As I Remember Part 10

I am, sir, your obt. etc.

In 1831 the small but pretty Gramercy Park in New York was established by Samuel B. Ruggles. I have heard that this plot of ground was originally used as a burying ground by Trinity parish. As I first recollect the spot, there were but four or five dwellings in its vicinity. One of the earliest was built by James W. Gerard, a prominent lawyer, who was regarded as a most venturesome pioneer to establish his residence in such a remote locality. Next door to Mr. Gerard, a few years later, lived George Belden, whose daughter Julia married Frederick S. Tallmadge. Mr. Tallmadge died only a few years ago, highly respected and esteemed by a large circle of friends.

In 1846 I was one of the guests at a fashionable wedding in a residence on the west side of this park, which was possibly the first ceremony of the kind to take place in this then remote region. The bride's mother, the widow of Richard Armistead of New Bern, N.C., who habitually spent her winters in New York, had purchased the house only a few months previously. The bride, Susan Armistead, was an intimate friend of mine, and a well-known belle in both the North and the South. The groom, a resident of New York, was John Still Winthrop, of the same family as the Winthrops of Ma.s.sachusetts. The guests composed an interesting a.s.semblage of the old _regime_, many of whose descendants are now in the background. I met on that occasion many old friends, among whom the Kings, Gracies, Winthrops and Rogers predominated. Mrs. De Witt Clinton honored the occasion, dressed in the fashion of a decade or two previous. Her presence was a very graceful act as she then but seldom appeared in society, her only view of the gay world being from her own domain. Her peculiarity in regard to dress was very marked as she positively declined to change it with the prevailing style but clung tenaciously to the old-fashioned _modes_ to the end of her life. Miss Armistead was an ideal-looking bride in her white dress and long tulle veil and carried, according to the custom then prevalent, a large flat bouquet of white j.a.ponicas with white lace paper around the stems. In the dining-room, a handsome collation was served, with a huge wedding cake at one end of the table and pomegranates, especially sent from the bride's southern home, forming a part of the repast. The health of the newly wedded couple was drunk in champagne and good cheer prevailed on every side. The whole house bore a happy aspect with its floral decorations and its bright Liverpool coal fires burning in the grates.

Furnaces, by the way, were then unknown. In New York there was at that time a strong prejudice against anthracite coal, and Liverpool coal was therefore generally used, the price of which was fifteen dollars a ton.

I have many close and tender a.s.sociations connected with this bride of so many years ago, especially as our friendship, formed in our early life, still extends to her descendants. Some years after Mrs. Winthrop's marriage, and in her earlier widowhood, four generations traveled together, and then, as at other times, dwelt under the same roof. They were Mrs. Nathaniel Smith, Mrs. Richard Armistead, Mrs. John S. Winthrop and her son, John S. Winthrop, who, with his interesting family, now resides in Tallaha.s.see.

In 1841, Lord Morpeth, the seventh Earl of Carlisle and a worthy specimen of the English n.o.bility, visited the United States, and while here investigated the subject of the inheritance of slaves by English subjects. His report seems to have been favorably received, as a law was pa.s.sed subsequent to his return declaring it illegal for Englishmen to hold slaves through inheritance. England's sympathetic heart about this time was in a perennial throb for "the poor Africans in chains,"

apparently quite oblivious to the fact that the "chains" had been introduced and cemented by her fostering hand.

I recall with unusual pleasure an entertainment where Lord Morpeth was the guest of honor, at the residence of William Bard on College Place, at that time a fashionable street in the vicinity of old Columbia College. I have always remembered the occasion as I was then introduced to Lord Morpeth and enjoyed a long and pleasant conversation with him.

Our host was a son of Dr. Samuel Bard, physician to General Washington during the days when New York was the seat of government.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MRS. JOHN STILL WINTHROP, NeE ARMISTEAD, BY SULLY

_From a portrait owned by John Still Winthrop of Tallaha.s.see._]

Mr. and Mrs. John Austin Stevens lived on Bleecker Street and had a number of interesting daughters. They were an intellectual family and I attended an entertainment given by them in honor of Martin Farquhar Tupper, the author of "Proverbial Philosophy." Mr. Stevens' sister, Lucretia Ledyard Stevens, married Mr. Richard Heckscher of Philadelphia.

