As I Remember
he lived is still standing, but it would be regarded with contempt by
any of the present Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States.
But how natural, for how changed are the times! In an eloquent address
subsequent to Taney's death, Charles O'Conor concluded with these words:
"May the future historian in writing of Judge Roger B. Taney sorrowfully
add, _Ultimus Romanorum_."
Francis Scott Key, the author of "The Star-Spangled Banner," is also
buried in Frederick soil. For many years his remains reposed in an
unnoticed grave in Mount Olivet Cemetery but, through the efforts of the
citizens of Frederick, and especially of its women, an imposing monument
now towers above him surmounted by a superb male figure with
outstretched arms. While living in Maryland I frequently met Chief
Justice Salmon P. Chase at the residence of Mrs. Margaret Goldsborough,
and was much impressed by his imposing presence and courtly bearing.
Many years before, he had been a tutor in the Frederick College, which
still survives and whose walls bear the inscription "1797." Mrs.
Goldsborough was a lifelong resident of Frederick and a woman of a high
degree of intelligence. Her daughter, Miss Mary Catharine Goldsborough,
I always numbered among my most cherished friends.
After a pleasant sojourn of a number of months in Frederick, we went to
spend the summer at _Po-ne-sang_, where we had the satisfaction of
entertaining quite a number of old friends, among whom was the Hon.
Lafayette S. Foster, then Vice-President _pro tempore_ of the United
States. Maryland was a familiar as well as a cherished State to him, as
in early life he had been a tutor in Centerville on the "Eastern Shore."
Mr. Foster's visit was decidedly uneventful to him, as he was there
entirely unheralded and without even a newspaper notice to announce his
coming and going.
CHAPTER XIV
VISIT TO THE FAR SOUTH AND RETURN TO WASHINGTON
In the autumn of the same year I decided to make a long anticipated
visit to Mrs. John Still Winthrop in Tallahassee, whose marriage in
Gramercy Park I had attended so many years ago and which I have already
described. My two younger children accompanied me, but my oldest
daughter I left behind under her father's protecting care at the Misses
Vernon's boarding school in Frederick. This period seemed especially
suitable for such a long absence, as the whole time and attention of Mr.
Gouverneur was engrossed in editing for publication a posthumous work of
James Monroe, which was subsequently published by the Lippincotts under
the title, "The People the Sovereigns." We sailed from New York and
stopped _en route_ in Savannah to enable me to see my old friend and
schoolmate, Mrs. William Neyle Habersham. Sherman in his "March to the
Sea" had passed through Georgia, carrying with him destruction and
devastation, and the suffering which this and other campaigns of the war
had brought into the homes of these Southern people it would be
difficult to describe. The whole South seemed to be shrouded in
mourning, as nearly everyone I met had given up to the "Lost Cause" a
husband or a son, and in some cases both. Two gallant sons of the
Habershams, mere boys, had died upon the same battlefield, and when I
saw Mr. Habersham for the first time after the war he was so overcome
with grief that he was obliged to leave the room. Talented to an unusual
degree and possessing much fortitude, his wife fought bravely for the
sake of her dear ones still spared her, but every now and then her
sorrow asserted itself anew and seemed more than her bleeding soul could
bear. She was especially gifted with her pen, and about ten years after
the war, while her heart was still wrung with grief, she wrote the
following pathetic lines:--
Up above, the Pines make sweet music; sad, plaintive, for
must there not be a tone of "infinite sadness" in all the
places of Earth's finite gladness? From a spray of jessamine
I hear the chirp of a little bird--a young beginner; it
tries over and over again "its one plain passage of few
notes"--the prelude to the full-voice anthem which summer
will harmonize. Ah! what shades and sunlight! what coloring!
Green in the grass and trees, blue in the violets and sky,
gray in the moss, yellow in the jessamines, falling around
in a perfect Danaean shower of burnished gold! My truant
fancy sees all this--and more! A dear hand that held mine, a
"pure hand," a boy's hand, that ere many summers had spread
out their gorgeous pageantry had drawn the sword for that
dear summer-land of the jessamine and pine--had drawn the
sword and dropped it; dropped it from the earnest, vigorous
clasp of glorious young manhood to lie still and calm,
life's duty nobly done; ah, a short young life but ... and
then the other young soldier! for is not my sorrow a twin
sorrow? Can they be dissevered? In death they were not
divided. My eyes grow dim. Wipe away the mist, poor mother!
to see the dear faces of sons and daughters gracing the
board. Let the blue of the violets breathe to thee rather of
endless skies and an eternal Heaven, where earth's finite
sadness is beautified into infinite gladness.
We finally reached Tallahassee, where we found the most cordial welcome
awaiting us. Mrs. Winthrop lived in the very heart of the city but our
surroundings were much more beautiful than I can describe, for the
orange trees and hyacinths and jessamine in full bloom and other wealth
of semi-tropical vegetation were suggestive of an earthly Paradise.
