As I Remember
The signer of this interesting advertisement was graduated from
Princeton College in 1770, and subsequently became a lawyer. His
distinguished son, Theodore, was widely known as a philanthropist and
Christian statesman, and at various periods was United States Senator,
Chancellor of the New York University, President of Rutgers College, a
candidate for the Vice Presidency of the United States, and President of
the American Bible Society. A grandson of the signer was the Hon.
Frederick Theodore Frelinghuysen, the well remembered United States
Senator and Secretary of State under President Arthur.
Speaking of the Frelinghuysen family, I recall an amusing story told at
the expense of Newark, New Jersey. When the late Secretary Frelinghuysen
presented himself at the gates of Heaven he was surprised not to be
recognized by St. Peter, who asked him who he was. "I am the Hon.
Frederick T. Frelinghuysen," was the response. "From where?" "Newark,
New Jersey." "Newark?" quoth St. Peter, "I never heard of that place,
but I will look on my list. No, it isn't there. I can not admit you, Mr.
Frelinghuysen." So the old gentleman proceeded and knocked at another
gate in the boundless immensity. The devil opened it and looked out. The
same conversation occurred as with St. Peter. Newark wasn't "on the
list." "My Heavens, Mr. Satan, am I then doomed to return to Newark?"
exclaimed the New Jersey statesman, and went back to the Newark
graveyard.
My father, James Campbell, was born in Callander, Scotland, and, as I
have before stated, came to this country with his parents as a very
young child. Both he and his father were clad in their Highland dress
upon their arrival in New York. His childhood was spent in the great
metropolis, and he subsequently studied law in Albany, with the Hon.
Samuel Miles Hopkins, the grandfather of Mrs. Arent Schuyler
Crowninshield. He was admitted to the bar, and almost immediately became
a Master in Chancery. In 1821 he was appointed Surrogate of New York, a
position which he retained for twenty years. He was always a pronounced
democrat, but notwithstanding this fact he was reappointed ten
successive times. In 1840, however, the Whig party was in the ascendency
in the New York Legislature, and through the instrumentality of William
H. Seward, who introduced a system called "pipe laying," the whole
political atmosphere was changed. "Pipe laying" was an organized scheme
for controlling votes, and derived its name from certain political
manipulations connected with the introduction of Croton water in New
York City. I have learned in later years that more approved methods are
frequently used for controlling votes. Modern ethics has discovered a
more satisfactory method through means of powerful corporations with
coffers wide open in the holy cause of electing candidates.
This unfortunate state of affairs resulted in the removal of my father
from office, and he immediately resumed the practice of law. Some of his
decisions as Surrogate are regarded as precedents to this day. Two of
the most prominent of these are "Watts and LeRoy vs. Public
Administrator" (a decision resulting in the establishment of the Leake
and Watts Orphan House) and "In the matter of the last Will and
Testament of Alice Lispenard, deceased." He is said to have owned about
this time the largest private library in New York City, composed largely
of foreign imprints, as he seemed to have but little regard for American
editions. The classical portion of his library, especially the volumes
published in Paris, was regarded as unusually choice and well selected.
He had also a large collection of Greek Testaments which he read in
preference to the translations. He owned a copy of Didot's Virgil and I
have always understood that, with the exception of one owned in the
Brevoort family of New York, it was at that time the only copy in
America. He retained his scholarly tastes throughout his whole life, and
in looking back I delight to picture him as seated in his library
surrounded by his beloved books. In 1850, about two years after his
death, his library was sold at auction, the catalogue of which covers
114 closely printed pages. Among the purchasers were William E. Burton,
the actor, Chief Justice Charles P. Daly and Henry W. Longfellow.
Professor Charles Anthon of Columbia College dedicated his Horace to my
father in the following choice words:
To
My old & valued friend
James Campbell, Esq.,
who, amid the graver duties of a judicial station,
can still find leisure to gratify a pure and
cultivated taste, by reviving the
studies of earlier years.
The following letter from Professor Anthon, the original of which is
still retained by the family, was addressed to my mother shortly after
my father's death.
COL[UMBIA] COLL[EGE], Sep. 3d 1849.
Dear Madam,
I dedicated the accompanying work to your lamented husband
in happier years, while he was still in the full career of
honourable usefulness; and, now that death has taken him
from us, I deem it but right that the volume which bore his
name while living, should still continue to be a memento of
him. May I request you to accept this humble but sincere
tribute to the memory of a most valued friend?
I remain, very respectfully and truly,
CHAS. ANTHON.
Mrs. Campbell,
Houston Street.
When Professor Anthon was about forty-eight years of age Edgar Allan Poe
described him as "about five feet, eight inches in height; rather stout;
fair complexion; hair light and inclined to curl; forehead remarkably
broad and high; eye gray, clear, and penetrating; mouth well-formed,
with excellent teeth--the lips having great flexibility, and consequent
power of expression; the smile particularly pleasing. His address in
general is bold, frank, cordial, full of _bonhomie_. His whole air is
_distingue_ in the best understanding of the term--that is to say, he
would impress anyone at first sight with the idea of his being no
ordinary man. He has qualities, indeed, which would have assured him
eminent success in almost any pursuit; and there are times in which his
friends are half disposed to regret his exclusive devotion to classical
literature."
