FROM SCHOOLROOM TO PATENT OFFICE
Clara Barton’s work in Bordentown was a marked success. But it involved
strenuous labor and not a little mental strain. When it was over, she
found her reserve force exhausted. In the latter part of 1854 her voice
gave out, and she gave up teaching, for a time as she supposed, and
went to Washington.
She did not know it, but she was leaving the schoolroom forever. Yet
she continued to think of herself as a teacher, and to consider her
other work as of a more or less temporary character. Twenty years
later, she still reminded herself and others that “fully one fifth of
my life has been passed as a teacher of schools.” The schoolroom had
become temporarily impracticable, and she wanted to see Washington and
to spend time enough in the capital of the Nation to know something
about it. Washington became her home and the center of her life plans
for the next sixty years.
Clara Barton did not long remain idle in Washington. At the request of
Colonel Alexander De Witt, the representative in Congress from her home
district, she received an appointment as clerk in the Patent Office
at a salary of $1400 a year. She was one of the first, and believed
herself to have been the very first, of women appointed to a regular
position in one of the departments, with work and wages equal to that
of a man. Her appointment was made under President Pierce, in 1854.
The records when searched in later years were found to be imperfect,
but the following letter from the Honorable Alexander DeWitt to the
Honorable Robert McClelland, Secretary of the Interior, shows clearly
her status at the time of its date, September 22, 1855:
Having understood the Department had decided to remove the ladies in
the Patent Office on the first of October, I have taken the liberty to
address a line on behalf of Miss Clara Barton, a native of my town and
district, who has been employed in the past year in the Patent Office,
and I trust to the entire satisfaction of the Commissioner.
She had, indeed, performed her work to the entire satisfaction of the
Commissioner. There had been serious leaks in the Patent Office, some
dishonest clerks selling secrets to their own financial advantage and
to the scandal of the department and injury of owners of patents. She
became confidential clerk to the Honorable Charles Mason,--“Judge
Mason” he was called,--the Superintendent of Patents. That official
himself had a hard time under the Secretary of the Interior, Robert
McClelland.
At different periods in her life, Clara Barton had several different
styles of handwriting. There is a marked contrast between the clear,
strong penmanship which she used when she left the schoolroom and
the badly deteriorated form which she employed after her more
serious nervous breakdowns. When she was lecturing, she wrote a very
large hand, easy to read from manuscript, and that affected her
correspondence. Some of her lectures are written in characters nearly a
half-inch in height. Then she reverted to the “copper-plate” style of
her young womanhood, and in that clear, fine, strong penmanship she
wrote till the end of her life.
Handwriting such as hers was a joy to the head of the Patent
Department. It was clear, regular, easily read, and accurate. The
characters were well formed, and the page, when she had done with it,
was clean and clear as that of an old missal.
She was not long in rousing the jealousy of men in the department who
loafed and smoked and drew their pay. Some of them were anything but
polite to her. They blew smoke in her face, and otherwise affronted
her. But she attended strictly to her business. She was removed,
but Judge Mason gave her a “temporary appointment,” and she worked,
sometimes in the office, and sometimes, when political affairs were
such that her presence there gave rise to criticism, at home. She waded
through great volumes and filled other great volumes. A letter to her
brother Stephen in the autumn of 1856 gives some idea of what was
happening in Washington:
Monday Morning, Sept. 28, 1856
DEAR BROTHER:
I don’t know why I have not written you before, only I suppose
I thought you had enough to occupy your attention without my
uninteresting scrawls. I have been hearing of late that you were
better than when you first came home, but I have not heard a word when
you expect to return.
We are having a remarkably fine fall, cool and clean, and I have not
seen more than a dozen mosquitoes this summer.
