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THINGS I REMEMBER

FREDERICK TOWNSEND MARTIN

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THINGS I REMEMBER

BY
FREDERICK TOWNSEND MARTIN

WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORK
JOHN LANE COMPANY
MCMXIIl

Copyright, 191 3, by
JOHN LANE COMPANY

Cd 14 4141

CONTENTS CHAPTER I
My ancestors: The overcrowded Mayflower: The
Townshends: Henry Townshend protects the
Quakers: He is imprisoned: Life in the New
World: My father: Henry Hull Martin: His
early struggles: A devoted son: The story of a
shawl: Courtship and marriage: A leading ques
tion: Brains versus dollars: My birth: Early im
pressions: My grandmother: Mrs. Townshend:
The end of the passage: An enchanted room:
The romance of history: A honeymoon trip:
My grandmother's voyage up the Hudson: A
romantic episode: The great chain: Rip Van
Winkle land: Home at last: My grandmother's
recollections of Old New York : A cultured circle :
Terpsichore not Tango: How society amused
itself : Roderick Mcintosh : "A hundred pipers an'
a', an' a' " : My grandmother Martin : A Puritan
of Puritans: Her methods: I resent her interfer
ence: My own territory: Nemesis at the window:
A whipping Pp. 25-47
5

CONTENTS

CHAPTER n
My father: His theories: "Lead us not into
temptation": My mother, her gentle influence:
Pre-natal conditions: Her sympathy: "Just a
mother with a mother's heart": Living books:
My accident: A long convalescence: My hero:
Uncle Frederick and the butler's son: An expedi
tion to California: The Argonauts: El Dorado:
Misfortune dogs my uncle's footsteps: The Old
Man of the Sea: The Nugget: A dreamer of
dreams: New York: I visit the Battery: "They
that go down to the sea in ships": I go to Union
College : Life in Albany : The old Schuyler Man
sion: Family mirth-makers: A funeral at Middle-
town: A recipe to stop nose-bleeding: A chapter
of accidents: My uncle's anger: From bad to
worse: After the funeral: My uncle's ultimatum:
Franklin Townsend : His violin : The poodle that
knew the time: The responsibilities of wealth:
A man of means : Mr. Townsend and the heiress :
How General Howard James drilled his servants:
A troop of Amazons: The simple life: A "good
atmosphere" : My first play : Death of my mother :
"It is deep happiness to die, yet live in love's dear
memory" Pp. 48-69

CONTENTS

CHAPTER III
My brother's marriage: Miss Cornelia Sherman:
I look out of the window: A pretty picture:
Changes: From hotel to convent: Sharon Springs:
I meet Ward McAllister: A serenade: I visit
New York: Old landmarks: Mrs. Ronalds: Her
famous costume ball: Music: The illuminated
harp: The triumph of electricity: "Age cannot
wither nor custom stale her infinite variety":
Life in .Albany : Lord Palmerston and the beggar :
I am elected President of the Young Men's Asso
ciation: A reception: No admittance for my
father: My first speech: Mrs. Moulton sings at
Albany: A favourite at the Tuileries: Charlotte
Cushman: I recall her first triumph: The dead
President's progress Pp. 70-90
CHAPTER IV
Newport in the days of my youth: The present
town of palaces: Mrs. Paran Stevens: A great
social leader: Her sister Miss Fanny Reed: Sung
into society: A Patti of the salons: A concert
during the war: Mrs. Stevens and Mr. Travers:
"Cold tea, hot ApoUinaris, and bad music": The
Griswold Graj's: An ideal cottage: Two dinners:

CONTENTS
Beauty and brains: The fountain: Why the ceil
ing fell down: Peter Marie: A gentleman of the
old school: His poetical tendencies: Invitations
in verse: Newport's vanished charm: Belle Vue
Avenue of to-day: Motors and millionaires:
Artificiality ever present: A trip to Europe: My
dreams are realized: The old Russia: Fourteen
days at sea: We arrive in London: The State
entry of the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh: A
snowy reception: I see Queen Victoria: Her
strength of character: On the balcony of Buck
ingham Palace: Prince Eddy and Prince George:
Alone in London: Another imposing sight: The
funeral of Napoleon III: All is vanity: The
Prince Imperial: A gallant figure: A procession
of Imperialists : Shattered hopes : One whom death
has forgotten: The Empress Eugenie: Vive I'Em-
pereur : We return to London : I write an account
of our experiences: The lost art of letter writing:
The cable saves a sheet of note-paper Pp. 91-109

CHAPTER V
Paris : Memories of Malmaison : Two bad Queens :
La Grande Duchesse : Fair Sinners : A clergyman's
daughter: My compatriots: Mrs. Moore: Mrs.
Ayers defies Time: A salon at seventy: The

CONTENTS 9
Baronne de la Selliere: Emma Eames: I meet
Sargent: Bonnet and Carolus Duran: Rodin: His
personality: The tragic eyes of Madame X: I
hear her story: A callous mother: Society is
shocked: Miss Reed: "The finder of stars":
Sybil Saunderson: She sings to Massenet: Her
success: She introduces Mary Garden to Miss
Reed: A woman of temperament: Madame
Melba: The meaning of work: Melba memories:
A cake-walk at Palm Beach : Alone in New York :
Ministers and their wives: The right people:
How Mrs. Henry White separated the sheep from
the goats: Mrs. Whitelaw Reid: General Porter:
The McCormicks : Mr. Goodrich and Loie Fuller
Pp. 110-134

CHAPTER VI
Victor Hugo's funeral : Under the Arc de Triomphe :
Severe simplicity: A poet's progress: The heart
of the people: I recall another funeral: The
King of Hanover: "The divinity which doth
hedge a king" : Paris as a spectacular background :
My apartment: My hobby: A man of peace: I
give a party in the Bois : Cleo de Merode : Flaming
June: A long wait: Cleo appears: Why she was
late: The ordeal by sunlight: Was she afraid of

10 CONTENTS
freckles?: The Gallic temperament: Mrs. Potter
Palmer : A champion of women : The business ca
pacity of the American woman : "Do it yourself" :
The Duchesse de Chaulne: "Dook or no dook":
Mrs. Campbell's common-sense: Vanished faces:
"One must have courage": Rome and the Popes:
Pius IX questions me about America: "Au Re-
voir": My audience with Leo XIII: A dignified
Pope: "Are you of my faith?": I explain that I am
anxious to receive the blessing of a good man: I
see Pius X: His extreme simplicity: I am pre
sented at the Quirinal: Queen Margherita: Her
charm: "The Pearl of Savoy": Social Life in
Rome: I meet Madame Ristori: Talks over the
tea-cups: Ristori tells me about her meeting with
Queen Isabella of Spain: "Anything you like to
ask is granted" : "The life of a poor man" : Isabella
keeps her promise: F. Marion Crawford: "A
Cigarette Maker's Romance" Pp. 135-152

CHAPTER VII
Looking backward: London in the seventies:
The growth of hotel life : Clubland : The border
line : The repose of society : Modern woman : Suc
cessful sinners: Vows sometimes made to be
broken: The season: Then and now: The day of

CONTENTS i:
the automobile: Church versus car: The three
arbiters of fashion: The Mahlon Sands': Mrs.
Sands' friendship with the late King: A cold din
ner: At Waddesdon Manor: A house-warming:
Interesting visitors: I talk to the Prince of
Wales: His visit to America: The Souvenir
Cigar: H.R.H. is amused: His dislike of Ameri
can men: His criticism of adverse criticism: The
late King's ideas of dignity : Where fools rush in :
The aspirant's downfall: The Rothschilds: How
they purchased pictures: Miss Alice Rothschild:
Tears have their uses : I meet Mr. Gladstone : His
opinion of the masses: Their ultimate power:
New ideas : How Mr. Gladstone defied time : The
cobwebs of the Old Country: The power of the
Press: Houses and their occupants: What the
supersensitive experience: Death of Mahlon
Sands: His talents: A witty answer: His accident:
"Better death than life without thee" : A last in
terview with Mrs. Sands: Her sudden end: "Ills
have no weight and tears no bitterness" Pp. 153-167
CHAPTER VIII
Cowes: Pleasant Recollections: I meet the late
King : The value of royal anecdotes : A reviewer's
disapproval : Viscount de Stern : Alexander Yorke :

CONTENTS
A wonderful mimic: He imitates Queen Victoria:
A summons at the window: "I'm a done man":
The Prince's command: "What will the Queen
say?": .Alec plays hymns: I meet Sir Oscar Clay
ton: A distinguished physician: His weakness for
titles: "I've met seven Duchesses": It is worry
that kills: Want of money often the root of
bodily evil : Cheques instead of prescriptions : The
Prince comes to supper: The missing singers:
H.R.H. consoles Stern: "A Feast of Lanterns":
An English peerage for £70,000: Lord Wands
worth : An election story : Mrs. Mackay at Cowes :
Her marvellous jewels: Dancing the "Boston":
Lady Henry Lennox: What constitutes enjoy
ment?: Cowes recalls Cannes: The Earthquake:
The late King at Cannes: Mrs. Campbell of
Craigie: "Lend me your valet": He pours the
coffee over the cloth: H.R.H. 's kindness: Adele
Grant and Lord Cairns: Monte Carlo: Gambling
resorts in the sixties: The four friends: Garcia:
His system: The Prince and the gambler: Dis
reputable company: Where did the Duchesses
come in?: The clergyman and his daughters:
Playing by proxy: Twice lucky: Why "twenty-
three" was wrong Pp. 168-186

CONTENTS CHAPTER IX
My first meet: Neville Holt: Lady Clarendon:
A visit to Berkeley Castle: Where King Edward
II was murdered: Old-fashioned formality at
Berkeley Castle: Harry Sands does not put in an
appearance at breakfast: I explain the reason:
House or hotel: A peeress of the old regime:
Morning and evening prayers at Lady Galway's:
Careless domesticity: The woman who didn't
know her own house : The late Lady Holland : I
take tea with her: A family spectre: Lowther
Lodge: Singleton: A tragic visit: Sudden death
of Lord Swansea : A night of terror : I see Coombe
Abbey for the first time: Tranby Croft: Mrs.
Arthur Wilson's kindness: Her superstition: The
opal necklace: Jewels and their wearers: Mrs.
Bradley Martin acquires some of the French
Crown Jewels: Marie Antoinette's necklace: "A
band of blood": The story of the missing pendant:
The butler's secret: A thief in the night: The
pearl snatcher : Andrew Carnegie vetoes the wear
ing of jewels: A relic of barbarism: Simplicity
versus Sapphires : The late Duchess of Devonshire :
Her love of money: A great social leader: An
Ascot story: James R. Keene and the Duchess:
A ladies' luncheon: The best for a debutante:
"Beauty, wealth or brains?": The women's ver-

14 CONTENTS
diet: I visit Cawdor Castle: "Not angles, but
angels": From Cawdor to Culloden: Moy Hall:
Relics of Prince Charlie: King George V praises
the shooting: Charlcote: The woods: The stately
homes of England : Sacred trusts : The death-duties
which never leave us : I must not moralize : Mrs.
Stuyvesant Fish prevents me from sermonizing Pp. 187-206

CHAPTER X
The advent of the American woman in English
society: How the Invasion came about: Miss Je
rome becomes Lady Randolph Churchill: The
Stevens-Paget alliance: The American heiress in
fiction: An impossible character: The Girl from
the Golden West: Then and now: The education
of an heiress: A strenuous life: The Invasion
viewed with alarm by Society: A new influence:
The American's progress: The heiress realizes her
own value: The open-handed daughters of Lib
erty: The uses of advertisement: A good invest
ment: Lady Paget: The belle of Newport: An
ambitious mother: A season in London: The late
King as a matchmaker: Mr. Paget proposes: He
is refused: He proposes a second time: Minnie
Stevens becomes Mrs. Paget: A leading hostess:
Lady Paget's personality : Her pluck : Seven opera-

CONTENTS 15
tious ! : A society woman's wish : Helen Beckwith :
Her marriage with the Hon. Dudley Leigh:
"Once a friend, always a friend": Lady Naylor-
Leyland: Her beauty: Goethe's Margaret: How
American women adapt themselves to new condi
tions: Are they ever home-sick?: Mrs. George
Keppel recognizes American influence : The strong
hold of dukedom: Lesser lights: The youngest
-American brides: Consuelo Duchess of Manches
ter : A penniless girl : Her poverty : She entertains
the late King at dinner: Where the dishes came
from: Mrs. Ronalds: The story of the necklace:
Madame Waddington : She mixes with the crowd :
A happy answer: The late Lady Curzon: Her
role at Newport: A great lady Pp. 207-224

CHAPTER XI
William Gillett: The Bachelors' Club: The Clear
ing House System: Merit is passed over: Mr.
Gillett's radium parties: Charles Dalison: A
beau of the seventies: The end of a worldly life:
The Whitelaw Reids: A hospitable ambassador:
Mr. Choate: His wit: "Just start cackling,
madam": The late Bradley Martin and his con
nection with Balmacaan: My brother rents Lake-
field: The ghost there: Bradley takes over Bal-

16 CONTENTS
macaan from Henry AUsop: A beautiful home:
The shores of Loch Ness : Our love for Scotland :
The joy of life: Another ghost: The spectral
coach: Lord Lovat's funeral: Unlimited whisky:
A two-mile walk: Lady Burton and the late King:
"One thing needful" : Edward VII decorates Lord
Brougham's butler: Our theatrical and literary
neighbours: Sir Henry Irving: The Terrys: Mrs.
Lewis lets her cottage to Barrie: Sir James and
the donkey: His love of children: His retiring
disposition: Memories of Bradley: The best of
brothers: Speaking in public: I go down to the
East End : An audience at Whitechapel Pp. 225-240

CHAPTER XII
The lure of travel: Its value as an education: A
six months' tour or six years at college?: My
first glimpse of Spain: Tarifa: A Moorish hill
town: The old fortress: A Spartan father: By
moonlight to Begar: Cleanly Cadiz: Madrid:
The usual sight-seeing : June in Norway : Homely
incidents: Cold water is thrown on Howard's
efforts to explain: Towels at last are forthcom
ing: The land of untrodden ways: Trippers in
Switzerland: A walking tour in the Tyrol: A
peaceful spot: "Surely we must be very near

CONTENTS 17
Heaven?": "You must climb higher": I am mis
taken for an Archduke: Wasted ammunition:
We journey to the Holy Land: Illness at Bey-
rout: The last Emperor of Brazil comes to see
me: The sight which gave me life: "The Stars
and Stripes" : Round the world with Harry Sands :
San Francisco: The Duke of AthoU: Japan: I
see Fusiyama : The magic of the East : We go up-
country: Then and now: Silent souvenirs: The
fragrance of vanished summers: The Sultan of
Singapore: The cholera epidemic in Ceylon: A
railway accident near Benares: Bombay: Sudden
death of Lady Ferguson: We leave for Malta:
In quarantine at Suez: From Malta to Syracuse:
A storm: Naples: Back to Paris: The end of the
journey Pp. 241-255

CHAPTER XIII
The late Ward McAllister: "The Four Hun
dred": Restful Society: The old families: The
Queens of Sheba: The Belmonts: Their house in
Fifth Avenue: The two Mrs. Astors: Mrs.
Pierre Lorillard: Her husband: Tuxedo Park:
Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger: A great-niece of
Washington Irving: "Sleepy Hollow": A royal
exile: Years afterwards: A fete champetre: A

18 CONTENTS
French fancy-dress ball in 1828: The old noblesse:
Mr. Montant and his ancestors: A gentleman of
France: Furniture from the old Chateau: A cos
tume ball: Malibran as a guest: The old Bowling
Green Theatre: Jenny Lind: My friendship with
Madame Nordica: A success of perseverance:
Talents and temperament : The kindest of women :
The late General Grant: His judgment: "Gen
tlemen, we cross the Potomac to-night": Grant
and Lee: A contrast: "Take back your sword":
Robert Lee's request: A generous adversary: The
son who stood upon his dignity: "To dine and
sleep at Windsor" : The little table : What Queen
Victoria said: Out-Heroding Herod: Old Mr.
Germaine: His hobby: A taste for saving money:
Three deaths: The callousness of Society: Ward
McAllister's funeral : Five out of a hundred ! :
The last music: Life's little ironies: Malicious
Fate: "Man and his littleness perish, erased like
an error and cancelled" Pp. 256-270

CHAPTER XIV
Henry M. Flagler: The maker of Florida: His
early struggles: His forceful character: Henry B.
Plant: An unsuccessful rival: An interesting Sun-

CONTENTS
day: Three great men: My mission in the Bow
ery: The stokers' strike: On board the Kaiser
Wilhelm II: I receive a note : What it contained :
The Bowery boys as stokers: Women who help
humanity: Mrs. William Sloane and her sisters:
Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish and her opinion of me as a
speaker : The famous costume ball : Mrs. Bradley
Martin's wish to give an impetus to trade: A
storm of comment: The ball is denounced from
the pulpit : Threatening letters : We are burlesqued
on the stage: What Theodore Roosevelt said: A
dream of loveliness: Versailles and New York:
Wonderful jewels: Family heirlooms: A touch of
barbarism: The altar of the Golden Calf; The
road to disillusion: My brother decides to live in
London: Lady Craven: Lord Uflington and his
grandmothers: The disadvantages of the Embassy
system: My tour with Mr. E. Clarence Jones:
Apathetic citizens: Archbishop Ireland: A hostile
reception at Atlanta: A Baptist deputation: Pre
historic cars: A cloud of petrol: "Is this a joy
ride?": A dance at Louisville: The old Gait
House: Southern belles: A curious custom: Was
our tour successful?: My crusade against the idle
rich: Selfish Society: "A traitor to my class":
My appreciation of the American Press: The
lighter side of life: The love of luxury: Unhappy
marriages : The ideal union : The evils of Platonic

20 CONTENTS
friendship: Looking backward: Partings in our
family: The graves of a household: The memory
of the beloved dead : My wish Pp. 271-292
Index Pp. 293-297

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Frederick Townsend Martin  Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

My Grandmother — Hannah Townsend .... 34
My Father— Henry Hull Martin  50
My Brother — Bradley Martin  70
A House Party at Balmacaan  198
Mr. William Gillett with Mrs. Bradley Martin and
Count Kergorley  226
Group: Mr. Frederick Townsend Martin, Lord
Leigh, Mr. Bradley Martin, The Hon. Charles
Harris  236
Group: Mr. Hugh Warrender, The Countess of
Craven, Mr. Franklin Otis, Mr. Frank Muri-
etta. The Hon. Charles Harris, and Mr. Towns-
end Martin  246

21

THINGS I REMEMBER

CHAPTER I
My ancestors: The overcrowded Mayflower:
The Townshends: Henry Townshend protects
the Quakers: He is imprisoned: Life in the New
World: My father: Henry Hull Martin: His
early struggles: A devoted son: The story of a
shawl: Courtship and marriage: A leading ques
tion: Brains versus dollars: My birth: Early im
pressions: My grandmother: Mrs. Townshend:
The end of the passage: An enchanted room:
The romance of history: A honeymoon trip:
My grandmother's voyage up the Hudson: A
romantic episode: The great chain: Rip Van
Winkle land: Home at last: My grandmother's
recollections of Old New York : A cultured circle :
Terpsichore not Tango: How society amused
itself : Roderick Mcintosh : "A hundred pipers an*
a', an' a' ": My grandmother Martin: A Puritan
of Puritans: Her methods: I resent her interfer
ence: My own territory: Nemesis at the window:
A whipping
My ancestors did not sail to America in that
overcrowded vessel The Mayflower, for it was
25

26 THINGS I REMEMBER
not until the year 1665, when London was
swept by the plague, that three brothers, John,
Henry and Richard Townshend left England
to seek their fortunes in the New World.
Their father had provided them with sufficient
means to make their way in the young coun
try, and they were undaunted at the prospect
of being weeks at sea in an old sailing ship
driven hither and thither at the mercy of the
winds and waters.
The Townshends left behind them their
beautiful home of Raynham, an estate which
had been the property of their progenitors
since the Conquest, when William of Nor
mandy gave it to De Haville, one of his cap
tains. The family served their sovereigns well,
and Roger Townshend was knighted during
the stirring times of the Armada. Horatio
Townshend rendered such services to Charles
II that he was raised to the Peerage in 1661
under the title of Baron Townshend of Lynn
Regis, and his dignities were further in-

THINGS I REMEMBER 27
creased in 1682 when he was made a Viscount.
A voyage across the Atlantic does not ap
pear strange to us now-a-days when science has
done so much to save time and trouble, but
the Townshends must have been heartily tired
of their slow, monotonous passage long before
they reached America. The brothers first set
tled at Oyster Bay, then an important ren
dezvous for the British fleet, but later they
dispersed. Henry went up the Hudson river
and settled in Cornwall, Richard made for
Pennsylvania, and John remained at Oyster
Bay, where the house that he built still stands.
Henry Townshend seems to have been a
man of strong religious convictions, and he
was greatly distressed at the persecution of
the Quakers by the bigoted Puritans of those
days. His sympathy with the oppressed sect
showed itself in a practical manner, for he
allowed the Quakers to hold their meetings
at his house, an act of tolerance which greatly
incensed Peter Stuyvesant, the Burgomaster
of the town. He decided to make an example

28 THINGS I REMEMBER
of Henry Townshend, so he promptly had
him arrested and imprisoned in the Fort at
New Amsterdam, where he spent months of
solitary confinement, cheered only by the daily
visits of his little daughter, who was allowed
to bring him his food.
After his release Henry returned to Oyster
Bay, where he lived unmolested to a good old
age. He seems to have been a man of lovable
personality, who had the courage of his con
victions, and whose high purpose bore out the
old family motto, "Fidelity earned these hon
ours for our race."
The Townshends apparently never regret
ted their severance from the Old Country;
they prospered in the New World, handsome
sons and fair daughters were born to them,
and the pressing anxieties of life seem to have
passed them by.
My grandmother, Hannah Townshend, was
born in 1785, and married her second cousin
Isaiah Townshend. They settled in Albany,
the capital of the state of New York, and their

THINGS I REMEMBER 29
daughter Anne was destined later to become
the wife of my father, Henry Hull Martin.
It is difficult to realize adequately the dif
ference between the families of Townshend
and Martin. The Townshends represented
the good type of the aristocratic settlers in
America, who had preserved the culture and
refinement of the Court of St. James's, whilst
the Martins embodied the splendid spirit of
those early pioneers who endured untold hard
ships with a dogged determination to "win
through." Henry Hull Martin was born at Avon
Genesia in 1809. His father died when a
comparatively young man, leaving just enough
money to educate his son, and support his
widow and three daughters, who found it
somewhat of a struggle to live, but as soon
as Henry Martin graduated at Union College
he gave the little money he had to his mother
and started out to support himself.
His life at college was one of absolute self-
denial ; his chief aim was to avoid embarrass-

30 THINGS I REMEMBER
ing his mother in any way, and I am sure that
he must have suffered many things in silence.
He was a very tall man, and his clothes had
always to be made for him, so when his over
coat was worn out, and a new one meant a
call on the slender home finances, Henry
would wrap himself up in a shawl and un
concernedly brave the elements and the storm
of chaff which invariably assailed him when
he went to his classes.
"Well, Martin," remarked the President of
Union College one day when he came face to
face in the street with the thin shawl envel
oped figure. "Surely you don't realize what
is wrapped up in your mantle."
I never think of this story without marvel
ling at my father's moral courage, and I think
few collegians now-a-days would follow his
example, as it seems to be the usual thing for
young men to emulate women's love of dress,
and to incur endless tailors' bills with a total
disregard of when and how they are to be
paid.

THINGS I REMEMBER 31
After leaving Union College, Henry Mar
tin became private secretary to Troup, who
was Governor of the State of New York, and
whilst residing at Albany he met Anne Town-
send, with whom he fell in love at first sight.
Without more ado, the young man went at
once to Isaiah Townsend and demanded his
daughter in marriage.
The Magnate of Albany listened to the
presumptuous suitor in silent amazement, but
at last he found words. "Young man," he
asked coldly, "how do you propose to support
my daughter?"
"With the brains which God has given me,"
answered the lover; and, when he saw the look
of incredulous disdain on the face of Isaiah
Townsend, he added warmly, "Yes, sir, with
my brains I'll undertake to support your
daughter and to make her happy."
I do not know whether old Mr. Townsend
was more impressed by Henry Martin's au
dacity, or by his personality, but in the end
he gave his consent to the marriage, and my

32 THINGS I REMEMBER
parents lived close to the Townsend house in
Albany, where my father started as a lawyer
and where he continued to practise until 1854,
when he became a banker.
I was my parents' sixth child, and I was
born on December 6, 1849. It was a marvel
that I came into the world alive, as for some
weeks before my arrival my mother had been
dangerously ill with inflammatory rheuma
tism, and a fatal termination was regarded as
inevitable. The anxiety of the family was
terrible, and their fears increased hourly on
the wintry night when I was born. But even
the longest period of anxiety must come to an
end, and at last my father entered the sitting-
room, pale but happy, and announced, "Anne
is safe, and she has another son."
My happiest recollections centre round my
childhood. We were a most united family;
our early affection has endured the test of
time, and when my sister Anna (who became
Mrs. Rochester) was dying, her last words,
which are too sacred to repeat, made me real-

THINGS I REMEMBER 38
ize the meaning of those bonds. Alice, my
senior by two years, was my inseparable com
panion and the sweetest tomboy imaginable;
little Harriett played with us for six years, and
then Death called her away. My brothers
were dear boys ; there was Henry and Bradley,
whose loss is still so fresh that I hardly dare to
realize it, and Howard, who was later to ac
company me on my travels abroad.
The most impressive figure of those early
days was my grandmother Townsend. She
was a woman of extraordinary personality, and
she reigned as a queen over society in Albany,
where her circle consisted of people who were
distinguished for their wit and breeding.
Grandmother ruled without effort. She fas
cinated me even as a tiny child, until I became
her willing and adoring slave, and the great
house in Washington Avenue, where she lived,
was to me a palace of enchantment. A subtle
sympathy drew us together, and I believe she
was quite innocently proud of being able to
attract me, and to see how eagerly I left my

34 THINGS I REMEMBER
play when I was allowed to spend an hour
with her.
My most vivid recollection of my grand
mother is when I used to creep down the
passage which led to the library. I can see
her yet, sitting in her great high-backed chair
by the window with the light falling on her
sweet face with its delicate features and won
derful eyes, which always seemed to speak.
Mrs. Townsend was not one of the modern
grandmothers ; her fine lace cap was not to her
an admission of age of which she was ashamed ;
indeed I thought her stiff, pretty curls looked
enchanting under it, and her silk gown, with
its lace collar and cuffs, was always dignified
and becoming. Negligees were unknown in
her day, and I doubt if she would have given
a tea-gown a moment's consideration.
I pushed the door open very quietly. "Do
I disturb you, grandmother," I would ask, and
I was always reassured by her charming smile
and the delightful "Come in, Frederick."
Then I advanced to the seat by the window to

My grandmother— Hannah Townsend

THINGS I REMEMBER 35
be kissed and welcomed, and afterwards, seated
by her side, I would beg her to tell me a story.
It was very peaceful in that quiet library,
with its old-fashioned furniture, which Mrs.
Townsend had inherited from her mother, and
which had come all the way from England
— as did even the bricks with which the house
was built, for in those days bricks were not
made in America. It was the atmosphere of
refinement which appealed to me. I loved the
romance which seemed to cling to my grand
mother, and she, impressionable, a dreamer of
beautiful thoughts, insensibly coloured my
mind with her imaginings. I owe to her any
taste I have for the beautiful, my appreciation
of the charm of bygone days, and my power to
conjure up scenes of the past, and to people
them with those who played their parts in his
tory or romance. Thus the dead, the great,
the beautiful, the gifted and the unfortunate
are to me living people, and this extraordinary
power of visualizing dates back to those happy
hours in Washington Avenue.

36 THINGS I REMEMBER
The story which seemed to give my grand
mother the greatest pleasure to relate was the
account of her honeymoon trip up the Hudson
river to Albany.
After the wedding the bride and bride
groom with the relatives and guests went down
to the Battery in all the splendour of a golden
afternoon. It was early summer, a slight
breeze ruffled the waters of the Hudson, and
the sloop which had been chartered for the
journey rocked gently at the quay. It must
have been a picturesque sight, this wedding
party in Old New York. I can imagine the
bevy of pretty girls in their high-waisted cling
ing muslin gowns, the young bride in her long
white satin cloak and plumed hat, the men in
their blue or drab coats with brass buttons,
and every one deciding that this voyage up
the Hudson was vastly original and diverting.
There were only some servants and the crew
on board, for the household possessions had
been previously dispatched, and whilst the
bride's luggage was being stowed away she

THINGS I REMEMBER 37
bade farewell to her friends, and clung tear
fully to her mother, for in those times "sensi
bility" was in fashion and hearts were a little
less blase than they are to-day. Then Mrs.
Townsend made her way down the worn, grey
steps (I think her thin satin slippers must have
been sadly stained with the ooze as she went
on board, followed by her husband). The
sloop cast off, the sails filled, and the boat drew
away, amidst waving farewells and many
wafted kisses from the bride, until it disap
peared in a golden haze, symbolical, as per
haps some romantic soul may have declared,
of a golden future for the newly married pair.
Then began the memorable voyage, and how
often have I journeyed in imagination with
my grandmother up the beautiful Hudson
river, where, I think, the scenery outrivals the
Rhine. Day by day the boat glided along on
its voyage of 150 miles. The magnificent
panorama of the Palisades gave place to the
calm Tappan-Zee, and the wondering young
people admired the Highlands and the Nar-

38 THINGS I REMEMBER
rows, where dark, deep gorges lie beneath
lofty hills. Sometimes my grandparents
landed and took horses to some place of in
terest. Then came a long day of exploring
the thickly wooded country, and in the silent
forests they would sometimes chance on the
remains of an Indian camp fire ; at dusk they
rode through the scented night air back to the
waiting sloop, and continued their voyage.
Grandmother described how they saw the
site of Tarry Town, immortalized as Sleepy
Hollow by Washington Irving, and one day
Isaiah Townsend excitedly showed his wife
where the great chain was stretched across the
Hudson to prevent the English from coming
up the river to besiege the small towns on its
banks. "This chain," said my grandfather
with unconcealed pride, "was forged by my
father Henry Townsend in 1778 at the Stir
ling Iron Works, which he owned, and the
links were carried to West Point by New
England teamsters. The chain was the indi
rect means of discovering a traitor, for Bene-

THINGS I REMEMBER 39
diet Arnold wrote to the British authorities
and told them he had weakened one of the
links to permit the passage of the English
men-of-war, but the letter was intercepted
and Arnold's career as an American general
was ended.
At last the sloop reached the Catskill Moun
tains, the Rip Van Winkle country, and the
end of the journey was at hand. Like Rip
Van Winkle, the young couple awoke from an
enchanted dream, and they began to realize
that the future with its responsibilities lay be
fore them in their new home at Albany.
"And was New York nicer than Albany?"
I always asked, with the design of hearing
some more stories. This question invariably
"drew" my grandmother, who would straight
way describe the picturesque New York of the
quaint gables and market-places, and she
would tell me about the peaceful farms ten
anted by the descendants of the old Colonial
families, gone, alas for ever, lost in the rush
of life.

