Reaching Murfreesboro, exhausted and weary from the long trip, the

little band were told they could not go through the lines. The

Confederate troops occupied this once beautiful town, and no

accommodations were to be obtained. Wandering from one house to another

after the long walk from the depot, in the night-time, without food or

shelter, Mrs. Johnson and her children despaired of securing any more

inviting abode than the depot, and that was a long distance from the

centre of the town. As a last resort, a woman was requested to share her

home with the tired refugees, and she consented with the understanding

that in the morning they would depart. Their Union sentiments made them

obnoxious, and it required courage to show them hospitality. Next day

they returned to Tullahoma, but on arriving there received a telegram to

retrace their steps, as arrangements had been made for their passage

through to Nashville.

A former friend of the family obtained this favor for them, and, nothing

daunted, night again found the same band at Murfreesboro.

No effort was made to secure lodgings, all preferring to stay on the

cars, rather than undertake the experiences of the previous night.

The eating-house near by was vacant, and into this Colonel Stover

conducted the tired party. Without fire or food, or any kind of beds or

seats, they determined to stay as best they could; and but for the

thoughtful, motherly care of Mrs. Johnson, it would have been a night of

horrors. She had provided herself with candles and matches before

starting, and the remnants of an old lunch satisfied the hunger of the

little ones, and rendered less cheerless their lonely abode.

Thus, from one trouble to another, subject to the commands of military

rulers, liable to be arrested for the slightest offence, and ofttimes

insulted by the rabble, Mrs. Johnson and her children performed the

perilous journey from Greenville to Nashville. Few who were not actual

participators in the civil war can form an estimate of the trials of

this noble woman. Invalid as she was, she yet endured exposure and

anxiety, and passed through the extended lines of hostile armies, never

uttering a hasty word or by her looks betraying in the least degree her

harrowed feelings. Wherever she passed she won kind words and hearty

prayers for a safe journey, and is remembered by friend and foe as a

lady of benign countenance and sweet, winning manners.

The following day Mrs. Johnson received the following note:

“MURFREESBORO, _October 12th, 1862_.

“MRS. ANDREW JOHNSON:—General Forrest sends a flag of truce to Nashville

to-morrow morning, and he wishes you and your party to make your

arrangements to go down with the flag, at seven o’clock A. M.,

to-morrow.

“The General regrets that he has no transportation for you; he will send

a two-horse wagon to carry your baggage, etc. By remaining until

to-morrow, you can go the direct route to Nashville; by going previous

to that time, the route would be necessarily circuitous.

Respectfully,

“ISHAM G. HARRIS.”

A diary kept by a citizen of Nashville at this time contains the

following:

“Quite a sensation has been produced by the arrival in Nashville of

Governor Johnson’s family, after incurring and escaping numerous perils

while making their exodus from East Tennessee. The male members of the

family were in danger of being hung on more than one occasion. They left

Bristol in the extreme northeastern section of the State, on the

Virginia line, by permission of the rebel War Department, accompanied by

a small escort. Wherever it became known on the railroad route that

Andrew Johnson’s family were on the train, the impertinent curiosity of

some rebels was only equalled by the clamor of others for some physical

demonstration on Johnson’s sons. Arriving at Murfreesboro, they were met

by General Forrest and his force. Forrest refused to allow them to

proceed, and they were detained some time, until Isham G. Harris and

Andrew Ewing, noted rebels, telegraphed to Richmond, and obtained

peremptory orders allowing them to proceed. The great joy at the reunion

of this long and sorrowfully separated family may be imagined. I will

not attempt to describe it. Even the Governor’s Roman firmness was

overcome, and he wept tears of thankfulness at this merciful deliverance

of his beloved ones from the hands of their unpitying persecutors.”

Nashville and comparative quiet were at last reached, and the long

separated family hoped their trials were over. Mrs. Johnson had

exhausted her strength, and for many months kept her room, too feeble to

venture out. But her little grandchildren enjoyed the freedom of play

once more, and their happy faces are remembered by strangers and friends

who watched them in their gambols about the capital.

By-and-by Mrs. Patterson joined the family in the safe asylum they had

found in Nashville, and young and old were happy in the reunion. But

trouble, never far from Mrs. Johnson, came very near in the cruel death

of her eldest son. Not long after receiving his diploma as physician, he

was appointed a surgeon in the First Tennessee Infantry.

One bright spring morning, he started on his rounds of professional

duty. In the exuberance of health, youth, and spirits, he sprang upon

the horse of a brother officer. He had gone but a short distance, when

the high-mettled creature reared upon its hind feet suddenly; the young

man was thrown backward, and falling upon the frozen earth, was

instantly killed. The concussion fractured his skull. Mrs. Johnson

grieved for this son as did Jacob for his beloved Joseph, and not only

the mother, but the whole family, mourned with unusual poignancy his

untimely death. Any mention of “Charlie’s” name for years after brought

the hot tears to their eyes, and a sadness, hard to dispel, gathered

about their lips, when some familiar object recalled their loved and

early lost one.

The convention, in 1864, nominated Andrew Johnson, then Military

Governor, for the Vice-Presidency, on the ticket with Mr. Lincoln. In

March, 1865, Mr. Johnson left his family in Nashville and went on to

Washington. It was their intention to vacate the house then occupied by

their family and remove to their home in Greenville, but the events of

the coming month caused them to form other plans. President Lincoln was

assassinated the 14th of April, and the Vice-President was immediately

sworn into office. A telegraphic notice in the Nashville papers the next

morning contained the following:

“The Vice-President has already assumed the authority which the

Constitution devolves upon him, and we feel doubly assured that he will

so conduct himself in his high office as to merit the affection and

applause of his countrymen.” As this was the first murder of a ruler in

the experience of the Republic, it will ever occupy a prominent place in

the history of America, and, involving as it did the result of civil

war, will live a silent monitor to all democratic countries. Had the

conspiracy, which had been carefully planned, been successfully

executed, the Government would have been paralyzed. Even as it was, and

there was but one death, when many others were meditated, the shock was

terrible and lasting. It was a humiliating calamity to our free

government, and a source of national sorrow and mortification. Men and

women, reared to idealize rather than ponder the principles of the

system under which they had lived; educated to give a ready assent to

the hero worship of the signers of the Declaration, and voluntary

adoration to the First General of the army, and the first President,

rudely awakened from their dream of a perfect Government, became

discouraged and dismayed at the unexpected, never to be thought of,

murder of a President. It may not be amiss to give a few facts in

connection with this unhappy affair, relative to the husband of Mrs.

Johnson, which, affecting her interests materially, are not out of place

in this sketch of her life.

After her arrival in Washington, a beautifully bound album, containing

the letters of the Wisconsin State Historical Society, to Senator

Doolittle, and the replies of himself and Ex-Governor Farwell, was

presented to her. The letters were inscribed by an expert penman, and

are prized by the family as a truthful account of Mr. Johnson’s narrow

escape from death, together with the main incidents of the assassination

conspiracy.

The Historical Society of Wisconsin, through Hon. L. C. Draper, its

Secretary, wrote to Senator J. R. Doolittle for a full account of the

circumstances; to which he replied, that “by the sagacity, presence of

mind, courage, and devotion of Governor Farwell, our own distinguished

fellow-citizen, Mr. Johnson was apprised of his danger, and his life

secured, if not absolutely saved from destruction;” “and it is a matter

of congratulation to ourselves and our State that a former Governor of

Wisconsin was successfully efficient in securing the life of the

nation’s Chief Magistrate.”

Governor Farwell’s letter, in reply to the request of the Society,

through Senator Doolittle, is perhaps the most authentic statement ever

made in regard to the unfortunate affair. It is as follows:

“WASHINGTON, _February 8th, 1866_.

“HON. JAMES R. DOOLITTLE, United States Senate

“DEAR SIR: I have received your favor of the 22d ult., requesting, on

behalf of the Wisconsin State Historical Society, a statement of my

connection with the occurrences that took place in this city on the

night of the assassination of President Lincoln. It is a mournful task

to recall the terrible scenes that I then witnessed. Yet in order that

the expressed wishes of that Society, of which from the time of its

formation I have been a member, and in which I have always taken a deep

interest, may be gratified, and a truthful account of those events, so

far as I witnessed them, may find its way into history, I comply with

the request.

“At the time of the assassination of President Lincoln, I was boarding

at the Kirkwood House, my family being then in Wisconsin. The

Vice-President had rooms, and was boarding at the same place, and I

there came to know him, and occasionally passed an evening in his room.

“Early in the evening of April 14th, 1865, I called to see Mr. J. B.

Crosby, of Massachusetts, and found that he had but a short time to stay

and was very desirous of seeing the President before his return. Having

noticed in the papers a statement that Mr. Lincoln was expected to be

present at Ford’s Theatre on that evening, to witness the play entitled

‘Our American Cousin,’ we concluded to go thither for the express

purpose of seeing him. This we did, and procured seats having the

President’s box in full view on our right. When the fatal shot was

fired, we involuntarily turned our eyes to the box from which the sound

proceeded, and at the same instant the horrible vision of J. Wilkes

Booth flashed upon my eyes, brandishing a knife, and jumping from the

President’s box repeating the words, ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis.’ I had

scarcely seen and heard him before he had vanished from the stage. As

the President fell, and the cry ran through the house that he was

assassinated, it flashed across my mind that there was a conspiracy

being consummated to take the lives of the leading officers of the

Government, which would include that of Mr. Johnson. The cause of this

suspicion and of my alarm for the safety of Mr. Johnson was, probably,

the fact of my having read in some newspaper the article copied from the

Selma (Ala.) _Despatch_, being an offer by some fiendish rebel to aid in

contributing a million of dollars for procuring the assassination of

Lincoln, Johnson, and Seward.

“While some seemed paralyzed by the boldness of the deed, and others

intent upon knowing how seriously the President was injured, I rushed

from the theatre, and ran with all possible speed to the Kirkwood House,

to apprise Mr. Johnson of the impending danger, impelled by a fear that

it might even then be too late. Passing Mr. Spencer, one of the clerks

of the hotel, who was standing just outside the door, I said to him,

‘Place a guard at the door: President Lincoln is murdered;’ and to Mr.

Jones, another clerk, who was at the office desk as I hurried by—‘Guard

the stairway and Governor Johnson’s room: Mr. Lincoln is assassinated;’

and then darting up to Mr. Johnson’s room, No. 68, I knocked, but

hearing no movement, I knocked again, and called out with the loudest

voice that I could command, ‘Governor Johnson, if you are in this room I

must see you.’ In a moment I heard him spring from his bed, and exclaim,

‘Farwell, is that you?’ ‘Yes, let me in,’ I replied. The door opened, I

passed in, locked it, and told him the terrible news, which for a time

overwhelmed us both, and grasping hands, we fell upon each other as if

for mutual support. But it was only for a moment. While every sound

suggested the stealthy tread of a conspirator, and every corner of the

chamber a lurking place, yet Mr. Johnson, without expressing any

apprehension for his own safety, and with that promptness and energy

which has always characterized him, at once deliberated upon the proper

course to meet the emergency. But the moment of danger had passed. The

officers of the hotel, as requested by me, had stationed guards, who in

a short time were released by Secretary Stanton. Soon many personal

friends of Mr. Johnson arrived, anxiously inquiring for his safety. In

the meantime, the news of the murderous assault upon Secretary Seward

and his son Frederick had reached us, and justified our fears as to the

general purpose of the conspirators. Mr. Johnson was desirous of knowing

the real condition of the President and Mr. Seward, and requested me to

go and see them personally, and not to credit any story or rumor that

might be flying about the city. This was no easy task. Distrust and

horror seemed to fill every mind. The very atmosphere was burdened with

stories of dark conspiracies and bloody deeds. Thousands of excited

citizens, soldiers, and guards, blocked up every avenue leading to Mr.

