Biography of Mr. Greeley--Gabrielle's Questions--Mrs. Cleveland's
Corrections--The Boy Horace not Gawky, Clownish, or a Tow-head--His
Parents not in Abject Want--Mr. Greeley's Letter about his Former
Playmates--Young Horace and his Girl Friends--He Corrects their Grammar
and Lectures them upon Hygiene--He disapproves of Corsets.
_July 10_.
"Auntie, is it possible," said Gabrielle, indignantly running into
mamma's room with an open volume in her hand, "that papa was as homely
and awkward when a boy and young man as this writer describes him?
'Tow-head,' 'gawky,' 'plain,' and 'clownish,' are some of the most
uncomplimentary epithets applied to him. He is described as having
'white hair with a tinge of orange at the ends,' and as 'eating as if
for a wager;' while grandpapa, the writer says, was so poor that papa
had to walk barefooted over the thistles, without a jacket, and in
trousers cut with an utter disregard of elegance or fit, and it was
remarked that they were _always_ short in the legs, while one was
invariably shorter than the other. Was it possible that grandpapa
could not afford an inch more of cloth to make poor papa's trousers of
equal length, and was it true that papa never had but two shirts at a
time until he came to New York, and that he never had any gloves? When
he was an apprentice in Portland every one used to pity him, Mr. ------
says, as he walked shivering to the _Spectator_ office on cold winter
days, thinly clad, and with his gloveless hands thrust into his pockets
to protect them from being frost-bitten!"
"My child, you overwhelm me with your questions," said mamma. "Let me
take them singly, and I will do my best to refute this writer's
unpleasant statements.
"First as to personal appearance. You say he styles your papa 'plain'
as a boy. That is absurd, for his features, like mother's, were as
perfect as a piece of Grecian sculpture. 'Tow-head' is also a
mis-statement. Brother's hair never was at any time tow-color, and the
tinge of orange at the ends existed only in the author's imagination.
Tow-color, you know, is a sort of dirty white or gray; whereas
brother's hair, until he was thirty years old, was like Raffie's, pure
white. After that time, it commenced to change to a pale gold-color,
which never, however, deepened into orange. What was your next
question, my dear?"
"About papa's wardrobe," said Gabrielle, her cheeks still flushed with
excitement; "were you indeed so miserably poor, auntie?"
"We were certainly very poor after father failed," said mamma firmly,
"but we were by no means reduced to abjectness. I can never remember
the time, in our poorest days, when the boys had not, besides their
brown linen work-day shirts, cotton shirts for Sunday, and father his
'fine shirt' to wear to church and for visiting. Your papa was dressed
suitably for our station in life--neither better nor worse than the
sons of neighbors in our circumstances. As for going barefoot, all
country boys at that time did so during the summer months; your papa
was not an exception.
"You speak of his gloveless hands. I never saw a pair of kid gloves
worn by farmers while we lived in Vermont or Pennsylvania; and
certainly they would have been very inappropriate for a boy-farmer or a
printer's apprentice to wear; but brother was always, both at home and
at Poultney, supplied with warm woollen mittens of mother's knitting.
As for the cut of his trousers, I am surprised that any sensible author
should use so unfit a word as 'elegance' in speaking of a poor farmer's
clothing. I told you the other day that our wardrobe for every-day
wear was spun, woven, and made by mother, and it is not to be expected
that home-made coats and trousers should have the cut of a fashionable
New York tailor; but they were, at all events, warm and comfortable.
That brother's trousers were always short, and especially in one leg,
is an absurd fabrication. The story may perhaps have risen from some
one who remembers his lameness in Poultney, when he acquired the habit
of dragging one leg a little after the other, and that style of walking
may have apparently shortened one of the trouser legs. Have you
anything else to ask, little one?"
"Yes, auntie," said Gabrielle, smiling at mamma's methodical way of
answering: "was papa an awkward boy, and did he eat vulgarly?"
"I have told you, dear," mamma replied, "how we were brought up. I
never saw your papa eat ravenously while he was at home; for father was
a despot at table, and any appearance of gluttony would have been
quickly checked by the dreaded descent of his fork upon the table. I
think it probable that later in life, when your papa became a
distinguished man, and every moment was of value, that he did eat
quicker than was consistent with the laws of etiquette, but not when he
was a boy.