40 THINGS I REMEMBER
I listened enraptured to her recollections
of the days when her mother, Mrs. Solomon
Townsend, gave great receptions, to which all
the distinguished people came. She told me
how the tone of society was influenced by the
French and English Courts, and how the at
mosphere was almost ultra-refined. I heard
how these descendants of great families treas
ured the souvenirs of the past, how traditions
were respected, and how both men and women
were trained from their earliest childhood to
cultivate charm of manner and to display all
the punctilious ceremonial of the Mother
Country. Dances in those days were very stately per
formances, and the minuets were a delight to
watch, for the dancers walked through the fig
ures with wonderful grace, and the younger
generation were not, as now, allowed to mon
opolize the floor, and to romp riotously in a
tangle of Bunny Hugs and Tangos. Some of
the elder people would play cards during the
evening, while others talked politics, and those

THINGS I REMEMBER 41
who liked books discussed the latest poems and
romances. The midday dinner was the principal repast
of the day, and it was considered the correct
thing to walk on the old Battery at sundown.
This was the rendezvous where friends and
acquaintances met to exchange courteous
greetings, and to hear the latest gossip, and
it is difficult to realize now, when the glories
of State Street are departed, that the Battery
was the centre of fashion in those early
days. "And were the houses beautiful?" I would
ask. That question always appealed to my grand
mother, and she described with extraordinary
vividness the old Colonial houses as she re
membered them, the large, low-ceilinged
rooms with their panelled walls, where old
family portraits looked down on their de
scendants, the parquet floors which were so
highly polished that they seemed like gigantic
mirrors, and the cut-glass chandeliers and can-

42 THINGS I REMEMBER
delabra which shed a soft light upon many
picturesque gatherings.
"Tell me about the Revolution," I fre
quently demanded, for those stirring times
always fired my imagination, but grandmother
did not care to do so. I know now that her
recollections of the great days were saddened
ones, as the half of our family who were
Tories remained faithful to King George, but
the progressive and Americanized Townsends
threw in their lot with the Revolutionary Par
ty, and even dropped the "h" in their surname
as a protest against monarchy and aristocracy.
One of the stories which appealed to me
very much concerned the doings of a Scots
man, Roderick Mcintosh of Georgia, who had
escaped to America after the rising of 1745.
This remarkable man was clan-mad, if I
may coin a description, and when he arrived
in America he brought with him every possi
ble vestige of his Scottish state. Whenever
Roderick walked abroad a piper invariably
preceded him, and the strains of the bagpipes

THINGS I REMEMBER 43
heralded their approach and afforded endless
entertainment to young and old alike. He
was wont to observe that if he could ship
sufficient plaids, bonnets and pipers from the
Highlands, he would turn even the old Dutch
residents into Scotsmen, as he felt sure they
were enviously impressed by his garb and dig
nity. When he visited New York his piper
played outside the house he chanced to be
honouring with his presence, for the old fa
miliar music fired Roderick's imagination in
a way that enabled him to give force to his
arguments, and made him feel that a Mcin
tosh could hold his own with the best of
them. And thus my romantic yearnings and love
of the history of bygone days were fostered
by the gracious Lady of the Large House, as
I mentally designated her. I was always run
ning in to see her, and I was sure of a welcome.
Grandmother understood me; she seemed
quite to realize that little boys could not be
perfection, and she never made me unhappy.

44 THINGS I REMEMBER
She was my liege lady, and I paid her the most
sincere of all homage — the trusting devotion
of a child.
It is sad to relate that I had no such feelings
for my grandmother Mrs. Martin, who re
pelled me as much as Mrs. Townsend attract
ed me. My father's mother was a complete
contrast to the charming luxury-loving de
scendant of the Townsends. She was a Puri
tan of Puritans, with all the stern, unbending
characteristics of the original New England
stock that had been made strong by the strug
gle for existence. It had been their lot to
battle with the elements, to wrest life from
the land, to face danger alike from man and
beast, and often to die as unsung heroes who
endured without complaint to the very end. I
now realize the value of the type, but in those
days I failed to appreciate it, and my grand
mother Martin was to me the Terror that
walked by day and by night.
"Always respect your grandmother," said
my father to me, and I honestly tried to do so,

[THINGS I REMEMBER 45
but my dreams fled at her approach and a
sullen defiance seized me. "Why can't she be
friends with me like my other grandmother?"
I asked myself, and one day when she tried to
interfere with some childish pursuit, my
smouldering anger blazed forth.
"The nursery is my land — not yours!" I an
nounced. "You just mind your own business,
grandmother," and the gage of battle thus
thrown, I waited in expectation to see what
my adversary would do. She did not reply,
but one glance at her face was enough. She
went out of the room. What was Grand
mother Martin contemplating? Some min
utes elapsed, and curiosity overcoming my
fear, I crept down to reconnoitre. Through
the half-open door I saw her standing by the
window, and in a flash I realized that her in
tention was to wait, like an avenging Nemesis,
for my father to return from the bank! I
scurried upstairs, and I, too, waited, hoping
against hope that she would relent.
At last I heard my father come in, and five

46 THINGS I REMEMBER
minutes afterwards the cry of "Frederick"
broke the silence. I crouched in a corner, the
call was repeated, but feeling that delay was
dangerous, I went to meet my fate and was
thoroughly well whipped. "Now you'll never
be rude to your grandmother again!" and one
resounding smack finished the punishment.
My mother wept silently, but I was consumed
with rage. I never forgave Grandmother
Martin, but if she felt my aversion she never
appeared to notice it; she pursued her accus
tomed way, dignified and reserved, and I think
her only weak spot was the delight she experi
enced in making other people share her opin
ion of her importance.
Poor Mrs. Martin, how she would have
resented the spirit of change which has swept
over her country, and how unadaptable she
would have shown herself! I can imagine
Mrs. Townsend accepting the idea of an aero
plane with serene urbanity, and quite luxuri
ating in an automobile. The opinions of Mrs.

THINGS I REMEMBER 47
Martin on these subjects would have been
forcible, illuminating and not uninteresting,
but I am sure that present-day progress would
not have found a friend in her.

CHAPTER II
My father: His theories: "Lead us not into
temptation": My mother, her gentle influence:
Pre-natal conditions: Her sympathy: "Just a
mother with a mother's heart": Living books:
My accident: A long convalescence: My hero:
Uncle Frederick and the butler's son: An expedi
tion to California: The Argonauts: El Dorado:
Misfortune dogs my uncle's footsteps: The Old
Man of the Sea: The Nugget: A dreamer of
dreams: New York: I visit the Battery: "They
that go down to the sea in ships": I go to Union
College: Life in Albany: The old Schuyler Man
sion: Family mirth-makers: A funeral at Middle-
town: A recipe to stop nose-bleeding: A chapter
of accidents: My uncle's anger: From bad to
worse: After the funeral: My uncle's ultimatum:
Franklin Townsend: His violin: The poodle that
knew the time: The responsibilities of wealth:
A man of means : Mr. Townsend and the heiress :
How General Howard James drilled his servants:
A troop of Amazons: The simple life: A "good
atmosphere": My first play: Death of my mother:
"It is deep happiness to die, yet live in love's dear
memory" 48

THINGS I REMEMBER 49
I FEEL that I pay the highest tribute to my
father's memory when I describe him as one
of the best types of the best American. He
was, indeed, an exceptional man, high-prin
cipled and strict almost to severity, but justice
itself in everything that he did.
My father's favourite saying was, "When a
man has made up his mind to go to the wall
he'll go." His mother's intolerance found no
echo in his own life; he was infinitely under
standing, and perhaps his wife's gentle in
fluence developed the softer side of his
nature. "Ah," he would often remark, "the most
powerful part of the Lord's Prayer is the ap
peal 'Lead us not into temptation' — it's the
most difficult foe to withstand." I used to
wonder why he spoke so strongly ; perhaps he
had known and resisted temptation himself.
He adored his children, but he made no fa
vourites; his ambition was to see us grow up
worthy members of society, and he never lost
an opportunity of instilling into us his ideas

50 THINGS I REMEMBER
of the importance of work and one's duty to
wards others in every-day life.
My mother and he were ideally happy, and
well had he kept his promise to her father to
support and shelter her. To me my mother is
a sacred memory which grows sweeter day by
day. I gave her my whole-hearted love, and
the influence of her beautiful character is ever
present with me.
I often wonder whether the pre-natal con
ditions of my birth accounted for the extreme
tenderness which my mother and I had for
each other? During her long illness, before
my birth, she must have often trembled lest
her child should bear the impress of her own
sufferings, and I think her poignant sense of
sympathy must have been transmitted to
me, for I am always drawn to those who
suffer. Her religion was beautiful in its simple
faith, and she was quite unostentatious in its
performance. She had been brought up as a
Presbyterian, and every Friday she slipped

My father
Henry Hull Martin
Born 1809— Died 1886

THINGS I REMEMBER 51
quietly away to her Prayer Meeting, no matter
what social duties claimed her. She never
neglected to hear me say my prayers, and I
picture her now as she came into my little
room and knelt by me heedless of her beautiful
evening gown and sparkling jewels. Just a
mother with a mother's heart, and small won
der that I used to think her an angel when
she sang to me. The beloved face has been
hidden for many a year, and the sweet voice
is still, but "O I'amour d'une mere! amour que
nul n'oublie."
I always regarded my mother and my grand
mother in the light of living books, for I found
them both inexhaustible in interest, and noth
ing delighted me more than to hear about
places and people. When I was a small boy
of seven I met with an accident, which obliged
me to remain six months on my back, but the
long hours of illness were lightened by my
mother's devotion. She read to me, and to
gether we discussed the characters in the books
until they seemed like real people ; my favour-

52 THINGS I REMEMBER
ite was David Copperfield, and I remember
how much I wanted to see Dover as described
by Dickens.
My ideal hero did not, however, exist in
fiction, but, miracle of miracles, he was a
relation, my mother's youngest brother, my
namesake, and I never wearied of listening to
his adventures.
In 1849, when gold was first discovered in
California, Frederick Townsend begged my
grandmother to allow him to set out to seek
his fortune with the Argonauts, as the settlers
in California were then called.
A great deal of persuasion was required, but
at last grandmother gave her consent on con
dition that my uncle was accompanied by the
butler's son, who would, she fondly imagined,
protect him from all harm.
The expedition was most fully equipped
with the possible requirements of a gold-
seeker, and my uncle started on his journey to
El Dorado. But misfortune dogged his foot
steps at every turn. The butler's son had to

THINGS I REMEMBER 53
be protected instead of playing the part of a
protector; he was (barring his good qualities)
worse than useless. He couldn't swim, and
so my uncle had to carry him pick-a-back
when they crossed rivers and fords, in fact he
became Old Man of the Sea, and my uncle
the reluctant Sindbad. Everything went amiss,
and for a long time there was no news of the
adventurous Frederick. His family mourned
him as dead, but one day he re-appeared (ac
companied, of course, by the butler's son) , and
told a tale of adventure which rivalled that
of the immortal Munchausen. He had been
made captive by Indians, a tornado had car
ried away his tent like a leaf before the wind,
but he had succeeded in finding gold, which
after all was the one and only object of his
journey. The gold which my uncle dug up did not
permit him to have an option on New York
City, and eventually it found a home in my
mother's jewel case. How well I remember
the famous nugget, which I was allowed to

54 THINGS I REMEMBER
handle sometimes as a very great favour. "Do
show me the gold Uncle Fred brought home,"
was my oft-repeated request, and I can live
again the delightful moment when the jewel-
case was unlocked, and I saw the nugget lying
on its velvet bed. I can even smell the faint
odour which is always associated with these
old treasure-boxes, and which one never smells
elsewhere. I used to hold the nugget very tightly, close
to my eyes, and then imagine I was out camp
ing with Uncle Fred. As the gold warmed in
my excited hand, I felt how much it repre
sented — the long marches and the measureless
wastes which had to be traversed to find it.
I pictured the blinding sandstorms ; I felt the
loneliness of Nature in secret places, and in
imagination I saw the stars which always,
seemed to me like eyes watching the world.
And thus, cheered by golden books, I passed
my period of convalescence. Then I was able
to take delightful drives with my mother, and
I shall never forget those radiant summer

THINGS I REMEMBER 55
days. I wonder why fields never seem so
green, or why the skies never seem so blue
when we have passed the milestones of youth.
I was eight years old when I paid my first
visit to New York. I went by boat with my
father, and I remember how excited I felt
on that old side-wheeler of a steamer, for was
I not retracing grandmother's wonderful voy
age? We arrived in New York just in time for
dinner, and I only felt homesick when I was
in bed. I could not sleep, for every quarter
of an hour I heard the church clock strike, but
at last the sound so got on my nerves that I fell
asleep worn out with loneliness and fatigue.
This impression of a certain sound being
always associated with loneliness has never
faded, and I think my belief in the "early
recollection" has a parallel case in Herbert
Spencer's experiences. When he was a child
his nurse left him in the house on the evening
of the week when the bells of All Saints',
Derby, were rung. The little boy always
remembered the bells ringing during the time

56 THINGS I REMEMBER
he spent alone, and in later life he wrote, "All
through the earlier part of my life, and even
in adult years I never heard bells without a
feeling of sadness coming over me!"
Early next morning I was sent off, accom
panied by my cousin's office boy, to see the
sights of New York, and the first place I made
for was the old Battery. I shall never forget
my emotion when I found myself on the sea
wall, and felt the salt breeze from the Bay kiss
my cheeks in greeting. "Here is the gate of
the world," I thought, as I watched the great
ships sail past. Whither were they bound?
What wonderful countries would they visit?
And, as I watched them, an overmastering
desire to travel seized me. I longed to be on
the white decks, facing the unknown ; I, too,
wanted to see the World. Then I reflected
sorrowfully that I was only eight years old,
and I might have a very long time to wait.
Still, something seemed to tell me that my
hopes would be realized, and indeed they
have, for since I stood as a little boy on the

THINGS I REMEMBER 57
old Battery and dreamt my dreams, I have
travelled far and wide in many lands.
The office boy must have been tired of wait
ing on the Battery, but I left it with reluc
tance, and we walked home without speaking,
for I was, in thought, well out to sea in a phan
tom ship of my own. The sight of Trinity
Church roused me from my meditations, and
I marvelled at its spire, which I thought must
surely reach to heaven. Alas ! it is now swal
lowed up in a maze of modern buildings,
which have invaded the precincts of the old
church and robbed it for ever of its pictur
esque charm.
We stayed a week in New York, and I was
not sorry to return, for I rather resented being
treated by my cousins as a little boy from the
country, and I was all impatience to tell my
mother and my grandmother about my won
derful visit.
My first experience of school life was at the
Albany Academy, which has just celebrated
its centenary, and which is one of the few old

58 THINGS. I REMEMBER
landmarks of my birthplace. At the age of
fourteen my father decided that I must be
partly emancipated from home influence, so I
was sent to Union College, where my relative,
Isaac Jackson, was one of the best known and
respected Professors. He possessed a most
beautiful garden, which was open to the stu
dents, and where I spent many delightful
hours seated from view up one of the great
trees. Those days are amongst my happiest
recollections. I returned to Albany every
Saturday, to spend a quiet Sunday with my
people, and I was sure that my mother would
always show her invariable sympathy and in
terest in all my doings. What a wonderful
woman she was, and how much I owe to her!
Life in Albany went on very smoothly, and
I think it was a much prettier town in those
days. I remember the old Schuyler Mansion,
where a tomahawk was firmly imbedded over
the dining-room door. This was a striking
souvenir of the hatred shown to the whites by
the Indians in the early Colonial days, and

THINGS I REMEMBER 59
the story was that it had been flung by an
Indian through the open window when the
family were seated at table, but luckily it
missed its mark.
Some of my relatives were quite "charac
ters," but naturally I never let them see that
I appreciated them from a humorous point of
view, although I suppose certain members of
a family are bound to realize that they are
regarded by the others as unconscious mirth-
makers. When I was about twelve years old I was
taken by my Uncle Frederick Townsend to a
family funeral at Middletown, Connecticut,
We arrived at the old country town at dusk,
and drove immediately to the house of mourn
ing, where we were welcomed tearfully by our
relations. Strange to say. Uncle Frederick
had never told me that my great-aunt was
blind, and as she bent down to kiss me her
spectacles caught the bridge of my nose with
such alarming force that it started to pour

60 THINGS I REMEMBER
with blood. Every one was distressed, and I
was hurried out into the nearest room to try
the cold water treatment, which was not very
efficacious. Suddenly Uncle whispered in an awful
voice, "Frederick, you are in the room with
the corpse." I started and peered fearfully
in the semi-darkness, terrified lest I should
discern the grim outline of the coffin. The
shock proved far more effectual in stopping
the bleeding than any iced water, and I was
heartily glad to find myself outside the house
again. Next day there was a chapter of accidents.
We missed our way, and reached the house
just as the undertaker was reading aloud the
names of those who were to attend the funeral.
Through some terrible mistake my uncle's
name was omitted from the list and mine sub
stituted, and I was straightway taken to one
of the waiting carriages without my uncle,
who was in a furious rage at the contretemps,

THINGS I REMEMBER 61
indeed it required all the united tact of the
family to induce him to go to the funeral in
stead of making for the railway station.
Unfortunately, when we arrived at the
church the same thing happened, and I was
ushered into a front pew without Uncle
Frederick. One of my aunts was sitting next to me, and
suddenly I heard her whisper, "Fred, look
look! Merciful heavens! your uncle is way
back amongst the servants." I turned, and
sure enough there he was, crowded up with
the domestics, and his looks were deadly
enough to kill all the mourners. I dreaded
the explosion, which I knew was bound to
come after this crowning humiliation, and
when we returned to the house Uncle Fred
erick delivered his ultimatum to the family.
I shall never forget the scene. There were
the ladies tearfully conscious of their expen
sive crepes and bombazines, the men sleek in
their broadcloth, and the family lawyer, all-
important, as seems usual, on such occasions.

62 THINGS I REMEMBER
Uncle Frederick waited until the last strag
gler came into the room, and then said, in
cold, cutting accents, "I have come all the
way from Albany to pay my respects to the
dead, but never did I imagine that I should
be treated in such a manner. I now tell you,
that no matter who dies in this family, I will
not under any circumstances attend another
funeral. This is all I have to say. . . .
Come, Frederick," and so speaking he walked
out of the room.
My uncle hardly spoke on the homeward
journey, and he never forgave the insult he
had received, for he was a very punctilious
person, who was always careful to conform
to the convenances, and who permited no de
viations from the accepted rules of etiquette.
His eldest brother, Franklin Townsend,
was a rather eccentric widower who lived
alone in Albany. In the days of his youth he
had been an ardent violin player, but when he
married he neglected his hobby, and only took
it up again after his wife's death.

THINGS I REMEMBER 63
After his midday meal he would play over
the melodies he loved as a bachelor, seated in
his big arm-chair, but gradually as he fiddled
the bow would move slower and slower, until
at last it dropped from his hand and he slept.
At four o'clock precisely, when the time
piece struck the hour, his little poodle jumped
up and awakened his master with a stroke of
its paw; the two would then go out for an
afternoon stroll, and this took place every day
until he died.
Uncle Franklin was a charming old man,
and he delighted to tell me tales of his boy
hood, and especially one story connected with
what he termed "the responsibilities of
wealth." When he was a boy his father, Isaiah Town-
send, was interested in an old man named
John Cameron, who used to earn his living
by selling oysters. My grandfather felt sorry
for Cameron, so he presented him with a
horse and cart to replace the heavy barrow he
had been in the habit of pushing through the

64 THINGS I REMEMBER
streets, and the gratitude and delight of the
oyster-seller were unbounded.
One day as Mr. Townsend was driving
through Albany, his attention was arrested by
the sight of a crowd, and he stopped to see
what was the matter. It was summer-time and
the oppressive heat had completely overcome
Cameron's horse, which was lying in the mid
dle of the road whilst its master mopped its
head with a cold water sponge. Suddenly
Cameron looked up, and when he saw my
grandfather he said in tones of deep self-pity,
"Oh, sir! oh, Mr. Townsend, I never realized
until I had this horse and cart what a re
sponsibility it is to be a man of means !"
We were a very united family, and scandals
were practically unknown, but I always en
joyed hearing about the matrimonial differ
ences of my cousin Dr. Townsend, which at
one time threatened to upset the domestic
peace. He had married money, and the lady,
like most heiresses, was keenly alive to her own
value, and somewhat inclined to insist upon

THINGS I REMEMBER 65
it. My cousin rather resented her attitude,
for he rightly considered that there should be
no mine and thine in marriage, "Share and
share alike" being his creed. Therefore when
Mrs. Townsend objected to his giving orders,
he openly rebelled, and one morning wit
nessed the tug-of-war between them.
"My dear," he announced through the bath
room door, "I am going to try the new
horse." "You'll do no such thing," retorted his wife.
"But, my dear, I mean to."
"You shall not, I tell you," answered the
lady in the bath-room, "whose money bought
the horse?"
"Yours," shouted Dr. Townsend, "and I
suppose you will say next that your money
bought me."
His wife gave an angry shriek, and fell
backwards into the bath, for she was sitting
on the edge when she received the answer to
her insulting remarks. Then there there was
an alarming splash!

66 THINGS I REMEMBER
"Thank Heaven there's a door between
us," observed her husband as he hurried
away. The shock gave the lady a lesson, and she
never afterwards thrust her wealth in her hus
band's teeth; indeed, they became a devoted
couple, and if Mrs. Townsend had been asked
whose money had bought the horses, she would
doubtless have replied, "Dr. Townsend's, of

course."

I remember hearing a story that convulsed
Albany during the Civil War, when General
Howard James was getting troops to the
front. He worked unremittingly, and one
evening he dined with some men, much against
his will, for he was dog tired, and only yielded
after much persuasion from his friends.
The General never was a heavy drinker, but
the little wine he took on this occasion af
fected him in his fatigued condition, and he
was quite overcome when he reached the house
where he lived with his mother. Although
the wine had somewhat mastered his senses,

THINGS I REMEMBER 67
the ruling passion of troop forming still dom
inated the General's mind, so he went up
stairs and aroused his mother by a thunder
ing knock at her bedroom door. When the
terrified old lady feebly demanded what was
the matter, her son informed her that she
must get up and tell the household to muster
for drill in the dining-room.
As Mrs. James only employed women serv
ants, a troop of bewildered Amazons pres
ently appeared in various stages of deshabille,
carrying pokers, broom handles and other
domestic implements to obey the order.
Of course their master's condition was quite
apparent, but the devoted domestics grasped
the situation, and headed by his old mother
they were drilled up and down until the
General dropped from sheer exhaustion, and
was promptly carried off to bed.
I sometimes look back on those simple days
with regret, and I am sure that I must have
derived some advantage from the "good"
atmosphere of my home. The young man of

68 THINGS I REMEMBER
to-day would have been bored to tears with
our domesticity, and the modern girl would
not have given us a moment's consideration.
Economy, not extravagance, was inculcated
into us, and we were given very little pocket-
money, in fact I remember as a small boy
feeling quite rich when my brother Bradley
occasionally gave me a penny!
I never saw a play until I was fifteen, when
I was thrilled with the sorrows of Lady Isabel
in East Lynne. I hurried home to tell my
mother all about it, but although she appeared
to be quite interested, I could see she tacitly
disapproved of the stage, and I resolved not
to distress her by going again to the
theatre. My mother died on March 4, 1866, and
even after all these years I find it difficult to
write about the infinite gap which her death
made in our family. Her simple faith, her
boundless sympathy and her beautiful life are
things almost too sacred to mention, but I

THINGS I REMEMBER 69
am sure she was one of those sweet women
who would have deemed —
"It is deep happiness to die.
Yet live in love's dear memory."

CHAPTER III
My brother's marriage: Miss Cornelia Sherman:
I look out of the window: A pretty picture:
Changes: From hotel to convent: Sharon Springs:
I meet Ward McAllister: A serenade: I visit
New York: Old landmarks: Mrs. Ronalds: Her
famous costume ball: Music: The illuminated
harp: The triumph of electricity: "Age cannot
wither nor custom stale her infinite variety":
Life in Albany: Lord Palmerston and the beggar:
I am elected President of the Young Men's Asso
ciation: A reception: No admittance for my
father: My first speech: Mrs. Moulton sings at
Albany: A favourite at the Tuileries: Charlotte
Cushman: I recall her first triumph: The dead
President's progress
My brother Bradley married Miss Cornelia
Sherman on January 26, 1869. He had made
her acquaintance at the wedding of Elliot
Sheppard, who was then acting as aide-de
camp to Governor Reuben Fenton.
Miss Sherman was one of the bridesmaids,
70

My brother — Bradley Martin

THINGS I REMEMBER 71
and my brother fell in love at first sight with
the charming girl.
I remember shortly afterwards receiving a
telegram from Bradley at West Point asking
me to come at once to Cozen's Hotel where
he was stopping, and the message concluded
with the words, "I want you." I arrived at
West Point in time for dinner, and Bradley,
with the directness which always character
ized him, at once enlightened me as to the why
and wherefore of my summons. He led me
to the window of his sitting-room, "Look,
Fred," said my brother, "do you see that girl
with the lovely hair? Well, I love her, and
I'm going to marry her."
I looked as I was directed, and my gaze fell
on a young girl who was seated with an older
lady in the garden under our window. As I
watched her she turned, and I saw a sweet
face lit up with wonderful blue eyes. "I think
she's just perfect," I said impulsively, "you
couldn't have chosen any one nicer." Bradley
seemed very pleased, and I was presently in-

72 THINGS I REMEMBER
troduced to Miss Sherman and her mother,
who, luckily for my brother, had taken a great
fancy to him.
I always remember this first meeting at
the pretty old hotel on the hill with the beau
tiful Hudson river winding like a ribbon far
below, and to this day I never pass the place
without the tinge of sadness with which cer
tain recollections are always associated. The
hotel is now a convent; time has wrought
many changes, and my dear brother and friend
has gone for ever from those whom he loved
and who loved him.
After my mother's death I remained alone
with my father in Albany, for Bradley, and
my sister, who had married the clever young
lawyer Julian Tappin Davies, were then liv
ing in New York. I spent a few weeks with
my brother and his wife at Sharon Springs,
then a very fashionable resort, where I first
made the acquaintance of Ward McAllister,
the great social leader and the Beau Brummel
of his day.

THINGS I REMEMBER 73
His father, Mathew Hall McAllister, was
once a prominent officer in the Georgia
Hussars, the crack regiment of the South. He
possessed famous wine-cellars, entertained on
a lavish scale, and at his dinners one met most
of the wits and beauties of the day. His son
had a positive flair for organizing parties; the
picnics which he gave were looked upon as
social events, for he possessed the faculty for
bringing the right people together, and what
is more, he never lost the charming and courtly
manners of the South. Ward McAllister has
been criticized by many, and occasionally his
harmless vanities have been held up to ridi
cule, but, as one who knew and liked him, I
can pay this tribute to his memory, that he
was a man who always tried to say something
good about people.
He attached tremendous importance to the
value of conversation; nothing, he declared,
could ever equal the delight to be obtained
from the society of people of wit and culture,
and "Brains before Beauty, and Mind before

74 THINGS I REMEMBER
Money," was his favourite saying. At his
dinner parties one never experienced the rest
lessness which often makeS the hostess rush
the meal through with no thought for the
speed limit, and for what object? More often
than not one's digestion and temper suffer
solely in order to get to a music hall in time to
see Society's latest craze in exotic dancers or
to witness the actions of educated apes.
I can always get a mental picture of Ward
McAllister (who, by the way, was a handsome
double of Napoleon III) as he sat back in
his chair holding up his glass of Madeira, so
that the light filtered through the wine and
turned it into liquid gold. The old-fashioned
Southern hosts were especially proud of their
Madeira, and McAllister would tell us how
many times the wine had crossed the ocean
before it had been mellowed into perfection.
Ward introduced me to some charming
people at Sharon Springs, and it was there
that I first fell in love. The young lady was
my senior by several years, but that mattered

THINGS I REMEMBER 75
little to me, and being romantic and reckless,
I determined to lay siege to her heart by a
moonlight serenade. I couldn't sing myself,
so I engaged a guitar-playing Spaniard to act
as my substitute outside the lady's window,
whilst I hid a few doors off to listen to the
effect. It all seemed quite satisfactory to me, but a
few days later at dinner I heard my hostess
tease the object of my adoration about her
unknown admirer.
"It was a great joke," answered the recipient
of my devotion. "I can't think what lovesick
creature was fool enough to serenade me- — I
guess he thought he had hired some one to
sing, but I can only say that he managed to
get some one to howl, and I've no use for that
kind of thing."
I smiled, as in duty bound, but it was a
smile sickly near to the vanishing point, and
my mortification was complete when the lady
bade me good-night with the following re
marks, "Well, Fred Martin, you've made a

76 THINGS I REMEMBER
stupid of yourself anyway. I knew all along
it was your affair, and I hope you'll take the
lesson to heart and get some common sense just
as soon as you can grasp it."
I had a delightful time at Sharon Springs,
and, after my return, my father often allowed
me to visit the Lawrence and the Townsend
families, and then I began to hear and see
something of the social life of New York. I
remember seeing the Grinnell mansion at the
corner of Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue,
where Mrs. Grinnell queened it as a great lady
of fashion, and where she entertained the late
King Edward on his first visit to New York.
Delmonico's afterwards occupied the site of
the Grinnell house, and another quaint build
ing, since demolished, was the Goelet Mansion,
surrounded by trees and lawns, where on sunny
days one could see the peacocks proudly
spreading their tails. It was a splendid place,
one of the last relics of old New York, and I
used to have many romantic fancies about it.
I was told that its owners were immensely

THINGS I REMEMBER 77
rich; indeed, the grandfather of the present
Duchess of Roxburghe used to boast that he
lived on the income of his income.
I often heard my relations speak of the
fashionable receptions and dinners given by
the Duers, the Crugers, the Minturns, the
Rhinelanders, and a host of other names well
known in the days before the Civil War, and
my aunts affirmed that although the houses
were much smaller than those which were
beginning to spring up, what they lacked in
space was more than compensated for by the
select society one met there.
The greatest sensation at that time was a
fancy dress ball given by young Mrs. Peter
Lorillard Ronalds at Mi-Careme just before
the close of the war. In those days a costume
ball was a tremendous affair, not as now, when
the mania for dressing-up has seized Society
to such an extent that even ordinary costumes
touch on those worn at a masquerade.
Mrs. Ronalds purposely sent out her invi
tations three months beforehand so that people

78 THINGS I REMEMBER
had a chance of getting their dresses from
Paris, and the ball was given at the Louis
Mansion where the Ronalds lived.
The hostess personated "Music" and wore
a wonderful white satin gown embroidered
with bars of music from Verdi's "Ballo in
Maschera." Her crown, specially made in
Paris, was formed of musical notes arranged
round a harp illuminated with the tiniest gas
jets, which were supplied from a holder hid
den in her hair. This made a great impression ;
the harp glowed and sparkled all the time that
Mrs. Ronalds received her guests, and she only
removed the meter when dancing began.
Mrs. Ronalds wore a similar gown at the
costume ball given by the late Duchess of
Devonshire at Devonshire House, but science
had made great strides since the sixties, and
gas was no longer necessary for lighting pur
poses. On this occasion the harp of music
shone from eleven in the evening until half-
past four on the following morning, and the
meter had given place to a convenient little

THINGS I REMEMBER 79
battery which did not interfere with dancing
in the least.
I hope I shall not be considered ungallant
in laying stress upon the flight of time where
a lady and her dress are concerned. Some
women could not be subjected to such an
ordeal, but Mrs. Ronalds is one of those rare
people who keep off old age by their mental
gifts, which enable them to understand the art
of living and to make life a joy to themselves
and those around them.
Mrs. Ronalds possesses a remarkable so
prano voice, and during the war she sang at
Mr. Leonard Jerome's private theatre in aid
of the wounded soldiers. On this occasion she
enacted the role of prima donna in four
operas, and electrified the audience by her
fine singing and dramatic acting; indeed such
was the renown of her voice that in Paris she
was known as the "Patti des Salons."
No entertainment in those days was con
sidered complete unless the two Miss Irvins
were present. One afterwards married James

80 THINGS I REMEMBER
Burden, and the other became the wife of
George Griswold Gray. Both ladies, like
Mrs. Ronalds, have defied Time, for they re
tain all the grace of manner and the fascina
tion which attracted people to them years ago.
It is no wonder that knowing so many
prominent people made me a person of in
creased importance when I returned to Al
bany, and my relations used to look forward
to hearing all about my doings in New York.
Each time I came back I seemed to find the
quiet little town smaller and smaller, and I
longed to travel and to meet people with
whom I was more in sympathy. My father
was certainly a delightful companion; we
were devoted to each other, and he took the
greatest interest in all that interested me. He
was a most sociably inclined man, but unfor
tunately his digestion prevented him from en
joying his food.
I remember once saying to him as he was
going out, "Well, father, I hope you'll have
a good dinner."

