As I Remember
as inexpedient to increase the number of Charles Carrolls, the petition
of Mr. McTavish was not granted. Mary Wellesley McTavish, his sister, I
remember as a sprightly young woman of fine appearance. She made her
_debut_ in London society as the guest of her aunt, Mary McTavish, wife
of the Marquis of Wellesley. After a brief courtship she married Henry
George Howard, a son of the Earl of Carlisle, and accompanied him to the
Netherlands, where he was the accredited British Minister. Mrs. George
Bancroft, wife of the historian, who accompanied her husband when he was
our Minister to England, gave me an interesting sketch of Mrs. Howard's
varied life. Death finally claimed her in Paris and her body was brought
back to this country and buried in Maryland, the home of her youth. Her
mother, who brought the remains across the ocean, soon after her
bereavement, established "The House of the Good Shepherd" in Baltimore.
Three daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Carroll McTavish grew into
womanhood. The elder sisters, Mary and Emily, both of whom were well
known for their beauty and vivacity, entered upon cloistered lives. Just
as the two sisters were about taking this step, they made a request,
which caused much comment, to the effect that they should be assigned to
different convents. I understand that Mrs. McTavish, their mother, is
still living in Rome with the unmarried daughter. During Mrs. Scott's
residence in Paris she was invited to witness the ceremony of "taking
the veil" at a prominent convent, and writing to her family at home she
remarked: "How strange that human beings, knowing the fickleness of
their natures, should bind themselves for life to one limited space and
unvarying mode of existence."
Hoboken, or, as it was sometimes called, Paulus Hook, was a great resort
in my earlier life for residents of the great metropolis. We children,
accompanied by my father or some other grown person, delighted to roam
in that locality over what was most appropriately termed the "Elysian
Fields." Professional landscape-gardening had not then been thought of,
but nature's achievements often surpass the embellishments of man. Our
cup of happiness was full to the brim when we were taken to this
entrancing spot overlooking the Hudson River, with its innumerable
sloops, steamboats and tugs adding so much to the picturesqueness of the
scene. As we strolled along, we regaled ourselves every now and then
with a refreshing glass of mead, a concoction of honey and cold water,
purchased from a passing vender; and when cakes or candy were added to
the refreshing drink life seemed very _couleur de rose_ to our childish
dreams. Then again we made occasional trips up the river, but the
steamboats and other excursion craft of that day were of course mere
pigmies compared with those of the present time. The cabin always had a
large dining table, on either side of which was a line of berths. Guests
were called to dinner at one o'clock by the vigorous ringing of a large
bell in the hands of a colored waiter dressed in a white apron and
jacket. I have often thought how surprised and pleased this old-time
servant, universally seen in every well-to-do household in those days,
would be if he could return to earth and hear himself addressed as
"butler."
It was upon one of these trips up the Hudson that the widow of General
Alexander Hamilton and her daughter, Mrs. Hamilton Holly, were taking
their mid-day repast, at one end of the long table, when they were
informed that Aaron Burr was partaking of the same meal not far from
them. Their indignation was boundless, and immediately there were two
vacant chairs. Mrs. Holly was a woman of strong intellect, and a
friendship which I formed with her is one of the most cherished memories
of my life. She devoted her widowhood to the care of her aged mother. We
often engaged in confidential conversations, when she would discuss the
tragedies which so clouded her life. I especially remember her dwelling
upon the sad history of her sister, Angelica Hamilton, who, she told me,
was in the bloom of health and surrounded by everything that goes
towards making life happy when her eldest brother, Philip Hamilton, was
killed in a duel. He had but recently been graduated from Columbia
College and lost his life in 1801 on the same spot where, about three
years later, his father was killed by Aaron Burr. This dreadful event
affected her so deeply that her mind became unbalanced, and she was
finally placed in an asylum, where she died at a very advanced age. Mrs.
Hamilton lived in Washington, D.C., in one of the De Menou buildings on
H Street, between Thirteenth and Fourteenth Streets, and Mrs. Holly
resided in the same city until her death.
Tragedy seemed to pursue the Hamilton family with unrelenting
perseverance until the third generation. In 1858 the legislature of
Virginia, desiring that every native President should repose upon
Virginia soil, made an appropriation for removing the remains of James
Monroe from New York to Richmond. He died on the 4th of July, 1831,
while temporarily residing in New York with his daughter, Mrs. Samuel L.
Gouverneur, and his body was placed in the Gouverneur vault in the
Marble Cemetery on Second Street, east of Second Avenue, where it
remained for nearly thirty years. The disinterment of the remains of
this distinguished statesman was conducted with much pomp and ceremony
and the body placed on board of the steamer _Jamestown_ and conveyed to
Richmond, accompanied all the way by the 7th Regiment of New York which
acted as a guard of honor. The orator of the occasion was John Cochrane,
a distinguished member of the New York bar; while Henry A. Wise, then
Governor of Virginia, delivered an appropriate address at the grave in
Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond. My husband, Samuel L. Gouverneur,
junior, Monroe's grandson, accompanied the remains as the representative
of the family. After the ceremonies in Richmond were completed, but
before the 7th Regiment had embarked upon its homeward voyage, one of
its members, Laurens Hamilton, a grandson of Alexander Hamilton and a
son of John C. Hamilton, was drowned near Richmond. All the proceedings
connected with the removal of Mr. Monroe's remains, both in New York and
in Richmond, were published some years later by Udolpho Wolfe, a
neighbor and admirer of the late President. A copy of the book was
presented to each member of the 7th Regiment and one of them was also
given by the compiler to my husband. A few years later this same New
York regiment invaded Virginia, but under greatly different
circumstances. A terrible civil war was raging, and the Old Dominion for
a time was its principal battle ground.
