UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00022094537 ' ' ' Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/twelveamericanstOOcarr HORATIO SEYMOUR. TWELVE AMERICANS THEIR LIVES AND TIMES BY HOWARD CARROLL iXlit!) portraits NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 18 83 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S83, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. All rights reserved. TO GEORGE JONES OF THE NEW YORK TIMES A FAITHFUL FRIEND, A GOOD CITIZEN, A TRUE MAN; MODEST, INDEPENDENT, FEARLESS; ®l)is Book is Dcbicnteb WITH AFFECTION AND RESrECT BY HOWARD CARROLL PREFACE. A disposition to belittle and disparage public men is very properly held to be a characteristic failing of the Republic. Yet we are told that it is not more preva- lent in our American Union than it was in the com- monwealths of ancient Greece, and that it is not more distinctly marked in the United States of to-day than it was during the lifetime of the fathers of the coun- try. Whether it be more justifiable is a question less open to discussion than whether there is great danger of its being too freely indulged There is certainly no necessary connection between the service of the people 'and the imputation of base motives to those who, by election or appointment, assume public responsibilities. It is equally certain that there is nothing more mis- leading than to deal with a human being, in any of the relations of life, as a mere bundle of qualities attributed to him by common rumor, and associated with none of the shades of character, impulse, and motive which real- ly combine to make him what he is. For, though a lack of acquaintance with the personality of men in prominent public positions may sometimes lead to an vi Preface. exaggerated conception of their greatness, such lack is much more frequently associated with a liability to make too much of their errors or weaknesses. The modern art of caricature and the every -day method of analyzing the individuality of public men have a great deal in common ; with the preponder- ance of truthful delineation very much in favor of the former. Indeed, every public man in this country is, in one way or another, subjected to so searching and merciless an examination, obliged to stand so constantly in the white light of unlimited public criticism, that the real wonder is, not that so few, but that so very many of them, stand the test and come out of the ordeal pure, unsullied, and guiltless of even the suspi- cion of wrong. A belief to the contrary, which pre- vails in some directions, is as dangerous as it is absurd. It has done much and continues to do much to injure the Republic, by undermining that faith in its institu- tions upon which their existence and the Republic's ex- istence so largely depends. In these sketches of the lives of twelve representative Americans there will be found no tendency of the sort referred to. It has been my aim to deal with portrait- ure rather than subtle analysis, to represent my subjects as beings of flesh and blood, not as remote and colorless abstractions. Good-fortune has permitted me to enjoy personal relations of the most friendly character with many of the gentlemen included in the list, and it is particularly worthy of note that the material for these Preface. vii sketches of their lives was, in every case, obtained dur- ing long and frequent personal interviews with them. Originally the sketches appeared, in comparatively mea- gre outline, in the columns of the New York Times. As here presented they have been carefully revised, re-written, and much enlarged. It cannot be claimed for them that they are cold and dispassionate estimates of character and public service. It can be, and is con- fidently claimed, that they are truthful and appreciative records of most eventful careers ; that they teach many a wholesome lesson, by laying bare the motives which have actuated men eminent in widely different walks of life ; that they bring to memory historical events of great interest ; that they contain many important facts, characteristic anecdotes, and incidents bearing upon history, which hitherto have remained unpub- lished — -that they throw new light on movements of the first importance ; and that they strikingly illustrate the great progress and growth, the astonishing social and material development of the Republic, by picturing with accuracy and all necessary minuteness the primi- tive surroundings from which there rose to distinction — " Twelve Americans." H. C. CONTENTS. i. " The Farmer Statesman.' 1 ' 1 HORATIO SEYMOUR. The Long and Successful Career of a Great Democrat. — His Recol- lections of Men and Politics a Generation Ago. — Reminiscences of Clay, Webster, Pierce, Marcy, and Wright. — The Times of Lincoln and Stanton. — Governor of New York. — Nominated for the Presidency.— Words of Wisdom from "The Sage of Deer- field." — The Evening of a Good Man's Life .... Page 1 II. A Descendant of Presidents. CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. In the White House Long Ago. — What Lafayette Feared. — "The Etiquette War." — A Leader of the Free -soil Party. — Events which Led to Emancipation. — The Model Minister to England. — A Studious Gentleman at Home. — The Distinguished Scion of an Ancient House 49 III. The People's Friend. PETER COOPER. From Poverty to Great Riches. — The Work of a Child, a Boy, and a Man. — New York in the Olden Time. — The Volunteer Fire Department. — Building the Cooper Institute. — Two Continents Connected.— A Long Life Well Spent 77 x Contents. IV. He Served the State. HANNIBAL HAMLIN. A Noteworthy Chapter in American History. — Half a Century in Active Public Service. — The Early Antislavery Discussion. — "Defeated by a Hair." — Leaving a Dishonored Party. — With Lincoln. — Before the War and After. — Vice-President and United States Senator. — An Important Interview. — Anecdotes, Incidents, and Interesting Scenes. — A Man not to be Replaced . Page 117 V. For Fifty Years an Actor. JOHN GILBERT. From a Dry Goods Counter to the Theatre. — A Debut in the Olden Time.— The Trials of a Beginner.— A "First Old Man" at Twenty-five. — "Roughing It" in the West. — A London En- gagement. — Playing English Comedy in England. — Twenty Years in New York. — Plays and Players of the Past and Present.— Wallack's Theatre 1G9 VI. The Recollections of a Veteran. ROBERT C. SCHENCK. Ohio in the Olden Time. — A Brave Boy. — Practising Law under Difficulty. — A Court in the Woods. — Western Politics in the Days gone by. — Hot Debates and Legislative Contests. — Odd Anecdotes of Distinguished Men. — On the Battle-field. — In Congress during the Rebellion. — Later Service. — A Strong Man and True 219 VII. Through Slavery to Fame. FREDERICK DOUGLASS. A Strange Career. — Reality More Startling than Romance. — Vivid Pictures of Slave Life. — A Maryland Plantation. — The Escape Contents. xi to New England. — How Runaway Negroes were Treated in "the Free North." — John Brown's Plot, and its Result. — A Midnight Interview. — In England and Ireland. — After the War. — High Place in "the New Republic" Page 263 VIII. An Old-time Democrat. "WILLIAM ALLEN. In the Ancient Town of Lynchburg. — The Small Boy who Peeped at Jefferson and Jackson. — A New Home in the West. — Political Tricks of "the Fathers." — Across the Scioto. — A Memorable Contest for Congress. — The Last of a President. — United States Senator and Governor. — The Father of a Political Sect 301 IX. " The Senator from Ohio.''' 1 ALLEN G-. THURMAN. Noteworthy Incidents in a Remarkable Career. — An Agreeable Teacher. — Learning to Speak French and Take Snuff. — A Visit to Calhoun. — High Rank at the Bar. — An Unsought Office. — In the United States Senate. — Thurman and Edmunds. — An Inci- dent.— The Work of an Honest Man 331 X. A Lifetime on the Stage. JOSEPH JEFFERSON. The Third of the Name and Fourth in Line. — A Family of Players. — From England to America. — Anecdotes of Great Actors. — A Remarkable Character. — Hard Work the Foundation of Fortune. — Burke, Burton, "The Elder Booth," Forrest, Edwin Adams, Lawrence Barrett, and John McCullough. — Acting in Australia, England, and America. — "Rip Van Winkle." — The Secret of Success. — Sound Views Well Expressed 355 1* xii Contents. XI. " The Watch-dog of the Treasury:' ELIHU B. WASHBURNE. Hard Work and Great Success. — The Fortunes of a New England Boy. — Farm -hand, Printer's "Devil," School - master, Lawyer, Politician, Statesman, Diplomate ; the Associate of Presidents, Kings, and Princes. — In Washington and Paris. — Eminent Ser- vice at Home and Abroad. — From Bismarck and the German Emperor. — A Private Citizen of the United States . . Page 395 XII. A Man of the South. ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS. The Story of a Busy Life. — From Log Hut to Legislative Hall. — Recollections of Old Georgia. — Sad Incidents in a Wonderful Career. — A Great Man's Secret. — Fighting against Sickness, Pain, and Sorrow. — The Result. — A National Law-maker. — "I go with my State." — Vice-President of "the Confederacy." — In Congress and the Governor's Chair. — A Good, True Heart. — "In Memo- riam."— The End . .429 ILLUSTRATIONS. Horatio Seymour Frontispiece Charles Francis Adams faces p. 49 Peter Cooper Hannibal Hamlin John Gilbert Robert C. Sciienck Frederick Douglass William Allen Allen G. Thurman Joseph Jefferson Eliiiu B. Washburne Alexander H. Stephens 77 117 169 219 263 301 331 355 395 429 "The Farmer Statesman." HORATIO SEYMOUR. BORN IN THE WILDERNESS. Seventy and odd years ago Central New York was little better than a wilderness. It is true that here and there upon the hill-tops a clearing had been cut, and hardy settlers from New England, braving many dangers, literally fighting with wild beasts for possession of the soil, had made for themselves primitive homes. But where great cities now stand giant forest-trees then towered ; roads were almost unknown ; and the valleys were in places untrodden jungles. Pompey, a hamlet of a few hundred inhabitants, established on an eleva- tion overlooking an unsightly swamp — now the flourishing city of Syracuse — was the principal place in Onondaga County. In it, on a May morning in the year 1810, surrounded by path- less wilds, shut out from the civilized settlements of the East and of the Atlantic coast, deep in the backwoods, was born Horatio Seymoui', who has since been the foremost leader of a great political party, who is to-day even in his retirement one of the most distinguished men in the greatest Republic on earth. It has been his lot to watch the retreating foot- steps of savage tribes, to witness the first steps and the high- est achievements of an advanced civilization. The conditions under which his early life was passed were indeed remarkable ones. The people of his native village, like 1 2 Twelve Americans. those of every other community then established in Central New York, were poor — constantly engaged in a struggle to gain food and clothing. At the same time, however, they were contented and hopeful. They were inspired by kindly sympathies which sprang from common wants. All inter- course was upon a level. No man envied his neighbor, for nowhere did the glare of wealth put poverty to shame. Com- ing, as most of them did, from the old and, to a certain ex- tent, cultured settlements of Massachusetts and Connecticut, one of their first cares was to provide schools for their chil- dren. To this end no effort was spared, and Mr. Seymour relates, as within his own recollection, the fact that some of the men of Pompey put mortgages upon their lands that proper institutions of learning might be furnished for the boys and girls of the settlement. To erect churches they made equal sacrifices, and, when all other means failed, it is mat- ter of record that, in order to attract a crowd of hardy back- woodsmen to aid in lifting up the framework of one of their places of worship, they announced that when the steeple had been so erected an adventurous youth, who had more love for the cause than regard for his neck, would stand upon his head on its topmost point. So, too, when the pews were sold the deacons placed upon the pulpit stairs a bucket of rum-punch, to make more liberal the spirits of the bidders for seats. It has, with much truth, been said that those were " the days of vital piety, sound Democracy, and pure liquor." They were, at least, days in which men of all occupations, classes, and conditions mingled together with the utmost freedom. The village inn was then the chief place of public resort, and in its ample room, warmed by a great fire of blazing logs, farm laborers and lawyers, doctors and shop-keepers, clergy- men and publicans, met upon an equal footing, to talk over the affairs of their district, of the State, and the nation. Such discussions were open to every one who cared to take part id "The Farmer Statesman." 3 them. Men of all parties then heard both sides of questions which agitated the public mind. They learned to temper their prejudices, correct their opinions ; and ministers of the Gospel, lawyers, and politicians, knowing more of human nat- ure than do their fellows of to-day, gained greater personal followings, and knew better how to retain the regard of their constituents. It was in those old days, and under the condi- tions described, that Horatio Seymour was born and passed his early childhood. His father, Henry Seymour, afterward an honored public servant of the Empire State, was then one of the men of most consequence in the village of Pompey ; but at a time when men of all classes were at a moment's notice called upon to protect each other from the attack of some ad- venturous bear or wolf — as the early settlers of Central New York were more than once obliged to do — exclusiveness was not one of the marks of distinction. Young Seymour was taught, when in his infancy, that no man in this country is born better than another ; that the most exalted in the land, if they will take the trouble, can learn many a useful lesson from the humblest. He never in after-life forgot these truths ; and to his remembrance of them, as well as to other impressions which he received in the home of his infancy, he may well at- tribute much of the popularity which, in the years that fol- lowed, made him a leader of the American people. Among the many stories which have been told in regard to the youth of Horatio Seymour is one to the effect that at a remarkably early age he developed a decided taste for study, and, while yet in his infancy, distanced all his school competi- tors. This is very far from being the truth. The fact is that he was weak and sickly in his childhood, and for a time was not nearly so advanced in his studies as were other boys of the same age. At all times, however, he was a close, keen observer of what was going on about him ; and what he may have lacked in book-knowledge was, perhaps, more than made good by a 4 Twelve Americans. varied store of information, picked up at odd times, at random and without effort. As is often the case with men who, spring- ing from the people, have had marked success in life, he re- ceived his first lessons from his mother, the daughter of Jona- than Forman, a soldier of the Revolution. Under her watchful care he was — with some difficulty, it must be confessed — ini- tiated into the mysteries of spelling-books and primers. He still cherishes the memory of her patience and devotion, fully believing that to these he owes much of the prosperity and happiness which have fallen to his lot. "When the boy was about eight years of age his father, who had meanwhile acquired some property, moved from Pompey to the growing town of Utica. A year or two afterward he was sent to the Oxford Academy, a famous institution in those days, and from there went to Geneva (now Hobart) College. During all this time, however, he continued to be weak and delicate ; and in his fifteenth year, hoping that the drill of the institution might be of benefit to him, his father sent him to a military school at Middletown, Conn., which was conduct- ed on the West Point principle, and attended by the sons of distinguished men from all parts of the Union. Here he daily gained strength and health, studied hard, improved rap- idly, and made many friends among young men who were des- tined in after-life to take a prominent part in the affairs of the country. When he was sixteen years of age, and had passed two years in the Middletown Academy, its managers, one of whom was an officer in the United States army, decided to take the students upon a trip to Washington. This they did for the twofold purpose of giving the young men a season of recrea- tion, and at the same time making them acquainted with the leading men of the country. Young Seymour, with the rest, reached Baltimore without any adventure of note ; but at that place he, Thomas H. Seymour (his cousiu, who afterward be- "The Farmer Statesman?' 5 came Governor of Connecticut), and Isaac Morse (subsequent- ly the Attorney-general of Louisiana, and a representative in Congress from that State), strayed off from their companions. Coming from the country as they did, everything in the great city was new to them. They wandered about aimlessly, being greatly interested took no note of time, and, when they re- turned to their hotel, were much astonished to find that their fellow - students had left for Washington two hours before ! The stage, which in those days was the only regular means of communication between Washington and Baltimore, had also departed, and they were not sufficiently supplied with money to think of hiring a private conveyance. There was no help for it — they would have to walk to the capital. Quickly coining to this decision, they strapped on their knapsacks, shouldered their muskets — it will be remembered that they were dressed in the uniform of the Academy — and set out on their lonely tramp. They walked all night, and just as day was break- ing entered Washington, and shortly afterward rejoined their corps. The capital, as it then appeared, was, according to Mr. Sey- mour's recollection, an unsightly and badly-built settlement of seven or eight thousand inhabitants. The streets were un- paved and muddy ; and Pennsylvania Avenue, now the pride of the city, was divided into two carriage-ways by four lines of poplar-trees, which extended from the President's mansion to Capitol Hill. The White House itself was not yet finished, the great East Room, in which public receptions are now held, being then used by the President's laundress to dry clothes in. Aside from the public buildings there were but few houses of respectable dimensions in the place ; and most of the Senators and Representatives lived in rooms over the stores on Pennsyl- vania Avenue and adjacent streets. As may well be imagined, the company of well-drilled and trim cadets to which young Seymour was attached created no 6 Twelve Americans. little excitement in this Washington of the olden time. The young men who were members of the corps came from all parts of the country ; many of them had fathers, uncles, or other relatives in Congress ; and they had not been many hours in the city before it was arranged that they should be publicly received by the President, John Quincy Adams, and his Cabinet, and that afterward they should visit the Senate Chamber, the House of Representatives, and the various de- partments of the Government. Young Seymour — whose un- cle, Horatio Seymour, after whom he was named, was then one of the Senators from Vermont — had peculiarly good op- portunities of seeing and talking with all the great men of the day ; and he still retains the liveliest recollections of his first visit to the capital. Henry Clay, with whom he had a num- ber of short conversations, he describes as having been " tall in stature, graceful in action, and most winning in speech." The great Whig was particularly attentive to the cadets, and to the best advantage displayed one of his marked characteristics by recalling the name and inquiring after the welfare of some rel- ative or friend of each of the many young men to whom he spoke. His manner was in marked contrast to the cold, criti- cal, and somewhat haughty demeanor of President Adams, who, when the cadets visited him, was formal and stiff almost to statuesqueness. Later in life, however, Mr. Seymour found him, our of the Presidential chair, in a very different mood — full of humor and anecdote, and as genial and sympathetic as could be desired. Calhoun — who, like Clay, impressed the students most for- ciblv — was, as Mr. Seymour remembers him, tall and command- ing in figure, very erect in his bearing, and in appearance coldly dignified. In manner and address, however, he was usually so simple, affable, and unassuming as to win the sincere regard of all with whom he came in contact. In conversation he prac- tised none of those arts which so-called great men of the pres- "The Fanner Statesman, ." 7 ent clay bring into requisition to give the world a greater idea of their importance. He was frank and open almost to a fault, talked fully and freely to the humblest of men upon topics of the utmost state importance, and even seemed anxious to as- certain and listen to the opinions of young Seymour and his school-mates. Still another of the distinguished men of the day pointed out to the cadets was John Randolph, of Virginia. He was a remarkable figure in the old Senate Chamber. Thin, pale, and delicate, greatly resembling Alexander H. Stephens, of Georgia, though without that gentleman's bodily infirmities, he added to the singularity of his appearance by wearing tightly-fitting small-clothes, top-boots, spurs, and a long queue. Of course the boys stared at him, and he seemed to be exceedingly an- noyed in consequence. Daniel Webster, whom Mr. Seymour also saw and heard during his stay in the capital, he remembers chiefly as being, to use his own words, the possessor of " a voice of great power and depth — a voice full of magnetism, a voice such as is heard only once in a lifetime." Greatly as that voice impressed him, however, it fell far short of producing the effect upon his young and impressi- ble imagination which was at this time occasioned by a visit which he- and the other cadets made to Mount Vernon and the grave of Washington. While there he witnessed the re- moval of the great man's remains from the tomb in which they were first interred, to their present resting-place. He was allowed to lay his hands upon the coffin ; and to-day, old and full of honors though he be, he speaks earnestly, almost rever- ently, of that occurrence as one of the greatest events of his life. Some years after these school -boy experiences Mr. Sey- mour again visited Baltimore and Washington, going in com- pany with his father, who was a delegate to the National Con- 8 Twelve Americans. vention, which was held in the former city and nominated Jackson for the second time. In those days — whether because of a lack of interest, or the many difficulties which travellers were obliged to encounter, need not be discussed — political meetings, even those of national importance, attracted nothing like the attendance and attention which they now receive. The Baltimore Convention in question was held in a church of ordinary size, which was not more than half filled by dele- gates and spectators. A day or two before it came together a warehouse belonging to Phelps, Dodge k Co., even then an extensive firm, had fallen in, killing and wounding several per- sons ; and it is possible that fears of a similar accident pre- vented many from attending the convention. At all events, Mr. Seymour remembers that the audience was a very small one, and that among the delegates there was quite as much talk about falling walls and broken bones as there was regard- ing politics and the success of the Democratic Party. In short, the people in the church were filled with vague fears of they knew not what, and were ready at a moment's notice to lose their wits from fright. They soon had the opportunity. Suddenly, in the midst of the proceedings, one of the beams which supported the roof of the building was heard to crack ! At the same moment two or three pieces of plaster fell to the floor with a crash. " The church is falling in!"' some unduly excited person shouted, and at once there was a panic and a wild rush to the doors. Of course, those so-called means of exit opened toward the interior — it will be noticed that on such occa- sions they always do — and young Seymour, carried along with the crowd, was violently thrown against a panel which had been closed by the first crush, and narrowly escaped seri- ous injury. As good fortune would have it, however, all the delegates and their friends made their way out of the building with whole bones. Then, finding that there was no danger, "The Farmer Statesman." 9 they went back to the business for which they had assembled, and, as has been stated, the convention resulted in the renomi- nation of President Jackson. Henry Seymour, Horatio's father, was at this time one of the powerful company of New York politicians known as " the x^lbany Regency," and it was due in great measure to their efforts that Jackson had been successful. In recognition of their services, the President, when they went to Washing- ton, invited them to dine with him. Young Seymour went with the rest, and, as was perhaps only natural, expected to be present at an entertainment of more than ordinary brilliancy. In this he was disappointed. Jackson had no taste for bril- liant entertainments, and on the occasion in question had simply invited a few gentlemen to an informal dinner, made up of the very plainest fare. The company was decidedly a mixed one. It comprised eight persons, most conspicuous among whom were Jackson himself and, seated directly op- posite him, " Nick " Biddle, the President of the Bank of the United States. Every one present knew that the war on the bank, which had then for some time been contemplated by the Administration, must soon be commenced, and would doubtless result in the complete overthrow of Biddle and his friends. Under the circumstances it was a matter of some remark, not only that Jackson had invited that gentleman, but that he treated him with marked courtesy — a courtesy which was returned with interest. " Old man Creamer," a noted politician of the day, a most enthusiastic supporter of Jack- son, and who, by reason of his round face, fiery-red hair, and a coat badly torn under the arm, cut quite a figure at the table, did not seem either to understand or relish this mutual politeness. Several times during the dinner it was evident that he was on the point of making some remark offensive to Biddle. He was always restrained by a quick glance from the keen eve of the President, however, and the company sep- 1* io Twelve Americans. arated on the best of terms. Soon afterward it was evident that if Jackson's marked attention to Mr. Biddle had any sig- nificance, it at least could not be taken as an indication that the attack on the United States Bank was to be abandoned. The President's financial policy was continued, and in the end, as need hardly be stated, it resulted in breaking down the bank. II. ENTERING PUBLIC LIFE.—" THE BARNBURNER-HUNKER WAR." "When Horatio Seymour left the military academy at Mid- dletown he had completely recovered from the debility of his childhood. Strong in body, and with a mind well stored with much useful knowledge, he returned to Utica, and, entering the office of Green C. Bronson and Samuel Beardsley, com- menced to study law. In due course he was admitted to the Bar. At about the same time, however, he married Miss Mary Bleecker, of Albany, a young lady of many accomplish- ments, a descendant of one of the oldest and wealthiest fami- lies in New York; and, being charged with the management of her large estate in addition to his own, he never entered actively upon the practice of his profession. At a time when every lawyer was a politician, however, and when politics «ind religion were almost the only resources of country life, it was hardly to be expected that a young man of Mr. Seymour's antecedents, education, and surroundings could long keep aloof from affairs of state. His early visits to "Wash- ington had, to a certain extent, made him familiar with the pub- lic men and methods of the day ; his association with Messrs. Bronson and Beardsley, both of whom took high rank as party leaders, and who subsequently each held the highest judicial position in the Commonwealth ; the precept and example of his distinguished father and uncle, together with his own in- clination, conspired to lead him into public life. Having the " The Farmer Statesman" 1 1 desire, the way was soon open to him. He was introduced to William L. Marcy, then Governor of New York, and was soon afterward made one of his staff; in time he became the con- fidential friend of that great man, and he has ever since played a prominent part and taken the deepest interest in the govern- ment of the State and nation. While with Governor Marcy he had every opportunity of becoming thoroughly familiar with the routine of legislative bodies, and in the Assembly of 1842 — to which he was elected by the Democrats of Oneida — he was, because of this experi- ence, able, without the usual preliminary training, to take a prominent position. And in that year the Legislature of New York was a body in which no man of ordinary ability could hope to attain such a place. Michael Hoffman, Sanford E. Church, John A. Dix, David R. Floyd-Jones, George R. Davis, Lemuel Stetson, and Calvin T. Hulburd were among the lead- ers, and many legislators of no mean ability were content to be their followers. Among such a company it was a matter of surprise, even to his friends, that Horatio Seymour should from the first take a leading place, but that he did so there can be no doubt. Judge Hammond, in his " Life and Times of Silas Wright," referring to " the new member from Oneida," says : " We have seldom known a man who possessed higher and better qualifications for usefulness and success in a popu- lar government than Horatio Seymour. Kind and social by nature, affable in his deportment, possessing a shrewd, dis- cerning mind, fluent, and at times eloquent in debate, enlarged in his views, fascinating in his address, no man seemed better calculated to acquire an influence in a legislative body than he, and few men at his time of life have, in fact, acquired a bet- ter standing or more substantial moral power. lie had early in life made himself well acquainted with the great and varied interests of the State of New York, an acquisition which aided him much in debate and gave him an advantage over older 12 Twelve Americans. members, and which, at the same time, enabled him to render services in legislation highly useful and beneficial to the State." A reference to the speeches of Mr. Seymour during the mem- orable session of 1842, particularly to his addresses in regard to Michael Hoffman's famous bill for restoring the financial credit of the State, by which, for the first time in its history, a tax for the support of the Government was levied directly upon the people, will show that the young legislator deserved all the praise which Judge Hammond awarded him. Returning to Utica after his first session in the Assembly, Mr. Seymour was elected mayor of that city, defeating the Whig candidate by an unusually large majority. The next winter he was again chosen to the Legislature, and continued to serve in that body until the spring of 1 845. This period was one of the most important and exciting in the political history of the State. Governor Bouck's administration had met with much opposition in the Legislature ; and, as the event proved, the bitter debates which grew out of this oppo- sition led to disorganization and discord, and at last to Demo- cratic defeat. Horatio Seymour was one of the few men who properly understood the situation, and he never lost an oppor- tunity of counselling his party friends to be moderate in their utterances and conciliatory toward their associates. But his warning was not heeded. Indeed, there was more than one old politician who laughed at him, as an alarmist ; and, for the moment, it must be confessed that the casual observer of po- litical events could see no reason for the fears which he en- tertained. Never in its history had the Democratic organization achieved a greater victory than that which crowned its ef- forts in 1844. Both the great parties had put forth their utmost strength ; the excitement had been intense ; and the result, a decisive, a bitter, and humiliating defeat for the Whio-s. In the State of New York, as well as in the nation, "The Fanner Statesman." 13 their chosen leaders had been buried out of sight by the ma- jorities given to their opponents. Silas Wright, the Demo- crat, had been elected Governor over Fillmore, their strongest man ; and " Harry " Clay, the greatest Whig of all, the hero of his party, the idol of his personal followers, had been de- feated for the Presidency by James K. Polk, whom nobody knew. To talk of Democratic discord after such a victory seemed to be little short of madness ; yet Mr. Seymour — with wonderful foresight anticipating what, in the light of later events, may be called the inevitable result of the " Barnburn- er and Hunker" war, just then springing up — continued to preach harmony and unity. It was under these circumstances that the legislative session of 1845 opened at Albany. The Democrats were largely in the majority, but Horatio Seymour was the only Democratic member of the Assembly who had filled the same position in the preceding year. He was recognized as a man of the great- est experience and ability; and the "Hunker" wing of the party, to which he had become attached, named him as a can- didate for Speaker. The "Barnburners" supported Colonel Crain, of Herkimer; and the contest which followed is still remembered by old habitues of the State Capitol as one of the most exciting which ever occurred there. There can be no doubt that Mr. Seymour, seeing as he did the evil results which must follow to his party, sincerely deplored the bitter- ness and intensity of the struggle ; and it is a matter of record that, in the interest of harmony, he made several efforts to withdraw his name. This, however, he could not do. His friends insisted that he must go on with the canvass ; and, making up his mind that his political future depended upon his success, he went into the contest with all the great energy of which he was capable. Distinguished men from all parts of the State went "to Albany to take sides for or against him. The Federal office-holders did their utmost for him, while near- 14 Twelve Americans. ly every prominent employe of the Canal Board was at work in the interest of Colonel Crain. So, in the old fashion — not yet out of date, by-the-way — the fight went on for several days, until just before the meeting of the caucus which was to decide it, when it seemed certain that Mr. Seymour must succeed. At the last moment, however, his opponents began to circulate what appeared to be a well-authenticated story, to the effect that Governor Wright was much opposed to the " Hunker " candidate, and had expressed a desire for the suc- cess of Colonel Crain. This report injured Mr. Seymour greatly, and without delay he, with two friends, went to see the Governor. They found the round-faced, bright-eyed, and firm-mouthed old statesman preparing his Message ; and the candidate for Speaker, at once making known his business, said, " If it is true, Governor, that you would regard my success unfavorably, I will without delay withdraw my name, though by such action I will greatly injure myself. Still, I desire the success of your administration above all personal considera- tions, and whatever your wishes in the matter may be, I will follow them." To this the Governor, with characteristic bluntness, replied, " It is not true, Mr. Seymour, this story that I have ex- pressed any opinion on the question of the Speakership. I have taken no part in the matter, and will express no wishes as to the result." Satisfied with this assurance, Mr. Seymour and his friends left the Executive Chamber, and gave publicity to the Gov- ernor's declaration of neutrality. In the Democratic caucus held a few hours later the "Hunker" candidate received 35 votes, and the "Barnburner" 30. The next day Horatio Sey- mour was formally elected Speaker of the New York Assem- bly. On the same afternoon he told Hugh J. Hastings — who was even then a familiar figure in the Capitol — that he looked "The Farmer Statesman." 