I do not know of a spot where, had I been accorded the selection, I should have preferred first to see the light of day, nor one more in keeping with the promptings of sentiment, than the southern shore of Long Island, N.Y., where I was born. My home was in Queens County, on the old Rockaway Road, and often in childhood during storms at sea I have heard the waves dash upon the Rockaway beach. Two miles the other side of us was the village of Jamaica, and from our windows we caught glimpses of the bay that bore its name. My first home was a large old-fashioned house on a farm of many acres, ornamented by Lombardy poplars which stood on each side of the driveway, a fashion introduced into this country by Lafayette. My maternal grandfather, Captain John Hazard, who had commanded a privateersman during the Revolution, purchased the place from "Citizen" Edmond Charles Genet, the first Minister of France to the United States, and I have the old parchment deed of transfer still in my possession. During the War of the Revolution my Grandfather Hazard's ship was captured by Admiral George B. Rodney, and I have often heard my mother tell the story she received from his lips, to the effect that after he was "comfortably housed in irons" on Rodney's ship he overheard a conversation in which his name was frequently mentioned. The subject under discussion was the form of punishment he deserved, and the cheerful remark reached his ear: "Hang the damned rebel." This incident made an indelible impression upon my mother's memory, which was emphasized by the fact that her father bore the scars of those irons to the day of his death.

I have no recollection of my Grandfather Hazard, as he died soon after my birth. Jonathan Hazard, his brother, espoused the English cause during the Revolution. This was possibly due to the influences of an English mother, whose maiden name was Sarah Owen, of Shropshire. I have heard my mother say that her grandmother was a descendant of Dr. John Owen, Chaplain of Oliver Cromwell. A piece of silver bearing the Owen coat of arms is still in the possession of a member of my family. He entered the British navy, changed his name to Carr, and soon rose to the rank of Post-Captain. He eventually drifted back to America and died unmarried at my grandfather's home on Long Island many years after the war. The trite saying that history repeats itself is here forcibly illustrated by brother fighting against brother. It brings to mind our own fraternal troubles during the Civil War, which can never be effaced from memory.

Much of the furniture of my first home was purchased from Citizen Genet when my grandfather took possession of the house and farm. We understood that the French minister brought it with him from France, and many of the pieces, some of which are mahogany, are still in my possession. A bedstead which I still occupy has been said to be the first of its design brought from France to this country. Hanging in my bedroom is a set of engravings entitled "Diligence and Dissipation," after Hogarth, and also a handsome old print of the Savior in the Pharisee's House, all of which were purchased at the same time. Two alabaster ornaments are memories of my earliest childhood, one of which was a column casting a shadow that formed a likeness of Louis XVI.

My Grandfather Hazard had many slaves, and I remember hearing of one of them who ran away and took with him a carriage and pair of horses, and, who, when called to account for the act, threatened my grandfather's life. My mother, although suffering from a severe indisposition, ran out of the house for succor. The slave was taken into custody, and was eventually sent South and sold. Some of the other slaves I well remember. Among them was a very old couple with numerous progeny who lived not far from us in a hut in the woods on the Hazard estate. In subsequent years I heard my mother remark, upon the occasion of a marriage in the family connection, that when "Cuff" and "Sary" were married her father gave the clergyman five dollars for his services. Cuff was an old-fashioned, festive negro born in this country, and with the firm belief that existence was bestowed upon him solely for his own enjoyment. He possessed a genius for discovering holidays, and added many to the calendar that were new to most of us. For example, sometimes when he was given a task to accomplish, he would announce that he could not work upon that day as it was "Paas Monday," or "Paas Tuesday," and so on, continuing as the case required, through the week. He had supreme contempt for what he called "Guinea niggers," a term he applied to those of his race who came directly from Africa, in contradistinction to those who had been born in this country. One of Cuff's predecessors in the Hazard family was named Ben, and I have the original deed of his purchase from Hendrick Suydam, dated April 28th, 1807. The price paid was two hundred dollars.

