CHAPTER VII

FASHION AND LETTERS

One of the show places of New York State, many years ago, was the

residence of John Greig, a polished Scotch gentleman who presided with

dignity over his princely estate in Canandaigua in central New York, and

there dispensed a generous hospitality. Mr. Greig was the agent for some

of the English nobility, many of whom owned extensive tracts of land in

America. The village of Canandaigua was also the home of the Honorable

Francis Granger, a son of Gideon Granger, Postmaster General under

Jefferson and Madison. Francis Granger was the Postmaster General for a

brief period under President William Henry Harrison, but the latter died

soon after his inauguration and his successor did not retain him in his

cabinet. It is said of Francis Granger that he was a firm believer in

the words of ex-Governor William L. Marcy in the United States Senate in

1832 that "to the victors belong the spoils of the enemy," and that

during his month of cabinet service eighteen hundred employees in his

department were dismissed. The Democrats evidently thought that "turn

about was fair play," as a few years later, under President Polk, the

work of decapitation was equally active. Ransom H. Gillett, Register of

the Treasury at that time, became so famous at head-chopping, that he

was soon nicknamed "Guillotine."

Mr. Granger, with his fine physique and engaging manner (he was often

called "the handsome Frank Granger"), was well adapted to the

requirements of social life and especially to those of the National

Capital, where the _beaux esprits_ usually congregated. His only

daughter, Adele Granger, often called "the witty Miss Granger," was at

school at Madame Chegaray's with my elder sister Fanny, and in my

earlier life was frequently a guest in our Houston Street home, prior to

her sojourn in Washington, where her father for many years represented

his district in Congress. We looked forward to her visits as one

anticipates with delight a ray of sunshine. She was always assured of

the heartiest of welcomes in Washington, where she was the center of a

bright and intellectual circle. She finally married Mr. John E. Thayer,

a Boston capitalist, and after his death became the wife of the Hon.

Robert C. Winthrop of the same city. She presided with grace over a

summer home in Brookline and a winter residence in Boston, at both of

which she received hosts of distinguished guests. To illustrate the

importance with which she was regarded, one of her guests remarked to

me, during one of my visits at the Brookline home, that Mrs. Winthrop

was more than one woman--that in that locality she was considered an

"institution." In the latter part of Mr. Winthrop's life I received a

very graceful note from him enclosing the following ode written by him

in honor of the golden jubilee of Queen Victoria:

BOSTON, MASS.

90 Marlborough Street, 20 Feb'y 1888.

Dear Mrs. Gouverneur:

Your kind note and the pamphlet reached me this morning. I

thank you for them both.

I have lost no time in hunting up a spare copy of my little

Ode on the Queen's Jubilee.

I threw it into a newspaper with not a little misgiving. I

certainly did not dream that it would be asked for by a lady

seven or eight months after its date. I appreciate the

compliment.

Yours truly,

ROBT. C. WINTHROP.

Mrs. M. Gouverneur.

ODE.

Not as our Empress do we come to greet thee,

Augusta Victoria,

On this auspicious Jubilee:

Wide as old England's realms extend,

O'er earth and sea,--

Her flag in every clime unfurled,

Her morning drum-beat compassing the world,--

Yet here her sway Imperial finds an end,

In our loved land of Liberty!

Nor is it as our Queen for us to hail thee,

Excellent Majesty,

On this auspicious Jubilee:

Long, long ago our patriot fathers broke

The tie which bound us to a foreign yoke,

And made us free;

Subjects thenceforward of ourselves alone,

We pay no homage to an earthly throne,--

Only to God we bend the knee!

Still, still, to-day and here, thou hast a part,

Illustrious Lady,

In every honest Anglo-Saxon heart,

Albeit untrained to notes of loyalty:

As lovers of our old ancestral race,--

In reverence for the goodness and the grace

Which lends thy fifty years of Royalty

A monumental glory on the Historic page,

Emblazoning them forever as the Victorian Age;

For all the virtue, faith and fortitude,

The piety and truth

Which mark thy noble womanhood,

As erst thy golden youth,--

We also would do honor to thy name,

Joining our distant voices to the loud acclaim

Which rings o'er earth and sea,

In attestation of the just renown

Thy reign has added to the British Crown!

Meanwhile no swelling sounds of exultation

Can banish from our memory,

On this auspicious Jubilee,

A saintly figure standing at thy side,

The cherished consort of thy power and pride,

Through weary years the subject of thy tears,

And mourned in every nation,--

Whose latest words a wrong to us withstood,

The friend of peace,--Albert, the Wise and Good!

Boston, June, 1887. ROBERT C. WINTHROP.

At Geneseo, in the beautiful Genesee Valley, and a few miles from

Canandaigua, in one of the most fertile portions of the State of New

York, resided a contemporary and friend of Mrs. Robert C. Winthrop, Miss

Elizabeth Wadsworth, a daughter of James Wadsworth, a well-known

philanthropist and one of the wealthiest landed proprietors in the

state. He was also the father of Major General James S. Wadsworth, a

defeated candidate for Governor of New York, who was killed in 1864 at

the battle of the Wilderness. Miss Wadsworth was celebrated for her

grace of manner. I had the pleasure of knowing her quite well in New

York, where she generally passed her winters. Quite early in life and

before the period when the fair daughters of America had discovered, to

any great extent, the advantages of matrimonial alliances with foreign

_partis_, she married the Honorable Charles Augustus Murray, a member of

the English Parliament and of a Scotch family, the head of which was the

Earl of Dunmore. She lived but a few years, and died in Egypt, where her

husband was Consul General, leaving a young son. Her husband's ancestor,

John Murray, Lord Dunmore, was the last Colonial Governor of Virginia.

It has been asserted that but few, if any, Colonial Governors, not even

the sportive Lord Cornbury of New York who, upon state occasions,

dressed himself up in female attire in compliment to his royal cousin,

Queen Anne, had quite as eventful a career. Lord Dunmore originally came

to America as Governor of the Province of New York, but was subsequently

transferred to Virginia. While in New York he was made President of the

St. Andrew's Society, a Scotch organization which had been in existence

about twenty years and whose first President was Philip Livingston, the

Signer. In an old New York directory of 1798 I find the following names

of officers of this society for the preceding year: Walter Ruturfurde

(sic), President; Peter M'Dougall and George Turnbull, Vice Presidents;

George Douglass, Treasurer; George Johnson, Secretary; John Munro,

Assistant Secretary; the Rev. John M. Mason and the Rev. John Bisset,

Chaplains; Dr. James Tillary, Physician; and William Renwick, James

Stuart, John Knox, Alexander Thomson, Andrew D. Barclay, and John

M'Gregor, Managers.

