Exodus of Southern Society from the Federal City  
In the winter of ’9 and ’0 it became obvious to everyone that gaiety at the capital was waning. Aside from public receptions, now become palpably perfunctory, only an occasional wedding served to give social zest to the rapidly sobering Congressional circles. Ordinary “at-homes” were slighted. Women went daily to the Senate gallery to listen to the angry debates on the floor below. When belles met they no longer discussed furbelows and flounces, but talked of forts and fusillades. The weddings of my cousin, Miss Hilliard, in 1859, and of Miss Parker, in 1860, already described, were the most notable matrimonial events of those closing days of Washington’s splendour.
To Miss Hilliard’s marriage to Mr. Hamilton Glentworth, of New York, which occurred at mid-day at old St. John’s, and to the reception that followed, came many of the Senatorial body and dignitaries of the capital. A procession of carriages drawn by white horses accompanied the bridal party to the church, where the celebrated Bishop Doane, of New Jersey, performed the ceremony. The bride’s gown and that of one of the bridesmaids were “gophered,” this being the first appearance of the new French style of trimming in the capital. One of the bridesmaids, I remember, was gowned in pink crêpe, which was looped back with coral, then a most fashionable garniture; the costume of another was of embroidered tulle caught up with bunches of grapes; and each of the 139accompanying ushers—such were the fashions of the day—wore inner vests of satin, embroidered in colour to match the gown of the bridesmaid allotted to his charge.
Notable artists appeared in the capital, among them Charlotte Cushman, and there were stately, not to say stiff and formal, dinners at the British Embassy, now presided over by Lord Lyons. This Minister’s arrival was looked upon as a great event. Much gossip had preceded it, and all the world was agog to know if it were true that feminine-kind was debarred from his menage. It was said that his personally chartered vessel had conveyed to our shores not only the personages comprising his household, but also his domestics and skilful gardeners, and even the growing plants for his conservatory. It was whispered that when his Lordship entertained ladies his dinner-service was to be of solid gold; that when gentlemen were his guests they were to dine from the costliest of silver plate. Moreover, the gossips at once set about predicting that the new-comer would capitulate to the charms of some American woman, and speculation was already rife as to who would be the probable bride.
Lord Lyons began his American career by entertaining at dinner the Diplomatic Corps, and afterward the officials of our country, in the established order of precedence, the Supreme Court, the Cabinet, and Senate circles leading, according to custom. His Lordship’s invitations being sent out alphabetically, Senator Clay and I received a foreign and formidable card to the first Senatorial dinner given by the newly arrived diplomat. My husband’s appearance at this function, I remember, was particularly distinguished. He was clad in conventional black, and wore with it a cream-coloured vest of brocaded velvet; yet, notwithstanding my wifely pride in him, we had what almost amounted to a disagreement 140on our way to the famous feast. We drove to Lord Lyons’s domicile with Senator and Mrs. Crittenden, and my perturbation furnished them with much amusement. For some reason or for lack of one I was obsessed by a suspicion that the new Minister, probably being unaware of the state of feeling which continually manifested itself between Northern and Southern people in the capital, might assign to me, as my escort to table, some pronounced Republican.
“What would you do in that event?” asked Senator Clay.
“Do?” I asked, hotly and promptly. “I would refuse to accept him!”
My husband’s voice was grave as he said, “I hope there will be no need!”
Arriving at the Embassy, I soon discovered that, as had been rumoured, the maid ordinarily at hand to assist women guests had been replaced by a fair young English serving-man, who took charge of my wraps, and knelt to remove my overshoes with all the deftness of a practised femme de chambre. These preliminaries over, I rejoined my husband in the corridor, and together we proceeded to our host, and, having greeted him, turned aside to speak to other friends.
Presently Senator Brown, Mr. Davis’s confrère from Mississippi, made his way to me. Senator Brown was one of the brightest men in Congress. As he approached, my misgivings vanished and I smiled as I said, “Ah! you are to be my gallant this evening!”
“Not so,” replied he. “I’m to go in with Mme. ——, and shall be compelled to smell ‘camphired’ cleaned gloves for hours!”
 
LORD LYONS
 
British Ambassador to the United States
141He left my side. Presently he was replaced by Mr. Eames, ex-Minister to Venezuela. Again I conjectured him to be the man who was destined to escort me; but, after the exchange of a few words, he, too, excused himself, and I saw him take his place at the side of his rightful partner. In this way several others came and went, and still I stood alone. I wondered what it all meant, and gave a despairing look at my husband, who, I knew, was rapidly becoming as perturbed as was I. Presently the massive doors slid apart, and a voice proclaimed, “Dinner, my Lord!” Now my consternation gave way to overwhelming surprise and confusion, for our host, glancing inquiringly around the circle, stepped to my side, and, bowing profoundly, offered his arm with, “I have the honour, Madam!” Once at the table, I quickly regained my composure, assisted, perhaps, to this desirable state, by a feeling of triumph as I caught from across the table the amused glance of my erstwhile companion, Mrs. Crittenden.
Lord Lyons’s manner was so unconstrained and easy that I soon became emboldened to the point of suggesting to him the possibility of some lovely American consenting to become “Lyonised.” His Lordship’s prompt rejoinder and quizzical look quite abashed me, and brought me swiftly to the conclusion that I would best let this old lion alone; for he said, “Ah, Madam! do you remember what Uncle Toby said to his nephew when he informed him of his intended marriage?” Then, without waiting for my assent, he added, “Alas! alas! quoth my Uncle Toby, you will never sleep slantindicularly in your bed more!”
