A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES: MEMOIRS OF MRS. CLAY OF ALABAMA
Part 1 of 7 Parts

This file is part of the DCGenWeb Archives Project:
http://www.usgwarchives.net/dc/dcfiles.htm

*********************************************
http://www.usgwarchives.net/dc/dcfiles.htm
http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm
*********************************************

Contributed to The USGenWeb Archives Project by:
Kelly Mullins (kellyj@snowcrest.net)
May 17, 2000


==============================================================================

A Belle of the Fifties. Memoirs of Mrs. Clay, of Alabama, covering Social and
Political Life in Washington and the South, 1853-66. Put into narrative form
by Ada Sterling. Illustrated from contemporary portraits. 
New York, Doubleday, Page & Company, 1905. Published: September, 1904


To
THE DEAR MEMORY OF THE HUSBAND OF MY YOUTH
CLEMENT CLAIBORNE CLAY

VIRGINIA CLAY-CLOPTON

Page vii

PREFACE

        THE memoirs of "Mrs. Clay, of Alabama," by which title
Mrs. Clement C. Clay, Jr. (now Mrs. Clay-Clopton), was known
during the period comprised by 1850-87, begin in the middle of
the second decade of the nineteenth century, the scenes being
laid among the affluent plantations of North Carolina and
Alabama, and, continuing through two brilliant administrations at
the national capital, close, as she emerges from the distresses
which overtook her and her husband after the never-to-be-
forgotten tragedy that plunged a nation into mourning - the death
of Mr. Lincoln.

        In the researches made in order to obviate all possible
inaccuracies in these memoirs (a precaution always necessary
where one's life has been long and experiences so varied), I have
come upon no record of any other woman of her time who has filled
so powerful a place politically, whose belleship has been so long
sustained, or whose magnetism and compelling fascinations have
swayed others so universally as have those of Mrs. Clay-Clopton.
In the unrestful days at the capital which preceded the Civil War
her winning personality was such as to cause even those whom she
esteemed the enemies of her section, in those days when
"sections" were, to be covetous of her smiles. At no period of
her long career have her unique courage, her beautiful optimism,
her inspiring buoyancy been more accentuated than during the
making of the present book. The recalling of incident after
incident, step by step, of so great a procession of memories as
are here set down is a task

Page viii

from which many persons of twoscore years might shrink. At the
ripe age of almost eight decades Mrs. Clay-Clopton entered into
the work with a heart as light as a girl's and a sustained energy
and enthusiasm that have been as remarkable as they are
unparalleled. While preparing these pages I enjoyed a daily
intercourse with her extending over eight months, during which
time I often found myself spellbound by the descriptive powers
which nearly a half century ago compelled the admiration of
leading men and women of that day.

        "My wife was amazed at your eloquence," wrote Attorney-
General Jeremiah Black in 1866, and in succeeding letters urged
Mrs. Clay to put her experiences with Messrs. Johnson, Holt and
Stanton into book form. To these and urgings as powerful from
many quarters, reiterated during the past forty years, until the
present work was undertaken, Mrs. Clay-Clopton has remained
indifferent. Her recollections of a long life are now gathered in
response to a wide and insistently expressed desire to see them
preserved in a concrete form ere the crowding years shall have
made impossible the valuable testimony she is able to bear to
ante-bellum and bellum conditions in her dearly loved South land.
To that end many friends of Mrs. Clay-Clopton have lent an eager
aid, and it is an acknowledgment due to them that their names be
linked here with the work they have so lovingly fostered.

        The inception of the work as now presented is primarily
due to Mrs. Milton Humes, of Abingdon Place, Huntsville, Alabama,
a daughter of the late Governor Chapman, of that State, and the
friend from her childhood of Mrs. Clay-Clopton. For many years
Mrs. Humes has ardently urged upon our heroine the necessity for
preserving her rich memories as a legacy, not alone to the South,
but to all lovers of the romantic and eventful in our national

Page ix

history, to whatsoever quarter of the country they may claim a
particular allegiance. Through Mrs. Humes Mrs. Clay-Clopton and I
met; through her unintermitting energy obstacles that at first
threatened to postpone the beginning of the work were removed,
and from these initial steps she has brought a very Minerva-like
wisdom and kindness to aid the work to its completion. At the
instance of Mrs. Humes General Joseph Wheeler lent me a valuable
sympathy; through the courtesy of General Wheeler General James
H. Wilson, to whom Clement C. Clay, Jr., surrendered in 1865,
kindly gave his consideration to the chapters of the memoirs in
which he personally is mentioned, correcting one or two minor
inaccuracies, such as misapplied military titles. Through the
continued forethought of Mrs. Humes and General Wheeler Colonel
Henry Watterson's attention was directed to the work, and he,
too, generously scanned the manuscript then ready, at a
considerable expense of time, guiding my pen, all untutored in
political phrases, from some misleading slips. I owe a large debt
of gratitude to Colonel Robert Barnwell Rhett, who, though an
invalid while I was a guest of Mr. and Mrs. Humes in Huntsville,
gave his unsparing counsels to me, enlightening me as to
personages and events appertaining to the formation of the
Confederate Government, which would have been unobtainable from
any books at present known to me. For the acquaintance with
Colonel Rhett I am, on behalf of the memoirs and for my personal
pleasure, again the debtor of Mrs. Humes.

        The aid of Mrs. Paul Hammond, formerly of Beech Island,
South Carolina, but now residing in Jacksonville, Florida, has
been peculiarly valuable. Possessed of a fine literary taste, a
keen observer, and retaining a vivid recollection of the
personages she encountered when a debutante under Mrs. Clay's
chaperonage in 1857-'58 in

Page x

Washington, the six or seven weeks over which our intercourse
extended were a continual striking of rare lodes of incident,
which lay almost forgotten in the memory of her kinswoman, Mrs.
Clay-Clopton, but which have contributed greatly to the interest
of certain chapters dealing with Washington life in antebellum
days.

        Thanks are due to Mrs. Bettie Adams for her unsparing
efforts to facilitate the getting together of the necessary
manuscripts to support, and, in some instances, to authenticate
and amplify the remembrances carried by our heroine of the
crucial times of the great internecine war; to Miss Jennie Clay,
who in her editorial pursuits discovered special dates and
records and placed them at my disposal in order that the
repetition of certain commonly accepted errors might be avoided;
and to Mrs. Frederick Myers of Savannah, daughter of Mrs. Philip
Phillips, who sent for my perusal (thereby giving me valuable
sidelights on the times of '61-62), her mother's letters from
Ship Island, together with the latter's journal, kept during her
imprisonment by General Benjamin F. Butler.

        The letters of Judge John A. Campbell, contributed by his
daughter, Mrs. Henrietta Lay, have been so well prized that they
have become part of the structure of her friend's memoirs; to
Mrs. Lay, therefore, also to Mrs. Myra Knox Semmes, of New
Orleans, Mrs. Cora Semmes Ives, of Alexandria, Virginia; Mrs.
Corinne Goodman, of Memphis, Tennessee; Mrs. Mary Glenn Brickell,
of Huntsville, Alabama; Mrs. George Collins Levey, of England,
and Judge John V. Wright, of Washington, D.C., thanks are hereby
given for incidents recalled and for suggestive letters received
since the work on the memoirs began.

ADA STERLING.

NEW YORK CITY,September 15, 1904,

Page xi

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE.

A Bit of Family History - Plantation Scenes in North Carolina and
Alabama - A Caravan of the Early Thirties - "De Year de Stars
Fell" - I Partially "Scalp" My Cousin - The Strange Experience of
an Early Alabama Instructress - Miss Brooks, a Distinguished
Educator - My Uncle Takes My Training in Hand - A First Flight
into the Beautiful World - Charles Kean and Ellen Tree - I Meet a
Famous Belle - Mme. Le Vert Instructs Me in the Dance - An
Intense Love Affair - My Knight Fails Me - A Gallant Lover
Appears - Social Doings at a Primitive Capital - Poet swains in
the Early Forties - A Dance with Willam L. Yancey - My
Premonitions Are Realised and "My Own Comes to Me" - Marriage in
the Morn of Life - The Homecoming of the Bride ... 3

CHAPTER II. WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES.

Journey to the Capital - An Early "Congressional Limited" - A
Stump Orator of Alabama, the "Maker of Senators" - Arrival at the
Capital - The Night Clerk Refuses Us Accommodations at the
National Hotel - Undercurrents of Strife in Society - Mrs. Pierce
- Pennsylvania Avenue in the Fifties - Survey of Washington's
Hostesses - Mme. de Bodisco and the Glacées - Her Second Marriage
at Old St. John's - Foreign Legations - Reminiscence of Octavia
Walton in Washington - Mrs. Riggs Gives a Midnight Supper to
Patti - Heller Appears; Likewise the Grand Elephant Hannibal . .
. 19

CHAPTER III. A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL "MESS."

Our Mess at Historic Brown's Hotel and at the Ebbitt House - Mrs.
Pugh and the Baron Hulseman - The Boy Henry Watterson -
Congressmen Clopton, Curry, Dowdell, L. Q. C. Lamar, and Shorter,
Senator Fitzpatrick, and Their Wives - Mr. Dowdell Goes to Hear
Gottschalk - Circumstances of the Sudden Death of Preston Brooks
-

Page xii

The Stockton Mansion and Its Romances - Our "Mess" Considers the
Prudence of Calling on a Certain Lady - Retribution Overtakes Us
- Master Benny, the Hotel Terror ... 42

CHAPTER IV. THE CABINET CIRCLES OF PRESIDENTS PIERCE AND
BUCHANAN.

Washington in 1856 - Secret Visit of President Pierce - Personal
Recollections of Him - Secretaries Marcy, Cushing and Dobbin -
Incidents of the Latter's Kindness of Heart - Secretary of War
Jefferson Davis - Postmaster-General Brown - Secretary of State
Guthrie - Story of the Conquest of Chevalier Bertinatti ... 58

CHAPTER V. SOLONS OF THE CAPITAL.

Society of Supreme Court Circles - Chief Justice Taney - Judge
Campbell - Professors Henry and Maury - A Visit to the Latter's
Observatory - Thomas Hart Benton - George Wallace Jones: His
Romantic History as Surveyor-General of the Great Northwest. At
the Age of Ninety-one He Recalls a Day When He Meant to Kill
Seward - Meeting with Myra Clarke Gaines - Senator and Mrs.
Crittenden, a "Perfectly Happy Woman" ... 73

CHAPTER VI. FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES.

Aspect of Fashionable Society of the Pierce and Buchanan
Administrations - Perditas of the Period - Low Necks and Lace
Berthas - Kind Offices of American Consuls - Mr. Thomson and Miss
Lane's Toy Terrier - He Reports Upon the Petticoats at Brighton -
Washington Dressmakers as Miracle-Workers - Mrs. Rich, a True
Reconstructionist - Belles and Beaux of the Period - Barton Key -
His Murder -- Mrs. Sickles at Home - Revival of Moustaches -
General Sam Houston; His Strange Attire - A Glimpse of This Hero
in the Senate and in Society ... 86

CHAPTER VII. THE RELAXATIONS OF CONGRESSIONAL FOLK.

Public Recreation - Flights to New York - Jenny Lind - Charlotte
Cushman - Mrs. Gilbert and the Comedian Brougham in "Pocahontas"
- Mr. Thackeray - Dr. Maynard - Blind Tom at the White House -
Marine Band Concerts on the White House Lawn - President

Page xiii

Pierce and the Countryman - President Buchanan and the Indians -
Apothleohola, a Cherokee Patriarch - Dr. Morrow and the
Expedition to Japan - Return of Same - Ruse of the Oriental
Potentate to Prevent Our Securing Germinating Rice - A Plague of
Japanese Handkerchiefs ... 101

CHAPTER VIII. THE BRILLIANT BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION.

Miss Lane Becomes Lady of the White House - Her Influence on
Washington Life - The Coming of Lord and Lady Napier - Their
Hospitality - They Give a Ball to Lords Cavendish and Ashley -
Mrs. Crittenden Puts to Rout a Younger Belle - Lord Napier
Proposes a Toast to the Chevalier Bayard - Washington Citizens
Give a Ball to the Napiers, at Which James Gordon Bennett Is Seen
in the Dance - Some Prominent Citizen Hostesses - Lilly Price,
the Future Duchess of Marlborough - Mr. W. W. Corcoran - His
Lavish Entertainments - Howell Cobb's Appreciation - A Stranger's
Lack of It - I Take the Daughter of a Constituent to See the
Capitol ... 114

CHAPTER IX. A CELEBRATED SOCIAL EVENT.