In the village of Jamaica was a well known academy where my mother received the early part of her education. One of her preceptors there was the Hon. Luther Bradish, who some years later became Lieutenant Governor of the State of New York, and who at the time of his death was president of the New York Historical Society. Her education was continued at Miss Sarah Pierce's school in Litchfield, Connecticut, one of the most fashionable educational institutions of that period. I have heard my mother say that, accompanied by her father, she made the journey to Litchfield in a chariot, the name applied to carriages in those days, this, of course, being before there was any rail communication with that place. In close proximity to Miss Pierce's establishment was the law school of Judge James Gould, whose pupils were a great social resource to Miss Pierce's scholars. This institution was patronized by many pupils from the South, and during my mother's time John C. Calhoun was one of its students. A few years ago a history of the school was published, and a copy of the book was loaned me by the late Mrs. Lucius Tuckerman of Washington, whose mother was educated there and whose grandfather was the celebrated Oliver Wolcott of Connecticut. After my mother's marriage, she and my father visited Miss Pierce in Litchfield. This was during the Jackson campaign, while political excitement ran so very high that a prominent physician of the place remarked to my father, in perfectly good faith, that Jackson could not possibly be elected President as he would receive no support from Litchfield.

In Jamaica was the last residence of the Honorable Rufus King, our minister to England under Washington and twenty years later a candidate for the presidency. His son, Charles King, was the beloved President of Columbia College in New York, and his few surviving students hold his memory in reverence. The house in which the King family resided was a stately structure with an entourage of fine old trees. It eventually passed into other hands, and a few years ago the entire property was generously donated by the Daughters of the American Revolution to the town of Jamaica, and is now called "King's Manor."

My grandfather, Captain John Hazard, was about fifty years old at the time of his marriage to my grandmother, Miss Leupp, of New Jersey, who died soon after, leaving an only child, my mother. A few years later he married Lydia Blackwell at her home on Blackwell's Island, which her father, Jacob Blackwell, had inherited from his father, Jacob Blackwell, the son of Robert Blackwell, who was the progenitor of the family in this country and gave his name to the island upon which he resided. Several years later Captain Hazard was heard to remark that matrimony was a lottery, and that he had drawn two prizes. I have in my possession an old letter written by Miss Blackwell to my grandfather previous to their marriage, which is so quaint and formal that I am tempted to give it in full:

Captain Hazard brought his new bride to the old home on the Rockaway Road where I was subsequently born, and she immediately took under her protecting wing my mother, who was then but little more than an infant. The babe grew and thrived, and never knew until she was a good-sized girl that the woman who had so lovingly nurtured her was only a step-mother. She learned the fact from a schoolmate who told her out of revenge for some fancied wrong; and I shall always remember my mother telling me how she hurried home feeling all the time that the cruel story was untrue, only to have it confirmed by the lips of the woman who had been as affectionate and unselfish as any mother could possibly have been to her own child. In subsequent years, when my mother gathered her own children around her, she held her step-mother up to us as the embodiment of all female virtue and excellence, all of which is confirmed by my own recollection of her remarkable character and exemplary life.

On the farm adjoining us lived a crusty old bachelor by the name of Martin, who in his earlier life had been professionally associated with Aaron Burr. No human being was allowed to cross his threshold, but I recall that years after his death I saw a large quantity of silver which he had inherited, and which bore a martin for a crest. He was a terror to all the children in our vicinity, and it was his habit to walk on the neighboring roads clad in a dressing gown. More than once as I passed him he accosted me with the interrogative, "Are you Nancy Hazard's brat?"—a query that invariably prompted me to quicken my pace. Mr. Martin kept a fine herd of cattle, among which was an obstreperous bull whose stentorian tones were familiar to all the residents of the adjoining places. When the children of our household were turbulent my mother would often exclaim, "Listen to Martin's bull roaring!" This invariably had a soothing effect upon the children, and strange to say this trivial incident has descended among my kindred to the fourth generation, for my mother's great-grandchildren are as familiar with "Martin's bull" as my sisters and brothers and I were in our own childhood.