15 upon the position as one of the most honorable and distin- guished which any American could hope to fill. Mr. Seymour certainly did his utmost to maintain the dig- nity of the place which he regarded thus highly. He was an excellent presiding officer, distinguished for his fairness and uniform courtesy to men of all parties ; and during the excit- ing and momentous session which followed his election he was never accused, even by his bitterest enemies, of making use of his great influence to further any private scheme or personal ambition. Acting always with the "Hunkers" on part) 7 ques- tions, he and his friends secured the election of Daniel S. Dick- inson to the United States Senate, and indirectly aided in se- curing for "William L. Marcy the portfolio of Secretary of War. He was not equally successful in his efforts to prevent the disorganization of his party. The " Hunker and Barnburn- er" war continued to increase in bitterness, until at last the "Barnburners" gave signs of favoring a Whig bill providing for a convention to revise the State Constitution. This Mr. Seymour opposed with all his power. He argued with much force, from a party stand-point, that the Democrats were then in absolute possession of all branches of the Government, not only State but national. He drew attention to the fact that a representative of their party sat in the White House ; that the Governor of the State and all the State officers were Demo- crats, that Congress and the Legislature were in their hands; and he warned them that changes could only result in advan- tage to their political opponents. But his arguments were in vain. The bill ordering the Constitutional Convention was passed; the "Barnburner and Hunker" troubles continued, and culminated in the Van Buren-Cass feud, the election of Taylor to the Presidency, and the overthrow of the Democ- racy in the nation and State. For nearly five years after the exciting Legislative session which in creat measure contributed to these results Horatio 1 6 Twelve Americans. Seymour remained quietly at his home in Utica, taking no active part in politics, but as usual keeping himself thoroughly and accurately informed of the drift of public affairs. In 1850, his party being in what was regarded as a hopeless mi- nority, he was called from this retirement, and tendered the Democratic nomination for the Governorship. He accepted ; made a canvass of characteristic energy and vigor; greatly in- creased the Democratic vote, but was defeated. Washington Hunt, the Whig candidate, who, as it happened, was a warm personal friend of Mr. Seymour, was supported by the Anti- renters, a powerful organization, which drew largely from the Democracy, and was elected by the scant majority of 262 votes. The remarkably good run which Mr. Seymour made in this contest, coupled with the fact that he had fought bravely, hopefully, to the very last, and under heavy odds, won for him many new friends ; and in the bitter and exciting strug- gle which came two years later he was again placed at the head of the Democratic State ticket. After an exhaustive per- sonal canvass he was elected over Hunt, the Whig, and Tomp- kins, the Free-soil candidate, by a majority of several thou- sand. He entered upon the Governorship at a most exciting period in the history of the State. The advocates of temper- ance had gone mad — no other word will properly express their condition. They clamored loudly for laws arbitrarily and un- qualifiedly prohibiting the sale of liquors. The Legislature of 1854, with the time-serving cowardice characteristic of New York Legislatures, bowed to the storm, which its chief mem- bers believed to be a popular one, and passed a most stringent liquor law, similar to that which had recently gone into force in Maine. Governor Seymour, very properly holding, as he has always done, that no legislative body has the right to rob citizens of their private and personal liberties, after due delib- eration, but nevertheless with becoming promptness, braved "The Farmer Statesman." ij the bitter enmity of the temperance fanatics, which he was fully aware he must encounter, and vetoed the bill. The sa- lient points of his memorable and much-quoted Message are as follows : "The bill is wrong, because it directs unreasonable searches of the premises and dwellings of our citizens under circumstances calculated to provoke resistance.; it deprives persons of their property in a manner pro- hibited by the Constitution ; it subjects them, on mere suspicion of knowl- edge of a suspected crime, to an inquisitorial examination. * * * For one act of alleged violation of law a citizen may be proceeded against as a criminal — be fined or imprisoned, and his property seized or forfeited ; he may be proceeded against in civil suits by various parties with whom he has had no dealings, and subjected to the payment of damages where none have been averred or proved. To all these prosecutions he may be sub- jected without the benefit of trial, in the usual and judicial meaning of the term. * * * The idea pervades the bill that unusual, numerous, and severe penalties will secure enforcement, but all experience shows that the undue severity of laws defeats their execution. After the excitement which en- acted them has passed away no one feels disposed to enforce them, for no law can be sustained which goes beyond public feeling and sentiment. * * * The Constitution makes it my duty to point out the objectionable features of this bill, but I owe it to the subject and the friends of the measure to add the expression of my belief that intemperance cannot be extirpated by prohibitory laws. They are not consistent with sound prin- ciples of legislation. Like decrees to regulate religious creeds or forms of worship, they provoke resistance when they are designed to enforce obedience. * * * The effort to suppress intemperance by unusual and ar- bitrary measures proves that the Legislature is attempting to do that which is not within its province to enact or its power to enforce. This is the error which lies at the foundation of this bill — which distorts its details and makes it a cause of angry controversy. * * * Should it become a law it would render its advocates odious as the supporters of unjust and arbi- trary enactments. Its evils would only cease upon its repeal or when it became a dead-letter upon the statute-book. Judicious legislation may correct abuses in the manufacture, sale, or use of intoxicating licmors, but it can do no more. All experience shows that temperance, like other virtues, is not produced by law-makers, but by the influences of education, morality, and religion." The storm of virtuous indignation which this most judicious and statesmanlike Message produced among " the temperance people," and the political manipulators who sought to curry 1 8 Twelve Americans. favor with them, cannot be adequately described. On all sides, from the platform, the pulpit, and in the organs of public opinion, Governor Seymour was unsparingly denounced as an apostle of drunkenness and an aider and abettor of the dram- seller. To sucb an extent did bis veto excite the malignant prejudice of a certain class of the so-called Christian people, that every subsequent act of his administration,- no matter how trivial or unimportant, was looked upon with suspicion and de- nounced as wrong. At one time, when he was on the point of writing a Thanksgiving proclamation, a doctor of divinity, celebrated for his learning, piety, and goodness, happened into the Executive Chamber, and, as the proclamation was to appeal in a degree to the religious sentiment of the State, Mr. Sey- mour asked him to write it. He did so in the most orthodox style ; but no sooner was it issued than the Governor, whose name was, of course, appended to it, was denounced afresh as an irreligious, immoral, and bad man. One religious paper, the chief organ of the very denomination to which the real author of the proclamation belonged, characterized it as "a disgraceful production, evidently written by a man of infidel tendencies." So, until the end of his term, "the Christian press" and the advocates of temperance continued to vilify and abuse the Governor. Indeed, only one great organ of public opinion could be found which was fearless and inde- pendent enough to speak well of him at this trying period in his career. The New York Times, though, • of course, ear- nestly and unqualifiedly opposed to his political principles, said, regarding his veto of the Liquor Bill: "There are very few sober people who will not confess that the Governor's objec- tions to the details of the bill are substantially sound and en- titled to weight." But, of course, these few words of praise did him no good with his own party, and in the election of 1854, when he was again a candidate for Governor, he was defeated by the opposition of disaffected Democrats. Myron "The Fanner Statesman." 19 H. Clark, the Whig and temperance nominee, was declared elected in his place by a very small plurality. It is worthy of note that in this contest the American, or Know-nothing, Party, which was then at the height of its power, in a total poll of 469,431, cast 122,282 votes. From this point on the politics of the State and nation be- gan to turn more and more upon the slavery question ; and Mr. Seymour, once again in private life, though never for a moment anticipating the terrible war which was to follow, saw- clearly that the struggle between the slave-holding power and the freedom-loving masses of the North and West was destined to be a most desperate one. Three years before, as a delegate to the national meeting which nominated Pierce for the Presi- dency, he again and again counselled moderation ; and, sin- cerely believing that his life -long friend, William L. Marcy, would be able to avert the danger which threatened the coun- try, he urged his name upon the convention. Owing to the "Barnburner- Hunker " feud, as he still believes, his efforts were unsuccessful. Marcy was made a member of the Cabi- net, however, and, verifying Mr. Seymour's predictions, was, throughout the whole of the Kansas difficulties, the wisest counsellor of the administration. At this time the two gentlemen were in constant communi- cation ; and it was, therefore, no surprise to Governor Seymour to receive, late at night, from Secretary Marcy a telegram ask- ing him to come to Washington without delay. He was not able to comply with the request immediately, however, and two days afterward received the following letter. It is now for the first time made public. "[Private.] Washington, February 10, 1S56. "My dear Sir, — I sent to you at New York a telegraph last night urg- ing you to come here forthwith if you could. The object in having you come here is to induce you to go on a commission to Kansas. " The President is determined to send two high men immediately to that Territory, in order to use their influence to adjust the differences there. 20 Twelve Americans. The mission is truly important, and I sincerely hope you will not hesitate to accept it. It is important that the persons who go out should be there as soon as possible. One Commissioner will be from the North, and the other from the South. Yours truly, W. L. Marct." To this letter Mr. Seymour immediately replied, thanking the Secretary for the renewed evidences of his confidence con- tained in it, but positively declining to serve on the proposed commission. As a reason for this action, he wrote that the Governor and other officers of the Territory, duly appointed and recognized, should be able to quiet all disturbances and put an end to the existing difficulties. In conclusion, he urged that the contemplated commission could only embarrass those officers, decrease the respect which the people should have for them, make less their authority, and impair their useful- ness. The wisdom of this view was, in the end, abundantly proved. Shortly after this correspondence, in the National Demo- cratic Convention of the same year, Horatio Seymour was again one of the most prominent delegates, and was once more in- defatigable in his efforts to heal the breaches in the organiza- tion of his party. But, despite all his endeavors, the old fight of the " Barnburners" and " Hunkers" broke out afresh. It be- ing decided that both sides should be represented in the conven- tion, many of the New York leaders went home greatly dissat- isfied ; and the old Van Buren men, leaving the Democracy, united with the Free-soilers and aided to make up the Repub- lican Party of the Empire State. It has been said by numbers of usually well-informed politicians of the old school that in this convention Mr. Seymour was favorable to the candidacy of Mr. Douglas. This is a mistake. He persistently urged the renomination of President Pierce, but was not unfriendly to Buchanan, and, in the campaign which followed, literally worked night and day to secure the election of that gentle- man. Among other memorable speeches delivered by him "The Farmer Statesman" 21 during the canvass was one addressed to a mass -meeting in Massachusetts. In the course of it he warned the people of New England against the dangers of sectional division and sec- tional prejudice, speaking, as he thought, with what might be regarded as rather undue directness and heat. It is notewor- thy that the great political turn-coat, Benjamin F. Butler, who was chairman of the meeting, disagreed with him in this re- spect, and, commenting upon the portion of his speech referred to, said ; " You didn't give it to them half hard enough." After his inauguration, the President, deeply appreciating the services of Governor Seymour in his behalf, offered him a foreign mission ; but, preferring to continue the historical re- search and study in which he was then engaged and always de- lighted, the Governor, with sincere thanks, declined the honor. lie continued, however, to take the liveliest interest in local and State affairs, attending numerous conventions and deliver- ing many political and other speeches. It was during this period in the history of the State that laws were passed establishing the much -criticised system of government by commissions, under which occurred the origi- nal organization of the Metropolitan Police force of New York City. These enactments were exceedingly distasteful to the local Democratic managers, if irot to the great masses of the party, and, on the plea that they were unconstitutional, the Court of Appeals was asked to set them aside. This the court refused to do, Hiram Denio, a pronounced Democrat, but nevertheless an upright judge, delivering the opinion ad- verse to his party friends. The feeling against him in conse- quence was intense, and at the nominating convention, held a few weeks afterward to name a candidate for Justice, his term having expired, he was denounced in unmeasured terms. No one dared say a word in his defence. It seemed as if he had no friend in the convention, and without opposition another candidate was about to be selected for his position, when Ho- 22 Twelve Americans. ratio Seymour, acting as a delegate from Oneida, rose, and at once commanding that respectful attention always accorded him in even the most unruly of Democratic assemblages, said, calmly, " I desire to renominate Hiram Denio for Judge of the Court of Appeals !" If a thunder-bolt had fallen among the delegates they could not have been more astonished. They were dumb from sur- prise, and in the utmost silence listened as the speaker con- tinued : " I desire that we renominate him, not because we approve his decision — indeed, I am hostile to the system of commissions, and differ with Judge Denio in his views of the law — but because we respect his office, have confidence in his motives, and are willing to accept and observe any statute legitimately passed and affirmed by the courts, I desire that we renominate him, because by doing so we will demonstrate the sincerity of the Democratic Party in its professions of re- spect for an independent judiciary." The effect of this short address was almost magical. Ho- ratio Seymour has seldom met with opposition in a convention of Xew York Democrats. On the occasion in question his victory was complete. Judge Denio was renominated by men who a few moments before had heaped upon him the bitterest abuse ; subsequently he was re-elected by .the people. There is not in the history of the State a more striking example of the power which a great leader may at times exert over a con- vention of his political friends. But the leader of the Xew York Democracy was not des- tined much longer to exert his power in local conventions. He was needed in another field. At this time momentous and startling events followed each other in quick succession. The great Republican Party was organized from the pine-hills of Maine to the slopes of the Pacific. The best sentiment of the American people declared that the odious system of hu- "The Farmer Statesman^ 23 man slavery, which had so long heen a disgrace to the nation, should be extended to no new Territory. Abraham Lincoln was nominated and elected to the Presidency upon a platform of which this sentiment was the leading plank. The arro- gant and traitorous Democratic and State -rights leaders of the South rebelled, and drove their blind and confiding dupes to arms. The flag of the Union was fired upon, and civil war declared. III. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE REBELLION.— WAR GOVERNOR OF NEW YORK. Horatio Seymour, who had known Calhoun and Jackson and Taylor, who had helped to make weak and vacillating James Buchanan President of the United States, who had all his life been an advocate of the doctrine of the rights of States, who was born and bred a Democrat, who had become one of the pillars of his party, must not be denounced be- cause in this crisis his sympathies were with the men of the South, and against Lincoln and those who declared that the soil of free America should not be polluted by a farther ex- tension of slavery. That his most earnest sympathies were so directed there can be no doubt. Indeed, it is a matter of historical record that he believed the Republican leaders, and not the slave-holders of the South, were driving the country to war and destruction. That he held these views is sufficiently evidenced in his eloquent speech delivered before the so-called "Peace Convention," held in Albany soon after the secession of Louisiana, and the withdrawal of Jefferson Davis and his co- conspirators from the Union Senate. In that address he said: " Throe score and ten years, the period allotted for the life of man, have rolled away since George Washington was inaugurated first President of the United States, in the city of New York. We were then among the feeblest- people of the earth. The flag of Great Britain waved over Os- wego with insulting defiance of our national rights and the treaty recogniz- 24 Twelve Americans. ing our Independence. The powers of the earth regarded us 'with indif- ference or treated us with contemptuous injustice. So swift has been our progress under the influence of our Union, that but yesterday we could defy the world in arms and none dared to insult our flag. * * * Some yet live to see our numbers increased from 4,000,000 to 40,000,000, our terri- tories quadrupled and extended from the Atlantic to the Pacific, our power and progress the wonder of the world. Alas ! sir, they have also lived to see the patriotism and paternal love which have wrought out these mar- vellous results die out, and the mighty fabric of our Government about to crumble and fall because the virtues which reared and upheld it have departed from our councils. " What a spectacle do we present to-day ! Already six States have with- drawn from this Confederacy. Revolution has actually begun. The term 'secession' divests it of none of its terrors, nor do arguments to prove se- cession inconsistent with our Constitution stay its progress or mitigate its evils. All virtue, patriotism, and intelligence seem to have fled from our national capital ; it has been well likened to the conflagration of an asylum for madmen. Some look on with idiotic imbecility, some in sullen silence, and some scatter the firebrands which consume the fabric above them and bring upon all a common destruction. * * * The wrongs of our local legis- lation, the growing burdens of debt and taxation, the gradual destruction of the African in the free States (which is marked by each recurring cen- sus), are all due to the neglect of our own duties caused by the complete absorption of the public mind by a senseless, unreasoning fanaticism. The agitation of the question of slavery has thus far brought greater social, moral, and legislative evils upon the people of the free States than it has upon the institutions of those against whom it has been excited." These were Governor Seymour's views expressed before war had actually commenced, and when it was believed by many that the civil struggle could be prevented if the North and the Republican Administration at Washington would make what were called " proper overtures and concessions to the South." After the war began, however, he ceased to be a partisan and became a patriot. His one aim was to save the Union, at no matter what cost. He had no farther words of reproach for the Republican Administration. Speaking for the War Demo- crats, he said : " We denounce the rebellion as most wicked, because it wages war against the best Government the world has ever seen." Throwing aside all personal considerations, he responded to the President's call for troops by serving on " The Farmer Statesman" 25 committees charged with the enrolment and equipment of vol- unteers, and by frequent and urgent appeals to the young men of his party to hasten to the defence of their country. It is noteworthy that one of the first and greatest effects of our civil war was to break up and disband all minor political organizations. Men ceased to be " Free-soilers, ; ' " Know-noth- ings," "Anti- renters," "Hunkers," and "Barnburners;" they were simply Republicans and Democrats — for the Union or against it. This was the condition of parties in the fall of 1862, when the official term of Edwin D. Morgan, the Repub- lican war Governor, was about to close. In an expiring effort "the Americans" had met, determined to act in future with the Democracy, and named Horatio Seymour as their choice for Governor. His friends followed the lead of these men, who had been his bitter political enemies, and he was nomi- nated by the regular Democratic Convention. General Wads- worth was made the Republican candidate, and the campaign opened amid almost unparalleled excitement. The Republi- cans, supported by the national Administration, were confident of success ; and Mr. Seymour, encouraged by an immense per- sonal following, was determined and hopeful. He knew, how- ever, that he had a hard, a desperate fight before him, and to win it he took the unusual course of making a close personal canvass and appealing directly to the people for their votes. Most of the prominent Democratic campaign speakers had gone over to the Republicans, and he was forced to take nearly all the burden of the campaign upon his own shoulders. Still, he battled bravely against every difficulty, delivered sixty ad- dresses during the canvass, and was elected by a majority of more than 10,000. On the 1st of January, 1863, he was inau- gurated at Albany, in the presence of a great gathering of people. Upon taking his seat he pledged himself by every means in his power to aid in preserving the Union, and said, farther: "I have solemnly sworn to support the Constitution 3 26 Twelve Americans. of the United States, with all its grants, restrictions, and guar- antees, and shall support it. I have also sworn to support the Constitution of the State of New York, with all its powers and rights. I shall uphold it." From his standpoint and to the very best of his great abil- ity Horatio Seymour kept these pledges. No man doubted that he would uphold the Constitution of his native State, but there were many who believed he could not be relied upon to support the war measures of the general Government, or to promptly obey the lawful demands of President Lincoln. The men who entertained this opinion were greatly mistaken. Gov- ernor Seymour never failed to respond cheerfully and speedily to every call for help which came to him from the national Administration. How frequent and urgent such calls were the record shows. He had not been in office six months when he received the following telegram : " Washington, June 15, 1S63. " To his Excellency Gov. Seymour : " The movements of the rebel forces in Virginia are now sufficiently de- veloped to show that General Lee, with his whole army, is moving forward to invade the States of Maryland, Pennsylvania, and other States. The President, to repel this invasion promptly, has called upon Ohio, Pennsyl- vania, Maryland, and Western Virginia for 100,000 militia for six months, unless sooner discharged. It is important to have the largest possible force in the least time, and if other States would furnish militia for a short term, to be allowed on the draft, it would greatly advance the object. Will you please inform me immediately if in answer to a special call of the President you can raise and forward, say, 20,000 militia, as volunteers with- out bounty, to be credited to the draft of your State, or what number you can probably raise ? E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War." Three-quarters of an hour after the Secretary of AVar had forwarded this telegram he received the following reply : "Albany, June 15, 1S63. " The Hon. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War, Washington : " I will spare no efforts to send you troops at once. I have sent orders to the militia officers of the State. Horatio Seymour." "The Farmer Statesman^ 27 Three days later the Governor had fulfilled his promise, and the following despatch was sent to Washington : "Albany, June IS, 18C3. ' ' To the Hon. E\ M. Stanton, Secretary of War : " About 12,000 men are now on the move for Harrisburg, Penn., in good spirits, and well equipped. The Governor asks, ' Shall troops continue to be forwarded ?' Please answer. "John T. Sprague, Adjutant-general." To this the Secretary made the following reply : "By Telegraph from Washington, June 19, 1S63. " To Adjt.-Gen. Sprague: " The President directs me to return his thanks to his Excellency Gov- ernor Seymour and his staff for their energetic and prompt action. Wheth- er any farther force is likely to be required will be communicated to you to-morrow, by which time it is expected the movements of the enemy will be more fully developed. Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War." Subsequent telegrams from Washington informed the Gov- ernor that no more troops were needed in Pennsylvania, but later on he received the following from Harrisburg : "By Telegraph from Harrisburg, July 2, 1863. " To his Excellency Gov. Seymour : "Send forward more troops as rapidly as possible. Every hour in- creases the necessity for large force to protect Pennsylvania. The battles of yesterday were not decisive ; and if Meade should be defeated, unless we have a large army, this State will be overrun by the rebels. " A. G. Ccrtin, Governor of Pennsylvania." And to this appeal, as to all others of the same sort, Gov- ernor Seymour sent a prompt and favorable reply. Tlje fol- lowing is a copy : "New York, July 2, 1SG3. " To Gov. Curtin, Harrisburg, Penn. : " Your telegram is received. Troops will continue to be sent. One regiment leaves to-day, another to-morrow, all in good pluck. "John T. Sprague, Adjutant-general." If any farther proof be needed of the fact that President Lincoln and Governor Seymour were thoroughly in accord, so far as their official relations were concerned, and that they were united in their efforts to put down the rebellion — a fact which has more than once been disputed — it will bo found in 28 Twelve Americans. the following quaintly-worded and characteristic letter from the Eepublican President, and the reply to that letter which was sent by the Democratic Governor. Both communications were written in the strictest confidence: "[Private and confidential.] "Executive Mansion, Washington, March 23, 1SG3. 11 Sis Excellency Gov. Seymour: " You and I are substantially strangers, and I write this chiefly that we may become better acquainted. I for the time being am at the head of a nation which is in great peril, and you are at the head of the greatest State in that nation. As to maintaining the nation's life and integrity, I assume and believe there cannot be a difference of purpose between you and me. If we should differ as to the means, it is important that such dif- ference should be as small as possible — that it should not be enhanced by unjust suspicions on one side or the other. In the performance of my duty the co-operation of your State, as that of others, is needed — in fact, is in- dispensable. This alone is sufficient reason why I should wish to be at a good understanding with you. Please write me at least as long a letter as this — of course saying in it just what you think fit. — Yours very truly, "A. Lincoln." To this communication Horatio Seymour made the follow- ing reply : "State of New York, Executive Department, Albany, April 14, 1803. "Dear Sir, — I have delayed answering your letter for some days with a view of preparing a paper in which I wish to state clearly the aspect of public affairs from the stand-point I occupy. I do not claim any superior wisdom, but I am confident the opinions I hold are entertained by one-half of the population of the Northern States. I have been prevented from giving my views in the manner I intended by a pressure of official duties, which, at the present stage of the legislative session of this State, confine me to the Executive Chamber until each midnight ; after the adjournment, which will soon take place, I will give you, without reserve, my opinion and purposes with regard to the condition of our unhappy country. " In the mean time, I assure you that no political resentments, no per- sonal purposes, will turn me aside from the pathway I have marked out for myself. I intend to show those charged with the administration of public affairs a due deference and respect, and to give to them a just and generous support in all measures they may adopt within the scope of their constitutional powers. Tor the preservation of this Union I am ready to make any sacrifice of interest, passion, or prejudice. — Truly yours, "Horatio Seymour. "To his Excellency Abraham Lincoln." " The Farmer Statesman." 29 It will be noticed that this letter contemplates a second and longer communication from the Governor to the President. The events attending the invasion of Pennsylvania by Lee ren- dered such a writing unnecessary. The Governor testified by his acts his anxiety to aid the general Government. After those acts — and I use his own words — he "could not well write without seeming to boast of what had been done." In connection with the correspondence, however, it is worthy of particular note that Governor Seymour, in addition to the Hon. Simon Cameron and one other distinguished man with whom I have conversed on the subject, is firmly convinced that there was at one time what can only be called a conspiracy, set on foot and engaged in by a number of Republican leaders, to force President Lincoln out of the White House. Regarding this movement, ex-Senator Cameron said to me in May, 1878, "Late in 1862 or early in 1863 there can be no doubt that a secret effort was made to bring about the ejectment of Presi- dent Lincoln from the White House. Some time after I re- turned from the Russian mission, and while I was resting at my home in Pennsylvania, I received from a number of the most prominent gentlemen an invitation to visit Washington and attend a meeting which, according to my information, was to be held in regard to national affairs. I afterward discover- ed that this invitation was extended to me because it was be- lieved that my somewhat unpleasant exit from the War De- partment had rendered me hostile to Mr. Lincoln and his Ad- ministration. Knowing nothing of this at the time, I went to the capital, and found there assembled a number of promi- nent men who had come together ostensibly for the purpose of advising with each other regarding the condition of the country. This, I say, was their ostensible purpose, but I soon discovered that their real object was to find means by which the President could be impeached and turned out of office. The complaint against Mr. Lincoln was, that he lacked 30 Twelve Americans. ability and energy, and that he was not pushing the war with sufficient vigor. These reasons, and the plan of attack, if I may use the expression, were all made known to me, and I was asked for my advice. I gave it, stating, with as much earnestness as I could command, that the movement proposed would be a disastrous one, and strongly urging that it would be little short of madness to interfere with the Adminis- tration." Governor Seymour, though not in possession of these minute details of the scheme, is confident not only that it existed, but that President Lincoln was aware of its existence. It is just possible that this knowledge accounts for the great anxiety which he, at different times, displayed to be on intimate friend- ly terms with Mr. Seymour and other prominent Democrats whom he could trust. That he did display such anxiety there can be no doubt. Indeed, it can be stated upon the authority of an eminent Republican veteran of the city of New York, now dead — Thurlow Weed — who was closely identified with his Administration, that he, on at least one occasion, said, in substance, "If Governor Seymour would like to be President of the United States, nothing stands in his way." It at least cannot be denied that he caused an intimation of this charac- ter to be conveyed to the Governor. Nor was he alone in his desire to be " at a good understanding " with the leader of the New York Democracy. Edwin M. Stanton, the most radical member of his Cabinet, expressed a strong desire in the same direction. The proof of this statement will be found in the following confidential communication, which, like the letters of Messrs. Lincoln and Seymour, has, for obvious reasons, re- mained until now unpublished : " {Confidential.] " War Department, Washington, June 27, 1S63. " Dear Sir, — I cannot forbear expressing to you the deep obligation I feel for the prompt and cordial support you have given to the Govern- ment in the present emergency. The energy, activity, and patriotism you '■'•The Farmer Statesman." 31 have exhibited I may be permitted personally and officially to acknowl- edge, without arrogating any personal claim on my part in such service, or to any service whatever. " I shall be happy to be always esteemed your friend. "Edwin M. Stanton. "His Excellency Hokatio Seymodh." Still more significant is the following telegram, to which, for reasons that need not be stated, Mr. Seymour made no reply : "By Telegraph from Washington, May 23, 18G4. " Tlie Hon. Gov. Seymour : " Would it be possible for you to come to Washington immediately, to enable me to confer with you personally on some matters of great per- sonal interest ? Please answer. Edwin M. Stanton." To what matter of great " personal interest " the Secretary referred Mr. Seymour may have suspected, but he failed to en- ter into the communication by means of which he could have been definitely informed. It is more than probable, however, that Mr. Stanton desired to confer with him in regard to the choice of a successor to President Lincoln — But to return to Governor Seymour's services during the war. Early in July, 1863, he received from General Wool, the United States officer in command of the department, a letter in which that gentleman declared that New York City was absolutely without defence from attacks, which might be made by rebel gun-boats or ships-of-war, and asked for State troops to hold the harbor fortifications. The communication was a most urgent one. The city of New York was not only the financial centre of the Union, but, to a great extent, the treasury of the nation, and the storehouse of the army and navy. Knowing that such an attack as General Wool feared would be followed b} 7 evils the extent of which no man could estimate, Governor Seymour, without delay, set about complying with the request made by him, and at the same time determined that he would himself make an inspection of the fortifications. Accompa- nied by ex- Governor Morgan and Comptroller Robinson, he 32 Twelve Americans. did so, and found that General Wool's fears were only too Avell- founded. The so-called defences on the East River and in the harbor were then, as now, tantamount to no defences at all; and at Throgg's Xeck many of the guns commanding the en- trance to the city through the Sound were not even mounted. Thoroughly alarmed, and greatly fearing that some adventu- rous rebel cruiser might obtain information of the city's con- dition, the Governor, with characteristic energy, gave orders for the transportation of troops from Rochester and other points in the interior to the city fortifications. On Sunday, July 12, while he was at Long Branch, and still engaged in this work of providing for the defence of the coast, he was startled by a telegram, informing him that the long- threatened and much- dreaded conscription of men for the Union army had been commenced in New York City. This telegram was a private one ! Governor Seymour never re- ceived any official notification that the draft was to commence, or that it had commenced, nor was any such notification sent to Mr. Opdyke, the Mayor of the city, or to General Wool, the United States officer in command. Without any communica- tion with those gentlemen or with the Department of Police, and without for a moment considering that the forts and ar- senals of the city had been stripped of their garrisons; that nearly every volunteer soldier and militiaman in the State had, at the urgent call of the President, been hurried off to the sup- port of Meade and the defence of terror-stricken Pennsylvania, the Provost-marshal — at whose order is to this day a matter of doubt — commenced the draft ! The drawing began on Saturday, in a district where the en- rolment was so excessive, so grossly unjust, that the Govern- ment subsequently ordered it to be changed. Most of those whose names came from the wheel were of one nationality — a nationality noted as much for its tendency to riot and dis- order, as for its warm-hearted impulse and reckless generosity. " The Farmer Statesman." 33 The names of the conscripts appeared in the papers on Sun- day, when they had ample time to meet together and curse the conscription. It has been claimed that there was in all this a deep-seated design, for political purposes, to force a portion of the community into such excesses as would make it necessary to declare the Empire City under martial law. This claim has not been justified ; but that the Provost-marshals, or those be- hind them, by their action in the matter, threw prudence, pro- priety, and common-sense to the winds, there can, in view of subsequent events, be no doubt. Because of his connection with the terrible riots which fol- lowed this conscription — managed or mismanaged, as it was, with criminal recklessness — Governor Seymour has been as severely criticised, and, perhaps, more bitterly denounced, than any public man of his time. It is possible that the following details of that connection, details heretofore known only to a few intimate friends, may cause those who so criticised and denounced him to form a different, and it may be a juster, opinion of his motives and action. On Sunday night, when he first received word that the draft was actually in progress, he tried to make his way to the city, but found that he could not do so. The next morning, at a very early hour, he received a second telegram, informing him that serious disturbances were expected to follow the an- nouncement of the conscription. Fearing the worst, and with- out having tasted food, he hurried to the metropolis, and, be- ing previously advised, went at once to the St. Nicholas Hotel. Here he found Mayor Opdyke, General Wool, and Mr. Barney, the Collector of the Port, already assembled. "Without dis- paragement to those gentlemen, it may be said that they were more sensible of the danger which threatened the city than they were of any expedient by which it might be averted. They had every reason to be alarmed. A mob, comprising thousands of ruffians maddened by drink, was at large in the 2* 34 Twelve Americans. streets. The Provost- marshal's office had been sacked, and the block of buildings in which it was situated burned to the ground. The fire-bells tolled out terrible warnings. Clouds of lurid smoke shut out the sun. The authorities were openly defied. Riot ruled the town. No man could say what an hour would bring forth. The very air was filled with untold alarm. Hardly had the chief magistrate of the State arrived at the St. Nicholas Hotel when the proprietor, fearing that his pres- ence and that of the other officers of the law might incite the mob to attack the building, begged him for God's sake to leave it. He and Mayor Opdyke did so. They hastened to the City Hall, and with the scant means at their command did every- thing possible to put down the disturbances. The city was declared in a state of insurrection. In order that there might be no conflict between the militia and the police force, which was believed to be unfriendly to the State Government, Mi-. Seymour gave to General Ledlie, a Republican, authority to represent him, and to deal with the police and military. But still the riot went on. Men were shot down in the streets, houses were sacked, and great buildings fell crumbling in flame. A crowd gathered round the City Hall. There were in it quiet, respectable men, and others mad with excitement. The Governor was called upon to speak. Hoping to disperse the mob, desiring to conciliate the good citizens in the crowd, and, above all things, wishing to gain time, protect property, and prevent bloodshed (these were his motives, as he has him- self explained them to me), he went boldly before the excited people, and implored them to disperse to their homes without farther violations of the peace. At the same time he said, ac- cording to one report of his short and hurried speech — a report the accuracy of which he has even now no desire to question — " I beg you to listen to me as a friend, for I am your friend and the friend of your families." Farther than this, he as- " The Farmer Statesman." 