It was not at all flattering to the pride of Virginia that Lord Dunmore

lingered so long in New York after his order of transfer to the Old

Dominion. He also greatly incurred the displeasure of the Virginians by

occasionally dissolving their Assembly, and they found him generally

inimical to their interests. Finally matters were brought to an issue,

and Dunmore, in defense of his conduct, issued a proclamation against "a

certain Patrick Henry and his deluded followers." His final act was the

burning of Norfolk in 1776, which at that time was the most flourishing

city in Virginia. During Lord Dunmore's life in Colonial Virginia, a

daughter was born to him and at the request of the Assembly was named

"Virginia." It is said that subsequently a provision was made by the

Provincial Legislature, by virtue of which she was to receive a very

large sum of money when she became of age. Meanwhile, the War of the

Revolution severed the yoke of Great Britain, and Lord Dunmore returned

to England with his family. Time passed and the little girl born in the

Virginia colony grew into womanhood. Her father had died and as her

circumstances became contracted she addressed a letter to Thomas

Jefferson, then President of the United States, under the impression

that he was Governor of Virginia. Jefferson sent the letter to James

Monroe, who was then Governor of Virginia, and he in turn referred it

to the Legislature of that State. This letter is now in my possession

and is as follows:

Sir:

I am at a loss how to begin a letter in which I am desirous

of stating claims that many long years have been forgotten,

but which I think no time can really annihilate until

fulfilment has followed the promise. I imagine that you must

have heard that during my father Dunmore's residence in

America I was born and that the Assembly, then sitting at

Williamsburg, requested that I might be their God-daughter

and christened by the name of Virginia; which request being

complied with, they purposed providing for me in a manner

suitable to the honor they conferred upon me and to the

responsibility they had taken on themselves. I was

accordingly christened as the God-daughter of that Assembly

and named after the State. Events have since occurred which

in some measure may have altered the intentions then

expressed in my favor. These were (so I have understood)

that a sum of money should be settled upon me which,

accumulating during my minority, would make up the sum of

one hundred thousand pounds when I became of age. It is true

many changes may have taken place in America, but that fact

still remains the same. I am still the God-daughter of the

Virginians. By being that, may I not flatter myself I have

some claims upon their benevolence if not upon their

justice? May I not ask that State, especially you, sir,

their Governor, to fulfil in some respects the engagements

entered into by their predecessors? Your fathers promised

mine that I should become their charge. I am totally

unprovided for; for my father died without making a will. My

brothers are married, having families of their own; and not

being bound to do anything for me, they regard with

indifference my unprotected and neglected situation. Perhaps

I ought not to mention this circumstance as a proper

inducement for you to act upon; nor would I, were it not my

excuse for wishing to remind you of the claims I now

advance. I hope you will feel my right to your favor and

protection to be founded on the promises made by your own

fathers, and in the situation in which I stand with regard

to the State of Virginia. You will ask, sir, why my appeal

to your generosity and justice has been so tardy. While my

father lived, I lived under his protection and guidance. He

had incurred the displeasure of the Virginians and he feared

an application from me would have seemed like one from him.

At his decease I became a free agent. I had taken no part

which could displease my God-fathers, and myself remained

what the Assembly had made me--their God-daughter,

consequently their charge. I wish particularly to enforce my

dependence upon your bounty; for I feel hopes revive, which

owe their birth to your honor and generosity, and to that of

the State whose representative I now address. Now that my

father is no more, I am certain they and you will remember

what merited your esteem in his character and conduct and

forget that which estranged your hearts from so honorable a

man. But should you not, you are too just to visit what you

deem the sins of the father upon his luckless daughter.

I am, sir, your obt. etc.

In 1831 the small but pretty Gramercy Park in New York was established

by Samuel B. Ruggles. I have heard that this plot of ground was

originally used as a burying ground by Trinity parish. As I first

recollect the spot, there were but four or five dwellings in its

vicinity. One of the earliest was built by James W. Gerard, a prominent

lawyer, who was regarded as a most venturesome pioneer to establish his

residence in such a remote locality. Next door to Mr. Gerard, a few

years later, lived George Belden, whose daughter Julia married Frederick

S. Tallmadge. Mr. Tallmadge died only a few years ago, highly respected

and esteemed by a large circle of friends.

In 1846 I was one of the guests at a fashionable wedding in a residence

on the west side of this park, which was possibly the first ceremony of

the kind to take place in this then remote region. The bride's mother,

the widow of Richard Armistead of New Bern, N.C., who habitually spent

her winters in New York, had purchased the house only a few months

previously. The bride, Susan Armistead, was an intimate friend of mine,

and a well-known belle in both the North and the South. The groom, a

resident of New York, was John Still Winthrop, of the same family as the

Winthrops of Massachusetts. The guests composed an interesting

assemblage of the old _régime_, many of whose descendants are now in the

background. I met on that occasion many old friends, among whom the

Kings, Gracies, Winthrops and Rogers predominated. Mrs. De Witt Clinton

honored the occasion, dressed in the fashion of a decade or two

previous. Her presence was a very graceful act as she then but seldom

appeared in society, her only view of the gay world being from her own

domain. Her peculiarity in regard to dress was very marked as she

positively declined to change it with the prevailing style but clung

tenaciously to the old-fashioned _modes_ to the end of her life. Miss

Armistead was an ideal-looking bride in her white dress and long tulle

veil and carried, according to the custom then prevalent, a large flat

bouquet of white japonicas with white lace paper around the stems. In

the dining-room, a handsome collation was served, with a huge wedding

cake at one end of the table and pomegranates, especially sent from the

bride's southern home, forming a part of the repast. The health of the

newly wedded couple was drunk in champagne and good cheer prevailed on

every side. The whole house bore a happy aspect with its floral

decorations and its bright Liverpool coal fires burning in the grates.

Furnaces, by the way, were then unknown. In New York there was at that

time a strong prejudice against anthracite coal, and Liverpool coal was

therefore generally used, the price of which was fifteen dollars a ton.