Peterson’s house, No. 453 Tenth Street, to which the President had been

carried, and in which he was dying. None but prominent citizens, either

known to the officers of the guard, or who could be generally vouched

for, were allowed to pass, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I

succeeded in working my way through the crowd and past the guards to the

house, and then into the room in which the President had been placed.

The news was all too true. There he lay, evidently in the agonies of

death, his medical attendants doing all that human zeal or skill could

devise, and many of his friends had gathered about him, some in tears.

Turning away from this sad sight, I worked my way to the house of

Secretary Seward, and there, too, I found that the villains had done

their work. I then returned and reported to Mr. Johnson the disastrous

doings of the conspirators. In a short time Mr. Johnson resolved to see

the President himself. His friends thought he ought not to leave the

house when there was so much excitement in the city, and when the extent

of the conspiracy was unknown. President Lincoln had just been shot in

the presence of a crowded assembly, and his assassin had escaped.

Secretary Seward had been stabbed in his chamber, and the minion had

fled. But he determined to go. Major James R. O’Beirne, commanding the

Provost Guard, desired to send a detachment of troops with him, but he

declined the offer, and, buttoning up his coat, and pulling his hat well

down, he requested me to accompany him and the Major to lead the way,

and thus we went through the multitude that crowded the streets and

filled the passage-way, till we joined the sad circle of friends who

were grouped around the bedside of the dying President. It is

unnecessary to add anything more to this account of my connection with

an event which forms, with the rebellion plot, the darkest chapter in

our country’s history.

“If it is true, as regarded by many, that the life of President Johnson

was saved by the timely arrival of citizens at the Kirkwood, at the risk

of their lives, then such risk was properly, and so far as I am

concerned, joyfully incurred, and this statement may be worthy of

preservation. Trusting that this may meet the wishes of the Society as

expressed through you,

“I have the honor to be,

“Respectfully,

“Your obedient servant,

“L. J. FARWELL.”

The Washington correspondent of the Chicago _Republican_ thus speaks of

Mrs. Johnson:

“Mrs. Johnson, a confirmed invalid, has never appeared in society in

Washington. Her very existence is a myth to almost every one. She was

last seen at a party given to her grandchildren. She was seated in one

of the Republican Court chairs, a dainty affair of satin and ebony. She

did not rise when the children or old guests were presented to her; she

simply said, ‘My dears, I am an invalid,’ and her sad, pale face and

sunken eyes fully proved the expression. Mrs. Johnson looks somewhat

older than the President, and her age does exceed his by a few swings of

the scythe of time. She is an invalid now, but an observer would say,

contemplating her, ‘A noble woman—God’s best gift to man.’ Perhaps it is

well to call to mind at this time that it was this woman who taught the

President to read, after she became his wife, and that in all their

earlier years she was his counsellor, assistant, and guide. None but a

wise and good mother could have reared such daughters as Mrs. Patterson

and Mrs. Stover. When Mrs. Senator Patterson found herself ‘the first

lady in the land,’ she made this remark, which has been the key-note of

the feminine department of the White House from that day to the present

time: ‘We are plain people, from the mountains of Tennessee, called here

for a short time by a national calamity. I trust too much will not be

expected of us.’ When Anna Surratt threw herself prostrate upon the

floor of one of the ante-rooms of the White House, begging to see Mrs.

Patterson, she said: ‘Tell the girl she has my sympathy, my tears, but I

have no more right to speak than the servants of the White House.’ When

the ‘pardon brokers’ trailed their slimy lengths everywhere about the

Mansion, they never dared to cross a certain enchanted pathway; and the

face of any lobbyist set in this direction has always brought up in the

end against a stone wall.”

Mrs. Johnson shared as little as possible in the honors accorded her

family, as well after as during their stay in the White House, and

gladly turned her face homeward, to find rest and repose so necessary to

her feeble condition.

Once more quietly established at home, she anticipated renewed happiness

in the presence of her reunited family, and reasonably hoped to have

much happiness in the future.

Death hovered near her when least expected, and one night, as the

servant entered the room of her son (Col. Robert Johnson), he was

discovered in a dying condition, and in an unconscious state passed from

earth. From a tear-stained letter is gathered these sad particulars. “He

was well and on the street at five o’clock, and at dusk, as the servant

went as usual to light his lamp, she discovered that he was in a deep

sleep. He was never aroused from it. All the physicians of the village

were immediately called in, but alas! too late to do any good. He

breathed his last at half-past eleven that night, without a single groan

or struggle.

“I do not suppose he ever made an enemy in his life. He was certainly

the most popular boy ever raised in this part of the country, and

continued so after he became a man. Oh, if he could only have spoken one

word to us! but he passed into the tomb, unconscious of all around him.

He was buried with Masonic honors, and the largest funeral ever before

seen in this village accompanied his remains to the grave.”

After seven years of wanderings, he was permitted to accompany his

parents to their home, and to die surrounded by the friends of his

youth.

Mrs. Johnson grieved deeply for this son as she had done for his

brother. She lived in and for her family, and the loss of any one dear

to her affected her seriously. Frail in health, tried by anxiety and

care in early life, and a confirmed sufferer in maturer years, she

became now a helpless invalid; and though she was glad to be at home

again, pleased to see the kindly faces of her old neighbors and friends,

she could not be an active participator in anything. She could only

mourn for her dead, and receive and give comfort to those about her in

her own home. The world saw but little more of her. The suggestion at

this time that she would live longer than Mr. Johnson, if made to her,

would have been derided. She had little thought of recovering her health

at any time, and particularly after the first ten years of her

invalidism. Subsequent to her return, and the death of Robert, she

ceased to entertain the wish to live many years, for she was less and

less concerned in public affairs, now that her husband had retired, and

was likely to remain, as she thought, in private life. His health was

not as robust as formerly, and during the summer succeeding his return

from Washington, he was stricken with cholera, and his life was for a

time despaired of. From this he recovered, and in the fall he was again

participating in the service of redeeming Tennessee from the

reconstruction errors into which it had been led by men more eager for

place than true principle.

In 1874 Mr. Johnson was elected to the Senate to succeed William G.

Brownlow, and his wife saw him set out again for Washington, holding the

same position he had held before the war. She rejoiced in the ovation

that was paid him; read all that the papers said of him, and was pleased

that his career was not over, as she had at one time supposed. He was

again in Greenville in the early spring, and the quiet home-life was

continued during the summer. He spent much time from home during the

following season, making speeches throughout the State, and giving his

time as of old to politics. As a defeated candidate, he returned to

Greenville from Nashville that season, and Mrs. Johnson then felt that

they were two old people who would go towards the grave together

quietly, surrounded by the worldly comfort he had secured for his

family. This was not to be, however.

It was given him to enjoy the triumph of a re-election to the Senate for

the long term, beginning in December, 1874, and he sat out the

extraordinary session, and made his last speech in the Louisiana case.

But it was not given this indomitable patriot long to enjoy the dignity

with ease, which his own party and his opponents equally wished. He only

lived to attend this one session, and the opportunity was given him to

make one speech of importance to himself as a vindication of the course

he had pursued while President. It was an appeal for the rights of a

population whose government was kept from them by military force, and in

it he threw all the fervor and sincerity of a man who was not only

deeply interested in the subject, but who was speaking in favor of a

policy he had devised and upheld under most adverse circumstances.

Naturally enough, it was the grandest effort of his life, as it was his

last. He went back from the Senate to his own people, and in midsummer

he was stricken down with death. On the morning of the 31st of July,

1875, he died at the residence of his youngest daughter in Carter

county. Her home was not far distant from Greenville, and he thought

that, though ill when starting, he would recuperate from the fatigue of

the ride, and recover more speedily in the country than in town. He had

frequently said to his physician that “he did not think he could hold

out more than a year or two longer, as he was completely worn out.” Two

days before his last illness, he made a similar remark to his wife, who

was anxiously noting the change that had come over his spirits. He left

her in the early morning, saying good-bye, with no thought of a longer

absence than a week or two. The next morning his son and daughter were

summoned to their father’s bedside, and the startling news was broken to

the invalid wife. She could not go to him, and her part was to remain

alone in her deserted house, while her children hastened away. When they

returned, it was to bring with them the dead. From this shock she did

not recover. At no time had she ever entertained the slightest thought

of outliving her husband, and now that this event had occurred, she was

stunned and bewildered. She lived for six months, and died at the home

of her eldest daughter on the 13th of January, 1876. It was not an

unlooked-for event, though her children had become so accustomed to her

invalidism, that they could not realize she was dying. She was always

quiet and gentle, and her serenity deceived even those who watched over

her continually. Very patiently and uncomplainingly she bore her part of

sorrows, and it was only after she was dead that others realized what a

sufferer she had been. Denied every other means of serving her loved

ones, she cheered them, and the unselfishness of her life was not fully

understood until two white hands were clasped in death, and her sad eyes

were closed forever. She lived for others, and counted not self, and was

rewarded for all life’s trials in the love she was capable of giving to

others. She was a woman of heroic mould, and her life-example was a

noble one to her family, to her friends, and to the world.

Mrs. Johnson was buried beside her husband in the romantic place he

selected many years ago. At the time he bought the property, Mr. Johnson

offered to purchase sufficient ground for a public cemetery, provided

the authorities would improve it. The liberal offer was not accepted,

and for a time there were no other graves there. The monument erected by

the children is a superb structure, standing twenty-six feet high, with

a base that is nearly ten feet square. Granite piers rest on each of the

graves, lying side by side, over which is sprung a granite arch, and

upon this the monument rests, leaving an opening under the arch, through

which are seen the graves. The structure is one of great beauty, with

its four funeral urns supported on pilasters, and its exquisite carving.

Upon the front of the arch is carved a scroll, representing the

Constitution of the United States, and an open book with a hand resting

upon it, representing the taking of the oath of office. Over the apex of

the shaft—which of itself is thirteen feet high—hangs an American flag

in graceful folds, and surmounting the whole is an American eagle with

outstretched wings. On the 28th of May, 1878, this monument was unveiled

with the most imposing ceremonies, and for the first time the simple

inscription was seen. It contained the names, ages, and death dates of

Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, and underneath the name of the seventeenth

President is the motto:

“His faith in the people never wavered.”

[Illustration: Eng_d. by J. C. Buttre. Martha Patterson]

XXIII.

MARTHA JOHNSON PATTERSON.

The resemblance to her father is a marked attribute of Mrs. Patterson’s

face; a reproduction, though moulded in a softer cast, of his distinct

and strong features and expressive eyes. She inherited his executive

ability, his comprehensiveness, and many of his characteristic

peculiarities. Her countenance denotes strength, and the organs of the

head indicate a harmonious and perfect blending with the finer

sentiments of the heart.

Eyes large and full discover her power of language, and the development

of form, color, size and weight, attest her ability to judge correctly

and estimate proportions unerringly. Viewed from a phrenological

standpoint, hers is a remarkable organism. The head is symmetrical,

tending upward from the brow, indicating spirituality, and gently

sloping to the ears and neck, embracing in its outlines the faculties of

firmness, generosity and benevolence.