Another gentlewoman of the same period was Mrs. Laura Wolcott Gibbs, wife of Colonel George Gibbs of Newport. The first Oliver Wolcott, a Signer, Governor of Connecticut and General in the Revolutionary War, was her grandfather; while the second of the same name, Secretary of the Treasury under Washington and Adams, Governor of his State and United States Judge, was her father. I am in the fullest sympathy with the following remarks concerning her made at her funeral by the Rev. Dr.

Henry W. Bellows: "I confess I always felt in the presence of Mrs. Gibbs as if I were talking with Oliver Wolcott himself, and saw in her self-reliant, self-a.s.serting and independent manner and speech an unmistakable copy of a strong and thoroughly individual character, forged in the hottest fires of national struggle. The intense individuality of her nature set her apart from others. You felt that from the womb she must have been just what she was--a piece of the original granite on which the nation was built.... The force, the courage, the self-poise she exhibited in the ordinary concerns of our peaceful life would in a masculine frame have made, in times of national peril, a patriot of the most decided and energetic character--one able and willing to believe all things possible, and to make all the efforts and sacrifices by which impossibilities are accomplished."

Mrs. Gibbs was literally steeped and moulded in the traditions of the past; in fact, she was a reminder of the n.o.ble women of the Revolutionary era, many of whom have left records behind them. She was gifted with a keen sense of humor, and her talent in repartee was proverbial. Although many years my senior, I found delightful companionship in her society, and her home was always a great resource to me. Her accomplished daughter, the wife of Captain Theophile d'Oremieulx, U.S.A., was particularly skilled in music. Her son, Wolcott Gibbs, the distinguished Professor of Harvard University, maintained to the last the high intellectual standard of his ancestors. He died several years ago. I was informed by his mother that at one period of its history Columbia College desired to secure his services as a professor, but that the Hon. Hamilton Fish, one of its trustees and an uncompromising Episcopalian, objected on the ground of his Unitarian faith and was sustained by the Board of Trustees. It seemed a rather inconsistent act, as at another period of its history a Hebrew was chosen as a member of the same faculty.

As nearly as I can remember, it was in the summer of 1845 that I spent several weeks as the guest of the financier and author, Alexander B.

Johnson, in Utica, New York. Mrs. Johnson's maiden name was Abigail Louisa Smith Adams, and she was the daughter of Charles Adams, son of President John Adams. During my sojourn there her uncle, John Quincy Adams, came to Utica to visit his relatives, and I had the pleasure of being a guest of the family at the same time. He was accompanied upon this trip by his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Charles Francis Adams, a young grandson whose name I do not recall, and the father of Mrs. Adams, Peter C. Brooks, of Boston, another of whose daughters was the wife of Edward Everett. Upon their arrival in Utica, the greatest enthusiasm prevailed, and the elderly ex-President was welcomed by an old-fashioned torchlight procession. In response to many urgent requests, Mr. Adams made an impromptu speech from the steps of the Johnson house, and proved himself to be indeed "the old man eloquent." Although he was not far from eighty years old, he was by no means lacking in either mental or physical vitality. Mrs. Charles Francis Adams impressed me as a woman of unusual culture and intellectuality, while her father, Peter C. Brooks, was a genial old gentleman whom everyone loved to greet. He was at that time one of Boston's millionaires; and many years later I heard his grandson, the late Henry Sidney Everett, of Washington, son of Edward Everett, say of him that when he first arrived in Boston he was a youth with little or no means.

After the Adams party had rested for a few days a pleasure trip to Trenton Falls, in Oneida County, was proposed. A few prominent citizens of Utica were invited by the Johnsons to accompany the party, and among them several well-known lawyers whose careers won for them a national as well as local reputation. Among these I may especially mention the handsome Horatio Seymour, then in his prime, whose courteous manners and manly bearing made him exceptionally attractive. Mr. Adams bore the fatigue of the trip remarkably well and his strength seemed undiminished as the day waned. His devoted daughter-in-law remained constantly beside him while at the Falls to administer to his comfort and attend to his wants; in fact, she was so solicitous concerning him that she requested that she might, in going and coming, occupy a carriage as near him as possible. I cannot but regard her as a model for many of the present generation who fail to be deeply impressed by either merit or years.