I have many close and tender associations connected with this bride of

so many years ago, especially as our friendship, formed in our early

life, still extends to her descendants. Some years after Mrs. Winthrop's

marriage, and in her earlier widowhood, four generations traveled

together, and then, as at other times, dwelt under the same roof. They

were Mrs. Nathaniel Smith, Mrs. Richard Armistead, Mrs. John S. Winthrop

and her son, John S. Winthrop, who, with his interesting family, now

resides in Tallahassee.

In 1841, Lord Morpeth, the seventh Earl of Carlisle and a worthy

specimen of the English nobility, visited the United States, and while

here investigated the subject of the inheritance of slaves by English

subjects. His report seems to have been favorably received, as a law was

passed subsequent to his return declaring it illegal for Englishmen to

hold slaves through inheritance. England's sympathetic heart about this

time was in a perennial throb for "the poor Africans in chains,"

apparently quite oblivious to the fact that the "chains" had been

introduced and cemented by her fostering hand.

I recall with unusual pleasure an entertainment where Lord Morpeth was

the guest of honor, at the residence of William Bard on College Place,

at that time a fashionable street in the vicinity of old Columbia

College. I have always remembered the occasion as I was then introduced

to Lord Morpeth and enjoyed a long and pleasant conversation with him.

Our host was a son of Dr. Samuel Bard, physician to General Washington

during the days when New York was the seat of government.

[Illustration: MRS. JOHN STILL WINTHROP, NÉE ARMISTEAD, BY SULLY

_From a portrait owned by John Still Winthrop of Tallahassee._]

Mr. and Mrs. John Austin Stevens lived on Bleecker Street and had a

number of interesting daughters. They were an intellectual family and I

attended an entertainment given by them in honor of Martin Farquhar

Tupper, the author of "Proverbial Philosophy." Mr. Stevens' sister,

Lucretia Ledyard Stevens, married Mr. Richard Heckscher of

Philadelphia.

Another gentlewoman of the same period was Mrs. Laura Wolcott Gibbs,

wife of Colonel George Gibbs of Newport. The first Oliver Wolcott, a

Signer, Governor of Connecticut and General in the Revolutionary War,

was her grandfather; while the second of the same name, Secretary of the

Treasury under Washington and Adams, Governor of his State and United

States Judge, was her father. I am in the fullest sympathy with the

following remarks concerning her made at her funeral by the Rev. Dr.

Henry W. Bellows: "I confess I always felt in the presence of Mrs. Gibbs

as if I were talking with Oliver Wolcott himself, and saw in her

self-reliant, self-asserting and independent manner and speech an

unmistakable copy of a strong and thoroughly individual character,

forged in the hottest fires of national struggle. The intense

individuality of her nature set her apart from others. You felt that

from the womb she must have been just what she was--a piece of the

original granite on which the nation was built.... The force, the

courage, the self-poise she exhibited in the ordinary concerns of our

peaceful life would in a masculine frame have made, in times of national

peril, a patriot of the most decided and energetic character--one able

and willing to believe all things possible, and to make all the efforts

and sacrifices by which impossibilities are accomplished."

Mrs. Gibbs was literally steeped and moulded in the traditions of the

past; in fact, she was a reminder of the noble women of the

Revolutionary era, many of whom have left records behind them. She was

gifted with a keen sense of humor, and her talent in repartee was

proverbial. Although many years my senior, I found delightful

companionship in her society, and her home was always a great resource

to me. Her accomplished daughter, the wife of Captain Theophile

d'Oremieulx, U.S.A., was particularly skilled in music. Her son, Wolcott

Gibbs, the distinguished Professor of Harvard University, maintained to

the last the high intellectual standard of his ancestors. He died

several years ago. I was informed by his mother that at one period of

its history Columbia College desired to secure his services as a

professor, but that the Hon. Hamilton Fish, one of its trustees and an

uncompromising Episcopalian, objected on the ground of his Unitarian

faith and was sustained by the Board of Trustees. It seemed a rather

inconsistent act, as at another period of its history a Hebrew was

chosen as a member of the same faculty.

As nearly as I can remember, it was in the summer of 1845 that I spent

several weeks as the guest of the financier and author, Alexander B.

Johnson, in Utica, New York. Mrs. Johnson's maiden name was Abigail

Louisa Smith Adams, and she was the daughter of Charles Adams, son of

President John Adams. During my sojourn there her uncle, John Quincy

Adams, came to Utica to visit his relatives, and I had the pleasure of

being a guest of the family at the same time. He was accompanied upon

this trip by his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Charles Francis Adams, a young

grandson whose name I do not recall, and the father of Mrs. Adams, Peter

C. Brooks, of Boston, another of whose daughters was the wife of Edward

Everett. Upon their arrival in Utica, the greatest enthusiasm prevailed,

and the elderly ex-President was welcomed by an old-fashioned torchlight

procession. In response to many urgent requests, Mr. Adams made an

impromptu speech from the steps of the Johnson house, and proved himself

to be indeed "the old man eloquent." Although he was not far from eighty

years old, he was by no means lacking in either mental or physical

vitality. Mrs. Charles Francis Adams impressed me as a woman of unusual

culture and intellectuality, while her father, Peter C. Brooks, was a

genial old gentleman whom everyone loved to greet. He was at that time

one of Boston's millionaires; and many years later I heard his grandson,

the late Henry Sidney Everett, of Washington, son of Edward Everett,

say of him that when he first arrived in Boston he was a youth with

little or no means.

After the Adams party had rested for a few days a pleasure trip to

Trenton Falls, in Oneida County, was proposed. A few prominent citizens

of Utica were invited by the Johnsons to accompany the party, and among

them several well-known lawyers whose careers won for them a national as

well as local reputation. Among these I may especially mention the

handsome Horatio Seymour, then in his prime, whose courteous manners and

manly bearing made him exceptionally attractive. Mr. Adams bore the

fatigue of the trip remarkably well and his strength seemed undiminished

as the day waned. His devoted daughter-in-law remained constantly beside

him while at the Falls to administer to his comfort and attend to his

wants; in fact, she was so solicitous concerning him that she requested

that she might, in going and coming, occupy a carriage as near him as

possible. I cannot but regard her as a model for many of the present

generation who fail to be deeply impressed by either merit or years.