35 sured them that if they had been wronged in any way he would use every exertion to see that justice was done them. Then the crowd left the City Hall Square ; and from that day to this Horatio Seymour has been denounced by a class of the community for " holding a palaver with criminals," and mak- ing "friends" of thieves, cut-throats, and ruffians. Governor Seymour does not desire to reply to these attacks. In vindi- cation of his course — if such vindication be necessary — he sim- ply points to the fact that in forty-eight hours the riots — un- doubtedly the most formidable which ever occurred on this continent — were checked and controlled by the State and city authorities, without aid from the general Government. In or- der to accomplish this result it was necessary for the law offi- cers, acting under the authority of the Governor, to shoot down nearly a thousand of the rioters whom he has been accused of " temporizing " with. Regarding this terrible period in the history of the city Governor Seymour has long remained silent ; but, touching the manner in which the riots were suppressed, he now au- thorizes the following statement, which, it may be well to add, is given in his own words : "The draft riots of 1863 were put down mainly by the en- ergy, boldness, and skill of the Police Department. In saying this I am certainly not influenced by prejudice, for the force was politically and, in some degree, personally unfriendly to myself. Indeed, in their reports they have not seen fit to make mention of any co-operation on my part with their ef- forts. But they did their duty bravely and efficiently. They proved that the city of New York could, by its police alone, in the absence of its military organizations, cope with the most formidable disorders. I do not know of any instance in his- tory where so many desperate men were shot down mainly by the police of a city. More than a thousand of the rioters were killed or wounded to death. Yet so little justice has been done 36 Tioelve Americans. to the city of New York that many think it was protected by the forces of the United States. In fact, the Navy-yard, the vast amount of military stores of the general Government, and its money in the Sub-Treasury, were mainly protected by the civil officers — so protected while the military organizations of the State were absent in Pennsylvania, in answer to an appeal from the Government of the United States, to help it against an invasion of General Lee. Even General Grant, in one of his papers, speaks of the riot in New York as an occasion when the general Government had helped State or local authorities to maintain peace and order. I wrote to him correcting this error, and it gives me pleasure to say that he received my communication in a spirit of courtesy and of fairness which ever marks the character of an honorable man. It is now time that justice should be done the city of New York in this mat- ter, and in the hope that such justice may be done I repeat these facts." Before leaving this period in Governor Seymour's life it will be well to add that, subsequent to the riots, Mr. "Watson, then Assistant Secretary of War, told him that a number of prominent men had made application to the national Adminis- tration to place the city under martial law, and that he (Wat- son) was sent to New York to see if there was any warrant or necessity for such action ; that he could find none, and had reported to the department that Governor Seymour and the civil authorities were doing everything that could be done to keep the peace. IV. A CANDIDATE FOR THE PRESIDENCY. Of Mr. Seymour's career in the Executive chair* after the riots, and of his action in regard to the arrest of the State * During the legislative session of 1883 Governor Seymour wrote to Al- bany, asking if it would be possible for him to purchase from the State "The Farmer Statesman ." 37 agents and the suspension of newspapers in New York City, it need only be said that all the facts are already before the public. As his term of office drew to a close he was most anxious to retire to his quiet home in the Valley of the Mo- hawk, but against his inclination a renomination was forced upon him. He was induced to accept it by friends, who urged that his refusal, coupled with the fact that he had not favored the nomination of General M'Clellan in the National Democratic Convention of 1864, over which he had presided, would be regarded as an evidence that he had no confidence in that gentleman's ability to carry the country. He 'went into the campaign with his usual energy, but was defeated, and, relinquishing his office to Reuben E. Fenton, with the most sincere wishes for his successful administration, he once more retired into private life. He still continued to take great in- terest in public affairs, however, and during the next four years frequently appeared in meetings and conventions of the De- mocracy. In 1868, the war being over, and the reconstruction of the. recently rebellious States commenced, he once more came be- fore the country as the presiding officer of the memorable Democratic Convention then held in New York. It was the duty of that convention to nominate for the Presidency a man who could defeat the candidate of the victorious and exultant Republicans. Mr. Seymour feared that no " straight-cut " Dem- ocrat was equal to this task, nor did he think that the election of such a man would, under the circumstances, be of benefit to his party. It had been fully demonstrated, after the assas- sination of Lincoln and during the Administration of Johnson, that, without a Congress at his back, with the National Senate overwhelmingly Republican, as it was, no Democrat could hope the chair he had occupied while he was Governor. In reply, the Legislat- ure, by a unanimous vote, passed a highly complimentary resolution which provided that the chair be presented to him. 38 Twelve Americans. to accomplish any results beneficial to his political friends. On the other hand, Mr. Seymour believed that the advocacy by the Democracy of some independent Republican, -who would declare in favor of what the Democratic speakers then delighted to call " the restoration of the judicial as against the military power," would result in success and benefit to them. For these reasons, he believed that Salmon P. Chase, the emi- nent Republican jurist — who, it was believed, was ready to de- sert his party — should be nominated. Under these circumstances the convention met, and for near- ly a week balloted in vain for a candidate. The delegates were worn out with the continued strain, excitement, and intense heat, but still no one received votes enough to be declared the nominee. The twenty-second ballot was reached, and then the great meeting was startled by General M'Cook, the chairman of the Ohio delegation, who, in a speech of ringing eloquence, cast the twenty-one votes of his State for Horatio Seymour. Cheer after cheer greeted this demonstration, and it was several mo- ments before Mr. Seymour could be heard. At last, some de- gree of order being restored, he declared in the most unquali- fied terms that he could not accept the nomination. The delegates would not take this refusal. The balloting went on. Wisconsin changed her votes to Seymour, and then the end had come. Every delegate in the hall sprang to his feet. Maryland, Illinois, Texas, Delaware, Virginia, Vermont, Georgia, and Louisiana in quick succession were heard changing their votes to Seymour. The confusion swelled until it became tu- mult worse confounded. Mr. Seymour protested with all his might. His friends at first begged, and at last almost forced, him to leave the chair. When he returned the voting had been completed, the ticket made up, and he was declared to be the Democratic candidate for the Presidency of the United States. He accepted the nomination, and by doing so made, as he still believes, the great mistake of his life. Having en- " The Farmer Statesman" 39 tered the canvass, however, no man knew that he was dissatis- fied with his position. He worked with all his old-time en- ergy and enthusiasm. Indeed, until the Pennsylvania election he was even hopeful of the result, but after it was announced that the Keystone State was Republican, and would give an overwhelming majority in favor of General Grant, the victo- rious soldier, who had been made the candidate of that party, he was convinced that he could not succeed, and devoted all his energies to saving his own State. To do this it was neces- sary to make a fight along the whole line, and he went into the canvass through all the Northern States. The campaign in which he then engaged was one of the most remarkable in the political history of the country. His personal canvass was more thorough and far-reaching than that made by any candi- date for the Presidency before or since, but all his efforts, all the efforts of his friends, were in vain. His defeat was com- plete — painfully complete. He bore it like the wise man that he is. After the election, when President Grant visited Utica Mr. Seymour was one of the first to congratulate him, and, at a public reception, said good-humoredly that he was a better soldier than the General, and for the reason that he was not able to run so well. Immediately after his defeat Governor Seymour made up his mind that he would never again be a candidate for office, and he has allowed nothing to change his purpose. He might have been made United States Senator at the end of Mr. Fenton's term ; but he declined to enter the canvass, and exerted all his influence for Senator Kernan, who, singularly enough, was one of those who most sincerely desired him to take the place. In 1876 the Democratic State Convention, against his earnest protest, nominated him for the Governorship ; but, though well assured that he could be elected by a majority of at least 30,000, he would not accept, and the party managers were obliged to nominate Governor Robinson. 40 Twelve Americans. While he was thus determined in his resolution not to ac- cept office, however, he continued with even more than his usual activity to take part in the affairs of his State, county* and town. Within the last two or three years he has delivered more than a score of addresses, speaking on " The Topography of Xew York," " The Influence of Xew York on American Jurisprudence," " The Use of Short Words," " The Tramp Nui- sance," "Dairy Farms," " The Centennial of the Cherry Valley Massacre," " Our State Prisons," and many other subjects. . Xo man has greater faith in the progress and future of the American Republic than has Horatio Seymour. It is related of him that, some years since, while seated at a public dinner with Lord Houghton, of England, that gentleman said to him, . "Governor Seymour, are you not sometimes sorry that Mother England let your States escape from under her wing?" " Well, no, my lord, not exactly," said the Governor, with a sly twinkle in his eye, "but I do sometimes think we should not have allowed you to leave us !" " What in the world do you mean ?" asked his lordship, laughing good-humoredly, but evidently a little astonished. " Oh, simply that it would be rather pleasant to have you in the family of States," replied the Governor. " Having fifty millions of people on our side, of course we could do most of the governing. Still, for the sake of old relationship, I have no doubt we could have afforded to allow you a few extra Congressmen and a Senator or two." Lord Houghton caught the spirit of the joke, and seemed to enjoy it immensely. V. A MOHAWK VALLEY HOME.— "NEVER AGAIN." A cextury and a half ago Governor Cosby, one of the Co- lonial rulers of Xew York, obtained a patent for twenty-four thousand acres of land in the Valley of the Mohawk, where the city of U"tica now stands. The grant, like others of a "The Farmer Statesman." 41 similar character, was subject to certain " quit .7 rents," which were reserved to the Crown. These rents remained unpaid, and, before the Revolution, the land known as the Cosby Manor was thrown into the market. General Philip Schuyler, for himself and three other persons, bought it. One of his as- sociates in the purchase was Rutger Bleecker, an ancestor of the lady who is now Mrs. Horatio Seymour. An estate of five hundred acres, once a part of the manor, is still in her posses- sion. It is situated upon a slope of the Deerfield hills, which rise gently on the northern bank of the Mohawk River, less than three miles from Utica. The crest of one of the eleva- tions is crowned by a low but roomy, unpretending but most comfortable, two-story cottage, the main floor of which is al- most level with the bright green lawn that stretches on one side as far as the eye can reach, and on the other is lost in a dark forest of old and mighty trees. From the broad porch of this cottage, looking for fifteen miles over the Valley of the Mo- hawk, may be seen the pathway over which, during the last half century, there has passed the greatest movement of the human race the world has ever known — the pathway by which the people of Europe have found their way into our great West — a movement, not of wild hordes or of great armies, but of civilization and industry, which has built up great cities in desert places. Beyond the valley, over on the other side of the river, rise the hills which formed the council-chamber, the seat of government, of the Iroquois, the great confederacy which, before the white man conquered, held control of the country from the coast to the Mississippi and the Illinois, from north of the mighty lakes to what is now the State of North Carolina. But not only this. The range of hills which are thus seen forms one of the most remarkable water-sheds on the face of the earth — a water-shed from whose slopes are poured streams which find outlets in the tepid waters of tropical seas and in the frozen oceans of the North. 42 Twelve Americans. The modest brown cottage so situated and so surrounded is the home of lloratio Seymour. Entering it on a summer morning, the master of the house — strong, keen-eyed, and quick-witted, in spite of advancing age — may almost invariably be found seated in a quaint, odd-cornered library, his favorite room. It is filled with books; there are books, papers, and maps innumerable. Old documents and deeds relating to the early history of Xew York hang upon the wall, one of them testifying to the fact that George Washington, shrewd business man that he was, speculated in Mohawk Valley lands ; while another very effectually demolishes Charles Sumner's theory, that Massachu- setts was always opposed to the slave-trade, by setting forth that, in the year of grace 1711, "Coffee, a negro man-slave," was sold into that colony from New York, and that the transfer was made " in the name of God and the Christian religion." Old fire- arms, flint-locks, swords, and powder-horns, each of which tells some story of by -gone days, appear in stray nooks. The office chair for many years used by Daniel Webster — heavy, com- fortable, and black with age — stands in front of the roomy table which serves as a desk ; and in an out-of-the-way corner, between two tall windows, a great Dutch clock, evidently an old family relic, gives warning of the passing hours. It was in this library — opening on a charmingly-appointed sitting-room, in which the gracious and winning wife of the veteran states- man spends most of her time — that Horatio Seymour gave me material for the story of his life. "And during all these years and through all these struggles have you had any one aim or end in view V I asked the Gov- ernor when he had finished the recital. His ready response was, "Yes; yes, indeed, and if you like I will tell you just what it has been." " I should like very much to hear," was, of course, my reply, and he went on : " The Farmer Statesman" 43 " I have aimed to take an interest in everything in this world with which I had a right to concern myself. " During a long life I have learned that people who have the happiest and healthiest minds take an active part in every- thing which concerns their community, their State, or the country at large. "A proper interest and sympathy for others gives men vig- orous minds and a broad view, while selfish views tend to con- tract even great intellects. " A thoroughly selfish man must, in the end, be a thorough- ly unhappy one. " The study of men has taught me still another great truth. It is that, while their conditions as to wealth, the characters of their homes and surroundings, are very different, the variety of worlds they live in is still more varied. " Money may fix the character of a man's house, but only intelligence and culture can give beauty and interest to the sphere or world in which he passes his life. " Every single object on this earth is of value to those who know its character, its history, and its use, while those who are ignorant of these things take no interest even in the choicest productions of nature. " To one man the heavens are filled with great systems of mighty worlds. To another the skies are simply so much blue space dotted with bright, but to them meaningless, points of light. To one the earth is an exhaustless museum, giving end- less subjects for study, thought, and happiness ; to another it is simply a clod in which to grow potatoes and cabbages. "Appreciating and acting on these familiar truths, I decided at an early age to take an active interest in everything that concerned the general welfare, and, above all, to keep my mind vigorous and sympathetic. " I determined to learn something, no matter how little, regarding every object or subject which came under my notice. 44 Twelve Americans. " I did not seek to be learned in a high degree with regard to any of these things, but I did seek, from my own labor and the labor of others, to gain a reasonably clear conception of the progress of science and the ends it had gained. " I believed that by doing so, while life lasted, no matter what change of health or fortune came, I would be able to find some subject or object in the world by which I might be interested and rendered content." For several moments after he said this Governor Seymour remained silent. Then I asked, ." Governor, do you think that the people of the United States are losing interest in political affairs ?" " No," he replied, with much emphasis. " No ; to the American people, to the men of the country districts, at least, political duty will always be regarded as one which must be performed. " There may be in the large cities men who, because of busi- ness connections, fail to do the service which the State has a right to expect from them, but in the country, where the masses of the voters live, politics will always be, to a great extent, sentimental. "In short, the love for party in the average citizen of this country will always be a sentiment — a sentiment which can no more be eradicated than can a belief in religion. " The leaders of to-day are so unduly secretive, suspicious, and, as they believe, diplomatic, that they fail to attract to them that personal following which was given to men like Calhoun and Clay, but to their parties our people will forever cling." Regarding the system of human slavery which was over- thrown by the war, Governor Seymour has thought deeply. During one of our conversations he said : " The system of slavery as it existed in the South was up- held by three parties — the planters, the Aveavers, and the w T ear- 41 The Farmer Statesman." 45 ers of cotton. Two of the parties lived at the North and one at the South. That the system would die out rapidly at the South, as it had at the North, I believed and still believe. It could never have sustained itself when the supply of cotton was equal to the natural demand. For some time before the war, slaves had productive value in only five States. These kept up a market value in the other sections. This fact of itself tended to destroy slavery, for it carried the negroes into the Gulf States, and lessened the value of laborers. The peo- ple of the far South knew this so well that laws were passed there prohibiting the introduction of slaves. In this way it was hoped that their value might be kept up. " It is now well understood that the negroes, though the war checked their progress, are so numerous that Southern planters could not afford to own them. " The sentiment of hostility to slavery was a just one, but sentiments alone are not sufficient to guide men. An incident in my own career will illustrate this. " During my term as Governor I was very anxious that my first pardon should be right beyond question. Even while I was thinking on the subject I received a letter from the officers of one of our prisons, which stated that a negro convict had been confined in their institution for more than twenty years ; that his conduct had been good in all respects ; that he had made himself useful in many ways; and that they placed full confidence in him. His time was soon to expire, and they asked that he be granted a pardon, a certificate of good con- duct, which would help him when he was again out in the world. " I knew of none who could show a better record for so long a time, and I granted the pardon. For a week I thought over the matter, and was satisfied with what I had done. At the end of that time, however, what was my surprise to re- ceive from the pardoned convict a letter, in which he said that 46 Twelve Americans. for more than twenty years he had lived in the State Prison, and had tried to do his duty ! Such being the case, he wanted to know why the Governor had turned him out at the begin- ning of winter to starve and freeze, when, if he had been let alone until summer, he could have taken care of himself. "This incident taught me the great lesson that mere senti- ment, however virtuous, without care and wisdom, may at times do more harm than good. " But, whatever the errors of the past may have been, it is now clearly the duty of all our people to do their best to im- prove the condition of the negroes in the United States. Not only justice and humanity, but the prosperity of the country, particularly of the South, call for the highest possible develop- ment of their intelligence, their morals, their social condition, and material prosperity." As has already been stated, Horatio Seymour and William L. Marcy were warm friends. When Mr. Marcy left the office of Secretary of State, at the close of President Pierce's Adminis- tration, he sent for Governor Seymour. He was an old man, and wished to consult, as to the future, with his younger asso- ciate. It may be that he knew he was on the brink of the grave. When his friend came to him, at his home, he greeted him with much cordiality, but with a solemnity which was not usual with him. Then, apparently as if carrying out a long- cherished purpose, he began to recite the important incidents in his long and busy career. He told eloquently of his strug- gles at the outset to gain a standing in his profession, related how he had been advanced to the office of Judge, to the Gov- ernorship of his State, to the Senate of the United States, and to positions in the Cabinets of Presidents Polk and Pierce. Then he continued : " Mr. Seymour, in this long life I have had many problems to solve, but I am now called upon to meet one which troubles and perplexes me more than any that have gone before. That " The Farmer Statesman" 47 problem is how to leave the stage of public action with dig- nity, and yet in a way that will not show an indifference to the interests of the country, to the party, or to my friends. I do not wish to hang about the stage like a superannuated actor, nor would I seem to turn my back on the world after I have had all the honors I can expect from it." In a few days an all-ruling Providence solved this problem for William L. Marcy. While apparently in the best of health, lying upon a sofa, turning over the leaves of a book, his heart ceased to beat. Referring to his last conversation with Mr. Marcy, Governor Seymour said to me : " That last interview with the good, great man who had been my life-long friend impressed me deeply. I then made up my mind that no man should cheat himself out of the re- pose of his old age. In his last days, if his life had not been a barren one, it seemed to me that every man should have much to think of ; that he should devote himself to such thought and to such usefulness in his private circle as he might be fitted for. It is for these reasons that I have re- fused in my age to accept public station. W T hen I see totter- ing old men, upon the brink of the grave, engaged in an un- seemly scramble for office, I am always reminded of Holbein's picture of 'The Dance of Death.' It shall never be said of me that I took part in such a cotillion. I shall never be a figure in such a picture." And from the determination thus formed Iloratio Seymour never departed. A Descendant of Presidents. CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS, A Descendant of Presidents. CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. A MASSACHUSETTS LIBRARY. On a broad, cool highway, half city street, half country road, in the prim, ancient, and cultured town of Quincy, in Massa- chusetts, there stands a commodious family mansion, remarka- ble for its severe simplicity, the obvious solidity of its con- struction, and the great beauty of the old trees by which it is surrounded. To the left of this house, and only separated from it by a well-kept gravel walk and tall hedges of careful- ly-clipped box-wood, there is visible a second structure, which, at first sight, is a puzzle to the casual visitor. It is built of dark-gray stone. Massive walls support the semi-Gothic roof. No wood-work is to be seen. The whole structure is at first suggestive of the time when Luther defied the devil in the stone chamber of the Wartburg. A nearer view gives a dif- ferent impression of it. The bright sunshine which breaks through the overhanging trees, and lights up its lofty win- dows, at the same time dispels all thought of "the days that are gone." Viewed in this new light, the building could never be mistaken for a monkish retreat. Still, it might easily be looked upon as a newly-erected chapel in some remote English parish. But, as the visitor approaches nearer, this illusion is dispelled, like the rest, and upon entering a broad, oaken door- way — which, on summer evenings, is almost invariably wide 3 50 Twelve Americans. open — it at once becomes evident that the building serves, not as a shelter for some religious recluse, not as a place of wor- ship for a select congregation in the interior of England, but as the library of a deeply and widely read American gentle- man. One long, lofty apartment comprises the whole build- ing. The walls of this room are lined in every direction with bookcases, of some hard, heavy wood, laden with bound vol- umes and manuscripts, which bear evidence of having been collected in many lands. The list of works on American his- tory is particularly complete, and records of the United States Government appear more frequently than books of any other class. An immense oaken table occupies the middle of the library, and extends nearly its entire length, bearing a pro- fusion of magazines, pamphlets, and sheets of manuscript ; while in the corners of the room are numerous maps, globes, and scientific instruments. Entering the gray stone building which is thus furnished, the visitor, on almost any summer evening, will find, seated at the great oaken table, surrounded by books, looking out upon a broad expanse of bright -green lawn, which is dotted here and there with clumps of mighty old trees, a strong, yet deli- cately-formed, gentleman, who gives but few evidences of the fact that he has passed his seventieth year. He is dressed with scrupulous neatness and great simplicity, is obviously a student, of retiring disposition ; and having a deep-seated aver- sion to the rush and scramble of American political life, he gives, to those who know him but slightly, still fewer evi- dences of being a man whose name has for generations been woven into the history of the United States, who has well filled many high places of trust, and whose ancestors honored the highest position in the land. Such distinction, however, may well be claimed for him. The gentleman whom I found seated as I have described, the master of the old mansion and the library at Quincy, was A Descendant of Presidents. 5 1 Charles Francis Adams, the son of John Quincy Adams, and the grandson of John Adams, both of whom may be named among the most eminent Presidents of the United States. The quaint and picturesque structure in -which he spends most of his time was erected especially for the reception of the twelve thousand books bequeathed to him by his father, one of the terms of the bequest being that they should be placed in a fire-proof building. In 1809, when Charles Francis Adams was two years old — he having been born in Boston, in 1807 — his father was appoint- ed United States Minister to Russia, and took his infant son to St. Petersburg with him. While there the boy, who at a re- markably early age developed what grew into almost a passion for study, was placed under the care of masters, who soon taught him to understand thoroughly and speak fluently the German, French, and Russian languages ; all these being in addition to his native tongue. Tins course, as Mr. Adams now believes, was not a wise one. It resulted, to a very great extent, in confusing his mind, and, as the event proved, led to no practical good which might not have been obtained by oth- er methods; for, though he still possesses a very good knowl- edge of French, he was never able, in after-life, to make any use of the German and Russian which he had learned, and he has now forgotten all that he once knew of those languages. After spending some years in St. Petersburg his father was transferred to the Court of St. James's, and he was removed from the care of his Russian masters and placed in a school of the highest reputation in a suburb of London. Here his course of study was necessarily completely changed, and ac- cording to his own mature judgment, frequently expressed, he returned to America in his tenth year very little improved by his schooling abroad, having no settled plan of study, and with- out having as yet developed any of that aptitude for untiring application to one subject which became one of his distinguish- 52 Twelve Americans. ing traits in after years. Even in Lis childhood, however, he was a close, keen, and shrewd observer of the manners and habits of the people among whom he was thrown ; and it has been suggested, with some plausibility, that the early impres- sions which he received in England, tended largely to form his character, gave him a greater insight into the prejudices and modes of thought of the British people than he could other- wise have had, and did much to fit him for the position of United States Minister to the Court of St. James's, which he afterward filled to his own credit and the great advantage of his Government. It is related that during his attendance at the English school he was called upon to defend his country against unjust attacks by his fellow-scholars, and that he did so not only in strong words, but with the hardest blows his boyish fists could deal. When he returned to America, at the close of his father's mission abroad, he was placed in the Boston Latin School, and, as he himself believes and in private conversation states, it was while attending that institution that he obtained the substan- tial rudimentary education which formed the basis of the ex- tensive and varied knowledge he subsequently acquired. In this school he continued until he was fitted for Harvard Col- lege, from which institution he graduated in 1825, the year in which his father entered upon the Presidency. Then he went to Washington, and, under his father's direction, began the study of law, at the same time having the best opportunity of becoming intimately acquainted with the most distinguished men of the day, of listening to the great debates then progress- ing in Congress, and learning the principles upon which his country was governed. A Descendant of Presidents. 53 II. WASHINGTON IN THE OLDEN TIME. Of this period in his life Mr. Adams cherishes the most in- teresting recollections. Young, well-read, observing, sensitive, and impressible, everything he saw was novel to him, and there can be no doubt that his sojourn in the capital, and his association with the dignified but simple and unaffected states- men of the time, did much to mould his ideas of what be- comes a public servant. At the time in question Washington was very little better than a village ; and, as the means of transportation were very limited, Senators and members of the lower House were not in the habit of bringing their families to the capital with them. In consequence, the seat of Government even in winter was anything but a social centre; and in summer, during the re- cesses of Congress, the families of the President and other officers who were obliged to remain at their posts during the entire year, being thrown upon their own resources for amuse- ment, were often at a loss to know how to pass the time. Under such circumstances it can well be imagined that the announcement of a visit from Lafayette, the gallant Frenchman who had helped the American Colonies to become a nation, created no little excitement in Washington society. Even the occupants of the White House — which was then anything but the lordly mansion it has since become — anticipated the arrival of the distinguished guest as an event for which many prepa- rations would have to be made, and the servants of the house- hold were almost at their wits' end to make brighter the old furniture and dull paint of the dwelling which the people of the United States then believed to be quite good enough for their chief magistrate. At last the great day arrived. All Washington was abroad to 54 Twelve Americans. see and welcome the guest of the nation, and when he alight- ed at the "White House, he was cheered by such a crowd, as, at that time, had seldom been seen in the streets of the capital. In the evening there was a reception given by the President, and, as was the custom, every citizen of the United States, or other person of respectable appearance, was freely admitted and welcomed by President Adams himself, who, upon such occasions, is described as having been the most agreeable and entertaining of men. The Marquis de Lafayette was exceed- ingly well pleased with the reception and entertainment given him, and expressed particular pleasure at the great progress which the young Republic had made since his early visit to it. Charles Francis Adams and his brother he seemed to regard with particular favor, and in the evening, when he could do so without attracting marked attention, he found an opportunity of privately saying as much to their mother, a lady of great good-sense and affability of manner. " But, madame," said he, hesitating for a moment — " but, madame — " " Well, sir, well ?" she said, reassuringly, and he, still some- what embarrassed, continued : " Well, madame, the truth is, I admire your sons very much ; but you remember that their grandfather was the President, and that their father is now President of the United States ?" " Yes, sir. Yes, of course," replied Mrs. Adams, greatly at a loss to know what the Marquis was coming to, asd he, talk- ing rapidly, as if to relieve his mind, went on : "Well, then, remembering all this — remembering all the temptations of ambition to which they are not only liable but, indeed, subjected, I beg you to impress upon their minds that they must not expect to succeed their father and grandfather unless they do so at the call of the people." Mrs. Adams laughingly assured him that she would do as he desired ; but it was evident, when he left the White House, A Descendant of Presidents. 5 5 that be still feared the nation might in after years be en- dangered by the aspirations of the young Adamses. To this day Charles Francis Adams, the least ambitious of men and a sincere lover of his country, refers to the anxiety of the good Marquis as not at all a bad joke. As has already been stated, Washington during the time of John Quincy Adams was, as compared to the gay and beauti- ful city of to-day, an exceedingly primitive and uninviting place. Still, it was not free from those nice little social dis- turbances which even now frequently agitate what may be called the official society of the capital. • When Mr. Adams, before his election to the Presidency, accepted the position of Secretary of State, he established himself in one of the most commodious residences he could find, fitted it up in a style suggested by the good taste of his excellent wife, and at all times warmly welcomed his friends and acquaintances. He had not been long in the city, however, when he discovered that the Senators and Justices of the Supreme Court, Avho did not happen to be his intimate personal friends, never called upon him. At first he paid no attention to the matter, but little by little, from a casual word dropped here and there, he discovered that the Justices and Senators, holding that in all social matters they took precedence of Cabinet officers, were highly indignant that he and Mrs. Adams had not made the first formal call upon them and their families, and vowed that until what they regarded as the rights belonging to their posi- tions had been accorded them, they would never darken the door of the Secretary of State. Mr. Adams was not at all dis- turbed by this determination ; if they could be happy without the society of himself and his family, he had no doubt that he would be very well able to survive without seeing them, and so for a time the matter rested. But the Justices and Senators were not content. It is just possible that' they saw they were making fools of themselves, and that the knowledge 56 Twelve Americans. did not sweeten their tempers. At all events, they began to complain on all sides, and to the President, among others, that they had been grossly offended by the Secretary of State. Sides for and against Mr. Adams were taken, and soon all Washington was engaged in what subsequently became known as " the etiquette war," a controversy which at one time threat- ened to seriously interfere, not only with the personal but also with the political relations of many of the most prominent men in the country. Seeing that the affair had taken this grave turn, the Secretary wrote a very good-natured but at the same time a most straightforward and sensible letter re- garding it. He stated, in substance, that he looked upon the whole dispute — a dispute widen was certainly not of his mak- ing — as an -exceedingly ridiculous one. He farther added, that whenever he desired to make either a social or business call on a Justice of the Supreme Court, a Senator of the Unit- ed States, or their families, he should do so without farther ceremony than was necessary, and without waiting to inquire whether they had first called upon himself and Mrs. Adams. In conclusion, he pointedly intimated that he hoped they would have the good - sense to take the same course. This certainly could not be regarded as a concession, but it seemed to satisfy the complaining officers. The Adams mansion was justly regarded as one of the most hospitable houses in "Wash- ington. The wives and daughters of the Justices and Senators had for a long time been most anxious to attend the charming receptions and evening parties given by Mrs. Adams, and, put- ting their pride in their pockets, they made the regulation calls, received the invitations they so much coveted, and " the eti- quette war " thus came to a happy end. After spending two years in "Washington, acquiring what was in those days regarded as a good knowledge of the law, with much general information of value, Charles Francis Adams returned to Boston, and entering the law office of Daniel "Web- A Descendant of Presidents. 