Mrs. Gwin's Fancy Ball - To the White House for Inspection - Aunt
Ruthy Partington Presents Herself to Mrs. Gwin - Mrs. Pendleton
is Mystified - Senator Gwin and "My Boy Ike" - Lord and Lady
Napier and Others of "Our Furrin Relations" - The Squelching of a
Brave Baltimorean - Senator Seward Gives Welcome to the Stranger
from Beanville - Mr. Shillaber Offers "to Immortalise" Me ...
126
CHAPTER X. EXODUS OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY FROM THE FEDERAL CITY.

Gayety Begins to Wane in the Capital - A Wedding in Old St.
John's - Lord Lyons Replaces the Napiers - Anson Burlingame
Rescues Me from a Dilemma - Political Climax - Scenes in the
Senate - Admiral Semmes Declares His Intentions - Mr. Ruffin's
Menacing Arsenal - Ex-President Tyler's Grief - We Hear News from
Morris Island - Senators Clay, Davis, Fitzpatrick, Mallory, and 
Yulee Withdraw from the Senate - Visits of Representatives
Pendleton and Vallandigham, and Senator Pugh, of Ohio - Joseph
Holt Writes Deploring the Possible Loss to Our Country of Senator
Clay's "Genius and Patriotism" - "A Plain New Hampshire Minister"
Writes of the - Times - We Leave the Federal City - Mrs. Philip
Phillips

Page xiv

Describes It a Few Weeks Later - Blair's Alarm at Loss of Lee,
Magruder, and Other "Good Officers" ... 138

CHAPTER XI. WAR IS PROCLAIMED.

I Go with Senator Clay to Minnesota - "Let's Mob the Fire-eater"
- We See Our First Federal Soldiers at Cairo - Echoes of Sumter -
Once More in the Blossomy South - In Picturesque Huntsville - We
Hear from Montgomery of President Davis's Unceasing Industry - A 
Survey of Huntsville - The "Plebs" and Aristocrats Compete for
the Naming of the Town, and the Descendants of a Poet Give Way
before Its Discoverer - A Nursing Mother of Alabama's Great Men -
The Fascinations of the Fair Vixens of the Early Nineteenth
Century - A Baptism at the Big Spring - The Make-up of Our Army
in '61 - We Hear from a Hero at Harper's Ferry - Letters from
Washington - We Prepare to Go to Richmond ... 153

CHAPTER XII. RICHMOND AS A NATIONAL CAPITAL.

We Arrive in Richmond, Where We Meet Many Old Friends - An
Evening at the Mallorys' - We Establish Our Mess at Mrs. Du Val's
- Some of Our Heroes - We Feast on Oysters and Terrapin -
Greenbacks Canvas-backs, and Drawbacks - We Hear of the Fall of
Nashville, and General Buell's Designs Upon Huntsville - Some of
Richmond's Hostesses - Mrs. Stannard entertains; and the Famous
Private Theatrical Performance of "The Rivals" - Mrs. Burton
Harrison Recalls Her Triumph as Lydia Languish - The Caste - Mrs.
Drew Acts as "Coach" - Mrs. Ives, Our Hostess, Is Saved from
Stage Fright by a Bonnet Which Has Run the Blockade ... 168

CHAPTER XIII. GLIMPSES OF OUR BELEAGUERED SOUTH LAND.

Richmond in '62 - John A. Campbell Gives an Opinion on
Confederate Money - An Exodus from the Capital - Mrs. Roger A.
Pryor Rebukes a Contemptuous Lady - Our Mail a Pandora's Box -
News of New Orleans - William L. Yancey Returns from a Fruitless
Trip to England - And Mr. Lamar from Russia - An Astronomer Turns
Martinet - A Careful Search Is Made for General Pope Walker - Our
Pastor's Prayers Curtailed - The Federals Are Worried by General
Roddy - Miss Mitchell "Confiscates" Some of My Property - "Hey!
Git off 'Ginie

Page xv

Clay's Mare!" - General Logan, a Case of Mistaken Identity - My
Refugee Days Begin - A Glimpse of North Carolinian Hospitality -
And of the Battle of Seven Pines - The Seed-corn of Our Race Is
Taken - Return to Huntsville ... 178

CHAPTER XIV. REFUGEE DAYS IN GEORGIA.

Detained in Macon - General Tracy Tells of Conditions at
Vicksburg - Senator Clay Writes of Grave Conditions in Richmond -
A War-time Dinner with President Davis - My Sister and I Turn
Seamstresses - Looking for Big Battles - Travel in '63 - Cliff
and Sid Lanier Write from "Tented Field" - News from "Homosassa"
 ... 193

CHAPTER XV. CLEMENT C. CLAY, JR., DEPARTS FOR CANADA.

A Memory of Dahlgren's Raid - Mr. Clay Accepts a Mission to
Canada - Mr. Lamar's Ideas on National Friendships - My Husband
Takes His Departure - Troubled Petersburg and Still More Troubled
Richmond - Hospital Experiences - My Sister Accuses Me of
"Running from Yankees," and Overtakes Me - We Nurse a Sick
Soldier - I Get a Passport, but Fail to Use It - A Distinguished
Watermelon Man ... 203

CHAPTER XVI. THE SOUTH'S DEPARTED GLORIES.

A Typical Plantation - Senator Hammond's Little Republic on Beech
Island - Its General Influence - The Mill and the Miller - My
Cousin, Mrs. Paul Hammond, Writes a Description of "Redcliffe" - 
The Hammond Negro as I Have Found Him - She Wins Them by
Subterfuge - Senator Clay Dances a Highland Fling and Startles
Some Gentle Methodists - St. Catharine's; a Solemn Service There
- A Sight for Abolitionists - Choristers of the Field - A
Comparison ... 211

CHAPTER XVII. CONDITIONS IN '63 AND '64.

Cost of Clothing - Scarcity of Necessities - Memphis in Yankee
Hands - Revival of Spinning and Weaving - A Salt Famine - Senator
Hammond's Sagacity - Potato Coffee and Peanut Chocolate - Mrs.
Redd Weaves Me a Notable Dress - London Takes Note of Richmond
Fashions - I Send a List of "Desirables" to Mr. Clay in Canada -
Novelties for the Toilette and Writing-Table - Difficulties of
Getting News - The President Writes Me of My Absent One, and
Secretary Mallory Rejoices at His

Page xvi

Conduct of Canadian Interest - Postal Deficiencies - Adventures
of an Editor - Price of Candles Rises - Telegrams Become Costly
and My Sister Protests - "Redcliffe" Mourns Her Master - Gloom
and Apprehension at News of Sherman's March - We Are Visited by
Two of Wheeler's Brigade - They Give Us Warning and the Family
Silver Is Solemnly Sunk in the Ground - I Hear a Story of Sherman
and Wheeler ... 222

CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEATH OF MR. LINCOLN.

Conflicting Advice Reaches Me from the Capital - Also Sad News
from Huntsville - Our Brother Tells of Political Opposition to
the President - Soldiers and Citizens Desire the Presence of
General Johnston in the Tennessee - Mr. Clay Communicates with Me
by "Personals" - I Beg to Be Sent to Canada, but am Met by
Opposition - The President Bids Me Take Refuge in the Capital -
But Another Urges Me to Leave the Line of Sherman's Army - I
Place Myself Under General Howell Cobb's Protection and Go to
Macon - My Husband Runs the Blockade, but Is Shipwrecked Off Fort
Moultrie - After Some Adventures He Reaches Macon - At the Home
of General Toombs - We Hear News from Richmond - Mr. Clay Makes
for the Capital and Reaches It - He Returns to Georgia - The
Death of Mr Lincoln: "The Worst Blow Yet Struck at the South!" .
. . 235

CHAPTER XIX. C. C. CLAY, JR., SURRENDERS TO GENERAL WILSON.

We Go to Lagrange - A Nest of "Rebels" - We Hear of President
Johnson's Proclamation Concerning Mr. Clay - My Husband Resolves
to Surrender - He Telegraphs to General Wilson - We Proceed to
Atlanta - Courtesy of Colonel Eggleston - He Gives Us a Guard -
On to Macon - "Madam, Your Chief Is Taken" - Arrival at Macon -
General Wilson Relieves Us of Our Guard - The Generosity of Women
Friends - We Drive to Station - And See a Pathetic Cortege -
"Say, Johnny Reb, We've Got Your President!" ... 246

CHAPTER XX. PRISONERS OF THE UNITED STATES.

We Have an All-Night Ride to Augusta - Our Party of Prisoners
Augments - I am Made Responsible for My Husband's Appearance and
We Go Visiting - We Return to Captivity - I Board the Boat
Somewhat Hastily - And Unexpectedly Find Myself in the Arms of
General Wheeler - He Gives Me a Lesson in Forbearance

Page xvii

- A Dismal Voyage - We Reach Savannah and Are Transferred to the
Clyde - Extracts from My Diary - Mr. Davis's Stoicism - We Anchor
Off Fortress Monroe - Mr. Clay Is Invited "to Take a Ride in a
Tug" - Pathetic Separation of the Davis Family - Little Jeff
Becomes Our Champion - We See a Gay Shallop Approaching - Two
Ladies Appear and Search Us in the Name of the United States
Government - A Serio-comic Encounter - And Still Another in Which
"Mrs. Clay Lost Her Temper and Counselled Resistance!" - We
Undertake to Deceive Lieutenant Hudson, but "Laugh on the Other
Side" of Our Faces! ... 258

CHAPTER XXI. RETURN FROM FORTRESS MONROE.

On Board the Clyde - I Find a Guard at My Door - An Unknown Hands
Me the Daily Papers - The News - I Write to Thirteen
Distinguished Men - To Joseph Holt - A Friendly Soldier Posts My
Letters - We Arrive in Savannah and Make Our Way to the Pulaski
House - Savannah's Generous People - Soldiers, Black and White -
The Chaining of Mr. Davis - I Write to General Miles - Little
Jeff Makes a Friend - "Bully for Jeff" - "Mordecai and Haman" . .
. 269

CHAPTER XXII. RECONSTRUCTION DAYS BEGIN.

I Arrive in Macon After Various Discomforts - My Baggage Is
"Examined" by General Baker - A Curious Oversight of the
Government's Agents - I Am Rescued from a Dilemma by John A.
Wyeth, Knight-Errant - I Recover My Letters from the War
Department, but with Difficulty - A Stricken Patriarch and a
Spartan Mother - Huntsville Metamorphosed - "Reconstruction"
Signs Appear - A Slave Emulates His New Masters - He, too, in
Time, Is Metamorphosed - The Freedman's Bureau versus "Ole
Missus's" - Southern Ladies and Camomile Flowers ... 278

CHAPTER XXIII. NEWS FROM FORTRESS MONROE.

We Hear Discouraging News of the Nation's Prisoners -
Denunciation of Joseph Holt and His Witnesses by the Reverend
Stuart Robinson - He Exposes the "Infamous Perjuries of the
Bureau of Military Justice" - Their Confession and Flight from
the Country - Charles O'Conor Writes Me; Also Ben Wood, Who
Offers to Advance the Cost of Mr. Clay's Defense; Also Judge
Black Writes Cheeringly - I Hear Through R. J. Haldeman of the
Friendliness of Thaddeus Stevens; and from General

Page xviii

Miles; Also, in Time, from Mr. Clay - His Letter Prophesies
Future Racial Conditions, and Advises Me How to Escape the Evils
to Come - Freed from Espionage, He Describes the "Comforts" of
Life in Fortress Monroe - One of the Tortures of the Inquisition
Revived ... 286

CHAPTER XXIV. ONCE MORE IN THE FEDERAL CAPITAL.

Communications Are Reopened with Washington - Duff Green Makes
Application to the President on My Behalf - I Hear from Mrs.
Davis of Her Misfortunes - I Borrow $100 and Start for the 
Capital - Scenes on Cars and Boat - I Meet Many Sympathisers -
And Arrive at Last at Cincinnati - Yankee Ideas and Yankee
Notions - Mrs. Pugh Visits Me - Also Senator and Mrs. Pendleton,
Who Take Me Home - Once More en Route for Washington - Within Its
Precincts ... 300

CHAPTER XXV. SECRETARY STANTON DENIES RESPONSIBILITY.