The Adamses were charming guests, and I have always felt that I was

highly privileged to visit under the same roof with them, and especially

to listen to the words of wisdom of the venerable ex-President. I have

heard it stated, by the way, that during his official life in

Washington, Mr. Adams took a daily bath in the Potomac. This luxury he

must have missed in Utica, as at this time it offered no opportunities

for a plunge except in the "raging canal." Mrs. Charles Francis Adams

accompanied her husband when he went to England, during our Civil War,

to represent the United States at the Court of St. James. The consummate

manner in which he conducted our relations with Great Britain at that

critical period marked him as an accomplished statesman and a

diplomatist of the rarest skill. The nature of his task was one of

extreme delicacy, and it is highly probable that, but for his masterly

efforts, England would have recognized the independence of the Southern

Confederacy. The energy and fidelity with which he met the requirements

of his mission undermined his health and, returning to this country, he

retired to his old home in Quincy.

While in Utica I drove in the family carriage with Mrs. Johnson and her

sister, Mrs. John W. King, to Peterboro, about twenty-five miles

distant, to visit Mr. and Mrs. Gerrit Smith. Mr. Smith had already

commenced his crusade against slavery, and the family antipathy to the

institution was so strong that two of his nieces, sisters of General

John Cochrane, who later became President of the Society of the

Cincinnati, refused to wear dresses made of cotton because it was a

Southern staple. As I remember this great anti-slavery agitator, he was

a remarkably handsome man with an air of enthusiasm which seemed to

pervade his whole being. From 1853 to 1855 he was in Congress, and I had

the pleasure of listening to one of his scathing speeches on the floor

of the House of Representatives in denunciation of slavery. I recall his

unusual felicity in the use of Scriptural quotations, one of which still

lingers in my ears: "Where the spirit of the Lord is there is liberty."

His daughter Elizabeth married Charles Dudley Miller, a prominent

citizen of Utica. She was a woman of very pronounced views, as may be

judged, in part, by the fact that some years after my marriage, and

while living in Washington, I met her by accident one day at the Capitol

and to my surprise discovered that she was wearing bloomers!

In September, 1849, I was returning to my home in New York from another

visit to the Johnsons in Utica, when, upon the invitation of Mrs.

Hamilton Fish, whose husband was then Governor of the Empire State, I

stopped in Albany and visited them. They were of course occupying the

gubernatorial mansion, but its exact location I cannot exactly recall.

Life was exceedingly simple in the middle of the last century, even in

the wealthiest families, and through all these years I seem to remember

but a single incident connected with the family life of these early

friends--the trivial fact that the breakfast hour was seven o'clock.

Mrs. Fish was a model mother and was surrounded by a large and

interesting family of children, some of whom are among the highly

prominent people of the present time.

_Apropos_ of the Fish children, an amusing story is told of the keen

sense of humor of the late William M. Evarts, who presented in every-day

life such a stern exterior. When, on one occasion, he was a guest of the

Fish family at their summer home on the Hudson, his attention was called

to a large and beautifully executed painting of a group of children

which, as was quite apparent, was greatly treasured by the ex-Governor.

Mr. Evarts gazed upon the portrait for some minutes in silence and then

exclaimed in a low tone, "little Fishes." Mr. Fish stood near his guest

but, not catching the exact drift of his remark, replied: "Sir, I do not

understand." The bright response was: "Yes, I said little fishes,

_sardines_,"--reminding one of Artemus Ward's definition of sardines,

"little fishes biled in ile."

Another witticism of Mr. Evarts's which seems to me deserving of

preservation is said to have been uttered during his residence in

Washington, when he was Secretary of State under President Hayes. A

party of distinguished Englishmen was visiting the National Capital and

Mr. Evarts escorted it to Mount Vernon. After inspecting the mansion and

the grave of Washington the party walked to the end of the lawn to view

the attractive scenery of the Potomac River. One of the Englishmen who

seemed decidedly more conversant with certain phases of American

history than the others asked Mr. Evarts whether it were really true

that Washington could throw a shilling across the Potomac. "Yes," said

Mr. Evarts, in a diplomatic tone, "it is quite true." The same evening

at a dinner, the Secretary of State repeated the conversation to a

mutual friend and added: "He could do even better than that; he could

toss a Sovereign across the Atlantic!"

The day after my arrival in Albany, President Zachary Taylor and his

suite were the guests of Governor and Mrs. Fish, and the same day a

dinner was given in his honor which was attended by prominent State

officials. Meanwhile, a concourse of people had surrounded the mansion,

anxious to see the President and to demand a speech. Old "Rough and

Ready" appeared at an open window and faced the multitude, but was not

as "ready" in speech as with his sword. He made a brave attempt,

however, to gratify the people, but he seemed exceedingly feeble and his

voice was decidedly weak. In the course of his remarks his aide and

son-in-law, Colonel William W. S. Bliss, came to his rescue and prompted

him, as it were, from behind the scenes; so that everything passed off,

as I understood the next day, to the satisfaction of his audience.

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

the following summer.

Although Mrs. Fish was at this time a comparatively young woman, she

presided over the Governor's mansion with the same grace and ease so

characteristic of her career in Washington when her husband was

Secretary of State under President Grant. In my opinion, and I know but

few who had a better opportunity of judging, Mrs. Fish was in many

respects a remarkable woman. For eight years her home was a social

center, and she was regarded as the social dictator of the Grant

administration. When any perplexing questions of a social nature arose

during her _régime_, the general inquiry was: "What does Mrs. Fish

say?" This in time became a standing joke, but it illustrates the fact

that her decisions usually were regarded as final.

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

Isaac Jones, who, in her own set, was known as "Bloody Mary." Why this

name was applied to her I cannot say, as she was not in the least either

cruel or revengeful, as far as I knew, but on the contrary was suave and

genial to an unusual degree. She lived on Broadway, directly opposite

the site where the New York Hotel formerly stood, and her entertainments

were both numerous and elaborate. She was one of the daughters of John

Mason, who began life as a tailor but left at his death an estate valued

at a million dollars, which was a large fortune for those days. Isaac

Jones was president of the Chemical Manufacturing Company and later

became prominently connected with the Chemical Bank of New York. A

brother of Mrs. Jones married Miss Emma Wheatley, a superior young woman

who, unfortunately for her father-in-law's peace of mind, was an

actress. This alliance was most distasteful to the whole Mason

connection, and when John Mason was approaching death George W. Strong,

a prominent lawyer, was hastily summoned by his daughters to draft his

will. Almost immediately following Mr. Mason's funeral a legal battle

was commenced over his estate. He left outright to his three daughters

their proportionate share of his fortune, but to his son who had

displeased him by his marriage he devised an annuity of only fifteen

hundred dollars. Charles O'Conor, the counsel for the son, in his

argument in behalf of his client, said that Mr. Mason's daughters,

instead of sending for a clergyman to console his dying moments, had

demanded the immediate presence of a respectable lawyer, "a lawyer so

respectable that throughout his entire practice he never had a poor

client." Mr. O'Conor succeeded in breaking this will, and young Mason

was given his proper share in his father's estate.