The Adamses were charming guests, and I have always felt that I was highly privileged to visit under the same roof with them, and especially to listen to the words of wisdom of the venerable ex-President. I have heard it stated, by the way, that during his official life in Washington, Mr. Adams took a daily bath in the Potomac. This luxury he must have missed in Utica, as at this time it offered no opportunities for a plunge except in the "raging ca.n.a.l." Mrs. Charles Francis Adams accompanied her husband when he went to England, during our Civil War, to represent the United States at the Court of St. James. The consummate manner in which he conducted our relations with Great Britain at that critical period marked him as an accomplished statesman and a diplomatist of the rarest skill. The nature of his task was one of extreme delicacy, and it is highly probable that, but for his masterly efforts, England would have recognized the independence of the Southern Confederacy. The energy and fidelity with which he met the requirements of his mission undermined his health and, returning to this country, he retired to his old home in Quincy.

While in Utica I drove in the family carriage with Mrs. Johnson and her sister, Mrs. John W. King, to Peterboro, about twenty-five miles distant, to visit Mr. and Mrs. Gerrit Smith. Mr. Smith had already commenced his crusade against slavery, and the family antipathy to the inst.i.tution was so strong that two of his nieces, sisters of General John Cochrane, who later became President of the Society of the Cincinnati, refused to wear dresses made of cotton because it was a Southern staple. As I remember this great anti-slavery agitator, he was a remarkably handsome man with an air of enthusiasm which seemed to pervade his whole being. From 1853 to 1855 he was in Congress, and I had the pleasure of listening to one of his scathing speeches on the floor of the House of Representatives in denunciation of slavery. I recall his unusual felicity in the use of Scriptural quotations, one of which still lingers in my ears: "Where the spirit of the Lord is there is liberty."

His daughter Elizabeth married Charles Dudley Miller, a prominent citizen of Utica. She was a woman of very p.r.o.nounced views, as may be judged, in part, by the fact that some years after my marriage, and while living in Washington, I met her by accident one day at the Capitol and to my surprise discovered that she was wearing bloomers!

In September, 1849, I was returning to my home in New York from another visit to the Johnsons in Utica, when, upon the invitation of Mrs.

Hamilton Fish, whose husband was then Governor of the Empire State, I stopped in Albany and visited them. They were of course occupying the gubernatorial mansion, but its exact location I cannot exactly recall.

Life was exceedingly simple in the middle of the last century, even in the wealthiest families, and through all these years I seem to remember but a single incident connected with the family life of these early friends--the trivial fact that the breakfast hour was seven o'clock.

Mrs. Fish was a model mother and was surrounded by a large and interesting family of children, some of whom are among the highly prominent people of the present time.

_Apropos_ of the Fish children, an amusing story is told of the keen sense of humor of the late William M. Evarts, who presented in every-day life such a stern exterior. When, on one occasion, he was a guest of the Fish family at their summer home on the Hudson, his attention was called to a large and beautifully executed painting of a group of children which, as was quite apparent, was greatly treasured by the ex-Governor.

Mr. Evarts gazed upon the portrait for some minutes in silence and then exclaimed in a low tone, "little Fishes." Mr. Fish stood near his guest but, not catching the exact drift of his remark, replied: "Sir, I do not understand." The bright response was: "Yes, I said little fishes, _sardines_,"--reminding one of Artemus Ward's definition of sardines, "little fishes biled in ile."

Another witticism of Mr. Evarts's which seems to me deserving of preservation is said to have been uttered during his residence in Washington, when he was Secretary of State under President Hayes. A party of distinguished Englishmen was visiting the National Capital and Mr. Evarts escorted it to Mount Vernon. After inspecting the mansion and the grave of Washington the party walked to the end of the lawn to view the attractive scenery of the Potomac River. One of the Englishmen who seemed decidedly more conversant with certain phases of American history than the others asked Mr. Evarts whether it were really true that Washington could throw a shilling across the Potomac. "Yes," said Mr. Evarts, in a diplomatic tone, "it is quite true." The same evening at a dinner, the Secretary of State repeated the conversation to a mutual friend and added: "He could do even better than that; he could toss a Sovereign across the Atlantic!"

The day after my arrival in Albany, President Zachary Taylor and his suite were the guests of Governor and Mrs. Fish, and the same day a dinner was given in his honor which was attended by prominent State officials. Meanwhile, a concourse of people had surrounded the mansion, anxious to see the President and to demand a speech. Old "Rough and Ready" appeared at an open window and faced the mult.i.tude, but was not as "ready" in speech as with his sword. He made a brave attempt, however, to gratify the people, but he seemed exceedingly feeble and his voice was decidedly weak. In the course of his remarks his aide and son-in-law, Colonel William W. S. Bliss, came to his rescue and prompted him, as it were, from behind the scenes; so that everything pa.s.sed off, as I understood the next day, to the satisfaction of his audience.