57 ster, completed his studies, and at the end of another year was admitted to the Bar. At about the same time (in his twenty- second year) he married the daughter of Mr. Peter C. Broolcs, a distinguished citizen of Boston, and one of the largest capi- talists in the country. Because of this marriage, and for other reasons, he did not engage actively in the practice of his pro- fession, and he has never since done so. In the year which followed his admission to the Bar, his father from time to time suggested to him the propriety of seeking political preferment ; but from the first he displayed the greatest disinclination to follow the advice so conveyed, and for more than ten years he lived a life of the utmost retirement, devoting himself entirely to study and to writing occasional articles for the North American Hevieiv, then a most influential periodical, and for other magazines and newspapers. It is worthy of note that in a pamphlet prepared during this period Mr. Adams discussed with great care the question of whether or not the President had constitutional power to re- move Federal office-holders without the consent of the Senate. Years afterward, when he was himself named prominently in connection with the Presidency, it will be remembered that the same question attracted, as it did then, a great deal of public attention. At that time, however, he had no idea that he would ever hold a political position. Indeed, it is known that, on more than one occasion in early life, he expressed a determination never to go into active politics. He could not carry out his wishes in this direction. It was not ordained that the son of John Quincy Adams, the grand- son of John Adams, a man in whose veins flowed the blood of old John Quincy, should take no part in the Government of the American Republic. In 1840, when he was thirty-three years of age, a delegation of his fellow-townsmen waited upon him, and, through their spokesman, a gentleman of some consequence, tendered him a 3* 58 Twelve Americans. nomination to the State Legislature. His courteous but direct and unequivocal reply was, " I thank you, gentlemen, but I cannot consent to be a candidate for any office." " You can be elected without trouble," urged the members of the delegation. "But still I cannot consent," replied Mr. Adams. " Your services are needed in the Legislature," again urged the committeemen. " You can find men much more competent to fill the place," was the reply ; and the delegation retired in despair. When the ex-President heard of what his son had done he was very much annoyed, and assuring his wife, as he had often done before, that Charles was cut out for a hermit, and if left to himself would spend his life in a wilderness, went to see him. " I hear you have refused a nomination for the Legislature," he said, at once making known the business upon which he had come. " Yes," replied his son, who attached no importance to the matter. " I am very, very sorry that you have done so," continued his father. " Why, sir?" asked the young man. " Because the Legislature is the stepping-stone to political preferment; because it is your duty as an American citizen always to serve your State or country when called upon to do so." " " Oh, well, if you regard the matter in that light," replied Mr. Adams, in his own cool, quiet way, and just a little amused at the earnestness of his father, " I will promise to consent the next time I am asked." " You may not be asked again," rejoined his father. But he was mistaken. A Descendant of Presidents. 59 The next year Mr. Adams was again invited to be a can- didate for the Legislature. Remembering his promise to his father, he accepted the Whig nomination, and was elected. Entering public life in this way, very much against his own inclination, and to oblige his father, more than with any desire for personal advancement, it might naturally have been ex- pected that Mr. Adams would serve out his time in the Leg- islature as easily as possible, and at the end of it retire once more to his favorite pursuits. But this was not the nature of the man. Having once undertaken a task, he was determined to go through with it. All the traditions of the Adamses prompted him to be a leader rather than a passive follower, and, true to those traditions, he soon took a commanding po- sition in the State Assembly, working quite as hard and pa- tiently in the new and, to him, untrodden field of politics as he had done in the more congenial walks of literature. During his term in the lower House the Whig Party in Massachusetts began to divide on the slavery question, and the first mutterings of the storm which was destined to drive the country into civil war began to be heard. Mr. Adams did not hesitate. From the very outset he condemned the evident leaning of a majority of his party toward the side of the slave- holder, and when the long-threatened split came, and the or- ganization was divided into "Cotton Whigs" and "Conscience Whigs," he made the first public display of that fearless and outspoken independence in politics which, in later years, be- came one of his marked characteristics. He turned his back on men of power, influence, and wealth, with whom he was bound by many social and other ties, and gave strength and standing to the "Conscience Whigs" by becoming one of their most pronounced leaders. In the lower House of the Legislature he was recognized as the champion of the negro ; and Avhile he was opposed to the violent speeches of the more advanced Abolitionists, and to the extreme measures which 6o Twelve Americans. they proposed, he strongly advocated the right of colored people to be accommodated in the public conveyances of his native State, and by urging this, and other practical reforms of a similar character, made himself very unpopular with many of his aristocratic neighbors and acquaintances. The voters of his district approved his course, however, and after serving for three years in the Assembly he was elected to the State Senate. In that body he continued his vigorous, but at the same time calm and judicious, opposition to the threatened encroachment of the slave-holding power, and was frequently called upon to preside over committees formed to consider questions affecting the colored people. At this time there appeared upon the statute-books of South Carolina a law by which the officers of that State were au- thorized to seize any negro attached to any vessel entering its ports. The man so seized might, under the law, be imprisoned until the ship's departure, and even then he could only be released after the cost of his maintenance while in prison had been paid by the captain or owner of the vessel. If the same colored sailor came to a South Carolina port twice, it was pro- vided that he might be publicly whipped ; and if he came a third time, the law stipulated that he could be sold at auction in the slave-market, and the proceeds of the sale conveyed into the Treasury of the State. Under this law several free men of Massachusetts had been seized, and a petition was sent to the Legislature asking that measures be taken to prevent a repetition of such outrages. It was immediately referred to a committee of which Mr. Adams was the chairman, and through him the Legislature authorized the Governor to send an agent to South Carolina to give expression to the dissatis- faction with which Massachusetts regarded the law. Mr. Sam- uel Hoar, one of the most distinguished men in New England, was selected to perform this service. How he was treated need not here be detailed. It is only necessary to state that A Descendant of Presidents. 61 he was iusultcd, abused, and driven from Charleston by a mob — the ancestors of the ruffians who a few years ago — in 1876 and later — made bids for "reconciliation" by bloody deeds at Hamburg, Edgefield, and Ellenton. Against this outrage Mr. Adams protested, in an address so forcible, but withal so mod- erate and discreet in tone, that he at once came into promi- nence, not only in New England but throughout the nation, as one of the ablest men of his party. III. THE ANTISLAVERY MOVEMENT.— VAN BUREN AND ADAMS. But Mr. Adams was not destined to remain much longer in the Whig organization. The antislavery storm was coming, and it was his fortune to take an important part in the move- ment. James K. Polk, an insignificant nobody, the tool of the slave-holders, was made President of the United States over that great political leader, Henry Clay. Texas had been "an- nexed " that slavery might be extended ; war with Mexico was next on the programme, and Mr. Adams fully expected that the leaders of his party in the nation would at last make a united stand for their rights and the principles of Republican- ism. He was disappointed. The Whigs were almost servile in their attitude toward the triumphant Democracy. Some of them went so far as to advocate the war ; and, utterly dis- gusted, Mr. Adams decided to give up his leadership in the party, and declined a re-election to the Legislature. Other men, feeling as he did, quickly gathered about him. They believed that there was about to be a crisis in the affairs of their country, and they decided that they would not be al- together unprepared for, it. Their first care was to secure a newspaper through which to express their disapprobation of the course taken by the great political parties. For this pur- pose John G. Palfrey, then Secretary of the Commonwealth, 62 Twelve Americans. called a meeting, to be held at "Lobby Xo. 13" in the Massa- chusetts State-house. It was attended by that gentleman, by Stephen C. Phillips, of Salem ; Charles Sumner, of Boston ; Henry AYilson, of Xatick ; and Charles Francis Adams ; and resulted in the purchase of the Boston Whig, which had been offered to Mr. Adams by the gentlemen who controlled it. Of the purchase-money Mr. Adams and Mr. Phillips contrib- uted two-fifths each, and Dr. Palfrey gave the rest. Messrs. Sumner and "Wilson, less favored by fortune, pledged them- selves to support the undertaking by hard work. From this beginning grew the Republican Party of Massachusetts. After the newspaper had been secured Mr. Adams — peculiarly well- fitted for the task — took the editorial chair, and during the years which followed labored harder and more assiduously than at any other period of his life. With varied fortunes he and his associates continued to fight the battle of freedom until the approach of another Presidential election. Then they began to ask themselves what part they should take in the momentous contest about to commence. They had not long to wait for an answer. Their course was soon open to them. The Administration of Presi- dent Polk had ended in a triumphant war, the immediate re- sult of which was an enormous accretion of new territory, thrown open to the control of the slave-holders. Of that war General Taylor had been the hero, and his popularity was great in consequence — so great, indeed, that he, a citizen of a slave State, an extensive owner of slaves, was made the Presidential nominee of the Whig Party ! On the other hand, the Xational Convention of the Democracy, urged by William Allen, of Ohio, had nominated Mr. Cass, a pronounced friend of the slave-holding element. In this dilemma how were Mr. Adams and his associates to act ' They knew that they dared not remain idle — could not afford quietly to fold their hands and throw awav whatever influence thev had grain- A Descendant of Presidents. 63 ed by hard, np-hill struggle. Bnt how could they act and maintain an attitude of consistency ? To vote for Cass would be to give sanction to the policy, to the party, to the war, and to the odious system which they had so fiercely denounced. To vote for Taylor would be to glorify the agent who had done so much to promote results the most distasteful to them. There could be, there was, only one course open to them. They took it, and decided to make a third nomination. At this time the new Free-soil Party — which, in Massachu- setts, was headed by Mr. Adams — had extended its influence to all the Northern and Western States ; and having received large accessions from both the Whigs and Democrats, it became necessary to decide from which of the old organizations a can- didate should be selected. The Democratic element among the Free-soilers favored the candidacy of ex-President Van Buren, while the Whigs, and among them Mr. Adams, advo- cated Judge McLean, of Ohio ; and though they never believed that they could do more under either of those leaders than maintain their organization, display their rapidly - growing strength, and enter their protest against the tendencies of the old parties, there was still a great deal of earnestness displayed in the preliminary contest for the nomination. It was under these circumstances that the famous Buffalo Convention of 1848 came together. Seventeen States were represented, the delegation from Massachusetts, led by Mr. Adams, being par- ticularly large, and made up of the most promising young men in the State. At first, inspired by him, they were most enthu- siastic in their desire for the nomination of Judge McLean; but when they arrived in Buffalo it began to be noised about that that gentleman was not thoroughly in accord with the Free- soil movement, and might not consent to be the nominee of the new party. Mr. Adams, hearing these rumors, went to Mr. Chase (afterward a member of Lincoln's Cabinet, then the leader of the Ohio delegation in the convention), to be assured 64 Twelve Americans. that they were untrue. He has always been a direct man, of few words, and, without unnecessary preface, he at once made known his business, saying simply, " Mr. Chase, there have been some vague reports that Judge McLean, whom we desire to make our candidate, is not very firm in his advocacy of our party. I have come to you to know if there is any foundation for such rumors." With equal frankness Mr. Chase replied that Judge McLean was not committed to one side or the other; that, in fact, he was " wavering on the anxious seat," with a strong aversion to going into such a contest as that about to open. This statement was a wet blanket upon the Whig element, but Mr. Adams was not altogether unprepared for the emer- gency, lie had foreseen that, in the event of Judge McLean's defeat or withdrawal, Mr. Van Buren would, if he desired it, receive the nomination ; and three weeks previous to the con- vention he had addressed a confidential letter to that gentle- man, reciting the nature and aims of the Free-soil movement, referring in laudatory terms to Mr. Van Buren's action in op- posing the Texas policy, and asking him explicitly to state the position which he desired to occupy in connection with the Buffalo Convention. To this Mr. Van Buren replied in a con- fidential letter, in which, among other things, he referred to his record on the slavery question, and the defeat of his friends in the convention which nominated Cass. The salient points of the communication were as follows: " [Confidential] " Liudenwold, July 24, 1S4S. " My dear Sir, — I have received your letter, and, although you do not desire an answer, I cannot, in justice to my own feelings, refrain from ex- pressing the satisfaction I have derived from its good sense, liberal and manly spirit. It has afforded me much pleasure to find that you, at least, understand what it is so difficult to make most people comprehend — 'the involuntary character of the relation which I occupy to the public' So far was I from desiring to be a candidate for the Presidency, that it would have required other and stronger considerations than those which were then presented to me to have prevented me from declining the office itself, A Descendant of Presidents. 65 if those who asked me to be a candidate had possessed the power of plac- ing it at my disposal. * * * The most prominent men in the convention, who were sincerely desirous of respecting my known wishes, lost the con- trol of its movements in regard to the nomination after the reading of my letter, and the result is known to all. Although brought before the coun- try in this unexpected and extraordinary manner, it did not require much reflection to satisfy me that the course I have adopted was the only one that was open to me, and to that I will, of course, adhere. * * * It can, un- der existing circumstances, be scarcely necessary to say that if any of your friends think they can give more effect to their principles upon the main subject, by taking a course different from that to which your own feelings seem inclined, or if it would for any reason be more agreeable to them to do so, their conduct in the matter will not be disagreeable to me in any sense. My solicitude has been, not to get nominations, but to keep clear of them; and nothing can be done at Buffalo that is founded on good sense and looks in good faith to the advancement of the great principle I hold sacred which will cause me either regret or mortification. " I have marked this letter ' confidential,' because I have received a vast number of communications upon the same subject which I am compelled to leave unanswered, as I have done, I believe, in every case except yours, and I desire to avoid giving offence as far as I can. The views it takes I do not hesitate to express to all who desire to understand them. While, therefore, reasonable caution is observed in regard to the fact of our cor- respondence, I shall be content that you speak of my opinions and disposi- tions as you now understand them. " I am, very respectfully and truly, yours, M. Van Buren. "Cha.klf.8 Feanois Adams, Esq." The permission given in the closing paragraph of this letter was judiciously used by Mr. Adams when it became evident, that Judge McLean could not receive the nomination of the convention, and Martin Van Buren was made the Free-soil can- didate for President of the United States. Charles Francis Adams was himself nominated for Vice-President. At the elec- tion which followed, and in which Taylor was elected by an overwhelming majority, the new organization cast some three hundred thousand votes ; and then commenced the great strug- gle for human liberty which was carried to a triumphant close by the Republican Party, for so many years the party of en- lightenment and progress. For a time, after the Buffalo Convention, Mr. Adams, by 66 Twelve Americans. his own will, and because of his attachment to the Free-soil and Republican Parties, was prevented from holding political office. Still, he continued to work with unceasing energy to advance the cause which he had espoused, and in 1858 he was elected by the Third Massachusetts District to represent that cause in Congress. While in that body he made very few speeches, but whenever he did speak he was listened to w T ith much greater attention than was given to many of his more ambitious colleagues, and what he said was quoted and commented upon in all parts of the country. One of his most noteworthy addresses was delivered late in the spring of 1860. It was intended as a defence of the Republican Party, and in it he demonstrated with much force and adroitness that the slave States, by reason of slave representation, held undue power in the national sisterhood, and warned them, in clear and pointed, but at the same time calm and dignified terms, that the Re- publicans would not permit that power to be abused or em- ployed to the detriment of any section of the nation. In the course of the address he characterized the contest between the slave-holders' party and their Republican opponents as "an irrepressible conflict." The speech created a great deal of ex- citement, and gave Mr. Adams even higher standing among the Republicans than he had held before. At this time, too, he began to be regarded as the next friend and confidant of Wil- liam H. Seward ; and, with that gentleman, during the recess of Congress, he made a tour of the West, delivering strong Republican speeches at several of the principal cities. During the next session he made a masterly address in favor of what was known as "the compromise measure of the Committee of Thirty-three," taking the ground that slavery might not be in- terfered with in the original slave States, but that it must not be extended into new territory. Without indicating in any way that he believed war imminent, he intimated — indirectly, it is true, but, nevertheless, in terms which could not be mis- A Descendant of Presidents. 67 understood — that, as an individual, he would not object to allowing the slave States to leave the Union, if they were bent on making the trial, but that they could never be allowed to do so if they intended to obstruct the free navigation of the Mississippi River, or place any obstacle in the way of the full- est and freest intercourse with and between the States which remained in the Union. By these and similar addresses Mr. Adams gained the confidence and respect of a large section of the Republican Party, which was not yet ripe for extreme measures, and had he so desired he might have made himself the recognized Republican leader in the House. But he did not seek the position. He lacked the peculiar tact which makes men popular with the masses of their associates ; lie practised no arts to gain men's friendship ; and, if the truth were known, he had but little taste for the rough-and-tumble debates in which Congressional leaders are obliged to engage. Mean- while, the great political struggle of 1860 came to an end. Abraham Lincoln was made President, and war was declared. IV. MINISTER TO ENGLAND. During this crisis in his country's history Charles Francis Adams was destined to play a most important part — a part in which he was to earn great credit, gain much reputation, and give new lustre to a name already illustrious. When the new Administration came into power there was some talk of plac- ing him in the Cabinet, but the idea, if Mr. Lincoln ever se- riously entertained it, was soon abandoned. Subsequently, however, when Mr. Seward became Secretary of State, one of his first cares was to insist *that Mr. Adams be appointed Min- ister to England, and, fortunately for the country, he accepted that position. It is a noteworthy fact that the President was 68 Twelve Americans. not in favor of Lis appointment. Mr. Lincoln made no secret of Lis opposition. Indeed, when Mr. Adams came to Wash- ington, at the request of Lis friend Seward, tLe President told him plainly that Le was not Lis cLoice. The interview was a characteristic one. Mr. Adams Lad seen tLe Secretary of State, received Lis appointment, and was ready to set out on Lis mis- sion. Before doing so Le called on tLe President, to tLank him for tLe important trust committed to Lis care. He found Mr. Lincoln in tLe Executive Office, and, without preface, said, " Mr. President, I Lave called to tLank you for tLe appoint- ment you Lave given me, and to take my leave." "Yes, yes, Mr. Adams," replied Lincoln, in Lis own peculiar- ly outspoken fasliion ; " I am glad to see you, and to know that the whole matter is settled, but I might as well tell you that you do not owe your appointment to me. You were Mr. Sew- ard's choice, and he insisted upon it." " Nevertheless, I shall do my utmost to support your Admin- istration," replied Mi 1 . Adams, and without farther ado took his leave. "When the new Minister arrived in England he found that the Queen Lad just issued a proclamation of neutrality; but Le was not long in discovering that the Foreign Office and a large number of the most influential men in the kingdom were se- cretly in sympathy with the Confederates, and he soon had evidence which went far to convince him that infringements of the neutrality laws in favor of the South, if they were not openly sanctioned, would certainly be winked at. Still farther than this, he found that personally he would have to contend with many difficulties thrown in his way by members of the nobility and Government, who expected and hoped to witness the defeat of the United States. He saw that the task before him was a most delicate and disagreeable one ; still, he never faltered in the performance of Lis duty to the Government A Descendant of Presidents. 69 which trusted him. Every day brought him some fresh trial, but every new difficulty only nerved him to renewed exertion. He seemed to be fitted in every way, by nature, education, and inclination, for the position which he was called upon to fill. In him the trained diplomats of England soon discovered that they had no backwoods politician to deal with. Charles Fran- cis Adams could meet the best of them upon an equal footing and upon their own ground. That calm reserve and dignity, even coldness of manner, which his Congressional associates had sometimes complained of, now won him the respect of men who, in their intercourse with strangers, delighted to be reserved in speech and cold in manner. Gradually, he gained the confi- dence of Earl Russell, Lord Palmerston, and others, and, by his untiring energy, persistency, and prompt appeals to those gentlemen and their associates in the English Government — ap- peals which were always couched in the most courteous and statesmanlike, but at the same time the plainest and firmest, language — he succeeded in putting a stop to many enter- prises which were set on foot for the benefit of the rebels, and in preventing many contemplated violations of the neu- trality laws, which, had they been successful, would undoubt- edly have resulted in great embarrassment to the Government of the United States. Perhaps the greatest difficulty which Mr. Adams had to en- counter while in England was in connection with the Mason and Slidell affair. In the time preceding its occurrence he had won for himself an enviable position in the best circles of English society, and was a welcome guest at the houses of many distinguished men. With Lord Houghton he was on particularly friendly terms, and just before the trouble in ques- tion he had gone down frpm London to one of that gentle- man's country-seats to spend a few days. On the evening of his arrival, himself, Lord Houghton, and a small party of yo Twelve Americans. friends went to visit a neighboring ruin of some celebrity, and, after duly inspecting it, were about to return, when suddenly they were startled by the unwonted clatter of a horse gallop- ing at breakneck speed down the lane leading to the spot upon which they were standing. "Who in the world can that be?" some one exclaimed; and Lord Houghton, wondering at the unusual pace at which the horse was being driven, went to meet the rider. He returned in a few moments, looking annoyed and troubled, and shortly afterward, calling Mr. Adams aside, said, " Mr. Adams, I have news for you which may not be agree- able." " I should like to hear it at once," the American Minister briefly replied, and Lord Houghton continued : " Well, then, the fact is that Earl Russell desires your im- mediate presence at the Foreign Office, in London." Greatly wondering what business could have compelled such urgency, Mr. Adams read the telegram which asked him to re- turn to the metropolis, and as soon as possible presented him- self at the Foreign Office. Upon arriving there he was quick- ly informed by the Earl that Messrs. Mason and Slidell, two citizens of the Confederacy — which had been recognized as a belligerent power by the British Government — had, by the orders of officers of the United States, been forcibly removed from an English ship. Making this announcement, Rus- sell demanded, in somewhat curt terms, what reparation the American Minister could suggest for this affront to England and the English flag. Mr. Adams was by far too good a dip- lomate to make definite answer at such short notice ; but he subsequently urged, with all his power, that the rebels be returned to the protection of the English Government. Because of this course he was severely criticised by leading American politicians ; but in the end his advice was taken, and A Descendant of Presidents. 7 1 it is now known that President Lincoln's Administration, by complying with his wishes, avoided a most dangerous compli- cation. By his straightforward and manly but always moder- ate and courteous action in regard to the many vexed questions which arose between the two Governments at this time, Mr. Adams gained many new friends in England. He was partic- ularly liked by the scholars and students among the nobility ; and, as an evidence of the regard of this class, he was one day very much surprised to receive a communication from the Fac- ulty of the University of Oxford, in which he was informed, that the ancient institution in question had decided to confer upon him the degree of Doctor of Laws. For a moment he was, naturally, gratified ; but upon reflection it occurred to him that there were many difficulties in the way of his acceptance of the honor, an honor which he was fully aware many great men had wished for in vain. He remembered that several of the young men in attendance upon the University were known to be warm sympathizers with the Southern Confederacy. He also recalled the fact that his predecessor, Mr. Everett, had been hissed by the students while in the very act of formally accepting the degree ; and knowing that a similar demonstra- tion against himself would be very injurious, perhaps not so much to his own reputation as to the Government which he represented, he decided to decline the proffered honor. He did so in a letter which was so happily worded that it gave no offence. Subsequently, while at a ball, Lord Derby, referring to the subject, asked him why he had refused to accept the degree. Mr. Adams plainly stated his reasons, at the same time express- ing becoming regret for the necessity which had prompted the refusal ; but still the English nobleman seemed to be at a loss to understand how any man in his right mind could, under any circumstances, refuse to be made a Doctor of Laws by the 72 Twelve Americans. University of Oxford. There is reason to believe, however, that Mr. Adams's motives were generally appreciated, and his action regarded in the proper light. At all events, he contin- ued to grow in favor with all classes of the English people, and when, after seven years' service (the longest term of any American Minister, save one), he was about to leave London, the most distinguished men in the nation united in tendering him a farewell banquet. But, to use his own words, he had " no taste for public dinners,'" and he declined. Subsequently, his friends expressed their appreciation of his distinguished services in the following unusual and glowing testimonial : " London, May 31, 1S6S. " Sir, — In addressing you, on the eve of your departure from England, after a residence of seven years among us, we whose names are under- signed are earnestly desirous of conveying to you some expression of our personal attachment and esteem, and are willing to hope that you will ac- cept this expression in the form in which we now offer it. " The important official position you have held here makes it incumbent on us to state, that in thus addressing you we are influenced by none other than personal considerations toward yourself. The names subscribed will show this to be the case. We have reason to know that, had the op- portunity occurred, they could have been largely added to from every part of the country. " While purposely refraining, however, from all matters of political or public concern, we may be permitted to express it as our conviction that no Minister ever discharged with more zeal and ability his duties to his own country, while conciliating the general esteem of that to which he was accredited. We all know the various difficulties which have occurred in the fulfilment of these duties, and fully appreciate the temperance as well as firmness with which you have met them. " We believe that you have thereby much contributed to their eventual amicable solution, and to strengthening the bond of union between the two nations — an object we all earnestly desire, and which is so important to the welfare of each and to the cause of liberty and enlightened humanity throughout the world. '• Manv of us have had intimate knowledge of you also in the relations of social" life, and have learned to value those eminent personal qualities which mav rightly be regarded as hereditary in your family. " We merely add farther the expression of our earnest wishes for your A Descendant of Presidents. 73 future health and welfare, whether in public or private life. We have the honor to remain, Sir, very respectfully, your obedient servants — " Argyll. Stanhope. Granville. Cranworth. Charles Lyell. Shaftesbury. Dufferin. Arthur P. Stanley. Henry Reeve. James W. Colville. Henry Holland. Herman Merivale. John Bright. Thomas Milner Gibson. A. H. Layard. Halifax. Arthur Russell. G. Shaw Lefevre. Jacob Bright. M. E. Grant Duff. MlLNES GASKILL. Stafford H. Northcote. Francis H. Goldsmid. C. B. Adderley. A. KlNNAIRD. Edward Cardwell. William J. Alexander. G. Gray. Taunton. Thomas Baring. John Abel Smith. Sam Whitbread. H. E. Rawlinson. E. P. Bouverie. Sir T. E. Colebrooke. George J. Goschen. John Simeon. "To the Honorable Ciiarli H. A. Bruce. George Denman. Spencer H. Walpole. Sir James Locaita. James Kay Shuttleworth. KlMBERLEY. Camperdown. Charles Buxton. C. E. Trevelyan. Rod. I. Murchison. C. P. Fortescue. W. E. Gladstone. A. C. London. Roundell Palmer. Belper. H. H. Milman. J. Wilson Patten. W. Hubbard. Disraeli. Stanley. Houghton. Thomson Hankey. W. E. Forster. Thomas N. Hunt, Governor of the Bank of England. R. W. Crawford, Deputy Governor of the Bank of England. Smith, Payne & Smiths. Glyn, Mills, Currie & Co. Baring Brothers & Co. Robarts, Lubbock & Co. Brown, Shipley & Co. Richardson & Co. Barclay, Bevan, Tritton & Co. Barnett, Hoares, Hanbury & Co, Williams, Deacon & Co. I. J. Morgan & Co. 8 Francis Adams.' In addition to this tribute from the leading men of Great Britain, Mr. Adams, while at the Court of St. James's, was the 4 74 Twelve Americans. frequent recipient of warm congratulatory and laudatory de- spatches from his own Government. Upon his retirement, from the English Mission Mr. Adams returned to the literary pursuits in which he had always found most pleasure, but in time he was again called upon to quit them, and, as one of the Geneva Arbitrators, still farther to serve his country. Of his work in that connection it is only necessary to say that no man could have done better than he did. His course during the entire arbitration was so impartial, judicial, and independent as to merit the admiration of all his associates and of many foreign nations. Returning from Geneva, he again retired to his library, and for a time took no farther part in active politics. He never failed to keep himself well-informed of what was going on in the political world, however, and in 1872, when "the Liberal movement " began, he became one of its chief and most disin- terested advocates. At the Cincinnati Convention of that year a determined but unsuccessful effort was made to nominate him for the Presidency, Carl Schurz, Murat Halstead, and Samuel Bowles being among his most enthusiastic supporters. Sub- sequently, in 1876, just prior to the ever-memorable Presiden- tial contest of that year, at what was known as the " Fifth- Avenue Conference," held in the city of New York, Mr. Schurz again indicated a desire to make Mr. Adams a candidate for the chief magistracy, but no definite action was taken. In the same year, on the eve of the Massachusetts State Convention, a number of the Republican leaders endeavored to make him their candidate for Governor, but they were unsuccessful. The Democratic managers then came to him and asked if he would accept their nomination. With characteristic directness and independence he replied, " I do not seek a nomination for any political place ; but if I am called upon to be the candidate of your party I will not refuse." A Descendant of Presidents. 75 It is, perhaps, needless to state that he was nominated, and was defeated. He never had any idea that he would be elect- ed. Indeed, when he met Governor Rice, the successful can- didate, a few days after the close of the contest, he sincerely congratulated him, and, speaking the whole truth, said, good- humoredly, " I am exceedingly glad, Mr. Rice, that I did not by any chance slip into your shoes." Since that election Charles Francis Adams has taken no part in politics. He is now living quietly at his home in Quincy, Massachusetts. He has been highly honored, and has in turn been an honor to the people whom he served. He has had many critics who chose to call him aristocratic, cold, and unsympathetic, but his bitterest enemies have been unable to charge him with any graver offence. And even that charge is not well-founded. The People's Friend. PETER COOPER. The People's Friend. PETER COOPER. i. "A MANY YEARS AGO." Upon a summer day in the year of grace 1796, in a narrow lane leading from old Qnincy Slip — at that time a business centre of the city of New York, which might best have been described by the word " genteel " — five boys were engaged in scraping the dry brown mortar from between the bricks of the low-roofed houses which stood on either side. The dust so obtained they called snuff. They collected it in broken mugs and tin cups, and with it intended to play at shop-keeping. Suddenly, while they were most occupied at their work, an ugly-looking black dog sprang out from one of the neighbor- ing buildings, and in a moment four of the embryo merchants had disappeared. Only one remained, and he, the smallest and weakest — a child not yet six years of age — was so alarmed that he could not run away. He held tightly to his cup of sham snuff, however, and, with an instinct which was to bring him fame and great fortune in the years to come, turned about and faced the danger which menaced him. The dog, perhaps taking pity upon the little fellow's apparent helplessness, went back to the house from which it had so suddenly emerged, and the child, still jealously guarding his treasure in the cup, walked after the companions who had deserted him out of the lane. The hero of this little scene was Peter Cooper. The 78 Twelve Americans. incident, as I Lave related it, was the earliest recollection of a man who in the years which followed saw his native city grow from a settlement of 27,000 people to a great metropolis, with a population of more than a million. The Peter Cooper who on that day long ago stood in a back lane trembling at the sight of a black dog was the same Peter Cooper who after- ward became the leading spirit in so many great enterprises ; the same Peter Cooper who ran the first locomotive over the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad ; who helped to lay the Atlantic cable ; who gave to the Empire City one of her noblest insti- tutions, the Cooper Institute ; who earned and gave away mill- ions of dollars ; who was a candidate for the Presidency of the United States ; who, despite his ninety-two years of hard work and great mental strain, was at the time this sketch was penned sound in mind, fully possessing all his faculties, and still engaged in the active pursuits of life — the same Peter Cooper who died "full of years and honors," sincerely mourned by a great nation, and wept for by thousands who had been benefited by his wise generosity. Mr. Cooper, named Peter, after the Apostle, because his father devoutly believed he would " come to something," was born in what was then known as Little Dock Street, near Quincy Slip, now Water Street, New York, on the 12th of February, 1791. His father, an earnest advocate of the cause of American Independence, served as a lieutenant in the pa- triot army, and at the close of the war returned to New York, and, commencing the manufacture of hats in a small way, soon accumulated what was in those days a considerable prop- erty. Like a great many other good people, however, he was not content to let well enough alone, and, instead of attending to his rapidly-increasing business in the city, he spent much of his time in seeking for an opportunity to establish himself in the country. At last the opportunity came. He bound him- self in £100 sterling to take a house at Peekskill, and to that The People's Friend. 