I recall an amusing anecdote which Mr. Gouverneur told me upon his
return from this visit to Richmond. While the great concourse of people
was still assembled at Monroe's grave in Hollywood Cemetery, Governor
Henry A. Wise, always proud of his State, remarked: "Now we must have
all the native Presidents of Virginia buried within this inclosure."
Immediately a vigorous hand was placed on his shoulder by a New York
alderman who had accompanied the funeral _cortege_, who exclaimed in
characteristic Bowery vernacular: "Go ahead, Governor, you'll fotch
'em."
The only mode of travel on the Hudson River in my early days was by
boat. One of my recollections is seeing Captain Vanderbilt in command of
a steamboat. I have heard older members of my family say that he
designated himself "Captain Wanderbilt," and that his faithful wife's
endearing mode of accosting him was "Corneil." At any rate, it is
well-known that he began life by operating a rowboat ferry between
Staten Island and New York. In later years a sailboat was substituted
over this same route. The Hudson River Railroad was originally built
under the direction of a number of prominent men in the State who were
anything but skilled in such enterprises. In the beginning of its
career, while high officials bestowed fat offices upon friends and
relatives, its finances were in a chaotic condition. It was during this
state of affairs that Commodore Vanderbilt, with a master mind, grasped
the situation and reorganized the whole system, thereby greatly
increasing his own fortune, and placing the railroad upon a sound
financial basis. After such a remarkable career "blindness to the
future" seems unkindly given, as doubtless it would have been a source
of great satisfaction to this Vanderbilt progenitor could he have known
before passing onward that his hard-earned wealth would eventually
enrich his descendants, even the representatives of nobility.
I have before me an invitation to a New York Assembly, dated the 29th of
January, 1841, addressed to my father and mother, which has followed my
wanderings through seventy years. All of the managers, a list of whom I
give, were representative citizens as well as prominent society men of
the day:
Abm. Schermerhorn, J. Swift Livingston,
Edmd. Pendleton, Jacob R. LeRoy,
James W. Otis, Thos. W. Ludlow,
Wm. Douglas, Chas. McEvers, Jr.,
Henry Delafield, William S. Miller,
Henry W. Hicks, Charles C. King.
Abraham Schermerhorn belonged to a wealthy New York family, and Edmund
Pendleton was a Virginian by birth who resided in New York where he
became socially prominent. James W. Otis was of the Harrison Gray Otis
family of Boston and, as I have already stated, I was at school with his
daughter, Sally. William Douglas was a bachelor living in an attractive
residence on Park Place, where he occasionally entertained his friends.
He belonged to a thrifty family of Scotch descent and had two sisters,
Mrs. Douglas Cruger and Mrs. James Monroe, whose husband was a namesake
and nephew of the ex-President. Early in the last century their mother,
Mrs. George Douglas, gave a ball, and I insert some doggerel with
reference to it written by Miss Anne Macmaster, who later became Mrs.
Charles Russell Codman of Boston. These verses are interesting from the
fact that they give the names of many of the _belles_ and _beaux_ of
that time:
I meant, my dear Fanny, to give you a call
And tell you the news of the Douglases ball;
But the weather's so bad,--I've a cold in my head,--
And I daren't venture out; so I send you instead
A poetic epistle--for plain humble prose
Is not worthy the joys of this ball to disclose.
To begin with our entrance, we came in at nine,
The two rooms below were prodigiously fine,
And the _coup d'oeil_ was shewy and brilliant 'tis true,
Pretty faces not wanting, some old and some new.
But, oh! my dear cousin, no words can describe
The excess of the crowd--like two swarms in one hive.
The squeezing and panting, the blowing and puffing,
The smashing, the crushing, the snatching, the stuffing,
I'd have given my new dress, at one time, I declare,
(The white satin and roses), for one breath of air!
But oh! how full often I inwardly sighed
O'er the wreck of those roses, so lately my pride;
Those roses, my own bands so carefully placed,
As I fondly believed, with such exquisite taste.
Then to see them so cruelly torn and destroyed
I assure you, my dear, I was vastly annoyed.
The ballroom with garlands was prettily drest,
But a small room for dancing it must be confess'd,
If you chanc'd to get in you were lucky no doubt,
But oh! luckier far, if you chanced to get out!
And pray who were there? Is the question you'll ask.
To name the one half would be no easy task--
There were Bayards and Clarksons, Van Hornes and LeRoys,
All famous, you well know, for making a noise.
There were Livingstons, Lenoxes, Henrys and Hoffmans,