The city has just been somewhat disturbed, i.e., the official
portions of it (and this is the greater portion at this particular
time), in consequence of the resignation of Judge Mason, which was
tendered to the President some eight days ago, and no notice whatever
taken of it until day before yesterday morning, the Judge in the
meantime drawing his business to a close, packing his library, and
Mrs. Mason packing their wardrobes, and on Friday evening, when I
called on them, they were all ready to leave for Iowa next Tuesday
at three o’clock. They both explained particularly the nature of the
circumstances which induced them to leave. You have known before that
Congress guaranteed to the Commissioner of Patents the exclusive right
of making all temporary appointments in his department, and that
Secretary McClelland had previously interfered in and claimed the
same. He commenced upon the most vulnerable points, something like a
year ago, when he removed us ladies, and, partially succeeding in his
attempts, has been enlarging his grasp ever since, and a few weeks ago
sent a note to Judge Mason forbidding him to appoint any temporary
clerk unless subject to his decision and concurrence, giving to the
Judge the right to _nominate_, reserving to himself the privilege
of _appointing_. Then Congress having voted some $70,000 to be
used by the Commissioner of Patents in procuring sugar-cane slips
(if so they might be termed) from South America for the purpose of
restoring the tone of the sugar growth in the South, which is becoming
exhausted, and the Commissioner having procured his agent to go for
them, the Secretary interfered, said it was all useless to send an
agent, the military could attend to it; he had the agent discharged,
and delayed the matter until it was too late to obtain the cuttings
this year, and the Commissioner, being thus deprived of the privilege
of complying with the directions received from Congress, and thereby
unable to acquit himself creditably, resigned, but at the last moment
the President came to his room, and invested him with power to act as
he pleased in all matters over which the law gave him jurisdiction,
and he promised to remain until the Secretary should return from
Michigan, and see how he behaved then. The Secretary is making
himself extremely odious; he may have, and doubtless has, friends and
admirers, but I never met with one of them.
Fannie writes me that little Mary has burned her arm; is it badly
burned? Does father still think of coming South this winter? Hobart
was a slippery stick, wasn’t he, and what did he mean? How do you
arrange with Fisher? Some way I hope that will last so that he can’t
slip his halter and leave poor Dave to chase after him, with a
measure of oats in one hand and a cudgel in the other, as he has all
summer. You will come to Washington, I am _sure_, on your way to
Carolina; it is best that you should--I want so much to see you. I
want to talk a good long talk with you that I cannot write. I have so
many things to say, all _very important_, of course. But write me
soon and tell me when you will return. I must go over to the city and
look what I can do to make ready for the comers.
Please give my love to all inquiring friends; write and come and see
us.
Your affectionate sister
CLARA
How stand politics, and who is going to be President? The Democrats
are looking pale in this quarter.
Buchanan was elected, and Clara Barton continued in the Patent
Office for a time unmolested. But the election lost her one of her
best friends in Washington, Colonel De Witt, a resident of Oxford,
and representative from her home district, through whom her first
appointment had come, and who had been her constant friend. Just before
the inauguration of President Buchanan, she wrote her home letter to
Julia, and sent it by the hand of the retiring representative, who
volunteered to take her letter to her home:
WASHINGTON, D.C., Mar. 3rd, 1857
DEAR SISTER JULIA:
Our good friend Colonel De Witt has kindly offered to become the
bearer and deliverer of any despatches which I may wish to send to
Yankee Land, and knowing from good authority that a call upon you
might not be a hard medicine for him to take, I avail myself of the
opportunity to tell you that we are all engaged in making a president;
intend, if no bad luck follow, to finish him off and send him home
to-morrow. I hope he may finally give satisfaction, for there has been
a great deal of pains taken in fitting and making him up, but there
are so many in the family to wear him that it is scarcely possible
that he should be an exact fit for them all....
We are at our same old tricks yet here in the capitol, i.e., killing
off everybody who doesn’t just happen to suit us or our peculiar humor
at the moment; we have indeed some shocking occurrences at times. You
have probably seen some account of the homicide which took place in
the Pension Office the other day; if not I think the Colonel will be
so kind as to give you some of the first points and relieve me from
the disagreeable task of reciting so abrupt and melancholy a matter.
My opinion of the matter is that the man who gave the offense, and
from whom the apology was due, remained doggedly at his office, armed,
and shot down his adversary who came to make the very explanation
which the offender should have sought. Colonel Lee (I think), instead
of sitting there at his desk hugging a concealed pistol to his
unchristian and unmanly breast, should at that very moment have been
on his way to Alexandria to apologize to Mr. House for the previous
night’s offense. The man may perhaps meet the sympathy of the world at
large, but at present he has not mine.
And last night a terrible thing occurred within the district. It
appears that the almshouse and workhouse are, or rather were, both
the same building, very large, new and fine. Last night, curiosity
or something else equally powerful caused the keepers of the
establishment all to leave the premises and come up to the city,
a distance of three miles, I suppose, locking the building very
securely, fastening in all the inmates, I have no idea how many, but
the house took fire, and burned down, consuming a great portion of its
inhabitants, old, lame, and sick men and women and helpless infants.
Only such were saved as could force an escape through the barred
windows--was not that _horrible_? Now it would seem to me that
in both these cases there was room left for reflection on the part of
some one. I think there would be for me if I were in either of their
places.