79 place — which was believed to have a great future — the family moved. At first everything went well. A small hat factory was established, in addition to a country store for the sale of general merchandise, and customers came from all the country round. Then, in his prosperity, Peter's father, who was an earnest Methodist, built a church, and invited all the travel- ling Methodist ministers to make his house their stopping- place. They were all travellers in those days, were quite as noted for their healthy appetites as they are to-day ; and not being slow to take advantage of the invitation given them, the Cooper estate was soon overrun, not only with travelling preachers, but with the hungry horses upon which they made their journeys. To supply the wants of their visitors the ut- most resources of the family were taxed ; money was scarce ; the farmers and others who dealt at the store were unable to pay cash for their provisions or hats ; the good-hearted and somewhat improvident Mr. Cooper trusted them, and soon found that his little fortune was rapidly dwindling away. Still, he and his wife worked hard to make both ends meet, and even little Peter, when not higher than the table, was made to do what he could toward earning his daily bread. He was employed in the hat factory, and when less than eight years of age was engaged through most of the day in pulling the hair out of the rabbit-skins, from which the hat-pulp was afterward to be formed. Always quick to learn, it Was not long before he could make every part of a hat. He was of great assistance to the family even at this early age; but still his father did not succeed, and, to better his fortunes, he com- menced the brewing of ale. It does not appear that the new business was objected to by his Methodist friends ; but he was not successful, and just as Peter was beginning to get an insight into the process of mak- ing the liquor the brewery was sold, and the family — by slow stages, through the wild country, over the rough roads then in So Twelve Americans. existence, and not altogether free from fear of Indians — moved to CatsMll. Here it was thought that a brick factory might succeed, and Peter's father — he was apparently ready to rush into almost any speculation — immediately established one. The boy worked hard at this new trade, carrying and handling the bricks during the drying process, and in every other way possible aiding the family. Still they found themselves grow- ing poorer and pooi'er, and in the end, paying their debts with money furnished by Peter's grandmother, who had a little property in New York, they went back to the city ; and cross- ing the East Piiver in an open row-boat (the only means of transportation), settled in Brooklyn, then a village of about two thousand inhabitants. Here the brewing business was again commenced ; but again it was a failure, and once more the fam- ily was obliged to move — this time to Newburg-on-the- Hudson, establishing there a brewery, which, owing mainly to Peter's hard work and good management, became a partial success. The boy was now in his sixteenth year. From the day of his earliest recollection he had been engaged in a hard, at times almost a desperate, struggle for existence. He had at- tended school for only two quarters — had never known what it was to have a holiday ; in short, had spent the wdiole of his young life in one unceasing effort to earn a living. It is not to be wondered at that, reared in this fashion, he began to think that money-getting was the one great object of life. At all events, he at this time began to develop quite a talent for hoarding his small earnings, and after long scraping and saving of pennies he at last found himself in possession of ten dollars. This seemed to him to be an immense sum — if not a fortune, at least the foundation for one — and he was quite at a loss to know what use he should put it to. At length, acting under the advice of a relative, he invested every penny of his hard- earned savings in lottery tickets. By doing so he was taught one of the most wholesome lessons of his life. All his tickets The People's Friend. 81 drew blanks : lie lost all his money. From that day Peter Cooper never trusted for profit to any speculation based upon chance. "When he was seventeen years of age young Cooper left his father's house and settled in New York, intending to be a brewer. Even at that early age he had many shrewd business ideas and a keen appreciation of the temper of the people whom he hoped to make his customers. He believed that Americans as a class were always willing to pay high prices for what they knew to be an unusually good article, and, acting upon this theory, it was his intention to make a richer, strong- er, and in every way a better quality of ale than any other manufacturer, and so command an extent of trade which had not yet been obtained. In the years which followed Mr. Cooper had many opportunities of putting this theory into successful practice, but at the time in question he had to forego his am- bition from want of capital, and, instead of being the proprietor of a large brewery, he soon found himself apprenticed to a coach-maker, who had what was in those days regarded as quite an extensive establishment. The young men of the present would hardly regard the conditions of his service as being fa- vorable ones. He was bound for four years, and in return for his work was to receive his board and twenty-five dollars a year, with which to buy clothes. He was very well satisfied with these terms, however, and in after-life he looked back upon his apprenticeship in "Old New York" with unmingled feelings of pleasure. The city of that day, as Mr. Cooper in quaint and graphic language frequently described it, gave but little promise of be- ing the great metropolis of the present. Chambers Street was then the northern limit of the town, all the ground above that point being laid out in farms. The Battery was the fashionable quarter, inhabited only by the families of well-to-do merchants, bankers, and foreign consuls, who at that time cut quite a 4* 82 Twelve Americans. figure in New York society. A small fleet of coasting sloops, with an occasional Dutch or English trading vessel, appeared lonely and out of place in the harbor now filled with the navies of the world. The City Hall, built some years after, with a back-wall of ugly brown-stone, because it was thought the city would never extend beyond it, was not then thought of. The City Hall Park was a cabbage-garden to the Poor-house, an in- significant building, on Chambers Street. The Government of the city was conducted in the Town -house, or old Federal Building, wdiich occupied the site of the present Sub-Treasury, on Wall Street, facing Broad. Wooden fences of the most primitive character appeared on Broadway above Reade Street. There were no stone or brick buildings above Fulton Street. All the business of the place was done on lower Broadway, Qnincy Slip, and the streets adjoining. St. Paul's Church-yard was what may be called the aristocratic bnrying-ground, and "the great Empire City of the young Republic" was protected by a wooden fort, built near what is now the Castle Garden. Subsequently, during a terribly cold winter, in which wood sold for eighteen dollars a cord — coal was then almost unknown in New York — the fort was torn down by order of the authori- ties, and the great beams of which it was constructed given to the poor people to keep them from freezing. Even in its infancy, however, New York seems to have been well supplied with low drinking-shops, dance-houses, and other resorts of a questionable character. Upon his arrival in the city young Cooper was at once made acquainted with the ex- istence of these haunts ; their pleasures were described to him in glowing terms, and he was urged to be one of a party of jolly apprentices who nightly visited them. He persistently refused all such invitations, deterred as much by a studious and retiring disposition and a constitution weakened by hard work, as by a knowledge that one of his fellow-apprentices, a boy of sixteen, was even then dying from diseases contracted The People's Friend. 83 during the midnight debauches in which the young workmen of the city then delighted. So, early in his career, Peter Cooper was looked upon as "a milksop" who had no "go" in him, and he was left to spend his evenings as he liked. He made good use of his time. While the other apprentices were engaged in dancing with loose characters, in witnessing cock- fights, or drinking the fiery liquor brought over in the Holland traders, he retired to a little room in a back street, which had been placed at his disposal by his grandmother, and, braving the jeers of his companions — which in the commencement were showered upon him thick and fast — devoted his evenings to study, to coach-panel carving, and other light work, from which he realized what to him seemed a handsome profit. When he was twenty-one years of age, and had reached the end of an apprenticeship spent in this way, the young man went to his employer to bid him good-bye. A surprise was in store for him, for, instead of bidding him God-speed, as lie had expected, the master, who for a long time had been a silent witness of all his doings, said, in the plain, blunt language of the old-time mechanic, " Peter, you have done good work for me. I will build you a shop and set you up in business for yourself. You may pay me when you can." The offer was a tempting one, but, with many thanks, the young man declined it. He had no capital, and had made up his mind that he would not commence life by burdening him- self with debt. He never regretted this action or the resolu- tion upon which it was based. 84 Twelve Americans. II. ALONE IX THE WORLD, SEEKING A FORTUNE. Twenty-one years old, small in stature, still -weak from overwork in his childhood, a master of one trade, with a good knowledge of three others, an education picked up in scraps at odd times, and having all his earthly possessions in his pocket and in a bundle on his back, Peter Cooper left the coach- factory to seek his fortune. He knew that he must depend upon his own exertions for success, and he determined that he would exert himself to the uttermost. Without loss of time, and believing that he could have no future in New York City, he went to Hempstead, Long Island, where his brother lived, and was there soon engaged to work for a man who was making a machine for shearing cloth. At this business he remained three years, earning Si 50 a day, which at that time was regarded as very high wages. At this period in his career Mr. Cooper married,* believing that he could save more while supporting a wife than he could in the effort to pay for the amusements of a young single * Mr. Edward Cooper, ex-Mayor of Xew York, is a son of Mr. Cooper, and Congressman Abram S. Hewitt his son-in-law. Four of his children died in childhood. His wife, to whom he was fondly attached, died in 1869, on the fifty-sixth anniversary of their wedding-day. Of her Dr. Bel- lows, in the funeral sermon, said : " You behold here no feeble relic of dainty idleness and unstrung fibres, and soft and tended weakness. Here is what is left of a frame that has used every nerve and tissue in human service, household cares, diligent and painstaking duty to husband, chil- dren, and dependents. Here are the ashes of a woman of the Puritan and Huguenot spirit — one who knew nothing about the modern discontent with woman's sphere ; nothing about the weariness of leisure and the lack of adequate occupation ; nothing about the inequality of her woman's lot, or the monotony and oppression of a wife's and mother's duties. She found the place Providence gave her large enough for all her gifts, tasking and rewarding all her efforts, and she did her full part in making, keeping, and spending her husband's fortune." The People'' s Friend. 85 man. He never had any reason to regret his action, and to the last spoke of his wife as a helpmate who did most to bring about the success which crowned his later efforts, and a companion who aided most in making his life a happy one. At the close of his engagement at Hempstead he found him- self in possession of money sufficient to buy the right for the State of New York to manufacture a patent cloth -shearing machine, and commenced to work on his own account. The business proved to be a very successful one, the first money he received for the sale of his own implements being from Mr. Vassar, of Poughkeepsie, who afterward founded Vassar Col- lege, in that city. This and subsequent transactions put him in possession of a capital of $500 — a sum which he regarded as almost a fortune. He was more than elated at his success, and was about to embark in more extensive enterprises, when his joy was turned to mourning. Returning from Poughkeep- sie to New York, he stopped at Newburg, where his father was still living, and found the family in the deepest embarrassment. The head of the house was loaded down with debts which he was unable to pay. In his old age the elder Cooper was even more improvident than he had been at the time when he spent his substance in supplying dishonest farmers and in entertain- ing travelling Methodist preachers. The officers of the law were on the point of selling him out of house and home ; and young Peter, with that generosity which was always one of his leading characteristics, at once determined that, if neces- sary, he would devote the whole of his little fortune to save the family from ruin and disgrace. Without hesitation he gave the money which he had just received from Mr. Vassar and other sources to pay his father's most pressing obliga- tions, leaving himself with barely sufficient means to purchase materials with which to go on making new machines. In ad- dition to this, he became surety for his father's debts which had not yet matured, and, as they fell clue, he paid them off to 86 Twelve Americans. the last penny. In this way he saved his father from failing in business. It was subsequently his boast that during an active business career of more than sixty years, in the course of which he sometimes had as many as twenty-five hundred persons in his employment, he never knew a week or a month when every man who worked for him did not get his pay when it was due. His fidelity to his family was soon rewarded as it deserved to be. He perfected a very important improvement in the machine for shearing cloth, which made it the most desirable one in the market; and, as the war of 1812 was then at its height, and all commerce with England stopped, a large profit was made in the business. At the close of the war, however, the demand for the machines ceased, and Mr. Cooper gave up the trade. By this time he had acquired sufficient money to warrant him in buying a twenty-years' lease of two houses and six lots of ground in that portion of the city now occupied by the Bible Bouse, opposite Cooper Union. On the ground so obtained he erected four large wooden dwelling-houses, which were then styled country residences, and himself engaged in the grocery business, which he conducted for three years. He was not content with this single occupation, however, and soon afterward bought a glue factory, with all its buildings and stock, on a leasehold right for twenty-one years. The estab- lishment was situated on what was then known as the Old Middle Road, between Thirty-first and Thirty -fourth Streets; and there Mr. Cooper continued to manufacture glue, oil, whit- ing, prepared chalk, and isinglass, until his lease of the prop- erty expired. Subsequently he bought ten acres of ground on Maspeth Avenue, Brooklyn, on which he erected factories of the most extensive and approved character. In them he con- tinued to be interested until the day of his death. At this time all Mr. Cooper's enterprises prospered. He ac- cumulated money with astonishing rapidity. Always shrewd. The People's Friend. 87 but nevertheless liberal in his expenditures, he obtained almost unlimited credit, and was fast becoming recognized as one of the most extensive business men in the country. In 1828, with cash and credit so obtained, he bought three thousand acres of land within the limits of the city of Baltimore, paying for it $105,000. He was induced to embark in this venture by two plausible gentlemen, who represented that they had large means, but, after paying his share of the purchase-money, he found that they had misrepresented their capital and re- sources, and that the whole purchase would have to be paid for by himself. In this transaction he secured the whole of the shore line of Baltimore, from Fell's Point Dock, for a distance of three miles. When he made the purchase the people of the Monument City were in the midst of great excitement, aroused by the promise of the early completion of the Balti- more and Ohio Railroad, which some time before had been originated by a subscription of five dollars per share. During the first year of the company's operations, however, the expen- diture had been greater than the amount of money subscribed, and it was found that, because of the many sharp curves and heavy grades to be overcome on the road-bed, a much larger sum of money would be necessary than was at first estimated. On this discovery the principal stockholders became so dis- couraged, that they declared they would rather lose what funds they had already subscribed, than throw more good money after bad. Mr. Cooper, who was greatly interested in the enterprise, and who hoped by the success of the road largely to increase the value of his property, remonstrated with them, but to no purpose. They were assured that it would never be practicable and profitable to run steam-engines around the many abrupt turns which were necessary and unavoidable on the road. See- ing that nothing else would satisfy them, Mr. Cooper made up his mind to construct an eng-ine which would demonstrate the 88 Twelve Americans. feasibility of running trains around the objectionable curves. He set to work with all the energy of which he was capable, and in a short time had on the track an engine which he be- lieved would serve his purposes. With much difficulty he next brought the stockholders together, and embarked thirty- six of them in a small box car. Six others were given scats on the locomotive, which carried its own fuel and water. Having to overcome a grade of eighteen feet to the mile, and turn all the short curves about the Point of Hocks, the engine succeeded in making a distance of thirteen miles in one hour and twelve minutes, and made the return run from Ellicott's Mills to Baltimore in fifty-seven minutes. The Bal- timore and Ohio Railroad was thus saved from bankruptcy and abandonment, and from that day became one of the great corporations of the country. While Mr. Cooper was thus successful in saving the stock- holders of the road from ruin, however, he was not equally fortunate in disposing, at a profit, of the property in Balti- more which he had been induced to purchase, and in order to make it pay something he determined to build iron works upon it. Four or five hundred tons of iron ore were mined at Lazzaretto Point, near by, and he cut wood off the land to burn into charcoal, to be used in manufacturing charcoal-iron. In his efforts to make iron in this way Mr. Cooper erected a number of large kilns, at that time of novel construction and design. They were circular in form, hooped around with iron at the top, arched over, in order to make a tight chamber, in which to place the wood, and with single bricks left out, that the fire might be smothered when the wood was sufficiently burned. This contrivance nearly cost Mr. Cooper his life. After having on one occasion burned the wood in one of the kilns, and believing that the fire had been entirely smothered out, a number of his workmen attempted to take the charcoal from the chamber. When it had been about half removed The People^s Friend. 89 the coal itself toot fire, and the workmen, after carrying water for some time in the hope of extinguishing it, at length gave up in despair. Then Mr. Cooper himself went to the door of the kiln to see what could be done, and had hardly reached it when the gas generated by the coal took fire and enveloped him in flame. An explosion followed, and he was hurled sev- eral feet away, his eyebrows, hair, and whiskers were burned off, and he narrowly escaped with his life. In later years Mr. Cooper suffered a somewhat similar accident. lie had always been a firm believer in the theory that at some time the air would be successfully navigated, and in experimenting with gas for the inflation of a balloon for that purpose his eyes were so severely injured by an explosion that he was obliged to remain in a darkened room for five months. Notwithstanding this accident, however, he was to the last fully convinced that in the not distant future a gas-filled bal- loon, or other contrivance, will be perfected or invented, which will make it possible to navigate the air with safety and success. After the accident at his Baltimore furnaces, and seeing the difficulty which attended the manufacture of iron there, Mr. Cooper determined to dispose of the property. Making this announcement, he was offered something more than $90,000 for it by a firm of Boston men. He accepted this offer; what is still known as the Canton Iron Company was established, and he took a considerable portion of his pay in stock, at $45 a share, the par value being $100 per share. At this point the "luck" of the property, if I may use the expres- sion, changed. The stock of the new company commenced to rise in value, and continued to go up in the market un- til it was quoted at $230 per share. Then Mr. Cooper sold out, realizing an immense profit. Subsequently he engaged on the most extensive scale in the manufacture of iron in New York, of wire in Trenton, conducting blast-furnaces at Phillips- 9st abundantly fulfilled. To the consternation of his enemies, and greatly to the surprise of even his most sanguine followers, he was elected by a majority of 18,000 votes over his two competitors, and of 23,000 votes over the candidate of the Democracy. This majority was more than double that ever before given to any candidate for the Governorship of Maine. The election, being held in Septem- ber, was popularly regarded as the opening gun of the great antislavery conflict which was to come. Its immediate result was to greatly strengthen and encourage the supporters of Fre- mont in the national struggle which followed in November. Mr. Hamlin was duly inaugurated as Governor of his native State, but served for only a few days, when he was for the third time elected a Senator of the United States. Shortly afterward he resigned the Governorship and returned to his seat in Congress. In this position he continued to battle man- fully for the antislavery cause, his speeches on the Lecompton Constitution, the Kansas question, and his manful reply to the " mudsill " tirade of Governor Hammond, of South Carolina, attracting wide attention and applause. 7 146 Twelve Americans. "LINCOLN AND HAMLIN." But, prominent as was Mr. Hamlin's figure in the Senate, he was destined to occupy a still more prominent position before the country. In the midst of a political excitement which had hardly ever before been equalled in the United States, the National Republican Convention to nominate a President and Vice-President met in Chicago, on the 16th of May, 1860. At that time the remarkable quadrennial meeting of the De- mocracy had been held at Charleston, and, after a session of nearly two weeks, had adjourned, without either framing a platform or choosing candidates. It was there only demon- strated that Douglass could not be nominated by a united De- mocracy, and, as an outcome of the Constitutional Union Con- vention at Baltimore, it was seen that the contest to come was to be phenomenal in character. Under these conditions, it was not to be wondered at that the masses of the people look- ed with much anxiety to Chicago, believing that there the question of the Presidency was to be definitely settled. The great convention came together in the best of feeling, and its first day was spent harmoniously in perfecting the preliminary organization. On the second day the Committee on Resolu- tions submitted a platform which was unanimously adopted, and has ever since stood as expounding the cardinal principles of the party of libedy. On the morning of the 18th inst. thousands of people thronged the wigwam in which the con- vention was held, and, amid a silence which was almost painful — a silence shared not only by those within, but by the great multitude without — it was moved to go into ballot for a can- didate for the Presidency of the Union. Then, with appro- priate addresses, the following seven names were presented in the order given : William H. Seward, of New York ; Abraham He Served the State. 147 Lincoln, of Illinois ; William L. Dayton, of New Jersey ; Si- mon Cameron, of Pennsylvania; Salmon P. Chase, of Ohio; Edward Bates, of Missouri ; John McLean, of Ohio. It was at once understood that the five last-named gentle- men were to receive little better than complimentary votes, and that the real contest would be between Seward and Lin- coln. On the first ballot the New York candidate received 173 votes; Mr. Lincoln, 102; Mr. Cameron, 50; Mr. Chase, 49 ; Mr. Bates, 48 ; Mr. Dayton, 14 ; Mr. McLean, 12. In addi- tion to these, there were 16 scattering votes cast for candidates not formally put in nomination. Two hundred and thirty-three votes were necessary to a choice. After the first ballot the veteran Simon Cameron, who to a large extent had charge of Mr. Lincoln's canvass, caused his own name to be withdrawn ; and on the second ballot the vote stood as follows : Seward, 184 ; Lincoln, 181 ; Chase, 42 ; Bates, 35 ; Dayton, 10 ; McLean, 8 ; scattering, 4. The third roll-call was commenced amid the most intense though suppressed excitement, and at its close the clerk an- nounced the result to be : For Mr. Lincoln, 231 ; for Mr. Sew- ard, 180 ; for Mr. Chase, 24 ; for Mr. Bates, 22 ; scattering, 1. While this result was being announced, however, four of the Ohio delegates changed their votes to Lincoln, thus giving him a majority ; and, amid the most enthusiastic shouts of ap- plause, Abraham Lincoln was declared to be the nominee of the convention for President of the United States. This much having been accomplished, the selection of a Vice-President was moved in order ; and it was at once seen by shrewd political minds in the convention that the selection of Lincoln, with Whig antecedents, from the West, should, to make a strong ticket, be united with the choice of some East- ern man, a Republican, but whose affiliations had been with the Democracy. These considerations naturally pointed to Hannibal Hamlin as the candidate for the second place on 148 Twelve Americans. the ticket. lie was strongly urged for this position by his old associates in Congress — men like Preston King, David Wilmot, George Rathbun, and others who knew him best and respected him most. Simon Cameron, too, was one of his staunchest adherents, and threw the entire Pennsylvania delegation in his interest. So it came about that Mr. Hamlin was nominated, amid unbounded enthusiasm, on the second ballot. This action was taken despite his well-known disin- clination to give up his Senatorial seat for the more distin- guished, though less influential, one of Vice-President, Indeed, having, before the convention, heard some rumors of the pur- pose to make him the candidate for the second place, he had obtained pledges from the Maine delegates to Chicago to the effect that they would authoritatively announce his disinclina- tion to be a candidate. This agreement the Maine delegates failed to carry out, their excuse being that the nomination of Mr. Hamlin was inevitable, and that no effort of theirs could prevent it. Hearing of what had been done, the Senator was naturally somewhat indignant at what he regarded as a breach of faith on the part of his trusted friends, and for a time he avowed a positive intention to decline to be a candidate for the Vice-Presidency. From this determination he was only moved by the representations of Senators Foote, Wade, Fes- senden, and others of his associates. They, in a body, visited him, and, through Mr. Wade and other spokesmen, assured him that his refusal to be a candidate with Mr. Lincoln would be taken as indicative of a lack of confidence in the success of the Republican Party, and might be fatal to the Chicago ticket. " In fact," said Mr. Wade, " they'll think you are afraid to run, and your fear will be taken as auguring our defeat." " Oh, you can't mean that !" Mr. Hamlin replied, with un- usual excitement. " I do just mean that," replied Wade. He Served the State. 149 " What ! that they might think I was afraid to run on the Republican ticket ?" " Yes, Hamlin, just that !" "Well, then, I shall now, and be damned to them !" was the sturdy reply of the Maine Senator. Afterward, on being offi- cially notified of his nomination, he rapidly penned and trans- mitted the following characteristic letter of acceptance : "Washington, May 30, 1860. " Gentlemen, — Your official communication of the 18th inst., inform- ing me that the representatives of the Republican Party of the United States, assembled at Chicago on that day, had, by unanimous vote, selected me as their candidate for the office of Vice-President of the United States, has been received, together with the resolutions adopted by the conven- tion as its declaration of principles. These resolutions enunciate clearly and forcibly the principles which unite us, and the objects proposed to be accomplished. They address themselves to all, and there is neither necessity nor propriety in my entering upon a discussion of any of them. They have the approval of my judgment, and in any action of mine will be faithfully and cordially sustained. I am profoundly grateful to those with whom it is my pride and pleasure politically to co-operate for the nomination so unexpectedly conferred, and I desire to tender through you to the members of the convention my sincere thanks for the confidence thus reposed in me. Should the nomination which I now accept be rati- fied by the people, and the duties devolve on me of presiding over the Senate of the United States, it will be my earnest endeavor faithfully to discharge them, with a just regard for the rights of all. It is to be observed, in connection with the doings of the Republican Convention, that the paramount object with us is to preserve the normal condition of our Territorial domains as homes for freemen. The able advocate and defender of Republican principles whom you have named for the highest place that can gratify the ambition of man comes from a State which has been made what it is by the special action in that respect of the wise and good men who founded our institutions. The rights of free labor have been there vindicated and maintained. . The thrift and enterprise which so distinguished Illinois, one of the most flourishing States of the glorious West, we would see secured to all the Territories of the Union, and restore peace and harmony to the whole country, by bringing back the Govern- ment to what it was under the wise and patriotic men who created it. If the Republicans shall succeed in that object, as they hope to, they will be held in grateful remembrance by the busy and teeming millions of future ages. I am, very truly, yours, II. Hamlin. "To the Hon. George Ashman, " President of the Convention, and others of the Committee." 1 50 Twelve Americans. Of the campaign which followed the nomination of Lincoln and Hamlin, and the exciting discussions which grew out of the nomination, and ultimately resulted in the great civil war, it is not necessary to speak in this place. It may, however, be said, in contradiction of recent statements, that the campaign — so far as Abraham Lincoln, Hannibal Hamlin, and their imme- diate friends and supporters were concerned — was fought en- tirely on the principle of the non-extension, not the abrogation, of the institution of slavery. Mr. Hamlin, at least, had never, up to this time, been one of those who wished to precipitate a conflict by interfering with what might be called the establish- ed rights of the South. Still, he was most steadfast in his de- mand that no free Territory should be invaded by slavery ; and all his sympathies, if not his public utterances, were in favor of abolishing the institution entirely. He differed with Garrison and others, however, as to the methods by which such abolition should be secured. He did not believe that the time had yet ripened for emancipation. When that time did come he was one of the first to recognize it ; and, as will be fully detailed in the proper place, he became a most urgent, earnest, and per- sistent advocate of the proclamation of universal liberty. Shortly after the election which made Lincoln and Hamlin the successful standard-bearers of the party which was to place the American Republic at the head of nations, the Vice-Presi- dent elect received from Mr. Liucoln an invitation to meet him at Chicago. In response to this invitation he went West, and there established relations with the coming Chief Magistrate which ever afterward made them friends in the fullest sense of the term. His first meeting with Lincoln in Chicago was a peculiar one. In the hotel of the latter Mr. Hamlin visited him. L'pon entering the room in which he was, Mr. Lincoln, who was alone, rose slowly to receive his guest. Even then his face had begun to assume that earnest expression which afterward developed into one of care-worn and harassed anx- He Served the State. 1 5 1 iety. Walking toward Mr. Hamlin, he said, abruptly, yet in his own kindly tone, " Have we ever been introduced to each other, Mr. Hamlin ?" " No, sir, I think not," replied the latter. " That also is my impression," said Lincoln ; " but I re- member distinctly while I was in Congress to have heard you make a speech in the Senate. I was very much struck with that speech, Senator — particularly struck with it — and for the reason that it was filled ' chock-up ' with the very best kind of antislavery doctrine." " Well, now," replied Hamlin, laughing, " that is very singu- lar; for my one and first recollection of yourself is of having heard you make a speech in the House — a speech that was so full of good -humor and sharp points, that I, together with other of your auditors, was convulsed with laughter." Relations between the two gentlemen having been established in this cordial fashion, Mr. Lincoln locked the door of the room in which they were, and for several hours they consulted together as to the conduct of the first Republican Administra- tion. During that interview Mr. Lincoln was particular to say to Hamlin that he expected, and would be always willing to accept in the very best spirit, any advice which the Vice-Presi- dent might have to offer — -thus departing, by-the-way, from the precedents already established between the first and the so-called second officer of the nation. At the same time Mr. Lincoln was careful to advise with his associate as to his selec- tion of a Secretary of State. Various candidates for that po- sition were discussed at length, and, though Mr. Hamlin had no reason to be particularly friendly to Seward, he strongly urged that the great New York Senator be chosen for the place. This view Mr. Lincoln was also inclined to, but nothing definite in regard to the matter was settled. It was fixed, however, that Mr. Hamlin should have the selection of the Eastern mem- ber of the Cabinet. After this interview the Vice-President 152 Twelve Americans. elect returned to Washington, and, during the weeks which intervened until the inauguration, was in almost daily commu- nication with Mr. Lincoln regarding the make-up of his Cabi- net and the conduct of his Administration. It will be remembered that there was at the time much dis- cussion in the public prints and among public men in regard to whether or not Seward was to receive the portfolio of the Premier. Upon that subject it is now possible to throw a good deal of new light. At first Seward was known to be a strong- ly-endorsed applicant for the position. Mr. Thurlow Weed (then a power in the councils of the party) urged him upon the President elect, and many other influential men went out of their way to try to draw from Mr. Lincoln assurances that he would be appointed. To none of these gentlemen, however, did the shrewd Western statesman make any pledge. His failure to do so led them to believe that he did not intend to make Mr. Seward his chief adviser. Coming to this conclusion, the New York Senator, with just a little too much haste for so astute a politician, decidedly changed his tune, and caused it to be given out by his friends that he could not under any cir- cumstances be induced to leave the Senate. This statement he followed up by a personal declaration that he was not a candi- date for the Secretaryship of State, and would not accept the position. Mr. Hamlin, being at this time, perhaps, more fully informed regarding the purposes of the incoming Administration than was any other man, took no little innocent satisfaction and amusement in watching the straits to which the politicians were being put by lack of information regarding Mr. Lincoln's in- tentions. Believing all the time that Mr. Seward was most anxious for the Premiership, and being at the same time fully aware that Lincoln was almost certain to offer the place to him, he one day in the Senate Chamber approached the New York Senator and said, He Served the State. 153 "Well, Mr. Seward, is there anything new in regard to the Secretaryship of State ?" " No, Mr. Hamlin, no," replied Seward ; " nothing new, as far as I am concerned. I still adhere to my decision not to think of accepting the position." "That's to be regretted — that's to be regretted," rejoined Hamlin. " Oh, I don't know that," said the other, with a laugh ; and then, with a sly look at his companion, he added, " Even if I wanted the place, I don't know that I could get it." " Well, as to that," said the Vice-President to be, " I think Mr. Lincoln sees — or can, at least, be made to see — the pro- priety of such a step. Let me join with your other friends in the endeavor to show it to him." "No, no," quickly rejoined Seward — "no, no; it's of no use, Mr. Hamlin ;" and so the subject was dropped. Subsequently it was renewed two or three times, with the same result. About a week before the inauguration, however, Hamlin received from Lincoln a letter enclosing to Seward a note offering him the Secretaryship of State. The letter to Hamlin explained this purpose on the part of the President elect, and advised him, after consultation with Judge Trumbull, of Illinois, to present the enclosure to Senator Seward. Bear- ing this document, and by the advice of Trumbull, Mr. Hamlin again approached Seward. A private meeting was arranged between them, and once more the Vice-President elect asked if the gentleman from New York had changed his mind in regard to the Secretaryship of State. " No, no," was again Mr. Seward's reply. " If that is what you have come to talk to me about, Hamlin, we might as well stop here. I don't want the place, and if I did I have reason to know that I could not get it ; therefore let us have no more talk about it." "Very well," replied Hamlin, "I will say nothing more 7* 1 54 Twelve Americans. about it ; but before you express yourself to others as plainly as you have done to me let me present you with this letter from Mr. Lincoln." So saying, he handed Mr. Seward Lincoln's letter offering that gentleman the post of Secretary of State in the future Cabinet. Pale with excitement, Mr. Seward opened and read the communication. Then, turning to Hamlin, and grasping his hand, he said, simply, " This is remarkable, Mr. Hamlin. I will consider the mat- ter, and, in accordance with Mr. Lincoln's request, give him my decision at the earliest practicable moment." Within three days afterward the Senator from New York had accepted the position of Secretary of State in Abraham Lincoln's Cabinet. VI. THE DAYS OF WAR.