accompany him—“The cruel
torture of separation”—Letter to her eldest son—Lofty sentiments
and sound views of the self-sacrificing woman—Rather her boy were
dead than immoral—A Spartan mother—Mr. Adams elected
Vice-President—Mrs. Adams with him in New York—Is the object of
much social attention—Dines with the President, “the ministers
and ladies of the court”—Washington gives her sugar-plums to take
to her grandson—Mrs. Adams congratulates her husband on his
election to the Presidency—Her feelings not those of pride but
solemnity—She joins the President in Philadelphia—Seat of
government removed to Washington—Letter to her daughter—Graphic
description of Washington—The city only so in name—None of the
public buildings finished—The White House cheerless and
damp—Fires in every room to secure its inmates against
chills—Thirty servants required to keep the house in
order—Surrounded with forests, yet wood is scarce and
expensive—Mrs. Adams returns the visits of Georgetown
ladies—Inconveniences of a new country—No fence or yard about the
White House, and not an apartment finished—The East Room used to
dry clothes in—Only six chambers habitable—Mrs. Washington sends
a haunch of venison from Mount Vernon—Invites Mrs. Adams to visit
her—Mrs. Adams has no looking-glasses and not a twentieth part
lamps enough to light the house—The roads intolerable—The work of
a day to make a visit—Location of city beautiful—Hon. Cotton
Smith describes Washington—The huts of the residents contrast
painfully with the public buildings—First New Year’s reception in
1801—The etiquette of Washington’s time adopted—Guests received
in the Library—Mrs. Adams ill—Returns to Quincy, Massachusetts—In
the White House four months—Attends to her husband’s private
affairs—Cheerful and bright under all circumstances—Retirement of
Mr. Adams from public life—Mrs. Adams the “Portia” of the
rebellious provinces—Her marked characteristics, truthfulness and
earnestness—Her place in history—Indifference to fashionable
life—Seventeen years of home-life—Writes her granddaughter on her
fiftieth marriage anniversary—Thankfulness for so much
happiness—Eldest son appointed Minister to Great Britain by
President Madison—Appointed Secretary of State by President
Monroe—Death of her daughter, Mrs. Abigail Smith—Friendship with
President Jefferson broken—Political differences the
cause—Silence of many years broken by the death of Jefferson’s
daughter—Her second letter criticising his course in the
appointments to office—The correspondence unknown to her
husband—His later endorsement—Jefferson writes to Adams—They
never meet again—Mrs. Adams’ imposing appearance—Her face
strongly intellectual, but never beautiful—Her old age possessed
of the sweetness of youth—Death of Mrs. Adams in 1818—A nation’s
private tribute to her worth—Jefferson expresses his sympathy to
Mr. Adams—Buried in the Congregationalist Church at Quincy—Her
husband buried beside her 87
MARTHA JEFFERSON.
Jefferson’s wife died before his elevation to office—No formal
receptions during his administration—Married to Mrs. Martha
Shelton, of Charles City county—Marriage bond drawn in his own
handwriting found—His bride a beautiful and clever
woman—Exquisite form and fine complexion—A fine conversationalist
and musician—How Jefferson defeated his rival suitors—They listen
outside while the two sing—Marriage at “The Forest”—Trip to
Monticello—Travel in a snow-storm—Arrived late at night—A bottle
of wine serves for fire and supper—Happy married life—Mother of
five children—Governor Jefferson declines a mission to Europe—Her
health failing—Flies from her home with her babe in her
arms—Arnold’s march to Richmond—Efforts to capture Jefferson—Wife
and children sent into the interior—Monticello captured—Many
negro slaves taken away—Cæsar secretes the plate—Is fastened
under ground eighteen hours—Family return home—Mrs. Jefferson
very ill—Clings to life—Intense affection for husband and
children—Jefferson by her side until she dies—Beautiful and
strong character—The eldest daughter sent to school—Her youngest
sister dies—Jefferson sends for Martha and Marie—Placed at a
French convent—Mrs. Adams’ description of Marie—A girl of
superior beauty—Martha asks permission to remain in a
convent—Taken from school—Jefferson returns to America with his
daughters—Marriage of Martha to Thomas Macon Randolph, Jr., her
father’s ward and her cousin—Marie is married to Mr. Eppes, of
Eppington—Jefferson a member of Washington’s cabinet—Afterward
Vice-President—Inaugurated President in 1801—Letter of Sir
Augustus Foster—Martha the mother of several children—Her home
near Monticello—Washington City society—Some novel
aspects—Incidents of a call—Letter from father to daughter—Death
of Mrs. Eppes—Personalities concerning her—Letter from Mrs.
Adams—Her attachment to Marie Jefferson—Jefferson’s second
inauguration—Martha Randolph and her children at the White
House—Washington unhealthy in summer—Mrs. Randolph a busy
Virginia matron—“The sweetest woman in Virginia”—Jefferson’s
retirement to Monticello—His daughter his housekeeper—Hundreds of
guests—People watch for a sight of the ex-President—A window-pane
broken by a curious woman—Men and women gaze at him as he passes
through his hall—No privacy in his home—Jefferson’s letter
concerning his daughter—The education of girls—“The apple of his
eye”—Were life to end—Loss of property—Martha the companion and
nurse of her father—Her children his idols—Mr. Randolph’s
ill-health and failure—Death of Jefferson—Mrs. Randolph at his
bedside—A little casket—His last pang of life is parting from
her—A touching tribute to his daughter—Jefferson’s estate
insolvent—Monticello sold—Exhibition of public feeling—Death of
Mr. Randolph—The family separated—Letter from her
daughter—Interesting facts of her family—Death of Martha
Jefferson Randolph in 1836—Buried beside her father at Monticello 126
DOROTHY PAINE MADISON.
Washington Irving’s letter—Mrs. Madison’s drawing-room—Her two
sisters—The daughter of Virginians—Granddaughter of William
Coles, Esq., of Coles’ Hill—Her parents join the Friends’
Society—Reside in Philadelphia—Daughter reared in strict
seclusion—Her sunny nature—Married at nineteen to a young
lawyer—Her sisters—Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Cutts—Mrs. Paine’s
fascination of manner and beauty of person—Left a widow with an
infant son—A general favorite in society—Object of much
attention—Courted by many suitors—Marriage to Mr. Madison, then a
member of Congress—The match a brilliant one—The bride of
twenty-three years of age—The wedding at the residence of her
sister, in Virginia—Resides in summer at Montpelier—Winters spent
in Washington—Generous and hospitable—A happy domestic life—Mr.
Madison appointed Secretary of State—Removal to Washington—Gay
social life—Her house a radiating point for friends—A noble,
high-minded woman—Her power of adaptiveness—Loved by all
parties—A strong support to her husband—Dispensed his abundant
wealth with open hand—Received President Jefferson’s guests with
him—Election of Mr. Madison to succeed Jefferson—Mrs. Madison
hostess of the White House—Stiffness and formality laid
aside—Mrs. Madison never forgetful of a name or face—Her field of
action her parlor—Makes her husband’s administration popular and
brilliant—The first four years in the White House—No children by
Mr. Madison—Her table ridiculed by a foreign minister—“Abundance
preferable to elegance”—War with Great Britain—Mr. Madison’s
declaration—Second appeal of the United States to arms—The
British advance on Washington—All the public records removed—The
people in a panic—“The enemy coming”—The people flee from their
homes—Entrance of British—The Capitol burned—The American army
retreats to Georgetown—The glare of light seen for miles—The
President across the Potomac—Mrs. Madison remains to gather up
valuables—Notes to her sister—Houses fired all over the city—Mrs.
Madison urged to fly—Waits to secure the safety of General
Washington’s portrait—Colonel Custis comes from Mount Vernon to
remove it—Mrs. Madison orders its frame broken—Carried to
Georgetown—The White House left in the care of servants—Mrs.
Madison joins her husband—The enemy ransack the White House, and
then fire it—Thieves pillage the burning building—Furniture and
family stores belonging to the President lost—A coarse pun—The
War Department spared because of the storm—The British commanders
regretting the escape of the President and his wife—Wanted to be
exhibited in England—A week of terror—No sleep or rest for the
frightened people—Terrible storm—The British amazed at the force
of the tornado—Appalling disasters—Two cannons lifted from the
ground—The enemy anxious to leave Washington—Mrs. Madison in
Virginia—Fleeing troops and panic-stricken families—Rumors of the
approach of the British—The elemental war—Mrs. Madison awaits the
coming of her husband—Insulted by women—Refused shelter from the
storm—Madison charged with the responsibility of the war—The
tavern closed to herself and escort—The latter forces an
entrance—The lady who did not forget her station—People who had
been her guests denounce her—Mrs. Madison’s anxiety for her
husband—The hours drag slowly by—Reaches her at
night-fall—Careworn and hungry—A courier at midnight—The
President seeks safety in the distant woods—No enemy coming—The
evacuation of Washington unknown to the President—Bids his wife
disguise herself and fly—Hears next day of the retreat—Returns to
the Long Bridge—Is refused a boat—No one recognizes the disguised
woman—Gives her name and is ferried over the river—Finds her home
in ruins—Desolation everywhere—Seeks the residence of her
sister—Sends word to the President—His return to Washington—Rents
the “Octagon” and lives there—Treaty of peace signed—Various
residences of Mr. Madison in Washington—Last reception held by
the President—The most brilliant ever held up to that date—Peace
commissioners to Ghent present—Heroes of the war of 1812—Mrs.
Madison “every inch a queen”—She offers Mr. Clay a pinch of
snuff—Her bandana handkerchief—Fond of elegant apparel—Two
visitors from the West—“P’rhaps you wouldn’t mind if I jest
kissed you”—A graceful salutation—Mr. Madison not attractive to
the ladies—His charming wife atones for his gravity—His
admiration for her social characteristics—A curious
coincidence—Three of the first four Presidents marry young
widows—Two of the Presidents childless, and all without sons—All
Virginians—Anecdote of Mrs. Madison—Recollections of Mr.
Trist—Led to dinner by President Jefferson—Rage of the British
minister—A stir made about the “insult”—Mr. Monroe, Minister to
England, informed of the facts—An expected call for official
explanations—Mr. Monroe delighted with the prospect—Precedence
over his own wife under analogous circumstances—Excellent
materials in his possession—Expresses his satisfaction over an
opportunity to retaliate, which was not granted—Mrs. Madison
always presided at the dinners given by President Jefferson—His
disregard of official etiquette—The British minister and his wife
never his guests again—Thomas Moore lampooned the
President—Disliked everything American—Mrs. Madison’s regret over
the occurrence—Expiration of the President’s second term—He
prepares to leave Washington—Mrs. Madison’s Washington
friends—Sorrow over her departure from the city—Residence at
Montpelier—Quiet country life—The mansion of the ex-President—His
mother an inmate of his home—Devotion of Mrs. Madison to her—The
object of the venerable lady’s grateful affection—A devoted wife
to an appreciative husband—Admirable in all the relations of
life—“Cordial, genial and sunny atmosphere surrounding her”—Her
son—Paine Todd an undutiful son—The sorrow of her life—Mr.
Madison’s kindness to him—His conduct heartless and
unprincipled—Death of Mr. Madison—The end of a noble
career—Offers Congress her husband’s manuscripts—President
Jackson sends a special message to Congress regarding the
subject—Thirty thousand dollars paid her for the work—“Debates in
the Congress of the Convention during the years 1782–87”—Congress
also confers the franking privilege upon Mrs. Madison—Votes her a
seat upon the floor of the Senate—The last years of Mrs.
Madison’s life—Her residence in Washington—Beautiful old age—Her
public receptions on national holidays—The throng of visitors
equal to that assembled at the President’s house—Her death in
1849—Funeral in Washington—Aged eighty-two years—Buried beside
her husband at Montpelier 171
ELIZABETH K. MONROE.
The era in which Mrs. Monroe lived—Her father an ex-officer of the
British Army—Miss Kortright a belle of New York—Her sister—Mr.
Monroe a Senator from Virginia—Falls in love with the pretty
girl—Married during the session in 1789—Reside in Philadelphia,
the second seat of the General Government—Pleasant home-life in
that city—Mr. Monroe appointed Minister to France in 1794—The
first five years of Mrs. Monroe’s married life—A polished and
elegant lady—Proud of her husband and of her country—Fit
representative of her countrywomen at the Court of St. Cloud—Her
daughter at school in Paris—Mr. Monroe an ardent advocate of free
government—Not careful to recognize the opposite feeling in
Imperial France—Unpopular with the Court—His recall asked—Intense
sympathy for Lafayette, then in prison—Agents of the United
States employed in his behalf—Mrs. Monroe warmly interested in
the fate of Madame Lafayette—The private feelings of President
Washington not expressed in his official
communications—Lafayette’s son his guest while in the United
States—Recognizes treaty obligations with France—Mr. Monroe sends
his wife to visit Madame Lafayette—The carriage of the American
Minister at the prison—Mrs. Monroe asks admittance—Is permitted
to see the Marchioness—Emaciated and prostrated from
fright—Anticipating the summons of the executioner—Her last hope
departing when the sentinel stops at her cell—Her visitor is
announced—Thoughts of her husband and America overcome her—Sinks
at the feet of Mrs. Monroe—Presence of sentinels preclude
conversation—Mrs. Monroe assures her friend she would return the
following morning—Speaks so as to be heard by those about her—The
visit saves Madame Lafayette’s life—Was to have been executed
that afternoon—The officials change their mind—Is liberated next
day—Attentions paid her by the American Minister and his wife—The
prestige of the young Republic appreciated—Madame Lafayette’s
eldest son, George Washington, sent to Mount Vernon for
safety—She leaves Paris accompanied by her two
daughters—Disguised and under the protection of American
passports—Seeks the prison of her husband—Signs her consent to
share his captivity—Stays by his side until released—Mr. Monroe
recalled—His course defended in America—Mrs. Monroe proud of his
conduct—A greater honor to have saved Madame Lafayette than to
have remained Ambassador—Friendship between Monroe and
Lafayette—Offer of pecuniary help—Generous conduct on both
sides—Returns to New York—With her family and friends—Mr. Monroe
elected Governor of Virginia—Husband and wife gladdened by this
evidence of affection—The old commonwealth proud of her son—Mrs.
Monroe the mistress of the Governor’s mansion at
Williamsburg—Governor Monroe appointed Envoy Extraordinary to
France to negotiate the purchase of Louisiana—Robert R.
Livingston the other Envoy—The purchase effected—Mrs. Monroe
accompanies her husband—While in Paris is appointed Minister to
England—Sent to Spain on a mission—Mr. Monroe returned home at
the breaking out of the War of 1812—Ten years’ absence in
Europe—Return to Oak Hill, their Virginia estate—Home-life not
destined to last—Mr. Monroe elected to the Legislature—Chosen
Governor a second time—Secretary of State under Madison—Mrs.
Monroe and her daughters retire to Oak Hill before the fall of
Washington—Remains until peace is declared—Anxious about her
husband—Mr. Monroe succeeds President Madison in office—Removal
to the White House in 1817—Personal description of her—Mrs.
Monroe not like Mrs. Madison—Is not fond of general society—Her
health delicate—She received visits but returned none—Her
“drawing-rooms” were largely attended—An English writer’s
comments—Held once a fortnight on Wednesday evenings—The
condition of the White House—The grounds unimproved—Congress
orders a silver service—The furniture of the East Room
purchased—The crown of Louis XVIII. supplanted by the American
Eagle—Mrs. Monroe an invalid during the second term—Marriage of
her daughter at the age of seventeen—Wedding reception—A State
Dinner at the White House—The East Room unfinished—Mr. Cooper’s
letter—Mrs. Monroe weary of public life—Close of President
Monroe’s second term—Retires to Virginia—Assists in establishing
the University of Virginia—Chosen President of the State
Convention to amend the Constitution—Mrs. Monroe heavily taxed
with company—The three ex-Presidents neighbors—People from all
the world their guests—Alone with her husband—Both daughters
married—Anxious for her husband to give up work—His last public
position—Magistrate of Loudon County—Death of Mrs. Monroe—Oak
Hill closed—The ex-President resides in New York—His youngest
daughter his comfort in old age—His death in 1831—Survived his
wife one year, dying on the Fourth of July—Funeral procession the
largest ever seen in New York—Samuel Gouverneur, Postmaster of
New York City, his son-in-law—Remains interred in New
York—Afterwards removed to Richmond—Few descendants living 213
LOUISA CATHARINE ADAMS.
Mrs. Adams the last of the ladies of the Revolutionary period—Born
in London—Her father, Mr. Johnson, a Maryland patriot—United
States Commissioner in France until 1782—Consul to London—Mr.
Adams a guest of Mr. Johnson—Meets his future wife—Marriage in
1797—Mr. Adams takes his bride to Berlin—Four years’ residence
there—Returns to America—Settles in Boston—Mr. Adams elected
Senator—Residence in Washington—Pleasant era of Mrs. Adams’
life—With her own family—Summers spent in Boston—Washington a
congenial residence for Mrs. Adams—Eight years spent there—Her
husband appointed Minister to Russia—Mrs. Adams accompanies
him—Two children left behind—Takes the youngest, an infant—Long
voyage—Arrives in St. Petersburg—Prefers exile in Russia to
separation from her husband—In the midst of stirring
scenes—Europe a battle-field—Napoleon spreading terror
everywhere—Shut up in St. Petersburg—Six years in Russia—Death of
an infant—Mr. Adams’ mode of life—Respected for learning and
talent—War between England and America—Mrs. Adams weary of
Russia—Anxious to return home—Mr. Adams a Commissioner to
Ghent—The stepson of President Madison—His position greatly
exaggerated abroad—News from home—Mrs. Adams alone in St.
Petersburg with her son—Travels to Paris to meet her
husband—Dangers encountered—Traces everywhere of war—Passports of
little protection—Fastened in a snow-drift—Dug out by the
peasantry of the neighborhood—Robbed by her own servants—The
symbol of a Polish cap—Hears of Napoleon’s return from Elba—Every
crossroad guarded—Surrounded by soldiers—The presence of mind
exhibited by Mrs. Adams—Meets her husband in Paris—Witnesses the
arrival of Napoleon—Flight of the Bourbons—The reception at the
Tuileries—Ladies of the Imperial Court—Napoleon preparing for
Waterloo—Advantages enjoyed by Mrs. Adams—Events of the hundred
days—Martial music heard on every side—Arrival of her children
from England after six years of separation—Departure for
England—Mr. Adams Minister to the Court of St. James—Charles
King’s eulogy of Mr. Adams—Pleasant life in London—The centre of
a cultivated circle—Return to America—Mr. Adams appointed
Secretary of State—Mr. Adams the recipient of public
attentions—Grand banquet in his honor—Residence in Washington—A
charming home—Multitudes of visitors entertained there—Letter
from Mrs. Adams to John Adams—Her appreciation of her
mother-in-law—Her studies—Does not think highly of the mental
capacity of her sex—Course of reading—How she estimates the
philosophers—Likes nothing so well as the doctrines of
Christianity—Her reading too diffuse to be beneficial—The wicked
theories of French authors—How their venom was destroyed in her
case—Her early ideas of life—Views changed with age—Discusses the
nature of democratic institutions—Her faith in the people—Pride
in her name—“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”—Complaints
of hard times—The morals of the day portrayed—Mrs. Adams’ habits
as a hostess—No exclusions in her invitations—Keenly alive to the
reputation of her husband—Her success in her semi-official
position—Mr. Adams a candidate for the Presidency—Violence of
partisan warfare—Mrs. Adams lives more secluded—Her husband
elected Chief Magistrate—Description of the inaugural of
Adams—Failure of her health—Presided at public receptions—Not
seen on other occasions—Is tired of public life—Entertains
Lafayette—His affecting farewell—The President and Mrs. Adams
start to Quincy—Mrs. Adams ill in Philadelphia—Mr. Adams proceeds
without her—Administration of Mr. Adams—Quietness throughout the
world—Much done to consolidate the Union—Mr. Adams a learned
man—The man who had read one more book than John Quincy
Adams—Mrs. Adams glad to leave the White House—Retires to private
life—Enjoys it but a short time—Letter describing her husband and
home—Mr. Adams elected a member of Congress—Removes again to
Washington—Occasional visits to Quincy—Illness of Mr. Adams—He is
struck with paralysis—Dies in the Speaker’s room in the
Capitol—Mrs. Adams by his side—Funeral at the Capitol—Remains
deposited in the Congressional burying-ground—Letter from Mrs.
Adams to the Speaker of the House of Representatives—Her thanks
to the House for the regard manifested for Mr. Adams—Mrs. Adams
retires to Quincy—Surrounded by her children and relations—A
great writer and translator—Varied accomplishments which gave her
pleasure in her old age—Died in 1852—Her grave beside her
husband’s at Quincy, Mass 238
RACHEL JACKSON.
Party strife and bitterness of Jackson’s day—Mrs. Jackson a victim
of cruel misrepresentation—Her early life—Daughter of Colonel
John Donelson—Emigrants from Virginia—Travelling in the
wilderness—A two thousand mile journey—Thrilling incidents and
dangerous accidents—Indians dogged their footsteps—Rachel
Donelson at the age of twelve—Colonel Donelson a wealthy
settler—A person of consequence—Removal to Kentucky—Marriage of
his daughter—Home in Kentucky—Mr. and Mrs. Robards very
unhappy—His disposition extremely unfortunate—Requests Mrs.
Donelson to send for her daughter—Her brother takes her to
Tennessee—A good daughter-in-law—Mrs. Robards not censured—Her
husband solely to blame—A reconciliation effected—Andrew Jackson
a boarder at Mrs. Donelson’s—Mrs. Robards returns to her
husband—Unmanly conduct—Second separation—Jackson and his friend
seek another home—Mrs. Robards seeks an asylum in Mississippi—Her
husband’s threats—Jackson’s sympathy for her—Jackson accompanies
the party to Natchez—Dangers from the Indians—Jackson returns to
Nashville—Judge Overton’s letters—Robards divorced from his
wife—Decree supposed to be final—Marriage of Jackson and Mrs.
Robards two years later—Return to Nashville—A second
divorce—Jackson’s surprise and sorrow—Marriage ceremony twice
performed—Information slow in travelling—No mails in those days—A
perfect union—Jackson’s love for his wife—Mrs. Jackson a noble
woman—Hospitable home—Jackson buys the Hermitage—His small
log-house—Lafayette his guest—A ball given in his honor—Mrs.
Jackson adopts a child—Jackson’s love for the baby—A lamb and a
child—Andrew Jackson, Jr.—After the battle of New Orleans—Mrs.
Jackson in that city—The recipient of marked attentions—A
valuable present—Her dress of white satin—Portrait at the
Hermitage—General Jackson builds a church—A new house erected—A
present to his wife—The stately Hermitage—Description of the
house—Spacious and handsome—An extensive garden—General Jackson
appointed Governor of Florida—Mrs. Jackson and the “two Andrews”
accompany him—Homesick—Mrs. Jackson’s dislike of the State—No
minister there—Does not like the theatre—Her health not
good—Pensacola not a pleasant place—Mrs. Jackson’s request
regarding the Sabbath—Her wishes obeyed—Horses
neglected—Inhabitants Spanish and French—Governor Jackson
resigns—Return to the Hermitage—A journey of twenty-eight
days—Mrs. Jackson receives much attention—Fifty callers a day—Her
health feeble—Four years of home-life—With her husband in New
Orleans—His splendid reception—Four days of festivity—Jackson a
Presidential candidate—Mrs. Jackson’s disease asserts
itself—Undue excitement its cause—Painful publications regarding
her—The facts of her marriage misunderstood—Jackson’s political
enemies—Cruel falsehoods circulated—Her heart broken by
slander—“He to whom she had devoted her affections”—General
Jackson elected President—His wife’s gratitude—Glad for his
sake—Regretted the necessity of leaving home—“That palace in
Washington”—Frequent visits to Nashville—Preparing for the
winter—A fatal shopping occasion—Overhears a conversation—The
calumnies her husband has kept from her—His effort to prevent her
suffering—On her death-bed she tells him the cause of her
illness—A noble life crucified by scandal—A ball that did not
occur—A grand dinner that was not eaten—Proposed anniversary
festivities—Mrs. Jackson very ill—Dies of spasms of the
heart—Grief of Jackson—Nashville in mourning—Action of the city
authorities—Forty years of married life—“Never an unkind word
between them”—The loss of such a wife—Jackson’s convulsive
grief—The parting scene—His farewell to the beloved remains—A sad
scene at the funeral—A great throng of mourners—Dust to
dust—Jackson’s intense feelings—The grave cannot conquer it—The
unpardonable crime—A bruised and lonely heart—Great sympathy for
the old hero—The grief of the servants and neighbors—Testimonials
of sympathy from many sources—General Jackson a changed man—The
pleasant home-life gone—Her picture worn about his neck—By his
bedside at night—His eyes fixed on it in death—Bequeaths it to
his granddaughter—The monument over the grave of husband and
wife—The inscription on the tablets—Jackson’s tribute to his
dead—They sleep side by side 272
MRS. EMILY DONELSON.
Mistress of the White House—Daughter of Captain John Donelson—A
rarely beautiful woman—Wealth and high standing of her
father—Known as the “lovely Emily”—Married at sixteen—The groom
her cousin, and protégé of General Jackson—Major Donelson the
private secretary of the President—A question of precedence—Mrs.
Jackson “mistress of the Hermitage”—Tact and brilliancy of Mrs.
Donelson—Personal description—A face of singular fascination—Her
“inauguration” dress—General Jackson’s love for her—Arbiter in
matters of etiquette—Her attitude during the Eaton
controversy—Refuses to visit her—The mother of four children—All
born in the White House—Their christenings occasions of great
ceremony—General Jackson very fond of them—A lovely family
group—Mrs. Donelson’s ill-health—Compelled to leave Washington—A
victim of consumption—Medical skill unavailing—A speedy
decline—“Don’t forget, mamma”—Death 323
SARAH YORKE JACKSON.
The wife of Andrew Jackson, Jr.—Miss Yorke of Philadelphia—Well
educated and accomplished—Her marriage—Goes to the White House a
bride—Affection for General Jackson—He compliments her to a
Pennsylvania delegation—Shares the honors of hostess—A devoted
daughter to General Jackson—His declining years soothed by
her—The hospitality required of her—A heavy tax—Her dependents
her special care—A happy mother—Death of her father and her
husband—Alone with her children—The Hermitage a place of
memories—Death of a son—Still at the Hermitage—The estate owned
by the State of Tennessee—A peaceful old age 329
HANNAH VAN BUREN.
Of Dutch descent—Born at Kinderhook on the Hudson—Ancestry for many
generations New Yorkers—Married to Mr. Van Buren—A love affair
begun in childhood—The young couple cousins—Reside in Hudson
City—Charming home-life—Four sons born to them—Loss of the
youngest—Mr. Van Buren removes his family to Albany—A political
leader—Wealth, fame and honor acquired—The reward of twenty years
of labor—One of New York’s famous lawyers—Mrs. Van Buren’s life a
pleasant one—High social position—Declining health—Long months an
invalid—A modest and good woman—Her dying counsel—The death-scene
a remarkable one—Dead at the early age of thirty-five
years—Burial custom omitted for the sake of the poor—“Sweet was
the savor of her name”—Died in February, 1819—Seventeen years
later her husband was President 333
ANGELICA VAN BUREN.
Lady of the White House in 1838—Daughter of Richard Singleton, of
South Carolina—Her grandfathers Revolutionary heroes—Her kinsmen
notable people—Early advantages—Superior education—High social
rank—In Washington with relatives—Mrs. Madison a cousin—Presents
her to the President—Reception very flattering—A great favorite
of the President’s—Marriage to Major Van Buren—The eldest son and
private secretary—Major Van Buren a graduate of West Point—His
wife’s first appearance as hostess—A New Year’s Day Reception—A
universally admired bride—The only South Carolina lady who has
held the position—A tour in Europe—Presented at the Court of St.
James—Her uncle American Minister—In London during the season—The
Emperor of Russia and other foreign notables—Exceptionally
pleasant visit—A three months’ tour—In Paris—Attentions from
General Cass, the American Minister—Presented to the King and
Queen—The guest of Louis Philippe—The King’s unceremonious
attentions—Shows his visitors over the palace—Knocks at the room
of the Comte de Paris—The Queen’s amusement—Her grandchildren
asleep—The return to America—In Washington when Congress
met—Closing year of the administration—Mrs. Van Buren mistress of
Lindenwald—Her winters spent in South Carolina—Removes to New
York in 1848—Residence in that city—Three years’ sojourn in
Europe—Home-life in New York—A long and happy career—Death of her
husband and son—Her own death 339
ANNA SYMMES HARRISON.
The wife of the ninth President—Born in the year of Independence—A
native of Morristown, N. J.—A motherless girl—A dangerous journey
through British lines—Her father a Colonel in the Continental
Army—Assumes the disguise of a British officer—Takes his child to
her grandparents on Long Island—Separated from her for many
years—Little Anna’s early training—Her grandmother an excellent
woman—A careful teacher and Christian guide—Her grandchild grows
to womanhood—Sent to New York to school—With her grandparents
until nineteen years old—Goes to Ohio with her father—Colonel
Symmes—A step-mother—Settles at North Bend—His second
wife—Daughter of Governor Livingston, of New York—Judge Symmes a
Judge of the Supreme Court—Often absent from home—Anna Symmes
with her sister in Kentucky—Meets her future husband—Captain
Harrison, of the United States Army—In command of Fort
Washington, the present site of Cincinnati—Marriage—A bride at
twenty—Captain Harrison resigns—Elected to Congress—Mrs. Harrison
accompanied him to Philadelphia—Visits Virginia relations—A
healthy, handsome woman—Medium height and slight in person—An
intellectual face—General Harrison appointed Governor of Indiana
Territory—Removes to Vincennes, the seat of government—Many happy
years spent there—Mrs. Harrison popular and admired—A household
of love—Twenty years of pleasant home-life—Governor Harrison
continues in power until 1812—Appointed to the command of the
Northwestern Army—The Battle of Tippecanoe—Defeat of
Tecumseh—General Harrison removes his family to
Cincinnati—Major-General—Marches to the frontier—Mrs. Harrison
and her children—Long separated from her husband—General Harrison
resigns—Removes to North Bend, on the Ohio—Mrs. Harrison a
pleasant neighbor—The mother of ten children—Her husband much
from home—Responsibility and care of the wife and mother—Generous
hospitality—The children of the neighborhood study with her sons
and daughters—Honored and loved in all relations—Loses several of
her children and grandchildren—Thirty years of home-life at North
Bend—Her children devoted to her—An incident of the Presidential
canvass—Delegation of politicians not welcome—General Harrison
declines to violate the Sabbath—His respect for his wife’s
feelings—Nominated for the Presidency—Mrs. Harrison greatly
annoyed—Three candidates in the field—Van Buren elected—A happy
woman at North Bend—Harrison the Whig candidate in 1840—Idol of
his party—An exciting canvass—The financial condition of the
country—“Tippecanoe and Tyler too”—Stirring campaign
songs—Intense interest manifested—Log-cabins and military
parades—The Whigs triumphant—General Harrison elected—Mrs.
Harrison grateful for her husband’s success—Sorry for herself—Not
fond of worldly gayeties—A domestic and retiring nature—General
Harrison leaves home—Welcome at Washington—Visits his old home in
Virginia—The inauguration in 1841—A gala day—General Harrison
rides a white charger—Canoes and cabins in the procession—Throngs
of people from distant places—Mrs. Harrison remains at North Bend
to settle her husband’s affairs—Preparing for her long stay in
Washington—Her husband accompanied by their daughter in-law, Mrs.
Jane F. Harrison—Several relatives of President Harrison in the
White House—The first month of Presidential life—General Harrison
killed by office-seekers—The Whigs clamorous for place—Weak and
aged he sinks under the pressure—Dies the 4th of April—One month
in the White House—Funeral in the East Room—Temporarily buried in
Washington—The Capital in mourning—Mr. Willis’s poem—Mrs.
Harrison apprised of her loss—Anticipating a speedy reunion when
the messenger arrives—Preparations stopped—A grief-stricken
woman—Return of her daughter-in-law and sons—A change of
residence—Children and grandchildren pay her reverence—Resides
with her son—An interested observer of events—Her views regarding
slavery—The civil war—Her grandsons in the army—A cheerful,
contented spirit to the end—Death at eighty-nine—Survived her
husband nearly a quarter of a century—Buried beside her
husband—Their graves at North Bend 346
LETITIA CHRISTIAN TYLER.
A Virginian—Her father a friend of Washington’s—A gentleman of
fortune and position—A member of the Legislature for many
years—Letitia Christian a most refined and modest girl—One of the
belles of West Virginia—Her suitors—John Tyler her lover—A rising
young lawyer and son of Governor John Tyler—Marriage in 1813—The
union approved by both families—The wedding festivities at Cedar
Grove—The young couple in their home in Charles City county—A
happy marriage—A husband whose affections are satisfied and his
pride gratified—A love-letter of the olden time—Mr. Tyler for
several years a member of the Legislature—His wife in Richmond
but rarely—Kept at home by her young children—Two died in
infancy—Mr. Tyler elected Governor—Mrs. Tyler mistress of the
Executive mansion—Dispensing its honors with ease and grace—Her
young children about her—Her husband elected to Congress—She
returns to her country home—One winter in Washington—A notable
housewife—Her home the abode of comfort and beauty—Maintained the
pecuniary independence of her husband—A matron of the old
school—A letter from her daughter-in-law—Description of Mrs.
Tyler and her home—Mrs. Tyler’s health fails—Her husband becomes
President—Removal to Washington—Her regrets at leaving her
home—Becomes the mistress of the White House—Her great fondness
for flowers—Mrs. Robert Tyler her representative in society—Her
letter to her sister—Rarely seen at the receptions or state
dinners—Her daughter Elizabeth married in the East Room—Mr.
Webster and Mrs. Madison at the wedding—Mrs. Tyler present—Mrs.
Semple’s letter—The bride returns to Virginia to live—The
youngest daughter still a child—The President gives private balls
with dancing—Washington Irving appointed Minister to
Spain—Letters from Major Tyler—A levee at the White House—Mrs.
Tyler’s health fails—Her death—Her funeral in the White House—The
remains conveyed to Virginia—A committee of the citizens of
Washington escort the body—The President and all his family
attend it to its resting-place—Her loss mourned by her old
friends—The President retires to his home—Remains in seclusion
until Congress meets—A sad return to Washington 366
JULIA GARDINER TYLER.
The second marriage of John Tyler—His bride Miss Julia Gardiner—The
first and only marriage of a President—The event much
discussed—Miss Gardiner a beautiful young lady—Educated in New
York—A resident of Gardiner’s Island, New York Bay—Travels in
Europe—Her father her escort—Visits Washington with him, and
meets the President—Invited to take an excursion—Captain Stockton
in charge of the party—The trip to Alexandria—Guests invited on
deck to witness the firing of cannon—The President and ladies in
the cabin—Gentlemen on deck—A terrible catastrophe—Piercing cries
of the wounded—Mr. Gardiner among the victims—The bodies conveyed
to the White House—Funeral services in the East Room—Miss
Gardiner prostrated with grief—An only child—The President’s
interest in her—Six months later they were married—The ceremony
performed in New York—Grand reception at the White House—A
beautiful bride—Mistress of the White House eight months—Close of
the administration—Ex-President a Virginia farmer—Resides at his
estate on the James river—Mrs. Tyler the mother of many
children—Death of the ex-President in 1862—Mrs. Tyler returns to
New York—Resides at Carleton Hill, Staten Island—Losses of
property—Asks Congress for a pension—Subsequent residence in
Georgetown, Maryland 397
SARAH CHILDRESS POLK.
The daughter of a Tennessee farmer—Reared in easy comfort—Educated
at a Moravian school—A happy girlhood—Clouds and sunshine—Married
at nineteen—The wedding of James Knox Polk and Sarah
Childress—Mr. Polk a member of the Legislature—Elected to
Congress—Represents his district for fourteen sessions—Speaker of
the House of Representatives—Mrs. Polk popular in Washington—Is
conspicuous in society—An interested spectator of passing
events—Studies politics—Her Tennessee home—Summers spent in it—A
member of the Presbyterian Church—Mr. Polk elected Governor of
Tennessee—Removes to Nashville—Mrs. Polk among old
friends—Devotes her time to social duties—The Presidential
campaign of 1840—Political rancor and animosity—The bearing of
the Governor’s wife—Governor Polk the Presidential candidate of
1844—Henry Clay his opponent—Election of Governor
Polk—Inaugurated in 1845—A disagreeable day—Mrs. Polk mistress of
the White House—Has no children to occupy her time—Her weekly
receptions—Received her company sitting—Great dignity of Mrs.
Polk—A daughter of the old school—A woman of strict decorum—No
dancing allowed in the White House—Mrs. Polk’s admirers—Her
personal appearance—Excellent taste in dress—Poetical tribute
from Mrs. Ann S. Stephens—The receptions largely attended—Mrs.
Polk’s costume—Distinguished people present—A neat compliment—The
war with Mexico inaugurated—Its continuance until 1848—President
Polk’s affable manners—Newspaper compliments to Mrs.
Polk—Dangerous illness in the White House—Taylor elected
President—Ex-President Polk gives a dinner party to him—The
closing levee at the While House—The farewells to the
ex-President and Mrs. Polk—Departure from
Washington—Demonstrations of respect—Arrival at Nashville—A
fitting welcome—Purchase of Polk Place—A contemplated tour to
Europe—Ill-health of Mr. Polk—His death—Buried in the grounds of
his late residence—A marble temple—Mrs. Polk resides alone—Every
courtesy and sympathetic attention paid her—The ex-President’s
study kept as he left it—Public marks of respect paid Mrs.
Polk—The members of the Legislature pay her New Year’s
calls—During Confederate days—Mrs. Polk a type of a class passing
away—A descriptive letter—An old age of comfort and
peace—Reticent concerning herself—Surrounded by relatives and
friends 400
MARGARET TAYLOR.
The wife of an army officer—Little known to the public—Opposed to
public notice—General Taylor a frontier officer—The hero of the
Black Hawk and the Seminole wars—Mrs. Taylor’s army
experience—Never willingly separated from her husband—An example
of wifely devotion—With her husband at Tampa Bay—A quarter of a
century of tent life—Always at the side of her husband—A happy
and contented wife—A very domestic woman—Her housekeeping
accomplishments—Mrs. Taylor a Maryland lady—Received a practical
education—Her one ambition—Married in early life—Her husband a
young officer—Removal to the West—Her attentions to her
husband—Her children—Sent to her relatives to be reared and
educated—Rapid promotion of her husband—His wife the presiding
genius of the hospital—The comforts of a home always
his—Established at Baton Rouge—The pretty cottage on the river
bank—Once a Spanish commandant’s house—A delightful home at
last—Mrs. Taylor and her two daughters—Busy with household
cares—Domestic life complete—War with Mexico—General Taylor
ordered to the front—Miss Betty in the perfection of her
womanhood—Her happy home-life—The “Army of Occupation”—General
Taylor made Commander-in-Chief—Mrs. Taylor and other daughters
remain in their home—Honors to General Taylor—Mrs. Taylor’s
success with her garden and dairy—An example to the young
officers’ wives—Has a chapel prepared and the Episcopal services
read—A rector’s occasional presence secured—A handsome church
erected later—The garrison chapel a popular resort—Many officers’
wives at the post—Their anxiety over the war—Battles fought and
officers killed—Mrs. Taylor’s strength and courage—A runaway
match—Miss Sarah Taylor’s marriage to Lieutenant Jefferson
Davis—General Taylor’s opposition to his daughters marrying
officers—His displeasure over the elopement—Away from home at the
time—His rage at Lieutenant Davis’s conduct—No honorable man
would so act—Death of Mrs. Davis—No reconciliation with her
father—The loss a great trial to him—Mrs. Taylor deeply
affected—General Taylor’s sense of sorrow—Meets Jefferson Davis
at Buena Vista—Reconciliation on the battle-field—An embrace on
the battle-field—The end of the campaign—General Taylor a
hero—Miss Betty the object of much interest—The Presidential
candidacy—Taylor elected—The cottage on the river a Mecca—A year
of great excitement—Mrs. Taylor’s hospitality—Her indifference to
public honors—Her desire for retirement—“A plot to deprive her of
her husband’s society”—The army life ended—Miss Betty Taylor’s
marriage—A bride at twenty-two—Her husband, Major Bliss, her
father’s Adjutant-General—Mistress of the White House—Mrs. Taylor
declining responsibility—“Miss Betty” the hostess—An attractive
woman—The inauguration—Wildest enthusiasm—Washington’s welcome to
the nation’s idol—A grand ball—Scenes at the ball—General
Taylor’s appearance—Madame Bodisco’s dress—Zachary Taylor’s
favorite child—Her appearance as she entered the ball-room—Timid
and faltering in step—The vast crowd pleased—Overwhelming
enthusiasm—The home-life at the White House—Mrs. Taylor absent
from official entertainments—Her simple habits ridiculed—The
summer passed in quietness—A reception to Father Matthew—The
public not satisfied—A desire for greater ostentation at the
White House—The following winter—Official life
begun—Distinguished men in the Cabinet—The admission of
California—Fiery eloquence of Clay—Webster and Calhoun members of
the Senate—Political excitement—The change in the President’s
manner—Begins to realize the opposition—Is equal to the
emergency—Mrs. Taylor abandons domestic affairs—Devotes herself
to social duties—Appreciates the importance of her elevation—More
ostentation displayed—A social revolution—The new era inaugurated
by the ladies—Reception on the first anniversary of the
inauguration—The President’s family appear to advantage—General
Taylor a surprise to his friends—A new rôle played with
success—Miss Betty the leader of society—The press expresses
admiration—Cabinet changes—The general character of the
administration—The spring passes away—Seventy-fourth anniversary
of National Independence—Laying the corner-stone of the
Washington Monument—General Taylor presides—The day intensely
hot—Exposed to the sun—A notable event—The complaints of General
Taylor regarding the heat—Never experienced such heat in Florida
or Mexico—His return to the White House—Drank freely of cold
water and ate fruit—Violent illness—General Taylor has the
cholera—His premonitions regarding the end—The remarks concerning
his performance of duty—“His motives misconstrued; his feelings
grossly betrayed”—Mrs. Taylor admits the possibility of his
death—Bitterly regrets their coming to Washington—Prostrate at
her husband’s bedside—Her children about her—The death-bed
scene—The last good-bye—The grief of the family—Heart-rending
cries of agony—The end—The removal of the President’s
remains—Mrs. Taylor’s retirement from the White House—Her dream
of happiness ended—Never alluded to her life in Washington—With
her friends in Kentucky—Finds personal utterances of sympathy
oppressive—Retires to her son’s residence—Her home near
Pascagoula, Louisiana—Leads a quiet life—Death of Major Bliss—A
second marriage—The historical name laid aside—The end of a
public career 425
ABIGAIL FILLMORE.
A daughter of Rev. Lemuel Powers—Born in 1798—A descendant of Henry
Leland, of Sherbourne—Loses her father in infancy—Her mother her
teacher and guide—Removal to Cayuga county, New York—A frontier
settlement—Stern lessons of poverty—A studious and ambitious
girl—Teaches school during the summer months—A well-educated
woman—The omnipotence of energy—Miss Power’s blessing of physical
health—Personal appearance—Flowing curls of flaxen hair—Her face
a mirror of her soul—Much strength of character—Marriage of her
mother—The daughter a teacher—Her home with a relative—Meets Mr.
Fillmore—A teacher of the village school in winter—The father’s
unwise selection of work—The son ambitious and studious—Studying
law while a clothier’s apprentice—A friendly hand extended—The
youth assisted—The foundation of usefulness laid—Removes to Erie
county—Miss Powers his inspiration and hope—Their
engagement—Separated for three years—Too poor to make a journey
of 150 miles—Married in 1826—Life in the wilderness—Poor and
content—Their first home—The wife teaches school, keeps house,
and helps her husband—Relieves him of care—His progress
rapid—Practises law—Elected to the Legislature—Mrs. Fillmore a
true help-meet—Intellectually her husband’s equal—A sunny
nature—Two children in her home—Letters to an old friend—Removal
to Buffalo—Mr. Fillmore prospering—Domestic happiness—Social
pleasures—Mr. Fillmore’s tribute to his wife—Greeted his entire
married life with smiles—Her supreme devotion to her husband—Mr.
Fillmore in Congress—Elected Vice-President—Death of President
Taylor—Mr. Fillmore’s accession to the Presidency—Mrs. Fillmore
in the White House—Her daughter assumes the first position—Mrs.
Fillmore in feeble health—Fond of the society of friends—Her love
of music—Mrs. Fillmore a great reader—No library in the White
House—President Fillmore asks an appropriation—Mrs. Fillmore
arranges the library—A happy gathering-place—The weekly
receptions at the White House—Dinner parties—A large circle of
cultured people in Washington—Their welcome to the White
House—Flowers, music, and literary entertainments—Mrs. Fillmore’s
pride in her position—Deeply regrets her ill-health—Her son and
daughter assist her in all ways—Visit of the President’s
father—“Cradle him in a sap-trough, sir” Attentions paid the
venerable man—A gradual failure of health—Mrs. Fillmore’s last
illness—Death—Buried in Buffalo—The affection of her family—Mr.
Fillmore’s devotion to her memory—Lines on her death 457
MARY ABIGAIL FILLMORE.
The only daughter of President Fillmore—Lady of the White House—A
cultured woman—Intimacy with Harriet Hosmer—A linguist, musician,
and scholar—Presides at the White House with great dignity—A
credit to her sex—Educated by Miss Sedgwick—Qualified herself to
teach—Studied at the State Normal School—Graduated with high
honors—Her father becomes President—Becomes the first lady in the
land—A successful career—Returns the affection bestowed upon
her—High social qualities—Her mother’s death—The pride and
comfort of her father—A visit to her grandfather—Sudden
illness—Her father summoned—Dies of cholera—The blow a
heart-rending one—Her father and brother left alone—Only
twenty-two—Many tributes to her memory—A general favorite in
society—Wife and daughter buried in less than one year 474
JANE APPLETON PIERCE.
The daughter of Rev. Jesse Appleton, D. D., President of Bowdoin
College—Reared in an atmosphere of cultivation—A gifted
child—Delicate and intensely sensitive—Mental qualities—Married
in 1834—Mr. Pierce a gifted man—Politics utterly distasteful to
Mrs. Pierce—A union of lasting happiness—A devoted
husband—Personal popularity of Mr. Pierce—A public position
undesired—A good wife, mother, and friend—Home at Concord—Mr.
Pierce resigns his seat in the Senate—Loss of two sons—Resumes
the practice of law—Tendered the position of Attorney-General—His
wife’s illness his reason for declining—An invalid most of the
time—Mr. Pierce enlists in the army—Goes to Mexico—Returns a
Brigadier-General—Absent from home nearly a year—A wife’s
anxiety—Left alone with an only son—Mr. Pierce nominated for the
Presidency—His election—Death of her only child—Killed on a
railroad train—A bright boy of thirteen—Husband, wife, and child
go down together—The search for the boy—Still in death—A sad
return home—Mistress of the White House under sad
circumstances—In feeble health and deep grief—Always present at
the public receptions—Presided at State dinners—Agreeable
memories of Mrs. Pierce in Washington—Her observance of the
Sabbath—The influence she exerted—Retirement of President
Pierce—Travels abroad—Six months in Madeira—A long sojourn in the
old world—Death of Mrs. Pierce in 1863—Kindly things said of
her—Death of Mr. Pierce in 1869 484
HARRIET LANE.
The niece of James Buchanan—Her name nearly associated with his
fame—Given to his care when an infant—A child to him—The ancestry
of Pennsylvania blood—Her grandfather—Family of James
Buchanan—His favorite sister—Married to Eliot T. Lane—Mr. Lane’s
position—Their youngest child—A vivacious and mischievous
girl—Little Harriet’s impressions of her uncle—Death of her
mother and father—Possessed of worldly goods—Chooses her uncle’s
home—His pride in this affectionate child—Her guide, philosopher,
and friend—“She never told a lie”—A wilful domestic outlaw—An
anecdote of her girlhood—Her uncle’s rebuke—Harriet sent to
school—Objections to her teachers—Her letters to her uncle—Under
surveillance—Early hours, brown sugar and cold hearts—Another
school selected—Her sister her companion—Three years of
study—Fond of music—A visit to Bedford Springs—Her uncle makes
her happy—In a convent—In Washington every month—Delightful
visits—Miss Lane’s popularity at school—A favorite with the
sisters—The nuns instruct her in music—Her uncle’s
letters—Graduated with honor—Loved and regretted by her
schoolmates—A beautiful woman—Personal description—Taste in
dress—Her uncle’s idol—His account of her athletic
powers—Anecdote of a race she ran—At Wheatland—Her fondness for
reading aloud—Discusses politics and plans improvements about the
grounds—Gay visits to different cities—Admired by gentlemen—Her
uncle’s house invaded by her lovers—Her brothers and sister—Mr.
Buchanan appointed Minister to England—His services to his
country—In Congress, Minister to Russia, Secretary of State—Twice
offered a seat upon the Supreme Bench—Miss Lane’s entrance into
English society—Publicly identified with Mr. Buchanan—Her
rank—The Queen her admirer—Decides her place in the diplomatic
corps for her—A blooming beauty—First appearance at a
drawing-room—A memorable occasion—Unconscious of the attention
she attracted—Mr. Buchanan’s remark to her—Distinguished
attentions of the Queen—Regarded with favor by the royal
family—Added greatly to the social reputation of her uncle—An
elegant-looking couple—A delightful specimen of American
womanhood—The guest of distinguished people—Offers of
marriage—Confides her love-affairs to her uncle—Brightest years
of her life—Miss Lane’s love for England and English people—An
incident of her stay abroad—Travels on the continent—With Mr.
Mason’s family in Paris—Their guest for two months—Miss Lane a
great belle—With her uncle at Oxford—The degree of Doctor of
Civil Laws conferred on Mr. Tennyson and Mr. Buchanan—The
students cheer her—Their admiration openly expressed—Return to
America—Leaves her uncle behind—He regrets the separation—Long
letters to her—The purpose of her coming home—At Wheatland—Her
sister to join her—Death of her sister—Mr. Buchanan’s
return—Nominated for the Presidency—Miss Lane’s social
duties—Mistress of the White House—Death of her brother—A
terrible blow to her—The recipient of much sympathy—Elegant
manners of the Lady of the White House—The most admired woman in
America—Her life a series of honors and pleasures—The formal
receptions—The President’s appearance—His niece by his side—A
trying social position—Visit of the Prince of Wales to this
country—The guest of the President—A delightful visit—An
occurrence of memorable interest—Visit to Mount Vernon—The Prince
a pleasant guest—His frank manners and interest in social
matters—Wishes to dance—The President declines to permit it—The
departure of the Prince—Letter from the Queen and the
Prince—Presents the President with his portrait—Sends Miss Lane
engravings of the Royal Family—Presented to them, not to the
nation—Letter from Lord Lyons to Mr. Buchanan—The closing year of
the administration—Miss Lane a comfort to her uncle—The
approaching war—A time of anxiety—The President’s gratitude for
her admirable demeanor—Faithfully represents him in his
drawing-room—Retirement—At Wheatland—Continued
attentions—Enthusiastic admirers—Miss Lane joins the church—No
other relative than her two uncles—Engagement to Mr.
Johnston—Marriage at Wheatland—The struggle between two loves—Mr.
and Mrs. Johnston’s tour to Cuba—Settle in Baltimore—A luxurious
home—A gift for “the lady of his dreams”—Happiness of the young
couple—Mrs. Johnston as a wife and mother—Death of her uncle—In
summer at Wheatland—A happy life—Later shadows—Death of her
eldest son—A noble youth—Letter from Judge Black—A great
bereavement 498
MARY TODD LINCOLN.
Ambitious to go to the White House—A hope long entertained—The
desire gratified—Impressed with this feeling in early
youth—Calculated the probabilities of such a success with
friends—Refused to marry a statesman—Accepts a less brilliant man
believing in his future—A Kentuckian by birth—Member of the Todd
family—Childhood and youth—Restless and not happy at home—Goes to
Springfield, Illinois—The attractions of this place—Residence
with her sister—Marriage to Abraham Lincoln—Their home at the
Globe tavern—The husband’s letter—Early married life—Mr. Lincoln
elected to Congress—His wife and children at home—State of the
country—The public life of Mr. Lincoln—His fondness for his
children—A good husband and kind man—Mrs. Lincoln a fortunate
woman—The mother of four children—Her pleasant home—The
aspirations and efforts of her husband—His character untarnished
by corruption—The place he fills—The basis of his greatness—The
time of war and anxiety—Less fortunate than any of her
predecessors—The people not gay—Social duties ignored—The
conditions under which her Washington life was passed—Preceding
events—Republican Convention of 1860—The nomination of Mr.
Lincoln—Mrs. Lincoln’s excitement—Her husband’s
thoughtfulness—His remark about her—The excitement over the
result—Springfield crowded with strangers—A great crowd at Mr.
Lincoln’s house—An elated woman—Her husband a grave man—Had none
of the airs of eminence—The same honest, simple-hearted
man—Answered his own bell—Mrs. Lincoln annoyed by visitors—Her
husband receives his guests elsewhere—Not inclined to be
friendly—Her improper estimate of her position—Very ambitious but
not conciliatory—A singular circumstance—Superstition of Mr.
Lincoln—The thrice repeated apparition—His wife’s interpretation
of it—A sign of his future honors and sudden death—Viewed in the
light of subsequent events—Its startling import—Mrs. Lincoln
starts for Washington—Her three sons with her—At Springfield—A
salute of thirty-four guns—At Cincinnati—The family of General
Harrison—The inauguration—General Scott in command of the
troops—An exciting day in Washington—Presidents Buchanan and
Lincoln—The oath of office administered—At the White House—Mrs.
Lincoln and her sisters—The first levee—The lady of the White
House—Description of her appearance—The desire of her heart
gratified—A fortunate woman—Fond of society and excitement—Not
equal to the emergency—Her conduct criticised—State dinners
abandoned—Years of hardship and trial to Mr. Lincoln—The death of
their son—Grief of both parents—Incidents of Mr. Lincoln’s love
for his children—Request to Commodore Porter—Tad’s love of
flowers—A gratification to his boy—At Fortress Monroe—Mr. Lincoln
dreams of Willie—Overcome with emotion—Reads from “King John” and
sobs aloud—A loving father—A relative’s opinion of him—Never
heard to utter an unkind word—Mrs. Lincoln in the White
House—Much alone—The state of the country preventing gayety—At
the watering-places—The Presidential Canvass of 1864—Re-election
of Mr. Lincoln—The New Year’s reception in 1865—The most
brilliant reception given—Thousands present—The war drawing to a
close—The inauguration—Anxiety concerning it—Safely
accomplished—Joy succeeds sorrow—General rejoicing at the
North—Surrender of General Lee—Peace declared—The White House
thronged—Congratulations from all directions—Anniversary of the
fall of Fort Sumter—The President and family at the theatre—The
greetings of a great audience—Those beside him—In a private
box—Looking pensive and sad—Shot—John Wilkes Booth the
assassin—Great consternation—The President removed from the
theatre—Mrs. Lincoln unnerved—At her husband’s death-bed—The
return to the White House—Grief of the nation—The afternoon
before his death—Out riding—Mrs. Lincoln’s reference to the
occasion—His remarks to his wife during the ride—They go alone at
his wish—His touching allusion to their son—“We have been very
miserable”—A miserable household—Grief of little Tad—Utterly
inconsolable—His remarks about his father—Mrs. Lincoln unnerved
by the shock—Never wholly recovers—Ill for many weeks—The funeral
cortege leaves Washington—The journey to Illinois—Mourning of the
people—Impressive scenes—The eldest son accompanies the
cortege—Returns to his mother’s side—Mrs. Lincoln’s long stay in
the White House—Embarrassed officials—President’s Johnson’s
considerate course—Final departure of Mrs. Lincoln—Death of
Tad—Subsequent life of Mrs. Lincoln—In ill-health—Travels
abroad—Petitions Congress for a pension—Restless and depressed in
spirit—The end of her ambitions, hopes and thoughts of
home-life—Life abroad—Return to America—Again at Springfield 526
ELIZA MCARDLE JOHNSON.
The only child of a widow—Married at seventeen—Her husband a
tailor’s apprentice—A mountain home—Well instructed in ordinary
branches—A very beautiful girl—The wife of an ambitious man—His
widowed mother’s chief support—An additional incentive to
study—The young couple learn together—His wife teaches him to
write—She reads to him as he works—Three women—The zeal and
energy of one of them—The tailor boy’s incentives—Little children
about his hearth—Mr. Johnson elected alderman—The joy of a good
wife—The village “Demosthenes”—Chosen Mayor of Greenville—Three
terms in office—A reputation for honest deeds and correct
principles—Mrs. Johnson’s devotion to her husband’s
interests—Death of their mothers—Mr. Johnson a member of the
Legislature and Governor of Tennessee—His wife remains in
Greenville—Her children’s education her care—Their Greenville
home—Andrew Johnson’s first home—His old shop—A poor man and
honest official—Elected Senator—Mrs. Johnson in
Washington—Failing health—Her return home—Separated from her
husband for two years—The civil war—Cut off from news of
home—Mrs. Johnson and family ordered out of East Tennessee—Time
asked—Too ill to travel—The start made—Ordered to return—A long
and trying journey—Passes through Confederate lines—A night spent
on the cars—Without food or beds or fire—A tired party—Mrs.
Johnson and her children in Nashville—The heroic conduct of the
former—Remembered kindly by friend and foe—A long-separated
family reunited—Mrs. Johnson an invalid—Death of her eldest son,
Dr. Johnson—Governor Johnson, Military Governor of
Tennessee—Nominated for the Vice-Presidency—Goes to
Washington—His family remain in Nashville—Preparing to return to
Greenville—The assassination of the President—Andrew Johnson,
President of the United States—Senator Doolittle’s account of the
assassination conspiracy—His letters to the Wisconsin State
Historical Society—President Johnson’s narrow escape—Governor
Farwell’s presence of mind—Leaves the theatre to find Mr.
Johnson—Fears for his safety—Warns the hotel clerks—“Guard the
doors: the President is assassinated”—Rushes to the
Vice-President’s room—His anxiety supreme—Is reassured by hearing
Mr. Johnson’s voice—The terrible news he bears—A moment of
supreme excitement—Hasty plans for safety—The moment of danger
passed—The hotel guarded—Personal friends pouring in to learn his
fate—News of Secretary Seward’s condition—Thousands of people in
the streets—A time of horror—The President dying—Mr. Johnson
determined to see him—His refusal to go guarded—Accompanied by
Major O’Beirne and Governor Farwell—At the bedside of the dying
President—Mrs. Johnson presented with an album containing
Governor Farwell’s account of the conspiracy plot—The family at
the White House—Mrs. Patterson the Lady of the White House—“A
plain people from the mountains of Tennessee”—Mrs. Johnson
assumes no social duties—An invalid—Only once in the East
Room—Her household—The four years in the White House—Her glad
return to Tennessee—Death of Colonel Robert Johnson—Ex-President
Johnson elected Senator—His wife greatly pleased—Living in her
old home—Illness of her husband—His death—Six months of
suffering—Her death—Buried beside her husband—A superb monument 546
MARTHA JOHNSON PATTERSON.
Like her father in personal appearance and character—A strong,
earnest woman—Description of her mental characteristics—Her
executive ability and energy—The pleasant manners of the
President’s daughter—An unostentatious person—A dutiful daughter
and kind sister—She never had time to play—A busy school-girl—Her
mother’s assistant—The earnest years of early life—At school in
Georgetown—A guest at the White House—Mrs. Polk’s bashful
visitor—Many of her holidays spent there—The marriage of Miss
Johnson to Judge Patterson—A visit to her father at Nashville—Her
home in East Tennessee—The mother of two children—The war—Joins
her parents at Nashville—Her home sacked—The preparations to
return to East Tennessee—News of the assassination—Mrs. Patterson
and Mrs. James K. Polk occupy a carriage in the procession in
honor of Lincoln—Removal to Washington—A dismantled mansion—The
East Room in a wretched condition—A severe task before the new
mistress—President Johnson’s first reception—Mrs. Patterson and
Mrs. Stover beside their father—The White House refurnished—Mrs.
Patterson’s severe duties—A summer spent in Washington renovating
the home of the Presidents—A notable housekeeper—Travels with her
father—The wife of a Senator and daughter of the
President—President Jefferson’s second daughter similarly
situated, but not the lady of the White House—Golden opinions of
Mrs. Patterson—Compared to Mrs. John Adams—Superior common sense
and strong will-power—A Southerner’s love of home—Her conduct
during the impeachment trial—A patient and busy person—The
strength and support of her father—His companion and
counsellor—Devotion to his interests—A levee at the White
House—Mrs. Patterson’s costume described—The farewell
reception—Five thousand people present—The State dinners given by
President Johnson—The last entertainment of this kind—An
interesting account of it—The President’s hospitality—Retirement
from the White House—A stormy and trying ordeal over—Farewells to
old friends 573
MARY STOVER.
The second daughter of President Johnson—A widow when she went to
Washington—A statuesque blonde—Her children with her—The
grandchildren of the President—A happy home circle—A stately
woman on public occasions—Her indifference to society—The
amusement of friends at her manner with strangers—A shy sufferer
in society—Her devotion to her children—An unaffected and
sensible lady—A pleasant memory in Washington 598
JULIA DENT GRANT.
The inauguration of President Grant in 1869—Youngest man who has
occupied the office—His family—Mrs. Grant as hostess, wife and
mother—Personal friends and relatives about her—Her personal
influence—A Missourian by birth—Her father’s social position—Her
brother a West Point graduate—Introduced to his classmate—The
engagement of the young lieutenant and Miss Julia—The match not
pleasing to her parents—The young officer ordered to frontier
duty—With General Taylor in Mexico—Saved the life of Lieutenant
Dent—The family relent—An engagement of five years—Married in
1848—A merry wedding—The bride at her husband’s post—Housekeeping
in Detroit—A vine-covered cottage—The children of this
union—Captain Grant leaves the army—Returns to Missouri—Poor and
without prospects—Tries farming—Not successful in his
efforts—“Hardscrabble”—Enters a real estate office—Years of
adversity—The hope and trust of Mrs. Grant—A visit to his
father—What came of it—In business at Galena—Six hundred a
year—“Hardscrabble” still—His wife maid of all work, nurse and
teacher of her children—An uncongenial business—Hard work and
little reward—His position disagreeable on various accounts—The
outbreak of the war—The turning point in his life—Appointed
Captain—Speedy promotions—Governor Washburne his friend—Is made a
Brigadier-General—Mrs. Grant and her children in Kentucky—His
father’s house her home—Her loyal devotion to her
husband—Predicts higher distinction for him—His defender
always—Much of his success due to her recognition of his
character—With him at Fort Donelson and in Mississippi—Serenaded
in St. Louis after the surrender of Vicksburg—Her appearance
greeted with cheers—Shares with her husband his military
renown—At head-quarters—Mrs. Grant’s opinion of her husband—“A
very obstinate man”—He becomes Lieutenant-General—Resides in
Washington City—Three years of home-life under pleasant
circumstances—The most successful General of the age—Is nominated
for the Presidency—Inauguration of President Grant—Mrs. Grant in
the White House—The domestic life of the President’s family—Three
years of the administration—At Long Branch in summer—Debut of
Miss Nellie—Her tour in Europe—Distinguished attentions shown
her—Their sons at home from school—Marriage of Nellie Grant—The
lover from over the water—National interest in the event—The
sixth wedding in the White House—The ceremony in the East
Room—The groom Algernon Sartoris, of Hampshire, England—The son
of Adelaide Kemble, and grandson of Charles Kemble—His aunt the
famous actress Fanny Kemble—An exceptionally brilliant
life—President Grant’s pride in his daughter—Her wedding the
finest ever known in Washington—Guests present—Departure for
Europe—The President and Mrs. Grant at Long Branch—Colonel Fred
Grant’s marriage—Mrs. Grant’s social administration—Elaborate
entertainments—Notable social events—Royal visitors at the White
House—Eight years in the Executive Mansion—Close of the
administration of President Grant—The recipient of constant
attentions—Guests of the ex-Secretary of State—Preparations for a
tour around the world—The guest of George Washington Childs,
Esq., in Philadelphia—Honors paid to the ex-President—The last
week made memorable—Departure from Philadelphia—The trip down the
Delaware—Enthusiasm of the people—The farewell to friends—Parting
salute—The steamer “Indiana” departs—Welcomed on English soil—The
journey around the world—Two years and a half of sight-seeing—The
return to the United States—In sight of home—Arrival at San
Francisco—Universal rejoicings—Invitations from all the large
cities of the Union—The ex-President surprised at the heartiness
of his reception—Pleasant incidents—A present to Mrs. Grant from
the Chinese delegation—The dinner given her in China—Guest of the
wife of the Viceroy of China—John Russell Young’s description of
the entertainment—She is accompanied by the European ladies in
Tientsin—“What shall we wear?”—They decide in favor of French
fashions—The procession of chairs to the Yamen—Mrs. Grant in the
first chair—An American and a Chinese band—The refinement of the
hostess—The Viceregal family—Costumes of the Chinese
ladies—Crowds of servants in attendance—Tea served in the
library—At dinner—The dining-room and table furnishing—A Chinese
and European feast—The fortitude of the guests—Chopsticks handled
with dexterity—The civility of the hostess—Democratic customs in
China—The crowd about the windows and doors—The toast of the
hostess—Barbarian ladies surprise her—The Viceroy looking
on—Anxious for the success of the entertainment—The singing and
dancing of the guests—Barbarian customs approved by the Oriental
ladies—German music in the Viceroy’s palace—High-bred courtesy of
the hostess—Stands or sits as her guests do—A refined
lady—Accompanied Mrs. Grant to her chair—The adieux—Mrs. Grant
travels—Has received at the hands of foreigners more attention
than any other White House occupant—The guest of the crown heads
of Europe—Her chief pleasure in life—Popular in
society—Untrammelled with cares—The motives governing her public
career—Domesticity her leading characteristic—An excellent
mother—Adored by her children—Identified with her husband’s
public career—Her name a theme of praise—The summer of her
life—The future that yet awaits her 603
LUCY WEBB HAYES.
Widely popular—An element in the Administration—Her influence
admirable—The representative of the third period of White House
ladies—The women of the Revolution—Their successors—The second
century of the Republic—Mrs. Hayes a representative of it—Her
qualifications and ambition—An ideal wife—Happy married life—Long
experience in semi-official life—Her grace, culture and social
attributes—Pleasant duties well performed—Has created a higher
reverence for her sex—As compared with others of her rank—What
men have learned from the days of Socrates to President Hayes—The
domestic lives of great men—The glory of life realized—Mrs.
Hayes’ birth-place—Daughter of Dr. James Webb—Ancestry—The mother
of Mrs. Hayes—A noble woman—Her careful training of her
children—Pupils at Wesleyan University—Cottage home of Mrs.
Webb—Lucy a fellow-student with her brothers—Sent to the Wesleyan
Female College—Excellent school advantages—A graduate of the
first chartered college for young women in the United States—Is
introduced to a promising young lawyer—His interest in the
under-graduate—What he wrote concerning her—Pleasant
school-memories of Mrs. Hayes—Her schoolmates’ opinion of
her—‘Absolutely will not talk gossip’—The trait a gift from her
mother—An exemplification of the Golden Rule—A member of the
church—A clever student—At the head of her class—School life
closed—Married to Mr. Hayes—The wedding—A marriage crowned with
affection—“All the world loves a lover”—Sensitive appreciation of
what is due her husband’s fame from her—An incident—Mrs. Hayes a
strong, self-respecting woman—A minister’s tribute to her
temperance views—Ranks her with the Marys who stood at the
cross—President Hayes—A widow’s son—His mother—A self-reliant
woman—Devotion to her children—Mr. Hayes a graduate of Kenyon
College, and of the Cambridge Law School—Practises law in
Fremont—Removal to Cincinnati—Offices held by him—Enters the army
as Major—Distinctions won during the war—At the battle of South
Mountain—Wounded in four engagements—An instance of her life in
camp—“A woman who mends the boys’ clothes”—A kind deed to a
soldier—Mrs. Hayes searching the Washington hospitals—Fails to
get tidings of him—Finds him at Middletown, Maryland—Her brother
with him—Establishes herself as nurse—In the family of Captain
Rudy—Their opinion of Mrs. Hayes—Her easy, affable ways—Visits
the hospitals and nurses the soldiers—A welcome presence in the
sick-room—Returns to Cincinnati with her husband—Her departure
sincerely regretted—Attentions to Miss Rudy—A guest in the
Governor’s house—President Hayes’ letter on the death of Captain
Rudy—The close of the war—General Hayes elected to
Congress—Re-elected—Nominated Governor of Ohio—Re-elected—The
Executive Mansion at Columbus—Social life there—Elegant
hospitality extended—Mrs. Hayes’ public duties—Works to enlarge
the State Charities—Identified with all good causes—Her wide
influence—The mother of eight children—An excellent
mother—Admirable in all the relationships of life—Summers spent
at Fremont—“Spiegel Grove”—A hospitable mansion—Description of
the house and surroundings—Burchard Park—Pen-portrait of Mrs.
Hayes—Medium height and well built—Fine eyes and expressive
features—An animated face—Excellent health and sunny nature—A
splendid specimen of physical womanhood—The Presidential canvass
in 1876—An exciting event—A season of great anxiety—President and
Mrs. Hayes in Washington—The guests of Mr. Sherman—The
inauguration—Scene in the Senate Chamber—The happy face in the
gallery—A bright glance that reassured the principal actor—At the
White House—The two Presidents at lunch—Ex-President and Mrs.
Grant leave the White House—The farewells at the door—The new
life begun—Arrival of the children and guests—First day in the
White House—Mrs. Hayes delighted with her position—Her admissions
on this subject—Anticipates enjoyment—A pleasant incident—Class
testimonial to Mrs. Hayes—The college badge—The device made in
flowers—The note accompanying the gift—“The best plans will go
aglee”—The note lost—Mrs. Hayes in a quiver of excitement—How she
learned the names of the donors—The end felicitous—The ladies
invited to the White House—A happy occasion—Mrs. Hayes’
Bibles—Enough to stock a hotel—The first reception—The most
gratified lady in the land—A radiant face—The effect as she
received—Her toilette—A simple, elegant dress—Rare laces—The
second entertainment—Dinner to the Grand Dukes Alexis and
Constantine of Russia—A brilliant gathering—The
drawing-rooms—Flowers and Sevres china—The table and dining-room
ornaments—The grand promenade—The Grand Duke Alexis and Mrs.
Hayes—President Hayes and Lady Thornton—Other members of the
brilliant company—The toilette worn by Mrs. Hayes—The facts about
the use of wine on this occasion—Not seen on subsequent
occasions—A compliment for Mrs. Hayes from Paris—Her first Sunday
in Washington—Attends the Foundry Methodist Church—Mrs. Hayes
does not interfere in official matters—Considers no applications
for appointments—A notable instance of her deviation from this
rule—A temperance postmistress retained—The reason for her
interference—Mrs. Hayes’ attentions to her “poor
relations”—Democratic independence—An instance of it—The best
carriage and liveried servants—Plain people from Ohio—A few
frills put on for their sakes—The household at the White
House—The children of the President—What an old schoolfriend said
of Mrs. Hayes—Mrs. Mary Clemmer writes of her—The eyes of a
Madonna—A woman of the hearth and home—Strong as fair—“Holding
the white lamp of her womanhood unshaken”—The finest-looking type
of man and woman—A Southerner’s opinion—“A God beautiful
woman”—President Hayes—Description of personal appearance—Manly,
refined and polished in manners—Silver-wedding—First ever
celebrated in the White House—Rev. Dr. McCabe renews his pastoral
blessing—The wedding dress of the bride—Friends
present—Interesting event—The children who were christened—The
family dinner—Formal reception next evening—The Executive Mansion
brilliant with flowers and gay costumes—Dress worn by Mrs.
Hayes—Wedding dress too small—Her guests—Those who attended the
first wedding—The only present received—A gift to Mrs. Hayes—In
memory of past kindness—From the officers of the 23d Ohio
Volunteer Infantry—A silver plate in an ebony frame—The
inscription—The log hut and torn battle-flags—Scenes in the
Kanawha Valley in 1863–64—The banquet—All the magnificent White
House tableware in use—Superb flowers—A blessing asked—Telegrams
offering congratulations—One of the pleasant affairs connected
with the administration—The two notable features it exhibited—The
cards of invitation and the present—Mrs. Hayes’ friendly interest
in the soldiers—“The mother of the Regiment”—The White House
during Mrs. Hayes’ administration—Her entertainments public and
private—Marriage of Miss Platt in the White House—Many bridal
parties there—A lunch party to young ladies—Mrs. Hayes’ tours
with her husband—Never tired of having a good time—The most
idolized woman in America—Uses the world without abusing it—An
honor to women—Presentation of her portrait to the
nation—Description of picture and frame—Farewell to
Washington—Welcome home 628
LUCRETIA RUDOLPH GARFIELD.
Self-control—Her characteristics—Before her marriage—General
Garfield’s early life—Elected to the Senate—Death of a
child—Letter to her husband—Her husband’s tribute—The family at
Mentor—Description of her home—Mrs. Garfield at home—Personal
appearance—“Mother Garfield”—A scene at the inauguration—The
President’s family at Washington—Early life of Mother
Garfield—Mother and son—Inauguration scenes—A brilliant scene—The
inauguration ball—The ladies of the Cabinet—The children of the
President—Mrs. Garfield’s illness—At Long Branch—Saturday, July
2d, “The President shot”—Incidents of the assassination—Removal
to the White House—Heroic suffering—Letter to Mother Garfield—Not
a politician—Sympathy of the people—The relapse—Removal to Long
Branch—A little boy’s sympathy—Anxious waiting—Died September
19th, 1881—The death-bed scene—Alone with her dead—Mother
Garfield—Leaving Elberon—Tributes by the way—The last look—The
Queen’s floral tribute—The start for Cleveland—Scenes by the
way—At Cleveland—The funeral procession—At the cemetery—The last
scene—The Queen’s sympathy 665
“THE WHITE HOUSE.”
Corner-stone laid—How constructed—Where situated—Trees planted by
John Quincy Adams—Green-House—Why so called 731
[Illustration:
MARTHA WASHINGTON.
FROM STUART’S PICTURE
]
THE
LADIES OF THE WHITE HOUSE.
I.
MARTHA WASHINGTON.
The first who, in our young republic, bore the honors as a President’s
wife, is described “as being rather below the middle size, but extremely
well-shaped, with an agreeable countenance, dark hazel eyes and hair,
and those frank, engaging manners so captivating in American women. She
was not a beauty, but gentle and winning in her nature, and eminently
congenial to her illustrious husband. During their long and happy
married life, he ever wore her likeness on his heart.”
“It was in 1758 that an officer, attired in a military undress, attended
by a body-servant tall and militaire as his chief, crossed the ferry
over the Pamunkey, a branch of the York River. On the boat’s touching
the southern or New Kent side, the soldier’s progress was arrested by
one of those personages who give the beauideal of the Virginia gentleman
of the old regime; the very soul of kindliness and hospitality. It was
in vain the soldier urged his business at Williamsburg; important
communications to the Governor, etc. Mr. Chamberlayne, on whose domain
the officer had just landed, would hear no excuse. Colonel Washington
was a name and character so dear to all Virginians, that his passing by
one of the old estates of Virginia without calling and partaking of the
hospitalities of the host was entirely out of the question. The Colonel,
however, did not surrender at discretion, but stoutly maintained his
ground, till Chamberlayne brought up his reserve in the intimation that
he would introduce his friend to a young and charming widow then beneath
his roof. The soldier capitulated on condition that he should dine, only
dine, and then, by pressing his charger, and borrowing of the night, he
would reach Williamsburg before his Excellency could shake off his
morning slumbers. Orders were accordingly issued to Bishop, the
Colonel’s body-servant and faithful follower, who, together with a fine
English charger, had been bequeathed by the dying Braddock to Major
Washington on the famed and fated field of the Monongahela. Bishop, bred
in the school of European discipline, raised his hand to his cap, as
much as to say, ‘Your honor’s orders shall be obeyed.’ The Colonel now
proceeded to the mansion, and was introduced to various guests (for when
was a Virginia domicil of the olden time without guests?), and, above
all, to the charming widow. Tradition relates that they were mutually
pleased on this their first interview, nor is it remarkable; they were
of an age when impressions are strongest. The lady was fair to behold,
of fascinating manners, and splendidly endowed with worldly benefits;
the hero, fresh from his early fields redolent of fame, and with a form
on which ‘every god did seem to set his seal, to give the world
assurance of a man.’ The morning passed pleasantly away; evening came,
with Bishop, true to his orders and firm at his post, holding the
favorite charger with the one hand, while the other was waiting to offer
the ready stirrup. The sun sank in the horizon, and yet the Colonel
appeared not, and then the old soldier wondered at his chief’s delay.
’Twas strange; ’twas passing strange. Surely he was not wont to be a
single moment behind his appointments, for he was the most punctual of
all punctual men. Meantime, the host enjoyed the scene of the veteran on
duty at the gate, while the Colonel was so agreeably employed in the
parlor; and proclaiming that no guest ever left his house after sunset,
his military visitor was, without much difficulty, persuaded to order
Bishop to put up the horses for the night. The sun rode high in the
heavens the ensuing day when the enamored soldier pressed with his spur
his charger’s sides and sped on his way to the seat of government, when,
having despatched his public business, he retraced his steps, and at her
country-seat, the White House, after which the home of the Presidents
was called, the engagement took place, with arrangements for the
marriage.”
It is pleasant to remember that, with all the privations and hardships
endured by both in after years, they never encountered poverty. When
Colonel Washington married Mrs. Custis, the ceremony was performed under
the roof of her own home, and the broad lands about it were but a part
of her large estate. Immediately after their wedding, which has been
described repeatedly as a most joyous and happy affair, in which every
belle and beau for miles around took part, they repaired at once to
Mount Vernon. Here for seventeen bright and beautiful years they enjoyed
the society of relatives and friends, and the constant companionship of
each other. During those years of prosperity, Mrs. Washington had ample
opportunity to manifest that elegance of manner for which she was
remarkable. In her girlhood, as Miss Dandridge, she had enjoyed the best
society of Williamsburg, and during Governor Dinwiddie’s residence
there, she had been one of the most popular and admired of the many
blooming girls who had rendered the court of the Governor attractive.
Nothing remains to us of her childhood save an indistinct tradition;[1]
perhaps her infant years were spent at her father’s country home,
unmarked but by the gradual change of the little one into the shy young
lady. That she was educated after the exigency of her time, at home, is
likewise a truth gathered from the echoes of the past generation.
Virginia in those early days—for she was born in May, 1732—possessed no
educational facilities, and the children of the wealthy were either sent
abroad for accomplishments unattainable in their native land, or put
under the care of tutor or governess at home. Such knowledge as she
possessed of the world was gleaned from the few books she read, and the
society of her father’s friends, for she had never been farther from
home than Williamsburg.
Footnote 1:
She was a descendant of the Rev. Orlando Jones, a clergyman of Wales.
[Illustration: Painted by Woolaston. Eng_d. by J. C. Buttre. M.
Washington]
She is first mentioned as a rustic beauty and belle at the British
Governor’s residence, and was there married, when very young, to Colonel
Custis. After her marriage her home was not far distant from her
father’s plantation, and these fleeting years were so fraught with every
conceivable blessing that her young heart asked no other boon. Endeared
to each other by the warmest affection, her time spent in dispensing
that hospitality which was deemed a duty and a virtue, it seemed as if
no trouble could ever mar her happiness. Colonel Custis was a gifted and
refined man, of eminently polished and agreeable manners, and the
possessor of a generous nature, which rendered him widely popular. The
congenial couple lived in happy contentment in the enjoyment of their
own and their children’s society, surrounded by friends, and the
possessors of all those creature comforts which add so essentially to
the pleasures of existence. They had three children, the eldest of whom
was a son, unusually endowed with mental gifts, and giving promise of a
bright future. His health was not good, and though watched over with
continuous care and forethought he died, and his untimely death hastened
the disease already manifest in his father’s system. Colonel Custis died
of consumption a short time afterward, and thus was the wife and mother
deprived of her companion, whose affection was in keeping with his many
virtues and elevated mind, and the boy whose existence had first called
into being all the deathless love of a mother.
Time soothed the wounds naught else could heal, and the young widow
discharged the duties that belonged to her position. The trust her
husband reposed in her—in leaving their large property in her own hands
to control—she amply vindicated, and her estate was one of the best
managed in the county. When she met Colonel Washington she was
twenty-six years of age, and was remarkably youthful in appearance and
very handsome. She had ever been the object of warm and disinterested
affection, and from her first entrance into the society of Williamsburg,
down to the last hour of her life, it was eminently illustrated. Few had
been her sorrows, and for each and every one endured she could count a
twofold blessing. There was nothing in her life to foster the faults
incident to human nature, for the rank weeds of poverty and lack of
opportunity, which cramp and deform so many earth-lives, were unfelt and
unknown to her.
Mount Vernon was the gift to Colonel Washington from his elder and
bachelor brother Lawrence, and the estate was then one of the finest in
Virginia. Washington had made it his occasional residence before his
marriage, but it was not until he took his bride there that it became
his permanent home. The life that Mrs. Washington led there was similar
in outward circumstances to her former position as Mrs. Custis, for she
was again the wife of a wealthy, prosperous planter, the centre of the
refined society of the county. The sameness of country life was
interrupted by her frequent trips with her husband to Williamsburg,
where he was for fifteen successive years a member of the Legislature.
“How noiseless falls the foot of time
That only treads on flowers!”
Engaged in fascinating pleasures and congenial pursuits, it did not
occur to Mrs. Washington how many summers of fragrantly blooming flowers
and ripening fruits had sunk into the unreturning past; nor did she
consider that the long term of years in which she had been so happy had
meted to others measured drops of bitterness, turning all their
harvest-times into chilling, dreary winter. There came to her a time
when the pleasant home-life had to be abandoned, and for eight years the
harmony of domestic peace was banished.
The following letter, the only one preserved of the many addressed to
her, is full of interest, and is replete with that thoughtfulness which
characterized Washington in his capacity as a husband. Mrs. Washington,
shortly before her death, destroyed every testimonial of this kind,
unwilling that any other should read these evidences of affection:
“PHILADELPHIA, _18th June, 1775_.
“MY DEAREST: I am now set down to write to you on a subject which fills
me with inexpressible concern, and this concern is greatly aggravated
and increased when I reflect upon the uneasiness I know it will give
you. It has been determined in Congress that the whole army raised for
the defence of the American cause shall be put under my care, and that
it is necessary for me to proceed immediately to Boston to take upon me
the command of it.
“You may believe me, my dear Patsy, when I assure you, in the most
solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment, I have used
every endeavor in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness
to part with you and the family, but from a consciousness of its being a
trust too great for my capacity, and that I should enjoy more real
happiness in one month with you at home, than I have the most distant
prospects of finding abroad if my stay were to be seven times seven
years. But as it has been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this
service, I shall hope that my undertaking it is designed to answer some
good purpose. You might, and I suppose did, perceive, from the tenor of
my letter, that I was apprehensive I could not avoid this appointment,
as I did not pretend to intimate when I should return. That was the
case. It was utterly out of my power to refuse this appointment, without
exposing my character to such censures as would have reflected dishonor
upon myself, and given pain to my friends. This, I am sure, could not
and ought not to be pleasing to you, and must have lessened me
considerably in my own esteem. I shall rely, therefore, confidently on
that Providence which has heretofore preserved and been bountiful to me,
not doubting but that I shall return safe to you in the fall. I shall
feel no pain from the toil or danger of the campaign; my unhappiness
will flow from the uneasiness I know you will feel from being left
alone. I therefore beg that you will summon your whole fortitude, and
pass your time as agreeably as possible. Nothing else will give me so
much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hear it from your own
pen. My earnest and ardent desire is, that you would pursue any plan
that is most likely to produce content and a tolerable degree of
tranquillity, as it must add greatly to my uneasy feelings to hear that
you are dissatisfied or complaining at what I really could not avoid.
“As life is always uncertain, and common prudence dictates to every man
the necessity of settling his temporal concerns while it is in his
power, I have, since I came to this place—for I had no time to do it
before I left home—got Colonel Pendleton to draft a will for me by the
directions I gave him, which I will now enclose. The provisions made for
you, in case of my death, will, I hope, be agreeable. I shall add
nothing more, as I have several letters to write, but to desire that you
will remember me to your friends, and to assure you that I am, with the
most unfeigned regard, my dear Patsy,
“Your affectionate GEORGE WASHINGTON.”
This trial of separation was mitigated, although often prolonged to
weary months. Ever when the long Indian summer days of October shed
glory over the burnished forest trees, her cumbrous carriage with its
heavy hangings and massive springs, suggestive of comfort, was brought
to the door and laden with all the appurtenances of a winter’s visit.
Year after year, as she had ordered supplies for this annual trip to her
husband’s camp, she trusted it would be the last; and each time as the
servants cooked and packed for this too oft-repeated absence, they
wished it might hurry him home, to remember how many were needing his
presence there. The battles were fierce and the struggles long, and if
the orderly matron disliked the necessity of leaving home so often and
for so long a time, her heart was glad of the sacrifice when she reached
the doubly anxious husband who was watching and waiting for her—anxious
for his wife, somewhere on the road, and for his bleeding country,
struggling unavailingly for the eternal principles of freedom. It was
her presence that gave comfort to the ofttimes dispirited commander, and
sent a gleam of sunshine to the hearts of the officers, who saw in her
coming the harbinger of their own happiness. For it was an established
custom, for all who could, to send for their families after the
commander had received and welcomed his. General Washington, after her
annual trip, invariably wrote to persons who had been attentive and
obliging, and punctually thanked every one who had in any way conduced
to her comfort during her tedious stages from Mount Vernon. Never but
once or twice had those yearly moves been disagreeable, and though
universally unoffending, she felt the painful effects of party
bitterness; but the noble intrepidity of General Washington relieved the
depressing influences of such unusual occurrences. Her own pride
suffered nothing in comparison to the natural sensitiveness she felt for
her husband’s fair fame, and the coldness on the part of others affected
only as it reflected on her noble protector. Once, after a disastrous
campaign, as she was passing through Philadelphia, she was insulted by
the ladies there, who declined noticing her by any civilities whatever.
The tide in the affairs of men came, and, alas for human nature! many of
these haughty matrons were the first to welcome her there as the wife of
the President.
Mrs. Washington was unostentatious in her dress, and displayed little
taste for those luxurious ornaments deemed appropriate for the wealthy
and great. In her own home the spinning wheels and looms were kept
constantly going, and her dresses were, many times, woven by her
servants. General Washington wore at his inauguration, a full suit of
fine cloth, the handiwork of his own household. At a ball given in New
Jersey in honor to herself, she wore a “simple russet gown,” and white
handkerchief about her neck, thereby setting an example to the women of
the Revolution, who could ill afford to spend their time or means as
lavishly as they might have desired. “On one occasion she gave the best
proof of her success in domestic manufactures, by the exhibition of two
of her dresses, which were composed of cotton, striped with silk, and
entirely home-made. The silk stripes in the fabric were woven from the
ravelings of brown silk stockings and old crimson chair-covers!”
When peace was declared and her mantle folded round the suffering young
Republic, Mrs. Washington welcomed to Mount Vernon her hero-husband, who
naturally hoped that he might “move gently down the stream of life until
he slept with his fathers.” But a proud, fond people called him again
from his retreat to guide the ship of state; nor was he who had fought
her battles, and served her well, recreant now.
Mrs. Washington’s crowning glory in the world’s esteem is the fact that
she was the bosom companion of the “Father of his Country;” but her fame
as Martha Dandridge, and afterwards as Martha Custis, is due alone to
her moral worth. To her, as a girl and woman, belonged beauty,
accomplishments, and great sweetness of disposition. Nor should we, in
ascribing her imperishable memory to her husband’s greatness, fail to do
reverence to the noble attributes of her own nature; yet we cannot
descend to the hyperbolical strain so often indulged in by writers when
speaking of Mrs. Washington. In tracing the life of an individual, it
becomes necessary to examine the great events and marked incidents of
the times, and generally to form from such landmarks the motives that
prompted the acts of an earth-existence. More especially is this
necessary if the era in which our subject lived was remarkable for any
heroic deeds or valorous exploits which affected the condition of
mankind. Personally, Mrs. Washington’s life was a smooth and even
existence, save as it was stirred by some natural cause, but viewed in
connection with the historical events of her day, it became one of
peculiar interest.
As a wife, mother, and friend, she was worthy of respect, but save only
as the companion of Washington is her record of public interest. She was
in nowise a student, hardly a regular reader, nor gifted with literary
ability; but if stern necessity had forced her from her seclusion and
luxury, hers would have been a career of active effort and goodness.
Most especially would she have been a benevolent woman, and it is to be
regretted by posterity as a misfortune that there was no real urgency
for a more useful life. Her good fortune it was to be wealthy, of good
family, young and attractive; and if she was not versed in the higher
branches of literature, it was no fault of her own, probably, since the
drawbacks incident to the pursuit of knowledge, under the difficulties
and obstacles of a life in a new country, together with their early
marriages, deterred women from “drinking deep of the Pierean spring;”
but, under the benign influences of Christian morality, the maidens of
the Old Dominion were carefully and virtuously trained, and were
exemplary daughters, wives, and mothers.
Many have occupied the nominal position Mrs. Washington held, but, in
reality, no American, or, indeed, no woman of earth, will ever be so
exalted in the hearts of a nation as was she; and yet there is no single
instance recorded of any act of heroism of hers, although she lived in
times that tried men’s souls, and was so intimately associated through
her husband with all the great events of the Revolution. “Nor does it
appear, from the documents handed down to us, that she was a very
notable housewife, but rather inclined to leave the matter under her
husband’s control, whose method and love of domestic life admirably
fitted him to manage a large establishment. They evidently lived
together on very excellent terms, though she sometimes was disposed to
quarrel with him about the grandchildren, who he insisted (and he always
carried the point) should be under thorough disciplinarians, as well as
competent teachers, when they were sent from home to be educated.”
It was a source of regret that she bore no children to him, but an able
writer has said: “Providence left him childless that he might be the
father of his country.” It is hard to judge whether or not it was a
blessing; but it certainly has not detracted from his greatness that he
left no successor to his fame. On the contrary, it is all the brighter
from having no cloud to dim the solitary grandeur of his spotless name.
Few sons of truly great and illustrious men have ever reflected honor
upon their fathers and many have done otherwise. When we consider how
many representative men of the world, in all nations and ages, have been
burdened and oppressed with the humiliating conduct of their children,
let it be a source of joy, rather than of regret, that there was but
_one_ Washington, either by the ties of consanguinity or the will of
Providence. This character was never marred by any imperfect type of its
own, and in Washington’s life we recognize the fact that occasionally,
in great emergencies, God lifts up a man for the deed; when the career
is ended, the model, though not the example, is lost to the world.
Mrs. Washington’s two children (Martha and John Parke Custis) were with
her the bright years of her life intervening between her marriage and
the Revolution. Her daughter was fast budding into womanhood, and how
beautiful, thought the loving mother, were the delicate outlines of her
fair young face! Airy castles and visionary scenes of splendor reared
their grand proportions in the twilight-clouds of her imagination; and
in the sunlight of security she saw not, or, if perchance did define,
the indistinct outlines of the spectre, grim and gaunt, heeded not its
significant appearance at her festive board.
In all the natural charms of youth, freshness, and worldly possessions,
the mother’s idol, the brother’s playmate, and father’s cherished
daughter, died, and the light of the house went out, and a wail of
anguish filled the air as the night winds rushed hurryingly past that
desolate home on the shore of the murmuring river.
A great purpose was born out of that grief: a self-abnegated firmness to
rise above the passionate lamentations of selfish sorrow; and though
afterward, for years, the shadow of a past woe rested upon that famous
home, the poor loved it better than ever before, and meek charity found
more willing hands than in the days of reckless happiness. Religion,
too, and winning sympathy, softened the poignant grief, and
“The fates unwound the ball of time,
And dealt it out to man.”
The cannon of the Continental Militia at Lexington belched forth its
hoarse sound on the morning of the 15th of April, 1775, as in the gray
twilight of approaching day a band of invaders sallied up to demand the
dispersion of the rebels. The echo of those reports went ringing through
the distant forests, and fleetest couriers carried its tidings beyond
the rippling waves of the Potomac, calling the friends of freedom to
arms. Mrs. Washington heard the war-cry, and felt that the absence of
her husband was now indefinite; for she knew that from his post in the
councils of the nation he would go to serve his country in the field.
Nor was she mistaken in her conclusions.
She met the Commander-in-chief at his winter head-quarters at Cambridge,
after an absence of nearly a year, in December, 1775, and remained with
him until opening of the spring campaign. During the Revolution she
continued to spend each winter with him at his head-quarters. Early in
this year she returned to her home, leaving behind her son, John Parke
Custis, who had been with his adopted father from the beginning of the
war.
The next winter she passed at Morristown, New Jersey, where she
experienced some of the real hardships and sufferings of camp life. The
previous season, at Cambridge, the officers and their families had
resided in the mansions of the Tories, who had deserted them to join the
British; but at Morristown she occupied a small frame-house, without any
convenience or comforts, and, as before, returned in the spring, with
her daughter-in-law and children, to Mount Vernon.[2]
Footnote 2:
Mr. John Parke Custis was married to Miss Nelly Calvert the third of
February, 1774.
Valley Forge, during the last months of 1777 and the early part of 1778,
was the scene of the severest sufferings, replete with more terrible
want than any ever known in the history of the Colonies.[3]
Footnote 3:
Six miles above Norristown, Pennsylvania, and twenty from
Philadelphia, on the Schuylkill river, is the deep hollow known as
Valley Forge. It is situated at the mouth of Valley creek, and on
either side rise the mountains above this lonely spot. To the fact
that in this valley there had once been several forges, it owes its
name, and here Washington found winter-quarters for his suffering
army.
During all this winter of horrors, Mrs. Washington remained with her
husband, trying to comfort and animate him in the midst of his trials.
Succeeding years brought the same routine, and victory and defeat walked
ofttimes hand in hand. October of 1781 brought glad tidings of great
joy, in the capture of Yorktown, and nothing seemed to defer the long
anticipated return of General Washington to his family and friends.
Ere yet the shouts of victory rang out upon the listening ear of a
continent, Colonel Custis was borne from the scene of triumph to a
village in New Kent county to die, and soon the messenger startled the
wife and mother at Mount Vernon with the mournful intelligence.
Washington, amid the intense joy of his troops, could not conceal his
anxious feelings over the condition of this deeply loved son of his
adoption, and his heart went out to his crushed wife, so soon to be
widowed, and to Mrs. Washington, who idolized the son of her youth. “He
left Yorktown on the 5th of November, and reached, the same day, the
residence of his old friend, Colonel Bassett. He arrived just in time to
receive the last breath of John Parke Custis, as he had several years
previously rendered tender and pious offices at the death-bed of his
sister, Miss Custis. The deceased had been the object of Washington’s
care from childhood, and been cherished by him with paternal affection.
Reared under his guidance and instructions, he had been fitted to take a
part in the public concerns of his country, and had acquitted himself
with credit as a member of the Virginia Legislature. He was but
twenty-eight years old at the time of his death, and left a widow and
four young children. It was an unexpected event, and the dying scene was
rendered peculiarly affecting from the presence of the mother and wife
of the deceased. Washington remained several days at Eltham to comfort
them in their affliction. As a consolation to Mrs. Washington in her
bereavement, he adopted the two youngest children of the deceased, a boy
and girl, who thenceforth formed a part of his immediate family.”
[Illustration:
MT. VERNON—THE HOME OF WASHINGTON.
]
Mrs. Washington did not know that her husband had left the scene of his
triumph, until he suddenly appeared in the room of death; and it calmed
her to have his presence in so trying an hour. He returned with the sad
mourners to Mount Vernon, and mingled with those two sorrowful hearts
the tears of his own sad soul.
The world and its cares called him hence, and he turned away from his
quiet home to meet the demands of his country for his services. Congress
received him in Philadelphia with distinguished honors, and he
everywhere was the recipient of his country’s love and reverence.
Called from his retirement to preside over the destinies of his country
as its first President, Washington immediately left his home and
repaired to New York City, the seat of government.[4]
Footnote 4:
The journey to New York was a continued triumph. The august spectacle
at the bridge of Trenton brought tears to the eyes of the Chief, and
forms one of the most brilliant recollections of the age of
Washington.
Our young country demanded, in the beginning, that regard for forms and
etiquette which would command respect in the eyes of foreign courts;
and, acting in accordance with this design, the house of the first
President was furnished with elegance, and its routine was arranged in
as formal a manner as that of St. James or St. Cloud.
Always an aristocrat, Mrs. Washington’s administration as hostess was
but a reproduction of the customs and ceremonies of foreign heads of
government, and her receptions were arranged on the plan of the English
and French drawing-rooms.
She assumed the duties of her position, as wife of the Chief Magistrate,
with the twofold advantage of wealth and high social position, and was,
in manner, appearance and character, a pleasing and graceful
representative of American womanhood.
Reared as she had been, a descendant of the chivalry of Virginia, who in
their turn were the descendants of the English nobility—aristocratic,
proud and pleased with her lofty position—she brought to bear all the
brightness of a prosperous existence, and her influence extended to
foreign lands.
The levees held at the Republican Court—then located at No. 3 Franklin
Square, New York—were numerously attended by the fashionable and refined
of the city. The rules of the establishment were rigorous, and persons
were excluded unless in the dress required. Access was not easy, and
dignified stateliness reigned over the mansion of the first President of
the United States. The subjoined letter, written to Mrs. Warren soon
after Mrs. Washington’s arrival at the seat of government, will present
her views on the subject of her elevation more correctly than could be
given otherwise.
“Your very friendly letter of last month has afforded me much more
satisfaction than all the formal compliments and empty ceremonies of
mere etiquette could possibly have done. I am not apt to forget the
feelings which have been inspired by my former society with good
acquaintances, nor to be insensible to their expressions of gratitude to
the President; for you know me well enough to do me the justice to
believe that I am fond only of what comes from the heart. Under a
conviction that the demonstrations of respect and affection to him
originate in that source, I cannot deny that I have taken some interest
and pleasure in them. The difficulties which presented themselves to
view upon his first entering upon the Presidency, seem thus to be in
some measure surmounted. It is owing to the kindness of our numerous
friends in all quarters that my new and unwished-for situation is not a
burden to me. When I was much younger, I should probably have enjoyed
the innocent gayeties of life as much as most persons of my age; but I
had long since placed all prospects of my future worldly happiness in
the still enjoyment of the fireside at Mount Vernon. I little thought,
when the war was finished, that any circumstances could possibly happen
which would call the General into public life again. I had anticipated
that from that moment we should be suffered to grow old together in
solitude and tranquillity. That was the first and dearest wish of my
heart. I will not, however, contemplate with too much regret,
disappointments that were inevitable, though his feelings and my own
were in perfect unison with respect to our predilection for private
life; yet I cannot blame him for having acted according to his ideas of
duty in obeying the voice of his country. The consciousness of having
attempted to do all the good in his power, and the pleasure of finding
his fellow-citizens so well satisfied with the disinterestedness of his
conduct, will doubtless be some compensation for the great sacrifices
which I know he has made. Indeed, on his journey from Mount Vernon to
this place, in his late tour through the Eastern States, by every public
and every private information which has come to him, I am persuaded he
has experienced nothing to make him repent his having acted from what he
conceives to be a sense of indispensable duty. On the contrary, all his
sensibility has been awakened in receiving such repeated and unequivocal
proofs of sincere regard from his countrymen. With respect to myself, I
sometimes think the arrangement is not quite as it ought to have been;
that I, who had much rather be at home, should occupy a place with which
a great many younger and gayer women would be extremely pleased. As my
grandchildren and domestic connections make up a great portion of the
felicity which I looked for in this world, I shall hardly be able to
find any substitute that will indemnify me for the loss of such
endearing society. I do not say this because I feel dissatisfied with my
present station, for everybody and everything conspire to make me as
contented as possible in it; yet I have learned too much of the vanity
of human affairs to expect felicity from the scenes of public life. I am
still determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may
be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our
happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our
circumstances. We carry the seeds of the one or the other about with us
in our minds, wherever we go.”
The second year of Washington’s administration, the seat of government
was removed to Philadelphia. Mrs. Washington was sick when she started
on the journey, and remained in Philadelphia until she was strong enough
to go on to Mount Vernon.
The late Rev. Ashbel Green, for a long time President of Princeton
College, and one of the early Chaplains of Congress, in speaking of the
seat of government, said: “After a great deal of writing and talking and
controversy about the permanent seat of Congress under the present
Constitution, it was determined that Philadelphia should be honored with
its presence for ten years, and afterward the permanent location should
be in the city of Washington, where it now is. In the meantime, the
Federal city was in building, and the Legislature of Pennsylvania voted
a sum of money to build a house for the President, perhaps with some
hope that this might help to keep the seat of the general government in
the Capital; for Philadelphia was then considered as the Capital of the
State. What was lately the University of Pennsylvania, was the structure
erected for the purpose. But as soon as General Washington saw its
dimensions, and a good while before it was finished, he let it be known
that he would not occupy it, and should certainly not go to the expense
of purchasing suitable furniture for such a dwelling; for it is to be
understood, in those days of stern republicanism, nobody thought of
Congress furnishing the President’s house; or if perchance such a
thought did enter into some aristocratic head, it was too unpopular to
be uttered. President Washington therefore rented a house of Mr. Robert
Morris, in Market street, between Fifth and Sixth, on the south side,
and furnished it handsomely but not gorgeously.”
From New York, by weary processes, the household furniture of
individuals and government property were moved. General Washington
superintended the preparation and embarkation of all his personal
effects, deciding the time and manner in which every article was taken
or sold, and attending to all with a scrupulous zeal which is surprising
when we consider his public position. His letters to Mr. Lear are as
characteristic of his private life as was his career as founder of the
Republic. On Saturday afternoon, November the 28th, the President and
his wife returned from Mount Vernon, and took up their residence in the
house of Mr. Morris, which the corporation had obtained for them. They
found Congressmen and public characters already assembled, in
anticipation of a gay and brilliant season. Mrs. Washington held her
drawing-rooms on Friday evening of each week; company assembled early
and retired before half-past ten. It is related on one occasion, at a
levee held in New York the first year of the administration, that she
remarked, as the hands on the clock approached ten, “that her husband
retired punctually at ten, and she followed very soon afterward.” A
degree of stiffness and formality existed at those receptions that we of
this age can scarcely understand, accustomed as we are to the
familiarity and freedom of the present-day gatherings; but the imposing
dignity of the Executive himself rebuked all attempts at equality, and
the novelty of the position itself caused a general awkwardness. Unlike
latter-day levees, the lady of the mansion always sat, and the guests
were arranged in a circle round which the President passed, speaking
kindly to each one. It is to be regretted that no descriptions exist of
the appearance of Mrs. Washington at these fête evenings. Little or no
attention, outside of social life, was paid to such items as how ladies
dressed and what they appeared in, and letter-writing on this subject
was not so universal as we of modern times have made it; hence there
remains no source from whence to gather these little trifles which form
part of every newspaper edition of the present day.
However, we do know that the President always had his hair powdered, and
never offered his hand to any one at his public receptions.
“On the national fête days, the commencement of the levee was announced
by the firing of a salute from a pair of twelve-pounders stationed not
far distant from the Presidential mansion; and the ex-Commander-in-chief
paid his former companions in arms the compliment to wear the old
Continental uniform.”
The grandchildren of Mrs. Washington were her only companions during the
President’s long absences in his office; and Mrs. Robert Morris was the
most social visitor at the mansion. Several times mention is made of her
presence at the side of Mrs. Washington during the presentations at the
receptions. And at all the dinners by the republican Chief Magistrate,
the venerable Robert Morris took precedence of every other guest,
invariably conducting Mrs. Washington, and sitting at her right hand. At
this, the meridian period of her life, Mrs. Washington’s personal
appearance was, although somewhat portly in person, fresh and of an
agreeable countenance. She had been a handsome woman thirty years
before, when, on the 6th of January, 1759, she was married to Colonel
Washington; and in an admirable picture of her by Woolaston, painted
about the same time, is seen something of that pleasing grace which is
said to have been her distinction. During these years of her married
life, she had enjoyed ample opportunity to cultivate that elegance of
manner for which she was conspicuous, and to develop those
conversational powers which rendered her so attractive. Washington, ever
quiet and reserved in manner, depended on her; and her tact and gentle
womanly politeness relieved him from the irksome duties of hospitality
when business called him elsewhere. His first levee, the Marchioness
D’Yuro wrote to a friend in New York, was brilliant beyond anything that
could be imagined. She adds: You never could have had such a
drawing-room; and though there was a great deal of extravagance, there
was so much of Philadelphia tact in everything that it must have been
confessed the most delightful occasion of the kind ever known in this
country.
Mrs. Washington at this time was fifty-eight years old; but her
healthful, rational habits, and the ceaseless influence of the
principles by which her life was habitually regulated, enabled her still
to exhibit undiminished her characteristic activity, usefulness, and
cheerfulness. From the “Recollections” of a daughter of Mrs. Binney, who
resided opposite the President’s house, we have some interesting
accounts. She says: “It was the General’s custom frequently, when the
day was fine, to come out to walk attended by his secretaries, Mr. Lear
and Major Jackson. He always crossed directly over from his own door to
the sunny side of the street, and walked down.” She never observed them
conversing, and often wondered and watched as a child to see if any of
the party spoke, but never perceived that anything was said. He was
always dressed in black, and all three wore cocked hats. “It was Mrs.
Washington’s custom to return visits on the third day, and in calling on
her mother, she would send a footman over, who would knock loudly and
announce Mrs. Washington, who would then come over with Mr. Lear.” “Her
manners were very easy, pleasant, and unceremonious, with the
characteristics of other Virginia ladies.” An English manufacturer
breakfasted with the President’s family on the 8th of June, 1794. “I
confess,” he says, “I was struck with awe and veneration when I
recollected that I was now in the presence of the great Washington, ‘the
noble and wise benefactor of the world,’ as Mirabeau styles him. The
President seemed very thoughtful, and was slow in delivering himself,
which induced some to believe him reserved. But it was rather, I
apprehend, the result of much reflection; for he had, to me, an
appearance of affability and accommodation. He was at this time in his
sixty-third year, but had very little the appearance of age, having been
all his life so exceedingly temperate. Mrs. Washington herself made tea
and coffee for us. On the table were two small plates of sliced tongue,
and dry toast, bread and butter, but no broiled fish, as is the general
custom here. She struck me as being something older than the President,
though I understand they were both born the same year. She was extremely
simple in her dress, and wore a very plain cap, with her gray hair
turned up under it.”
Eight years of prosperity and progression blessed the administration of
Washington, and now the hour of departure was drawing near. With
feelings of pleasure, Mrs. Washington prepared for the long-desired
return to her home on the Potomac; and when the dauntless robins began
to sing and hardy daisies to bloom, the family set out, accompanied by
the son of General Lafayette. Once again the wife and grandmother
assumed the duties congenial to her nature, and it was reasonable to
hope that she might pass many years of tranquil, unalloyed happiness
under her own vine and fig-tree. The old life was resumed, and the
long-silent house echoed the voices of the young and happy. It was
during this season of rest and quiet that Washington devoted much of his
time to the planning and laying out of the city which bears his name. An
account is given of his coming, on one occasion, to it, and when he
reached the wharf the cannon pealed forth a welcome. Passing along the
Georgetown road, he halted in front of the locality intended as a
residence for the President, where workmen were then laying the
foundation of the building. He was deeply interested in the welfare of
the chosen seat of the government, and an amusing anecdote is related of
his conference with David Burns, whose residence was on the ground south
of the Presidential mansion, and was until recently standing. Washington
alludes to him in one of his letters as the “obstinate Mr. Burns;” and
it is related that, when the President was dwelling upon the advantage
he would derive from the sale, the old man replied, “I suppose you think
people here are going to take every grist that comes from you as pure
grain; but what would you have been if you hadn’t married the widow
Custis?”
Mount Vernon was constantly thronged with visitors; and to the
“Correspondence of Washington,” which, during these last two years of
his life, are very voluminous, we are indebted for many items of public
and private interest. But a blow was in store for the contented wife
which none suspected. A cold, taken after a long ride about the farm,
produced fever and swelling of the throat, which, on the 14th of
December, 1799, resulted in the death of the deeply loved husband. A
wail of anguish went up from the nation as the direful news flew by each
hut and hamlet; but in that hallowed room, forever consecrated, the
bereaved woman who has lost her all sits calmly serene. She suspects
that he is dead, for the doctor and Mr. Lear are gazing at each other in
mute anguish; and rising from her low seat at the foot of his bed, she
sees the limbs are composed and the breath gone. O agony! what is there
so fearful to a clinging woman’s heart as to see the strong, loving arm
that enfolded her cold and stiff forever? The cover is straightened as
he fixed it, and his face is composed after the violent struggle; but
what is this appearance of triumph to the desolate wife, who gasps for
breath like one drowning as she totters to his side? Yet the sweet
expression calms her; perhaps she is thinking of how he would have her
do if his spirit could only speak. Whatever of inward peace receiving,
there is a determined effort at control perceptible, and she is saying,
“’Tis well; all is now over. I shall soon follow him. I have no more
trials to pass through.” One long look, as if her hungry soul was
obtaining food to feed on through all eternity, and she is assisted from
the room. How full of holy memories must that chamber of death have been
to her as she summoned courage to turn and drink in the last look! The
great fireside, with the smouldering embers dying into ashes gray, the
quaint old mantel, all covered with vials and appendages of a sick
apartment, their easy-chairs side by side, one deserted forever, and
upon the bed lay the form of her friend and companion. It was wrong to
let her stand there and suffer so, but her awe-stricken appearance
paralyzes the stoutest heart, and they only stand and wait. A pale,
haggard look succeeds the fierce intensity of her gaze, and she wraps
her shawl about her and turns forever from all she in that hour lost.
Another room receives her; another fire is built for her; and in the
endless watches of that black night she mastered the longings of her
heart, and never more crossed the threshold of that chamber of her loved
and lost. A sickening feeling of utter loneliness and desolation ushered
in the early morn of the first day of her widowhood, but her resolve was
made; and when her loved ones saw it pained her, they urged no more that
she should go back to the old apartment she had occupied all her married
life.
“Congress resolved, that a marble monument be erected by the United
States, in the Capitol at the city of Washington, and that the family of
George Washington be requested to permit his body to be deposited under
it, and that the monument be so designed as to commemorate the great
events of his military and political life. And it further resolved,
“That there be a funeral procession from Congress Hall to the German
Lutheran Church in honor of the memory of General George Washington, on
Thursday, the 26th inst., and that an oration be prepared at the request
of Congress, to be delivered before both Houses on that day, and that
the President of the Senate and Speaker of the House of Representatives
be desired to request one of the members of Congress to prepare and
deliver the same. And it further resolved,
“That the President of the United States be requested to direct a copy
of the resolutions to be transmitted to Mrs. Washington, assuring her of
the profound respect Congress will ever bear to her person and
character; of their condolence on the late afflicting Dispensation of
Providence, and entreating her assent to the interment of the remains of
General George Washington in the manner expressed in the first
resolution. And it further resolved,
“That the President of the United States be requested to issue a
Proclamation notifying the People throughout the United States the
recommendation contained in the third resolution.”