Malcolm Campbell, my paternal grandfather, left Scotland subsequently to our Revolution, accompanied by his wife and son James (my father), and after a passage of several weeks landed in New York. His wife was Miss Lucy McClellan. His father, Alexander Campbell, fought in the battle of Culloden, and I have heard my father say that his grandfather's regiment marched to the song of:

It is said he had previously been sent to Italy to collect arms and ammunition for the "Young Pretender," the grandson of James II. The battle of Culloden, which was fought on the 16th of April, 1746, and which has often been called the "Culloden Massacre," caused the whole civilized world to stand aghast. The order of the Duke of Cumberland to grant no quarter to prisoners placed him foremost in the ranks of "British beasts" that have disgraced the pages of history, and earned for him the unenviable title of "The Butcher of Culloden." It has been suggested in extenuation of his fiendish conduct that His Grace was "deep in his cups" the night before the battle, and that the General to whom the order was given, realizing the condition of the Duke, insisted that his instructions should be reduced to writing. His Grace thereupon angrily seized a playing card from the table where he was engaged in gambling, and complied with the request. This card happened to be the nine of diamonds, and to this day is known as "the curse of Scotland." A long period elapsed before those who had sympathized with the Young Pretender's cause were restored to the good graces of the English throne, and it was Scotland that was compelled to bear the brunt of the royal displeasure. The sins of the fathers were visited upon their children, and it is not at all unlikely that the sympathies of Alexander Campbell's son, Malcolm (my grandfather), for the last of the House of Stuart developed a chain of circumstances that resulted, with other causes, in his embarkation for America.

During the early period of my childhood I became familiar with the Jacobite songs which my father used to sing, and which had been handed down in the Campbell family. I was so deeply imbued during my early life with the Jacobite spirit of my forefathers that when I read the account in my English history of George I, carrying with him his little dissolute Hanoverian Court and crossing the water to England to become King of Great Britain, I felt even at that late day that the act was a personal grievance. Through the passage of many years a fragment of one of these Jacobite songs still rings in my ears:

Even now some of those songs appeal to me possibly in the same manner as the "Marseillaise" to the French, or the "Ranz de Vaches" to the Swiss who have wandered from their mountain homes, or as the strains of our national hymn affect my own fellow countrymen in foreign lands, whose hearts are made to throb when with uncovered heads they listen, and are carried back in memory to the days of "auld lang syne."

My grandfather, Malcolm Campbell, received the degree of Master of Arts from the University of St. Andrews, the great school of Scottish Latinity, and his diploma conferring upon him that honor is still in the possession of his descendants. Before leaving Scotland he had formed an intimacy with Andrew Picken, and during the voyage to America enjoyed the pleasing companionship of that gentleman together with his wife and their two children. Mrs. Picken was the only daughter of Sir Charles Burdette of London, whose wife was the daughter of the Earl of Wyndham. She and Andrew Picken, who was a native of Stewarton, in Ayrshire, a younger branch of a noble family, four years previously had made a clandestine marriage and, after vainly attempting to effect a reconciliation with her father, resolved upon emigrating to America. Their daughter, Mrs. Sara Jane Picken Cohen, widow of the Rev. Dr. Abraham H. Cohen of Richmond, Virginia, wrote the memoirs of her life, and in describing her parents' voyage to this country says: "It was one of those old-time voyages, of nine weeks and three days, from land to land, and a very boisterous one it was. There had been a terrific storm, which had raged violently for several days." This friendship formed in the mother country was naturally much strengthened during the long voyage, and when the two families finally reached New York, Mrs. Cohen writes: "Here we settled down our two families, strangers in a strange land. But the lamp of friendship burned brightly and lit us on the way; our children grew up together in early childhood, and as brothers and sisters were born in each family they were named in succession after each other." It is pleasant to state that this friendship formed so many generations ago is still continued in my family, as my daughters and I frequently enjoy in our Washington home the pleasing society of Mr. and Mrs. Roberdeau Buchanan, the latter of whom is the great granddaughter of Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Picken.