I would attempt to tell you something how sorry I am that the Colonel
is going home to return to us no more, but if I wrote all night I
should not have half expressed it. I am sorry for myself, that I shall
have no good friend left to whom I can run with all my annoyances, and
find always a sympathizer and benefactor, and especially am I sorry
for our (generally) old State. I pity their folly; they have cut off
their own hands after having blocked all their wheels; they cannot
stir a peg after the Colonel leaves; they have not a man on the board
they can move; and who is to blame but their own poor foolish selves?
Well, I _am_ sorry, and if crying would do any good I would cry a
week, steadily. I don’t know but I shall as it is....
Remember me especially to “Grandpa,” and tell Dave I like him a leetle
particularly since he didn’t sign that petition.
From your affectionate sister
CLARA
For a time after the election, political matters settled down, and
Clara continued her work unmolested. She was home for a time in the
spring of 1857, but back in Washington through the summer, and in that
time went through huge volumes of technical description and copied
the essential parts into record books for the purpose of reference and
preservation.
It would make this volume more consecutive in its connections if out
of her letters were culled only such items as related to particular
topics; but her letters must be read as she wrote them, with news,
gossip, inquiry about home matters, answers to questions, and all just
as she thought of them and wrote about them. In the early autumn of
1857 she wrote to Julia:
WASHINGTON, D.C., Sept. 6th, 1857
DEAR SISTER JULIA:
I dare not ask you to excuse me for neglecting you so badly, but
still I have a kind of indefinable hope that you will do so, when you
remember how busy I am and that this is summer with its long weary
days and short sleepy nights; and then the “_skeeters_!” Just
as soon as you try to write a letter in the evening to anybody, they
must come in flocks to “stick their bills.” In vain have I placarded
myself all over on every side of me, “Stick no bills here”--it doesn’t
do a bit of good, and but for the gallant defense of a couple of
well-fitted nets at my windows, I should long ere this have been
pasted, scarred, and battered as the wooden gateway to an old theater,
or the brick wall adjacent to an eleven-penny-bit lecture-room. I
should, however, have written out of selfishness just to hear from
you, only that by some means intelligence gets to us that father is
better, and the rest of you well. My health is much better than when
I was at home. I have been gaining ever since Miss Haskell came. She
relieves me many ways. The yellow has almost gone off of my forehead,
else it has grown yellow all alike; but it looks _better_, let it
be which way it may; it isn’t so spotted. Bernard has been home and
got cured of the chills and fever, and gone back again; expect Vest.
home soon. I am not much better settled than ever; liable to pick up
my traps and start any day. I am glad you found my mits, for I began
to think I must have had a crazy fit and destroyed my things while I
was at home. To pay for losing my parasol, I made myself carry one
that cost _fifty-six cents_! Did you ever hear of such a thing?
Well, it is the best I have had all summer, and I walked to church
under it to-day; so much to pay for carelessness. I also left a large
bottle of some kind of drugs, I guess in your parlor cupboard. Please
give it closet room awhile, and I will come sometime between this and
the middle of January at farthest and relieve you of it. I may spend
Christmas with you, cannot tell yet, but I shall be home while the
snow is on the ground if I live, and maybe before it comes, but if
I do I shall stay until it is there, for I am determined to have a
sleigh-ride with old Dick. Oh, I am so glad every time I think of it,
that he beat Dr. Newton, blast his saucy picture! Will try it again
when the snow comes.
I have written “a heap” since my return; let me see, seven large
volumes, the size of ledgers, I have read all through and collected
and transferred something off of every page--3500 pages of dry lawyer
writing is something to wade through in three months; and out of them
I have filled a _great_ volume almost as heavy as I can lift.
My arm is tired, and my poor thumb is all calloused holding my pen.
I begin to feel that my Washington life is drawing to a close, and I
think of it without regret, not that I have not prized it, not that it
has not on the whole been a great blessing to me. I realize all this,
but if I could tell you in detail all I have gone through along with
it, you would agree with me that it had not been _all_ sunshine.
I look back upon it as a weary pilgrimage which it was necessary for
me to accomplish. I have nearly done, so it has been a sturdy battle,
hard-fought, and I trust well won.