In reply to the above resolutions, which were transmitted by the
President (John Adams) on the 23d Dec., 1799, Mrs. Washington says:
MOUNT VERNON, _Dec. 31st, 1799_.
“SIR:—While I feel with keenest anguish the late dispensation of Divine
Providence, I cannot be insensible to the mournful tributes of respect
and veneration which are paid to the memory of my dear, deceased
husband, and as his best services and most anxious wishes were always
devoted to the welfare and happiness of his country, to know that they
were truly appreciated and gratefully remembered, affords no
inconsiderable consolation.
“Taught by that great example which I have so long had before me, never
to oppose my private wishes to the public will, I must consent to the
request made by Congress which you have had the goodness to transmit to
me, and in doing this I need not, I cannot say, what a sacrifice of
individual feeling I make to a sense of public duty.
“With grateful acknowledgments and unfeigned thanks for the personal
respects and evidences of condolence expressed by Congress and yourself,
“I remain, very respectfully,
“Your most obedient and humble servant,
“MARTHA WASHINGTON.”
But this pain might have been spared her, for the monument is not yet
erected, and the remains are still at Mount Vernon, their most fitting
resting-place.
The twofold duties of life pressed constantly upon her, nor did she
shirk any claim. Yet the compressed lip, and the oftentimes quivering
eyelid betrayed the restless moanings of her aching heart.
It has been remarked that she resembled Washington in manners and
person; she was like him as every weaker nature is like a stronger one
living in close relationship. She received from his stronger will his
influences, and he impressed her with his views so thoroughly that she
could not distinguish her own. Relying on his guidance in every thing,
she studied his features until her softer lineaments imperceptibly grew
like his, and the tones of her voice sounded wonderfully similar.
Imbibing the sentiments and teachings of such a nature, her own life was
ennobled and his rendered happy.
She had lived through the five grand acts of the drama of American
Independence, had witnessed its prelude and its closing tableaux, and
stood waiting to hear the swell of the pëan she was yet to sing in
heaven. Her life was passed in seasons of darkness, as of glorious,
refulgent happiness, and was contemporaneous with some of the greatest
minds that will ever shine out from any century. Her sphere was limited
entirely to social occupations, and possessing wealth and position she
gratified her taste. Had her character been a decided one, it would have
stamped the age in which she flourished, for, as there never was but one
Washington, so there will never come a time when there will be the same
opportunities as Mrs. Washington had for winning a name and an
individuality. But she did not aspire to any nobler ambition than merely
to perform the duties of her home, and she lives in the memories of her
descendants, and in the hearts of the people of the United States, as
the wife of the illustrious Father of his Country, and the first in
position of the women of the Revolution.
In the engraving we have before us, taken while in the Executive
Mansion, we trace the gradual development of her life. All the way
through it has counted more of bliss than of sorrow, and the calm
contentment of the face in repose speaks of a heart full of peace and
pleasantness. How expressive of sympathy and kindness of heart is that
serene face, and how instinctively we would trust it! Sustained as she
was by her deep devotional piety, and shielded by the protecting arm of
her husband, she grew in spiritual development and fondly believed
herself strong and self-reliant. But when she was tested, when the
earthly support was removed, the inward strength was insufficient, and
she pined under the loss until she died.
The death of her husband was the last event of Mrs. Washington’s life.
It shattered her nerves and broke her heart. She never recovered from
it. The shaft of agony which had buried itself in her soul was never
removed. Fate had now dealt the last deadly blow to her earthly
happiness. Her children, their father, the faithful, affectionate,
sympathizing friend and counsellor, with whom through so many years she
had stood side by side in great and grievous trials, dangers, and
sorrows—all were gone? It was useless to strive to be courageous: a
glance at the low, narrow vault under the side of the hill unnerved her.
She stood, the desolate survivor, like a lone sentinel upon a deserted
battle-field, regarding in mute despair the fatal destruction of hope,
and love, and joy. Through all time that Saturday night would be the
closing scene of her life, even though her existence should be
lengthened to a span of years.
“The memory of his faintest tone,
In the deep midnight came upon her soul,
And cheered the passing hours so sad, so lone,
As on they rolled.”
Thirty months numbered themselves among eternity’s uncounted years, and
it became apparent to all that another death-scene was to be enacted,
and the lonely occupant of the room above that other chamber of death,
was reaching the goal of its long felt desire. The gentle spirit was
striving to free itself, and the glad light in the dim eye asserted the
pleasure experienced in the knowledge of the coming change.
For many months Mrs. Washington had been growing more gloomy and silent
than ever before, and the friends who gathered about her called her
actions strange and incomprehensible. She stayed much alone, and
declined every offer of company, but the last days of her life she
seemed more cheerful and contented. When the end came on that bright,
spring morning in 1801 she gave her blessing to all about her, and sank
quietly to rest, in the seventy-first year of her age, and the third of
her widowhood.
Her resting-place beside her husband is, like Mecca and Jerusalem, the
resort of the travellers of all nations, who, wandering in its hallowed
precincts, imbibe anew admiration and veneration for the immortal
genius, whose name is traced in imperishable remembrance in the hearts
of his grateful countrymen. Side by side their bodies lie crumbling
away, while their spirits have returned to their Author. The placid
Potomac kisses the banks of that precious domain, and the ripple of the
receding waves makes pleasant music all day along the shore of Mount
Vernon.
The temptation to see this historic and romantic home of the most
beloved of the nation’s dead was not to be resisted, and one winter day
in company with one of the few surviving relatives who bear that honored
name, the start was made from Washington. Although the weather was cold
and disagreeable, with a threatening aspect of a snow-storm, we found
the little vessel filled with pilgrims, bound to the tomb of Washington.
This trip is one of intense interest, and particularly since the events
of the civil war have given to all the locality additional attraction.
Arlington, Alexandria, and Fort Washington! what memories are stirred by
mention of these names, and how acute is remembrance when we stand face
to face with these places. The old commonwealth is dear to every
generous American, whether of northern or southern birth, but more
especially to the people of the South, whose ancestors fondly termed it
the “motherland.”
It was the quaint look of the place which appealed strongest to the
senses, and the fact that it is long past a century old, its foundation
having been laid in 1748. The boat anchored at Alexandria, and we gazed
wistfully up those streets through which Washington had often passed,
and looked in vain to see some “vast and venerable pile, so old it
seemed only not to fall,” but the residences of most of the old
inhabitants are the abodes of wealth, and they exhibit evidences of care
and preservation.
Alexandria was early a place of some note, for five colonial governors
met here by appointment, in 1755, to take measures with General Braddock
respecting his expedition to the West. “That expedition proceeded from
Alexandria, and tradition still points to the site on which now stands
the olden Episcopal Church (but then, in the woods), as the spot where
he pitched his tent, while the road over the western hills by which his
army withdrew, long bore the name of this unfortunate commander. But the
reminiscences which the Alexandrians most cherish are those which
associate their town with the domestic attachments and habits of
Washington, and the stranger is still pointed to the church of which he
was vestryman; to the pew in which he customarily sate; and many
striking memorials of his varied life are carefully preserved.”
That old church where Washington and his wife were wont to worship, how
tenderly it is looked upon now, and with what hallowed feelings! All the
commonplace thoughts that fill our minds every day are laid aside, while
we contemplate the character of the man who has stamped his image in the
hearts of freemen throughout the world. There is another church at which
one feels these ennobling heart-throbs, and which I confess moved me as
sensibly, and that is the little Dutch church in “Sleepy Hollow,” once
the shrine at which Washington Irving offered the adoration of his
guileless heart. His beautifully expressed admiration of Washington
possibly occasioned the constant comparison, and to many these two
temples are as inseparable as the memories of these great men are
linked.
The weather, which had been indicative all day of a storm, cleared off
as we approached Mount Vernon, and as we landed at the wharf, it shone
brightly upon us. Winding round the hill, following a narrow pathway, we
reached the tomb before the persons who had taken the carriage-way came
in view, but preferring to examine it last, we continued the meandering
path to the front of the house. It had been the home, in early youth, of
the person who accompanied me, and, listening to her explanations and
descriptions, an interest was felt which could not otherwise have been
summoned. The house is bare of any furniture whatever, save a small
quantity owned by the persons who live there, and on a winter’s day
looked cheerless and uninviting. The central part of Mount Vernon house
was built by Lawrence Washington, brother to the General; the wings were
added by the General, and the whole named after Admiral Vernon, under
whom Lawrence Washington had served. The dining-room on the right
contains the Carrara marble mantle-piece sent from Italy to General
Washington. It is elaborately carved and is adorned with Sienna marble
columns; Canova is said to be the artist who carved it. We feel ashamed
to add, it is cased in wire-work to prevent its being demolished by
injudicious, not to say criminal visitors. The rooms are not large, with
the exception of the one mentioned above, which is spacious; the quaint
old wainscoting and wrought cornices are curious, and in harmony with
the adornments of the mansion. The piazza reaches from the ground to the
eaves of the roof, and is guarded on the top by a bright and tasteful
balustrade; the pillars are large and present a simple and grand idea to
the mind. Beneath this porch the Father of his Country was accustomed to
walk, and the ancient stones, to hearts of enthusiasm, are full of deep
and meditative interest.
The room in which he died is small and now bereft of every thing save
the mantle-piece; just above is the apartment in which she breathed her
dying blessing. A narrow stair-case leads from the door of his room,
which was never entered by her after his death. The green-house, once
the pride of Mrs. Washington, has since been burned, and there remains
but a very small one, put together carelessly to protect the few rare
plants remaining. In front of the house, the front facing the orchards,
and not the river, is a spacious lawn surrounded by serpentine walks. On
either side, brick walls, all covered with ivy and ancient moss, enclose
gardens. The one on the right of the house was once filled with costly
ornamental plants from the tropical climes, and in which was the
green-house; but the box trees have grown high and irregular, and the
creepers are running wild over what hardy rose bushes still survive to
tell of a past existence of care and beauty. In the lifetime of Mrs.
Washington, her home must have been very beautiful, “ere yet time’s
effacing fingers had traced the lines where beauty lingered.” It is even
now a splendid old place, but rapidly losing the interest it once had.
The estate has passed out of the family, and the furniture has been
removed by descendants, to whom it was given: much that lent a charm to
the place is gone, and the only interesting object, save the interior of
the mansion itself, is the key of the Bastile, presented by Lafayette,
and hanging in a case on the wall. Portions of the house are closed, and
the stairway in the front hall is barricaded to prevent the intrusion of
visitors. The room in which Mrs. Washington died, just above the one
occupied by her husband, was locked, and we did not view the room in
which she suffered so silently, and from which her freed spirit sought
its friend and mate.
The small windows and low ceilings, together with the many little
closets and dark passage-ways, strike one strangely who is accustomed to
the mansions of modern times; but these old homesteads are numerous
throughout the “Old Dominion,” and are the most precious of worldly
possessions to the descendants of worthy families. There must be more
than twenty apartments, most of them small and plain in finish. The
narrow doors and wide fire-places are the ensigns of a past age and many
years of change, but are eloquent in their obsoleteness.
The library which ordinarily is the most interesting room in any house,
should be doubly so in this home of Washington’s; but, bare of all save
the empty cases in the wall, it is the gloomiest of all. Books all gone,
and the occupation of the room by the present residents deprives it of
any attractions it might otherwise have. Here, early in the morning and
late at night, he worked continuously, keeping up his increasing
correspondence and managing his vast responsibilities.
Murmurs of another war reached him as he sat at his table planning rural
improvements, and from this room he wrote accepting the position no
other could fill while he lived.
Here death found him, the night before his last illness, when cold and
hoarse he came in from his long ride, and warmed himself by his library
fire. That night he went up to his room over this favorite study, and
said in reply to a member of his family as he passed out, who urged him
to do something for it, “No, you know I never take any thing for a cold.
Let it go as it came.”
The winds and rains of eighty-odd years have beaten upon that sacred
home on the high banks of the silvery waters beneath, since the widowed,
weary wife was laid to rest beside her noble dead, and the snows of
winter and storms of summer have left its weather-worn and stained front
looking like some ghost of other days left alone to tell of its former
life and beauty. In its lonely grandeur it stands appealing to us for
that reverence born of sentiments, stirred by the recollections of the
great and good.
There was no resisting the feelings of gloomy depression as we passed
out the front toward the river, and took the path leading to the tomb.
Far down the side of the hill, perched on a knoll surrounded by trees, a
summer-house was seen, and the walk leading by many angles down to it.
The view of the river is said to be fine from this point, but we did not
undertake the difficulties of getting to it. The wooden steps
constructed across the ravines are fast sinking to ruin, and the swollen
stream from the side of the hill dashing against them, was distinctly
audible to us as we stood far above. The swallows and bats seem to have
built their nests in its forsaken interior, and we were not inclined to
molest them.
Many times we looked back at the old homestead endeared to every
American, and stamped upon memory each portion of its outlines.
High above it, the small cupola sported its little glittering
weather-vane as brilliant as though it had been gilded but yesterday.
Here again was an object which unconsciously associated Washington with
his namesake, Washington Irving. In the pleasant summer-time I had stood
in front of the little “Woolfort’s Roost,” and enjoyed to the finest
fibre of feeling its lovely simplicity. Above it, too, a little
weather-cock coquetted with the wind as it swept down from Tappan Zee,
the same said to have been carefully removed from the Vander Hayden
palace at Albany, and placed there by tender hands long years ago. Upon
the side of the hill I had stopped then as now, and looked back at the
house above, embosomed in vines interspersed with delicately tinted
fuchsias.
Even as we were standing now looking for the first and perhaps the last
time upon Mount Vernon, so in the beautiful harvest month we had gazed
upon the Hudson, spread out like a vast panorama with its graceful
yachts and swift schooners, and descended the winding path to the
water’s edge. But Mount Vernon was dressed in winter’s dreariness, and
its desolate silence oppressed rather than elevated the feelings. It is
a fit place for meditation and communion, and to a spiritual nature the
influences of the ancient home are full of harmony. When the only
approach was by conveyance from Alexandria, the visitors were not so
numerous as since the days of a daily steamer from Washington City, and
much of the solemnity usually felt for so renowned a spot is marred by
the coarse remarks and thoughtless acts of the many who saunter through
the grounds.
A gay party of idlers had arranged their eatables upon the stone steps
of the piazza, and sat in the sunshine laughing merrily. Even those old
rocks smoothly worn, where so often had stood the greatest of men, were
not hallowed nor protected from the selfish convenience of unrefined
people. Callous, indeed, must be the heart which could walk unmoved
through so endeared a scene. To tread the haunts where men have thought
and acted great, is ennobling to sensitive organizations, and to linger
over evidences of olden times inspires all generous minds with
enthusiasm.
The grounds roll downward from the mansion house, and in a green hollow
midway between that and the river, and about one hundred and fifty yards
west from the summer-house, and thirty rods from the house, is the vault
where reposed the remains of Washington and Martha his wife. Now the
tomb contains about thirty members of his family, and is sealed up, and
in front of the main vault, enclosed by an iron railing, are the two
sarcophagi containing the ashes of husband and wife. “A melancholy glory
kindles around that cold pile of marble,” and we stood mute in thought.
But before reaching it we pass the old vault where for a few years he
was buried. The few cedars on it are withered and the door stands open,
presenting a desolate appearance. With vines and flowers, and leafy
trees filled with singing birds, this sight would perhaps be less
chilling; but the barren aspects of nature united with the solemn
stillness of the country, conspired to freeze every thought of life and
beauty, and the mind dwelt upon the rust of decay.[5]
Footnote 5:
This sketch was written previous to the restoration of the place by
the Ladies’ Mount Vernon Association. Now it has been restored as far
as possible, and many old relics have been returned to their
apartments. The equestrian portrait of Washington by Rembrandt Peale,
the harpsichord which was presented by Washington to his
step-daughter, and which is well preserved, together with many old
paintings and Revolutionary relics, adorn the once bare rooms. The bed
on which Washington died has been restored to its place, and a number
of pieces of furniture in the house at the time of Mrs. Washington’s
death are again there. The grounds have been put in excellent order,
and the old farm is cultivated and yields a revenue to the Mount
Vernon Ladies’ Association, which deserves unbounded credit for
rescuing the grand old place from destruction, and restoring it as far
as possible to its former appearance and condition.
Lafayette stopped at Mount Vernon when about to return to France after
his visit to this country, in 1826, having reserved for the last his
visit to Washington’s Tomb, and the scene is thus described by Mr.
Seward in his Life of John Quincy Adams:
“When the boat came opposite the tomb of Washington, at Mount Vernon, it
paused in its progress. Lafayette arose. The wonders which he had
performed for a man of his age, in successfully accomplishing labors
enough to have tested his meridian vigor, whose animation rather
resembled the spring than the winter of life, now seemed unequal to the
task he was about to perform—to take a last look at ‘The Tomb of
Washington!’
“He advanced to the effort. A silence the most impressive reigned
around, till the strains of sweet and plaintive music completed the
grandeur and sacred solemnity of the scene. All hearts beat in unison
with the throbbings of the veteran’s bosom, as he looked _for the last
time_ on the sepulchre which contained the ashes of the first of men! He
spoke not, but appeared absorbed in the mighty recollections which the
place and the occasion inspired.”
During the summer of 1860, Albert, Prince of Wales, and heir apparent to
the throne of England, visited, in company with President Buchanan, the
tomb of Washington. Here amid the gorgeous beauties of a southern
summer, the grandson of George the Third forgot his royalty in the
presence of departed worth; and bent his knee in awe before a mere
handful of ashes, which, but for the cold marble encompassing them,
would be blown to the four winds of the earth. It was a strange sight to
see that bright, youthful form kneeling before the tomb of the Father of
his Country, and attesting his appreciation of the great spirit which
more than any other wrested its broad domains from him.
Stealthily the years go by, and we wist not they are passing, yet the
muffled and hoarse voice of a century astounds us with its parting. The
centennial birthdays have been celebrated; we have passed the hundredth
anniversary of victories won and independence achieved. If the glad,
free spirits of the Chief and his companion are permitted to review
their earthly pilgrimage, let it be a source of gratification to us to
know they smile upon a Republic of peace. Their bodies we guard, while
they crumbled away in the bosom of their birth-place, and as long as a
son of America remains a freeman, it will be a well-spring of
inspiration to feel that Virginia contains the _Pater Patriæ_ and the
woman immortalized by his love.
[Illustration: Painted by G. Stuart Engraved by G. F. Storm. A Adams]
II.
ABIGAIL ADAMS.
Abigail Smith, the daughter of a New England Congregationalist minister,
was born at Weymouth, in 1744. Her father was the settled pastor of that
place for more than forty years, and her grandfather was also a minister
of the same denomination in a neighboring town.
The younger years of her life were passed in the quiet seclusion of her
grandfather’s house; and under the instructions of her grandmother, she
imbibed most of the lessons which were the most deeply impressed upon
her mind. “I have not forgotten,” she says in a letter to her own
daughter, in the year 1795, “the excellent lessons which I received from
my grandmother at a very early period of life; I frequently think they
made a more durable impression upon my mind than those which I received
from my own parents. This tribute is due to the memory of those virtues,
the sweet remembrance of which will flourish, though she has long slept
with her ancestors.”
Separated from the young members of her own family, and never subjected
to the ordinary school routine, her imaginative faculties bade fair to
develop at the expense of her judgment, but the austere religion of her
ancestors, and the daily example of strict compliance to forms,
prevented the too great indulgence of fancy. She had many relations both
on the father’s and mother’s side, and with these she was upon as
intimate terms as circumstances would allow. The distance between the
homes of the young people was, however, too great, and the means of
their parents too narrow, to admit of very frequent personal
intercourse, the substitute for which was a rapid interchange of written
communication. “The women of the last century,” observes Mr. Charles
Francis Adams in his memoir of his grandmother, “were more remarkable
for their letter-writing propensities, than the novel-reading and more
pretending daughters of this era: their field was larger, and the
stirring events of the times made it an object of more interest. Now,
the close connection between all parts of this country, and rapid means
of transmitting intelligence through the medium of telegraphs and
newspapers, renders the slow process of writing letters unnecessary,
save in instances of private importance. The frugal habits of the
sparsely settled country afforded little material for the fashionable
chit-chat which forms so large a part of the social life of to-day, and
the limited education of woman was another drawback to the indulgence of
a pleasure in which they really excelled. Upon what, then, do we base
the assertion that they were remarkable for their habits of writing?
Even though self-taught, the young ladies of Massachusetts were
certainly readers, and their taste was not for the feeble and nerveless
sentiments, but was derived from the deepest wells of English
literature. Almost every house in the colony possessed some old
heir-looms in the shape of standard books, even if the number was
limited to the Bible and dictionary. Many, especially ministers, could
display relics of their English ancestors’ intelligence in the libraries
handed down to them, and the study of their contents was evident in many
of the grave correspondences of that early time.” To learning, in the
ordinary sense of that term, she could make no claim. She did not enjoy
an opportunity to acquire even such as there might have been, for the
delicate state of her health forbade the idea of sending her away from
home to obtain them. In speaking of her deficiencies, the year before
her death, she says: “My early education did not partake of the abundant
opportunity which the present day offers, and which even our common
country schools now afford. _I never was sent to any school_, I was
always sick.” Although Massachusetts ranked then, as it does now, first
in point of educational facilities, it is certainly remarkable that its
women received such entire neglect. “It is not impossible,” says Mr.
Adams, “that the early example of Mrs. Hutchison, and the difficulties
in which the public exercise of her gifts involved the colony, had
established in the public mind a conviction of the danger that may
attend the meddling of women with abstruse points of doctrine; and
these, however they might confound the strongest intellects, were
nevertheless the favorite topics of thought and discussion in that
generation.”
While the sons of a family received every possible advantage compatible
with the means of the father, the daughter’s interest, as far as mental
culture was concerned, was generally ignored. To aid the mother in
manual household labor, and by self-denial and increased industry to
forward the welfare of the brothers, was the most exalted height to
which any woman aspired. To women there was then no career open, no
life-work to perform outside the narrow walls of home. Every idea of
self-culture was swallowed up in the wearying routine of practical life,
and what of knowledge they obtained, was from the society of the
learned, and the eagerness with which they treasured and considered the
conversations of others.
On the 26th of October, 1764, Abigail Smith was married to John Adams.
She was at the time twenty years old. The match, although a suitable one
in many respects, was not considered brilliant, since her ancestors were
among the most noted of the best class of their day, and he was the son
of a farmer of limited means, and as yet a lawyer without practice. Mrs.
Adams was the second of three daughters, whose characters were alike
strong and remarkable for their intellectual force. The fortunes of two
of them confined its influence to a sphere much more limited than that
which fell to the lot of Mrs. Adams. Mary, the eldest, was married in
1762 to Richard Cranch, an English emigrant, who subsequently became a
Judge of the Court of Common Pleas in Massachusetts. Elizabeth, the
youngest, was twice married; first to the Reverend John Shaw, minister
of Haverhill, and after his death, to the Reverend Mr. Peabody, of New
Hampshire. This anecdote is told in connection with the marriage of Mrs.
Adams. When her eldest sister was married, her father preached to his
people from the text, “And Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall
not be taken away from her.” The disapprobation to his second daughter’s
choice was due to the prejudice entertained against the profession of
the law. Mr. Adams, besides being a lawyer, was the son of a small
farmer of the middle class in Braintree, and was thought scarcely good
enough to match with the minister’s daughter, descended from a line of
ministers in the colony. Mr. Smith’s parishioners were outspoken in
their opposition, and he replied to them immediately, after the marriage
took place, in a sermon, in which he made pointed allusion to the
objection against lawyers. His text on this occasion was, “For John came
neither eating bread nor drinking wine, and ye say, He _hath a devil_.”
Mr. Smith, it may be as well to add, was in the habit of making
application of texts to events which in any manner interested himself or
his congregation. In a colony founded so exclusively upon motives of
religious zeal as Massachusetts was, it necessarily followed that the
ordinary distinctions of society were in a great degree subverted, and
that the leaders of the church, though without worldly possessions to
boast of, were the most in honor everywhere. If a festive entertainment
was meditated, the minister was sure to be first on the list of those
invited. If any assembly of citizens was held, he must be there to open
the business with prayer. If a political measure was in agitation, he
was among the first whose opinions were to be consulted. He was not
infrequently the family physician. Hence the objection to Mr. Adams by
her friends was founded on the fact that she was the daughter and
granddaughter of a minister, and his social superior according to the
opinions of zealous Christians, whose prejudices were extreme toward a
calling they deemed hardly honest.
Ten years of quiet home-life succeeded her marriage, during which time
little transpired worthy of record. “She appears to have passed an
apparently very happy life, having her residence in Braintree, or in
Boston, according as the state of her husband’s health, then rather
impaired, or that of his professional practice, made the change
advisable. Within this period she became the mother of a daughter and of
three sons.”
Mr. Adams was elected one of the delegates on the part of Massachusetts,
instructed to meet persons chosen in the same manner from the other
colonies, for the purpose of consulting in common upon the course most
advisable to be adopted by them. In the month of August, 1774, he left
home in company with Samuel Adams, Thomas Cushings, and Robert Treat
Paine, to go to Philadelphia, at which place the proposed assembly was
to be held. In two months, Mr. Adams was home again. Congress met again
in May, 1775, and Mr. Adams returned to Philadelphia to attend it. The
long distance was traversed on horseback, and was replete with
hardships. At Hartford he heard of the memorable incident at Lexington,
only five days after his departure from Braintree. Up to this time, the
trouble between the two countries had been a dispute, henceforth it
resolved itself into open hostilities.
“In November, 1775,” says Bancroft, “Abigail Smith, the wife of John
Adams, was at her home near the foot of Penn Hill, charged with the sole
care of their little brood of children; managing their farm; keeping
house with frugality, though opening her doors to the houseless, and
giving with good-will a part of her scant portion to the poor; seeking
work for her own hands, and ever busily occupied, now at the spinning
wheel, now making amends for having never been sent to school by
learning French, though with the aid of books alone. Since the departure
of her husband for Congress, the arrow of death had sped near her by
day, and the pestilence that walks in darkness had entered her humble
mansion. She herself was still weak after a violent illness; her house
was a hospital in every part; and such was the distress of the
neighborhood, she could hardly find a well person to assist in looking
after the sick. Her youngest son had been rescued from the grave by her
nursing. Her own mother had been taken away, and after the austere
manner of her forefathers, buried without prayer. Woe followed woe, and
one affliction trod on the heels of another. Winter was hurrying on;
during the day family affairs took off her attention, but her long
evenings, broken by the sound of the storm on the ocean, or the enemy’s
artillery at Boston, were lonesome and melancholy. Ever in the silent
night ruminating on the love and tenderness of her departed parent, she
needed the consolation of her husband’s presence; but when she read the
king’s proclamation, she willingly gave up her nearest friend
exclusively to his perilous duties, and sent him her cheering message:
‘This intelligence will make a plain path for you, though a dangerous
one. I could not join to-day in the petitions of our worthy pastor for a
reconciliation between our no longer parent state, but tyrant state, and
these colonies. Let us separate; they are unworthy to be our brethren.
Let us renounce them; and instead of supplications, as formerly, for
their prosperity and happiness, let us beseech the Almighty to blast
their counsels and bring to naught all their devices.’”
Such words of patriotism falling from the lips of a woman who had just
buried three members of her household, one her own mother, and who was
alone with her four little children within sight of the cannonading at
Boston, discovers a mind strong, and a spirit fearless and brave under
scenes of harrowing distress.
Now she was alone, and she writes to her husband, “The desolation of war
is not so distressing as the havoc made by the pestilence. Some poor
parents are mourning the loss of three, four, and five children, and
some families are wholly stripped of every member.” December found Mr.
Adams once more at home to cheer his suffering family, but Congress
demanded his presence, and after a stay of one month, he returned again
to the halls of the nation. March came, and her anxious, solitary life
was in nowise brightened. The distance, in those days of slow travel and
bad roads, from Boston to Philadelphia was immense, and letters were
precious articles hard to receive. In speaking of the anticipated attack
on Boston, she says: “It has been said to-morrow and to-morrow; but when
the dreadful to-morrow will be I know not.” Yet even as she wrote, the
first peal of the American guns rang out their dissonance on the
chilling night winds, and the house shook and trembled from cellar to
garret. It was no time for calm thoughts now, and she left her letter
unfinished to go out and watch the lurid lights that flashed and
disappeared in the distance. Next morning she walked to Penn’s Hill,
where she sat listening to the amazing roar, and watching the British
shells as they fell round about the camps of her friends. Her home at
the foot of the hill was all her earthly wealth, and the careful
husbanding of each year’s crop her only income; yet while she ever and
anon cast her eye upon it, the thoughts that welled into words were not
of selfish repinings, but of proud expressions of high-souled
patriotism. “The cannonade is from our army,” she continues, “and the
sight is one of the grandest in nature, and is of the true species of
the sublime. ’Tis now an incessant roar. To-night we shall realize a
more terrible scene still; I wish myself with you out of hearing, as I
cannot assist them, but I hope to give you joy of Boston, even if it is
in ruins before I send this away.” But events were not ordered as she
feared, and the result was more glorious than she dared hope. All the
summer the army lay encamped around Boston, and in early fall her
husband came home again, after an absence of nearly a year. Yet his
coming brought her little satisfaction, since it was to announce the sad
truth that he had been chosen Minister to France. Could he take his wife
and little ones? was the oft-recurring question. A small and not very
good vessel had been ordered to carry him: the British fleet knew this,
and were on the watch to capture it. On every account it was deemed best
he should go alone, but he finally concluded to take his eldest son,
John Quincy Adams, to bear him company, and in February, 1778, sailed
for Europe.
The loneliness of the faithful wife can hardly be understood by those
unacquainted with the horrors of war. Yet doubtless there are many, very
many, who in the dark gloom of the civil war can record similar feelings
of agony, and can trace a parallel in the solitary musings of this brave
matron. The ordinary occupations of the female sex have ever confined
them to a very limited sphere, and there is seldom an occasion when they
can with propriety extend their exertions beyond the domestic hearth.
Only through the imagination can they give unlimited scope to those
powers which the world until recently has never understood, and which
are even now but dimly defined. Had mankind given them the privileges of
a liberal education, and freedom to carve their own destiny, to what
dazzling heights would a mind so naturally gifted as Mrs. Adams’, have
attained? Circumscribed as her lot was, she has left upon the pages of
history an enviable record, and while Americans forget not to do honor
to her husband’s zeal and greatness, her memory lends a richer perfume,
and sheds a radiance round the incidents of a life upon which she
wielded so beneficial an influence.
Ofttimes weather-bound and compelled to remain indoors for days, with no
society save her children and domestics, it is not strange that she
should be lonely. Nor could her mind dwell upon any pleasing
anticipations for the future. Her husband three thousand miles away, a
hostile army encompassing the country, poor and forlorn, she yet so
managed and controlled her little estate, that it served to support her,
and in old age, to prove the happy asylum of her honored family. Mr.
Adams knew her exposed condition, yet trusted to her judgment to protect
herself and little ones. On a former occasion he had written to her “in
case of danger to fly to the woods,” and now he could only reiterate the
same advice, at the same time feeling that she was strong and resolute
to sustain herself. Six months passed, and Mrs. Adams writes to him: “I
have never received a syllable from you or my dear son, and it is five
months since I had an opportunity of conveying a line to you. Yet I know
not but you are less a sufferer than you would be to hear from us, to
know our distresses, and yet be unable to relieve them. The universal
cry for bread to a humane heart is painful beyond description.” Mr.
Adams returned to his family after an absence of eighteen months, but no
sooner was he established in his happy home, than he was ordered to
Great Britain to negotiate a peace. Two of his sons accompanied him on
this trip. He went over night to Boston to embark early next day, and
the sad heart left behind again, found relief in the following touching
words: “My habitation, how disconsolate it looks! my table, I sit down
to it, but cannot swallow my food! Oh, why was I born with so much
sensibility, and why, possessing it, have I so often been called to
struggle with it? Were I sure you would not be gone, I could not
withstand the temptation of coming to town though my heart would suffer
over again the cruel torture of separation.” Soon after this time, she
wrote to her eldest son in regard to his extreme reluctance at again
crossing the ocean, and for its perspicuity and terseness, for the
loftiness of its sentiments, and the sound logical advice in which it
abounds, ranks itself among the first literary effusions of the century:
“_June, 1778._
“MY DEAR SON: ’Tis almost four months since you left your native land
and embarked upon the mighty waters in quest of a foreign country.
Although I have not particularly written to you since, yet you may be
assured you have constantly been upon my heart and mind.
“It is a very difficult task, my dear son, for a tender parent, to bring
her mind to part with a child of your years, going to a distant land;
nor could I have acquiesced in such a separation under any other care
than that of the most excellent parent and guardian who accompanied you.
You have arrived at years capable of improving under the advantages you
will be likely to have, if you do but properly attend to them. They are
talents put into your hands, of which an account will be required of you
hereafter; and, being possessed of one, two, or four, see to it that you
double your number.
“The most amiable and most useful disposition in a young mind is
diffidence of itself; and this should lead you to seek advice and
instruction from him who is your natural guardian, and will always
counsel and direct you in the best manner, both for your present and
future happiness. You are in possession of a natural good understanding,
and of spirits unbroken by adversity and untamed with care. Improve your
understanding by acquiring useful knowledge and virtue, such as will
render you an ornament to society, an honor to your country, and a
blessing to your parents. Great learning and superior abilities, should
you ever possess them, will be of little value and small estimation,
unless virtue, honor, truth, and integrity are added to them. Adhere to
those religious sentiments and principles which were early instilled
into your mind, and remember that you are accountable to your Maker for
all your words and actions. Let me enjoin it upon you to attend
constantly and steadfastly to the precepts and instructions of your
father, as you value the happiness of your mother and your own welfare.
His care and attention to you render many things unnecessary for me to
write, which I might otherwise do; but the inadvertency and heedlessness
of youth require line upon line and precept upon precept, and, when
enforced by the joint efforts of both parents, will, I hope, have a due
influence upon your conduct; for, dear as you are to me, I would much
rather you should have found your grave in the ocean you have crossed,
or that any untimely death crop you in your infant years, than see you
an immoral, profligate, or graceless child.
“You have entered early in life upon the great theatre of the world,
which is full of temptations and vice of every kind. You are not wholly
unacquainted with history, in which you have read of crimes which your
inexperienced mind could scarcely believe credible. You have been taught
to think of them with horror, and to view vice as
“‘A monster of so frightful mien,
That, to be hated, needs but to be seen.’
Yet you must keep a strict guard upon yourself, or the odious monster
will lose its terror by becoming familiar to you. The modern history of
our own times furnishes as black a list of crimes as can be paralleled
in ancient times, even if we go back to Nero, Caligula, Cæsar Borgia.
Young as you are, the cruel war into which we have been compelled by the
haughty tyrant of Britain and the bloody emissaries of his vengeance,
may stamp upon your mind this certain truth, that the welfare and
prosperity of all countries, communities, and, I may add, individuals,
depend upon their morals. That nation to which we were once united, as
it has departed from justice, eluded and subverted the wise laws which
formerly governed it, and suffered the worst of crimes to go unpunished,
has lost its valor, wisdom, and humanity, and, from being the dread and
terror of Europe, has sunk into derision and infamy.
“But, to quit political subjects, I have been greatly anxious for your
safety, having never heard of the frigate since she sailed, till, about
a week ago, a New York paper informed that she was taken and carried
into Plymouth. I did not fully credit this report, though it gave me
much uneasiness. I yesterday heard that a French vessel was arrived at
Portsmouth, which brought news of the safe arrival of the Boston; but
this wants confirmation. I hope it will not be long before I shall be
assured of your safety. You must write me an account of your voyage, of
your situation, and of every thing entertaining you can recollect.
“Be assured, I am most affectionately
“Your mother, ABIGAIL ADAMS.”
The Government was organized under its present Constitution in April,
1789, and Mr. Adams was elected Vice-President. He established himself
in New York, and from there Mrs. Adams wrote to her sister, “that she
would return to Braintree during the recess of Congress, but the season
of the year renders the attempt impracticable.” She speaks in one of her
letters of the drawing-rooms held by Mrs. Washington, and the many
invitations she received to entertainments. After a residence of one
year in New York, the seat of government was removed to Philadelphia.
She says in a letter to her daughter, “that she dined with the President
in company with the ministers and ladies of the court,” and that “he
asked very affectionately after her and the children,” and “at the table
picked the sugar-plums from a cake and requested me to take them for
Master John.” In February, 1797, Mr. Adams succeeded President
Washington, and from Braintree she wrote to her husband one of the most
beautiful of all her noble effusions:
“‘The sun is dressed in brightest beams
To give thy honors to the day.’
“And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each ensuing season. You have
this day to declare yourself head of a nation. ‘And now, O Lord my God,
thou hast made thy servant ruler over the people; give unto him an
understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and come in before
this great people; that he may discern between good and bad. For who is
able to judge this thy so great a people:’ were the words of a royal
sovereign, and not less applicable to him who is invested with the Chief
Magistracy of a nation, though he wear not a crown nor the robes of
royalty. My thoughts and my meditations are with you, though personally
absent; and my petitions to heaven are that ‘the things which make for
peace may not be hidden from your eyes.’ My feelings are not those of
pride or ostentation upon the occasion. They are solemnized by a sense
of the obligations, the important trusts, and numerous duties connected
with it. That you may be enabled to discharge them with honor to
yourself, with justice and impartiality to your country, and with
satisfaction to this great people, shall be the daily prayer of yours—”
Soon as the funeral rites of Mrs. Adams, the venerable mother of
President Adams, were performed, and the sad leave-takings over, Mrs.
Adams set out to join her husband at Philadelphia, from whence the seat
of government was removed in June, 1800, to Washington City.
Her impression of the place is graphically described in the following
letter to her daughter, Mrs. Smith:
“WASHINGTON, _November 21st, 1800_.
“MY DEAR CHILD:—
“I arrived here on Sunday last, and without meeting with any accident
worth noticing, except losing ourselves when we left Baltimore, and
going eight or nine miles on the Frederick road, by which means we were
obliged to go the other eight through woods, where we wandered two hours
without finding a guide or the path. Fortunately, a straggling black
came up with us, and we engaged him as a guide to extricate us out of
our difficulty. But woods are all you see from Baltimore until you reach
the city,—which is only so in name. Here and there is a small cot,
without a glass window, interspersed amongst the forests, through which
you travel miles without seeing any human being. In the city there are
buildings enough, if they were compact and finished, to accommodate
Congress and those attached to it; but as they are, and scattered as
they are, I see no great comfort for them. The river, which runs up to
Alexandria, is in full view of my window, and I see the vessels as they
pass and repass. The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring
about thirty servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order,
and perform the ordinary business of the house and stables: an
establishment very well proportioned to the President’s salary. The
lighting the apartments, from the kitchen to parlors and chambers, is a
tax indeed; and the fires we are obliged to keep to secure us from daily
agues, is another very cheering comfort. To assist us in this great
castle, and render less attendance necessary, bells are wholly wanting,
not one single one being hung through the whole house, and promises are
all you can obtain. This is so great an inconvenience, that I know not
what to do, or how to do. The ladies from Georgetown and in the city
have many of them visited me. Yesterday I returned fifteen visits,—but
such a place as Georgetown appears,—why our Milton beautiful. But no
comparisons;—if they will put me up some bells, and let me have wood
enough to keep fires, I design to be pleased. I could content myself
almost anywhere three months; but surrounded with forests, can you
believe that wood is not to be had, because people cannot be found to
cut and cart it? Briesler entered into a contract with a man to supply
him with wood; a small part, a few cords only, has he been able to get.
Most of that was expended to dry the walls of the house before we came
in, and yesterday the man told him it was impossible for him to procure
it to be cut and carted. He has had recourse to coals: but we cannot get
grates made and set. We have indeed come into a new country.
“You must keep all this to yourself, and when asked how I like it, say
that I write you the situation is beautiful, which is true. The house is
made habitable, but there is not a single apartment finished, and all
withinside, except the plastering, has been done since Briesler came. We
have not the least fence, yard, or other convenience, without, and the
great unfinished audience-room I make a drying room of, to hang up the
clothes in. The principal stairs are not up, and will not be this
winter. Six chambers are made comfortable; two are occupied by the
President and Mr. Shaw; two lower rooms, one for a common parlor and one
for a levee room. Up-stairs there is the oval room, which is designed
for the drawing-room, and has the crimson furniture in it. It is a very
handsome room now, but when completed will be beautiful. If the twelve
years, in which this place has been considered as the future seat of
government, had been improved, as they would have been if in New
England, very many of the present inconveniences would have been
removed. It is a beautiful spot, capable of every improvement, and the
more I view it, the more I am delighted with it. Since I sat down to
write, I have been called down to a servant from Mount Vernon, with a
billet from Major Custis, and a haunch of venison, and a kind,
congratulatory letter from Mrs. Lewis, upon my arrival in the city, with
Mrs. Washington’s love, inviting me to Mount Vernon, where, health
permitting, I will go, before I leave this place.... Two articles are
much distressed for: the one is bells, but the more important one is
wood. Yet you cannot see wood for trees. No arrangement has been made,
but by promises never performed, to supply the newcomers with fuel. Of
the promises, Briesler had received his full share. He had procured nine
cords of wood: between six and seven of that was kindly burnt up to dry
the walls of the house, which ought to have been done by the
commissioners, but which, if left to them, would have remained undone to
this day. Congress poured in, but shiver, shiver. No wood-cutters nor
carters to be had at any rate. We are now indebted to a Pennsylvania
wagon to bring us, through the first clerk in the Treasury Office, one
cord and a half of wood, which is all we have for this house, where
twelve fires are constantly required, and where, we are told, the roads
will soon be so bad that it cannot be drawn. Briesler procured two
hundred bushels of coal, or we must have suffered. This is the situation
of almost every person. The public officers have sent to Philadelphia
for wood-cutters and wagons.
“The vessel which has my clothes and other matter is not arrived. The
ladies are impatient for a drawing-room; I have no looking-glasses, but
dwarfs, for this house; nor a twentieth part lamps enough to light it.
Many things were stolen, many were broken, by the removal; amongst the
number, my tea-china is more than half missing. Georgetown affords
nothing. My rooms are very pleasant, and warm, whilst the doors of the
hall are closed.
“You can scarce believe that here in this wilderness-city, I should find
myself so occupied as it is. My visitors, some of them, come three and
four miles. The return of one of them is the work of one day. Most of
the ladies reside in Georgetown, or in scattered parts of the city at
two and three miles distance. We have all been very well as yet; if we
can by any means get wood, we shall not let our fires go out, but it is
at a price indeed; from four dollars it has risen to nine. Some say it
will fall, but there must be more industry than is to be found here to
bring half enough to the market for the consumption of the inhabitants.”
The Hon. John Cotton Smith, a member of Congress from Connecticut,
describing Washington as it appeared to him on his arrival there, wrote
as follows:
“Our approach to the city was accompanied with sensations not easily
described. One wing of the Capitol only had been erected, which, with
the President’s House, a mile distant from it, both constructed with
white sandstone, were striking objects in dismal contrast with the scene
around them. Instead of recognizing the avenues and streets portrayed on
the plan of the city, not one was visible unless we except a road, with
two buildings on each side of it, called the New Jersey Avenue. The
Pennsylvania, leading as laid down on paper, from the Capitol to the
Presidential mansion, was then nearly the whole distance a deep morass,
covered with alder bushes, which were cut through the width of the
intended Avenue the then ensuing winter.... The roads in every direction
were muddy and unimproved; a sidewalk was attempted in one instance by a
covering formed of the chips of the stones which had been hewed for the
Capitol. It extended but a little way, and was of little value, for in
dry weather the sharp fragments cut our shoes, and in wet weather
covered them with white mortar; in short, it was a new settlement. The
houses, with two or three exceptions, had been very recently erected,
and the operation greatly hurried in view of the approaching transfer of
the national government. A laughable desire was manifested by what few
citizens and residents there were, to render our condition as pleasant
as circumstances would permit. Notwithstanding the unfavorable aspect
which Washington presented on our arrival, I cannot sufficiently express
my admiration of its local position. From the Capitol you have a
distinct view of its fine, undulating surface, situated at the
confluence of the Potomac and its Eastern Branch, the wide expanse of
that majestic river to the bend at Mount Vernon, the cities of
Alexandria and Georgetown, and the cultivated fields and blue hills of
Maryland and Virginia on either side of the river, the whole
constituting a prospect of surpassing beauty and grandeur. The city has
also the inestimable advantage of delightful water, in many instances
flowing from copious springs, and always attainable by digging to a
moderate depth.
“Some portions of the city are forty miles from Baltimore. The situation
is indeed beautiful and pleasant.
“The President’s house was built to be looked at by visitors and
strangers, and will render its occupants an object of ridicule with some
and of pity with others. It must be cold and damp in winter, and cannot
be kept in tolerable order without a regiment of servants. There are but
few houses at any one place, and most of them small, miserable huts,
which present an awful contrast to the public buildings. The people are
poor, and as far as I can judge, they live like fishes, by eating each
other.”
The first New Year’s reception at the White House was held by President
Adams in 1801. The house was only partially furnished, and Mrs. Adams
used the oval room up-stairs, now the library, as a drawing-room. The
formal etiquette established by Mrs. Washington at New York and
Philadelphia was kept up in the wilderness-city by Mrs. Adams.
At this time the health of Mrs. Adams, which had never been very firm,
began decidedly to fail. Her residence at Philadelphia had not been
favorable, as it had subjected her to the attack of an intermittent
fever, from the effects of which she was never afterward perfectly free.
The desire to enjoy the bracing air of her native climate, as well as to
keep together the private property of her husband, upon which she early
foresaw that he would be obliged to rely for their support in their last
years, prompted her to reside much of her time at Quincy.
Thus closed Mrs. Adams’ life in Washington, of which she has given a
picture in her letter to her daughter; and spring found her once more in
her Massachusetts home, recuperating her failing health. She lived in
Washington only four months—and yet she is inseparably connected with
it. She was mistress of the White House less than half a year, but she
stamped it with her individuality, and none have lived there since who
have not looked upon her as the model and guide. It is not asserting too
much, to observe that the first occupant of that historic house stands
without a rival, and receives a meed of praise awarded to no other
American woman.
In the midst of public or private troubles, the buoyant spirit of Mrs.
Adams never forsook her. “I am a mortal enemy,” she wrote upon one
occasion to her husband, “to anything but a cheerful countenance and a
merry heart, which Solomon tells us does good like a medicine.” “This
spirit,” says her son, “contributed greatly to lift up his heart, when
surrounded by difficulties and dangers, exposed to open hostility, and
secret detraction, and resisting a torrent of invective, such as it may
well be doubted whether any other individual in public station in the
United States has ever tried to stem. It was this spirit which soothed
his wounded feelings when the country, which he had served in the full
consciousness of the perfect honesty of his motives, threw him off, and
signified its preference for other statesmen. There are oftener, even in
this life, more compensations for the severest of the troubles that
afflict mankind, than we are apt to think.”
The sacrifices made by Mrs. Adams during the long era of war,
pestilence, and famine, deserves and should receive from a nation’s
gratitude a monument as high and massive as her illustrious husband’s.
Let it be reared in the hearts of the women of America, who may proudly
claim her as a model, and let her fame be transmitted to remotest
posterity—the “Portia” of the rebellious provinces.
Statues and monuments belong rather to a bygone than a present time, and
are indicative of a less degree of culture than we of this century
boast. The pages of history are the truest, safest sarcophagi of
greatness, and embalm in their records the lives of the master-workers.
Not in marble or bronze be her memory perpetuated, for we need no such
hieroglyphics in this country of free schools. Place her history in the
libraries of America, and the children of freedom will live over her
deeds. To the crumbling monarchies of Europe on their way to
dissolution, it may be necessary to erect statues of past greatness,
that some shadow of their nothingness may remain as warnings; but the
men and women of revolutionary memory are become a part and parcel of
this government, whose very existence must be wiped from the face of the
earth ere one jot or tittle of their fame is lost.
In viewing the character of Mrs. Adams, as it looms up in the pages of
the past, we can but regret that she occupied no more enlarged sphere.
The woman who could reply as she did to the question, (“Had you known
that Mr. Adams would have remained so long abroad, would you have
consented that he should have gone?”)—could have filled any position in
civil life. “If I had known,” she replied, after a moment’s hesitation,
“that Mr. Adams could have effected what he has done, I would not only
have submitted to the absence I have endured, painful as it has been,
but I would not have opposed it, even though three more years should be
added to the number. I feel a pleasure in being able to sacrifice my
selfish passions to the general good, and in imitating the example which
has taught me to consider myself and family but as the small dust of the
balance, when compared with the great community.”
With the marked characteristics which made her determined and resolute,
she could have occupied any post of honor requiring a strong mind and
clear perceptions of right; cut off, as was her sex, from participation
in the struggle around her; confined by custom to the lonely and
wearisome monotony of her country home, she nevertheless stamped her
character upon the hearts of her countrymen, and enrolled her name among
its workers. Had she been called into any of the departments of State,
or required to fill any place of trust, hers would have been an enviable
name; even as it is, she occupies the foreground of the Revolutionary
history, and so powerful were the energies of her soul, that biographers
and historians have deemed it worth their while to deny, in lengthy
terms, her influence over her husband, and exert every argument to prove
that she in no way controlled his actions. The opinions of men differ on
this point, and the students of American biographies decide the
questions from their own stand-points. Yet who will not venture to
assert, that with the culture bestowed upon her which many men received,
she would have towered high above them in their pride and selfishness!
Controlled by the usages of society, she could only live in her
imagination, and impress upon her children the great ideas that were
otherwise doomed to fritter away uselessly in her brain. Indifferent to
the charms of fashionable life, deprived of the luxuries which too often
enervate and render worthless the capacities of woman, she was as
independent and self-supporting in her actions, as were the inspirations
of her mind; and through good and evil report, conduced by her example
to place that reliance in her country’s success which in a great measure
secured its independence. Her character was one of undeviating fairness
and frank truthfulness, free from affectation and vanity.
From the year 1801 down to the day of her death, a period of seventeen
years, she lived uninterruptedly at Quincy. The old age of Mrs. Adams
was not one of grief and repining, of clouds and darkness; her
cheerfulness continued with the full possession of her faculties to the
last, and her sunny spirit enlivened the small social circle around her,
brightened the solitary hours of her husband, and spread the influence
of its example over the town where she lived. “Yesterday,” she writes,
to a granddaughter, on the 26th of October, 1814, “completes half a
century since I entered the marriage state, then just your age. I have
great cause of thankfulness that I have lived so long and enjoyed so
large a portion of happiness as has been my lot. The greatest source of
unhappiness I have known, in that period, has arisen from the long and
cruel separations which I was called, in a time of war, and with a young
family around me, to submit to.”
The appointment of her eldest son as Minister to Great Britain, by
President Madison, was a life-long satisfaction to her; and the
testimony President Monroe gave her of his worth, by making him his
Secretary of State, was the crowning joy of her life. Had she been
spared a few years longer, she would have enjoyed seeing him hold the
position his father had occupied before him. Mrs. Adams lost three of
her children: a daughter in infancy; a son grown to manhood, who died in
1800; and in 1813 her only remaining daughter, Abigail, the wife of
Colonel William S. Smith.
The warmest feelings of friendship had existed between Mr. Jefferson and
herself until a difference in political sentiments, developed during the
administration of President Washington, disturbed the social relations
existing. “Both Mr. Adams and Mr. Jefferson tried as hard as men could
do, to resist the natural effect upon them of their antagonist
positions. They strove each in turn, to stem the proscriptive fury of
the parties to which they belonged, and that with equally bad success.
“Mrs. Adams felt as women only feel, what she regarded as the ungenerous
conduct of Mr. Jefferson towards her husband during the latter part of
his public life, and when she retired from Washington, notwithstanding
the kindest professions from his mouth were yet ringing in her ears, all
communication between the parties ceased. Still, there remained on both
sides, pleasant reminiscences to soften the irritation that had taken
place, and to open a way for reconciliation whenever circumstances
should present a suitable opportunity.”
The little daughter of Mr. Jefferson, in whom Mrs. Adams had taken so
much interest in 1787, had in the interval grown into a woman, and had
been married to Mr. Eppes of Virginia. In 1804 she ceased to be numbered
among the living, and almost against her own judgment Mrs. Adams wrote
to him. He seemed to be much affected by this testimony of her sympathy,
and replied, not confining himself to the subject-matter of her letter,
and added a request to know her reasons for the estrangement that had
occurred. Without the knowledge of her husband she replied to him, but
he at first did not choose to believe her assertion. Fortunately, the
original endorsement, made in the handwriting of letters retained by
herself, will serve to put this matter beyond question. Her last letter
to him was as follows:
“QUINCY, _25th October, 1804_.
“SIR: Sickness for three weeks past has prevented my acknowledging the
receipt of your letter of Sept. 11th. When I first addressed you, I
little thought of entering into a correspondence with you upon subjects
of a political nature. I will not regret it, as it has led to some
elucidations, and brought on some explanations, which place in a more
favorable light occurrences which had wounded me.
“Having once entertained for you a respect and esteem, founded upon the
character of an affectionate parent, a kind master, a candid and
benevolent friend, I could not suffer different political opinions to
obliterate them from my mind. I felt the truth of the observation, that
the heart is long, very long in receiving the conviction that is forced
upon it by reason. It was not until circumstances occurred to place you
in the light of a rewarder and encourager of a libeler, whom you could
not but detest and despise, that I withdrew the esteem I had long
entertained for you. Nor can you wonder, Sir, that I should consider as
a personal unkindness, the instance I have mentioned. I am pleased to
find that which respected my son altogether unfounded. He was, as you
conjecture, appointed a commissioner of bankruptcy, together with Judge
Dawes, and continued to serve in it with perfect satisfaction to all
parties (at least I never heard the contrary), until _superseded_ by the
appointment of others. The idea suggested that no one was in office, and
consequently no removal could take place, I cannot consider in any other
light than what the gentlemen of the law would term a quibble—as such I
pass it. Judge Dawes was continued or reappointed, which placed Mr.
Adams in a more conspicuous light as the object of personal resentment.
Nor could I, upon this occasion, refrain calling to mind the last visit
you made me at Washington, when in the course of conversation you
assured me, that if it should lay in your power at any time to serve me
or my family, nothing would give you more pleasure. With respect to the
office, it was a small object, but the disposition of the remover was
considered by me as the barbed arrow. This, however, by your
declaration, is withdrawn from my mind. With the public it will remain.
And here, Sir, may I be allowed to pause, and ask whether, in your
ardent desire to rectify the mistakes and abuses, as you may term them,
of the former administrations, you may not be led into measures still
more fatal to the constitution, and more derogatory to your honor and
independence of character? I know, from the observations which I have
made, that there is not a more difficult part devolves upon a chief
magistrate, nor one which subjects him to more reproach and censure,
than the appointments to office. And all the patronage which this
enviable power gives him is but a poor compensation for the
responsibility to which it subjects him. It would be well, however, to
weigh and consider characters, as it respects their moral worth and
integrity. He who is not true to himself, nor just to others, seeks an
office for the benefit of himself, unmindful of that of his country. I
cannot accord with you in opinion that the Constitution ever meant to
withhold from the National Government the power of self-defence; or that
it could be considered an infringement of the liberty of the press, to
punish the licentiousness of it. Time must determine and posterity will
judge with more candor and impartiality, I hope, than the conflicting
parties of our day, what measures have best promoted the happiness of
the people; and what raised them from a state of depression and
degradation to wealth, honor, and reputation; what has made them
affluent at home and respected abroad; and to whomsoever the tribute is
due, to them may it be given. I will not further intrude upon your time;
but close this correspondence by my wishes that you may be directed to
that path which may terminate in the prosperity and happiness of the
people over whom you are placed, by administering the government with
justice and impartiality; and be assured, Sir, no one will more rejoice
in your success than
“ABIGAIL ADAMS.”
(MEMORANDUM subjoined to the copy of this letter, in the handwriting of
Mr. Adams.)
“QUINCY, _19th November, 1804_.
“The whole of this correspondence was begun and conducted without my
knowledge or suspicion. Last evening and this morning, at the desire of
Mrs. Adams, I read the whole. I have no remarks to make upon it, at this
time and in this place.
“J. ADAMS.”
“A new and strong tie was beginning indeed to bind the stately old men
together. They were speedily becoming the last of the signers of the
Declaration of Independence—the last of the great actors and leaders of
1776. Their common and dearly-loved friend Rush had died in April, 1813,
after a brief illness.” Mr. Jefferson wrote to Mr. Adams of this
occurrence, and said: “Another of our friends of seventy-six is gone, my
dear sir, another of the co-signers of the independence of our country.
I believe we are under half a dozen at present; I mean the signers of
the Declaration. Yourself, Gerry, Carroll and myself, are all I know to
be living.”
Appended to a letter from Adams to Jefferson, dated July 15th, 1813, we
find the following:
“I have been looking for some time for a space in my good husband’s
letters to add the regards of an old friend, which are still cherished
and preserved through all the changes and vicissitudes which have taken
place since we first became acquainted, and will, I trust, remain as
long as
“A. ADAMS.”
“Neither Mrs. Adams nor her husband ever met Mr. Jefferson again, but
she had the opportunity, and eagerly availed herself of it, to bestow
kindly and assiduous attentions on some of his family.
“She lost none of the imposing features of her character in the decline
of life. An observing and intelligent gentleman who was a guest at
Quincy within a year or two of her death, has given us a description of
his visit. Mr. Adams shook as if palsied; but the mind and the heart
were evidently sound. His spirits seemed as elastic as a boy’s. He
joked, laughed heartily, and talked about everybody and everything, past
and present, with the most complete _abandon_. He seemed to our highly
educated informant to be a vast encyclopædia of written and unwritten
knowledge. It gushed out on every possible topic, but was mingled with
lively anecdotes and sallies, and he exhibited a carelessness in his
language which suggested anything but pedantry or an attempt at ‘fine
talking.’ In short, the brave old man was as delightful as he was
commanding in conversation. While the guest was deeply enjoying this
interview, an aged and stately female entered the apartment, and he was
introduced to Mrs. Adams. A cap of exquisite lace surrounded features
still exhibiting intellect and energy, though they did not wear the
appearance of ever having been beautiful. Her dress was snowy white, and
there was that immaculate neatness in her appearance which gives to age
almost the sweetness of youth. With less warmth of manner and
sociableness than Mr. Adams, she was sufficiently gracious, and her
occasional remarks betrayed intellectual vigor and strong sense. The
guest went away feeling that he never again should behold such living
specimens of the ‘great of old.’”
Mrs. Adams died of an attack of fever, the 28th of October, 1818, at the
advanced age of seventy-four years. “To learning,” says her grandson,
“in the ordinary sense of that term, Mrs. Adams could make no claim. Her
reading had been extensive in the lighter departments of literature, and
she was well acquainted with the poets in her own language, but it went
no further. It is the soul, shining through the words, that gives them
their great attraction; the spirit ever equal to the occasion, whether a
great or a small one; a spirit, inquisitive and earnest in the little
details of life, as when she was in France and England; playful, when
she describes daily duties, but rising to the call when the roar of
cannon is in her ears—or when she reproves her husband for not knowing
her better than to think her a coward and to fear telling her bad news.”
“The obsequies of Mrs. Adams were attended by a great concourse of
people, who voluntarily came to pay this last tribute to her memory.
Several brief but beautiful notices of her appeared in the newspapers of
the day, and a sermon was preached by the late Rev. Dr. Kirkland, then
President of Harvard University, which closed with a delicate and
affecting testimony to her worth. ‘Ye will seek to mourn, bereaved
friends,’ it says, ‘as becomes Christians, in a manner worthy of the
person you lament. You do then bless the Giver of Life that the course
of your endeared and honored friend was so long and so bright; that she
entered so fully into the spirit of those injunctions which we have
explained, and was a minister of blessings to all within her influence.
You are soothed to reflect that she was sensible of the many tokens of
divine goodness which marked her lot; that she received the good of her
existence with a cheerful and grateful heart; that, when called to weep,
she bore adversity with an equal mind; that she used the world as not
abusing it to excess, improving well her time, talents and
opportunities, and though desired longer in this world, was fitted for a
better happiness than this world can give.’”
Mr. Jefferson, despite the feeling that he had not been understood by
Mrs. Adams as he thought he deserved, never lost any part of the
profound respect and friendship he entertained for her, and soon as the
news of her death reached him he wrote as follows to her husband:
TO JOHN ADAMS.
“MONTICELLO, _November 13th, 1818_.
“The public papers, my dear friend, announce the fatal event of which
your letter of October the 20th had given me ominous foreboding. Tried
myself in the school of affliction, by the loss of every form of
connection which can rive the human heart, I know well, and feel what
you have lost, what you have suffered, are suffering, and have yet to
endure. The same trials have taught me that for ills so immeasurable,
time and silence are the only medicine. I will not, therefore, by
useless condolences, open afresh the sluices of your grief, nor,
although mingling sincerely my tears with yours, will I say a word more
where words are vain, but that it is of some comfort to us both that the
time is not very distant at which we are to deposit in the same casement
our sorrows and suffering bodies, and to ascend in essence to an
ecstatic meeting with the friends we have loved and lost, and whom we
shall still love and never lose again. God bless you, and support you
under your heavy affliction.
“TH. JEFFERSON.”
Side by side in the Congregational church in Quincy, to which he had
given the donation to erect it with, lie the mortal remains of Mr. and
Mrs. Adams. Within the same house, a plain white marble slab, on the
right hand of the pulpit, surmounted by his bust, bears the following
inscription, written by his eldest son:
Libertatem. Amicitiam. Fidem Retinebis.
D. O. M.
Beneath these walls,
Are deposited the mortal remains of
JOHN ADAMS,
Son of John and Susanna (Boylston) Adams,
Second President of the United States,
Born ¹⁹⁄₃₀ October, 1735.
On the fourth of July, 1776,
He pledged his life, fortune, and sacred honour,
To the Independence of his country.
On the third of September, 1783,
He affixed his seal to the definitive treaty with Great Britain,
Which acknowledged that independence,
And consummated the redemption of his pledge.
On the fourth of July, 1826,
He was summoned
To the Independence of Immortality
And to the judgment of his God.
This house will bear witness to his piety;
This Town, his birth-place, to his munificence;
History to his patriotism;
Posterity to the depth and compass of his mind.
At his side,
Sleeps, till the trump shall sound,
ABIGAIL,
His beloved and only wife,
Daughter of William and Elizabeth (Quincy) Smith.
In every relation of life a pattern
of filial, conjugal, maternal, and social virtue.
Born November ¹¹⁄₂₂ 1744,
Deceased 28 October, 1818,
Aged 74.
Married 25 October, 1764.
During an union of more than half a century
They survived, in harmony of sentiment, principle and affection,
The tempests of civil commotion.
Meeting undaunted and surmounting
The terrors and trials of that revolution,
Which secured the freedom of their country;
Improved the condition of their times;
And brightened the prospects of futurity
To the race of man upon earth.
Pilgrim!
From lives thus spent thy earthly duties learn:
From fancy’s dreams to active virtue turn:
Let freedom, friendship, faith, thy soul engage,
And serve, like them, thy country and thy age.
III.
MARTHA JEFFERSON.
Mrs. Jefferson had been dead nineteen years when, in 1801, President
Jefferson took possession of the White House, and there was, strictly
speaking, no lady of the mansion during his term. His daughters were
with him in Washington only twice during his eight years’ stay, and he
held no formal receptions as are customary now; and being of the French
school of democratic politics, professed a dislike of all ceremonious
visitors.
On the 1st day of January, 1772, Mr. Jefferson was married to Mrs.
Martha Skelton, widow of Bathurst Skelton, and daughter of John Wayles,
of “the Forest,” in Charles City County.
Mr. Lossing, in his very interesting book of the Revolution, gives a
fac-simile of Mr. Jefferson’s marriage license bond, drawn up in his own
handwriting, which the former found in a bundle of old papers in Charles
City Court House while searching for records of Revolution events. “Mrs.
Skelton was remarkable for her beauty, her accomplishments, and her
solid merit. In person she was a little above medium height, slightly
but exquisitely formed. Her complexion was brilliant—her large
expressive eyes of the richest tinge of auburn. She walked, rode, and
danced with admirable grace and spirits—sang and played the spinet and
harpsichord [the musical instruments of the Virginia ladies of that day]
with uncommon skill. The more solid parts of her education had not been
neglected.” She was also well read and intelligent, conversed agreeably,
possessed excellent sense and a lively play of fancy, and had a frank,
warm-hearted and somewhat impulsive disposition. She was twenty-three
years of age at the time of her second marriage, and had been a widow
four years. Her only child she lost in infancy.
[Illustration:
MARTHA JEFFERSON RANDOLPH.
]
Tradition, says Randall, has preserved one anecdote of the wooers who
sought her hand. It has two renderings, and the reader may choose
between them. The first is that two of Mr. Jefferson’s rivals happened
to meet on Mrs. Skelton’s door-stone. They were shown into a room from
which they heard her harpsichord and voice, accompanied by Mr.
Jefferson’s violin and voice, in the passages of a touching song. They
listened for a stanza or two. Whether something in the words, or in the
tones of the singers appeared suggestive to them, tradition does not
say, but it does aver that they took their hats and retired to return no
more on the same errand! The other, and, we think, less probable version
of the story is, that the three met on the door-stone, and agreed that
they would “take turns” and that the interviews should be made decisive;
and that by lot or otherwise Mr. Jefferson led off, and that then during
his trial they heard the music that they concluded settled the point.
After the bridal festivities at the Forest, Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson set
out for Monticello, and they were destined to meet some not exactly
amusing adventures by the way. A manuscript of their eldest daughter
(Mrs. Randolph) furnished Mr. Randall by one of her granddaughters and
published in his “Life of Jefferson”—says: “They left the Forest after a
fall of snow, light then, but increasing in depth as they advanced up
the country. They were finally obliged to quit the carriage and proceed
on horseback. Having stopped for a short time at Blenheim (the residence
of Colonel Carter) where an overseer only resided, they left it at
sunset to pursue their way through a mountain track rather than a road,
in which the snow lay from eighteen inches to two feet deep, having
eight miles to go before reaching Monticello.
“They arrived late at night, the fires all out and the servants retired
to their own houses for the night. The horrible dreariness of such a
house, at the end of such a journey, I have often heard them both
relate.” Part of a bottle of wine, found on a shelf behind some books,
had to serve the new-married couple both for fire and supper. Tempers
too sunny to be ruffled by many ten times as serious annoyances in after
life, now found but sources of diversion in these ludicrous
_contretemps_, and the horrible dreariness was lit up with songs, and
merriment and laughter.
Nine years afterward, Mrs. Jefferson, the mother of five children, was
slowly declining, and her husband, refusing a mission to Europe on that
account, determined to give up all other duties to soothe and sustain
her. She had borne her fifth child in November, and when it was two
months old, she had fled with it in her arms as Arnold approached
Richmond. “The British General Tarleton sent troops to capture Governor
Jefferson, who was occupied in securing his most important papers. While
thus engaged, his wife and children were taken in a carriage, under the
care of a young gentleman who was studying with him, to Colonel Coles,
fourteen miles distant. Monticello was captured (if a residence occupied
by unresisting servants may be said to be captured), and the house
searched, though not sacked by the enemy. Many of the negroes were
taken, and but five ever returned, while the greater part of those left
behind sank under the epidemics raging at the time. The house was robbed
of nothing save a few articles in the cellar, the farm was stripped of
valuable horses, and many thousand dollars’ worth of grain and tobacco.
An anecdote is told of two of Mr. Jefferson’s slaves—Martin and Cæsar,
who were left in charge of the house and were engaged in secreting plate
and other valuables under the floor of the front portico, when a party
of British soldiers arrived. The floor was then of planks. One of these
was raised, and Martin stood above handing down articles to Cæsar, in
the cellar improvised by the faithful slaves in the emergency. While he
was finishing his packing, Martin heard the tramp of horses’ feet, and
looking in the direction indicated saw the red coats coming. For Cæsar
to get out was to inform the British where the valuables they were
trying to save were secreted, and without a word of warning the plank
was put down. Cæsar understood the sudden action to mean danger, and
very soon he knew by the noise overhead that the enemy had come. For
eighteen hours he remained in the dark hole, and was not released until
Martin was sure of the departure of the last one of the raiders.”
In April, the loss of her infant, together with constant anxiety for the
safety of her husband, shattered the remaining strength of Mrs.
Jefferson. Toward the close of 1781, she rallied. Her last child was
born the 8th of May, 1782. Greater apprehensions than usual had preceded
the event and they were fatally verified. The delicate constitution was
irrevocably sapped. “A momentary hope for her might sometimes flutter in
the bosom of her lonely husband, but it was in reality a hope against
hope, and he knew it to be so. That association which had been the first
joy of his life, which blent itself with all his future visions of
happiness, which was to be the crowning glory of that delightful retreat
he was forming, and which was to shed mellow radiance over the
retirement to which he was fondly looking forward, was now to end; and
it was only a question of weeks, or, possibly, months, how soon it would
end. Mrs. Jefferson had returned her husband’s affection, with not only
the fervor of a woman whose dream of love and pride (for what woman is
not proud of the world’s estimation of her husband?) has been more than
gratified, but with the idolatrous gratitude of a wife who knew how
often that husband had cast away the most tempting honors without a
sigh, when her own feeble health had solicited his presence and
attentions. And now, as the dreadful hour of parting approached, her
affection became painfully, almost wildly absorbing. The faithful
daughter of the church had no dread of the hereafter, but she yearned to
remain with her husband with that yearning which seems to have power to
retard even the approaches of death. Her eyes ever rested on him, ever
followed him. When he spoke, no other sound could reach her ear or
attract her attention. When she waked from slumber, she looked
momentarily alarmed and distressed, and ever appeared to be frightened,
if the customary form was not bending over her, the customary look upon
her. For weeks Mr. Jefferson sat at that bedside, only catching brief
intervals of rest.”
She died on the 6th of September. Her eldest daughter, Mrs. Randolph,
many years afterward, said of the sad scene: “He nursed my poor mother
in turn with Aunt Carr and her own sister, sitting up with her and
administering her medicines and drink to the last. For four months that
she lingered, he was never out of calling; when not at her bedside he
was writing in a small room which opened immediately into hers.”
To her were denied the honors that later in life crowned the brow of her
gifted husband. Had she survived, no more pleasant life could have been
traced than this gentle, cultivated woman’s. Hers was no passive nature,
swayed by every passing breeze, but a loving, strong heart, a rare and
gifted intellect, cultivated by solid educational advantages,
experience, and the society of the greatest statesman and scholar of his
day. In the midst of all happiness, vouchsafed to humanity, she died;
and her husband, faithful to her memory, devoted himself to their
children, and lived and died her lonely-hearted mourner.
Martha Jefferson, after the death of her mother, was placed at school in
Philadelphia, at the age of eleven years, where she remained until her
father took her, in 1784, to Europe. His other two daughters, being too
young for such a journey, were left with their maternal aunt, Mrs.
Eppes, wife of Francis Eppes, Esquire, of Eppington, Chesterfield
County, Virginia. Mary, the second of his surviving children, was six
years old, and Lucy Elizabeth, the third, was two years old. The latter
died before the close of 1784. The child of sorrow and misfortune, her
organization was too frail and too intensely susceptible to last long.
Her sensibilities were so precociously acute, that she listened with
exquisite pleasure to music, and wept on hearing a false note.
After a short period of sight-seeing, Martha Jefferson was placed at a
convent, and continued to reside there during her father’s stay in
Europe. In July, 1787, “the long-expected Mary (called Marie in France,
and thenceforth through life, Marie) reached London.” She had crossed
the Atlantic with simply a servant girl, though doubtless they were both
intrusted to the charge of some passenger friend, or some known and
trusted ship commander, whom we do not find named. They were received by
Mrs. Adams, and awaited an expected opportunity of crossing the Channel
with a party of French friends of Mr. Jefferson. These continued to
defer their return, and Mr. Jefferson became too impatient to await
their movements. Accordingly, his steward, the favorite and trusty
Petit, was sent to London after Marie, and she reached her father’s
hotel in Paris, on the 29th of July, just three days before her ninth
birthday.
Mrs. Adams thus describes her little guest, immediately after her
departure, in a letter to her sister, Mrs. Cranch, of Massachusetts:
“I have had with me for a fortnight a little daughter of Mr.
Jefferson’s, who arrived here with a young negro girl, her servant, from
Virginia. Mr. Jefferson wrote me some months ago that he expected them,
and desired me to receive them. I did so, and was amply rewarded for my
trouble. A finer child of her age I never saw. So mature an
understanding, so womanly a behavior, and so much sensibility, united,
are rarely to be met with. I grew so fond of her, and she was so
attached to me, that when Mr. Jefferson sent for her, they were obliged
to force the little creature away. She is but eight years old. She would
sit, sometimes, and describe to me the parting with her aunt, who
brought her up,[6] the obligations she was under to her, and the love
she had for her little cousins, till the tears would stream down her
cheeks; and how I had been her friend, and she loved me. Her papa would
break her heart by making her go again. She clung round me so that I
could not help shedding a tear at parting with her. She was the favorite
of every one in the house. I regret that such fine spirits must be spent
in the walls of a convent. She is a beautiful girl, too.”
Footnote 6:
Mrs. Francis Eppes, of Eppington, Va.
Marie (for so we shall henceforth call her, unless when adopting her
father’s sobriquet of Polly) was soon placed with Martha in the school
of the Abbaye de Panthemont. Martha had now grown into a tall, graceful
girl, with that calm, sweet face, stamped with thought and earnestness,
which, with the traces of many more years on it, and the noble dignity
of the matron superadded, beams down from the speaking canvas of Sully.
The most dutiful of daughters, the most attentive of learners,
possessing a solid understanding, a judgment ripe beyond her years, a
most gentle and genial temper, and an unassuming modesty of demeanor,
which neither the distinction of her position, nor the flatteries that
afterward surrounded her, ever wore off in the least degree, she was the
idol of her father and family, and the delight of all who knew her.
The little Marie has been sufficiently described by Mrs. Adams.
“Slighter in person than her sister, she already gave indications of a
superior beauty. It was that exquisite beauty possessed by her
mother—that beauty which the experienced learn to look upon with dread,
because it betrays a physical organization too delicately fine to
withstand the rough shocks of the world.”
In April, an incident of an interesting character occurred in Mr.
Jefferson’s family. His oldest daughter, as has been seen, had been
educated in the views and feelings of the Church of England. Her mother
had zealously moulded her young mind in that direction. Her father had
done nothing certainly, by word or act, to divert it from that channel;
and it had flowed on, for aught Martha knew or suspected to the
contrary, with his full approbation. If she had then been called upon to
state what were her father’s religious beliefs, she would have declared
that her impressions were that he leaned to the tenets of the church to
which his family belonged. The daring and flippant infidelity now rife
in French society, disgusted the earnest, serious, naturally reverential
girl. The calm seclusion of Panthemont, its examples of serene and holy
life, its intellectual associations, wooed her away from the turmoil and
glare and wickedness and eruptions without. After meditating on the
subject for a time, she wrote to her father for his permission to remain
in a convent, and to dedicate herself to the duties of a religious life.
For a day or two she received no answer. Then his carriage rolled up to
the door of the Abbaye, and poor Martha met her father in a fever of
doubts and fears. Never was his smile more benignant and gentle. He had
a private interview with the Abbess. He then told his daughters he had
come for them. They stepped into his carriage, it rolled away, and
Martha’s school life was ended. Henceforth she was introduced into
society, and presided, so far as was appropriate to her age, as the
mistress of her father’s household. Neither he nor Martha ever, after
her first letter on the subject, made the remotest allusion to each
other to her request to enter a convent. She spoke of it freely in after
years, to her children, and always expressed her full approbation of her
father’s course on the occasion. She always spoke of her early wish as
rather the dictate of a transient sentiment than a fixed conviction of
religious duty; and she warmly applauded the quick and gentle way which
her father took to lead her back to her family, her friends, and her
country. Mr. Jefferson left the shores of Europe with his two daughters
the 28th of October, 1789, and the following February Martha was married
to Thomas Mann Randolph, Jr., who had been a ward of her father’s. “The
young people were cousins, and had been attached to each other from
childhood. He was tall, lean, with dark, expressive features and a
flashing eye, commanding in carriage, elastic as steel, and had that
sudden sinewy strength which it would not be difficult to fancy he
inherited from the forest monarchs of Virginia.”
On his return home, Mr. Jefferson was immediately tendered, and accepted
a position in President Washington’s cabinet, and made his home in New
York and afterward in Philadelphia until his withdrawal from public
life.
Mr. Jefferson was elected Vice-President on the ticket with President
John Adams, and at the end of this administration he was elected to fill
the first position in the gift of the nation. On the fourth of March,
1801, he was inaugurated President of the United States. His daughter
Martha was living at her husband’s country home near Monticello, the
mother of several children, and Marie, who had previously married Mr.
Eppes, of Eppington, was happily situated at Monticello, awaiting her
father’s promised visit in early summer.
Sir Augustus Foster, who was Secretary of Legation at Washington to the
British Minister, Mr. Merry, has given some rather entertaining accounts
of the state of society there in the time of Jefferson. “In going to
assemblies, one had to drive three or four miles within the city bounds,
and very often at the risk of an overturn, or of being what is termed
stalled, or stuck in the mud, when one can neither go backward nor
forward, and either loses one’s shoes or one’s patience. Cards were a
great resource of an evening, and gaming was all the fashion, for the
men who frequented society were chiefly from Virginia or the Western
States, and were very fond of brag, the most gambling of all games. Loo
was the innocent diversion of the ladies, who when they were looed,
pronounced the word in a very mincing manner.
“The New Englanders, generally speaking, were very religious, but though
there were many exceptions, I cannot say so much for the Marylanders,
and still less for the Virginians. But in spite of its inconveniences
and desolate aspect, it was, I think, the most agreeable town to reside
in for any length of time. The opportunity of collecting information
from Senators and Representatives from all parts of the country—the
hospitality of the heads of the Government and the Corps Diplomatique—of
itself supplied resources such as could nowhere else be looked for.”
In Mr. Jefferson’s time, the population numbered about five thousand
persons, and their residences were scattered over an immense space.
Society presented a novel aspect; unconnected by similarity of habits,
by established fashions, by the ties of acquaintance or consanguinity,
the motley throng became united into one close and intimate circle by a
feeling common to all; they were strangers in a strange land, and felt
the necessity of mutual aid and accommodation, and might be compared to
a beautiful piece of mosaic, in which an infinity of separate pieces of
diversified colors are blended into one harmonious whole. Mr. Jefferson,
many years after his retirement from public life, recurring to that
time, remarked to a friend that the peculiar felicity of his
administration was the unanimity that prevailed in his Cabinet; “we
were,” said he, “like one family.” The same spirit of union and kindness
pervaded the whole circle of society—a circle at that time very limited
in its extent and very simple in its habits. The most friendly and
social intercourse prevailed through all its parts, unshackled by that
etiquette and ceremony which have since been introduced, to the no small
detriment of social enjoyment. The President’s house was the seat of
hospitality, where Mrs. Madison always presided (in the absence of Mr.
Jefferson’s daughters) when there were female guests. Mrs. Madison and
her husband spent three weeks at the White House after their arrival in
the city, until they could make arrangements to obtain a suitable house.
President Jefferson abolished the custom of holding levees which Mrs.
Washington had introduced, and the fashionable people of the city did
not like the innovation. The ladies in particular were opposed to it,
and they made up their minds to muster in force at the Presidential
Mansion at the usual time. They accordingly did so, and the President
received them as they found him, hat in hand, spurs on his feet, and
clothing covered with dust just after a long ride on horseback. He
welcomed his guests heartily, did what he could to make their call
agreeable, but it was not repeated. His opposition to levees was said to
be due to the fact that he was democratic in his ideas and thought them
unsuited to American institutions. But the fact that there was no lady
to preside over them was doubtless one of his reasons.
In March, 1802, Mr. Jefferson wrote to his youngest daughter that he
would be at home between the 15th and 20th of April, and that he wished
her to be prepared to go back to Washington with him and her sister; but
Congress did not adjourn as he expected, and he did not get off until
the first of May. The measles broke out in the family of Mrs. Randolph,
and she did not go to Washington. The same cause prevented Mrs. Eppes
from seeing her father, but during the summer months he was at
Monticello as usual.
From the letters of Mr. Jefferson of November and December to his
youngest daughter, we find him advising her to have good spirits and
profit by her sister’s cheerfulness. “We are all well here,” he says,
“and hope the post of this evening will bring us information of the
health of all at Edgehill, and particularly that Martha and the new
bantling are both well; and that her example gives you good spirits.”
“Take care of yourself, my dearest Marie, and know that courage is as
essential to triumph in your case as in that of a soldier. * * * Not
knowing the time destined for your expected indisposition, I am anxious
on your account. You are prepared to meet it with courage, I hope.” And
again he writes:—
“WASHINGTON, _March 3, 1804_.
“The account of your illness, my dearest Marie, was known to me only
this morning. Nothing but the impossibility of Congress proceeding a
single step in my absence, presents an insuperable bar. Mr. Eppes goes
off, and, I hope, will find you in a convalescent state. Next to the
desire that it may be so, is that of being speedily informed and of
being relieved from the terrible anxiety in which I shall be till I hear
from you. God bless you, my ever dear daughter, and preserve you safe to
the blessing of us all.”
But she was not preserved: frail and sensitive, her nervous system gave
way, and she died on the 17th of April, little more than a month after
her father’s letter was written, leaving to her sister’s care her
children, the youngest of whom was a young infant. Her niece in writing
of her some years later said:—“She had been delicate and something of an
invalid, if I remember right, for some years. She was carried to
Monticello from her home in a litter borne by men. The distance was
perhaps four miles, and she bore the removal well. After this, however,
she continued as before steadily to decline. She was taken out when the
weather permitted, and carried around the lawn in a carriage, I think
drawn by men, and I remember following the carriage over the smooth
green turf. How long she lived I do not recollect, but it could have
been but a short time. One morning I heard that my aunt was dying; I
crept softly from my nursery to her chamber door, and being alarmed by
her short, hard breathing, ran away again. I have a distinct
recollection of confusion and dismay in the household. I did not see my
mother. By-and-by one of the female servants came running in where I was
with other persons, to say that Mrs. Eppes was dead. The day passed I do
not know how. Late in the afternoon I was taken to the death-chamber.
The body was covered with a white cloth, over which had been strewn a
profusion of flowers. A day or two after, I followed the coffin to the
burying-ground on the mountain side, and saw it consigned to the earth,
where it has lain undisturbed for more than fifty years.
“My mother has told me that on the day of her sister’s death, she left
her father alone for some hours. He then sent for her, and she found him
with the Bible in his hands. He who has been so often and so harshly
accused of unbelief, he, in his hour of intense affliction, sought and
found consolation in the sacred volume. The Comforter was there for his
true heart and devout spirit, even though his faith might not be what
the world called orthodox.
“There was something very touching in the sight of this once beautiful
and still lovely young woman, fading away just as the spring was coming
on with its buds and blossoms—nature reviving as she was sinking and
closing her eyes on all that she loved best in life. She perished not in
autumn with the flowers, but as they were opening to the sun and air in
all the freshness of spring. I think the weather was fine, for over my
own recollection of these times there is a soft, dreamy sort of haze,
such as wraps the earth in warm, dewy, spring-time.
“You know enough of my aunt’s early history to be aware that she did not
accompany her father, as my mother did, when he first went to France.
She joined him, I think, only about two years before his return, and was
placed in the same convent where my mother received her education. Here
she went by the name of Mademoiselle Polie. As a child she was called
Polly by her friends. It was on her way to Paris that she stayed a while
in London with Mrs. Adams, and there is a pleasing mention of her in
that lady’s published letters.
“I think the visit (not a very long one) made by my mother and aunt to
their father in Washington, must have been in the winter of 1802–3. My
aunt, I believe, was never there again; but after her death, about the
winter of 1805–6, my mother, with all her children, passed some time at
the President’s House. I remember that both my father and uncle Eppes
were then in Congress, but cannot say whether this was the case in
1802–3.”
Ever delighting in the society of his two children and deeply attached
to his home, Mr. Jefferson felt this blow with terrible anguish. Worthy
of so good a man’s affection, they were never so happy as in being with
their father, contributing to his comfort in numberless ways. They both
married cousins when quite young, but were never far from their
childhood’s home, and were always under his roof when he paid his
semi-annual visits there. Mrs. Randolph was a brilliant woman; and had
her tastes been less inclined to domestic life, she would have been a
renowned belle. Educated abroad and strengthened mentally by travel and
the society of the literary talent ever to be found about her father,
she became conversant with knowledge’s richest store, and surpassed most
of the women of her day in accomplishments. Though widely different in
other respects, there was much resemblance between the President and
Vice-President in the intensity of their love for their daughters.
Theodosia Burr and Martha Jefferson will be familiar names so long as
the history of this country, shall be among the things of earth. Both
intellectual companions of their only parents, both ardently attached to
fathers they deemed the wisest and greatest of earth—they have become
forever linked with the life and times of each, and covers for the one a
multitude of faults, and has made the other dear to his people. Both
were great men, adored by daughters gifted and good. Theodosia Burr has
thrown around her father’s name a romantic interest which veils many
infirmities, and adds lustre to the traits which in the eyes of the
world redeemed him.
Mrs. Adams, who had known Maria Jefferson and loved her when a child,
overcame the pride she had allowed to control her silent pen, and wrote
to Mr. Jefferson, awakening in his heart tender feelings of friendship
too long allowed to lie dormant. He replied that her former kindnesses
to his lost child made a deep impression on her mind, and that to the
last, on our meetings after long separations, “whether I had heard
lately of you,” and “how you did,” were among the earliest of her
inquiries. Mrs. Adams’ letter was as follows:
“QUINCY, _20th May, 1804_.
“Had you been no other than the private inhabitants of Monticello, I
should, ere this time, have addressed you with that sympathy which a
recent event has awakened in my bosom; but reasons of various kinds
withheld my pen, until the powerful feelings of my heart burst through
the restraint, and called upon me to shed the tear of sorrow over the
departed remains of your beloved and deserving daughter—an event which I
sincerely mourn.
“The attachment which I formed for her when you committed her to my
care, upon her arrival in a foreign land, under circumstances peculiarly
interesting, has remained with me to this hour: and the account of her
death, which I read in a late paper, recalled to my recollection the
tender scene of her separation from me, when, with the strongest
sensibility, she clung round my neck, and wet my bosom with her tears,
saying, ‘Oh! now I have learned to love you, why will they take me from
you?’
“It has been some time since I conceived that any event in this life
could call forth feelings of mutual sympathy. But I know how closely
entwined around a parent’s heart are those cords which bind the paternal
to the filial bosom; and, when snapped asunder, how agonizing the pangs.
I have tasted of the bitter cup, and bow with reverence and submission
before the great Dispenser of it, without whose permission and
overruling providence not a sparrow falls to the ground. That you may
derive comfort and consolation in this day of your sorrow and affliction
from that only source calculated to heal the wounded heart—a firm belief
in the being, perfection and attributes of God—is the sincere and ardent
wish of her who once took pleasure in subscribing herself your friend,
“ABIGAIL ADAMS.”
Mr. Jefferson was inaugurated President a second time on the 4th of
March, 1805, then in the sixty-second year of his age. The following
winter his only daughter, with all her children, passed most of the
season in Washington. She never made but two visits there; one with her
sister, the second year of his first term, and this last one in the
winter of 1805–6, after her sister’s death. Means of travel were not so
rapid or pleasant as now, and the laborious and extremely tedious
undertaking of travelling so far in a carriage was sufficient to dampen
the desire of living for a few alternate months with her father. The
unhealthy condition of Washington at that time, its low and marshy
condition, engendering disease, rendered it absolutely necessary for
those unacclimated to be out of its limits during the hot months of
summer. The increasing cares of children and the duties of Virginia
matrons also deterred Mrs. Randolph from becoming, as we must only
regret she did not, permanently located in the President’s House.
[Illustration:
MONTICELLO—THE HOME OF THOMAS JEFFERSON.
]
Her memory is so fragrant with the perfume of purity and saintly
sweetness, that it is a privilege to dwell and muse upon a theme so
elevating. The world has not yet developed a more harmonious, refined or
superior type of womanhood than the daughters of Virginia in the last
century. Reared in ease and plenty, taught the virtues that ennoble, and
valuing their good name no less than prizing their family lineage, they
were the most delightful specimens of womanhood ever extant. Most
particularly was Martha Jefferson of this class, whose image is fast
losing originality in the modern system of utilitarian education. Her
father’s and her husband’s great enemy, pronounced her “the sweetest
woman in Virginia;” and the assurance comes laden with the testimony of
many tongues, that her existence was one of genial sunshine and peace.
Are not such natures doubly blessed, first, in the happiness they secure
to themselves, and, secondly, in the blessing they are to those who walk
in the light of their example? With the retirement of Mr. Jefferson from
public life, came a new trouble in the shape of innumerable visitors,
and the seventeen years he lived at Monticello was one continued scene
of new faces and old friends. Even after the loss of property and
accumulated debts, he was compelled to entertain thoughtless crowds who
made pilgrimages to his shrine. Time and again he would go to an
adjoining estate to secure that rest and quiet so essential to his
health; but these visits were never of long duration, for he could not
consent to be separated from his daughter, even though accompanied by
his grandchildren. As the shadows began to darken round his earth-life,
and bankruptcy to hover over him, he turned with redoubled affection to
this idol, and she was strong and faithful to the last. Mother and
sister she had buried, and she was yet strong enough to see her husband
and father taken.
“There were few eminent men of our country who did not visit Mr.
Jefferson in his retirement, to say nothing of distinguished
foreigners.” But all visitors were not as agreeable as “eminent men.”
“There are a number of persons now living who have seen groups of utter
strangers, of both sexes, planted in the passage between his study and
dining-room, consulting their watches, and waiting for him to pass from
one to the other to his dinner, so that they could momentarily stare at
him. A female once punched through a window-pane of the house with her
parasol to get a better view of him. When sitting in the shade of his
porticoes to enjoy the coolness of the approaching evening, parties of
men and women would sometimes approach within a dozen yards, and gaze at
him point-blank until they had looked their fill, as they would have
gazed on a lion in a menagerie.”
Mrs. Randolph was “the apple of her father’s eye.” All his letters bear
witness to his affection, and all his life records this prominent
sentiment of his heart. A gentleman writing to him for his views on a
proper course of education for woman, he takes the opportunity of
complimenting her unconsciously. “A plan of female education,” he says,
“has never been a subject of systematic contemplation with me. It has
occupied my attention so far only as the education of my own daughters
occasionally required. Considering that they would be placed in a
country situation where little aid could be obtained from abroad, I
thought it essential to give them a solid education, which might enable
them—when become mothers—to educate their own daughters, and even to
direct the course for sons, should their fathers be lost, or incapable,
or inattentive.
“My surviving daughter accordingly, the mother of many daughters as well
as sons, has made their education the object of her life, and being a
better judge of the practical part than myself, it is with her aid and
that of one of her _élèves_, that I shall subjoin a catalogue of the
books for such a course of reading as we have practised.”
Again, in a letter to his grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph, he says:
“You kindly encourage me to keep up my spirits; but oppressed with
disease, debility, age and embarrassed affairs, this is difficult. For
myself, I should not regard a prostration of fortune; but I am
overwhelmed at the prospect of the situation in which I may leave my
family. My dear and beloved daughter, the cherished companion of my
early life, and nurse of my age, and her children, rendered as dear to
me as if my own, from having lived with me from their cradle, left in a
comfortless situation, hold up to me nothing but future gloom; and I
should not care were life to end with the line I am writing, were it not
that in the unhappy state of mind which your father’s misfortunes have
brought upon him, I may yet be of some avail to the family.”
Ex-President Jefferson died the 4th of July, 1826, and at nearly the
same hour passed away the spirit of John Adams. He lingered a little
behind Jefferson, and his last words, uttered in the failing
articulation of the dying, were: “Jefferson still survives.” Mrs.
Randolph left no written account of the scene. On the 2d of July, Mr.
Jefferson handed her a little casket. On opening it, after his death,
she found a paper on which he had written the lines of Moore,
commencing—
“It is not the tear at this moment shed
When the cold turf has just been lain o’er him”—
There is also a touching tribute to his daughter, declaring that while
he “goes to his fathers,” “the last pang of life” is in parting from
her; that “two seraphs” “long shrouded in death” (meaning doubtless his
wife and younger daughter) “await him;” that he will “bear them her
love.”
After this all is sadness. To satisfy creditors, all the property was
sold, and the proceeds did not fully meet the debts.
“When it became known that Monticello had gone, or must go out of the
hands of Mr. Jefferson’s family, and that his only child was left
without an independent provision, another exhibition of public feeling
took place. The Legislatures of South Carolina and Louisiana promptly
voted her $10,000 each, and the stocks they created for the purpose sold
for $21,800. Other plans were started in other States, which, had they
been carried out, would have embraced a liberal provision for Mr.
Jefferson’s descendants. But, as is usual on such occasions, the people
in each locality obtained exaggerated impressions of what was doing in
others, and slackened their own exertions until the feeling that
prompted them died away.”
Two years passed, and Mrs. Randolph was called upon to see her husband
die, and she of all her name remained to link the memory of her
ancestors with those of her descendants.
To her daughter, Mrs. Virginia Jefferson Trist, I am indebted for this
narrative of the closing eight years of Mrs. Randolph’s life:
“MY DEAR MRS. HOLLOWAY:
“I wish it were in my power to answer your inquiries more satisfactorily
than I am able to do. My recollections of my mother, at so early a
period of my life as the one referred to, are altogether childish and
imperfect. It is true, my very earliest recollections are connected with
a winter passed in the White House during my grandfather’s Presidency,
but they are so few and so scanty and childish, as they rise before me
in the mists of long past years, that really nothing worth offering you
suggests itself to my mind.
“My mother was born in September, 1772, and had therefore entered her
29th year when her father was elected President. She was then the mother
of five children, having married at the early age of seventeen. Thus
surrounded by a family of young children, she could not pass much of her
time in Washington; she did, however, spend two winters there, the first
in 1802–3, the second in 1805–6. Her health was very bad on the first of
these two occasions of her visiting her father. Having an abscess on her
lungs, she was advised by her physician to go to pass the winter in
Bermuda, and for this purpose left her home in Albemarle, Virginia, to
go as far as Washington in her travelling carriage—the only mode at that
day of making the journey of four days’ duration. During this journey
the abscess broke, and she felt so much relieved that her going to
Bermuda was no longer considered necessary, and she passed that winter
with her father. I believe my father was in Congress at that time. My
mother’s only sister, Marie Jefferson, then Mrs. John W. Eppes, was also
a member of her father’s family that winter, her husband being in
Congress. There was a difference of six years in the ages of the
sisters; my mother, who was the oldest, had accompanied her father to
France, where she was educated under his eyes. My aunt had afterward
followed them to Paris under the wing of Mrs. John Adams, in whose
correspondence mention is made of her. The three became thus reunited
only two years before their return home, after which she (my aunt) was
placed at school in Philadelphia. She grew up possessed of rare beauty
and loveliness of person as well as disposition; but her health was
delicate, and her natural modesty and timidity was so great as to make
her averse to society. Undervaluing her own personal advantages, she
regarded with the warmest admiration, as well as sisterly affection, her
sister’s more positive character and brilliant intellectual endowments.
My mother was not a beauty; her features were less regular than her
sister’s, her face owing its charms more to its expressiveness, beaming
as it ever was with kindness, good humor, gayety and wit. She was tall
and very graceful, notwithstanding a certain degree of embonpoint. Her
complexion naturally fair, her hair of a dark chestnut color, very long
and very abundant. I have always heard that her manners were uncommonly
attractive from their vivacity, amiability, and high breeding, and her
conversation was charming. These two sisters were the ladies of the
White House in 1802–3. My mother was very sociable and enjoyed society.
I remember hearing her mention a circumstance which seemed to illustrate
the natural difference of their characters. She said one day,
laughingly, ‘Marie, if I had your beauty, I should not feel so
indifferent as you do about it.’ My aunt looked vexed and pained, and
observed, ‘Compliments to a pretty face were indications that no
intellectual attractions existed in its possessor.’
“From their contemporary, Mrs. Madison, I have heard, that that winter
when the sisters were going together into society, although on entering
a room all eyes were turned on the younger, who became a centre of
attraction, particularly to the gentlemen, that by degrees my mother’s
vivacity and the charms of her conversation and manners drew around her
a circle of admirers who delighted in listening to her even more than in
looking at her beautiful sister. These two sisters lived in perfect
harmony, linked together by the warmest mutual affection, as well as
their common devotion to their father, whom both idolized.
“My mother’s second visit to her father was in the winter of 1805–6. She
had then lost her sister. My aunt left two children, Francis and Maria
Jefferson; the little girl was only a few months old and did not long
survive her mother. Francis passed that winter under my mother’s care,
his father being still in Congress. One of my brothers was born that
same winter; the first birth which took place in the White House. He was
called James Madison. Mrs. Madison was an intimate and much valued
friend of my mother’s, and her amiable, playful manners with children
attracted my sisters and myself and made her a great favorite with us.
Among my childish recollections is her ‘running away with us,’ as she
playfully expressed it, when she took us away with her in her carriage,
to give us a drive and then take us home with her to play with two of
her nieces near our ages, and lunch on cranberry tarts. My oldest
sister, Anne, completed her fifteenth year that winter, and was not yet
going into society; but my mother permitted her to go to a ball under
the care of a lady friend, who requested that my sister might go to her
house to dress and accompany her own daughter near her age to the ball.
My sister excited great admiration on that occasion. She had a
‘remarkably classic head,’ as I remember hearing an Italian artist
remark at Monticello upon seeing her there after she was the mother of
several children. Her hair was a beautiful auburn, and her complexion
had a delicate bloom very becoming to her, and with the freshness of
fifteen I can readily imagine how strikingly handsome she was. My
mother, accompanied by Mrs. Cutts—the mother of Gen. Richard D.
Cutts—went to the ball at a later hour. She was very short-sighted, and
seeing my sister on entering the ball-room she asked Mrs. Cutts, ‘Who is
that beautiful girl?’ Mrs. Cutts, much amused, answered, ‘Why, woman,
are you so unnatural a mother as not to recognize your own daughter?’
“My sister died many years ago; if she were now living, she could no
doubt tell much of what happened that winter in the White House. She
formed some pleasant acquaintances in Washington, and made some friends
with whom she corresponded for years. I have some recollections of the
house as it was before being burned by the British, and as it was
rebuilt on the same plan, I have since recognized parts of it most
familiar to my eyes. A lasting impression was made upon my memory by the
reception in one of the drawing-rooms, of the Tunisian Ambassador and
suite; the brilliantly lighted room, the odd appearance to my puzzled
senses of the rich Turkish dresses, and my alarm at receiving a kiss
from the Secretary of the Ambassador, whilst one of my sisters, just two
years old, whose Saxon complexion and golden hair made her a beautiful
picture, was honored by a kiss from the Ambassador, of which she has no
recollection. I heard of the elegant presents brought by them for my
mother and aunt, and which were publicly exhibited and sold. My mother
wished to purchase one of the shawls intended for her, but when Mrs.
Madison went to make the purchase she found that she had been
anticipated by another person. The talk about these presents could not,
of course, fail to greatly excite my childish curiosity, but my desire
to see them was not gratified. My grandfather did not allow them to be
brought to the President’s House, as it was then called—a name which, it
seems, was too plain English to suit modern notions of dignified
refinement, for it has been superseded by the more stately appellation
of ‘Executive Mansion.’
“From its being the cause of my disappointment in seeing those beautiful
specimens of Oriental luxury and taste, my grandfather’s strictness on
that occasion served to impress upon my mind, earlier than it otherwise
would have been impressed, a trait of his character which afterward
became as familiar to me, and as natural a part of himself, as the sound
of his voice—I mean his scrupulousness in conforming to the laws in all
things, great or small.
“To return to my mother, it is to that period that belongs a remark
which long afterward I was told had been made of her by the Marquis de
Yrugo, the Spanish Ambassador, that she was fitted to grace any court in
Europe. I was then too young to know and appreciate her as I afterward
came to do. I have never known any one who accomplished as much as she
did, making use of all she had been taught, in an education which fitted
her for the performance of the various duties which fell to her lot.
After my grandfather retired from public life, she became the mistress
of his house. My father visited his farm in the neighborhood of
Monticello daily, and during the busy season of harvest my mother always
stayed with him while it lasted. My mother educated her six daughters
unassisted by any one. During the summer months, the crowds of visitors
to my grandfather who filled the house and engrossed much of her time,
interrupted our studies and made us lose much precious time; but she had
the art of awakening an interest in what she taught us, and exciting a
desire for improvement, which made us make the most of the quiet winter
months which she could devote to us. She was a good musician, and was
fond of gardening; she superintended personally all household matters,
and in the winter evenings when my grandfather was seated in his
arm-chair in the chimney corner, a small candle-stand was placed between
them, and they spent the evenings reading. She had all the tastes which
made country life agreeable, without losing her relish for the
attractions of town life. Such was my mother as I knew her, and I
remember her most perfectly. She was the mother of twelve children,
eleven of whom lived to grow up.
“My youngest sister’s name was Septimia. She was my mother’s seventh
daughter, and her name was the occasion of a poetic compliment to my
mother from an old Portuguese gentleman, the Abbé Correa de Serra, who
visited my grandfather every year during his long residence in
Philadelphia. He was for several years Portuguese Ambassador to the
United States. His learning, his interesting and instructive
conversation, the amiable, child-like simplicity of his character and
manners, made this old philosopher alike attractive to the older and
younger members of the family. His visits were enjoyed by us all, from
my grandfather and mother down to the youngest child of the house, only
two years old. In allusion to her name of Septimia, he said to my
mother, ‘Your daughters, Mrs. Randolph, are like the Pleiades; they are
called seven, but six only are seen.’ The second daughter died an
infant.
“My mother survived her father upward of ten years, and her husband
about eight years; during that period losing a grown son, James Madison
Randolph, born in the President’s House.
“In the autumn after my grandfather’s death, she went to Boston, and
passed the winter in the house of her son-in-law, Mr. Joseph Coolidge,
of that city, having with her the two youngest children, Septimia and
George Wythe, who went to day-schools during that winter. Septimia was
the only one of her daughters who ever went to school at all; my other
sisters and myself having our education conducted by our mother; she
being our only teacher, assisted somewhat by her father. The following
summer she accompanied my sister, Mrs. Coolidge, to Cambridge, where the
two children again attended day-schools. My eldest brother, Mr.
Jefferson Randolph, was his grandfather’s executor; he had been in all
business affairs the staff of his declining years, and afterward became
a father to his younger brothers. The sale of furniture, pictures, and
other movables at Monticello, took place the winter following my
grandfather’s death, after my mother’s departure for Boston. The rest of
the family passed that winter in my brother’s house, then the ensuing
summer at Monticello, a purchaser for which could not be found until two
years or more after. My mother remained in Cambridge the second winter,
as a boarder, with her two children, in the family of Mr. Stearns,
law-professor of Harvard College, to whose excellent family she became
much attached.
“My sister Cornelia went to join her in Cambridge, and the two were
alternately in Boston and Cambridge, the one with Mrs. Coolidge, and the
other with the children.
“In the spring of 1828, my mother returned to Monticello, accompanied by
Cornelia and Septimia, leaving my brother at a boarding-school in the
country near Cambridge. This being their first separation, it was felt
most acutely on both sides, for he, just ten years old, was an unusually
sensitive and warm-hearted boy, and as the ‘youngling of her flock,’ was
the darling of her heart. He was to remain behind among strangers,
whilst his mother, the object of his passionate fondness and devoted
attachment, was to return without him to that dear old home he so well
remembered and loved. My mother, on her return to Monticello after an
absence of eighteen months, found my father very ill. He had been a part
of the previous winter in Georgia, engaged as commissioner on the part
of the United States in establishing a boundary line between that State
and Florida. His letters spoke of his enjoying the climate, and he
enjoyed also the opportunities which he there found of gratifying his
fondness for botanical studies; but he returned home in very bad health,
and after a few months of severe suffering, died on the 20th of June,
1828, in his sixtieth year. Monticello was sold the following winter. My
mother took leave of her beloved home in December—that home which had
been the scene of her happiest years, where she had enjoyed her dear
father’s society, and been the solace of his age; where her children had
been, most of them, born and grown up around her, and where her own
happy childhood had been passed before the death of her mother.
“She removed with her family to the house of her son Jefferson. My
mother lived a year with my brother’s family, during which time she
formed a plan of keeping a school for young ladies, assisted by her
unmarried daughters, who were to be teachers under her superintendence.
This plan was, however, rendered unnecessary by the donations so
generously made her by the States of South Carolina and Louisiana, of
$10,000 each. About this time, also, Mr. Clay, then Secretary of State,
prompted by the wish to do something in aid of Mr. Jefferson’s daughter,
offered to my husband, who had just then commenced the practice of the
law, one of the higher clerkships in the State Department, with a salary
of $1,400. This offer was accepted by him, with the understanding that
my mother and sisters would go with us to live in Washington as one
family. In the autumn of 1829, we bade adieu to our native mountains,
and removed to Washington. We occupied a small house with a pretty
garden, pleasantly situated, where we lived together, forming one
family, consisting of seven grown persons and four children, the two
youngest being my own, and the other two orphans of my eldest sister,
who had been taken by their grandmother to her home at Monticello, while
her father was still living.
“Upon her arrival in Washington, my mother was visited by everybody, and
received the most marked attentions. The President and the Heads of
Departments called upon her; the lady of the White House of that day,
Mrs. Donelson, and the wives of the cabinet ministers, laid aside
etiquette, and paid her the respect of a first call.
“General Jackson, during the whole time of her residence in Washington,
never omitted making her a visit once a year, accompanied usually by the
Secretary of State. As a tribute to her father’s memory, these marks of
respect were peculiarly gratifying. Her disposition was naturally
cheerful and social, though she was not dependent on society for
happiness. Her habits of regular occupation, possessing as she did
various tastes, the cultivation of which afforded her variety, and
increased her interest in life; and surrounded as she was by a large,
cheerful family circle, she lived contentedly in the country, even
during the winters at Monticello, which were seldom enlivened by
visitors. That season was devoted principally to the education of her
children; the constant crowds of visitors during the rest of the year
leaving her very little time not engrossed by household cares, arising
from the duties of hospitality.
“During the years which she passed in Washington, she resumed many of
her old occupations; her taste for flowers revived, and good music
afforded her enjoyment, although she no longer played much herself after
my grandfather’s death. Her habits of reading she never lost, and she
always began the day with some chapter of the New Testament. She was an
early riser in summer and in winter. She liked an east window in her
bedroom, because it enabled her to read in bed before the household were
stirring. Every year she visited alternately my elder brother at his
residence near Monticello, in the southwest mountains of Virginia, or my
sister, Mrs. Joseph Coolidge, in Boston.
“In the spring of 1831 she was called on to make a painful sacrifice,
such as mothers only can appreciate—she gave her consent to George’s
entering the navy. After passing a winter with her in Washington, he had
entered a school near the University of Virginia, when a midshipman’s
warrant was procured for him. At his boarding-school in Massachusetts,
his conduct had gained for him the respect, confidence, and good-will of
all, teachers and associates; but he was yet a mere child, and his
mother’s heart sickened at the thought of his going forth alone to
encounter the naval perils, as well as brave the hardships of a
sea-faring life. She had, however, the fortitude to approve of what was
judged best for his future, and her sorrow was borne with the patient
and cheerful resignation which belonged to her character.
“The recollection of that parting as a trial for her stirs up, even at
this distance of time, the long dormant feelings which I thought my last
tear had been shed for. You, dear madam, will excuse this revival of
incidents not required for your sketch, and will use such things only as
may have an interest for the public. His first cruise lasted eighteen
months, in the U. S. ship John Adams, which went up the Mediterranean as
far as Constantinople; and one of its incidents was the breaking out of
the cholera on board. He got back to us safely, however, and my mother
was rewarded for her sufferings by the encomiums elicited by his conduct
and character from the officers under whom he had served, and their
predictions as to the useful and honorable career which lay before him.
She continued to hear him highly spoken of, and to learn that he was
respected by all who knew him, and that his leisure hours on board the
ship were devoted to reading and study. In the interval between his
cruises, he was to stay with her in Washington.
“In the second year of her residence there, she had the happiness of
having my brother Lewis, another of her younger children, added to her
family. He obtained a clerkship, which afforded him a post while he was
qualifying himself for the practice of the law, and he remained with us
until his marriage, which took place a few years later. He was highly
gifted, remarkably handsome, and shone in the social circle, but never
formed one of the idle throng always to be found in cities. Very
domestic in his tastes and habits, his leisure hours were divided
between his professional studies and associates belonging to the circle
in which his family moved. He married Miss Martin, a niece of Mrs.
Donelson, with whom he became acquainted at the ‘White House,’ where she
was staying. He then moved to the young State of Arkansas, where a
promising career at the bar was cut short by an early death from
congestive fever, less than a year after his mother’s death.
“In the summer of 1832, my mother parted with the orphan granddaughter,
Ellen Bankhead, whom she had adopted, and who, being then married to Mr.
John Carter, of Albemarle, returned to live on his estate in his native
mountains, and among the scenes of her childhood. Willie, her little
orphan brother, was about that time claimed by his paternal grandfather,
and placed at a day-school near him. In the following spring, Mr. Trist
purchased a house into which we all moved. I think my mother felt more
at home in this pleasant, new abode than she had ever done since leaving
Monticello. The house had been built by Mr. Richard Rush, our Minister
to England for many years, and when we first moved to Washington, was
occupied by this gentleman and his lovely wife and family. It was a
spacious dwelling, admirably planned and built, with a large garden and
out-buildings, the whole enclosed by a high brick wall. There the last
three years of my mother’s life were spent, although her death took
place suddenly at Edgehill, my brother’s residence in Virginia.
