“As wintry blasts succeed the summer’s bloom,
And summer suns give place to winter’s gloom;
As to morn’s radiance o’er creation spread,
The night succeeds, when every ray is fled;
Or as the heart, but erst with joy elate,
To sorrow turns beneath some stroke of fate;
So a joy’d nation Fate has bid to turn
Its smiles of joy to tears o’er Virtue’s urn.
Sacred the numbers breathed in Virtue’s name.
Dear still to goodness, if unknown to fame.
Be thine the grateful task, O humble muse
(Virtue’s thy theme, and thou canst ne’er refuse),
Be thine the task that goodness to deplore,
Which Death, relentless, bids to be no more;
To sing th’ unspotted life, unknown to blame.
But every virtue dear to woman’s name;
The meek-eyed charity, the guileless heart,
The long enduring under sorrow’s smart;
The ready friend to comfort in distress;
The hand as willing as the heart to bless;
The every charm exalted virtue lends,
Conferring blessings as its means extends;
The mind sincere, unknown to pious guile;
Which ne’er deceit, dishonest, could defile,
But still intent religion to obey,
And as she taught its precepts, led the way;
To all its active impulses awake,
And virtuous only for fair virtue’s sake.
“Scarce was the contest o’er, the victory won,
Mysterious Fate! But half thy will was done.
From that first hour a nation made its choice
Of him in whose great name its sons rejoice,
From the first hour the grateful news was hailed,
Even from that hour her gentle spirit failed.
While o’er the land loud peals of triumph rang,
Her milder nature felt the mortal pang
Which still protracted, nought availed to save
Her suffering nature from an honored grave.
“Eternal Providence! Whate’er thy ways,
’Tis still our duty to adore and praise.
Lo, the bright virtues from her earliest time,
Which souls ungenerous slandered into crime.
Lo, her loved husband’s fame, by foes assailed,
Impotent still. And while each effort failed,
Behold them turn with most dishonest arts,
Against domestic Peace their venomed darts.
Nor sex, nor purity, nor honored age
Could save them from the shafts of blinded rage.
Yet she but lived to triumph and to see
Her fame proved pure as ’twas designed to be,
When Nature, in her great and high behest,
Formed, of her daughters, her among the best.
Yet shall her cherished memory long endure,
To still assuage the grief it may not cure.
As when the glorious sun retires to rest,
He leaves a golden twilight in the west,
Where the mild radiance of his thousand rays
Illumes the skies and gladdens every gaze;
So the remembrance of her virtues dear
Shall o’er the hearts of those who loved her here
Shed the mild radiance of that tranquil joy,
Which death, nor fate, nor ill can e’er destroy.”
Until a few days before his death, the General wore always around his
neck and hidden in his bosom a miniature of Mrs. Jackson, on the back of
which is a pretty little wreath made of his and her hair. The chain to
which it is attached is curiously wrought of black beads intermingled
with a flower-work of bright gold ones, into which these words are
skilfully introduced: “Presented to General Andrew Jackson as a token of
esteem, from Caledonia M. Gibson. May blessings crown thy hoary head.”
Every night he placed this miniature on a little table by his bedside,
leaning against his Bible, with the beloved face towards him, so that
the kind, familiar smile should be his first greeting when he waked. His
granddaughter, now Mrs. Lawrence, bears the honored name of his wife,
Rachel Jackson, and was an especial favorite of his. His eyes were often
fixed upon her during his last illness with peculiar interest and
affection. One morning within a few days of his death, when she came to
bid him good-bye, before starting to the city to school, he threw the
chain around her neck and asked her to wear, for his sake, the miniature
he had loved and worn so long.
In a corner of the garden at the Hermitage there is a simple elegant
monument raised over the vault in which lie the remains of General
Jackson and his wife. The steps run around the circular area, eighteen
feet across. From this platform spring eight fluted columns of the Doric
order, surmounted by a handsome entablature supporting the dome, which
is crowned with a funereal urn. On the interior, a plain cornice of
vaulted ceiling, stuccoed in white, gives an air of purity and
comeliness, well suited to a tomb. From the centre of the platform rises
a pyramid on a square base. On the floor, on each side of this pyramid,
lie the tablets which contain the inscriptions. The one on the left is
the General’s, which bears only his name, and the record of his birth
and death. The hand of an undying affection has covered the other with a
long and tender testimony to her worth. It runs thus:
“Here lie the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of President Jackson,
who died the 22d of December, 1828, aged 61. Her face was fair, her
person pleasing, her temper amiable, and her heart kind; she delighted
in relieving the wants of her fellow-creatures, and cultivated that
divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods; to the
poor she was a benefactor, to the rich an example; to the wretched a
comforter, to the prosperous an ornament; her piety went hand in hand
with her benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to
do good. A being so gentle and yet so virtuous, slander might wound but
could not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms of her
husband, could but transport her to the bosom of her God.”
Here in the freshness and greenness of the garden they planted,
surrounded with climbing vines and fragrant blooms, the General and his
beloved wife sleep their last sweet sleep. Across a garden path lie the
remains of Mr. Earl, the artist, “friend and companion of General Andrew
Jackson.” Beside him lies Andrew Jackson, the adopted son of the
General; and near are two of his infant sons, and a grown son, Samuel,
who fell in battle.
General Jackson survived his wife more than sixteen years, and, unto the
end, his love for her burned as brightly as in the hey-day of his youth.
Though aged and suffering greatly, he was remarkably energetic and kept
up his correspondence with his old and dear friends. The last letter
that he ever wrote, only two days before his death, was addressed to the
Hon. Mr. Polk, President of the United States, expressing confidence in
his judgment and ability to guard well and truly the interests of his
country.
VIII.
EMILY DONELSON.
Mrs. Emily Donelson, the accomplished mistress of the White House during
General Jackson’s Presidential term, was the youngest child of Captain
John Donelson, a man of sterling integrity and irreproachable character,
perfect in all the relations of life, respected as a citizen, honored as
a Christian, and beloved as a friend and neighbor. She was born in
Davidson County, Tennessee, and educated at the Old Academy, in
Nashville. Of rare personal loveliness and superior intellect, no
expense or care was spared to fit her for the high position she was
destined to fill in society. Though her childhood was spent in what was
then called the “backwoods,” it was not passed in obscurity, for her
close relationship with Mrs. Jackson, the public prominence of her near
relations, Generals Smith, Coffee, and Hayes, and the great wealth and
high standing of her father, early made her familiar with camps and
crowds, and developed that courtly grace and ease of manner for which
she was afterwards so pre-eminent. A host of suitors contended for the
beautiful maiden’s hand, among whom were General Sam Houston, Col.
Ephraim H. Foster, and Major Gustavus A. Henry; they always spoke of her
as the “lovely Emily,” and delighted in expatiating on the charms of her
mind and person.
At the early age of sixteen she was married to her cousin, Major Andrew
J. Donelson, the protégé and confidential adviser of General Jackson.
She was ever a fond and faithful wife, sharing the joys and triumphs of
her husband, relieving his cares and sorrows, filling his home with
peace and comfort, and his heart with happiness.
On General Jackson’s election to the Presidency, he appointed Major
Donelson his private Secretary, and invited Mrs. Donelson to officiate
as mistress of ceremonies at the Executive Mansion.
To settle a delicate question of precedence between Mrs. Jackson, jr.,
and Mrs. Donelson, who were both inmates of the President’s House and
nieces of General Jackson, he said to Mrs. Jackson, “You, my dear, are
mistress of the Hermitage, and Emily is hostess of the White House.”
