Solons of the Capital  
The classes of Washington society in the fifties were peculiarly distinct. They were not unlike its topography, which is made up of many small circles and triangles, into each of which run tributary streets and avenues. In the social life, each division in the Congressional body was as a magnetic circle, attracting to itself by way of defined radii those whose tastes or political interests were in sympathy with it. Not less prominent than the Cabinet circle (outranking it, in fact), and fully as interesting by reason of its undisguised preference for things solid, scientific and intellectual, was the Judiciary or Supreme Court set. The several Justices that composed this august body, together with their wives and daughters, formed a charmed circle into which the merely light-minded would scarcely have ventured. Here one met the wittiest and the weightiest minds of the capital, and here, perhaps more than in any other coterie, the new-comer was impressed with what Messrs. Nicolay and Hay describe as “the singular charm of Washington life.” In the Supreme Court circle, the conditions attending Congressional life in those strenuous times forced themselves less boldly upon one. Here one discussed philosophies, inventions, history, perhaps, and the arts; seldom the fashions, and as seldom the on dits.
The Nestor of that circle in the fifties was quaint old Roger B. Taney (pronounced Tawney), who, after various political disappointments, including a refusal by the Senate to confirm his appointment as a member of the 74Cabinet, had received his appointment to the Supreme Court bench in 1836. Upon the death of Chief Justice Marshall, Judge Taney became the head of the Supreme Court body; thus, for more than thirty years, he had been a prominent personage in the country’s legal circles and a conspicuous resident in Washington. He was an extremely plain-looking man, with frail body, which once rose tall and erect, but now was so bent that one always thought of him as small, and with a head which made me think of a withered nut. Swarthy of skin, but grey-haired, Judge Taney was a veritable skeleton, “all mind and no body”; yet his opinion settled questions that agitated the nation, and his contemporaries agreed he was the ablest man who had ever sat upon the Supreme Court bench. Judge Taney’s daughters, gifted and brilliant women, were seldom seen in society, but from choice or necessity chose bread-winning careers. They were great draughtswomen and made coloured maps, for which, in those days of expanding territory, there was a great and constant need.
Of Chief Justice Taney’s associates, Judges Catron and John A. Campbell became best known to Senator Clay and myself. These, and other statesmen equally distinguished and later to be mentioned, having been the friends of ex-Governor (then Senator) C. C. Clay, Sr., my husband had been known to them from the days when, as a schoolboy, he had visited his parents in the Federal City. Mrs. Judge Catron, whom I met soon after my arrival in Washington, was a woman of great elegance of manner and dress, and always brought to my mind the thought of a dowager Duchess. An associate of my husband’s mother, and a native of gay Nashville, Mrs. Catron had been a social queen in Washington in the late thirties, and her position of interest was still preserved in 1855.
Judge and Mrs. Campbell, being rich beyond many others, their home was widely known for sumptuous 75entertaining as well as for its intellectual atmosphere. Sharing to an extent the public favour, Judge Campbell, Reverdy Johnson, and Robt. J. Walker were the three legal giants of their day. Judge Campbell’s clients were among the wealthiest in the country, and his fees were said to be enormous. Had not the war ensued, undoubtedly he would have been appointed to the Chief Justiceship, as was commonly predicted for him. He was a man of great penetration and erudition, and was held in high esteem by everyone in the capital. In 1861 he cast his lot with the people of the South, among whom he was born, and went out of the Federal City to meet whatsoever fate the future held. Judge Campbell became the earnest adviser of Mr. Davis, and was a Commissioner of the Confederate Government, together with Alexander H. Stephens and R. M. T. Hunter, when the three conferred with Mr. Seward, acting as delegate from the Northern President, Lincoln. Nor did the ensuing years diminish the great regard of great men for our beloved Southern scholar.[6] Writing to Judge Campbell from Washington on December 10, 1884, Thomas F. Bayard thus reveals the exalted regard which the former sustained to the close of a long life:
“Mr. Lamar, now Associate Judge of the Supreme Court, concurs with me,” he wrote, “in considering it highly important that your counsel and opinions should be freely given to Mr. Cleveland at this important juncture, and respectfully and earnestly I trust you will concur in our judgment in the matter. Mr. Cleveland will resign from his present office early in January, but 76can easily and conveniently receive you for the purpose suggested in the interview.”[7]
In those days of Washington’s splendour, Mrs. Campbell and her daughter Henrietta were no less distinguished for their culture, intellectuality, and exclusiveness. Mrs. Campbell was the first Southern woman to adopt the English custom of designating her coloured servant as “my man.” At the home of the Campbells one met not only the legal lights of Washington, but scientists and travellers, as if law and the sciences were drawn near to each other by natural selection. Professor Henry, of the Smithsonian Institution, was a frequent visitor at this home, as was also Professor Maury, the grand road-master of the ocean, who, by the distribution of his buoys, made a track in the billows of the Atlantic for the safe passing of ships.