"As for his awkwardness, I can readily imagine that a boy so intensely
preoccupied would not appear in so favorable a light to strangers as
one who should seek the society of people rather than books, and a
superficial observer might have mistaken his air of abstraction for
rustic bashfulness. You know that he was always absorbed in a book
from the time he was three years old. Father would often send him to
do an errand--to fetch wood or the like; he would start very
obediently, but with his eyes upon his book, and by the time he had
reached the door he would have completely forgotten everything outside
the page he was reading, and it was necessary to send some one after
him to remind him of his errand. He certainly was very unlike
every-day boys, not only in appearance, but in habits and moral
qualities. Never did I hear a coarse or profane word pass his lips;
the purity of his soul was radiant in his beautiful modest countenance;
while his slender, boyish figure, with the ponderous white head poised
upon his long, slim neck, always reminded me of a lovely, swaying lily."
"I have seen recently in some book," said Marguerite, "that uncle was
never at his ease in polite society. This I think very absurd. To be
sure he had not the manners of a dancing-master, but--"
"Yes," interrupted mamma; "this statement is another of the usual
exaggerations current about brother. As you say, he had not the
manners of a dancing-master, and when importuned and annoyed by shallow
people, may often have been abrupt with them; but when in society, I
have always seen his company as much or more courted than that of any
other person present, and have never known him to shrink or be
embarrassed in the presence of people of distinction or rank. Few men
have, I think, been more misrepresented, though often with the kindest
intentions, than my dear brother."
"You spoke of papa's lameness while at Poultney, Aunt Esther," said
Ida, looking up from a letter that she was reading; "pray how did he
become lame? Was it serious? I do not remember hearing him mention
it."
"It occurred, I believe, in this way," said mamma. "Whilst your papa
was in the _Spectator_ office, he chanced one day to step upon a rough
box, which turned over, and hitting him upon the leg, inflicted a cut
below his knee. At first, brother thought it a mere scratch not worth
noticing; but when he subsequently took cold in it, he found it very
troublesome, and although he then consulted several medical men, they
were unable to cure it, I do not remember hearing that he was ever
confined to the house with it--probably because he could not afford to
give up his work long enough to have it properly treated; but for two
or perhaps three years he limped to and from the office. When he went
subsequently to Erie, Pennsylvania, to work as a journeyman printer,
the wound, which had partially healed, had again opened, and was very
painful. Some old woman residing there, however, gave him a simple
remedy which soon cured it permanently."
"From whom is the letter that you are reading, Ida?" inquired
Gabrielle, putting up her father's biography in a bookcase; "does it
contain a request for a loan of $500, or is it an offer of a home in a
Christian family?"
"Neither, for once," answered Ida. "It is from _The Tribune_ office,
and contains a slip cut from the Omaha _Bee_, headed, 'Horace Greeley
upon Girls.' It appears that a lady, Miss Hewes, who did not know papa
personally, wrote to him to ask if he recollected his first
school-house, and a former playmate of his, named Reuben Nichols, whose
acquaintance Miss Hewes had just made. Here is papa's answer, dated
Washington, 1856. Let me read it to you, Aunt Esther, and tell me if
you think it is genuine."
"'MISS HEWES:--As I do not know you, and am little interested in any
but a part of your letter, you will allow me, in my terrible
hurry--having two days' work that ought to be done to-day, while I must
leave at evening for a journey to our Pittsburg Convention--to speak
only of that.
"'I very well remember the red school-house in which I first began to
learn (the paint was worn off long since, and it was very far from red
when I last saw it); I remember the Nichols children, who lived, just
below the school-house, in a large house. But I was very young then,
and I do not make out a clear mental picture of Reuben Nichols. I
think he must have been considerably older than I. But I recollect one
Aseneth Nichols, one of two girls not much older than I, whom I thought
very pretty, so that while I was a very good speller, and so one of the
two at the head of the first class in spelling, who were entitled to
"choose sides" for a spelling match; I used to begin by choosing these
two pretty girls who couldn't spell hokee to save their souls. Well,
this was found not to answer; I knew enough to spell but not to choose
sides; so the _rôle_ had to be altered, and the two next to the one at
the head had the honor of "choosing sides." Ask Mr. Nichols if he had
a sister Aseneth, and if he remembers any such nonsense as this. My
kind regards to him.