THINGS I REMEMBER 81
"My dear Fred," he replied, "I always feel
like Lord Palmerston when I dine out."
"How did he feel?" I asked.
"It was this way," answered my father. "I
must first mention that Lord Palmerston's di
gestion and mine must have been wonderfully
alike. One night he was accosted by a beggar
just as he was entering a house where he was
going to dine. "Give me a sixpence, my lord,
I'm starving," cried the man. Palmerston
handed him the coin and remarked as he did
so, "Why, I'd give a sovereign to suffer from
your complaint."
My father had a keen sense of humour, and
I remember an amusing occurrence after I
was elected President of the Young Men's As
sociation at Albany, when I enjoyed the proud
distinction of being the youngest President
who had yet held the chair. My election took
place on a day when my father was away in
New York, and I was so elated at my success
that I straightway invited my acquaintances
to come to a reception on the morrow. When

82 THINGS I REMEMBER
the great day arrived I was astonished to find
that my friends had collected enough money
to pay for a band, and were marching to our
house heralded by strains of martial music.
The band installed itself in the hall, and
soon the house was packed to straining point.
Guests streamed through the reception-rooms;
there was an ever-moving crowd coming and
going; the band played its loudest, and when
the excitement was at its height my father
returned from New York.
At the sight of the concourse he doubtless
felt some natural astonishment, and for some
time he was unable to enter his own house.
He waited patiently outside on the steps,
nearly deafened with the music and the inces
sant buzz of conversation around him, but
at last, by dint of pushing and squeezing, he
managed to reach the door. There a friend
recognized him and remarked, "Mr. Martin,
you'll have to fight your way in to congratulate
your son." My father smiled, and as he was
fond of telling a story, he said, "This crush

THINGS I REMEMBER 83
reminds me of an old acquaintance who was
told as a compliment that one of his friends
was unable to attend the funeral of his wife
owing to the impossibility of getting into the
house by reason of the crowd. The widower
turned and remarked drily, *I would like you
to understand that I did not build my house
for funerals.' " "Neither," added my father,
"did I build my house for processions and
brass bands."
He was, nevertheless, well pleased, espe
cially as I had been chosen to fill a respon
sible position which had been hitherto held
by older men. As President of the Young
Men's Association I gained my first experi
ence of public speaking, and one night
I was called upon to introduce Herr Karl
Schurz, the German philosopher, to an audi
ence of public speaking, and one night
to hear him lecture.
I shall never forget my feelings as I faced
the assembly, which appeared like a sea of
expectant faces. I could not recognize any

84 THINGS I REMEMBER
one I knew until suddenly I caught sight of
my father standing in a far-off corner, where
he towered above every one beside him. Our
eyes met, and a magnetic current seemed to
pass between us. I quite realized his anxiety
that I should acquit myself well, and do credit
to the family, and then with an effort I com
menced to speak.
Strange to say I lost my nervousness, for I
felt that I was simply talking to my father,
and to him alone. My speech was well re
ceived, and, as we walked home, my father
spoke to me in terms of encouragement.
"Fred," said he, "there is one thing certain
in life — remember that each success should
make you more anxious to have another. It
is far easier to slip back than to progress, so
bear this in mind whenever you feel inclined
to sit still and do nothing."
I remember an interesting episode in the
history of my Presidency when Mrs. Moulton
gave a concert in connection with our Associa
tion. She was an American lady who had

THINGS I REMEMBER 85
been a great power in the American colony
in Paris, and who had been honoured with
the friendship of Napoleon III and the
Empress Eugenie.
In those days Mrs. Moulton used to de
light the habitues of the Tuileries with her
wonderful singing, but after her husband's
death she found that her income was greatly
reduced, and her friends persuaded her to
take up singing as a profession. Mrs. Moul
ton, therefore, returned to America and com
menced a tour, her first appearance being at
the Albany Association.
The house was packed, and people came
from all parts of the surrounding country to
hear her sing. I can well remember how
striking Mrs. Moulton looked, and, as I led
her to the stage, I noticed that she wore a
beautiful emerald bracelet. "How lovely!"
I exclaimed. "Yes, isn't it," she replied, "the
Emperor gave it to me when I last sang at the
Tuileries. Do you know," she continued,
looking at me quizzically, "I can hardly be-

86 THINGS I REMEMBER
lieve that a mere boy like you can possibly
be the President of this Association."
I was rather nettled, for a young man's
vanity is proverbial, but I answered quickly,
"Then, dear madam, let me forget my youth
and help me to make this concert a huge suc
cess." I think this request must have appealed
to Mrs. Moulton, for she sang divinely, and
the entertainment afforded considerable kudos
for all concerned.
A few months afterwards Mrs. Moulton
married the Danish Minister, M. Hagerman,
who now represents Denmark at the Court
of Berlin, and she retains to-day all the charm
of manner which makes the entree to her
salon so much coveted.
My next experience was when I "presented"
Charlotte Cushman to an Albany audience.
The great actress had promised to give a
Shakespearian reading, and as I had not
thought it would be necessary to speechify on
this occasion, I was very much startled when I

THINGS I REMEMBER 87
heard her say, "Now be sure to make a little
speech and introduce me!"
I must confess that I felt rather overawed
by the actress, whose flashing eyes and some
what haughty demeanour seemed made to
command, but I was literally tongue-tied, and
for the life of me I could think of nothing to
say, until I suddenly remembered a story I
had heard from my mother about Charlotte
Cushman's first bid for fame.
I then told the assemblage how at a per
formance of Guy Mannering the leading lady
was suddenly taken ill, and Miss Cushman,
then an unknown actress, was called upon to
play the part of Meg Merrilies. Her success
was instantaneous ; she roused the audience to
such enthusiasm that she discovered her
power, and thus inspired with belief in her
self she entered upon her wonderful career.
"And," I concluded, "she stands before you
to-night, the greatest actress of her day, the
Mrs. Siddons of America."

88 THINGS I REMEMBER
My friendship with Charlotte Cushman
dated from that little speech, and she loved to
tell people that I had never spoken to an
actress until I met her. She was a charming
woman, and when I think of her I always re
call her "Frederick," uttered in deep, thrilling
tones, which made one realize that one was
being addressed by a tragedy-queen.
The Association did not take up all my
spare time, and I was drawn somewhat in
sensibly into the military life when I entered
as a private in the Zouave Cadets, which were
a company of the loth Regiment. My first
parade took place when General Sheridan
came to Albany, and our regiment was or
dered to escort him to the Capitol. I passed
my home with a great deal of pride, for I felt
certain that my father, who was standing out
side with a group of relations, would be sure
to notice me and my martial bearing. Alas,
for the vanity of youth ! I received a terrible
snub when I returned to the house and heard
the remark, "Well, Fred, it was quite im-

THINGS I REMEMBER 89
possible to make you out, there were so many,
and you all looked alike."
My father introduced me later to General
Sheridan, and my ambition was so great in
those days that I rapidly rose from lieutenant
to captain, then to major, from major to lieu
tenant-colonel, and ended by finishing my
military career as colonel on Major-General
Carr's staff. I received my discharge after
serving for eleven years in the National Army
of the State of New York.
It was in this company that my brother
Bradley made his first parade when he was
ordered to escort the body of Abraham Lin
coln from the station to the Capitol at Albany,
there to lie in state for the night in order
that the citizens could show their respect for
America's greatest President.
The President's progress was very impres
sive, as the corpse was conveyed by slow stages
from city to city until it reached its final rest
ing-place at Springfield, Illinois, and I re
member how proud we all felt of Bradley's

90 THINGS I REMEMBER
vigil of twenty-four hours, when, as one of the
sentinels, he guarded the remains of Abraham
Lincoln. After this Bradley received his com
mission as lieutenant in the New York State
Volunteers, and served until the end of the
Civil War.
At this time my occupations and interests
were varied. I had plenty to do with the
Association, my legal studies represented
hours of steady work, and long before I was
permitted to vote I worked politically for
General Grant's election. My love of or
ganization was a salient feature in those early
days, and I delighted to bring together tal
ented people ; indeed my love of entertaining
rather startled my father, who thought I had
ideas beyond my age. But he did not inter
fere with my pleasures, and my frequent visits
to my relations in New York broadened my
mind and enabled me to get more and more
in touch with people worth knowing.

CHAPTER IV
Newport in the days of my youth: The present
town of palaces: Mrs. Paran Stevens: A great
social leader: Her sister Miss Fanny Reed: Sung
into society: A Patti of the salons: A concert
during the war: Mrs. Stevens and Mr. Travers:
"Cold tea, hot ApoUinaris, and bad music": The
Griswold Grays: An ideal cottage: Two dinners:
Beauty and brains: The fountain: Why the ceil
ing fell down: Peter Marie: A gentleman of the
old school: His poetical tendencies: Invitations
in verse: Newport's vanished charm: Belle Vue
Avenue of to-day: Motors and millionaires:
Artificiality ever present: A trip to Europe: My
dreams are realized: The old Russia: Fourteen
days at sea: We arrive in London: The State
entry of the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh: A
sno-wy reception: I see Queen Victoria: Her
strength of character: On the balcony of Buck
ingham Palace: Prince Eddy and Prince George:
Alone in London: Another imposing sight: The
funeral of Napoleon III: All is vanity: The
Prince Imperial: A gallant figure: A procession
91

92 THINGS I REMEMBER
of Imperialists : Shattered hopes : One whom death
has forgotten : The Empress Eugenie : Vive I'Em-
pereur : We return to London : I write an account
of our experiences: The lost art of letter writing:
The cable saves a sheet of note-paper
The Newport of my young days was very dif
ferent from the town which it now is. I re
member it as a charming countrified watering-
place to which people went on account of its
natural attractions, and I must say I preferred
its vanished rose-embowered houses and cot
tages to the marble palaces that have taken
their place.
It was during my first visit to Newport that
I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Paran Ste
vens, one of the great social leaders in New
York. She was a tall, handsome brunette with
a magnetic personality, who dressed in ex
quisite taste, and whose position as a hostess
was unassailable. Mrs Stevens had a charm
ing sister. Miss Fannie Reed, and those who
remember her delightful voice will also recall
how every one flocked to Mrs. Stevens's Musi-

THINGS I REMEMBER 93
cales to hear Miss Fanny sing; indeed it was
said that she had sung her sister into society.
One day, when I was talking to Miss Reed, I
complimented her on possessing her great gift
and upon the applause which overwhelmed
her whenever she sang.
"Ah, Mr. Martin," she replied, "I am
always happy when I can give pleasure to
others, but my supreme triumph was at a con
cert given in Newport at the time of the Civil
War. There were many Southerners present,
and Mrs. Charles Kuhn was foremost in the
work of organizing the entertainment, for we
were badly in need of funds to provide com
forts for the wounded soldiers. Mrs. Julia
Ward Howe, the authoress, and Mr. August
Belmont were on the committee, and they
asked me —
" 'What will you sing. Miss Reed?'
"I instantly mentioned Mrs. Howe's beauti
ful poem on the abolition of slavery, 'I'll sing
that,' I said.
" 'Oh, no,' came from many voices, 'impos-

94 THINGS I REMEMBER
sible, it would never do ; why, those in favour
of the South would get up and leave the
room.' "'Never mind,' I answered, 'I've the cour
age to sing it;' so the poem was arranged for
orchestra and chorus, and I shall never forget
my feelings as I stood on the platform and
looked at the crowded audience. I began —
" 'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the
Lord.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born.'
"and then came the refrain —
" 'As He died to make men free,
As He died to make men holy.'
"I glanced at Mrs. Howe who was crying
quietly, and I could see that Mr. Belmont was
profoundly moved. Several elderly ladies
were in tears, but not a Southerner present had
risen to go.
"When I had finished I was asked by sev
eral people: 'How is it possible for you to
affect us so powerfully?'

THINGS I REMEMBER 95
" 'Well,' I replied, 'I suppose I must sing
with the help of God.' "
Miss Reed possessed a wonderful person
ality, and later, when she made her home in
Paris, it was noticed that there was a decided
falling off in Mrs. Stevens's Sunday night
concerts; indeed, it was common gossip that
one only heard the worst music on those oc
casions. A propos of this, I remember an
amusing passage of arms between Mrs. Ste
vens and the well-known wit Mr. Travers.
"Well, Mr. Travers, I was beginning to
think you had quite forgotten me," said Mrs.
Stevens, when Travers presented himself one
Sunday night after a prolonged absence.
"My dear lady, it is impossible for me to
resist the magnetism of your charming society,
although I know it only draws me back to cold
tea, hot ApoUinaris and bad music," replied
Mr. Travers.
"Never mind these trifling drawbacks,"
answered the lady, "I think you find ample
compensation for them when you know that at

96 THINGS I REMEMBER
my musicales you meet all the most charming
and civil people of the day."
I once said to Mrs. Stevens, "You don't
know what people say about your Sunday
evenings, they call it Sabbath breaking."
"Do they indeed?" she replied, with im
perial disdain. "They say. What do they
say? Then let them say." And this answer
was absolutely typical of Mrs. Stevens, as it
expressed her whole character in a few words.
She was a delightful woman, and I have often
heard her say when any spiteful gossip was
repeated to her, "Yes, that may be, but don't
you think the best motto in life is 'Live and
let live'?"
Mrs. Paran Stevens built a modern house
in Newport, which was considered quite an
improvement on the older residences, but I
must say that I preferred the low, ram
bling, flower-covered cottage occupied by the
Griswold Grays.
Mrs. Griswold Gray was one of the beau
tiful Miss Irvins of New York, and I have

THINGS I REMEMBER 97
always thought of her home as the ideal cot
tage, which is so hard to find. I can picture
the quaint drawing-room where the walls were
hung with pink-patterned chintz, and I can
almost see the tangle of vines and Japanese
roses which peeped in at the windows. Every
thing was cheerful and bright, and the mo
ment I crossed the threshold I felt I was in
an atmosphere of charm and refinement.
George Griswold Gray had always been a
figure in society, and he achieved fame as a
bachelor on account of his dinners, which set
all New York talking. He announced before
hand that he meant to give two parties, one a
"Beauty Dinner," and the other an "Intellec
tual Dinner," with the result that half the
women were puzzling themselves over the
question of whether it was better to be a wit
or a beauty.
The host was nothing if not original, and
at the "Beauty Dinner" the table was arranged
round a fountain, which threw up a jet of
water almost to the ceiling. All went well

98 THINGS I REMEMBER
during the evening, but on the following day
when George's mother returned from Boston,
she found the ceiling reposing on the floor, as
the watery atmosphere had worn it out most
effectually. I remember meeting Mr. Peter Marie at
Newport, and when I asked a lady to tell me
who he was, I received the crushing answer,
"I should advise you never to ask that ques
tion, Mr. Martin, for it proclaims you to be a
nonentity here."
Mr. Marie was an old bachelor, who had
spent most of his life in study and travel, and
whose collection of snuff-boxes was unrivalled.
He had picked up many art treasures during
his wanderings, and his parties were famous,
for at them one could always reckon to meet
most charming people. He was of a poetical
turn and once gave a remarkable dinner, for
which the invitations were written in poetry,
and those invited were asked to respond in
verse. A beautiful prize was awarded to the
guest who composed the best answer, and I

THINGS I REMEMBER 99
believed that Miss Lampson, now Lady
Drummond, was the winner.
Peter Marie and Ward McAllister were
"Brummellian" types, but whereas Marie was
content to take life as he found it, McAllister
was always progressive, feverish and restless.
His social rival represented the rapidly disap
pearing old French type; he looked like an
aristocrat of the time of Louis XV, and pos
sessed all the polished manners of the period.
I often look back to those quiet days at
Newport with positive regret. Then it was a
place where one went to meet friends, not to
make them; culture and charm were the pass
ports into society, but now wealth seems to
be the Golden Key which unlocks most doors
in this place of rich men's houses.
Belle Vue Avenue, with its melee of expen
sive cars and their expensive owners, is as
artificial as the unnatural-looking clumps of
hydrangea which is Newport's favourite
flower. What a contrast to the dignified
Avenue as I remember it! But it is an age

100 THINGS I REMEMBER
of change, and Newport has shared the uni
versal fate.
After my return from Newport my father
decided that I was working at too many
things, and that a trip to Europe would be
beneficial to me. "Above all things remem
ber, Fred, that travel, taken seriously, will not
fail to sharpen your intellect and increase your
powers of observation," he remarked. And
this advice, though obvious, was sound.
So at last the dreams of my childhood were
about to be realized. Years had passed since
I stood on the old Battery and felt the kiss of
the salt wind on my face and listened to the
lure of calling lands. I was to see the Old
World with its traditions, its romances, its
history. I could visit the scenes which had
appealed to me in song and story; I was eman
cipated from the domination of home — in
short, a new life lay before me. But in the
midst of my happiness I missed the beloved
dead. I would have given much to have been
able to talk with those two sympathetic listen-

THINGS I REMEMBER 101
ers who had always received and appreciated
my confidences, and the thought of them made
me sad.
My brother Howard and I booked our pas
sages on the old Cunarder Russia, which was
then considered the line's smartest boat. The
journey took fourteen days and the weather
was tempestuous ; indeed at one time we only
made sixty-five miles in twenty-four hours.
We arrived in London just in time to wit
ness the state entry of the Duke and Duchess
of Edinburgh after their marriage. Owing
to the influx of people it was somewhat diffi
cult to get accommodation, but my brother
and I found rooms in the old-fashioned
Craven Hotel, which was then a quaint place,
quite Dickensian in character.
The next morning we were up early and had
the luck to secure good seats to view the pro
cession. The weather (perhaps out of compli
ment to the bride's nationality) was almost
Siberian, The snow fell steadily, and every

102 THINGS I REMEMBER
one turned up in furs and mufflers, while the
streets were gusty strongholds of wind and
occasional showers of sleet. The outlook was
miserable; the very banners, weighted with
snow, hung despondently from the poles; it
was a depressing scene, although the warmth
which the weather lacked was not wanting in
the beaming faces of the spectators, who
seemed determined to give the Duchess a
hearty welcome.
Queen Victoria looked remarkably well in
her black silk gown and miniver-trimmed
jacket, and the Duke of Edinburgh was a
handsome figure in naval uniform. I thought
the bride looked charming in her mantle of
Imperial purple, but she was nervous, and
perhaps this accounted for the impression of
coldness and hauteur which struck the crowd.
The Queen passed close to us, and although
she could not, even in those days, have been
considered beautiful, still her face was no
ticeable on account of its strength and char
acter. I was reminded irresistibly of my

THINGS I REMEMBER 103
Grandmother Martin when I looked at Queen
Victoria, and I thought she seemed to possess
a little of the austerity which had so charac
terized my relative.
Directly the procession had passed we made
our way through the good-natured crowds
until at last we reached Buckingham Palace,
where we saw the Queen come out on the
balcony leading her little grandsons, Prince
Eddy and the present King, by the hand. As
she stood there, bowing her acknowledgments
to her subjects' greeting, I felt a thrill of ex
citement, unknown perhaps to an Englishman.
I came from a Republic that scorned the
trappings of Courts, and only gave allegiance
to Liberty; as an American I ought not to
have been so tremendously impressed, but
perhaps the spirit of some ancestor who had
served his king in the way that loyal men
have done stirred within me when I saw
England's great Queen.
One of the most interesting features of this
memorable day was a torchlight procession

104 THINGS I REMEMBER
down the Embankment, and my brother and
I paid the penalty of our whole-hearted curi
osity in remaining out to see it. We returned
to the hotel half dead with cold, and I was
ill for two or three days, a prisoner in an
old-fashioned bedroom with its high "four-
poster," which always seemed guarded by an
army of shadows. I experienced a bad attack
of home-sickness, which was far worse than
bodily pain to me, but I soon got over it, and
it was not long before my brother and I were
out and about again. My father had not pro
vided us with any letters of introduction to
Americans in London; his idea was to teach
us self-reliance, and no doubt he was right. "I
trust you both," he said, before we left home,
"you are my sons; you know my opinions, so
there is no need for me to tell you what to
do, and what not to do. Behave like gentle
men, use your eyes, believe in yourselves, and
you won't go far wrong."
We certainly felt just a litle lonely in
London, and I remember that one Sunday in

THINGS I REMEMBER 105
Hyde Park we felt rather out of it when we
saw the constant interchange of greetings be
tween friends and acquaintances.
"Doesn't it seem odd not to know a soul
here, even by sight?" observed Howard.
"Yes," I answered, "but I have made up my
mind that one day I will know most of the
people here who are worth knowing."
Howard smiled at what seemed to him a
piece of presumption, but I really meant
what I said, and eventually I carried out my
intention. We were lucky enough to witness another
imposing sight during our first visit to Eng
land, but this time it was a funeral procession.
One day we heard the newsboys calling out,
"Death of the Emperor Napoleon," and we
at once determined to see his funeral, for we
judged it would be a most impressive sight.
Chislehurst was then far more countrified
than it is now, and on the day of the Emperor's
burial it might well have been a village in
France, as every one seemed to be speaking

106 THINGS I REMEMBER
French. My brother and I were able to get
places in the first row of the spectators, and
I was deeply moved at the dignity and sad
ness which characterized the proceedings.
The ceremony was an object-lesson in the
vanity of earthly hopes. The Napoleonic
dynasty, so great in its rise, so tragic in its fall,
seemed to have brought nothing but ruin and
disasters to its members and their adherents,
and as I watched the distinguished Frenchmen
who followed the coffin of Napoleon III, I
marvelled that their influence had not proved
sufficient to establish him more firmly on the
throne. It was a simple funeral. The Prince Im
perial walked immediately behind the hearse ;
he was bareheaded, and his sad blue eyes
looked as if they were trying to pierce the
casket which contained the body of his be
loved father. He was deeply moved, but his
demeanour was full of dignity as he led the
procession of Imperialists who centred their
future hopes upon him.

THINGS I REMEMBER 107
I was greatly struck by the likeness of
Jerome Bonaparte to the portraits of Napo
leon I ; there was a crowd of Princes, and all
the leaders of the Imperialist party seemed to
have foregathered to pay a last tribute of re
spect to the unfortunate Emperor,
But most of those who were present are
now passed over. The gallant Prince Im
perial has gone to his long rest, and the Em
press is the only one of that ill-fated house
whom Death seems to have forgotten. The
glories of the Second Empire, the splendid
days of the Tuileries, when Eugenie en
thralled Napoleon, only to give France a
legacy of blood and tears, belong to an era
about which the younger generation merely
reads. There remains but an old woman who
still hedges herself around with the stately
ceremonial which was once so dear to her, and
which has placed her among the great lonely
ones of the world,
I was especially impressed by the number
of blouse-wearing workmen who attended the

108 THINGS I REMEMBER
funeral. It seemed wonderful to think they
could spare the time and money to come
over, but I thought their presence was a hope
ful sign for the Imperialists, as it showed that
the masses were not out of sympathy with
the Empire, and that they were still swayed
by the magic name of Napoleon.
As the Prince Imperial passed down the
long avenue of elms and entered the home
of his exile, a workman, who seemed to be
the leader of his party, called out in clear,
ringing tones, "May you one day return to
rule over us, Vive I'Empereur!" With in
describable enthusiasm the cry was echoed
by thousands of voices, and as "Vive I'Em
pereur!" woke the silnece with its thrill of
loyalty and hope, I am sure there were few
among the mourners who thought that the
young Prince was not destined to sit on the
throne of the Bonapartes and to revive the
glory and prosperity of France,
We returned to London with the feeling
that we had witnessed an historical event, and

THINGS I REMEMBER 109
I remember sending my father a long account
of the funeral. Autres temps, autres mceurs!
In those days boys were fairly good corre
spondents, and it was not considered infra dig.
to express one's emotions on paper, but things
have changed since then, and now when young
America is abroad it usually cables to the old
folks at home, for letter-writing looks as if it
had become one of the lost arts.

CHAPTER V
Paris : Memories of Malmaison : Two bad Queens :
La Grande Duchesse : Fair Sinners : A clergyman's
daughter: My compatriots: Mrs, Moore: Mrs.
Ayers defies Time: A salon at seventy: The
Baronne de la Selliere: Emma Eames: I meet
Sargent: Bonnet and Carolus Duran: Rodin: His
personality: The tragic eyes of Madame X: I
hear her story: A callous mother: Society is
shocked: Miss Reed: "The finder of stars":
Sybil Saunderson: She sings to Massenet: Her
success: She introduces Mary Garden to Miss
Reed: A woman of temperament: Madame
Melba: The meaning of work: Melba memories:
A cake-walk at Palm Beach : Alone in New York :
Ministers and their wives: The right people:
How Mrs. Henry White separated the sheep from
the goats: Mrs. Whitelaw Reid: General Porter:
The McCormicks : Mr. Goodrich and Loie Fuller
We left London for France immediately after
the funeral of Napoleon III, for we had de
cided to spend a short time in Paris before
going further south. no

THINGS I REMEMBER 111
When we arrived in Paris we found the city
still bleeding from the wounds inflicted by the
Commune, and indeed something of the horror
of those days seemed present in the air. The
Arc de Triomphe was riddle with shell, and
looked deplorable; the Tuileries were in ruins,
and the Hotel de Ville was only just rebuilt ;
but I think I first realized the ruthless-
ness of war when I visited Malmaison, which
had been converted into barracks, and the
very walls seemed to cry shame upon their
desecration. The Salle d'Honneur, where Josephine had
often welcomed Napoleon, was almost dis
mantled, but the arras was still hanging there.
Malmaison was infinitely pathetic in its decay;
I admired the beautiful park, which was so
much more attractive to me than the elaborate
garden of Versailles, and I pictured Josephine
as she wandered down the pretty avenue, alone
with her memories of the days before she had
been sacrificed on the altar of Imperial
ambition.

112 THINGS I REMEMBER
The romance of royal residences has always
appealed to me, and I think I could have
spent hours dreaming over the past at Ver
sailles or Fontainebleau, but my brother in
sisted that we should thoroughly "do" Paris,
more especially as our stay was to be short,
for "you are not to remain long in Paris, and
you are not to go to the play," wrote my father.
I used to think that the saying, "Paris est
le monde," was a somewhat sweeping asser
tion, but I felt it was partly true when I saw
how people of all nations seemed drawn to the
Ville Lumiere. One of my greatest pleasures
has always been to watch the gay world in the
drive, for by the laws of gravitation one so
often sees the friend last met with in a dis
tant corner of the world. I frequently ob
served the two ex-Queens of Spain driving
together, Isabella and her mother Christina,
whose shocking example contributed to her
daughter's downfall, although Schneider, the
"Grande Duchessee" of immortal memory,
had perhaps more to do with Isabella's over-

THINGS I REMEMBER 113
throw, for Offenbach's Opera, which was a
keen satire on the Spanish Court, presented
the Queen in a highly ridiculous light, and
made her subjects thoroughly disgusted with
her. I also saw certain ladies whose careers would
have made Albany gasp with horror. One in
particular, who wrought havoc wherever she
went, was, sad to say, a clergyman's daughter
from Philadelphia, but the only religious pre
cept to which she strictly adhered was a
charitable love of all mankind.
Cora Pearl was another striking-looking
sinner in the monstrous legion of women who
wreck the lives of men, and whose supreme
selfishness knows no pity nor consideration.
Their creed is the old exhortation, "Let us
eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we
die." My first visit to Paris made a lasting im
pression, and in later years I have spent many
happy times there. The Paris of to-day is a
very different place from the city of my youth.