Possibly this was one of Taylor's last appearances in public, as he died the following summer.

Although Mrs. Fish was at this time a comparatively young woman, she presided over the Governor's mansion with the same grace and ease so characteristic of her career in Washington when her husband was Secretary of State under President Grant. In my opinion, and I know but few who had a better opportunity of judging, Mrs. Fish was in many respects a remarkable woman. For eight years her home was a social center, and she was regarded as the social dictator of the Grant administration. When any perplexing questions of a social nature arose during her _regime_, the general inquiry was: "What does Mrs. Fish say?" This in time became a standing joke, but it ill.u.s.trates the fact that her decisions usually were regarded as final.

One of the social leaders in New York during my younger life was Mrs.

Isaac Jones, who, in her own set, was known as "b.l.o.o.d.y Mary." Why this name was applied to her I cannot say, as she was not in the least either cruel or revengeful, as far as I knew, but on the contrary was suave and genial to an unusual degree. She lived on Broadway, directly opposite the site where the New York Hotel formerly stood, and her entertainments were both numerous and elaborate. She was one of the daughters of John Mason, who began life as a tailor but left at his death an estate valued at a million dollars, which was a large fortune for those days. Isaac Jones was president of the Chemical Manufacturing Company and later became prominently connected with the Chemical Bank of New York. A brother of Mrs. Jones married Miss Emma Wheatley, a superior young woman who, unfortunately for her father-in-law's peace of mind, was an actress. This alliance was most distasteful to the whole Mason connection, and when John Mason was approaching death George W. Strong, a prominent lawyer, was hastily summoned by his daughters to draft his will. Almost immediately following Mr. Mason's funeral a legal battle was commenced over his estate. He left outright to his three daughters their proportionate share of his fortune, but to his son who had displeased him by his marriage he devised an annuity of only fifteen hundred dollars. Charles O'Conor, the counsel for the son, in his argument in behalf of his client, said that Mr. Mason's daughters, instead of sending for a clergyman to console his dying moments, had demanded the immediate presence of a respectable lawyer, "a lawyer so respectable that throughout his entire practice he never had a poor client." Mr. O'Conor succeeded in breaking this will, and young Mason was given his proper share in his father's estate.

One of John Mason's daughters became the wife of Gordon Hammersley, whose son Louis married the beautiful Miss Lilly Warren Price of Troy, the daughter of Commodore Cicero Price of the United States Navy. She subsequently married the Duke of Marlborough, and afterwards Lord William Beresford. The Marlborough-Hammersley ceremony was performed in this country by a justice of the peace, and the new d.u.c.h.ess of Marlborough went to England to live upon her husband's depleted estates.

It is said that she was allowed by her late husband's family an annual income of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars; and Blenheim, which had long felt the strain of "decay's effacing fingers," began again, through the agency of the Hammersley wealth, to resemble the structure once occupied by that tyrant of royalty, the imperious Sarah Jennings.

Very little seemed to be known about Louis Hammersley, as he lived a retired life, and when seen in public was almost invariably accompanied by his father, Gordon Hammersley. When the two appeared upon the street, they were sometimes facetiously dubbed "Dombey and Son." They were familiar figures on Broadway, where they invariably walked arm in arm.

John Hammersley, a brother of Gordon, was the aesthetic member of this well-known family. One of his pet diversions was the giving of unusual, and sometimes sensational, dinners. To celebrate the completion of the trans-continental railroad, he planned what he called a Roman dinner.

His guests were furnished with togas and partook of the meal in a reclining position, like the Romans of old. This unique entertainment was, of course, thoroughly enjoyed, but did not become _a la mode_ as the flowing toga could hardly compete with trim waistcoats and clinging trousers, even on festive occasions.

Fifty years ago, more or less, a house was erected in New York on the southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifteenth Street by Mrs. Charles Maverick Parker, and, to the astonishment of Gothamites, it was said to have cost one hundred thousand dollars! Later it became the home of the Manhattan Club. Many old residents visited it on its completion, as such a costly structure was regarded with nothing short of amazement. I remember it was an _on dit_ of the town that upon one occasion, when Mrs. Parker was personally escorting some unusually prominent person through the mansion, she pointed to a pretty little receptacle in her bedroom and exclaimed as she pa.s.sed: "That is where I keep my old shoes.

