Transcriber’s Note:
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
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 pleasedwith 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 aswife 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” DavidBurns—“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—Jeffersona 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—“Abundancepreferable 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 shelterfrom 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 specialmessage 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—Sinksat 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. Monroereturned 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 forher 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—Hearsof 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—Keenlyalive 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—Lafayettehis 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”—Frequentvisits 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—Defeatof 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 peoplefrom 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 inthe 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—Dangerousillness 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 devotionto 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 appointedMinister 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 Ladyof 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 loveof 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—Muchof 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—Therecipient 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 ladiessurprise 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 appreciationof 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 relationshipsof 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—Flowersand 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 Mansionbrilliant 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] |
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.
[1]. She was a descendant of the Rev. Orlando Jones, a clergyman of Wales.
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]]
[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]]
[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.”
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]]
[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]]
[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.
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.
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.”
[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.