“The winter preceding had been marked by the death of my brother, James
Madison Randolph, who had just completed his 27th year. He was buried at
Monticello on a cold day in January. I remember the negroes assembled
there, and made a fire to keep them warm while they waited for the
procession which followed him to his early grave, who, they said, was
the ‘black man’s friend,’ and would have shared his last cent with one
of them. At the time of our removal to that pleasant new home, my
brother-in-law, Mr. Joseph Coolidge, of Boston, having gone to China,
was engaged in business in Canton; his family remaining in Boston. In
the summer of 1834, and during the absence of her husband, my sister
paid us a visit, passing the summer in Virginia at my brother’s, and the
following winter with us in Washington. On that occasion, my mother had
all her daughters with her for the last time; and Lewis, yet unmarried,
was still living with her. The season was remarkable for its severity,
the thermometer falling so low as 16° below zero, on a gallery with a
southern exposure of our house, and so late even as the 1st day of
March, stood at zero—the snow a foot deep in the garden. Soon after the
purchase of that house, Mr. Trist, whose health had been very delicate,
was appointed by General Jackson to be United States Consul at Havana,
which post had become vacant by the death of Mr. Shaler, long
distinguished as our Consul at Algiers. He proceeded there alone, and in
the summer returned to Washington. After remaining with us a few months,
he again went to Havana alone to pass one more winter there, and then
return to take charge of the office of First Comptroller of the
Treasury, which General Jackson had tendered to him. He was still in
Havana in the spring of 1835, when my brother Lewis left us to be
married in Tennessee, and Mr. Coolidge arrived from China and came
immediately to Washington, where his wife and family were still staying
with us. He found my mother slowly recovering from a very severe
illness, considered by our friend and physician, Dr. Hall, as a
‘breaking up of her constitution,’ and which was regarded by my
brothers, Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin (who repaired from their homes
in Virginia to their mother’s bedside), as seriously alarming. She,
however, recovered to a certain point, but never perfectly. Mr. Coolidge
and my sister with their children returned to Boston, whilst my mother
was to follow them as soon as she was able to travel. Accordingly, when
her strength became sufficiently restored, she made the journey, going
from Washington to Baltimore by steamer down the Potomac and up the
Chesapeake Bay, she not having strength for the stagecoach ride of forty
miles, then the only direct public conveyance between the two cities. My
sister Mary accompanied her, and she reached Boston safely. Mr. Trist
returned from Havana in August after my mother’s departure. He had then
decided, most reluctantly yielding to the advice of his physician, to
prolong his residence in Havana: his continuance in that climate for
several years being judged essential to his recovery from an affection
of the throat, of which there were at that period a number of fatal
cases. That winter, instead of accompanying my husband on his return to
Havana, as I should have wished, I had to take up my abode in
Philadelphia to be near our little mute son, Thomas Jefferson, whom I
entered—the youngest pupil there—as a boarder at the institution for
deaf-mutes. This last winter of her life my mother passed in Boston with
but two of her children near her: Mrs. Coolidge and Mary—the others
scattered far away from her, fortunately for their peace of mind
unconscious how soon the last parting was to come. My own departure for
Havana the following autumn was decided on, but dreaded by all—still
nearer was that other parting scene at which we were to meet no more on
earth.
“In the month of May, 1836, my mother left Boston for Virginia,
accompanied by my sister Mary. A final adieu it proved to her daughter,
Mrs. Coolidge—her favorite child, it was generally thought, but we never
felt jealous of her. Our family was, I think, a very united one. On her
journey south, she passed some weeks in Philadelphia on a visit to her
sister-in-law, Mrs. Hackley, the mother of Mrs. Cutts. I was still in
Philadelphia with my little deaf-mute boy, and it was on that occasion
that this precious portrait was secured by my prevailing on her to sit
to Mr. Sully, then considered the best female portrait painter in our
country. Twenty years previously, Mr. Sully had passed some time as a
guest at Monticello, having been employed to make a portrait of my
grandfather for the Military Academy at West Point. Since that time my
mother had changed very much. Mr. Sully had then found her living with
her dear father in that happy home, surrounded by a large, cheerful
family circle unbroken by death. But in the long interval, many of its
members had been taken away, and grief had left its traces not less
plainly stamped upon her face than age. She was thinner and more feeble
than I had ever seen her—it was just six months before her death. I
accompanied her to Mr. Sully’s studio for her first sitting, and as she
took her seat before him she said playfully: ‘Mr. Sully, I shall never
forgive you if you paint me with wrinkles.’ I quickly interposed,—‘Paint
her just as she is, if you please, Mr. Sully: the picture is for me.’ He
said, ‘I shall paint you, Mrs. Randolph, as I remember you twenty years
ago.’ He approved of her dress, particularly a large cape worn by old
ladies, and requested her not to make any change in it. The picture does
represent her twenty years younger than when she sat to him, but it
failed to restore the embonpoint, and especially the expression of
health, and cheerful, even joyous, vivacity, which her countenance then
habitually wore. While she was sitting for her portrait, her youngest
daughter, Septimia, arrived by sea from Pensacola, where she had been
taken by Mr. Trist to pass the winter with some friends, soon after
which my mother pursued her journey to Virginia, accompanied by Mary and
Septimia.
“Mr. Trist returned in August, and I set out with him in September for
Virginia to take leave of my friends. On our arrival at Washington,
finding General Jackson there alone in the White House—soon to set out
for Tennessee, where his family had preceded him—the General expressed a
wish for my husband’s company during the days he might still be detained
there. This being acceded to, I pursued my journey alone, little
dreaming that this detention of a few days was to deprive my husband of
ever again seeing my mother, between whom and himself the warmest
attachment existed. On reaching Edgehill, I found them all assembled
under my brother’s roof, soon to travel together northward again before
the separation so dreaded by us all. My mother and Mary were to pass the
winter with Mrs. Coolidge, in Boston, whilst Cornelia and Septimia were
to accompany me to Havana. I found my mother still looking very delicate
and troubled with sore throat, for which a gargle had been prescribed by
my brother, Dr. Benjamin F. Randolph. She complained of a vertigo when
she threw back her head in using it. The day appointed for our departure
being close at hand, she had exerted herself more than usual in packing
a trunk; the following day she had a sick-headache and kept her bed. She
had all her life been subject to these headaches, but within the last
few years had ceased to have them. One of my sisters expressed the hope
that their recurrence might be a favorable symptom, a proof of returning
vigor, as she had not had anything of the sort since her illness
eighteen months before in Washington. We watched by her bedside, though
feeling no alarm at an affection which we had always been accustomed to
see her suffer with for several days at a time. One of my sisters slept
in the room with her, and before parting with her for the night, I gave
my mother some arrow-root. Early next morning I was called and told she
was worse. I hurried to her bedside, but was too late to be recognized,
a blue shade passed over the beloved face; it was gone and she lay as in
sleep, but life had gone too. It was apoplexy. She died on the 10th of
October, 1836, having just completed her sixty-fourth year on the 27th
of September, ten years and three months after her father, and was laid
by his side in the graveyard at Monticello.”
[Illustration: Drawn by J. Herring after J. Wood. Engraved by J. F. E.
Prudhomme. D. P. Madison]
IV.
DOROTHY P. MADISON.
Washington Irving, in one of his letters, has given an amusing account
of his troubles in Washington, in preparing to attend a levee given by
President Madison. After a ludicrous description of his vexations, he
says, he finally emerged into the blazing splendor of Mrs. Madison’s
drawing-room. Here he was most graciously received, and found a crowded
collection of great and little men, of ugly and old women, and beautiful
young ones. Mrs. Madison, he adds, was a fine, pretty buxom dame, who
had a smile and a pleasant word for everybody. Her sisters, Mrs. Cutts
and Mrs. Washington, were also present on this occasion, and looked
“like the merry wives of Windsor.”
Dorothy Payne, the second child of John and Mary Coles Payne, was born
the 20th of May, 1772. Her mother was a daughter of William Coles, Esq.,
of Coles Hill; and was a lady of pleasing social manners. The family
were Virginians, and though Mrs. Madison was born in the State of North
Carolina, she ever prided herself on a title so dear to all its
possessors: that of being a daughter of the old commonwealth. Her
parents removed to Philadelphia when she was quite young, and joined the
Society of Friends at that place. Here their little daughter was reared
according to the strict system of the society, and by example and
precept taught to ignore all those graceful accomplishments deemed so
necessary in the formation of a woman’s education. Attired in the
close-fitting dress of her order, she would demurely attend to the
duties imposed upon her, and the wonderful undertone of sweetness in her
character kept the brow serene, and the heart ever bright and hopeful.
Hers was a sunny, elastic nature, even as a child; and if she was not
permitted to learn the worldly arts she desired, her disposition was not
soured by these restrictions, and the inner graces which afterward made
her famous, blossomed and bloomed in native harmony. Nothing could
conceal her beautiful character. Nor could the quaint bonnet of the
Friends hide her sparkling eyes and perfectly rounded features from the
admiring gaze of her young acquaintances. At the age of nineteen she was
married to John Todd, a rising young lawyer of Philadelphia and a member
of the Society of Friends. Her father had manumitted his slaves when he
moved to the city, and Miss Payne was accustomed to a life of simplicity
and plentifulness, but never to even comparative wealth. Nor was she
remarkable for her literary abilities or acquired attainments; but her
warm heart beamed goodness from her expressive lips and lent a
fascination to her frank, earnest face. After her union with Mr. Todd,
her time was spent in her modest home according to the secluded manner
of her sect, and during her short married life she pursued the even
tenor of her quiet way, unconscious of her rapidly unfolding beauty, or
of the admiration it was exciting. Soon she was left a widow with an
infant son, and made her home with her widowed mother.
The personal charms of the young widow, united as they were, with
manners cordial, frank and gay, excited the admiration and awakened the
kind feelings of all who came within their influence, and unaided by the
extrinsic and accidental advantages of fortune or fashion, she became a
general favorite, and the object not only of attention, but of serious
and devoted attachment.
In October, 1794, Mrs. Todd was married to Mr. Madison, then one of the
most talented members of Congress, a statesman of wealth and social
position, and withal a great and good man. She had been a widow less
than a year, and was at the time of her second marriage in the
twenty-third year of her age. The ceremony was performed at “Harewood,”
Jefferson county, Virginia, the residence of her younger sister, Lucy,
the wife of George Steptoe Washington. From this time forward she lived
at “Montpelier,” the rural home of Mr. Madison, until he was called
again to public life. It was at this time of her life that she developed
the loveliest traits of her noble character. Placed in a position where
she could command resources, the warmth and generosity of her nature was
displayed, not in lavish personal expenditures, but in dispensing the
bounties bestowed upon her to all who came as suppliants, and in giving
to her widowed mother and orphaned sisters a home. The blessings of her
kindred, and the fond love of her husband, gladdened these, the first
years of her married life, and her relatives and friends were made
partakers of her abundance, while the tender attentions of Mr. Madison
to her aged mother filled her heart to repletion. Had she not been
placed in a position harmonious to her nature, it is probable that her
days would have been spent in indifferent adherence to a dull routine,
and the rills of her heart which bubbled and sang so gleefully in the
summer of her content, never been discovered beneath the weight of
circumstances. Fortunately hers was a disposition to rightfully
appreciate the gifts of fortune and social consideration, and in
accepting her bright future prospects, she determined to nourish the
smothered generosity of her soul. Hitherto her lot had been
circumscribed and the charitable desires of her heart been restrained;
but when the power was given her to do good, she filled the measure of
her life with the benedictions of humanity, and reigned in the
affections of her friends without a rival.
Mr. Jefferson appointed Mr. Madison Secretary of State in 1801, and in
April of that year he removed with his family to Washington. Here her
position was in perfect accordance with her disposition, and her house
was a radiating point for every acquaintance. The great secret of her
success lay in the innocence which dwelt in her noble nature; and this
nobleness of innocence underlaid the dignity and high-mindedness which
attested an elevated nature. She drank the wine of human existence
without the lees, and inhaled the perpetual breath of summer, even after
the snows of winter had clogged the dull course of life. She was gifted
with that which was better than Ithuriel’s spear, whose touch reveals
the beauty which existed in everything, for she was humble-hearted,
tolerant and sincere. Entirely free from malignant cavil, her
instinctive sympathy with the good and beautiful led her to seek it in
everything around her, and her life, if not devoted to the higher
cultivation of the mind, developed the sunny brightness of her heart.
The power of adaptiveness was a live-giving principle in Mrs. Madison’s
nature. With a desire to please, and a willingness to be pleased, she
was popular in society, and was to her husband a support and friend.
Washington was little more than a wilderness, when, in the spring, she
commenced life there as the wife of a cabinet officer. The elements
which combined to form the society of the Capital were various, and
difficult to harmonize, and her situation was a delicate one to fill;
yet she was loved by all parties, and embittered politicians who never
met save at her hospitable board, there forgot “the thorns of public
controversy under the roses of private cheerfulness.” In those days
steamboats were just beginning, railroads unknown, stage-coaches
extremely inconvenient, national, indeed even turnpike roads were very
rare, and the journeys were mostly performed in the saddle. The daughter
of one of the senators, who wished to enjoy the gayeties of the Capital,
accompanied her father five hundred miles on horseback. The wife of
another member not only rode fifteen hundred miles on horseback, but
passed through several Indian settlements, sleeping for many nights in a
tent in the woods. Mrs. Madison herself had travelled from her Virginia
home by easy stages, cumbered with household furniture, and stopping on
the road to visit relatives; occupying what seems to us at this day an
incredible length of time to perform such a journey. Her house, after
the President’s, was the resort of most company, and the cordial manners
of the hostess lent a peculiar charm to the frequent parties there
assembled.
Political feuds ran high, and party spirit was more virulent than ever
before experienced. Washington’s administration had been a success, and
in the eyes of the public, he was not included in any party, but was
above them all. Yet he placed himself, when the question was of a
political order, under the banner of the federal party, and was the
declared advocate of the unity and force of the central power. He
insured its triumph during his two terms, and let his mantle descend
upon one of his most attached friends. The democratic party, desiring
the rule of the majority, opposed to the preponderance of the higher
classes, and to aristocratic tendencies, overcame the successor of
Washington, who was defeated by Mr. Jefferson, the leader of the
opposition. At the commencement of this era, Mrs. Madison appeared upon
the scene, and gave to her husband that support which enhanced his
popularity as a public man, and made his house the most attractive place
of resort in the city. During his eight years’ life as Secretary of
State, she dispensed with no niggard hand the abundant wealth she
rightly prized, and the poor of the district loved her name as a
household deity.
In 1810, Mr. Madison was elected President, and after Mr. Jefferson left
the city, he removed to the White House. Under the former
administration, Mrs. Madison had, during the absences of Mr. Jefferson’s
daughters, presided at the receptions and levees, and was in every
particular fitted to adorn her position as hostess of the mansion she
was called to preside over. Every one in Washington felt that her
watchful care and friendly interest would be in nowise diminished by her
advancement to a higher position; and the magical effects of her
snuff-box were as potent in one capacity as another. The forms and
ceremonials which had rendered the drawing-rooms of Mrs. Washington and
Mrs. Adams dull and tedious, were laid aside, and no kind of stiffness
was permitted. Old friends were not forgotten, nor new ones courted; but
mild and genial to all, each person felt himself the object of special
attention, and all left her presence pleased and gratified with her
urbanity and refinement.
Possessing a most retentive memory, she never miscalled a name, or
forgot the slightest incident connected with the personal history of any
one; and therefore impressed each individual with the idea of their
importance in her esteem. Mrs. Madison’s sole aim was to be popular and
render her husband’s administration brilliant and successful. Her field
was the parlor; and with the view of reigning supreme there, she bent
the energies of her mind to the one idea of accomplishment. In her
thirty-seventh year she entered the White House. Still youthful in
appearance, denied the cares of maternity, which destroy the bloom of
beauty on the delicate faces of American women, she assumed her
agreeable position with no encumbrances, no crosses, in perfect health,
the possessor of great beauty of feature and form, and eminently happy
in the sincere regard of her husband. Contentment crowned her lot with
happiness, and the first four years of her life there must have been one
continued pleasure.
With all her appreciation of admiration, she was not extravagant; her
house, during the time of Mr. Jefferson’s term, was very plainly
furnished, and in no way elegant. Like most Virginians, she delighted in
company, and her home was the most hospitable abode in Washington. Her
table was her pride; and the multiplicity of dishes, and their size, was
a subject of ridicule to a foreign minister, who observed “that it was
more like a harvest-home supper, than the entertainment of a Secretary
of State.” She heard of this and similar remarks, and only observed with
a smile, “that she thought abundance was preferable to elegance; that
circumstances formed customs, and customs formed taste; and as the
profusion so repugnant to foreign customs arose from the happy
circumstance of the superabundance and prosperity of our country, she
did not hesitate to sacrifice the delicacy of European taste for the
less elegant, but more liberal fashion of Virginia.” But this time of
prosperity was doomed, and war insatiate was already treading upon the
shores of the Atlantic. Mr. Madison, the peace-loving, humane Executive,
was compelled to declare war with Great Britain; and after a time its
actual presence was felt at the National Capital. June, 1812, is
memorable as the second appeal of the United States to arms, to assert
once more the rights of its freemen; and for three years its fierceness
was felt from Canada to New Orleans, and over the blue waters of the
oceans of the world.
“Generous British sentiments revolted at the destruction of the American
Capital: which might not have been branded with universal infamy if
confined to navy yards, warlike implements, vessels of war, and even
private rope-walks, if the enormity had stopped there. But no warfare
can satisfy its abominable lust with impunity on libraries, public and
private, halls of legislation, residences of magistrates, buildings of
civil government, objects of art, seats of peace, and embodiments of
rational patriotic pride. The day before the fall of Washington was one
of extreme alarm: the Secretary of State wrote to the President: ‘The
enemy are advanced six miles on the road to the wood-yard, and our
troops are retreating, you had better remove the records.’ Then
commenced the panic which was destined to grow more general the coming
day. Tuesday night every clerk was busy packing and aiding in the
removal of valuables. Coarse linen bags were provided, and late in the
evening, after all the work was over, and the bags were hanging round
the room, ready at a moment’s warning to be moved, Mr. Pleasanton, one
of the clerks, procured conveyances, and crossing the Potomac, deposited
them in a mill three miles off. But fearing for their safety, he
determined to go farther into the interior, and the next night slept at
Leesburg, a small town thirty-five miles from Washington. The light that
shone against the cloudless sky revealed the fate of the city, and the
doom of his charge had they delayed. Amongst the documents were the
original Declaration of Independence, the Federal Constitution, and
General Washington’s commission as Commander-in-chief of the Army of the
Revolution, which he relinquished when he resigned it at Annapolis
(found among the rubbish of a garret). Scarcely had the wagon that bore
the papers crossed the wooden bridge of the Potomac, than crowds of
flying fugitives, men, women and children, pressed upon it in such
numbers as to render the threatened danger almost imminent. The
frightened multitude swayed to and fro, seeking means of escape till
night closed the horrible drama; then upon Capitol Hill appeared the
red-coated soldiery of the British army. The sun sank beneath the golden
sheen of fleecy clouds that floated softly over the southern horizon,
but the going down of the king of day in nowise relieved the atmosphere.
Dust and heat were intolerable, and a rumor that the water was poisoned
rendered the sufferings of the weary soldiers painful in the extreme.
For the seventh time that day a retreat was commanded, and the city
troops, mortified and enraged, refused to obey. Back from the city to
the heights of Georgetown was the order; but how could they leave their
families, their homes and property, and march by those they were sworn
to protect! Down the long, broad, and solitary avenue, past the
President’s now deserted house, through Georgetown, and some as far as
Tenlytown, the disorganized, demoralized remnant of the army strayed,
and slept on the ground, lighted up by the fiery red glare from the
burning buildings in Washington. All night they lay alarmed and
distressed, while but few could steal a moment’s repose. The bursting
shells in the navy yard were heard for miles, and each boom was a knell
to the agonizing hearts, who knew not where their helpless ones were in
this hour of horrors. When the British marched slowly into the
wilderness city, by the lurid light that shot up from the blazing
capitol, the population had dwindled down to a few stragglers and the
slaves of the absent residents. The houses, scattered over a large
space, were shut, and no sign of life was visible. The President had
crossed the Potomac early in the afternoon, and Mrs. Madison had
followed in another direction. The bayonets of the British guard gleamed
as they filed down the avenue, and the fulminations from the navy yard
saluted them as they passed. Nothing but the prayers and entreaties of
the ladies, and the expostulations of the nearest residents, deterred
the British General Ross from blowing up the Capitol; but he ordered it
to be fired at every point, and many houses near it were consumed. A
house hard by, owned by General Washington, was destroyed, which, in
justice to human nature be it said, the General regretted. Not so the
Admiral, who ordered the troops to fire a volley in the windows of the
Capitol, and then entered to plunder. I have, indeed, to this hour (said
Mr. Richard Rush, in 1855), the vivid impression upon my eye of columns
of flame and smoke ascending throughout the night of the 24th of August
from the Capitol, President’s house, and other public edifices, as the
whole were on fire, some burning slowly, others with bursts of flame and
sparks mounting high up in the dark horizon. This never can be forgotten
by me, as I accompanied out of the city, on that memorable night, in
1814, President Madison, Mr. Jones, then Secretary of the Navy, General
Mason, of Anacostia Island, Mr. Charles Carroll, of Bellevue, and Mr.
Tench Ringgold. If at intervals the dismal sight was lost to our view,
we got it again from some hill-top or eminence where we paused to look
at it.”
It was among the stories when Congress met near the ruins three weeks
afterward, that the Admiral in a strain of coarse levity, mounting the
Speaker’s chair, put the question, “Shall this harbor of Yankee
democracy be burned?” and when the mock resolution was declared
unanimous, it was carried into effect by heaping combustibles under the
furniture. The temporary wooden structure, connecting the two wings,
readily kindled. Doors, chairs, the library and its contents, in an
upper room of the Senate-wing, everything that would take fire, soon
disappeared in sheets of flame, illuminating and consternating the
environs for thirty miles around, whence the conflagration was visible.
Through “the eternal Pennsylvania Avenue,” the Admiral and General led
their elated troops, where but a few hours before the flying, scattered
Americans, dismayed, ashamed, and disgusted, had wended their sorrowing
way. The Capitol behind them was wrapt in its winding robes of flame,
and on through the darkness they passed to that other house of the
nation.
An aged lady lived in the nearest residence to the Presidential Mansion,
and here the ruffianly Cockburn and the quiet, sad General Ross halted
and ordered supper, which they ate by the light of the burning
buildings. A letter written by Mrs. Madison to her sister at Mount
Vernon, gives us an insight into her feelings, at this time of trial and
danger.
“TUESDAY, _August 23d, 1814_.
“DEAR SISTER:—My husband left me yesterday morning to join General
Winder. He inquired anxiously whether I had courage or firmness to
remain in the President’s House until his return, on the morrow or
succeeding day, and on my assurance that I had no fear but for him and
the success of our army, he left me, beseeching me to take care of
myself, and of the Cabinet papers, public and private. I have since
received two dispatches from him written with a pencil; the last is
alarming, because he desires that I should be ready at a moment’s
warning to enter my carriage and leave the city; that the enemy seemed
stronger than had been reported, and that it might happen that they
would reach the city with intention to destroy it. * * * I am
accordingly ready; I have pressed as many Cabinet papers into trunks as
to fill one carriage; our private property must be sacrificed, as it is
impossible to procure wagons for its transportation. I am determined not
to go myself, until I see Mr. Madison safe and he can accompany me—as I
hear of much hostility toward him. * * * Disaffection stalks around us.
* * My friends and acquaintances are all gone, even Colonel C., with his
hundred men, who were stationed as a guard in this enclosure. * * French
John (a faithful domestic) with his usual activity and resolution,
offers to spike the cannon at the gate, and lay a train of powder which
would blow up the British, should they enter the house. To the last
proposition I positively object, without being able, however, to make
him understand why all advantages in war may not be taken.
“Wednesday morning, twelve o’clock.—Since sunrise I have been turning my
spy-glass in every direction and watching with unwearied anxiety, hoping
to discover the approach of my dear husband and his friends; but, alas!
I can descry only groups of military wandering in all directions, as if
there was a lack of arms, or of spirit, to fight for their own
firesides!
“Three o’clock.—Will you believe it, my sister? we have had a battle or
skirmish near Bladensburg, and I am still here within sound of the
cannon! Mr. Madison comes not; may God protect him! Two messengers
covered with dust come to bid me fly; but I wait for him. * * * At this
late hour a wagon has been procured; I have had it filled with the plate
and most valuable portable articles belonging to the house; whether it
will reach its destination, the Bank of Maryland, or fall into the hands
of British soldiery, events must determine. Our kind friend, Mr.
Carroll, has come to hasten my departure, and is in a very bad humor
with me because I insist on waiting until the large picture of General
Washington is secured, and it requires to be unscrewed from the wall.
This process was found too tedious for these perilous moments; I have
ordered the frame to be broken and the canvas taken out; it is done—and
the precious portrait placed in the hands of two gentlemen of New York
for safekeeping. And now, my dear sister, I must leave this house, or
the retreating army will make me a prisoner in it, by filling up the
road I am directed to take. When I shall again write to you, or where I
shall be to-morrow, I cannot tell!”
On the removal of the seat of government to Washington, in 1800, a
magnificent portrait of General Washington, painted by Stuart partly,
and completed by Winstanley, to whom President John Adams’ son-in-law,
Colonel Smith, stood for the unfinished limbs and body, hung in the
state dining-room. Colonel Washington Parke Custis, of Arlington, a
grandson of Mrs. Washington, called at the President’s to save this
picture of his illustrious grandfather, in whose house he was reared.
Then, as now, it was one of the very few ornaments which adorned the
White House, and at the risk of capture Mrs. Madison determined to save
it. The servants of the house broke with an axe the heavy gilt frame
which protected the inner one of wood, upon which the canvas was
stretched, and removed, uninjured, the painting, leaving the broken
fragments screwed to the wall, which had held in place the valued relic.
Mrs. Madison then left the house, and the portrait was taken by Mr.
Baker beyond Georgetown and placed in a secure position.
Half a century later, when the White House was undergoing a renovation,
this portrait was sent, with many others subsequently added to this
solitary painting, to be cleaned and the frame burnished. The artist
found on examination that the canvas had never been cut, since the
rusted tacks, time-worn frame, and the size compared with the original
picture, was the most conclusive evidence that Mrs. Madison did not cut
it out with a carving-knife, as many traditions have industriously
circulated.
The frame was a large one, hanging high on the wall, and it was
impossible that a lady could by mounting a table be enabled to reach any
but the lower portion; then, too, in that moment of nervous alarm, the
constant noise of cannon filling each heart with dread, it seems
improbable that any hand, above all a woman’s, could be steady enough to
cut, without ruining the canvas.
Again, from the lips of a descendant, the assurance is given that Mrs.
Madison repeatedly asserted that she did not cut it, but only lingered
to see it safely removed before she stepped into her waiting carriage
and was driven rapidly toward Georgetown.
First to the residence of the Secretary of the Navy, then to Belleview,
and joined by the family of Mr. Jones and Mr. Carroll, she returned to
town insisting that her terrified coachman should take her back toward
the President’s house to look for Mr. Madison, whom she unexpectedly
found near the lower bridge, attended by Mr. Monroe and Mr. Rush, who
had reached the White House soon after she left it and stopped for
refreshments.
It has been related that the British found a sumptuous meal smoking on
the table when they reached there after dark, and that they enjoyed the
iced wines and cold ham, amusing themselves with the coarse assertion
that “Jemmy” ran from his bacon “to save his bacon.” The low pun found
ears ready to credit and circulate it, but the porter, who died but a
few years since, has repeatedly asserted that the occupants of the house
had been in such constant fright that but little had been cooked, and no
regular meal partaken of that day; that there was always plenty in the
larder for any emergency, and a wine-cellar kept well stored, but that
after the President’s party had eaten on their arrival, soon after Mrs.
Madison’s departure, and given the remnants of their hasty meal to the
tired, jaded soldiers of Col. Savol’s regiment, that there was nothing
left.
Water was furnished the troops in buckets, and all the wine in the house
given them. John Siousa, the French porter, after seeing the President
and his attendants off, took the parrot belonging to Mrs. Madison to the
residence of Col. Tayloe, and then returned and fastened the house
securely and took the keys with him to Philadelphia. All the afternoon,
parties of straggling soldiers, on their way to Georgetown, hung about
the house and grounds, and vagrant negroes pilfered in spite of the
efforts of the servants. Many articles were taken from the house to be
secured and returned as some were, but much was never restored. The
porter secreted the gold and silver mounted carbines and pistols of the
Algerian minister, which are now in the Patent Office, but the revolvers
belonging to the Secretary of the Treasury, which the President laid on
a table, were stolen.
Gloating with revenge, at the escape of the President and his wife,
“whom they wanted to show in England,” the enemy broke open the doors of
the White House, and ransacked it from cellar to garret, finding nothing
of value, or as objects of curiosity, save a small parcel of the pencil
notes received from her husband by Mrs. Madison, while he was with the
troops, which she had rolled up together and put in a table drawer. To
all the rest of the contents: furniture, wines, provisions, groceries,
and family stores, which cost Mr. Madison twelve thousand dollars,
together with an excellent library, the torch was applied. Fire was
procured at a small beer house opposite the Treasury to light the
buildings with, and while the commanders were eating their evening meal
at the house of Mrs. Suter, on the corner, the common soldiers, together
with the negroes and thieves of all grades, were pillaging the rapidly
burning buildings.
The White House was not so large or complete then as now; the East Room,
which had served Mrs. Adams for a drying room, was unfurnished and
unoccupied, and the front vestibule not then added, which so greatly
enhances the interior of the present mansion. The House was plain,
unfinished, and totally destitute of ornament, the grounds uninclosed,
and materials for building purposes lying scattered about the woods
which have since become the ornament of this portion of the city.
Nothing but the lateness of the hour, and the storm coming on, saved the
War Department. The squadron which was to have co-operated with them,
failing to come, filled the officers with timorous fear, and they
determined to evacuate the city the next day unless it should arrive in
the meantime. For over a week the unhappy citizens of Washington had not
slept or pursued the avocations of daily life. Constant rumors and
frights had unnerved the stoutest hearts, and families fleeing from a
foreign foe rendered the situation of those who could not leave more
distressing. Every vehicle had been pressed into service, and valuables
scattered over the country for safety. The city contained about eight
thousand inhabitants, living at great distances, of whom not more than
one-tenth remained in its limits to see the entrance and exit of the
British army. Over the Long Bridge, until it was in danger of giving
way, through the country into the interior of Maryland and beyond the
Georgetown limits, the flying, frightened people wandered, not caring
whither or how they went, so that they escaped from their remorseless
foes. It was a whole week, said the aged Mrs. Suter (at whose house the
intruders demanded supper), of great trouble, no one sleeping at night
and the day spent in fright. After the terrors of that sad week and
dreadful day, the Capitol and other buildings blazing, the ammunition in
the navy yard exploding, a rain set in which in intensity and duration
was scarcely ever witnessed, and which continued during the following
day. A British narrator states, “that the most tremendous hurricane ever
remembered by the oldest inhabitant in the place came on. Of the
prodigious force of the wind, it is impossible for you to form any
conception. Roofs of houses were torn off by it, and whisked into the
air like sheets of paper; while the rain which accompanied it resembled
the rushing of a mighty cataract, rather than the dropping of a shower.
The darkness was as great as if the sun had long set and the last
remains of twilight had come on, occasionally relieved by flashes of
vivid lightning streaming through it, which together with the noise of
the wind and the thunder, the crash of falling buildings, and the
tearing of roofs as they were stripped from the walls, produced the most
appalling effect I shall probably ever witness. This lasted for nearly
two hours without intermission; during which time many of the houses
spared by us were blown down, and thirty of our men, beside several of
the inhabitants, buried beneath their ruins. Our column was as
completely dispersed as if it had received a total defeat; some of the
men flying for shelter behind walls and buildings, and others falling
flat upon the ground to prevent themselves from being carried away by
the tempest; nay, such was the violence of the wind that two pieces of
cannon which stood upon the eminence, were fairly lifted from the ground
and borne several yards to the rear.”
This second storm, which was most terrifying to the British,
unaccustomed as they were to the grand forests and heavy rains of
America, was, if possible, more destructive than the one of the night
before. It commenced about one o’clock in the afternoon, and was so
awful to the troops that they neglected to fire the post-office, and
Congress was thereby saved the necessity of being driven to Georgetown
or Philadelphia, when it again met in three weeks. After an occupation
of twenty-nine hours, the British withdrew and Washington was evacuated.
Mrs. Madison, after meeting her husband, accompanied him to the banks of
the Potomac, where one small boat was kept ready—of the many others all
sunk or removed but that one—to transport the President, Mr. Monroe, Mr.
Rush, Mr. Mason, and Mr. Carroll to the Virginia shore. The boat was too
small to carry all at once, so that several trips were necessary; and as
the shades of night set in upon them, they looked like departing spirits
leaving the world behind, to be ferried over an inevitable Styx. Bidding
them adieu as the last one entered the frail bark, Mrs. Madison returned
to her friends at Georgetown, but agreeably to her husband’s orders, she
started on to a more secure retreat. The roads were so blocked with
wagons that their progress was very slow, and they left their carriages
and walked to relieve their anxiety. Crowds of soldiers, panic-stricken,
were retracing their steps to the remnant of troops with General Winder.
Families, with their conveyances loaded down with household goods, moved
slowly forward, amid the tumult, while the coming darkness increased the
general alarm. Long after dark, the party accompanying Mrs. Madison
reached the residence of Mr. Love, on the Virginia side of the Potomac,
where they begged the privilege of remaining all night. There was little
need of beds for that agitated band of frightened women, and the night
was passed by some in tears; by Mrs. Madison in sitting by an open
window, gazing back upon the weird and fantastic flames as they met and
lapped in the far distance.
Smothered rumbling noises started the listening ear, as ever and anon
some huge edifice or wing of a building fell. The head of the house was
away with the troops, and his wife was ill and alone with her servants,
but the sudden visit of so many strangers was no check to the
hospitality of the hostess. Every sofa and available substitute was
brought into requisition, and all rendered comfortable. Sleep was
banished from all eyes, even had any been inclined to repose. The
clanking, clattering noise of several hundred disorderly cavalrymen
around the house kept every one awake, while all felt the desolate
weariness of the night to be but a harbinger of the coming day. “What
must have been the feelings of the occupants of that house that summer
night, we of the present day cannot realize,” writes an eminent
historian in 1842; but those who had not “fallen asleep” when the summer
of 1862 came upon us, endured similar hours of anguish, which seared
their hearts forever. No scene of horror was enacted in or about
Washington in that week of excitement that was not repeatedly paralleled
in the sad years of our civil war.
Long before day, the sleepless caravan, with Mrs. Madison at the head,
started forward to the place appointed for a meeting with Mr. Madison.
Consternation was at its uttermost: the whole region filled with
frightened people, terrified scouts roaming about and spreading alarm
that the enemy were coming from Washington and Alexandria, and that
there was safety nowhere. As the day wore on, in which the British were
plundering and burning Washington, the storm that sent terror to their
superstitious bosoms overtook the tired refugees. But the elemental war,
with its bolts of thunder and zigzag lightning penetrating the darkened
recesses of the forest, caused no feeling so insupportable as the flying
rumor that the negroes were in revolt, and maddened with drink and
promised liberty, were roaming in numbers, committing every excess,
worse than those at Hampton the year before. As the day gradually drew
to a close, the faint and drenched companions of Mrs. Madison reached
the appointed place, sixteen miles from Washington. But the President
was not there, and here occurred one of those disagreeable scenes that
are a disgrace to the name of humanity, and which, be it said to the
shame of her sex, are oftener the acts of woman than of man. Crowds of
persons from Washington occupied the tavern, and the women declared that
the wife of him who had brought war upon the country, should not find
shelter with them, its innocent victims. Jaded and exhausted from
constant travel and want of sleep, the devoted band about Mrs. Madison
waited in the rain, urging the tavern-keeper to give them an apartment
until the President should arrive. The furious storm grew louder, the
sky, lowering before, was black as night now, and a tornado of tropical
fury set in which spread desolation for many miles around. Women who had
repeatedly enjoyed the hospitalities of the White House, been admitted
with kind cordiality to drawing-rooms and dinings, now vied with the
wife of the landlord in denouncing vehemently the inclination of the men
present to admit the Presidential party. Embittered by their real and
imaginary wrongs, they lost all sense of honor and refinement, and stood
in their true colors before the lady who never for one moment forgot the
dignity becoming her station. She preferred exposure to the storm to
contention; but the escort with her, indignant at the contemptible
conduct of the rude persons within, obliged the ungracious occupants to
open the doors. The old tavern stood in the midst of an apple orchard
laden with ripening fruit, and hardly had the travellers left their
carriages when the hurricane dashed the apples, in several instances the
entire trees, with fearful strength against the house. Mrs. Madison
spread the lunch she had prepared the day before at the White House, and
in silence, interrupted only by her inquiries for the welfare of her
attendants, they ate their damp food and smothered the intense disgust
they felt for families who only the day before they deemed firm friends.
The hours dragged slowly on, and the anxious wife looked in vain for her
absent husband. Did she, in that hour of grief and humiliation, think of
her illustrious predecessors who had endured like her the black
ingratitude of the women of her country? Had she forgotten that the
ladies of Philadelphia, in 1776, refused Mrs. Washington similar
attention, and treated with scorn the wife of the Commander-in-chief,
who was using every human endeavor to organize and establish a
continental army? Or did it recur to her that a time would come when,
like Mrs. Washington, she would again, through the brightening prospects
of peace, receive the flattering adulation of those very persons, and
the respect and admiration of the more cultivated throughout the land?
Did she think of that strong, resolute “Portia” of the Revolution who,
in her modest home near the sea, denied and scorned the report that her
husband had deserted to the British, yet who patiently submitted to the
averted looks, and silent reproaches of those whom she thought her
friends, and waited for the storm to blow over, and truth once more to
triumph? Philadelphia was a great distance then from the coast of
Massachusetts, and mails were brought only at rare intervals, but with
her strong faith she trusted in her husband’s honor and felt that it was
not betrayed. Time corrected the false rumor, but her heart had been
deeply wounded, and it never forgot, if it forgave, the conduct of many
who, in her hour of trial, turned against her.
Nervous and impatient, Mrs. Madison waited in her inhospitable quarters
for the President’s coming; and as night came on, her mind was relieved
by seeing him approaching, accompanied by the friends with whom she left
him the night before. He was careworn and hungry, and after devouring
the remnants of her scanty meal, sought the repose he so needed. “That
uneasy and humiliating repose, not the last of Mr. Madison’s
degradations, was, however, the turning point of his fortunes; for while
he slept, Ross hastily and clandestinely evacuated Washington, victor
and vanquished alike victims of, and fugitives from, imagined perils.”
But the terrified citizens knew not that the British were impotent, and
dismayed at the non-appearance of their fleet. Every crash of thunder
was to them a source of alarm, and its rumblings in the distant clouds
the imagined noise of approaching troops. Toward midnight, a courier,
breathless from fatigue and excitement, warned the President that the
enemy were coming, and he was compelled to pass the rest of that
miserable night in a hovel in the distant woods, with the boughs sobbing
and sighing their requiem around him, and the last efforts of the storm
expending itself in moans, while the wind swept through the tall trees.
The atmosphere was cooled by the great and prolonged storm, but all
nature seemed to weep from exhaustion, and the stillness of the closing
hours of the night were in marked contrast to the roar and din of the
preceding twenty-four hours.
Mrs. Madison was warned by her husband to use a disguise, and leaving
her carriage and companions, procure another conveyance and fly farther.
Attended by a nephew of Judge Duvall, she set out accompanied by one
soldier, and at the dawn of day left the inhospitable inn where the most
unhappy night of her life had been passed. Her carriage and four horses
were left with her friends, and a substitute obtained from a gentleman
of Georgetown. Soon tidings reached her that Washington was evacuated,
and retracing her steps, she reached, after a weary ride, the Long
Bridge, which had been burned at both ends. Here the officer in charge
positively refused to let an unknown woman cross in a carriage in his
only remaining boat. No alternative was left her but to send for him and
explain who she was, when she was driven in her carriage upon the
dangerous little raft, which bore her nearer home. Reaching Washington,
so disguised that no one knew her, in a strange carriage, she found her
former home in ruins, and the noblest buildings reduced to blackened
heaps of smoking timber. Desolation met her on every side, and the
deserted streets were as quiet as the depths of the forest through which
she had passed. Fortunately her sister, Mrs. Cutts, lived in the city,
and she repaired there to await Mr. Madison’s return. “The memory of the
burning of Washington,” says another, “cannot be obliterated. The
subject is inseparable from the great international principles and
usages. It never can be thought of by an American, and ought not to be
thought of by an enlightened Englishman, but in conjunction with the
deplorable and reprehensible scenes it recalls. It was no trophy of war
for a great nation. History cannot so record it. Our infant metropolis
at that time had the aspect of merely a straggling village, but for the
size and beauty of its public buildings. Its scattered population
scarcely numbered eight thousand; it had no fortresses or sign of any;
not a cannon was mounted.”
Late in the morning, news reached the President at his hiding-place in
the hovel, that the enemy were retreating to their shipping—and he, too,
turned his steps toward the capital, and found his wife before him. He
rented the house called the Octagon, owned by Colonel Tayloe, where his
family passed the winter, and where he signed the treaty of peace.
It was situated on the northeast corner of New York Avenue and
Eighteenth street. He afterward removed to the northwest corner of
Pennsylvania Avenue and Nineteenth street, where he resided until the
President’s House was repaired. This house had been previously occupied
by the Treasury Department. On F street, in a house between Thirteenth
and Fourteenth streets, now numbered 246, Mr. and Mrs. Madison lived
when he was Secretary of State. All three of these residences still
remain.
At the last New Year’s Reception held by President Madison, he was
dressed in a full suit of cloth of American manufacture, made of the
wool of merinoes raised in the United States.
“An old citizen has informed me,” says Mr. Gobright, in his “Men and
Things at Washington,” “that the levee of Mr. Madison, in February,
1816, was remembered for years as the most brilliant ever held up to
that date in the Executive Mansion. The Justices of the Supreme Court
were present in their gowns, at the head of whom was Chief-Justice
Marshall. The Peace Commissioners to Ghent—Gallatin, Bayard, Clay and
Russell—were in the company. Mr. Adams alone was absent. The levee was
additionally brilliant—the heroes of the war of 1812, Major-Generals
Brown, Gaines, Scott and Ripley, with their aides, all in full dress,
forming an attractive feature. The return of peace had restored the
kindest feeling at home and abroad. The Federalists and Democrats of
both Houses of Congress, party politicians, citizens and strangers were
brought together as friends, to be thankful for the present, and to look
forward with delight to the great future. The most notable feature of
the evening was the magnificent display of the Diplomatic Corps,
prominent in which was Sir Charles Bagot, special ambassador from our
late enemy, Great Britain. It was on this occasion that Mr. Bagot made
the remark, that Mrs. Madison ‘looked every inch a queen.’ The only
incident of a disagreeable character was the coolness toward the French
minister (who was very popular with the Republicans) by the
Representatives of the Holy Alliance. Mrs. Madison, like Mr. Clay, was
very fond of snuff. The lady offered him a pinch from her splendid box,
which the gentleman accepted with the grace for which he was
distinguished. Mrs. Madison put her hand into her pocket, and pulling
out a bandanna handkerchief, said, ‘Mr. Clay, this is for rough work,’
at the same time applying it at the proper place; ‘and this,’ producing
a fine lace handkerchief from another pocket, ‘is my polisher.’ She
suited the actions to the words, removing from her nose the remaining
grains of snuff.”
Mrs. Madison at this time was represented as being a very gay lady, with
much rouge on her cheeks, and always appearing in a turban. She was fond
of bright colors and the elegances of the toilet; yet she generally wore
inexpensive clothing, preserving always the neatness of a Quaker, with
the elegance of a lady of taste.
Two plain ladies from the West, passing through Washington, determined
to see Mrs. Madison; but as they reached there late at night, and were
to leave early next day, they were much puzzled to know how the feat
should be performed. Meeting in the street an old gentleman next
morning, they timidly approached and asked him to show them the way to
the President’s House. Being an old acquaintance of Mrs. Madison, he
took pleasure in conducting the strangers to the White House. The
President’s family were at breakfast when the party arrived, but Mrs.
Madison good-naturedly went in to be seen by the curious old ladies, who
were evidently much astonished to find so august a personage in a plain
dark dress, with a linen handkerchief pinned about her neck. Her
friendly welcome soon put them at ease, and rising to leave, after a
visit never to be forgotten, one of them said, “P’rhaps you wouldn’t
mind if I jest kissed you, to tell my gals about.” Mrs. Madison, not to
be outdone by her guest’s politeness, gracefully saluted each of the
delighted old ladies, who adjusted their spectacles, and, with evident
admiration, departed.
Mr. Madison was a silent, grave man, whose nature was relieved by a vein
of quiet good humor, which in his moments of relaxation gave an
inexpressible charm to his presence. A statesman of vast mind and
research, he could not always descend to the graceful little
accomplishments which were so attractive to many ladies, and hence he
was not so universally admired by the fair sex as his charming wife was
by the gentlemen; but nothing gave him more pleasant satisfaction than
to feel that Mrs. Madison could do credit to both in the drawing-room,
and he was willing to be banished to his cabinet.
When Mr. Madison was attending Congress in 1783, he became attached to
an interesting and accomplished young lady, daughter of an old friend of
Mr. Jefferson, who was a co-signer with him of the Declaration of
Independence.[7] This attachment, which promised at one time the most
auspicious result, terminated at last in disappointment. The following
extract of a letter addressed to him on the occasion by Mr. Jefferson,
is given because of its connection with an event which is never without
importance in the life of a man of virtuous sensibilities, and as
affording a touching proof of the intimate and fraternal sympathies
which united the two friends.
Footnote 7:
General William Floyd, one of the delegates of New York.
“I sincerely lament,” he said, “the misadventure which has happened,
from whatever cause it may have happened. Should it be final, however,
the world still presents the same and many other sources of happiness,
and you possess many within yourself. Firmness of mind and
unintermitting occupation will not long leave you in pain. No event has
been more contrary to my expectations, and these were founded on what I
thought a good knowledge of the ground. But of all machines, ours is the
most complicated and inexplicable.”
A curious coincidence connected with three of the four first Presidents
is, that they married widows, and each had been at a previous time
seriously interested in other ladies. It is also remarkable that neither
Washington, Jefferson, Madison, or his successor, had sons, and two of
them were childless.
Mrs. Madison was not a learned woman, but decidedly a talented one, and
her name will ever be a synonym for all that is charming and agreeable.
A warm admirer of hers was convincing a friend that she was not vain.
“But,” said the other, “you tell me she used rouge and powder.” “Yes,
yes, she did,” he replied, “but it was to please and gratify those who
were thrown with her, not because she was fond of admiration.”
Mrs. Trist, the daughter of Mrs. Randolph, in reply to my request for
her description of Mrs. Madison, sent me the following:
“My recollections of Mrs. Madison are of the most agreeable nature, and
were formed from a long, intimate acquaintance beginning in my
childhood, and ending only with her life. She had a sweet, natural
dignity of manner which attracted while it commanded respect; a proper
degree of reserve without stiffness in company with strangers; and a
stamp of frankness and sincerity which, with her intimate friends,
became gayety and even playfulness of manner. There was, too, a cordial,
genial, sunny atmosphere surrounding her, which won all hearts—I think
one of the secrets of her immense popularity. She was said to be, during
Mr. Madison’s administration, the most popular person in the United
States, and she certainly had a remarkable memory for names and faces.
No person introduced to Mrs. Madison at one of the crowded levees at the
White House required a second introduction on meeting her again, but had
the gratification of being recognized and addressed by his or her own
name. Her son, Payne Todd, was a notoriously bad character. His
misconduct was the sorrow of his mother’s life. Mr. Madison, during his
lifetime, bore with him like a father, and paid many of his debts, but
he was an incorrigible spendthrift. His heartless, unprincipled conduct
embittered the last years of his mother’s life, and no doubt shortened
it.”
An anecdote is related of Mrs. Madison, in connection with Mrs. Merry,
wife of the British Minister, and Thomas Moore, the poet. Mr. and Mrs.
Merry were invited to dine with President Jefferson; when dinner was
announced, Mrs. Madison happened to be standing and talking to the
President, at some distance from Mrs. Merry, and he offered his arm to
her and conducted her to the table, where she always presided when no
members of his family were present. This attention to the wife of the
Secretary of State was considered by Mrs. Merry as an insult. “Such a
stir was made by the angry ambassador, that Mr. Madison wrote to Mr.
Monroe (who had succeeded Mr. King as our Minister to England),
apprising him of the facts, to enable him to answer an expected call of
the British Government for official explanations. Mr. Monroe, however,
got his first information from a friendly British under-secretary, who
intimated that he would soon probably hear of the matter through a
different channel. The Minister was delighted. Within a very short
period, the wife of an English under-secretary had been accorded
precedence over his own, under analogous circumstances. He had no great
fund of humor, but the absurdity of the whole affair, and the excellent
materials in his possession for a reply to a call for explanations,
struck him in a most amusing light. Shaking with merriment, he hinted to
his informant the satisfaction the call would give him. He never
afterward heard a lisp on the subject.”
President Jefferson had abolished all etiquette in regard to official
precedence when he went in office, and Mrs. Merry knew this, but she
never forgave the occurrence, and never afterward went to the White
House. Mrs. Madison regretted being the innocent cause of such a
trouble, but she was spared further notoriety by the absence of the
British Minister or his family ever afterward at the President’s
reunions. The affair was not, however, destined to end here, for after
the first clamor had subsided, the President, through another foreign
Minister, inquired if Mr. and Mrs. Merry would accept an invitation to a
family dinner. It was understood that they would accept, and Mr.
Jefferson wrote the invitation himself. Mr. Merry addressed a note to
the Secretary of State to know if he was invited in his private or
official capacity; “if in the one, he must obtain the permission of his
sovereign; if in the other, he must receive an assurance in advance that
he would be treated as became his position.” Mr. Madison ended the
correspondence with a very dry note. Thomas Moore, who was travelling in
the United States at this time, and being a friend of Mrs. Merry’s, and
disgusted with his reception, fell to lampooning the President and
everything American, except a few attentive Federal gentlemen and
ladies.
In 1817, President Madison’s term expired, and his Secretary of State,
James Monroe, assumed the duties of President. Washington had so long
been the home of Mrs. Madison, that it was with much regret she prepared
to leave the city. Many and dear were her friends, and the society of
relatives was another strong link binding her to the city.
Always fond of agricultural pursuits, Mr. Madison joyfully returned to
his beautiful and peaceful home. Montpelier was within less than a day’s
ride of Monticello, and in the estimate of a Virginian, Mr. Jefferson
and Mr. Madison were neighbors.
The _National Republican_, of November 2d, 1831, thus speaks of Mr. and
Mrs. Madison:
[Illustration:
MONTPELIER—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT MADISON.
]
“How must they look in these days on the tempestuous sea of liberty; on
the dangers incident to the little barks now floating on its agitated
surface. Can they feel for the safety of that on which embarked the
fortunes of Henry Clay? We hope and trust they do; and at any rate we
rejoice that, safe in port, they can review with just pride and pleasure
their own safe and triumphant voyage, and can recollect the auspicious
day of their landing. One of them the rallying point, the beginning and
end of the cabinet in all of its just works, and the other the chief
ornament and glory of the drawing-room, in the purest and most
intelligent days of our Republic.”
“Embosomed among the hills which lie at the foot of the South Mountain,
is the paternal estate of Mr. Madison. A large and commodious mansion,
designed more for comfort and hospitality than ornament and display,
rises at the foot of a high wooded hill, which, while it affords shelter
from the northwest winds, adds much to the picturesque beauty of the
scene. The grounds around the house owe their ornaments more to nature
than art, as, with the exception of a fine garden behind, and a
wide-spread lawn before the house, for miles around the ever-varying and
undulating surface of the ground is covered with forest trees. The
extreme salubrity of the situation induced the proprietor to call it
Montpelier.
“One wing of the house during her lifetime was exclusively appropriated
to the venerable and venerated mother of Mr. Madison, to which were
attached offices and gardens, forming a separate establishment, where
this aged matron preserved the habits and the hours of her early life,
attended by old family slaves, and surrounded by her children and
grandchildren.
“Under the same roof, divided only by a partition-wall, were thus
exhibited the customs of the beginning and end of a century; thus
offering a strange but most interesting exhibition of the differences
between the old and the new age. By only opening a door, the observer
passed from the elegancies, refinements, and gayeties of modern life
into all that was venerable, respectable, and dignified in gone-by days;
from the airy apartments—windows opening to the ground, hung with light
silken drapery, French furniture, light fancy chairs, gay carpets, etc.,
etc., to the solid and heavy carved and polished mahogany furniture
darkened by age, the thick rich curtains, and other more comfortable
adjustments of our great-grandfathers’ times. It was considered a great
favor and distinction by the gay visitors who thronged Mrs. Madison’s
hospitable mansion, to be admitted to pay the homage of their respect to
his reverend mother.” A lady who visited Montpelier in 1836, when the
latter was in her ninety-seventh year, said of her:
“She still retained all her faculties, though not free from the bodily
infirmities of age. She was sitting, or rather reclining, on a couch;
beside her was a small table filled with large, dark, and worn quartos
and folios of most venerable appearance. She closed one as we entered,
and took up her knitting which lay beside her. Among other inquiries, I
asked her how she passed her time. ‘I am never at a loss,’ she replied;
‘this and these (touching her knitting and her books) keep me always
busy; look at my fingers, and you will perceive I have not been idle.’
In truth, her delicate fingers were polished by her knitting-needles.
‘And my eyes, thanks be to God, have not failed me yet, and I read most
part of the day; but in other respects I am feeble and helpless, and owe
everything to her,’ pointing to Mrs. Madison, who sat by us. ‘She is my
mother now, and tenderly cares for all my wants.’ My eyes were filled
with tears as I looked from the one to the other of these excellent
women, and thought of the tender ties by which they were united. Never,
in the midst of a splendid drawing-room, surrounded by all that was
courtly and brilliant, all that was admired and respected—the centre of
attraction—the object of admiration—never was Mrs. Madison so
interesting, so lovely, so estimable as in her attendance on this
venerable woman, the acknowledged object of her grateful affection.
“Much as she graced her public station, she has not been less admirable
in domestic life. Neighborly and companionable among her country
friends, as if she had never lived in a city; delighting in the society
of the young, and never better pleased than when promoting every
youthful pleasure by her participation; she still proved herself the
affectionate and devoted wife during the years of suffering health of
her excellent husband. Without neglecting the duties of a kind hostess,
a faithful friend and relative, she soothed and enlivened, occupied and
amused, the languid hours of his long confinement; he knew, appreciated,
and acknowledged the blessing which heaven had bestowed on him in giving
him such a wife.”
At about sixty-six years of age Mr. Madison retired from public life,
and ever after resided on his estate in Virginia, except about two
months while at Richmond as a member of the convention in 1829, which
sat there to remodel the constitution of that State. His farm, his
books, his friends, and his correspondence, were the sources of his
enjoyment and occupation during the twenty years of his retirement.
During most of that time his health, never robust, was as good as usual,
and he partook with pleasure of the exercise and the conviviality in
which he had always enjoyed himself.
At eighty-five years of age, though much reduced by debility, his mind
was bright, his memory retentive, and his conversation highly
instructive and delightful. Suffering with disease, he never repined.
Serene and even lively, he still loved to discuss the constitution, to
inculcate the public good, and to charge his friends with blessings for
his country. He was long one of the most interesting shrines to which
its votaries repaired: a relic of republican virtue which none could
contemplate without reverence and edification.
On the 28th of June, 1836, he died; as serene, philosophical, and calm
in the last moments of existence as he had been in all the trying
occasions of life.
In the winter of 1836, Mrs. Madison wrote to President Jackson in regard
to a manuscript left by her husband and which he intended for
publication. The copyright had been offered to several publishing
houses, but their offers had fallen so far below her expectations, that
she determined to lay the matter before the Chief Magistrate. In a
special message, the President communicated the contents of her letter
to Congress, and the manuscript was purchased as a national work, and
thirty thousand dollars paid her for it.
The novel and interesting features of the case, the venerable relict of
one of the founders of the Republic coming before the country with a
manuscript precious in its relation to its national destiny, were such
that the proposition was not to be met with a cold appreciation of
merits, or with nice questions of Congressional power. It was this
feeling also which induced Congress to pass a subsequent act, giving to
Mrs. Madison the honorary privilege of a copyright in foreign countries.
The work is a record of the Debates in the congress of the convention
during the years 1782–1787.
Congress also conferred the franking privilege upon Mrs. Madison, and
voted her a seat upon the floor of the Senate.
The last twelve years of Mrs. Madison’s life were spent in Washington,
where she mingled in the society of the young and happy, as well as the
aged and recluse. Many remember her dignified bearing, and gentle, kind
manner in her old age, and it was considered a pleasure to be a guest
where she was to be present. On New Year’s and Fourth of July, she held
public receptions, and the throng of visitors was equal to that which
assembled at the President’s house. She took up her residence in
Washington in 1837, in the house in which she died. This house on the
southeast corner of H. street North and Madison Place was built by
President Madison in 1819; after her death it was purchased by Captain
Wilkes and by him enlarged. She died on the 12th of July, 1849, at age
of eighty-two years. Her funeral, which was attended by a large
concourse of people, took place on the 16th, from St. John’s Episcopal
Church, and the interment took place at Montpelier. The grave is near by
that of her husband’s, over which latter a noble monument stands. The
old homestead has passed into other hands, but it will ever be
associated with the illustrious man who gave it name and fame, and the
fact that it is the last resting-place of the fourth President of the
United States, and of his wife, will ever hallow it in the hearts of
reverent Americans.
V.
ELIZABETH K. MONROE.
The era in which Mrs. Monroe lived was the most eventful in the history
of nations, and her record is of interest and value, in a twofold
degree. The women who stamp the influence of their virtues on a time of
public excitement and wonderful changes, bear in their natures strength
of character worthy of emulation; and they become the benefactors of
succeeding ages, as they were the blessings of their own. The memorials
of such should be familiar to the children of America, who under the
genius of Republican institutions, are the inheritors of, and successors
to, their fame and positions. No daughter of Columbia should be ignorant
of the history and experiences of their national ancestors, whose lives
were beautiful in their simplicity, and rich in varied experiences.
The rarest treasure our country possesses is the fame of her children;
and her noblest legacy to posterity should be the record of those, who
by their talents have adorned, and by their wisdom sustained, the
pioneers of liberty in their first weak efforts. Of such a class was
Mrs. Monroe, whose husband for half a century reaped the reward of his
country’s constancy, and filled in that period more important offices
than any other man in the United States.
Statesmen in this country are too often forced to give way to
politicians, and patriots to demagogues. The perpetual agitations of a
Republic carry up on the flood those who in turn are swept down with the
tide; while in the commotion many are lost to history. But this is less
the case with Virginia statesmen than with any other class of public
men. Whatever may be said of the ingratitude of other States, the “Old
Mother” has been true to her children, and the caprice and
changeableness of younger commonwealths but render her trust and
confidence the more conspicuous. And if she has trusted implicitly the
integrity of her offspring, she has been rewarded by the love and
fidelity of the noblest public men of the nation.
The inauguration of Washington at New York, in 1789, was followed by the
immediate assembling of Congress, and thither went Mr. Monroe, as
Senator from Virginia, accompanied by Mr. Jefferson, the newly-appointed
Secretary of State.
The ancient seat of the Dutch dynasty on this Continent was a place of
much wealth; and not the least of its possessions were the bright-eyed,
rosy-cheeked descendants of the rich old Patroons, whose delight knew no
bounds when their city was chosen as the capital. No less pleased were
their fathers who, in their capacities as merchants and capitalists,
hoped to achieve new honors and increased wealth.
The festivities which subsequently followed the inauguration were
attended by all the members of Congress, who, as strangers of
distinction, received the largest share of the young belles’ attention.
Prominent among these belles was Miss Elizabeth Kortright, the daughter
of Lawrence Kortright, a former captain in the British army. After the
peace of 1783, he remained with his family in New York, where his
children were reared and educated. Of this interesting family there were
one son and four daughters, two of whom, Mrs. Heyliger, of Santa Cruz,
whose husband, Mr. Heyliger, had been Grand Chamberlain to the King of
Denmark, and Mrs. Knox, were married when Congress assembled in their
adopted city. The other daughter was the wife of Nicholas Gouverneur of
New York.[8]
Footnote 8:
The only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Knox married Colonel Alexander
Hamilton, son of the statesman, Alexander Hamilton.
Mrs. Monroe’s marriage took place in New York, in 1786, while Mr. Monroe
was attending a session of Congress. Soon after their marriage they took
up their abode in Philadelphia, whither the seat of the General
Government had been removed. In this position he remained until 1794,
when he was appointed from the Senate to be Envoy Extraordinary and
Minister Plenipotentiary to France. Thus is shadowed forth the five
years of Mrs. Monroe’s life succeeding her marriage. Nothing more
definite can be gathered. It is a matter of regret that no biographer of
her day anticipated the needs of a coming generation, and transcribed,
with all the facts and incidents fresh in his mind, an impartial account
of the every-day existence of the woman whose memory appeals now for
justice.
Very little was written of her during her life, beyond occasional
mention after her husband’s election to the Presidency, nor has any
history of his life been written from which to glean even a mention of
her name. This is a remarkable fact, that in none of the public
libraries of New York or Brooklyn, is there any history of a man who
occupied the Presidential chair eight years, and whose record should be
the inheritance of his descendants. A brief sketch, written many years
ago, is all that was to be found, and there is no mention of his wife in
it.
Of dignified and stately manners was Mrs. Monroe, and possessed of a
face upon which beauty was written in unmistakable lines. Tall and
gracefully formed, polished and elegant in society, she was one fitted
to represent her countrywomen at the court of St. Cloud. Her position,
as the wife of a wealthy Virginia Senator, surrounded by luxury and
prosperity, proud of her husband and of her country, was calculated to
enhance the pleasure of a trip to Europe, while the comparative
infrequency of a voyage across the Atlantic heightened the pleasure with
which she received the announcement of his appointment.
During their residence in Paris, the eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs.
Monroe, who afterwards married Judge George Hay, of Richmond,
Virginia,[9] was a pupil at Madame Campan’s celebrated school, where
Hortense Beauharnais, the daughter of Josephine, and the future Queen of
Holland and mother of Napoleon III., was also a pupil, and between whom
there existed a warm friendship.
Footnote 9:
Their eldest daughter, Hortensia, a very beautiful girl, married Lord
Rogers, of Baltimore.
Young and ambitious, full of enthusiasm and admiration for the
principles of a free government, Mr. Monroe left the shores of his
native land, whose liberty he had so recently assisted in establishing.
He had entered the service of his country as a cadet in a corps under
the command of the gallant General Mercer, of Virginia. Soon afterward
he was appointed a lieutenant, and joined the army at New York.
Following the fortunes of the Chief, he was with him at Trenton,
Princeton, Brandywine, Germantown and Monmouth. Retiring from the staff
of Lord Sterling, where he had served two campaigns, after being wounded
in the shoulder at Trenton, he repaired to Virginia to raise a regiment.
From various causes he failed in this undertaking, and did not return to
the army, but entered Mr. Jefferson’s office as a student at law. A
member of the Legislature, and at the age of twenty-four elected to the
Continental Congress, from which he passed to the Congress of the United
States, we find him from his earliest boyhood devoted to the land of his
birth, and serving it in these various positions of honor and eminence.
But glowing with youthful admiration for the Republic he had left
behind, he was not careful to conceal his feelings in imperial France,
and hence made himself unpopular with those in power. He was deemed too
enthusiastically engaged in the feelings of revolutionary France to do
justice to his own country, and he was recalled by Washington.
In August, 1792, Lafayette was taken prisoner by the Austrians, and
after being thrown like a criminal in the Prussian dungeon at Wesel on
the Rhine, was transferred successively to Magdeburg, Glatz, Neisse, and
finally to Olmutz. In this Austrian dungeon he was convinced by the
rigor of his confinement and the brutal treatment of his captors that
his fate was sealed. Down in his dark cell, ten paces deep, where the
rain through the loop-holes poured, and the sun did not shine, the young
defender of American liberty lay chained, while the weary months dragged
by, and no word of hope or certainty of death came from his wife and
children left behind in Paris. Wasted by disease, deprived of light,
air, and decent food—the loathsome dampness and filth of his dungeon so
reducing him that his hair fell from him entirely by the excess of his
sufferings, his cruel tormentors cheered his gloom and oppression by no
word or look of sympathy. America knew the fate of his loved ones, and
while his estates were confiscated, his wife in the prison of La Force,
and his little children, two of whom shared the confinement of their
mother, awaiting the wrath of their oppressors, the agents of the
country whose once hopeless cause he had espoused were actively employed
in behalf of their former friend.
It is not to be wondered that Mrs. Monroe shared the feeling entertained
by her husband, or that her warmest womanly feelings were stirred by the
recital of Madame Lafayette’s woes. The Marquis de Lafayette was adored
by Americans, and the indignities heaped upon his heroic wife could
scarcely be borne by the Minister and his family, when they felt that
the death of a martyr would be the result of her cruel and protracted
confinement. The lofty position America had just assumed among the
nations of the earth, and the respect engendered by her success rendered
her Ministers in foreign countries objects of special attention and
regard. When Mr. Monroe decided to risk displeasure by sending his wife
to see Madame Lafayette, he appreciated the decided effect it would have
for good or evil. He well knew that either it would meet with signal
success, and be of benefit to his unfortunate friend, or render her
slight claim to clemency yet more desperate. Enlisted as his feelings
were, he determined to risk the die, and Mrs. Monroe was consulted in
regard to the plan. To her husband’s anxious queries, she replied
calmly, and assured him of her ability to control and sustain herself.
As the carriage of the American Minister, adorned with all the outward
emblems of rank, halted before the entrance of the prison, the keeper
advanced to know the object of the visit. Mrs. Monroe, with firm step
and steady voice, alighted and made known her business, and to her
surprise was conducted to the reception-room, while the official retired
to make known her request. Her heart beat loudly as she alone listened
to the tread of the jailer as he closed the heavy door and passed down
the long hall which separated the cells. After a lapse of time, which to
one in her nervous state seemed an age, she heard the footsteps
returning, and soon the opening of the ponderous door discovered to her
astonished view the presence of the emaciated prisoner, assisted by her
guard.
The emotion of the marchioness was touching in the extreme, and she sank
at the feet of Mrs. Monroe, unable to articulate her joy.
All day she had been expecting the summons to prepare for her execution,
and when the silence of her cell was disturbed by the approach of the
gendarmes, her last hope was fast departing. Instead of the cruel
announcement—the assurance that a visitor awaited her presence in the
receiving-room of the prison, and on finding in that visitor the
American Ambassadress, the representative of her husband’s adopted home,
her long-pent feelings found relief in sobs. The reaction was sudden,
and the shock more than her feeble frame could bear.
The presence of the sentinels precluded all efforts at conversation, and
both hesitated to peril the frail chance of life, or to abuse the
unheard-of privilege of an interview. After a painful stay of short
duration Mrs. Monroe rose to retire, assuring her friend in a voice
audible to her listeners, for whom it was intended, that she would call
the following morning, and then hastened to relieve the anxiety of her
husband.
Madame Lafayette’s long-delayed execution had been decided upon, and
that very afternoon she was to have been beheaded, but the unexpected
visit of the Minister’s wife altered the minds of the officials, and to
the surprise of all, she was liberated the next morning.
The prestige of the young Republic was appreciated by the French in
power, and they dared not, from motives of self-interest, sacrifice a
lady in whom the American Minister was so directly interested. They had
not forgotten with what admiration the people of the United States
looked upon her husband, the Marquis de Lafayette.
Deaf to all the entreaties of her friends, and firm in her determination
to carry immediate consolation to the dungeon of her persecuted husband,
Madame Lafayette left Paris accompanied by her two daughters in
disguise, and under the protection of American passports.
Passing under the name of Mrs. Motier, she landed at Altona on the ninth
of September, 1795, and after repeated difficulties eventually reached
the prison, where she was notified that if she passed its threshold, she
must remain.
The heroic woman signed her consent and determination, to share his
captivity in all its details, being “fully determined never again to
expose herself to the horrors of another separation.”
The two most conspicuous men of their age, George Washington and
Napoleon Bonaparte, effected by their co-operation the release of
Lafayette and his deeplyinjured family—the former after an imprisonment
of more than five years, the latter a period of twenty-two months.
Mr. Monroe was recalled, and after his return to America, he published a
justification of his conduct while abroad; the pamphlet settled nothing,
but justified both parties in the views which they had taken.
Thus was Mrs. Monroe’s short stay in Europe brought to a termination. In
many ways it had been pleasant and beneficial, and although she
regretted her husband’s unfortunate recall, she rather joyed in the
conduct which had produced this result. Unacquainted with diplomacy and
the line of action necessary between nations, she allowed her own
feelings to decide her movements, and honored the same spirit in her
husband. The privilege of being a succor and means of relief to Madame
Lafayette satisfied her more than ministerial honors, and she would
rather have performed this deed prompted by Mr. Monroe’s advice than
remained the wife of the Ambassador.
The friendship between Mr. Monroe and Lafayette was very strong. The
latter felt that Mr. Monroe was largely instrumental in the presentation
of the $200,000 which the United States gave him in 1824, and also for
kindness shown his son, George Washington Lafayette, when he was in
prison. The lad was about to be conscripted into the army, and Mr.
Monroe, aided by two American gentlemen, Joseph Russell and Col.
Perkins, raised the amount necessary to buy a substitute ($1,500), and
then sent him to America, where he was the guest of Washington for a
year.
When news reached Lafayette in 1828 of the pecuniary trouble which Mr.
Monroe was in, and the ill-health of his wife, he wrote him offering him
the proceeds of the sale of half of his Florida lands, which were very
valuable, as a loan, and urging Mr. Monroe not to mortify him by a
refusal, since he had accepted like favors from him in the past. The
generous offer was declined by Mr. Monroe.
Paris as now, though in a less degree, was the centre of all that was to
be enjoyed, and Mrs. Monroe did not regret her stay there, though so
abruptly ended. This first trip over the tedious waters was fraught with
interest and improvement to both. New fields of thought were explored by
them, and the expanse of their souls, under a sense of freedom and
change, gained for their ultimate happiness more than mere worldly
honors could give or take away.
Thus in the devious windings of life we are constantly reminded that
after the lesson is the application, and experience pronounces both,
though hard to bear, necessary for ultimate progression.
Mrs. Monroe returned to New York with her husband, who was looked upon
as a disgraced minister, and being the first who had been so designated,
was viewed by his friends with deep sympathy. For a time the society of
her family and friends soothed her sensitive feelings, but she soon
afterwards accompanied her husband to Virginia, where he was at once
chosen Governor.
This evidence of affection gladdened the hearts of both recipients, and
during the constitutional term of three years, through which he served,
Mrs. Monroe added to the dignity and success of his official life by her
uniform and acceptable course. The capital of the State at that time was
Williamsburg, a place of refined hospitality and sociability, and here
the fine character of the Governor’s wife was discovered under the most
delicate circumstances, as well as during the most pleasing occasions.
After President Jefferson came into power, he appointed Mr. Monroe Envoy
Extraordinary to the Court of France, to act with Mr. Livingston in
negotiating for the purchase of Louisiana. As soon as he arrived on the
French soil, Mr. Livingston wrote as follows to him:
PARIS, _10th of April, 1803_.
DEAR SIR:—I congratulate you on your safe arrival. We have long and
anxiously wished for you. God grant that your mission may answer your
and the public expectation. War may do something for us; nothing else
would. I have paved the way for you, and if you could add to my memoirs
an assurance that we were now in possession of New Orleans, we should do
well. But I detain Mr. Beutalon, who is impatient to fly to the arms of
his wife. I have apprised the minister of your arrival, and told him you
would be here on Tuesday or Wednesday. Present my compliments and Mrs.
Livingston’s to Mrs. Monroe, and believe me, dear sir, your friend and
humble servant,
ROBERT R. LIVINGSTON.
After the business of the treaty was arranged, Mr. Monroe was sent as
Minister to London, to succeed Mr. King, who wished to return home. From
there he was ordered to Spain, which country he visited by way of Paris.
Mrs. Monroe accompanied him in all his wanderings, and returned with him
to England soon after the death of Mr. Pitt.
Mr. Monroe was minister to England when the attack on the frigate
“Chesapeake” placed the two countries, already irritated, in a hostile
attitude, and finding his position at the St. James anything but
pleasant, he returned to this country. Thus did Mrs. Monroe spend almost
ten years in Europe, returning only when the country was plunging again
into a second war with the mother land. She gladly sought retirement at
Oak Hill, her husband’s Virginia home, and the following years passed in
the enjoyment of the serene pleasures of country life—Mr. Monroe engaged
during the day in reading and taking the general supervision of his
plantation, while she supervised the education of their two daughters
and the household duties, which, in a Virginia, home were always
arduous.
But this quiet home-life was not destined to last, and the husband and
father resumed the duties of a politician, and was elected to the
Legislature. In a few months he was again chosen Governor of the old
commonwealth, and continued to discharge the duties of that office until
chosen Secretary of State by President Madison.
When the war of 1812 was declared, Mrs. Monroe was living in Washington
City, dispensing the duties of a minister’s wife, and enjoying the
society of her two daughters.
As the strife came nearer home and the capital was threatened, she
returned to Oak Hill, and there remained until peace was finally
proclaimed. Anxious and uneasy about her husband, who was ever beside
the President, she yet felt that her place was at her own home, that he
might feel assured of the safety of herself and children.
In 1817, Mr. Monroe became President of the United States, and removed
his family to the White House, where they continued to reside during
both terms of his administration. Mrs. Monroe was spoken of at this time
by the leading paper of the day as follows:
“Mrs. Monroe is an elegant, accomplished woman. She possesses a charming
mind and dignity of manners, which peculiarly fit her for her elevated
station. Her retired domestic habits will be much annoyed by what is
here called society, if she does not change the etiquette (if it may be
called so), established by Mrs. Washington, Adams and Madison, a routine
which her feeble constitution will not permit her to encounter. To go
through it, she must become a perfect slave to the sacrifice of her
health. The secretaries, senators, foreign ministers, consuls, auditors,
accountants, officers of the navy and army of every grade, farmers,
merchants, parsons, priests, lawyers, judges, auctioneers and
nothingarians—all with their wives and some with their gawky offspring,
crowd to the President’s house every Wednesday evening; some in shoes,
most in boots, and many in spurs; some snuffing, others chewing, and
many longing for their cigars and whiskey-punch left at home. Some with
powdered heads, others frizzled and oiled, with some whose heads a comb
has never touched, half-hid by dirty collars, reaching far above their
ears, as stiff as pasteboard.”
And an English writer comments in a similar strain:
“Mrs. Monroe is a lady of retired and domestic habits, not ungraceful
and apparently very amiable.
“Having resided in Europe with her husband, she has acquired some of its
manners and a good deal of its polish. She receives company, but returns
no visits; she seems more attached to the silence and peace of
obscurity, than the bustle, confusion and glare of public assemblies.
But to preserve a custom established by her predecessor, a lady it is
said of great elegance of manners and much dignity of deportment, she
gives what are termed ‘drawing-rooms’ for the purpose of gratifying the
wishes and curiosity of such strangers as may please to visit her and
the President.
“These drawing-rooms are conducted on principles of republican
simplicity, and are widely different from the magnificence and splendor
of the English levees. They appeared to me, however, very unpleasant;
the rooms are so crowded, the hum of voices so loud, and the motion of
the company so incessant, that the possibility of continuing a
conversation on any subject is wholly precluded, and you are jostled
every instant without the power of enjoying the ‘feast of reason’ or
even the pleasure of the senses.”
The White House had been partly rebuilt when Mr. Monroe became
President, but it possessed but few comforts and no elegance. The
furniture was not of the kind nor quality befitting the house of the
Chief Magistrate, and the débris of the former ill-fated building lay in
heaps about the mansion. The country being once more at peace, Congress
ordered Consul Lee, then residing at Paris, to purchase a silver service
of plate, which was forwarded at once, and which has continued in use
until replaced by a more modern and expensive set in March, ’69.
About the same time was bought for the East Room the furniture which now
adorns that famous apartment. When the purchase was made in Paris, each
article was surmounted by the royal crown of Louis XVIII. This ornament
of gilt was removed, and the American Eagle substituted before it was
sent from France. To the thoughtful mind this furniture is of interest
in so far as it recalls the dead who have long since crumbled back to
dust, yet, whose memory is associated with the chairs and ottomans still
remaining where they were placed years ago. True, they have been often
repaired, but the original eagles are as bright as when they left the
shores of the Empire, to grace the house of the Republic.
Mrs. Monroe mingled but little in the society of Washington, and always
secluded herself from the observation of the throng. Her health was
frail during the latter years of her life in the White House, and she
became more than ever a recluse. One of the many guests of the President
and Mrs. Monroe during the last winter of their stay in the White House
was Lafayette, who afterward visited them at their residence in Loudon
county, Virginia.
In a recent publication there is a copy of an old letter written by Mr.
Cooper, in which he thus mentions a dinner and a reception at the White
House during Mr. Monroe’s time.
“On this occasion we were honored with the presence of Mrs. Monroe and
two or three of her female relatives. Crossing the hall we were admitted
to a drawing-room,in which most of the company were already assembled.
The hour was six. By far the greater part of the guests were men, and
perhaps two-thirds were members of Congress.
“There was great gravity of mien in most of the company, and neither any
very marked exhibition, nor any positively striking want of grace of
manner. The conversation was commonplace and a little sombre, though two
or three men of the world got around the ladies, where the battle of
words was maintained with sufficient spirit. To me the entertainment had
rather a cold than a formal air. When dinner was announced, the oldest
Senator present (there were two, and seniority of service is meant) took
Mrs. Monroe and led her to the table. The rest of the party followed
without much order. The President took a lady, as usual, and preceded
the rest of the guests. The dining-room was in better taste than is
common here, being quite simple and but little furnished. The table was
large and rather handsome. The service was in china, as is uniformly the
case, plate being exceedingly rare, if at all used. There was, however,
a rich plateau, and a great abundance of the smaller articles of
table-plate. The cloth, napkins, etc., etc., were fine and beautiful.
The dinner was served in the French style, a little Americanized. The
dishes were handed around, though some of the guests, appearing to
prefer their own customs, coolly helped themselves to what they found at
hand.
“Of attendants there were a good many. They were neatly dressed, out of
livery, and sufficient. To conclude, the whole entertainment might have
passed for a better sort of European dinner party, at which the guests
were too numerous for general or very agreeable discourse, and some of
them too new to be entirely at their ease. Mrs. Monroe arose, at the end
of the dessert, and withdrew, attended by two or three of the most
gallant of the company. No sooner was his wife’s back turned than the
President reseated himself, inviting his guests to imitate the action.
After allowing his guests sufficient time to renew, in a few glasses,
the recollections of similar enjoyments of their own, he arose himself,
giving the hint to his company that it was time to rejoin the ladies. In
the drawing-room coffee was served, and every one left the house before
nine.”
“On the succeeding Wednesday, Mrs. Monroe opened her doors to all the
world. No invitation was necessary, it being the usage for the wife of
the President to receive company once a fortnight during the session,
without distinction of persons. We reached the White House at nine. The
court (or rather the grounds) was filled with carriages, and the company
was arriving in great numbers. On this occasion, two or three additional
drawing-rooms were opened, though the frugality of Congress has
prevented them from finishing the principal reception-room of the
building. I will acknowledge the same sort of surprise I felt at the
Castle Garden fête, at finding the assemblage so respectable in air,
dress and deportment. The evening at the White House, or drawing-room,
as it is sometimes pleasantly called, is, in fact, a collection of all
classes of people who choose to go to the trouble and expense of
appearing in dresses suited to an ordinary evening party. I am not sure
that even dress is much regarded, for I certainly saw a good many there
in boots. The females were all neatly and properly attired, though few
were ornamented with jewelry. Of course, the poor and laboring classes
of the community would find little or no pleasure in such a scene. The
infamous, if known, would not be admitted, for it is a peculiar
consequence of the high tone of morals in this country, that grave and
notorious offenders rarely presume to violate the public feeling by
invading society.
“Squeezing through the crowd, we achieved a passage to a part of the
room where Mrs. Monroe was standing, surrounded by a bevy of female
friends. After making our bow here, we sought the President. The latter
had posted himself at the top of the room, where he remained most of the
evening, shaking hands with all who approached. Near him stood all the
secretaries, and a great number of the most distinguished men of the
nation. Individuals of importance from all parts of the Union were also
here, and were employed in the manner usual to such scenes. Besides
these, one meets here a great variety of people in other conditions of
life. I have known a cartman to leave his horse in the street, and go
into the reception-room to shake hands with the President. He offended
the good taste of all present, because it was not thought decent that a
laborer should come in a dirty dress on such an occasion; but while he
made a trifling mistake in this particular, he proved how well he
understood the difference between government and society. He knew the
levee was a sort of homage paid to political equality in the person of
the First Magistrate, but he would not have presumed to enter the house
of the same person as a private individual without being invited, or
without a reasonable excuse in the way of business.”
Maria Monroe, the youngest daughter of the President, was married March,
1820, in the East Room, to her cousin, Samuel L. Gouverneur, of New
York, after what a letter writer of that day describes as “the New York
style.” This was a wedding where only the attendants, the relations, and
a few old friends of the bride and groom witnessed the ceremony. Then
the bridesmaids were dismissed until a week from that day, when the
bride received visitors. A reception was given then at which Mrs.
Gouverneur presided in the place of her mother, and was formally
introduced to all the guests present. The President and Mrs. Monroe
mingled with the crowd, and left the bridal couple to do the duties of
host and hostess. The bridal festivities were to include general
receptions, and Commodore and Mrs. Decatur gave the young couple a
largely attended ball shortly after the White House reception. Cards had
been issued by Commodore Porter for an entertainment in their honor,
when the news of the death of Commodore Decatur put an end to all gayety
in Washington. The couple soon after took up their residence in New
York. The eldest daughter was living at this time in Richmond, Virginia.
After Mr. Monroe retired from office, he returned to his home in Loudon
county, and engaged with Messrs. Jefferson and Madison in establishing
the University of Virginia. This occupation formed a pleasant pastime to
him, and was of lasting benefit to his beloved State. Afterward he was
chosen President of the Virginia Convention to amend the Constitution of
his native State. Meanwhile Mrs. Monroe found womanly employment for
hands and heart in caring for those dependent upon her bounty, and
entertaining the various throngs who delighted to do honor to the three
ex-Presidents of the United States, and sons of the old commonwealth.
Mrs. Monroe was now alone and becoming aged, and was pleasing herself
with the delusion that after so many years of public life, her husband
would spend the evening of his days with her, around the fireside. But
he felt as if he could never cease to serve Virginia. Long after his
duty to his country had been performed and she had dismissed him with
plaudits and laurel wreaths, he struggled under accumulated infirmities
and trials, and to the last hearkened to the voice of his State. The
last public position he held was a magistracy in the county of Loudon,
where he resided, and was as attentive and devoted to the performance of
every duty as when holding the highest office in the gift of the people.
Mrs. Monroe died suddenly in 1830, and thus was ended the old home-life.
Oak Hill was closed, and the crushed husband sought refuge from
loneliness in the home of his daughter, Mrs. Gouverneur, in New York,
whose devoted affection soothed his pathway to the grave.
The venerable Dr. Francis tells us that he often met Mr. Monroe walking
out when the weather was fine, and that on these occasions he was the
object of the most affectionate attentions. He has often met him making
purchases for the family, at the Centre Market, where all the stallmen
knew and honored him.
He was tall and spare, very modest in his bearing, dignified and
gentlemanly. In his address, he was hesitating and diffident, and polite
to the poorest and humblest as to any. He was one of the most
industrious of men, a hard student, and his cares left their marks on
his face. The wound he received at Trenton was felt for many years
afterward—indeed, throughout his life he occasionally suffered from it.
Less than a year after Mrs. Monroe’s death her husband was preparing to
join her. On the 4th of July, 1831, the anniversary of American
Independence, just five years after his predecessors had quitted this
scene of their labor and their triumph, he, too, joined them.
His funeral was a very imposing one—the largest that at that time had
ever been seen in New York. The military under Gen. Jacob Morton, Grand
Marshal, filled Broadway from Prince to Broad Street, through which it
passed to the cemetery. The day was fine, and the signs of mourning were
generally adopted by the citizens of New York.
There is an old cemetery on the north side of Second street, in this
city (New York), between First and Second Avenues, separated from the
sidewalk by a tall iron fence, placed upon a granite foundation.
The shrubbery is always clean and vigorous; the grass is always the
greenest, and the walks are scrupulously neat. There are many tasteful
and appropriate monuments to the dead that sleep within this hallowed
inclosure; but to the memory of the most famous of its dumb inhabitants
there was no marble shaft, no obelisk, not even a head-stone erected.
But upon a simple slab of marble that lies flat, some two feet square,
upon the earth, and is almost covered by grass, is the following
inscription:
JAMES MONROE,
ROBERT TILLOTSON,
Vault No. 147.
There is nothing to indicate that the James Monroe mentioned is the
Monroe who was in the battle of White Plains, and received a ball in the
shoulder at the attack on Trenton, who fought by the side of Lafayette
at Brandywine, who was Minister to France in 1794, and afterward to
England; who was Secretary of State in 1811, and for two full terms
President of these United States. Yet such is the fact, and that
weather-stained slab of marble, two feet square, covered for many years
the grave of Ex-President Monroe.
Many years afterward, by order of the Virginia Legislature, the remains
of Ex-President Monroe were removed to Richmond, and a monument
befitting his fame was erected over his grave.
The property of Oak Hill is now owned by Mr. Fairfax, and with it one
thousand acres of land. Three hundred acres are comprised in the McGowan
estate.
The second daughter of President Monroe, Mrs. Maria Gouverneur, died in
1850 at Oak Hill, where she was buried by the side of her mother. The
eldest daughter died in Paris, and was buried in Pere la Chaise. There
are now living but few descendants of Mrs. Monroe.
At this short remove from her day, not many incidents relating to her
career are extant. She lived as public a life as did Mrs. John Adams,
and was far better acquainted with society in this country and Europe
than several of the ladies who preceded her in the semi-official
position she filled, but her ill-health and her temperament unfitted her
for familiarity with the people, and kept her from being popular in the
sense that Mrs. Madison was. The difference between these two women was
that the latter was fond of company, enjoyed life and had a healthy,
hearty interest in the events transpiring about her. The other lived in
retirement as far as possible, and the record of so quiet an existence
is not as familiar to the people of this country as is that of those of
her contemporaries who occupied the high place she filled.
Society was differently organized in her time than it is now. It is
difficult to realize that newspaper correspondents were the exception
and not the rule, and that public attention was rarely directed to
ladies; whereas now it is impossible for women in semi-official life to
keep themselves out of the multitudinous prints of the day, object as
they may.
VI.
LOUISA CATHERINE ADAMS.
Mrs. Adams was the sixth in the succession of occupants of the Executive
Mansion, and with her closed the list of the ladies of the Revolution. A
new generation had sprung up in the forty-nine years of Independence,
and after her retirement, younger aspirants claimed the honors. Born in
the city of London on the 12th of February, 1775, she received
advantages superior to those enjoyed by most of the ladies of America.
Her father, Mr. Johnson, of Maryland, although living at the outbreak of
the war, in England, was ever a patriotic American, and soon after
hostilities commenced, removed with his family to Nantes, in France.
“There he received from the Federal Congress an appointment as
Commissioner to examine the accounts of all the American functionaries
then entrusted with the public money of the United States, in Europe; in
the exercise of the duties of which he continued until the peace of
1782. Our National Independence having then been recognized, he returned
to London, where he continued to reside, and where he acted as consular
agent for the United States, until his final return in 1797, to his
native soil.”
[Illustration: Painted by C. R. Leslie. Engraved by G. F. Storm.]
It was fortunate for Mrs. Adams that her husband was a strong,
intellectual nature; he both satisfied and sustained her, and rendered
her sojourn on earth contented and agreeable. In her father’s house in
London he first saw her, in 1794, and on the 26th of July, 1797, they
were married at the Church of All-Hallows. Soon afterward his father
became President, and he was transferred to Berlin, where he repaired
with his wife as a bride, to play her part in the higher circles of
social and political life. It need scarcely be added that she proved
perfectly competent to this; and that during four years, which comprised
the period of her stay at that court, notwithstanding almost continual
ill-health, she succeeded in making friends and conciliating a degree of
good-will, the recollection of which is, even at this distance of time,
believed to be among the most agreeable of the associations with her
varied life. In 1801, after the birth of her eldest child, she embarked
with Mr. Adams on his return to the United States. Not to Maryland, the
home of her childhood, but, a stranger to their habits and manners, she
went among the New England people, and settled with her husband in
Boston. Here she determined to be satisfied and live with a people whom
in feeling she was not unlike, but scarcely was she beginning to feel at
home when Mr. Adams was elected Senator, and she removed with him to
Washington. A sister was already established there, and she met once
more the members of her own family, where to her the winter months
passed pleasantly away. Each summer she returned to Boston, and thus
alternating between there and Washington in winter, she passed the eight
years of Jefferson’s term. To many, the capital was an out of the way
place, and not always pleasant to Congressmen’s wives, some of whom left
the gayeties of larger cities to be detained six or eight months; but
Mrs. Adams was peculiarly fortunate in her position, having around her
near and dear relations from whom she had been separated many years. It
became home to her, and to a Southerner, the climate was more congenial
than the region of her husband’s birth-place.
Mr. Adams, called by President Madison, to embark for Russia as its
first accredited minister, Mrs. Adams determined to go, even at the cost
of leaving her two eldest children with their grandparents, and taking
with her a third, not yet two years old. They sailed from Boston early
in August, and after a long and somewhat hazardous passage arrived in
St. Petersburg toward the close of October.
What voyages those must have been, when nearly three months was consumed
in getting from one country to another; when weary weeks of summer
merged into winter before the barrier between the old and the new world
could be passed. Yet how often had members of that family braved dangers
unknown to perform some duty in the other world. Far back into the past,
their Puritan ancestors had found a refuge on “wild New England’s
shore,” and in that interval, the waters of the sea had wafted the
children of the third and fourth generations over its crested waves, to
ask for the heritage their forefathers claimed—liberty of conscience,
and freedom to worship God.
Years before, a brave, strong woman had, with streaming eyes, seen the
form of her eldest boy start over the same track he was now treading,
and she had gone back to her lonely home to suffer. Now, through its
well-known and treacherous path, that son, grown to man’s estate, with
children of his own left behind, wends his tedious way, to bear to the
halls of remotest nations the wishes and intentions of his young
country.
His wife, preferring an uncertain exile in a foreign country to a
separation from her husband, suffered extremest anguish as she thought
of her weeping children, for the first time separated from her. She felt
the great distance and doubtful prospects of hearing from them, not less
keenly than she did the length of time which might elapse before she
again would tread the shores of her native land. And the bleak climate
to which she was hastening in nowise tended to make her cheerful; nor
did the fact that Mr. Adams was the first Minister, allay her anxious
sadness. Never, perhaps, in the history of the world, were such scenes
being enacted as now. Europe was literally a battle-field, and Napoleon,
the scourge of the continent, was ruling, by the mighty force of his
great skill, the destinies of the Old World. Shut up in St. Petersburg,
Mrs. Adams gathered rumors of the progress of that “man of destiny,” and
listened for his knock even at the gates of the imperial capital.
During the six years of her stay in Russia, what wondrous things
transpired! What intense interest marked the era, we, of comparative
quiet, can scarcely conceive. Death took from her an infant, born whilst
there, and the twofold affliction of public and private trouble weighed
upon her.
“Mr. Adams,” said his son, “lived there poor, studious, ambitious and
secluded, on the narrow basis of the parchment of his commission,
respected for learning and talents, but little given to the costly
entertainments of an opulent and ostentatious court circle. But the
extraordinary mission could afford and was entitled to more expensive
circulation in the splendid palaces of a magnificent city, inhabited by
the owners of thousands of serfs, and some of them of Ural Mountains
containing mines of gold. Living frugally, withdrawn from all but
indispensable parade, Mr. Adams laid the basis of a modest competency
for his return to America, whose official acquisition American,
republican parsimony induces, if not justifies.”
The war between England and America broke out in the meantime, and
communication was almost entirely cut off. British ships cruised about
our ports to capture peaceful vessels, and thundered their cannon at the
capital of the country. While Mrs. Adams grew tired and weary of her
cheerless abode in that far, northern climate, British troops were busy
devastating the country round about her old home, and burning the
mansion which later in life she was to occupy. Completely cut off from
all that made life dear, Mr. Adams hoped for some opportunity to be
recalled, and restore his divided family to each other. Emperor
Alexander unconsciously prepared the way for their return by proposing
to be mediator for England and the United States. In consequence of this
offer, the commissioners repaired to St. Petersburg, accompanied by Mr.
Payne Todd, the stepson of President Madison, whose simple position in
America was exaggerated by European mistake to princely position. Their
coming was a source of pleasure to Mrs. Adams, whose time had been spent
so quietly, and it was her hope to return with them; but while the
commissioners enjoyed themselves with the sights of the Russian capital,
great changes were taking place on the continent, and they were unaware
how radical they were. The return ship to the United States brought the
news to Boston that Napoleon was banished to Elba, Louis the XVIII.
propped on the throne of his ancestors by foreign armies, and England
was at the zenith of her power and greatness. Never were the prospects
of republican America so low since its independence, and the hearts of
those patriots trembled when they thought of the future. The Russian
mediation failed, but the commissioners afterward met at Ghent, where
delays succeeded each other until on Christmas eve, Saturday, 24th
December, 1814, the treaty was signed. It was the desire of Mr. and Mrs.
Adams to have returned home this winter, but the failure of the
commissioners at St. Petersburg necessitated the presence of Mr. Adams
at Ghent, and it was thought best she should remain in Russia. The state
of Europe, restless and revolutionary, was considered another argument
in favor of her remaining, and consequently Mr. Adams set out without
her. Alone in that place where she had lived five years, where she had
buried one child, and where she hoped her husband would soon rejoin her,
she passed the sixth winter, and wished only for the spring to come to
release herself and son from their exile. How her heart must have
yearned, in days short only because the darkness was so long, for her
little ones over the wide Atlantic, and with what zeal must she have
prepared for that homeward-bound trip, so near in anticipation, yet in
reality so far off. But her trial was in proportion to her strength, and
if she did not go home, her children came to her afterward.[10] Spring
at last came, on the almanac at least, if not in the gorgeous beauty it
was wont to appear in her far-off southern home, and she was advised to
travel by land to rejoin her husband at Paris, whither he had gone from
Ghent. The difficulties and dangers of a land route through the late
theatre of a furious war, had no influence to bear upon her determined
idea to go, and braving solitary journeys, rogues, and dangers of every
conceivable kind, set out with her child to travel to France. Hers must
have been an indomitable spirit, else the lonely days of constant travel
through villages and wild, uncultivated countries, where every inanimate
thing bore traces of grim-visaged war, would have convinced her of the
risk she was running. With the passports of the Russian government, and
the strong recommendation of being the American minister’s wife, she
bade adieu to all apprehensions, and risked all to only get nearer to
home and children.
Footnote 10:
Mrs. Adams had four children, three sons and a daughter. 1. George
Washington Adams, born in Berlin, 12th April, 1801. 2. John Adams,
born in Boston, 4th July, 1803. 3. Charles Francis Adams, born in
Boston, August 18th, 1807. 4. Louisa Catherine Adams, born in St.
Petersburg, August 12th, 1811, and died there the next year.
Her son, in speaking of this time, said: “In such circumstances, to be
fastened in a snow-drift with night coming on, and to be forced to rouse
the peasants of the surrounding country to dig them out, which happened
in Courland, was no slight matter. But it was of little significance
compared to the complicated anxieties incident to the listening, at
every stopping-place, to the tales of robbery and murder just committed
on the proposed route, so perpetually repeated at that time to the
traveller; and to the warnings given by apparently friendly persons of
the character of her own servants, corroborated by the loss of several
articles of value, and, most of all, to the observation of the restless
contention between jarring political passions under which the whole
continent of Europe was heaving until it burst forth at the return of
Napoleon from Elba. Hardly a day passed that did not require of Mrs.
Adams some presence of mind to avoid becoming implicated in the
consequences of party fury. For even the slight symbol of a Polish cap
on the head of her servant came near making food for popular quarrel.”
On the way she heard of Napoleon’s return from Elba, and knew that his
coming would be disputed not only by the Bourbons in power, but that it
would be the signal for a general uprising throughout Europe. As she
journeyed along from place to place, she witnessed the excitement that
followed the news, and saw, with much concern, the preparations for
hostile demonstrations. As she neared the border the activity of the
military was observable on all sides. Napoleon was making by forced
marches the seven hundred miles that lay between the seaport at which he
landed and Paris, and at every point he was receiving the accessions to
his numbers that increased until he reached Paris at the head of an
army. The immense influence which his past successes had over the French
people was thus exhibited, and he took possession of the capital amid
the huzzas of the populace and to their great delight. It was at such a
time that Mrs. Adams was approaching the city, and it may well be
imagined that her every thought was in the direction of her own and her
children’s safety. Later, when the events were over, and she was at
liberty to recall them, she dwelt with interest upon the dangers
confronted and the anxieties she had endured, nor did she express regret
that her experiences had been what they were. The scenes she witnessed
were commanding the consideration of the world, and romance in her
wildest dreams had not conceived of anything more thrilling than the
enterprise in which Napoleon had embarked. It was a matter that
concerned all Europe, and the moment he set foot upon French soil, the
crown-heads of the old world began to prepare for a conflict that was to
end his career, or change the fate of nations.
Mrs. Adams found, as she neared Paris, the dangers to which she was
exposed, and dismissing her servants, who were afraid to go farther,
hired others and continued her approach to her husband. But every
crossroad and forest path was filled with soldiers wild with enthusiasm,
rushing forward to join their great chief, and at one time she found
herself surrounded by them. This was a very awkward position, as the
troops seemed disposed to require from all around them the most
unequivocal declaration of political faith. Mrs. Adams appealed to the
commander of the detachment, and by his advice she was enabled to fall
back, although not without the exercise of considerable prudence, until
the last of the men had passed, when she diverged into another road, and
by making a considerable circuit, avoided any further meeting.
Having proved, in this manner, that calmness and presence of mind render
many things perfectly practicable which imagination at first invests
with insuperable difficulties, she arrived in Paris safe and well, there
to be greeted by her husband, on the evening of the 21st of March, 1815,
immediately after that of the memorable arrival of Napoleon and the
flight of the Bourbons.
The advantages thus thrown in the way of an American woman were justly
appreciated by Mrs. Adams, and she, free from prejudice, studied the
strange perversities of fortune. The events of the hundred days were
enough to crowd the memory for a lifetime. They fill us at this day, as
we ponder over them, with awe and amazement. All was activity and
eagerness, all bustle and confusion. The armies were reviewing in the
square of the Place Carousel, and the inspiriting notes of martial music
added enthusiasm to the grandness of the time and place.
But the arrival of her children in England, from whom she had been
separated since the autumn of 1809, nearly six years, was of more
interest to her than the events happening around her. On the 25th of
May, 1815, Mr. Adams went to London with his family, and soon afterward
learned that he was appointed Minister to the Court of St. James. The
impression made upon the most eminent circles during his residence in
London has been retained up to the present time. It has been said of him
that “his simple habits, his plain appearance, his untiring industry,
his richly stored mind, his unbending integrity, his general intercourse
and correspondence with foreign courts and diplomatists of the greatest
distinction, all tended to elevate, in a high degree, the American
character in the estimation of European nations.”
Mrs. Adams had advantages in London which scarcely any American woman
has ever had since; true, she had not wealth to make a great display,
but her home was one of pleasant comfort, and enjoying as she did the
society of one of the most intelligent of men, and of the best informed
circle in the great capital, she had signal opportunities for
cultivation. Charles King, in his eulogy on John Quincy Adams, speaks
thus: “It was while Mr. Adams was Minister of the United States in
London, that it was my personal good fortune to be admitted to his
intimacy and friendship. Being then in London on private business, and
having some previous acquaintance with Mr. Adams, I found in his house
an ever kind welcome, and in his intercourse and conversation unfailing
attraction and improvement. Under an exterior of, at times, almost
repulsive coldness, dwelt a heart as warm, sympathies as quick, and
affections as overflowing, as ever animated any bosom. His tastes, too,
were all refined. Literature and art were familiar and dear to him, and
hence it was that his society was at once so agreeable and so improving.
At his hospitable board, I have listened to disquisitions from his lips
on poetry, especially the dramas of Shakespeare, music, painting,
sculpture—of rare excellence and untiring interest. The extent of his
knowledge, indeed, and its accuracy, in all branches, were not less
remarkable than the complete command which he appeared to possess over
all his varied stores of learning and information.”
Mr. Monroe succeeded Mr. Madison in the Presidential chair in 1817, and
immediately appointed Mr. Adams his Secretary of State. On receiving
notice of his appointment to this responsible office, Mr. Adams with his
family embarked for the United States, on board the packet-ship
“Washington,” and landed in New York on the 6th of August, 1817. A few
days after his arrival, a public dinner was given him in Tammany Hall,
New York. The room was elegantly decorated. In the centre was a handsome
circle of oak leaves, roses, and flags—the whole representing, with much
effect, our happy union—and from the centre of which, as from her native
woods, appeared our eagle, bearing in her beak this impressive scroll:
“Columbia, great Republic, thou art blest,
While Empires droop, and monarchs sink to rest.”
Soon afterward, Mr. Adams and family went to Boston to visit his
father’s family, where he was the recipient of another public dinner:
the last meeting with his mother on earth, it was one which he never
forgot. It was gratifying to her sensitive nature to see him thus rising
from one elevated position to another, and it soothed her aged heart
beyond any power of expression. Many years of his life had been spent
far away from her, and his absences were long and unbroken. She had
always written regularly to him, and by example and precept endeavored
to instil into his nature some portion of her own aspirations. When his
talents had won for him this last position, she bowed her head and
thanked God. Perhaps her spirit recognized his still higher promotion,
and the natural conclusion, arrived at from former precedents, that by
gradual ascent he would reach the place his father occupied, occurred to
her. When she died at her home in Quincy, he was in Washington, busy
with the manifold duties of his place, whither he had gone to reside
permanently, in September, 1817.
The performance of the duties of the State Department necessarily
required a residence at Washington, and the manner in which Mr. Adams
thought proper to devote himself to them, devolved upon his lady the
entire task of making his house an agreeable resort to the multitudes of
visitors who crowd to the capital on errands of business, or curiosity,
or pleasure, from the various sections of the United States during the
winter season. A large diplomatic corps from foreign countries, who feel
themselves in more immediate relations with the Secretary of State, and
a distinguished set of public men, not then divided by party lines in
the manner which usually prevails, rendered the society of that time,
and Mrs. Adams’ house where it most often congregated, among the most
agreeable recorded in the social history of the capital.
Much as it has been ridiculed since, the “era of good feeling” had some
characteristics peculiar to itself. For an instant, sectional
animosities relented, the tone of personal denunciation and angry
crimination, too generally prevailing in extremes, yielded; and even
where the jealous rivalry for political honors still predominated in the
hearts of men, the easy polish of general society removed from casual
spectators any sense of its roughness, or inconvenience from its
impetuosity. Washington may have presented more brilliant spectacles
since, but the rancor of party spirit has ever mingled its baleful force
too strongly not to be perceptible in the personal relations which have
existed between the most distinguished of our political men.
The following letter, not before published, from Mrs. Adams to her
father-in-law will be read with interest. She corresponded regularly
during her life in Washington, with him, until his death, in 1826:
TO JOHN ADAMS.
“WASHINGTON, _16th April, 1819_.
“Yes! my dear sir, was my mind sufficiently strong or capacious to
understand, or even to comprehend the study of ancient and modern
philosophy, I am certain I should derive very great advantage from that
study; but you certainly forgot when you recommended it, that you were
addressing the weaker sex, to whom stoicism would be both unamiable and
unnatural, and who would be very liable in avoiding Scylla, to strike
upon Charybdis, or to speak without metaphor, to rush into scepticism.
Have you perceived anything like fatalism in my letters? I am
unconscious of it, though I fear there may sometimes be a little
inclination toward it. The woman you selected for your wife was so
highly gifted in mind, with powers so vast, and such quick and clear
perception, altogether so superior to the general run of females, you
have perhaps formed a too enlarged opinion of the capacities of our sex,
and having never witnessed their frailties, are not aware of the dangers
to which they are exposed, by acquirements above their strength.
“The systems of the ancients have been quite out of my reach, excepting
the Dialogues of Plato, which Mr. A. recommended to me last year, and
which I read attentively. I cannot say that I am entirely unacquainted
with their different theories, but that acquaintance has been too
superficial to make them well understood, and I have been too much
inclined to view them, as difficult of practice, and not tending much to
the real benefit of mankind. With the modern philosophers I have become
more intimate, if I may make use of such a word, speaking of works which
I have read, but which I could not understand or digest. Locke has
puzzled me, Berkley amused me, Reid astonished me, Hume disgusted me,
and Tucker either diverted me or set me to sleep. This is a very limited
sort of reading, and you will laugh at my catalogue of names which have
at best, I believe, but little title to the rank of philosophers, or at
least must come in at the fag end. I have dipped into others and thrown
them aside, but I have never seen anything that would satisfy my mind,
or that would compare with the chaste and exquisitely simple doctrines
of Christianity.
“I fear you will find this letter more extravagant than any you have
ever received from me, but I have made it a rule to follow where the
current of my ideas carried me, and to give them to you in a perfect
undress. My reading has been too general, and too diffuse to be very
beneficial. French authors have occupied my attention the largest
portion of my life, but their venom was destroyed, by the events which
were continually passing almost before my eyes, and which showed how
wicked was the practice resulting from such theories. You, my dear sir,
have ever possessed a nature too ardent, too full of benevolent feelings
to all your race, with a mind too noble, and a capacity too enlarged, to
sink into the cold and thankless state of stoicism. Your heart is too
full of all the generous and kindly affections for you ever to acquire
such a cold and selfish doctrine. No, my dear sir, it was, it is
impossible. Look at your past life, retrace all the eminent services you
have rendered to your country, and to mankind, and if you, by unforeseen
and uncontrollable events, have been prevented from doing all you
wished, all you desired, toward promoting their felicity, let their
unequalled prosperity (in producing which, you had so large a share)
sooth your latest hours, and cheer your heart with the conviction, that
to you, in a great measure, they owe it; and this sentiment alone will
be sufficient reward. I set out in life with the most elevated notions
of honor and principle; ere I had entered it fairly, my hopes were
blasted, and my ideas of mankind, that is, all the favorable ones
almost, were suddenly chilled, and I was very near forming the horrid
and erroneous opinion, that no such thing as virtue existed. This was a
dreadful doctrine at the age of little more than twenty, but it taught
me to reflect and not to ‘build my house in the sand.’ My life has been
a life of changes, and I had early accustomed myself to the idea of
retirement. The nature of our institutions, the various turns of policy
to which an elective government is ever liable, has long occupied my
thoughts, and I trust I may find strength to sustain any of the changes
which may be in store for me, with fortitude, dignity, and I trust
cheerfulness. To these changes, I can never attach the idea of disgrace.
Popular governments are peculiarly liable to factions, to cabals, to
intrigue, to the juggling tricks of party, and the people may often be
deceived for a time, by some fair speaking demagogue, but they will
never be deceived long; and though they may, in a moment of excitement,
sanction an injustice toward an old and faithful servant, they
appreciate his worth, and hand his name down with honor to posterity,
even though that ‘name may not be agreeable to the fashionables.’ It is
one which I take a pride in bearing, and one that I hope and pray my
children may never dishonor.
“What you say concerning the Floridas is, I believe, universally
allowed, and as to the effect upon the name, why, it is of little
importance, provided the substance is left, and the act undeniable.
There is the lance, let the lance speak—I can safely swear as an
individual I never set my heart on what the world calls a great reward.
I am too well assured that ‘uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,’
and the station is too full of thorns to render it very desirable. I
have no relish for being absolutely crucified for the sake of a short
pre-eminence. You have, I suppose, seen the correspondence between Gen.
Scott and old Hickory? How do you like the epistle of the former? What
do you think of De Witt Clinton’s reply to the charge insinuated against
him? We hear of nothing but complaints of the times, and our commercial
world are in great distress. In Baltimore (that city where the South
American privateers are owned and fitted out by native citizens in the
very face of the public, and committing depredations on the property of
their fellow-citizens) there are failures every day, and it is said the
mischief will extend to all parts of the Union. In Virginia, a man who
broke out of the jail in this city, has offered himself as a candidate
for Congress, telling the electors that he would take only six dollars a
day, as he thinks eight too much; because if he found his pay
insufficient, he would play, and by this means insure himself a living.
That he had often played with their late member, and with many of the
most distinguished members of Congress, who used to send for him to play
with them. Such things are—
“Adieu, my dear Sir.”
“During the eight years in which Mrs. Adams presided in the house of the
Secretary of State,” writes her son, Hon. Charles Francis Adams, in
1839, “no exclusions were made, in her invitations, merely on account of
any real or imagined political hostility; nor, though keenly alive to
the reputation of her husband, was any disposition manifested to do more
than to amuse and enliven society. In this, the success was admitted to
be complete, as all will remember who were then in the habit of
frequenting her dwelling. But in proportion as the great contest for the
Presidency, in which Mr. Adams was involved, approached, the violence of
partisan warfare began to manifest its usual bad effects, and Mrs. Adams
decided to adopt habits of greater seclusion. When at last the result
had placed her in the President’s mansion, her health began to fail her
so much, that though she continued to preside upon occasions of public
reception, she ceased to appear at any other times, and she began to
seek the retirement which since her return to private life she has
preferred. Mr. Adams has been, it is true, and still continues, a
representative in Congress, from the State of Massachusetts, and this
renders necessary an annual migration from that State to Washington and
back again, as well as a winter residence within the sound of the
gayeties of that place; but while her age and health dispense her from
the necessities of attending them, severe domestic afflictions have
contributed to remove the disposition. Thus the attractions of great
European capitals, and the dissipation consequent upon high official
station at home, though continued through that part of her life when
habits become most fixed, have done nothing to change the natural
elegance of her manners, nor the simplicity of her tastes. In the
society of a few friends and near relatives, and in the cultivation of
the religious affections without display, she draws all the consolation
that can in this world be afforded for her privations. To the world Mrs.
Adams presents a fine example of the possibility of retiring from the
circles of fashion, and the external fascinations of life, in time still
to retain a taste for the more quiet though less showy attractions of
the domestic fireside. A strong literary taste which has led her to read
much, and a capacity for composition in prose and verse, have been
resources for her leisure moments; not with a view to that exhibition
which renders such accomplishments too often fatal to the more delicate
shades of feminine character, but for her own gratification and that of
a few relations and friends. The late President Adams used to draw much
amusement, in his latest years at Quincy, from the accurate delineation
of Washington manners and character, which was regularly transmitted,
for a considerable period, in letters from her pen. And if as time
advances, she becomes gradually less able to devote her sense of sight
to reading and writing, her practice of the more homely virtues of
manual industry, so highly commended in the final chapter of the book of
Solomon, still amuses the declining days of her varied career.”
On the fourth of March, 1825, John Quincy Adams was inaugurated as
President of the United States, and took the executive chair, which had
been entered twenty-eight years before by his venerated father. The
scene at the inauguration was splendid and imposing. At an early hour of
the day, the avenues leading to the capitol presented an animated
spectacle. Crowds of citizens on foot, in carriages and on horseback,
were hastening to the great centre of attraction. Strains of martial
music and the movements of the various military corps heightened the
excitement.
At 12 o’clock, the military escort, consisting of general and staff
officers and several volunteer companies, received the President-elect
at his residence, together with President Monroe and several officers of
government. The procession, led by the cavalry, and accompanied by an
immense concourse of citizens, proceeded to the capitol, where it was
received with military honors by the U. S. Marine Corps, under Col.