114 THINGS I REMEMBER
and I have come to the conclusion that the
city is best described as a fiery furnace in
which weaker metals are speedily dissolved.
Aristocratic French life has not been able
to withstand the American invasion, and
American gold has removed the barriers of
the old regime and infused some gaiety and
large-mindedness into a priest-ridden society.
American women are not so powerful, how
ever, in Paris as they are in London, and I
am inclined to put this down to the difference
of religion and the influence of the Church,
which dominates the families of the Faubourg.
My charming compatriots do not trouble
over obstacles, and they usually manage to
have the best that life can give them. Priests
or no priests, they invariably continue to make
their presence felt, and I think that Mrs.
William Moore is a typical example of what
an American woman can accomplish in a
foreign city.
As Miss Kate Robinson of New York she
married William Moore, a fairly rich Ameri-

THINGS I REMEMBER 115
can, and when she settled in Paris her little
apartment was the rendezvous of a very pleas
ant set. But Mrs, Moore aimed high, and
when she removed to the Avenue Marceau
she gradually sifted out a certain American
element and determined to conquer the im
pregnable Faubourg. She understood the
whole art of knowing Who's Who, without
mixing them, and her success was furthered
by the social prestige given her by her friend
ship with the late King Edward, who de
lighted in her wit and courage.
Mrs. Moore's judgment is essentially sound,
but (and may I be forgiven) I fancy this
charming lady is more governed by her head
than her heart. A certain hostess lately gave
a gorgeous entertainment, for which the
Russian ballet was engaged "regardless of
cost." "Well, Kate, are you going?" asked a
friend. "Why, no," answered Mrs. Moore, "I'm not
going,"

116 THINGS I REMEMBER
"How odd, you used to know the X.'s so
well." "Possibly; but, my dear, I couldn't afford
to do so now, for I see signs of the setting sun
in that family," observed Mrs. Moore in ac
cents which left no doubt as to the finality of
her decision. Such conduct may be deemed
snobbish, and may possibly be open to severe
criticism, but with the class of American-
French women which Mrs. Moore represents
the unchanging rule is only to know the best
people in the sense that Society uses the word.
Of course, most blatant snobbishness exists,
and I remember a hostess who paid a large
sum of money to a French Duchess with an
historic name solely for the great lady to "walk
on" at, or rather "through" her reception.
The Duchess, to give her credit, did not keep
the money, but gave it to the Church, and
doubtless she was fully consoled for the pen
ance she had undergone.
One of the most remarkable women I have
ever met started a "salon" with wonderful

THINGS I REMEMBER 117
success at the age of seventy! This lady was
a Mrs. Ayers, who hailed from Lowell,
Massachusetts, and who came to Paris in
order to try and lead a bigger and more eman
cipated life than she had done in America.
Money was abundant with Mrs. Ayers, who
possessed marvellous jewels, which comprised
pearls of untold value, and the historic
Mazarin diamonds. She was a little, shrunken
old lady who clung to life with grim deter
mination, and whose yellow wig breathed such
audacious defiance at Time that the tyrant
seemed anxious to forget her.
Mrs. Ayers first stayed at the Continental,
but Miss Reed persuaded her to take a hotel
and entertain lavishly, so negotiations were
entered into for the purpose of a beautiful
mansion. One morning the old lady went out
to inspect the alterations which were being
made at her new house, but as she was cross
ing the street her foot slipped and she fell,
with arms outstretched to save herself. Un
fortunately a fiacre was passing, and the

118 THINGS I REMEMBER
wheels passed over Mrs. Ayers' wrists and
broke them.
One would have imagined that such a shock
would put an end to all dreams of being queen
of a salon, but nothing of the kind, Mrs.
Ayers' wrists were put in plaster of Paris,
and the indomitable lady refused to allow that
she had met with a serious accident. With
Miss Reed's assistance she threw open her
lovely house, and her entertainments became
famous. I can picture Mrs. Ayers as I used to see
her, leaning on her gold-headed stick and
smiling graciously at her guests from beneath
an aureole of yellow curls, but her strange
juvenile appearance was not lacking in dig
nity, and her late bid for social success was
entirely satisfactory. At first her receptions
were only attended by the French aristocracy,
as some of the American leaders declared they
"didn't know her at home," but gradually they
fell into line, and Mrs. Ayers realized her
fondest hopes and found herself surrounded

THINGS I REMEMBER 119
with a coterie of ultra-smart people. She and
I became great friends ; alone with me she was
perfectly natural, and I was greatly amused
at her powers of observation and keen insight
into human nature. "These people think
they're using me," she would remark, with a
chuckle, "but they are wrong, for I tell you,
Fred Martin, I'm using them all the time,
although they never suspect it."
Mrs. Ayers had an intense horror of death,
and she often told me she hoped she would
never know when her hour had come. Her
wish was granted, for one morning when the
maid went to waken her the knock was un
answered. Mrs. Ayers had passed away in
her sleep; she looked perfectly peaceful and
happy, and her little pet dog still slept in
ignorance of what had happened to its
mistress. I shall never forget this dweller in Vanity
Fair, and I think the story of Mrs. Ayers' so
cial career proves what one full of firm pur
pose can do. Here was a woman who had

120 THINGS I REMEMBER
been repressed year after year, and who had
lived in a groove seemingly contented, but
who yielded to the insistent demand of her
inner self for a larger life. A trivial triumph,
you will hear the moralist say. Perhaps so,
but a triumph of the kind at seventy is surely
worth recording.
Another character in Parisian society was
the Baronne de la Selliere, formerly Mrs.
Livermore, who lived in the next house to
Mrs. Ayers and entertained on the same ex
tensive scale. She was a charming woman,
and her sister-in-law, the Princess de Sagan,
always endeavoured to persuade the Baronne
to become quite French in her appearance.
"You've no idea how beautiful your white
hair looks," I once said to her.
"Do you think so?" replied the Baronne;
"well, I don't mind telling you, in the strictest
confidence, that the Princesse de Sagan in
sists that I shall never be really smart until
I dye my hair red."
The Princesse de Sagan was not happily

THINGS I REMEMBER 121
married, but she wore her rue with dignity,
and the fashionable world never suspected that
differences existed, or that her husband was
paid £2000 to stand by occasionally and help
his wife to receive her guests at the Palais
Talleyrand. Mrs. Stephen Pell was a complete contrast
to Mrs. Ayers and the Baronne de la Selliere.
Her role was a serious one; she never lost any
of her Puritanical ideas, or favoured the elab
orate chiffons so beloved by the other ladies.
Mrs. Pell's grey hair was worn in two smooth
bands, and her black silk gown was plain to
severity; she looked like a Quaker, and had
a very sermonizing manner, which always put
me on the defensive until I remembered what
a good woman she was deep down.
She was wonderfully kind to Emma
Eames, who was then in poor circumstances
studying singing in Paris. Mrs. Pell believed
in the girl's future, and had the satisfac
tion of seeing her prognostications come true.
Madame Eames never forgot her benefactress,

122 THINGS I REMEMBER
for in after years whenever the prima donna
was in Paris, she always insisted on singing
to Mrs. Pell's friends, and I remember one
evening Mrs, Pell getting up and solemnly
opening a work-box, out of which she took a
diamond necklace which she gave to the
singer, much in the manner in which a teacher
presents a pupil with a prize.
I wonder whether Madame Eames ever re
calls her early struggles, or thinks of the days
when she went to and from the opera in a
crowded omnibus accompanied by her maid?
I remember she once told me how interested
she was to hear the criticisms of her singing
from those of the passengers who had been to
the opera and who little suspected that the
prima donna was beside them.
I have had the pleasure of meeting many
interesting people during my various visits to
Paris, and Madame de Sorchams, an acquaint
ance of my youthful days, introduced me to
John Singer Sargent, who was then studying
Art in Paris, "I want you to dine with me.

THINGS I REMEMBER 123
Fred Martin," said my friend, "to meet a
young American who, in my opinion, will go
very far," so I was naturally interested in the
thoughtful young man with the penetrating
eyes who sat next to me the following evening,
and whose conversation proved him to be some
one quite out of the ordinary, Sargent seemed
to read one's inmost soul ; indeed the souls of
his sitters always show through their faces,
and I wonder how certain people have ever
had the courage to have their portraits painted
by this exponent of "Know Thyself,"
Bonnat and Carolus Duran were friends of
mine, and Bonnat painted several members of
our family, Carolus Duran was a very ro
mantic person, and I remember when he was
painting my niece. Lady Craven, that he
would often put down his palette and brushes
suddenly, and commence to play the guitar,
I have always considered Rodin to be the
greatest living genius, and the impression he
made upon me when I visited his studio is
ineffaceable. The sculptor was in his work-

124 THINGS I REMEMBER
ing blouse, and I could not help admiring his
marvellous head. His personality was posi
tively magnetic; the whole air seemed to vi
brate with some subtle force, and when he
spoke about his art he became absolutely en
grossing. "Small wonder," thought I, "that
this man is famous."
I remember a curious story connected with
my first introduction to a very beautiful wom
an, whom I met at dinner. After we had
chatted together for some time, she remarked,
"Mr. Martin, I've noticed that you have been
staring at me, why is it? Has any one told
you anything about me?"
"No, indeed, madame," I replied, "I have
heard nothing, but I must plead guilty to
having looked at you with interest. You have
the saddest eyes I have ever seen, and the more
I look the more I am impressed by their
sadness," "Yes," she assented. "I have had an un
happy life," but she gave me no further in-

THINGS I REMEMBER 125
formation. Later in the evening another lady
asked me what I thought of Madame X.
"It is no wonder she seems miserable," she
said, "she has a most tragic history."
"Indeed," I replied; "would it be a breach
of confidence to tell me?"
"Oh, no, it's everybody's secret," answered
the lady. "When Madame X. was younger
and more beautiful than she is now, her son,
a charming lad of eighteen, who was at
college, received an anonymous letter which
accused his best friend of being his mother's
lover. The boy was dreadfully upset, and
with the impetuosity of youth he set off to see
his mother in order to get the truth from her.
"When he reached home he saw that the
hotel was ablaze with light, for Madame X.
was about to give a great ball, at which all
fashionable Paris was expected. Heedless of
anything save the monstrous accusation, the
boy rushed into his mother's boudoir and gave
her the fatal letter, exclaiming as he did so.

126 THINGS I REMEMBER
'Read this — you must, I beg of you, tell me
that it is untrue.'
"His mother read the letter slowly; there
upon she crumpled it up and threw it across
the room with a gesture of supreme disdain;
then she turned to her son and said —
" 'By what right do you dare to show me
this?' " 'By the right of my love for you,' he
replied. " 'I refuse to answer any questions which
refer to this letter,' answered Madame X. in
freezing accents. 'Be good enough to leave
me.' " 'So,' cried the poor boy, 'you can't, you
won't deny it. Then it must be true.'
"Half-mad with shame and grief he rushed
to the window, and threw himself out before
his mother's eyes. He was dashed to pieces
on the pavement below, but Madame X.
seemed absolutely callous, for her one fear
was that her ball might have to be cancelled
if her son's awful end became known. She

THINGS I REMEMBER 127
gave orders that the body should be taken up
stairs, and then she descended to the ballroom,
where the first guests were beginning to arrive.
"The evening was a brilliant success, and
the dancers were unaware of the presence of
death in that lovely, glittering house; indeed
the coroner was not notified until the next
day. Gradually, however, the truth leaked
out, and when Society realized the horrible
heartlessness of which Madame X. had been
guilty, she found many doors closed against
her, and it's only just lately that she has begun
to be received again."
I was much shocked. "No wonder," said I,
"that she looks sad."
"Ah," replied the lady, "I believe she will
never be happy again."
I think that Paris will suffer a distinct loss
when my dear old friend. Miss Reed, passes
away. At her charming house in the Rue de
la Pompe the extremes of Fame and Fashion
meet, and I think Miss Reed would be well
named "The finder of stars," for she has in

128 THINGS I REMEMBER
her day introduced Madame Melba, Mary
Garden and Sybil Saunderson to the world
of music and song.
Sybil Saunderson came to Paris to study
singing, and directly Miss Reed heard her she
declared, "My dear girl, you must meet Mas
senet, I'm sure he'll be enchanted with your
voice." With Miss Reed to think is to act,
and an informal musicale was arranged at
which Massenet was present.
Sybil Saunderson stood by the piano look
ing like a frightened school-girl and com
menced to sing. I glanced at the composer,
who was listening intently; then his eyes
sought Sybil's, and their expression seemed to
give her encouragement, for she sang to him
alone, her whole face transfigured with love
of her art. The young girl's voice so fas
cinated Massenet that he taught her to sing the
title-role of his opera Esclamonde, and her
success was assured from the first night of its
performance, when a crowded house ac
claimed her as a new operatic star.

THINGS I REMEMBER 129
She was a beautiful creature, dreamy, ethe
real and full of profound belief in an all-
protecting Providence, but Sybil was never a
great actress ; she could not express the human
chord in her beautiful voice; passion was
unknown to her, and her singing left her
hearers slightly cold,
Sybil Saunderson discovered Mary Garden,
and introduced her to Miss Reed. She was a
wonderful "find," and I think she is unrivalled
as an actress of temperament. Mary Garden
can depict the emotions; she has a tempestu
ous personality, and to me she always seems
the embodiment of the Battle of Life. It is
pleasant to record that she never loses an
opportunity of acknowledging her indebted
ness to Sybil Saunderson; it is a charming trait
in her character, and an unusual one for a
prima donna to possess, for few of the queens
of song ever care to remember the days before
they were famous,
Madame Melba has honoured me with her
friendship. "Do you remember, Mr, Mar-

130 THINGS I REMEMBER
tin," she has often said, "how hard I worked
in Paris, and how kind Miss Reed was?
When I see girls now who pretend to work
and give themselves terrific airs, I feel in
clined to tell them that they don't know the
meaning of the word,"
The great artiste is certainly a most de
lightful woman, and I remember how she
once danced the cake-walk with me at Palm
Beach, Florida, after her concert at the
Flagler Mansion, Melba was enchanted
with the negro songs which she heard for the
first time, and when supper was over the
orchestra played cake-walks which were quite
unfamiliar to her, "But I must dance one,"
she declared. "So teach me, Mr. Martin."
We had a regular jolly time, and I believe
Madame Melba thoroughly enjoyed herself;
she threw herself heart and soul into the
fun, and soon danced like a past-mistress of
the art.
I remember seeing her in a more serious

THINGS I REMEMBER 131
mood one Christmas in New York. I was
staying at the Plaza Hotel, and as I was pass
ing through the lounge I saw Melba sitting
alone, "My dear Madame Melba, I'd no idea you
were in New York," said I,
"Well, I'd rather be anywhere else," she
answered, "for I feel dreadfully lonely, I've
got to sing to thousands of people who have
homes, and who are enjoying Christmas, but
I'm quite homeless to-night."
I felt sorry, for I could see that she was
really miserable, and it was only the promise
to dine with my family which prevented my
asking Madame Melba to dine with me.
And yet there was a subtle irony in the situ
ation! Here was a great singer feted and
flattered everywhere, and she who had so
much, wanted so little — only to be at home
on Christmas night!
But I am diverging in leaving Paris for
New York at the magic of Melba's name,

132 THINGS I REMEMBER
and I am quite forgetting my charming com
patriots who made American-Parisian life so
pleasant. The value of a woman's personality has
been strikingly exemplified by the wives of
some of our Ministers, and I think Mrs,
Henry White carried off the palm for tact
and understanding. She knew exactly who
were the right people, and her dinners and
teas illustrated the parable of the sheep and
the goats. The sheep were invited to dinner
and the goats browsed contentedly through
the teas. Happily, they never suspected why
they were asked to these informal gather
ings, and such was Mrs. White's savoir faire
that nobody ever felt neglected,
Mrs, Whitelaw Reid was considered a
splendid hostess, but her entertainments were
outrivalled by those which she afterwards
gave in London, Her husband resigned his
position in Paris, as he was asked to run as
Vice-President with General Harrison, but
Whitelaw Reid gave up the substance for

THINGS I REMEMBER 133
the shadow, for he was defeated in the elec
tions, and I think he always regretted leav
ing the Embassy,
General Porter possessed the proud dis
tinction of having been the first Minister to
make a speech in French in the Tuileries
Gardens. He was most popular with the
Parisiano, and one met the most charming
and distinguished people during his term of
office. Mr. and Mrs. McCormick were not very
much liked, for Mrs, McCormick, who was
a strong-minded woman, did not believe in
entertaining Americans, Her idea was to
confine her hospitality to the nation they had
been sent to live with, and the Bacons pur
sued the same unpopular idea.
The Goodrichs kept up all the best tradi
tions of hospitality, and Mrs. Sears enter
tained for her father with great dignity. I
remember a rather amusing incident which
occurred at one of their receptions, when
the butler came up to Mr. Goodrich and said

134 THINGS I REMEMBER
with an air of mystery, "Miss Loie Fuller
has just arrived, sir."
"Well, why doesn't she come up?" asked
the Minister.
"Please, sir, she says she's too nervous,"
replied the butler.
Mr. Goodrich at once hurried down and
soon discovered the shy dancer. "Come right
away with me," he insisted; so the Minister
and Loie Fuller went upstairs together, and
his kindness doubtless saved her a mauvais
quart d'heure, for although Loie had by this
time overcome stage fright, she did not feel
quite equal to facing an Embassy reception.

CHAPTER VI
Victor Hugo's funeral: Under the Arc de
Triomphe: Severe simplicity: A poet's progress:
The heart of the people : I recall another funeral :
The King of Hanover: "The divinity which doth
hedge a king": Paris as a spectacular background:
My apartment: My hobby: A man of peace: I
give a party in the Bois : Cleo de Merode : Flaming
June: A long wait: Cleo appears: Why she was
late: The ordeal by sunlight: Was she afraid of
freckles?: The Gallic temperament: Mrs. Potter
Palmer : A champion of women : The business ca
pacity of the American woman: "Do it yourself":
The Duchesse de Chaulne: "Dook or no dook":
Mrs. Campbell's common-sense: Vanished faces:
"One must have courage": Rome and the Popes:
Pius IX questions me about America: "Au Re-
voir": My audience with Leo XIII: A dignified
Pope : "Are you of my faith ?" : I explain that I am
anxious to receive the blessing of a good man: I
see Pius X: His extreme simplicity: I am pre^
sented at the Quirinal: Queen Margherita: Her
charm: "The Pearl of Savoy": Social Life in
Rome: I meet Madame Ristori: Talks over the
135

136 THINGS I REMEMBER
tea-cups: Ristori tells me about her meeting with
Queen Isabella of Spain: "Anything you like to
ask is granted" : "The life of a poor man" : Isabella
keeps her promise: F. Marion Crawford: "A
Cigarette Maker's Romance"
I SHALL never forget the day when I wit
nessed the funeral of Victor Hugo. We were
in Paris when he lay at the point of death,
and I well remember seeing people raise
their hats in silent sympathy as they passed
the modest house in the Avenue Victor Hugo.
The wish of the nation was to give the
master a public funeral, so the Government
decided that Victor Hugo's body should lie
in state under the Arc de Triomphe during
a whole night, and the corpse was accord
ingly removed thither, escorted by soldiers
who afterwards guarded the dark pall-cov
ered coffin. All night long great torches lit
up the scene, and countless thousands kept
their quiet vigil beside the remains of one
of the greatest men of letters France has
produced.

THINGS I REMEMBER 137
Victor Hugo had expressed the wish that
his funeral should be conducted with ex
treme simplicity, but this very simplicity was
more impressive than an elaborate cere
monial, as never before was the popularity
of the dead man so strikingly demonstrated.
I saw the procession from a window in the
Champs Elysees, and the cortege took hours
to pass a given point.
Almost every man and woman present
carried a wreath, and the only sounds which
broke the stillness were the steady tramp of
the mourners, and the melancholy grandeur
of Beethoven's Funeral March, which was
played by the band of the Garde Republi-
caine to the accompaniment of muffled
drums. At last, after an interminable period of
waiting, I saw the plain hearse, drawn by
two horses, which contained the body, and
I felt all the dramatic effect of such extreme
simplicity. This unpretentious bourgeois
hearse appealed far more to the public than

138 THINGS I REMEMBER
nodding plumes and caparisoned, sweeping-
tailed horses, for it stamped the poet as one
of the people, a man who loved and under
stood the heart of the world, and never did
a monarch pass in such triumph as did the
body of Victor Hugo on the way to its final
resting-place at the Pantheon.
This funeral carried me back to memories
of another I had witnessed years before,
when I had looked over the Champs Elysees
at the gorgeous procession which escorted the
remains of the last King of Hanover to the
grave. The Prince of Wales and many other
royalties followed the hearse, which looked
like a mountain of flowers, and the trap
pings of the many horses which drew it were
dazzling with silver stars. What a contrast
to the funeral I had just seen! The flower-
decked hearse bore the remains of a lonely,
embittered, blind King, who had been de
posed from his throne and exiled from his
country, to find a grave in a foreign land.

THINGS I REMEMBER 139
He was, doubtless, well and truly mourned
by those who loved him, but the splendour
of the mourners in their gorgeous uniforms,
and all the "divinity which doth hedge a
King," counted as little to my mind in com
parison with the dignity of the simple obse
quies of Victor Hugo.
I think Paris affords a wonderful back
ground for spectacular displays. Some peo
ple dislike the Gay City, and are invariably
depressed when there, but it has a peculiar
fascination for me, and I love my apartment
in the Avenue Gabrielle, where I have en
shrined my Lares and Penates. Collecting
has always been my hobby since I was a small
boy, and I remember how I used to pay,
on the instalment plan, for some "curiosity"
which took my fancy. Those days are past,
but I am still thrilled with the joy of a
"find," and, as a man of peace, it is strange
to admit that my taste for the antique lies
principally in Tudor and seventeenth-century
weapons.

140 THINGS I REMEMBER
I remember giving a party in the Bois a
few years ago, to which nine hundred guests
came. I had arranged to have half the Pre
Catalan shut off, and as a surprise-sensation
I secured Cleo de Merode to dance during
the afternoon. The engaging Cleo was then
in the height of her "publicity," let us call
it, for I do not think she was ever really
famous as a dancer, and many of my fair
friends considered that "starring" her was a
slightly daring undertaking.
It was a brilliant day in June, and the sun
beat down on the silk-covered dais on which
Cleo de Merode was to dance, but we waited
in vain for her appearance. I began to get
nervous, and sent to see whether the lady had
arrived or whether she had telegraphed the
evergreen falsehood "Unavoidably detained,"
for every one was saying, "This must be one
of Fred Martin's jokes."
At last, just as the sun dipped behind the
trees, Cleo arrived on the scene, arrayed in a
light summer drapery consisting of a few

THINGS I REMEMBER 141
yards of orange-coloured gauze, and duly
danced before my guests. Her performance
appealed more to the husbands present than
to their wives, and it was not until the party
was over that I heard the reason why Cleo
was late.
As a matter of fact she came in plenty of
time, but she positively refused to face the
ordeal of dancing in the sunlight. She was
perhaps conscious that she was at her best
when it was dark; perhaps she was afraid of
freckles. At any rate, she remained in her
stuffy dressing-tent until the sun was low and
she could venture forth in safety.
The Gallic temperament has appealed to
many Americans, but to none more strongly
than to Mrs. Potter Palmer, who has now
practically deserted London for Paris, and
lives in a beautiful hotel in the Rue Con-
stantin. She is a wonderful personality, and
her speeches on the Woman question at the
World's Fair made a very deep impression
on those who listened to them. Mrs. Palmer

142 THINGS I REMEMBER
manages her great estates with remarkable
acumen, and she always continues to keep in
touch with everything and everybody worth
knowing. It is interesting to contemplate
the business capacities of the American
woman, and it is very rare to find any of
our social leaders who do not go thoroughly
into minute details of their affairs, believing
doubtless that if you want a thing well done
— do it yourself,
I remember how the Duchesse de Chaulne
decided to bring up her little son after her
husband's tragic death, "Dook or no dook,
he's got to earn his own living," said her
father, old Mr, Shonts, so the Duchesse left
France for America, where the young Duke
is being brought up to work and to appre
ciate its value. Surely this is a striking ex
ample of the practical American woman, who
never allows her head to be turned even in
the most dazzling conditions.
Another example of sound common sense

THINGS I REMEMBER 143
has been shown by Mrs. Douglas Campbell,
who married the nephew of the Duke of
Argyll. Amy Campbell loved Paris; she
had hosts of friends there, whose kindness
helped her to endure an unhappy marriage,
but since her separation from her husband,
Mrs. Campbell has given up her life in Paris
and has devoted herself entirely to her son's
education in order to prepare him for the
duties of his future station.
Paris is sometimes a place of saddened
memories for me when I think of the
familiar faces which have vanished for ever
during the last few years, and I shall espe
cially miss my friend Pierpont Morgan, who
loved Paris almost as much as I do. In
1895 I travelled with him from Rome to
Paris, and we spoke of many things. "Fred
Martin," said Pierpont Morgan, "one must
have courage to make money. I believe I
could go into my office and pick out at a
glance any one there who possesses pluck

144 THINGS I REMEMBER
and who will succeed in life," He was a
very delightful man, and the soul of gener
osity. The mention of Rome reminds me of in
terviews which I had with Pius IX, Leo
XIII and Pius X, My brother and I ob
tained the honour of an interview with
Pius IX through the good offices of Cardinal
Antonelli, and on the appointed day we pre
sented ourselves at the Vatican, where we
traversed many splendid rooms, until at last
we reached the Pope's apartments.
We were then conducted to a small room
hung with beautiful tapestries, and we waited,
feeling rather nervous, for the Holy Father
to make his appearance. After a few minutes
Pius IX came in, and I remember how I was
struck by his sweet eypression, and the charm
of manner which attracted every one to
him. The Pope was dressed in white with a
scarlet hood, and he walked leaning upon a
stick. We knelt when he entered, and Car-

THINGS I REMEMBER 145
dinal Antonelli stepped forward and an
nounced our names.
"Americans?" inquired the Holy Father
in a pleased voice, as he came forward and
extended his hand for us to kiss, I told him
how I had always wished to see him, and
Pius replied kindly —
"Well, my son, it gives me great pleasure
to welcome you and to give you my bless
ing," Then, turning to Howard, he said,
"Is this your brother?"
The Pope asked us many questions. What
did we think of Rome? Had we been happy
there? What was New York like? Then he
solemnly gave us the blessing of St, Peter and
took leave of us, saying as he reached the
door —
"Au revoir, mes amis,"
My audience with Leo XIII was due to
the kindness of his nephew, and I remember
how I thought of gentle Pius IX as I passed
through the Vatican to see his successor.
I waited in the little room next the Pope's

146 THINGS I REMEMBER
bedroom, with two missionaries from South
Africa, and presently the valet drew back the
heavy tapestry and announced —
"His Holiness approaches."
We fell on our knees, and I shall never
forget the dignified old man who came into
the room and with arms extended gave us his
blessing, Leo XIII was something like Voltaire in
appearance, and his face seemed like a skull
covered with skin. But his eyes were full of
fine intellect, which seemed to triumph over
the feeble body; after he had said Mass he
sat in a golden chair, and we were presented
to him.
The Chamberlain conducted me to a cush
ion close to the Papal chair; I knelt down,
and Leo XIII looked at me gravely.
"My son, are you of my Faith?" he asked.
"No, your Holiness," I replied, "I am a
Protestant." "Then why," said the Pope somewhat
sternly, "do you seek an interview with me?"

THINGS I REMEMBER 147
"Your Holiness," I answered, "my reason
in asking for this interview arose from my
wish to receive the blessing of a good
man." His face changed, the severity disappeared,
and he smiled kindly.
"My son, I will give you my blessing most
willingly, but first I should like to talk to
you." We had a very interesting conversation;
the Pope asked me all kinds of questions
about America. "I do hope," he said, "that
your great nation will spend its time in
strengthening itself and refrain from engag
ing in wars; wars are fatal to the progress
of mankind."
As the Pope warmed to his subject he oc
casionally lapsed from French into Italian,
and when the interview was over he said —
"And now, my son, I will give you my
blessing." He leant forward as he spoke and
kissed my forehead, saying, "May you love
God and serve Him," and as I rose and

148 THINGS I REMEMBER
backed to the door he smiled and waved his
hand in farewell.
Pius X impressed me by reason of his
extreme simplicity. He came unattended,
save for the President of the American Col
lege, who was there to introduce the Ameri
cans who were present.
The Pope looked like a quiet country
priest, and when he heard that I had re
ceived the blessing of two of his predecessors,
he said —
"Not only will I bless you on coming this
third time to the Vatican, but I will also
bless your family in my prayers."
Shortly after my interview with Leo XIII
my friend Mr. Wayne MacVeagh (the Amer
ican Ambassador at Rome) presented me at
the Court of the Quirinal, where I had a
most interesting conversation with Queen
Margherita. The Chamberlain ordered that the repre
sentatives of each nation were to be grouped
together, so when the Queen came in she

THINGS I REMEMBER 149
walked about and conversed with the Ger
mans, English and Americans present.
We Americans only numbered four, and
the Queen, speaking in the most perfect
English without a trace of accent, asked me
how I liked Rome.
"Some one has told me," she remarked,
"that you are seeing a great deal of social
life here. I hope you'll find Rome so at
tractive that you will re-visit it next winter."
As she was talking Queen Margherita
dropped her fan, which I picked up and re
turned to her, to be thanked with the greatest
charm. I do not think I have seen a more
beautiful woman than the Queen of Italy
was at that time, and it is not surprising
that she was called "The Pearl of Savoy."
"Tell me about New York," she asked,
"what is it like, does it resemble Rome?"
I could not help smiling. "Your Majesty,"
I replied, "I can sum up the answer to your
question in a very few words. There does
not exist a greater contrast."

150 THINGS I REMEMBER
I enjoyed social life in Rome exceedingly,
for I met many delightful people. I often
heard Miss Reed's name mentioned by those
who remembered her beautiful voice and her
enthusiastic friendship with Liszt, which had
its birth in the Eternal City, and which lasted
until the great pianist's death.
It was at one of these charming reunions
that I first met Madame Ristori; the great
actress was so pleasant to me that I frequently
went to see her, and many were the agreeable
chats I enjoyed.
Madame Ristori told me that once when
she was acting in Madrid she was command
ed to the Royal Box as Queen Isabella wished
to converse with her.
"The Queen," said Ristori, "was most
gracious to me. 'It gives me the greatest
pleasure to witness your wonderful acting,'
she cried, and then in the true Spanish man
ner Isabella added, 'My house and all it con
tains are yours; anything you like to ask is
granted.' "

THINGS I REMEMBER 151
"What request did you make?" said I,
much interested.
"I did not hesitate a moment," replied
Ristori. " 'Madame,' I said, 'if you really
wish to give me whatever I ask, may I beg
you to reprieve the poor man who is to be
garrotted to-morrow morning.'
"The Queen frowned and hesitated. 'Very
well,' she answered, 'your wish is granted.'
"Isabella kept her promise, and the con
demned man was released on the eve of his
execution, but I doubt whether he ever knew
to whose intercession he owed his life."
I was greatly interested at hearing this
human story, and the expression of Ristori's
face as she told it to me was a thing to
remember. One of my pleasant memories of Rome is
my meeting with the late Marion Crawford.
His wife was a most charming woman, and
I remember she asked me which of her hus
band's books I liked best. "A Cigarette
Maker's Romance," I replied.

152 THINGS I REMEMBER
"Well," said Mrs. Crawford, "that was
written for me when I was ill. My husband
used to write a chapter at a time and read it
aloud to amuse me; the 'Romance' continued
in this way until I was well, and by that time
it had grown into a novel."

