of the society, and at its annual dinners, was that of Peter S. Du
Ponceau, the French lawyer and philologist, who lived here for so
many years. He has left behind him pictures of some of his learned
associates that prove to us that these gentlemen, whose faces look
down upon us gravely from century-old portraits, were, on occasions,
as full of quips and quirks and fun and frolic as the most jovial
collegian of our day. Of his frequent journeys to Washington to attend
the sessions of the Supreme Court of the United States, in company with
Mr. Ingersoll, Mr. William Rawle, Mr. Lewis, and Mr. Edward Tilghman,
he says,--
“As soon as we were out of the city and felt the flush of air, we
were like school-boys in the playground on a holiday; and we began
to kill time by all the means that our imagination could suggest.
Flashes of wit shot their coruscations on all sides; puns of the
genuine Philadelphia stamp were handed about; old college stories
were revived; macaroni Latin was spoken with great purity; songs
were sung,--even classical songs, among which I recollect the famous
Bacchanalian of the Archdeacon of Oxford, _Mihi est propositum in
tabernâ mori_; in short, we might have been taken for anything else
but the grave counsellors of the celebrated bar of Philadelphia.”
Mr. Du Ponceau it is who is accredited with the well-known story of the
lawyer whose client came in and deposed that “his brother had died and
made a will.” A gentleman who read law with the facetious Frenchman
relates that it was only when a fee was placed in Mr. Du Ponceau’s
hand that he translated the phrase into, “Ah! you mean that your
brother made a will and died.” We can imagine the laugh with which the
philosophers would greet this most practical of jokes.
Quite as celebrated as the dinners of the society were Mr. John
Vaughan’s breakfasts, which held the same prominence in the social
life of the time as Dr. Wistar’s evening parties or as the Sunday
afternoon vespers of Mr. Henry C. Carey, where, during the late war,
and after its close, soldiers, politicians, statesmen, and civilians
met together and discussed the great issues and events that shook the
nation from 1860 to 1865. So at Mr. Vaughan’s breakfasts were discussed
the agitating questions of the last decade of the century, Federalists
and Democratic-Republicans, as they were beginning to be called,
meeting together around his hospitable board. Mr. Vaughan himself was
a Federalist, although not a violent partisan. Riding, one day, with
Mr. Jefferson, his horse became unmanageable, disturbing somewhat
Mr. Vaughan’s serenity, upon which the latter, gathering his reins
firmly, muttered under his breath, “This horse--this horse is as bad
as a Democrat!” “Oh, no,” replied the high-priest and leader of the
party; “if he were a Democrat, he would have thrown _you_ long ago.”
Mr. Vaughan, for many years librarian and treasurer of the society, had
his rooms in the building on Fifth Street, in one of which, before its
generous old-fashioned fireplace and high carved mantel, Washington
sat for his well-known portrait by the elder Peale. The general, whom
Mr. Vaughan numbered among his friends, had already been elected a
member of the society; but we find few records of his presence at its
meetings or at the famous breakfasts. One of these breakfasts, given
in the latter years of Mr. Vaughan’s life, is still remembered by Dr.
William H. Furness, then a young man, recently come from New England
to take charge of the First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia. The
breakfast lasted from nine until one. Whether the guests breakfasted
upon roast peacocks and nightingales’ tongues, or upon plain beefsteak
and chops, Dr. Furness does not remember; but he will never forget
the circle gathered around that table. There were John Quincy Adams,
Colonel Drayton of South Carolina, Mr. Du Ponceau, and Dr. Channing,
who exercised such an influence on the religious thought of New
England, and of whom the orthodox clergy were wont to say that his
theology was “Calvinism with the bones taken out.” A goodly company of
leading minds, “joined later,” says Dr. Furness, by Albert Gallatin
and the Rev. William Ware, pastor of the First Unitarian Church in New
York. Among other visitors of note entertained by Mr. Vaughan were Sir
Charles Lyell, and George Robins Gliddon, the Egyptologist, who were
both in this country about 1841.
