Society as I Have Found It
remarked that in Newport, at that time, you could have driven a
four-in-hand of camels or giraffes, and the residents of the island
would have smiled and found it quite the thing. The charm of the place
then was the simple way of entertaining; there were no large balls; all
the dancing and dining was done by daylight, and in the country. I did
not hesitate to ask the very _crême de la crême_ of New York society to
lunch and dine at my farm, or to a fishing party on the rocks. My little
farm dinners gained such a reputation that my friends would say to me:
“Now, remember, leave me out of your ceremonious dinners as you choose,
but always include me in those given at your farm, or I’ll never forgive
you.” But to convey any idea of our country parties, one must in detail
give the method of getting them up: Riding on the Avenue on a lovely
summer’s day, I would be stopped by a beautiful woman, in gorgeous
array, looking so fascinating that if she were to ask you to attempt the
impossible, you would at least make the effort. She would open on me as
follows: “My dear friend, we are all dying for a picnic. Can’t you get
one up for us?”
“Why, my dear lady,” I would answer, “you have dinners every day, and
charming dinners too; what more do you want?”
“Oh, they’re not picnics. Any one can give dinners,” she would reply;
“what we want is one of your picnics. Now, my dear friend, do get one
up.”
This was enough to fire me, and set me going. So I reply:
“I will do your bidding. Fix on the day at once, and tell me what is the
best dish your cook makes.”
Out comes my memorandum book, and I write: “Monday, 1 P.M., meet at
Narragansett Avenue, bring _filet de bœuf piqué_,” and with a bow am
off in my little wagon, and dash on, to waylay the next cottager, stop
every carriage known to contain friends, and ask them, one and all, to
join our country party, and assign to each of them the providing of a
certain dish and a bottle of champagne. Meeting young men, I charge them
to take a bottle of champagne, and a pound of grapes, or order from the
confectioner’s a quart of ice cream to be sent to me. My pony is put on
its mettle; I keep going the entire day getting recruits; I engage my
music and servants, and a carpenter to put down a dancing platform, and
the florist to adorn it, and that evening I go over in detail the whole
affair, map it out as a general would a battle, omitting nothing, not
even a salt spoon; see to it that I have men on the road to direct my
party to the farm, and bid the farmer put himself and family, and the
whole farm, in holiday attire.
On one occasion, as my farmer had just taken unto himself a bride, a
young and pretty woman, I found that at mid-day, to receive my guests,
she had dressed herself in bridal array; she was _décolleté_, and seemed
quite prepared to sing the old ballad of “Coming thro’ the rye”; but as
her husband was a stalwart young fellow, and extremely jealous, I
advised the young men in the party to confine their attentions to their
own little circle and let Priscilla, the Puritan, alone.
When I first began giving picnics at my farm, I literally had no stock
of my own. I felt that it would never do to have a gathering of the
brightest and cleverest people in the country at my place with the
pastures empty, neither a cow nor a sheep; so my Yankee wit came to my
assistance. I at once hired an entire flock of Southdown sheep, and two
yoke of cattle, and several cows from the neighboring farm, for half a
day, to be turned into my pasture lots, to give the place an animated
look. I well remember some of my knowing guests, being amateur farmers,
exclaiming:
“Well, it is astonishing! Mc has but fifty acres, and here he is,
keeping a splendid flock of Southdowns, two yoke of cattle, to say
nothing of his cows!”
I would smile and say:
“My friend I am not a fancy farmer, like yourself; I farm for profit.”
At that time, I was out of pocket from three to four thousand dollars a
year by my farm, but must here add, for my justification, that finding
amateur farming an expensive luxury, I looked the matter squarely in the
face, watched carefully the Yankee farmers around me, and satisfied
myself that they knew more about the business than I did, and at once
followed in their footsteps, placed my farm on shares, paying nothing
out for labor, myself paying the running expenses, and dividing the
profits with my farmer. Instead of losing three or four thousand dollars
a year by my farm, it then paid me, and continues to pay me seven to
eight hundred dollars a year clear of all expenses. We sell off of fifty
acres of land, having seventeen additional acres of pasturage, over
three thousand dollars of produce each year. I sell fifty Southdown
lambs during the months of April and May, at the rate of eight to ten
dollars each, to obtain which orders are sent to me in advance, and my
winter turkeys have become as famous as my Southdown lambs. The farm is
now a profit instead of a loss. I bought this place in 1853; if I had
bought the same amount of land south of Newport, instead of north of the
town, it would have been worth a fortune to-day.