CHAPTER VII
Looking backward: London in the seventies:
The growth of hotel life: Clubland: The border
line : The repose of society : Modern woman : Suc
cessful sinners: Vows sometimes made to be
broken: The season: Then and now: The day of
the automobile: Church versus car: The three
arbiters of fashion: The Mahlon Sands': Mrs.
Sands' friendship with the late King: A cold din
ner: At Waddesdon Manor: A house-warming:
Interesting visitors: I talk to the Prince of
Wales: His visit to America: The Souvenir
Cigar: H.R.H. is amused: His dislike of Ameri
can men: His criticism of adverse criticism: The
late King's ideas of dignity : Where fools rush in :
The aspirant's downfall: The Rothschilds: How
they purchased pictures: Miss Alice Rothschild:
Tears have their uses : I meet Mr. Gladstone : His
opinion of the masses: Their ultimate power:
New ideas : How Mr. Gladstone defied time : The
cobwebs of the Old Country: The power of the
Press: Houses and their occupants: What the
supersensitive experience: Death of Mahlon
153

154 THINGS I REMEMBER
Sands: His talents: A witty answer: His accident:
"Better death than life without thee": A last in
terview with Mrs. Sands: Her sudden end: "Ills
have no weight and tears no bitterness"
Looking back on London as I knew it in the
seventies and eighties, I am astonished at the
developments which have taken place, and at
the big changes in hotel and restaurant life.
When I came to London there were no big
hotels; fashionable people went to Brown's,
Claridge's, Thomas's and to the Langham,
which had just then been built.
I was greatly impressed by the repose of
Society in those days. The spirit of unrest,
with which we are now familiar, was prac
tically non-existent. Clubland claimed the
men, and there was none of the intimacy be
tween the sexes which exists to-day. Women
did not golf, or go in for sports, and it was
only when hunting that they met the Lords
of Creation on equal ground. Ladies were
not the companionable beings they are now,
when many of them smoke with the men,

THINGS I REMEMBER 155
listen to risky stories without a blush, and
discuss stocks and shares with businesslike
acumen. The "Nut" and the "Flapper"
were luckily unknown, and the sight of a
girl lunching alone with a young man and
enjoying a cigarette would have been a thing
undreamt of. People lived with more dig
nity and sinned more successfully than they
do now, for divorce cases with nauseating
details, which make the fortunes of some
cheap newspapers, were much rarer than they
are to-day, when marriage vows seem to be
regarded by certain people as a joke.
The best families came up to London and
settled down for the three months season, but
these stately trips have been to a great extent
swept — I might say "petroled" — away, now
that the automobile has bridged long dis
tances. The many empty houses in the best
streets bear silent testimony to the power of
the car, which does away with the necessity
of taking a furnished house for the season,
and enables people to run up and down from

156 THINGS I REMEMBER
the country and do theatres and balls with
out fatigue.
There is no doubt that the automobile has
become one of the most powerful enemies of
the Church. Once it was customary for
fashionable people to go to fashionable
churches, and to walk afterwards in the Park.
Now, many smart women often neglect their
duty to God by not going to church, and their
duty to their neighbour by not showing off
their toilettes when the service is over. In
stead of going to church they are off some
where by car, and the practice is steadily
increasing. The three arbiters of Fashion when I first
came to London were Lady Cork, the Hon.
Mrs. Lowther and Mrs. Bentinck. These
ladies ruled Society; once "passed" by them
all was well, for their verdict set the seal
of approval upon newcomers in the social
whirl. My greatest friends in those days were Mr.
and Mrs. Mahlon Sands, who had settled in

THINGS I REMEMBER 157
London and went everywhere. Mrs. Sands
was a beautiful woman who possessed a great
power of attraction, and the late King, then
Prince of Wales, liked her and her husband
and honoured them with many proofs of his
friendship. I shared a house in Town with Harry
Sands, Mahlon's brother, and Mahlon and
his wife did everything possible to enable
us to have a good time.
I remember Mrs. Sands once telling me of
an occasion when the Prince of Wales hon
oured her with his presence at dinner. She
asked the Prince about the guests he wished
to meet, and received the charming reply,
"All your friends are delightful, but I must
ask you one favour, do give me a cold dinner
all through." So everything, from soup to
savoury, was served cold, and H.R.H. ex
pressed himself as delighted.
Mrs. Sands told me it was wonderful to
see the pleasure the Prince took in small
things, and nothing delighted him more than

158 THINGS I REMEMBER
to examine all the presents which were sent
to him on his birthday and at Christmas.
I met the late King for the first time when
I went down, with the Sands', to the house-
warming given at Waddesdon Manor by
Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild.
A most interesting house-party had been
invited to meet the Prince of Wales, among
them being Mr. and Mrs. Henry White (the
former just commencing his diplomatic ca
reer as Second Secretary at the American
Legation), Lord and Lady Cadogan, Mr.
Arnold Morley and the beautiful Lady
Brooke (now Countess of Warwick), who
was in the zenith of her loveliness.
I had several opportunities of talking to
the Prince, and I shall never forget the im
pression which Edward the Peacemaker
made upon me. He was better as a listener
than as a conversationalist, but what he said
was infinitely tactful and sensible, and he
seemed to enter thoroughly into the subject
about which he was talking. I told the

THINGS I REMEMBER 159
Prince that I had seen him on his only visit
to America, when my uncle, who was adju
tant-general on Governor Morgan's staff, had
conducted him by train to the border of the
State of Massachusetts. "When you left the
train, sir," I continued, "you handed my
uncle a cigar, with some charming acknowl
edgment of his attention. 'Shall I light your
cigar?' you asked."
"My uncle answered laughingly, 'If your
Royal Highness will permit me, I would pre
fer to keep it intact, so that the souvenir of
your condescension may not end in smoke.' "
The Prince seemed amused and interested,
and he asked me what were my impressions
of his visit; we discussed America and the
Americans, and I was surprised at his knowl
edge of many things that had happened on
the Other Side. He bade me good-night
with many kind words, and I felt greatly
honoured, for the late King never cared
much for American men. Mrs. Sands once
asked him the reason, and received the reply.

160 THINGS I REMEMBER
"They are not adaptable, that's the r-r-rea-
son!" The late King used to tell Miss Alice
de Rothschild that although American wom
en were charming, his one adverse criticism
was that they passed judgment upon each
other too sharply. "Whenever I ask Con
suelo Duchess of Manchester about an Amer
ican lady," said H.R.H., "I am invariably
told, 'Oh, sir, she has no position at home;
out there she would be just dirt under our
feet.' "
King Edward could be very severe with
those who overstepped the rules prescribed by
etiquette, and I remember what happened
to an American girl who offended him. At
a smart bazaar, the winner of a lucky lottery
ticket had the privilege of asking three wishes
from the Prince of Wales, and Fate favoured
a young lady from the States.
"What is your first wish?" asked H.R.H.
"Oh, sir, it is to have your photograph."
The Prince beamed. "Granted," he said.
"And the next?"

THINGS I REMEMBER 161
"I would like you to bring me the photo
graph in person."
H.R.H. hesitated, frowned, and recovering
from his surprise answered, "That shall be
done, now what is the last?"
Never was the truth of the saying so appar
ent that "Fools rush in where angels fear to
tread." The young lady disregarded the
warning looks from those around her. "The
third wish, sir, is that you will present me
to the Princess of Wales."
The Prince looked at her coldly. "Grant
ed," he said, and walked away without a
word. The silly girl realized that she had
sinned against Society, which never forgives
fools. She made a hasty exit, and the waves
of the social sea closed over her for ever.
I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Waddes
don, which is a palatial residence, and I have
the happiest remembrances of the Roths
childs. I once asked Baron Ferdinand how
his family had collected so many beautiful
pictures, and he told me that in the old days

162 THINGS I REMEMBER
the Rothschilds used to visit sales unnoticed
and bid for the pictures they fancied. When
the purchase was completed it was never
paid for by cheque, but always in notes and
gold, and afterwards taken away in a four-
wheeled cab.
Alec Yorke's brother, Eliot Yorke, was the
first Christian to marry into the house of
Rothschild, when Miss Annie de Rothschild
became his wife in 1873. Her father was
asked why on earth he had so departed from
the family traditions, but he merely shrugged
his shoulders and replied —
"What else could I do, when I had tears
from my wife and daughter from breakfast-
time until bed-time?"
I met all kinds of delightful people at the
Sands' house in Portland Place, and I was
frequently invited to meet Mr. Gladstone at
dinner. It was most interesting to hear his
views upon current topics, and I remember
him saying with great emphasis —
"Mr. Martin, believe me, if you don't give

THINGS I REMEMBER 163
the people their rights they'll take them."
This remark was a propos of a discussion he
was carrying on with a member of the Cab
inet. They were talking about the growth
of education in the lower classes, and Mr.
Gladstone predicted the ultimate power of
the masses at no distant day. "The schools
are now filled with children," he said, "who,
when they grow up, will think for them
selves, and will not allow the Lord of the
Manor to think for them."
I once remarked to him, "I think it's mar
vellous that you can do so much and keep
your health." Gladstone smiled. "Well, I
manage to keep well, because I always go to
the country to recuperate. I keep my en
thusiasm because I'm always on the look-out
for new ideas, no matter where I may go,
and I find that even a child is capable of
giving me a fresh thought."
As I looked at Gladstone I marvelled at
his mental force which defied age, and his
whole bearing was such that he might well

164 THINGS I REMEMBER
have been taken for a man in the prime of
life, instead of one who was nearing the end
of his day.
He took a keen interest in American de
velopment and the great possibilities latent
in the United States. "Ah, Mr. Martin," he
would say, "you in that New Country pos
sess such vitality and power that the very
winds which come from the Atlantic bear
sufficient strength on their wings to brush
away many of the cobwebs of prejudice which
still cling to the Old World."
Mr. Gladstone's greatest charm was his
simplicity of manner, and the intense interest
he showed when he listened to the conversa
tion of others. He had a perfect obsession
about the value and importance of the Press,
and he often said to Mrs. Sands, "The golden
rule of daily life is to commence the morning
with your newspaper. Read what has hap
pened the day before, or you will never keep
in touch with the world."
I often think of my dear friends Mr. and

THINGS I REMEMBER 165
Mrs. Sands, who are both dead, and I do
not think that the house in Portland Place
will ever again have such charming occu
pants. I wonder whether personalities cling
to houses, especially when those who lived in
them were people of temperament. It is
certain that some dwellings have the faculty
of inspiring peace, while others have a con
trary effect, but luckily for most tenants it is
only the supersensitive who receive these
uncanny impressions.
Mahlon Sands predeceased his wife. He
was a very able man, and I believe he would
have made his mark in American politics if
he had had an ambition that way. I remem
ber once hearing a story about him when
Senator Conkling was laying down the law
at a dinner in New York. Sands seemed
somewhat abstracted, which annoyed the
speaker, who rapped the table sharply and
said in acid accents —
"Young man, you're a very poor listener."
Mahlon smiled sweetly at the Senator. "Well,

166 THINGS I REMEMBER
that depends," said he, "upon who's doing
the talking."
Poor Sands, he met with a fatal accident
when riding in the Park, and I shall never
forget the agonized appeals of his wife to the
doctors at St, George's Hospital, Minnie
Sands was one of those women who cannot
exist without love. Her husband represented
to her all that made life worth living, and
after he died she did not wish to live. "Bet
ter death than life without thee," wrote a
heroine of the Renaissance, and this applied
to Minnie Sands. I was the last friend who
saw her on the day of her sudden end. As
I said good-bye she placed her hands on my
shoulders, "Fred," she whispered, "you've been such
a comfort to me in my sorrowful hours."
"Ah, Minnie," I answered, "but is it not
good that you can look back on your brilliant
days?" "Perhaps," she said, "but sometimes I fear
I spoilt my husband's career when I asked

THINGS I REMEMBER 167
him to live in England, he had such great
talents, I wonder whether he ever felt sorry
he didn't take up a political life,"
"He never regretted his career," I assured
her, "for his love for you was stronger than
his ambition,"
I said good-bye to Mrs. Sands and prom
ised to come again very soon, but little did I
dream that I had seen her for the last time.
After I left the house my poor friend went
to lie down in her boudoir, and there Death,
sudden and merciful, came and transported
her to the land where "ills have no weight
and tears no bitterness,"

CHAPTER VIII
Cowes: Pleasant Recollections: I meet the late
King: The value of royal anecdotes: A reviewer's
disapproval : Viscount de Stern : Alexander Yorke :
A wonderful mimic: He imitates Queen Victoria:
A summons at the window: "I'm a done man":
The Prince's command: "What will the Queen
say?": Alec plays hymns: I meet Sir Oscar Clay
ton: A distinguished physician: His weakness for
titles: "I've met seven Duchesses": It is worry
that kills: Want of money often the root of
bodily evil : Cheques instead of prescriptions : The
Prince comes to supper: The missing singers:
H,R.H. consoles Stern: "A Feast of Lanterns":
An English peerage for £70,000: Lord Wands
worth: An election story: Mrs. Mackay at Cowes:
Her marvellous jewels: Dancing the "Boston":
Lady Henry Lennox: What constitutes enjoy
ment?: Cowes recalls Cannes: The Earthquake:
The late King at Cannes: Mrs. Campbell of
Craigie: "Lend me your valet": He pours the
coffee over the cloth: H.R.H.'s kindness: Adele
Grant and Lord Cairns: Monte Carlo: Gambling
resorts in the sixties: The four friends: Garcia:
168

THINGS I REMEMBER 169
His system: The Prince and the gambler: Dis
reputable company: Where did the Duchesses
come in?: The clergyman and his daughters:
Playing by proxy: Twice lucky: Why "twenty-
three" was wrong
Some of my most pleasant recollections linger
around Cowes, where I have spent many
"weeks" and where I often had the honour
of meeting the late King.
I have observed that a certain section of
the English Press appears to disapprove of
the publication of anecdotes of a "human"
character concerning King Edward, and I
remember that one of the leading Sunday
newspapers severely criticized a recent book
of Recollections because it contained what
the reviewer described as "trivial" stories
about the late King. The critic, who was
obviously sincere, implied that it was bad
taste on the part of people who had met
King Edward to talk about him as a man;
in fact, he practically dubbed them pre
sumptuous.

170 THINGS I REMEMBER
I think that anecdotes of the late King
which show him in a kindly light possess
considerable interest to this generation, for
in a manner they keep green the memory of
a monarch who was intensely admired by his
subjects — thousands of whom were in sym
pathy with him as a man who loved life and
always got the best out of it,
I spent one delightful week at Cowes as
the guest of Viscount de Stern (who was
afterwards created Lord Wandsworth), and
among his guests was the Hon, Alexander
Yorke, then Gentleman-in- Waiting to Queen
Victoria. Alec Yorke was a wonderful mimic, and he
could imitate Queen Victoria to perfection;
his facial resemblance to his Royal Mistress
was positively astounding when he used to
twist a dinner-napkin into a cap, and act the
Queen to the life; it was rather disrespectful,
but it was certainly very amusing.
One evening I got back late to my host's
cottage, and just as I had fallen asleep I was

THINGS I REMEMBER 171
awakened by some gravel being thrown up
at my window. I got out of bed, opened the
window, and heard Alec say, in disconsolate
tones —
"Fred, for goodness' sake let me in, I'm a
done man."
I at once went downstairs, unbolted the
door, and Yorke appeared, looking the pic
ture of misery.
"What ever is the matter?" I asked.
"There's the devil to pay," he replied
gloomily. "I went to a supper party at Lady
Mandeville's to-night, and H.R.H. was pres
ent. After supper the Prince said to me,
'Oh, Mr. Yorke, will you give us some "imi
tations"? I hear you can take off my mother
very well. Please do so.'
" 'Oh, sir, pray excuse me,' I begged.
'What will the Queen say if it gets to her
ears? She'll never forgive me.' But H.R.H.
commanded, and I had to obey."
I said nothing, but from what I knew of
the Queen's character I entirely sympathized

172 THINGS I REMEMBER
with my friend. Alec, in his anxiety, con
tinued, "The worst of it is that the Queen
told one of the Ladies-in- Waiting that she
had been informed I could mimic, but that
she would never believe I could possibly be
so vulgar."
I do not know whether Queen Victoria
ever heard of what had taken place, but I
fancy not, for she was always very fond of
Yorke, and loved to hear him play her fa
vourite hymns. Alec used to tell me that it
was rather touching to hear the Queen at
tempt to sing a hymn which appealed to her,
for her musical voice had long gone, and she
had to content herself with merely repeating
the words, which she did with infinite
pathos. Sir Oscar Clayton was another of Viscount
de Stern's guests. He was a quaint-looking
little man, a distinguished physician, and a
great favourite with the late King, whose
recovery from typhoid fever was always at
tributed to Sir Oscar's skill.

THINGS I REMEMBER 173
The Physician to the Household had one
harmless weakness: he dearly loved a Lord,
and I remember once hearing him say with
tremendous pride, "I've been in luck to-day,
I've met no less than seven Duchesses!" Sir
Oscar was a kindly man, and when I com
plimented him upon his wonderful success in
his profession, he replied with a smile: "Ah,
Mr. Martin, I should have been far more
successful if I had sometimes been able to
write cheques instead of prescriptions for my
patients, I have not reached the age of
eighty-three without knowing that worry
kills most people, and that want of money
is often the root of bodily evil."
One day Stern came in to lunch looking
well pleased, for the Prince of Wales had
told him he would sup at the Cottage that
evening. The party was to be a small one,
and Stern telegraphed to Town for some
singers, who were expected to arrive at Cowes
by a late boat. The servants spent a busy
afternoon decorating the garden with Japan-

174 THINGS I REMEMBER
ese lanterns, and at night it looked like a
veritable fairyland scene.
After dinner the Viscount was on tenter
hooks lest the singers should disappoint him,
and his feelings can be better imagined than
described when the last boat came in without
them. He was like one distraught, and when
the Prince arrived with Lord Suffield he at
once noticed his host's distress.
"What's the matter?" inquired H.R.H.
"Oh, sir," replied Stern, "I've done my
best to endeavour to entertain you, but the
boat's arrived without the singers."
"Is that all?" laughed the Prince. "Well,
don't let it trouble you, for what could be
more delightful than your illuminated gar
den? And I am sure that no music could
possibly come up to this Fete des Lanternes."
The situation was saved by the Prince's
tact; his host forgot his disappointment,
and the evening ended in a most pleasant
manner. The Viscount was always a little ashamed

THINGS I REMEMBER 175
of his foreign title, and I remember an
amusing election story about him. He had
asked me to address his constituents, but be
fore we went to the meeting I was struck by
Stern's disconsolate expression. "Come," I
said, "what on earth's the matter?" "Well,"
he replied, "it has just occurred to me that
what with my foreign title and your Amer
ican accent my political career will be about
finished to-night." I assured him that I was
not dying to address the electors, and I am
glad to say we did not make such a bad
impression as he anticipated.
The Viscount always looked on the £70,000
which his mother gave the Party as a good
investment, for it ultimately enabled him to
change his name. When Mr. Gladstone gave
up office. Viscount de Stern, of the kingdom
of Portugal, much to his delight, became
Lord Wandsworth, and thoroughly enjoyed
his elevation, by draft, to the English peer
age. I met Mrs. John Mackay for the first time

176 THINGS I REMEMBER
at Cowes, where she had with her, as her
guests, Mr. James Brown-Potter and his
beautiful wife, who afterwards adopted a
stage career with varying success. I remem
ber every one at "Egypt" talking about Mrs.
Mackay, and the women were on the edge
of expectation to see what jewels she would
wear at Mrs. Laurence's ball. I arrived
rather early, and every lady present seemed
to look like the contents of a jeweller's win
dow, so dazzling were the diamonds. I
suppose the display was for Mrs. Mackay's
benefit, and was meant to imply, "Well, you
may possess jewels of untold value, but we
are not quite out of the running."
At last the name of Mrs. John Mackay was
announced, and everybody turned to look,
fully expecting to see a walking Golconda.
Instead of that, there appeared a young and
charming woman, dressed in white, without
a single jewel!
Mrs. Mackay must have enjoyed the sen
sation her simplicity created, and I had the

THINGS I REMEMBER 177
pleasure of dancing the cotillion with her.
The Prince of Wales danced with Lady Ver
non ; his son Prince George, then a shy young
naval officer, had Lady Mandeville for a
partner, and when it was over Mrs. Mackay
suggested that we should dance the Boston.
Nobody seemed familiar with the step, so
we danced it alone, much to the amusement
of the lookers-on. When we had finished,
the Prince took out Mrs. Mackay, who ini
tiated him into the mysteries of the dance, and
soon everybody was trying to "Boston,"
which speedily became most popular at
Cowes. I always enjoyed myself at Cowes, and I
was "put down" for the week at the R.Y.S.
by Lord Suffield, while Lord Henry Gordon
Lennox did the same for my friend Sands.
The late Lady Henry Lennox was quite a
character. One day, when she was lunching
with Viscount de Stern, the conversation
turned upon the pleasures of life. Every one
present gave his or her idea of what consti-

178 THINGS I REMEMBER
tuted enjoyment; some decreed for balls,
others for Musicales, and at last Lady Henry
remarked, in her impressive manner, speak
ing with a slight drawl^ —
"Oh . . , well . , . for myself I like din
ners better than anything else."
"Dinners !" exclaimed her host. "My dear
Lady Henry, surely you are not a gourmet!"
"Oh . . . no . . ." drawled the lady; "I
like dinners because I know I am certain
to have a man on either side of me who can't
get away."
Whenever I think of Cowes it invariably
calls to my mind Cannes, where I have passed
some happy days, although one of my visits
there was saddened by the news of my dear
father's illness and death. That March was
cold and stormy, and I shall never forget the
earthquake which did such tremendous dam
age in France and Northern Italy. I was
staying with old Mrs. Sands at the Villa
Soleil when I was awakened by the whole
house rocking like a ship at sea. I heard

THINGS I REMEMBER 179
screams of terror; people rushed down the
corridor to escape into the open, and I lost
no time in following their example.
Every one was nearly mad with fear, and
it is impossible to describe the awful sensa
tion of the rolling and heaving earth; in
deed, for years afterwards the sound of a
heavy cart passing would make my mind
revert to my first and terrible experience of
an earthquake.
The late King was at Cannes in the eigh
ties, and I remember once receiving an agi
tated message from Mrs. Campbell of Craigie
bidding me come to her cottage at once.
"My dear Fred Martin," she announced,
"I'm in an awful dilemma. The Prince
proposes to dine with me to-morrow night,
and I've only two men-servants. Could you
lend me your valet?"
"Of course," said I, and my man was most
excited at the idea of waiting on the Prince
of Wales. All went well until coffee was
served, when my factotum lost his head, and

180 THINGS I REMEMBER
poured the coffee over the cloth instead of in
H.R.H.'s cup. The late King showed on
this occasion another instance of his usual
kindness. He turned to the man, who was
positively panic-stricken, and said, "Now,
don't mind; it wasn't your fault; you were
nervous," and my servant's comment to me
afterwards was, "Oh, sir, fancy his Royal
Highness being so considerate. What luck
for England to be ruled one day by a man
like that."
I was at Cannes in 1886, when Miss Adele
Grant, now Lady Essex, accepted Lord
Cairns, and I remember how her fiance went
off to Genoa in search of camellias, which
were massed in a floral boat and presented
to her. Tommy Cheyne, then a little boy,
sat in the boat, and every one wished luck to
another Anglo-American alliance.
That night I danced with Miss Berens,
and she remarked how happy Lord Cairns
looked. Little did we dream that the blind
god was even then pulling the strings of Fate,

THINGS I REMEMBER 181
and that Miss Berens, instead of Adele Grant,
was destined to become Lady Cairns.
In those days I often used to go over to
Monte Carlo, which was then a camping-
ground of the aristocracy, instead of being
what it has now become a rendezvous for
tourists. Monte has never appealed to my
gambling instincts, but I have always been
interested and amused in watching the play.
It is frankly acknowledged that the odds are
against the players to the extent of one and
a half per cent, at trente-et-quarante, and
three per cent, at roulette, and many have
been the "systems" invented to break the
Bank. Some years ago four young men determined
to make a tour of the gambling resorts, and
they agreed that directly one of them lost a
hundred pounds all should stop play and
"move on."
At Spa, one of the friends lost a hundred
pounds almost at once, but the other three
won respectively fifty, eighty and two bun-

182 THINGS I REMEMBER
dred pounds. They made a move to Wies
baden, where fortune favoured them with a
gain of three thousand pounds. On the
second night a hundred pounds was lost, and
true to the spirit of the compact, they pro
ceeded to Homburg, from thence to Ems,
then to Baden, and finally they arrived at
Monte Carlo.
Three of them won small sums, but the
fourth, who had placed ten louis at a time
on the transversal, and guarded it by putting
a five-franc piece on zero, won a great deal
of money. The next night one of the party
lost a hundred pounds, and they all returned
to London,
The tour resulted in an aggregate gain for
the four friends of fifty thousand dollars;
but, sad to relate, each of the men lost the
whole of his gains at subsequent visits to
the tables.
The great gambler Garcia played his sys
tem at Baden in the 'sixties, and retired with
a fortune of a million dollars, which he

THINGS I REMEMBER 183
eventually lost when he returned to Spain.
Garcia would pay a thousand francs for a
vacant place, and on one occasion the Prince
of Monaco, who was passing through the
rooms, stopped to speak to the gambler.
"I shall soon win all your money," re
marked Garcia.
"You may win some of that which I have
already won," replied the Prince, with a
shrug, "but the more you and your system
succeed, the greater will be the number of
fools who will try and imitate you."
At one time Baden-Baden was a regular
meeting-place for the European aristocracy,
and many royalties amused themselves with
the roulette wheel. It is recorded that a
country squire once remarked, as he looked
round the rooms, "What a hateful place! I
can't possibly stop another instant with these
disreputable people."
"My dear fellow," said his friend, "what
do you mean? Why, there are three English
Duchesses sitting at one table,"

184 THINGS I REMEMBER
The superstitions are many to which the
gambler pins his faith. He will play on the
number of his room at the hotel; he will
fancy the figures of a friend's age, and he will
even try to tempt fortune with the number
of a hymn, A propos of numbers, I remem
ber hearing a story about a friend of mine
who was walking one day in the Casino
Gardens, where he met an old clergyman,
accompanied by his three daughters.
The girls were very anxious to inspect the
rooms, and, after much persuasion, their
father allowed my friend to take them
through. "And remember you are not to
play," he added, as a parting injunction.
When the girls arrived their guide turned
to them. "Look here," said he, "although
you are forbidden to play, I will put on some
money for you. What's your age?" he asked
the youngest one.
"Seventeen," she answered.
He promptly put a louis on the number

THINGS I REMEMBER 185
seventeen at the roulette table. The little
ball fell into the number seventeen, and
thirty-five louis were handed to the gambler
by proxy.
At the next table my friend turned to the
second girl. "What's yours?" he asked.
"Nineteen," she replied, and nineteen
came up.
"Well," said my friend to the third daugh
ter. "Come along, last but not least."
"Twenty-three is mine," she answered de
murely. A louis was put on twenty-three, but un
fortunately twenty-six came up. The un
lucky third bore her disappointment like a
philosopher, and the little party strolled
through the grounds, my friend walking
ahead with "sweet seventeen."
"If I were to tell this story," said he, "I
should be asked if my name was Ananias.
Nobody would believe that the numbers of
your age and your sister's came up as they

186 THINGS I REMEMBER
did, and if your third sister had been lucky
I should have been told to read the story
of George Washington, and lay it to heart."
"But," replied the youngest of the three
Graces, "my sister's age did come up."
"Great Scott, it didn't!" exclaimed my
friend, "Hush!" whispered the girl, "Lillie told
you wrongly, for she is not twenty-three, but
twenty-six!"

CHAPTER IX
My first meet: Neville Holt: Lady Clarendon:
A visit to Berkeley Castle: Where King Edward
II was murdered: Old-fashioned formality at
Berkeley Castle: Harry Sands does not put in an
appearance at breakfast: I explain the reason:
House or hotel: A peeress of the old regime:
Morning and evening prayers at Lady Galway's:
Careless domesticity: The woman who didn't
know her own house : The late Lady Holland : I
take tea with her: A family spectre: Lowther
Lodge: Singleton: A tragic visit: Sudden death
of Lord Swansea : A night of terror : I see Coombe
Abbey for the first time: Tranby Croft: Mrs,
Arthur Wilson's kindness: Her superstition: The
opal necklace: Jewels and their wearers: Mrs.
Bradley Martin acquires some of the French
Crown Jewels: Marie Antoinette's necklace: "A
band of blood": The story of the missing pendant:
The butler's secret: A thief in the night: The
pearl snatcher : Andrew Carnegie vetoes the wear
ing of jewels: A relic of barbarism: Simplicity
versus Sapphires : The late Duchess of Devonshire :
187

188 THINGS I REMEMBER
Her love of money: A great social leader: An
Ascot story: James R, Keene and the Duchess:
A ladies' luncheon: The best for a debutante:
"Beauty, wealth or brains?": The women's ver
dict: I visit Cawdor Castle: "Not angles, but
angels": From Cawdor to Culloden: Moy Hall:
Relics of Prince Charlie: King George V praises
the shooting: Charlcote: The woods: The stately
homes of England : Sacred trusts : The death-duties
which never leave us: I must not moralize: Mrs.
Stuyvesant Fish prevents me from sermonizing •
I WENT to my first "meet" when I was stay
ing with Mr. and Mrs. Mahlon Sands, who
had taken a small house near Market Har-
borough for the hunting. My friend the
late Lady Clarendon had a place close by,
and we all went over to Sir Bache Cunard's
at Neville Holt where there was a hunt
breakfast. I thought that the old grey house made
a picturesque background for the animated
scene, and Lady Clarendon, a charming un
spoilt woman, took any amount of trouble to
enlighten my ignorance. Although it is years

THINGS I REMEMBER 189
ago I have never forgotten my first impres
sion of this typically English sight, and when
ever I motor over to the Cunards I invari
ably think of the winter morning when I
first saw Neville Holt.
One of my most interesting country-house
visits was when Harry Sands and I went to
stay with the Fitzhardinges at Berkeley
Castle. I thought it a remarkable place,
and its historical associations made a strong
appeal to me.
Lord Fitzhardinge took me down a flight
of stone steps into the gloomy dungeon where
Edward II was murdered. "Tradition has
it," said Lord Fitzhardinge, "that Isabella of
France remained at the top of the steps down
which we have just come, and listened to the
agonized shrieks of her dying husband." I
glanced almost apprehensively around me, for
the dampness and the darkness seemed to
smell of the grave.
A good deal of old-fashioned formality
was observed at Berkeley Castle, and the

190 THINGS I REMEMBER
house party assembled every morning in the
drawing-room, where we waited until break
fast was announced.
The first day after my arrival I noticed
that my host seemed rather fidgety, and at
last he turned to me, and said in a querulous
tone: "Where's that friend of yours? We
are waiting for him." I at once explained
that Harry Sands invariably shunned break
fast and consoled himself with coffee in his
room. Lord Fitzhardinge's brow cleared,
and he said to the pompous butler, who was
standing by the door, "All is well. Nelson —
serve breakfast."
I must confess to a liking for some degree
of ceremonial; it is perhaps more comfort
able for guests to come down whenever they
please and treat their host's house like an
hotel, but I think that the dignity of home
life somehow suffers.
Lady Galway was one of the old regime,
and whenever I stopped at her house I was
conscious that she was tremendously opposed

THINGS I REMEMBER 191
to any laxity in manners. We used to have
morning and evening prayers, to which all
the servants came, and I could not help ad
miring the solemnity and decorum of the
domestics, who seemed to be quite in sym
pathy with the religious observances of their
mistress. Lady Galway had a little weakness for the
sound of her own voice, and she occasionally
spoke in public whenever the spirit moved
her. "Ah, Mr. Martin," she used to say, "Eng
lish people require a tremendous amount to
awaken their interest, and it is very difficult
to hold their attention. However, I have
one resource which never fails me, when
ever I see my audience beginning to get
dull" "What is it?" I asked.
"Well," said my hostess, "at the very first
yawn I begin to talk about the British Navy.
That wakes them up."
I often remember my dignified hostess, and

192 THINGS I REMEMBER
think what a contrast her home presented to
the rushing, careless domesticity of to-day.
People take little or no interest in their sur
roundings ; indeed, a lady of my acquaintance
used to be so seldom at home that her people
were nervous whenever she went out lest she
should forget her own house, so great a
stranger was she there.
The late Lady Holland was another typi
cal grande dame of bygone days, and I re
member taking tea with her at Holland
House. She had a particularly charming
manner, and she told me a great many in
teresting things about her old-world resi
dence, including the ghost story of the first
Lord Holland, who is supposed to come
through a secret door at midnight to revisit
the abode of his former life. The phantom
carries his head in his hands, and on one
side of the secret door are blood-stains which
have never been effaced.
"I shall be the last of my name to live
here," said Lady Holland, with the suspicion

THINGS I REMEMBER 193
of a break in her voice. "After my death
the house will become the property of Lord
Ilchester and his heirs, and I do trust that
it will always fall into reverent hands."
Lowther Lodge lies on the direct road to
Kensington, and my dear friends, Mr. and
Mrs. William Lowther, resided there. Mrs.
Lowther was "great" on early rising, and
never allowed her daughters to stop in bed
to breakfast after a ball; in fact, she called
them in the morning herself. The house
was then quite one of the show-places in
London, and the Lowthers gave delightful
garden-parties in their beautiful grounds,
where occasionally outdoor plays were acted
on the lawn.
I have always been fortunate enough to
receive invitations to many pleasant houses,
but I shall never forget the tragic experience
which befell me at Singleton when I went
on a visit to Lord Swansea.
I left Town one dark, rainy day, and ar
rived at Swansea after what seemed an in-

194 THINGS I REMEMBER
terminable journey, but I soon forgot the
discomforts of travel in the warm welcome
given me by my host and hostess. I had
barely time to dress for dinner, which was
a cheery meal, and our host told us a fund
of anecdotes connected with the days when
he was Sir Hussey Vivian.
I was unable to sleep that night as a regu
lar hurricane raged outside, for the house,
which was close to the sea, was exposed to
the full fury of the gale. I tossed and
turned from side to side, thinking of all the
unpleasant things which usually assail the
sleepless, when suddenly I heard a knock
at my door and a terrified voice called
out —
"Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin! do you know
anything about illness? Papa has been taken
ill; do come with me and see what is the
matter." I put on a dressing-gown, and directly I
saw Miss Vivian's face I realized that some
thing alarming had happened. The gale

THINGS I REMEMBER 195
shook the house, and the draught nearly ex
tinguished the candle I was carrying, as I
followed the poor girl to her father's room,
where Lady Swansea was crouching by the
bed, crying bitterly.
Lord Swansea lay unconscious, and the
butler and two footmen were doing their ut
most to restore animation. As I bent over my
unfortunate host I shivered, and felt almost
sure that he was dead. I went to the dress
ing-table and took a mirror, which I held
over Lord Swansea's mouth, but the surface
remained undimmed.
I felt completely unnerved by the shock,
but I managed to control my feelings and
take Lady Swansea to her boudoir, where I
left her with her daughter. That never-to-
be-forgotten night had one happy result, for
a great friendship has existed ever since be
tween the family and myself; indeed. Lady
Swansea has often said that Fate must have
led me to her at a time when all her sons
were away from home.