"'Yours,
"'HORACE GREELEY.'"
"I don't believe," said Gabrielle, "that papa ever wrote that letter."
"It does not sound much like him," rejoined Marguerite, "with the
exception of 'Yours, Horace Greeley'; what do you think, mamma?"
"The letter is characteristic," was mamma's reply; "the style is his,
but there are several words that I have never known him to use;
however, they may have been illegible in the original, and their place
supplied by the printer's ingenuity. I remember hearing father and
mother often speak of Reuben Nichols who lived near grandfather in
Londonderry, and I believe that he had a son named Reuben, and a
daughter named Aseneth, so the letter must be genuine, I suppose."
"Was it true, mamma?" inquired Marguerite, "that uncle was fond of
little girls? You know it has been said of him that he was as a man
quite indifferent to women."
"Yes, he was very partial to little girls," was mamma's reply, "when
they were pretty and gentle. Not, however, in the love-making way of
the present precocious generation, but he liked to talk to them, and
relate stories from the books he had read. Perhaps the secret of his
preference lay in the fact that they made more attentive and
sympathetic listeners than his rough boy-friends.
"I told you the other day that at the ball he attended when thirteen
years old, he was the escort of Anne Bush, the prettiest girl in the
village. She was perhaps a year younger than he, and as I remember
her, extremely pretty--a slender figure, cheeks like roses, blue eyes,
dark hair, and very gentle, ladylike ways. She had a sister Sophie,
who was as plain as Anne was pretty; and a wild, mischievous girl, but
my inseparable and dearest companion.
"There were two other girls of whom brother was very fond at that time;
Cornelia Anne Smith and Rebecca Fish. Cornelia Anne was older than the
other girls, about fourteen, I think, and was the fondest of learning
of the trio. I remember that she often used to bring her school-books
to brother when some difficulty had arisen in her lessons, and he would
explain the hard points. I think that he always corresponded with
these girls, and visited them occasionally after they became women, for
you know with what tenacity he clung to his early associations. He has
often spoken to me of Rebecca Fish, who is now Mrs. Whipple, of
Fairhaven.
"You would be amused if I were to tell you how he used to pass the time
that he spent with these three girls. A city-bred boy of thirteen or
fourteen would have been quite capable of arranging an elopement with
the prettiest one, but brother's style of courtship was quite unique;
he used to correct their grammar when they conversed, and gravely
lecture them upon the folly of wearing stays!
"The corsets which so aroused his ire were quite different from those
of the present day. At that time, you must know, the Empire dress,
that you have seen in portraits of the time of the first Napoleon, was
all the fashion; no crinoline, skirts so extremely scant and gored that
they clung to the figure like drapery upon a statue, and waists a
finger and a half in depth, with inch-wide bands instead of sleeves.
This style of dress was very graceful and becoming when worn by a woman
of slender figure, and those who were not thus favored by Nature made
the best of their figures by wearing what was then called 'busks,' or
more popularly 'boards.' The corsets worn in those days did not clasp
in front, but merely laced behind, and inserted in the lining of the
front was the 'busk,' a piece of steel, or (among poorer people) wood
two inches wide, and the depth of the corset. This busk, with the
addition of very tightly drawn lacing-strings, was supposed to give
great symmetry to the figure. No village belle ever liked to own that
she laced tightly, or that she wore a board; as it was a tacit
admission that her figure could not bear unaided the test of the Empire
dress; consequently brother's remarks would be received by his young
friends with an injured air, and a vehement protest against such a
false accusation. Brother would then test their truth by dropping his
handkerchief and requesting them to pick it up; if they 'wore a board,'
stooping would be impossible, or, at all events, very difficult; an
ordeal that would cover them with confusion, when the philosopher of
thirteen years old would resume his moral lecture upon the laws of
hygiene, and the follies of fashion."