I remember an amusing visit paid by a party from our mess to the observatory of Professor Maury. It was an occasion of special interest. Jupiter was displaying his brilliancy in a marvellous way. For no particular reason, in so far as I could see, the Professor’s great telescope seemed to require adjusting for the benefit of each of the bevy present. I noticed Professor Maury’s eye twinkling as he went on with this necessary (?) preliminary, asking, betimes: “What do you see? Nothing clearly? Well, permit me!” And after several experiments he would secure, at last, the right focus. When all of his guests had been treated to a satisfactory view of the wonders of the sky, Professor Maury delivered himself somewhat as follows:
“Now, ladies, whilst you have been studying the heavenly bodies, I have been studying you!” and the quizzical expression deepened in his eye.
“Go on,” we assented.
77“Well,” said the Professor, “I have a bill before Congress,” (mentioning its nature) “and if you ladies don’t influence your husbands to vote for it, I intend to publish the ages of each and every one of you to the whole of Washington!”
Remembering the mutability of political life, it was and remains a source of astonishment to me that in the Government circles of the fifties were comprised so many distinguished men who had retained their positions in the political foreground for so many years; years, moreover, in which an expanding territory was causing the envy for office to spread, infecting the ignorant as well as the wise, and causing contestants to multiply in number and their passions to increase in violence at each election.
When Senator Clay and I took up our residence in the Federal City, there were at least a dozen great statesmen who had dwelt almost continuously in Washington for nearly twoscore years. Writing of these to Governor Clay, in 1858, my husband said “Mr. Buchanan looks as ruddy as ever; General Cass as young and vigorous as in 1844, and Mr. Dickens[8] appears as he did in 1834, when with you I was at his home at an evening party!” Thomas Hart Benton, the great Missourian, who for seven long years struggled against such allied competitors as Senators Henry Clay, Calhoun, and Webster, in his fight against the Bank of the United States, probably out-ranked all others in length of public service; but, besides Mr. Benton, there were Chief Justice Taney and his associates, Judges Catron, James M. Wayne, and John McLean, of Ohio; Senator Crittenden, of Kentucky, and General George Wallace Jones—all men who had entered political life when the century was young.
Among my pleasantest memories of Washington are 78the evenings spent at the home of Mr. Benton. His household, but recently bereft of its mistress, who had been a long-time invalid, was presided over by his daughters, Mrs. General Frémont, Mrs. Thomas Benton Jones, and Mme. Boileau. The last-named shared, with the Misses Bayard and Maury, a reputation for superior elegance among the young women of the capital. The daughters of Mr. Benton had been splendidly educated, it was said, by their distinguished father, and they repaid his care of them by a lifelong adoration. A handsome man in ordinary attire, the great old author and statesman was yet a more striking figure when mounted. He rode with a stately dignity, quite unlike the pace indulged in by some other equestrians of that city and day; a day, it may be said in passing, when equestrianism was common. Mr. Benton’s appearance and the slow gait of his horse impressed me as powerful and even majestic, and often (as I remarked to him at dinner one evening) there flashed through my mind, as I saw him, a remembrance of Byron’s Moorish King as he rode benignly through the streets of Granada. He seemed gratified at my comparison.