Henderson.
Meanwhile the hall of the House of Representatives presented a brilliant
spectacle. The galleries and the lobbies were crowded with spectators.
The sofas between the columns, the bar, the promenade in the rear of the
Speaker’s chair, and the three outer rows of the members’ seats, were
occupied by a splendid array of beauty and fashion. On the left, the
Diplomatic Corps, in the costume of their respective courts, occupied
the place assigned them, immediately before the steps which led to the
chair. The officers of the army and navy were scattered in groups
throughout the hall. In front of the clerk’s table chairs were placed
for the Judges of the Supreme Court.
At twenty minutes past 12 o’clock, the marshals, in blue scarfs, made
their appearance in the hall, at the head of the august procession.
First came the officers of both Houses of Congress. Then appeared the
President-elect, followed by the venerable ex-President Monroe, with his
family. To these succeeded the Judges of the Supreme Court, in their
robes of office, the members of the Senate, preceded by the
Vice-President, with a number of the members of the House of
Representatives.
Mr. Adams, in a plain suit of black, made entirely of American
manufactures, ascended to the Speaker’s chair and took his seat. The
Chief-Justice was placed in front of the clerk’s table, having before
him another table on the floor of the hall, on the opposite side of
which sat the remaining judges, with their faces toward the chair. The
doors having been closed and silence proclaimed, Mr. Adams arose, and in
a distinct and firm tone of voice read his inaugural address.
The congratulations which then poured in from every side, occupied the
hands, and could not but reach the heart, of President Adams. The
meeting between him and his venerated predecessor had in it something
peculiarly affecting. General Jackson was among the earliest of those
who took the hand of the President; and their looks and deportment
toward each other were a rebuke to that littleness of party spirit which
can see no merit in a rival, and feel no joy in the honor of a
competitor. Shortly after 1 o’clock, the procession commenced leaving
the hall. The President was escorted back as he came. On his arrival at
his residence, he received the compliments and respects of a great
number of ladies and gentlemen, who called on him to tender their
congratulations. The proceedings of the day were closed by an inaugural
ball in the evening. Among the guests present were the President and
Vice-President, ex-President Monroe, a number of foreign ministers, with
many civil, military and naval officers.[11]
Footnote 11:
National Intelligencer, 1825.
Mrs. Adams gave up the comforts of her home, and took possession of the
White House soon after the inauguration. The spring and summer wore
quietly away, for even in the White House, gayety was confined to the
winter season, and save the visits of friends, nothing occurred to vary
the quiet of every-day life. Her children were a consolation to her in
her infirm condition, for her health failed her as soon as she moved
into the President’s house.
It was the happy fortune of Mrs. Adams to be the occupant of the White
House when Lafayette visited the United States, who at the invitation of
the President spent the last weeks of his stay at the Executive Mansion,
and from there, on the 7th of September, 1825, bade an affecting
farewell to the land of his adoption.
As the last sentence of this farewell address was pronounced, Lafayette
advanced and took President Adams in his arms, while tears poured down
his venerable cheeks. Retiring a few paces, he was overcome by his
feelings, and again returned and falling on the neck of Mr. Adams,
exclaimed in broken accents, “God bless you.” The sighs and tears of the
many assembled bore testimony to the affecting solemnity of the scene.
Having recovered his self-possession, the General stretched out his
hands, and was in a moment surrounded by the greetings of the whole
assembly, who pressed upon him, each eager to seize, perhaps for the
last time, that beloved hand which was opened so freely for our aid when
aid was so precious, and which grasped with firm and undeviating hold
the steel which so bravely helped to achieve our deliverance. The
expression which now beamed from the face of this exalted man was of the
finest and most touching kind. The hero was lost in the father and the
friend. Dignity melted into subdued affection, and the friend of
Washington seemed to linger with a mournful delight among the sons of
his adopted country.
A considerable period was then occupied in conversing with various
individuals, while refreshments were presented to the company. The
moment of departure at length arrived; and having once more pressed the
hand of Mr. Adams, he entered the barouche, accompanied by the
Secretaries of State, of the Treasury, and of the Navy, and passed from
the capital of the Union.
The whole scene—the peals of artillery, the sounds of numerous military
bands, the presence of the vast concourse of people, and the occasion
that assembled them, produced emotions not easily described, but which
every American heart can readily conceive.
In the following September, she accompanied her husband on a visit to
his aged father at Quincy, but being taken very ill at Philadelphia, the
President was compelled to proceed without her. He did not remain long,
and on the 14th of October set out again for Washington. It was the last
time Mr. Adams ever saw his father! “The aged patriarch had lived to see
his country emancipated from foreign thraldom, its independence
acknowledged, its union consummated, its prosperity and perpetuity
resting on an immovable foundation, and his son elevated to the highest
office in its gift. It was enough! His work accomplished—the book of his
eventful life written and sealed for immortality—he was ready to depart
and be at peace. The 4th of July, 1826, will long be memorable for one
of the most remarkable coincidences that have ever taken place in the
history of nations. It was the fiftieth anniversary, the jubilee of
American Independence! Preparations had been made throughout the Union
to celebrate the day with unusual pomp and display. John Adams and
Thomas Jefferson had both been invited to participate in the festivities
of the occasion, at their several places of abode. But a higher summons
awaited them: they were bidden to a ‘jubilee’ above, which shall have no
end! On that half-century Anniversary of American Independence, at
nearly the same hour of the day, the spirits of Adams and Jefferson took
their departure from earth! Amid the rejoicings of the people, the peals
of artillery, the strains of music, the exultations of a great nation in
the enjoyment of freedom, peace, and happiness, they were released from
the toils of life, and allowed to enter on their rest.”
These two patriarchs had been corresponding regularly, and their letters
had attracted the attention of Europe as well as America. Mr. Adams had
written the last letter, in which occurs the following expression: “Half
an hour ago, I received, and this moment have heard read, for the third
or fourth time, the best letter that was ever written by an
octogenarian, dated June 1st.”
The editor of the London _Morning Chronicle_ prefaces his notice of this
correspondence with the following remarks:
“What a contrast the following correspondence of the two rival
Presidents of the greatest republic of the world, reflecting an old age
dedicated to virtue, temperance, and philosophy, presents to the
heart-sickening details occasionally disclosed to us, of the miserable
beings who fill the thrones of the continent. There is not, perhaps, one
sovereign of the continent, who in any sense of the word can be said to
honor our nature, while many make us almost ashamed of it. The curtain
is seldom drawn aside without exhibiting to us beings worn out with
vicious indulgence, diseased in mind, if not in body, the creatures of
caprice and insensibility. On the other hand, since the foundation of
the American Republic, the chair has never been filled by a man for
whose life (to say the least) any American need once to blush. It must,
therefore, be some compensation to the Americans for the absence of pure
monarchy, that when they look upward, their eyes are not always met by
vice, and meanness, and often idiocy.”
The administration of Mr. Adams was remarkable for the peace and
prosperity of the country, and there was therefore no event in Mrs.
Adams’ social life of a stirring nature. Her husband was certainly the
most learned man who has yet occupied the Presidential chair. No one at
all acquainted with his life will deny this assertion. Profoundly versed
in the lore of the ancients, he was yet more thoroughly acquainted with
the history of modern governments, and was a deep thinker, as well as an
eloquent speaker. A Southern clergyman visited him during his
administration, and was astonished to find he was intimately acquainted
with all sects and creeds, and had read every book he could mention.
Finally he remembered one work of importance, and asked if he had read
it. Mr. Adams had not, whereupon the minister, delighted with his
success, told it everywhere and was afterward known as the man who had
read one more book than John Quincy Adams.
Mrs. Adams retired from the White House with heartfelt pleasure, and
sought the quiet her delicate health demanded.
The following interesting account of an interview with ex-President
Adams, by a Southern gentleman, in 1834, affords some conception of the
home of Mrs. Adams at Quincy.
“Yesterday, accompanied by my friend T., I paid a visit to the venerable
ex-President, at his residence in Quincy. A violent rain setting in as
soon as we arrived, gave us from five to nine o’clock to listen to the
learning of this man of books. His residence is a plain, very plain one;
the room into which we were ushered (the drawing-room, I suppose) was
furnished in true republican style. It is probably of ancient
construction, as I perceived two beams projecting from the low ceiling,
in the manner of the beams in a ship’s cabin. Prints commemorative of
political events, and the old family portraits hung about the room;
common straw matting covered the floor, and two candlesticks, bearing
sperm candles, ornamented the mantel-piece. The personal appearance of
the ex-President himself corresponds with the simplicity of his
furniture. He resembles rather a substantial, well-fed farmer, than one
who has wielded the destinies of this mighty confederation, and been
bred in the ceremony and etiquette of a European court. In fact, he
appears to possess none of that sternness of character which you would
suppose to belong to one a large part of whose life has been spent in
political warfare, or, at any rate, amidst scenes requiring a vast deal
of nerve and inflexibility. Mrs. Adams is described in a word—a lady.
She has all the warmth of heart and ease of manner that mark the
character of the Southern ladies, and from which it would be no easy
matter to distinguish her.
“The ex-President was the chief talker. He spoke with infinite ease,
drawing upon his vast resources with the certainty of one who has his
lecture before him ready written. The whole of his conversation, which
steadily he maintained for nearly four hours, was a continued stream of
light. Well contented was I to be a listener. His subjects were the
architecture of the middle ages; the stained glass of that period;
sculpture, embracing monuments particularly. On this subject, his
opinion of Mrs. Nightingale’s monument in Westminster Abbey differs from
all others that I have seen or heard. He places it above every other in
the Abbey, and observed in relation to it, that the spectator ‘saw
nothing else.’ Milton, Shakespeare, Shenstone, Pope, Byron, and Southey
were in turn remarked upon. He gave Pope a wonderfully high character,
and remarked that one of his chief beauties was the skill exhibited in
ranging the cesural pause, quoting from various parts of his author to
illustrate his remarks more fully. He said very little on the politics
of the country. He spoke at considerable length of Sheridan and Burke,
both of whom he had heard, and could describe with the most graphic
effect. He also spoke of Junius; and it is remarkable that he should
place him so far above the best of his cotemporaries. He spoke of him as
a bad man; but maintained, as a writer, that he had never been equalled.
The conversation never flagged for a moment; and on the whole I shall
remember my visit to Quincy as amongst the most instructive and pleasant
I ever passed.”
Mrs. Adams enjoyed the pleasures of her home but one year, when Mr.
Adams was elected a member of Congress, and from that time forward to
the hour of his death he represented the Plymouth district with fidelity
and ever increasing honor and power. Mr. Adams took his seat in the
House of Representatives in December, 1831, and he lived in his own
house situated on I street. For fifteen years he was a member of
Congress, residing continually at Washington, although making frequent
visits to his old home.
More than fourscore years had left their impress upon Mr. Adams’ brow,
and he was still in the midst of his usefulness. In November, 1846, he
had a stroke of paralysis, from which he never recovered. On the morning
of that day, while sojourning at the residence of his son, in Boston,
preparing to depart for Washington, he was walking out with a friend to
visit a new medical college, and was attacked by the way. After several
weeks, he improved sufficiently to return to his duties at the capital,
but never afterward entirely recovered. On Monday, the 21st of February,
1848, at half-past one o’clock, whilst in his seat in the House, he was
struck a second time with the same disease. He was removed to the
Speaker’s apartment, borne on a sofa by several members, and plasters
applied, which seemed to relieve him. Mrs. Adams was sent for, and on
his recovering consciousness, was gladdened by her presence in answer to
his inquiry for her. She was in extreme illness and suffering acute
pain, but remained beside him, sustained by her niece and nephew. Mr.
Adams lay in the Speaker’s room in a state of apparent unconsciousness
through the 22d and 23d—Congress, in the mean time, assembling in
respectful silence, and immediately adjourning from day to day. At seven
o’clock on the evening of the 23d he died. President Polk issued a
Proclamation announcing his death, and orders were issued from all the
Departments directing that suitable honors should be paid the
illustrious dead. The funeral took place in the Capitol, at twelve
o’clock, Saturday, 26th of February, after which the body was conveyed
to the Congressional burying-ground, to remain until the completion of
the preparations for the removal to Quincy.
The following letter of thanks from Mrs. Adams, addressed to the
Speaker, was laid before the House of Representatives:
“WASHINGTON, _February 29th, 1848_.
“SIR:—The resolutions in honor of my dear deceased husband, passed by
the illustrious assembly over which you preside, and of which he at the
moment of his death was a member, have been duly communicated to me.
“Penetrated with grief at this distressing event of my life, mourning
the loss of one who has been at once my example and my support through
the trials of half a century, permit me nevertheless to express through
you my deepest gratitude for the signal manner in which the public
regard has been voluntarily manifested by your honorable body, and the
consolation derived to me and mine from the reflection that the
unwearied efforts of an old public servant have not even in this world
proved without their reward in the generous appreciation of them by his
country.
“With great respect, I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,
“LOUISA CATHERINE ADAMS.”
On the following week, the remains of the deceased ex-President were
conveyed to Quincy, accompanied by a committee of one from each State
and Territory in the Union.
After this sad event in Mrs. Adams’ life, she lived uninterruptedly at
her home in Quincy, enjoying the society of her children and relations.
Mr. Charles Francis Adams thus closes a letter regarding his mother:
“I should be very glad to be of service to you if I were possessed of
the material which you desire in connection with the life of my mother.
But I fear they are not to be found among the papers left by her. She
wrote much and read a great deal, both of French and English literature,
and translated from the former for the amusement of her friends. She
also wrote verses frequently in the same way. But all these
accomplishments of hers, including a nice taste in music and a
well-cultivated voice, are matters of little moment in a publication,
however much they may contribute to the refinement of the social circle
at home. Although she lived to quite an advanced age, her health was
always delicate and variable, so as to interrupt the even tenor of her
life and disincline her to the efforts required for general society,
especially during her twelve years spent at different courts in Europe.”
Mrs. Adams died the 14th of May, 1852, and was buried by the side of her
husband, in the family burying-ground at Quincy, Massachusetts.
VII.
RACHEL JACKSON.
The cruel misrepresentations of political opponents had crushed the
heart of Rachel Jackson, and ended her days before her husband took
possession of the Home of the Presidents. She was denied the
gratification of accompanying him to Washington, and of gracing the
White House, but she was even in death the President’s wife, and as such
is ranked. In his heart she lived there, the object of the most
deathless and exalted affection, the spiritual comforter and companion
of his lonely hours. The friends and visitors of the new President saw
her not, nor was she mentioned by the throng; but to him she was ever
present in the form of memory and eternal, undying love.
The day of party strife and bitterness toward General Jackson has passed
away forever, and the nobility and refined sensibility of his nature are
at last appreciated. The slanders and falsehoods which embittered his
earthly life, have been eclipsed by the sunlight of truth, and over the
lapse of years comes ringing the prophetic assertion of the immutability
of right. He is avenged. Once it was the fashion to revile him, and
multitudes in this country who had no independent judgments of their
own, took up the gossip of the day and pursued their congenial calling,
even after death had taken him from their sight forever.
[Illustration:
MRS. ANDREW JACKSON.
]
Down from the canvas beams his speaking eye upon us, and its meaning
seems to say, justice to her is honor to me. With feelings an American
only can appreciate, the task is undertaken, and whatever its defects
may be, its merit is its truthfulness.
In 1779 Colonel John Donelson, a brave and wealthy old Virginia
surveyor, started to the banks of the Cumberland with a party of
emigrants. He had been preceded by Captain James Robertson and his
companions, nine sturdy pioneers, who had engaged to build huts, plant
corn, and make as comfortable a home as possible for the band that was
to follow. This consisted of families, and among them the families of
several of those adventurous pioneers.
The country was full of Indians, the forests deep, wild and unexplored,
and the perils very great. In order to escape the toil and danger of
travelling through the wilderness, Colonel Donelson accomplished the
journey by water. It was a distance of more than two thousand miles, and
never before had any man been bold enough to project such a voyage. They
sailed down the Holston river to the Tennessee, down the Tennessee to
its junction with the Ohio, up the Ohio till they reached the
Cumberland, and up this stream to the French Salt Springs, on the spot
where now stands the city of Nashville. Colonel Donelson kept an account
of this remarkable and perilous voyage, entitled, “Journal of a voyage,
intended by God’s permission, in the good boat Adventure, from Fort
Patrick Henry on Holston river, to the French Salt Springs on Cumberland
river, kept by John Donelson,” and the thrilling incidents and
remarkable personal adventures are deeply interesting.
They were four months on the journey, the sufferings and privations of
which can scarcely be appreciated by the more fortunate who now travel
the same way amid quiet woods, green fields, and peaceful country homes.
To those adventurers, the dangerous points of the rivers were unknown,
and many were the accidents that befell them. They started in the depths
of winter, and were obliged to encounter excessive cold and frosts. But
worse than all, the Indians were ever on the watch to entrap them. The
journal says, “we still perceived them, marching down the river in
considerable bodies, keeping pace with us.” The wildest, most romantic,
and lonely spot on this continent is the “Whirl,” in the Tennessee
river, where the river is compressed within less than half its usual
width by the Cumberland mountain which juts in on both sides. Its beauty
is only equalled by its danger. In passing through this place, a large
canoe, containing all the property of one of the emigrants, was
overturned and the little cargo was lost. The family had gone into a
larger boat for safety. “The company,” says Colonel Donelson, “pitying
their distress, concluded to halt and assist in recovering the property.
We had landed on the northern shore, at a level spot, and were going up
to the place, when the Indians, to our astonishment, appeared
immediately over us on the opposite cliffs, and commenced firing down
upon us, which occasioned a precipitate retreat to the boats. We
immediately moved off.”
One of this intrepid little band of emigrants, sharing in its hardships
and dangers, was Rachel Donelson, the daughter of Col. John Donelson.
She was then a bright-eyed, black-haired, sprightly, pretty child of
about twelve years. On the 24th of April, 1780, they reached the little
settlement of log-cabins that Captain Robertson and his band had made
ready for them. But perils and privations were not past. The Indians
were wily and untiring in laying their crafty ambushes, and many were
the victims that fell within their deadly grasp, and were despatched by
their murderous weapons. With all these troubles, however, the
settlement grew in numbers and in strength; such was the intrepidity and
the persevering energy which inspired these heroic men and women. As
Colonel Donelson was one of the most influential, he became one of the
wealthiest of the settlers. He had owned extensive iron works in
Pittsylvania County, Virginia, which he had sold when he started to the
West. Prior and subsequent to the revolution, he was a member of the
House of Burgesses, and had repeatedly represented the counties of
Campbell and Pittsylvania. Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry were his
personal friends; he held commissions under each of them to execute
important trusts, such as the survey of State lines, the negotiating of
treaties with Indians, or establishing the authority of the State over
distant territory. His confidence in General Washington was implicit,
and the earnestness with which he spoke his sentiments had a most happy
and conservative influence over the people of the West. The little
colony soon began to suffer from the insufficient supply of corn and of
powder and lead, and as the family of Colonel Donelson numbered many
children and servants, he concluded to remove with them to Kentucky. He
had in that State, moreover, land claims which he could more easily
attend to and secure by being there. During his residence there, his
daughter Rachel was married to Lewis Robards, a man of good family. She
had grown up amid the trials and dangers of a frontier life, but the
examples that she daily saw of noble fortitude, of calm bravery, and of
heroic labor were worth many a tamer and weaker lesson of more civilized
life. She grew up accomplished in the higher art of making home
attractive and relatives happy. She was at the same time lively and
gentle, gifted with patience and prudence, and winning in her simple and
unaffected manners.
Soon after his daughter’s marriage, Colonel Donelson returned to
Tennessee with his family. In the fall of 1785, while surveying in the
woods far from home, this brave and gallant gentleman was pierced by
bullets from an unseen foe, and died the same night. Judge John Overton,
then a young lawyer, in the fall of 1787, went to Mercer County,
Kentucky, and became a boarder in the family of Mrs. Robards, where
Lewis Robards and his wife were living. Judge Overton was not long in
discovering that they lived very unhappily, because Captain Robards was
jealous of a gentleman named Short. His disposition was extremely
unfortunate, and kept the whole family in uneasiness and distress. This
unpleasant state of affairs continued to increase until Captain Robards
wrote to his mother-in-law, the widowed Mrs. Donelson, requesting that
she would take her daughter home, as he did not intend to live with her
any longer. Some time in the latter part of 1788, Samuel Donelson came
and started away with his sister. Judge Overton says, “my clear and
distinct recollection is, that it was said to be a final separation, at
the instance of Captain Robards; for I well recollect the distress of
old Mrs. Robards on account of her daughter-in-law Rachel going away,
and on account of the separation that was about to take place, together
with the circumstance of the old lady’s embracing her affectionately.
The old lady always blamed her son Lewis, and took the part of her
daughter-in-law.”
Judge Overton further remarks that he never heard any of the family
censure young Mrs. Robards on account of the unhappy difference between
her husband and herself; but that he frequently heard them express the
most favorable sentiments regarding her.
As stated in his narrative, published in 1827, Judge Overton, deciding
to fix his residence in Tennessee, left old Mrs. Robards, with the
promise that he would use his best endeavors to effect a reconciliation
between her son Lewis and his wife, particularly as her son seemed
unhappy, and regretful of what had occurred. The Judge took occasion to
speak with him upon the subject, and he said he was convinced that his
suspicions were unfounded, and that he wished to live with his wife.
Upon arriving at his destination in Tennessee, by a remarkable and
romantic coincidence, the Judge again became a boarder in the same house
with Mrs. Lewis Robards. Mrs. Donelson, her mother, was not only willing
to accommodate him, but was glad to add to the number of her protectors
against the Indians. Another lawyer, Andrew Jackson, became a boarder
with Mrs. Donelson at the same time, being introduced by Judge Overton.
“Soon after my arrival,” continues the Judge in his narrative, “I had
frequent conversations with Mrs. Lewis Robards, on the subject of living
happily with her husband. She, with much sensibility, assured me that no
effort to do so should be wanting on her part; and I communicated the
result to Captain Robards and his mother, from both of whom I received
congratulations and thanks.
“Captain Robards had previously purchased a preemption in this country
on the south side of the Cumberland river, in Davidson county, about
five miles from where Mrs. Donelson then lived. In the arrangement for a
reunion between Captain Robards and his wife, I understood it was agreed
that Captain Robards was to live in this country instead of Kentucky;
and that until it was safe to go to his own land, he and his wife were
to live at Mrs. Donelson’s.” They became reunited in the year 1789.
“Not many months elapsed before Robards became jealous of Jackson,
which, I felt confident, was without the least ground. Some of his
irritating conversations on this subject with his wife, I heard amidst
the tears of herself and her mother, who were greatly distressed. I
urged to Robards the unmanliness of his conduct, after the pains I had
taken to produce harmony as a mutual friend of both families, and my
honest conviction that his suspicions were groundless. These
remonstrances seemed not to have the desired effect. As much commotion
and unhappiness prevailed in the family as in that of Mrs. Robards, in
Kentucky. At length I communicated to Jackson the unpleasant situation
of living in a family where there was so much disturbance, and concluded
by telling him that we would endeavor to get some other place. To this
he readily assented.
“Being conscious of his innocence, Jackson said he would talk to
Robards. What passed between them I do not know. Mrs. Donelson related
that Robards became violently angry and abusive, and said that he was
determined not to live with Mrs. Robards. Jackson retired from the
family and went to live at Mansker’s Station. Captain Robards remained
several months with his wife, and then went to Kentucky. Soon after this
affair, Mrs. Robards went to live at Colonel Hays’, who married her
sister.
“Some time in the fall of 1790, there was a report afloat that Captain
Robards intended to come down and take his wife to Kentucky. This
created great uneasiness both with Mrs. Donelson and her daughter, the
latter of whom was much distressed, being convinced after two fair
trials, as she said, that it would be impossible to live with Captain
Robards; and of this opinion was I, with all those I conversed with, who
were acquainted with the circumstances. During the winter of 1791, Mrs.
Donelson told me of her daughter’s intention to go down the river to
Natchez, to some of their friends, in order to keep out of the way of
Captain Robards, as she said he had threatened to haunt her. Knowing, as
I did, Captain Robards’ unhappy disposition, and his temper growing out
of it, I thought she was right to keep out of the way, though I do not
believe that I so expressed myself to the old lady or to any other
person.
“The whole affair gave Jackson great uneasiness. In his singularly
delicate sense of honor, and in what I thought his chivalrous
conceptions of the female sex, it occurred to me that he was
distinguishable from every other person with whom I was acquainted.
About the time of Mrs. Donelson’s communication to me respecting her
daughter’s intention of going to Natchez, I perceived in Jackson
symptoms of more than usual concern. Wishing to ascertain the cause, he
frankly told me that he was the most unhappy of men, in having
innocently and unintentionally been the cause of the loss of peace and
happiness of Mrs. Robards, whom he believed to be a fine woman. It was
not long after this before he communicated to me his intention of going
to Natchez with Colonel Stark, with whom Mrs. Robards was to descend the
river, saying that she had no friend or relation that would go with her,
or assist in preventing Stark and his family and Mrs. Robards from being
massacred by the Indians, then in a state of war and exceedingly
troublesome. Accordingly, Jackson, in company with Mrs. Robards and
Colonel Stark, a venerable and highly esteemed old man and friend of
Mrs. Robards, went down the river from Nashville to Natchez, in the
winter or early spring of 1791. It was not, however, without the urgent
entreaties of Colonel Stark, who wanted protection from the Indians,
that Jackson consented to accompany them.
“Previously to Jackson’s starting, he committed all his law business to
me, at the same time assuring me that as soon as he should see Col.
Stark and his family and Mrs. Robards situated with their friends, he
would return and resume his practice. He descended the river, returned
from Natchez to Nashville, and was at the Superior Court, in the latter
place, in May, 1791, attending to his business as a lawyer and
solicitor-general for the government. Shortly after this time, we were
informed that a divorce had been granted by the Legislature of Virginia.
“The divorce was understood by the people of this country to have been
granted in the winter of 1790–1791. I was in Kentucky in the summer of
1791, remained at old Mrs. Robards’, my former place of residence, a
part of the time, and never understood otherwise than that Captain
Robards’ divorce was final, until the latter part of the year 1793. In
the summer of 1791, General Jackson went to Natchez, and, I understood,
married Mrs. Robards, then believed to be freed from Captain Robards, by
the divorce in the winter of 1790–1791. They returned to Nashville,
settled in the neighborhood of the city, where they have lived ever
since, esteemed and beloved by all classes.
“About the month of December, 1793, after General Jackson and myself had
started to Jonesborough, in East Tennessee, where we practised law, I
learned for the first time that Captain Robards had applied to Mercer
Court, in Kentucky, for a divorce, which had then recently been granted;
and that the Legislature had not absolutely granted a divorce, but left
it for the Court to do. I need not express my surprise, on learning that
the act of the Virginia Legislature had not divorced Captain Robards. I
informed General Jackson of this, who was equally surprised; and during
our conversation, I suggested the propriety of his procuring a license
on his return home, and having the marriage ceremony again performed, so
as to prevent all future cavilling on the subject.
“To this suggestion, he replied that he had long since been married, on
the belief that a divorce had been obtained, which was the understanding
of every person in the country; nor was it without difficulty he could
be induced to believe otherwise.
[Illustration:
THE FIRST RESIDENCE OF ANDREW JACKSON.
]
“On our return home from Jonesborough, in January, 1794, to Nashville, a
license was obtained, and the marriage ceremony again performed.
“The slowness and inaccuracy with which information was obtained in
Tennessee at that time, will not be surprising when we consider its
insulated and dangerous situation, surrounded on every side by the
wilderness, and by hostile Indians, and that there was no mail
established until about 1797.”
Subsequent events proved this marriage to be one of the very happiest
that was ever formed. A romantic person would say that it was made in
Heaven, and certainly it had the requisites of a heavenly union. Nothing
could exceed the admiration, and love, and even deference of General
Jackson for his wife. Her wish to him was law. It was a blessed ordering
of Providence that this kind, good heart should find at last, after so
many troubles, a tender and true friend and protector, understanding her
perfectly, and loving her entirely.
Mrs. Jackson was a noble woman, and abundantly blessed with superior
sense. She was a good manager, a kind mistress, always directing the
servants, and taking care of the estate in her husband’s frequent
absences, and withal a generous and hospitable neighbor.
She had a great many nieces and nephews, some of whom were nearly all
the time staying with her. She was very lively in her manners, well
knowing how to tell stories, and amuse the young people of the
neighborhood, who were much attached to her, all calling her
affectionately Aunt Rachel, as her nieces and nephews did.
About the year 1804, General Jackson fixed his residence upon a superb
estate of a thousand acres, twelve miles from Nashville, which he named
the Hermitage. They lived at first in an ordinary frame building,
sufficiently comfortable, but rather small. No lack of space in the
house, however, could contract the liberal and hospitable spirit of the
master and mistress of the Hermitage. When the Marquis de Lafayette
visited Nashville on his return to America, there was an entertainment
given in his honor at the Hermitage, to which many ladies and gentlemen
were invited. At this banquet, and during his stay in Nashville, General
Lafayette was particularly respectful and attentive to Mrs. Jackson; and
after his return to France, he never failed, in writing to General
Jackson, to send her his compliments.
But the General was the “prince of hospitality,” as one of his neighbors
said, “not because he entertained a great many people, but because the
poor belated pedlar was as welcome as the President of the United
States, and made so much at his ease that he felt as though he had got
home.”
One who often visited General Jackson’s house wrote that “it was the
resort of friends and acquaintances, and of all strangers visiting the
State; and the more agreeable to all from the perfect conformity of Mrs.
Jackson’s character to his own. She had the General’s own warm heart,
frank manners, and hospitable temper, and no two persons could have been
better suited to each other, lived more happily together, or made a
house more attractive to visitors. She was always doing kind things in
the kindest manner. No bashful youth or plain old man, whose modesty set
them down at the lower end of the table, could escape her cordial
attention, any more than the titled gentlemen at her right and left.”
She had no children of her own, and it was a source of regret to both;
but a fortunate circumstance threw a little child across her pathway,
and she gladly took the babe to her home and heart. Her brother had twin
boys born to him, and wishing to help her sister in a care which was so
great, took one of them to the Hermitage when it was but a few days old.
The General soon became extremely attached to the little guest, and
adopted him, giving him his own name, and treating him from that time
with unremitting kindness and affection, as if he were indeed his only
son. A traveller, who arrived at the Hermitage one wet, chilly evening
in February, says: “I came upon General Jackson in the twilight, sitting
alone before the fire, a lamb and a child between his knees. Seeing me,
he called a servant to remove the two innocents to another room, and
said that the child had cried because the lamb was out in the cold, and
begged him to bring it in, which he had done to please the child—his
adopted son, then not two years old.” This son, Andrew Jackson, jr., was
the sole heir of the General’s large estate. His widow resides yet at
the Hermitage, at the request of the State of Tennessee, which purchased
the homestead at the close of the war.
A few days after the battle of New Orleans, Mrs. Jackson arrived in that
city with a party of Tennesseeans, bringing with her the little Andrew,
then about seven years old. She participated in the attentions that were
showered upon the General, who showed her, himself, the most marked
respect and deference. The ladies of New Orleans presented her with a
valuable and beautiful set of topaz jewelry. In her portrait, at the
Hermitage, Mrs. Jackson wears the dress which she appeared in at the
grand ball given in New Orleans, in honor of the General. It is white
satin, ornamented with lace, and jewelry of pearls. This portrait was
painted by Earl, an artist who married a niece of Mrs. Jackson’s and
resided many years in General Jackson’s family.
In 1816 Mrs. Jackson joined the church, while attending the ministry of
the Rev. Gideon Blackburn, a Presbyterian divine, whom she ever after
regarded with the deepest veneration. To gratify her, General Jackson
built a little church on the estate, a quarter of a mile from the house.
It was plain and simple, and small, but very dear to Mrs. Jackson, who
spent in it many happy hours. It was a blessing to the neighbors, who
found it convenient and pleasant to send their children to
Sunday-school, and to attend church themselves when it was impossible to
go farther.
A new house was built during the summer of 1819. It was erected
expressly for Mrs. Jackson, and everything regarding it was done exactly
in accordance with her wishes. Major Lewis, who visited the site,
recommended a more elevated position to the General. “No, Major,” said
he, “Mrs. Jackson chose this spot, and she shall have her wish. I am
going to build this house for her; I don’t expect to live in it myself.”
He was at the time very feeble and exhausted from the severe illness
succeeding his return from the Seminole war, and was, as he supposed,
not long for this world.
The house is situated in a level place, rather lower than the avenue
which leads to it, and from the gate only glimpses of it can be
obtained. The surrounding country is exceedingly beautiful. The long
stately avenue of cedars ends in an oval-shaped lawn in which stands the
mansion. Both in front and in the rear of the house there are grand
double piazzas, with stone floors supported by large fluted columns,
round which cling and bloom beautiful rose vines. Under the shade of
these drooping tendrils, General Jackson and his cherished wife were
wont to saunter, occasionally stopping to more distinctly hear the rich
notes of the southern songsters, or to catch the mournful cry of the
ringdove in the distant cotton-field.
The walls of the hall are covered with scenes from Telemachus, which was
formerly so fashionable for papering. The fairy beauty of Calypso’s
enchanted island, with its sparkling fountains, its flowery groves, its
elegant pillared palaces, its dancing nymphs, its altars of incense and
votive wreaths, its graceful groups of statues on the sea-shore, and,
above all, its lovely queen and the noble youth and his wise Mentor,
lend an air of interest and beauty to this cool hall which is
delightful. There is hanging here a handsome portrait of Columbus. The
furniture is old-fashioned and dignified, and there are several busts of
distinguished men. That of General Jackson was taken by Mr. Persico,
made in Italy and presented to the General.
The parlors are large, pleasant rooms, in which there are many
curiosities, and various odd and exquisite pieces of furniture that were
presented at different times to General Jackson. The house is spacious
and handsome. When first built, it was the most elegant one in all the
country around. It was a gift of love from the General to his beloved
wife, when he did not expect to survive her; and it was arranged to suit
her slightest wish, that nothing might be wanting to her satisfaction,
which it was possible in his power to provide. The extensive and
carefully-ordered garden was tended and overlooked by her, and contains
a great many sweet shrubs and evergreens and beautiful flowers, a large
number of which she planted herself.
[Illustration:
THE HERMITAGE—THE HOME OF ANDREW JACKSON.
]
In 1821 General Jackson was appointed Governor of Florida, and left the
Hermitage the 18th of April, accompanied by Mrs. Jackson and the “two
Andrews,” the adopted son and nephew—Andrew Jackson Donelson.[12] The
following September she wrote to a friend at Nashville: “The General, I
think, is the most anxious man to get home I ever saw. He calls it a
wild-goose chase, his coming here. He tells me to say to you and Captain
Kingsley, that in the multiplicity of business, if he had or could have
seen any advantages for your better prospects, he would have written
Captain Kingsley long since. You are in the best country in America. O,
how has this place been overrated. We have had a great many deaths;
still I know it is a healthy climate. Amongst many disadvantages, it has
few advantages. I pity Mr. J., he will have so much fatigue. Not one
minister of the gospel has come to this place yet; no, not one; but we
have a prayer-meeting every Sabbath. The house is crowded so that there
is not room for them. Sincere prayers are constantly sent up to the
Hearer of prayer for a faithful minister. Oh, what a reviving,
refreshing scene it would be to the Christians, though few in number.
The non-professors desire it. Blessed be God, he has a few even here
that are bold in declaring their faith in Christ. You named, my dear
friend, my going to the theatre. I went once, and then with much
reluctance. I felt so little interest in it, however, I shall not take
up much time in apologizing. My situation is a peculiar one at this
time. I trust in the Lord my dear child, Andrew, reached home in safety.
I think you all must feel a great deal for me, knowing how my very heart
recoiled at the idea of what I had to encounter. Many have been
disappointed. I have not. I saw it as plain as I now do when it is
passing. O Lord, forgive, if thy will, all those my enemies that had an
agency in the matter. Many wander about like lost sheep; all have been
disappointed in offices. Crage has a constable’s place of no value. The
President made all the appointments and sent them from the City of
Washington.”
Footnote 12:
After General Jackson landed at Blakely, near Mobile, he proceeded up
the river about forty miles, to a military post under the command of
Colonel Brook, and called “Montpelier.” Here he was detained some
days, during which time he learned that the Indian Chief
“Weatherford,” who commanded at the destruction and massacre of Fort
Mimms, was living but a few miles off. General Jackson remembered the
brave conduct of the Chief at the battle of “Horse Shoe,” where losing
the most of his warriors, he surrendered alone, remarking, that “he
had fought as long as he had men, and would fight longer if he
could;”[13] and at his suggestion Colonel Brook invited the Chief to
dinner the following day. The next day his appearance attracted much
attention at the fort, and when dinner was announced, General Jackson
escorted him to the presence of the ladies, introducing him to Mrs.
Jackson as the Chief of the Creek Indians and the bravest of his
tribe. She smilingly welcomed him and said, “she was pleased to meet
him at the festive board, and hoped that the strife of war was ended
forever.” “I looked up,” he said, “and found all eyes upon me, but I
could not speak a word. I found something choked me, and I wished I
was dead or at home.” Colonel Brook came to his rescue by replying to
Mrs. Jackson, and the dinner passed off pleasantly, but the Chief
related the occurrence a few years later, and said, “he was never
caught in such quarters again.”
Footnote 13:
Weatherford’s words were, “I am in your power. Do with me what you
please. I have done the white people all the harm I could. I fought
them, and fought them bravely. There was a time when I had a choice; I
have none now. Even hope is dead. Once I could animate my warriors;
but I cannot animate the dead. They can no longer hear my voice; their
bones are at Tallushatches, Talladega, Emucfaw and To-ho-pé-ka.”
General Jackson, in a letter to Captain John Donelson, Sr., speaks thus
of his wife:
“I hope we will be able to leave here by the 1st of October for home.
Mrs. Jackson’s health is not good, and I am determined to travel with
her as early as my business and her health will permit, even if I should
be compelled to come back to settle my business and turn over the
government to my successor. I am determined to resign my office the
moment Congress meets, and live near you the balance of my life. * * *
Before this reaches you, Colonel Butler and our little son will be with
you, I hope. I trust you will extend your care over him until we are
where he has gone. You may be sure your sister will not remain long
behind. We all enjoy tolerable health at present, but I am wearied with
business and this hot weather.”
Mrs. Jackson sighed for her quiet home and her little church during her
stay in Florida. Pensacola was so different, and the people so entirely
divided in all their tastes and pursuits from the devout Christian
matron, that she could not be satisfied. “Three Sabbaths,” she says, “I
spent in this house before the country was in possession under American
government. The Sabbath profanely kept, a great deal of noise and
swearing in the streets; shops kept open, trade going on I think more
than on any other day. They were so boisterous on that day I sent Major
Stanton to say to them that the approaching Sunday would be differently
kept. And must I say, the worst people here are the outcast Americans
and negroes! Yesterday I had the happiness of witnessing the truth of
what I had said. Great order was observed; the doors kept shut; the
gambling houses demolished; fiddling and dancing not heard any more on
the Lord’s day; cursing not to be heard.
“Pensacola is a perfect plain: the land nearly as white as flour, yet
productive of fine peaches, oranges in abundance, grapes, figs,
pomegranates, etc. Fine flowers grow spontaneously, for they have
neglected the gardens, expecting a change of government. The town is
immediately on the bay—the most beautiful water prospect I ever saw; and
from 10 o’clock in the morning until 10 at night we have the finest
sea-breeze. There is something in it so exhilarating, so pure, so
wholesome, it enlivens the whole system. All the houses look in ruins,
old as time. Many squares of the town appear grown over with the
thickest shrubs, weeping-willows, and the Pride of China: all look
neglected. The inhabitants all speak Spanish and French. Some speak four
or five languages. Such a mixed multitude you nor any of us ever had an
idea of. There are fewer white people far than any other, mixed with all
nations under the canopy of heaven, almost in nature’s darkness.”
On the 3d of November, General and Mrs. Jackson arrived at the
Hermitage, delighted to be again at that home within whose doors the
angels, Peace and Happiness, awaited their return, and sat with folded
wings.
General Jackson set out for Washington, accompanied by his wife, in
1824, going all the way in their own coach and four, and being
twenty-eight days on the journey. In a letter to a friend in Nashville
she says: “We are boarding in the same house with the nation’s guest,
General Lafayette. When we first came to this house, General Jackson
said he would go and pay the Marquis the first visit. Both having the
same desire, and at the same time, they met on the entry of the stairs.
It was truly interesting. At Charleston, General Jackson saw him on the
field of battle; the one a boy of twelve, the Marquis, twenty-three.”
A great many persons paid their respects to Mrs. Jackson. She says,
“there are not less than from fifty to a hundred persons calling in one
day.” While wondering at “the extravagance of the people in dressing and
running to parties,” she speaks with enthusiasm of the churches and the
able ministers.
Soon after their return home, Mrs. Jackson’s health began to decline,
and in the succeeding years of General Jackson’s campaign for the
Presidency, it continued delicate. She went with the General to New
Orleans, in the beginning of the year 1828, and witnessed his splendid
reception there. “She was waited on by Mrs. Marigny and other ladies,
the moment she landed from the Pocahontas, and conducted to Mr.
Marigny’s house, where refreshments had been prepared, and where she
received the salutations of a large and brilliant circle. The
festivities continued four days, at the end of which, the General and
Mrs. Jackson and their friends re-embarked on board the Pocahontas and
returned homeward.”
Mrs. Jackson’s health continued to fail, and no excursions or remedies
were found availing. She had suffered from an affection of the heart; a
disease which, increased and heightened by every undue excitement, was,
in her case, exposed to the most alarming extremes and continually
liable to aggravation. The painful paragraphs in regard to her character
with which the papers of the country abounded, wounded and grieved her
sorely. The circumstances of her marriage, so easily misconstrued and so
lamentably misunderstood by many whom distance and meagre information
had kept in ignorance, were used by the political enemies of General
Jackson as lawful weapons wherewith they might assail his fair fame and
obstruct his rapid progress to the highest place in the land. Considered
in all its bearings, there is not in the whole world a position more
honorable, more important, or more responsible, than that of the
President of the United States. Well were it needful to choose with
circumspection the Chief Magistrate of a country so vast, of a people so
intelligent and brave, and possessing the elements of such greatness and
glory; who holds in his grasp such a multitude of destinies; and who is
able, by his decisions, to continue the sunshine of prosperity, or to
bring the bitter blasts of adversity and discord. Hence the ardor and
even the desperation of the struggles for victory in each Presidential
campaign. The same enthusiasm which actuated the friends of General
Jackson, actuated also his enemies; and nothing could exceed the
earnestness and rancor with which they attacked him. Not content with
reviling him, they must needs drag before the public the long-forgotten
circumstances of his marriage, and wrest them to suit their unworthy
purposes. The kind heart of Mrs. Jackson, though wrung with
mortification and grief, prompted no utterance of impatience. She said
very little, but was often found in tears. Meanwhile, her health
continued to decline. It was too hard to bear that he to whom she had
devoted the affections and energies of her long life, should be taunted,
for her sake; that he should, for her sake, be considered unworthy of
the trust of that nation for whose defence and honor he had undergone
unnumbered fatigues and conflicts and perils. This silent suffering told
upon her spirits, but anxiety to know the event sustained her.
When the news arrived of General Jackson’s election to the Presidency,
it was received with rejoicings and hilarity in Nashville as everywhere
else, but with calmness by him and her who were so highly honored. Her
gratification must have been too deep and heartfelt to be expressed with
noise and mirth. Despite the calumnies which their enemies had heaped
upon her and the General, the nation had bestowed upon him its highest
gift; and had confided, for a time, the keeping of its honor and
well-being into his hands. The sorrows through which she had passed,
those clouds that had hung over her thorny way, had been dispersed by
the favoring wind of truth, and the bright rays of peace shone upon her
heart. But she was not dazzled by the new prospects opening before her.
The splendors and gayeties of a life in the White House could offer her
no attractions. Her domestic and simple tastes found more pleasure in
her own home and family circle at the beloved Hermitage. “For Mr.
Jackson’s sake,” said she, “I am glad; for my own part, I never wished
it.” She seemed to regret the necessity of a residence in Washington,
and remarked to a friend with an expression of the utmost sincerity, “I
assure you that I would rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God,
than to live in that Palace in Washington.”
Mrs. Jackson always purchased all the clothing and household articles,
both for her own and the servants’ use. Desiring to arrange everything
comfortable during the winter, for she knew that General Jackson would
have many friends at the Hermitage, she made frequent visits to
Nashville, and on one occasion heard the thoughtless remarks of persons
who probably forgot a moment afterward the words which broke the heart
of their victim. It was her custom usually to go to one of her most
intimate friends on reaching the city, and have the horses and carriage
put in the stable, and then go out shopping; but on this occasion she
went early in her cumbrous coach, and as she had many places to visit,
determined to send the driver to a livery stable and meet it in the
afternoon at the Nashville Inn, then the principal hotel in the city.
Weary and exhausted after a tedious day’s shopping, she went at the
appointed hour to the parlor of the hotel, and while waiting there, she
heard her name called in the adjoining room. It was impossible for her
not to hear, and there she sat, pale and excited, listening to a
repetition of calumnies which political strife had magnified and
promulgated. The bare truthful outlines of her early unfortunate
marriage were given, but so interwoven with false misrepresentations,
that she could hardly believe herself the subject of remark. All she did
hear was never known, but on her death-bed she told the circumstance to
her husband, and then he understood the cause of her violent attack. He
had tried to keep every paragraph and abusive line out of her sight, and
hoped that now, after the election was decided, this unhappy subject of
“her marriage before a divorce was granted,” would be dropped forever.
She had acted as she thought was the best, and indeed in every act of
her life she discovered the fine sense she displayed in her conduct
towards her first husband. But the malicious envy of people who could
not bear her elevation, caught at every straw to revile her pure and
blameless life. Had she lived unhappily with General Jackson, there
might have been some excuse for considering her a weak woman; but her
long, happy and beautiful existence as his wife, was a convincing proof
of her affectionate nature, and religious, high-minded soul. The fatal
error of her youth, in marrying a man her intellectual and moral
inferior, was more than atoned for in the miserable years she spent as
his unappreciated wife. She was sensitive and refined, and her nature
revolted at his coarseness. She had acted rashly in marrying him, but
she was loth to part with him. Was she to blame that she did not know
his character thoroughly before her marriage? The sigh that heaves from
the hearts of thousands of women as they recall a similar experience,
attests her innocence. Was she to blame for marrying again, when she and
every one who knew her believed her free? He had never provided a home
for her, she had always been compelled to live either with her mother or
his, thereby sealing her doom, for no wife, however kind her husband may
be, can be as happy in the home of her parents as she could in one of
her own, be it ever so lowly. Captain Robards never tried to make her
comfortable or contented, but augmented the sorrows of her young heart
by a course of conduct revolting in even the most degraded of men, and
inexcusable in him, since he was of a respectable family, and supposed
to be somewhat cultivated.
But her offence was the acceptance of a companion and friend, who would
shield her from poverty and unhappiness, and add to her life, what she
had never known, a husband and a home. The bonds of a civil marriage had
been dissolved, not by her efforts, but by her ungenerous, narrow-minded
husband, and she had become the wife of a man eminently suited to her.
With all the bitter experience of her short married life, she trustingly
confided her happiness into the keeping of one who never betrayed it,
and who made her existence a continued source of joy. In the higher
courts, in her conscience, but one marriage tie was recognized, and but
one possessed the entire affection of her young and chastened heart.
It had been arranged that a grand dinner and ball should be given on the
23d of December, to General and Mrs. Jackson, that day being the
anniversary of the night-battle below New Orleans; a day rendered
celebrated in the annals of his country by his own heroic achievements.
A week previous to this intended festival, and a few days after her
visit to Nashville, Mrs. Jackson was seized with a spasmodic affection
of the muscles of the chest and left shoulder, attended with an
irregular action of the heart, and great anxiety of countenance. The
suspense and uneasiness occasioned by the late political strife being at
an end, and the uncertainty of the event no longer torturing her, she
could bear up no further. One of the physicians in attendance upon her,
gives the following minute and interesting account:
“Being hastily sent for, I lost no time in rendering her all the
assistance in my power. Finding she had been bled before my arrival,
without any manifest abatement of the symptoms, I repeated the
operation, which was again had recourse to in the evening, on the
arrival of Dr. Hogg, an eminent physician of Nashville, who had been
sent for simultaneously with myself. These successive bleedings,
together with other treatment, produced great relief, and an entire
subsidence of all the alarming symptoms. The three following days she
continued to improve; she was cheerful, and could sit in her chair and
converse with her friends. On Monday night, however, she sat up too
long, caught cold, and had slight symptoms of pleurisy. These soon
yielded to the proper remedies, a profuse perspiration ensued, which it
was thought proper to encourage with mild, diluent drinks; everything
promised a favorable issue. In this situation, after Dr. Hogg and myself
had retired to an adjoining room, our patient unfortunately got up twice
and sat by the fire. The perspiration became suddenly checked. She cried
out, ‘I am fainting,’ was placed in bed, and in a moment afterwards she
was a lifeless corpse!
“All our efforts for her restoration were vain and fruitless. No blood
could be obtained either from the arm or the temporal artery.
Sensibility had ceased, life had departed; and her meek and quiet spirit
sought that rest with her God and her Redeemer, which a cruel world
refused to grant.
“From a careful review of the case, there seems to be no doubt but that
there was a sudden reflux of the blood from the surface and the
extremities, upon the heart and other organs, producing an engorgement
and consequent spasm of that important viscus. That her death is to be
attributed to this cause, rather than to an effusion of the brain, seems
to be inferable from the fact of the total and instantaneous cessation
of the functions of the heart. Not a pulsation could be perceived; her
lungs labored a minute or two, and then ceased.
“How shall I describe the agony—the heart-rending agony—of the venerable
partner of her bosom? He had, in compliance with our earnest entreaties,
seconded by those of his wife, left her chamber, which he could seldom
be persuaded to do, and had lain down in an adjoining room, to seek
repose for his harassed mind and body. A few minutes only had elapsed,
when we were hastily summoned to her chamber; and the General, in a
moment, followed us. But he was only in time to witness the last
convulsive effort of expiring nature. Then it was that all the feelings
of the devoted husband burst forth. His breast heaved, and his soul
seemed to struggle with a load too oppressive for frail humanity. Nor
was he the only mourner on this melancholy occasion. A numerous train of
domestics crowded around the bed of their beloved mistress, and filled
the room with their piercing cries. They could not bring their minds to
a belief of the painful reality that their mistress and friend, for such
indeed she was, lay before them a lifeless corpse. ‘Oh! is there no
hope?’ was their agonizing question; and vainly would they flatter
themselves with the belief, that perhaps ‘she was only fainting.’
“The distressing event spread with the rapidity of the wind; and
neighbors and relatives thronged the house from midnight until late the
following morning. Soon the painful tidings reached Nashville, twelve
miles distant, and a fresh concourse of friends pressed forward to show
their respect for the dead and to mourn with the living.”
Early on the morning of the 23d December, while active preparations for
the expected banquet were going on, and many bright eyes and gay hearts
were already, in anticipation, beginning the pleasures of the day, the
afflicting news reached the city, of the President’s unlooked-for and
terrible bereavement. This sad paragraph appeared in the papers and cast
a gloom over the breakfast-tables where so many had assembled in joy.
“In the midst of preparations for festivity and mirth, the knell of
death is heard, and on the very day which it was arranged and expected
that our town should be a scene of general rejoicing, we are suddenly
checked in our career, and are called on to array ourselves in garments
of solemnity and woe. Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of General Andrew
Jackson, President-elect of the United States, died last night, at the
Hermitage, in this vicinity. The intelligence of this awful and
unlooked-for event has created a shock in our community almost
unparalleled. It was known, a few days since, that Mrs. Jackson was
violently attacked by disease; which, however, was supposed to have been
checked, so as to afford a prospect of immediate restoration to health.
This day, being the anniversary of an interesting and important event in
the last war, was appropriately selected to testify the respect and
affection of his fellow-citizens and neighbors to the man who was so
soon to leave his sweet domestic retirement, to assume the
responsibilities and discharge the important duties of Chief Magistrate
of the nation. The preparations were already made; the table was
well-nigh spread, at which all was expected to be hilarity and joy, and
our citizens had sallied forth on the happy morning with spirits light
and buoyant, and countenances glowing with animation and hope,—when
suddenly the scene is changed, congratulations are converted into
expressions of condolence, tears are substituted for smiles, and sincere
and general mourning pervades a community where, but a moment before,
universal happiness and public rejoicing prevailed. But we have neither
time nor room, at present, to indulge in further reflections on this
melancholy occurrence. Let us submit with resignation and fortitude to
the decrees, however afflicting, of a just and merciful, though
mysterious and inscrutable Providence.”
The preparations making for the festivity were immediately stopped, upon
the arrival of the melancholy information; and, in their stead, the
committee of arrangements, together with the Mayor and Aldermen of the
city, recommended to the citizens, as an evidence of their deep regret
and sympathy for the calamity which had befallen their honored
fellow-citizen, to suspend for one day the ordinary business of life,
which was cordially observed. In the course of the morning, a card eight
inches long and six inches wide, with a mourning border one-third of an
inch in width, was printed, containing the following announcement:
“The committee appointed by the citizens of Nashville to superintend the
reception of General Jackson on this day, with feelings of deep regret,
announce to the public that MRS. JACKSON departed this life last night,
between the hours of ten and eleven o’clock.
“Respect for the memory of the deceased, and a sincere condolence with
him on whom this providential affliction has fallen, forbid the
manifestations of public regard intended for the day.
“In the further consideration of the painful and unexpected occasion
which has brought them together, the committee feel that it is due to
the exemplary virtues and exalted character of the deceased, that some
public token should be given of the high regard entertained towards her
while living. They have, therefore, resolved,
“That it be respectfully recommended to their fellow-citizens of
Nashville, in evidence of this feeling, to refrain, on to-morrow, from
the ordinary pursuits of life.
“JOSIAH NICHOL, Chairman.
“_December 23d._”
The city authorities also passed suitable resolutions, the last of which
reads as follows:
“Resolved, That the inhabitants of Nashville are respectfully invited to
abstain from their ordinary business on to-morrow, as a mark of respect
for Mrs. Jackson, and that the church bells be tolled from one until two
o’clock, being the hour of her funeral.”
These proceedings were signed by Felix Robertson, Mayor, and attested by
E. Dibbrell, Recorder.
About a fortnight before her death, she remarked to a friend, that
although she had lived with Mr. Jackson nearly forty years, there had
never an unkind word passed between them, and the only subject on which
they ever differed, or where there was the slightest opposition, was his
acceptance of appointments when conferred upon him; she being always
unwilling for him to enter upon public life. Such was the woman whom
General Jackson was called upon to separate from, at a moment of all
others the most trying.
Although the weather was unfavorable, her friends assembled from every
point, to pay the last tribute of respect to one who could befriend them
no more. Every vehicle in Nashville, and there were more at that day
than now, in proportion to the population, was put in requisition. The
road to the Hermitage had not been macadamized, and it was,
consequently, at that season of the year almost impassable; yet an
immense number of persons attended the funeral.
When the hour of interment drew near, the General, who had not left the
beloved remains, was informed that it was time to perform the last sad
rites. The scene that then ensued is beyond description. There was no
heart that did not ache, no eye that did not weep. Many of the officers
present, who had shared with the General his difficulties and dangers;
who had seen him in the most trying situations; who had eyed him when
his gallant soldiers were suffering for food to sustain life, and he
unable to relieve them; who had witnessed him on the battle-field, when
the wounded and the dying were brought before him, and every muscle
seemed moved, and his very frame agonized with sorrow; yet had seen no
suffering, however poignant or excessive, affect the General like this
great affliction. When he bade his final adieu to the last kindred link
that bound him to earth, his Roman fortitude seemed for a time to be
completely overcome. It was a soul-rending sight to see an old veteran,
whose head was whitened by the hardships he had endured for his country,
bending over the lifeless form of an affectionate wife, whose death was
hastened by the cruelty of those whose rights he had so nobly defended.
By a muscular and almost superhuman effort, he endeavored to check the
current of his grief; and, waving his hand to the afflicted company,
begged them to weep no more. “I know,” said he, “it is unmanly, but
these tears were due to her virtues. She shed many for me.” But one wish
pervaded the assembly, that the individuals who had hastened this scene
by their relentless attacks on an unoffending woman, could be brought to
witness the saddest spectacle that any present had ever beheld.
But they were not there to witness the effects of their calumnies. She
was dead, and they were vanquished. Ever after that funeral, his
opponents complained that his personal feelings were allowed to govern
his public acts, and that to be suspected by him of having believed
aught of slander against his wife, was the unpardonable crime which he
never forgave. Brave old Hero! how deathless was the feeling which to
the latest hour of his life displayed the strength made manifest from
its inception! Silent and grave he was on the subject, but forgetfulness
or indifference did not occasion such a course of action, as too many
found to their sorrow. A dangerous look in his flashing eye satisfied
any one of the sacred ground, and few braved his anger by recalling an
unpleasant recollection connected with her. The inhumanity of the world
robbed him of his treasure, and darkened his life, but while he lived
her name was a hallowed sound breathed in the darkened recesses of his
bruised and lonely heart, which cheered him on to the portals of the
tomb through which she had passed to immortality.
The dear remains were interred in a corner of the Hermitage garden; and
thither the afflicted General was supported by General Coffee and Major
Rutledge. The following gentlemen were pall-bearers: Governor Sam
Houston, Col. Ephraim H. Foster, Col. George Wilson, Gen. Robert
Armstrong, Col. Sam. B. Marshall, Col. Allen, Mr. Solomon Clark, and
Major G. W. Campbell.
A resident of Nashville, writing to his brother in Philadelphia, said:
“Such a scene I never wish to witness again. I never pitied any person
more in my life than General Jackson. I never before saw so much
affliction among servants on the death of a mistress. Some seemed
completely stupefied by the event; others wrung their hands and shrieked
aloud. The woman that had waited on Mrs. Jackson had to be carried off
the ground. After the funeral, the General came up to me and shook my
hand. Some of the gentlemen mentioning my name, he again caught my hand,
and squeezed it three times, but all he could utter was ‘Philadelphia.’
I shall never forget his look of grief.”
Through the kindness of Sarah Jackson, the widow of General Jackson’s
adopted son, I am in possession of a book compiled by Mr. Earl, under
the direction of the General himself, entitled in gilt letters on the
back, “Obituary Notices of Mrs. Jackson.” It contains the funeral card
before mentioned; a great number of eulogies taken from the papers of
the day; innumerable paragraphs expressive of respect and sympathy; and
a synopsis of the funeral sermon, in manuscript. It was preached by the
Reverend William Hume, of Nashville, and has never heretofore been
published. It will be found interesting, not only as the funeral
discourse of so eminent a lady, but as a specimen of a sermon delivered
forty years ago, in a country so undeveloped as Tennessee was in those
days.
“The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.”
Psalm cxii., 6th verse.
“These words might be applied to that venerable matron, with much
propriety, as she gave every reasonable evidence that she was among the
righteous. Indeed, as her name is indissolubly connected with that of
the President of the United States, it shall be held in remembrance
while the page of history displays the memorable actions of General
Jackson. The words of the Psalmist, however, are applicable to her in a
much nobler sense.
“The death of this worthy lady is much deplored, not only by her
distinguished husband and immediate relations, but by a large majority
of the people of the United States of America. Her character was so well
known to multitudes who visited the Hermitage, the abode of hospitality,
that the following remarks will readily be acknowledged as true:
“With respect to her religious principles, they were such as are held
sound by all religious denominations that are commonly called
evangelical. Convinced of the depravity of human nature, as taught in
the Holy Scriptures, she relied on the Spirit of God alone, to
illuminate, renovate and purify that nature that it might be qualified
for the unspotted society of heaven. Believing with the inspired Paul,
that by the works of the law, no flesh can be justified in the sight of
God, her dependence for eternal life was placed on the merits and
mediation of Jesus. Fully persuaded that the law is holy and the
commandment holy, and that God will not acquit the sinner from
condemnation, in a way that will conceal the dignity of His government,
the purity of His nature, the truth of His threatening, or the glory of
His unchangeable justice, she derived all her hope of acceptance with
God from Him who ‘bore our sins in His own body on the tree; who
suffered, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God.’
“While, however, her whole dependence for acceptance with God was
founded upon the atonement of the Son of God, through whom grace reigns
unto eternal life, she knew that this doctrine did not tend to
immorality. She was taught by Paul that holiness is always inseparably
connected with this dependence on the merits of the Saviour, and that
every motive to holiness arising from interest or gratitude or the
pleasures of religion remains in full force; she therefore abounded in
good works. Assured by the infallible testimony of her Lord and Master,
that every branch of the true vine, as it derives its verdure, beauty,
vigor, and sap from the vine is fruitful, she, a genuine branch, was so
too. In acts of piety, as adoration, thanksgiving and praise, she took
delight. Her seat was seldom empty in the house of God. Though very
often surrounded with company from every State in the Union, neither she
nor her illustrious husband neglected the house of God on that account.
The tears of genuine penitence were often shed by her in the temple of
the Lord. She had a tender and a feeling heart, and sometimes I have
seen the tears bedewing her cheeks while she was speaking of the
dangerous condition of those around her, who seemed to be entirely
careless about a future state. Indeed, her devotional spirit was
manifest in all her conduct. She meditated on the wonders of redeeming
love with much delight, as the source of her present joy and future hope
of glory. Indeed, her piety was acknowledged by all who knew her, as it
manifested itself by the most unequivocal proofs; a reverential awe, a
supreme love and profound veneration for the incomparable excellences of
God, and a cordial gratitude to Him as the source of all her mercies.
Her love to God was displayed by an unusual obedience to His commands
and by an humble submission to His providence.
“As a wife, connected with one who stood so high in the estimation of
his fellow-citizens, she was, as a Christian, exposed to some peculiar
temptations; for who can resist the fascinations of honor and of power?
While she rejoiced in the honor of a nation of freemen spontaneously
given to a husband so dear to her heart, yet no unbecoming elation of
mind, no haughtiness, no overbearing conduct, could ever be seen, even
by an inimical eye, in this amiable lady. She was adorned with the
ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, in an eminent degree. Esteem and
affection were so mixed in her bosom for her husband, that her
respectful behavior to him, in her house and among her connections and
acquaintances, struck every beholder as the soft impulse of the
sweetness of her disposition; so that by her kindness and affability,
her husband was more happy in his own family than in the midst of his
triumphs. In consequence of her amiable manners, his own house was the
chief place of his enjoyment.
“The tears and lamentations of the servants are proofs of the most
unequivocal kind of her excellence as the mistress of her household.
Never did children seem to mourn more sincerely for a mother than the
household servants lament for her. The cordial regard of her servants
may well be attributed to the gentleness of her commands, the calmness
of her temper, and her tenderness in treating them in health and in
sickness. She was, indeed, a mother to her family.
“The widow and the orphan will long lament the death of Mrs. Jackson. In
the circle of the widows and orphans her benevolence accompanied with
the most substantial acts of beneficence, shone with distinguished
splendor. To her the words of Job may be properly applied: ‘When the ear
heard her, then it blessed her; and when the eye saw her, it gave
witness to her, because she delivered the poor that cried, and the
fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that
was ready to perish came upon her, and she caused the widow’s heart to
sing for joy. She put on righteousness, and it clothed her. Her judgment
was a robe and a diadem. She was eyes to the blind, and feet to the
lame, and a mother to the poor.’ Blest with affluence, she had a heart
to feel and a hand to relieve the poor and the needy. She viewed the
bounties of Providence not only to refresh herself and her family, but
as designed by her Benefactor to flow in channels leading to the doors
of those who were perishing of thirst, that they, also, might quaff and
be satisfied.
“Some, indeed, during the Presidential struggle, with unfeeling hearts
and unjustifiable motives, exerted all their powers to throw her
numerous virtues into the shade. It was, no doubt, the intention of the
defamers to arouse the indignation of her husband that he might
perpetrate some act to prevent his elevation to that high station to
which the American people resolved that he should be raised. Under this
cruel treatment Mrs. Jackson displayed the temper of a disciple of Him
who was meek and lowly of heart. Her meekness was conspicuous under all
the injuries and provocations which were designed to provoke and
exasperate her. Seldom, indeed, has the busy tongue of slander and
detraction been more gratuitously and basely employed; never was it put
to silence with more helplessness and confusion than in the case of this
amiable and pious lady. Influenced by the religion that she professed,
she restrained all immoderate sallies of passion and harsh language on
that trying occasion. She felt, indeed, the injustice of the warfare.
Her compassionate heart was wrung with sorrow. Her tears flowed, but
there was no malevolence in her bosom. She could have received no
pleasure in giving pain to her detractors. Confiding in God, that He
would bring forth her righteousness as the light, and her salvation as a
lamp that burneth, she was not disappointed.
“She was permitted to live until the people of America, by their
unbiased suffrage, asserted their full conviction of her innocence in a
manner calculated to shame and confound the most furious and
unprincipled of her defamers. Yes, she lived to see every cloud of
calumny blown away by the united breath of the American people; and
found herself and her beloved husband in the enjoyment of an unclouded
sky, favored with the smiles and the esteem of a people uninfluenced by
detractors and qualified to form their own opinions.
“While we cordially sympathize with the President of the United States,
in the irreparable loss he has sustained in the death of his amiable
lady, whom he deemed so worthy, as he said, of our tears; we, from our
long acquaintance with Mrs. Jackson, and our many opportunities of
seeing her virtues displayed, cannot doubt but that she now dwells in
the mansions of glory in company with the ransomed of the Lord, singing
the praises of that Saviour whom she loved and served while she was a
pilgrim on earth. In heaven, she drinks of the pure stream of the river
of life, issuing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.”
Various newspapers, and among them, the _Mercury_ of Philadelphia,
clothed their columns in the badge of mourning; which was “alike
merited,” says the _Mercury_, “by his services and fame and her virtues
and piety.”
The ladies of Abingdon, Virginia, met and entered into resolutions to
transmit to General Jackson a letter “assuring him of the sincere regard
they bore the character and person of his deceased lady, and the sorrow
they feel at his afflictive bereavement,” and also to wear mourning
badges on their dresses for thirty days. The following is a copy of the
letter of condolence to General Jackson:
“_January 5th, 1829._
“DEAR SIR: We have heard, with the deepest sorrow, of your late
afflictive bereavement in the death of your truly pious and amiable
wife; and we have met to mingle our tears with yours for the irreparable
loss you have sustained. To weep on such an occasion is not blamable; it
is but a becoming tribute to departed worth; yet, at the same time, we
should bow with submission to the will of Him who ‘gives and who takes
away at his pleasure.’ She has gone, we trust, to those mansions ‘where
the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest,’ where the
voice of malice cannot reach her or the tongue of calumny disturb her.
“On such an occasion, when religion is deprived of one of its brightest
ornaments, and society of one of its most valuable members, we consider
it our duty to offer to her memory the tribute of esteem which is due to
her worth; and to give you, Sir, our sincerest condolence for this late
afflictive dispensation. At the same time, we offer our fervent prayer
to the Almighty disposer of human events, that your administration of
the high office to which you have lately been elected may be as wise and
happy as your military career was brilliant and successful.
“SARAH P. PRESTON.”
This effusion expressive of womanly feeling does infinite credit to the
highly esteemed authoress. She was a daughter of General William
Campbell, who so gloriously commanded the Virginia militia, and
afterwards a gallant corps in the battle of Guilford Court House, who,
in the language of the historian, were “the first engaged and the last
to quit.”
The Board of Mayor and Aldermen of Knoxville, Tennessee, unanimously
adopted a preamble and resolutions in regard to the death of Mrs.
Jackson. Joseph C. Strong was Mayor, and William Swan, Recorder. Colonel
Jacobs offered the paper, and we annex the resolutions:
“Resolved, That while we deeply regret the death of Mrs. Jackson, we
cannot but express our gratitude to the Supreme Governor of the
universe, that she was not taken from time to eternity until the people
of the Union had given a clear and distinct manifestation of the high
estimation in which they held the reputation of herself and husband.
“Resolved, That in consequence of the death of Mrs. Jackson, the Mayor
be directed to request the Rev. Thomas H. Nelson to preach a sermon
suitable to the occasion, in the First Presbyterian Church, at eleven
o’clock A. M., on Thursday, the first day of January next.
“Resolved, That the inhabitants of Knoxville be respectfully requested
to attend church, and abstain from their ordinary business on Thursday,
the first day of January next, as a tribute of respect to the memory of
the deceased. Dec. 29th, 1828.”
In accordance with the request contained in the second resolution, the
Reverend Thomas H. Nelson preached a funeral sermon on Thursday the
first day of January, 1829.
The Common Council of the city of New York passed resolutions of
condolence to mark their “deference for her domestic virtues, her
benevolence and her piety.” An authenticated copy of these resolutions
was forwarded to General Jackson.
A public gathering assembled at the Vine Street Meeting House,
Cincinnati, Ohio; at which a very large committee was appointed to draft
resolutions which they did, in honor of “a lady in whom by universal
consent, the practical charities of the heart were gracefully blended
with the purest and most unaffected piety.”
On the 8th of January, throughout the country, instead of the customary
firing of cannon commemorative of the day, a solemn silence was
maintained, as a token of respect for the deceased. At various public
dinners on that day, Mrs. Jackson’s death was alluded to in the most
gentle and sympathetic terms. As an illustration of the tone and spirit
of these allusions, we copy the following. At Boston, this toast was
offered by S. Fessenden, Esq.: “The memory of Mrs. Jackson—sadness to
our joy, but for the bright hope that the event which hath wrought for
him whose praise we celebrate a cypress chaplet, hath introduced her
whose memory we revere and whose death we deplore, to a crown of
unfading glory.”
In New Orleans the following toast was offered: “The memory of Mrs.
Jackson—an example of piety, benevolence, and every Christian virtue.
‘The only amaranthine flower on earth is virtue.’”
In Nashville, Captain Parrish presented this—“The memory of Mrs.
Jackson.”
In Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, at the celebration of the members of the
Legislature, the following toast was drunk:—“The memory of Mrs.
Jackson—the amiable wife of the slandered hero. The grave now shrouds
her mortal remains, but her virtues will shine in brilliant purity, when
her unprincipled slanderers are lost to the memory of man.”
A touching reference to the sad event was made in the House of
Representatives by the Hon. Pryor Lea, of the Tennessee Delegation.
And so hundreds of pages of eulogies published in every section of the
Republic might be copied.
Many pieces of poetry mourning the death of Mrs. Jackson appeared in the
papers, one of which, from the _Cincinnati Advertiser_, is subjoined:
MONODY
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. JACKSON.
“As wintry blasts succeed the summer’s bloom,
And summer suns give place to winter’s gloom;
As to morn’s radiance o’er creation spread,
The night succeeds, when every ray is fled;
Or as the heart, but erst with joy elate,
To sorrow turns beneath some stroke of fate;
So a joy’d nation Fate has bid to turn
Its smiles of joy to tears o’er Virtue’s urn.
Sacred the numbers breathed in Virtue’s name.
Dear still to goodness, if unknown to fame.
Be thine the grateful task, O humble muse
(Virtue’s thy theme, and thou canst ne’er refuse),
Be thine the task that goodness to deplore,
Which Death, relentless, bids to be no more;
To sing th’ unspotted life, unknown to blame.
But every virtue dear to woman’s name;
The meek-eyed charity, the guileless heart,
The long enduring under sorrow’s smart;
The ready friend to comfort in distress;
The hand as willing as the heart to bless;
The every charm exalted virtue lends,
Conferring blessings as its means extends;
The mind sincere, unknown to pious guile;
Which ne’er deceit, dishonest, could defile,
But still intent religion to obey,
And as she taught its precepts, led the way;
To all its active impulses awake,
And virtuous only for fair virtue’s sake.
“Scarce was the contest o’er, the victory won,
Mysterious Fate! But half thy will was done.
From that first hour a nation made its choice
Of him in whose great name its sons rejoice,
From the first hour the grateful news was hailed,
Even from that hour her gentle spirit failed.
While o’er the land loud peals of triumph rang,
Her milder nature felt the mortal pang
Which still protracted, nought availed to save
Her suffering nature from an honored grave.
“Eternal Providence! Whate’er thy ways,
’Tis still our duty to adore and praise.
Lo, the bright virtues from her earliest time,
Which souls ungenerous slandered into crime.
Lo, her loved husband’s fame, by foes assailed,
Impotent still. And while each effort failed,
Behold them turn with most dishonest arts,
Against domestic Peace their venomed darts.
Nor sex, nor purity, nor honored age
Could save them from the shafts of blinded rage.
Yet she but lived to triumph and to see
Her fame proved pure as ’twas designed to be,
When Nature, in her great and high behest,
Formed, of her daughters, her among the best.
Yet shall her cherished memory long endure,
To still assuage the grief it may not cure.
As when the glorious sun retires to rest,
He leaves a golden twilight in the west,
Where the mild radiance of his thousand rays
Illumes the skies and gladdens every gaze;
So the remembrance of her virtues dear
Shall o’er the hearts of those who loved her here
Shed the mild radiance of that tranquil joy,
Which death, nor fate, nor ill can e’er destroy.”
Until a few days before his death, the General wore always around his
neck and hidden in his bosom a miniature of Mrs. Jackson, on the back of
which is a pretty little wreath made of his and her hair. The chain to
which it is attached is curiously wrought of black beads intermingled
with a flower-work of bright gold ones, into which these words are
skilfully introduced: “Presented to General Andrew Jackson as a token of
esteem, from Caledonia M. Gibson. May blessings crown thy hoary head.”
Every night he placed this miniature on a little table by his bedside,
leaning against his Bible, with the beloved face towards him, so that
the kind, familiar smile should be his first greeting when he waked. His
granddaughter, now Mrs. Lawrence, bears the honored name of his wife,
Rachel Jackson, and was an especial favorite of his. His eyes were often
fixed upon her during his last illness with peculiar interest and
affection. One morning within a few days of his death, when she came to
bid him good-bye, before starting to the city to school, he threw the
chain around her neck and asked her to wear, for his sake, the miniature
he had loved and worn so long.
In a corner of the garden at the Hermitage there is a simple elegant
monument raised over the vault in which lie the remains of General
Jackson and his wife. The steps run around the circular area, eighteen
feet across. From this platform spring eight fluted columns of the Doric
order, surmounted by a handsome entablature supporting the dome, which
is crowned with a funereal urn. On the interior, a plain cornice of
vaulted ceiling, stuccoed in white, gives an air of purity and
comeliness, well suited to a tomb. From the centre of the platform rises
a pyramid on a square base. On the floor, on each side of this pyramid,
lie the tablets which contain the inscriptions. The one on the left is
the General’s, which bears only his name, and the record of his birth
and death. The hand of an undying affection has covered the other with a
long and tender testimony to her worth. It runs thus:
“Here lie the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of President Jackson,
who died the 22d of December, 1828, aged 61. Her face was fair, her
person pleasing, her temper amiable, and her heart kind; she delighted
in relieving the wants of her fellow-creatures, and cultivated that
divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods; to the
poor she was a benefactor, to the rich an example; to the wretched a
comforter, to the prosperous an ornament; her piety went hand in hand
with her benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to
do good. A being so gentle and yet so virtuous, slander might wound but
could not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms of her
husband, could but transport her to the bosom of her God.”
Here in the freshness and greenness of the garden they planted,
surrounded with climbing vines and fragrant blooms, the General and his
beloved wife sleep their last sweet sleep. Across a garden path lie the
remains of Mr. Earl, the artist, “friend and companion of General Andrew
Jackson.” Beside him lies Andrew Jackson, the adopted son of the
General; and near are two of his infant sons, and a grown son, Samuel,
who fell in battle.
General Jackson survived his wife more than sixteen years, and, unto the
end, his love for her burned as brightly as in the hey-day of his youth.
Though aged and suffering greatly, he was remarkably energetic and kept
up his correspondence with his old and dear friends. The last letter
that he ever wrote, only two days before his death, was addressed to the
Hon. Mr. Polk, President of the United States, expressing confidence in
his judgment and ability to guard well and truly the interests of his
country.
VIII.
EMILY DONELSON.
Mrs. Emily Donelson, the accomplished mistress of the White House during
General Jackson’s Presidential term, was the youngest child of Captain
John Donelson, a man of sterling integrity and irreproachable character,
perfect in all the relations of life, respected as a citizen, honored as
a Christian, and beloved as a friend and neighbor. She was born in
Davidson County, Tennessee, and educated at the Old Academy, in
Nashville. Of rare personal loveliness and superior intellect, no
expense or care was spared to fit her for the high position she was
destined to fill in society. Though her childhood was spent in what was
then called the “backwoods,” it was not passed in obscurity, for her
close relationship with Mrs. Jackson, the public prominence of her near
relations, Generals Smith, Coffee, and Hayes, and the great wealth and
high standing of her father, early made her familiar with camps and
crowds, and developed that courtly grace and ease of manner for which
she was afterwards so pre-eminent. A host of suitors contended for the
beautiful maiden’s hand, among whom were General Sam Houston, Col.
Ephraim H. Foster, and Major Gustavus A. Henry; they always spoke of her
as the “lovely Emily,” and delighted in expatiating on the charms of her
mind and person.
At the early age of sixteen she was married to her cousin, Major Andrew
J. Donelson, the protégé and confidential adviser of General Jackson.
She was ever a fond and faithful wife, sharing the joys and triumphs of
her husband, relieving his cares and sorrows, filling his home with
peace and comfort, and his heart with happiness.
On General Jackson’s election to the Presidency, he appointed Major
Donelson his private Secretary, and invited Mrs. Donelson to officiate
as mistress of ceremonies at the Executive Mansion.
To settle a delicate question of precedence between Mrs. Jackson, jr.,
and Mrs. Donelson, who were both inmates of the President’s House and
nieces of General Jackson, he said to Mrs. Jackson, “You, my dear, are
mistress of the Hermitage, and Emily is hostess of the White House.”
Both were satisfied with this decision, and ever afterward Mrs. Donelson
occupied the first position in the President’s Mansion. This was a
position that the elegance and refinement of the former mistresses of
the mansion had invested with great respect; and Mrs. Donelson filled it
as they had done, ever mindful of her dignity as a lady, and true to her
duty as a wife and mother. In all that is lovely and noble in woman, she
was the peer of her illustrious predecessors; and her tact and grace
contributed much to render General Jackson’s term such a brilliant epoch
in American history. It was a day of fierce party spirit; political
animosity spared neither sex nor condition, yet the voice of detraction
was never raised against her honored name. Friend and foe alike paid
homage to her charms.
Mrs. Donelson was of medium height, with dark auburn hair, dark brown
eyes, fair complexion, lips and brow exquisitely moulded, slender
symmetrical figure, and hands and feet tiny as a child’s. Her portrait
bears a striking resemblance to the pictures of Mary Queen of Scots. No
stranger ever passes it without commenting on its singular fascination.
Young, fond of society and pleased with attention, she entered with zest
into the festivities of Washington, and participated in all its
gayeties. Her taste in dress was exquisite, and her toilette was the
envy and admiration of fashionable circles. The dress she wore at the
first inauguration, an amber-colored satin, brocaded with bouquets of
rosebuds and violets, and richly trimmed with white lace and pearls, was
a present from the General, and was described in every paper of the
Union. It is still preserved in the family, and even in this day of
costly attire, would be a gala dress. Beloved as a daughter by Mrs.
Jackson, and intimately associated with her for years, she was beside
that honored and dear friend at the time of her death; and her
tenderness and sympathy did much to mitigate the poignancy of the
General’s bereavement. He always called her “my daughter;” and often
when wearied with the cares of office, would seek relaxation amid her
family circle. Arbiter in politics, he deferred all matters of etiquette
to her; and when she would appeal to him to settle any knotty social
point, he would reply, “You know best, my dear. Do as you please.” Of
lively imagination, she was quick at repartee, and had that gift
possessed by so few talkers, of listening gracefully. Thrown in contact
with the brightest and most cultivated intellects of the day, she
sustained her part; and her favor was eagerly sought by the learned and
polished. A foreign minister once said to her, “Madam, you dance with
the grace of a Parisian. I can hardly realize you were educated in
Tennessee.” “Count, you forget,” was the spirited reply, “that grace is
a cosmopolite, and like a wild flower, is much oftener found in the
woods than in the streets of a city.”
During the Eaton controversy, the public was curious to see what course
she would take. Her friends were also Mrs. Eaton’s friends, it was her
policy to please General Jackson, and General Jackson’s heart was set on
Mrs. Eaton’s social recognition. At the public receptions and levees,
she received Mrs. Eaton with her usual dignity and courtesy; but when
the General asked her to visit that lady, and set the example of public
recognition of his favorite, she refused decidedly, saying, “Uncle, I
will do anything on earth for you, consistent with my dignity as a lady,
but I cannot and will not visit any one of Mrs. Eaton’s reputation.” She
carried her point, and the President never alluded to the distasteful
subject again in her presence.[14]
Footnote 14:
Mr. Eaton was the Secretary of War, and Mrs. Eaton, with whose name
scandal was rife, was ignored by the wives of the Cabinet officers as
well as by the generality of ladies in Washington. The Secretary was
an old and intimate friend of the President’s, and his sympathy was
enlisted on Mrs. Eaton’s side of the quarrel, but without avail, so
far as securing her social recognition was concerned.
Mrs. Donelson’s four children were all born at the White House, and
their earliest reminiscences are of the East Room, levees, state
dinners, and processions. General Jackson made their christenings
occasions of great ceremony. He was god-father of two of them, Mr. Van
Buren of another, and General Polk of the youngest. General Jackson was
very fond of these little ones, and took a grandfather’s interest in all
their plays and games. The White House has probably never had a more
charming tableau than that presented by the old hero, surrounded by the
lovely family group, of which he was the soul and idol. Of Mrs.
Donelson’s children, only her two daughters are now living. Her two sons
passed away in the spring-time of life. They were young men of great
promise, superior intellect, and high social standing. Andrew, the
eldest, was captain of engineers in the United States army, and died of
consumption in 1859. John was captain in the Confederate service, and
fell in the battle of Chickamauga, fighting bravely in defence of the
cause he had espoused.
In the spring of 1836, Mrs. Donelson’s health became so delicate that
she concluded to leave Washington and go home to Tennessee, hoping, in
the quiet and seclusion of her beautiful home (Tulip Grove) soon to
regain her health and strength. But her symptoms grew more alarming, and
it soon became evident that consumption had marked her for its victim.
The scene changes now from the gay festivities of Washington to the
loneliness and suffering of the sick-room. The hectic flush and wasting
form marked the rapid progress of the insidious disease, and thoughts of
death became familiar. Though so young and gay, she bore her suffering
with the patience and fortitude of an angel, and submitted without a
murmur to the decree that tore her away from husband, children and
friends. Shortly before her death, she made a public profession of
religion, and connected herself with the Presbyterian Church. Every
resource of medical skill and experience was tried to stay the course of
her disease, but in vain; and in December her spirit passed from earth.
Her death was as peaceful and hopeful as her life had been loving and
happy. Always a fond and proud mother, as the time drew near for a final
separation from her children, she clung to them with a tenderness and
devotion touching to behold. A few evenings before her death, she was
sitting at an open window, admiring the beauty of a winter sunset, when
a bird entered, and flying several times around the room, alighted on
her chair. One of her little children, playing by her side, made some
exclamation and tried to catch it. “Don’t disturb it, darling,” said the
dying mother, “maybe it comes to bid me prepare for my flight to another
world. I leave you here, but the Heavenly Father, who shelters and
provides for this poor little bird this wintry day, will also watch over
and take care of you all when I am gone. Don’t forget mamma; love her
always, and try to live so that we may all meet again in heaven.” Ere
the week closed, her chair was vacant; earth had lost one of its
noblest, purest spirits, but heaven had gained an angel.
“Lovely, bright, youthful, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled and went to heaven.”
IX.
SARAH YORKE JACKSON.
The wife of President Jackson’s foster-son was the daughter of Peter
Yorke, of Philadelphia, whose grandfather, Judge Yorke, held an
appointment under the crown of Great Britain prior to the Revolution.
She was educated in that city, and received all the accomplishments a
mind of superior order under similar fortunate circumstances would be
capable of appreciating. Left an orphan at an early age, her affections
were concentrated upon those nearest of kin to her, and well and nobly
has she fulfilled all the requirements of sisterly love. A large circle
of friends and relatives rendered her young life happy by their sympathy
and affection, and her youth is remembered as a scene of varied though
ceaseless pleasures.
Miss Yorke was married to Mr. Jackson soon after the inauguration of his
adopted father, and made her entrée at the White House as a bride.
Necessarily the object of remark and criticism, which has not generally
a tendency to promote ease of manner, she yet managed to win sincere
admiration from all who came in contact with her. Seldom has any one in
so conspicuous a position exhibited so much of the perfect
self-possession which distinguishes the lady “to the manor born.” She
combined the opposite qualities of dignity and affability, and secured
thereby a lasting influence over those with whom she was associated.
Blending a quick temper and high spirits with much kindliness of heart,
she was, as is often the case with such natures, generous and forbearing
toward loved ones—determined and unyielding where her rights were
invaded. Her affection for her father-in-law was intense, and he often
testified his love for her.
On one occasion, when receiving a deputation from the Keystone State, he
remarked to them, “Gentlemen, I am very glad to see you, for I am much
indebted to Pennsylvania. She has given me a daughter who is a great
comfort to her father.”
The tone and impressive manner convinced his hearers of the entire truth
of his remark, while the look of affectionate pride bestowed upon her
filled her heart with happiness.
At the White House she shared the honors of hostess with her kinswoman,
Mrs. Donelson, whose superior charms were gracefully acknowledged by
Mrs. Jackson, and acted in accordance with the President’s suggestion to
remain as the mistress of his own home.
During the long period of ill-health which accompanied the declining
years of General Jackson, she ministered to him as only a loving woman
can. Never for a moment was her watchful care withdrawn, but leaving all
other duties, she devoted herself to his comfort.
The crowds of company which flocked to the Hermitage were always
smilingly received by her, and her name was dear to all who enjoyed the
hospitality of the home of old Hickory. After the death of Mrs. Donelson
and the failing health of her father, her task was one of severity, but
the method and order which reigned in and about her home—the attention
she bestowed upon her children, and the manner in which she cared for
the dependent ones about her, attest her strong Christian character, and
convince us that her success was entire. Hospitality at the Hermitage
was taxed in a scarcely less degree than Monticello had once been, and
for many years Mrs. Jackson received the world’s votaries at the shrine
of greatness.
In addition to all this, there was a never ceasing demand on her time
and brain for the welfare of her numerous dependents. She was a true
friend to the slaves of the family, and the many helpless ones always
seen on a large plantation were her special property. The wants of the
sick, the control of the young and the management of all, was a task
only appreciated by those accustomed to an institution now extinct. On
Sabbath evenings, for many years, it was her habit to have all who would
choose to gather around, to hear her read of eternal life, and to
instruct the children in religious duties.
Called to pass through great afflictions—to part with father and
husband, and later to mourn the loss of a son in his early manhood,
whose life was just budding into promise of future usefulness, her
sorrows rest now in her declining years heavily upon her. Her grief is
sacred.
During the civil war, whose earliest tocsin was sounded near her, and
whose dying echoes reverberated along the banks of the Cumberland, she
remained in the lonely home of her happier youth, amid scenes which
continually recall the unreturning past. In the quiet of a winter’s
night, or even amid the beauty of a midsummer’s day, she looks upon the
tomb in the garden, and hallowed recollections fill her heart. Through
the triumphs of life she has passed, and now in the eventide sits beside
her graves.[15]
Footnote 15:
The State of Tennessee owns the Hermitage, and Mrs. Jackson resides
there as its guest.
Now, as in early youth, she evinces her submission to the will of God,
and the little church adjoining the Hermitage is as sacred to her as it
was dear to her adopted mother.
In her present retirement with her children, of whom two remain to bless
her evening of life, and grandchildren to cheer her with their innocent
gayety, let us hope that further trials may be spared her, and that even
to the end she may enjoy the sweet security of a promise made to those
like her, who have finished their course, and are called to enter into
the joys of their Lord.
[Illustration:
MRS. MARTIN VAN BUREN.
]
X.
HANNAH VAN BUREN.
The wife of President Van Buren was born at Kinderhook, on the Hudson,
in the year 1782, a few months after the birth of her future husband,
whose schoolmate and companion she was during their early years. She was
of Dutch descent, and the original name Goes, but pronounced by her
ancestors Hoes, and since so called by all the members of the family in
this country, is familiar to those who are acquainted with the history
of the Netherlands.
If the charms of nature—grand scenery, magnificent views, and the
ever-varying harmony of beautiful skies—could add to the growth and
development of childhood, Hannah Hoes was incomparably blest. The years
of her life were spent in a happy home circle in the most beautiful
section of her native State—a State remarkable for the grandeur of its
mountain scenery, and the number of its romantic rivers. Chief among
these, and surpassed by none in the world, is the Hudson, in sight of
whose classic waters she lived and died.
Her ancestors were sturdy, enterprising Dutch, whose homes for many
generations had been along the banks of the stream discovered by their
renowned countryman, and not one of the rosy urchins of their households
but knew of the adventures of Hendrick Hudson, and reverenced him not
only as the hero of their race and the discoverer of their river, but
the founder of their prosperity. Nor could the tales of the old dames
who resided nearest the lofty Catskills—that he and his followers still
haunted the mountains and were the direct cause of calamities—divest
their minds of his wondrous exploits. In each ripple of the dancing
waves, in the denseness of the gray fog, or perchance in the quiet
stillness of eventide, they recognized some similarity, and recalled a
parallel of his experiences.
Mid such scenes and under such influences passed all the years of Mrs.
Van Buren’s life.
In February, 1807, at the age of twenty-five, she was married to Mr. Van
Buren. The intimacy which resulted in this union was formed in early
childhood, and the marriage took place as soon as his position at the
bar would justify such a step. The steadfastness of his attachment to
his young relative was a remarkable trait in the character of Mr. Van
Buren, and adds a lustre to his honored name.
Some time after their marriage they removed to Hudson City, where eight
years of wedded life passed fleetly away, they losing, in the meantime,
the youngest of their four sons, an infant only a few weeks old. In
1816, Mr. Van Buren removed his family to Albany, drawn thither,
doubtless, by his increased and increasing professional standing and
political leadership.
From this time forth, the highest wishes of his early life were crowned
with complete success. Wealth, fame and influence were the fruits of his
unremitted industry for nearly twenty years. “His natural talents had
reached their full expansion; his laborious industry exhibited its
proper results; and amid a constellation of great minds, whose brilliant
efforts erected and adorned the fabric of New York jurisprudence, the
vigor of his intellect and the richness of his learning won for him a
conspicuous and acknowledged eminence.”
But the voice of adulation fell upon unheeding ears when sickness
invaded the household and hastened the cherished wife and mother from
her loved ones. Not even the ardent devotion, the deathless affection of
the husband whose efforts in life had all been made for her, could stay
the destroyer in his cruel work. For months she lay an invalid, tended
by those who loved her more than life, and then sank into the grave a
victim of consumption.
A gentleman of high distinction, who knew her intimately from her
earliest years, said, “There never was a woman of a purer and kinder
heart.” Gentle and winning in life, her memory is redolent with the
perfume of her saintly sweetness and purity. Miss Cantine, the niece of
Mrs. Van Buren, who was but sixteen years of age at the time of her
aunt’s death, gives this picture of her last days: “Aunt Hannah lived
but a short time after their removal to Albany, dying at the early age
of thirty-five, when her youngest child was still an infant. I can
recall but little about her till her last sickness and death, except the
general impression I have of her modest, even timid manner—her shrinking
from observation, and her loving, gentle disposition. The last, long
sickness (she was confined to the house for six months) and her death
are deeply engraved on my memory. When told by her physicians that she
could live, in all probability, but a few days longer, she called her
children to her and gave them her dying counsel and blessing, and with
the utmost composure bade them farewell and committed them to the care
of the Saviour she loved, and in whom she trusted.
“This scene was the more remarkable to those who witnessed it, as,
through the most of her sickness, she had been extremely nervous, being
only able to see her children for a few moments on those days on which
she was most comfortable. They could only go to her bedside to kiss her,
and then be taken away. As an evidence of her perfect composure in view
of death, I will mention this fact. It was customary in that day, at
least it was the custom in the city of Albany, for the bearers to wear
scarfs which were provided by the family of the deceased. Aunt requested
that this might be omitted at her burial, and that the amount of the
cost of such a custom should be given to the poor. Her wishes were
entirely carried out.”
The following obituary notice is in itself a sketch of the character of
Mrs. Van Buren, and was written by one who knew her better than any one
out of her own family.
_From the Albany Argus Feb. 8, 1819._
“Died in this city, on the evening of Friday, the 5th inst., after a
lingering illness, Mrs. Hannah Van Buren, wife of the Hon. Martin Van
Buren, in the thirty-sixth year of her age. The death of this amiable
and excellent woman is severely felt by a numerous circle of relatives
and friends. As a daughter and a sister, wife and mother, her loss is
deeply deplored, for in all these various relations she was
affectionate, tender, and truly estimable. But the tear of sorrow is
almost dried by the reflection that she lived the life and died the
death of the righteous. Modest and unassuming, possessing the most
engaging simplicity of manners, her heart was the residence of every
kind affection, and glowed with sympathy for the wants and sufferings of
others. Her temper was uncommonly mild and sweet, her bosom was filled
with benevolence and content—no love of show, no ambitious desires, no
pride of ostentation ever disturbed its peace. When her attention was
directed, some years before her death, to the important concerns of
religion and salvation, she presented to the gospel she embraced a rich
soil for the growth and cultivation of every Christian principle.
Humility was her crowning grace, she possessed it in a rare degree; it
took deep root and flourished full and fair, shedding over every action
of her life its genial influence. She was an ornament of the Christian
faith, exemplifying in her life the duty it enjoins, and experiencing,
in a good degree, its heavenly joys, its cheering hopes. In her last
illness she was patient and resigned. In the midst of life, with all
that could make it worth possessing—esteemed and loved, happy in her
family and friends—she was forced away. But she left all without a sigh.
She waited the approach of death with calmness—her Redeemer had robbed
it of its sting and made it a welcome messenger. Doubtless, ‘’twas gain
for her to die.’ Doubtless, she is now enjoying that rest ‘which
remaineth for the people of God.’ Precious shall be the memory of her
virtues,
“Sweet the savor of her name,
And soft her sleeping bed.”
[Illustration: Eng_d. by J. C. Buttre. Angelica Van Buren]
XI.
ANGELICA VAN BUREN.
The era in which Hannah Van Buren lived was far removed from her
husband’s ascension to the Presidency, for she had been dead seventeen
years, when, in 1837, that event occurred. He remained a widower, and,
but for the presence of his accomplished daughter-in-law, his
administration would have been socially a failure. The prestige of his
high position was not complete until the honors were shared with his
young relative.
Angelica Singleton, the daughter of Richard Singleton, Esq., was born in
Sumpter District, South Carolina. Her grandfather Singleton, and her
great-grandfather General Richardson, served with distinction in the
revolutionary war. On the maternal side, her grandfather, John Coles,
Esq., of Albemarle county, Virginia, was the intimate and valued friend
of Presidents Jefferson and Madison, and two of his sons were
respectively their private secretaries during their Presidential terms.
Miss Singleton’s early advantages were in keeping with her elevated
social position. To complete an education superior to the generality of
her sex at that day, she spent several years at Madame Grelaud’s
seminary, in Philadelphia. The winter previous to her marriage, she
passed in Washington, in the family of her kinsman, Senator William C.
Preston. Soon after her arrival, her cousin, the justly celebrated Mrs.
Madison, procured the appointment of a day to present her to the
President, accompanied also by Senator Preston’s family. Her reception
was a very flattering one, and she became a great favorite with
President Van Buren. In November of the year following (1838), she was
married at her father’s residence, to Colonel, then Major, Van Buren,
the President’s eldest son, and his private secretary—a graduate of West
Point and long an officer in the army. Her first appearance as the lady
of the White House was on the following New Year’s day, when, supported
by the ladies of the cabinet, she received with the President.
The following brief though favorable cotemporaneous notice of that
occasion is taken from a long and racy account by a correspondent of the
Boston _Post_, of the movements at the capital on New Year’s day:
“The Executive Mansion was a place of much more than usual attraction in
consequence of the first appearance there of the bride of the
President’s son and private secretary, Mrs. Abram Van Buren. She is
represented as being a lady of rare accomplishments, very modest, yet
perfectly easy and graceful in her manners, and free and vivacious in
her conversation. She was universally admired and is said to have borne
the fatigue of a three hours’ levee with a patience and pleasantry which
must be inexhaustible to last one through so severe a trial. A constant
current set from the President’s house to the modest mansion of the much
respected lady of ex-President Madison. Ex-President Adams and his lady
were also cordially greeted at their residence by a number of friends.”
Mrs. Van Buren is the only daughter of South Carolina who has graced the
White House as hostess, and her life there was rendered as entirely
agreeable as the combined influences of wealth, station, and refinement
could make it. The reminiscences of her early life carry us back to a
period when South Carolina enjoyed the distinction of sharing with
Virginia the honor of being the seat of elegant hospitality and refined
culture. Under the benign influences of a matchless climate and great
wealth, the people of the Palmetto State enjoyed the leisure and
opportunity of developing all those characteristics which adorn humanity
and render life attractive. The citizens of this State were fortunate in
being the descendants of the best families of Virginia, and Mrs. Van
Buren was a most pleasing representative of this old aristocracy.
Perhaps no aristocracy in this country was ever so entirely modeled
after the ways and habits of the English nobility as that of Virginia
and South Carolina. The people were enabled, through the institution of
slavery, to keep up a style of living impossible under other conditions,
and they had the wealth and the inclination to be its successful
imitators. They were a monarchial class in a republican government.
The position of Mrs. Van Buren’s family was always such that all the
avenues of intellectual enjoyment were open to her, while her natural
endowments were of that high order which rendered cultivation rapid and
pleasant. Added to her many gifts was the irresistible one of beauty of
form and deportment. The engraving, from a portrait by Inman, painted
soon after the time of her marriage, represents the exceeding loveliness
of her charming person. More potent than mere regularity of features is
the gentle, winning expression of her clear black eyes; and the smile
about her finely chiselled lips betokens the proud serenity of her most
fortunate life.
Mrs. Van Buren was, on her mother’s side, descended from a long line of
ancestors, and the genealogical tables of the family discover many of
the leading names of American politicians and statesmen. Aside from mere
wealth, they possessed abilities which, in many instances, secured them
the highest position in the gift of their government. Prominent among
these was her uncle, Mr. Stevenson, Minister to England. In the spring
of 1839, Colonel and Mrs. Van Buren made a rapid visit to Europe,
returning at the request of the President in the following fall in time
for the session of Congress. While abroad, they enjoyed the most unusual
social advantages, being members of the President’s family, and she a
niece of the American ambassador, who had been a resident of London
several years. They were in London during the whole of the season of the
year following the queen’s coronation, which derived especial brilliancy
from the presence of the present Emperor of Russia, Prince Henry of
Orange, and other foreigners of note.
No American lady has ever visited Europe under similar circumstances.
Nor have any of her countrywomen made a more lasting impression than did
this young representative of the President’s family. By her cultivated,
unassuming manners she made herself most agreeable to the court circles
of England, and maintained in the saloons of royalty the simplicity and
dignity of her republican education.
Mrs. Stevenson was the chaperon of Mrs. Van Buren on all public
occasions, and the recollections of evenings spent with her at
“Almack’s,” at the Palace, and in the society of the cultured and noble,
were always sunny memories in the heart of her niece.
Major Van Buren’s position as private secretary rendered their
unexampled and most fortunate visit to England of short duration. To
reach America before the meeting of Congress, they left London for the
continent. In the course of their hurried tour, they passed some weeks
in Paris, and were presented by the American minister, General Cass, to
the king and queen. They were invited to dine at St. Cloud, and were
received with the kind, unceremonious manner which, it is well known,
distinguished all the members of that branch of the Orleans family.
After dinner, Louis Philippe conducted them through the rooms of the
Palace, even to the door of the sleeping apartment, as he supposed, of
his grandson, the Comte De Paris, at which he knocked without obtaining
any response. The queen, having been told by Mrs. Van Buren on her
return of what had happened, said, laughingly, “Ah! that is all the king
knows about it! After his mother left with the Duc D’Orleans for
Algiers, I caused the child to be removed to a room nearer my own.” She
then proposed to send for him, and for her Wurtemberg grandchild also,
but unfortunately for the gratification of her guest’s natural
curiosity, the little princes were fast asleep.
After the expiration of President Van Buren’s term of office, Mrs. Van
Buren and her husband lived with him at Lindenwald through several years
of his retirement, passing much of the winter months with her parents in
South Carolina, and in 1848 establishing themselves in the city of New
York, which has since been their home uninterruptedly, except by visits
to the South, rendered necessary by the death of her father and the
consequent charge of her patrimonial estate, and by a three years’
absence in Europe, superintending the education of their sons.
Mrs. Van Buren’s middle life was spent in New York, where she lived a
pleasant existence, surrounded by her family, and in the midst of a
charming social circle. Her career was an exceptionally prosperous one,
and she enjoyed life thoroughly. She was a cultivated, elegant-mannered
person, considerate of others, sweet in disposition, and gracious in
speech. Her home was the centre of elegant hospitality, and in the
gayest city on this continent she was accounted a society leader. She
was an unselfish woman, and she was never tardy in employing her gifts
or her means in behalf of others. Prosperous and educated to the
enjoyment of wealth; cultured and inclined to appreciate all that was
pleasing and beautiful in life, her career is a delightful one to
chronicle. She knew sorrow in the early death of two of her children;
and in later years the loss of relatives and friends cast a momentary
gloom about her. But few earthly lives have been so unvaryingly even and
free from strong contrasts. Up to the time of her death (which occurred
the 29th of December, 1878) she was a lady upon whom it was a pleasure
to look; whose bearing discovered aristocratic lineage, and cultivation
under happy conditions.
XII.
ANNA SYMMES HARRISON.
Anna Symmes, the wife of the ninth President of the United States, was
born the famous year of American Independence, and but a few months
after the renowned skirmish at Lexington. Her birth-place was near
Morristown, New Jersey, the scene of suffering the following year, where
the tracks of the blood-stained feet of the soldiers attested their
forlorn condition. Soon after her birth, which occurred the 25th of
July, 1775, her mother died. Bereft of her care, she was thrown upon her
father’s hands for those attentions necessary for one of such a tender
age, which until her fourth year he carefully bestowed. Her maternal
grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Tuthill, were residing at Southhold, Long
Island, and thither at the age of four years she was taken by her
surviving parent. The incidents of her journey from Morristown to Long
Island, then in the possession of the British, she remembered through
life. Her father, the Hon. John Cleves Symmes, though at the time a
Colonel in the Continental army, was so anxious to place his daughter
with her grandmother, that he assumed the disguise of a British
officer’s uniform and successfully accomplished his perilous
undertaking. Leaving her in the home from which he had taken her mother
years before, he joined his own troops and served with distinction
during the war. Not until after the evacuation of New York, in the fall
of 1783, did the father and child meet again, nor did she return to his
New Jersey home. Under the care of her excellent grandmother, she became
early imbued with a love of religious reading, and learned those early
habits of industry which the young under the right influences early
attain. Mrs. Tuthill was a godly woman, whose soul had been deeply
stirred by the preaching of Whitfield, whom she greatly reverenced and
admired. From her lips the little Anna received her first religious
instructions, the good impressions of which lasted her through life. She
often remarked that “from her earliest childhood, the frivolous
amusements of youth had no charms for her. If ever constrained to attend
places of fashionable amusement, it was to gratify others and not
herself.”, In this early home of quiet and retirement, she acquired
habits of order and truthfulness which characterized her conduct in
after years. Her hands, even as a child, were never idle, but as a
Christian virtue, she was trained to diligence, prudence, and economy.
When old enough to attend school, she was placed at a seminary in East
Hampton, where she remained some time, and subsequently she was a pupil
of Mrs. Isabelle Graham, and an inmate of her family in New York city.
Here she readily acquired knowledge, and improved the opportunities
afforded her. For her teacher she ever retained the highest regard, and
cherished the memory of that pious and exemplary woman through all the
changes of her own life.
At the age of nineteen she bade adieu to her aged grandparents, and
accompanied her father and step-mother to Ohio, in 1794. A year previous
to this time, Judge Symmes had located a small colony of settlers who
had accompanied him from New Jersey, at a point on the Ohio river,
afterward known as North Bend. Returning to the Eastern States, he
married Miss Susan Livingston, a daughter of Governor Livingston, of New
York, and in the autumn started again, accompanied by his wife and
daughter, for his frontier home. The journey was made with great
difficulty, and the party did not reach North Bend until the morning of
the 1st of January, 1795. Thus was the youthful Anna a pioneer in the
land which she lived to see blossoming as the rose under the hands of
civilization and material progression.
Judge Symmes was one of the Associate Judges of the Supreme Court of the
Northwestern Territory, and was often called to attend court in a
distant part of the Territory. During the absence of her father on these
journeyings, Anna would spend most of her time with an elder sister, who
had previously removed to Lexington, Kentucky. It was while on one of
these visits to her sister, Mrs. Peyton Short, that she formed the
acquaintance of her future husband, then Captain Harrison,[16] of the
United States Army, and in command of Fort Washington, the present site
of Cincinnati. The youthful Virginian was much attracted by the gentle,
modest manners and the sweet face of Anna Symmes, and he determined on
winning her hand. The effort was highly successful, for they were
married at her father’s house, North Bend, Ohio, November 22d, 1795.
Footnote 16:
William Henry Harrison, the third and youngest son of Benjamin
Harrison, of Virginia, was born the 9th day of February, 1773, at
Berkley, on the James river, about twenty-five miles below Richmond,
in Charles City county. His father was a signer of the Declaration of
Independence, a member of the Continental Congress, and afterward
Governor of Virginia. Young Harrison was educated at Hampden Sydney
College, and afterward studied medicine. After his father’s death, in
1791, he became the ward of Robert Morris, the celebrated financier,
whose private fortune so often relieved the sufferings of the
Continental Army. When about to graduate as a physician, the reports
of troubles in the West decided him to join the frontier troops. The
opposition of his excellent guardian was not sufficient to deter him
from his purpose, and as his design was approved by Washington, who
had also been a warm friend of his father, he received from that noble
warrior an ensign’s commission in the first regiment of United States
Artillery, then stationed at Fort Washington.
Thus, in less than one year after her removal from her childhood’s home,
in the twentieth year of her age, Anna Symmes became the wife of Captain
Harrison, subsequently the most popular General of his day and President
of the United States.
Soon after their marriage, Captain Harrison resigned his commission in
the army, and was elected the first delegate to Congress from the
Northwest Territory. Mrs. Harrison accompanied him to Philadelphia, then
the seat of the General Government, but spending, however, most of the
session in visiting her husband’s relatives in Virginia.
From those who knew Mrs. Harrison at this period of her life, is given
the assurance that she was very handsome. Her face was full of animation
and kindliness, and her health, which was perfectly robust, added a glow
to her features, very pleasing to behold. Her figure was not large, but
a happy medium, although rather inclined to become reduced upon the
slightest occasion. Later in life, as her health grew more delicate, she
looked much smaller than when in youth’s bright morn she became a bride.
In a letter received by her in 1840, from a friend who had known her at
eighteen years of age, this passage occurs: “I suppose I should not
recognize anything of your present countenance, for your early days have
made such an impression upon my mind that I cannot realize any
countenance for you but that of your youth, on which nature had been so
profusely liberal.” In the pictures taken later in life, her face
exhibits a very intellectual and animated expression, and there are
traces of former beauty in the delicate features and bright black eyes.
When the Indiana Territory which now forms the State of Indiana, was
formed out of a portion of the old Northwestern Territory, General
Harrison was appointed its first Governor by President Adams.
He removed his family to the old French town of Vincennes, on the
Wabash, then the seat of the Territorial Government, where Mrs. Harrison
lived for many years a retired but very happy life.
Dispensing with a liberal hand and courteous manner the hospitality of
the Governor’s Mansion, she was beloved and admired by all who knew her.
General Harrison retained this position during the administrations of
Adams, Jefferson and Madison, until the inglorious surrender of Hull in
1812, when he was appointed to the command of the northwestern army.
Mrs. Harrison remained in Vincennes during the fall of 1811, while her
husband was marching with his small force to disband the tribes of
hostile Indians gathering for battle at Prophet’s Town, and was there
when the news of the battle of Tippecanoe reached her. But she rejoiced
that it was over, and the formidable combinations of Tecumseh and the
Prophet were dissipated forever. Henceforth the settlers might work in
peace, for the foot of the red man came never again across the Wabash
with hostile intent.
The battle-ground of Tippecanoe, the scene of General Harrison’s
dearly-bought triumph, after the lapse of three-quarters of a century,
is as quiet and green as a village churchyard. A low white paling fence
surrounds it, and the trees are tall and carefully pruned of
undergrowth. Mounds, so frequently observed in the west, and here and
there a quaint wooden headboard marks the spot of some brave soldier’s
fall. The train as it rushes from Lafayette, Indiana, through what was
formerly a wilderness, to the west, gives the traveller but a moment to
look upon this historic spot, where on that fatal 7th of November
morning, the Indians rushed unexpectedly upon the weary troops, sleeping
after the exhaustive fatigue of travel, and met with a defeat that made
the spot famous.
After the battle of Tippecanoe, General Harrison removed his family to
Cincinnati, and accepted the position of Major-General in the forces of
Kentucky, then about to march to the relief of the Northwestern
Territory.
Mrs. Harrison was thus left a comparative stranger in Cincinnati, with
the sole charge of her young and large family of children during the
greater part of the war of 1812. During this time, several of the
children were prostrated by long and severe illness, and to this trial
was added the painful anxiety attending the fate of her husband. But
under these and all afflictions, Mrs. Harrison bore up with the firmness
of a Roman matron, and the humility and resignation of a tried Christian
mother.
In 1814, General Harrison resigned his position in the army and went to
live at North Bend, fifteen miles below Cincinnati, on the Ohio. In the
limits of this sketch it is impossible to give all the interesting
details of Mrs. Harrison’s life during her thirty years’ residence at
the old homestead. Many, very many of her acts of neighborly kindness
and Christian charity will never be known on earth, for she shrank from
any display of benevolence.
General Harrison being much from home, engaged in public affairs, she
was left in the control of her large family of ten children, and
ofttimes the children of her friends and neighbors. Schools in that new
and unsettled country were “few and far between,” and Mrs. Harrison
always employed a private tutor. The generous hospitality of North Bend
being so well known, it was not surprising that many of the children of
the neighborhood became inmates of her family for as long as they chose
to avail themselves of the privileges of the little school.
Although at this time in delicate health, Mrs. Harrison never wearied or
complained in the discharge of domestic duties, and forgot the
multiplied cares she assumed in the thought of the benefit the children
of others would derive from such an arrangement. She was sustained by
her husband, and loved by her children and servants, and the burden was
lightened spiritually if not materially.