I wear old shoes just as other people do." The cost and pretentiousness of her establishment caused her to be nicknamed "Mrs. House Parker." Her residence was built of brown stone, which so strongly appealed to the taste of New Yorkers that in time the same material was largely employed in the erection of dwellings. High ceilings were then much in vogue and were greatly admired. In our house in Houston Street, where I pa.s.sed my late childhood and early womanhood, the ceilings were unusually high, while all of the doors were of ma.s.sive mahogany set in ornamental white frames. In subsequent years I met so many persons who in former days had been our neighbors in Houston Street that I was conceited enough to designate that locality as "the cradle of the universe." Anthony Bleecker Neilson was our next-door neighbor in this famous old street, and during my life in China twin sons of his, William and Bleecker, were again my neighbors in Foo Chow, where they were both employed in the _Hong_ (firm) of Oliphant & Company.

A rival to Mrs. Parker's fine house was not long in appearing. Directly opposite a stately residence was built by Mrs. Richard K. Haight which subsequently became the New York Club. A great rivalry existed between these two matrons which even extended to hats, feathers, gowns and all the furbelows so dear to the feminine heart. In fact, the far-famed houses of Montague and Capulet could not have maintained more skillful tactics; and all the while the Gothamites looked on and smiled. A few years later Eugene Shiff, who had spent the greater portion of his life in France, built a large house on Fifth Avenue which he surmounted with a mansard roof. These pioneers having set the pace, imposing residences were erected in rapid succession, and the process has been continued until the present day.

In December, 1851, New York was agog over the arrival upon the sh.o.r.es of America of Louis Kossuth. As everyone knows, he was the leader of the Hungarian revolution of 1848-9, and became the first governor of the short-lived Hungarian Republic. When this was overthrown by Austria and other countries, Kossuth fled to Turkey and subsequently sailed for this country on the U.S. Frigate _Mississippi_. When his arrival became known, thousands of people thronged the streets anxious to catch a first glimpse of the distinguished foreigner. One might have fancied from the enthusiasm displayed that he was one of our own conquering heroes returning home. Americans were even more sympathetic then than now with all struggles for political freedom, as the history of our own trying experiences during the Revolution was, from a sentimental point of view, even more of a controlling influence than it is to-day. Several months later I heard Kossuth deliver an address at the National Hotel in Washington before a large a.s.sembly chiefly composed of members of Congress, when his subject was "Hungary and her woes." I vividly recall the impression produced upon his audience when, in his deeply melodious tones, he invoked the "Throne of Grace" and closed with the appealing words: "What is life without prayer?" I have never before or since observed an audience so completely under the sway of an orator, as it seemed to me that there was not a person in the room who at the moment would not have been willing to acquiesce in whatever demands or appeals he might present. Kossuth's countenance suggested such profound depression that one could readily credit the a.s.sertion he made during his remarks, "I have been trained to grief." He wore during the delivery of his address the picturesque costume of the Magyars of his country.

New York had an unusually large coterie of _litterateurs_, many of whom it was my good fortune to know. Some of these had only recently returned from Brook Farm "sadder but wiser" and, at all events, with more practical views concerning "the world's broad field of battle." Brook Farm had its origin in 1841, and completely collapsed in 1847. It was chiefly intended to be the fulfillment of a dream of the Rev. Dr.

William Henry Channing of "an a.s.sociation in which the members, instead of preying upon one another and seeking to put one another down, after the fashion of this world, should live together as brothers, seeking one another's elevation and spiritual growth." It was essentially socialistic in its conception and execution and, although professedly altruistic in its nature, was in reality a visionary scheme which reflected but little credit upon the judgment of either its originators or its patrons. Its company was composed of "members" and "scholars," to whom may be added a celebrated list of those who sojourned at the Farm for brief periods and were known as "visitors." The whole scheme was without doubt one of the most visionary expressions of New England transcendentalism, and it failed because in the nature of things no such ventures ever have succeeded and, until human nature is essentially revolutionized, probably never can. Among its most distinguished members were Nathaniel Hawthorne, Charles A. Dana, later the brilliant and accomplished editor of _The New York Sun_, and George Ripley. George William Curtis was one of its scholars, and among its visitors were the Rev. William Henry Channing, Margaret Fuller, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Amos Bronson Alcott, Orestes Augustus Bronson, Theodore Parker and Elizabeth P. Peabody--forming together one of the most brilliant intellectual galaxies that were ever a.s.sociated in a single enterprise.