Mr. John Vaughan, whose most distinguishing trait was love for his
fellow-men, whom, it was said, he took more delight in serving than
most men take in making and hoarding dollars, belonged to a family
distinguished in statesmanship, letters, and affairs. The Vaughan
brothers were of English birth, sons of Samuel Vaughan, a London
merchant trading with America. The most prominent of this large
family was Benjamin Vaughan, M.D., LL.D., sometime secretary to
Lord Shelburne, and acting as confidential messenger in the peace
negotiations between Great Britain and America in 1783. Deeply
tinctured with the revolutionary spirit of the time, a liberal to
the extent of admiring the system of the Directory in France, and
writing in favor of it, Benjamin Vaughan finally found it expedient
to quit the Old World for the more congenial political atmosphere of
the New. He settled in Hallowell, Maine, as did his brother Charles,
where descendants of the name still reside. The death of Dr. Benjamin
Vaughan, of Hallowell, was announced to the society in 1836, and Mr.
Merrick, his kinsman, was appointed to prepare a notice of him. Another
brother, Samuel, settled in Jamaica; William, the successful banker
of the family, remained in London; while John, one of the younger
brothers, came to Philadelphia, where he established himself as a
wine merchant, and a prominent member of the First Unitarian Church.
Generous to a fault, “Johnny Vaughan,” as his intimates were wont
to call him, seems to have objected to parting with but one single
earthly possession,--his umbrella. A lady who knew Mr. Vaughan when
he was a very old gentleman remembers one of flaming red, whose color
should have insured its staying qualities. A story is also told of
his having printed on the outside of another one in large characters,
“This umbrella was stolen from John Vaughan.” One day a friend of
Mr. Vaughan’s started off with this umbrella, and, quite unconscious
of its equivocal inscription, hoisted it in broad day. Mr. Vaughan’s
Portuguese office boy, who could speak or read no English, but who
knew the umbrella, and what the printing stood for, chanced to meet
the gentleman who carried it, and with speechless but entire devotion
to his master’s interests followed it, and “froze on to it,” as the
narrator expressed it, with such persistency that the holder was fain
to relinquish it and make his escape from the jeers of the by-standers.
It was over such a circle of learned men and _beaux-esprits_ that Mr.
Jefferson was called to preside, when he came to Philadelphia, in
1797, to act as Vice-President of the United States in an uncongenial
Federal administration. It is not strange that, with his scholarly and
scientific tastes, he found in the rooms of the Philosophical Society a
grateful retreat from political wrangling and the cares of state. Party
feeling ran so high, at this period, that “social intercourse between
members of the two parties ceased,” says Mr. Parton, “and old friends
crossed the street to avoid saluting one another. Jefferson declined
invitations to ordinary social gatherings, and spent his leisure hours
in the circle that met in the rooms of the Philosophical Society.”
Not that its membership was Republican, many of its prominent members
being Federalists; notably, Dr. Benjamin Rush, Chief Justice Tilghman,
Judge Peters, Jared Ingersoll, who was Federalist candidate for the
Vice-Presidency of the United States in 1812, Dr. Robert Patterson,
and Mr. Du Ponceau. This was a place, however, where science, art, and
literature occupied the ground and where politics and party differences
were forgotten in the discussion of some subject that touched the
general weal, as when Dr. Caspar Wistar discovered a new bone; or
Robert Patterson presented a paper on improved ship-pumps; or Jonathan
Williams one on a new mode of refining sugar; or when John Fitch
exhibited “the model, with a drawing and description, of a machine for
working a boat against the stream by means of a steam-engine;” or,
later, when Mr. Charles Goodyear was induced, by Franklin Peale, to
demonstrate to the society that vulcanized rubber could be made from
the juice of the _cahuchu_ tree. And here, as if to prove that science
and religion may be allied in closest union, came two distinguished
Moravian divines, John Heckewelder and the Rev. Lewis D. de
Schweinitz, the latter with his “_Synopsis Fungorum in America_.”