196 THINGS I REMEMBER
The first time I visited Coombe Abbey was
in 1884 when Lady Mary Loyd had just
taken it for five years. "Who does this place
belong to?" I asked.
"To a young boy of fourteen — Lord
Craven," replied Lady Mary.
Little did I think that the young boy was
destined later to marry my niece, or that I
should ever come to look upon Coombe as a
second home!
I have very pleasant memories of Tranby
Croft, and my friend, Mrs. Arthur Wilson,
was an ideal hostess. I owe her many de
lightful hours spent at various places of in
terest, for Mrs. Wilson, who believed in let
ting me see all there was to be seen, drove
me somewhere fresh every day until I had
thoroughly explored the surrounding coun
try. My hostess had one superstition which
she has shared with many others — she con
sidered opals very unlucky; indeed, Mrs.
Wilson went so far as to attribute the Tranby
Croft scandal to the baleful influence of an

THINGS I REMEMBER 197
opal necklace, which she never wore again
after the Baccarat case came on.
Speaking of precious stones reminds me
that my countrywomen seem to have made a
kind of corner in jewels, just as my country
men have been the greatest supporters of the
picture trade! My sister-in-law, Mrs. Brad
ley Martin, was fortunate enough to acquire
some wonderful gems at the sale of the
French Crown Jewels, and she now pos
sesses some lovely pieces, notably a ruby
necklace which was made for Marie An
toinette. The necklace has a history, for the story
goes that when the unfortunate Queen first
clasped it round her throat, she gave a shud
der, saying, "Take it away, I cannot bear
this band of blood!"
Mrs. Bradley Martin also has a beautiful
cluster of diamond grapes which belonged to
Louis XIV, and the grapes and their accom
panying pendant were always sewn on her
gown whenever she wore them.

198 THINGS I REMEMBER
I remember the pendant was missed one
night when she had dined with Lincoln,
who was then Minister in London. There
was a great hue and cry for the missing
jewel, but it was never found, although the
best detectives were asked to elucidate the
mystery. One day we heard that Mr. Lincoln's but
ler, who had tried to commit suicide and
was dying, wished to see a member of our
family. The request seemed strange, but I
regret his wish was not complied with at
once, for the secret of my sister-in-law's miss
ing pendant evidently died with him. "Mrs.
Martin's diamonds, Mrs. Martin's dia
monds!" was all the answer he would give
to those who asked him what so troubled
his mind in the hour of death.
We were always apprehensive of another
theft, and I think that at one time we looked
upon every harmless stranger in the light of
a jewel-thief. I remember once, when my
brother and his wife were going to Balma-

Back Row, from left to right: Mr. Frank Otis,  , Mr. F. Townsend Martin, Mr. Lewis Webb (of New York),
Colonel Brinton, The Grand Duke Michael, The Earl of Craven, Mr. Frank Murietta.
Front Row, from left to right: Niall Campbell, Miss de TrafTord, The Countess of Craven, The Countess Torby,
Mr. Bradley Martin.

THINGS I REMEMBER 199
caan they stayed in Edinburgh for the night,
and Mrs. Martin suddenly awoke to find her
husband struggling with a man. She man
aged to ring the bell, and soon the room
was full of people who wondered what on
earth had happened. The proprietor ac
cepted the man's explanation that he had
mistaken the room, but my brother was con
vinced that it was a fabrication, and that the
intruder was a thief who had followed them
from Town.
After this mysterious adventure Mrs. Mar
tin nearly lost her pearls in Paris. She was
wearing a handsome rope of pearls, as she
sat in her carriage on the Boulevard, when
a hand suddenly came through the window
and snatched at them. My brother did not
lose his presence of mind, but struck up the
hand of the thief, who relinquished his hold
and made good his escape.
The possession of valuable jewels causes a
certain amount of anxiety, and I believe the
majority of Mrs. Martin's now spend most of

200 THINGS I REMEMBER
their time at the bank. Personally I am in
clined to share Mr. Andrew Carnegie's opin
ion that jewel-wearing is a relic of barbarism,
and that women are not at their best when
they load themselves with diamonds. But
Andrew Carnegie will never induce women
to think that simplicity becomes them better
than sapphires, or that a dainty ribbon is
better than a riviere of diamonds. I think
that the cold glitter of precious stones liter
ally fascinates some women, and exercises a
kind of spell over them. I have known cases
where certain jewels have become the mas
ters of their wearers, and others where ex
cessive envy of certain ornaments has at last
ended in theft and disgrace. "Dumb jewels
often, in their silent kind, more quick than
words, do move a woman's mind." Never
were truer lines written!
But I fear that my discourse on jewels has
made me forget some of my friends in Lon
don. The late Duchess of Devonshire, then
Louise Duchess of Manchester, was one of

THINGS I REMEMBER 201
the best-known figures in society when I first
came to England; in fact, her social power
lasted until her death.
I cannot say that I cared much for the
"Double Duchess"; she was a wonderful
hostess and a great personality, but I think
she was too much dominated by her love of
money. I remember James R. Keene (the
owner of Foxhall) telling me how he once
circumvented the Duchess of Ascot. He
chanced to see her bearing down in his di
rection, and he at once divined that she had
the intention of asking him to put a large
sum of money on a horse for her. James
knew the lady of old, but he advanced to
meet her with a smile. "My dear Duchess,"
he said effusively, "I've thought of you and
put just enough on my horse to interest
you!" Some years ago when the Duchess gave a
ladies' luncheon at Devonshire House, she
suddenly said to her guests, "Now I want to
know your opinion as to what is most useful

202 THINGS I REMEMBER
to a debutante. Is she best equipped with
beauty, wealth, or brains?"
Each lady present wrote her opinion on a
slip of paper, folded it, and put it on a tray
which was handed round. When the Duchess
counted the replies she found that "Brains"
had an overwhelming majority, and most
people will be inclined, I think, to agree with
the verdict of the ladies.
Another interesting visit was to Cawdor
Castle, when I drove over with some friends
from Balmacaan to see the Dowager Lady
Cawdor, whom I knew very well. Although
the castle has no connection with the historic
murder of Duncan, it is a very interesting old
place, well worth seeing, but I think the most
beautiful thing about Cawdor is the garden,
which seems like a many-coloured banner
lying round the old grey walls. Lady Caw
dor was very deaf, so we were taken over the
place by her young nephews, who showed
us where, in warlike times, melted lead was
poured over the assailants of the castle. There

THINGS I REMEMBER 203
are the remains of a wonderful oak which is
fenced round in a cellar, and tradition states
that when the oak disappears the family will
become extinct.
We duly admired the wonderful tapestries,
but the boys told us that the public were no
longer permitted to see the castle, as the
excursionists had wrought much damage by
their vandalistic habit of scratching names
on the walls. "We used sometimes to paint
the walls ourselves," said Ian Campbell, "for
whenever nervous people stopped here we
gave them plenty of skulls and bats in phos
phorus paint, and some were pretty well
scared out of their wits after they got into
bed." I was a little disappointed to find that my
cherished romance of Cawdor was completely
destroyed, but my hostess told me that Dun
can's castle had long since disappeared, and
that the site of it was unknown. The present
building only dates from the time of James
IV of Scotland.

204 THINGS I REMEMBER
As Lady Cawdor was deaf, I found it
rather difficult to carry on a conversation
with her, although it was delightful to hear
her describe the beauties of her home. "I
think your grandchild is an angel," I said
to her once, as I admired the lovely child,
but Lady Cawdor seemed quite put out.
"Oh, Mr. Martin, I don't agree with you,
fancy you saying that the darling is all an
gles." Naturally I tried to explain that I
had said nothing of the kind, but I was
careful not to pay any more compliments
after that.
From Cawdor we went to Culloden Field,
and called on the Mackintosh at Moy Hall,
a lovely stone-built castle on a loch sur
rounded by lonely hills. The Mackintosh
possesses many relics of Prince Charlie which
are religiously preserved; he is a delightful
host, and King George, who often goes to
Moy, has been known to say that he gets
some of the finest shooting there.
Charlcote was another place, with Shake-

THINGS I REMEMBER 205
spearian associations, which greatly appealed
to me, and whenever I stayed there I loved
to roam in the woods where the Bard had
acquired a taste for stolen venison ; the house
is not large, but it is perfectly charming,
and the Avon, which flows past the lawn,
adds to the beauty of the grounds.
These delightful homes of England have
always interested me, and I could write
pages on what I consider the duties of their
owners. To my mind ancestral properties
should be regarded as a sacred trust, and not
entirely as a source of income; they ought
to be handed down as much as possible free
from debt, although, of course, they can
never be free from death-duties. But I must
not moralize, and I must remember what
Mrs. Stujrvesant Fish once said to me at
dinner: "Don't you get bored dining out
night after night?" she remarked. "What's
the use of it?"
"Well," said I, "the use of it is that we
can get fresh thoughts from one another."

206 THINGS I REMEMBER
"Perhaps," answered Mrs. Fish; "but,
Fred Martin, I'll just tell you right away
that I didn't come here to listen to one of
your sermons."

CHAPTER X
The advent of the American woman in English
society: How the Invasion came about: Miss Je
rome becomes Lady Randolph Churchill: The
Stevens-Paget alliance: The American heiress in
fiction: An impossible character: The Girl from
the Golden West: Then and now: The education
of an heiress: A strenuous life: The Invasion
viewed with alarm by Society: A new influence:
The American's progress : The heiress realizes her
own value: The open-handed daughters of Lib
erty: The uses of advertisement: A good invest
ment: Lady Paget: The belle of Newport: An
ambitious mother: A season in London: The late
King as a matchmaker: Mr. Paget proposes: He
is refused: He proposes a second time: Minnie
Stevens becomes Mrs. Paget: A leading hostess:
Lady Paget's personality : Her pluck : Seven opera
tions I : A society woman's wish : Helen Beckwith :
Her marriage with the Hon. Dudley Leigh:
"Once a friend, always a friend": Lady Naylor-
Leyland: Her beauty: Goethe's Margaret: How
American women adapt themselves to new condi
tions: Are they ever home-sick?: Mrs. George
207

208 THINGS I REMEMBER
Keppel recognizes American influence : The strong
hold of dukedom: Lesser lights: The youngest
American brides: Consuelo Duchess of Manches
ter : A penniless girl : Her poverty : She entertains
the late King at dinner: Where the dishes came
from: Mrs. Ronalds: The story of the necklace:
Madame Waddington : She mixes with the crowd :
A happy answer: The late Lady Curzon: Her
role at Newport: A great lady
The advent of the American woman in Eng
lish Society was almost unheard of before
the Civil War, and this was due to the fact
that up to that time American Society was a
negligible quantity. But a few years later a
change set in, and New York was obliged to
face the fact that it must adopt a more met
ropolitan tone. From the shores of the
Pacific, from the banks of the Monongahela,
and from the great plains of the West and
Middle East came millionaires with their
wives and children who were destined to
change the old order into something entirely
new. The lines of hide-bound convention
were speedily broken down, new blood was

THINGS I REMEMBER 209
infused into feeble stock, and as a result
Venus Victrix, dowered with loveliness and
dollars, set forth to conquer England.
The great Invasion began a generation ago,
when Miss Jerome, of New York, married
Lord Randolph Churchill, a wedding which
may be said to have set the fashion for simi
lar alliances. Miss Minnie Stevens became
the wife of Lord Alfred Paget's son, Miss
Beckwith married the eldest son of Lord
Leigh, the beautiful Miss Mary Leiter be
came Lady Curzon, and Mr. Joseph Cham
berlain took Miss Endicott of Boston for his
second wife.
The American heiress has, until recently,
been regarded as a source of humour by
novelists and playwrights. We are all fa
miliar with the heroine of the "Fuchsia
Leach" type and the impossible parents who
follow in their daughter's triumphal prog
ress; we know her twang and solecisms of
old, and we have sympathized with the noble
families upon whose corns she has so ruth-

210 THINGS I REMEMBER
lessly trodden in her social ascent. But has
this ever been a true picture? There may
have been some justification for the character-
drawing in the past, but the raw material is
non-existent now in families who aspire to
social greatness, and England only sees the
finished product. The girl from the golden
West who came straight to Mayfair, with a
few cowboy admirers lurking in the back
ground, and shocked her aristocratic chaperon
at every turn, is now looked upon as pre
historic or as extinct as the Dodo.
An American girl's debut is almost pre
ordained, for her destiny has been arranged
for her, and her education commences from
the day of her birth. I sometimes pity the girl
who is subjected to the endless routine which
is supposed to fit her for a position in Ameri
can Society, or to qualify her for the British
peerage. There are daily lessons in riding,
driving, all kinds of physical culture, and
from morning until evening she learns afresh
something physically or mentally. It is a

THINGS I REMEMBER 211
strenuous life, not unlike a royal education,
and only the pupil's natural vivacity prevents
her from becoming artificial.
This training has done much to remove
the distrust which the advent of young
America formerly created in England. The
older circles then looked askance upon the
forceful elements in their midst, and the
conservative temperament which dislikes any
innovation fought hard against the new
comers. But this did not last long, for
nothing could have successfully withstood
these charming invaders, whose luxury and
extravagance were almost bewildering. The
new influence made itself felt at once, and
now after a generation it has become a
power. The American woman starts her social
progress unhampered by caste and tradition.
She takes people as she finds them — not on
the valuation of their ancestors; she is a per
son of spirit, she has her own ideas, and she
is worldly to the tips of her fingers. She

212 THINGS I REMEMBER
realizes her own value; she knows what she
wants in exchange for it, and she makes up
her mind that once she has obtained her am
bition she will play her part to perfection.
The heiress makes no secret of her admiration
for a title; she knows that her money will
work wonders, and often some neglected
stately home has looked in pride again under
her benign influence.
These daughters of Liberty are generous.
They spend their money lavishly, but they
spend it with discrimination, and, if their
manner of doing so is occasionally a little
blatant, surely, as the saying has it, much can
be forgiven those who give much. They be
lieve in the value of advertisement, they like
to see society paragraphs about their jewels
and their gowns; and they love to know that
all the world, at the expenditure of a penny,
may read about their vast improvements on
their husband's estates. To them it repre
sents business, not snobbishness, and they re-

THINGS I REMEMBER 213
gard a position in the peerage much as other
people look upon an investment, for in both
cases the idea is that they will become pay
ing concerns.
I think that Lady Paget represents the best
Anglo-American type. I remember her well
when, as Minnie Stevens, she was the Belle of
Newport. All the handsomest men adored
her, and Fred May, from Baltimore, seemed
to be the favoured suitor until her worldly
mother intimated to him that she had other
views for her daughter.
Following Newport came a season in New
York, and afterwards Mrs. Stevens carried
Minnie off to London. The late King, who
was then Prince of Wales, wished to arrange
a match between her and Arthur Paget, but
when Arthur first proposed Miss Stevens re
fused him. After that they met constantly in
society, and then Mr. Paget determined to try
again. "When I first asked you to marry me," he

214 THINGS I REMEMBER
is reported to have said, "my proposal came
from my head. Now it comes from my
heart." Minnie Stevens was married from Thomas's
Hotel, and she at once took her place as a
leading hostess. Her house at 3 Halkin
Street became known as one of the smartest
houses in Town, and the late King was a con
stant visitor there. I think Lady Paget (as
she is now) possesses a most beautiful dis
position, and she certainly showed almost su
perhuman fortitude during her long illness
when she had seven operations. I remember
once going to see her after her accident, and
found her reading a number of letters of
condolence which had just arrived. Some of
them were from crowned heads, but Lady
Paget seemed especially charmed with the
contents of a dirty little note she had just
opened. "Oh, Fred," said she, "this letter has
given me such pleasure. It is from my wash
erwoman, and I don't think anything has

THINGS I REMEMBER 215
delighted me more than that she should have
thought of me."
Miss Helen Beckwith was a fair American
who married the Hon. Dudley Leigh, and
became the chatelaine of Stoneleigh Abbey.
Her father was appointed Commissioner of
the Paris Exhibiton, and the Emperor and
Empress made much of the beautiful girl and
her sisters, who returned to America loaded
with Imperial souvenirs.
After her mother's death Helen received
countless offers of marriage, but Mr. Beck
with would not allow her to accept any of
them. "I've never met the man who is good
enough for her," said he. Miss Beckwith
afterwards went abroad with my brother
Bradley and his wife, and during a visit to
Balmacaan she met her future husband.
I often stayed at Stoneleigh Abbey with
the Leighs. I remember that the room there
once occupied by Queen Victoria and the
Prince Consort was kept unaltered, and that

216 THINGS I REMEMBER
there was also an interesting portrait of a lady
who arrived to spend the afternoon and
stayed for forty years. Helen Leigh died,
greatly mourned, after a few days' illness;
she possessed a splendidly loyal nature, and,
indeed, her motto was, "Once a friend, always
a friend."Lady Naylor-Leyland's marriage was an
other triumph for feminine America. I first
met Miss Chamberlain (as she was then) at
a dinner given by Mrs. Isaac Bell one Sunday
evening. "Don't disappoint me," said Mrs. Bell, "for
I've the loveliest young girl coming that
you've ever seen," and I remember that when
the butler announced "Miss Chamberlain"
I saw my ideal of Goethe's "Margaret."
Rarely, if ever, had I seen such a picture of
virginal sweetness as she presented, and her
appearance did not belie her, for Jeanie
Chamberlain was charming and quite un
spoilt by the world.
After her debut, Mrs. Chamberlain took

THINGS I REMEMBER 217
her daughter to England, and presented her
self with a letter of introduction to Lady
Paget, who at once arranged a dinner to meet
the Prince of Wales. After her marriage to
Sir Herbert Naylor-Leyland, Jeanie became
a great hostess; the late King Edward hon
oured her with his friendship until the time
of his death; and there are few people in
Society who possess the tact and common-
sense of Lady Naylor-Leyland.
It is certainly remarkable how American
women adapt themselves to the conditions of
a new life in a new country. If some of them
regret New York they are wise enough not
to show home-sickness in the land of their
adoption, but there are some ladies who seem
to forget their nationality, notably Lady
Arthur Butler, who has never revisited Amer
ica since her marriage.
Mrs. George Keppel has always recognized
the influence of American women on English
Society; she has very wisely taken the fullest
advantage of it, and at her entertainments one

218 THINGS I REMEMBER
meets the best type of Americans. Mrs. Hwfa
Williams was another hostess who welcomed
the invasion, and felt the magnetic power and
freshness wielded by the new regime.
Even the stronghold of dukedom has yield
ed to the besieging force! A Vanderbilt
heiress captured the historic house of Marl
borough, Miss May Goelet carried her wealth
and herself north of the Tweed as Duchess
of Roxburgh, and there have been two Amer
ican Duchesses of Manchester. As for other
aristocratic victories, the names now fill a
long list. My niece Cornelia was only six
teen when she married the Earl of Craven,
and I think that she and Miss Vanderbilt
must have been the youngest American girls
to marry into the peerage.
And how do these women influence Soci
ety? They influence the social world for
many reasons: they are past-mistresses of the
art of entertaining; they are tactful, adaptive,
broad-minded, and they know to a fraction
the value of money. They take no chances.

THINGS I REMEMBER 219
their plan of campaign is always swift and
effective, and they comprise in themselves the
essence of the spirit of modernity.
Just as marriage with favourites of the
stage often infuses healthy plebeian blood into
some deteriorated aristocratic stock, so mar
riage with American women infuses vitality,
personality, beauty and money into the peer
age, although money is not always the factor
in the case.
The late Duchess of Manchester, Consuelo,
of immortal memory, was a penniless girl
when she married the Duke, but wherever she
went she attracted rich and poor alike, solely
through her fascinating personality. She was
a charming woman, and I remember how she
used to laugh over incidents in her early mar
ried life when she was excessively hard up.
Consuelo told me that on one occasion when
the late King dined with her, the dinner was
practically provided by her friends, who con
tributed plats for the occasion. H.R.H. ex
pressed himself as delighted with the dinner.

220 THINGS I REMEMBER
"And what is more," he added, with a smile,
"I know exactly where all the dishes come
from, for each lady has sent the one I always
like served when I dine at her house."
Consuelo was a wonderful raconteuse, and
the present Duke of Manchester inherits his
mother's gift, for I think I have never heard
any one tell stories, especially negro ones,
better than he does. His wife is an exceed
ingly nice woman, and the informal dances
at her house in Grosvenor Square always pos
sess the merit of originality.
Mrs. Ronalds may be said to have con
quered English Society alone and unaided.
She has always gathered together the best
people in the social world, and I can never
forget her kindness to me in my younger days.
I first met Sir Arthur Sullivan at her house,
and once remarked to him, "It must be a great
comfort to see your works appreciated in your
life-time?" "It is," replied Sir Arthur, "for
I, have lived long enough to see that certain
people may have stones flung at them when

THINGS I REMEMBER 221
they are alive, and stones put up for them
after they are dead."
Mrs. Ronalds had a most beautiful voice,
and the story goes that once her singing so
moved a lady from the States that she left
her seat and clasped her valuable necklace
round the singer's throat, exclaiming, as she
did so, "Pray, pray accept this as a tribute to
your divine voice!"
But with the morning came cold reflection,
and the power of song, so potent on the pre
ceding night, no longer held the impulsive
donor in thrall. Sad to relate, she regretted
her gift, and at last she decided to go round
and see Mrs. Ronalds. The lady wasted no
time in beating about the bush. "My dear,"
she said, "I'm sorry, but I made a mistake in
giving you that necklace. Will you return it,
and accept the excuse that I was carried away
by your exquisite singing?"
"What a pity," answered Mrs. Ronalds,
"for the necklace has been carried away, too.
It's now in my safe at the bank."

222 THINGS I REMEMBER
I cannot bring my recollections of Anglo-
American hostesses to a close without men
tioning Madame Waddington, who before
her marriage was Miss King of New York.
She is a most remarkable woman, and her
husband represented France for twelve years
at the Court of St. James'. Madame Wad
dington knows the secret of popularity, and
she is always ready to try a new experience.
I remember once, when the German Emperor
visited England, that she was very anxious to
learn the opinion of the man in the street, and
to see whether the cheers of the people were
genuine or not. She accordingly stood in the
crowd to watch the procession pass, and nat
urally imagined that she would be unnoticed.
At dinner that night the Emperor turned to
her, "Oh, Madame Waddington," he said. "I
saw you in the crowd to-day."
"Did you, your Majesty," she replied, no
whit taken aback; "I was there because I
wanted to share the people's appreciation of
you."

THINGS I REMEMBER 223
The arrows of age have missed Madame
Waddington, who still retains all her delight
ful personality. Like Mrs. Griswold Gray,
she refuses to allow herself to become old, and
she always says that the best recipe for
youth is to keep oneself in touch with the
times. I always think of the passing of Lady
Curzon with deep regret. I knew her first as
Miss Mary Leiter, when all the doors of
Newport were opened to her by reason of her
sweet personality, and I thought her role of
the modest, graceful girl carried her far. The
Leiters in those days had money, but no in
fluence, and their social success later was
chiefly owing to Mary. She never forgot her
family, for she did everything to further their
interests, and she was mainly responsible
for her sister Daisy's marriage with Lord
Suffolk. When I heard of her wonderful success in
India, and read accounts of the pomp and
ceremonial with which, as Vicereine, she was

224 THINGS I REMEMBER
surrounded, I felt proud to think that Lady
Curzon came from my country. She was a
charming woman, and, better still, a good
one. The breath of scandal never sullied her
fair name; she had no enemies and possessed
countless friends. She was a good daughter,
a good wife, and a devoted mother. Such
was Mary Curzon, one of those noble women,
who, while they adorn this world, make us
think that the angels are not all in Heaven.

CHAPTER XI
William Gillett: The Bachelors' Club: The
Clearing House System: Merit is passed over:
Mr. Gillett's radium parties: Charles Dalison: A
beau of the seventies: The end of a worldly life:
The Whitelaw Reids: A hospitable ambassador:
Mr. Choate: His wit: "Just start cackling,
madam": The late Bradley Martin and his con
nection with Balmacaan: My brother rents Lake-
field: The ghost there: Bradley takes over Bal
macaan from Henry AUsop: A beautiful home:
The shores of Loch Ness : Our love for Scotland :
The joy of life: Another ghost: The spectral
coach: Lord Lovat's funeral: Unlimited whisky:
A two-mile walk: Lady Burton and the late King:
"One thing needful" : Edward VII decorates Lord
Brougham's butler: Our theatrical and literary
neighbours: Sir Henry Irving: The Terrys: Mrs.
Lewis lets her cottage to Barrie: Sir James and
the donkey: His love of children: His retiring
disposition: Memories of Bradley: The best of
brothers: Speaking in public: I go down to the
East End : An audience at Whitechapel
225

226 THINGS I REMEMBER
Mr. William Gillett has been one of the
best-known figures in London Society for
many years, and he will possess an enduring
monument in the Bachelors' Club, which he
founded in conjunction with the late Duke of
Albany and Augustus Lumley.
He has not always led the existence which
is his to-day. William Gillett possesses re
markable business capacity, and the Clearing
House System first originated in his active
mind. I think my friend expected to be
created a baronet in connection with this, but,
as is often the case, his merit was passed over
and some one less worthy received the honour.
However, he can console himself by reflecting
that in these days of strange peerages, baro
netcies and knighthoods it is perhaps better
to go to one's grave as a distinguished com
moner. I do not think any one in the social world
has ever led such a crowded life as William
Gillett. He attends all the smartest wed
dings; he is seen at charitable functions,

Mr. William Gillett (on left), Mrs. Bradley Martin and Count Kergorley
(in carriage), at Balmacaan

THINGS I REMEMBER 227
where he lavishly helps whatever may be the
cause; he stays at the best country houses, and
even at his age he manages to put in an ap
pearance at four dances a night. I once asked
him the reason why he put himself in the way
of being so fatigued, and received the char
acteristic reply, "I go to dances because I love
them." I remember saying to him during a quiet
hour at Balmacaan, my brother Bradley's
place near Inverness, "Gillett, what do you
think of Death?" He looked at me for an
instant without speaking and then answered
in his curiously slow way, "What do I think
of Death? Well, Martin, I think of it as a
long, peaceful sleep. I have always tried
never to do any one harm, I've endeavoured
to spend my money with justice, and I think
I've earned my rest."
I was much impressed by his words, for
they revealed the speaker in a new light, I
used to think that Gillett shared Mrs. Ayers'
horror of death, and I was interested to learn

228 THINGS I REMEMBER
that one who seemed so much in love with
life looked forward to the grave as a well-
earned rest.
Certain facetious people have made fun of
William Gillett's radium parties, and sneered
at his Excelsior reunions ; others have laughed
about the fact that most of his fair friends
have a title, and suggested that his paradise
will be one of "Peri"esses, but my friend
treats all such attacks with good-natured in
difference; in fact, I think he is secretly
amused at the comments. But there are those
who, like myself, respect the real William
Gillett, and I must place on record that he
never lets his left hand know what his right
hand gives. His heart is the real right thing,
and he is a generous giver in the cause of
charity. I remember another Society man who re
sembled Mr, Gillett in many ways. This
was Charles Dalison, who was a great social
light in the 'seventies and 'eighties. He was
invited everywhere, and always used to spend

THINGS I REMEMBER 229
six weeks in Scotland with Lord and Lady
Burton. But as old age approached Mr.
Dalison's invitations began to decline, and,
as he had been accustomed to have every day
booked up for weeks ahead, he felt his altered
positon very keenly.
Mr. Dalison lived just off Sloane Square,
and one evening, in the height of the Season,
he realized the dreadful fact that he had not
been asked anywhere. This was a severe blow
to one who looked upon Society as the breath
of his nostrils, and the old man, who was too
proud to go and sit in his Club, wandered into
the park, where he sat alone in the moon
light. From his chair he could hear the
carriages as they passed and repassed, taking
people to dinners and balls, for at this hour
London was in her most seductive mood. He
could almost smell the roses on the staircases,
and hear the soft strains of music in the
ballrooms; he fancied he saw the beautiful
wearers of beautiful jewels, and the cold eyes
of the stars seemed to mock at his misery.