One of John Mason's daughters became the wife of Gordon Hammersley,

whose son Louis married the beautiful Miss Lilly Warren Price of Troy,

the daughter of Commodore Cicero Price of the United States Navy. She

subsequently married the Duke of Marlborough, and afterwards Lord

William Beresford. The Marlborough-Hammersley ceremony was performed in

this country by a justice of the peace, and the new Duchess of

Marlborough went to England to live upon her husband's depleted estates.

It is said that she was allowed by her late husband's family an annual

income of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars; and Blenheim, which

had long felt the strain of "decay's effacing fingers," began again,

through the agency of the Hammersley wealth, to resemble the structure

once occupied by that tyrant of royalty, the imperious Sarah Jennings.

Very little seemed to be known about Louis Hammersley, as he lived a

retired life, and when seen in public was almost invariably accompanied

by his father, Gordon Hammersley. When the two appeared upon the street,

they were sometimes facetiously dubbed "Dombey and Son." They were

familiar figures on Broadway, where they invariably walked arm in arm.

John Hammersley, a brother of Gordon, was the æsthetic member of this

well-known family. One of his pet diversions was the giving of unusual,

and sometimes sensational, dinners. To celebrate the completion of the

trans-continental railroad, he planned what he called a Roman dinner.

His guests were furnished with togas and partook of the meal in a

reclining position, like the Romans of old. This unique entertainment

was, of course, thoroughly enjoyed, but did not become _à la mode_ as

the flowing toga could hardly compete with trim waistcoats and clinging

trousers, even on festive occasions.

Fifty years ago, more or less, a house was erected in New York on the

southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifteenth Street by Mrs. Charles

Maverick Parker, and, to the astonishment of Gothamites, it was said to

have cost one hundred thousand dollars! Later it became the home of the

Manhattan Club. Many old residents visited it on its completion, as such

a costly structure was regarded with nothing short of amazement. I

remember it was an _on dit_ of the town that upon one occasion, when

Mrs. Parker was personally escorting some unusually prominent person

through the mansion, she pointed to a pretty little receptacle in her

bedroom and exclaimed as she passed: "That is where I keep my old shoes.

I wear old shoes just as other people do." The cost and pretentiousness

of her establishment caused her to be nicknamed "Mrs. House Parker." Her

residence was built of brown stone, which so strongly appealed to the

taste of New Yorkers that in time the same material was largely employed

in the erection of dwellings. High ceilings were then much in vogue and

were greatly admired. In our house in Houston Street, where I passed my

late childhood and early womanhood, the ceilings were unusually high,

while all of the doors were of massive mahogany set in ornamental white

frames. In subsequent years I met so many persons who in former days had

been our neighbors in Houston Street that I was conceited enough to

designate that locality as "the cradle of the universe." Anthony

Bleecker Neilson was our next-door neighbor in this famous old street,

and during my life in China twin sons of his, William and Bleecker, were

again my neighbors in Foo Chow, where they were both employed in the

_Hong_ (firm) of Oliphant & Company.

A rival to Mrs. Parker's fine house was not long in appearing. Directly

opposite a stately residence was built by Mrs. Richard K. Haight which

subsequently became the New York Club. A great rivalry existed between

these two matrons which even extended to hats, feathers, gowns and all

the furbelows so dear to the feminine heart. In fact, the far-famed

houses of Montague and Capulet could not have maintained more skillful

tactics; and all the while the Gothamites looked on and smiled. A few

years later Eugene Shiff, who had spent the greater portion of his life

in France, built a large house on Fifth Avenue which he surmounted with

a mansard roof. These pioneers having set the pace, imposing residences

were erected in rapid succession, and the process has been continued

until the present day.

In December, 1851, New York was agog over the arrival upon the shores of

America of Louis Kossuth. As everyone knows, he was the leader of the

Hungarian revolution of 1848-9, and became the first governor of the

short-lived Hungarian Republic. When this was overthrown by Austria and

other countries, Kossuth fled to Turkey and subsequently sailed for this

country on the U.S. Frigate _Mississippi_. When his arrival became

known, thousands of people thronged the streets anxious to catch a first

glimpse of the distinguished foreigner. One might have fancied from the

enthusiasm displayed that he was one of our own conquering heroes

returning home. Americans were even more sympathetic then than now with

all struggles for political freedom, as the history of our own trying

experiences during the Revolution was, from a sentimental point of view,

even more of a controlling influence than it is to-day. Several months

later I heard Kossuth deliver an address at the National Hotel in

Washington before a large assembly chiefly composed of members of

Congress, when his subject was "Hungary and her woes." I vividly recall

the impression produced upon his audience when, in his deeply melodious

tones, he invoked the "Throne of Grace" and closed with the appealing

words: "What is life without prayer?" I have never before or since

observed an audience so completely under the sway of an orator, as it

seemed to me that there was not a person in the room who at the moment

would not have been willing to acquiesce in whatever demands or appeals

he might present. Kossuth's countenance suggested such profound

depression that one could readily credit the assertion he made during

his remarks, "I have been trained to grief." He wore during the delivery

of his address the picturesque costume of the Magyars of his country.

New York had an unusually large coterie of _littérateurs_, many of whom

it was my good fortune to know. Some of these had only recently returned

from Brook Farm "sadder but wiser" and, at all events, with more

practical views concerning "the world's broad field of battle." Brook

Farm had its origin in 1841, and completely collapsed in 1847. It was

chiefly intended to be the fulfillment of a dream of the Rev. Dr.