Since we last met my hostess had become a widow, but fortunately she and
her only son, who was then just emerging into manhood, had not felt the
personal vicissitudes of the struggle, as they had taken refuge in the
mountains of North Carolina. Before the war the Winthrops had owned
hundreds of slaves and most of them, in a state of freedom, were still
living in quarters only a short distance from the house and were working
on her plantations just as though the war had not made them free. But
both among those who suffered from the war and those who escaped its
ravages the unfriendly feeling entertained at this time against their
Northern brethren was naturally intense. I remember that one Sunday
morning a young son of Mrs. Custis, who with his mother was then an
inmate of the Winthrop household, asked his mother, who had just
returned from the early service of the Episcopal Church, whether "the
'Yankees' went up to the same communion table with the Southern people."
During my Tallahassee life I made the acquaintance of Madame Achille
Murat, who lived in an old mansion outside of the city limits. She was
Miss Catharine A. Willis of Virginia, and a great-grandniece of General
Washington. Upon her marriage to Achille Murat he took her abroad, where
she was received with much distinction on account of her Washington
blood. Then, too, her marriage into such an illustrious French family
was an open sesame to the most exclusive circles of society. She was an
elderly woman when I met her, but her conversation abounded with the
most interesting reminiscences of her life in France. She died in the
summer of 1867. Achille Murat was the son of Joachim Murat, the great
Marshal of Napoleon, whose sister Caroline he married and became King of
Naples. Many years later his two sons came to this country. One of them
settled in Bordentown in New Jersey, and Achille Murat, after his
marriage to his Virginia bride, became a resident of Florida. Madame
Murat told me of some of the visits she made to France when the voyage
was long and tedious. She had many articles of _vertu_ around her, and I
especially recall a superb marble bust by Canova of her mother-in-law,
Queen Caroline. I expressed surprise at the extreme attractiveness of
the late Queen, as I had always understood that the Princess Pauline,
Napoleon's other sister, was the family beauty. Madame Murat, however,
told me I was mistaken and that her royal mother-in-law was, in that
respect, quite the equal of her sister.
During my acquaintance with Madame Murat, Napoleon III. was on the
throne of France, and I learned from our many friendly chats that her
relations with her distinguished kinspeople were of the most cordial
character; and I am informed that for many years the Emperor gave her an
annuity. Hanging in her drawing-room, whose contents were replete with
historic association, were two handsome portraits of the Emperor and
Empress of France, which she called to my attention as recent gifts from
her royal relatives. That prince of hosts, Gouverneur Kemble, once told
me an amusing incident _apropos_ of Achille Murat's resourcefulness
under peculiar difficulties. On one occasion quite a number of foreign
guests appeared at the Frenchman's door and, although Florida is a land
"flowing with milk and honey," he was sorely perplexed to know what
would be "toothsome and succulent" to serve for their repast. Suddenly
an idea flashed upon him. He owned a large flock of sheep and, nothing
daunted, gave immediate orders to have the tips of their ears cut off.
These were served in due form, and his guests departed in total
ignorance of what they had eaten but fully convinced that America
produced the choicest of viands.
Upon one of her numerous visits to France, Madame Murat was accompanied
to the Louvre by Mr. Francis Porteus Corbin, a Virginian whose
contemporaries proudly asserted was an adornment to any court. While
they were engaged in viewing the works of art, Madame Murat was joined
by Jerome Bonaparte, to whom she formally presented Mr. Corbin. When the
opportunity arose Bonaparte inquired of his kinswoman who "the elegant
gentleman" was. The ready response was: "Mr. Corbin, of Virginia."
"Well," was the ejaculation, "I had no idea there was so much elegance
in America."
I think these pages will show that all through life I have had a decided
fancy for older men and women. I can hardly account for this taste
except by the fact that my predilections have always been of a decidedly
historical character. As another instance, I especially enjoyed my
meeting in the far South with Judge Thomas Randall, who made his home in
Tallahassee, but who was originally from Annapolis. He did not allow
advanced years to interfere with his social tastes, but frequently
accompanied us to parties, where his vivacity rendered him one of the
most acceptable of guests. Still another elderly gentleman with whom I
had the pleasure of becoming acquainted during this Southern sojourn was
Francis Wayles Eppes. He was the son of U.S. Senator John Wayles Eppes,
whose wife was Maria Jefferson, elder daughter of Thomas Jefferson. He
left Virginia many years prior to my acquaintance with him and settled
with several members of the Randolph family in Western Florida when it
was almost a wilderness.
I left with keen regret this picturesque land of flowers and stately
oaks, but duty called me home, as my husband and little daughter were
growing impatient over our long absence. It would seem that the
observance of timetables differed in those days according to localities
and other circumstances. I was informed that the train I should take
from Tallahassee would leave _about_ such and such a time; but upon my
inquiring in Savannah as to whether the ship upon which I proposed to
embark for Baltimore would leave on time, I was explicitly told by its
captain that if I were a minute late I should not be one of its
passengers.
After my return to Maryland, the home of our adoption, we abandoned the
idea of country life, sold our residence and took up our abode in
Frederick. My children were now reaching an age when education became an