230 THINGS I REMEMBER
Poor forgotten old man! At last kindly
sleep closed his eyes, and perhaps he dreamt
happily. But slumber brought him a true
friend, for Death had followed her, and when
the sleeper woke his night's vigil resulted in
an attack of pneumonia, which carried him
off in a few days. What a subject for a
master of irony, and what a lesson it
conveys !
Whenever I write on the subject of hos
pitality I am often reminded that we Ameri
cans owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to
the Whitelaw Reids for their entertainments
at Dorchester House, The late Ambassador
was an ideal representative of the New
World, and his wife and daughter seconded
him with wonderful success.
I shall never forget the magnificent ball
given at Dorchester House, at the time of the
late King's Coronation, which was attended
by all the members of the royal family. It
was a splendid sight, but what most appealed
to me was the strong sympathy which seemed

THINGS I REMEMBER 231
to exist between America and the Mother
Country. I think that Mr. Choate was one of our
ablest ambassadors; every one liked him and
his dry humour, and I always remember his
reply to an affected, talkative woman at a
country house. The fair lady was passing
him an egg, when suddenly she let it fall.
"Oh dear, dear Mr. Choate, I've dropped an
egg; whatever shall I do?" she exclaimed.
"Do?" replied Choate, with an impassive
expression, "why just start cackling, madam."
I believe that the name of my dear brother
Bradley is very much associated with Bal
macaan, where he spent so many happy years !
Now, alas! that he is gone, the place possesses
sorrowful memories for us, and it will never
seem the same to me.
In February, 1881, Mrs. Bradley Martin's
father died, and she came to England with
her mother and her husband. For some time
they stayed quietly at Claridge's, and then left
for Scotland. One day at Inverness my

232 THINGS I REMEMBER
brother went into a gunmaker's shop, and
asked the man if he knew where a little good
shooting could be obtained. "Why, sir," said
the man, "Lord Seafield has just died, and I
believe that the shooting over the Balmacaan
estate is to let, and that you can put up at
the inn at Glen Urquhart."
Bradley at once interviewed the agent, with
the result that he took up his quarters at the
inn with his wife and her mother, and had a
very good time, as there was nothing he liked
better than shooting. The keen, cold air suit
ed Mrs. Martin, and when they returned to
America Bradley decided to make an offer
for Balmacaan the next year. Unfortunately
for my brother, Henry AUsop had secured a
three years' lease of the shooting; he had,
therefore, to content himself with renting
Lakefield, which is close to Balmacaan, but
Sir Henry Allsop very kindly allowed
Bradley to have the grouse moors.
I was then preparing to start with Harry
Sands for a trip round the world, but I

THINGS I REMEMBER 233
changed my mind, and went up to Scotland
with my brother and his family. Lakefield
is a quaint old house, and, as its name implies,
it is situated close to a lake. The last owner
had died in tragic circumstances, and if
houses are ever haunted Lakefield certainly
was. We used to hear most weird noises
when all was quiet at night; heavy footsteps
passed along the corridors and often we heard
the sound of a body being dragged down the
staircase. Luckily for us the ghost remained
invisible, although it certainly made its pres
ence felt, but at last we came to regard the
noises with absolute equanimity.
We returned to America that autumn, and
later Henry Allsop offered the lease of Bal
macaan to my brother, who was overjoyed to
secure it, for he was never so happy as when
in the Highlands.
Balmacaan is a large ivy-covered stone
house built in front of the original shooting-
box. The surroundings are beautiful; the
estate extends for nineteen miles along Loch

234 THINGS I REMEMBER
Ness; it has for a background the solemn hills
with extensive deer forests and wild moor
land, where you can get an uninterrupted
view for twelve miles straight across to
Beaufort Castle.
How we have always loved Scotland! I
think there is nothing so beautiful as the
lonely places where the silence is unbroken
save for the occasional whirr of wings and
the hoarse cry of the grouse. In summer the
clear air quivers with the heat; the heather
wraps the moors in purple, and on all sides
one hears the melody of falling water. Does
any repast ever seem so good as when taken
amid such surroundings? And does not life
seem a better thing than it does in the allur
ing town?
Balmacaan, like Lakefield, has its invisible
ghost, and a restless Lady Seafield is said to
drive about in her spectral coach. Every one
who has stopped at the house has heard the
horses pull up at the door, and although
many explanations have been proffered as to

THINGS I REMEMBER 235
the real cause, the mystery has never been
satisfactorily solved.
I remember that I saw my first Scotch
funeral when I was staying at Balmacaan,
and it was a very impressive ceremony.
Mr. W. K. Vanderbilt had rented Beaufort
Castle, but when the news came that Lord
Lovat, the owner, was dead, Mr. Vanderbilt
at once placed the castle at the temporary
disposal of the family.
My brother, his son, Howard and myself
were asked to the funeral, and when we ar
rived at Beaufort we found that Lord Lovat's
coffin had been put in the outer hall. It was
covered with the late peer's robes; his coro
net was upon it, and at the head of the coffin
stood the present Lord Lovat, who was then
a boy of fourteen.
The mourners assembled in the great hall,
a wonderful room, full of family portraits,
armour and trophies of the chase; here we
had luncheon, and I remember there seemed
to be an unlimited supply of whisky and

236 THINGS I REMEMBER
spiced wine. After the meal was over we
started to walk the two miles to the tiny
Roman Catholic Church where the committal
service took place. It was a fine, cold day,
and as we passed along the pipers' lament
fell on the air with its melancholy wail. The
church was crammed to suffocation, and the
Dowager Lady Lovat sat hidden from view
in the choir loft.
We have made many friendships during
the years we have spent in Scotland, and the
Lovats, Frazers and Macintoshes always come
to the covert shoots at Balmacaan. Lady
Burton is another charming neighbour, and
she once told me an amusing incident which
occurred when the late King Edward stayed
at Glenquoich. "I hope. Sir, that you have
found everything to your liking?" she said to
the royal visitor. "Yes," answered the King;
"but, if I may make a suggestion, one little
thing would add greatly to the comfort of
your guests."
"Oh, Sir . . . what can it be?"

• 'it

r^,y

y^i '

THINGS I REMEMBER 237
"Well, Lady Burton," said H.M., "the one
thing needful is a hook on the bath-room
door," How charming King Edward was! Lord
Brougham once told me how the late sov
ereign decorated his butler, an old man who
had been with the family for many years. He
was a valued and privileged servant, and
some one had evidently mentioned this to
H.M., for just before he was leaving the
King took out a decoration and pinned it on
the lapel of the butler's coat, complimenting
him as he did so on the length of his service.
Another "trivial" incident perhaps, but I
think it is worth recording.
I must not forget to mention that we have
had distinguished members of the theatrical
and literary world for neighbours. Lady Sea
field had given a cottage on the estate to Mr.
Lewis, the husband of Kate Terry, and one
year Sir Henry Irving came to stop there.
Irving dined at Balmacaan, and I also made
the acquaintance of Miss Ellen Terry and her

238 THINGS I REMEMBER
sisters Marion and Kate. After Mrs. Lewis
gave up the cottage. Sir James Barrie took
it, and we often used to meet the famous
novelist, pipe in mouth, leading a donkey,
which was usually ridden by one of the many
children staying at his house.
I believe that What Every Woman Knows
was written about this time. Our neighbour
was always willing to assist at the entertain
ments we got up for the tenants, but he could
never be induced to lunch or dine with us.
The happiest moment in my life at Bal
macaan was one night last autumn when my
brother, in addressing a meeting, gave his
whole-hearted support to my proposals. His
warm words of appreciation filled my heart
to overflowing, and as we walked home I said
to him, "This evening has been a happy one
for me, as I know that you are now in sym
pathy with my public schemes." Perhaps I
should not chronicle this seemingly small in
cident, but Bradley was the best of brothers,
and his appreciation was a great thing to me.

THINGS I REMEMBER 239
This mention of speaking in public reminds
me of the occasion when I went down to
Whitechapel to address a big meeting of the
unemployed. It was nervous work, and I
felt at once that the audience resented the
presence of my secretary, who was on the
platform. "Mr. Parsons," I whispered, "I think you'd
better leave me, for I know I must be one
with them." I waited until I heard my car
drive away, and then looked at the cold, hard
faces before me, each of which seemed to ask,
"Why have you come down here?" The
Chairman then introduced me as an Ameri
can who wanted to talk to them, and I rose,
feeling very uncertain about my reception.
I told the men that the Land over the Sea
called for workers. "Don't go to the hearts
of the cities," I said, "let mother earth take
you in her keeping, you'll be safer there than
in a wilderness of bricks and mortar." I
spoke for an hour, and I wondered whether

240 THINGS I REMEMBER
I had made any impression on the starving,
sullen crowd.
"Does yer object to be questioned, guv'-
nor?" cried a voice.
"Certainly not," I answered, "provided I'm
not asked to discuss politics."
I waited a few seconds, and then a man got
up. He was a sallow individual of thirty,
and Socialist was written upon every feature.
"Mr. Martin," he began, "I'll just tell you
I'm chairman of a club down here, and I
came to upset you if I could. Now I'll own
up that my idea of you was wrong. You're
all right."
The candid speaker then sat down amid
applause, and others got up and questioned
me about the possibilities of America until I
felt like a live emigration office. When I
quitted the hall the audience poured into the
street after me, and I left Whitechapel with
many hearty invitations to come back again.

CHAPTER XII
The lure of travel: Its value as an education:
A six months' tour or six years at college?: My
first glimpse of Spain: Tarifa: A Moorish hill
town: The old fortress: A Spartan father: By
moonlight to Begar: Cleanly Cadiz: Madrid:
The usual sight-seeing: June in Norway: Homely
incidents: Cold water is thrown on Howard's
efforts to explain: Towels at last are forthcom
ing: The land of untrodden ways: Trippers in
Switzerland: A walking tour in the Tyrol: A
peaceful spot: "Surely we must be very near
Heaven?": "You must climb higher": I am mis
taken for an Archduke: Wasted ammunition:
We journey to the Holy Land: Illness at Bey-
rout: The last Emperor of Brazil comes to see
me: The sight which gave me life: "The Stars
and Stripes": Round the world with Harry Sands:
San Francisco: The Duke of AthoU: Japan: I
see Fusiyama: The magic of the East: We go up-
country: Then and now: Silent souvenirs: The
fragrance of vanished summers: The Sultan of
Singapore: The cholera epidemic in Ceylon: A
railway accident near Benares: Bombay: Sudden
241

242 THINGS I REMEMBER
death of Lady Ferguson: We leave for Malta:
In quarantine at Suez: From Malta to Syracuse:
A storm: Naples: Back to Paris: The end of the
journey
Circumstances have fortunately enabled me
to indulge largely in my taste for travel, but
I do not in consequence propose to bore my
readers with lengthy impressions of the places
and things I have seen.
I think that travel is the best general edu
cation for any one desirous of enlarging their
mind, and I will go as far as to say that I
believe a six months' tour is worth six years
spent at college. Seneca recognized the value
of travel even in his day, for he wrote with
truth that, "Voyage, travel and change of
place impart vigour."
I first saw Spain thirty-five years ago.
From Gibraltar I went by boat to Algeciras,
and from there to Tarifa, which is a won
derful old Moorish hill town. The fortress
was assailed by the Moors, and defended by
the great Guzman, whose son was taken

THINGS I REMEMBER 243
prisoner. The enemy threatened to kill the
youth if his father refused to surrender, but
the answer of the defender was to hurl a
knife from the ramparts with an intimation
to the Moors that they could carry out their
threat if they pleased.
We left Tarifa by the feeble light of a
young moon, and journeyed by mule cart to
Begar, where we managed to get an hour's
sleep before we took diligence to San Fer
nando, which was the first town to succumb to
the revolutionary forces.
We spent a day and a night at Cadiz, the
cleanest town in a country not distinguished
for cleanliness, and then took the mail train
en route for Madrid. Here I saw the usual
bull fight; I inspected the masterpieces of the
Spanish painters; I went through innumer
able churches, and I marvelled at the won
ders of the Escurial. Just the things that
others have done. But Spain in 1875 was a
lawless land, and after I had encountered a
body of soldiers conveying a large number

244 THINGS I REMEMBER
of bandits to prison, I began to think that a
protracted visit might well be fraught with
danger, so we decided to change the scene.
My brother Howard and I went to Nor
way, where we passed one delightful June,
and there were various pleasant, homely in
cidents connected with this trip that I like
to recall when I am in a pessimistic mood. I
remember delightful meals at farmhouses,
country dances in low-roofed kitchens to the
accompaniment of the rushing torrents out
side, and a wonderful serenade by twenty
farmers' sons.
I recollect an amusing incident which
occurred once at a little farmhouse where
we had arranged to spend the night. My
brother and I went into a room to wash
our hands before supper, but we found
that towels were apparently considered su
perfluous. I called the farmer's wife, but as she was
unable to speak English, Howard attempted
to explain our requirements to her by a

THINGS I REMEMBER 245
pantomimic display. The good woman's face
beamed with joy, and seizing a large pail of
water she dashed it over his head, nearly
deluging him ; after this she apparently real
ized that it was necessary to provide some
thing with which he could dry himself, for
the missing towels were speedily forthcoming.
In those days travelling in Norway was a
journey of exploration and adventure; there
were hardly any tourists ; hotels were few and
far between, and the iron of the railways had
not then eaten into the soul of the mountains.
It was a land of untrodden ways, not like
Switzerland, which has long been familiar
with the feet of the globe-trotter, for even in
my young days hotels sat like vultures on
every spot which boasted a view, and many
a glimpse of nature had to be paid for with
a franc. We went from Sweden to Russia and
thence to Vienna, where we took steamer for
Trieste en route for Alexandria and the Holy
Land,

246 THINGS I REMEMBER
This first visit to Austria reminds me of a
later one when Harry Sands and I left Inns
bruck for a walking tour of several weeks in
the Tyrol. We had a delightfully simple
time, for we lived at little inns where we only
managed to get goat's milk — cheese and black
bread for dinner, but the food was most en
joyable after our hard days' climbing, and
more often than not we made our beds on
the straw in little huts up in the mountains.
One day at sunset we reached a quaint inn
surrounded by cottages, and a great waterfall
turned the wheels which worked the village
mill. It was a peaceful spot, and the thunder
of the cataract was the only sound which
broke the stillness. After dinner was over, I
sat outside and watched the dying day; around
me were the mountains, and far below lay
the beautiful valley from which we had that
morning ascended to these quiet heights.
The rays of the setting sun seemed to kiss
the snow into life ; a faint blush stole over the
brow of the mountains, and a little icy wind

From left to right: Mr. Hugh Warrender, The Countess of Craven, Mr. Franklin Otis, Mr. Frank Murietta,
The Hon- Charles Harris and Mr. F. Townsend Martin (in background")

THINGS I REMEMBER 247
whispered of tranquil days. I seemed so far
from the world that I turned to the inn
keeper and said impulsively —
"Surely I have found the abode of peace;
we must be very near Heaven!"
The man looked at me for a moment, and
then pointing to the mountain tops, he said,
with unconscious cynicism —
"Sir, you must climb higher to find a spot
nearer Heaven, for only two days ago, in the
cottage over there, a lover strangled his
sweetheart. I fear that we are very far
from Paradise here."
After leaving this scene of tragedy we
crossed the mountains to a village which
boasted of quite a decent hotel. Here we
met Mr. James Bryce, until recently British
Ambassador to America, whose great book.
The American Commonwealth, is known
wherever the English language is spoken.
We left one cold morning to continue our
journey through the valleys, and as we passed
the first village we were mistaken for an

248 THINGS I REMEMBER
Archduke and his aide-de-camp, who had
been sent to inspect the troops in that part of
the country.
We thought it very odd to hear the people
cheering as we passed, and, stranger still,
when the same thing occurred while we drove
through another village. The people were
shouting, the bells were ringing, and cannon
boomed to right and left of us. "They take
you for his Imperial Highness," remarked
our driver with a smile.
At last we reached a little town where we
found the streets lined with white-clad chil
dren, and the mayor waiting to pay his re
spects to the representative of the Emperor.
As we drove down the main street more can
non bombed more flowers were thrown, and
many voices joined in singing the National
Hymn. I felt that it would be cruel to dis
appoint the people, and although neither
Sands nor myself possessed the Hapsburg
look or the Hapsburg lip, we saluted as we
passed, to the delight of our coachman, who

THINGS I REMEMBER 249
thought the whole thing was a very good
joke. I often wonder what sort of a reception the
real Archduke received, and I sincerely hope
that enough flowers and gunpowder were left
to make some kind of display in his honour.
Beyrout was the starting-point for our
travels in Palestine, but as I had developed
a chill and high fever on the boat, I had
barely strength enough, when we arrived, to
drag myself to the little house which was
called an hotel.
Howard at once set off in search of a doc
tor, and luckily he fell in with an English
medical man who was staying in Beyrout
with his family. He was a splendid physi
cian, and I owe my life to his constant care,
as I was desperately ill for many weeks.
During this illness I received royalty un
awares. The last Emperor of Brazil, who
was making a tour in the Holy Land, hap
pened to come to the "hotel," and the land
lord informed him that I was lying at death's

250 THINGS I REMEMBER
door. Dom Pedro expressed a wish to see
me, and I remember him standing by my
bed, bidding me take heart, for he was "sure
I was not going to die this time."
I certainly had a bad spell of it. I de
veloped pneumonia, which nearly killed me,
and for a day and a night I was practically
given up. The doctor and his kind wife
used to take turns to support me so that I
could breathe with greater ease, and one day,
when I was gasping for breath, I saw some
thing which made every nerve in my ex
hausted body tingle with emotion.
I could see the bay from my bed, and the
reason for my excitement was the sight of a
sailing ship which had just dropped her
anchor. Against the blue sky of Palestine I
seemed to see a signal of hope, a message of
comfort, for the beloved Stars and Stripes of
my native land fluttered at the mast-head.
Tears filled my eyes, and I had just
strength enough to point to the emblem of
liberty before I fainted. I always like to

THINGS I REMEMBER 251
think that it was the sight of my country's
flag which made me turn the corner, and
when I became sufficiently convalescent, I
was taken on board a vessel bound for Naples.
I went round the world with Harry Sands,
and we started from San Francisco, stopping
at many places en route. I shall never forget
the charm of Assendy Valley, with its forests
of giant trees, and I have most happy recol
lections of a Scotsman, who was the life and
soul of our party, and who turned out to be
the Duke of Atholl.
In August we took steamer for Japan, and
my first glimpse of Fusiyama, silhouetted
against the setting sun, will never fade from
my memory, for I felt in dreamland when I
found myself at last in the Far East where
everybody looked like the quaint figures met
with on golden screens.
We had secured passports which enabled
us to go up country, and, accompanied by a
clever guide, we set off to explore the in
terior. For several weeks we travelled by

252 THINGS I REMEMBER
jinrickshas, and I shall never lose the in
effaceable impression of those happy months.
The longing often seizes me to return to that
Land of Romance, but I think it is better not
to risk the pain of disillusionment, for Japan
is now progressive, and I fear that her pic
turesque past has become like the far horizon.
How vividly travel is occasionally brought
back to us! Dried flowers, lying half for
gotten in the leaves of a book, recall the
fragrance of vanished summers; a wealth of
delicate colour reminds us of that afternoon
when yonder piece of Louis XV brocade
almost implored us to rescue it from the
mean shop in the Quartier, and that brass
bowl has memories of the days when it
glowed in the sunlight at Benares! Yes,
these silent friends from distant lands cheer
many a lonely hour, and though it may be a
sentimental fancy, there are few of us who do
not sometimes indulge in the solace of pleas
ant remembrance.
We passed from Japan to Shanghai, then

THINGS I REMEMBER 253
to Hong Kong, and from there we took
steamer for Ceylon. We spent one day at
Singapore, where we had letters to the Sul
tan, who had us conducted all over his palace
and grounds, and when we parted from him
he gave me his signed photograph, at the same
time expressing a wish that we might meet
later in London.
Our stay in Ceylon was brief, owing to the
cholera epidemic, and I was not sorry to find
myself in Madras, where we spent a few days
before sailing to Calcutta. There we had a
very pleasant time, but whilst travelling from
Calcutta to Benares we found ourselves in all
the horrors of a railway accident. The sights
were terrible; forty-six people were killed,
in addition to the wounded, and I seem even
now to see the long lines of the dead and
dying. We rested at the "Sacred City" after the
shock, and then proceeded to Bombay, where
we had letters of introduction to the Gov
ernor, Sir John Ferguson; but before we had

254 THINGS I REMEMBER
time to present them we heard of poor Lady
Ferguson's painfully sudden death that day
from cholera. She had been taken ill at four
o'clock in the afternoon, and was buried the
same evening.
We were so upset by this sad news, that we
were only too glad to leave for Malta. The
steamer was put in quarantine at Suez, and
for the first time I realized the meaning of
the yellow flag, when I experienced the
strange feeling of our isolation. The news
papers were passed over the ship's side in
baskets; all money was sent down wrapped
in paper, and the authorities would not allow
any one to visit us on board.
We eventually landed at Malta, where we
took steamer to Syracuse; from Palermo we
went on to Naples, and encountered, in the
little stretch of water which lies between
Syracuse and Palermo, the worst storm I have
ever experienced. There were ten of us on
the boat, and the crew seemed more terror-
stricken than the passengers; indeed, the

THINGS I REMEMBER 255
stewards absolutely ignored their duties, and
spent their time grovelling on the floor of
the saloon, beseeching the Virgin to deliver
them. It was an unpleasant experience, and
I should not like to renew it.
From Naples, that city of beauty and beg
gars, we went by gradual stages to Paris,
and my journey round the world was over.
I had visited many lands; I had seen the
various races of mankind, and I somehow
felt that my mind was broadened. In short,
I heartily endorsed the dictum that "Young
men should travel if but to amuse them
selves."

CHAPTER XIII
The late Ward McAllister: "The Four Hun
dred": Restful Society: The old families: The
Queens of Sheba: The Belmonts: Their house in
Fifth Avenue: The two Mrs. Astors: Mrs.
Pierre Lorillard: Her husband •, Tuxedo Park:
Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger: A great-niece of
Washington Irving: "Sleepy Hollow": A royal
exile: Years afterwards: A fete champetre: A
French fancy-dress ball in 1828: The old noblesse:
Mr. Montant and his ancestors: A gentleman of
France: Furniture from the old Chateau: A cos
tume ball : Malibran as a guest : The old Bowling
Green Theatre: Jenny Lind: My friendship with
Madame Nordica: A success of perseverance:
Talents and temperament : The kindest of women :
The late General Grant: His judgment: "Gen
tlemen, we cross the Potomac to-night": Grant
and Lee: A contrast: "Take back your sword":
Robert Lee's request: A generous adversary: The
son who stood upon his dignity: "To dine and
sleep at Windsor" : The little table : What Queen
Victoria said: Out-Heroding Herod: Old Mr.
Germaine: His hobby: A taste for saving money:
2S6

THINGS I REMEMBER 257
Three 'deaths : The callousness of Society : Ward
McAllister's funeral: Five out of a hundred!:
The last music: Life's little ironies: Malicious
Fate: "Man and his littleness perish, erased like
an error and cancelled"
The late Ward McAllister was responsible
for the world-known epithet of "The Four
Hundred," a'S applied to New York Society,
in which the older families never allowed
the turmoil of outside life to enter their social
scheme. The best houses were absolutely
restful, and the present generation will never
know the charm and tranquillity which was
manifest whenever people like Mrs. Scher-
merhorn, Mrs. William Astor, Mrs. John
Jacob Astor, Mrs. Belmont and Mrs. Paran
Stevens entertained their friends.
I remember Mrs. Paran Stevens once say
ing to me: "My dear Mr. Martin, a great
deal of trouble is caused in Society because
every woman expects to be treated like the
one and only Queen of Sheba. If people
would be natural they would enjoy life a

258 THINGS I REMEMBER
thousand times more, because interest in
others always begets sympathy."
The Belmonts were probably the most
prominent leaders of the older set, and Mrs.
Belmont's receptions were distinguished by
the presence of every one who was really
worth knowing. She surrounded herself with
cultivated people, and the first thing that
anybody of note took care to do when they
visited New York was to obtain letters of
introduction to Mrs. Belmont.
The mansion in the Fifth Avenue, now
long since demolished, contained one of the
first private picture galleries of New York,
and the entertainments were given on a gor
geous scale. Later, however, Mrs. Belmont
felt that her health would not support the
social strain which she imposed upon it, and
in consequence she was obliged to forego
much of her former hospitality.
In my young days the Astor Houses were
considered as being quite the show-places of
New York, but they were pulled down and

THINGS I REMEMBER 259
the great Waldorf Astoria Hotel now occu
pies their site. Mrs. William Astor lived at
the corner of Thirty-Fourth Street, and Mrs.
John Jacob Astor resided at the corner of
Thirty-Third Street and Fifth Avenue.
The chief aspiration of the latter lady was
a wish to improve the standard of political
life and to cultivate the literary element in
her set. She is a brilliant woman, full of
social and intellectual attainments, and her
receptions were wonderful gatherings, where
one could reckon to meet the celebrities of
the world of literature and politics.
Her sister-in-law, Mrs. William Astor,
possessed remarkable sweetness and tact. She
loved to make people happy, and so great
was her personality that when Mrs. Belmont
retired from the world, the all-powerful
Ward McAllister decided that Mrs. Astor
was the one woman to replace her.
He accordingly made this known to So
ciety, and Mrs. William Astor succeeded
Mrs. Belmont as the social leader, until bad

260 THINGS I REMEMBER
health also caused her in turn to relinquish
the position she had taken up.
I remember the last dance given by Mrs.
Pierre Lorillard at her house in Fifth Ave
nue, and never did she look more beautiful.
The late Lord Dufferin, then Governor of
Canada, was present, and he seemed to enter
thoroughly into the spirit of that delightful
evening. Mr. Pierre Lorillard was the first
American to win the Derby, but the greatest
monument to his name exists in Tuxedo Park,
which has been a source of endless joy to the
many people who have been able to build
delightful houses around the lake, where a
wilderness of uncultivated forest had previ
ously existed.
Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger was a familiar
figure in New York Society, and I always
loved to talk to her. She was the great-niece
of Washington Irving, and she used to tell
me stories about her uncle and his charming
home of "Sleepy Hollow." The romantic
ivy-covered cottage is an ideal residence, and

THINGS I REMEMBER 261
from the lawns one gets an exquisite view of
the Hudson river, about which the great
author was so fond of writing.
Mrs. Cruger once told me how her uncle
sent for her mother to come and help him to
entertain the exiled Louis Napoleon, who
was then on a visit to America.
A few days after the fete at Sleepy Hollow,
Irving said to his niece, "My dear girl, when
I looked at you wandering about the grounds
with the Prince, I could not help wondering
whether Fate will ever be kind to him and
place him on the throne of France." Mrs.
Cruger said that her mother was received at
the Tuileries after Louis Napoleon was pro
claimed Emperor; as she curtseyed to him
her mind reverted to the pretty garden at
Sleepy Hollow where she had first made his
acquaintance, and it was pleasant for her to
see that Louis Napoleon had not forgotten old
times. Washington Irving, as Minister to Spain,
knew the Empress Eugenie when she was a

262 THINGS I REMEMBER
pretty child, and the friendship between them
lasted until his death.
Mrs. Cruger was a perfect hostess. She
understood to her finger-tips the require
ments of the world in which she moved, and
one of her entertainments is still spoken of as
having been an exact reproduction of a real
French fete champetre. This brings to my
mind a story told me by my old friend
Jules Montant, concerning a fancy-dress ball
given in 1828 by his grandparents, who were
among the earliest French families to settle
in America. Mr. Montant's grandfather,
Charles de Brugiere, left France about the
time of the Revolution. Shortly after his
arrival in the New World he married Mile.
Heloise Teisseire, and built a delightful
house at New York on Bowling Green where
the Produce Exchange now stands. M. de
Brugiere's furniture was sent over from his
old home, the Chateau de Farsac, and he
loved to surround himself with souvenirs of
the fair land he had left behind.

THINGS I REMEMBER 263
Soon after their wedding M. and Mme. de
Brugiere gave a remarkable costume ball, the
first of its kind ever seen in New York, and
the majority of the dresses worn came from
France. Madame Malibran, who was sing
ing in New York, was among the guests, and
she delighted every one with her wonderful
concerts at the old Bowling Green Theatre,
where years after Jenny Lind's flute-like voice
was also heard.
The mention of these two great singers
reminds me of my dear friend, Madame
Nordica, whose acquaintance I made at Bay-
reuth when she sang the part of Elsa. I
always thought her voice lacked an inde
scribable "something," but she was wise
enough to be taught by Frau Wagner, and
I honestly believe that she became a singer
of note chiefly through her dogged per
severance. Madame Nordica was brought up in New
England, and she sprang from the same hard,
narrow-minded race of which my grand-

264 THINGS I REMEMBER
mother Martin was such a typical example.
But her talent and temperament saved her
from leading a small, smothered life, and her
fame as a concert-singer paled before her
later success as an operatic star.
After Nordica's first performance at Bay-
reuth, Frau Wagner, who was sitting in the
theatre, rushed up to the singer, and em
bracing her with effusion, exclaimed, "Oh,
madame, if only my dear husband had been
alive to hear how you have rendered his
music!" The great prima donna is the kindest of
women, and she is always willing to sing for
charity. I remember how she sang for me
one New Year's Eve, and how kindly she
spoke to the poor souls who were my guests.
Madame Nordica has a voice and a heart of
gold, and her sympathy and humanity have
always constituted her greatest charm in my
eyes. The late General Grant was another friend,
and him I am more than proud to have

THINGS I REMEMBER 265
known. I often had the pleasure of meeting
him, as his sons studied law in the office of
my sister's husband, and I well remember
the impressive scene when his body passed
through Albany. The General was beloved
for his humanity, and it is almost superfluous
to mention his greatness as a commander.
He relied absolutely on his own judgment,
and never allowed any one to dissuade him
once his mind was made up.
During the war a meeting of generals dis
cussed the question of crossing the Potomac,
and all those present were strongly opposed
to the plan. Grant listened to their argu
ments in silence, then he rose to his feet, and
said briefly, "Gentlemen, we cross the Poto
mac to-night."
Grant's nobility of character was shown
when the Southern commander, Robert Lee,
surrendered and presented himself before the
General, wearing the splendid uniform given
him by the women of Richmond. He was a
handsome man, a typical courtly Southerner,

266 THINGS I REMEMBER
and his appearance contrasted strangely with
that of Grant, who was sitting on a bench, his
uniform faded and travel-worn, with even
the epaulettes missing.
Lee stepped forward and handed his sword
to the General, who returned it with simple
dignity. "I have but one request to make,"
said Lee, "will you allow my men to retain
their horses? They will eventually return to
their farms, and without horses they cannot
resume work."
Grant promised that his wish should be
complied with, and General Lee always
afterwards spoke in the highest terms of his
late adversary.
Alec Yorke told me a very good story about
one of General Grant's sons who accompanied
his father to Windsor when the late Queen
had formally commanded him to dine and
sleep. General Grant was honoured by taking
dinner with the Queen at a little table, but
his son was told that he would have to dine

THINGS I REMEMBER 267
with the Court in another room. There and
then ensued a really painful scene, for the
young man made very thoughtless remarks
about the indignity of feeding with "under
lings," until at last the matter reached the
Queen's ears. "Well, well," said she, "if the
young man really takes it so to heart, and
doesn't understand Court etiquette, say no
more about it and put another plate at the
small table."
I often think that parents with simple
tastes seem destined to produce children
whose airs and extravagances out-Herod
Herod. In this connection I remember hear
ing my father talk about Mr. Germaine of
Albany, who was a very rich man and kept
all his securities in my father's bank.
Mr. Germaine was a typical miser who
grudged the expenditure of an extra cent, but
his children did not inherit their parents'
propensities, and this caused my father to re
mark one day to Mr. Germaine when he
came to the bank —

268 THINGS I REMEMBER
"I wonder why you worry so much over
money! Death is bound to claim you one
day, and your children will spend everything
you have saved."
"I know all about that," returned the old
man, with a sly chuckle; "but if they get as
much happiness out of spending my money
as I have done out of saving it, then I'll be
amply satisfied."
My father was thunderstruck, until he re
flected that most men have a hobby, and that
perhaps Mr. Germaine really experienced
some pleasure in playing the part of a miser.
I well remember the winter which carried
off three great leaders of the social world, for
Ward McAllister, Henry le Grand Cannon
and Mrs. Paran Stevens all died within a short
time of one another.
What struck me so much was that these
deaths seemed hardly to leave any impression
upon Society, although the dead had slaved
and devoted themselves for years to its serv
ice. Everything went on as usual ; one heard

THINGS I REMEMBER 269
at first the parrot cries of condolence, the
stereotyped remarks suitable to the occasion,
and then the world smiled again.
I went to Ward McAllister's funeral serv
ice at Grace Church with my brother and his
wife, and we could not help noticing that
there were only five representatives of the
"Patriarchs" present, although Ward had
worked for years and years in the interests of
this organization. His winter balls will be
remembered as being wonderful parties,
where those present were solely selected on
account of their birth and position. Each of
the one hundred "Patriarchs" chosen from
New York Society subscribed a hundred dol
lars, and each subscriber was entitled to send
out a certain number of invitations. The
lists were returned for McAllister's approval,
and whenever we entertained a distinguished
stranger in our midst the burning question
was, "Is he worthy of an invitation to the
Patriarchs' ball?"
But if Ward was a person to be placated

270 THINGS I REMEMBER
during his lifetime, the Patriarchs ignored
him as a dead lion, and it was difficult to
realize how little his memory seemed to be
appreciated. There was but a handful of
Society people present at the service, the gen
eral public had crowded in out of curiosity,
and the great band of musicians that had
played at all Ward McAllister's balls as
sembled for the last time at his funeral.
As I left the church I was struck anew by
life's ironies, and how a malicious Fate seems
to derive pleasure in rending the mantle of
our self-esteem. She strips it from us with
cruel fingers, and whispers as she tears away
the last remnant of our false pride: "Man
and his littleness perish, erased like an error
and cancelled."

