HOME LIFE: MY FATHER
I left school at the age of sixteen, and began thereafter to study in
good earnest. Until that time a certain over-romantic and imaginative
turn of mind had interfered much with the progress of my studies. I
indulged in day-dreams which appeared to me far higher in tone than the
humdrum of my school recitations. When these were at an end, I began to
feel the necessity of more strenuous application, and at once arranged
for myself hours of study, relieved by the practice of vocal and
instrumental music.
At this juncture, a much esteemed friend of my father came to pass some
months with us. This was Joseph Green Cogswell, founder and principal of
Round Hill School, at which my three brothers had been among his pupils.
The school, a famous one in its day, was now finally closed. Our new
guest was an accomplished linguist, and possessed an admirable power of
imparting knowledge. With his aid, I resumed the German studies which I
had already begun, but in which I had made but little progress. Under
his tuition, I soon found myself able to read with ease the masterpieces
of Goethe and Schiller.
Rev. Leonard Woods, son of a well-known pastor of that name, was a
familiar guest at my father's house. He took some interest in my
studies, and at length proposed that I should become a contributor to
the "Theological Review," of which he was editor at that time. I
undertook to furnish a review of Lamartine's "Jocelyn," which had
recently appeared. When I had done my best with this, Dr. Cogswell went
over the pages with me very carefully, pointing out defects of style and
arrangement. The paper attracted a good deal of attention, and some
comments on it gave occasion to the admonition which my dear uncle
thought fit to administer to me, as already mentioned.
The house of my young ladyhood (I use this term, as it was the one in
use at the time of which I write) was situated at the corner of Bond
Street and Broadway. When my father built it, the fashion of the city
had not proceeded so far up town. The model of the house was a noble
one. Three spacious rooms and a small study occupied the first floor.
These were furnished with curtains of blue, yellow, and red silk. The
red room was that in which we took our meals. The blue room was the one
in which we received visits, and passed the evenings. The yellow room
was thrown open only on high occasions, but my desk and grand piano were
placed in it, and I was allowed to occupy it at will. This and the blue
room were adorned by beautiful sculptured mantelpieces, the work of
Thomas Crawford, afterwards known as a sculptor of great merit. Many
years after this time he became the husband of the sister next me in
age, and the father of F. Marion Crawford, the now celebrated novelist.
Our family was patriarchal in its dimensions, including my aunt and
uncle Francis, whose children were all born in my father's house, and
were very dear to him. My maternal grandmother also passed much time
with us. My two younger brothers, Henry and Marion, were at home with us
after a term of years at Round Hill School. My eldest brother, Samuel
(afterwards the Sam. Ward of the Lobby), a most accomplished and
agreeable young man, had recently returned from Europe, bringing with
him a fine library. My father, having already added to his large house a
spacious art gallery, now built a study, whose walls were entirely
occupied by my brother's books. I had free access to these, and did not
neglect to profit by it.
From what I have just said, it may rightly be inferred that my father
was a man of fine tastes, inclined to generous and even lavish
expenditure. He desired to give us the best educational opportunities,
the best and most expensive masters. He filled his art gallery with the
finest pictures that money could command in the New York of that day. He
gave largely to public undertakings, was one of the founders of the New
York University, and was one of the foremost promoters of church
building in the then distant West. He demurred only at expenses
connected with dress and fashionable entertainment, for he always
disliked and distrusted the great world. My dear eldest brother held
many arguments with him on this theme. He saw, as we did, that our
father was disposed to ignore the value of ordinary social intercourse.
On one occasion the dispute between them became quite animated.
"Sir," said my brother, "you do not keep in view the importance of the
social tie."
"The social what?" asked my father.
"The social tie, sir."
"I make small account of that," said the elder gentleman.
"I will die in defense of it!" impetuously rejoined the younger. My
father was so much amused at this sally that he spoke of it to an
intimate friend: "He will die in defense of the social tie, indeed!"
[Illustration: SAMUEL WARD (MRS. HOWE'S father)
_From a miniature by Anne Hall._]
Our way of living was simple. The table was abundant, but not with the
richest food. For many years, as I have said, no alcoholic stimulant
appeared on it. My father gave away by dozens the bottles of costly wine
stored in his cellar, but neither tasted their contents nor allowed us
to do so. He was for a great part of his life a martyr to rheumatic
gout, and a witty friend of his once said: "Ward, it must be the poor
man's gout that you have, as you drink only water."