But here commenced the long series of trials which tested her character
and chastened her heart. During her thirty years’ life at North Bend,
she buried, one child in infancy, and subsequently followed to the grave
three daughters and four sons, all of whom were settled in life, and ten
grandchildren. In view of these bereavements she wrote to her pastor,
“And now what shall I say to these things; only, ‘Be still and know that
I am God.’ You will not fail to pray for me and my dear son and daughter
who are left. For I have no wish for my children and grandchildren than
to see them the humble followers of the Lord Jesus.”
Her influence over her family was strong and abiding, and all loved to
do reverence to her consistent, conscientious life. Her only surviving
son wrote in 1848, “That I am a firm believer in the religion of Christ
is not a virtue of mine. I imbibed it at my mother’s breast, and can no
more divest myself of it than I can of my nature.”
The same was true of all her children, and what errors they might
embrace, they could not forget the religion of their mother, nor wander
far from the precepts, for “whatever is imbibed with the mother’s milk
lasts forever for weal or for woe.” The following incident will show
that her precepts and examples as a member of the church were not
unappreciated by her husband. In 1840, during the Presidential canvass,
a delegation of politicians visited North Bend on the Sabbath. General
Harrison met them near his residence and extending his hand, said:
“Gentlemen, I should be most happy to welcome you on any other day, but
if I have no regard for religion myself, I have too much respect for the
religion of my wife to encourage the violation of the Christian
Sabbath.”
In 1836, General Harrison was first nominated for the Presidency. Mrs.
Harrison was much annoyed by even the remote possibility of his
election. There were no less than three candidates of the old federal
party in the field, and the triumph of either was almost an
impossibility. Yet even this probability of having to break up the
retirement of her old home at North Bend and be thrown in the station of
fashion and position in Washington, filled the heart of Mrs. Harrison
with dismay. When the trio of candidates had defeated themselves and
elected the champion of the Democracy, Mrs. Harrison felt heartily glad
that her quiet was again restored, and she contemplated with renewed
delight the happy contentment of her western home on the banks of the
sparkling, flowing river.
In 1840, the Federal party had ceased to exist; the opponents of Jackson
and the system which emanated from his administration had taken the name
of the Whig party, and Harrison, the sagacious Governor of the
Northwestern Territory, the successful General, and later the farmer of
North Bend, was the chosen of the people, and the idol of his party.
The canvass, for months before the day of the election, carried the most
intense excitement and unbounded enthusiasm throughout the Union. The
pecuniary difficulties of the country, during the past administration,
left the people an opportunity for political gatherings. Financial
prostration and hopeless bankruptcy paralyzed the various trades; and in
the workshop, as in the counting-house, in the streets, in the fields,
in vacant factories and barns, in the mechanic’s as in the artisan’s
room, were heard debates of the pending question. Everywhere long
processions with mottoed banners were seen marching to music, and
throughout the land was heard the famous old “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,”
and “Van is a used-up man,” campaign songs. Never before or since was
such interest manifested, and never again will there be the same
admiration expressed for any aspirant to public honors. Log-cabins,
illustrative of General Harrison’s early days, were “raised” everywhere,
and “companies” visited from place to place, equipped in handsome
uniforms, and accompanied by bands of music. The whigs struggled
manfully to elect their candidate, bringing to their service powerful
appeals in the forms of stirring song, executed by youths in the
streets, and dwelling continually upon the resumption of specie payment,
revival of languishing trade, and public retrenchment and economy. The
result was such as every one expected. General Harrison was elected
President by a large majority, and John Tyler, of Virginia, was chosen
Vice-President. This triumphant victory brought no sense of pride or
elation to Mrs. Harrison. She was grateful to her countrymen for this
unmistakable appreciation of the civil and military services of her
husband, and rejoiced at his vindication over his traducers, but she
took no pleasure in contemplating the pomp and circumstance of a life at
the Executive Mansion. At no period of her life had she any taste for
the gayeties of fashion or the dissipations of society. Her friends were
ever welcome to her home, and found there refined pleasures and innocent
amusements, but for the life of a woman of the world she had no
sympathy.
General Harrison left his home in February, and was received in
Washington with every demonstration of respect, and welcomed by Mayor
Seaton in a speech delivered at City Hall. It was raining hard when he
left the railroad depot, yet he walked with his hat in his hand,
accompanied by an immense concourse of people. He went from Washington
to his old home in Virginia for a few days, but returned in time for the
Inauguration. The morning of the 4th of March, 1841, was ushered in by a
salute of twenty-six guns. The day was devoted entirely to pleasure. The
city of Washington was thronged with people, many of whom were from the
most distant States of the Union. The procession was in keeping with the
enthusiasm and interest displayed throughout the campaign. Ladies
thronged the windows, and waved their handkerchiefs in token of kind
feelings, while the wild huzzas of the opposite sex filled the air with
a deafening noise. General Harrison was mounted on a white charger,
accompanied by several personal friends, and his immediate escort were
the officers and soldiers who had fought under him. Canoes and cabins,
covered with appropriate mottoes, were conspicuous, and the scene was
one of universal splendor.
Mrs. Harrison’s health, delicate for many years, was particularly frail
in February when her husband left home for Washington, and her
physicians protested against her crossing the mountains at that season
of the year, and urged her remaining in Ohio until the opening of
spring. General Harrison was accompanied to Washington by his
daughter-in-law, Mrs. Jane F. Harrison, the widow of his namesake son,
and her two sons. She was a very refined, accomplished person, and
exceedingly popular during her short stay as mistress of ceremonies at
the White House. Besides Mrs. Jane F. Harrison, there were several
ladies of the President’s family residing temporarily with her until
Mrs. Harrison should come on. Mrs. Findlay, the wife of General Findlay
and aged aunt of Mrs. Harrison, Miss Ramsay, a cousin, and Miss Lucy S.
Taylor, of Richmond, Virginia, a niece of the President’s, these were
the occupants of the mansion the few short weeks of the President’s
life, for in one month from the day of his inauguration he died.
Pneumonia was the avowed cause, but it was the applicants for office who
killed him. He was weak and aged, and unaccustomed to the confined life
forced upon him in his new position, and the gentle kindness with which
he received all who were clamoring for office did but inspire them with
renewed ardor. The whig party had been out of power many years, and the
greed of the politicians snapped the tendrils of the veteran’s declining
years and sent him to the tomb before the glad notes of the inauguration
anthem had died over the Virginia hills. President Harrison died the 4th
of April, 1841, and on the 7th was laid temporarily to rest in the
Congressional burying-grounds. The service was performed in the White
House, by Rev. Mr. Hawley, in the presence of President Tyler,
ex-President Adams, members of the cabinet, of Congress, and the foreign
ministers. The procession was two miles in length, and was marshalled on
its way by officers on horseback carrying white batons with black
tassels. At the grounds, the liturgy of the Episcopal church was recited
by Mr. Hawley. The coffin having been placed in the receiving vault, and
the military salute having been fired, the procession resumed its march
to the city, and by five o’clock that evening nothing remained but empty
streets, and the emblems of mourning upon the houses, and the still
deeper gloom which oppressed the general mind with renewed power after
all was over; and the sense of the public bereavement alone was left to
fill the thoughts. The following touching lines, from the gifted pen of
N. P. Willis, remarkable for their pathos and harmony, need no apology
for being introduced here. The grandeur and simple beauty of the
swelling poem deserve a more lasting record than transitory verses
usually receive.
What soared the old eagle to die at the sun,
Lies he stiff with spread wings at the goal he has won!
Are there spirits more blest than the planet of even
Who mount to their zenith, then melt into heaven?
No waning of fire, no quenching of ray,
But rising, still rising, when passing away!
Farewell, gallant eagle! thou’rt buried in light!
God-speed unto heaven, lost star of our night!
Death! Death in the White House! ah, never before
Trod his skeleton foot on the President’s floor;
He is looked for in hovel and dreaded in hall,
The king in his closet keeps hatchments and pall,
The youth in his birth-place, the old man at home,
Make clean from the door-stone the path to the tomb;
But the lord of this mansion was cradled not here,
In a churchyard far off stands his beckoning bier:
He is here as the wave crest heaves flashing on high,
As the arrow is stopp’d by its prize in the sky—
The arrow to earth, and the foam to the shore,
Death finds them when swiftness and shankle are o’er;
But Harrison’s death fills the climax of story:
He went with his old stride from glory to glory.
Lay his sword on his breast! there’s no spot on its blade
In whose cankering breath his bright laurels will fade:
’Twas the first to lead on at humanity’s call,
It was stay’d with sweet mercy when “glory” was all;
As calm in the council as gallant in war,
He fought for his country, and not its “hurrah!”
In the path of the hero with pity he trod,
Let him pass with his sword to the presence of God!
What more? Shall we on with his ashes? Yet stay!
He hath ruled the wide realm of a king in his day;
At his word, like a monarch’s, went treasure and land,
The bright gold of thousands has passed through his hand.
Is there nothing to show of his flittering hoard?
No jewels to deck the rude hilt of his sword—
No trappings—no horses? what had he? But now,
On, on with his ashes! he left but his plough!
Brave old Cincinnatus! unwind ye his sheet:
Let him sleep as he lived—with his purse at his feet.
Follow now as ye list: the first mourner to-day
Is the nation—whose father is taken away.
Wife, children and neighbor may moan at his knell—
He was “lover and friend” to his country as well!
For the stars on our banner grown suddenly dim
Let us weep, in our darkness—but weep not for him.
Not for him, who, departing, leaves millions in tears;
Not for him, who has died full of honor and years;
From the round at the top he has stepped to the sky—
It is blessed to go when so ready to die!
The members of President Harrison’s family immediately vacated the
Executive Mansion, and the grief-stricken widow ceased the preparations
for her prolonged absence from home. What a shock this death must have
been to her! For many months an interested spectator, if not an actor,
in the stirring events of the canvass and election, afterward a sharer
in the triumphs of her husband, and for weeks anticipating the happy
reunion in the mansion of the Presidents, to be rudely torn by fate from
his presence for ever, and to see every hope lying crushed around her,
would have harrowed a nature of coarsest mould. She was summoned from
the busy care of forwarding some matter of interest to be told that he
was dead. Dead! she could scarcely believe the evidences of her senses.
Dead! or was she mistaken in what was said to her? His last letter was
before her, and she had scarcely ceased reading the accounts in the
papers of the magnificence of the inaugural ball.
Howsoever cruel the blow, it was borne meekly and humbly by the
Christian wife and mother, and she aroused herself from the stupor in
which the announcement had thrown her.
In July, the remains of the sincerely regretted President and deeply
mourned husband and father were removed to their present resting-place
at North Bend.
Had her husband lived, Mrs. Harrison would have gone to Washington and
discharged faithfully and conscientiously the duties of her position.
But her residence there would not have been in accordance with her
wishes or her taste.
She continued to reside at her old home, where the happiest years of her
life had been spent, until the autumn of 1855, when she removed from the
old homestead to the residence of her only surviving son, Hon. J. Scott
Harrison, five miles below North Bend, on the Ohio river. She remained
an inmate of his family until her death.
During the latter part of her life, she had many and severe attacks of
illness, and perhaps nothing but the skill and devoted medical services
of her physicians, and the almost idolatrous attentions of her
granddaughters, kept the lamp of her life flickering so long. Her
grandsons, too, claimed their share in this labor of love, and when the
telegraph bore to their distant homes the tidings of her illness, they
came with their wives to wait at her bedside, and whatever of business
was suspended or neglected, their attentions to her were not relaxed for
a moment. In a recent letter received from a granddaughter of Mrs.
Harrison’s, this paragraph occurs: “Of many of the facts of her later
life I was an eye-witness, as I was an inmate of my father’s family for
three years previous to her death, and had the inestimable privilege of
seeing her beautiful Christian resignation and conformity to the will of
God as life drew to its close. Indeed, it was upon my breast that she
breathed her precious life away.”
Mrs. Harrison was not indifferent to the political events of the age in
which she lived, and few were better informed with regard to public men
and measures than herself. Much of her time she spent in reading, during
the closing years of her life, and she kept herself informed, through
the medium of the daily papers, of the transactions of the outside
world. Very few persons of even younger years took a greater interest in
the movements of the armies during the late civil war, or could give a
more succinct and graphic account of the details of a campaign.
She was not radical in her sentiments, and indulged in no preconceived
prejudices against the South and its objectionable institution. In
regard to the holding of slaves, she was willing that all should be
fully persuaded in their own minds as to its propriety, but her own
convictions were strongly against it.
Many of her grandsons were officers and soldiers in the Union army, and
as occasion would permit, they would visit her to ask her blessing and
her prayers. The one was given and the other promised with a patriotic
zeal and ardor that many of the sterner sex might well have emulated.
During the war, a grandson and member of the family in which she resided
came home on a brief leave of absence. The day of his departure arrived,
and he went to the chamber of his grandmother to take what he supposed
to be his last farewell in this life, as she was then confined to her
bed with a severe illness. She received him with great affection, and in
reply to his expressions of regret at leaving her, she said, “O, no, my
son, your country needs your services; I do not. Go and discharge your
duty faithfully and fearlessly. I feel that my prayers in your behalf
will be heard, and that you will be returned in safety. And yet,
perhaps, I do not feel as much concerned for you as I should: I have
parted so often with your grandfather under similar circumstances, and
he was always returned to me in safety, that I feel it will be the same
with you.”
The young Captain did return to see his grandmother again in this life
after several hard-fought battles, in which he received complimentary
notice from his commanding officers. Her granddaughter says: “My
husband, Dr. Eaton, one of her physicians being in the house and an
invalid, spent much of his time in her room, and would often say to me,
‘I never met a more entertaining person than your grandma. I could sit
for hours and listen to her conversation.’ Such is not often said, by a
man in the prime of life, of an old lady nearly ninety years of age.
Since then he has gone to join her in her heavenly home.”
Mrs. Harrison’s distinguishing characteristics were her Christian
humility and total want of selfishness; her modest, retiring manners and
generosity and benevolence. She was always anxious to promote the
well-being of others at her own expense, and sacrificed herself for the
good of others.
Many incidents of generosity are remembered and treasured by her
descendants, which, though not of sufficient interest to record, are of
priceless value to those who witnessed their exhibition, and were
recipients of her beneficence.
Every public and private charity was near her heart, and received
liberally from her hand. But those who enjoyed her bounty knew not of
its source. To a poor minister she would write: “Accept this trifle from
a friend.” To the Bethel Sabbath school, “This is but a widow’s mite.”
To the suffering poor of the city, “Please distribute this from one who
wishes it was a thousand times more.”
She continued to bear on her praying lips the salvation of her
descendants, and as she drew near the closing scene, this was her song:
“Just as I am, without one plea
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bidd’st me come to thee,—
O Lamb of God! I come.”
Her intellectual powers and physical senses were retained to the last,
and at the age of eighty-eight she was an agreeable companion for both
old and young.
On the evening of the 25th of February, 1864, in the eighty-ninth year
of her age, Mrs. Harrison died at the residence of her son.
Her funeral took place at the Presbyterian church at Cleves, on Sunday,
February the 28th. The sermon was preached by the Rev. Horace Bushnell,
from the text, “Be still and know that I am God.” The selection was made
by herself and given several years before to Mr. Bushnell, her pastor
and intimate friend for many years. The remains were deposited beside
those of her husband, and they together sleep by the banks of the
beautiful Ohio at North Bend.
XIII.
LETITIA CHRISTIAN TYLER.
The first wife of John Tyler, tenth President of the United States, was
the third daughter of Robert Christian, Esq., of Cedar Grove, in New
Kent county, in the State of Virginia; a gentleman of good private
fortune, an earnest Federalist of that day in his political opinions,
and an attached friend and adherent of George Washington. He possessed
the highest social and political influence in the county of his
residence, and, indeed, throughout the Peninsular District, embraced
between the York and James rivers. His house was the seat of genuine
Virginia hospitality, and his neighbors, trusting implicitly to his good
sense and integrity, appealed to his arbitration in matters involving
legal controversy, in preference to submitting their cases in the
courts. For many consecutive years, he was not only the presiding
magistrate of his county, but also its representative in the Legislature
of the State; and his brothers, among whom was the late Major Edmond
Christian, of Creighton, Marshal of Virginia, were men of mark and
influence.
This worthy gentleman married in early life Mary Brown, an amiable lady
of high worth and character, with whom he lived in happiness until her
death, and through whom he was blessed with a large family of sons and
daughters; the males being, without exception, distinguished for their
personal courage, intelligence, and graceful appearance and manners, and
the daughters for their beauty, piety, and domestic virtues.
[Illustration:
M^{RS.} LETITIA CHRISTIAN TYLER.
]
Among that bevy of fair daughters, Letitia, afterward Mrs. Tyler, born
on the 12th of November, 1790, under the paternal roof at Cedar Grove,
was, perhaps, the most attractive in her modest refinement and striking
loveliness of person and character; and although always instinctively
shrinking from public observation, she was regarded as one of the belles
of Eastern Virginia. Her hand was sought in marriage by many suitors,
but from the number who presented themselves—some of whom were the
possessors of large estates—her heart and excellent judgment selected
the then talented and rising young lawyer, who, inheriting the
unrivalled popularity of his father, Governor John Tyler, with a mind
still more brilliant and cultivated, was just entering upon that
remarkable career which has so directly and powerfully impressed his
genius, not only on the history of his noble old State, but on that of
the United States of America.
The marriage of the youthful pair, on the 29th of March, 1813, she being
in the twenty-second year of her age, and he having completed his
twenty-third on that day, was particularly acceptable to both houses;
and Letitia being the idol of her brothers and sisters, upon Mr. Tyler
was at once concentrated the unfailing affection and support—an
affection and support which attended him through life—of every member of
the numerous and powerful Christian family, harmonizing to no
inconsiderable extent in Lower Virginia, and uniting in his favor both
of the great political parties of the day—his own father having been,
privately and publicly, the constant friend of Henry and of Jefferson, a
leader in the movement and war of Independence, and the special
representative of the State Rights Republicans in his own right, and Mr.
Robert Christian having been the constant friend of Washington, and a
prominent leader and representative man among the Federalists.
The wedding festivities over, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler retired to their own
home in Charles City county, a part of the “Greenway” estate of his
father, which at once became an object of attraction and intense
interest to the many admirers, friends, and relatives of its happy
inmates. Dating from this period until Mrs. Tyler’s death in the
Executive Mansion, at the city of Washington, nearly thirty years
afterward, nothing, except the loss of two infant children and her
subsequent ill-health, ever transpired to mar the felicity of this
auspicious union.
In the unselfish, constant, and vigilant affection of his wife, in her
personal charms, in her strong common sense and excellent judgment, in
her unaffected religious sentiments, in the sweet purity of her gentle
life, in her parental and filial devotion, in her watchful care and love
for her children, Mr. Tyler found everything to satisfy his affections
and to gratify his pride.
In his admitted integrity and worth as a man and citizen, in his great
intellectual powers, in his constantly increasing prosperity and rising
reputation, in the accounts she received of his eloquence both at the
bar and in the legislature, and in the high official trusts which
ultimately were literally showered upon him, one after the other, almost
without intermission; and finally in his tender solicitude to restore
her failing health and to minister to her slightest wish, she discovered
all that her woman’s heart, or her feminine ambition required, to
complete and secure her wedded happiness. The following letter, the
first that Mr. Tyler ever ventured to address to her before marriage,
and the original of which is still preserved in the family—apart from
the natural simplicity of its style and the ordinary interest that would
attach to it—not only presents the most unmistakable evidence of the
sound and healthy sentiments, emotions, and principles of character
associated with both and impelling to their union, but it is also a
remarkable illustration, in view of a long engagement prior to marriage,
of the delicate tone and exalted purity of the social structure and
civilization that surrounded them and under whose happy influences they
were born and reared.
“RICHMOND, _December 5th, 1812_.
“Although I could not entirely obtain your permission to write to you,
yet I am well aware that you will not be displeased at my exercising a
privilege, so valuable to one standing in the relation that I do to you.
To think of you and to write to you, are the only sources from whence I
can derive any real satisfaction during my residence in this place. The
prerogative of thinking of those we love, and from whom we are
separated, seems to be guaranteed to us by nature, as we cannot be
deprived of it either by the bustle and confusion of a town, or by the
important duties that attach to our existence. Believe me, my L., that
this observation has been completely verified by me since I last saw
you, for although deafened by noise, and attentive to the duties of my
station, yet you are the subject of my serious meditations and the
object of my fervent prayers to heaven. From the first moment of my
acquaintance with you, I felt the influence of genuine affection; but
now, when I reflect upon the sacrifice which you make to virtue and to
feeling, by conferring your hand on me, who have nothing to boast of but
an honest and upright soul, and a heart of purest love, I feel gratitude
superadded to affection for you. Indeed, I do esteem myself most rich in
possessing you. The mean and sordid wretch who yields the unspeakable
bliss of possessing her whom he ardently loves, may boast of his
ill-acquired wealth, and display his treasures in all the pride of
ostentation to the world, but who shall administer to him comfort in the
hour of affliction? Whose seraph smile shall chase away the fiends which
torment him? The partner of his bosom he neither esteems nor regards,
and he knows nothing of the balm which tender affection can bestow.
Nature will be still true to herself, for as your favorite Thomson
expresses it,
“‘Naught but love can answer love,
Or render bliss secure.’
“You express some degree of astonishment, my L., at an observation I
once made to you, ‘that I would not have been willingly wealthy at the
time that I addressed you.’ Suffer me to repeat it. If I had been
wealthy, the idea of your being actuated by prudential considerations in
accepting my suit, would have eternally tortured me. But I exposed to
you frankly and unblushingly my situation in life—my hopes and my fears,
my prospects and my dependencies—and you nobly responded. To ensure to
you happiness is now my only object, and whether I float or sink in the
stream of fortune, you may be assured of this, that I shall never cease
to love you. Forgive me for these remarks, which I have been
irresistibly led to make.
“Colonel Christian will deliver you this letter, together with the first
two volumes of the ‘Forest of Montabano,’ I do not trouble him with the
last two volumes, for fear of incommoding him, and because I shall be at
your father’s on Wednesday evening, if the business before the
Legislature be not very important. You will feel much sympathy for the
unfortunate Angelina, and admiration for the character of good Father
Patrick. Frederick is inexplicable until the last volume is read.
“Again suffer me to assure you of my constant esteem and affection, and
believe me to be yours most faithfully,
“JOHN TYLER.
“To MISS LETITIA CHRISTIAN,
“New Kent.”
Mrs. Letitia Semple, the only surviving daughter of Mrs. Letitia Tyler,
says, regarding this letter, “I enclose you a copy of the first letter
my father ever wrote to my mother; and I had a book of original sonnets
written by him in his youthful days, many of which were addressed to
her; for he was full of music and full of poetry and possessed an
exquisite literary taste; but this book has been lost to us, in one of
my writing desks stolen during the war.
“My father and my mother were born in the same year—that of 1790, he
being from the 29th March to the 12th November older than she was. They
were married on father’s twenty-third birthday following that of his
birth, after a courtship and engagement of nearly five years. He met her
for the first time at a private party in the neighborhood, while on a
visit to ‘Greenway,’ the home residence of grandfather Tyler, in Charles
City county, adjoining that of New Kent, where grandfather Christian
resided at ‘Cedar Grove.’ He had already taken his collegiate degrees at
William and Mary College when scarcely more than seventeen years old,
and was at the time a law student in Richmond, under the special office
counsel and instruction of the celebrated Edmund Randolph, justly
esteemed as the father of the Constitution of the United States, as Mr.
Jefferson was of the Declaration of American Independence, and who had
been the Attorney-General of President Washington, and the Secretary of
State of President Jefferson, my grandfather Tyler being Governor of
Virginia, and then residing in Richmond. After their troth was plighted,
he had been twice or thrice elected to the State Legislature before
their marriage was solemnized; and his last visit to her at ‘Cedar
Grove’ was only three weeks before the wedding, yet I have heard him
repeatedly say that, ‘then, for the first time, he ventured to kiss her
hand on parting, so perfectly reserved and modest had she always been.’
“My mother’s mother was Mary Brown, of the same family with that of the
late Judge John Brown, of Williamsburg, and Professor Dabney Brown, of
William and Mary College, the former of whom finally moved to Kentucky,
and the latter more recently to California; and with that of the Hon.
James Halyburton, late Judge of the United States District Court of
Virginia, and of the Hon. John M. Gregory, late Judge of the Henrico
Circuit and Governor of Virginia; and as to the late Judge Christian,
and the present Judge Christian, of the Peninsular Circuit and of the
General Court of Virginia, the first was her son, and the last her
cousin, as are also the present Doctors William and Edward Warren,
formerly of Edenton, North Carolina, whither they moved from New Kent in
Virginia, but now of Baltimore.”
Not long after her marriage, Mrs. Tyler had the misfortune to lose both
of her parents, and now having two less to love in this world, she
freely gave the share which had been theirs, to her husband and her
children, and to her sisters and her brothers. In truth, at no period of
her life does it seem that she existed for herself, but only for those
near and dear to her.
She was noted for the beauty of her person and of her features, for the
ease and grace of her carriage, for a delicate refinement of taste in
dress that excluded with precision every color and ornament not strictly
becoming and harmonizing in the general effect. Possessing an acute
nervous organization and sensitive temperament, combined with an
unusually correct judgment, any observant stranger of polished education
would have been almost unconsciously attracted to her among thousands by
her air of quiet courtesy and benignity. With these engaging qualities,
and the social advantages attaching to her position, she could easily
have impressed her power upon what is termed society had she so desired,
still she never aspired to wield the sceptre of fashion, and never
sought to attract attention beyond the limits of her own family, and the
circle of her immediate friends and relatives.
She modestly shrank from all notoriety and evaded the public eye as much
as possible. She had not the faintest wish to enjoy the reputation of
authoress or wit, or for maintaining an ascendency in the company of
brilliant men and women of the world. She was perfectly content to be
seen only as a part of the existence of her beloved husband; to
entertain her neighbors in her own easy, hospitable, and unostentatious
way; to converse with visitors on current topics intelligently; to sit
gently by her child’s cradle, reading, knitting, or sewing; or else to
while away pleasant hours in the endearing companionship of her sisters
and her intimate acquaintances.
It appears that, though she resided in Richmond during the period that
Mr. Tyler was Governor of Virginia, and did the honors of the Executive
Dwelling of the State with ease, and grace, and singular discretion,
winning the commendation of all at a time when the metropolis of
Virginia was unexcelled upon the American continent, either in respect
to elegant men or accomplished women; yet that she had rarely visited
the city while he was a member of the Legislature, and that during his
long term of service as Representative and Senator in the Congress of
the United States—having been three times elected to the House and twice
to the Senate,—she suffered herself to be persuaded only once to pass a
winter in Washington, and at the end of another session only reluctantly
consented, at his earnest entreaty, to visit one summer the gay centres
and resorts of the North.
When either her own health, or that of her husband, or that of her
children, absolutely required a change of air and scene, as several
times happened, she vastly preferred the bracing temperature and
invigorating atmosphere of the mountains of Virginia and the
life-imparting Greenbriar waters to the seats of more fashionable
display and empty vanity. She was, under all circumstances, the wife and
mother, sister and friend, apparently living in and for those whom she
loved, and not for herself.
No English lady was ever more skilled and accomplished in domestic
culture and economy than was Mrs. Tyler, and she was never so happy as
when in the enjoyment of domestic privacy. At her own home she was a
pattern of order, system, and neatness, as well as of hospitality,
charity, benevolence, and conscientiousness in the discharge of every
duty incumbent upon the mistress of a large household, and scrupulously
attentive to every wish expressed by her husband as to the management of
his interests in his absence on public affairs.
Nothing escaped her watchful yet kindly eye, either within or without
the mansion. She loved all pure and beautiful things, whether in nature
or in art. The grounds within the curtilage were tastefully arranged in
lawns and gardens, and under her immediate inspection were kept
carefully adorned with shade trees, and flowering shrubs, and
odoriferous plants, and trailing vines, so that in the spring, summer,
and fall the airs around were literally loaded with sweets. The
kitchen-garden and fruit-orchards were always extensively cultivated.
The dairy and laundry were sedulously supervised, and in all directions
poultry and fowls of almost every kind most prized for the table, were
to be seen in flocks. She preferred that her servant-women should be
held to these milder employments, and to spinning and weaving, knitting
and sewing, rather than being assigned to the more onerous tasks of the
field upon the plantation.
Thus, under her superintendence, not only were all the negro field-hands
and negro children comfortably provided with clothing of home
manufacture and make, as well as ministered to with care and supplied
with all necessary medical attendance when sick, but, at the same time,
the members of the immediate household had their wants, in these
respects, for the most part bountifully met; while the rarest and most
beautiful toilet fabrics, and counterpanes, and coverlets, such as are
not now to be had at any price, were produced by her handmaids, assisted
by those of the neighborhood inheriting the art. Beyond all question,
and without regard to the portion she brought with her after marriage,
as the gift of her father, which was by no means relatively
inconsiderable, she maintained by her active economy the pecuniary
independence of her husband under his continued public employments, in
an age of public virtue, when the representatives of the people, as well
as those of the States, received but slight remuneration for their
services, and when, in all probability, he would have been otherwise
compelled to have withdrawn from the public councils, and to have
relinquished the career of ambition in view of his family necessities
and requirements.
Mrs. Tyler was baptized in infancy in the Protestant Episcopal Church,
and in early life became a consistent communicant. At every stage of her
existence she was pervaded by a deep religious sentiment, and the Bible
was her constant companion. For her neighborly and charitable nature she
was proverbial. Although every one who knew her as a young unmarried
lady, and nearly all of her contemporaries in more advanced years, are
now dead, still her reputation in these respects abides among the
living, and is particularly referred to and commented upon in every
communication we received concerning her, as well as in all of her
obituaries that we have read. And one of the most beautiful traits in
her lovely and almost faultless character, in the midst of all her
mildness, meekness, gentleness and amiability, was the perfect
self-respect which constantly attended her, beating in unison with her
true woman’s soul, suffering no encroachment upon true propriety and
decorum in her presence, and sustaining her dignity as a Virginia
matron, which never, under any circumstances whatever, deserted her.
Mrs. Robert Tyler, the wife of her oldest son, thus wrote concerning
her, at her own home, in the bosom of her own family, in the old city of
Williamsburg, Virginia, under the first impressions she received after
she was married in Pennsylvania, to her sisters at the North:
“WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA, _October, 1839_.
* * * “The bridal festivities so profusely extended to us in Charles
City, that most hospitable of counties, ended last week. My honeymoon
has waned, and I have at last settled down at home. If I can ever learn
to think any place a home where my own dear father and sisters are not,
I certainly can do so here, for a new father and mother have opened
their arms and their hearts to me; new and lovely sisters cluster around
me; and I am welcomed and approved of by any number of uncles, aunts and
cousins. The introduction to all of them was an awful ordeal to go
through, you may be sure, but it is happily over, and I have now settled
myself down absolutely as one of the family. I know you want me to tell
you of each separate member, and of the house, and all my surroundings.
“You know how entirely charming Mr. Tyler’s father is, for you saw him
at my wedding in Bristol, but you cannot imagine the tenderness and
kindness with which he received me, his ‘new daughter,’ as he called me.
Mr. Tyler’s mother is very much as I imagined her from his description.
She must have been very beautiful in her youth, for she is still
beautiful now in her declining years and wretched health. Her skin is as
smooth and soft as a baby’s; she has sweet, loving black eyes, and her
features are delicately moulded; besides this her feet and hands are
perfect; and she is gentle and graceful in her movements, with a most
peculiar air of native refinement about everything she says and does.
She is the most entirely unselfish person you can imagine. I do not
believe she ever thinks of herself. Her whole thought and affections are
wrapped up in her husband and children; and I thank God I am numbered
with those dear children, and can partake with them in the blessing of
her love. May He give me grace to be ever a kind and loving daughter to
her.
* * * * *
“The house is very large and very airy and pleasant, fronting on a large
lawn and surrounded by a most beautiful garden. The parlor is
comfortably furnished, and has that homelike and occupied look which is
so nice. The prettiest thing in it, to my taste, though very
old-fashioned, is the paper upon the walls, which depicts in half
life-size pictures the adventures of Telemachus on Calypso’s enchanted
isle. Telemachus is very handsome, Calypso and her nymphs as graceful as
possible; and old Mentor as disagreeable and stern as all Mentors
usually are. I find something new in the paper every day, and love to
study it. The dining-room is opposite the parlor, across a broad
passage, kept too bright and shiny almost to step upon, and is also a
very spacious room, with a great deal of old family silver adorning the
sideboard, and some good pictures upon the walls. There are two other
rooms behind the parlor and the dining-room, one of which is used as a
sitting and reading-room, for it is a large double house, flanked by
offices in the yard in which the library is kept, and one of which is
used for law and business purposes by Mr. Tyler’s father and himself.
“The room in the main dwelling furthest removed and most retired is ‘the
chamber,’ as the bedroom of the mistress of the house is always called
in Virginia. This last, to say nothing of others, or of the kitchen,
storerooms and pantries, is a most quiet and comfortable retreat, with
an air of repose and sanctity about it; at least I feel it so, and often
seek refuge here from the company, and beaux, and laughing and talking
of the other parts of the house; for here mother, with a smile of
welcome on her sweet, calm face, is always found seated on her large
arm-chair with a small stand by her side, which holds her Bible and her
prayer book—the only books she ever reads now—with her knitting usually
in her hands, always ready to sympathize with me in any little
homesickness which may disturb me, and to ask me questions about all you
dear ones in Bristol, because she knows I want to talk about you.
Notwithstanding her very delicate health, mother attends to and
regulates all the household affairs, and all so quietly that you can’t
tell when she does it. All the clothes for the children, and for the
servants, are cut out under her immediate eye, and all the sewing is
personally superintended by her. All the cake, jellies, custards, and we
indulge largely in them, emanate from her, yet you see no confusion,
hear no bustle, but only meet the agreeable result. * * * * All Mr.
Tyler’s sisters are lovely and sweet. Sister Mary—Mrs. Jones, who is the
oldest of all—I have already introduced you to in my letter from Charles
City, where she resides, at ‘Woodburn,’ one of the plantations or
‘farms’ as they are called here, of her husband, and where she so
happily entertained us recently. Next comes Letitia, Mrs. Semple,
married last February. She is very handsome and full of life and
spirits. She has a place called ‘Cedar Hill,’ some distance from
Williamsburg, in New Kent county, but is now here on a visit. Then comes
Elizabeth, a very great belle here, though she is not yet seventeen. She
is remarkably sweet and pretty, with beautiful eyes and complexion, and
her hair curled down her neck. John, who is next to Mr. Tyler in age,
and who was at my wedding, and therefore needs no description, is not
here now, but he and his wife will spend next winter with his father, as
he still attends the law department and higher scientific courses of
‘William and Mary’ college, as it is termed in accordance with the
original charter of King William and Queen Mary, although it is now and
has been for many years a university.
“I have not seen her yet, but hear that she is very beautiful. The two
younger children, Alice and Tazewell, make up the family. * * * The
children, with all the rest of the family, seem very, very fond of me,
but you must not suppose that all this affection and kindness makes me
vain. It is very comforting and sweet, but I know they all love me from
no merit of my own, but from the devotion the whole family feel for Mr.
Tyler, who is idolized by his parents, and profoundly loved and
respected by his brothers and sisters.”[17]
Footnote 17:
The ancient Tylers of Virginia, of whom but few are left in the State,
were from a younger branch of the Tylers of Shropshire, in Wales,
bordering on England. John and Henry, brothers, came to Virginia in
the beginning of the settlement, and finally took up their abode in
the “Middle Plantations” between Jamestown and Yorktown, in 1636.
President Tyler was the fifth John from the first of the name. The
older line in Shropshire, now divided, still maintain their status
there, represented by the present Sir Charles, son of the late Sir
William. The Tylers of the North have never been able to trace any
connection or common origin with those of Virginia, either in their
correspondence with the first Governor Tyler, or with President Tyler;
but of recent years many have poured into Eastern Virginia, and some
have now purchased estates that formerly belonged to the ancient
Virginia family. History in the future will doubtless, under these
circumstances, become confused on the subject.
Mrs. Letitia Semple, in a letter addressed to her brother, and which he
kindly placed at my disposal, thus writes:
* * * * * * “It is a sad truth, but I know of no one now alive who
remembers my mother in her youth. As late as 1861, there were several
who had known her from infancy, but now they are all gone. We have not
an uncle, or an aunt, of all our once numerous family, left on earth.
The early portion of her life must be gleaned from the little incidents
we, her children, may remember to have been recited concerning her, by
those now dead. Apart from ourselves, there are those who may recall
something of her married life, but these have been scattered by the
events of the war far and wide asunder. Her character was so
unobtrusive, and her personal deportment was so little influenced by a
desire to shine before the public eye, that those alone best knew her
who were intimately associated with the family as near relatives, or as
private friends. Our older and two younger sisters are dead; our elder
brother, and one younger, the one driven by the relentless fates to
Alabama, and the other to California, and you, the sport of a similar
fatality, together with myself, may recollect many little things sacred
to filial devotion. The beautiful affection ever manifested toward her
by every member of the family—by her uncles and her aunts, by her
sisters and her brothers, her nephews and her nieces, and by her
cousins, male and female—by all without exception—we know of, and can
speak to the fact. It was with each one of them the unadulterated
affection of the heart for piety, purity and goodness. There was nothing
else to attract it, for their mere worldly circumstances were, in every
direction, fully equal to her own, and in many instances superior in
affluence to those she enjoyed. Nothing could have exceeded the
devotional regard of her sister Anna, the owner of the paternal estate
of Cedar Grove, and who in addition to her own inheritance, had derived
a large fortune by marriage and the early death of her husband, Mr.
Savage. And I have often heard aunt Elizabeth Douglas, her oldest
sister, speak of her obedient disposition and truthfulness as a child,
and of her almost surpassing beauty, grace, elegance, and refinement in
riper years. We ourselves know how exemplary a wife and mother she was.
One of the earliest memories I have of her is, that she taught me my
letters out of the family Bible. Over and often can I recall her with a
book in her lap, reading and reflecting, while her fingers were knitting
or stitching for some of us; or while watching over us until a late hour
of the night, in the absence of our father upon his public duties.
“You know that these days of our childhood were days of struggle with
our father, under heavy security obligations, and she had but one idea
apart from conjugal piety and affection, and that was to save him from
every care and every expense in her power.
“His pecuniary independence was preserved, and much of his success was
secured, through her economy, her diligence, her providence, and her
admirable self-sacrificing demeanor. I have frequently heard our father
say that he rarely failed to consult her judgment in the midst of
difficulties and troubles, and that she invariably led him to the best
conclusion, and that he had never known her to speak unkindly of any
one. She was permitted to see him fill the highest office in the gift of
his country, but before he was suffered to enter into his rest from
political life, she had gone to that rest remaining for the people of
God. She died, as you know, on the 10th September, 1842, in the
Executive Mansion at Washington, where her third daughter, our sister
Elizabeth Waller, had been shortly before married, and where two of her
grandchildren now living,—the oldest daughter of our brother Robert,
named Letitia, and the youngest son of our sister Mary, named
Robert—were born.
“You remember her fondness for flowers. Her favorite flower was the
monthly damask rose, and that brought in to her on the morning of the
day of her death, was found clasped in her hand when the spirit was
fled. From the time that she had been first stricken by paralysis, her
health had been frail, but none of us anticipated an immediate, or even
an early renewal of the attack, and far less a sudden dissolution of her
system; and I had closed my last visit to her only a few days before,
and had gone to ‘Cedar Grove’ to inform Aunt Anne of the condition in
which I had left her, as if the sad Fates had carried me there to be
ready to receive her remains, returning to the place of their birth to
repose, in their separation from her husband, by the side of those of
her father and her mother, as when first quickened into life; but our
sister, Elizabeth Waller, and our Aunt Elizabeth Douglas, were with her,
and witnessed her last breath, and they told me this particularly sweet
circumstance of her favorite rose still clinging to her hand in death.”
These letters, taken with the obituaries subjoined, and the lines of Mr.
Sargent, together with other communications descriptive of the daily
social routine in the “White House” at this epoch, which remain to be
submitted and cannot fail to interest, leave but little necessary to
fill out and perfect the portraiture of one of the loveliest characters
in history.
Upon the accession of her husband to the Presidential office in the
beginning of April, 1841, Mrs. Tyler proceeded with him to the Executive
Mansion of the nation, at Washington, but with many sighs and tears at
parting with her own home, and without the thought of personal triumphs
in the world of fashion and display. She resigned herself to the change
simply to be with her loved ones, and to receive the tender care and
attention of those in whom she literally “lived and had her being.” Her
health had become greatly impaired from a severe attack of illness
during the year 1839, and her condition remained as has been described
by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Robert Tyler, then to have been in the
month of October. Nevertheless, in all the private apartments of the
President’s mansion, the same modes of life were maintained as those to
which she had ever been accustomed. Her sisters and brothers and other
relatives, as well as her children, still hovered around her, as they
had always done, with increased and increasing affection as they
discovered her frame becoming somewhat more feeble. She passed her time
chiefly in their society, receiving but few visitors and returning no
visits. Her health, indeed, required that she should delegate to some
one of her married daughters the semi-official duties of her position.
For the greater part of the time, her own married daughters, Mrs.
Jones[18] and Mrs. Semple, were compelled by their domestic duties, in
the line of the private affairs and personal interests of their
husbands, to remain at their respective residences in Virginia, but
frequently coming to Washington, for brief periods, it is true, through
solicitude for her health and to bestow their affection upon her; and as
regards her two remaining daughters, Elizabeth, afterwards Mrs. Waller,
was just grown up to womanhood, and was not yet married; and Alice,
afterward Mrs. Henry M. Denison,[19] was still but a child. However it
fortunately so happened that her oldest son and his wife had not
permanently located themselves in life since their recent marriage, and
it was considered best they should continue in the family. Sometimes, on
the temporary visits of Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Semple, all her married
daughters would appear together in the Reception-rooms; but under the
circumstances, the constant task of representing her mother, in respect
to the honors of the establishment, was delegated, with the consent of
the President, to Mrs. Robert Tyler,[20] a lady of admirable culture and
address, to whom she was, as well as the rest of the family, devotedly
attached as to her own daughter. One of the few occasions on which she
assented to appear personally in the public Reception-rooms, before a
large and distinguished assemblage of men and women associated with the
world of fashion and that of politics and diplomacy, was that of the
marriage of her daughter Elizabeth, and is thus portrayed by Mrs. Robert
Tyler shortly afterward, in a letter addressed to her relatives near
Philadelphia:
Footnote 18:
Mary, the first child and oldest daughter of Mrs. Letitia Tyler, in
her features bore a marked but refined and delicate likeness to her
father, and strikingly blended in her character the admirable
attributes of both father and mother. She was a lady of the most
exalted worth and lovely mould. She married, at an early age, Mr.
Henry Lightfoot Jones, of Charles City county, Virginia, and died
after her mother, leaving an infant daughter that soon followed her
spirit, and three sons, two of whom only survive, Henry and Robert,
who fought in the ranks in Lee’s army, both being mentioned in orders,
and the latter of whom, born in the “White House,” was promoted for a
feat of daring gallantry and three wounds received at Gettysburg, to a
first-lieutenancy.
Footnote 19:
Alice, fourth and last daughter of Mrs. Letitia Tyler, resembled her
mother in features more than any other child. She married, years after
her mother’s death, the Rev. Henry M. Denison, of Wyoming,
Pennsylvania, a clergyman of marked ability, eloquence, and
conscientiousness, of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and Rector, at
the time, of old Bruton Parish Church, at Williamsburg, Virginia. She
died while he was assistant to the Bishop of Kentucky, at Louisville,
and he died while Rector at Charleston, South Carolina, a victim to
his high sense of duty to his congregation during the prevalence of
the yellow fever in that city before the war. They left an infant
daughter named Elizabeth, who has been reared and educated by her
aunt, Mrs. Letitia Tyler Semple.
Footnote 20:
Mrs. Robert Tyler, wife of the second child and oldest son of Mrs.
Letitia Tyler, is the daughter of Thomas Abthorpe Cooper, the
distinguished tragedian, an English gentleman, ward and nephew of
Goodwin, the political economist, pupil of Holcroft, and friend and
relative of Shelley, the poet. Her mother was the daughter of Major
Fairlee, of New York, an officer of the Revolutionary war of
Independence, and of the Governor Yates and Vanness family. Her eldest
daughter, named after her grandmother, Letitia Christian, was born in
the White House.
“WASHINGTON, _February, 1842_.
* * * “Lizzie[21] has had quite a grand wedding, although the intention
was that it should be quiet and private. This, under the circumstances,
though, was found impossible. The guests consisted of Mrs. Madison, the
members of the cabinet, with their wives and daughters, the foreign
ministers near the government, and some few personal friends, outside of
the family and their relatives.
Footnote 21:
Elizabeth, third daughter of Mrs. Letitia Tyler, was married to Mr.
William Waller, of Williamsburg, Virginia, in the East Room of the
President’s Mansion, at Washington, on the thirty-first day of
January, 1842, in the nineteenth year of her age. In character she
greatly resembled her mother, and showed much of her early beauty and
grace. Her oldest son, named William, resigned from the West Point
military school and married during the recent war between the States
the youngest sister of the wife of President Davis, in the Executive
Mansion of the Confederate States, at Richmond. And her second son,
John, though a mere lad, was killed during the war, “fighting for his
mother’s grave,” to use his own words. Another son, Robert, and a
daughter, Mary, had been born to her before she died. Her children,
through their great-grandfather, the first Secretary of the American
Colonial Congress, and their great-grandmother, his wife, the sister
of the Earl of Traquaire, and whose grandson is the present titular
Earl, bear in their veins, probably, the nearest living blood to that
of Queen Mary Stuart, of Scotland, whose name her daughter bears.
“Lizzie looked surpassingly lovely in her wedding dress and long blonde
lace-veil; her face literally covered with blushes and dimples. She
behaved remarkably well, too; any quantity of compliments were paid to
her. I heard one of her bridesmaids express to Mr. Webster her surprise
at Lizzie consenting to give up her belle-ship, with all the delights of
Washington society, and the advantages of her position, and retire to a
quiet Virginia home. ‘Ah,’ said he,
‘Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And love is heaven, and heaven is love.’
* * * * *
“Our dear mother was down-stairs on this occasion for the first time, in
so large a circle, since she has been in Washington. She gained by
comparison with all the fine ladies around her. I felt proud of her, in
her perfectly faultless, yet unostentatious dress, her face shaded by
the soft fine lace of her cap, receiving in her sweet, gentle,
self-possessed manner, all the important people who were led up and
presented to her. She was far more attractive to me in her appearance
and bearing than any other lady in the room, and I believe such was the
general impression. Somebody says, ‘the highest order of manner is that
which combines dignity with simplicity;’ and this just describes
mother’s manner, the charm of which, after all, proceeds from her entire
forgetfulness of self, and the wish to make those around her happy.”
* * * * *
Major Tyler, who was for more than three years “Major Domo” of the
establishment, and to the last private secretary, says, regarding the
modes and inmates of the President’s house during this time:
“My mother’s health was entirely too delicate to permit her to charge
herself with the semi-official social requirements of the mansion, and
my married sisters being unavoidably absent for the most of the time,
the task devolved upon Mrs. Robert Tyler to represent my mother on
stated occasions. She continued in the rôle of honors, as they are
termed, until after my mother’s death, and my brother made his
arrangements to practise law in Philadelphia, by which time it also
happened that Mr. Semple’s affairs became differently accommodated, and
he proceeded to sea as a Purser in the United States Navy, when my
sister Letitia[22] became at liberty to take up her abode in Washington.
Accordingly, both the President and myself now addressed to her letters,
inviting her to assume the position and duties of hostess of the White
House, which she consented to do, and so acted until May, 1844.
Footnote 22:
Letitia, the second and only surviving daughter and fourth child of
Mrs. Letitia Tyler, married in early life the nephew and adopted son
of Judge Semple, of Williamsburg, Virginia, who reared and educated
him to manhood, his own father, a brother of the Judge, as well as his
mother, dying in his infancy, leaving him by will a handsome fortune.
The Semples are of the family of the Earls Dundonald, of Scotland, and
of the same branch with that of the celebrated Blair, appointed by
King James the first commissioner of Virginia, and who was afterward
President of William and Mary College.
“During my mother’s life, and up to this date, always contemning
pretension and worldly vanity, we lived in the ‘White House’ as we lived
at home, save that we were obliged to have rather more company, less
select as to true worth than was altogether agreeable. In the course of
the ‘fashionable season,’ and while the sessions of the Congress lasted,
we gave two dinner parties each week, very much after the plain,
substantial Virginia manner and style, to the first of which, usually
confined to gentlemen from different parts of the country visiting
Washington, and who had shown respectful attention to the President and
family, twenty guests were always invited; and to the second, usually
embracing both ladies and gentlemen from among the dignitaries of the
different departments of the Federal and State governments, and the
diplomatic corps of foreign governments, forty persons were invited,
making in either case quite a full table.
“Our drawing-rooms, as at home, were open every evening informally until
10 o’clock—never later—when the family rose and retired, and doors were
closed. Before my mother’s death, we gave occasionally during the winter
months, by special invitations, in the general reception-rooms, a
private ball, attended with dancing, but terminating at 11 o’clock. In
addition to these private entertainments and strictly social converse,
we introduced at this period—for the first time it had been done—music
on the grounds of the south front of the Mansion, on the Saturday
evenings of each week during the mild weather of the spring, summer, and
fall, for the recreation of the public at large; and to a similar end a
public levee was held once a month, in addition to the general
receptions on the first day of January and the Fourth of July, of each
year.
“Nothing whatever preceded by cards of invitation was permitted to be
considered in any other light than as a private affair of the
Presidential family, with which the world outside and the public press
had nothing whatever to do, just precisely as if we had been in our own
house in Williamsburg. Even in respect to the public receptions
mentioned, the _Madisonian_ was never suffered to indulge in a
description either of the persons or characters present, in an
individualizing manner, after modern usages, and no encouragement was
given to any one so to do. I send you a specimen of the only sort of
notice, even in the latter case, that was regarded as at all admissible
while my mother lived. Anything more particular would have shocked her
delicate sense of propriety, and been absolutely offensive to the
President.
“_From the Madisonian, Washington, Monday, March 17th, 1842._
“THE LAST LEVEE OF THE SEASON.
“The levee held by the President on Tuesday evening last was a brilliant
affair, and gave satisfactory evidence of the esteem in which that high
functionary is held in social circles.
“Among the visitors of peculiar note were the distinguished authors of
the ‘Sketch-Book,’ and of the ‘Pickwick Papers,’ in addition to whom
almost all the Ministers of Foreign Powers to our Government were in
attendance in full court dress.
“The rooms were filled to overflowing with the talent and beauty of the
metropolis, whilst Senators and Members of Congress, without distinction
of party, served to give interest and to add animation to the scene. It
seems to us that these levees, as at present conducted, are peculiarly
adapted to the genius of our Republican institutions, inasmuch as all
who please may attend without infringement of etiquette. We almost
regret their termination for the season, but look forward with pleasure
to the period when they will be renewed.”
“I may say that this notice, as restrained as it is, bears internal
evidence showing that it would not have been made but for the necessity
of informing the public in some indirect manner of the termination of
the public receptions for a season. I find none other. In another
column, and in quite a different connection, the _Madisonian_ says: ‘The
Richmond _Whig_ admits, and we heartily concur in the sentiment, that
Mr. Tyler, in his appointment of Washington Irving, the author of the
‘Sketch-Book,’ as minister to Spain, has paid a just tribute to the most
distinguished ornament of American letters.’ Scarcely any notice appears
of the marriage of my sister Elizabeth in the preceding January, that
being regarded as a purely family matter.”
No perceptible change in Mrs. Tyler’s condition of health occurred until
Friday, the 9th day of September, 1842. On the morning of that day, her
family physician detected a change unhappily for the worse, and a
threatened renewal of paralysis. He instantly called in consultation
others of the faculty, and everything devised by the skill of the
profession to ward off the fatal stroke was promptly applied. But all in
vain. On the evening of the next day, Saturday, September the 10th, at
eight o’clock, the hour came for her to be joined to her fathers. A
pious communicant of the Church of Christ, innocent in soul as a little
child, crowned with the virtues which had marked her useful and
unselfish life, fearing and loving God, reverencing her husband, adoring
and adored by her children—she passed into the heavenly kingdom
palpitating with the immortal joys of a spirit released from every
earthly pain and sorrow. On Sunday, the Executive Mansion stood arrayed
in mourning, and the tolling of the bells of the city announced the sad
visitation to those among the living. Every honor that the sincerest
respect and the purest love and the sense of a bitter bereavement could
suggest, was paid to her remains. A committee of the citizens of
Washington conveyed her body, after it had laid in state in the East
Room for several days, to the family burial-ground at the old paternal
residence in New Kent county, and there, in the midst of a sorrowing
assemblage of relatives and friends and neighbors who had known her from
birth, the parting tears of her husband and her children, gushing up
from the fountain of their hearts, were shed upon her coffin ere it was
deposited in the earth, where reposed already the dust of her parents
and of others she had loved, and who fondly loved her.
Thus lived and died Mrs. Letitia Tyler, wife of the last of the Virginia
Presidents of the United States, a model of the exalted civilization of
the “ancient commonwealth and dominion,” a representative of her sex
worthy of their grateful memory, and an honor to the human family.
XIV.
JULIA GARDINER TYLER.
President John Tyler was married to Miss Julia Gardiner the 26th day of
June, 1844, at the Church of the Ascension, New York city. Immediately
after the wedding, the bridal party returned to the White House, where
they held a grand reception in lieu of the usual wedding festivities. It
was the first, and up to the present time, the only instance of the
marriage of a President, and the affair created great excitement and
interest throughout the United States, heightened doubtless by the
recollection of the tragic death of the father of the bride, a few
months previous.
Miss Gardiner was the daughter of a wealthy gentleman residing on
Gardiner’s Island, and the eldest of three children. Her education,
continued at home until her sixteenth year, was completed at the Chegary
Institute, in New York city. Immediately after the termination of her
school life, she accompanied her father to Europe. Returning from abroad
after an extended tour, she visited, during the sitting of Congress, the
National Capital, and there for the first time met the distinguished man
to whom she was afterward married.
It was while on a visit to Washington in the winter of 1844, that Mr.
Gardiner and his young daughter were invited by Captain Stockton to
accompany a large party of the President’s friends to Alexandria, and on
the return trip, when just opposite to the fort, all the gentlemen were
invited on deck to witness the firing of the “peacemaker.” Many of the
party, who were all partaking of a collation, responded to the
invitation; among the number the father of Miss Gardiner. The explosion
startled the President, who with the ladies had remained below, and in a
moment the piercing cries of the wounded filled the hearts of the
passengers with terror. Death had made fearful havoc, and the living
waited in breathless anxiety for the announcement of the names of the
victims.
The bodies were conveyed to the White House, where the funeral services
were preached, and the last sad rites performed.
The following summer Miss Gardiner was married, and from that time until
the close of her husband’s administration, a period of eight months, she
did the honors of the Executive Mansion, performing her agreeable task
with credit to herself and pleasure to her friends.
After President Tyler’s retirement from public life, he removed to his
home in Virginia, where he continued to reside until his death, which
occurred in Richmond, the 17th of January, 1862.
Of late years Mrs. Tyler has suffered pecuniary losses, and in the
winter of 1879 she petitioned and received from Congress a pension. She
has resided for the past few years in Washington City, and at present
(1881) is living in Georgetown. A devoted Catholic, she finds it
pleasant to be a resident of that retired and peaceful place, near to
Washington, and yet not in it.
XV.
SARAH CHILDRESS POLK.
Sarah Childress, the daughter of Captain Joel and Elizabeth Childress,
was born near Murfreesboro, in Rutherford county, Tennessee, the 4th day
of September, 1803. In that beautiful portion of the South, almost a
wilderness then, passed the younger years of her life, and there is
little to record of it save its contentment and tranquil happiness. Her
father, a farmer in easy circumstances, and considered rich for those
days, allowed his children every benefit to be derived from his
fortunate circumstances, and she was early placed at school. The
Moravian Institute at Salem, North Carolina, was chosen by Mr. Childress
as the most suitable place for his little daughter, and she was placed
in that strict and most thorough establishment. There she attained
discipline and culture, and her school days with their varying shadows
and sunshine passed quietly away. There was nothing to mar the influence
of those happy school days, and each as it came, did its appointed duty
in moulding her character. The April life fleeted by, clouds and
sunshine, little griefs and joys, the studious hour, the frank
companionship of girlhood, the animating walk, hand in hand with young
friends and with nature, soon rolled away, and Sarah Childress returned
home. Surrounded in her father’s house by all the comforts possible to
obtain in that State in those days, and possessing a hopeful temperament
and sunny heart, adorned with all the accomplishments that the attention
of parents and teachers could bestow, she was a bright ornament in her
home, and a pleasure to her friends and society.
[Illustration:
MRS. JAMES K. POLK.
]
At the early age of nineteen she was married to James Knox Polk, in
Murfreesboro. The wedding was a festival of rejoicing, at which many
friends of the bride and groom assisted, and was characterized by the
abundance and merriment customary at that day.
Mr. Polk had recently entered public life, and was then a member of the
Legislature of Tennessee. In the following year he was elected to
Congress from the district, at that time composed of the counties of
Giles, Maury, Lincoln, and Bedford. During fourteen sessions he
continued the representative of that district. After having served on
the most important committees in the House, he was, in 1836, elected
Speaker of the House of Representatives, a position for which his
studious and industrious habits, together with his constantly increasing
popularity, peculiarly fitted him.
Mrs. Polk did not fail to accompany her husband to Washington every
winter except in a single instance. She occupied there a conspicuous
place in society, and by her polite manners and sound judgment made her
companionship pleasant and inspiriting, not only to Mr. Polk, but to the
friends by whom he was surrounded. Mrs. Polk was a highly cultivated
without being a literary woman. Being interested in all that related to
her husband, she took pains to inform herself fully in political
affairs, and read all the news and discussions of the day relating to
the well-being of the country, subjects which to most ladies of that day
proved wearisome and hard to understand. Living in the atmosphere of
politicians and surrounded by public men, she however avoided the
maelstrom upon which ladies are often stranded, and never discussed a
subject in relation to which her sex were expected to be entirely
ignorant. Women were then as now, supposed to be too weak to understand
the mighty problem of Government, and they evidenced their acquiescence
in such a supposition by remaining entirely unacquainted with the
politics of the country. Not so Mrs. Polk, who however was no
politician, for her visitors were not aware of the depth of her
understanding, nor were they offended by the recurrence to a subject
deemed out of her sphere. There was an intuitive feeling in her heart of
what was due to her delicacy, and she was wise enough to be consistent
and appropriate in all her actions. Yet her mind was strengthened by
careful reading and intimate intercourse with many of the finest minds
in the country.
Mr. Polk’s residence was at Columbia, Tennessee, where the intervals
between the sessions of Congress were spent among his relatives. In the
year 1834, Mrs. Polk joined the Presbyterian Church of that place. Since
that time her character has been entirely a Christian one. Faithful and
devout, consistent in her conduct to every rule and requirement of her
sect, she has exemplified in her life the punctual observance of a vow
to serve her God through the acknowledged tenets of the Presbyterian
faith.
On the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Polk from Washington, in 1839, Mrs.
Polk received the graceful compliment of a copy of verses addressed to
her by the eminent jurist, Hon. Joseph D. Story.
In the same year Mr. Polk was made the Governor of Tennessee, and
removed his residence to Nashville, in order to fulfil the duties of his
new position. Mrs. Polk, always amiable and animated by the truest
fidelity to her husband’s interests, exerted a wide influence in the new
circle into which her life had been cast. By the winning gentleness
which ever accompanied her fine social qualities, she attracted even
those members of the Legislature who were among the opponents of Mr.
Polk. And this is saying a great deal when it is remembered that the
political campaign of 1840 was the most fierce and exciting one in the
history of the country. It is known as the “hard cider and log-cabin
campaign.” Political rancor and animosity prevailed to an unprecedented
degree. But the lady-like affability, and high and exalted virtues of
Mrs. Polk, won universal admiration from friend and foe alike. She lived
above the warring elements that surrounded her. The calm and charming
bearing of the Governor’s wife was a source of constant praise.
From the sister States of Tennessee and Kentucky came the opposing
Presidential candidates in 1844. Henry Clay, the idol of the Whig party,
and the most popular public man in the Commonwealth, against the
champion of Democracy, James K. Polk.
The election was keenly contested, and the result most damaging to the
Whig party. March 4, 1845, Mr. Polk was inaugurated. The day was very
disagreeable, rain and mud rendering much of a display out of the
question. He was accompanied from the Capitol to the White House by the
retiring President, who there took a kindly leave, wishing him
prosperity and happiness in his new and exalted position. Mrs. Polk
immediately assumed the agreeable duties of the lady of the White House,
and having no children to occupy her time, she devoted herself entirely
to the pleasures of her new station. She held weekly receptions, and it
was customary for her to receive her company sitting. The extreme
formality required now was not practised then. The crowds that attend
the few levees held by the President’s family render everything like
sociability out of the question. Farther and farther from the old
landmarks we are drifting. In Mrs. Washington’s day the company were
seated, and herself and the President passed among the company. Later in
the history of the Chief Magistrates, President Adams dispensed cake and
wine to the guests, and General Jackson cheese. As the throng grew more
numerous, Mrs. Polk did away with refreshments, and now policemen are
stationed in the Mansion during receptions to keep the crowds from
crushing the President and family, who are compelled to stand and shake
hands the entire evening. Verily we are a progressive people.
The reputation which Mrs. Polk had acquired was nobly sustained, even
when subjected, as one might say, to the gaze of the whole world. Every
circumstance, whether of embarrassment, perplexity or trial, added to
the undiminished lustre of her name. She maintained the dignity of the
President’s Mansion, which, in this country of republican freedom and
simplicity, was often in danger of being lowered. Her parents were of
the old school, high-toned in manners and principles, and she had
imbibed from them what may be called the aristocracy of virtue; an idea
that, whatever the mass of society might consider themselves at liberty
to do, it was indispensably due to her station to preserve inviolate the
strict laws of decorum and of the purest principles. Hence it will not
be surprising that during her occupancy of the White House the practice
which had formerly obtained, of dancing there, was discontinued; a
practice which was evidently out of all harmony with the place, and more
suitable anywhere else.
The return of Mrs. Polk to Washington was anticipated by her friends
with the liveliest gratification. She was considered, by those who knew
her, remarkably fitted to fill and adorn the high seat to which she was
bidden. The following extracts will show the feeling which was rife. The
_Tennessee Democrat_ said:
“We have recently noticed in our exchange papers, of both political
parties, the most respectful and flattering compliments paid to the
amiable and accomplished lady who is shortly to take charge of the White
House. We cannot refrain from copying the following complimentary
tribute to Mrs. Polk, which is taken from the _Southern_ (Miss.)
_Reformer_, and we are sure that in this community, where Mrs. Polk is
best known, the compliment will be duly appreciated.”—
“‘This lady is one of the most sensible, refined and accomplished of her
sex, and will adorn the White House at Washington, over which she is
destined to preside, with distinguished honor to her country. All who
have mingled in her society know well how to appreciate the gracefulness
of her disposition. We have seen few women that have developed more of
the genuine republican characteristics of the American lady. She has had
her admirers not only in the highest, but in the humblest walks of life.
The poor know her for her benevolence; the rich for the plainness of her
equipage; the church for her consistency; the unfortunate for her
charities; and society itself for the veneration and respect which her
virtues have everywhere awarded her. We feel proud that the southwest
can boast of such a noble offspring.’”
“WASHINGTON CITY, _February 24, 1845_.
“MY DEAR SIR:—The advent of our President-elect has concentrated
everything to and about him. The prudence that he observed before he
reached here in reference to the formation of his Cabinet still exists.
He keeps his own counsels, and no tie of personal or political
friendship, as far as we can learn, has been enabled to get from him a
glimpse of the future. It is generally believed here that Mr. Polk will
be influenced by no ultra party considerations; that he will look to the
great interests of the country as a whole, and study, with the
incentives of a statesman and a patriot, so to administer the
government. Should he prescribe to himself this policy, those who know
him best know that he has firmness of purpose commensurate to its
fulfilment.
“Whatever the diversities of opinion that divide politicians, and
whatever the asperities of feeling engendered by the conflicts to which
they lead, they seem, by common consent, to be surrendered upon the
altar that is reared in every chivalrous heart, to the meed most justly
due to elegance and excellence of female character, in the person of the
lady of the President-elect.
“All approach her with the tribute that is due to her exalted station,
and all leave her with the pleasing impression that the refinement and
blandishments of her manners, the gentleness of her disposition, and
unostentatious bearing, fit her eminently for the place and part she is
to occupy for the next four years. At home and abroad, the influence of
her character will do honor to our country. These are the impressions of
your friend.”
“Not long since, in the _Nashville Union_, appeared a communication in
which the writer very justly applauds the lady of the President of the
United States in consequence of her dignified and exemplary deportment
since her occupancy of the Presidential Mansion. Among other remarks,
the following occur: ‘She is a consistent member of the Presbyterian
Church, and therefore has abolished dancing and other light amusements
in her house.’ Assuredly nothing more effectually commends the religion
of the Bible than the holy and consistent conduct of those who profess
to be governed by its precepts.
“A professor of religion, doubtless Mrs. Polk deeply realized the
responsibility of her position. Exposed to the temptations of
fashionable life in their most alluring forms, it required no trivial
amount of gracious influence to enable her to abjure the maxims and
customs of an ungodly world. The friends of religion anxiously looked
forward in regard to the course she might think proper to adopt in that
respect, and thanks to Providence and her own pious heart, their hopes
and expectations have not been disappointed. By her consistent and
exemplary conduct she has secured the gratitude and respect of the
friends of religion of every name, yea, of all whose good opinion is
most worth enjoying; while, in the meantime, the friends and advocates
of the rejected pastimes, _nolens volens_, will even on that account
feel constrained to accord to her the homage of their augmented respect.
“The example of Mrs. Polk can hardly fail of exerting, in various
respects, a salutary influence. Especially does it rebuke the conduct of
those ladies who, professing godliness, nevertheless dishonor its
profession by their eager participation in the follies and amusements of
the world. However politicians may differ in regard to the merits of Mr.
Polk’s administration, there can be no difference as respects that of
his lady, in her department of the Presidential Mansion. All will agree
that by the exclusion of the frivolities spoken of, and her excellent
deportment in other respects, she has conferred additional dignity upon
the executive department of our government, and may well be considered a
model worthy of imitation by the ladies who may hereafter occupy the
elevated position from which she is about to retire. This excellent
lady, ere long, it is presumed, will return to the society of kindred
and friends, among whom, it is sincerely hoped, she may long live to
receive and confer happiness upon all around, and as hitherto, continue
to be an ornament to the religion and church her example has so signally
honored.”
In her elevated and conspicuous situation, the stateliness of Mrs.
Polk’s bearing was strikingly becoming and appropriate. With this an
English lady was impressed, who averred that not one of the three queens
whom she had seen could compare with the truly feminine yet
distinguished and regal presence of Mrs. Polk. She says: “Mrs. Polk is a
very handsome woman. Her hair is very black, and her dark eye and
complexion remind one of the Spanish donnas. She is well read, has much
talent for conversation, and is highly popular. Her excellent taste in
dress preserves the subdued though elegant costume which characterizes
the lady.”
The same feeling of admiration seemed to inspire the graceful writer,
Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, in the following tribute:
“Lady, had I the wealth of earth
To offer freely at thy shrine,
Bright gold and buds of dewy birth,
Or gems from out the teeming mine,
A thousand things most beautiful,
All sparkling, precious, rich and rare,
These hands would render up to thee,
Thou noble lady, good and fair!
“For as I write, sweet thoughts arise
Of times when all thy kindness lent
A thousand hues of Paradise
To the fleet moments as they went;
Then all thy thoughts were winged with light,
And every smile was calm and sweet,
And thy low tones and gentle words
Made the warm heart’s blood thrill and beat.
“There, standing in our nation’s home,
My memory ever pictures thee
As some bright dame of ancient Rome,
Modest, yet all a queen should be;
I love to keep thee in my mind,
Thus mated with the pure of old,
When love, with lofty deeds combined,
Made women great and warriors bold.
“When first I saw thee standing there,
And felt the pressure of thy hand,
I scarcely thought if thou wert fair,
Or of the highest in the land;
I knew thee gentle, pure as great,
All that was lovely, meek and good;
And so I half forgot thy state
In love of thy bright womanhood.
“And many a sweet sensation came,
That lingers in my bosom yet,
Like that celestial, holy flame
That vestals tremble to forget.
And on the earth or in the sky,
There’s not a thought more true and free,
Than that which beats within my heart,
In pleasant memory of thee.
“Lady, I gladly would have brought
Some gem that on thy heart may live,
But this poor wreath of woven thought
Is all the wealth I have to give.
All wet with heart-dew, flush with love,
I lay the garland at thy feet,
Praying the angel-forms above,
To weave thee one more pure and sweet.”
The receptions of the President were always largely attended, and were
made agreeable to everybody by the spirit of liveliness as well as of
courtesy that prevailed. A visitor says: “Last evening I had an
opportunity of seeing the members of the royal family, together with
some choice specimens of the Democracy, in the ‘circle-room’ of the
White House. It was reception night, and the latch-string, in the shape
of a handsome negro, was ‘outside the door.’ On entering, I found the
room full. Mr. Polk is so affable as to prevent one from feeling any awe
that he is in direct communication with the concentrated majesty of the
whole United States and Territories.
“The wife of the President was seated on the sofa, engaged with half a
dozen ladies in lively conversation. Ill and clumsy as I am at
millinery, yet for the sake of my fair readers, I will try to describe
her toilet. A maroon colored velvet dress, with short sleeves and high
in the neck, trimmed with very deep lace, and a handsome pink head-dress
was all that struck the eye of the general observer. Mr. Willis would,
no doubt, have noticed many other little accompaniments, interesting to
ladies, but I never could indulge in any such familiarity. Who would
think of plucking at an angel’s wing in order to give an analysis of its
fibre? Mrs. Polk is a handsome, intelligent and sensible woman, better
looking and better dressed than any of her numerous lady visitors
present on the occasion.
“Among the guests of distinction were the Hon. Cave Johnson,
Postmaster-General, who bears a strong resemblance about the head to Mr.
Greeley, of the _Tribune_; Mr. Vinton, of Ohio, Commodore De Kay, Mr.
Rockwell, of Connecticut, and a Wall Street financier, who can draw a
larger draft on London than any other man in the country. There were two
or three pairs of epaulettes; a couple of pretty deaf and dumb girls,
who only talked with their fingers; and scores of others who talked with
their eyes, while a whole regiment of the ‘raw material’ of the
Democracy in frock coats, stood as straight as grenadiers around the
outer circle of the room, gazing in silent astonishment at the President
and the chandeliers.”
On one of the reception nights a distinguished gentleman from South
Carolina remarked in a loud tone of voice to Mrs. Polk, “Madam, there is
a woe pronounced against you in the Bible.” Every one ceased conversing
for a moment, when Mrs. Polk inquired what he meant. “Well, the Bible
says, ‘Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you.’” A general
laugh followed, and the remark was considered very appropriate.
During President Polk’s administration, the war with Mexico was
inaugurated by a difficulty about the boundary line of Texas. The
country is acquainted with the brilliant successes of the American
troops in Mexico, and of General Scott’s glorious successes, whereby he
reached and revelled in the halls of the Montezumas. The war ended in
1848, the year before Mr. Polk’s retirement. President Polk’s easy,
courteous manners, went far toward allaying the opposition which is ever
apparent in times of national trouble, and the affable manners of Mrs.
Polk rendered his efforts the more successful. With the exception of the
summer of 1847, spent in Tennessee, Mrs. Polk remained uninterruptedly
at the White House; the visits of members of her family cheering the
otherwise monotonous routine of her life there.
A gentleman who called at the White House one evening in the fall of
1846, writes in the following terms of his visit: “We were met by Mr.
Walker, the Private Secretary, with much politeness, the President being
absent, and were received by Mrs. Polk in the kindest, and at the same
time most graceful, manner. It may be said with truth, she is a lady of
commanding dignity at all times; and her conversation, generally of the
most agreeable character, is always happily directed. In my judgment, at
no period in our history have we seen the hospitalities and ceremonies
of the White House more handsomely dispensed, or displayed with greater
republican simplicity than at the present time. If my observation be
correct, no invidious or improper distinction seems to be made in the
circle of visitors. There is no imposing movement or extra formality
exhibited when a Secretary or some other high officer of Government
presents himself. The quiet and unheralded citizen receives a polite and
cordial salutation, as well as the haughty millionnaire, or some proud
minister of state. And this is precisely as it should be, a just and
beautiful commentary, alike upon our noble institutions, and the
charming social qualities of the President and his family.
“I was struck not only with the easy and fascinating manners of Mrs.
Polk, but equally with her patriotic sentiments and feelings. A gallant
Lieutenant just from the bloody but glorious conflict at Monterey, was
there also; and as Mrs. Polk gracefully carried back his thoughts to the
distant field of his early fame, he caught the inspiration at once, and
dwelt briefly for her entertainment upon some of the thrilling incidents
of those scenes. In the course of this animated conversation to which I
was a favored listener, the modest young officer remarked, in a playful
manner, that something which I do not now recollect was rather too
democratic; to which Mrs. Polk replied, that ‘whatever sustained the
honor, and advanced the interests of the country, whether regarded as
democratic or not, she admired and applauded.’ The sentiment was a truly
noble one.”
A correspondent of the New York _Journal of Commerce_ has also given to
the public a sketch of a visit to the Presidential Mansion, which is
interesting. “These the musings were soon interrupted by the entrance of
Mrs. Polk who, with an easy smile and a graceful simplicity of manner,
bid me welcome as an American citizen, and partaker of a common faith.
She bears her honors meekly, and surely it is no mean elevation to be
the wife of an American President; an elevation to which many fond and
ambitious aspirations are doubtless secretly cherished in the bosoms of
high-minded American women, but which only one, now and then, can enjoy.
And this one, probably, was among the last to expect it, till the news
came to disturb the quietude of her happy domestic life in Tennessee.
“Mrs. Polk may be considered a felicitous specimen of the intelligent,
refined American lady, who, without artificial airs, without any
assumption of stateliness of manners, without any ambitious ornaments of
dress, exchanges the courtesies of social life, and demeans herself in
public, with a sincerity somewhat rare in the current circles of
fashion.
“I cannot but think that the basis of her style of character is laid in
a true and unaffected piety. She is regular in her attendance on divine
worship and on the communion of the Lord’s supper. In our conversation,
she expressed her great delight, among similar things, in having
recently witnessed and welcomed the admission of three or four
interesting youths to the communion of the Presbyterian Church, of which
she is a member. Unlike some of her predecessors, Mrs. Polk has no taste
for the gay amusements of the lovers of pleasure.”
In the early fall of 1847, the illness of Mrs. Polk threw a cloud of
sorrow and apprehension over many hearts; but it was only a cloud, and
the recovery of this beloved and honored lady was hailed with delight
and thanksgiving. Some one writing to the Baltimore _Sun_ says: “This
fall we have a peculiar sorrow, in the dangerous illness of the honored
lady of President Polk. She came among us almost a stranger, respected
on account of her station, but unknown to most of us; she is now the
pride of society, as well as the object of our tender affection. The
social circles of Washington gratefully acknowledge the happiness she
has diffused through them; the needy and suffering bless God for such a
friend. All admire her character, all revere her virtues, and all with
one consent join in supplicating the Father of mercies to spare her
long, very long to her distinguished husband and the friends to whom she
is so dear.”
A few days before the close of his administration, a splendid dinner
party was given by the President to General Taylor. At the levee, the
same evening, a great concourse of persons—acquaintances, admirers, and
friends—assembled to pay their last respects and take their last adieu
of the President and his wife.
On Sunday afternoon, in the first Presbyterian Church, Mrs. Polk
participated for the last time in the solemn services of the communion.
The Rev. Mr. Ballentyne addressed the distinguished lady in a most
appropriate manner; and on the conclusion of the ceremonies, the pastor
and a large number of the communicants approached and bade her an
affectionate farewell.
The following morceau appears in the Washington _Union_:
A FAREWELL TO MRS. POLK.
“Lady, farewell! amid the gloom of grief,
How many a heart will utter that sad sound!
Farewell! for thee a thousand hearts will mourn;
So much of friendship lost, of sorrow found.
And thou shalt leave a void in Friendship’s hall,
Where joyous notes were once so wont to rise,
Like that fair Pleiad which forsook its home,
And caused to mourn the sisters of the skies.
But thou must go: yet with thee thou shalt bear
A stranger’s hope upon the distant way,
And only fade to give a calmer day.
A welcome, too, I’d give thee to my home,
My sunny home, the old Palmetto soil;
Where many a heart, all warm and true and kind,
Shall chase away the gloom of travel’s toil.
And may life pass as soft as sunset hour,
When gentle rays gleam on the skies above,
And may each pulse in sweetest union beat
To the soft music of the harp of love.
“CONSTANCY.”
The departure from Washington and return to Nashville was a continued
scene of ovation and triumph. Everywhere along the route, demonstrations
of respect and esteem greeted the distinguished travellers. Arriving at
home, the citizens of Nashville showed them every possible mark of
regard.
Before the expiration of Mr. Polk’s Presidential term, he had purchased
a house in Nashville, from the Hon. Felix Grundy, in the most commanding
position in the city. It was enlarged and ornamented and put in the most
complete and elegant order. Ever since it has been known as “Polk
Place.” The surrounding grounds are tastefully and elaborately arranged
and adorned with flowers and shrubbery. They extend from Vine street on
the east, to Spruce street on the west; and from Union street on the
north, to Polk avenue, which leads from the mansion to Church street, on
the south. The dwelling, is large and imposing, and the grounds ample,
forming one of the most attractive places in the city. This was the
chosen spot for the declining days of the recent occupants of the White
House.
Soon after their return from Washington, the ex-President and his wife
contemplated a tour in Europe; then a much more serious undertaking than
at the present day. He even engaged a courier who could speak and write
French and German, to obviate many difficulties of the journey. But
ill-health and the speedy termination of the statesman’s life, put an
end to the pleasant scheme.
After the death of Mr. Polk, a small but beautiful temple, of native
marble, was erected on the grounds on the eastern front, beneath which
lie the remains of the distinguished statesman. On three sides of a
monument within the temple, there are full and lengthy inscriptions,
recording the principal events of a useful and honored life. The death
of her husband was the only affliction of Mrs. Polk’s life. It had been
invariably calm, cheerful, and happy. “In this great trial and deep
draught of the waters of bitterness, she was sustained and consoled by
the divine principles and precious promises of her religion. She was
enabled by faith to look forward to a reunion in the better land, with
him on whose strong arm she had so long leaned, and to whom her
attachment and companionship had been so dear. She had removed her
membership from the church in Washington, and had become connected with
the First Presbyterian Church of Nashville, of which the lamented Dr.
John T. Edgar was so long the beloved pastor.” The sympathizing
attention paid to Mrs. Polk in her grief was universal. From every lady
and gentleman of her wide acquaintance she received letters of
condolence and consolation.
The study of the President, a large room in the second story, commanding
a view of the Capitol, is kept by Mrs. Polk just as he left it. Here are
his books, his papers, his pen and all the little articles that betoken
an apartment in daily use; as if he had just stepped out and would soon
return. It is kept in order by her own hands.
Such public marks of respect have been shown to Mrs. Polk as it has been
no other American lady’s fortune to receive. Prominent men of all
classes and callings rarely visit the city without paying their respects
to her. It was for years the habit of the Legislature to call upon her,
in a body, on New Year’s Day. Large delegations of Masons, of Odd
Fellows, and of Sons of Temperance, at the various meetings of their
societies, have done themselves the honor to be presented to her.
Numbers of the members of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian
Church have, at different times, visited Polk Place to evince their
sincere respect for her whose life has been so pure and blameless, and
whose Christian character is so shining an example.
During the Confederate days of Nashville, Mrs. Polk received the kind
attentions of the supreme officers; among others of Gen. Beauregard, of
Gen. Breckenridge, and of Gen. Preston. Afterward, Gen. Buell, Gen.
Thomas, Gen. Nelson, Gen. Mitchell, Gen. Crittenden, Gen. McCook, Gen.
Sherman, Gen. Wood, and many others, and staff officers innumerable,
called to pay their duty to the distinguished mistress of Polk Place.
In a letter from a visitor at Melrose, the residence of Mrs. Gov. A. V.
Brown, in the vicinity of Nashville, is the following pleasant
description: “Among the pleasures that we most value and trust never to
lose, was meeting and becoming acquainted, while at Melrose, with one of
Nashville’s most valued residents—Mrs. President Polk. By far the most
interesting spot in that city is Polk Place, this lady’s home, an
elegant and stately erection, the portico of the noblest architecture,
exquisite in design and proportion. The house has large, lofty rooms, a
noble hall, rich in presents received by Mrs. Polk during the
Presidential career of her husband. Among them is a beautiful drawing of
Niagara, a fine oil painting of De Soto, and walking sticks in curious
shapes and of precious-looking wood. Besides these, the walls are hung
with portraits of illustrious men, and fine likenesses of the President,
repeated at different ages. In this cherished retirement, enlivened by
the presence of a sweet little relative, an adopted daughter of Mrs.
Polk’s, men of all parties meet, forgetting their political differences
in social enjoyment.
“But the house, noble as it is, is not the goal of the visitor’s
pilgrimage. As at the Hermitage, the true shrine is to be found in the
shade, the verdure, the fragrance of a sloping garden, amid dazzling
masses of verbena, geraniums, heliotrope and jessamine. In the centre of
this lovely mosaic is a fine monument, erected over the remains of him
whose brief and bright career was cut suddenly short, enriched by an
elegant inscription from Mrs. Polk’s pen; a true and noble record,
honorable alike to the departed and to the survivor. Here, amid the song
of birds and the odor of flowers, we paid willing homage to all that
remained of one who died lamented by his countrymen of every sect and
party.
“His mourners were two parts, his friends and foes. He had kept the
whiteness of his soul, and thus men o’er him wept.
“Meeting Mrs. Polk was like seeing the original of a familiar picture,
and in a few moments after seeing her, we were surprised to find ourself
forgetting, in a confiding feeling, that we were conversing with a lady
who had presided at the Executive Mansion with a wider popularity than
has since been attained by any of her successors. She seems to have a
warm and unenvying sympathy in the success of others, and in her
conversation there is an expression of those affectionate sympathies
which made her beloved in a more elevated sphere. She has a pleasing
figure, what we call lady-like, delicate, erect and graceful, with a
great deal of manner, in the last respect resembling the late Mrs.
Madison. Mrs. Polk’s mental endowments, as well as her personal
qualities, combine to render her a general favorite, while her manners
and character give a permanence to her social success by converting
admirers into friends.”
In a pecuniary point of view, Mrs. Polk’s life has passed in ease and
affluence. Her father was comparatively wealthy, and Mr. Polk’s
circumstances were always good. In addition to his property in
Tennessee, he owned a large and flourishing plantation in Mississippi.
Chief-Justice Catron, Major Daniel Graham and other distinguished
personal friends, have attended to Mrs. Polk’s financial affairs during
her widowhood, and have thus relieved her from all care.
Mrs. Polk, though ever willing to converse, and always enriching the
conversation from her ready store of information and observation, is
remarkably reticent in regard to her own life. Her most familiar friends
fail to persuade an account of incidents relating purely to herself. She
is never seen in public except at church. The visits of chosen friends
are grateful to her, but she does not return them, and no attraction is
sufficient to draw her far away from the home where cluster so many dear
and sacred memories. Occasionally she spends a few days with her
relatives in other counties.
Having no children, Mrs. Polk, some time after the death of her husband,
adopted a niece, who has ever since been an inmate of her house. No
employment could have served better to console the many lonely hours
that must be the inevitable heritage of a widowed heart, than the charge
of a daughter.
Mrs. Polk was born in the dawn of the nineteenth century, and is a pure
type of a class which is rapidly becoming extinct. With her will pass
away many of the excellences and not a few of the foibles of a class
modelled after the aristocracy of the old world on their graftings in
the new. Her life has been spent in an age and country where chivalric
honor to woman is a matter of national pride, yet in a land of slaves
and slavery. The young and middle-aged of to-day will never know the
opportunities of time and means which she, half a century ago, enjoyed;
for the South is changed, and verily old things have passed away and all
are new. The present generation, thrown more upon their own resources,
and passing through the perplexities of change and misfortune, will grow
away from the old regime, and may perhaps lose many of their virtues
with too few of their faults.
During the late civil war, she suffered in common with the people of the
South, losing much of her valuable property, but was fortunately left
with sufficient means to enable her to live in her usual style of
comfort. Her sympathies were with the section of country in which she
was reared, but her conduct was throughout befitting her station, and no
expression or action of hers is a reflection of aught save refined
bearing and high-toned sensibility.
Surrounded with comforts and luxuries, and enjoying the companionship of
her relatives and friends, Mrs. Polk glides calmly down the vale of
years, with the memory of a past all brightness, and the hopes of a
future all peace. The lifetime imitation of a pure and useful standard
of excellence has rewarded her with a glorious fame, and she dwells
among the friends of her youth, honored and respected, trusted and
beloved.
XVI.
MARGARET TAYLOR.
The importance attached to Presidential honors is not in our country the
inheritance of persons born to the wearing of them. Monarchial
governments, by tradition and law, designate not only who is the “chief
magistrate,” but also provide candidates in advance for the succession.
People, therefore, born to such high estate are always, from infancy
onward, objects of world-wide interest; and the minutest acts of their
lives, before they achieve their inherited position as well as after,
are subjects of note from a thousand pens.
In our own country the popular will selects its candidates for the
highest office within its gift as often from those who have suddenly
received popularity as from those who have, by antecedent history,
become known to fame. It is probably true that, just before the breaking
out of actual hostilities between this country and Mexico, there was no
military officer—his long and faithful public service considered—who was
as little known to the country at large as General Taylor.
That the future Mistress of the White House who was buried in the
seclusion of his retired private life, should be little known out of her
domestic circle, is therefore not surprising; and that a family, the
members of which had always courted seclusion and were satisfied with
making perfect the narrow circle of their accepted duties, should shrink
from publicity and notice, is not to be wondered at; and, as a
consequence, there is but little left to afford material for the pen of
the historian.
Mrs. Taylor and her daughter “Betty,” who for a while shone forth as the
acknowledged “first ladies of the land,” never sympathized with the
display and bustle of the White House, and they always performed such
official duties as were imperatively forced upon them, by their exalted
position, as a task that had no compensation for the sacrifices
attending it.
The key to Mrs. Taylor’s life was touched by General Taylor himself,
who, when receiving from an appointed speaker, at Baton Rouge, the
official announcement that he was elected President of the United
States, among other things said:
“For more than a quarter of a century, my house has been the tent, and
my home the battle-field.” This statement, which might have been used
with propriety as figurative language by any officer who had been for
more than a quarter of a century on active duty, was literally true of
General Taylor’s experience. He was emphatically a hard-working officer:
either from choice or accident, his public life was never varied by
those terms of “official repose” which give officers a rest at
Washington, at West Point, or at head-quarters in some large city.
On the contrary, General Taylor, from the time he entered the army as a
lieutenant until he laid aside his well-earned commission as a
Major-General to assume the highest responsibility of Commander-in-Chief
of the Army and Navy, had never been out of what might be termed the
severest frontier duties.
He was known as having acquired the largest experience as an Indian
fighter. He was alike the hero of the “Black Hawk,” as he was the most
prominent officer in the Seminole war. Hence it is that Mrs. Taylor,
more than any other mistress of the White House, had seen more army
service, and passed through more varied frontier experiences; for she
would never, under any circumstances, if she could avoid it, separate
herself from her husband, no matter how severe were the trials resulting
from wifely devotion.
This heroic spirit, that gives such grace and beauty to useful
qualities, carried her cheerfully to Tampa Bay, that she might be near
her husband when he was endeavoring to suppress the wily Seminoles in
the swamps and everglades of Florida; and as the long previous years in
the western country made her familiar with the attributes of savage
triumphs, so the final defeats that eventually secured our settlers a
peaceful home on the rich plains of Mexico, and laid the foundation of
the prosperity of the great West.
In all this quarter of a century so feelingly alluded to by General
Taylor, as the time when his house was a tent and his home the
battle-field, it was seldom that Mrs. Taylor was not at his side,
bearing her share of the hardships incidental to her husband’s life, and
cheerfully attending to the duties which fell to her to perform. All
this while the modest accommodations were acceptable, the log-cabin in
winter, the tent if necessary in summer, with the coarse but substantial
food of the soldiers, and often even this not in abundance. Deprived of
the little elegancies which are so necessary for a woman’s
comfort—separated from the society of her children, who were almost
always away at school—nothing stood in the way of her fealty to her
husband, and she was content thus to live.
Through all these trying circumstances Mrs. Taylor, by her good sense,
her modesty, her uncomplaining spirit, her faculty of adding to the
comforts and surroundings of her husband’s life, filled the measure of
her duty, and set an example of the true woman, especially a soldier’s
wife, that her sex for all time can admire and point to as worthy of
imitation.
Her domestic duties, so far as they related to the comfort of her
family, she would never intentionally abandon for a single day to menial
hands. Especially was she careful in the preparation of the food for the
table, and however simple the meal might be, she saw that the material
was carefully prepared. And this home training General Taylor displayed
when in Northern Mexico, away from his domestic care; for while he was
indifferent to a degree about luxuries, yet what he did eat, he
persisted in having carefully selected and prepared with due regard to
healthfulness; and his tent was ever a model of neatness and rude
comfort.
Mrs. Taylor’s maiden name was Margaret Smith. She was born in Maryland,
and came of a family identified for their substantial qualities which
distinguished intelligent agriculturists. She received such an education
as was at the command of female pupils in the beginning of the century.
An education which considered the practical, rather than the
intellectual, and to this plane of her school life she was trained with
special care in all the accomplishments of domestic duties.
“Maryland housekeeping” was for years in the southwest, and is still
among the “old settlers,” a complimentary remark, if applied to a lady
from any part of the country, so excellent was considered the
housewives’ work of those who learned their duties on the tidewaters of
the Chesapeake Bay, and among those examples of domestic perfection in
her State, Mrs. Taylor was eminent. And to be more than this—to make her
home happy—she evidently had no ambition. Marrying an officer of the
United States army, who was born in Kentucky, and was appointed from
private life, her husband had no associations that took him to the
North, which, independent of official opportunities, are increased by a
student’s career at West Point. “Captain Taylor” was therefore, from the
beginning of his public life, confined to the frontiers, and was known
as one of the “hard-working,” and “fighting officers.” His boyhood days
were made up of adventures with Indians, and around the fireside of his
own home, listening to his father and his father’s friends, talk over
the struggles, sufferings, and triumphs they endured as active
participators in the Revolution, under the leadership of General
Washington and General Wayne, and of their subsequent hard lives after
they left Virginia, to found homes “in the dark and bloody ground.”
To accept with pleasure the incidents of the consequent life was the
true spirit of the American heroine, and to adorn it through long years
of privations and sufferings as Mrs. Taylor did, is the noblest tribute
that can be paid to her virtues. For sixteen years after the conclusion
of our second war with England, the time indicated in history as the
“treaty of Ghent,” Major Taylor spent an active life in what was then
known as our western frontiers. He established forts and corresponded
with the Government on Indian affairs. His custom was to personally
superintend the varied and difficult labors imposed upon him. All this
while he was literally in the savage wilderness, and Mrs. Taylor, then a
young wife, persistently accompanied him. To her attentions to her
husband the country was largely indebted for his usefulness, and by her
influence and example the subordinates, who were attached to the pioneer
army, were made contented and uncomplaining.
This era of Mrs. Taylor’s life she was wont always to speak of with
subdued enthusiasm.
It was while thus living that her children were born. They followed her
fortunes as long as a mother’s care was absolutely necessary for their
safety; but the moment they were sufficiently matured to leave her
protection, she submitted to the painful sacrifice of having them sent
to her relatives in the “settlements,” for a less perilous life and the
enjoyment of the facilities of educational institutions; but she never
thought of abandoning her husband, her first duty being for his interest
and comfort. It is not surprising that when the “Florida war” began,
that the Captain Taylor of twenty years previous was now a Colonel, and
that his past services should have secured for him the difficult and
dangerous honor of taking command against the treacherous Seminoles of
the Everglades. True to the characteristics of his whole life, he
quietly proceeded to this new field of action, and to the surprise of
the country, the people of which now began to know Colonel Taylor, it
was heralded in the papers that Mrs. Taylor had established herself at
Tampa Bay. It was looked upon at the time as a piece of unpardonable
recklessness that she should thus risk her life, when to the outward
world the odds at the time seemed to be against her husband’s success.
But she evidently knew his character and her own duty best, and through
the lasting struggle, made so terrible and romantic by the incidents of
the battle of Okee-Chobee, Mrs. Taylor was of immense service in
superintending the wants of the sick and wounded, but more especially so
by shedding over disaster the hopefulness created by her self-possession
and seeming insensibility to the probability of the failure of her
husband’s final triumph over the enemy.
At the conclusion of active hostilities, the then Secretary of War,
addressing Gen. Jessup, said: “You will establish posts at Tampa, and on
the eastern shore, and wherever else they are in your opinion necessary
to preserve the peace of the country; and I would suggest the propriety
of leaving Col. Zachary Taylor, of the First Infantry, in command of
them.” Agreeably to this order, General Taylor in time of peace repeated
his previously pursued life on the northwestern frontiers, of forming
new military stations in the wilderness and paving the way for the
amelioration of peaceful populations. If he had one thought that he
needed repose, or that his patriotism was overtaxed by such a continued
demand on his time, he had the comforts of a home and a devoted wife
with him, and thus cheered and sustained, he patiently performed his
severe duties; thus the country was indebted to Mrs. Taylor for the
constant services performed by her gallant husband.
In the year 1840, General Taylor, who now had almost become forgotten in
this obscurity of the Florida swamps, asked to be relieved of his
command, and soon afterward arrived with his family in New Orleans. The
“Old Colonel,” as he was called by the citizens of Louisiana, came
unostentatiously, and was permitted, much to his own gratification, to
proceed quietly to Baton Rouge, which place should be for a while, at
least, the head-quarters of his family. With this understanding, Mrs.
Taylor joyfully established herself with surroundings more comfortable
than were afforded in the Florida swamps.
This idea encouraged her to arrange a home which she hoped would be
abandoned only when the “General” had selected some quiet place, where
they would together peacefully end their days.
The barracks at Baton Rouge are picturesquely situated upon the high
land, that here, in a sort of a peninsula, rising out of the surrounding
level, reaches the river. The soldiers usually quartered at Baton Rouge
were mustering along the banks of the Red river, and the buildings were
left, save a single company of infantry, without occupants, and Mrs.
Taylor could select her “quarters” with all the facilities the place
afforded. Leaving the imposing brick buildings, with their comfortable
arrangements for housekeeping, to the entire possession of one or two
officers’ families, Mrs. Taylor selected a little tumble-down cottage,
situated directly on the banks of the river, which was originally
erected for, and inhabited by the Captain-commandant, when the post
belonged to Spain.
In the long years of its existence, the cottage, consisting only of a
suite of three or four rooms, inclosed under galleries, had become
quaint in appearance and much out of repair, and was hardly considered
else than a sort of admitted wreck of former usefulness, left because it
was a harmless, familiar object, entirely out of the way of the lawn and
parade ground. To Mrs. Taylor’s eye, this old cottage seemed to possess
peculiar charms, for she promptly decided to give up the better quarters
at her disposal, as the wife of the Commander-in-Chief of the military
department, and move into this cottage.
With the aid of her own servants, two in number, and the usual
assistance always afforded by invalid soldiers unfit for military
duties, she soon put the neglected place in proper order. It was
remarked by the people of Baton Rouge, how rapidly the old “Spanish
Commandant’s cottage” became transformed into a comfortable dwelling
under the superintendence of the new occupants. And in a country where
so much is left to servants, and where the mistress and daughters had so
many at command, they set the noble example of doing much themselves.
The work employed their minds, and they were happier in the performance
of the details of their well-directed industry. It is certainly true
that Mrs. Taylor and her daughter, Miss Betty, were evidently too much
engaged in managing their household duties to have time for unhappiness
or regrets, if they had cause to indulge in them.
The house had but four rooms, surrounded on all sides by a verandah, and
thus in the hottest weather there was always a shady side, and in the
coldest, one most sheltered; and so cozy and comfortable did the house
become under the management of its new mistress, that Mrs. Taylor was
most thoroughly justified in her choice by the universal commendation of
the citizens of the town—that it was now the pleasantest residence in
all the country round, and its inmates were probably as contented and
happy as people can be.
General Taylor himself was not idle, but was kept busy visiting Fort
Gibson and Fort Smith, until finally, to be near his family, was at his
own request transferred to Fort Jessup, Louisiana. He bought the house
selected by his family, within his military department. The domestic
life of General Taylor’s family was now complete. He had performed
public duties enough his friends thought, to permit him to indulge in
the luxury of being left quietly at the head-quarters of a frontier
department, where he could enjoy repose from severe military duties,
look after his neglected private interests, and for the few years that
remained live a kind of private life. Alas! how the dream was to be
dissipated.
Texas was at this time a State, acting independently of Mexico, yet
unacknowledged as such by the mother country. The Texans, inspired by
the difficulties of their situation, and surrounded by political
influence in the United States, agitated the question of coming into the
Union. The result was that General Santa Anna, then President of Mexico,
made preparations which contemplated the reassertion of the national
government in the revolted province.
This naturally made the southern border line of Louisiana, the Sabine,
an object of attack, and as General Taylor had, with the idea of being
left in peaceful retirement, asked to be in command in Louisiana, he
unconsciously placed himself in the very position that was to call him
into a more active and important field of duty than had yet been
entrusted to him.
Mrs. Taylor, meantime, painfully unconscious of the drama that was
opening before her, calmly and full of content, went about her domestic
duties. A garden was planted, and she cherished the first signs of the
growing vegetation with almost childish delight. Her old friends among
the citizens of the neighborhood made friendly visits. Miss Betty, who
was now in the very perfection of her blooming womanhood, was popular
with the young ladies of her age and station.
The “old General” was here and there, according to his habits; one day
away attending to some military matter, then enjoying what seemed to him
an endless source of interest, the examination of the workings of
plantation life. He began, in fact, to assume the airs of an
agriculturist; invested what means he had in a cotton farm on the
Mississippi, and looked forward to the time when his income would be
large and liberal for the pursuits of peace.
All this time to the south of General Taylor’s military department there
were signs of trouble, and one day he received from the Adjutant-General
of the Army a letter, which announced that there was great danger of a
hostile incursion of Indians on the southern border of his department.
The letter thus concluded: “Should the apprehended hostilities with the
Indians alluded to break out, an officer of rank—probably yourself—will
be sent to command the United States forces to be put in the field.”
The quiet domestic life so much desired by Mrs. Taylor was becoming a
dream. The events which followed so rapidly soon placed her husband on
the banks of the Sabine as commander-in-chief of the “Army of
Occupation.” A succeeding order, and he invaded the disputed territory,
and by one single stride rose from the comparative obscurity of a
frontier fighter to be the observed of all the world, in a conflict
where two Christian nations were to struggle for supremacy in an appeal
to arms. The succeeding actions, that began at Palo Alto and ended at
Buena Vista, made him for the time being a hero. While these events were
culminating, Mrs. Taylor and Miss Betty remained in the little cottage
on the banks of the Mississippi, each hour becoming objects of greater
interest, and from their quietness and unobtrusive life making
themselves dear to the nation.
But the applause and flattery that began to reach the inmates of the old
Spanish cottage made no apparent impression. Mrs. Taylor, while her
husband distinguished himself on the Rio Grande, only worked harder in
her little garden, and she had no superior among the planters of the
vicinity of Baton Rouge in the raising of succulent luxuries for the
table, and she seemingly took more pride in showing these triumphs of
her industry than she did in hearing compliments upon her husband’s
growing fame. Nay, more than this, she instituted a miniature dairy, and
added to her other comforts what was almost unknown at the time in the
vicinity—an abundance of fresh milk and butter. It may be readily
imagined that with such care and supervision the little cottage in the
garrison was illustrative of domestic comfort nowhere else surpassed.
Thus practically Mrs. Taylor taught the young wives of the officers
residing in the barracks their duties, and prepared them by her
excellent example to perform the arduous task imposed upon them as
soldiers’ wives in a manner best calculated to insure their own
happiness and secure honor and renown to their patriotic husbands.
But Mrs. Taylor’s usefulness did not end with the perfect performance of
her household responsibilities. The town of Baton Rouge at this time had
no Protestant Episcopal Church. It was a want which she, in common with
other officers’ wives and some few persons in the village, felt keenly;
and in her quiet, practical way, she set about meeting the demand. It
was, of course, only necessary for her to designate a proper room in the
garrison buildings to be used as a chapel, when it was at once prepared
for that purpose. She superintended with others the labor necessary to
fit up a chapel, then used her influence to secure the occasional
services of a rector who resided at some distance away. Meantime her
expressed wish that “the service” be regularly read was responded to,
and thus was secured to Baton Rouge a commencement of a religious
movement that in a few subsequent years crystallized in the building of
a handsome church, and the establishment of a permanent and intelligent
congregation.
This garrison chapel in time became a place of great interest. Owing to
active hostilities in Mexico the number of officers’ wives increased,
and it included, as may be supposed, some of the most accomplished and
elegant ladies in the land. Their husbands, gallant and noble soldiers,
were involved in the duties of actual war, and they, brave-hearted and
courageous, comforted each other. As the news came that actual collision
was threatened, some of these ladies, unable to control their anxiety
for the safety of their husbands, would be overcome with suppressed
emotion, and grow for the moment wild with terror. It was on these
occasions that Mrs. Taylor and Miss Betty maintained their
self-possession, and had kind words and hopeful suggestions for those
suffering sisters. And when at last some rumors reached Baton Rouge of
battles fought, of blood being shed, of men and officers falling in the
strife; when those heart-stricken wives and daughters of the soldiers
engaged were left to the agony of apprehension, Mrs. Taylor, still
always calm and cheerful, was a constant source of comfort, and shed
around her an atmosphere of hope, an inspiration of true courage. At
last when names were given of those who fell on the fields of Palo Alto
and Resaca de la Palma, the stricken ones of the garrison suppressed
their wild sorrow, lest they should wound the feelings of their superior
in rank and influence, and in the little chapel founded by Mrs. Taylor
sought, through the holy influences of religion, that consolation that
could reconcile them to the irretrievable loss of friends, brothers,
fathers and husbands. There was at this time, amid these scenes of
actual war, a bit of domestic history revived in Mrs. Taylor s mind that
no doubt made a strong impression.
General Taylor was a great admirer of business men, and was opposed to
his daughters marrying officers of the army. He condemned his own life
by saying that soldiers never had a home, and in this sentiment was
cordially sustained by Mrs. Taylor, who no doubt in her heart reviewed
her varied life from place to place on the frontiers, and her constant
separations from her husband, with a regret she could not conceal. It
was this cause that called forth so much opposition from the family to
Lieutenant Jefferson Davis marrying the second daughter, Sarah, which
opposition resulted in an elopement and runaway marriage. General
Taylor, at the time this occurred, was away from home on military
service, and when he heard of it he expressed himself in the most
unmeasured terms of disapprobation. He seemed utterly insensible to the
feelings which inspired the young people in such an adventure, and
persisted in looking upon “young Davis” as having done a dishonorable
thing, and his daughter as being entirely regardless of her filial
obligations. To all protests calculated to lessen his indignation, he
would make the invariable replies, “that no honorable man would thus
defy the wishes of parents, and no truly affectionate daughter be so
regardless of her duty.” General Taylor, though a man of strong
impulses, and possessed of but little training to conceal his feelings,
except what military discipline enforced, was at heart of a generous and
forgiving nature; and no doubt time would have brought about its
softening influences, and the usual ending which follows all runaway
matches would have taken place,—reconciliation and entire forgiveness.
But ere this occurred, within a few short months of her marriage, Mrs.
Davis suddenly died, and a beloved child upon whom he had garnered all
his affections passed forever away, the last words she had from him
being those of reproof and condemnation. This incident and the sudden
death of her daughter left a deep impression upon Mrs. Taylor’s life.
Naturally of a quiet disposition and living from necessity almost
entirely away from influences of society, this sad domestic history was
left to make the greatest possible impression upon her mind. That
General Taylor keenly cherished for long years his sense of sorrow was
destined to be most romantically displayed. His call for volunteer
troops at the time he believed his little army was imperilled, on the
eve of its memorable march from Corpus Christi to the Rio Grande, was
answered promptly by Louisiana and Mississippi. The last-named State
promptly organized a splendid regiment, composed of the very elite of
the native young men, and Jefferson Davis was elected its commander.
At Monterey the 1st Mississippi regiment was stationed at one of the
forts in the suburbs of the city, and in the battle that ended with the
defeat of Ampudia, its Mexican defender, Jefferson Davis received a
slight wound. Before this event, at the time and subsequently, it was
noticed that Colonel Davis and General Taylor had never met, and it was
evident that this was designed and not the result of accident—there was
an understanding seemingly that kept them apart. The cause of this was
freely discussed, and it came to the surface that a reconciliation had
never taken place between General Taylor and Colonel Davis on account of
the elopement, and so things remained until the close of the three days’
struggle that ended in triumph at Buena Vista. It was on the occasion
when victory seemed hesitating where she should bestow her wreath—when
the men of the North and the West had exhausted their energies—when
Clay, Crittenden, Yell, and their brave compatriots slept in death on
the bloody field—at this moment, when Santa Anna believed and announced
himself the hero of the field, and when he concentrated his favorite
troops to make a last charge upon our dispirited and exhausted columns,
that Colonel Davis, at the head of his Mississippi regiment, nobly
sustained the shock, and sent the foe back disappointed and dismayed.
Then it was that “Old Zach,” seeing by whom he, his gallant men, and his
country’s honor, had been saved, had no place in his heart but for
gratitude, and the long estranged embraced each other and wept tears of
reconciliation upon the battle-field.
Time passed on, and General Taylor completed his brilliant campaign. Our
country had then, for nearly two generations, been unused to war, and
the magnificent achievements of old “Rough and Ready” filled the hearts
of the people with the intensest admiration. The old cottage on the low
bluff at Baton Rouge gradually became of classic interest. Grateful
people travelling along the highway of the great Mississippi,
representing every State in the Union, and every civilized nation of the
earth, would admiringly point out General Taylor’s residence. If any of
those great western floating palaces stopped at Baton Rouge, some of the
passengers would climb up the hill and visit the “garrison grounds,” and
the young ladies especially would make the pilgrimage in hopes they
might see Miss Betty, whom they with woman’s quickness of perception,
felt was to be the first lady of the land, by presiding at the White
House.
How much the neatness of that home, its characteristic simplicity, its
quiet domestic comforts, the self-possession and unpretending, yet
lady-like manners of its inmates, impressed themselves on the public,
and prepared the way for that popular affection that greeted General
Taylor on his return from Mexico, and culminated in his triumphant
election to the Presidency, is difficult to decide; but that it had an
element of strength and of vast importance is certain, and presents in a
strong view how much can be done by the devoted, sensible wife, in
aiding her husband in achieving success.
Meantime, General Taylor returned, the triumphant soldier, to the United
States. However wonderful were the subsequent victories achieved over
the Mexicans, in the brilliant march from Vera Cruz to the City of
Aztecs, the novelty of the war when this was enacted, was gone. The
first impressions remained vivid, the subsequent ones were received with
gratification, but not enthusiasm. General Taylor returned, not only a
military hero, but over his head was suspended the wreath of an
approaching civic triumph; and the little cottage on the bank of the
Mississippi that Mrs. Taylor selected for her strictly private
residence, became a Mecca for pilgrims from all lands, and for more than
a year it was the centre of interest, where patriotism, intellect, and
beauty paid homage. In recalling the impressions made upon the public
through the press, it is well remarked what a full share of compliments
were paid to Mrs. Taylor, and how grateful was the task of every one to
praise Miss Betty for her agreeable manners, her hospitality, and her
resemblance to her father in matters of good sense, and the further
possession of all accomplishments that adorn her sex. But this flow of
visitors, this public ovation, this constant bustle about Mrs. Taylor
was submitted to and borne, but never received her indorsement and
sympathy. Her heart was in the possible enjoyment of a quiet household.
She saw nothing attractive in the surroundings of the White House. All
this “worldly glory” defeated her womanly ambition, and her life-long
dream that, at some time or another, “the General” would be relieved of
his public duties, and that together in the retirement of their own
estate, unnoticed and unknown except to their friends, they might
together peacefully end their days; and that the realization of her
modest ambition was due to her, for the separations and wanderings that
had characterized all her early married life.
General Taylor was by habit a public servant, and his future, as shaped
by circumstances, he quietly accepted. But Mrs. Taylor opposed his being
a candidate for the Presidency. She spoke of it as a thing to be
lamented, and declared when such a position was first foreshadowed, that
the General’s acquired habits would not permit him to live under the
constraints of metropolitan life; and to those of her intimate friends
who spoke of his being President, she sadly replied, “That it was a plot
to deprive her of his society, and shorten his life by unnecessary care
and responsibility.” With the announcement that General Taylor was
President-elect, came his resignation as an officer of the army. It was
after all a sad day for him and his family, when he severed a connection
that had lasted so long, and had been made so memorable by a life of
conscientious duty. Miss Betty now appeared on the scene as an agent of
national interest. The White House under Mrs. Polk had been grave and
formal. There was a cold respectability and correctness about it, that
was somewhat oppressive to the citizens of Washington; and there was a
degree of earnest pleasure created in the public mind when it was
understood that as a consequent of General Taylor’s election, there
would preside over the White House a lady eminently attractive in her
personal appearance, young in years, accomplished in mind, and made more
interesting, if possible, by being the bride of Major Bliss, who had
served so faithfully under her father as his accomplished
Adjutant-General.
Elizabeth Taylor, third and youngest daughter of President Taylor, was
twenty-two years of age, when, as Mrs. Bliss, she assumed the formal
duties of Hostess of the White House, her mother, from disinclination,
refusing to accept the responsibility of official receptions. Mrs.
Bliss, or Miss Betty, as she was popularly called, was at this time
admired by all who saw her, and had the distinction of being the
youngest daughter of any chief magistrate who had honored our
Presidential receptions with her presence. Her face was pleasant, her
smiles exceedingly attractive, and her eyes beamed with intelligence.
She had been throughout her life but little with her parents. When not
among her relations in Virginia or Kentucky, she was at some
boarding-school. Her education was completed at Philadelphia, after
which she resided with her parents. No inauguration of any of the later
Presidents was more enthusiastically celebrated than General Taylor’s.
He was at the time the nation’s idol. Everything in his history charmed
the popular mind, and the fact that he was a total stranger to
Washington—that his family were unknown, gave a mystery and novelty to
the whole proceeding quite different from common place precedence.