“I’m glad you approve of my pace,” he said. “I ride slowly because I do not wish to be confounded with post-boys and messengers sent in haste for the surgeon. They may gallop if they will, but not Senators.”
At his own table Mr. Benton was an oracle to whom everyone listened eagerly. I have seen twenty guests held spellbound as he recited, with thrilling realism, a history of the Clay-Randolph duel, with the details of which he was so familiarly acquainted. I never heard him allude to his great fight in the Senate, when, the galleries crowded with men inimical to him, his wife and General Jones sent out for arms to protect the fearless Senator from the onslaught which seemed impending; nor to his nearly thirty years’ strife for the 79removal of the onerous Salt Tax; but the dinners before which his guests sat down were flavoured with the finest of Attic salt, of which he was a connoisseur, which served to sting into increased eagerness our interest in his rich store of recollections.
Wherever Mr. Benton was seen he was a marked personage. There was something of distinction in the very manner in which he wore his cravat, and when he spoke, men listened instinctively. Of his daughters, Mrs. Frémont was probably the most gifted, and Mme. Boileau the most devoted to fashionable society. Mme. Boileau was the wife of a French attaché, and was remarked as she drove about in the streets with a be-ribboned spaniel upon the front seat of her calash. Many years after my acquaintance in Washington with Mr. Benton’s family (it was during the Cleveland Administration), I was present at a reception given by Mrs. Endicott when I observed among the guests a very busy little woman, in simple black apparel, whose face was familiar to me, but whom I found myself unable to place; yet everyone seemed to know her. I heard her address several foreigners, in each case employing the language of his country, and, my curiosity increasing, I asked at last, “Who is that small lady in black?”
To my surprise, she proved to be Mrs. Frémont!
I soon made my way to her. She seemed almost impatient as I said, “Mrs. Frémont, I can never forget you, nor the charming evenings at your father’s house, though you, I am sure, have forgotten me!” She looked at me searchingly and then spoke, impetuously:
“Yes! yes! I remember your face perfectly, but your name—Tell me who you are, quick. Don’t keep me waiting!” I promptly gratified her, and in the conversation that followed, I added some reference to her father’s great book, “Thirty Years’ View,” which, until 80the destruction of my home during the Civil War, had formed two of our most valued volumes.
“Ah!” cried Mrs. Frémont. “You are a woman of penetration! I have always said my father’s book is the Political Bible of America. I know it will not perish!”
I have referred to General George Wallace Jones. No memory of ante-bellum Washington and its moving personages would be complete were he, the pet of women and the idol of men, left out. He was born in 1804, when the union was young; and adventure and patriotism, then sweeping over our country, were blended in him. As a child he came out of the young West, still a wilderness, to be educated in Kentucky. He had been a sergeant of the body-guard of General Jackson, and to the Marquis de la Fayette upon the latter’s last visit to the United States in 1824. Thereafter he figured in the Black Hawk War as aid to General Dodge. His life was a continual panorama of strange events. In the Great Indian War he became a Major-General; then a County Judge; and appeared at the capital as delegate from the Territory of Michigan early in 1835. General Jones’s personal activity becoming known to the Government, he was made Surveyor-General of the Northwest. It was about this time that he, being on the Senate floor, sprang to the side of Mr. Benton while the gallery hummed ominously with the angry threats of the friends of the Bank defenders, and personal violence seemed unavoidable. I never knew how many of the Western States were laid out by General Jones, but they were numerous. In his work of surveying he was accompanied by young military men, many of whom played conspicuous parts in the history of the country, at that time but half of its present size. Among these was Jefferson Davis, then a civil engineer.