Arrival at Willard's - Expecting Enemies, I Find Many Old Friends
- General Ihrie, of Grant's Staff, Calls On Me - Also a Nameless
Lady - Judge Hughes and Judge Black Counsel Me - I Visit the
White House to Plead with Mr. Johnson - Mrs. Douglas Is My
Companion - Mr. Johnson "Lives up to His Reputation" and Tells Me
to See Mr. Stanton - Which I Do - The Secretary's Manner - "I am
Not Your Husband's Judge, Neither am I His Accuser" - I Call Upon
General Grant, Who Writes to President Johnson on Behalf of Mr.
Clay ... 307

CHAPTER XXVI. MR. HOLT REPORTS UPON THE CASE OF C. C. CLAY, JR.

I Send General Grant's Letter to Mr. Johnson - And Beg to Be
Allowed to Visit Fortress Monroe - I Begin to Feel the Strength
of a Concealed Enemy - I Refuse to Go to Mr. Stanton, and Have a
First Pass-at-Arms with the President - Mr. Holt Presents His
"Report on the Case of C. C. Clay, Jr." - His Several Opinions of
Mr. Clay in Parallel - Denied an Examination of the Infamous
Document by the War Department, the President's "Official Copy"
Is Placed at My Disposal - Some of Its Remarkable Features - The
President Promises Me He Will Not Deliver My Husband and Mr.
Davis up to the Military Court, and Agrees to Issue on His Own
Responsibility a Permit to Visit Fortress Monroe - I Go to New
York and Hobnob with "An Old Abolitionist" ... 317

Page xix

CHAPTER XXVII. PRESIDENT JOHNSON INTERPOSES.

President Johnson Issues a Permit on His Own Responsibility - I
Leave Washington for Fortress Monroe - And Meet with Kindness on
the Way - Dr. Craven Admonishes Me to Look for No Favours from
His Successor - I Meet General Miles in His Headquarters, Which
Have Been Furnished by General Butler - I Experience a Weary
Delay - Am Refused Explanation or Use of Telegraph Wires - Dr.
Vogell Intercedes - At Nightfall I Am Taken to My Husband's Cell
- I Return to the Capital - Death of Mrs. C. C. Clay, Sr. - I
Report to the President the Incidents of My Visit to the Fortress
- He Assures Me They Shall Not Be Repeated - He Issues Another
Permit and Promises to Read a Letter in His Cabinet ... 331

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PRISON.

Again at the Fortress - My Husband's Cell and Room in Carroll
Hall - Some of the Comforts of Fortress Monroe and of Mr. Clay's
Position - I am Told of Some of His Experiences - A Statement of
Others - Mr. Davis at the Fortress - An Exchange of Notes - My
Husband Turns Caretaker - With a Soft Answer He Turns Away a
Soldier's Wrath - I Have a Curious Adventure in Which I Meet a
Lamb in Wolf's Clothing ... 345

CHAPTER XXIX. PRESIDENT JOHNSON HEARS WHAT "THE PEOPLE SAY."

President Johnson Is Kind but Vacillating - Straws That Show a
Veering of the Wind - Colonel Rhett Talks with Mr. Bennett, and
the Herald Grows Curious as to the Mysteriously Detained
Prisoners - Thaddeus Stevens Writes to Mr. Johnson on Behalf of
Mr. Clay - I Have a Nicodemus-like Visitor - Mr. Wilson, Vice-
President of the United States, Writes to the President on Mr.
Clay's Behalf - Signs of Political Disquiet - Parties and
Partisans - I Receive Some Political Advice and Determine to Act
Upon It - I Have a rencontre in the Corridors of the White House
- And Tell Mr. Johnson What "the People Say" ... 354

CHAPTER XXX. THE GOVERNMENT YIELDS ITS PRISONER.

Old Friends and New - Mme. Le Vert and Other Famous Personages
Return to the Capital - General Lee is Lionised

Page xx

I Secure the Liberty of the Fort for My Husband, and Indulge in a
Little Recreation - I Visit the Studio of Vinnie Reames and the
Confederate Fair at Baltimore - I Return to Washington and Resume
My Pleadings with the President - Mr. Mallory, Admiral Semmes,
and Alexander Stephens Are Released - Mr. Mallorv and Judge Black
Counsel Me to Take Out the Writ of Habeas Corpus - The Release
Papers Are Promised - I Visit the Executive Mansion to Claim Them
and at Last Receive Them - "You Are Released!" - Congratulations
Are Offered - The Context of Some of These - "God Has Decreed
That No Lie Shall Live Forever" - We Turn Our Faces Once More to
the Purple Mountains of Alabama ... 367

Page xxi

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
MRS. CLAY, of Alabama ... Frontispiece
MRS. BENJAMIN FITZPATRICK, of Alabama ... 26
ADELINA PATTI, aged sixteen ... 38
MRS. ROGER A. PRYOR, of Virginia ... 44
MRS. GEORGE E. PUGH (THÉRÈSE CHALFANT), of Ohio. "The most
beautiful woman in Washington" ... 46
FRANKLIN PIERCE, President of the United States,1853-'57 ... 60
MRS. WILLIAM L. MARCY, of New York ... 62
MRS. J. J. CRITTENDEN, of Kentucky ... 84
MRS. CHESTNUT, of South Carolina ... 94
JENNY LIND ... 102
JAMES BUCHANAN, President of the United States, 1857-'61 ...
108
Miss HARRIET LANE, mistress of the White House, 1857-'61 ... 114
LADY NAPIER AND HER SONS ... 116
MRS. JEFFERSON DAVIS, of Mississippi ... 134
LORD LYONS, British Ambassador to the United States ... 140
CLEMENT C. CLAY, JR., United States Senator, 1853-'61 ... 148
L. Q. C. LAMAR, 1862 ... 164
MRS. PHILIP PHILLIPS, of Washington, D. C ... 166
SENATOR JAMES H. HAMMOND, of South Carolina ... 212

Page xxii

GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER, of Alabama ... 232
DR. HENRY C. VOGELL, Fortress Monroe, 1866 ... 334
DR. GEORGE COOPER, Fortress Monroe, 1866 ... 350
MRS. A. S. PARKER, of Washington, D. C ... 368
JEFFERSON DAVIS and CLEMENT C. CLAY, JR. (after release from
Fortress Monroe) ... 374

Page 3

A BELLE OF THE FIFTIES

CHAPTER I
CHILDHOOD, GIRLHOOD, MARRIAGE

        MY infant days were spent in North Carolina among the
kinsmen of my mother. I do not remember her, save that she was
young and fair, being but twenty when she died. She was the
twenty-fifth child of the family united under her father's roof,
which remarkable circumstance may be explained as follows:

        My grandfather, General William Arrington, who won his
title in the Revolutionary War, having been left a widower with
twelve children, wearying of his solitude, mounted his horse and
rode over to visit the comely widow Battle, whose children also
numbered twelve. The two plantations lay near together in the old
"Tar Heel" State. My gallant ancestor was a successful wooer, and
Mrs. Battle, née Williams, soon became Mrs. Arrington. Thus it
happened that the little Anne - my mother - the one daughter of
this union, entered the world and simultaneously into the
affections of one dozen half brothers and sisters Arrington, and
as many of the Battle blood. This was a fortunate prevision for
me, for, though orphaned at the outset of my earthly pilgrimage -
I was but three years old when my girl-mother passed away - I
found myself by no means alone, though my dear father, Dr. Peyton
Randolph Tunstall, grief-stricken and sorrowful, left my native
State at the death

Page 4

of his wife, and I was a half-grown girl ere we met again and
learned to know each other.

        My recollections of those early days are necessarily few;
yet, were I a painter, I might limn one awful figure that lingers
in my memory. She was a mulatto, to whose care for some time I
was nightly confided. This crafty maid, Pleasant by name, though
'twas a misnomer, anxious to join in the diversions of the other
domestics among the outlying cabins on the plantation, would no
sooner tuck me into bed than she would begin to unfold to me
bloodcurdling stories of "sperrits an' ghoses," and of "old blue
eyes an' bloody bones" who would be sure to come out of the plum
orchard and carry me to the graveyard if I did not go quickly to
sleep. Fortunately, old Major Drake, of whose family I was then a
member, chanced one evening to overhear this soothing lullaby,
and put an end to her stories ere serious harm had been done; yet
so wonderful is the retentive power of the human mind that though
seventy and more momentous years have passed since I, a little
fearsome child, huddled under the coverings breathless in my
dread of the "bogie man," I still recall my heartless, or perhaps
my thoughtless, nurse vividly.

        At the age of six I was carried to Tuscaloosa, then the
capital of the young State of Alabama, where I was placed in the
care of my aunt, whose husband, Henry W. Collier, then a young
lawyer, afterward became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of
his State, and its Governor. That first journey stretches out in
my memory as an interminable pilgrimage. Mr. Fort, of
Mississippi, his wife, my mother's sister, and their two
children, Mary and Martha, accompanied by a large following of
Negroes, being en route for their plantation in Mississippi
territory, I was given into their care for delivery to my kin in 
Tuscaloosa. No palace-car of later days has ever eclipsed the
wonders of the cavalcade our company

Page 5

made as we passed along through towns and villages and the
occasional Indian settlements that here and there dotted the
untilled lands of those early nineteenth-century days!

        My uncle drove in his gig at the head of the procession,
while my aunt and the children made the journey in a big pudding-
shaped carriage in charge of a trusty driver, beside whom my
aunt's maid sat. The carriage was built with windows at the
sides, and adjustable steps, which were let down when we halted
and secured in place by our Negro attendants. These followed
behind the vehicles and were at hand to serve us when need arose.

        Our cortege included several "Dearborns," similar in
shape to the ambulances of the present, in which the old and
ailing Negroes were carried, and numerous wagons containing our
household goods and provisions followed behind. At night, tents
were pitched, in which my aunt and the children slept, unless by
chance a storm arose, when the shelter of some hostelry or
farmhouse was sought. The preparations for camping were
altogether exciting, the erection of tents, the kindling of
fires, the unharnessing and watering and feeding of the stock,
and the eager industry of the cooks and their assistants in the
midst of the array of shining utensils all combining to stamp the
scene upon the mind of an impressionable child.

        However, in the course of time the slow rolling of our
carriage became monotonous to the restive children of the
caravan, and the novelty of standing at the windows and gazing
over the lifting hills soon wore off. My aunt felt the fatigue
less, we thought, for she was a famous soliloquist, and often
talked to herself as we rode, sometimes laughing aloud at her own
good company. I think we children regarded her as deranged, if
harmless, until one day she proved her sanity to our complete

Page 6

satisfaction. In a moment of insupportable tedium we conceived
the idea of dropping the little tin cups, with which each was
provided, in order to see if the wheels would run over them. One
after another the vessels were lowered, and each, to our intense
delight, was smashed flat as the proverbial pancake. When my aunt
discovered our mischief, being a gentle soul, she merely
reprimanded us, and at the next settlement purchased others; but
when these and yet others followed the fate of the first, she
became less indulgent. Switches were cut from the forest trees,
three pairs of pink palms tingled with the punishment then and
there administered, and the remembrance thereof restrained my
cousins and my own destructiveness for the remainder of the
journey.

        Arrived at Tuscaloosa, I spent four years in the shelter
of the motherly affection of my aunt, Mrs. Collier, when, her
health failing, I was placed in the home of my mother's brother,
Alfred Battle, a wealthy planter, residing a day's journey from
the little capital. My recollections of that early Alabama life
centre themselves about a great white house set in widening
grounds, in the midst of which was a wondrous sloe-tree, white
with blooms. Many times I and my cousins played under it by
moonlight, watching the shadows of the branches as they trembled
on the white-sanded earth below, wondering at them, and not sure
whether they were fairies' or angels' or witches' shapes. Around
that tree, too, we played "Chickamy, Chickamy, Craney Crow," and,
at the climax, "What o'clock, Old Witch?" would scamper wildly to
elude the pursuit of the imaginary old witch. Here, a healthy and
happy child, I pursued my studies. My uncle's wife, a woman of
marked domestic tastes, taught me to sew and knit and to make a
buttonhole, and I made progress in books under the guidance of a
visiting teacher; but, my task ended, I flew to the meadows and
orchards and to

Page 7

the full-flowering clover-field, or to the plantation nursery to
see the old mammies feed the babies with "clabber," with bread
well crumbed in it, or cush, made of bread soaked in gravy and
softly mashed.