For this reason, more than ordinary encouragement was given to the
celebration of the occasion by a grand ball. A wooden building of
enormous size was erected, which at the time was considered an “immense
affair.” It was tastefully decorated with flags and other proper
insignia; in the enthusiasm of the hour, many articles were loaned for
its decorations by citizens, who ordinarily took no interest in these
“stated occasions.” The best music that could be obtained was in
attendance, and to give the crowning zest, “Miss Betty” was to be
present. The Lady of the Mansion for the next four years, young,
handsome, and hopeful, was to be presented to the admiring public.
There was the usual crowd and the characteristic confusion; but
nevertheless there pervaded the multitude an intense desire to behold
the new occupant of the White House. There was a “Hero President.” There
was a charming young bride, a young and graceful lady to do the honors
of the public receptions. “At eleven o’clock, General Taylor entered,
leaning on the arms of Major Seaton and Speaker Winthrop.” His fine eye
was bright, his step was elastic, he was brave, he was a conqueror, he
was President, and the gentlemen expressed their feelings in spontaneous
cheers, while ladies waved their handkerchiefs and many wept for
sympathy. A silence ensued, a movement at the head of the room indicated
that a new scene was to be enacted. The throng pressed back, and Mrs.
Bodisco, then the young and handsome wife of the Russian Minister,
enveloped in a cloud of crimson satin and glistening with diamonds,
supported by two ambassadors emblazoned in gold lace and orders, came
forward—just behind were two “Louisiana beauties,” a blonde and a
brunette, whose brilliant charms subsequently divided the gentlemen in
perplexity as to which should be acceded the palm of the belle of the
evening. “Which is Miss Betty?” whispered the throng as these queenly
creatures, by their native charms, without the aid of dress, eclipsed
the more glowing splendor of the Russian court. Then behind these came
“Miss Betty,” plainly dressed in white, a simple flower in her hair,
timid and faltering, yet with an expression in her eye that showed she
was Zachary Taylor’s favorite child. The expectations of the vast crowd
were for the moment realized, and then followed expressions of
enthusiasm that were overwhelming.
The reaction that followed the inauguration in Washington was, as usual,
intense. The season was more than usually warm, and the Congress fled
from the Capital. Mrs. Taylor was never visible in the reception-room;
she received her visitors in her private apartments, and escaped all
observation from choice. Once established in her new home, she selected
such rooms as suited her ideas of housekeeping, and, as far as was
possible, resumed the routine that characterized her life at Baton
Rouge. As was her merit, she attended personally to so much of it as
affected the personal comforts of the General, and it was not long
before the “opposition” found fault with her simple habits, and
attempted, but without effect, to lessen the public esteem felt for
General Taylor, by indulging in offensive personalities.
General Taylor was, from principle and choice, an abstemious man. On the
sixth of July, the dullness of Washington was enlivened by the presence
of Father Mathew, the Apostle of Temperance. To know him, General Taylor
invited him to the White House. The press discussed this honorable
notice of the great philanthropist, and spoke of “Miss Betty” as
presiding at the reception with unusual grace and affability.
The winter following opened officially and fashionably with the
commencement of Congress. There was then in the Senate, Clay, Webster,
Calhoun, Benton, Cass, and lesser but still shining lights. Mr. Fillmore
presided over the body with dignity, and such an array of talent and
statesmanship divided the public mind with the claims of the White
House.
Few official receptions were given. The excitement attending the
admission of California—the fiery eloquence of Mr. Clay—the attack of
Mr. Calhoun or Mr. Benton, and the growls of disappointed
office-seekers, divided the current that might have otherwise flowed on
to the Executive Mansion, and it is apparent that this created no
regrets in the minds of the ladies of the President’s House. It was soon
understood that set, formal, and official dinners were not coveted, and
they were not encouraged. But social and unceremonious visits prevailed
beyond any precedent, and Miss Betty was always ready to dispense the
honors of her exalted position, with a grace and frankness that was
constantly securing for her a wide circle of admiring friends. Thus the
first winter of General Taylor’s term passed away.
To those who were familiar with the actual life of the White House, it
was apparent that a change had gradually taken place in the feelings of
the female inmates. Mrs. Taylor had gradually abandoned much of her
personal superintendence of domestic matters, and Miss Betty had assumed
the manner of one who began to appreciate the importance of her social
elevation. The embarrassments that General Taylor suffered from the
betrayal of “false friends” had the double effect, to make the members
of his family more devoted to each other, and at the same time created a
resolve to more ostentatiously perform the duties of their high social
position. A revolution, political and social, had been resolved upon
without the parties interested being aware of the change. This new era
was inaugurated by the ladies of the President’s House having a
reception on the 4th of March, 1850, in honor of the inauguration. The
affair was of singular brilliancy. It was remarked at the time that the
ladies never appeared to better advantage; the rustling of costly
dresses and the display of diamonds were paramount, while the gentlemen,
for the time being, eschewing the license of Republican institutions,
accepted the laws of good society, and appeared in dress coats and white
kid gloves. General Taylor surprised his friends by the courtliness and
dignity of his manner. Some of his soldiers who saw him in his battles
said there was mischief in his eye. He was evidently attempting a new
rôle, and doing it with success.
Miss Betty, as hostess, was entirely at her ease, and made the ladies by
her affability feel at home in the National Mansion. For the first time,
at the public receptions, she led off in conversation, and her remarks
were full of quiet humor and good sense. The following day, the papers
expressed their admiration in different ways. “Miss Betty” was
complimented with the remark that, in manner and grace at a public
reception, Victoria could not surpass her. General Taylor, it was said,
“had at last determined to open the campaign for the second term, and
those about him, who were intriguing for the succession for others than
for himself, would have to stand aside.” These suspicions were justified
by constantly repeated rumors that Cabinet changes would be made that
would entirely change the character of the general Administration. Mr.
Webster began now to visit the White House, and was treated with marked
consideration by its female inmates. The influence of the ladies of the
White House began to be felt in political circles, and what had been for
the preceding year a negative, now became a positive power. Gentlemen
who had distinguished themselves for the early advocacy of General
Taylor’s election, but who had received no recognition, were now
welcomed to the White House. It was evident that a radical change had
come over its inmates. General Taylor seemed at last to begin to
understand his duties, and knowing them, he commenced their performance
with the same zeal and determination that marked his military career.
Four months of spring and summer passed away. The seventy-fourth
anniversary of our national Fourth of July was approaching. It was
decided that the event should be celebrated by the laying of the
corner-stone of the Washington Monument. General Taylor accepted the
invitation to be present without hesitation, and surprised his friends
at the pleasure he evinced at the opportunity.
The day was unusually warm and oppressive for Washington City. The
procession out to the banks of the Potomac moved slowly, and General
Taylor suffered with the intense heat. Upon taking his seat upon the
stand, he remarked that he had never before experienced such unpleasant
sensations from the sun, much as he had borne its unshielded rays in the
swamps of Florida and Mexico. General Foote was the official orator, and
Washington Parke Custis took part in the proceedings. It was noticed
that General Foote addressed to General Taylor many of his most pointed
remarks in praise of Washington. The papers of the day said that “when
the orator quoted from a letter of Hamilton to Washington, protesting
against his refusing to serve a second term, President Taylor, who sat
on the left of the orator, roused from his listless attitude, as if
desirous of catching every word.” “Perhaps,” added a reporter, “General
Taylor was thinking what would be his conduct in a similar emergency.”
From the celebration the President returned to the White House, and to
relieve himself from the terrible thirst the heat had occasioned, in
accordance with his primitive tastes, he partook freely of cold water
and fruit. In less than an hour he was seized with symptoms of a fearful
sickness. The announcement that the President was prostrated by
indisposition, struck the people of Washington with prophetic terror,
for the news went from house to house, as if presaging the fatal result.
General Taylor, after the first paroxysms were over, seemed to
anticipate that he would never recover. He yielded to the solicitations
of his physicians, and the efforts of his afflicted family to assist
him. On the evening of the third day of his sufferings, he said:
“I should not be surprised if this were to terminate in death. I did not
expect to encounter what has beset me since my elevation to the
Presidency. God knows, I have endeavored to fulfil what I considered to
be an honest duty; but I have been mistaken, my motives have been
misconstrued, and my feelings grossly betrayed.”
Mrs. Taylor, who heard these remarks, for the first time admitted to
herself the possibility of her husband’s death. She then recalled, in
the bitterness of her soul, the remark she made when it was announced to
her that possibly General Taylor would be President:
“It was a plot to deprive her of his society and shorten his life by
unnecessary care and responsibility.” This was indeed about to happen,
and in the agony of that hour she prostrated herself at her husband’s
bedside, while her children clung around her.
The sun, on the morning of the 9th of July, 1850 rose gloriously over
the White House. The President’s family and Colonel Bliss had remained
by his bedside all night, refusing the indulgence of necessary repose.
Each hour it was evident that the catastrophe was nearer. Mrs. Taylor
would not believe that death was possible. He had escaped so many
dangers, had been through so much exposure, he could not die surrounded
with so many comforts and loved so intensely by his family and friends.
The emotions of apprehension were so oppressive, that overtaxed nature
with Mrs. Taylor found relief in fits of insensibility.
At thirty-five minutes past ten P. M., the President called his family
about him, to give them his last earthly advice and bid them his last
good-by. No conventional education could restrain the natural
expressions of grief of the members of this afflicted household, and
their heart-rending cries of agony reached the surrounding street. “I am
about to die,” said the President, firmly, “I expect the summons soon. I
have endeavored to discharge all my official duties faithfully. I regret
nothing, but that I am about to leave my friends.”
Mrs. Taylor and family occupied the White House until the sad ceremonies
of the funeral ended with the removal of the late President’s remains.
The bustle and the pomp was now painful to her sight and ears, and she
realized, in the fearful interval of time, how truly he was dead, who,
though the nation’s successful General and a President, was to her only
a cherished husband. It can easily be imagined that, as the glittering,
heartless display of the Executive Mansion commenced fading away from
her sight, that she must have regretfully turned to the peaceful era of
her last home at Baton Rouge, and the unpretentious cottage, the
neglected garden; and the simple life connected with these associations,
must have appeared as a dream of happiness when contrasted with the
fearful year and a half of sad experiences in Washington. From the time
Mrs. Taylor left the White House, she never alluded to her residence
there, except as connected with the death of her husband.
Accompanied by her daughter, Mrs. Bliss, after leaving Washington, she
first sought a home among her relations in Kentucky, but finding herself
oppressed by personal utterances of sympathy, she retired to the
residence of her only son, near Pascagoula, Louisiana, where, in August,
1852, she died, possessed of the same Christian spirit that marked her
conduct throughout her life. The sudden and lamented death of Major
Bliss soon followed, and without children by her marriage “Miss Betty
Taylor,” as she must ever be known in history, studiously sought the
retirement of private life, and found it in the accomplished circles of
the “old families of Virginia,” with so many of whom she was connected
by ties of blood. By a second marriage, her historical name passed away.
But when the traditions and histories of the White House have the
romance of time thrown around them, Miss Betty Taylor will be recalled
to mind, and for her will there be a sympathy that is associated with
youth, for she was the youngest of the few women of America who have a
right to the title of Hostess of the President’s House.
[Illustration:
MRS. ABIGAIL FILLMORE.
]
XVII.
ABIGAIL FILLMORE.
Abigail Powers, the youngest child of Lemuel Powers, a prominent Baptist
clergyman of that day, was born in Stillwater, Saratoga county, New
York, March, 1798.
Dr. Powers was of Massachusetts descent, being one of the nine thousand
six hundred and twenty-four descendants of Henry Leland, of Sherburne,
and a cousin and life-long friend of the eccentric and talented John
Leland. Though not a wealthy man, he yet possessed a competence, and his
profession was the most honored and respected of all pursuits.
Only a short decade from the martyr memories of New England, and not
entirely removed from the influences of that severely religious section,
he was yet without the sternness and rigor usual to individuals holding
his high office.
He died while yet his daughter was in her infancy, leaving to the care
of a watchful mother her education and training.
Soon afterward, Mrs. Powers, finding that her income would not justify
her in liberality of expenditure, determined to remove with her brother
and several families of relations and friends to a frontier settlement,
and thus, at the early age of ten, we find our little heroine
established in her new home in Cayuga county. Here began the stern
lessons which ultimately educated the pioneer child, and from this point
may be dated the foundation of her noble character, made strong through
discipline and spiritualized through sorrow. She was studious and
ambitious, and with her mother’s assistance, rapidly progressed in
knowledge; her improvement must have been very rapid, for at an early
age she assumed the duties of a teacher, and for many years continued
her chosen avocation. Her mother, after the settlement of her father’s
estate, being greatly reduced in outward circumstances, was compelled to
use the most undeviating industry and economy; and she, feeling the
necessity of relieving her of the burden of her education, began to
teach, during the summer months, to pay her winter’s tuition. Thus,
alternating between teaching and studying, between imparting and
receiving instruction, she became a thorough scholar and remarkable
woman. There are circumstances of poverty which throw an interest around
those involved in them far greater than the noblest gifts of prosperous
fortune could confer. The sight of a young, aspiring woman actuated by
the loftiest, purest desire implanted by nature, overcoming obstacles,
laughing to the winds the remonstrances of weak and timid natures, and
mounting, by patient toil and unceasing labor, the rugged hill of
wisdom—is calculated to dignify humanity and render homage to God.
Man may at once determine his calling and assert his place—woman has
hers to seek, and however resolute she may appear, with all the dignity
she may assume, there are hours of fearful despondency, and moments
when, in the crowded avenues of trade, the craving for solitude and
aloneness absorbs the energies of her nature, and stills the voice of
ambition. Yet the example of this young life is proof that woman’s
dependence is more the result of custom, than the fiat of nature, and
the record of her trials and final success is a testimonial of virtue’s
reward, and energy’s omnipotence.
Varied as were the experiences of Miss Powers’ life, they only served to
develop all the latent strength of her body as well as mind; her
singular embodiment of the physical was not less remarkable than the
depth and research of the intellectual.
Commanding in person, for she was five feet six inches in height, of
exceeding fairness of complexion and delicacy of features, hers was a
harmonious blending of beauty and strength. But she did not possess that
mere superficial beauty which cannot retain if it awakens admiration.
Hers was no statue-like perfection of figure, nor classically
symmetrical face. Genuine kindliness of heart beamed through her light,
expressive eyes, and her brow was the throne of pure and lofty
inspirations. Perhaps, if any one of her features was more universally
admired than the others, it was her light luxuriant hair, which fell in
flowing curls round her finely-shaped head.
Thus particular in describing her personal appearance, a circumstance
never to be omitted in sketches of women, we but recognize these
facts—that the face is the mirror of the soul, and that the law of
unerring nature is, that the exterior is symbolical of the inner being.
In the backwoods of New York State, where the borders of the adjoining
county were the limits of civilization, accustomed only to the society
of the village people, Miss Powers passed the first twenty-eight years
of her apparently uneventful life, but in reality, the intensity of her
moral and affectional nature gave breadth and depth to her every-day
existence, and in the quiet recesses of her heart she lived life over
more than once.
Her occupation as a teacher was continued after her mother’s second
marriage, which occurred about this time, and henceforth her home was in
the family of a much loved relation. It was while in this home that she
first met Mr. Fillmore, then a clothier’s apprentice, and during the
winter months a teacher in the village school.
His father’s unwise choice of a trade for his son but added to his
all-absorbing desire to become a lawyer. But he was not yet twenty, his
time was his parents’, and his poverty compelled him to serve out his
apprenticeship, and, even after he had commenced the study of law, to
desire to return to his trade.
The assistance of a gentleman who became much interested in the
ambitious youth, enabled him to buy his time and devote himself to
study. Thus he overcame the adverse circumstances which denied him
freedom of action, and attained for himself leisure to lay the
foundation of future usefulness.
His subsequent removal to Erie county deprived him of the society of
Miss Powers—his now promised wife, and so limited were his means, that
for three years he was unable to travel a distance of one hundred and
fifty miles to see her.
In February, 1826, they were married at the residence of her brother,
Judge Powers, in Moravia. Erie county was as much a wilderness to the
young wife as Cayuga had been years before, but the obstacles to be
overcome were not considered by the affectionate couple, and they
started out in their married life buoyed by a confidence in their own
strength, and a reliance on a higher power.
Into the small house built by the husband’s hands, the wife carried all
the ambition and activity of other days, and at once resumed her
avocation as a teacher, whilst performing the duties of maid of all
work, housekeeper, and hostess.
Mr. Fillmore was thus enabled to practise his profession, relieved of
all care and responsibility by his thoughtful wife, and so rapid was his
progress that in less than two years he was elected a member of the
State Legislature.
Mrs. Fillmore rendered her husband most efficient help in his struggle
for eminence, and was the wings by which he soared so high. Instead of
clogging his footsteps by her helplessness, she, with her intellectual
strength, relieved and sustained his every effort. So enthusiastic and
unchanging was her attachment to him, that no duty was burdensome, no
privation sufficient to cloud her brow. The struggles those first years
with poverty and increasing cares were trying, but her dignity never
forsook her—her chosen path never became distasteful. Many are noble
from choice, she was so from necessity. The greatness of soul and
devotion to principle inherent in her nature left no other course.
A letter now old and worn, written in her neat style, has been placed in
my hands by a member of that happy household in which she resided so
long. It was addressed to one of the sisters, now dead, and cherished by
another for the reminiscences it recalls of the beautiful attachment
which existed through life between these two friends.
“AURORA, _August 27th, 1826_.
“DEAR MARIA:—Although I have been guilty of breaking my promise to you
of writing, and treated you with neglect and indifference, still you are
dear and near to me, still you are remembered with that affection which
one must feel after being so long an inmate with so kind a girl, one who
has bestowed upon me so many acts of kindness and friendship. No, Maria,
I feel that I can never forget your family. My mind often reverts to the
pleasant hours I have passed at your house. Many friendly conversations
I have had with your mother after the family had retired to rest,—but
those hours are gone never to return, yet the remembrance of them is
sweet. Oh, that I may again have the pleasure of spending a happy
evening in your family with the little children sitting near me, asking
a thousand interesting questions. Perhaps I may see that time next
winter—I hope so.
“Would you like to know how I am pleased with the country? It does not
appear to me as pleasant as Cayuga, but perhaps it may in time. I enjoy
myself as well as I expected to; the inhabitants, as far as I am
acquainted, appear friendly. I am not yet housekeeping, but am teaching
school. But Mr. Dunning will give all these particulars more fully than
I can write on this sheet of paper. You will have a pleasant visit with
his sister Emily; I think her an amiable girl.
“Maria, if you can forgive me for not writing, I hope you will let me
hear from you by the bearer of this. Write me all the news. You cannot
imagine how any little circumstance concerning my friends interests me
when absent so far from them. Ask Olive to write to me if she can find
leisure. My best respects to your parents, and affectionate remembrance
to your brothers and sisters, and believe me your sincere friend and
cousin,
“ABIGAIL FILLMORE.
“Mr. Fillmore wished me to present his respects to yourself and parents.
“To Miss MARIA FULLER.”
In the spring of 1830, Mrs. Fillmore removed with her husband to
Buffalo. In the enjoyment of her children’s society, her husband’s
prosperity, and the pleasure of entertaining her friends, she found
great happiness, and as the years passed by they were noted only for the
peace and contentment they brought her.
As her life previous to this time had been spent in comparative
seclusion, so now it was a scene of gay society. The social element was
very largely developed in her nature, and constant practice rendered it
a marked characteristic. All the associations of her youth had been
those of the country, and in its freshness and beauty, as well as its
drearier garb, she had revelled. Now, in her city home she was the same
artless, warm-hearted woman of other years, basking in the brightness
about her and reflecting upon others her own quiet peace. Well balanced
and self-reliant, affectionate and happy, there was wanting nothing to
complete her character. The domestic harmony of her life can be partly
appreciated from the remark made by her husband after her death. “For
twenty-seven years, my entire married life,” he said, “I was always
greeted with a happy smile.”
The result of such unusual evenness of disposition was owing, in a great
measure, to the tender sympathy and ennobling affection of her husband,
whose ambition was gratified only when he saw that she was content. With
her there was no variation or change, no despondency or doubt as to his
success in any avocation; she hovered round his pathway, a beacon, and
the light never grew dim. True and faithful in all things, at all times,
she ever was; but there was even more of ceaseless vigilance than mere
faith implies, where he was concerned. To him who shielded her in her
sensitiveness and overflowing affectional nature, and, by his gentleness
and unremitting watchfulness, guarded every avenue of her heart from
sorrow, she meted the wealth of her love and fondness—and existed in the
sunshine of his presence. After her husband’s accession to the
Presidency, she went to the White House; but the recent death of a
sister kept her from entering into the gayety of the outer world. As
much as possible she screened herself from public observation, and left
to her daughter the duties devolving upon her. Her health had become
impaired, and she rather shrank from the necessity of appearing before
the world in the position in which she was more than competent to acquit
herself. In such a formal routine of life she did not delight; hers was
a confiding nature, and to her family she always turned for the
happiness the world could not give.
Mr. Fillmore’s friends in New York, soon after he became President,
presented her with a fine carriage and a costly pair of horses. This
carriage was used by the family during their stay in the White House.
After his wife’s death, Mr. Fillmore sold it and invested the proceeds
in a set of plate, which he preferred to the elegant equipage and
horses.
But only by the most exact details, by endless particularities,
breathing out her whole life and giving evidence, by their nature, of
the depths from which they spring; only by such means is it possible, in
a degree, to give some perception of her remarkable life—the fountain
can only be judged of by the channel through which it flows.
She died at Willard’s Hotel, Washington City, on the 30th of March,
1853.
In testimony of respect to the memory of the deceased, the public
offices were closed, both houses of Congress adjourned, and other marks
of respect were adopted. Her remains were conveyed to Buffalo, where, on
the 2d of April, they were laid to rest.
The accompanying letter, written by a well-known lady of Buffalo, who
was much of the time an inmate of the White House during Mrs. Fillmore’s
stay there, is replete with interest, and gives us an insight into the
home-life of this noble woman, we could in no other way obtain.
“The great interest I feel in your undertaking has outweighed my
diffidence and decided me, in accordance with your request, to state
briefly some of my recollections of the habits and social traits of my
late friend, Mrs. Fillmore, with incidents of life at the White House.
“The retiring modesty of manner so inseparable from the idea of a
perfect lady, was eminently characteristic of Mrs. Fillmore. Although
well qualified and, when occasion required, ever ready to act her part
in the position which Providence assigned her, she much preferred the
quiet of domestic life. Her home was pleasant, and while she was a woman
of strong common sense, her tastes were highly refined. Especially was
she fond of music and of flowers. Her love for the former received great
gratification from her daughter’s musical attainments, and her fondness
for flowers amounted to a passion, and much of her time in her own home
was devoted to their culture and care.
“Mrs. Fillmore read much and carefully, and being possessed of excellent
powers of observation, was consequently a well-informed and cultivated
woman. With qualities like these, it is superfluous to say that, when
she was called to preside at the White House, she did it with dignity
and propriety. She was not strong in health, and had suffered much from
a sprained ankle, from which she never fully recovered. Fortunately for
her, the etiquette of Washington did not require the President and his
wife to return visits or to attend parties, though I believe the
President did sometimes dine with a cabinet minister. All the claims of
society were met and attended to by the daughter, and how well she, a
young girl just from school, acquitted herself in this trying position,
all will remember who were fortunate enough to come within the circle of
her happy influence.
“When Mr. Fillmore entered the White House he found it entirely
destitute of books. Mrs. Fillmore was in the habit of spending her
leisure hours in reading, I might almost say in studying. She was
accustomed to be surrounded with books of reference, maps, and all the
other acquirements of a well-furnished library, and she found it
difficult to content herself in a house devoid of such attractions. To
meet this want, Mr. Fillmore asked of Congress and received an
appropriation, and selected a library, devoting to that purpose a large
and pleasant room in the second story of the house. Here Mrs. Fillmore
surrounded herself with her own little home comforts, here her daughter
had her own piano, harp, and guitar, and here Mrs. Fillmore received the
informal visits of the friends she loved, and for her the real pleasure
and enjoyments of the White House were in this room. With strangers she
was dignified, quiet, and rather reserved; but with her friends, she
loved to throw aside all restraint and enjoy a good laugh and indulge in
a little vein of humor, which lay quietly hidden under the calm
exterior.
“Mrs. Fillmore was proud of her husband’s success in life, and desirous
that no reasonable expectations of the public should be disappointed.
She never absented herself from the public receptions, dinners, or
levees when it was possible to be present; but her delicate health
frequently rendered them not only irksome, but very painful, and she
sometimes kept her bed all day to favor that weak ankle, that she might
be able to endure the fatigue of the two hours she would be obliged to
stand for the Friday evening levees.
“The President and Mrs. Fillmore received on Tuesday mornings, from
twelve to two o’clock. The levees were on Friday evenings, from eight
till ten, and at these there was generally a band of music, but no
dancing. Every Thursday evening there was a large dinner party, and
frequently another on Saturdays. Then there were often smaller dinners
in the family dining-room, which were more sociable and agreeable, as
the invitations were usually confined to the personal friends of the
family.
“But what Mrs. Fillmore most enjoyed was to surround herself with a
choice selection of congenial friends in her own favorite room—the
library, where she could enjoy the music she so much loved, and the
conversation of the cultivated society which Washington at that time
certainly afforded. One of these evenings I remember with more than
ordinary pleasure. Mr. Webster was there, and Mr. Corwin, and Mrs. A. H.
H. Stuart, of Virginia, Judge Hall and his wife, and possibly some other
members of the Cabinet; Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, of New York, Miss Derby, of
Boston, then a guest at the White House, Mr. and Mrs. Carroll, and
several others of the distinguished residents of Washington. Mrs.
Brooks’ daughter, then quite too young to appear in general society, was
there by special request of Mrs. Fillmore, who so enjoyed her
wonderfully sweet singing, that she relied upon her as one of the
attractions for this evening. Miss Fillmore played the piano with much
skill and exquisite taste. Indeed, few ladies excelled her in this
accomplishment; and this evening she was particularly successful in her
efforts to please. Mrs. Brooks accompanied her upon the harp, which
instrument she played with much grace. Altogether, the music, the
conversation, and the company made it an occasion long and pleasantly to
be remembered.
“One of the events of Mr. Fillmore’s first winter in the Executive
Mansion was a visit from his father. It was the first time any President
had ever entertained his father in the White House, and Mrs. Fillmore
was very anxious lest some unlooked-for event might prevent this
anticipated pleasure. But he arrived in safety one Monday night. Tuesday
was reception day. The morning papers announced that the venerable
father of the President arrived in town the evening before. There was an
unusual attendance at the reception that day, and it was interesting to
watch each person, as they cast their eyes about the room, unable to
light upon any one who answered to their idea of the ‘venerable father
of the President,’ and when they were presented to him, as he stood
before them, tall and perfectly erect, and with hair but little whiter
than the President’s, there was a general expression of surprise. They
had evidently expected to see an infirm old man, bent with years, and
leaning upon a cane, and Mr. Nathaniel Fillmore, at the age of eighty,
did not answer to that description. Senators and Judges, and Foreign
Ministers came that morning, all anxious to pay their respects to the
President’s father. One gentleman from New York, desirous of drawing him
into conversation, said to him ‘Mr Fillmore, you have been so very
successful in bringing up sons, I wish you would tell me how to raise my
little boy.’ ‘Cradle him in a sap-trough, sir,’ said the old gentleman,
always ready with an answer. That was an interesting reception, to the
President and to all, and when it was over, Mr. Fillmore the elder said
to me, ‘If I had had the power to mark out the path of life for my son,
it would never have led to this place, but I cannot help feeling a kind
of pride in it now that he is here.’
“The routine of life at the White House which came under my observation,
did not vary materially from week to week. The social habits of both Mr.
and Mrs. Fillmore were simple and in accordance with those of well-bred
people everywhere. Without ostentation or arrogance, they maintained the
honor of the high position they were called to occupy, with quiet
dignity and ease.
“I was not in Washington the winter Mrs. Fillmore died, and therefore
know nothing, except from others, of her illness and death, but I know
that she died lamented by all who knew her well, and leaving behind her
many pleasant memories.
“Her death was a terrible blow to her family, and to none more than to
her daughter, a young lady whose beautiful life and sad death, following
so soon upon her return to her own home, made such an indelible
impression upon her friends, and for whom all her native city so justly
mourned.
“The reverence her son had for her memory proves her to have been a
devoted mother, and how tenderly Mr. Fillmore cherished that memory is
shown in the sacredness with which he treasures every memento of her. I
have heard him say that he has carefully preserved every line she ever
wrote him, and that he could never destroy even the little notes she
sent him on business to his office.
“Such affectionate regards from the living speak volumes for the dead.”
Lines on the death of Mrs. Millard Fillmore, by Miss Matilda Stuart, on
the occasion of her burial at Forest Lawn, April 2d, 1853.
Give room, give room, a friend is here,
She comes to tarry with us now—
And though no greeting on her lips,
No light of gladness on her brow,
Yet this is home—that hallowed place
Where she had fondly longed to rest.
Here were her earlier, fresher joys,
Here was the hearth-stone love had blest.
Though she had moved ‘mid stranger scenes,
To share the honor and the strife
Of him whose life was dearer far
Than friend or kindred, home or life—
Though she had tasted pleasure’s cup,
While it was sparkling to the fill,
And seen what few may ever see,
Hope’s brightest dreams grow brighter still;
Yet there were places in her heart
Where love could rest and friendship live.
There was a light within her soul
Which earth could neither take nor give,
And there were accents for her ear,
More winning than the notes of fame,
Where household voices softly breathed
The sweetness of a mother’s name.
And when she heard the other voice
That comes but once, yet comes to all,
Alike to him who longs to go,
And him who dreads to hear the call;
She looked toward her brighter home,
And left life’s garments frail and worn,
As calmly as she laid aside
The robes of honor she had borne.
Now she has come to sleep in peace
Within our grand old forest shades,
And fresher than the spring-time leaves
Are those sweet memories that have come
To steal the bitter tear away,
And bid us look, as she had done,
Beyond the pomp of Time’s brief day.
Around her loved and honored grave
The severed “household band” may come,
And seem to hear those blessed tones
That made the music of their home.
The faded form, the silent shroud,
These, these were all they gave the tomb;
She watches o’er them, while she wears
The freshness of immortal bloom.
NOTE.—President Fillmore died at his residence in Buffalo, March 8th,
1874.
XVIII.
MARY ABIGAIL FILLMORE.
The only daughter of President Fillmore was, during her father’s
administration, in consequence of her mother’s ill-health, the Lady of
the White House, and as such deserves more mention than the limits of
this sketch will allow. She was remarkable for her mental and intensely
affectional nature, and discovered during her brief life only those
traits which served to render her a source of interest and admiration.
As a child, she was precocious; latterly in life, her physical health
was so entirely good that it overcame every tendency to brain
ascendency.
She was well fitted, by education and a long residence in Washington, to
adorn the high station she was destined to fill, and acquitted herself
there, as in every other position, with great dignity and
self-possession.
Her talents were varied, nor was she a dull scholar at anything she
attempted. With the French, German, and Spanish languages, she was
thoroughly conversant; so thorough, indeed, was her mastery of the
former that a French professor declared her accent equal to that of his
own countrymen.
Her taste for sculpture was fostered by association with a loved
schoolmate, the since renowned Harriet Hosmer.
Had her life been spared, she would have become famous through the
exercise of some one of the many talents given her, but in less than a
year after her mothers death she, too, passed away. Her father and
brother were left alone for a few days, that she might go and see her
aged grandparents. From this journey she did not return. A message in
the night-time roused her parent from his slumber to hasten to her, and
though no time was lost, it was too late. She was nearing the golden
gates of the spirit-land, when those two of a once happy band reached
her bedside.
So full of life and health had she been but a few short days before, and
so entirely unconscious of any illness of body, that she anticipated a
visit of great pleasure; after her death, a memorandum of house-work to
be performed while she was absent, was found in her basket, she
expecting to be gone but a few days.
The obituary notices are so complete that I am constrained to quote them
in lieu of my own imperfect material, believing they discover a more
thorough acquaintance with the subject than I can gather through other
sources.
“The character of Miss Mary Abigail Fillmore, daughter of ex-President
Fillmore, whose sudden death was announced yesterday, deserves a more
extended notice. Though young—being but twenty-two years of age on the
27th day of March last—she was widely known.
“Being a native of the city of Buffalo, most of her life had been spent
here, where she had a numerous circle of sincere and devoted friends.
From her early childhood she evinced great talent and industry, combined
with judgment and discretion, and softened by a cheerful and
affectionate disposition, which made her with all a safe and welcome
companion.
“As an only and much beloved daughter, her parents were resolved to give
her an excellent, practical education. As they were unwilling to spare
her from the little family circle, she received much of her primary
education at our excellent public schools, and the higher branches, with
the modern languages, music, drawing, and painting, were taught her by
private tutors. That she might learn, away from home, something of the
world without imbibing its vices, and be taught self-reliance under
judicious restraints, she was sent for a single year to the celebrated
select family school of Mrs. Sedgwick, in Lenox, Massachusetts. She left
that school, feeling the necessity of an education not merely of grace
and ornament, but which should, in case of a reverse of fortune, place
her beyond that degrading and painful feeling of dependence which so
often renders the life of a female in this country one of wretchedness
and misery. She therefore expressed a desire to attend the State Normal
School and qualify herself to be a teacher. This she could not do
without assuming an obligation to teach. To this requirement she readily
submitted and entered the school.
“Graduating at the end of six months with the highest honors, she was
then employed as a teacher in the higher department of one of the public
schools of Buffalo for three months, where she exhibited an aptitude and
capacity for teaching that gave entire satisfaction. But the death of
General Taylor and the consequent elevation of her father to the
Presidency, compelled his family to relinquish their residence here and
remove to Washington. This introduced her into a new sphere of action,
but she moved in it with the same apparent ease and grace that she would
have done had she been bred in the midst of the society of the Federal
city. At the close of her father’s official term, she was destined to
suffer a heart-rending bereavement in the death of her excellent and
devoted mother. She returned with her father and brother to their
desolate home in this city, and by her entire devotion to the duties
thus suddenly devolved upon her, she relieved her father from all
household cares, and exhibited those high domestic and social qualities
which gave a grace and charm, as well as system and regularity, to the
home over which she presided. She again called around her the friends of
her childhood and early youth, for no change of fortune had in the least
impaired her early attachments—attachments which she continued to
cherish with unabated ardor and devotion. The home of her bereaved
father had once more become cheerful and happy, for her whole mind and
heart were given to promote his happiness and that of her only brother,
and they repaid her devotion with the kindest and most grateful
affection.
“She had some weeks since promised a visit to her grandfather, at
Aurora, about seventeen miles from this city. She went from here in the
afternoon of Tuesday last in good spirits and apparent good health, and
she reached Aurora in the evening. She appeared well and cheerful on her
arrival, and after conversing with her grandparents she retired to rest
about nine o’clock.
“She was soon after attacked with what proved to be the cholera; but
unwilling to disturb the family, she called no one until after 12, when
a physician was immediately sent for, but alas! too late. A messenger
was dispatched for her father and brother, but they only arrived to see
her breathe her last, unconscious of their presence. She died about 11
o’clock on Wednesday morning. The effects of this crushing shock upon
her fond and devoted father and her affectionate brother may perhaps be
imagined, but cannot be described.
“Her remains were immediately removed to Buffalo and interred yesterday
in the Forest Lawn Cemetery by the side of her mother. She was followed
to her last resting-place by a numerous concourse of sorrowing friends.
“In the absence of the Rev. Dr. Hosmer, her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Shelton
officiated in the funeral services.”
THE LATE MISS FILLMORE.
_From the Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, of July 28th, 1854._
“We yesterday announced in the usual terms the death of Mary A.
Fillmore. The sad event seems to demand some expression of our esteem
for her character, and of our grief at the heavy loss. We would not,
indeed, obtrude our consolations upon those hearts, broken by so sudden
a calamity, whose sorrows human sympathy can only pity in reverent
silence, nor do we expect either to soothe or express the feelings of
that intimate circle of friends which her many attractions had drawn
around her. But the contemplation of her virtues is a relief to
friendship, and we shall perform a most useful duty, if, by a slight
sketch of her character, sincerely and simply drawn, others shall be
inspired to the pursuit of similar excellence. Miss Fillmore’s character
was written upon her face. It was not beautiful, yet it was so full of
vivacity of intellect, of cordiality, and of goodness, that it attracted
more than any beauty, and as it rises before us now its expression only
suggests the simple thought,
“‘How good, how kind! And she is gone.’
In that character were mingled, in just proportion, almost masculine
judgment and the most feminine tenderness. Its leading feature was
excellent common sense, united with great vivacity of temperament,
genuine sensibility, and real intellectual force. With a keen sense of
the ridiculous, overflowing with wit and humor, all her views of life
were nevertheless grave and serious, and she saw clearly beneath its
forms and shows in what consists its real happiness, and devoted herself
to the performance of its duties, with all the energies of a powerful
will, and the fidelity of the strictest conscientiousness. This fidelity
to her own sense of duty had led her most carefully to cultivate all of
her talents; and it is no exaggeration to say that she was among the
most accomplished young women we have ever seen among us.
“She was, for her years, uncommonly familiar with English literature;
spoke the French language with ease and elegance, was well versed in
Italian, and had lately made great progress in her German studies. She
had much taste in drawing, but had mostly abandoned that accomplishment
for music; because, as she said, the latter gave greater pleasure to her
friends, and she was a skilful performer both upon the piano and the
harp. Shortly before her death, she had begun to pay some attention to
sculpture, and had got her materials together for self-instruction in
this highest branch of art. It affords an instructive lesson upon the
use of time to know, that she had perfected herself in all these studies
and accomplishments since her father’s accession to the Presidency, and
in the leisure moments of a life almost devoted to society. In
Washington, the etiquette of the place and her mother’s feeble health
combined to devolve upon her, almost unaided, the entire performance of
the social duties incident to her father’s station. She was but a young
girl fresh from school; but all admired the self-possession, the tact,
and the kindness with which she filled the position allotted to her; and
how, young and retired as she was, society in her presence became
something more genuine and hearty, as if ashamed of its false mockeries
in the light of her sagacious mind and honest heart.
“She was eminently social, and latterly her conversational powers were
of the first order. She had read much; her advantages had been great,
and she had reaped their entire fruit. She was a keen but kind observer
of character, had been familiar with men and women of very various ranks
and descriptions, and she would paint to the life the very interesting
events which she had witnessed, and the character of the many
distinguished persons with whom her fortune had made her acquainted.
Full of information and of spirits, more anxious always to listen than
to talk, yet never at a loss, even with the dullest, for something
pleasant and entertaining to say, with a countenance beaming with
honesty and intellect, and with a sweet cordiality of manners which
invited at once confidence, affection, and respect. No wonder that
wherever she went she became the centre of a circle of friends who loved
her most tenderly, and at the same time looked up to her as one of a
stronger mind and heart, as a guide and confidante.
“She was a genuine tender-hearted woman. Observant of all the forms of
elegant life, yet with the most utter contempt for its mere fashions;
kind and attentive to all, yet without one point of sympathy with merely
worldly people, she loved her friends with all the affection of a strong
and ardent nature. She never saw or read of a kind or noble deed that
her eyes did not fill with tears.
“She clung to her old friends without regard to their position in life,
and her time and talents seemed devoted to their happiness; she was
thinking constantly of some little surprise, some gift, some journey,
some pleasure, by which she could contribute to the enjoyment of others.
‘Blessing she was, God made her so;’ and with her death, with many of
her friends is dried up forever the richest fountain of their happiness.
“She was reserved in the expression of her religious views. As is
natural with youthful and independent minds, she had little comparative
respect for creeds and forms, perhaps less than she would have
manifested in maturer years, but her intimate friends knew that she was
always governed by a sense of religious duty, that her relations to her
Creator and her Saviour were the subject of her constant thought, and
that she trusted for her future happiness to the kind mercies of a
benevolent Father, to the conscientious improvement of all her talents,
to a life devoted to deeds of kindness, and to a heart as pure and
unspotted as a child’s. At home—ah! that house, all ‘emptied of
delight,’ over which she presided with so much dignity and kindness,
that forsaken parlor where all the happiness that social life can give
was wont to be so freely and hospitably enjoyed; the weeping
servants—those bleeding and broken hearts—let these tell what she was at
home!
“But she is gone! and young though she was, she has accomplished much.
She has done much to lay the foundation in our midst of a mode of social
life more kind, genuine, and cultivated than most of what is called
society; and she has left behind her the example of her life, which,
though most private and retired, will always be a blessing to her
friends, and through them, we trust, to a wider circle for many coming
years.
“Farewell!
“Forgive our tears for one removed,
Thy creature whom we found so fair,
We trust she lives in Thee, and there
We find her worthier to be loved.”
XIX.
JANE APPLETON PIERCE.
There are two classes of ladies of whom the biographer is compelled to
write, and both are alike interesting. One includes those whose lives
have been passed in the sunshine of prosperity and allurements of
fashionable society, who have been widely known, and who have mingled
with the leading characters of this country. The lives of such women
include innumerable incidents of public and private interest, and are,
in fact, necessary to a perfect history of their time. They are a part
of the great world about them, and it as easy to gather the facts of
their careers, as of the great men with whom they have been associated
nearly or remotely.
The other class is composed of those of whom the world knows little;
whose perfect seclusion even in a public position has given but little
evidence of their abilities, and the world, with its eager curiosity,
has been but imperfectly apprised of their merits. Such natures,
howsoever cultivated and developed, receive but a small portion of that
admiration awarded to the first-mentioned class. Their lives are known
only to the inmates of their homes, and though cherished there as a
beautiful harmony, and their memory as a holy, sealed book, the inquirer
after facts and incidents is dismayed by the small amount of material to
be gathered from such an existence. Such an one was Jane Means Appleton
Pierce, who was born at Hampton, New Hampshire, March 12th, 1806. She
was but one year of age when her father, Rev. Jesse Appleton, D. D.,
assumed the presidency of Bowdoin College. Reared in an atmosphere of
cultivation and refined Christian influences, the delicate child grew in
years, unfolding rare mental qualifications, but fragile and drooping in
health, developing year by year the most exquisite nervous organization.
Naturally inclined to pensive melancholy—the result, partly, of her
physical condition, she was from her childhood the victim of intense
sensibilities and suffering, and was during her life the unfortunate
possessor of an organism whose every vibration was wonderfully acute and
sensitive. The world of suffering locked up in the hearts of such
persons it is impossible to estimate; but happier by far is the day of
their deaths than the years of their lives. Blended with a naturally
strong mind, Miss Appleton possessed a quick appreciation of the
beautiful, which in the later years of her life was of priceless value
to her own heart. Thrown by her marriage into the political arena, and
much in the society of public men of note, she yet soared to a higher
theme, and, when not incompatible with politeness, discovered to her
company the natural elevation of her nature. Politics, a theme most
generally uninteresting to woman, was peculiarly so to her, and it was
in her presence impossible to sustain a conversation on the subject. In
1834, at the age of twenty-eight, she was married to Hon. Franklin
Pierce, then of Hillsborough, and a member of the lower house of
Congress. The match was a pleasing union of kindred natures, and was a
source of deep and lasting happiness. The wealth and tenderness of Mr.
Pierce’s nature, appreciated to its fullest extent by her, had its
reflex in the urbanity and courteousness with which his conduct was ever
characterized toward others. He is spoken of in a recent publication as
the most popular man, personally, in the District of Columbia, who ever
occupied the position he filled.
To a person organized as was Mrs. Pierce, public observation was
extremely painful, and she shrank from it always, preferring the quiet
of her New England home to the glare and glitter of fashionable life in
Washington. A friend has said of her: “How well she filled her station
as wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend, those only can tell who
knew her in these private relations. In this quiet sphere she found her
joy, and here her gentle but powerful influence was deeply and
constantly felt, through wise counsels and delicate suggestions, the
purest, finest tastes and a devoted life.”
“She was not only ministered to, but ever ministering,” and there is so
much of the spiritual in her life that from Bulwer we gather a refrain
most applicable to her. “The cast of her beauty was so dream-like and
yet so ranging; her temper was so little mingled with the common
characteristics of women; it had so little of caprice, so little of
vanity, so utter an absence of all jealousy and all anger; it was so
made up of tenderness and devotion, and yet so imaginative and
fairy-like in its fondness, that it was difficult to bear only the
sentiments of earth for one who had so little of earth’s clay.”
In 1838, Mr. Pierce removed from Hillsborough to Concord, where he
afterward continued to reside. Four years later, he resigned his seat in
the Senate to practise law, and thereby make provisions for the future.
A bereavement, the second of its kind, occurred two years later in the
loss of his second son, Frank Robert.
When President Polk tendered Mr. Pierce the position of
Attorney-General, it was the illness of his wife which drew from him his
reply declining it. He says:
“Although the early years of my manhood were devoted to public life, it
was never really suited to my taste. I longed, as I am sure you must
often have done, for the quiet and independence that belong only to the
private citizen, and now, at forty, I feel that desire stronger than
ever.
“Coming so unexpectedly as this offer does, it would be difficult, if
not impossible, to arrange the business of an extensive practice,
between this and the first of November, in a manner at all satisfactory
to myself, or to those who have committed their interests to my care,
and who rely on my services. Besides, you know that Mrs. Pierce’s
health, while at Washington, was very delicate. It is, I fear, even more
so now; and the responsibilities which the proposed change would
necessarily impose upon her, ought, probably, in themselves to
constitute an insurmountable objection to leaving our quiet home for a
public station at Washington.”
Mrs. Pierce was not called upon to leave her pleasant home, and for
another year she passed her time in tranquil happiness, little dreaming
that her country would so soon demand the sacrifice of him who thought
not of public honors when she was concerned.
The declaration of war with Mexico found him ready and willing to serve
the best interests of his State and Government, by enlisting as a
private soldier in a company raised in Concord. He was subsequently
appointed Colonel, and finally Brigadier-General, which position he
filled with honor and distinction. He sailed from Newport, the 27th of
May, 1847, and remained in Mexico nine months, during which time Mrs.
Pierce and her son continued at their home in Concord. Her health during
his absence was not more frail than usual, but anxiety and suspense,
watching yet fearing to hear of the absent one, kept her from regaining
or improving her impaired constitution, and of renewing the slender
chord by which her life was held.
The mother of three children, none survived her, and the death of the
last, under circumstances so peculiar, shattered the small remnant of
remaining health, and left her mother’s heart forever desolate. On the
5th of January, previous to the inauguration of Mr. Pierce as President,
an accident occurred on the Boston & Maine Railroad, which resulted in a
great calamity; among the passengers were the President-elect, his wife,
and only son, a bright boy of thirteen years. The family were on their
return to Concord from Boston, and it was between Andover and Lawrence
that the axle of one of the passenger-cars broke, and the cars were
precipitated down a steep embankment. Mr. Pierce, sitting beside his
wife, felt the unsteady movements of the train and instantly divined the
cause. Across the seat from them sat their son, who but a moment ago was
amusing them with his conversation. A crash, a bounding motion as the
cars were thrown over and over down the hill, and men began to recover
from their fright and assist in aiding those injured in the fearful
accident. Mr. Pierce, though much bruised, succeeded in extricating his
wife from the ruins, and bearing her to a place of safety, returned to
hunt his boy.
He was soon found; his young head crushed and confined under a beam, his
little body still in death. Even now it is a subject too painful to
dwell upon. What must have been the feelings of those grief-stricken
parents, in a moment bereft of their all!
The remains were conveyed to Andover until arrangements could be made
for their removal to Concord.
Under such a bereavement, in feeble health and exhausted vitality, came
Mrs. Pierce to the White House.
Through the season, before her great trial was sent upon her, she had
been nerving herself for the undesired duties and responsibilities of
her public station at Washington; and with the burden of that crushing
sorrow she went forward, with the noblest self-sacrifice, to do what was
to be done, as well as to bear what was to be borne. That she performed
her task nobly and sustained the dignity of her husband, the following
letter will prove.
From Mr. J. H. Hoover, who, during President Pierce’s administration,
was Marshal of the District of Columbia, the following facts were
received:
“MY DEAR MADAM: I learn that Prof. Aiken’s notice of Mrs. Pierce, that
appeared in the _Observer_, has been sent to you, and I presume it does
not contain information on all the points you desired to reach
particularly. Hence this note. The idea has somehow gone out that Mrs.
Pierce did not participate in the receptions and entertainments at the
White House. Mr. Gobright, in his book recently published,
‘Recollections of Men and Things at Washington,’ makes the statement
that Mrs. Pierce did not, until the close of the administration of
President Pierce, appear at the receptions. This is an inexcusable
blunder, for Mr. Gobright was here on the spot, and should have known
better. The fact is, Mrs. Pierce seldom omitted attendance upon the
public receptions of the President. She was punctually present also at
her own Friday receptions, although at times suffering greatly. Often in
the evening of the President’s levee, she would allow herself to be
conducted into the Blue Room, and there remain all the evening
receiving, with that quiet ease and dignity that characterized her
always: a duty which few ladies, indeed, would have had the courage to
perform in her then delicate state of health. She presided, too, with
the President at the State dinners, as well as those of a more social
character, and certainly never before or since, was more hospitality
dispensed by any occupant of the White House. The most agreeable
memories of Mrs. Pierce at the Presidential Mansion, and such only, are
retained and cherished in this city. The days of that period when a
quiet and dignified but hearty hospitality signalized the Executive
Mansion, and the protection of the Constitution, which diffused a sense
of all-pervading security, were indeed the bright days of the Republic.
This is the view of our own people, and who are better judges than they
who have seen so many Administrations here?
“Every one knew and respected the enfeebled condition of Mrs. Pierce’s
health, and felt that the sad event which happened only a short time
before she came to Washington, on that fatal railroad train, might have
shattered a much hardier constitution than was hers, and at least have
unfitted her, physically as well as mentally, to discharge the duties of
the Lady of the White House. Yet she suppressed her inward grief before
the public eye, and overcame her debility in deference to what she
believed to be her duty toward her distinguished husband’s exalted
position. Those who knew Mrs. Pierce well at this time eulogized her
heroism.
“No lady of the White House left more warm friends in Washington among
our best people, and she had not a single enemy. What I have written
above, you are at liberty, madam, to use (if you deem it worthy) in your
forthcoming work. It has the merit at least of being the testimony of
‘one who knows.’ I give it in order that the grievously wrong statements
in Mr. Gobright’s work, concerning Mrs. Pierce, may be corrected, and
the error exposed before it passes into history.”
Another friend says of her: “It is no disparagement to others who have
occupied her station at the White House, to claim for her an unsurpassed
dignity and grace, delicacy and purity, in all that pertains to public
life. There was a home, a Christian home, quietly and constantly
maintained, and very many hearts rejoiced in its blessings.”
Mrs. Pierce was always extremely delicate, and was reduced to a mere
shadow after the loss of her son. I have heard a gentleman say, who was
a member of Mr. Pierce’s family at the time, that “it was with the
utmost difficulty she could endure the fatigue of standing during a
reception, or sitting the tedious hours of a dinner party,” and her
courage must have been all-powerful to have sustained her under the most
uncongenial of all things to an invalid—the presence of comparative, and
in many cases entire, strangers. Her pious scruples regarding the
keeping of the Sabbath were a marked attribute of her life. Each Sunday
morning of her four years’ stay in the White House, she would request,
in her gentle, conciliatory way, all the attachés of the Mansion to go
to church, and on their return, would make pleasant inquiries of what
they had heard, etc. “Many a time,” remarked Mr. Webster, the Private
Secretary, “have I gone from respect to her, when, if left to my own
choice, I should have remained in the house.” In her unobtrusive way,
ever thoughtful of the happiness of those about her, she diverted their
minds to the elevated and spiritual, and sought, in her own life, to be
a guide for the young with whom she was thrown. How rare are these
exquisite organizations, and how little do we know of them, even though
they have lived in our midst, and formed a part of us! A while they
linger here to learn the way to brighter spheres, and when they vanish,
naught is left but a memory fragrant with the rich perfume of a
beautiful, unselfish life.
In the autumn of 1857, Mrs. Pierce, accompanied by her husband, left the
United States, on the steamer “Powhatan,” for the island of Madeira, and
passed six months in that delightful place. The following eighteen
months were spent in Portugal, Spain, France, Switzerland, Italy,
Germany, and England. Of her appreciation of this lengthy sojourn in the
most historic and renowned countries of the old world, we have no
evidence save in the supposition, how one of her fine nervous nature
must have enjoyed the bygone splendors of Spain, the ever-ranging
panorama of luxurious Paris, and the snow-capped mountains of Italy and
Switzerland, of the Alps, of Mont Blanc, and the tamer scenery of German
towns and cities! Would that it were possible to present even one of her
letters to the American public who have ever evinced their regard and
admiration for Mrs. Pierce, through the sympathy extended to her now
desolate husband. But that repugnance to publicity, so characteristic in
life, is respected now by the few of her family who have survived her,
and the painful recollections of what she suffered are as yet too fresh
in the minds of her friends to desire them to be recalled.
From ex-President Pierce, who very kindly replied to my many inquiries,
the following letter was received just previous to his death, which
occurred on the 8th of October, 1869:
“If your attention has been called to the obituary notice of Mrs.
Pierce, published in the _Boston Recorder_, of January 8th, 1864, and
reproduced in the _New York Observer_ within two or three weeks of that
date, you may have been impressed with the sentences, ‘She shrank with
extreme sensitiveness from public observation.’ I cannot help being
influenced by that very controlling trait of her character, and this, I
am sure, is true of all her relatives. Hence, and indeed, in consulting
our own tastes, we were thoroughly satisfied with the sketch from the
hand of one who knew her intimately, from his early manhood, and loved
her well.
“Mrs. Pierce’s life, as far as she could make it so, was one of
retirement. She very rarely participated in gay amusements, and never
enjoyed what is sometimes called fashionable society. Her natural
endowments were of a high order, recognized by all persons with whom she
was, to any considerable extent, associated. She inherited a judgment
singularly clear and correct, and a taste almost unerring. She was
carefully and thoroughly educated, and moved all her life, prior to her
marriage, very quietly in a circle of relatives and intimate friends of
rare culture and refinement.”
* * * * *
On the 2d of December, 1863, at Andover, Massachusetts, she died. Many
of her kindred and all her children had gone before her, and she was
ready to join them. But she was patient, and had “learned to wait, with
growing confidence and love, for the revealing of her Heavenly Father’s
will.” Among her last words was the familiar line,
“Other refuge have I none,”
repeated with all the emphasis of which she was then capable. Now she
has reached that refuge.
On the 5th of December, she was buried by the side of her children in
the cemetery at Concord, New Hampshire.
Those who knew her will be glad, glad just in proportion to the intimacy
of their acquaintance with her, to be reminded of the qualities in which
they found so much delight. To others who have only known of her, and
that mainly in connection with her sorrows, it will be just to present
very briefly other aspects of her life. Her fine natural endowments were
developed by a careful and generous culture, not merely under the forms
of education, but through the agency of all the examples and influences
of her early home and the circle of related families. No one knew better
how to make tributary all the experience of life. All her instincts and
choices drew her toward, and attracted toward her, whatever was refining
and elevating. Her tastes were of exceeding delicacy and purity. Her eye
appreciated, in a remarkable degree, whatever was beautiful in nature
and art. During the last years of her invalid life, she found not merely
physical relief, but the deepest gratification in foreign travel, and in
residence near our own New England mountains and sea-shore. This contact
with nature’s freshness and variety and beauty, often renewed her
strength when the ministries of human affection and skill were alike
powerless.
The following touching tribute was written by a friend whose affection
for Mrs. Pierce knows no change. He sent it carefully wrapped in many
covers to protect it. Oft used and much worn as it is, he prizes the
paper, from the associations clustered with its appearance, and the
circumstances under which it was written. Its beauty is its truth and
simplicity.
“The distinctions of earth fade away in the presence of death; but the
memory of departed excellence comes forth fresh and perennial from the
very portals of the grave.
“To-day this paper records the lamented decease of one who has filled
the highest station in the land with dignity and propriety unsurpassed,
and who has adorned private life with every estimable quality which
could become a true Christian gentlewoman.
“The many who have esteemed and respected her throughout life will
deeply deplore her loss, and will sincerely sympathize with him who has
been thus called to submit to one of the severest of human afflictions.
“His beloved companion has passed through great sufferings, bearing
always with him the memory of a great grief; and she has doubtless gone
to that rest which we know ‘remaineth for the people of God.’”
XX.
HARRIET LANE.
The name of Harriet Lane is so nearly associated with the latest and
most illustrious years of her uncle, James Buchanan, that it is quite
impossible to write a life of the one in which the other shall not fill
some space. Of all his kindred she was the closest to him. Given to his
care when she was scarcely past infancy, she took the place of a child
in his lonely heart, and when she reached womanhood she repaid his
affection by ministering with rare tact and grace, abroad and at home,
in public life and in private, over a household which would otherwise
have been the cheerless abode of an old bachelor. The sketch of her
history which we propose to give will, therefore, necessarily involve
many recollections of the great ex-President, with whom her name is
inseparably associated.
Harriet Lane is of Pennsylvania blood, of English ancestry on the side
of her father, and Scotch-Irish on that of her mother. Her grandfather,
James Buchanan, emigrated to America from the north of Ireland, in the
year 1783, and settled near Mercersburg, in Franklin county,
Pennsylvania. In the year 1788, he married Elizabeth Speer, the daughter
of a substantial farmer, a woman of strong intellect and deep piety. The
eldest child of this marriage was James, the late ex-President. He spoke
uniformly with the deepest reverence of both his father and mother, and
took delight in ascribing to the teaching’s of that good woman all the
success that he had won in this world.
[Illustration: Engraved by J. C. Buttre. Harriet Lane Johnston]
Jane Buchanan, the next child after James, his playmate in youth, his
favorite sister through life, known as the most sprightly and agreeable
member of a family all gifted, was married, in the year 1813, to Elliot
T. Lane, a merchant largely engaged in the lucrative trade at that time
carried on between the East and the West, by the great highway that
passed through Franklin county. In this trade James Buchanan the elder
had accumulated his fortune, and on the marriage of his daughter with
Mr. Lane much of his business passed into the hands of the latter.
Mr. Lane was descended from an old and aristocratic English family, who
had settled in Virginia during the Revolution, and he was connected with
some of the best names of this land. His business talents were well
known and trusted, and all who enjoyed his acquaintance testify to the
uncommon amiability of his disposition.
Harriet, the youngest child of Elliot T. Lane and Jane Buchanan, spent
the first years of her life in the picturesque village of Mercersburg,
in the midst of a society distinguished for its intelligence and
refinement. She inherited the vivacity of her mother, was a mischievous
child, overflowing with health and good humor. Her Uncle James, then in
the prime of life, and already an illustrious man, paid frequent visits
to his birth-place, and the impression which his august presence and
charming talk made upon little Harriet was deep and lasting. She
conceived an affection and reverence for him which knew no abatement
till the hour of his death.
Her mother died when she was but seven years old, and her father
survived but two years longer. She was left well provided with money,
and with a large family connection, but at his solicitation she accepted
as a home the house of her Uncle James, and sought his guardianship in
preference to that of any of her other relatives.
Although Mr. Buchanan was not particularly fond of children, he was
attracted toward this frank and handsome child from her earliest
infancy. Her exuberant spirits, love of mischief, and wild pranks called
forth from him daily lectures and severe rebukes, but his acquaintances
all knew that he was well pleased to have been singled out by the noble
and affectionate girl as her guide, philosopher, and friend. No doubt
that even at that early age he recognized in her a kindred spirit, and
his good angel whispered to him that the boisterous child who sometimes
disturbed his studies and mimicked his best friends, would one day be to
him a fit adviser in difficulty, a sympathetic companion in sorrow, the
light and ornament of his public life, and the comfort, at last, of his
lonely hearth.
Mr. Buchanan was reticent in speaking the praises, however well
deserved, of his near relatives, but he has been known, especially of
late years, to dwell with a delight he could not conceal upon the
admirable qualities displayed by Miss Lane in childhood. Said he: “She
never told a lie. She had a soul above deceit or fraud. She was too
proud for it.”
During the earliest years of Miss Lane’s residence with her uncle, in
Lancaster, she attended a day-school there, and though she evinced much
more than the usual aptitude for study, she was chiefly distinguished as
a fun-loving, trick-playing romp, and a wilful domestic outlaw.
There was one anecdote her uncle liked to tell of her, as an evidence of
her independent spirit and her kind heart. When she was about eleven
years old, she was well grown and, indeed, mature looking for her age.
Unlike most young ladies at that ambitious period of life, she was
entirely unconscious of her budding charms, never dreaming that men must
pause to wonder at and admire her, and that her actions were no longer
unimportant as those of a child. One day Mr. Buchanan was shocked upon
beholding from his window Miss Harriet, with flushed cheek and hat awry
trundling along, in great haste, a wheelbarrow full of wood. Upon his
rushing out to inquire into the cause of such an unseemly and
undignified proceeding, she answered in some confusion, that she was
just on her way to old black Aunt Tabitha, with a load of wood, because
it was so cold.
In administering the reproof that followed, Mr. Buchanan took good care
that she should not see the amused and gratified smile with which he
turned away from the generous culprit.
About this time, her uncle executed a threat which he had long held
suspended over Harriet. This was to place her under the tender care of a
couple of elderly maidens of the place—ladies famous for their strict
sense of propriety and their mean domestic economy—just such rule as our
high-spirited young lady would chafe under. She had never believed her
uncle to be in earnest about the matter, and her horror at finding
herself duly installed in this pious household, under the surveillance
of these old damsels, must have been comical enough to Mr. Buchanan, who
was never blind to the funny side of anything. He was in the Senate at
the time, and she was in the habit of pouring out her soul to him in
childish letters that complained of early hours, brown sugar in tea,
restrictions in dress, stiff necks, and cold hearts. The winter passed
slowly away, only solaced by the regular arrival of fatherly letters
from her uncle, or by an occasional frolic out of doors—to say nothing
of pocketsful of crackers and rock-candy, with which the appetite of the
young woman was appeased, her simple fare being, if not scanty, unsuited
to the tastes of one who had sat at Mr. Buchanan’s table.
The next autumn, when she was twelve years old, she was sent with her
sister, a lovely girl but a few years Harriet’s senior, to a school in
Charlestown, Va. Here they remained three years. Harriet was not a
student, but she knew her lessons because it was no trouble for her to
learn them. She was excessively fond of music, and made great progress
in it. Her vacations were spent with Mr. Buchanan; but the great event
of those three years was a visit with him to Bedford Springs. It was a
glorious time, which even now the woman of the world looks back upon
with her own bright smile of pleasure.
She was next sent to the convent at Georgetown—a school justly
celebrated for the elegant women who have been educated there. Miss Lane
went over to Washington every month, and spent Saturday and Sunday with
her uncle, then Secretary of State. These visits were, of course,
delightful. Without seeing any gay society, she always met at Mr.
Buchanan’s house such men as few young girls could appreciate, and
listened to such conversation as would improve the taste of any one.
Miss Lane at once became a great favorite with the sisters, who
constantly expressed the highest opinion of her talents and her
principles.
Before Mr. Buchanan had decided to send her to the convent, he had
asked, “Do you think you would become a Roman Catholic?” She was anxious
to go, but she answered, “I can’t promise; I don’t know enough about
their faith.” “Well,” said he, “if you are a good Catholic, I will be
satisfied.”
She did not change her religious opinions, but her intercourse with the
good sisters has always made her respect the old church, and has taught
her sympathy and charity for all God’s people.
Here she became very proficient in music, an accomplishment which,
unfortunately for her friends, she has much neglected, owing to her
constant engagements in social life and her disinclination for display
in her public position. The nuns were anxious to have her learn to play
upon the harp, not only on account of her musical taste, but because of
her graceful person and exquisite hand. For some reason, however, she
never took lessons upon that beautiful instrument, so well calculated to
display the charms of a graceful woman.
Her uncle once asked in a letter what were her favorite studies. She
answered, “History, astronomy, and especially mythology.” Mr. Buchanan
did not forget this avowed preference, and in after years gratified his
natural disposition to quiz those of whom he was fond, by appealing to
his niece as authority on mythological questions, in the presence of
company before whom she would have preferred to be silent.
Miss Lane was exceedingly quick and bright. She never applied her whole
mind to study except the last of the two years she spent at Georgetown.
The result of that effort was that she won golden opinions and graduated
with great honor. She left the school, loved and regretted by the
sisters, with some of whom she has been on terms of close friendship
ever since. They always speak of her with pride, and have followed her
career with an interest they seldom evince in anything outside their
sphere of seclusion and quiet.
At this time, Miss Lane’s proportions were of the most perfect
womanliness. Tall enough to be commanding, yet not high enough to
attract observation—light enough to be graceful, but so full as to
indicate the perfect health with which she was blest. Indeed, this
appearance of health was the first impression produced by Miss Lane upon
the beholder. It made one feel stronger only to watch her firm, quick
step and round, elastic form. Her clear, ringing voice spoke of life.
The truthful, steady light of her eyes inspired one with confidence in
humanity, and the color that came and went in her cheek, set one’s own
blood to a more youthful, joyous bound.
Miss Lane was a blonde, her head and features were cast in noble mould,
and her form, when at rest, was replete with dignified majesty, and, in
motion, was instinct alike with power and grace. Hers was a bright, good
face upon which none looked with indifference. Those deep violet eyes,
with the strange dark line around them, could glance cold, stern rebuke
upon the evil-doer, and they could kindle, too, and pour young scorn
upon what was small and mean. Yet of all her features, her mouth was the
most peculiarly beautiful. Although in repose it was indicative of
firmness, it was capable of expressing infinite humor and perfect
sweetness. Her golden hair was arranged with simplicity, and in her
dress she always avoided superfluous ornament. In toilet, speech, and
manner she was a lady.
Miss Lane was fond of games, and invariably excelled at all she ever
attempted. Her uncle secretly prided himself upon her prowess, and, in
her absence, frequently spoke of this success of hers: but he liked to
laugh at her for being able to “distance everybody else in athletic
sports.” He used to tell about her daring some young man to run a race
with her, and then leaving him far behind and out of breath. Yet it was
known he had, upon this occasion, rebuked her for want of that dignity
which, in his heart, he gladly owned she did not lack.
At Wheatland, Miss Lane saw much company from a distance, her uncle
constantly entertaining his foreign and political friends. Their
conversation and her historic reading, directed by Mr. Buchanan, made
her a most congenial companion for him.
She was a good reader, her voice sweet and pure, and her enunciation
clear and distinct. She was in the habit of reading aloud the
newspapers, and afterward discussing with him the news and the political
and literary subjects of the day. She took great interest in the
grounds, and it was her taste that suggested many of the improvements
made at Wheatland.
The quiet of her life here was interrupted by gay visits to
Philadelphia, New York, Pittsburgh, Washington, and Virginia. Wherever
she went, she left hosts of friends, and never came home without
bringing with her scores of masculine hearts. Indeed, their former
owners often followed them and the young lady, in hopes of obtaining her
hand in exchange. She remained, however, “fancy free,” until her heart
was touched by the love-tale of Mr. Johnston, whom she met at Bedford
Springs, during the annual visit made there by herself and Mr. Buchanan.
[Illustration:
WHEATLAND—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT BUCHANAN.
]
Mr. Johnston was a young gentleman of Baltimore, fresh from college
honors, manly, frank, and kind—full of enthusiasm, and as demonstrative
as youth and Southern blood make an earnest man when deeply in love.
Geranium leaves exchanged in those golden days of youth—withered surely
in the lapse of time, and, one would fancy, long since cast aside—are
worn by Miss Lane and her husband in memory of a dawning affection of
which neither could have foreseen the end.
Miss Lane’s brothers lived in Lancaster. One of them married there. Her
sister Mary, who had been married to Mr. George W. Baker, also resided
in Lancaster, and was much with Harriet until her removal to California.
It was during her absence, in 1852, that Mr. Buchanan went as Minister
to England, taking Miss Harriet Lane with him.
No more illustrious man than James Buchanan had ever been sent to
represent his country at the court of the greatest empire of the world.
His fame as a statesman had preceded him. To the public men and educated
classes of England his name was familiar, for he had been one of the
most conspicuous figures in the United States for the third of the
century. No citizen of this country had ever held so many great stations
as he. His life had been crowded with the gravest public employments.
Apart from his reputation as a statesman, he had won the highest
encomiums at the bar. For ten consecutive years he had sat in the lower
house of Congress. As Minister to Russia, he had negotiated our first
commercial treaty with that empire. In the Senate of the United States
he had stood for years in the foremost rank of those mighty men whose
statesmanship and eloquence made that body, thirty years ago, the most
dignified assembly on earth. When he resigned his seat as a Senator, it
was to become Secretary of State, and during that period, when he held
that position, he refused a seat on the Supreme Bench of the United
States, urged upon him by Mr. Tyler, and afterward by Mr. Polk. His name
had, for half his lifetime, been associated with the Presidency. When he
went to England, it was at the earnest solicitation of Mr. Pierce, who
was unwilling to trust the settlement of the great questions then at
issue between the two countries, to any hands less able than his, and it
was well believed by many friends that, his work abroad completed, he
would return to take possession of the Executive Chair.
In the blaze of this reputation, and led by the protecting hand of one
so illustrious, did Harriet Lane make her entrance into English society.
And now she became publicly identified with Mr. Buchanan. At dinners and
upon all occasions, she ranked, not as niece, or even daughter, but as
his wife. There was, at first, some question on this point, but the
Queen, upon whom the blooming beauty had made a deep impression, soon
decided that, and our heroine was thenceforward one of the foremost
ladies in the diplomatic corps at St. James.
Her first appearance at a Drawing-room was a memorable occasion, not
only to the young republican girl herself and her uncle, but to all who
witnessed her graceful and dignified bearing at the time.
Notwithstanding her youthful appearance, it could scarcely be credited
that she, who managed her train so beautifully, appeared so unconscious
of the attention she attracted, and diffused her smiles in such sweet
and courtly manner, had never before been in the presence of royalty.
That night when she and Mr. Buchanan discussed the events of the day—as
they habitually did before retiring—he suddenly turned about, saying,
“Well, a person would have supposed you were a great beauty, to have
heard the way you were talked of to-day. I was asked if we had many such
handsome ladies in America. I answered, ‘Yes, and many much handsomer.
She would scarcely be remarked there for her beauty.’”
Upon every occasion Miss Lane was most graciously singled out by the
Queen, and it was well known that she was not only an unusual favorite
with her majesty, but that she was regarded with favor and admiration by
all the royal family. She was so immediately and universally popular,
that she was warmly welcomed in every circle, and added much to the
social reputation Mr. Buchanan’s elegant manners won him everywhere. At
her home she was modest and discreet, as well as sprightly and genial,
and her countrymen never visited their great representative in England
without congratulating themselves upon having there also such a specimen
of American womanhood.
The limits of our sketch prevent us from dwelling upon particular
characters, political, noble and literary, with whom Miss Lane
constantly came in contact. Nor have we time to mention the country
houses of lord and gentry where Mr. Buchanan and herself were gladly
received. Suffice it to say that her offers of marriage were very
numerous, and such as would do honor to any lady of any land—men of
great name, of high position and immense fortune, English and American.
She always confided these _affaires du cœur_ to her uncle, who gave his
advice as freely as it was asked. But he never attempted to influence
her affections, although one could not have blamed him for wishing her
to remain as she was. She always decided for her uncle, and ended the
consideration of each proposal by trusting to the happiness she had
already tried.
The years that Miss Lane spent in England were probably the brightest of
her life. She loved England, English people, and English habits, and
fortunate indeed it was for her that in the days of her early youth,
when just entering upon womanhood, she acquired that taste for exercise,
early hours, wholesome food, and healthy living, which make the ladies
of Great Britain the fairest and most substantial beauties in the world.
One of the incidents of her stay abroad with her uncle was her visit
with him to Ostend, at the time of the celebrated conference between the
American Ministers to England, France, and Spain. From here she
travelled with Mr. Mason and others to Brussels, Aix-la-Chapelle,
Coblentz, and Frankfort on the Main, and thence joined Mr. Buchanan and
Mr. Soulé at Brussels, where the business of the Conference was
completed.
She accompanied Mr. Mason on his return to Paris, and spent two months
at his house. It is needless to say that these were happy months, for
Mr. Mason’s elegant hospitality, and the agreeable manners, and kind
hearts of wife and daughters, made his home a thronged resort of all
Americans who visited the gay capital. Miss Lane’s recollections of that
noble man are as warm as those of any of the thousands who were familiar
with his virtues, and whose feeling regarding him was happily expressed
after his death in an obituary written by a near friend, who summed up
his faults and his merits in the title taken from the most genial
character ever drawn by Bulwer, of “Old Gentleman Waife.”
Among the brilliant circle that nightly assembled in the saloons of Mr.
Mason, Miss Lane reigned a pre-eminent belle.
We must also particularly refer to the enthusiasm excited by Miss Lane
upon a memorable occasion in England. We mean the day when Mr. Buchanan
and Mr. Tennyson received the degree of Doctor of Civil Laws at the
University of Oxford. Her appearance was greeted with loud cheers by the
students, and murmurs of admiration.
She returned to America, leaving Mr. Buchanan in London, waiting for a
release from his mission, which he had long urged, but which the State
Department at Washington had failed to give him.
During this separation, her uncle wrote her long letters, overflowing
with affection and regret that he had suffered her to leave him. Indeed,
she would never have consented to absent herself from his side for an
hour, had she not been expecting a visit at Wheatland from her sister,
Mrs. Baker, whose sweet companionship she had missed in all her
pleasures and triumphs. It was soon after her happy arrival at dear old
Wheatland, with the welcome of friends still in her ears, and amid
hurried and loving preparations for the reception of this beautiful and
only sister, that the dreadful tidings of her death on the distant
shores of the Pacific, smote on the sad heart of Harriet. In the agony
of her first great grief, brooding over the memory of this twin soul,
often did she echo in feeling those verses of Tennyson:
“Ah yet, even yet, if this might be,
I, falling on thy faithful heart,
Would, breathing through thy lips, impart
The life that almost dies in me.
“That dies not, but endures with pain,
And slowly forms the firmer mind;
Treasuring the look it cannot find,
The words that are not heard again.”
Under these sad circumstances Mr. Buchanan came home, and the news of
his nomination for the Presidency soon afterward reached Wheatland. Miss
Lane heard it, not with indifference, but with less enthusiasm than she
had shown about anything in which her uncle was concerned. She, however,
received his friends with a grace which, if sadder than of old, was none
the less interesting; and the noble figure clad in mourning, and the
modest, tender face beneath her dark English hat, will never be
forgotten by those who saw Harriet Lane dispensing the dignified
hospitalities of Mr. Buchanan’s table, or calmly strolling over the lawn
during the summer of 1856.
Saddened by suffering, but sustained by her warm affection for her
uncle, she became the mistress of the White House. Her younger and
favorite brother, Eskridge, accompanied Mr. Buchanan and Miss Lane to
Washington, and after a few days’ stay there went home to Lancaster,
promising his sister, who was loth to bid him good-by, that he would
return in about a month. But just a month from that parting, the
telegraph bore to Mr. Buchanan the news of his sudden death.
The President loved this youth above all his nephews, and had meant to
have him with him at Washington. This was a terrible blow to him, but in
his affliction he was mindful of Harriet, and it was with the kindest
care he broke to her the intelligence.
The sister, again and so soon smitten, with a crushed heart set out for
the scene of death, there to yearn, over the dear clay of that lost
brother.
When Miss Lane returned to her uncle, it was not to parade her trouble,
but quietly and cheerfully to assist him in his social and domestic
life; to keep her grief for her closet, and in the endurance of it, to
ask no help but God’s. Yet all who saw her, subdued but dignified, as
she received familiar friends during those first months in Washington,
were struck with the elegant repose of her manners, her sweet thanks for
sympathy, and her kind and gentle interest in everything about her.
The next winter she went to no entertainments, but the usual dinners and
receptions at home were not omitted. In her new high sphere she was as
much admired as she had always been, and after she began to participate
in the gayeties of that gayest administration, her life was made up of a
series of honors and pleasures such as have never fallen to the lot of
any other young lady in the United States.
On the occasion of a New Year’s reception, when Mr. Buchanan stood up to
receive the ambassadors of the world’s kingdoms and empires, his great
frame, his massive head, his noble countenance, marked and adorned by
the lines of thought, but untouched by the wrinkles of decay, made him a
spectacle so impressive and majestic, that it did not require the
addition of his courtly manners to elicit a thrill of pride in the
breast of every American who beheld him.
It would have been a trying contrast to the beauty and dignity of any
one to have stood by his side; yet it was difficult for those who saw
Harriet Lane there to decide between the uncle and the niece—to say
which looked the proudest and the greatest—the man or the woman, the
earlier or the later born.
Miss Lane’s position was more onerous and more crowded with social
duties than that of any other person who had filled her place since the
days of Martha Washington, because Mr. Buchanan received not merely
official visits in the capacity of President, but his wide acquaintance
at home and abroad was the cause of his constantly entertaining, as a
private gentleman, foreigners and others, who came, not to see
Washington and the President, but to visit Mr. Buchanan himself.
Jefferson Davis, who, for reasons creditable to Mr. Buchanan’s course at
the outbreak of the secession movement, was not friendly to him,
speaking to Dr. Craven at Fortress Monroe, said: “The White House, under
the administration of Buchanan, approached more nearly to my idea of a
Republican Court than the President’s house had ever done before since
the days of Washington.” In this compliment, extorted by truth, of
course Miss Lane shared.
In the summer of 1860, Queen Victoria accepted the invitation of the
President for the Prince of Wales to extend his Canadian tour to this
country. The duty of preparing for the Prince’s reception devolved upon
Miss Lane, and so admirably did she order the Executive household, that
a party far less amiable than the Prince and the noble gentlemen who
accompanied him, could not have failed to find their visit an agreeable
one. Apart from the personal qualities of this distinguished guest (and
Mr. Buchanan always spoke with enthusiasm of the admirable qualities and
excellent disposition of his young friend), his visit was an occurrence
of memorable interest, being the first occasion on which an heir
apparent to the Crown of Great Britain had stood in the Capital of her
lost colonies. Especially did this interest attach, when, standing
uncovered by the side of the President, before the gateway of
Washington’s tomb, and gazing reverently on the sarcophagus that holds
his ashes, the great-grandson of George the Third paid open homage to
the memory of the chief who rent his empire—when the last born king of
William the Conqueror’s blood bowed his knee before the dust of the
greatest rebel of all time.
The modesty of the Prince’s behavior, and his perfectly frank manners
attested the excellence of the training given him by his good mother and
his high-souled, wise, and pious father. He entered with all the
freshness of youth into every innocent amusement planned to beguile the
hours of his stay.
It may be well here to mention, as an instance of Mr. Buchanan’s care
for the proprieties of his station, that, anxious as it was possible for
man to be to gratify the Prince, who, on more than one occasion,
proposed dancing, approving of it as a harmless pastime, and fond of it
as a spectacle, he yet declined to permit it in the White House, for the
reason that that building was not his private home, that it belonged to
the nation, and that the moral sense of many good people who had
assisted to put him there, would be shocked by what they regarded as
profane gayety in the saloons of the State.
The visit of the English party lasted five days, and they separated from
Mr. Buchanan and Miss Lane leaving behind them most agreeable
recollections.
On the Prince’s arrival in England, the Queen acknowledged her sense of
the cordiality of his reception by the President, in the following
autograph letter, in which the dignity of an official communication is
altogether lost in the personal language of a grateful mother thanking a
friend for kindness done her firstborn child. It is the Queen’s English
employed to express the sentiments of the woman:
“WINDSOR CASTLE, _Nov. 19th, 1860_.
“MY GOOD FRIEND:—Your letter of the 6th ult. has afforded me the
greatest pleasure, containing, as it does, such kind expressions with
regard to my son, and assuring me that the character and object of his
visit to you and to the United States have been fully appreciated, and
that his demeanor and the feelings evinced by him, have secured to him
your esteem and the general good-will of your countrymen.
“I purposely delayed the answer to your letter until I should be able to
couple with it the announcement of the Prince of Wales’ safe return to
his home. Contrary winds and stress of weather have much retarded his
arrival, but we have been fully compensated for the anxiety which this
long delay has naturally caused us, by finding him in such excellent
health and spirits, and so delighted with all he has seen and
experienced in his travels.
“He cannot sufficiently praise the great cordiality with which he has
been everywhere greeted in your country, and the friendly manner in
which you have received him; and whilst, as a mother, I am grateful for
the kindness shown him, I feel impelled to express, at the same time,
how deeply I have been touched by the many demonstrations of affection
personally toward myself which his presence has called forth.
“I fully reciprocate toward your nation the feelings thus made apparent,
and look upon them as forming an important link to connect two nations
of kindred origin and character, whose mutual esteem and friendship must
always have so material an influence upon their respective development
and prosperity.
“The interesting and touching scene at the grave of General Washington,
to which you allude, may be fitly taken as the type of our present
feeling, and, I trust, of our future relations.
“The Prince Consort, who heartily joins in the expressions contained in
this letter, wishes to be kindly remembered to you, as we both wish to
be to Miss Lane.
“Believe me always
“Your good friend,
“VICTORIA R.”
The Prince spoke for himself in the following note:
“JAFFA, _March 29th, 1862_.
“DEAR MR. BUCHANAN:—Permit me to request that you will accept the
accompanying portrait as a slight mark of my grateful recollection of
the hospitable reception and agreeable visit at the White House on the
occasion of my tour in the United States.
“Believe me, that the cordial welcome which was then vouchsafed to me by
the American people, and by you as their chief, can never be effaced
from my memory.
“I venture to ask you at the same time to remember me kindly to Miss
Lane, and
“Believe me, dear Mr. Buchanan,
“Yours, very truly,
“ALBERT EDWARD.”
The portrait to which the Prince alludes in the preceding letter was a
handsome painting of himself, done by Sir John Watson Gordon, and sent
to Mr. Buchanan.
The Prince also presented Miss Lane with a set of engravings of the
Royal Family, which are now in her possession. A newspaper
correspondent, after Mr. Lincoln’s inauguration, wrote that the
appearance of the Mansion was very much changed by the removal of the
portraits, which had been presented for the White House.
Mr. Buchanan could not let so grave a charge remain unanswered, and
wrote to Lord Lyons, whose letter is for the first time published.
“WASHINGTON, _Dec. 24th, 1861_.
“SIR: I have this morning had the honor to receive your letter of the
19th of this month, requesting me to state the facts connected with a
present made by His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, to Miss Lane,
of a set of engravings representing Her Majesty, the Queen, and other
members of the Royal Family.
“The Prince of Wales told me, when His Royal Highness was at Washington,
that he had asked Miss Lane to accept these engravings—he said that he
had not them with him there, but that he would send them, through me,
from Portland. His Royal Highness accordingly sent them on shore
immediately after he embarked at that place.
“They were marked with Miss Lane’s name, in the handwriting of General
Bruce.
“In obedience to the commands I had received from the Prince, I
presented them in his name, to Miss Lane. I had the honor of placing
them myself in her hand.
“I have the honor to be, with the greatest respect, Sir,
“Your most obedient humble servant and friend,
“LYONS.
“The Honorable
“JAMES BUCHANAN, etc., etc., etc.”
When the secession movement was inaugurated by South Carolina,
immediately after the election of Mr. Lincoln, the position of Mr.
Buchanan become one of extreme delicacy and difficulty, and in its great
cares as well as in its petty social annoyances, Miss Lane bore a heavy
part.
During those last months of his administration, when Mr. Buchanan was
harassed on every side, when his patriotism was doubted, when his
hands—eager to hold steady the reins of Government—were tied fast by the
apathy of Congress and the indifference of the Northern people, his mind
was lightened of much of its load of anxiety by the consciousness that
his niece faithfully represented him in his drawing-room, and that his
patriotism and good sense would never suffer by any conversational lapse
of hers. He always spoke with warmth and gratitude of her admirable
demeanor at this critical time.
And now we see Miss Lane once more at Wheatland, sharing and enjoying
the dignified retirement of her uncle.
The society of that revered man who was preparing for a better world and
appealing to a higher judgment than that of a selfish faction, the calm
pleasures of country life, the continued attentions of enthusiastic
admirers, the many visits of dear tried friends, the consolations of
religion, and the devotion of one true heart that had never ceased its
homage, was her compensation for many trials.
In 1863, Miss Lane was confirmed in the Episcopal Church, at Oxford,
Philadelphia, of which her uncle was the rector, by Bishop Stevens. She
would have joined the Presbyterian Church, to which her uncle belonged,
had he desired it, because she was as liberal as he is known to have
been in his religious views, and they never differed on doctrinal
points. But several circumstances had made it convenient for her to
attend the Episcopal Church a great deal, and she had early learned to
love its beautiful prayer book, and in any other church to miss its
significant forms.
About this time occurred the death of James B. Lane, leaving Harriet no
brother nor sister, nor indeed any near relations except her two uncles,
the Rev. E. Y. Buchanan, and the ex-President, to whom she clung with
renewed affection.
However, one morning in January, 1866, when the evergreens before the
old house at Wheatland were burdened with snow, and the lawn was white,
and the spring was frozen, and icicles hung from the roof, the grounds
there were made gay and bright by the assemblage of carriages that
brought guests to see the marriage, by the Rev. Edward Y. Buchanan, of
Harriet Lane and Henry Elliott Johnston. Indoors, there was nothing in
the glow of the fire, the odor of the flowers, the gratified appearance
of the host, or the sunny faces of the wedding party, to indicate the
struggle just finished between two loves.
Some weeks after the marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Johnston went to Cuba, where
they spent a month or two most delightfully. From there, Mr. Johnston
took his wife to his house in Baltimore, which, with characteristic
taste, thoughtfulness, and liberality, he had elegantly and luxuriously
fitted up for the lady of his dreams, to whom he forthwith presented it.
It would scarcely be fair to dwell, in print, upon the happiness of this
congenial pair, but it would be unpardonable if we did not assure the
reader, that Mr. Johnston is all that Miss Lane’s husband ought to be.
Even those who naturally disliked to see Miss Lane pass out of the house
of her great kinsman into any other home, soon became charmed with Mr.
Johnston, and could not but congratulate Miss Lane upon this choice,
made from many lovers.
Nor can we consent to close this sketch of Mrs. Johnston’s life without
attracting attention to her in her last and most endearing relation. In
her most glorious days, she was never more beautiful than as a mother,
and the matronly grace with which she cares for her child is sweeter to
her husband than the early flush or the queenly prime when he
occasionally ventured on presents of fruits and flowers.
Would that we could now drop the curtain upon this fair domestic scene
without noticing the cloud that darkened the prosperous life of Mrs.
Johnston after her marriage. The death of Mr. Buchanan caused her the
greatest grief of her life, and is its permanent bereavement.
Again, she is at Wheatland—now her own summer home—mourning for the good
man gone; but comforted by the thought that, though in all his dear
familiar haunts she will see him nevermore, he is already understood and
appreciated, and that history is even now doing him justice. Comforted
also in knowing that her husband ministered to her uncle’s dying days,
and that he received his unqualified confidence and affection. Comforted
also in the sweet task, the great work of training up her boy to be
worthy the name of James Buchanan Johnston....
This son grew to be a noble youth of fourteen, and died on the 25th of
March, 1881. His character was affectionate and truthful, and his
bearing was distinguished for its grace. His death was a terrible blow
to his parents, of whom and of him Judge Jere. S. Black wrote as follows
in a letter to a friend:
“I have just returned from the funeral of James Buchanan Johnston,
affected by a deeper sense of bereavement than any death outside of my
own immediate family has caused me in many years. It is strange that we
cannot get hardened to these calamities in the course of time, or at
least learn to accept some measure of consolation when our friends are
fatally stricken. But human philosophy, how well soever it may be
strengthened by trials, is powerless to save our equanimity in cases
like this. The overwhelming grief of that beloved mother and the awful
break down of the proud father’s spirit cannot even be thought of
without strong emotion. Besides that I had built much hope of my own
upon the future of that bright and beautiful boy. He was gifted with
uncommon talents, so well cultivated, and developing so rapidly, that
even at the age of fourteen he was intellectually a full-grown man. With
moral principles clearly defined and quick perceptions of the right, his
sense of justice and his love of truth would have given him a dignity of
character not surpassed by that of his illustrious uncle. But these
visions of a moment are faded forever, and we can only sigh ‘for the
touch of a vanished hand’ and listen in vain ‘for the sound of a voice
that is still.’”
XXI.
MARY TODD LINCOLN.
To Mrs. Lincoln more than to any other President’s wife was the White
House an ambition. She had ever aspired to reach it, and when it became
her home, it was the fruition of a hope long entertained, the
gratification of the great desire of her life. In her early youth she
repeatedly asserted that she should be a President’s wife, and so
profoundly impressed was she with this idea, that she calculated the
probabilities of such a success with all her male friends. She refused
an offer of marriage from Stephen A. Douglas, then a rising young
lawyer, doubting his ability to gratify her ambition, and accepted a man
who at that time seemed to others the least likely to be the President
of the United States.
[Illustration:
M^{RS} ABRAHAM LINCOLN
]
Mary Todd was a Kentuckian by birth, and a member of the good old Todd
family, of Lexington. Her younger years were spent in that homely town
of beautiful surroundings, with an aunt who reared her, she being an
orphan. Childhood and youth were passed in comfort and comparative
luxury, nor did she ever know poverty; but her restless nature found but
little happiness in the society of her elders, and she went, when just
merging into womanhood, to reside with her sister in Springfield. The
attraction of this, then small place, was greatly augmented by the
society of the young people, and Mary Todd passed the pleasantest years
of her life in her sister’s western home. On the 4th of November, 1842,
at the age of twenty-one, she was married to Abraham Lincoln, a
prominent lawyer, of Illinois. A letter written the following May, to
Mr. Speed, of Louisville, Kentucky, by Mr. Lincoln, contains the
following mention of his domestic life: “We are not keeping house,” he
says, “but boarding at the Globe Tavern, which is very well kept now by
a widow lady, of the name of Beck. Our rooms are the same Dr. Wallace
occupied there, and boarding only costs four dollars a week. I most
heartily wish you and your Fanny will not fail to come. Just let us know
the time, a week in advance, and we will have a room prepared for you,
and we’ll all be merry together for a while.” The pleasant spirits in
which the husband wrote, must have argued well for the married life they
had entered upon. Although much in public life, Mr. Lincoln was holding
no office at the time of his marriage, but four years later he was
elected to Congress, and took his seat December 6th, 1847. Mrs. Lincoln
did not accompany her husband to Washington, but remained at her home.
It was a season of war and general disturbance throughout the country,
and while her husband attended to his duties at the Capital, she lived
quietly with her children in Springfield. In August he returned to enter
upon the duties of his profession, and to “devote himself to them
through a series of years, less disturbed by diversions into State and
National politics than he had been during any previous period of his
business life. It was to him a time of rest, of reading, of social
happiness, and of professional prosperity. He was a happy father, and
took an almost unbounded pleasure in his children. Their sweet young
natures were to him a perpetual source of delight. He was never
impatient with their petulance and restlessness, loved always to be with
them, and took them into his heart with a fondness which was
unspeakable. It was a fondness so tender and profound as to blind him to
their imperfections, and to expel from him every particle of sternness
in his management of them.”
At this time Mrs. Lincoln was the mother of four children, and though
one had passed on to the higher life, her home was one of happiness.
Ministered to by a husband who never knew how to be aught but kind to
her, and surrounded by evidences of prosperity, her lines had fallen in
pleasant places, and she was considered by her friends a fortunate
woman.
Mr. Lincoln was a hard student and constant reader, and was steadily
progressing in knowledge. Thrown among talented and educated gentlemen,
and possessing an intense desire for improvement, he had become, during
the years of his married life, a superior lawyer and statesman. His was
an aspiring nature, striving for the golden truths of sage experience.
[Illustration:
HOME OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN AT SPRINGFIELD.
]
His enemies sometimes speak of him as a man who owed his eminence rather
to the contrast between his social and his political rank, between his
qualifications and the place in history which it was his fortune to
fill, than to his personal character or his political capacity, but the
estimate is not a true one. A man so revered as is his memory by all
classes of his countrymen, had a character untarnished by corruption,
and a moral refinement far above the comprehension of the average public
man. He was in his domestic life the embodiment of fidelity and
gentleness. His career as a statesman, and not the manner of his death,
places him next to Washington in the hearts of Americans. His services
to the country rank as the noblest performed in its history after those
of Washington. Opportunity, while it did much for him, was not all that
made Lincoln great; it was his readiness to meet the emergency when it
came; his ability to seize the occasion, and use it to the honor of his
country, and his own lasting fame.
Mr. Lincoln was so intensely individual in his career, and his life was
so devoted to public affairs, that it is with difficulty that a sketch
of Mrs. Lincoln can be written that is not largely composed of the
events pertaining to the official life of her husband. The White House
during her life in it was the reverse of gay. Officials were the chief
callers at the mansion, and the movement of armies, and the news from
the front occupied the attention of its inmates. She was less fortunate
than any lady who had ever preceded her in this respect, and to judge of
her success in her position, it is needful to keep in mind the
conditions under which the administration existed.
The Republican Convention at Chicago verified Mrs. Lincoln’s prophecy of
being the wife of a President. It assembled the 16th of June, 1860, and
after a close contest between the two favorites of the Republican
party—Governor Seward and Mr. Lincoln—the latter was declared
unanimously nominated as a candidate for the Presidency. In Springfield,
Mrs. Lincoln waited in her own home for the result of her prediction,
and when at noon the cannon on the public square announced the decision
of the Convention, breathless with expectancy, she scarcely dared to ask
the result. Her husband, in the excitement of the moment, did not forget
her, but putting the telegram in his pocket, remarked to his friends
that “there was a little woman on Eighth street who had some interest in
the matter,” walked home to gladden her heart with the good news. That
Friday night must have been the very happiest of her life, for few women
have ever craved the position as she did, and it was hers! Crowds of
citizens and strangers thronged her home all the afternoon, and the roar
of cannon and the wild, tumultuous shouts of excited men filled the town
with a deafening noise. At night the Republicans marched in a body to
Mr. Lincoln’s house, and, after a brief speech, were invited, as many as
could get into the house, to enter, “the crowd responding that after the
fourth of March they would give him a larger house. The people did not
retire until a late hour, and then moved off reluctantly, leaving the
excited household to their rest.”
And now commenced the life which Mrs. Lincoln had so long anticipated,
and if her husband was not elated, she was, and the hearts of these two,
so nearly concerned in this great honor, beat from widely different
emotions. “He could put on none of the airs of eminence; he could place
no bars between himself and those who had honored him. Men who entered
his house impressed with a sense of his new dignities, found him the
same honest, affectionate, true-hearted and simple-minded Abraham
Lincoln that he had always been. He answered his own bell, accompanied
his visitors to the door when they retired, and felt all that interfered
with his old homely and hearty habits of hospitality as a burden—almost
an impertinence.” She, annoyed by the crowds who thronged the house, and
the constant interruptions, found it so intolerable that Mr. Lincoln
took a room in the State House, and met his friends there until his
departure for Washington.
Mrs. Lincoln was not greatly inclined to observe the requirements of her
social position, and she thereby lost opportunities of advancing her
husband’s interests of which she perhaps was unaware. She did not
rightly estimate the importance of conciliatory address with friend and
foe alike, and seemed not conscious of the immense assistance which, as
the wife of a public man, she had it in her power to give her husband.
And this was all the more singular for the reason that she was very
ambitious.
Just after the election, a circumstance occurred which Mrs. Lincoln
interpreted in a manner which forced one to recall the predictions of
her childhood. Mr. Lincoln thus repeated it. “It was after my election,
when the news had been coming in thick and fast all day, and there had
been a great ‘hurrah, boys!’ so that I was well tired out and went home
to rest, throwing myself upon a lounge in my chamber. Opposite to where
I lay was a bureau with a swinging glass upon it; and looking in that
glass, I saw myself reflected nearly at full length; but my face, I
noticed, had two separate and distinct images, the tip of the nose of
one being about three inches from the tip of the other. I was a little
bothered, perhaps startled, and got up and looked in the glass, but the
illusion vanished. On lying down again, I saw it a second time, plainer,
if possible, than before; and then I noticed that one of the faces was a
little paler, say five shades, than the other. I got up and the thing
melted away and I went off, and in the excitement of the hour forgot all
about it—nearly, but not quite, for the thing would once in a while come
up, and give me a little pang, as though something uncomfortable had
happened. When I went home, I told my wife about it, and a few days
after I tried the experiment again, when, sure enough, the thing came
back again; but I never succeeded in bringing the ghost back after that,
though I once tried very industriously to show it to my wife, who was
worried about it somewhat. She thought it was a ‘sign’ that I was to be
elected to a second term of office, and that the paleness of one of the
faces was an omen that I should not see life through the second term.”
Mr. Lincoln regarded the vision as an optical illusion, caused from
nervousness, “yet, with that tinge of superstition which clings to every
sensitive and deeply thoughtful man, in a world full of mysteries, he
was so far affected by it as to feel that ‘something uncomfortable had
happened.’” Viewed in the light of subsequent events, Mrs. Lincoln’s
prophetic interpretation of the vision had almost a startling import.
Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln and their three boys, accompanied by a number of
Mr. Lincoln’s old friends, left Springfield in a special car, and all
along the route they were welcomed by the people with every
demonstration of hearty good-will. It was a time of anxiety, and the
throngs that gathered about the newly elected Chief Magistrate seemed
impelled by a stronger feeling than mere curiosity or excitement.
Between Chicago and Indianapolis, the stations were decorated, the towns
and villages were gay with flags and flower-bedecked mottoes, and
wherever a stop was made, men, women and children grasped the hand of
Mr. Lincoln, and wished him a safe journey and all success in the trying
place he was going to fill.
An immense crowd cheered him as the train reached the depot at
Indianapolis, and a national salute was fired in his honor. The
Cincinnati committee of reception, filling his car, met the party there,
and accompanied it next day. The train passed by the burial-place of
General Harrison, who had for a short month occupied the Presidential
chair, and here the family of the deceased patriot were assembled. Mr.
Lincoln bowed his respects to the group and to the memory of his
predecessor.
The morning of the fourth of March, 1861, broke beautifully clear, and
it found General Scott and the Washington police in readiness for the
day. The friends of Mr. Lincoln had gathered in from far and near,
determined that he should be inaugurated. In the hearts of the surging
crowds there was anxiety; but outside all looked as usual on such
occasions, with the single exception of an extraordinary display of
soldiers. The public buildings, the schools and most of the places of
business were closed during the day, and the stars and stripes were
floating from every flag-staff. There was a great desire to hear Mr.
Lincoln’s inaugural; and at an early hour, Pennsylvania Avenue was full
of people, wending their way to the east front of the Capitol, from
which it was to be delivered.
At five minutes before twelve o’clock, Vice-President Breckinridge and
Senator Foote escorted Mr. Hamlin, the Vice-President-elect, into the
Senate Chamber, and gave him a seat at the left of the chair. At twelve,
Mr. Breckinridge announced the Senate adjourned, and then conducted Mr.
Hamlin to the seat he had vacated. At this moment, the foreign
diplomats, of whom there was a very large and brilliant representation,
entered the chamber, and took the seats assigned to them. At a quarter
before one o’clock, the Judges of the Supreme Court entered, with the
venerable Chief-Justice Taney at their head, each exchanging salutes
with the new Vice-President, as they took their seats. At a quarter past
one o’clock, an unusual stir and excitement announced the coming of the
most important personage of the occasion. It was a relief to many to
know that he was safely within the building; and those who were
assembled in the hall regarded with the profoundest interest the
entrance of President Buchanan and the President-elect—the outgoing and
the incoming man. A procession was then formed which passed to the
platform erected for the ceremonies of the occasion, in the following
order: Marshal of the District of Columbia, Judges of the Supreme Courts
and Sergeant-at-Arms, Senate Committee of Arrangements, President of the
Senate, Senators, Diplomatic Corps, heads of departments, Governors of
States and such others as were in the chamber.
* * * * *
After the reading of the inaugural and the oath of office, administered
by the venerable Chief-Justice Taney, Mr. Lincoln was escorted back to
the White House, where Mr. Buchanan took leave of him, and where he
received the large number of persons who called to see him.
During the afternoon, Mrs. Lincoln took possession of the White House,
and her eventful life commenced in Washington.
The following days were spent with her sisters in happy bustle and
excitement, arranging for the first levee, and domesticating themselves
in their new abode.
It was held the 9th of March, and was the only one of the season. Her
personal appearance was described in these words:
“Mrs. Lincoln stood a few paces from her husband, assisted by her
sisters, Mrs. Edwards and Mrs. Baker, together with two of her nieces,
and was attired in a rich pink moire-antique, pearl ornaments, and
flowers in her hair and hands. She is a pleasant-looking,
elegant-appearing lady, of perhaps forty, somewhat inclined to
stoutness, but withal fine-looking and self-possessed.” The levee was a
brilliant one, and many citizens and strangers, not accustomed to taking
part in the gay world about them, did themselves the pleasure of paying
their respects to the new President and his family. It was perhaps the
proudest occasion of Mrs. Lincoln’s life—a triumph she had often mused
upon and looked forward to as in store for her. The desire of her heart
was gratified, and she was mistress of the White House.
Mrs. Lincoln was a fortunate woman in that she secured the measure of
her ambition, but it was the impartial judgment of her friends that she
was not a happy person. The match was an unfortunate one, in that it
united two people of widely divergent tastes and characteristics. Mr.
Lincoln was utterly devoid of those social qualities which would have
made him agreeable in the drawing-room and in the presence of
fashionable people. His wife was fond of society, pleased with
excitement, and gratified to be among the gay and brilliant company
which she, by reason of her husband’s position, found herself in. She
would have made the White House, socially, what it was under other
administrations, but that was impossible. She found herself surrounded
on every side by people who were ready to exaggerate her shortcomings,
find fault with her deportment on all occasions and criticise her
performance of all her semi-official duties. The state dinners were
abandoned and she was said to be parsimonious. Weekly receptions were
substituted, and her entertainments were made the topic of remark. The
first two years of the administration of Mr. Lincoln were years of the
severest trial to him, and his gloom and absorption affected his family.
The death of Willie, the second son, occurred during this period of
anxiety, and for nearly two more years the President’s family were in
mourning. Mrs. Lincoln grieved long and deeply over her loss, and it was
not possible for either husband or wife to allude to him without showing
intense feeling. Mr. Lincoln rarely mentioned his name, and Mrs. Lincoln
never afterward entered the room where he died, or the Blue Room in
which his body lay. Several instances are told by Mr. Carpenter, the
artist, of the affection entertained by the President for his sons. On
one occasion while paying a visit to Commodore Porter at Fortress
Monroe, “Tad,” the youngest son, accompanied his father, and the latter,
noticing that the banks of the river were dotted with spring blossoms,
the President said, with the manner of one asking a special favor:
“Commodore, Tad is very fond of flowers; won’t you let a couple of your
men take a boat and go with him for an hour or two along shore, and
gather a few? it will be a great gratification to him.” On another
occasion, while he was at Fortress Monroe awaiting military operations
upon the Peninsula, he called his aide, who was writing in the adjoining
room, and read to him selections from “Hamlet” and “King John.” Reciting
the words where Constance bewails her imprisoned lost boy, Mr. Lincoln
said: “Colonel, did you ever dream of a lost friend, and feel that you
were holding sweet communion with that friend, and yet have a sad
consciousness that it was not a reality? Just so I dream of my boy
Willie.” Overcome with emotion, he dropped his head on the table and
sobbed aloud.
A man who could thus feel towards his children may well be called an
excellent father: and such Mr. Lincoln was. He was, as a lady relative
of his who spent many months in his house said of him, “all that a
husband, father and neighbor should be: kind and affectionate to his
wife and child and very pleasant to all around him. Never,” said she,
“did I hear him utter an unkind word.”
Mr. Herndon, Mr. Lincoln’s law partner, who knew both husband and wife
well, summed up his estimate, based on long acquaintance, in a single
sentence: “All that I know ennobles both.” Mrs. Lincoln was a lonely
woman much of the time spent in the White House. The President had but
little leisure to devote to her, and the state of the country was such
that any display or gayety seemed out of keeping with the position she
occupied. In the summer of 1864, the political canvas absorbed
attention, and much of the season Mrs. Lincoln spent at the
watering-places. In the autumn she renewed the receptions, and after the
re-election of Mr. Lincoln the White House habitués saw promise of more
pleasure than had been enjoyed there. The New Year reception of 1865 was
the most brilliant entertainment given by the administration. Thousands
of people paid their respects to the President and Mrs. Lincoln, and
congratulated them on the confidence reposed in him by the people. The
war was drawing to a close, and the North was inclined to look upon the
Union as well-nigh restored. The inauguration was anxiously looked
forward to, and when it was safely over the people breathed freer, and
gave up the fear that had oppressed them.
There was general rejoicing in the land when the long anticipated peace
was declared. General Lee surrendered on the 9th of April, and the White
House was the scene of excitement from that time on to the close of the
President’s life. People thronged to congratulate him, and from all
parts of the nation telegrams poured in upon him. The 14th of April was
the fourth anniversary of the fall of Sumter, and on that evening the
President, Mrs. Lincoln, Major Rathbone, of the United States army, and
a daughter of Senator Harris attended, by invitation, the performance at
Ford’s Theatre. A large audience greeted the President as he took his
seat at the front of the private box. As he sat waiting for the curtain
to rise on the third act, looking pensive and sad, as was his wont, he
was shot from behind by John Wilkes Booth, the leader of a gang of
conspirators, who had carefully matured their plans to kill the
President and members of the Cabinet. The shot was a deadly one, and
total insensibility followed it.
Mrs. Lincoln, unnerved by the sudden and terrible event, was assisted
from the theatre to a house across the street, where her husband had
been taken. She remained beside him until death released him from all
pain. The return to the White House was a journey never to be forgotten
by those who witnessed it. The grief of Mrs. Lincoln and her children
was shared by a nation of people, but nothing could restore the dead, or
give back the husband and father who went out from their midst so well
only the evening before.
The afternoon of the day on which the President was shot he was out
driving with his wife, and she subsequently remarked that she never saw
him so supremely happy as on this occasion. When the carriage was
ordered she asked him if he would like any one to accompany them, and he
replied, “No; I prefer to ride by ourselves to-day.” During the ride his
wife spoke of his cheerfulness, and his answer was: “Well, I may feel
happy, Mary, for I consider this day the war has come to a close;” and
then added: “We must both be more cheerful in the future; between the
war and the loss of our darling Willie, we have been very miserable.”
His household was very miserable from that awful night.
The grief manifested by little Tad, the youngest son, on learning that
his father had been shot was touching to behold. For twenty-four hours
he was inconsolable. He frequently said that “his father was never happy
after he came here,” and asked questions of those about him as to their
belief in his being in heaven. He seemed resigned when this idea
fastened itself strongly in his mind, and in his simplicity he imagined
that his father’s happiness in heaven made the sun shine brightly.
Mrs. Lincoln never recovered from the shock. After the death of the
President she remained in the White House five weeks, too ill to depart.
The remains of her husband were borne back to Illinois, through towns,
villages and hamlets, bearing every outward token of woe, and the
cortege was met at each stopping-place by thousands of mourners who paid
their respects to the great dead. Impressive scenes occurred all along
the route, and the funeral pageant which met the remains at Springfield
was the largest ever assembled in the country. Robert Lincoln, the
eldest son, accompanied the remains, and after all honor had been paid
the body of the martyred father, he returned to remove his mother to
their future home.
The White House was like a public building during these sad weeks. The
officials were embarrassed under the extraordinary circumstances, and
the mansion was given over to servants. The soldiers on duty there had
no other authority than to keep out the rabble, and no one felt
justified in taking charge of the house while Mrs. Lincoln remained. The
new President, Mr. Johnson, disavowed any inclination to hasten her
departure; and when at last Mrs. Lincoln removed from the building, it
was in the condition to be expected after the hard usage it had received
subsequent to the tragedy.
Mrs. Lincoln left Washington accompanied by her sons, the youngest,
“Tad,” being her special care and protection.
The country learned with sincere regret of the death of this lad after
the return of the family to their western home. Mrs. Lincoln, after all
the excitement and the trials through which she had passed, was unable
to live quietly in any place, and travelled with the hope of recovering
her health. In 1868 she went abroad and remained a considerable time in
Germany. During her stay there she asked Congress for a pension, her
letter to the Vice-President bearing date of January 1st, 1869. The bill
was presented by Senator Morton, of Indiana, and was adversely reported
upon by the Committee on Pensions. It read as follows:
“The committee are aware the friends of the resolution expect to make a
permanent provision for the lady under the guise of a pension; but no
evidence has been furnished to them, or reasons assigned why such
provision should be made. If such was the intention, the committee
submit, the reference should have been made to some other committee, as
the Committee on Pensions, at least for some years past, have not
thought it compatible with their duty or the objects of their
appointment to recommend in any case the granting of any special
pension, or any pension of a greater amount than is allowed by some
general law. If they thought the amount so allowed too small, they would
feel it incumbent on them to report a general bill for the relief in all
similar cases. If the increase proposed was on account of extraordinary
military or naval services, the proper reference would be to the
military or naval committee. Under all these circumstances, the
committee have no alternative but to report against the passage of the
general resolutions.”
It was, however, granted her by a later Congress.
Broken in health and depressed in spirits, Mrs. Lincoln has lived in
various countries, much of her time for several years being spent in
France. She has not and will not recover from the catastrophe which
robbed the country of its President, and her of her husband. With him
died all her hopes of ambition, of home-life, and of rest and
companionship in old age.
In October, 1880, Mrs. Lincoln returned to the United States from France
on the steamer _Amerique_, and among her fellow-voyagers was Mlle.
Bernhardt, the French actress. The New York _Sun_, in describing the
arrival and reception of the latter thus incidentally mentions Mrs.
Lincoln:
“A throng was assembled on the dock and a greater throng was in the
street outside the gates. During the tedious process of working the ship
into her dock there was a great crush in that part of the vessel where
the gang plank was to be swung. Among the passengers who were here
gathered was an aged lady. She was dressed plainly and almost commonly.
There was a bad rent in her ample cloak. Her face was furrowed, and her
hair was streaked with white. This was the widow of Abraham Lincoln. She
was almost unnoticed. She had come alone across the ocean, but a nephew
met her at Quarantine. She has spent the last four years in the south of
France. When the gang plank was finally swung aboard, Mlle. Bernhardt
and her companions, including Mme. Columbier of the troupe, were the
first to descend. The fellow-voyagers of the actress pressed about her
to bid adieu, and a cheer was raised, which turned her head and provoked
an astonished smile, as she stepped upon the wharf. The gates were
besieged, and there was some difficulty in bringing in the carriage
which was to convey the actress to her hotel. She temporarily waited in
the freight office at the entrance to the wharf. Mrs. Lincoln, leaning
on the arm of her nephew, walked toward the gate. A policeman touched
the aged lady on the shoulder and bade her stand back. She retreated
with her nephew into the line of spectators, while Manager Abbey’s
carriage was slowly brought in. The Bernhardt was handed inside, and the
carriage made its way out through a mass of struggling ’longshoremen and
idlers who pressed about it and stared in at the open windows. After it,
went out the others who had been passengers on the _Amerique_, Mrs.
Lincoln among the rest.”