Never led off by persuasion from what her judgment decides correct, she

rarely makes a mistake in regard to persons or places, and is the firm

advocate of those less fortunate than herself. Like her heart, her mouth

is large, the lips partaking more of the intellectual than of the

sensual. The length, prominence, and compression of the upper lip,

bespeaks the firmness and strength of character which stamps her,

wherever she goes, a woman of rare powers. Adapting herself to

circumstances, she quickly masters any situation in which she is placed,

and controls rather than follows the will of others. The intellectual

lobe is large, the perceptive and reflective faculties are harmoniously

blended, and withal hers is an educated intellect, with an available

mind. She is possessed of almost sleepless energy, and her slight, frail

form seems knitted for endurance. Never restless or impatient, she

comprehends at a glance her position and requirements, and by the force

of her will overcomes obstacles and bears up with fortitude under

accumulated trials.

Reared in the mountains of East Tennessee, her nature is untrammeled by

artistic contortions, and her manners are as free from ostentation as

are the feelings which prompt them. The eldest of five children, she was

to her mother an efficient aid in the care of her brothers and sister,

and in the management of her house. When she was old enough to attend

school, it was her task to assist in keeping house, and no duty was

neglected. It has been remarked that she never had time to play. While

other school-girls amused themselves in the sports of the season, the

pale, quiet Martha Johnson hastened back to relieve her mother, and by

her indefatigable industry performed the many deeds so grateful to a

parent, when offered by a child. The neighbors called her a strange,

silent being, indifferent to the ordinary amusements of the young, but

she felt herself ennobled by the work she daily made a part of her life,

and passed these younger years in her own earnest way.

She was placed by her father, who was then a member of Congress, at

school in Georgetown, where she remained three terms, and there laid the

foundation of the structure which, as she grows older, develops her

native strength of mind.

It happened that, during her school life in Georgetown, President Polk,

of Tennessee, occupied the White House, and she became his frequent

guest, spending most of her holidays in the mansion in which, later in

life, she was to preside. Her own accounts of her sojourn are amusing,

deprecating as she does the awkward conduct of the timid, bashful girl,

in the stately residence, through which the voices of children never

resounded. She was shy and distant, and the stately kindness of the

hostess could not overcome her shrinking reserve; it was her greatest

delight then to observe persons, and the opportunity afforded was not

lost upon her. She returned home in 1851, and was married to Judge David

T. Patterson, on the 13th of December, 1856. No wedding festivities

marked the occasion, it being congenial to her habits to have a quiet

ceremony. After which she visited Nashville, where her father was

residing as Governor of the State. Extending her tour through the

Southern cities to New Orleans, she returned to her old home in

Tennessee, where she continued to live until the war in 1860 disturbed

the private relations of the entire family. Throughout the stormy years

of ’61 and ’62, she remained in East Tennessee, nor did she leave there

till, late in the next year, she visited her mother’s family at

Nashville. It was her intention to remain several months and then go

back to her home; but before she again crossed its threshold, the two

contending armies had passed through the place, leaving nothing but the

empty house. Every particle of furniture, every prized relic of her own

and her children’s infant years were gone, and their home was desolated.

She trod its familiar apartments where she had left so many mementos of

a happy past, and nothing remained save the bare walls. Well she

remembered the arranging and adjusting of everything before closing it

up, and as she gazed upon its comfortless appearance, her mind dwelt

upon the time she had spent in adding to its adornment.

The family were in Nashville when the nomination of the father, then

Military Governor of Tennessee, as Vice-President was announced, and

they witnessed the delight of the Union men of the Capital, as the news

spread of his success.

Early in February, the Vice-President proposed to leave Tennessee, and

his children decided to seek once more their home in Greenville. The

news of the assassination of President Lincoln flashed over the wires on

the morning of the 15th of April, as the drums were beating and soldiers

parading for a grand review and procession in honor of the recent

victories. It reached the family of Mr. Johnson as they were preparing

for their removal home, and awakened in their breasts anxious fears for

the fate of the husband and father. Assurances of his safety calmed

their minds, and with deep thankfulness that he was spared, they

sorrowed for the untimely death of the President. The Nashville papers

of the 19th of April thus speak of the funeral procession in honor of

the murdered Chief Magistrate:

“All places of business were closed, and every store and dwelling

appropriately draped in mourning. The procession numbered upward of

fifteen thousand persons; among them were Generals Thomas, Miller,

Whipple and Donaldson, and in the line of civilians which swelled its

length was seen the carriage of Mrs. James K. Polk, occupied by herself

and Mrs. Patterson, the daughter of President Johnson.”

The family of the new President reached Washington in June, and soon

after took up their residence in the White House. Here was a new field

entirely for the diffident woman who was compelled to do the honors in

lieu of her mother, who was a confirmed invalid. After the harrowing

scenes through which the former occupants had passed, the House looked

anything but inviting to the family. Soldiers had wandered unchallenged

the entire suites of parlors; and the East Room, dirty and soiled,

looked as little like itself as could be imagined. Guards had slept upon

the sofas and carpets until they were ruined, and the immense crowds

who, during the preceding years of war, filled the President’s house

continually, had worn out the already ancient furniture. No sign of

neatness or comfort greeted their appearance at their new home, but

evidences everywhere of neglect and decay met their eyes. To put aside

all ceremony and work constantly, was the portion of Mrs. Patterson,

under whose control were placed the numerous servants connected with the

establishment.

“The first reception held by President Johnson was on the first of

January, 1866, assisted by Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. Stover, his two

daughters. Their softness and ease of manner had an eloquent external

expression in the simple neatness of their apparel, and surpassed in

quiet dignity all who gathered to see them. The house had not been

renovated, and the apartments were dingy and destitute of ornament save

two kinds, which are more touchingly beautiful than gems of the East.

Natural flowers were in profusion, and left their fragrance, while the

little children of the house were living, breathing ornaments attracting

every eye. The old injured furniture of the East Room was removed, and

the worn-out carpets covered with linen. The supervision of Mrs.

Patterson made the house quite presentable. Mrs. Patterson was attired

in a blue velvet, white lace shawl, and point lace collar. Her dark hair

was put back from her face, with pendent tresses, and adorned with a

single white flower. Mrs. Stover, who was yet in half-mourning for her

gallant husband, wore a heavy black silk, with no ornaments in her light

hair.”

During the early spring an appropriation was made by Congress of thirty

thousand dollars to refurnish the Executive Mansion, and during the long

and warm summer succeeding, Mrs. Patterson struggled unceasingly with

the atlas-heaps of lumber and old furniture scarcely worth repairing,

but which was renovated for use. The firmness and decision of her

character was fully tested in this trying ordeal, but she triumphed over

every difficulty, and so managed the amount appropriated that the

Executive Mansion was once more comfortable and more beautiful than ever

before.

Appreciating the condition of the country just emerging from a long

strife, she determined to make the funds voted sufficient to satisfy the

demands of the upholsterer, and to do so she constituted herself agent.

Hearing the proposals of various firms, she found, to put the matter in

other hands, she could not more than furnish the parlors and

reception-rooms, and then her determination was formed to superintend

the purchases. By dint of perseverance and the co-operation of competent

assistants, she had the house completed when the winter season

approached. Old and abused sets were repolished and covered, and the

papering which she had not the means to remove entirely, was made to

assume a brighter appearance by the addition of panelings and gilt

ornaments.

The warm weather, which had ever found her before the war in her

mountain home, now came upon her in its intensity, as she labored with

her numerous assistants in arranging the comfortless residence over

which she presided. Who, while admiring the elegant and refined

atmosphere of the historic house during her father’s administration,

imagined that the entire labor was accomplished by the tact and energy

of the daughter who received and entertained her visitors so

unostentatiously?

Tenderly caring for her invalid mother, and her children, who grew weary

of the restraints imposed upon them, she struggled on and succeeded in

making the house not only attractive to her friends, but to citizens and

strangers, who pronounced it handsomer than it ever was in times past.

The exquisite walls of the Blue Room long remained a lasting proof of

her artistic and cultivated taste, and the graceful adornments of the

hitherto stiff and ungainly East Room were evidences of her ability. A

newspaper correspondent who visited the White House complimented Mrs.

Patterson upon the Republican simplicity of the establishment, to which

she replied, “We are a plain people, sir, from the mountains of

Tennessee, and we do not propose to put on airs because we have the

fortune to occupy this place for a little while.” “There is a homeliness

in this utterance,” said the _Albany Evening Journal_, “which will shock

the sensitive refinement of ‘ottar of roses and lavender water classes,’

but it has a sentiment in it which must meet with response from every

true lover of democratic ideas and practices.”

Throughout the White House there existed not a single evidence of tawdry

gaudiness or coarseness in color or quality; and from cellar to garret

it was overhauled and adorned by the unaffected hostess, who called

herself “a plain person from East Tennessee.”

“The reference of Mrs. Patterson to the mountain home of her family, is

suggestive of the fact that when the tornado of war was sweeping over

Tennessee, President Johnson’s kin dwelt where its ravages were most

dreadful, and that while some who are now leading the shoddy aristocracy

of the metropolis were coining their ill-gotten dollars from the

sufferings and blood of brave men, they were being hunted from point to

point, driven to seek a refuge in the solitude of the wilderness, forced

to subsist on coarse and insufficient food, and more than once called to

bury with secret and stolen sepulture those whom they loved: murdered

because they would not join in deeds of odious treason to union and

liberty. A family with such a record of devotion and suffering, needs

for its recognition none of the adventitious aids of show and pretence.

It is refreshing in these days of extravagant and pompous display, when

silly pretence is made to pass current for gentility, when bombast and

fustian are palmed off as good breeding, when the shopman’s wife

emulates the luxury of a duke’s household, when no one is presumed to be

worthy the honors of good society who does not ‘put on airs,’ to hear

that the President’s daughter, who, by courtesy of her new position as

his housekeeper, is the first lady of the land, proposes to set the

example of a truly republican simplicity all too rare among those who

influence the customs of the land.”

In September, 1867, Mrs. Patterson accompanied the Presidential party on

their tour through the Northern and Western States, leaving her two

children with her mother at the White House. Returning in a few weeks,

she resumed the routine of her life, and prepared for the approaching

season.

Mrs. Patterson is the first instance of the wife of a Senator and a

daughter of the President presiding over the Executive Mansion.

President Jefferson’s second daughter, Mrs. Eppes, held a similar

position, but she never presided over the Mansion, and was but once a

visitor at the President’s house during her short life, after her

father’s election. The threefold responsibilities were accepted and

endured with a calm reliance, on the energies of a mind ever ready for

the occasion, and the world has already rendered the verdict of “many

daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.”

Simple but elegant in her apparel, never descending to a disregard of

place, yet not carried away by the follies of fashion, Mrs. Patterson

pleased the eye, and gratified the pride of all who felt an interest in

her success. Golden opinions of her taste were won by the rich

simplicity of her toilet on every public occasion, and the beauty of her

dress in part consisted in the artless, unassuming manner of the wearer.

In the combined elements which go to form the marked character of Mrs.

Patterson, she was not unlike Mrs. John Adams, and her will-power,

guided by superior common sense, recalls to mind the life of that brave

woman of the Revolution; but the current of circumstances into which she

has been thrown, has been almost too strong to allow her perfect freedom

of action. In her life there has never come a time when she might choose

between diverging pathways; but if she could not alter the stern fiats

of fate, she had the power of dignifying little insignificant things,

and, by her manner of meeting them, making the pleasantest side appear.

In an eminent degree she inherits that most marked trait of her father’s

character, patient endurance, and knows “how sublime a thing it is, to

suffer and be strong.” Treading unmurmuringly the appointed way of life,

she depends upon her judgment to guide her bark, recognizing the fact

that when nature fills the sails the vessel goes smoothly on; and when

judgment is the pilot the insurance need not be high.