John Adams, the Federalist President, was a member of the Philosophical
Society, and speaks of it with warm admiration. Comparing Massachusetts
and Pennsylvania, he says, in one of his letters to his wife,--
“Particular gentlemen here [in Philadelphia], who have improved upon
their education by travel, shine; but in general old Massachusetts
outshines her younger sisters. Still, in several particulars they
have more wit than we. They have societies, the Philosophical Society
particularly, which excites a scientific emulation, and propagates
their fame. If ever I get through this scene of politics and war,
I will spend the remainder of my days in endeavoring to instruct
my countrymen in the art of making the most of their abilities and
virtues, an art which they have hitherto too much neglected. A
philosophical society shall be established at Boston, if I have wit
and address enough to accomplish it, some time or other. Pray, set
Brother Cranch’s philosophical head plodding upon this project. Many
of his lucubrations would have been published and preserved for the
benefit of mankind, and for his honor, if such a club had existed.”
Mr. Madison, who was far more congenial to Mr. Jefferson, politically,
than the sturdy New Englander, had been for years a member of the
society; but he was out of office now, and living quietly at his rural
home in Orange County, Virginia. It was during his residence here, in
1794, that the sprightly widow, who afterwards became his wife, writes
of her first meeting with “the great little Madison.” She tells us, in
her charming letters, that Aaron Burr brought him to see her. On this
occasion she wore “a mulberry-colored satin, with a silk tulle kerchief
over her neck, and on her head an exquisitely dainty little cap, from
which an occasional uncropped curl would escape.”
These were still days of picturesque dressing, with both men and
women. “Jeffersonian simplicity” had not yet come in, in full force.
Watson, the annalist, describes Mr. Jefferson, a few years earlier, in
“a long-waisted white cloth coat, scarlet breeches and vest, a cocked
hat, shoes and buckles, and white silk hose,”--an elegant figure, the
life and centre of the group of men gathered together in the society’s
rooms on Fifth Street. The great Rittenhouse had, in 1797, set
forth upon a wider range among the stars; but Dr. Benjamin Rush was
there,--physician, scientist, philanthropist, and statesman, a host in
himself. His kindly face and the recollections of his contemporaries
tell us that he was a pleasant companion, with all his learning,
which cannot always be said of the learned ones of the earth. There
also was the Rev. William Smith, first provost of the University of
Pennsylvania, a man of science as well as an able divine; Dr. Barton,
nephew of Dr. Rittenhouse, an original worker, who contributed largely
to the scientific literature of the day, and gave to Americans their
first elementary treatise on botany; and Dr. Caspar Wistar, the learned
physician and genial companion, who not only enriched the society by
his own work and teachings, but by his correspondence with Humboldt and
Soemmering in Germany, Camper in Holland, Sylvester in Geneva, Pole and
Hope in Great Britain, and many more of that ilk, kept its members _en
rapport_ with scientific work abroad. Dr. Wistar succeeded Dr. Rush as
President of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, which early uttered
its protest against slavery. Nor was Dr. Wistar solely interested in
the cause of the negro; that of the American Indian, which we are wont
to regard as one of the latest fads in the philanthropic world, also
engaged his attention at this early date.
Dr. Wistar was elected president of the Philosophical Society on the
resignation of Mr. Jefferson, in 1815. Some years prior to this,
Dr. Wistar introduced to its circle the Baron von Humboldt, whom he
invited to that smaller coterie of learned men, at his own house,
which composed the Wistar Club. A gala day it must have been at the
Philosophical Society when it opened its doors to this greatest
naturalist of his time, perhaps of any time. The Baron von Humboldt was
returning from an extended tour in South America, Mexico, and the West
Indies. His young friends Montufar and Bonpland were with him,--the
same Bonpland who later gave the Empress Josephine flower-seeds from
the West Indies to plant at Malmaison, who became her intendant there,
and who stood by her bedside when she was dying.