William Henry Channing of "an association in which the members, instead

of preying upon one another and seeking to put one another down, after

the fashion of this world, should live together as brothers, seeking one

another's elevation and spiritual growth." It was essentially

socialistic in its conception and execution and, although professedly

altruistic in its nature, was in reality a visionary scheme which

reflected but little credit upon the judgment of either its originators

or its patrons. Its company was composed of "members" and "scholars," to

whom may be added a celebrated list of those who sojourned at the Farm

for brief periods and were known as "visitors." The whole scheme was

without doubt one of the most visionary expressions of New England

transcendentalism, and it failed because in the nature of things no such

ventures ever have succeeded and, until human nature is essentially

revolutionized, probably never can. Among its most distinguished members

were Nathaniel Hawthorne, Charles A. Dana, later the brilliant and

accomplished editor of _The New York Sun_, and George Ripley. George

William Curtis was one of its scholars, and among its visitors were the

Rev. William Henry Channing, Margaret Fuller, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Amos

Bronson Alcott, Orestes Augustus Bronson, Theodore Parker and Elizabeth

P. Peabody--forming together one of the most brilliant intellectual

galaxies that were ever associated in a single enterprise.

Of this number I especially recall George William Curtis, a genius of

the first brilliancy and remarkable withal for his versatile

conversational powers. I was talking to him on one occasion when someone

inquired as to his especial work in the co-operative fold of Brook Farm.

His laughing reply was, "Cleaning door knobs." George Ripley was a

distinguished scholar and a prominent journalist. His wife, a daughter

of Francis Dana, became a convert to Catholicism and is said to have

found much to console her in that faith until her death from cancer in

1861. Margaret Fuller, though not possessed of much outward grace, was a

prolific votary of the pen. I occasionally met her in society before she

started on an European tour where she met her destiny in the person of

the Marquis Giovanni Angelo Ossoli, to whom she was secretly married in

1847. Some years later she embarked with her husband and little boy upon

a sailing vessel for America, and all were lost off the coast of New

York in July, 1850. Horace Sumner, a younger brother of the

distinguished Massachusetts statesman, also perished at the same time.

About 1845 I met Anne C. Lynch of Providence, who came to New York to

promote her literary ambitions, and was a pleasing addition to this same

intellectual circle. She was the author of several prose works and also

of some poetical effusions which were published in 1848 and received

high commendation. She married Vincenzo Botta, a learned Italian who at

one time was a professor in the University of Turin. Their tastes were

similar and the marriage was a very happy one. They lived for many

years on Thirty-seventh Street in New York, where they maintained a

charming _salon_. On Sunday evenings their home was the rendezvous of

many of the literary lights of the metropolis as well as of

distinguished strangers. Some years before her marriage, Mrs. Botta was

visiting in Washington, where she formed a friendship with Henry Clay.

Upon her return to New York he committed to her care a valuable gold

medal, but upon arriving at her home she discovered to her dismay that

it was missing from her trunk. It was the general impression that it had

been stolen from her on her way to New York. About the same time I also

knew Donald G. Mitchell ("Ik Marvel"), but this was before he had

entered upon his active and distinguished literary career, and when he

was a temporary sojourner in New York. He was contributing at that time

some much appreciated letters to various magazines under the signature

of "The Lorgnette," which were subsequently republished as a volume

bearing the same title.

N. P. Willis was another literary genius of the same period whom I had

the pleasure of knowing. He was cordially welcomed into the social world

of New York; but, unfortunately for his popularity, he wrote a prose

effusion entitled, "Those Ungrateful Blidgimses," which was generally

recognized as a direct attack upon two old ladies who were held in high

esteem in New York. It was known to many persons that he had had a

misunderstanding with them and that he had employed this manner of

taking his revenge. New York society frowned upon what was generally

considered his ungallant conduct, and for many years the doors of some

of the most prominent houses in the city were closed against him. As I

remember reading his story at the time, I thought its title was but a

poor disguise, as the sisters were named Bridgens, the christian name of

one of them being Cornelia. This name was distorted into "Crinny," who,

by the way, was a woman of decided ability. It was against her that the

author's animosity was chiefly directed. It seems that the Misses

Bridgens and Mr. Willis chanced to be sojourning at the same time in

Rome, where the scene of his narrative is laid. Miss Crinny was a

sufferer from an attack of Roman fever and, under these dire

circumstances, Mr. Willis represents himself as her attendant, and in

this capacity refuses to condone the peculiarities of the poor old

lady's sick-room. His patience in gratifying her morbid fancies is

graphically described in a vein of ridicule and he tells how by the hour

he threaded what he terms her "imaginary locks." He also dwells at

length upon her conversational powers and likens her tongue to the

elasticity of an eel's tail, which would wag if it were skinned and

fried. Charles Dudley Warner has described this writing of Mr. Willis as

"funny but wicked"; it was more than that--it was cruel! Willis made

another reference to the two sisters in his "Earnest Clay" where he

speaks of "two abominable old maids by the names of Buggins and

Blidgins, representing the _scan. mag._ of Florence."

The New York public was in no hurry to reopen its doors to Mr. Willis;

indeed, it was not until after his marriage to Miss Cornelia Grinnell,

his second wife, that he was again kindly received. I recall with much

pleasure a visit I made at Mrs. Winfield Scott's in New York, after that

city had ceased to be my home, when we went together to dine with Mr.

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

These were the days when Mrs. Scott was sometimes facetiously called

_Madame la Général_. This charming residence of Mr. Willis was several

miles south of Newburgh, on high ground overlooking the river, and from

its porches there was an enchanting view of West Point. Mr. Willis told

us that when he first came to that vicinity he called the attention of

a countryman from whom he had purchased the land to some uncultivated

acres and asked a suggestion regarding them. "That," said the man,

waving his hand in the direction of the trees, "is nothing but an

Idlewild." The word lingered in Mr. Willis's mind, and he subsequently

adopted it as the name of his new home.

While living in New York we frequently attended parties at the

hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin F. Butler in Washington Place.

He was an elegant gentleman of the old school and had served as Attorney

General in the cabinets of Presidents Jackson and Van Buren. They were

people of deep religious convictions, and consequently all their

entertainments were conducted upon the strictest code of the day. For

example, dancing was never permitted and wine was never served. In place

of dancing there was a continuous promenade. I generally attended these

parties accompanied by my father, who enjoyed meeting the legal lights

of the country, some of whom were always there. Exceptionally handsome

suppers were served at these entertainments, and every effort was made

by Mr. and Mrs. Butler to make up, as it were, for the lack of dancing

which was sorely missed by those more gayly inclined.