Of this number I especially recall George William Curtis, a genius of the first brilliancy and remarkable withal for his versatile conversational powers. I was talking to him on one occasion when someone inquired as to his especial work in the co-operative fold of Brook Farm.

His laughing reply was, "Cleaning door k.n.o.bs." George Ripley was a distinguished scholar and a prominent journalist. His wife, a daughter of Francis Dana, became a convert to Catholicism and is said to have found much to console her in that faith until her death from cancer in 1861. Margaret Fuller, though not possessed of much outward grace, was a prolific votary of the pen. I occasionally met her in society before she started on an European tour where she met her destiny in the person of the Marquis Giovanni Angelo Ossoli, to whom she was secretly married in 1847. Some years later she embarked with her husband and little boy upon a sailing vessel for America, and all were lost off the coast of New York in July, 1850. Horace Sumner, a younger brother of the distinguished Ma.s.sachusetts statesman, also perished at the same time.

About 1845 I met Anne C. Lynch of Providence, who came to New York to promote her literary ambitions, and was a pleasing addition to this same intellectual circle. She was the author of several prose works and also of some poetical effusions which were published in 1848 and received high commendation. She married Vincenzo Botta, a learned Italian who at one time was a professor in the University of Turin. Their tastes were similar and the marriage was a very happy one. They lived for many years on Thirty-seventh Street in New York, where they maintained a charming _salon_. On Sunday evenings their home was the rendezvous of many of the literary lights of the metropolis as well as of distinguished strangers. Some years before her marriage, Mrs. Botta was visiting in Washington, where she formed a friendship with Henry Clay.

Upon her return to New York he committed to her care a valuable gold medal, but upon arriving at her home she discovered to her dismay that it was missing from her trunk. It was the general impression that it had been stolen from her on her way to New York. About the same time I also knew Donald G. Mitch.e.l.l ("Ik Marvel"), but this was before he had entered upon his active and distinguished literary career, and when he was a temporary sojourner in New York. He was contributing at that time some much appreciated letters to various magazines under the signature of "The Lorgnette," which were subsequently republished as a volume bearing the same t.i.tle.

N. P. Willis was another literary genius of the same period whom I had the pleasure of knowing. He was cordially welcomed into the social world of New York; but, unfortunately for his popularity, he wrote a prose effusion ent.i.tled, "Those Ungrateful Blidgimses," which was generally recognized as a direct attack upon two old ladies who were held in high esteem in New York. It was known to many persons that he had had a misunderstanding with them and that he had employed this manner of taking his revenge. New York society frowned upon what was generally considered his ungallant conduct, and for many years the doors of some of the most prominent houses in the city were closed against him. As I remember reading his story at the time, I thought its t.i.tle was but a poor disguise, as the sisters were named Bridgens, the christian name of one of them being Cornelia. This name was distorted into "Crinny," who, by the way, was a woman of decided ability. It was against her that the author's animosity was chiefly directed. It seems that the Misses Bridgens and Mr. Willis chanced to be sojourning at the same time in Rome, where the scene of his narrative is laid. Miss Crinny was a sufferer from an attack of Roman fever and, under these dire circ.u.mstances, Mr. Willis represents himself as her attendant, and in this capacity refuses to condone the peculiarities of the poor old lady's sick-room. His patience in gratifying her morbid fancies is graphically described in a vein of ridicule and he tells how by the hour he threaded what he terms her "imaginary locks." He also dwells at length upon her conversational powers and likens her tongue to the elasticity of an eel's tail, which would wag if it were skinned and fried. Charles Dudley Warner has described this writing of Mr. Willis as "funny but wicked"; it was more than that--it was cruel! Willis made another reference to the two sisters in his "Earnest Clay" where he speaks of "two abominable old maids by the names of Buggins and Blidgins, representing the _scan. mag._ of Florence."

The New York public was in no hurry to reopen its doors to Mr. Willis; indeed, it was not until after his marriage to Miss Cornelia Grinnell, his second wife, that he was again kindly received. I recall with much pleasure a visit I made at Mrs. Winfield Scott's in New York, after that city had ceased to be my home, when we went together to dine with Mr.

and Mrs. N. P. Willis at Idlewild, their country home on the Hudson.