— IMPORTANT HISTORICAL INCIDENTS. As is well illustrated by these, and similar incidents — which, if necessary, might be recalled — Hannibal Hamlin from the first enjoyed not only the esteem and respect but the closest confi- dence of Abraham Lincoln. Indeed, it is a fact which may be stated in passing that Mr. Hamlin never asked the great Presi- dent to perform any act which he did not perform. Once only during all their intercourse was he forgetful of a promise which he had made to his friend and associate. Inadvertently, when they met at this time, Mr. Hamlin by his manner indicated his displeasure at this forgetfulness. Noticing this, and suddenly recalling his unfulfilled promise, Mr. Lincoln — it was in a crowded room — went up to the Vice-President and said, with that kind smile which those who were his intimate associates always delight to recall, "Are you cross with me for forgetting? I am afraid you are, and I am very sorry. There was no excuse for me. But lie Served the State. 155 don't be annoyed, and I will do just as I said I would." It is needless to add that the promise was fulfilled. As to the manner in which Lincoln and Hamlin entered the capital to be inaugurated President and Vice-President of the United States there have been many conflicting statements. The following facts, which throw much additional light upon the subject, may now be made public. A few days before the inauguration Mr. Hamlin met the Presi- dent elect at the Astor House, in New York. There was great though suppressed excitement in the metropolis and throughout the country, and threats had been freely made by Southern fire-eaters and radical Democrats that neither Lincoln, Hamlin, "nor any other Abolitionist" should ever be permitted to occupy the White House. While the President and Vice-Presi- dent elect were at the Astor House, in New York, as stated, wild rumors of this sort, which had been flying about for weeks, seemed to take tangible shape ; at least, it is a fact that, daring their short stay in the city, one of the highest of the police authorities brought to them detailed and circumstantial infor- mation of a plot which had been entered into to assassinate Mr. Lincoln. Neither of the gentlemen were seriously alarmed by this statement ; still, it was determined that no risks should be run. In furtherance of their decision it was authoritatively stated, and reported in the newspapers, that the President and Vice-President elect would travel together on a certain train from New York directly to Washington. Instead of doing this, however, Mr. Hamlin went to Washington alone, on a train other than the one which had been designated in the news- paper reports. He journeyed safely and without disturbance in an ordinary sleeping-car until he reached Baltimore. There, though the hour was very early in the morning, he found that there were scores of people in the depot; and many rough- looking characters, with oaths and threats, boarded the train, with the out-spoken intention of taking a look at the " nigger- 156 Twelve Americans. lover, Abe Lincoln." Finding that Mr. Lincoln was not on the train, however, and not recognizing Mr. Hamlin, who was lying quietly in his berth, they made no farther demonstration; and the train went on, reaching "Washington in due time. Mr. Lincoln, it may be well to add, proceeded from New York to Ilarrisburg, Pennsylvania, and from that point went to Wash- ington, where he arrived safely early upon the morning after Mr. Hamlin. As is fully detailed in the sketch of the life of Elihu B. Washburne published in this volume, the President elect was met at the Baltimore and Ohio Depot by Mr. Washburne and Senator Seward, and by them accompanied to Willard's Hotel, where he remained quietly until the day of the inauguration. On that day it is notable that neither Mr. Hamlin nor Mr. Lincoln shared the fear of an attack upon them which was entertained by many of their friends. Mr. Hamlin recollects that on the memorable occasion in question Mr. Lincoln was " calm, quiet, and serene as a summer day." Nor was the Vice-President elect in any way disturbed by the threats and rumors which filled the capital. Subsequently, however, during conversations with General Scott, who was known to have been greatly alarmed for the safety of the incoming President and Vice- President, Mr. Hamlin was led to believe that the sense of se- curity which he enjoyed was only to be attributed to a lack of knowledge the possession of which might have made him quite as uneasy as was General Scott and others. For the purposes of this sketch, however, it is only necessary to add that the in- auguration passed off without any disturbance, though in the midst of deep excitement. During all the years of trial, war, and bloodshed which fol- lowed that memorable 4th of March, 1861, and until his foul assassination, Abraham Lincoln continued to repose the utmost confidence in Hannibal Hamlin. At their Chicago meeting, after the election, it will be remembered that the President He Served the State. 157 elect had expressed a desire that Mr. Hamlin would name the member of the Cabinet who was to be selected from the East- ern States. In accordance with this desire, Gideon Welles was named as Secretary of the Navy. As to the wisdom of the selection nothing need now be said. It may be mentioned, however, that the well-meaning, though not always competent, Mr. Welles was not long in office when Vice-President Hamlin ceased to have any relations with him. The incident which led to the rupture well illustrates the official methods of the time. Shortly after the outbreak of the rebellion the Navy Depart- ment was authorized to provide for the construction by con- tractors of a number of sloops-of-war. A noted ship-builder of Maine, an earnest, patriotic man, was most anxious to con- struct one of these vessels at a cheap price, thereby contribut- ing his share to the suppression of the rebellion. Acquainting Vice-President Hamlin with this desire, that gentleman went to Secretary Welles and asked that the ship-builder in ques- tion might be given, upon such terms as the Government should indicate, a contract to build one of the sloops. " Certainly, Mr. Hamlin, certainly," was the ready response of the Secretary. " The gentleman is in every way responsible — that I know — and he shall have the contract." " Then I can be assured that there will be no mistake about the matter ?" said Mr. Hamlin. " Certainly, certainly ; the contract will be awarded at once," was the reply of the Secretary ; and so the matter, for the mo- ment, ended. Later in the day, however, the Vice-President, learning that certain bureau officers had more to do with the awarding of contracts than the Secretary himself, again went to Mr. Welles, informed him of the information which he had received, and was again assured in the most positive way that the contract would be awai'ded as arranged. A few da) 7 s afterward, greatly to Mr. Hamlin's astonishment, it was announced that the contracts for building the sloops-of- 158 Twelve Americans. war bad been made, but tbe construction of none of them bad been assigned to the ship-builder endorsed by the Vice-Presi- dent. One contract had been given to Maine ; but it had been assigned, as the event proved, to a man who was in active sympathy with the rebels, and who applied for the work only to make all the money he could out of it. Subsequently Mr. Hamlin learned that the contracts had been awarded by the bureau officers by lot ; that is to say, the names of the respon- sible bidders for the work had been put into a hat, shaken up, and the requisite number then drawn out. Not approving of such methods of conducting the public business, and being un- able to forgive what he regarded as a direct violation of good faith, the sturdy Vice-President, after giving Secretary Welles plainly to understand what he thought of his conduct, refused ever after to speak with him. Two other incidents in this period of Mr. Hamlin's life are not only most interesting, but historically of great importance. When the war commenced, the Vice-President, in advance of many of his associates, foresaw that its ultimate result must be the liberation of the slaves. It is not claimed — certainly not by him, the most modest of men — that he had any accurate idea as to the exact manner in which such liberation was to occur ; still he was convinced that, sooner or later, and in some way, the slaves would be set free. Holding these views, as the war progressed he repeatedly urged upon the President the advisability of issuing an emancipation proclamation. To all the arguments in favor of such a course Mr. Lincoln gave the most thoughtful and earnest attention, but let drop no hint as to what his action in the matter would be. This was the situation when, one evening, Mr. Hamlin went to the White House, and announced to tbe President that he intended to leave that night for a visit to his home. " No ; you don't intend to do anything of the sort," was the somewhat remarkable response of the President. He Served the State. 159 " Ob yes, but I do," replied Hamlin, not quite understand- ing Mr. Lincoln. " No," said tbe latter, " you do not intend anything of the sort. In short, Mr. Vice-President, you will not leave Wash- ington at present." This Mr. Lincoln said with a look which was far more significant than his words ; and Mr. Hamlin, see- ing that he had something of more than ordinary importance on his mind, replied, "Of course I will not think of doing so if you wish other- wise. You are the Commander-in-chief, and I am under orders." " And I order you," continued the President, laughing, " to sit in that chair, and afterward to ride with me to supper." Hamlin did as was desired, and shortly afterward the two gentlemen, guarded by a file of soldiers, rode on horseback out to the summer residence of the President. There they quietly partook of a light supper, and then the President invited his guest into the library. Here, having carefully closed the door, he turned to his trusty adviser and said, " Mr. Hamlin, you have been repeatedly urging me to issue a proclamation emancipating the slaves. I have concluded to yield to your advice in the matter, and that of other friends — at the same time, as I may say, following my own judgment. Now listen to me while I read this paper. We will correct it together as I go on." Saying which, the President unrolled and read the famous proclamation which gave liberty and manhood to four million human chattels. Still another important incident in the same direction : Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, together with Vice-President Hamlin and Simon Cameron, had frequently urged upon Pres- ident Lincoln the advisability of organizing regiments of col- ored troops. The President did not at first look favorably upon the proposition, and Mr. Stanton had almost given up hope of bringing him to his way of thinking. One evening, while this was the situation, a deputation of 160 2'welve Americans. ten array officers — all brave, well-informed, and earnest men, though none of them of particularly high rank — went to the Vice-President's lodgings and begged him to urge the Presi- dent to authorize the arming of negroes. " If such a thing can be done," said Mr. Hamlin, after hear- ing them through, " would you, and other men like you, be willing to command the colored troops?" " Yes, sir ; gladly," they replied, almost in a breath. " Very well," was the decisive response of Mr. Hamlin, " if you are willing to undertake the task I will see to it that you have an opportunity of presenting your views to the Presi- dent." Saying this, though it was ten o'clock at night, he sent a messenger to the White House, asking when it would be convenient for Mr. Lincoln to see him and his army friends. The President, without delay, fixed an interview for eight o'clock the next morning. At that hour Mr. Hamlin, with the ten officers, went to the White House. The latter fully presented their case to Mr. Lincoln. When they had done so he turned to Hamlin and asked, evidently much perplexed, "What is your best judgment about this?" " I think," was the reply, " that these gentlemen are entirely right. If they are ready to move — if they, and other good men like them, are ready to give up their present positions and take places in negro regiments — I am sure it is but right that you should give them authority to do so." "Yes, yes," repeated the President three or four times; and then, with the exclamation, " I suppose the time has come!" he turned to his desk and for a few moments wrote rapidly. Then, turning to Hamlin, he said, " Here is an order to Secretary Stanton authorizing the arming of colored troops." " May I be your messenger to the Secretary ?" eagerly asked Mr. Hamlin. lie Served the State. 161 " Yes, yes," said the President, smiling in his own quaint way ; " take it to Stanton — take it to Stanton. I am glad to know that you are both satisfied." Without a moment's delay the Vice-President hurried to the War Office, found the Secretary in his private room, and hastily told him what had occurred. " No, no ! it can't be possible !" exclaimed Stanton, with suppressed excitement, and hardly daring to believe that one of his pet schemes was about to go into effect. " Here is the President's order," was Hamlin's simple re- sponse. Hastily the Secretary took and read it, was silent for a mo- ment, and then, throwing aside his usual gruff ness of manner, his real feeling came to the surface, great tears welled up into his eyes and flowed over his care-worn face. Then, convul- sively throwing his arms about Hamlin, he cried out, with all the earnestness of a deep, strong nature, " Thank God for this ! thank God for this !" From these incidents it will be seen that Mr. Hamlin, dur- ing all the dark days of war, exerted great influence upon the Administration. He was continually urging greater activity against the rebels, and in this direction was always met more than half-way by Secretary Stanton. Mr. Seward, on the other hand, during most of this time, seemed to his intimate associ- ates never to have fully recovered from the idea that he could write dow r n the rebellion with his own good pen ; and even the great President himself at times seemed to be more anxious to be led by public sentiment than to take the initiative in any grave matter. When he took a position, however, knowing he was right, he never deserted it. But it was not only by good advice that Hannibal Hamlin aided the progress of the war against secession. Many a regi- ment of Maine troops, and many an individual soldier and of- ficer, can bear abundant testimony to the jealous care which he 1 62 Twelve Americans. continually took of their interests. Had his position been a different one he might have done more. Situated as he was, however, it can with all truth be said that he did everything which was in the power of man to do. These facts were so well known to man}' of the most ear- nest Republicans, that when his term as Vice-President was drawing to a close they earnestly urged him to accept a re- nomination. Naturally enough, a man of his marked ability and high standing found much that was disagreeable in the in- significant office which by courtesy is called the second in the nation. Still, he did not decline to be a candidate, and his name was put in nomination before the National Convention. He was defeated, some people say by a trick, others by a mis- take. The fact is, that on the roll-call the Chairman of the Iowa delegation wrongfully cast for his opponent votes which were pledged to him. This seemed to turn the tide against him. His friend Cameron, from Pennsylvania, believing, erro- neously, that he was defeated as the roll stood, swung into line for Andrew Johnson, and so that gentleman was declared nom- inated. In the campaign which followed Mr. Hamlin was in the front rank of the most earnest supporters of Lincoln and Johnson. Subsequently, when the great President was mur- dered, and Johnson went into the White House, that gentle- man appointed Mr. Hamlin to be Collector of the Port of Bos- ton. That position he held for a year ; and then, being dissat- isfied with President Johnson's course, he resigned, saying, in a characteristically honest and straightforward letter, that he was against the Administration, intended to oppose it, and could not conscientiously do so while holding its office. He Served the State. 163 VII. AFTER FIFTY YEARS OF PUBLIC SERVICE. Subsequently, in 1869, Mr. Hamlin was re-elected to the United States Senate. Of his continued service in that body from the year in question down to the 4th of March, 1881, it is unnecessary to speak in detail. It need only be said that at last he gave up his high trust voluntarily — gave it up be- cause he honestly believed some younger and more active man might better perform the many duties of the position. Had he desired re-election, no man questions that a simple expres- sion of his wish would have secured it for him. During all his recent service Mr. Hamlin was a working rather than a talking member of the Senate. How hard, earnest, and faith- ful his work has been can be testified to by thousands of the people of Maine who have written to him, many of them upon the most trivial and insignificant matters, and who have al- ways received from him prompt and courteous response. How faithful he has been can best be told by those who served with him in committee, and who always found him the first and last at his post. How disinterested his service has been may be inferred from the fact that, after fifty years of con- tinuous public service — years in which hundreds of men with far less opportunity made for themselves millions of dollars — he retired to his quiet home in Maine with an income barely sufficient to support himself and his little family in the most moderate style. And yet were it not for his extraordi- nary integrity and lofty ideas of public duty, he might easily have been a very rich man. During his first service in Con- gress he had opportunities which would have made him so. For instance, very early in his service in the House — when its clerk, Mr. McNulty, was charged with improper practices, and, after displaying sufficient nerve to call the yeas and nays 164 Twelve Americans. on a resolution ordering his own dismissal, was obliged to re- tire — Mr. Hamlin was instrumental in securing the election of the famous "Ben" French to his place. For this service Mr. French was ever afterward most grateful. One day, full of this feeling, be came to Mr. Hamlin in the House and said, " At last, Hamlin, I have an opportunity of repaying you for your kindness to me. Three squares of tbe District of Columbia are to be sold — the one for seven mills a foot, the other for five, and the other for three mills. We can secure this property quietly, and I know of public improvements shortly to take place near it which will so increase its value as to make our fortunes." " That's all very well," said Hamlin ; " but if the property were to be sold for one mill a foot I have no money to buy it." " In that case," said French, after consideration, " Fll tell you what I will do. I will raise the money and buy a por- tion of the property in your name. When the improvements I know of are made, and the great increase in value comes — as it must come — you can sell a small portion of the property, and pay me what I have advanced." "You are very kind," said Mr. Hamlin, fully grateful for the offer ; " but the fact is, while there is no actual wrong in the proposition, / do not think it xvould be right for me to use information which I secure as a public servant to advance my private fortune." So the matter was dropped. The principles implied in Mr. Hamlin's answer to French he lived up to all his life. The property which he might have bought for five mills a foot, as described, is now in the heart of Washington, just back of the Interior and Post-office Departments, and readily sells for three dollars a foot. Incidentally it may be noted that Mr. Hamlin, during his half- century of public service, was personally aware of only one legislative transaction which could even remotely be called He Served the State. 165 corrupt. That was many years ago. A certain bill was under consideration, and a Senator (who cannot be named) came to his desk and said, " Mr. Hamlin, if this bill passes, the bonds will be worth one hundred cents on the dollar. I can take you, or let you send, to a place where you can now get any quantity of the bonds for six cents on the dollar. What do you say to the chance ?" " I say, damn your chance and damn your bonds, sir !" was the only reply of the indignant Maine Senator, as he turned his back upon the man whom he believed had insulted him. This, as has been said, was the only instance in which Mr. Hamlin was ever approached with a corrupt proposition. Fre- quently, however, like many other Senators, he received inno- cent letters from constituents, who, knowing no better, offered him small sums of money as an inducement to perform cer- tain services which they required at his hands. It has always been his pleasure, in a personal communication, to set such misguided people right in regard to what he thought to be the duties of a public servant.* Hannibal Hamlin is to-day — in 1883 — the one most distin- guished connecting link between the great statesmen of the past and of the present. He served in the House with John Quincy Adams, Preston King, Stephen A. Douglas, David Wil- mot, Henry A. Wise, Barnwell Rhett, and Howell Cobb. He served in the Senate with Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, John C. Calhoun, Thomas H. Benton, Simon Cameron, James Bu- chanan, and John J. Crittenden. Later, in the same body, * It is a matter of record that, in the days of Webster, Senators and Representatives in Congress in some cases regarded themselves as entitled to pay for personal services rendered to their constituents. Mr. Webster himself seems to have entertained this idea. A number of his associates in Congress who are still alive recall the fact that on more than one occasion he took the floor in the Senate as the paid advocate of a private bill. 1 66 Twelve Americans. he sat side by side with Seward, Fessenden, Sumner, Chase, Douglas, and Morton ; and still later he acted with a third generation of statesmen, having had intimate official relations with Edmunds, Colliding, Blaine, Thurman, and Bayard. Mr. Hamlin went out of public life, not only of his own will, as has been said, but without any regrets ; indeed, he was well satisfied to know that his great public work was done. On the 3d of March, 1881, as he sat for the last time in the Sen- ate Chamber, he wrote a letter to his son, General Charles Hamlin, in which he said : " I am sitting for the last day in the Senate, and, my son, I am a happy man. You and others may not comprehend it, but I feel it ; and, in the language of the sacred poet, I may say — " ' This is the day I long have sought.' " At that moment Allen G. Thurman, the great Democratic Senator, and Mr. Hamlin's warm friend, whose term of service expired at the same moment, sat down beside him, and, seeing the work in which he was engaged, said, " Old friend, I feel just as you do ;" and then, on a vacant page of the paper which was before Mr. Hamlin, the Ohio Senator wrote as follows to his friend's son : "My Dear Me. Hamlin. — I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, but I have known your father for over thirty-five years. Like him, I can say this is the last day of my political life, and I am rejoiced to go out of it in such good company and with my personal friend of a generation. My sincere wish is that you may do honor to a father so illustrious. " Truly yours, &c, A. G. Thurman." But Mr. Hamlin was mistaken in believing that his retire- ment from the Senate would also be his retirement from all public service. Another honor was in store for him. On June 30, 1881, President Garfield appointed him Minister to Spain. If the appointment was not the last made by the President prior to the foul attack upon his life, it was among the last. He Served the State. \6y He commented upon it at the time as one of the most satisfac- tory appointments he had made. When his commission reached him Mr. Hamlin sought the Secretary of State, Mr. Blaine, and said he could only accept with the understanding that he would be at liberty to resign at any time. He also stated that he might remain abroad a year, or a year and a half, but certainly not longer than two years. These terms were fully conceded, and Mr. Hamlin promised to take the position. Still, the President being in so critical a condition, he did not like to leave the country ; and when he died, Mr. Hamlin, not wishing to embarrass President Arthur, still remained at home. At the earliest opportunity, however, the new Chief Magistrate, with that respect for the wishes of his predecessor characteristic of his Administration, reappointed Mr. Hamlin to the extra session of the Senate. The appoint- ment was unanimously confirmed, without reference to a com- mittee. Tn October, 1881, Mr. Hamlin sailed for his new post of duty, and, returning in the first month of 1883, retired to his quiet home, near Bangor, in " the old Maine State." He left Spain sincerely regretted by the King and Foreign Minis- ter, with whom his relations were most agreeable. Upon his return to Bangor he was given a public reception, and deliver- ed an address, in which it is noticeable that, as a result of his experience abroad, he strongly advocated the moderate use of light wines, as the best cure for the immoderate drinking of strong liquors. In connection with the public service of Mr. Hamlin, it is not amiss to recall the fact that when he first received political office the Union was composed of but twenty-seven States; since then eleven new States have been added — but two less than the number which fought for and established the Repub- lic. During his public life the population of the country grew from 16,000,000 to more than 50,000,000, the increase being nearly 35,000,000 — more than ten times the whole number of 1 68 Tvjelve Americans. the people who fought for and "wrested Independence from Great Britain. In his time, and, to an extent, by reason of his efforts, nearly 4,000,000 chattel slaves were made American free men. He saw his country grow from a third-rate power to be the foremost nation of the world. Eegarding his own share in the great events referred to, it can with truth be said of him that he did his whole duty faithfully and well. Personally Hannibal Hamlin is, and will be, missed in the Senate Chamber and in Washington. His shrewd, genial face, and tall, bent form — clad invariably in a rusty, full-dress suit of black broadcloth, which, upon the coldest day, was never supplemented by any other covering — will be particularly miss- ed by those visitors to the national capital who knew in him the link which bound together the days that are gone and the time that is. The place which he occupied in the Senate and in the nation can never be filled. Men may come and men may go, but there will never be present in the councils of this country a man of greater patriotism, honesty, conscientious- ness, fidelity, and simple, unaffected worth, than the sturdy old gentleman who was for so many years the senior Senator from Maine. For Fifty Years an Actor. JOHN GILBERT. For Fifty Years an Actor. JOHN GILBERT. AT REST BY THE SEA. A few hundred yards from the ocean-beach, nestling among lofty old trees which have braved many a winter's storm, cov- ered with creeping vines, in full view of the blue Atlantic, but by surrounding hills of brightest green sheltered from the keen east winds, on a shady lane not far from the village of Manchcs- ter-by-Sea, in Massachusetts, there stands a brown, red-tiled, low- roofed cottage. The foundation for the little structure was laid one hundred and fifty years ago ; and fresh paint, with many modern improvements, have not been sufficient to steal from it the antiquated, prim, and sober appearance which is one of its greatest charms. A broad piazza, almost hidden by overhang- ing honeysuckle, runs around one side of the cottage, and, be- ing supported by huge blocks of hard, gray stone, gives every evidence of a deep-seated intention to remain in place for many a year to come. A low, old-fashioned door, which leads from this porch and seems to be ever ajar, gives entrance to the house. There is no hall-way. Having crossed the threshold, the visitor at once finds himself in the snuggest, most orderly, and yet most disorderly, of rooms. In one corner stands a great oaken book- case, black with age, but still strong and sound. A broad, cushioned lounge of the olden time occupies a place of honor under a quaint little window set high up near 170 Twelve Americans. the tiled ceiling. In the middle of the floor a table of dark, polished wood supports a litter of magazines, modern novels, volumes of ancient history, and books of plays. The walls are everywhere hang with old engravings, with woodcuts of cele- brated actors, now long dead, with here and there a modern photograph of some player who, in these later days, amuses the people of London and New York. In odd and unexpected corners of the room, and over the old, wide-mouthed, brick fire- place, are queer knickknacks of all sorts. Chairs, deep-seated and high-backed, are placed invitingly about the floor. The whole room looks as if it was made to live in — to be con- tented in. As I entered it, on a bright morning early in July, I found the deepest -seated and highest - backed chair occupied by a courtly old gentleman, who, judging from his appearance, might be the lord of some broad English domain, a great ship- owner, or a well-read country doctor of the olden time. Tali, well-proportioned, though somewhat portly; slightly bent by the passing years — which in other respects had dealt most gen- tly with him — his keen, gray-blue eyes and broad, open face beaming with quick wit and good-humor; more than seventy years of age, but strong and active as most men of fifty — he sat, the master and owner of the cottage. Lord of great English domains he has never in reality been, nor has he owned ships or humored the fancies of a round of country patients. On the theatrical stage, however, he has done all these things and many more ; for the master of the little house by the sea at Manchester is John Gilbert, one of the representative actors of America — in many respects the greatest actor of his time. For a score of summers he has rested in the same sea-side cottage. In it he gave me material for the following sketch of his eventful career — a career which is not only exceedingly in- teresting in itself, but most important, as being a part of the For Fifty Years an Actor. 171 history of the dramatic stage in America during the last half- centmy. On the 27th of February, 1810, John Gilbert was born, in Boston, in a house adjoining that in which the greatest of American actresses, Charlotte Cushman, first saw the light. His parents and all his relatives were people in comfortable circumstances, and, though not religious, in the strictest sense of the word, were church-goers and great sticklers for pro- priety. They did not belong to that class of pious and stupid people who hold that the theatre is the anteroom to the abode of his satanic majesty, but there is every reason to believe that they regarded the calling of .an actor as being anything but a reputable one. Reared in such an atmosphere, it is difficult to imagine where young Gilbert conceived his passionate fondness for the stage. He does not know himself, though he remem- bers distinctly that when he was yet a child it was his great- est delight to steal away into some barn or out-house, and, hav- ing an old-fashioned bed-cover for a curtain, with one or two companions of similar tastes, to play at managing a theatre and representing plays. At the Boston High-school, which he attended when he was old enough, he was soon recognized as the head of the class in declamation. So he continued until the annual exhibition, just before his school life was to come to a close, when, by what seem to have been really commendable recitations of scenes from " The Iron Chest " and " Venice Preserved," he created a sensation among the large audience present, and caused his shrewd old uncle, who was one of the spectators, to exclaim, in great anguish of spirit, " I am very much afraid that all this will lead to play-acting !" At first there seemed to be no prospect that this prediction would be realized. At the age of fourteen, having acquired what was regarded as a fair English education, John Gilbert was placed in the dry-goods store of his uncle, and, much to 172 Twelve Americans. his disgust, was expected to make himself acquainted with all the mysteries of selling tape and measuring calico. Try as he would, he could not bring himself to like the business. He was continually making mistakes, and seldom succeeded in sell- ing goods. He still continued his connection with the High- school class in declamation, however; and, devoting every min- ute he could spare or steal to the study of new pieces and scenes from plays, he in time came to be regarded as one of the best amateur readers in Boston. This sort of life he con- tinued until he had reached his eighteenth year, when the re- bellion which had long been smouldering broke out, and he determined that he would brave the anger of his mother, uncle, and other relatives and go upon the stage. At that time — now more than fifty years ago — the old Tre- mont Theatre, in Boston, was owned and managed by a com- mittee of stockholders, who knew little or nothing about theat- rical matters, and who, in consequence of their lack of knowl- edge, made many blunders, sometimes engaging two "stars" for the same night, and in other ways wofully mixing up the business of the establishment. To this theatre, so conducted, young Gilbert, happening to know a gentleman who had some influence with the stockholders, applied for what was called " an appearance," and, much to his delight, was told that on a certain afternoon the directors would meet at the theatre, listen to a recitation from him, and decide whether they would allow him to appear before the public on their stage. Filled with hope, he went to the theatre at the time appointed, getting out of the store on some trumped-up excuse. He waited for half an hour, but none of the directors came ; still another half- hour, and still he was alone. For three of the longest hours he had ever known in his life he waited, sitting on a pile of dusty scenes in the dim light of a cramped and old-fashioned stage ; but not one of the directors came. He saw no one but the back-door-keeper, a short-spoken person, who, like his fel- For Fifty Years an Actor. 173 lows of to-day, believed that it was part of his duty to be frowning and uncivil ; and, almost heart-broken with the bit- terness of his disappointment, he went back to the store to sell calico and measure tape. The next day, however, his hopes were revived by a visit from his friend, who told him that an important business engagement had prevented the directors from meeting him, as had been arranged, but that they would gladly see him three days later. The time fixed upon at last arrived ; and John, again mak- ing some excuse to his uncle, managed to get out of the store and make his way to the theatre. With a rapidly-beating heart he passed the grim back-door-keeper, and found himself on the stage, in the presence of a number of the directors and stockholders, and of "Joe" Cowell, the grandfather of Kate Bateman, and at that time stage-manager of the Tremont Thea- tre. "Dear old Joe," as Mr. Gilbert still affectionately calls him, died years ago, but at the time of which I write he was one of the leading actors of the country. Upon him, as stage-manager, devolved the duty of seeing what there was in the young aspirant for the honors of the stage; and with but scant ceremony he said, after John had been introduced, " We are told that you want to be an actor, sir. What can you do ?" " What can I do ?" repeated the boy, embarrassed by the abruptness of the question. " I beg pardon, sir, but I hardly understand you." " I mean to say, what can you play — or think you can play ?" said the stage-manager ; and then the boy, with the utmost confidence, replied, " I can play Jaffier, in ' Venice Preserved,' or Sir Edward Mortimer, in ' The Iron Chest.' " " Somewhat difficult parts," laughed Cowell. " Yes, I know they are," said the boy, " but I can play them." 174 Twelve Americans. "Well, then, let's have a scene from 'Venice Preserved,'" cried the manager, still laughing at the presumption of the candidate ; and they commenced. Cowell took up a prompt-book and gave the cues, while Gilbert went through the role of Jaffier. Spurred to extra exertion by the laughter which had greeted the announcement of his repertoire, he recited the part with all the vigor and force of which he was capable. He had frequently seen the character played by the elder Conway, together with Thomas A. Cooper (at that time a "star" of the first magnitude), and he was tolerably acquainted with the "business" of the scene. He was perfect in his lines, too, and altogether made so favor- able an impression that even Cowell congratulated him, and the directors decided to give him " a public appearance." II. A DZBUT AT THE OLD TREMONT. The happiest young man in Boston, filled with many bright dreams of the success which he was sure awaited him, John Gilbert went back to the calico and tape counter. For the next week the play -book of "Venice Preserved" was never out of his hand or his pocket. "Twaddle" some people have since called it, but it was very popular then, and would still be, Mr. Gilbert maintains, if there were actors upon the stage who knew how to represent it properly. At all events, he was thor- oughly wedded to it then, and became so excited that he was hardly able to eat or sleep. He studied his role night and day, continually finding some new "point" which he thought might be made, and repeating every one of his lines a hundred times. The hours dragged on with what seemed to him almost mirac- ulous slowness, but at last the week was past, and the morning of the great day arrived. After opening the store his first care was to read the an- For Fifty Years an Actor. 