Soon after his arrival in New York Malcolm Campbell established a classical school at 85 Broadway nearly opposite Trinity Church. He edited the first American edition of Cicero's orations and of CÆsar's commentaries, and also revised and corrected and published in 1808 l'AbbÉ Tardy's French dictionary. His first edition of Cicero is dedicated to the "Right Reverend Benjamin Moore, D.D., Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the State of New York, and President of Columbia College," and another edition with the same text and imprint is dedicated, in several pages of Latin, to the learned Samuel L. Mitchell, M.D. He and his wife were buried in the graveyard of the Wall Street Presbyterian Church. It may not be inappropriate in this connection to refer to another instructor of an even earlier period which has come within my notice, who taught reading, writing and arithmetic "with becoming accuracy." In The New York Journal Or The General Advertiser of the 30th of April, 1772, appears the following advertisement:

The signer of this interesting advertisement was graduated from Princeton College in 1770, and subsequently became a lawyer. His distinguished son, Theodore, was widely known as a philanthropist and Christian statesman, and at various periods was United States Senator, Chancellor of the New York University, President of Rutgers College, a candidate for the Vice Presidency of the United States, and President of the American Bible Society. A grandson of the signer was the Hon. Frederick Theodore Frelinghuysen, the well remembered United States Senator and Secretary of State under President Arthur.

Speaking of the Frelinghuysen family, I recall an amusing story told at the expense of Newark, New Jersey. When the late Secretary Frelinghuysen presented himself at the gates of Heaven he was surprised not to be recognized by St. Peter, who asked him who he was. "I am the Hon. Frederick T. Frelinghuysen," was the response. "From where?" "Newark, New Jersey." "Newark?" quoth St. Peter, "I never heard of that place, but I will look on my list. No, it isn't there. I can not admit you, Mr. Frelinghuysen." So the old gentleman proceeded and knocked at another gate in the boundless immensity. The devil opened it and looked out. The same conversation occurred as with St. Peter. Newark wasn't "on the list." "My Heavens, Mr. Satan, am I then doomed to return to Newark?" exclaimed the New Jersey statesman, and went back to the Newark graveyard.

My father, James Campbell, was born in Callander, Scotland, and, as I have before stated, came to this country with his parents as a very young child. Both he and his father were clad in their Highland dress upon their arrival in New York. His childhood was spent in the great metropolis, and he subsequently studied law in Albany, with the Hon. Samuel Miles Hopkins, the grandfather of Mrs. Arent Schuyler Crowninshield. He was admitted to the bar, and almost immediately became a Master in Chancery. In 1821 he was appointed Surrogate of New York, a position which he retained for twenty years. He was always a pronounced democrat, but notwithstanding this fact he was reappointed ten successive times. In 1840, however, the Whig party was in the ascendency in the New York Legislature, and through the instrumentality of William H. Seward, who introduced a system called "pipe laying," the whole political atmosphere was changed. "Pipe laying" was an organized scheme for controlling votes, and derived its name from certain political manipulations connected with the introduction of Croton water in New York City. I have learned in later years that more approved methods are frequently used for controlling votes. Modern ethics has discovered a more satisfactory method through means of powerful corporations with coffers wide open in the holy cause of electing candidates.

This unfortunate state of affairs resulted in the removal of my father from office, and he immediately resumed the practice of law. Some of his decisions as Surrogate are regarded as precedents to this day. Two of the most prominent of these are "Watts and LeRoy vs. Public Administrator" (a decision resulting in the establishment of the Leake and Watts Orphan House) and "In the matter of the last Will and Testament of Alice Lispenard, deceased." He is said to have owned about this time the largest private library in New York City, composed largely of foreign imprints, as he seemed to have but little regard for American editions. The classical portion of his library, especially the volumes published in Paris, was regarded as unusually choice and well selected. He had also a large collection of Greek Testaments which he read in preference to the translations. He owned a copy of Didot's Virgil and I have always understood that, with the exception of one owned in the Brevoort family of New York, it was at that time the only copy in America. He retained his scholarly tastes throughout his whole life, and in looking back I delight to picture him as seated in his library surrounded by his beloved books. In 1850, about two years after his death, his library was sold at auction, the catalogue of which covers 114 closely printed pages. Among the purchasers were William E. Burton, the actor, Chief Justice Charles P. Daly and Henry W. Longfellow.

Professor Charles Anthon of Columbia College dedicated his Horace to my father in the following choice words:

To
My old & valued friend
James Campbell, Esq.,
who, amid the graver duties of a judicial station,
can still find leisure to gratify a pure and
cultivated taste, by reviving the
studies of earlier years.

The following letter from Professor Anthon, the original of which is still retained by the family, was addressed to my mother shortly after my father's death.

When Professor Anthon was about forty-eight years of age Edgar Allan Poe described him as "about five feet, eight inches in height; rather stout; fair complexion; hair light and inclined to curl; forehead remarkably broad and high; eye gray, clear, and penetrating; mouth well-formed, with excellent teeth—the lips having great flexibility, and consequent power of expression; the smile particularly pleasing. His address in general is bold, frank, cordial, full of bonhomie. His whole air is distinguÉ in the best understanding of the term—that is to say, he would impress anyone at first sight with the idea of his being no ordinary man. He has qualities, indeed, which would have assured him eminent success in almost any pursuit; and there are times in which his friends are half disposed to regret his exclusive devotion to classical literature."

My father was a trustee of the venerable New York Society Library and one of the directors of the old United States Bank in Philadelphia; and I have in my possession a number of interesting letters from Nicholas Biddle, its president, addressed to him and asking his advice and counsel. For eighteen years he was a trustee of Columbia College in New York, and enjoyed the close friendship of President William A. Duer, Reverend and Professor John McVickar, James Renwick, Professor of Chemistry, whose mother, Jennie Jeffery, was Burns's "Blue-e'ed Lassie," and Professor Charles Anthon, all of whom filled chairs in that institution with unquestioned ability. My father was also a member of the St. Andrews Society of New York. After his death, President Duer in an impressive address alluded to him in the following manner:

"Two of our associates with whom I have been similarly connected and have known from boyhood have also departed, leaving sweet memories behind them, James Campbell and David S. Jones, the former a scholar and a ripe and good one, once honoring the choice of his fellow citizens and winning golden opinions as Surrogate of this city and county."

President Duer had a most interesting family of children. His eldest married daughter, Frances Maria, was the wife of Henry Shaeffe Hoyt of Park Place, and died recently in Newport at a very advanced age. Eleanor Jones Duer, another daughter, married George T. Wilson, an Englishman. She was a great beauty, bearing a striking resemblance to Fanny Kemble, and was remarkable for her strong intellect. Her marriage was clandestine, and the cause, as far as I know, was never explained. Still another daughter, Elizabeth, married Archibald Gracie King of Weehawken, and was a Colonial Dame of much prominence in her later years. She was the mother of the authoress, Mrs. John King Van Rensselaer. President Duer's wife was Hannah Maria Denning of Fishkill, New York. I knew her only as an elderly woman possessing a fine presence and social tastes.

In my early life the students of Columbia College enjoyed playing practical jokes upon its dignified professors. As an illustration, I remember once seeing the death of Professor Renwick fictitiously published in one of the daily journals, much to the sorrow and subsequently the indignation of a large circle of friends. Professor Anthon, too, although a confirmed bachelor, had to face his turn, and his marriage to some unknown bride bearing an assumed name was an occasional announcement. But the most amusing feature of the joke would appear in the morning, when an emphatic denial would be seen in the columns of the same newspaper, accompanied by a quotation in spurious Latin. Professor Anthon lived with his two spinster sisters in one of the college buildings, and their home was a rendezvous for an appreciative younger generation. In connection with his duties at the college, he was the head of the Columbia College Grammar School, and I have always understood that he strictly followed the scriptural injunction not "to spare the rod." His victims were repeatedly heard to remark that these flagellations partially counterbalanced the lack of exercise which he felt very keenly in his sedentary life. But with all his austerity his pupils would occasionally be astonished over the amount of humor that he was capable of displaying. His handwriting was exquisitely minute in character, and I have in my possession two valentines composed by him and sent to me which are quaintly beautiful in language and, although sixty years old, are still in a perfect state of preservation.

(Written a few years later.)

John Louis Tellkampf, to whom Anthon so facetiously alludes in the second valentine, was a young German who frequently came to our house, and who, through my father's aid and influence, in subsequent years became professor of German in Columbia College. When we first knew him he spoke English with much difficulty, and it was a standing joke in our household that once when he desired to say that a certain person had been born he expressed the fact as "getting alive."

Malcolm Campbell, a younger brother of mine, was graduated in 1850 from Columbia College near the head of his class. Among his classmates were Charles Seymour, subsequently Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church of Illinois, and the distinguished lawyer Frederick R. Coudert, whose father kept a boys' French school in Bleecker Street. My brother subsequently studied law in the office of Judge Henry Hilton, and for many years practiced at the New York bar. Upon a certain occasion he and Samuel F. Kneeland were opposing counsel in an important suit during which Mr. Kneeland kept quoting from his own work upon "Mechanics' Liens." My brother endured this as long as his patience permitted and then, slowly rising to his feet, said: "I have cited decisions on the point in controversy, but my learned opponent cites nothing except his own opinions printed in his own book. With such persistency has he done this that I have been tempted to write these lines:

It seems almost needless to add that this doggerel was followed by a round of applause, and that Chief Justice Charles P. Daly and Judge Joseph F. Daly, as well as Judge George M. Van Hoesen, who were on the bench at this time, joined in the merriment.

The commencement exercises of Columbia College, as I remember them, took place every summer in St. John's Church opposite St. John's Park, and I often attended them in my early days. Columbia College at this period was in the lower part of the city between College and Park Places, and was the original King's College of colonial days. All of the professors lived in the college buildings in a most unostentatious manner, and I readily recall frequent instances during my early childhood when, in company with my father, I walked to the college and took a simple six o'clock supper with Professor Anthon and his sisters.

My mother met my father while visiting in New York, and the acquaintance eventually resulted in a runaway marriage. They were married on the 10th of June, 1818, and nine days later the following notice appeared in The National Advocate:

The objection of my Grandfather Hazard to my mother's marriage was not unnatural, as she was his only child, and being at this time well advanced in years he dreaded the separation. But the happy bride immediately brought her husband to live in the old home where she had been born, where the young couple began their married life under pleasing auspices, and my father continued his practice of law in New York. I had the misfortune of being a second daughter. Traditionally, I know that my grandfather most earnestly desired a grandson at that time, and when the nurse announced my birth, she was not sufficiently courageous to tell the truth, and said: "A boy, sir!" Her faltering manner possibly betrayed her, as the sarcastic retort was: "I dare say, an Irish boy."

My ambitious parents sent me with my oldest sister, Fanny, at the early age of four, to a school in the village of Jamaica conducted by Miss Delia Bacon. My recollection of events occurring at this early period is not very vivid, but I still recall the vision of three beautiful women, Delia, Alice and Julia Bacon, who presided over our school. This interesting trio were nieces of the distinguished author and divine, the Rev. Dr. Leonard Bacon, who for fifty-seven years was pastor of the First Congregational Church of New Haven. Many years subsequent to my school days, Delia Bacon became, as is well known, an enthusiastic advocate of the Baconian authorship of Shakespeare's plays. I have understood that she made a pilgrimage to Stratford-on-Avon hoping to secure the proper authority to reopen Shakespeare's grave, a desire, however, that remained ungratified. She was a woman of remarkable ability, and I have in my possession the book, written by her nephew, which tells the story of her life. I was Miss Bacon's youngest pupil, and attended school regularly in company with my sister, whither we were driven each morning in the family carriage. My studies were not difficult, and my principal recollection is my playing out of doors with a dog named Sancho, while the older children were busy inside with their studies.

During my Long Island life, as a very young child, I was visiting my aunts in Jay Street, New York, when I was taken to Grant Thorburn's seed shop in Maiden Lane, which I think was called "The Arcade." There was much there to delight the childish fancy—canaries, parrots, and other birds of varied plumage. Thorburn's career was decidedly unusual. He was born in Scotland, where he worked in his father's shop as a nailmaker. He came to New York in 1794 and for a time continued at his old trade. He then kept a seed store and, after making quite a fortune, launched into a literary career and wrote under the nom de plume of "Laurie Todd."

[1] Now Rutgers College.