To return to our picnic. The anxiety as to what the weather would be,
was always my first annoyance, for of course these country parties hinge
on the weather. After making all your preparations, everything ready for
the start, then to look out of your window in the morning, as I have
often done, and see the rain coming down in torrents, is far from making
you feel cheerful. But, as a rule, I have been most fortunate in my
weather. We would meet at Narragansett Avenue at 1 P.M., and all drive
out together. On reaching the picnic grounds, I had an army of
skirmishers, in the way of servants, thrown out, to take from each
carriage its contribution to the country dinner. The band would strike
up, and off the whole party would fly in the waltz, while I was
directing the icing of the champagne, and arranging the tables; all done
with marvelous celerity. Then came my hour of triumph, when, without
giving the slightest signal (fearing some one might forestall me, and
take off the prize), I would dash in among the dancers, secure our
society queen, and lead with her the way to the banquet. Now began the
fun in good earnest. The clever men of the party would assert their
claims to the best dishes, proud of the efforts of their cook, loud in
their praise of their own game pie, which most probably was brought out
by some third party, too modest to assert and push his claim. Beauty was
there to look upon, and wit to enliven the feast. The wittiest of men
was then in his element, and I only wish I dared quote here his
brilliant sallies. The beauty of the land was also there, and all
feeling that they were on a frolic, they threw hauteur, ceremonial, and
grand company manners aside, and, in place, assumed a spirit of simple
enjoyment. Toasts were given and drunk, then a stroll in pairs, for a
little interchange of sentiment, and then the whole party made for the
dancing platform, and a cotillon of one hour and a half was danced, till
sunset. As at a “Meet,” the arrivals and departures were a feature of
the day. Four-in-hands, tandems, and the swellest of Newport turn-outs
rolled by you. At these entertainments you formed lifetime intimacies
with the most cultivated and charming men and women of this country.
These little parties were then, and are now, the stepping-stones to our
best New York society. People who have been for years in mourning and
thus lost sight of, or who having passed their lives abroad and were
forgotten, were again seen, admired, and liked, and at once brought into
society’s fold. Now, do not for a moment imagine that all were
indiscriminately asked to these little fêtes. On the contrary, if you
were not of the inner circle, and were a new-comer, it took the combined
efforts of all your friends’ backing and pushing to procure an
invitation for you. For years, whole families sat on the stool of
probation, awaiting trial and acceptance, and many were then rejected,
but once received, you were put on an intimate footing with all. To
acquire such intimacy in a great city like New York would have taken you
a lifetime. A fashionable woman of title from England remarked to me
that we were one hundred years behind London, for our best society was
so small, every one in it had an individuality. This, to her, was
charming, “for,” said she, “one could have no such individuality in
London.” It was accorded only to the highest titled people in all
England, while here any one in society would have every movement
chronicled. Your “_personnel_,” she added, “is daily discussed, your
equipage is the subject of talk, as well as your house and household.”
Another Londoner said to me, “This Newport is no place for a man without
fortune.” There is no spot in the world where people are more _en
evidence_. It is worth while to do a thing well there, for you have
people who appreciate your work, and it tells and pays. It is the place
of all others to take social root in.
SOCIETY’S LEADERS.
CHAPTER X.
_Society’s Leaders--A Lady whose Dinners were Exquisite and whose
Wines were Perfect--Her “Blue Room Parties”--Two Colonial
Beauties--The Introduction of the Chef--The Prince of Wales in New
York--The Ball in his Honor at the Academy of Music--The Fall of
the Dancing Platform--Grotesque Figures cut by the Dancers--The
Prince Dances Well--Admirable Supper Arrangements--A Light Tea and
a Big Appetite--The Prince at West Point--I get a Snub from General
Scott._
Society must have its leader or leaders. It has always had them, and
will continue to have them. Their sway is more or less absolute. When I
came to New York as a boy, forty years ago, there were two ladies who
were skillful leaders and whose ability and social power the fashionable
world acknowledged. They gave the handsomest balls and dinners given in
this city, and had at them all the brilliant people of that period.
Their suppers, given by old Peter Van Dyke, were famous. Living in two
adjoining houses which communicated, they had superb rooms for
entertaining. These were the days when Isaac Brown, sexton of Grace
Church, was, in his line, a great character. His memory was something
remarkable. He knew all and everything about everybody, knew always
every one’s residence, was good-nature itself, and cracked his jokes and
had a word for every one who passed into the ball-room. You would hear
him _sotto voce_ remarking upon men as they passed: “Old family, good
old stock,” or “He’s a new man; he had better mind his p’s and q’s, or I
will trip him up. Ah, here’s a fellow who intends to dance his way into
society. Here comes a handsome boy, the women are crazy about him,” etc.
A year or two later, during my absence in Europe and at the South, a
lady living in Washington Place found herself filling a very conspicuous
place in the matter of social entertainment by the departure of her
husband’s relatives, who had been society’s leaders, for a prolonged
stay in Europe. A woman of charming manners, possessing eminently the
talent of social leadership, she took up and easily carried on society
as represented by the “smart” set. For from six to seven years she gave
brilliant entertainments; her dinners were exquisite; her wines perfect;
her husband’s Madeiras are still famous. At that time, her small dances
were most carefully chosen; they were the acme of exclusiveness. On this
she prided herself. She also arranged and controlled for two years (the
winters of 1870 and 1871) small subscription balls at Delmonico’s,
Fourteenth Street, in his “blue rooms.” They were confined to the young