But how do you all do? How are Grandfather and Dave, and the little
ones? How I do want to see you all! Has father’s leg got so he can use
it well again? Does it pain him? Do the children go to school? How are
Mary’s[4] congress gaiters?--a perfect fit, I hope. Tell her to be a
good girl and learn to read, for I shall want to hear her when I come
home. Wash Bubby’s[5] eyes in _bluing_ water; it may improve the
color. Please give my love to Cousin Vira, Mrs. Aborn, and after this
according to discretion. Is Martha in New Worcester? I should like to
see her. We have had a fine summer thus far--very few hot days.
Please tell father that I was not silent so long because I had
forgotten him, but I had scarce time to write, and I get so tired of
writing. Please write me soon and tell me all the news. I will bring
your jewelry when I come. I feel guilty to have taken it away.
Your sister, most affectionately &c &c &c
CLARA
The Democrats had some reason to look pale, for no one could predict
just how well John C. Fremont would run. But he was not elected. The
Democrats returned to power, with James Buchanan as their successful
candidate. As the election approached, it became evident that this was
to be the result, and the Democratic chief clerk of the Pension Office,
certain that he was to succeed Judge Mason, desired Clara Barton to
be as good a Democrat as possible that she might not fail to be his
confidential clerk: but she was already a “Black Republican.” Her
father had been an old-time Jackson Democrat, and the administration
under which she was appointed was Democratic; but she heard Charles
Sumner’s great speech on the “Crime Against Kansas” and she was
convinced. “Freedom is national; slavery is sectional,” he said, and
she believed him.
She was not yet sure that slavery ought to be interfered with where it
was, but she was with the party that opposed its further extension, and
this imperiled her future as a clerk if James Buchanan was elected.
Just before the November election, she wrote to Julia, David’s wife:
WASHINGTON, D.C., Nov. 2nd, 1856
Sunday Evening
DEAR SISTER JULIA:
Your looked-for letter came safe to hand; you may well suppose we
were anxious to hear from you considering the alarming nature of the
one which had preceded it. Stephen must have had a very distressing
time, but I am so glad to know that he is relieved and has decided to
let some one else be his judge in reference to getting out. I hope he
will continue firm in the faith and venture _nothing_; it is of
no use to strive against nature; he must have time to recruit and he
has no idea of the time and care it will require to rid his system of
the troublesome disease which has fastened upon him. I am glad you
have found a physician there who knew how to name his disease. I have
known all the time, since the first time he wrote me of his illness
in Carolina, what the trouble was, and said when I was at home that
he had the dumb chills, but no one would believe an ignoramus like
me. I have no doubt but he had had his ague fits regularly since his
first attack without ever once mistrusting the real cause of his bad
feelings. People say there are two classes of community that the
shaking ague never attacks, viz., those who are too lazy to shake
and those who will not stop. Stephen belongs to the latter and I to
the former, so we must have dumb ague if any. I am glad that father
is better, and hope I shall not hear of David’s getting down again
this winter; he must keep well enough to come out and see us. We are
all very well, only that I have a slight cold, which will wear off,
I guess. The weather is delightful, but getting quite cool. We saw a
few flakes of snow last Friday, but one would never mistrust it by the
Indian summer haze which is spread over the city this evening.
We are all dreading the confusion of day after to-morrow night, when
the election returns are made. There will be such an excitement, but
the Democrats are the most certain set of men that I ever saw; their
confidence of success in the approaching contest is unbounded. Judge
Mason has gone to Iowa to vote, and Mr. Stugert (our chief clerk)
will leave the city to-morrow night in order to reach Pennsylvania in
time the next day. He is one of Mr. Buchanan’s most intimate friends.
He called to take me to Georgetown one evening last week, and during
the evening he conversed respecting the approaching election. His
spirits were unbounded, and his confidence in the right results of the
election as unbounded. He wished me to say I would be commissioner
and chief clerk for him until his return, but I declined the honor,
declaring myself a _Freemonter_. This he would not hear a word
of and walked all around the parlors in company with the Reverend
Mr. Halmead assuring all the company that I was an “old school
Loco,” “dyed in the wool,” and my father before me was the same, and
requested them to place no confidence in anything I might say on the
present occasion, as the _coffee_ was exceedingly strong and he
passed my cup up _five_ times. I thought this latter three fifths
of a mistake, but could not quite tell.
Lo, Bubby [Stephen, her nephew] says he will come to Washington.