Another attractive figure in this group of learned men is William
Tilghman, Chief Justice of Pennsylvania, the sound lawyer, ripe
scholar, and true gentleman, as his biographer calls him. Perhaps the
highest praise we can award to him now is to record that, although
Southern born and owning slaves, he expressed, with regard to slavery,
a “fervent wish to see the evils of this institution mitigated, and if
possible extinguished,” freeing his own slaves by a plan of gradual
emancipation. Mr. Tilghman was connected through his mother, Anne
Francis, with the supposed author of the Letters of Junius; and,
curiously enough, the strongest evidence yet found that the letters
were written by Sir Philip Francis has come through correspondence
with his American relatives. Interesting as is all that relates to
this literary puzzle of more than a century, the incident that led to
the recent discoveries is like a _conte de fées_, turning upon some
anonymous verses sent to a lady at Bath, in which she is told that
“In the School of the Graces, by Venus attended,
Belinda improves every hour.”
The fair “Belinda,” Miss Giles in every-day life, is quite sure
that the clever verses came from Sir Philip Francis, who danced
with her through a whole evening at Bath. In fact, she recognized
the handwriting of some of Woodfall’s fac-similes of the letters of
Junius. She has an anonymous note that accompanied the verses, which
is, she thinks, very like the Junius handwriting. The investigation
becomes exciting; the experts, Messrs. Chabot and Netherclift, study
the note and verses profoundly, and finally come to the conclusion
that Junius might have written the note, but not the verses. The Hon.
Edward Twisleton is deeply interested in the search, and is loath to
give up this promising leading, when lo! there comes from over the sea
a letter, nearly a hundred years old, in which Richard Tilghman, in
Philadelphia, writes to his cousin, Sir Philip Francis,--
“You are very tenacious of your epigram. I observe you contend for
it, as if your reputation as a Poet depended on it. I did not condemn
the Composition, I only said that it was not an Original, and I say
so still; but yet I am ready to allow that you can _weave_ Originals,
because in the School of the Graces by Venus attended, Belinda
improves every Hour.”
Was not this a coincidence? The Franciscans were delighted, especially
as the experts were ready to affirm that the handwriting of the verses
was that of Richard Tilghman, and that it was evident that he had
copied the verses for Sir Philip. As if to make all complete, it was
found that Richard Tilghman was at Bath, with his kinsman, at the time
the verses were sent. Nothing, that has not been absolutely proven,
has ever come closer to proof, and so it remains the Tantalus cup of
the _littérateur_, although there are many who find the evidence quite
conclusive that Francis and Junius were one and the same.
Charles Willson Peale, the artist, known as the elder Peale, was
curator of the Philosophical Society for many years, and one of its
most active members. He did good work in many lines, being a man of
scientific tastes and large public spirit. The society owes him a debt
of gratitude for handing down to this generation portraits of its most
illustrious officers and members. Mr. Peale rented a number of rooms in
the old house on Fifth Street, having his museum in the building, and
bringing up there his family of artist children, Raphael, Rembrandt,
Titian, Van-dyck, and Rubens,--names still known in American art, that
of Rembrandt being the most distinguished. In 1796 Mr. Peale presented
to the assembled philosophers a son four months and four days old, born
in the building, requesting them to name him. The society, upon this,
unanimously agreed that the child should be called Franklin, after
their chief founder and first president. “Franklin Peale,” says his
biographer, “did not disgrace his sponsors. He grew up thoughtful and
philosophical.” His genius was in the mechanical line. He was one of
the founders of the Franklin Institute, and for many years discharged
with great ability the office of chief coiner at the United States
Mint.
One of Mr. Peale’s friends, who became an active and valued member of
the society, was the learned Abbé de Serra, Portuguese Minister to the
United States. This reverend gentleman scandalized Mrs. Peale, whose
neatness was phenomenal, by appearing at her door so dusty and shabby
(he was not a handsome man at his best) that the dainty Quakeress
waved him away from her spotless threshold, saying, “No, my good man,
I have no time to attend to you now;” little thinking that the “good
man” was the expected guest in whose honor she had donned her best
satin gown, and prepared a savory repast, whose crowning triumph was a
dish of asparagus from Mr. Peale’s garden, then a greater rarity than
now. The Abbé had been on a geological tramp with Mr. Peale, and when
that gentleman rallied his wife on treating his friend and guest like
a beggar, the excellent lady justified herself by saying that, after
all, he could not be much of a gentleman, as he “helped himself to the
asparagus with his fingers;” eating it, of course, after the French
fashion.