In the higher walks of literary pursuits she will never shine, nor yet

as a conspicuous person in any department of life. She has essentially a

Southerner’s love of home; and the duties devolving upon her as a

mother, daughter, and wife, fill the meed of her ambition. True to

principle, she will perform the duties of her station, be it high or

low, and the amount of courage hidden away in the recesses of her nature

would lead her in emergencies to dare—if need be—to die.

Simple to a fault in her desires, she has learned to gather happiness

from within, and to rely upon the cold charity of the world for nothing.

She would not pine for luxuries which others deem necessities, but even

rather scorns the value many set upon them. Reared as she was in

childhood by parents remarkable for ceaseless industry, she imbibed the

lessons taught her by example, and is energetic to restlessness, and

vigilant in working while the day lasts.

During the impeachment trial of her father, Mrs. Patterson was asked

what she thought of it, and how it would terminate. “I have so much to

do,” she replied, “that I have no time to discuss the subject, and I

suppose my private opinion is not worth much; I do not know how it will

end, but all we can do is to wait.” And she did wait, bending every

energy to entertain as became her position, and wearing always a

patient, suffering look. Through the long weeks of the trial, she

listened to every request, saw every caller, and served every petitioner

(and only those who have filled this position know how arduous is this

duty), hiding from all eyes the anxious weight of care oppressing her.

If she was indisposed after the acquittal, it surprised no one who had

seen her struggling to keep up before.

There are no triumphs or displays to record of her life, no travels in

foreign lands, nor novel sights of strange places. She has not stood in

the Orient and watched the great stars swim down hot southern skies, nor

heard from the distant palm groves the orioles and nightingales. The

even tenor of her way has been spent far from the palaces of luxury or

the frivolities of fashion. She has not trodden the gilded halls of

ephemeral wealth, nor basked in the sunlight of uninterrupted

prosperity, but from the emanations of her father’s genius she has

gathered the forces which strengthen her own mind, and the rounds she

has mounted in the ladder of progressive development have been won by

earnest thought and the gradual experiences of a still young life.

She more than any other of her name and race, appreciated the giant

efforts of her father, and upon her he devoted most attention. The

companion in childhood of the village tailor, she became in womanhood

the counsellor and friend of the successful statesman.

Louis Napoleon, in his Life of Julius Cæsar, says: “How little able are

common men to judge of the motives which govern great souls.” The

history of Mrs. Patterson’s stay in the Executive Mansion suggests the

thought how unappreciated she was by those who fawned around her in her

hour of triumph. Possessing native intellect to a high degree, she knows

her latent powers, and her head thinks and her soul feels the difference

between her sound principles and practical sense, and the flippant, vain

women who consider her unfashionable. With such a class she could have

no sympathy; and it is foreign to her nature to dissemble. Circumventing

all attempts at advice and assistance, she taught many who insisted upon

helping her, that a sensible woman is never at a loss for words or

manners, and to such Presidents’ houses are as simple residences,

requiring only the refinement of the lady and the ability of a resolute,

determined person. Genial and social to familiar friends, she was

generally distant and reserved toward promiscuous visitors; while, at

the same time, she had a high sense of the justice due the masses from

the family of the first official in the nation. This feeling of duty

toward others actuated her course in keeping the White House ready

always to be seen by the crowds who daily throng it. Parlors and

conservatories were kept open as much as consistent, though many times

very annoying to the inmates, and rendering the privacy of their own

apartments rather a matter of chance than of certainty. It was not

unfrequent that idle curiosity-seekers ventured through the closed doors

which separated the private from the public wing of the building, and

intruded upon the forbearing occupants; yet such occurrences were never

made the occasion of trouble—a polite request and pleasant acceptance of

the proffered apology sufficed, and not unfrequently added the offenders

of etiquette to her list of new-made friends.

It was the custom of Mrs. Patterson to rise early; and after a simple

toilet, to skim the milk and attend to the dairy before breakfast. In

the hall connecting the conservatory to the main building, her clean

pails might be seen ranged in regular order. When, on Saturday

afternoons, the greenhouses were thrown open to the public, these

evidences of her housekeeping propensities were removed. Fond of the

delicacies of the table, she valued home-made articles, and the

delicious food found always upon her table gave evidence of her personal

oversight and thoughtfulness.

Caring for real comforts, to the exclusion of costly expenditures, she

prided herself upon gratifying the wants and tastes of her household,

and rendering the domestic life of the White House a reality.

In the possession of such principles, and actuated by motives which

redound to her praise, Mrs. Patterson’s life cannot fail to be worthy of

emulation, and the satisfaction of her conscience must be a well-spring

of pleasure, sparkling like sunshine through the darkest places in her

earthly career.

The last levee held by President Johnson was discussed by a Washington

paper after the following manner:

“The levees at the Executive Mansion have always been occasions of

especial interest to strangers who chanced to be in Washington during

the session of Congress; but never before, since receptions were

inaugurated, has there been such an ovation at a Presidential levee as

was last night at President Johnson’s closing reception. The attendance

comprised not only an unusual number of our own citizens, but also a

greater multitude of visitors from all parts of the world, than was ever

present on a similar occasion. As early as half-past seven, and long

before the doors were opened, there were numerous arrivals at the

Presidential Mansion. An hour later, and the rush had commenced in good

earnest. A long line of carriages extended from the street to the

portico in front of the house; every car on the F street and avenue

lines added fresh accessions to the crowd; while hundreds, availing

themselves of the pleasant weather, came on foot. Although an extra

police force had been detailed for the evening, and every arrangement

had been made in the cloak-room for the accommodation of all, so great

was the rush that confusion was, in a measure, unavoidable. The

dressing-rooms and corridors were closely packed with people mainly

striving to reach the entrance to the Reception-room, and it was found

necessary to close the outside doors, and also the door leading from the

hall into the Red Parlor. The crowd here was fearful, but, fortunately,

it was composed mainly of the male sex.

“Those in front were pushed on by those behind, and the position of

every one was most uncomfortable, while at one time, persons were in

actual danger of being crushed. However, the utmost good humor

prevailed, and we heard of no accidents. In the ladies’ dressing-room,

the pressure was also very great, and the breaking down of a table

caused some thoughtless person to raise an alarm of fire, which for a

few moments created terror and consternation among the timid fair ones.

At ten o’clock, the line of equipages not only filled the carriage-way

from the east to the west gate, but extended for two squares on

Pennsylvania Avenue.

“The space in front of the Mansion, and the sidewalk from the portico to

the gate, was crowded with people, waiting in the hope of gaining

admission to the house. Policemen were now stationed at the front

entrance, and only a few were admitted at a time. Those who made their

exit from the mansion were obliged to pass under the arms of the

policemen, who were stationed to keep back the surging crowd. Hundreds

left unable even to reach the portico. The door leading to the ladies’

dressing-room was blocked by gentlemen looking for those under their

charge, while scores of bright eyes searched anxiously through the

throng seeking in vain for escorts not to be found. Many of the ladies,

unable to find their escorts, were pushed on by the crowd, and were

obliged to make their entrance into the Blue Room unattended, and in

several instances it was not until the close of the reception that

parties who had been separated at the commencement of the evening were

again united.

“The President occupied his usual position near the entrance of the Blue

Parlor, the visitors being presented by Marshal Gording. From eight

o’clock until after eleven, the crowd poured through the apartments, and

to each person, however humble his or her station, President Johnson

extended a pleasant and cordial greeting. Mrs. Patterson, who stood at

the right of the President, and a few steps farther back in the room,

was attired with customary taste and elegance. She wore a Lyons black

velvet, handsomely trimmed with bands of satin and black lace. A shawl

of white thread lace fell in graceful folds over her dress. Her hair was

simply and becomingly ornamented, and her jewelry was of the most chaste

description. The ceremony of introduction was graciously performed by

General Mickler. In the vast concourse assembled to pay their respects

to the retiring Chief Magistrate were many persons of distinction from

abroad, as well as an unusual number of Washington celebrities. From

Maine to Florida, and from the Atlantic coast to the seaboard on the

Pacific, there was scarcely a State or Territory that was not

represented last night, at the farewell reception of Andrew Johnson,

whose kindly grasp and sincere smile called forth many a hearty wish for

his future happiness and prosperity. Exquisite bouquets of choice

exotics were scattered through the rooms. The superb East Parlor was

dazzlingly illuminated. Magnificent mirrors flashed back the light from

the quivering crystals of the massive chandeliers. From the ante-chamber

came the sweet strains of the Marine Band, floating in softened cadence

through the sumptuous apartments. The scene was one of unrivalled

interest, and will never be forgotten by those who were present. The

display of wealth and beauty was bewildering. It would be a difficult

task to describe the toilettes of the many lovely ladies present, and it

would be still harder to decide, among so large a number of magnificent

dresses, which was the most beautiful.”

Another prominent daily contained a lengthy and interesting account of

this reception, the largest ever held in the Executive Mansion, and from

all the circumstances connected with the unpleasant political life of

the President, was a significant proof that he was socially

pre-eminently popular. Every grade of citizens, representing every party

and creed, vied with each other in their expressions of admiration for

the honest, upright conduct of the retiring Executive and his charming

daughters.

“Last night, President Johnson held his farewell reception at the White

House, and certainly quite in a blaze of glory, as far as social

attention is concerned. Perhaps the whole history of the Presidential

Mansion gives no record of such a crowded reception. It is estimated

that some five thousand people sought admittance in vain, while fully as

many must have gained an entrance, almost each individual member of this

successful crowd submitting the host of the evening to the inevitable

hand-shaking. He bore it well, and until the last moment a sweet,

suffering smile irradiated his countenance. The band struck up ‘Hail

Columbia,’ and the doors were thrown open. The President received the

crowd in the Blue Room, which was handsomely lighted up, and adorned in

the centre with a magnificent stand of fragrant flowers. As the crowd

increased, the sagacious official abandoned the system of announcing

names, so that the President accepted without explanation all who

presented themselves.

“A few steps from the President, and near the stand of flowers, Mrs.

Patterson, a handsome, though not tall lady, of very pleasing manners

and appearance, ‘received’ the lady guests. She wore an elegant white

lace shawl, which quite enveloped her person, and a long curl fell down

her back. The simply unaffected grace of this lady, and her entire

freedom from pretension, either in garb or manner, attracted highly

favorable comment. Mrs. Patterson is quite a young lady, and when some

of the bare-armed, bare-necked, would-be-juvenile dowagers were

presented to her, the contrast was entirely in favor of the President’s

daughter.”

Of the many elegant entertainments given by President Johnson, none

surpassed the State dinners. They were conducted on a most generous and

princely scale, and reflected lasting honor upon the taste and judgment

of his daughter, to whom was left the entire arrangement of every social

entertainment. The magnificent State dining-room, which had been closed

during the last few years of President Lincoln’s administration, became

again a scene of hospitality, and resounded once more with the voices of

welcome guests and personal friends.

Nothing contributed more than these “affairs of State” to win for the

family that popularity, apart from their lofty social position, which

they enjoyed whilst in Washington. A letter written by a lady who was

familiar with the home-life of Mrs. Patterson, may not prove

uninteresting, pertaining, as it does, particularly to the subject of

State dinners.

“Late in the afternoon I was sitting in the cheerful room occupied by

the invalid mother, when Mrs. Patterson came for me to go and see the

table. The last State dinner was to be given this night, and the

preparations for the occurrence had been commensurate with those of

former occasions. I looked at the invalid, whose feet had never crossed

the apartment to which we were going, and by whom the elegant

entertainments over which her daughters presided, were totally

unenjoyed. Through the hall and down the stairway, I followed my hostess

and stood beside her in the grand old room. It was a beautiful and

altogether rare scene which I viewed in the quiet light of this closing

winter day, and the recollections and associations of the time linger

most vividly in memory now. The table was arranged for forty persons,

each guest’s name being upon the plate designated in the invitation

list.