Well, he must go and ask Colonel De Witt to make him a page, and if
the Colonel can do it, Bub can come and stay; he is large enough to
carry letters and papers about the House, and do little errands for
the Members. I guess he had best ask the Colonel and see what he
says about it. Irving is getting ready to take our mail to the office
and I must hasten to close my scrawl for the present. I had intended
to write to Stephen to-day, but it is rather late; I may get time
the first of the week, although I have a heavy week’s business in
contemplation. How I wish I could drop in and see you all to-night,
but that cannot be just yet. Please give my love to “Grandpa” [her
father] and then all the others in succession as they come along, down
to _Dick_ [the horse]; is he as nice as ever? I want to see him
too. Please remember me to Elvira and Mrs. Aborn, and write me soon
again.
Tell Stephen he is a nice fellow to mind so well, and he must keep
doing so. Irving is ready.
So good-bye.
Your affectionate sister
CLARA
The country was steadily drifting toward war, and Clara Barton felt
the danger of it. Although she was convinced that slavery ought not
to be extended further, she was not yet an abolitionist, and she felt
that violent agitators were taking upon themselves a serious risk
in bringing the Nation to the very brink of bloodshed. She did not
approve of the John Brown raid, and she was greatly concerned about the
meetings that were held that seemed to her calculated to induce riot.
She had her convictions, and was never afraid to speak them boldly, but
she said, “It will be a strange pass when the Bartons get fanatical,
and cannot abide by and support the laws they live under.” A neighbor
who had been with Stephen in Carolina was driven away on account of
utterances that followed the John Brown raid. She wrote to her brother
Stephen at this time--the letter is not dated--and gave the fullest
account of her own feelings and convictions concerning the issues then
before the country, having in special mind the duty of Northern people
resident in the South to be considerate of the conditions under which
Southern people had to live. It is a very interesting letter, and the
author of this volume could wish that it had been in his possession
while Clara Barton was living, that he might have asked her to what
extent her views changed in the years that followed:
I have not seen Mr. Seaver since his return, and regret exceedingly
that there should have been any necessity for such a termination
to his residence in the South. I should not have supposed that
he would have felt it his _duty_ to uphold such a cause as
“Harper’s Ferry,” and if he _did_ not, it is a pity he had the
misfortune to make it appear so. Of course I could not for a moment
believe him a dangerous man, hostile to either human life, rights, or
interests, or antagonistic to the community among whom he resided,
but if _they_ felt him to be so, I do not by any means blame
them for the course they took. Situated as they are, they have a
_right_ to be cautious, and adopt any measures for safety and
quiet which their own judgment may suggest. They have a right even to
be _afraid_, and it is not for the North, who in no way share in
the danger, to brand them as cowards; they are the same that people
the world over are and would be under the circumstances. Unorganized
men _everywhere_ are timid, easy and quick to take alarm. It is
only when bodies of men are organized and disciplined, and prepared
to defend themselves against _expected_ dangers, that they
stand firm and unshrinking, and face death unmoved. Occasionally we
hear that _you_ have been or will be requested to leave--this
_amuses me_. It would be singular, indeed, if in all this time
your Southern friends had not learned _you_ well enough to
tolerate you. It will be a strange pass when the _Bartons_ get
fanatical, and cannot abide by and support the laws they live under,
and mind their own business closely enough to remain anywhere they
may chance to be. I am grieved and ashamed of the course which our
Northern people have taken relative to the John Brown affair. Of their
relief societies, and mass meetings and sympathetic gatherings, I can
say nothing, for I have never witnessed one, and never shall. From
the first they seemed to me to be wrong and ill-advised, and had a
strained and forced appearance; and the longer they are persisted in,
and the greater extent to which they are carried, the more ridiculous
they become in my sight. If they represented the true sentiments
and feeling of the majority of candid thinking men at the North, it
would savor more of justice, but this I believe to be very far from
the facts. Their gatherings and speechifyings serve the purpose of
a few loud-mouthed, foaming, eloquent fanatics, who would be just
as ready in any other cause as this. They preach for notoriety and
oratorical praise, fearlessly and injudiciously, with characters long
stamped and nothing to lose. It matters little to them that every
rounded sentence which falls from their chiseled lips, every burst of
eloquence which “brings down the house,” drives home one more rivet in
slavery’s chain; if slavery be an evil, they are but helping it on; it
is only human nature that it should be so, and so plain a fact “that
the wayfaring man cannot err therein.” Nature, and cause and effect,
are, I suppose, much the same the world over, and if our Southern
neighbors clasp their rights all the firmer, when assailed, and plant
the foot of resistance toe to toe with the foot of aggression, it
is not for _us_ to complain of it; what differently should we
ourselves do? That slavery be an evil I am neither going to affirm nor
deny; let those pass judgment whom greater experience and observation
have made capable of judging; but allowing the affirmative in its
most exaggerated form, could it _possibly_ be equal to the
pitiful scene of confusion, distrust, and national paralysis before
and around us at the present hour, with the prospect of all the
impending danger threatening our vast Republic? Men talk flippantly of
dissolving the Union. This may happen, but in my humble opinion never
till our very horses gallop in human blood.