CHAPTER XIV
Henry M. Flagler: The maker of Florida: His
early struggles: His forceful character: Henry B.
Plant: An unsuccessful rival: An interesting Sun
day: Three great men: My mission in the Bow
ery: The stokers' strike: On board the Kaiser
Wilhelm II: I receive a note : What it contained :
The Bowery boys as stokers: Women who help
humanity: Mrs. William Sloane and her sisters:
Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish and her opinion of me as a
speaker: The famous costume ball: Mrs. Bradley
Martin's wish to give an impetus to trade: A
storm of comment: The ball is denounced from
the pulpit : Threatening letters : We are burlesqued
on the stage: WTiat Theodore Roosevelt said: A
dream of loveliness: Versailles and New York:
Wonderful jewels: Family heirlooms: A touch of
barbarism: The altar of the Golden Calf: The
road to disillusion: My brother decides to live in
London: Lady Craven: Lord Uflington and his
grandmothers: The disadvantages of the Embassy
system: My tour with Mr. E. Clarence Jones:
Apathetic citizens: Archbishop Ireland: A hostile
271

272 THINGS I REMEMBER
reception at Atlanta: A Baptist deputation: Pre
historic cars: A cloud of petrol: "Is this a joy
ride?": A dance at Louisville: The old Gait
House: Southern belles: A curious custom: Was
our tour successful?: My crusade against the idle
rich: Selfish Society: "A traitor to my class":
My appreciation of the American Press: The
lighter side of life: The love of luxury: Unhappy
marriages : The ideal union : The evils of Platonic
friendship: Looking backward: Partings in our
family: The graves of a household: The memory;
of the beloved dead : My wish
The name of Henry M. Flagler will always
be indissolubly connected with the develop
ment of the East Coast of Florida, which he
found a wilderness, and which he transformed
into a veritable Garden of Eden.
His great work of making the railway
from Jacksonville to Key West was a triumph
of engineering, and it will always rank as
one of the "constructive" wonders of the
world. Henry Flagler was born at Avon,
N. Y., in 1830. His parents were Scotch
Presbyterians, and until he was fourteen

THINGS I REMEMBER 273
years of age Henry worked in a little country
store. He boarded with his employers, and
every evening after the shutters were up he
lit his lamp and studied hard, with the goal of
advancement and success always before his
tired eyes.
When I first met Henry Flagler he was a
white-haired old man whose every gesture
and every word spoke of tremendous will
power and force of character. In those days
I had a nervous habit of working my foot
up and down when I was talking, and this
trick irritated my friend. "Fred," said he,
"if you don't stop moving that foot you'll find
it will eventually control your whole body.
Just you stop before it gets the better of
you." Henry Flagler was one of the world's rich
est men, and he never failed to assist people
who showed a disposition to help themselves.
His great schemes gave employment to thou
sands, and his private and public charities
were boundless.

274 THINGS I REMEMBER
One of the first things which he caused to
be built in Florida was a large cemetery.
"What is to be the inscription over the
gates?" I asked.
"Why," he replied, "surely the best words
for such a place : 'That which is so universal
as Death must be a blessing.' "
I remember once we two sat looking over
the sea at beautiful Palm Beach. "How
lovely the earth is!" I exclaimed; "I wonder
if Heaven will be more beautiful than this
scene." "Well, Fred," replied Flagler, "I guess
I'll have no use for Heaven unless there are
railways to be constructed there!" He cer
tainly possesses a dry humour peculiarly his
own, and his retort to his rival Henry B.
Plant is quite worth recording.
Henry B. Plant exploited the West Coast
of Florida in opposition to Flagler's devel
opment of the East, but his schemes were
unsuccessful, and he was greatly mortified at
his failure. One day Plant chanced to meet

THINGS I REMEMBER 275
Henry Flagler, and said to him with a per
ceptible sneer —
"Say, Flagler, where is that fool place they
call Palm Beach?"
"Friend Plant," answered his opponent,
"all you've got to do is to follow the crowd
until you come to it."
One Sunday last Autumn I spent an inter
esting day with Mr. Flagler, Mr. Archbold,
and Mr. John Rockefeller. I met Mr.
Archbold for the first time, and was very
pleasantly surprised, for the general idea is
that he possesses a hard and unsympathetic
personality. Instead of this, I met a most
agreeable old man who listened to my stories
about my work in the Bowery, and who prac
tically repeated Mayor Gaynor's question —
"Are you not afraid to go about as you
do?" And to both questioners I gave the same
answer —
"I'm never afraid of the poor or of broken
men."

276 THINGS I REMEMBER
I think that I owe an enormous debt of
moral gratitude to Henry Flagler, for his
example has enabled me to support life's
troubles with more patience than is in my
nature, and he has done much to help me to
fight the hard battle of self-control.
The mention of my mission reminds me of
an incident which took place shortly after the
appalling loss of the Titanic. I was on the
eve of leaving for England, and a few days
before my departure I addressed a meeting
of the respectable unemployed down the
Bowery. The audience were quite different
from the loafer class, and I urged them to
accept work, no matter how hard or repug
nant it might be. "Work, boys," I said, "go
away from here with the determination to
fight, and I feel sure that you'll win through."
The next morning the papers were full of
the stokers' strike on the Kaiser Wilhelm II,
the very boat on which I had booked my
passage, and when we were well out, every
one wondered whether the inexperienced sub-

THINGS I REMEMBER 277
stitutes, who had replaced the stokers, would
work well enough to keep the vessel up to
time. One afternoon I was handed a note, which
I opened and read with indescribable sur
prise. It ran —
"Mr. Martin,
"Forty of the boys are acting as stokers
on this boat. You told us to take any kind of
work the other night, and we've just done
what you said."
I was overjoyed to find that my words had
found a response, and, when I told the Cap
tain what had occurred, he very kindly al
lowed me to interview the amateur stokers.
They came and stood before me in a grimy
group, but their bearing was that of workers,
and as such I welcomed them, saying —
"This is fine of you, but is it very hard?"
For answer I saw a row of palms extended,
which Were blackened, blistered and raw.
"I guess it is somewhat," said a young

278 THINGS I REMEMBER
farmer from Virginia, who was the spokes
man of the party.
A rush of emotion kept me silent for a
few seconds, and then I cried —
"Boys, let me shake hands with you all. I'd
feel more proud of that than to get the hand
shake of an Emperor."
Women can help to alleviate suffering bet
ter than men, and numerous are the charitable
acts which Mrs. William Sloane and her sis
ters perform. These ladies, no matter what
hours they keep or how late they entertain,
are always ready to commence their day's la
bours in the field of good works, and they
devote much money and a great deal of time
to the good of their fellow-citizens.
Commodore Gerry has done noble work in
founding the Gerry Society, which protects
poor children from cruelty and bad treatment.
The accomplishment of this, and his success
in getting similar laws passed through the
State of New York, will be his most enduring
memorial.

THINGS I REMEMBER 279
I will not take up the time of my readers
by dwelling on my own hobbies in that direc
tion, for I have not written these Recollec
tions as a peg upon which to hang my par
ticular theories, and in this connection I shall
never forget the opinion of Mrs. Stuyvesant
Fish upon my powers as a speaker in the
cause of philanthropy.
"And what have you been doing with your
self to-day, Fred Martin?" she asked one
evening at dinner.
"Oh," I replied, "I've been addressing the
inmates of the asylum for the blind; I spoke
for over an hour, and at the conclusion I
asked my audience which they would prefer
to be — deaf or blind."
"Well, and the verdict?" inquired Mrs.
Fish. "They were unanimous in deciding in fa
vour of blindness."
"What! after hearing you talk for an
hour?" cried my fair friend.

280 THINGS I REMEMBER
So, after this, I will leave charity and re
turn to other topics.
Every year my brother Bradley and his
wife spent their winters in New York, when
they entertained largely. One morning at
breakfast my brother remarked —
"I think it would be a good thing if we
got up something; there seems to be a great
deal of depression in trade; suppose we send
out invitations for a concert."
"And pray, what good will that do?" asked
my sister-in-law, "the money will only benefit
foreigners. No, I've a far better idea; let us
give a costume ball at so short notice that our
guests won't have time to get their dresses
from Paris. That will give an impetus to
trade that nothing else will."
Directly Mrs. Martin's plan became known,
there was a regular storm of comment, which
arose in the first instance from the remarks
made by a clergyman who denounced the
costume ball from the pulpit.

THINGS I REMEMBER 281
"Yes," he raged, "you rich people put next
to nothing in the collection plate, and yet
you'll spend thousands of dollars on Mrs.
Bradley Martin's ball."
The newspapers then took up the subject,
and we were besieged by reporters, but my
brother and his wife invariably refused to
discuss the matter. Threatening letters ar
rived by every post, debating societies dis
cussed our extravagance, and last, but not
least, we were burlesqued unmercifully on
the stage.
I was highly indignant about my sister-in-
law being so cruelly attacked, seeing that her
object in giving the ball was to stimulate
trade, and, indeed, she was perfectly right,
for, owing to the short notice, many New
York shops sold out brocades and silks which
had been lying in their stock-rooms for
years. The ball was fixed for February lo, 1897,
and a day or two before Mrs. Martin met

282 THINGS I REMEMBER
Theodore Roosevelt in the street. "I'm very
pleased that you and Mrs. Roosevelt are com
ing to the ball," she said.
"Oh," he replied, "my wife's going because
she's got her costume, but, as one of the com
missioners, I shall be outside looking after
the police!"
I think every one anticipated a disturbance,
but nothing of the kind took place, and the
evening passed without any untoward in
cident. The best way I can describe what is always
known as the "Bradley Martin Ball," is to
say that it reproduced the splendour of Ver
sailles in New York, and I doubt if even the
Roi Soleil himself ever witnessed a more
dazzling sight. The interior of the Waldorf-
Astoria Hotel was transformed into a replica
of Versailles, and rare tapestries, beautiful
flowers and countless lights made an effective
background for the wonderful gowns and
their wearers. I do not think there has ever
been a greater display of jewels before or

THINGS I REMEMBER 283
since; in many cases the diamond buttons
worn by the men represented thousands of
dollars, and the value of the historic gems
worn by the ladies baffles description.
My sister-in-law personated Mary Stuart,
and her gold embroidered gown was trimmed
with pearls and precious stones. Bradley, as
Louis XV, wore a Court suit of brocade, and
I represented a gentleman of the period. The
whole thing appealed most strongly to my
imagination, and my mind constantly re
verted to the friend of my childhood, the dear
grandmother who would have been so keenly
interested in it all. I remember that Mrs.
James Beekman, as Lady Teazle, wore a
lovely dress, which formerly belonged to an
ancestress, and Mrs. Henry Burnet's satin
petticoat was another family heirloom which
left the scented seclusion of a cedar-wood
chest for this interesting occasion.
Anne Morgan lent a touch of barbaric
colour with her wonderful Pocahontas cos
tume which had been made by Indians, and

284 THINGS I REMEMBER
the suit of gold inlaid armour worn by Mr.
Belmont was valued at ten thousand dollars.
The power of wealth with its refinement and
vulgarity was everywhere. It gleamed from
countless jewels, and it was proclaimed by
the thousands of orchids and roses, whose
fragrance that night was like incense burnt
on the altar of the Golden Calf.
I cannot conceive why this entertainment
should have been condemned. We Americans
are so accustomed to display that I should
have thought the ball would not have been
regarded as anything very unusual. Every
one said it was the most brilliant function of
the kind ever seen in America, and it cer
tainly was the most talked about.
After the ball the authorities promptly
raised my brother's taxes quite out of propor
tion to those paid by any one else, and the
matter was only settled after a very acrimoni
ous dispute. Bradley and his wife resented
intensely the annoyance to which they had
been subjected, and they decided to sell their

THINGS I REMEMBER 285
house in New York and buy a residence in
London. Four years previously their only daughter,
Cornelia, had married Lord Craven, and my
brother felt that the family affections were
now implanted in the Old World. His
grandson, who was born in the year of the
famous ball, was such a source of pride to us
all that I believe the advent of the boy finally
decided the Bradley Martins about leaving
New York.
Lord Uffington possessed the distinction of
having two grandmothers and three great-
grandmothers at his christening. I was
romantic enough to speculate whether the
spirits of gentle Mrs. Townshend and stern
Mrs. Martin were in the wonderful Adams
Chapel at Coombe, and I smiled as I won
dered what Mrs. Martin would have thought
of it all had she been present in the flesh.
In the winter of 1909 I became engaged in
furthering an object in which I was particu
larly interested. The disadvantages of our

286 THINGS I REMEMBER
embassy system have always struck me most
forcibly, and it seems scandalous that, with
the exception of Constantinople, there should
be no permanent residences for the American
Ambassadors in the various capitals in the
world. The representatives of America are
not always rich men, and the rent of a house
suitable for their position must be a severe
financial strain.
Mr. E. Clarence Jones and I, therefore,
arranged to tour the principal cities with the
object of persuading prominent public men to
influence their representatives in Congress to
favour a Bill for the appropriation of funds
to purchase embassies.
We had a most interesting time, and,
although certain apathetic citizens did not
appear to have any sympathy with the plight
of their homeless Ambassadors, I shall always
recall with gratitude the kindness shown me,
particularly at St. Paul's, Minnesota, by Arch
bishop Ireland. The Archbishop possesses
tremendous influence, and as I was very

THINGS I REMEMBER 287
anxious to meet him I did not mind the
thirty-mile sleigh ride to the place where he
resided. The door of his house was opened
by a typical Irish maidservant, and I was
shown into the presence of the little old man
who controls the vote. He listened to my
views with extreme attention, and then held
up his hand, saying, "My son, I will meet
you in every way."
At Atlanta, Georgia, a prominent patent
medicine manufacturer tried to spoil our
meeting out of pique by running an opposi
tion show of his own, at which Mr. O'Brien
spoke and then afterwards came on to ad
dress our audience, much to the anger of the
pill-man. At Savannah we were met by a
Baptist deputation, and escorted to breakfast
on the beach in prehistoric motor-cars. As
we bumped over the stony roads, occasionally
stopping for lengthy repairs and led, not by a
pillar of fire, but by a dense cloud of petrol
fumes, a cheerful Baptist turned to me, and
said —

288 THINGS I REMEMBER
"Say, Mr. Martin, is this what you New
Yorkers call a joy ride?"
I assured him that such was not the case,
and I shuddered at the thought of the word
"joy" being mentioned in connection with this
malodorous motor run. It was then 8 a.m.;
a cold wind swept the beach, I was unshaven
and hungry, and hoped that baptism by im
mersion would not form part of the morn
ing's programme.
We had a delightful dance at Louisville,
which completely did away with the mem
ories of the horrible "joy ride," for Colonel
Dupont, the owner of the old Gait House,
came back to it and gave a dance in our
honour. I never saw so many typical Southern
beauties as on this occasion, and I made
acquaintance with the amusing custom,
"down South," which prevents a man from
monopolizing a pretty partner.
Directly he feels a tap on his shoulder he
must relinquish the lady, and the fun of the

THINGS I REMEMBER 289
evening consists in dodging the taps so as to
keep the coveted belle as long as he can.
It was an animated pretty scene, rem
iniscent of the days before the war, and
although the Gait House was a bare and
hideous building, what it lacked in beauty
was amply atoned for by the presence of the
lovely girls who danced the happy hours
away. Our tour was productive of some result,
for a small appropriation now exists to re
lieve any financial strain, and my friend Mr.
E. Clarence Jones, with his usual generosity,
took upon his shoulders the entire financial
burden of managing the Embassy Associa
tion, which was formed in connection with
our scheme.
I do not propose to dwell at any length on
the circumstances which led up to my crusade
against the idle rich. I simply felt I must let
a certain selfish section of Society know that
the wealth which they had inherited could
open the gates of untold pleasure for others.

290 THINGS I REMEMBER
I unhesitatingly became, as it were, a traitor
to my own class, and ranged myself on the
side of the poor.
I have not regretted my attitude, although
I must confess that at first it required a cer
tain amount of consideration to act as I did.
The day for making great fortunes is nearly
over — never to return; the people will not
in future allow wealth to be accumulated by
the few, and they will insist upon the rich
bearing in far greater proportion the burden
of the poor.
I have always been nobly seconded by the
American Press in my charitable schemes,
and I tender, through this medium, my
grateful thanks to the great newspapers who
have helped me so cordially, for I can never
forget the reply of the late Bishop Potter to
my question, "What has been the hardest
thing in your career?"
"Begging for money," he answered.
I manage to see a good deal of the lighter
side of life. I have witnessed the great

THINGS I REMEMBER 291
changes which have swept over Society, and
I am forced to think that living becomes
more and more expensive as time goes on.
Extravagance in dress is more marked year
by year, and I think that the love of luxury
is the cause of so many unhappy homes, for
it seems to me that nine out of ten marriages
are failures.
The ideal union is a true friendship be
tween husband and wife, but it rarely, if
ever, exists, for man is a cautious being, and
a woman never allows another than herself
to enter the secret places of her soul.
Platonic friendship is responsible for un
told mischief, because it pretends to be so
safe. It never really becomes harmless until
either party has realized its danger and
knows how to resist its specious allurements.
Passion burns out, and love so-called
withers in the cold winds of the world. I
only give any House of Passionate Love a
life of five years, unless its foundations rest
on the rock of respect.

292 THINGS I REMEMBER
Matrimony is an uphill road, and if either
husband or wife attempts to push their re
sponsibilities to one side the result will in
evitably be disastrous for both.
Looking backward at a very happy life I
feel I have much to be grateful for. There
have been partings in my family, and my
brother Howard and I represent the last of
that happy band of children who played in
the old house at Albany. But the memory
of my beloved dead is ever present, and I
look forward to a day when we shall be
reunited. As for myself, "I expect to pass through
this world but once. Any good, therefore,
that I can do, or any kindness that I can show
to any fellow creature, let me do it now. Let
me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not
pass this way again." the end

INDEX

Albany, 28, 31, 32, 33, 39, 57,
58, 62, 64, 72, 81, 88, 89, 113,
265
Albany, Duke of, 226
Algeciras, 242
Allsop, Henry, 252, 233
Antonelli, Cardinal, 144, 145
Archbold, Mr., 275
Arnold, Benedict, 38, 39
Ascot, 201
Astor, Mrs. John Jacob, 257,
259
Astor, William, 217
Astor, Mrs. William, 257, 259
Atholl, Duke of, 251
Ayers, Mrs., 117-121, 227
B
Baden-Baden, 183
Balmacaan, 198, 227, 232-238
Barrie, Sir James, 238
Beaufort Castle, 235
Beckwith, Miss, 209, 215
Beekman, Mrs. James, 283
Bell, Mrs. Isaac, 216
Belmont, August, 93, 94, 284
Belmont, Mrs., 257-259
Benares, 252, 253
Berens, Miss, 180
Berkeley Castle, 189
Beyrout, 249
Bombay, 253
Bonnat, 123
"Boston" (the dance), 177
Brougham, Lord, 237
Brown-Potter, Mr. and Mrs-
James, 176

Bryce, James, 247
Burden, James, 79
Burnet, Mrs. Henry, 283
Burton, Lord and Lady, 229,
236
Butler, Lady Arthur, 217

Cadiz, 243
Cairns, Lady, 181
Cairns, Lord, 180
Calcutta, 253
Cameron, John, 63, 64
Campbell, Mrs., 143, 179
Carr, Maj.-Gen., 89
Cawdor, 202-204
Cawdor, Dowager Lady, 202,
204
Ceylon, 253
Chamberlain, Miss (after
wards Lady Naylor-Ley
land), 216, 217
Chaulne, Duchesse de, 142.
Choate, Mr, 231
Clarendon, Lady, 188
Clayton, Sir Oscar, 172, 173
Constantinople, 286
Coombe Abbey, 196, 285
Cowes, 169, 173, 176-178, 243
Craven, Countess, 196, 218, 285
Craven, Earl of, 196, 218, 285
Crawford, F. Marion, 151
Cruger, Mrs. van Rensselaer,
260-262
Cunard, Sir Bache, 188
Curzon, Lady (formerly Miss
Mary Leiter), 209, 223
Cushman, Charlotte, 86-88

293

294

INDEX

Dalison, Charles, 228-230
Davies, Julian Tappin, 72
De Haville, 26
Devonshire, Louise Duchess
of, 78, 200
"Double Duchess," see Devon
shire, Louise, Duchess of
Dufferin, Lord, 260
Dupont, Colonel, 288
Duran, Carolus, 123

Eames, Madame, 121, 122
Edinburgh, Duke and Duchess
of, 101, 102
Edward VII, 76, 103, 115, 138,
157-161, 169-171, 173, 174,
213, 214, 217, 219, 236, 237
Endicott, Miss, 209

Grant, Miss Adele (Lady Es
sex), 180
Grant, General, 90, 264-266
Gray, George Griswold, 80, 97
Gray, Mrs. George Griswold,
96, 223
Grinnell, Mrs., 76
H
Hagerman, Mons., 86
Holland, Lord and Lady, 192
Howe, Mrs. Julia Ward, 93, 94
Hudson River, 36-38, 72, 261
Hugo, Victor, 136-139

Ilchester, Lord, 193
Ireland, Archbishop, 286
Irvin, Misses, 79, 96
Irving, Sir Henry, 237

Fenton, Governor Reuben, 70
Ferguson, Lady, 254
Ferguson, Sir John, 253
Fish, Mrs. Stuyvesant, 205, 279
Fitzhardinge, Lord, 189, 190
Flagler, Henry, 272-276
Fuller, Loie, 134

Galway, Lady, 190, 191
Garcia (the great gambler),
182
Garden, Mary, 128, 129
George IIL, 42
George V., 7Z, 103, 204
Gillett, William, 226-228
Gladstone, W. E., 162-164
Glenguoich, 236
Goelet, Miss May (afterwards
Duchess of Roxburgh), 218
Goodrich, Mr., 133

Jackson, Isaac, 58
James, General Howard, 66
James, Mrs., 67
Japan, 251
Jerome, Leonard, 79
Jerome, Miss, 209
Jones, E. Clarence, 286, 289
K
Keene, James R., 201
Keppel, Mrs. George, 217
King, Miss, 222 ; see also Wad
dington, Madame
Kuhn, Mrs. Charles, 93

Lakefield, 233
Lampson, Miss (later Lady
Drummond), 99
Leigh, Hon. Dudley, 215
Leiter, Miss Daisy, 223

INDEX

295

Leiter, Miss Mary, 209, 223
Lennox, Lord Henry Gordon,
177
Leo XIII, 144-147
Lewis, Mr-, 237
Lincoln, Abraham, 90
Lincoln, Mr- (American Min
ister in London), 198
Livermore, Mrs-, 120
Lloyd, Lady Mary, 196
Lorillard, Mrs- Pierre, 260
Louisville, 288
Lovat, Dowager Lady, 236
Lovat, Lord, 235
Lowther, Mr. and Mrs. Wil
liam, 156, 193
Lumley, Augustus, 226

M
McAllister, Mathew Hall, IZ
McAllister, Ward, 72-74, 99,
257, 259, 268-270
McCormick, Mr. and Mrs.,
133
Mackay, Mrs. John, 176, 177
Mackintosh, The, 204
MacVeagh, Mr. Wayne (the
American Ambassador at
Rome), 148
Madras, 253
Madrid, 243
Malmaison, 111
Malta, 254
Manchester, Consuelo Duchess
of, 160, 219, 220
Manchester, Duke of, 220
Manchester, Louise, Duchess
of, 200
Margherita, Queen, 148, 149
Marie, Mr. Peter, 98, 99
Martin, Alice, 33
Martin, Anna, 32
Martin, Bradley, 68, 70-72, 199,
215, 231-233, 238, 280-285
Martin, Mrs. Bradley, 197-199,
231, 280-285; see also Sher
man, Miss Cornelia

Martin, Harriet, 33
Martin, Henry, 33
Martin, Henry Hull, 29-31, 49,
50, 80-84
Martin, Mrs. Henry Hull; see
Townshend, Anne
Martin, Howard, Z2, 101, 105,
145, 244
Martin, Mrs. (grandmother of
the author), 44-47
Massenet, 128
Mayflower, The, 26
May, Fred, 213
Melba, Madame, 128-131
Merode, Cleo de, 140, 141
Monaco, Prince of, 183
Montant, Jules, 262
Moore, Mrs. William, 114-116
Moore, William, 114
Morgan, Anne, 283
Morgan, J. Pierpont, 143
Moulton, Mrs-, 84-86
Moy, 204 N
Naples, 254
Naylor-Leyland, Sir Herbert,
217
New Amsterdam, 27
Newport, 92, 96, 98-100
New York, 36, 55-57, 80, 131,
280-284
Nordica, Madame, 263
Norway, 244, 245

O
Oyster Bay, 27, 28

Paget, Lady, 209, 213, 214, 217
Palermo, 254
Palm Beach, Florida, 130, 274
Paris, 95, 111-143
Pearl, Cora, 113

296

INDEX

Pedro, Dom (Emperor of Bra
zil), 249
Pell, Mrs. Stephen, 121
Pius IX, 144, 145
Pius X, 144, 148
Porter, General, 133
Potomac, 224, 225
Prince Imperial, 106-8

Rajmham, 26
Reed, Miss Fanny, 92-93, 118,
127-128 150
Reid, Mrs. Whitelaw, 132, 230
Ristori, Madame, 150, 151
Robinson, Miss Kate, 84
Rochester, Mrs., 32
Rockefeller, John, 275
Rodin, Auguste, 123
Ronalds, Mrs. Peter Lorillard,
77-79, 220, 221
Rothschild, Baron Ferdinand,
158, 161
Rothschild, Miss Alice de, 160
Rothschild, Miss Annie de, 162

Sagan, Princess de, 120
Sands, Harry, 157, 189, 190
Sands, Mahlon, 156, 157, 165,
166, 188
Sands, Mrs. Mahlon, 157-159,
¦ 165-167, 188
San Fernando, 243
, San Francisco, 251
i Sargent, John Singer, 122
Saunderson, Sybil, 128, 129
Schermerhom, Mrs., 257
Schurz, Karl, 83
Seafield, Lady, 234, 237
Seafield, Lord, 232
Sears, Mrs., 133
Selliere, Baronne de la, 120
Shanghai, 252
Sheppard, Elliot, 70

Sheridan, General, 88, 89
Sherman, Miss Cornelia, 70-
72; see also Martin, Mrs.
Bradley
Shonts, Mr., 143
Singapore, 253
Sorchams, Madame de, 122
Stem, Viscount de (after
wards Lord Wandsworth),
170-175
i Stevens, Miss Minnie, 209, 213,
214; see also Paget, Lady
Stevens, Mrs. Paran, 92, 95,
96, 257, 268
Stuyvesant, Peter, 27
Suez, 254
Suffield, Lord, 174, 177
Suffolk, Lord, 223
Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 220
Swansea, Lady, 195
Swansea, Lord, 193, 195
Syracuse, 254

Tarifa, 242
Terry, Ellen, 237
Terry, Kate, 237
Terry, Marion, 238
Townsend, Dr. and Mrs., 64-66
Townsend, Franklin, 62-64
Townsend, Frederick, 52-55,
59-62
Townsend, Mrs. Solomon, 40
Townshend, Anne (afterwards
Mrs. Henry Hull Martin),
29, 31, 32, 50-51, 68
Townshend, Hannah, 28, 33-
38, 46, 51, 103
Townshend, Henry, 26-28, 31,
38
Townshend, Horatio, 26
Townshend, Isaiah, 31, 38, 63
Townshend, John, 26, 27
Townshend, Richard, 26, 27
Townshend, Roger, 26
Tranby Croft, 196
Travers, Mr., 95

INDEX

297

Troup, Governor (State of
N. Y.), 31
Tuxedo Park, 260
Tyrol, 246 U
Uffington, Lord, 285
V
Vanderbilt, Miss, 218
Vanderbilt, W. K., 235
Victoria, Queen, 102, 103, 170-
172
Vivian, Sir Hussey (after
wards Lord Swansea), 194

W
Waddington, Madame, 222
White, Mr. and Mrs. Henry,
132, 158
Whitechapel, 239
Williams, Mrs. Hwfa, 218
Wilson, Mrs. Arthur, 196

Yorke, Alec, 170-172, 266
Yorke, Eliot, 162
Young Men's Association, 81,
83-87

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