175 nouncements of amusements ; and there, in black and white, to his great joy, he found recorded that, in the Tremont Thea- tre, on that evening, " a young gentleman of Boston " would make his debut as Jaffier, in the play of " Venice Preserved." There could no longer be any doubt about the matter. His dearest hopes were to be realized ; and, hiding the paper from his uncle, who had all this time been kept in the dark as to his movements, he hurried off to the only rehearsal with the full company which the managers were able to give him. It passed off smoothly, and then slowly the night came on. The theatre was well filled, the musicians — they were few in those days — played their piece, the curtain rose, the play commenced, and at last John Gilbert was on the stage. At first he could see nothing save one blaze of light, but after a moment — could it be possible? — yes, it was his uncle, grimly staring at him from a box on the lower tier, and within a few feet of the foot-lights. For an instant the young actor was so much alarmed that he thought he would be obliged to go off the stage. It was only for an instant, however. Wisely concluding that so long as he remained before the foot-lights he was secure from intrusion from his uncle or other relatives, he went on with his part — went on with all the enthusiasm of youth, without considering the magnitude of the undertaking, or fully understanding the responsibility of his position ; read his lines admirably, acted much better than was to have been expected under the circumstances, and, when the curtain went down after the performance, was assured on all sides that he had done well. In those days it was not customary in Boston for actors to be called in front of the curtain ; but the stage-manager, or some one representing him, frequently went before the audi- ence to make announcements in connection with the play in progress or regarding others which were to come. So, when young Gilbert had finished on that, to him, most event- 176 Twelve Americans. ful night, "old Joe Cowell" went "in front," and, saying a few complimentary words in regard to the performance of the young debutant, announced that he would shortly make a sec- ond appearance. This was, of course, all very well as far as it went ; but when the excitement was all over, the lights out, and John Gil- bert had taken off his stage-trappings and returned to the so- briety of his own clothes, it suddenly occurred to him that he had no place to sleep. He dared not face his uncle after what had occurred, and he did not for the moment think of any other friend to whose house he might go. In the midst of his distress, however, he was relieved by the appearance of an ac- quaintance, who seems to have had the good-sense to appre- ciate his situation, and who invited him home for the night. The next morning, feeling just about as sheepish and crest- fallen as it was possible for a boy to be, he plucked up courage enough to visit his mother, and on the threshold of her house encountered an old family servant, who greeted him with the doleful exclamation, "Oh, John ! John ! what have you done?" This was only a slight preface to what was to come. His mother was deeply distressed by the course he had taken, and for a long time refused to be comforted. At length, how- ever, he won her over — as fond mothers usually are won by the pleadings of wayward sons — and she reluctantly consented not to interfere with his desire to become a professional actor. This point settled, he began to study with renewed ardor, and soon, to his own thinking at least, was able to play any role, no matter how difficult. His second appearance at the Tre- mont Theatre doubtless did much to intensify this feeling. He played Sir Edward Mortimer, in " The Iron Chest," and was successful even beyond his expectations. Then the direc- tors — desiring, of course, to make all they could out of " the boy actor," as he was called — allowed him to appear as Shy- lock. Afterward he was given a benefit, repeated the perform- For Fifty Years an Actor. 177 ance of Sir Edward Mortimer, and realized $100. This seem- ed to him to be a very large sum. He fondly imagined that his fortune was already made, and that he had nothing farther to do but go on playing leading characters to the end of time. He was soon undeceived, and by bitter experience learned that great actors are not made in a day ; that their work is never done ; that real success on the stage can only be secured by constant, untiring, often painful, effort, and after long years of thankless drudgery. After his benefit, the directors of the theatre, seeing that the novelty of his appearance had worn off — in short, that what may be called "the boy actor dodge" could no longer be relied upon to bring money into the theatre — quietly informed him that he could not again appear in " star parts," but that he might, if he liked, become a member of the regular stock-com- pany, and be cast for minor characters of no importance which could be safely intrusted to a person of his youth and inexpe- rience. This was a terrible blow to his ambition, but there was no help for it. He had to accept; and in the months which followed, instead of playing great heroes, he was forced to content himself with announcing, " My good lord, the car- riage waits," or, " May it please your grace, my master is with- in." Then he sank even lower in the theatrical scale. His managers began to lose money, and sent part of their company to Salem. He went with the other minor people. His salary was reduced to three dollars a week, and for some time after- ward he was destined to play small parts to a handful of unap- preciative country-people. Very much dissatisfied with this position, he gladly accepted an offer, made him while in Salem, to go to New Orleans in a stock-company, under the management of James II. Caldwell, one of the earliest, and in his day one of the most successful, of American directors. The salary offered the young actor was barely sufficient to hold body and soul together, but he 178 Twelve Americans. was assured that from time to time he •would have an opportu- nity of playing important parts ; and, rejoicing in this promise, he went to the Southern metropolis. The Camp Street Thea- tre, in Xew Orleans, which was under Caldwell's management, was at that time regarded as one of the finest in the country. To-day a third-class variety showman would turn up his nose at such an establishment. " The front of the house," as the auditorium is called by theatrical people, was capable, when every seat was sold at advanced prices, of holding about 8600. In the reserved circles the long, pew-like seats were provided with an apology for cushions, but in other parts of the house the spectators were forced to content themselves with bare wooden benches. The stage equipments were even more prim- itive. Xew scenery was seldom thought of, and that it was necessary to have different scenes for different plays never oc- curred to even the most exacting critic. The same "sets" did duty from year's end to year's end, and witnessed on one day the dying agonies of a Roman gladiator, and on the next the ceremonies attending the marriage of a young officer of the English Guards. Men of all ages and nations spoke their lines to the same surroundings. There was one " exterior " and one "interior" scene — no more; and it is a matter of record that on the same evening, in the same room, Tom and Jerry caper- ed, and Julius Caesar was killed by the conspiring Senators of Rome. III. STOCK-ACTIXG LOXG AGO. It was in the old Camp Street Theatre, equipped and man- aged as described, that John Gilbert made his first bow to the Xew Orleans public, then, whether justly or otherwise, regarded as the most appreciative and critical in the country. At first he played small parts of no particular consequence ; but after a time, much to his satisfaction, he was intrusted with the more For Fifty Years an Actor. 179 important role of Sir Frederick Vernon, in " Rob Roy." He studied the part carefully, determined to do his best. He was perfect in his lines, and on the evening of the performance stood at the wing waiting for his cue, and ready to "go on," fully convinced that he would acquit himself at least creditably. The cue came, he went on the stage, opened his mouth, and shut it again. He grew faint, dizzy, hot and cold, by turns. He had his first attack of that indescribable malady called stage-fright, and for the life of him could not speak a word ! The audience hissed. This brought him to his senses for a moment, and he managed to mumble through his first scene. He did badly all through the play, however, was hissed frequently, and at the end, when he went before the curtain, it being his turn to make the customary announcement of coming performances, he was greeted with a little storm of hoots, yells, and other evidences of disapprobation. This was the only time during his long career that he ever completely forgot his part, or was hissed for any personal shortcoming. Once or twice, however, he has been hissed for speaking lines put into his mouth by some indelicate playwright. For instance, some time after his New Orleans mishap he was playing in Nashville, in the once popular play founded on one of Cooper's novels, called " Long Tom Coffin, the Pilot," and, referring lovingly to his ship, was obliged to say, " I have seen her in all sorts of weathers and all sorts of clothes, with her stays and without her stays." This was more than the sensitive people of the inland town could understand or toler- ate, and he was hissed off the stage. Fortunately, no bad results followed his failure in New Or- leans. Manager Caldwell was a very peculiar gentleman, who never allowed outside criticism to affect his own judgment of an actor. Indeed, it is related of him that at one time he had in his company a young gentleman with a cracked voice who fondly imagined that he knew how to sing. Caldwell, who did 180 Twelve Americans. not know one note from another, gave him every opportunity to do so, until at last a number of the patrons of the theatre came to him and begged, in the name of everything good, that a stop be put to the so-called singing. " Prevent Mr. Blank from sfnging !" cried the eccentric man- ager, affecting the greatest astonishment. " Why do you want me to do that, gentlemen ?" "Because he can't sing," replied the spokesman of the party. " Not sing !" exclaimed Caldwell, smiling contemptuously. " Not sing ! My very dear sir, you certainly must be mistaken. He has a national reputation, sir — the best man in his line on the stage, sir." And from that time on the cracked-voiced young man was made to sing, whether he would or not, " just to show peo- ple," as the manager frequently explained, that "James II. Caldwell knew how to run his own theatre, sir." Under such a manager, it may, perhaps, be believed that Gilbert lost nothing by being hissed ; at all events, such was the case. Caldwell seemed to take rather a fancy to him after that occurrence, and the very next week cast him to act the leading- old man, a very strong tragedy part, in a play called " The May Queen." He did remarkably well, and in his closing scene created quite a sensation by feigning death with a fidel- ity to nature seldom witnessed on the New Orleans stage. When the curtain fell and he was about rising to his feet the manager — a man of few words, it will be remembered — gave him a hand to help him up, patted him on the back, and said, " You did that very well, sir — very well indeed." From this point on young Gilbert, with increasing frequency, assumed the role of a gray-beard ; and, instead of portraying the dashing young gallants of romance whom he had in his mind's eye when he made his debut, he began to discover that, For Fifty Years an Actor. 181 if he was to succeed on the stage, he must confine himself en- tirely to what are known as old men's parts. Years afterward, when he had made a reputation in such characters, he met in New York the same Thomas A. Cooper whom he had long be- fore admired in the play of " Venice Preserved." The veteran, who in his day had been a truly great actor, after saluting Gil- bert in an abrupt, quick fashion which was peculiar to him, said, " You know I've left the stage, sir." " Yes, I heard as much," replied Gilbert ; " but what are you doing now ?" " Got a place in the Custom-house, sir." " A place in the Custom-house !" echoed the younger man, in great astonishment, and then asked, " Why in the world did you not stick to the profession, and play old men's parts?" " Because," said the veteran, " it requires a strong young man to play old tragedy parts well." After the season in New Orleans, Manager Caldwell deter- mined to take his company on a trip through the South and South-west, and John Gilbert was included in the party. With varying success they travelled through the Mississippi towns, often playing in halls which were little better than barns, and more than once going to bed in some rude out-house, without any very clear idea as to how they were to get breakfast in the morning. For nearly five years Mr. Gilbert led this kind of life, making a little money and some reputation in New Orleans and other large towns during the season, and after- ward " roughing it on the road." Many of the incidents which he relates of this period in his career are not only exceedingly entertaining, but most instruc- tive, as illustrative of the good-humored, happy-go-lucky im- providence of American actors in the olden time, and the hap- hazard fashion in which they wandered about the country. Toward the close of one of these trips through the border 1 82 Twelve Americans. States the company to which Mr. Gilbert was attached played in St. Louis, then an insignificant town of a few thousand in- habitants, paved principally with mud six inches deep, and boasting one theatre, transformed out of an old salt-house, the only entrance to which was by way of a long and rickety flight of steps built on the outside of the end wall. From his share of the receipts of a performance in this establishment young Gilbert bought a pair of very fine-looking boots, and on ac- count of them was for the moment the envy of his compan- ions, several of whom were without adequate covering for their pedal extremities. They said very little regarding his pur- chase, however, until some days afterward, when, on the way down the Mississippi to New Orleans, the boat on which they had taken passage stopped at Vicksburg for a load of cotton. There two or three of the actors, knowing that the boat would be detained all night, determined to give a performance on their own account, and hired a negro to go through the town, ring a bell, and make the announcement. Toward evening it became evident that the tumble-down shed in which the enter- tainment was to be given would be well filled ; and old " Sol " Smith — "the original Sol" — who was to be one of the per- formers, came to Gilbert, and, dolefully displaying a pair of shoes through which a torn stocking was only too plainly visible, said, in tones which would have done credit to Forrest or the elder Booth, "John, friend of me youth, let me have your opinion of these shoes." " They are very bad shoes," replied Gilbert, with equal so- lemnity ; " exceedingly bad shoes, my friend." " In fact, it would be injudicious, as it were, to appear before the culture and fashion of Vicksburg in such shoes?" queried " Sol ;" and Gilbert, beginning to see what was coming, reluc- tantly admitted that " the culture and fashion of Vicksburg " might indeed object to so lavish a display of worn stocking. For Fifty Years an Actor. 183 " Then, me friend, me noble friend !" continued " the inimi- table Sol," with increasing animation, " there is absolutely no help for it. Me very soul revolts at being compelled to ask the sacrifice, but in the name of our friendship I conjure — nay, I command you — to lend me your new boots !" What warm-hearted man could have withstood such an ap- peal? Certainly not John Gilbert. Without farther ado he pulled off the new boots and gave them to his friend. They were several sizes too large for " Sol ;" still, happy in their pos- session, he hurried away to take his part in the performance. The house was well filled. " Sol " received nearly twenty dollars as his share of the proceeds, and, having the night be- fore him, wandered about "just to see the town, you know;" happened into a gambling-saloon, lost all his money, took a brandy-smash or two, became happily oblivious to what was going on about him, staggered out into the street toward his boat, and at last arrived, in the very best of health and spirits, but without anything on his feet. He had left John Gilbert's new boots sticking in the black mud of Vicksburg ! During the rest of the trip to New Or- leans that eminent comedian was obliged to wear the " holey " shoes of his friend " Sol," while " Sol " himself (a wiser, if not a sadder, man) was obliged to walk about in a pair of dilapidated slippers furnished by the liberality of the steamboat captain. Some time after this, while Gilbert was travelling with an- other company, he came into Memphis, Tennessee, late in the evening ; and seeing by a flaming handbill that " the only original and inimitable ' Sol ' Smith " was to play that night, he determined to renew his friendship with him. Entering the hall indicated by the bill, he found it well filled with peo- ple, and saw Smith on a stage raised only a few inches from the floor, in the midst of what was apparently a most interest- ing scene. At the same moment "Sol" noticed his old com- panion, and without the slightest hesitation walked off the stage 184 Twelve Americans. and into his arms, whispered, " Me friend, I'll finish this in short order, then we'll drink," went back on the stage, was as good as his word, finished his scene in a hurry, and went out with Gilbert to talk over the incident of the lost boots, and curse what he called the tenacity of the Vicksburg mud. They were a jolly set, those travelling actors of the olden time ; and in his company " Sol " Smith had more than one character who was quite as much of an original as he was him- self. His " first old man " was an exceedingly eccentric person, named Anderson — a good actor, but a terrible grumbler. He aspired to play leading tragedy roles, but never made his way out of a strolling troupe ; reviled the fates in consequence, drank a little more than was good for him, and was generally "crushed" and at war with the world. Mr. Anderson's meth- ods were as peculiar as he was eccentric. He was never known to study a part, but, being an actor of the olden school, was letter-perfect in nearly every role in his line which then found favor with the people. He seldom attended rehearsals, but in the evening would stalk into the theatre with the question, "Ah, by-the-way, what is the order of the day for to-night?" Being told what play was to be produced, he would immedi- ately declare that it was " a mass of rubbish," but when the time came was always ready to fill his part, Frequently he was obliged to play two parts on the same evening, as, for instance, an old family servant and a hard-drinking country squire. When informed what was required of him he would first ease his mind by the exclamation, "Ah, of course — double work, as usual!" and then, "Well, if it must be, I suppose it must. Let me see : I will paint for the menial." Quickly he was " made up " for that part ; and when it was time for him to "go on" as the squire, with the words, "A le-e-tlc more red for the drunkard," he would rub his nose in the rouge-box, dust it off with his hand, and was ready. For Fifty Years cm Actor. 185 It sometimes happened that Mr. Anderson, after indulging somewhat too freely, would become slightly "mixed" in re- gard to the part he was playing. Upon such occasions — and they were much rarer than might be imagined — he almost in- variably repeated the first speech of Sir Peter, in the " School for Scandal," and by the time he had finished it had collected himself, understood his cue, and went on with his part. As it is perhaps needless to state, the audiences of the South-western border States were not very critical fifty years ago ; and, being easily pleased themselves, they expected actors and actresses to be at least equally so. In those days all long journeys in the South were made on the rivers, and the incon- veniences and discomforts to which travelling theatrical com- panies were subjected can with difficulty be imagined in these days of railways and palace-cars. Upon one occasion a company to which Mr. Gilbert was at- tached had an engagement to play in Nashville, and to get to that place were obliged to go up the Cumberland River. Em- barking on one of the primitive steamboats of the time, every- thing went comparatively well with them ; and they were just beginning to anticipate a speedy termination to their journey, when suddenly, in the middle of the night, the boat stopped with a shock. " What new calamity hath now befallen us ?" asked " the heavy man," who happened to be a particularly dismal person ; and Mr. Gilbert — always a great deal more practical than many of his companions — tumbled out of his berth to see what had happened. He found that the boat had stuck fast on a sand- bank, and as the river was falling it was soon announced that there was " no hope of getting her off." There was only one way out of the difficulty : the passengers, with some of the freight, would have to be transferred to a flat-boat, and on it conveyed up the river. The next morning at daybreak this course was taken. An 1 86 Twelve Americans. open flat-bottomed boat was found near by, the 'company went on board, a long line was made fast to the bow, then run over the shoulders of a dozen negro deck-hands, and they, up to their waists in water, slowly and painfully hauled the boat up the river. Several of Mr. Gilbert's light-hearted male companions seemed to enjoy their position hugely. The boat progressed so slowly that they had frequent opportunities of wading ashore to visit the taverns which were reached at intervals, and, making the best of a bad bargain, were apparently well contented. Not so the ladies. They, with Miss Jane Placide — the sister of Henry and Thomas Placide, and a very fine actress — at their head, bemoaned their hard fate unceasingly. And they were, indeed, to be pitied. The seats provided for them were most uncomfortable, their food was anything but inviting, and the most tempting stimulant which the captain had to offer was a " toddy " of corn-whiskey. In spite of all these difficulties, however, they might have borne up with something like resignation, but as the day advanced the rays of the fierce Southern sun glared down upon them unmerciful- ly. They could find no shelter anywhere ; they were threat- ened with freckles and sunburn — their complexions would be ruined ! This was more than human nature, particularly fem- inine and theatrical human nature, could bear, and they were all on the verge of mutiny, when suddenly some one exclaimed, " I have an idea !" " What is it ?" asked Miss Placide. " Let's powder our faces !" was the reply ; and " Yes, yes ; let's powder them thickly !" was echoed on all sides. They did, indeed, lay on the chalk in the most extravagant fashion, so saving themselves from sunburn, and were comparatively hap- py. After three days and nights' travelling in the way de- scribed the company reached Nashville. It was during this period in his career that John Gilbert first became a manager. He had been playing through Kentucky For Fifty Years an Actor. 187 with a small company, and toward the end of the season, busi- ness being bad, the gentleman who had charge of the venture determined to abandon it. Several members of the troupe, thus thrown upon their own resources, went to Gilbert — who was known to have saved a few dollars — and proposed that they should go to Shelbyville, Kentucky, and give a perform- ance under his management. He consented, believing that the undertaking would prove a profitable one ; and, after some dis- cussion, it was decided that a then very popular play, which re- joiced in the title of " The Gambler's Fate," should be present- ed. The principal scene in the drama represented the gam- bler seated in a backwoods cabin, which suddenly, without rhyme or reason — after the manner of stage houses — was to take fire, enveloping the hero in flames. Gilbert and his com- panions determined that this scene should be particularly real- istic, and on the morning before the performance went into the woods around Shelbyville and cut a number of logs, out of which they constructed a very substantial-looking hut. When night came on it was evident that they were to be re- warded for their trouble. The people of the town flocked to the little theatre in crowds, and it was soon filled to overflow- ing. The curtain rose, and the first act was a great success. The second was equally so. Then came the third act, and what had been previously announced as " the thrilling specta- cle of the cabin in flames." This act also progressed smoothly. The gambler appeared in the lonely hut which had been pre- pared for him, he spoke his lines to the evident satisfaction of himself and every one present, and then, at the right moment, the cotton, saturated with spirits -of -wine, which had been stuck into crevices in the logs, was deftly ignited by the stage- manager. It blazed up harmlessly, and the fire was about to go out as stage fires should do, when suddenly the cheers of the audience were changed to shouts of consternation. " Fire ! fire !" was shouted from every part of the house, and 1 88 Twelve Americans. it really did seem as if the whole stage was in flames. The amateur backwoodsmen, in cutting the logs for their cabin, had neglected to chop off the light twigs ; they had ignited from the cotton, and were blazing furiously. A panic seized the people. They were not to be restrained. It was useless to assure them that there was no danger. They rushed pell-mell from the hall ; but, fortunately, no one was hurt. The light twigs soon burned out harmlessly, and John Gilbert's first experience as a manager, and the first recorded attempt at realism on the American stage, came to an end. IV. RECOLLECTIONS OF GREAT ACTORS. After five years of the roving life described, John Gilbert — ■ empty-handed, but with a light heart and a growing reputation for conscientiousness and hard work — embarked on a sailing- vessel at New Orleans, and, without adventure, arrived in Bos- ton. After visiting his relatives and spending a quiet week or two at home, he began to look about him for employment, but, finding none, was on the point of returning to the South, when, while walking on the street one day, he met George Barrett — " Gentleman George " — at that time a favorite actor, who knew something of his capabilities, and by him was introduced to " Tom " Barry, the manager of the Tremont Theatre. Soon after he was engaged by Mr. Barry to play old men's parts, his salary for the first season being eighteen dollars a week. He remained in this position for five years, witnessing the intro- duction of many improvements in stage-setting, appointments, and scenery, and playing with the elder Booth, Forrest, Ham- blin, James W. Wallack, Sr., Cooper, Ellen Tree, Tyrone Power, Charlotte Cushman, Mr. and Mrs. Keeley, and other eminent actors and actresses of the time. Mr. Gilbert's recollections of all his old associates are still For Fifty Years an Actor. 1 89 very vivid, and he speaks of all those mentioned — excepting, perhaps, Mr. Forrest — not only with great admiration but with something very much akin to affection. Some of the anec- dotes which, on very rare occasions, he can be induced to tell of their peculiarities are most amusing. The elder Booth — in regard to whom Mr. Gilbert believes much that is untrue and exaggerated has been written — is the chief figure in one of the best of these stories. The play was " Richard III.," and at an early hour the thea- tre was filled almost to suffocation. It was almost time for the curtain to rise, and Booth was not in the house. Messen- gers were sent in all directions, but still he was nowhere to be found. The minute-hand went round the dial of the green- room clock with what seemed to the anxious watchers to be extraordinary rapidity; the manager was in despair; but still Booth did not come. At last it was time to ring up the curtain, and, just as the stage-manager was about to go before the audience and announce that an unforeseen accident, and all that sort of thing, would make it necessary to postpone the performance, the back-door-keeper cried out, " Here's Mr. Booth !" "Where? where?" asked a dozen voices at once. " Here, at the door," was the reply ; and in a moment the attention of every one on the stage was directed to the back entrance. It was true, the great actor was there, but in anything but a proper condition to play Richard III. In fact, he was so drunk — " unwell," Mr. Gilbert charitably calls it — that he was not able to stand on his feet. Still, the manager seized upon him with glad hands — the elder Booth drunk was worth a score of other actors sober — and he was hastily taken to his dressing-room. There everything possible was done to revive him. His head was bathed with eau de Cologne, he was rub- bed with bay-rum, and at last was so much recovered that it 190 Twelve Americans. was possible to slip him into the habiliments of the hunchback Richard. Then the curtain was rung up, and Booth was pushed on the stage. The magnetism of the great crowd revived him, as was nearly always the case when he was " unwell." By a great effort he collected his thoughts, saw, from the finery which he had on, that he was to play Richard, and went on with his part. All went well during the first scenes, and the manager and leading members of the company were just con- gratulating themselves upon what they believed to be the hap- py outcome of what might have been a serious difficulty, when suddenly Booth gave signs of again collapsing. There was no help for it, however — they must go on with the play. John Gilbert, who was playing the sick King Edward, made his entrance with the Queen, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, and the rest, and, as usual, was conducted to a couch in the middle of the stage. Then, after a few speeches by the King and other characters, it was time for Richard's entrance. As Buckingham spoke the line, "And in good time here comes the noble Duke," Booth was pushed on the stage ; but for once his wit failed him. He could not keep upon his feet, and, instead of making the speech beginning, " Good-morrow to my sovereign King and Queen," he staggered over to where Gilbert, as the King, was reclining, looked at him for a mo- ment, and, winking one eye good-humoredly, said, in a tone audible to most of the audience, " Get up, John, and let me lie down." Of course, the scene closed amid great confusion and shouts of laughter, and the play, so far as Mr. Booth was concerned, was at an end. An incident somewhat similar to this, Mr. Gilbert relates in regard to an actor of the olden school, named Foote. This gentleman, when he was sober, was a valuable addition to any company ; but, like a great many other valuable men on the stage at that time — men of a class now seldom met with — he For Fifty Years an Actor. 191 would sometimes drink more than his legs could carry. One evening, when in this condition, he came into the theatre and announced, just as the curtain was going up, that he had not been able to learn his part, but that he was sure he could read it correctly, if the audience w r ould allow him to do so. In de- spair the stage-manager went before the curtain, stated that Mr. Foote had been too unwell to learn his part, and asked if the ever-generous public, etc., would bear with him while he read it. The "ever-generous public," represented by the gal- lery boys, consented to bear with him, and the play com- menced. When it was time for Foote to go on, however, he suddenly discovered that he could not see to read, and wildly called for a pair of spectacles. Again the stage-manager — who seems to have been a rather innocent sort of person — advanced to the foot-lights and asked if Mr. Foote might wear his specta- cles while reading his part. The occupants of the gallery, who were particularly good-humored, cried, "Yes, yes, let him have his spectacles !" and the manager bowed his thanks and retired. But still Foote was not satisfied. lie declared that the spec- tacles were not enough ; that no gentleman could be expected to strain his eyes in the dim light of the stage, darkened as it would be during his scenes; and in all earnestness he vowed that he would not read his part unless he was allowed to do so by the light of a candle. This was more than even the easy-going stage-manager could bear, and the curtain was rung down, while arrangements were made to supply Foote's place. The elder Booth, as Mr. Gilbert remembers him, was one of the most gentle and good-tempered of men. Unlike many leading actors, he alwa} 7 s had a kind word for the most insig- nificant members of the companies with which he played, and was ever ready to excuse their blunders. An incident will il- lustrate the latter trait in his character. He was playing Sir Edward Mortimer, in " The Iron Chest " — one of his greatest parts — to an immense audience, and was just on the point of 192 Twelve Americans. delivering the most effective speech -which occurs in the play, when, by a mistake of one of the minor characters, he was obliged, to make sense of the scene, to slur it over and go on without delivering the speech in question. When the curtain fell the young man -who had made the mistake stood in fear and trembling, fully expecting that the lightest punishment which could come to him would be an instantaneous dismissal from the theatre. He was mistaken. Mr. Booth, in passing him, said, simply, "You were not very clear in that scene. Try to do better another time." That was the end of the matter. Very different would have been Edwin Forrest's manner of referring to such an offence. The unfortunate being who chanced to "cut him out of a scene," as the theatrical phrase is, would, during the remainder of the great man's engagement, find his life a burden. Mr. Gilbert is not alone in believing that Forrest was not only a truly wonderful actor, but a bully and a coward. It is a matter of record that on one occasion, in the Tremont Theatre, he tormented a little fellow one-third his size almost to madness ; but when the young man at last turned upon him, with a Eoman sword from the " property- room," swearing to take his life, he fled to his dressing-room in the wildest alarm, and did not again emerge until the dan- ger, if any there was, had passed. Upon another occasion, while Mr. Gilbert was stage-manager of the Tremont Theatre, one of the stock-company, a sensitive young man, during a rehearsal became so frightened and con- fused by Forrest's bullying directions and abuse that he forgot his lines. "When the rehearsal was over Forrest went to Mr. Gilbert, complained bitterly of the young man, and asked, why, in the name of Hades, he could not have better support. " Mr. Smith knows his part well, and can play it well," replied Gilbert, coolly. "Knows his part, sir! knows his part! Damn it, sir, he can't remember a line of it !" thundered Forrest. For Fifty Years an Actor. 193 " You frightened it out of his head." " I frighten him ! How, sir, how ?'• "By abusing and badgering him," answered Gilbert, his blood getting warmer. "If you had not interfered Avith him there would have been no trouble. Let him alone, and he will play the part to-night as well as it can be played." This proved to be the case, and from that time forward Mr. Forrest had no more complaints to mate to stage-manager Gilbert. In money-matters the great actor is said to have been close and grasping to a degree which thoroughly disgusted the warm-hearted, open-handed men and women who were his associates on the stage. At the end of one short engagement at the Tremont Theatre his share of the receipts amounted to $4000 ; and, though the managers lost by their contract with him, and for the moment were unable to pay the stock-com- pany, he exacted the prompt payment of the last penny which was his due. The money was handed over to him, a few odd dollars being in rolls of twenty-five cent pieces, and he left the box-office. Half an hour afterward he returned with one of these rolls, and, taking a piece of silver from it, said to the treasurer, in his own peculiarly pompous manner, "This quar- ter, sir, which you have given to me, is not good." "What's the matter with it?" asked the treasurer, curtly. " It has worn smooth, sir, and the people at the bank refuse to take it. You must give me another for it." The treasurer, who was a good deal of a wag, handed Mr. Forrest a bright new quarter, took the worn piece, and, with the words, " I wouldn't sell these two shillings for five dollars," slipped it into his pocket. That night the story of "Forrest and the smooth quarter" was known all over Boston. In marked contrast to the great actor's meanness was the reckless generosity of the comparatively poor men attached to the stock-companies which supported him. At one time, while 194 Twelve Americans. in Boston, John Gilbert, John Brougham, and one or two others who afterward made their mark were playing together. Business being bad, and their salaries much in arrear, the man- ager decided to withdraw and allow them to conduct the estab- lishment on the share system. Gilbert, Brougham, and the other principal people in the company agreed to this, at the same time pledging themselves to pay the salaries of the lesser members of the troupe. Under this arrangement the theatre went on for a week, and at the end of that time Mr. Gilbert and the others who were associated with him in the manage- ment came together for a settlement. First they paid salaries as agreed, and divided the money which remained among them- selves. Gilbert received for the services of himself and wife just $3, while Brougham's share amounted to the magnificent sum of 87 cents ! Walking down the street afterward, " genial John Brougham" invited his companions into a tavern, and, throwing down his dimes and pennies upon the counter, cried out, cheerily, " There, drink it up, boys ; we'll trust to Providence for a fresh instalment." At this period of his professional career Mr. Gilbert began to make rapid strides toward the front rank. At the end of a five years' stay in Boston he went to New York, and in the old Bowery Theatre, then one of the best-appointed establish- ments in the country, played Sir Edward Mortimer, in " The Iron Chest," and other characters of equal importance. Then he returned to Boston, accepting a leading position in the Tremont Theatre, under the direction of J. S. Jones, who was at once doctor, actor, manager, and dramatic writer. Here he remained until 1842 or 1843, when the old Tremont, the scene of his early struggles and later triumphs, was sold to a church society. On the first night after the change an admission fee was charged, and the house filled by people who wanted to see what alterations had been made in the old building. They For Fifty Years an Actor. 