Both were satisfied with this decision, and ever afterward Mrs. Donelson
occupied the first position in the President’s Mansion. This was a
position that the elegance and refinement of the former mistresses of
the mansion had invested with great respect; and Mrs. Donelson filled it
as they had done, ever mindful of her dignity as a lady, and true to her
duty as a wife and mother. In all that is lovely and noble in woman, she
was the peer of her illustrious predecessors; and her tact and grace
contributed much to render General Jackson’s term such a brilliant epoch
in American history. It was a day of fierce party spirit; political
animosity spared neither sex nor condition, yet the voice of detraction
was never raised against her honored name. Friend and foe alike paid
homage to her charms.
Mrs. Donelson was of medium height, with dark auburn hair, dark brown
eyes, fair complexion, lips and brow exquisitely moulded, slender
symmetrical figure, and hands and feet tiny as a child’s. Her portrait
bears a striking resemblance to the pictures of Mary Queen of Scots. No
stranger ever passes it without commenting on its singular fascination.
Young, fond of society and pleased with attention, she entered with zest
into the festivities of Washington, and participated in all its
gayeties. Her taste in dress was exquisite, and her toilette was the
envy and admiration of fashionable circles. The dress she wore at the
first inauguration, an amber-colored satin, brocaded with bouquets of
rosebuds and violets, and richly trimmed with white lace and pearls, was
a present from the General, and was described in every paper of the
Union. It is still preserved in the family, and even in this day of
costly attire, would be a gala dress. Beloved as a daughter by Mrs.
Jackson, and intimately associated with her for years, she was beside
that honored and dear friend at the time of her death; and her
tenderness and sympathy did much to mitigate the poignancy of the
General’s bereavement. He always called her “my daughter;” and often
when wearied with the cares of office, would seek relaxation amid her
family circle. Arbiter in politics, he deferred all matters of etiquette
to her; and when she would appeal to him to settle any knotty social
point, he would reply, “You know best, my dear. Do as you please.” Of
lively imagination, she was quick at repartee, and had that gift
possessed by so few talkers, of listening gracefully. Thrown in contact
with the brightest and most cultivated intellects of the day, she
sustained her part; and her favor was eagerly sought by the learned and
polished. A foreign minister once said to her, “Madam, you dance with
the grace of a Parisian. I can hardly realize you were educated in
Tennessee.” “Count, you forget,” was the spirited reply, “that grace is
a cosmopolite, and like a wild flower, is much oftener found in the
woods than in the streets of a city.”
During the Eaton controversy, the public was curious to see what course
she would take. Her friends were also Mrs. Eaton’s friends, it was her
policy to please General Jackson, and General Jackson’s heart was set on
Mrs. Eaton’s social recognition. At the public receptions and levees,
she received Mrs. Eaton with her usual dignity and courtesy; but when
the General asked her to visit that lady, and set the example of public
recognition of his favorite, she refused decidedly, saying, “Uncle, I
will do anything on earth for you, consistent with my dignity as a lady,
but I cannot and will not visit any one of Mrs. Eaton’s reputation.” She
carried her point, and the President never alluded to the distasteful
subject again in her presence.[14]
Footnote 14:
Mr. Eaton was the Secretary of War, and Mrs. Eaton, with whose name
scandal was rife, was ignored by the wives of the Cabinet officers as
well as by the generality of ladies in Washington. The Secretary was
an old and intimate friend of the President’s, and his sympathy was
enlisted on Mrs. Eaton’s side of the quarrel, but without avail, so
far as securing her social recognition was concerned.
Mrs. Donelson’s four children were all born at the White House, and
their earliest reminiscences are of the East Room, levees, state
dinners, and processions. General Jackson made their christenings
occasions of great ceremony. He was god-father of two of them, Mr. Van
Buren of another, and General Polk of the youngest. General Jackson was
very fond of these little ones, and took a grandfather’s interest in all
their plays and games. The White House has probably never had a more
charming tableau than that presented by the old hero, surrounded by the
lovely family group, of which he was the soul and idol. Of Mrs.
Donelson’s children, only her two daughters are now living. Her two sons
passed away in the spring-time of life. They were young men of great
promise, superior intellect, and high social standing. Andrew, the
eldest, was captain of engineers in the United States army, and died of
consumption in 1859. John was captain in the Confederate service, and
fell in the battle of Chickamauga, fighting bravely in defence of the
cause he had espoused.
In the spring of 1836, Mrs. Donelson’s health became so delicate that
she concluded to leave Washington and go home to Tennessee, hoping, in
the quiet and seclusion of her beautiful home (Tulip Grove) soon to
regain her health and strength. But her symptoms grew more alarming, and
it soon became evident that consumption had marked her for its victim.
The scene changes now from the gay festivities of Washington to the
loneliness and suffering of the sick-room. The hectic flush and wasting
form marked the rapid progress of the insidious disease, and thoughts of
death became familiar. Though so young and gay, she bore her suffering
with the patience and fortitude of an angel, and submitted without a
murmur to the decree that tore her away from husband, children and
friends. Shortly before her death, she made a public profession of
religion, and connected herself with the Presbyterian Church. Every
resource of medical skill and experience was tried to stay the course of
her disease, but in vain; and in December her spirit passed from earth.
Her death was as peaceful and hopeful as her life had been loving and
happy. Always a fond and proud mother, as the time drew near for a final
separation from her children, she clung to them with a tenderness and
devotion touching to behold. A few evenings before her death, she was
sitting at an open window, admiring the beauty of a winter sunset, when
a bird entered, and flying several times around the room, alighted on
her chair. One of her little children, playing by her side, made some
exclamation and tried to catch it. “Don’t disturb it, darling,” said the
dying mother, “maybe it comes to bid me prepare for my flight to another
world. I leave you here, but the Heavenly Father, who shelters and
provides for this poor little bird this wintry day, will also watch over
and take care of you all when I am gone. Don’t forget mamma; love her
always, and try to live so that we may all meet again in heaven.” Ere
the week closed, her chair was vacant; earth had lost one of its
noblest, purest spirits, but heaven had gained an angel.
“Lovely, bright, youthful, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled and went to heaven.”
IX.
SARAH YORKE JACKSON.
The wife of President Jackson’s foster-son was the daughter of Peter
Yorke, of Philadelphia, whose grandfather, Judge Yorke, held an
appointment under the crown of Great Britain prior to the Revolution.
She was educated in that city, and received all the accomplishments a
mind of superior order under similar fortunate circumstances would be
capable of appreciating. Left an orphan at an early age, her affections
were concentrated upon those nearest of kin to her, and well and nobly
has she fulfilled all the requirements of sisterly love. A large circle
of friends and relatives rendered her young life happy by their sympathy
and affection, and her youth is remembered as a scene of varied though
ceaseless pleasures.
Miss Yorke was married to Mr. Jackson soon after the inauguration of his
adopted father, and made her entrée at the White House as a bride.
Necessarily the object of remark and criticism, which has not generally
a tendency to promote ease of manner, she yet managed to win sincere
admiration from all who came in contact with her. Seldom has any one in
so conspicuous a position exhibited so much of the perfect
self-possession which distinguishes the lady “to the manor born.” She
combined the opposite qualities of dignity and affability, and secured
thereby a lasting influence over those with whom she was associated.