My father was a trustee of the venerable New York Society Library and
one of the directors of the old United States Bank in Philadelphia; and
I have in my possession a number of interesting letters from Nicholas
Biddle, its president, addressed to him and asking his advice and
counsel. For eighteen years he was a trustee of Columbia College in New
York, and enjoyed the close friendship of President William A. Duer,
Reverend and Professor John McVickar, James Renwick, Professor of
Chemistry, whose mother, Jennie Jeffery, was Burns's "Blue-e'ed
Lassie," and Professor Charles Anthon, all of whom filled chairs in
that institution with unquestioned ability. My father was also a member
of the St. Andrews Society of New York. After his death, President Duer
in an impressive address alluded to him in the following manner:
"Two of our associates with whom I have been similarly connected and
have known from boyhood have also departed, leaving sweet memories
behind them, James Campbell and David S. Jones, the former a scholar and
a ripe and good one, once honoring the choice of his fellow citizens and
winning golden opinions as Surrogate of this city and county."
President Duer had a most interesting family of children. His eldest
married daughter, Frances Maria, was the wife of Henry Shaeffe Hoyt of
Park Place, and died recently in Newport at a very advanced age. Eleanor
Jones Duer, another daughter, married George T. Wilson, an Englishman.
She was a great beauty, bearing a striking resemblance to Fanny Kemble,
and was remarkable for her strong intellect. Her marriage was
clandestine, and the cause, as far as I know, was never explained. Still
another daughter, Elizabeth, married Archibald Gracie King of Weehawken,
and was a Colonial Dame of much prominence in her later years. She was
the mother of the authoress, Mrs. John King Van Rensselaer. President
Duer's wife was Hannah Maria Denning of Fishkill, New York. I knew her
only as an elderly woman possessing a fine presence and social tastes.
In my early life the students of Columbia College enjoyed playing
practical jokes upon its dignified professors. As an illustration, I
remember once seeing the death of Professor Renwick fictitiously
published in one of the daily journals, much to the sorrow and
subsequently the indignation of a large circle of friends. Professor
Anthon, too, although a confirmed bachelor, had to face his turn, and
his marriage to some unknown bride bearing an assumed name was an
occasional announcement. But the most amusing feature of the joke would
appear in the morning, when an emphatic denial would be seen in the
columns of the same newspaper, accompanied by a quotation in spurious
Latin. Professor Anthon lived with his two spinster sisters in one of
the college buildings, and their home was a rendezvous for an
appreciative younger generation. In connection with his duties at the
college, he was the head of the Columbia College Grammar School, and I
have always understood that he strictly followed the scriptural
injunction not "to spare the rod." His victims were repeatedly heard to
remark that these flagellations partially counterbalanced the lack of
exercise which he felt very keenly in his sedentary life. But with all
his austerity his pupils would occasionally be astonished over the
amount of humor that he was capable of displaying. His handwriting was
exquisitely minute in character, and I have in my possession two
valentines composed by him and sent to me which are quaintly beautiful
in language and, although sixty years old, are still in a perfect state
of preservation.
_To Miss Marian Campbell._
The Campbell is coming! Ye Gentles beware,
For Don Cupid lies hid in her dark flowing hair,
And her eyes, bright as stars that in mid-heaven roll,
Pierce through frock-coat and dickey right into the soul!
And ye lips which the coral might envy, I ween,
And ye pearl rows that peep from the red lips between,
And that soft-dimpled cheek, with the hue of the rose,
And that smile which bears conquest wherever it goes,
Oh, could I but think that you soon would be mine,
I'd send Marian each morning a sweet valentine.
Feb'y 14, 1844.
(Written a few years later.)
Sweet girl! within whose laughing eye
A thousand little Cupids lie,
While every curl, that floats above
Thy noble brow, seems fraught with love.
Oh, list to me, my loved one, list!
Thy Tellkampf's suit no more resist,
But give to him, to call his own,
A heart where Kings might make their throne.
John Louis Tellkampf, to whom Anthon so facetiously alludes in the
second valentine, was a young German who frequently came to our house,
and who, through my father's aid and influence, in subsequent years
became professor of German in Columbia College. When we first knew him
he spoke English with much difficulty, and it was a standing joke in our
household that once when he desired to say that a certain person had
been born he expressed the fact as "getting alive."
Malcolm Campbell, a younger brother of mine, was graduated in 1850 from
Columbia College near the head of his class. Among his classmates were
Charles Seymour, subsequently Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church
of Illinois, and the distinguished lawyer Frederick R. Coudert, whose
father kept a boys' French school in Bleecker Street. My brother