General Jones was indefatigable in his attendance at social gatherings, and continued to out-dance young 81men, even when threescore rich years were his. He had been a great favourite with my husband’s parents during their Congressional life, so great indeed that father’s message of introduction spoke of him as “My son!” and his fraternal offices to us are among the brightest memories I hold of life at the capital. The General was a small, wiry man, renowned for his long black hair, glossy and well-kept as was any belle’s, and which seemed even to a very late period to defy time to change it. In society he was sprightly as a kitten, and at seventy-five would poke his glistening black head at me, declaring as he did so, “I’ll give you anything you ask, from a horse to a kiss, if you can find one grey hair among the black!”
General Jones died in the West, just before the close of the nineteenth century, but to the end he was gay and brave, and elastic in body and mind. So indomitable was his spirit even in those closing days, that he revived a memory of the war days in the following spirited letter written in 1894, just after the celebration of his ninetieth birthday. At this time he was made King of the Carnival, was complimented by the Governor of Iowa, “the two branches of the General Assembly, and by the Supreme Court, they, too, being Republicans and total strangers to me save one Republican Senator and one Democratic representative from this County,” as his gay account of the episode ran.
“I told several times,” he added, “of how you and dear Mrs. Bouligny prevented me from killing Seward. It was the day you stopped me, as you sat in your carriage in front of Corcoran & Riggs’s bank, and I was about to pass you. I would certainly have killed Seward with my sword-cane but that you stopped me. I was about to follow the Secretary as he passed the bank door, between his son Frederick and some other men. I would have run my sword through him and immediately 82have been cut into mince-meat by the hundreds of negro guards who stood all round. Do you recollect that fearful incident? God sent two guardian angels to save my life. How can I feel otherwise than grateful to you for saving me that day!”
The recalling of this pioneer-surveyor of the great Western wilderness revives, too, the name of as notable a character in the Southwest, and one who will always be identified with the introduction of cotton in the Southern States, and the land-grants of the territory of Louisiana. I never met Daniel Clarke, but very early in my married life, and some years before I went to the capital to reside, I became acquainted with that remarkable woman, his daughter, Mrs. Myra Clarke Gaines.
I had accompanied my husband to New Orleans, where we stopped at the St. Charles Hotel, then two steps or more above the ground level, though it settled, as all New Orleans buildings do sooner or later, owing to the moist soil.
The evening of our arrival we were seated in the dining-room when my attention was attracted by the entrance of a very unusual couple. The man was well-advanced in years, but bore himself with a dignified and military air that made him at once conspicuous. There was a marked disparity between this tall, commanding soldier and the very small young woman who hung upon his arm “like a reticule or a knitting-pocket,” as I remarked sotto voce to Mr. Clay. Her hair was bright, glistening chestnut, her colour very fresh and rich, and her golden-hazel eyes glowed like young suns. These orbs were singularly searching, and seemed to gauge everyone at a glance. Mr. Clay, having already an acquaintance with General Gaines, in a few moments I was presented to the (even then) much-talked-of daughter of General Clarke.
Never did woman exhibit more wifely solicitude, 83From the beginning of that dinner Mrs. Gaines became the General’s guardian. She arranged his napkin, tucking it carefully into the V of his waistcoat, read the menu and selected his food, waiting upon him as each course arrived, and herself preparing the dressing for his salad. All was done in so matter-of-fact and quiet a manner that the flow of General Gaines’s discourse was not once interrupted. Though I met this interesting woman a number of times in later years, in Washington and elsewhere, that first picture of Mrs. Gaines, probably the bravest woman, morally, of her time, has remained most vividly. When, as a widow, accompanied by her daughter, Mrs. Gaines visited Washington, she was the cynosure of all eyes in every assemblage in which she was seen. Her fearless pleading in the Supreme Court was the theme of conversation the country over. People thronged to see a woman whose courage was so indomitable, and none but were surprised at the diminutive and modest heroine.