        It was during this bucolic period of my life that the
stars fell. I did not witness these celestial phenomena being
sound asleep as a child should be; but, for years afterward, time
was marked from that great event. I remember perfectly my aunt's
description of it. People ran from their houses weeping and
falling on their knees, praying for mercy and forgiveness.
Everywhere the terrifying belief spread that the Day of Judgment
was at hand; and nights were made vocal with the exhortations of
the black preachers who now became numerous upon the plantation.
To very recent days old Negroes have dated their calendar from
"de year when de stars fell."

        Ah, me! how long ago that time of childhood's terrors and
delights in that young open country! Of all my early playmates,
but one, my cousin William Battle remains, a twin relic of
antiquity! From the first we were cronies; yet we had a memorable
disagreement upon one occasion which caused a slight breach
between us. We were both intensely fond of my aunt's piano, but
my cousin was compelled to satisfy his affection for music in
secret; for Uncle Battle, who heartily encouraged my efforts, was
positive in his disapproval of those of my cousin. He thought
piano-playing in a man to be little short of a crime, and was
quite resolved his son should not be guilty of it. My cousin and
I, therefore, connived to arrange our practice in such a way as
would allow him to finish his practice at the instrument before
my uncle's return from the day's duties.

        Upon the fatal occasion of our disagreement, however, I
refused, upon my cousin's appearance, to yield my seat,
whereupon, losing his temper, he gave me a tap on the cheek. In a
moment the struggle was on! Our

Page 8

tussle was at its height, I on top and pummeling with all my
might, when, the door opening suddenly, a startled cousin
appeared.

        "La!" she exclaimed in terror, "Cousin Will and Virginia
are fighting!"

        "No, we're not!" I replied stoutly. "We're just playing;"
and I retired with tufts of reddish hair in both hands, but
leaving redder spots on the face of my cousinly antagonist. He,
thoroughly satisfied to be released, no longer desired to play
the piano, nor with me. His head has long been innocent of hair,
an hereditary development, but he has always asserted that his
baldness is attributable to "My cousin, Mrs. Clay, who, in our
youthful gambols, scalped me."

        During my twelfth year, my uncle removed to Tuscaloosa,
where my real school days began. It was the good fortune of the
young State at that time to have in the neighbourhood of its
capital many excellent teachers, among whom was my instructress
at the school in Tuscaloosa to which I now was sent. I cannot
refrain from telling a strange incident in her altogether 
remarkable life. From the beginning it was full of unusual
vicissitudes. By birth an English gentlewoman, her mother had
died while she was yet an infant. In the care of a young aunt,
the child was sent to America to be brought up by family
connections residing here. On the long sailing voyage the infant
sickened and, to all appearances, died. The ship was in midocean,
and the young guardian, blaming her own inexperience, wept
bitterly as preparations went on for the burial. At last, all
else being ready, the captain himself came forward to sew the
little body in the sack, which when weighted would sink the
hapless baby into the sea. He bent over the little form,
arranging it, when by some strange fortune a bottle of whisky,
which he carried in his pocket, was spilled and the contents
began to flow upon the child's face. Before an

Page 9

exclamation could be made the little one opened its eyes and gave
so many evidences of life that restoratives were applied
promptly. The infant recovered and grew to womanhood. She became,
when widowed, the mistress of a school in our little capital, and
her descendants, in many instances, have risen to places of
distinction in public life.

        An instructress of that period to whom the women of early
Alabama owed much was Maria Brewster Brooks, who as Mrs.
Stafford, the wife of Professor Samuel M. Stafford, became
celebrated, and fills a page of conspicuous value in the
educational history of the State. She was born on the banks of
the Merrimac and came to Tuscaloosa in her freshest womanhood.
First her pupil and afterward her friend, our mutual affection,
begun in the early thirties, continued until her demise in the
eighties. Many of her wards became in after years notable figures
in the social life of the national capital, among them Mrs.
Hilary Herbert.

        In Tuscaloosa there resided, besides my Aunt Collier, few
of my father's and mother's kin, and by a natural affinity I fell
under the guardianship of my father's brother, Thomas B.
Tunstall, Secretary of State of Alabama. He was a bachelor; but
all that I lacked in my separation from my father my uncle
supplied, feeding the finer sides of my nature, and inspiring in
me a love of things literary even at an age when I had scarce
handled a book. My uncle's influence began with my earliest days
in Alabama. My aunt, Mrs. Collier, was delicate, Mrs. Battle
domestic; Uncle Battle was a famous business man; and Uncle
Collier was immersed in law and increasing political interests;
but my memory crowds with pictures of my Uncle Tom, walking
slowly up and down, playing his violin, and interspersing his
numbers with some wise counsel to the child beside him. He taught
me orally of poetry, and music, of letters

Page 10

and philosophy, and of the great world's great interests. He
early instilled in me a pride of family, while reading to me
Scott's fine tribute to Brian Tunstall, "the stainless knight,"
or, as he rehearsed stories of Sir Cuthbert Tunstall, Knight of
the Garter, and Bishop of London in the time of gentle Queen
Anne; and it was in good uncle Tom's and my father's company that
the fascinations of the drama were first revealed to me.

        While I was yet a school-girl, and so green that, had I
not been protected by these two loving guardians, I would have
been eaten up by the cows on the Mobile meadows, I was taken to
see "The Gamester," in which Charles Kean and Ellen Tree were
playing. It was a remarkable and ever-remembered experience. As
the play proceeded, I became so absorbed in the story, so real
and so thrillingly portrayed, that from silent weeping I took to
sniffling and from sniffling to ill-repressed sobbing. I leaned
forward in my seat tensely, keeping my eyes upon the stage, and
equally oblivious of my father and uncle and the strangers who
were gazing at me on every side. Now and then, as I sopped the
briny outflow of my grief, realising in some mechanical manner
that my handkerchief was wet, I would take it by two corners and
wave it back and forth in an effort to dry it; but all the while
the tears gushed from my eyes in rivulets. My guardians saw
little of the play that night, for the amusement I afforded these
experienced theatre-goers altogether exceeded in interest the
mimic tragedy that so enthralled me.

        When the curtain fell upon the death-scene I was
exhausted; but another and counteracting experience awaited me,
for the after-piece was "Robert Macaire," and now, heartily as I
had wept before, I became convulsed with laughter as I saw the
deft pickpocket (impersonated by Crisp, the comedian), courtly as
a king, bowing in the dance, while removing from the unsuspecting
ladies and gentlemen about him their brooches and

Page 11

jewels! My absorption in the performance was so great that I
scarce heard the admonitions of my father and uncle, who begged
me, in whispers, to control myself. Nor did I realise there was
another person in the house but the performers on the stage and
myself.

        Years afterward, while travelling with my husband he
recognised in a fellow traveller a former friend from southern
Alabama, a Mr. Montague, and brought him to me to present him. To
my chagrin, he had scarcely taken my hand when he burst into
immoderate and inexplicable laughter.

        "Never," said he to Mr. Clay, "shall I forget the time
when I first saw your wife! We went to see Tree, but, sir, not
half the house knew what was going on the stage for watching the
little girl in the auditorium! Never till then had I imagined the
full power of the drama! Her delight, her tears and laughter, I
am sure were remembered by the Mobilians long after the 'stars'
acting was forgotten."

        That visit to Mobile was my first flight into the
beautiful world that lay beyond the horizon of my school life. In
the enjoyments devised for me by my father in those few charmed
days, I saw, if not clearly, at least prophetically, what of
beauty and joy life might hold for me. Upon our arrival in the
lovely little Bay city, my father, learning of a ball for which
preparations were on foot, determined I should attend it. Guided
perhaps in his choice of colour by the tints of health that lay
in his little daughter's cheeks, he selected for me a gown of
peach-blossom silk, which all my life I have remembered as the
most beautiful of dresses, and one which transformed me
heretofore confined to brown holland gowns by my prudent aunt,
Mrs. Battle, as truly as Cinderella was changed into a princess.

        Upon the evening of that never-to-be-forgotten Boat Club
Ball, blushing and happy, eager, with delightful

Page 12

anticipations, yet timorous, too, for my guardians, the Battles,
had disapproved of dancing and had rigorously excluded this and
other worldly pleasures from their ward's accomplishments, I was
conducted by my father to the ball. In my heart lay the fear that
I would be, after all, a mere looker-on, or appear awkward if I
should venture to dance as did the others; but neither of these
misgivings proved to have been well founded.

        My father led me at once to Mme. Le Vert, then the
reigning queen of every gathering at which she appeared, and in
her safe hands every fear vanished. I had heard my elders speak
frequently of her beauty, and somehow had imagined her tall. She
was less so than I had pictured, but so winning and cordial to
me, a timid child, that I at once capitulated before the charm
she cast over everyone who came into conversation with her. I
thought her face the sweetest I had ever seen. She had a grace
and frankness which made everyone with whom she talked feel that
he or she alone commanded her attention. I do not recall her
making a single bon mot, but she was vivacious and smiling. Her
charm, it seemed to me, lay in her lovely manners and person and
her permeating intellectuality.

        I remember Mme. Le Vert's appearance on that occasion
distinctly, though to describe it now seems garish. To see her
then was bewildering, and all her colour was harmony. She wore a
gown of golden satin, and on her hair a wreath of coral flowers,
which her morocco shoes matched in hue. In the dance she moved
like a bird on the wing. I can see her now in her shining robe,
as she swayed and glided, holding the shimmering gown aside as
she floated through the "ladies' chain." The first dance of my
life was a quadrille, viz-à-vis with this renowned beauty, who
took me under her protection and encouraged me from time to time.

        "Don't be afraid, my dear," she would sweetly say,

Page 13

"Do just as I do," and I glided after my wonderful instructress
like one enchanted, with never a mishap.

        Mme. Le Vert, who in years to come became internationally
celebrated, was a kinswoman of Clement Claiborne Clay, and in
after times, when I became his wife, I often met her, but
throughout my long life I have remembered that first meeting in
Mobile, and her charm and grace have remained a prized picture in
my memory. It was of this exquisite belle that Washington Irving
remarked: "But one such woman is born in the course of an
empire."

        It was to my Uncle Tom that I owed the one love sorrow of
my life. It was an affair of the greatest intensity while it
endured, and was attended by the utmost anguish for some twelve
or fourteen hours. During that space of time I endured all the
hopes and fears, the yearnings and despairs to which the human
heart is victim.

        I was nearing the age of fifteen when my uncle one
evening bade me put on my prettiest frock and accompany him to
the home of a friend, where a dance was to be given. I was
dressed with all the alacrity my old mammy was capable of
summoning, and was soon ensconced in the carriage and on my way
to the hospitable scene. En route we stopped at the hotel, where
my uncle alighted, reappearing in a moment with a very handsome
young man, who entered the carriage with him and drove with us to
the house, where he, too, was to be a guest.

        Never had my eyes beheld so pleasing a masculine wonder!
He was the personification of manly beauty! His head was shapely
as Tasso's (in after life I often heard the comparison made), and
in his eyes there burned a romantic fire that enslaved me from
the moment their gaze rested upon me. At their warmth all the
ardour, all the ideals upon which a romantic heart had fed rose
in recognition of their realisation in him. During the evening he
paid me some pretty compliments, remarking

Page 14

upon my hazel eyes and the gleam of gold in my hair, and he
touched my curls admiringly, as if they were revered by him.

        My head swam! Lohengrin never dazzled Elsa more
completely than did this knight of the poet's head charm the
maiden that was I! We danced together frequently throughout the
evening, and my hero rendered me every attention a kind man may
offer to the little daughter of a valued friend. When at last we
stepped into the carriage and turned homeward, the whole world
was changed for me.

        My first apprehension of approaching sorrow came as we
neared the hotel. To my surprise, the knight was willing, nay,
desired to be set down there. A dark suspicion crept into my mind
that perhaps, after all, my hero might be less gallant than I had
supposed, else why did he not seek this opportunity of riding
home with me? If this wonderful emotion that possessed me also
had actuated him - and how could I doubt it after his devotion
throughout the evening? - how could he bear to part from me in
this way without a single word or look of tenderness?

        As the door closed behind him I leaned back in the
darkest corner of the carriage and thought hard, though not
hardly of him. After a little my uncle roused me by saying, "Did
my little daughter enjoy this evening?"

        I responded enthusiastically.