These were the days when Mrs. Scott was sometimes facetiously called _Madame la General_. This charming residence of Mr. Willis was several miles south of Newburgh, on high ground overlooking the river, and from its porches there was an enchanting view of West Point. Mr. Willis told us that when he first came to that vicinity he called the attention of a countryman from whom he had purchased the land to some uncultivated acres and asked a suggestion regarding them. "That," said the man, waving his hand in the direction of the trees, "is nothing but an Idlewild." The word lingered in Mr. Willis's mind, and he subsequently adopted it as the name of his new home.

While living in New York we frequently attended parties at the hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin F. Butler in Washington Place.

He was an elegant gentleman of the old school and had served as Attorney General in the cabinets of Presidents Jackson and Van Buren. They were people of deep religious convictions, and consequently all their entertainments were conducted upon the strictest code of the day. For example, dancing was never permitted and wine was never served. In place of dancing there was a continuous promenade. I generally attended these parties accompanied by my father, who enjoyed meeting the legal lights of the country, some of whom were always there. Exceptionally handsome suppers were served at these entertainments, and every effort was made by Mr. and Mrs. Butler to make up, as it were, for the lack of dancing which was sorely missed by those more gayly inclined.

A hundred thousand dollars was considered a highly respectable fortune in New York between sixty and seventy years ago. Seven per cent, was the usual rate of interest, the cost of living was low, and life was, of course, much simpler in every way. I recall a prominent young man about this period, Henry Carroll Marx, commonly called "Dandy Marx," who was said to be the happy possessor of the amount I have named. He was devoted to horses and from his home on Broadway he could frequently be seen driving tandem on the cobblestone streets. I do not remember his entering the social arena; possibly he avoided it in order to escape the wiles of designing mothers, whom one occasionally encountered even in those ancient days. His faultless attire, which in elegance surpa.s.sed all his rivals, won for him the nickname of "Dandy." He also rendered himself conspicuous as the first gentleman in New York to wear the long, straight, and pointed waxed mustache. His two maiden sisters were inseparable companions and nearly every day could be seen walking on Broadway. Miss Lydia Kane, one of the wits of my day and of whom I have already spoken, facetiously called them "number 11"--two straight marks!

In 1845 Burton's Theater was an unfailing source of delight to the pleasure-loving public. William E. Burton was an Englishman of rare cultivation, and was the greatest comedian New York had ever known.

Although so gifted, his expression of countenance was one of extreme gravity. His presentation of Aminadab Sleek in the "Serious Family" has, in my opinion, never been surpa.s.sed. He frequently acted in minor comedies, but the "Serious Family" was his greatest _role_. Niblo's Garden on Broadway, near Houston Street, was a source of great delight in those days to all Gothamites. It was in this theater that the Ravel family had its remarkable athletic performances. When I recall their graceful, youthful physiques, I am reminded of Hamlet's philosophical musings in the graveyard: "Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?" P. T. Barnum was a conspicuous figure about this time. His museum was on Broadway, at the corner of Ann Street, and not far from the City Hall. He was considered a prince of humbugs and perhaps gloried in his reputation as such. I distinctly remember the excitement which he created over a mummified old colored woman who, he a.s.serted, had been a nurse of Washington, and to whom he gave the name of Joice Heth. She was undoubtedly a very aged negress, but she still retained full powers of articulation and was well coached to reply in an intelligent manner to the numerous inquiries respecting her pretended charge. It is needless to add that she was only one of Barnum's numerous fakes.

Philip Kearny, a handsome gentleman of a former school, who lived at the corner of Broadway and Leonard Street, was a lavish entertainer. He was a widower when I knew him, but his daughter, the wife of Major Alexander S. Macomb, U.S.A., the son and aide of Major General Alexander Macomb, Commander-in-Chief of the Army, lived with him. Major Macomb was conspicuous for his attractive personality and imposing presence and was said to bear a striking resemblance to Prince Albert, the father of Edward VII. His wife was one of the three heirs of John Watts, who owned a princely estate. The other two were her brother, the gallant General Philip Kearny, and her cousin, General John Watts de Peyster, a son of that most accomplished gentleman, Frederick de Peyster, of whom I have already spoken. Mrs. Macomb was a generous and attractive woman who dispensed with a liberal hand the wealth she had inherited. Her pretty cousins, Mary and Nancy Kearny, whom I knew quite well, daughters of her father's brothers, were her constant guests. Another frequent visitor of this household was Mrs. "Phil" Kearny, as she was invariably called, whose maiden name was Diana Moore Bullitt, a famous Kentucky belle, well-known for her grace and intellectual attractions. Her sister Eloise, usually called "Lou" Bullitt by her intimate friends, married Baron Frederick de Kantzow of Sweden, a courtly foreigner who had commercial relations with the merchant princes of New York. Tradition states that the Baroness de Kantzow, though not possessed of Mrs.