Mrs. Lincoln went at once to Springfield, where her sister resided, and
took up her abode with her, leading thenceforth a quiet and retired
life. Her only son Robert was appointed Secretary of War by President
Garfield. Some years previous to that event he had married the daughter
of ex-Senator Harlan, and has a family of children growing up about him.
XXII.
ELIZA McCARDLE JOHNSON.
In the autumn of 1824, the term of a fatherless boy’s apprenticeship
expired, and he entered the world rich only in energy, and a noble
ambition to provide for a widowed mother. But he was sensitive and
anxious to enlarge his facilities for an education, and his strong mind
grasped and analyzed the fact that to succeed he must form new ties, and
find a broader field of action. Tennessee was the land of promise which
attracted his attention, and accompanied by his mother, who justly
deserved the affection he bestowed upon her, he reached Greenville in
1826.
Young, aspiring, and ambitious, he was not long in making friends, and
among them a beautiful girl evinced her appreciation of his character,
by becoming his wife. Eliza McCardle was the only daughter of a widow,
whose father had been dead many years, and whose life had been spent in
her mountain home. When she was married, she had just reached her
seventeenth year, and her husband was not yet twenty-one.
Education in those days did not comprehend and embrace the scientific
accomplishments it does now, but a naturally gifted mind, endowed with
much common sense, received a broad basis for future development. She
was well versed in the usual branches of instruction, and possessed, in
an extraordinary degree, that beauty of face and form which rendered her
mother one of the most beautiful of women.
[Illustration:
MRS. ANDREW JOHNSON.
]
It is a mistaken idea that she taught her husband his letters; for in
the dim shadows of the workshop at Raleigh, after the toil of the day
was complete, he had mastered the alphabet and made himself generally
acquainted with the construction of words and sentences. The incentive
to acquire mental attainment was certainly enhanced when he felt the
superiority of her acquirements, and from that time his heroic nature
began to discover itself. In the silent watches of the night, while
sleep rested upon the village, the youthful couple studied together; she
ofttimes reading as he completed the weary task before him, oftener
still bending over him to guide his hand in writing.
He never had the benefit of one day’s school routine in his life, yet he
acquired by perseverance the benefits denied by poverty. What a
contemplation it must have been to those mothers who watched over their
children as they struggled together! Let time in its flight transport us
back to those years, and see what a scene was being then enacted there.
In that obscure village in the mountains, three strong, yet
tender-hearted women watched over and cherished the budding genius of
the future statesman. History, in preserving its record of the life and
services of the seventeenth President of the United States, rears to
them a noble tribute of their faithfulness.
The young wife, thrifty and industrious all day, worked patiently and
hopefully as night brought her pupil again to his studies, and
punctually completed her womanly duties that she might be ready for the
never-varying rule of their lives. Much of latent powers he owed to her
indefatigable zeal and encouragement, and he never forgot those evening
hours years ago when the scintillations of natural genius first began to
dawn, which ultimately converted the tailor boy into the Senator, and
subsequently into the President of his country.
Year after year she watched him as he rose step by step, and always as
willing and earnest as when in life’s bright morn they were married.
The later years of Mrs. Johnson’s life were crowned with the honors her
husband’s successes had won, but the story of her younger days is
fraught with most interest to all who can appreciate true worth and
genuine greatness of soul.
In her girlhood she was the purest type of a Southern beauty, and like
her mother was very graceful and agreeable in her manners. I have heard
persons say that her mother was the handsomest lady in all that region
of country, and her old neighbors stoutly maintained that Mrs. Johnson
was the image of her. Her extreme modesty denied the imputation that she
was the belle of the county.
While their means increased as time passed, and the caroling of their
little children gladdened their home, Mr. Johnson received his first
substantial proof of the confidence of the community in which he lived
in his election as “alderman.” How intense must have been the joy of the
good wife as she saw her pupil progressing in a career he was so well
fitted to occupy!
At this time their residence was situated on a hill just out of
Greenville, simple and plain in its surroundings, yet the resort of the
young people of the village. The college boys, as they passed to and fro
on errands, always stopped to enjoy a chat with their “Demosthenes,” and
were ever welcomed by the genial, frank manners of the gentle wife.
Fresh laurels crowned the alderman’s brow when he was chosen Mayor, and
for three terms he filled the position with credit, winning for himself
an enviable reputation for honest deeds and correct principles.
Little has been written of Mrs. Johnson, mainly from the fact that she
always opposed any publicity being given to her private life, and from
the reluctance of her friends to pain her by acceding to the
oft-repeated requests of persons for sketches of her. In a conversation
held with her while she was in the White House, she remarked “that her
life had been spent at home, caring for her children, and practising the
economy rendered necessary by her husband’s small fortune.”
An impartial writer cannot be swayed by such natural and creditable
sentiments, nor is it just that a woman who was the means of advancing
her husband’s interests so materially, and who occupied the position she
did, should be silently passed by. She deserved, as she received from
all who were fortunate enough to know her, the highest encomiums; for by
her unwearying efforts she was a stepping-stone to her husband. Patient
and forbearing she was universally liked, and if she had an enemy it was
from no fault of hers, nor did she number any among the acquaintances of
a lifetime.
Like Mr. Johnson she had very few living relatives; her children having
neither aunts nor uncles, and being deprived of both grandmothers while
they still were young. Mrs. Johnson’s mother died in April, 1854, and
his parent lived until February, 1856; each having been the object of
his tenderest care, and living to see him holding the highest position
his native State could bestow. There was not two years’ difference in
the deaths of these two mothers, and it was the unspeakable happiness of
their children to know that as the wick burned low, and the lamp of time
went out, all that peace and plenty could devise for their happiness
they received, and their departure from earth was rendered calmly serene
by the assurance that their work was well done and finished.
When the civil war, which snapped the cords of so many old persons’
lives and hurried them to premature graves, sounded its dread tocsin
through East Tennessee, it was a source of mournful satisfaction to know
that those two aged mothers lay unconscious of the approaching conflict
which was to bathe that section of the State in blood. The tall grass
grew unharmed, and no impious hand desecrated the resting-place of
departed virtue.
During the meetings of the Legislature to which Mr. Johnson was
repeatedly called, Mrs. Johnson remained at Greenville; and while he
sought honors and support away from home, she found compensation for his
prolonged absence in the knowledge that she best promoted his interest
when she lived within their still slender means. Her children received
the benefit of her ripe, matured experience, until one by one they left
their home; two to marry and dwell near her, and the youngest to be a
comfort in her days of suffering. Her home in Greenville was thus
described in 1865: “Just down there, at the base of this hill, stands a
small brick building with a back porch, and around it the necessary
fixtures. It stands on the corner of the square, near where the
mill-race passes under the street on its way down to the little mill.
That is the first house Andrew Johnson ever owned. It now belongs to
another person. Almost directly opposite the mill, whose large wheel is
still moving, but whose motion is scarcely perceptible, you will see a
rather humble, old-fashioned-looking, two-story brick house, standing
near the south end of Main street. It has but one entrance from the
street. In front of it stand three or four small shade trees. The fences
of the lot and windows of the house show evident signs of dilapidation,
the consequences of rebellion and of rebel rule. Like many other windows
in the South, a number of panes of glass are broken out and their places
supplied with paper. Glass could not be obtained in the Confederacy. As
you pass along the pavement on Main street, by looking into the lot you
will see several young apple trees, and in the spaces between two of
them are potatoes growing. In the rear of the kitchen stands a small
aspen shade-tree, and down there in the lower end of the lot is a
grape-vine trained upon a trellis, forming a pleasant bower. Scattered
over the lot are a number of rose, currant, and gooseberry bushes. At
the lower end of the lot, and just outside, stand two large weeping
willows, and under their shade is a very beautiful spring. This is the
residence of Andrew Johnson, President of the United States. Up the
street stands his former tailor shop, with the old sign still on it. And
in an old store-room up the street are the remains of his library. At
present, it consists principally of law books and public documents, most
of his valuable books having been destroyed by the rebel soldiers.”
In the spring of “’61,” Mrs. Johnson spent two months in Washington with
her husband, then a Senator, but failing health compelled her early
return to Tennessee. Long and stormy were the seasons which passed
before she again met Mr. Johnson, and how changed were all things when
they resumed the broken thread of separation, after an interval of
nearly two years!
At her home quietly attending to the duties of life, and cheered by the
frequent visits of her children, she was startled one bright morning by
the following summons:
“HEAD-QUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF EAST TENNESSEE,}
“OFFICE PROVOST-MARSHAL, _April 24th, 1862_.}
“MRS. ANDREW JOHNSON, Greenville:
“Dear Madam:—By Major-General E. Kirby Smith I am directed to
respectfully require that you and your family pass beyond the
Confederate States’ line (through Nashville, if you please) in
thirty-six hours from this date.
“Passports will be granted you at this office.
“Very respectfully,
“W. M. CHURCHWELL,
“Colonel and Provost-Marshal.”
This was an impossibility, both on account of her very poor health, and
the unsettled state of her affairs. Nor did she know where to go; rumors
reached her of the murder of Mr. Johnson in Kentucky, and again at
Nashville; then again she would hear that he had not left Washington.
She knew not what to do, and accordingly wrote to the authorities for
more time to decide on some definite plan.
The military movements delayed the execution of the next order sent her,
and the continued illness of Mrs. Johnson distressed her children, who
knew that a change of residence would sooner or later become necessary.
All the summer she remained in Greenville, occasionally visiting her
daughters, and hoping daily to hear of her husband. September came, and
knowing she would be compelled to leave East Tennessee, she applied to
the authorities for permission to cross the lines, accompanied by her
children and her son-in-law, Mr. Stover.
Finally, after numerous endeavors, the cavalcade set out. A few miles
out from town they were overtaken by an order to return.
Reaching Murfreesboro, exhausted and weary from the long trip, the
little band were told they could not go through the lines. The
Confederate troops occupied this once beautiful town, and no
accommodations were to be obtained. Wandering from one house to another
after the long walk from the depot, in the night-time, without food or
shelter, Mrs. Johnson and her children despaired of securing any more
inviting abode than the depot, and that was a long distance from the
centre of the town. As a last resort, a woman was requested to share her
home with the tired refugees, and she consented with the understanding
that in the morning they would depart. Their Union sentiments made them
obnoxious, and it required courage to show them hospitality. Next day
they returned to Tullahoma, but on arriving there received a telegram to
retrace their steps, as arrangements had been made for their passage
through to Nashville.
A former friend of the family obtained this favor for them, and, nothing
daunted, night again found the same band at Murfreesboro.
No effort was made to secure lodgings, all preferring to stay on the
cars, rather than undertake the experiences of the previous night.
The eating-house near by was vacant, and into this Colonel Stover
conducted the tired party. Without fire or food, or any kind of beds or
seats, they determined to stay as best they could; and but for the
thoughtful, motherly care of Mrs. Johnson, it would have been a night of
horrors. She had provided herself with candles and matches before
starting, and the remnants of an old lunch satisfied the hunger of the
little ones, and rendered less cheerless their lonely abode.
Thus, from one trouble to another, subject to the commands of military
rulers, liable to be arrested for the slightest offence, and ofttimes
insulted by the rabble, Mrs. Johnson and her children performed the
perilous journey from Greenville to Nashville. Few who were not actual
participators in the civil war can form an estimate of the trials of
this noble woman. Invalid as she was, she yet endured exposure and
anxiety, and passed through the extended lines of hostile armies, never
uttering a hasty word or by her looks betraying in the least degree her
harrowed feelings. Wherever she passed she won kind words and hearty
prayers for a safe journey, and is remembered by friend and foe as a
lady of benign countenance and sweet, winning manners.
The following day Mrs. Johnson received the following note:
“MURFREESBORO, _October 12th, 1862_.
“MRS. ANDREW JOHNSON:—General Forrest sends a flag of truce to Nashville
to-morrow morning, and he wishes you and your party to make your
arrangements to go down with the flag, at seven o’clock A. M.,
to-morrow.
“The General regrets that he has no transportation for you; he will send
a two-horse wagon to carry your baggage, etc. By remaining until
to-morrow, you can go the direct route to Nashville; by going previous
to that time, the route would be necessarily circuitous.
Respectfully,
“ISHAM G. HARRIS.”
A diary kept by a citizen of Nashville at this time contains the
following:
“Quite a sensation has been produced by the arrival in Nashville of
Governor Johnson’s family, after incurring and escaping numerous perils
while making their exodus from East Tennessee. The male members of the
family were in danger of being hung on more than one occasion. They left
Bristol in the extreme northeastern section of the State, on the
Virginia line, by permission of the rebel War Department, accompanied by
a small escort. Wherever it became known on the railroad route that
Andrew Johnson’s family were on the train, the impertinent curiosity of
some rebels was only equalled by the clamor of others for some physical
demonstration on Johnson’s sons. Arriving at Murfreesboro, they were met
by General Forrest and his force. Forrest refused to allow them to
proceed, and they were detained some time, until Isham G. Harris and
Andrew Ewing, noted rebels, telegraphed to Richmond, and obtained
peremptory orders allowing them to proceed. The great joy at the reunion
of this long and sorrowfully separated family may be imagined. I will
not attempt to describe it. Even the Governor’s Roman firmness was
overcome, and he wept tears of thankfulness at this merciful deliverance
of his beloved ones from the hands of their unpitying persecutors.”
Nashville and comparative quiet were at last reached, and the long
separated family hoped their trials were over. Mrs. Johnson had
exhausted her strength, and for many months kept her room, too feeble to
venture out. But her little grandchildren enjoyed the freedom of play
once more, and their happy faces are remembered by strangers and friends
who watched them in their gambols about the capital.
By-and-by Mrs. Patterson joined the family in the safe asylum they had
found in Nashville, and young and old were happy in the reunion. But
trouble, never far from Mrs. Johnson, came very near in the cruel death
of her eldest son. Not long after receiving his diploma as physician, he
was appointed a surgeon in the First Tennessee Infantry.
One bright spring morning, he started on his rounds of professional
duty. In the exuberance of health, youth, and spirits, he sprang upon
the horse of a brother officer. He had gone but a short distance, when
the high-mettled creature reared upon its hind feet suddenly; the young
man was thrown backward, and falling upon the frozen earth, was
instantly killed. The concussion fractured his skull. Mrs. Johnson
grieved for this son as did Jacob for his beloved Joseph, and not only
the mother, but the whole family, mourned with unusual poignancy his
untimely death. Any mention of “Charlie’s” name for years after brought
the hot tears to their eyes, and a sadness, hard to dispel, gathered
about their lips, when some familiar object recalled their loved and
early lost one.
The convention, in 1864, nominated Andrew Johnson, then Military
Governor, for the Vice-Presidency, on the ticket with Mr. Lincoln. In
March, 1865, Mr. Johnson left his family in Nashville and went on to
Washington. It was their intention to vacate the house then occupied by
their family and remove to their home in Greenville, but the events of
the coming month caused them to form other plans. President Lincoln was
assassinated the 14th of April, and the Vice-President was immediately
sworn into office. A telegraphic notice in the Nashville papers the next
morning contained the following:
“The Vice-President has already assumed the authority which the
Constitution devolves upon him, and we feel doubly assured that he will
so conduct himself in his high office as to merit the affection and
applause of his countrymen.” As this was the first murder of a ruler in
the experience of the Republic, it will ever occupy a prominent place in
the history of America, and, involving as it did the result of civil
war, will live a silent monitor to all democratic countries. Had the
conspiracy, which had been carefully planned, been successfully
executed, the Government would have been paralyzed. Even as it was, and
there was but one death, when many others were meditated, the shock was
terrible and lasting. It was a humiliating calamity to our free
government, and a source of national sorrow and mortification. Men and
women, reared to idealize rather than ponder the principles of the
system under which they had lived; educated to give a ready assent to
the hero worship of the signers of the Declaration, and voluntary
adoration to the First General of the army, and the first President,
rudely awakened from their dream of a perfect Government, became
discouraged and dismayed at the unexpected, never to be thought of,
murder of a President. It may not be amiss to give a few facts in
connection with this unhappy affair, relative to the husband of Mrs.
Johnson, which, affecting her interests materially, are not out of place
in this sketch of her life.
After her arrival in Washington, a beautifully bound album, containing
the letters of the Wisconsin State Historical Society, to Senator
Doolittle, and the replies of himself and Ex-Governor Farwell, was
presented to her. The letters were inscribed by an expert penman, and
are prized by the family as a truthful account of Mr. Johnson’s narrow
escape from death, together with the main incidents of the assassination
conspiracy.
The Historical Society of Wisconsin, through Hon. L. C. Draper, its
Secretary, wrote to Senator J. R. Doolittle for a full account of the
circumstances; to which he replied, that “by the sagacity, presence of
mind, courage, and devotion of Governor Farwell, our own distinguished
fellow-citizen, Mr. Johnson was apprised of his danger, and his life
secured, if not absolutely saved from destruction;” “and it is a matter
of congratulation to ourselves and our State that a former Governor of
Wisconsin was successfully efficient in securing the life of the
nation’s Chief Magistrate.”
Governor Farwell’s letter, in reply to the request of the Society,
through Senator Doolittle, is perhaps the most authentic statement ever
made in regard to the unfortunate affair. It is as follows:
“WASHINGTON, _February 8th, 1866_.
“HON. JAMES R. DOOLITTLE, United States Senate
“DEAR SIR: I have received your favor of the 22d ult., requesting, on
behalf of the Wisconsin State Historical Society, a statement of my
connection with the occurrences that took place in this city on the
night of the assassination of President Lincoln. It is a mournful task
to recall the terrible scenes that I then witnessed. Yet in order that
the expressed wishes of that Society, of which from the time of its
formation I have been a member, and in which I have always taken a deep
interest, may be gratified, and a truthful account of those events, so
far as I witnessed them, may find its way into history, I comply with
the request.
“At the time of the assassination of President Lincoln, I was boarding
at the Kirkwood House, my family being then in Wisconsin. The
Vice-President had rooms, and was boarding at the same place, and I
there came to know him, and occasionally passed an evening in his room.
“Early in the evening of April 14th, 1865, I called to see Mr. J. B.
Crosby, of Massachusetts, and found that he had but a short time to stay
and was very desirous of seeing the President before his return. Having
noticed in the papers a statement that Mr. Lincoln was expected to be
present at Ford’s Theatre on that evening, to witness the play entitled
‘Our American Cousin,’ we concluded to go thither for the express
purpose of seeing him. This we did, and procured seats having the
President’s box in full view on our right. When the fatal shot was
fired, we involuntarily turned our eyes to the box from which the sound
proceeded, and at the same instant the horrible vision of J. Wilkes
Booth flashed upon my eyes, brandishing a knife, and jumping from the
President’s box repeating the words, ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis.’ I had
scarcely seen and heard him before he had vanished from the stage. As
the President fell, and the cry ran through the house that he was
assassinated, it flashed across my mind that there was a conspiracy
being consummated to take the lives of the leading officers of the
Government, which would include that of Mr. Johnson. The cause of this
suspicion and of my alarm for the safety of Mr. Johnson was, probably,
the fact of my having read in some newspaper the article copied from the
Selma (Ala.) _Despatch_, being an offer by some fiendish rebel to aid in
contributing a million of dollars for procuring the assassination of
Lincoln, Johnson, and Seward.
“While some seemed paralyzed by the boldness of the deed, and others
intent upon knowing how seriously the President was injured, I rushed
from the theatre, and ran with all possible speed to the Kirkwood House,
to apprise Mr. Johnson of the impending danger, impelled by a fear that
it might even then be too late. Passing Mr. Spencer, one of the clerks
of the hotel, who was standing just outside the door, I said to him,
‘Place a guard at the door: President Lincoln is murdered;’ and to Mr.
Jones, another clerk, who was at the office desk as I hurried by—‘Guard
the stairway and Governor Johnson’s room: Mr. Lincoln is assassinated;’
and then darting up to Mr. Johnson’s room, No. 68, I knocked, but
hearing no movement, I knocked again, and called out with the loudest
voice that I could command, ‘Governor Johnson, if you are in this room I
must see you.’ In a moment I heard him spring from his bed, and exclaim,
‘Farwell, is that you?’ ‘Yes, let me in,’ I replied. The door opened, I
passed in, locked it, and told him the terrible news, which for a time
overwhelmed us both, and grasping hands, we fell upon each other as if
for mutual support. But it was only for a moment. While every sound
suggested the stealthy tread of a conspirator, and every corner of the
chamber a lurking place, yet Mr. Johnson, without expressing any
apprehension for his own safety, and with that promptness and energy
which has always characterized him, at once deliberated upon the proper
course to meet the emergency. But the moment of danger had passed. The
officers of the hotel, as requested by me, had stationed guards, who in
a short time were released by Secretary Stanton. Soon many personal
friends of Mr. Johnson arrived, anxiously inquiring for his safety. In
the meantime, the news of the murderous assault upon Secretary Seward
and his son Frederick had reached us, and justified our fears as to the
general purpose of the conspirators. Mr. Johnson was desirous of knowing
the real condition of the President and Mr. Seward, and requested me to
go and see them personally, and not to credit any story or rumor that
might be flying about the city. This was no easy task. Distrust and
horror seemed to fill every mind. The very atmosphere was burdened with
stories of dark conspiracies and bloody deeds. Thousands of excited
citizens, soldiers, and guards, blocked up every avenue leading to Mr.
Peterson’s house, No. 453 Tenth Street, to which the President had been
carried, and in which he was dying. None but prominent citizens, either
known to the officers of the guard, or who could be generally vouched
for, were allowed to pass, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I
succeeded in working my way through the crowd and past the guards to the
house, and then into the room in which the President had been placed.
The news was all too true. There he lay, evidently in the agonies of
death, his medical attendants doing all that human zeal or skill could
devise, and many of his friends had gathered about him, some in tears.
Turning away from this sad sight, I worked my way to the house of
Secretary Seward, and there, too, I found that the villains had done
their work. I then returned and reported to Mr. Johnson the disastrous
doings of the conspirators. In a short time Mr. Johnson resolved to see
the President himself. His friends thought he ought not to leave the
house when there was so much excitement in the city, and when the extent
of the conspiracy was unknown. President Lincoln had just been shot in
the presence of a crowded assembly, and his assassin had escaped.
Secretary Seward had been stabbed in his chamber, and the minion had
fled. But he determined to go. Major James R. O’Beirne, commanding the
Provost Guard, desired to send a detachment of troops with him, but he
declined the offer, and, buttoning up his coat, and pulling his hat well
down, he requested me to accompany him and the Major to lead the way,
and thus we went through the multitude that crowded the streets and
filled the passage-way, till we joined the sad circle of friends who
were grouped around the bedside of the dying President. It is
unnecessary to add anything more to this account of my connection with
an event which forms, with the rebellion plot, the darkest chapter in
our country’s history.
“If it is true, as regarded by many, that the life of President Johnson
was saved by the timely arrival of citizens at the Kirkwood, at the risk
of their lives, then such risk was properly, and so far as I am
concerned, joyfully incurred, and this statement may be worthy of
preservation. Trusting that this may meet the wishes of the Society as
expressed through you,
“I have the honor to be,
“Respectfully,
“Your obedient servant,
“L. J. FARWELL.”
The Washington correspondent of the Chicago _Republican_ thus speaks of
Mrs. Johnson:
“Mrs. Johnson, a confirmed invalid, has never appeared in society in
Washington. Her very existence is a myth to almost every one. She was
last seen at a party given to her grandchildren. She was seated in one
of the Republican Court chairs, a dainty affair of satin and ebony. She
did not rise when the children or old guests were presented to her; she
simply said, ‘My dears, I am an invalid,’ and her sad, pale face and
sunken eyes fully proved the expression. Mrs. Johnson looks somewhat
older than the President, and her age does exceed his by a few swings of
the scythe of time. She is an invalid now, but an observer would say,
contemplating her, ‘A noble woman—God’s best gift to man.’ Perhaps it is
well to call to mind at this time that it was this woman who taught the
President to read, after she became his wife, and that in all their
earlier years she was his counsellor, assistant, and guide. None but a
wise and good mother could have reared such daughters as Mrs. Patterson
and Mrs. Stover. When Mrs. Senator Patterson found herself ‘the first
lady in the land,’ she made this remark, which has been the key-note of
the feminine department of the White House from that day to the present
time: ‘We are plain people, from the mountains of Tennessee, called here
for a short time by a national calamity. I trust too much will not be
expected of us.’ When Anna Surratt threw herself prostrate upon the
floor of one of the ante-rooms of the White House, begging to see Mrs.
Patterson, she said: ‘Tell the girl she has my sympathy, my tears, but I
have no more right to speak than the servants of the White House.’ When
the ‘pardon brokers’ trailed their slimy lengths everywhere about the
Mansion, they never dared to cross a certain enchanted pathway; and the
face of any lobbyist set in this direction has always brought up in the
end against a stone wall.”
Mrs. Johnson shared as little as possible in the honors accorded her
family, as well after as during their stay in the White House, and
gladly turned her face homeward, to find rest and repose so necessary to
her feeble condition.
Once more quietly established at home, she anticipated renewed happiness
in the presence of her reunited family, and reasonably hoped to have
much happiness in the future.
Death hovered near her when least expected, and one night, as the
servant entered the room of her son (Col. Robert Johnson), he was
discovered in a dying condition, and in an unconscious state passed from
earth. From a tear-stained letter is gathered these sad particulars. “He
was well and on the street at five o’clock, and at dusk, as the servant
went as usual to light his lamp, she discovered that he was in a deep
sleep. He was never aroused from it. All the physicians of the village
were immediately called in, but alas! too late to do any good. He
breathed his last at half-past eleven that night, without a single groan
or struggle.
“I do not suppose he ever made an enemy in his life. He was certainly
the most popular boy ever raised in this part of the country, and
continued so after he became a man. Oh, if he could only have spoken one
word to us! but he passed into the tomb, unconscious of all around him.
He was buried with Masonic honors, and the largest funeral ever before
seen in this village accompanied his remains to the grave.”
After seven years of wanderings, he was permitted to accompany his
parents to their home, and to die surrounded by the friends of his
youth.
Mrs. Johnson grieved deeply for this son as she had done for his
brother. She lived in and for her family, and the loss of any one dear
to her affected her seriously. Frail in health, tried by anxiety and
care in early life, and a confirmed sufferer in maturer years, she
became now a helpless invalid; and though she was glad to be at home
again, pleased to see the kindly faces of her old neighbors and friends,
she could not be an active participator in anything. She could only
mourn for her dead, and receive and give comfort to those about her in
her own home. The world saw but little more of her. The suggestion at
this time that she would live longer than Mr. Johnson, if made to her,
would have been derided. She had little thought of recovering her health
at any time, and particularly after the first ten years of her
invalidism. Subsequent to her return, and the death of Robert, she
ceased to entertain the wish to live many years, for she was less and
less concerned in public affairs, now that her husband had retired, and
was likely to remain, as she thought, in private life. His health was
not as robust as formerly, and during the summer succeeding his return
from Washington, he was stricken with cholera, and his life was for a
time despaired of. From this he recovered, and in the fall he was again
participating in the service of redeeming Tennessee from the
reconstruction errors into which it had been led by men more eager for
place than true principle.
In 1874 Mr. Johnson was elected to the Senate to succeed William G.
Brownlow, and his wife saw him set out again for Washington, holding the
same position he had held before the war. She rejoiced in the ovation
that was paid him; read all that the papers said of him, and was pleased
that his career was not over, as she had at one time supposed. He was
again in Greenville in the early spring, and the quiet home-life was
continued during the summer. He spent much time from home during the
following season, making speeches throughout the State, and giving his
time as of old to politics. As a defeated candidate, he returned to
Greenville from Nashville that season, and Mrs. Johnson then felt that
they were two old people who would go towards the grave together
quietly, surrounded by the worldly comfort he had secured for his
family. This was not to be, however.
It was given him to enjoy the triumph of a re-election to the Senate for
the long term, beginning in December, 1874, and he sat out the
extraordinary session, and made his last speech in the Louisiana case.
But it was not given this indomitable patriot long to enjoy the dignity
with ease, which his own party and his opponents equally wished. He only
lived to attend this one session, and the opportunity was given him to
make one speech of importance to himself as a vindication of the course
he had pursued while President. It was an appeal for the rights of a
population whose government was kept from them by military force, and in
it he threw all the fervor and sincerity of a man who was not only
deeply interested in the subject, but who was speaking in favor of a
policy he had devised and upheld under most adverse circumstances.
Naturally enough, it was the grandest effort of his life, as it was his
last. He went back from the Senate to his own people, and in midsummer
he was stricken down with death. On the morning of the 31st of July,
1875, he died at the residence of his youngest daughter in Carter
county. Her home was not far distant from Greenville, and he thought
that, though ill when starting, he would recuperate from the fatigue of
the ride, and recover more speedily in the country than in town. He had
frequently said to his physician that “he did not think he could hold
out more than a year or two longer, as he was completely worn out.” Two
days before his last illness, he made a similar remark to his wife, who
was anxiously noting the change that had come over his spirits. He left
her in the early morning, saying good-bye, with no thought of a longer
absence than a week or two. The next morning his son and daughter were
summoned to their father’s bedside, and the startling news was broken to
the invalid wife. She could not go to him, and her part was to remain
alone in her deserted house, while her children hastened away. When they
returned, it was to bring with them the dead. From this shock she did
not recover. At no time had she ever entertained the slightest thought
of outliving her husband, and now that this event had occurred, she was
stunned and bewildered. She lived for six months, and died at the home
of her eldest daughter on the 13th of January, 1876. It was not an
unlooked-for event, though her children had become so accustomed to her
invalidism, that they could not realize she was dying. She was always
quiet and gentle, and her serenity deceived even those who watched over
her continually. Very patiently and uncomplainingly she bore her part of
sorrows, and it was only after she was dead that others realized what a
sufferer she had been. Denied every other means of serving her loved
ones, she cheered them, and the unselfishness of her life was not fully
understood until two white hands were clasped in death, and her sad eyes
were closed forever. She lived for others, and counted not self, and was
rewarded for all life’s trials in the love she was capable of giving to
others. She was a woman of heroic mould, and her life-example was a
noble one to her family, to her friends, and to the world.
Mrs. Johnson was buried beside her husband in the romantic place he
selected many years ago. At the time he bought the property, Mr. Johnson
offered to purchase sufficient ground for a public cemetery, provided
the authorities would improve it. The liberal offer was not accepted,
and for a time there were no other graves there. The monument erected by
the children is a superb structure, standing twenty-six feet high, with
a base that is nearly ten feet square. Granite piers rest on each of the
graves, lying side by side, over which is sprung a granite arch, and
upon this the monument rests, leaving an opening under the arch, through
which are seen the graves. The structure is one of great beauty, with
its four funeral urns supported on pilasters, and its exquisite carving.
Upon the front of the arch is carved a scroll, representing the
Constitution of the United States, and an open book with a hand resting
upon it, representing the taking of the oath of office. Over the apex of
the shaft—which of itself is thirteen feet high—hangs an American flag
in graceful folds, and surmounting the whole is an American eagle with
outstretched wings. On the 28th of May, 1878, this monument was unveiled
with the most imposing ceremonies, and for the first time the simple
inscription was seen. It contained the names, ages, and death dates of
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, and underneath the name of the seventeenth
President is the motto:
“His faith in the people never wavered.”
[Illustration: Eng_d. by J. C. Buttre. Martha Patterson]
XXIII.
MARTHA JOHNSON PATTERSON.
The resemblance to her father is a marked attribute of Mrs. Patterson’s
face; a reproduction, though moulded in a softer cast, of his distinct
and strong features and expressive eyes. She inherited his executive
ability, his comprehensiveness, and many of his characteristic
peculiarities. Her countenance denotes strength, and the organs of the
head indicate a harmonious and perfect blending with the finer
sentiments of the heart.
Eyes large and full discover her power of language, and the development
of form, color, size and weight, attest her ability to judge correctly
and estimate proportions unerringly. Viewed from a phrenological
standpoint, hers is a remarkable organism. The head is symmetrical,
tending upward from the brow, indicating spirituality, and gently
sloping to the ears and neck, embracing in its outlines the faculties of
firmness, generosity and benevolence.
Never led off by persuasion from what her judgment decides correct, she
rarely makes a mistake in regard to persons or places, and is the firm
advocate of those less fortunate than herself. Like her heart, her mouth
is large, the lips partaking more of the intellectual than of the
sensual. The length, prominence, and compression of the upper lip,
bespeaks the firmness and strength of character which stamps her,
wherever she goes, a woman of rare powers. Adapting herself to
circumstances, she quickly masters any situation in which she is placed,
and controls rather than follows the will of others. The intellectual
lobe is large, the perceptive and reflective faculties are harmoniously
blended, and withal hers is an educated intellect, with an available
mind. She is possessed of almost sleepless energy, and her slight, frail
form seems knitted for endurance. Never restless or impatient, she
comprehends at a glance her position and requirements, and by the force
of her will overcomes obstacles and bears up with fortitude under
accumulated trials.
Reared in the mountains of East Tennessee, her nature is untrammeled by
artistic contortions, and her manners are as free from ostentation as
are the feelings which prompt them. The eldest of five children, she was
to her mother an efficient aid in the care of her brothers and sister,
and in the management of her house. When she was old enough to attend
school, it was her task to assist in keeping house, and no duty was
neglected. It has been remarked that she never had time to play. While
other school-girls amused themselves in the sports of the season, the
pale, quiet Martha Johnson hastened back to relieve her mother, and by
her indefatigable industry performed the many deeds so grateful to a
parent, when offered by a child. The neighbors called her a strange,
silent being, indifferent to the ordinary amusements of the young, but
she felt herself ennobled by the work she daily made a part of her life,
and passed these younger years in her own earnest way.
She was placed by her father, who was then a member of Congress, at
school in Georgetown, where she remained three terms, and there laid the
foundation of the structure which, as she grows older, develops her
native strength of mind.
It happened that, during her school life in Georgetown, President Polk,
of Tennessee, occupied the White House, and she became his frequent
guest, spending most of her holidays in the mansion in which, later in
life, she was to preside. Her own accounts of her sojourn are amusing,
deprecating as she does the awkward conduct of the timid, bashful girl,
in the stately residence, through which the voices of children never
resounded. She was shy and distant, and the stately kindness of the
hostess could not overcome her shrinking reserve; it was her greatest
delight then to observe persons, and the opportunity afforded was not
lost upon her. She returned home in 1851, and was married to Judge David
T. Patterson, on the 13th of December, 1856. No wedding festivities
marked the occasion, it being congenial to her habits to have a quiet
ceremony. After which she visited Nashville, where her father was
residing as Governor of the State. Extending her tour through the
Southern cities to New Orleans, she returned to her old home in
Tennessee, where she continued to live until the war in 1860 disturbed
the private relations of the entire family. Throughout the stormy years
of ’61 and ’62, she remained in East Tennessee, nor did she leave there
till, late in the next year, she visited her mother’s family at
Nashville. It was her intention to remain several months and then go
back to her home; but before she again crossed its threshold, the two
contending armies had passed through the place, leaving nothing but the
empty house. Every particle of furniture, every prized relic of her own
and her children’s infant years were gone, and their home was desolated.
She trod its familiar apartments where she had left so many mementos of
a happy past, and nothing remained save the bare walls. Well she
remembered the arranging and adjusting of everything before closing it
up, and as she gazed upon its comfortless appearance, her mind dwelt
upon the time she had spent in adding to its adornment.
The family were in Nashville when the nomination of the father, then
Military Governor of Tennessee, as Vice-President was announced, and
they witnessed the delight of the Union men of the Capital, as the news
spread of his success.
Early in February, the Vice-President proposed to leave Tennessee, and
his children decided to seek once more their home in Greenville. The
news of the assassination of President Lincoln flashed over the wires on
the morning of the 15th of April, as the drums were beating and soldiers
parading for a grand review and procession in honor of the recent
victories. It reached the family of Mr. Johnson as they were preparing
for their removal home, and awakened in their breasts anxious fears for
the fate of the husband and father. Assurances of his safety calmed
their minds, and with deep thankfulness that he was spared, they
sorrowed for the untimely death of the President. The Nashville papers
of the 19th of April thus speak of the funeral procession in honor of
the murdered Chief Magistrate:
“All places of business were closed, and every store and dwelling
appropriately draped in mourning. The procession numbered upward of
fifteen thousand persons; among them were Generals Thomas, Miller,
Whipple and Donaldson, and in the line of civilians which swelled its
length was seen the carriage of Mrs. James K. Polk, occupied by herself
and Mrs. Patterson, the daughter of President Johnson.”
The family of the new President reached Washington in June, and soon
after took up their residence in the White House. Here was a new field
entirely for the diffident woman who was compelled to do the honors in
lieu of her mother, who was a confirmed invalid. After the harrowing
scenes through which the former occupants had passed, the House looked
anything but inviting to the family. Soldiers had wandered unchallenged
the entire suites of parlors; and the East Room, dirty and soiled,
looked as little like itself as could be imagined. Guards had slept upon
the sofas and carpets until they were ruined, and the immense crowds
who, during the preceding years of war, filled the President’s house
continually, had worn out the already ancient furniture. No sign of
neatness or comfort greeted their appearance at their new home, but
evidences everywhere of neglect and decay met their eyes. To put aside
all ceremony and work constantly, was the portion of Mrs. Patterson,
under whose control were placed the numerous servants connected with the
establishment.
“The first reception held by President Johnson was on the first of
January, 1866, assisted by Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. Stover, his two
daughters. Their softness and ease of manner had an eloquent external
expression in the simple neatness of their apparel, and surpassed in
quiet dignity all who gathered to see them. The house had not been
renovated, and the apartments were dingy and destitute of ornament save
two kinds, which are more touchingly beautiful than gems of the East.
Natural flowers were in profusion, and left their fragrance, while the
little children of the house were living, breathing ornaments attracting
every eye. The old injured furniture of the East Room was removed, and
the worn-out carpets covered with linen. The supervision of Mrs.
Patterson made the house quite presentable. Mrs. Patterson was attired
in a blue velvet, white lace shawl, and point lace collar. Her dark hair
was put back from her face, with pendent tresses, and adorned with a
single white flower. Mrs. Stover, who was yet in half-mourning for her
gallant husband, wore a heavy black silk, with no ornaments in her light
hair.”
During the early spring an appropriation was made by Congress of thirty
thousand dollars to refurnish the Executive Mansion, and during the long
and warm summer succeeding, Mrs. Patterson struggled unceasingly with
the atlas-heaps of lumber and old furniture scarcely worth repairing,
but which was renovated for use. The firmness and decision of her
character was fully tested in this trying ordeal, but she triumphed over
every difficulty, and so managed the amount appropriated that the
Executive Mansion was once more comfortable and more beautiful than ever
before.
Appreciating the condition of the country just emerging from a long
strife, she determined to make the funds voted sufficient to satisfy the
demands of the upholsterer, and to do so she constituted herself agent.
Hearing the proposals of various firms, she found, to put the matter in
other hands, she could not more than furnish the parlors and
reception-rooms, and then her determination was formed to superintend
the purchases. By dint of perseverance and the co-operation of competent
assistants, she had the house completed when the winter season
approached. Old and abused sets were repolished and covered, and the
papering which she had not the means to remove entirely, was made to
assume a brighter appearance by the addition of panelings and gilt
ornaments.
The warm weather, which had ever found her before the war in her
mountain home, now came upon her in its intensity, as she labored with
her numerous assistants in arranging the comfortless residence over
which she presided. Who, while admiring the elegant and refined
atmosphere of the historic house during her father’s administration,
imagined that the entire labor was accomplished by the tact and energy
of the daughter who received and entertained her visitors so
unostentatiously?
Tenderly caring for her invalid mother, and her children, who grew weary
of the restraints imposed upon them, she struggled on and succeeded in
making the house not only attractive to her friends, but to citizens and
strangers, who pronounced it handsomer than it ever was in times past.
The exquisite walls of the Blue Room long remained a lasting proof of
her artistic and cultivated taste, and the graceful adornments of the
hitherto stiff and ungainly East Room were evidences of her ability. A
newspaper correspondent who visited the White House complimented Mrs.
Patterson upon the Republican simplicity of the establishment, to which
she replied, “We are a plain people, sir, from the mountains of
Tennessee, and we do not propose to put on airs because we have the
fortune to occupy this place for a little while.” “There is a homeliness
in this utterance,” said the _Albany Evening Journal_, “which will shock
the sensitive refinement of ‘ottar of roses and lavender water classes,’
but it has a sentiment in it which must meet with response from every
true lover of democratic ideas and practices.”
Throughout the White House there existed not a single evidence of tawdry
gaudiness or coarseness in color or quality; and from cellar to garret
it was overhauled and adorned by the unaffected hostess, who called
herself “a plain person from East Tennessee.”
“The reference of Mrs. Patterson to the mountain home of her family, is
suggestive of the fact that when the tornado of war was sweeping over
Tennessee, President Johnson’s kin dwelt where its ravages were most
dreadful, and that while some who are now leading the shoddy aristocracy
of the metropolis were coining their ill-gotten dollars from the
sufferings and blood of brave men, they were being hunted from point to
point, driven to seek a refuge in the solitude of the wilderness, forced
to subsist on coarse and insufficient food, and more than once called to
bury with secret and stolen sepulture those whom they loved: murdered
because they would not join in deeds of odious treason to union and
liberty. A family with such a record of devotion and suffering, needs
for its recognition none of the adventitious aids of show and pretence.
It is refreshing in these days of extravagant and pompous display, when
silly pretence is made to pass current for gentility, when bombast and
fustian are palmed off as good breeding, when the shopman’s wife
emulates the luxury of a duke’s household, when no one is presumed to be
worthy the honors of good society who does not ‘put on airs,’ to hear
that the President’s daughter, who, by courtesy of her new position as
his housekeeper, is the first lady of the land, proposes to set the
example of a truly republican simplicity all too rare among those who
influence the customs of the land.”
In September, 1867, Mrs. Patterson accompanied the Presidential party on
their tour through the Northern and Western States, leaving her two
children with her mother at the White House. Returning in a few weeks,
she resumed the routine of her life, and prepared for the approaching
season.
Mrs. Patterson is the first instance of the wife of a Senator and a
daughter of the President presiding over the Executive Mansion.
President Jefferson’s second daughter, Mrs. Eppes, held a similar
position, but she never presided over the Mansion, and was but once a
visitor at the President’s house during her short life, after her
father’s election. The threefold responsibilities were accepted and
endured with a calm reliance, on the energies of a mind ever ready for
the occasion, and the world has already rendered the verdict of “many
daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.”
Simple but elegant in her apparel, never descending to a disregard of
place, yet not carried away by the follies of fashion, Mrs. Patterson
pleased the eye, and gratified the pride of all who felt an interest in
her success. Golden opinions of her taste were won by the rich
simplicity of her toilet on every public occasion, and the beauty of her
dress in part consisted in the artless, unassuming manner of the wearer.
In the combined elements which go to form the marked character of Mrs.
Patterson, she was not unlike Mrs. John Adams, and her will-power,
guided by superior common sense, recalls to mind the life of that brave
woman of the Revolution; but the current of circumstances into which she
has been thrown, has been almost too strong to allow her perfect freedom
of action. In her life there has never come a time when she might choose
between diverging pathways; but if she could not alter the stern fiats
of fate, she had the power of dignifying little insignificant things,
and, by her manner of meeting them, making the pleasantest side appear.
In an eminent degree she inherits that most marked trait of her father’s
character, patient endurance, and knows “how sublime a thing it is, to
suffer and be strong.” Treading unmurmuringly the appointed way of life,
she depends upon her judgment to guide her bark, recognizing the fact
that when nature fills the sails the vessel goes smoothly on; and when
judgment is the pilot the insurance need not be high.
In the higher walks of literary pursuits she will never shine, nor yet
as a conspicuous person in any department of life. She has essentially a
Southerner’s love of home; and the duties devolving upon her as a
mother, daughter, and wife, fill the meed of her ambition. True to
principle, she will perform the duties of her station, be it high or
low, and the amount of courage hidden away in the recesses of her nature
would lead her in emergencies to dare—if need be—to die.
Simple to a fault in her desires, she has learned to gather happiness
from within, and to rely upon the cold charity of the world for nothing.
She would not pine for luxuries which others deem necessities, but even
rather scorns the value many set upon them. Reared as she was in
childhood by parents remarkable for ceaseless industry, she imbibed the
lessons taught her by example, and is energetic to restlessness, and
vigilant in working while the day lasts.
During the impeachment trial of her father, Mrs. Patterson was asked
what she thought of it, and how it would terminate. “I have so much to
do,” she replied, “that I have no time to discuss the subject, and I
suppose my private opinion is not worth much; I do not know how it will
end, but all we can do is to wait.” And she did wait, bending every
energy to entertain as became her position, and wearing always a
patient, suffering look. Through the long weeks of the trial, she
listened to every request, saw every caller, and served every petitioner
(and only those who have filled this position know how arduous is this
duty), hiding from all eyes the anxious weight of care oppressing her.
If she was indisposed after the acquittal, it surprised no one who had
seen her struggling to keep up before.
There are no triumphs or displays to record of her life, no travels in
foreign lands, nor novel sights of strange places. She has not stood in
the Orient and watched the great stars swim down hot southern skies, nor
heard from the distant palm groves the orioles and nightingales. The
even tenor of her way has been spent far from the palaces of luxury or
the frivolities of fashion. She has not trodden the gilded halls of
ephemeral wealth, nor basked in the sunlight of uninterrupted
prosperity, but from the emanations of her father’s genius she has
gathered the forces which strengthen her own mind, and the rounds she
has mounted in the ladder of progressive development have been won by
earnest thought and the gradual experiences of a still young life.
She more than any other of her name and race, appreciated the giant
efforts of her father, and upon her he devoted most attention. The
companion in childhood of the village tailor, she became in womanhood
the counsellor and friend of the successful statesman.
Louis Napoleon, in his Life of Julius Cæsar, says: “How little able are
common men to judge of the motives which govern great souls.” The
history of Mrs. Patterson’s stay in the Executive Mansion suggests the
thought how unappreciated she was by those who fawned around her in her
hour of triumph. Possessing native intellect to a high degree, she knows
her latent powers, and her head thinks and her soul feels the difference
between her sound principles and practical sense, and the flippant, vain
women who consider her unfashionable. With such a class she could have
no sympathy; and it is foreign to her nature to dissemble. Circumventing
all attempts at advice and assistance, she taught many who insisted upon
helping her, that a sensible woman is never at a loss for words or
manners, and to such Presidents’ houses are as simple residences,
requiring only the refinement of the lady and the ability of a resolute,
determined person. Genial and social to familiar friends, she was
generally distant and reserved toward promiscuous visitors; while, at
the same time, she had a high sense of the justice due the masses from
the family of the first official in the nation. This feeling of duty
toward others actuated her course in keeping the White House ready
always to be seen by the crowds who daily throng it. Parlors and
conservatories were kept open as much as consistent, though many times
very annoying to the inmates, and rendering the privacy of their own
apartments rather a matter of chance than of certainty. It was not
unfrequent that idle curiosity-seekers ventured through the closed doors
which separated the private from the public wing of the building, and
intruded upon the forbearing occupants; yet such occurrences were never
made the occasion of trouble—a polite request and pleasant acceptance of
the proffered apology sufficed, and not unfrequently added the offenders
of etiquette to her list of new-made friends.
It was the custom of Mrs. Patterson to rise early; and after a simple
toilet, to skim the milk and attend to the dairy before breakfast. In
the hall connecting the conservatory to the main building, her clean
pails might be seen ranged in regular order. When, on Saturday
afternoons, the greenhouses were thrown open to the public, these
evidences of her housekeeping propensities were removed. Fond of the
delicacies of the table, she valued home-made articles, and the
delicious food found always upon her table gave evidence of her personal
oversight and thoughtfulness.
Caring for real comforts, to the exclusion of costly expenditures, she
prided herself upon gratifying the wants and tastes of her household,
and rendering the domestic life of the White House a reality.
In the possession of such principles, and actuated by motives which
redound to her praise, Mrs. Patterson’s life cannot fail to be worthy of
emulation, and the satisfaction of her conscience must be a well-spring
of pleasure, sparkling like sunshine through the darkest places in her
earthly career.
The last levee held by President Johnson was discussed by a Washington
paper after the following manner:
“The levees at the Executive Mansion have always been occasions of
especial interest to strangers who chanced to be in Washington during
the session of Congress; but never before, since receptions were
inaugurated, has there been such an ovation at a Presidential levee as
was last night at President Johnson’s closing reception. The attendance
comprised not only an unusual number of our own citizens, but also a
greater multitude of visitors from all parts of the world, than was ever
present on a similar occasion. As early as half-past seven, and long
before the doors were opened, there were numerous arrivals at the
Presidential Mansion. An hour later, and the rush had commenced in good
earnest. A long line of carriages extended from the street to the
portico in front of the house; every car on the F street and avenue
lines added fresh accessions to the crowd; while hundreds, availing
themselves of the pleasant weather, came on foot. Although an extra
police force had been detailed for the evening, and every arrangement
had been made in the cloak-room for the accommodation of all, so great
was the rush that confusion was, in a measure, unavoidable. The
dressing-rooms and corridors were closely packed with people mainly
striving to reach the entrance to the Reception-room, and it was found
necessary to close the outside doors, and also the door leading from the
hall into the Red Parlor. The crowd here was fearful, but, fortunately,
it was composed mainly of the male sex.
“Those in front were pushed on by those behind, and the position of
every one was most uncomfortable, while at one time, persons were in
actual danger of being crushed. However, the utmost good humor
prevailed, and we heard of no accidents. In the ladies’ dressing-room,
the pressure was also very great, and the breaking down of a table
caused some thoughtless person to raise an alarm of fire, which for a
few moments created terror and consternation among the timid fair ones.
At ten o’clock, the line of equipages not only filled the carriage-way
from the east to the west gate, but extended for two squares on
Pennsylvania Avenue.
“The space in front of the Mansion, and the sidewalk from the portico to
the gate, was crowded with people, waiting in the hope of gaining
admission to the house. Policemen were now stationed at the front
entrance, and only a few were admitted at a time. Those who made their
exit from the mansion were obliged to pass under the arms of the
policemen, who were stationed to keep back the surging crowd. Hundreds
left unable even to reach the portico. The door leading to the ladies’
dressing-room was blocked by gentlemen looking for those under their
charge, while scores of bright eyes searched anxiously through the
throng seeking in vain for escorts not to be found. Many of the ladies,
unable to find their escorts, were pushed on by the crowd, and were
obliged to make their entrance into the Blue Room unattended, and in
several instances it was not until the close of the reception that
parties who had been separated at the commencement of the evening were
again united.
“The President occupied his usual position near the entrance of the Blue
Parlor, the visitors being presented by Marshal Gording. From eight
o’clock until after eleven, the crowd poured through the apartments, and
to each person, however humble his or her station, President Johnson
extended a pleasant and cordial greeting. Mrs. Patterson, who stood at
the right of the President, and a few steps farther back in the room,
was attired with customary taste and elegance. She wore a Lyons black
velvet, handsomely trimmed with bands of satin and black lace. A shawl
of white thread lace fell in graceful folds over her dress. Her hair was
simply and becomingly ornamented, and her jewelry was of the most chaste
description. The ceremony of introduction was graciously performed by
General Mickler. In the vast concourse assembled to pay their respects
to the retiring Chief Magistrate were many persons of distinction from
abroad, as well as an unusual number of Washington celebrities. From
Maine to Florida, and from the Atlantic coast to the seaboard on the
Pacific, there was scarcely a State or Territory that was not
represented last night, at the farewell reception of Andrew Johnson,
whose kindly grasp and sincere smile called forth many a hearty wish for
his future happiness and prosperity. Exquisite bouquets of choice
exotics were scattered through the rooms. The superb East Parlor was
dazzlingly illuminated. Magnificent mirrors flashed back the light from
the quivering crystals of the massive chandeliers. From the ante-chamber
came the sweet strains of the Marine Band, floating in softened cadence
through the sumptuous apartments. The scene was one of unrivalled
interest, and will never be forgotten by those who were present. The
display of wealth and beauty was bewildering. It would be a difficult
task to describe the toilettes of the many lovely ladies present, and it
would be still harder to decide, among so large a number of magnificent
dresses, which was the most beautiful.”
Another prominent daily contained a lengthy and interesting account of
this reception, the largest ever held in the Executive Mansion, and from
all the circumstances connected with the unpleasant political life of
the President, was a significant proof that he was socially
pre-eminently popular. Every grade of citizens, representing every party
and creed, vied with each other in their expressions of admiration for
the honest, upright conduct of the retiring Executive and his charming
daughters.
“Last night, President Johnson held his farewell reception at the White
House, and certainly quite in a blaze of glory, as far as social
attention is concerned. Perhaps the whole history of the Presidential
Mansion gives no record of such a crowded reception. It is estimated
that some five thousand people sought admittance in vain, while fully as
many must have gained an entrance, almost each individual member of this
successful crowd submitting the host of the evening to the inevitable
hand-shaking. He bore it well, and until the last moment a sweet,
suffering smile irradiated his countenance. The band struck up ‘Hail
Columbia,’ and the doors were thrown open. The President received the
crowd in the Blue Room, which was handsomely lighted up, and adorned in
the centre with a magnificent stand of fragrant flowers. As the crowd
increased, the sagacious official abandoned the system of announcing
names, so that the President accepted without explanation all who
presented themselves.
“A few steps from the President, and near the stand of flowers, Mrs.
Patterson, a handsome, though not tall lady, of very pleasing manners
and appearance, ‘received’ the lady guests. She wore an elegant white
lace shawl, which quite enveloped her person, and a long curl fell down
her back. The simply unaffected grace of this lady, and her entire
freedom from pretension, either in garb or manner, attracted highly
favorable comment. Mrs. Patterson is quite a young lady, and when some
of the bare-armed, bare-necked, would-be-juvenile dowagers were
presented to her, the contrast was entirely in favor of the President’s
daughter.”
Of the many elegant entertainments given by President Johnson, none
surpassed the State dinners. They were conducted on a most generous and
princely scale, and reflected lasting honor upon the taste and judgment
of his daughter, to whom was left the entire arrangement of every social
entertainment. The magnificent State dining-room, which had been closed
during the last few years of President Lincoln’s administration, became
again a scene of hospitality, and resounded once more with the voices of
welcome guests and personal friends.
Nothing contributed more than these “affairs of State” to win for the
family that popularity, apart from their lofty social position, which
they enjoyed whilst in Washington. A letter written by a lady who was
familiar with the home-life of Mrs. Patterson, may not prove
uninteresting, pertaining, as it does, particularly to the subject of
State dinners.
“Late in the afternoon I was sitting in the cheerful room occupied by
the invalid mother, when Mrs. Patterson came for me to go and see the
table. The last State dinner was to be given this night, and the
preparations for the occurrence had been commensurate with those of
former occasions. I looked at the invalid, whose feet had never crossed
the apartment to which we were going, and by whom the elegant
entertainments over which her daughters presided, were totally
unenjoyed. Through the hall and down the stairway, I followed my hostess
and stood beside her in the grand old room. It was a beautiful and
altogether rare scene which I viewed in the quiet light of this closing
winter day, and the recollections and associations of the time linger
most vividly in memory now. The table was arranged for forty persons,
each guest’s name being upon the plate designated in the invitation
list.
“In the centre stood three magnificent ormolu ornaments filled with
fadeless French flowers, while beside each plate was a bouquet of
odorous green-house exotics. It was not the color or design of the
Sevres china, of green and gold—the fragile glass, nor yet the massive
plate which attracted my admiration, but the harmony of the whole, which
satisfied and refreshed. From the heavy curtains, depending from the
lofty windows, to the smallest ornament in the room, all was ornate and
consistent. I could not but contrast this vision of grandeur with the
delicate, child-like form of the woman who watched me with a quiet smile
as I enjoyed this evidence of her taste and appreciation of the
beautiful.
“All day she had watched over the movements of those engaged in the
arrangement of this room, and yet so unobtrusive had been her presence
and so systematically had she planned, that no confusion occurred in the
complicated household machinery. For the pleasure it would give her
children hereafter, she had an artist photograph the interior of the
apartment, and he was just leaving with his trophy when we entered.
“Long we lingered, enjoying the satisfaction one experiences in
beholding a beautiful and finished task. All was ready and complete, and
when we passed from the room, there was still a time for rest and repose
before the hour named in the cards of invitation.
“Through the Red and Blue parlors we sauntered slowly, she recalling
reminiscences of the past four years, and speaking with unreserved
frankness of her feelings on her approaching departure. It was almost
twilight as we entered the East Room, and its sombreness and wondrous
size struck me forcibly. The hour for strangers and visitors had past,
and we felt secure to wander in our old-fashioned way up and down its
great length. It was softly raining, we discovered as we peered through
the window, and a light fringe of mist hung over the trees in the
grounds, and added a shade of gloom to the cheerless view. The feeling
of bodily comfort one has in watching it rain, from the window of a cozy
room, was intensified by the associations of this historic place, and
the sadness of time was lost in the outreachings of eternity.
“Its spectral appearance as we turned from the window and looked down
its shadowy outlines—the quickly succeeding thoughts of the many who had
crowded into its now deserted space, and the remembrance of some who
would no more come, were fast crowding out the practical, and leaving in
its place mental excitement, and spiritualized, nervous influences, not
compatible with ordinary every-day life. Mrs. Patterson was first to
note the flight of time, and as we turned to leave with the past the
hour it claimed, her always grave face lighted up with a genuine happy
expression, as she said, ‘I am glad this is the last of
entertainments—it suits me better to be quiet and in my own home. Mother
is not able to enjoy these things. Belle is too young, and I am
indifferent to them—so it is well it is almost over.’ As she ceased
speaking the curtains over the main entrance parted, and the President
peered in, ‘to see,’ he said, ‘if Martha had shown you the portraits of
the Presidents?’ Joining him in his promenade, we passed before them, as
they were hanging in the main hall, he dwelling upon the life and
character of each, and we listening to his descriptions, and personal
recollections. The long shadows of twilight and deepening gloom
disappeared before the brilliant glare of the gas, and we turned from
this place of interest, reminded that the present was only ours, and
with the past we could have no possible business when inexorable custom
demanded of us speedy recognition and attention.”
On the morning of the 4th of March, 1869, President Johnson, accompanied
by his family, bade adieu to the servants and employés of the Mansion,
and were driven to the residence of Mr. Coyle, on Missouri Avenue. Mrs.
Patterson accepted the hospitality of Secretary Wells, and reached there
soon after twelve o’clock.
Thus closed the administration of President Johnson. The most perilous,
stormy, and trying one ever known in the history of this country; a
record of rude unpleasant contact with defiled revilers, and a continued
struggle from first to last to maintain untarnished the oath too sacred
to be violated. Not here, but in the annals of history will all its
triumphs be written; not in this day or generation can its untainted and
correct measures be fully estimated, but to the coming men of America it
is bequeathed, a sad acknowledgment of the tyrannous oppression of a
President, and a testimony of his undeviating course, moving onward,
swerving neither to the right nor to the left, but forward to the
cradles of posterity who will pass judgment and wreathe immortelles to
the memory of the patriot, whose truth will not be doubted, whose
honesty cannot be impeached.
During the afternoon of the day the President left the Executive
Mansion, the house in which he was a visitor was crowded to overflowing
with friends and admirers who gathered about the members of his family
to express their attachment. For two weeks the same scene was
re-enacted, and day and night the numerous callers crowded the spacious
dwelling. One continued ovation of people of every political party
assured them of their popularity, too wide-spread to be circumscribed by
party lines. Behold them, reader, as they were seen that last night in
Washington! The invalid wife is in her room, too feeble to walk, but
surrounded by hearts softened and eyes moistened at the prospect of
seeing her no more. Mrs. Patterson is bidding a farewell to the
sorrowing band of employés who have asked as a last favor for a
photograph, and she makes the gift the more acceptable by presenting
them with pictures of all the family, accompanied by her deeply felt and
eloquently expressed thanks for faithful services and personal
friendship. Ever and anon the familiar face of a servant appears, and is
not disappointed in the welcome received, or the parting token of
well-merited reward for faithful services. Flowers, “recalling all
life’s wine and honey,” shed their aroma through space, and soften by
their delicate beauty the feelings of all kindly natures.
Time unheeded passes, and yet the advent of callers forbids the wearied
eyes to close, or the final preparations to be made. With a hand raw and
swollen from the hand-shakings in Baltimore a few days before, Mr.
Johnson stands placid, earnest, and deeply interested in the final words
of all. The lateness of the hour, not the last of the stream of visitors
ended the affecting scene, and a weary but happy household slept at
last, and their public life in Washington was ended.
XXIV.
MARY STOVER.
The second daughter of President Johnson was married in April, 1852, to
Mr. Daniel Stover, of Carter county, East Tennessee. He died December
18, 1864, leaving her with three small children.
Mrs. Stover remained at home after the removal of her father’s family to
Washington until the last of August, and then, accompanied by her
interesting family, took up her residence in the White House.
Said a newspaper correspondent of her: “Visitors at the White House
during the past two or three years may retain the memory of a dignified,
statuesque blonde, with a few very fine points which, a fashionable
butterfly once said, would make any woman a belle if she only knew how
to make the most of them. Mrs. Stover never became a star in fashionable
circles, and now that she has left the gay capital, perhaps for a
lifetime, she is remembered by those who knew her best as a charming
companion of the domestic fireside, a true daughter and judicious
mother.”
During the administration of President Johnson, the White House was
brightened by the glad, happy faces of children, and for the first time
since its occupation they became a part of the society of the House, and
exerted a powerful social influence outside. Nothing afforded their
little friends more pleasure than to be invited to the President’s
House, and the agreeable manners of the hostesses and hosts rendered
their visits always delightful.
Mrs. Stover’s little trio, and her sister’s son and daughter, were an
attraction not to be resisted; and nothing pleased old acquaintances
more than to be invited into their private apartments, where the games
and plays of the young people interested more sedate heads. During the
day, writing and music lessons hushed their merry voices, and the tasks
of indulgent mothers occupied reasonable spaces; but after the evening
meal and the return of the boys from out-door sports, the merriment
began to the infinite delight of every one. Strangers who at the formal
receptions saw the stately, sometimes haughty appearing daughter
receiving with quiet grace the many who drew near for the inevitable
shake of the hand, little knew the sociability and good nature hidden
beneath her calm exterior.
It was a source of enjoyment and much laughter to Mrs. Stover’s friends
to watch her actions on social occasions, especially when her sister was
not present. Like a statue the first part of the evening, with a look of
resignation on her face irresistible, she would gravely return the
salutations proffered, and resume her forlorn expression as soon as the
persons passed on, only to be addressed again by other strangers, whose
names their owners sometimes forgot and she rarely ever heard. Much
sympathy she would receive from kind-hearted acquaintances who supposed
her wearied, until the band struck up the last air, and then they would
be astonished at the glad light in her eye and the fervor with which she
would bow them out. Bantering did no good, nor good-natured rebukes from
the many spies who enjoyed her agony and deprecated her evident regret
at parting. Often as she performed the task, she acted over her amusing
_rôle_; and the last time she assisted at a reception, before her
departure for her home, her penetrating eye discovered the suppressed
smile, which broadened into hearty laughter as she tried to suffer
meekly the infliction she would bear no more; but true to habit, she
expressed her farewells with so much impressiveness that old habitués
detected her and the old suspicion was aroused as to her sincerity. Long
after the lights in the parlors were out, she repeated her experiences
up-stairs to a friend, and congratulated herself that she was relieved
from the only irksome task connected with her life there.
It was from no want of appreciation or just estimate of her position,
but an unfeigned diffidence which she could not overcome, which kept her
from mingling in the society of the Capital. And perhaps a feeling that
she was not understood, developed this disinclination to meet strangers.
To persons to whom she was attracted, she was gay and affectionate, full
of interest and thoroughly devoid of affectation. Her children imbibed
this trait, and none ever saw evidences of deceitfulness on the part of
any member of the family. A native strong sense, called common, but in
fact a rarity, enabled her to discern the true merits of individuals,
and in her conduct toward others to recognize the truth of her father’s
motto, that
“Worth makes the man, the want of it the fellow.”
To devise new means of enjoyment for her children, and provide for their
mental and bodily needs, was her first thought, and each day was spent
with them at some one of their duties, often at their dancing school,
again overlooking their efforts at writing, never so well content as
when performing some conscientious duty. It was in this character she
made so many love her, and people who never knew her until she went to
Washington, were never weary of praising the young mother, who so
unaffectedly acted her part in the high station to which she was called.
Recollections of Mrs. Stover will not outlive the changes of time in the
bosoms of the “society” people, who tried so vainly to enlist her in
their set; but the sewing-women and trades-people, the attachés of the
White House, in all capacities, and the servants who served her four
years, will never forget her generous liberality of manners and means;
her polite civilities to all who approached her, and the evident
interest she took in their affairs, won her their lasting regards. The
night before she left for her Southern home several days previous to the
departure of the President and members of the family, the servants who
had learned to appreciate her friendship, wept unrestrainedly as they
bade her and her children a last good-by.
The house was lonelier after her departure, and the voices of her little
ones gladden the ears no more of those so long accustomed to hear their
noisy gambols. No President ever before had in the White House so many
children, or as youthful ones as were the five grandchildren of
President Johnson, nor will there ever be a brighter band there again.
[Illustration:
MRS. ULYSSES S. GRANT.
]
XXV.
JULIA DENT GRANT.
The inauguration of General Grant as President of the United States
placed his wife in the exalted social position of Mistress of the White
House. Mrs. Grant’s first reception on the 4th of March, 1869, marked
the passing away of just fourscore years since Mrs. Washington so
gracefully dispensed the ceremonious hospitality of the Executive
Mansion.
Her husband being the youngest man who has occupied the Presidential
office, he consequently carried with him into the White House the
novelty of a family of youthful children, and a wife who was still
possessed of the ambition to shine in society, and who enjoyed the
blandishments and excitements of high social position.
The prestige of General Grant’s military reputation added increased
lustre to his new position, and, consequently, could but render any
triumph of political life the more signal, since his experiences had
been of a widely different character. Upon Mrs. Grant, therefore,
devolved the pleasure of performing a twofold part, in the discharge of
which the people of this country from the beginning have desired her
entire success. Unobtrusively and quietly she entered upon her duties as
hostess of the White House, and devoted her attention as in the past to
her husband’s interests. She entertained personal friends and relatives
in large numbers, and not one of her old acquaintances was neglected or
overlooked by her in those her days of unbounded prosperity and
happiness. Very kindly the press of the nation referred to her, and
always, upon every occasion, she so conducted herself as to dignify the
name she bears, and to gratify her countrywomen. As wife and mother she
is greatly admired, and in both these relations she is a credit to the
sex and an honor to the nation she has represented so well. The moral
atmosphere of the Presidential Mansion was a matter of congratulation to
the American people, and they do not forget that the personal influence
of Mrs. Grant had much to do with impressing this characteristic of her
husband’s administration upon the world at large. She is essentially a
good woman, and as daughter, sister, wife, and mother, she has been all
that could be desired, and has in an eminent degree fulfilled the
promise of her early years, and the predictions then made for her by her
friends.
Mrs. Grant is a Missourian by birth, and her early years were spent on
her father’s farm, Whitehaven (now the property of her husband), near
St. Louis. Her father, Judge Dent, was a man of position and importance,
and his son was, at the time now referred to, a cadet at West Point.
Through her brother Miss Dent made the acquaintance of his classmate,
and in the course of events very naturally this young couple, mutually
pleased with each other, plighted their troth. The match was not
particularly pleasing to the parents of Miss Julia, and it was with no
little satisfaction that they saw the young officer ordered to frontier
duty with the army under General Taylor. Once out of sight they hoped
that their daughter’s feelings would undergo a change, and that she
eventually would make a more brilliant match. But events occurred which
endeared him to the family, and when, to crown all, young Grant saved
the life of Lieutenant Dent in Mexico, the objections of the family gave
way and they unconditionally surrendered. The constancy of the young
people was rewarded after an engagement of five years, when, on the 22d
of August, 1848, they were married. The wedding took place at Judge
Dent’s residence in St. Louis, and a merry one it was to all concerned.
After the festivities the young bride accompanied her husband to
Sackett’s Harbor, on Lake Ontario, and after a stay there of six months,
removed with him to Detroit, where he was stationed for more than two
years. They kept house in a little vine-covered cottage near the
barracks, and lived in the most unpretentious style. During their
residence in Detroit, Mrs. Grant made a visit to her parents in St.
Louis, and during her stay their first son, now Lieut.-Colonel Fred. D.
Grant, was born. Two years later, and while the father was on the
Pacific coast, Ulysses, the second son, was born at the residence of his
paternal grandfather, in Bethel, Ohio. The other children born of this
union are Nellie, the only daughter, and Jesse; the former in August,
1855; the latter in 1858. Both of these were born at their grandfather
Dent’s country home, near St. Louis, the birth-place of their mother.
After Captain Grant’s resignation, in 1854, he returned to Missouri,
poor and disheartened, and with no prospects before him. His
father-in-law, to assist him, gave his wife a farm of sixty acres, and
here for several years he fought poverty with his plough and axe—poor
weapons, indeed, for one born to wield the sword, and educated in a
military school. Of course he failed, and leaving “Hardscrabble,” the
title which he had himself given to the scene of such hard and
unrequited labors, he entered the real estate office of a cousin of his
wife’s in St. Louis. He began his career as agent without a hope of
success, and but for his family would doubtless have thrown up the
position in despair. Nothing sustained him in all these years of bitter
adversity and uncongenial surroundings but the hopefulness of his wife
and the unaffected and unchanging faith she had in him. It nerved him to
renewed effort, and animated him with fresh zeal each time that he
faltered in his rough pathway. Her affection was appreciated by him in
return, and his tenderness and fidelity was such that to them poverty
was less terrible to bear than it was to their friends to witness. But
there were four little mouths to feed, and the father felt that yet
greater effort must be made for them. His wife did all the work of their
home, and yet with the most frugal care he could not meet his expenses.
In the spring of 1860 he paid a visit to his father at Covington,
Kentucky, to take counsel with him concerning his future, and to plan
some new way to struggle for bread. His father owned a valuable business
at Galena, where two younger brothers were making money, and into this
establishment went the unfortunate ex-captain on a salary of six hundred
dollars a year. Moving his little family to Galena, he commenced work in
the tannery which has since been made famous by his association with it.
Poverty went with him to his new home, and what had been “hardscrabble”
on the little farm, and in St. Louis, was hardscrabble still; he could
not meet expenses. Twice his salary was increased, yet he could not
afford to keep any help, and his wife was maid of all work, and nurse
and teacher of her children as well.
The business did not grow more congenial to the husband, though he tried
his best to do his duty in it, and worked many times as hard as would
have been necessary had he loved his task. Possibly, one reason of his
unpleasant position was due to the fact that his brother, who was
thirteen years his junior, was his employer, and as the success of the
business was due to the enterprise of this brother and another still
younger, the place he held, and which he could not satisfactorily fill,
grew daily more disagreeable and unpleasant.
The twelfth of April, 1860, the day of the fall of Fort Sumter, and the
death-knell of slavery, was the turning point in the life of Captain
Grant, as it was to many thousands of others, both North and South. But
to no one man in the nation has it proven of such personal significance
as to him.
He was soon appointed captain of a volunteer company raised in Galena;
afterwards was made colonel, and later, through Gov. Washburne’s
influence, he received the appointment of brigadier-general. From this
time he rapidly rose to distinction and recognition. Mrs. Grant and the
children were at her father’s or visiting his father’s family at
Covington, during these first years of the rebellion; she caring for her
husband’s honor and studying his interest in every possible way.
While General Grant was in command at Cairo, just after the battle of
Belmont, and while his promotion to a major-generalship was being
discussed, a relation of his said to her: “Ulysses may get along as
brigadier, but he had better be satisfied with that and not seek to rise
higher.”
“There is no danger of his reaching a position above his capacity,” she
replied, indignantly. “He is equal to a much higher one than this, and
will certainly win it if he lives.” And this was the recognition she
always gave him, and to this fearless advocate of his worth he was
indebted for much of the material help he had received from both his and
her family. In this time of success—though as well of anxiety—she
repeatedly defended him, and more than once brought smiles to the faces
of her friends by saying: “Mr. Grant has great natural ability, he would
fill any public position well if he once had a chance.”
After the capture of Fort Donelson, while yet the country was ringing
with praises of her husband’s exploits, she visited him at that point,
and later she paid him a visit at Jackson, Mississippi. Just after the
surrender of Vicksburg she was in St. Louis, where she was serenaded by
a great concourse of people, and in response to their repeated demand
she appeared on the balcony of the hotel, leaning on the arm of General
Strong. The moment she came in view the people greeted her with
vociferous cheers. She was beginning to be made aware of the exalted
place her husband had won in the admiration of the people, and for the
first time she was sharing with him the dignity of the place to which he
had risen.
Several weeks were spent with her husband at Vicksburg, and then, when
his head-quarters were established at Nashville, she removed her
children there, and remained in that city until after his appointment as
lieutenant-general, making during the time a visit to St. Louis.
The implicit confidence Mrs. Grant reposed in her husband has long ago
been rewarded, and there is now no one to question his ability as a
military officer. But there was a time when her faith in him was in
marked contrast to the opinions entertained by his and her relatives.
They had seen him fail at farming and in the leather business, and a
man, in their opinion, who could not make money in either of these
pursuits, was not likely to reach success in anything.
But his wife was loyal to him, and, when asked by a party of ladies her
opinion concerning her husband’s new responsibilities and prospects,
just before the battle of the Wilderness, she replied:
“Mr. Grant has succeeded thus far, wherever the Government has placed
him, and he will do the best he can.”
“Do you think he will capture Richmond?”
“Yes, before he gets through: Mr. Grant always was a very obstinate
man.”
With the return of peace General Grant settled in Washington City, where
his head-quarters as commander-in-chief of the army were established.
His family were, for the first time in many years, again with him, and
they greatly appreciated the three years of comparative rest they
enjoyed. But they were destined to play a still higher part in the
national life. General Grant, the idol of the people after Lincoln, and
the most successful general of the age, was elected President of the
United States.
Mrs. Grant parted reluctantly with her own home and prepared to take up
her abode in the White House, but it was not before the fall of the year
that she settled down to the routine life there, and prepared to perform
the duties expected of her.
The first three years passed away pleasantly and without any very great
_éclat_. The President’s household was accounted an eminently happy one,
and there was always in the house some one or more of his own or his
wife’s kindred. But the children were at school, and there was less of
gayety than when, later, Miss Nellie made her _début_ into society, and
the young cadet son had returned from West Point, and was his sister’s
escort and companion.
The family travelled a great deal more perhaps than that of any other of
the Presidents. Every summer they spent at the sea-shore, and now Long
Branch is their permanent home in the warm season. The children
travelled abroad during their father’s administration, the daughter
receiving the most distinguished attentions while in England and
elsewhere; and when at home their young friends gathered about them,
eager to enjoy the pleasure of their company and the hospitalities of
their splendid home.
But the event that drew the American people to the President and his
household, as nothing else could have done, was the marriage of his only
daughter. Mrs. Grant and Nellie became, from the moment her engagement
was announced, the most interesting persons in the nation. What will the
mother do for her child that shall be befitting the occasion? was the
question the young and old of the sex asked of each other all over
America. And grave old men, who had long ago forgotten the excitements
of their own wedding days, caught the prevailing infection and became
interested in the sole daughter of the house, soon to be an inmate of it
no longer. Mothers’ hearts ached with Mrs. Grant’s over the thoughts of
the long separation, for Nellie was to marry an Englishman and live in
England; and when at last the time drew near for the nuptials, the
entire nation became interested spectators of an event which they could
not but feel was the most pleasing, and yet the most sad act of all the
grand drama of the double administration.
Nellie Grant’s was the seventh wedding which had taken place in the
White House. President Monroe’s daughter, Marie, and President Tyler’s
daughter, Lizzie, among others, had passed out from it as brides, and
now, more than thirty years later, this youngest of the Presidents saw
his only daughter wedded in the famous East Room, on Thursday, May 21st,
1874. The wedding took place under circumstances of peculiar brilliancy.
Mr. Algernon Sartoris, the groom, was, at the time of his marriage,
twenty-three years of age, and Nellie was nineteen. He had been educated
in England and Germany, and was a son of Mr. Edward Sartoris, of
Hampshire, England, and his wife, Adelaide Kemble, daughter of Charles,
and sister of Fannie Kemble.
[Illustration:
MRS. NELLIE GRANT SARTORIS.
]
Nellie Grant had led an exceptionally happy life, and for ten years
previous to her marriage had been the recipient of the most
distinguished attentions. Her father’s position, and his rapidly
increasing wealth, had enabled him to gratify every wish of his
daughter, and as if to reward the fidelity of his wife in years past, he
surrounded her children with every earthly blessing. It seemed only
strange that one so situated, and withal so young, should consent to
marry and retire to private life. But the love affair, begun on the
_Russia_, was destined to terminate auspiciously, and eighteen months
afterwards the young couple were united. The wedding was the finest ever
known in Washington, and was the theme of newspaper comment both in this
country and Europe. All that affection, wealth and high social position
could devise were combined to make it an event that should fittingly
express the love and pride of the parents in their only daughter.
Not more than two hundred guests were present, but they represented the
officials of the government and their families; the army, navy and
marine corps and their families; the diplomatic corps and personal
friends. The floral decorations of the house were superb, those of the
East Room being the richest. The bridal party was accompanied by the
President and Mrs. Grant, and the brothers of the bride, to New York,
from which port the young couple sailed for England.
The summer was passed by the President and Mrs. Grant at Long Branch,
and in the autumn the social life of the White House was resumed.
Colonel Fred. Grant introduced his bride (Miss Honore) during the
season, and the winter passed off pleasantly, though the daughter of the
House was missed sadly.
The eight years’ social administration of Mrs. Grant was characterized
by great elegance and dignity. All official and social observances were
conducted on a scale of magnificence, and the mansion itself was richly
furnished—costly plate and decorations were supplied, and the
entertainments were on a more elaborate scale than had marked previous
administrations. Among the social events of an official character that
occurred were receptions and state dinners in honor of the Duke of
Edinburgh, of England, the Grand Duke Alexis, of Russia, the King of
Kalakaua, and the first Chinese Ambassador. The official entertainments
were frequent, and the social career of Mrs. Grant as Lady of the White
House closed with one of the most brilliant receptions ever given in it.
After leaving the White House, ex-President and Mrs. Grant became the
guests of Secretary and Mrs. Fish, and during their stay in Washington
were the recipients of continued social attentions.
It had been the long-expressed desire of General Grant to visit Europe,
and soon after the close of his administration he began the preparations
for an extended journey. Returning from a visit to Galena, he arrived in
Philadelphia a week previous to the day appointed for the departure of
the steamer, and with Mrs. Grant became the guests of George Washington
Childs, Esq. The most flattering attentions were bestowed upon them.
Military parades, public receptions, and private entertainments followed
each other in quick succession. The vessel selected by General Grant on
which to make the voyage was the “Indiana,” one of the only American
line of steamships crossing the Atlantic ocean. On the morning of the
departure Mr. Childs entertained at breakfast a number of guests,
including the late Secretary of State, Hon. Hamilton Fish, General
Sherman, Governor Hartranft, and others, and afterwards the party,
augmented by the presence of a large number of prominent gentlemen,
proceeded down the Delaware. Mrs. Grant, accompanied by the youngest
son, Jesse, who made the tour with them, Mr. and Mrs. Childs, Mrs.
Sharp—Mrs. Grant’s sister—and many other ladies and gentlemen were taken
down the river to the “Indiana” on the revenue cutter “Hamilton.”
Arriving at New Castle after a sail of thirty-five miles, the voyagers
bade adieu to their friends and boarded the steamer. The scenes which
accompanied the ex-President and his family from the moment of leaving
the hospitable mansion of Mr. Childs to the farewells at the vessel were
such as never before had been witnessed in this country. Thousands of
people lined the wharves and the air resounded with their cheers. The
shipping was gayly decorated, and the flags of all nations floated in
the breeze. Steam-whistles blew their shrill notes, and salutes were
thundered forth from the larger vessels as the ex-President and his
friends passed down the river to their vessel. The party sailed on the
17th of May, 1877, and from the moment of landing on English soil they
were welcomed with generous hospitality by all the nations they visited.
Over the continent of Europe, through Egypt, the Holy Land, and back
through Italy, Spain, Ireland and India, to China and Japan they
travelled, and were everywhere the objects of distinguished
hospitalities. The return voyage to San Francisco was completed in
September, 1879, and the reception at San Francisco was of such
magnitude and enthusiasm as to greatly surprise the ex-President. The
people, without respect to race or party, joined in the hearty welcome
home. The festivities varied each day, and every city in the Union sent
invitations to the ex-President to extend his travels to all parts of
his own country. One of the pleasantest incidents connected with their
stay in San Francisco was the visit of a delegation of the Chinese of
that city to General Grant, and the presentation to him of an address
and a scroll of worked silk. General Grant, in acknowledging the great
kindness and hospitality shown him by the people and authorities of
China, expressed the hope that the country, by breaking down the
seclusion in which she had been shrouded for ages, would continue to
draw nearer to her the trade and sympathy of the civilized world. The
head of the delegation then presented to Mrs. Grant a small ivory
casket, saying that she had done much to break down the spirit of
domestic exclusiveness that reigns in China, and that the Chinese in San
Francisco desired to thank her for it.
This circumstance recalls an exceptional honor paid Mrs. Grant while in
China, an honor the like of which no other woman has ever shared. And
though she received distinguished attentions in all her travels, she
remembers this as one of the most marked and most pleasant incidents of
her journeyings over the world. The occasion was a dinner given by the
wife of the Viceroy of China. In view of the fact of the exclusiveness
of the Chinese as a race, and the position of woman in that country, it
is one of the events of the age. Mr. John Russell Young, the historian
of the travellers, gives an entertaining description of it,[23] from
which is taken the following excerpt:
Footnote 23:
“Around the World with General Grant.”
“It was a radical thing for the Viceroy to throw open the doors of his
house and bring the foreign barbarian to his hearth-stone. This dinner
was arranged for our last night in Tientsin, and in honor of Mrs. Grant.
The principal European ladies in the colony were invited. Some of these
ladies have lived in Tientsin for years and had never seen the wife of
the Viceroy—had never seen him except through the blinds of the window
of his chair. The announcement that the Viceroy had really invited Mrs.
Grant to meet his wife, and European ladies to be in the company, was
even a more extraordinary event than the presence of General Grant or
the arrival of the band. Society rang with a discussion of the question
which, since Mother Eve introduced it to the attention of her husband,
has been the absorbing theme of civilization—what shall we wear? I have
heard many expositions on this theme, but in Tientsin it was new and
important. Should the ladies go in simple Spartan style: in muslin and
dimity, severely plain and colorless, trusting alone to their graces and
charms, and thus show their Chinese sister the beauty that exists in
beauty unadorned; or should they go in all their glory, with gems and
silks and satins and the latest development of French genius in the
arrangement of their hair? It was really an important question, and not
without a bearing, some of us thought, on the future domestic peace of
the Viceroy. The arguments on either side were conducted with ability,
and I lament my inability to do them justice, and hand them over to the
consideration of American ladies at home. The discussion passed beyond
me and entered into the sphere of metaphysics, and became a moral,
spiritual—almost a theological theme, and was decided finally in favor
of the resources of civilization. The ladies went in all the glory of
French fashion and taste.
“No gentlemen were invited to the Viceroy’s dinner, and the Viceroy
himself did not entertain his guests. It was arranged that the ladies
should go in chairs. Of ladies there were in all, Mrs. Grant, Mrs.
Detring, Mrs. Denny, Mrs. Dillon, Mrs. Forrest, Mrs. Dorian, and Miss
Denny. It was a distance of two miles to the Yamen, and the streets were
filled with a curious multitude watching the procession of chairs, and
having their own thoughts, we can well fancy, at this spectacle of the
vice-regal home invaded by the wives of foreign barbarians. It was quite
dark when the ladies reached the Yamen. They alighted in a courtyard
illuminated with lanterns, and crowded with officials in their quaint
costumes. The band of the ‘Richmond’ had been sent ahead by Captain
Johnson, and as our ladies arrived they were welcomed with the familiar
notes of home music. The Viceroy also had a band, and the musical effect
of the two styles of music—the Chinese running largely to gongs, and the
American with trumpet and drum—was unique, and added to the strangeness
of the ceremony.
“As Mrs. Grant, who was in the first chair, descended, she was met by
the wife of the Viceroy, who took her hand and escorted her into the
house. The other ladies were shown in by one of the missionary ladies,
who came to act as interpreter. They passed through a sort of hall into
a small library. The walls of this library were cut up into
pigeon-holes, filled with Chinese books made of soft, tough paper. The
Viceroy’s wife took her seat at the head of the table, and as each lady
entered she was introduced by the interpreter. The hostess arose and
shook hands with each in cordial European fashion, with perfect grace,
and as though it had been her custom all her life to use this form of
salutation. There were two other ladies of the vice-regal family
present, the daughter of the Viceroy, a maiden of sixteen, and his
daughter-in-law, a lady of twenty-three. They sat at the opposite end of
the table from the hostess, looking on with curious interest at the
company of foreign ladies, the first they had ever seen. Still they
restrained their curiosity, showing no wonder, no surprise, and received
their European friends with as much ease as if they had been accustomed
to a London drawing-room. The daughter-in-law of the Viceroy was dressed
in subdued colors, much the same as the hostess, but the maiden was
brilliantly costumed in a bright pink satin jacket, and green satin
trousers, the whole embroidered with gold thread, and silk of a variety
of colors. At every movement she tinkled with her abundant ornaments of
pearl and jade, which hung in long pendants from her ears, wrists,
fingers, and the cord of her fan. She wore two long gold finger-nail
shields on the third and fourth fingers of her left hand, a curious
ornament made necessary by the custom of high-bred persons in China of
allowing the finger-nails to grow. Both of the young ladies wore their
hair ornamented in the same manner as the wife of the Viceroy.
“The company sat in the library about ten minutes. During this time they
were served with strong pale tea, without sugar or milk, in tiny
porcelain cups. Then, at a gesture from the hostess, the ladies arose
and walked into another room, a larger one, the hostess conducting Mrs.
Grant. Crowds of servants swarmed about, and other crowds of curious
persons looked in at the windows and doors at the unusual spectacle. The
dining-room was furnished in European fashion, with divans and chairs. A
chandelier of four gas jets hung over the centre of the table, and was
an object of curiosity to all, as Tientsin has not yet attained to the
blessing of gas. The dinner table was set in European style, with silver
and French china, and decorated with a profusion of flowers. The ladies
took seats according to the rank of their husbands, Mrs. Grant sitting
on the right and Mrs. Denny on the left of the hostess. Each of the
ladies had her own servant who waited on her. The dinner was a blending
of Chinese and European cookery. First came a European course. Then came
a Chinese course, served in silver cups with small silver ladles and
ivory chopsticks. Smaller silver cups in saucers sat at each plate,
filled with the warm Chinese wine which you find at every dinner. The
ladies tasted their Chinese food with fortitude, and made heroic efforts
to utilize the chopsticks. The Chinese ladies partook only of their own
food. The hostess kept up a conversation with all the ladies. First she
asked each one her age, which in China is the polite thing to do. I have
no information as to the responses elicited by this inquiry, the sources
of my knowledge failing at this point. Then questions were asked as to
the number of children in the families of the married ladies, and the
age of each child. The younger Chinese ladies of the party sat at the
other end of the table, and having no interpreter made themselves
understood by signs—by graceful little gestures of the hand, nods,
questioning eyes. It is wonderful how much talk can be done by
pantomime, and the Chinese ladies with their quick intelligence soon
found themselves in earnest conversation with their European friends.
During the dinner there was a Chinese Punch and Judy show, and the noise
of this entertainment, with the chatter of the servants, and the curious
gazing crowd who never left the doors and windows, made an unceasing
din. China has democratic customs and privileges which are never
invaded. Whenever General Grant and party dined as the guest of a
Chinaman, in Canton, or Shanghai, or Tientsin, it was always in presence
of a multitude. If the people were to have the doors closed upon them,
even the doors of the Viceroy, it would make trouble. And now, of all
days in the calendar of China, this day when female barbarians are
welcomed to a nobleman’s house, it is important that all the world
should stand by and see the wonder.
“The hostess, with a gesture and smile of welcome, drank from her cup of
warm wine a toast to her friends. The ladies sipped their wine in
response. This astonished the hostess, who had been told that it was the
custom of barbarian ladies to drink their glasses dry. But it was
explained that while some ambitious gentlemen in foreign society
ventured upon such experiments, the ladies never did. The hostess
wondered at this, and seemed to think that somehow it would be more like
what she had heard if the ladies drank more champagne, if they drained
their glasses and turned them upside down. Then the jewels were passed
from hand to hand to be examined by the Chinese ladies. This study of
jewelry, of diamond and emerald, of ruby and turquoise, occupied most of
the time that remained to the dinner. Once or twice the tall form of the
Viceroy could be observed looking over the heads of the crowd to see how
his wife and foreign friends were enjoying themselves. When observed his
Excellency withdrew. Although not appearing during the dinner, nor at
the reception before, the Viceroy was now and then seen moving about
among the curious gazers, evidently anxious about his feast, anxious
that nothing should be wanting in honor of his guests.
“After the dinner the party went into another room. Here was a piano
which had been brought from the foreign settlement. This was a new
delight to the hostess, who had never seen a piano, and she expressed
her pleasure and surprise. One of the pieces was a waltz, a merry German
waltz, and two of the ladies went through the measures, giving variety
to the dance by balancing separately with one arm akimbo, the other
holding up the skirt, then twirling away to different parts of the room
and coming together again. This revelation of barbarian customs created
great astonishment, and when the dance stopped there was a chorus of
approbation from the Chinese, as if they had discovered a new pleasure
in the world, the hostess nodding and smiling with more energy of manner
than she had shown during the evening. This performance was witnessed by
the Viceroy, who perhaps had his own thoughts as a far-seeing statesman
as to what China would become if German music ever found its way into
Chinese households, and mothers and maidens gave way to the temptations
of the waltz. There were snatches of singing, one of the ladies who had
an expressive voice warbling some roundelay from the Tyrol. This created
another sensation, and was so new, and strange, and overwhelming that
the Chinese maiden in the dazzling pink jacket lost her Oriental
composure, and gave a faint start and laughed, and fearing she had
committed some breach of propriety, suddenly recovered herself and coyly
looked about to see if she had in any way given offence to her barbarian
guests. The hostess, however, sat by the side of Mrs. Grant during the
whole performance, and looked on as calmly at these strange phenomena of
an unknown civilization as if she had known the waltz and heard Tyrolean
ditties all her days. The hostess, with high-bred courtesy, always arose
when her guests did, and never sat down until they were seated. The feet
of the Chinese ladies were extremely small—scarcely more than two or
three inches long—and when they walked it was with difficulty, and only
by the aid of the waiting-women who walked behind. A Chinese lady of
rank does nothing without the aid of servants. If she wishes to take a
handkerchief out of her pocket a servant performs the office. But during
the whole evening, at every phase of the reception and the
entertainment, the hostess showed a self-possession and courtesy that
might have been learned in the drawing-rooms of Saint Germain. She took
pains to show attention to every one. When the time came to leave she
went with Mrs. Grant to her chair. When the others left she took her
leave of them at the door, and they parted with good wishes and polite
little speeches of thanks and welcome.”
Mrs. Grant has the distinction of having travelled more than any other
lady who has graced the White House, and of having received at the hands
of foreigners more attention than has fallen to the lot of any other
American lady. In her tour she was the guest of the heads of the
government in all countries, and participated in hospitalities of crown
heads and the representative nobility. Her life from the period when her
husband became the victorious general of the army, has been one of high
social rank, and the years as they have passed have brought her many
blessings. She has known public honors and domestic happiness, and is a
most fortunate woman. She has sought her chief pleasure in life in the
family circle, and her reward has been found in their happiness. The
White House under Mrs. Grant’s social administration was a delightful
home, and was ever the abode of many relatives and friends who shared in
the many pleasures it afforded. An atmosphere of pleasant social life
was felt by all visitors at the Executive Mansion, and though Mrs. Grant
was not particularly fond of society, her stay in the White House is
remembered as a period of great gayety in Washington. She was identified
with the events of the administration in all semi-official ways, and was
as popular in society as any of the women who had preceded her. A wife
and mother, she was occupied with the duties pertaining to domestic
relations, and divided her time between her public and private
obligations. In this respect of having twofold duties to perform she was
like all the wives of the Presidents, and with one exception the White
House has known no lady differently situated. Harriet Lane was
untrammelled with domestic cares when she presided there, and was
moreover a great belle. Society claimed more from her than it ever did
of any other lady, and the circumstances attending her life there made
it the most marked in many respects that has yet been chronicled. Mrs.
Grant’s deep interest in the success of her husband, and her commendable
desire to have her countrywomen satisfied with her administration as
hostess, were motives sufficiently impelling to incite her to every
exertion necessary to the accomplishment of her purpose, and she has the
satisfaction of knowing that her career was approved. In her
domesticity, which is her leading characteristic, and with her strong
sense and practical ideas, she had ample armor of protection against
mistakes, and she lived eight years in the White House as serenely as
she would have done in Galena. It is to her credit that her sons, grown
to manhood, pay her marked attentions, and that she is to them the ideal
mother. To be approved by one’s friends is comfort, but to be adored by
one’s children is to be crowned with the most imperishable of earthly
diadems. When Mrs. Grant appeared in sight of the people of San
Francisco, she was leaning on the arm of one of her boys, who had gone
out to meet her, and it was a pleasing sight to those who saw the tender
devotion of the son to his long absent mother. General Grant was in the
hands of the committees who were to show him honor, but his wife was
accepting homage far more satisfying. Her mother’s heart was far more
touched by the welcome she received than any other that could be given
her. It is this womanly quality which has influenced her to be a less
conspicuous figure than her position lent her opportunity for being. She
has not cared to be recognized apart from her husband, but to be
identified with him, and while this trait is an admirable one, it has
none the less conspired to limit rather than enlarge the acquaintance of
the public with her. But she is a woman approved by her sex, and her
record is one that her sister-women will always admire. She has enjoyed
great honors, and abused none of her gifts, and her name will ever be
associated in terms of praise with that of the country’s second military
President, and the most successful general of his day. Her life is yet
in its summer, and the laurels bestowed upon her are bright and
undimmed, and for a long time yet she will be in the enjoyment of them.
Whatever future awaits her she will meet it with dignity and
appreciative consideration of the exceptionally brilliant position she
has filled.
XXVI.
LUCY WEBB HAYES.
Mrs. Hayes was the most widely known and universally popular President’s
wife the country has known. She was an element in the administration
that was gladly recognized, and her influence was most potent and
admirable. In her successful career as the first lady of the land was
outlined the future possibilities of her sex in all other positions and
conditions. She represented the new woman era, and was the first of the
women of the White House of the third period. The women of the
Revolutionary period of American history exhibited stronger traits of
character than those who succeeded them. There was necessity for higher
qualities—the display of courage, heroism and fortitude, and they were
discovered in every emergency. The country was young and the people were
experimenting with liberty; there were common dangers to be shared, and
fewer honors than have fallen to those who came into the inheritance
secured for them. With the end of the administration of John Quincy
Adams a new generation of men and women claimed public notice, and the
women who came to hold the highest place of honor in the land were the
representatives of this second era of the country’s history. They were
social queens, but nothing more. They aspired to supremacy in the
drawing room, and were content to acquire it. Some were too little used
to the world to care for even this, and led retired domestic lives,
wholly apart from the public careers of their husbands.
[Illustration:
LUCY WEBB HAYES.
]
Mrs. Hayes is the product of the last half of the nineteenth century,
and in her strong, healthful influence gives the world assurance of what
the next century women will be. Her life, for many years, was spent
before the public, and she so fully identified herself with her
husband’s administration that it can never be remembered apart from her.
She gave her every thought to the maintenance and advancement of her
husband’s fame and name as the Chief Magistrate of the United States;
she deemed no act, however insignificant of itself, too slight to be
considered unimportant if, in its results, it could add to his renown.
In no one particular did she so ably display her strength of character
as in commanding, by her strict adherence to her domestic duties, the
recognition due her for her able performance of the responsibility
devolving upon her as the counsellor and friend of the President. Mrs.
Hayes went to the White House prepared through her happy married life,
through her winsome, cheerful spirit; through her long experience in
official circles; through her intelligence and culture, and her social
rank and attributes, to fill the highest place a woman can occupy in a
Republic. Through her husband the dignified place she filled was hers,
and in the daily performance of the pleasant duties of hostess of the
Executive Mansion she thought of his honor first. In the results
attained by her was again exemplified the truth of the old adage that we
cannot rightly help others without helping ourselves. She, in lending
additional strength to her husband’s administration, commanded increased
respect for her sex. She gave the world a fair example of the power for
good which a woman of fine breeding and social opportunities can
exercise. Mrs. Hayes called forth, through her successful efforts in
placing herself beside her husband in his official rank, a more just
appreciation of her womanhood and a higher reverence for the relations
of wifehood and motherhood. This service, though it has not been
generally recognized as such, is perhaps the greatest she could have
done the world. The assertion will be endorsed when the fact, which
cannot be controverted, is recognized, that great men in this country
have not always been fortunate in being wedded to representative women.
From the time of Franklin down to the era of Henry Clay, and even more
recently, the wives of many of the leading public men of the country
have not been remarkable. It will require but little effort to recall
the many representatives of the commonplace in women who have filled—or
rather failed to fill—the places made theirs by reason of their
husbands’ positions. The harmony of domestic life has been lost to
public men, no less than to those not known to the public, by their
refusal or their inability to recognize the individuality of their wives
and the duty these same wives owed to society and the world at large.
Ignorance and prejudice, combined with jealousy, have cost men in their
domestic relations more misery than the world readily perceives, but it
is gradually coming to appreciate the fact through the tares that have
come up in the places where a harvest was anticipated. People do not
gather grapes from thistles nor figs from thorns with any greater
success than in olden times. And from the days of Socrates down to that
of President Hayes homes have been bright and happy, or otherwise,
according to the respect in which the women at the head of them were
held. Many of our great men have left an unpleasant record of their
domestic lives, and the retribution has come in the misconduct of
children, sometimes to the third and fourth generation. Mrs. Hayes, in
her honored place, helped men and women to realize the glory of life
when love is its impelling power; and in the hearts of women this
feeling was much strengthened by observing the universal and spontaneous
reverence exhibited toward a woman who was strong in herself and in the
public position she sustained.
Mrs. Hayes was born in Chillicothe, when it was the capital of Ohio, and
was the daughter of Dr. James Webb, and the granddaughter of Dr. Isaac
Cook. The Webbs were natives of Granville county, North Carolina. In the
last century three worthy brothers belonging to this family went out
from home to carve their own way. One of them became a leading merchant
of Richmond, Virginia; a second one lived near his old home, wedded to
farm life; and the third removed to Ohio and became a prominent
physician. This latter brother was the father of Lucy Webb. He died in
1833, of cholera, in Lexington, Kentucky, where he had gone to complete
arrangements for sending slaves to Liberia who had been set free by
himself and his father. The maternal grandfather of Miss Webb was one of
the first settlers of Chillicothe, and belonged to the best Puritan
stock of New England. Her mother, Mrs. Webb, was a lady of unusual
strength of character and of deep religious convictions. After the death
of her husband she removed to Delaware, in order to be near the Wesleyan
University, where her sons were educated. Her fortune was ample, and she
was enabled to give her children every advantage. In order to be near
them she fitted up a cottage on the college grounds, and her house was
thenceforth a happy gathering-place for the classmates of the brothers
at holiday times. She studied with her brothers and recited to the
college instructors, and had the advantages of a training which prepared
her for the Wesleyan Female College at Cincinnati, which she entered at
the same time that her brothers commenced their studies in the medical
college. She was peculiarly fortunate in having as her early teachers
the professors of the university at Delaware, and it is no small credit
to the denomination to which she belonged to have it said that it gave
to both sexes the best school advantages to be procured in the West in
that day or at the present time.
The training of girls was not considered as important twenty-five years
ago as it is now, and when the opportunities enjoyed by Miss Webb are
considered, together with the fact that she was a graduate of the first
chartered college for young women in the United States, it will be
realized from whence came her executive ability and well-balanced
character. She was, while at the college in Cincinnati, under the
instruction and in the family of Rev. Mr. and Mrs. P. B. Wilbur, and her
stay with them was a season of enjoyment and study. It was during her
life in this school that her affections were engaged by Mr. Hayes, then
a promising young lawyer of Cincinnati and a native of Delaware. She was
at the Delaware Sulphur Springs enjoying a vacation when she formed his
acquaintance, and he thenceforth became a frequent visitor at the Friday
evening receptions held at the college parlors. The expression the
vivacious under-graduate made upon him during this summer vacation is
expressed in a letter he wrote to a friend in Delaware after his return
to the city. He says: “My friend Jones has introduced me to many of our
city belles, but I do not see any one who makes me forget the natural
gayety and attractiveness of Miss Lucy.”
Her schoolmates have many pleasant memories of her. One of them, writing
of her in 1880, while she was yet in the White House, referred to her
great likeness to her mother in mental and moral qualities in this wise,
and thus speaks of one of her traits of character. She says: “There is
one trait in the character of Mrs. Hayes which I should like to
emphasize. She absolutely will not talk gossip. Even in the intimate
confidences of daily intercourse she is as guarded as in the presence of
a multitude. The Executive Mansion has for its mistress one who is a
living exemplification of Christ’s Golden Rule. Except in very rare
instances, when some act of oppression to the poor or the defenceless
outrages her sense of right, she is always thoroughly kind in
expression. I think this trait of carefulness for the feelings of others
a gift from her mother, who had a nature exceedingly genial and kind. It
is indeed a blessed thing for our country that such a woman had the
training of our President’s wife.”
While yet at school Miss Webb became a member of the Methodist Episcopal
church, and was even in those early years ardently attached to the
duties and requirements of a Christian life, and in this, as in other
respects, followed closely in the footsteps of her mother. She was a
clever student, as one of her companions in school admits in a letter in
which she says: “Lucy Webb was a first-class student in botany and other
studies, and I have reason to recall my feeling of mingled annoyance and
admiration as our teacher, Miss De Forrest, would turn from us older
girls to Miss Webb, who sat at the head of the class, and get from her a
clear analysis of the flower under discussion, or the correct
transposition of some involved line of poetry. Somewhat of this accuracy
was doubtless due to the fact that she had been trained in the severe
drill of the Ohio Wesleyan University. She remained in the Ladies’
College of Cincinnati until she completed its course of study.”
In 1852, two years subsequent to her meeting with Mr. Hayes, the young
lady, whom he had courted most assiduously while she was yet engaged
with her studies, became his bride. The marriage ceremony was performed
by Professor L. D. McCabe, of the Wesleyan University, December 20,
1852, and the only attendant of the young pair was a pretty child of
eight years, the daughter of the bridegroom’s only sister. It was a
simple, unpretentious wedding, attended by loving friends, and crowned
by the most absolute affection. It has proven a marriage of absolute
happiness, and the successful career of Mr. Hayes is in a large measure
due to the devotion of his wife, and the intelligent appreciation of his
aspirations which she had, and which she inspired and encouraged. This
sentiment of loyalty for and faith in her husband is one of her
admirable traits, and it has been one which has greatly endeared her to
others; “all the world loves a lover,” runs the old saying, and if the
feeling entertained for Mrs. Hayes by the public were analyzed it would
be found to be due to her womanly and wifely qualities and to the
healthful atmosphere of her home-life. Several incidents which aptly
portray the sensitive appreciation she has of what is due the fame of
her husband from her are related, the following being a prototype of
many told. Soon after Mrs. Hayes reached the White House she was visited
by the wife of a minister of Washington, and asked to forbid the use of
wine in the mansion during her stay there. Mrs. Hayes heard the request
with polite surprise, and replied in these words: “Madame, it is my
husband, not myself, who is President. I think that a man who is capable
of filling so important a position, as I believe my husband to be, is
quite competent to establish such rules as will obtain in his house
without calling on members of other households. I would not offend you,
and I would not offend Mr. Hayes, who knows what is due to his position,
his family and himself, without any interference of others, directly or
through his wife.” This reply, in the face of the fact that Mrs. Hayes
was a strong temperance woman, a Methodist, and very likely as entirely
decided in her mind then as later regarding the subject, is a pleasing
evidence of the earnest self-respect of the President’s wife. As to the
stand she did take, the following letter, written by Rev. Dr. Read,
fully explains. The subject created considerable discussion at the time
and afterwards:
“Mrs. Hayes has decided that hereafter, while she occupies the White
House, there shall be no wine upon the table, even upon state occasions,
when American citizens dine with the President. Noble stand for a noble
Christian woman! God be praised for such a grand, heroic woman to occupy
the highest social position in the nation at this time! It is an answer
to prayer. She comes from Ohio, where the woman’s crusade against
intemperance began, and where she caught from her Christian sisters
something of that noble, heroic spirit that dares to do right in the
face of the world. Henceforth the name of Mrs. Hayes shall be enrolled
with the noblest women of the race, and with the Marys who stood by the
cross of Jesus, even when all the men, except the womanly John, had
deserted him.”
President Hayes, whose public life for a quarter of a century has been a
series of successes, was the youngest child of Rutherford Hayes, who
died before his son’s birth. The mother upon whom the sole care of the
family devolved, and the only parent her boy ever knew, was a character
of rare sweetness and strength. She was left in straitened
circumstances, but was a self-reliant woman and a good manager, and she
was able to give her children excellent educational advantages. Mr.
Hayes was a graduate of Kenyon College, Ohio, and of the Cambridge Law
School. In 1845 he was admitted to practice before the Supreme Court of
Ohio, and began his legal life in Fremont, his present home. He removed
to Cincinnati in 1850, and resided there for many years. Mr. Hayes was
twice elected city attorney of Cincinnati, and at the outbreak of the
civil war entered the army as Major of the 23d Ohio Volunteers, of which
General Rosecrans was Colonel and Hon. Stanley Matthews
Lieutenant-Colonel. During the war he was four times wounded, and served
with distinction until the close, though he was elected to Congress
before peace was declared.
Mrs. Hayes spent two summers and a winter taking care of her husband’s
soldiers, and they loved her for her motherly ministrations to them in
their hours of sickness and mental dejection.
A member of the Twenty-Third Ohio, who went out with the regiment at the
beginning of the war, tells the following anecdote, which occurred
during the first visit of Mrs. Hayes to her husband’s camp. It is a
simple story, which illustrates the character of the President’s wife
completely.
“It was the first of our being out, when we had as yet known but little
of the hardships of war. One day Mrs. Hayes arrived in camp, but the
fact was not generally known. James Saunders was a member of my company.
Jim, as he was called, was a tall, lean, unsuspecting, awkward
country-boy—a good soldier, but not overly smart in detecting a joke.
Consequently the boys used frequently to sell him quite badly; but he
took it all in good part, and was entirely ready the next time a sell
came along to ‘bite’ at it.
“For some time there had been sad need of some means of mending our
clothes. This need was being discussed the next day after Mrs. Hayes’
arrival, and Jim was especially strong in his expressions of need for
some one to mend his blouse, which really was in a very unpresentable
condition.
“‘Why, Jim,’ said one of the boys, ‘didn’t you know that there is a
woman in camp whose business it is to mend the boys’ clothes?’
“‘No,’ said Jim, in astonishment. ‘Where is she?’
“‘Up at the Colonel’s tent,’ said the other. ‘I was there and had her
fix my coat yesterday, and she did a smackin’ good job, too.’
“‘Golly’ said Jim. ‘I’ll go up, then, this very afternoon, and git my
blouse doctored. That is very handy, indeed.’
“True to his word Jim called around at the Colonel’s tent, and, with his
hat under his arm, presented himself, with his awkwardest bow, at the
entrance. He was received with marked politeness by the Colonel, and the
boys who were lurking about appreciating the joke awaited developments.
In a few moments Jim again appeared outside in his shirt sleeves, and
the radiant smile that lit up his honest features showed that he had not
been rebuffed, at least. Calling him aside, where a group of the boys
were gathered, the following conversation took place:
“‘Well, Jim, did you find your woman?’
“‘Of course I did. She was just a settin’ there, and she’s a mighty
good-looking woman, too.’
“‘What did you say?’ all chuckling.
“‘Why, when I went in I told the Colonel that I heerd there was a woman
there to do sewing for the boys, and as my blouse needed mendin’ and
buttons sewed on, I had come to git it done. He kind of smiled, and
turned to the woman settin’ there and asked her if she could fix the
blouse for me, and she said she could as well as not, as she had nothing
special on hand. So I took it off and left it, the Colonel tellin’ me to
call ‘round this afternoon and git it. You all seem to laugh, but I
don’t see anything funny. If she is here to do the sewing, why not do
mine?’
“This was too much. The boys all broke out into a loud chorus of
laughter, and as soon as it subsided, one of them said:
“‘Jim, don’t you know that that woman is the Colonel’s wife?’
“‘I don’t care; she’s a lady anyhow,’ as though that didn’t follow, ‘and
I am goin’ to git my blouse, just as she told me to.’
“And he did go, and was again received in that manner which made him
forget himself and his awkwardness, and she restored his blouse to him
in perfect repair.
“This little incident was all that was needed to fix the affections of
all the boys upon the Colonel’s wife, and whenever she appeared again in
camp, she was certain to receive the warmest welcome.
“Poor Jim died in a Southern hospital, and his name may now be seen upon
the monument standing in the village square at Mesopotamia, Trumbull
county, Ohio, and we have often wondered if the President and his wife
ever think of mending his blouse, rather than be parties to a sell upon
an innocent soldier boy.”
At the battle of South Mountain Colonel Hayes was severely wounded, and
his wife learning of his condition hastened to Washington, where she
expected to find him in some one of the hospitals. Failing to get
tidings of him she went on to Frederick, accompanied by a relative, Mr.
Platt. At last in the village of Middletown, Maryland, she found him,
cared for by her brothers, one of whom was surgeon of the regiment. She
was a welcome addition to the Colonel’s corps of nurses, and as soon as
she was established beside him his improvement began. The family in
whose house the wounded Colonel lay, Captain Rudy’s, said of her long
afterwards: “The moment she crossed our threshold we knew she was a good
woman and natural lady. She made herself easily at home, and next
morning after she came she was down in the kitchen early and asked leave
to cook the Colonel’s favorite dish.”
As soon as he was able to walk about the house she spent a portion of
every day in the hospitals, visiting Union and Confederate wounded
alike, and carrying them grapes and other delicacies. She read to those
who were well enough to be interested, and made herself a welcome
presence to the sick and the dying. Her mild manners and unaffected
kindly ways won her friends everywhere, and when she left the place to
return to Cincinnati with her husband, her departure was sincerely
regretted. They had been well cared for by the family with whom they had
stayed, and when Colonel Hayes became Governor of Ohio, Mrs. Hayes sent
for one of the young ladies of the household, and entertained her most
hospitably. Long afterward, when Governor Hayes had become President, he
heard of the death of Captain Rudy, and wrote a letter of sympathy, in
which he reverted kindly to the time when he was disabled and found a
home with them. Leaving the field as a Brigadier-General to take his
seat in the Thirty-ninth Congress, Cincinnati people saw little of Mr.