        "And was I not kind to provide you with such a gallant
cavalier? Isn't Colonel Jere Clemens a handsome man?"

        Ah, was he not? My full heart sang out his praises with
an unmistakable note. My uncle listened sympathetically. Then he
continued, "Yes, he's a fine fellow! A fine fellow, Virginia, and
he has a nice little wife and baby!"

        No thunderbolt ever fell more crushingly upon the
unsuspecting than did these awful words from the lips of my
uncle! I know not how I reached my room, but

Page 15

once there I wept passionately throughout the night and much of
the following morning. Within my own heart I accused my erstwhile
hero of the rankest perfidy; of villainy of every imaginable
quality; and in this recoil of injured pride perished my first
love dream, vanished the heroic wrappings of my quondam knight!

        Having finished the curriculum of the institute presided
over by Miss Brooks, I was sent to the "Female Academy" at
Nashville, Tennessee, to perfect my studies in music and
literature, whence I returned to Tuscaloosa all but betrothed to
Alexander Keith McClung, already a famous duellist. I met him
during a visit to my Uncle Fort's home, in Columbus, Mississippi,
and the Colonel's devotion to me for many months was the talk of
two States. He was the gallantest lover that ever knelt at a
lady's feet! Many a winsome girl admired him, and my sweet
cousin; Martha Fort, was wont to say she would "rather marry
Colonel McClung than any man alive"; but I - I loved him madly
while with him, but feared him when away from him; for he was a
man of fitful, uncertain moods and given to periods of the
deepest melancholy. At such times he would mount his horse "Rob
Roy," wild and untamable as himself, and dash to the cemetery,
where he would throw himself down on a convenient grave and stare
like a madman into the sky for hours. A man of reckless bravery,
in after years he was the first to mount the ramparts of Monterey
shouting victory. As he ran carrying his country's flag in his
right hand, a shot whizzing by took off two fingers of his left.

        I was thrown much in the company of Colonel McClung while
at my uncle's home, but resisted his pleading for a binding
engagement, telling him with a strange courage and frankness, ere
I left Columbus, my reason for this persistent indecision. Before
leaving for the academy at Nashville, I had met, at my Uncle
Collier's, in Tuscaloosa, the young legislator, Clement C. Clay,
Jr., and had

Page 16

then had a premonition that if we should meet when I returned
from school I would marry him. At that time I was an unformed
girl, and he, Mr. Clay, was devoted to a young lady of the
capital; but this, as I knew, was a matter of the past. I would
surely meet him again at Uncle Collier's (I told Mr. McClung),
and, if the attraction continued, I felt sure I would marry him.
If not, I would marry him, Colonel McClung. So we parted, and,
though at that time the Colonel did not doubt but that mine was a
dreaming girl's talk, my premonitions were promptly realised.

        Upon my return to our provincial little capital, then a
community of six thousand souls, I found it thronging with
gallants from every county in the State. The belles of the town,
in preparation for the gayety of the legislative "season" of two
months, were resplendent in fresh and fashionable toilettes.
Escritoires were stocked with stationery suitable for the billet-
doux that were sure to be required; and there, too, were the
little boxes of glazed mottoed wafers, then all the fashion, with
which to seal the pretty missives. All the swains of that day
wrote in verse to the ladies they admired, and each tender rhyme
required a suitably presented acknowledgment. I remember, though
I have preserved none save those my husband wrote me, several
creditable effusions by Colonel McClung, one of which began:

        "Fearful and green your breathless poet stands," etc.

        Shortly after my return from Columbus, I attended a ball
where I danced with William L. Yancey, even then recognised for
the splendour of his intellectual powers and his eloquence in the
forum. I had heard him speak, and thought his address superb, and
I told him so.

        "Ah," he answered gayly, "if it had not been for one pair
of hazel eyes I should have been submerged in a mere sea of
rhetoric!"

        On the night of my dance with him I wore a white

Page 17

feather in my hair, and on the morrow a messenger from Mr. Yancey
bore me some charming verses, addressed "To the lady with the
snow-white plume!"

        I have said my strange premonitions regarding Mr. Clay
were realised. Ten days after we met we were affianced. There was
a hastily gathered trousseau selected in part by Mme. LeVert in
Mobile, and hurried on to my aunt's home. A month later, and our
marriage was celebrated with all the éclat our little city could
provide, and the congratulations of a circle of friends that
included half the inhabitants. It is sixty years since that
wonderful wedding day, and of the maidens who attended me - there
were six - and the happy company that thronged Judge Collier's
home on that crisp February morning when I crossed the Rubicon of
life, all - even the bridegroom - have passed long since into the
shadowy company of memory and the dead.

        That marriage feast in the morn of my life was beautiful;
the low, spacious house of primitive architecture was white with 
hyacinths, and foliage decorated every available space. The
legislature came in a body, solons of the State, and young
aspirants for fame; the president and faculty of the State
University, of which Mr. Clay was a favoured son; Dr. Capers,
afterward Bishop of South Carolina, officiated, and, in that
glorious company of old Alabamians, my identity as Virginia
Tunstall was merged forever with that of the rising young
statesman Clement C. Clay, Jr.

        A week of festivity followed the ceremony, and then my
husband took me to my future home, among his people, in the
northern part of the State. There being no railroad connection
between Tuscaloosa and Huntsville in those days (the early
forties), we made the journey from the capital in a big four-
wheeled stage-coach. The stretch of country now comprised in the
active city of Birmingham, the southern Pittsburg, was then a
rugged

Page 18

place of rocks and boulders over which our vehicle pitched
perilously. Stone Mountain reached, we were obliged to descend
and pick our way on foot, the roughness of the road making the
passage of the coach a very dangerous one. But these difficulties
only lent a charm to us, for the whole world was enwrapped in the
glamour of our youthful joys. The sunsets, blazing crimson on the
horizon, seemed gloriously to proclaim the sunrise of our life.

        We arrived in Huntsville on the evening of the second day
of our journey. Our driver, enthusiastically proud of his part in
the home-bringing of the bride, touched up the spirited horses as
we crossed the Public Square and blew a bugle blast as we wheeled
round the corner; when, fairly dashing down Clinton Street, he
pulled up in masterly style in front of "Clay Castle." It was
wide and low and spacious, as were all the affluent homes of that
day, and now was ablaze with candles to welcome the travellers.
All along the streets friendly hands and kerchiefs had waved a
welcome to us. Here, within, awaited a great gathering of family
and friends eager to see the chosen bride of a well-loved son.
This was my home-coming to Huntsville, thereafter to be my haven
for all time, though called in a few years by my husband's
growing reputation to take my place beside him in Congressional
circles at Washington.

Page 19

CHAPTER II
WASHINGTON PERSONAGES IN THE FIFTIES

        WHEN my husband's parents were members of the
Congressional circle in Washington - 1829 - '35 - the journey to
the capital from their home in northern Alabama was no light
undertaking. In those early days Congressman (afterward Governor,
and United States Senator) and Mrs. C. C. Clay, Sr., travelled by
coach to the Federal City, accompanied by their coloured
coachman, Toney (who, because of his expert driving, soon became
notable in Washington), and a maid-servant, Milly, who were
necessary to their comfort and station. Many days were consumed
in these journeys, that lay through Tennessee, the Carolinas and
Virginia, during which the travellers were exposed to all the
dangers common to a young and often unsettled forest country. The
tangled woods of the South land, odorous with the cedar or
blossoming with dogwood, mimosa or magnolias, were often Arcadias
of beauty. The land of the sky, now the object of pilgrimages for
the wealthy and become the site of palaces built by kings of
commerce, was then still more beautiful with primeval freshness.
Far as the eye could see, as hills were scaled and valleys
crossed, were verdured slopes and wooded mountain crests. The
Palisades of the Tennessee, as yet scarcely penetrated by
Northern tourists, were then the wonder as they still are the
pride of the traveller from the South.
        In 1853, my husband was elected a United States Senator,
to take the seat of a former college friend, Jere Clemens, whose
term had just expired, and succeeding

Page 20

his father C. C. Clay, Sr., after eleven years. In December of
the same year, we began our trip to the capital under
comparatively modern conditions. My several visits to Vermont and
New Jersey Hydropathic Cures, then the fashionable sanitariums,
had already inured me to long journeys. By this time steam
railways had been established, and, though not so systematically
connected as to make possible the taking of long trips over great
distances without devious and tiresome changes, they had lessened
the time spent upon the road between Alabama and Washington very
appreciably; but, while in comparison with those in common use
to-day, the cars were primitive, nevertheless they were marvels
of comfort and speed to the travellers of the fifties. Sleeping
cars were not yet invented, but the double-action seatbacks of
the regular coaches, not then, as now, screwed down inexorably,
made it a simple matter to convert two seats into a kind of
couch, on which, with the aid of a pillow, one managed very well
to secure a half repose as the cars moved soberly along.

        Our train on that first official journey to Washington
proved to be a kind of inchoative "Congressional Limited." We
found many of our fellow passengers to be native Alabamians, the
majority being on government business bent. Among them were my
husband's confrere from southern Alabama, Senator Fitzpatrick and
his wife, and a friendship was then and there begun among us,
which lasted uninterruptedly until death detached some of the
parties to it; also Congressman Dowdell, "dear old Dowdell," as
my husband and everyone in the House shortly learned to call him,
and James L. Orr of South Carolina, who afterward became Speaker
of the House of Representatives, and Minister to Russia under
President Grant. Mr. Orr, late in 1860, was one of the three
commissioners sent by South Carolina to President Buchanan to
arbitrate on the question of the withdrawal

Page 21

of United States troops from Forts Sumter and Moultrie, in
Charleston Harbour.

        Nor should I omit to name the most conspicuous man on 
that memorable north-bound train, Congressman W. R. W. Cobb, who
called himself the "maker of Senators," and whom people called
the most successful votepoller in the State of Alabama. Mr. Cobb
resorted to all sorts of tricks to catch the popular votes, such
as the rattling of tinware and crockery - he had introduced bills
to secure indigent whites from a seizure for debt that would
engulf all their possessions, and in them had minutely defined
all articles that were to be thus exempt, not scorning to
enumerate the smallest items of the kitchen -, and he delighted
in the singing of homely songs composed for stump purposes. One
of these which he was wont to introduce at the end of a speech,
and which always seemed to be especially his own, was called "The
Homestead Bill." Of this remarkable composition there were a
score of verses, at least, that covered every possible possession
which the heart of the poor man might crave, ranging from land
and mules to household furniture. The song began,

        "Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm!"

        and Mr. Cobb would sing it in stentorian tones, winking
as he did so, to first one and then another of his admiring
listeners, and punctuating his phrases by chewing, with great
gusto, a piece of onion and the coarsest of corn "pone." These
evidences of his democracy gave huge delight to the masses,
though it aroused in me, a young wife, great indignation, that,
in the exigencies of a public career my husband should be
compelled to enter a contest with such a man. To me it was the
meeting of a Damascus blade and a meat-axe, and in my soul I
resented it.

        In 1849 this stump-favourite had defeated the brilliant
Jere Clemens, then a candidate for Congress, but

Page 22

immediately thereafter Mr. Clemens was named for the higher
office of U. S. Senator and elected. In 1853 an exactly similar
conjunction of circumstances resulted in the election of Mr.
Clay. I accompanied my husband during the canvass in which he was
defeated, and thereby became, though altogether innocently, the
one obstacle to Mr. Cobb's usually unanimous election.

        It happened that during the campaign Mr. Clay and I
stopped at a little hostelry, that lay in the very centre of one
of Mr. Cobb's strongest counties. It was little more than a
flower-embowered cottage, kept by "Aunt Hannah," a kindly soul,
whose greatest treasure was a fresh-faced, pretty daughter, then
entering her "teens." I returned to our room after a short
absence, just in time to see this village beauty before my
mirror, arrayed in all the glory of a beautiful and picturesque
hat which I had left upon the bed during my absence. It was a
lovely thing of the period, which I had but recently brought back
from the North, having purchased it while en route for Doctor
Wesselhoeft's Hydropathic Institute in Brattleboro, Vermont.

        The little rustic girl of Alabama looked very winsome and
blossomy in the pretty gew-gaw, and I asked her impulsively if
she liked it. Her confusion was sufficient answer, and I promptly
presented it to her, on condition that she would give me her
sunbonnet in return.