I had an adventure at a ball in 1859, which, though unimportant in itself, turns a pleasing side-light upon one of the more courteous of our political opponents. A dance had been announced, the music had begun, and the dancers had already taken their places, when my partner was called aside suddenly. Something occurred to detain him longer than he had expected, and the time for us to lead having arrived, there was a call for the missing gallant, who was nowhere to be seen. I looked about helplessly, 142wondering what I was to do, when Anson Burlingame, who was standing near, seeing my dilemma, stepped promptly forward, and, taking my hand in most courtly manner, he said, “Pardon me, Madam!” and led me, bewildered, through the first steps of the dance!
Lost in amazement at his courtesy, I had no time to demur, and, when we returned to my place, the delinquent had reappeared. Bowing politely, Mr. Burlingame withdrew. The circumstance caused quite a ripple among those who witnessed it. Those who knew me best were amused at my docility in allowing myself thus to be led through the dance by a rank Abolitionist; but many were the comments made upon “Mr. Burlingame’s audacity in daring to speak to Mrs. Clement Clay!”
Such were the scenes, both grave and gay, that preceded what was surely the saddest day of my life—January 21, 1861—when, after years of augmenting dissension between the Sections, I saw my husband take his portfolio under his arm and leave the United States Senate Chamber in company with other no less earnest Southern Senators. For weeks the pretense of amity between parties had ceased, and social formalities no longer concealed the gaping chasm that divided them. When the members of each met, save for a glare of defiance or contempt, each ignored the other, or, if they spoke, it was by way of a taunt or a challenge. Every sentence uttered in Senate or House was full of hot feeling born of many wrongs and long-sustained struggle. For weeks, men would not leave their seats by day or by night, lest they might lose their votes on the vital questions of the times. At the elbows of Senators, drowsy with long vigils, pages stood, ready to waken them at the calling of the roll.
Not a Southern woman but felt, with her husband, the stress of that session, the sting of the wrongs the Southern faction of that great body was struggling to right. For 143forty years the North and the South had striven for the balance of power, and the admission of each new State was become the subject of bitter contention. There was, on the part of the North, a palpable envy of the hold the South had retained so long upon the Federal City, whether in politics or society, and the resolution to quell us, by physical force, was everywhere obvious. The face of the city was lowering, and some of the North agreed with us of the South that a nation’s suicide was about to be precipitated.
Senator Clay, than whom the South has borne no more self-sacrificing son, nor the Nation a truer patriot, was an ill man as that “winter of national agony and shame” (vide the Northern witness, Judge Hoar) progressed. The incertitude of President Buchanan was alarming; but the courage of our people to enter upon what they knew must be a defense of everything they held dear in State and family institution rose higher and higher to meet each advancing danger. The seizure by South Carolina of United States forts that lay, a menace, within her very doorway, acted like a spur upon the courage of the South.
“We have been hard at work all day,” wrote a defender of our cause from Morris Island, January 17, 1861, “helping to make, with our own hands, a battery, and moving into place some of the biggest guns you ever saw, and all immediately under the guns of old Anderson.[16] He fired a shell down the Bay this afternoon to let us know what he could do. But he had a little idea what we can do from his observation of our firing the other morning,[17] at the ‘Star of the West,’ all of which he saw, and he thought we had ruined the ship, as Lieutenant Hall represented in the city that morning.... We learn to-day that in Washington they are trying to 144procrastinate. That does not stop our most earnest preparation, for we are going to work all night to receive from the steamboat three more enormous guns and place them ready to batter down Fort Sumter, and we can do it. We hope the other points are as forward in their preparations as we are. If so, we can smoke him out in a week. We are nearest to him, and he may fire on us to-night, but if he were to kill everybody in the State, and only one woman was left, and she should bear a child, that child would be a secessionist. Our women are even more spirited than we are, though, bless the dear creatures, I have not seen one in a long time.”
Yet, despite these buoyant preparations for defense, there was a lingering sentiment among us that caused us to deplore the necessity that urged our men to arms. My husband was exceedingly depressed at the futility of the Peace Commission, for he foresaw that the impending conflict would be bloody and ruinous. One incident that followed the dissolution of that body impressed itself ineradicably upon my mind. Just after its close ex-President Tyler came to our home. He was now an old man and very attenuated. He was completely undone at the failure of the Peace men, and tears trickled down his cheeks as he said to Senator Clay, with indescribable sadness, “Clay, the end has come!”
In those days men eyed each other warily and spoke guardedly, save to the most tried and proved friend. One evening early in 1861, Commander Semmes, U. S. N., called upon us, and happened to arrive just as another naval officer, whose name I have now forgotten, was announced. The surprise that spread over the faces of our visitors when they beheld each other was great, but Senator Clay’s and my own was greater, as hour after hour was consumed in obvious constraint. Neither of the officers appeared to be at ease, yet for hours neither seemed to desire to relieve the situation by taking his 145departure. Midnight had arrived ere our now forgotten guest rose and bade us “good night.” Then Commander Semmes hastened to unbosom himself. He had resolved to out-sit the other gentleman if it took all night.
“As my Senator, Mr. Clay,” he said, “I want to report to you my decision on an important matter. I have resolved to hand in my resignation to the United States Government, and tender my services to that of the Confederate States. I don’t know what the intention of my brother officer is, but I could take no risk with him,” he added. Many a scene as secret, as grave, and as “treasonable,” took place in those last lowering weeks.
I have often mused upon the impression held by the younger generation of those who were adverse to the South, viz.: that she “was prepared for the war” into which we were precipitated practically by the admission of Kansas; that our men, with treasonable foresight, had armed themselves individually and collectively for resistance to our guileless and unsuspicious oppressors. Had this been true, the result of that t............