As I Remember
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 _regime_, 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 aesthetic member of this
well-known family. One of his pet diversions was the giving of unusual,
and sometimes sensational, dinners. To celebrate the completion of the
trans-continental railroad, he planned what he called a Roman dinner.
His guests were furnished with togas and partook of the meal in a
reclining position, like the Romans of old. This unique entertainment
was, of course, thoroughly enjoyed, but did not become _a la mode_ as
the flowing toga could hardly compete with trim waistcoats and clinging
trousers, even on festive occasions.
Fifty years ago, more or less, a house was erected in New York on the
southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifteenth Street by Mrs. Charles
Maverick Parker, and, to the astonishment of Gothamites, it was said to
have cost one hundred thousand dollars! Later it became the home of the
Manhattan Club. Many old residents visited it on its completion, as such
a costly structure was regarded with nothing short of amazement. I
remember it was an _on dit_ of the town that upon one occasion, when
Mrs. Parker was personally escorting some unusually prominent person
through the mansion, she pointed to a pretty little receptacle in her
bedroom and exclaimed as she 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