        The exchange was quickly made, and when Mr. Clay and I
departed I wore a pea-green cambric bonnet, lined with pink and
stiffened with pasteboard slats. I little dreamed that this
exchange of millinery, so unpremeditated, and certainly
uncalculating, was a political master-stroke; but, so it proved.
It undermined Mr. Cobb's Gibraltar; for at the election that
followed, the vote in that county was practically solid for Mr.
Clay, where formerly Mr. Cobb had swept it clean.

Page 23

        When, upon the train en route for the capital in the
winter of '53, Senator Fitzpatrick insisted upon presenting the
erstwhile triumphant politician, I took the long, flail-like hand
he offered me with no accentuated cordiality; my reserve,
however, seemed not to disturb Mr. Cobb's proverbial complacency.

        "I've got a crow to pick with you, Mrs. Clay," he began,
"for that pink bonnet trick at old Aunt Hannah's!"

        "And I have a buzzard to pick with you!" I responded
promptly, "for defeating my husband!"

        "You ought to feel obliged to me," retorted the
Congressman, continuing "For I made your husband a Senator!"

        "Well," I rejoined, "I'll promise not to repeat the
bonnet business, if you'll give me your word never again to sing
against my husband! That's unfair, for you know he can't sing!"
which, amid the laughter of our fellow-passengers, Mr. Cobb
promised.

        Our entrance into the Federal City was not without its
humorous side. We arrived in the early morning, about two
o'clock, driving up to the National Hotel, where, owing to a
mistake on the part of the night-clerk, an incident occurred with
which for many a day I twitted my husband and our male companions
on that eventful occasion.

        At that period it was the almost universal custom for
Southern gentlemen to wear soft felt hats, and the fashion was
invariable when travelling. In winter, too, long-distance
voyagers as commonly wrapped themselves in the blanket shawl,
which was thrown around the shoulders in picturesque fashion and
was certainly comfortable, if not strictly à la mode. My husband
and the other gentlemen of our party were so provided on our
journey northward, and upon our arrival, it must be admitted,
none in that travel-stained and weary company would have been
mistaken for a Washington exquisite of the period.

Page 24

        As our carriage stopped in front of the hotel door, Mr.
Dowdell, muffled to the ears, his soft-brimmed hat well down over
his face (for the wind was keen), stepped out quickly to arrange
for our accommodation. The night was bitterly cold, and the
others of our company were glad to remain under cover until our
spokesman returned.

        This he did in a moment or two. He appeared crestfallen,
and quite at a loss.

        "Nothing here, Clay!" he said to my husband. "Man says
they have no rooms!"

        "Nonsense, Dowdell!" was Senator Clay's response. "You
must be mistaken. Here, step inside while I inquire!" He, muffled
as mysteriously, and in no whit more trust-inspiring than the
dejected Mr. Dowdell, strode confidently in. Not many minutes
elapsed ere he, too, returned.

        "Well!" he said. "I don't understand it, but Dowdell's
right! They say they have no rooms for us!"

        At this we were dismayed, and a chorus of exclamations
went up from men and women alike. What were we to do? In a
moment, I had resolved.

        "There's some mistake! I don't believe it," I said. "I'll
go and see;" and, notwithstanding my husband's remonstrances, I
hurried out of the carriage and into the hotel. Stepping to the
desk I said to the clerk in charge: "Is it possible you have no
rooms for our party in this large hostelry? Is it possible, Sir,
that at this season, when Congress is convening, you have
reserved no rooms for Congressional guests?" He stammered out
some confused reply, but I hurried on.

        "I am Mrs. Clay, of Alabama. You have refused my husband,
Senator Clay, and his friend, Representative Dowdell. What does
it mean?"

        "Why, certainly, Madam," he hastened to say, "I have
rooms for those." And forthwith ordered the porters to go for our
luggage. Then, reaching hurriedly for various

Page 25

keys, he added, "I beg your pardon, Madam! I did not know you
were those!"

        What he did believe us to be, piloted as we were by two
such brigand-like gentlemen as Senator Clay and Mr. Dowdell, we
never knew; enough that our tired party were soon installed in
comfortable apartments. It was by reason of this significant
episode that I first realized the potency in Washington of
conventional apparel and Congressional titles.

        My husband being duly sworn in on the 14th of December,
1853, in a few days our "mess" was established at the home of Mr.
Charles Gardner, at Thirteenth and G Streets. Here my first
season in Washington was spent. Besides Senator Clay and myself,
our party was composed of Senator and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and
Representatives Dowdell and Orr, and to this little nucleus of
congenial spirits were afterward added in our later residences at
historic old Brown's Hotel and the Ebbitt House, many whose names
are known to the nation.

        Though a sad winter for me, for in it I bore and buried 
my only child, yet my recollections of that season, as its echoes
reached our quiet parlours, are those of boundless entertainment
and bewildering ceremony. The season was made notable in the
fashionable world by the great fête champêtre given by the
British Minister, Mr. Crampton, and the pompous obsequies of
Baron Bodisco, for many years resident Minister from Russia; but
of these I learned only through my ever kind friend, Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, who for months was my one medium of communication
with the fashionable outside world. She was a beautiful woman,
with superb carriage and rare and rich colouring, and possessed,
besides, a voice of great sweetness, with which, during that
winter of seclusion, she often made our simple evenings a
delight. While shortly she became a leader in matters social,
Mrs. Fitzpatrick was still more exalted in our own little circle
for her

Page 26

singing of such charming songs as "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch,"
and other quaint Scotch ditties. Nor was Mrs. Fitzpatrick the one
musician of our "mess," for Mr. Dowdell had a goodly voice and
sang with lusty enjoyment the simpler ballads of the day, to say
nothing of many melodious Methodist hymns.

        My experiences as an active member of Washington society,
therefore, began in the autumn of 1854 and the succeeding spring,
when, notwithstanding an air of gravity and reserve that was
perceptible at that social pivot, the White House, the gaiety of
the capital was gaining an impetus in what later appeared to me
to be a veritable "merry madness."

        It is true that it did not even then require the insight
of a keen observer to detect in social, as in political
gatherings, the constantly widening division between the Northern
and Southern elements gathered in the Government City. For
myself, I knew little of politics, notwithstanding the fact that
from my childhood I had called myself "a pronounced Jeffersonian
Democrat." Naturally, I was an hereditary believer in States'
Rights, the real question, which, in an attempt to settle it,
culminated in our Civil War; and I had been bred among the law-
makers of the sturdy young State of Alabama, many of whom had
served at the State and National capitals with marked
distinction; but from my earliest girlhood three lessons had been
taught me religiously, viz.: to be proud alike of my name and
blood and section; to read my Bible; and, last, to know my
"Richmond Enquirer." Often, as an aid to the performance of this
last duty, have I read aloud its full contents, from the rates of
advertisement down, until my dear uncle Tom Tunstall has fallen
asleep over my childish efforts. It is not, then, remarkable
that, upon my arrival, I was at once cognisant of the feeling
which was so thinly concealed between the strenuous parties
established in the capital.

Page 27

        During the first half of the Pierce administration,
however, though feeling ran high in the Senate and the House, the
surface of social life was smiling and peaceful. The President
had every reason to feel kindly toward the people of the South
who had so unanimously supported him, and he was as
indiscriminating and impartial in his attitude to the opposing
parties as even the most critical could desire; but, gradually,
by a mutual instinct of repulsion that resolved itself into a
general consent, the representatives of the two antagonistic
sections seldom met save at promiscuous assemblages to which the
exigencies of public life compelled them. To be sure, courtesies
were exchanged between the wives of some of the Northern and
Southern Senators, and formal calls were paid on Cabinet days, as
etiquette demanded, upon the ladies of the Cabinet circle; but,
by a tacit understanding, even at the entertainments given at the
foreign legations, and at the houses of famous Washington
citizens, this opposition of parties was carefully considered in
the sending out of invitations, in order that no unfortunate
rencontre might occur between uncongenial guests.

        The White House, as I have said, was scarcely a place of
gaiety. Mrs. Pierce's first appearance in public occurred at the
Presidential levee, late in 1853. An invalid for several years,
she had recently received a shock, which was still a subject of
pitying conversation throughout the country. It had left a
terrible impress upon Mrs. Pierce's spirits. While travelling
from her home in New Hampshire to Washington to witness her
husband's exaltation as the President of the United States, an
accident, occurring at Norwalk, Connecticut, suddenly deprived
her of her little son, the last surviving of her several
children. At her first public appearance at the White House, clad
in black velvet and diamonds, her natural pallor being thereby
greatly accentuated, a universal sympathy was awakened for her.
To us who

Page 28

knew her, the stricken heart was none the less apparent because
hidden under such brave and jewelled apparel, which she had
donned, the better to go through the ordeal exacted by "the dear
people."

        I had made the acquaintance of General and Mrs. Pierce
during the preceding year while on a visit to the New England
States; my husband's father had been the President's confrère in
the Senate early in the forties; and my brother-in-law, Colonel
Hugh Lawson Clay, had fought beside the New Hampshire General in
the Mexican War. The occupants of the Executive Mansion therefore
were no strangers to us; yet Mrs. Pierce's sweet graciousness and
adaptability came freshly to me as I saw her assume her place as
the social head of the nation. Her sympathetic nature and very
kind heart, qualities not always to be perceived through the
formalities of governmental etiquette, were demonstrated to me on
many occasions. My own ill-health proved to be a bond between us,
and, while custom forbade the paying of calls by the wife of the
Chief Magistrate upon the wives of Senators, I was indebted to
Mrs. Pierce for many acts of friendliness, not the least of which
were occasional drives with her in the Presidential equipage.

        A favourite drive in those days was throughout the length
of Pennsylvania Avenue, then but sparsely and irregularly built
up. The greatest contrasts in architecture existed, hovels often
all but touching the mansions of the rich. The great boulevard
was a perfect romping ground for the winds. Chevy Chase and
Georgetown were popular objective points, and the banks of the
Potomac, in shad-seining season, were alive with gay sightseers.
The markets of Washington have always excelled, affording every
luxury of earth and sea, and that at a price which gives to the
owner of even a moderate purse a leaning toward epicureanism. In
the houses of the rich the serving of dinners became a fine art.

Page 29

        On the first occasion of my dining at the President's
table, I was struck with the spaciousness of the White House, and
the air of simplicity which everywhere pervaded. Very elaborate
alterations were made in the mansion for Mr. Pierce's successor,
but in the day of President and Mrs. Pierce it remained
practically as unimposing as in the time of President Monroe.

        The most remarkable features in all the mansion, to my
then unaccustomed eyes, were the gold spoons which were used
invariably at all State dinners. They were said to have been
brought from Paris by President Monroe, who had been roundly
criticised for introducing into the White House a table accessory
so undemocratic! Besides these extraordinary golden implements,
there were as remarkable bouquets, made at the government
greenhouses. They were stiff and formal things, as big round as a
breakfast plate, and invariably composed of a half-dozen wired
japonicas ornamented with a pretentious cape of marvellously
wrought lace-paper. At every plate, at every State dinner, lay
one of these memorable rigid bouquets. This fashion, originating
at the White House, was taken up by all Washington. For an entire
season the japonica was the only flower seen at the houses of the
fashionable or mixing in the toilettes of the belles.

        But if, for that, my first winter in Washington, the
White House itself was sober, the houses of the rich Senators and
citizens of Washington, of the brilliant diplomatic corps, and of
some of the Cabinet Ministers, made ample amends for it. In the
fifties American hospitality acquired a reputation, and that of
the capital was synonymous with an unceasing, an augmenting round
of dinners and dances, receptions and balls. A hundred hostesses
renowned for their beauty and wit and vivacity vied with each
other in evolving novel social relaxations. Notable among these
were Mrs. Slidell, Mrs. Jacob

Page 30

Thompson, Miss Belle Cass, and the daughters of Secretary
Guthrie; Mrs. Senator Toombs and Mrs. Ogle Tayloe, the Riggses,
the Countess de Sartiges and Mrs. Cobb, wife of that jolly
Falstaff of President Buchanan's Cabinet, Howell Cobb. Mrs. Cobb
was of the celebrated Lamar family, so famous for its brilliant
and brave men, and lovely women. Highly cultured, modest as a
wild wood-violet, inclined, moreover, to reserve, she was
nevertheless capable of engrossing the attention of the most
cultivated minds in the capital, and a conversation with her was
ever a thing to be remembered. No more hospitable home was known
in Washington than that of the Cobbs. The Secretary was a bon
vivant and his home the rendezvous of the epicurean as well as
the witty and the intellectual.