Senator Crittenden, of Kentucky, was already a Solon in the counsels of the Nation, when, in 1841, Senator C. C. Clay, Sr., left the Senate. A major in the army in 1812, Mr. Crittenden had made his appearance in Congress in 1817, and thereafter continued prominent in Washington life, as Senator or Cabinet member (in the Cabinets of Presidents Harrison and Fillmore), so that for thirty or more years his name had been associated with the names of our great law-makers, especially with those of the second quarter of the century. When I met Senator Crittenden in the middle fifties, he was a carefully preserved gentleman of courtly and genial manners. Besides the brilliancy that attached to his long career in Congressional life, he was distinguished as the husband of a still charming woman, whose proud boast it was that she was perfectly happy. This declaration alone was enough to make any woman in society 84remarkable; yet, to judge from her serene and smiling appearance, Mrs. Crittenden did not exaggerate her felicity. She was a sweet type of the elderly fashionable woman, her face reflecting the utmost kindness, her corsage and silvery hair gleaming with brilliants, her silken petticoats rustling musically, and, over the lustrous folds of her rich and by no means sombre costumes, priceless lace fell prodigally.
Nor were there lacking notes and even whole gowns of warm colour significant of the lady’s persistent cheeriness. I remember my cousin, Miss Comer, a débutante of seventeen at that time, remarking upon Mrs. Crittenden’s dress one evening at a ball.
“It’s exactly like mine, cousin!” she said, not without a pout of disappointment. And so, in truth, it was, both being of bright, cherry corded silk, the only difference between them being that the modest round-necked bodice of my little cousin by no means could compete with the noble décolleté of the older lady. But, in justice to the most estimable Mrs. Crittenden, it must be added that her neck and shoulders were superbly moulded, and, even in middle age, excited the envy of her less fortunate sisters.
“Lady” Crittenden, as she was often called, accounted for her contentment in this wise: “I have been married three times, and in each alliance I have got just what I wanted. My first marriage was for love, and it was mine as fully as I could wish; my second for money, and Heaven was as good to me in this instance; my third was for position, and that, too, is mine. What more could I ask?”
What more, indeed!
 
MRS. J. J. CRITTENDEN
 
of Kentucky
85One met dear old Mrs. Crittenden everywhere. She was of the most social disposition, a fact which sometimes aroused the good-natured irony of her distinguished husband. I remember an instance in which this was demonstrated, at the White House, which greatly amused me at the time. It was at a dinner party, and Senator Crittenden, who boasted that he had eaten at the White House table with every President since the days of Monroe, assumed the blasé air which everyone who knew him recognised as a conscious affectation.
“Now there’s ‘Lady’ Crittenden,” he began, nodding in the direction of that smiling personage, “in all the glory of a new and becoming gown, and perfectly happy in the glamour of this.” And he waved his hand about the room with an air of fatigue and, at the same time, a comprehensiveness that swept in every member, grave or giddy, in the large assemblage. “If I had my way,” and he sighed as he said it, “nothing would give me greater pleasure than to hie me back to the wilds of dear old Kentucky! Ah! to don my buckskins once more, shoulder a rifle, and wander through life a free man, away from all this flummery!”
He sighed again (for the tangled woods?) as he detected a speck upon his faultless sleeve and fastidiously brushed it off!
“Pshaw! Stuff and nonsense, Senator!” I retorted, rallying him heartlessly. “Fancy your being condemned to that! You wouldn’t stand it two days, unless an election were in progress and there were country constituents to interview. Everyone knows you are as fond of fat plums and plump capons, both real and metaphorical, as any man in the capital! As for society being disagreeable to you, with a good dinner in view and pretty women about you—Fie, Senator! I don’t believe you!” Whereat our Solon laughed guiltily, like one whose pet pretense has been discovered, and entered forthwith into the evening’s pleasures as heartily as did his spouse, the perfectly happy “Lady” Crittenden.