Another _habitué_ of Mr. Peale’s house, and a frequent attendant at
the meetings of the society, was Charles Lucien Bonaparte, Prince de
Canino. He was the nephew and son-in-law of Joseph Bonaparte, ex-king
of Spain, and while in America resided in a house on the estate of
his uncle, near Bordentown, New Jersey. This young prince pursued
his studies in ornithology in the United States, making important
contributions to the works of Wilson. A man of wide scientific
knowledge, and a member of nearly all the learned societies of Europe,
the Prince de Canino gave a decided impulse to the study of natural
history in Italy, which was his home, and while in Philadelphia was an
active and interested member of the Philosophical Society, contributing
original papers and making valuable donations of books to its library.
A few women of distinguished ability have been, early and late, members
of the Philosophical Society: notably Mary Somerville, the English
astronomer; Professor Maria Mitchell, of Vassar; Mrs. Louis Agassiz,
and Madame Emma Seiler. The earliest woman member was the Russian
Princess Daschkof, lady-in-waiting to the Empress Catherine II. A
great traveller, for those days, the princess profited by all that she
saw and heard in the countries which she visited. A student and an
observer, the friend of Diderot in France, and associating in Edinburgh
with such men as Dr. Blair, Adam Smith, and Ferguson, she returned to
Russia to become director of the Academy of Arts and Sciences, and
later to establish another academy for the improvement and cultivation
of the Russian language. Of the manner in which the news of her
election to the Philosophical Society reached her, the princess says,--
“I was at my country house, and was not a little surprised on hearing
that a messenger from the council of state wished to see me. The
case and letter were introduced, the former of which contained a
large packet from Dr. Franklin, and the letter a very complimentary
communication on the part of the Duke of Sudermania. These
despatches,” says the princess, “were sent without any examination,”
and it was necessary to explain their nature at once to the despotic
Catherine. “Accordingly I drove to town,” adds the princess, “or
rather straight to court; and on entering the Empress’s dressing-room
I told the _valet de chambre_ in waiting that if her majesty was not
then engaged I should be happy in having permission to speak to her,
and to show her some papers which I had that morning received. The
Empress desired I might be shown into her bed-chamber, where I found
her writing at a little table. Having delivered into her hands the
letter of the Duke of Sudermania, ‘These others, madame,’ said I,
‘are from Dr. Franklin and from the secretary of the Philosophical
Society of Philadelphia, of which I have been admitted a most unworthy
member.’” The Empress made no comment on this matter; but after
reading the letter of the duke, desired the princess not to answer his
grace’s complimentary effusion. She had no objection, it appears, to
a correspondence between the princess and the octogenarian Franklin,
on the other side of the sea; but with the Duke of Sudermania it was
quite a different affair. The duke was a brother of the King of Sweden,
there was a coolness between the courts of Russia and Sweden, and, to
complicate matters, his grace had admired the princess at Aix and Spa,
who, with all her vast experience of life and long years of widowhood,
was only a little over forty, and speaks herself of her _beaux yeux_.
From the time of the election of the Princess Daschkof, in 1789, the
society has always had a Russian membership, generally from among the
members of the St. Petersburg Academy. In 1864 it was presented with
a superb copy of the Codex Sinaiticus, published in St. Petersburg in
1862, from the parchment rolls found by Tischendorf in the monastery of
St. Catharine on Mount Sinai.
A day never to be forgotten by the members of the Philosophical
Society--and there are some persons living whose memory runs back to
that period--was that upon which the Marquis de Lafayette was welcomed
to its hall, on his return to America in 1824. No words can more fitly
describe the emotions of the hour, certainly none can bring back more
perfectly the aroma of that olden time adulation, than the address of
welcome pronounced, on this occasion, by Mr. Charles J. Ingersoll: