To estimate at anything like their value ante-bellum days at the capital, it must be borne in mind that the period was one of general prosperity and competitive expenditure. While a life-and-death struggle raged between political parties, and oratorical battles of ominous import were fought daily in Senate Chamber and House, a very reckless gaiety was everywhere apparent in social circles. Especially was this to be observed in the predominant and hospitable Southern division in the capital; for predominant Southern society was, as even such deliberately partisan historians as Messrs. Nicolay and Hay admit; and, what these gentlemen designate as “the blandishments of Southern hospitality,” lent a charm to life in the Government circles of that day which lifted the capital to the very apex of its social glory. Writing of these phases of life in the capital, in a letter dated March, 1858, I said to Governor Clay: “People are mad with rivalry and vanity. It is said that Gwin is spending money at the rate of $75,000 a year, and Brown and Thompson quite the same. Mrs. Thompson (of Mississippi) is a great favourite here. Mrs. Toombs, who is sober, and has but one daughter, Sally, who is quite a belle, says they spend $1,800 per month, or $21,000 per annum.”

The four years’ war, which began in ’1, changed these social conditions. As the result of that strife poverty spread both North and South. The social world at Washington, which but an administration before had been scarcely less fascinating and brilliant than the Court of Louis Napoleon, underwent a radical change; and the White House itself, within a month after it went into the hands of the new Black Republican party, became degraded to a point where even Northern men recoiled at the sight of the metamorphosed conditions.^[9]

In the days of Presidents Pierce and Buchanan, Washington was a city of statesmen, and in the foreground, relieving the solemnity of their deliberations in that decade which preceded the Nation’s great disaster, were fashion and mirth, beauty and wit. It was then, as the government city of a Republic must ever be, a place of continuous novelty, of perpetual changes, of new faces. The fashionable world comes and goes in the Federal City with each Presidential term of four and Senatorial term of six years, and its longer or shorter stays of the army and navy contingent, and always it gathers its personnel from as many points as there are States in the Union, and as many parts of the world as those to which our diplomatic relations extend.

In the fifties, when the number of States was but two dozen, the list of representatives gathering at the capital was proportionately smaller than in the present day, and society was correspondingly select. Moreover, political distinction and offices not infrequently continued in many families through several generations, sons often succeeding their fathers in Congress, inheriting, in some degree, their ancestors’ friends, until a social security had been established which greatly assisted to give charm and prestige to the fashionable coteries of the Federal centre. For example, for forty years previous to my husband’s election to the Senate, the two branches of the Clay family had been prominent in the life of the capital. In the late twenties, C. C. Clay, Sr., had been active in the House, while the great Henry Clay was stirring the country through his speeches in the Senate; in the fifties, Mr. James B. Clay, son of the great Kentuckian, was a Congressman when the scholarly statesmanship of Senator C. C. Clay, Jr., of Alabama, was attracting the admiration and praise of North and South alike. It is a pathetic coincidence that to my husband, during his sojourn in Canada, fell the sad privilege of ministering at the death-bed of Mr. Clay, of Kentucky, who died in that alien land without the solacing presence of wife or children. Shortly before the end came, he presented to Senator Clay the cane which for years had been carried by the great orator, Henry Clay.^[10]

The fashions of the times were graceful, rich and picturesque. Those of the next decade, conspicuous for huge chignons, false hair, and distorting bustles, rose like an ugly barrier between the lovely costuming of the fifties and the dressing of to-day. A half century ago, the beauties of the capital wore their hair À la Grecque, with flowers wreathed over it, or a simple golden dagger or arrow to secure it. Their gowns were festooned with blossoms that trailed over bodice and skirt until not seldom they became, by reason of their graceful ornaments, veritable Perditas. These delicate fashions continued until nearly the end of the decade, when they were superseded by more complicated coiffures and a general adoption of heavy materials and styles.

In 1858–’9 the hair was arranged on the top of the head in heavy braids wound like a coronet over the head, and the coiffure was varied now and then with a tiara of velvet and pearls, or jet or coral. Ruffled dresses gave place to panelled skirts in which two materials, a plain and embossed or brocaded fabric, were combined, and basques with postillion backs became the order of the day. The low-coiled hair and brow free from frizzes and bangs (À l’idiote, as our satirical friends, the French, describe them) was the style adopted by such preËminent beauties as Mrs. Senator Pugh, who was regarded by Baron Hulseman as without a peer, and Mrs. Senator Pendleton, who, in Lord Napier’s opinion, had the most classic head he had seen in America.

Low necks and lace berthas, made fashionable because of their adoption by Miss Lane, were worn almost universally, either with open sleeves revealing inner ones of filmy lace, or sleeves of the shortest possible form, allowing the rounded length of a pretty arm to be seen in its perfection. Evening gloves were half-length only, or as often reaching only half-way to the elbow. They were of kid or silk with backs embroidered in delicate silks, with now and then a jewel sparkling among the colours. Jewels, indeed, were conspicuous even in men’s dressing, and gentlemen of fashion were rare who did not have varieties of sparkling studs and cravat-pins to add to the brightness of their vari-coloured vests. The latter not infrequently were of richest satin and velvet, brocaded and embroidered. They lent a desirable note of colour, by no means inconspicuous, to the swallow-tailed evening dress of that time, a note, by-the-bye, which was supplemented by a tie of bright soft silk, and of ample proportions. President Buchanan was remarkable for his undeviating choice of pure white cravats. Fashion was not then arbitrary in the matter of gentlemen’s neckwear, and high or low collars were worn, as best suited the taste of the individual.

To the attire of the women of the Government City in that day our home manufacturers contributed but little. In fact, the industries of our country yielded but a common grade of materials designed for wearing apparel, and were altogether unequal to the demands of a capital in which the wealthy vied with their own class in foreign cities in the acquisition of all that goes to make up the moods and character of fashion. Our gloves and fans and handkerchiefs, our bonnets and the larger part of our dress accessories, as well as such beautiful gown patterns as were purchased ready to be made up by a New York or Washington dressmaker, were all imported directly from foreign houses, and the services of our travelling and consular friends were in constant requisition for the selection of fine laces, shawls, flounces, undersleeves and the other fashionable garnitures. Scarcely a steamer but brought to the capital dainty boxes of Parisian flowers, bonnets and other foreign novelties, despatched by such interested deputies.

It was astonishing how astute even our bachelor representatives abroad became in the selection of these articles for the wives of their Senatorial indorsers in Washington. I was frequently indebted for such friendly remembrances to my cousin, Tom Tait Tunstall, Consul at Cadiz, and to Mrs. Leese, wife of the Consul at Spezia and sister of Rose Kierulf and Mrs. Spicer. Thanks to the acumen of these thoughtful friends, my laces, especially, and a velvet gown, the material of which was woven to order at Genoa, were the particular envy of my less fortunate “mess-mates.”

I remember with much pleasure the many courtesies of William Thomson, Consul at Southampton, England, who was one of the many from whom the war afterward separated us. From the time of his appointment in 1857 his expressions of friendliness were frequent toward Miss Lane, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, myself, and, I doubt not, toward many other fortunate ones of the capital.

To the first named he sent a remarkable toy-terrier, so small that “it might be put under a quart bowl,” as he wrote to me. The little stranger was a nine-days’ curiosity at the White House, where it was exhibited to all who were on visiting terms with Miss Lane. That I was not the recipient of a similar midget was due to the death of “Nettle,” the animal selected for me.

“Please ask Miss Lane,” he wrote, “to show you her terrier, and you will be sure it is the identical ‘Nettle.’ I shall succeed in time in finding a good specimen for you!”

But Mr. Thomson’s efforts and discrimination were by no means directed solely toward the selection of canine rarities. In truth, he showed himself in every way fitted to become a most satisfactory Benedick (which I sincerely hope was his fate in the course of time), for, besides picking up now and then odd and choice bits of quaint jewelry, such as may please a woman’s fancy, and many an interesting legend about which to gossip, he discovered a power of discernment in regard to the wearing apparel of my sex, which was as refreshing in its epistolary revelations as it was rare among his sex.

“I did think of sending you and Mrs. Fitzpatrick one of the new style petticoats,” he wrote in March, 1858, “so novel, it seems, at the seat of government; but, upon inquiry for the material, my bachelor wits were quite outdone, for I could not even guess what size might suit both you ladies! Since sending a few lines to you, I have spent a day at Brighton, which is in my district, and I saw quite a new style and decided improvement on the petticoat. A reversible crimson and black striped linsey-wolsey under a white cambric skirt, with five, seven, or nine tucks of handsome work, not less than ten or twelve inches deep. This style of new garment is very distinguÉ to my feeble bachelor eye, and would attract amazingly in Washington just now.”

Among the first to introduce in the capital the fashion of holding up the skirt to show these ravishing petticoats were the lovely sisters of Thomas F. Bayard, afterward Secretary of State and Minister to England under President Cleveland, and the Misses Maury, daughters of the ex-Mayor of Washington, all of whom were conspicuous for their Parisian daintiness. None of this bevy but looked as if she might have stepped directly from the rue St. Germain.

The bewildering description by Mr. Thomson had scarcely arrived, ere fashion was busy evolving other petticoat novelties and adjuncts. A quaint dress accessory at this time, and one which remained very much in vogue for carriage, walking, and dancing dresses, consisted of several little metal hands, which, depending from fine chains attached at the waist, held up the skirt artistically at a sufficient height to show the flounces beneath. The handkerchiefs of the time, which were appreciably larger than those in use to-day, and very often of costly point-lace, were drawn through a small ring that hung from a six-inch gold or silver chain, on the other end of which was a circlet which just fitted over the little finger.

I have spoken of our Washington dressmakers; how incomplete would be my memories of the capital did I fail to mention here Mrs. Rich, the favourite mantua-maker of those days, within whose power it lay to transform provincial new-comers, often already over-stocked with ill-made costumes and absurdly trimmed bonnets, into women of fashion! Mrs. Rich was the only Reconstructionist, I think I may safely say, on whom Southern ladies looked with unqualified approval. A Reconstructionist? She was more; she was a physician who cured many ills for the women of the Congressional circles, ills of a kind that could never be reached by our favourite physician, Dr. Johnston, though he had turned surgeon and competed in a contest of stitches; for, to the care of the wives of our statesmen each season, came pretty heiresses from far-off States, to see the gay Government City, under their experienced guardianship, and to meet its celebrities. These, often mere buds of girls, were wont to come to the capital supplied with costly brocade and heavy velvet gowns, fit in quality for the stateliest dame; with hats weighty with plumes that might only be worn appropriately in the helmet of a prince or a Gainsborough duchess, and with diamonds enough to please the heart of a matron. To strip these slim maidens of such untoward finery, often of antediluvian, not to say outlandish, cut and fashion, and to reapparel them in such soft fabrics as became their youth and station, was no small or easy task for her who had undertaken to chaperone them.

Nor were these sartorial faux pas confined to the girl novices and their far-off kind, and usually lavish parents. Many a charming matron came to the capital as innocent of any knowledge of the demands of fashionable life as a schoolgirl. There was the wife of a distinguished legislator who afterward presided over an American embassy abroad, a sweet little nun of a woman, who arrived in Washington with a wardrobe that doubtless had caused her country neighbours many a pang of envy. It comprised garments made of the costliest fabrics, but, alas! which had been cut up so ridiculously by the local seamstress that the innocent wearer’s first appearance in the gay world of the capital was the signal for irrepressible smiles of amusement and simpers of derision from the more heartless.

Because of a friendship between our husbands, our little nun fell into my hands, and I promptly convoyed her to the crucible of Mrs. Rich, that dauntless spirit, and my unfailing resource, sure of her ability to work the necessary transmutation. Alas! as we were about to step out of our carriage, I was startled by the appearance, above a shapely enough foot, of a bright, yes! a brilliant indigo-blue stocking! Not even Mr. Shillaber’s heroine from Beanville could boast a trapping more blatantly blue! I held my breath in alarm! What if the eye of any of the more scornful fashionables should detect its mate? I hurried my charge back into the vehicle at once and summoned our good friend Mrs. Rich to the door; and our errand that morning was accomplished by the aid of a trim apprentice, who brought to our calash boxes of samples and fashion-plates for our scanning.

Many, indeed, were the debtors to Mrs. Rich in those days, for the taste and despatch with which she performed her incomparable miracles. And I would not refrain from acknowledging an act of kindness at her hands in darker days; for, when I returned to Washington in 1865 to plead with the President for my husband’s release from Fortress Monroe, she generously refused payment for the making of the modest dress I ordered, declaring that she longed to serve one who had directed so many clients to her in former days!

But there were occasions when a pressure upon the time of Mrs. Rich necessitated the seeking of other assistance, and a hasty journey was made to Mlle. Rountree, of Philadelphia, or even to New York, where the fashionable dressmakers were capable of marvellous expedition in filling one’s order completely, even to the furnishing of handkerchiefs and hosiery and slippers to suit a special gown. I remember the arrival of some wonderful “creations” made in the metropolis for Miss Stevens, of Stevens Castle, who was spending the season with my “mess-mate,” Mrs. Chestnut, and boxes of gowns as admirable, and from the same source, for the lovely Marian Ramsey, who became Mrs. Brockholst Cutting, of New York. Miss Ramsey, who was an especially admired belle in Washington, was the daughter of that delightfully irascible old Admiral, who, it was said, was such a disciplinarian that he never entered port without having one or more of his crew in irons.

Brilliant as was the social life in Washington at this time, and remarkable for its numbers of handsome men and lovely women, I remember no exquisites of the Beau Brummel or Disraeli type, though there were many who were distinguished as men of fashion, of social graces and talent.

Foremost among the popular men of the capital were Philip Barton Key (brother of the classic Mrs. Pendleton, Mrs. Howard of Baltimore, and of Mrs. Blount, who attained a reputation among her contemporaries upon the stage), Preston Brooks, and Laurence Keitt, members of Congress from South Carolina, the last named of whom married the wealthy Miss Sparks. For a long time previous to that alliance, Mr. Keitt and his colleague from North Carolina, Mr. Clingman, were looked upon as rival suitors for the hand of Miss Lane. Mr. Keitt was the friend of Preston Brooks, who was one of the most magnetic and widely admired men in the capital. Were half of the compliments here repeated which the name alone of Mr. Brooks at that time elicited, they must serve to modify the disfavour into which this spirited young legislator from South Carolina fell after his historic assault upon Mr. Sumner in the Senate. When, a few months after that unfortunate affair, the body of Mr. Brooks lay on view in the Federal City, mourning for him became general, and his obsequies were remarkable for the crowds that hastened to pay their last tribute to him.

I recall an amusing incident by which I offended (happily, only momentarily) our good friends Congressman and Mrs. Keitt, owing to a tendency I possessed to indulge in nonsense whenever furnished with the slightest pretext for it. When the former arrived at the capital, he was commonly addressed and alluded to as “Kitt,” a wholly unwarrantable mispronunciation of his name, but one which had become current in the vernacular of his State, and which, from sheer force of habit, continued in use in the Federal City. To the retention of this nickname, however, his bride strongly objected, and so persistently did she correct all who misscalled the name, that the Congressman’s old friends, though publicly conforming to the lady’s wishes, smiled in private, and among themselves clung fondly to the old pronunciation.

This little contention was still in operation when an interesting event took place in the Keitt household. On the evening of the happy day, meeting Senator Hammond at dinner, he asked me casually, “What’s the news?”

“Why! haven’t you heard?” I replied. “Kitt has a kitten!”

My poor joke, so unexpected, exploded Senator Hammond’s gravity immediately. So well did the sally please him, that it speedily became an on dit, alas! to the passing annoyance of the happy young pair. Mrs. Keitt was one of Washington’s most admired young matrons, a graceful hostess, and famous for her social enterprise. It was she who introduced in the capital the fashion of sending out birth-cards to announce the arrival of infants.

I have spoken of Barton Key. He was a widower during my acquaintance with him, and I recall him as the handsomest man in all Washington society. In appearance an Apollo, he was a prominent figure at all the principal fashionable functions; a graceful dancer, he was a favourite with every hostess of the day. Clever at repartee, a generous and pleasing man, who was even more popular with other men than with women, his death at the hands of Daniel E. Sickles in February, 1859, stirred Washington to its centre.

I remember very vividly how, one Sunday morning, as I was putting the finishing touches to my toilette for attendance at St. John’s, Senator Clay burst into the room, his face pale and awe-stricken, exclaiming: “A horrible, horrible thing has happened, Virginia! Sickles, who for a year or more has forced his wife into Barton’s company, has killed Key; killed him most brutally, while he was unarmed!”

This untimely death of a man allied to a famous family, and himself so generally admired, caused a remarkable and long depression in society. Yet, so strenuous were the political needs of the time, and so tragic and compelling the demands of national strife now centred in Washington, that the horrible calamity entailed no punishment upon its author.

Only the Thursday before the tragedy, in company with Mrs. Pugh and Miss Acklin, I called upon the unfortunate cause of the tragedy. She was so young and fair, at most not more than twenty-two years of age, and so naÏve, that none of the party of which I was one was willing to harbour a belief in the rumours which were then in circulation. On that, Mrs. Sickles’ last “at home,” her parlours were thronged, one-half of the hundred or more guests present being men. The girl hostess was even more lovely than usual. Of an Italian type in feature and colouring (she was the daughter of a famous musician, Baggioli, of New York), Mrs. Sickles was dressed in a painted muslin gown, filmy and graceful, on which the outlines of the crocus might be traced. A broad sash of brocaded ribbon girdled her slender waist, and in her dark hair were yellow crocus blooms. I never saw her again, but the picture of which she formed the centre was so fair and innocent, it fixed itself permanently upon my mind.

When my husband first entered the United States Senate, in 1853, there were not more than four men in that body who wore moustaches. Indeed, the prejudice against them was great. I remember a moustached gallant who called upon me on one occasion, to whom my aunt greatly objected, for, she said, referring to the growth upon his upper lip, “No one but Tennessee hog-drivers and brigands dress like that!” When Mr. Clay withdrew from the Senate, in January, 1861, there were scarcely as many without them. Side and chin whiskers were worn, if any, though the front of the chin was seldom covered. Many of the most distinguished statesmen wore their faces as smoothly shaven as the Romans of old. Until late in the fifties, men, particularly legislators, wore their hair rather long, a fashion which has been followed more or less continuously among statesmen and scholars since wigs were abandoned.

This decade was also notable as that in which the first radical efforts of women were made toward suffrage, and the “Bloomer” costume became conspicuous in the capital. “Bloomers are ‘most as plenty as blackberries,’” I wrote home late in ’6, “and generally are followed by a long train of little boys and ditto ‘niggers’!”

Nor were there lacking figures among the “stronger” sex as eccentric as those of our women innovators. Of these, none was more remarkable than “old Sam Houston.” Whether in the street or in his seat in the Senate, he was sure to arrest the attention of everyone. He wore a leopard-skin vest, with a voluminous scarlet neck-tie, and over his bushy grey locks rested an immense sombrero. This remarkable headgear was made, it was said, from an individual block to which the General reserved the exclusive right. It was of grey felt, with a brim seven or eight inches wide. Wrapped around his broad shoulders he wore a gaily coloured Mexican serape, in which scarlet predominated. So arrayed, his huge form, which, notwithstanding this remarkable garb, was distinguished by a kind of inborn grandeur, towered above the heads of ordinary pedestrians, and the appearance of the old warrior, whether viewed from the front or the rear, was altogether unique. Strangers stared at him, and street urchins covertly grinned, but the Senatorial Hercules received all such attentions from the public with extreme composure, not to say gratification, as a recognition to which he was entitled.

In the Senate, General Houston was an indefatigable whittler. A seemingly inexhaustible supply of soft wood was always kept in his desk and out of it he whittled stars and hearts and other fanciful shapes, while he cogitated, his brows pleated in deep vertical folds, over the grave arguments of his confrÈres. A great many conjectures were made as to the ultimate use of these curious devices. I can, however, explain the fate of one.

As our party entered the gallery of the Senate on one occasion, we caught the eye of the whittling Senator, who, with completest sang-froid, suspended his occupation and blew us a kiss; then with a plainly perceptible twinkle in his eye, he resumed his usual occupation. A little while afterward one of the Senate pages came up and handed me a most pretentious envelope. It was capacious enough to have contained a package of government bonds. I began to open the wrappings; they were mysteriously manifold. When at last I had removed them all, I found within a tiny, shiny, freshly whittled wooden heart, on which the roguish old hero had inscribed, “Lady! I send thee my heart! Sam Houston.”

This remarkable veteran was seldom to be seen at social gatherings, and I do not remember ever to have met him at a dinner, but he called sometimes upon me on my weekly reception days, and always in the remarkable costume I have described. He had acquired, besides the Mexican-Spanish patois, a number of Indian dialects, and nothing amused him more than to reduce to a confused silence those who surrounded him, by suddenly addressing them in all sorts of unknown words in these tongues. My own spirit was not so to be crushed, and, besides, I had a lurking doubt as to the linguistic value of the sounds he uttered. They bore many of the indicia of the newly invented, and I did not hesitate upon one occasion to enter upon a verbal contest of gibberish on my side, and possibly on his, running the gamut of emphasis throughout it; and, notwithstanding General Houston’s deprecations (in Indian dialect), sustained my part so seriously that the tall hero at last yielded the floor and, wrapping his scarlet serape about him, made his exit, laughing hilariously at his own defeat.