Blending a quick temper and high spirits with much kindliness of heart,
she was, as is often the case with such natures, generous and forbearing
toward loved ones—determined and unyielding where her rights were
invaded. Her affection for her father-in-law was intense, and he often
testified his love for her.
On one occasion, when receiving a deputation from the Keystone State, he
remarked to them, “Gentlemen, I am very glad to see you, for I am much
indebted to Pennsylvania. She has given me a daughter who is a great
comfort to her father.”
The tone and impressive manner convinced his hearers of the entire truth
of his remark, while the look of affectionate pride bestowed upon her
filled her heart with happiness.
At the White House she shared the honors of hostess with her kinswoman,
Mrs. Donelson, whose superior charms were gracefully acknowledged by
Mrs. Jackson, and acted in accordance with the President’s suggestion to
remain as the mistress of his own home.
During the long period of ill-health which accompanied the declining
years of General Jackson, she ministered to him as only a loving woman
can. Never for a moment was her watchful care withdrawn, but leaving all
other duties, she devoted herself to his comfort.
The crowds of company which flocked to the Hermitage were always
smilingly received by her, and her name was dear to all who enjoyed the
hospitality of the home of old Hickory. After the death of Mrs. Donelson
and the failing health of her father, her task was one of severity, but
the method and order which reigned in and about her home—the attention
she bestowed upon her children, and the manner in which she cared for
the dependent ones about her, attest her strong Christian character, and
convince us that her success was entire. Hospitality at the Hermitage
was taxed in a scarcely less degree than Monticello had once been, and
for many years Mrs. Jackson received the world’s votaries at the shrine
of greatness.
In addition to all this, there was a never ceasing demand on her time
and brain for the welfare of her numerous dependents. She was a true
friend to the slaves of the family, and the many helpless ones always
seen on a large plantation were her special property. The wants of the
sick, the control of the young and the management of all, was a task
only appreciated by those accustomed to an institution now extinct. On
Sabbath evenings, for many years, it was her habit to have all who would
choose to gather around, to hear her read of eternal life, and to
instruct the children in religious duties.
Called to pass through great afflictions—to part with father and
husband, and later to mourn the loss of a son in his early manhood,
whose life was just budding into promise of future usefulness, her
sorrows rest now in her declining years heavily upon her. Her grief is
sacred.
During the civil war, whose earliest tocsin was sounded near her, and
whose dying echoes reverberated along the banks of the Cumberland, she
remained in the lonely home of her happier youth, amid scenes which
continually recall the unreturning past. In the quiet of a winter’s
night, or even amid the beauty of a midsummer’s day, she looks upon the
tomb in the garden, and hallowed recollections fill her heart. Through
the triumphs of life she has passed, and now in the eventide sits beside
her graves.[15]
Footnote 15:
The State of Tennessee owns the Hermitage, and Mrs. Jackson resides
there as its guest.
Now, as in early youth, she evinces her submission to the will of God,
and the little church adjoining the Hermitage is as sacred to her as it
was dear to her adopted mother.
In her present retirement with her children, of whom two remain to bless
her evening of life, and grandchildren to cheer her with their innocent
gayety, let us hope that further trials may be spared her, and that even
to the end she may enjoy the sweet security of a promise made to those
like her, who have finished their course, and are called to enter into
the joys of their Lord.
[Illustration:
MRS. MARTIN VAN BUREN.
]
X.
HANNAH VAN BUREN.
The wife of President Van Buren was born at Kinderhook, on the Hudson,
in the year 1782, a few months after the birth of her future husband,
whose schoolmate and companion she was during their early years. She was
of Dutch descent, and the original name Goes, but pronounced by her
ancestors Hoes, and since so called by all the members of the family in
this country, is familiar to those who are acquainted with the history
of the Netherlands.
If the charms of nature—grand scenery, magnificent views, and the
ever-varying harmony of beautiful skies—could add to the growth and
development of childhood, Hannah Hoes was incomparably blest. The years
of her life were spent in a happy home circle in the most beautiful
section of her native State—a State remarkable for the grandeur of its
mountain scenery, and the number of its romantic rivers. Chief among
these, and surpassed by none in the world, is the Hudson, in sight of
whose classic waters she lived and died.
Her ancestors were sturdy, enterprising Dutch, whose homes for many
generations had been along the banks of the stream discovered by their
renowned countryman, and not one of the rosy urchins of their households
but knew of the adventures of Hendrick Hudson, and reverenced him not
only as the hero of their race and the discoverer of their river, but
the founder of their prosperity. Nor could the tales of the old dames
who resided nearest the lofty Catskills—that he and his followers still
haunted the mountains and were the direct cause of calamities—divest
their minds of his wondrous exploits. In each ripple of the dancing
waves, in the denseness of the gray fog, or perchance in the quiet
stillness of eventide, they recognized some similarity, and recalled a
parallel of his experiences.
Mid such scenes and under such influences passed all the years of Mrs.
Van Buren’s life.
In February, 1807, at the age of twenty-five, she was married to Mr. Van
Buren. The intimacy which resulted in this union was formed in early
childhood, and the marriage took place as soon as his position at the
bar would justify such a step. The steadfastness of his attachment to
his young relative was a remarkable trait in the character of Mr. Van
Buren, and adds a lustre to his honored name.
Some time after their marriage they removed to Hudson City, where eight
years of wedded life passed fleetly away, they losing, in the meantime,
the youngest of their four sons, an infant only a few weeks old. In
1816, Mr. Van Buren removed his family to Albany, drawn thither,
doubtless, by his increased and increasing professional standing and
political leadership.
From this time forth, the highest wishes of his early life were crowned
with complete success. Wealth, fame and influence were the fruits of his
unremitted industry for nearly twenty years. “His natural talents had
reached their full expansion; his laborious industry exhibited its
proper results; and amid a constellation of great minds, whose brilliant
efforts erected and adorned the fabric of New York jurisprudence, the
vigor of his intellect and the richness of his learning won for him a
conspicuous and acknowledged eminence.”
But the voice of adulation fell upon unheeding ears when sickness
invaded the household and hastened the cherished wife and mother from
her loved ones. Not even the ardent devotion, the deathless affection of
the husband whose efforts in life had all been made for her, could stay
the destroyer in his cruel work. For months she lay an invalid, tended
by those who loved her more than life, and then sank into the grave a
victim of consumption.
A gentleman of high distinction, who knew her intimately from her
earliest years, said, “There never was a woman of a purer and kinder
heart.” Gentle and winning in life, her memory is redolent with the
perfume of her saintly sweetness and purity. Miss Cantine, the niece of
Mrs. Van Buren, who was but sixteen years of age at the time of her
aunt’s death, gives this picture of her last days: “Aunt Hannah lived
but a short time after their removal to Albany, dying at the early age
of thirty-five, when her youngest child was still an infant. I can
recall but little about her till her last sickness and death, except the
general impression I have of her modest, even timid manner—her shrinking
from observation, and her loving, gentle disposition. The last, long
sickness (she was confined to the house for six months) and her death
are deeply engraved on my memory. When told by her physicians that she
could live, in all probability, but a few days longer, she called her
children to her and gave them her dying counsel and blessing, and with
the utmost composure bade them farewell and committed them to the care
of the Saviour she loved, and in whom she trusted.
“This scene was the more remarkable to those who witnessed it, as,
through the most of her sickness, she had been extremely nervous, being
only able to see her children for a few moments on those days on which
she was most comfortable. They could only go to her bedside to kiss her,
and then be taken away. As an evidence of her perfect composure in view
of death, I will mention this fact. It was customary in that day, at
least it was the custom in the city of Albany, for the bearers to wear
scarfs which were provided by the family of the deceased. Aunt requested
that this might be omitted at her burial, and that the amount of the
cost of such a custom should be given to the poor. Her wishes were
entirely carried out.”
The following obituary notice is in itself a sketch of the character of
Mrs. Van Buren, and was written by one who knew her better than any one
out of her own family.
_From the Albany Argus Feb. 8, 1819._
“Died in this city, on the evening of Friday, the 5th inst., after a
lingering illness, Mrs. Hannah Van Buren, wife of the Hon. Martin Van
Buren, in the thirty-sixth year of her age. The death of this amiable
and excellent woman is severely felt by a numerous circle of relatives
and friends. As a daughter and a sister, wife and mother, her loss is
deeply deplored, for in all these various relations she was
affectionate, tender, and truly estimable. But the tear of sorrow is
almost dried by the reflection that she lived the life and died the
death of the righteous. Modest and unassuming, possessing the most
engaging simplicity of manners, her heart was the residence of every
kind affection, and glowed with sympathy for the wants and sufferings of
others. Her temper was uncommonly mild and sweet, her bosom was filled
with benevolence and content—no love of show, no ambitious desires, no
pride of ostentation ever disturbed its peace. When her attention was
directed, some years before her death, to the important concerns of
religion and salvation, she presented to the gospel she embraced a rich
soil for the growth and cultivation of every Christian principle.
Humility was her crowning grace, she possessed it in a rare degree; it
took deep root and flourished full and fair, shedding over every action
of her life its genial influence. She was an ornament of the Christian
faith, exemplifying in her life the duty it enjoins, and experiencing,
in a good degree, its heavenly joys, its cheering hopes. In her last
illness she was patient and resigned. In the midst of life, with all
that could make it worth possessing—esteemed and loved, happy in her
family and friends—she was forced away. But she left all without a sigh.
She waited the approach of death with calmness—her Redeemer had robbed
it of its sting and made it a welcome messenger. Doubtless, ‘’twas gain
for her to die.’ Doubtless, she is now enjoying that rest ‘which
remaineth for the people of God.’ Precious shall be the memory of her
virtues,
“Sweet the savor of her name,
And soft her sleeping bed.”
[Illustration: Eng_d. by J. C. Buttre. Angelica Van Buren]
XI.
ANGELICA VAN BUREN.
The era in which Hannah Van Buren lived was far removed from her
husband’s ascension to the Presidency, for she had been dead seventeen
years, when, in 1837, that event occurred. He remained a widower, and,
but for the presence of his accomplished daughter-in-law, his
administration would have been socially a failure. The prestige of his
high position was not complete until the honors were shared with his
young relative.
Angelica Singleton, the daughter of Richard Singleton, Esq., was born in
Sumpter District, South Carolina. Her grandfather Singleton, and her
great-grandfather General Richardson, served with distinction in the
revolutionary war. On the maternal side, her grandfather, John Coles,
Esq., of Albemarle county, Virginia, was the intimate and valued friend
of Presidents Jefferson and Madison, and two of his sons were
respectively their private secretaries during their Presidential terms.
Miss Singleton’s early advantages were in keeping with her elevated
social position. To complete an education superior to the generality of
her sex at that day, she spent several years at Madame Grelaud’s
seminary, in Philadelphia. The winter previous to her marriage, she
passed in Washington, in the family of her kinsman, Senator William C.
Preston. Soon after her arrival, her cousin, the justly celebrated Mrs.
Madison, procured the appointment of a day to present her to the
President, accompanied also by Senator Preston’s family. Her reception
was a very flattering one, and she became a great favorite with
President Van Buren. In November of the year following (1838), she was
married at her father’s residence, to Colonel, then Major, Van Buren,
the President’s eldest son, and his private secretary—a graduate of West
Point and long an officer in the army. Her first appearance as the lady
of the White House was on the following New Year’s day, when, supported
by the ladies of the cabinet, she received with the President.
The following brief though favorable cotemporaneous notice of that
occasion is taken from a long and racy account by a correspondent of the
Boston _Post_, of the movements at the capital on New Year’s day:
“The Executive Mansion was a place of much more than usual attraction in
consequence of the first appearance there of the bride of the
President’s son and private secretary, Mrs. Abram Van Buren. She is
represented as being a lady of rare accomplishments, very modest, yet
perfectly easy and graceful in her manners, and free and vivacious in
her conversation. She was universally admired and is said to have borne
the fatigue of a three hours’ levee with a patience and pleasantry which
must be inexhaustible to last one through so severe a trial. A constant
current set from the President’s house to the modest mansion of the much
respected lady of ex-President Madison. Ex-President Adams and his lady
were also cordially greeted at their residence by a number of friends.”
Mrs. Van Buren is the only daughter of South Carolina who has graced the
White House as hostess, and her life there was rendered as entirely
agreeable as the combined influences of wealth, station, and refinement
could make it. The reminiscences of her early life carry us back to a
period when South Carolina enjoyed the distinction of sharing with
Virginia the honor of being the seat of elegant hospitality and refined
culture. Under the benign influences of a matchless climate and great
wealth, the people of the Palmetto State enjoyed the leisure and
opportunity of developing all those characteristics which adorn humanity
and render life attractive. The citizens of this State were fortunate in
being the descendants of the best families of Virginia, and Mrs. Van
Buren was a most pleasing representative of this old aristocracy.
Perhaps no aristocracy in this country was ever so entirely modeled
after the ways and habits of the English nobility as that of Virginia
and South Carolina. The people were enabled, through the institution of
slavery, to keep up a style of living impossible under other conditions,
and they had the wealth and the inclination to be its successful
imitators. They were a monarchial class in a republican government.
The position of Mrs. Van Buren’s family was always such that all the
avenues of intellectual enjoyment were open to her, while her natural
endowments were of that high order which rendered cultivation rapid and
pleasant. Added to her many gifts was the irresistible one of beauty of
form and deportment. The engraving, from a portrait by Inman, painted
soon after the time of her marriage, represents the exceeding loveliness
of her charming person. More potent than mere regularity of features is
the gentle, winning expression of her clear black eyes; and the smile
about her finely chiselled lips betokens the proud serenity of her most
fortunate life.
Mrs. Van Buren was, on her mother’s side, descended from a long line of
ancestors, and the genealogical tables of the family discover many of
the leading names of American politicians and statesmen. Aside from mere
wealth, they possessed abilities which, in many instances, secured them
the highest position in the gift of their government. Prominent among
these was her uncle, Mr. Stevenson, Minister to England. In the spring
of 1839, Colonel and Mrs. Van Buren made a rapid visit to Europe,
returning at the request of the President in the following fall in time
for the session of Congress. While abroad, they enjoyed the most unusual
social advantages, being members of the President’s family, and she a
niece of the American ambassador, who had been a resident of London
several years. They were in London during the whole of the season of the
year following the queen’s coronation, which derived especial brilliancy
from the presence of the present Emperor of Russia, Prince Henry of
Orange, and other foreigners of note.
No American lady has ever visited Europe under similar circumstances.
Nor have any of her countrywomen made a more lasting impression than did
this young representative of the President’s family. By her cultivated,
unassuming manners she made herself most agreeable to the court circles
of England, and maintained in the saloons of royalty the simplicity and
dignity of her republican education.
Mrs. Stevenson was the chaperon of Mrs. Van Buren on all public
occasions, and the recollections of evenings spent with her at
“Almack’s,” at the Palace, and in the society of the cultured and noble,
were always sunny memories in the heart of her niece.
Major Van Buren’s position as private secretary rendered their
unexampled and most fortunate visit to England of short duration. To
reach America before the meeting of Congress, they left London for the
continent. In the course of their hurried tour, they passed some weeks
in Paris, and were presented by the American minister, General Cass, to
the king and queen. They were invited to dine at St. Cloud, and were
received with the kind, unceremonious manner which, it is well known,
distinguished all the members of that branch of the Orleans family.
After dinner, Louis Philippe conducted them through the rooms of the
Palace, even to the door of the sleeping apartment, as he supposed, of
his grandson, the Comte De Paris, at which he knocked without obtaining
any response. The queen, having been told by Mrs. Van Buren on her
return of what had happened, said, laughingly, “Ah! that is all the king
knows about it! After his mother left with the Duc D’Orleans for
Algiers, I caused the child to be removed to a room nearer my own.” She
then proposed to send for him, and for her Wurtemberg grandchild also,
but unfortunately for the gratification of her guest’s natural
curiosity, the little princes were fast asleep.
After the expiration of President Van Buren’s term of office, Mrs. Van
Buren and her husband lived with him at Lindenwald through several years
of his retirement, passing much of the winter months with her parents in
South Carolina, and in 1848 establishing themselves in the city of New
York, which has since been their home uninterruptedly, except by visits
to the South, rendered necessary by the death of her father and the
consequent charge of her patrimonial estate, and by a three years’
absence in Europe, superintending the education of their sons.
Mrs. Van Buren’s middle life was spent in New York, where she lived a
pleasant existence, surrounded by her family, and in the midst of a
charming social circle. Her career was an exceptionally prosperous one,
and she enjoyed life thoroughly. She was a cultivated, elegant-mannered
person, considerate of others, sweet in disposition, and gracious in
speech. Her home was the centre of elegant hospitality, and in the
gayest city on this continent she was accounted a society leader. She
was an unselfish woman, and she was never tardy in employing her gifts
or her means in behalf of others. Prosperous and educated to the
enjoyment of wealth; cultured and inclined to appreciate all that was
pleasing and beautiful in life, her career is a delightful one to
chronicle. She knew sorrow in the early death of two of her children;
and in later years the loss of relatives and friends cast a momentary
gloom about her. But few earthly lives have been so unvaryingly even and
free from strong contrasts. Up to the time of her death (which occurred
the 29th of December, 1878) she was a lady upon whom it was a pleasure
to look; whose bearing discovered aristocratic lineage, and cultivation
under happy conditions.
XII.
ANNA SYMMES HARRISON.
Anna Symmes, the wife of the ninth President of the United States, was
born the famous year of American Independence, and but a few months
after the renowned skirmish at Lexington. Her birth-place was near
Morristown, New Jersey, the scene of suffering the following year, where
the tracks of the blood-stained feet of the soldiers attested their
forlorn condition. Soon after her birth, which occurred the 25th of
July, 1775, her mother died. Bereft of her care, she was thrown upon her
father’s hands for those attentions necessary for one of such a tender
age, which until her fourth year he carefully bestowed. Her maternal
grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Tuthill, were residing at Southhold, Long
Island, and thither at the age of four years she was taken by her
surviving parent. The incidents of her journey from Morristown to Long
Island, then in the possession of the British, she remembered through
life. Her father, the Hon. John Cleves Symmes, though at the time a
Colonel in the Continental army, was so anxious to place his daughter
with her grandmother, that he assumed the disguise of a British
officer’s uniform and successfully accomplished his perilous
undertaking. Leaving her in the home from which he had taken her mother
years before, he joined his own troops and served with distinction
during the war. Not until after the evacuation of New York, in the fall
of 1783, did the father and child meet again, nor did she return to his
New Jersey home. Under the care of her excellent grandmother, she became
early imbued with a love of religious reading, and learned those early
habits of industry which the young under the right influences early
attain. Mrs. Tuthill was a godly woman, whose soul had been deeply
stirred by the preaching of Whitfield, whom she greatly reverenced and
admired. From her lips the little Anna received her first religious
instructions, the good impressions of which lasted her through life. She
often remarked that “from her earliest childhood, the frivolous
amusements of youth had no charms for her. If ever constrained to attend
places of fashionable amusement, it was to gratify others and not
herself.”, In this early home of quiet and retirement, she acquired
habits of order and truthfulness which characterized her conduct in
after years. Her hands, even as a child, were never idle, but as a
Christian virtue, she was trained to diligence, prudence, and economy.
When old enough to attend school, she was placed at a seminary in East
Hampton, where she remained some time, and subsequently she was a pupil
of Mrs. Isabelle Graham, and an inmate of her family in New York city.
Here she readily acquired knowledge, and improved the opportunities
afforded her. For her teacher she ever retained the highest regard, and
cherished the memory of that pious and exemplary woman through all the
changes of her own life.
At the age of nineteen she bade adieu to her aged grandparents, and
accompanied her father and step-mother to Ohio, in 1794. A year previous
to this time, Judge Symmes had located a small colony of settlers who
had accompanied him from New Jersey, at a point on the Ohio river,
afterward known as North Bend. Returning to the Eastern States, he
married Miss Susan Livingston, a daughter of Governor Livingston, of New
York, and in the autumn started again, accompanied by his wife and
daughter, for his frontier home. The journey was made with great
difficulty, and the party did not reach North Bend until the morning of
the 1st of January, 1795. Thus was the youthful Anna a pioneer in the
land which she lived to see blossoming as the rose under the hands of
civilization and material progression.
Judge Symmes was one of the Associate Judges of the Supreme Court of the
Northwestern Territory, and was often called to attend court in a
distant part of the Territory. During the absence of her father on these
journeyings, Anna would spend most of her time with an elder sister, who
had previously removed to Lexington, Kentucky. It was while on one of
these visits to her sister, Mrs. Peyton Short, that she formed the
acquaintance of her future husband, then Captain Harrison,[16] of the
United States Army, and in command of Fort Washington, the present site
of Cincinnati. The youthful Virginian was much attracted by the gentle,
modest manners and the sweet face of Anna Symmes, and he determined on
winning her hand. The effort was highly successful, for they were
married at her father’s house, North Bend, Ohio, November 22d, 1795.
Footnote 16:
William Henry Harrison, the third and youngest son of Benjamin
Harrison, of Virginia, was born the 9th day of February, 1773, at
Berkley, on the James river, about twenty-five miles below Richmond,
in Charles City county. His father was a signer of the Declaration of
Independence, a member of the Continental Congress, and afterward
Governor of Virginia. Young Harrison was educated at Hampden Sydney
College, and afterward studied medicine. After his father’s death, in
1791, he became the ward of Robert Morris, the celebrated financier,
whose private fortune so often relieved the sufferings of the
Continental Army. When about to graduate as a physician, the reports
of troubles in the West decided him to join the frontier troops. The
opposition of his excellent guardian was not sufficient to deter him
from his purpose, and as his design was approved by Washington, who
had also been a warm friend of his father, he received from that noble
warrior an ensign’s commission in the first regiment of United States
Artillery, then stationed at Fort Washington.
Thus, in less than one year after her removal from her childhood’s home,
in the twentieth year of her age, Anna Symmes became the wife of Captain
Harrison, subsequently the most popular General of his day and President
of the United States.
Soon after their marriage, Captain Harrison resigned his commission in
the army, and was elected the first delegate to Congress from the
Northwest Territory. Mrs. Harrison accompanied him to Philadelphia, then
the seat of the General Government, but spending, however, most of the
session in visiting her husband’s relatives in Virginia.
From those who knew Mrs. Harrison at this period of her life, is given
the assurance that she was very handsome. Her face was full of animation
and kindliness, and her health, which was perfectly robust, added a glow
to her features, very pleasing to behold. Her figure was not large, but
a happy medium, although rather inclined to become reduced upon the
slightest occasion. Later in life, as her health grew more delicate, she
looked much smaller than when in youth’s bright morn she became a bride.
In a letter received by her in 1840, from a friend who had known her at
eighteen years of age, this passage occurs: “I suppose I should not
recognize anything of your present countenance, for your early days have
made such an impression upon my mind that I cannot realize any
countenance for you but that of your youth, on which nature had been so
profusely liberal.” In the pictures taken later in life, her face
exhibits a very intellectual and animated expression, and there are
traces of former beauty in the delicate features and bright black eyes.
When the Indiana Territory which now forms the State of Indiana, was
formed out of a portion of the old Northwestern Territory, General
Harrison was appointed its first Governor by President Adams.
He removed his family to the old French town of Vincennes, on the
Wabash, then the seat of the Territorial Government, where Mrs. Harrison
lived for many years a retired but very happy life.
Dispensing with a liberal hand and courteous manner the hospitality of
the Governor’s Mansion, she was beloved and admired by all who knew her.
General Harrison retained this position during the administrations of
Adams, Jefferson and Madison, until the inglorious surrender of Hull in
1812, when he was appointed to the command of the northwestern army.
Mrs. Harrison remained in Vincennes during the fall of 1811, while her
husband was marching with his small force to disband the tribes of
hostile Indians gathering for battle at Prophet’s Town, and was there
when the news of the battle of Tippecanoe reached her. But she rejoiced
that it was over, and the formidable combinations of Tecumseh and the
Prophet were dissipated forever. Henceforth the settlers might work in
peace, for the foot of the red man came never again across the Wabash
with hostile intent.
The battle-ground of Tippecanoe, the scene of General Harrison’s
dearly-bought triumph, after the lapse of three-quarters of a century,
is as quiet and green as a village churchyard. A low white paling fence
surrounds it, and the trees are tall and carefully pruned of
undergrowth. Mounds, so frequently observed in the west, and here and
there a quaint wooden headboard marks the spot of some brave soldier’s
fall. The train as it rushes from Lafayette, Indiana, through what was
formerly a wilderness, to the west, gives the traveller but a moment to
look upon this historic spot, where on that fatal 7th of November
morning, the Indians rushed unexpectedly upon the weary troops, sleeping
after the exhaustive fatigue of travel, and met with a defeat that made
the spot famous.
After the battle of Tippecanoe, General Harrison removed his family to
Cincinnati, and accepted the position of Major-General in the forces of
Kentucky, then about to march to the relief of the Northwestern
Territory.
Mrs. Harrison was thus left a comparative stranger in Cincinnati, with
the sole charge of her young and large family of children during the
greater part of the war of 1812. During this time, several of the
children were prostrated by long and severe illness, and to this trial
was added the painful anxiety attending the fate of her husband. But
under these and all afflictions, Mrs. Harrison bore up with the firmness
of a Roman matron, and the humility and resignation of a tried Christian
mother.
In 1814, General Harrison resigned his position in the army and went to
live at North Bend, fifteen miles below Cincinnati, on the Ohio. In the
limits of this sketch it is impossible to give all the interesting
details of Mrs. Harrison’s life during her thirty years’ residence at
the old homestead. Many, very many of her acts of neighborly kindness
and Christian charity will never be known on earth, for she shrank from
any display of benevolence.
General Harrison being much from home, engaged in public affairs, she
was left in the control of her large family of ten children, and
ofttimes the children of her friends and neighbors. Schools in that new
and unsettled country were “few and far between,” and Mrs. Harrison
always employed a private tutor. The generous hospitality of North Bend
being so well known, it was not surprising that many of the children of
the neighborhood became inmates of her family for as long as they chose
to avail themselves of the privileges of the little school.
Although at this time in delicate health, Mrs. Harrison never wearied or
complained in the discharge of domestic duties, and forgot the
multiplied cares she assumed in the thought of the benefit the children
of others would derive from such an arrangement. She was sustained by
her husband, and loved by her children and servants, and the burden was
lightened spiritually if not materially.
But here commenced the long series of trials which tested her character
and chastened her heart. During her thirty years’ life at North Bend,
she buried, one child in infancy, and subsequently followed to the grave
three daughters and four sons, all of whom were settled in life, and ten
grandchildren. In view of these bereavements she wrote to her pastor,
“And now what shall I say to these things; only, ‘Be still and know that
I am God.’ You will not fail to pray for me and my dear son and daughter
who are left. For I have no wish for my children and grandchildren than
to see them the humble followers of the Lord Jesus.”
Her influence over her family was strong and abiding, and all loved to
do reverence to her consistent, conscientious life. Her only surviving
son wrote in 1848, “That I am a firm believer in the religion of Christ
is not a virtue of mine. I imbibed it at my mother’s breast, and can no
more divest myself of it than I can of my nature.”
The same was true of all her children, and what errors they might
embrace, they could not forget the religion of their mother, nor wander
far from the precepts, for “whatever is imbibed with the mother’s milk
lasts forever for weal or for woe.” The following incident will show
that her precepts and examples as a member of the church were not
unappreciated by her husband. In 1840, during the Presidential canvass,
a delegation of politicians visited North Bend on the Sabbath. General
Harrison met them near his residence and extending his hand, said:
“Gentlemen, I should be most happy to welcome you on any other day, but
if I have no regard for religion myself, I have too much respect for the
religion of my wife to encourage the violation of the Christian
Sabbath.”
In 1836, General Harrison was first nominated for the Presidency. Mrs.
Harrison was much annoyed by even the remote possibility of his
election. There were no less than three candidates of the old federal
party in the field, and the triumph of either was almost an
impossibility. Yet even this probability of having to break up the
retirement of her old home at North Bend and be thrown in the station of
fashion and position in Washington, filled the heart of Mrs. Harrison
with dismay. When the trio of candidates had defeated themselves and
elected the champion of the Democracy, Mrs. Harrison felt heartily glad
that her quiet was again restored, and she contemplated with renewed
delight the happy contentment of her western home on the banks of the
sparkling, flowing river.
In 1840, the Federal party had ceased to exist; the opponents of Jackson
and the system which emanated from his administration had taken the name
of the Whig party, and Harrison, the sagacious Governor of the
Northwestern Territory, the successful General, and later the farmer of
North Bend, was the chosen of the people, and the idol of his party.
The canvass, for months before the day of the election, carried the most
intense excitement and unbounded enthusiasm throughout the Union. The
pecuniary difficulties of the country, during the past administration,
left the people an opportunity for political gatherings. Financial
prostration and hopeless bankruptcy paralyzed the various trades; and in
the workshop, as in the counting-house, in the streets, in the fields,
in vacant factories and barns, in the mechanic’s as in the artisan’s
room, were heard debates of the pending question. Everywhere long
processions with mottoed banners were seen marching to music, and
throughout the land was heard the famous old “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,”
and “Van is a used-up man,” campaign songs. Never before or since was
such interest manifested, and never again will there be the same
admiration expressed for any aspirant to public honors. Log-cabins,
illustrative of General Harrison’s early days, were “raised” everywhere,
and “companies” visited from place to place, equipped in handsome
uniforms, and accompanied by bands of music. The whigs struggled
manfully to elect their candidate, bringing to their service powerful
appeals in the forms of stirring song, executed by youths in the
streets, and dwelling continually upon the resumption of specie payment,
revival of languishing trade, and public retrenchment and economy. The
result was such as every one expected. General Harrison was elected
President by a large majority, and John Tyler, of Virginia, was chosen
Vice-President. This triumphant victory brought no sense of pride or
elation to Mrs. Harrison. She was grateful to her countrymen for this
unmistakable appreciation of the civil and military services of her
husband, and rejoiced at his vindication over his traducers, but she
took no pleasure in contemplating the pomp and circumstance of a life at
the Executive Mansion. At no period of her life had she any taste for
the gayeties of fashion or the dissipations of society. Her friends were
ever welcome to her home, and found there refined pleasures and innocent
amusements, but for the life of a woman of the world she had no
sympathy.
General Harrison left his home in February, and was received in
Washington with every demonstration of respect, and welcomed by Mayor
Seaton in a speech delivered at City Hall. It was raining hard when he
left the railroad depot, yet he walked with his hat in his hand,
accompanied by an immense concourse of people. He went from Washington
to his old home in Virginia for a few days, but returned in time for the
Inauguration. The morning of the 4th of March, 1841, was ushered in by a
salute of twenty-six guns. The day was devoted entirely to pleasure. The
city of Washington was thronged with people, many of whom were from the
most distant States of the Union. The procession was in keeping with the
enthusiasm and interest displayed throughout the campaign. Ladies
thronged the windows, and waved their handkerchiefs in token of kind
feelings, while the wild huzzas of the opposite sex filled the air with
a deafening noise. General Harrison was mounted on a white charger,
accompanied by several personal friends, and his immediate escort were
the officers and soldiers who had fought under him. Canoes and cabins,
covered with appropriate mottoes, were conspicuous, and the scene was
one of universal splendor.
Mrs. Harrison’s health, delicate for many years, was particularly frail
in February when her husband left home for Washington, and her
physicians protested against her crossing the mountains at that season
of the year, and urged her remaining in Ohio until the opening of
spring. General Harrison was accompanied to Washington by his
daughter-in-law, Mrs. Jane F. Harrison, the widow of his namesake son,
and her two sons. She was a very refined, accomplished person, and
exceedingly popular during her short stay as mistress of ceremonies at
the White House. Besides Mrs. Jane F. Harrison, there were several
ladies of the President’s family residing temporarily with her until
Mrs. Harrison should come on. Mrs. Findlay, the wife of General Findlay
and aged aunt of Mrs. Harrison, Miss Ramsay, a cousin, and Miss Lucy S.
Taylor, of Richmond, Virginia, a niece of the President’s, these were
the occupants of the mansion the few short weeks of the President’s
life, for in one month from the day of his inauguration he died.
Pneumonia was the avowed cause, but it was the applicants for office who
killed him. He was weak and aged, and unaccustomed to the confined life
forced upon him in his new position, and the gentle kindness with which
he received all who were clamoring for office did but inspire them with
renewed ardor. The whig party had been out of power many years, and the
greed of the politicians snapped the tendrils of the veteran’s declining
years and sent him to the tomb before the glad notes of the inauguration
anthem had died over the Virginia hills. President Harrison died the 4th
of April, 1841, and on the 7th was laid temporarily to rest in the
Congressional burying-grounds. The service was performed in the White
House, by Rev. Mr. Hawley, in the presence of President Tyler,
ex-President Adams, members of the cabinet, of Congress, and the foreign
ministers. The procession was two miles in length, and was marshalled on
its way by officers on horseback carrying white batons with black
tassels. At the grounds, the liturgy of the Episcopal church was recited
by Mr. Hawley. The coffin having been placed in the receiving vault, and
the military salute having been fired, the procession resumed its march
to the city, and by five o’clock that evening nothing remained but empty
streets, and the emblems of mourning upon the houses, and the still
deeper gloom which oppressed the general mind with renewed power after
all was over; and the sense of the public bereavement alone was left to
fill the thoughts. The following touching lines, from the gifted pen of
N. P. Willis, remarkable for their pathos and harmony, need no apology
for being introduced here. The grandeur and simple beauty of the
swelling poem deserve a more lasting record than transitory verses
usually receive.
What soared the old eagle to die at the sun,
Lies he stiff with spread wings at the goal he has won!
Are there spirits more blest than the planet of even
Who mount to their zenith, then melt into heaven?
No waning of fire, no quenching of ray,
But rising, still rising, when passing away!
Farewell, gallant eagle! thou’rt buried in light!
God-speed unto heaven, lost star of our night!
Death! Death in the White House! ah, never before
Trod his skeleton foot on the President’s floor;
He is looked for in hovel and dreaded in hall,
The king in his closet keeps hatchments and pall,
The youth in his birth-place, the old man at home,
Make clean from the door-stone the path to the tomb;
But the lord of this mansion was cradled not here,
In a churchyard far off stands his beckoning bier:
He is here as the wave crest heaves flashing on high,
As the arrow is stopp’d by its prize in the sky—
The arrow to earth, and the foam to the shore,
Death finds them when swiftness and shankle are o’er;
But Harrison’s death fills the climax of story:
He went with his old stride from glory to glory.
Lay his sword on his breast! there’s no spot on its blade
In whose cankering breath his bright laurels will fade:
’Twas the first to lead on at humanity’s call,
It was stay’d with sweet mercy when “glory” was all;
As calm in the council as gallant in war,
He fought for his country, and not its “hurrah!”
In the path of the hero with pity he trod,
Let him pass with his sword to the presence of God!
What more? Shall we on with his ashes? Yet stay!
He hath ruled the wide realm of a king in his day;
At his word, like a monarch’s, went treasure and land,
The bright gold of thousands has passed through his hand.
Is there nothing to show of his flittering hoard?
No jewels to deck the rude hilt of his sword—
No trappings—no horses? what had he? But now,
On, on with his ashes! he left but his plough!
Brave old Cincinnatus! unwind ye his sheet:
Let him sleep as he lived—with his purse at his feet.
Follow now as ye list: the first mourner to-day
Is the nation—whose father is taken away.
Wife, children and neighbor may moan at his knell—
He was “lover and friend” to his country as well!
For the stars on our banner grown suddenly dim
Let us weep, in our darkness—but weep not for him.
Not for him, who, departing, leaves millions in tears;
Not for him, who has died full of honor and years;
From the round at the top he has stepped to the sky—
It is blessed to go when so ready to die!
The members of President Harrison’s family immediately vacated the
Executive Mansion, and the grief-stricken widow ceased the preparations
for her prolonged absence from home. What a shock this death must have
been to her! For many months an interested spectator, if not an actor,
in the stirring events of the canvass and election, afterward a sharer
in the triumphs of her husband, and for weeks anticipating the happy
reunion in the mansion of the Presidents, to be rudely torn by fate from
his presence for ever, and to see every hope lying crushed around her,
would have harrowed a nature of coarsest mould. She was summoned from
the busy care of forwarding some matter of interest to be told that he
was dead. Dead! she could scarcely believe the evidences of her senses.
Dead! or was she mistaken in what was said to her? His last letter was
before her, and she had scarcely ceased reading the accounts in the
papers of the magnificence of the inaugural ball.
Howsoever cruel the blow, it was borne meekly and humbly by the
Christian wife and mother, and she aroused herself from the stupor in
which the announcement had thrown her.
In July, the remains of the sincerely regretted President and deeply
mourned husband and father were removed to their present resting-place
at North Bend.
Had her husband lived, Mrs. Harrison would have gone to Washington and
discharged faithfully and conscientiously the duties of her position.
But her residence there would not have been in accordance with her
wishes or her taste.
She continued to reside at her old home, where the happiest years of her
life had been spent, until the autumn of 1855, when she removed from the
old homestead to the residence of her only surviving son, Hon. J. Scott
Harrison, five miles below North Bend, on the Ohio river. She remained
an inmate of his family until her death.
During the latter part of her life, she had many and severe attacks of
illness, and perhaps nothing but the skill and devoted medical services
of her physicians, and the almost idolatrous attentions of her
granddaughters, kept the lamp of her life flickering so long. Her
grandsons, too, claimed their share in this labor of love, and when the
telegraph bore to their distant homes the tidings of her illness, they
came with their wives to wait at her bedside, and whatever of business
was suspended or neglected, their attentions to her were not relaxed for
a moment. In a recent letter received from a granddaughter of Mrs.
Harrison’s, this paragraph occurs: “Of many of the facts of her later
life I was an eye-witness, as I was an inmate of my father’s family for
three years previous to her death, and had the inestimable privilege of
seeing her beautiful Christian resignation and conformity to the will of
God as life drew to its close. Indeed, it was upon my breast that she
breathed her precious life away.”
Mrs. Harrison was not indifferent to the political events of the age in
which she lived, and few were better informed with regard to public men
and measures than herself. Much of her time she spent in reading, during
the closing years of her life, and she kept herself informed, through
the medium of the daily papers, of the transactions of the outside
world. Very few persons of even younger years took a greater interest in
the movements of the armies during the late civil war, or could give a
more succinct and graphic account of the details of a campaign.
She was not radical in her sentiments, and indulged in no preconceived
prejudices against the South and its objectionable institution. In
regard to the holding of slaves, she was willing that all should be
fully persuaded in their own minds as to its propriety, but her own
convictions were strongly against it.
Many of her grandsons were officers and soldiers in the Union army, and
as occasion would permit, they would visit her to ask her blessing and
her prayers. The one was given and the other promised with a patriotic
zeal and ardor that many of the sterner sex might well have emulated.
During the war, a grandson and member of the family in which she resided
came home on a brief leave of absence. The day of his departure arrived,
and he went to the chamber of his grandmother to take what he supposed
to be his last farewell in this life, as she was then confined to her
bed with a severe illness. She received him with great affection, and in
reply to his expressions of regret at leaving her, she said, “O, no, my
son, your country needs your services; I do not. Go and discharge your
duty faithfully and fearlessly. I feel that my prayers in your behalf
will be heard, and that you will be returned in safety. And yet,
perhaps, I do not feel as much concerned for you as I should: I have
parted so often with your grandfather under similar circumstances, and
he was always returned to me in safety, that I feel it will be the same
with you.”
The young Captain did return to see his grandmother again in this life
after several hard-fought battles, in which he received complimentary
notice from his commanding officers. Her granddaughter says: “My
husband, Dr. Eaton, one of her physicians being in the house and an
invalid, spent much of his time in her room, and would often say to me,
‘I never met a more entertaining person than your grandma. I could sit
for hours and listen to her conversation.’ Such is not often said, by a
man in the prime of life, of an old lady nearly ninety years of age.
Since then he has gone to join her in her heavenly home.”
Mrs. Harrison’s distinguishing characteristics were her Christian
humility and total want of selfishness; her modest, retiring manners and
generosity and benevolence. She was always anxious to promote the
well-being of others at her own expense, and sacrificed herself for the
good of others.
Many incidents of generosity are remembered and treasured by her
descendants, which, though not of sufficient interest to record, are of
priceless value to those who witnessed their exhibition, and were
recipients of her beneficence.
Every public and private charity was near her heart, and received
liberally from her hand. But those who enjoyed her bounty knew not of
its source. To a poor minister she would write: “Accept this trifle from
a friend.” To the Bethel Sabbath school, “This is but a widow’s mite.”
To the suffering poor of the city, “Please distribute this from one who
wishes it was a thousand times more.”
She continued to bear on her praying lips the salvation of her
descendants, and as she drew near the closing scene, this was her song:
“Just as I am, without one plea
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bidd’st me come to thee,—
O Lamb of God! I come.”
Her intellectual powers and physical senses were retained to the last,
and at the age of eighty-eight she was an agreeable companion for both
old and young.
On the evening of the 25th of February, 1864, in the eighty-ninth year
of her age, Mrs. Harrison died at the residence of her son.
Her funeral took place at the Presbyterian church at Cleves, on Sunday,
February the 28th. The sermon was preached by the Rev. Horace Bushnell,
from the text, “Be still and know that I am God.” The selection was made
by herself and given several years before to Mr. Bushnell, her pastor
and intimate friend for many years. The remains were deposited beside
those of her husband, and they together sleep by the banks of the
beautiful Ohio at North Bend.
XIII.
LETITIA CHRISTIAN TYLER.
The first wife of John Tyler, tenth President of the United States, was
the third daughter of Robert Christian, Esq., of Cedar Grove, in New
Kent county, in the State of Virginia; a gentleman of good private
fortune, an earnest Federalist of that day in his political opinions,
and an attached friend and adherent of George Washington. He possessed
the highest social and political influence in the county of his
residence, and, indeed, throughout the Peninsular District, embraced
between the York and James rivers. His house was the seat of genuine
Virginia hospitality, and his neighbors, trusting implicitly to his good
sense and integrity, appealed to his arbitration in matters involving
legal controversy, in preference to submitting their cases in the
courts. For many consecutive years, he was not only the presiding
magistrate of his county, but also its representative in the Legislature
of the State; and his brothers, among whom was the late Major Edmond
Christian, of Creighton, Marshal of Virginia, were men of mark and
influence.
This worthy gentleman married in early life Mary Brown, an amiable lady
of high worth and character, with whom he lived in happiness until her
death, and through whom he was blessed with a large family of sons and
daughters; the males being, without exception, distinguished for their
personal courage, intelligence, and graceful appearance and manners, and
the daughters for their beauty, piety, and domestic virtues.
[Illustration:
M^{RS.} LETITIA CHRISTIAN TYLER.
]
Among that bevy of fair daughters, Letitia, afterward Mrs. Tyler, born
on the 12th of November, 1790, under the paternal roof at Cedar Grove,
was, perhaps, the most attractive in her modest refinement and striking
loveliness of person and character; and although always instinctively
shrinking from public observation, she was regarded as one of the belles
of Eastern Virginia. Her hand was sought in marriage by many suitors,
but from the number who presented themselves—some of whom were the
possessors of large estates—her heart and excellent judgment selected
the then talented and rising young lawyer, who, inheriting the
unrivalled popularity of his father, Governor John Tyler, with a mind
still more brilliant and cultivated, was just entering upon that
remarkable career which has so directly and powerfully impressed his
genius, not only on the history of his noble old State, but on that of
the United States of America.