Kearny's beauty, was a more successful slayer of hearts than her sister, and it is said that she had adorers by the score. A third Bullitt sister, Mary, married General Henry Atkinson and after his death Major Adam Duncan Steuart, both of the United States Army, the latter of whom was stationed for many years at Fort Leavenworth.

Mrs. Macomb's health failed at an early period of life and to restore it she sought a foreign clime; but, alas, her many friends were never gladdened again by her kindly welcome, as she died abroad. In my young womanhood I frequently attended parties at the Kearny house where dancing and other social pleasures enlivened the scene. In this connection it seems proper to refer at greater length to John Watts and his interesting trio of daughters. I have already spoken of his son Robert, who died unmarried at an early age. His two older daughters, Susanna, wife of Philip Kearny, and Mary Justina, wife of Frederick de Peyster, did not long survive their marriages; but a third daughter, Elizabeth, the wife of Henry Laight, who never had children, lived many years with her father and managed the affairs of his household. An amusing story was told me many years ago regarding Mrs. Laight which is well worthy of mention. As a young girl she was deeply in love with the young man who eventually became her husband, but her father was so devoted to her and so very dependent upon her that he violently opposed her marrying anyone. Accordingly, a secret marriage was planned by the young people to take place in Trinity Church. As the youthful pair was standing in front of the altar, surrounded by a few sympathetic friends, the rector reached the words, "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" when, to the astonishment of the a.s.sembled group, a gruff, loud voice in the rear of the church shouted "I do." Old John Watts had opposed his daughter's marriage with all his might, but when he learned by chance that she was to be married clandestinely, he graciously accepted the inevitable and without the knowledge of anyone hurried to the church and, entering it by a side door, duly performed his part as just related. This anecdote was told me by Arent Schuyler de Peyster, a distant cousin of General John Watts de Peyster. Many years later, when I repeated it to Mrs. Diana Bullitt Kearny, she remarked in her characteristic manner: "He was mean enough not to even allow her the satisfaction of a runaway marriage." This estimate of his character, however, does not seem to agree with that given by others. The Laights were prominent in New York society. One of them, Edward Laight, whom I knew as a society beau, was remarkably handsome. He was a good deal of a flirt and transferred his affections with remarkable facility from one young woman to another. His sister married a Greek, Mr. Eugene Dutilh, a gentleman of culture and refinement, who owned a beautiful place at Garrison's-on-the-Hudson which he sold about 1861 to Hamilton Fish.

Philip Kearny and his family lived next door to Peter A. Jay, and I frequently met the young people of his household at Mrs. Macomb's parties. Gouverneur Morris, a son of the distinguished statesman, and Edward Kearny were _habitues_ of this establishment, as were also Ridley and Ess.e.x Watts, both of whom I knew well. General "Phil" Kearny from his youthful days was an enthusiastic soldier, but he was not a graduate of West Point, having been appointed to the regular army from civil life by President Van Buren in 1837. He served throughout the Mexican War, where he had the misfortune to lose an arm at the battle of Churubusco, and was killed during the Civil War in 1862 at the battle of Chantilly.

Speaking of General Macomb, I am reminded of a social _on dit_ of many years ago. Mrs. August Belmont (Caroline Slidell Perry) lived in a fine house on Fifth Avenue and frequently gave large receptions. His sister, Sarah Perry, subsequently Mrs. R. S. Rodgers, was an early friend of mine. The elegant Major Alexander S. Macomb, who was his father's namesake and aide, on entering Mrs. Belmont's drawing-room was unfortunate enough to brush against a handsome vase and completely shatter it. It was generally conceded that his hostess was conscious of the disaster, but "was mistress of herself though China fall" and appeared entirely unconscious of the mishap. Some months later at the house of Lady Cunard (Mary McEvers), a similar accident happened. The unfortunate guest, however, in this case was immediately approached by his hostess, who with much elegant grace begged him not to be disturbed as the damage was trifling. Immediately society began an animated discussion, when even the judicial powers of Solomon might have found it embarra.s.sing to decide which of the two women should be accorded the greater degree of _savoir faire_.