But I must hold or I shall get to writing politics to you, and you
might tell me, as old Mr. Perry of New Jersey did Elder Lampson when
he advised him to leave off drinking whiskey and join the Temperance
Society. After listening long and patiently until the Elder had
finished his remarks, he looked up very, very benignly with, “Well,
Elder, your opinions are very good, and probably worth as much to
yourself as anybody.”
Lincoln was elected and duly inaugurated. Clara heard the inauguration
address and liked it. She witnessed nothing in the ceremony of
inauguration which seemed immediately threatening. So far as she could
discover, no one present had any objection to permitting the new
President to live. There were rumors that Eli Thayer, of Worcester, who
had done more than any other man to make Kansas a free State, was to be
Commissioner of Patents. That was delightful news for her. It meant not
only an assured position, but an opportunity of service undisturbed by
needless annoyances. She had an invitation to the inauguration ball,
but had to decline that dreary function on account of a cold. On the
day following the inauguration, she wrote to Annie Childs, sister of
Frances, her account of the day’s events:
WASHINGTON CITY, March 5th, 1861
MY DEAR ANNIE:
I have just a few minutes before dinner for which I have no positive
call, and I am going to inflict them on you. Of course you will not
expect an elaborate letter, for I by no means feel competent to the
task to-day if I had the time.
The 4th of March has come and gone, and we have a _live
Republican_ President, and, what is perhaps singular, during
the whole day we saw no one who appeared to manifest the least
dislike to his living. We had a crowd, of course, but not so utterly
overwhelming as had been anticipated; everywhere seemed to be just
full, and no more, which was a very pleasant state of affairs. The
ceremony was performed upon the East Capitol steps facing Capitol
Hill, you remember. The inaugural address was first delivered in a
loud, fine voice, which was audible to many, or a majority of the
assemblage. Only a very few of the United States troops were brought
to the Capitol at all, but were in readiness at their quarters and
other parts of the city; they were probably not brought out, lest it
look like menace. Great pains appeared to be taken to avoid all such
appearances, and indeed a more orderly crowd I think I never saw and
general satisfaction expressed at the trend and spirit of the Address.
Of course, it will not suit your latitude quite as well, but I hope
they may find it endurable.
It is said that the Cabinet is formed and has been or will be
officially announced to-day. And there is some prospect of the
Honorable Eli Thayer being appointed Commissioner of Patents. Only
think of it! Isn’t it nice if it is true? Mr. Suydam has been spending
the week with us; left this morning. Mrs. Suydam is better, he says.
Mr. Starr is here.
We have had the most splendid spring weather you ever saw for two
weeks past, no rain, but bright sunshine; it has been frightfully
dusty some of the time and this day is one apparently borrowed from
Arabia, by the clouds of sand.
I hear from you sister sometimes, but not until I have almost lost
trace of her each time, but I am, of course, most to blame. I hope
your business has revived with the approach of spring, as it
doubtless has. You will not be surprised if I tell you that I am in a
hopeless state of semi-nudity, just clear the law and nothing more.
Sally told me on her return that you would have come out and stayed
with us some this winter if you had thought it could have been made to
pay, but as usual I knew nothing of this until it was too near spring
to think of your leaving your business. How glad I should have been to
have had you here a month or two, and I think I could have relieved
you of the most of expense to say the least of it, if you were not
doing much at home, and what a comfort it would have been to me to
_get right_ in the clothing line. Will there ever be another time
that you would think you could leave, and come to Washington if I
should remain?
Where is Fannie? Is she having a vacation now? Please give my love to
her, and all inquiring friends, reserving a large share for yourself,
and believe me,
As ever, your loving friend
CLARA
Everybody would send love if they knew I were writing. I cannot report
the Inauguration Ball personally, as I was not present; after a
delightful invitation could not go. I have been having a very bad cold
for a few days and a worse cough than I ever had, but I hope to get
over it soon. I did not attend the last Levee.
[4] Mary--Mrs. Mamie Barton Stafford, daughter of David.
[5] Bubby--Stephen E. Barton, son of David, Miss Barton’s brother.