“In the centre stood three magnificent ormolu ornaments filled with

fadeless French flowers, while beside each plate was a bouquet of

odorous green-house exotics. It was not the color or design of the

Sevres china, of green and gold—the fragile glass, nor yet the massive

plate which attracted my admiration, but the harmony of the whole, which

satisfied and refreshed. From the heavy curtains, depending from the

lofty windows, to the smallest ornament in the room, all was ornate and

consistent. I could not but contrast this vision of grandeur with the

delicate, child-like form of the woman who watched me with a quiet smile

as I enjoyed this evidence of her taste and appreciation of the

beautiful.

“All day she had watched over the movements of those engaged in the

arrangement of this room, and yet so unobtrusive had been her presence

and so systematically had she planned, that no confusion occurred in the

complicated household machinery. For the pleasure it would give her

children hereafter, she had an artist photograph the interior of the

apartment, and he was just leaving with his trophy when we entered.

“Long we lingered, enjoying the satisfaction one experiences in

beholding a beautiful and finished task. All was ready and complete, and

when we passed from the room, there was still a time for rest and repose

before the hour named in the cards of invitation.

“Through the Red and Blue parlors we sauntered slowly, she recalling

reminiscences of the past four years, and speaking with unreserved

frankness of her feelings on her approaching departure. It was almost

twilight as we entered the East Room, and its sombreness and wondrous

size struck me forcibly. The hour for strangers and visitors had past,

and we felt secure to wander in our old-fashioned way up and down its

great length. It was softly raining, we discovered as we peered through

the window, and a light fringe of mist hung over the trees in the

grounds, and added a shade of gloom to the cheerless view. The feeling

of bodily comfort one has in watching it rain, from the window of a cozy

room, was intensified by the associations of this historic place, and

the sadness of time was lost in the outreachings of eternity.

“Its spectral appearance as we turned from the window and looked down

its shadowy outlines—the quickly succeeding thoughts of the many who had

crowded into its now deserted space, and the remembrance of some who

would no more come, were fast crowding out the practical, and leaving in

its place mental excitement, and spiritualized, nervous influences, not

compatible with ordinary every-day life. Mrs. Patterson was first to

note the flight of time, and as we turned to leave with the past the

hour it claimed, her always grave face lighted up with a genuine happy

expression, as she said, ‘I am glad this is the last of

entertainments—it suits me better to be quiet and in my own home. Mother

is not able to enjoy these things. Belle is too young, and I am

indifferent to them—so it is well it is almost over.’ As she ceased

speaking the curtains over the main entrance parted, and the President

peered in, ‘to see,’ he said, ‘if Martha had shown you the portraits of

the Presidents?’ Joining him in his promenade, we passed before them, as

they were hanging in the main hall, he dwelling upon the life and

character of each, and we listening to his descriptions, and personal

recollections. The long shadows of twilight and deepening gloom

disappeared before the brilliant glare of the gas, and we turned from

this place of interest, reminded that the present was only ours, and

with the past we could have no possible business when inexorable custom

demanded of us speedy recognition and attention.”

On the morning of the 4th of March, 1869, President Johnson, accompanied

by his family, bade adieu to the servants and employés of the Mansion,

and were driven to the residence of Mr. Coyle, on Missouri Avenue. Mrs.

Patterson accepted the hospitality of Secretary Wells, and reached there

soon after twelve o’clock.

Thus closed the administration of President Johnson. The most perilous,

stormy, and trying one ever known in the history of this country; a

record of rude unpleasant contact with defiled revilers, and a continued

struggle from first to last to maintain untarnished the oath too sacred

to be violated. Not here, but in the annals of history will all its

triumphs be written; not in this day or generation can its untainted and

correct measures be fully estimated, but to the coming men of America it

is bequeathed, a sad acknowledgment of the tyrannous oppression of a

President, and a testimony of his undeviating course, moving onward,

swerving neither to the right nor to the left, but forward to the

cradles of posterity who will pass judgment and wreathe immortelles to

the memory of the patriot, whose truth will not be doubted, whose

honesty cannot be impeached.

During the afternoon of the day the President left the Executive

Mansion, the house in which he was a visitor was crowded to overflowing

with friends and admirers who gathered about the members of his family

to express their attachment. For two weeks the same scene was

re-enacted, and day and night the numerous callers crowded the spacious

dwelling. One continued ovation of people of every political party

assured them of their popularity, too wide-spread to be circumscribed by

party lines. Behold them, reader, as they were seen that last night in

Washington! The invalid wife is in her room, too feeble to walk, but

surrounded by hearts softened and eyes moistened at the prospect of

seeing her no more. Mrs. Patterson is bidding a farewell to the

sorrowing band of employés who have asked as a last favor for a

photograph, and she makes the gift the more acceptable by presenting

them with pictures of all the family, accompanied by her deeply felt and

eloquently expressed thanks for faithful services and personal

friendship. Ever and anon the familiar face of a servant appears, and is

not disappointed in the welcome received, or the parting token of

well-merited reward for faithful services. Flowers, “recalling all

life’s wine and honey,” shed their aroma through space, and soften by

their delicate beauty the feelings of all kindly natures.

Time unheeded passes, and yet the advent of callers forbids the wearied

eyes to close, or the final preparations to be made. With a hand raw and

swollen from the hand-shakings in Baltimore a few days before, Mr.

Johnson stands placid, earnest, and deeply interested in the final words

of all. The lateness of the hour, not the last of the stream of visitors

ended the affecting scene, and a weary but happy household slept at

last, and their public life in Washington was ended.

XXIV.

MARY STOVER.

The second daughter of President Johnson was married in April, 1852, to

Mr. Daniel Stover, of Carter county, East Tennessee. He died December

18, 1864, leaving her with three small children.

Mrs. Stover remained at home after the removal of her father’s family to

Washington until the last of August, and then, accompanied by her

interesting family, took up her residence in the White House.

Said a newspaper correspondent of her: “Visitors at the White House

during the past two or three years may retain the memory of a dignified,

statuesque blonde, with a few very fine points which, a fashionable

butterfly once said, would make any woman a belle if she only knew how

to make the most of them. Mrs. Stover never became a star in fashionable

circles, and now that she has left the gay capital, perhaps for a

lifetime, she is remembered by those who knew her best as a charming

companion of the domestic fireside, a true daughter and judicious

mother.”

During the administration of President Johnson, the White House was

brightened by the glad, happy faces of children, and for the first time

since its occupation they became a part of the society of the House, and

exerted a powerful social influence outside. Nothing afforded their

little friends more pleasure than to be invited to the President’s

House, and the agreeable manners of the hostesses and hosts rendered

their visits always delightful.

Mrs. Stover’s little trio, and her sister’s son and daughter, were an

attraction not to be resisted; and nothing pleased old acquaintances

more than to be invited into their private apartments, where the games

and plays of the young people interested more sedate heads. During the

day, writing and music lessons hushed their merry voices, and the tasks

of indulgent mothers occupied reasonable spaces; but after the evening

meal and the return of the boys from out-door sports, the merriment

began to the infinite delight of every one. Strangers who at the formal

receptions saw the stately, sometimes haughty appearing daughter

receiving with quiet grace the many who drew near for the inevitable

shake of the hand, little knew the sociability and good nature hidden

beneath her calm exterior.

It was a source of enjoyment and much laughter to Mrs. Stover’s friends

to watch her actions on social occasions, especially when her sister was

not present. Like a statue the first part of the evening, with a look of

resignation on her face irresistible, she would gravely return the

salutations proffered, and resume her forlorn expression as soon as the

persons passed on, only to be addressed again by other strangers, whose

names their owners sometimes forgot and she rarely ever heard. Much

sympathy she would receive from kind-hearted acquaintances who supposed

her wearied, until the band struck up the last air, and then they would

be astonished at the glad light in her eye and the fervor with which she

would bow them out. Bantering did no good, nor good-natured rebukes from

the many spies who enjoyed her agony and deprecated her evident regret

at parting. Often as she performed the task, she acted over her amusing

_rôle_; and the last time she assisted at a reception, before her

departure for her home, her penetrating eye discovered the suppressed

smile, which broadened into hearty laughter as she tried to suffer

meekly the infliction she would bear no more; but true to habit, she

expressed her farewells with so much impressiveness that old habitués

detected her and the old suspicion was aroused as to her sincerity. Long

after the lights in the parlors were out, she repeated her experiences

up-stairs to a friend, and congratulated herself that she was relieved

from the only irksome task connected with her life there.

It was from no want of appreciation or just estimate of her position,

but an unfeigned diffidence which she could not overcome, which kept her

from mingling in the society of the Capital. And perhaps a feeling that

she was not understood, developed this disinclination to meet strangers.

To persons to whom she was attracted, she was gay and affectionate, full

of interest and thoroughly devoid of affectation. Her children imbibed

this trait, and none ever saw evidences of deceitfulness on the part of

any member of the family. A native strong sense, called common, but in

fact a rarity, enabled her to discern the true merits of individuals,

and in her conduct toward others to recognize the truth of her father’s

motto, that

“Worth makes the man, the want of it the fellow.”

To devise new means of enjoyment for her children, and provide for their

mental and bodily needs, was her first thought, and each day was spent

with them at some one of their duties, often at their dancing school,

again overlooking their efforts at writing, never so well content as

when performing some conscientious duty. It was in this character she

made so many love her, and people who never knew her until she went to

Washington, were never weary of praising the young mother, who so

unaffectedly acted her part in the high station to which she was called.

Recollections of Mrs. Stover will not outlive the changes of time in the

bosoms of the “society” people, who tried so vainly to enlist her in

their set; but the sewing-women and trades-people, the attachés of the

White House, in all capacities, and the servants who served her four

years, will never forget her generous liberality of manners and means;

her polite civilities to all who approached her, and the evident

interest she took in their affairs, won her their lasting regards. The

night before she left for her Southern home several days previous to the

departure of the President and members of the family, the servants who

had learned to appreciate her friendship, wept unrestrainedly as they

bade her and her children a last good-by.

The house was lonelier after her departure, and the voices of her little

ones gladden the ears no more of those so long accustomed to hear their

noisy gambols. No President ever before had in the White House so many

children, or as youthful ones as were the five grandchildren of

President Johnson, nor will there ever be a brighter band there again.

[Illustration:

MRS. ULYSSES S. GRANT.

]

XXV.

JULIA DENT GRANT.

The inauguration of General Grant as President of the United States

placed his wife in the exalted social position of Mistress of the White

House. Mrs. Grant’s first reception on the 4th of March, 1869, marked

the passing away of just fourscore years since Mrs. Washington so

gracefully dispensed the ceremonious hospitality of the Executive

Mansion.

Her husband being the youngest man who has occupied the Presidential

office, he consequently carried with him into the White House the

novelty of a family of youthful children, and a wife who was still

possessed of the ambition to shine in society, and who enjoyed the

blandishments and excitements of high social position.

The prestige of General Grant’s military reputation added increased

lustre to his new position, and, consequently, could but render any

triumph of political life the more signal, since his experiences had

been of a widely different character. Upon Mrs. Grant, therefore,

devolved the pleasure of performing a twofold part, in the discharge of

which the people of this country from the beginning have desired her

entire success. Unobtrusively and quietly she entered upon her duties as

hostess of the White House, and devoted her attention as in the past to

her husband’s interests. She entertained personal friends and relatives

in large numbers, and not one of her old acquaintances was neglected or

overlooked by her in those her days of unbounded prosperity and

happiness. Very kindly the press of the nation referred to her, and

always, upon every occasion, she so conducted herself as to dignify the

name she bears, and to gratify her countrywomen. As wife and mother she

is greatly admired, and in both these relations she is a credit to the

sex and an honor to the nation she has represented so well. The moral

atmosphere of the Presidential Mansion was a matter of congratulation to

the American people, and they do not forget that the personal influence

of Mrs. Grant had much to do with impressing this characteristic of her

husband’s administration upon the world at large. She is essentially a

good woman, and as daughter, sister, wife, and mother, she has been all

that could be desired, and has in an eminent degree fulfilled the

promise of her early years, and the predictions then made for her by her

friends.

Mrs. Grant is a Missourian by birth, and her early years were spent on

her father’s farm, Whitehaven (now the property of her husband), near

St. Louis. Her father, Judge Dent, was a man of position and importance,

and his son was, at the time now referred to, a cadet at West Point.

Through her brother Miss Dent made the acquaintance of his classmate,

and in the course of events very naturally this young couple, mutually

pleased with each other, plighted their troth. The match was not

particularly pleasing to the parents of Miss Julia, and it was with no

little satisfaction that they saw the young officer ordered to frontier

duty with the army under General Taylor. Once out of sight they hoped

that their daughter’s feelings would undergo a change, and that she

eventually would make a more brilliant match. But events occurred which

endeared him to the family, and when, to crown all, young Grant saved

the life of Lieutenant Dent in Mexico, the objections of the family gave

way and they unconditionally surrendered. The constancy of the young

people was rewarded after an engagement of five years, when, on the 22d

of August, 1848, they were married. The wedding took place at Judge

Dent’s residence in St. Louis, and a merry one it was to all concerned.

After the festivities the young bride accompanied her husband to

Sackett’s Harbor, on Lake Ontario, and after a stay there of six months,

removed with him to Detroit, where he was stationed for more than two

years. They kept house in a little vine-covered cottage near the

barracks, and lived in the most unpretentious style. During their

residence in Detroit, Mrs. Grant made a visit to her parents in St.

Louis, and during her stay their first son, now Lieut.-Colonel Fred. D.

Grant, was born. Two years later, and while the father was on the

Pacific coast, Ulysses, the second son, was born at the residence of his

paternal grandfather, in Bethel, Ohio. The other children born of this

union are Nellie, the only daughter, and Jesse; the former in August,

1855; the latter in 1858. Both of these were born at their grandfather

Dent’s country home, near St. Louis, the birth-place of their mother.

After Captain Grant’s resignation, in 1854, he returned to Missouri,

poor and disheartened, and with no prospects before him. His

father-in-law, to assist him, gave his wife a farm of sixty acres, and

here for several years he fought poverty with his plough and axe—poor

weapons, indeed, for one born to wield the sword, and educated in a

military school. Of course he failed, and leaving “Hardscrabble,” the

title which he had himself given to the scene of such hard and

unrequited labors, he entered the real estate office of a cousin of his

wife’s in St. Louis. He began his career as agent without a hope of

success, and but for his family would doubtless have thrown up the

position in despair. Nothing sustained him in all these years of bitter

adversity and uncongenial surroundings but the hopefulness of his wife

and the unaffected and unchanging faith she had in him. It nerved him to

renewed effort, and animated him with fresh zeal each time that he

faltered in his rough pathway. Her affection was appreciated by him in

return, and his tenderness and fidelity was such that to them poverty

was less terrible to bear than it was to their friends to witness. But

there were four little mouths to feed, and the father felt that yet

greater effort must be made for them. His wife did all the work of their

home, and yet with the most frugal care he could not meet his expenses.

In the spring of 1860 he paid a visit to his father at Covington,

Kentucky, to take counsel with him concerning his future, and to plan

some new way to struggle for bread. His father owned a valuable business

at Galena, where two younger brothers were making money, and into this

establishment went the unfortunate ex-captain on a salary of six hundred

dollars a year. Moving his little family to Galena, he commenced work in

the tannery which has since been made famous by his association with it.

Poverty went with him to his new home, and what had been “hardscrabble”

on the little farm, and in St. Louis, was hardscrabble still; he could

not meet expenses. Twice his salary was increased, yet he could not

afford to keep any help, and his wife was maid of all work, and nurse

and teacher of her children as well.

The business did not grow more congenial to the husband, though he tried

his best to do his duty in it, and worked many times as hard as would

have been necessary had he loved his task. Possibly, one reason of his

unpleasant position was due to the fact that his brother, who was

thirteen years his junior, was his employer, and as the success of the

business was due to the enterprise of this brother and another still

younger, the place he held, and which he could not satisfactorily fill,

grew daily more disagreeable and unpleasant.

The twelfth of April, 1860, the day of the fall of Fort Sumter, and the

death-knell of slavery, was the turning point in the life of Captain

Grant, as it was to many thousands of others, both North and South. But

to no one man in the nation has it proven of such personal significance

as to him.

He was soon appointed captain of a volunteer company raised in Galena;

afterwards was made colonel, and later, through Gov. Washburne’s

influence, he received the appointment of brigadier-general. From this

time he rapidly rose to distinction and recognition. Mrs. Grant and the

children were at her father’s or visiting his father’s family at

Covington, during these first years of the rebellion; she caring for her

husband’s honor and studying his interest in every possible way.

While General Grant was in command at Cairo, just after the battle of

Belmont, and while his promotion to a major-generalship was being

discussed, a relation of his said to her: “Ulysses may get along as

brigadier, but he had better be satisfied with that and not seek to rise

higher.”

“There is no danger of his reaching a position above his capacity,” she

replied, indignantly. “He is equal to a much higher one than this, and

will certainly win it if he lives.” And this was the recognition she

always gave him, and to this fearless advocate of his worth he was

indebted for much of the material help he had received from both his and

her family. In this time of success—though as well of anxiety—she

repeatedly defended him, and more than once brought smiles to the faces

of her friends by saying: “Mr. Grant has great natural ability, he would

fill any public position well if he once had a chance.”

After the capture of Fort Donelson, while yet the country was ringing

with praises of her husband’s exploits, she visited him at that point,

and later she paid him a visit at Jackson, Mississippi. Just after the

surrender of Vicksburg she was in St. Louis, where she was serenaded by

a great concourse of people, and in response to their repeated demand

she appeared on the balcony of the hotel, leaning on the arm of General

Strong. The moment she came in view the people greeted her with

vociferous cheers. She was beginning to be made aware of the exalted

place her husband had won in the admiration of the people, and for the

first time she was sharing with him the dignity of the place to which he

had risen.

Several weeks were spent with her husband at Vicksburg, and then, when

his head-quarters were established at Nashville, she removed her

children there, and remained in that city until after his appointment as

lieutenant-general, making during the time a visit to St. Louis.

The implicit confidence Mrs. Grant reposed in her husband has long ago

been rewarded, and there is now no one to question his ability as a

military officer. But there was a time when her faith in him was in

marked contrast to the opinions entertained by his and her relatives.

They had seen him fail at farming and in the leather business, and a

man, in their opinion, who could not make money in either of these

pursuits, was not likely to reach success in anything.

But his wife was loyal to him, and, when asked by a party of ladies her

opinion concerning her husband’s new responsibilities and prospects,

just before the battle of the Wilderness, she replied:

“Mr. Grant has succeeded thus far, wherever the Government has placed

him, and he will do the best he can.”

“Do you think he will capture Richmond?”

“Yes, before he gets through: Mr. Grant always was a very obstinate

man.”

With the return of peace General Grant settled in Washington City, where

his head-quarters as commander-in-chief of the army were established.

His family were, for the first time in many years, again with him, and

they greatly appreciated the three years of comparative rest they

enjoyed. But they were destined to play a still higher part in the

national life. General Grant, the idol of the people after Lincoln, and

the most successful general of the age, was elected President of the

United States.

Mrs. Grant parted reluctantly with her own home and prepared to take up

her abode in the White House, but it was not before the fall of the year

that she settled down to the routine life there, and prepared to perform

the duties expected of her.

The first three years passed away pleasantly and without any very great

_éclat_. The President’s household was accounted an eminently happy one,

and there was always in the house some one or more of his own or his

wife’s kindred. But the children were at school, and there was less of

gayety than when, later, Miss Nellie made her _début_ into society, and

the young cadet son had returned from West Point, and was his sister’s

escort and companion.

The family travelled a great deal more perhaps than that of any other of

the Presidents. Every summer they spent at the sea-shore, and now Long

Branch is their permanent home in the warm season. The children

travelled abroad during their father’s administration, the daughter

receiving the most distinguished attentions while in England and

elsewhere; and when at home their young friends gathered about them,

eager to enjoy the pleasure of their company and the hospitalities of

their splendid home.

But the event that drew the American people to the President and his

household, as nothing else could have done, was the marriage of his only

daughter. Mrs. Grant and Nellie became, from the moment her engagement

was announced, the most interesting persons in the nation. What will the

mother do for her child that shall be befitting the occasion? was the

question the young and old of the sex asked of each other all over

America. And grave old men, who had long ago forgotten the excitements

of their own wedding days, caught the prevailing infection and became

interested in the sole daughter of the house, soon to be an inmate of it

no longer. Mothers’ hearts ached with Mrs. Grant’s over the thoughts of

the long separation, for Nellie was to marry an Englishman and live in

England; and when at last the time drew near for the nuptials, the

entire nation became interested spectators of an event which they could

not but feel was the most pleasing, and yet the most sad act of all the

grand drama of the double administration.

Nellie Grant’s was the seventh wedding which had taken place in the

White House. President Monroe’s daughter, Marie, and President Tyler’s

daughter, Lizzie, among others, had passed out from it as brides, and

now, more than thirty years later, this youngest of the Presidents saw

his only daughter wedded in the famous East Room, on Thursday, May 21st,

1874. The wedding took place under circumstances of peculiar brilliancy.

Mr. Algernon Sartoris, the groom, was, at the time of his marriage,

twenty-three years of age, and Nellie was nineteen. He had been educated

in England and Germany, and was a son of Mr. Edward Sartoris, of

Hampshire, England, and his wife, Adelaide Kemble, daughter of Charles,

and sister of Fannie Kemble.

[Illustration:

MRS. NELLIE GRANT SARTORIS.

]

Nellie Grant had led an exceptionally happy life, and for ten years

previous to her marriage had been the recipient of the most

distinguished attentions. Her father’s position, and his rapidly

increasing wealth, had enabled him to gratify every wish of his

daughter, and as if to reward the fidelity of his wife in years past, he

surrounded her children with every earthly blessing. It seemed only

strange that one so situated, and withal so young, should consent to

marry and retire to private life. But the love affair, begun on the

_Russia_, was destined to terminate auspiciously, and eighteen months

afterwards the young couple were united. The wedding was the finest ever

known in Washington, and was the theme of newspaper comment both in this

country and Europe. All that affection, wealth and high social position

could devise were combined to make it an event that should fittingly

express the love and pride of the parents in their only daughter.

Not more than two hundred guests were present, but they represented the

officials of the government and their families; the army, navy and

marine corps and their families; the diplomatic corps and personal

friends. The floral decorations of the house were superb, those of the

East Room being the richest. The bridal party was accompanied by the

President and Mrs. Grant, and the brothers of the bride, to New York,

from which port the young couple sailed for England.

The summer was passed by the President and Mrs. Grant at Long Branch,

and in the autumn the social life of the White House was resumed.

Colonel Fred. Grant introduced his bride (Miss Honore) during the

season, and the winter passed off pleasantly, though the daughter of the

House was missed sadly.

The eight years’ social administration of Mrs. Grant was characterized

by great elegance and dignity. All official and social observances were

conducted on a scale of magnificence, and the mansion itself was richly

furnished—costly plate and decorations were supplied, and the

entertainments were on a more elaborate scale than had marked previous

administrations. Among the social events of an official character that

occurred were receptions and state dinners in honor of the Duke of

Edinburgh, of England, the Grand Duke Alexis, of Russia, the King of

Kalakaua, and the first Chinese Ambassador. The official entertainments

were frequent, and the social career of Mrs. Grant as Lady of the White

House closed with one of the most brilliant receptions ever given in it.

After leaving the White House, ex-President and Mrs. Grant became the

guests of Secretary and Mrs. Fish, and during their stay in Washington

were the recipients of continued social attentions.

It had been the long-expressed desire of General Grant to visit Europe,

and soon after the close of his administration he began the preparations

for an extended journey. Returning from a visit to Galena, he arrived in

Philadelphia a week previous to the day appointed for the departure of

the steamer, and with Mrs. Grant became the guests of George Washington

Childs, Esq. The most flattering attentions were bestowed upon them.

Military parades, public receptions, and private entertainments followed

each other in quick succession. The vessel selected by General Grant on

which to make the voyage was the “Indiana,” one of the only American

line of steamships crossing the Atlantic ocean. On the morning of the

departure Mr. Childs entertained at breakfast a number of guests,

including the late Secretary of State, Hon. Hamilton Fish, General

Sherman, Governor Hartranft, and others, and afterwards the party,

augmented by the presence of a large number of prominent gentlemen,

proceeded down the Delaware. Mrs. Grant, accompanied by the youngest

son, Jesse, who made the tour with them, Mr. and Mrs. Childs, Mrs.

Sharp—Mrs. Grant’s sister—and many other ladies and gentlemen were taken

down the river to the “Indiana” on the revenue cutter “Hamilton.”

Arriving at New Castle after a sail of thirty-five miles, the voyagers

bade adieu to their friends and boarded the steamer. The scenes which

accompanied the ex-President and his family from the moment of leaving

the hospitable mansion of Mr. Childs to the farewells at the vessel were

such as never before had been witnessed in this country. Thousands of

people lined the wharves and the air resounded with their cheers. The

shipping was gayly decorated, and the flags of all nations floated in

the breeze. Steam-whistles blew their shrill notes, and salutes were

thundered forth from the larger vessels as the ex-President and his

friends passed down the river to their vessel. The party sailed on the

17th of May, 1877, and from the moment of landing on English soil they

were welcomed with generous hospitality by all the nations they visited.

Over the continent of Europe, through Egypt, the Holy Land, and back

through Italy, Spain, Ireland and India, to China and Japan they

travelled, and were everywhere the objects of distinguished

hospitalities. The return voyage to San Francisco was completed in

September, 1879, and the reception at San Francisco was of such

magnitude and enthusiasm as to greatly surprise the ex-President. The

people, without respect to race or party, joined in the hearty welcome

home. The festivities varied each day, and every city in the Union sent

invitations to the ex-President to extend his travels to all parts of

his own country. One of the pleasantest incidents connected with their

stay in San Francisco was the visit of a delegation of the Chinese of

that city to General Grant, and the presentation to him of an address

and a scroll of worked silk. General Grant, in acknowledging the great

kindness and hospitality shown him by the people and authorities of

China, expressed the hope that the country, by breaking down the

seclusion in which she had been shrouded for ages, would continue to

draw nearer to her the trade and sympathy of the civilized world. The

head of the delegation then presented to Mrs. Grant a small ivory

casket, saying that she had done much to break down the spirit of

domestic exclusiveness that reigns in China, and that the Chinese in San

Francisco desired to thank her for it.

This circumstance recalls an exceptional honor paid Mrs. Grant while in

China, an honor the like of which no other woman has ever shared. And

though she received distinguished attentions in all her travels, she

remembers this as one of the most marked and most pleasant incidents of

her journeyings over the world. The occasion was a dinner given by the

wife of the Viceroy of China. In view of the fact of the exclusiveness

of the Chinese as a race, and the position of woman in that country, it

is one of the events of the age. Mr. John Russell Young, the historian

of the travellers, gives an entertaining description of it,[23] from

which is taken the following excerpt:

Footnote 23:

“Around the World with General Grant.”

“It was a radical thing for the Viceroy to throw open the doors of his

house and bring the foreign barbarian to his hearth-stone. This dinner

was arranged for our last night in Tientsin, and in honor of Mrs. Grant.

The principal European ladies in the colony were invited. Some of these

ladies have lived in Tientsin for years and had never seen the wife of

the Viceroy—had never seen him except through the blinds of the window

of his chair. The announcement that the Viceroy had really invited Mrs.

Grant to meet his wife, and European ladies to be in the company, was

even a more extraordinary event than the presence of General Grant or

the arrival of the band. Society rang with a discussion of the question

which, since Mother Eve introduced it to the attention of her husband,

has been the absorbing theme of civilization—what shall we wear? I have

heard many expositions on this theme, but in Tientsin it was new and

important. Should the ladies go in simple Spartan style: in muslin and

dimity, severely plain and colorless, trusting alone to their graces and

charms, and thus show their Chinese sister the beauty that exists in

beauty unadorned; or should they go in all their glory, with gems and

silks and satins and the latest development of French genius in the

arrangement of their hair? It was really an important question, and not

without a bearing, some of us thought, on the future domestic peace of

the Viceroy. The arguments on either side were conducted with ability,

and I lament my inability to do them justice, and hand them over to the

consideration of American ladies at home. The discussion passed beyond

me and entered into the sphere of metaphysics, and became a moral,

spiritual—almost a theological theme, and was decided finally in favor

of the resources of civilization. The ladies went in all the glory of

French fashion and taste.

“No gentlemen were invited to the Viceroy’s dinner, and the Viceroy

himself did not entertain his guests. It was arranged that the ladies

should go in chairs. Of ladies there were in all, Mrs. Grant, Mrs.

Detring, Mrs. Denny, Mrs. Dillon, Mrs. Forrest, Mrs. Dorian, and Miss

Denny. It was a distance of two miles to the Yamen, and the streets were

filled with a curious multitude watching the procession of chairs, and

having their own thoughts, we can well fancy, at this spectacle of the

vice-regal home invaded by the wives of foreign barbarians. It was quite

dark when the ladies reached the Yamen. They alighted in a courtyard

illuminated with lanterns, and crowded with officials in their quaint

costumes. The band of the ‘Richmond’ had been sent ahead by Captain

Johnson, and as our ladies arrived they were welcomed with the familiar

notes of home music. The Viceroy also had a band, and the musical effect

of the two styles of music—the Chinese running largely to gongs, and the

American with trumpet and drum—was unique, and added to the strangeness

of the ceremony.

“As Mrs. Grant, who was in the first chair, descended, she was met by

the wife of the Viceroy, who took her hand and escorted her into the

house. The other ladies were shown in by one of the missionary ladies,

who came to act as interpreter. They passed through a sort of hall into

a small library. The walls of this library were cut up into

pigeon-holes, filled with Chinese books made of soft, tough paper. The

Viceroy’s wife took her seat at the head of the table, and as each lady

entered she was introduced by the interpreter. The hostess arose and

shook hands with each in cordial European fashion, with perfect grace,

and as though it had been her custom all her life to use this form of

salutation. There were two other ladies of the vice-regal family

present, the daughter of the Viceroy, a maiden of sixteen, and his

daughter-in-law, a lady of twenty-three. They sat at the opposite end of

the table from the hostess, looking on with curious interest at the

company of foreign ladies, the first they had ever seen. Still they

restrained their curiosity, showing no wonder, no surprise, and received

their European friends with as much ease as if they had been accustomed

to a London drawing-room. The daughter-in-law of the Viceroy was dressed

in subdued colors, much the same as the hostess, but the maiden was

brilliantly costumed in a bright pink satin jacket, and green satin

trousers, the whole embroidered with gold thread, and silk of a variety

of colors. At every movement she tinkled with her abundant ornaments of

pearl and jade, which hung in long pendants from her ears, wrists,

fingers, and the cord of her fan. She wore two long gold finger-nail

shields on the third and fourth fingers of her left hand, a curious

ornament made necessary by the custom of high-bred persons in China of

allowing the finger-nails to grow. Both of the young ladies wore their

hair ornamented in the same manner as the wife of the Viceroy.

“The company sat in the library about ten minutes. During this time they

were served with strong pale tea, without sugar or milk, in tiny

porcelain cups. Then, at a gesture from the hostess, the ladies arose

and walked into another room, a larger one, the hostess conducting Mrs.

Grant. Crowds of servants swarmed about, and other crowds of curious

persons looked in at the windows and doors at the unusual spectacle. The

dining-room was furnished in European fashion, with divans and chairs. A

chandelier of four gas jets hung over the centre of the table, and was

an object of curiosity to all, as Tientsin has not yet attained to the

blessing of gas. The dinner table was set in European style, with silver

and French china, and decorated with a profusion of flowers. The ladies

took seats according to the rank of their husbands, Mrs. Grant sitting

on the right and Mrs. Denny on the left of the hostess. Each of the

ladies had her own servant who waited on her. The dinner was a blending

of Chinese and European cookery. First came a European course. Then came

a Chinese course, served in silver cups with small silver ladles and

ivory chopsticks. Smaller silver cups in saucers sat at each plate,

filled with the warm Chinese wine which you find at every dinner. The

ladies tasted their Chinese food with fortitude, and made heroic efforts

to utilize the chopsticks. The Chinese ladies partook only of their own

food. The hostess kept up a conversation with all the ladies. First she

asked each one her age, which in China is the polite thing to do. I have

no information as to the responses elicited by this inquiry, the sources

of my knowledge failing at this point. Then questions were asked as to

the number of children in the families of the married ladies, and the

age of each child. The younger Chinese ladies of the party sat at the

other end of the table, and having no interpreter made themselves

understood by signs—by graceful little gestures of the hand, nods,

questioning eyes. It is wonderful how much talk can be done by

pantomime, and the Chinese ladies with their quick intelligence soon

found themselves in earnest conversation with their European friends.

During the dinner there was a Chinese Punch and Judy show, and the noise

of this entertainment, with the chatter of the servants, and the curious

gazing crowd who never left the doors and windows, made an unceasing

din. China has democratic customs and privileges which are never

invaded. Whenever General Grant and party dined as the guest of a

Chinaman, in Canton, or Shanghai, or Tientsin, it was always in presence

of a multitude. If the people were to have the doors closed upon them,

even the doors of the Viceroy, it would make trouble. And now, of all

days in the calendar of China, this day when female barbarians are

welcomed to a nobleman’s house, it is important that all the world

should stand by and see the wonder.