195 found it as it had been ; but on the stage, instead of actors and actresses, known as such, a large company of Christian people — ministers, Sunday-school workers, and others — had assem- bled. Religious services followed, the ceremonies commencing with the hymn, "Lord, let these ransomed Avails rejoice." How "the ransomed walls" felt about the change does not appear; but the church society failed to make their theatrical house of worship a financial success, and it again changed hands, becoming a lecture and concert hall. After the close of the Tremont, Mr. Gilbert went to the National Theatre, in Boston, achieving marked success in old English comedy parts, and a year or two afterward went to England, not with any intention of acting, but for the purpose of seeing the country and learning some of the methods of the best English comedians. Still, he took his stage wardrobe with him, on the principle that a man who goes out in a boat should have with him tackle to catch fish, and he had not been long in London before he realized the wisdom of this course. Saun- tering aimlessly past the Princess's Theatre one day, he met the stage-manager, Mr. Walton, whom he had known well in former years, and, after some conversation, was invited into the theatre to see the manager. The result of the interview which follow- ed was that he was engaged to play a round of his favorite characters. He was announced to open as Sir Robert Bram- ble, in " The Poor Gentleman," and on the evening of his first appearance went to the theatre very nervous and excited. The announcement that his only acquaintance in the establishment, stage-manager Walton, had suddenly died that day, did not tend to reassure him, and he went to his dressing-room greatly fearing that he would be too ill to appear. Still, exerting all his energy, he managed to dress and carefully " make up " for his part, and when he was called was ready to go on. As he walked before the foot -lights, however, he suddenly felt his knees giving way; his nerves were unstrung, his hands 196 Twelve Americans. cold, clammy, wet; his month hot and parched — his wits had flown to the four winds. Old and experienced actor though he was, he had an unmistakable attack of stage-fright. For a moment it seemed to him as if he must drop down with shame and mortification ; but at last, by a great effort, he recovered himself, and left the stage at the end of his scene, to receive the congratulations of several prominent English actors, who had been critically watching him from the wings, and fully assured that he had achieved a great success. Frequently since that first night before a London audience Mr. Gilbert has had such violent attacks of stage-fright that he has for several moments been unable to speak his lines. To this day he never goes on the stage in a new character or on an opening night without fear and trembling. Nearly every other prominent actor in this and other countries has had the same experience. Devricnt, the eminent German tragedian, was particularly subject to stage-fright ; the great Macready was irritable and nervous as an old maid when on the stage, and could not be talked to or even looked at on a first night; while our own Lawrence Barrett, when behind the scenes, is so much occupied with the work in hand that he can with diffi- culty be brought to recognize his intimate friends. V. IX LONDOX WITH MACREADY AND CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. Mr. Gilbert's debut at the Princess's Theatre was so suc- cessful that he was engaged for the entire season which fol- lowed, playing leading old men's parts in the English comedies, and supporting Macready and Charlotte Cushman. Regarding Macready he speaks with much kindness and admiration, pro- nouncing many of the stories which are told of his eccentric- ities to be manufactured out of the whole cloth or grossly exaggerated. Still, that the great actor was at times exceed- For Fifty Years an Actor. 197 ingly unreasonable cannot be denied. The following incident may give some idea of his peculiar temper. While at the Princess's Theatre, during Mr. Gilbert's en- gagement, he was playing Richelieu to a crowded house, and seemed to be in a particularly good humor for him. All went well until the scene in which, while the Cardinal is seated at one side of the stage, Joseph goes to a door at the other, and, opening it, announces, " Marion Delorme." Mr. Gilbert was playing the part of Joseph, and at the proper time went to the door, opened it, and made the announcement, standing aside to allow the actress who was playing the part of Marion to enter. She did so, staggered across the stage to where Macready was waiting for what he made one of his great scenes, and dropped at his feet so limp and powerless from drink that she could not speak a word. With a look of mute appeal to the " flies," and the ejacu- lation, "Great Heaven ! what have I done to deserve this?" he slowly rose from his chair, and the curtain fell. As it did so Macready, still enacting the part of an old and feeble man, even after he was out of sight of the audience, tottered feebly to his feet, looked at the prostrate actress, and muttering, " Beast ! Beast I" still with the shaking limbs of Richelieu, walked slowly off the stage to his dressing-room. Then there was an uproar in the theatre. The occupants of the pit cheered, the people in the galleries shouted ; and the stage-manager, at his wits' end, went to " the star dressing- room," and, knocking timidly, called, " Mr. Macready ! Mr. Macready !" " Well, sir ; well ? What is it ?" came, in slow and meas- ured tones, from the dressing-room. " I want to know what we are to do, sir," wailed the un- fortunate stage-manager. " Do, sir — do ? How the devil do I know what you are to do? It was not I who made Marion Delorme drunk." 198 Twelve Americans. " Bat, if you please, Mr. Macready, won't you go on the stage again ?" " Of course I will ; of course I am here to do my duty, but I must have a sober Marion Delorme. Don't stand there whim- pering now, but get me a Marion Delorme !" And straightway the manager rushed to find some one who could play the part. At last he succeeded. Macready was induced to take his seat on the stage. The curtain rose. Gilbert announced "Marion Delorme," and the "old woman" of the company — very fat and very ugly, who could have played Mother Frochard to the life — tramped across the stage to the Cardinal. Macready looked at her, raised his shaking hands to the flies, and groaned aloud ; but she was sober, knew her lines, and he went on with the play. Another of Mr. Gilbert's recollections of the Princess's The- atre is very amusing. J. W. Wallack was playing Don Caesar de Bazan, one of his famous characters, and was just begin- ning his best scene, when a very seedy-looking old gentleman, who had a seat near the stage, rose, and, with much ado but- toning his threadbare black coat about him, was on the point of leaving the theatre, when AVallack, half annoyed and half amused at the stir which the old fellow was making, stepped to the foot-lights and, addressing him, said, " Don't be in a hurry ; the performance is not yet over." To which the old gentleman, not at all disconcerted, in a broad Scotch accent replied, " I ken that verra weel, but I've had a' I can stan' o't," and then, amid shouts of laughter, marched out of the theatre. During Charlotte Cushman's engagement at the Princess's Theatre the manager (whom she had offended in some way) said to Mr. Gilbert one evening, " I am going to serve your countrywoman out to-morrow night." "What he meant Gil- bert did not know, but he went at once to Miss Cushman, and warned her that something which would displease her was For Fifty Years cm Actor. 199 going to be done by the manager. She, like himself, was at a loss to know how he could annoy her ; but, on looking at the theatrical announcement the next morning, they saw what was intended. There, in black and white, it appeared that the evening's entertainment at the Princess's would commence, instead of ending, with a farce; and that then, when the half- price hour had arrived, " Miss Charlotte Cnshman, the great American actress," would appear in " Romeo and Juliet." Al- most beside herself with indignation, Miss Cnshman rushed to her contract. But there was no help for it: she must play at any time during the evening which the management might please to select. The night came; and the manager found himself "hoist by his own petard." The farce — for which the full admission fee was charged — was played to empty benches ; but after the fall of the curtain, when the half-rate hour commenced, and, ac- cording to the announcement, Miss Cushman would appear, the people began to pour into the theatre in crowds. Seeing what was going on, the adroit American delayed the com- mencement of her performance, until at last, when she went upon the stage, she was greeted by the cheers of such a mul- titude as had seldom thronged a London play-house. Subse- quently the manager apologized to her, and, by a mutual un- derstanding, she played after the farce for several nights, at- tracting immense audiences, and earning a great deal of money for herself and the theatre. While in England Mr. Gilbert — fully agreeing with Charles Kemble, who once said to him, in his solemn fashion, " We can never hope to be perfect in our art, sir: I never go to a theatre that I do not learn something" — lost no opportunity of seeing the best actors in London. He was a frequent visitor at the Haymarket, and witnessed many performances by Mathews, Buckstone, Mrs. Glover, Ma- dame Vestris, Mrs. Nesbitt, and others of like renown, who, in 200 Tivelve Americans. his opinion, formed a company the equal of which was never seen before or since. Before returning to America he also vis- ited Paris, and spent considerable time in studying the French school. He believes that as an actor he was greatly improved by his stay abroad, and he attributes much of the very mark- ed success which he has since achieved to his close study of the English comedies as they were played in the Hay market Theatre. Arriving in New York after his European trip, Mr. Gilbert secured an engagement at the old Park Theatre, under the management of Hamblin, and remained there till the burning of the house, in 1848. It was his duty to recite "the tag" in " Naval Engagements," the last piece performed before the fire, and consequently he had " the last word " on the stage of " the old Park." Subsequently he went for the second time to the Bowery Theatre, and was playing there when the memorable Forrest-Macready disturbances occurred. On the night of the culminating riot in Astor Place he happened to be " out of the bill " — or, in other words, disengaged — and, going home to his supper, met an acquaintance, who invited him to go to the As- tor Place Theatre and see Macready play Macbeth. He con- sented ; but when they arrived in the neighborhood of the theatre they found the streets so blocked with people that they were unable to enter by the front-door, and were obliged to make their way in through the stage-entrance. Once in the auditorium, they found it three-quarters rilled with an audi- ence made up, for the most part, of the "roughest" and most lawless men in New York. They had all come there, as there was only too much reason to believe, at Edwin Forrest's in- stance, to hoot and insult Macready. All the windows of the theatre were boarded up ; the heat was intense, and the noise, confusion, and excitement beyond description. Many friends advised Macready not to go on the stage, but he was not to be driven from his purpose ; he felt that he had a right to ap- For Fifty Years an Actor. 201 pear, and he was determined to do so, at no matter what risk to himself. At last the curtain rose, and there was profound silence while the minor characters spoke their lines ; but, as Mr. Gilbert remembers, the moment Macrcady stepped upon the stage the red-shirted bullies in the pit and galleries set up a wild yell of disapprobation, which was echoed by their com- panions on the outside, and was continued at frequent inter- vals during all the time Macbeth was on the stage. When he left it order was in a moment restored, and when he re-ap- peared the mad confusion broke out anew. He was hooted, hissed, abused, and threatened ; rotten apples, potatoes, and other foul things were thrown upon the stage; but, with a daring which was almost superhuman, Macrcady went on with his part, speaking every line with as much force, rounding ev- ery sentence with as much nicety, as if he were playing to a convention of eminent and respectable dramatic critics. One of the improvised shutters which had been nailed to the win- dows of the theatre was torn off, and a stone from the street came crashing through the great glass chandelier which hung in the middle of the building, scattering splinters in every di- rection, and adding to the dire confusion. But still Macrcady played on. A volley of musketry was heard in the street, and still, undisturbed, he played his part. Then, for a moment, there was a lull ; the mob, after shouting itself hoarse, had stopped to take breath ; and the fine, rich voice of the actor, high above all the confusion, clear and sonorous, was heard — with double significance — crying, "Our castle's strength will laugh a siege to scorn !" Ashamed of themselves, the crowd of ruffians for an instant caught the spirit of the situation and cheered the man who so bravely defied them. But it was only for an instant. Then the hisses were renewed, and continued to the end ; Macready all the while going on with his part, and, according to those who were with him on the stage, speaking all his lines as dis- 9* 202 Twelve Americans. tinctly and with as much care as if the people were giving him their hest attention. Then there was another volley of musketry outside — the militia were firing on the rioters — and in the midst of " confusion worse confounded" the play ended, and Macready, guarded hy the police, left the theatre. Mr. Gilbert and his friend also managed to find their way out in safety, being sternly awakened to the danger they were escaping by encountering on the threshold of the theatre the bleeding body of a man shot through the brain — dead. Dur- ing all that terrible night, in the course of which dozens of persons were killed and wounded, Edwin Forrest was safe in the Broadway Theatre, from time to time receiving bulletins which kept him fully informed of the progress of the riot. VI. "THESE LATTER DAYS."— IN WALLACE'S THEATRE. After his second engagement at the Bowery Theatre, dur- ing which he met Lester Wallack and J. W. Wallack, Jr., Mr. Gilbert went to Philadelphia, where he remained for five years, a great favorite with the public. Then he went to the New Boston Theatre, under Thomas Barry's management, and on the first night recited the opening address. He continued to play in Boston until the panic of 1857, when "the New Bos- ton " was closed, because of bad business. Then he returned to Philadelphia, remaining there until 1862, when he joined the company at Wallack's Theatre, in New York City, and during the years which followed continued to endear himself to the patrons of that establishment. Regarding the manager with whom it was his fortune to be associated during most of this time, Mr. John Lester Wallack, there has long existed a number of popular errors. It has been stated, for instance, that, while he could act a gentleman on the stage, he was very far from sustaining the character in For Fifty Years an Actor. 203 private life. This, according to his intimates, is a mistake. Again, it has for many years been the popular belief that he was born in England. This was not the case. He first saw the light in New York, in the year 1821. This statement he himself has made. So far as the theatri- cal profession is concerned, he is the last of his family. After his birth he remained two months in America, and then, with his father, the great Wallack, sailed for England. There, not wishing him to go "upon the boards," Mr. Wallack gave his son a liberal education, intending that in due course he should enter the army. The young man did, in fact, pass an exami- nation for his commission, and, at the age of twenty-two, was about to sail for India in the Queen's service, when, discover- ing that many young men, his juniors by several years, held rank superior to that which he could hope for in the army, he, at the earnest solicitation of his mother, relinquished the idea of embracing a military career. His father was in a position to provide for him liberally, but he determined to make his own way in the world. The path to success which seemed most readily open to him was the stage, and, without consult- ing any of his family, he resolved that he would become an actor. He had an hereditary claim to histrionic greatness. His father, James W. Wallack, was, as has been said, a shining light in " the profession." His uncle, Henry Wallack, and the lat- ter' s son, James W. Wallack, Jr., were also in their day and way great men. Associated by blood with such renowned act- ors, lavishly gifted by Nature's hand, the young man brought to his debut a commanding figure and a face of no common beauty — a face which, in the fineness of its cast, was in his youth frequently likened to Byron's. He had, beyond all this, an easy grace of manner, a quick apprehension of ef- fect, a rich, melodious voice, capable of producing marked re- sults without "mouthing" or strain. In addition, as the event proved, he had an eye for artistic effect, both in grouping and 204 Twelve Americans. in color, which was destined to stand him in good stead. With these attributes he went to Dublin, in his twenty-fourth year, intending, of all things in the world, to play Irishmen and low comedy character parts — his desire being to endeavor to attain a position such as that which Tyrone Power held. His first appearance was in Dublin, the part which he assumed being that of Don Pedro, in " Much Ado About Nothing." With varying fortune Mr. Wallack, or " Mr. John Lester,'' as he was then called, continued to play in Ireland and England until the season of 1847— '48, when he came to America under the management of John Barnett, and " opened " in the old Broadway Theatre as Sir Charles Coldstream, in " Used Up." He was well received, and so commenced his successful career in Xew York. During his second season at the Broadway Theatre, "William Rufus Blake, a bluff old fellow, who was reputed to be the best Sir Anthony Absolute on the stage, was manager, and under his direction the theatre rapidly lost money. Mr. Blake was a grand actor and a genial old gentleman, but did not have the tact requisite for management. One morning, when his ex- chequer was at its lowest ebb, the old actor came to Wallack and surprised him with the exclamation, "See here, Mr. Lester: everything is going to the devil, sir. You will have to save the theatre !" " What do you mean ? How can I do it, Mr. Blake V asked Wallack. "You will have to play melodrama, sir." "Melodrama!'' echoed the young actor. "I never played a melodramatic part in my life." "That does not matter, sir; that does not matter," growled the manager. " You have got to appear in this new piece, ' Monte Cristo,' or we must close the house." There was no help for it. In fear and doubt Wallack con- sented. For Fifty Years an Actor. 205 The piece was first produced on Christmas-night ; the house was full ; much money, scraped together by hook or by crook, had been expended on the scenery and costumes. Wallack, stimulated to his best exertions, called out all the latent melo- dramatic talent which he bad inherited from his father, and the play at once became a pronounced artistic as well as pecu- niary success. The "handsome John Lester's" picture, in Monte Cristo costume, was displayed in the drawing-rooms of half the houses in town ; the women raved about him and voted him " charming," " splendid," and all that sort of thing. The men applauded his acting, and after a time " Monte Cristo hats," "Monte Cristo shawls," and Monte Cristo what-nots were advertised and sold by shop-keepers everywhere. There was for the time a Monte Cristo craze. The play ran for one hundred nights, its success being up to that time unprece- dented in America. At the beginning of the following season Mr. Hamblin, man- ager of the Bowery Theatre, desiring to place his establishment on a par with the Broadway houses, engaged as members of his company James W. Wallack, Jr., and his wife ; John Gilbert, and "Mr. John Lester." Here it was that the latter first tried his hand at authorship. His maiden effort was an adaptation of Dumas' s " Three Guardsmen," he appearing as D'Artagnan, James W. Wallack, Jr., as Athos, and John Gilbert as the giant Porthos. Subsequently, at the request of Mr. Hamblin, he dramatized the sequel to the " Three Guardsmen." Both plays were successful. In the next season "Mr. Lester" became a member of the stock-company at Burton's Theatre, in Chambers Street ; and then, in 1851, returned to England, to attend the great World's Fair. Visiting his father at this time, he urged him to return to America. He consented. Soon after his arrival in New York he conceived the idea of establishing a theatre on the corner of 206 Twelve Americans. Broadway and Broome Street ; and, much to the consternation of his friends, who assured him that the location was much too far up town, and freely predicted his complete failure, he established on that site a theatre which for many a year was a leading temple of the drama in the American metropolis. From the first Mr. Wallack's idea was that he could attract his pa- trons only by giving them the very best possible entertainment, and to do this he brought together one of the most remarkable companies ever seen in a New York theatre. In addition to himself — a great favorite — it included William Rufus Blake, "John Lester," Laura Keene, and others of almost equal celeb- rity. From the commencement the new enterprise — the up- town theatre, as it was called — was successful, and very soon it left its "down-town" competitors far in the shade. One of the greatest successes achieved by the company in those days was in a play founded upon one of Dumas's novels, and entitled "Pauline; or, A Night of Horrors." "John Lester" played the hero, and Laura Keene the heroine. The drama called for a great deal of undemonstrative, but at the same time powerful, acting, and was very popular, much money being earned by its production. As an evidence of how much the popular taste changes, it may be stated that in 1879, at the request of many old play-goers, Mr. Wallack, in most elab- orate fashion and at much expense, again produced this play, under the title of " Spell-bound ;" but, instead of being success- ful as it -was originally, it fell flat upon the audience, and had to be withdrawn after a few representations. "While in Wallack's old theatre "John Lester" again turned his hand to play-writing — " The Veteran," which achieved a great success in those days, and is still warmly received, being from his pen. The piece was founded on Grant's novel, " The Queen's Own." The Veteran was played by the elder Wal- lack, and the part of his son by "John Lester." It is worthy of note that at the end of the first performance, in response to For Fifty Years an Actor. 207 the call of the audience, "Author ! Author !" Mr. Wallack (the Veteran) led to the foot-lights his son in the play, who was also his son in reality, and presented him to receive the ap- plause of the house. With varying- success, but usually much favored by fortune, the Wallacks remained in the old theatre until the commence- ment of 1861, when, just as the war was about to break out, the old manager determined — greatly against the advice of his friends, as before — to establish a theatre on the corner of Broad- way and Thirteenth Street. He had his own way, as usual, and on the first night, to an immense audience, spoke the opening address. This, however, was the last time that he appeared on his own boards, or, indeed, upon any stage. The initial piece was called " The New President," although it had no reference, in any way, to the then recently-inaugurated Chief Magistrate, Mr. Lincoln, or to the political events then in progress. It was not a success. The new theatre, however, attracted a great deal of attention, and, from the first, money was made in it. Upon its opening "John Lester," at the request of his father, re-assumed his own name and became John Lester Wallack. During 1863 Mr. Wallack again turned his attention to authorship, the result of his labors being the ever -popular play, "Rosedale." The way in which he conceived the idea of writing this drama is worthy of mention. He was at a dinner-party given by Thackeray, and at which were present George William Curtis, Bayard Taylor, the poet-traveller, and other distinguished men of letters. One of the company, in the course of conversation, advanced the idea that no play could have great interest for the public unless the lovers in it were young people, and cited as an example the fact that, from " Romeo and Juliet " on, the hero and heroine in every successful drama were supposed to be either in or only just out of their teens. Mr. Wallack, who was present, opposed this argument, and expressed the belief that a play could be 208 Twelve Americans. produced in which all the love-making should be done by- persons of mature age, and that it would, nevertheless, attract attention and excite deep interest. The discussion ended here ; but when the dinner was over Mr. Wallack went away with the fixed resolve of putting his own theory to the test. Shortly afterward, while reading " Lady Lee's Widowhood," a novel by Lieutenant-colonel Hamley, of the British Royal Artillery, he thought he saw in it the germ of a play. Subsequently, however, he threw it aside, and made "Rosedale" an entirely original drama, with the single exception that the incident of the abduction of the child was taken from Hamley's novel. The new play was one of the greatest successes the American stage has ever known. It ran for one hundred and thirty nights, and from first to last earned for its author and others who have acted the leading part in it more than 8100,000. That it has proved Mr. AYallack's theory in regard to the age for dramatic lovers and love-making, however, is rather doubt- ful ; for, while Elliott Gray, the hero, is stated in the early part of the first act to be fully forty years of age, and Rosa Lee, his sweetheart, is supposed to be nearly thirty, Matthew Lee nearly forty, and Lady May a widow, with a child several years old, there is no question of the fact that the audiences who witness the performance ignore the minute details of the text (as theatre-goers are apt to do) and regard Elliott Gray as a dashing young man, Rosa as a very charming young girl just blushing into womanhood, Lady May as a young widow, and Matthew Lee as an extremely juvenile bachelor. It was at this period of his career — that is, soon after the production of "Rosedale" — that Mr. Wallack, with some of the other managers in Xew York, John Gilbert, and a number of leading citizens, took a prominent part in the memorable benefit performances which were given in aid of the wounded of both the Rebel and Union armies, and which netted a fund of $40,000. For Fifty Years an Actor. 209 In recent years Wallace's Theatre lias usually been conducted on the principle of alternating new plays with choice examples of the old standard drama. During the season of 1874, act- ing upon this principle in part, and to a certain extent in the hope of making a sensation, Mr. Wallack, by producing one of Dion Boucicault's Irish plays, took a departure which, it was predicted, would ruin him, but which actually resulted in a great success. One day, in conversation with Boucicault, lie complained of the difficulty he found in catering to the public needs, when the latter said to him, "You want to continue the success of your theatre. I want to show a crowd of croakers that I can do as well now as I ever did in my life. Let me produce an Irish drama in your house." " I'll do it," replied Wallack, after a few moments' consider- ation ; and there and then a bargain was made which resulted in the production of " The Shaughraun," one of the greatest dramatic successes of modern times. It ran for many weeks ; and in the following season " For- bidden Fruit," one of the most successful productions of 1876, was withdrawn to make way for its reproduction, when it again ran for a long time to even larger houses than originally. During the first season one hundred and eighteen evening and twenty-five matinee performances of "The Shaughraun" were given, the total receipts being $220,076 — an average for each of the evening performances of more than $1600. After the second "Shaughraun" season, in 1877, casting about for some new attraction, and believing that interest in the regular drama was waning, Mr. Wallack conceived the idea of producing a sensational play, with elaborate stage accesso- ries, and played with exceptional ability. At great expense he produced " Diplomacy," believing that it would be a great and lasting success. The press praised it with unanimity, 2IO Twelve Americans. everybody admitting that it was a pleasing performance ; but still, though no money was lost by the enterprise, very little profit accrued. Returning to the old English comedies in the season of 1878-79, and playing such pieces as " The School for Scandal," with such actors in the cast as John Gilbert, Charles Coghlan, and Rose Coghlan, he still made no money. In 1880, on the other hand, a revival of the old comedies was most suc- cessful, Mr. Gilbert appearing in most of them, and the weekly receipts averaging $8000. During their career as managers Mr. Wallack and his father have had in their companies many of the most distinguished performers who have appeared in this country. Among them were many ladies and gentlemen who, in any other establish- ment, would have insisted upon appearing as "stars," but who, in Wallack's Theatre, were content to acknowledge themselves as members of the stock- company. Among those who thus appeared under the Wallack management may be named : James W. Wallack, Lester Wallack, E. L. Davenport, James W. Wallack, Jr., John Gilbert, Charles Mathews, William R. Blake, E. Holland, Harry Beckett, J. H. Stoddart, Frederic Robinson, George Holland, H. J. Montague, Charles Coghlan, E. A. Sothern, John Brougham, Dion Boucicault, John Sefton, Lysander Thompson, Charles Wolcott, Sr., W. R. Floyd, Charles Wyndham, Laura Keene, Mrs. F. B. Conway, Mrs. Vernon, Madeline Henriques, Mary Gannon, Plessy Mordaunt, Mrs. Thomas Barry, Miss JeffreysJuewis, Miss Ada Dyas, Rose Wood, Mrs. Floyd, Mrs. John Hoey, Mrs. W. R. Blake, Mrs. Farren, Miss Henrady, Mrs. John Sefton, Louisa Moore, Mrs. John Gilbert, Madame Ponisi, Effie Germon, Rose Coghlan, Mrs. Dion Boucicault. For Fifty Years an Actor. 211 The manner in which Cbarles Mathews was engaged to ap- pear in the regular company at Wallack's is worthy of men- tion. It was in the season of 1872-73, while the veteran com- edian was playing at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, that he came to Mr. Wallack and said, " Wallack, I want an appearance at your theatre." "But you know we never 'star' people at our house," re- plied the manager. "I don't care. I want to appear, and I am willing to go on in your regular company. Make me an offer," persisted Mathews. " Oh, I can't do that," said the manager. " How much do you want?" "I will leave it entirely to you," replied Mathews, and sub- sequently it was arranged that he should be paid £100, or $500, a week. This salary was paid him for a number of weeks before it was possible to give him an appearance, as the successful revival of " The Veteran " was then holding the boards. When that play was withdrawn, however, Mr. Mathews appeared to very large houses ; and it is memorable that in "London Assurance" he, Lester Wallack, and John Gilbert appeared together on one stage. Farther, in regard to the management of Wallack's Theatre, it is of interest to recall the manner in which one or two of the more prominent people recently connected with the com- pany were engaged. Harry J. Montague, when he left Eng- land, had the reputation of being a rising young actor, and, by the advice of his friend Boucicault, he did not at once engage himself to any manager. The day he landed in New York Boucicault met him and took him on board Mr. Wallack's yacht, the Columbia. The manager and the young actor were much pleased with each other, and after dinner, at Boucicault's re- quest, they made an engagement to have a conversation in re- gard to business on a subsequent day. That conference resulted 212 'Twelve Americans. in the engagement of Montague by Wallack. The part of Captain Molyneux, in "The Shaughraun," was written express- ly for him, and, as is well known, he made in it his first great success in this country. It is a coincidence that while on board his yacht, the Columbia, in the cabin where he first saw Montague, Mr. Wallack received the telegram announcing the young actor's untimely death. It has long been erroneously supposed that Madeline Hen- riques, who was for so long a time a leading favorite at "Wal- laces Theatre, attained success by some " royal road." Such is not the fact. The lady in question, when she was little more than a child, first appeared at the old Wallack's Theatre, Broad- way and Broome Street. This was in 1860. From that time on, little by little, she worked her way up, until five or six years later, when she achieved her greatest successes. Miss Gannon was also first engaged by the elder Wallack, and under his management developed until she was regarded as the best impersonator of arch and naive comedy parts on the stage. It has frequently been remarked that one of the chief charms of Lester Wallack's acting is the exceedingly cool manner which he is able to assume. Those who know him in private life need not be told that it costs him no effort to display that which is inborn. As an evidence of his natural coolness the following is of interest. A few years ago, while he was playing in the drama of " Home," and just after appearing in the disguise of Colonel White — having in the scene been ordered from the house by his father, who does not know him, and while repeating the lines of his part expressing disgust at this treatment — a num- ber of persons in the audience shouted, excitedly, " Look behind you ! Look behind you !" Mr. Wallack turned quietly, and noticed that on the stage mantel-piece a candle had burned down almost to the socket, and had ignited the paper which was wrapped around it. This For Fifty Years an Actor. 2 1 3 was in a blaze, and a curtain which hung above was on the point of taking fire. The danger was imminent, but the actor was equal to the occasion. Without the least show of excite- ment he drew the candlestick away from the curtain, held it while the burning wax fell fast upon his unprotected hand, and all the time continued to repeat the lines of his part, thus re-assuring the alarmed audience. When the danger was past, amidst loud applause he coolly remarked — of course interpo- lating the words — "Well, the 'Governor' has turned me out of his house, for which I am exceedingly sorry ; but I at least have the satisfac- tion of knowing that I have been instrumental in saving the establishment from destruction by fire." In the season of 1881-'82 Wallack's Theatre company was moved from the old house to a new and magnificently ap- pointed establishment on the corner of Broadway and Thir- tieth Street. Here, as before, the veteran John Gilbert — "good, genial John" — continued the chief favorite of the theatre-going public. Happily, he continued to act and think, despite his great age, with all his old-time force and ability. And just how keen-witted a man may be, even in his sev- enty-second year, is well illustrated by the following gem of a letter written by the old player in response to a request that he would furnish certain reminiscences for publication in the Boston Saturday Evening Gazette : " Wallack's Theatre, New York, Dec. 25, 1SS2. "My dear Parker, —If you had requested me to write an original play — an event that has not been achieved in the memory of the oldest inhab- itants, of whom I am one, 'more's the pity' — I could as easily have com- plied with your desire. It has never been in my way to write or contrib- ute to the columns of any public journal. To repeat the words and text of other people's brains has been my constant duty for many a long year ; and when, on the occasion of a benefit or any meeting of friends, I have been called upon for a speech or a sentiment — ' D — n that word !' — I have always, in my own opinion, made a mess of it. Should I attempt to give a reminiscence of the old Boston stage, it would be a tedious tale, and 214 Twelve Americans. not very complimentary to the present state of the drama. Xo doubt I am by many called an old fogy. I am not annoyed at the term. ' See- ing what I have seen, seeing what I see,' when theatres are crowded to witness the feeble attempts of notorieties, and sterling plays by talented and experienced artists are neglected, the stage is indeed in a deplorable condition. But enough of this. As an old subscriber — one of the oldest — I am happy to congratulate you on the longevity and excellence of the Gazette. Its principles are honorable. Long may it wave ! I told you that writing was not in my way. " Very sincerely, your friend, John Gilbert." The amount and variety of the work done by Mr. Gilbert during bis eventful career in New York is astonishing. Some idea of its extent ma}" be gained from the following list of the principal plays and characters in which he has appeared in Wallaek's Theatre :* Character. Play. Sir Peter Teazle " School for Scandal." Benjamin Stout, M. P. . ) „ jr _ >, Sir John Vesey (1878) [" Old Dornton " Road to Ruin." Old Hardy " Belle's Stratagem." Job Thornberry " John Bull." Mr. Solus " Every One Has His Fault.-" Sir Anthony Absolute " Rivals." Kit Cosey " Town and Country." Mr. Yielding " Bosom Friends." Lord Duberly " Heir at Law." Major Oakly " Jealous Wife." Sir Abel Handy "Speed the Plough." Kerr Flamberry " Central Park." Lord Ogleby " Clandestine Marriage." Andrew Wylie " Bachelor of Arts." Sir Sampson Legend " Love for Love." Lord William Daventry " Irish Heiress." Don Caesar " Bold Stroke for a Husband." Sir Francis Wronghead " The Provoked Husband." Mr. Coddle " Married Life." Viscount de Champeville " Ernestine." Doctor Botherer " Americans in Paris." * For this important and interesting list I am indebted to the careful and painstaking research of my good friend Mr. E. A. Dithmar. — H. C. For Fifty Years an Actor. 2 1 5 Character. Play. Count D'Oxenstein " The Youthful Queen." Sir Francis Gripe " The Busybody." Lord Pompley " Blue and Cherry." Sir Simon Slack " Spring and Autumn." Sir Robert Bramble .... " Poor Gentleman." Mr. Thomas Tompkins " My Noble Son-in-Law." Dr. Druggendraft " Follies of a Night." Tobias "The Stranger." Antonio " The Wife." Lord Danberry "To Marry or Not to Marry." Miles McKenna " Rosedale." Twining alias Croker " The Fox Chase." Mr. Coddington " Look Before You Leap." Archbishop of Grenada " The Compact." General Tarragon " School of Reform." Sir Richard English "How She Loves Him." Jabez Sneed " The Wife's Secret." Captain Copp "Charles the Second." Uncle John " Uncle John." Jesse Rural " Old Heads and Young Hearts.'' Adam Greenleaf " Game of Life." Master Walter "The Hunchback." Mr. Felix Fumer " Laughing Hyena." Goldthumb " Time Works Wonders." Counsellor Coridon Foxglove " Game of Love." Mr. David Damper " Single Life." Mr. Simpson " Simpson & Co." Captain Channel, R.N " Prisoner of War." Khov "The Serf." Sir Solomon Sadlife " Double Gallant." Frederic the Great " King and Comedian." Justice Greedy " New Way to Pay Old Debts." Paul Lafont . . . ." Love's Sacrifice." Dr. Pungent " Dreams of Delusion." Sir Adam Weir " King of the Commons." Asper Manly " Romance and Reality." Old Crumbs. . , "The Rent Day." Colonel Hardy " Paul Pry." Marquis de Rotondo " Don C