We breakfasted at eight in winter, at half past seven in summer. My
father read prayers before breakfast and before bedtime. If my brothers
lingered over the morning meal, he would come in, hatted and booted for
the day, and would say: "Young gentlemen, I am glad that you can afford
to take life so easily. I am old and must work for my living," a speech
which usually broke up our morning coterie. Dinner was served at four
o'clock, a light lunch abbreviating the fast for those at home. At half
past seven we sat down to tea, a meal of which toast, preserves, and
cake formed the staple. In the evening we usually sat together with
books and needlework, often with an interlude of music. An occasional
lecture, concert, or evening party varied this routine. My brothers went
much into fashionable society, but my own participation in its doings
came only after my father's death, and after the two years' mourning
which, according to the usage of those days, followed it.
My father retained the Puritan feeling with regard to Saturday evening.
He would remark that it was not a proper evening for company, regarding
it as a time of preparation for the exercises of the day following, the
order of which was very strict. We were indeed indulged on Sunday
morning with coffee and muffins at breakfast, but, besides the morning
and afternoon services at church, we young folks were expected to attend
the two meetings of the Sunday-school. We were supposed to read only
Sunday books, and I must here acknowledge my indebtedness to Mrs.
Sherwood, an English writer now almost forgotten, whose religious
stories and romances were supposed to come under this head. In the
evening, we sang hymns, and sometimes received a quiet visitor.
My readers, if I have any, may ask whether this restricted routine
satisfied my mind, and whether I was at all sensible of the privileges
which I really enjoyed, or ought to have enjoyed. I must answer that,
after my school-days, I greatly coveted an enlargement of intercourse
with the world. I did not desire to be counted among "fashionables," but
I did aspire to much greater freedom of association than was allowed me.
I lived, indeed, much in my books, and my sphere of thought was a good
deal enlarged by the foreign literatures, German, French, and Italian,
with which I became familiar. Yet I seemed to myself like a young damsel
of olden time, shut up within an enchanted castle. And I must say that
my dear father, with all his noble generosity and overweening affection,
sometimes appeared to me as my jailer.
My brother's return from Europe and subsequent marriage opened the door
a little for me. It was through his intervention that Mr. Longfellow
first visited us, to become a valued and lasting friend. Through him in
turn we became acquainted with Professor Felton, Charles Sumner, and Dr.
Howe. My brother was very fond of music, of which he had heard the best
in Paris and in Germany. He often arranged musical parties at our house,
at which trios of Beethoven, Mozart, and Schubert were given. His wit,
social talent, and literary taste opened a new world to me, and enabled
me to share some of the best results of his long residence in Europe.
My father's jealous care of us was by no means the result of a
disposition tending to social exclusiveness. It proceeded, on the
contrary, from an over-anxiety as to the moral and religious influences
to which his children might become subjected. His ideas of propriety
were very strict. He was, moreover, not only a strenuous Protestant, but
also an ardent "Evangelical," or Low Churchman, holding the Calvinistic
views which then characterized that portion of the American Episcopal
church. I remember that he once spoke to me of the anguish he had felt
at the death of his own father, of the orthodoxy of whose religious
opinions he had had no sufficient assurance. My grandfather, indeed, was
supposed, in the family, to be of a rather skeptical and philosophizing
turn of mind. He fell a victim to the first visitation of the cholera in
1832.
Despite a certain austerity of character, my father was much beloved and
honored in the business world. He did much to give to the firm of Prime,
Ward and King the high position which it attained and retained during
his lifetime. He told me once that when he first entered the office, he
found it, like many others, a place where gossip circulated freely. He
determined to put an end to this, and did so. Among the foreign
correspondents of his firm were the Barings of London, and Hottinguer et
Cie. of Paris.
In the great financial troubles which followed Andrew Jackson's refusal
to renew the charter of the Bank of the United States, several States
became bankrupt, and repudiated the obligations incurred by their bonds,
to the great indignation of business people in both hemispheres. The
State of New York was at one time on the verge of pursuing this course,
which my father strenuously opposed. He called meeting after meeting,
and was unwearied in his efforts to induce the financiers of the State
to hold out. When this appeared well-nigh impossible, he undertook that
his firm should negotiate with English correspondents a loan to carry
the State over the period of doubt and difficulty. This he was able to
effect. My eldest brother came home one day and said to me:--
"As I walked up from Wall Street to-day, I saw a dray loaded with kegs
on which were inscribed the letters, 'P. W. & K.' Those kegs contained
the gold just sent to the firm from England to help our State through
this crisis."