A hundred thousand dollars was considered a highly respectable fortune

in New York between sixty and seventy years ago. Seven per cent, was the

usual rate of interest, the cost of living was low, and life was, of

course, much simpler in every way. I recall a prominent young man about

this period, Henry Carroll Marx, commonly called "Dandy Marx," who was

said to be the happy possessor of the amount I have named. He was

devoted to horses and from his home on Broadway he could frequently be

seen driving tandem on the cobblestone streets. I do not remember his

entering the social arena; possibly he avoided it in order to escape the

wiles of designing mothers, whom one occasionally encountered even in

those ancient days. His faultless attire, which in elegance surpassed

all his rivals, won for him the nickname of "Dandy." He also rendered

himself conspicuous as the first gentleman in New York to wear the long,

straight, and pointed waxed mustache. His two maiden sisters were

inseparable companions and nearly every day could be seen walking on

Broadway. Miss Lydia Kane, one of the wits of my day and of whom I have

already spoken, facetiously called them "number 11"--two straight marks!

In 1845 Burton's Theater was an unfailing source of delight to the

pleasure-loving public. William E. Burton was an Englishman of rare

cultivation, and was the greatest comedian New York had ever known.

Although so gifted, his expression of countenance was one of extreme

gravity. His presentation of Aminadab Sleek in the "Serious Family" has,

in my opinion, never been surpassed. He frequently acted in minor

comedies, but the "Serious Family" was his greatest _rôle_. Niblo's

Garden on Broadway, near Houston Street, was a source of great delight

in those days to all Gothamites. It was in this theater that the Ravel

family had its remarkable athletic performances. When I recall their

graceful, youthful physiques, I am reminded of Hamlet's philosophical

musings in the graveyard: "Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your

songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a

roar?" P. T. Barnum was a conspicuous figure about this time. His museum

was on Broadway, at the corner of Ann Street, and not far from the City

Hall. He was considered a prince of humbugs and perhaps gloried in his

reputation as such. I distinctly remember the excitement which he

created over a mummified old colored woman who, he asserted, had been a

nurse of Washington, and to whom he gave the name of Joice Heth. She was

undoubtedly a very aged negress, but she still retained full powers of

articulation and was well coached to reply in an intelligent manner to

the numerous inquiries respecting her pretended charge. It is needless

to add that she was only one of Barnum's numerous fakes.

Philip Kearny, a handsome gentleman of a former school, who lived at the

corner of Broadway and Leonard Street, was a lavish entertainer. He was

a widower when I knew him, but his daughter, the wife of Major Alexander

S. Macomb, U.S.A., the son and aide of Major General Alexander Macomb,

Commander-in-Chief of the Army, lived with him. Major Macomb was

conspicuous for his attractive personality and imposing presence and was

said to bear a striking resemblance to Prince Albert, the father of

Edward VII. His wife was one of the three heirs of John Watts, who owned

a princely estate. The other two were her brother, the gallant General

Philip Kearny, and her cousin, General John Watts de Peyster, a son of

that most accomplished gentleman, Frederick de Peyster, of whom I have

already spoken. Mrs. Macomb was a generous and attractive woman who

dispensed with a liberal hand the wealth she had inherited. Her pretty

cousins, Mary and Nancy Kearny, whom I knew quite well, daughters of her

father's brothers, were her constant guests. Another frequent visitor of

this household was Mrs. "Phil" Kearny, as she was invariably called,

whose maiden name was Diana Moore Bullitt, a famous Kentucky belle,

well-known for her grace and intellectual attractions. Her sister

Eloise, usually called "Lou" Bullitt by her intimate friends, married

Baron Frederick de Kantzow of Sweden, a courtly foreigner who had

commercial relations with the merchant princes of New York. Tradition

states that the Baroness de Kantzow, though not possessed of Mrs.

Kearny's beauty, was a more successful slayer of hearts than her sister,

and it is said that she had adorers by the score. A third Bullitt

sister, Mary, married General Henry Atkinson and after his death Major

Adam Duncan Steuart, both of the United States Army, the latter of whom

was stationed for many years at Fort Leavenworth.

Mrs. Macomb's health failed at an early period of life and to restore it

she sought a foreign clime; but, alas, her many friends were never

gladdened again by her kindly welcome, as she died abroad. In my young

womanhood I frequently attended parties at the Kearny house where

dancing and other social pleasures enlivened the scene. In this

connection it seems proper to refer at greater length to John Watts and

his interesting trio of daughters. I have already spoken of his son

Robert, who died unmarried at an early age. His two older daughters,

Susanna, wife of Philip Kearny, and Mary Justina, wife of Frederick de

Peyster, did not long survive their marriages; but a third daughter,

Elizabeth, the wife of Henry Laight, who never had children, lived many

years with her father and managed the affairs of his household. An

amusing story was told me many years ago regarding Mrs. Laight which is

well worthy of mention. As a young girl she was deeply in love with the

young man who eventually became her husband, but her father was so

devoted to her and so very dependent upon her that he violently opposed

her marrying anyone. Accordingly, a secret marriage was planned by the

young people to take place in Trinity Church. As the youthful pair was

standing in front of the altar, surrounded by a few sympathetic friends,

the rector reached the words, "Who giveth this woman to be married to

this man?" when, to the astonishment of the assembled group, a gruff,

loud voice in the rear of the church shouted "I do." Old John Watts had

opposed his daughter's marriage with all his might, but when he learned

by chance that she was to be married clandestinely, he graciously

accepted the inevitable and without the knowledge of anyone hurried to

the church and, entering it by a side door, duly performed his part as

just related. This anecdote was told me by Arent Schuyler de Peyster, a

distant cousin of General John Watts de Peyster. Many years later, when

I repeated it to Mrs. Diana Bullitt Kearny, she remarked in her

characteristic manner: "He was mean enough not to even allow her the

satisfaction of a runaway marriage." This estimate of his character,

however, does not seem to agree with that given by others. The Laights

were prominent in New York society. One of them, Edward Laight, whom I

knew as a society beau, was remarkably handsome. He was a good deal of a

flirt and transferred his affections with remarkable facility from one

young woman to another. His sister married a Greek, Mr. Eugene Dutilh, a

gentleman of culture and refinement, who owned a beautiful place at

Garrison's-on-the-Hudson which he sold about 1861 to Hamilton Fish.