Hayes for several years, for he was re-elected to Congress, and resided,
until nominated for Governor, at the capital.
The Executive Mansion at Columbus was conducted on the most generous
scale socially, and the Governor and his wife entertained continuously.
Both are pre-eminently social in their natures, and in all the public
positions he filled, she extended elegant hospitality. Their circle of
private friends is very extensive, and Mrs. Hayes has ever delighted to
be a hostess, so that their home, wherever it was, has been rarely
without guests.
Mrs. Hayes worked to enlarge the charities of the State, and was
identified with all good causes during her life in Columbus, and
constantly interested herself in church work. She enjoyed an experience
and exerted an influence that ably fitted her for the position of lady
of the White House. Her domestic responsibilities were not light, for
she has been the mother of eight children, five of whom are living, and
her duty has been performed as well in that as in every other
relationship in life. It has been the custom for Mr. and Mrs. Hayes to
spend as much of the time in the summer in their own home at Fremont as
possible, and up to the time of their removal to the White House
“Spiegel Grove” was the resort of many friends during the warm season.
It became their place of residence after their removal from Washington.
This home is beautifully situated on Burchard Avenue, so named in honor
of Sardis Burchard, the uncle and guardian of Mr. Hayes. The house was
erected by Mr. Burchard in 1860, and it stands in the centre of thirty
acres of woodland. Immediately surrounding the house are handsome lawns
and gardens, with some fine old oaks left standing in their midst, and
which contrast most charmingly with the otherwise open grounds. The
house is of brick, two stories high, and nearly surrounded by a wide
verandah. It is a large and comfortable mansion, furnished like any
country residence of a person of means. There is a library-room on the
second floor well stocked with books and adorned with pictures, and in
the handsome parlors are paintings by American, French and German
artists. The surroundings of the place are remarkably tasteful and
attractive. Burchard Park, which was a gift to the town of Fremont from
Mr. Burchard, lies near the mansion, and there are handsome residences
in the neighboring avenues, which enhance the beauty of Spiegel Grove.
Mrs. Hayes’ personal appearance has been so often reproduced through
photographs and pen-pictures that it is almost superfluous to give any
lengthy description, particularly as the engraving accompanying this
sketch is an accurate likeness of her face. She is of medium height, is
squarely built, and has large features. Her hair is a particularly
noticeable feature, partly from the manner in which it is worn, and
mainly for its abundance and beauty of color and texture. Her brow is
low and broad, and is unmarked by care. The mouth is large and adorned
with beautiful teeth. Her eyes are large and expressive, and deepen in
color from gray to black as the feelings are wrought upon. All her
features are expressive, and her face is a most pleasing and animated
one. She has a gay and sunny temperament, hence her face is the mirror
of much that is bright and beautiful. She owes much of her good looks
and her happiness to her wonderful health, for she is as splendid a
specimen of physical womanhood as the country can boast, and her
presence is a tonic to weaker women.
The Presidential canvass in 1876 was an exciting one, and its disputed
results, its electoral commission, and final settlement tested the
equanimity of all parties, and created greater anxiety than any event
which succeeded the war. President and Mrs. Hayes reached Washington the
day before the inauguration, and became the guests of Senator Sherman.
An immense throng filled the Capitol on the morning of the 4th of March
to witness the inaugural and to see the new President. He rode with
ex-President Grant through the city, and alighted at the eastern
portico, welcomed by hundreds of people of all classes. Passing into the
Senate chamber, he was seated in front of the Speaker’s desk, beside the
retiring Chief Executive. In the gallery sat his wife, watching him with
an eagerness that betrayed her happiness, and an anxiety that discovered
her intense interest in the occasion. He looked as impassive as the
taciturn soldier beside him, until glancing his eyes over the Senate
gallery he caught sight of his wife. There was a mutual glance of
recognition, an assuring smile, and the inaugural address was given in
clear, earnest tones. Immediately following the ceremonies the
newly-made President and Mrs. Hayes lunched at the White House with
ex-President and Mrs. Grant. In the afternoon a carriage drove up to the
steps, and soon General Grant and wife appeared, followed by President
and Mrs. Hayes without hat or head-covering. They bade each other
good-bye, and as the carriage moved away, President Hayes remarked to
General Grant: “General, if I had a slipper, I’d throw it after you.”
The President and Mrs. Hayes stood a few moments looking after it, and
she, stopping to kiss one or two children near her, passed with her
husband into the house, and the new life was begun. The children of the
President, who with relatives had been at the Ebbitt House, during their
parents’ stay with Senator and Mrs. Sherman, joined them later in the
day, and the first day in the White House closed in excitement and
happiness. Mrs. Hayes was delighted with the high place to which she had
attained. She made no denial on this point, and freely admitted the
satisfaction it gave her, and the enjoyment she hoped to have. One of
the pleasantest of the many pleasant incidents connected with her advent
into the White House was the class testimonial presented to her by
several of her old schoolmates at the Female Wesleyan College, who were
in Washington at the time of the inauguration. They arranged to send her
a floral offering, and fixed upon the happy device of the college badge.
It is composed of a heart in an open Bible, the motto of the
thirty-first chapter of Proverbs, marked with an anchor. The floral
tribute was formed of a heart centre of white rosebuds, with an outside
border of fine white flowers, the intervening space being filled with
blue forget-me-nots. Upon this was placed an open Bible—a real
Bible—held open by an anchor formed of white roses, like the heart, and
a single rosebud marked the following passage:
“Her husband is known of the elders and praises her in the gates.”
Accompanying the beautiful gift was a note written by Miss Rariden, and
signed by the several ladies. It was couched in these pleasing words:
“WASHINGTON, _March 5th, 1877_.
“DEAR SISTER:—It will need but the sight of our offering—the old school
badge—to remind you of the lang syne when school lessons were our
greatest duties, and school triumphs our highest rewards. Since then you
have added to the title of good scholar the higher ones of good wife and
tender mother, and now the voice of the people has called you to come
higher.
“We, the representatives of the Alma Mater, beg the acceptance of our
flowers as a tribute to the first of our number called to preside at the
White House, though the offering is less due to you as our President’s
wife than to the true woman you have proved yourself in every relation
of life.
“We hope you will have the kindness to appoint an early day, when we can
express in person our congratulations.
“MARY BROWN HITT,
“MARY C. RARIDEN,
“MRS. J. EDDY SOMERS,
“MISS EASTON,
“MRS. ELIZA LETFORD NORDHOFF.”
Of the number, Mrs. Hitt and Miss Rariden were the only classmates; the
others were _alumni_. The best plans will go aglee, and in the
conveyance of this lovely gift the note was abstracted or lost, and Mrs.
Hayes was in a quiver of excitement over the anonymous offering. That
evening upon receipt of another Bible (she had enough Bibles given her
to stock a hotel), she spoke of the more precious one accompanying the
college badge, and crossing the room pointed out its beauties. The
husband of one of the donors happened to be present, and communicated
their names. The end was felicitous. Mrs. Hayes appointed the next
morning to receive the ladies. She met them with charming friendliness,
conducted them through the green-house, sent for her husband and
children, and in the words of one of her guests, “was all that a
courteous hostess could be.”
Four weeks after taking up her residence in the Executive Mansion, she
held her first Saturday afternoon reception, and on this occasion she
was as well satisfied a lady as had ever stood in her place. A friend
who observed her on that day said that “her eyes looked as black as
night, and they had a lustre rarely seen. She made no effort to conceal
her delight. Her whole face was positively radiant. The effect as she
received, assisted by her friends, was precisely that of all the light
thrown upon one figure of a tableau.” The toilette worn by Mrs. Hayes on
this occasion was a black gros grain princesse dress, square at the
neck, and perfectly fitting, and relieved of its plainness by exquisite
point-laces. The next public occasion on which she appeared was at the
dinner given to the Russian Grand Dukes Alexis and Constantine. The
gathering was as brilliant as any ever assembled in the Executive
Mansion. The drawing-rooms were elaborately decorated with flowers, and
the State dining-room never presented a finer appearance. The table was
a mass of flowers and cut-glass and Sevres china. In the centre was an
oval mirror representing a lake with tropical banks of ferns and
trailing vines. In the centre of the lake was an island of pink azalias
studded with cloth of gold roses, while over the outer surface were
vines massed to look like water-lilies. The banks of the lake were
strewn with graceful hills formed with vases of tropical fruit, and here
and there a pyramid or column of candied fruits and bon-bons rose
between. At each end of the lake were tall frosted cakes decorated with
white azalias and pink and tea roses and smilax. Delicate pink and white
vases of frosted glass and silver stands stood at each plate, the pink
vases holding clusters of white buds, and the white vases pink buds.
Azalia trees, camelias and other flowering plants were arranged about
the room, ornamenting by their proximity to them the chocolate and
strawberry pyramids that stood at the north side of the room. Vines of
smilax strung on gilt wire were draped about the table, chandeliers and
pictures. The Grand Duke Alexis with Mrs. Hayes led the promenade
through the East Room, the Marine Band playing the Russian march,
followed by the Grand Duke Constantine and Mrs. Evarts. The President
escorted Lady Thornton, and when seated at the table, the two Grand
Dukes were on either side of Mrs. Hayes, and the President sat opposite,
between Lady Thornton and Mrs. Shishkin, wife of the Russian Minister.
The other members of the brilliant company were ranged about the table
in regular order. The toilette worn by Mrs. Hayes at this entertainment
was an exquisite cream-colored _faille_, richly trimmed with the
material and elegant lace.
As regards the use of wine on this occasion, about which the press of
the entire country had so much to say, the actual facts are these. The
President and Mrs. Hayes objected to its use, but the Secretary of
State, Mr. Evarts, was of the opinion that the Grand Dukes and other
foreigners, being accustomed to dine with wine, would not enjoy their
dinner without it, and the master of ceremonies was ordered to provide
it. He was at the same time informed that on all future occasions, when
the President entertained citizens of the United States, wine would be
omitted.
In the _American Register_, at Paris, appeared, shortly after the
inauguration, the following complimentary allusion to the new lady of
the White House: “The administration of Mrs. Hayes receives quite as
much attention as does that of the President. Her beauty, simplicity,
womanliness and frankness have taken the blasé society of Washington by
storm. Her dresses of rich material are very simply made, high at the
neck, long at the wrist, with fine laces at both, but no jewelry; her
hair is neither puffed nor frizzed, but coiffured plainly at the back
and held in place with a shell comb. She is a lady by birth and
education, and is a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church. The first
Sunday she and her husband were in Washington they stole quietly to the
Foundry Methodist Episcopal Church, while the Rev. Dr. Newman,
‘Inspector of Consuls,’ Chaplain to the Senate, Pastor of the Great
Metropolitan Court Church, ‘was all primed and powdered’ for their
appearance. But they came not. Everybody who knows the style and quality
of the Metropolitan Methodist Episcopal Church was exceedingly pleased
at the incident.”
When Mrs. Hayes went to the White House it was said that she had decided
not to interfere with appointments, or to consider any application for
her influence in any matter with which her husband had to do.
Applications for office were turned over to the secretaries, and through
the years of her stay in the White House she succeeded in avoiding this
source of annoyance. Occasionally she deviated from this rule, as in the
case of the postmistress of a town in Pennsylvania, who was turned out
of office because of her strong temperance proclivities. The member of
Congress who represented the district in which this woman held office
succeeded in getting a man appointed in her place who would not work
with temperance organizations to defeat party candidates. The order for
her removal had been made out at the Post-Office Department, when a lady
friend of Mrs. Hayes, who had passed through the town, and learned the
facts, telegraphed to her for a stay of proceedings till the case could
be explained. The request was granted, and the next news the member of
Congress received from home was that the postmistress had been
reinstated by order of the President.
A Washington correspondent describes Mrs. Hayes’ attention to some “poor
relations” who were visiting her. The description is well worth
reproducing as showing her democratic independence and her appreciation
of her friends.
“Not long ago I was passing Corcoran’s Art Gallery, and saw Mrs. Hayes
assisting into her carriage some people of a sort that are usually
described as ‘countrified.’ They were not finely-dressed, nor were their
garments fashionably made. Quite the reverse was the case. But it struck
me that the horses were unusually well groomed, and there was a footman
in livery, which is a bit of style Mrs. Hayes seldom assumes. It was not
the every-day carriage, either, but the best one, and I am as sure as if
Mrs. Hayes had told me so, that she was putting on a few frills just to
please her guests, for human nature is human nature, and Mrs. Hayes has
a keen sense of perception. I afterwards learned that a party of Mrs.
Hayes’ friends were visiting the White House, from the interior of Ohio.
They were humble people and had never been in Washington before, but
their great-grandchildren will all know about that visit, and the taking
of those folks around in the President’s best carriage, with driver and
footman in livery, will be a tradition in that family for generations.
This wasn’t an isolated occurrence. Similar people have visited the
White House before, and have received similar attentions. Mrs. Hayes has
taken them to the Capitol, and they have sat beside her in the
President’s seat in the reserved gallery, and had they been the Queen of
England and the Princesses Royal, Mrs. Hayes couldn’t have been more
devoted than she was to her ‘poor relations.’”
Mrs. Hayes entertained many guests in the White House, and she made it
particularly attractive to her young friends and relatives. She gave
them an opportunity of seeing Washington life from the high
vantage-ground of the White House, and showed them at the same time the
domestic side of a lovely home-life. No mistress of the Executive
Mansion, it can truly be said, ever made more of her opportunity in the
direction of true sociability. She, from the first, displayed a generous
hospitality, not so much to official people as to her old friends and
her husband’s and their young connections. She exhibited all the
possibilities of a happy home, and left an influence upon the growing
generation about her that will never be forgotten. In years to come they
will tell of the sweet simplicity of her life there, and the great
influence that she had over a public, hardly recovered from all the
excessive extravagance and display that followed the restoration of
peace, and reached its height under the preceding administration. There
was felt towards her a prejudice on the part of a portion of the public,
which opposed her temperance views, but she has her surest fame in this
stand which no predecessor of hers was ever strong enough to assert and
maintain. And from the millions of homes in this country, where young
men are growing to manhood with their sisters beside them, have gone up
from the hearts of parents thankful, grateful prayers for the honor and
reverence paid to the one cause in this land which has most lacked for
recognition in high places. Whatever course may be adopted by future
generations, the social administration of Mrs. Hayes marks a new era in
the history of temperance, and it will be a mile-stone to show the turn
in the tide in favor of this principle which had languished for want of
just the recognition she gave it and her sex, its standard-bearer. Such
is her fame, and her reward is the gratitude of the best men and women
of the age.
Mrs. Hayes had with her in the White House all of her children, save the
eldest son, who is an Ohio lawyer. The second son, whose coming of age
was appropriately celebrated in the White House, acted as his father’s
confidential secretary; a third son was at school, and the only daughter
and youngest son were with their parents there.
Mrs. Hayes has the distinction of being one of the few women who have
lived in the glare and glitter of society in Washington and avoided all
manner of extremes in dress. She did not appear in diamonds, eschewed
low-neck and short-sleeved dresses, never varied her individual fashion
of arranging her hair, and, to quote the remark of one of her girlhood
friends, made at the commencement of her husband’s administration, “she
is the same Lucy as of old.” This same friend said of her, “It is just
like Lucy to go to the Foundry Church. She always despised shams and
ostentation.”
Of all the Washington scribes who have written of Mrs. Hayes, Mary
Clemmer, in describing the inauguration,has said the most pleasing
things. And the queries she made of her possible course are answered in
the remark of Mrs. Hayes’ school friend. She wrote of her after seeing
her in the Senate Chamber on that auspicious occasion:
“Meanwhile, on this man of whom every one in the nation is this moment
thinking, a fair woman between two little children looks down. She has a
singularly gentle and winning face. It looks out from the bands of
smooth dark hair with that tender light in the eyes which we have come
to associate always with the Madonna. I have never seen such a face
reign in the White House. I wonder what the world of Vanity Fair will do
with it? Will it friz that hair? powder that face? draw those sweet,
fine lines awry with pride? bare those shoulders? shorten those sleeves?
hide John Wesley’s, discipline out of sight, as it poses and minces
before the first lady of the land? what will she do with it, this woman
of the hearth and home? Strong as she is fair, will she have the grace
to use it as not abusing it; to be in it, yet not of it; priestess of a
religion pure and undefiled, holding the white lamp of her womanhood,
unshaken and unsullied, high above the heated crowd that fawns, flatters
and spoils? The Lord in heaven knows. All I know is that Mr. and Mrs.
Hayes are the finest-looking type of man and woman that I have seen take
up their abode in the White House.” This description of her tallies with
that given by a white-haired Southerner who went to a White House
reception, and remarked to his friends that Mrs. Hayes was a “God
beautiful woman.” President Hayes cannot be described in so graphic a
way, though he is a man easily sketched. His eyes are blue and kindly in
expression; his features are strong and his manners are polished. His
home-life is, as may well be judged by all that has been said in the
foregoing sketch, beautiful. He is refined, affectionate and manly, and
when he and his wife stood together in the Blue Room of the White House,
on the 31st of December, 1877, to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary
of their marriage, their friends gathered about them coincided in the
opinion that they were “the finest-looking type of man and woman that
they had ever seen take up their abode in the White House.” This
silver-wedding, the first ever celebrated in the White House, was a
social event which proved of genuine interest to the people of the
country, who, irrespective of party, wished them a long-continued career
of happiness. The anniversary was celebrated on the afternoon of the
30th, when the Rev. Dr. McCabe, who married, them, renewed his pastoral
blessing in the same words and heard the same pledges given that were
uttered a quarter of a century ago. Mrs. Hayes wore the same satin dress
and slippers which she wore on her wedding-day, and they were surrounded
by their five children and the following personal guests: Mr. and Mrs.
Herron, Dr. and Mrs. Davis, of Cincinnati; General and Mrs. Force,
Secretary Rogers and wife, Miss Platt, Miss McKell, Colonel Wier, Miss
Foote and Mrs. Mitchell. After the celebration of the ceremony a most
interesting event followed. The infant daughter of Mr. Herron was
christened, and received the name of Lucy Webb, in honor of Mrs. Hayes.
After it was baptized the President presented his daughter Fannie and
youngest son Scott Russell, for baptism, and then the party were ushered
into the dining-room, where dinner was served. The next evening the
formal ceremonies were held, and one hundred guests were present. The
Executive Mansion was brilliantly illuminated, and the parlors and the
East Room were elegantly decorated with flowers. Mrs. Hayes wore a
reception dress of white striped silk, trimmed with point lace. Her
wedding dress of white satin was exhibited to her lady friends, but the
idea at first entertained of wearing it was abandoned because of its
size, it being too small. The guests were as far as possible the same
who attended the wedding in 1852, and among the number were Mr. Rogers,
the private secretary and former law partner of the President, Mr. and
Mrs. Wilber, Mrs. Hayes’ former teachers, and Mrs. Mitchell, the
President’s niece, who as a little girl was the bride’s attendant and
held her hand during the ceremony. A large portion of the company
present were Ohioans, and the entertainment was social and informal. The
only present received, for it had been made known distinctly that the
President would accept none, was a gift to Mrs. Hayes from the officers
of the Twenty-Third Ohio Volunteer Infantry, consisting of a silver
plate imbedded in a mat of black velvet and enclosed in a richly
ornamented ebony frame. The present was given in memory of kindness
received at the hands of Mrs. Hayes in the field, and it was inscribed
on its face, “To the Mother of the Regiment.” The inscription on the
silver is:
“To Thee, ‘Mother of ours,’ from the 23d O. V. I. To Thee, our Mother,
on thy silver troth, we bring this token of our love. Thy boys give
greeting unto thee with burning hearts. Take the hoarded treasures of
thy speech, kind words, gentle when a gentle word was worth the surgery
of an hundred schools to heal sick thought and make our bruises whole.
Take it, our mother: ’tis but some small part of thy rare beauty we give
back to thee, and while love speaks in silver, from our hearts we’ll
bribe Old Father Time to spare his gift.”
Above the inscription is a sketch of the log hut erected as Colonel
Hayes’ head-quarters in the valley of the Kanawha, during the winter of
1863 and 1864, and above it the tattered and torn battle-flags of the
regiment.
After the invitations were written, the President personally addressed
each and added these words: “I hope you will be present.”
The White House was a family mansion in the fulness of the term while
Mrs. Hayes was in it. She kept it filled with relatives and friends, and
gave receptions and entertainments suited to the tastes of those she
designed to honor. The President’s niece, Miss Platt, who made her home
with her uncle, was married in the mansion, and bridal parties were
entertained there from all parts of the country. Mrs. Hayes, on one of
her tours with her husband, was asked if she did not get tired of seeing
so many people and going so much, and she replied: “Oh, no; I never get
tired of having a good time.” She really liked to meet the people who
wished to see her, and to shake hands with all who chose to offer her
congratulations and respect. She was the most idolized woman in America
during her husband’s administration, and not because she held the rank
she did, for many have held it before her, who were not known outside a
small circle, but for the reason that she is a loving, sunny-hearted,
unselfish woman, liking popularity and seeking it according to the Bible
injunction: “A man that hath friends must show himself friendly.” She
uses the world without abusing it, and carries herself through its pomps
and vanities unspotted and pure.
The closing months of President Hayes’ administration were marked by
national good feeling and cordiality, and the social life of the White
House was most brilliant. Dinner parties and invitation receptions
followed each other in rapid succession, and the guests that were
entertained there were great in numbers. The extent of her hospitality
was estimated by ladies whose husbands had official relations with the
President, and who by right of their positions were often at the White
House entertainments, as being greater than any other hostess who had
preceded her in her high position. She never gave a dinner or an evening
party that was not on a scale of elegance compatible with her position,
and hence only praise can be said of her administration.
One of the most charming of the entertainments she gave was a lunch
party to fifty young ladies in honor of eight guests. There was no
married lady present except Mrs. Hayes. The young ladies invited to meet
her youthful visitors were the daughters of the members of the Cabinet,
of the Chief-Justices, members of Congress, of the foreign Ministers,
and army and navy officers in the city, and they included many beautiful
and not a few distinguished ladies. The lunch was given in the state
dining-room, and as only forty persons can be seated at the table, it
was extended by long tables reaching nearly across the room, placed at
right angles with it at each end. Mrs. Hayes sat at the head of the
room, and the young ladies staying in the house were dispersed among the
guests. No gentlemen were present. The table was exquisitely adorned
with flowers and dishes of fresh and candied fruits, candelabra, etc.
Potted plants were also grouped about the room. The plants and ferns in
the conservatory were seen to great advantage through the long windows.
A photograph was taken of the table and the vista through the
conservatories before the guests assembled. The bon-bons served were of
many choice and novel varieties, and the _menu_ included every delicacy.
The dinner cards were perfectly plain, square, white cards, with a
silver edge, and the coat-of-arms of the United States upon them.
In addition to the many incidental receptions and entertainments, and
apart from the usual Presidential receptions, Mrs. Hayes was invariably
at home to welcome whoever chose to call upon her from eight to ten
o’clock each evening. And there was scarcely an evening in the week when
the green parlor was not full of people. Whether these were strangers
from out of the city or personal acquaintance, they were received
informally, and as they took their departure it was most usually the
case that they carried away with them flowers, which were always to be
seen in all the rooms during her life there.
Mrs. Hayes left the White House signally honored by her own sex. She
received during the closing days of her stay in Washington every
recognition that the women of this country could give her, and she
returned to her home in Ohio assured of the esteem of those whose good
opinions she would naturally value. She did not win the regard of her
sex by seeking for their favorable opinions, but by being true to
herself.
The presentation of her portrait, a life-size painting by Huntington,
was made to the nation by the temperance people, who felt that her
course deserved some more marked tribute than could be paid her in
words. The picture represents her standing, holding in her hands a
cluster of roses. She is arrayed in a ruby velvet, the rich color being
toned by white laces about her neck and sleeves. The canvas is seven
feet four inches high by six feet wide, and the frame (of oak) stands
nearly ten feet in height. The sides of the frame are in the form of
pilasters with a capital at the top and a plinth at the base, the sides
supporting a rich projecting cornice. This cornice presents a hollow
moulding a foot deep, on which are carved branches of oak in high
relief, above which is displayed in unique designs the American flag.
The capitals on the pilasters are in a pattern of lilies (purity), the
bases of these in laurel (victory), the bottom in the English hawthorn
and the water lily, the top in oak leaves and acorns (power and
strength), together with several other less noticeable designs. The
frame was made by the Cincinnati School of Design, under Mr. Benn
Pitman, and is the finest ever carved. The presentation was made in the
East Room on the morning of the 8th of March, General Garfield replying
to Miss Frances Willard, who, as President of the National Woman’s
Christian Temperance Union, tendered it. The event awakened interest
throughout the nation. Everybody felt renewed interest in the woman who
had done such worthy things as to secure to herself a following such as
no other member of her sex ever had in this country. She came to her
fame step by step, proving with each day’s life that she was building
character and not seeking applause. She had no more power in the White
House than she had in Ohio, for though her husband’s ear was ever
conveniently near by, she did not impose taxes upon him or make him pay
tribute to her rank as his wife. With him she shared his high place, but
it was not used selfishly to advance her popularity or to win for her
aught of selfish fame. In the midst of her surroundings, which were
outwardly captivating enough to turn a strong head, she lived a
self-respecting life, individualizing it without antagonizing her
husband’s public interests. In the stand she took in refusing to use
wine on her table, she exhibited rare courage, because it was not only
an unpopular step, but it was one that placed her in contrast with her
predecessors in the position she was holding—a circumstance which was
her chief regret. As to the right of a woman to take the authoritative
stand she did, she did not stop to consider, for she was in her own home
even if in the Executive Mansion, and the public had no more right to
dictate what she should drink than what she should eat or wear. Mr.
Hayes, had he set aside her wishes and trampled her authority, would
have committed in so doing no act that would have condemned him in the
eyes of the majority of people. But she reaped as she had sown, and was
respected in the measure of her self-respect, and it was this evidence
of her moral power, more than the mere fact of her being a temperance
advocate, that drew the women of this country about her. And taken all
in all, she is one of the finest representatives of her sex who has held
the place she has filled. This is the verdict of the women of this
country, who by thousands signed the testimonials sent her, and united
in presenting to the nation her portrait, as a manifestation of their
gratitude for worthy representation. It is the first instance of the
kind in the history of any nation, and it marked the prestige of a
people who are every year becoming more renowned throughout the world,
and more and more an example of the advancing power of civilization.
Ex-President and Mrs. Hayes, accompanied by their children and a party
of friends, left Washington on Saturday morning, the 5th of March, and
hardly had they begun their journey when an accident occurred which came
nigh proving disastrous. Fortunately none of the persons with the
ex-President were hurt, though two persons on the train were killed and
a number were seriously injured. The accident occurred near Baltimore in
the afternoon of the day they left Washington. Arriving at Fremont the
people received the long absent family with every manifestation of
delight and regard, and welcomed them with music, banners and speeches.
At night the town was illuminated, and the house of the ex-President was
crowded with neighbors and friends, who made the home-coming as pleasant
as the God-speed had been hearty and earnest.
[Illustration: Engraved by Samuel Sartain, Phil_a ]
XXVII.
LUCRETIA RUDOLPH GARFIELD.
A woman who had known Mrs. Garfield for a number of years previous to
the election of her husband to the Presidency said of her, in reply to a
question regarding her fitness for the place she was to fill:
“She will have a most beneficent influence upon society in Washington.
She loves truth and despises shams. She is a woman of exceeding good
sense, and will perform her entire social duty when called upon.”
“Will she be popular with what is called the fashionable world?”
“Mrs. Garfield is not what would be termed a fashionable woman in
Washington, but she will command the respect of all classes. She
inclines to retirement, and is very quiet and serious, naturally.”
“A home-body, then!”
“Yes, a home-body; and a lady whose refinement, attainments and fine
character the people will like.”
Mrs. Garfield went to the White House under the most advantageous
circumstances, but it was the common remark of her friends that she was
not likely to make as much of her opportunity, as the First Lady of the
Land, socially, as some of her predecessors had. “I hope I shall not
disappoint you,” she said to several women who called upon her during
the inauguration week. She seemed to feel that more was expected of her
than she was likely to perform, and her eyes were full of tears when she
made this remark. Had no circumstance occurred to call into prominence
the finest characteristics of her nature, she would probably have been
slow in producing upon the general public the appreciation she deserved.
Her qualities of heart and mind are those that pass for less than their
value in what is termed society life. She is not a woman of showy
attainments; is not given to the saying of sharp things that sound
clever when repeated, but generally hurt those to whom they are
addressed. She had no ambition to shine as the leader of Washington
society, as the public discovered during the few months of her life in
the President’s House. The newspapers overpraised her accomplishments,
and this troubled her, as all exaggerations did. She remarked the
injustice inaccurate publications did her predecessors, but she could do
nothing more than pursue the even tenor of her way, performing what she
knew to be her duty. The earlier months of the Administration passed
quietly away, the social season being over and her health being poor,
and it was remarked that she kept herself secluded from public gaze. By
and by her severe illness was announced, and the public sympathized with
her husband, who seemed to be borne down by anxiety and dread lest she
should be taken from him.
It was evident to those who came in contact with the new Lady of the
White House that, though fragile in appearance, she possessed great
powers of endurance, and her deliberate and thoughtful utterances gave
assurance of a mind and heart that could but prove a blessing to her in
her new field of action. The qualities for which she was praised on
every side had characterized her through life, but the full opportunity
for their display came to her for the first time as the President’s
wife. She was found to be undemonstrative and self-contained, and showed
by her words and her acts that she valued the place she occupied mainly
because it reflected her husband’s greatness and could be made a help to
him. Beyond her duties she had no inclinations or aspirations. Her
influence had never been exerted selfishly, and she was not likely to
change in any respect, because she was greater in herself than she was
in the place she had been called to fill for a time. Her husband’s
interests were her chief concern, and she lived at his side, aiding and
blessing him. She was to him an inspiration—a perpetual joy and solace.
He was her rock of strength—her ever-present refuge and rest. He was
hers, she was his, and the two were one in their children.
The story of their two lives is well known in this country. Both were
born in Ohio; he was the son of a widowed mother, she the daughter of a
home full of children. Neither was well-to-do in worldly ways, and he
was very poor, and with nothing but a stout heart and a mother’s love to
depend upon in the beginning of his career.
When the little girl, Lucretia Rudolph, met James Garfield, her senior
by a few years, he was in the same school she attended, Geauga Seminary,
and was a strong, healthy boy who was working assiduously to fit himself
for college. She was a studious girl who had no very definite plans
until she became acquainted with him, and imbibed his taste for books.
For several years they were at this school, and then young Garfield
entered Hiram College, just completed. In a short time, through the
illness and retirement of one of the tutors, he became a teacher, and
into his class-room came the reserved young girl, who for two years
recited Latin to him. He evidently taught her well, for twenty years
later she instructed her boys in Latin, preparatory to their entering
college.
Her father, Mr. Zebulon Rudolph, was a farmer living near Garrettsville,
and was one of the founders of Hiram College. Her mother was a daughter
of Elijah Mason, of Lebanon, Connecticut, and a descendant, on her
mother’s side, of General Nathaniel Greene.
Her parents reared their daughter in a practical manner, early imbuing
her with ideas of self-restraint and self-government that admirably
fitted her for her after career.
After she was graduated from Hiram College she taught school in order to
relieve her parents of her support and lift herself above dependence
upon them. When Mr. Garfield went to Williams College to continue his
education, she went to Cleveland, to teach in one of the public schools.
Both studied: she, with a view to self-improvement that she might be a
fitting companion for her ambitious lover; he, that he might be prepared
for the place among men he aspired to take. They loved each other, and
were engaged to be married before their departure from Hiram.
At the end of the year they met at Hiram, and when he had graduated and
returned there, she was still teaching. She taught for a year after,
though not in Cleveland, and in a letter written by the Hon. A. M.
Pratt, of Bayou, Ohio, is given this picture of the two:
“Twenty-three years ago Mrs. Garfield sought and taught scholars in
painting and drawing in this then very insignificant village, and not
getting very large classes, living meantime in my house, the guest and
friend of my then wife. The future President was frequently entertained
at my table; he, a young, strong, green, great-hearted, large-headed
youth, but two years from college, hopeful, full of life and push; she,
graceful, sweet, amiable, retiring, with a disposition as lovely as a
star-lit sky—both poor. Their fortune was their youth, health, hearts,
intellects, hopes, and, glad am I to say, love.”
The marriage took place at the house of the bride’s parents, November
11, 1858. Mr. Garfield had been made Principal of Hiram College, and
considered himself fairly started in life, so that there was no reason
for longer deferring the union. He was not rich enough to give his bride
a home, and for some years they boarded. Pupils of his during that time
knew his wife as a quiet, retiring person, who always welcomed them
kindly and showed real interest in their school work and progress. She
was an admirable school-teacher’s wife, because of her acquaintance with
the work and her appreciation of the responsibility as such. They were a
poor couple and lived much within themselves; but they were happily
united and congenially employed. She had been taught by her parents—to
whom she owes much for such instruction—to be a truth-speaking,
right-thinking young woman, and added to this rare training were her
excellent school advantages and her practical use of them. She was the
outgrowth of this fine family government, and such womanhood as she has
developed is a credit to her and an encouragement to other parents.
The husband she selected was eminently fitted by his rearing to
appreciate her worth, and it was with genuine satisfaction that their
friends saw them unite their two lives.
Of General Garfield’s career much could be written, did the limits of
this sketch admit. After his election to the Presidency, considerable
was said of his ancestry, but the people of this country cared little
for genealogical records in his case. The story of his mother’s
struggles to rear her young children, the success achieved in her
labors, and her own personal worth, added to what is known of the
character of his early lost father, were enough to convince his country
people that he came of good stock and had a glorious heritage.
When the father of James Garfield lay dying, he pointed to his children,
and said to his wife, “Eliza, I have planted four saplings in these
woods; I leave them to your care.” He was buried in a corner of a wheat
field on his little farm, and the mother and her boys worked in the
fields together. James was her baby. When he was four years old he went
to the district school. He was sent thus early that he might learn to
read and write before he became old enough to assist on the farm. The
three elder children were at work, and when the mother could spare time
from her indoor duties she helped them to gather hay, plant corn, and,
with her eldest boy’s aid, she cleared new land and fenced it in. Little
James learned to spell and read, and imbibed with every passing day the
inspiration of purpose and reverence for work that came by-and-by to be
second nature to him. His mother early saw that he loved study, and she
determined to help him gratify his taste. She could not send him to
school in winter, because it was too far for his little feet to plod
alone, and she offered to give a corner out of her farm if her neighbors
would put up a school-house. It was done, and James became a pupil. He
carried home a New Testament at the close of the first term for being
the best boy in school.
When he was sixteen he walked sixteen miles to offer his services to a
farmer who wanted laborers. He was asked what pay he expected, and
replied, “A man’s wages—a dollar a day.” It was refused, and then he
volunteered to mow hay by the acre, with the help of a boy older than
himself. The offer was accepted, and he earned his dollar before four
o’clock in the afternoon.
Who does not know the story of his life? The tow-boy on the Erie Canal;
the steersman; the labor-loving and industrious widow’s son whose
respect for women all through his life was founded on his respect for
his mother. He was not long from home at any time, because she could not
bear it, and when he talked about being a sailor she told him of a
better life to lead. She was no drudge whose poverty had quelled
ambition. She was a true mother, and lived over her life in her
children. To her persevering persuasions her boy owed his opportunity
for study. Had she possessed riches she could not have done more for him
and might have done less. Her youngest born, whom the neighbors, looking
at in the cradle, thought would be better off out of the world than in
it, followed the way she led, and gave up his desire to work in order to
get an education. She was helped in her effort by a spell of sickness he
had, and which kept him in the house with her. To that attack of ague,
and the opportunity it gave his mother, he largely owed his future
career.
If anybody in the day of his power was surprised at the extreme and
enthusiastic devotion he paid his mother, it was from a lack of
knowledge of how he loved her. The sons of widows are, as a rule, far
more appreciative of their mothers than are other boys. It needs not a
very extended outlook of history to be able to recall numerous instances
of this truth, and among the Presidents themselves are several notable
examples of the influence of widowed mothers over ambitious sons. And it
is well to observe that great men who have owed their training directly
to their mothers have never failed to be the strictest observers of the
fifth commandment. It is not possible in the limits of this sketch to
trace all the struggles of the youth to get an education. His history is
one that should be studied by the young of both sexes in this country.
The life-work of Mother Garfield is written in the worthy lives of all
her children, and imperishably in the fame of her “baby” boy, the
twentieth President of the United States.
Mr. and Mrs. Garfield resided in Hiram until 1860, when he was elected
to the State Senate, and went to Columbus. He had previous to this time
made up his mind that he would become a lawyer, and was admitted to the
bar. His intention was to settle in Cleveland and practise his
profession, and he doubtless would have done so but for the breaking out
of the war. In 1861 he left the Senate to become Colonel of the
Forty-second Ohio Regiment. At an earlier period of his life, and while
a teacher, he had become a preacher of the Church of the Disciples—a
sect known as the Campbellites. His ministerial work was, however,
incidental, and not at any time a regular pursuit, though his friends
desired him to adopt it as such.
Mr. Garfield went to the war a poor man, not even owning a home, and it
was with money saved while in the service that his wife bought a house
and lot at Hiram, for which $800 was paid. His wife and children lived
in that modest little cottage, which he greatly improved, and owned no
other house until, in 1870, after several years of Congressional life,
he built himself a dwelling in Washington. When he went to the Senate
his salary of $5,000 a year was the largest amount of money he had ever
earned, and with a feeling of lessened pecuniary cares was entertained
the desire of owning a farm in Ohio, where his fast-growing boys could
spend their vacations, and where he could give his wife and himself the
rest they required after the busy winters in Washington. Lawnfield, a
place now historic, was purchased, and Mrs. Garfield designed the house,
which was erected in 1880, and into which the family moved that summer.
The long years of the war were spent by Mrs. Garfield at her home in
Hiram. Her parents were living not far away, and the absence of the
husband and father was as far as possible atoned for by the presence of
relatives and the companionship of Mother Garfield, whose home was with
her son from the time he had one to offer her. The months dragged slowly
by, until after the battle of Corinth, when Mrs. Garfield was gladdened
by the return of her husband, now Brigadier-General, who remained at
home for six months suffering from fever and ague, contracted on the
tow-path when a boy, and from the effects of which he was never able to
completely rid himself.
On his return to the front he joined General Rosecrans as Chief of
Staff, and at the battle of Chickamauga he won his Major-General’s
stars.
It was during this absence that he lost his infant daughter, and when
the news reached him he hastened home to attend the funeral. His dead
child was photographed in his arms, and this picture is among the
treasures cherished of him now. He was greatly attached to his children,
and in speaking of his lost one and the circumstance mentioned, he said
to his friend, President Hinsdale: “As I sat with that dead child in my
arms my eyes rested upon my bright blue uniform, so recently bestowed
upon me, and I thought: ‘How small are all the honors of this life—how
insignificant are all its struggles and triumphs!’ I am grieved and
broken in spirit at the great loss which has been inflicted upon me, but
I can endure almost anything so long as this brave little woman is left
me.”
While at the front the people of his district elected him to Congress;
and, in 1863, his career in Washington began, and for eight terms he was
re-elected. Afterward he was chosen to succeed Mr. Wade in the Senate.
The first years General Garfield lived in Washington, whether in
boarding-houses or in rented dwellings, his wife and himself were people
of no great prominence socially, because they were poor; both were busy
and their children absorbed their evenings. Their circle of friends was
a charming one, however, because their quiet tastes and studious habits
made them attractive to really accomplished people.
When Mrs. Garfield moved into her own house she was as happy as a woman
could be, and her husband was not less pleased that he could at last
shelter his children under his own roof and at his own fireside.
Doubtless, this time spent in their modest home was as free from care as
any they ever knew. But wherever they were they were happy together. The
mother had her heart’s desire in giving her children the careful home
training she could not have bestowed without such a home as she
possessed. Her house was a real home because her husband was one with
her in all things, and his life and hers were not separated in pleasure
or in duty. She was as fond of books as he, and he was always her
teacher. It was beyond doubt due to his influence over her life in its
formative period that she became a teacher. Her appreciation of his
ability and their kindred tastes made them comrades in study and in
work. They were united in more than in their domestic relations, and
grew nearer together as the years passed.
It is rarely that two people marry, who have known each other so long
and so well as did this couple, and it is one of the causes of
congratulation that their example has been so prominently set before the
world. Men and women of the nobler sort, who appreciate the need there
is in public life of notable examples of happy marriages will never
regret that the opportunity was given this man and woman to discover
their home-life to the people of this country, however much they may
deplore the terrible calamity that was the means of unveiling the sacred
side of their lives to the world. The comfort it is to the American
people—in view of the world-wide publicity given the slightest
circumstance connected with their career—that these two people were so
admirable in their personal characters and in their home-life, has not
been fully realized generally; but it is undeniably true that it was the
one sweet strain that sang itself into the wounded hearts of a nation in
their time of grief and pain.
Ten years before Mrs. Garfield went into the White House, and during one
summer when the family were in Ohio, she was compelled to do much of her
own work. In the temporary absence of her husband from home, she wrote
him a letter, which, intended for no other eye than his, fell into the
hands of President Hinsdale, who made an extract from it for the use of
his pupils, as showing the character of the President’s wife and her
views upon the subject of woman’s work. It is appropriate here, and is
as follows:
“I am glad to tell that out of all the toil and disappointments of the
summer just ended, I have risen up to a victory; that silence of thought
since you have been away has won for my spirit a triumph. I read
something like this the other day: ‘There is no healthy thought without
labor, and thought makes the labor happy.’ Perhaps this is the way I
have been able to climb up higher. It came to me one morning when I was
making bread. I said to myself, ‘Here I am compelled by an inevitable
necessity to make our bread this summer. Why not consider it a pleasant
occupation, and make it so by trying to see what perfect bread I can
make?’ It seemed like an inspiration, and the whole of life grew
brighter. The very sunshine seemed flowing down through my spirit into
the white loaves, and now I believe my table is furnished with better
bread than ever before; and this truth, old as creation, seems just now
to have become fully mine—that I need not be the shrinking slave of
toil, but its regal master, making whatever I do yield me its best
fruits. You have been king of your work so long that maybe you laugh at
me for having lived so long without my crown, but I am too glad to have
found it at all to be entirely discontented even by your merriment. Now,
I wonder if right here does not lie the ‘terrible wrong,’ or at least
some of it, of which the woman suffragists complain. The wrongly
educated woman thinks her duties a disgrace, and frets under them or
shrinks them if she can. She sees man triumphantly pursuing his
vocations, and thinks it is the kind of work he does which makes him
grand and regnant; whereas it is not the kind of work at all, but the
way in which he does it.”
In this letter is discovered the quality for which Mrs. Garfield is
distinguished—self-discipline. She is a woman fitted for emergencies,
and it requires them to show her real worth. The control she has over
her emotional nature gives her an immense advantage in meeting a trying
exigency. She withstands surprises, shocks and disasters with a steady
courage that commands respect, and long ago made her a heroine in the
eyes of her husband. In speaking to a friend, a few months before he was
inaugurated, while remarking upon some public man whose domestic affairs
had crippled his course of usefulness, he said of her:
“I have been singularly fortunate in marrying a woman who has never
given me any perplexity about anything she has said. I have never had to
explain away words of hers. She has been so prudent that I have never
been diverted from my work for one minute to take up any mistakes of
hers. She is perfectly unstampedable. When things get worse and there is
the most public clamor and the most danger to me and to us, then she is
the coolest. Sometimes it looks a little blue before me, but I get
courage from her perfect bravery.”
A Washington correspondent, in writing of Mrs. Garfield, paid her this
tribute:
“She was in Washington City during the years of extravagance, and almost
every Congressman’s wife had a carriage and every house competed for
brilliant visitors. She lived through that time as if she belonged to a
different social scale. She would not refuse to see anybody, but was
seldom dressed as if ready for company. She never apologized for her
appearance, and she made visits about twice or three times a year,
generally calling on foot, but never failing to please with the
sweetness of her countenance, the beauty of her eyes, and a
self-restraint and reserve perfectly natural.”
Another correspondent, in referring to the same period, says:
“Quietly, but with the truest kindness, has Mrs. Garfield presided over
her modest house at the corner of Thirteenth and I streets, in this
city, during the years since General Garfield purchased it. In it she
has entertained, often in the simplest style, but ever with
old-fashioned, true-hearted hospitality, all of wit, wisdom, beauty that
Washington has had during the years she has been here. She is an
accomplished hostess as well as an accomplished woman—they’re two very
different things. Living as the Garfields have had to live, in the most
economical way, doing without elegant clothes, fine furniture, sumptuous
food, good, new, and rare old books, dearer than all else to them, they
have contributed more to make Washington winter life pleasant and
profitable than many other families who have supplemented less taste and
culture with more money. Mrs. Garfield’s receptions have been the
largest ever held by the wife of a mere Representative. They have far
surpassed those of more ambitious Senators’ wives, and have approximated
those of the ladies of the Supreme Court and Cabinet families in size
merely. In attractions they have stood abreast of any of them. This
simply because Mrs. Garfield is a sweet-tempered, cultured, refined
woman, in whose smile it is a pleasure to bask.
“When we consider that, without allowing her manifold cares to interfere
with the performance of her social duties, she has managed her
establishment alone, and personally conducted the training of her boys
for college, we can conceive her superiority, with all her social
success, to the mere ‘society leader.’ General Garfield is the president
of our literary society, and during the past year it has met at his
house. It was more pleasantly entertained there than it had ever been
before. Mrs. Garfield exerted even her latent social powers that night,
and it was difficult for her guests to break away from her delightful
parlors.”
The summer preceding the Chicago Convention, the Garfield family went to
Mentor rather late in the season, and remained there through the fall
and winter. It had been their intention to return to Washington as usual
before the reassembling of Congress, but the result of the Convention
changed previous plans, and the household continued there until the week
before the inauguration. During that time the crowds continually
visiting Mentor left Mrs. Garfield but little time for relaxation and
rest. She was in the midst of excitement of a political kind constantly,
and to it were added the onerous duties of hostess—a position scarcely
to be desired, under such circumstances. She shrank from the publicity
which the nomination of her husband to the highest gift in the nation
subjected her, though she met the requirements of the position with a
pleasant demeanor and quiet reserve natural to her.
The newspapers abounded in personal allusions to the family, and many
efforts were made to obtain her photograph for publication in the
illustrated periodicals. This she would not permit, either during the
canvass or after the election. It was not in her power, however, to
prevent those who had her picture from showing it to their friends, and
finally she recognized the natural desire of the public to see the
photograph of the Lady of the White House, and she sat for one that was
approved by herself and husband. The engraving accompanying this sketch
is from that photograph, and is a correct likeness of her, as she
appeared at that time.
Though the newspapers could not obtain her photograph, the
correspondents made pen-pictures of herself and her home. One of them
(writing to the Detroit _Evening News_) gave so pleasant a picture of
her that it is reproduced in part. It was written shortly after the
election:
“The historic orchard and pumpkin-fields were lying peacefully now under
their snowy covering, and giving no signs of the recent scenes of
devastation. Crossing the wide veranda, the solitary pilgrim rang the
bell, and was ushered by a wonderfully patient-looking colored
man-servant into the reception-room, although that is quite too formal a
name to give a room combining such an air of comfort with its elegance;
it is the emanation of an artist and a fireside genius in one, and you
are not surprised to learn later that the mistress of the mansion is an
artist of considerable skill. A royal grate-fire burns brightly at one
end of the room, over which is a Queen Anne mantel, with cabinet
photographs of Garfield and Arthur, painted candles, and numerous
articles of bric-a-brac. At the opposite end of the apartment stands a
fine upright piano, adorned with photographs of Hancock, Marshall Jewell
and Ole Bull. Over this is a French picture in bright watercolors, on
one side of which hangs a copy of Meissonier’s Napoleon, on the other a
little landscape, painted and given her, Mrs. Garfield relates, by her
old drawing teacher, of whom she tells some interesting reminiscences.
“The quiet tinted walls of the reception-room are further adorned with
large portraits of the General and his mother, one of Alexander
Campbell, the founder of the faith which Garfield indorses, and a number
of other pieces, among them a copy of Miss Ransom’s ‘Hagar and her Son,’
from—‘let me see if I can remember the name,’ Mrs. Garfield said,
turning the picture and spelling out the Italian name from a card on the
back. ‘Miss Ransom put the card there so that I shouldn’t forget the
name, because he was not one of the best known painters.’
“‘And this,’ pointing to a little gilt frame decorated with pansies,
‘was sent to the General by a little Vermont girl, her own work, and the
verse inscribed on it was written for her by Whittier.’
“In this interest in her pictures and their histories Mrs. Garfield
showed constantly the artistic element in her nature, as well as in a
hundred touches about the rooms.
“A small-figured dark carpet covered the floor, a Smyrna rug lay before
the fire, in the glow of which sat the famous grandmother, a quaint
little figure, making with her snowy hair and cap, and her
knitting-work, a fitting adjunct to an ‘interior’ charming enough for
anybody’s pencil. There were easy-chairs and lounges, speaking of solid
comfort, and a little centre-table piled up carelessly with all kinds of
books, school-books, story-books, a gay-colored copy of _Chic_, a life
of the President-elect, and ‘Bits of Talk,’ by H. H., being among them.
And there were also upon that table—yes, actually, dear prim
housekeepers—the well-known slouch hat of the General’s, and a roll of
red flannel, with a thimble beside it.
“Everywhere—in every nook and corner—there are books. A case in the
parlor contains editions of Waverley and Dickens, French history in the
original, old English poets and dramatists richly bound in black and
gold, and a choice collection of miscellaneous works; in the little
hallway leading to the dining-room are books, and in the dining-room
itself more books. The last is a cheery room with its handsome tiled
mantle, open fire, pictures and shining silver. There is everywhere
evidence of the dainty housekeeper.
“The pilgrim wandered out through the back regions of the house where
the tin wash-basin and milk-cans, which were really seen, would no doubt
be deemed objects of sacred interest to the enthusiastic adorer, and
crossed over to the detached office, whose walls are lined with
ponderous volumes, and where busy clerks and a peculiar hum of the wires
gives one some idea of the work done there. A peculiarity of the
telegraph wires running into General Garfield’s office is that the sound
of Cleveland’s church bells is conveyed distinctly over them, thirty
miles.
“Under a tree near the office was a spirited picture. The two youngest
scions of the house and the great Newfoundland dog, all three in a state
of frantic delight, were chasing a coon which had been sent the General
by train that morning, a sample of the odd and incongruous quality of
the presents which are showered upon the family. Returning to the
parlor, the visitor found Mrs. Garfield seated before the fire, and
received her pleasant and cordial consent to the sketching of her home
for the benefit of the public, who have a natural and loyal interest in
it. To those who would wish to see a brilliant society leader in the
White House, Mrs. Garfield will perhaps be a disappointment; but those
who have been led to think of her as a retiring, mere domestic woman,
inadequate to the position, will also be disappointed. She is a lady of
admirable self-poise, dignity and thorough culture, reserved yet
affable, and with the distinguishing trait of genuineness. There is not
a trace of affectation about her. A Mentor gentleman remarked, ‘There
isn’t a family in town, apparently, so little set up by the situation as
the Garfields.’
“When asked if she dreaded the coming responsibilities (so much has been
said of her retiring nature), she said, slowly, with her brown eyes
fixed thoughtfully on the fire: ‘Yes, in many ways; but it has always
been my experience, so far, that one grows fitted for responsibility as
it comes. My greatest fear is that the time will slip by, and when it is
over I shall have it to look back to with regret for the many things
that ought to have been done.’
“With such a spirit it will be safe to trust the woman influence in the
next administration. That it is going to be an influence that will be
felt, no one who is acquainted with Mrs. Garfield doubts....
“Her youth was spent quietly at Hiram, and there were struggles
connected with it, in obtaining her education, which have doubtless
aided in developing her self-reliant spirit. Since marriage her life has
been devoted to her family, but she has always given up a great deal of
time to the rites of hospitality.
“‘Bless you,’ said a local gossip, ‘they have always been overrun with
visitors. Why, Mrs. Garfield hasn’t had a chance to get acquainted,
hardly, with people here.’ The same oracle said: ‘Mrs. Garfield is
wonderfully firm; if she once makes up her mind to a thing nothing can
turn her. Now, the general can be coaxed, but they both have splendid
family government.’... The pilgrim boarded the train, with a good-bye,
for Mentor, and an uncommonly pleasant picture tucked away in his memory
of a charming home, and of the future mistress of the White House. The
latter picture is in personnel a slender, graceful lady, with a
transparently clear complexion, with delicate features, and clear,
penetrating, brown eyes; hair the same shade of brown, worn in a braid
at the back, and frizzed quite in conventional style in front. A dark
blue dress, simple lace tie, and little or no jewelry, completed the
lady’s home appearance.
“A gentleman, well acquainted with the family, remarked: ‘Mrs. Garfield
looks a little worn now, and no wonder. She has changed a good deal
within the last year. When she got the telegram announcing the
nomination the tears came into her eyes, and when she was asked if she
was not glad and proud to hear it, she said: “Oh, yes; but it is a
terrible responsibility to come to him and to me;” but I tell you she
has put her shoulder to the wheel bravely so far, and she will continue
to the end.’”
The allusion to Miss Ransom, the artist, in this extract, recalls the
fact that a year or more previous to the election, General Garfield
commissioned her to paint a portrait of Mrs. Garfield. The two were old
Cleveland friends, and had been intimately associated for years. The
portrait was painted, and during the week of the inauguration it was
seen by many strangers in Washington who visited her studio. She told a
characteristic thing of Mrs. Garfield in connection with this portrait.
Miss Ransom for a background sketched a beautiful view from the
Soldiers’ Home, showing the Capitol, and the Potomac, like a thread of
silver, in the far distance. Mrs. Garfield objected to it, saying, “That
will do for a President’s wife who resides at the Soldiers’ Home a part
of each year, but not for me.” The artist argued and pleaded, but in
vain. Mrs. Garfield was decided in her mind, and refused to have it. She
however added to her objection the remark, that she would be pleased if
there could be introduced into the picture a view of Franklin Park—“the
corner opposite my window, where I have so often watched my children at
play,” she said. The artist still demurred, on the ground that the park
was so near and so shut in that it was impossible to get the perspective
requisite for a good background, but the children and the General were
delighted with Mrs. Garfield’s idea, and Miss Ransom yielded to their
united request, and the portrait was finished accordingly. General
Garfield was greatly pleased with the result, and would not let the
portrait be taken from Washington to the artist’s studio in Cleveland,
where she proposed to complete it, lest something might befall it in the
transportation.
[Illustration:
ELIZA BALLOU GARFIELD.
]
Of the mother of General Garfield much was said previous to the
inauguration, and has been since. She is the first mother of a President
who has lived in the White House, and by reason of the deference and
distinction her son showed her has been the recipient of exceptional
attentions. No one who ever saw her in his company but felt that an
unusual tie bound them. They were the ideal mother and son, and were so
recognized years before he had grown into a public man. “You never see
General Garfield at church without his wife and mother,” was the remark
of a resident of Washington who lived near the Church of the Disciples.
“He goes by here almost every Sunday with his wife on one arm and his
mother on the other.”
People who called at the house saw the bright old lady, who was
“grandma” to so many children, and knew by her sunshiny manner that she
was an honored member of the family—not a mere guest or an inmate of the
house. She was “mother” to Mrs. Garfield as well as to her son, and the
two women loved each other because their hearts were centred in him.
Many incidents are related of her sterling worth and integrity of
character. Few women of to-day have known such rugged experiences with
poverty as she had for long years after she lost her young husband. She
must have been possessed of intense force of will, or she would have
failed in the work she accomplished. All her children were blessings to
her, and honored her absolutely. She lived for years a life of toil, and
in the neighborhood of the old home are told many circumstances
creditable to her. Her eldest son was a little boy when his father died,
and was not able to wield an axe. She wanted fences made, and her
neighbors offered to do the job for her, as they did for each other. The
custom was a common one, and all that was expected in return was a
supply of whiskey. She refused to furnish liquor to them—she the widow,
with fatherless boys about her, watching her example and knowing no
other guide. She wielded her maul and split her own rails, without
subjecting her boys to temptation or perilling their future by any act
of hers. Widow Garfield would not open her door to an enemy too strong
for women to cope with in strangers and the bitterest of foes to
encounter in the home circle, and wisely decided to save her young at
whatever sacrifice. If people occasionally wondered at the depth of her
children’s love, and the jealous care they bestowed upon her, it was
because she had earned such riches for herself and was wearing the crown
that was of her own making.
The scene at the inauguration of her son—when he stood in the presence
of the most distinguished men and women of the land, and saw a sea of
human beings before him such as no man could count, and turning from
them all kissed his old mother first and then his wife—will never be
forgotten. The people could talk of nothing else then, and cannot now
recall the event without dwelling upon it. The new President might well
have overlooked his mother at such a time and been formal with his wife,
but he was husband and son first, and the young men who witnessed the
spectacle were benefited and blessed by it.
Such filial and husbandly devotion won President Garfield the respect of
wives and mothers throughout the land—a respect which kindled into
affection in the time that came. A speedy illustration of the effect of
this act was given by a young school-girl who had been an eye-witness to
it, and whose enthusiasm was checked by her companion. “It was done for
effect,” he teasingly remarked. “It was done because he is a knight—a
real Sir Galahad!” she replied, the bright eyes sparkling, the rosy
cheeks flushing, as she defended her hero. That little act was the tie
that bound the women of this country to those two women as nothing else
could, and it was an assurance of a happy home which aroused generous
American sentiment for the new White House occupants.
Mrs. Garfield was eighty years of age when her youngest child entered
upon the performance of the highest office in his country, and very
naturally she was the object of much sincere interest. When the
Presidential party reached Washington, she was escorted from the car by
her son and placed in the carriage of President Hayes, which awaited her
coming. She was driven to the White House direct, and was there to
welcome her son and daughter when they came over from the Riggs House in
the evening to see her. Her heart must have throbbed with thankfulness
and delight that night as she looked back over the years that lay behind
her, thought of the husband dead for fifty years, and dwelt upon the
career of her boy, who had grown up by her side, and was the first in
the land and ruler of a nation.
Incidents of her early life are rare, and from a relative, an aged man,
who knew her in girlhood, these facts are obtained:
“Eliza Ballou and a sister, about 1820, by the death of their parents,
were left alone in the world and unprovided for, so far as the
inheritance or possession of property was concerned. Preferring to live
among relatives, one went to reside with an uncle in northern Ohio, and
the other, Eliza, came to another uncle, the father of Samuel Arnold,
who then lived on a farm near Norwich, Muskingum county, Ohio. There
Eliza Ballou made her home, cheerfully helping at the house or in the
field, as was then sometimes the custom in a pioneer country. Having
something more than what at that day was an ordinary education, Eliza
procured about twenty pupils and taught a summer school. The
school-house was one of the most primitive kind, and stood in the edge
of a dense and heavily-timbered woods. One day there came up a fearful
storm of wind and rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning. The woods
were badly wrecked, but the wind left the old log school-house
uninjured. Not so the lightning. A bolt struck a tree that projected
closely over the roof and then the roof of the building itself. Some of
the pupils were greatly alarmed, and no doubt thought it the crack of
doom or day of judgment. The teacher, as calm and collected as possible,
tried to quiet her pupils and keep them in their places. A man who was
one of the pupils, in speaking of the occurrence, says that for a little
while he remembered nothing, and then he looked around and saw the
teacher and all the pupils lying dead on the floor, as he thought.
Presently the teacher began to move a little, and rose to her feet.
Then, one by one, the pupils got up, with a single exception. Help,
medical and otherwise, was obtained as soon as possible for this one,
and, though life was saved for a time, reason had forever fled. This was
a fearful experience for a young female teacher, and it probably ended
her career as an instructress.
“Eliza Ballou’s sister married in northern Ohio, and while on a visit to
her the former made the acquaintance of Abram Garfield, and subsequently
married him. When James was about sixteen years old, he and his widowed
mother visited Muskingum county in search of a school for the young man.
They visited the family of the elder Arnold, at Norwich, and also the
family of Samuel Arnold, now a citizen of New Lexington, and before
referred to. The unusual intelligence of the boy and the astonishing
affection between mother and son were what chiefly impressed itself upon
the minds of those who entertained the poor humble boy who was to become
a future President of the United States, and die a martyr to the high
official position, more widely lamented than any other man had ever
been. There appeared to be no opening for a school in the neighborhood
of Norwich, and mother and son went to Uncle Ballou’s, in another part
of the county, where James got a school and taught a single term. The
money thus earned he applied in further educating himself. And this was
why he and his mother were hunting a school.”
Forty-five years later the proudest day of that mother’s life had come,
and she went forth to meet it, treading lightly, forgetting that she was
old, and remembering that it was “her baby” who was to be made President
of the United States. “There is the President’s mother,” was whispered
among the throng, as a small, elderly lady, dressed in black silk, with
her white head covered with a close-fitting bonnet, stepped into the
Senate gallery. It was the woman in her that made her so calm and
composed as she looked down upon the scene before her; it was the mother
in her that caused her withered cheeks to flush and the tears to start
as she saw her son come upon the floor, surrounded by the chief officers
of the nation.
She was the first to receive him as he entered the Executive Mansion,
and a sweeter picture has rarely been seen on earth than this little
mother presented as she advanced, with a proud step and eyes full of
tears, to greet her son. What mattered it to her if the grandest civil
and military procession ever seen in Washington had escorted him there
and was awaiting his presence impatiently! She was his mother by right
of royal reverence as by ties of nature, and she was not disappointed in
the honor paid her. She could walk under his outstretched arm thirty
years before without stooping; but he paid her the same deference he
gave her when he was a little son and not a great man—when she was a
hard-toiling and strong-armed woman, and not the mother of the Chief
Magistrate of the country.
Despite her fatigue she wanted to see all that was done in her son’s
honor, and when the party left the lunch-table and went to the
reviewing-stand on the avenue in front of the Mansion, Mother Garfield
was one of the number, and for a long while sat near her son enjoying
the sight. The vast multitude that filed in front of that stand scarcely
had time to note the presence of the venerable woman before them, but
the people about her watched her with a satisfaction almost undefinable
to themselves and never to be forgotten now, in view of all that has
transpired.
A few days after she was established in the White House she wrote a
letter to a relative in the West which, as here given, does not show the
handwriting tremulous with age, yet exhibits all the beautiful spirit of
the writer:
“WHITE HOUSE, _March 7, 1881_.
“MY DEAR COUSIN:—I received your good letter and your picture also, and
would have answered sooner, but waited to get my picture. I have some,
and will send you one, though they are not good. I am happy to tell you
that we are all pretty well, but a good deal tired out. We have passed
through the greatest rush of people for the last six months that I ever
saw. Since the Inauguration it is one steady stream of old friends
calling. It takes pretty much all of the time to entertain them; they
want to see the President’s mother. I am the first mother that has
occupied the White House and her son President, but I feel very thankful
for such a son. I don’t like the word proud, but if I must use it I
think in this case it is quite appropriate. How many times my mind goes
back to our girlhood school days! but changes take place. I have seen
sorrowful days and have seen happy days. I was once young and am now
old, but I have never seen the righteous forsaken or his seed begging
his bread. I have got a very pleasant room, nice furnished, and waited
on in the very best manner possible. Now I want you to write to me. Our
folks all send love to you; with very much love, I remain your aged
cousin,
“ELIZA GARFIELD.”
Notwithstanding the novelty of her position, the first instance of the
kind in the history of the Presidents, although her son was not the
first President whose mother was living during his term of office, she
was at once established as a great favorite, and her short stay in the
White House was as happy as worldly honors and human affection could
make it. When the summer came she longed for the country and old friends
in Ohio, and accompanied by her two youngest grandsons, she returned to
Mentor. She expected her son to visit her during the summer, and to
return with her daughter in the fall to the White House.
[Illustration:
MENTOR—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD.
]
No more imposing ceremonies were ever witnessed in Washington, or in
this country, than those which attended the inauguration of President
James A. Garfield. Thousands of National Guardsmen and scores of civic
associations were in the procession, which, with the exception of the
famous review in 1865, was the finest pageant the country has yet seen.
Twenty thousand men were in line, and the cortege occupied two hours in
passing the review-stand. From the White House to the Capitol there was
a mass of people, and the decorations of the historic avenue were
profuse and handsome. The snow lay on the parks and terraces about the
Capitol, and the day was raw and disagreeable, though the sun shone at
noonday and dispelled the sombre clouds that hung heavy over the city
after the storm of the preceding night and early morning.
In the front row of the Senate gallery the wife and mother of General
Garfield sat beside Mrs. Hayes, and with them were the only daughters of
the incoming and outgoing Presidents. The galleries were very soon
crowded with a brilliant audience, and on the floor of the Senate were
many distinguished men. General Hancock, the Democratic candidate for
the Presidency, was among the number, and the ovation tendered him was
second only to that bestowed upon the President-elect. The ceremony of
introducing his successor was performed by Vice-President Wheeler; and
after the oath of office had been administered to Vice-President Arthur,
and Mr. Wheeler had said his farewell to the Senate, the assembly
adjourned to the eastern portico to witness the taking of the oath of
office by President Garfield. The spectacle was a grand one. A vast
multitude of people gazed upon the immense platform upon which were
seated General Garfield, with Chief-Justice Waite on his right and
Sergeant-at-Arms Bright on his left. Immediately back of the three, who
were directly in the centre of the platform, sat President Hayes, Mrs.
Hayes and Mrs. Garfield and the mother of General Garfield. Still behind
them stood Mollie Garfield and Fanny Hayes, and to their right sat the
Speaker of the House of Representatives, Mr. Randall. The gentlemen sat
with their heads uncovered. The Chief-Justice rose from his seat, and
instantly the noise and din died away, and the oath of office was
administered. Then followed the inaugural address, after which Mr. Hayes
shook hands with the new President, as did the Chief-Justice. Turning
from them, President Garfield tenderly kissed his mother and then his
wife. This being the first incident of its kind, the people noted it
with great gratification, and the throng rent the air with huzzas, while
the President received the congratulations of those about him as he
slowly made his way back to the head of the procession. The ladies of
the party returned first, and were at the White House before the
procession got under way from the Capitol. The President’s carriage was
drawn by four horses, and the escort were the Cleveland troops, in showy
uniforms. General Sherman rode at the head of the procession. The
reviewing-stand in front of the White House was occupied by a
distinguished company, which awaited the coming of the Presidential
party from the White House, whither they had gone to lunch. At half-past
two the President and ex-President walked down to the stand, followed by
their families and the entire White House party. The President stood
with his wife and his mother on his right, and ex-President and Mrs.
Hayes on his left, with General Hancock immediately behind and above
him, and surrounded by the members of the Cabinet, Senators, Congressmen
and a numerous company of ladies.
President Hayes and his family became the guests of Secretary and Mrs.
Sherman, and after the procession had passed they returned to the door
of the Mansion, took leave of the President and Mrs. Garfield, and with
their son, who welcomed Mrs. Garfield as she crossed the threshold, were
driven away.
The city was brilliantly illuminated at night, and the inauguration ball
in the Museum Building was attended by nearly every person of
distinction in Washington. Mrs. Garfield was arrayed in a magnificent
dress of lavender satin, with trimmings of point lace and a corsage
bouquet of pansies. Mrs. Hayes wore a white satin de Lyons trimmed with
pearl passementeries. Both costumes were elegant and were worn without
jewels. In a ball-room thronged with ladies whose superb diamonds were
resplendent and glittered with reflected light, their simplicity was all
the more charming.
The National Museum is a building designed in the form of a Greek cross,
the arms diverging from a central octagonal, surmounted by a dome, and
the temporary decorations were magnificent, consisting of statues,
tropical plants, flowers and the national colors, draped with evergreen,
and coats-of-arms. The President and Mrs. Garfield received on a raised
dais. The gallery above them was for the use of Mrs. Garfield and Mrs.
Hayes and their invited guests. Another was occupied by General Hancock,
who was the guest of the committee, surrounded by a distinguished party
of military officers. The scene, viewed from the balcony near the
rotunda, had the appearance of a series of halls, separated by arches,
and affording an extended and varied vista. The view was enchanting and
bewildering. The picture was a never-to-be-forgotten one. With all the
adjuncts of famous people, gorgeous in apparel and surrounded by music
and flowers, the ball-room is remembered as a fairy place and recalled
as a bright dream.
Succeeding the inauguration were days of bustle and excitement for the
new inmates of the White House. They had many friends in the city where
they had lived so long and entertained so hospitably, and all were
anxious to see them. So likewise were the hundreds of strangers who had
visited the Capitol to witness the inaugural ceremonies, and the
Saturday evening following the event the President and Mrs. Garfield
received. In the matter of dress Mrs. Garfield came up to the
requirements of her position. At this reception she wore a rich ruby
velvet, made in princess style, the facings of the long bow and loops
that fastened the fullness at the back being of Sultan red satin. The
open neck and the half-long sleeves were ornamented with elegant lace.
Her hair was simply arranged after the prevailing style, and she wore no
jewels.
Several afternoon receptions were held during the spring, and many
invited guests were informally entertained, but there was no opportunity
for social gayeties, and the anticipations were all the brighter for the
coming winter. The ladies of the Cabinet numbered several long
accustomed to official life in Washington, and it was anticipated that
the receptions and State dinners the coming winter would be rendered
brilliant by the circle immediately about the President. Mrs. Blaine,
Mrs. MacVeagh, Mrs. James, Mrs. Lincoln, and in fact all, were well
known in Washington society, and were united in their desire to make the
Administration, socially, as successful as it promised to be officially.
The spring wore away, and the summer came, bringing with it the two
elder sons of the President, who had been away at school.
The five children of the President and Mrs. Garfield attracted much
attention while in the White House, particularly the two eldest boys,
Harry and James, just developing into manhood, and Mollie, the only
daughter. Two younger lads, Irwin and Abram, were less before the public
than the elder children, and were in Washington but a short time, having
returned to Ohio in the early summer. The elder boys were at their
studies, and the daughter was too young to participate in the few public
receptions given by the President.
The family were all together for a time in the spring, and this
description of a dining-room scene is given by a Washington
correspondent:
“In the cosy family dining-room the President’s seat is midway the
length of the table on its west side, and Mrs. Garfield sits opposite,
with Harry, her eldest, a decided ‘mother boy,’ as near her as the
presence of almost constant guests will permit, while Jimmie sits
correspondingly near his father, where also ‘Grandma’ Garfield has an
honored place. She is always waited on first, whoever else may be
present. Mollie sits at the north end of the table, and the two younger
boys are disposed a little promiscuously, according to the exigencies of
the case. Harry is eighteen, tall and graceful, with the regular
features of his mother. The down of manhood appears on his cheeks.
Jimmie, sixteen years old, is nearly or quite as tall as his brother and
broader shouldered, with the Saxon hair and large features of his
father, whom he bids fair to resemble strongly in person and intellect.
Mollie, aged fourteen, has the dark-brown hair of her mother and the
lineaments of her father not unhandsomely reproduced. When womanhood has
softened the charm of her face she will be very fine-looking. She is a
great pet with her father. Irwin, aged eleven, and Abram, aged nine, you
already know through descriptions, especially the former, who is the
eccentric one, possibly the genius of them all. He is named for General
McDowell, and insists that his name must be always written, not Irwin
M., but Irwin McD. Meal-time is almost the only time the President has
lately had with his children, and he devotes himself in great part to
them at that time, after asking questions on some interesting point of
Harry or James or Mollie to draw them out, and then explaining it at
considerable length, instructing by the Socratic method as it were.”
The eldest and the youngest of the household are dead; the latter, an
infant son, having died in Washington four years before the President’s
election. It is related of General Garfield that he suffered intense
grief at the loss of his children, and his friends frequently during his
last months of life recalled the sorrow he manifested at the time of his
little child’s death in Washington.
In June the public was startled with the news of Mrs. Garfield’s
illness, and it was with great concern that the announcements from the
sick-room were learned. The President gave up all public matters, and
for days watched over her, giving her the medicines prescribed and
remaining at her bedside day and night. Happily, her life was saved, and
so soon as she could be conveyed from Washington, she was taken to Long
Branch, where it was hoped the sea air would restore her. She was so
weak when she got there that she had to be carried to her room, and was
but beginning to grow strong when the President left her and returned to
Washington, preparatory to making a trip to New England and the White
Mountains. He was daily cheered by the news of his wife’s steady
improvement, and was anticipating a happy visit to Williams College, his
_Alma Mater_. The party were to leave Washington on the third of July,
and be joined by Mrs. Garfield and her friends at New York. The trip was
all arranged, and the morning of the eventful day came. Mrs. Garfield at
Long Branch was anticipating a reunion with her husband, and was making
final preparations to start from the hotel to the train when the news
that startled the nation reached there and was in part tenderly broken
to her. She was taken from Washington, at a leisurely gait, a helpless
invalid, but the telegram that shocked her that July morning sent her
back at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Even that seemed slow to the
anxious wife and the suffering husband. The event was the
never-to-be-forgotten, never-to-be-forgiven tragedy of the shooting of
President Garfield, the particulars of which are briefly told here.
On the morning of Saturday, July 2d, when it was supposed that the
President was on his way from Washington to New York, accompanied by all
his Cabinet, their wives and several friends, this news was flashed over
the wires: “President Garfield was shot before leaving on the limited
express train this morning!”
The brief announcement, made in two lines, that the President of the
United States had been shot by an assassin, excited great incredulity,
then amazement, and finally a feeling of horror that rendered suspense
almost intolerable. The second despatch followed speedily, and it
conveyed the intelligence that Colonel Corbin had returned to the
President with a physician. This was meagre enough, and the third was
waited with intense excitement. It said: “President Garfield was shot
this morning at the Baltimore and Potomac depot by an assassin. It is
reported that he is mortally wounded. The assassin was caught.”
The fourth despatch, dated half an hour later, was to the effect that
Dr. Bliss had said that the President’s wound was not a mortal one, and
that concerning the assassin nothing was known except that he was under
arrest. A subsequent message announced that the physicians attending the
President were holding a consultation. Soon came the particulars of the
shooting:
The President and Mr. Blaine rode from the White House to the depot in
the Secretary’s carriage. Reaching the entrance on B street, the
President and the Secretary left it and entered the ladies’
waiting-room, walking arm-in-arm. Just at the moment that they were
passing through the door into the main room, two shots were fired. Mr.
Blaine saw a man run through the room at that instant, and started
toward him, but turning to the President and seeing that he had fallen
he sprang to his side, as did several others, and raised his head from
the floor. One shot passed through the arm, and the other took effect in
the lower part of the back. There were few people in the room when the
shots were fired. The members of the President’s party were on the
platform beyond the waiting-room, or in the car that was ready to start
the moment the President was aboard. Secretaries Windom and Hunt were
promenading on the platform, Postmaster-General James stood at the side
of the car in which were seated the ladies of the party. They were all
chatting as they watched for the coming of the President. Colonel
Jamison, of the Post-office Department, ran out of the depot immediately
after the shots were fired and exclaimed, “The President is shot!” One
of the party made a doubting reply, but when their informant answered “I
saw it,” they rushed back and found the President on the floor, his head
supported by Mrs. White, the woman in charge of the waiting-room, who
had witnessed the shooting. The entire party hastily quitted the car and
followed them to the scene, and a large crowd gathered about the
prostrate form. Shortly after a mattress was brought in and the
President was removed to the upper floor of the depot. Within an hour an
ambulance had arrived and the President, who had grown very weak, was
removed to it and conveyed to the White House. The news spread like
wildfire, and those who at first doubted the report became convinced
that something had happened by the rapid driving of a carriage through
Pennsylvania avenue, clearing the way for the ambulance which followed
driven at a rapid pace, and surrounded by mounted police. An excited
throng followed. The President bore the removal with great fortitude,
and in fact, after the first paroxysm of pain and faintness had passed,
he seemed not again to lose his self-control. His first thought after
the shock of the shooting had passed was of his wife, and from speaking
reassuringly to his son James, who was beside him, he dictated to
Colonel Rockwell this despatch to her:
“The President wishes me to say to you from him that he has been
seriously hurt. How seriously he cannot yet say. He is himself, and
hopes you will come to him soon. He sends his love to you.”
The ladies of the party hurried to the White House to make preparations
for the reception of the President, and when the sad procession reached
the Mansion, everything was in readiness for him. As he was lifted from
the ambulance he saw some familiar faces at the windows, and with a
smile, which those who saw it will never forget, he raised his right
hand and gave the military salute. His face was ghastly white, and it
was thought that his moments were numbered. He was carried into the
“southwest chamber,” that he had recently occupied as a sleeping room,
and was soon surrounded by the physicians. The events that transpired in
that room during the day were made known throughout the land, and are
familiar to all readers of the newspapers.
It is not needful in a sketch of Mrs. Garfield to recite the painful
history of the creature who shot the President, or to give any of the
particulars of his case. His name is execrated wherever it is heard, and
the world would be glad to bury it in eternal oblivion. The only emotion
of a human kind exhibited by him was his hesitation to shoot the
President when he went to Long Branch with Mrs. Garfield. In his
confession he stated that he was at the depot for that purpose, but
noticing that Mrs. Garfield was pale and ill, and clung tenderly to her
husband’s arm, he decided not to take his life then.
It was seven o’clock in the evening when the train dashed at express
speed into Washington. Shortly afterward the President heard the wheels
of a carriage on the drive, and speaking to Mrs. James, who sat beside
him, said, “That is my wife.” Alighting from the carriage she was
accompanied up the stairs by her son James and Attorney-General
MacVeagh. She hurried to the bedside of the President, and greeted him
with a cheerful smile. Her self-control and quiet demeanor were noted by
the doctors, who returned to the room and terminated the interview for
the time being. She was escorted out of her husband’s presence, and then
broke down, weeping piteously. Shortly afterward she returned to the
bedside and had a second private interview with him. From that time he
manifested favorable symptoms and hope was revived. Later in the
evening, as Mrs. James sat beside him watching him as he slept, he
suddenly awoke, and said to her: “Do you know where Mrs. Garfield is
now?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. James answered; “she is close by, watching and praying
for her husband.”
He looked up to the lady with an anxious face, and said, “I want her to
go to bed. Will you tell her that I say if she will undress and go to
bed, I will turn right over, and I feel sure that when I know she is in
bed, I can go to sleep and sleep all night? Tell her that I will sleep
all night if she will only do what I ask.”
Mrs. James went immediately with the message to Mrs. Garfield, who
quickly replied: “Go back and tell him that I am undressing.” She
returned with the answer, and the President turned over on his right
side and dropped asleep almost instantly.
Throughout the night he was cheerful, and to Dr. Bliss, who, in replying
to his question as to his condition, had told him that there was a
chance of recovery, said hopefully, “We will take that chance.”
The people, impressed with this remark and the cheerfulness it
indicated, renewed the hope which had well nigh been extinguished by the
repeated assurances of the physicians that he could not live through the
night. The Fourth of July, the saddest ever known in this country,
passed; the news from the bedside of the nation’s patient was less
cheering, and the gloomy tide of a great sorrow ran a strong current
under the ordinary occupations and duties of every-day life. No
gathering of people was possible where it was not the dominant subject,
and it took weeks of weary anxiety to quell the spirit of revenge that
was universal in the hearts of men against the wasp that had stung the
President and had poisoned his life-blood. The sympathy of other
countries soothed this feeling in time, and the demeanor of the
President was such an example to the country that it was impossible to
express hostile feelings with such a pattern of submission before them.
Great as had been President Garfield’s services in the past, his heroic
bearing in affliction was of more value to the people, and his influence
did more to bring about harmony of feeling, brotherly love and the
obliteration of party bitterness than any work he had done in his days
of health and activity.
As he lay on his bed of sickness, he thought of his mother, whose
absence from him troubled him. He hoped at first to go to her soon and
to recuperate his strength at Mentor, but while waiting for the strength
that never came he wrote her this letter:
WASHINGTON, D. C., _August 11th, 1881_.
DEAR MOTHER:—Don’t be disturbed by conflicting reports about my
condition. It is true I am still weak and on my back, but I am gaining
every day, and need only time and patience to bring me through.
Give my love to all the relatives and friends and especially to sisters
Hetty and Mary. Your loving son,
JAMES A. GARFIELD.
MRS. ELIZA GARFIELD, HIRAM, OHIO.
Telegrams of sympathy reached his bedside from all parts of the earth,
and wherever the news had gone in other lands there came back gratifying
evidences of world-wide sorrow.
As the days passed the alternations of hope and despair kept the feeling
of the people at its highest tension, and during this time of anxious
waiting, Mrs. Garfield was the recipient of countless messages, letters
and assurances of every kind of the sentiment of her countrymen and
women. She appreciated all that was felt and said; and on one occasion,
when some unusual incident had received her attention, she said in a
voice broken with emotion and with tears in her eyes: “If it were
possible for my husband and me to go around and see all those dear
people who have been so grateful in their remembrance for us here of
late days, I would be so happy; and I know he would, too. I want to
thank them—to tell them all how kindly I feel toward them for what they
have said to me. I never could understand anything about politics, and
if I liked a person it made no difference whether they were Republicans
or Democrats; and now I have grown to think that there is not much
difference between the two great parties, for one says just as kind
words in our present affliction as the other. It makes me feel like
forming an opinion as to what I would do were women permitted to vote as
well as men. I believe I would get two tickets, fold them together so as
to look like one, and drop both in the ballot-box.”
The love and respect for her womanly attributes and fine self-government
increased as time passed; and it was evident that her conduct under the
most trying circumstances that could come to a woman had aroused the
enthusiasm of the entire country. From the various organizations,
without respect to their nature or object, were received at the White
House kind wishes for the President and earnest assurances to him that
his family was not forgotten in his time of helplessness and suffering.
The practical spirit of the people was aroused, and the question was
repeatedly asked: “What can we do to make it easier for the President?”
Presents of all descriptions, from the rich and the poor, the great and
the humble, patriarchs and little children, were sent to the White House
in great numbers. Everybody wanted to do something, and it was painful
that so little could be offered that would be of use. Sick-room
appliances reached the physicians in such quantities that the basement
of the mansion was crowded, and the slightest intimation of a change in
the nourishment or treatment of the distinguished sufferer sent
numberless articles for trial. That he might have the richest Alderney
milk, an eager owner of an imported cow quickly forwarded the animal,
and he was repaid many times over with the knowledge that the patient
saw from the window the fine creature that had been sent to minister to
his comfort, and spoke of it. Little children sent their tributes, and
the gift of a pet squirrel from two little people who had learned that
the President had expressed a desire for such food, brought tears to the
eyes of all who knew of the circumstance. The tender, constant and ever
deepening feeling of the people for their sick President must have
helped him immeasurably, for he was borne up and cheered daily by the
affection that went out from all human hearts toward him. It seemed to
the people that he must get well, that the prayers of a nation would be
answered; that the assassin’s work would fail; that love would conquer
death, and that into the weary pain-worn body of the sufferer would be
renewed the strong life-currents. Who can ever forget, though long years
may dim other memories, the daily and nightly watch over that
sick-chamber! When the relapse came weeks after the crisis was thought
to be passed, the excitement and interest grew terrible in its
intensity. Those who had the dissemination of the news aged under it as
the bulletins that came from their hands banished hope. The day of
saddest gloom, Saturday, August 27, was given up to prayer, and when
Sunday came, and word went forth that the President was better, the
people called it resurrection, and said in their joy that God had given
back to them in answer to their petitions him who was thought to be
dead.
Through it all stood Mrs. Garfield, eager and watchful, but steady and
strong in heart. When the doctors told her of their fears she did not
sink down or show dismay. She bade them do their best, and never to give
up, and leaving them she went back with a cheerful face to her husband
and resumed her place at his bedside. Too weak and weary to give thought
to others, the heroic sufferer watched her face and was understood by
her when to others his wishes were unintelligible. If he held on to life
with a tenacity that surprised every one, his strength in large measure
was drawn from her. She was more to him than all else, and she furnished
the strongest motive he felt for his recovery. The thought that was
agitating many minds, that he be given assurance that his family would
be taken care of in case he died, was voiced by Mr. Cyrus W. Field, of
New York, who proposed that a fund of $250,000 be raised for Mrs.
Garfield and her children, and settled upon her. He started the fund
with a large subscription, and the amount subscribed before and after
the death of the President reached nearly $350,000. Though no public
acknowledgment was made of the gift, it is a fact that the President’s
mind was greatly relieved by this considerate act, and his last days
were not troubled with dread of the future for his wife and children.
When the sultry August days had tried his strength beyond endurance, and
it was apparent that a removal from the malarial atmosphere of the
capital was imperative, the journey to Long Branch was undertaken. Many
plans had been suggested and the practicability of all considered; but
Mrs. Garfield, who knew of her husband’s love for the sea, and of the
benefit that she had derived from her stay there, insisted upon this
trip. The journey was undertaken after careful preparation, and the
details of the trip from Washington to Elberon were read with thrilling
interest at the time. At every station and wayside crossing the people
gathered, and stood with uncovered heads as the train with its precious
freight passed by. The sympathy with which every heart was overflowing
was deep but voiceless; all felt the need the sufferer had of silence
and repose. Bulletins were thrown off the cars at different points, and
it was with unspeakable relief that the arrival at the Francklyn Cottage
was announced. For days before, workmen had been busy preparing a
roadbed for a track from the Elberon station to the cottage, and four
hundred men spent the night before his arrival in laying the track. In
this work the hundreds of guests at the various hotels and cottages of
Long Branch took great interest, an interest touchingly expressed in the
request of a little boy, who with his father was watching the progress
of the workmen. He desired to do something for the President, and
leaving his father’s side he approached a man who was driving a pile and
asked to be permitted to help. The man carelessly said to him that he
was too small, and could not lift the maul. “Let me try,” he urged; the
heavy weight was given him, and with the workman’s assistance the pile
was put down in place. The task completed, the child returned with a
radiant face, saying, “There, papa, I have done something for the
President.” Happy child, to have relieved his feelings by striking a
blow in the service of the sufferer! How many thousands upon thousands
of people would have accomplished herculean tasks, if by so doing they
could have been of service to the President! Mr. Francklyn, whose
beautiful summer home was tendered Mrs. Garfield, and accepted, was
kindly envied by the public whose houses would gladly have been given up
for a like purpose.
The room into which the President was taken was Mrs. Francklyn’s own
boudoir, on the southeast corner of the second story, overlooking the
sea; and his pleasure in beholding the broad Atlantic from his bed gave
hope that he would get well. It was expected that he would revive
rapidly under the combined influences of a cooler atmosphere, the sight
of the sea, and the change of scene. That he did not mend rapidly
troubled the people, and they murmured. Then remembering Mrs. Garfield’s
remark, made in reply to the physician who told her at the time of the
relapse in Washington that only a miracle could save her husband—“Then
that miracle will be performed: he will live”—they redoubled their
earnestness in prayer, and believed that the bitter cup would be taken
from unwilling lips.
The gloom of the September days deepened and the reluctant warning was
sent out—“Hope no more, hope is dead.” Still the people hoped, relying
upon the faith of Mrs. Garfield, the wonderful vitality and heroic
demeanor of the invalid. They believed in the impossible, and prayed yet
more fervently. Never in the world’s history was any one so universally
prayed for. It seemed like doubting God’s goodness to despair of the
President’s life. Still the same anxious waiting was continued, and with
each telegram that was sent came a knell to the hopes of millions. He
must die, they said, and that last Monday was like the funeral day of a
race. People sought their homes that night oppressed with sad
forebodings, and their petitions were for strength to meet the impending
calamity.
He died September 19th, 1881, the first news reaching the people in the
cities through the tolling of the bells. When the strokes commenced,
those who listened thought it was the striking of the hour, but soon
they realized the meaning of the slow tolling, and as the church bells
began to give out their dissonance on the night wind, the hearts of the
listeners sank within them. “’Tis he,” they said, and their eyes
overflowed with tears as they thought of the stricken mourner who would
now watch no more at his bedside. From out their homes the people
hurried, and the streets of the cities were crowded with a restless
throng surging aimlessly along, seemingly panic-stricken and unnerved.
All that day the watchers at the bedside counted the hours with feverish
dread, for the physicians had foretold the end and the brave wife had
gathered her strength to meet the inevitable. Much of the time she had
watched at his bedside, and at intervals when she could be spared had
sat alone at a window overlooking the water, white and still, making no
complaint, causing no unnecessary anxiety on her account. At last,
utterly weary, and believing that her husband was resting quietly, she
retired to her room, leaving him without a thought of immediate death. A
summons to come quickly was made shortly after ten o’clock, and when she
hurried into the room, seeing the change that had come over the beloved
face, she exclaimed, “What does this mean?” and then, realizing the
situation, cried, “Oh, why am I made to suffer this cruel wrong!” That
was all the outburst made by her then or after. The death-damp was on
her husband’s brow, and the end had come. She sat upon the bed beside
him, holding his hand in hers and gazing into the eyes no longer able to
return her look.
The history of the dying scene can be told in a few words. General Swaim
was watching, when the President, who had been sleeping, suddenly awoke
and said, “Oh, Swaim! this terrible pain!” indicating its locality by
placing his hand on his breast over the region of the heart. “Oh,
Swaim!” he exclaimed again later, “this terrible pain! Press your hand
on it! Oh, Swaim!” The eyes were set in death a moment later, and no
other words were spoken. “Dan,” the colored man, came into the room at
that moment and was hurriedly despatched for Dr. Bliss. The latter was
sitting at a table over his letters. Colonel Rockwell had just left the
room and joined his wife and daughter on the piazza. The moment Dr.
Bliss glanced at the face of the President, before he had touched his
pulse he said, “Swaim, he is dying. Call Drs. Agnew and Hamilton, and
send for his wife.”
When Mrs. Garfield entered the room, the President was quite
unconscious. There was no sound except the occasional heavy breathing of
the President, and an occasional whisper between the doctors. The light
which had been burning behind the screen was carried nearer the bed, and
the group, which comprised Dr. Bliss, who stood at the head of the bed
noting the pulse of the patient, Mrs. Garfield, who sat on the bed, Drs.
Agnew, Hamilton and Boynton, Col. Rockwell, Gen. Swaim, and Dan, waited
in silence. Mollie Garfield, who was by her mother’s side, put her arms
about her neck and asked, “Is it death?” The mother clasped her to her
heart, saying convulsively, “My daughter.” Soon the President’s
breathing ceased, his head fell back on the arm of Dr. Bliss, and the
latter whispered, “It is all over.” Mrs. Garfield arose and went from
the room, the fixed lines about her face showing the effort she was
making to control herself. At the door of her room she broke quite down
and sobbed aloud. She was alone but a few minutes and then returned to
the bed where her dead husband lay. The eyelids had been closed and the
seal of death was set upon the rigid limbs. She sat by the bed for three
hours, the tears raining down her face and her form shaking violently.
The cold hand she held returned no answering pressure, and she stroked
the arm mechanically as she looked upon the face of her dead.
When it was necessary for the last service that the living could ever
pay to the departed to be performed, she was led to her room, where Dr.
Bliss from an adjoining apartment heard her pacing the floor all night
long. She did not forget the broken-hearted mother in her distant home,
and General Swaim was commissioned to telegraph her.
When the aged woman came from her room early in the morning, she asked
for the telegram that was expected every day, but was induced to have
her breakfast first and then read the news.
“Grandma,” said her granddaughter, in reply to a request that she be
given the telegram that she knew must be there, “would you be surprised
to get bad news this morning?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she answered slowly.
“Grandma,” she said, “there is bad news.”
“Is he dead?” asked the old lady tremulously.
“He is.”
The tears started as she asked, “Is it true? Then the Lord help me, for
if he is dead what shall I do? I have no further wish to live, and I
cannot live if it is so.”
The tolling of the bells had not wakened her in the night, and every
care was taken to keep her from excitement; but she was rendered nervous
and weak, and those about greatly feared the result of the shock.
Several times she retired to her room, and later in the day it was
evident that she had brought herself into a composed state. Alone in her
grief she had found strength to meet the blow, and she read the telegram
which said, “James died this evening at 10.35. He calmly breathed his
life away.” Then after a long silence she slowly said, “I can firmly
believe that God knows best, and I must not murmur.”
At Mentor the two younger sons were staying with Mrs. Garfield’s
brother, and in the early morning they were told of their loss. At
Williams College were Harry and James, the latter ill of malaria
contracted in Washington. The eldest son reached his mother’s side the
next day, leaving his brother behind.
At Elberon preparations were making for the removal of the body to
Washington, and Mrs. Garfield was surrounded by the ladies of the
Cabinet and others. After the autopsy, which revealed the nature of the
wound and showed that the President could not have recovered, and that
had he lived he would have been a hopeless invalid, the brave, suffering
woman grew calmer, and with unfailing courage met the demands made upon
her. She saw President Arthur, who called with General Grant, and
refused herself to none whose presence was warranted by right of
official rank or personal friendship.
It was Mrs. Garfield’s wish that there should be a religious service
held at the cottage before the start was made for Washington. At
half-past nine on Wednesday morning the doors were closed to the public,
and the Rev. Charles J. Young, of Long Branch, stepped to the head of
the bier to begin the service. The audience gathered about him comprised
the highest officials of the land and their wives, together with all who
had been in attendance upon the President. At the moment when all was in
readiness, Mrs. Garfield leaned towards Colonel Rockwell, who stood near
her, and spoke in a whisper to him. He raised his hand to bid the
minister wait, and said in a low tone that Mrs. Garfield wished to look
into the coffin before the service. Immediately she arose and taking her
daughter by the hand went to the side of it. Both stood hand in hand,
the daughter weeping violently, the mother looking down into the coffin,
showing no emotion beyond a face like marble. She stood motionless for
what seemed a very long time to the anxious friends about her. There was
not a dry eye in the room, and strong men wept as they gazed upon the
touching scene.
The mournful procession that moved out of the cottage was led by Mrs.
Garfield, who leaned upon the arm of her son Harry. She was clad in
heavy mourning, her veil almost entirely concealing her face from view.
As the train moved slowly away, a passing glimpse of her face was seen
as she gazed upon the windows of the room where her husband had died.
Loving hearts were all about her, but she was thinking of him: there was
no panacea for her pain. Had there been, the touching demonstrations of
sorrow at every point along the road to Washington would have brought
it. The school-children gathered in groups at the various stations,
weeping as they stood with uncovered heads; the country people gathered
in groups, with bared heads; the tolling of bells and emblems of
mourning everywhere moved the observers to tears. At Princeton Junction
the College students scattered flowers along the track. At Washington,
where the feeling was intense, and where every possible expression had
been given to the grief of the people, the funeral train was received by
the army and navy officials and thousands of citizens.
Mrs. Garfield and her children became the guests of Attorney-General
MacVeagh, and remained there during her stay in Washington. She went to
the White House the day preceding her departure to remove her husband’s
papers, her friends having packed her possessions for her the preceding
day. Upon entering the room in which her husband so long lay ill she
grew deathly pale, but maintained her self-composure, and gratefully
noticed the flowers with which some kind soul had decorated the bed in
anticipation of her coming.
The body of the President lay in state in the Capitol from Wednesday
morning until the following Friday afternoon. Mrs. Garfield visited it
there on Thursday, and viewed the face for the last time. When the
throngs of people pressing about the entrances from every side
understood the reason for which the doors had been closed, they waited
in silence and patiently until they were opened again.
Leaning on General Swaim’s arm, and followed by her son and daughter,
Mr. MacVeagh and others, Mrs. Garfield entered the building, the guards
concealing themselves behind the columns and draperies or standing with
their faces to the wall. When the rotunda was reached she entered it
alone, those with her waiting outside until she returned. For twenty
minutes she remained with her dead, and when she came out she carried in
her hand a flower she had taken from the coffin. On the casket rested
the magnificent wreath presented by Queen Victoria through the British
Legation, and about it on all sides were countless designs. The wreath
from the Queen was composed of white and Marshal Niel roses, on a base
of smilax, and the inscription was, “Queen Victoria to the memory of the
late President Garfield; an expression of her sorrow and sympathy with
Mrs. Garfield and the American nation.”
Tributes were there from old friends, from organizations and municipal
authorities, and all were taken at Mrs. Garfield’s request to Mentor to
be preserved for her children, for whom she desired to keep them. Some
of the devices were of great beauty and fine workmanship, but none
seemed to touch the emotions of the people so deeply as the offering of
England’s Queen to America’s widow.
The start to Cleveland was made Friday afternoon, after the funeral in
the Capitol. President Arthur, the two ex-Presidents Grant and Hayes,
and the Cabinet of President Garfield, together with former members of
Cabinets, General Hancock, who accompanied the remains to Cleveland, as
did General Sherman and thousands of the residents of Washington,
followed the hearse to the depot. The Capitol gave up all that was
mortal of President Garfield with manifestations of sorrow that showed
how deeply he had been loved and honored during his life there.
Through every town and hamlet that the mourning train passed, the
beautiful affection of the people was shown. Mrs. Garfield, more
composed than on the journey from Long Branch, looked out upon the
crowds and the sable draperies, and expressed herself as thankful for
the sympathy manifested. At one town, where the train stopped, some one
offered to pull down the curtain, but she declined the service, saying
she loved to look at the dear people.
The scenes at Cleveland on the arrival of the train, during Sunday, and
on Monday, the 21st, the day of the funeral, can never be pictured by
pen. The mother of the dead President, his sisters and brother, and the
relatives and old neighbors, were waiting for the coming of the cortege,
and Mrs. Garfield was reunited to her three sons, James having reached
Cleveland from Williams College previous to her arrival. The reception
procession through the streets to the pavilion catafalque erected upon
Monument Square was an imposing one. Thousands of people viewed the
coffin as it rested upon the structure appropriately draped from base to
dome with black and white crape. The two carloads of flowers that
decorated the interior of the pavilion were sent from Cincinnati, and
this temple for the dead was an honor to the willing hands and loving
hearts that had fashioned it. No more beautiful structure ever held the
body of the revered dead.
Mrs. Garfield, who had not attended the funeral at the Capitol in
Washington, had expressed her desire to take part in the last honors
paid to her husband, and the committee having in charge the arrangements
had assigned to her use the interior of the temple beside the coffin,
and well screened by the flowers from the public gaze. She rode in the
procession to the catafalque and was seated there between the only
brother of the President and his aged mother. Her children were about
her, and the members of the Cabinet and their wives, General Swaim and
wife, Colonel Rockwell and wife, Secretary Brown, ex-President and Mrs.
Hayes and others. After all had been given seats, the mother, supported
by a lady friend, walked up to the coffin, and laid her face upon the
fastened lid. She stood there for a short time weeping and praying
softly, while the people about stood in silence, uncovered, and with
sympathy in every heart. After the funeral services, performed by Dr.
Errett, Bishop Bedell, and Dr. Houghton, Dr. Errett preaching the
funeral oration at the request of Mrs. Garfield, in accordance with an
old compact made between himself and General Garfield, the long
procession moved to the cemetery. The streets were filled with people;
the crossings were decorated with mourning emblems of all descriptions;
superb flowers, the offerings of various towns and cities, outlining
many beautiful designs. At the cemetery the troops formed in a half
diamond in front of the vault, and into the space between them and the
vault, the funeral car, drawn by twelve coal-black horses, was driven.
The ground was covered with flowers and evergreens. Mrs. Garfield’s
carriage was driven into the centre of the court formed by the troops,
and in it were seated the widow and mother of the President, Harry,
James and little Abe Garfield. The two eldest sons alighted and stood at
either end of the vehicle. Miss Mollie Garfield and her brother Irwin
were in the next carriage, and Secretary Blaine’s came next and took up
a position near Mrs. Garfield’s carriage. A number of prominent
gentlemen, Secretary Blaine, ex-President Hayes, ex-Secretary Evarts,
General Swaim, Colonel Corbin, and others, and the officiating
clergymen, were grouped about the vault door. The marines bore upon
their shoulders the coffin, and as they passed in front of the carriage,
a stifled sob broke from Mrs. Garfield. Rev. J. H. Jones made an
address; President Garfield’s favorite ode, the 22d ode of Horace, was
sung; a prayer was offered, and General Swaim and Colonel Rockwell
escorted Harry and James into the vault to look for the last time upon
the casket containing all that was earthly of their father. The door was
closed and all was over.
The day succeeding the funeral, Mrs. Garfield, accompanied by Mother
Garfield, her children, Colonel Rockwell, General Swaim and their wives,
and Private Secretary Brown, went to Mentor in the mourning car that
conveyed her from Long Branch.
Through all the trying scenes of the drama, now closed forever, Mrs.
Garfield had so conducted herself that the nation was proud of her as
the wife of its President, and the grief of the people was mitigated by
their admiration of her bravery and heroism under circumstances that
would have crushed the majority of women. And looking back at the
tragedy from the day the President was shot, through the eighty-two days
of his sufferings, through the death-scene, and even to the end, the
country saw no act, heard no remark of Mrs. Garfield’s that was not
ennobling and beautiful. On every occasion, through every crisis, and
for a week after the death, while she was constantly passing from one
painful interview or scene to another, she was the same quiet,
self-controlled woman. Her husband had said of her that he never knew
her to be stampeded; that she could not be thrown into a panic, and
right nobly she vindicated the truth of his saying. Her courage was
indomitable, and her composure so great that she was an enigma to many
of her own sex. Much of her self-control was due to her unselfishness.
She thought of others when she was the greatest sufferer, and met the
requirements made upon her with a self-possession that led many to
believe she would break down utterly when the excitement was over.
At Long Branch the evening after the President’s death she sent for all
the wives of the members of the Cabinet, and in her own room she thanked
them for their presence and active sympathy during the trying weeks
since her husband was stricken. She told them that their kind words of
encouragement had helped to sustain her own fortitude which was so
necessary to the sufferer, and spoke of conversations with her husband
before the fatal relapse in August, in which he had expressed himself in
the tenderest terms regarding the members of his official family and
their wives. He loved them as brothers and sisters, and was sure they
loved him. Then with a sweet tenderness of manner she assured them that
one of the sharp sorrows she was suffering was the knowledge that the
ties so pleasant were to be severed, and that she was to see them about
her no more.
All the beautiful memories that people treasure of her to-day were
created by her in like acts. When she got to Cleveland, where the sight
of so many familiar faces brought anew the realizing sense of her loss,
she forgot herself in thinking of others. Her first act was to visit
Mother Garfield, and comfort her as only she could, and to offer her
sympathy to the sorrowing sisters and brother of her husband. She
visited the cemetery and viewed the spot selected for the grave of the
President, and made the people of Cleveland proud that they had given it
to her, by her satisfaction with it. The spirit of peace and love seemed
to be with her and sustain her, even back to the home she had left under
such different circumstances. Into it followed the affection of a nation
of people, and across the water came tokens of tenderness from many
sources.
The Queen, whose womanly sympathy for Mrs. Garfield made her dear to the
American people, sent her at her home a message which, with its reply,
was as follows. The message was sent to Minister Lowell, who transmitted
it to Secretary Blaine.
“I have received the following telegram from the Queen: ‘Would you
express my sincere condolence to the late President’s mother, and
inquire after her health, as well as after that of Mrs. Garfield.’ Her
Majesty adds: ‘I should be thankful if you would procure me a good
photograph of General Garfield.’”
Acting Secretary Hitt returned the following reply, with the request
that a fitting communication should be made to Her Majesty:
“Your telegram expressing the compassion of the Queen for the mother of
the late President was duly forwarded to Mrs. Garfield, at Mentor, Ohio.
Have just received the following reply: ‘Please request Mr. Lowell to
express to Her Majesty, the Queen, the grateful acknowledgments of the
mother of General Garfield, and my own for the tender, womanly sympathy
she has been pleased to send; also that Her Majesty’s wish will be
complied with at an early day.’
“LUCRETIA R. GARFIELD.”
Mrs. Garfield returned to Cleveland to be present at the arrangements
made for the final interment, and when the monument, to be erected in
Lakeview Cemetery by the people, is completed, she will take part in the
ceremonies then.
When she went into the White House she was asked for some particulars of
her life for publication. Her reply was, “I have done nothing that can
be written about. Wait until I have, and then it will be time enough to
write.” The time came sooner than she anticipated, and in a way that not
the wildest imagination would have fancied, seeing her in the fulness of
life, at the top round of worldly honors, and happy in all relations. It
came, and from the fiery furnace of suffering, disappointed hopes and
loss, she emerged to shed bright lustre on her sex, and to elevate the
world’s judgment of women in all the relations of life. She was given
the opportunity to “do something,” and so well was her duty performed,
that the world will never cease to do homage, to the character and
virtues of the widow of the Twentieth President of the Republic,
Lucretia Garfield.
XXVIII.
“THE WHITE HOUSE.”
The corner-stone of the Presidents’ House was laid on the 13th of
October, 1792, and the building was constructed after the designs and
under the directions of Captain James Hobon, Architect. After its
destruction by the British, in 1814, the interior was rebuilt by Captain
Hobon. It is located at the intersection of Pennsylvania, New York,
Connecticut, and Vermont Avenues, which radiate from this point as
centre.
The house is constructed of Virginia free-stone, which is excessively
porous, and consequently would cause great dampness in the interior,
were it not for a thick coat of white lead, which is applied about once
in ten years at an enormous expense. The rock used in the construction
of the foundation was quarried by Captain Samuel Smallwood (afterward
mayor of Washington), on the banks of Rock creek, from the lower or
K-street bridge, as far as Lyonshouse wharf. The grounds were formerly
enclosed with a high stone wall. The old sycamore trees which stand in
the sidewalk on Pennsylvania Avenue, in front of the mansion, occupy a
line running parallel with the former site of that wall. The portico on
the north front was added to the building during the administration of
President Jackson.
The latitude to the nearest second, 38° 53′ 12″, north. Longitude of the
Presidents’ House from the Paris observatory, 79° 17′ 16″, west.
In 1793, about eighty paces west of the brick arch on Pennsylvania
Avenue, a log was thrown over the Tiber, which served as a bridge over
which the procession passed, headed by General George Washington. Here
the boys caught herring and other fish. The waters of the Tiber
occasionally extended in places over the present Pennsylvania Avenue,
the road to the Presidents’ House being considerably north of it, and
along which a traveller in that day might pass from the Capitol square
to the former without seeing a human being. The house of David Burns,
which stood in the grounds south of the Presidents’ House, is now owned
by his descendants, and is an object of interest to all who remember
Washington’s notion of him as the “obstinate” Mr. Burns.
In 1796, as President Washington passed the Presidents’ House (then
building), a salute of sixteen guns was fired by the artillery company
stationed at that point.
The Presidents’ House is situated in the western part of the city, on a
plot of ground of twenty acres; forty-four feet above high-water mark.
It has a southern and a northern front; the southern sloping towards the
Potomac and commanding a view of it. A semi-circular balcony extends out
from the Parlors on this side and overlooks the private garden near by,
and the public grounds beyond. The high basement gives the house a third
story on this side. On both fronts the grounds are laid out with taste
and planted with forest trees and shrubbery. The walks are of gravel,
broad and delightful.
The mansion is two stories and very lofty, one hundred and seventy feet
front, and eighty-six feet deep. The northern front is ornamented with a
lofty portico of four Ionic columns in front and three on either side.
Beneath this portico drive the carriages of visitors; immediately
opposite the front door, across the open vestibule or hall, is the
Reception Room. The East Room is eighty feet long, forty feet wide, and
twenty-two high. There are four mantels of marble with Italian black,
and gold fronts, and very handsome grates; each mantel is surmounted
with a French mirror, the plates of which measures one hundred and
fifty-eight inches, framed in splendid style. Four other large mirrors,
two at each end of the room, reflect the rays from three large
chandeliers, from which depend glass pendants, which glitter in the
light like diamonds; each chandelier has twenty-seven burners.
In front of the Presidents’ House, in a small enclosure, is the bronze
statue of Jefferson, presented to the government by Captain Levy, of the
United States army, who was, at that time (1840) owner of Monticello.
The statue stands on a pedestal: in his left hand Jefferson holds a
scroll of the Declaration of Independence, and in his right hand a pen,
as though he had just finished that immortal instrument, and was
anticipating the glorious results of its influence; the terror it would
strike among the foes of freedom; the strength with which it would nerve
the patriot’s heart; the bitter opposition which it would meet with from
some; the joy with which it would be hailed by more; and, if adopted,
the high destinies which awaited Young America.
It now occupies an eligible position, and will long stand in honor alike
of the great man it so faithfully represents, and of the noble spirit of
patriotism that secured and presented it to the nation. It formerly
stood in the Rotunda of the Capitol.
The Presidents’ House, during Mr. Jefferson’s administration, stood
unenclosed, on a piece of waste and barren ground, separated from the
Capitol by an almost impassable marsh. That building was not half
completed, and standing as it did amidst the rough masses of stone and
other materials collected for its construction, and half-hidden by the
venerable oaks that still shaded their native soil, looked more like a
ruin in the midst of its fallen fragments and coëval shades, than a new
and rising edifice. The silence and solitude of the surrounding space
were calculated to enforce this idea, for beyond the Capitol hill as far
as the eye could reach, the city, as it was called, lay in a state of
nature, covered with thick groves and forest trees, wide and level
plains with only here and there a house along the intersecting ways,
that could not yet be properly called streets.
Thomas Moore visited the United States in 1804, and writes in his
letters to his mother, that “the Presidents’ House is encircled by a
very rude pale, through which a common rustic stile introduced
visitors.”
The Executive Mansion was opened for the reception of visitors on the
1st of January, 1818, being the first time since the completion of
repairs subsequent to its destruction by the British.
Gas was introduced into the White House during President Polk’s
administration, the 29th of December, 1848.
Until President Fillmore’s time there was no library. The circular room
in the second story contains now a fine collection of books, many of
them purchased during President Buchanan’s administration. The trees on
the western side of the mansion were planted by President John Quincy
Adams. At various times there have been complaints made of the
“_palace_” in which the Presidents were entertained during their terms,
and not a few have been the bitter denunciations, written and spoken,
“of its inappropriateness,” averring that it is too fine and too large
for a republican Chief Magistrate. However, as the country has increased
in population and wealth, these objections ceased to be made, and since
the most interested persons say nothing now of its being too large or
elegant, it is to be supposed that it will continue to be the Executive
Mansion as long as the country remains under its present form of
government. Congress has heretofore made an appropriation after the
election of each new President,[24] for repairing and refurnishing the
mansion. After the close of the late civil war, it was in a sad
condition, having been subjected to hard usage. It was renovated, and
the first floor beautifully papered and refurnished under the auspices
of Mrs. Patterson, the daughter of President Johnson.
Footnote 24:
There was none made during President Tyler’s administration.
The green-house was partly burned in the winter of 1868, but is now
greatly enlarged, and adds much to the beauty of the fine old mansion.
From the library-window on the second floor the view of the Potomac is
very extended and magnificent. On a clear day, the distant points of
Fort Washington may be dimly defined, and the old city of Georgetown
distinctly seen.
The White House was so called in honor of the Virginia home of Mrs.
Washington, in which her wedding occurred. Washington had pleasant
memories of that residence, and suggested the building of a white house
for the Presidents. It cost originally three hundred thousand dollars,
and was smaller at the time it was burned by the British than now. Its
rebuilding, refurnishings from time to time, and the additions and
alterations, have cost a trifle over one million seven hundred thousand
dollars.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
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