“The hostess, with a gesture and smile of welcome, drank from her cup of

warm wine a toast to her friends. The ladies sipped their wine in

response. This astonished the hostess, who had been told that it was the

custom of barbarian ladies to drink their glasses dry. But it was

explained that while some ambitious gentlemen in foreign society

ventured upon such experiments, the ladies never did. The hostess

wondered at this, and seemed to think that somehow it would be more like

what she had heard if the ladies drank more champagne, if they drained

their glasses and turned them upside down. Then the jewels were passed

from hand to hand to be examined by the Chinese ladies. This study of

jewelry, of diamond and emerald, of ruby and turquoise, occupied most of

the time that remained to the dinner. Once or twice the tall form of the

Viceroy could be observed looking over the heads of the crowd to see how

his wife and foreign friends were enjoying themselves. When observed his

Excellency withdrew. Although not appearing during the dinner, nor at

the reception before, the Viceroy was now and then seen moving about

among the curious gazers, evidently anxious about his feast, anxious

that nothing should be wanting in honor of his guests.

“After the dinner the party went into another room. Here was a piano

which had been brought from the foreign settlement. This was a new

delight to the hostess, who had never seen a piano, and she expressed

her pleasure and surprise. One of the pieces was a waltz, a merry German

waltz, and two of the ladies went through the measures, giving variety

to the dance by balancing separately with one arm akimbo, the other

holding up the skirt, then twirling away to different parts of the room

and coming together again. This revelation of barbarian customs created

great astonishment, and when the dance stopped there was a chorus of

approbation from the Chinese, as if they had discovered a new pleasure

in the world, the hostess nodding and smiling with more energy of manner

than she had shown during the evening. This performance was witnessed by

the Viceroy, who perhaps had his own thoughts as a far-seeing statesman

as to what China would become if German music ever found its way into

Chinese households, and mothers and maidens gave way to the temptations

of the waltz. There were snatches of singing, one of the ladies who had

an expressive voice warbling some roundelay from the Tyrol. This created

another sensation, and was so new, and strange, and overwhelming that

the Chinese maiden in the dazzling pink jacket lost her Oriental

composure, and gave a faint start and laughed, and fearing she had

committed some breach of propriety, suddenly recovered herself and coyly

looked about to see if she had in any way given offence to her barbarian

guests. The hostess, however, sat by the side of Mrs. Grant during the

whole performance, and looked on as calmly at these strange phenomena of

an unknown civilization as if she had known the waltz and heard Tyrolean

ditties all her days. The hostess, with high-bred courtesy, always arose

when her guests did, and never sat down until they were seated. The feet

of the Chinese ladies were extremely small—scarcely more than two or

three inches long—and when they walked it was with difficulty, and only

by the aid of the waiting-women who walked behind. A Chinese lady of

rank does nothing without the aid of servants. If she wishes to take a

handkerchief out of her pocket a servant performs the office. But during

the whole evening, at every phase of the reception and the

entertainment, the hostess showed a self-possession and courtesy that

might have been learned in the drawing-rooms of Saint Germain. She took

pains to show attention to every one. When the time came to leave she

went with Mrs. Grant to her chair. When the others left she took her

leave of them at the door, and they parted with good wishes and polite

little speeches of thanks and welcome.”

Mrs. Grant has the distinction of having travelled more than any other

lady who has graced the White House, and of having received at the hands

of foreigners more attention than has fallen to the lot of any other

American lady. In her tour she was the guest of the heads of the

government in all countries, and participated in hospitalities of crown

heads and the representative nobility. Her life from the period when her

husband became the victorious general of the army, has been one of high

social rank, and the years as they have passed have brought her many

blessings. She has known public honors and domestic happiness, and is a

most fortunate woman. She has sought her chief pleasure in life in the

family circle, and her reward has been found in their happiness. The

White House under Mrs. Grant’s social administration was a delightful

home, and was ever the abode of many relatives and friends who shared in

the many pleasures it afforded. An atmosphere of pleasant social life

was felt by all visitors at the Executive Mansion, and though Mrs. Grant

was not particularly fond of society, her stay in the White House is

remembered as a period of great gayety in Washington. She was identified

with the events of the administration in all semi-official ways, and was

as popular in society as any of the women who had preceded her. A wife

and mother, she was occupied with the duties pertaining to domestic

relations, and divided her time between her public and private

obligations. In this respect of having twofold duties to perform she was

like all the wives of the Presidents, and with one exception the White

House has known no lady differently situated. Harriet Lane was

untrammelled with domestic cares when she presided there, and was

moreover a great belle. Society claimed more from her than it ever did

of any other lady, and the circumstances attending her life there made

it the most marked in many respects that has yet been chronicled. Mrs.

Grant’s deep interest in the success of her husband, and her commendable

desire to have her countrywomen satisfied with her administration as

hostess, were motives sufficiently impelling to incite her to every

exertion necessary to the accomplishment of her purpose, and she has the

satisfaction of knowing that her career was approved. In her

domesticity, which is her leading characteristic, and with her strong

sense and practical ideas, she had ample armor of protection against

mistakes, and she lived eight years in the White House as serenely as

she would have done in Galena. It is to her credit that her sons, grown

to manhood, pay her marked attentions, and that she is to them the ideal

mother. To be approved by one’s friends is comfort, but to be adored by

one’s children is to be crowned with the most imperishable of earthly

diadems. When Mrs. Grant appeared in sight of the people of San

Francisco, she was leaning on the arm of one of her boys, who had gone

out to meet her, and it was a pleasing sight to those who saw the tender

devotion of the son to his long absent mother. General Grant was in the

hands of the committees who were to show him honor, but his wife was

accepting homage far more satisfying. Her mother’s heart was far more

touched by the welcome she received than any other that could be given

her. It is this womanly quality which has influenced her to be a less

conspicuous figure than her position lent her opportunity for being. She

has not cared to be recognized apart from her husband, but to be

identified with him, and while this trait is an admirable one, it has

none the less conspired to limit rather than enlarge the acquaintance of

the public with her. But she is a woman approved by her sex, and her

record is one that her sister-women will always admire. She has enjoyed

great honors, and abused none of her gifts, and her name will ever be

associated in terms of praise with that of the country’s second military

President, and the most successful general of his day. Her life is yet

in its summer, and the laurels bestowed upon her are bright and

undimmed, and for a long time yet she will be in the enjoyment of them.

Whatever future awaits her she will meet it with dignity and

appreciative consideration of the exceptionally brilliant position she

has filled.

XXVI.

LUCY WEBB HAYES.

Mrs. Hayes was the most widely known and universally popular President’s

wife the country has known. She was an element in the administration

that was gladly recognized, and her influence was most potent and

admirable. In her successful career as the first lady of the land was

outlined the future possibilities of her sex in all other positions and

conditions. She represented the new woman era, and was the first of the

women of the White House of the third period. The women of the

Revolutionary period of American history exhibited stronger traits of

character than those who succeeded them. There was necessity for higher

qualities—the display of courage, heroism and fortitude, and they were

discovered in every emergency. The country was young and the people were

experimenting with liberty; there were common dangers to be shared, and

fewer honors than have fallen to those who came into the inheritance

secured for them. With the end of the administration of John Quincy

Adams a new generation of men and women claimed public notice, and the

women who came to hold the highest place of honor in the land were the

representatives of this second era of the country’s history. They were

social queens, but nothing more. They aspired to supremacy in the

drawing room, and were content to acquire it. Some were too little used

to the world to care for even this, and led retired domestic lives,

wholly apart from the public careers of their husbands.

[Illustration:

LUCY WEBB HAYES.

]

Mrs. Hayes is the product of the last half of the nineteenth century,

and in her strong, healthful influence gives the world assurance of what

the next century women will be. Her life, for many years, was spent

before the public, and she so fully identified herself with her

husband’s administration that it can never be remembered apart from her.

She gave her every thought to the maintenance and advancement of her

husband’s fame and name as the Chief Magistrate of the United States;

she deemed no act, however insignificant of itself, too slight to be

considered unimportant if, in its results, it could add to his renown.

In no one particular did she so ably display her strength of character

as in commanding, by her strict adherence to her domestic duties, the

recognition due her for her able performance of the responsibility

devolving upon her as the counsellor and friend of the President. Mrs.

Hayes went to the White House prepared through her happy married life,

through her winsome, cheerful spirit; through her long experience in

official circles; through her intelligence and culture, and her social

rank and attributes, to fill the highest place a woman can occupy in a

Republic. Through her husband the dignified place she filled was hers,

and in the daily performance of the pleasant duties of hostess of the

Executive Mansion she thought of his honor first. In the results

attained by her was again exemplified the truth of the old adage that we

cannot rightly help others without helping ourselves. She, in lending

additional strength to her husband’s administration, commanded increased

respect for her sex. She gave the world a fair example of the power for

good which a woman of fine breeding and social opportunities can

exercise. Mrs. Hayes called forth, through her successful efforts in

placing herself beside her husband in his official rank, a more just

appreciation of her womanhood and a higher reverence for the relations

of wifehood and motherhood. This service, though it has not been

generally recognized as such, is perhaps the greatest she could have

done the world. The assertion will be endorsed when the fact, which

cannot be controverted, is recognized, that great men in this country

have not always been fortunate in being wedded to representative women.

From the time of Franklin down to the era of Henry Clay, and even more

recently, the wives of many of the leading public men of the country

have not been remarkable. It will require but little effort to recall

the many representatives of the commonplace in women who have filled—or

rather failed to fill—the places made theirs by reason of their

husbands’ positions. The harmony of domestic life has been lost to

public men, no less than to those not known to the public, by their

refusal or their inability to recognize the individuality of their wives

and the duty these same wives owed to society and the world at large.

Ignorance and prejudice, combined with jealousy, have cost men in their

domestic relations more misery than the world readily perceives, but it

is gradually coming to appreciate the fact through the tares that have

come up in the places where a harvest was anticipated. People do not

gather grapes from thistles nor figs from thorns with any greater

success than in olden times. And from the days of Socrates down to that

of President Hayes homes have been bright and happy, or otherwise,

according to the respect in which the women at the head of them were

held. Many of our great men have left an unpleasant record of their

domestic lives, and the retribution has come in the misconduct of

children, sometimes to the third and fourth generation. Mrs. Hayes, in

her honored place, helped men and women to realize the glory of life

when love is its impelling power; and in the hearts of women this

feeling was much strengthened by observing the universal and spontaneous

reverence exhibited toward a woman who was strong in herself and in the

public position she sustained.

Mrs. Hayes was born in Chillicothe, when it was the capital of Ohio, and

was the daughter of Dr. James Webb, and the granddaughter of Dr. Isaac

Cook. The Webbs were natives of Granville county, North Carolina. In the

last century three worthy brothers belonging to this family went out

from home to carve their own way. One of them became a leading merchant

of Richmond, Virginia; a second one lived near his old home, wedded to

farm life; and the third removed to Ohio and became a prominent

physician. This latter brother was the father of Lucy Webb. He died in

1833, of cholera, in Lexington, Kentucky, where he had gone to complete

arrangements for sending slaves to Liberia who had been set free by

himself and his father. The maternal grandfather of Miss Webb was one of

the first settlers of Chillicothe, and belonged to the best Puritan

stock of New England. Her mother, Mrs. Webb, was a lady of unusual

strength of character and of deep religious convictions. After the death

of her husband she removed to Delaware, in order to be near the Wesleyan

University, where her sons were educated. Her fortune was ample, and she

was enabled to give her children every advantage. In order to be near

them she fitted up a cottage on the college grounds, and her house was

thenceforth a happy gathering-place for the classmates of the brothers

at holiday times. She studied with her brothers and recited to the

college instructors, and had the advantages of a training which prepared

her for the Wesleyan Female College at Cincinnati, which she entered at

the same time that her brothers commenced their studies in the medical

college. She was peculiarly fortunate in having as her early teachers

the professors of the university at Delaware, and it is no small credit

to the denomination to which she belonged to have it said that it gave

to both sexes the best school advantages to be procured in the West in

that day or at the present time.