My father once gave me some account of his early experiences in Wall
Street. He had been sent, almost a boy, to New York, to try his fortune.
His connection with Block Island families through his grandmother,
Catharine Ray Greene, had probably aided in securing for him a clerk's
place in the banking house of Prime and Sands, afterwards Prime, Ward
and King. He soon ascertained that the Spanish dollars brought to the
port by foreign trading vessels could be sold in Wall Street at a
profit. He accordingly employed his leisure hours in the purchase of
these coins, which he carried to Wall Street and there sold. This was
the beginning of his fortune.
A work published a score or more of years since, entitled "The Merchant
Princes of Wall Street," concluded some account of my father by the
statement that he died without fortune. This was far from true. His
death came indeed at a very critical moment, when, having made extensive
investments in real estate, his skill was requisite to carry this
extremely valuable property over a time of great financial disturbance.
His brother, our uncle, who became the guardian of our interests, was
familiar with the stock market, but little versed in real estate
transactions. By untimely sales, much of my father's valuable estate was
scattered; yet it gave to each of his six children a fair inheritance
for that time; for the millionaire fever did not break out until long
afterwards.
The death of this dear and noble parent took place when I was a little
more than twenty years of age. Six months later I attained the period of
legal responsibility, but before this a new sense of the import of life
had begun to alter the current of my thoughts. With my father's death
came to me a sense of my want of appreciation of his great kindness, and
of my ingratitude for the many comforts and advantages which his
affection had secured to me. He had given me the most delightful home,
the most careful training, the best masters and books. He had even, as I
have said, built a picture gallery for my especial instruction and
enjoyment. All this I had taken, as a matter of course, and as my
natural right. He had done his best to keep me out of frivolous society,
and had been extremely strict about the visits of young men to the
house. Once, when I expostulated with him upon these points, he told me
that he had early recognized in me a temperament and imagination
over-sensitive to impressions from without, and that his wish had been
to guard me from exciting influences until I should appear to him fully
able to guard and guide myself. It was hardly to be expected that a girl
in her teens, or just out of them, should acquiesce in this restrictive
guardianship, tender and benevolent as was its intention. My little acts
of rebellion were met with some severity, but I now recall my father's
admonitions as
"Soft rebukes with blessings ended."
I cannot, even now, bear to dwell upon the desolate hush which fell upon
our house when its stately head lay, silent and cold, in the midst of
weeping friends and children. Six of us were made orphans, three sons
and three daughters. We had had our little disagreements and
dissensions, but the blow which now fell upon us drew us together with
the bond of a common sorrow. My eldest brother had recently gone to
reside in a house of his own. The second one, Henry by name, became at
this time my great intimate. He was a high-strung youth, very chivalrous
in disposition, full of fun and humor, but with a deep vein of thought.
He was already betrothed to one whom I held dear, and I looked forward
to many years brightened by his happiness, but alas! an attack of
typhoid fever took him from us in the bloom of his youth. I was with him
day and night during his illness, and when he closed his eyes, I would
gladly, oh, so gladly, have died with him! The great anguish of this
loss told heavily upon me, and I remember the time as one without light
or comfort. I sought these indeed. A great religious revival was going
on in New York, and a zealous young friend persuaded me to attend some
of the meetings held in a neighboring church. I had never taken very
seriously the doctrines of the religious body in which I had been
reared. They now came home to me with terrible force, and a season of
depression and melancholy followed, during which I remained in a measure
cut off from the wholesome influences which reconcile us to life, even
when it must be embittered by a sense of irreparable loss.
At the time of my father's death, my dear bachelor uncle John, already
mentioned, left his own house and came to live with us. When our
paternal mansion was sold, some years later, he removed with us to the
house of my eldest brother, who was already a widower. After my marriage
my uncle again occupied a house of his own, in which for many years he
made us all at home, even with our later incumbrances of children and
nurses. He was, in short, the best and kindest of uncles. In business he
was more adventurous than his rather deliberate manner would have led
one to suppose. It was said that, in the course of his life, he had made
and lost several fortunes. In the end he left a very fair estate, which
was divided among the several sets of his nieces and nephews.
Long before this he had become one of the worthies of Wall Street, and
was universally spoken of as "Uncle John." Shortly after his retirement
from active business, the Board of Brokers of New York requested him to
sit to A. H. Wenzler for a portrait, to be hung in their place of
meeting. The portrait was executed with entire success. I ought to
mention in this connection that the directors of the New York Bank of
Commerce, of which my father was the founder and first president,
ordered a portrait of him from the well-known artist, Huntington.