        Probably the most brilliant of all the embassies, until
the coming of Lord and Lady Napier, was that of France. The
Countess de Sartiges, who presided over it, was an unsurpassed
hostess, besides being a woman of much manner and personal
beauty; and, as did many others of the suite, she entertained on
a lavish scale.

        Mrs. Slidell, wife of the Senator from Louisiana, whose
daughter Mathilde is now the wife of the Parisian banker, Baron
Erlanger, became famous in the fifties for her matinée dances at
which all the beauties and beaux of Washington thronged. Previous
to her marriage with Senator Slidell she was Mlle. des Londes of
New Orleans. A leader in all things fashionable, she was also one
of the most devout worshippers at St. Aloysius's church. I
remember with what astonishment and admiration I watched her
devotions one Sunday morning when, as the guest of Senator
Mallory, himself a strict Romanist, I attended that church for
the purpose of hearing a mass sung.

        I knew Mrs. Slidell as the devotée of fashion, the wearer
of unapproachable Parisian gowns, the giver of unsurpassed

Page 31

entertainments, the smiling, tireless hostess; but that Sunday
morning as I saw her enter a pew just ahead of Senator Mallory
and myself, sink upon her knees, and, with her eyes fixed upon
the cross, repeating her prayers with a concentration that proved
the sincerity of them, I felt as if another and greater side of
her nature were being revealed to me. I never met her thereafter
without a remembrance of that morning flitting through my mind.

        During the early spring of 1854 I heard much of the
imposing ceremonials attending the funeral of Baron Alexandre de
Bodisco, Minister from Russia since 1838, the days of Van Buren.
His young wife, a native of Georgetown, was one of the first to
draw the attention of foreigners to the beauty of American women.
The romantic old diplomat had learned to admire his future wife
when, as a little girl, upon her daily return from school, he
carried her books for her. Her beauty developed with her growth,
and, before she was really of an age to appear in society, though
already spoken of as the most beautiful woman in Georgetown,
Harriet Williams became the Baroness de Bodisco, and was carried
abroad for presentation at the Russian Court. Her appearance in
that critical circle created a furore, echoes of which preceded
her return to America. I have heard it said that this young bride
was the first woman to whom was given the title, "the American
Rose."

        I remember an amusing incident in which this lovely
Baroness, unconsciously to herself, played the part of
instructress to me. It was at one of my earliest dinners at the
White House, ere I had thoroughly familiarised myself with the
gastronomic novelties devised by the Gautiers (then the leading
restaurateurs and confectioners of the capital), and the other
foreign chefs who vied with them. Scarcely a dinner of
consequence but saw some surprise in the way of a heretofore
unknown dish. Many a time I have seen some one distinguished for
his aplomb

Page 32

look about helplessly as the feast progressed, and gaze
questioningly at the preparation before him, as if uncertain as
to how it should be manipulated. Whenever I was in doubt as to
the proper thing to do at these dignified dinners, I turned, as
was natural, to those whose longer experience in the gay world
was calculated to establish them as exemplars to the novice.

        On the evening of which I write, the courses had
proceeded without the appearance of unusual or alarm-inspiring
dishes until we had neared the end of the menu, when I saw a
waiter approaching with a large salver on which were dozens of
mysterious parallelograms of paper, each of which was about five
inches long and three broad, and appeared to be full of some
novel conserve. Beside them lay a silver trowel. The packages
were folded daintily, the gilt edges of their wrapping glittering
attractively. What they contained I could not guess, nor could I
imagine what we were supposed to do with them.

        However, while still struggling to read the mystery of
the salver, my eye fell upon Mme. de Bodisco, my vis-à-vis. She
was a mountain of lace and jewels, of blonde beauty and
composure, for even at this early period her proportions were
larger than those which by common consent are accredited to the
sylph. I could have no better instructress than this lady of
international renown. I watched her; saw her take up the little
trowel, deftly remove one of the packages from the salver to her
plate, and composedly proceed to empty the paper receptacle of
its contents - a delicious glacé. My suspense was at an end. I
followed her example, very well satisfied with my good fortune in
escaping a pitfall which a moment ago I felt sure yawned before
me, for this method of serving creams and ices was the latest of
culinary novelties.

        I wondered if there were others at the great board who
were equally uncertain as to what to do with the carefully

Page 33

concealed dainties. Looking down to the other side of the table,
I saw our friend Mr. Blank, of Virginia, hesitatingly regarding
the pile of paper which the waiter was holding toward him.
Presently, as if resigned to his fate, he took up the trowel and
began to devote considerable energy to an attempt to dig out the
contents of the package nearest him, when, as I glanced toward
him, he looked up, full of self-consciousness, and turned his
gaze directly upon me. His expression told plainly of growing
consternation.

        I shook my head in withering pseudo-rebuke and swiftly
indicated to him "to take a whole one." Fortunately, he was
quick-witted and caught my meaning, and, taking the hint, took
likewise the cream without further mishap. After dinner we
retired to the green-room, where, as was the custom, coffee and
liqueurs were served. Here Mr. Blank approached, and, shaking my
hand most gratefully, he whispered, "God bless my soul, Mrs.
Clay! You're the sweetest woman in the world! But for your
goodness, heaven only knows what would have happened! Perhaps,"
and he sipped his liqueur contemplatively, "perhaps I might have
been struggling with that, that problem yet!"

        I met Mme. de Bodisco many times during her widowhood,
and was present at old St. John's when her second marriage, with
Captain Scott of Her British Majesty's Life Guards, was
celebrated. It was early in the Buchanan administration, and the
bride was given away by the President. While St. John's, I may
add, was often referred to as a fashionable centre, yet much of
genuine piety throve there, too.

        Mme. de Bodisco, who, during her widowhood, had continued
her belleship and had received, it was said, many offers of
marriage from distinguished men, capitulated at last to the young
guardsman just named. Great therefore was the interest in the
second nuptials of so

Page 34

popular a beauty. Old St. John's was crowded with the most
distinguished personages in the capital. The aisles of the old 
edifice are narrow, and the march of the bride and the President
to the altar was memorable, not only because of the distinction,
but also by reason of the imposing proportions of both principals
in it. In fact, the plumpness of the stately bride and the
President's ample figure, made the walk, side by side, an almost
impossible feat. The difficulty was overcome, however, by the
tactfulness of the President, who led the lady slightly in
advance of himself until the chancel was reached. Here the
slender young groom, garbed in the scarlet and gold uniform of
his rank, stepped forward to claim her, and, though it was seen
that he stood upon a hassock in order to lessen the difference in
height between himself and his bride, it was everywhere admitted
that Captain Scott was a handsome and gallant groom, and worthy
the prize he had won.

        This was Mme. de Bodisco's last appearance in Washington.
With her husband she went to India, where, it was said, the
climate soon made havoc of her health and beauty; but her fame
lingered long on the lips of her hosts of admirers in Washington.
Nor did the name of de Bodisco disappear from the social list,
for, though his sons were sent to Russia, there to be educated,
Waldemar de Bodisco, nephew of the late Minister, long continued
to be the most popular leader of the German in Washington.

        Throughout the fifties, and indeed for several preceding
decades, the foreign representatives and their suites formed a
very important element in society in the capital. In some degree
their members, the majority of whom were travelled and
accomplished, and many representative of the highest culture in
Europe, were our critics, if not our mentors. The standard of
education was higher in Europe fifty years ago than in our own
land, and to be a favourite

Page 35

at the foreign legations was equivalent to a certificate of
accomplishment and social charms. An acquaintance with the
languages necessarily was not the least of these.

        The celebrated Octavia Walton, afterward famous as Mme.
Le Vert, won her first social distinction in Washington, where,
chaperoned by Mrs. C. C. Clay, Sr., a recognition of her grace
and beauty, her intellectuality and charming manner was
instantaneous. At a time when a knowledge of the foreign tongues
was seldom acquired by American women, Miss Walton, who spoke
French, Spanish and Italian with ease, speedily became the
favourite of the Legations, and thence began her fame which
afterward became international.

        During my early residence in Washington, Addie Cutts (who
became first the wife of Stephen A. Douglas and some years after
his death married General Williams) was the admired of all
foreigners. Miss Cutts was the niece of Mrs. Greenhow, a wealthy
and brilliant woman of the capital, and, when she became Mrs.
Douglas, held a remarkable sway for years. As a linguist Miss
Cutts was reputed to be greatly gifted. If she spoke the many
languages of which she was said to be mistress but half so
eloquently as she uttered her own when, in 1865, she appealed to
President Johnson on behalf of "her loved friend" my husband, the
explanation of her remarkable nightly levees of the late fifties
is readily found.

        Though never, strictly speaking, a member of our "mess,"
Mrs. Douglas and I were always firm friends. While she was still
Miss Cutts, and feeling keenly the deprivations that fall to the
lot of the beautiful daughter of a poor department clerk, * she
once complained to me poutingly of the cost of gloves.

* Apropos of this reference to Mrs. Douglas, Col. Henry Watterson
said to me: "Her passport into Washington society was her
relationship to Mistress Dolly Madison, who was her grandaunt. It
is true Mr. James Madison Cutts, Mrs. Douglas's father, was a
department clerk, but he was the nephew of the former mistress of
the White House. Mrs. Douglas was very beautiful," Colonel
Watterson continued. "I remember stepping into the Douglas
library one morning and coming upon her unexpectedly as she was
dusting some bit of precious bric-a-brac, over which she extended
a personal care. She was en negligée, and, as the colour mounted
her cheek, upon my unexpected appearance, I thought I had never
seen so beautiful, so rosy a girl. I told Douglas so!" A. S.

Page 36

        "Nonsense," I answered. "Were I Addie Cutts with hands
that might have been chiselled by Phidias, I would never disguise
them in gloves, whatever the fashion!"

        Miss Cutts entered into the enjoyment of the wealth and
position which her marriage with Stephen A. Douglas gave her,
with the regal manner of a princess. Her toilettes were of the
richest and at all times were models of taste and
picturesqueness. The effect she produced upon strangers was
invariably one of instant admiration. Writing to me in 1863, my
cousin, Mrs. Paul Hammond (who, before her marriage, had spent a
winter with me at Washington), thus recalled her meeting with the
noted beauty:

        "Yesterday, with its green leaves and pearl-white
flowers, called to my memory how Mrs. Douglas looked when I first
saw her. She was receiving at her own house in a crêpe dress
looped with pearls, and her hair was ornamented with green leaves
and lilies. She was a beautiful picture!"

        I had the pleasure, on one occasion, of bringing together
Mrs. Douglas and Miss Betty Beirne, the tallest and the shortest
belles of their time. They had long desired to meet, and each
viewed the other with astonishment and pleasure. Miss Beirne, who
afterward became the wife of Porcher Miles of South Carolina, was
one of the tiniest of women, as Mrs. Douglas was one of the
queenliest, and both were toasted continually in the capital.

        During the incumbency of Mr. Crampton, he being a
bachelor, few functions were given at the British Embassy which
ladies attended. Not that the Minister and his

Page 37

suite were eremites. On the contrary, Mr. Crampton was
exceedingly fond of "cutting a figure." His traps were especially
conspicuous on the Washington avenues. Always his own reinsman,
the Minister's fast tandem driving and the stiffly upright
"tiger" behind him, for several years were one of the sights of
the city. In social life the British Embassy was admirably
represented by Mr. Lumley, Chargé d'Affaires, an affable young
man who entered frankly into the life of the city and won the
friendly feeling of all who met him. He was one of the four young
men who took each the novel part of the elephant's leg at a most
amusing impromptu affair given by Mrs. George Riggs in honour of
the girl prima donna, Adelina Patti. It was, I think, the evening
of the latter's debut in "la Traviata." Her appearance was the
occasion of one of the most brilliant audiences ever seen in
Washington. Everyone of note was present, and the glistening of
silk and the flash of jewels no doubt contributed their quota of
stimulus to the youthful star.

        Within a day of the performance, Senator Clay and I
received a note from Mrs. Riggs, inviting us informally, not to
say secretly, to an after-the-opera supper, to meet the new diva
and her supporting artists. We responded cordially and drove to
the Riggs residence shortly after the close of the performance.

        There, upon our arrival, we found representatives from
all the foreign legations, Patti's entire troupe, and perhaps a
dozen others, exclusive of the family of our hostess. The prima
donna soon came in, a lovely little maiden in evening dress, with
a manner as winsome as was her appearance. The entertainment now
began by graceful compliment from all present to the new opera
queen, after which Mr. Riggs led her to the dining-room where the
sumptuous supper was spread.