Philip Kearny and his family lived next door to Peter A. Jay, and I

frequently met the young people of his household at Mrs. Macomb's

parties. Gouverneur Morris, a son of the distinguished statesman, and

Edward Kearny were _habitués_ of this establishment, as were also Ridley

and Essex Watts, both of whom I knew well. General "Phil" Kearny from

his youthful days was an enthusiastic soldier, but he was not a graduate

of West Point, having been appointed to the regular army from civil life

by President Van Buren in 1837. He served throughout the Mexican War,

where he had the misfortune to lose an arm at the battle of Churubusco,

and was killed during the Civil War in 1862 at the battle of Chantilly.

Speaking of General Macomb, I am reminded of a social _on dit_ of many

years ago. Mrs. August Belmont (Caroline Slidell Perry) lived in a fine

house on Fifth Avenue and frequently gave large receptions. His sister,

Sarah Perry, subsequently Mrs. R. S. Rodgers, was an early friend of

mine. The elegant Major Alexander S. Macomb, who was his father's

namesake and aide, on entering Mrs. Belmont's drawing-room was

unfortunate enough to brush against a handsome vase and completely

shatter it. It was generally conceded that his hostess was conscious of

the disaster, but "was mistress of herself though China fall" and

appeared entirely unconscious of the mishap. Some months later at the

house of Lady Cunard (Mary McEvers), a similar accident happened. The

unfortunate guest, however, in this case was immediately approached by

his hostess, who with much elegant grace begged him not to be disturbed

as the damage was trifling. Immediately society began an animated

discussion, when even the judicial powers of Solomon might have found it

embarrassing to decide which of the two women should be accorded the

greater degree of _savoir faire_.

In 1844, accompanied by my father, I attended the wedding of Estelle

Livingston, daughter of John Swift Livingston, to John Watts de Peyster.

At the time of this marriage, Mr. de Peyster was considered the finest

_parti_ in the city; while, apart from his great wealth, he was so

unusually talented that it was generally believed a brilliant future

awaited him. It was a home wedding, and the drawing-room was well filled

with the large family connection and other invited guests. At this time

Mr. Livingston was a widower, but his sister Maria, Mrs. John C. Stevens

of Hoboken, did the honors of the occasion for her brother. The young

bride presented a charming appearance in all her finery, and at the

bountiful collation following the ceremony champagne flowed freely.

This, however, was no unusual thing, as that beverage was generally seen

at every entertainment in those good old days. Mrs. John C. Stevens

lived at one time in Barclay Street, and I have heard numerous stories

concerning her eccentricities. In 1849 she gave a fancy-dress ball but,

as she had failed to revise her visiting list in many years, persons who

had long been dead were among her invited guests. She was especially

peculiar in her mode of dress, which was not always adapted to her

social position. It is therefore not at all surprising that unfortunate

mistakes were occasionally made in regard to her identity. Another of

her eccentricities consisted in the fact that she positively refused,

when shopping, to recognize even her most intimate friends, as she said

it was simply impossible for her to combine business with pleasure. In

spite of her peculiarities, however, she possessed unusual social charm.

Her husband was prominent in society and business circles. He was

founder of the New York Yacht Club as well as its first president, and

commanded the _America_ in the memorable race in England in 1851, which

won the celebrated cup that Sir Thomas Lipton and other English

yachtsmen have failed to restore to their native land. Mary Livingston,

the younger daughter of John Swift Livingston, was a _petite_ beauty.

She married a distant relative, a son of Maturin Livingston. I am told

that her brother, Johnston Livingston, is still living in New York at a

very advanced age.

Joseph Kemmerer's band was an indispensable adjunct to all social

gatherings in the days of which I am speaking. The number of instruments

used was always in proportion to the size of the entertainment. The

inspiring airs of Strauss and Labitzky, then in vogue, were popular with

the younger set. These airs bring back pleasant memories, as I have

frequently danced to them. The waltz in my day was a fine art and its

votaries were numerous. I recall the fact that Edward James of Albany, a

witty young gentleman with whom I occasionally danced, was such a

devotee to the waltz that, not possessing sufficient will power to

resist its charms and having a delicate constitution, he nearly danced

himself into another world. Two attractive young brothers, Thomas H. and

Daniel Messinger, who were general beaux in society, played their parts

most successfully in the social world by their graceful dancing, and no

ball was considered complete without their presence. These brothers

were associated in the umbrella industry, and Miss Lydia Kane, some of

whose witty remarks I have already quoted, dubbed them the "reigning

beaux!" Daniel Messinger eventually married Miss Elizabeth Coles

Neilson, a daughter of Anthony Bleecker Neilson, and became a Lieutenant

Colonel in the Union Army during the Civil War.

The British Consul General in New York from 1817 to 1843 was James

Buchanan. He was Irish by birth, and many young British subjects

visiting the United States made his home their headquarters. He had

several daughters and, as the whole family was social in its tastes, I

often enjoyed meeting these sturdy representatives of John Bull at his

house. Those I knew best came from "the land of brown heath and shaggy

wood," as in our family we were naturally partial to Scotchmen and, as a

rule, regarded them as desirable acquaintances. Many of these were

graduates of Glasgow University and young men of unusual culture and

refinement. I especially remember Mr. McCorquodale, a nephew of Dr.

Thomas Chalmers, the distinguished Presbyterian Divine of Scotland. He

met his future wife in New York in the person of a wealthy and

attractive widow. Her maiden name I do not recall, although I am

acquainted with certain facts concerning her lineage. She was the

granddaughter of Madame de Genlis.

I doubt whether any of these young Scotchmen whom I met remained

permanently in this country, as they always seemed too loyal to the

"Land o' Cakes" to entirely expatriate themselves. Another young

Scotchman, Mr. Dundas, whom I knew quite well through the Buchanans,

embarked for his native land on board the steamer _President_. This ship

sailed in the spring of 1841 and never reached her destination. What

became of her was never known and her fate remains to this day one of

the mysteries of the sea. In the fall of 1860 the U.S. man-of-war

_Levant_, on her voyage from the Hawaiian Islands to Panama, disappeared

in the same mysterious manner in the Pacific Ocean; and, as was the case

with the _President_, no human being aboard of her was ever heard of

again. There were many conjectures in regard to the fate of this ship,

but the true story of her doom has never been revealed. I remember two

of the officers who perished with her. One of them was Lieutenant Edward

C. Stout, who had married a daughter of Commodore John H. Aulick,

U.S.N., and whose daughters, the Misses Julia and Minnie Stout, are well

remembered in Washington social circles; and the other was Purser Andrew

J. Watson, who was a member of one of the old residential families of

the District of Columbia.