As I Remember
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 _litterateurs_, many of whom
it was my good fortune to know. Some of these had only recently returned
from Brook Farm "sadder but wiser" and, at all events, with more
practical views concerning "the world's broad field of battle." Brook
Farm had its origin in 1841, and completely collapsed in 1847. It was
chiefly intended to be the fulfillment of a dream of the Rev. Dr.
William Henry Channing of "an 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 General_. This charming residence of Mr. Willis was several
miles south of Newburgh, on high ground overlooking the river, and from
its porches there was an enchanting view of West Point. Mr. Willis told
us that when he first came to that vicinity he called the attention of
a countryman from whom he had purchased the land to some uncultivated
acres and asked a suggestion regarding them. "That," said the man,
waving his hand in the direction of the trees, "is nothing but an
Idlewild." The word lingered in Mr. Willis's mind, and he subsequently
adopted it as the name of his new home.
While living in New York we frequently attended parties at the
hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin F. Butler in Washington Place.
He was an elegant gentleman of the old school and had served as Attorney
General in the cabinets of Presidents Jackson and Van Buren. They were
people of deep religious convictions, and consequently all their
entertainments were conducted upon the strictest code of the day. For
example, dancing was never permitted and wine was never served. In place
of dancing there was a continuous promenade. I generally attended these
parties accompanied by my father, who enjoyed meeting the legal lights
of the country, some of whom were always there. Exceptionally handsome
suppers were served at these entertainments, and every effort was made
by Mr. and Mrs. Butler to make up, as it were, for the lack of dancing
which was sorely missed by those more gayly inclined.