        The table was almost as wide as that of the White House.
Its dazzling silver and gold and crystal vessels,

Page 38

and viands well worthy these receptacles, made a brilliant centre
around which the decorated foreigners seemed appropriately to
cluster. The little cantatrice's undisguised pleasure was good to
see. She had worked hard during the performance of the opera, and
her appetite was keen. She did ample justice, therefore, to Mrs.
Riggs's good cheer, and goblets were kept brimming for quite two
hours.

        This important part of the programme over, a young
Englishman, by name Mr. Palmer, who, as the Chevalier Bertinatti
(the Sardinian Minister) whispered to me, had been asked "to make
some leetle fun for leetle Mees Patti," opened the evening's
merriment by an amusing exhibition of legerdemain. Mr. Palmer, at
that time a favourite music- teacher, who spent his time between
Washington and Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York, having in
each city numerous fashionable pupils, afterward became known to
the world as the great prestidigitator, Heller.

        On the evening of the Riggses' supper the young magician
was in his best form. Handkerchiefs and trinkets disappeared
mysteriously, only to come to light again in the most unexpected
places, until the company became almost silent with wonder. Mr.
Palmer's last trick required a pack of cards, which were promptly
forthcoming. Selecting the queen of hearts, he said, looking
archly in the direction of the diminutive Patti: "This is also a
queen; but she is a naughty girl and we will not have her!"
saying which, with a whiff and a toss, he threw the card into the
air, where it vanished!

        Everyone was mystified; but Baron de Staeckl, the Russian
Minister, incontinently broke the spell Mr. Palmer was weaving
around us by picking up a card and pronouncing the same formula.
Then, as all waited to see what he was about to do, in a most
serio-comic manner he deftly and deliberately crammed it down



Page 39

Mr. Palmer's collar! Amid peals of laughter from all present, the
young man gave place to other and more general entertainment, in
which the most dignified ambassadors indulged with the hilarity
of schoolboys.

        From the foregoing incident it will be seen that Baron de
Staeckl was the buffo of the evening. He was a large man of
inspiring, not to say portly figure, and his lapels glittered
with the insignia of honours that had been conferred upon him.
Like his predecessor, the late Baron de Bodisco, he had allied
himself with our country by marrying an American girl, a native
of New Haven, whose family name I have now forgotten. She was a
lovely and amiable hostess, whose unassuming manner never lost a
certain pleasing modesty, notwithstanding the compliments she,
too, invariably evoked. Her table was remarkable for its napery -
Russian linen for the larger part, with embroidered monograms of
unusual size and perfection of workmanship, which were said to be
the handiwork of Slav needlewomen. Although I had enjoyed their
hospitality and had met the de Staeckles frequently elsewhere,
until this evening at the Riggses' home I had never suspected the
genial Baron's full capacity for the enjoyment of pure nonsense.

        There were many amateur musicians among the guests, first
among them being the Sicilian Minister, Massoni. He was a
finished vocalist, with a full operatic repertory at his easy
command. His son Lorenzo was as fine a pianist, and accompanied
his father with a sympathy that was most rare. That evening the
Massonis responded again and again to the eager urgings of the
other guests, but at last the Minister, doubtless desiring to
"cut it short," broke into the "Anvil Chorus." Instantly he was
joined by the entire company.

        At the opening strain, the jolly Baron de Staeckl
disappeared for a second, but ere we had finished, his glittering
form was seen to re-enter the door, with a

Page 40

stride like Vulcan's and an air as mighty. In one hand he held a
pair of Mrs. Riggs's glowing brass tongs, in the other a poker,
with which, in faultless rhythm, he was beating time to his own
deep-bellowing basso. He stalked to the centre of the room with
all the pomposity of a genuine king of opera bouffe, a sly
twinkle in his eye being the only hint to the beholders that he
was conscious of his own ludicrous appearance.

        Meantime, Mlle. Patti had mounted a chair, where her
liquid notes in alt joined the deep ones of the baron. As he
stopped in the centre of the room, however, the little diva's
amusement reached a climax. She clapped her hands and fairly
shouted with glee. Her mirth was infectious and quite upset the
solemnity of the basso. Breaking into a sonorous roar of
laughter, he made as hasty an exit as his cumbrous form would
allow. I think a walrus would have succeeded as gracefully.

        We were about to withdraw from this gay scene when the
Chevalier Bertinatti, with the utmost enthusiasm, begged us to
stay. "You must!" he cried. "Ze elephant is coming! I assure you
zere ees not hees equal for ze fun!" A moment more and we fully
agreed with him. Even as he spoke, the doors opened and Mr.
Palmer bounded in, a gorgeously got-up ring-master. I saw my own
crimson opera cloak about his shoulders and a turban formed of
many coloured rebozos of other guests twisted together in truly
artistic manner.

        "Ladies and gentlemen!" he began grandiloquently, "I have
the honour to present to your astonished eyes the grand elephant,
Hannibal, costing to import twenty thousand dollars, and weighing
six thousand pounds! An elephant, ladies and gentlemen, whose
average cost is three and one-half dollars a pound! He is a
marvellous animal, ladies and gentlemen, warranted to be as
intrepid as his namesake! He has been called a vicious creature,
but in the present company I intend to prove

Page 41

him as docile as - the ladies themselves! Advance, Hannibal!"

        He threw himself prone upon the floor as the wide doors
opened and "Hannibal" lumbered in, deliberately wagging his trunk
from side to side, in a manner that was startlingly lifelike.

        Arrived at the prostrate ring-master, he put out one
shapeless leg (at the bottom of which a handsomely shod man's
foot appeared) and touched the prostrate one lightly, as if
fearful of hurting him; he advanced and retreated several times,
wagging his trunk the while; until, at last, at the urgings of
the recumbent hero, the animal stepped cleanly over him. Now,
with a motion of triumph, Mr. Palmer sprang up and, crossing his
arms proudly over his bosom, cried, "Ladies and gentlemen! I
live!" and awaited the applause which rang out merrily. Then,
leaping lightly upon his docile pet's back, the latter galloped
madly around the room and made for the door amid screams and
shouts of laughter.

        In the mad exit, however, the mystery of the elephant was
revealed; for his hide, the rubber cover of Mrs. Riggs's grand
piano, slipped from the shoulders of the hilarious young men who
supported it, and "Hannibal" disappeared in a confusion of
brilliant opera cloaks, black coats, fleeing patent-leathers, and
trailing piano cover!

        This climax was a fitting close to our evening's
funmaking. As our host accompanied us to the door, he said slyly
to my husband, "Not a word of this, Clay! To-night must be as
secret as a Democratic caucus, or we shall all be tabooed."

Page 42

CHAPTER III
A HISTORIC CONGRESSIONAL "MESS"

        OUR "mess" at Brown's Hotel shortly became so well known,
because of the interest attaching to so many of its members, that
the enterprising proprietress of (what afterward became known as)
the Ebbitt House, Mrs. Smith, came in person, with tempting terms
to lure us to her newer establishment.

        Heretofore our quarters in the historic old hostelry had
been altogether satisfactory. It was the rendezvous of Southern
Congressmen, and therefore was "very agreeable and advantageous,"
as my husband wrote of it. For thirty-five years Brown's Hotel
had been the gathering-place for distinguished people. So long
ago as 1820, Thomas Hart Benton met there the representatives of
the rich fur-trader, John Jacob Astor, who had been sent to the
capital to induce Congressional indorsement in perfecting a great
scheme that should secure to us the trade of Asia as well as the
occupation of the Columbia River. Within its lobbies, many a
portentous conference had taken place. Indeed, the foundations of
its good reputation were laid while it was yet the Indian Queen's
Tavern, renowned for its juleps and bitters. It was an unimposing
structure even for Pennsylvania Avenue, then but a ragged
thoroughfare, and, as I have said, notable for the great gaps
between houses; but the cuisine of Brown's Hotel, as, until a few
years ago, this famous house continued to be known, was
excellent.

        In my days there, the presence of good Mrs. Brown,

Page 43

the hostess, and her sweet daughter Rose (who married Mr.
Wallach, one of Washington's rich citizens, and afterward
entertained in the mansion that became famous as the residence of
Mrs. Stephen A. Douglas) added much to the attractions of the old
house. Nevertheless, those of the new also tempted us. Thither we
went in a body, and there we spent one or two gay winters; but,
the Ebbitt becoming more and more heterogeneous, and therefore
less congenial to our strictly legislative circles, we retraced
our ways, our forces still intact, to good old Brown's.

        In the interim, our continually enlarging numbers found
the new quarters convenient and in many respects even desirable.
"Our 'mess,' so far from being willing to separate," I wrote to
my husband's father, late in '57, "has insisted upon becoming
enlarged. We are located in a delightful part of the city, on F
Street, near the Treasury Buildings, the Court end as well as the
convenient end; for all the Departments as well as the White
House are in a stone's throw. Old Guthrie's is opposite, and we
have, within two blocks, some true-line Senators, among them
Bell, Slidell, Weller, Brodhead, Thomson, of New Jersey, who are
married and housekeeping, to say naught of Butler, Benjamin,
Mason and Goode in a 'mess' near us. Our 'mess' is a very
pleasant one. Orr, Shorter, Dowdell, Sandidge and Taylor, of
Louisiana, with the young Senator Pugh and his bride, Governor
Fitzpatrick and wife, and ourselves compose the party. Taylor is
a true Democrat, and Pugh is as strongly Anti-Free-soil as we. We
keep Free-soilers, Black Republicans and Bloomers on the other
side of the street. They are afraid even to inquire for board at
this house."

        To the choice list then recorded were added shortly
Congressmen L. Q. C. and Mrs. Lamar, David Clopton, Jabez L. M.
Curry and Mrs. Curry, and General and Mrs. Chestnut. Our circle
included representatives from

Page 44

several States. Messrs. Fitzpatrick, Shorter, Dowdell, David
Clopton and Jabez L. M. Curry were fellow-Alabamians, and had
been the long-time friends of my husband and his father, ex-
Governor Clay, and of my uncle, Governor Collier; Congressmen
Lamar and Sandidge were from Mississippi and Louisiana,
respectively; Congressmen Orr and Chestnut represented South
Carolina, and Senator Pugh was from Ohio. It was a distinguished
company. Scarcely a male member of it but had won or was destined
to win a conspicuous position in the Nation's affairs; scarcely a
woman in the circle who was not acknowledged to be a wit or
beauty.

        When Mrs. Pugh joined us, her precedence over the belles
of the capital was already established, for, as Thérèse Chalfant,
her reign had begun a year or two previous to her marriage to the
brilliant young Senator from Ohio; Miss Cutts, afterward Mrs.
Douglas, and Mrs. Pendleton and the beautiful brune, Mrs. Roger
A. Pryor, being estimated as next in order of beauty. Like Mrs.
Chestnut, also a renowned belle, Mrs. Pugh was something more
than a woman of great personal loveliness. She was intellectual,
and remarked as such even in Washington, where wits gathered.
Both of these prized associates remained unspoiled by the
adulation which is the common tribute to such unusual feminine
comeliness.

        I was not present when the Austrian Minister, the
Chevalier Hulseman, paid his great compliment (now a classic in
the capital) to Miss Chalfant; but it was soon thereafter
repeated to me. It was at a ball at which pretty women thronged.
As the Minister's gaze rested upon Miss Chalfant, his eyes
expanded with admiration. Approaching, he knelt suddenly before
her, exclaiming, "Madame! I have from my Empress a piece of
precious lace" (and he fumbled, but, alas! vainly, in his pockets
as he spoke) "which her Majesty has commanded me

Page 45

to present to the most beautiful woman in Washington. You - you
are more, the most beautiful in the world! I have not with me the
lace, but I will send it if you will permit me!" And he kept his
word. We were glad to welcome to our "mess" so lovely and famous
a bride. Mrs. Pugh's beauty was of so exquisite a type, the
bodily so permeated by the spiritual, that she shone preeminent
wherever she appeared, and this wholly independent of showy
attire Though always presenting an appearance of elegance, Mrs.
Pugh's gowns were invariably of the simplest. Our "mess" soon
became aware that our beautiful favourite was primarily a lovely
woman, and no mere gay butterfly. Her nature was grave rather
than vivacious, the maternal in her being exceedingly strong.

End of Part 1